--- /dev/null
+GREAT EXPECTATIONS
+
+[1867 Edition]
+
+by Charles Dickens
+
+
+[Project Gutenberg Editor’s Note: There is also another version of
+this work etext98/grexp10.txt scanned from a different edition]
+
+
+
+
+Chapter I
+
+My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my
+infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit
+than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.
+
+I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his
+tombstone and my sister,--Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith.
+As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness
+of either of them (for their days were long before the days of
+photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were
+unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on
+my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man,
+with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription,
+“Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,” I drew a childish conclusion that
+my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each
+about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside
+their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of
+mine,--who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in
+that universal struggle,--I am indebted for a belief I religiously
+entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands
+in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of
+existence.
+
+Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river
+wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression
+of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on a memorable
+raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain
+that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and
+that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the
+above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham,
+Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead
+and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard,
+intersected with dikes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle
+feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond
+was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was
+rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid
+of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.
+
+“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
+among the graves at the side of the church porch. “Keep still, you
+little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!”
+
+A fearful man, all in coarse gray, with a great iron on his leg. A man
+with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his
+head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and
+lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by
+briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose
+teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.
+
+“Oh! Don’t cut my throat, sir,” I pleaded in terror. “Pray don’t do it,
+sir.”
+
+“Tell us your name!” said the man. “Quick!”
+
+“Pip, sir.”
+
+“Once more,” said the man, staring at me. “Give it mouth!”
+
+“Pip. Pip, sir.”
+
+“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Pint out the place!”
+
+I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the
+alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.
+
+The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and
+emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When
+the church came to itself,--for he was so sudden and strong that he
+made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my
+feet,--when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high
+tombstone, trembling while he ate the bread ravenously.
+
+“You young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “what fat cheeks you
+ha’ got.”
+
+I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my
+years, and not strong.
+
+“Darn me if I couldn’t eat em,” said the man, with a threatening shake
+of his head, “and if I han’t half a mind to’t!”
+
+I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to
+the tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it;
+partly, to keep myself from crying.
+
+“Now lookee here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?”
+
+“There, sir!” said I.
+
+He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.
+
+“There, sir!” I timidly explained. “Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.”
+
+“Oh!” said he, coming back. “And is that your father alonger your
+mother?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.”
+
+“Ha!” he muttered then, considering. “Who d’ye live with,--supposin’
+you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?”
+
+“My sister, sir,--Mrs. Joe Gargery,--wife of Joe Gargery, the
+blacksmith, sir.”
+
+“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg.
+
+After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer
+to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he
+could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine,
+and mine looked most helplessly up into his.
+
+“Now lookee here,” he said, “the question being whether you’re to be let
+to live. You know what a file is?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And you know what wittles is?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a
+greater sense of helplessness and danger.
+
+“You get me a file.” He tilted me again. “And you get me wittles.” He
+tilted me again. “You bring ‘em both to me.” He tilted me again. “Or
+I’ll have your heart and liver out.” He tilted me again.
+
+I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both
+hands, and said, “If you would kindly please to let me keep upright,
+sir, perhaps I shouldn’t be sick, and perhaps I could attend more.”
+
+He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped
+over its own weathercock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright
+position on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:--
+
+“You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You
+bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and you
+never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having
+seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to
+live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how
+small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted,
+and ate. Now, I ain’t alone, as you may think I am. There’s a young man
+hid with me, in comparison with which young man I am a Angel. That young
+man hears the words I speak. That young man has a secret way pecooliar
+to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It
+is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young man. A
+boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw
+the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but
+that young man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him
+open. I am a keeping that young man from harming of you at the present
+moment, with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold that young
+man off of your inside. Now, what do you say?”
+
+I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken
+bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in
+the morning.
+
+“Say Lord strike you dead if you don’t!” said the man.
+
+I said so, and he took me down.
+
+“Now,” he pursued, “you remember what you’ve undertook, and you remember
+that young man, and you get home!”
+
+“Goo-good night, sir,” I faltered.
+
+“Much of that!” said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. “I
+wish I was a frog. Or a eel!”
+
+At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his
+arms,--clasping himself, as if to hold himself together,--and limped
+towards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the
+nettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked
+in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people,
+stretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his
+ankle and pull him in.
+
+When he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose
+legs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When I
+saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of
+my legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on
+again towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and picking
+his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into the
+marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy or
+the tide was in.
+
+The marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped
+to look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not
+nearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long
+angry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the
+river I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the
+prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the beacon
+by which the sailors steered,--like an unhooped cask upon a pole,--an
+ugly thing when you were near it; the other, a gibbet, with some chains
+hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping on
+towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life, and come
+down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a terrible
+turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their heads to
+gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I looked all
+round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of him. But now
+I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I,
+and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbors
+because she had brought me up “by hand.” Having at that time to find out
+for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard and
+heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her husband as
+well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both brought up
+by hand.
+
+She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general
+impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe
+was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth
+face, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed
+to have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild,
+good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow,--a sort
+of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.
+
+My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing
+redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible
+she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall
+and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her
+figure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib in
+front, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She made it a powerful
+merit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore this
+apron so much. Though I really see no reason why she should have worn it
+at all; or why, if she did wear it at all, she should not have taken it
+off, every day of her life.
+
+Joe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of the
+dwellings in our country were,--most of them, at that time. When I ran
+home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting
+alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and having
+confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the moment I
+raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it,
+sitting in the chimney corner.
+
+“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s
+out now, making it a baker’s dozen.”
+
+“Is she?”
+
+“Yes, Pip,” said Joe; “and what’s worse, she’s got Tickler with her.”
+
+At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat
+round and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler
+was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled
+frame.
+
+“She sot down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab at
+Tickler, and she Ram-paged out. That’s what she did,” said Joe, slowly
+clearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking at
+it; “she Ram-paged out, Pip.”
+
+“Has she been gone long, Joe?” I always treated him as a larger species
+of child, and as no more than my equal.
+
+“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, “she’s been on the
+Ram-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She’s a coming! Get
+behind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you.”
+
+I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open,
+and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, and
+applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded by throwing
+me--I often served as a connubial missile--at Joe, who, glad to get hold
+of me on any terms, passed me on into the chimney and quietly fenced me
+up there with his great leg.
+
+“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her
+foot. “Tell me directly what you’ve been doing to wear me away with fret
+and fright and worrit, or I’d have you out of that corner if you was
+fifty Pips, and he was five hundred Gargerys.”
+
+“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and
+rubbing myself.
+
+“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “If it warn’t for me you’d have been
+to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up by
+hand?”
+
+“You did,” said I.
+
+“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister.
+
+I whimpered, “I don’t know.”
+
+“I don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. I may
+truly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were.
+It’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife (and him a Gargery) without
+being your mother.”
+
+My thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at
+the fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the
+mysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was
+under to commit a larceny on those sheltering premises, rose before me
+in the avenging coals.
+
+“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. “Churchyard,
+indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two.” One of us, by the by, had
+not said it at all. “You’ll drive me to the churchyard betwixt you, one
+of these days, and O, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be without me!”
+
+As she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me
+over his leg, as if he were mentally casting me and himself up, and
+calculating what kind of pair we practically should make, under the
+grievous circumstances foreshadowed. After that, he sat feeling his
+right-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with
+his blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times.
+
+My sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread and butter for us,
+that never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hard
+and fast against her bib,--where it sometimes got a pin into it, and
+sometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our mouths. Then she
+took some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf, in
+an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaster,--using both
+sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming and moulding
+the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife a final smart
+wipe on the edge of the plaster, and then sawed a very thick round off
+the loaf: which she finally, before separating from the loaf, hewed into
+two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other.
+
+On the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my
+slice. I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful
+acquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knew
+Mrs. Joe’s housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that my
+larcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe. Therefore
+I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of my
+trousers.
+
+The effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose I
+found to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leap
+from the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water.
+And it was made the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In
+our already-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in his
+good-natured companionship with me, it was our evening habit to compare
+the way we bit through our slices, by silently holding them up to each
+other’s admiration now and then,--which stimulated us to new exertions.
+To-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fast
+diminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly competition; but
+he found me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and
+my untouched bread and butter on the other. At last, I desperately
+considered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it
+had best be done in the least improbable manner consistent with the
+circumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked at
+me, and got my bread and butter down my leg.
+
+Joe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my loss
+of appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which he
+didn’t seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer than
+usual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down like
+a pill. He was about to take another bite, and had just got his head on
+one side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he saw
+that my bread and butter was gone.
+
+The wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold
+of his bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister’s
+observation.
+
+“What’s the matter now?” said she, smartly, as she put down her cup.
+
+“I say, you know!” muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in very serious
+remonstrance. “Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’ll stick
+somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.”
+
+“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before.
+
+“If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to do it,”
+ said Joe, all aghast. “Manners is manners, but still your elth’s your
+elth.”
+
+By this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe,
+and, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a little while
+against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, looking guiltily
+on.
+
+“Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out of
+breath, “you staring great stuck pig.”
+
+Joe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and
+looked at me again.
+
+“You know, Pip,” said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite in his cheek,
+and speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone,
+“you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you,
+any time. But such a--” he moved his chair and looked about the floor
+between us, and then again at me--“such a most oncommon Bolt as that!”
+
+“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister.
+
+“You know, old chap,” said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe,
+with his bite still in his cheek, “I Bolted, myself, when I was your
+age--frequent--and as a boy I’ve been among a many Bolters; but I never
+see your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t Bolted
+dead.”
+
+My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying
+nothing more than the awful words, “You come along and be dosed.”
+
+Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine
+medicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard;
+having a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the
+best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a choice
+restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like a new
+fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded a
+pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater
+comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would
+be held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to
+swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and
+meditating before the fire), “because he had had a turn.” Judging from
+myself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had
+none before.
+
+Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in
+the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret
+burden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great
+punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe--I
+never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the
+housekeeping property as his--united to the necessity of always keeping
+one hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about
+the kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then,
+as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the
+voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to
+secrecy, declaring that he couldn’t and wouldn’t starve until to-morrow,
+but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man
+who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his hands in me
+should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should mistake the time,
+and should think himself accredited to my heart and liver to-night,
+instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody’s hair stood on end with terror,
+mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody’s ever did?
+
+It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with
+a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with
+the load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the
+load on HIS leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the bread
+and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away,
+and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.
+
+“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm
+in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; “was that great guns,
+Joe?”
+
+“Ah!” said Joe. “There’s another conwict off.”
+
+“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.
+
+Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly,
+“Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water.
+
+While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my
+mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, “What’s a convict?” Joe put his
+mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer, that I
+could make out nothing of it but the single word “Pip.”
+
+“There was a conwict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “after
+sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re
+firing warning of another.”
+
+“Who’s firing?” said I.
+
+“Drat that boy,” interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work,
+“what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.”
+
+It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be
+told lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite
+unless there was company.
+
+At this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost
+pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word
+that looked to me like “sulks.” Therefore, I naturally pointed to Mrs.
+Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, “her?” But Joe wouldn’t
+hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, and shook
+the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make nothing of
+the word.
+
+“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “I should like to know--if you
+wouldn’t much mind--where the firing comes from?”
+
+“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite mean
+that but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!”
+
+“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”
+
+Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.”
+
+“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.
+
+“That’s the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister, pointing me out
+with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. “Answer him one
+question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships,
+right ‘cross th’ meshes.” We always used that name for marshes, in our
+country.
+
+“I wonder who’s put into prison-ships, and why they’re put there?” said
+I, in a general way, and with quiet desperation.
+
+It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what,
+young fellow,” said she, “I didn’t bring you up by hand to badger
+people’s lives out. It would be blame to me and not praise, if I had.
+People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob,
+and forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they always begin by asking
+questions. Now, you get along to bed!”
+
+I was never allowed a candle to light me to bed, and, as I went upstairs
+in the dark, with my head tingling,--from Mrs. Joe’s thimble
+having played the tambourine upon it, to accompany her last words,--I
+felt fearfully sensible of the great convenience that the hulks were
+handy for me. I was clearly on my way there. I had begun by asking
+questions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe.
+
+Since that time, which is far enough away now, I have often thought
+that few people know what secrecy there is in the young under terror.
+No matter how unreasonable the terror, so that it be terror. I was in
+mortal terror of the young man who wanted my heart and liver; I was
+in mortal terror of my interlocutor with the iron leg; I was in mortal
+terror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted; I had
+no hope of deliverance through my all-powerful sister, who repulsed
+me at every turn; I am afraid to think of what I might have done on
+requirement, in the secrecy of my terror.
+
+If I slept at all that night, it was only to imagine myself drifting
+down the river on a strong spring-tide, to the Hulks; a ghostly
+pirate calling out to me through a speaking-trumpet, as I passed the
+gibbet-station, that I had better come ashore and be hanged there at
+once, and not put it off. I was afraid to sleep, even if I had been
+inclined, for I knew that at the first faint dawn of morning I must rob
+the pantry. There was no doing it in the night, for there was no getting
+a light by easy friction then; to have got one I must have struck it out
+of flint and steel, and have made a noise like the very pirate himself
+rattling his chains.
+
+As soon as the great black velvet pall outside my little window was shot
+with gray, I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way, and
+every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get up,
+Mrs. Joe!” In the pantry, which was far more abundantly supplied than
+usual, owing to the season, I was very much alarmed by a hare hanging
+up by the heels, whom I rather thought I caught, when my back was half
+turned, winking. I had no time for verification, no time for selection,
+no time for anything, for I had no time to spare. I stole some bread,
+some rind of cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in
+my pocket-handkerchief with my last night’s slice), some brandy from a
+stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had secretly used
+for making that intoxicating fluid, Spanish-liquorice-water, up in my
+room: diluting the stone bottle from a jug in the kitchen cupboard),
+a meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round compact pork
+pie. I was nearly going away without the pie, but I was tempted to mount
+upon a shelf, to look what it was that was put away so carefully in a
+covered earthenware dish in a corner, and I found it was the pie, and
+I took it in the hope that it was not intended for early use, and would
+not be missed for some time.
+
+There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I
+unlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools.
+Then I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at which
+I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty
+marshes.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III
+
+It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen the damp lying on the
+outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all
+night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief. Now, I saw the
+damp lying on the bare hedges and spare grass, like a coarser sort of
+spiders’ webs; hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade. On
+every rail and gate, wet lay clammy, and the marsh mist was so thick,
+that the wooden finger on the post directing people to our village--a
+direction which they never accepted, for they never came there--was
+invisible to me until I was quite close under it. Then, as I looked up
+at it, while it dripped, it seemed to my oppressed conscience like a
+phantom devoting me to the Hulks.
+
+The mist was heavier yet when I got out upon the marshes, so that
+instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me.
+This was very disagreeable to a guilty mind. The gates and dikes and
+banks came bursting at me through the mist, as if they cried as plainly
+as could be, “A boy with somebody else’s pork pie! Stop him!” The
+cattle came upon me with like suddenness, staring out of their eyes,
+and steaming out of their nostrils, “Halloa, young thief!” One black
+ox, with a white cravat on,--who even had to my awakened conscience
+something of a clerical air,--fixed me so obstinately with his eyes,
+and moved his blunt head round in such an accusatory manner as I moved
+round, that I blubbered out to him, “I couldn’t help it, sir! It wasn’t
+for myself I took it!” Upon which he put down his head, blew a cloud of
+smoke out of his nose, and vanished with a kick-up of his hind-legs and
+a flourish of his tail.
+
+All this time, I was getting on towards the river; but however fast I
+went, I couldn’t warm my feet, to which the damp cold seemed riveted, as
+the iron was riveted to the leg of the man I was running to meet. I knew
+my way to the Battery, pretty straight, for I had been down there on a
+Sunday with Joe, and Joe, sitting on an old gun, had told me that when
+I was ‘prentice to him, regularly bound, we would have such Larks there!
+However, in the confusion of the mist, I found myself at last too far to
+the right, and consequently had to try back along the river-side, on the
+bank of loose stones above the mud and the stakes that staked the tide
+out. Making my way along here with all despatch, I had just crossed a
+ditch which I knew to be very near the Battery, and had just scrambled
+up the mound beyond the ditch, when I saw the man sitting before me.
+His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded, and was nodding
+forward, heavy with sleep.
+
+I thought he would be more glad if I came upon him with his breakfast,
+in that unexpected manner, so I went forward softly and touched him on
+the shoulder. He instantly jumped up, and it was not the same man, but
+another man!
+
+And yet this man was dressed in coarse gray, too, and had a great iron
+on his leg, and was lame, and hoarse, and cold, and was everything that
+the other man was; except that he had not the same face, and had a flat
+broad-brimmed low-crowned felt hat on. All this I saw in a moment, for
+I had only a moment to see it in: he swore an oath at me, made a hit at
+me,--it was a round weak blow that missed me and almost knocked himself
+down, for it made him stumble,--and then he ran into the mist, stumbling
+twice as he went, and I lost him.
+
+“It’s the young man!” I thought, feeling my heart shoot as I identified
+him. I dare say I should have felt a pain in my liver, too, if I had
+known where it was.
+
+I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right
+man,--hugging himself and limping to and fro, as if he had never all
+night left off hugging and limping,--waiting for me. He was awfully
+cold, to be sure. I half expected to see him drop down before my face
+and die of deadly cold. His eyes looked so awfully hungry too, that when
+I handed him the file and he laid it down on the grass, it occurred to
+me he would have tried to eat it, if he had not seen my bundle. He did
+not turn me upside down this time to get at what I had, but left me
+right side upwards while I opened the bundle and emptied my pockets.
+
+“What’s in the bottle, boy?” said he.
+
+“Brandy,” said I.
+
+He was already handing mincemeat down his throat in the most curious
+manner,--more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent
+hurry, than a man who was eating it,--but he left off to take some of
+the liquor. He shivered all the while so violently, that it was quite
+as much as he could do to keep the neck of the bottle between his teeth,
+without biting it off.
+
+“I think you have got the ague,” said I.
+
+“I’m much of your opinion, boy,” said he.
+
+“It’s bad about here,” I told him. “You’ve been lying out on the meshes,
+and they’re dreadful aguish. Rheumatic too.”
+
+“I’ll eat my breakfast afore they’re the death of me,” said he. “I’d do
+that, if I was going to be strung up to that there gallows as there is
+over there, directly afterwards. I’ll beat the shivers so far, I’ll bet
+you.”
+
+He was gobbling mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie, all
+at once: staring distrustfully while he did so at the mist all round
+us, and often stopping--even stopping his jaws--to listen. Some real or
+fancied sound, some clink upon the river or breathing of beast upon the
+marsh, now gave him a start, and he said, suddenly,--
+
+“You’re not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?”
+
+“No, sir! No!”
+
+“Nor giv’ no one the office to follow you?”
+
+“No!”
+
+“Well,” said he, “I believe you. You’d be but a fierce young hound
+indeed, if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched
+warmint hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched warmint
+is!”
+
+Something clicked in his throat as if he had works in him like a clock,
+and was going to strike. And he smeared his ragged rough sleeve over his
+eyes.
+
+Pitying his desolation, and watching him as he gradually settled down
+upon the pie, I made bold to say, “I am glad you enjoy it.”
+
+“Did you speak?”
+
+“I said I was glad you enjoyed it.”
+
+“Thankee, my boy. I do.”
+
+I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I now
+noticed a decided similarity between the dog’s way of eating, and the
+man’s. The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog. He
+swallowed, or rather snapped up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast;
+and he looked sideways here and there while he ate, as if he thought
+there was danger in every direction of somebody’s coming to take the pie
+away. He was altogether too unsettled in his mind over it, to appreciate
+it comfortably I thought, or to have anybody to dine with him, without
+making a chop with his jaws at the visitor. In all of which particulars
+he was very like the dog.
+
+“I am afraid you won’t leave any of it for him,” said I, timidly; after
+a silence during which I had hesitated as to the politeness of making
+the remark. “There’s no more to be got where that came from.” It was the
+certainty of this fact that impelled me to offer the hint.
+
+“Leave any for him? Who’s him?” said my friend, stopping in his
+crunching of pie-crust.
+
+“The young man. That you spoke of. That was hid with you.”
+
+“Oh ah!” he returned, with something like a gruff laugh. “Him? Yes, yes!
+He don’t want no wittles.”
+
+“I thought he looked as if he did,” said I.
+
+The man stopped eating, and regarded me with the keenest scrutiny and
+the greatest surprise.
+
+“Looked? When?”
+
+“Just now.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“Yonder,” said I, pointing; “over there, where I found him nodding
+asleep, and thought it was you.”
+
+He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his
+first idea about cutting my throat had revived.
+
+“Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat,” I explained, trembling;
+“and--and”--I was very anxious to put this delicately--“and with--the
+same reason for wanting to borrow a file. Didn’t you hear the cannon
+last night?”
+
+“Then there was firing!” he said to himself.
+
+“I wonder you shouldn’t have been sure of that,” I returned, “for
+we heard it up at home, and that’s farther away, and we were shut in
+besides.”
+
+“Why, see now!” said he. “When a man’s alone on these flats, with a
+light head and a light stomach, perishing of cold and want, he hears
+nothin’ all night, but guns firing, and voices calling. Hears? He sees
+the soldiers, with their red coats lighted up by the torches carried
+afore, closing in round him. Hears his number called, hears himself
+challenged, hears the rattle of the muskets, hears the orders ‘Make
+ready! Present! Cover him steady, men!’ and is laid hands on--and
+there’s nothin’! Why, if I see one pursuing party last night--coming up
+in order, Damn ‘em, with their tramp, tramp--I see a hundred. And as to
+firing! Why, I see the mist shake with the cannon, arter it was broad
+day,--But this man”; he had said all the rest, as if he had forgotten my
+being there; “did you notice anything in him?”
+
+“He had a badly bruised face,” said I, recalling what I hardly knew I
+knew.
+
+“Not here?” exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek mercilessly, with
+the flat of his hand.
+
+“Yes, there!”
+
+“Where is he?” He crammed what little food was left, into the breast of
+his gray jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll pull him down, like a
+bloodhound. Curse this iron on my sore leg! Give us hold of the file,
+boy.”
+
+I indicated in what direction the mist had shrouded the other man,
+and he looked up at it for an instant. But he was down on the rank wet
+grass, filing at his iron like a madman, and not minding me or minding
+his own leg, which had an old chafe upon it and was bloody, but which he
+handled as roughly as if it had no more feeling in it than the file. I
+was very much afraid of him again, now that he had worked himself into
+this fierce hurry, and I was likewise very much afraid of keeping away
+from home any longer. I told him I must go, but he took no notice, so
+I thought the best thing I could do was to slip off. The last I saw
+of him, his head was bent over his knee and he was working hard at his
+fetter, muttering impatient imprecations at it and at his leg. The last
+I heard of him, I stopped in the mist to listen, and the file was still
+going.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV
+
+I fully expected to find a Constable in the kitchen, waiting to take me
+up. But not only was there no Constable there, but no discovery had yet
+been made of the robbery. Mrs. Joe was prodigiously busy in getting the
+house ready for the festivities of the day, and Joe had been put upon
+the kitchen doorstep to keep him out of the dust-pan,--an article into
+which his destiny always led him, sooner or later, when my sister was
+vigorously reaping the floors of her establishment.
+
+“And where the deuce ha’ you been?” was Mrs. Joe’s Christmas salutation,
+when I and my conscience showed ourselves.
+
+I said I had been down to hear the Carols. “Ah! well!” observed Mrs.
+Joe. “You might ha’ done worse.” Not a doubt of that I thought.
+
+“Perhaps if I warn’t a blacksmith’s wife, and (what’s the same thing) a
+slave with her apron never off, I should have been to hear the Carols,”
+ said Mrs. Joe. “I’m rather partial to Carols, myself, and that’s the
+best of reasons for my never hearing any.”
+
+Joe, who had ventured into the kitchen after me as the dustpan had
+retired before us, drew the back of his hand across his nose with a
+conciliatory air, when Mrs. Joe darted a look at him, and, when her eyes
+were withdrawn, secretly crossed his two forefingers, and exhibited them
+to me, as our token that Mrs. Joe was in a cross temper. This was so
+much her normal state, that Joe and I would often, for weeks together,
+be, as to our fingers, like monumental Crusaders as to their legs.
+
+We were to have a superb dinner, consisting of a leg of pickled pork and
+greens, and a pair of roast stuffed fowls. A handsome mince-pie had
+been made yesterday morning (which accounted for the mincemeat not
+being missed), and the pudding was already on the boil. These extensive
+arrangements occasioned us to be cut off unceremoniously in respect of
+breakfast; “for I ain’t,” said Mrs. Joe,--“I ain’t a going to have
+no formal cramming and busting and washing up now, with what I’ve got
+before me, I promise you!”
+
+So, we had our slices served out, as if we were two thousand troops on a
+forced march instead of a man and boy at home; and we took gulps of milk
+and water, with apologetic countenances, from a jug on the dresser. In
+the meantime, Mrs. Joe put clean white curtains up, and tacked a new
+flowered flounce across the wide chimney to replace the old one, and
+uncovered the little state parlor across the passage, which was never
+uncovered at any other time, but passed the rest of the year in a cool
+haze of silver paper, which even extended to the four little white
+crockery poodles on the mantel-shelf, each with a black nose and a
+basket of flowers in his mouth, and each the counterpart of the other.
+Mrs. Joe was a very clean housekeeper, but had an exquisite art of
+making her cleanliness more uncomfortable and unacceptable than dirt
+itself. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and some people do the same by
+their religion.
+
+My sister, having so much to do, was going to church vicariously, that
+is to say, Joe and I were going. In his working-clothes, Joe was a
+well-knit characteristic-looking blacksmith; in his holiday clothes,
+he was more like a scarecrow in good circumstances, than anything else.
+Nothing that he wore then fitted him or seemed to belong to him; and
+everything that he wore then grazed him. On the present festive occasion
+he emerged from his room, when the blithe bells were going, the picture
+of misery, in a full suit of Sunday penitentials. As to me, I think my
+sister must have had some general idea that I was a young offender whom
+an Accoucheur Policeman had taken up (on my birthday) and delivered over
+to her, to be dealt with according to the outraged majesty of the law.
+I was always treated as if I had insisted on being born in opposition
+to the dictates of reason, religion, and morality, and against the
+dissuading arguments of my best friends. Even when I was taken to have
+a new suit of clothes, the tailor had orders to make them like a kind of
+Reformatory, and on no account to let me have the free use of my limbs.
+
+Joe and I going to church, therefore, must have been a moving spectacle
+for compassionate minds. Yet, what I suffered outside was nothing to
+what I underwent within. The terrors that had assailed me whenever
+Mrs. Joe had gone near the pantry, or out of the room, were only to be
+equalled by the remorse with which my mind dwelt on what my hands had
+done. Under the weight of my wicked secret, I pondered whether the
+Church would be powerful enough to shield me from the vengeance of the
+terrible young man, if I divulged to that establishment. I conceived the
+idea that the time when the banns were read and when the clergyman said,
+“Ye are now to declare it!” would be the time for me to rise and propose
+a private conference in the vestry. I am far from being sure that I
+might not have astonished our small congregation by resorting to this
+extreme measure, but for its being Christmas Day and no Sunday.
+
+Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at church, was to dine with us; and Mr. Hubble
+the wheelwright and Mrs. Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook (Joe’s uncle,
+but Mrs. Joe appropriated him), who was a well-to-do cornchandler in
+the nearest town, and drove his own chaise-cart. The dinner hour was
+half-past one. When Joe and I got home, we found the table laid, and
+Mrs. Joe dressed, and the dinner dressing, and the front door unlocked
+(it never was at any other time) for the company to enter by, and
+everything most splendid. And still, not a word of the robbery.
+
+The time came, without bringing with it any relief to my feelings, and
+the company came. Mr. Wopsle, united to a Roman nose and a large shining
+bald forehead, had a deep voice which he was uncommonly proud of; indeed
+it was understood among his acquaintance that if you could only give him
+his head, he would read the clergyman into fits; he himself confessed
+that if the Church was “thrown open,” meaning to competition, he would
+not despair of making his mark in it. The Church not being “thrown
+open,” he was, as I have said, our clerk. But he punished the Amens
+tremendously; and when he gave out the psalm,--always giving the whole
+verse,--he looked all round the congregation first, as much as to say,
+“You have heard my friend overhead; oblige me with your opinion of this
+style!”
+
+I opened the door to the company,--making believe that it was a habit
+of ours to open that door,--and I opened it first to Mr. Wopsle, next
+to Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, and last of all to Uncle Pumblechook. N.B. I was
+not allowed to call him uncle, under the severest penalties.
+
+“Mrs. Joe,” said Uncle Pumblechook, a large hard-breathing middle-aged
+slow man, with a mouth like a fish, dull staring eyes, and sandy hair
+standing upright on his head, so that he looked as if he had just been
+all but choked, and had that moment come to, “I have brought you as the
+compliments of the season--I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of sherry
+wine--and I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of port wine.”
+
+Every Christmas Day he presented himself, as a profound novelty, with
+exactly the same words, and carrying the two bottles like dumb-bells.
+Every Christmas Day, Mrs. Joe replied, as she now replied, “O, Un--cle
+Pum-ble--chook! This is kind!” Every Christmas Day, he retorted, as
+he now retorted, “It’s no more than your merits. And now are you all
+bobbish, and how’s Sixpennorth of halfpence?” meaning me.
+
+We dined on these occasions in the kitchen, and adjourned, for the nuts
+and oranges and apples to the parlor; which was a change very like
+Joe’s change from his working-clothes to his Sunday dress. My sister was
+uncommonly lively on the present occasion, and indeed was generally more
+gracious in the society of Mrs. Hubble than in other company. I remember
+Mrs. Hubble as a little curly sharp-edged person in sky-blue, who held a
+conventionally juvenile position, because she had married Mr. Hubble,--I
+don’t know at what remote period,--when she was much younger than he. I
+remember Mr Hubble as a tough, high-shouldered, stooping old man, of a
+sawdusty fragrance, with his legs extraordinarily wide apart: so that in
+my short days I always saw some miles of open country between them when
+I met him coming up the lane.
+
+Among this good company I should have felt myself, even if I hadn’t
+robbed the pantry, in a false position. Not because I was squeezed in
+at an acute angle of the tablecloth, with the table in my chest, and the
+Pumblechookian elbow in my eye, nor because I was not allowed to speak
+(I didn’t want to speak), nor because I was regaled with the scaly tips
+of the drumsticks of the fowls, and with those obscure corners of pork
+of which the pig, when living, had had the least reason to be vain. No;
+I should not have minded that, if they would only have left me alone.
+But they wouldn’t leave me alone. They seemed to think the opportunity
+lost, if they failed to point the conversation at me, every now and
+then, and stick the point into me. I might have been an unfortunate
+little bull in a Spanish arena, I got so smartingly touched up by these
+moral goads.
+
+It began the moment we sat down to dinner. Mr. Wopsle said grace with
+theatrical declamation,--as it now appears to me, something like a
+religious cross of the Ghost in Hamlet with Richard the Third,--and
+ended with the very proper aspiration that we might be truly grateful.
+Upon which my sister fixed me with her eye, and said, in a low
+reproachful voice, “Do you hear that? Be grateful.”
+
+“Especially,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “be grateful, boy, to them which
+brought you up by hand.”
+
+Mrs. Hubble shook her head, and contemplating me with a mournful
+presentiment that I should come to no good, asked, “Why is it that the
+young are never grateful?” This moral mystery seemed too much for
+the company until Mr. Hubble tersely solved it by saying, “Naterally
+wicious.” Everybody then murmured “True!” and looked at me in a
+particularly unpleasant and personal manner.
+
+Joe’s station and influence were something feebler (if possible) when
+there was company than when there was none. But he always aided and
+comforted me when he could, in some way of his own, and he always did so
+at dinner-time by giving me gravy, if there were any. There being plenty
+of gravy to-day, Joe spooned into my plate, at this point, about half a
+pint.
+
+A little later on in the dinner, Mr. Wopsle reviewed the sermon with
+some severity, and intimated--in the usual hypothetical case of the
+Church being “thrown open”--what kind of sermon he would have given
+them. After favoring them with some heads of that discourse, he remarked
+that he considered the subject of the day’s homily, ill chosen; which
+was the less excusable, he added, when there were so many subjects
+“going about.”
+
+“True again,” said Uncle Pumblechook. “You’ve hit it, sir! Plenty of
+subjects going about, for them that know how to put salt upon their
+tails. That’s what’s wanted. A man needn’t go far to find a subject,
+if he’s ready with his salt-box.” Mr. Pumblechook added, after a short
+interval of reflection, “Look at Pork alone. There’s a subject! If you
+want a subject, look at Pork!”
+
+“True, sir. Many a moral for the young,” returned Mr. Wopsle,--and I
+knew he was going to lug me in, before he said it; “might be deduced
+from that text.”
+
+(“You listen to this,” said my sister to me, in a severe parenthesis.)
+
+Joe gave me some more gravy.
+
+“Swine,” pursued Mr. Wopsle, in his deepest voice, and pointing his fork
+at my blushes, as if he were mentioning my Christian name,--“swine were
+the companions of the prodigal. The gluttony of Swine is put before us,
+as an example to the young.” (I thought this pretty well in him who
+had been praising up the pork for being so plump and juicy.) “What is
+detestable in a pig is more detestable in a boy.”
+
+“Or girl,” suggested Mr. Hubble.
+
+“Of course, or girl, Mr. Hubble,” assented Mr. Wopsle, rather irritably,
+“but there is no girl present.”
+
+“Besides,” said Mr. Pumblechook, turning sharp on me, “think what you’ve
+got to be grateful for. If you’d been born a Squeaker--”
+
+“He was, if ever a child was,” said my sister, most emphatically.
+
+Joe gave me some more gravy.
+
+“Well, but I mean a four-footed Squeaker,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “If you
+had been born such, would you have been here now? Not you--”
+
+“Unless in that form,” said Mr. Wopsle, nodding towards the dish.
+
+“But I don’t mean in that form, sir,” returned Mr. Pumblechook, who had
+an objection to being interrupted; “I mean, enjoying himself with his
+elders and betters, and improving himself with their conversation, and
+rolling in the lap of luxury. Would he have been doing that? No, he
+wouldn’t. And what would have been your destination?” turning on me
+again. “You would have been disposed of for so many shillings according
+to the market price of the article, and Dunstable the butcher would have
+come up to you as you lay in your straw, and he would have whipped you
+under his left arm, and with his right he would have tucked up his frock
+to get a penknife from out of his waistcoat-pocket, and he would have
+shed your blood and had your life. No bringing up by hand then. Not a
+bit of it!”
+
+Joe offered me more gravy, which I was afraid to take.
+
+“He was a world of trouble to you, ma’am,” said Mrs. Hubble,
+commiserating my sister.
+
+“Trouble?” echoed my sister; “trouble?” and then entered on a fearful
+catalogue of all the illnesses I had been guilty of, and all the acts
+of sleeplessness I had committed, and all the high places I had tumbled
+from, and all the low places I had tumbled into, and all the injuries I
+had done myself, and all the times she had wished me in my grave, and I
+had contumaciously refused to go there.
+
+I think the Romans must have aggravated one another very much, with
+their noses. Perhaps, they became the restless people they were, in
+consequence. Anyhow, Mr. Wopsle’s Roman nose so aggravated me, during
+the recital of my misdemeanours, that I should have liked to pull it
+until he howled. But, all I had endured up to this time was nothing in
+comparison with the awful feelings that took possession of me when the
+pause was broken which ensued upon my sister’s recital, and in which
+pause everybody had looked at me (as I felt painfully conscious) with
+indignation and abhorrence.
+
+“Yet,” said Mr. Pumblechook, leading the company gently back to the
+theme from which they had strayed, “Pork--regarded as biled--is rich,
+too; ain’t it?”
+
+“Have a little brandy, uncle,” said my sister.
+
+O Heavens, it had come at last! He would find it was weak, he would say
+it was weak, and I was lost! I held tight to the leg of the table under
+the cloth, with both hands, and awaited my fate.
+
+My sister went for the stone bottle, came back with the stone bottle,
+and poured his brandy out: no one else taking any. The wretched man
+trifled with his glass,--took it up, looked at it through the light,
+put it down,--prolonged my misery. All this time Mrs. Joe and Joe were
+briskly clearing the table for the pie and pudding.
+
+I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. Always holding tight by the leg of the
+table with my hands and feet, I saw the miserable creature finger his
+glass playfully, take it up, smile, throw his head back, and drink
+the brandy off. Instantly afterwards, the company were seized with
+unspeakable consternation, owing to his springing to his feet, turning
+round several times in an appalling spasmodic whooping-cough dance,
+and rushing out at the door; he then became visible through the window,
+violently plunging and expectorating, making the most hideous faces, and
+apparently out of his mind.
+
+I held on tight, while Mrs. Joe and Joe ran to him. I didn’t know how
+I had done it, but I had no doubt I had murdered him somehow. In my
+dreadful situation, it was a relief when he was brought back, and
+surveying the company all round as if they had disagreed with him, sank
+down into his chair with the one significant gasp, “Tar!”
+
+I had filled up the bottle from the tar-water jug. I knew he would be
+worse by and by. I moved the table, like a Medium of the present day, by
+the vigor of my unseen hold upon it.
+
+“Tar!” cried my sister, in amazement. “Why, how ever could Tar come
+there?”
+
+But, Uncle Pumblechook, who was omnipotent in that kitchen, wouldn’t
+hear the word, wouldn’t hear of the subject, imperiously waved it all
+away with his hand, and asked for hot gin and water. My sister, who had
+begun to be alarmingly meditative, had to employ herself actively in
+getting the gin, the hot water, the sugar, and the lemon-peel, and mixing
+them. For the time being at least, I was saved. I still held on to the
+leg of the table, but clutched it now with the fervor of gratitude.
+
+By degrees, I became calm enough to release my grasp and partake of
+pudding. Mr. Pumblechook partook of pudding. All partook of pudding.
+The course terminated, and Mr. Pumblechook had begun to beam under the
+genial influence of gin and water. I began to think I should get over
+the day, when my sister said to Joe, “Clean plates,--cold.”
+
+I clutched the leg of the table again immediately, and pressed it to my
+bosom as if it had been the companion of my youth and friend of my soul.
+I foresaw what was coming, and I felt that this time I really was gone.
+
+“You must taste,” said my sister, addressing the guests with her best
+grace--“you must taste, to finish with, such a delightful and delicious
+present of Uncle Pumblechook’s!”
+
+Must they! Let them not hope to taste it!
+
+“You must know,” said my sister, rising, “it’s a pie; a savory pork
+pie.”
+
+The company murmured their compliments. Uncle Pumblechook, sensible of
+having deserved well of his fellow-creatures, said,--quite vivaciously,
+all things considered,--“Well, Mrs. Joe, we’ll do our best endeavors;
+let us have a cut at this same pie.”
+
+My sister went out to get it. I heard her steps proceed to the pantry. I
+saw Mr. Pumblechook balance his knife. I saw reawakening appetite in the
+Roman nostrils of Mr. Wopsle. I heard Mr. Hubble remark that “a bit of
+savory pork pie would lay atop of anything you could mention, and do
+no harm,” and I heard Joe say, “You shall have some, Pip.” I have never
+been absolutely certain whether I uttered a shrill yell of terror,
+merely in spirit, or in the bodily hearing of the company. I felt that I
+could bear no more, and that I must run away. I released the leg of the
+table, and ran for my life.
+
+But I ran no farther than the house door, for there I ran head-foremost
+into a party of soldiers with their muskets, one of whom held out a pair
+of handcuffs to me, saying, “Here you are, look sharp, come on!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V
+
+The apparition of a file of soldiers ringing down the but-ends of their
+loaded muskets on our door-step, caused the dinner-party to rise
+from table in confusion, and caused Mrs. Joe re-entering the kitchen
+empty-handed, to stop short and stare, in her wondering lament of
+“Gracious goodness gracious me, what’s gone--with the--pie!”
+
+The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe stood staring;
+at which crisis I partially recovered the use of my senses. It was
+the sergeant who had spoken to me, and he was now looking round at the
+company, with his handcuffs invitingly extended towards them in his
+right hand, and his left on my shoulder.
+
+“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” said the sergeant, “but as I have
+mentioned at the door to this smart young shaver,” (which he hadn’t), “I
+am on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the blacksmith.”
+
+“And pray what might you want with him?” retorted my sister, quick to
+resent his being wanted at all.
+
+“Missis,” returned the gallant sergeant, “speaking for myself, I should
+reply, the honor and pleasure of his fine wife’s acquaintance; speaking
+for the king, I answer, a little job done.”
+
+This was received as rather neat in the sergeant; insomuch that Mr.
+Pumblechook cried audibly, “Good again!”
+
+“You see, blacksmith,” said the sergeant, who had by this time picked
+out Joe with his eye, “we have had an accident with these, and I find
+the lock of one of ‘em goes wrong, and the coupling don’t act pretty.
+As they are wanted for immediate service, will you throw your eye over
+them?”
+
+Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced that the job would
+necessitate the lighting of his forge fire, and would take nearer
+two hours than one. “Will it? Then will you set about it at once,
+blacksmith?” said the off-hand sergeant, “as it’s on his Majesty’s
+service. And if my men can bear a hand anywhere, they’ll make themselves
+useful.” With that, he called to his men, who came trooping into the
+kitchen one after another, and piled their arms in a corner. And then
+they stood about, as soldiers do; now, with their hands loosely clasped
+before them; now, resting a knee or a shoulder; now, easing a belt or a
+pouch; now, opening the door to spit stiffly over their high stocks, out
+into the yard.
+
+All these things I saw without then knowing that I saw them, for I
+was in an agony of apprehension. But beginning to perceive that the
+handcuffs were not for me, and that the military had so far got the
+better of the pie as to put it in the background, I collected a little
+more of my scattered wits.
+
+“Would you give me the time?” said the sergeant, addressing himself to
+Mr. Pumblechook, as to a man whose appreciative powers justified the
+inference that he was equal to the time.
+
+“It’s just gone half past two.”
+
+“That’s not so bad,” said the sergeant, reflecting; “even if I was
+forced to halt here nigh two hours, that’ll do. How far might you call
+yourselves from the marshes, hereabouts? Not above a mile, I reckon?”
+
+“Just a mile,” said Mrs. Joe.
+
+“That’ll do. We begin to close in upon ‘em about dusk. A little before
+dusk, my orders are. That’ll do.”
+
+“Convicts, sergeant?” asked Mr. Wopsle, in a matter-of-course way.
+
+“Ay!” returned the sergeant, “two. They’re pretty well known to be out
+on the marshes still, and they won’t try to get clear of ‘em before
+dusk. Anybody here seen anything of any such game?”
+
+Everybody, myself excepted, said no, with confidence. Nobody thought of
+me.
+
+“Well!” said the sergeant, “they’ll find themselves trapped in a circle,
+I expect, sooner than they count on. Now, blacksmith! If you’re ready,
+his Majesty the King is.”
+
+Joe had got his coat and waistcoat and cravat off, and his leather apron
+on, and passed into the forge. One of the soldiers opened its wooden
+windows, another lighted the fire, another turned to at the bellows, the
+rest stood round the blaze, which was soon roaring. Then Joe began to
+hammer and clink, hammer and clink, and we all looked on.
+
+The interest of the impending pursuit not only absorbed the general
+attention, but even made my sister liberal. She drew a pitcher of beer
+from the cask for the soldiers, and invited the sergeant to take a glass
+of brandy. But Mr. Pumblechook said, sharply, “Give him wine, Mum. I’ll
+engage there’s no tar in that:” so, the sergeant thanked him and said
+that as he preferred his drink without tar, he would take wine, if it
+was equally convenient. When it was given him, he drank his Majesty’s
+health and compliments of the season, and took it all at a mouthful and
+smacked his lips.
+
+“Good stuff, eh, sergeant?” said Mr. Pumblechook.
+
+“I’ll tell you something,” returned the sergeant; “I suspect that
+stuff’s of your providing.”
+
+Mr. Pumblechook, with a fat sort of laugh, said, “Ay, ay? Why?”
+
+“Because,” returned the sergeant, clapping him on the shoulder, “you’re
+a man that knows what’s what.”
+
+“D’ye think so?” said Mr. Pumblechook, with his former laugh. “Have
+another glass!”
+
+“With you. Hob and nob,” returned the sergeant. “The top of mine to the
+foot of yours,--the foot of yours to the top of mine,--Ring once, ring
+twice,--the best tune on the Musical Glasses! Your health. May you live
+a thousand years, and never be a worse judge of the right sort than you
+are at the present moment of your life!”
+
+The sergeant tossed off his glass again and seemed quite ready for
+another glass. I noticed that Mr. Pumblechook in his hospitality
+appeared to forget that he had made a present of the wine, but took the
+bottle from Mrs. Joe and had all the credit of handing it about in a
+gush of joviality. Even I got some. And he was so very free of the wine
+that he even called for the other bottle, and handed that about with the
+same liberality, when the first was gone.
+
+As I watched them while they all stood clustering about the forge,
+enjoying themselves so much, I thought what terrible good sauce for
+a dinner my fugitive friend on the marshes was. They had not enjoyed
+themselves a quarter so much, before the entertainment was brightened
+with the excitement he furnished. And now, when they were all in lively
+anticipation of “the two villains” being taken, and when the bellows
+seemed to roar for the fugitives, the fire to flare for them, the smoke
+to hurry away in pursuit of them, Joe to hammer and clink for them,
+and all the murky shadows on the wall to shake at them in menace as the
+blaze rose and sank, and the red-hot sparks dropped and died, the pale
+afternoon outside almost seemed in my pitying young fancy to have turned
+pale on their account, poor wretches.
+
+At last, Joe’s job was done, and the ringing and roaring stopped. As Joe
+got on his coat, he mustered courage to propose that some of us should
+go down with the soldiers and see what came of the hunt. Mr. Pumblechook
+and Mr. Hubble declined, on the plea of a pipe and ladies’ society; but
+Mr. Wopsle said he would go, if Joe would. Joe said he was agreeable,
+and would take me, if Mrs. Joe approved. We never should have got leave
+to go, I am sure, but for Mrs. Joe’s curiosity to know all about it and
+how it ended. As it was, she merely stipulated, “If you bring the boy
+back with his head blown to bits by a musket, don’t look to me to put it
+together again.”
+
+The sergeant took a polite leave of the ladies, and parted from Mr.
+Pumblechook as from a comrade; though I doubt if he were quite as fully
+sensible of that gentleman’s merits under arid conditions, as when
+something moist was going. His men resumed their muskets and fell in.
+Mr. Wopsle, Joe, and I, received strict charge to keep in the rear, and
+to speak no word after we reached the marshes. When we were all out in
+the raw air and were steadily moving towards our business, I treasonably
+whispered to Joe, “I hope, Joe, we shan’t find them.” and Joe whispered
+to me, “I’d give a shilling if they had cut and run, Pip.”
+
+We were joined by no stragglers from the village, for the weather was
+cold and threatening, the way dreary, the footing bad, darkness coming
+on, and the people had good fires in-doors and were keeping the day. A
+few faces hurried to glowing windows and looked after us, but none came
+out. We passed the finger-post, and held straight on to the churchyard.
+There we were stopped a few minutes by a signal from the sergeant’s
+hand, while two or three of his men dispersed themselves among the
+graves, and also examined the porch. They came in again without finding
+anything, and then we struck out on the open marshes, through the gate
+at the side of the churchyard. A bitter sleet came rattling against us
+here on the east wind, and Joe took me on his back.
+
+Now that we were out upon the dismal wilderness where they little
+thought I had been within eight or nine hours and had seen both men
+hiding, I considered for the first time, with great dread, if we should
+come upon them, would my particular convict suppose that it was I who
+had brought the soldiers there? He had asked me if I was a deceiving
+imp, and he had said I should be a fierce young hound if I joined the
+hunt against him. Would he believe that I was both imp and hound in
+treacherous earnest, and had betrayed him?
+
+It was of no use asking myself this question now. There I was, on Joe’s
+back, and there was Joe beneath me, charging at the ditches like a
+hunter, and stimulating Mr. Wopsle not to tumble on his Roman nose, and
+to keep up with us. The soldiers were in front of us, extending into a
+pretty wide line with an interval between man and man. We were taking
+the course I had begun with, and from which I had diverged in the mist.
+Either the mist was not out again yet, or the wind had dispelled it.
+Under the low red glare of sunset, the beacon, and the gibbet, and the
+mound of the Battery, and the opposite shore of the river, were plain,
+though all of a watery lead color.
+
+With my heart thumping like a blacksmith at Joe’s broad shoulder, I
+looked all about for any sign of the convicts. I could see none, I could
+hear none. Mr. Wopsle had greatly alarmed me more than once, by his
+blowing and hard breathing; but I knew the sounds by this time, and
+could dissociate them from the object of pursuit. I got a dreadful
+start, when I thought I heard the file still going; but it was only a
+sheep-bell. The sheep stopped in their eating and looked timidly at
+us; and the cattle, their heads turned from the wind and sleet, stared
+angrily as if they held us responsible for both annoyances; but, except
+these things, and the shudder of the dying day in every blade of grass,
+there was no break in the bleak stillness of the marshes.
+
+The soldiers were moving on in the direction of the old Battery, and we
+were moving on a little way behind them, when, all of a sudden, we all
+stopped. For there had reached us on the wings of the wind and rain, a
+long shout. It was repeated. It was at a distance towards the east, but
+it was long and loud. Nay, there seemed to be two or more shouts raised
+together,--if one might judge from a confusion in the sound.
+
+To this effect the sergeant and the nearest men were speaking under
+their breath, when Joe and I came up. After another moment’s listening,
+Joe (who was a good judge) agreed, and Mr. Wopsle (who was a bad judge)
+agreed. The sergeant, a decisive man, ordered that the sound should not
+be answered, but that the course should be changed, and that his men
+should make towards it “at the double.” So we slanted to the right
+(where the East was), and Joe pounded away so wonderfully, that I had to
+hold on tight to keep my seat.
+
+It was a run indeed now, and what Joe called, in the only two words he
+spoke all the time, “a Winder.” Down banks and up banks, and over gates,
+and splashing into dikes, and breaking among coarse rushes: no man cared
+where he went. As we came nearer to the shouting, it became more and
+more apparent that it was made by more than one voice. Sometimes, it
+seemed to stop altogether, and then the soldiers stopped. When it broke
+out again, the soldiers made for it at a greater rate than ever, and we
+after them. After a while, we had so run it down, that we could hear one
+voice calling “Murder!” and another voice, “Convicts! Runaways! Guard!
+This way for the runaway convicts!” Then both voices would seem to be
+stifled in a struggle, and then would break out again. And when it had
+come to this, the soldiers ran like deer, and Joe too.
+
+The sergeant ran in first, when we had run the noise quite down, and two
+of his men ran in close upon him. Their pieces were cocked and levelled
+when we all ran in.
+
+“Here are both men!” panted the sergeant, struggling at the bottom of a
+ditch. “Surrender, you two! and confound you for two wild beasts! Come
+asunder!”
+
+Water was splashing, and mud was flying, and oaths were being sworn, and
+blows were being struck, when some more men went down into the ditch to
+help the sergeant, and dragged out, separately, my convict and the other
+one. Both were bleeding and panting and execrating and struggling; but
+of course I knew them both directly.
+
+“Mind!” said my convict, wiping blood from his face with his ragged
+sleeves, and shaking torn hair from his fingers: “I took him! I give him
+up to you! Mind that!”
+
+“It’s not much to be particular about,” said the sergeant; “it’ll do you
+small good, my man, being in the same plight yourself. Handcuffs there!”
+
+“I don’t expect it to do me any good. I don’t want it to do me more good
+than it does now,” said my convict, with a greedy laugh. “I took him. He
+knows it. That’s enough for me.”
+
+The other convict was livid to look at, and, in addition to the old
+bruised left side of his face, seemed to be bruised and torn all over.
+He could not so much as get his breath to speak, until they were both
+separately handcuffed, but leaned upon a soldier to keep himself from
+falling.
+
+“Take notice, guard,--he tried to murder me,” were his first words.
+
+“Tried to murder him?” said my convict, disdainfully. “Try, and not
+do it? I took him, and giv’ him up; that’s what I done. I not only
+prevented him getting off the marshes, but I dragged him here,--dragged
+him this far on his way back. He’s a gentleman, if you please, this
+villain. Now, the Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me. Murder
+him? Worth my while, too, to murder him, when I could do worse and drag
+him back!”
+
+The other one still gasped, “He tried--he tried-to--murder me.
+Bear--bear witness.”
+
+“Lookee here!” said my convict to the sergeant. “Single-handed I got
+clear of the prison-ship; I made a dash and I done it. I could ha’ got
+clear of these death-cold flats likewise--look at my leg: you won’t find
+much iron on it--if I hadn’t made the discovery that he was here. Let
+him go free? Let him profit by the means as I found out? Let him make a
+tool of me afresh and again? Once more? No, no, no. If I had died at
+the bottom there,” and he made an emphatic swing at the ditch with his
+manacled hands, “I’d have held to him with that grip, that you should
+have been safe to find him in my hold.”
+
+The other fugitive, who was evidently in extreme horror of his
+companion, repeated, “He tried to murder me. I should have been a dead
+man if you had not come up.”
+
+“He lies!” said my convict, with fierce energy. “He’s a liar born, and
+he’ll die a liar. Look at his face; ain’t it written there? Let him turn
+those eyes of his on me. I defy him to do it.”
+
+The other, with an effort at a scornful smile, which could not, however,
+collect the nervous working of his mouth into any set expression, looked
+at the soldiers, and looked about at the marshes and at the sky, but
+certainly did not look at the speaker.
+
+“Do you see him?” pursued my convict. “Do you see what a villain he is?
+Do you see those grovelling and wandering eyes? That’s how he looked
+when we were tried together. He never looked at me.”
+
+The other, always working and working his dry lips and turning his eyes
+restlessly about him far and near, did at last turn them for a moment on
+the speaker, with the words, “You are not much to look at,” and with
+a half-taunting glance at the bound hands. At that point, my convict
+became so frantically exasperated, that he would have rushed upon him
+but for the interposition of the soldiers. “Didn’t I tell you,” said the
+other convict then, “that he would murder me, if he could?” And any one
+could see that he shook with fear, and that there broke out upon his
+lips curious white flakes, like thin snow.
+
+“Enough of this parley,” said the sergeant. “Light those torches.”
+
+As one of the soldiers, who carried a basket in lieu of a gun, went down
+on his knee to open it, my convict looked round him for the first time,
+and saw me. I had alighted from Joe’s back on the brink of the ditch
+when we came up, and had not moved since. I looked at him eagerly when
+he looked at me, and slightly moved my hands and shook my head. I had
+been waiting for him to see me that I might try to assure him of my
+innocence. It was not at all expressed to me that he even comprehended
+my intention, for he gave me a look that I did not understand, and it
+all passed in a moment. But if he had looked at me for an hour or for
+a day, I could not have remembered his face ever afterwards, as having
+been more attentive.
+
+The soldier with the basket soon got a light, and lighted three or four
+torches, and took one himself and distributed the others. It had been
+almost dark before, but now it seemed quite dark, and soon afterwards
+very dark. Before we departed from that spot, four soldiers standing in
+a ring, fired twice into the air. Presently we saw other torches kindled
+at some distance behind us, and others on the marshes on the opposite
+bank of the river. “All right,” said the sergeant. “March.”
+
+We had not gone far when three cannon were fired ahead of us with a
+sound that seemed to burst something inside my ear. “You are expected
+on board,” said the sergeant to my convict; “they know you are coming.
+Don’t straggle, my man. Close up here.”
+
+The two were kept apart, and each walked surrounded by a separate guard.
+I had hold of Joe’s hand now, and Joe carried one of the torches. Mr.
+Wopsle had been for going back, but Joe was resolved to see it out, so
+we went on with the party. There was a reasonably good path now, mostly
+on the edge of the river, with a divergence here and there where a dike
+came, with a miniature windmill on it and a muddy sluice-gate. When
+I looked round, I could see the other lights coming in after us. The
+torches we carried dropped great blotches of fire upon the track, and
+I could see those, too, lying smoking and flaring. I could see nothing
+else but black darkness. Our lights warmed the air about us with their
+pitchy blaze, and the two prisoners seemed rather to like that, as they
+limped along in the midst of the muskets. We could not go fast, because
+of their lameness; and they were so spent, that two or three times we
+had to halt while they rested.
+
+After an hour or so of this travelling, we came to a rough wooden hut
+and a landing-place. There was a guard in the hut, and they challenged,
+and the sergeant answered. Then, we went into the hut, where there was
+a smell of tobacco and whitewash, and a bright fire, and a lamp, and
+a stand of muskets, and a drum, and a low wooden bedstead, like an
+overgrown mangle without the machinery, capable of holding about a dozen
+soldiers all at once. Three or four soldiers who lay upon it in their
+great-coats were not much interested in us, but just lifted their heads
+and took a sleepy stare, and then lay down again. The sergeant made some
+kind of report, and some entry in a book, and then the convict whom I
+call the other convict was drafted off with his guard, to go on board
+first.
+
+My convict never looked at me, except that once. While we stood in the
+hut, he stood before the fire looking thoughtfully at it, or putting up
+his feet by turns upon the hob, and looking thoughtfully at them as if
+he pitied them for their recent adventures. Suddenly, he turned to the
+sergeant, and remarked,--
+
+“I wish to say something respecting this escape. It may prevent some
+persons laying under suspicion alonger me.”
+
+“You can say what you like,” returned the sergeant, standing coolly
+looking at him with his arms folded, “but you have no call to say it
+here. You’ll have opportunity enough to say about it, and hear about it,
+before it’s done with, you know.”
+
+“I know, but this is another pint, a separate matter. A man can’t
+starve; at least I can’t. I took some wittles, up at the willage over
+yonder,--where the church stands a’most out on the marshes.”
+
+“You mean stole,” said the sergeant.
+
+“And I’ll tell you where from. From the blacksmith’s.”
+
+“Halloa!” said the sergeant, staring at Joe.
+
+“Halloa, Pip!” said Joe, staring at me.
+
+“It was some broken wittles--that’s what it was--and a dram of liquor,
+and a pie.”
+
+“Have you happened to miss such an article as a pie, blacksmith?” asked
+the sergeant, confidentially.
+
+“My wife did, at the very moment when you came in. Don’t you know, Pip?”
+
+“So,” said my convict, turning his eyes on Joe in a moody manner, and
+without the least glance at me,--“so you’re the blacksmith, are you?
+Than I’m sorry to say, I’ve eat your pie.”
+
+“God knows you’re welcome to it,--so far as it was ever mine,” returned
+Joe, with a saving remembrance of Mrs. Joe. “We don’t know what you have
+done, but we wouldn’t have you starved to death for it, poor miserable
+fellow-creatur.--Would us, Pip?”
+
+The something that I had noticed before, clicked in the man’s throat
+again, and he turned his back. The boat had returned, and his guard were
+ready, so we followed him to the landing-place made of rough stakes
+and stones, and saw him put into the boat, which was rowed by a crew of
+convicts like himself. No one seemed surprised to see him, or interested
+in seeing him, or glad to see him, or sorry to see him, or spoke a word,
+except that somebody in the boat growled as if to dogs, “Give way,
+you!” which was the signal for the dip of the oars. By the light of the
+torches, we saw the black Hulk lying out a little way from the mud of
+the shore, like a wicked Noah’s ark. Cribbed and barred and moored by
+massive rusty chains, the prison-ship seemed in my young eyes to be
+ironed like the prisoners. We saw the boat go alongside, and we saw
+him taken up the side and disappear. Then, the ends of the torches were
+flung hissing into the water, and went out, as if it were all over with
+him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI
+
+My state of mind regarding the pilfering from which I had been so
+unexpectedly exonerated did not impel me to frank disclosure; but I hope
+it had some dregs of good at the bottom of it.
+
+I do not recall that I felt any tenderness of conscience in reference
+to Mrs. Joe, when the fear of being found out was lifted off me. But
+I loved Joe,--perhaps for no better reason in those early days than
+because the dear fellow let me love him,--and, as to him, my inner self
+was not so easily composed. It was much upon my mind (particularly when
+I first saw him looking about for his file) that I ought to tell Joe the
+whole truth. Yet I did not, and for the reason that I mistrusted that
+if I did, he would think me worse than I was. The fear of losing Joe’s
+confidence, and of thenceforth sitting in the chimney corner at night
+staring drearily at my forever lost companion and friend, tied up my
+tongue. I morbidly represented to myself that if Joe knew it, I never
+afterwards could see him at the fireside feeling his fair whisker,
+without thinking that he was meditating on it. That, if Joe knew it, I
+never afterwards could see him glance, however casually, at yesterday’s
+meat or pudding when it came on to-day’s table, without thinking that he
+was debating whether I had been in the pantry. That, if Joe knew it, and
+at any subsequent period of our joint domestic life remarked that his
+beer was flat or thick, the conviction that he suspected tar in it,
+would bring a rush of blood to my face. In a word, I was too cowardly
+to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing
+what I knew to be wrong. I had had no intercourse with the world at
+that time, and I imitated none of its many inhabitants who act in this
+manner. Quite an untaught genius, I made the discovery of the line of
+action for myself.
+
+As I was sleepy before we were far away from the prison-ship, Joe took
+me on his back again and carried me home. He must have had a tiresome
+journey of it, for Mr. Wopsle, being knocked up, was in such a very bad
+temper that if the Church had been thrown open, he would probably have
+excommunicated the whole expedition, beginning with Joe and myself. In
+his lay capacity, he persisted in sitting down in the damp to such
+an insane extent, that when his coat was taken off to be dried at the
+kitchen fire, the circumstantial evidence on his trousers would have
+hanged him, if it had been a capital offence.
+
+By that time, I was staggering on the kitchen floor like a little
+drunkard, through having been newly set upon my feet, and through having
+been fast asleep, and through waking in the heat and lights and noise of
+tongues. As I came to myself (with the aid of a heavy thump between the
+shoulders, and the restorative exclamation “Yah! Was there ever such
+a boy as this!” from my sister,) I found Joe telling them about the
+convict’s confession, and all the visitors suggesting different ways
+by which he had got into the pantry. Mr. Pumblechook made out, after
+carefully surveying the premises, that he had first got upon the roof of
+the forge, and had then got upon the roof of the house, and had then let
+himself down the kitchen chimney by a rope made of his bedding cut
+into strips; and as Mr. Pumblechook was very positive and drove his
+own chaise-cart--over everybody--it was agreed that it must be so. Mr.
+Wopsle, indeed, wildly cried out, “No!” with the feeble malice of a
+tired man; but, as he had no theory, and no coat on, he was unanimously
+set at naught,--not to mention his smoking hard behind, as he stood
+with his back to the kitchen fire to draw the damp out: which was not
+calculated to inspire confidence.
+
+This was all I heard that night before my sister clutched me, as a
+slumberous offence to the company’s eyesight, and assisted me up to bed
+with such a strong hand that I seemed to have fifty boots on, and to be
+dangling them all against the edges of the stairs. My state of mind, as
+I have described it, began before I was up in the morning, and lasted
+long after the subject had died out, and had ceased to be mentioned
+saving on exceptional occasions.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII
+
+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 neighbor happened to want an extra boy to frighten
+birds, or pick up stones, or do any such job, I was favored 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,
+into 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 two pence per week each, for the improving
+opportunity of seeing her do it. She rented a small cottage, and Mr.
+Wopsle had the room upstairs, 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 transactions.
+Biddy was Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt’s granddaughter; I confess myself
+quite 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 full 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 KRWITE 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 all 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 slow, 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 uncommon 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, 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 wigor only
+to be equalled by the wigor with which he didn’t hammer at his
+anwil.--You’re a 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 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 kep 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 heart.”
+
+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 opinion 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 favor
+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 of 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, “candor 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 in to 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 expected, and completely
+stopped me by arguing circularly, and answering with a fixed look,
+“Her.”
+
+“And I ain’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 serious 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 forefoot 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 it 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 ain’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 Pompeyed. But
+I have my fears.”
+
+“She ain’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 afire?”
+
+“--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 forever grateful to all friends, but
+especially unto them which brought you up by hand!”
+
+“Good-bye, Joe!”
+
+“God bless you, Pip, old chap!”
+
+I had never parted from him before, and what with my feelings and what
+with soapsuds, 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.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII
+
+Mr. Pumblechook’s premises in the High Street of the market town,
+were of a peppercorny and farinaceous character, as the premises of a
+cornchandler and seedsman should be. It appeared to me that he must be a
+very happy man indeed, to have so many little drawers in his shop; and
+I wondered when I peeped into one or two on the lower tiers, and saw the
+tied-up brown paper packets inside, whether the flower-seeds and bulbs
+ever wanted of a fine day to break out of those jails, and bloom.
+
+It was in the early morning after my arrival that I entertained this
+speculation. On the previous night, I had been sent straight to bed in
+an attic with a sloping roof, which was so low in the corner where the
+bedstead was, that I calculated the tiles as being within a foot of my
+eyebrows. In the same early morning, I discovered a singular affinity
+between seeds and corduroys. Mr. Pumblechook wore corduroys, and so did
+his shopman; and somehow, there was a general air and flavor about the
+corduroys, so much in the nature of seeds, and a general air and flavor
+about the seeds, so much in the nature of corduroys, that I hardly knew
+which was which. The same opportunity served me for noticing that Mr.
+Pumblechook appeared to conduct his business by looking across the
+street at the saddler, who appeared to transact his business by keeping
+his eye on the coachmaker, who appeared to get on in life by putting his
+hands in his pockets and contemplating the baker, who in his turn folded
+his arms and stared at the grocer, who stood at his door and yawned at
+the chemist. The watchmaker, always poring over a little desk with
+a magnifying-glass at his eye, and always inspected by a group of
+smock-frocks poring over him through the glass of his shop-window,
+seemed to be about the only person in the High Street whose trade
+engaged his attention.
+
+Mr. Pumblechook and I breakfasted at eight o’clock in the parlor behind
+the shop, while the shopman took his mug of tea and hunch of bread
+and butter on a sack of peas in the front premises. I considered Mr.
+Pumblechook wretched company. Besides being possessed by my sister’s
+idea that a mortifying and penitential character ought to be imparted
+to my diet,--besides giving me as much crumb as possible in combination
+with as little butter, and putting such a quantity of warm water into
+my milk that it would have been more candid to have left the milk out
+altogether,--his conversation consisted of nothing but arithmetic. On
+my politely bidding him Good morning, he said, pompously, “Seven times
+nine, boy?” And how should I be able to answer, dodged in that way, in
+a strange place, on an empty stomach! I was hungry, but before I had
+swallowed a morsel, he began a running sum that lasted all through the
+breakfast. “Seven?” “And four?” “And eight?” “And six?” “And two?” “And
+ten?” And so on. And after each figure was disposed of, it was as much
+as I could do to get a bite or a sup, before the next came; while he sat
+at his ease guessing nothing, and eating bacon and hot roll, in (if I
+may be allowed the expression) a gorging and gormandizing manner.
+
+For such reasons, I was very glad when ten o’clock came and we started
+for Miss Havisham’s; though I was not at all at my ease regarding the
+manner in which I should acquit myself under that lady’s roof. Within
+a quarter of an hour we came to Miss Havisham’s house, which was of old
+brick, and dismal, and had a great many iron bars to it. Some of the
+windows had been walled up; of those that remained, all the lower were
+rustily barred. There was a courtyard in front, and that was barred; so
+we had to wait, after ringing the bell, until some one should come
+to open it. While we waited at the gate, I peeped in (even then Mr.
+Pumblechook said, “And fourteen?” but I pretended not to hear him), and
+saw that at the side of the house there was a large brewery. No brewing
+was going on in it, and none seemed to have gone on for a long long
+time.
+
+A window was raised, and a clear voice demanded “What name?” To which my
+conductor replied, “Pumblechook.” The voice returned, “Quite right,” and
+the window was shut again, and a young lady came across the court-yard,
+with keys in her hand.
+
+“This,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “is Pip.”
+
+“This is Pip, is it?” returned the young lady, who was very pretty and
+seemed very proud; “come in, Pip.”
+
+Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, when she stopped him with the gate.
+
+“Oh!” she said. “Did you wish to see Miss Havisham?”
+
+“If Miss Havisham wished to see me,” returned Mr. Pumblechook,
+discomfited.
+
+“Ah!” said the girl; “but you see she don’t.”
+
+She said it so finally, and in such an undiscussible way, that Mr.
+Pumblechook, though in a condition of ruffled dignity, could not
+protest. But he eyed me severely,--as if I had done anything to
+him!--and departed with the words reproachfully delivered: “Boy! Let
+your behavior here be a credit unto them which brought you up by hand!”
+ I was not free from apprehension that he would come back to propound
+through the gate, “And sixteen?” But he didn’t.
+
+My young conductress locked the gate, and we went across the courtyard.
+It was paved and clean, but grass was growing in every crevice. The
+brewery buildings had a little lane of communication with it, and the
+wooden gates of that lane stood open, and all the brewery beyond stood
+open, away to the high enclosing wall; and all was empty and disused.
+The cold wind seemed to blow colder there than outside the gate; and
+it made a shrill noise in howling in and out at the open sides of the
+brewery, like the noise of wind in the rigging of a ship at sea.
+
+She saw me looking at it, and she said, “You could drink without hurt
+all the strong beer that’s brewed there now, boy.”
+
+“I should think I could, miss,” said I, in a shy way.
+
+“Better not try to brew beer there now, or it would turn out sour, boy;
+don’t you think so?”
+
+“It looks like it, miss.”
+
+“Not that anybody means to try,” she added, “for that’s all done with,
+and the place will stand as idle as it is till it falls. As to strong
+beer, there’s enough of it in the cellars already, to drown the Manor
+House.”
+
+“Is that the name of this house, miss?”
+
+“One of its names, boy.”
+
+“It has more than one, then, miss?”
+
+“One more. Its other name was Satis; which is Greek, or Latin, or
+Hebrew, or all three--or all one to me--for enough.”
+
+“Enough House,” said I; “that’s a curious name, miss.”
+
+“Yes,” she replied; “but it meant more than it said. It meant, when it
+was given, that whoever had this house could want nothing else. They
+must have been easily satisfied in those days, I should think. But don’t
+loiter, boy.”
+
+Though she called me “boy” so often, and with a carelessness that was
+far from complimentary, she was of about my own age. She seemed much
+older than I, of course, being a girl, and beautiful and self-possessed;
+and she was as scornful of me as if she had been one-and-twenty, and a
+queen.
+
+We went into the house by a side door, the great front entrance had two
+chains across it outside,--and the first thing I noticed was, that the
+passages were all dark, and that she had left a candle burning there.
+She took it up, and we went through more passages and up a staircase,
+and still it was all dark, and only the candle lighted us.
+
+At last we came to the door of a room, and she said, “Go in.”
+
+I answered, more in shyness than politeness, “After you, miss.”
+
+To this she returned: “Don’t be ridiculous, boy; I am not going in.” And
+scornfully walked away, and--what was worse--took the candle with her.
+
+This was very uncomfortable, and I was half afraid. However, the only
+thing to be done being to knock at the door, I knocked, and was told
+from within to enter. I entered, therefore, and found myself in a pretty
+large room, well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight was to
+be seen in it. It was a dressing-room, as I supposed from the furniture,
+though much of it was of forms and uses then quite unknown to me. But
+prominent in it was a draped table with a gilded looking-glass, and that
+I made out at first sight to be a fine lady’s dressing-table.
+
+Whether I should have made out this object so soon if there had been no
+fine lady sitting at it, I cannot say. In an arm-chair, with an
+elbow resting on the table and her head leaning on that hand, sat the
+strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.
+
+She was dressed in rich materials,--satins, and lace, and silks,--all
+of white. Her shoes were white. And she had a long white veil dependent
+from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was
+white. Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands, and
+some other jewels lay sparkling on the table. Dresses, less splendid
+than the dress she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered about.
+She had not quite finished dressing, for she had but one shoe on,--the
+other was on the table near her hand,--her veil was but half arranged,
+her watch and chain were not put on, and some lace for her bosom lay
+with those trinkets, and with her handkerchief, and gloves, and
+some flowers, and a Prayer-Book all confusedly heaped about the
+looking-glass.
+
+It was not in the first few moments that I saw all these things, though
+I saw more of them in the first moments than might be supposed. But I
+saw that everything within my view which ought to be white, had been
+white long ago, and had lost its lustre and was faded and yellow. I saw
+that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress, and
+like the flowers, and had no brightness left but the brightness of her
+sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been put upon the rounded figure
+of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it now hung loose had
+shrunk to skin and bone. Once, I had been taken to see some ghastly
+waxwork at the Fair, representing I know not what impossible personage
+lying in state. Once, I had been taken to one of our old marsh churches
+to see a skeleton in the ashes of a rich dress that had been dug out of
+a vault under the church pavement. Now, waxwork and skeleton seemed to
+have dark eyes that moved and looked at me. I should have cried out, if
+I could.
+
+“Who is it?” said the lady at the table.
+
+“Pip, ma’am.”
+
+“Pip?”
+
+“Mr. Pumblechook’s boy, ma’am. Come--to play.”
+
+“Come nearer; let me look at you. Come close.”
+
+It was when I stood before her, avoiding her eyes, that I took note of
+the surrounding objects in detail, and saw that her watch had stopped
+at twenty minutes to nine, and that a clock in the room had stopped at
+twenty minutes to nine.
+
+“Look at me,” said Miss Havisham. “You are not afraid of a woman who has
+never seen the sun since you were born?”
+
+I regret to state that I was not afraid of telling the enormous lie
+comprehended in the answer “No.”
+
+“Do you know what I touch here?” she said, laying her hands, one upon
+the other, on her left side.
+
+“Yes, ma’am.” (It made me think of the young man.)
+
+“What do I touch?”
+
+“Your heart.”
+
+“Broken!”
+
+She uttered the word with an eager look, and with strong emphasis, and
+with a weird smile that had a kind of boast in it. Afterwards she kept
+her hands there for a little while, and slowly took them away as if they
+were heavy.
+
+“I am tired,” said Miss Havisham. “I want diversion, and I have done
+with men and women. Play.”
+
+I think it will be conceded by my most disputatious reader, that she
+could hardly have directed an unfortunate boy to do anything in the wide
+world more difficult to be done under the circumstances.
+
+“I sometimes have sick fancies,” she went on, “and I have a sick fancy
+that I want to see some play. There, there!” with an impatient movement
+of the fingers of her right hand; “play, play, play!”
+
+For a moment, with the fear of my sister’s working me before my eyes, I
+had a desperate idea of starting round the room in the assumed character
+of Mr. Pumblechook’s chaise-cart. But I felt myself so unequal to the
+performance that I gave it up, and stood looking at Miss Havisham in
+what I suppose she took for a dogged manner, inasmuch as she said, when
+we had taken a good look at each other,--
+
+“Are you sullen and obstinate?”
+
+“No, ma’am, I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can’t play just
+now. If you complain of me I shall get into trouble with my sister, so
+I would do it if I could; but it’s so new here, and so strange, and so
+fine,--and melancholy--.” I stopped, fearing I might say too much, or
+had already said it, and we took another look at each other.
+
+Before she spoke again, she turned her eyes from me, and looked at the
+dress she wore, and at the dressing-table, and finally at herself in the
+looking-glass.
+
+“So new to him,” she muttered, “so old to me; so strange to him, so
+familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us! Call Estella.”
+
+As she was still looking at the reflection of herself, I thought she was
+still talking to herself, and kept quiet.
+
+“Call Estella,” she repeated, flashing a look at me. “You can do that.
+Call Estella. At the door.”
+
+To stand in the dark in a mysterious passage of an unknown house,
+bawling Estella to a scornful young lady neither visible nor responsive,
+and feeling it a dreadful liberty so to roar out her name, was almost
+as bad as playing to order. But she answered at last, and her light came
+along the dark passage like a star.
+
+Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close, and took up a jewel from the
+table, and tried its effect upon her fair young bosom and against her
+pretty brown hair. “Your own, one day, my dear, and you will use it
+well. Let me see you play cards with this boy.”
+
+“With this boy? Why, he is a common laboring boy!”
+
+I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer,--only it seemed so
+unlikely,--“Well? You can break his heart.”
+
+“What do you play, boy?” asked Estella of myself, with the greatest
+disdain.
+
+“Nothing but beggar my neighbor, miss.”
+
+“Beggar him,” said Miss Havisham to Estella. So we sat down to cards.
+
+It was then I began to understand that everything in the room had
+stopped, like the watch and the clock, a long time ago. I noticed that
+Miss Havisham put down the jewel exactly on the spot from which she had
+taken it up. As Estella dealt the cards, I glanced at the dressing-table
+again, and saw that the shoe upon it, once white, now yellow, had never
+been worn. I glanced down at the foot from which the shoe was absent,
+and saw that the silk stocking on it, once white, now yellow, had been
+trodden ragged. Without this arrest of everything, this standing still
+of all the pale decayed objects, not even the withered bridal dress on
+the collapsed form could have looked so like grave-clothes, or the long
+veil so like a shroud.
+
+So she sat, corpse-like, as we played at cards; the frillings and
+trimmings on her bridal dress, looking like earthy paper. I knew nothing
+then of the discoveries that are occasionally made of bodies buried in
+ancient times, which fall to powder in the moment of being distinctly
+seen; but, I have often thought since, that she must have looked as if
+the admission of the natural light of day would have struck her to dust.
+
+“He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy!” said Estella with disdain, before
+our first game was out. “And what coarse hands he has! And what thick
+boots!”
+
+I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before; but I began
+to consider them a very indifferent pair. Her contempt for me was so
+strong, that it became infectious, and I caught it.
+
+She won the game, and I dealt. I misdealt, as was only natural, when I
+knew she was lying in wait for me to do wrong; and she denounced me for
+a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy.
+
+“You say nothing of her,” remarked Miss Havisham to me, as she looked
+on. “She says many hard things of you, but you say nothing of her. What
+do you think of her?”
+
+“I don’t like to say,” I stammered.
+
+“Tell me in my ear,” said Miss Havisham, bending down.
+
+“I think she is very proud,” I replied, in a whisper.
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“I think she is very pretty.”
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“I think she is very insulting.” (She was looking at me then with a look
+of supreme aversion.)
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“I think I should like to go home.”
+
+“And never see her again, though she is so pretty?”
+
+“I am not sure that I shouldn’t like to see her again, but I should like
+to go home now.”
+
+“You shall go soon,” said Miss Havisham, aloud. “Play the game out.”
+
+Saving for the one weird smile at first, I should have felt almost
+sure that Miss Havisham’s face could not smile. It had dropped into a
+watchful and brooding expression,--most likely when all the things about
+her had become transfixed,--and it looked as if nothing could ever lift
+it up again. Her chest had dropped, so that she stooped; and her voice
+had dropped, so that she spoke low, and with a dead lull upon her;
+altogether, she had the appearance of having dropped body and soul,
+within and without, under the weight of a crushing blow.
+
+I played the game to an end with Estella, and she beggared me. She
+threw the cards down on the table when she had won them all, as if she
+despised them for having been won of me.
+
+“When shall I have you here again?” said Miss Havisham. “Let me think.”
+
+I was beginning to remind her that to-day was Wednesday, when she
+checked me with her former impatient movement of the fingers of her
+right hand.
+
+“There, there! I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing of
+weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am.”
+
+“Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat, and let him roam
+and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip.”
+
+I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up, and she
+stood it in the place where we had found it. Until she opened the
+side entrance, I had fancied, without thinking about it, that it must
+necessarily be night-time. The rush of the daylight quite confounded me,
+and made me feel as if I had been in the candlelight of the strange room
+many hours.
+
+“You are to wait here, you boy,” said Estella; and disappeared and
+closed the door.
+
+I took the opportunity of being alone in the courtyard to look at my
+coarse hands and my common boots. My opinion of those accessories was
+not favorable. They had never troubled me before, but they troubled
+me now, as vulgar appendages. I determined to ask Joe why he had ever
+taught me to call those picture-cards Jacks, which ought to be called
+knaves. I wished Joe had been rather more genteelly brought up, and then
+I should have been so too.
+
+She came back, with some bread and meat and a little mug of beer. She
+put the mug down on the stones of the yard, and gave me the bread
+and meat without looking at me, as insolently as if I were a dog in
+disgrace. I was so humiliated, hurt, spurned, offended, angry, sorry,--I
+cannot hit upon the right name for the smart--God knows what its name
+was,--that tears started to my eyes. The moment they sprang there, the
+girl looked at me with a quick delight in having been the cause of them.
+This gave me power to keep them back and to look at her: so, she gave a
+contemptuous toss--but with a sense, I thought, of having made too sure
+that I was so wounded--and left me.
+
+But when she was gone, I looked about me for a place to hide my face
+in, and got behind one of the gates in the brewery-lane, and leaned my
+sleeve against the wall there, and leaned my forehead on it and cried.
+As I cried, I kicked the wall, and took a hard twist at my hair; so
+bitter were my feelings, and so sharp was the smart without a name, that
+needed counteraction.
+
+My sister’s bringing up had made me sensitive. In the little world in
+which children have their existence whosoever brings them up, there is
+nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt as injustice. It may be
+only small injustice that the child can be exposed to; but the child
+is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many
+hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter. Within
+myself, I had sustained, from my babyhood, a perpetual conflict with
+injustice. I had known, from the time when I could speak, that my
+sister, in her capricious and violent coercion, was unjust to me. I had
+cherished a profound conviction that her bringing me up by hand gave her
+no right to bring me up by jerks. Through all my punishments, disgraces,
+fasts, and vigils, and other penitential performances, I had nursed
+this assurance; and to my communing so much with it, in a solitary and
+unprotected way, I in great part refer the fact that I was morally timid
+and very sensitive.
+
+I got rid of my injured feelings for the time by kicking them into the
+brewery wall, and twisting them out of my hair, and then I smoothed my
+face with my sleeve, and came from behind the gate. The bread and meat
+were acceptable, and the beer was warming and tingling, and I was soon
+in spirits to look about me.
+
+To be sure, it was a deserted place, down to the pigeon-house in the
+brewery-yard, which had been blown crooked on its pole by some high
+wind, and would have made the pigeons think themselves at sea, if there
+had been any pigeons there to be rocked by it. But there were no pigeons
+in the dove-cot, no horses in the stable, no pigs in the sty, no malt in
+the storehouse, no smells of grains and beer in the copper or the vat.
+All the uses and scents of the brewery might have evaporated with its
+last reek of smoke. In a by-yard, there was a wilderness of empty casks,
+which had a certain sour remembrance of better days lingering about
+them; but it was too sour to be accepted as a sample of the beer that
+was gone,--and in this respect I remember those recluses as being like
+most others.
+
+Behind the furthest end of the brewery, was a rank garden with an old
+wall; not so high but that I could struggle up and hold on long enough
+to look over it, and see that the rank garden was the garden of the
+house, and that it was overgrown with tangled weeds, but that there was
+a track upon the green and yellow paths, as if some one sometimes walked
+there, and that Estella was walking away from me even then. But she
+seemed to be everywhere. For when I yielded to the temptation presented
+by the casks, and began to walk on them, I saw her walking on them at
+the end of the yard of casks. She had her back towards me, and held her
+pretty brown hair spread out in her two hands, and never looked round,
+and passed out of my view directly. So, in the brewery itself,--by which
+I mean the large paved lofty place in which they used to make the beer,
+and where the brewing utensils still were. When I first went into it,
+and, rather oppressed by its gloom, stood near the door looking about
+me, I saw her pass among the extinguished fires, and ascend some light
+iron stairs, and go out by a gallery high overhead, as if she were going
+out into the sky.
+
+It was in this place, and at this moment, that a strange thing happened
+to my fancy. I thought it a strange thing then, and I thought it a
+stranger thing long afterwards. I turned my eyes--a little dimmed by
+looking up at the frosty light--towards a great wooden beam in a low
+nook of the building near me on my right hand, and I saw a figure
+hanging there by the neck. A figure all in yellow white, with but
+one shoe to the feet; and it hung so, that I could see that the faded
+trimmings of the dress were like earthy paper, and that the face was
+Miss Havisham’s, with a movement going over the whole countenance as if
+she were trying to call to me. In the terror of seeing the figure,
+and in the terror of being certain that it had not been there a moment
+before, I at first ran from it, and then ran towards it. And my terror
+was greatest of all when I found no figure there.
+
+Nothing less than the frosty light of the cheerful sky, the sight of
+people passing beyond the bars of the court-yard gate, and the reviving
+influence of the rest of the bread and meat and beer, would have brought
+me round. Even with those aids, I might not have come to myself as soon
+as I did, but that I saw Estella approaching with the keys, to let
+me out. She would have some fair reason for looking down upon me, I
+thought, if she saw me frightened; and she would have no fair reason.
+
+She gave me a triumphant glance in passing me, as if she rejoiced that
+my hands were so coarse and my boots were so thick, and she opened the
+gate, and stood holding it. I was passing out without looking at her,
+when she touched me with a taunting hand.
+
+“Why don’t you cry?”
+
+“Because I don’t want to.”
+
+“You do,” said she. “You have been crying till you are half blind, and
+you are near crying again now.”
+
+She laughed contemptuously, pushed me out, and locked the gate upon me.
+I went straight to Mr. Pumblechook’s, and was immensely relieved to find
+him not at home. So, leaving word with the shopman on what day I was
+wanted at Miss Havisham’s again, I set off on the four-mile walk to
+our forge; pondering, as I went along, on all I had seen, and deeply
+revolving that I was a common laboring-boy; that my hands were coarse;
+that my boots were thick; that I had fallen into a despicable habit
+of calling knaves Jacks; that I was much more ignorant than I had
+considered myself last night, and generally that I was in a low-lived
+bad way.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX
+
+When I reached home, my sister was very curious to know all about Miss
+Havisham’s, and asked a number of questions. And I soon found myself
+getting heavily bumped from behind in the nape of the neck and the small
+of the back, and having my face ignominiously shoved against the kitchen
+wall, because I did not answer those questions at sufficient length.
+
+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,--which I consider probable, as I have no particular reason
+to suspect myself of having been a monstrosity,--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,
+and had my face shoved against the kitchen wall.
+
+The worst of it was that that bullying old Pumblechook, preyed upon by
+a devouring curiosity to be informed of all I had seen and heard, came
+gaping over in his chaise-cart at tea-time, to have the details divulged
+to him. And the mere sight of the torment, with his fishy eyes and mouth
+open, his sandy hair inquisitively on end, and his waistcoat heaving
+with windy arithmetic, made me vicious in my reticence.
+
+“Well, boy,” Uncle Pumblechook began, as soon as he was seated in the
+chair of honor 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?”
+
+Whitewash on the forehead hardens the brain into a state of obstinacy
+perhaps. Anyhow, with whitewash from the wall on my forehead, my
+obstinacy was adamantine. 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,--
+
+“First (to get our thoughts in order): Forty-three pence?”
+
+I calculated the consequences of replying “Four Hundred Pound,” and
+finding them against me, went as near the answer as I could--which was
+somewhere about eightpence off. Mr. Pumblechook then put me through my
+pence-table from “twelve pence make one shilling,” up to “forty pence
+make three and fourpence,” and then triumphantly demanded, as if he had
+done for me, “Now! How much is forty-three pence?” To which I replied,
+after a long interval of reflection, “I don’t know.” And I was so
+aggravated that I almost doubt if I did know.
+
+Mr. Pumblechook worked his head like a screw to screw it out of me,
+and said, “Is forty-three pence seven and sixpence three fardens, for
+instance?”
+
+“Yes!” said I. And although my sister instantly boxed my ears, it was
+highly gratifying to me to see that the answer spoilt his joke, and
+brought him to a dead stop.
+
+“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?”)
+
+“I am sure, uncle,” returned Mrs. Joe, “I wish you had him always; you
+know so well how to deal with him.”
+
+“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.”
+
+Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another--as they well
+might--and both repeated, “In a black velvet coach?”
+
+“Yes,” said I. “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 silver
+basket.”
+
+Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another again, in utter
+amazement. I was perfectly frantic,--a reckless witness under the
+torture,--and would have told them anything.
+
+“Where was this coach, in the name of gracious?” asked my sister.
+
+“In Miss Havisham’s room.” They stared again. “But there weren’t any
+horses to it.” I added this saving clause, in the moment of rejecting
+four richly caparisoned coursers which I had had wild thoughts of
+harnessing.
+
+“Can this be possible, uncle?” asked Mrs. Joe. “What can the boy mean?”
+
+“I’ll tell you, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “My opinion is, it’s a
+sedan-chair. She’s flighty, you know,--very flighty,--quite flighty
+enough to pass her days in a sedan-chair.”
+
+“Did you ever see her in it, uncle?” asked Mrs. Joe.
+
+“How could I,” he returned, forced to the admission, “when I never see
+her in my life? Never clapped eyes upon her!”
+
+“Goodness, uncle! And yet you have spoken to her?”
+
+“Why, don’t you know,” said Mr. Pumblechook, testily, “that when I have
+been there, I have been took up to the outside of her door, and the door
+has stood ajar, and she has spoke to me that way. Don’t say you don’t
+know that, Mum. Howsever, the boy went there to play. What did you play
+at, boy?”
+
+“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. And then we all waved our swords and hurrahed.”
+
+“Swords!” repeated my sister. “Where did you get swords from?”
+
+“Out of a cupboard,” said I. “And I saw pistols in it,--and jam,--and
+pills. And there was no daylight in the room, but it was all lighted up
+with candles.”
+
+“That’s true, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook, with a grave nod. “That’s the
+state of the case, for that much I’ve seen myself.” And then they
+both stared at me, and I, with an obtrusive show of artlessness on my
+countenance, stared at them, and plaited the right leg of my trousers
+with my right hand.
+
+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, and should have hazarded the statement
+but for my invention being divided between that phenomenon and a bear
+in the brewery. 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.
+
+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, while they sat
+debating what results would come to me from Miss Havisham’s acquaintance
+and favor. They had no doubt that Miss Havisham would “do something”
+ for me; their doubts related to the form that something would take.
+My sister stood out for “property.” Mr. Pumblechook was in favor of a
+handsome premium for binding me apprentice to some genteel trade,--say,
+the corn and seed trade, for instance. Joe fell into the deepest
+disgrace with both, for offering the bright suggestion that I might only
+be presented with one of the dogs who had fought for the veal-cutlets.
+“If a fool’s head can’t express better opinions than that,” said my
+sister, “and you have got any work to do, you had better go and do it.”
+ So he went.
+
+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 welwet co--eh?” 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! I say! Where do you expect to
+go to?”
+
+“It’s terrible, Joe; ain’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 Knaves at cards Jacks; 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 common, and that I
+knew I was common, and that I wished I was not common, 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 scholar.”
+
+“No, I am ignorant and backward, Joe.”
+
+“Why, see what a letter you wrote last night! Wrote in print even! I’ve
+seen letters--Ah! and from gentlefolks!--that I’ll swear weren’t wrote
+in print,” 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
+scholar afore you can be a oncommon one, I should hope! The king upon
+his throne, with his crown upon his ed, can’t sit and write his acts
+of Parliament in print, without having begun, when he were a unpromoted
+Prince, with the alphabet.--Ah!” added Joe, with a shake of the head
+that was full of meaning, “and begun at A too, and worked his way to Z.
+And I know what that is to do, though I can’t say I’ve exactly done it.”
+
+There was some hope in this piece of wisdom, and it rather encouraged
+me.
+
+“Whether common ones as to callings and earnings,” pursued Joe,
+reflectively, “mightn’t be the better of continuing for to keep
+company with common ones, instead of going out to play with oncommon
+ones,--which reminds me to hope that there were a flag, perhaps?”
+
+“No, Joe.”
+
+“(I’m sorry there weren’t a flag, Pip). Whether that might be or
+mightn’t be, is a thing as can’t be looked into now, without putting
+your sister on the Rampage; and that’s a thing not to be thought of as
+being done intentional. Lookee here, Pip, at what is said to you by a
+true friend. Which this to you the true friend say. If you can’t get to
+be oncommon through going straight, you’ll never get to do it through
+going crooked. So don’t tell no more on ‘em, Pip, and live well and die
+happy.”
+
+“You are not angry with me, Joe?”
+
+“No, old chap. But bearing in mind that them were which I meantersay
+of a stunning and outdacious sort,--alluding to them which bordered on
+weal-cutlets and dog-fighting,--a sincere well-wisher would adwise, Pip,
+their being dropped into your meditations, when you go upstairs to bed.
+That’s all, old chap, and don’t never do it no more.”
+
+When I got up to my little room and said my prayers, I did not forget
+Joe’s recommendation, and yet my young mind was in that disturbed and
+unthankful state, that I thought long after I laid me down, how common
+Estella would consider Joe, a mere blacksmith; how thick his boots, and
+how coarse his hands. I thought how Joe and my sister were then sitting
+in the kitchen, and how I had come up to bed from the kitchen, and how
+Miss Havisham and Estella never sat in a kitchen, but were far above the
+level of such common doings. I fell asleep recalling what I “used to
+do” when I was at Miss Havisham’s; as though I had been there weeks or
+months, instead of hours; and as though it were quite an old subject of
+remembrance, instead of one that had arisen only that day.
+
+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 X
+
+The felicitous idea occurred to me a morning or two later when I woke,
+that the best step I could take towards making myself uncommon 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.
+
+The Educational scheme or Course established by Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt
+may be resolved into the following synopsis. The pupils ate apples
+and put straws down one another’s backs, until Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt
+collected her energies, and made an indiscriminate totter at them with
+a birch-rod. After receiving the charge with every mark of derision, the
+pupils formed in line and buzzingly passed a ragged book from hand to
+hand. The book had an alphabet in it, some figures and tables, and
+a little spelling,--that is to say, it had had once. As soon as this
+volume began to circulate, Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt fell into a state of
+coma, arising either from sleep or a rheumatic paroxysm. The pupils then
+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. This mental exercise lasted until Biddy made a rush at
+them and distributed three defaced Bibles (shaped as if they had been
+unskilfully cut off the chump end of something), more illegibly printed
+at the best than any curiosities of literature I have since met with,
+speckled all over with ironmould, and having various specimens of the
+insect world smashed between their leaves. This part of the Course was
+usually lightened by several single combats between Biddy and refractory
+students. When the fights were over, Biddy gave out the number of a
+page, and then we all read aloud what we could,--or what we couldn’t--in
+a frightful chorus; Biddy leading with a high, shrill, monotonous voice,
+and none of us having the least notion of, or reverence for, what we
+were reading about. When this horrible din had lasted a certain time,
+it mechanically awoke Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt, who staggered at a boy
+fortuitously, and pulled his ears. This was understood to terminate
+the Course for the evening, and we emerged into the air with shrieks of
+intellectual victory. It is fair to remark that there was no prohibition
+against any pupil’s entertaining himself with a slate or even with the
+ink (when there was any), but that it was not easy to pursue that branch
+of study in the winter season, on account of the little general shop
+in which the classes were holden--and which was also Mr. Wopsle’s
+great-aunt’s sitting-room and bedchamber--being but faintly illuminated
+through the agency of one low-spirited dip-candle and no snuffers.
+
+It appeared to me that it would take time to become uncommon, under
+these circumstances: nevertheless, I resolved to try it, and that
+very evening Biddy entered on our special agreement, by imparting some
+information from her little catalogue of Prices, under the head of moist
+sugar, and lending me, to copy at home, a large old English D which she
+had imitated from the heading of some newspaper, and which I supposed,
+until she told me what it was, to be a design for a buckle.
+
+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 Bargemen, therefore, I directed my steps.
+
+There was a bar at the Jolly Bargemen, with some alarmingly long chalk
+scores in it on the wall at the side of the door, which seemed to me to
+be never paid off. They had been there ever since I could remember, and
+had grown more than I had. But there was a quantity of chalk about our
+country, and perhaps the people neglected no opportunity of turning it
+to account.
+
+It being Saturday night, I found the landlord looking rather grimly
+at these records; but as my business was with Joe and not with him, I
+merely wished him good evening, and passed into the common room at the
+end of the passage, where there was a bright large kitchen fire,
+and where 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.
+
+“You was saying,” said the strange man, turning to Joe, “that you was a
+blacksmith.”
+
+“Yes. I said it, you know,” said Joe.
+
+“What’ll you drink, Mr.--? You didn’t mention your name, by the bye.”
+
+Joe mentioned it now, and the strange man called him by it. “What’ll you
+drink, Mr. Gargery? At my expense? To top up with?”
+
+“Well,” said Joe, “to tell you the truth, I ain’t much in the habit of
+drinking at anybody’s expense but my own.”
+
+“Habit? No,” returned the stranger, “but once and away, and on a
+Saturday night too. Come! Put a name to it, Mr. Gargery.”
+
+“I wouldn’t wish to be stiff company,” said Joe. “Rum.”
+
+“Rum,” repeated the stranger. “And will the other gentleman originate a
+sentiment.”
+
+“Rum,” said Mr. Wopsle.
+
+“Three Rums!” cried the stranger, calling to the landlord. “Glasses
+round!”
+
+“This other gentleman,” observed Joe, by way of introducing Mr. Wopsle,
+“is a gentleman that you would like to hear give it out. Our clerk at
+church.”
+
+“Aha!” said the stranger, quickly, and cocking his eye at me. “The
+lonely church, right out on the marshes, with graves round it!”
+
+“That’s it,” said Joe.
+
+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 traveller’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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“No,” said Joe; “none but a runaway convict 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.”
+
+The stranger looked at me again,--still cocking his eye, as if he were
+expressly taking aim at me with his invisible gun,--and said, “He’s a
+likely young parcel of bones that. What is it you call him?”
+
+“Pip,” said Joe.
+
+“Christened Pip?”
+
+“No, not christened Pip.”
+
+“Surname Pip?”
+
+“No,” said Joe, “it’s a kind of family name what he gave himself when a
+infant, and is called by.”
+
+“Son of yours?”
+
+“Well,” said Joe, meditatively, not, of course, that it could be in
+anywise necessary to consider about it, but because it was the way at
+the Jolly Bargemen to seem to consider deeply about everything that was
+discussed over pipes,--“well--no. No, he ain’t.”
+
+“Nevvy?” said the strange man.
+
+“Well,” said Joe, with the same appearance of profound cogitation, “he
+is not--no, not to deceive you, he is not--my nevvy.”
+
+“What the Blue Blazes is he?” asked the stranger. Which appeared to me
+to be an inquiry of unnecessary strength.
+
+Mr. Wopsle struck in upon that; as one who knew all about relationships,
+having professional occasion to bear in mind what female relations a man
+might not marry; and expounded the ties between me and Joe. Having
+his hand in, Mr. Wopsle finished off with a most terrifically snarling
+passage from Richard the Third, and seemed to think he had done quite
+enough to account for it when he added, “--as the poet says.”
+
+And here I may remark that when Mr. Wopsle referred to me, he considered
+it a necessary part of such reference to rumple my hair and poke it into
+my eyes. I cannot conceive why everybody of his standing who visited
+at our house should always have put me through the same inflammatory
+process under similar circumstances. Yet I do not call to mind that I
+was ever in my earlier youth the subject of remark in our social family
+circle, but some large-handed person took some such ophthalmic steps to
+patronize me.
+
+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 after offering his Blue Blazes observation,
+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 a proceeding in dumb-show, and was
+pointedly addressed to me. He stirred his rum and water pointedly at me,
+and he tasted his rum and water pointedly at me. And he stirred it and
+he tasted it; not with a spoon that was brought to him, but with a file.
+
+He did this so that nobody but I saw the file; and when he had done it
+he wiped the file and put it in a breast-pocket. I knew it to be
+Joe’s file, and I knew that he knew my convict, 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.
+
+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.
+
+On the way home, if I had been in a humor for talking, the talk must
+have been all on my side, for Mr. Wopsle parted from us at the door of
+the Jolly Bargemen, and Joe went all the way home with his mouth wide
+open, to rinse the rum out with as much air as possible. But I was in
+a manner stupefied by this turning up of my old misdeed and old
+acquaintance, and could think of nothing else.
+
+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
+Bargemen 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 Bargemen 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 teapot 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
+convicts,--a feature in my low career that I had previously forgotten.
+I was haunted by the file too. A dread possessed me that when I least
+expected it, the file would reappear. I coaxed myself to sleep by
+thinking of Miss Havisham’s, next Wednesday; and in my sleep I saw
+the file coming at me out of a door, without seeing who held it, and I
+screamed myself awake.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI
+
+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 to-day,” and took me to quite another
+part of the house.
+
+The passage was a long one, and seemed to pervade the whole square
+basement of the Manor House. We traversed but one side of the square,
+however, and at the end of it she stopped, and put her candle down and
+opened a door. Here, the daylight reappeared, and I found myself in
+a small paved courtyard, the opposite side of which was formed by a
+detached dwelling-house, that looked as if it had once belonged to the
+manager or head clerk of the extinct brewery. There was a clock in the
+outer wall of this house. Like the clock in Miss Havisham’s room, and
+like Miss Havisham’s watch, it had stopped at twenty minutes to nine.
+
+We went in at the 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.
+
+It opened to the ground, and looked into a most miserable corner of the
+neglected garden, upon a rank ruin of cabbage-stalks, and one box-tree
+that had been clipped round long ago, like a pudding, and had a new
+growth at the top of it, out of shape and of a different color, as if
+that part of the pudding had stuck to the saucepan and got burnt. This
+was my homely thought, as I contemplated the box-tree. There had been
+some light snow, overnight, and it lay nowhere else to my knowledge;
+but, it had not quite melted from the cold shadow of this bit of garden,
+and the wind caught it up in little eddies and threw it at the window,
+as if it pelted me for coming there.
+
+I divined that my coming had stopped conversation in the room, and that
+its other occupants were looking at me. I could see nothing of the room
+except the shining of the fire in the window-glass, but 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, but that each of them pretended not
+to know that the others were toadies and humbugs: because the admission
+that he or she did know it, would have made him or her out to be a toady
+and humbug.
+
+They all had a listless and dreary air of waiting somebody’s pleasure,
+and the most talkative of the ladies had to speak quite rigidly to
+repress a yawn. This lady, whose name was Camilla, very much reminded
+me of my sister, with the difference that she was older, and (as I found
+when I caught sight of her) of a blunter cast of features. Indeed, when
+I knew her better I began to think it was a Mercy she had any features
+at all, so very blank and high was the dead wall of her face.
+
+“Poor dear soul!” said this lady, with an abruptness of manner quite my
+sister’s. “Nobody’s enemy but his own!”
+
+“It would be much more commendable to be somebody else’s enemy,” said
+the gentleman; “far more natural.”
+
+“Cousin Raymond,” observed another lady, “we are to love our neighbor.”
+
+“Sarah Pocket,” returned Cousin Raymond, “if a man is not his own
+neighbor, who is?”
+
+Miss Pocket laughed, and Camilla laughed and said (checking a yawn),
+“The idea!” But I thought they seemed to think it rather a good
+idea too. The other lady, who had not spoken yet, said gravely and
+emphatically, “Very true!”
+
+“Poor soul!” Camilla presently went on (I knew they had all been looking
+at me in the mean time), “he is so very strange! Would anyone believe
+that when Tom’s wife died, he actually could not be induced to see the
+importance of the children’s having the deepest of trimmings to their
+mourning? ‘Good Lord!’ says he, ‘Camilla, what can it signify so long
+as the poor bereaved little things are in black?’ So like Matthew! The
+idea!”
+
+“Good points in him, good points in him,” said Cousin Raymond; “Heaven
+forbid I should deny good points in him; but he never had, and he never
+will have, any sense of the proprieties.”
+
+“You know I was obliged,” said Camilla,--“I was obliged to be firm. I
+said, ‘It WILL NOT DO, for the credit of the family.’ I told him that,
+without deep trimmings, the family was disgraced. I cried about it from
+breakfast till dinner. I injured my digestion. And at last he flung out
+in his violent way, and said, with a D, ‘Then do as you like.’ Thank
+Goodness it will always be a consolation to me to know that I instantly
+went out in a pouring rain and bought the things.”
+
+“He paid for them, did he not?” asked Estella.
+
+“It’s not the question, my dear child, who paid for them,” returned
+Camilla. “I bought them. And I shall often think of that with peace,
+when I wake up in the night.”
+
+The ringing of a distant bell, combined with the echoing of some cry or
+call along the passage by which I had come, interrupted the conversation
+and caused Estella to say to me, “Now, boy!” On my turning round, they
+all looked at me with the utmost contempt, and, as I went out, I heard
+Sarah Pocket say, “Well I am sure! What next!” and Camilla add, with
+indignation, “Was there ever such a fancy! The i-de-a!”
+
+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 she slapped my face with
+such force as she had, when I answered it.
+
+“Now?” said she. “You little coarse monster, what do you think of me
+now?”
+
+“I shall not tell you.”
+
+“Because you are going to tell upstairs. 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 on our way upstairs 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. He was prematurely bald on the top of his head, and
+had bushy black eyebrows that wouldn’t lie down but stood up bristling.
+His eyes were set very deep in his head, and were disagreeably sharp and
+suspicious. He had a large watch-chain, and strong black dots where his
+beard and whiskers would have been if he had let them. He was nothing
+to me, and I could have had no foresight then, that he ever would be
+anything to me, but it happened that I had this opportunity of observing
+him well.
+
+“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 downstairs. I wondered whether
+he could be a doctor; but no, I thought; he couldn’t be a doctor, or he
+would have a quieter and more persuasive manner. There was not much time
+to consider the subject, for 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 cards 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. Certain wintry branches
+of candles on the high chimney-piece faintly lighted the chamber; or it
+would be more expressive to say, faintly troubled its darkness. It was
+spacious, and I dare say had once been handsome, but every discernible
+thing in it was covered with dust and mould, and dropping to pieces. The
+most prominent object was a long table with a tablecloth spread on it,
+as if a feast had been in preparation when the house and the clocks all
+stopped together. An epergne or centre-piece of some kind was in the
+middle of this cloth; it was so heavily overhung with cobwebs that its
+form was quite undistinguishable; and, as I looked along the yellow
+expanse out of which I remember its seeming to grow, like a black
+fungus, I saw speckle-legged spiders with blotchy bodies running home
+to it, and running out from it, as if some circumstances of the greatest
+public importance had just transpired in the spider community.
+
+I heard the mice too, rattling behind the panels, as if the same
+occurrence were important to their interests. But the black beetles took
+no notice of the agitation, and groped about the hearth in a ponderous
+elderly way, as if they were short-sighted and hard of hearing, and not
+on terms with one another.
+
+These crawling things had fascinated my attention, and I was watching
+them from a distance, when Miss Havisham laid a hand upon my shoulder.
+In her other hand she had a crutch-headed stick on which she leaned, and
+she looked like the Witch of the place.
+
+“This,” said she, pointing to the long table with her stick, “is where I
+will be laid when I am dead. They shall come and look at me here.”
+
+With some vague misgiving that she might get upon the table then and
+there and die at once, the complete realization of the ghastly waxwork
+at the Fair, I shrank under her touch.
+
+“What do you think that is?” she asked me, again pointing with her
+stick; “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!”
+
+I made out from this, that the work I had to do, was to walk Miss
+Havisham round and round the room. Accordingly, I started at once, and
+she leaned upon my shoulder, and we went away at a pace that might have
+been an imitation (founded on my first impulse under that roof) of Mr.
+Pumblechook’s chaise-cart.
+
+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. After a
+while she said, “Call Estella!” so I went out on the landing and
+roared that name as I had done on the previous occasion. When her light
+appeared, I returned to Miss Havisham, and we started away again round
+and round the room.
+
+If only Estella had come to be a spectator of our proceedings, I should
+have felt sufficiently discontented; but as she brought with her the
+three ladies and the gentleman whom I had seen below, I didn’t know
+what to do. In my politeness, I would have stopped; but Miss
+Havisham twitched my shoulder, and we posted on,--with a shame-faced
+consciousness on my part that they would think it was all my doing.
+
+“Dear Miss Havisham,” said Miss Sarah Pocket. “How well you look!”
+
+“I do not,” returned Miss Havisham. “I am yellow skin and bone.”
+
+Camilla brightened when Miss Pocket met with this rebuff; and she
+murmured, as she plaintively contemplated Miss Havisham, “Poor dear
+soul! Certainly not to be expected to look well, poor thing. The idea!”
+
+“And how are you?” said Miss Havisham to Camilla. As we were close to
+Camilla then, I would have stopped as a matter of course, only Miss
+Havisham wouldn’t stop. We swept on, and I felt that I was highly
+obnoxious to Camilla.
+
+“Thank you, Miss Havisham,” she returned, “I am as well as can be
+expected.”
+
+“Why, what’s the matter with you?” asked Miss Havisham, with exceeding
+sharpness.
+
+“Nothing worth mentioning,” replied Camilla. “I don’t wish to make a
+display of my feelings, but I have habitually thought of you more in the
+night than I am quite equal to.”
+
+“Then don’t think of me,” retorted Miss Havisham.
+
+“Very easily said!” remarked Camilla, amiably repressing a sob, while a
+hitch came into her upper lip, and her tears overflowed. “Raymond is a
+witness what ginger and sal volatile I am obliged to take in the night.
+Raymond is a witness what nervous jerkings I have in my legs. Chokings
+and nervous jerkings, however, are nothing new to me when I think with
+anxiety of those I love. If I could be less affectionate and sensitive,
+I should have a better digestion and an iron set of nerves. I am sure
+I wish it could be so. But as to not thinking of you in the night--The
+idea!” Here, a burst of tears.
+
+The Raymond referred to, I understood to be the gentleman present, and
+him I understood to be Mr. Camilla. He came to the rescue at this point,
+and said in a consolatory and complimentary voice, “Camilla, my dear, it
+is well known that your family feelings are gradually undermining you to
+the extent of making one of your legs shorter than the other.”
+
+“I am not aware,” observed the grave lady whose voice I had heard but
+once, “that to think of any person is to make a great claim upon that
+person, my dear.”
+
+Miss Sarah Pocket, whom I now saw to be a little dry, brown, corrugated
+old woman, with a small face that might have been made of walnut-shells,
+and a large mouth like a cat’s without the whiskers, supported this
+position by saying, “No, indeed, my dear. Hem!”
+
+“Thinking is easy enough,” said the grave lady.
+
+“What is easier, you know?” assented Miss Sarah Pocket.
+
+“Oh, yes, yes!” cried Camilla, whose fermenting feelings appeared to
+rise from her legs to her bosom. “It’s all very true! It’s a weakness
+to be so affectionate, but I can’t help it. No doubt my health would be
+much better if it was otherwise, still I wouldn’t change my disposition
+if I could. It’s the cause of much suffering, but it’s a consolation to
+know I posses it, when I wake up in the night.” Here another burst of
+feeling.
+
+Miss Havisham and I had never stopped all this time, but kept going
+round and round the room; now brushing against the skirts of the
+visitors, now giving them the whole length of the dismal chamber.
+
+“There’s Matthew!” said Camilla. “Never mixing with any natural ties,
+never coming here to see how Miss Havisham is! I have taken to the sofa
+with my staylace cut, and have lain there hours insensible, with my head
+over the side, and my hair all down, and my feet I don’t know where--”
+
+(“Much higher than your head, my love,” said Mr. Camilla.)
+
+“I have gone off into that state, hours and hours, on account of
+Matthew’s strange and inexplicable conduct, and nobody has thanked me.”
+
+“Really I must say I should think not!” interposed the grave lady.
+
+“You see, my dear,” added Miss Sarah Pocket (a blandly vicious
+personage), “the question to put to yourself is, who did you expect to
+thank you, my love?”
+
+“Without expecting any thanks, or anything of the sort,” resumed
+Camilla, “I have remained in that state, hours and hours, and Raymond
+is a witness of the extent to which I have choked, and what the total
+inefficacy of ginger has been, and I have been heard at the piano-forte
+tuner’s across the street, where the poor mistaken children have even
+supposed it to be pigeons cooing at a distance,--and now to be told--”
+ Here Camilla put her hand to her throat, and began to be quite chemical
+as to the formation of new combinations there.
+
+When this same Matthew was mentioned, Miss Havisham stopped me and
+herself, and stood looking at the speaker. This change had a great
+influence in bringing Camilla’s chemistry to a sudden end.
+
+“Matthew will come and see me at last,” said Miss Havisham, sternly,
+“when I am laid on that table. That will be his place,--there,” striking
+the table with her stick, “at my head! And yours will be there! And your
+husband’s there! And Sarah Pocket’s there! And Georgiana’s there! Now
+you all know where to take your stations when you come to feast upon me.
+And now go!”
+
+At the mention of each name, she had struck the table with her stick in
+a new place. She now said, “Walk me, walk me!” and we went on again.
+
+“I suppose there’s nothing to be done,” exclaimed Camilla, “but comply
+and depart. It’s something to have seen the object of one’s love and
+duty for even so short a time. I shall think of it with a melancholy
+satisfaction when I wake up in the night. I wish Matthew could have
+that comfort, but he sets it at defiance. I am determined not to make a
+display of my feelings, but it’s very hard to be told one wants to feast
+on one’s relations,--as if one was a Giant,--and to be told to go. The
+bare idea!”
+
+Mr. Camilla interposing, as Mrs. Camilla laid her hand upon her heaving
+bosom, that lady assumed an unnatural fortitude of manner which I
+supposed to be expressive of an intention to drop and choke when out of
+view, and kissing her hand to Miss Havisham, was escorted forth. Sarah
+Pocket and Georgiana contended who should remain last; but Sarah was
+too knowing to be outdone, and ambled round Georgiana with that artful
+slipperiness that the latter was obliged to take precedence. Sarah
+Pocket then made her separate effect of departing with, “Bless you, Miss
+Havisham dear!” and with a smile of forgiving pity on her walnut-shell
+countenance for the weaknesses of the rest.
+
+While Estella was away lighting them down, Miss Havisham still walked
+with her hand on my shoulder, but more and more slowly. 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 who were here
+just 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.
+
+“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 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 withered; the
+once white cloth all yellow and withered; everything around in a state
+to crumble under a touch.
+
+“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 gray 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,
+specially 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 favorable 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 favor 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 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 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 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 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 parlor: 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.”
+
+My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden
+arm-chair, 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 ten pound?” demanded Joe.
+
+“They’d say,” returned my sister, curtly, “pretty well. Not too much,
+but pretty well.”
+
+“It’s more than that, then,” said Joe.
+
+That fearful Impostor, Pumblechook, immediately nodded, and said, as he
+rubbed the arms of his chair, “It’s more than that, Mum.”
+
+“Why, you don’t mean to say--” began my sister.
+
+“Yes I do, Mum,” said Pumblechook; “but wait a bit. Go on, Joseph. Good
+in you! Go on!”
+
+“What would present company say,” proceeded Joe, “to twenty pound?”
+
+“Handsome would be the word,” returned my sister.
+
+“Well, then,” said Joe, “It’s more than twenty pound.”
+
+That abject hypocrite, Pumblechook, nodded again, and said, with a
+patronizing laugh, “It’s more than that, Mum. Good again! Follow her up,
+Joseph!”
+
+“Then to make an end of it,” said Joe, delightedly handing the bag to my
+sister; “it’s five-and-twenty pound.”
+
+“It’s five-and-twenty pound, Mum,” echoed that basest of swindlers,
+Pumblechook, rising to shake hands with her; “and it’s no more than your
+merits (as I said when my opinion was asked), and I wish you joy of the
+money!”
+
+If the villain had stopped here, his case would have been sufficiently
+awful, but he blackened his guilt by proceeding to take me into custody,
+with a right of patronage that left all his former criminality far
+behind.
+
+“Now you see, Joseph and wife,” said 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 cornchandler. “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.”
+
+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 had that moment picked a pocket or fired a rick; indeed,
+it was the general impression in Court that I had been taken red-handed;
+for, as Pumblechook shoved me before him through the crowd, I heard some
+people say, “What’s he done?” and others, “He’s a young ‘un, too, but
+looks bad, don’t he?” One person of mild and benevolent aspect even gave
+me a tract ornamented with a woodcut of a malevolent young man fitted
+up with a perfect sausage-shop of fetters, and entitled TO BE READ IN MY
+CELL.
+
+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,
+which my unartistic eye regarded as a composition of hardbake and
+sticking-plaster. Here, in a corner my indentures were duly signed and
+attested, and I was “bound”; Mr. Pumblechook holding me all the while
+as if we had looked in on our way to the scaffold, to have those little
+preliminaries disposed of.
+
+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 tortured,
+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 guineas, 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!
+
+However, they were grown up and had their own way, and they made the
+most of it. That swindling Pumblechook, exalted into the beneficent
+contriver of the whole occasion, actually took the top of the table;
+and, when he addressed them on the subject of my being bound, and had
+fiendishly congratulated them on my being liable to imprisonment if I
+played at cards, drank strong liquors, kept late hours or bad company,
+or indulged in other vagaries which the form of my indentures appeared
+to contemplate as next to inevitable, he placed me standing on a chair
+beside him to illustrate his remarks.
+
+My only other remembrances of the great festival are, That they wouldn’t
+let me go to sleep, but whenever they saw me dropping off, woke me up
+and told me to enjoy myself. That, rather late in the evening Mr. Wopsle
+gave us Collins’s ode, and threw his bloodstained sword in thunder
+down, with such effect, that a waiter came in and said, “The Commercials
+underneath sent up their compliments, and it wasn’t the Tumblers’ Arms.”
+ That, they were all in excellent spirits on the road home, and sang, O
+Lady Fair! Mr. Wopsle taking the bass, and asserting with a tremendously
+strong voice (in reply to the inquisitive bore who leads that piece
+of music in a most impertinent manner, by wanting to know all about
+everybody’s private affairs) that he was the man with his white locks
+flowing, and that he was upon the whole the weakest pilgrim going.
+
+Finally, I remember that when I got into my little bedroom, I was truly
+wretched, and had a strong conviction on me that I should never like
+Joe’s trade. I had liked it once, but once was not now.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV
+
+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 front door, as a mysterious portal of the Temple of State whose
+solemn opening was attended with a sacrifice of roast fowls; I had
+believed in the kitchen as a chaste though not magnificent apartment;
+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.
+
+I remember that at a later period of my “time,” I used to stand about
+the churchyard on Sunday evenings when night was falling, comparing my
+own perspective with the windy marsh view, and making out some likeness
+between them by thinking how flat and low both were, and how on both
+there came an unknown way and a dark mist and then the sea. 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. It is about the only thing I am glad to know
+of myself in that connection.
+
+For, though it includes what I proceed to add, all the merit of what I
+proceed to add was Joe’s. It was not because I was faithful, but because
+Joe was faithful, that I never ran away and went for a soldier or
+a sailor. It was not because I had a strong sense of the virtue of
+industry, but because Joe had a strong sense of the virtue of industry,
+that I worked with tolerable zeal against the grain. It is not possible
+to know how far the influence of any amiable honest-hearted duty-doing
+man flies out into the world; but it is very possible to know how it has
+touched one’s self in going by, and I know right well that any good that
+intermixed itself with my apprenticeship came of plain contented Joe,
+and not of restlessly aspiring discontented me.
+
+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.
+Often after dark, when I was pulling the bellows for Joe, and we were
+singing Old Clem, and when the thought how we used to sing it at Miss
+Havisham’s would seem to show me Estella’s face in the fire, with her
+pretty hair fluttering in the wind and her eyes scorning me,--often at
+such a time I would look towards those panels of black night in the wall
+which the wooden windows then were, and would fancy that I saw her just
+drawing her face away, and would believe that she had come at last.
+
+After that, when we went into 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 XV
+
+As I was getting too big for Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt’s room, my
+education under that preposterous female terminated. Not, however, until
+Biddy had imparted to me everything she knew, from the little catalogue
+of prices, to a comic song she had once bought for a half-penny.
+Although the only coherent part of the latter piece of literature were
+the opening lines.
+
+ When I went to Lunnon town sirs,
+ Too rul loo rul
+ Too rul loo rul
+ Wasn’t I done very brown sirs?
+ Too rul loo rul
+ Too rul loo rul
+
+--still, in my desire to be wiser, I got this composition by heart with the utmost gravity; nor do I recollect that I questioned its merit, except that I
+thought (as I still do) the amount of Too rul somewhat in excess of the
+poetry. In my hunger for information, I made proposals to Mr. Wopsle to
+bestow some intellectual crumbs upon me, with which he kindly complied.
+As it turned out, however, that he only wanted me for a dramatic
+lay-figure, to be contradicted and embraced and wept over and bullied
+and clutched and stabbed and knocked about in a variety of ways, I soon
+declined that course of instruction; though not until Mr. Wopsle in his
+poetic fury had severely mauled me.
+
+Whatever I acquired, I tried to impart to Joe. This statement sounds so
+well, that I cannot in my conscience let it pass unexplained. I wanted
+to make Joe less ignorant and common, that he might be worthier of my
+society and less open to Estella’s reproach.
+
+The old Battery out on the marshes was our place of study, and a broken
+slate and a short piece of slate-pencil were our educational implements:
+to which Joe always added a pipe of tobacco. I never knew Joe to
+remember anything from one Sunday to another, or to acquire, under my
+tuition, any piece of information whatever. Yet he would smoke his pipe
+at the Battery with a far more sagacious air than anywhere else,--even
+with a learned air,--as if he considered himself to be advancing
+immensely. Dear fellow, I hope he did.
+
+It was pleasant and quiet, out there with the sails on the river passing
+beyond the earthwork, and sometimes, when the tide was low, looking
+as if they belonged to sunken ships that were still sailing on at the
+bottom of the water. Whenever I watched the vessels standing out to sea
+with their white sails spread, I somehow thought of Miss Havisham and
+Estella; and whenever the light struck aslant, afar off, upon a cloud
+or sail or green hillside or water-line, it was just the same.--Miss
+Havisham and Estella and the strange house and the strange life appeared
+to have something to do with everything that was picturesque.
+
+One Sunday when Joe, greatly enjoying his pipe, had so plumed himself on
+being “most awful dull,” that I had given him up for the day, I lay on
+the earthwork for some time with my chin on my hand, descrying traces of
+Miss Havisham and Estella all over the prospect, in the sky and in the
+water, until at last I resolved to mention a thought concerning them
+that had been much in my head.
+
+“Joe,” said I; “don’t you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?”
+
+“Well, Pip,” returned Joe, slowly considering. “What for?”
+
+“What for, Joe? What is any visit made for?”
+
+“There is some wisits p’r’aps,” said Joe, “as for ever remains open to
+the question, Pip. But in regard to wisiting Miss Havisham. She might
+think you wanted something,--expected something of her.”
+
+“Don’t you think I might say that I did not, Joe?”
+
+“You might, old chap,” said Joe. “And she might credit it. Similarly she
+mightn’t.”
+
+Joe felt, as I did, that he had made a point there, and he pulled hard
+at his pipe to keep himself from weakening it by repetition.
+
+“You see, Pip,” Joe pursued, as soon as he was past that danger, “Miss
+Havisham done the handsome thing by you. When Miss Havisham done the
+handsome thing by you, she called me back to say to me as that were
+all.”
+
+“Yes, Joe. I heard her.”
+
+“ALL,” Joe repeated, very emphatically.
+
+“Yes, Joe. I tell you, I heard her.”
+
+“Which I meantersay, Pip, it might be that her meaning were,--Make a
+end on it!--As you was!--Me to the North, and you to the South!--Keep in
+sunders!”
+
+I had thought of that too, and it was very far from comforting to me
+to find that he had thought of it; for it seemed to render it more
+probable.
+
+“But, Joe.”
+
+“Yes, old chap.”
+
+“Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day
+of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after
+her, or shown that I remember her.”
+
+“That’s true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes
+all four round,--and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all
+four round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total wacancy of
+hoofs--”
+
+“I don’t mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don’t mean a present.”
+
+But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it.
+“Or even,” said he, “if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain
+for the front door,--or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws for
+general use,--or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork
+when she took her muffins,--or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such
+like--”
+
+“I don’t mean any present at all, Joe,” I interposed.
+
+“Well,” said Joe, still harping on it as though I had particularly
+pressed it, “if I was yourself, Pip, I wouldn’t. No, I would not. For
+what’s a door-chain when she’s got one always up? And shark-headers is
+open to misrepresentations. And if it was a toasting-fork, you’d go into
+brass and do yourself no credit. And the oncommonest workman can’t show
+himself oncommon in a gridiron,--for a gridiron IS a gridiron,” said
+Joe, steadfastly impressing it upon me, as if he were endeavouring to
+rouse me from a fixed delusion, “and you may haim at what you like, but
+a gridiron it will come out, either by your leave or again your leave,
+and you can’t help yourself--”
+
+“My dear Joe,” I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, “don’t
+go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present.”
+
+“No, Pip,” Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all
+along; “and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip.”
+
+“Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack
+just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I would
+go uptown and make a call on Miss Est--Havisham.”
+
+“Which her name,” said Joe, gravely, “ain’t Estavisham, Pip, unless she
+have been rechris’ened.”
+
+“I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it,
+Joe?”
+
+In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of
+it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received
+with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a
+visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for a
+favor received, then this experimental trip should have no successor. By
+these conditions I promised to abide.
+
+Now, Joe kept a journeyman at weekly wages whose name was Orlick.
+He pretended that his Christian name was Dolge,--a clear
+Impossibility,--but he was a fellow of that obstinate disposition that I
+believe him to have been the prey of no delusion in this particular, but
+wilfully to have imposed that name upon the village as an affront to its
+understanding. He was a broadshouldered loose-limbed swarthy fellow of
+great strength, never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even
+seemed to come to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by mere
+accident; and when he went to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his dinner, or
+went away at night, he would slouch out, like Cain or the Wandering Jew,
+as if he had no idea where he was going and no intention of ever
+coming back. He lodged at a sluice-keeper’s out on the marshes, and on
+working-days would come slouching from his hermitage, with his hands in
+his pockets and his dinner loosely tied in a bundle round his neck
+and dangling on his back. On Sundays he mostly lay all day on the
+sluice-gates, or stood against ricks and barns. He always slouched,
+locomotively, with his eyes on the ground; and, when accosted or
+otherwise required to raise them, he looked up in a half-resentful,
+half-puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever had was, that it
+was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should never be thinking.
+
+This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and
+timid, he gave me to understand that the Devil lived in a black corner
+of the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was
+necessary to make up the fire, once in seven years, with a live boy, and
+that I might consider myself fuel. When I became Joe’s ‘prentice, Orlick
+was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him;
+howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did
+anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat
+his sparks in my direction, and that whenever I sang Old Clem, he came
+in out of time.
+
+Dolge Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of
+my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just
+got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by
+and by he said, leaning on his hammer,--
+
+“Now, master! Sure you’re not a going to favor only one of us. If Young
+Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick.” I suppose he was
+about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient
+person.
+
+“Why, what’ll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?” said Joe.
+
+“What’ll I do with it! What’ll he do with it? I’ll do as much with it as
+him,” said Orlick.
+
+“As to Pip, he’s going up town,” said Joe.
+
+“Well then, as to Old Orlick, he’s a going up town,” retorted that
+worthy. “Two can go up town. Tain’t only one wot can go up town.
+
+“Don’t lose your temper,” said Joe.
+
+“Shall if I like,” growled Orlick. “Some and their uptowning! Now,
+master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!”
+
+The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in
+a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot
+bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body,
+whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out,--as
+if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spirting blood,--and
+finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he
+again leaned on his hammer,--
+
+“Now, master!”
+
+“Are you all right now?” demanded Joe.
+
+“Ah! I am all right,” said gruff Old Orlick.
+
+“Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men,” said
+Joe, “let it be a half-holiday for all.”
+
+My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing,--she was
+a most unscrupulous spy and listener,--and she instantly looked in at
+one of the windows.
+
+“Like you, you fool!” said she to Joe, “giving holidays to great idle
+hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in
+that way. I wish I was his master!”
+
+“You’d be everybody’s master, if you durst,” retorted Orlick, with an
+ill-favored grin.
+
+(“Let her alone,” said Joe.)
+
+“I’d be a match for all noodles and all rogues,” returned my sister,
+beginning to work herself into a mighty rage. “And I couldn’t be a
+match for the noodles, without being a match for your master, who’s the
+dunder-headed king of the noodles. And I couldn’t be a match for the
+rogues, without being a match for you, who are the blackest-looking and
+the worst rogue between this and France. Now!”
+
+“You’re a foul shrew, Mother Gargery,” growled the journeyman. “If that
+makes a judge of rogues, you ought to be a good’un.”
+
+(“Let her alone, will you?” said Joe.)
+
+“What did you say?” cried my sister, beginning to scream. “What did you
+say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me,
+with my husband standing by? Oh! oh! oh!” Each of these exclamations was
+a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of all
+the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for
+her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she
+consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself
+into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; “what was the
+name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? Oh! Hold me!
+Oh!”
+
+“Ah-h-h!” growled the journeyman, between his teeth, “I’d hold you, if
+you was my wife. I’d hold you under the pump, and choke it out of you.”
+
+(“I tell you, let her alone,” said Joe.)
+
+“Oh! To hear him!” cried my sister, with a clap of her hands and a
+scream together,--which was her next stage. “To hear the names he’s
+giving me! That Orlick! In my own house! Me, a married woman! With my
+husband standing by! Oh! Oh!” Here my sister, after a fit of clappings
+and screamings, beat her hands upon her bosom and upon her knees, and
+threw her cap off, and pulled her hair down,--which were the last stages
+on her road to frenzy. Being by this time a perfect Fury and a complete
+success, she made a dash at the door which I had fortunately locked.
+
+What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical
+interruptions, but stand up to his journeyman, and ask him what he meant
+by interfering betwixt himself and Mrs. Joe; and further whether he was
+man enough to come on? Old Orlick felt that the situation admitted of
+nothing less than coming on, and was on his defence straightway; so,
+without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt aprons, they went
+at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in that neighborhood
+could stand uplong against Joe, I never saw the man. Orlick, as if he
+had been of no more account than the pale young gentleman, was very
+soon among the coal-dust, and in no hurry to come out of it. Then Joe
+unlocked the door and picked up my sister, who had dropped insensible
+at the window (but who had seen the fight first, I think), and who was
+carried into the house and laid down, and who was recommended to revive,
+and would do nothing but struggle and clench her hands in Joe’s hair.
+Then, came that singular calm and silence which succeed all uproars; and
+then, with the vague sensation which I have always connected with such
+a lull,--namely, that it was Sunday, and somebody was dead,--I went upstairs
+to dress myself.
+
+When I came down again, I found Joe and Orlick sweeping up, without any
+other traces of discomposure than a slit in one of Orlick’s nostrils,
+which was neither expressive nor ornamental. A pot of beer had appeared
+from the Jolly Bargemen, and they were sharing it by turns in a
+peaceable manner. The lull had a sedative and philosophical influence on
+Joe, who followed me out into the road to say, as a parting observation
+that might do me good, “On the Rampage, Pip, and off the Rampage,
+Pip:--such is Life!”
+
+With what absurd emotions (for we think the feelings that are very
+serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to
+Miss Havisham’s, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed
+the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how
+I debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should
+undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back.
+
+Miss Sarah Pocket came to the gate. No Estella.
+
+“How, then? You here again?” said Miss Pocket. “What do you want?”
+
+When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah
+evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my
+business. But unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, and
+presently brought the sharp message that I was to “come up.”
+
+Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.
+
+“Well?” said she, fixing her eyes upon me. “I hope you want nothing?
+You’ll get nothing.”
+
+“No indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing
+very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you.”
+
+“There, there!” with the old restless fingers. “Come now and then; come
+on your birthday.--Ay!” she cried suddenly, turning herself and her
+chair towards me, “You are looking round for Estella? Hey?”
+
+I had been looking round,--in fact, for Estella,--and I stammered that I
+hoped she was well.
+
+“Abroad,” said Miss Havisham; “educating for a lady; far out of reach;
+prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you
+have lost her?”
+
+There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last words,
+and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what
+to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by dismissing me. When
+the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the walnut-shell countenance, I
+felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with
+everything; and that was all I took by that motion.
+
+As I was loitering along the High Street, looking in disconsolately at
+the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman,
+who should come out of the bookshop but Mr. Wopsle. Mr. Wopsle had in
+his hand the affecting tragedy of George Barnwell, in which he had that
+moment invested sixpence, with the view of heaping every word of it on
+the head of Pumblechook, with whom he was going to drink tea. No sooner
+did he see me, than he appeared to consider that a special Providence
+had put a ‘prentice in his way to be read at; and he laid hold of me,
+and insisted on my accompanying him to the Pumblechookian parlor. As I
+knew it would be miserable at home, and as the nights were dark and the
+way was dreary, and almost any companionship on the road was better
+than none, I made no great resistance; consequently, we turned into
+Pumblechook’s just as the street and the shops were lighting up.
+
+As I never assisted at any other representation of George Barnwell, I
+don’t know how long it may usually take; but I know very well that it
+took until half-past nine o’ clock that night, and that when Mr. Wopsle
+got into Newgate, I thought he never would go to the scaffold, he became
+so much slower than at any former period of his disgraceful career. I
+thought it a little too much that he should complain of being cut short
+in his flower after all, as if he had not been running to seed, leaf
+after leaf, ever since his course began. This, however, was a
+mere question of length and wearisomeness. What stung me, was the
+identification of the whole affair with my unoffending self. When
+Barnwell began to go wrong, I declare that I felt positively apologetic,
+Pumblechook’s indignant stare so taxed me with it. Wopsle, too, took
+pains to present me in the worst light. At once ferocious and maudlin, I
+was made to murder my uncle with no extenuating circumstances whatever;
+Millwood put me down in argument, on every occasion; it became sheer
+monomania in my master’s daughter to care a button for me; and all I can
+say for my gasping and procrastinating conduct on the fatal morning, is,
+that it was worthy of the general feebleness of my character. Even after
+I was happily hanged and Wopsle had closed the book, Pumblechook sat
+staring at me, and shaking his head, and saying, “Take warning, boy,
+take warning!” as if it were a well-known fact that I contemplated
+murdering a near relation, provided I could only induce one to have the
+weakness to become my benefactor.
+
+It was a very dark night when it was all over, and when I set out with
+Mr. Wopsle on the walk home. Beyond town, we found a heavy mist out, and
+it fell wet and thick. The turnpike lamp was a blur, quite out of the
+lamp’s usual place apparently, and its rays looked solid substance on
+the fog. We were noticing this, and saying how that the mist rose with a
+change of wind from a certain quarter of our marshes, when we came upon
+a man, slouching under the lee of the turnpike house.
+
+“Halloa!” we said, stopping. “Orlick there?”
+
+“Ah!” he answered, slouching out. “I was standing by a minute, on the
+chance of company.”
+
+“You are late,” I remarked.
+
+Orlick not unnaturally answered, “Well? And you’re late.”
+
+“We have been,” said Mr. Wopsle, exalted with his late performance,--“we
+have been indulging, Mr. Orlick, in an intellectual evening.”
+
+Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we all
+went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spending his
+half-holiday up and down town?
+
+“Yes,” said he, “all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn’t see you,
+but I must have been pretty close behind you. By the by, the guns is
+going again.”
+
+“At the Hulks?” said I.
+
+“Ay! There’s some of the birds flown from the cages. The guns have been
+going since dark, about. You’ll hear one presently.”
+
+In effect, we had not walked many yards further, when the
+well-remembered boom came towards us, deadened by the mist, and heavily
+rolled away along the low grounds by the river, as if it were pursuing
+and threatening the fugitives.
+
+“A good night for cutting off in,” said Orlick. “We’d be puzzled how to
+bring down a jail-bird on the wing, to-night.”
+
+The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in
+silence. Mr. Wopsle, as the ill-requited uncle of the evening’s tragedy,
+fell to meditating aloud in his garden at Camberwell. Orlick, with his
+hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was very dark,
+very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along. Now and then, the sound
+of the signal cannon broke upon us again, and again rolled sulkily along
+the course of the river. I kept myself to myself and my thoughts. Mr.
+Wopsle died amiably at Camberwell, and exceedingly game on Bosworth
+Field, and in the greatest agonies at Glastonbury. Orlick sometimes
+growled, “Beat it out, beat it out,--Old Clem! With a clink for the
+stout,--Old Clem!” I thought he had been drinking, but he was not drunk.
+
+Thus, we came to the village. The way by which we approached it took us
+past the Three Jolly Bargemen, which we were surprised to find--it being
+eleven o’clock--in a state of commotion, with the door wide open, and
+unwonted lights that had been hastily caught up and put down scattered
+about. Mr. Wopsle dropped into ask what was the matter (surmising that
+a convict had been taken), but came running out in a great hurry.
+
+“There’s something wrong,” said he, without stopping, “up at your place,
+Pip. Run all!”
+
+“What is it?” I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side.
+
+“I can’t quite understand. The house seems to have been violently
+entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by convicts. Somebody has
+been attacked and hurt.”
+
+We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no
+stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole
+village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there
+was Joe, and there were a group of women, all on the floor in the midst
+of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me,
+and so I became aware of my sister,--lying without sense or movement on
+the bare boards where she had been knocked down by a tremendous blow
+on the back of the head, dealt by some unknown hand when her face was
+turned towards the fire,--destined never to be on the Rampage again,
+while she was the wife of Joe.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI
+
+With my head full of George Barnwell, I was at first disposed to believe
+that I must have had some hand in the attack upon my sister, or at
+all events that as her near relation, popularly known to be under
+obligations to her, I was a more legitimate object of suspicion than
+any one else. But when, in the clearer light of next morning, I began to
+reconsider the matter and to hear it discussed around me on all sides, I
+took another view of the case, which was more reasonable.
+
+Joe had been at the Three Jolly Bargemen, smoking his pipe, from a
+quarter after eight o’clock to a quarter before ten. While he was there,
+my sister had been seen standing at the kitchen door, and had exchanged
+Good Night with a farm-laborer going home. The man could not be more
+particular as to the time at which he saw her (he got into dense
+confusion when he tried to be), than that it must have been before nine.
+When Joe went home at five minutes before ten, he found her struck down
+on the floor, and promptly called in assistance. The fire had not then
+burnt unusually low, nor was the snuff of the candle very long; the
+candle, however, had been blown out.
+
+Nothing had been taken away from any part of the house. Neither, beyond
+the blowing out of the candle,--which stood on a table between the door
+and my sister, and was behind her when she stood facing the fire and was
+struck,--was there any disarrangement of the kitchen, excepting such
+as she herself had made, in falling and bleeding. But, there was one
+remarkable piece of evidence on the spot. She had been struck with
+something blunt and heavy, on the head and spine; after the blows were
+dealt, something heavy had been thrown down at her with considerable
+violence, as she lay on her face. And on the ground beside her, when Joe
+picked her up, was a convict’s leg-iron which had been filed asunder.
+
+Now, Joe, examining this iron with a smith’s eye, declared it to have
+been filed asunder some time ago. The hue and cry going off to the
+Hulks, and people coming thence to examine the iron, Joe’s opinion
+was corroborated. They did not undertake to say when it had left the
+prison-ships to which it undoubtedly had once belonged; but they claimed
+to know for certain that that particular manacle had not been worn by
+either of the two convicts who had escaped last night. Further, one of
+those two was already retaken, and had not freed himself of his iron.
+
+Knowing what I knew, I set up an inference of my own here. I believed
+the iron to be my convict’s iron,--the iron I had seen and heard him
+filing at, on the marshes,--but my mind did not accuse him of having put
+it to its latest use. For I believed one of two other persons to have
+become possessed of it, and to have turned it to this cruel account.
+Either Orlick, or the strange man who had shown me the file.
+
+Now, as to Orlick; he had gone to town exactly as he told us when we
+picked him up at the turnpike, he had been seen about town all the
+evening, he had been in divers companies in several public-houses, and
+he had come back with myself and Mr. Wopsle. There was nothing against
+him, save the quarrel; and my sister had quarrelled with him, and with
+everybody else about her, ten thousand times. As to the strange man; if
+he had come back for his two bank-notes there could have been no dispute
+about them, because my sister was fully prepared to restore them.
+Besides, there had been no altercation; the assailant had come in so
+silently and suddenly, that she had been felled before she could look
+round.
+
+It was horrible to think that I had provided the weapon, however
+undesignedly, but I could hardly think otherwise. I suffered unspeakable
+trouble while I considered and reconsidered whether I should at last
+dissolve that spell of my childhood and tell Joe all the story. For
+months afterwards, I every day settled the question finally in the
+negative, and reopened and reargued it next morning. The contention
+came, after all, to this;--the secret was such an old one now, had so
+grown into me and become a part of myself, that I could not tear it
+away. In addition to the dread that, having led up to so much mischief,
+it would be now more likely than ever to alienate Joe from me if he
+believed it, I had a further restraining dread that he would not believe
+it, but would assort it with the fabulous dogs and veal-cutlets as a
+monstrous invention. However, I temporized with myself, of course--for,
+was I not wavering between right and wrong, when the thing is always
+done?--and resolved to make a full disclosure if I should see any
+such new occasion as a new chance of helping in the discovery of the
+assailant.
+
+The Constables and the Bow Street men from London--for, this happened in
+the days of the extinct red-waistcoated police--were about the house for
+a week or two, and did pretty much what I have heard and read of like
+authorities doing in other such cases. They took up several obviously
+wrong people, and they ran their heads very hard against wrong ideas,
+and persisted in trying to fit the circumstances to the ideas, instead
+of trying to extract ideas from the circumstances. Also, they stood
+about the door of the Jolly Bargemen, with knowing and reserved looks
+that filled the whole neighborhood with admiration; and they had a
+mysterious manner of taking their drink, that was almost as good as
+taking the culprit. But not quite, for they never did it.
+
+Long after these constitutional powers had dispersed, my sister lay very
+ill in bed. Her sight was disturbed, so that she saw objects multiplied,
+and grasped at visionary teacups and wineglasses instead of the
+realities; her hearing was greatly impaired; her memory also; and her
+speech was unintelligible. When, at last, she came round so far as to
+be helped downstairs, it was still necessary to keep my slate always by
+her, that she might indicate in writing what she could not indicate in
+speech. As she was (very bad handwriting apart) a more than indifferent
+speller, and as Joe was a more than indifferent reader, extraordinary
+complications arose between them which I was always called in to solve.
+The administration of mutton instead of medicine, the substitution of
+Tea for Joe, and the baker for bacon, were among the mildest of my own
+mistakes.
+
+However, her temper was greatly improved, and she was patient. A
+tremulous uncertainty of the action of all her limbs soon became a
+part of her regular state, and afterwards, at intervals of two or three
+months, she would often put her hands to her head, and would then remain
+for about a week at a time in some gloomy aberration of mind. We were
+at a loss to find a suitable attendant for her, until a circumstance
+happened conveniently to relieve us. Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt conquered a
+confirmed habit of living into which she had fallen, and Biddy became a
+part of our establishment.
+
+It may have been about a month after my sister’s reappearance in the
+kitchen, when Biddy came to us with a small speckled box containing the
+whole of her worldly effects, and became a blessing to the household.
+Above all, she was a blessing to Joe, for the dear old fellow was sadly
+cut up by the constant contemplation of the wreck of his wife, and had
+been accustomed, while attending on her of an evening, to turn to me
+every now and then and say, with his blue eyes moistened, “Such a fine
+figure of a woman as she once were, Pip!” Biddy instantly taking the
+cleverest charge of her as though she had studied her from infancy; Joe
+became able in some sort to appreciate the greater quiet of his life,
+and to get down to the Jolly Bargemen now and then for a change that did
+him good. It was characteristic of the police people that they had all
+more or less suspected poor Joe (though he never knew it), and that they
+had to a man concurred in regarding him as one of the deepest spirits
+they had ever encountered.
+
+Biddy’s first triumph in her new office, was to solve a difficulty
+that had completely vanquished me. I had tried hard at it, but had made
+nothing of it. Thus it was:--
+
+Again and again and again, my sister had traced upon the slate, a
+character that looked like a curious T, and then with the utmost
+eagerness had called our attention to it as something she particularly
+wanted. I had in vain tried everything producible that began with a T,
+from tar to toast and tub. At length it had come into my head that the
+sign looked like a hammer, and on my lustily calling that word in my
+sister’s ear, she had begun to hammer on the table and had expressed a
+qualified assent. Thereupon, I had brought in all our hammers, one after
+another, but without avail. Then I bethought me of a crutch, the shape
+being much the same, and I borrowed one in the village, and displayed
+it to my sister with considerable confidence. But she shook her head to
+that extent when she was shown it, that we were terrified lest in her
+weak and shattered state she should dislocate her neck.
+
+When my sister found that Biddy was very quick to understand her, this
+mysterious sign reappeared on the slate. Biddy looked thoughtfully
+at it, heard my explanation, looked thoughtfully at my sister, looked
+thoughtfully at Joe (who was always represented on the slate by his
+initial letter), and ran into the forge, followed by Joe and me.
+
+“Why, of course!” cried Biddy, with an exultant face. “Don’t you see?
+It’s him!”
+
+Orlick, without a doubt! She had lost his name, and could only signify
+him by his hammer. We told him why we wanted him to come into the
+kitchen, and he slowly laid down his hammer, wiped his brow with his
+arm, took another wipe at it with his apron, and came slouching
+out, with a curious loose vagabond bend in the knees that strongly
+distinguished him.
+
+I confess that I expected to see my sister denounce him, and that I
+was disappointed by the different result. She manifested the greatest
+anxiety to be on good terms with him, was evidently much pleased by his
+being at length produced, and motioned that she would have him
+given something to drink. She watched his countenance as if she were
+particularly wishful to be assured that he took kindly to his reception,
+she showed every possible desire to conciliate him, and there was an air
+of humble propitiation in all she did, such as I have seen pervade the
+bearing of a child towards a hard master. After that day, a day rarely
+passed without her drawing the hammer on her slate, and without Orlick’s
+slouching in and standing doggedly before her, as if he knew no more
+than I did what to make of it.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII
+
+I now fell into a regular routine of apprenticeship life, which was
+varied beyond the limits of the village and the marshes, by no more
+remarkable circumstance than the arrival of my birthday and my paying
+another visit to Miss Havisham. I found Miss Sarah Pocket still on duty
+at the gate; I found Miss Havisham just as I had left her, and she spoke
+of Estella in the very same way, if not in the very same words. The
+interview lasted but a few minutes, and she gave me a guinea when I was
+going, and told me to come again on my next birthday. I may mention at
+once that this became an annual custom. I tried to decline taking the
+guinea on the first occasion, but with no better effect than causing her
+to ask me very angrily, if I expected more? Then, and after that, I took
+it.
+
+So unchanging was the dull old house, the yellow light in the darkened
+room, the faded spectre in the chair by the dressing-table glass, that
+I felt as if the stopping of the clocks had stopped Time in that
+mysterious place, and, while I and everything else outside it grew
+older, it stood still. Daylight never entered the house as to my
+thoughts and remembrances of it, any more than as to the actual fact. It
+bewildered me, and under its influence I continued at heart to hate my
+trade and to be ashamed of home.
+
+Imperceptibly I became conscious of a change in Biddy, however. Her
+shoes came up at the heel, her hair grew bright and neat, her hands were
+always clean. She was not beautiful,--she was common, and could not be
+like Estella,--but she was pleasant and wholesome and sweet-tempered.
+She had not been with us more than a year (I remember her being newly
+out of mourning at the time it struck me), when I observed to myself one
+evening that she had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes; eyes that
+were very pretty and very good.
+
+It came of my lifting up my own eyes from a task I was poring
+at--writing some passages from a book, to improve myself in two ways at
+once by a sort of stratagem--and seeing Biddy observant of what I was
+about. I laid down my pen, and Biddy stopped in her needlework without
+laying it down.
+
+“Biddy,” said I, “how do you manage it? Either I am very stupid, or you
+are very clever.”
+
+“What is it that I manage? I don’t know,” returned Biddy, smiling.
+
+She managed our whole domestic life, and wonderfully too; but I did not
+mean that, though that made what I did mean more surprising.
+
+“How do you manage, Biddy,” said I, “to learn everything that I learn,
+and always to keep up with me?” I was beginning to be rather vain of
+my knowledge, for I spent my birthday guineas on it, and set aside the
+greater part of my pocket-money for similar investment; though I have no
+doubt, now, that the little I knew was extremely dear at the price.
+
+“I might as well ask you,” said Biddy, “how you manage?”
+
+“No; because when I come in from the forge of a night, any one can see
+me turning to at it. But you never turn to at it, Biddy.”
+
+“I suppose I must catch it like a cough,” said Biddy, quietly; and went
+on with her sewing.
+
+Pursuing my idea as I leaned back in my wooden chair, and looked at
+Biddy sewing away with her head on one side, I began to think her rather
+an extraordinary girl. For I called to mind now, that she was equally
+accomplished in the terms of our trade, and the names of our different
+sorts of work, and our various tools. In short, whatever I knew, Biddy
+knew. Theoretically, she was already as good a blacksmith as I, or
+better.
+
+“You are one of those, Biddy,” said I, “who make the most of every
+chance. You never had a chance before you came here, and see how
+improved you are!”
+
+Biddy looked at me for an instant, and went on with her sewing. “I was
+your first teacher though; wasn’t I?” said she, as she sewed.
+
+“Biddy!” I exclaimed, in amazement. “Why, you are crying!”
+
+“No I am not,” said Biddy, looking up and laughing. “What put that in
+your head?”
+
+What could have put it in my head but the glistening of a tear as it
+dropped on her work? I sat silent, recalling what a drudge she had been
+until Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt successfully overcame that bad habit of
+living, so highly desirable to be got rid of by some people. I recalled
+the hopeless circumstances by which she had been surrounded in the
+miserable little shop and the miserable little noisy evening school,
+with that miserable old bundle of incompetence always to be dragged and
+shouldered. I reflected that even in those untoward times there must
+have been latent in Biddy what was now developing, for, in my first
+uneasiness and discontent I had turned to her for help, as a matter of
+course. Biddy sat quietly sewing, shedding no more tears, and while I
+looked at her and thought about it all, it occurred to me that perhaps
+I had not been sufficiently grateful to Biddy. I might have been too
+reserved, and should have patronized her more (though I did not use that
+precise word in my meditations) with my confidence.
+
+“Yes, Biddy,” I observed, when I had done turning it over, “you were my
+first teacher, and that at a time when we little thought of ever being
+together like this, in this kitchen.”
+
+“Ah, poor thing!” replied Biddy. It was like her self-forgetfulness to
+transfer the remark to my sister, and to get up and be busy about her,
+making her more comfortable; “that’s sadly true!”
+
+“Well!” said I, “we must talk together a little more, as we used to do.
+And I must consult you a little more, as I used to do. Let us have a
+quiet walk on the marshes next Sunday, Biddy, and a long chat.”
+
+My sister was never left alone now; but Joe more than readily undertook
+the care of her on that Sunday afternoon, and Biddy and I went out
+together. It was summer-time, and lovely weather. When we had passed the
+village and the church and the churchyard, and were out on the marshes
+and began to see the sails of the ships as they sailed on, I began to
+combine Miss Havisham and Estella with the prospect, in my usual way.
+When we came to the river-side and sat down on the bank, with the water
+rippling at our feet, making it all more quiet than it would have been
+without that sound, I resolved that it was a good time and place for the
+admission of Biddy into my inner confidence.
+
+“Biddy,” said I, after binding her to secrecy, “I want to be a
+gentleman.”
+
+“O, I wouldn’t, if I was you!” she returned. “I don’t think it would
+answer.”
+
+“Biddy,” said I, with some severity, “I have particular reasons for
+wanting to be a gentleman.”
+
+“You know best, Pip; but don’t you think you are happier as you are?”
+
+“Biddy,” I exclaimed, impatiently, “I am not at all happy as I am. I
+am disgusted with my calling and with my life. I have never taken to
+either, since I was bound. Don’t be absurd.”
+
+“Was I absurd?” said Biddy, quietly raising her eyebrows; “I am sorry
+for that; I didn’t mean to be. I only want you to do well, and to be
+comfortable.”
+
+“Well, then, understand once for all that I never shall or can be
+comfortable--or anything but miserable--there, Biddy!--unless I can lead
+a very different sort of life from the life I lead now.”
+
+“That’s a pity!” said Biddy, shaking her head with a sorrowful air.
+
+Now, I too had so often thought it a pity, that, in the singular kind of
+quarrel with myself which I was always carrying on, I was half inclined
+to shed tears of vexation and distress when Biddy gave utterance to her
+sentiment and my own. I told her she was right, and I knew it was much
+to be regretted, but still it was not to be helped.
+
+“If I could have settled down,” I said to Biddy, plucking up the short
+grass within reach, much as I had once upon a time pulled my feelings
+out of my hair and kicked them into the brewery wall,--“if I could have
+settled down and been but half as fond of the forge as I was when I was
+little, I know it would have been much better for me. You and I and Joe
+would have wanted nothing then, and Joe and I would perhaps have gone
+partners when I was out of my time, and I might even have grown up to
+keep company with you, and we might have sat on this very bank on a fine
+Sunday, quite different people. I should have been good enough for you;
+shouldn’t I, Biddy?”
+
+Biddy sighed as she looked at the ships sailing on, and returned for
+answer, “Yes; I am not over-particular.” It scarcely sounded flattering,
+but I knew she meant well.
+
+“Instead of that,” said I, plucking up more grass and chewing a blade or
+two, “see how I am going on. Dissatisfied, and uncomfortable, and--what
+would it signify to me, being coarse and common, if nobody had told me
+so!”
+
+Biddy turned her face suddenly towards mine, and looked far more
+attentively at me than she had looked at the sailing ships.
+
+“It was neither a very true nor a very polite thing to say,” she
+remarked, directing her eyes to the ships again. “Who said it?”
+
+I was disconcerted, for I had broken away without quite seeing where
+I was going to. It was not to be shuffled off now, however, and I
+answered, “The beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s, and she’s more
+beautiful than anybody ever was, and I admire her dreadfully, and I want
+to be a gentleman on her account.” Having made this lunatic confession,
+I began to throw my torn-up grass into the river, as if I had some
+thoughts of following it.
+
+“Do you want to be a gentleman, to spite her or to gain her over?” Biddy
+quietly asked me, after a pause.
+
+“I don’t know,” I moodily answered.
+
+“Because, if it is to spite her,” Biddy pursued, “I should think--but
+you know best--that might be better and more independently done by
+caring nothing for her words. And if it is to gain her over, I should
+think--but you know best--she was not worth gaining over.”
+
+Exactly what I myself had thought, many times. Exactly what was
+perfectly manifest to me at the moment. But how could I, a poor dazed
+village lad, avoid that wonderful inconsistency into which the best and
+wisest of men fall every day?
+
+“It may be all quite true,” said I to Biddy, “but I admire her
+dreadfully.”
+
+In short, I turned over on my face when I came to that, and got a good
+grasp on the hair on each side of my head, and wrenched it well. All the
+while knowing the madness of my heart to be so very mad and misplaced,
+that I was quite conscious it would have served my face right, if I
+had lifted it up by my hair, and knocked it against the pebbles as a
+punishment for belonging to such an idiot.
+
+Biddy was the wisest of girls, and she tried to reason no more with me.
+She put her hand, which was a comfortable hand though roughened by work,
+upon my hands, one after another, and gently took them out of my hair.
+Then she softly patted my shoulder in a soothing way, while with my face
+upon my sleeve I cried a little,--exactly as I had done in the brewery
+yard,--and felt vaguely convinced that I was very much ill-used by
+somebody, or by everybody; I can’t say which.
+
+“I am glad of one thing,” said Biddy, “and that is, that you have felt
+you could give me your confidence, Pip. And I am glad of another thing,
+and that is, that of course you know you may depend upon my keeping it
+and always so far deserving it. If your first teacher (dear! such a poor
+one, and so much in need of being taught herself!) had been your teacher
+at the present time, she thinks she knows what lesson she would set. But
+it would be a hard one to learn, and you have got beyond her, and it’s
+of no use now.” So, with a quiet sigh for me, Biddy rose from the bank,
+and said, with a fresh and pleasant change of voice, “Shall we walk a
+little farther, or go home?”
+
+“Biddy,” I cried, getting up, putting my arm round her neck, and giving
+her a kiss, “I shall always tell you everything.”
+
+“Till you’re a gentleman,” said Biddy.
+
+“You know I never shall be, so that’s always. Not that I have any
+occasion to tell you anything, for you know everything I know,--as I
+told you at home the other night.”
+
+“Ah!” said Biddy, quite in a whisper, as she looked away at the ships.
+And then repeated, with her former pleasant change, “shall we walk a
+little farther, or go home?”
+
+I said to Biddy we would walk a little farther, and we did so, and the
+summer afternoon toned down into the summer evening, and it was very
+beautiful. I began to consider whether I was not more naturally and
+wholesomely situated, after all, in these circumstances, than playing
+beggar my neighbor by candle-light in the room with the stopped clocks,
+and being despised by Estella. I thought it would be very good for me if
+I could get her out of my head, with all the rest of those remembrances
+and fancies, and could go to work determined to relish what I had to do,
+and stick to it, and make the best of it. I asked myself the question
+whether I did not surely know that if Estella were beside me at that
+moment instead of Biddy, she would make me miserable? I was obliged to
+admit that I did know it for a certainty, and I said to myself, “Pip,
+what a fool you are!”
+
+We talked a good deal as we walked, and all that Biddy said seemed
+right. Biddy was never insulting, or capricious, or Biddy to-day and
+somebody else to-morrow; she would have derived only pain, and no
+pleasure, from giving me pain; she would far rather have wounded her own
+breast than mine. How could it be, then, that I did not like her much
+the better of the two?
+
+“Biddy,” said I, when we were walking homeward, “I wish you could put me
+right.”
+
+“I wish I could!” said Biddy.
+
+“If I could only get myself to fall in love with you,--you don’t mind my
+speaking so openly to such an old acquaintance?”
+
+“Oh dear, not at all!” said Biddy. “Don’t mind me.”
+
+“If I could only get myself to do it, that would be the thing for me.”
+
+“But you never will, you see,” said Biddy.
+
+It did not appear quite so unlikely to me that evening, as it would have
+done if we had discussed it a few hours before. I therefore observed
+I was not quite sure of that. But Biddy said she was, and she said it
+decisively. In my heart I believed her to be right; and yet I took it
+rather ill, too, that she should be so positive on the point.
+
+When we came near the churchyard, we had to cross an embankment, and
+get over a stile near a sluice-gate. There started up, from the gate, or
+from the rushes, or from the ooze (which was quite in his stagnant way),
+Old Orlick.
+
+“Halloa!” he growled, “where are you two going?”
+
+“Where should we be going, but home?”
+
+“Well, then,” said he, “I’m jiggered if I don’t see you home!”
+
+This penalty of being jiggered was a favorite supposititious case of
+his. He attached no definite meaning to the word that I am aware of, but
+used it, like his own pretended Christian name, to affront mankind, and
+convey an idea of something savagely damaging. When I was younger, I
+had had a general belief that if he had jiggered me personally, he would
+have done it with a sharp and twisted hook.
+
+Biddy was much against his going with us, and said to me in a whisper,
+“Don’t let him come; I don’t like him.” As I did not like him either,
+I took the liberty of saying that we thanked him, but we didn’t want
+seeing home. He received that piece of information with a yell of
+laughter, and dropped back, but came slouching after us at a little
+distance.
+
+Curious to know whether Biddy suspected him of having had a hand in
+that murderous attack of which my sister had never been able to give any
+account, I asked her why she did not like him.
+
+“Oh!” she replied, glancing over her shoulder as he slouched after us,
+“because I--I am afraid he likes me.”
+
+“Did he ever tell you he liked you?” I asked indignantly.
+
+“No,” said Biddy, glancing over her shoulder again, “he never told me
+so; but he dances at me, whenever he can catch my eye.”
+
+However novel and peculiar this testimony of attachment, I did not
+doubt the accuracy of the interpretation. I was very hot indeed upon
+Old Orlick’s daring to admire her; as hot as if it were an outrage on
+myself.
+
+“But it makes no difference to you, you know,” said Biddy, calmly.
+
+“No, Biddy, it makes no difference to me; only I don’t like it; I don’t
+approve of it.”
+
+“Nor I neither,” said Biddy. “Though that makes no difference to you.”
+
+“Exactly,” said I; “but I must tell you I should have no opinion of you,
+Biddy, if he danced at you with your own consent.”
+
+I kept an eye on Orlick after that night, and, whenever circumstances
+were favorable to his dancing at Biddy, got before him to obscure that
+demonstration. He had struck root in Joe’s establishment, by reason
+of my sister’s sudden fancy for him, or I should have tried to get him
+dismissed. He quite understood and reciprocated my good intentions, as I
+had reason to know thereafter.
+
+And now, because my mind was not confused enough before, I complicated
+its confusion fifty thousand-fold, by having states and seasons when I
+was clear that Biddy was immeasurably better than Estella, and that the
+plain honest working life to which I was born had nothing in it to
+be ashamed of, but offered me sufficient means of self-respect
+and happiness. At those times, I would decide conclusively that my
+disaffection to dear old Joe and the forge was gone, and that I was
+growing up in a fair way to be partners with Joe and to keep company
+with Biddy,--when all in a moment some confounding remembrance of the
+Havisham days would fall upon me like a destructive missile, and scatter
+my wits again. Scattered wits take a long time picking up; and often
+before I had got them well together, they would be dispersed in all
+directions by one stray thought, that perhaps after all Miss Havisham
+was going to make my fortune when my time was out.
+
+If my time had run out, it would have left me still at the height of my
+perplexities, I dare say. It never did run out, however, but was brought
+to a premature end, as I proceed to relate.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII
+
+It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship to Joe, and it was a
+Saturday night. There was a group assembled round the fire at the Three
+Jolly Bargemen, attentive to Mr. Wopsle as he read the newspaper aloud.
+Of that group I was one.
+
+A highly popular murder had been committed, and Mr. Wopsle was imbrued
+in blood to the eyebrows. He gloated over every abhorrent adjective
+in the description, and identified himself with every witness at the
+Inquest. He faintly moaned, “I am done for,” as the victim, and he
+barbarously bellowed, “I’ll serve you out,” as the murderer. He gave the
+medical testimony, in pointed imitation of our local practitioner; and
+he piped and shook, as the aged turnpike-keeper who had heard blows, to
+an extent so very paralytic as to suggest a doubt regarding the mental
+competency of that witness. The coroner, in Mr. Wopsle’s hands, became
+Timon of Athens; the beadle, Coriolanus. He enjoyed himself thoroughly,
+and we all enjoyed ourselves, and were delightfully comfortable. In this
+cosey state of mind we came to the verdict Wilful Murder.
+
+Then, and not sooner, I became aware of a strange gentleman leaning over
+the back of the settle opposite me, looking on. There was an expression
+of contempt on his face, and he bit the side of a great forefinger as he
+watched the group of faces.
+
+“Well!” said the stranger to Mr. Wopsle, when the reading was done, “you
+have settled it all to your own satisfaction, I have no doubt?”
+
+Everybody started and looked up, as if it were the murderer. He looked
+at everybody coldly and sarcastically.
+
+“Guilty, of course?” said he. “Out with it. Come!”
+
+“Sir,” returned Mr. Wopsle, “without having the honor of your
+acquaintance, I do say Guilty.” Upon this we all took courage to unite
+in a confirmatory murmur.
+
+“I know you do,” said the stranger; “I knew you would. I told you so.
+But now I’ll ask you a question. Do you know, or do you not know,
+that the law of England supposes every man to be innocent, until he is
+proved--proved--to be guilty?”
+
+“Sir,” Mr. Wopsle began to reply, “as an Englishman myself, I--”
+
+“Come!” said the stranger, biting his forefinger at him. “Don’t evade
+the question. Either you know it, or you don’t know it. Which is it to
+be?”
+
+He stood with his head on one side and himself on one side, in a
+bullying, interrogative manner, and he threw his forefinger at Mr.
+Wopsle,--as it were to mark him out--before biting it again.
+
+“Now!” said he. “Do you know it, or don’t you know it?”
+
+“Certainly I know it,” replied Mr. Wopsle.
+
+“Certainly you know it. Then why didn’t you say so at first? Now, I’ll
+ask you another question,”--taking possession of Mr. Wopsle, as if he
+had a right to him,--“do you know that none of these witnesses have yet
+been cross-examined?”
+
+Mr. Wopsle was beginning, “I can only say--” when the stranger stopped
+him.
+
+“What? You won’t answer the question, yes or no? Now, I’ll try you
+again.” Throwing his finger at him again. “Attend to me. Are you
+aware, or are you not aware, that none of these witnesses have yet been
+cross-examined? Come, I only want one word from you. Yes, or no?”
+
+Mr. Wopsle hesitated, and we all began to conceive rather a poor opinion
+of him.
+
+“Come!” said the stranger, “I’ll help you. You don’t deserve help, but
+I’ll help you. Look at that paper you hold in your hand. What is it?”
+
+“What is it?” repeated Mr. Wopsle, eyeing it, much at a loss.
+
+“Is it,” pursued the stranger in his most sarcastic and suspicious
+manner, “the printed paper you have just been reading from?”
+
+“Undoubtedly.”
+
+“Undoubtedly. Now, turn to that paper, and tell me whether it distinctly
+states that the prisoner expressly said that his legal advisers
+instructed him altogether to reserve his defence?”
+
+“I read that just now,” Mr. Wopsle pleaded.
+
+“Never mind what you read just now, sir; I don’t ask you what you read
+just now. You may read the Lord’s Prayer backwards, if you like,--and,
+perhaps, have done it before to-day. Turn to the paper. No, no, no my
+friend; not to the top of the column; you know better than that; to
+the bottom, to the bottom.” (We all began to think Mr. Wopsle full of
+subterfuge.) “Well? Have you found it?”
+
+“Here it is,” said Mr. Wopsle.
+
+“Now, follow that passage with your eye, and tell me whether it
+distinctly states that the prisoner expressly said that he was
+instructed by his legal advisers wholly to reserve his defence? Come! Do
+you make that of it?”
+
+Mr. Wopsle answered, “Those are not the exact words.”
+
+“Not the exact words!” repeated the gentleman bitterly. “Is that the
+exact substance?”
+
+“Yes,” said Mr. Wopsle.
+
+“Yes,” repeated the stranger, looking round at the rest of the company
+with his right hand extended towards the witness, Wopsle. “And now I ask
+you what you say to the conscience of that man who, with that passage
+before his eyes, can lay his head upon his pillow after having
+pronounced a fellow-creature guilty, unheard?”
+
+We all began to suspect that Mr. Wopsle was not the man we had thought
+him, and that he was beginning to be found out.
+
+“And that same man, remember,” pursued the gentleman, throwing his
+finger at Mr. Wopsle heavily,--“that same man might be summoned as a
+juryman upon this very trial, and, having thus deeply committed himself,
+might return to the bosom of his family and lay his head upon his
+pillow, after deliberately swearing that he would well and truly try the
+issue joined between Our Sovereign Lord the King and the prisoner at the
+bar, and would a true verdict give according to the evidence, so help
+him God!”
+
+We were all deeply persuaded that the unfortunate Wopsle had gone too
+far, and had better stop in his reckless career while there was yet
+time.
+
+The strange gentleman, with an air of authority not to be disputed, and
+with a manner expressive of knowing something secret about every one of
+us that would effectually do for each individual if he chose to disclose
+it, left the back of the settle, and came into the space between the two
+settles, in front of the fire, where he remained standing, his left hand
+in his pocket, and he biting the forefinger of his right.
+
+“From information I have received,” said he, looking round at us as we
+all quailed before him, “I have reason to believe there is a blacksmith
+among you, by name Joseph--or Joe--Gargery. Which is the man?”
+
+“Here is the man,” said Joe.
+
+The strange gentleman beckoned him out of his place, and Joe went.
+
+“You have an apprentice,” pursued the stranger, “commonly known as Pip?
+Is he here?”
+
+“I am here!” I cried.
+
+The stranger did not recognize me, but I recognized him as the gentleman
+I had met on the stairs, on the occasion of my second visit to Miss
+Havisham. I had known him the moment I saw him looking over the settle,
+and now that I stood confronting him with his hand upon my shoulder,
+I checked off again in detail his large head, his dark complexion, his
+deep-set eyes, his bushy black eyebrows, his large watch-chain, his
+strong black dots of beard and whisker, and even the smell of scented
+soap on his great hand.
+
+“I wish to have a private conference with you two,” said he, when he had
+surveyed me at his leisure. “It will take a little time. Perhaps we
+had better go to your place of residence. I prefer not to anticipate my
+communication here; you will impart as much or as little of it as you
+please to your friends afterwards; I have nothing to do with that.”
+
+Amidst a wondering silence, we three walked out of the Jolly Bargemen,
+and in a wondering silence walked home. While going along, the strange
+gentleman occasionally looked at me, and occasionally bit the side of
+his finger. As we neared home, Joe vaguely acknowledging the occasion as
+an impressive and ceremonious one, went on ahead to open the front door.
+Our conference was held in the state parlor, which was feebly lighted by
+one candle.
+
+It began with the strange gentleman’s sitting down at the table, drawing
+the candle to him, and looking over some entries in his pocket-book.
+He then put up the pocket-book and set the candle a little aside, after
+peering round it into the darkness at Joe and me, to ascertain which was
+which.
+
+“My name,” he said, “is Jaggers, and I am a lawyer in London. I am
+pretty well known. I have unusual business to transact with you, and I
+commence by explaining that it is not of my originating. If my advice
+had been asked, I should not have been here. It was not asked, and you
+see me here. What I have to do as the confidential agent of another, I
+do. No less, no more.”
+
+Finding that he could not see us very well from where he sat, he got
+up, and threw one leg over the back of a chair and leaned upon it; thus
+having one foot on the seat of the chair, and one foot on the ground.
+
+“Now, Joseph Gargery, I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of
+this young fellow your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his
+indentures at his request and for his good? You would want nothing for
+so doing?”
+
+“Lord forbid that I should want anything for not standing in Pip’s way,”
+ said Joe, staring.
+
+“Lord forbidding is pious, but not to the purpose,” returned Mr.
+Jaggers. “The question is, Would you want anything? Do you want
+anything?”
+
+“The answer is,” returned Joe, sternly, “No.”
+
+I thought Mr. Jaggers glanced at Joe, as if he considered him a fool for
+his disinterestedness. But I was too much bewildered between breathless
+curiosity and surprise, to be sure of it.
+
+“Very well,” said Mr. Jaggers. “Recollect the admission you have made,
+and don’t try to go from it presently.”
+
+“Who’s a going to try?” retorted Joe.
+
+“I don’t say anybody is. Do you keep a dog?”
+
+“Yes, I do keep a dog.”
+
+“Bear in mind then, that Brag is a good dog, but Holdfast is a better.
+Bear that in mind, will you?” repeated Mr. Jaggers, shutting his eyes
+and nodding his head at Joe, as if he were forgiving him something.
+“Now, I return to this young fellow. And the communication I have got to
+make is, that he has great expectations.”
+
+Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another.
+
+“I am instructed to communicate to him,” said Mr. Jaggers, throwing
+his finger at me sideways, “that he will come into a handsome property.
+Further, that it is the desire of the present possessor of that
+property, that he be immediately removed from his present sphere of life
+and from this place, and be brought up as a gentleman,--in a word, as a
+young fellow of great expectations.”
+
+My dream was out; my wild fancy was surpassed by sober reality; Miss
+Havisham was going to make my fortune on a grand scale.
+
+“Now, Mr. Pip,” pursued the lawyer, “I address the rest of what I have
+to say, to you. You are to understand, first, that it is the request
+of the person from whom I take my instructions that you always bear
+the name of Pip. You will have no objection, I dare say, to your great
+expectations being encumbered with that easy condition. But if you have
+any objection, this is the time to mention it.”
+
+My heart was beating so fast, and there was such a singing in my ears,
+that I could scarcely stammer I had no objection.
+
+“I should think not! Now you are to understand, secondly, Mr. Pip, that
+the name of the person who is your liberal benefactor remains a profound
+secret, until the person chooses to reveal it. I am empowered to mention
+that it is the intention of the person to reveal it at first hand by
+word of mouth to yourself. When or where that intention may be carried
+out, I cannot say; no one can say. It may be years hence. Now, you are
+distinctly to understand that you are most positively prohibited from
+making any inquiry on this head, or any allusion or reference, however
+distant, to any individual whomsoever as the individual, in all the
+communications you may have with me. If you have a suspicion in your own
+breast, keep that suspicion in your own breast. It is not the least to
+the purpose what the reasons of this prohibition are; they may be the
+strongest and gravest reasons, or they may be mere whim. This is not for
+you to inquire into. The condition is laid down. Your acceptance of it,
+and your observance of it as binding, is the only remaining condition
+that I am charged with, by the person from whom I take my instructions,
+and for whom I am not otherwise responsible. That person is the person
+from whom you derive your expectations, and the secret is solely held by
+that person and by me. Again, not a very difficult condition with which
+to encumber such a rise in fortune; but if you have any objection to it,
+this is the time to mention it. Speak out.”
+
+Once more, I stammered with difficulty that I had no objection.
+
+“I should think not! Now, Mr. Pip, I have done with stipulations.”
+ Though he called me Mr. Pip, and began rather to make up to me, he still
+could not get rid of a certain air of bullying suspicion; and even now
+he occasionally shut his eyes and threw his finger at me while he
+spoke, as much as to express that he knew all kinds of things to my
+disparagement, if he only chose to mention them. “We come next, to mere
+details of arrangement. You must know that, although I have used
+the term ‘expectations’ more than once, you are not endowed with
+expectations only. There is already lodged in my hands a sum of money
+amply sufficient for your suitable education and maintenance. You will
+please consider me your guardian. Oh!” for I was going to thank him, “I
+tell you at once, I am paid for my services, or I shouldn’t render them.
+It is considered that you must be better educated, in accordance with
+your altered position, and that you will be alive to the importance and
+necessity of at once entering on that advantage.”
+
+I said I had always longed for it.
+
+“Never mind what you have always longed for, Mr. Pip,” he retorted;
+“keep to the record. If you long for it now, that’s enough. Am I
+answered that you are ready to be placed at once under some proper
+tutor? Is that it?”
+
+I stammered yes, that was it.
+
+“Good. Now, your inclinations are to be consulted. I don’t think that
+wise, mind, but it’s my trust. Have you ever heard of any tutor whom you
+would prefer to another?”
+
+I had never heard of any tutor but Biddy and Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt;
+so, I replied in the negative.
+
+“There is a certain tutor, of whom I have some knowledge, who I think
+might suit the purpose,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I don’t recommend him,
+observe; because I never recommend anybody. The gentleman I speak of is
+one Mr. Matthew Pocket.”
+
+Ah! I caught at the name directly. Miss Havisham’s relation. The Matthew
+whom Mr. and Mrs. Camilla had spoken of. The Matthew whose place was to
+be at Miss Havisham’s head, when she lay dead, in her bride’s dress on
+the bride’s table.
+
+“You know the name?” said Mr. Jaggers, looking shrewdly at me, and then
+shutting up his eyes while he waited for my answer.
+
+My answer was, that I had heard of the name.
+
+“Oh!” said he. “You have heard of the name. But the question is, what do
+you say of it?”
+
+I said, or tried to say, that I was much obliged to him for his
+recommendation--
+
+“No, my young friend!” he interrupted, shaking his great head very
+slowly. “Recollect yourself!”
+
+Not recollecting myself, I began again that I was much obliged to him
+for his recommendation--
+
+“No, my young friend,” he interrupted, shaking his head and frowning and
+smiling both at once,--“no, no, no; it’s very well done, but it won’t
+do; you are too young to fix me with it. Recommendation is not the word,
+Mr. Pip. Try another.”
+
+Correcting myself, I said that I was much obliged to him for his mention
+of Mr. Matthew Pocket--
+
+“That’s more like it!” cried Mr. Jaggers.--And (I added), I would
+gladly try that gentleman.
+
+“Good. You had better try him in his own house. The way shall be
+prepared for you, and you can see his son first, who is in London. When
+will you come to London?”
+
+I said (glancing at Joe, who stood looking on, motionless), that I
+supposed I could come directly.
+
+“First,” said Mr. Jaggers, “you should have some new clothes to come in,
+and they should not be working-clothes. Say this day week. You’ll want
+some money. Shall I leave you twenty guineas?”
+
+He produced a long purse, with the greatest coolness, and counted them
+out on the table and pushed them over to me. This was the first time he
+had taken his leg from the chair. He sat astride of the chair when he
+had pushed the money over, and sat swinging his purse and eyeing Joe.
+
+“Well, Joseph Gargery? You look dumbfoundered?”
+
+“I am!” said Joe, in a very decided manner.
+
+“It was understood that you wanted nothing for yourself, remember?”
+
+“It were understood,” said Joe. “And it are understood. And it ever will
+be similar according.”
+
+“But what,” said Mr. Jaggers, swinging his purse,--“what if it was in my
+instructions to make you a present, as compensation?”
+
+“As compensation what for?” Joe demanded.
+
+“For the loss of his services.”
+
+Joe laid his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. I have
+often thought him since, like the steam-hammer that can crush a man or
+pat an egg-shell, in his combination of strength with gentleness. “Pip
+is that hearty welcome,” said Joe, “to go free with his services, to
+honor and fortun’, as no words can tell him. But if you think as Money
+can make compensation to me for the loss of the little child--what come
+to the forge--and ever the best of friends!--”
+
+O dear good Joe, whom I was so ready to leave and so unthankful to, I
+see you again, with your muscular blacksmith’s arm before your eyes,
+and your broad chest heaving, and your voice dying away. O dear good
+faithful tender Joe, I feel the loving tremble of your hand upon my arm,
+as solemnly this day as if it had been the rustle of an angel’s wing!
+
+But I encouraged Joe at the time. I was lost in the mazes of my future
+fortunes, and could not retrace the by-paths we had trodden together. I
+begged Joe to be comforted, for (as he said) we had ever been the best
+of friends, and (as I said) we ever would be so. Joe scooped his eyes
+with his disengaged wrist, as if he were bent on gouging himself, but
+said not another word.
+
+Mr. Jaggers had looked on at this, as one who recognized in Joe the
+village idiot, and in me his keeper. When it was over, he said, weighing
+in his hand the purse he had ceased to swing:--
+
+“Now, Joseph Gargery, I warn you this is your last chance. No half
+measures with me. If you mean to take a present that I have it in charge
+to make you, speak out, and you shall have it. If on the contrary you
+mean to say--” Here, to his great amazement, he was stopped by Joe’s
+suddenly working round him with every demonstration of a fell pugilistic
+purpose.
+
+“Which I meantersay,” cried Joe, “that if you come into my place
+bull-baiting and badgering me, come out! Which I meantersay as sech if
+you’re a man, come on! Which I meantersay that what I say, I meantersay
+and stand or fall by!”
+
+I drew Joe away, and he immediately became placable; merely stating to
+me, in an obliging manner and as a polite expostulatory notice to any
+one whom it might happen to concern, that he were not a going to be
+bull-baited and badgered in his own place. Mr. Jaggers had risen when
+Joe demonstrated, and had backed near the door. Without evincing
+any inclination to come in again, he there delivered his valedictory
+remarks. They were these.
+
+“Well, Mr. Pip, I think the sooner you leave here--as you are to be a
+gentleman--the better. Let it stand for this day week, and you shall
+receive my printed address in the meantime. You can take a hackney-coach
+at the stage-coach office in London, and come straight to me.
+Understand, that I express no opinion, one way or other, on the trust
+I undertake. I am paid for undertaking it, and I do so. Now, understand
+that, finally. Understand that!”
+
+He was throwing his finger at both of us, and I think would have gone
+on, but for his seeming to think Joe dangerous, and going off.
+
+Something came into my head which induced me to run after him, as he was
+going down to the Jolly Bargemen, where he had left a hired carriage.
+
+“I beg your pardon, Mr. Jaggers.”
+
+“Halloa!” said he, facing round, “what’s the matter?”
+
+“I wish to be quite right, Mr. Jaggers, and to keep to your directions;
+so I thought I had better ask. Would there be any objection to my taking
+leave of any one I know, about here, before I go away?”
+
+“No,” said he, looking as if he hardly understood me.
+
+“I don’t mean in the village only, but up town?”
+
+“No,” said he. “No objection.”
+
+I thanked him and ran home again, and there I found that Joe had already
+locked the front door and vacated the state parlor, and was seated
+by the kitchen fire with a hand on each knee, gazing intently at the
+burning coals. I too sat down before the fire and gazed at the coals,
+and nothing was said for a long time.
+
+My sister was in her cushioned chair in her corner, and Biddy sat at her
+needle-work before the fire, and Joe sat next Biddy, and I sat next Joe
+in the corner opposite my sister. The more I looked into the glowing
+coals, the more incapable I became of looking at Joe; the longer the
+silence lasted, the more unable I felt to speak.
+
+At length I got out, “Joe, have you told Biddy?”
+
+“No, Pip,” returned Joe, still looking at the fire, and holding his
+knees tight, as if he had private information that they intended to make
+off somewhere, “which I left it to yourself, Pip.”
+
+“I would rather you told, Joe.”
+
+“Pip’s a gentleman of fortun’ then,” said Joe, “and God bless him in
+it!”
+
+Biddy dropped her work, and looked at me. Joe held his knees and looked
+at me. I looked at both of them. After a pause, they both heartily
+congratulated me; but there was a certain touch of sadness in their
+congratulations that I rather resented.
+
+I took it upon myself to impress Biddy (and through Biddy, Joe) with the
+grave obligation I considered my friends under, to know nothing and say
+nothing about the maker of my fortune. It would all come out in good
+time, I observed, and in the meanwhile nothing was to be said, save
+that I had come into great expectations from a mysterious patron. Biddy
+nodded her head thoughtfully at the fire as she took up her work again,
+and said she would be very particular; and Joe, still detaining his
+knees, said, “Ay, ay, I’ll be ekervally partickler, Pip;” and then they
+congratulated me again, and went on to express so much wonder at the
+notion of my being a gentleman that I didn’t half like it.
+
+Infinite pains were then taken by Biddy to convey to my sister some idea
+of what had happened. To the best of my belief, those efforts entirely
+failed. She laughed and nodded her head a great many times, and even
+repeated after Biddy, the words “Pip” and “Property.” But I doubt if
+they had more meaning in them than an election cry, and I cannot suggest
+a darker picture of her state of mind.
+
+I never could have believed it without experience, but as Joe and
+Biddy became more at their cheerful ease again, I became quite gloomy.
+Dissatisfied with my fortune, of course I could not be; but it is
+possible that I may have been, without quite knowing it, dissatisfied
+with myself.
+
+Any how, I sat with my elbow on my knee and my face upon my hand,
+looking into the fire, as those two talked about my going away, and
+about what they should do without me, and all that. And whenever I
+caught one of them looking at me, though never so pleasantly (and they
+often looked at me,--particularly Biddy), I felt offended: as if they
+were expressing some mistrust of me. Though Heaven knows they never did
+by word or sign.
+
+At those times I would get up and look out at the door; for our kitchen
+door opened at once upon the night, and stood open on summer evenings to
+air the room. The very stars to which I then raised my eyes, I am afraid
+I took to be but poor and humble stars for glittering on the rustic
+objects among which I had passed my life.
+
+“Saturday night,” said I, when we sat at our supper of bread and cheese
+and beer. “Five more days, and then the day before the day! They’ll soon
+go.”
+
+“Yes, Pip,” observed Joe, whose voice sounded hollow in his beer-mug.
+“They’ll soon go.”
+
+“Soon, soon go,” said Biddy.
+
+“I have been thinking, Joe, that when I go down town on Monday, and
+order my new clothes, I shall tell the tailor that I’ll come and put
+them on there, or that I’ll have them sent to Mr. Pumblechook’s. It
+would be very disagreeable to be stared at by all the people here.”
+
+“Mr. and Mrs. Hubble might like to see you in your new gen-teel figure
+too, Pip,” said Joe, industriously cutting his bread, with his cheese on
+it, in the palm of his left hand, and glancing at my untasted supper
+as if he thought of the time when we used to compare slices. “So might
+Wopsle. And the Jolly Bargemen might take it as a compliment.”
+
+“That’s just what I don’t want, Joe. They would make such a business of
+it,--such a coarse and common business,--that I couldn’t bear myself.”
+
+“Ah, that indeed, Pip!” said Joe. “If you couldn’t abear yourself--”
+
+Biddy asked me here, as she sat holding my sister’s plate, “Have you
+thought about when you’ll show yourself to Mr. Gargery, and your sister
+and me? You will show yourself to us; won’t you?”
+
+“Biddy,” I returned with some resentment, “you are so exceedingly quick
+that it’s difficult to keep up with you.”
+
+(“She always were quick,” observed Joe.)
+
+“If you had waited another moment, Biddy, you would have heard me say
+that I shall bring my clothes here in a bundle one evening,--most likely
+on the evening before I go away.”
+
+Biddy said no more. Handsomely forgiving her, I soon exchanged an
+affectionate good night with her and Joe, and went up to bed. When I got
+into my little room, I sat down and took a long look at it, as a mean
+little room that I should soon be parted from and raised above, for
+ever. It was furnished with fresh young remembrances too, and even at
+the same moment I fell into much the same confused division of mind
+between it and the better rooms to which I was going, as I had been in
+so often between the forge and Miss Havisham’s, and Biddy and Estella.
+
+The sun had been shining brightly all day on the roof of my attic, and
+the room was warm. As I put the window open and stood looking out, I saw
+Joe come slowly forth at the dark door, below, and take a turn or two
+in the air; and then I saw Biddy come, and bring him a pipe and light
+it for him. He never smoked so late, and it seemed to hint to me that he
+wanted comforting, for some reason or other.
+
+He presently stood at the door immediately beneath me, smoking his pipe,
+and Biddy stood there too, quietly talking to him, and I knew that they
+talked of me, for I heard my name mentioned in an endearing tone by both
+of them more than once. I would not have listened for more, if I could
+have heard more; so I drew away from the window, and sat down in my one
+chair by the bedside, feeling it very sorrowful and strange that this
+first night of my bright fortunes should be the loneliest I had ever
+known.
+
+Looking towards the open window, I saw light wreaths from Joe’s pipe
+floating there, and I fancied it was like a blessing from Joe,--not
+obtruded on me or paraded before me, but pervading the air we shared
+together. I put my light out, and crept into bed; and it was an uneasy
+bed now, and I never slept the old sound sleep in it any more.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX
+
+Morning made a considerable difference in my general prospect of Life,
+and brightened it so much that it scarcely seemed the same. What lay
+heaviest on my mind was, the consideration that six days intervened
+between me and the day of departure; for I could not divest myself of
+a misgiving that something might happen to London in the meanwhile, and
+that, when I got there, it would be either greatly deteriorated or clean
+gone.
+
+Joe and Biddy were very sympathetic and pleasant when I spoke of our
+approaching separation; but they only referred to it when I did. After
+breakfast, Joe brought out my indentures from the press in the best
+parlor, and we put them in the fire, and I felt that I was free. With
+all the novelty of my emancipation on me, I went to church with Joe, and
+thought perhaps the clergyman wouldn’t have read that about the rich man
+and the kingdom of Heaven, if he had known all.
+
+After our early dinner, I strolled out alone, purposing to finish off
+the marshes at once, and get them done with. As I passed the church, I
+felt (as I had felt during service in the morning) a sublime compassion
+for the poor creatures who were destined to go there, Sunday after
+Sunday, all their lives through, and to lie obscurely at last among the
+low green mounds. I promised myself that I would do something for them
+one of these days, and formed a plan in outline for bestowing a
+dinner of roast-beef and plum-pudding, a pint of ale, and a gallon of
+condescension, upon everybody in the village.
+
+If I had often thought before, with something allied to shame, of my
+companionship with the fugitive whom I had once seen limping among those
+graves, what were my thoughts on this Sunday, when the place recalled
+the wretch, ragged and shivering, with his felon iron and badge! My
+comfort was, that it happened a long time ago, and that he had doubtless
+been transported a long way off, and that he was dead to me, and might
+be veritably dead into the bargain.
+
+No more low, wet grounds, no more dikes and sluices, no more of these
+grazing cattle,--though they seemed, in their dull manner, to wear a
+more respectful air now, and to face round, in order that they
+might stare as long as possible at the possessor of such great
+expectations,--farewell, monotonous acquaintances of my childhood,
+henceforth I was for London and greatness; not for smith’s work in
+general, and for you! I made my exultant way to the old Battery, and,
+lying down there to consider the question whether Miss Havisham intended
+me for Estella, fell asleep.
+
+When I awoke, I was much surprised to find Joe sitting beside me,
+smoking his pipe. He greeted me with a cheerful smile on my opening my
+eyes, and said,--
+
+“As being the last time, Pip, I thought I’d foller.”
+
+“And Joe, I am very glad you did so.”
+
+“Thankee, Pip.”
+
+“You may be sure, dear Joe,” I went on, after we had shaken hands, “that
+I shall never forget you.”
+
+“No, no, Pip!” said Joe, in a comfortable tone, “I’m sure of that. Ay,
+ay, old chap! Bless you, it were only necessary to get it well round in
+a man’s mind, to be certain on it. But it took a bit of time to get it
+well round, the change come so oncommon plump; didn’t it?”
+
+Somehow, I was not best pleased with Joe’s being so mightily secure of
+me. I should have liked him to have betrayed emotion, or to have said,
+“It does you credit, Pip,” or something of that sort. Therefore, I made
+no remark on Joe’s first head; merely saying as to his second, that the
+tidings had indeed come suddenly, but that I had always wanted to be a
+gentleman, and had often and often speculated on what I would do, if I
+were one.
+
+“Have you though?” said Joe. “Astonishing!”
+
+“It’s a pity now, Joe,” said I, “that you did not get on a little more,
+when we had our lessons here; isn’t it?”
+
+“Well, I don’t know,” returned Joe. “I’m so awful dull. I’m only master
+of my own trade. It were always a pity as I was so awful dull; but it’s
+no more of a pity now, than it was--this day twelvemonth--don’t you
+see?”
+
+What I had meant was, that when I came into my property and was able to
+do something for Joe, it would have been much more agreeable if he
+had been better qualified for a rise in station. He was so perfectly
+innocent of my meaning, however, that I thought I would mention it to
+Biddy in preference.
+
+So, when we had walked home and had had tea, I took Biddy into our
+little garden by the side of the lane, and, after throwing out in a
+general way for the elevation of her spirits, that I should never forget
+her, said I had a favor to ask of her.
+
+“And it is, Biddy,” said I, “that you will not omit any opportunity of
+helping Joe on, a little.”
+
+“How helping him on?” asked Biddy, with a steady sort of glance.
+
+“Well! Joe is a dear good fellow,--in fact, I think he is the dearest
+fellow that ever lived,--but he is rather backward in some things. For
+instance, Biddy, in his learning and his manners.”
+
+Although I was looking at Biddy as I spoke, and although she opened her
+eyes very wide when I had spoken, she did not look at me.
+
+“O, his manners! won’t his manners do then?” asked Biddy, plucking a
+black-currant leaf.
+
+“My dear Biddy, they do very well here--”
+
+“O! they do very well here?” interrupted Biddy, looking closely at the
+leaf in her hand.
+
+“Hear me out,--but if I were to remove Joe into a higher sphere, as I
+shall hope to remove him when I fully come into my property, they would
+hardly do him justice.”
+
+“And don’t you think he knows that?” asked Biddy.
+
+It was such a very provoking question (for it had never in the most
+distant manner occurred to me), that I said, snappishly,--
+
+“Biddy, what do you mean?”
+
+Biddy, having rubbed the leaf to pieces between her hands,--and the
+smell of a black-currant bush has ever since recalled to me that evening
+in the little garden by the side of the lane,--said, “Have you never
+considered that he may be proud?”
+
+“Proud?” I repeated, with disdainful emphasis.
+
+“O! there are many kinds of pride,” said Biddy, looking full at me and
+shaking her head; “pride is not all of one kind--”
+
+“Well? What are you stopping for?” said I.
+
+“Not all of one kind,” resumed Biddy. “He may be too proud to let any
+one take him out of a place that he is competent to fill, and fills well
+and with respect. To tell you the truth, I think he is; though it sounds
+bold in me to say so, for you must know him far better than I do.”
+
+“Now, Biddy,” said I, “I am very sorry to see this in you. I did not
+expect to see this in you. You are envious, Biddy, and grudging. You
+are dissatisfied on account of my rise in fortune, and you can’t help
+showing it.”
+
+“If you have the heart to think so,” returned Biddy, “say so. Say so
+over and over again, if you have the heart to think so.”
+
+“If you have the heart to be so, you mean, Biddy,” said I, in a virtuous
+and superior tone; “don’t put it off upon me. I am very sorry to see it,
+and it’s a--it’s a bad side of human nature. I did intend to ask you
+to use any little opportunities you might have after I was gone, of
+improving dear Joe. But after this I ask you nothing. I am extremely
+sorry to see this in you, Biddy,” I repeated. “It’s a--it’s a bad side
+of human nature.”
+
+“Whether you scold me or approve of me,” returned poor Biddy, “you may
+equally depend upon my trying to do all that lies in my power, here,
+at all times. And whatever opinion you take away of me, shall make
+no difference in my remembrance of you. Yet a gentleman should not be
+unjust neither,” said Biddy, turning away her head.
+
+I again warmly repeated that it was a bad side of human nature (in which
+sentiment, waiving its application, I have since seen reason to think I
+was right), and I walked down the little path away from Biddy, and
+Biddy went into the house, and I went out at the garden gate and took a
+dejected stroll until supper-time; again feeling it very sorrowful and
+strange that this, the second night of my bright fortunes, should be as
+lonely and unsatisfactory as the first.
+
+But, morning once more brightened my view, and I extended my clemency to
+Biddy, and we dropped the subject. Putting on the best clothes I had,
+I went into town as early as I could hope to find the shops open,
+and presented myself before Mr. Trabb, the tailor, who was having his
+breakfast in the parlor behind his shop, and who did not think it worth
+his while to come out to me, but called me into him.
+
+“Well!” said Mr. Trabb, in a hail-fellow-well-met kind of way. “How are
+you, and what can I do for you?”
+
+Mr. Trabb had sliced his hot roll into three feather-beds, and was
+slipping butter in between the blankets, and covering it up. He was a
+prosperous old bachelor, and his open window looked into a prosperous
+little garden and orchard, and there was a prosperous iron safe let into
+the wall at the side of his fireplace, and I did not doubt that heaps of
+his prosperity were put away in it in bags.
+
+“Mr. Trabb,” said I, “it’s an unpleasant thing to have to mention,
+because it looks like boasting; but I have come into a handsome
+property.”
+
+A change passed over Mr. Trabb. He forgot the butter in bed, got up from
+the bedside, and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth, exclaiming, “Lord
+bless my soul!”
+
+“I am going up to my guardian in London,” said I, casually drawing some
+guineas out of my pocket and looking at them; “and I want a fashionable
+suit of clothes to go in. I wish to pay for them,” I added--otherwise I
+thought he might only pretend to make them, “with ready money.”
+
+“My dear sir,” said Mr. Trabb, as he respectfully bent his body, opened
+his arms, and took the liberty of touching me on the outside of each
+elbow, “don’t hurt me by mentioning that. May I venture to congratulate
+you? Would you do me the favor of stepping into the shop?”
+
+Mr. Trabb’s boy was the most audacious boy in all that country-side.
+When I had entered he was sweeping the shop, and he had sweetened his
+labors by sweeping over me. He was still sweeping when I came out into
+the shop with Mr. Trabb, and he knocked the broom against all possible
+corners and obstacles, to express (as I understood it) equality with any
+blacksmith, alive or dead.
+
+“Hold that noise,” said Mr. Trabb, with the greatest sternness, “or I’ll
+knock your head off!--Do me the favor to be seated, sir. Now, this,”
+ said Mr. Trabb, taking down a roll of cloth, and tiding it out in a
+flowing manner over the counter, preparatory to getting his hand under
+it to show the gloss, “is a very sweet article. I can recommend it for
+your purpose, sir, because it really is extra super. But you shall
+see some others. Give me Number Four, you!” (To the boy, and with a
+dreadfully severe stare; foreseeing the danger of that miscreant’s
+brushing me with it, or making some other sign of familiarity.)
+
+Mr. Trabb never removed his stern eye from the boy until he had
+deposited number four on the counter and was at a safe distance again.
+Then he commanded him to bring number five, and number eight. “And let
+me have none of your tricks here,” said Mr. Trabb, “or you shall repent
+it, you young scoundrel, the longest day you have to live.”
+
+Mr. Trabb then bent over number four, and in a sort of deferential
+confidence recommended it to me as a light article for summer wear, an
+article much in vogue among the nobility and gentry, an article that
+it would ever be an honor to him to reflect upon a distinguished
+fellow-townsman’s (if he might claim me for a fellow-townsman) having
+worn. “Are you bringing numbers five and eight, you vagabond,” said Mr.
+Trabb to the boy after that, “or shall I kick you out of the shop and
+bring them myself?”
+
+I selected the materials for a suit, with the assistance of Mr. Trabb’s
+judgment, and re-entered the parlor to be measured. For although Mr.
+Trabb had my measure already, and had previously been quite contented
+with it, he said apologetically that it “wouldn’t do under existing
+circumstances, sir,--wouldn’t do at all.” So, Mr. Trabb measured and
+calculated me in the parlor, as if I were an estate and he the finest
+species of surveyor, and gave himself such a world of trouble that
+I felt that no suit of clothes could possibly remunerate him for his
+pains. When he had at last done and had appointed to send the articles
+to Mr. Pumblechook’s on the Thursday evening, he said, with his hand
+upon the parlor lock, “I know, sir, that London gentlemen cannot be
+expected to patronize local work, as a rule; but if you would give me a
+turn now and then in the quality of a townsman, I should greatly esteem
+it. Good morning, sir, much obliged.--Door!”
+
+The last word was flung at the boy, who had not the least notion what
+it meant. But I saw him collapse as his master rubbed me out with his
+hands, and my first decided experience of the stupendous power of money
+was, that it had morally laid upon his back Trabb’s boy.
+
+After this memorable event, I went to the hatter’s, and the bootmaker’s,
+and the hosier’s, and felt rather like Mother Hubbard’s dog whose outfit
+required the services of so many trades. I also went to the coach-office
+and took my place for seven o’clock on Saturday morning. It was
+not necessary to explain everywhere that I had come into a handsome
+property; but whenever I said anything to that effect, it followed that
+the officiating tradesman ceased to have his attention diverted through
+the window by the High Street, and concentrated his mind upon me. When
+I had ordered everything I wanted, I directed my steps towards
+Pumblechook’s, and, as I approached that gentleman’s place of business,
+I saw him standing at his door.
+
+He was waiting for me with great impatience. He had been out early with
+the chaise-cart, and had called at the forge and heard the news. He had
+prepared a collation for me in the Barnwell parlor, and he too ordered
+his shopman to “come out of the gangway” as my sacred person passed.
+
+“My dear friend,” said Mr. Pumblechook, taking me by both hands, when
+he and I and the collation were alone, “I give you joy of your good
+fortune. Well deserved, well deserved!”
+
+This was coming to the point, and I thought it a sensible way of
+expressing himself.
+
+“To think,” said Mr. Pumblechook, after snorting admiration at me for
+some moments, “that I should have been the humble instrument of leading
+up to this, is a proud reward.”
+
+I begged Mr. Pumblechook to remember that nothing was to be ever said or
+hinted, on that point.
+
+“My dear young friend,” said Mr. Pumblechook; “if you will allow me to
+call you so--”
+
+I murmured “Certainly,” and Mr. Pumblechook took me by both hands again,
+and communicated a movement to his waistcoat, which had an emotional
+appearance, though it was rather low down, “My dear young friend, rely
+upon my doing my little all in your absence, by keeping the fact before
+the mind of Joseph.--Joseph!” said Mr. Pumblechook, in the way of a
+compassionate adjuration. “Joseph!! Joseph!!!” Thereupon he shook his
+head and tapped it, expressing his sense of deficiency in Joseph.
+
+“But my dear young friend,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “you must be hungry,
+you must be exhausted. Be seated. Here is a chicken had round from the
+Boar, here is a tongue had round from the Boar, here’s one or two little
+things had round from the Boar, that I hope you may not despise. But do
+I,” said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again the moment after he had sat
+down, “see afore me, him as I ever sported with in his times of happy
+infancy? And may I--may I--?”
+
+This May I, meant might he shake hands? I consented, and he was fervent,
+and then sat down again.
+
+“Here is wine,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “Let us drink, Thanks to Fortune,
+and may she ever pick out her favorites with equal judgment! And yet I
+cannot,” said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again, “see afore me One--and
+likewise drink to One--without again expressing--May I--may I--?”
+
+I said he might, and he shook hands with me again, and emptied his glass
+and turned it upside down. I did the same; and if I had turned myself
+upside down before drinking, the wine could not have gone more direct to
+my head.
+
+Mr. Pumblechook helped me to the liver wing, and to the best slice of
+tongue (none of those out-of-the-way No Thoroughfares of Pork now), and
+took, comparatively speaking, no care of himself at all. “Ah! poultry,
+poultry! You little thought,” said Mr. Pumblechook, apostrophizing the
+fowl in the dish, “when you was a young fledgling, what was in store for
+you. You little thought you was to be refreshment beneath this humble
+roof for one as--Call it a weakness, if you will,” said Mr. Pumblechook,
+getting up again, “but may I? may I--?”
+
+It began to be unnecessary to repeat the form of saying he might, so
+he did it at once. How he ever did it so often without wounding himself
+with my knife, I don’t know.
+
+“And your sister,” he resumed, after a little steady eating, “which had
+the honor of bringing you up by hand! It’s a sad picter, to reflect that
+she’s no longer equal to fully understanding the honor. May--”
+
+I saw he was about to come at me again, and I stopped him.
+
+“We’ll drink her health,” said I.
+
+“Ah!” cried Mr. Pumblechook, leaning back in his chair, quite flaccid
+with admiration, “that’s the way you know ‘em, sir!” (I don’t know
+who Sir was, but he certainly was not I, and there was no third person
+present); “that’s the way you know the noble-minded, sir! Ever forgiving
+and ever affable. It might,” said the servile Pumblechook, putting down
+his untasted glass in a hurry and getting up again, “to a common person,
+have the appearance of repeating--but may I--?”
+
+When he had done it, he resumed his seat and drank to my sister. “Let us
+never be blind,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “to her faults of temper, but it
+is to be hoped she meant well.”
+
+At about this time, I began to observe that he was getting flushed in
+the face; as to myself, I felt all face, steeped in wine and smarting.
+
+I mentioned to Mr. Pumblechook that I wished to have my new clothes
+sent to his house, and he was ecstatic on my so distinguishing him. I
+mentioned my reason for desiring to avoid observation in the village,
+and he lauded it to the skies. There was nobody but himself, he
+intimated, worthy of my confidence, and--in short, might he? Then he
+asked me tenderly if I remembered our boyish games at sums, and how we
+had gone together to have me bound apprentice, and, in effect, how he
+had ever been my favorite fancy and my chosen friend? If I had taken
+ten times as many glasses of wine as I had, I should have known that he
+never had stood in that relation towards me, and should in my heart of
+hearts have repudiated the idea. Yet for all that, I remember feeling
+convinced that I had been much mistaken in him, and that he was a
+sensible, practical, good-hearted prime fellow.
+
+By degrees he fell to reposing such great confidence in me, as to ask my
+advice in reference to his own affairs. He mentioned that there was an
+opportunity for a great amalgamation and monopoly of the corn and seed
+trade on those premises, if enlarged, such as had never occurred
+before in that or any other neighborhood. What alone was wanting to the
+realization of a vast fortune, he considered to be More Capital.
+Those were the two little words, more capital. Now it appeared to him
+(Pumblechook) that if that capital were got into the business, through a
+sleeping partner, sir,--which sleeping partner would have nothing to
+do but walk in, by self or deputy, whenever he pleased, and examine
+the books,--and walk in twice a year and take his profits away in his
+pocket, to the tune of fifty per cent,--it appeared to him that that
+might be an opening for a young gentleman of spirit combined with
+property, which would be worthy of his attention. But what did I think?
+He had great confidence in my opinion, and what did I think? I gave it
+as my opinion. “Wait a bit!” The united vastness and distinctness of
+this view so struck him, that he no longer asked if he might shake hands
+with me, but said he really must,--and did.
+
+We drank all the wine, and Mr. Pumblechook pledged himself over and over
+again to keep Joseph up to the mark (I don’t know what mark), and to
+render me efficient and constant service (I don’t know what service). He
+also made known to me for the first time in my life, and certainly after
+having kept his secret wonderfully well, that he had always said of me,
+“That boy is no common boy, and mark me, his fortun’ will be no common
+fortun’.” He said with a tearful smile that it was a singular thing to
+think of now, and I said so too. Finally, I went out into the air, with
+a dim perception that there was something unwonted in the conduct of the
+sunshine, and found that I had slumberously got to the turnpike without
+having taken any account of the road.
+
+There, I was roused by Mr. Pumblechook’s hailing me. He was a long way
+down the sunny street, and was making expressive gestures for me to
+stop. I stopped, and he came up breathless.
+
+“No, my dear friend,” said he, when he had recovered wind for speech.
+“Not if I can help it. This occasion shall not entirely pass without
+that affability on your part.--May I, as an old friend and well-wisher?
+May I?”
+
+We shook hands for the hundredth time at least, and he ordered a young
+carter out of my way with the greatest indignation. Then, he blessed
+me and stood waving his hand to me until I had passed the crook in the
+road; and then I turned into a field and had a long nap under a hedge
+before I pursued my way home.
+
+I had scant luggage to take with me to London, for little of the little
+I possessed was adapted to my new station. But I began packing that same
+afternoon, and wildly packed up things that I knew I should want next
+morning, in a fiction that there was not a moment to be lost.
+
+So, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, passed; and on Friday morning I
+went to Mr. Pumblechook’s, to put on my new clothes and pay my visit to
+Miss Havisham. Mr. Pumblechook’s own room was given up to me to dress
+in, and was decorated with clean towels expressly for the event. My
+clothes were rather a disappointment, of course. Probably every new
+and eagerly expected garment ever put on since clothes came in, fell
+a trifle short of the wearer’s expectation. But after I had had my
+new suit on some half an hour, and had gone through an immensity of
+posturing with Mr. Pumblechook’s very limited dressing-glass, in the
+futile endeavor to see my legs, it seemed to fit me better. It being
+market morning at a neighboring town some ten miles off, Mr. Pumblechook
+was not at home. I had not told him exactly when I meant to leave, and
+was not likely to shake hands with him again before departing. This was
+all as it should be, and I went out in my new array, fearfully ashamed
+of having to pass the shopman, and suspicious after all that I was at a
+personal disadvantage, something like Joe’s in his Sunday suit.
+
+I went circuitously to Miss Havisham’s by all the back ways, and rang
+at the bell constrainedly, on account of the stiff long fingers of my
+gloves. Sarah Pocket came to the gate, and positively reeled back when
+she saw me so changed; her walnut-shell countenance likewise turned from
+brown to green and yellow.
+
+“You?” said she. “You? Good gracious! What do you want?”
+
+“I am going to London, Miss Pocket,” said I, “and want to say good-bye to
+Miss Havisham.”
+
+I was not expected, for she left me locked in the yard, while she went
+to ask if I were to be admitted. After a very short delay, she returned
+and took me up, staring at me all the way.
+
+Miss Havisham was taking exercise in the room with the long spread
+table, leaning on her crutch stick. The room was lighted as of yore, and
+at the sound of our entrance, she stopped and turned. She was then just
+abreast of the rotted bride-cake.
+
+“Don’t go, Sarah,” she said. “Well, Pip?”
+
+“I start for London, Miss Havisham, to-morrow,” I was exceedingly
+careful what I said, “and I thought you would kindly not mind my taking
+leave of you.”
+
+“This is a gay figure, Pip,” said she, making her crutch stick play
+round me, as if she, the fairy godmother who had changed me, were
+bestowing the finishing gift.
+
+“I have come into such good fortune since I saw you last, Miss
+Havisham,” I murmured. “And I am so grateful for it, Miss Havisham!”
+
+“Ay, ay!” said she, looking at the discomfited and envious Sarah, with
+delight. “I have seen Mr. Jaggers. I have heard about it, Pip. So you go
+to-morrow?”
+
+“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
+
+“And you are adopted by a rich person?”
+
+“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
+
+“Not named?”
+
+“No, Miss Havisham.”
+
+“And Mr. Jaggers is made your guardian?”
+
+“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
+
+She quite gloated on these questions and answers, so keen was her
+enjoyment of Sarah Pocket’s jealous dismay. “Well!” she went on; “you
+have a promising career before you. Be good--deserve it--and abide by
+Mr. Jaggers’s instructions.” She looked at me, and looked at Sarah, and
+Sarah’s countenance wrung out of her watchful face a cruel smile. “Good-bye,
+Pip!--you will always keep the name of Pip, you know.”
+
+“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
+
+“Good-bye, Pip!”
+
+She stretched out her hand, and I went down on my knee and put it to
+my lips. I had not considered how I should take leave of her; it came
+naturally to me at the moment to do this. She looked at Sarah Pocket
+with triumph in her weird eyes, and so I left my fairy godmother, with
+both her hands on her crutch stick, standing in the midst of the dimly
+lighted room beside the rotten bride-cake that was hidden in cobwebs.
+
+Sarah Pocket conducted me down, as if I were a ghost who must be seen
+out. She could not get over my appearance, and was in the last degree
+confounded. I said “Good-bye, Miss Pocket;” but she merely stared, and
+did not seem collected enough to know that I had spoken. Clear of the
+house, I made the best of my way back to Pumblechook’s, took off my new
+clothes, made them into a bundle, and went back home in my older dress,
+carrying it--to speak the truth--much more at my ease too, though I had
+the bundle to carry.
+
+And now, those six days which were to have run out so slowly, had
+run out fast and were gone, and to-morrow looked me in the face more
+steadily than I could look at it. As the six evenings had dwindled
+away, to five, to four, to three, to two, I had become more and more
+appreciative of the society of Joe and Biddy. On this last evening, I
+dressed my self out in my new clothes for their delight, and sat in my
+splendor until bedtime. We had a hot supper on the occasion, graced by
+the inevitable roast fowl, and we had some flip to finish with. We were
+all very low, and none the higher for pretending to be in spirits.
+
+I was to leave our village at five in the morning, carrying my little
+hand-portmanteau, and I had told Joe that I wished to walk away all
+alone. I am afraid--sore afraid--that this purpose originated in my
+sense of the contrast there would be between me and Joe, if we went to
+the coach together. I had pretended with myself that there was nothing
+of this taint in the arrangement; but when I went up to my little room
+on this last night, I felt compelled to admit that it might be so, and
+had an impulse upon me to go down again and entreat Joe to walk with me
+in the morning. I did not.
+
+All night there were coaches in my broken sleep, going to wrong places
+instead of to London, and having in the traces, now dogs, now cats, now
+pigs, now men,--never horses. Fantastic failures of journeys occupied
+me until the day dawned and the birds were singing. Then, I got up and
+partly dressed, and sat at the window to take a last look out, and in
+taking it fell asleep.
+
+Biddy was astir so early to get my breakfast, that, although I did not
+sleep at the window an hour, I smelt the smoke of the kitchen fire when
+I started up with a terrible idea that it must be late in the afternoon.
+But long after that, and long after I had heard the clinking of the
+teacups and was quite ready, I wanted the resolution to go downstairs.
+After all, I remained up there, repeatedly unlocking and unstrapping
+my small portmanteau and locking and strapping it up again, until Biddy
+called to me that I was late.
+
+It was a hurried breakfast with no taste in it. I got up from the meal,
+saying with a sort of briskness, as if it had only just occurred to me,
+“Well! I suppose I must be off!” and then I kissed my sister who was
+laughing and nodding and shaking in her usual chair, and kissed
+Biddy, and threw my arms around Joe’s neck. Then I took up my little
+portmanteau and walked out. The last I saw of them was, when I presently
+heard a scuffle behind me, and looking back, saw Joe throwing an old
+shoe after me and Biddy throwing another old shoe. I stopped then, to
+wave my hat, and dear old Joe waved his strong right arm above his head,
+crying huskily “Hooroar!” and Biddy put her apron to her face.
+
+I walked away at a good pace, thinking it was easier to go than I had
+supposed it would be, and reflecting that it would never have done to
+have had an old shoe thrown after the coach, in sight of all the High
+Street. I whistled and made nothing of going. But the village was very
+peaceful and quiet, and the light mists were solemnly rising, as if to
+show me the world, and I had been so innocent and little there, and all
+beyond was so unknown and great, that in a moment with a strong heave
+and sob I broke into tears. It was by the finger-post at the end of the
+village, and I laid my hand upon it, and said, “Good-bye, O my dear, dear
+friend!”
+
+Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain
+upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was
+better after I had cried than before,--more sorry, more aware of my own
+ingratitude, more gentle. If I had cried before, I should have had Joe
+with me then.
+
+So subdued I was by those tears, and by their breaking out again in the
+course of the quiet walk, that when I was on the coach, and it was clear
+of the town, I deliberated with an aching heart whether I would not get
+down when we changed horses and walk back, and have another evening at
+home, and a better parting. We changed, and I had not made up my mind,
+and still reflected for my comfort that it would be quite practicable to
+get down and walk back, when we changed again. And while I was occupied
+with these deliberations, I would fancy an exact resemblance to Joe
+in some man coming along the road towards us, and my heart would beat
+high.--As if he could possibly be there!
+
+We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to
+go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and
+the world lay spread before me.
+
+This is the end of the first stage of Pip’s expectations.
+
+Chapter XX
+
+The journey from our town to the metropolis was a journey of about five
+hours. It was a little past midday when the four-horse stage-coach by
+which I was a passenger, got into the ravel of traffic frayed out about
+the Cross Keys, Wood Street, Cheapside, London.
+
+We Britons had at that time particularly settled that it was treasonable
+to doubt our having and our being the best of everything: otherwise,
+while I was scared by the immensity of London, I think I might have had
+some faint doubts whether it was not rather ugly, crooked, narrow, and
+dirty.
+
+Mr. Jaggers had duly sent me his address; it was, Little Britain, and he
+had written after it on his card, “just out of Smithfield, and close by
+the coach-office.” Nevertheless, a hackney-coachman, who seemed to have
+as many capes to his greasy great-coat as he was years old, packed me
+up in his coach and hemmed me in with a folding and jingling barrier of
+steps, as if he were going to take me fifty miles. His getting on his
+box, which I remember to have been decorated with an old weather-stained
+pea-green hammercloth moth-eaten into rags, was quite a work of time.
+It was a wonderful equipage, with six great coronets outside, and ragged
+things behind for I don’t know how many footmen to hold on by, and
+a harrow below them, to prevent amateur footmen from yielding to the
+temptation.
+
+I had scarcely had time to enjoy the coach and to think how like a
+straw-yard it was, and yet how like a rag-shop, and to wonder why
+the horses’ nose-bags were kept inside, when I observed the coachman
+beginning to get down, as if we were going to stop presently. And stop
+we presently did, in a gloomy street, at certain offices with an open
+door, whereon was painted MR. JAGGERS.
+
+“How much?” I asked the coachman.
+
+The coachman answered, “A shilling--unless you wish to make it more.”
+
+I naturally said I had no wish to make it more.
+
+“Then it must be a shilling,” observed the coachman. “I don’t want to
+get into trouble. I know him!” He darkly closed an eye at Mr. Jaggers’s
+name, and shook his head.
+
+When he had got his shilling, and had in course of time completed the
+ascent to his box, and had got away (which appeared to relieve his
+mind), I went into the front office with my little portmanteau in my
+hand and asked, Was Mr. Jaggers at home?
+
+“He is not,” returned the clerk. “He is in Court at present. Am I
+addressing Mr. Pip?”
+
+I signified that he was addressing Mr. Pip.
+
+“Mr. Jaggers left word, would you wait in his room. He couldn’t say how
+long he might be, having a case on. But it stands to reason, his time
+being valuable, that he won’t be longer than he can help.”
+
+With those words, the clerk opened a door, and ushered me into an inner
+chamber at the back. Here, we found a gentleman with one eye, in a
+velveteen suit and knee-breeches, who wiped his nose with his sleeve on
+being interrupted in the perusal of the newspaper.
+
+“Go and wait outside, Mike,” said the clerk.
+
+I began to say that I hoped I was not interrupting, when the clerk
+shoved this gentleman out with as little ceremony as I ever saw used,
+and tossing his fur cap out after him, left me alone.
+
+Mr. Jaggers’s room was lighted by a skylight only, and was a most dismal
+place; the skylight, eccentrically pitched like a broken head, and the
+distorted adjoining houses looking as if they had twisted themselves to
+peep down at me through it. There were not so many papers about, as I
+should have expected to see; and there were some odd objects about, that
+I should not have expected to see,--such as an old rusty pistol, a
+sword in a scabbard, several strange-looking boxes and packages, and
+two dreadful casts on a shelf, of faces peculiarly swollen, and twitchy
+about the nose. Mr. Jaggers’s own high-backed chair was of deadly black
+horsehair, with rows of brass nails round it, like a coffin; and I
+fancied I could see how he leaned back in it, and bit his forefinger at
+the clients. The room was but small, and the clients seemed to have had
+a habit of backing up against the wall; the wall, especially opposite to
+Mr. Jaggers’s chair, being greasy with shoulders. I recalled, too, that
+the one-eyed gentleman had shuffled forth against the wall when I was
+the innocent cause of his being turned out.
+
+I sat down in the cliental chair placed over against Mr. Jaggers’s
+chair, and became fascinated by the dismal atmosphere of the place. I
+called to mind that the clerk had the same air of knowing something to
+everybody else’s disadvantage, as his master had. I wondered how many
+other clerks there were upstairs, and whether they all claimed to have
+the same detrimental mastery of their fellow-creatures. I wondered what
+was the history of all the odd litter about the room, and how it came
+there. I wondered whether the two swollen faces were of Mr. Jaggers’s
+family, and, if he were so unfortunate as to have had a pair of such
+ill-looking relations, why he stuck them on that dusty perch for the
+blacks and flies to settle on, instead of giving them a place at home.
+Of course I had no experience of a London summer day, and my spirits may
+have been oppressed by the hot exhausted air, and by the dust and grit
+that lay thick on everything. But I sat wondering and waiting in Mr.
+Jaggers’s close room, until I really could not bear the two casts on the
+shelf above Mr. Jaggers’s chair, and got up and went out.
+
+When I told the clerk that I would take a turn in the air while I
+waited, he advised me to go round the corner and I should come into
+Smithfield. So I came into Smithfield; and the shameful place, being all
+asmear with filth and fat and blood and foam, seemed to stick to me. So,
+I rubbed it off with all possible speed by turning into a street where
+I saw the great black dome of Saint Paul’s bulging at me from behind a
+grim stone building which a bystander said was Newgate Prison. Following
+the wall of the jail, I found the roadway covered with straw to deaden
+the noise of passing vehicles; and from this, and from the quantity of
+people standing about smelling strongly of spirits and beer, I inferred
+that the trials were on.
+
+While I looked about me here, an exceedingly dirty and partially drunk
+minister of justice asked me if I would like to step in and hear a
+trial or so: informing me that he could give me a front place for half a
+crown, whence I should command a full view of the Lord Chief Justice in
+his wig and robes,--mentioning that awful personage like waxwork, and
+presently offering him at the reduced price of eighteen-pence. As I
+declined the proposal on the plea of an appointment, he was so good as
+to take me into a yard and show me where the gallows was kept, and also
+where people were publicly whipped, and then he showed me the Debtors’
+Door, out of which culprits came to be hanged; heightening the interest
+of that dreadful portal by giving me to understand that “four on ‘em”
+ would come out at that door the day after to-morrow at eight in the
+morning, to be killed in a row. This was horrible, and gave me a
+sickening idea of London; the more so as the Lord Chief Justice’s
+proprietor wore (from his hat down to his boots and up again to his
+pocket-handkerchief inclusive) mildewed clothes which had evidently
+not belonged to him originally, and which I took it into my head he had
+bought cheap of the executioner. Under these circumstances I thought
+myself well rid of him for a shilling.
+
+I dropped into the office to ask if Mr. Jaggers had come in yet, and I
+found he had not, and I strolled out again. This time, I made the tour
+of Little Britain, and turned into Bartholomew Close; and now I became
+aware that other people were waiting about for Mr. Jaggers, as well
+as I. There were two men of secret appearance lounging in Bartholomew
+Close, and thoughtfully fitting their feet into the cracks of the
+pavement as they talked together, one of whom said to the other when
+they first passed me, that “Jaggers would do it if it was to be done.”
+ There was a knot of three men and two women standing at a corner, and
+one of the women was crying on her dirty shawl, and the other comforted
+her by saying, as she pulled her own shawl over her shoulders, “Jaggers
+is for him, ‘Melia, and what more could you have?” There was a red-eyed
+little Jew who came into the Close while I was loitering there, in
+company with a second little Jew whom he sent upon an errand; and
+while the messenger was gone, I remarked this Jew, who was of a highly
+excitable temperament, performing a jig of anxiety under a lamp-post and
+accompanying himself, in a kind of frenzy, with the words, “O Jaggerth,
+Jaggerth, Jaggerth! all otherth ith Cag-Maggerth, give me Jaggerth!”
+ These testimonies to the popularity of my guardian made a deep
+impression on me, and I admired and wondered more than ever.
+
+At length, as I was looking out at the iron gate of Bartholomew Close
+into Little Britain, I saw Mr. Jaggers coming across the road towards
+me. All the others who were waiting saw him at the same time, and there
+was quite a rush at him. Mr. Jaggers, putting a hand on my shoulder
+and walking me on at his side without saying anything to me, addressed
+himself to his followers.
+
+First, he took the two secret men.
+
+“Now, I have nothing to say to you,” said Mr. Jaggers, throwing his
+finger at them. “I want to know no more than I know. As to the result,
+it’s a toss-up. I told you from the first it was a toss-up. Have you
+paid Wemmick?”
+
+“We made the money up this morning, sir,” said one of the men,
+submissively, while the other perused Mr. Jaggers’s face.
+
+“I don’t ask you when you made it up, or where, or whether you made it
+up at all. Has Wemmick got it?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said both the men together.
+
+“Very well; then you may go. Now, I won’t have it!” said Mr Jaggers,
+waving his hand at them to put them behind him. “If you say a word to
+me, I’ll throw up the case.”
+
+“We thought, Mr. Jaggers--” one of the men began, pulling off his hat.
+
+“That’s what I told you not to do,” said Mr. Jaggers. “You thought! I
+think for you; that’s enough for you. If I want you, I know where to
+find you; I don’t want you to find me. Now I won’t have it. I won’t hear
+a word.”
+
+The two men looked at one another as Mr. Jaggers waved them behind
+again, and humbly fell back and were heard no more.
+
+“And now you!” said Mr. Jaggers, suddenly stopping, and turning on
+the two women with the shawls, from whom the three men had meekly
+separated,--“Oh! Amelia, is it?”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Jaggers.”
+
+“And do you remember,” retorted Mr. Jaggers, “that but for me you
+wouldn’t be here and couldn’t be here?”
+
+“O yes, sir!” exclaimed both women together. “Lord bless you, sir, well
+we knows that!”
+
+“Then why,” said Mr. Jaggers, “do you come here?”
+
+“My Bill, sir!” the crying woman pleaded.
+
+“Now, I tell you what!” said Mr. Jaggers. “Once for all. If you don’t
+know that your Bill’s in good hands, I know it. And if you come here
+bothering about your Bill, I’ll make an example of both your Bill and
+you, and let him slip through my fingers. Have you paid Wemmick?”
+
+“O yes, sir! Every farden.”
+
+“Very well. Then you have done all you have got to do. Say another
+word--one single word--and Wemmick shall give you your money back.”
+
+This terrible threat caused the two women to fall off immediately.
+No one remained now but the excitable Jew, who had already raised the
+skirts of Mr. Jaggers’s coat to his lips several times.
+
+“I don’t know this man!” said Mr. Jaggers, in the same devastating
+strain: “What does this fellow want?”
+
+“Ma thear Mithter Jaggerth. Hown brother to Habraham Latharuth?”
+
+“Who’s he?” said Mr. Jaggers. “Let go of my coat.”
+
+The suitor, kissing the hem of the garment again before relinquishing
+it, replied, “Habraham Latharuth, on thuthpithion of plate.”
+
+“You’re too late,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I am over the way.”
+
+“Holy father, Mithter Jaggerth!” cried my excitable acquaintance,
+turning white, “don’t thay you’re again Habraham Latharuth!”
+
+“I am,” said Mr. Jaggers, “and there’s an end of it. Get out of the
+way.”
+
+“Mithter Jaggerth! Half a moment! My hown cuthen’th gone to Mithter
+Wemmick at thith prethent minute, to hoffer him hany termth. Mithter
+Jaggerth! Half a quarter of a moment! If you’d have the condethenthun to
+be bought off from the t’other thide--at hany thuperior prithe!--money
+no object!--Mithter Jaggerth--Mithter--!”
+
+My guardian threw his supplicant off with supreme indifference, and
+left him dancing on the pavement as if it were red hot. Without further
+interruption, we reached the front office, where we found the clerk and
+the man in velveteen with the fur cap.
+
+“Here’s Mike,” said the clerk, getting down from his stool, and
+approaching Mr. Jaggers confidentially.
+
+“Oh!” said Mr. Jaggers, turning to the man, who was pulling a lock of
+hair in the middle of his forehead, like the Bull in Cock Robin pulling
+at the bell-rope; “your man comes on this afternoon. Well?”
+
+“Well, Mas’r Jaggers,” returned Mike, in the voice of a sufferer from a
+constitutional cold; “arter a deal o’ trouble, I’ve found one, sir, as
+might do.”
+
+“What is he prepared to swear?”
+
+“Well, Mas’r Jaggers,” said Mike, wiping his nose on his fur cap this
+time; “in a general way, anythink.”
+
+Mr. Jaggers suddenly became most irate. “Now, I warned you before,” said
+he, throwing his forefinger at the terrified client, “that if you ever
+presumed to talk in that way here, I’d make an example of you. You
+infernal scoundrel, how dare you tell ME that?”
+
+The client looked scared, but bewildered too, as if he were unconscious
+what he had done.
+
+“Spooney!” said the clerk, in a low voice, giving him a stir with his
+elbow. “Soft Head! Need you say it face to face?”
+
+“Now, I ask you, you blundering booby,” said my guardian, very sternly,
+“once more and for the last time, what the man you have brought here is
+prepared to swear?”
+
+Mike looked hard at my guardian, as if he were trying to learn a lesson
+from his face, and slowly replied, “Ayther to character, or to having
+been in his company and never left him all the night in question.”
+
+“Now, be careful. In what station of life is this man?”
+
+Mike looked at his cap, and looked at the floor, and looked at the
+ceiling, and looked at the clerk, and even looked at me, before
+beginning to reply in a nervous manner, “We’ve dressed him up like--”
+ when my guardian blustered out,--
+
+“What? You WILL, will you?”
+
+(“Spooney!” added the clerk again, with another stir.)
+
+After some helpless casting about, Mike brightened and began again:--
+
+“He is dressed like a ‘spectable pieman. A sort of a pastry-cook.”
+
+“Is he here?” asked my guardian.
+
+“I left him,” said Mike, “a setting on some doorsteps round the corner.”
+
+“Take him past that window, and let me see him.”
+
+The window indicated was the office window. We all three went to
+it, behind the wire blind, and presently saw the client go by in an
+accidental manner, with a murderous-looking tall individual, in a short
+suit of white linen and a paper cap. This guileless confectioner was not
+by any means sober, and had a black eye in the green stage of recovery,
+which was painted over.
+
+“Tell him to take his witness away directly,” said my guardian to the
+clerk, in extreme disgust, “and ask him what he means by bringing such a
+fellow as that.”
+
+My guardian then took me into his own room, and while he lunched,
+standing, from a sandwich-box and a pocket-flask of sherry (he seemed to
+bully his very sandwich as he ate it), informed me what arrangements he
+had made for me. I was to go to “Barnard’s Inn,” to young Mr. Pocket’s
+rooms, where a bed had been sent in for my accommodation; I was to
+remain with young Mr. Pocket until Monday; on Monday I was to go with
+him to his father’s house on a visit, that I might try how I liked it.
+Also, I was told what my allowance was to be,--it was a very liberal
+one,--and had handed to me from one of my guardian’s drawers, the cards
+of certain tradesmen with whom I was to deal for all kinds of clothes,
+and such other things as I could in reason want. “You will find your
+credit good, Mr. Pip,” said my guardian, whose flask of sherry smelt
+like a whole caskful, as he hastily refreshed himself, “but I shall by
+this means be able to check your bills, and to pull you up if I find you
+outrunning the constable. Of course you’ll go wrong somehow, but that’s
+no fault of mine.”
+
+After I had pondered a little over this encouraging sentiment, I asked
+Mr. Jaggers if I could send for a coach? He said it was not worth while,
+I was so near my destination; Wemmick should walk round with me, if I
+pleased.
+
+I then found that Wemmick was the clerk in the next room. Another clerk
+was rung down from upstairs to take his place while he was out, and I
+accompanied him into the street, after shaking hands with my guardian.
+We found a new set of people lingering outside, but Wemmick made a way
+among them by saying coolly yet decisively, “I tell you it’s no use; he
+won’t have a word to say to one of you;” and we soon got clear of them,
+and went on side by side.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI
+
+Casting my eyes on Mr. Wemmick as we went along, to see what he was
+like in the light of day, I found him to be a dry man, rather short in
+stature, with a square wooden face, whose expression seemed to have been
+imperfectly chipped out with a dull-edged chisel. There were some marks
+in it that might have been dimples, if the material had been softer and
+the instrument finer, but which, as it was, were only dints. The chisel
+had made three or four of these attempts at embellishment over his nose,
+but had given them up without an effort to smooth them off. I judged him
+to be a bachelor from the frayed condition of his linen, and he appeared
+to have sustained a good many bereavements; for he wore at least four
+mourning rings, besides a brooch representing a lady and a weeping
+willow at a tomb with an urn on it. I noticed, too, that several rings
+and seals hung at his watch-chain, as if he were quite laden with
+remembrances of departed friends. He had glittering eyes,--small, keen,
+and black,--and thin wide mottled lips. He had had them, to the best of
+my belief, from forty to fifty years.
+
+“So you were never in London before?” said Mr. Wemmick to me.
+
+“No,” said I.
+
+“I was new here once,” said Mr. Wemmick. “Rum to think of now!”
+
+“You are well acquainted with it now?”
+
+“Why, yes,” said Mr. Wemmick. “I know the moves of it.”
+
+“Is it a very wicked place?” I asked, more for the sake of saying
+something than for information.
+
+“You may get cheated, robbed, and murdered in London. But there are
+plenty of people anywhere, who’ll do that for you.”
+
+“If there is bad blood between you and them,” said I, to soften it off a
+little.
+
+“O! I don’t know about bad blood,” returned Mr. Wemmick; “there’s not
+much bad blood about. They’ll do it, if there’s anything to be got by
+it.”
+
+“That makes it worse.”
+
+“You think so?” returned Mr. Wemmick. “Much about the same, I should
+say.”
+
+He wore his hat on the back of his head, and looked straight before him:
+walking in a self-contained way as if there were nothing in the streets
+to claim his attention. His mouth was such a post-office of a mouth
+that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling. We had got to the top of
+Holborn Hill before I knew that it was merely a mechanical appearance,
+and that he was not smiling at all.
+
+“Do you know where Mr. Matthew Pocket lives?” I asked Mr. Wemmick.
+
+“Yes,” said he, nodding in the direction. “At Hammersmith, west of
+London.”
+
+“Is that far?”
+
+“Well! Say five miles.”
+
+“Do you know him?”
+
+“Why, you’re a regular cross-examiner!” said Mr. Wemmick, looking at me
+with an approving air. “Yes, I know him. I know him!”
+
+There was an air of toleration or depreciation about his utterance of
+these words that rather depressed me; and I was still looking sideways
+at his block of a face in search of any encouraging note to the text,
+when he said here we were at Barnard’s Inn. My depression was not
+alleviated by the announcement, for, I had supposed that establishment
+to be an hotel kept by Mr. Barnard, to which the Blue Boar in our town
+was a mere public-house. Whereas I now found Barnard to be a disembodied
+spirit, or a fiction, and his inn the dingiest collection of shabby
+buildings ever squeezed together in a rank corner as a club for
+Tom-cats.
+
+We entered this haven through a wicket-gate, and were disgorged by an
+introductory passage into a melancholy little square that looked to me
+like a flat burying-ground. I thought it had the most dismal trees in
+it, and the most dismal sparrows, and the most dismal cats, and the most
+dismal houses (in number half a dozen or so), that I had ever seen. I
+thought the windows of the sets of chambers into which those houses were
+divided were in every stage of dilapidated blind and curtain, crippled
+flower-pot, cracked glass, dusty decay, and miserable makeshift; while
+To Let, To Let, To Let, glared at me from empty rooms, as if no new
+wretches ever came there, and the vengeance of the soul of Barnard were
+being slowly appeased by the gradual suicide of the present occupants
+and their unholy interment under the gravel. A frowzy mourning of soot
+and smoke attired this forlorn creation of Barnard, and it had strewn
+ashes on its head, and was undergoing penance and humiliation as a mere
+dust-hole. Thus far my sense of sight; while dry rot and wet rot and all
+the silent rots that rot in neglected roof and cellar,--rot of rat
+and mouse and bug and coaching-stables near at hand besides--addressed
+themselves faintly to my sense of smell, and moaned, “Try Barnard’s
+Mixture.”
+
+So imperfect was this realization of the first of my great expectations,
+that I looked in dismay at Mr. Wemmick. “Ah!” said he, mistaking me;
+“the retirement reminds you of the country. So it does me.”
+
+He led me into a corner and conducted me up a flight of stairs,--which
+appeared to me to be slowly collapsing into sawdust, so that one of
+those days the upper lodgers would look out at their doors and find
+themselves without the means of coming down,--to a set of chambers on
+the top floor. MR. POCKET, JUN., was painted on the door, and there was
+a label on the letter-box, “Return shortly.”
+
+“He hardly thought you’d come so soon,” Mr. Wemmick explained. “You
+don’t want me any more?”
+
+“No, thank you,” said I.
+
+“As I keep the cash,” Mr. Wemmick observed, “we shall most likely meet
+pretty often. Good day.”
+
+“Good day.”
+
+I put out my hand, and Mr. Wemmick at first looked at it as if he
+thought I wanted something. Then he looked at me, and said, correcting
+himself,--
+
+“To be sure! Yes. You’re in the habit of shaking hands?”
+
+I was rather confused, thinking it must be out of the London fashion,
+but said yes.
+
+“I have got so out of it!” said Mr. Wemmick,--“except at last. Very
+glad, I’m sure, to make your acquaintance. Good day!”
+
+When we had shaken hands and he was gone, I opened the staircase window
+and had nearly beheaded myself, for, the lines had rotted away, and it
+came down like the guillotine. Happily it was so quick that I had not
+put my head out. After this escape, I was content to take a foggy view
+of the Inn through the window’s encrusting dirt, and to stand dolefully
+looking out, saying to myself that London was decidedly overrated.
+
+Mr. Pocket, Junior’s, idea of Shortly was not mine, for I had nearly
+maddened myself with looking out for half an hour, and had written
+my name with my finger several times in the dirt of every pane in the
+window, before I heard footsteps on the stairs. Gradually there arose
+before me the hat, head, neckcloth, waistcoat, trousers, boots, of a
+member of society of about my own standing. He had a paper-bag under
+each arm and a pottle of strawberries in one hand, and was out of
+breath.
+
+“Mr. Pip?” said he.
+
+“Mr. Pocket?” said I.
+
+“Dear me!” he exclaimed. “I am extremely sorry; but I knew there was a
+coach from your part of the country at midday, and I thought you would
+come by that one. The fact is, I have been out on your account,--not
+that that is any excuse,--for I thought, coming from the country, you
+might like a little fruit after dinner, and I went to Covent Garden
+Market to get it good.”
+
+For a reason that I had, I felt as if my eyes would start out of my
+head. I acknowledged his attention incoherently, and began to think this
+was a dream.
+
+“Dear me!” said Mr. Pocket, Junior. “This door sticks so!”
+
+As he was fast making jam of his fruit by wrestling with the door while
+the paper-bags were under his arms, I begged him to allow me to hold
+them. He relinquished them with an agreeable smile, and combated with
+the door as if it were a wild beast. It yielded so suddenly at last,
+that he staggered back upon me, and I staggered back upon the opposite
+door, and we both laughed. But still I felt as if my eyes must start out
+of my head, and as if this must be a dream.
+
+“Pray come in,” said Mr. Pocket, Junior. “Allow me to lead the way. I am
+rather bare here, but I hope you’ll be able to make out tolerably well
+till Monday. My father thought you would get on more agreeably through
+to-morrow with me than with him, and might like to take a walk about
+London. I am sure I shall be very happy to show London to you. As to our
+table, you won’t find that bad, I hope, for it will be supplied from our
+coffee-house here, and (it is only right I should add) at your expense,
+such being Mr. Jaggers’s directions. As to our lodging, it’s not by
+any means splendid, because I have my own bread to earn, and my father
+hasn’t anything to give me, and I shouldn’t be willing to take it, if he
+had. This is our sitting-room,--just such chairs and tables and carpet
+and so forth, you see, as they could spare from home. You mustn’t give
+me credit for the tablecloth and spoons and castors, because they come
+for you from the coffee-house. This is my little bedroom; rather musty,
+but Barnard’s is musty. This is your bedroom; the furniture’s hired for
+the occasion, but I trust it will answer the purpose; if you should want
+anything, I’ll go and fetch it. The chambers are retired, and we shall
+be alone together, but we shan’t fight, I dare say. But dear me, I beg
+your pardon, you’re holding the fruit all this time. Pray let me take
+these bags from you. I am quite ashamed.”
+
+As I stood opposite to Mr. Pocket, Junior, delivering him the bags, One,
+Two, I saw the starting appearance come into his own eyes that I knew to
+be in mine, and he said, falling back,--
+
+“Lord bless me, you’re the prowling boy!”
+
+“And you,” said I, “are the pale young gentleman!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII
+
+The pale young gentleman and I stood contemplating one another in
+Barnard’s Inn, until we both burst out laughing. “The idea of its
+being you!” said he. “The idea of its being you!” said I. And then we
+contemplated one another afresh, and laughed again. “Well!” said the
+pale young gentleman, reaching out his hand good-humoredly, “it’s all
+over now, I hope, and it will be magnanimous in you if you’ll forgive me
+for having knocked you about so.”
+
+I derived from this speech that Mr. Herbert Pocket (for Herbert was the
+pale young gentleman’s name) still rather confounded his intention with
+his execution. But I made a modest reply, and we shook hands warmly.
+
+“You hadn’t come into your good fortune at that time?” said Herbert
+Pocket.
+
+“No,” said I.
+
+“No,” he acquiesced: “I heard it had happened very lately. I was rather
+on the lookout for good fortune then.”
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+“Yes. Miss Havisham had sent for me, to see if she could take a fancy to
+me. But she couldn’t,--at all events, she didn’t.”
+
+I thought it polite to remark that I was surprised to hear that.
+
+“Bad taste,” said Herbert, laughing, “but a fact. Yes, she had sent for
+me on a trial visit, and if I had come out of it successfully, I
+suppose I should have been provided for; perhaps I should have been
+what-you-may-called it to Estella.”
+
+“What’s that?” I asked, with sudden gravity.
+
+He was arranging his fruit in plates while we talked, which divided his
+attention, and was the cause of his having made this lapse of a word.
+“Affianced,” he explained, still busy with the fruit. “Betrothed.
+Engaged. What’s-his-named. Any word of that sort.”
+
+“How did you bear your disappointment?” I asked.
+
+“Pooh!” said he, “I didn’t care much for it. She’s a Tartar.”
+
+“Miss Havisham?”
+
+“I don’t say no to that, but I meant Estella. That girl’s hard and
+haughty and capricious to the last degree, and has been brought up by
+Miss Havisham to wreak revenge on all the male sex.”
+
+“What relation is she to Miss Havisham?”
+
+“None,” said he. “Only adopted.”
+
+“Why should she wreak revenge on all the male sex? What revenge?”
+
+“Lord, Mr. Pip!” said he. “Don’t you know?”
+
+“No,” said I.
+
+“Dear me! It’s quite a story, and shall be saved till dinner-time. And
+now let me take the liberty of asking you a question. How did you come
+there, that day?”
+
+I told him, and he was attentive until I had finished, and then burst
+out laughing again, and asked me if I was sore afterwards? I didn’t
+ask him if he was, for my conviction on that point was perfectly
+established.
+
+“Mr. Jaggers is your guardian, I understand?” he went on.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You know he is Miss Havisham’s man of business and solicitor, and has
+her confidence when nobody else has?”
+
+This was bringing me (I felt) towards dangerous ground. I answered with
+a constraint I made no attempt to disguise, that I had seen Mr. Jaggers
+in Miss Havisham’s house on the very day of our combat, but never at any
+other time, and that I believed he had no recollection of having ever
+seen me there.
+
+“He was so obliging as to suggest my father for your tutor, and he
+called on my father to propose it. Of course he knew about my father
+from his connection with Miss Havisham. My father is Miss Havisham’s
+cousin; not that that implies familiar intercourse between them, for he
+is a bad courtier and will not propitiate her.”
+
+Herbert Pocket had a frank and easy way with him that was very taking.
+I had never seen any one then, and I have never seen any one since,
+who more strongly expressed to me, in every look and tone, a natural
+incapacity to do anything secret and mean. There was something
+wonderfully hopeful about his general air, and something that at the
+same time whispered to me he would never be very successful or rich. I
+don’t know how this was. I became imbued with the notion on that first
+occasion before we sat down to dinner, but I cannot define by what
+means.
+
+He was still a pale young gentleman, and had a certain conquered languor
+about him in the midst of his spirits and briskness, that did not seem
+indicative of natural strength. He had not a handsome face, but it was
+better than handsome: being extremely amiable and cheerful. His figure
+was a little ungainly, as in the days when my knuckles had taken such
+liberties with it, but it looked as if it would always be light and
+young. Whether Mr. Trabb’s local work would have sat more gracefully on
+him than on me, may be a question; but I am conscious that he carried
+off his rather old clothes much better than I carried off my new suit.
+
+As he was so communicative, I felt that reserve on my part would be a
+bad return unsuited to our years. I therefore told him my small story,
+and laid stress on my being forbidden to inquire who my benefactor was.
+I further mentioned that as I had been brought up a blacksmith in a
+country place, and knew very little of the ways of politeness, I would
+take it as a great kindness in him if he would give me a hint whenever
+he saw me at a loss or going wrong.
+
+“With pleasure,” said he, “though I venture to prophesy that you’ll want
+very few hints. I dare say we shall be often together, and I should like
+to banish any needless restraint between us. Will you do me the favour
+to begin at once to call me by my Christian name, Herbert?”
+
+I thanked him and said I would. I informed him in exchange that my
+Christian name was Philip.
+
+“I don’t take to Philip,” said he, smiling, “for it sounds like a moral
+boy out of the spelling-book, who was so lazy that he fell into a pond,
+or so fat that he couldn’t see out of his eyes, or so avaricious that
+he locked up his cake till the mice ate it, or so determined to go a
+bird’s-nesting that he got himself eaten by bears who lived handy in the
+neighborhood. I tell you what I should like. We are so harmonious, and
+you have been a blacksmith,---would you mind it?”
+
+“I shouldn’t mind anything that you propose,” I answered, “but I don’t
+understand you.”
+
+“Would you mind Handel for a familiar name? There’s a charming piece of
+music by Handel, called the Harmonious Blacksmith.”
+
+“I should like it very much.”
+
+“Then, my dear Handel,” said he, turning round as the door opened,
+“here is the dinner, and I must beg of you to take the top of the table,
+because the dinner is of your providing.”
+
+This I would not hear of, so he took the top, and I faced him. It was a
+nice little dinner,--seemed to me then a very Lord Mayor’s Feast,--and
+it acquired additional relish from being eaten under those independent
+circumstances, with no old people by, and with London all around us.
+This again was heightened by a certain gypsy character that set the
+banquet off; for while the table was, as Mr. Pumblechook might have
+said, the lap of luxury,--being entirely furnished forth from the
+coffee-house,--the circumjacent region of sitting-room was of a
+comparatively pastureless and shifty character; imposing on the waiter
+the wandering habits of putting the covers on the floor (where he
+fell over them), the melted butter in the arm-chair, the bread on the
+bookshelves, the cheese in the coal-scuttle, and the boiled fowl into my
+bed in the next room,--where I found much of its parsley and butter in
+a state of congelation when I retired for the night. All this made the
+feast delightful, and when the waiter was not there to watch me, my
+pleasure was without alloy.
+
+We had made some progress in the dinner, when I reminded Herbert of his
+promise to tell me about Miss Havisham.
+
+“True,” he replied. “I’ll redeem it at once. Let me introduce the topic,
+Handel, by mentioning that in London it is not the custom to put the
+knife in the mouth,--for fear of accidents,--and that while the fork is
+reserved for that use, it is not put further in than necessary. It is
+scarcely worth mentioning, only it’s as well to do as other people do.
+Also, the spoon is not generally used over-hand, but under. This has
+two advantages. You get at your mouth better (which after all is the
+object), and you save a good deal of the attitude of opening oysters, on
+the part of the right elbow.”
+
+He offered these friendly suggestions in such a lively way, that we both
+laughed and I scarcely blushed.
+
+“Now,” he pursued, “concerning Miss Havisham. Miss Havisham, you must
+know, was a spoilt child. Her mother died when she was a baby, and her
+father denied her nothing. Her father was a country gentleman down in
+your part of the world, and was a brewer. I don’t know why it should
+be a crack thing to be a brewer; but it is indisputable that while you
+cannot possibly be genteel and bake, you may be as genteel as never was
+and brew. You see it every day.”
+
+“Yet a gentleman may not keep a public-house; may he?” said I.
+
+“Not on any account,” returned Herbert; “but a public-house may keep a
+gentleman. Well! Mr. Havisham was very rich and very proud. So was his
+daughter.”
+
+“Miss Havisham was an only child?” I hazarded.
+
+“Stop a moment, I am coming to that. No, she was not an only child;
+she had a half-brother. Her father privately married again--his cook, I
+rather think.”
+
+“I thought he was proud,” said I.
+
+“My good Handel, so he was. He married his second wife privately,
+because he was proud, and in course of time she died. When she was dead,
+I apprehend he first told his daughter what he had done, and then
+the son became a part of the family, residing in the house you are
+acquainted with. As the son grew a young man, he turned out riotous,
+extravagant, undutiful,--altogether bad. At last his father disinherited
+him; but he softened when he was dying, and left him well off, though
+not nearly so well off as Miss Havisham.--Take another glass of wine,
+and excuse my mentioning that society as a body does not expect one
+to be so strictly conscientious in emptying one’s glass, as to turn it
+bottom upwards with the rim on one’s nose.”
+
+I had been doing this, in an excess of attention to his recital. I
+thanked him, and apologized. He said, “Not at all,” and resumed.
+
+“Miss Havisham was now an heiress, and you may suppose was looked after
+as a great match. Her half-brother had now ample means again, but what
+with debts and what with new madness wasted them most fearfully again.
+There were stronger differences between him and her than there had been
+between him and his father, and it is suspected that he cherished a deep
+and mortal grudge against her as having influenced the father’s anger.
+Now, I come to the cruel part of the story,--merely breaking off, my
+dear Handel, to remark that a dinner-napkin will not go into a tumbler.”
+
+Why I was trying to pack mine into my tumbler, I am wholly unable to
+say. I only know that I found myself, with a perseverance worthy of a
+much better cause, making the most strenuous exertions to compress it
+within those limits. Again I thanked him and apologized, and again he
+said in the cheerfullest manner, “Not at all, I am sure!” and resumed.
+
+“There appeared upon the scene--say at the races, or the public
+balls, or anywhere else you like--a certain man, who made love to Miss
+Havisham. I never saw him (for this happened five-and-twenty years ago,
+before you and I were, Handel), but I have heard my father mention that
+he was a showy man, and the kind of man for the purpose. But that he was
+not to be, without ignorance or prejudice, mistaken for a gentleman, my
+father most strongly asseverates; because it is a principle of his that
+no man who was not a true gentleman at heart ever was, since the world
+began, a true gentleman in manner. He says, no varnish can hide the
+grain of the wood; and that the more varnish you put on, the more the
+grain will express itself. Well! This man pursued Miss Havisham closely,
+and professed to be devoted to her. I believe she had not shown much
+susceptibility up to that time; but all the susceptibility she possessed
+certainly came out then, and she passionately loved him. There is no
+doubt that she perfectly idolized him. He practised on her affection in
+that systematic way, that he got great sums of money from her, and he
+induced her to buy her brother out of a share in the brewery (which had
+been weakly left him by his father) at an immense price, on the plea
+that when he was her husband he must hold and manage it all. Your
+guardian was not at that time in Miss Havisham’s counsels, and she was
+too haughty and too much in love to be advised by any one. Her relations
+were poor and scheming, with the exception of my father; he was poor
+enough, but not time-serving or jealous. The only independent one among
+them, he warned her that she was doing too much for this man, and
+was placing herself too unreservedly in his power. She took the first
+opportunity of angrily ordering my father out of the house, in his
+presence, and my father has never seen her since.”
+
+I thought of her having said, “Matthew will come and see me at last when
+I am laid dead upon that table;” and I asked Herbert whether his father
+was so inveterate against her?
+
+“It’s not that,” said he, “but she charged him, in the presence of her
+intended husband, with being disappointed in the hope of fawning upon
+her for his own advancement, and, if he were to go to her now, it would
+look true--even to him--and even to her. To return to the man and make
+an end of him. The marriage day was fixed, the wedding dresses were
+bought, the wedding tour was planned out, the wedding guests were
+invited. The day came, but not the bridegroom. He wrote her a letter--”
+
+“Which she received,” I struck in, “when she was dressing for her
+marriage? At twenty minutes to nine?”
+
+“At the hour and minute,” said Herbert, nodding, “at which she
+afterwards stopped all the clocks. What was in it, further than that
+it most heartlessly broke the marriage off, I can’t tell you, because I
+don’t know. When she recovered from a bad illness that she had, she
+laid the whole place waste, as you have seen it, and she has never since
+looked upon the light of day.”
+
+“Is that all the story?” I asked, after considering it.
+
+“All I know of it; and indeed I only know so much, through piecing it
+out for myself; for my father always avoids it, and, even when Miss
+Havisham invited me to go there, told me no more of it than it was
+absolutely requisite I should understand. But I have forgotten one
+thing. It has been supposed that the man to whom she gave her misplaced
+confidence acted throughout in concert with her half-brother; that it
+was a conspiracy between them; and that they shared the profits.”
+
+“I wonder he didn’t marry her and get all the property,” said I.
+
+“He may have been married already, and her cruel mortification may have
+been a part of her half-brother’s scheme,” said Herbert. “Mind! I don’t
+know that.”
+
+“What became of the two men?” I asked, after again considering the
+subject.
+
+“They fell into deeper shame and degradation--if there can be
+deeper--and ruin.”
+
+“Are they alive now?”
+
+“I don’t know.”
+
+“You said just now that Estella was not related to Miss Havisham, but
+adopted. When adopted?”
+
+Herbert shrugged his shoulders. “There has always been an Estella, since
+I have heard of a Miss Havisham. I know no more. And now, Handel,” said
+he, finally throwing off the story as it were, “there is a perfectly
+open understanding between us. All that I know about Miss Havisham, you
+know.”
+
+“And all that I know,” I retorted, “you know.”
+
+“I fully believe it. So there can be no competition or perplexity
+between you and me. And as to the condition on which you hold your
+advancement in life,--namely, that you are not to inquire or discuss to
+whom you owe it,--you may be very sure that it will never be encroached
+upon, or even approached, by me, or by any one belonging to me.”
+
+In truth, he said this with so much delicacy, that I felt the subject
+done with, even though I should be under his father’s roof for years and
+years to come. Yet he said it with so much meaning, too, that I felt
+he as perfectly understood Miss Havisham to be my benefactress, as I
+understood the fact myself.
+
+It had not occurred to me before, that he had led up to the theme for
+the purpose of clearing it out of our way; but we were so much the
+lighter and easier for having broached it, that I now perceived this
+to be the case. We were very gay and sociable, and I asked him, in the
+course of conversation, what he was? He replied, “A capitalist,--an
+Insurer of Ships.” I suppose he saw me glancing about the room in search
+of some tokens of Shipping, or capital, for he added, “In the City.”
+
+I had grand ideas of the wealth and importance of Insurers of Ships in
+the City, and I began to think with awe of having laid a young Insurer
+on his back, blackened his enterprising eye, and cut his responsible
+head open. But again there came upon me, for my relief, that odd
+impression that Herbert Pocket would never be very successful or rich.
+
+“I shall not rest satisfied with merely employing my capital in insuring
+ships. I shall buy up some good Life Assurance shares, and cut into the
+Direction. I shall also do a little in the mining way. None of these
+things will interfere with my chartering a few thousand tons on my own
+account. I think I shall trade,” said he, leaning back in his chair, “to
+the East Indies, for silks, shawls, spices, dyes, drugs, and precious
+woods. It’s an interesting trade.”
+
+“And the profits are large?” said I.
+
+“Tremendous!” said he.
+
+I wavered again, and began to think here were greater expectations than
+my own.
+
+“I think I shall trade, also,” said he, putting his thumbs in his
+waist-coat pockets, “to the West Indies, for sugar, tobacco, and rum.
+Also to Ceylon, specially for elephants’ tusks.”
+
+“You will want a good many ships,” said I.
+
+“A perfect fleet,” said he.
+
+Quite overpowered by the magnificence of these transactions, I asked him
+where the ships he insured mostly traded to at present?
+
+“I haven’t begun insuring yet,” he replied. “I am looking about me.”
+
+Somehow, that pursuit seemed more in keeping with Barnard’s Inn. I said
+(in a tone of conviction), “Ah-h!”
+
+“Yes. I am in a counting-house, and looking about me.”
+
+“Is a counting-house profitable?” I asked.
+
+“To--do you mean to the young fellow who’s in it?” he asked, in reply.
+
+“Yes; to you.”
+
+“Why, n-no; not to me.” He said this with the air of one carefully
+reckoning up and striking a balance. “Not directly profitable. That is,
+it doesn’t pay me anything, and I have to--keep myself.”
+
+This certainly had not a profitable appearance, and I shook my head as
+if I would imply that it would be difficult to lay by much accumulative
+capital from such a source of income.
+
+“But the thing is,” said Herbert Pocket, “that you look about you.
+That’s the grand thing. You are in a counting-house, you know, and you
+look about you.”
+
+It struck me as a singular implication that you couldn’t be out of a
+counting-house, you know, and look about you; but I silently deferred to
+his experience.
+
+“Then the time comes,” said Herbert, “when you see your opening. And you
+go in, and you swoop upon it and you make your capital, and then there
+you are! When you have once made your capital, you have nothing to do
+but employ it.”
+
+This was very like his way of conducting that encounter in the garden;
+very like. His manner of bearing his poverty, too, exactly corresponded
+to his manner of bearing that defeat. It seemed to me that he took all
+blows and buffets now with just the same air as he had taken mine
+then. It was evident that he had nothing around him but the simplest
+necessaries, for everything that I remarked upon turned out to have been
+sent in on my account from the coffee-house or somewhere else.
+
+Yet, having already made his fortune in his own mind, he was so
+unassuming with it that I felt quite grateful to him for not being
+puffed up. It was a pleasant addition to his naturally pleasant ways,
+and we got on famously. In the evening we went out for a walk in the
+streets, and went half-price to the Theatre; and next day we went to
+church at Westminster Abbey, and in the afternoon we walked in the
+Parks; and I wondered who shod all the horses there, and wished Joe did.
+
+On a moderate computation, it was many months, that Sunday, since I had
+left Joe and Biddy. The space interposed between myself and them partook
+of that expansion, and our marshes were any distance off. That I could
+have been at our old church in my old church-going clothes, on the very
+last Sunday that ever was, seemed a combination of impossibilities,
+geographical and social, solar and lunar. Yet in the London streets so
+crowded with people and so brilliantly lighted in the dusk of evening,
+there were depressing hints of reproaches for that I had put the poor
+old kitchen at home so far away; and in the dead of night, the footsteps
+of some incapable impostor of a porter mooning about Barnard’s Inn,
+under pretence of watching it, fell hollow on my heart.
+
+On the Monday morning at a quarter before nine, Herbert went to
+the counting-house to report himself,--to look about him, too, I
+suppose,--and I bore him company. He was to come away in an hour or
+two to attend me to Hammersmith, and I was to wait about for him. It
+appeared to me that the eggs from which young Insurers were hatched were
+incubated in dust and heat, like the eggs of ostriches, judging from the
+places to which those incipient giants repaired on a Monday morning. Nor
+did the counting-house where Herbert assisted, show in my eyes as at
+all a good Observatory; being a back second floor up a yard, of a grimy
+presence in all particulars, and with a look into another back second
+floor, rather than a look out.
+
+I waited about until it was noon, and I went upon ‘Change, and I saw
+fluey men sitting there under the bills about shipping, whom I took to
+be great merchants, though I couldn’t understand why they should all be
+out of spirits. When Herbert came, we went and had lunch at a celebrated
+house which I then quite venerated, but now believe to have been the
+most abject superstition in Europe, and where I could not help noticing,
+even then, that there was much more gravy on the tablecloths and knives
+and waiters’ clothes, than in the steaks. This collation disposed of at
+a moderate price (considering the grease, which was not charged for), we
+went back to Barnard’s Inn and got my little portmanteau, and then took
+coach for Hammersmith. We arrived there at two or three o’clock in
+the afternoon, and had very little way to walk to Mr. Pocket’s house.
+Lifting the latch of a gate, we passed direct into a little garden
+overlooking the river, where Mr. Pocket’s children were playing
+about. And unless I deceive myself on a point where my interests or
+prepossessions are certainly not concerned, I saw that Mr. and Mrs.
+Pocket’s children were not growing up or being brought up, but were
+tumbling up.
+
+Mrs. Pocket was sitting on a garden chair under a tree, reading, with
+her legs upon another garden chair; and Mrs. Pocket’s two nurse-maids
+were looking about them while the children played. “Mamma,” said
+Herbert, “this is young Mr. Pip.” Upon which Mrs. Pocket received me
+with an appearance of amiable dignity.
+
+“Master Alick and Miss Jane,” cried one of the nurses to two of the
+children, “if you go a bouncing up against them bushes you’ll fall over
+into the river and be drownded, and what’ll your pa say then?”
+
+At the same time this nurse picked up Mrs. Pocket’s handkerchief, and
+said, “If that don’t make six times you’ve dropped it, Mum!” Upon which
+Mrs. Pocket laughed and said, “Thank you, Flopson,” and settling herself
+in one chair only, resumed her book. Her countenance immediately assumed
+a knitted and intent expression as if she had been reading for a week,
+but before she could have read half a dozen lines, she fixed her eyes
+upon me, and said, “I hope your mamma is quite well?” This unexpected
+inquiry put me into such a difficulty that I began saying in the
+absurdest way that if there had been any such person I had no doubt she
+would have been quite well and would have been very much obliged and
+would have sent her compliments, when the nurse came to my rescue.
+
+“Well!” she cried, picking up the pocket-handkerchief, “if that don’t
+make seven times! What ARE you a doing of this afternoon, Mum!” Mrs.
+Pocket received her property, at first with a look of unutterable
+surprise as if she had never seen it before, and then with a laugh of
+recognition, and said, “Thank you, Flopson,” and forgot me, and went on
+reading.
+
+I found, now I had leisure to count them, that there were no fewer than
+six little Pockets present, in various stages of tumbling up. I had
+scarcely arrived at the total when a seventh was heard, as in the region
+of air, wailing dolefully.
+
+“If there ain’t Baby!” said Flopson, appearing to think it most
+surprising. “Make haste up, Millers.”
+
+Millers, who was the other nurse, retired into the house, and by degrees
+the child’s wailing was hushed and stopped, as if it were a young
+ventriloquist with something in its mouth. Mrs. Pocket read all the
+time, and I was curious to know what the book could be.
+
+We were waiting, I supposed, for Mr. Pocket to come out to us; at any
+rate we waited there, and so I had an opportunity of observing the
+remarkable family phenomenon that whenever any of the children strayed
+near Mrs. Pocket in their play, they always tripped themselves up and
+tumbled over her,--always very much to her momentary astonishment, and
+their own more enduring lamentation. I was at a loss to account for
+this surprising circumstance, and could not help giving my mind to
+speculations about it, until by and by Millers came down with the baby,
+which baby was handed to Flopson, which Flopson was handing it to Mrs.
+Pocket, when she too went fairly head foremost over Mrs. Pocket, baby
+and all, and was caught by Herbert and myself.
+
+“Gracious me, Flopson!” said Mrs. Pocket, looking off her book for a
+moment, “everybody’s tumbling!”
+
+“Gracious you, indeed, Mum!” returned Flopson, very red in the face;
+“what have you got there?”
+
+“I got here, Flopson?” asked Mrs. Pocket.
+
+“Why, if it ain’t your footstool!” cried Flopson. “And if you keep it
+under your skirts like that, who’s to help tumbling? Here! Take the
+baby, Mum, and give me your book.”
+
+Mrs. Pocket acted on the advice, and inexpertly danced the infant a
+little in her lap, while the other children played about it. This had
+lasted but a very short time, when Mrs. Pocket issued summary orders
+that they were all to be taken into the house for a nap. Thus I made the
+second discovery on that first occasion, that the nurture of the little
+Pockets consisted of alternately tumbling up and lying down.
+
+Under these circumstances, when Flopson and Millers had got the children
+into the house, like a little flock of sheep, and Mr. Pocket came out
+of it to make my acquaintance, I was not much surprised to find that Mr.
+Pocket was a gentleman with a rather perplexed expression of face, and
+with his very gray hair disordered on his head, as if he didn’t quite
+see his way to putting anything straight.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII
+
+Mr. Pocket said he was glad to see me, and he hoped I was not sorry to
+see him. “For, I really am not,” he added, with his son’s smile,
+“an alarming personage.” He was a young-looking man, in spite of
+his perplexities and his very gray hair, and his manner seemed quite
+natural. I use the word natural, in the sense of its being unaffected;
+there was something comic in his distraught way, as though it would have
+been downright ludicrous but for his own perception that it was very
+near being so. When he had talked with me a little, he said to Mrs.
+Pocket, with a rather anxious contraction of his eyebrows, which were
+black and handsome, “Belinda, I hope you have welcomed Mr. Pip?” And she
+looked up from her book, and said, “Yes.” She then smiled upon me in an
+absent state of mind, and asked me if I liked the taste of orange-flower
+water? As the question had no bearing, near or remote, on any foregone
+or subsequent transaction, I consider it to have been thrown out, like
+her previous approaches, in general conversational condescension.
+
+I found out within a few hours, and may mention at once, that Mrs.
+Pocket was the only daughter of a certain quite accidental deceased
+Knight, who had invented for himself a conviction that his deceased
+father would have been made a Baronet but for somebody’s determined
+opposition arising out of entirely personal motives,--I forget whose,
+if I ever knew,--the Sovereign’s, the Prime Minister’s, the Lord
+Chancellor’s, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s, anybody’s,--and had
+tacked himself on to the nobles of the earth in right of this quite
+supposititious fact. I believe he had been knighted himself for storming
+the English grammar at the point of the pen, in a desperate address
+engrossed on vellum, on the occasion of the laying of the first stone of
+some building or other, and for handing some Royal Personage either the
+trowel or the mortar. Be that as it may, he had directed Mrs. Pocket to
+be brought up from her cradle as one who in the nature of things
+must marry a title, and who was to be guarded from the acquisition of
+plebeian domestic knowledge.
+
+So successful a watch and ward had been established over the young lady
+by this judicious parent, that she had grown up highly ornamental, but
+perfectly helpless and useless. With her character thus happily formed,
+in the first bloom of her youth she had encountered Mr. Pocket: who was
+also in the first bloom of youth, and not quite decided whether to mount
+to the Woolsack, or to roof himself in with a mitre. As his doing the
+one or the other was a mere question of time, he and Mrs. Pocket had
+taken Time by the forelock (when, to judge from its length, it would
+seem to have wanted cutting), and had married without the knowledge of
+the judicious parent. The judicious parent, having nothing to bestow or
+withhold but his blessing, had handsomely settled that dower upon them
+after a short struggle, and had informed Mr. Pocket that his wife was “a
+treasure for a Prince.” Mr. Pocket had invested the Prince’s treasure
+in the ways of the world ever since, and it was supposed to have brought
+him in but indifferent interest. Still, Mrs. Pocket was in general the
+object of a queer sort of respectful pity, because she had not married
+a title; while Mr. Pocket was the object of a queer sort of forgiving
+reproach, because he had never got one.
+
+Mr. Pocket took me into the house and showed me my room: which was a
+pleasant one, and so furnished as that I could use it with comfort for
+my own private sitting-room. He then knocked at the doors of two other
+similar rooms, and introduced me to their occupants, by name Drummle
+and Startop. Drummle, an old-looking young man of a heavy order of
+architecture, was whistling. Startop, younger in years and appearance,
+was reading and holding his head, as if he thought himself in danger of
+exploding it with too strong a charge of knowledge.
+
+Both Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had such a noticeable air of being in somebody
+else’s hands, that I wondered who really was in possession of the house
+and let them live there, until I found this unknown power to be the
+servants. It was a smooth way of going on, perhaps, in respect of saving
+trouble; but it had the appearance of being expensive, for the servants
+felt it a duty they owed to themselves to be nice in their eating and
+drinking, and to keep a deal of company downstairs. They allowed a very
+liberal table to Mr. and Mrs. Pocket, yet it always appeared to me that
+by far the best part of the house to have boarded in would have been
+the kitchen,--always supposing the boarder capable of self-defence, for,
+before I had been there a week, a neighboring lady with whom the family
+were personally unacquainted, wrote in to say that she had seen Millers
+slapping the baby. This greatly distressed Mrs. Pocket, who burst into
+tears on receiving the note, and said that it was an extraordinary thing
+that the neighbors couldn’t mind their own business.
+
+By degrees I learnt, and chiefly from Herbert, that Mr. Pocket had been
+educated at Harrow and at Cambridge, where he had distinguished himself;
+but that when he had had the happiness of marrying Mrs. Pocket very
+early in life, he had impaired his prospects and taken up the calling
+of a Grinder. After grinding a number of dull blades,--of whom it was
+remarkable that their fathers, when influential, were always going to
+help him to preferment, but always forgot to do it when the blades had
+left the Grindstone,--he had wearied of that poor work and had come to
+London. Here, after gradually failing in loftier hopes, he had “read”
+ with divers who had lacked opportunities or neglected them, and had
+refurbished divers others for special occasions, and had turned his
+acquirements to the account of literary compilation and correction,
+and on such means, added to some very moderate private resources, still
+maintained the house I saw.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had a toady neighbor; a widow lady of that highly
+sympathetic nature that she agreed with everybody, blessed everybody,
+and shed smiles and tears on everybody, according to circumstances. This
+lady’s name was Mrs. Coiler, and I had the honor of taking her down to
+dinner on the day of my installation. She gave me to understand on the
+stairs, that it was a blow to dear Mrs. Pocket that dear Mr. Pocket
+should be under the necessity of receiving gentlemen to read with him.
+That did not extend to me, she told me in a gush of love and confidence
+(at that time, I had known her something less than five minutes); if
+they were all like Me, it would be quite another thing.
+
+“But dear Mrs. Pocket,” said Mrs. Coiler, “after her early
+disappointment (not that dear Mr. Pocket was to blame in that), requires
+so much luxury and elegance--”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” I said, to stop her, for I was afraid she was going to
+cry.
+
+“And she is of so aristocratic a disposition--”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” I said again, with the same object as before.
+
+“--That it is hard,” said Mrs. Coiler, “to have dear Mr. Pocket’s time
+and attention diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket.”
+
+I could not help thinking that it might be harder if the butcher’s time
+and attention were diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket; but I said nothing,
+and indeed had enough to do in keeping a bashful watch upon my company
+manners.
+
+It came to my knowledge, through what passed between Mrs. Pocket and
+Drummle while I was attentive to my knife and fork, spoon, glasses, and
+other instruments of self-destruction, that Drummle, whose Christian
+name was Bentley, was actually the next heir but one to a baronetcy.
+It further appeared that the book I had seen Mrs. Pocket reading in the
+garden was all about titles, and that she knew the exact date at which
+her grandpapa would have come into the book, if he ever had come at all.
+Drummle didn’t say much, but in his limited way (he struck me as a sulky
+kind of fellow) he spoke as one of the elect, and recognized Mrs. Pocket
+as a woman and a sister. No one but themselves and Mrs. Coiler the toady
+neighbor showed any interest in this part of the conversation, and it
+appeared to me that it was painful to Herbert; but it promised to last
+a long time, when the page came in with the announcement of a domestic
+affliction. It was, in effect, that the cook had mislaid the beef. To my
+unutterable amazement, I now, for the first time, saw Mr. Pocket
+relieve his mind by going through a performance that struck me as very
+extraordinary, but which made no impression on anybody else, and
+with which I soon became as familiar as the rest. He laid down the
+carving-knife and fork,--being engaged in carving, at the moment,--put
+his two hands into his disturbed hair, and appeared to make an
+extraordinary effort to lift himself up by it. When he had done this,
+and had not lifted himself up at all, he quietly went on with what he
+was about.
+
+Mrs. Coiler then changed the subject and began to flatter me. I liked
+it for a few moments, but she flattered me so very grossly that the
+pleasure was soon over. She had a serpentine way of coming close at
+me when she pretended to be vitally interested in the friends and
+localities I had left, which was altogether snaky and fork-tongued; and
+when she made an occasional bounce upon Startop (who said very little to
+her), or upon Drummle (who said less), I rather envied them for being on
+the opposite side of the table.
+
+After dinner the children were introduced, and Mrs. Coiler made admiring
+comments on their eyes, noses, and legs,--a sagacious way of improving
+their minds. There were four little girls, and two little boys, besides
+the baby who might have been either, and the baby’s next successor who
+was as yet neither. They were brought in by Flopson and Millers, much as
+though those two non-commissioned officers had been recruiting somewhere
+for children and had enlisted these, while Mrs. Pocket looked at the
+young Nobles that ought to have been as if she rather thought she had
+had the pleasure of inspecting them before, but didn’t quite know what
+to make of them.
+
+“Here! Give me your fork, Mum, and take the baby,” said Flopson. “Don’t
+take it that way, or you’ll get its head under the table.”
+
+Thus advised, Mrs. Pocket took it the other way, and got its head
+upon the table; which was announced to all present by a prodigious
+concussion.
+
+“Dear, dear! Give it me back, Mum,” said Flopson; “and Miss Jane, come
+and dance to baby, do!”
+
+One of the little girls, a mere mite who seemed to have prematurely
+taken upon herself some charge of the others, stepped out of her place
+by me, and danced to and from the baby until it left off crying, and
+laughed. Then, all the children laughed, and Mr. Pocket (who in the
+meantime had twice endeavored to lift himself up by the hair) laughed,
+and we all laughed and were glad.
+
+Flopson, by dint of doubling the baby at the joints like a Dutch doll,
+then got it safely into Mrs. Pocket’s lap, and gave it the nut-crackers
+to play with; at the same time recommending Mrs. Pocket to take notice
+that the handles of that instrument were not likely to agree with its
+eyes, and sharply charging Miss Jane to look after the same. Then, the
+two nurses left the room, and had a lively scuffle on the staircase with
+a dissipated page who had waited at dinner, and who had clearly lost
+half his buttons at the gaming-table.
+
+I was made very uneasy in my mind by Mrs. Pocket’s falling into a
+discussion with Drummle respecting two baronetcies, while she ate a
+sliced orange steeped in sugar and wine, and, forgetting all about the
+baby on her lap, who did most appalling things with the nut-crackers. At
+length little Jane, perceiving its young brains to be imperilled, softly
+left her place, and with many small artifices coaxed the dangerous
+weapon away. Mrs. Pocket finishing her orange at about the same time,
+and not approving of this, said to Jane,--
+
+“You naughty child, how dare you? Go and sit down this instant!”
+
+“Mamma dear,” lisped the little girl, “baby ood have put hith eyeth
+out.”
+
+“How dare you tell me so?” retorted Mrs. Pocket. “Go and sit down in
+your chair this moment!”
+
+Mrs. Pocket’s dignity was so crushing, that I felt quite abashed, as if
+I myself had done something to rouse it.
+
+“Belinda,” remonstrated Mr. Pocket, from the other end of the table,
+“how can you be so unreasonable? Jane only interfered for the protection
+of baby.”
+
+“I will not allow anybody to interfere,” said Mrs. Pocket. “I am
+surprised, Matthew, that you should expose me to the affront of
+interference.”
+
+“Good God!” cried Mr. Pocket, in an outbreak of desolate desperation.
+“Are infants to be nut-crackered into their tombs, and is nobody to save
+them?”
+
+“I will not be interfered with by Jane,” said Mrs. Pocket, with a
+majestic glance at that innocent little offender. “I hope I know my poor
+grandpapa’s position. Jane, indeed!”
+
+Mr. Pocket got his hands in his hair again, and this time really did
+lift himself some inches out of his chair. “Hear this!” he helplessly
+exclaimed to the elements. “Babies are to be nut-crackered dead, for
+people’s poor grandpapa’s positions!” Then he let himself down again,
+and became silent.
+
+We all looked awkwardly at the tablecloth while this was going on. A
+pause succeeded, during which the honest and irrepressible baby made a
+series of leaps and crows at little Jane, who appeared to me to be the
+only member of the family (irrespective of servants) with whom it had
+any decided acquaintance.
+
+“Mr. Drummle,” said Mrs. Pocket, “will you ring for Flopson? Jane, you
+undutiful little thing, go and lie down. Now, baby darling, come with
+ma!”
+
+The baby was the soul of honor, and protested with all its might. It
+doubled itself up the wrong way over Mrs. Pocket’s arm, exhibited a pair
+of knitted shoes and dimpled ankles to the company in lieu of its soft
+face, and was carried out in the highest state of mutiny. And it gained
+its point after all, for I saw it through the window within a few
+minutes, being nursed by little Jane.
+
+It happened that the other five children were left behind at the
+dinner-table, through Flopson’s having some private engagement, and
+their not being anybody else’s business. I thus became aware of the
+mutual relations between them and Mr. Pocket, which were exemplified in
+the following manner. Mr. Pocket, with the normal perplexity of his face
+heightened and his hair rumpled, looked at them for some minutes, as if
+he couldn’t make out how they came to be boarding and lodging in that
+establishment, and why they hadn’t been billeted by Nature on
+somebody else. Then, in a distant Missionary way he asked them certain
+questions,--as why little Joe had that hole in his frill, who said, Pa,
+Flopson was going to mend it when she had time,--and how little Fanny
+came by that whitlow, who said, Pa, Millers was going to poultice it
+when she didn’t forget. Then, he melted into parental tenderness, and
+gave them a shilling apiece and told them to go and play; and then as
+they went out, with one very strong effort to lift himself up by the
+hair he dismissed the hopeless subject.
+
+In the evening there was rowing on the river. As Drummle and Startop had
+each a boat, I resolved to set up mine, and to cut them both out. I was
+pretty good at most exercises in which country boys are adepts, but as
+I was conscious of wanting elegance of style for the Thames,--not to say
+for other waters,--I at once engaged to place myself under the tuition
+of the winner of a prize-wherry who plied at our stairs, and to whom I
+was introduced by my new allies. This practical authority confused me
+very much by saying I had the arm of a blacksmith. If he could have
+known how nearly the compliment lost him his pupil, I doubt if he would
+have paid it.
+
+There was a supper-tray after we got home at night, and I think we
+should all have enjoyed ourselves, but for a rather disagreeable
+domestic occurrence. Mr. Pocket was in good spirits, when a housemaid
+came in, and said, “If you please, sir, I should wish to speak to you.”
+
+“Speak to your master?” said Mrs. Pocket, whose dignity was roused
+again. “How can you think of such a thing? Go and speak to Flopson. Or
+speak to me--at some other time.”
+
+“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” returned the housemaid, “I should wish to
+speak at once, and to speak to master.”
+
+Hereupon, Mr. Pocket went out of the room, and we made the best of
+ourselves until he came back.
+
+“This is a pretty thing, Belinda!” said Mr. Pocket, returning with a
+countenance expressive of grief and despair. “Here’s the cook lying
+insensibly drunk on the kitchen floor, with a large bundle of fresh
+butter made up in the cupboard ready to sell for grease!”
+
+Mrs. Pocket instantly showed much amiable emotion, and said, “This is
+that odious Sophia’s doing!”
+
+“What do you mean, Belinda?” demanded Mr. Pocket.
+
+“Sophia has told you,” said Mrs. Pocket. “Did I not see her with my own
+eyes and hear her with my own ears, come into the room just now and ask
+to speak to you?”
+
+“But has she not taken me downstairs, Belinda,” returned Mr. Pocket,
+“and shown me the woman, and the bundle too?”
+
+“And do you defend her, Matthew,” said Mrs. Pocket, “for making
+mischief?”
+
+Mr. Pocket uttered a dismal groan.
+
+“Am I, grandpapa’s granddaughter, to be nothing in the house?” said Mrs.
+Pocket. “Besides, the cook has always been a very nice respectful woman,
+and said in the most natural manner when she came to look after the
+situation, that she felt I was born to be a Duchess.”
+
+There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood, and he dropped upon it in the
+attitude of the Dying Gladiator. Still in that attitude he said, with a
+hollow voice, “Good night, Mr. Pip,” when I deemed it advisable to go to
+bed and leave him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV
+
+After two or three days, when I had established myself in my room and
+had gone backwards and forwards to London several times, and had ordered
+all I wanted of my tradesmen, Mr. Pocket and I had a long talk together.
+He knew more of my intended career than I knew myself, for he referred
+to his having been told by Mr. Jaggers that I was not designed for any
+profession, and that I should be well enough educated for my destiny
+if I could “hold my own” with the average of young men in prosperous
+circumstances. I acquiesced, of course, knowing nothing to the contrary.
+
+He advised my attending certain places in London, for the acquisition of
+such mere rudiments as I wanted, and my investing him with the functions
+of explainer and director of all my studies. He hoped that with
+intelligent assistance I should meet with little to discourage me, and
+should soon be able to dispense with any aid but his. Through his way
+of saying this, and much more to similar purpose, he placed himself on
+confidential terms with me in an admirable manner; and I may state
+at once that he was always so zealous and honorable in fulfilling his
+compact with me, that he made me zealous and honorable in fulfilling
+mine with him. If he had shown indifference as a master, I have no doubt
+I should have returned the compliment as a pupil; he gave me no such
+excuse, and each of us did the other justice. Nor did I ever regard
+him as having anything ludicrous about him--or anything but what was
+serious, honest, and good--in his tutor communication with me.
+
+When these points were settled, and so far carried out as that I had
+begun to work in earnest, it occurred to me that if I could retain my
+bedroom in Barnard’s Inn, my life would be agreeably varied, while my
+manners would be none the worse for Herbert’s society. Mr. Pocket did
+not object to this arrangement, but urged that before any step could
+possibly be taken in it, it must be submitted to my guardian. I felt
+that this delicacy arose out of the consideration that the plan would
+save Herbert some expense, so I went off to Little Britain and imparted
+my wish to Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“If I could buy the furniture now hired for me,” said I, “and one or two
+other little things, I should be quite at home there.”
+
+“Go it!” said Mr. Jaggers, with a short laugh. “I told you you’d get on.
+Well! How much do you want?”
+
+I said I didn’t know how much.
+
+“Come!” retorted Mr. Jaggers. “How much? Fifty pounds?”
+
+“O, not nearly so much.”
+
+“Five pounds?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+This was such a great fall, that I said in discomfiture, “O, more than
+that.”
+
+“More than that, eh!” retorted Mr. Jaggers, lying in wait for me, with
+his hands in his pockets, his head on one side, and his eyes on the wall
+behind me; “how much more?”
+
+“It is so difficult to fix a sum,” said I, hesitating.
+
+“Come!” said Mr. Jaggers. “Let’s get at it. Twice five; will that do?
+Three times five; will that do? Four times five; will that do?”
+
+I said I thought that would do handsomely.
+
+“Four times five will do handsomely, will it?” said Mr. Jaggers,
+knitting his brows. “Now, what do you make of four times five?”
+
+“What do I make of it?”
+
+“Ah!” said Mr. Jaggers; “how much?”
+
+“I suppose you make it twenty pounds,” said I, smiling.
+
+“Never mind what I make it, my friend,” observed Mr. Jaggers, with a
+knowing and contradictory toss of his head. “I want to know what you
+make it.”
+
+“Twenty pounds, of course.”
+
+“Wemmick!” said Mr. Jaggers, opening his office door. “Take Mr. Pip’s
+written order, and pay him twenty pounds.”
+
+This strongly marked way of doing business made a strongly marked
+impression on me, and that not of an agreeable kind. Mr. Jaggers never
+laughed; but he wore great bright creaking boots, and, in poising
+himself on these boots, with his large head bent down and his eyebrows
+joined together, awaiting an answer, he sometimes caused the boots to
+creak, as if they laughed in a dry and suspicious way. As he happened
+to go out now, and as Wemmick was brisk and talkative, I said to Wemmick
+that I hardly knew what to make of Mr. Jaggers’s manner.
+
+“Tell him that, and he’ll take it as a compliment,” answered Wemmick;
+“he don’t mean that you should know what to make of it.--Oh!” for
+I looked surprised, “it’s not personal; it’s professional: only
+professional.”
+
+Wemmick was at his desk, lunching--and crunching--on a dry hard biscuit;
+pieces of which he threw from time to time into his slit of a mouth, as
+if he were posting them.
+
+“Always seems to me,” said Wemmick, “as if he had set a man-trap and was
+watching it. Suddenly-click--you’re caught!”
+
+Without remarking that man-traps were not among the amenities of life, I
+said I supposed he was very skilful?
+
+“Deep,” said Wemmick, “as Australia.” Pointing with his pen at the
+office floor, to express that Australia was understood, for the purposes
+of the figure, to be symmetrically on the opposite spot of the globe.
+“If there was anything deeper,” added Wemmick, bringing his pen to
+paper, “he’d be it.”
+
+Then, I said I supposed he had a fine business, and Wemmick said,
+“Ca-pi-tal!” Then I asked if there were many clerks? to which he
+replied,--
+
+“We don’t run much into clerks, because there’s only one Jaggers, and
+people won’t have him at second hand. There are only four of us. Would
+you like to see ‘em? You are one of us, as I may say.”
+
+I accepted the offer. When Mr. Wemmick had put all the biscuit into the
+post, and had paid me my money from a cash-box in a safe, the key
+of which safe he kept somewhere down his back and produced from his
+coat-collar like an iron-pigtail, we went upstairs. The house was dark
+and shabby, and the greasy shoulders that had left their mark in Mr.
+Jaggers’s room seemed to have been shuffling up and down the staircase
+for years. In the front first floor, a clerk who looked something
+between a publican and a rat-catcher--a large pale, puffed, swollen
+man--was attentively engaged with three or four people of shabby
+appearance, whom he treated as unceremoniously as everybody seemed to
+be treated who contributed to Mr. Jaggers’s coffers. “Getting evidence
+together,” said Mr. Wemmick, as we came out, “for the Bailey.” In the
+room over that, a little flabby terrier of a clerk with dangling hair
+(his cropping seemed to have been forgotten when he was a puppy) was
+similarly engaged with a man with weak eyes, whom Mr. Wemmick presented
+to me as a smelter who kept his pot always boiling, and who would melt
+me anything I pleased,--and who was in an excessive white-perspiration,
+as if he had been trying his art on himself. In a back room, a
+high-shouldered man with a face-ache tied up in dirty flannel, who was
+dressed in old black clothes that bore the appearance of having been
+waxed, was stooping over his work of making fair copies of the notes of
+the other two gentlemen, for Mr. Jaggers’s own use.
+
+This was all the establishment. When we went downstairs again, Wemmick
+led me into my guardian’s room, and said, “This you’ve seen already.”
+
+“Pray,” said I, as the two odious casts with the twitchy leer upon them
+caught my sight again, “whose likenesses are those?”
+
+“These?” said Wemmick, getting upon a chair, and blowing the dust off
+the horrible heads before bringing them down. “These are two celebrated
+ones. Famous clients of ours that got us a world of credit. This chap
+(why you must have come down in the night and been peeping into the
+inkstand, to get this blot upon your eyebrow, you old rascal!) murdered
+his master, and, considering that he wasn’t brought up to evidence,
+didn’t plan it badly.”
+
+“Is it like him?” I asked, recoiling from the brute, as Wemmick spat
+upon his eyebrow and gave it a rub with his sleeve.
+
+“Like him? It’s himself, you know. The cast was made in Newgate,
+directly after he was taken down. You had a particular fancy for
+me, hadn’t you, Old Artful?” said Wemmick. He then explained this
+affectionate apostrophe, by touching his brooch representing the lady
+and the weeping willow at the tomb with the urn upon it, and saying,
+“Had it made for me, express!”
+
+“Is the lady anybody?” said I.
+
+“No,” returned Wemmick. “Only his game. (You liked your bit of game,
+didn’t you?) No; deuce a bit of a lady in the case, Mr. Pip, except
+one,--and she wasn’t of this slender lady-like sort, and you wouldn’t
+have caught her looking after this urn, unless there was something to
+drink in it.” Wemmick’s attention being thus directed to his brooch, he
+put down the cast, and polished the brooch with his pocket-handkerchief.
+
+“Did that other creature come to the same end?” I asked. “He has the
+same look.”
+
+“You’re right,” said Wemmick; “it’s the genuine look. Much as if one
+nostril was caught up with a horse-hair and a little fish-hook. Yes,
+he came to the same end; quite the natural end here, I assure you.
+He forged wills, this blade did, if he didn’t also put the supposed
+testators to sleep too. You were a gentlemanly Cove, though” (Mr.
+Wemmick was again apostrophizing), “and you said you could write Greek.
+Yah, Bounceable! What a liar you were! I never met such a liar as you!”
+ Before putting his late friend on his shelf again, Wemmick touched the
+largest of his mourning rings and said, “Sent out to buy it for me, only
+the day before.”
+
+While he was putting up the other cast and coming down from the chair,
+the thought crossed my mind that all his personal jewelry was derived
+from like sources. As he had shown no diffidence on the subject, I
+ventured on the liberty of asking him the question, when he stood before
+me, dusting his hands.
+
+“O yes,” he returned, “these are all gifts of that kind. One brings
+another, you see; that’s the way of it. I always take ‘em. They’re
+curiosities. And they’re property. They may not be worth much, but,
+after all, they’re property and portable. It don’t signify to you with
+your brilliant lookout, but as to myself, my guiding-star always is,
+‘Get hold of portable property’.”
+
+When I had rendered homage to this light, he went on to say, in a
+friendly manner:--
+
+“If at any odd time when you have nothing better to do, you wouldn’t
+mind coming over to see me at Walworth, I could offer you a bed, and I
+should consider it an honor. I have not much to show you; but such two
+or three curiosities as I have got you might like to look over; and I am
+fond of a bit of garden and a summer-house.”
+
+I said I should be delighted to accept his hospitality.
+
+“Thankee,” said he; “then we’ll consider that it’s to come off, when
+convenient to you. Have you dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?”
+
+“Not yet.”
+
+“Well,” said Wemmick, “he’ll give you wine, and good wine. I’ll give you
+punch, and not bad punch. And now I’ll tell you something. When you go
+to dine with Mr. Jaggers, look at his housekeeper.”
+
+“Shall I see something very uncommon?”
+
+“Well,” said Wemmick, “you’ll see a wild beast tamed. Not so very
+uncommon, you’ll tell me. I reply, that depends on the original wildness
+of the beast, and the amount of taming. It won’t lower your opinion of
+Mr. Jaggers’s powers. Keep your eye on it.”
+
+I told him I would do so, with all the interest and curiosity that his
+preparation awakened. As I was taking my departure, he asked me if I
+would like to devote five minutes to seeing Mr. Jaggers “at it?”
+
+For several reasons, and not least because I didn’t clearly know what
+Mr. Jaggers would be found to be “at,” I replied in the affirmative.
+We dived into the City, and came up in a crowded police-court, where
+a blood-relation (in the murderous sense) of the deceased, with the
+fanciful taste in brooches, was standing at the bar, uncomfortably
+chewing something; while my guardian had a woman under examination or
+cross-examination,--I don’t know which,--and was striking her, and
+the bench, and everybody present, with awe. If anybody, of whatsoever
+degree, said a word that he didn’t approve of, he instantly required to
+have it “taken down.” If anybody wouldn’t make an admission, he said,
+“I’ll have it out of you!” and if anybody made an admission, he said,
+“Now I have got you!” The magistrates shivered under a single bite of
+his finger. Thieves and thief-takers hung in dread rapture on his words,
+and shrank when a hair of his eyebrows turned in their direction. Which
+side he was on I couldn’t make out, for he seemed to me to be grinding
+the whole place in a mill; I only know that when I stole out on tiptoe,
+he was not on the side of the bench; for, he was making the legs of the
+old gentleman who presided, quite convulsive under the table, by his
+denunciations of his conduct as the representative of British law and
+justice in that chair that day.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV
+
+Bentley Drummle, who was so sulky a fellow that he even took up a book
+as if its writer had done him an injury, did not take up an
+acquaintance in a more agreeable spirit. Heavy in figure, movement,
+and comprehension,--in the sluggish complexion of his face, and in
+the large, awkward tongue that seemed to loll about in his mouth as
+he himself lolled about in a room,--he was idle, proud, niggardly,
+reserved, and suspicious. He came of rich people down in Somersetshire,
+who had nursed this combination of qualities until they made the
+discovery that it was just of age and a blockhead. Thus, Bentley Drummle
+had come to Mr. Pocket when he was a head taller than that gentleman,
+and half a dozen heads thicker than most gentlemen.
+
+Startop had been spoilt by a weak mother and kept at home when he
+ought to have been at school, but he was devotedly attached to her, and
+admired her beyond measure. He had a woman’s delicacy of feature,
+and was--“as you may see, though you never saw her,” said Herbert to
+me--“exactly like his mother.” It was but natural that I should take to
+him much more kindly than to Drummle, and that, even in the earliest
+evenings of our boating, he and I should pull homeward abreast of one
+another, conversing from boat to boat, while Bentley Drummle came up
+in our wake alone, under the overhanging banks and among the rushes. He
+would always creep in-shore like some uncomfortable amphibious creature,
+even when the tide would have sent him fast upon his way; and I always
+think of him as coming after us in the dark or by the back-water,
+when our own two boats were breaking the sunset or the moonlight in
+mid-stream.
+
+Herbert was my intimate companion and friend. I presented him with a
+half-share in my boat, which was the occasion of his often coming down
+to Hammersmith; and my possession of a half-share in his chambers often
+took me up to London. We used to walk between the two places at all
+hours. I have an affection for the road yet (though it is not so
+pleasant a road as it was then), formed in the impressibility of untried
+youth and hope.
+
+When I had been in Mr. Pocket’s family a month or two, Mr. and Mrs.
+Camilla turned up. Camilla was Mr. Pocket’s sister. Georgiana, whom I
+had seen at Miss Havisham’s on the same occasion, also turned up. She
+was a cousin,--an indigestive single woman, who called her rigidity
+religion, and her liver love. These people hated me with the hatred of
+cupidity and disappointment. As a matter of course, they fawned upon
+me in my prosperity with the basest meanness. Towards Mr. Pocket, as
+a grown-up infant with no notion of his own interests, they showed the
+complacent forbearance I had heard them express. Mrs. Pocket they
+held in contempt; but they allowed the poor soul to have been heavily
+disappointed in life, because that shed a feeble reflected light upon
+themselves.
+
+These were the surroundings among which I settled down, and applied
+myself to my education. I soon contracted expensive habits, and began
+to spend an amount of money that within a few short months I should have
+thought almost fabulous; but through good and evil I stuck to my books.
+There was no other merit in this, than my having sense enough to feel
+my deficiencies. Between Mr. Pocket and Herbert I got on fast; and, with
+one or the other always at my elbow to give me the start I wanted, and
+clear obstructions out of my road, I must have been as great a dolt as
+Drummle if I had done less.
+
+I had not seen Mr. Wemmick for some weeks, when I thought I would write
+him a note and propose to go home with him on a certain evening. He
+replied that it would give him much pleasure, and that he would expect
+me at the office at six o’clock. Thither I went, and there I found him,
+putting the key of his safe down his back as the clock struck.
+
+“Did you think of walking down to Walworth?” said he.
+
+“Certainly,” said I, “if you approve.”
+
+“Very much,” was Wemmick’s reply, “for I have had my legs under the desk
+all day, and shall be glad to stretch them. Now, I’ll tell you what I
+have got for supper, Mr. Pip. I have got a stewed steak,--which is
+of home preparation,--and a cold roast fowl,--which is from the
+cook’s-shop. I think it’s tender, because the master of the shop was a
+Juryman in some cases of ours the other day, and we let him down easy.
+I reminded him of it when I bought the fowl, and I said, “Pick us out
+a good one, old Briton, because if we had chosen to keep you in the box
+another day or two, we could easily have done it.” He said to that,
+“Let me make you a present of the best fowl in the shop.” I let him, of
+course. As far as it goes, it’s property and portable. You don’t object
+to an aged parent, I hope?”
+
+I really thought he was still speaking of the fowl, until he added,
+“Because I have got an aged parent at my place.” I then said what
+politeness required.
+
+“So, you haven’t dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?” he pursued, as we walked
+along.
+
+“Not yet.”
+
+“He told me so this afternoon when he heard you were coming. I expect
+you’ll have an invitation to-morrow. He’s going to ask your pals, too.
+Three of ‘em; ain’t there?”
+
+Although I was not in the habit of counting Drummle as one of my
+intimate associates, I answered, “Yes.”
+
+“Well, he’s going to ask the whole gang,”--I hardly felt complimented by
+the word,--“and whatever he gives you, he’ll give you good. Don’t look
+forward to variety, but you’ll have excellence. And there’s another rum
+thing in his house,” proceeded Wemmick, after a moment’s pause, as if
+the remark followed on the housekeeper understood; “he never lets a door
+or window be fastened at night.”
+
+“Is he never robbed?”
+
+“That’s it!” returned Wemmick. “He says, and gives it out publicly, “I
+want to see the man who’ll rob me.” Lord bless you, I have heard him, a
+hundred times, if I have heard him once, say to regular cracksmen in our
+front office, “You know where I live; now, no bolt is ever drawn there;
+why don’t you do a stroke of business with me? Come; can’t I tempt you?”
+ Not a man of them, sir, would be bold enough to try it on, for love or
+money.”
+
+“They dread him so much?” said I.
+
+“Dread him,” said Wemmick. “I believe you they dread him. Not but what
+he’s artful, even in his defiance of them. No silver, sir. Britannia
+metal, every spoon.”
+
+“So they wouldn’t have much,” I observed, “even if they--”
+
+“Ah! But he would have much,” said Wemmick, cutting me short, “and they
+know it. He’d have their lives, and the lives of scores of ‘em. He’d
+have all he could get. And it’s impossible to say what he couldn’t get,
+if he gave his mind to it.”
+
+I was falling into meditation on my guardian’s greatness, when Wemmick
+remarked:--
+
+“As to the absence of plate, that’s only his natural depth, you know.
+A river’s its natural depth, and he’s his natural depth. Look at his
+watch-chain. That’s real enough.”
+
+“It’s very massive,” said I.
+
+“Massive?” repeated Wemmick. “I think so. And his watch is a gold
+repeater, and worth a hundred pound if it’s worth a penny. Mr. Pip,
+there are about seven hundred thieves in this town who know all about
+that watch; there’s not a man, a woman, or a child, among them, who
+wouldn’t identify the smallest link in that chain, and drop it as if it
+was red hot, if inveigled into touching it.”
+
+At first with such discourse, and afterwards with conversation of a more
+general nature, did Mr. Wemmick and I beguile the time and the road,
+until he gave me to understand that we had arrived in the district of
+Walworth.
+
+It appeared to be a collection of back lanes, ditches, and little
+gardens, and to present the aspect of a rather dull retirement.
+Wemmick’s house was a little wooden cottage in the midst of plots of
+garden, and the top of it was cut out and painted like a battery mounted
+with guns.
+
+“My own doing,” said Wemmick. “Looks pretty; don’t it?”
+
+I highly commended it, I think it was the smallest house I ever saw;
+with the queerest gothic windows (by far the greater part of them sham),
+and a gothic door almost too small to get in at.
+
+“That’s a real flagstaff, you see,” said Wemmick, “and on Sundays I
+run up a real flag. Then look here. After I have crossed this bridge, I
+hoist it up--so--and cut off the communication.”
+
+The bridge was a plank, and it crossed a chasm about four feet wide
+and two deep. But it was very pleasant to see the pride with which he
+hoisted it up and made it fast; smiling as he did so, with a relish and
+not merely mechanically.
+
+“At nine o’clock every night, Greenwich time,” said Wemmick, “the gun
+fires. There he is, you see! And when you hear him go, I think you’ll
+say he’s a Stinger.”
+
+The piece of ordnance referred to, was mounted in a separate fortress,
+constructed of lattice-work. It was protected from the weather by an
+ingenious little tarpaulin contrivance in the nature of an umbrella.
+
+“Then, at the back,” said Wemmick, “out of sight, so as not to impede
+the idea of fortifications,--for it’s a principle with me, if you have
+an idea, carry it out and keep it up,--I don’t know whether that’s your
+opinion--”
+
+I said, decidedly.
+
+“--At the back, there’s a pig, and there are fowls and rabbits; then,
+I knock together my own little frame, you see, and grow cucumbers; and
+you’ll judge at supper what sort of a salad I can raise. So, sir,” said
+Wemmick, smiling again, but seriously too, as he shook his head, “if you
+can suppose the little place besieged, it would hold out a devil of a
+time in point of provisions.”
+
+Then, he conducted me to a bower about a dozen yards off, but which was
+approached by such ingenious twists of path that it took quite a long
+time to get at; and in this retreat our glasses were already set forth.
+Our punch was cooling in an ornamental lake, on whose margin the bower
+was raised. This piece of water (with an island in the middle which
+might have been the salad for supper) was of a circular form, and he had
+constructed a fountain in it, which, when you set a little mill going
+and took a cork out of a pipe, played to that powerful extent that it
+made the back of your hand quite wet.
+
+“I am my own engineer, and my own carpenter, and my own plumber, and
+my own gardener, and my own Jack of all Trades,” said Wemmick, in
+acknowledging my compliments. “Well; it’s a good thing, you know. It
+brushes the Newgate cobwebs away, and pleases the Aged. You wouldn’t
+mind being at once introduced to the Aged, would you? It wouldn’t put
+you out?”
+
+I expressed the readiness I felt, and we went into the castle. There
+we found, sitting by a fire, a very old man in a flannel coat: clean,
+cheerful, comfortable, and well cared for, but intensely deaf.
+
+“Well aged parent,” said Wemmick, shaking hands with him in a cordial
+and jocose way, “how am you?”
+
+“All right, John; all right!” replied the old man.
+
+“Here’s Mr. Pip, aged parent,” said Wemmick, “and I wish you could hear
+his name. Nod away at him, Mr. Pip; that’s what he likes. Nod away at
+him, if you please, like winking!”
+
+“This is a fine place of my son’s, sir,” cried the old man, while I
+nodded as hard as I possibly could. “This is a pretty pleasure-ground,
+sir. This spot and these beautiful works upon it ought to be kept
+together by the Nation, after my son’s time, for the people’s
+enjoyment.”
+
+“You’re as proud of it as Punch; ain’t you, Aged?” said Wemmick,
+contemplating the old man, with his hard face really softened; “there’s
+a nod for you;” giving him a tremendous one; “there’s another for you;”
+ giving him a still more tremendous one; “you like that, don’t you? If
+you’re not tired, Mr. Pip--though I know it’s tiring to strangers--will
+you tip him one more? You can’t think how it pleases him.”
+
+I tipped him several more, and he was in great spirits. We left him
+bestirring himself to feed the fowls, and we sat down to our punch in
+the arbor; where Wemmick told me, as he smoked a pipe, that it had taken
+him a good many years to bring the property up to its present pitch of
+perfection.
+
+“Is it your own, Mr. Wemmick?”
+
+“O yes,” said Wemmick, “I have got hold of it, a bit at a time. It’s a
+freehold, by George!”
+
+“Is it indeed? I hope Mr. Jaggers admires it?”
+
+“Never seen it,” said Wemmick. “Never heard of it. Never seen the Aged.
+Never heard of him. No; the office is one thing, and private life is
+another. When I go into the office, I leave the Castle behind me, and
+when I come into the Castle, I leave the office behind me. If it’s not
+in any way disagreeable to you, you’ll oblige me by doing the same. I
+don’t wish it professionally spoken about.”
+
+Of course I felt my good faith involved in the observance of his
+request. The punch being very nice, we sat there drinking it and
+talking, until it was almost nine o’clock. “Getting near gun-fire,” said
+Wemmick then, as he laid down his pipe; “it’s the Aged’s treat.”
+
+Proceeding into the Castle again, we found the Aged heating the poker,
+with expectant eyes, as a preliminary to the performance of this great
+nightly ceremony. Wemmick stood with his watch in his hand until the
+moment was come for him to take the red-hot poker from the Aged, and
+repair to the battery. He took it, and went out, and presently the
+Stinger went off with a Bang that shook the crazy little box of a
+cottage as if it must fall to pieces, and made every glass and teacup in
+it ring. Upon this, the Aged--who I believe would have been blown out
+of his arm-chair but for holding on by the elbows--cried out exultingly,
+“He’s fired! I heerd him!” and I nodded at the old gentleman until it is
+no figure of speech to declare that I absolutely could not see him.
+
+The interval between that time and supper Wemmick devoted to showing
+me his collection of curiosities. They were mostly of a felonious
+character; comprising the pen with which a celebrated forgery had been
+committed, a distinguished razor or two, some locks of hair, and several
+manuscript confessions written under condemnation,--upon which Mr.
+Wemmick set particular value as being, to use his own words, “every one
+of ‘em Lies, sir.” These were agreeably dispersed among small specimens
+of china and glass, various neat trifles made by the proprietor of the
+museum, and some tobacco-stoppers carved by the Aged. They were all
+displayed in that chamber of the Castle into which I had been first
+inducted, and which served, not only as the general sitting-room but
+as the kitchen too, if I might judge from a saucepan on the hob, and
+a brazen bijou over the fireplace designed for the suspension of a
+roasting-jack.
+
+There was a neat little girl in attendance, who looked after the Aged in
+the day. When she had laid the supper-cloth, the bridge was lowered to
+give her means of egress, and she withdrew for the night. The supper was
+excellent; and though the Castle was rather subject to dry-rot insomuch
+that it tasted like a bad nut, and though the pig might have been
+farther off, I was heartily pleased with my whole entertainment. Nor was
+there any drawback on my little turret bedroom, beyond there being such
+a very thin ceiling between me and the flagstaff, that when I lay down
+on my back in bed, it seemed as if I had to balance that pole on my
+forehead all night.
+
+Wemmick was up early in the morning, and I am afraid I heard him
+cleaning my boots. After that, he fell to gardening, and I saw him from
+my gothic window pretending to employ the Aged, and nodding at him in
+a most devoted manner. Our breakfast was as good as the supper, and at
+half-past eight precisely we started for Little Britain. By degrees,
+Wemmick got dryer and harder as we went along, and his mouth tightened
+into a post-office again. At last, when we got to his place of business
+and he pulled out his key from his coat-collar, he looked as unconscious
+of his Walworth property as if the Castle and the drawbridge and the
+arbor and the lake and the fountain and the Aged, had all been blown
+into space together by the last discharge of the Stinger.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI
+
+It fell out as Wemmick had told me it would, that I had an early
+opportunity of comparing my guardian’s establishment with that of his
+cashier and clerk. My guardian was in his room, washing his hands with
+his scented soap, when I went into the office from Walworth; and he
+called me to him, and gave me the invitation for myself and friends
+which Wemmick had prepared me to receive. “No ceremony,” he stipulated,
+“and no dinner dress, and say to-morrow.” I asked him where we should
+come to (for I had no idea where he lived), and I believe it was in his
+general objection to make anything like an admission, that he replied,
+“Come here, and I’ll take you home with me.” I embrace this opportunity
+of remarking that he washed his clients off, as if he were a surgeon or
+a dentist. He had a closet in his room, fitted up for the purpose, which
+smelt of the scented soap like a perfumer’s shop. It had an unusually
+large jack-towel on a roller inside the door, and he would wash his
+hands, and wipe them and dry them all over this towel, whenever he came
+in from a police court or dismissed a client from his room. When I and
+my friends repaired to him at six o’clock next day, he seemed to have
+been engaged on a case of a darker complexion than usual, for we found
+him with his head butted into this closet, not only washing his hands,
+but laving his face and gargling his throat. And even when he had
+done all that, and had gone all round the jack-towel, he took out his
+penknife and scraped the case out of his nails before he put his coat
+on.
+
+There were some people slinking about as usual when we passed out into
+the street, who were evidently anxious to speak with him; but there was
+something so conclusive in the halo of scented soap which encircled
+his presence, that they gave it up for that day. As we walked along
+westward, he was recognized ever and again by some face in the crowd of
+the streets, and whenever that happened he talked louder to me; but
+he never otherwise recognized anybody, or took notice that anybody
+recognized him.
+
+He conducted us to Gerrard Street, Soho, to a house on the south side of
+that street. Rather a stately house of its kind, but dolefully in want
+of painting, and with dirty windows. He took out his key and opened the
+door, and we all went into a stone hall, bare, gloomy, and little used.
+So, up a dark brown staircase into a series of three dark brown rooms on
+the first floor. There were carved garlands on the panelled walls, and
+as he stood among them giving us welcome, I know what kind of loops I
+thought they looked like.
+
+Dinner was laid in the best of these rooms; the second was his
+dressing-room; the third, his bedroom. He told us that he held the whole
+house, but rarely used more of it than we saw. The table was comfortably
+laid--no silver in the service, of course--and at the side of his chair
+was a capacious dumb-waiter, with a variety of bottles and decanters on
+it, and four dishes of fruit for dessert. I noticed throughout, that he
+kept everything under his own hand, and distributed everything himself.
+
+There was a bookcase in the room; I saw from the backs of the books,
+that they were about evidence, criminal law, criminal biography, trials,
+acts of Parliament, and such things. The furniture was all very solid
+and good, like his watch-chain. It had an official look, however, and
+there was nothing merely ornamental to be seen. In a corner was a little
+table of papers with a shaded lamp: so that he seemed to bring the
+office home with him in that respect too, and to wheel it out of an
+evening and fall to work.
+
+As he had scarcely seen my three companions until now,--for he and I had
+walked together,--he stood on the hearth-rug, after ringing the bell,
+and took a searching look at them. To my surprise, he seemed at once to
+be principally if not solely interested in Drummle.
+
+“Pip,” said he, putting his large hand on my shoulder and moving me to
+the window, “I don’t know one from the other. Who’s the Spider?”
+
+“The spider?” said I.
+
+“The blotchy, sprawly, sulky fellow.”
+
+“That’s Bentley Drummle,” I replied; “the one with the delicate face is
+Startop.”
+
+Not making the least account of “the one with the delicate face,” he
+returned, “Bentley Drummle is his name, is it? I like the look of that
+fellow.”
+
+He immediately began to talk to Drummle: not at all deterred by his
+replying in his heavy reticent way, but apparently led on by it to screw
+discourse out of him. I was looking at the two, when there came between
+me and them the housekeeper, with the first dish for the table.
+
+She was a woman of about forty, I supposed,--but I may have thought her
+younger than she was. Rather tall, of a lithe nimble figure, extremely
+pale, with large faded eyes, and a quantity of streaming hair. I cannot
+say whether any diseased affection of the heart caused her lips to be
+parted as if she were panting, and her face to bear a curious expression
+of suddenness and flutter; but I know that I had been to see Macbeth at
+the theatre, a night or two before, and that her face looked to me as if
+it were all disturbed by fiery air, like the faces I had seen rise out
+of the Witches’ caldron.
+
+She set the dish on, touched my guardian quietly on the arm with a
+finger to notify that dinner was ready, and vanished. We took our seats
+at the round table, and my guardian kept Drummle on one side of him,
+while Startop sat on the other. It was a noble dish of fish that the
+housekeeper had put on table, and we had a joint of equally choice
+mutton afterwards, and then an equally choice bird. Sauces, wines, all
+the accessories we wanted, and all of the best, were given out by our
+host from his dumb-waiter; and when they had made the circuit of the
+table, he always put them back again. Similarly, he dealt us clean
+plates and knives and forks, for each course, and dropped those just
+disused into two baskets on the ground by his chair. No other attendant
+than the housekeeper appeared. She set on every dish; and I always saw
+in her face, a face rising out of the caldron. Years afterwards, I made
+a dreadful likeness of that woman, by causing a face that had no other
+natural resemblance to it than it derived from flowing hair to pass
+behind a bowl of flaming spirits in a dark room.
+
+Induced to take particular notice of the housekeeper, both by her
+own striking appearance and by Wemmick’s preparation, I observed
+that whenever she was in the room she kept her eyes attentively on my
+guardian, and that she would remove her hands from any dish she put
+before him, hesitatingly, as if she dreaded his calling her back, and
+wanted him to speak when she was nigh, if he had anything to say. I
+fancied that I could detect in his manner a consciousness of this, and a
+purpose of always holding her in suspense.
+
+Dinner went off gayly, and although my guardian seemed to follow rather
+than originate subjects, I knew that he wrenched the weakest part of
+our dispositions out of us. For myself, I found that I was expressing my
+tendency to lavish expenditure, and to patronize Herbert, and to boast
+of my great prospects, before I quite knew that I had opened my lips.
+It was so with all of us, but with no one more than Drummle: the
+development of whose inclination to gird in a grudging and suspicious
+way at the rest, was screwed out of him before the fish was taken off.
+
+It was not then, but when we had got to the cheese, that our
+conversation turned upon our rowing feats, and that Drummle was rallied
+for coming up behind of a night in that slow amphibious way of his.
+Drummle upon this, informed our host that he much preferred our room to
+our company, and that as to skill he was more than our master, and that
+as to strength he could scatter us like chaff. By some invisible agency,
+my guardian wound him up to a pitch little short of ferocity about this
+trifle; and he fell to baring and spanning his arm to show how muscular
+it was, and we all fell to baring and spanning our arms in a ridiculous
+manner.
+
+Now the housekeeper was at that time clearing the table; my guardian,
+taking no heed of her, but with the side of his face turned from her,
+was leaning back in his chair biting the side of his forefinger and
+showing an interest in Drummle, that, to me, was quite inexplicable.
+Suddenly, he clapped his large hand on the housekeeper’s, like a trap,
+as she stretched it across the table. So suddenly and smartly did he do
+this, that we all stopped in our foolish contention.
+
+“If you talk of strength,” said Mr. Jaggers, “I’ll show you a wrist.
+Molly, let them see your wrist.”
+
+Her entrapped hand was on the table, but she had already put her other
+hand behind her waist. “Master,” she said, in a low voice, with her eyes
+attentively and entreatingly fixed upon him. “Don’t.”
+
+“I’ll show you a wrist,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, with an immovable
+determination to show it. “Molly, let them see your wrist.”
+
+“Master,” she again murmured. “Please!”
+
+“Molly,” said Mr. Jaggers, not looking at her, but obstinately looking
+at the opposite side of the room, “let them see both your wrists. Show
+them. Come!”
+
+He took his hand from hers, and turned that wrist up on the table. She
+brought her other hand from behind her, and held the two out side by
+side. The last wrist was much disfigured,--deeply scarred and scarred
+across and across. When she held her hands out she took her eyes from
+Mr. Jaggers, and turned them watchfully on every one of the rest of us
+in succession.
+
+“There’s power here,” said Mr. Jaggers, coolly tracing out the sinews
+with his forefinger. “Very few men have the power of wrist that this
+woman has. It’s remarkable what mere force of grip there is in these
+hands. I have had occasion to notice many hands; but I never saw
+stronger in that respect, man’s or woman’s, than these.”
+
+While he said these words in a leisurely, critical style, she continued
+to look at every one of us in regular succession as we sat. The moment
+he ceased, she looked at him again. “That’ll do, Molly,” said Mr.
+Jaggers, giving her a slight nod; “you have been admired, and can
+go.” She withdrew her hands and went out of the room, and Mr. Jaggers,
+putting the decanters on from his dumb-waiter, filled his glass and
+passed round the wine.
+
+“At half-past nine, gentlemen,” said he, “we must break up. Pray make
+the best use of your time. I am glad to see you all. Mr. Drummle, I
+drink to you.”
+
+If his object in singling out Drummle were to bring him out still more,
+it perfectly succeeded. In a sulky triumph, Drummle showed his morose
+depreciation of the rest of us, in a more and more offensive degree,
+until he became downright intolerable. Through all his stages, Mr.
+Jaggers followed him with the same strange interest. He actually seemed
+to serve as a zest to Mr. Jaggers’s wine.
+
+In our boyish want of discretion I dare say we took too much to drink,
+and I know we talked too much. We became particularly hot upon some
+boorish sneer of Drummle’s, to the effect that we were too free with our
+money. It led to my remarking, with more zeal than discretion, that it
+came with a bad grace from him, to whom Startop had lent money in my
+presence but a week or so before.
+
+“Well,” retorted Drummle; “he’ll be paid.”
+
+“I don’t mean to imply that he won’t,” said I, “but it might make you
+hold your tongue about us and our money, I should think.”
+
+“You should think!” retorted Drummle. “Oh Lord!”
+
+“I dare say,” I went on, meaning to be very severe, “that you wouldn’t
+lend money to any of us if we wanted it.”
+
+“You are right,” said Drummle. “I wouldn’t lend one of you a sixpence. I
+wouldn’t lend anybody a sixpence.”
+
+“Rather mean to borrow under those circumstances, I should say.”
+
+“You should say,” repeated Drummle. “Oh Lord!”
+
+This was so very aggravating--the more especially as I found myself
+making no way against his surly obtuseness--that I said, disregarding
+Herbert’s efforts to check me,--
+
+“Come, Mr. Drummle, since we are on the subject, I’ll tell you what
+passed between Herbert here and me, when you borrowed that money.”
+
+“I don’t want to know what passed between Herbert there and you,”
+ growled Drummle. And I think he added in a lower growl, that we might
+both go to the devil and shake ourselves.
+
+“I’ll tell you, however,” said I, “whether you want to know or not. We
+said that as you put it in your pocket very glad to get it, you seemed
+to be immensely amused at his being so weak as to lend it.”
+
+Drummle laughed outright, and sat laughing in our faces, with his hands
+in his pockets and his round shoulders raised; plainly signifying that
+it was quite true, and that he despised us as asses all.
+
+Hereupon Startop took him in hand, though with a much better grace than
+I had shown, and exhorted him to be a little more agreeable. Startop,
+being a lively, bright young fellow, and Drummle being the exact
+opposite, the latter was always disposed to resent him as a direct
+personal affront. He now retorted in a coarse, lumpish way, and Startop
+tried to turn the discussion aside with some small pleasantry that made
+us all laugh. Resenting this little success more than anything, Drummle,
+without any threat or warning, pulled his hands out of his pockets,
+dropped his round shoulders, swore, took up a large glass, and would
+have flung it at his adversary’s head, but for our entertainer’s
+dexterously seizing it at the instant when it was raised for that
+purpose.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Jaggers, deliberately putting down the glass, and
+hauling out his gold repeater by its massive chain, “I am exceedingly
+sorry to announce that it’s half past nine.”
+
+On this hint we all rose to depart. Before we got to the street door,
+Startop was cheerily calling Drummle “old boy,” as if nothing had
+happened. But the old boy was so far from responding, that he would not
+even walk to Hammersmith on the same side of the way; so Herbert and I,
+who remained in town, saw them going down the street on opposite sides;
+Startop leading, and Drummle lagging behind in the shadow of the houses,
+much as he was wont to follow in his boat.
+
+As the door was not yet shut, I thought I would leave Herbert there for
+a moment, and run upstairs again to say a word to my guardian. I found
+him in his dressing-room surrounded by his stock of boots, already hard
+at it, washing his hands of us.
+
+I told him I had come up again to say how sorry I was that anything
+disagreeable should have occurred, and that I hoped he would not blame
+me much.
+
+“Pooh!” said he, sluicing his face, and speaking through the
+water-drops; “it’s nothing, Pip. I like that Spider though.”
+
+He had turned towards me now, and was shaking his head, and blowing, and
+towelling himself.
+
+“I am glad you like him, sir,” said I--“but I don’t.”
+
+“No, no,” my guardian assented; “don’t have too much to do with him.
+Keep as clear of him as you can. But I like the fellow, Pip; he is one
+of the true sort. Why, if I was a fortune-teller--”
+
+Looking out of the towel, he caught my eye.
+
+“But I am not a fortune-teller,” he said, letting his head drop into a
+festoon of towel, and towelling away at his two ears. “You know what I
+am, don’t you? Good night, Pip.”
+
+“Good night, sir.”
+
+In about a month after that, the Spider’s time with Mr. Pocket was up
+for good, and, to the great relief of all the house but Mrs. Pocket, he
+went home to the family hole.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII
+
+
+“MY DEAR MR PIP:--
+
+“I write this by request of Mr. Gargery, for to let you know that he
+is going to London in company with Mr. Wopsle and would be glad if
+agreeable to be allowed to see you. He would call at Barnard’s Hotel
+Tuesday morning at nine o’clock, when if not agreeable please leave
+word. Your poor sister is much the same as when you left. We talk of you
+in the kitchen every night, and wonder what you are saying and doing. If
+now considered in the light of a liberty, excuse it for the love of
+poor old days. No more, dear Mr. Pip, from your ever obliged, and
+affectionate servant,
+
+“BIDDY.”
+
+“P.S. He wishes me most particular to write what larks. He says you will
+understand. I hope and do not doubt it will be agreeable to see him,
+even though a gentleman, for you had ever a good heart, and he is a
+worthy, worthy man. I have read him all, excepting only the last little
+sentence, and he wishes me most particular to write again what larks.”
+
+I received this letter by the post on Monday morning, and therefore its
+appointment was for next day. Let me confess exactly with what feelings
+I looked forward to Joe’s coming.
+
+Not with pleasure, though I was bound to him by so many ties; no;
+with considerable disturbance, some mortification, and a keen sense of
+incongruity. If I could have kept him away by paying money, I certainly
+would have paid money. My greatest reassurance was that he was coming
+to Barnard’s Inn, not to Hammersmith, and consequently would not fall
+in Bentley Drummle’s way. I had little objection to his being seen by
+Herbert or his father, for both of whom I had a respect; but I had the
+sharpest sensitiveness as to his being seen by Drummle, whom I held in
+contempt. So, throughout life, our worst weaknesses and meannesses are
+usually committed for the sake of the people whom we most despise.
+
+I had begun to be always decorating the chambers in some quite
+unnecessary and inappropriate way or other, and very expensive those
+wrestles with Barnard proved to be. By this time, the rooms were
+vastly different from what I had found them, and I enjoyed the honor
+of occupying a few prominent pages in the books of a neighboring
+upholsterer. I had got on so fast of late, that I had even started a boy
+in boots,--top boots,--in bondage and slavery to whom I might have been
+said to pass my days. For, after I had made the monster (out of the
+refuse of my washerwoman’s family), and had clothed him with a blue
+coat, canary waistcoat, white cravat, creamy breeches, and the boots
+already mentioned, I had to find him a little to do and a great deal
+to eat; and with both of those horrible requirements he haunted my
+existence.
+
+This avenging phantom was ordered to be on duty at eight on Tuesday
+morning in the hall, (it was two feet square, as charged for
+floorcloth,) and Herbert suggested certain things for breakfast that he
+thought Joe would like. While I felt sincerely obliged to him for being
+so interested and considerate, I had an odd half-provoked sense of
+suspicion upon me, that if Joe had been coming to see him, he wouldn’t
+have been quite so brisk about it.
+
+However, I came into town on the Monday night to be ready for Joe, and
+I got up early in the morning, and caused the sitting-room and
+breakfast-table to assume their most splendid appearance. Unfortunately
+the morning was drizzly, and an angel could not have concealed the fact
+that Barnard was shedding sooty tears outside the window, like some weak
+giant of a Sweep.
+
+As the time approached I should have liked to run away, but the Avenger
+pursuant to orders was in the hall, and presently I heard Joe on
+the staircase. I knew it was Joe, by his clumsy manner of coming upstairs,
+--his state boots being always too big for him,--and by the time
+it took him to read the names on the other floors in the course of
+his ascent. When at last he stopped outside our door, I could hear his
+finger tracing over the painted letters of my name, and I afterwards
+distinctly heard him breathing in at the keyhole. Finally he gave a
+faint single rap, and Pepper--such was the compromising name of the
+avenging boy--announced “Mr. Gargery!” I thought he never would have
+done wiping his feet, and that I must have gone out to lift him off the
+mat, but at last he came in.
+
+“Joe, how are you, Joe?”
+
+“Pip, how AIR you, Pip?”
+
+With his good honest face all glowing and shining, and his hat put
+down on the floor between us, he caught both my hands and worked them
+straight up and down, as if I had been the last-patented Pump.
+
+“I am glad to see you, Joe. Give me your hat.”
+
+But Joe, taking it up carefully with both hands, like a bird’s-nest with
+eggs in it, wouldn’t hear of parting with that piece of property, and
+persisted in standing talking over it in a most uncomfortable way.
+
+“Which you have that growed,” said Joe, “and that swelled, and that
+gentle-folked;” Joe considered a little before he discovered this word;
+“as to be sure you are a honor to your king and country.”
+
+“And you, Joe, look wonderfully well.”
+
+“Thank God,” said Joe, “I’m ekerval to most. And your sister, she’s
+no worse than she were. And Biddy, she’s ever right and ready. And all
+friends is no backerder, if not no forarder. ‘Ceptin Wopsle; he’s had a
+drop.”
+
+All this time (still with both hands taking great care of the
+bird’s-nest), Joe was rolling his eyes round and round the room, and
+round and round the flowered pattern of my dressing-gown.
+
+“Had a drop, Joe?”
+
+“Why yes,” said Joe, lowering his voice, “he’s left the Church and went
+into the playacting. Which the playacting have likeways brought him
+to London along with me. And his wish were,” said Joe, getting the
+bird’s-nest under his left arm for the moment, and groping in it for an
+egg with his right; “if no offence, as I would ‘and you that.”
+
+I took what Joe gave me, and found it to be the crumpled play-bill of
+a small metropolitan theatre, announcing the first appearance, in that
+very week, of “the celebrated Provincial Amateur of Roscian renown,
+whose unique performance in the highest tragic walk of our National Bard
+has lately occasioned so great a sensation in local dramatic circles.”
+
+“Were you at his performance, Joe?” I inquired.
+
+“I were,” said Joe, with emphasis and solemnity.
+
+“Was there a great sensation?”
+
+“Why,” said Joe, “yes, there certainly were a peck of orange-peel.
+Partickler when he see the ghost. Though I put it to yourself, sir,
+whether it were calc’lated to keep a man up to his work with a good
+hart, to be continiwally cutting in betwixt him and the Ghost with
+“Amen!” A man may have had a misfortun’ and been in the Church,” said
+Joe, lowering his voice to an argumentative and feeling tone, “but
+that is no reason why you should put him out at such a time. Which I
+meantersay, if the ghost of a man’s own father cannot be allowed to
+claim his attention, what can, Sir? Still more, when his mourning ‘at
+is unfortunately made so small as that the weight of the black feathers
+brings it off, try to keep it on how you may.”
+
+A ghost-seeing effect in Joe’s own countenance informed me that Herbert
+had entered the room. So, I presented Joe to Herbert, who held out his
+hand; but Joe backed from it, and held on by the bird’s-nest.
+
+“Your servant, Sir,” said Joe, “which I hope as you and Pip”--here his
+eye fell on the Avenger, who was putting some toast on table, and so
+plainly denoted an intention to make that young gentleman one of the
+family, that I frowned it down and confused him more--“I meantersay, you
+two gentlemen,--which I hope as you get your elths in this close spot?
+For the present may be a werry good inn, according to London opinions,”
+ said Joe, confidentially, “and I believe its character do stand it; but I
+wouldn’t keep a pig in it myself,--not in the case that I wished him to
+fatten wholesome and to eat with a meller flavor on him.”
+
+Having borne this flattering testimony to the merits of our
+dwelling-place, and having incidentally shown this tendency to call me
+“sir,” Joe, being invited to sit down to table, looked all round the
+room for a suitable spot on which to deposit his hat,--as if it were
+only on some very few rare substances in nature that it could find a
+resting place,--and ultimately stood it on an extreme corner of the
+chimney-piece, from which it ever afterwards fell off at intervals.
+
+“Do you take tea, or coffee, Mr. Gargery?” asked Herbert, who always
+presided of a morning.
+
+“Thankee, Sir,” said Joe, stiff from head to foot, “I’ll take whichever
+is most agreeable to yourself.”
+
+“What do you say to coffee?”
+
+“Thankee, Sir,” returned Joe, evidently dispirited by the proposal,
+“since you are so kind as make chice of coffee, I will not run contrairy
+to your own opinions. But don’t you never find it a little ‘eating?”
+
+“Say tea then,” said Herbert, pouring it out.
+
+Here Joe’s hat tumbled off the mantel-piece, and he started out of his
+chair and picked it up, and fitted it to the same exact spot. As if it
+were an absolute point of good breeding that it should tumble off again
+soon.
+
+“When did you come to town, Mr. Gargery?”
+
+“Were it yesterday afternoon?” said Joe, after coughing behind his hand,
+as if he had had time to catch the whooping-cough since he came. “No
+it were not. Yes it were. Yes. It were yesterday afternoon” (with an
+appearance of mingled wisdom, relief, and strict impartiality).
+
+“Have you seen anything of London yet?”
+
+“Why, yes, Sir,” said Joe, “me and Wopsle went off straight to look at
+the Blacking Ware’us. But we didn’t find that it come up to its likeness
+in the red bills at the shop doors; which I meantersay,” added Joe, in
+an explanatory manner, “as it is there drawd too architectooralooral.”
+
+I really believe Joe would have prolonged this word (mightily expressive
+to my mind of some architecture that I know) into a perfect Chorus, but
+for his attention being providentially attracted by his hat, which
+was toppling. Indeed, it demanded from him a constant attention, and a
+quickness of eye and hand, very like that exacted by wicket-keeping.
+He made extraordinary play with it, and showed the greatest skill; now,
+rushing at it and catching it neatly as it dropped; now, merely stopping
+it midway, beating it up, and humoring it in various parts of the room
+and against a good deal of the pattern of the paper on the wall,
+before he felt it safe to close with it; finally splashing it into the
+slop-basin, where I took the liberty of laying hands upon it.
+
+As to his shirt-collar, and his coat-collar, they were perplexing to
+reflect upon,--insoluble mysteries both. Why should a man scrape himself
+to that extent, before he could consider himself full dressed? Why
+should he suppose it necessary to be purified by suffering for
+his holiday clothes? Then he fell into such unaccountable fits of
+meditation, with his fork midway between his plate and his mouth; had
+his eyes attracted in such strange directions; was afflicted with such
+remarkable coughs; sat so far from the table, and dropped so much
+more than he ate, and pretended that he hadn’t dropped it; that I was
+heartily glad when Herbert left us for the City.
+
+I had neither the good sense nor the good feeling to know that this was
+all my fault, and that if I had been easier with Joe, Joe would have
+been easier with me. I felt impatient of him and out of temper with him;
+in which condition he heaped coals of fire on my head.
+
+“Us two being now alone, sir,”--began Joe.
+
+“Joe,” I interrupted, pettishly, “how can you call me, sir?”
+
+Joe looked at me for a single instant with something faintly like
+reproach. Utterly preposterous as his cravat was, and as his collars
+were, I was conscious of a sort of dignity in the look.
+
+“Us two being now alone,” resumed Joe, “and me having the intentions and
+abilities to stay not many minutes more, I will now conclude--leastways
+begin--to mention what have led to my having had the present honor. For
+was it not,” said Joe, with his old air of lucid exposition, “that my
+only wish were to be useful to you, I should not have had the honor of
+breaking wittles in the company and abode of gentlemen.”
+
+I was so unwilling to see the look again, that I made no remonstrance
+against this tone.
+
+“Well, sir,” pursued Joe, “this is how it were. I were at the Bargemen
+t’other night, Pip;”--whenever he subsided into affection, he called me
+Pip, and whenever he relapsed into politeness he called me sir; “when
+there come up in his shay-cart, Pumblechook. Which that same identical,”
+ said Joe, going down a new track, “do comb my ‘air the wrong way
+sometimes, awful, by giving out up and down town as it were him which
+ever had your infant companionation and were looked upon as a playfellow
+by yourself.”
+
+“Nonsense. It was you, Joe.”
+
+“Which I fully believed it were, Pip,” said Joe, slightly tossing
+his head, “though it signify little now, sir. Well, Pip; this same
+identical, which his manners is given to blusterous, come to me at
+the Bargemen (wot a pipe and a pint of beer do give refreshment to the
+workingman, sir, and do not over stimilate), and his word were, ‘Joseph,
+Miss Havisham she wish to speak to you.’”
+
+“Miss Havisham, Joe?”
+
+“‘She wish,’ were Pumblechook’s word, ‘to speak to you.’” Joe sat and
+rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
+
+“Yes, Joe? Go on, please.”
+
+“Next day, sir,” said Joe, looking at me as if I were a long way off,
+“having cleaned myself, I go and I see Miss A.”
+
+“Miss A., Joe? Miss Havisham?”
+
+“Which I say, sir,” replied Joe, with an air of legal formality, as if
+he were making his will, “Miss A., or otherways Havisham. Her expression
+air then as follering: ‘Mr. Gargery. You air in correspondence with Mr.
+Pip?’ Having had a letter from you, I were able to say ‘I am.’ (When
+I married your sister, sir, I said ‘I will;’ and when I answered your
+friend, Pip, I said ‘I am.’) ‘Would you tell him, then,’ said she, ‘that
+which Estella has come home and would be glad to see him.’”
+
+I felt my face fire up as I looked at Joe. I hope one remote cause
+of its firing may have been my consciousness that if I had known his
+errand, I should have given him more encouragement.
+
+“Biddy,” pursued Joe, “when I got home and asked her fur to write the
+message to you, a little hung back. Biddy says, ‘I know he will be very
+glad to have it by word of mouth, it is holiday time, you want to see
+him, go!’ I have now concluded, sir,” said Joe, rising from his chair,
+“and, Pip, I wish you ever well and ever prospering to a greater and a
+greater height.”
+
+“But you are not going now, Joe?”
+
+“Yes I am,” said Joe.
+
+“But you are coming back to dinner, Joe?”
+
+“No I am not,” said Joe.
+
+Our eyes met, and all the “Sir” melted out of that manly heart as he gave
+me his hand.
+
+“Pip, dear old chap, life is made of ever so many partings welded
+together, as I may say, and one man’s a blacksmith, and one’s a
+whitesmith, and one’s a goldsmith, and one’s a coppersmith. Diwisions
+among such must come, and must be met as they come. If there’s been
+any fault at all to-day, it’s mine. You and me is not two figures to
+be together in London; nor yet anywheres else but what is private, and
+beknown, and understood among friends. It ain’t that I am proud, but
+that I want to be right, as you shall never see me no more in these
+clothes. I’m wrong in these clothes. I’m wrong out of the forge, the
+kitchen, or off th’ meshes. You won’t find half so much fault in me if
+you think of me in my forge dress, with my hammer in my hand, or even
+my pipe. You won’t find half so much fault in me if, supposing as you
+should ever wish to see me, you come and put your head in at the forge
+window and see Joe the blacksmith, there, at the old anvil, in the old
+burnt apron, sticking to the old work. I’m awful dull, but I hope I’ve
+beat out something nigh the rights of this at last. And so GOD bless
+you, dear old Pip, old chap, GOD bless you!”
+
+I had not been mistaken in my fancy that there was a simple dignity
+in him. The fashion of his dress could no more come in its way when he
+spoke these words than it could come in its way in Heaven. He touched me
+gently on the forehead, and went out. As soon as I could recover
+myself sufficiently, I hurried out after him and looked for him in the
+neighboring streets; but he was gone.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII
+
+It was clear that I must repair to our town next day, and in the first
+flow of my repentance, it was equally clear that I must stay at Joe’s.
+But, when I had secured my box-place by to-morrow’s coach, and had been
+down to Mr. Pocket’s and back, I was not by any means convinced on the
+last point, and began to invent reasons and make excuses for putting
+up at the Blue Boar. I should be an inconvenience at Joe’s; I was not
+expected, and my bed would not be ready; I should be too far from
+Miss Havisham’s, and she was exacting and mightn’t like it. All other
+swindlers upon earth are nothing to the self-swindlers, and with such
+pretences did I cheat myself. Surely a curious thing. That I should
+innocently take a bad half-crown of somebody else’s manufacture is
+reasonable enough; but that I should knowingly reckon the spurious coin
+of my own make as good money! An obliging stranger, under pretence of
+compactly folding up my bank-notes for security’s sake, abstracts the
+notes and gives me nutshells; but what is his sleight of hand to mine,
+when I fold up my own nutshells and pass them on myself as notes!
+
+Having settled that I must go to the Blue Boar, my mind was much
+disturbed by indecision whether or not to take the Avenger. It was
+tempting to think of that expensive Mercenary publicly airing his boots
+in the archway of the Blue Boar’s posting-yard; it was almost solemn to
+imagine him casually produced in the tailor’s shop, and confounding
+the disrespectful senses of Trabb’s boy. On the other hand, Trabb’s boy
+might worm himself into his intimacy and tell him things; or, reckless
+and desperate wretch as I knew he could be, might hoot him in the High
+Street. My patroness, too, might hear of him, and not approve. On the
+whole, I resolved to leave the Avenger behind.
+
+It was the afternoon coach by which I had taken my place, and, as winter
+had now come round, I should not arrive at my destination until two or
+three hours after dark. Our time of starting from the Cross Keys was
+two o’clock. I arrived on the ground with a quarter of an hour to spare,
+attended by the Avenger,--if I may connect that expression with one who
+never attended on me if he could possibly help it.
+
+At that time it was customary to carry Convicts down to the dock-yards
+by stage-coach. As I had often heard of them in the capacity of outside
+passengers, and had more than once seen them on the high road dangling
+their ironed legs over the coach roof, I had no cause to be surprised
+when Herbert, meeting me in the yard, came up and told me there were two
+convicts going down with me. But I had a reason that was an old reason
+now for constitutionally faltering whenever I heard the word “convict.”
+
+“You don’t mind them, Handel?” said Herbert.
+
+“O no!”
+
+“I thought you seemed as if you didn’t like them?”
+
+“I can’t pretend that I do like them, and I suppose you don’t
+particularly. But I don’t mind them.”
+
+“See! There they are,” said Herbert, “coming out of the Tap. What a
+degraded and vile sight it is!”
+
+They had been treating their guard, I suppose, for they had a gaoler
+with them, and all three came out wiping their mouths on their hands.
+The two convicts were handcuffed together, and had irons on their
+legs,--irons of a pattern that I knew well. They wore the dress that I
+likewise knew well. Their keeper had a brace of pistols, and carried
+a thick-knobbed bludgeon under his arm; but he was on terms of good
+understanding with them, and stood with them beside him, looking on at
+the putting-to of the horses, rather with an air as if the convicts were
+an interesting Exhibition not formally open at the moment, and he the
+Curator. One was a taller and stouter man than the other, and appeared
+as a matter of course, according to the mysterious ways of the world,
+both convict and free, to have had allotted to him the smaller suit of
+clothes. His arms and legs were like great pincushions of those shapes,
+and his attire disguised him absurdly; but I knew his half-closed eye
+at one glance. There stood the man whom I had seen on the settle at the
+Three Jolly Bargemen on a Saturday night, and who had brought me down
+with his invisible gun!
+
+It was easy to make sure that as yet he knew me no more than if he had
+never seen me in his life. He looked across at me, and his eye appraised
+my watch-chain, and then he incidentally spat and said something to the
+other convict, and they laughed and slued themselves round with a clink
+of their coupling manacle, and looked at something else. The great
+numbers on their backs, as if they were street doors; their coarse mangy
+ungainly outer surface, as if they were lower animals; their ironed
+legs, apologetically garlanded with pocket-handkerchiefs; and the way
+in which all present looked at them and kept from them; made them (as
+Herbert had said) a most disagreeable and degraded spectacle.
+
+But this was not the worst of it. It came out that the whole of the back
+of the coach had been taken by a family removing from London, and that
+there were no places for the two prisoners but on the seat in front
+behind the coachman. Hereupon, a choleric gentleman, who had taken the
+fourth place on that seat, flew into a most violent passion, and said
+that it was a breach of contract to mix him up with such villainous
+company, and that it was poisonous, and pernicious, and infamous, and
+shameful, and I don’t know what else. At this time the coach was ready
+and the coachman impatient, and we were all preparing to get up, and
+the prisoners had come over with their keeper,--bringing with them that
+curious flavor of bread-poultice, baize, rope-yarn, and hearthstone,
+which attends the convict presence.
+
+“Don’t take it so much amiss, sir,” pleaded the keeper to the angry
+passenger; “I’ll sit next you myself. I’ll put ‘em on the outside of
+the row. They won’t interfere with you, sir. You needn’t know they’re
+there.”
+
+“And don’t blame me,” growled the convict I had recognized. “I don’t
+want to go. I am quite ready to stay behind. As fur as I am concerned
+any one’s welcome to my place.”
+
+“Or mine,” said the other, gruffly. “I wouldn’t have incommoded none
+of you, if I’d had my way.” Then they both laughed, and began cracking
+nuts, and spitting the shells about.--As I really think I should have
+liked to do myself, if I had been in their place and so despised.
+
+At length, it was voted that there was no help for the angry gentleman,
+and that he must either go in his chance company or remain behind. So he
+got into his place, still making complaints, and the keeper got into the
+place next him, and the convicts hauled themselves up as well as they
+could, and the convict I had recognized sat behind me with his breath on
+the hair of my head.
+
+“Good-bye, Handel!” Herbert called out as we started. I thought what a
+blessed fortune it was, that he had found another name for me than Pip.
+
+It is impossible to express with what acuteness I felt the convict’s
+breathing, not only on the back of my head, but all along my spine. The
+sensation was like being touched in the marrow with some pungent and
+searching acid, it set my very teeth on edge. He seemed to have more
+breathing business to do than another man, and to make more noise in
+doing it; and I was conscious of growing high-shouldered on one side, in
+my shrinking endeavors to fend him off.
+
+The weather was miserably raw, and the two cursed the cold. It made us
+all lethargic before we had gone far, and when we had left the Half-way
+House behind, we habitually dozed and shivered and were silent. I dozed
+off, myself, in considering the question whether I ought to restore a
+couple of pounds sterling to this creature before losing sight of him,
+and how it could best be done. In the act of dipping forward as if I
+were going to bathe among the horses, I woke in a fright and took the
+question up again.
+
+But I must have lost it longer than I had thought, since, although
+I could recognize nothing in the darkness and the fitful lights and
+shadows of our lamps, I traced marsh country in the cold damp wind that
+blew at us. Cowering forward for warmth and to make me a screen against
+the wind, the convicts were closer to me than before. The very first
+words I heard them interchange as I became conscious, were the words of
+my own thought, “Two One Pound notes.”
+
+“How did he get ‘em?” said the convict I had never seen.
+
+“How should I know?” returned the other. “He had ‘em stowed away
+somehows. Giv him by friends, I expect.”
+
+“I wish,” said the other, with a bitter curse upon the cold, “that I had
+‘em here.”
+
+“Two one pound notes, or friends?”
+
+“Two one pound notes. I’d sell all the friends I ever had for one, and
+think it a blessed good bargain. Well? So he says--?”
+
+“So he says,” resumed the convict I had recognized,--“it was all
+said and done in half a minute, behind a pile of timber in the
+Dock-yard,--‘You’re a going to be discharged?’ Yes, I was. Would I find
+out that boy that had fed him and kep his secret, and give him them two
+one pound notes? Yes, I would. And I did.”
+
+“More fool you,” growled the other. “I’d have spent ‘em on a Man, in
+wittles and drink. He must have been a green one. Mean to say he knowed
+nothing of you?”
+
+“Not a ha’porth. Different gangs and different ships. He was tried again
+for prison breaking, and got made a Lifer.”
+
+“And was that--Honor!--the only time you worked out, in this part of the
+country?”
+
+“The only time.”
+
+“What might have been your opinion of the place?”
+
+“A most beastly place. Mudbank, mist, swamp, and work; work, swamp,
+mist, and mudbank.”
+
+They both execrated the place in very strong language, and gradually
+growled themselves out, and had nothing left to say.
+
+After overhearing this dialogue, I should assuredly have got down and
+been left in the solitude and darkness of the highway, but for feeling
+certain that the man had no suspicion of my identity. Indeed, I was not
+only so changed in the course of nature, but so differently dressed and
+so differently circumstanced, that it was not at all likely he could
+have known me without accidental help. Still, the coincidence of our
+being together on the coach, was sufficiently strange to fill me with a
+dread that some other coincidence might at any moment connect me, in his
+hearing, with my name. For this reason, I resolved to alight as soon as
+we touched the town, and put myself out of his hearing. This device I
+executed successfully. My little portmanteau was in the boot under my
+feet; I had but to turn a hinge to get it out; I threw it down before
+me, got down after it, and was left at the first lamp on the first
+stones of the town pavement. As to the convicts, they went their way
+with the coach, and I knew at what point they would be spirited off to
+the river. In my fancy, I saw the boat with its convict crew waiting for
+them at the slime-washed stairs,--again heard the gruff “Give way, you!”
+ like and order to dogs,--again saw the wicked Noah’s Ark lying out on
+the black water.
+
+I could not have said what I was afraid of, for my fear was altogether
+undefined and vague, but there was great fear upon me. As I walked on to
+the hotel, I felt that a dread, much exceeding the mere apprehension of
+a painful or disagreeable recognition, made me tremble. I am confident
+that it took no distinctness of shape, and that it was the revival for a
+few minutes of the terror of childhood.
+
+The coffee-room at the Blue Boar was empty, and I had not only ordered
+my dinner there, but had sat down to it, before the waiter knew me. As
+soon as he had apologized for the remissness of his memory, he asked me
+if he should send Boots for Mr. Pumblechook?
+
+“No,” said I, “certainly not.”
+
+The waiter (it was he who had brought up the Great Remonstrance from the
+Commercials, on the day when I was bound) appeared surprised, and
+took the earliest opportunity of putting a dirty old copy of a local
+newspaper so directly in my way, that I took it up and read this
+paragraph:--
+
+Our readers will learn, not altogether without interest, in reference to
+the recent romantic rise in fortune of a young artificer in iron of this
+neighborhood (what a theme, by the way, for the magic pen of our as yet
+not universally acknowledged townsman TOOBY, the poet of our columns!)
+that the youth’s earliest patron, companion, and friend, was a highly
+respected individual not entirely unconnected with the corn and seed
+trade, and whose eminently convenient and commodious business premises
+are situate within a hundred miles of the High Street. It is not wholly
+irrespective of our personal feelings that we record HIM as the Mentor
+of our young Telemachus, for it is good to know that our town produced
+the founder of the latter’s fortunes. Does the thought-contracted brow
+of the local Sage or the lustrous eye of local Beauty inquire whose
+fortunes? We believe that Quintin Matsys was the BLACKSMITH of Antwerp.
+VERB. SAP.
+
+I entertain a conviction, based upon large experience, that if in the
+days of my prosperity I had gone to the North Pole, I should have met
+somebody there, wandering Esquimaux or civilized man, who would have
+told me that Pumblechook was my earliest patron and the founder of my
+fortunes.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX
+
+Betimes in the morning I was up and out. It was too early yet to go to
+Miss Havisham’s, so I loitered into the country on Miss Havisham’s
+side of town,--which was not Joe’s side; I could go there
+to-morrow,--thinking about my patroness, and painting brilliant pictures
+of her plans for me.
+
+She had adopted Estella, she had as good as adopted me, and it could not
+fail to be her intention to bring us together. She reserved it for me to
+restore the desolate house, admit the sunshine into the dark rooms,
+set the clocks a-going and the cold hearths a-blazing, tear down the
+cobwebs, destroy the vermin,--in short, do all the shining deeds of the
+young Knight of romance, and marry the Princess. I had stopped to
+look at the house as I passed; and its seared red brick walls, blocked
+windows, and strong green ivy clasping even the stacks of chimneys with
+its twigs and tendons, as if with sinewy old arms, had made up a rich
+attractive mystery, of which I was the hero. Estella was the inspiration
+of it, and the heart of it, of course. But, though she had taken such
+strong possession of me, though my fancy and my hope were so set upon
+her, though her influence on my boyish life and character had been
+all-powerful, I did not, even that romantic morning, invest her with any
+attributes save those she possessed. I mention this in this place, of a
+fixed purpose, because it is the clew by which I am to be followed into
+my poor labyrinth. According to my experience, the conventional notion
+of a lover cannot be always true. The unqualified truth is, that when I
+loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found
+her irresistible. Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often,
+if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against
+peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that
+could be. Once for all; I loved her none the less because I knew it,
+and it had no more influence in restraining me than if I had devoutly
+believed her to be human perfection.
+
+I so shaped out my walk as to arrive at the gate at my old time. When
+I had rung at the bell with an unsteady hand, I turned my back upon the
+gate, while I tried to get my breath and keep the beating of my heart
+moderately quiet. I heard the side-door open, and steps come across the
+courtyard; but I pretended not to hear, even when the gate swung on its
+rusty hinges.
+
+Being at last touched on the shoulder, I started and turned. I started
+much more naturally then, to find myself confronted by a man in a sober
+gray dress. The last man I should have expected to see in that place of
+porter at Miss Havisham’s door.
+
+“Orlick!”
+
+“Ah, young master, there’s more changes than yours. But come in, come
+in. It’s opposed to my orders to hold the gate open.”
+
+I entered and he swung it, and locked it, and took the key out. “Yes!”
+ said he, facing round, after doggedly preceding me a few steps towards
+the house. “Here I am!”
+
+“How did you come here?”
+
+“I come her,” he retorted, “on my legs. I had my box brought alongside
+me in a barrow.”
+
+“Are you here for good?”
+
+“I ain’t here for harm, young master, I suppose?”
+
+I was not so sure of that. I had leisure to entertain the retort in my
+mind, while he slowly lifted his heavy glance from the pavement, up my
+legs and arms, to my face.
+
+“Then you have left the forge?” I said.
+
+“Do this look like a forge?” replied Orlick, sending his glance all
+round him with an air of injury. “Now, do it look like it?”
+
+I asked him how long he had left Gargery’s forge?
+
+“One day is so like another here,” he replied, “that I don’t know
+without casting it up. However, I come here some time since you left.”
+
+“I could have told you that, Orlick.”
+
+“Ah!” said he, dryly. “But then you’ve got to be a scholar.”
+
+By this time we had come to the house, where I found his room to be one
+just within the side-door, with a little window in it looking on the
+courtyard. In its small proportions, it was not unlike the kind of place
+usually assigned to a gate-porter in Paris. Certain keys were hanging on
+the wall, to which he now added the gate key; and his patchwork-covered
+bed was in a little inner division or recess. The whole had a slovenly,
+confined, and sleepy look, like a cage for a human dormouse; while he,
+looming dark and heavy in the shadow of a corner by the window, looked
+like the human dormouse for whom it was fitted up,--as indeed he was.
+
+“I never saw this room before,” I remarked; “but there used to be no
+Porter here.”
+
+“No,” said he; “not till it got about that there was no protection on
+the premises, and it come to be considered dangerous, with convicts and
+Tag and Rag and Bobtail going up and down. And then I was recommended to
+the place as a man who could give another man as good as he brought, and
+I took it. It’s easier than bellowsing and hammering.--That’s loaded,
+that is.”
+
+My eye had been caught by a gun with a brass-bound stock over the
+chimney-piece, and his eye had followed mine.
+
+“Well,” said I, not desirous of more conversation, “shall I go up to
+Miss Havisham?”
+
+“Burn me, if I know!” he retorted, first stretching himself and then
+shaking himself; “my orders ends here, young master. I give this here
+bell a rap with this here hammer, and you go on along the passage till
+you meet somebody.”
+
+“I am expected, I believe?”
+
+“Burn me twice over, if I can say!” said he.
+
+Upon that, I turned down the long passage which I had first trodden in
+my thick boots, and he made his bell sound. At the end of the passage,
+while the bell was still reverberating, I found Sarah Pocket, who
+appeared to have now become constitutionally green and yellow by reason
+of me.
+
+“Oh!” said she. “You, is it, Mr. Pip?”
+
+“It is, Miss Pocket. I am glad to tell you that Mr. Pocket and family
+are all well.”
+
+“Are they any wiser?” said Sarah, with a dismal shake of the head; “they
+had better be wiser, than well. Ah, Matthew, Matthew! You know your way,
+sir?”
+
+Tolerably, for I had gone up the staircase in the dark, many a time. I
+ascended it now, in lighter boots than of yore, and tapped in my old
+way at the door of Miss Havisham’s room. “Pip’s rap,” I heard her say,
+immediately; “come in, Pip.”
+
+She was in her chair near the old table, in the old dress, with her two
+hands crossed on her stick, her chin resting on them, and her eyes on
+the fire. Sitting near her, with the white shoe, that had never been
+worn, in her hand, and her head bent as she looked at it, was an elegant
+lady whom I had never seen.
+
+“Come in, Pip,” Miss Havisham continued to mutter, without looking round
+or up; “come in, Pip, how do you do, Pip? so you kiss my hand as if I
+were a queen, eh?--Well?”
+
+She looked up at me suddenly, only moving her eyes, and repeated in a
+grimly playful manner,--
+
+“Well?”
+
+“I heard, Miss Havisham,” said I, rather at a loss, “that you were so
+kind as to wish me to come and see you, and I came directly.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+The lady whom I had never seen before, lifted up her eyes and looked
+archly at me, and then I saw that the eyes were Estella’s eyes. But she
+was so much changed, was so much more beautiful, so much more womanly,
+in all things winning admiration, had made such wonderful advance,
+that I seemed to have made none. I fancied, as I looked at her, that
+I slipped hopelessly back into the coarse and common boy again. O
+the sense of distance and disparity that came upon me, and the
+inaccessibility that came about her!
+
+She gave me her hand. I stammered something about the pleasure I felt in
+seeing her again, and about my having looked forward to it, for a long,
+long time.
+
+“Do you find her much changed, Pip?” asked Miss Havisham, with her
+greedy look, and striking her stick upon a chair that stood between
+them, as a sign to me to sit down there.
+
+“When I came in, Miss Havisham, I thought there was nothing of Estella
+in the face or figure; but now it all settles down so curiously into the
+old--”
+
+“What? You are not going to say into the old Estella?” Miss Havisham
+interrupted. “She was proud and insulting, and you wanted to go away
+from her. Don’t you remember?”
+
+I said confusedly that that was long ago, and that I knew no better
+then, and the like. Estella smiled with perfect composure, and said she
+had no doubt of my having been quite right, and of her having been very
+disagreeable.
+
+“Is he changed?” Miss Havisham asked her.
+
+“Very much,” said Estella, looking at me.
+
+“Less coarse and common?” said Miss Havisham, playing with Estella’s
+hair.
+
+Estella laughed, and looked at the shoe in her hand, and laughed again,
+and looked at me, and put the shoe down. She treated me as a boy still,
+but she lured me on.
+
+We sat in the dreamy room among the old strange influences which had
+so wrought upon me, and I learnt that she had but just come home from
+France, and that she was going to London. Proud and wilful as of old,
+she had brought those qualities into such subjection to her beauty that
+it was impossible and out of nature--or I thought so--to separate them
+from her beauty. Truly it was impossible to dissociate her presence
+from all those wretched hankerings after money and gentility that had
+disturbed my boyhood,--from all those ill-regulated aspirations that had
+first made me ashamed of home and Joe,--from all those visions that had
+raised her face in the glowing fire, struck it out of the iron on the
+anvil, extracted it from the darkness of night to look in at the wooden
+window of the forge, and flit away. In a word, it was impossible for me
+to separate her, in the past or in the present, from the innermost life
+of my life.
+
+It was settled that I should stay there all the rest of the day, and
+return to the hotel at night, and to London to-morrow. When we had
+conversed for a while, Miss Havisham sent us two out to walk in the
+neglected garden: on our coming in by and by, she said, I should wheel
+her about a little, as in times of yore.
+
+So, Estella and I went out into the garden by the gate through which I
+had strayed to my encounter with the pale young gentleman, now Herbert;
+I, trembling in spirit and worshipping the very hem of her dress; she,
+quite composed and most decidedly not worshipping the hem of mine. As we
+drew near to the place of encounter, she stopped and said,--
+
+“I must have been a singular little creature to hide and see that fight
+that day; but I did, and I enjoyed it very much.”
+
+“You rewarded me very much.”
+
+“Did I?” she replied, in an incidental and forgetful way. “I remember I
+entertained a great objection to your adversary, because I took it ill
+that he should be brought here to pester me with his company.”
+
+“He and I are great friends now.”
+
+“Are you? I think I recollect though, that you read with his father?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+I made the admission with reluctance, for it seemed to have a boyish
+look, and she already treated me more than enough like a boy.
+
+“Since your change of fortune and prospects, you have changed your
+companions,” said Estella.
+
+“Naturally,” said I.
+
+“And necessarily,” she added, in a haughty tone; “what was fit company
+for you once, would be quite unfit company for you now.”
+
+In my conscience, I doubt very much whether I had any lingering
+intention left of going to see Joe; but if I had, this observation put
+it to flight.
+
+“You had no idea of your impending good fortune, in those times?” said
+Estella, with a slight wave of her hand, signifying in the fighting
+times.
+
+“Not the least.”
+
+The air of completeness and superiority with which she walked at my
+side, and the air of youthfulness and submission with which I walked at
+hers, made a contrast that I strongly felt. It would have rankled in me
+more than it did, if I had not regarded myself as eliciting it by being
+so set apart for her and assigned to her.
+
+The garden was too overgrown and rank for walking in with ease, and
+after we had made the round of it twice or thrice, we came out again
+into the brewery yard. I showed her to a nicety where I had seen her
+walking on the casks, that first old day, and she said, with a cold and
+careless look in that direction, “Did I?” I reminded her where she had
+come out of the house and given me my meat and drink, and she said, “I
+don’t remember.” “Not remember that you made me cry?” said I. “No,” said
+she, and shook her head and looked about her. I verily believe that
+her not remembering and not minding in the least, made me cry again,
+inwardly,--and that is the sharpest crying of all.
+
+“You must know,” said Estella, condescending to me as a brilliant and
+beautiful woman might, “that I have no heart,--if that has anything to
+do with my memory.”
+
+I got through some jargon to the effect that I took the liberty of
+doubting that. That I knew better. That there could be no such beauty
+without it.
+
+“Oh! I have a heart to be stabbed in or shot in, I have no doubt,” said
+Estella, “and of course if it ceased to beat I should cease
+to be. But you know what I mean. I have no softness there,
+no--sympathy--sentiment--nonsense.”
+
+What was it that was borne in upon my mind when she stood still and
+looked attentively at me? Anything that I had seen in Miss Havisham? No.
+In some of her looks and gestures there was that tinge of resemblance
+to Miss Havisham which may often be noticed to have been acquired by
+children, from grown person with whom they have been much associated and
+secluded, and which, when childhood is passed, will produce a remarkable
+occasional likeness of expression between faces that are otherwise quite
+different. And yet I could not trace this to Miss Havisham. I looked
+again, and though she was still looking at me, the suggestion was gone.
+
+What was it?
+
+“I am serious,” said Estella, not so much with a frown (for her brow was
+smooth) as with a darkening of her face; “if we are to be thrown much
+together, you had better believe it at once. No!” imperiously stopping
+me as I opened my lips. “I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere. I
+have never had any such thing.”
+
+In another moment we were in the brewery, so long disused, and she
+pointed to the high gallery where I had seen her going out on that same
+first day, and told me she remembered to have been up there, and to have
+seen me standing scared below. As my eyes followed her white hand, again
+the same dim suggestion that I could not possibly grasp crossed me. My
+involuntary start occasioned her to lay her hand upon my arm. Instantly
+the ghost passed once more and was gone.
+
+What was it?
+
+“What is the matter?” asked Estella. “Are you scared again?”
+
+“I should be, if I believed what you said just now,” I replied, to turn
+it off.
+
+“Then you don’t? Very well. It is said, at any rate. Miss Havisham will
+soon be expecting you at your old post, though I think that might be
+laid aside now, with other old belongings. Let us make one more round
+of the garden, and then go in. Come! You shall not shed tears for my
+cruelty to-day; you shall be my Page, and give me your shoulder.”
+
+Her handsome dress had trailed upon the ground. She held it in one hand
+now, and with the other lightly touched my shoulder as we walked. We
+walked round the ruined garden twice or thrice more, and it was all in
+bloom for me. If the green and yellow growth of weed in the chinks of
+the old wall had been the most precious flowers that ever blew, it could
+not have been more cherished in my remembrance.
+
+There was no discrepancy of years between us to remove her far from me;
+we were of nearly the same age, though of course the age told for more
+in her case than in mine; but the air of inaccessibility which her
+beauty and her manner gave her, tormented me in the midst of my delight,
+and at the height of the assurance I felt that our patroness had chosen
+us for one another. Wretched boy!
+
+At last we went back into the house, and there I heard, with surprise,
+that my guardian had come down to see Miss Havisham on business, and
+would come back to dinner. The old wintry branches of chandeliers in
+the room where the mouldering table was spread had been lighted while we
+were out, and Miss Havisham was in her chair and waiting for me.
+
+It was like pushing the chair itself back into the past, when we began
+the old slow circuit round about the ashes of the bridal feast. But,
+in the funereal room, with that figure of the grave fallen back in the
+chair fixing its eyes upon her, Estella looked more bright and beautiful
+than before, and I was under stronger enchantment.
+
+The time so melted away, that our early dinner-hour drew close at hand,
+and Estella left us to prepare herself. We had stopped near the centre
+of the long table, and Miss Havisham, with one of her withered arms
+stretched out of the chair, rested that clenched hand upon the yellow
+cloth. As Estella looked back over her shoulder before going out at the
+door, Miss Havisham kissed that hand to her, with a ravenous intensity
+that was of its kind quite dreadful.
+
+Then, Estella being gone and we two left alone, she turned to me, and
+said in a whisper,--
+
+“Is she beautiful, graceful, well-grown? Do you admire her?”
+
+“Everybody must who sees her, Miss Havisham.”
+
+She drew an arm round my neck, and drew my head close down to hers as
+she sat in the chair. “Love her, love her, love her! How does she use
+you?”
+
+Before I could answer (if I could have answered so difficult a question
+at all) she repeated, “Love her, love her, love her! If she favors
+you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to
+pieces,--and as it gets older and stronger it will tear deeper,--love
+her, love her, love her!”
+
+Never had I seen such passionate eagerness as was joined to her
+utterance of these words. I could feel the muscles of the thin arm round
+my neck swell with the vehemence that possessed her.
+
+“Hear me, Pip! I adopted her, to be loved. I bred her and educated her,
+to be loved. I developed her into what she is, that she might be loved.
+Love her!”
+
+She said the word often enough, and there could be no doubt that she
+meant to say it; but if the often repeated word had been hate instead of
+love--despair--revenge--dire death--it could not have sounded from her
+lips more like a curse.
+
+“I’ll tell you,” said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper, “what
+real love is. It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humiliation,
+utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the
+whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter--as I
+did!”
+
+When she came to that, and to a wild cry that followed that, I caught
+her round the waist. For she rose up in the chair, in her shroud of a
+dress, and struck at the air as if she would as soon have struck herself
+against the wall and fallen dead.
+
+All this passed in a few seconds. As I drew her down into her chair, I
+was conscious of a scent that I knew, and turning, saw my guardian in
+the room.
+
+He always carried (I have not yet mentioned it, I think) a
+pocket-handkerchief of rich silk and of imposing proportions, which was
+of great value to him in his profession. I have seen him so terrify a
+client or a witness by ceremoniously unfolding this pocket-handkerchief
+as if he were immediately going to blow his nose, and then pausing,
+as if he knew he should not have time to do it before such client
+or witness committed himself, that the self-committal has followed
+directly, quite as a matter of course. When I saw him in the room he had
+this expressive pocket-handkerchief in both hands, and was looking at
+us. On meeting my eye, he said plainly, by a momentary and silent pause
+in that attitude, “Indeed? Singular!” and then put the handkerchief to
+its right use with wonderful effect.
+
+Miss Havisham had seen him as soon as I, and was (like everybody
+else) afraid of him. She made a strong attempt to compose herself, and
+stammered that he was as punctual as ever.
+
+“As punctual as ever,” he repeated, coming up to us. “(How do you do,
+Pip? Shall I give you a ride, Miss Havisham? Once round?) And so you are
+here, Pip?”
+
+I told him when I had arrived, and how Miss Havisham had wished me to
+come and see Estella. To which he replied, “Ah! Very fine young lady!”
+ Then he pushed Miss Havisham in her chair before him, with one of his
+large hands, and put the other in his trousers-pocket as if the pocket
+were full of secrets.
+
+“Well, Pip! How often have you seen Miss Estella before?” said he, when
+he came to a stop.
+
+“How often?”
+
+“Ah! How many times? Ten thousand times?”
+
+“Oh! Certainly not so many.”
+
+“Twice?”
+
+“Jaggers,” interposed Miss Havisham, much to my relief, “leave my Pip
+alone, and go with him to your dinner.”
+
+He complied, and we groped our way down the dark stairs together. While
+we were still on our way to those detached apartments across the paved
+yard at the back, he asked me how often I had seen Miss Havisham eat
+and drink; offering me a breadth of choice, as usual, between a hundred
+times and once.
+
+I considered, and said, “Never.”
+
+“And never will, Pip,” he retorted, with a frowning smile. “She has
+never allowed herself to be seen doing either, since she lived this
+present life of hers. She wanders about in the night, and then lays
+hands on such food as she takes.”
+
+“Pray, sir,” said I, “may I ask you a question?”
+
+“You may,” said he, “and I may decline to answer it. Put your question.”
+
+“Estella’s name. Is it Havisham or--?” I had nothing to add.
+
+“Or what?” said he.
+
+“Is it Havisham?”
+
+“It is Havisham.”
+
+This brought us to the dinner-table, where she and Sarah Pocket awaited
+us. Mr. Jaggers presided, Estella sat opposite to him, I faced my
+green and yellow friend. We dined very well, and were waited on by a
+maid-servant whom I had never seen in all my comings and goings, but
+who, for anything I know, had been in that mysterious house the whole
+time. After dinner a bottle of choice old port was placed before my
+guardian (he was evidently well acquainted with the vintage), and the
+two ladies left us.
+
+Anything to equal the determined reticence of Mr. Jaggers under that
+roof I never saw elsewhere, even in him. He kept his very looks to
+himself, and scarcely directed his eyes to Estella’s face once during
+dinner. When she spoke to him, he listened, and in due course answered,
+but never looked at her, that I could see. On the other hand, she often
+looked at him, with interest and curiosity, if not distrust, but his
+face never showed the least consciousness. Throughout dinner he took
+a dry delight in making Sarah Pocket greener and yellower, by often
+referring in conversation with me to my expectations; but here,
+again, he showed no consciousness, and even made it appear that he
+extorted--and even did extort, though I don’t know how--those references
+out of my innocent self.
+
+And when he and I were left alone together, he sat with an air upon him
+of general lying by in consequence of information he possessed, that
+really was too much for me. He cross-examined his very wine when he had
+nothing else in hand. He held it between himself and the candle, tasted
+the port, rolled it in his mouth, swallowed it, looked at his
+glass again, smelt the port, tried it, drank it, filled again, and
+cross-examined the glass again, until I was as nervous as if I had known
+the wine to be telling him something to my disadvantage. Three or four
+times I feebly thought I would start conversation; but whenever he saw
+me going to ask him anything, he looked at me with his glass in his
+hand, and rolling his wine about in his mouth, as if requesting me to
+take notice that it was of no use, for he couldn’t answer.
+
+I think Miss Pocket was conscious that the sight of me involved her
+in the danger of being goaded to madness, and perhaps tearing off her
+cap,--which was a very hideous one, in the nature of a muslin mop,--and
+strewing the ground with her hair,--which assuredly had never grown
+on her head. She did not appear when we afterwards went up to Miss
+Havisham’s room, and we four played at whist. In the interval, Miss
+Havisham, in a fantastic way, had put some of the most beautiful jewels
+from her dressing-table into Estella’s hair, and about her bosom and
+arms; and I saw even my guardian look at her from under his thick
+eyebrows, and raise them a little, when her loveliness was before him,
+with those rich flushes of glitter and color in it.
+
+Of the manner and extent to which he took our trumps into custody, and
+came out with mean little cards at the ends of hands, before which the
+glory of our Kings and Queens was utterly abased, I say nothing; nor, of
+the feeling that I had, respecting his looking upon us personally in the
+light of three very obvious and poor riddles that he had found out long
+ago. What I suffered from, was the incompatibility between his cold
+presence and my feelings towards Estella. It was not that I knew I could
+never bear to speak to him about her, that I knew I could never bear to
+hear him creak his boots at her, that I knew I could never bear to see
+him wash his hands of her; it was, that my admiration should be within
+a foot or two of him,--it was, that my feelings should be in the same
+place with him,--that, was the agonizing circumstance.
+
+We played until nine o’clock, and then it was arranged that when Estella
+came to London I should be forewarned of her coming and should meet her
+at the coach; and then I took leave of her, and touched her and left
+her.
+
+My guardian lay at the Boar in the next room to mine. Far into the
+night, Miss Havisham’s words, “Love her, love her, love her!” sounded in
+my ears. I adapted them for my own repetition, and said to my pillow, “I
+love her, I love her, I love her!” hundreds of times. Then, a burst of
+gratitude came upon me, that she should be destined for me, once the
+blacksmith’s boy. Then I thought if she were, as I feared, by no means
+rapturously grateful for that destiny yet, when would she begin to be
+interested in me? When should I awaken the heart within her that was
+mute and sleeping now?
+
+Ah me! I thought those were high and great emotions. But I never thought
+there was anything low and small in my keeping away from Joe, because
+I knew she would be contemptuous of him. It was but a day gone, and Joe
+had brought the tears into my eyes; they had soon dried, God forgive me!
+soon dried.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX
+
+After well considering the matter while I was dressing at the Blue Boar
+in the morning, I resolved to tell my guardian that I doubted Orlick’s
+being the right sort of man to fill a post of trust at Miss Havisham’s.
+“Why of course he is not the right sort of man, Pip,” said my guardian,
+comfortably satisfied beforehand on the general head, “because the man
+who fills the post of trust never is the right sort of man.” It seemed
+quite to put him into spirits to find that this particular post was
+not exceptionally held by the right sort of man, and he listened in a
+satisfied manner while I told him what knowledge I had of Orlick. “Very
+good, Pip,” he observed, when I had concluded, “I’ll go round presently,
+and pay our friend off.” Rather alarmed by this summary action, I was
+for a little delay, and even hinted that our friend himself might be
+difficult to deal with. “Oh no he won’t,” said my guardian, making his
+pocket-handkerchief-point, with perfect confidence; “I should like to
+see him argue the question with me.”
+
+As we were going back together to London by the midday coach, and as I
+breakfasted under such terrors of Pumblechook that I could scarcely hold
+my cup, this gave me an opportunity of saying that I wanted a walk, and
+that I would go on along the London road while Mr. Jaggers was occupied,
+if he would let the coachman know that I would get into my place when
+overtaken. I was thus enabled to fly from the Blue Boar immediately
+after breakfast. By then making a loop of about a couple of miles into
+the open country at the back of Pumblechook’s premises, I got round into
+the High Street again, a little beyond that pitfall, and felt myself in
+comparative security.
+
+It was interesting to be in the quiet old town once more, and it was not
+disagreeable to be here and there suddenly recognized and stared after.
+One or two of the tradespeople even darted out of their shops and went
+a little way down the street before me, that they might turn, as if they
+had forgotten something, and pass me face to face,--on which occasions I
+don’t know whether they or I made the worse pretence; they of not doing
+it, or I of not seeing it. Still my position was a distinguished one,
+and I was not at all dissatisfied with it, until Fate threw me in the
+way of that unlimited miscreant, Trabb’s boy.
+
+Casting my eyes along the street at a certain point of my progress, I
+beheld Trabb’s boy approaching, lashing himself with an empty blue bag.
+Deeming that a serene and unconscious contemplation of him would best
+beseem me, and would be most likely to quell his evil mind, I advanced
+with that expression of countenance, and was rather congratulating
+myself on my success, when suddenly the knees of Trabb’s boy smote
+together, his hair uprose, his cap fell off, he trembled violently in
+every limb, staggered out into the road, and crying to the populace,
+“Hold me! I’m so frightened!” feigned to be in a paroxysm of terror and
+contrition, occasioned by the dignity of my appearance. As I passed him,
+his teeth loudly chattered in his head, and with every mark of extreme
+humiliation, he prostrated himself in the dust.
+
+This was a hard thing to bear, but this was nothing. I had not advanced
+another two hundred yards when, to my inexpressible terror, amazement,
+and indignation, I again beheld Trabb’s boy approaching. He was coming
+round a narrow corner. His blue bag was slung over his shoulder, honest
+industry beamed in his eyes, a determination to proceed to Trabb’s with
+cheerful briskness was indicated in his gait. With a shock he became
+aware of me, and was severely visited as before; but this time his
+motion was rotatory, and he staggered round and round me with knees
+more afflicted, and with uplifted hands as if beseeching for mercy. His
+sufferings were hailed with the greatest joy by a knot of spectators,
+and I felt utterly confounded.
+
+I had not got as much further down the street as the post-office, when I
+again beheld Trabb’s boy shooting round by a back way. This time, he was
+entirely changed. He wore the blue bag in the manner of my great-coat,
+and was strutting along the pavement towards me on the opposite side of
+the street, attended by a company of delighted young friends to whom he
+from time to time exclaimed, with a wave of his hand, “Don’t know yah!”
+ Words cannot state the amount of aggravation and injury wreaked upon
+me by Trabb’s boy, when passing abreast of me, he pulled up his
+shirt-collar, twined his side-hair, stuck an arm akimbo, and smirked
+extravagantly by, wriggling his elbows and body, and drawling to his
+attendants, “Don’t know yah, don’t know yah, ‘pon my soul don’t know
+yah!” The disgrace attendant on his immediately afterwards taking
+to crowing and pursuing me across the bridge with crows, as from an
+exceedingly dejected fowl who had known me when I was a blacksmith,
+culminated the disgrace with which I left the town, and was, so to
+speak, ejected by it into the open country.
+
+But unless I had taken the life of Trabb’s boy on that occasion, I
+really do not even now see what I could have done save endure. To
+have struggled with him in the street, or to have exacted any lower
+recompense from him than his heart’s best blood, would have been
+futile and degrading. Moreover, he was a boy whom no man could hurt; an
+invulnerable and dodging serpent who, when chased into a corner, flew
+out again between his captor’s legs, scornfully yelping. I wrote,
+however, to Mr. Trabb by next day’s post, to say that Mr. Pip must
+decline to deal further with one who could so far forget what he owed to
+the best interests of society, as to employ a boy who excited Loathing
+in every respectable mind.
+
+The coach, with Mr. Jaggers inside, came up in due time, and I took my
+box-seat again, and arrived in London safe,--but not sound, for my heart
+was gone. As soon as I arrived, I sent a penitential codfish and barrel
+of oysters to Joe (as reparation for not having gone myself), and then
+went on to Barnard’s Inn.
+
+I found Herbert dining on cold meat, and delighted to welcome me back.
+Having despatched The Avenger to the coffee-house for an addition to the
+dinner, I felt that I must open my breast that very evening to my friend
+and chum. As confidence was out of the question with The Avenger in the
+hall, which could merely be regarded in the light of an antechamber to
+the keyhole, I sent him to the Play. A better proof of the severity
+of my bondage to that taskmaster could scarcely be afforded, than
+the degrading shifts to which I was constantly driven to find him
+employment. So mean is extremity, that I sometimes sent him to Hyde Park
+corner to see what o’clock it was.
+
+Dinner done and we sitting with our feet upon the fender, I said to
+Herbert, “My dear Herbert, I have something very particular to tell
+you.”
+
+“My dear Handel,” he returned, “I shall esteem and respect your
+confidence.”
+
+“It concerns myself, Herbert,” said I, “and one other person.”
+
+Herbert crossed his feet, looked at the fire with his head on one side,
+and having looked at it in vain for some time, looked at me because I
+didn’t go on.
+
+“Herbert,” said I, laying my hand upon his knee, “I love--I
+adore--Estella.”
+
+Instead of being transfixed, Herbert replied in an easy matter-of-course
+way, “Exactly. Well?”
+
+“Well, Herbert? Is that all you say? Well?”
+
+“What next, I mean?” said Herbert. “Of course I know that.”
+
+“How do you know it?” said I.
+
+“How do I know it, Handel? Why, from you.”
+
+“I never told you.”
+
+“Told me! You have never told me when you have got your hair cut, but I
+have had senses to perceive it. You have always adored her, ever since
+I have known you. You brought your adoration and your portmanteau here
+together. Told me! Why, you have always told me all day long. When you
+told me your own story, you told me plainly that you began adoring her
+the first time you saw her, when you were very young indeed.”
+
+“Very well, then,” said I, to whom this was a new and not unwelcome
+light, “I have never left off adoring her. And she has come back, a most
+beautiful and most elegant creature. And I saw her yesterday. And if I
+adored her before, I now doubly adore her.”
+
+“Lucky for you then, Handel,” said Herbert, “that you are picked out for
+her and allotted to her. Without encroaching on forbidden ground, we
+may venture to say that there can be no doubt between ourselves of
+that fact. Have you any idea yet, of Estella’s views on the adoration
+question?”
+
+I shook my head gloomily. “Oh! She is thousands of miles away, from me,”
+ said I.
+
+“Patience, my dear Handel: time enough, time enough. But you have
+something more to say?”
+
+“I am ashamed to say it,” I returned, “and yet it’s no worse to say it
+than to think it. You call me a lucky fellow. Of course, I am. I was a
+blacksmith’s boy but yesterday; I am--what shall I say I am--to-day?”
+
+“Say a good fellow, if you want a phrase,” returned Herbert, smiling,
+and clapping his hand on the back of mine--“a good fellow, with
+impetuosity and hesitation, boldness and diffidence, action and
+dreaming, curiously mixed in him.”
+
+I stopped for a moment to consider whether there really was this mixture
+in my character. On the whole, I by no means recognized the analysis,
+but thought it not worth disputing.
+
+“When I ask what I am to call myself to-day, Herbert,” I went on, “I
+suggest what I have in my thoughts. You say I am lucky. I know I have
+done nothing to raise myself in life, and that Fortune alone has raised
+me; that is being very lucky. And yet, when I think of Estella--”
+
+(“And when don’t you, you know?” Herbert threw in, with his eyes on the
+fire; which I thought kind and sympathetic of him.)
+
+“--Then, my dear Herbert, I cannot tell you how dependent and uncertain
+I feel, and how exposed to hundreds of chances. Avoiding forbidden
+ground, as you did just now, I may still say that on the constancy of
+one person (naming no person) all my expectations depend. And at the
+best, how indefinite and unsatisfactory, only to know so vaguely what
+they are!” In saying this, I relieved my mind of what had always been
+there, more or less, though no doubt most since yesterday.
+
+“Now, Handel,” Herbert replied, in his gay, hopeful way, “it seems to me
+that in the despondency of the tender passion, we are looking into our
+gift-horse’s mouth with a magnifying-glass. Likewise, it seems to me
+that, concentrating our attention on the examination, we altogether
+overlook one of the best points of the animal. Didn’t you tell me that
+your guardian, Mr. Jaggers, told you in the beginning, that you were
+not endowed with expectations only? And even if he had not told you
+so,--though that is a very large If, I grant,--could you believe that of
+all men in London, Mr. Jaggers is the man to hold his present relations
+towards you unless he were sure of his ground?”
+
+I said I could not deny that this was a strong point. I said it (people
+often do so, in such cases) like a rather reluctant concession to truth
+and justice;--as if I wanted to deny it!
+
+“I should think it was a strong point,” said Herbert, “and I should
+think you would be puzzled to imagine a stronger; as to the rest, you
+must bide your guardian’s time, and he must bide his client’s time.
+You’ll be one-and-twenty before you know where you are, and then perhaps
+you’ll get some further enlightenment. At all events, you’ll be nearer
+getting it, for it must come at last.”
+
+“What a hopeful disposition you have!” said I, gratefully admiring his
+cheery ways.
+
+“I ought to have,” said Herbert, “for I have not much else. I must
+acknowledge, by the by, that the good sense of what I have just said is
+not my own, but my father’s. The only remark I ever heard him make on
+your story, was the final one, “The thing is settled and done, or Mr.
+Jaggers would not be in it.” And now before I say anything more about my
+father, or my father’s son, and repay confidence with confidence, I want
+to make myself seriously disagreeable to you for a moment,--positively
+repulsive.”
+
+“You won’t succeed,” said I.
+
+“O yes I shall!” said he. “One, two, three, and now I am in for it.
+Handel, my good fellow;”--though he spoke in this light tone, he was
+very much in earnest,--“I have been thinking since we have been talking
+with our feet on this fender, that Estella surely cannot be a condition
+of your inheritance, if she was never referred to by your guardian. Am
+I right in so understanding what you have told me, as that he never
+referred to her, directly or indirectly, in any way? Never even hinted,
+for instance, that your patron might have views as to your marriage
+ultimately?”
+
+“Never.”
+
+“Now, Handel, I am quite free from the flavor of sour grapes, upon my
+soul and honor! Not being bound to her, can you not detach yourself from
+her?--I told you I should be disagreeable.”
+
+I turned my head aside, for, with a rush and a sweep, like the old marsh
+winds coming up from the sea, a feeling like that which had subdued
+me on the morning when I left the forge, when the mists were solemnly
+rising, and when I laid my hand upon the village finger-post, smote upon
+my heart again. There was silence between us for a little while.
+
+“Yes; but my dear Handel,” Herbert went on, as if we had been talking,
+instead of silent, “its having been so strongly rooted in the breast of
+a boy whom nature and circumstances made so romantic, renders it very
+serious. Think of her bringing-up, and think of Miss Havisham. Think of
+what she is herself (now I am repulsive and you abominate me). This may
+lead to miserable things.”
+
+“I know it, Herbert,” said I, with my head still turned away, “but I
+can’t help it.”
+
+“You can’t detach yourself?”
+
+“No. Impossible!”
+
+“You can’t try, Handel?”
+
+“No. Impossible!”
+
+“Well!” said Herbert, getting up with a lively shake as if he had
+been asleep, and stirring the fire, “now I’ll endeavor to make myself
+agreeable again!”
+
+So he went round the room and shook the curtains out, put the chairs
+in their places, tidied the books and so forth that were lying about,
+looked into the hall, peeped into the letter-box, shut the door, and
+came back to his chair by the fire: where he sat down, nursing his left
+leg in both arms.
+
+“I was going to say a word or two, Handel, concerning my father and my
+father’s son. I am afraid it is scarcely necessary for my father’s son
+to remark that my father’s establishment is not particularly brilliant
+in its housekeeping.”
+
+“There is always plenty, Herbert,” said I, to say something encouraging.
+
+“O yes! and so the dustman says, I believe, with the strongest approval,
+and so does the marine-store shop in the back street. Gravely, Handel,
+for the subject is grave enough, you know how it is as well as I do. I
+suppose there was a time once when my father had not given matters up;
+but if ever there was, the time is gone. May I ask you if you have ever
+had an opportunity of remarking, down in your part of the country,
+that the children of not exactly suitable marriages are always most
+particularly anxious to be married?”
+
+This was such a singular question, that I asked him in return, “Is it
+so?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said Herbert, “that’s what I want to know. Because it
+is decidedly the case with us. My poor sister Charlotte, who was next me
+and died before she was fourteen, was a striking example. Little Jane
+is the same. In her desire to be matrimonially established, you
+might suppose her to have passed her short existence in the perpetual
+contemplation of domestic bliss. Little Alick in a frock has already
+made arrangements for his union with a suitable young person at Kew. And
+indeed, I think we are all engaged, except the baby.”
+
+“Then you are?” said I.
+
+“I am,” said Herbert; “but it’s a secret.”
+
+I assured him of my keeping the secret, and begged to be favored with
+further particulars. He had spoken so sensibly and feelingly of my
+weakness that I wanted to know something about his strength.
+
+“May I ask the name?” I said.
+
+“Name of Clara,” said Herbert.
+
+“Live in London?”
+
+“Yes, perhaps I ought to mention,” said Herbert, who had become
+curiously crestfallen and meek, since we entered on the interesting
+theme, “that she is rather below my mother’s nonsensical family notions.
+Her father had to do with the victualling of passenger-ships. I think he
+was a species of purser.”
+
+“What is he now?” said I.
+
+“He’s an invalid now,” replied Herbert.
+
+“Living on--?”
+
+“On the first floor,” said Herbert. Which was not at all what I meant,
+for I had intended my question to apply to his means. “I have never seen
+him, for he has always kept his room overhead, since I have known Clara.
+But I have heard him constantly. He makes tremendous rows,--roars, and
+pegs at the floor with some frightful instrument.” In looking at me and
+then laughing heartily, Herbert for the time recovered his usual lively
+manner.
+
+“Don’t you expect to see him?” said I.
+
+“O yes, I constantly expect to see him,” returned Herbert, “because
+I never hear him, without expecting him to come tumbling through the
+ceiling. But I don’t know how long the rafters may hold.”
+
+When he had once more laughed heartily, he became meek again, and told
+me that the moment he began to realize Capital, it was his intention
+to marry this young lady. He added as a self-evident proposition,
+engendering low spirits, “But you can’t marry, you know, while you’re
+looking about you.”
+
+As we contemplated the fire, and as I thought what a difficult vision to
+realize this same Capital sometimes was, I put my hands in my pockets.
+A folded piece of paper in one of them attracting my attention, I opened
+it and found it to be the play-bill I had received from Joe, relative
+to the celebrated provincial amateur of Roscian renown. “And bless my
+heart,” I involuntarily added aloud, “it’s to-night!”
+
+This changed the subject in an instant, and made us hurriedly resolve
+to go to the play. So, when I had pledged myself to comfort and abet
+Herbert in the affair of his heart by all practicable and impracticable
+means, and when Herbert had told me that his affianced already knew me
+by reputation and that I should be presented to her, and when we had
+warmly shaken hands upon our mutual confidence, we blew out our candles,
+made up our fire, locked our door, and issued forth in quest of Mr.
+Wopsle and Denmark.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXI
+
+On our arrival in Denmark, we found the king and queen of that country
+elevated in two arm-chairs on a kitchen-table, holding a Court. The
+whole of the Danish nobility were in attendance; consisting of a noble
+boy in the wash-leather boots of a gigantic ancestor, a venerable Peer
+with a dirty face who seemed to have risen from the people late in life,
+and the Danish chivalry with a comb in its hair and a pair of white
+silk legs, and presenting on the whole a feminine appearance. My gifted
+townsman stood gloomily apart, with folded arms, and I could have wished
+that his curls and forehead had been more probable.
+
+Several curious little circumstances transpired as the action proceeded.
+The late king of the country not only appeared to have been troubled
+with a cough at the time of his decease, but to have taken it with him
+to the tomb, and to have brought it back. The royal phantom also carried
+a ghostly manuscript round its truncheon, to which it had the appearance
+of occasionally referring, and that too, with an air of anxiety and a
+tendency to lose the place of reference which were suggestive of a state
+of mortality. It was this, I conceive, which led to the Shade’s being
+advised by the gallery to “turn over!”--a recommendation which it took
+extremely ill. It was likewise to be noted of this majestic spirit, that
+whereas it always appeared with an air of having been out a long time
+and walked an immense distance, it perceptibly came from a closely
+contiguous wall. This occasioned its terrors to be received derisively.
+The Queen of Denmark, a very buxom lady, though no doubt historically
+brazen, was considered by the public to have too much brass about her;
+her chin being attached to her diadem by a broad band of that metal (as
+if she had a gorgeous toothache), her waist being encircled by another,
+and each of her arms by another, so that she was openly mentioned
+as “the kettle-drum.” The noble boy in the ancestral boots was
+inconsistent, representing himself, as it were in one breath, as an able
+seaman, a strolling actor, a grave-digger, a clergyman, and a person
+of the utmost importance at a Court fencing-match, on the authority
+of whose practised eye and nice discrimination the finest strokes were
+judged. This gradually led to a want of toleration for him, and even--on
+his being detected in holy orders, and declining to perform the funeral
+service--to the general indignation taking the form of nuts. Lastly,
+Ophelia was a prey to such slow musical madness, that when, in course of
+time, she had taken off her white muslin scarf, folded it up, and buried
+it, a sulky man who had been long cooling his impatient nose against an
+iron bar in the front row of the gallery, growled, “Now the baby’s put
+to bed let’s have supper!” Which, to say the least of it, was out of
+keeping.
+
+Upon my unfortunate townsman all these incidents accumulated with
+playful effect. Whenever that undecided Prince had to ask a question or
+state a doubt, the public helped him out with it. As for example; on the
+question whether ‘twas nobler in the mind to suffer, some roared yes,
+and some no, and some inclining to both opinions said “Toss up for
+it;” and quite a Debating Society arose. When he asked what should such
+fellows as he do crawling between earth and heaven, he was encouraged
+with loud cries of “Hear, hear!” When he appeared with his stocking
+disordered (its disorder expressed, according to usage, by one very neat
+fold in the top, which I suppose to be always got up with a flat iron),
+a conversation took place in the gallery respecting the paleness of his
+leg, and whether it was occasioned by the turn the ghost had given him.
+On his taking the recorders,--very like a little black flute that had
+just been played in the orchestra and handed out at the door,--he was
+called upon unanimously for Rule Britannia. When he recommended the
+player not to saw the air thus, the sulky man said, “And don’t you do
+it, neither; you’re a deal worse than him!” And I grieve to add that
+peals of laughter greeted Mr. Wopsle on every one of these occasions.
+
+But his greatest trials were in the churchyard, which had the appearance
+of a primeval forest, with a kind of small ecclesiastical wash-house
+on one side, and a turnpike gate on the other. Mr. Wopsle in a
+comprehensive black cloak, being descried entering at the turnpike,
+the gravedigger was admonished in a friendly way, “Look out! Here’s the
+undertaker a coming, to see how you’re a getting on with your work!”
+ I believe it is well known in a constitutional country that Mr. Wopsle
+could not possibly have returned the skull, after moralizing over it,
+without dusting his fingers on a white napkin taken from his breast;
+but even that innocent and indispensable action did not pass without the
+comment, “Wai-ter!” The arrival of the body for interment (in an empty
+black box with the lid tumbling open), was the signal for a general
+joy, which was much enhanced by the discovery, among the bearers, of
+an individual obnoxious to identification. The joy attended Mr. Wopsle
+through his struggle with Laertes on the brink of the orchestra and
+the grave, and slackened no more until he had tumbled the king off the
+kitchen-table, and had died by inches from the ankles upward.
+
+We had made some pale efforts in the beginning to applaud Mr. Wopsle;
+but they were too hopeless to be persisted in. Therefore we had sat,
+feeling keenly for him, but laughing, nevertheless, from ear to ear. I
+laughed in spite of myself all the time, the whole thing was so droll;
+and yet I had a latent impression that there was something decidedly
+fine in Mr. Wopsle’s elocution,--not for old associations’ sake, I am
+afraid, but because it was very slow, very dreary, very uphill and
+downhill, and very unlike any way in which any man in any natural
+circumstances of life or death ever expressed himself about anything.
+When the tragedy was over, and he had been called for and hooted, I said
+to Herbert, “Let us go at once, or perhaps we shall meet him.”
+
+We made all the haste we could downstairs, but we were not quick enough
+either. Standing at the door was a Jewish man with an unnatural heavy
+smear of eyebrow, who caught my eyes as we advanced, and said, when we
+came up with him,--
+
+“Mr. Pip and friend?”
+
+Identity of Mr. Pip and friend confessed.
+
+“Mr. Waldengarver,” said the man, “would be glad to have the honor.”
+
+“Waldengarver?” I repeated--when Herbert murmured in my ear, “Probably
+Wopsle.”
+
+“Oh!” said I. “Yes. Shall we follow you?”
+
+“A few steps, please.” When we were in a side alley, he turned and
+asked, “How did you think he looked?--I dressed him.”
+
+I don’t know what he had looked like, except a funeral; with the
+addition of a large Danish sun or star hanging round his neck by a
+blue ribbon, that had given him the appearance of being insured in some
+extraordinary Fire Office. But I said he had looked very nice.
+
+“When he come to the grave,” said our conductor, “he showed his cloak
+beautiful. But, judging from the wing, it looked to me that when he
+see the ghost in the queen’s apartment, he might have made more of his
+stockings.”
+
+I modestly assented, and we all fell through a little dirty swing door,
+into a sort of hot packing-case immediately behind it. Here Mr. Wopsle
+was divesting himself of his Danish garments, and here there was just
+room for us to look at him over one another’s shoulders, by keeping the
+packing-case door, or lid, wide open.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Wopsle, “I am proud to see you. I hope, Mr. Pip,
+you will excuse my sending round. I had the happiness to know you in
+former times, and the Drama has ever had a claim which has ever been
+acknowledged, on the noble and the affluent.”
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Waldengarver, in a frightful perspiration, was trying to
+get himself out of his princely sables.
+
+“Skin the stockings off Mr. Waldengarver,” said the owner of that
+property, “or you’ll bust ‘em. Bust ‘em, and you’ll bust five-and-thirty
+shillings. Shakspeare never was complimented with a finer pair. Keep
+quiet in your chair now, and leave ‘em to me.”
+
+With that, he went upon his knees, and began to flay his victim; who, on
+the first stocking coming off, would certainly have fallen over backward
+with his chair, but for there being no room to fall anyhow.
+
+I had been afraid until then to say a word about the play. But then, Mr.
+Waldengarver looked up at us complacently, and said,--
+
+“Gentlemen, how did it seem to you, to go, in front?”
+
+Herbert said from behind (at the same time poking me), “Capitally.” So I
+said “Capitally.”
+
+“How did you like my reading of the character, gentlemen?” said Mr.
+Waldengarver, almost, if not quite, with patronage.
+
+Herbert said from behind (again poking me), “Massive and concrete.” So I
+said boldly, as if I had originated it, and must beg to insist upon it,
+“Massive and concrete.”
+
+“I am glad to have your approbation, gentlemen,” said Mr. Waldengarver,
+with an air of dignity, in spite of his being ground against the wall at
+the time, and holding on by the seat of the chair.
+
+“But I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Waldengarver,” said the man who was on
+his knees, “in which you’re out in your reading. Now mind! I don’t care
+who says contrairy; I tell you so. You’re out in your reading of Hamlet
+when you get your legs in profile. The last Hamlet as I dressed, made
+the same mistakes in his reading at rehearsal, till I got him to put a
+large red wafer on each of his shins, and then at that rehearsal (which
+was the last) I went in front, sir, to the back of the pit, and whenever
+his reading brought him into profile, I called out “I don’t see no
+wafers!” And at night his reading was lovely.”
+
+Mr. Waldengarver smiled at me, as much as to say “a faithful
+Dependent--I overlook his folly;” and then said aloud, “My view is a
+little classic and thoughtful for them here; but they will improve, they
+will improve.”
+
+Herbert and I said together, O, no doubt they would improve.
+
+“Did you observe, gentlemen,” said Mr. Waldengarver, “that there was a
+man in the gallery who endeavored to cast derision on the service,--I
+mean, the representation?”
+
+We basely replied that we rather thought we had noticed such a man. I
+added, “He was drunk, no doubt.”
+
+“O dear no, sir,” said Mr. Wopsle, “not drunk. His employer would see to
+that, sir. His employer would not allow him to be drunk.”
+
+“You know his employer?” said I.
+
+Mr. Wopsle shut his eyes, and opened them again; performing both
+ceremonies very slowly. “You must have observed, gentlemen,” said he,
+“an ignorant and a blatant ass, with a rasping throat and a countenance
+expressive of low malignity, who went through--I will not say
+sustained--the rôle (if I may use a French expression) of Claudius, King
+of Denmark. That is his employer, gentlemen. Such is the profession!”
+
+Without distinctly knowing whether I should have been more sorry for Mr.
+Wopsle if he had been in despair, I was so sorry for him as it was,
+that I took the opportunity of his turning round to have his braces
+put on,--which jostled us out at the doorway,--to ask Herbert what he
+thought of having him home to supper? Herbert said he thought it would
+be kind to do so; therefore I invited him, and he went to Barnard’s
+with us, wrapped up to the eyes, and we did our best for him, and he sat
+until two o’clock in the morning, reviewing his success and developing
+his plans. I forget in detail what they were, but I have a general
+recollection that he was to begin with reviving the Drama, and to end
+with crushing it; inasmuch as his decease would leave it utterly bereft
+and without a chance or hope.
+
+Miserably I went to bed after all, and miserably thought of Estella, and
+miserably dreamed that my expectations were all cancelled, and that I
+had to give my hand in marriage to Herbert’s Clara, or play Hamlet to
+Miss Havisham’s Ghost, before twenty thousand people, without knowing
+twenty words of it.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXII
+
+One day when I was busy with my books and Mr. Pocket, I received a note
+by the post, the mere outside of which threw me into a great flutter;
+for, though I had never seen the handwriting in which it was addressed,
+I divined whose hand it was. It had no set beginning, as Dear Mr. Pip,
+or Dear Pip, or Dear Sir, or Dear Anything, but ran thus:--
+
+“I am to come to London the day after to-morrow by the midday coach. I
+believe it was settled you should meet me? At all events Miss Havisham
+has that impression, and I write in obedience to it. She sends you her
+regard.
+
+“Yours, ESTELLA.”
+
+If there had been time, I should probably have ordered several suits
+of clothes for this occasion; but as there was not, I was fain to be
+content with those I had. My appetite vanished instantly, and I knew
+no peace or rest until the day arrived. Not that its arrival brought
+me either; for, then I was worse than ever, and began haunting the
+coach-office in Wood Street, Cheapside, before the coach had left the
+Blue Boar in our town. For all that I knew this perfectly well, I still
+felt as if it were not safe to let the coach-office be out of my sight
+longer than five minutes at a time; and in this condition of unreason I
+had performed the first half-hour of a watch of four or five hours, when
+Wemmick ran against me.
+
+“Halloa, Mr. Pip,” said he; “how do you do? I should hardly have thought
+this was your beat.”
+
+I explained that I was waiting to meet somebody who was coming up by
+coach, and I inquired after the Castle and the Aged.
+
+“Both flourishing thankye,” said Wemmick, “and particularly the Aged.
+He’s in wonderful feather. He’ll be eighty-two next birthday. I have
+a notion of firing eighty-two times, if the neighborhood shouldn’t
+complain, and that cannon of mine should prove equal to the pressure.
+However, this is not London talk. Where do you think I am going to?”
+
+“To the office?” said I, for he was tending in that direction.
+
+“Next thing to it,” returned Wemmick, “I am going to Newgate. We are in
+a banker’s-parcel case just at present, and I have been down the road
+taking a squint at the scene of action, and thereupon must have a word
+or two with our client.”
+
+“Did your client commit the robbery?” I asked.
+
+“Bless your soul and body, no,” answered Wemmick, very drily. “But he
+is accused of it. So might you or I be. Either of us might be accused of
+it, you know.”
+
+“Only neither of us is,” I remarked.
+
+“Yah!” said Wemmick, touching me on the breast with his forefinger;
+“you’re a deep one, Mr. Pip! Would you like to have a look at Newgate?
+Have you time to spare?”
+
+I had so much time to spare, that the proposal came as a relief,
+notwithstanding its irreconcilability with my latent desire to keep my
+eye on the coach-office. Muttering that I would make the inquiry whether
+I had time to walk with him, I went into the office, and ascertained
+from the clerk with the nicest precision and much to the trying of his
+temper, the earliest moment at which the coach could be expected,--which
+I knew beforehand, quite as well as he. I then rejoined Mr. Wemmick, and
+affecting to consult my watch, and to be surprised by the information I
+had received, accepted his offer.
+
+We were at Newgate in a few minutes, and we passed through the lodge
+where some fetters were hanging up on the bare walls among the prison
+rules, into the interior of the jail. At that time jails were much
+neglected, and the period of exaggerated reaction consequent on
+all public wrongdoing--and which is always its heaviest and longest
+punishment--was still far off. So, felons were not lodged and fed better
+than soldiers (to say nothing of paupers), and seldom set fire to their
+prisons with the excusable object of improving the flavor of their soup.
+It was visiting time when Wemmick took me in, and a potman was going his
+rounds with beer; and the prisoners, behind bars in yards, were buying
+beer, and talking to friends; and a frowzy, ugly, disorderly, depressing
+scene it was.
+
+It struck me that Wemmick walked among the prisoners much as a gardener
+might walk among his plants. This was first put into my head by his
+seeing a shoot that had come up in the night, and saying, “What, Captain
+Tom? Are you there? Ah, indeed!” and also, “Is that Black Bill behind
+the cistern? Why I didn’t look for you these two months; how do you find
+yourself?” Equally in his stopping at the bars and attending to
+anxious whisperers,--always singly,--Wemmick with his post-office in
+an immovable state, looked at them while in conference, as if he were
+taking particular notice of the advance they had made, since last
+observed, towards coming out in full blow at their trial.
+
+He was highly popular, and I found that he took the familiar department
+of Mr. Jaggers’s business; though something of the state of Mr. Jaggers
+hung about him too, forbidding approach beyond certain limits. His
+personal recognition of each successive client was comprised in a nod,
+and in his settling his hat a little easier on his head with both
+hands, and then tightening the post-office, and putting his hands in his
+pockets. In one or two instances there was a difficulty respecting the
+raising of fees, and then Mr. Wemmick, backing as far as possible from
+the insufficient money produced, said, “it’s no use, my boy. I’m only
+a subordinate. I can’t take it. Don’t go on in that way with a
+subordinate. If you are unable to make up your quantum, my boy, you had
+better address yourself to a principal; there are plenty of principals
+in the profession, you know, and what is not worth the while of one, may
+be worth the while of another; that’s my recommendation to you, speaking
+as a subordinate. Don’t try on useless measures. Why should you? Now,
+who’s next?”
+
+Thus, we walked through Wemmick’s greenhouse, until he turned to me and
+said, “Notice the man I shall shake hands with.” I should have done so,
+without the preparation, as he had shaken hands with no one yet.
+
+Almost as soon as he had spoken, a portly upright man (whom I can
+see now, as I write) in a well-worn olive-colored frock-coat, with a
+peculiar pallor overspreading the red in his complexion, and eyes that
+went wandering about when he tried to fix them, came up to a corner
+of the bars, and put his hand to his hat--which had a greasy and fatty
+surface like cold broth--with a half-serious and half-jocose military
+salute.
+
+“Colonel, to you!” said Wemmick; “how are you, Colonel?”
+
+“All right, Mr. Wemmick.”
+
+“Everything was done that could be done, but the evidence was too strong
+for us, Colonel.”
+
+“Yes, it was too strong, sir,--but I don’t care.”
+
+“No, no,” said Wemmick, coolly, “you don’t care.” Then, turning to me,
+“Served His Majesty this man. Was a soldier in the line and bought his
+discharge.”
+
+I said, “Indeed?” and the man’s eyes looked at me, and then looked over
+my head, and then looked all round me, and then he drew his hand across
+his lips and laughed.
+
+“I think I shall be out of this on Monday, sir,” he said to Wemmick.
+
+“Perhaps,” returned my friend, “but there’s no knowing.”
+
+“I am glad to have the chance of bidding you good-bye, Mr. Wemmick,” said
+the man, stretching out his hand between two bars.
+
+“Thankye,” said Wemmick, shaking hands with him. “Same to you, Colonel.”
+
+“If what I had upon me when taken had been real, Mr. Wemmick,” said the
+man, unwilling to let his hand go, “I should have asked the favor of
+your wearing another ring--in acknowledgment of your attentions.”
+
+“I’ll accept the will for the deed,” said Wemmick. “By the by; you were
+quite a pigeon-fancier.” The man looked up at the sky. “I am told you
+had a remarkable breed of tumblers. Could you commission any friend of
+yours to bring me a pair, if you’ve no further use for ‘em?”
+
+“It shall be done, sir.”
+
+“All right,” said Wemmick, “they shall be taken care of. Good afternoon,
+Colonel. Good-bye!” They shook hands again, and as we walked away Wemmick
+said to me, “A Coiner, a very good workman. The Recorder’s report is
+made to-day, and he is sure to be executed on Monday. Still you see, as
+far as it goes, a pair of pigeons are portable property all the same.”
+ With that, he looked back, and nodded at this dead plant, and then cast
+his eyes about him in walking out of the yard, as if he were considering
+what other pot would go best in its place.
+
+As we came out of the prison through the lodge, I found that the great
+importance of my guardian was appreciated by the turnkeys, no less
+than by those whom they held in charge. “Well, Mr. Wemmick,” said the
+turnkey, who kept us between the two studded and spiked lodge gates,
+and who carefully locked one before he unlocked the other, “what’s Mr.
+Jaggers going to do with that water-side murder? Is he going to make it
+manslaughter, or what’s he going to make of it?”
+
+“Why don’t you ask him?” returned Wemmick.
+
+“O yes, I dare say!” said the turnkey.
+
+“Now, that’s the way with them here, Mr. Pip,” remarked Wemmick, turning
+to me with his post-office elongated. “They don’t mind what they ask of
+me, the subordinate; but you’ll never catch ‘em asking any questions of
+my principal.”
+
+“Is this young gentleman one of the ‘prentices or articled ones of your
+office?” asked the turnkey, with a grin at Mr. Wemmick’s humor.
+
+“There he goes again, you see!” cried Wemmick, “I told you so! Asks
+another question of the subordinate before his first is dry! Well,
+supposing Mr. Pip is one of them?”
+
+“Why then,” said the turnkey, grinning again, “he knows what Mr. Jaggers
+is.”
+
+“Yah!” cried Wemmick, suddenly hitting out at the turnkey in a facetious
+way, “you’re dumb as one of your own keys when you have to do with my
+principal, you know you are. Let us out, you old fox, or I’ll get him to
+bring an action against you for false imprisonment.”
+
+The turnkey laughed, and gave us good day, and stood laughing at us over
+the spikes of the wicket when we descended the steps into the street.
+
+“Mind you, Mr. Pip,” said Wemmick, gravely in my ear, as he took my arm
+to be more confidential; “I don’t know that Mr. Jaggers does a better
+thing than the way in which he keeps himself so high. He’s always so
+high. His constant height is of a piece with his immense abilities. That
+Colonel durst no more take leave of him, than that turnkey durst ask him
+his intentions respecting a case. Then, between his height and them, he
+slips in his subordinate,--don’t you see?--and so he has ‘em, soul and
+body.”
+
+I was very much impressed, and not for the first time, by my guardian’s
+subtlety. To confess the truth, I very heartily wished, and not for the
+first time, that I had had some other guardian of minor abilities.
+
+Mr. Wemmick and I parted at the office in Little Britain, where
+suppliants for Mr. Jaggers’s notice were lingering about as usual, and I
+returned to my watch in the street of the coach-office, with some three
+hours on hand. I consumed the whole time in thinking how strange it
+was that I should be encompassed by all this taint of prison and crime;
+that, in my childhood out on our lonely marshes on a winter evening, I
+should have first encountered it; that, it should have reappeared on two
+occasions, starting out like a stain that was faded but not gone; that,
+it should in this new way pervade my fortune and advancement. While my
+mind was thus engaged, I thought of the beautiful young Estella, proud
+and refined, coming towards me, and I thought with absolute abhorrence
+of the contrast between the jail and her. I wished that Wemmick had not
+met me, or that I had not yielded to him and gone with him, so that,
+of all days in the year on this day, I might not have had Newgate in
+my breath and on my clothes. I beat the prison dust off my feet as I
+sauntered to and fro, and I shook it out of my dress, and I exhaled
+its air from my lungs. So contaminated did I feel, remembering who was
+coming, that the coach came quickly after all, and I was not yet free
+from the soiling consciousness of Mr. Wemmick’s conservatory, when I saw
+her face at the coach window and her hand waving to me.
+
+What was the nameless shadow which again in that one instant had passed?
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIII
+
+In her furred travelling-dress, Estella seemed more delicately beautiful
+than she had ever seemed yet, even in my eyes. Her manner was more
+winning than she had cared to let it be to me before, and I thought I
+saw Miss Havisham’s influence in the change.
+
+We stood in the Inn Yard while she pointed out her luggage to me, and
+when it was all collected I remembered--having forgotten everything but
+herself in the meanwhile--that I knew nothing of her destination.
+
+“I am going to Richmond,” she told me. “Our lesson is, that there are
+two Richmonds, one in Surrey and one in Yorkshire, and that mine is the
+Surrey Richmond. The distance is ten miles. I am to have a carriage, and
+you are to take me. This is my purse, and you are to pay my charges out
+of it. O, you must take the purse! We have no choice, you and I, but to
+obey our instructions. We are not free to follow our own devices, you
+and I.”
+
+As she looked at me in giving me the purse, I hoped there was an
+inner meaning in her words. She said them slightingly, but not with
+displeasure.
+
+“A carriage will have to be sent for, Estella. Will you rest here a
+little?”
+
+“Yes, I am to rest here a little, and I am to drink some tea, and you
+are to take care of me the while.”
+
+She drew her arm through mine, as if it must be done, and I requested a
+waiter who had been staring at the coach like a man who had never seen
+such a thing in his life, to show us a private sitting-room. Upon that,
+he pulled out a napkin, as if it were a magic clew without which he
+couldn’t find the way upstairs, and led us to the black hole of the
+establishment, fitted up with a diminishing mirror (quite a superfluous
+article, considering the hole’s proportions), an anchovy sauce-cruet,
+and somebody’s pattens. On my objecting to this retreat, he took us into
+another room with a dinner-table for thirty, and in the grate a scorched
+leaf of a copy-book under a bushel of coal-dust. Having looked at this
+extinct conflagration and shaken his head, he took my order; which,
+proving to be merely, “Some tea for the lady,” sent him out of the room
+in a very low state of mind.
+
+I was, and I am, sensible that the air of this chamber, in its strong
+combination of stable with soup-stock, might have led one to infer that
+the coaching department was not doing well, and that the enterprising
+proprietor was boiling down the horses for the refreshment department.
+Yet the room was all in all to me, Estella being in it. I thought that
+with her I could have been happy there for life. (I was not at all happy
+there at the time, observe, and I knew it well.)
+
+“Where are you going to, at Richmond?” I asked Estella.
+
+“I am going to live,” said she, “at a great expense, with a lady there,
+who has the power--or says she has--of taking me about, and introducing
+me, and showing people to me and showing me to people.”
+
+“I suppose you will be glad of variety and admiration?”
+
+“Yes, I suppose so.”
+
+She answered so carelessly, that I said, “You speak of yourself as if
+you were some one else.”
+
+“Where did you learn how I speak of others? Come, come,” said Estella,
+smiling delightfully, “you must not expect me to go to school to you; I
+must talk in my own way. How do you thrive with Mr. Pocket?”
+
+“I live quite pleasantly there; at least--” It appeared to me that I was
+losing a chance.
+
+“At least?” repeated Estella.
+
+“As pleasantly as I could anywhere, away from you.”
+
+“You silly boy,” said Estella, quite composedly, “how can you talk such
+nonsense? Your friend Mr. Matthew, I believe, is superior to the rest of
+his family?”
+
+“Very superior indeed. He is nobody’s enemy--”
+
+“Don’t add but his own,” interposed Estella, “for I hate that class of
+man. But he really is disinterested, and above small jealousy and spite,
+I have heard?”
+
+“I am sure I have every reason to say so.”
+
+“You have not every reason to say so of the rest of his people,” said
+Estella, nodding at me with an expression of face that was at once
+grave and rallying, “for they beset Miss Havisham with reports and
+insinuations to your disadvantage. They watch you, misrepresent you,
+write letters about you (anonymous sometimes), and you are the torment
+and the occupation of their lives. You can scarcely realize to yourself
+the hatred those people feel for you.”
+
+“They do me no harm, I hope?”
+
+Instead of answering, Estella burst out laughing. This was very singular
+to me, and I looked at her in considerable perplexity. When she left
+off--and she had not laughed languidly, but with real enjoyment--I said,
+in my diffident way with her,--
+
+“I hope I may suppose that you would not be amused if they did me any
+harm.”
+
+“No, no you may be sure of that,” said Estella. “You may be certain that
+I laugh because they fail. O, those people with Miss Havisham, and the
+tortures they undergo!” She laughed again, and even now when she had
+told me why, her laughter was very singular to me, for I could not
+doubt its being genuine, and yet it seemed too much for the occasion.
+I thought there must really be something more here than I knew; she saw
+the thought in my mind, and answered it.
+
+“It is not easy for even you.” said Estella, “to know what satisfaction
+it gives me to see those people thwarted, or what an enjoyable sense of
+the ridiculous I have when they are made ridiculous. For you were not
+brought up in that strange house from a mere baby. I was. You had not
+your little wits sharpened by their intriguing against you, suppressed
+and defenceless, under the mask of sympathy and pity and what not that
+is soft and soothing. I had. You did not gradually open your round
+childish eyes wider and wider to the discovery of that impostor of a
+woman who calculates her stores of peace of mind for when she wakes up
+in the night. I did.”
+
+It was no laughing matter with Estella now, nor was she summoning these
+remembrances from any shallow place. I would not have been the cause of
+that look of hers for all my expectations in a heap.
+
+“Two things I can tell you,” said Estella. “First, notwithstanding the
+proverb that constant dropping will wear away a stone, you may set
+your mind at rest that these people never will--never would, in hundred
+years--impair your ground with Miss Havisham, in any particular, great
+or small. Second, I am beholden to you as the cause of their being so
+busy and so mean in vain, and there is my hand upon it.”
+
+As she gave it to me playfully,--for her darker mood had been but
+Momentary,--I held it and put it to my lips. “You ridiculous boy,” said
+Estella, “will you never take warning? Or do you kiss my hand in the
+same spirit in which I once let you kiss my cheek?”
+
+“What spirit was that?” said I.
+
+“I must think a moment. A spirit of contempt for the fawners and
+plotters.”
+
+“If I say yes, may I kiss the cheek again?”
+
+“You should have asked before you touched the hand. But, yes, if you
+like.”
+
+I leaned down, and her calm face was like a statue’s. “Now,” said
+Estella, gliding away the instant I touched her cheek, “you are to take
+care that I have some tea, and you are to take me to Richmond.”
+
+Her reverting to this tone as if our association were forced upon
+us, and we were mere puppets, gave me pain; but everything in our
+intercourse did give me pain. Whatever her tone with me happened to be,
+I could put no trust in it, and build no hope on it; and yet I went on
+against trust and against hope. Why repeat it a thousand times? So it
+always was.
+
+I rang for the tea, and the waiter, reappearing with his magic clew,
+brought in by degrees some fifty adjuncts to that refreshment, but of
+tea not a glimpse. A teaboard, cups and saucers, plates, knives and
+forks (including carvers), spoons (various), saltcellars, a meek little
+muffin confined with the utmost precaution under a strong iron cover,
+Moses in the bulrushes typified by a soft bit of butter in a quantity of
+parsley, a pale loaf with a powdered head, two proof impressions of
+the bars of the kitchen fireplace on triangular bits of bread, and
+ultimately a fat family urn; which the waiter staggered in with,
+expressing in his countenance burden and suffering. After a prolonged
+absence at this stage of the entertainment, he at length came back with
+a casket of precious appearance containing twigs. These I steeped in hot
+water, and so from the whole of these appliances extracted one cup of I
+don’t know what for Estella.
+
+The bill paid, and the waiter remembered, and the ostler not forgotten,
+and the chambermaid taken into consideration,--in a word, the whole
+house bribed into a state of contempt and animosity, and Estella’s purse
+much lightened,--we got into our post-coach and drove away. Turning into
+Cheapside and rattling up Newgate Street, we were soon under the walls
+of which I was so ashamed.
+
+“What place is that?” Estella asked me.
+
+I made a foolish pretence of not at first recognizing it, and then
+told her. As she looked at it, and drew in her head again,
+murmuring, “Wretches!” I would not have confessed to my visit for any
+consideration.
+
+“Mr. Jaggers,” said I, by way of putting it neatly on somebody else,
+“has the reputation of being more in the secrets of that dismal place
+than any man in London.”
+
+“He is more in the secrets of every place, I think,” said Estella, in a
+low voice.
+
+“You have been accustomed to see him often, I suppose?”
+
+“I have been accustomed to see him at uncertain intervals, ever since
+I can remember. But I know him no better now, than I did before I could
+speak plainly. What is your own experience of him? Do you advance with
+him?”
+
+“Once habituated to his distrustful manner,” said I, “I have done very
+well.”
+
+“Are you intimate?”
+
+“I have dined with him at his private house.”
+
+“I fancy,” said Estella, shrinking “that must be a curious place.”
+
+“It is a curious place.”
+
+I should have been chary of discussing my guardian too freely even with
+her; but I should have gone on with the subject so far as to describe
+the dinner in Gerrard Street, if we had not then come into a sudden
+glare of gas. It seemed, while it lasted, to be all alight and alive
+with that inexplicable feeling I had had before; and when we were out of
+it, I was as much dazed for a few moments as if I had been in lightning.
+
+So we fell into other talk, and it was principally about the way by
+which we were travelling, and about what parts of London lay on this
+side of it, and what on that. The great city was almost new to her, she
+told me, for she had never left Miss Havisham’s neighborhood until she
+had gone to France, and she had merely passed through London then in
+going and returning. I asked her if my guardian had any charge of her
+while she remained here? To that she emphatically said “God forbid!” and
+no more.
+
+It was impossible for me to avoid seeing that she cared to attract me;
+that she made herself winning, and would have won me even if the task
+had needed pains. Yet this made me none the happier, for even if she had
+not taken that tone of our being disposed of by others, I should have
+felt that she held my heart in her hand because she wilfully chose to do
+it, and not because it would have wrung any tenderness in her to crush
+it and throw it away.
+
+When we passed through Hammersmith, I showed her where Mr. Matthew
+Pocket lived, and said it was no great way from Richmond, and that I
+hoped I should see her sometimes.
+
+“O yes, you are to see me; you are to come when you think proper; you
+are to be mentioned to the family; indeed you are already mentioned.”
+
+I inquired was it a large household she was going to be a member of?
+
+“No; there are only two; mother and daughter. The mother is a lady of
+some station, though not averse to increasing her income.”
+
+“I wonder Miss Havisham could part with you again so soon.”
+
+“It is a part of Miss Havisham’s plans for me, Pip,” said Estella, with
+a sigh, as if she were tired; “I am to write to her constantly and see
+her regularly and report how I go on,--I and the jewels,--for they are
+nearly all mine now.”
+
+It was the first time she had ever called me by my name. Of course she
+did so purposely, and knew that I should treasure it up.
+
+We came to Richmond all too soon, and our destination there was a house
+by the green,--a staid old house, where hoops and powder and patches,
+embroidered coats, rolled stockings, ruffles and swords, had had their
+court days many a time. Some ancient trees before the house were still
+cut into fashions as formal and unnatural as the hoops and wigs and
+stiff skirts; but their own allotted places in the great procession of
+the dead were not far off, and they would soon drop into them and go the
+silent way of the rest.
+
+A bell with an old voice--which I dare say in its time had often said
+to the house, Here is the green farthingale, Here is the diamond-hilted
+sword, Here are the shoes with red heels and the blue solitaire--sounded
+gravely in the moonlight, and two cherry-colored maids came fluttering
+out to receive Estella. The doorway soon absorbed her boxes, and she
+gave me her hand and a smile, and said good night, and was absorbed
+likewise. And still I stood looking at the house, thinking how happy I
+should be if I lived there with her, and knowing that I never was happy
+with her, but always miserable.
+
+I got into the carriage to be taken back to Hammersmith, and I got in
+with a bad heart-ache, and I got out with a worse heart-ache. At our
+own door, I found little Jane Pocket coming home from a little party
+escorted by her little lover; and I envied her little lover, in spite of
+his being subject to Flopson.
+
+Mr. Pocket was out lecturing; for, he was a most delightful lecturer on
+domestic economy, and his treatises on the management of children and
+servants were considered the very best text-books on those themes. But
+Mrs. Pocket was at home, and was in a little difficulty, on account of
+the baby’s having been accommodated with a needle-case to keep him quiet
+during the unaccountable absence (with a relative in the Foot Guards)
+of Millers. And more needles were missing than it could be regarded
+as quite wholesome for a patient of such tender years either to apply
+externally or to take as a tonic.
+
+Mr. Pocket being justly celebrated for giving most excellent practical
+advice, and for having a clear and sound perception of things and a
+highly judicious mind, I had some notion in my heart-ache of begging him
+to accept my confidence. But happening to look up at Mrs. Pocket as she
+sat reading her book of dignities after prescribing Bed as a sovereign
+remedy for baby, I thought--Well--No, I wouldn’t.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIV
+
+As I had grown accustomed to my expectations, I had insensibly begun to
+notice their effect upon myself and those around me. Their influence on
+my own character I disguised from my recognition as much as possible,
+but I knew very well that it was not all good. I lived in a state of
+chronic uneasiness respecting my behavior to Joe. My conscience was not
+by any means comfortable about Biddy. When I woke up in the night,--like
+Camilla,--I used to think, with a weariness on my spirits, that I should
+have been happier and better if I had never seen Miss Havisham’s face,
+and had risen to manhood content to be partners with Joe in the honest
+old forge. Many a time of an evening, when I sat alone looking at the
+fire, I thought, after all there was no fire like the forge fire and the
+kitchen fire at home.
+
+Yet Estella was so inseparable from all my restlessness and disquiet of
+mind, that I really fell into confusion as to the limits of my own part
+in its production. That is to say, supposing I had had no expectations,
+and yet had had Estella to think of, I could not make out to my
+satisfaction that I should have done much better. Now, concerning the
+influence of my position on others, I was in no such difficulty, and so
+I perceived--though dimly enough perhaps--that it was not beneficial
+to anybody, and, above all, that it was not beneficial to Herbert.
+My lavish habits led his easy nature into expenses that he could not
+afford, corrupted the simplicity of his life, and disturbed his peace
+with anxieties and regrets. I was not at all remorseful for having
+unwittingly set those other branches of the Pocket family to the poor
+arts they practised; because such littlenesses were their natural
+bent, and would have been evoked by anybody else, if I had left them
+slumbering. But Herbert’s was a very different case, and it often caused
+me a twinge to think that I had done him evil service in crowding his
+sparely furnished chambers with incongruous upholstery work, and placing
+the Canary-breasted Avenger at his disposal.
+
+So now, as an infallible way of making little ease great ease, I began
+to contract a quantity of debt. I could hardly begin but Herbert
+must begin too, so he soon followed. At Startop’s suggestion, we put
+ourselves down for election into a club called The Finches of the Grove:
+the object of which institution I have never divined, if it were not
+that the members should dine expensively once a fortnight, to quarrel
+among themselves as much as possible after dinner, and to cause six
+waiters to get drunk on the stairs. I know that these gratifying social
+ends were so invariably accomplished, that Herbert and I understood
+nothing else to be referred to in the first standing toast of the
+society: which ran “Gentlemen, may the present promotion of good feeling
+ever reign predominant among the Finches of the Grove.”
+
+The Finches spent their money foolishly (the Hotel we dined at was
+in Covent Garden), and the first Finch I saw when I had the honor of
+joining the Grove was Bentley Drummle, at that time floundering about
+town in a cab of his own, and doing a great deal of damage to the posts
+at the street corners. Occasionally, he shot himself out of his equipage
+headforemost over the apron; and I saw him on one occasion deliver
+himself at the door of the Grove in this unintentional way--like coals.
+But here I anticipate a little, for I was not a Finch, and could not be,
+according to the sacred laws of the society, until I came of age.
+
+In my confidence in my own resources, I would willingly have taken
+Herbert’s expenses on myself; but Herbert was proud, and I could make
+no such proposal to him. So he got into difficulties in every direction,
+and continued to look about him. When we gradually fell into keeping
+late hours and late company, I noticed that he looked about him with a
+desponding eye at breakfast-time; that he began to look about him more
+hopefully about mid-day; that he drooped when he came into dinner;
+that he seemed to descry Capital in the distance, rather clearly, after
+dinner; that he all but realized Capital towards midnight; and that at
+about two o’clock in the morning, he became so deeply despondent again
+as to talk of buying a rifle and going to America, with a general
+purpose of compelling buffaloes to make his fortune.
+
+I was usually at Hammersmith about half the week, and when I was at
+Hammersmith I haunted Richmond, whereof separately by and by. Herbert
+would often come to Hammersmith when I was there, and I think at those
+seasons his father would occasionally have some passing perception that
+the opening he was looking for, had not appeared yet. But in the general
+tumbling up of the family, his tumbling out in life somewhere, was
+a thing to transact itself somehow. In the meantime Mr. Pocket grew
+grayer, and tried oftener to lift himself out of his perplexities by the
+hair. While Mrs. Pocket tripped up the family with her footstool, read
+her book of dignities, lost her pocket-handkerchief, told us about her
+grandpapa, and taught the young idea how to shoot, by shooting it into
+bed whenever it attracted her notice.
+
+As I am now generalizing a period of my life with the object of clearing
+my way before me, I can scarcely do so better than by at once completing
+the description of our usual manners and customs at Barnard’s Inn.
+
+We spent as much money as we could, and got as little for it as people
+could make up their minds to give us. We were always more or less
+miserable, and most of our acquaintance were in the same condition.
+There was a gay fiction among us that we were constantly enjoying
+ourselves, and a skeleton truth that we never did. To the best of my
+belief, our case was in the last aspect a rather common one.
+
+Every morning, with an air ever new, Herbert went into the City to look
+about him. I often paid him a visit in the dark back-room in which
+he consorted with an ink-jar, a hat-peg, a coal-box, a string-box, an
+almanac, a desk and stool, and a ruler; and I do not remember that I
+ever saw him do anything else but look about him. If we all did what
+we undertake to do, as faithfully as Herbert did, we might live in a
+Republic of the Virtues. He had nothing else to do, poor fellow, except
+at a certain hour of every afternoon to “go to Lloyd’s”--in observance
+of a ceremony of seeing his principal, I think. He never did anything
+else in connection with Lloyd’s that I could find out, except come back
+again. When he felt his case unusually serious, and that he positively
+must find an opening, he would go on ‘Change at a busy time, and walk in
+and out, in a kind of gloomy country dance figure, among the assembled
+magnates. “For,” says Herbert to me, coming home to dinner on one
+of those special occasions, “I find the truth to be, Handel, that an
+opening won’t come to one, but one must go to it,--so I have been.”
+
+If we had been less attached to one another, I think we must have hated
+one another regularly every morning. I detested the chambers beyond
+expression at that period of repentance, and could not endure the
+sight of the Avenger’s livery; which had a more expensive and a
+less remunerative appearance then than at any other time in the
+four-and-twenty hours. As we got more and more into debt, breakfast
+became a hollower and hollower form, and, being on one occasion at
+breakfast-time threatened (by letter) with legal proceedings, “not
+unwholly unconnected,” as my local paper might put it, “with jewelery,”
+ I went so far as to seize the Avenger by his blue collar and shake
+him off his feet,--so that he was actually in the air, like a booted
+Cupid,--for presuming to suppose that we wanted a roll.
+
+At certain times--meaning at uncertain times, for they depended on our
+humor--I would say to Herbert, as if it were a remarkable discovery,--
+
+“My dear Herbert, we are getting on badly.”
+
+“My dear Handel,” Herbert would say to me, in all sincerity, “if you will
+believe me, those very words were on my lips, by a strange coincidence.”
+
+“Then, Herbert,” I would respond, “let us look into our affairs.”
+
+We always derived profound satisfaction from making an appointment for
+this purpose. I always thought this was business, this was the way to
+confront the thing, this was the way to take the foe by the throat. And
+I know Herbert thought so too.
+
+We ordered something rather special for dinner, with a bottle of
+something similarly out of the common way, in order that our minds might
+be fortified for the occasion, and we might come well up to the mark.
+Dinner over, we produced a bundle of pens, a copious supply of ink, and
+a goodly show of writing and blotting paper. For there was something
+very comfortable in having plenty of stationery.
+
+I would then take a sheet of paper, and write across the top of it, in a
+neat hand, the heading, “Memorandum of Pip’s debts”; with Barnard’s Inn
+and the date very carefully added. Herbert would also take a sheet of
+paper, and write across it with similar formalities, “Memorandum of
+Herbert’s debts.”
+
+Each of us would then refer to a confused heap of papers at his side,
+which had been thrown into drawers, worn into holes in pockets, half
+burnt in lighting candles, stuck for weeks into the looking-glass, and
+otherwise damaged. The sound of our pens going refreshed us exceedingly,
+insomuch that I sometimes found it difficult to distinguish between this
+edifying business proceeding and actually paying the money. In point of
+meritorious character, the two things seemed about equal.
+
+When we had written a little while, I would ask Herbert how he got on?
+Herbert probably would have been scratching his head in a most rueful
+manner at the sight of his accumulating figures.
+
+“They are mounting up, Handel,” Herbert would say; “upon my life, they
+are mounting up.”
+
+“Be firm, Herbert,” I would retort, plying my own pen with great
+assiduity. “Look the thing in the face. Look into your affairs. Stare
+them out of countenance.”
+
+“So I would, Handel, only they are staring me out of countenance.”
+
+However, my determined manner would have its effect, and Herbert would
+fall to work again. After a time he would give up once more, on the plea
+that he had not got Cobbs’s bill, or Lobbs’s, or Nobbs’s, as the case
+might be.
+
+“Then, Herbert, estimate; estimate it in round numbers, and put it
+down.”
+
+“What a fellow of resource you are!” my friend would reply, with
+admiration. “Really your business powers are very remarkable.”
+
+I thought so too. I established with myself, on these occasions,
+the reputation of a first-rate man of business,--prompt, decisive,
+energetic, clear, cool-headed. When I had got all my responsibilities
+down upon my list, I compared each with the bill, and ticked it off. My
+self-approval when I ticked an entry was quite a luxurious sensation.
+When I had no more ticks to make, I folded all my bills up uniformly,
+docketed each on the back, and tied the whole into a symmetrical
+bundle. Then I did the same for Herbert (who modestly said he had not my
+administrative genius), and felt that I had brought his affairs into a
+focus for him.
+
+My business habits had one other bright feature, which I called “leaving
+a Margin.” For example; supposing Herbert’s debts to be one hundred and
+sixty-four pounds four-and-twopence, I would say, “Leave a margin, and
+put them down at two hundred.” Or, supposing my own to be four times as
+much, I would leave a margin, and put them down at seven hundred. I had
+the highest opinion of the wisdom of this same Margin, but I am bound
+to acknowledge that on looking back, I deem it to have been an expensive
+device. For, we always ran into new debt immediately, to the full extent
+of the margin, and sometimes, in the sense of freedom and solvency it
+imparted, got pretty far on into another margin.
+
+But there was a calm, a rest, a virtuous hush, consequent on these
+examinations of our affairs that gave me, for the time, an admirable
+opinion of myself. Soothed by my exertions, my method, and Herbert’s
+compliments, I would sit with his symmetrical bundle and my own on the
+table before me among the stationary, and feel like a Bank of some sort,
+rather than a private individual.
+
+We shut our outer door on these solemn occasions, in order that we might
+not be interrupted. I had fallen into my serene state one evening, when
+we heard a letter dropped through the slit in the said door, and fall on
+the ground. “It’s for you, Handel,” said Herbert, going out and coming
+back with it, “and I hope there is nothing the matter.” This was in
+allusion to its heavy black seal and border.
+
+The letter was signed Trabb & Co., and its contents were simply, that
+I was an honored sir, and that they begged to inform me that Mrs. J.
+Gargery had departed this life on Monday last at twenty minutes past six
+in the evening, and that my attendance was requested at the interment on
+Monday next at three o’clock in the afternoon.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXV
+
+It was the first time that a grave had opened in my road of life, and
+the gap it made in the smooth ground was wonderful. The figure of my
+sister in her chair by the kitchen fire, haunted me night and day. That
+the place could possibly be, without her, was something my mind seemed
+unable to compass; and whereas she had seldom or never been in my
+thoughts of late, I had now the strangest ideas that she was coming
+towards me in the street, or that she would presently knock at the door.
+In my rooms too, with which she had never been at all associated, there
+was at once the blankness of death and a perpetual suggestion of the
+sound of her voice or the turn of her face or figure, as if she were
+still alive and had been often there.
+
+Whatever my fortunes might have been, I could scarcely have recalled my
+sister with much tenderness. But I suppose there is a shock of regret
+which may exist without much tenderness. Under its influence (and
+perhaps to make up for the want of the softer feeling) I was seized with
+a violent indignation against the assailant from whom she had suffered
+so much; and I felt that on sufficient proof I could have revengefully
+pursued Orlick, or any one else, to the last extremity.
+
+Having written to Joe, to offer him consolation, and to assure him
+that I would come to the funeral, I passed the intermediate days in
+the curious state of mind I have glanced at. I went down early in the
+morning, and alighted at the Blue Boar in good time to walk over to the
+forge.
+
+It was fine summer weather again, and, as I walked along, the times
+when I was a little helpless creature, and my sister did not spare me,
+vividly returned. But they returned with a gentle tone upon them that
+softened even the edge of Tickler. For now, the very breath of the beans
+and clover whispered to my heart that the day must come when it would
+be well for my memory that others walking in the sunshine should be
+softened as they thought of me.
+
+At last I came within sight of the house, and saw that Trabb and Co. had
+put in a funereal execution and taken possession. Two dismally absurd
+persons, each ostentatiously exhibiting a crutch done up in a black
+bandage,--as if that instrument could possibly communicate any comfort
+to anybody,--were posted at the front door; and in one of them I
+recognized a postboy discharged from the Boar for turning a young couple
+into a sawpit on their bridal morning, in consequence of intoxication
+rendering it necessary for him to ride his horse clasped round the neck
+with both arms. All the children of the village, and most of the women,
+were admiring these sable warders and the closed windows of the house
+and forge; and as I came up, one of the two warders (the postboy)
+knocked at the door,--implying that I was far too much exhausted by
+grief to have strength remaining to knock for myself.
+
+Another sable warder (a carpenter, who had once eaten two geese for a
+wager) opened the door, and showed me into the best parlor. Here, Mr.
+Trabb had taken unto himself the best table, and had got all the leaves
+up, and was holding a kind of black Bazaar, with the aid of a quantity
+of black pins. At the moment of my arrival, he had just finished putting
+somebody’s hat into black long-clothes, like an African baby; so he held
+out his hand for mine. But I, misled by the action, and confused by the
+occasion, shook hands with him with every testimony of warm affection.
+
+Poor dear Joe, entangled in a little black cloak tied in a large bow
+under his chin, was seated apart at the upper end of the room; where,
+as chief mourner, he had evidently been stationed by Trabb. When I bent
+down and said to him, “Dear Joe, how are you?” he said, “Pip, old chap,
+you knowed her when she were a fine figure of a--” and clasped my hand
+and said no more.
+
+Biddy, looking very neat and modest in her black dress, went quietly
+here and there, and was very helpful. When I had spoken to Biddy, as
+I thought it not a time for talking I went and sat down near Joe, and
+there began to wonder in what part of the house it--she--my sister--was.
+The air of the parlor being faint with the smell of sweet-cake, I looked
+about for the table of refreshments; it was scarcely visible until one
+had got accustomed to the gloom, but there was a cut-up plum cake upon
+it, and there were cut-up oranges, and sandwiches, and biscuits, and two
+decanters that I knew very well as ornaments, but had never seen used
+in all my life; one full of port, and one of sherry. Standing at this
+table, I became conscious of the servile Pumblechook in a black cloak
+and several yards of hatband, who was alternately stuffing himself,
+and making obsequious movements to catch my attention. The moment he
+succeeded, he came over to me (breathing sherry and crumbs), and said
+in a subdued voice, “May I, dear sir?” and did. I then descried Mr. and
+Mrs. Hubble; the last-named in a decent speechless paroxysm in a corner.
+We were all going to “follow,” and were all in course of being tied up
+separately (by Trabb) into ridiculous bundles.
+
+“Which I meantersay, Pip,” Joe whispered me, as we were being what Mr.
+Trabb called “formed” in the parlor, two and two,--and it was dreadfully
+like a preparation for some grim kind of dance; “which I meantersay,
+sir, as I would in preference have carried her to the church myself,
+along with three or four friendly ones wot come to it with willing harts
+and arms, but it were considered wot the neighbors would look down on
+such and would be of opinions as it were wanting in respect.”
+
+“Pocket-handkerchiefs out, all!” cried Mr. Trabb at this point, in a
+depressed business-like voice. “Pocket-handkerchiefs out! We are ready!”
+
+So we all put our pocket-handkerchiefs to our faces, as if our
+noses were bleeding, and filed out two and two; Joe and I; Biddy and
+Pumblechook; Mr. and Mrs. Hubble. The remains of my poor sister had been
+brought round by the kitchen door, and, it being a point of Undertaking
+ceremony that the six bearers must be stifled and blinded under a
+horrible black velvet housing with a white border, the whole looked like
+a blind monster with twelve human legs, shuffling and blundering along,
+under the guidance of two keepers,--the postboy and his comrade.
+
+The neighborhood, however, highly approved of these arrangements, and we
+were much admired as we went through the village; the more youthful and
+vigorous part of the community making dashes now and then to cut us off,
+and lying in wait to intercept us at points of vantage. At such times
+the more exuberant among them called out in an excited manner on our
+emergence round some corner of expectancy, “Here they come!” “Here they
+are!” and we were all but cheered. In this progress I was much annoyed
+by the abject Pumblechook, who, being behind me, persisted all the way
+as a delicate attention in arranging my streaming hatband, and smoothing
+my cloak. My thoughts were further distracted by the excessive pride of
+Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, who were surpassingly conceited and vainglorious in
+being members of so distinguished a procession.
+
+And now the range of marshes lay clear before us, with the sails of the
+ships on the river growing out of it; and we went into the churchyard,
+close to the graves of my unknown parents, Philip Pirrip, late of this
+parish, and Also Georgiana, Wife of the Above. And there, my sister was
+laid quietly in the earth, while the larks sang high above it, and the
+light wind strewed it with beautiful shadows of clouds and trees.
+
+Of the conduct of the worldly minded Pumblechook while this was doing,
+I desire to say no more than it was all addressed to me; and that even
+when those noble passages were read which remind humanity how it brought
+nothing into the world and can take nothing out, and how it fleeth like
+a shadow and never continueth long in one stay, I heard him cough a
+reservation of the case of a young gentleman who came unexpectedly into
+large property. When we got back, he had the hardihood to tell me that
+he wished my sister could have known I had done her so much honor, and
+to hint that she would have considered it reasonably purchased at the
+price of her death. After that, he drank all the rest of the sherry,
+and Mr. Hubble drank the port, and the two talked (which I have since
+observed to be customary in such cases) as if they were of quite another
+race from the deceased, and were notoriously immortal. Finally, he went
+away with Mr. and Mrs. Hubble,--to make an evening of it, I felt sure,
+and to tell the Jolly Bargemen that he was the founder of my fortunes
+and my earliest benefactor.
+
+When they were all gone, and when Trabb and his men--but not his Boy; I
+looked for him--had crammed their mummery into bags, and were gone too,
+the house felt wholesomer. Soon afterwards, Biddy, Joe, and I, had a
+cold dinner together; but we dined in the best parlor, not in the old
+kitchen, and Joe was so exceedingly particular what he did with his
+knife and fork and the saltcellar and what not, that there was great
+restraint upon us. But after dinner, when I made him take his pipe,
+and when I had loitered with him about the forge, and when we sat down
+together on the great block of stone outside it, we got on better. I
+noticed that after the funeral Joe changed his clothes so far, as to
+make a compromise between his Sunday dress and working dress; in which
+the dear fellow looked natural, and like the Man he was.
+
+He was very much pleased by my asking if I might sleep in my own little
+room, and I was pleased too; for I felt that I had done rather a great
+thing in making the request. When the shadows of evening were closing
+in, I took an opportunity of getting into the garden with Biddy for a
+little talk.
+
+“Biddy,” said I, “I think you might have written to me about these sad
+matters.”
+
+“Do you, Mr. Pip?” said Biddy. “I should have written if I had thought
+that.”
+
+“Don’t suppose that I mean to be unkind, Biddy, when I say I consider
+that you ought to have thought that.”
+
+“Do you, Mr. Pip?”
+
+She was so quiet, and had such an orderly, good, and pretty way with
+her, that I did not like the thought of making her cry again. After
+looking a little at her downcast eyes as she walked beside me, I gave up
+that point.
+
+“I suppose it will be difficult for you to remain here now, Biddy dear?”
+
+“Oh! I can’t do so, Mr. Pip,” said Biddy, in a tone of regret but still
+of quiet conviction. “I have been speaking to Mrs. Hubble, and I am
+going to her to-morrow. I hope we shall be able to take some care of Mr.
+Gargery, together, until he settles down.”
+
+“How are you going to live, Biddy? If you want any mo--”
+
+“How am I going to live?” repeated Biddy, striking in, with a momentary
+flush upon her face. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Pip. I am going to try to get
+the place of mistress in the new school nearly finished here. I can be
+well recommended by all the neighbors, and I hope I can be industrious
+and patient, and teach myself while I teach others. You know, Mr. Pip,”
+ pursued Biddy, with a smile, as she raised her eyes to my face, “the new
+schools are not like the old, but I learnt a good deal from you after
+that time, and have had time since then to improve.”
+
+“I think you would always improve, Biddy, under any circumstances.”
+
+“Ah! Except in my bad side of human nature,” murmured Biddy.
+
+It was not so much a reproach as an irresistible thinking aloud. Well!
+I thought I would give up that point too. So, I walked a little further
+with Biddy, looking silently at her downcast eyes.
+
+“I have not heard the particulars of my sister’s death, Biddy.”
+
+“They are very slight, poor thing. She had been in one of her bad
+states--though they had got better of late, rather than worse--for four
+days, when she came out of it in the evening, just at tea-time, and said
+quite plainly, ‘Joe.’ As she had never said any word for a long while, I
+ran and fetched in Mr. Gargery from the forge. She made signs to me that
+she wanted him to sit down close to her, and wanted me to put her arms
+round his neck. So I put them round his neck, and she laid her head down
+on his shoulder quite content and satisfied. And so she presently said
+‘Joe’ again, and once ‘Pardon,’ and once ‘Pip.’ And so she never lifted
+her head up any more, and it was just an hour later when we laid it down
+on her own bed, because we found she was gone.”
+
+Biddy cried; the darkening garden, and the lane, and the stars that were
+coming out, were blurred in my own sight.
+
+“Nothing was ever discovered, Biddy?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Do you know what is become of Orlick?”
+
+“I should think from the color of his clothes that he is working in the
+quarries.”
+
+“Of course you have seen him then?--Why are you looking at that dark
+tree in the lane?”
+
+“I saw him there, on the night she died.”
+
+“That was not the last time either, Biddy?”
+
+“No; I have seen him there, since we have been walking here.--It is of
+no use,” said Biddy, laying her hand upon my arm, as I was for running
+out, “you know I would not deceive you; he was not there a minute, and
+he is gone.”
+
+It revived my utmost indignation to find that she was still pursued by
+this fellow, and I felt inveterate against him. I told her so, and told
+her that I would spend any money or take any pains to drive him out of
+that country. By degrees she led me into more temperate talk, and she
+told me how Joe loved me, and how Joe never complained of anything,--she
+didn’t say, of me; she had no need; I knew what she meant,--but ever did
+his duty in his way of life, with a strong hand, a quiet tongue, and a
+gentle heart.
+
+“Indeed, it would be hard to say too much for him,” said I; “and Biddy,
+we must often speak of these things, for of course I shall be often down
+here now. I am not going to leave poor Joe alone.”
+
+Biddy said never a single word.
+
+“Biddy, don’t you hear me?”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Pip.”
+
+“Not to mention your calling me Mr. Pip,--which appears to me to be in
+bad taste, Biddy,--what do you mean?”
+
+“What do I mean?” asked Biddy, timidly.
+
+“Biddy,” said I, in a virtuously self-asserting manner, “I must request
+to know what you mean by this?”
+
+“By this?” said Biddy.
+
+“Now, don’t echo,” I retorted. “You used not to echo, Biddy.”
+
+“Used not!” said Biddy. “O Mr. Pip! Used!”
+
+Well! I rather thought I would give up that point too. After another
+silent turn in the garden, I fell back on the main position.
+
+“Biddy,” said I, “I made a remark respecting my coming down here often,
+to see Joe, which you received with a marked silence. Have the goodness,
+Biddy, to tell me why.”
+
+“Are you quite sure, then, that you WILL come to see him often?” asked
+Biddy, stopping in the narrow garden walk, and looking at me under the
+stars with a clear and honest eye.
+
+“O dear me!” said I, as if I found myself compelled to give up Biddy in
+despair. “This really is a very bad side of human nature! Don’t say any
+more, if you please, Biddy. This shocks me very much.”
+
+For which cogent reason I kept Biddy at a distance during supper, and
+when I went up to my own old little room, took as stately a leave of her
+as I could, in my murmuring soul, deem reconcilable with the churchyard
+and the event of the day. As often as I was restless in the night, and
+that was every quarter of an hour, I reflected what an unkindness, what
+an injury, what an injustice, Biddy had done me.
+
+Early in the morning I was to go. Early in the morning I was out, and
+looking in, unseen, at one of the wooden windows of the forge. There
+I stood, for minutes, looking at Joe, already at work with a glow of
+health and strength upon his face that made it show as if the bright sun
+of the life in store for him were shining on it.
+
+“Good-bye, dear Joe!--No, don’t wipe it off--for God’s sake, give me your
+blackened hand!--I shall be down soon and often.”
+
+“Never too soon, sir,” said Joe, “and never too often, Pip!”
+
+Biddy was waiting for me at the kitchen door, with a mug of new milk and
+a crust of bread. “Biddy,” said I, when I gave her my hand at parting,
+“I am not angry, but I am hurt.”
+
+“No, don’t be hurt,” she pleaded quite pathetically; “let only me be
+hurt, if I have been ungenerous.”
+
+Once more, the mists were rising as I walked away. If they disclosed to
+me, as I suspect they did, that I should not come back, and that Biddy
+was quite right, all I can say is,--they were quite right too.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVI
+
+Herbert and I went on from bad to worse, in the way of increasing our
+debts, looking into our affairs, leaving Margins, and the like exemplary
+transactions; and Time went on, whether or no, as he has a way of doing;
+and I came of age,--in fulfilment of Herbert’s prediction, that I should
+do so before I knew where I was.
+
+Herbert himself had come of age eight months before me. As he had
+nothing else than his majority to come into, the event did not make a
+profound sensation in Barnard’s Inn. But we had looked forward to
+my one-and-twentieth birthday, with a crowd of speculations and
+anticipations, for we had both considered that my guardian could hardly
+help saying something definite on that occasion.
+
+I had taken care to have it well understood in Little Britain when my
+birthday was. On the day before it, I received an official note from
+Wemmick, informing me that Mr. Jaggers would be glad if I would call
+upon him at five in the afternoon of the auspicious day. This convinced
+us that something great was to happen, and threw me into an unusual
+flutter when I repaired to my guardian’s office, a model of punctuality.
+
+In the outer office Wemmick offered me his congratulations, and
+incidentally rubbed the side of his nose with a folded piece of
+tissue-paper that I liked the look of. But he said nothing respecting
+it, and motioned me with a nod into my guardian’s room. It was November,
+and my guardian was standing before his fire leaning his back against
+the chimney-piece, with his hands under his coattails.
+
+“Well, Pip,” said he, “I must call you Mr. Pip to-day. Congratulations,
+Mr. Pip.”
+
+We shook hands,--he was always a remarkably short shaker,--and I thanked
+him.
+
+“Take a chair, Mr. Pip,” said my guardian.
+
+As I sat down, and he preserved his attitude and bent his brows at his
+boots, I felt at a disadvantage, which reminded me of that old time when
+I had been put upon a tombstone. The two ghastly casts on the shelf
+were not far from him, and their expression was as if they were making a
+stupid apoplectic attempt to attend to the conversation.
+
+“Now my young friend,” my guardian began, as if I were a witness in the
+box, “I am going to have a word or two with you.”
+
+“If you please, sir.”
+
+“What do you suppose,” said Mr. Jaggers, bending forward to look at the
+ground, and then throwing his head back to look at the ceiling,--“what
+do you suppose you are living at the rate of?”
+
+“At the rate of, sir?”
+
+“At,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, still looking at the ceiling,
+“the--rate--of?” And then looked all round the room, and paused with his
+pocket-handkerchief in his hand, half-way to his nose.
+
+I had looked into my affairs so often, that I had thoroughly destroyed
+any slight notion I might ever have had of their bearings. Reluctantly,
+I confessed myself quite unable to answer the question. This reply
+seemed agreeable to Mr. Jaggers, who said, “I thought so!” and blew his
+nose with an air of satisfaction.
+
+“Now, I have asked you a question, my friend,” said Mr. Jaggers. “Have
+you anything to ask me?”
+
+“Of course it would be a great relief to me to ask you several
+questions, sir; but I remember your prohibition.”
+
+“Ask one,” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Is my benefactor to be made known to me to-day?”
+
+“No. Ask another.”
+
+“Is that confidence to be imparted to me soon?”
+
+“Waive that, a moment,” said Mr. Jaggers, “and ask another.”
+
+I looked about me, but there appeared to be now no possible escape from
+the inquiry, “Have-I--anything to receive, sir?” On that, Mr. Jaggers
+said, triumphantly, “I thought we should come to it!” and called to
+Wemmick to give him that piece of paper. Wemmick appeared, handed it in,
+and disappeared.
+
+“Now, Mr. Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, “attend, if you please. You have been
+drawing pretty freely here; your name occurs pretty often in Wemmick’s
+cash-book; but you are in debt, of course?”
+
+“I am afraid I must say yes, sir.”
+
+“You know you must say yes; don’t you?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I don’t ask you what you owe, because you don’t know; and if you did
+know, you wouldn’t tell me; you would say less. Yes, yes, my friend,”
+ cried Mr. Jaggers, waving his forefinger to stop me as I made a show
+of protesting: “it’s likely enough that you think you wouldn’t, but
+you would. You’ll excuse me, but I know better than you. Now, take this
+piece of paper in your hand. You have got it? Very good. Now, unfold it
+and tell me what it is.”
+
+“This is a bank-note,” said I, “for five hundred pounds.”
+
+“That is a bank-note,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, “for five hundred pounds.
+And a very handsome sum of money too, I think. You consider it so?”
+
+“How could I do otherwise!”
+
+“Ah! But answer the question,” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Undoubtedly.”
+
+“You consider it, undoubtedly, a handsome sum of money. Now, that
+handsome sum of money, Pip, is your own. It is a present to you on this
+day, in earnest of your expectations. And at the rate of that handsome
+sum of money per annum, and at no higher rate, you are to live until the
+donor of the whole appears. That is to say, you will now take your money
+affairs entirely into your own hands, and you will draw from Wemmick
+one hundred and twenty-five pounds per quarter, until you are in
+communication with the fountain-head, and no longer with the mere
+agent. As I have told you before, I am the mere agent. I execute my
+instructions, and I am paid for doing so. I think them injudicious, but
+I am not paid for giving any opinion on their merits.”
+
+I was beginning to express my gratitude to my benefactor for the great
+liberality with which I was treated, when Mr. Jaggers stopped me. “I am
+not paid, Pip,” said he, coolly, “to carry your words to any one;” and
+then gathered up his coat-tails, as he had gathered up the subject, and
+stood frowning at his boots as if he suspected them of designs against
+him.
+
+After a pause, I hinted,--
+
+“There was a question just now, Mr. Jaggers, which you desired me to
+waive for a moment. I hope I am doing nothing wrong in asking it again?”
+
+“What is it?” said he.
+
+I might have known that he would never help me out; but it took me aback
+to have to shape the question afresh, as if it were quite new. “Is it
+likely,” I said, after hesitating, “that my patron, the fountain-head
+you have spoken of, Mr. Jaggers, will soon--” there I delicately
+stopped.
+
+“Will soon what?” asked Mr. Jaggers. “That’s no question as it stands,
+you know.”
+
+“Will soon come to London,” said I, after casting about for a precise
+form of words, “or summon me anywhere else?”
+
+“Now, here,” replied Mr. Jaggers, fixing me for the first time with
+his dark deep-set eyes, “we must revert to the evening when we first
+encountered one another in your village. What did I tell you then, Pip?”
+
+“You told me, Mr. Jaggers, that it might be years hence when that person
+appeared.”
+
+“Just so,” said Mr. Jaggers, “that’s my answer.”
+
+As we looked full at one another, I felt my breath come quicker in my
+strong desire to get something out of him. And as I felt that it came
+quicker, and as I felt that he saw that it came quicker, I felt that I
+had less chance than ever of getting anything out of him.
+
+“Do you suppose it will still be years hence, Mr. Jaggers?”
+
+Mr. Jaggers shook his head,--not in negativing the question, but in
+altogether negativing the notion that he could anyhow be got to answer
+it,--and the two horrible casts of the twitched faces looked, when
+my eyes strayed up to them, as if they had come to a crisis in their
+suspended attention, and were going to sneeze.
+
+“Come!” said Mr. Jaggers, warming the backs of his legs with the backs
+of his warmed hands, “I’ll be plain with you, my friend Pip. That’s a
+question I must not be asked. You’ll understand that better, when I tell
+you it’s a question that might compromise me. Come! I’ll go a little
+further with you; I’ll say something more.”
+
+He bent down so low to frown at his boots, that he was able to rub the
+calves of his legs in the pause he made.
+
+“When that person discloses,” said Mr. Jaggers, straightening himself,
+“you and that person will settle your own affairs. When that person
+discloses, my part in this business will cease and determine. When that
+person discloses, it will not be necessary for me to know anything about
+it. And that’s all I have got to say.”
+
+We looked at one another until I withdrew my eyes, and looked
+thoughtfully at the floor. From this last speech I derived the notion
+that Miss Havisham, for some reason or no reason, had not taken him
+into her confidence as to her designing me for Estella; that he resented
+this, and felt a jealousy about it; or that he really did object to
+that scheme, and would have nothing to do with it. When I raised my eyes
+again, I found that he had been shrewdly looking at me all the time, and
+was doing so still.
+
+“If that is all you have to say, sir,” I remarked, “there can be nothing
+left for me to say.”
+
+He nodded assent, and pulled out his thief-dreaded watch, and asked me
+where I was going to dine? I replied at my own chambers, with Herbert.
+As a necessary sequence, I asked him if he would favor us with his
+company, and he promptly accepted the invitation. But he insisted on
+walking home with me, in order that I might make no extra preparation
+for him, and first he had a letter or two to write, and (of course) had
+his hands to wash. So I said I would go into the outer office and talk
+to Wemmick.
+
+The fact was, that when the five hundred pounds had come into my pocket,
+a thought had come into my head which had been often there before;
+and it appeared to me that Wemmick was a good person to advise with
+concerning such thought.
+
+He had already locked up his safe, and made preparations for going home.
+He had left his desk, brought out his two greasy office candlesticks and
+stood them in line with the snuffers on a slab near the door, ready to
+be extinguished; he had raked his fire low, put his hat and great-coat
+ready, and was beating himself all over the chest with his safe-key, as
+an athletic exercise after business.
+
+“Mr. Wemmick,” said I, “I want to ask your opinion. I am very desirous
+to serve a friend.”
+
+Wemmick tightened his post-office and shook his head, as if his opinion
+were dead against any fatal weakness of that sort.
+
+“This friend,” I pursued, “is trying to get on in commercial life,
+but has no money, and finds it difficult and disheartening to make a
+beginning. Now I want somehow to help him to a beginning.”
+
+“With money down?” said Wemmick, in a tone drier than any sawdust.
+
+“With some money down,” I replied, for an uneasy remembrance shot across
+me of that symmetrical bundle of papers at home--“with some money down,
+and perhaps some anticipation of my expectations.”
+
+“Mr. Pip,” said Wemmick, “I should like just to run over with you on my
+fingers, if you please, the names of the various bridges up as high
+as Chelsea Reach. Let’s see; there’s London, one; Southwark, two;
+Blackfriars, three; Waterloo, four; Westminster, five; Vauxhall, six.”
+ He had checked off each bridge in its turn, with the handle of his
+safe-key on the palm of his hand. “There’s as many as six, you see, to
+choose from.”
+
+“I don’t understand you,” said I.
+
+“Choose your bridge, Mr. Pip,” returned Wemmick, “and take a walk upon
+your bridge, and pitch your money into the Thames over the centre arch
+of your bridge, and you know the end of it. Serve a friend with it, and
+you may know the end of it too,--but it’s a less pleasant and profitable
+end.”
+
+I could have posted a newspaper in his mouth, he made it so wide after
+saying this.
+
+“This is very discouraging,” said I.
+
+“Meant to be so,” said Wemmick.
+
+“Then is it your opinion,” I inquired, with some little indignation,
+“that a man should never--”
+
+“--Invest portable property in a friend?” said Wemmick. “Certainly
+he should not. Unless he wants to get rid of the friend,--and then it
+becomes a question how much portable property it may be worth to get rid
+of him.”
+
+“And that,” said I, “is your deliberate opinion, Mr. Wemmick?”
+
+“That,” he returned, “is my deliberate opinion in this office.”
+
+“Ah!” said I, pressing him, for I thought I saw him near a loophole
+here; “but would that be your opinion at Walworth?”
+
+“Mr. Pip,” he replied, with gravity, “Walworth is one place, and this
+office is another. Much as the Aged is one person, and Mr. Jaggers is
+another. They must not be confounded together. My Walworth sentiments
+must be taken at Walworth; none but my official sentiments can be taken
+in this office.”
+
+“Very well,” said I, much relieved, “then I shall look you up at
+Walworth, you may depend upon it.”
+
+“Mr. Pip,” he returned, “you will be welcome there, in a private and
+personal capacity.”
+
+We had held this conversation in a low voice, well knowing my guardian’s
+ears to be the sharpest of the sharp. As he now appeared in his doorway,
+towelling his hands, Wemmick got on his great-coat and stood by to snuff
+out the candles. We all three went into the street together, and from
+the door-step Wemmick turned his way, and Mr. Jaggers and I turned ours.
+
+I could not help wishing more than once that evening, that Mr. Jaggers
+had had an Aged in Gerrard Street, or a Stinger, or a Something, or
+a Somebody, to unbend his brows a little. It was an uncomfortable
+consideration on a twenty-first birthday, that coming of age at all
+seemed hardly worth while in such a guarded and suspicious world as he
+made of it. He was a thousand times better informed and cleverer than
+Wemmick, and yet I would a thousand times rather have had Wemmick to
+dinner. And Mr. Jaggers made not me alone intensely melancholy, because,
+after he was gone, Herbert said of himself, with his eyes fixed on the
+fire, that he thought he must have committed a felony and forgotten the
+details of it, he felt so dejected and guilty.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVII
+
+Deeming Sunday the best day for taking Mr. Wemmick’s Walworth
+sentiments, I devoted the next ensuing Sunday afternoon to a pilgrimage
+to the Castle. On arriving before the battlements, I found the Union
+Jack flying and the drawbridge up; but undeterred by this show of
+defiance and resistance, I rang at the gate, and was admitted in a most
+pacific manner by the Aged.
+
+“My son, sir,” said the old man, after securing the drawbridge, “rather
+had it in his mind that you might happen to drop in, and he left word
+that he would soon be home from his afternoon’s walk. He is very regular
+in his walks, is my son. Very regular in everything, is my son.”
+
+I nodded at the old gentleman as Wemmick himself might have nodded, and
+we went in and sat down by the fireside.
+
+“You made acquaintance with my son, sir,” said the old man, in his
+chirping way, while he warmed his hands at the blaze, “at his office, I
+expect?” I nodded. “Hah! I have heerd that my son is a wonderful hand at
+his business, sir?” I nodded hard. “Yes; so they tell me. His business
+is the Law?” I nodded harder. “Which makes it more surprising in my
+son,” said the old man, “for he was not brought up to the Law, but to
+the Wine-Coopering.”
+
+Curious to know how the old gentleman stood informed concerning the
+reputation of Mr. Jaggers, I roared that name at him. He threw me into
+the greatest confusion by laughing heartily and replying in a very
+sprightly manner, “No, to be sure; you’re right.” And to this hour I
+have not the faintest notion what he meant, or what joke he thought I
+had made.
+
+As I could not sit there nodding at him perpetually, without making
+some other attempt to interest him, I shouted at inquiry whether his own
+calling in life had been “the Wine-Coopering.” By dint of straining that
+term out of myself several times and tapping the old gentleman on the
+chest to associate it with him, I at last succeeded in making my meaning
+understood.
+
+“No,” said the old gentleman; “the warehousing, the warehousing. First,
+over yonder;” he appeared to mean up the chimney, but I believe he
+intended to refer me to Liverpool; “and then in the City of London here.
+However, having an infirmity--for I am hard of hearing, sir--”
+
+I expressed in pantomime the greatest astonishment.
+
+“--Yes, hard of hearing; having that infirmity coming upon me, my son he
+went into the Law, and he took charge of me, and he by little and little
+made out this elegant and beautiful property. But returning to what you
+said, you know,” pursued the old man, again laughing heartily, “what I
+say is, No to be sure; you’re right.”
+
+I was modestly wondering whether my utmost ingenuity would have enabled
+me to say anything that would have amused him half as much as this
+imaginary pleasantry, when I was startled by a sudden click in the wall
+on one side of the chimney, and the ghostly tumbling open of a little
+wooden flap with “JOHN” upon it. The old man, following my eyes, cried
+with great triumph, “My son’s come home!” and we both went out to the
+drawbridge.
+
+It was worth any money to see Wemmick waving a salute to me from the
+other side of the moat, when we might have shaken hands across it with
+the greatest ease. The Aged was so delighted to work the drawbridge,
+that I made no offer to assist him, but stood quiet until Wemmick had
+come across, and had presented me to Miss Skiffins; a lady by whom he
+was accompanied.
+
+Miss Skiffins was of a wooden appearance, and was, like her escort, in
+the post-office branch of the service. She might have been some two or
+three years younger than Wemmick, and I judged her to stand possessed
+of portable property. The cut of her dress from the waist upward, both
+before and behind, made her figure very like a boy’s kite; and I might
+have pronounced her gown a little too decidedly orange, and her gloves a
+little too intensely green. But she seemed to be a good sort of fellow,
+and showed a high regard for the Aged. I was not long in discovering
+that she was a frequent visitor at the Castle; for, on our going in,
+and my complimenting Wemmick on his ingenious contrivance for announcing
+himself to the Aged, he begged me to give my attention for a moment to
+the other side of the chimney, and disappeared. Presently another click
+came, and another little door tumbled open with “Miss Skiffins” on it;
+then Miss Skiffins shut up and John tumbled open; then Miss Skiffins
+and John both tumbled open together, and finally shut up together. On
+Wemmick’s return from working these mechanical appliances, I expressed
+the great admiration with which I regarded them, and he said, “Well, you
+know, they’re both pleasant and useful to the Aged. And by George, sir,
+it’s a thing worth mentioning, that of all the people who come to
+this gate, the secret of those pulls is only known to the Aged, Miss
+Skiffins, and me!”
+
+“And Mr. Wemmick made them,” added Miss Skiffins, “with his own hands
+out of his own head.”
+
+While Miss Skiffins was taking off her bonnet (she retained her green
+gloves during the evening as an outward and visible sign that there was
+company), Wemmick invited me to take a walk with him round the property,
+and see how the island looked in wintertime. Thinking that he did this
+to give me an opportunity of taking his Walworth sentiments, I seized
+the opportunity as soon as we were out of the Castle.
+
+Having thought of the matter with care, I approached my subject as if I
+had never hinted at it before. I informed Wemmick that I was anxious in
+behalf of Herbert Pocket, and I told him how we had first met, and how
+we had fought. I glanced at Herbert’s home, and at his character, and
+at his having no means but such as he was dependent on his father for;
+those, uncertain and unpunctual. I alluded to the advantages I had
+derived in my first rawness and ignorance from his society, and I
+confessed that I feared I had but ill repaid them, and that he might
+have done better without me and my expectations. Keeping Miss Havisham
+in the background at a great distance, I still hinted at the possibility
+of my having competed with him in his prospects, and at the certainty of
+his possessing a generous soul, and being far above any mean distrusts,
+retaliations, or designs. For all these reasons (I told Wemmick),
+and because he was my young companion and friend, and I had a great
+affection for him, I wished my own good fortune to reflect some rays
+upon him, and therefore I sought advice from Wemmick’s experience and
+knowledge of men and affairs, how I could best try with my resources to
+help Herbert to some present income,--say of a hundred a year, to keep
+him in good hope and heart,--and gradually to buy him on to some small
+partnership. I begged Wemmick, in conclusion, to understand that my help
+must always be rendered without Herbert’s knowledge or suspicion, and
+that there was no one else in the world with whom I could advise. I
+wound up by laying my hand upon his shoulder, and saying, “I can’t help
+confiding in you, though I know it must be troublesome to you; but that
+is your fault, in having ever brought me here.”
+
+Wemmick was silent for a little while, and then said with a kind of
+start, “Well you know, Mr. Pip, I must tell you one thing. This is
+devilish good of you.”
+
+“Say you’ll help me to be good then,” said I.
+
+“Ecod,” replied Wemmick, shaking his head, “that’s not my trade.”
+
+“Nor is this your trading-place,” said I.
+
+“You are right,” he returned. “You hit the nail on the head. Mr. Pip,
+I’ll put on my considering-cap, and I think all you want to do may be
+done by degrees. Skiffins (that’s her brother) is an accountant and
+agent. I’ll look him up and go to work for you.”
+
+“I thank you ten thousand times.”
+
+“On the contrary,” said he, “I thank you, for though we are strictly in
+our private and personal capacity, still it may be mentioned that there
+are Newgate cobwebs about, and it brushes them away.”
+
+After a little further conversation to the same effect, we returned into
+the Castle where we found Miss Skiffins preparing tea. The responsible
+duty of making the toast was delegated to the Aged, and that excellent
+old gentleman was so intent upon it that he seemed to me in some danger
+of melting his eyes. It was no nominal meal that we were going to make,
+but a vigorous reality. The Aged prepared such a hay-stack of buttered
+toast, that I could scarcely see him over it as it simmered on an iron
+stand hooked on to the top-bar; while Miss Skiffins brewed such a jorum
+of tea, that the pig in the back premises became strongly excited, and
+repeatedly expressed his desire to participate in the entertainment.
+
+The flag had been struck, and the gun had been fired, at the right
+moment of time, and I felt as snugly cut off from the rest of Walworth
+as if the moat were thirty feet wide by as many deep. Nothing disturbed
+the tranquillity of the Castle, but the occasional tumbling open of
+John and Miss Skiffins: which little doors were a prey to some spasmodic
+infirmity that made me sympathetically uncomfortable until I got used
+to it. I inferred from the methodical nature of Miss Skiffins’s
+arrangements that she made tea there every Sunday night; and I rather
+suspected that a classic brooch she wore, representing the profile of an
+undesirable female with a very straight nose and a very new moon, was a
+piece of portable property that had been given her by Wemmick.
+
+We ate the whole of the toast, and drank tea in proportion, and it was
+delightful to see how warm and greasy we all got after it. The Aged
+especially, might have passed for some clean old chief of a savage
+tribe, just oiled. After a short pause of repose, Miss Skiffins--in the
+absence of the little servant who, it seemed, retired to the bosom of
+her family on Sunday afternoons--washed up the tea-things, in a trifling
+lady-like amateur manner that compromised none of us. Then, she put on
+her gloves again, and we drew round the fire, and Wemmick said, “Now,
+Aged Parent, tip us the paper.”
+
+Wemmick explained to me while the Aged got his spectacles out, that this
+was according to custom, and that it gave the old gentleman infinite
+satisfaction to read the news aloud. “I won’t offer an apology,” said
+Wemmick, “for he isn’t capable of many pleasures--are you, Aged P.?”
+
+“All right, John, all right,” returned the old man, seeing himself
+spoken to.
+
+“Only tip him a nod every now and then when he looks off his paper,”
+ said Wemmick, “and he’ll be as happy as a king. We are all attention,
+Aged One.”
+
+“All right, John, all right!” returned the cheerful old man, so busy and
+so pleased, that it really was quite charming.
+
+The Aged’s reading reminded me of the classes at Mr. Wopsle’s
+great-aunt’s, with the pleasanter peculiarity that it seemed to come
+through a keyhole. As he wanted the candles close to him, and as he was
+always on the verge of putting either his head or the newspaper into
+them, he required as much watching as a powder-mill. But Wemmick was
+equally untiring and gentle in his vigilance, and the Aged read on,
+quite unconscious of his many rescues. Whenever he looked at us, we
+all expressed the greatest interest and amazement, and nodded until he
+resumed again.
+
+As Wemmick and Miss Skiffins sat side by side, and as I sat in a shadowy
+corner, I observed a slow and gradual elongation of Mr. Wemmick’s mouth,
+powerfully suggestive of his slowly and gradually stealing his arm round
+Miss Skiffins’s waist. In course of time I saw his hand appear on the
+other side of Miss Skiffins; but at that moment Miss Skiffins neatly
+stopped him with the green glove, unwound his arm again as if it were
+an article of dress, and with the greatest deliberation laid it on the
+table before her. Miss Skiffins’s composure while she did this was one
+of the most remarkable sights I have ever seen, and if I could have
+thought the act consistent with abstraction of mind, I should have
+deemed that Miss Skiffins performed it mechanically.
+
+By and by, I noticed Wemmick’s arm beginning to disappear again, and
+gradually fading out of view. Shortly afterwards, his mouth began to
+widen again. After an interval of suspense on my part that was quite
+enthralling and almost painful, I saw his hand appear on the other side
+of Miss Skiffins. Instantly, Miss Skiffins stopped it with the neatness
+of a placid boxer, took off that girdle or cestus as before, and laid
+it on the table. Taking the table to represent the path of virtue, I am
+justified in stating that during the whole time of the Aged’s reading,
+Wemmick’s arm was straying from the path of virtue and being recalled to
+it by Miss Skiffins.
+
+At last, the Aged read himself into a light slumber. This was the time
+for Wemmick to produce a little kettle, a tray of glasses, and a
+black bottle with a porcelain-topped cork, representing some clerical
+dignitary of a rubicund and social aspect. With the aid of these
+appliances we all had something warm to drink, including the Aged, who
+was soon awake again. Miss Skiffins mixed, and I observed that she and
+Wemmick drank out of one glass. Of course I knew better than to offer to
+see Miss Skiffins home, and under the circumstances I thought I had best
+go first; which I did, taking a cordial leave of the Aged, and having
+passed a pleasant evening.
+
+Before a week was out, I received a note from Wemmick, dated Walworth,
+stating that he hoped he had made some advance in that matter
+appertaining to our private and personal capacities, and that he would
+be glad if I could come and see him again upon it. So, I went out
+to Walworth again, and yet again, and yet again, and I saw him by
+appointment in the City several times, but never held any communication
+with him on the subject in or near Little Britain. The upshot was,
+that we found a worthy young merchant or shipping-broker, not long
+established in business, who wanted intelligent help, and who wanted
+capital, and who in due course of time and receipt would want a partner.
+Between him and me, secret articles were signed of which Herbert was the
+subject, and I paid him half of my five hundred pounds down, and engaged
+for sundry other payments: some, to fall due at certain dates out of my
+income: some, contingent on my coming into my property. Miss Skiffins’s
+brother conducted the negotiation. Wemmick pervaded it throughout, but
+never appeared in it.
+
+The whole business was so cleverly managed, that Herbert had not the
+least suspicion of my hand being in it. I never shall forget the radiant
+face with which he came home one afternoon, and told me, as a mighty
+piece of news, of his having fallen in with one Clarriker (the young
+merchant’s name), and of Clarriker’s having shown an extraordinary
+inclination towards him, and of his belief that the opening had come at
+last. Day by day as his hopes grew stronger and his face brighter, he
+must have thought me a more and more affectionate friend, for I had the
+greatest difficulty in restraining my tears of triumph when I saw him so
+happy. At length, the thing being done, and he having that day entered
+Clarriker’s House, and he having talked to me for a whole evening in a
+flush of pleasure and success, I did really cry in good earnest when
+I went to bed, to think that my expectations had done some good to
+somebody.
+
+A great event in my life, the turning point of my life, now opens on my
+view. But, before I proceed to narrate it, and before I pass on to all
+the changes it involved, I must give one chapter to Estella. It is not
+much to give to the theme that so long filled my heart.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVIII
+
+If that staid old house near the Green at Richmond should ever come to
+be haunted when I am dead, it will be haunted, surely, by my ghost. O
+the many, many nights and days through which the unquiet spirit within
+me haunted that house when Estella lived there! Let my body be where it
+would, my spirit was always wandering, wandering, wandering, about that
+house.
+
+The lady with whom Estella was placed, Mrs. Brandley by name, was a
+widow, with one daughter several years older than Estella. The mother
+looked young, and the daughter looked old; the mother’s complexion was
+pink, and the daughter’s was yellow; the mother set up for frivolity,
+and the daughter for theology. They were in what is called a good
+position, and visited, and were visited by, numbers of people. Little,
+if any, community of feeling subsisted between them and Estella, but the
+understanding was established that they were necessary to her, and
+that she was necessary to them. Mrs. Brandley had been a friend of Miss
+Havisham’s before the time of her seclusion.
+
+In Mrs. Brandley’s house and out of Mrs. Brandley’s house, I suffered
+every kind and degree of torture that Estella could cause me. The
+nature of my relations with her, which placed me on terms of familiarity
+without placing me on terms of favor, conduced to my distraction.
+She made use of me to tease other admirers, and she turned the very
+familiarity between herself and me to the account of putting a constant
+slight on my devotion to her. If I had been her secretary, steward,
+half-brother, poor relation,--if I had been a younger brother of her
+appointed husband,--I could not have seemed to myself further from my
+hopes when I was nearest to her. The privilege of calling her by her
+name and hearing her call me by mine became, under the circumstances
+an aggravation of my trials; and while I think it likely that it almost
+maddened her other lovers, I know too certainly that it almost maddened
+me.
+
+She had admirers without end. No doubt my jealousy made an admirer of
+every one who went near her; but there were more than enough of them
+without that.
+
+I saw her often at Richmond, I heard of her often in town, and I used
+often to take her and the Brandleys on the water; there were picnics,
+fête days, plays, operas, concerts, parties, all sorts of pleasures,
+through which I pursued her,--and they were all miseries to me. I never
+had one hour’s happiness in her society, and yet my mind all round the
+four-and-twenty hours was harping on the happiness of having her with me
+unto death.
+
+Throughout this part of our intercourse,--and it lasted, as will
+presently be seen, for what I then thought a long time,--she habitually
+reverted to that tone which expressed that our association was forced
+upon us. There were other times when she would come to a sudden check in
+this tone and in all her many tones, and would seem to pity me.
+
+“Pip, Pip,” she said one evening, coming to such a check, when we sat
+apart at a darkening window of the house in Richmond; “will you never
+take warning?”
+
+“Of what?”
+
+“Of me.”
+
+“Warning not to be attracted by you, do you mean, Estella?”
+
+“Do I mean! If you don’t know what I mean, you are blind.”
+
+I should have replied that Love was commonly reputed blind, but for the
+reason that I always was restrained--and this was not the least of my
+miseries--by a feeling that it was ungenerous to press myself upon her,
+when she knew that she could not choose but obey Miss Havisham. My
+dread always was, that this knowledge on her part laid me under a heavy
+disadvantage with her pride, and made me the subject of a rebellious
+struggle in her bosom.
+
+“At any rate,” said I, “I have no warning given me just now, for you
+wrote to me to come to you, this time.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Estella, with a cold careless smile that always
+chilled me.
+
+After looking at the twilight without, for a little while, she went on
+to say:--
+
+“The time has come round when Miss Havisham wishes to have me for a day
+at Satis. You are to take me there, and bring me back, if you will. She
+would rather I did not travel alone, and objects to receiving my maid,
+for she has a sensitive horror of being talked of by such people. Can
+you take me?”
+
+“Can I take you, Estella!”
+
+“You can then? The day after to-morrow, if you please. You are to pay
+all charges out of my purse, You hear the condition of your going?”
+
+“And must obey,” said I.
+
+This was all the preparation I received for that visit, or for others
+like it; Miss Havisham never wrote to me, nor had I ever so much as seen
+her handwriting. We went down on the next day but one, and we found her
+in the room where I had first beheld her, and it is needless to add that
+there was no change in Satis House.
+
+She was even more dreadfully fond of Estella than she had been when
+I last saw them together; I repeat the word advisedly, for there was
+something positively dreadful in the energy of her looks and embraces.
+She hung upon Estella’s beauty, hung upon her words, hung upon her
+gestures, and sat mumbling her own trembling fingers while she looked at
+her, as though she were devouring the beautiful creature she had reared.
+
+From Estella she looked at me, with a searching glance that seemed to
+pry into my heart and probe its wounds. “How does she use you, Pip; how
+does she use you?” she asked me again, with her witch-like eagerness,
+even in Estella’s hearing. But, when we sat by her flickering fire
+at night, she was most weird; for then, keeping Estella’s hand drawn
+through her arm and clutched in her own hand, she extorted from her,
+by dint of referring back to what Estella had told her in her regular
+letters, the names and conditions of the men whom she had fascinated;
+and as Miss Havisham dwelt upon this roll, with the intensity of a mind
+mortally hurt and diseased, she sat with her other hand on her crutch
+stick, and her chin on that, and her wan bright eyes glaring at me, a
+very spectre.
+
+I saw in this, wretched though it made me, and bitter the sense of
+dependence and even of degradation that it awakened,--I saw in this that
+Estella was set to wreak Miss Havisham’s revenge on men, and that she
+was not to be given to me until she had gratified it for a term. I saw
+in this, a reason for her being beforehand assigned to me. Sending her
+out to attract and torment and do mischief, Miss Havisham sent her with
+the malicious assurance that she was beyond the reach of all admirers,
+and that all who staked upon that cast were secured to lose. I saw in
+this that I, too, was tormented by a perversion of ingenuity, even while
+the prize was reserved for me. I saw in this the reason for my being
+staved off so long and the reason for my late guardian’s declining to
+commit himself to the formal knowledge of such a scheme. In a word, I
+saw in this Miss Havisham as I had her then and there before my eyes,
+and always had had her before my eyes; and I saw in this, the distinct
+shadow of the darkened and unhealthy house in which her life was hidden
+from the sun.
+
+The candles that lighted that room of hers were placed in sconces on
+the wall. They were high from the ground, and they burnt with the steady
+dulness of artificial light in air that is seldom renewed. As I looked
+round at them, and at the pale gloom they made, and at the stopped
+clock, and at the withered articles of bridal dress upon the table and
+the ground, and at her own awful figure with its ghostly reflection
+thrown large by the fire upon the ceiling and the wall, I saw in
+everything the construction that my mind had come to, repeated and
+thrown back to me. My thoughts passed into the great room across the
+landing where the table was spread, and I saw it written, as it were, in
+the falls of the cobwebs from the centre-piece, in the crawlings of the
+spiders on the cloth, in the tracks of the mice as they betook their
+little quickened hearts behind the panels, and in the gropings and
+pausings of the beetles on the floor.
+
+It happened on the occasion of this visit that some sharp words arose
+between Estella and Miss Havisham. It was the first time I had ever seen
+them opposed.
+
+We were seated by the fire, as just now described, and Miss Havisham
+still had Estella’s arm drawn through her own, and still clutched
+Estella’s hand in hers, when Estella gradually began to detach herself.
+She had shown a proud impatience more than once before, and had rather
+endured that fierce affection than accepted or returned it.
+
+“What!” said Miss Havisham, flashing her eyes upon her, “are you tired
+of me?”
+
+“Only a little tired of myself,” replied Estella, disengaging her arm,
+and moving to the great chimney-piece, where she stood looking down at
+the fire.
+
+“Speak the truth, you ingrate!” cried Miss Havisham, passionately
+striking her stick upon the floor; “you are tired of me.”
+
+Estella looked at her with perfect composure, and again looked down
+at the fire. Her graceful figure and her beautiful face expressed a
+self-possessed indifference to the wild heat of the other, that was
+almost cruel.
+
+“You stock and stone!” exclaimed Miss Havisham. “You cold, cold heart!”
+
+“What?” said Estella, preserving her attitude of indifference as she
+leaned against the great chimney-piece and only moving her eyes; “do you
+reproach me for being cold? You?”
+
+“Are you not?” was the fierce retort.
+
+“You should know,” said Estella. “I am what you have made me. Take
+all the praise, take all the blame; take all the success, take all the
+failure; in short, take me.”
+
+“O, look at her, look at her!” cried Miss Havisham, bitterly; “Look at
+her so hard and thankless, on the hearth where she was reared! Where I
+took her into this wretched breast when it was first bleeding from its
+stabs, and where I have lavished years of tenderness upon her!”
+
+“At least I was no party to the compact,” said Estella, “for if I could
+walk and speak, when it was made, it was as much as I could do. But what
+would you have? You have been very good to me, and I owe everything to
+you. What would you have?”
+
+“Love,” replied the other.
+
+“You have it.”
+
+“I have not,” said Miss Havisham.
+
+“Mother by adoption,” retorted Estella, never departing from the easy
+grace of her attitude, never raising her voice as the other did, never
+yielding either to anger or tenderness,--“mother by adoption, I have
+said that I owe everything to you. All I possess is freely yours. All
+that you have given me, is at your command to have again. Beyond that, I
+have nothing. And if you ask me to give you, what you never gave me, my
+gratitude and duty cannot do impossibilities.”
+
+“Did I never give her love!” cried Miss Havisham, turning wildly to me.
+“Did I never give her a burning love, inseparable from jealousy at all
+times, and from sharp pain, while she speaks thus to me! Let her call me
+mad, let her call me mad!”
+
+“Why should I call you mad,” returned Estella, “I, of all people? Does
+any one live, who knows what set purposes you have, half as well as I
+do? Does any one live, who knows what a steady memory you have, half
+as well as I do? I who have sat on this same hearth on the little stool
+that is even now beside you there, learning your lessons and looking up
+into your face, when your face was strange and frightened me!”
+
+“Soon forgotten!” moaned Miss Havisham. “Times soon forgotten!”
+
+“No, not forgotten,” retorted Estella,--“not forgotten, but treasured up
+in my memory. When have you found me false to your teaching? When have
+you found me unmindful of your lessons? When have you found me giving
+admission here,” she touched her bosom with her hand, “to anything that
+you excluded? Be just to me.”
+
+“So proud, so proud!” moaned Miss Havisham, pushing away her gray hair
+with both her hands.
+
+“Who taught me to be proud?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I
+learnt my lesson?”
+
+“So hard, so hard!” moaned Miss Havisham, with her former action.
+
+“Who taught me to be hard?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I
+learnt my lesson?”
+
+“But to be proud and hard to me!” Miss Havisham quite shrieked, as she
+stretched out her arms. “Estella, Estella, Estella, to be proud and hard
+to me!”
+
+Estella looked at her for a moment with a kind of calm wonder, but was
+not otherwise disturbed; when the moment was past, she looked down at
+the fire again.
+
+“I cannot think,” said Estella, raising her eyes after a silence “why
+you should be so unreasonable when I come to see you after a separation.
+I have never forgotten your wrongs and their causes. I have never been
+unfaithful to you or your schooling. I have never shown any weakness
+that I can charge myself with.”
+
+“Would it be weakness to return my love?” exclaimed Miss Havisham. “But
+yes, yes, she would call it so!”
+
+“I begin to think,” said Estella, in a musing way, after another moment
+of calm wonder, “that I almost understand how this comes about. If you
+had brought up your adopted daughter wholly in the dark confinement of
+these rooms, and had never let her know that there was such a thing as
+the daylight by which she had never once seen your face,--if you had
+done that, and then, for a purpose had wanted her to understand the
+daylight and know all about it, you would have been disappointed and
+angry?”
+
+Miss Havisham, with her head in her hands, sat making a low moaning, and
+swaying herself on her chair, but gave no answer.
+
+“Or,” said Estella,--“which is a nearer case,--if you had taught her,
+from the dawn of her intelligence, with your utmost energy and might,
+that there was such a thing as daylight, but that it was made to be her
+enemy and destroyer, and she must always turn against it, for it had
+blighted you and would else blight her;--if you had done this, and then,
+for a purpose, had wanted her to take naturally to the daylight and she
+could not do it, you would have been disappointed and angry?”
+
+Miss Havisham sat listening (or it seemed so, for I could not see her
+face), but still made no answer.
+
+“So,” said Estella, “I must be taken as I have been made. The success is
+not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me.”
+
+Miss Havisham had settled down, I hardly knew how, upon the floor, among
+the faded bridal relics with which it was strewn. I took advantage of
+the moment--I had sought one from the first--to leave the room, after
+beseeching Estella’s attention to her, with a movement of my hand. When
+I left, Estella was yet standing by the great chimney-piece, just as she
+had stood throughout. Miss Havisham’s gray hair was all adrift upon the
+ground, among the other bridal wrecks, and was a miserable sight to see.
+
+It was with a depressed heart that I walked in the starlight for an
+hour and more, about the courtyard, and about the brewery, and about
+the ruined garden. When I at last took courage to return to the room, I
+found Estella sitting at Miss Havisham’s knee, taking up some stitches
+in one of those old articles of dress that were dropping to pieces, and
+of which I have often been reminded since by the faded tatters of old
+banners that I have seen hanging up in cathedrals. Afterwards, Estella
+and I played at cards, as of yore,--only we were skilful now, and played
+French games,--and so the evening wore away, and I went to bed.
+
+I lay in that separate building across the courtyard. It was the first
+time I had ever lain down to rest in Satis House, and sleep refused to
+come near me. A thousand Miss Havishams haunted me. She was on this side
+of my pillow, on that, at the head of the bed, at the foot, behind the
+half-opened door of the dressing-room, in the dressing-room, in the room
+overhead, in the room beneath,--everywhere. At last, when the night was
+slow to creep on towards two o’clock, I felt that I absolutely could no
+longer bear the place as a place to lie down in, and that I must get up.
+I therefore got up and put on my clothes, and went out across the yard
+into the long stone passage, designing to gain the outer courtyard and
+walk there for the relief of my mind. But I was no sooner in the passage
+than I extinguished my candle; for I saw Miss Havisham going along it
+in a ghostly manner, making a low cry. I followed her at a distance,
+and saw her go up the staircase. She carried a bare candle in her hand,
+which she had probably taken from one of the sconces in her own room,
+and was a most unearthly object by its light. Standing at the bottom
+of the staircase, I felt the mildewed air of the feast-chamber, without
+seeing her open the door, and I heard her walking there, and so across
+into her own room, and so across again into that, never ceasing the low
+cry. After a time, I tried in the dark both to get out, and to go back,
+but I could do neither until some streaks of day strayed in and showed
+me where to lay my hands. During the whole interval, whenever I went to
+the bottom of the staircase, I heard her footstep, saw her light pass
+above, and heard her ceaseless low cry.
+
+Before we left next day, there was no revival of the difference between
+her and Estella, nor was it ever revived on any similar occasion; and
+there were four similar occasions, to the best of my remembrance. Nor,
+did Miss Havisham’s manner towards Estella in anywise change, except
+that I believed it to have something like fear infused among its former
+characteristics.
+
+It is impossible to turn this leaf of my life, without putting Bentley
+Drummle’s name upon it; or I would, very gladly.
+
+On a certain occasion when the Finches were assembled in force, and when
+good feeling was being promoted in the usual manner by nobody’s agreeing
+with anybody else, the presiding Finch called the Grove to order,
+forasmuch as Mr. Drummle had not yet toasted a lady; which, according
+to the solemn constitution of the society, it was the brute’s turn to
+do that day. I thought I saw him leer in an ugly way at me while the
+decanters were going round, but as there was no love lost between us,
+that might easily be. What was my indignant surprise when he called upon
+the company to pledge him to “Estella!”
+
+“Estella who?” said I.
+
+“Never you mind,” retorted Drummle.
+
+“Estella of where?” said I. “You are bound to say of where.” Which he
+was, as a Finch.
+
+“Of Richmond, gentlemen,” said Drummle, putting me out of the question,
+“and a peerless beauty.”
+
+Much he knew about peerless beauties, a mean, miserable idiot! I
+whispered Herbert.
+
+“I know that lady,” said Herbert, across the table, when the toast had
+been honored.
+
+“Do you?” said Drummle.
+
+“And so do I,” I added, with a scarlet face.
+
+“Do you?” said Drummle. “O, Lord!”
+
+This was the only retort--except glass or crockery--that the heavy
+creature was capable of making; but, I became as highly incensed by it
+as if it had been barbed with wit, and I immediately rose in my place
+and said that I could not but regard it as being like the honorable
+Finch’s impudence to come down to that Grove,--we always talked
+about coming down to that Grove, as a neat Parliamentary turn of
+expression,--down to that Grove, proposing a lady of whom he knew
+nothing. Mr. Drummle, upon this, starting up, demanded what I meant by
+that? Whereupon I made him the extreme reply that I believed he knew
+where I was to be found.
+
+Whether it was possible in a Christian country to get on without blood,
+after this, was a question on which the Finches were divided. The debate
+upon it grew so lively, indeed, that at least six more honorable members
+told six more, during the discussion, that they believed they knew where
+they were to be found. However, it was decided at last (the Grove being
+a Court of Honor) that if Mr. Drummle would bring never so slight
+a certificate from the lady, importing that he had the honor of her
+acquaintance, Mr. Pip must express his regret, as a gentleman and a
+Finch, for “having been betrayed into a warmth which.” Next day was
+appointed for the production (lest our honor should take cold from
+delay), and next day Drummle appeared with a polite little avowal in
+Estella’s hand, that she had had the honor of dancing with him several
+times. This left me no course but to regret that I had been “betrayed
+into a warmth which,” and on the whole to repudiate, as untenable, the
+idea that I was to be found anywhere. Drummle and I then sat snorting
+at one another for an hour, while the Grove engaged in indiscriminate
+contradiction, and finally the promotion of good feeling was declared to
+have gone ahead at an amazing rate.
+
+I tell this lightly, but it was no light thing to me. For, I cannot
+adequately express what pain it gave me to think that Estella should
+show any favor to a contemptible, clumsy, sulky booby, so very far below
+the average. To the present moment, I believe it to have been referable
+to some pure fire of generosity and disinterestedness in my love for
+her, that I could not endure the thought of her stooping to that hound.
+No doubt I should have been miserable whomsoever she had favored; but
+a worthier object would have caused me a different kind and degree of
+distress.
+
+It was easy for me to find out, and I did soon find out, that Drummle
+had begun to follow her closely, and that she allowed him to do it. A
+little while, and he was always in pursuit of her, and he and I crossed
+one another every day. He held on, in a dull persistent way, and Estella
+held him on; now with encouragement, now with discouragement, now almost
+flattering him, now openly despising him, now knowing him very well, now
+scarcely remembering who he was.
+
+The Spider, as Mr. Jaggers had called him, was used to lying in wait,
+however, and had the patience of his tribe. Added to that, he had a
+blockhead confidence in his money and in his family greatness,
+which sometimes did him good service,--almost taking the place of
+concentration and determined purpose. So, the Spider, doggedly watching
+Estella, outwatched many brighter insects, and would often uncoil
+himself and drop at the right nick of time.
+
+At a certain Assembly Ball at Richmond (there used to be Assembly Balls
+at most places then), where Estella had outshone all other beauties,
+this blundering Drummle so hung about her, and with so much toleration
+on her part, that I resolved to speak to her concerning him. I took the
+next opportunity; which was when she was waiting for Mrs. Blandley to
+take her home, and was sitting apart among some flowers, ready to go.
+I was with her, for I almost always accompanied them to and from such
+places.
+
+“Are you tired, Estella?”
+
+“Rather, Pip.”
+
+“You should be.”
+
+“Say rather, I should not be; for I have my letter to Satis House to
+write, before I go to sleep.”
+
+“Recounting to-night’s triumph?” said I. “Surely a very poor one,
+Estella.”
+
+“What do you mean? I didn’t know there had been any.”
+
+“Estella,” said I, “do look at that fellow in the corner yonder, who is
+looking over here at us.”
+
+“Why should I look at him?” returned Estella, with her eyes on me
+instead. “What is there in that fellow in the corner yonder,--to use
+your words,--that I need look at?”
+
+“Indeed, that is the very question I want to ask you,” said I. “For he
+has been hovering about you all night.”
+
+“Moths, and all sorts of ugly creatures,” replied Estella, with a glance
+towards him, “hover about a lighted candle. Can the candle help it?”
+
+“No,” I returned; “but cannot the Estella help it?”
+
+“Well!” said she, laughing, after a moment, “perhaps. Yes. Anything you
+like.”
+
+“But, Estella, do hear me speak. It makes me wretched that you should
+encourage a man so generally despised as Drummle. You know he is
+despised.”
+
+“Well?” said she.
+
+“You know he is as ungainly within as without. A deficient,
+ill-tempered, lowering, stupid fellow.”
+
+“Well?” said she.
+
+“You know he has nothing to recommend him but money and a ridiculous
+roll of addle-headed predecessors; now, don’t you?”
+
+“Well?” said she again; and each time she said it, she opened her lovely
+eyes the wider.
+
+To overcome the difficulty of getting past that monosyllable, I took it
+from her, and said, repeating it with emphasis, “Well! Then, that is why
+it makes me wretched.”
+
+Now, if I could have believed that she favored Drummle with any idea of
+making me-me--wretched, I should have been in better heart about it;
+but in that habitual way of hers, she put me so entirely out of the
+question, that I could believe nothing of the kind.
+
+“Pip,” said Estella, casting her glance over the room, “don’t be foolish
+about its effect on you. It may have its effect on others, and may be
+meant to have. It’s not worth discussing.”
+
+“Yes it is,” said I, “because I cannot bear that people should say, ‘she
+throws away her graces and attractions on a mere boor, the lowest in the
+crowd.’”
+
+“I can bear it,” said Estella.
+
+“Oh! don’t be so proud, Estella, and so inflexible.”
+
+“Calls me proud and inflexible in this breath!” said Estella, opening
+her hands. “And in his last breath reproached me for stooping to a
+boor!”
+
+“There is no doubt you do,” said I, something hurriedly, “for I have
+seen you give him looks and smiles this very night, such as you never
+give to--me.”
+
+“Do you want me then,” said Estella, turning suddenly with a fixed and
+serious, if not angry, look, “to deceive and entrap you?”
+
+“Do you deceive and entrap him, Estella?”
+
+“Yes, and many others,--all of them but you. Here is Mrs. Brandley. I’ll
+say no more.”
+
+* *
+
+And now that I have given the one chapter to the theme that so filled my
+heart, and so often made it ache and ache again, I pass on unhindered,
+to the event that had impended over me longer yet; the event that had
+begun to be prepared for, before I knew that the world held Estella,
+and in the days when her baby intelligence was receiving its first
+distortions from Miss Havisham’s wasting hands.
+
+In the Eastern story, the heavy slab that was to fall on the bed of
+state in the flush of conquest was slowly wrought out of the quarry, the
+tunnel for the rope to hold it in its place was slowly carried through
+the leagues of rock, the slab was slowly raised and fitted in the roof,
+the rope was rove to it and slowly taken through the miles of hollow to
+the great iron ring. All being made ready with much labor, and the hour
+come, the sultan was aroused in the dead of the night, and the sharpened
+axe that was to sever the rope from the great iron ring was put into his
+hand, and he struck with it, and the rope parted and rushed away, and
+the ceiling fell. So, in my case; all the work, near and afar, that
+tended to the end, had been accomplished; and in an instant the blow was
+struck, and the roof of my stronghold dropped upon me.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIX
+
+I was three-and-twenty years of age. Not another word had I heard to
+enlighten me on the subject of my expectations, and my twenty-third
+birthday was a week gone. We had left Barnard’s Inn more than a year,
+and lived in the Temple. Our chambers were in Garden-court, down by the
+river.
+
+Mr. Pocket and I had for some time parted company as to our original
+relations, though we continued on the best terms. Notwithstanding my
+inability to settle to anything,--which I hope arose out of the restless
+and incomplete tenure on which I held my means,--I had a taste for
+reading, and read regularly so many hours a day. That matter of
+Herbert’s was still progressing, and everything with me was as I have
+brought it down to the close of the last preceding chapter.
+
+Business had taken Herbert on a journey to Marseilles. I was alone, and
+had a dull sense of being alone. Dispirited and anxious, long hoping
+that to-morrow or next week would clear my way, and long disappointed, I
+sadly missed the cheerful face and ready response of my friend.
+
+It was wretched weather; stormy and wet, stormy and wet; and mud, mud,
+mud, deep in all the streets. Day after day, a vast heavy veil had been
+driving over London from the East, and it drove still, as if in the East
+there were an Eternity of cloud and wind. So furious had been the gusts,
+that high buildings in town had had the lead stripped off their roofs;
+and in the country, trees had been torn up, and sails of windmills
+carried away; and gloomy accounts had come in from the coast, of
+shipwreck and death. Violent blasts of rain had accompanied these rages
+of wind, and the day just closed as I sat down to read had been the
+worst of all.
+
+Alterations have been made in that part of the Temple since that time,
+and it has not now so lonely a character as it had then, nor is it so
+exposed to the river. We lived at the top of the last house, and the
+wind rushing up the river shook the house that night, like discharges
+of cannon, or breakings of a sea. When the rain came with it and dashed
+against the windows, I thought, raising my eyes to them as they
+rocked, that I might have fancied myself in a storm-beaten lighthouse.
+Occasionally, the smoke came rolling down the chimney as though it could
+not bear to go out into such a night; and when I set the doors open and
+looked down the staircase, the staircase lamps were blown out; and when
+I shaded my face with my hands and looked through the black windows
+(opening them ever so little was out of the question in the teeth of
+such wind and rain), I saw that the lamps in the court were blown out,
+and that the lamps on the bridges and the shore were shuddering, and
+that the coal-fires in barges on the river were being carried away
+before the wind like red-hot splashes in the rain.
+
+I read with my watch upon the table, purposing to close my book
+at eleven o’clock. As I shut it, Saint Paul’s, and all the many
+church-clocks in the City--some leading, some accompanying, some
+following--struck that hour. The sound was curiously flawed by the wind;
+and I was listening, and thinking how the wind assailed and tore it,
+when I heard a footstep on the stair.
+
+What nervous folly made me start, and awfully connect it with the
+footstep of my dead sister, matters not. It was past in a moment, and I
+listened again, and heard the footstep stumble in coming on.
+Remembering then, that the staircase-lights were blown out, I took up
+my reading-lamp and went out to the stair-head. Whoever was below had
+stopped on seeing my lamp, for all was quiet.
+
+“There is some one down there, is there not?” I called out, looking
+down.
+
+“Yes,” said a voice from the darkness beneath.
+
+“What floor do you want?”
+
+“The top. Mr. Pip.”
+
+“That is my name.--There is nothing the matter?”
+
+“Nothing the matter,” returned the voice. And the man came on.
+
+I stood with my lamp held out over the stair-rail, and he came slowly
+within its light. It was a shaded lamp, to shine upon a book, and its
+circle of light was very contracted; so that he was in it for a mere
+instant, and then out of it. In the instant, I had seen a face that was
+strange to me, looking up with an incomprehensible air of being touched
+and pleased by the sight of me.
+
+Moving the lamp as the man moved, I made out that he was substantially
+dressed, but roughly, like a voyager by sea. That he had long iron-gray
+hair. That his age was about sixty. That he was a muscular man, strong
+on his legs, and that he was browned and hardened by exposure to
+weather. As he ascended the last stair or two, and the light of my lamp
+included us both, I saw, with a stupid kind of amazement, that he was
+holding out both his hands to me.
+
+“Pray what is your business?” I asked him.
+
+“My business?” he repeated, pausing. “Ah! Yes. I will explain my
+business, by your leave.”
+
+“Do you wish to come in?”
+
+“Yes,” he replied; “I wish to come in, master.”
+
+I had asked him the question inhospitably enough, for I resented the
+sort of bright and gratified recognition that still shone in his face.
+I resented it, because it seemed to imply that he expected me to respond
+to it. But I took him into the room I had just left, and, having set the
+lamp on the table, asked him as civilly as I could to explain himself.
+
+He looked about him with the strangest air,--an air of wondering
+pleasure, as if he had some part in the things he admired,--and he
+pulled off a rough outer coat, and his hat. Then, I saw that his head
+was furrowed and bald, and that the long iron-gray hair grew only on
+its sides. But, I saw nothing that in the least explained him. On the
+contrary, I saw him next moment, once more holding out both his hands to
+me.
+
+“What do you mean?” said I, half suspecting him to be mad.
+
+He stopped in his looking at me, and slowly rubbed his right hand over
+his head. “It’s disapinting to a man,” he said, in a coarse broken
+voice, “arter having looked for’ard so distant, and come so fur; but
+you’re not to blame for that,--neither on us is to blame for that. I’ll
+speak in half a minute. Give me half a minute, please.”
+
+He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his
+forehead with his large brown veinous hands. I looked at him attentively
+then, and recoiled a little from him; but I did not know him.
+
+“There’s no one nigh,” said he, looking over his shoulder; “is there?”
+
+“Why do you, a stranger coming into my rooms at this time of the night,
+ask that question?” said I.
+
+“You’re a game one,” he returned, shaking his head at me with a
+deliberate affection, at once most unintelligible and most exasperating;
+“I’m glad you’ve grow’d up, a game one! But don’t catch hold of me.
+You’d be sorry arterwards to have done it.”
+
+I relinquished the intention he had detected, for I knew him! Even yet
+I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him! If the wind and
+the rain had driven away the intervening years, had scattered all the
+intervening objects, had swept us to the churchyard where we first stood
+face to face on such different levels, I could not have known my convict
+more distinctly than I knew him now as he sat in the chair before the
+fire. No need to take a file from his pocket and show it to me; no need
+to take the handkerchief from his neck and twist it round his head; no
+need to hug himself with both his arms, and take a shivering turn across
+the room, looking back at me for recognition. I knew him before he gave
+me one of those aids, though, a moment before, I had not been conscious
+of remotely suspecting his identity.
+
+He came back to where I stood, and again held out both his hands.
+Not knowing what to do,--for, in my astonishment I had lost my
+self-possession,--I reluctantly gave him my hands. He grasped them
+heartily, raised them to his lips, kissed them, and still held them.
+
+“You acted noble, my boy,” said he. “Noble, Pip! And I have never forgot
+it!”
+
+At a change in his manner as if he were even going to embrace me, I laid
+a hand upon his breast and put him away.
+
+“Stay!” said I. “Keep off! If you are grateful to me for what I did when
+I was a little child, I hope you have shown your gratitude by mending
+your way of life. If you have come here to thank me, it was not
+necessary. Still, however you have found me out, there must be something
+good in the feeling that has brought you here, and I will not repulse
+you; but surely you must understand that--I--”
+
+My attention was so attracted by the singularity of his fixed look at
+me, that the words died away on my tongue.
+
+“You was a saying,” he observed, when we had confronted one another
+in silence, “that surely I must understand. What, surely must I
+understand?”
+
+“That I cannot wish to renew that chance intercourse with you of long
+ago, under these different circumstances. I am glad to believe you have
+repented and recovered yourself. I am glad to tell you so. I am glad
+that, thinking I deserve to be thanked, you have come to thank me. But
+our ways are different ways, none the less. You are wet, and you look
+weary. Will you drink something before you go?”
+
+He had replaced his neckerchief loosely, and had stood, keenly observant
+of me, biting a long end of it. “I think,” he answered, still with the
+end at his mouth and still observant of me, “that I will drink (I thank
+you) afore I go.”
+
+There was a tray ready on a side-table. I brought it to the table
+near the fire, and asked him what he would have? He touched one of the
+bottles without looking at it or speaking, and I made him some hot rum
+and water. I tried to keep my hand steady while I did so, but his look
+at me as he leaned back in his chair with the long draggled end of his
+neckerchief between his teeth--evidently forgotten--made my hand very
+difficult to master. When at last I put the glass to him, I saw with
+amazement that his eyes were full of tears.
+
+Up to this time I had remained standing, not to disguise that I wished
+him gone. But I was softened by the softened aspect of the man, and felt
+a touch of reproach. “I hope,” said I, hurriedly putting something into
+a glass for myself, and drawing a chair to the table, “that you will not
+think I spoke harshly to you just now. I had no intention of doing it,
+and I am sorry for it if I did. I wish you well and happy!”
+
+As I put my glass to my lips, he glanced with surprise at the end of his
+neckerchief, dropping from his mouth when he opened it, and stretched
+out his hand. I gave him mine, and then he drank, and drew his sleeve
+across his eyes and forehead.
+
+“How are you living?” I asked him.
+
+“I’ve been a sheep-farmer, stock-breeder, other trades besides, away in
+the new world,” said he; “many a thousand mile of stormy water off from
+this.”
+
+“I hope you have done well?”
+
+“I’ve done wonderfully well. There’s others went out alonger me as has
+done well too, but no man has done nigh as well as me. I’m famous for
+it.”
+
+“I am glad to hear it.”
+
+“I hope to hear you say so, my dear boy.”
+
+Without stopping to try to understand those words or the tone in which
+they were spoken, I turned off to a point that had just come into my
+mind.
+
+“Have you ever seen a messenger you once sent to me,” I inquired, “since
+he undertook that trust?”
+
+“Never set eyes upon him. I warn’t likely to it.”
+
+“He came faithfully, and he brought me the two one-pound notes. I was
+a poor boy then, as you know, and to a poor boy they were a little
+fortune. But, like you, I have done well since, and you must let me pay
+them back. You can put them to some other poor boy’s use.” I took out my
+purse.
+
+He watched me as I laid my purse upon the table and opened it, and he
+watched me as I separated two one-pound notes from its contents. They
+were clean and new, and I spread them out and handed them over to
+him. Still watching me, he laid them one upon the other, folded them
+long-wise, gave them a twist, set fire to them at the lamp, and dropped
+the ashes into the tray.
+
+“May I make so bold,” he said then, with a smile that was like a frown,
+and with a frown that was like a smile, “as ask you how you have done
+well, since you and me was out on them lone shivering marshes?”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+He emptied his glass, got up, and stood at the side of the fire, with
+his heavy brown hand on the mantel-shelf. He put a foot up to the bars,
+to dry and warm it, and the wet boot began to steam; but, he neither
+looked at it, nor at the fire, but steadily looked at me. It was only
+now that I began to tremble.
+
+When my lips had parted, and had shaped some words that were
+without sound, I forced myself to tell him (though I could not do it
+distinctly), that I had been chosen to succeed to some property.
+
+“Might a mere warmint ask what property?” said he.
+
+I faltered, “I don’t know.”
+
+“Might a mere warmint ask whose property?” said he.
+
+I faltered again, “I don’t know.”
+
+“Could I make a guess, I wonder,” said the Convict, “at your income
+since you come of age! As to the first figure now. Five?”
+
+With my heart beating like a heavy hammer of disordered action, I rose
+out of my chair, and stood with my hand upon the back of it, looking
+wildly at him.
+
+“Concerning a guardian,” he went on. “There ought to have been some
+guardian, or such-like, whiles you was a minor. Some lawyer, maybe. As
+to the first letter of that lawyer’s name now. Would it be J?”
+
+All the truth of my position came flashing on me; and its
+disappointments, dangers, disgraces, consequences of all kinds, rushed
+in in such a multitude that I was borne down by them and had to struggle
+for every breath I drew.
+
+“Put it,” he resumed, “as the employer of that lawyer whose name begun
+with a J, and might be Jaggers,--put it as he had come over sea to
+Portsmouth, and had landed there, and had wanted to come on to you.
+‘However, you have found me out,’ you says just now. Well! However, did
+I find you out? Why, I wrote from Portsmouth to a person in London, for
+particulars of your address. That person’s name? Why, Wemmick.”
+
+I could not have spoken one word, though it had been to save my life.
+I stood, with a hand on the chair-back and a hand on my breast, where
+I seemed to be suffocating,--I stood so, looking wildly at him, until I
+grasped at the chair, when the room began to surge and turn. He caught
+me, drew me to the sofa, put me up against the cushions, and bent on one
+knee before me, bringing the face that I now well remembered, and that I
+shuddered at, very near to mine.
+
+“Yes, Pip, dear boy, I’ve made a gentleman on you! It’s me wot has
+done it! I swore that time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea
+should go to you. I swore arterwards, sure as ever I spec’lated and got
+rich, you should get rich. I lived rough, that you should live smooth;
+I worked hard, that you should be above work. What odds, dear boy? Do I
+tell it, fur you to feel a obligation? Not a bit. I tell it, fur you to
+know as that there hunted dunghill dog wot you kep life in, got his head
+so high that he could make a gentleman,--and, Pip, you’re him!”
+
+The abhorrence in which I held the man, the dread I had of him, the
+repugnance with which I shrank from him, could not have been exceeded if
+he had been some terrible beast.
+
+“Look’ee here, Pip. I’m your second father. You’re my son,--more to me
+nor any son. I’ve put away money, only for you to spend. When I was a
+hired-out shepherd in a solitary hut, not seeing no faces but faces of
+sheep till I half forgot wot men’s and women’s faces wos like, I see
+yourn. I drops my knife many a time in that hut when I was a-eating my
+dinner or my supper, and I says, ‘Here’s the boy again, a looking at
+me whiles I eats and drinks!’ I see you there a many times, as plain as
+ever I see you on them misty marshes. ‘Lord strike me dead!’ I says each
+time,--and I goes out in the air to say it under the open heavens,--‘but
+wot, if I gets liberty and money, I’ll make that boy a gentleman!’ And
+I done it. Why, look at you, dear boy! Look at these here lodgings
+o’yourn, fit for a lord! A lord? Ah! You shall show money with lords for
+wagers, and beat ‘em!”
+
+In his heat and triumph, and in his knowledge that I had been nearly
+fainting, he did not remark on my reception of all this. It was the one
+grain of relief I had.
+
+“Look’ee here!” he went on, taking my watch out of my pocket, and
+turning towards him a ring on my finger, while I recoiled from his
+touch as if he had been a snake, “a gold ‘un and a beauty: that’s a
+gentleman’s, I hope! A diamond all set round with rubies; that’s a
+gentleman’s, I hope! Look at your linen; fine and beautiful! Look at
+your clothes; better ain’t to be got! And your books too,” turning his
+eyes round the room, “mounting up, on their shelves, by hundreds! And
+you read ‘em; don’t you? I see you’d been a reading of ‘em when I come
+in. Ha, ha, ha! You shall read ‘em to me, dear boy! And if they’re in
+foreign languages wot I don’t understand, I shall be just as proud as if
+I did.”
+
+Again he took both my hands and put them to his lips, while my blood ran
+cold within me.
+
+“Don’t you mind talking, Pip,” said he, after again drawing his sleeve
+over his eyes and forehead, as the click came in his throat which I well
+remembered,--and he was all the more horrible to me that he was so much
+in earnest; “you can’t do better nor keep quiet, dear boy. You ain’t
+looked slowly forward to this as I have; you wosn’t prepared for this as
+I wos. But didn’t you never think it might be me?”
+
+“O no, no, no,” I returned, “Never, never!”
+
+“Well, you see it wos me, and single-handed. Never a soul in it but my
+own self and Mr. Jaggers.”
+
+“Was there no one else?” I asked.
+
+“No,” said he, with a glance of surprise: “who else should there be?
+And, dear boy, how good looking you have growed! There’s bright eyes
+somewheres--eh? Isn’t there bright eyes somewheres, wot you love the
+thoughts on?”
+
+O Estella, Estella!
+
+“They shall be yourn, dear boy, if money can buy ‘em. Not that a
+gentleman like you, so well set up as you, can’t win ‘em off of his own
+game; but money shall back you! Let me finish wot I was a telling you,
+dear boy. From that there hut and that there hiring-out, I got money
+left me by my master (which died, and had been the same as me), and got
+my liberty and went for myself. In every single thing I went for, I went
+for you. ‘Lord strike a blight upon it,’ I says, wotever it was I went
+for, ‘if it ain’t for him!’ It all prospered wonderful. As I giv’ you
+to understand just now, I’m famous for it. It was the money left me, and
+the gains of the first few year wot I sent home to Mr. Jaggers--all for
+you--when he first come arter you, agreeable to my letter.”
+
+O that he had never come! That he had left me at the forge,--far from
+contented, yet, by comparison happy!
+
+“And then, dear boy, it was a recompense to me, look’ee here, to know in
+secret that I was making a gentleman. The blood horses of them colonists
+might fling up the dust over me as I was walking; what do I say? I says
+to myself, ‘I’m making a better gentleman nor ever you’ll be!’ When
+one of ‘em says to another, ‘He was a convict, a few year ago, and is a
+ignorant common fellow now, for all he’s lucky,’ what do I say? I says
+to myself, ‘If I ain’t a gentleman, nor yet ain’t got no learning, I’m
+the owner of such. All on you owns stock and land; which on you owns a
+brought-up London gentleman?’ This way I kep myself a going. And this
+way I held steady afore my mind that I would for certain come one day
+and see my boy, and make myself known to him, on his own ground.”
+
+He laid his hand on my shoulder. I shuddered at the thought that for
+anything I knew, his hand might be stained with blood.
+
+“It warn’t easy, Pip, for me to leave them parts, nor yet it warn’t
+safe. But I held to it, and the harder it was, the stronger I held, for
+I was determined, and my mind firm made up. At last I done it. Dear boy,
+I done it!”
+
+I tried to collect my thoughts, but I was stunned. Throughout, I had
+seemed to myself to attend more to the wind and the rain than to him;
+even now, I could not separate his voice from those voices, though those
+were loud and his was silent.
+
+“Where will you put me?” he asked, presently. “I must be put somewheres,
+dear boy.”
+
+“To sleep?” said I.
+
+“Yes. And to sleep long and sound,” he answered; “for I’ve been
+sea-tossed and sea-washed, months and months.”
+
+“My friend and companion,” said I, rising from the sofa, “is absent; you
+must have his room.”
+
+“He won’t come back to-morrow; will he?”
+
+“No,” said I, answering almost mechanically, in spite of my utmost
+efforts; “not to-morrow.”
+
+“Because, look’ee here, dear boy,” he said, dropping his voice, and
+laying a long finger on my breast in an impressive manner, “caution is
+necessary.”
+
+“How do you mean? Caution?”
+
+“By G----, it’s Death!”
+
+“What’s death?”
+
+“I was sent for life. It’s death to come back. There’s been overmuch
+coming back of late years, and I should of a certainty be hanged if
+took.”
+
+Nothing was needed but this; the wretched man, after loading wretched me
+with his gold and silver chains for years, had risked his life to come
+to me, and I held it there in my keeping! If I had loved him instead
+of abhorring him; if I had been attracted to him by the strongest
+admiration and affection, instead of shrinking from him with the
+strongest repugnance; it could have been no worse. On the contrary, it
+would have been better, for his preservation would then have naturally
+and tenderly addressed my heart.
+
+My first care was to close the shutters, so that no light might be seen
+from without, and then to close and make fast the doors. While I did so,
+he stood at the table drinking rum and eating biscuit; and when I saw
+him thus engaged, I saw my convict on the marshes at his meal again. It
+almost seemed to me as if he must stoop down presently, to file at his
+leg.
+
+When I had gone into Herbert’s room, and had shut off any other
+communication between it and the staircase than through the room in
+which our conversation had been held, I asked him if he would go to bed?
+He said yes, but asked me for some of my “gentleman’s linen” to put
+on in the morning. I brought it out, and laid it ready for him, and my
+blood again ran cold when he again took me by both hands to give me good
+night.
+
+I got away from him, without knowing how I did it, and mended the fire
+in the room where we had been together, and sat down by it, afraid to go
+to bed. For an hour or more, I remained too stunned to think; and it
+was not until I began to think, that I began fully to know how wrecked I
+was, and how the ship in which I had sailed was gone to pieces.
+
+Miss Havisham’s intentions towards me, all a mere dream; Estella not
+designed for me; I only suffered in Satis House as a convenience, a
+sting for the greedy relations, a model with a mechanical heart to
+practise on when no other practice was at hand; those were the first
+smarts I had. But, sharpest and deepest pain of all,--it was for the
+convict, guilty of I knew not what crimes, and liable to be taken out
+of those rooms where I sat thinking, and hanged at the Old Bailey door,
+that I had deserted Joe.
+
+I would not have gone back to Joe now, I would not have gone back to
+Biddy now, for any consideration; simply, I suppose, because my sense of
+my own worthless conduct to them was greater than every consideration.
+No wisdom on earth could have given me the comfort that I should have
+derived from their simplicity and fidelity; but I could never, never,
+undo what I had done.
+
+In every rage of wind and rush of rain, I heard pursuers. Twice, I could
+have sworn there was a knocking and whispering at the outer door. With
+these fears upon me, I began either to imagine or recall that I had had
+mysterious warnings of this man’s approach. That, for weeks gone by, I
+had passed faces in the streets which I had thought like his. That these
+likenesses had grown more numerous, as he, coming over the sea, had
+drawn nearer. That his wicked spirit had somehow sent these messengers
+to mine, and that now on this stormy night he was as good as his word,
+and with me.
+
+Crowding up with these reflections came the reflection that I had seen
+him with my childish eyes to be a desperately violent man; that I had
+heard that other convict reiterate that he had tried to murder him; that
+I had seen him down in the ditch tearing and fighting like a wild
+beast. Out of such remembrances I brought into the light of the fire a
+half-formed terror that it might not be safe to be shut up there with
+him in the dead of the wild solitary night. This dilated until it filled
+the room, and impelled me to take a candle and go in and look at my
+dreadful burden.
+
+He had rolled a handkerchief round his head, and his face was set and
+lowering in his sleep. But he was asleep, and quietly too, though he had
+a pistol lying on the pillow. Assured of this, I softly removed the key
+to the outside of his door, and turned it on him before I again sat down
+by the fire. Gradually I slipped from the chair and lay on the floor.
+When I awoke without having parted in my sleep with the perception of
+my wretchedness, the clocks of the Eastward churches were striking five,
+the candles were wasted out, the fire was dead, and the wind and rain
+intensified the thick black darkness.
+
+THIS IS THE END OF THE SECOND STAGE OF PIP’S EXPECTATIONS.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XL
+
+It was fortunate for me that I had to take precautions to ensure (so far
+as I could) the safety of my dreaded visitor; for, this thought pressing
+on me when I awoke, held other thoughts in a confused concourse at a
+distance.
+
+The impossibility of keeping him concealed in the chambers was
+self-evident. It could not be done, and the attempt to do it would
+inevitably engender suspicion. True, I had no Avenger in my service now,
+but I was looked after by an inflammatory old female, assisted by an
+animated rag-bag whom she called her niece, and to keep a room secret
+from them would be to invite curiosity and exaggeration. They both had
+weak eyes, which I had long attributed to their chronically looking in
+at keyholes, and they were always at hand when not wanted; indeed that
+was their only reliable quality besides larceny. Not to get up a mystery
+with these people, I resolved to announce in the morning that my uncle
+had unexpectedly come from the country.
+
+This course I decided on while I was yet groping about in the darkness
+for the means of getting a light. Not stumbling on the means after all,
+I was fain to go out to the adjacent Lodge and get the watchman there to
+come with his lantern. Now, in groping my way down the black staircase I
+fell over something, and that something was a man crouching in a corner.
+
+As the man made no answer when I asked him what he did there, but eluded
+my touch in silence, I ran to the Lodge and urged the watchman to come
+quickly; telling him of the incident on the way back. The wind being as
+fierce as ever, we did not care to endanger the light in the lantern by
+rekindling the extinguished lamps on the staircase, but we examined the
+staircase from the bottom to the top and found no one there. It then
+occurred to me as possible that the man might have slipped into my
+rooms; so, lighting my candle at the watchman’s, and leaving him
+standing at the door, I examined them carefully, including the room in
+which my dreaded guest lay asleep. All was quiet, and assuredly no other
+man was in those chambers.
+
+It troubled me that there should have been a lurker on the stairs, on
+that night of all nights in the year, and I asked the watchman, on the
+chance of eliciting some hopeful explanation as I handed him a dram
+at the door, whether he had admitted at his gate any gentleman who had
+perceptibly been dining out? Yes, he said; at different times of the
+night, three. One lived in Fountain Court, and the other two lived in
+the Lane, and he had seen them all go home. Again, the only other man
+who dwelt in the house of which my chambers formed a part had been in
+the country for some weeks, and he certainly had not returned in the
+night, because we had seen his door with his seal on it as we came
+upstairs.
+
+“The night being so bad, sir,” said the watchman, as he gave me back
+my glass, “uncommon few have come in at my gate. Besides them three
+gentlemen that I have named, I don’t call to mind another since about
+eleven o’clock, when a stranger asked for you.”
+
+“My uncle,” I muttered. “Yes.”
+
+“You saw him, sir?”
+
+“Yes. Oh yes.”
+
+“Likewise the person with him?”
+
+“Person with him!” I repeated.
+
+“I judged the person to be with him,” returned the watchman. “The person
+stopped, when he stopped to make inquiry of me, and the person took this
+way when he took this way.”
+
+“What sort of person?”
+
+The watchman had not particularly noticed; he should say a working
+person; to the best of his belief, he had a dust-colored kind of clothes
+on, under a dark coat. The watchman made more light of the matter than I
+did, and naturally; not having my reason for attaching weight to it.
+
+When I had got rid of him, which I thought it well to do without
+prolonging explanations, my mind was much troubled by these two
+circumstances taken together. Whereas they were easy of innocent
+solution apart,--as, for instance, some diner out or diner at home,
+who had not gone near this watchman’s gate, might have strayed to my
+staircase and dropped asleep there,--and my nameless visitor might have
+brought some one with him to show him the way,--still, joined, they had
+an ugly look to one as prone to distrust and fear as the changes of a
+few hours had made me.
+
+I lighted my fire, which burnt with a raw pale flare at that time of the
+morning, and fell into a doze before it. I seemed to have been dozing a
+whole night when the clocks struck six. As there was full an hour and
+a half between me and daylight, I dozed again; now, waking up uneasily,
+with prolix conversations about nothing, in my ears; now, making thunder
+of the wind in the chimney; at length, falling off into a profound sleep
+from which the daylight woke me with a start.
+
+All this time I had never been able to consider my own situation, nor
+could I do so yet. I had not the power to attend to it. I was greatly
+dejected and distressed, but in an incoherent wholesale sort of way.
+As to forming any plan for the future, I could as soon have formed an
+elephant. When I opened the shutters and looked out at the wet wild
+morning, all of a leaden hue; when I walked from room to room; when I
+sat down again shivering, before the fire, waiting for my laundress to
+appear; I thought how miserable I was, but hardly knew why, or how long
+I had been so, or on what day of the week I made the reflection, or even
+who I was that made it.
+
+At last, the old woman and the niece came in,--the latter with a head
+not easily distinguishable from her dusty broom,--and testified surprise
+at sight of me and the fire. To whom I imparted how my uncle had come in
+the night and was then asleep, and how the breakfast preparations were
+to be modified accordingly. Then I washed and dressed while they knocked
+the furniture about and made a dust; and so, in a sort of dream
+or sleep-waking, I found myself sitting by the fire again, waiting
+for--Him--to come to breakfast.
+
+By and by, his door opened and he came out. I could not bring myself to
+bear the sight of him, and I thought he had a worse look by daylight.
+
+“I do not even know,” said I, speaking low as he took his seat at the
+table, “by what name to call you. I have given out that you are my
+uncle.”
+
+“That’s it, dear boy! Call me uncle.”
+
+“You assumed some name, I suppose, on board ship?”
+
+“Yes, dear boy. I took the name of Provis.”
+
+“Do you mean to keep that name?”
+
+“Why, yes, dear boy, it’s as good as another,--unless you’d like
+another.”
+
+“What is your real name?” I asked him in a whisper.
+
+“Magwitch,” he answered, in the same tone; “chrisen’d Abel.”
+
+“What were you brought up to be?”
+
+“A warmint, dear boy.”
+
+He answered quite seriously, and used the word as if it denoted some
+profession.
+
+“When you came into the Temple last night--” said I, pausing to wonder
+whether that could really have been last night, which seemed so long
+ago.
+
+“Yes, dear boy?”
+
+“When you came in at the gate and asked the watchman the way here, had
+you any one with you?”
+
+“With me? No, dear boy.”
+
+“But there was some one there?”
+
+“I didn’t take particular notice,” he said, dubiously, “not knowing the
+ways of the place. But I think there was a person, too, come in alonger
+me.”
+
+“Are you known in London?”
+
+“I hope not!” said he, giving his neck a jerk with his forefinger that
+made me turn hot and sick.
+
+“Were you known in London, once?”
+
+“Not over and above, dear boy. I was in the provinces mostly.”
+
+“Were you--tried--in London?”
+
+“Which time?” said he, with a sharp look.
+
+“The last time.”
+
+He nodded. “First knowed Mr. Jaggers that way. Jaggers was for me.”
+
+It was on my lips to ask him what he was tried for, but he took up
+a knife, gave it a flourish, and with the words, “And what I done is
+worked out and paid for!” fell to at his breakfast.
+
+He ate in a ravenous way that was very disagreeable, and all his actions
+were uncouth, noisy, and greedy. Some of his teeth had failed him since
+I saw him eat on the marshes, and as he turned his food in his mouth,
+and turned his head sideways to bring his strongest fangs to bear upon
+it, he looked terribly like a hungry old dog. If I had begun with any
+appetite, he would have taken it away, and I should have sat much as
+I did,--repelled from him by an insurmountable aversion, and gloomily
+looking at the cloth.
+
+“I’m a heavy grubber, dear boy,” he said, as a polite kind of apology
+when he made an end of his meal, “but I always was. If it had been in
+my constitution to be a lighter grubber, I might ha’ got into lighter
+trouble. Similarly, I must have my smoke. When I was first hired out as
+shepherd t’other side the world, it’s my belief I should ha’ turned into
+a molloncolly-mad sheep myself, if I hadn’t a had my smoke.”
+
+As he said so, he got up from table, and putting his hand into the
+breast of the pea-coat he wore, brought out a short black pipe, and a
+handful of loose tobacco of the kind that is called Negro-head. Having
+filled his pipe, he put the surplus tobacco back again, as if his pocket
+were a drawer. Then, he took a live coal from the fire with the tongs,
+and lighted his pipe at it, and then turned round on the hearth-rug with
+his back to the fire, and went through his favorite action of holding
+out both his hands for mine.
+
+“And this,” said he, dandling my hands up and down in his, as he puffed
+at his pipe,--“and this is the gentleman what I made! The real genuine
+One! It does me good fur to look at you, Pip. All I stip’late, is, to
+stand by and look at you, dear boy!”
+
+I released my hands as soon as I could, and found that I was beginning
+slowly to settle down to the contemplation of my condition. What I was
+chained to, and how heavily, became intelligible to me, as I heard his
+hoarse voice, and sat looking up at his furrowed bald head with its iron
+gray hair at the sides.
+
+“I mustn’t see my gentleman a footing it in the mire of the streets;
+there mustn’t be no mud on his boots. My gentleman must have horses,
+Pip! Horses to ride, and horses to drive, and horses for his servant
+to ride and drive as well. Shall colonists have their horses (and blood
+‘uns, if you please, good Lord!) and not my London gentleman? No, no.
+We’ll show ‘em another pair of shoes than that, Pip; won’t us?”
+
+He took out of his pocket a great thick pocket-book, bursting with
+papers, and tossed it on the table.
+
+“There’s something worth spending in that there book, dear boy. It’s
+yourn. All I’ve got ain’t mine; it’s yourn. Don’t you be afeerd on it.
+There’s more where that come from. I’ve come to the old country fur
+to see my gentleman spend his money like a gentleman. That’ll be my
+pleasure. My pleasure ‘ull be fur to see him do it. And blast you all!”
+ he wound up, looking round the room and snapping his fingers once with
+a loud snap, “blast you every one, from the judge in his wig, to the
+colonist a stirring up the dust, I’ll show a better gentleman than the
+whole kit on you put together!”
+
+“Stop!” said I, almost in a frenzy of fear and dislike, “I want to speak
+to you. I want to know what is to be done. I want to know how you are to
+be kept out of danger, how long you are going to stay, what projects you
+have.”
+
+“Look’ee here, Pip,” said he, laying his hand on my arm in a suddenly
+altered and subdued manner; “first of all, look’ee here. I forgot myself
+half a minute ago. What I said was low; that’s what it was; low. Look’ee
+here, Pip. Look over it. I ain’t a going to be low.”
+
+“First,” I resumed, half groaning, “what precautions can be taken
+against your being recognized and seized?”
+
+“No, dear boy,” he said, in the same tone as before, “that don’t
+go first. Lowness goes first. I ain’t took so many year to make a
+gentleman, not without knowing what’s due to him. Look’ee here, Pip. I
+was low; that’s what I was; low. Look over it, dear boy.”
+
+Some sense of the grimly-ludicrous moved me to a fretful laugh, as I
+replied, “I have looked over it. In Heaven’s name, don’t harp upon it!”
+
+“Yes, but look’ee here,” he persisted. “Dear boy, I ain’t come so fur,
+not fur to be low. Now, go on, dear boy. You was a saying--”
+
+“How are you to be guarded from the danger you have incurred?”
+
+“Well, dear boy, the danger ain’t so great. Without I was informed
+agen, the danger ain’t so much to signify. There’s Jaggers, and there’s
+Wemmick, and there’s you. Who else is there to inform?”
+
+“Is there no chance person who might identify you in the street?” said
+I.
+
+“Well,” he returned, “there ain’t many. Nor yet I don’t intend to
+advertise myself in the newspapers by the name of A.M. come back from
+Botany Bay; and years have rolled away, and who’s to gain by it? Still,
+look’ee here, Pip. If the danger had been fifty times as great, I should
+ha’ come to see you, mind you, just the same.”
+
+“And how long do you remain?”
+
+“How long?” said he, taking his black pipe from his mouth, and dropping
+his jaw as he stared at me. “I’m not a going back. I’ve come for good.”
+
+“Where are you to live?” said I. “What is to be done with you? Where
+will you be safe?”
+
+“Dear boy,” he returned, “there’s disguising wigs can be bought
+for money, and there’s hair powder, and spectacles, and black
+clothes,--shorts and what not. Others has done it safe afore, and what
+others has done afore, others can do agen. As to the where and how of
+living, dear boy, give me your own opinions on it.”
+
+“You take it smoothly now,” said I, “but you were very serious last
+night, when you swore it was Death.”
+
+“And so I swear it is Death,” said he, putting his pipe back in his
+mouth, “and Death by the rope, in the open street not fur from this, and
+it’s serious that you should fully understand it to be so. What then,
+when that’s once done? Here I am. To go back now ‘ud be as bad as to
+stand ground--worse. Besides, Pip, I’m here, because I’ve meant it by
+you, years and years. As to what I dare, I’m a old bird now, as has
+dared all manner of traps since first he was fledged, and I’m not afeerd
+to perch upon a scarecrow. If there’s Death hid inside of it, there is,
+and let him come out, and I’ll face him, and then I’ll believe in him
+and not afore. And now let me have a look at my gentleman agen.”
+
+Once more, he took me by both hands and surveyed me with an air of
+admiring proprietorship: smoking with great complacency all the while.
+
+It appeared to me that I could do no better than secure him some
+quiet lodging hard by, of which he might take possession when Herbert
+returned: whom I expected in two or three days. That the secret must
+be confided to Herbert as a matter of unavoidable necessity, even if I
+could have put the immense relief I should derive from sharing it with
+him out of the question, was plain to me. But it was by no means so
+plain to Mr. Provis (I resolved to call him by that name), who reserved
+his consent to Herbert’s participation until he should have seen him
+and formed a favorable judgment of his physiognomy. “And even then, dear
+boy,” said he, pulling a greasy little clasped black Testament out of
+his pocket, “we’ll have him on his oath.”
+
+To state that my terrible patron carried this little black book about
+the world solely to swear people on in cases of emergency, would be to
+state what I never quite established; but this I can say, that I never
+knew him put it to any other use. The book itself had the appearance of
+having been stolen from some court of justice, and perhaps his knowledge
+of its antecedents, combined with his own experience in that wise, gave
+him a reliance on its powers as a sort of legal spell or charm. On this
+first occasion of his producing it, I recalled how he had made me swear
+fidelity in the churchyard long ago, and how he had described himself
+last night as always swearing to his resolutions in his solitude.
+
+As he was at present dressed in a seafaring slop suit, in which he
+looked as if he had some parrots and cigars to dispose of, I next
+discussed with him what dress he should wear. He cherished an
+extraordinary belief in the virtues of “shorts” as a disguise, and had
+in his own mind sketched a dress for himself that would have made
+him something between a dean and a dentist. It was with considerable
+difficulty that I won him over to the assumption of a dress more like a
+prosperous farmer’s; and we arranged that he should cut his hair close,
+and wear a little powder. Lastly, as he had not yet been seen by the
+laundress or her niece, he was to keep himself out of their view until
+his change of dress was made.
+
+It would seem a simple matter to decide on these precautions; but in my
+dazed, not to say distracted, state, it took so long, that I did not
+get out to further them until two or three in the afternoon. He was to
+remain shut up in the chambers while I was gone, and was on no account
+to open the door.
+
+There being to my knowledge a respectable lodging-house in Essex Street,
+the back of which looked into the Temple, and was almost within hail of
+my windows, I first of all repaired to that house, and was so fortunate
+as to secure the second floor for my uncle, Mr. Provis. I then went from
+shop to shop, making such purchases as were necessary to the change in
+his appearance. This business transacted, I turned my face, on my own
+account, to Little Britain. Mr. Jaggers was at his desk, but, seeing me
+enter, got up immediately and stood before his fire.
+
+“Now, Pip,” said he, “be careful.”
+
+“I will, sir,” I returned. For, coming along I had thought well of what
+I was going to say.
+
+“Don’t commit yourself,” said Mr. Jaggers, “and don’t commit any one.
+You understand--any one. Don’t tell me anything: I don’t want to know
+anything; I am not curious.”
+
+Of course I saw that he knew the man was come.
+
+“I merely want, Mr. Jaggers,” said I, “to assure myself that what I have
+been told is true. I have no hope of its being untrue, but at least I
+may verify it.”
+
+Mr. Jaggers nodded. “But did you say ‘told’ or ‘informed’?” he asked
+me, with his head on one side, and not looking at me, but looking in
+a listening way at the floor. “Told would seem to imply verbal
+communication. You can’t have verbal communication with a man in New
+South Wales, you know.”
+
+“I will say, informed, Mr. Jaggers.”
+
+“Good.”
+
+“I have been informed by a person named Abel Magwitch, that he is the
+benefactor so long unknown to me.”
+
+“That is the man,” said Mr. Jaggers, “in New South Wales.”
+
+“And only he?” said I.
+
+“And only he,” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“I am not so unreasonable, sir, as to think you at all responsible for
+my mistakes and wrong conclusions; but I always supposed it was Miss
+Havisham.”
+
+“As you say, Pip,” returned Mr. Jaggers, turning his eyes upon
+me coolly, and taking a bite at his forefinger, “I am not at all
+responsible for that.”
+
+“And yet it looked so like it, sir,” I pleaded with a downcast heart.
+
+“Not a particle of evidence, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, shaking his head
+and gathering up his skirts. “Take nothing on its looks; take everything
+on evidence. There’s no better rule.”
+
+“I have no more to say,” said I, with a sigh, after standing silent for
+a little while. “I have verified my information, and there’s an end.”
+
+“And Magwitch--in New South Wales--having at last disclosed himself,”
+ said Mr. Jaggers, “you will comprehend, Pip, how rigidly throughout
+my communication with you, I have always adhered to the strict line of
+fact. There has never been the least departure from the strict line of
+fact. You are quite aware of that?”
+
+“Quite, sir.”
+
+“I communicated to Magwitch--in New South Wales--when he first wrote to
+me--from New South Wales--the caution that he must not expect me ever to
+deviate from the strict line of fact. I also communicated to him another
+caution. He appeared to me to have obscurely hinted in his letter at
+some distant idea he had of seeing you in England here. I cautioned
+him that I must hear no more of that; that he was not at all likely to
+obtain a pardon; that he was expatriated for the term of his natural
+life; and that his presenting himself in this country would be an act of
+felony, rendering him liable to the extreme penalty of the law. I gave
+Magwitch that caution,” said Mr. Jaggers, looking hard at me; “I wrote
+it to New South Wales. He guided himself by it, no doubt.”
+
+“No doubt,” said I.
+
+“I have been informed by Wemmick,” pursued Mr. Jaggers, still looking
+hard at me, “that he has received a letter, under date Portsmouth, from
+a colonist of the name of Purvis, or--”
+
+“Or Provis,” I suggested.
+
+“Or Provis--thank you, Pip. Perhaps it is Provis? Perhaps you know it’s
+Provis?”
+
+“Yes,” said I.
+
+“You know it’s Provis. A letter, under date Portsmouth, from a colonist
+of the name of Provis, asking for the particulars of your address, on
+behalf of Magwitch. Wemmick sent him the particulars, I understand, by
+return of post. Probably it is through Provis that you have received the
+explanation of Magwitch--in New South Wales?”
+
+“It came through Provis,” I replied.
+
+“Good day, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, offering his hand; “glad to have
+seen you. In writing by post to Magwitch--in New South Wales--or in
+communicating with him through Provis, have the goodness to mention that
+the particulars and vouchers of our long account shall be sent to you,
+together with the balance; for there is still a balance remaining. Good
+day, Pip!”
+
+We shook hands, and he looked hard at me as long as he could see me. I
+turned at the door, and he was still looking hard at me, while the two
+vile casts on the shelf seemed to be trying to get their eyelids open,
+and to force out of their swollen throats, “O, what a man he is!”
+
+Wemmick was out, and though he had been at his desk he could have done
+nothing for me. I went straight back to the Temple, where I found
+the terrible Provis drinking rum and water and smoking negro-head, in
+safety.
+
+Next day the clothes I had ordered all came home, and he put them on.
+Whatever he put on, became him less (it dismally seemed to me) than what
+he had worn before. To my thinking, there was something in him that made
+it hopeless to attempt to disguise him. The more I dressed him and the
+better I dressed him, the more he looked like the slouching fugitive on
+the marshes. This effect on my anxious fancy was partly referable, no
+doubt, to his old face and manner growing more familiar to me; but I
+believe too that he dragged one of his legs as if there were still a
+weight of iron on it, and that from head to foot there was Convict in
+the very grain of the man.
+
+The influences of his solitary hut-life were upon him besides, and
+gave him a savage air that no dress could tame; added to these were the
+influences of his subsequent branded life among men, and, crowning all,
+his consciousness that he was dodging and hiding now. In all his ways of
+sitting and standing, and eating and drinking,--of brooding about in a
+high-shouldered reluctant style,--of taking out his great horn-handled
+jackknife and wiping it on his legs and cutting his food,--of
+lifting light glasses and cups to his lips, as if they were clumsy
+pannikins,--of chopping a wedge off his bread, and soaking up with it
+the last fragments of gravy round and round his plate, as if to make the
+most of an allowance, and then drying his finger-ends on it, and then
+swallowing it,--in these ways and a thousand other small nameless
+instances arising every minute in the day, there was Prisoner, Felon,
+Bondsman, plain as plain could be.
+
+It had been his own idea to wear that touch of powder, and I had
+conceded the powder after overcoming the shorts. But I can compare the
+effect of it, when on, to nothing but the probable effect of rouge upon
+the dead; so awful was the manner in which everything in him that it was
+most desirable to repress, started through that thin layer of pretence,
+and seemed to come blazing out at the crown of his head. It was
+abandoned as soon as tried, and he wore his grizzled hair cut short.
+
+Words cannot tell what a sense I had, at the same time, of the dreadful
+mystery that he was to me. When he fell asleep of an evening, with his
+knotted hands clenching the sides of the easy-chair, and his bald head
+tattooed with deep wrinkles falling forward on his breast, I would sit
+and look at him, wondering what he had done, and loading him with all
+the crimes in the Calendar, until the impulse was powerful on me to
+start up and fly from him. Every hour so increased my abhorrence of
+him, that I even think I might have yielded to this impulse in the first
+agonies of being so haunted, notwithstanding all he had done for me and
+the risk he ran, but for the knowledge that Herbert must soon come back.
+Once, I actually did start out of bed in the night, and begin to dress
+myself in my worst clothes, hurriedly intending to leave him there with
+everything else I possessed, and enlist for India as a private soldier.
+
+I doubt if a ghost could have been more terrible to me, up in those
+lonely rooms in the long evenings and long nights, with the wind and the
+rain always rushing by. A ghost could not have been taken and hanged on
+my account, and the consideration that he could be, and the dread that
+he would be, were no small addition to my horrors. When he was not
+asleep, or playing a complicated kind of Patience with a ragged pack of
+cards of his own,--a game that I never saw before or since, and in which
+he recorded his winnings by sticking his jackknife into the table,--when
+he was not engaged in either of these pursuits, he would ask me to
+read to him,--“Foreign language, dear boy!” While I complied, he, not
+comprehending a single word, would stand before the fire surveying me
+with the air of an Exhibitor, and I would see him, between the fingers
+of the hand with which I shaded my face, appealing in dumb show to
+the furniture to take notice of my proficiency. The imaginary student
+pursued by the misshapen creature he had impiously made, was not more
+wretched than I, pursued by the creature who had made me, and recoiling
+from him with a stronger repulsion, the more he admired me and the
+fonder he was of me.
+
+This is written of, I am sensible, as if it had lasted a year. It lasted
+about five days. Expecting Herbert all the time, I dared not go out,
+except when I took Provis for an airing after dark. At length, one
+evening when dinner was over and I had dropped into a slumber quite
+worn out,--for my nights had been agitated and my rest broken by fearful
+dreams,--I was roused by the welcome footstep on the staircase. Provis,
+who had been asleep too, staggered up at the noise I made, and in an
+instant I saw his jackknife shining in his hand.
+
+“Quiet! It’s Herbert!” I said; and Herbert came bursting in, with the
+airy freshness of six hundred miles of France upon him.
+
+“Handel, my dear fellow, how are you, and again how are you, and again
+how are you? I seem to have been gone a twelvemonth! Why, so I must have
+been, for you have grown quite thin and pale! Handel, my--Halloa! I beg
+your pardon.”
+
+He was stopped in his running on and in his shaking hands with me, by
+seeing Provis. Provis, regarding him with a fixed attention, was slowly
+putting up his jackknife, and groping in another pocket for something
+else.
+
+“Herbert, my dear friend,” said I, shutting the double doors, while
+Herbert stood staring and wondering, “something very strange has
+happened. This is--a visitor of mine.”
+
+“It’s all right, dear boy!” said Provis coming forward, with his little
+clasped black book, and then addressing himself to Herbert. “Take it in
+your right hand. Lord strike you dead on the spot, if ever you split in
+any way sumever! Kiss it!”
+
+“Do so, as he wishes it,” I said to Herbert. So, Herbert, looking at
+me with a friendly uneasiness and amazement, complied, and Provis
+immediately shaking hands with him, said, “Now you’re on your oath, you
+know. And never believe me on mine, if Pip shan’t make a gentleman on
+you!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLI
+
+In vain should I attempt to describe the astonishment and disquiet
+of Herbert, when he and I and Provis sat down before the fire, and I
+recounted the whole of the secret. Enough, that I saw my own feelings
+reflected in Herbert’s face, and not least among them, my repugnance
+towards the man who had done so much for me.
+
+What would alone have set a division between that man and us, if there
+had been no other dividing circumstance, was his triumph in my story.
+Saving his troublesome sense of having been “low” on one occasion since
+his return,--on which point he began to hold forth to Herbert, the
+moment my revelation was finished,--he had no perception of the
+possibility of my finding any fault with my good fortune. His boast that
+he had made me a gentleman, and that he had come to see me support the
+character on his ample resources, was made for me quite as much as for
+himself. And that it was a highly agreeable boast to both of us,
+and that we must both be very proud of it, was a conclusion quite
+established in his own mind.
+
+“Though, look’ee here, Pip’s comrade,” he said to Herbert, after having
+discoursed for some time, “I know very well that once since I come
+back--for half a minute--I’ve been low. I said to Pip, I knowed as I had
+been low. But don’t you fret yourself on that score. I ain’t made Pip a
+gentleman, and Pip ain’t a going to make you a gentleman, not fur me not
+to know what’s due to ye both. Dear boy, and Pip’s comrade, you two may
+count upon me always having a gen-teel muzzle on. Muzzled I have been
+since that half a minute when I was betrayed into lowness, muzzled I am
+at the present time, muzzled I ever will be.”
+
+Herbert said, “Certainly,” but looked as if there were no specific
+consolation in this, and remained perplexed and dismayed. We were
+anxious for the time when he would go to his lodging and leave us
+together, but he was evidently jealous of leaving us together, and sat
+late. It was midnight before I took him round to Essex Street, and
+saw him safely in at his own dark door. When it closed upon him, I
+experienced the first moment of relief I had known since the night of
+his arrival.
+
+Never quite free from an uneasy remembrance of the man on the stairs,
+I had always looked about me in taking my guest out after dark, and in
+bringing him back; and I looked about me now. Difficult as it is in a
+large city to avoid the suspicion of being watched, when the mind is
+conscious of danger in that regard, I could not persuade myself that any
+of the people within sight cared about my movements. The few who were
+passing passed on their several ways, and the street was empty when I
+turned back into the Temple. Nobody had come out at the gate with us,
+nobody went in at the gate with me. As I crossed by the fountain, I saw
+his lighted back windows looking bright and quiet, and, when I stood for
+a few moments in the doorway of the building where I lived, before going
+up the stairs, Garden Court was as still and lifeless as the staircase
+was when I ascended it.
+
+Herbert received me with open arms, and I had never felt before so
+blessedly what it is to have a friend. When he had spoken some sound
+words of sympathy and encouragement, we sat down to consider the
+question, What was to be done?
+
+The chair that Provis had occupied still remaining where it had
+stood,--for he had a barrack way with him of hanging about one spot, in
+one unsettled manner, and going through one round of observances with
+his pipe and his negro-head and his jackknife and his pack of cards,
+and what not, as if it were all put down for him on a slate,--I say his
+chair remaining where it had stood, Herbert unconsciously took it, but
+next moment started out of it, pushed it away, and took another. He had
+no occasion to say after that that he had conceived an aversion for my
+patron, neither had I occasion to confess my own. We interchanged that
+confidence without shaping a syllable.
+
+“What,” said I to Herbert, when he was safe in another chair,--“what is
+to be done?”
+
+“My poor dear Handel,” he replied, holding his head, “I am too stunned
+to think.”
+
+“So was I, Herbert, when the blow first fell. Still, something must be
+done. He is intent upon various new expenses,--horses, and carriages,
+and lavish appearances of all kinds. He must be stopped somehow.”
+
+“You mean that you can’t accept--”
+
+“How can I?” I interposed, as Herbert paused. “Think of him! Look at
+him!”
+
+An involuntary shudder passed over both of us.
+
+“Yet I am afraid the dreadful truth is, Herbert, that he is attached to
+me, strongly attached to me. Was there ever such a fate!”
+
+“My poor dear Handel,” Herbert repeated.
+
+“Then,” said I, “after all, stopping short here, never taking another
+penny from him, think what I owe him already! Then again: I am heavily
+in debt,--very heavily for me, who have now no expectations,--and I have
+been bred to no calling, and I am fit for nothing.”
+
+“Well, well, well!” Herbert remonstrated. “Don’t say fit for nothing.”
+
+“What am I fit for? I know only one thing that I am fit for, and that
+is, to go for a soldier. And I might have gone, my dear Herbert, but for
+the prospect of taking counsel with your friendship and affection.”
+
+Of course I broke down there: and of course Herbert, beyond seizing a
+warm grip of my hand, pretended not to know it.
+
+“Anyhow, my dear Handel,” said he presently, “soldiering won’t do. If
+you were to renounce this patronage and these favors, I suppose you
+would do so with some faint hope of one day repaying what you have
+already had. Not very strong, that hope, if you went soldiering!
+Besides, it’s absurd. You would be infinitely better in Clarriker’s
+house, small as it is. I am working up towards a partnership, you know.”
+
+Poor fellow! He little suspected with whose money.
+
+“But there is another question,” said Herbert. “This is an ignorant,
+determined man, who has long had one fixed idea. More than that, he
+seems to me (I may misjudge him) to be a man of a desperate and fierce
+character.”
+
+“I know he is,” I returned. “Let me tell you what evidence I have seen
+of it.” And I told him what I had not mentioned in my narrative, of that
+encounter with the other convict.
+
+“See, then,” said Herbert; “think of this! He comes here at the peril
+of his life, for the realization of his fixed idea. In the moment of
+realization, after all his toil and waiting, you cut the ground from
+under his feet, destroy his idea, and make his gains worthless to him.
+Do you see nothing that he might do, under the disappointment?”
+
+“I have seen it, Herbert, and dreamed of it, ever since the fatal night
+of his arrival. Nothing has been in my thoughts so distinctly as his
+putting himself in the way of being taken.”
+
+“Then you may rely upon it,” said Herbert, “that there would be great
+danger of his doing it. That is his power over you as long as he remains
+in England, and that would be his reckless course if you forsook him.”
+
+I was so struck by the horror of this idea, which had weighed upon
+me from the first, and the working out of which would make me regard
+myself, in some sort, as his murderer, that I could not rest in my
+chair, but began pacing to and fro. I said to Herbert, meanwhile, that
+even if Provis were recognized and taken, in spite of himself, I should
+be wretched as the cause, however innocently. Yes; even though I was so
+wretched in having him at large and near me, and even though I would
+far rather have worked at the forge all the days of my life than I would
+ever have come to this!
+
+But there was no staving off the question, What was to be done?
+
+“The first and the main thing to be done,” said Herbert, “is to get him
+out of England. You will have to go with him, and then he may be induced
+to go.”
+
+“But get him where I will, could I prevent his coming back?”
+
+“My good Handel, is it not obvious that with Newgate in the next street,
+there must be far greater hazard in your breaking your mind to him and
+making him reckless, here, than elsewhere? If a pretext to get him away
+could be made out of that other convict, or out of anything else in his
+life, now.”
+
+“There, again!” said I, stopping before Herbert, with my open hands held
+out, as if they contained the desperation of the case. “I know nothing
+of his life. It has almost made me mad to sit here of a night and see
+him before me, so bound up with my fortunes and misfortunes, and yet so
+unknown to me, except as the miserable wretch who terrified me two days
+in my childhood!”
+
+Herbert got up, and linked his arm in mine, and we slowly walked to and
+fro together, studying the carpet.
+
+“Handel,” said Herbert, stopping, “you feel convinced that you can take
+no further benefits from him; do you?”
+
+“Fully. Surely you would, too, if you were in my place?”
+
+“And you feel convinced that you must break with him?”
+
+“Herbert, can you ask me?”
+
+“And you have, and are bound to have, that tenderness for the life he
+has risked on your account, that you must save him, if possible, from
+throwing it away. Then you must get him out of England before you stir a
+finger to extricate yourself. That done, extricate yourself, in Heaven’s
+name, and we’ll see it out together, dear old boy.”
+
+It was a comfort to shake hands upon it, and walk up and down again,
+with only that done.
+
+“Now, Herbert,” said I, “with reference to gaining some knowledge of
+his history. There is but one way that I know of. I must ask him point
+blank.”
+
+“Yes. Ask him,” said Herbert, “when we sit at breakfast in the morning.”
+ For he had said, on taking leave of Herbert, that he would come to
+breakfast with us.
+
+With this project formed, we went to bed. I had the wildest dreams
+concerning him, and woke unrefreshed; I woke, too, to recover the fear
+which I had lost in the night, of his being found out as a returned
+transport. Waking, I never lost that fear.
+
+He came round at the appointed time, took out his jackknife, and sat
+down to his meal. He was full of plans “for his gentleman’s coming out
+strong, and like a gentleman,” and urged me to begin speedily upon
+the pocket-book which he had left in my possession. He considered the
+chambers and his own lodging as temporary residences, and advised me to
+look out at once for a “fashionable crib” near Hyde Park, in which he
+could have “a shake-down.” When he had made an end of his breakfast,
+and was wiping his knife on his leg, I said to him, without a word of
+preface,--
+
+“After you were gone last night, I told my friend of the struggle that
+the soldiers found you engaged in on the marshes, when we came up. You
+remember?”
+
+“Remember!” said he. “I think so!”
+
+“We want to know something about that man--and about you. It is strange
+to know no more about either, and particularly you, than I was able to
+tell last night. Is not this as good a time as another for our knowing
+more?”
+
+“Well!” he said, after consideration. “You’re on your oath, you know,
+Pip’s comrade?”
+
+“Assuredly,” replied Herbert.
+
+“As to anything I say, you know,” he insisted. “The oath applies to
+all.”
+
+“I understand it to do so.”
+
+“And look’ee here! Wotever I done is worked out and paid for,” he
+insisted again.
+
+“So be it.”
+
+He took out his black pipe and was going to fill it with negro-head,
+when, looking at the tangle of tobacco in his hand, he seemed to think
+it might perplex the thread of his narrative. He put it back again,
+stuck his pipe in a button-hole of his coat, spread a hand on each knee,
+and after turning an angry eye on the fire for a few silent moments,
+looked round at us and said what follows.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLII
+
+“Dear boy and Pip’s comrade. I am not a going fur to tell you my life
+like a song, or a story-book. But to give it you short and handy, I’ll
+put it at once into a mouthful of English. In jail and out of jail, in
+jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail. There, you’ve got it.
+That’s my life pretty much, down to such times as I got shipped off,
+arter Pip stood my friend.
+
+“I’ve been done everything to, pretty well--except hanged. I’ve been
+locked up as much as a silver tea-kittle. I’ve been carted here and
+carted there, and put out of this town, and put out of that town, and
+stuck in the stocks, and whipped and worried and drove. I’ve no more
+notion where I was born than you have--if so much. I first become aware
+of myself down in Essex, a thieving turnips for my living. Summun had
+run away from me--a man--a tinker--and he’d took the fire with him, and
+left me wery cold.
+
+“I know’d my name to be Magwitch, chrisen’d Abel. How did I know
+it? Much as I know’d the birds’ names in the hedges to be chaffinch,
+sparrer, thrush. I might have thought it was all lies together, only as
+the birds’ names come out true, I supposed mine did.
+
+“So fur as I could find, there warn’t a soul that see young Abel
+Magwitch, with us little on him as in him, but wot caught fright at him,
+and either drove him off, or took him up. I was took up, took up, took
+up, to that extent that I reg’larly grow’d up took up.
+
+“This is the way it was, that when I was a ragged little creetur as much
+to be pitied as ever I see (not that I looked in the glass, for there
+warn’t many insides of furnished houses known to me), I got the name of
+being hardened. ‘This is a terrible hardened one,’ they says to prison
+wisitors, picking out me. ‘May be said to live in jails, this boy.’ Then
+they looked at me, and I looked at them, and they measured my head, some
+on ‘em,--they had better a measured my stomach,--and others on ‘em giv
+me tracts what I couldn’t read, and made me speeches what I couldn’t
+understand. They always went on agen me about the Devil. But what
+the Devil was I to do? I must put something into my stomach, mustn’t
+I?--Howsomever, I’m a getting low, and I know what’s due. Dear boy and
+Pip’s comrade, don’t you be afeerd of me being low.
+
+“Tramping, begging, thieving, working sometimes when I could,--though
+that warn’t as often as you may think, till you put the question whether
+you would ha’ been over-ready to give me work yourselves,--a bit of a
+poacher, a bit of a laborer, a bit of a wagoner, a bit of a haymaker,
+a bit of a hawker, a bit of most things that don’t pay and lead to
+trouble, I got to be a man. A deserting soldier in a Traveller’s Rest,
+what lay hid up to the chin under a lot of taturs, learnt me to read;
+and a travelling Giant what signed his name at a penny a time learnt me
+to write. I warn’t locked up as often now as formerly, but I wore out my
+good share of key-metal still.
+
+“At Epsom races, a matter of over twenty years ago, I got acquainted wi’
+a man whose skull I’d crack wi’ this poker, like the claw of a lobster,
+if I’d got it on this hob. His right name was Compeyson; and that’s the
+man, dear boy, what you see me a pounding in the ditch, according to
+what you truly told your comrade arter I was gone last night.
+
+“He set up fur a gentleman, this Compeyson, and he’d been to a public
+boarding-school and had learning. He was a smooth one to talk, and was
+a dab at the ways of gentlefolks. He was good-looking too. It was the
+night afore the great race, when I found him on the heath, in a booth
+that I know’d on. Him and some more was a sitting among the tables when
+I went in, and the landlord (which had a knowledge of me, and was a
+sporting one) called him out, and said, ‘I think this is a man that
+might suit you,’--meaning I was.
+
+“Compeyson, he looks at me very noticing, and I look at him. He has a
+watch and a chain and a ring and a breast-pin and a handsome suit of
+clothes.
+
+“‘To judge from appearances, you’re out of luck,’ says Compeyson to me.
+
+“‘Yes, master, and I’ve never been in it much.’ (I had come out of
+Kingston Jail last on a vagrancy committal. Not but what it might have
+been for something else; but it warn’t.)
+
+“‘Luck changes,’ says Compeyson; ‘perhaps yours is going to change.’
+
+“I says, ‘I hope it may be so. There’s room.’
+
+“‘What can you do?’ says Compeyson.
+
+“‘Eat and drink,’ I says; ‘if you’ll find the materials.’
+
+“Compeyson laughed, looked at me again very noticing, giv me five
+shillings, and appointed me for next night. Same place.
+
+“I went to Compeyson next night, same place, and Compeyson took me on
+to be his man and pardner. And what was Compeyson’s business in which we
+was to go pardners? Compeyson’s business was the swindling, handwriting
+forging, stolen bank-note passing, and such-like. All sorts of traps as
+Compeyson could set with his head, and keep his own legs out of and get
+the profits from and let another man in for, was Compeyson’s business.
+He’d no more heart than a iron file, he was as cold as death, and he had
+the head of the Devil afore mentioned.
+
+“There was another in with Compeyson, as was called Arthur,--not as
+being so chrisen’d, but as a surname. He was in a Decline, and was a
+shadow to look at. Him and Compeyson had been in a bad thing with a
+rich lady some years afore, and they’d made a pot of money by it; but
+Compeyson betted and gamed, and he’d have run through the king’s taxes.
+So, Arthur was a dying, and a dying poor and with the horrors on him,
+and Compeyson’s wife (which Compeyson kicked mostly) was a having pity
+on him when she could, and Compeyson was a having pity on nothing and
+nobody.
+
+“I might a took warning by Arthur, but I didn’t; and I won’t pretend I
+was partick’ler--for where ‘ud be the good on it, dear boy and comrade?
+So I begun wi’ Compeyson, and a poor tool I was in his hands. Arthur
+lived at the top of Compeyson’s house (over nigh Brentford it was), and
+Compeyson kept a careful account agen him for board and lodging, in case
+he should ever get better to work it out. But Arthur soon settled the
+account. The second or third time as ever I see him, he come a tearing
+down into Compeyson’s parlor late at night, in only a flannel gown, with
+his hair all in a sweat, and he says to Compeyson’s wife, ‘Sally, she
+really is upstairs alonger me, now, and I can’t get rid of her. She’s
+all in white,’ he says, ‘wi’ white flowers in her hair, and she’s awful
+mad, and she’s got a shroud hanging over her arm, and she says she’ll
+put it on me at five in the morning.’
+
+“Says Compeyson: ‘Why, you fool, don’t you know she’s got a living body?
+And how should she be up there, without coming through the door, or in
+at the window, and up the stairs?’
+
+“‘I don’t know how she’s there,’ says Arthur, shivering dreadful with
+the horrors, ‘but she’s standing in the corner at the foot of the bed,
+awful mad. And over where her heart’s broke--you broke it!--there’s
+drops of blood.’
+
+“Compeyson spoke hardy, but he was always a coward. ‘Go up alonger this
+drivelling sick man,’ he says to his wife, ‘and Magwitch, lend her a
+hand, will you?’ But he never come nigh himself.
+
+“Compeyson’s wife and me took him up to bed agen, and he raved most
+dreadful. ‘Why look at her!’ he cries out. ‘She’s a shaking the shroud
+at me! Don’t you see her? Look at her eyes! Ain’t it awful to see her so
+mad?’ Next he cries, ‘She’ll put it on me, and then I’m done for! Take
+it away from her, take it away!’ And then he catched hold of us, and kep
+on a talking to her, and answering of her, till I half believed I see
+her myself.
+
+“Compeyson’s wife, being used to him, giv him some liquor to get the
+horrors off, and by and by he quieted. ‘O, she’s gone! Has her keeper
+been for her?’ he says. ‘Yes,’ says Compeyson’s wife. ‘Did you tell him
+to lock her and bar her in?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And to take that ugly thing away
+from her?’ ‘Yes, yes, all right.’ ‘You’re a good creetur,’ he says,
+‘don’t leave me, whatever you do, and thank you!’
+
+“He rested pretty quiet till it might want a few minutes of five, and
+then he starts up with a scream, and screams out, ‘Here she is! She’s
+got the shroud again. She’s unfolding it. She’s coming out of the
+corner. She’s coming to the bed. Hold me, both on you--one of each
+side--don’t let her touch me with it. Hah! she missed me that time.
+Don’t let her throw it over my shoulders. Don’t let her lift me up to
+get it round me. She’s lifting me up. Keep me down!’ Then he lifted
+himself up hard, and was dead.
+
+“Compeyson took it easy as a good riddance for both sides. Him and
+me was soon busy, and first he swore me (being ever artful) on my own
+book,--this here little black book, dear boy, what I swore your comrade
+on.
+
+“Not to go into the things that Compeyson planned, and I done--which ‘ud
+take a week--I’ll simply say to you, dear boy, and Pip’s comrade, that
+that man got me into such nets as made me his black slave. I was always
+in debt to him, always under his thumb, always a working, always a
+getting into danger. He was younger than me, but he’d got craft, and
+he’d got learning, and he overmatched me five hundred times told and
+no mercy. My Missis as I had the hard time wi’--Stop though! I ain’t
+brought her in--”
+
+He looked about him in a confused way, as if he had lost his place in
+the book of his remembrance; and he turned his face to the fire, and
+spread his hands broader on his knees, and lifted them off and put them
+on again.
+
+“There ain’t no need to go into it,” he said, looking round once more.
+“The time wi’ Compeyson was a’most as hard a time as ever I had; that
+said, all’s said. Did I tell you as I was tried, alone, for misdemeanor,
+while with Compeyson?”
+
+I answered, No.
+
+“Well!” he said, “I was, and got convicted. As to took up on suspicion,
+that was twice or three times in the four or five year that it lasted;
+but evidence was wanting. At last, me and Compeyson was both committed
+for felony,--on a charge of putting stolen notes in circulation,--and
+there was other charges behind. Compeyson says to me, ‘Separate
+defences, no communication,’ and that was all. And I was so miserable
+poor, that I sold all the clothes I had, except what hung on my back,
+afore I could get Jaggers.
+
+“When we was put in the dock, I noticed first of all what a gentleman
+Compeyson looked, wi’ his curly hair and his black clothes and his white
+pocket-handkercher, and what a common sort of a wretch I looked. When
+the prosecution opened and the evidence was put short, aforehand, I
+noticed how heavy it all bore on me, and how light on him. When the
+evidence was giv in the box, I noticed how it was always me that had
+come for’ard, and could be swore to, how it was always me that the money
+had been paid to, how it was always me that had seemed to work the thing
+and get the profit. But when the defence come on, then I see the plan
+plainer; for, says the counsellor for Compeyson, ‘My lord and gentlemen,
+here you has afore you, side by side, two persons as your eyes can
+separate wide; one, the younger, well brought up, who will be spoke to
+as such; one, the elder, ill brought up, who will be spoke to as such;
+one, the younger, seldom if ever seen in these here transactions, and
+only suspected; t’other, the elder, always seen in ‘em and always wi’ his
+guilt brought home. Can you doubt, if there is but one in it, which is
+the one, and, if there is two in it, which is much the worst one?’ And
+such-like. And when it come to character, warn’t it Compeyson as had
+been to the school, and warn’t it his schoolfellows as was in this
+position and in that, and warn’t it him as had been know’d by witnesses
+in such clubs and societies, and nowt to his disadvantage? And warn’t it
+me as had been tried afore, and as had been know’d up hill and down dale
+in Bridewells and Lock-Ups! And when it come to speech-making, warn’t it
+Compeyson as could speak to ‘em wi’ his face dropping every now and then
+into his white pocket-handkercher,--ah! and wi’ verses in his speech,
+too,--and warn’t it me as could only say, ‘Gentlemen, this man at my
+side is a most precious rascal’? And when the verdict come, warn’t it
+Compeyson as was recommended to mercy on account of good character and
+bad company, and giving up all the information he could agen me,
+and warn’t it me as got never a word but Guilty? And when I says to
+Compeyson, ‘Once out of this court, I’ll smash that face of yourn!’
+ain’t it Compeyson as prays the Judge to be protected, and gets two
+turnkeys stood betwixt us? And when we’re sentenced, ain’t it him as
+gets seven year, and me fourteen, and ain’t it him as the Judge is
+sorry for, because he might a done so well, and ain’t it me as the Judge
+perceives to be a old offender of wiolent passion, likely to come to
+worse?”
+
+He had worked himself into a state of great excitement, but he checked
+it, took two or three short breaths, swallowed as often, and stretching
+out his hand towards me said, in a reassuring manner, “I ain’t a going
+to be low, dear boy!”
+
+He had so heated himself that he took out his handkerchief and wiped his
+face and head and neck and hands, before he could go on.
+
+“I had said to Compeyson that I’d smash that face of his, and I swore
+Lord smash mine! to do it. We was in the same prison-ship, but I
+couldn’t get at him for long, though I tried. At last I come behind him
+and hit him on the cheek to turn him round and get a smashing one at
+him, when I was seen and seized. The black-hole of that ship warn’t
+a strong one, to a judge of black-holes that could swim and dive. I
+escaped to the shore, and I was a hiding among the graves there, envying
+them as was in ‘em and all over, when I first see my boy!”
+
+He regarded me with a look of affection that made him almost abhorrent
+to me again, though I had felt great pity for him.
+
+“By my boy, I was giv to understand as Compeyson was out on them marshes
+too. Upon my soul, I half believe he escaped in his terror, to get quit
+of me, not knowing it was me as had got ashore. I hunted him down. I
+smashed his face. ‘And now,’ says I ‘as the worst thing I can do, caring
+nothing for myself, I’ll drag you back.’ And I’d have swum off, towing
+him by the hair, if it had come to that, and I’d a got him aboard
+without the soldiers.
+
+“Of course he’d much the best of it to the last,--his character was so
+good. He had escaped when he was made half wild by me and my murderous
+intentions; and his punishment was light. I was put in irons, brought
+to trial again, and sent for life. I didn’t stop for life, dear boy and
+Pip’s comrade, being here.”
+
+He wiped himself again, as he had done before, and then slowly took
+his tangle of tobacco from his pocket, and plucked his pipe from his
+button-hole, and slowly filled it, and began to smoke.
+
+“Is he dead?” I asked, after a silence.
+
+“Is who dead, dear boy?”
+
+“Compeyson.”
+
+“He hopes I am, if he’s alive, you may be sure,” with a fierce look. “I
+never heerd no more of him.”
+
+Herbert had been writing with his pencil in the cover of a book. He
+softly pushed the book over to me, as Provis stood smoking with his eyes
+on the fire, and I read in it:--
+
+“Young Havisham’s name was Arthur. Compeyson is the man who professed to
+be Miss Havisham’s lover.”
+
+I shut the book and nodded slightly to Herbert, and put the book by; but
+we neither of us said anything, and both looked at Provis as he stood
+smoking by the fire.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIII
+
+Why should I pause to ask how much of my shrinking from Provis might be
+traced to Estella? Why should I loiter on my road, to compare the state
+of mind in which I had tried to rid myself of the stain of the prison
+before meeting her at the coach-office, with the state of mind in which
+I now reflected on the abyss between Estella in her pride and beauty,
+and the returned transport whom I harbored? The road would be none the
+smoother for it, the end would be none the better for it, he would not
+be helped, nor I extenuated.
+
+A new fear had been engendered in my mind by his narrative; or rather,
+his narrative had given form and purpose to the fear that was already
+there. If Compeyson were alive and should discover his return, I could
+hardly doubt the consequence. That Compeyson stood in mortal fear of
+him, neither of the two could know much better than I; and that any
+such man as that man had been described to be would hesitate to release
+himself for good from a dreaded enemy by the safe means of becoming an
+informer was scarcely to be imagined.
+
+Never had I breathed, and never would I breathe--or so I resolved--a
+word of Estella to Provis. But, I said to Herbert that, before I could
+go abroad, I must see both Estella and Miss Havisham. This was when we
+were left alone on the night of the day when Provis told us his story. I
+resolved to go out to Richmond next day, and I went.
+
+On my presenting myself at Mrs. Brandley’s, Estella’s maid was called to
+tell that Estella had gone into the country. Where? To Satis House, as
+usual. Not as usual, I said, for she had never yet gone there without
+me; when was she coming back? There was an air of reservation in the
+answer which increased my perplexity, and the answer was, that her maid
+believed she was only coming back at all for a little while. I could
+make nothing of this, except that it was meant that I should make
+nothing of it, and I went home again in complete discomfiture.
+
+Another night consultation with Herbert after Provis was gone home (I
+always took him home, and always looked well about me), led us to the
+conclusion that nothing should be said about going abroad until I came
+back from Miss Havisham’s. In the mean time, Herbert and I were to
+consider separately what it would be best to say; whether we should
+devise any pretence of being afraid that he was under suspicious
+observation; or whether I, who had never yet been abroad, should propose
+an expedition. We both knew that I had but to propose anything, and he
+would consent. We agreed that his remaining many days in his present
+hazard was not to be thought of.
+
+Next day I had the meanness to feign that I was under a binding promise
+to go down to Joe; but I was capable of almost any meanness towards Joe
+or his name. Provis was to be strictly careful while I was gone, and
+Herbert was to take the charge of him that I had taken. I was to be
+absent only one night, and, on my return, the gratification of his
+impatience for my starting as a gentleman on a greater scale was to
+be begun. It occurred to me then, and as I afterwards found to
+Herbert also, that he might be best got away across the water, on that
+pretence,--as, to make purchases, or the like.
+
+Having thus cleared the way for my expedition to Miss Havisham’s, I set
+off by the early morning coach before it was yet light, and was out
+on the open country road when the day came creeping on, halting and
+whimpering and shivering, and wrapped in patches of cloud and rags of
+mist, like a beggar. When we drove up to the Blue Boar after a drizzly
+ride, whom should I see come out under the gateway, toothpick in hand,
+to look at the coach, but Bentley Drummle!
+
+As he pretended not to see me, I pretended not to see him. It was a very
+lame pretence on both sides; the lamer, because we both went into the
+coffee-room, where he had just finished his breakfast, and where I
+ordered mine. It was poisonous to me to see him in the town, for I very
+well knew why he had come there.
+
+Pretending to read a smeary newspaper long out of date, which had
+nothing half so legible in its local news, as the foreign matter of
+coffee, pickles, fish sauces, gravy, melted butter, and wine with which
+it was sprinkled all over, as if it had taken the measles in a highly
+irregular form, I sat at my table while he stood before the fire. By
+degrees it became an enormous injury to me that he stood before the
+fire. And I got up, determined to have my share of it. I had to put my
+hand behind his legs for the poker when I went up to the fireplace to
+stir the fire, but still pretended not to know him.
+
+“Is this a cut?” said Mr. Drummle.
+
+“Oh!” said I, poker in hand; “it’s you, is it? How do you do? I was
+wondering who it was, who kept the fire off.”
+
+With that, I poked tremendously, and having done so, planted myself side
+by side with Mr. Drummle, my shoulders squared and my back to the fire.
+
+“You have just come down?” said Mr. Drummle, edging me a little away
+with his shoulder.
+
+“Yes,” said I, edging him a little away with my shoulder.
+
+“Beastly place,” said Drummle. “Your part of the country, I think?”
+
+“Yes,” I assented. “I am told it’s very like your Shropshire.”
+
+“Not in the least like it,” said Drummle.
+
+Here Mr. Drummle looked at his boots and I looked at mine, and then Mr.
+Drummle looked at my boots, and I looked at his.
+
+“Have you been here long?” I asked, determined not to yield an inch of
+the fire.
+
+“Long enough to be tired of it,” returned Drummle, pretending to yawn,
+but equally determined.
+
+“Do you stay here long?”
+
+“Can’t say,” answered Mr. Drummle. “Do you?”
+
+“Can’t say,” said I.
+
+I felt here, through a tingling in my blood, that if Mr. Drummle’s
+shoulder had claimed another hair’s breadth of room, I should have
+jerked him into the window; equally, that if my own shoulder had urged a
+similar claim, Mr. Drummle would have jerked me into the nearest box. He
+whistled a little. So did I.
+
+“Large tract of marshes about here, I believe?” said Drummle.
+
+“Yes. What of that?” said I.
+
+Mr. Drummle looked at me, and then at my boots, and then said, “Oh!” and
+laughed.
+
+“Are you amused, Mr. Drummle?”
+
+“No,” said he, “not particularly. I am going out for a ride in the
+saddle. I mean to explore those marshes for amusement. Out-of-the-way
+villages there, they tell me. Curious little public-houses--and
+smithies--and that. Waiter!”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Is that horse of mine ready?”
+
+“Brought round to the door, sir.”
+
+“I say. Look here, you sir. The lady won’t ride to-day; the weather
+won’t do.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+“And I don’t dine, because I’m going to dine at the lady’s.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+Then, Drummle glanced at me, with an insolent triumph on his
+great-jowled face that cut me to the heart, dull as he was, and so
+exasperated me, that I felt inclined to take him in my arms (as the
+robber in the story-book is said to have taken the old lady) and seat
+him on the fire.
+
+One thing was manifest to both of us, and that was, that until relief
+came, neither of us could relinquish the fire. There we stood, well
+squared up before it, shoulder to shoulder and foot to foot, with our
+hands behind us, not budging an inch. The horse was visible outside in
+the drizzle at the door, my breakfast was put on the table, Drummle’s
+was cleared away, the waiter invited me to begin, I nodded, we both
+stood our ground.
+
+“Have you been to the Grove since?” said Drummle.
+
+“No,” said I, “I had quite enough of the Finches the last time I was
+there.”
+
+“Was that when we had a difference of opinion?”
+
+“Yes,” I replied, very shortly.
+
+“Come, come! They let you off easily enough,” sneered Drummle. “You
+shouldn’t have lost your temper.”
+
+“Mr. Drummle,” said I, “you are not competent to give advice on that
+subject. When I lose my temper (not that I admit having done so on that
+occasion), I don’t throw glasses.”
+
+“I do,” said Drummle.
+
+After glancing at him once or twice, in an increased state of
+smouldering ferocity, I said,--
+
+“Mr. Drummle, I did not seek this conversation, and I don’t think it an
+agreeable one.”
+
+“I am sure it’s not,” said he, superciliously over his shoulder; “I
+don’t think anything about it.”
+
+“And therefore,” I went on, “with your leave, I will suggest that we
+hold no kind of communication in future.”
+
+“Quite my opinion,” said Drummle, “and what I should have suggested
+myself, or done--more likely--without suggesting. But don’t lose your
+temper. Haven’t you lost enough without that?”
+
+“What do you mean, sir?”
+
+“Waiter!” said Drummle, by way of answering me.
+
+The waiter reappeared.
+
+“Look here, you sir. You quite understand that the young lady don’t ride
+to-day, and that I dine at the young lady’s?”
+
+“Quite so, sir!”
+
+When the waiter had felt my fast-cooling teapot with the palm of his
+hand, and had looked imploringly at me, and had gone out, Drummle,
+careful not to move the shoulder next me, took a cigar from his pocket
+and bit the end off, but showed no sign of stirring. Choking and
+boiling as I was, I felt that we could not go a word further, without
+introducing Estella’s name, which I could not endure to hear him utter;
+and therefore I looked stonily at the opposite wall, as if there were
+no one present, and forced myself to silence. How long we might have
+remained in this ridiculous position it is impossible to say, but
+for the incursion of three thriving farmers--laid on by the waiter, I
+think--who came into the coffee-room unbuttoning their great-coats and
+rubbing their hands, and before whom, as they charged at the fire, we
+were obliged to give way.
+
+I saw him through the window, seizing his horse’s mane, and mounting in
+his blundering brutal manner, and sidling and backing away. I thought
+he was gone, when he came back, calling for a light for the cigar in his
+mouth, which he had forgotten. A man in a dust-colored dress appeared
+with what was wanted,--I could not have said from where: whether from
+the inn yard, or the street, or where not,--and as Drummle leaned down
+from the saddle and lighted his cigar and laughed, with a jerk of his
+head towards the coffee-room windows, the slouching shoulders and ragged
+hair of this man whose back was towards me reminded me of Orlick.
+
+Too heavily out of sorts to care much at the time whether it were he or
+no, or after all to touch the breakfast, I washed the weather and the
+journey from my face and hands, and went out to the memorable old house
+that it would have been so much the better for me never to have entered,
+never to have seen.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIV
+
+In the room where the dressing-table stood, and where the wax-candles
+burnt on the wall, I found Miss Havisham and Estella; Miss Havisham
+seated on a settee near the fire, and Estella on a cushion at her feet.
+Estella was knitting, and Miss Havisham was looking on. They both raised
+their eyes as I went in, and both saw an alteration in me. I derived
+that, from the look they interchanged.
+
+“And what wind,” said Miss Havisham, “blows you here, Pip?”
+
+Though she looked steadily at me, I saw that she was rather confused.
+Estella, pausing a moment in her knitting with her eyes upon me, and
+then going on, I fancied that I read in the action of her fingers, as
+plainly as if she had told me in the dumb alphabet, that she perceived I
+had discovered my real benefactor.
+
+“Miss Havisham,” said I, “I went to Richmond yesterday, to speak to
+Estella; and finding that some wind had blown her here, I followed.”
+
+Miss Havisham motioning to me for the third or fourth time to sit down,
+I took the chair by the dressing-table, which I had often seen her
+occupy. With all that ruin at my feet and about me, it seemed a natural
+place for me, that day.
+
+“What I had to say to Estella, Miss Havisham, I will say before you,
+presently--in a few moments. It will not surprise you, it will not
+displease you. I am as unhappy as you can ever have meant me to be.”
+
+Miss Havisham continued to look steadily at me. I could see in the
+action of Estella’s fingers as they worked that she attended to what I
+said; but she did not look up.
+
+“I have found out who my patron is. It is not a fortunate discovery,
+and is not likely ever to enrich me in reputation, station, fortune,
+anything. There are reasons why I must say no more of that. It is not my
+secret, but another’s.”
+
+As I was silent for a while, looking at Estella and considering how to
+go on, Miss Havisham repeated, “It is not your secret, but another’s.
+Well?”
+
+“When you first caused me to be brought here, Miss Havisham, when I
+belonged to the village over yonder, that I wish I had never left,
+I suppose I did really come here, as any other chance boy might have
+come,--as a kind of servant, to gratify a want or a whim, and to be paid
+for it?”
+
+“Ay, Pip,” replied Miss Havisham, steadily nodding her head; “you did.”
+
+“And that Mr. Jaggers--”
+
+“Mr. Jaggers,” said Miss Havisham, taking me up in a firm tone, “had
+nothing to do with it, and knew nothing of it. His being my lawyer, and
+his being the lawyer of your patron is a coincidence. He holds the same
+relation towards numbers of people, and it might easily arise. Be that
+as it may, it did arise, and was not brought about by any one.”
+
+Any one might have seen in her haggard face that there was no
+suppression or evasion so far.
+
+“But when I fell into the mistake I have so long remained in, at least
+you led me on?” said I.
+
+“Yes,” she returned, again nodding steadily, “I let you go on.”
+
+“Was that kind?”
+
+“Who am I,” cried Miss Havisham, striking her stick upon the floor
+and flashing into wrath so suddenly that Estella glanced up at her in
+surprise,--“who am I, for God’s sake, that I should be kind?”
+
+It was a weak complaint to have made, and I had not meant to make it. I
+told her so, as she sat brooding after this outburst.
+
+“Well, well, well!” she said. “What else?”
+
+“I was liberally paid for my old attendance here,” I said, to soothe
+her, “in being apprenticed, and I have asked these questions only for
+my own information. What follows has another (and I hope more
+disinterested) purpose. In humoring my mistake, Miss Havisham, you
+punished--practised on--perhaps you will supply whatever term expresses
+your intention, without offence--your self-seeking relations?”
+
+“I did. Why, they would have it so! So would you. What has been my
+history, that I should be at the pains of entreating either them or you
+not to have it so! You made your own snares. I never made them.”
+
+Waiting until she was quiet again,--for this, too, flashed out of her in
+a wild and sudden way,--I went on.
+
+“I have been thrown among one family of your relations, Miss Havisham,
+and have been constantly among them since I went to London. I know them
+to have been as honestly under my delusion as I myself. And I should be
+false and base if I did not tell you, whether it is acceptable to you or
+no, and whether you are inclined to give credence to it or no, that you
+deeply wrong both Mr. Matthew Pocket and his son Herbert, if you suppose
+them to be otherwise than generous, upright, open, and incapable of
+anything designing or mean.”
+
+“They are your friends,” said Miss Havisham.
+
+“They made themselves my friends,” said I, “when they supposed me
+to have superseded them; and when Sarah Pocket, Miss Georgiana, and
+Mistress Camilla were not my friends, I think.”
+
+This contrasting of them with the rest seemed, I was glad to see, to do
+them good with her. She looked at me keenly for a little while, and then
+said quietly,--
+
+“What do you want for them?”
+
+“Only,” said I, “that you would not confound them with the others. They
+may be of the same blood, but, believe me, they are not of the same
+nature.”
+
+Still looking at me keenly, Miss Havisham repeated,--
+
+“What do you want for them?”
+
+“I am not so cunning, you see,” I said, in answer, conscious that I
+reddened a little, “as that I could hide from you, even if I desired,
+that I do want something. Miss Havisham, if you would spare the money
+to do my friend Herbert a lasting service in life, but which from the
+nature of the case must be done without his knowledge, I could show you
+how.”
+
+“Why must it be done without his knowledge?” she asked, settling her
+hands upon her stick, that she might regard me the more attentively.
+
+“Because,” said I, “I began the service myself, more than two years ago,
+without his knowledge, and I don’t want to be betrayed. Why I fail in my
+ability to finish it, I cannot explain. It is a part of the secret which
+is another person’s and not mine.”
+
+She gradually withdrew her eyes from me, and turned them on the fire.
+After watching it for what appeared in the silence and by the light
+of the slowly wasting candles to be a long time, she was roused by
+the collapse of some of the red coals, and looked towards me again--at
+first, vacantly--then, with a gradually concentrating attention. All
+this time Estella knitted on. When Miss Havisham had fixed her
+attention on me, she said, speaking as if there had been no lapse in our
+dialogue,--
+
+“What else?”
+
+“Estella,” said I, turning to her now, and trying to command my
+trembling voice, “you know I love you. You know that I have loved you
+long and dearly.”
+
+She raised her eyes to my face, on being thus addressed, and her fingers
+plied their work, and she looked at me with an unmoved countenance. I
+saw that Miss Havisham glanced from me to her, and from her to me.
+
+“I should have said this sooner, but for my long mistake. It induced me
+to hope that Miss Havisham meant us for one another. While I thought you
+could not help yourself, as it were, I refrained from saying it. But I
+must say it now.”
+
+Preserving her unmoved countenance, and with her fingers still going,
+Estella shook her head.
+
+“I know,” said I, in answer to that action,--“I know. I have no hope
+that I shall ever call you mine, Estella. I am ignorant what may become
+of me very soon, how poor I may be, or where I may go. Still, I love
+you. I have loved you ever since I first saw you in this house.”
+
+Looking at me perfectly unmoved and with her fingers busy, she shook her
+head again.
+
+“It would have been cruel in Miss Havisham, horribly cruel, to practise
+on the susceptibility of a poor boy, and to torture me through all these
+years with a vain hope and an idle pursuit, if she had reflected on the
+gravity of what she did. But I think she did not. I think that, in the
+endurance of her own trial, she forgot mine, Estella.”
+
+I saw Miss Havisham put her hand to her heart and hold it there, as she
+sat looking by turns at Estella and at me.
+
+“It seems,” said Estella, very calmly, “that there are sentiments,
+fancies,--I don’t know how to call them,--which I am not able to
+comprehend. When you say you love me, I know what you mean, as a form
+of words; but nothing more. You address nothing in my breast, you touch
+nothing there. I don’t care for what you say at all. I have tried to
+warn you of this; now, have I not?”
+
+I said in a miserable manner, “Yes.”
+
+“Yes. But you would not be warned, for you thought I did not mean it.
+Now, did you not think so?”
+
+“I thought and hoped you could not mean it. You, so young, untried, and
+beautiful, Estella! Surely it is not in Nature.”
+
+“It is in my nature,” she returned. And then she added, with a stress
+upon the words, “It is in the nature formed within me. I make a great
+difference between you and all other people when I say so much. I can do
+no more.”
+
+“Is it not true,” said I, “that Bentley Drummle is in town here, and
+pursuing you?”
+
+“It is quite true,” she replied, referring to him with the indifference
+of utter contempt.
+
+“That you encourage him, and ride out with him, and that he dines with
+you this very day?”
+
+She seemed a little surprised that I should know it, but again replied,
+“Quite true.”
+
+“You cannot love him, Estella!”
+
+Her fingers stopped for the first time, as she retorted rather angrily,
+“What have I told you? Do you still think, in spite of it, that I do not
+mean what I say?”
+
+“You would never marry him, Estella?”
+
+She looked towards Miss Havisham, and considered for a moment with her
+work in her hands. Then she said, “Why not tell you the truth? I am
+going to be married to him.”
+
+I dropped my face into my hands, but was able to control myself better
+than I could have expected, considering what agony it gave me to hear
+her say those words. When I raised my face again, there was such a
+ghastly look upon Miss Havisham’s, that it impressed me, even in my
+passionate hurry and grief.
+
+“Estella, dearest Estella, do not let Miss Havisham lead you into this
+fatal step. Put me aside for ever,--you have done so, I well know,--but
+bestow yourself on some worthier person than Drummle. Miss Havisham
+gives you to him, as the greatest slight and injury that could be done
+to the many far better men who admire you, and to the few who truly
+love you. Among those few there may be one who loves you even as dearly,
+though he has not loved you as long, as I. Take him, and I can bear it
+better, for your sake!”
+
+My earnestness awoke a wonder in her that seemed as if it would have
+been touched with compassion, if she could have rendered me at all
+intelligible to her own mind.
+
+“I am going,” she said again, in a gentler voice, “to be married to
+him. The preparations for my marriage are making, and I shall be
+married soon. Why do you injuriously introduce the name of my mother by
+adoption? It is my own act.”
+
+“Your own act, Estella, to fling yourself away upon a brute?”
+
+“On whom should I fling myself away?” she retorted, with a smile.
+“Should I fling myself away upon the man who would the soonest feel (if
+people do feel such things) that I took nothing to him? There! It is
+done. I shall do well enough, and so will my husband. As to leading
+me into what you call this fatal step, Miss Havisham would have had me
+wait, and not marry yet; but I am tired of the life I have led, which
+has very few charms for me, and I am willing enough to change it. Say no
+more. We shall never understand each other.”
+
+“Such a mean brute, such a stupid brute!” I urged, in despair.
+
+“Don’t be afraid of my being a blessing to him,” said Estella; “I shall
+not be that. Come! Here is my hand. Do we part on this, you visionary
+boy--or man?”
+
+“O Estella!” I answered, as my bitter tears fell fast on her hand, do
+what I would to restrain them; “even if I remained in England and could
+hold my head up with the rest, how could I see you Drummle’s wife?”
+
+“Nonsense,” she returned,--“nonsense. This will pass in no time.”
+
+“Never, Estella!”
+
+“You will get me out of your thoughts in a week.”
+
+“Out of my thoughts! You are part of my existence, part of myself. You
+have been in every line I have ever read since I first came here, the
+rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been
+in every prospect I have ever seen since,--on the river, on the sails of
+the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness,
+in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been
+the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become
+acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings
+are made are not more real, or more impossible to be displaced by your
+hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and
+everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you
+cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good
+in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation, I associate you only
+with the good; and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you
+must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp
+distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!”
+
+In what ecstasy of unhappiness I got these broken words out of myself, I
+don’t know. The rhapsody welled up within me, like blood from an
+inward wound, and gushed out. I held her hand to my lips some lingering
+moments, and so I left her. But ever afterwards, I remembered,--and soon
+afterwards with stronger reason,--that while Estella looked at me merely
+with incredulous wonder, the spectral figure of Miss Havisham, her hand
+still covering her heart, seemed all resolved into a ghastly stare of
+pity and remorse.
+
+All done, all gone! So much was done and gone, that when I went out at
+the gate, the light of the day seemed of a darker color than when I went
+in. For a while, I hid myself among some lanes and by-paths, and then
+struck off to walk all the way to London. For, I had by that time come
+to myself so far as to consider that I could not go back to the inn and
+see Drummle there; that I could not bear to sit upon the coach and
+be spoken to; that I could do nothing half so good for myself as tire
+myself out.
+
+It was past midnight when I crossed London Bridge. Pursuing the narrow
+intricacies of the streets which at that time tended westward near the
+Middlesex shore of the river, my readiest access to the Temple was
+close by the river-side, through Whitefriars. I was not expected till
+to-morrow; but I had my keys, and, if Herbert were gone to bed, could
+get to bed myself without disturbing him.
+
+As it seldom happened that I came in at that Whitefriars gate after the
+Temple was closed, and as I was very muddy and weary, I did not take it
+ill that the night-porter examined me with much attention as he held the
+gate a little way open for me to pass in. To help his memory I mentioned
+my name.
+
+“I was not quite sure, sir, but I thought so. Here’s a note, sir. The
+messenger that brought it, said would you be so good as read it by my
+lantern?”
+
+Much surprised by the request, I took the note. It was directed to
+Philip Pip, Esquire, and on the top of the superscription were the
+words, “PLEASE READ THIS, HERE.” I opened it, the watchman holding up
+his light, and read inside, in Wemmick’s writing,--
+
+“DON’T GO HOME.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLV
+
+Turning from the Temple gate as soon as I had read the warning, I made
+the best of my way to Fleet Street, and there got a late hackney chariot
+and drove to the Hummums in Covent Garden. In those times a bed was
+always to be got there at any hour of the night, and the chamberlain,
+letting me in at his ready wicket, lighted the candle next in order on
+his shelf, and showed me straight into the bedroom next in order on his
+list. It was a sort of vault on the ground floor at the back, with a
+despotic monster of a four-post bedstead in it, straddling over the
+whole place, putting one of his arbitrary legs into the fireplace
+and another into the doorway, and squeezing the wretched little
+washing-stand in quite a Divinely Righteous manner.
+
+As I had asked for a night-light, the chamberlain had brought me in,
+before he left me, the good old constitutional rushlight of those
+virtuous days--an object like the ghost of a walking-cane, which
+instantly broke its back if it were touched, which nothing could ever be
+lighted at, and which was placed in solitary confinement at the bottom
+of a high tin tower, perforated with round holes that made a staringly
+wide-awake pattern on the walls. When I had got into bed, and lay there
+footsore, weary, and wretched, I found that I could no more close my own
+eyes than I could close the eyes of this foolish Argus. And thus, in the
+gloom and death of the night, we stared at one another.
+
+What a doleful night! How anxious, how dismal, how long! There was an
+inhospitable smell in the room, of cold soot and hot dust; and, as I
+looked up into the corners of the tester over my head, I thought what
+a number of blue-bottle flies from the butchers’, and earwigs from the
+market, and grubs from the country, must be holding on up there, lying
+by for next summer. This led me to speculate whether any of them ever
+tumbled down, and then I fancied that I felt light falls on my face,--a
+disagreeable turn of thought, suggesting other and more objectionable
+approaches up my back. When I had lain awake a little while, those
+extraordinary voices with which silence teems began to make themselves
+audible. The closet whispered, the fireplace sighed, the little
+washing-stand ticked, and one guitar-string played occasionally in the
+chest of drawers. At about the same time, the eyes on the wall acquired
+a new expression, and in every one of those staring rounds I saw
+written, DON’T GO HOME.
+
+Whatever night-fancies and night-noises crowded on me, they never warded
+off this DON’T GO HOME. It plaited itself into whatever I thought of,
+as a bodily pain would have done. Not long before, I had read in the
+newspapers, how a gentleman unknown had come to the Hummums in the
+night, and had gone to bed, and had destroyed himself, and had been
+found in the morning weltering in blood. It came into my head that he
+must have occupied this very vault of mine, and I got out of bed to
+assure myself that there were no red marks about; then opened the door
+to look out into the passages, and cheer myself with the companionship
+of a distant light, near which I knew the chamberlain to be dozing. But
+all this time, why I was not to go home, and what had happened at home,
+and when I should go home, and whether Provis was safe at home, were
+questions occupying my mind so busily, that one might have supposed
+there could be no more room in it for any other theme. Even when I
+thought of Estella, and how we had parted that day forever, and when
+I recalled all the circumstances of our parting, and all her looks and
+tones, and the action of her fingers while she knitted,--even then I
+was pursuing, here and there and everywhere, the caution, Don’t go home.
+When at last I dozed, in sheer exhaustion of mind and body, it became
+a vast shadowy verb which I had to conjugate. Imperative mood, present
+tense: Do not thou go home, let him not go home, let us not go home, do
+not ye or you go home, let not them go home. Then potentially: I may not
+and I cannot go home; and I might not, could not, would not, and should
+not go home; until I felt that I was going distracted, and rolled over
+on the pillow, and looked at the staring rounds upon the wall again.
+
+I had left directions that I was to be called at seven; for it was plain
+that I must see Wemmick before seeing any one else, and equally plain
+that this was a case in which his Walworth sentiments only could be
+taken. It was a relief to get out of the room where the night had been
+so miserable, and I needed no second knocking at the door to startle me
+from my uneasy bed.
+
+The Castle battlements arose upon my view at eight o’clock. The little
+servant happening to be entering the fortress with two hot rolls, I
+passed through the postern and crossed the drawbridge in her company,
+and so came without announcement into the presence of Wemmick as he was
+making tea for himself and the Aged. An open door afforded a perspective
+view of the Aged in bed.
+
+“Halloa, Mr. Pip!” said Wemmick. “You did come home, then?”
+
+“Yes,” I returned; “but I didn’t go home.”
+
+“That’s all right,” said he, rubbing his hands. “I left a note for you
+at each of the Temple gates, on the chance. Which gate did you come to?”
+
+I told him.
+
+“I’ll go round to the others in the course of the day and destroy the
+notes,” said Wemmick; “it’s a good rule never to leave documentary
+evidence if you can help it, because you don’t know when it may be put
+in. I’m going to take a liberty with you. Would you mind toasting this
+sausage for the Aged P.?”
+
+I said I should be delighted to do it.
+
+“Then you can go about your work, Mary Anne,” said Wemmick to the little
+servant; “which leaves us to ourselves, don’t you see, Mr. Pip?” he
+added, winking, as she disappeared.
+
+I thanked him for his friendship and caution, and our discourse
+proceeded in a low tone, while I toasted the Aged’s sausage and he
+buttered the crumb of the Aged’s roll.
+
+“Now, Mr. Pip, you know,” said Wemmick, “you and I understand one
+another. We are in our private and personal capacities, and we have been
+engaged in a confidential transaction before to-day. Official sentiments
+are one thing. We are extra official.”
+
+I cordially assented. I was so very nervous, that I had already lighted
+the Aged’s sausage like a torch, and been obliged to blow it out.
+
+“I accidentally heard, yesterday morning,” said Wemmick, “being in a
+certain place where I once took you,--even between you and me, it’s as
+well not to mention names when avoidable--”
+
+“Much better not,” said I. “I understand you.”
+
+“I heard there by chance, yesterday morning,” said Wemmick, “that
+a certain person not altogether of uncolonial pursuits, and not
+unpossessed of portable property,--I don’t know who it may really
+be,--we won’t name this person--”
+
+“Not necessary,” said I.
+
+“--Had made some little stir in a certain part of the world where a good
+many people go, not always in gratification of their own inclinations,
+and not quite irrespective of the government expense--”
+
+In watching his face, I made quite a firework of the Aged’s sausage,
+and greatly discomposed both my own attention and Wemmick’s; for which I
+apologized.
+
+“--By disappearing from such place, and being no more heard of
+thereabouts. From which,” said Wemmick, “conjectures had been raised and
+theories formed. I also heard that you at your chambers in Garden Court,
+Temple, had been watched, and might be watched again.”
+
+“By whom?” said I.
+
+“I wouldn’t go into that,” said Wemmick, evasively, “it might clash with
+official responsibilities. I heard it, as I have in my time heard other
+curious things in the same place. I don’t tell it you on information
+received. I heard it.”
+
+He took the toasting-fork and sausage from me as he spoke, and set forth
+the Aged’s breakfast neatly on a little tray. Previous to placing it
+before him, he went into the Aged’s room with a clean white cloth, and
+tied the same under the old gentleman’s chin, and propped him up, and
+put his nightcap on one side, and gave him quite a rakish air. Then he
+placed his breakfast before him with great care, and said, “All right,
+ain’t you, Aged P.?” To which the cheerful Aged replied, “All right,
+John, my boy, all right!” As there seemed to be a tacit understanding
+that the Aged was not in a presentable state, and was therefore to be
+considered invisible, I made a pretence of being in complete ignorance
+of these proceedings.
+
+“This watching of me at my chambers (which I have once had reason to
+suspect),” I said to Wemmick when he came back, “is inseparable from the
+person to whom you have adverted; is it?”
+
+Wemmick looked very serious. “I couldn’t undertake to say that, of my
+own knowledge. I mean, I couldn’t undertake to say it was at first. But
+it either is, or it will be, or it’s in great danger of being.”
+
+As I saw that he was restrained by fealty to Little Britain from saying
+as much as he could, and as I knew with thankfulness to him how far out
+of his way he went to say what he did, I could not press him. But I told
+him, after a little meditation over the fire, that I would like to ask
+him a question, subject to his answering or not answering, as he
+deemed right, and sure that his course would be right. He paused in his
+breakfast, and crossing his arms, and pinching his shirt-sleeves (his
+notion of in-door comfort was to sit without any coat), he nodded to me
+once, to put my question.
+
+“You have heard of a man of bad character, whose true name is
+Compeyson?”
+
+He answered with one other nod.
+
+“Is he living?”
+
+One other nod.
+
+“Is he in London?”
+
+He gave me one other nod, compressed the post-office exceedingly, gave
+me one last nod, and went on with his breakfast.
+
+“Now,” said Wemmick, “questioning being over,” which he emphasized and
+repeated for my guidance, “I come to what I did, after hearing what I
+heard. I went to Garden Court to find you; not finding you, I went to
+Clarriker’s to find Mr. Herbert.”
+
+“And him you found?” said I, with great anxiety.
+
+“And him I found. Without mentioning any names or going into any
+details, I gave him to understand that if he was aware of anybody--Tom,
+Jack, or Richard--being about the chambers, or about the immediate
+neighborhood, he had better get Tom, Jack, or Richard out of the way
+while you were out of the way.”
+
+“He would be greatly puzzled what to do?”
+
+“He was puzzled what to do; not the less, because I gave him my opinion
+that it was not safe to try to get Tom, Jack, or Richard too far out
+of the way at present. Mr. Pip, I’ll tell you something. Under existing
+circumstances, there is no place like a great city when you are once
+in it. Don’t break cover too soon. Lie close. Wait till things slacken,
+before you try the open, even for foreign air.”
+
+I thanked him for his valuable advice, and asked him what Herbert had
+done?
+
+“Mr. Herbert,” said Wemmick, “after being all of a heap for half an
+hour, struck out a plan. He mentioned to me as a secret, that he is
+courting a young lady who has, as no doubt you are aware, a bedridden
+Pa. Which Pa, having been in the Purser line of life, lies a-bed in a
+bow-window where he can see the ships sail up and down the river. You
+are acquainted with the young lady, most probably?”
+
+“Not personally,” said I.
+
+The truth was, that she had objected to me as an expensive companion
+who did Herbert no good, and that, when Herbert had first proposed to
+present me to her, she had received the proposal with such very moderate
+warmth, that Herbert had felt himself obliged to confide the state of
+the case to me, with a view to the lapse of a little time before I made
+her acquaintance. When I had begun to advance Herbert’s prospects by
+stealth, I had been able to bear this with cheerful philosophy: he and
+his affianced, for their part, had naturally not been very anxious to
+introduce a third person into their interviews; and thus, although I was
+assured that I had risen in Clara’s esteem, and although the young
+lady and I had long regularly interchanged messages and remembrances by
+Herbert, I had never seen her. However, I did not trouble Wemmick with
+these particulars.
+
+“The house with the bow-window,” said Wemmick, “being by the river-side,
+down the Pool there between Limehouse and Greenwich, and being kept, it
+seems, by a very respectable widow who has a furnished upper floor to
+let, Mr. Herbert put it to me, what did I think of that as a temporary
+tenement for Tom, Jack, or Richard? Now, I thought very well of it, for
+three reasons I’ll give you. That is to say: Firstly. It’s altogether
+out of all your beats, and is well away from the usual heap of streets
+great and small. Secondly. Without going near it yourself, you could
+always hear of the safety of Tom, Jack, or Richard, through Mr. Herbert.
+Thirdly. After a while and when it might be prudent, if you should want
+to slip Tom, Jack, or Richard on board a foreign packet-boat, there he
+is--ready.”
+
+Much comforted by these considerations, I thanked Wemmick again and
+again, and begged him to proceed.
+
+“Well, sir! Mr. Herbert threw himself into the business with a will, and
+by nine o’clock last night he housed Tom, Jack, or Richard,--whichever
+it may be,--you and I don’t want to know,--quite successfully. At the
+old lodgings it was understood that he was summoned to Dover, and, in
+fact, he was taken down the Dover road and cornered out of it. Now,
+another great advantage of all this is, that it was done without you,
+and when, if any one was concerning himself about your movements, you
+must be known to be ever so many miles off and quite otherwise engaged.
+This diverts suspicion and confuses it; and for the same reason I
+recommended that, even if you came back last night, you should not go
+home. It brings in more confusion, and you want confusion.”
+
+Wemmick, having finished his breakfast, here looked at his watch, and
+began to get his coat on.
+
+“And now, Mr. Pip,” said he, with his hands still in the sleeves, “I
+have probably done the most I can do; but if I can ever do more,--from
+a Walworth point of view, and in a strictly private and personal
+capacity,--I shall be glad to do it. Here’s the address. There can be
+no harm in your going here to-night, and seeing for yourself that all is
+well with Tom, Jack, or Richard, before you go home,--which is another
+reason for your not going home last night. But, after you have gone
+home, don’t go back here. You are very welcome, I am sure, Mr. Pip”; his
+hands were now out of his sleeves, and I was shaking them; “and let me
+finally impress one important point upon you.” He laid his hands upon
+my shoulders, and added in a solemn whisper: “Avail yourself of this
+evening to lay hold of his portable property. You don’t know what may
+happen to him. Don’t let anything happen to the portable property.”
+
+Quite despairing of making my mind clear to Wemmick on this point, I
+forbore to try.
+
+“Time’s up,” said Wemmick, “and I must be off. If you had nothing more
+pressing to do than to keep here till dark, that’s what I should advise.
+You look very much worried, and it would do you good to have a perfectly
+quiet day with the Aged,--he’ll be up presently,--and a little bit
+of--you remember the pig?”
+
+“Of course,” said I.
+
+“Well; and a little bit of him. That sausage you toasted was his, and
+he was in all respects a first-rater. Do try him, if it is only for old
+acquaintance sake. Good-bye, Aged Parent!” in a cheery shout.
+
+“All right, John; all right, my boy!” piped the old man from within.
+
+I soon fell asleep before Wemmick’s fire, and the Aged and I enjoyed one
+another’s society by falling asleep before it more or less all day.
+We had loin of pork for dinner, and greens grown on the estate; and
+I nodded at the Aged with a good intention whenever I failed to do it
+drowsily. When it was quite dark, I left the Aged preparing the fire for
+toast; and I inferred from the number of teacups, as well as from his
+glances at the two little doors in the wall, that Miss Skiffins was
+expected.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVI
+
+Eight o’clock had struck before I got into the air, that was scented,
+not disagreeably, by the chips and shavings of the long-shore
+boat-builders, and mast, oar, and block makers. All that water-side
+region of the upper and lower Pool below Bridge was unknown ground to
+me; and when I struck down by the river, I found that the spot I wanted
+was not where I had supposed it to be, and was anything but easy to
+find. It was called Mill Pond Bank, Chinks’s Basin; and I had no other
+guide to Chinks’s Basin than the Old Green Copper Rope-walk.
+
+It matters not what stranded ships repairing in dry docks I lost myself
+among, what old hulls of ships in course of being knocked to pieces,
+what ooze and slime and other dregs of tide, what yards of ship-builders
+and ship-breakers, what rusty anchors blindly biting into the ground,
+though for years off duty, what mountainous country of accumulated casks
+and timber, how many rope-walks that were not the Old Green Copper. After
+several times falling short of my destination and as often overshooting
+it, I came unexpectedly round a corner, upon Mill Pond Bank. It was a
+fresh kind of place, all circumstances considered, where the wind from
+the river had room to turn itself round; and there were two or three
+trees in it, and there was the stump of a ruined windmill, and there
+was the Old Green Copper Rope-walk,--whose long and narrow vista I could
+trace in the moonlight, along a series of wooden frames set in the
+ground, that looked like superannuated haymaking-rakes which had grown
+old and lost most of their teeth.
+
+Selecting from the few queer houses upon Mill Pond Bank a house with a
+wooden front and three stories of bow-window (not bay-window, which is
+another thing), I looked at the plate upon the door, and read there,
+Mrs. Whimple. That being the name I wanted, I knocked, and an elderly
+woman of a pleasant and thriving appearance responded. She was
+immediately deposed, however, by Herbert, who silently led me into
+the parlor and shut the door. It was an odd sensation to see his very
+familiar face established quite at home in that very unfamiliar room
+and region; and I found myself looking at him, much as I looked at
+the corner-cupboard with the glass and china, the shells upon the
+chimney-piece, and the colored engravings on the wall, representing the
+death of Captain Cook, a ship-launch, and his Majesty King George the
+Third in a state coachman’s wig, leather-breeches, and top-boots, on the
+terrace at Windsor.
+
+“All is well, Handel,” said Herbert, “and he is quite satisfied, though
+eager to see you. My dear girl is with her father; and if you’ll wait
+till she comes down, I’ll make you known to her, and then we’ll go upstairs.
+That’s her father.”
+
+I had become aware of an alarming growling overhead, and had probably
+expressed the fact in my countenance.
+
+“I am afraid he is a sad old rascal,” said Herbert, smiling, “but I have
+never seen him. Don’t you smell rum? He is always at it.”
+
+“At rum?” said I.
+
+“Yes,” returned Herbert, “and you may suppose how mild it makes his
+gout. He persists, too, in keeping all the provisions upstairs in his
+room, and serving them out. He keeps them on shelves over his head, and
+will weigh them all. His room must be like a chandler’s shop.”
+
+While he thus spoke, the growling noise became a prolonged roar, and
+then died away.
+
+“What else can be the consequence,” said Herbert, in explanation, “if
+he will cut the cheese? A man with the gout in his right hand--and
+everywhere else--can’t expect to get through a Double Gloucester without
+hurting himself.”
+
+He seemed to have hurt himself very much, for he gave another furious
+roar.
+
+“To have Provis for an upper lodger is quite a godsend to Mrs. Whimple,”
+ said Herbert, “for of course people in general won’t stand that noise. A
+curious place, Handel; isn’t it?”
+
+It was a curious place, indeed; but remarkably well kept and clean.
+
+“Mrs. Whimple,” said Herbert, when I told him so, “is the best of
+housewives, and I really do not know what my Clara would do without
+her motherly help. For, Clara has no mother of her own, Handel, and no
+relation in the world but old Gruffandgrim.”
+
+“Surely that’s not his name, Herbert?”
+
+“No, no,” said Herbert, “that’s my name for him. His name is Mr. Barley.
+But what a blessing it is for the son of my father and mother to love a
+girl who has no relations, and who can never bother herself or anybody
+else about her family!”
+
+Herbert had told me on former occasions, and now reminded me, that he
+first knew Miss Clara Barley when she was completing her education at
+an establishment at Hammersmith, and that on her being recalled home
+to nurse her father, he and she had confided their affection to the
+motherly Mrs. Whimple, by whom it had been fostered and regulated
+with equal kindness and discretion, ever since. It was understood that
+nothing of a tender nature could possibly be confided to old Barley, by
+reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any subject
+more psychological than Gout, Rum, and Purser’s stores.
+
+As we were thus conversing in a low tone while Old Barley’s sustained
+growl vibrated in the beam that crossed the ceiling, the room door
+opened, and a very pretty, slight, dark-eyed girl of twenty or so came
+in with a basket in her hand: whom Herbert tenderly relieved of the
+basket, and presented, blushing, as “Clara.” She really was a most
+charming girl, and might have passed for a captive fairy, whom that
+truculent Ogre, Old Barley, had pressed into his service.
+
+“Look here,” said Herbert, showing me the basket, with a compassionate
+and tender smile, after we had talked a little; “here’s poor Clara’s
+supper, served out every night. Here’s her allowance of bread, and
+here’s her slice of cheese, and here’s her rum,--which I drink. This
+is Mr. Barley’s breakfast for to-morrow, served out to be cooked. Two
+mutton-chops, three potatoes, some split peas, a little flour, two
+ounces of butter, a pinch of salt, and all this black pepper. It’s
+stewed up together, and taken hot, and it’s a nice thing for the gout, I
+should think!”
+
+There was something so natural and winning in Clara’s resigned way of
+looking at these stores in detail, as Herbert pointed them out; and
+something so confiding, loving, and innocent in her modest manner of
+yielding herself to Herbert’s embracing arm; and something so gentle in
+her, so much needing protection on Mill Pond Bank, by Chinks’s Basin,
+and the Old Green Copper Rope-walk, with Old Barley growling in the
+beam,--that I would not have undone the engagement between her and
+Herbert for all the money in the pocket-book I had never opened.
+
+I was looking at her with pleasure and admiration, when suddenly the
+growl swelled into a roar again, and a frightful bumping noise was heard
+above, as if a giant with a wooden leg were trying to bore it through
+the ceiling to come at us. Upon this Clara said to Herbert, “Papa wants
+me, darling!” and ran away.
+
+“There is an unconscionable old shark for you!” said Herbert. “What do
+you suppose he wants now, Handel?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said I. “Something to drink?”
+
+“That’s it!” cried Herbert, as if I had made a guess of extraordinary
+merit. “He keeps his grog ready mixed in a little tub on the table.
+Wait a moment, and you’ll hear Clara lift him up to take some. There
+he goes!” Another roar, with a prolonged shake at the end. “Now,” said
+Herbert, as it was succeeded by silence, “he’s drinking. Now,” said
+Herbert, as the growl resounded in the beam once more, “he’s down again
+on his back!”
+
+Clara returned soon afterwards, and Herbert accompanied me upstairs to
+see our charge. As we passed Mr. Barley’s door, he was heard hoarsely
+muttering within, in a strain that rose and fell like wind, the
+following Refrain, in which I substitute good wishes for something quite
+the reverse:--
+
+“Ahoy! Bless your eyes, here’s old Bill Barley. Here’s old Bill Barley,
+bless your eyes. Here’s old Bill Barley on the flat of his back, by the
+Lord. Lying on the flat of his back like a drifting old dead flounder,
+here’s your old Bill Barley, bless your eyes. Ahoy! Bless you.”
+
+In this strain of consolation, Herbert informed me the invisible Barley
+would commune with himself by the day and night together; Often, while
+it was light, having, at the same time, one eye at a telescope which was
+fitted on his bed for the convenience of sweeping the river.
+
+In his two cabin rooms at the top of the house, which were fresh and
+airy, and in which Mr. Barley was less audible than below, I found
+Provis comfortably settled. He expressed no alarm, and seemed to
+feel none that was worth mentioning; but it struck me that he was
+softened,--indefinably, for I could not have said how, and could never
+afterwards recall how when I tried, but certainly.
+
+The opportunity that the day’s rest had given me for reflection had
+resulted in my fully determining to say nothing to him respecting
+Compeyson. For anything I knew, his animosity towards the man
+might otherwise lead to his seeking him out and rushing on his own
+destruction. Therefore, when Herbert and I sat down with him by his
+fire, I asked him first of all whether he relied on Wemmick’s judgment
+and sources of information?
+
+“Ay, ay, dear boy!” he answered, with a grave nod, “Jaggers knows.”
+
+“Then, I have talked with Wemmick,” said I, “and have come to tell you
+what caution he gave me and what advice.”
+
+This I did accurately, with the reservation just mentioned; and I told
+him how Wemmick had heard, in Newgate prison (whether from officers or
+prisoners I could not say), that he was under some suspicion, and that
+my chambers had been watched; how Wemmick had recommended his keeping
+close for a time, and my keeping away from him; and what Wemmick had
+said about getting him abroad. I added, that of course, when the time
+came, I should go with him, or should follow close upon him, as might
+be safest in Wemmick’s judgment. What was to follow that I did not touch
+upon; neither, indeed, was I at all clear or comfortable about it in my
+own mind, now that I saw him in that softer condition, and in declared
+peril for my sake. As to altering my way of living by enlarging my
+expenses, I put it to him whether in our present unsettled and difficult
+circumstances, it would not be simply ridiculous, if it were no worse?
+
+He could not deny this, and indeed was very reasonable throughout. His
+coming back was a venture, he said, and he had always known it to be a
+venture. He would do nothing to make it a desperate venture, and he had
+very little fear of his safety with such good help.
+
+Herbert, who had been looking at the fire and pondering, here said
+that something had come into his thoughts arising out of Wemmick’s
+suggestion, which it might be worth while to pursue. “We are both good
+watermen, Handel, and could take him down the river ourselves when the
+right time comes. No boat would then be hired for the purpose, and no
+boatmen; that would save at least a chance of suspicion, and any chance
+is worth saving. Never mind the season; don’t you think it might be a
+good thing if you began at once to keep a boat at the Temple stairs, and
+were in the habit of rowing up and down the river? You fall into that
+habit, and then who notices or minds? Do it twenty or fifty times,
+and there is nothing special in your doing it the twenty-first or
+fifty-first.”
+
+I liked this scheme, and Provis was quite elated by it. We agreed
+that it should be carried into execution, and that Provis should never
+recognize us if we came below Bridge, and rowed past Mill Pond Bank. But
+we further agreed that he should pull down the blind in that part of his
+window which gave upon the east, whenever he saw us and all was right.
+
+Our conference being now ended, and everything arranged, I rose to go;
+remarking to Herbert that he and I had better not go home together, and
+that I would take half an hour’s start of him. “I don’t like to leave
+you here,” I said to Provis, “though I cannot doubt your being safer
+here than near me. Good-bye!”
+
+“Dear boy,” he answered, clasping my hands, “I don’t know when we may
+meet again, and I don’t like good-bye. Say good night!”
+
+“Good night! Herbert will go regularly between us, and when the time
+comes you may be certain I shall be ready. Good night, good night!”
+
+We thought it best that he should stay in his own rooms; and we left him
+on the landing outside his door, holding a light over the stair-rail to
+light us downstairs. Looking back at him, I thought of the first night
+of his return, when our positions were reversed, and when I little
+supposed my heart could ever be as heavy and anxious at parting from him
+as it was now.
+
+Old Barley was growling and swearing when we repassed his door, with no
+appearance of having ceased or of meaning to cease. When we got to the
+foot of the stairs, I asked Herbert whether he had preserved the name of
+Provis. He replied, certainly not, and that the lodger was Mr. Campbell.
+He also explained that the utmost known of Mr. Campbell there was,
+that he (Herbert) had Mr. Campbell consigned to him, and felt a strong
+personal interest in his being well cared for, and living a secluded
+life. So, when we went into the parlor where Mrs. Whimple and Clara were
+seated at work, I said nothing of my own interest in Mr. Campbell, but
+kept it to myself.
+
+When I had taken leave of the pretty, gentle, dark-eyed girl, and of the
+motherly woman who had not outlived her honest sympathy with a little
+affair of true love, I felt as if the Old Green Copper Rope-walk had
+grown quite a different place. Old Barley might be as old as the hills,
+and might swear like a whole field of troopers, but there were redeeming
+youth and trust and hope enough in Chinks’s Basin to fill it to
+overflowing. And then I thought of Estella, and of our parting, and went
+home very sadly.
+
+All things were as quiet in the Temple as ever I had seen them. The
+windows of the rooms on that side, lately occupied by Provis, were dark
+and still, and there was no lounger in Garden Court. I walked past the
+fountain twice or thrice before I descended the steps that were between
+me and my rooms, but I was quite alone. Herbert, coming to my
+bedside when he came in,--for I went straight to bed, dispirited and
+fatigued,--made the same report. Opening one of the windows after that,
+he looked out into the moonlight, and told me that the pavement was as
+solemnly empty as the pavement of any cathedral at that same hour.
+
+Next day I set myself to get the boat. It was soon done, and the boat
+was brought round to the Temple stairs, and lay where I could reach
+her within a minute or two. Then, I began to go out as for training and
+practice: sometimes alone, sometimes with Herbert. I was often out in
+cold, rain, and sleet, but nobody took much note of me after I had been
+out a few times. At first, I kept above Blackfriars Bridge; but as the
+hours of the tide changed, I took towards London Bridge. It was Old
+London Bridge in those days, and at certain states of the tide there
+was a race and fall of water there which gave it a bad reputation. But I
+knew well enough how to ‘shoot’ the bridge after seeing it done, and so
+began to row about among the shipping in the Pool, and down to Erith.
+The first time I passed Mill Pond Bank, Herbert and I were pulling a
+pair of oars; and, both in going and returning, we saw the blind towards
+the east come down. Herbert was rarely there less frequently than three
+times in a week, and he never brought me a single word of intelligence
+that was at all alarming. Still, I knew that there was cause for alarm,
+and I could not get rid of the notion of being watched. Once received,
+it is a haunting idea; how many undesigning persons I suspected of
+watching me, it would be hard to calculate.
+
+In short, I was always full of fears for the rash man who was in hiding.
+Herbert had sometimes said to me that he found it pleasant to stand at
+one of our windows after dark, when the tide was running down, and to
+think that it was flowing, with everything it bore, towards Clara. But
+I thought with dread that it was flowing towards Magwitch, and that
+any black mark on its surface might be his pursuers, going swiftly,
+silently, and surely, to take him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVII
+
+Some weeks passed without bringing any change. We waited for Wemmick,
+and he made no sign. If I had never known him out of Little Britain, and
+had never enjoyed the privilege of being on a familiar footing at the
+Castle, I might have doubted him; not so for a moment, knowing him as I
+did.
+
+My worldly affairs began to wear a gloomy appearance, and I was pressed
+for money by more than one creditor. Even I myself began to know the
+want of money (I mean of ready money in my own pocket), and to relieve
+it by converting some easily spared articles of jewelery into cash. But
+I had quite determined that it would be a heartless fraud to take more
+money from my patron in the existing state of my uncertain thoughts and
+plans. Therefore, I had sent him the unopened pocket-book by Herbert, to
+hold in his own keeping, and I felt a kind of satisfaction--whether it
+was a false kind or a true, I hardly know--in not having profited by his
+generosity since his revelation of himself.
+
+As the time wore on, an impression settled heavily upon me that Estella
+was married. Fearful of having it confirmed, though it was all but a
+conviction, I avoided the newspapers, and begged Herbert (to whom I had
+confided the circumstances of our last interview) never to speak of her
+to me. Why I hoarded up this last wretched little rag of the robe of
+hope that was rent and given to the winds, how do I know? Why did you
+who read this, commit that not dissimilar inconsistency of your own last
+year, last month, last week?
+
+It was an unhappy life that I lived; and its one dominant anxiety,
+towering over all its other anxieties, like a high mountain above a
+range of mountains, never disappeared from my view. Still, no new cause
+for fear arose. Let me start from my bed as I would, with the terror
+fresh upon me that he was discovered; let me sit listening, as I would
+with dread, for Herbert’s returning step at night, lest it should be
+fleeter than ordinary, and winged with evil news,--for all that, and
+much more to like purpose, the round of things went on. Condemned to
+inaction and a state of constant restlessness and suspense, I rowed
+about in my boat, and waited, waited, waited, as I best could.
+
+There were states of the tide when, having been down the river, I could
+not get back through the eddy-chafed arches and starlings of old London
+Bridge; then, I left my boat at a wharf near the Custom House, to be
+brought up afterwards to the Temple stairs. I was not averse to doing
+this, as it served to make me and my boat a commoner incident among the
+water-side people there. From this slight occasion sprang two meetings
+that I have now to tell of.
+
+One afternoon, late in the month of February, I came ashore at the wharf
+at dusk. I had pulled down as far as Greenwich with the ebb tide, and
+had turned with the tide. It had been a fine bright day, but had become
+foggy as the sun dropped, and I had had to feel my way back among the
+shipping, pretty carefully. Both in going and returning, I had seen the
+signal in his window, All well.
+
+As it was a raw evening, and I was cold, I thought I would comfort
+myself with dinner at once; and as I had hours of dejection and solitude
+before me if I went home to the Temple, I thought I would afterwards go
+to the play. The theatre where Mr. Wopsle had achieved his questionable
+triumph was in that water-side neighborhood (it is nowhere now), and
+to that theatre I resolved to go. I was aware that Mr. Wopsle had
+not succeeded in reviving the Drama, but, on the contrary, had rather
+partaken of its decline. He had been ominously heard of, through the
+play-bills, as a faithful Black, in connection with a little girl of
+noble birth, and a monkey. And Herbert had seen him as a predatory
+Tartar of comic propensities, with a face like a red brick, and an
+outrageous hat all over bells.
+
+I dined at what Herbert and I used to call a geographical chop-house,
+where there were maps of the world in porter-pot rims on every half-yard
+of the tablecloths, and charts of gravy on every one of the knives,--to
+this day there is scarcely a single chop-house within the Lord Mayor’s
+dominions which is not geographical,--and wore out the time in dozing
+over crumbs, staring at gas, and baking in a hot blast of dinners. By
+and by, I roused myself, and went to the play.
+
+There, I found a virtuous boatswain in His Majesty’s service,--a most
+excellent man, though I could have wished his trousers not quite so
+tight in some places, and not quite so loose in others,--who knocked all
+the little men’s hats over their eyes, though he was very generous and
+brave, and who wouldn’t hear of anybody’s paying taxes, though he was
+very patriotic. He had a bag of money in his pocket, like a pudding in
+the cloth, and on that property married a young person in bed-furniture,
+with great rejoicings; the whole population of Portsmouth (nine in
+number at the last census) turning out on the beach to rub their own
+hands and shake everybody else’s, and sing “Fill, fill!” A certain
+dark-complexioned Swab, however, who wouldn’t fill, or do anything else
+that was proposed to him, and whose heart was openly stated (by the
+boatswain) to be as black as his figure-head, proposed to two other
+Swabs to get all mankind into difficulties; which was so effectually
+done (the Swab family having considerable political influence) that it
+took half the evening to set things right, and then it was only brought
+about through an honest little grocer with a white hat, black gaiters,
+and red nose, getting into a clock, with a gridiron, and listening, and
+coming out, and knocking everybody down from behind with the gridiron
+whom he couldn’t confute with what he had overheard. This led to Mr.
+Wopsle’s (who had never been heard of before) coming in with a star
+and garter on, as a plenipotentiary of great power direct from the
+Admiralty, to say that the Swabs were all to go to prison on the spot,
+and that he had brought the boatswain down the Union Jack, as a slight
+acknowledgment of his public services. The boatswain, unmanned for the
+first time, respectfully dried his eyes on the Jack, and then cheering
+up, and addressing Mr. Wopsle as Your Honor, solicited permission to
+take him by the fin. Mr. Wopsle, conceding his fin with a gracious
+dignity, was immediately shoved into a dusty corner, while everybody
+danced a hornpipe; and from that corner, surveying the public with a
+discontented eye, became aware of me.
+
+The second piece was the last new grand comic Christmas pantomime, in
+the first scene of which, it pained me to suspect that I detected
+Mr. Wopsle with red worsted legs under a highly magnified phosphoric
+countenance and a shock of red curtain-fringe for his hair, engaged
+in the manufacture of thunderbolts in a mine, and displaying great
+cowardice when his gigantic master came home (very hoarse) to dinner.
+But he presently presented himself under worthier circumstances; for,
+the Genius of Youthful Love being in want of assistance,--on account of
+the parental brutality of an ignorant farmer who opposed the choice
+of his daughter’s heart, by purposely falling upon the object, in a
+flour-sack, out of the first-floor window,--summoned a sententious
+Enchanter; and he, coming up from the antipodes rather unsteadily, after
+an apparently violent journey, proved to be Mr. Wopsle in a high-crowned
+hat, with a necromantic work in one volume under his arm. The business
+of this enchanter on earth being principally to be talked at, sung at,
+butted at, danced at, and flashed at with fires of various colors,
+he had a good deal of time on his hands. And I observed, with great
+surprise, that he devoted it to staring in my direction as if he were
+lost in amazement.
+
+There was something so remarkable in the increasing glare of Mr.
+Wopsle’s eye, and he seemed to be turning so many things over in his
+mind and to grow so confused, that I could not make it out. I sat
+thinking of it long after he had ascended to the clouds in a large
+watch-case, and still I could not make it out. I was still thinking
+of it when I came out of the theatre an hour afterwards, and found him
+waiting for me near the door.
+
+“How do you do?” said I, shaking hands with him as we turned down the
+street together. “I saw that you saw me.”
+
+“Saw you, Mr. Pip!” he returned. “Yes, of course I saw you. But who else
+was there?”
+
+“Who else?”
+
+“It is the strangest thing,” said Mr. Wopsle, drifting into his lost
+look again; “and yet I could swear to him.”
+
+Becoming alarmed, I entreated Mr. Wopsle to explain his meaning.
+
+“Whether I should have noticed him at first but for your being there,”
+ said Mr. Wopsle, going on in the same lost way, “I can’t be positive;
+yet I think I should.”
+
+Involuntarily I looked round me, as I was accustomed to look round me
+when I went home; for these mysterious words gave me a chill.
+
+“Oh! He can’t be in sight,” said Mr. Wopsle. “He went out before I went
+off. I saw him go.”
+
+Having the reason that I had for being suspicious, I even suspected
+this poor actor. I mistrusted a design to entrap me into some admission.
+Therefore I glanced at him as we walked on together, but said nothing.
+
+“I had a ridiculous fancy that he must be with you, Mr. Pip, till I saw
+that you were quite unconscious of him, sitting behind you there like a
+ghost.”
+
+My former chill crept over me again, but I was resolved not to speak
+yet, for it was quite consistent with his words that he might be set on
+to induce me to connect these references with Provis. Of course, I was
+perfectly sure and safe that Provis had not been there.
+
+“I dare say you wonder at me, Mr. Pip; indeed, I see you do. But it is
+so very strange! You’ll hardly believe what I am going to tell you. I
+could hardly believe it myself, if you told me.”
+
+“Indeed?” said I.
+
+“No, indeed. Mr. Pip, you remember in old times a certain Christmas Day,
+when you were quite a child, and I dined at Gargery’s, and some soldiers
+came to the door to get a pair of handcuffs mended?”
+
+“I remember it very well.”
+
+“And you remember that there was a chase after two convicts, and that we
+joined in it, and that Gargery took you on his back, and that I took the
+lead, and you kept up with me as well as you could?”
+
+“I remember it all very well.” Better than he thought,--except the last
+clause.
+
+“And you remember that we came up with the two in a ditch, and that
+there was a scuffle between them, and that one of them had been severely
+handled and much mauled about the face by the other?”
+
+“I see it all before me.”
+
+“And that the soldiers lighted torches, and put the two in the centre,
+and that we went on to see the last of them, over the black marshes,
+with the torchlight shining on their faces,--I am particular about
+that,--with the torchlight shining on their faces, when there was an
+outer ring of dark night all about us?”
+
+“Yes,” said I. “I remember all that.”
+
+“Then, Mr. Pip, one of those two prisoners sat behind you tonight. I saw
+him over your shoulder.”
+
+“Steady!” I thought. I asked him then, “Which of the two do you suppose
+you saw?”
+
+“The one who had been mauled,” he answered readily, “and I’ll swear I
+saw him! The more I think of him, the more certain I am of him.”
+
+“This is very curious!” said I, with the best assumption I could put on
+of its being nothing more to me. “Very curious indeed!”
+
+I cannot exaggerate the enhanced disquiet into which this conversation
+threw me, or the special and peculiar terror I felt at Compeyson’s
+having been behind me “like a ghost.” For if he had ever been out of my
+thoughts for a few moments together since the hiding had begun, it was
+in those very moments when he was closest to me; and to think that I
+should be so unconscious and off my guard after all my care was as if
+I had shut an avenue of a hundred doors to keep him out, and then had
+found him at my elbow. I could not doubt, either, that he was there,
+because I was there, and that, however slight an appearance of danger
+there might be about us, danger was always near and active.
+
+I put such questions to Mr. Wopsle as, When did the man come in? He
+could not tell me that; he saw me, and over my shoulder he saw the man.
+It was not until he had seen him for some time that he began to identify
+him; but he had from the first vaguely associated him with me, and
+known him as somehow belonging to me in the old village time. How was
+he dressed? Prosperously, but not noticeably otherwise; he thought, in
+black. Was his face at all disfigured? No, he believed not. I believed
+not too, for, although in my brooding state I had taken no especial
+notice of the people behind me, I thought it likely that a face at all
+disfigured would have attracted my attention.
+
+When Mr. Wopsle had imparted to me all that he could recall or I
+extract, and when I had treated him to a little appropriate refreshment,
+after the fatigues of the evening, we parted. It was between twelve and
+one o’clock when I reached the Temple, and the gates were shut. No one
+was near me when I went in and went home.
+
+Herbert had come in, and we held a very serious council by the fire. But
+there was nothing to be done, saving to communicate to Wemmick what I
+had that night found out, and to remind him that we waited for his hint.
+As I thought that I might compromise him if I went too often to the
+Castle, I made this communication by letter. I wrote it before I went to
+bed, and went out and posted it; and again no one was near me. Herbert
+and I agreed that we could do nothing else but be very cautious. And
+we were very cautious indeed,--more cautious than before, if that were
+possible,--and I for my part never went near Chinks’s Basin, except
+when I rowed by, and then I only looked at Mill Pond Bank as I looked at
+anything else.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVIII
+
+The second of the two meetings referred to in the last chapter occurred
+about a week after the first. I had again left my boat at the wharf
+below Bridge; the time was an hour earlier in the afternoon; and,
+undecided where to dine, I had strolled up into Cheapside, and was
+strolling along it, surely the most unsettled person in all the busy
+concourse, when a large hand was laid upon my shoulder by some one
+overtaking me. It was Mr. Jaggers’s hand, and he passed it through my
+arm.
+
+“As we are going in the same direction, Pip, we may walk together. Where
+are you bound for?”
+
+“For the Temple, I think,” said I.
+
+“Don’t you know?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Well,” I returned, glad for once to get the better of him in
+cross-examination, “I do not know, for I have not made up my mind.”
+
+“You are going to dine?” said Mr. Jaggers. “You don’t mind admitting
+that, I suppose?”
+
+“No,” I returned, “I don’t mind admitting that.”
+
+“And are not engaged?”
+
+“I don’t mind admitting also that I am not engaged.”
+
+“Then,” said Mr. Jaggers, “come and dine with me.”
+
+I was going to excuse myself, when he added, “Wemmick’s coming.” So
+I changed my excuse into an acceptance,--the few words I had uttered,
+serving for the beginning of either,--and we went along Cheapside
+and slanted off to Little Britain, while the lights were springing up
+brilliantly in the shop windows, and the street lamp-lighters, scarcely
+finding ground enough to plant their ladders on in the midst of the
+afternoon’s bustle, were skipping up and down and running in and out,
+opening more red eyes in the gathering fog than my rushlight tower at
+the Hummums had opened white eyes in the ghostly wall.
+
+At the office in Little Britain there was the usual letter-writing,
+hand-washing, candle-snuffing, and safe-locking, that closed the
+business of the day. As I stood idle by Mr. Jaggers’s fire, its rising
+and falling flame made the two casts on the shelf look as if they were
+playing a diabolical game at bo-peep with me; while the pair of coarse,
+fat office candles that dimly lighted Mr. Jaggers as he wrote in a
+corner were decorated with dirty winding-sheets, as if in remembrance of
+a host of hanged clients.
+
+We went to Gerrard Street, all three together, in a hackney-coach: And,
+as soon as we got there, dinner was served. Although I should not have
+thought of making, in that place, the most distant reference by so much
+as a look to Wemmick’s Walworth sentiments, yet I should have had no
+objection to catching his eye now and then in a friendly way. But it
+was not to be done. He turned his eyes on Mr. Jaggers whenever he raised
+them from the table, and was as dry and distant to me as if there were
+twin Wemmicks, and this was the wrong one.
+
+“Did you send that note of Miss Havisham’s to Mr. Pip, Wemmick?” Mr.
+Jaggers asked, soon after we began dinner.
+
+“No, sir,” returned Wemmick; “it was going by post, when you brought Mr.
+Pip into the office. Here it is.” He handed it to his principal instead
+of to me.
+
+“It’s a note of two lines, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, handing it on, “sent
+up to me by Miss Havisham on account of her not being sure of your
+address. She tells me that she wants to see you on a little matter of
+business you mentioned to her. You’ll go down?”
+
+“Yes,” said I, casting my eyes over the note, which was exactly in those
+terms.
+
+“When do you think of going down?”
+
+“I have an impending engagement,” said I, glancing at Wemmick, who was
+putting fish into the post-office, “that renders me rather uncertain of
+my time. At once, I think.”
+
+“If Mr. Pip has the intention of going at once,” said Wemmick to Mr.
+Jaggers, “he needn’t write an answer, you know.”
+
+Receiving this as an intimation that it was best not to delay, I settled
+that I would go to-morrow, and said so. Wemmick drank a glass of wine,
+and looked with a grimly satisfied air at Mr. Jaggers, but not at me.
+
+“So, Pip! Our friend the Spider,” said Mr. Jaggers, “has played his
+cards. He has won the pool.”
+
+It was as much as I could do to assent.
+
+“Hah! He is a promising fellow--in his way--but he may not have it all
+his own way. The stronger will win in the end, but the stronger has to
+be found out first. If he should turn to, and beat her--”
+
+“Surely,” I interrupted, with a burning face and heart, “you do not
+seriously think that he is scoundrel enough for that, Mr. Jaggers?”
+
+“I didn’t say so, Pip. I am putting a case. If he should turn to and
+beat her, he may possibly get the strength on his side; if it should be
+a question of intellect, he certainly will not. It would be chance
+work to give an opinion how a fellow of that sort will turn out in such
+circumstances, because it’s a toss-up between two results.”
+
+“May I ask what they are?”
+
+“A fellow like our friend the Spider,” answered Mr. Jaggers, “either
+beats or cringes. He may cringe and growl, or cringe and not growl; but
+he either beats or cringes. Ask Wemmick his opinion.”
+
+“Either beats or cringes,” said Wemmick, not at all addressing himself
+to me.
+
+“So here’s to Mrs. Bentley Drummle,” said Mr. Jaggers, taking a decanter
+of choicer wine from his dumb-waiter, and filling for each of us and
+for himself, “and may the question of supremacy be settled to the lady’s
+satisfaction! To the satisfaction of the lady and the gentleman,
+it never will be. Now, Molly, Molly, Molly, Molly, how slow you are
+to-day!”
+
+She was at his elbow when he addressed her, putting a dish upon the
+table. As she withdrew her hands from it, she fell back a step or two,
+nervously muttering some excuse. And a certain action of her fingers, as
+she spoke, arrested my attention.
+
+“What’s the matter?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Nothing. Only the subject we were speaking of,” said I, “was rather
+painful to me.”
+
+The action of her fingers was like the action of knitting. She stood
+looking at her master, not understanding whether she was free to go, or
+whether he had more to say to her and would call her back if she did go.
+Her look was very intent. Surely, I had seen exactly such eyes and such
+hands on a memorable occasion very lately!
+
+He dismissed her, and she glided out of the room. But she remained
+before me as plainly as if she were still there. I looked at those
+hands, I looked at those eyes, I looked at that flowing hair; and I
+compared them with other hands, other eyes, other hair, that I knew of,
+and with what those might be after twenty years of a brutal husband
+and a stormy life. I looked again at those hands and eyes of the
+housekeeper, and thought of the inexplicable feeling that had come over
+me when I last walked--not alone--in the ruined garden, and through the
+deserted brewery. I thought how the same feeling had come back when I
+saw a face looking at me, and a hand waving to me from a stage-coach
+window; and how it had come back again and had flashed about me like
+lightning, when I had passed in a carriage--not alone--through a sudden
+glare of light in a dark street. I thought how one link of association
+had helped that identification in the theatre, and how such a link,
+wanting before, had been riveted for me now, when I had passed by a
+chance swift from Estella’s name to the fingers with their knitting
+action, and the attentive eyes. And I felt absolutely certain that this
+woman was Estella’s mother.
+
+Mr. Jaggers had seen me with Estella, and was not likely to have missed
+the sentiments I had been at no pains to conceal. He nodded when I said
+the subject was painful to me, clapped me on the back, put round the
+wine again, and went on with his dinner.
+
+Only twice more did the housekeeper reappear, and then her stay in the
+room was very short, and Mr. Jaggers was sharp with her. But her hands
+were Estella’s hands, and her eyes were Estella’s eyes, and if she had
+reappeared a hundred times I could have been neither more sure nor less
+sure that my conviction was the truth.
+
+It was a dull evening, for Wemmick drew his wine, when it came round,
+quite as a matter of business,--just as he might have drawn his salary
+when that came round,--and with his eyes on his chief, sat in a state of
+perpetual readiness for cross-examination. As to the quantity of wine,
+his post-office was as indifferent and ready as any other post-office
+for its quantity of letters. From my point of view, he was the wrong
+twin all the time, and only externally like the Wemmick of Walworth.
+
+We took our leave early, and left together. Even when we were groping
+among Mr. Jaggers’s stock of boots for our hats, I felt that the right
+twin was on his way back; and we had not gone half a dozen yards down
+Gerrard Street in the Walworth direction, before I found that I was
+walking arm in arm with the right twin, and that the wrong twin had
+evaporated into the evening air.
+
+“Well!” said Wemmick, “that’s over! He’s a wonderful man, without his
+living likeness; but I feel that I have to screw myself up when I dine
+with him,--and I dine more comfortably unscrewed.”
+
+I felt that this was a good statement of the case, and told him so.
+
+“Wouldn’t say it to anybody but yourself,” he answered. “I know that
+what is said between you and me goes no further.”
+
+I asked him if he had ever seen Miss Havisham’s adopted daughter, Mrs.
+Bentley Drummle. He said no. To avoid being too abrupt, I then spoke
+of the Aged and of Miss Skiffins. He looked rather sly when I mentioned
+Miss Skiffins, and stopped in the street to blow his nose, with a roll
+of the head, and a flourish not quite free from latent boastfulness.
+
+“Wemmick,” said I, “do you remember telling me, before I first went to
+Mr. Jaggers’s private house, to notice that housekeeper?”
+
+“Did I?” he replied. “Ah, I dare say I did. Deuce take me,” he added,
+suddenly, “I know I did. I find I am not quite unscrewed yet.”
+
+“A wild beast tamed, you called her.”
+
+“And what do you call her?”
+
+“The same. How did Mr. Jaggers tame her, Wemmick?”
+
+“That’s his secret. She has been with him many a long year.”
+
+“I wish you would tell me her story. I feel a particular interest in
+being acquainted with it. You know that what is said between you and me
+goes no further.”
+
+“Well!” Wemmick replied, “I don’t know her story,--that is, I don’t know
+all of it. But what I do know I’ll tell you. We are in our private and
+personal capacities, of course.”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“A score or so of years ago, that woman was tried at the Old Bailey for
+murder, and was acquitted. She was a very handsome young woman, and I
+believe had some gypsy blood in her. Anyhow, it was hot enough when it
+was up, as you may suppose.”
+
+“But she was acquitted.”
+
+“Mr. Jaggers was for her,” pursued Wemmick, with a look full of meaning,
+“and worked the case in a way quite astonishing. It was a desperate
+case, and it was comparatively early days with him then, and he worked
+it to general admiration; in fact, it may almost be said to have made
+him. He worked it himself at the police-office, day after day for many
+days, contending against even a committal; and at the trial where he
+couldn’t work it himself, sat under counsel, and--every one knew--put
+in all the salt and pepper. The murdered person was a woman,--a woman a
+good ten years older, very much larger, and very much stronger. It was
+a case of jealousy. They both led tramping lives, and this woman in
+Gerrard Street here had been married very young, over the broomstick (as
+we say), to a tramping man, and was a perfect fury in point of jealousy.
+The murdered woman,--more a match for the man, certainly, in point of
+years--was found dead in a barn near Hounslow Heath. There had been a
+violent struggle, perhaps a fight. She was bruised and scratched and
+torn, and had been held by the throat, at last, and choked. Now, there
+was no reasonable evidence to implicate any person but this woman, and
+on the improbabilities of her having been able to do it Mr. Jaggers
+principally rested his case. You may be sure,” said Wemmick, touching me
+on the sleeve, “that he never dwelt upon the strength of her hands then,
+though he sometimes does now.”
+
+I had told Wemmick of his showing us her wrists, that day of the dinner
+party.
+
+“Well, sir!” Wemmick went on; “it happened--happened, don’t you
+see?--that this woman was so very artfully dressed from the time of
+her apprehension, that she looked much slighter than she really was; in
+particular, her sleeves are always remembered to have been so skilfully
+contrived that her arms had quite a delicate look. She had only a bruise
+or two about her,--nothing for a tramp,--but the backs of her hands
+were lacerated, and the question was, Was it with finger-nails? Now, Mr.
+Jaggers showed that she had struggled through a great lot of brambles
+which were not as high as her face; but which she could not have got
+through and kept her hands out of; and bits of those brambles were
+actually found in her skin and put in evidence, as well as the fact that
+the brambles in question were found on examination to have been broken
+through, and to have little shreds of her dress and little spots of
+blood upon them here and there. But the boldest point he made was this:
+it was attempted to be set up, in proof of her jealousy, that she was
+under strong suspicion of having, at about the time of the murder,
+frantically destroyed her child by this man--some three years old--to
+revenge herself upon him. Mr. Jaggers worked that in this way: “We say
+these are not marks of finger-nails, but marks of brambles, and we show
+you the brambles. You say they are marks of finger-nails, and you set
+up the hypothesis that she destroyed her child. You must accept all
+consequences of that hypothesis. For anything we know, she may have
+destroyed her child, and the child in clinging to her may have scratched
+her hands. What then? You are not trying her for the murder of her
+child; why don’t you? As to this case, if you will have scratches,
+we say that, for anything we know, you may have accounted for them,
+assuming for the sake of argument that you have not invented them?” “To
+sum up, sir,” said Wemmick, “Mr. Jaggers was altogether too many for the
+jury, and they gave in.”
+
+“Has she been in his service ever since?”
+
+“Yes; but not only that,” said Wemmick, “she went into his service
+immediately after her acquittal, tamed as she is now. She has since been
+taught one thing and another in the way of her duties, but she was tamed
+from the beginning.”
+
+“Do you remember the sex of the child?”
+
+“Said to have been a girl.”
+
+“You have nothing more to say to me to-night?”
+
+“Nothing. I got your letter and destroyed it. Nothing.”
+
+We exchanged a cordial good-night, and I went home, with new matter for
+my thoughts, though with no relief from the old.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIX
+
+Putting Miss Havisham’s note in my pocket, that it might serve as
+my credentials for so soon reappearing at Satis House, in case her
+waywardness should lead her to express any surprise at seeing me, I went
+down again by the coach next day. But I alighted at the Halfway House,
+and breakfasted there, and walked the rest of the distance; for I sought
+to get into the town quietly by the unfrequented ways, and to leave it
+in the same manner.
+
+The best light of the day was gone when I passed along the quiet echoing
+courts behind the High Street. The nooks of ruin where the old monks had
+once had their refectories and gardens, and where the strong walls were
+now pressed into the service of humble sheds and stables, were almost
+as silent as the old monks in their graves. The cathedral chimes had at
+once a sadder and a more remote sound to me, as I hurried on avoiding
+observation, than they had ever had before; so, the swell of the old
+organ was borne to my ears like funeral music; and the rooks, as they
+hovered about the gray tower and swung in the bare high trees of the
+priory garden, seemed to call to me that the place was changed, and that
+Estella was gone out of it for ever.
+
+An elderly woman, whom I had seen before as one of the servants who
+lived in the supplementary house across the back courtyard, opened the
+gate. The lighted candle stood in the dark passage within, as of old,
+and I took it up and ascended the staircase alone. Miss Havisham was not
+in her own room, but was in the larger room across the landing. Looking
+in at the door, after knocking in vain, I saw her sitting on the hearth
+in a ragged chair, close before, and lost in the contemplation of, the
+ashy fire.
+
+Doing as I had often done, I went in, and stood touching the old
+chimney-piece, where she could see me when she raised her eyes. There
+was an air of utter loneliness upon her, that would have moved me to
+pity though she had wilfully done me a deeper injury than I could charge
+her with. As I stood compassionating her, and thinking how, in the
+progress of time, I too had come to be a part of the wrecked fortunes of
+that house, her eyes rested on me. She stared, and said in a low voice,
+“Is it real?”
+
+“It is I, Pip. Mr. Jaggers gave me your note yesterday, and I have lost
+no time.”
+
+“Thank you. Thank you.”
+
+As I brought another of the ragged chairs to the hearth and sat down, I
+remarked a new expression on her face, as if she were afraid of me.
+
+“I want,” she said, “to pursue that subject you mentioned to me when you
+were last here, and to show you that I am not all stone. But perhaps you
+can never believe, now, that there is anything human in my heart?”
+
+When I said some reassuring words, she stretched out her tremulous right
+hand, as though she was going to touch me; but she recalled it again
+before I understood the action, or knew how to receive it.
+
+“You said, speaking for your friend, that you could tell me how to do
+something useful and good. Something that you would like done, is it
+not?”
+
+“Something that I would like done very much.”
+
+“What is it?”
+
+I began explaining to her that secret history of the partnership. I had
+not got far into it, when I judged from her looks that she was thinking
+in a discursive way of me, rather than of what I said. It seemed to be
+so; for, when I stopped speaking, many moments passed before she showed
+that she was conscious of the fact.
+
+“Do you break off,” she asked then, with her former air of being afraid
+of me, “because you hate me too much to bear to speak to me?”
+
+“No, no,” I answered, “how can you think so, Miss Havisham! I stopped
+because I thought you were not following what I said.”
+
+“Perhaps I was not,” she answered, putting a hand to her head. “Begin
+again, and let me look at something else. Stay! Now tell me.”
+
+She set her hand upon her stick in the resolute way that sometimes was
+habitual to her, and looked at the fire with a strong expression of
+forcing herself to attend. I went on with my explanation, and told her
+how I had hoped to complete the transaction out of my means, but how
+in this I was disappointed. That part of the subject (I reminded her)
+involved matters which could form no part of my explanation, for they
+were the weighty secrets of another.
+
+“So!” said she, assenting with her head, but not looking at me. “And how
+much money is wanting to complete the purchase?”
+
+I was rather afraid of stating it, for it sounded a large sum. “Nine
+hundred pounds.”
+
+“If I give you the money for this purpose, will you keep my secret as
+you have kept your own?”
+
+“Quite as faithfully.”
+
+“And your mind will be more at rest?”
+
+“Much more at rest.”
+
+“Are you very unhappy now?”
+
+She asked this question, still without looking at me, but in an unwonted
+tone of sympathy. I could not reply at the moment, for my voice failed
+me. She put her left arm across the head of her stick, and softly laid
+her forehead on it.
+
+“I am far from happy, Miss Havisham; but I have other causes of disquiet
+than any you know of. They are the secrets I have mentioned.”
+
+After a little while, she raised her head, and looked at the fire again.
+
+“It is noble in you to tell me that you have other causes of
+unhappiness. Is it true?”
+
+“Too true.”
+
+“Can I only serve you, Pip, by serving your friend? Regarding that as
+done, is there nothing I can do for you yourself?”
+
+“Nothing. I thank you for the question. I thank you even more for the
+tone of the question. But there is nothing.”
+
+She presently rose from her seat, and looked about the blighted room
+for the means of writing. There were none there, and she took from her
+pocket a yellow set of ivory tablets, mounted in tarnished gold, and
+wrote upon them with a pencil in a case of tarnished gold that hung from
+her neck.
+
+“You are still on friendly terms with Mr. Jaggers?”
+
+“Quite. I dined with him yesterday.”
+
+“This is an authority to him to pay you that money, to lay out at your
+irresponsible discretion for your friend. I keep no money here; but if
+you would rather Mr. Jaggers knew nothing of the matter, I will send it
+to you.”
+
+“Thank you, Miss Havisham; I have not the least objection to receiving
+it from him.”
+
+She read me what she had written; and it was direct and clear, and
+evidently intended to absolve me from any suspicion of profiting by the
+receipt of the money. I took the tablets from her hand, and it trembled
+again, and it trembled more as she took off the chain to which the
+pencil was attached, and put it in mine. All this she did without
+looking at me.
+
+“My name is on the first leaf. If you can ever write under my name, “I
+forgive her,” though ever so long after my broken heart is dust pray do
+it!”
+
+“O Miss Havisham,” said I, “I can do it now. There have been sore
+mistakes; and my life has been a blind and thankless one; and I want
+forgiveness and direction far too much, to be bitter with you.”
+
+She turned her face to me for the first time since she had averted it,
+and, to my amazement, I may even add to my terror, dropped on her knees
+at my feet; with her folded hands raised to me in the manner in which,
+when her poor heart was young and fresh and whole, they must often have
+been raised to heaven from her mother’s side.
+
+To see her with her white hair and her worn face kneeling at my feet
+gave me a shock through all my frame. I entreated her to rise, and got
+my arms about her to help her up; but she only pressed that hand of mine
+which was nearest to her grasp, and hung her head over it and wept. I
+had never seen her shed a tear before, and, in the hope that the
+relief might do her good, I bent over her without speaking. She was not
+kneeling now, but was down upon the ground.
+
+“O!” she cried, despairingly. “What have I done! What have I done!”
+
+“If you mean, Miss Havisham, what have you done to injure me, let me
+answer. Very little. I should have loved her under any circumstances. Is
+she married?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+It was a needless question, for a new desolation in the desolate house
+had told me so.
+
+“What have I done! What have I done!” She wrung her hands, and crushed
+her white hair, and returned to this cry over and over again. “What have
+I done!”
+
+I knew not how to answer, or how to comfort her. That she had done a
+grievous thing in taking an impressionable child to mould into the form
+that her wild resentment, spurned affection, and wounded pride found
+vengeance in, I knew full well. But that, in shutting out the light
+of day, she had shut out infinitely more; that, in seclusion, she had
+secluded herself from a thousand natural and healing influences; that,
+her mind, brooding solitary, had grown diseased, as all minds do and
+must and will that reverse the appointed order of their Maker, I knew
+equally well. And could I look upon her without compassion, seeing her
+punishment in the ruin she was, in her profound unfitness for this earth
+on which she was placed, in the vanity of sorrow which had become a
+master mania, like the vanity of penitence, the vanity of remorse, the
+vanity of unworthiness, and other monstrous vanities that have been
+curses in this world?
+
+“Until you spoke to her the other day, and until I saw in you a
+looking-glass that showed me what I once felt myself, I did not know
+what I had done. What have I done! What have I done!” And so again,
+twenty, fifty times over, What had she done!
+
+“Miss Havisham,” I said, when her cry had died away, “you may dismiss me
+from your mind and conscience. But Estella is a different case, and if
+you can ever undo any scrap of what you have done amiss in keeping a
+part of her right nature away from her, it will be better to do that
+than to bemoan the past through a hundred years.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I know it. But, Pip--my dear!” There was an earnest womanly
+compassion for me in her new affection. “My dear! Believe this: when she
+first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own. At first,
+I meant no more.”
+
+“Well, well!” said I. “I hope so.”
+
+“But as she grew, and promised to be very beautiful, I gradually did
+worse, and with my praises, and with my jewels, and with my teachings,
+and with this figure of myself always before her, a warning to back and
+point my lessons, I stole her heart away, and put ice in its place.”
+
+“Better,” I could not help saying, “to have left her a natural heart,
+even to be bruised or broken.”
+
+With that, Miss Havisham looked distractedly at me for a while, and then
+burst out again, What had she done!
+
+“If you knew all my story,” she pleaded, “you would have some compassion
+for me and a better understanding of me.”
+
+“Miss Havisham,” I answered, as delicately as I could, “I believe I may
+say that I do know your story, and have known it ever since I first left
+this neighborhood. It has inspired me with great commiseration, and I
+hope I understand it and its influences. Does what has passed between us
+give me any excuse for asking you a question relative to Estella? Not as
+she is, but as she was when she first came here?”
+
+She was seated on the ground, with her arms on the ragged chair, and
+her head leaning on them. She looked full at me when I said this, and
+replied, “Go on.”
+
+“Whose child was Estella?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“You don’t know?”
+
+She shook her head again.
+
+“But Mr. Jaggers brought her here, or sent her here?”
+
+“Brought her here.”
+
+“Will you tell me how that came about?”
+
+She answered in a low whisper and with caution: “I had been shut up in
+these rooms a long time (I don’t know how long; you know what time the
+clocks keep here), when I told him that I wanted a little girl to rear
+and love, and save from my fate. I had first seen him when I sent
+for him to lay this place waste for me; having read of him in the
+newspapers, before I and the world parted. He told me that he would
+look about him for such an orphan child. One night he brought her here
+asleep, and I called her Estella.”
+
+“Might I ask her age then?”
+
+“Two or three. She herself knows nothing, but that she was left an
+orphan and I adopted her.”
+
+So convinced I was of that woman’s being her mother, that I wanted
+no evidence to establish the fact in my own mind. But, to any mind, I
+thought, the connection here was clear and straight.
+
+What more could I hope to do by prolonging the interview? I had
+succeeded on behalf of Herbert, Miss Havisham had told me all she knew
+of Estella, I had said and done what I could to ease her mind. No matter
+with what other words we parted; we parted.
+
+Twilight was closing in when I went downstairs into the natural air. I
+called to the woman who had opened the gate when I entered, that I would
+not trouble her just yet, but would walk round the place before leaving.
+For I had a presentiment that I should never be there again, and I felt
+that the dying light was suited to my last view of it.
+
+By the wilderness of casks that I had walked on long ago, and on which
+the rain of years had fallen since, rotting them in many places, and
+leaving miniature swamps and pools of water upon those that stood on
+end, I made my way to the ruined garden. I went all round it; round by
+the corner where Herbert and I had fought our battle; round by the paths
+where Estella and I had walked. So cold, so lonely, so dreary all!
+
+Taking the brewery on my way back, I raised the rusty latch of a little
+door at the garden end of it, and walked through. I was going out at the
+opposite door,--not easy to open now, for the damp wood had started and
+swelled, and the hinges were yielding, and the threshold was encumbered
+with a growth of fungus,--when I turned my head to look back. A childish
+association revived with wonderful force in the moment of the slight
+action, and I fancied that I saw Miss Havisham hanging to the beam. So
+strong was the impression, that I stood under the beam shuddering from
+head to foot before I knew it was a fancy,--though to be sure I was
+there in an instant.
+
+The mournfulness of the place and time, and the great terror of
+this illusion, though it was but momentary, caused me to feel an
+indescribable awe as I came out between the open wooden gates where I
+had once wrung my hair after Estella had wrung my heart. Passing on into
+the front courtyard, I hesitated whether to call the woman to let me out
+at the locked gate of which she had the key, or first to go upstairs
+and assure myself that Miss Havisham was as safe and well as I had left
+her. I took the latter course and went up.
+
+I looked into the room where I had left her, and I saw her seated in the
+ragged chair upon the hearth close to the fire, with her back towards
+me. In the moment when I was withdrawing my head to go quietly away,
+I saw a great flaming light spring up. In the same moment I saw her
+running at me, shrieking, with a whirl of fire blazing all about her,
+and soaring at least as many feet above her head as she was high.
+
+I had a double-caped great-coat on, and over my arm another thick coat.
+That I got them off, closed with her, threw her down, and got them over
+her; that I dragged the great cloth from the table for the same purpose,
+and with it dragged down the heap of rottenness in the midst, and
+all the ugly things that sheltered there; that we were on the ground
+struggling like desperate enemies, and that the closer I covered her,
+the more wildly she shrieked and tried to free herself,--that this
+occurred I knew through the result, but not through anything I felt, or
+thought, or knew I did. I knew nothing until I knew that we were on the
+floor by the great table, and that patches of tinder yet alight were
+floating in the smoky air, which, a moment ago, had been her faded
+bridal dress.
+
+Then, I looked round and saw the disturbed beetles and spiders running
+away over the floor, and the servants coming in with breathless cries
+at the door. I still held her forcibly down with all my strength, like
+a prisoner who might escape; and I doubt if I even knew who she was, or
+why we had struggled, or that she had been in flames, or that the flames
+were out, until I saw the patches of tinder that had been her garments
+no longer alight but falling in a black shower around us.
+
+She was insensible, and I was afraid to have her moved, or even
+touched. Assistance was sent for, and I held her until it came, as if
+I unreasonably fancied (I think I did) that, if I let her go, the fire
+would break out again and consume her. When I got up, on the surgeon’s
+coming to her with other aid, I was astonished to see that both my hands
+were burnt; for, I had no knowledge of it through the sense of feeling.
+
+On examination it was pronounced that she had received serious hurts,
+but that they of themselves were far from hopeless; the danger lay
+mainly in the nervous shock. By the surgeon’s directions, her bed was
+carried into that room and laid upon the great table, which happened to
+be well suited to the dressing of her injuries. When I saw her again, an
+hour afterwards, she lay, indeed, where I had seen her strike her stick,
+and had heard her say that she would lie one day.
+
+Though every vestige of her dress was burnt, as they told me, she
+still had something of her old ghastly bridal appearance; for, they had
+covered her to the throat with white cotton-wool, and as she lay with
+a white sheet loosely overlying that, the phantom air of something that
+had been and was changed was still upon her.
+
+I found, on questioning the servants, that Estella was in Paris, and I
+got a promise from the surgeon that he would write to her by the
+next post. Miss Havisham’s family I took upon myself; intending to
+communicate with Mr. Matthew Pocket only, and leave him to do as he
+liked about informing the rest. This I did next day, through Herbert, as
+soon as I returned to town.
+
+There was a stage, that evening, when she spoke collectedly of what had
+happened, though with a certain terrible vivacity. Towards midnight she
+began to wander in her speech; and after that it gradually set in that
+she said innumerable times in a low solemn voice, “What have I done!”
+ And then, “When she first came, I meant to save her from misery like
+mine.” And then, “Take the pencil and write under my name, ‘I forgive
+her!’” She never changed the order of these three sentences, but she
+sometimes left out a word in one or other of them; never putting in
+another word, but always leaving a blank and going on to the next word.
+
+As I could do no service there, and as I had, nearer home, that pressing
+reason for anxiety and fear which even her wanderings could not drive
+out of my mind, I decided, in the course of the night that I would
+return by the early morning coach, walking on a mile or so, and being
+taken up clear of the town. At about six o’clock of the morning,
+therefore, I leaned over her and touched her lips with mine, just as
+they said, not stopping for being touched, “Take the pencil and write
+under my name, ‘I forgive her.’”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter L
+
+My hands had been dressed twice or thrice in the night, and again in
+the morning. My left arm was a good deal burned to the elbow, and, less
+severely, as high as the shoulder; it was very painful, but the flames
+had set in that direction, and I felt thankful it was no worse. My right
+hand was not so badly burnt but that I could move the fingers. It was
+bandaged, of course, but much less inconveniently than my left hand and
+arm; those I carried in a sling; and I could only wear my coat like a
+cloak, loose over my shoulders and fastened at the neck. My hair had
+been caught by the fire, but not my head or face.
+
+When Herbert had been down to Hammersmith and seen his father, he came
+back to me at our chambers, and devoted the day to attending on me. He
+was the kindest of nurses, and at stated times took off the bandages,
+and steeped them in the cooling liquid that was kept ready, and put them
+on again, with a patient tenderness that I was deeply grateful for.
+
+At first, as I lay quiet on the sofa, I found it painfully difficult, I
+might say impossible, to get rid of the impression of the glare of the
+flames, their hurry and noise, and the fierce burning smell. If I
+dozed for a minute, I was awakened by Miss Havisham’s cries, and by her
+running at me with all that height of fire above her head. This pain
+of the mind was much harder to strive against than any bodily pain I
+suffered; and Herbert, seeing that, did his utmost to hold my attention
+engaged.
+
+Neither of us spoke of the boat, but we both thought of it. That
+was made apparent by our avoidance of the subject, and by our
+agreeing--without agreement--to make my recovery of the use of my hands
+a question of so many hours, not of so many weeks.
+
+My first question when I saw Herbert had been of course, whether all
+was well down the river? As he replied in the affirmative, with perfect
+confidence and cheerfulness, we did not resume the subject until the day
+was wearing away. But then, as Herbert changed the bandages, more by
+the light of the fire than by the outer light, he went back to it
+spontaneously.
+
+“I sat with Provis last night, Handel, two good hours.”
+
+“Where was Clara?”
+
+“Dear little thing!” said Herbert. “She was up and down with
+Gruffandgrim all the evening. He was perpetually pegging at the floor
+the moment she left his sight. I doubt if he can hold out long, though.
+What with rum and pepper,--and pepper and rum,--I should think his
+pegging must be nearly over.”
+
+“And then you will be married, Herbert?”
+
+“How can I take care of the dear child otherwise?--Lay your arm out upon
+the back of the sofa, my dear boy, and I’ll sit down here, and get the
+bandage off so gradually that you shall not know when it comes. I was
+speaking of Provis. Do you know, Handel, he improves?”
+
+“I said to you I thought he was softened when I last saw him.”
+
+“So you did. And so he is. He was very communicative last night, and
+told me more of his life. You remember his breaking off here about some
+woman that he had had great trouble with.--Did I hurt you?”
+
+I had started, but not under his touch. His words had given me a start.
+
+“I had forgotten that, Herbert, but I remember it now you speak of it.”
+
+“Well! He went into that part of his life, and a dark wild part it is.
+Shall I tell you? Or would it worry you just now?”
+
+“Tell me by all means. Every word.”
+
+Herbert bent forward to look at me more nearly, as if my reply had been
+rather more hurried or more eager than he could quite account for. “Your
+head is cool?” he said, touching it.
+
+“Quite,” said I. “Tell me what Provis said, my dear Herbert.”
+
+“It seems,” said Herbert, “--there’s a bandage off most charmingly, and
+now comes the cool one,--makes you shrink at first, my poor dear fellow,
+don’t it? but it will be comfortable presently,--it seems that the
+woman was a young woman, and a jealous woman, and a revengeful woman;
+revengeful, Handel, to the last degree.”
+
+“To what last degree?”
+
+“Murder.--Does it strike too cold on that sensitive place?”
+
+“I don’t feel it. How did she murder? Whom did she murder?”
+
+“Why, the deed may not have merited quite so terrible a name,”
+ said Herbert, “but, she was tried for it, and Mr. Jaggers defended
+her, and the reputation of that defence first made his name known
+to Provis. It was another and a stronger woman who was the victim,
+and there had been a struggle--in a barn. Who began it, or how fair
+it was, or how unfair, may be doubtful; but how it ended is
+certainly not doubtful, for the victim was found throttled.”
+
+“Was the woman brought in guilty?”
+
+“No; she was acquitted.--My poor Handel, I hurt you!”
+
+“It is impossible to be gentler, Herbert. Yes? What else?”
+
+“This acquitted young woman and Provis had a little child; a little
+child of whom Provis was exceedingly fond. On the evening of the very
+night when the object of her jealousy was strangled as I tell you, the
+young woman presented herself before Provis for one moment, and swore
+that she would destroy the child (which was in her possession), and he
+should never see it again; then she vanished.--There’s the worst arm
+comfortably in the sling once more, and now there remains but the right
+hand, which is a far easier job. I can do it better by this light
+than by a stronger, for my hand is steadiest when I don’t see the poor
+blistered patches too distinctly.--You don’t think your breathing is
+affected, my dear boy? You seem to breathe quickly.”
+
+“Perhaps I do, Herbert. Did the woman keep her oath?”
+
+“There comes the darkest part of Provis’s life. She did.”
+
+“That is, he says she did.”
+
+“Why, of course, my dear boy,” returned Herbert, in a tone of surprise,
+and again bending forward to get a nearer look at me. “He says it all. I
+have no other information.”
+
+“No, to be sure.”
+
+“Now, whether,” pursued Herbert, “he had used the child’s mother ill, or
+whether he had used the child’s mother well, Provis doesn’t say; but she
+had shared some four or five years of the wretched life he described
+to us at this fireside, and he seems to have felt pity for her, and
+forbearance towards her. Therefore, fearing he should be called upon to
+depose about this destroyed child, and so be the cause of her death, he
+hid himself (much as he grieved for the child), kept himself dark, as he
+says, out of the way and out of the trial, and was only vaguely talked
+of as a certain man called Abel, out of whom the jealousy arose. After
+the acquittal she disappeared, and thus he lost the child and the
+child’s mother.”
+
+“I want to ask--”
+
+“A moment, my dear boy, and I have done. That evil genius, Compeyson,
+the worst of scoundrels among many scoundrels, knowing of his keeping
+out of the way at that time and of his reasons for doing so, of course
+afterwards held the knowledge over his head as a means of keeping him
+poorer and working him harder. It was clear last night that this barbed
+the point of Provis’s animosity.”
+
+“I want to know,” said I, “and particularly, Herbert, whether he told
+you when this happened?”
+
+“Particularly? Let me remember, then, what he said as to that. His
+expression was, ‘a round score o’ year ago, and a’most directly after I
+took up wi’ Compeyson.’ How old were you when you came upon him in the
+little churchyard?”
+
+“I think in my seventh year.”
+
+“Ay. It had happened some three or four years then, he said, and you
+brought into his mind the little girl so tragically lost, who would have
+been about your age.”
+
+“Herbert,” said I, after a short silence, in a hurried way, “can you see
+me best by the light of the window, or the light of the fire?”
+
+“By the firelight,” answered Herbert, coming close again.
+
+“Look at me.”
+
+“I do look at you, my dear boy.”
+
+“Touch me.”
+
+“I do touch you, my dear boy.”
+
+“You are not afraid that I am in any fever, or that my head is much
+disordered by the accident of last night?”
+
+“N-no, my dear boy,” said Herbert, after taking time to examine me. “You
+are rather excited, but you are quite yourself.”
+
+“I know I am quite myself. And the man we have in hiding down the river,
+is Estella’s Father.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LI
+
+What purpose I had in view when I was hot on tracing out and proving
+Estella’s parentage, I cannot say. It will presently be seen that the
+question was not before me in a distinct shape until it was put before
+me by a wiser head than my own.
+
+But when Herbert and I had held our momentous conversation, I was seized
+with a feverish conviction that I ought to hunt the matter down,--that I
+ought not to let it rest, but that I ought to see Mr. Jaggers, and come
+at the bare truth. I really do not know whether I felt that I did this
+for Estella’s sake, or whether I was glad to transfer to the man in
+whose preservation I was so much concerned some rays of the romantic
+interest that had so long surrounded me. Perhaps the latter possibility
+may be the nearer to the truth.
+
+Any way, I could scarcely be withheld from going out to Gerrard Street
+that night. Herbert’s representations that, if I did, I should probably
+be laid up and stricken useless, when our fugitive’s safety would depend
+upon me, alone restrained my impatience. On the understanding, again
+and again reiterated, that, come what would, I was to go to Mr. Jaggers
+to-morrow, I at length submitted to keep quiet, and to have my hurts
+looked after, and to stay at home. Early next morning we went out
+together, and at the corner of Giltspur Street by Smithfield, I left
+Herbert to go his way into the City, and took my way to Little Britain.
+
+There were periodical occasions when Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick went over
+the office accounts, and checked off the vouchers, and put all things
+straight. On these occasions, Wemmick took his books and papers into Mr.
+Jaggers’s room, and one of the upstairs clerks came down into the outer
+office. Finding such clerk on Wemmick’s post that morning, I knew
+what was going on; but I was not sorry to have Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick
+together, as Wemmick would then hear for himself that I said nothing to
+compromise him.
+
+My appearance, with my arm bandaged and my coat loose over my shoulders,
+favored my object. Although I had sent Mr. Jaggers a brief account of
+the accident as soon as I had arrived in town, yet I had to give him all
+the details now; and the speciality of the occasion caused our talk
+to be less dry and hard, and less strictly regulated by the rules of
+evidence, than it had been before. While I described the disaster, Mr.
+Jaggers stood, according to his wont, before the fire. Wemmick leaned
+back in his chair, staring at me, with his hands in the pockets of his
+trousers, and his pen put horizontally into the post. The two brutal
+casts, always inseparable in my mind from the official proceedings,
+seemed to be congestively considering whether they didn’t smell fire at
+the present moment.
+
+My narrative finished, and their questions exhausted, I then produced
+Miss Havisham’s authority to receive the nine hundred pounds for
+Herbert. Mr. Jaggers’s eyes retired a little deeper into his head when
+I handed him the tablets, but he presently handed them over to Wemmick,
+with instructions to draw the check for his signature. While that was
+in course of being done, I looked on at Wemmick as he wrote, and Mr.
+Jaggers, poising and swaying himself on his well-polished boots, looked
+on at me. “I am sorry, Pip,” said he, as I put the check in my pocket,
+when he had signed it, “that we do nothing for you.”
+
+“Miss Havisham was good enough to ask me,” I returned, “whether she
+could do nothing for me, and I told her No.”
+
+“Everybody should know his own business,” said Mr. Jaggers. And I saw
+Wemmick’s lips form the words “portable property.”
+
+“I should not have told her No, if I had been you,” said Mr Jaggers;
+“but every man ought to know his own business best.”
+
+“Every man’s business,” said Wemmick, rather reproachfully towards me,
+“is portable property.”
+
+As I thought the time was now come for pursuing the theme I had at
+heart, I said, turning on Mr. Jaggers:--
+
+“I did ask something of Miss Havisham, however, sir. I asked her to give
+me some information relative to her adopted daughter, and she gave me
+all she possessed.”
+
+“Did she?” said Mr. Jaggers, bending forward to look at his boots and
+then straightening himself. “Hah! I don’t think I should have done so,
+if I had been Miss Havisham. But she ought to know her own business
+best.”
+
+“I know more of the history of Miss Havisham’s adopted child than Miss
+Havisham herself does, sir. I know her mother.”
+
+Mr. Jaggers looked at me inquiringly, and repeated “Mother?”
+
+“I have seen her mother within these three days.”
+
+“Yes?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“And so have you, sir. And you have seen her still more recently.”
+
+“Yes?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Perhaps I know more of Estella’s history than even you do,” said I. “I
+know her father too.”
+
+A certain stop that Mr. Jaggers came to in his manner--he was too
+self-possessed to change his manner, but he could not help its being
+brought to an indefinably attentive stop--assured me that he did not
+know who her father was. This I had strongly suspected from Provis’s
+account (as Herbert had repeated it) of his having kept himself dark;
+which I pieced on to the fact that he himself was not Mr. Jaggers’s
+client until some four years later, and when he could have no reason for
+claiming his identity. But, I could not be sure of this unconsciousness
+on Mr. Jaggers’s part before, though I was quite sure of it now.
+
+“So! You know the young lady’s father, Pip?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Yes,” I replied, “and his name is Provis--from New South Wales.”
+
+Even Mr. Jaggers started when I said those words. It was the slightest
+start that could escape a man, the most carefully repressed and the
+sooner checked, but he did start, though he made it a part of the
+action of taking out his pocket-handkerchief. How Wemmick received the
+announcement I am unable to say; for I was afraid to look at him just
+then, lest Mr. Jaggers’s sharpness should detect that there had been
+some communication unknown to him between us.
+
+“And on what evidence, Pip,” asked Mr. Jaggers, very coolly, as he
+paused with his handkerchief half way to his nose, “does Provis make
+this claim?”
+
+“He does not make it,” said I, “and has never made it, and has no
+knowledge or belief that his daughter is in existence.”
+
+For once, the powerful pocket-handkerchief failed. My reply was so
+unexpected, that Mr. Jaggers put the handkerchief back into his pocket
+without completing the usual performance, folded his arms, and looked
+with stern attention at me, though with an immovable face.
+
+Then I told him all I knew, and how I knew it; with the one reservation
+that I left him to infer that I knew from Miss Havisham what I in fact
+knew from Wemmick. I was very careful indeed as to that. Nor did I look
+towards Wemmick until I had finished all I had to tell, and had been for
+some time silently meeting Mr. Jaggers’s look. When I did at last turn
+my eyes in Wemmick’s direction, I found that he had unposted his pen,
+and was intent upon the table before him.
+
+“Hah!” said Mr. Jaggers at last, as he moved towards the papers on the
+table. “What item was it you were at, Wemmick, when Mr. Pip came in?”
+
+But I could not submit to be thrown off in that way, and I made a
+passionate, almost an indignant appeal, to him to be more frank and
+manly with me. I reminded him of the false hopes into which I had
+lapsed, the length of time they had lasted, and the discovery I had
+made: and I hinted at the danger that weighed upon my spirits. I
+represented myself as being surely worthy of some little confidence from
+him, in return for the confidence I had just now imparted. I said that
+I did not blame him, or suspect him, or mistrust him, but I wanted
+assurance of the truth from him. And if he asked me why I wanted it,
+and why I thought I had any right to it, I would tell him, little as he
+cared for such poor dreams, that I had loved Estella dearly and long,
+and that although I had lost her, and must live a bereaved life,
+whatever concerned her was still nearer and dearer to me than anything
+else in the world. And seeing that Mr. Jaggers stood quite still and
+silent, and apparently quite obdurate, under this appeal, I turned to
+Wemmick, and said, “Wemmick, I know you to be a man with a gentle
+heart. I have seen your pleasant home, and your old father, and all the
+innocent, cheerful playful ways with which you refresh your business
+life. And I entreat you to say a word for me to Mr. Jaggers, and to
+represent to him that, all circumstances considered, he ought to be more
+open with me!”
+
+I have never seen two men look more oddly at one another than Mr.
+Jaggers and Wemmick did after this apostrophe. At first, a misgiving
+crossed me that Wemmick would be instantly dismissed from his
+employment; but it melted as I saw Mr. Jaggers relax into something like
+a smile, and Wemmick become bolder.
+
+“What’s all this?” said Mr. Jaggers. “You with an old father, and you
+with pleasant and playful ways?”
+
+“Well!” returned Wemmick. “If I don’t bring ‘em here, what does it
+matter?”
+
+“Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, laying his hand upon my arm, and smiling
+openly, “this man must be the most cunning impostor in all London.”
+
+“Not a bit of it,” returned Wemmick, growing bolder and bolder. “I think
+you’re another.”
+
+Again they exchanged their former odd looks, each apparently still
+distrustful that the other was taking him in.
+
+“You with a pleasant home?” said Mr. Jaggers.
+
+“Since it don’t interfere with business,” returned Wemmick, “let it be
+so. Now, I look at you, sir, I shouldn’t wonder if you might be planning
+and contriving to have a pleasant home of your own one of these days,
+when you’re tired of all this work.”
+
+Mr. Jaggers nodded his head retrospectively two or three times, and
+actually drew a sigh. “Pip,” said he, “we won’t talk about ‘poor
+dreams;’ you know more about such things than I, having much fresher
+experience of that kind. But now about this other matter. I’ll put a
+case to you. Mind! I admit nothing.”
+
+He waited for me to declare that I quite understood that he expressly
+said that he admitted nothing.
+
+“Now, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, “put this case. Put the case that a
+woman, under such circumstances as you have mentioned, held her child
+concealed, and was obliged to communicate the fact to her legal adviser,
+on his representing to her that he must know, with an eye to the
+latitude of his defence, how the fact stood about that child. Put the
+case that, at the same time he held a trust to find a child for an
+eccentric rich lady to adopt and bring up.”
+
+“I follow you, sir.”
+
+“Put the case that he lived in an atmosphere of evil, and that all he
+saw of children was their being generated in great numbers for certain
+destruction. Put the case that he often saw children solemnly tried at
+a criminal bar, where they were held up to be seen; put the case that
+he habitually knew of their being imprisoned, whipped, transported,
+neglected, cast out, qualified in all ways for the hangman, and growing
+up to be hanged. Put the case that pretty nigh all the children he saw
+in his daily business life he had reason to look upon as so much
+spawn, to develop into the fish that were to come to his net,--to be
+prosecuted, defended, forsworn, made orphans, bedevilled somehow.”
+
+“I follow you, sir.”
+
+“Put the case, Pip, that here was one pretty little child out of the
+heap who could be saved; whom the father believed dead, and dared make
+no stir about; as to whom, over the mother, the legal adviser had this
+power: “I know what you did, and how you did it. You came so and so, you
+did such and such things to divert suspicion. I have tracked you through
+it all, and I tell it you all. Part with the child, unless it should
+be necessary to produce it to clear you, and then it shall be produced.
+Give the child into my hands, and I will do my best to bring you off. If
+you are saved, your child is saved too; if you are lost, your child is
+still saved.” Put the case that this was done, and that the woman was
+cleared.”
+
+“I understand you perfectly.”
+
+“But that I make no admissions?”
+
+“That you make no admissions.” And Wemmick repeated, “No admissions.”
+
+“Put the case, Pip, that passion and the terror of death had a little
+shaken the woman’s intellects, and that when she was set at liberty,
+she was scared out of the ways of the world, and went to him to be
+sheltered. Put the case that he took her in, and that he kept down the
+old, wild, violent nature whenever he saw an inkling of its breaking
+out, by asserting his power over her in the old way. Do you comprehend
+the imaginary case?”
+
+“Quite.”
+
+“Put the case that the child grew up, and was married for money. That
+the mother was still living. That the father was still living. That the
+mother and father, unknown to one another, were dwelling within so many
+miles, furlongs, yards if you like, of one another. That the secret was
+still a secret, except that you had got wind of it. Put that last case
+to yourself very carefully.”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“I ask Wemmick to put it to himself very carefully.”
+
+And Wemmick said, “I do.”
+
+“For whose sake would you reveal the secret? For the father’s? I think
+he would not be much the better for the mother. For the mother’s? I
+think if she had done such a deed she would be safer where she was.
+For the daughter’s? I think it would hardly serve her to establish her
+parentage for the information of her husband, and to drag her back to
+disgrace, after an escape of twenty years, pretty secure to last for
+life. But add the case that you had loved her, Pip, and had made her the
+subject of those ‘poor dreams’ which have, at one time or another, been
+in the heads of more men than you think likely, then I tell you that you
+had better--and would much sooner when you had thought well of it--chop
+off that bandaged left hand of yours with your bandaged right hand, and
+then pass the chopper on to Wemmick there, to cut that off too.”
+
+I looked at Wemmick, whose face was very grave. He gravely touched his
+lips with his forefinger. I did the same. Mr. Jaggers did the same.
+“Now, Wemmick,” said the latter then, resuming his usual manner, “what
+item was it you were at when Mr. Pip came in?”
+
+Standing by for a little, while they were at work, I observed that the
+odd looks they had cast at one another were repeated several times: with
+this difference now, that each of them seemed suspicious, not to say
+conscious, of having shown himself in a weak and unprofessional light to
+the other. For this reason, I suppose, they were now inflexible with one
+another; Mr. Jaggers being highly dictatorial, and Wemmick obstinately
+justifying himself whenever there was the smallest point in abeyance for
+a moment. I had never seen them on such ill terms; for generally they
+got on very well indeed together.
+
+But they were both happily relieved by the opportune appearance of Mike,
+the client with the fur cap and the habit of wiping his nose on his
+sleeve, whom I had seen on the very first day of my appearance within
+those walls. This individual, who, either in his own person or in that
+of some member of his family, seemed to be always in trouble (which in
+that place meant Newgate), called to announce that his eldest daughter
+was taken up on suspicion of shoplifting. As he imparted this melancholy
+circumstance to Wemmick, Mr. Jaggers standing magisterially before the
+fire and taking no share in the proceedings, Mike’s eye happened to
+twinkle with a tear.
+
+“What are you about?” demanded Wemmick, with the utmost indignation.
+“What do you come snivelling here for?”
+
+“I didn’t go to do it, Mr. Wemmick.”
+
+“You did,” said Wemmick. “How dare you? You’re not in a fit state to
+come here, if you can’t come here without spluttering like a bad pen.
+What do you mean by it?”
+
+“A man can’t help his feelings, Mr. Wemmick,” pleaded Mike.
+
+“His what?” demanded Wemmick, quite savagely. “Say that again!”
+
+“Now look here my man,” said Mr. Jaggers, advancing a step, and pointing
+to the door. “Get out of this office. I’ll have no feelings here. Get
+out.”
+
+“It serves you right,” said Wemmick, “Get out.”
+
+So, the unfortunate Mike very humbly withdrew, and Mr. Jaggers and
+Wemmick appeared to have re-established their good understanding, and
+went to work again with an air of refreshment upon them as if they had
+just had lunch.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LII
+
+
+From Little Britain I went, with my check in my pocket, to Miss
+Skiffins’s brother, the accountant; and Miss Skiffins’s brother, the
+accountant, going straight to Clarriker’s and bringing Clarriker to me,
+I had the great satisfaction of concluding that arrangement. It was the
+only good thing I had done, and the only completed thing I had done,
+since I was first apprised of my great expectations.
+
+Clarriker informing me on that occasion that the affairs of the House
+were steadily progressing, that he would now be able to establish a
+small branch-house in the East which was much wanted for the extension
+of the business, and that Herbert in his new partnership capacity would
+go out and take charge of it, I found that I must have prepared for
+a separation from my friend, even though my own affairs had been more
+settled. And now, indeed, I felt as if my last anchor were loosening its
+hold, and I should soon be driving with the winds and waves.
+
+But there was recompense in the joy with which Herbert would come home
+of a night and tell me of these changes, little imagining that he told
+me no news, and would sketch airy pictures of himself conducting Clara
+Barley to the land of the Arabian Nights, and of me going out to join
+them (with a caravan of camels, I believe), and of our all going up the
+Nile and seeing wonders. Without being sanguine as to my own part in
+those bright plans, I felt that Herbert’s way was clearing fast, and
+that old Bill Barley had but to stick to his pepper and rum, and his
+daughter would soon be happily provided for.
+
+We had now got into the month of March. My left arm, though it presented
+no bad symptoms, took, in the natural course, so long to heal that I
+was still unable to get a coat on. My right arm was tolerably restored;
+disfigured, but fairly serviceable.
+
+On a Monday morning, when Herbert and I were at breakfast, I received
+the following letter from Wemmick by the post.
+
+“Walworth. Burn this as soon as read. Early in the week, or say
+Wednesday, you might do what you know of, if you felt disposed to try
+it. Now burn.”
+
+When I had shown this to Herbert and had put it in the fire--but not
+before we had both got it by heart--we considered what to do. For, of
+course my being disabled could now be no longer kept out of view.
+
+“I have thought it over again and again,” said Herbert, “and I think I
+know a better course than taking a Thames waterman. Take Startop. A good
+fellow, a skilled hand, fond of us, and enthusiastic and honorable.”
+
+I had thought of him more than once.
+
+“But how much would you tell him, Herbert?”
+
+“It is necessary to tell him very little. Let him suppose it a mere
+freak, but a secret one, until the morning comes: then let him know that
+there is urgent reason for your getting Provis aboard and away. You go
+with him?”
+
+“No doubt.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+It had seemed to me, in the many anxious considerations I had given the
+point, almost indifferent what port we made for,--Hamburg, Rotterdam,
+Antwerp,--the place signified little, so that he was out of England. Any
+foreign steamer that fell in our way and would take us up would do.
+I had always proposed to myself to get him well down the river in the
+boat; certainly well beyond Gravesend, which was a critical place for
+search or inquiry if suspicion were afoot. As foreign steamers would
+leave London at about the time of high-water, our plan would be to get
+down the river by a previous ebb-tide, and lie by in some quiet spot
+until we could pull off to one. The time when one would be due where we
+lay, wherever that might be, could be calculated pretty nearly, if we
+made inquiries beforehand.
+
+Herbert assented to all this, and we went out immediately after
+breakfast to pursue our investigations. We found that a steamer for
+Hamburg was likely to suit our purpose best, and we directed our
+thoughts chiefly to that vessel. But we noted down what other foreign
+steamers would leave London with the same tide, and we satisfied
+ourselves that we knew the build and color of each. We then separated
+for a few hours: I, to get at once such passports as were necessary;
+Herbert, to see Startop at his lodgings. We both did what we had to do
+without any hindrance, and when we met again at one o’clock reported
+it done. I, for my part, was prepared with passports; Herbert had seen
+Startop, and he was more than ready to join.
+
+Those two should pull a pair of oars, we settled, and I would steer; our
+charge would be sitter, and keep quiet; as speed was not our object, we
+should make way enough. We arranged that Herbert should not come home to
+dinner before going to Mill Pond Bank that evening; that he should
+not go there at all to-morrow evening, Tuesday; that he should prepare
+Provis to come down to some stairs hard by the house, on Wednesday, when
+he saw us approach, and not sooner; that all the arrangements with
+him should be concluded that Monday night; and that he should be
+communicated with no more in any way, until we took him on board.
+
+These precautions well understood by both of us, I went home.
+
+On opening the outer door of our chambers with my key, I found a letter
+in the box, directed to me; a very dirty letter, though not ill-written.
+It had been delivered by hand (of course, since I left home), and its
+contents were these:--
+
+“If you are not afraid to come to the old marshes to-night or to-morrow
+night at nine, and to come to the little sluice-house by the limekiln,
+you had better come. If you want information regarding your uncle
+Provis, you had much better come and tell no one, and lose no time. You
+must come alone. Bring this with you.”
+
+I had had load enough upon my mind before the receipt of this strange
+letter. What to do now, I could not tell. And the worst was, that I must
+decide quickly, or I should miss the afternoon coach, which would take
+me down in time for to-night. To-morrow night I could not think of
+going, for it would be too close upon the time of the flight. And again,
+for anything I knew, the proffered information might have some important
+bearing on the flight itself.
+
+If I had had ample time for consideration, I believe I should still have
+gone. Having hardly any time for consideration,--my watch showing me
+that the coach started within half an hour,--I resolved to go. I should
+certainly not have gone, but for the reference to my Uncle Provis. That,
+coming on Wemmick’s letter and the morning’s busy preparation, turned
+the scale.
+
+It is so difficult to become clearly possessed of the contents of almost
+any letter, in a violent hurry, that I had to read this mysterious
+epistle again twice, before its injunction to me to be secret got
+mechanically into my mind. Yielding to it in the same mechanical kind of
+way, I left a note in pencil for Herbert, telling him that as I should
+be so soon going away, I knew not for how long, I had decided to hurry
+down and back, to ascertain for myself how Miss Havisham was faring.
+I had then barely time to get my great-coat, lock up the chambers,
+and make for the coach-office by the short by-ways. If I had taken a
+hackney-chariot and gone by the streets, I should have missed my aim;
+going as I did, I caught the coach just as it came out of the yard. I
+was the only inside passenger, jolting away knee-deep in straw, when I
+came to myself.
+
+For I really had not been myself since the receipt of the letter; it had
+so bewildered me, ensuing on the hurry of the morning. The morning hurry
+and flutter had been great; for, long and anxiously as I had waited for
+Wemmick, his hint had come like a surprise at last. And now I began
+to wonder at myself for being in the coach, and to doubt whether I had
+sufficient reason for being there, and to consider whether I should
+get out presently and go back, and to argue against ever heeding an
+anonymous communication, and, in short, to pass through all those phases
+of contradiction and indecision to which I suppose very few hurried
+people are strangers. Still, the reference to Provis by name mastered
+everything. I reasoned as I had reasoned already without knowing it,--if
+that be reasoning,--in case any harm should befall him through my not
+going, how could I ever forgive myself!
+
+It was dark before we got down, and the journey seemed long and dreary
+to me, who could see little of it inside, and who could not go outside
+in my disabled state. Avoiding the Blue Boar, I put up at an inn of
+minor reputation down the town, and ordered some dinner. While it was
+preparing, I went to Satis House and inquired for Miss Havisham; she was
+still very ill, though considered something better.
+
+My inn had once been a part of an ancient ecclesiastical house, and I
+dined in a little octagonal common-room, like a font. As I was not able
+to cut my dinner, the old landlord with a shining bald head did it for
+me. This bringing us into conversation, he was so good as to entertain
+me with my own story,--of course with the popular feature that
+Pumblechook was my earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortunes.
+
+“Do you know the young man?” said I.
+
+“Know him!” repeated the landlord. “Ever since he was--no height at
+all.”
+
+“Does he ever come back to this neighborhood?”
+
+“Ay, he comes back,” said the landlord, “to his great friends, now and
+again, and gives the cold shoulder to the man that made him.”
+
+“What man is that?”
+
+“Him that I speak of,” said the landlord. “Mr. Pumblechook.”
+
+“Is he ungrateful to no one else?”
+
+“No doubt he would be, if he could,” returned the landlord, “but he
+can’t. And why? Because Pumblechook done everything for him.”
+
+“Does Pumblechook say so?”
+
+“Say so!” replied the landlord. “He han’t no call to say so.”
+
+“But does he say so?”
+
+“It would turn a man’s blood to white wine winegar to hear him tell of
+it, sir,” said the landlord.
+
+I thought, “Yet Joe, dear Joe, you never tell of it. Long-suffering and
+loving Joe, you never complain. Nor you, sweet-tempered Biddy!”
+
+“Your appetite’s been touched like by your accident,” said the landlord,
+glancing at the bandaged arm under my coat. “Try a tenderer bit.”
+
+“No, thank you,” I replied, turning from the table to brood over the
+fire. “I can eat no more. Please take it away.”
+
+I had never been struck at so keenly, for my thanklessness to Joe, as
+through the brazen impostor Pumblechook. The falser he, the truer Joe;
+the meaner he, the nobler Joe.
+
+My heart was deeply and most deservedly humbled as I mused over the fire
+for an hour or more. The striking of the clock aroused me, but not from
+my dejection or remorse, and I got up and had my coat fastened round
+my neck, and went out. I had previously sought in my pockets for the
+letter, that I might refer to it again; but I could not find it, and
+was uneasy to think that it must have been dropped in the straw of
+the coach. I knew very well, however, that the appointed place was the
+little sluice-house by the limekiln on the marshes, and the hour nine.
+Towards the marshes I now went straight, having no time to spare.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LIII
+
+It was a dark night, though the full moon rose as I left the enclosed
+lands, and passed out upon the marshes. Beyond their dark line there was
+a ribbon of clear sky, hardly broad enough to hold the red large moon.
+In a few minutes she had ascended out of that clear field, in among the
+piled mountains of cloud.
+
+There was a melancholy wind, and the marshes were very dismal. A
+stranger would have found them insupportable, and even to me they were
+so oppressive that I hesitated, half inclined to go back. But I knew
+them well, and could have found my way on a far darker night, and had
+no excuse for returning, being there. So, having come there against my
+inclination, I went on against it.
+
+The direction that I took was not that in which my old home lay, nor
+that in which we had pursued the convicts. My back was turned towards
+the distant Hulks as I walked on, and, though I could see the old lights
+away on the spits of sand, I saw them over my shoulder. I knew the
+limekiln as well as I knew the old Battery, but they were miles apart;
+so that, if a light had been burning at each point that night, there
+would have been a long strip of the blank horizon between the two bright
+specks.
+
+At first, I had to shut some gates after me, and now and then to stand
+still while the cattle that were lying in the banked-up pathway arose
+and blundered down among the grass and reeds. But after a little while I
+seemed to have the whole flats to myself.
+
+It was another half-hour before I drew near to the kiln. The lime was
+burning with a sluggish stifling smell, but the fires were made up and
+left, and no workmen were visible. Hard by was a small stone-quarry. It
+lay directly in my way, and had been worked that day, as I saw by the
+tools and barrows that were lying about.
+
+Coming up again to the marsh level out of this excavation,--for the rude
+path lay through it,--I saw a light in the old sluice-house. I quickened
+my pace, and knocked at the door with my hand. Waiting for some reply,
+I looked about me, noticing how the sluice was abandoned and broken, and
+how the house--of wood with a tiled roof--would not be proof against the
+weather much longer, if it were so even now, and how the mud and ooze
+were coated with lime, and how the choking vapor of the kiln crept in a
+ghostly way towards me. Still there was no answer, and I knocked again.
+No answer still, and I tried the latch.
+
+It rose under my hand, and the door yielded. Looking in, I saw a lighted
+candle on a table, a bench, and a mattress on a truckle bedstead. As
+there was a loft above, I called, “Is there any one here?” but no voice
+answered. Then I looked at my watch, and, finding that it was past nine,
+called again, “Is there any one here?” There being still no answer, I
+went out at the door, irresolute what to do.
+
+It was beginning to rain fast. Seeing nothing save what I had seen
+already, I turned back into the house, and stood just within the shelter
+of the doorway, looking out into the night. While I was considering that
+some one must have been there lately and must soon be coming back, or
+the candle would not be burning, it came into my head to look if the
+wick were long. I turned round to do so, and had taken up the candle in
+my hand, when it was extinguished by some violent shock; and the next
+thing I comprehended was, that I had been caught in a strong running
+noose, thrown over my head from behind.
+
+“Now,” said a suppressed voice with an oath, “I’ve got you!”
+
+“What is this?” I cried, struggling. “Who is it? Help, help, help!”
+
+Not only were my arms pulled close to my sides, but the pressure on
+my bad arm caused me exquisite pain. Sometimes, a strong man’s hand,
+sometimes a strong man’s breast, was set against my mouth to deaden
+my cries, and with a hot breath always close to me, I struggled
+ineffectually in the dark, while I was fastened tight to the wall. “And
+now,” said the suppressed voice with another oath, “call out again, and
+I’ll make short work of you!”
+
+Faint and sick with the pain of my injured arm, bewildered by the
+surprise, and yet conscious how easily this threat could be put in
+execution, I desisted, and tried to ease my arm were it ever so little.
+But, it was bound too tight for that. I felt as if, having been burnt
+before, it were now being boiled.
+
+The sudden exclusion of the night, and the substitution of black
+darkness in its place, warned me that the man had closed a shutter.
+After groping about for a little, he found the flint and steel he
+wanted, and began to strike a light. I strained my sight upon the sparks
+that fell among the tinder, and upon which he breathed and breathed,
+match in hand, but I could only see his lips, and the blue point of
+the match; even those but fitfully. The tinder was damp,--no wonder
+there,--and one after another the sparks died out.
+
+The man was in no hurry, and struck again with the flint and steel. As
+the sparks fell thick and bright about him, I could see his hands, and
+touches of his face, and could make out that he was seated and bending
+over the table; but nothing more. Presently I saw his blue lips again,
+breathing on the tinder, and then a flare of light flashed up, and
+showed me Orlick.
+
+Whom I had looked for, I don’t know. I had not looked for him. Seeing
+him, I felt that I was in a dangerous strait indeed, and I kept my eyes
+upon him.
+
+He lighted the candle from the flaring match with great deliberation,
+and dropped the match, and trod it out. Then he put the candle away from
+him on the table, so that he could see me, and sat with his arms folded
+on the table and looked at me. I made out that I was fastened to a stout
+perpendicular ladder a few inches from the wall,--a fixture there,--the
+means of ascent to the loft above.
+
+“Now,” said he, when we had surveyed one another for some time, “I’ve
+got you.”
+
+“Unbind me. Let me go!”
+
+“Ah!” he returned, “I’ll let you go. I’ll let you go to the moon, I’ll
+let you go to the stars. All in good time.”
+
+“Why have you lured me here?”
+
+“Don’t you know?” said he, with a deadly look.
+
+“Why have you set upon me in the dark?”
+
+“Because I mean to do it all myself. One keeps a secret better than two.
+O you enemy, you enemy!”
+
+His enjoyment of the spectacle I furnished, as he sat with his arms
+folded on the table, shaking his head at me and hugging himself, had a
+malignity in it that made me tremble. As I watched him in silence,
+he put his hand into the corner at his side, and took up a gun with a
+brass-bound stock.
+
+“Do you know this?” said he, making as if he would take aim at me. “Do
+you know where you saw it afore? Speak, wolf!”
+
+“Yes,” I answered.
+
+“You cost me that place. You did. Speak!”
+
+“What else could I do?”
+
+“You did that, and that would be enough, without more. How dared you to
+come betwixt me and a young woman I liked?”
+
+“When did I?”
+
+“When didn’t you? It was you as always give Old Orlick a bad name to
+her.”
+
+“You gave it to yourself; you gained it for yourself. I could have done
+you no harm, if you had done yourself none.”
+
+“You’re a liar. And you’ll take any pains, and spend any money, to drive
+me out of this country, will you?” said he, repeating my words to Biddy
+in the last interview I had with her. “Now, I’ll tell you a piece of
+information. It was never so well worth your while to get me out of this
+country as it is to-night. Ah! If it was all your money twenty times
+told, to the last brass farden!” As he shook his heavy hand at me, with
+his mouth snarling like a tiger’s, I felt that it was true.
+
+“What are you going to do to me?”
+
+“I’m a going,” said he, bringing his fist down upon the table with a
+heavy blow, and rising as the blow fell to give it greater force,--“I’m
+a going to have your life!”
+
+He leaned forward staring at me, slowly unclenched his hand and drew it
+across his mouth as if his mouth watered for me, and sat down again.
+
+“You was always in Old Orlick’s way since ever you was a child. You goes
+out of his way this present night. He’ll have no more on you. You’re
+dead.”
+
+I felt that I had come to the brink of my grave. For a moment I looked
+wildly round my trap for any chance of escape; but there was none.
+
+“More than that,” said he, folding his arms on the table again, “I won’t
+have a rag of you, I won’t have a bone of you, left on earth. I’ll put
+your body in the kiln,--I’d carry two such to it, on my Shoulders,--and,
+let people suppose what they may of you, they shall never know nothing.”
+
+My mind, with inconceivable rapidity followed out all the consequences
+of such a death. Estella’s father would believe I had deserted him,
+would be taken, would die accusing me; even Herbert would doubt me,
+when he compared the letter I had left for him with the fact that I had
+called at Miss Havisham’s gate for only a moment; Joe and Biddy would
+never know how sorry I had been that night, none would ever know what
+I had suffered, how true I had meant to be, what an agony I had passed
+through. The death close before me was terrible, but far more terrible
+than death was the dread of being misremembered after death. And
+so quick were my thoughts, that I saw myself despised by unborn
+generations,--Estella’s children, and their children,--while the
+wretch’s words were yet on his lips.
+
+“Now, wolf,” said he, “afore I kill you like any other beast,--which is
+wot I mean to do and wot I have tied you up for,--I’ll have a good look
+at you and a good goad at you. O you enemy!”
+
+It had passed through my thoughts to cry out for help again; though
+few could know better than I, the solitary nature of the spot, and the
+hopelessness of aid. But as he sat gloating over me, I was supported by
+a scornful detestation of him that sealed my lips. Above all things, I
+resolved that I would not entreat him, and that I would die making some
+last poor resistance to him. Softened as my thoughts of all the rest of
+men were in that dire extremity; humbly beseeching pardon, as I did, of
+Heaven; melted at heart, as I was, by the thought that I had taken no
+farewell, and never now could take farewell of those who were dear to
+me, or could explain myself to them, or ask for their compassion on my
+miserable errors,--still, if I could have killed him, even in dying, I
+would have done it.
+
+He had been drinking, and his eyes were red and bloodshot. Around his
+neck was slung a tin bottle, as I had often seen his meat and drink
+slung about him in other days. He brought the bottle to his lips, and
+took a fiery drink from it; and I smelt the strong spirits that I saw
+flash into his face.
+
+“Wolf!” said he, folding his arms again, “Old Orlick’s a going to tell
+you somethink. It was you as did for your shrew sister.”
+
+Again my mind, with its former inconceivable rapidity, had exhausted the
+whole subject of the attack upon my sister, her illness, and her death,
+before his slow and hesitating speech had formed these words.
+
+“It was you, villain,” said I.
+
+“I tell you it was your doing,--I tell you it was done through you,” he
+retorted, catching up the gun, and making a blow with the stock at the
+vacant air between us. “I come upon her from behind, as I come upon you
+to-night. I giv’ it her! I left her for dead, and if there had been a
+limekiln as nigh her as there is now nigh you, she shouldn’t have come
+to life again. But it warn’t Old Orlick as did it; it was you. You was
+favored, and he was bullied and beat. Old Orlick bullied and beat, eh?
+Now you pays for it. You done it; now you pays for it.”
+
+He drank again, and became more ferocious. I saw by his tilting of
+the bottle that there was no great quantity left in it. I distinctly
+understood that he was working himself up with its contents to make an
+end of me. I knew that every drop it held was a drop of my life. I knew
+that when I was changed into a part of the vapor that had crept towards
+me but a little while before, like my own warning ghost, he would do
+as he had done in my sister’s case,--make all haste to the town, and
+be seen slouching about there drinking at the alehouses. My rapid mind
+pursued him to the town, made a picture of the street with him in it,
+and contrasted its lights and life with the lonely marsh and the white
+vapor creeping over it, into which I should have dissolved.
+
+It was not only that I could have summed up years and years and years
+while he said a dozen words, but that what he did say presented pictures
+to me, and not mere words. In the excited and exalted state of my brain,
+I could not think of a place without seeing it, or of persons without
+seeing them. It is impossible to overstate the vividness of these
+images, and yet I was so intent, all the time, upon him himself,--who
+would not be intent on the tiger crouching to spring!--that I knew of
+the slightest action of his fingers.
+
+When he had drunk this second time, he rose from the bench on which
+he sat, and pushed the table aside. Then, he took up the candle, and,
+shading it with his murderous hand so as to throw its light on me, stood
+before me, looking at me and enjoying the sight.
+
+“Wolf, I’ll tell you something more. It was Old Orlick as you tumbled
+over on your stairs that night.”
+
+I saw the staircase with its extinguished lamps. I saw the shadows of
+the heavy stair-rails, thrown by the watchman’s lantern on the wall.
+I saw the rooms that I was never to see again; here, a door half open;
+there, a door closed; all the articles of furniture around.
+
+“And why was Old Orlick there? I’ll tell you something more, wolf.
+You and her have pretty well hunted me out of this country, so far as
+getting a easy living in it goes, and I’ve took up with new companions,
+and new masters. Some of ‘em writes my letters when I wants ‘em
+wrote,--do you mind?--writes my letters, wolf! They writes fifty hands;
+they’re not like sneaking you, as writes but one. I’ve had a firm mind
+and a firm will to have your life, since you was down here at your
+sister’s burying. I han’t seen a way to get you safe, and I’ve looked
+arter you to know your ins and outs. For, says Old Orlick to himself,
+‘Somehow or another I’ll have him!’ What! When I looks for you, I finds
+your uncle Provis, eh?”
+
+Mill Pond Bank, and Chinks’s Basin, and the Old Green Copper Rope-walk,
+all so clear and plain! Provis in his rooms, the signal whose use was
+over, pretty Clara, the good motherly woman, old Bill Barley on his
+back, all drifting by, as on the swift stream of my life fast running
+out to sea!
+
+“You with a uncle too! Why, I know’d you at Gargery’s when you was so
+small a wolf that I could have took your weazen betwixt this finger and
+thumb and chucked you away dead (as I’d thoughts o’ doing, odd times,
+when I see you loitering amongst the pollards on a Sunday), and you
+hadn’t found no uncles then. No, not you! But when Old Orlick come for
+to hear that your uncle Provis had most like wore the leg-iron wot Old
+Orlick had picked up, filed asunder, on these meshes ever so many year
+ago, and wot he kep by him till he dropped your sister with it, like
+a bullock, as he means to drop you--hey?--when he come for to hear
+that--hey?”
+
+In his savage taunting, he flared the candle so close at me that I
+turned my face aside to save it from the flame.
+
+“Ah!” he cried, laughing, after doing it again, “the burnt child dreads
+the fire! Old Orlick knowed you was burnt, Old Orlick knowed you was
+smuggling your uncle Provis away, Old Orlick’s a match for you and
+know’d you’d come to-night! Now I’ll tell you something more, wolf, and
+this ends it. There’s them that’s as good a match for your uncle Provis
+as Old Orlick has been for you. Let him ‘ware them, when he’s lost his
+nevvy! Let him ‘ware them, when no man can’t find a rag of his dear
+relation’s clothes, nor yet a bone of his body. There’s them that can’t
+and that won’t have Magwitch,--yes, I know the name!--alive in the same
+land with them, and that’s had such sure information of him when he
+was alive in another land, as that he couldn’t and shouldn’t leave it
+unbeknown and put them in danger. P’raps it’s them that writes fifty
+hands, and that’s not like sneaking you as writes but one. ‘Ware
+Compeyson, Magwitch, and the gallows!”
+
+He flared the candle at me again, smoking my face and hair, and for an
+instant blinding me, and turned his powerful back as he replaced the
+light on the table. I had thought a prayer, and had been with Joe and
+Biddy and Herbert, before he turned towards me again.
+
+There was a clear space of a few feet between the table and the opposite
+wall. Within this space, he now slouched backwards and forwards. His
+great strength seemed to sit stronger upon him than ever before, as he
+did this with his hands hanging loose and heavy at his sides, and with
+his eyes scowling at me. I had no grain of hope left. Wild as my inward
+hurry was, and wonderful the force of the pictures that rushed by me
+instead of thoughts, I could yet clearly understand that, unless he had
+resolved that I was within a few moments of surely perishing out of all
+human knowledge, he would never have told me what he had told.
+
+Of a sudden, he stopped, took the cork out of his bottle, and tossed
+it away. Light as it was, I heard it fall like a plummet. He swallowed
+slowly, tilting up the bottle by little and little, and now he looked at
+me no more. The last few drops of liquor he poured into the palm of his
+hand, and licked up. Then, with a sudden hurry of violence and swearing
+horribly, he threw the bottle from him, and stooped; and I saw in his
+hand a stone-hammer with a long heavy handle.
+
+The resolution I had made did not desert me, for, without uttering
+one vain word of appeal to him, I shouted out with all my might, and
+struggled with all my might. It was only my head and my legs that I
+could move, but to that extent I struggled with all the force, until
+then unknown, that was within me. In the same instant I heard responsive
+shouts, saw figures and a gleam of light dash in at the door, heard
+voices and tumult, and saw Orlick emerge from a struggle of men, as if
+it were tumbling water, clear the table at a leap, and fly out into the
+night.
+
+After a blank, I found that I was lying unbound, on the floor, in the
+same place, with my head on some one’s knee. My eyes were fixed on the
+ladder against the wall, when I came to myself,--had opened on it before
+my mind saw it,--and thus as I recovered consciousness, I knew that I
+was in the place where I had lost it.
+
+Too indifferent at first, even to look round and ascertain who supported
+me, I was lying looking at the ladder, when there came between me and it
+a face. The face of Trabb’s boy!
+
+“I think he’s all right!” said Trabb’s boy, in a sober voice; “but ain’t
+he just pale though!”
+
+At these words, the face of him who supported me looked over into mine,
+and I saw my supporter to be--
+
+“Herbert! Great Heaven!”
+
+“Softly,” said Herbert. “Gently, Handel. Don’t be too eager.”
+
+“And our old comrade, Startop!” I cried, as he too bent over me.
+
+“Remember what he is going to assist us in,” said Herbert, “and be
+calm.”
+
+The allusion made me spring up; though I dropped again from the pain
+in my arm. “The time has not gone by, Herbert, has it? What night is
+to-night? How long have I been here?” For, I had a strange and
+strong misgiving that I had been lying there a long time--a day and a
+night,--two days and nights,--more.
+
+“The time has not gone by. It is still Monday night.”
+
+“Thank God!”
+
+“And you have all to-morrow, Tuesday, to rest in,” said Herbert. “But
+you can’t help groaning, my dear Handel. What hurt have you got? Can you
+stand?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said I, “I can walk. I have no hurt but in this throbbing
+arm.”
+
+They laid it bare, and did what they could. It was violently swollen and
+inflamed, and I could scarcely endure to have it touched. But, they tore
+up their handkerchiefs to make fresh bandages, and carefully replaced
+it in the sling, until we could get to the town and obtain some cooling
+lotion to put upon it. In a little while we had shut the door of the
+dark and empty sluice-house, and were passing through the quarry on our
+way back. Trabb’s boy--Trabb’s overgrown young man now--went before us
+with a lantern, which was the light I had seen come in at the door. But,
+the moon was a good two hours higher than when I had last seen the sky,
+and the night, though rainy, was much lighter. The white vapor of the
+kiln was passing from us as we went by, and as I had thought a prayer
+before, I thought a thanksgiving now.
+
+Entreating Herbert to tell me how he had come to my rescue,--which at
+first he had flatly refused to do, but had insisted on my remaining
+quiet,--I learnt that I had in my hurry dropped the letter, open, in our
+chambers, where he, coming home to bring with him Startop whom he had
+met in the street on his way to me, found it, very soon after I
+was gone. Its tone made him uneasy, and the more so because of the
+inconsistency between it and the hasty letter I had left for him. His
+uneasiness increasing instead of subsiding, after a quarter of an
+hour’s consideration, he set off for the coach-office with Startop, who
+volunteered his company, to make inquiry when the next coach went
+down. Finding that the afternoon coach was gone, and finding that his
+uneasiness grew into positive alarm, as obstacles came in his way, he
+resolved to follow in a post-chaise. So he and Startop arrived at the
+Blue Boar, fully expecting there to find me, or tidings of me; but,
+finding neither, went on to Miss Havisham’s, where they lost me.
+Hereupon they went back to the hotel (doubtless at about the time when
+I was hearing the popular local version of my own story) to refresh
+themselves and to get some one to guide them out upon the marshes. Among
+the loungers under the Boar’s archway happened to be Trabb’s Boy,--true
+to his ancient habit of happening to be everywhere where he had no
+business,--and Trabb’s boy had seen me passing from Miss Havisham’s in
+the direction of my dining-place. Thus Trabb’s boy became their guide,
+and with him they went out to the sluice-house, though by the town way
+to the marshes, which I had avoided. Now, as they went along, Herbert
+reflected, that I might, after all, have been brought there on some
+genuine and serviceable errand tending to Provis’s safety, and,
+bethinking himself that in that case interruption must be mischievous,
+left his guide and Startop on the edge of the quarry, and went on by
+himself, and stole round the house two or three times, endeavouring to
+ascertain whether all was right within. As he could hear nothing but
+indistinct sounds of one deep rough voice (this was while my mind was so
+busy), he even at last began to doubt whether I was there, when suddenly
+I cried out loudly, and he answered the cries, and rushed in, closely
+followed by the other two.
+
+When I told Herbert what had passed within the house, he was for our
+immediately going before a magistrate in the town, late at night as it
+was, and getting out a warrant. But, I had already considered that such
+a course, by detaining us there, or binding us to come back, might
+be fatal to Provis. There was no gainsaying this difficulty, and we
+relinquished all thoughts of pursuing Orlick at that time. For the
+present, under the circumstances, we deemed it prudent to make rather
+light of the matter to Trabb’s boy; who, I am convinced, would have been
+much affected by disappointment, if he had known that his intervention
+saved me from the limekiln. Not that Trabb’s boy was of a malignant
+nature, but that he had too much spare vivacity, and that it was in his
+constitution to want variety and excitement at anybody’s expense. When
+we parted, I presented him with two guineas (which seemed to meet his
+views), and told him that I was sorry ever to have had an ill opinion of
+him (which made no impression on him at all).
+
+Wednesday being so close upon us, we determined to go back to London
+that night, three in the post-chaise; the rather, as we should then be
+clear away before the night’s adventure began to be talked of. Herbert
+got a large bottle of stuff for my arm; and by dint of having this stuff
+dropped over it all the night through, I was just able to bear its pain
+on the journey. It was daylight when we reached the Temple, and I went
+at once to bed, and lay in bed all day.
+
+My terror, as I lay there, of falling ill, and being unfitted for
+to-morrow, was so besetting, that I wonder it did not disable me of
+itself. It would have done so, pretty surely, in conjunction with the
+mental wear and tear I had suffered, but for the unnatural strain upon
+me that to-morrow was. So anxiously looked forward to, charged with such
+consequences, its results so impenetrably hidden, though so near.
+
+No precaution could have been more obvious than our refraining
+from communication with him that day; yet this again increased my
+restlessness. I started at every footstep and every sound, believing
+that he was discovered and taken, and this was the messenger to tell
+me so. I persuaded myself that I knew he was taken; that there was
+something more upon my mind than a fear or a presentiment; that the fact
+had occurred, and I had a mysterious knowledge of it. As the days wore
+on, and no ill news came, as the day closed in and darkness fell,
+my overshadowing dread of being disabled by illness before to-morrow
+morning altogether mastered me. My burning arm throbbed, and my burning
+head throbbed, and I fancied I was beginning to wander. I counted up to
+high numbers, to make sure of myself, and repeated passages that I knew
+in prose and verse. It happened sometimes that in the mere escape of a
+fatigued mind, I dozed for some moments or forgot; then I would say to
+myself with a start, “Now it has come, and I am turning delirious!”
+
+They kept me very quiet all day, and kept my arm constantly dressed, and
+gave me cooling drinks. Whenever I fell asleep, I awoke with the notion
+I had had in the sluice-house, that a long time had elapsed and the
+opportunity to save him was gone. About midnight I got out of bed
+and went to Herbert, with the conviction that I had been asleep for
+four-and-twenty hours, and that Wednesday was past. It was the last
+self-exhausting effort of my fretfulness, for after that I slept
+soundly.
+
+Wednesday morning was dawning when I looked out of window. The winking
+lights upon the bridges were already pale, the coming sun was like a
+marsh of fire on the horizon. The river, still dark and mysterious, was
+spanned by bridges that were turning coldly gray, with here and there
+at top a warm touch from the burning in the sky. As I looked along
+the clustered roofs, with church-towers and spires shooting into the
+unusually clear air, the sun rose up, and a veil seemed to be drawn from
+the river, and millions of sparkles burst out upon its waters. From me
+too, a veil seemed to be drawn, and I felt strong and well.
+
+Herbert lay asleep in his bed, and our old fellow-student lay asleep on
+the sofa. I could not dress myself without help; but I made up the fire,
+which was still burning, and got some coffee ready for them. In good
+time they too started up strong and well, and we admitted the sharp
+morning air at the windows, and looked at the tide that was still
+flowing towards us.
+
+“When it turns at nine o’clock,” said Herbert, cheerfully, “look out for
+us, and stand ready, you over there at Mill Pond Bank!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LIV
+
+It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind
+blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
+We had our pea-coats with us, and I took a bag. Of all my worldly
+possessions I took no more than the few necessaries that filled the
+bag. Where I might go, what I might do, or when I might return, were
+questions utterly unknown to me; nor did I vex my mind with them, for
+it was wholly set on Provis’s safety. I only wondered for the passing
+moment, as I stopped at the door and looked back, under what altered
+circumstances I should next see those rooms, if ever.
+
+We loitered down to the Temple stairs, and stood loitering there, as if
+we were not quite decided to go upon the water at all. Of course, I had
+taken care that the boat should be ready and everything in order. After
+a little show of indecision, which there were none to see but the two
+or three amphibious creatures belonging to our Temple stairs, we went
+on board and cast off; Herbert in the bow, I steering. It was then about
+high-water,--half-past eight.
+
+Our plan was this. The tide, beginning to run down at nine, and being
+with us until three, we intended still to creep on after it had turned,
+and row against it until dark. We should then be well in those long
+reaches below Gravesend, between Kent and Essex, where the river is
+broad and solitary, where the water-side inhabitants are very few, and
+where lone public-houses are scattered here and there, of which we could
+choose one for a resting-place. There, we meant to lie by all night.
+The steamer for Hamburg and the steamer for Rotterdam would start from
+London at about nine on Thursday morning. We should know at what time
+to expect them, according to where we were, and would hail the first;
+so that, if by any accident we were not taken abroad, we should have
+another chance. We knew the distinguishing marks of each vessel.
+
+The relief of being at last engaged in the execution of the purpose
+was so great to me that I felt it difficult to realize the condition in
+which I had been a few hours before. The crisp air, the sunlight, the
+movement on the river, and the moving river itself,--the road that ran
+with us, seeming to sympathize with us, animate us, and encourage us
+on,--freshened me with new hope. I felt mortified to be of so little use
+in the boat; but, there were few better oarsmen than my two friends, and
+they rowed with a steady stroke that was to last all day.
+
+At that time, the steam-traffic on the Thames was far below its present
+extent, and watermen’s boats were far more numerous. Of barges, sailing
+colliers, and coasting-traders, there were perhaps, as many as now;
+but of steam-ships, great and small, not a tithe or a twentieth part
+so many. Early as it was, there were plenty of scullers going here and
+there that morning, and plenty of barges dropping down with the tide;
+the navigation of the river between bridges, in an open boat, was a much
+easier and commoner matter in those days than it is in these; and we
+went ahead among many skiffs and wherries briskly.
+
+Old London Bridge was soon passed, and old Billingsgate Market with its
+oyster-boats and Dutchmen, and the White Tower and Traitor’s Gate, and
+we were in among the tiers of shipping. Here were the Leith, Aberdeen,
+and Glasgow steamers, loading and unloading goods, and looking immensely
+high out of the water as we passed alongside; here, were colliers by the
+score and score, with the coal-whippers plunging off stages on deck, as
+counterweights to measures of coal swinging up, which were then rattled
+over the side into barges; here, at her moorings was to-morrow’s steamer
+for Rotterdam, of which we took good notice; and here to-morrow’s for
+Hamburg, under whose bowsprit we crossed. And now I, sitting in the
+stern, could see, with a faster beating heart, Mill Pond Bank and Mill
+Pond stairs.
+
+“Is he there?” said Herbert.
+
+“Not yet.”
+
+“Right! He was not to come down till he saw us. Can you see his signal?”
+
+“Not well from here; but I think I see it.--Now I see him! Pull both.
+Easy, Herbert. Oars!”
+
+We touched the stairs lightly for a single moment, and he was on board,
+and we were off again. He had a boat-cloak with him, and a black canvas
+bag; and he looked as like a river-pilot as my heart could have wished.
+
+“Dear boy!” he said, putting his arm on my shoulder, as he took his
+seat. “Faithful dear boy, well done. Thankye, thankye!”
+
+Again among the tiers of shipping, in and out, avoiding rusty
+chain-cables frayed hempen hawsers and bobbing buoys, sinking for the
+moment floating broken baskets, scattering floating chips of wood
+and shaving, cleaving floating scum of coal, in and out, under the
+figure-head of the John of Sunderland making a speech to the winds (as
+is done by many Johns), and the Betsy of Yarmouth with a firm formality
+of bosom and her knobby eyes starting two inches out of her head; in
+and out, hammers going in ship-builders’ yards, saws going at timber,
+clashing engines going at things unknown, pumps going in leaky ships,
+capstans going, ships going out to sea, and unintelligible sea-creatures
+roaring curses over the bulwarks at respondent lightermen, in and
+out,--out at last upon the clearer river, where the ships’ boys might
+take their fenders in, no longer fishing in troubled waters with them
+over the side, and where the festooned sails might fly out to the wind.
+
+At the stairs where we had taken him abroad, and ever since, I had
+looked warily for any token of our being suspected. I had seen none. We
+certainly had not been, and at that time as certainly we were not either
+attended or followed by any boat. If we had been waited on by any boat,
+I should have run in to shore, and have obliged her to go on, or to
+make her purpose evident. But we held our own without any appearance of
+molestation.
+
+He had his boat-cloak on him, and looked, as I have said, a natural part
+of the scene. It was remarkable (but perhaps the wretched life he had
+led accounted for it) that he was the least anxious of any of us. He
+was not indifferent, for he told me that he hoped to live to see his
+gentleman one of the best of gentlemen in a foreign country; he was not
+disposed to be passive or resigned, as I understood it; but he had no
+notion of meeting danger half way. When it came upon him, he confronted
+it, but it must come before he troubled himself.
+
+“If you knowed, dear boy,” he said to me, “what it is to sit here
+alonger my dear boy and have my smoke, arter having been day by day
+betwixt four walls, you’d envy me. But you don’t know what it is.”
+
+“I think I know the delights of freedom,” I answered.
+
+“Ah,” said he, shaking his head gravely. “But you don’t know it equal to
+me. You must have been under lock and key, dear boy, to know it equal to
+me,--but I ain’t a going to be low.”
+
+It occurred to me as inconsistent, that, for any mastering idea, he
+should have endangered his freedom, and even his life. But I reflected
+that perhaps freedom without danger was too much apart from all the
+habit of his existence to be to him what it would be to another man. I
+was not far out, since he said, after smoking a little:--
+
+“You see, dear boy, when I was over yonder, t’other side the world, I
+was always a looking to this side; and it come flat to be there, for
+all I was a growing rich. Everybody knowed Magwitch, and Magwitch could
+come, and Magwitch could go, and nobody’s head would be troubled about
+him. They ain’t so easy concerning me here, dear boy,--wouldn’t be,
+leastwise, if they knowed where I was.”
+
+“If all goes well,” said I, “you will be perfectly free and safe again
+within a few hours.”
+
+“Well,” he returned, drawing a long breath, “I hope so.”
+
+“And think so?”
+
+He dipped his hand in the water over the boat’s gunwale, and said,
+smiling with that softened air upon him which was not new to me:--
+
+“Ay, I s’pose I think so, dear boy. We’d be puzzled to be more quiet
+and easy-going than we are at present. But--it’s a flowing so soft
+and pleasant through the water, p’raps, as makes me think it--I was
+a thinking through my smoke just then, that we can no more see to the
+bottom of the next few hours than we can see to the bottom of this river
+what I catches hold of. Nor yet we can’t no more hold their tide than
+I can hold this. And it’s run through my fingers and gone, you see!”
+ holding up his dripping hand.
+
+“But for your face I should think you were a little despondent,” said I.
+
+“Not a bit on it, dear boy! It comes of flowing on so quiet, and of that
+there rippling at the boat’s head making a sort of a Sunday tune. Maybe
+I’m a growing a trifle old besides.”
+
+He put his pipe back in his mouth with an undisturbed expression of
+face, and sat as composed and contented as if we were already out of
+England. Yet he was as submissive to a word of advice as if he had been
+in constant terror; for, when we ran ashore to get some bottles of beer
+into the boat, and he was stepping out, I hinted that I thought he would
+be safest where he was, and he said. “Do you, dear boy?” and quietly sat
+down again.
+
+The air felt cold upon the river, but it was a bright day, and the
+sunshine was very cheering. The tide ran strong, I took care to lose
+none of it, and our steady stroke carried us on thoroughly well. By
+imperceptible degrees, as the tide ran out, we lost more and more of the
+nearer woods and hills, and dropped lower and lower between the muddy
+banks, but the tide was yet with us when we were off Gravesend. As our
+charge was wrapped in his cloak, I purposely passed within a boat or
+two’s length of the floating Custom House, and so out to catch the
+stream, alongside of two emigrant ships, and under the bows of a large
+transport with troops on the forecastle looking down at us. And soon
+the tide began to slacken, and the craft lying at anchor to swing,
+and presently they had all swung round, and the ships that were taking
+advantage of the new tide to get up to the Pool began to crowd upon us
+in a fleet, and we kept under the shore, as much out of the strength of
+the tide now as we could, standing carefully off from low shallows and
+mudbanks.
+
+Our oarsmen were so fresh, by dint of having occasionally let her drive
+with the tide for a minute or two, that a quarter of an hour’s rest
+proved full as much as they wanted. We got ashore among some slippery
+stones while we ate and drank what we had with us, and looked about.
+It was like my own marsh country, flat and monotonous, and with a
+dim horizon; while the winding river turned and turned, and the great
+floating buoys upon it turned and turned, and everything else seemed
+stranded and still. For now the last of the fleet of ships was round
+the last low point we had headed; and the last green barge, straw-laden,
+with a brown sail, had followed; and some ballast-lighters, shaped like
+a child’s first rude imitation of a boat, lay low in the mud; and a
+little squat shoal-lighthouse on open piles stood crippled in the mud
+on stilts and crutches; and slimy stakes stuck out of the mud, and slimy
+stones stuck out of the mud, and red landmarks and tidemarks stuck
+out of the mud, and an old landing-stage and an old roofless building
+slipped into the mud, and all about us was stagnation and mud.
+
+We pushed off again, and made what way we could. It was much harder work
+now, but Herbert and Startop persevered, and rowed and rowed and rowed
+until the sun went down. By that time the river had lifted us a little,
+so that we could see above the bank. There was the red sun, on the low
+level of the shore, in a purple haze, fast deepening into black; and
+there was the solitary flat marsh; and far away there were the rising
+grounds, between which and us there seemed to be no life, save here and
+there in the foreground a melancholy gull.
+
+As the night was fast falling, and as the moon, being past the full,
+would not rise early, we held a little council; a short one, for clearly
+our course was to lie by at the first lonely tavern we could find. So,
+they plied their oars once more, and I looked out for anything like a
+house. Thus we held on, speaking little, for four or five dull miles. It
+was very cold, and, a collier coming by us, with her galley-fire smoking
+and flaring, looked like a comfortable home. The night was as dark by
+this time as it would be until morning; and what light we had, seemed
+to come more from the river than the sky, as the oars in their dipping
+struck at a few reflected stars.
+
+At this dismal time we were evidently all possessed by the idea that
+we were followed. As the tide made, it flapped heavily at irregular
+intervals against the shore; and whenever such a sound came, one or
+other of us was sure to start, and look in that direction. Here and
+there, the set of the current had worn down the bank into a little
+creek, and we were all suspicious of such places, and eyed them
+nervously. Sometimes, “What was that ripple?” one of us would say in a
+low voice. Or another, “Is that a boat yonder?” And afterwards we would
+fall into a dead silence, and I would sit impatiently thinking with what
+an unusual amount of noise the oars worked in the thowels.
+
+At length we descried a light and a roof, and presently afterwards ran
+alongside a little causeway made of stones that had been picked up hard
+by. Leaving the rest in the boat, I stepped ashore, and found the light
+to be in a window of a public-house. It was a dirty place enough, and I
+dare say not unknown to smuggling adventurers; but there was a good
+fire in the kitchen, and there were eggs and bacon to eat, and various
+liquors to drink. Also, there were two double-bedded rooms,--“such as
+they were,” the landlord said. No other company was in the house than
+the landlord, his wife, and a grizzled male creature, the “Jack” of the
+little causeway, who was as slimy and smeary as if he had been low-water
+mark too.
+
+With this assistant, I went down to the boat again, and we all came
+ashore, and brought out the oars, and rudder and boat-hook, and all
+else, and hauled her up for the night. We made a very good meal by the
+kitchen fire, and then apportioned the bedrooms: Herbert and Startop
+were to occupy one; I and our charge the other. We found the air as
+carefully excluded from both, as if air were fatal to life; and there
+were more dirty clothes and bandboxes under the beds than I should have
+thought the family possessed. But we considered ourselves well off,
+notwithstanding, for a more solitary place we could not have found.
+
+While we were comforting ourselves by the fire after our meal, the
+Jack--who was sitting in a corner, and who had a bloated pair of shoes
+on, which he had exhibited while we were eating our eggs and bacon, as
+interesting relics that he had taken a few days ago from the feet of
+a drowned seaman washed ashore--asked me if we had seen a four-oared
+galley going up with the tide? When I told him No, he said she must have
+gone down then, and yet she “took up too,” when she left there.
+
+“They must ha’ thought better on’t for some reason or another,” said the
+Jack, “and gone down.”
+
+“A four-oared galley, did you say?” said I.
+
+“A four,” said the Jack, “and two sitters.”
+
+“Did they come ashore here?”
+
+“They put in with a stone two-gallon jar for some beer. I’d ha’ been
+glad to pison the beer myself,” said the Jack, “or put some rattling
+physic in it.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I know why,” said the Jack. He spoke in a slushy voice, as if much mud
+had washed into his throat.
+
+“He thinks,” said the landlord, a weakly meditative man with a pale eye,
+who seemed to rely greatly on his Jack,--“he thinks they was, what they
+wasn’t.”
+
+“I knows what I thinks,” observed the Jack.
+
+“You thinks Custum ‘Us, Jack?” said the landlord.
+
+“I do,” said the Jack.
+
+“Then you’re wrong, Jack.”
+
+“AM I!”
+
+In the infinite meaning of his reply and his boundless confidence in
+his views, the Jack took one of his bloated shoes off, looked into
+it, knocked a few stones out of it on the kitchen floor, and put it on
+again. He did this with the air of a Jack who was so right that he could
+afford to do anything.
+
+“Why, what do you make out that they done with their buttons then,
+Jack?” asked the landlord, vacillating weakly.
+
+“Done with their buttons?” returned the Jack. “Chucked ‘em overboard.
+Swallered ‘em. Sowed ‘em, to come up small salad. Done with their
+buttons!”
+
+“Don’t be cheeky, Jack,” remonstrated the landlord, in a melancholy and
+pathetic way.
+
+“A Custum ‘Us officer knows what to do with his Buttons,” said the Jack,
+repeating the obnoxious word with the greatest contempt, “when they
+comes betwixt him and his own light. A four and two sitters don’t go
+hanging and hovering, up with one tide and down with another, and both
+with and against another, without there being Custum ‘Us at the bottom
+of it.” Saying which he went out in disdain; and the landlord, having no
+one to reply upon, found it impracticable to pursue the subject.
+
+This dialogue made us all uneasy, and me very uneasy. The dismal wind
+was muttering round the house, the tide was flapping at the shore, and
+I had a feeling that we were caged and threatened. A four-oared galley
+hovering about in so unusual a way as to attract this notice was an ugly
+circumstance that I could not get rid of. When I had induced Provis to
+go up to bed, I went outside with my two companions (Startop by this
+time knew the state of the case), and held another council. Whether we
+should remain at the house until near the steamer’s time, which would
+be about one in the afternoon, or whether we should put off early in the
+morning, was the question we discussed. On the whole we deemed it the
+better course to lie where we were, until within an hour or so of the
+steamer’s time, and then to get out in her track, and drift easily with
+the tide. Having settled to do this, we returned into the house and went
+to bed.
+
+I lay down with the greater part of my clothes on, and slept well for a
+few hours. When I awoke, the wind had risen, and the sign of the house
+(the Ship) was creaking and banging about, with noises that startled
+me. Rising softly, for my charge lay fast asleep, I looked out of the
+window. It commanded the causeway where we had hauled up our boat, and,
+as my eyes adapted themselves to the light of the clouded moon, I saw
+two men looking into her. They passed by under the window, looking at
+nothing else, and they did not go down to the landing-place which I
+could discern to be empty, but struck across the marsh in the direction
+of the Nore.
+
+My first impulse was to call up Herbert, and show him the two men going
+away. But reflecting, before I got into his room, which was at the back
+of the house and adjoined mine, that he and Startop had had a harder day
+than I, and were fatigued, I forbore. Going back to my window, I could
+see the two men moving over the marsh. In that light, however, I soon
+lost them, and, feeling very cold, lay down to think of the matter, and
+fell asleep again.
+
+We were up early. As we walked to and fro, all four together, before
+breakfast, I deemed it right to recount what I had seen. Again our
+charge was the least anxious of the party. It was very likely that the
+men belonged to the Custom House, he said quietly, and that they had no
+thought of us. I tried to persuade myself that it was so,--as, indeed,
+it might easily be. However, I proposed that he and I should walk away
+together to a distant point we could see, and that the boat should take
+us aboard there, or as near there as might prove feasible, at about
+noon. This being considered a good precaution, soon after breakfast he
+and I set forth, without saying anything at the tavern.
+
+He smoked his pipe as we went along, and sometimes stopped to clap me on
+the shoulder. One would have supposed that it was I who was in danger,
+not he, and that he was reassuring me. We spoke very little. As we
+approached the point, I begged him to remain in a sheltered place, while
+I went on to reconnoitre; for it was towards it that the men had passed
+in the night. He complied, and I went on alone. There was no boat off
+the point, nor any boat drawn up anywhere near it, nor were there any
+signs of the men having embarked there. But, to be sure, the tide was
+high, and there might have been some footpints under water.
+
+When he looked out from his shelter in the distance, and saw that I
+waved my hat to him to come up, he rejoined me, and there we waited;
+sometimes lying on the bank, wrapped in our coats, and sometimes moving
+about to warm ourselves, until we saw our boat coming round. We got
+aboard easily, and rowed out into the track of the steamer. By that time
+it wanted but ten minutes of one o’clock, and we began to look out for
+her smoke.
+
+But, it was half-past one before we saw her smoke, and soon afterwards
+we saw behind it the smoke of another steamer. As they were coming on
+at full speed, we got the two bags ready, and took that opportunity
+of saying good-bye to Herbert and Startop. We had all shaken hands
+cordially, and neither Herbert’s eyes nor mine were quite dry, when I
+saw a four-oared galley shoot out from under the bank but a little way
+ahead of us, and row out into the same track.
+
+A stretch of shore had been as yet between us and the steamer’s smoke,
+by reason of the bend and wind of the river; but now she was visible,
+coming head on. I called to Herbert and Startop to keep before the tide,
+that she might see us lying by for her, and I adjured Provis to sit
+quite still, wrapped in his cloak. He answered cheerily, “Trust to me,
+dear boy,” and sat like a statue. Meantime the galley, which was very
+skilfully handled, had crossed us, let us come up with her, and fallen
+alongside. Leaving just room enough for the play of the oars, she kept
+alongside, drifting when we drifted, and pulling a stroke or two when we
+pulled. Of the two sitters one held the rudder-lines, and looked at us
+attentively,--as did all the rowers; the other sitter was wrapped up,
+much as Provis was, and seemed to shrink, and whisper some instruction
+to the steerer as he looked at us. Not a word was spoken in either boat.
+
+Startop could make out, after a few minutes, which steamer was first,
+and gave me the word “Hamburg,” in a low voice, as we sat face to face.
+She was nearing us very fast, and the beating of her peddles grew louder
+and louder. I felt as if her shadow were absolutely upon us, when the
+galley hailed us. I answered.
+
+“You have a returned Transport there,” said the man who held the lines.
+“That’s the man, wrapped in the cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch,
+otherwise Provis. I apprehend that man, and call upon him to surrender,
+and you to assist.”
+
+At the same moment, without giving any audible direction to his crew,
+he ran the galley abroad of us. They had pulled one sudden stroke ahead,
+had got their oars in, had run athwart us, and were holding on to
+our gunwale, before we knew what they were doing. This caused great
+confusion on board the steamer, and I heard them calling to us, and
+heard the order given to stop the paddles, and heard them stop, but felt
+her driving down upon us irresistibly. In the same moment, I saw the
+steersman of the galley lay his hand on his prisoner’s shoulder, and saw
+that both boats were swinging round with the force of the tide, and
+saw that all hands on board the steamer were running forward quite
+frantically. Still, in the same moment, I saw the prisoner start
+up, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the neck of the
+shrinking sitter in the galley. Still in the same moment, I saw that the
+face disclosed, was the face of the other convict of long ago. Still, in
+the same moment, I saw the face tilt backward with a white terror on it
+that I shall never forget, and heard a great cry on board the steamer,
+and a loud splash in the water, and felt the boat sink from under me.
+
+It was but for an instant that I seemed to struggle with a thousand
+mill-weirs and a thousand flashes of light; that instant past, I was
+taken on board the galley. Herbert was there, and Startop was there; but
+our boat was gone, and the two convicts were gone.
+
+What with the cries aboard the steamer, and the furious blowing off of
+her steam, and her driving on, and our driving on, I could not at first
+distinguish sky from water or shore from shore; but the crew of the
+galley righted her with great speed, and, pulling certain swift strong
+strokes ahead, lay upon their oars, every man looking silently and
+eagerly at the water astern. Presently a dark object was seen in it,
+bearing towards us on the tide. No man spoke, but the steersman held up
+his hand, and all softly backed water, and kept the boat straight and
+true before it. As it came nearer, I saw it to be Magwitch, swimming,
+but not swimming freely. He was taken on board, and instantly manacled
+at the wrists and ankles.
+
+The galley was kept steady, and the silent, eager look-out at the water
+was resumed. But, the Rotterdam steamer now came up, and apparently not
+understanding what had happened, came on at speed. By the time she had
+been hailed and stopped, both steamers were drifting away from us, and
+we were rising and falling in a troubled wake of water. The look-out was
+kept, long after all was still again and the two steamers were gone; but
+everybody knew that it was hopeless now.
+
+At length we gave it up, and pulled under the shore towards the tavern
+we had lately left, where we were received with no little surprise. Here
+I was able to get some comforts for Magwitch,--Provis no longer,--who
+had received some very severe injury in the Chest, and a deep cut in the
+head.
+
+He told me that he believed himself to have gone under the keel of the
+steamer, and to have been struck on the head in rising. The injury to
+his chest (which rendered his breathing extremely painful) he thought
+he had received against the side of the galley. He added that he did not
+pretend to say what he might or might not have done to Compeyson, but
+that, in the moment of his laying his hand on his cloak to identify him,
+that villain had staggered up and staggered back, and they had both gone
+overboard together, when the sudden wrenching of him (Magwitch) out of
+our boat, and the endeavor of his captor to keep him in it, had capsized
+us. He told me in a whisper that they had gone down fiercely locked in
+each other’s arms, and that there had been a struggle under water, and
+that he had disengaged himself, struck out, and swum away.
+
+I never had any reason to doubt the exact truth of what he thus told me.
+The officer who steered the galley gave the same account of their going
+overboard.
+
+When I asked this officer’s permission to change the prisoner’s
+wet clothes by purchasing any spare garments I could get at the
+public-house, he gave it readily: merely observing that he must take
+charge of everything his prisoner had about him. So the pocket-book
+which had once been in my hands passed into the officer’s. He further
+gave me leave to accompany the prisoner to London; but declined to
+accord that grace to my two friends.
+
+The Jack at the Ship was instructed where the drowned man had gone
+down, and undertook to search for the body in the places where it was
+likeliest to come ashore. His interest in its recovery seemed to me to
+be much heightened when he heard that it had stockings on. Probably, it
+took about a dozen drowned men to fit him out completely; and that may
+have been the reason why the different articles of his dress were in
+various stages of decay.
+
+We remained at the public-house until the tide turned, and then Magwitch
+was carried down to the galley and put on board. Herbert and Startop
+were to get to London by land, as soon as they could. We had a doleful
+parting, and when I took my place by Magwitch’s side, I felt that that
+was my place henceforth while he lived.
+
+For now, my repugnance to him had all melted away; and in the hunted,
+wounded, shackled creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man
+who had meant to be my benefactor, and who had felt affectionately,
+gratefully, and generously, towards me with great constancy through a
+series of years. I only saw in him a much better man than I had been to
+Joe.
+
+His breathing became more difficult and painful as the night drew on,
+and often he could not repress a groan. I tried to rest him on the arm
+I could use, in any easy position; but it was dreadful to think that
+I could not be sorry at heart for his being badly hurt, since it was
+unquestionably best that he should die. That there were, still living,
+people enough who were able and willing to identify him, I could not
+doubt. That he would be leniently treated, I could not hope. He who had
+been presented in the worst light at his trial, who had since broken
+prison and had been tried again, who had returned from transportation
+under a life sentence, and who had occasioned the death of the man who
+was the cause of his arrest.
+
+As we returned towards the setting sun we had yesterday left behind us,
+and as the stream of our hopes seemed all running back, I told him how
+grieved I was to think that he had come home for my sake.
+
+“Dear boy,” he answered, “I’m quite content to take my chance. I’ve seen
+my boy, and he can be a gentleman without me.”
+
+No. I had thought about that, while we had been there side by side. No.
+Apart from any inclinations of my own, I understood Wemmick’s hint now.
+I foresaw that, being convicted, his possessions would be forfeited to
+the Crown.
+
+“Lookee here, dear boy,” said he “It’s best as a gentleman should not be
+knowed to belong to me now. Only come to see me as if you come by chance
+alonger Wemmick. Sit where I can see you when I am swore to, for the
+last o’ many times, and I don’t ask no more.”
+
+“I will never stir from your side,” said I, “when I am suffered to be
+near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!”
+
+I felt his hand tremble as it held mine, and he turned his face away
+as he lay in the bottom of the boat, and I heard that old sound in his
+throat,--softened now, like all the rest of him. It was a good thing
+that he had touched this point, for it put into my mind what I might not
+otherwise have thought of until too late,--that he need never know how
+his hopes of enriching me had perished.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LV
+
+He was taken to the Police Court next day, and would have been
+immediately committed for trial, but that it was necessary to send down
+for an old officer of the prison-ship from which he had once escaped, to
+speak to his identity. Nobody doubted it; but Compeyson, who had meant
+to depose to it, was tumbling on the tides, dead, and it happened that
+there was not at that time any prison officer in London who could give
+the required evidence. I had gone direct to Mr. Jaggers at his private
+house, on my arrival over night, to retain his assistance, and Mr.
+Jaggers on the prisoner’s behalf would admit nothing. It was the sole
+resource; for he told me that the case must be over in five minutes
+when the witness was there, and that no power on earth could prevent its
+going against us.
+
+I imparted to Mr. Jaggers my design of keeping him in ignorance of the
+fate of his wealth. Mr. Jaggers was querulous and angry with me for
+having “let it slip through my fingers,” and said we must memorialize
+by and by, and try at all events for some of it. But he did not conceal
+from me that, although there might be many cases in which the forfeiture
+would not be exacted, there were no circumstances in this case to make
+it one of them. I understood that very well. I was not related to the
+outlaw, or connected with him by any recognizable tie; he had put his
+hand to no writing or settlement in my favor before his apprehension,
+and to do so now would be idle. I had no claim, and I finally resolved,
+and ever afterwards abided by the resolution, that my heart should never
+be sickened with the hopeless task of attempting to establish one.
+
+There appeared to be reason for supposing that the drowned informer
+had hoped for a reward out of this forfeiture, and had obtained some
+accurate knowledge of Magwitch’s affairs. When his body was found, many
+miles from the scene of his death, and so horribly disfigured that he
+was only recognizable by the contents of his pockets, notes were still
+legible, folded in a case he carried. Among these were the name of a
+banking-house in New South Wales, where a sum of money was, and the
+designation of certain lands of considerable value. Both these heads of
+information were in a list that Magwitch, while in prison, gave to Mr.
+Jaggers, of the possessions he supposed I should inherit. His ignorance,
+poor fellow, at last served him; he never mistrusted but that my
+inheritance was quite safe, with Mr. Jaggers’s aid.
+
+After three days’ delay, during which the crown prosecution stood over
+for the production of the witness from the prison-ship, the witness
+came, and completed the easy case. He was committed to take his trial at
+the next Sessions, which would come on in a month.
+
+It was at this dark time of my life that Herbert returned home one
+evening, a good deal cast down, and said,--
+
+“My dear Handel, I fear I shall soon have to leave you.”
+
+His partner having prepared me for that, I was less surprised than he
+thought.
+
+“We shall lose a fine opportunity if I put off going to Cairo, and I am
+very much afraid I must go, Handel, when you most need me.”
+
+“Herbert, I shall always need you, because I shall always love you; but
+my need is no greater now than at another time.”
+
+“You will be so lonely.”
+
+“I have not leisure to think of that,” said I. “You know that I am
+always with him to the full extent of the time allowed, and that I
+should be with him all day long, if I could. And when I come away from
+him, you know that my thoughts are with him.”
+
+The dreadful condition to which he was brought, was so appalling to both
+of us, that we could not refer to it in plainer words.
+
+“My dear fellow,” said Herbert, “let the near prospect of our
+separation--for, it is very near--be my justification for troubling you
+about yourself. Have you thought of your future?”
+
+“No, for I have been afraid to think of any future.”
+
+“But yours cannot be dismissed; indeed, my dear dear Handel, it must not
+be dismissed. I wish you would enter on it now, as far as a few friendly
+words go, with me.”
+
+“I will,” said I.
+
+“In this branch house of ours, Handel, we must have a--”
+
+I saw that his delicacy was avoiding the right word, so I said, “A
+clerk.”
+
+“A clerk. And I hope it is not at all unlikely that he may expand (as
+a clerk of your acquaintance has expanded) into a partner. Now,
+Handel,--in short, my dear boy, will you come to me?”
+
+There was something charmingly cordial and engaging in the manner in
+which after saying “Now, Handel,” as if it were the grave beginning of
+a portentous business exordium, he had suddenly given up that tone,
+stretched out his honest hand, and spoken like a schoolboy.
+
+“Clara and I have talked about it again and again,” Herbert pursued,
+“and the dear little thing begged me only this evening, with tears in
+her eyes, to say to you that, if you will live with us when we come
+together, she will do her best to make you happy, and to convince her
+husband’s friend that he is her friend too. We should get on so well,
+Handel!”
+
+I thanked her heartily, and I thanked him heartily, but said I could not
+yet make sure of joining him as he so kindly offered. Firstly, my
+mind was too preoccupied to be able to take in the subject clearly.
+Secondly,--Yes! Secondly, there was a vague something lingering in my
+thoughts that will come out very near the end of this slight narrative.
+
+“But if you thought, Herbert, that you could, without doing any injury
+to your business, leave the question open for a little while--”
+
+“For any while,” cried Herbert. “Six months, a year!”
+
+“Not so long as that,” said I. “Two or three months at most.”
+
+Herbert was highly delighted when we shook hands on this arrangement,
+and said he could now take courage to tell me that he believed he must
+go away at the end of the week.
+
+“And Clara?” said I.
+
+“The dear little thing,” returned Herbert, “holds dutifully to her
+father as long as he lasts; but he won’t last long. Mrs. Whimple
+confides to me that he is certainly going.”
+
+“Not to say an unfeeling thing,” said I, “he cannot do better than go.”
+
+“I am afraid that must be admitted,” said Herbert; “and then I shall
+come back for the dear little thing, and the dear little thing and I
+will walk quietly into the nearest church. Remember! The blessed darling
+comes of no family, my dear Handel, and never looked into the red book,
+and hasn’t a notion about her grandpapa. What a fortune for the son of
+my mother!”
+
+On the Saturday in that same week, I took my leave of Herbert,--full
+of bright hope, but sad and sorry to leave me,--as he sat on one of the
+seaport mail coaches. I went into a coffee-house to write a little note
+to Clara, telling her he had gone off, sending his love to her over and
+over again, and then went to my lonely home,--if it deserved the name;
+for it was now no home to me, and I had no home anywhere.
+
+On the stairs I encountered Wemmick, who was coming down, after an
+unsuccessful application of his knuckles to my door. I had not seen him
+alone since the disastrous issue of the attempted flight; and he had
+come, in his private and personal capacity, to say a few words of
+explanation in reference to that failure.
+
+“The late Compeyson,” said Wemmick, “had by little and little got at the
+bottom of half of the regular business now transacted; and it was from
+the talk of some of his people in trouble (some of his people being
+always in trouble) that I heard what I did. I kept my ears open, seeming
+to have them shut, until I heard that he was absent, and I thought that
+would be the best time for making the attempt. I can only suppose now,
+that it was a part of his policy, as a very clever man, habitually to
+deceive his own instruments. You don’t blame me, I hope, Mr. Pip? I am
+sure I tried to serve you, with all my heart.”
+
+“I am as sure of that, Wemmick, as you can be, and I thank you most
+earnestly for all your interest and friendship.”
+
+“Thank you, thank you very much. It’s a bad job,” said Wemmick,
+scratching his head, “and I assure you I haven’t been so cut up for a
+long time. What I look at is the sacrifice of so much portable property.
+Dear me!”
+
+“What I think of, Wemmick, is the poor owner of the property.”
+
+“Yes, to be sure,” said Wemmick. “Of course, there can be no objection
+to your being sorry for him, and I’d put down a five-pound note myself
+to get him out of it. But what I look at is this. The late Compeyson
+having been beforehand with him in intelligence of his return, and being
+so determined to bring him to book, I do not think he could have been
+saved. Whereas, the portable property certainly could have been saved.
+That’s the difference between the property and the owner, don’t you
+see?”
+
+I invited Wemmick to come upstairs, and refresh himself with a glass
+of grog before walking to Walworth. He accepted the invitation. While he
+was drinking his moderate allowance, he said, with nothing to lead up to
+it, and after having appeared rather fidgety,--
+
+“What do you think of my meaning to take a holiday on Monday, Mr. Pip?”
+
+“Why, I suppose you have not done such a thing these twelve months.”
+
+“These twelve years, more likely,” said Wemmick. “Yes. I’m going to take
+a holiday. More than that; I’m going to take a walk. More than that; I’m
+going to ask you to take a walk with me.”
+
+I was about to excuse myself, as being but a bad companion just then,
+when Wemmick anticipated me.
+
+“I know your engagements,” said he, “and I know you are out of sorts,
+Mr. Pip. But if you could oblige me, I should take it as a kindness.
+It ain’t a long walk, and it’s an early one. Say it might occupy you
+(including breakfast on the walk) from eight to twelve. Couldn’t you
+stretch a point and manage it?”
+
+He had done so much for me at various times, that this was very little
+to do for him. I said I could manage it,--would manage it,--and he was
+so very much pleased by my acquiescence, that I was pleased too. At his
+particular request, I appointed to call for him at the Castle at half
+past eight on Monday morning, and so we parted for the time.
+
+Punctual to my appointment, I rang at the Castle gate on the Monday
+morning, and was received by Wemmick himself, who struck me as looking
+tighter than usual, and having a sleeker hat on. Within, there were two
+glasses of rum and milk prepared, and two biscuits. The Aged must have
+been stirring with the lark, for, glancing into the perspective of his
+bedroom, I observed that his bed was empty.
+
+When we had fortified ourselves with the rum and milk and biscuits, and
+were going out for the walk with that training preparation on us, I was
+considerably surprised to see Wemmick take up a fishing-rod, and put
+it over his shoulder. “Why, we are not going fishing!” said I. “No,”
+ returned Wemmick, “but I like to walk with one.”
+
+I thought this odd; however, I said nothing, and we set off. We went
+towards Camberwell Green, and when we were thereabouts, Wemmick said
+suddenly,--
+
+“Halloa! Here’s a church!”
+
+There was nothing very surprising in that; but again, I was rather
+surprised, when he said, as if he were animated by a brilliant idea,--
+
+“Let’s go in!”
+
+We went in, Wemmick leaving his fishing-rod in the porch, and looked all
+round. In the mean time, Wemmick was diving into his coat-pockets, and
+getting something out of paper there.
+
+“Halloa!” said he. “Here’s a couple of pair of gloves! Let’s put ‘em
+on!”
+
+As the gloves were white kid gloves, and as the post-office was widened
+to its utmost extent, I now began to have my strong suspicions. They
+were strengthened into certainty when I beheld the Aged enter at a side
+door, escorting a lady.
+
+“Halloa!” said Wemmick. “Here’s Miss Skiffins! Let’s have a wedding.”
+
+That discreet damsel was attired as usual, except that she was now
+engaged in substituting for her green kid gloves a pair of white. The
+Aged was likewise occupied in preparing a similar sacrifice for
+the altar of Hymen. The old gentleman, however, experienced so much
+difficulty in getting his gloves on, that Wemmick found it necessary
+to put him with his back against a pillar, and then to get behind the
+pillar himself and pull away at them, while I for my part held the old
+gentleman round the waist, that he might present an equal and safe
+resistance. By dint of this ingenious scheme, his gloves were got on to
+perfection.
+
+The clerk and clergyman then appearing, we were ranged in order at
+those fatal rails. True to his notion of seeming to do it all without
+preparation, I heard Wemmick say to himself, as he took something out of
+his waistcoat-pocket before the service began, “Halloa! Here’s a ring!”
+
+I acted in the capacity of backer, or best-man, to the bridegroom; while
+a little limp pew-opener in a soft bonnet like a baby’s, made a feint
+of being the bosom friend of Miss Skiffins. The responsibility of giving
+the lady away devolved upon the Aged, which led to the clergyman’s being
+unintentionally scandalized, and it happened thus. When he said, “Who
+giveth this woman to be married to this man?” the old gentleman, not in
+the least knowing what point of the ceremony we had arrived at, stood
+most amiably beaming at the ten commandments. Upon which, the clergyman
+said again, “WHO giveth this woman to be married to this man?” The old
+gentleman being still in a state of most estimable unconsciousness, the
+bridegroom cried out in his accustomed voice, “Now Aged P. you know; who
+giveth?” To which the Aged replied with great briskness, before saying
+that he gave, “All right, John, all right, my boy!” And the clergyman
+came to so gloomy a pause upon it, that I had doubts for the moment
+whether we should get completely married that day.
+
+It was completely done, however, and when we were going out of church
+Wemmick took the cover off the font, and put his white gloves in it, and
+put the cover on again. Mrs. Wemmick, more heedful of the future, put
+her white gloves in her pocket and assumed her green. “Now, Mr. Pip,”
+ said Wemmick, triumphantly shouldering the fishing-rod as we came
+out, “let me ask you whether anybody would suppose this to be a
+wedding-party!”
+
+Breakfast had been ordered at a pleasant little tavern, a mile or so
+away upon the rising ground beyond the green; and there was a bagatelle
+board in the room, in case we should desire to unbend our minds after
+the solemnity. It was pleasant to observe that Mrs. Wemmick no longer
+unwound Wemmick’s arm when it adapted itself to her figure, but sat in a
+high-backed chair against the wall, like a violoncello in its case, and
+submitted to be embraced as that melodious instrument might have done.
+
+We had an excellent breakfast, and when any one declined anything on
+table, Wemmick said, “Provided by contract, you know; don’t be afraid of
+it!” I drank to the new couple, drank to the Aged, drank to the Castle,
+saluted the bride at parting, and made myself as agreeable as I could.
+
+Wemmick came down to the door with me, and I again shook hands with him,
+and wished him joy.
+
+“Thankee!” said Wemmick, rubbing his hands. “She’s such a manager
+of fowls, you have no idea. You shall have some eggs, and judge for
+yourself. I say, Mr. Pip!” calling me back, and speaking low. “This is
+altogether a Walworth sentiment, please.”
+
+“I understand. Not to be mentioned in Little Britain,” said I.
+
+Wemmick nodded. “After what you let out the other day, Mr. Jaggers
+may as well not know of it. He might think my brain was softening, or
+something of the kind.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LVI
+
+He lay in prison very ill, during the whole interval between his
+committal for trial and the coming round of the Sessions. He had broken
+two ribs, they had wounded one of his lungs, and he breathed with great
+pain and difficulty, which increased daily. It was a consequence of his
+hurt that he spoke so low as to be scarcely audible; therefore he spoke
+very little. But he was ever ready to listen to me; and it became the
+first duty of my life to say to him, and read to him, what I knew he
+ought to hear.
+
+Being far too ill to remain in the common prison, he was removed, after
+the first day or so, into the infirmary. This gave me opportunities
+of being with him that I could not otherwise have had. And but for
+his illness he would have been put in irons, for he was regarded as a
+determined prison-breaker, and I know not what else.
+
+Although I saw him every day, it was for only a short time; hence, the
+regularly recurring spaces of our separation were long enough to record
+on his face any slight changes that occurred in his physical state. I
+do not recollect that I once saw any change in it for the better; he
+wasted, and became slowly weaker and worse, day by day, from the day
+when the prison door closed upon him.
+
+The kind of submission or resignation that he showed was that of a man
+who was tired out. I sometimes derived an impression, from his manner
+or from a whispered word or two which escaped him, that he pondered
+over the question whether he might have been a better man under better
+circumstances. But he never justified himself by a hint tending that
+way, or tried to bend the past out of its eternal shape.
+
+It happened on two or three occasions in my presence, that his desperate
+reputation was alluded to by one or other of the people in attendance on
+him. A smile crossed his face then, and he turned his eyes on me with
+a trustful look, as if he were confident that I had seen some small
+redeeming touch in him, even so long ago as when I was a little child.
+As to all the rest, he was humble and contrite, and I never knew him
+complain.
+
+When the Sessions came round, Mr. Jaggers caused an application to be
+made for the postponement of his trial until the following Sessions. It
+was obviously made with the assurance that he could not live so long,
+and was refused. The trial came on at once, and, when he was put to the
+bar, he was seated in a chair. No objection was made to my getting
+close to the dock, on the outside of it, and holding the hand that he
+stretched forth to me.
+
+The trial was very short and very clear. Such things as could be said
+for him were said,--how he had taken to industrious habits, and had
+thriven lawfully and reputably. But nothing could unsay the fact that
+he had returned, and was there in presence of the Judge and Jury. It was
+impossible to try him for that, and do otherwise than find him guilty.
+
+At that time, it was the custom (as I learnt from my terrible experience
+of that Sessions) to devote a concluding day to the passing of
+Sentences, and to make a finishing effect with the Sentence of Death.
+But for the indelible picture that my remembrance now holds before me,
+I could scarcely believe, even as I write these words, that I saw
+two-and-thirty men and women put before the Judge to receive that
+sentence together. Foremost among the two-and-thirty was he; seated,
+that he might get breath enough to keep life in him.
+
+The whole scene starts out again in the vivid colors of the moment, down
+to the drops of April rain on the windows of the court, glittering in
+the rays of April sun. Penned in the dock, as I again stood outside it
+at the corner with his hand in mine, were the two-and-thirty men
+and women; some defiant, some stricken with terror, some sobbing and
+weeping, some covering their faces, some staring gloomily about. There
+had been shrieks from among the women convicts; but they had been
+stilled, and a hush had succeeded. The sheriffs with their great chains
+and nosegays, other civic gewgaws and monsters, criers, ushers, a great
+gallery full of people,--a large theatrical audience,--looked on, as the
+two-and-thirty and the Judge were solemnly confronted. Then the Judge
+addressed them. Among the wretched creatures before him whom he must
+single out for special address was one who almost from his infancy had
+been an offender against the laws; who, after repeated imprisonments and
+punishments, had been at length sentenced to exile for a term of years;
+and who, under circumstances of great violence and daring, had made his
+escape and been re-sentenced to exile for life. That miserable man would
+seem for a time to have become convinced of his errors, when far removed
+from the scenes of his old offences, and to have lived a peaceable and
+honest life. But in a fatal moment, yielding to those propensities and
+passions, the indulgence of which had so long rendered him a scourge to
+society, he had quitted his haven of rest and repentance, and had
+come back to the country where he was proscribed. Being here presently
+denounced, he had for a time succeeded in evading the officers of
+Justice, but being at length seized while in the act of flight, he had
+resisted them, and had--he best knew whether by express design, or in
+the blindness of his hardihood--caused the death of his denouncer, to
+whom his whole career was known. The appointed punishment for his return
+to the land that had cast him out, being Death, and his case being this
+aggravated case, he must prepare himself to Die.
+
+The sun was striking in at the great windows of the court, through the
+glittering drops of rain upon the glass, and it made a broad shaft of
+light between the two-and-thirty and the Judge, linking both together,
+and perhaps reminding some among the audience how both were passing on,
+with absolute equality, to the greater Judgment that knoweth all things,
+and cannot err. Rising for a moment, a distinct speck of face in this
+way of light, the prisoner said, “My Lord, I have received my sentence
+of Death from the Almighty, but I bow to yours,” and sat down again.
+There was some hushing, and the Judge went on with what he had to say
+to the rest. Then they were all formally doomed, and some of them were
+supported out, and some of them sauntered out with a haggard look of
+bravery, and a few nodded to the gallery, and two or three shook hands,
+and others went out chewing the fragments of herb they had taken from
+the sweet herbs lying about. He went last of all, because of having to
+be helped from his chair, and to go very slowly; and he held my hand
+while all the others were removed, and while the audience got up
+(putting their dresses right, as they might at church or elsewhere), and
+pointed down at this criminal or at that, and most of all at him and me.
+
+I earnestly hoped and prayed that he might die before the Recorder’s
+Report was made; but, in the dread of his lingering on, I began that
+night to write out a petition to the Home Secretary of State, setting
+forth my knowledge of him, and how it was that he had come back for my
+sake. I wrote it as fervently and pathetically as I could; and when I
+had finished it and sent it in, I wrote out other petitions to such men
+in authority as I hoped were the most merciful, and drew up one to the
+Crown itself. For several days and nights after he was sentenced I took
+no rest except when I fell asleep in my chair, but was wholly absorbed
+in these appeals. And after I had sent them in, I could not keep away
+from the places where they were, but felt as if they were more
+hopeful and less desperate when I was near them. In this unreasonable
+restlessness and pain of mind I would roam the streets of an evening,
+wandering by those offices and houses where I had left the petitions. To
+the present hour, the weary western streets of London on a cold, dusty
+spring night, with their ranges of stern, shut-up mansions, and their
+long rows of lamps, are melancholy to me from this association.
+
+The daily visits I could make him were shortened now, and he was more
+strictly kept. Seeing, or fancying, that I was suspected of an intention
+of carrying poison to him, I asked to be searched before I sat down
+at his bedside, and told the officer who was always there, that I was
+willing to do anything that would assure him of the singleness of my
+designs. Nobody was hard with him or with me. There was duty to be
+done, and it was done, but not harshly. The officer always gave me the
+assurance that he was worse, and some other sick prisoners in the
+room, and some other prisoners who attended on them as sick nurses,
+(malefactors, but not incapable of kindness, God be thanked!) always
+joined in the same report.
+
+As the days went on, I noticed more and more that he would lie placidly
+looking at the white ceiling, with an absence of light in his face
+until some word of mine brightened it for an instant, and then it would
+subside again. Sometimes he was almost or quite unable to speak, then
+he would answer me with slight pressures on my hand, and I grew to
+understand his meaning very well.
+
+The number of the days had risen to ten, when I saw a greater change
+in him than I had seen yet. His eyes were turned towards the door, and
+lighted up as I entered.
+
+“Dear boy,” he said, as I sat down by his bed: “I thought you was late.
+But I knowed you couldn’t be that.”
+
+“It is just the time,” said I. “I waited for it at the gate.”
+
+“You always waits at the gate; don’t you, dear boy?”
+
+“Yes. Not to lose a moment of the time.”
+
+“Thank’ee dear boy, thank’ee. God bless you! You’ve never deserted me,
+dear boy.”
+
+I pressed his hand in silence, for I could not forget that I had once
+meant to desert him.
+
+“And what’s the best of all,” he said, “you’ve been more comfortable
+alonger me, since I was under a dark cloud, than when the sun shone.
+That’s best of all.”
+
+He lay on his back, breathing with great difficulty. Do what he would,
+and love me though he did, the light left his face ever and again, and a
+film came over the placid look at the white ceiling.
+
+“Are you in much pain to-day?”
+
+“I don’t complain of none, dear boy.”
+
+“You never do complain.”
+
+He had spoken his last words. He smiled, and I understood his touch to
+mean that he wished to lift my hand, and lay it on his breast. I laid it
+there, and he smiled again, and put both his hands upon it.
+
+The allotted time ran out, while we were thus; but, looking round, I
+found the governor of the prison standing near me, and he whispered,
+“You needn’t go yet.” I thanked him gratefully, and asked, “Might I
+speak to him, if he can hear me?”
+
+The governor stepped aside, and beckoned the officer away. The change,
+though it was made without noise, drew back the film from the placid
+look at the white ceiling, and he looked most affectionately at me.
+
+“Dear Magwitch, I must tell you now, at last. You understand what I
+say?”
+
+A gentle pressure on my hand.
+
+“You had a child once, whom you loved and lost.”
+
+A stronger pressure on my hand.
+
+“She lived, and found powerful friends. She is living now. She is a lady
+and very beautiful. And I love her!”
+
+With a last faint effort, which would have been powerless but for my
+yielding to it and assisting it, he raised my hand to his lips. Then,
+he gently let it sink upon his breast again, with his own hands lying on
+it. The placid look at the white ceiling came back, and passed away, and
+his head dropped quietly on his breast.
+
+Mindful, then, of what we had read together, I thought of the two men
+who went up into the Temple to pray, and I knew there were no better
+words that I could say beside his bed, than “O Lord, be merciful to him
+a sinner!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LVII
+
+Now that I was left wholly to myself, I gave notice of my intention
+to quit the chambers in the Temple as soon as my tenancy could legally
+determine, and in the meanwhile to underlet them. At once I put bills
+up in the windows; for, I was in debt, and had scarcely any money, and
+began to be seriously alarmed by the state of my affairs. I ought
+rather to write that I should have been alarmed if I had had energy and
+concentration enough to help me to the clear perception of any truth
+beyond the fact that I was falling very ill. The late stress upon me had
+enabled me to put off illness, but not to put it away; I knew that it
+was coming on me now, and I knew very little else, and was even careless
+as to that.
+
+For a day or two, I lay on the sofa, or on the floor,--anywhere,
+according as I happened to sink down,--with a heavy head and aching
+limbs, and no purpose, and no power. Then there came, one night which
+appeared of great duration, and which teemed with anxiety and horror;
+and when in the morning I tried to sit up in my bed and think of it, I
+found I could not do so.
+
+Whether I really had been down in Garden Court in the dead of the night,
+groping about for the boat that I supposed to be there; whether I had
+two or three times come to myself on the staircase with great terror,
+not knowing how I had got out of bed; whether I had found myself
+lighting the lamp, possessed by the idea that he was coming up
+the stairs, and that the lights were blown out; whether I had been
+inexpressibly harassed by the distracted talking, laughing, and groaning
+of some one, and had half suspected those sounds to be of my own making;
+whether there had been a closed iron furnace in a dark corner of
+the room, and a voice had called out, over and over again, that Miss
+Havisham was consuming within it,--these were things that I tried to
+settle with myself and get into some order, as I lay that morning on
+my bed. But the vapor of a limekiln would come between me and them,
+disordering them all, and it was through the vapor at last that I saw
+two men looking at me.
+
+“What do you want?” I asked, starting; “I don’t know you.”
+
+“Well, sir,” returned one of them, bending down and touching me on the
+shoulder, “this is a matter that you’ll soon arrange, I dare say, but
+you’re arrested.”
+
+“What is the debt?”
+
+“Hundred and twenty-three pound, fifteen, six. Jeweller’s account, I
+think.”
+
+“What is to be done?”
+
+“You had better come to my house,” said the man. “I keep a very nice
+house.”
+
+I made some attempt to get up and dress myself. When I next attended
+to them, they were standing a little off from the bed, looking at me. I
+still lay there.
+
+“You see my state,” said I. “I would come with you if I could; but
+indeed I am quite unable. If you take me from here, I think I shall die
+by the way.”
+
+Perhaps they replied, or argued the point, or tried to encourage me to
+believe that I was better than I thought. Forasmuch as they hang in
+my memory by only this one slender thread, I don’t know what they did,
+except that they forbore to remove me.
+
+That I had a fever and was avoided, that I suffered greatly, that
+I often lost my reason, that the time seemed interminable, that I
+confounded impossible existences with my own identity; that I was a
+brick in the house-wall, and yet entreating to be released from the
+giddy place where the builders had set me; that I was a steel beam of a
+vast engine, clashing and whirling over a gulf, and yet that I implored
+in my own person to have the engine stopped, and my part in it hammered
+off; that I passed through these phases of disease, I know of my own
+remembrance, and did in some sort know at the time. That I sometimes
+struggled with real people, in the belief that they were murderers, and
+that I would all at once comprehend that they meant to do me good, and
+would then sink exhausted in their arms, and suffer them to lay me
+down, I also knew at the time. But, above all, I knew that there was a
+constant tendency in all these people,--who, when I was very ill, would
+present all kinds of extraordinary transformations of the human face,
+and would be much dilated in size,--above all, I say, I knew that there
+was an extraordinary tendency in all these people, sooner or later, to
+settle down into the likeness of Joe.
+
+After I had turned the worst point of my illness, I began to notice that
+while all its other features changed, this one consistent feature did
+not change. Whoever came about me, still settled down into Joe. I opened
+my eyes in the night, and I saw, in the great chair at the bedside, Joe.
+I opened my eyes in the day, and, sitting on the window-seat, smoking
+his pipe in the shaded open window, still I saw Joe. I asked for cooling
+drink, and the dear hand that gave it me was Joe’s. I sank back on
+my pillow after drinking, and the face that looked so hopefully and
+tenderly upon me was the face of Joe.
+
+At last, one day, I took courage, and said, “Is it Joe?”
+
+And the dear old home-voice answered, “Which it air, old chap.”
+
+“O Joe, you break my heart! Look angry at me, Joe. Strike me, Joe. Tell
+me of my ingratitude. Don’t be so good to me!”
+
+For Joe had actually laid his head down on the pillow at my side, and
+put his arm round my neck, in his joy that I knew him.
+
+“Which dear old Pip, old chap,” said Joe, “you and me was ever friends.
+And when you’re well enough to go out for a ride--what larks!”
+
+After which, Joe withdrew to the window, and stood with his back towards
+me, wiping his eyes. And as my extreme weakness prevented me from
+getting up and going to him, I lay there, penitently whispering, “O God
+bless him! O God bless this gentle Christian man!”
+
+Joe’s eyes were red when I next found him beside me; but I was holding
+his hand, and we both felt happy.
+
+“How long, dear Joe?”
+
+“Which you meantersay, Pip, how long have your illness lasted, dear old
+chap?”
+
+“Yes, Joe.”
+
+“It’s the end of May, Pip. To-morrow is the first of June.”
+
+“And have you been here all that time, dear Joe?”
+
+“Pretty nigh, old chap. For, as I says to Biddy when the news of your
+being ill were brought by letter, which it were brought by the post, and
+being formerly single he is now married though underpaid for a deal of
+walking and shoe-leather, but wealth were not a object on his part, and
+marriage were the great wish of his hart--”
+
+“It is so delightful to hear you, Joe! But I interrupt you in what you
+said to Biddy.”
+
+“Which it were,” said Joe, “that how you might be amongst strangers, and
+that how you and me having been ever friends, a wisit at such a moment
+might not prove unacceptabobble. And Biddy, her word were, ‘Go to him,
+without loss of time.’ That,” said Joe, summing up with his judicial
+air, “were the word of Biddy. ‘Go to him,’ Biddy say, ‘without loss of
+time.’ In short, I shouldn’t greatly deceive you,” Joe added, after a
+little grave reflection, “if I represented to you that the word of that
+young woman were, ‘without a minute’s loss of time.’”
+
+There Joe cut himself short, and informed me that I was to be talked
+to in great moderation, and that I was to take a little nourishment at
+stated frequent times, whether I felt inclined for it or not, and that
+I was to submit myself to all his orders. So I kissed his hand, and lay
+quiet, while he proceeded to indite a note to Biddy, with my love in it.
+
+Evidently Biddy had taught Joe to write. As I lay in bed looking at him,
+it made me, in my weak state, cry again with pleasure to see the
+pride with which he set about his letter. My bedstead, divested of its
+curtains, had been removed, with me upon it, into the sitting-room, as
+the airiest and largest, and the carpet had been taken away, and
+the room kept always fresh and wholesome night and day. At my own
+writing-table, pushed into a corner and cumbered with little bottles,
+Joe now sat down to his great work, first choosing a pen from the
+pen-tray as if it were a chest of large tools, and tucking up his
+sleeves as if he were going to wield a crow-bar or sledgehammer. It was
+necessary for Joe to hold on heavily to the table with his left elbow,
+and to get his right leg well out behind him, before he could begin; and
+when he did begin he made every downstroke so slowly that it might
+have been six feet long, while at every upstroke I could hear his pen
+spluttering extensively. He had a curious idea that the inkstand was
+on the side of him where it was not, and constantly dipped his pen into
+space, and seemed quite satisfied with the result. Occasionally, he was
+tripped up by some orthographical stumbling-block; but on the whole
+he got on very well indeed; and when he had signed his name, and had
+removed a finishing blot from the paper to the crown of his head with
+his two forefingers, he got up and hovered about the table, trying the
+effect of his performance from various points of view, as it lay there,
+with unbounded satisfaction.
+
+Not to make Joe uneasy by talking too much, even if I had been able to
+talk much, I deferred asking him about Miss Havisham until next day. He
+shook his head when I then asked him if she had recovered.
+
+“Is she dead, Joe?”
+
+“Why you see, old chap,” said Joe, in a tone of remonstrance, and by way
+of getting at it by degrees, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, for
+that’s a deal to say; but she ain’t--”
+
+“Living, Joe?”
+
+“That’s nigher where it is,” said Joe; “she ain’t living.”
+
+“Did she linger long, Joe?”
+
+“Arter you was took ill, pretty much about what you might call (if you
+was put to it) a week,” said Joe; still determined, on my account, to
+come at everything by degrees.
+
+“Dear Joe, have you heard what becomes of her property?”
+
+“Well, old chap,” said Joe, “it do appear that she had settled the most
+of it, which I meantersay tied it up, on Miss Estella. But she had
+wrote out a little coddleshell in her own hand a day or two afore the
+accident, leaving a cool four thousand to Mr. Matthew Pocket. And why,
+do you suppose, above all things, Pip, she left that cool four thousand
+unto him? ‘Because of Pip’s account of him, the said Matthew.’ I am told
+by Biddy, that air the writing,” said Joe, repeating the legal turn as
+if it did him infinite good, “‘account of him the said Matthew.’ And a
+cool four thousand, Pip!”
+
+I never discovered from whom Joe derived the conventional temperature of
+the four thousand pounds; but it appeared to make the sum of money more
+to him, and he had a manifest relish in insisting on its being cool.
+
+This account gave me great joy, as it perfected the only good thing I
+had done. I asked Joe whether he had heard if any of the other relations
+had any legacies?
+
+“Miss Sarah,” said Joe, “she have twenty-five pound perannium fur to
+buy pills, on account of being bilious. Miss Georgiana, she have twenty
+pound down. Mrs.--what’s the name of them wild beasts with humps, old
+chap?”
+
+“Camels?” said I, wondering why he could possibly want to know.
+
+Joe nodded. “Mrs. Camels,” by which I presently understood he meant
+Camilla, “she have five pound fur to buy rushlights to put her in
+spirits when she wake up in the night.”
+
+The accuracy of these recitals was sufficiently obvious to me, to give
+me great confidence in Joe’s information. “And now,” said Joe, “you
+ain’t that strong yet, old chap, that you can take in more nor one
+additional shovelful to-day. Old Orlick he’s been a bustin’ open a
+dwelling-ouse.”
+
+“Whose?” said I.
+
+“Not, I grant you, but what his manners is given to blusterous,” said
+Joe, apologetically; “still, a Englishman’s ouse is his Castle, and
+castles must not be busted ‘cept when done in war time. And wotsume’er
+the failings on his part, he were a corn and seedsman in his hart.”
+
+“Is it Pumblechook’s house that has been broken into, then?”
+
+“That’s it, Pip,” said Joe; “and they took his till, and they took his
+cash-box, and they drinked his wine, and they partook of his wittles,
+and they slapped his face, and they pulled his nose, and they tied him
+up to his bedpust, and they giv’ him a dozen, and they stuffed his
+mouth full of flowering annuals to prewent his crying out. But he knowed
+Orlick, and Orlick’s in the county jail.”
+
+By these approaches we arrived at unrestricted conversation. I was slow
+to gain strength, but I did slowly and surely become less weak, and Joe
+stayed with me, and I fancied I was little Pip again.
+
+For the tenderness of Joe was so beautifully proportioned to my need,
+that I was like a child in his hands. He would sit and talk to me in the
+old confidence, and with the old simplicity, and in the old unassertive
+protecting way, so that I would half believe that all my life since the
+days of the old kitchen was one of the mental troubles of the fever that
+was gone. He did everything for me except the household work, for which
+he had engaged a very decent woman, after paying off the laundress on
+his first arrival. “Which I do assure you, Pip,” he would often say, in
+explanation of that liberty; “I found her a tapping the spare bed, like
+a cask of beer, and drawing off the feathers in a bucket, for sale.
+Which she would have tapped yourn next, and draw’d it off with you a
+laying on it, and was then a carrying away the coals gradiwally in
+the soup-tureen and wegetable-dishes, and the wine and spirits in your
+Wellington boots.”
+
+We looked forward to the day when I should go out for a ride, as we had
+once looked forward to the day of my apprenticeship. And when the day
+came, and an open carriage was got into the Lane, Joe wrapped me up,
+took me in his arms, carried me down to it, and put me in, as if I were
+still the small helpless creature to whom he had so abundantly given of
+the wealth of his great nature.
+
+And Joe got in beside me, and we drove away together into the country,
+where the rich summer growth was already on the trees and on the grass,
+and sweet summer scents filled all the air. The day happened to be
+Sunday, and when I looked on the loveliness around me, and thought
+how it had grown and changed, and how the little wild-flowers had been
+forming, and the voices of the birds had been strengthening, by day and
+by night, under the sun and under the stars, while poor I lay burning
+and tossing on my bed, the mere remembrance of having burned and tossed
+there came like a check upon my peace. But when I heard the Sunday
+bells, and looked around a little more upon the outspread beauty, I felt
+that I was not nearly thankful enough,--that I was too weak yet to be
+even that,--and I laid my head on Joe’s shoulder, as I had laid it long
+ago when he had taken me to the Fair or where not, and it was too much
+for my young senses.
+
+More composure came to me after a while, and we talked as we used
+to talk, lying on the grass at the old Battery. There was no change
+whatever in Joe. Exactly what he had been in my eyes then, he was in my
+eyes still; just as simply faithful, and as simply right.
+
+When we got back again, and he lifted me out, and carried me--so
+easily!--across the court and up the stairs, I thought of that eventful
+Christmas Day when he had carried me over the marshes. We had not yet
+made any allusion to my change of fortune, nor did I know how much of
+my late history he was acquainted with. I was so doubtful of myself now,
+and put so much trust in him, that I could not satisfy myself whether I
+ought to refer to it when he did not.
+
+“Have you heard, Joe,” I asked him that evening, upon further
+consideration, as he smoked his pipe at the window, “who my patron was?”
+
+“I heerd,” returned Joe, “as it were not Miss Havisham, old chap.”
+
+“Did you hear who it was, Joe?”
+
+“Well! I heerd as it were a person what sent the person what giv’ you
+the bank-notes at the Jolly Bargemen, Pip.”
+
+“So it was.”
+
+“Astonishing!” said Joe, in the placidest way.
+
+“Did you hear that he was dead, Joe?” I presently asked, with increasing
+diffidence.
+
+“Which? Him as sent the bank-notes, Pip?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I think,” said Joe, after meditating a long time, and looking rather
+evasively at the window-seat, “as I did hear tell that how he were
+something or another in a general way in that direction.”
+
+“Did you hear anything of his circumstances, Joe?”
+
+“Not partickler, Pip.”
+
+“If you would like to hear, Joe--” I was beginning, when Joe got up and
+came to my sofa.
+
+“Lookee here, old chap,” said Joe, bending over me. “Ever the best of
+friends; ain’t us, Pip?”
+
+I was ashamed to answer him.
+
+“Wery good, then,” said Joe, as if I had answered; “that’s all right;
+that’s agreed upon. Then why go into subjects, old chap, which as
+betwixt two sech must be for ever onnecessary? There’s subjects enough
+as betwixt two sech, without onnecessary ones. Lord! To think of your
+poor sister and her Rampages! And don’t you remember Tickler?”
+
+“I do indeed, Joe.”
+
+“Lookee here, old chap,” said Joe. “I done what I could to keep you
+and Tickler in sunders, but my power were not always fully equal to my
+inclinations. For when your poor sister had a mind to drop into you, it
+were not so much,” said Joe, in his favorite argumentative way, “that
+she dropped into me too, if I put myself in opposition to her, but that
+she dropped into you always heavier for it. I noticed that. It ain’t a
+grab at a man’s whisker, not yet a shake or two of a man (to which your
+sister was quite welcome), that ‘ud put a man off from getting a little
+child out of punishment. But when that little child is dropped into
+heavier for that grab of whisker or shaking, then that man naterally up
+and says to himself, ‘Where is the good as you are a doing? I grant you
+I see the ‘arm,’ says the man, ‘but I don’t see the good. I call upon
+you, sir, therefore, to pint out the good.’”
+
+“The man says?” I observed, as Joe waited for me to speak.
+
+“The man says,” Joe assented. “Is he right, that man?”
+
+“Dear Joe, he is always right.”
+
+“Well, old chap,” said Joe, “then abide by your words. If he’s always
+right (which in general he’s more likely wrong), he’s right when he says
+this: Supposing ever you kep any little matter to yourself, when you
+was a little child, you kep it mostly because you know’d as J. Gargery’s
+power to part you and Tickler in sunders were not fully equal to his
+inclinations. Theerfore, think no more of it as betwixt two sech, and do
+not let us pass remarks upon onnecessary subjects. Biddy giv’ herself a
+deal o’ trouble with me afore I left (for I am almost awful dull), as I
+should view it in this light, and, viewing it in this light, as I should
+so put it. Both of which,” said Joe, quite charmed with his logical
+arrangement, “being done, now this to you a true friend, say. Namely.
+You mustn’t go a overdoing on it, but you must have your supper and your
+wine and water, and you must be put betwixt the sheets.”
+
+The delicacy with which Joe dismissed this theme, and the sweet tact and
+kindness with which Biddy--who with her woman’s wit had found me out so
+soon--had prepared him for it, made a deep impression on my mind. But
+whether Joe knew how poor I was, and how my great expectations had
+all dissolved, like our own marsh mists before the sun, I could not
+understand.
+
+Another thing in Joe that I could not understand when it first began to
+develop itself, but which I soon arrived at a sorrowful comprehension
+of, was this: As I became stronger and better, Joe became a little less
+easy with me. In my weakness and entire dependence on him, the dear
+fellow had fallen into the old tone, and called me by the old names,
+the dear “old Pip, old chap,” that now were music in my ears. I too had
+fallen into the old ways, only happy and thankful that he let me. But,
+imperceptibly, though I held by them fast, Joe’s hold upon them began
+to slacken; and whereas I wondered at this, at first, I soon began to
+understand that the cause of it was in me, and that the fault of it was
+all mine.
+
+Ah! Had I given Joe no reason to doubt my constancy, and to think that
+in prosperity I should grow cold to him and cast him off? Had I given
+Joe’s innocent heart no cause to feel instinctively that as I got
+stronger, his hold upon me would be weaker, and that he had better
+loosen it in time and let me go, before I plucked myself away?
+
+It was on the third or fourth occasion of my going out walking in the
+Temple Gardens leaning on Joe’s arm, that I saw this change in him very
+plainly. We had been sitting in the bright warm sunlight, looking at the
+river, and I chanced to say as we got up,--
+
+“See, Joe! I can walk quite strongly. Now, you shall see me walk back by
+myself.”
+
+“Which do not overdo it, Pip,” said Joe; “but I shall be happy fur to
+see you able, sir.”
+
+The last word grated on me; but how could I remonstrate! I walked no
+further than the gate of the gardens, and then pretended to be
+weaker than I was, and asked Joe for his arm. Joe gave it me, but was
+thoughtful.
+
+I, for my part, was thoughtful too; for, how best to check this growing
+change in Joe was a great perplexity to my remorseful thoughts. That I
+was ashamed to tell him exactly how I was placed, and what I had come
+down to, I do not seek to conceal; but I hope my reluctance was not
+quite an unworthy one. He would want to help me out of his little
+savings, I knew, and I knew that he ought not to help me, and that I
+must not suffer him to do it.
+
+It was a thoughtful evening with both of us. But, before we went to
+bed, I had resolved that I would wait over to-morrow,--to-morrow being
+Sunday,--and would begin my new course with the new week. On Monday
+morning I would speak to Joe about this change, I would lay aside this
+last vestige of reserve, I would tell him what I had in my thoughts
+(that Secondly, not yet arrived at), and why I had not decided to go
+out to Herbert, and then the change would be conquered for ever. As I
+cleared, Joe cleared, and it seemed as though he had sympathetically
+arrived at a resolution too.
+
+We had a quiet day on the Sunday, and we rode out into the country, and
+then walked in the fields.
+
+“I feel thankful that I have been ill, Joe,” I said.
+
+“Dear old Pip, old chap, you’re a’most come round, sir.”
+
+“It has been a memorable time for me, Joe.”
+
+“Likeways for myself, sir,” Joe returned.
+
+“We have had a time together, Joe, that I can never forget. There were
+days once, I know, that I did for a while forget; but I never shall
+forget these.”
+
+“Pip,” said Joe, appearing a little hurried and troubled, “there has
+been larks. And, dear sir, what have been betwixt us--have been.”
+
+At night, when I had gone to bed, Joe came into my room, as he had done
+all through my recovery. He asked me if I felt sure that I was as well
+as in the morning?
+
+“Yes, dear Joe, quite.”
+
+“And are always a getting stronger, old chap?”
+
+“Yes, dear Joe, steadily.”
+
+Joe patted the coverlet on my shoulder with his great good hand, and
+said, in what I thought a husky voice, “Good night!”
+
+When I got up in the morning, refreshed and stronger yet, I was full of
+my resolution to tell Joe all, without delay. I would tell him before
+breakfast. I would dress at once and go to his room and surprise him;
+for, it was the first day I had been up early. I went to his room, and
+he was not there. Not only was he not there, but his box was gone.
+
+I hurried then to the breakfast-table, and on it found a letter. These
+were its brief contents:--
+
+“Not wishful to intrude I have departured fur you are well again dear
+Pip and will do better without JO.
+
+“P.S. Ever the best of friends.”
+
+Enclosed in the letter was a receipt for the debt and costs on which I
+had been arrested. Down to that moment, I had vainly supposed that my
+creditor had withdrawn, or suspended proceedings until I should be quite
+recovered. I had never dreamed of Joe’s having paid the money; but Joe
+had paid it, and the receipt was in his name.
+
+What remained for me now, but to follow him to the dear old forge, and
+there to have out my disclosure to him, and my penitent remonstrance
+with him, and there to relieve my mind and heart of that reserved
+Secondly, which had begun as a vague something lingering in my thoughts,
+and had formed into a settled purpose?
+
+The purpose was, that I would go to Biddy, that I would show her how
+humbled and repentant I came back, that I would tell her how I had lost
+all I once hoped for, that I would remind her of our old confidences in
+my first unhappy time. Then I would say to her, “Biddy, I think you once
+liked me very well, when my errant heart, even while it strayed away
+from you, was quieter and better with you than it ever has been since.
+If you can like me only half as well once more, if you can take me with
+all my faults and disappointments on my head, if you can receive me like
+a forgiven child (and indeed I am as sorry, Biddy, and have as much need
+of a hushing voice and a soothing hand), I hope I am a little worthier
+of you that I was,--not much, but a little. And, Biddy, it shall rest
+with you to say whether I shall work at the forge with Joe, or whether I
+shall try for any different occupation down in this country, or whether
+we shall go away to a distant place where an opportunity awaits me which
+I set aside, when it was offered, until I knew your answer. And now,
+dear Biddy, if you can tell me that you will go through the world with
+me, you will surely make it a better world for me, and me a better man
+for it, and I will try hard to make it a better world for you.”
+
+Such was my purpose. After three days more of recovery, I went down to
+the old place to put it in execution. And how I sped in it is all I have
+left to tell.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LVIII
+
+The tidings of my high fortunes having had a heavy fall had got down
+to my native place and its neighborhood before I got there. I found the
+Blue Boar in possession of the intelligence, and I found that it made a
+great change in the Boar’s demeanour. Whereas the Boar had cultivated
+my good opinion with warm assiduity when I was coming into property,
+the Boar was exceedingly cool on the subject now that I was going out of
+property.
+
+It was evening when I arrived, much fatigued by the journey I had so
+often made so easily. The Boar could not put me into my usual bedroom,
+which was engaged (probably by some one who had expectations), and
+could only assign me a very indifferent chamber among the pigeons and
+post-chaises up the yard. But I had as sound a sleep in that lodging as
+in the most superior accommodation the Boar could have given me, and the
+quality of my dreams was about the same as in the best bedroom.
+
+Early in the morning, while my breakfast was getting ready, I strolled
+round by Satis House. There were printed bills on the gate and on bits
+of carpet hanging out of the windows, announcing a sale by auction of
+the Household Furniture and Effects, next week. The House itself was to
+be sold as old building materials, and pulled down. LOT 1 was marked in
+whitewashed knock-knee letters on the brew house; LOT 2 on that part of
+the main building which had been so long shut up. Other lots were marked
+off on other parts of the structure, and the ivy had been torn down to
+make room for the inscriptions, and much of it trailed low in the dust
+and was withered already. Stepping in for a moment at the open gate, and
+looking around me with the uncomfortable air of a stranger who had no
+business there, I saw the auctioneer’s clerk walking on the casks and
+telling them off for the information of a catalogue-compiler, pen in
+hand, who made a temporary desk of the wheeled chair I had so often
+pushed along to the tune of Old Clem.
+
+When I got back to my breakfast in the Boar’s coffee-room, I found Mr.
+Pumblechook conversing with the landlord. Mr. Pumblechook (not improved
+in appearance by his late nocturnal adventure) was waiting for me, and
+addressed me in the following terms:--
+
+“Young man, I am sorry to see you brought low. But what else could be
+expected! what else could be expected!”
+
+As he extended his hand with a magnificently forgiving air, and as I was
+broken by illness and unfit to quarrel, I took it.
+
+“William,” said Mr. Pumblechook to the waiter, “put a muffin on table.
+And has it come to this! Has it come to this!”
+
+I frowningly sat down to my breakfast. Mr. Pumblechook stood over me and
+poured out my tea--before I could touch the teapot--with the air of a
+benefactor who was resolved to be true to the last.
+
+“William,” said Mr. Pumblechook, mournfully, “put the salt on. In
+happier times,” addressing me, “I think you took sugar? And did you take
+milk? You did. Sugar and milk. William, bring a watercress.”
+
+“Thank you,” said I, shortly, “but I don’t eat watercresses.”
+
+“You don’t eat ‘em,” returned Mr. Pumblechook, sighing and nodding
+his head several times, as if he might have expected that, and as if
+abstinence from watercresses were consistent with my downfall. “True.
+The simple fruits of the earth. No. You needn’t bring any, William.”
+
+I went on with my breakfast, and Mr. Pumblechook continued to stand over
+me, staring fishily and breathing noisily, as he always did.
+
+“Little more than skin and bone!” mused Mr. Pumblechook, aloud. “And yet
+when he went from here (I may say with my blessing), and I spread afore
+him my humble store, like the Bee, he was as plump as a Peach!”
+
+This reminded me of the wonderful difference between the servile manner
+in which he had offered his hand in my new prosperity, saying, “May I?”
+ and the ostentatious clemency with which he had just now exhibited the
+same fat five fingers.
+
+“Hah!” he went on, handing me the bread and butter. “And air you a going
+to Joseph?”
+
+“In heaven’s name,” said I, firing in spite of myself, “what does it
+matter to you where I am going? Leave that teapot alone.”
+
+It was the worst course I could have taken, because it gave Pumblechook
+the opportunity he wanted.
+
+“Yes, young man,” said he, releasing the handle of the article in
+question, retiring a step or two from my table, and speaking for the
+behoof of the landlord and waiter at the door, “I will leave that teapot
+alone. You are right, young man. For once you are right. I forgit myself
+when I take such an interest in your breakfast, as to wish your frame,
+exhausted by the debilitating effects of prodigygality, to be stimilated
+by the ‘olesome nourishment of your forefathers. And yet,” said
+Pumblechook, turning to the landlord and waiter, and pointing me out at
+arm’s length, “this is him as I ever sported with in his days of happy
+infancy! Tell me not it cannot be; I tell you this is him!”
+
+A low murmur from the two replied. The waiter appeared to be
+particularly affected.
+
+“This is him,” said Pumblechook, “as I have rode in my shay-cart. This
+is him as I have seen brought up by hand. This is him untoe the sister
+of which I was uncle by marriage, as her name was Georgiana M’ria from
+her own mother, let him deny it if he can!”
+
+The waiter seemed convinced that I could not deny it, and that it gave
+the case a black look.
+
+“Young man,” said Pumblechook, screwing his head at me in the old
+fashion, “you air a going to Joseph. What does it matter to me, you
+ask me, where you air a going? I say to you, Sir, you air a going to
+Joseph.”
+
+The waiter coughed, as if he modestly invited me to get over that.
+
+“Now,” said Pumblechook, and all this with a most exasperating air
+of saying in the cause of virtue what was perfectly convincing and
+conclusive, “I will tell you what to say to Joseph. Here is Squires of
+the Boar present, known and respected in this town, and here is William,
+which his father’s name was Potkins if I do not deceive myself.”
+
+“You do not, sir,” said William.
+
+“In their presence,” pursued Pumblechook, “I will tell you, young
+man, what to say to Joseph. Says you, “Joseph, I have this day seen
+my earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortun’s. I will name no
+names, Joseph, but so they are pleased to call him up town, and I have
+seen that man.”
+
+“I swear I don’t see him here,” said I.
+
+“Say that likewise,” retorted Pumblechook. “Say you said that, and even
+Joseph will probably betray surprise.”
+
+“There you quite mistake him,” said I. “I know better.”
+
+“Says you,” Pumblechook went on, “‘Joseph, I have seen that man, and
+that man bears you no malice and bears me no malice. He knows your
+character, Joseph, and is well acquainted with your pig-headedness and
+ignorance; and he knows my character, Joseph, and he knows my want of
+gratitoode. Yes, Joseph,’ says you,” here Pumblechook shook his head and
+hand at me, “‘he knows my total deficiency of common human gratitoode.
+He knows it, Joseph, as none can. You do not know it, Joseph, having no
+call to know it, but that man do.’”
+
+Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have the face
+to talk thus to mine.
+
+“Says you, ‘Joseph, he gave me a little message, which I will now
+repeat. It was that, in my being brought low, he saw the finger of
+Providence. He knowed that finger when he saw Joseph, and he saw it
+plain. It pinted out this writing, Joseph. Reward of ingratitoode to his
+earliest benefactor, and founder of fortun’s. But that man said he did
+not repent of what he had done, Joseph. Not at all. It was right to do
+it, it was kind to do it, it was benevolent to do it, and he would do it
+again.’”
+
+“It’s pity,” said I, scornfully, as I finished my interrupted breakfast,
+“that the man did not say what he had done and would do again.”
+
+“Squires of the Boar!” Pumblechook was now addressing the landlord, “and
+William! I have no objections to your mentioning, either up town or down
+town, if such should be your wishes, that it was right to do it, kind to
+do it, benevolent to do it, and that I would do it again.”
+
+With those words the Impostor shook them both by the hand, with an air,
+and left the house; leaving me much more astonished than delighted by
+the virtues of that same indefinite “it.” I was not long after him in
+leaving the house too, and when I went down the High Street I saw him
+holding forth (no doubt to the same effect) at his shop door to a select
+group, who honored me with very unfavorable glances as I passed on the
+opposite side of the way.
+
+But, it was only the pleasanter to turn to Biddy and to Joe, whose
+great forbearance shone more brightly than before, if that could be,
+contrasted with this brazen pretender. I went towards them slowly, for
+my limbs were weak, but with a sense of increasing relief as I drew
+nearer to them, and a sense of leaving arrogance and untruthfulness
+further and further behind.
+
+The June weather was delicious. The sky was blue, the larks were soaring
+high over the green corn, I thought all that countryside more beautiful
+and peaceful by far than I had ever known it to be yet. Many pleasant
+pictures of the life that I would lead there, and of the change for the
+better that would come over my character when I had a guiding spirit at
+my side whose simple faith and clear home wisdom I had proved, beguiled
+my way. They awakened a tender emotion in me; for my heart was softened
+by my return, and such a change had come to pass, that I felt like one
+who was toiling home barefoot from distant travel, and whose wanderings
+had lasted many years.
+
+The schoolhouse where Biddy was mistress I had never seen; but, the
+little roundabout lane by which I entered the village, for quietness’
+sake, took me past it. I was disappointed to find that the day was a
+holiday; no children were there, and Biddy’s house was closed. Some
+hopeful notion of seeing her, busily engaged in her daily duties, before
+she saw me, had been in my mind and was defeated.
+
+But the forge was a very short distance off, and I went towards it under
+the sweet green limes, listening for the clink of Joe’s hammer. Long
+after I ought to have heard it, and long after I had fancied I heard it
+and found it but a fancy, all was still. The limes were there, and the
+white thorns were there, and the chestnut-trees were there, and their
+leaves rustled harmoniously when I stopped to listen; but, the clink of
+Joe’s hammer was not in the midsummer wind.
+
+Almost fearing, without knowing why, to come in view of the forge, I saw
+it at last, and saw that it was closed. No gleam of fire, no glittering
+shower of sparks, no roar of bellows; all shut up, and still.
+
+But the house was not deserted, and the best parlor seemed to be in use,
+for there were white curtains fluttering in its window, and the window
+was open and gay with flowers. I went softly towards it, meaning to peep
+over the flowers, when Joe and Biddy stood before me, arm in arm.
+
+At first Biddy gave a cry, as if she thought it was my apparition, but
+in another moment she was in my embrace. I wept to see her, and she wept
+to see me; I, because she looked so fresh and pleasant; she, because I
+looked so worn and white.
+
+“But dear Biddy, how smart you are!”
+
+“Yes, dear Pip.”
+
+“And Joe, how smart you are!”
+
+“Yes, dear old Pip, old chap.”
+
+I looked at both of them, from one to the other, and then--
+
+“It’s my wedding-day!” cried Biddy, in a burst of happiness, “and I am
+married to Joe!”
+
+They had taken me into the kitchen, and I had laid my head down on
+the old deal table. Biddy held one of my hands to her lips, and Joe’s
+restoring touch was on my shoulder. “Which he warn’t strong enough, my
+dear, fur to be surprised,” said Joe. And Biddy said, “I ought to
+have thought of it, dear Joe, but I was too happy.” They were both so
+overjoyed to see me, so proud to see me, so touched by my coming to
+them, so delighted that I should have come by accident to make their day
+complete!
+
+My first thought was one of great thankfulness that I had never breathed
+this last baffled hope to Joe. How often, while he was with me in my
+illness, had it risen to my lips! How irrevocable would have been his
+knowledge of it, if he had remained with me but another hour!
+
+“Dear Biddy,” said I, “you have the best husband in the whole world,
+and if you could have seen him by my bed you would have--But no, you
+couldn’t love him better than you do.”
+
+“No, I couldn’t indeed,” said Biddy.
+
+“And, dear Joe, you have the best wife in the whole world, and she will
+make you as happy as even you deserve to be, you dear, good, noble Joe!”
+
+Joe looked at me with a quivering lip, and fairly put his sleeve before
+his eyes.
+
+“And Joe and Biddy both, as you have been to church to-day, and are in
+charity and love with all mankind, receive my humble thanks for all you
+have done for me, and all I have so ill repaid! And when I say that I am
+going away within the hour, for I am soon going abroad, and that I shall
+never rest until I have worked for the money with which you have kept me
+out of prison, and have sent it to you, don’t think, dear Joe and Biddy,
+that if I could repay it a thousand times over, I suppose I could cancel
+a farthing of the debt I owe you, or that I would do so if I could!”
+
+They were both melted by these words, and both entreated me to say no
+more.
+
+“But I must say more. Dear Joe, I hope you will have children to love,
+and that some little fellow will sit in this chimney-corner of a winter
+night, who may remind you of another little fellow gone out of it for
+ever. Don’t tell him, Joe, that I was thankless; don’t tell him, Biddy,
+that I was ungenerous and unjust; only tell him that I honored you both,
+because you were both so good and true, and that, as your child, I said
+it would be natural to him to grow up a much better man than I did.”
+
+“I ain’t a going,” said Joe, from behind his sleeve, “to tell him
+nothink o’ that natur, Pip. Nor Biddy ain’t. Nor yet no one ain’t.”
+
+“And now, though I know you have already done it in your own kind
+hearts, pray tell me, both, that you forgive me! Pray let me hear you
+say the words, that I may carry the sound of them away with me, and then
+I shall be able to believe that you can trust me, and think better of
+me, in the time to come!”
+
+“O dear old Pip, old chap,” said Joe. “God knows as I forgive you, if I
+have anythink to forgive!”
+
+“Amen! And God knows I do!” echoed Biddy.
+
+“Now let me go up and look at my old little room, and rest there a few
+minutes by myself. And then, when I have eaten and drunk with you, go
+with me as far as the finger-post, dear Joe and Biddy, before we say
+good-bye!”
+
+***
+
+I sold all I had, and put aside as much as I could, for a composition
+with my creditors,--who gave me ample time to pay them in full,--and I
+went out and joined Herbert. Within a month, I had quitted England,
+and within two months I was clerk to Clarriker and Co., and within four
+months I assumed my first undivided responsibility. For the beam across
+the parlor ceiling at Mill Pond Bank had then ceased to tremble under
+old Bill Barley’s growls and was at peace, and Herbert had gone away to
+marry Clara, and I was left in sole charge of the Eastern Branch until
+he brought her back.
+
+Many a year went round before I was a partner in the House; but I lived
+happily with Herbert and his wife, and lived frugally, and paid my
+debts, and maintained a constant correspondence with Biddy and Joe. It
+was not until I became third in the Firm, that Clarriker betrayed me to
+Herbert; but he then declared that the secret of Herbert’s partnership
+had been long enough upon his conscience, and he must tell it. So he
+told it, and Herbert was as much moved as amazed, and the dear fellow
+and I were not the worse friends for the long concealment. I must not
+leave it to be supposed that we were ever a great House, or that we made
+mints of money. We were not in a grand way of business, but we had a
+good name, and worked for our profits, and did very well. We owed so
+much to Herbert’s ever cheerful industry and readiness, that I often
+wondered how I had conceived that old idea of his inaptitude, until I
+was one day enlightened by the reflection, that perhaps the inaptitude
+had never been in him at all, but had been in me.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LIX
+
+For eleven years, I had not seen Joe nor Biddy with my bodily
+eyes,--though they had both been often before my fancy in the
+East,--when, upon an evening in December, an hour or two after dark, I
+laid my hand softly on the latch of the old kitchen door. I touched it
+so softly that I was not heard, and looked in unseen. There, smoking his
+pipe in the old place by the kitchen firelight, as hale and as strong as
+ever, though a little gray, sat Joe; and there, fenced into the corner
+with Joe’s leg, and sitting on my own little stool looking at the fire,
+was--I again!
+
+“We giv’ him the name of Pip for your sake, dear old chap,” said Joe,
+delighted, when I took another stool by the child’s side (but I did not
+rumple his hair), “and we hoped he might grow a little bit like you, and
+we think he do.”
+
+I thought so too, and I took him out for a walk next morning, and we
+talked immensely, understanding one another to perfection. And I took
+him down to the churchyard, and set him on a certain tombstone there,
+and he showed me from that elevation which stone was sacred to the
+memory of Philip Pirrip, late of this Parish, and Also Georgiana, Wife
+of the Above.
+
+“Biddy,” said I, when I talked with her after dinner, as her little girl
+lay sleeping in her lap, “you must give Pip to me one of these days; or
+lend him, at all events.”
+
+“No, no,” said Biddy, gently. “You must marry.”
+
+“So Herbert and Clara say, but I don’t think I shall, Biddy. I have so
+settled down in their home, that it’s not at all likely. I am already
+quite an old bachelor.”
+
+Biddy looked down at her child, and put its little hand to her lips, and
+then put the good matronly hand with which she had touched it into mine.
+There was something in the action, and in the light pressure of Biddy’s
+wedding-ring, that had a very pretty eloquence in it.
+
+“Dear Pip,” said Biddy, “you are sure you don’t fret for her?”
+
+“O no,--I think not, Biddy.”
+
+“Tell me as an old, old friend. Have you quite forgotten her?
+
+“My dear Biddy, I have forgotten nothing in my life that ever had a
+foremost place there, and little that ever had any place there. But that
+poor dream, as I once used to call it, has all gone by, Biddy,--all gone
+by!”
+
+Nevertheless, I knew, while I said those words, that I secretly intended
+to revisit the site of the old house that evening, alone, for her sake.
+Yes, even so. For Estella’s sake.
+
+I had heard of her as leading a most unhappy life, and as being
+separated from her husband, who had used her with great cruelty, and who
+had become quite renowned as a compound of pride, avarice, brutality,
+and meanness. And I had heard of the death of her husband, from an
+accident consequent on his ill-treatment of a horse. This release had
+befallen her some two years before; for anything I knew, she was married
+again.
+
+The early dinner hour at Joe’s, left me abundance of time, without
+hurrying my talk with Biddy, to walk over to the old spot before dark.
+But, what with loitering on the way to look at old objects and to think
+of old times, the day had quite declined when I came to the place.
+
+There was no house now, no brewery, no building whatever left, but the
+wall of the old garden. The cleared space had been enclosed with a rough
+fence, and looking over it, I saw that some of the old ivy had struck
+root anew, and was growing green on low quiet mounds of ruin. A gate in
+the fence standing ajar, I pushed it open, and went in.
+
+A cold silvery mist had veiled the afternoon, and the moon was not yet
+up to scatter it. But, the stars were shining beyond the mist, and the
+moon was coming, and the evening was not dark. I could trace out where
+every part of the old house had been, and where the brewery had been,
+and where the gates, and where the casks. I had done so, and was looking
+along the desolate garden walk, when I beheld a solitary figure in it.
+
+The figure showed itself aware of me, as I advanced. It had been moving
+towards me, but it stood still. As I drew nearer, I saw it to be the
+figure of a woman. As I drew nearer yet, it was about to turn away, when
+it stopped, and let me come up with it. Then, it faltered, as if much
+surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out,--
+
+“Estella!”
+
+“I am greatly changed. I wonder you know me.”
+
+The freshness of her beauty was indeed gone, but its indescribable
+majesty and its indescribable charm remained. Those attractions in it,
+I had seen before; what I had never seen before, was the saddened,
+softened light of the once proud eyes; what I had never felt before was
+the friendly touch of the once insensible hand.
+
+We sat down on a bench that was near, and I said, “After so many years,
+it is strange that we should thus meet again, Estella, here where our
+first meeting was! Do you often come back?”
+
+“I have never been here since.”
+
+“Nor I.”
+
+The moon began to rise, and I thought of the placid look at the white
+ceiling, which had passed away. The moon began to rise, and I thought of
+the pressure on my hand when I had spoken the last words he had heard on
+earth.
+
+Estella was the next to break the silence that ensued between us.
+
+“I have very often hoped and intended to come back, but have been
+prevented by many circumstances. Poor, poor old place!”
+
+The silvery mist was touched with the first rays of the moonlight, and
+the same rays touched the tears that dropped from her eyes. Not knowing
+that I saw them, and setting herself to get the better of them, she said
+quietly,--
+
+“Were you wondering, as you walked along, how it came to be left in this
+condition?”
+
+“Yes, Estella.”
+
+“The ground belongs to me. It is the only possession I have not
+relinquished. Everything else has gone from me, little by little, but I
+have kept this. It was the subject of the only determined resistance I
+made in all the wretched years.”
+
+“Is it to be built on?”
+
+“At last, it is. I came here to take leave of it before its change. And
+you,” she said, in a voice of touching interest to a wanderer,--“you
+live abroad still?”
+
+“Still.”
+
+“And do well, I am sure?”
+
+“I work pretty hard for a sufficient living, and therefore--yes, I do
+well.”
+
+“I have often thought of you,” said Estella.
+
+“Have you?”
+
+“Of late, very often. There was a long hard time when I kept far from me
+the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant
+of its worth. But since my duty has not been incompatible with the
+admission of that remembrance, I have given it a place in my heart.”
+
+“You have always held your place in my heart,” I answered.
+
+And we were silent again until she spoke.
+
+“I little thought,” said Estella, “that I should take leave of you in
+taking leave of this spot. I am very glad to do so.”
+
+“Glad to part again, Estella? To me, parting is a painful thing. To me,
+the remembrance of our last parting has been ever mournful and painful.”
+
+“But you said to me,” returned Estella, very earnestly, “‘God bless you,
+God forgive you!’ And if you could say that to me then, you will not
+hesitate to say that to me now,--now, when suffering has been stronger
+than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart
+used to be. I have been bent and broken, but--I hope--into a better
+shape. Be as considerate and good to me as you were, and tell me we are
+friends.”
+
+“We are friends,” said I, rising and bending over her, as she rose from
+the bench.
+
+“And will continue friends apart,” said Estella.
+
+I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as
+the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the
+evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil
+light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting from her.
+
--- /dev/null
+The Picture of Dorian Gray
+
+by
+
+Oscar Wilde
+
+
+
+
+THE PREFACE
+
+The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and
+conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate
+into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful
+things.
+
+The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
+Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without
+being charming. This is a fault.
+
+Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the
+cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom
+beautiful things mean only beauty.
+
+There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well
+written, or badly written. That is all.
+
+The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing
+his own face in a glass.
+
+The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban
+not seeing his own face in a glass. The moral life of man forms part
+of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists
+in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove
+anything. Even things that are true can be proved. No artist has
+ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an
+unpardonable mannerism of style. No artist is ever morbid. The artist
+can express everything. Thought and language are to the artist
+instruments of an art. Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for
+an art. From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is
+the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the
+actor's craft is the type. All art is at once surface and symbol.
+Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read
+the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life,
+that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art
+shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. When critics disagree,
+the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making
+a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for
+making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
+
+ All art is quite useless.
+
+ OSCAR WILDE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 1
+
+The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light
+summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through
+the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate
+perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.
+
+From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was
+lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry
+Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured
+blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to
+bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then
+the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long
+tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window,
+producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of
+those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of
+an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of
+swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their
+way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous
+insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine,
+seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London
+was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.
+
+In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the
+full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty,
+and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist
+himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago
+caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many
+strange conjectures.
+
+As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so
+skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his
+face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up,
+and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he
+sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he
+feared he might awake.
+
+"It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done," said
+Lord Henry languidly. "You must certainly send it next year to the
+Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have
+gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been
+able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that
+I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor
+is really the only place."
+
+"I don't think I shall send it anywhere," he answered, tossing his head
+back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at
+Oxford. "No, I won't send it anywhere."
+
+Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows and looked at him in amazement through
+the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls
+from his heavy, opium-tainted cigarette. "Not send it anywhere? My
+dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters
+are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as
+you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you,
+for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about,
+and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you
+far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite
+jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion."
+
+"I know you will laugh at me," he replied, "but I really can't exhibit
+it. I have put too much of myself into it."
+
+Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.
+
+"Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same."
+
+"Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn't know you
+were so vain; and I really can't see any resemblance between you, with
+your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young
+Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why,
+my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you--well, of course you have an
+intellectual expression and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends
+where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode
+of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one
+sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something
+horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions.
+How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But
+then in the Church they don't think. A bishop keeps on saying at the
+age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen,
+and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.
+Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but
+whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of
+that. He is some brainless beautiful creature who should be always
+here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in
+summer when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don't flatter
+yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him."
+
+"You don't understand me, Harry," answered the artist. "Of course I am
+not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry
+to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the
+truth. There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual
+distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the
+faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one's
+fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world.
+They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing
+of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They
+live as we all should live--undisturbed, indifferent, and without
+disquiet. They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it
+from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they
+are--my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks--we
+shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly."
+
+"Dorian Gray? Is that his name?" asked Lord Henry, walking across the
+studio towards Basil Hallward.
+
+"Yes, that is his name. I didn't intend to tell it to you."
+
+"But why not?"
+
+"Oh, I can't explain. When I like people immensely, I never tell their
+names to any one. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have
+grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make
+modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. The commonest thing is
+delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell my
+people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It
+is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great
+deal of romance into one's life. I suppose you think me awfully
+foolish about it?"
+
+"Not at all," answered Lord Henry, "not at all, my dear Basil. You
+seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that
+it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties. I
+never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing.
+When we meet--we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go
+down to the Duke's--we tell each other the most absurd stories with the
+most serious faces. My wife is very good at it--much better, in fact,
+than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do.
+But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes
+wish she would; but she merely laughs at me."
+
+"I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry," said Basil
+Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden. "I
+believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are
+thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are an extraordinary
+fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing.
+Your cynicism is simply a pose."
+
+"Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know,"
+cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the
+garden together and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that
+stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush. The sunlight slipped over
+the polished leaves. In the grass, white daisies were tremulous.
+
+After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch. "I am afraid I must be
+going, Basil," he murmured, "and before I go, I insist on your
+answering a question I put to you some time ago."
+
+"What is that?" said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.
+
+"You know quite well."
+
+"I do not, Harry."
+
+"Well, I will tell you what it is. I want you to explain to me why you
+won't exhibit Dorian Gray's picture. I want the real reason."
+
+"I told you the real reason."
+
+"No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of
+yourself in it. Now, that is childish."
+
+"Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, "every
+portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not
+of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is
+not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on
+the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit
+this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of
+my own soul."
+
+Lord Henry laughed. "And what is that?" he asked.
+
+"I will tell you," said Hallward; but an expression of perplexity came
+over his face.
+
+"I am all expectation, Basil," continued his companion, glancing at him.
+
+"Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry," answered the painter;
+"and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you will
+hardly believe it."
+
+Lord Henry smiled, and leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from
+the grass and examined it. "I am quite sure I shall understand it," he
+replied, gazing intently at the little golden, white-feathered disk,
+"and as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it
+is quite incredible."
+
+The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy
+lilac-blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the
+languid air. A grasshopper began to chirrup by the wall, and like a
+blue thread a long thin dragon-fly floated past on its brown gauze
+wings. Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart
+beating, and wondered what was coming.
+
+"The story is simply this," said the painter after some time. "Two
+months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon's. You know we poor
+artists have to show ourselves in society from time to time, just to
+remind the public that we are not savages. With an evening coat and a
+white tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stock-broker, can gain
+a reputation for being civilized. Well, after I had been in the room
+about ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious
+academicians, I suddenly became conscious that some one was looking at
+me. I turned half-way round and saw Dorian Gray for the first time.
+When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation
+of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some
+one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to
+do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art
+itself. I did not want any external influence in my life. You know
+yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. I have always been my
+own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray.
+Then--but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to
+tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had
+a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and
+exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid and turned to quit the room. It was
+not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take
+no credit to myself for trying to escape."
+
+"Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil.
+Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. That is all."
+
+"I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe you do either.
+However, whatever was my motive--and it may have been pride, for I used
+to be very proud--I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course,
+I stumbled against Lady Brandon. 'You are not going to run away so
+soon, Mr. Hallward?' she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill
+voice?"
+
+"Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty," said Lord Henry,
+pulling the daisy to bits with his long nervous fingers.
+
+"I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to royalties, and
+people with stars and garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras
+and parrot noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only
+met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I
+believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at
+least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the
+nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself
+face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely
+stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again.
+It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him.
+Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable.
+We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure
+of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were
+destined to know each other."
+
+"And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man?" asked his
+companion. "I know she goes in for giving a rapid _precis_ of all her
+guests. I remember her bringing me up to a truculent and red-faced old
+gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, and hissing into my
+ear, in a tragic whisper which must have been perfectly audible to
+everybody in the room, the most astounding details. I simply fled. I
+like to find out people for myself. But Lady Brandon treats her guests
+exactly as an auctioneer treats his goods. She either explains them
+entirely away, or tells one everything about them except what one wants
+to know."
+
+"Poor Lady Brandon! You are hard on her, Harry!" said Hallward
+listlessly.
+
+"My dear fellow, she tried to found a _salon_, and only succeeded in
+opening a restaurant. How could I admire her? But tell me, what did
+she say about Mr. Dorian Gray?"
+
+"Oh, something like, 'Charming boy--poor dear mother and I absolutely
+inseparable. Quite forget what he does--afraid he--doesn't do
+anything--oh, yes, plays the piano--or is it the violin, dear Mr.
+Gray?' Neither of us could help laughing, and we became friends at
+once."
+
+"Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far
+the best ending for one," said the young lord, plucking another daisy.
+
+Hallward shook his head. "You don't understand what friendship is,
+Harry," he murmured--"or what enmity is, for that matter. You like
+every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one."
+
+"How horribly unjust of you!" cried Lord Henry, tilting his hat back
+and looking up at the little clouds that, like ravelled skeins of
+glossy white silk, were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the
+summer sky. "Yes; horribly unjust of you. I make a great difference
+between people. I choose my friends for their good looks, my
+acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their good
+intellects. A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.
+I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some
+intellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate me. Is that
+very vain of me? I think it is rather vain."
+
+"I should think it was, Harry. But according to your category I must
+be merely an acquaintance."
+
+"My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance."
+
+"And much less than a friend. A sort of brother, I suppose?"
+
+"Oh, brothers! I don't care for brothers. My elder brother won't die,
+and my younger brothers seem never to do anything else."
+
+"Harry!" exclaimed Hallward, frowning.
+
+"My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. But I can't help detesting my
+relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand
+other people having the same faults as ourselves. I quite sympathize
+with the rage of the English democracy against what they call the vices
+of the upper orders. The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and
+immorality should be their own special property, and that if any one of
+us makes an ass of himself, he is poaching on their preserves. When
+poor Southwark got into the divorce court, their indignation was quite
+magnificent. And yet I don't suppose that ten per cent of the
+proletariat live correctly."
+
+"I don't agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is
+more, Harry, I feel sure you don't either."
+
+Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard and tapped the toe of his
+patent-leather boot with a tasselled ebony cane. "How English you are
+Basil! That is the second time you have made that observation. If one
+puts forward an idea to a true Englishman--always a rash thing to
+do--he never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong.
+The only thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes
+it oneself. Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do
+with the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the
+probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more purely
+intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it will not be coloured
+by either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don't
+propose to discuss politics, sociology, or metaphysics with you. I
+like persons better than principles, and I like persons with no
+principles better than anything else in the world. Tell me more about
+Mr. Dorian Gray. How often do you see him?"
+
+"Every day. I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. He is
+absolutely necessary to me."
+
+"How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anything but
+your art."
+
+"He is all my art to me now," said the painter gravely. "I sometimes
+think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the
+world's history. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art,
+and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also.
+What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of
+Antinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will
+some day be to me. It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from
+him, sketch from him. Of course, I have done all that. But he is much
+more to me than a model or a sitter. I won't tell you that I am
+dissatisfied with what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such
+that art cannot express it. There is nothing that art cannot express,
+and I know that the work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray, is good
+work, is the best work of my life. But in some curious way--I wonder
+will you understand me?--his personality has suggested to me an
+entirely new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style. I see
+things differently, I think of them differently. I can now recreate
+life in a way that was hidden from me before. 'A dream of form in days
+of thought'--who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what Dorian
+Gray has been to me. The merely visible presence of this lad--for he
+seems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over
+twenty--his merely visible presence--ah! I wonder can you realize all
+that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh
+school, a school that is to have in it all the passion of the romantic
+spirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony of
+soul and body--how much that is! We in our madness have separated the
+two, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is
+void. Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You remember
+that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such a huge price
+but which I would not part with? It is one of the best things I have
+ever done. And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian
+Gray sat beside me. Some subtle influence passed from him to me, and
+for the first time in my life I saw in the plain woodland the wonder I
+had always looked for and always missed."
+
+"Basil, this is extraordinary! I must see Dorian Gray."
+
+Hallward got up from the seat and walked up and down the garden. After
+some time he came back. "Harry," he said, "Dorian Gray is to me simply
+a motive in art. You might see nothing in him. I see everything in
+him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is
+there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find
+him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of
+certain colours. That is all."
+
+"Then why won't you exhibit his portrait?" asked Lord Henry.
+
+"Because, without intending it, I have put into it some expression of
+all this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never
+cared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He shall never know
+anything about it. But the world might guess it, and I will not bare
+my soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put
+under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing,
+Harry--too much of myself!"
+
+"Poets are not so scrupulous as you are. They know how useful passion
+is for publication. Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions."
+
+"I hate them for it," cried Hallward. "An artist should create
+beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. We
+live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of
+autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. Some day I
+will show the world what it is; and for that reason the world shall
+never see my portrait of Dorian Gray."
+
+"I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue with you. It is only
+the intellectually lost who ever argue. Tell me, is Dorian Gray very
+fond of you?"
+
+The painter considered for a few moments. "He likes me," he answered
+after a pause; "I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him
+dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I
+know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is charming to
+me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and
+then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real
+delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away
+my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put
+in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a
+summer's day."
+
+"Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger," murmured Lord Henry.
+"Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. It is a sad thing to think
+of, but there is no doubt that genius lasts longer than beauty. That
+accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate
+ourselves. In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have
+something that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and
+facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly
+well-informed man--that is the modern ideal. And the mind of the
+thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a
+_bric-a-brac_ shop, all monsters and dust, with everything priced above
+its proper value. I think you will tire first, all the same. Some day
+you will look at your friend, and he will seem to you to be a little
+out of drawing, or you won't like his tone of colour, or something.
+You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously think
+that he has behaved very badly to you. The next time he calls, you
+will be perfectly cold and indifferent. It will be a great pity, for
+it will alter you. What you have told me is quite a romance, a romance
+of art one might call it, and the worst of having a romance of any kind
+is that it leaves one so unromantic."
+
+"Harry, don't talk like that. As long as I live, the personality of
+Dorian Gray will dominate me. You can't feel what I feel. You change
+too often."
+
+"Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it. Those who are
+faithful know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who
+know love's tragedies." And Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty
+silver case and began to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and
+satisfied air, as if he had summed up the world in a phrase. There was
+a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the green lacquer leaves of the ivy,
+and the blue cloud-shadows chased themselves across the grass like
+swallows. How pleasant it was in the garden! And how delightful other
+people's emotions were!--much more delightful than their ideas, it
+seemed to him. One's own soul, and the passions of one's
+friends--those were the fascinating things in life. He pictured to
+himself with silent amusement the tedious luncheon that he had missed
+by staying so long with Basil Hallward. Had he gone to his aunt's, he
+would have been sure to have met Lord Goodbody there, and the whole
+conversation would have been about the feeding of the poor and the
+necessity for model lodging-houses. Each class would have preached the
+importance of those virtues, for whose exercise there was no necessity
+in their own lives. The rich would have spoken on the value of thrift,
+and the idle grown eloquent over the dignity of labour. It was
+charming to have escaped all that! As he thought of his aunt, an idea
+seemed to strike him. He turned to Hallward and said, "My dear fellow,
+I have just remembered."
+
+"Remembered what, Harry?"
+
+"Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray."
+
+"Where was it?" asked Hallward, with a slight frown.
+
+"Don't look so angry, Basil. It was at my aunt, Lady Agatha's. She
+told me she had discovered a wonderful young man who was going to help
+her in the East End, and that his name was Dorian Gray. I am bound to
+state that she never told me he was good-looking. Women have no
+appreciation of good looks; at least, good women have not. She said
+that he was very earnest and had a beautiful nature. I at once
+pictured to myself a creature with spectacles and lank hair, horribly
+freckled, and tramping about on huge feet. I wish I had known it was
+your friend."
+
+"I am very glad you didn't, Harry."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I don't want you to meet him."
+
+"You don't want me to meet him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Mr. Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir," said the butler, coming into
+the garden.
+
+"You must introduce me now," cried Lord Henry, laughing.
+
+The painter turned to his servant, who stood blinking in the sunlight.
+"Ask Mr. Gray to wait, Parker: I shall be in in a few moments." The
+man bowed and went up the walk.
+
+Then he looked at Lord Henry. "Dorian Gray is my dearest friend," he
+said. "He has a simple and a beautiful nature. Your aunt was quite
+right in what she said of him. Don't spoil him. Don't try to
+influence him. Your influence would be bad. The world is wide, and
+has many marvellous people in it. Don't take away from me the one
+person who gives to my art whatever charm it possesses: my life as an
+artist depends on him. Mind, Harry, I trust you." He spoke very
+slowly, and the words seemed wrung out of him almost against his will.
+
+"What nonsense you talk!" said Lord Henry, smiling, and taking Hallward
+by the arm, he almost led him into the house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 2
+
+As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. He was seated at the piano, with
+his back to them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann's
+"Forest Scenes." "You must lend me these, Basil," he cried. "I want
+to learn them. They are perfectly charming."
+
+"That entirely depends on how you sit to-day, Dorian."
+
+"Oh, I am tired of sitting, and I don't want a life-sized portrait of
+myself," answered the lad, swinging round on the music-stool in a
+wilful, petulant manner. When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint
+blush coloured his cheeks for a moment, and he started up. "I beg your
+pardon, Basil, but I didn't know you had any one with you."
+
+"This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of mine. I
+have just been telling him what a capital sitter you were, and now you
+have spoiled everything."
+
+"You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Gray," said Lord
+Henry, stepping forward and extending his hand. "My aunt has often
+spoken to me about you. You are one of her favourites, and, I am
+afraid, one of her victims also."
+
+"I am in Lady Agatha's black books at present," answered Dorian with a
+funny look of penitence. "I promised to go to a club in Whitechapel
+with her last Tuesday, and I really forgot all about it. We were to
+have played a duet together--three duets, I believe. I don't know what
+she will say to me. I am far too frightened to call."
+
+"Oh, I will make your peace with my aunt. She is quite devoted to you.
+And I don't think it really matters about your not being there. The
+audience probably thought it was a duet. When Aunt Agatha sits down to
+the piano, she makes quite enough noise for two people."
+
+"That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to me," answered Dorian,
+laughing.
+
+Lord Henry looked at him. Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome,
+with his finely curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp
+gold hair. There was something in his face that made one trust him at
+once. All the candour of youth was there, as well as all youth's
+passionate purity. One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from
+the world. No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him.
+
+"You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. Gray--far too
+charming." And Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan and opened
+his cigarette-case.
+
+The painter had been busy mixing his colours and getting his brushes
+ready. He was looking worried, and when he heard Lord Henry's last
+remark, he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then said,
+"Harry, I want to finish this picture to-day. Would you think it
+awfully rude of me if I asked you to go away?"
+
+Lord Henry smiled and looked at Dorian Gray. "Am I to go, Mr. Gray?"
+he asked.
+
+"Oh, please don't, Lord Henry. I see that Basil is in one of his sulky
+moods, and I can't bear him when he sulks. Besides, I want you to tell
+me why I should not go in for philanthropy."
+
+"I don't know that I shall tell you that, Mr. Gray. It is so tedious a
+subject that one would have to talk seriously about it. But I
+certainly shall not run away, now that you have asked me to stop. You
+don't really mind, Basil, do you? You have often told me that you
+liked your sitters to have some one to chat to."
+
+Hallward bit his lip. "If Dorian wishes it, of course you must stay.
+Dorian's whims are laws to everybody, except himself."
+
+Lord Henry took up his hat and gloves. "You are very pressing, Basil,
+but I am afraid I must go. I have promised to meet a man at the
+Orleans. Good-bye, Mr. Gray. Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon
+Street. I am nearly always at home at five o'clock. Write to me when
+you are coming. I should be sorry to miss you."
+
+"Basil," cried Dorian Gray, "if Lord Henry Wotton goes, I shall go,
+too. You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is
+horribly dull standing on a platform and trying to look pleasant. Ask
+him to stay. I insist upon it."
+
+"Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me," said Hallward,
+gazing intently at his picture. "It is quite true, I never talk when I
+am working, and never listen either, and it must be dreadfully tedious
+for my unfortunate sitters. I beg you to stay."
+
+"But what about my man at the Orleans?"
+
+The painter laughed. "I don't think there will be any difficulty about
+that. Sit down again, Harry. And now, Dorian, get up on the platform,
+and don't move about too much, or pay any attention to what Lord Henry
+says. He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the
+single exception of myself."
+
+Dorian Gray stepped up on the dais with the air of a young Greek
+martyr, and made a little _moue_ of discontent to Lord Henry, to whom he
+had rather taken a fancy. He was so unlike Basil. They made a
+delightful contrast. And he had such a beautiful voice. After a few
+moments he said to him, "Have you really a very bad influence, Lord
+Henry? As bad as Basil says?"
+
+"There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence
+is immoral--immoral from the scientific point of view."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because to influence a person is to give him one's own soul. He does
+not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His
+virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as
+sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else's music, an
+actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is
+self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly--that is what each
+of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They
+have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to
+one's self. Of course, they are charitable. They feed the hungry and
+clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage
+has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror
+of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is
+the secret of religion--these are the two things that govern us. And
+yet--"
+
+"Just turn your head a little more to the right, Dorian, like a good
+boy," said the painter, deep in his work and conscious only that a look
+had come into the lad's face that he had never seen there before.
+
+"And yet," continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, and with
+that graceful wave of the hand that was always so characteristic of
+him, and that he had even in his Eton days, "I believe that if one man
+were to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to
+every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream--I
+believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we
+would forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the
+Hellenic ideal--to something finer, richer than the Hellenic ideal, it
+may be. But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. The
+mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial
+that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse
+that we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us. The body
+sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of
+purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure,
+or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is
+to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for
+the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its
+monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that
+the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the
+brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place
+also. You, Mr. Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your
+rose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afraid,
+thoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and sleeping
+dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame--"
+
+"Stop!" faltered Dorian Gray, "stop! you bewilder me. I don't know
+what to say. There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it. Don't
+speak. Let me think. Or, rather, let me try not to think."
+
+For nearly ten minutes he stood there, motionless, with parted lips and
+eyes strangely bright. He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh
+influences were at work within him. Yet they seemed to him to have
+come really from himself. The few words that Basil's friend had said
+to him--words spoken by chance, no doubt, and with wilful paradox in
+them--had touched some secret chord that had never been touched before,
+but that he felt was now vibrating and throbbing to curious pulses.
+
+Music had stirred him like that. Music had troubled him many times.
+But music was not articulate. It was not a new world, but rather
+another chaos, that it created in us. Words! Mere words! How
+terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not
+escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! They
+seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to
+have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere
+words! Was there anything so real as words?
+
+Yes; there had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood.
+He understood them now. Life suddenly became fiery-coloured to him.
+It seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. Why had he not
+known it?
+
+With his subtle smile, Lord Henry watched him. He knew the precise
+psychological moment when to say nothing. He felt intensely
+interested. He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had
+produced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen,
+a book which had revealed to him much that he had not known before, he
+wondered whether Dorian Gray was passing through a similar experience.
+He had merely shot an arrow into the air. Had it hit the mark? How
+fascinating the lad was!
+
+Hallward painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that had
+the true refinement and perfect delicacy that in art, at any rate comes
+only from strength. He was unconscious of the silence.
+
+"Basil, I am tired of standing," cried Dorian Gray suddenly. "I must
+go out and sit in the garden. The air is stifling here."
+
+"My dear fellow, I am so sorry. When I am painting, I can't think of
+anything else. But you never sat better. You were perfectly still.
+And I have caught the effect I wanted--the half-parted lips and the
+bright look in the eyes. I don't know what Harry has been saying to
+you, but he has certainly made you have the most wonderful expression.
+I suppose he has been paying you compliments. You mustn't believe a
+word that he says."
+
+"He has certainly not been paying me compliments. Perhaps that is the
+reason that I don't believe anything he has told me."
+
+"You know you believe it all," said Lord Henry, looking at him with his
+dreamy languorous eyes. "I will go out to the garden with you. It is
+horribly hot in the studio. Basil, let us have something iced to
+drink, something with strawberries in it."
+
+"Certainly, Harry. Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will
+tell him what you want. I have got to work up this background, so I
+will join you later on. Don't keep Dorian too long. I have never been
+in better form for painting than I am to-day. This is going to be my
+masterpiece. It is my masterpiece as it stands."
+
+Lord Henry went out to the garden and found Dorian Gray burying his
+face in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly drinking in their
+perfume as if it had been wine. He came close to him and put his hand
+upon his shoulder. "You are quite right to do that," he murmured.
+"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the
+senses but the soul."
+
+The lad started and drew back. He was bareheaded, and the leaves had
+tossed his rebellious curls and tangled all their gilded threads.
+There was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have when they are
+suddenly awakened. His finely chiselled nostrils quivered, and some
+hidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling.
+
+"Yes," continued Lord Henry, "that is one of the great secrets of
+life--to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means
+of the soul. You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you
+think you know, just as you know less than you want to know."
+
+Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. He could not help liking
+the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. His romantic,
+olive-coloured face and worn expression interested him. There was
+something in his low languid voice that was absolutely fascinating.
+His cool, white, flowerlike hands, even, had a curious charm. They
+moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their
+own. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had
+it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known
+Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between them had never
+altered him. Suddenly there had come some one across his life who
+seemed to have disclosed to him life's mystery. And, yet, what was
+there to be afraid of? He was not a schoolboy or a girl. It was
+absurd to be frightened.
+
+"Let us go and sit in the shade," said Lord Henry. "Parker has brought
+out the drinks, and if you stay any longer in this glare, you will be
+quite spoiled, and Basil will never paint you again. You really must
+not allow yourself to become sunburnt. It would be unbecoming."
+
+"What can it matter?" cried Dorian Gray, laughing, as he sat down on
+the seat at the end of the garden.
+
+"It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because you have the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing
+worth having."
+
+"I don't feel that, Lord Henry."
+
+"No, you don't feel it now. Some day, when you are old and wrinkled
+and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and
+passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you
+will feel it terribly. Now, wherever you go, you charm the world.
+Will it always be so? ... You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr.
+Gray. Don't frown. You have. And beauty is a form of genius--is
+higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the
+great facts of the world, like sunlight, or spring-time, or the
+reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It
+cannot be questioned. It has its divine right of sovereignty. It
+makes princes of those who have it. You smile? Ah! when you have lost
+it you won't smile.... People say sometimes that beauty is only
+superficial. That may be so, but at least it is not so superficial as
+thought is. To me, beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only
+shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of
+the world is the visible, not the invisible.... Yes, Mr. Gray, the
+gods have been good to you. But what the gods give they quickly take
+away. You have only a few years in which to live really, perfectly,
+and fully. When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then
+you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or
+have to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of
+your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes
+brings you nearer to something dreadful. Time is jealous of you, and
+wars against your lilies and your roses. You will become sallow, and
+hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. You will suffer horribly.... Ah!
+realize your youth while you have it. Don't squander the gold of your
+days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure,
+or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar.
+These are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age. Live! Live
+the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be
+always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.... A new
+Hedonism--that is what our century wants. You might be its visible
+symbol. With your personality there is nothing you could not do. The
+world belongs to you for a season.... The moment I met you I saw that
+you were quite unconscious of what you really are, of what you really
+might be. There was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must
+tell you something about yourself. I thought how tragic it would be if
+you were wasted. For there is such a little time that your youth will
+last--such a little time. The common hill-flowers wither, but they
+blossom again. The laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now.
+In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after
+year the green night of its leaves will hold its purple stars. But we
+never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty
+becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into
+hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were
+too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the
+courage to yield to. Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in
+the world but youth!"
+
+Dorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering. The spray of lilac fell
+from his hand upon the gravel. A furry bee came and buzzed round it
+for a moment. Then it began to scramble all over the oval stellated
+globe of the tiny blossoms. He watched it with that strange interest
+in trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import
+make us afraid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which we
+cannot find expression, or when some thought that terrifies us lays
+sudden siege to the brain and calls on us to yield. After a time the
+bee flew away. He saw it creeping into the stained trumpet of a Tyrian
+convolvulus. The flower seemed to quiver, and then swayed gently to
+and fro.
+
+Suddenly the painter appeared at the door of the studio and made
+staccato signs for them to come in. They turned to each other and
+smiled.
+
+"I am waiting," he cried. "Do come in. The light is quite perfect,
+and you can bring your drinks."
+
+They rose up and sauntered down the walk together. Two green-and-white
+butterflies fluttered past them, and in the pear-tree at the corner of
+the garden a thrush began to sing.
+
+"You are glad you have met me, Mr. Gray," said Lord Henry, looking at
+him.
+
+"Yes, I am glad now. I wonder shall I always be glad?"
+
+"Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear it.
+Women are so fond of using it. They spoil every romance by trying to
+make it last for ever. It is a meaningless word, too. The only
+difference between a caprice and a lifelong passion is that the caprice
+lasts a little longer."
+
+As they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his hand upon Lord Henry's
+arm. "In that case, let our friendship be a caprice," he murmured,
+flushing at his own boldness, then stepped up on the platform and
+resumed his pose.
+
+Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair and watched him.
+The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only sound that
+broke the stillness, except when, now and then, Hallward stepped back
+to look at his work from a distance. In the slanting beams that
+streamed through the open doorway the dust danced and was golden. The
+heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything.
+
+After about a quarter of an hour Hallward stopped painting, looked for
+a long time at Dorian Gray, and then for a long time at the picture,
+biting the end of one of his huge brushes and frowning. "It is quite
+finished," he cried at last, and stooping down he wrote his name in
+long vermilion letters on the left-hand corner of the canvas.
+
+Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. It was certainly a
+wonderful work of art, and a wonderful likeness as well.
+
+"My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly," he said. "It is the
+finest portrait of modern times. Mr. Gray, come over and look at
+yourself."
+
+The lad started, as if awakened from some dream.
+
+"Is it really finished?" he murmured, stepping down from the platform.
+
+"Quite finished," said the painter. "And you have sat splendidly
+to-day. I am awfully obliged to you."
+
+"That is entirely due to me," broke in Lord Henry. "Isn't it, Mr.
+Gray?"
+
+Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture
+and turned towards it. When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks
+flushed for a moment with pleasure. A look of joy came into his eyes,
+as if he had recognized himself for the first time. He stood there
+motionless and in wonder, dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to
+him, but not catching the meaning of his words. The sense of his own
+beauty came on him like a revelation. He had never felt it before.
+Basil Hallward's compliments had seemed to him to be merely the
+charming exaggeration of friendship. He had listened to them, laughed
+at them, forgotten them. They had not influenced his nature. Then had
+come Lord Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric on youth, his
+terrible warning of its brevity. That had stirred him at the time, and
+now, as he stood gazing at the shadow of his own loveliness, the full
+reality of the description flashed across him. Yes, there would be a
+day when his face would be wrinkled and wizen, his eyes dim and
+colourless, the grace of his figure broken and deformed. The scarlet
+would pass away from his lips and the gold steal from his hair. The
+life that was to make his soul would mar his body. He would become
+dreadful, hideous, and uncouth.
+
+As he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck through him like a
+knife and made each delicate fibre of his nature quiver. His eyes
+deepened into amethyst, and across them came a mist of tears. He felt
+as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart.
+
+"Don't you like it?" cried Hallward at last, stung a little by the
+lad's silence, not understanding what it meant.
+
+"Of course he likes it," said Lord Henry. "Who wouldn't like it? It
+is one of the greatest things in modern art. I will give you anything
+you like to ask for it. I must have it."
+
+"It is not my property, Harry."
+
+"Whose property is it?"
+
+"Dorian's, of course," answered the painter.
+
+"He is a very lucky fellow."
+
+"How sad it is!" murmured Dorian Gray with his eyes still fixed upon
+his own portrait. "How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and
+dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be
+older than this particular day of June.... If it were only the other
+way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was
+to grow old! For that--for that--I would give everything! Yes, there
+is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul
+for that!"
+
+"You would hardly care for such an arrangement, Basil," cried Lord
+Henry, laughing. "It would be rather hard lines on your work."
+
+"I should object very strongly, Harry," said Hallward.
+
+Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. "I believe you would, Basil.
+You like your art better than your friends. I am no more to you than a
+green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say."
+
+The painter stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like
+that. What had happened? He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed
+and his cheeks burning.
+
+"Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your
+silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me?
+Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one
+loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything.
+Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right.
+Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing
+old, I shall kill myself."
+
+Hallward turned pale and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried,
+"don't talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I
+shall never have such another. You are not jealous of material things,
+are you?--you who are finer than any of them!"
+
+"I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of
+the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must
+lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me and gives
+something to it. Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture
+could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint
+it? It will mock me some day--mock me horribly!" The hot tears welled
+into his eyes; he tore his hand away and, flinging himself on the
+divan, he buried his face in the cushions, as though he was praying.
+
+"This is your doing, Harry," said the painter bitterly.
+
+Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "It is the real Dorian Gray--that
+is all."
+
+"It is not."
+
+"If it is not, what have I to do with it?"
+
+"You should have gone away when I asked you," he muttered.
+
+"I stayed when you asked me," was Lord Henry's answer.
+
+"Harry, I can't quarrel with my two best friends at once, but between
+you both you have made me hate the finest piece of work I have ever
+done, and I will destroy it. What is it but canvas and colour? I will
+not let it come across our three lives and mar them."
+
+Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and with pallid
+face and tear-stained eyes, looked at him as he walked over to the deal
+painting-table that was set beneath the high curtained window. What
+was he doing there? His fingers were straying about among the litter
+of tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for something. Yes, it was for
+the long palette-knife, with its thin blade of lithe steel. He had
+found it at last. He was going to rip up the canvas.
+
+With a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch, and, rushing over to
+Hallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flung it to the end of
+the studio. "Don't, Basil, don't!" he cried. "It would be murder!"
+
+"I am glad you appreciate my work at last, Dorian," said the painter
+coldly when he had recovered from his surprise. "I never thought you
+would."
+
+"Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. It is part of myself. I
+feel that."
+
+"Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be varnished, and framed, and
+sent home. Then you can do what you like with yourself." And he walked
+across the room and rang the bell for tea. "You will have tea, of
+course, Dorian? And so will you, Harry? Or do you object to such
+simple pleasures?"
+
+"I adore simple pleasures," said Lord Henry. "They are the last refuge
+of the complex. But I don't like scenes, except on the stage. What
+absurd fellows you are, both of you! I wonder who it was defined man
+as a rational animal. It was the most premature definition ever given.
+Man is many things, but he is not rational. I am glad he is not, after
+all--though I wish you chaps would not squabble over the picture. You
+had much better let me have it, Basil. This silly boy doesn't really
+want it, and I really do."
+
+"If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I shall never forgive you!"
+cried Dorian Gray; "and I don't allow people to call me a silly boy."
+
+"You know the picture is yours, Dorian. I gave it to you before it
+existed."
+
+"And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you
+don't really object to being reminded that you are extremely young."
+
+"I should have objected very strongly this morning, Lord Henry."
+
+"Ah! this morning! You have lived since then."
+
+There came a knock at the door, and the butler entered with a laden
+tea-tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table. There was a
+rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn.
+Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. Dorian Gray
+went over and poured out the tea. The two men sauntered languidly to
+the table and examined what was under the covers.
+
+"Let us go to the theatre to-night," said Lord Henry. "There is sure
+to be something on, somewhere. I have promised to dine at White's, but
+it is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire to say that I
+am ill, or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a
+subsequent engagement. I think that would be a rather nice excuse: it
+would have all the surprise of candour."
+
+"It is such a bore putting on one's dress-clothes," muttered Hallward.
+"And, when one has them on, they are so horrid."
+
+"Yes," answered Lord Henry dreamily, "the costume of the nineteenth
+century is detestable. It is so sombre, so depressing. Sin is the
+only real colour-element left in modern life."
+
+"You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Harry."
+
+"Before which Dorian? The one who is pouring out tea for us, or the
+one in the picture?"
+
+"Before either."
+
+"I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry," said the
+lad.
+
+"Then you shall come; and you will come, too, Basil, won't you?"
+
+"I can't, really. I would sooner not. I have a lot of work to do."
+
+"Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. Gray."
+
+"I should like that awfully."
+
+The painter bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the picture.
+"I shall stay with the real Dorian," he said, sadly.
+
+"Is it the real Dorian?" cried the original of the portrait, strolling
+across to him. "Am I really like that?"
+
+"Yes; you are just like that."
+
+"How wonderful, Basil!"
+
+"At least you are like it in appearance. But it will never alter,"
+sighed Hallward. "That is something."
+
+"What a fuss people make about fidelity!" exclaimed Lord Henry. "Why,
+even in love it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to
+do with our own will. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old
+men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say."
+
+"Don't go to the theatre to-night, Dorian," said Hallward. "Stop and
+dine with me."
+
+"I can't, Basil."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I have promised Lord Henry Wotton to go with him."
+
+"He won't like you the better for keeping your promises. He always
+breaks his own. I beg you not to go."
+
+Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head.
+
+"I entreat you."
+
+The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was watching them
+from the tea-table with an amused smile.
+
+"I must go, Basil," he answered.
+
+"Very well," said Hallward, and he went over and laid down his cup on
+the tray. "It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had
+better lose no time. Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye, Dorian. Come and see
+me soon. Come to-morrow."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"You won't forget?"
+
+"No, of course not," cried Dorian.
+
+"And ... Harry!"
+
+"Yes, Basil?"
+
+"Remember what I asked you, when we were in the garden this morning."
+
+"I have forgotten it."
+
+"I trust you."
+
+"I wish I could trust myself," said Lord Henry, laughing. "Come, Mr.
+Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own place.
+Good-bye, Basil. It has been a most interesting afternoon."
+
+As the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself down on a
+sofa, and a look of pain came into his face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 3
+
+At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from Curzon
+Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial
+if somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called
+selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him, but who was
+considered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him.
+His father had been our ambassador at Madrid when Isabella was young
+and Prim unthought of, but had retired from the diplomatic service in a
+capricious moment of annoyance on not being offered the Embassy at
+Paris, a post to which he considered that he was fully entitled by
+reason of his birth, his indolence, the good English of his dispatches,
+and his inordinate passion for pleasure. The son, who had been his
+father's secretary, had resigned along with his chief, somewhat
+foolishly as was thought at the time, and on succeeding some months
+later to the title, had set himself to the serious study of the great
+aristocratic art of doing absolutely nothing. He had two large town
+houses, but preferred to live in chambers as it was less trouble, and
+took most of his meals at his club. He paid some attention to the
+management of his collieries in the Midland counties, excusing himself
+for this taint of industry on the ground that the one advantage of
+having coal was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the decency of
+burning wood on his own hearth. In politics he was a Tory, except when
+the Tories were in office, during which period he roundly abused them
+for being a pack of Radicals. He was a hero to his valet, who bullied
+him, and a terror to most of his relations, whom he bullied in turn.
+Only England could have produced him, and he always said that the
+country was going to the dogs. His principles were out of date, but
+there was a good deal to be said for his prejudices.
+
+When Lord Henry entered the room, he found his uncle sitting in a rough
+shooting-coat, smoking a cheroot and grumbling over _The Times_. "Well,
+Harry," said the old gentleman, "what brings you out so early? I
+thought you dandies never got up till two, and were not visible till
+five."
+
+"Pure family affection, I assure you, Uncle George. I want to get
+something out of you."
+
+"Money, I suppose," said Lord Fermor, making a wry face. "Well, sit
+down and tell me all about it. Young people, nowadays, imagine that
+money is everything."
+
+"Yes," murmured Lord Henry, settling his button-hole in his coat; "and
+when they grow older they know it. But I don't want money. It is only
+people who pay their bills who want that, Uncle George, and I never pay
+mine. Credit is the capital of a younger son, and one lives charmingly
+upon it. Besides, I always deal with Dartmoor's tradesmen, and
+consequently they never bother me. What I want is information: not
+useful information, of course; useless information."
+
+"Well, I can tell you anything that is in an English Blue Book, Harry,
+although those fellows nowadays write a lot of nonsense. When I was in
+the Diplomatic, things were much better. But I hear they let them in
+now by examination. What can you expect? Examinations, sir, are pure
+humbug from beginning to end. If a man is a gentleman, he knows quite
+enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him."
+
+"Mr. Dorian Gray does not belong to Blue Books, Uncle George," said
+Lord Henry languidly.
+
+"Mr. Dorian Gray? Who is he?" asked Lord Fermor, knitting his bushy
+white eyebrows.
+
+"That is what I have come to learn, Uncle George. Or rather, I know
+who he is. He is the last Lord Kelso's grandson. His mother was a
+Devereux, Lady Margaret Devereux. I want you to tell me about his
+mother. What was she like? Whom did she marry? You have known nearly
+everybody in your time, so you might have known her. I am very much
+interested in Mr. Gray at present. I have only just met him."
+
+"Kelso's grandson!" echoed the old gentleman. "Kelso's grandson! ...
+Of course.... I knew his mother intimately. I believe I was at her
+christening. She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, Margaret
+Devereux, and made all the men frantic by running away with a penniless
+young fellow--a mere nobody, sir, a subaltern in a foot regiment, or
+something of that kind. Certainly. I remember the whole thing as if
+it happened yesterday. The poor chap was killed in a duel at Spa a few
+months after the marriage. There was an ugly story about it. They
+said Kelso got some rascally adventurer, some Belgian brute, to insult
+his son-in-law in public--paid him, sir, to do it, paid him--and that
+the fellow spitted his man as if he had been a pigeon. The thing was
+hushed up, but, egad, Kelso ate his chop alone at the club for some
+time afterwards. He brought his daughter back with him, I was told,
+and she never spoke to him again. Oh, yes; it was a bad business. The
+girl died, too, died within a year. So she left a son, did she? I had
+forgotten that. What sort of boy is he? If he is like his mother, he
+must be a good-looking chap."
+
+"He is very good-looking," assented Lord Henry.
+
+"I hope he will fall into proper hands," continued the old man. "He
+should have a pot of money waiting for him if Kelso did the right thing
+by him. His mother had money, too. All the Selby property came to
+her, through her grandfather. Her grandfather hated Kelso, thought him
+a mean dog. He was, too. Came to Madrid once when I was there. Egad,
+I was ashamed of him. The Queen used to ask me about the English noble
+who was always quarrelling with the cabmen about their fares. They
+made quite a story of it. I didn't dare show my face at Court for a
+month. I hope he treated his grandson better than he did the jarvies."
+
+"I don't know," answered Lord Henry. "I fancy that the boy will be
+well off. He is not of age yet. He has Selby, I know. He told me so.
+And ... his mother was very beautiful?"
+
+"Margaret Devereux was one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw,
+Harry. What on earth induced her to behave as she did, I never could
+understand. She could have married anybody she chose. Carlington was
+mad after her. She was romantic, though. All the women of that family
+were. The men were a poor lot, but, egad! the women were wonderful.
+Carlington went on his knees to her. Told me so himself. She laughed
+at him, and there wasn't a girl in London at the time who wasn't after
+him. And by the way, Harry, talking about silly marriages, what is
+this humbug your father tells me about Dartmoor wanting to marry an
+American? Ain't English girls good enough for him?"
+
+"It is rather fashionable to marry Americans just now, Uncle George."
+
+"I'll back English women against the world, Harry," said Lord Fermor,
+striking the table with his fist.
+
+"The betting is on the Americans."
+
+"They don't last, I am told," muttered his uncle.
+
+"A long engagement exhausts them, but they are capital at a
+steeplechase. They take things flying. I don't think Dartmoor has a
+chance."
+
+"Who are her people?" grumbled the old gentleman. "Has she got any?"
+
+Lord Henry shook his head. "American girls are as clever at concealing
+their parents, as English women are at concealing their past," he said,
+rising to go.
+
+"They are pork-packers, I suppose?"
+
+"I hope so, Uncle George, for Dartmoor's sake. I am told that
+pork-packing is the most lucrative profession in America, after
+politics."
+
+"Is she pretty?"
+
+"She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. It is
+the secret of their charm."
+
+"Why can't these American women stay in their own country? They are
+always telling us that it is the paradise for women."
+
+"It is. That is the reason why, like Eve, they are so excessively
+anxious to get out of it," said Lord Henry. "Good-bye, Uncle George.
+I shall be late for lunch, if I stop any longer. Thanks for giving me
+the information I wanted. I always like to know everything about my
+new friends, and nothing about my old ones."
+
+"Where are you lunching, Harry?"
+
+"At Aunt Agatha's. I have asked myself and Mr. Gray. He is her latest
+_protege_."
+
+"Humph! tell your Aunt Agatha, Harry, not to bother me any more with
+her charity appeals. I am sick of them. Why, the good woman thinks
+that I have nothing to do but to write cheques for her silly fads."
+
+"All right, Uncle George, I'll tell her, but it won't have any effect.
+Philanthropic people lose all sense of humanity. It is their
+distinguishing characteristic."
+
+The old gentleman growled approvingly and rang the bell for his
+servant. Lord Henry passed up the low arcade into Burlington Street
+and turned his steps in the direction of Berkeley Square.
+
+So that was the story of Dorian Gray's parentage. Crudely as it had
+been told to him, it had yet stirred him by its suggestion of a
+strange, almost modern romance. A beautiful woman risking everything
+for a mad passion. A few wild weeks of happiness cut short by a
+hideous, treacherous crime. Months of voiceless agony, and then a
+child born in pain. The mother snatched away by death, the boy left to
+solitude and the tyranny of an old and loveless man. Yes; it was an
+interesting background. It posed the lad, made him more perfect, as it
+were. Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something
+tragic. Worlds had to be in travail, that the meanest flower might
+blow.... And how charming he had been at dinner the night before, as
+with startled eyes and lips parted in frightened pleasure he had sat
+opposite to him at the club, the red candleshades staining to a richer
+rose the wakening wonder of his face. Talking to him was like playing
+upon an exquisite violin. He answered to every touch and thrill of the
+bow.... There was something terribly enthralling in the exercise of
+influence. No other activity was like it. To project one's soul into
+some gracious form, and let it tarry there for a moment; to hear one's
+own intellectual views echoed back to one with all the added music of
+passion and youth; to convey one's temperament into another as though
+it were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume: there was a real joy in
+that--perhaps the most satisfying joy left to us in an age so limited
+and vulgar as our own, an age grossly carnal in its pleasures, and
+grossly common in its aims.... He was a marvellous type, too, this lad,
+whom by so curious a chance he had met in Basil's studio, or could be
+fashioned into a marvellous type, at any rate. Grace was his, and the
+white purity of boyhood, and beauty such as old Greek marbles kept for
+us. There was nothing that one could not do with him. He could be
+made a Titan or a toy. What a pity it was that such beauty was
+destined to fade! ... And Basil? From a psychological point of view,
+how interesting he was! The new manner in art, the fresh mode of
+looking at life, suggested so strangely by the merely visible presence
+of one who was unconscious of it all; the silent spirit that dwelt in
+dim woodland, and walked unseen in open field, suddenly showing
+herself, Dryadlike and not afraid, because in his soul who sought for
+her there had been wakened that wonderful vision to which alone are
+wonderful things revealed; the mere shapes and patterns of things
+becoming, as it were, refined, and gaining a kind of symbolical value,
+as though they were themselves patterns of some other and more perfect
+form whose shadow they made real: how strange it all was! He
+remembered something like it in history. Was it not Plato, that artist
+in thought, who had first analyzed it? Was it not Buonarotti who had
+carved it in the coloured marbles of a sonnet-sequence? But in our own
+century it was strange.... Yes; he would try to be to Dorian Gray
+what, without knowing it, the lad was to the painter who had fashioned
+the wonderful portrait. He would seek to dominate him--had already,
+indeed, half done so. He would make that wonderful spirit his own.
+There was something fascinating in this son of love and death.
+
+Suddenly he stopped and glanced up at the houses. He found that he had
+passed his aunt's some distance, and, smiling to himself, turned back.
+When he entered the somewhat sombre hall, the butler told him that they
+had gone in to lunch. He gave one of the footmen his hat and stick and
+passed into the dining-room.
+
+"Late as usual, Harry," cried his aunt, shaking her head at him.
+
+He invented a facile excuse, and having taken the vacant seat next to
+her, looked round to see who was there. Dorian bowed to him shyly from
+the end of the table, a flush of pleasure stealing into his cheek.
+Opposite was the Duchess of Harley, a lady of admirable good-nature and
+good temper, much liked by every one who knew her, and of those ample
+architectural proportions that in women who are not duchesses are
+described by contemporary historians as stoutness. Next to her sat, on
+her right, Sir Thomas Burdon, a Radical member of Parliament, who
+followed his leader in public life and in private life followed the
+best cooks, dining with the Tories and thinking with the Liberals, in
+accordance with a wise and well-known rule. The post on her left was
+occupied by Mr. Erskine of Treadley, an old gentleman of considerable
+charm and culture, who had fallen, however, into bad habits of silence,
+having, as he explained once to Lady Agatha, said everything that he
+had to say before he was thirty. His own neighbour was Mrs. Vandeleur,
+one of his aunt's oldest friends, a perfect saint amongst women, but so
+dreadfully dowdy that she reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book.
+Fortunately for him she had on the other side Lord Faudel, a most
+intelligent middle-aged mediocrity, as bald as a ministerial statement
+in the House of Commons, with whom she was conversing in that intensely
+earnest manner which is the one unpardonable error, as he remarked once
+himself, that all really good people fall into, and from which none of
+them ever quite escape.
+
+"We are talking about poor Dartmoor, Lord Henry," cried the duchess,
+nodding pleasantly to him across the table. "Do you think he will
+really marry this fascinating young person?"
+
+"I believe she has made up her mind to propose to him, Duchess."
+
+"How dreadful!" exclaimed Lady Agatha. "Really, some one should
+interfere."
+
+"I am told, on excellent authority, that her father keeps an American
+dry-goods store," said Sir Thomas Burdon, looking supercilious.
+
+"My uncle has already suggested pork-packing, Sir Thomas."
+
+"Dry-goods! What are American dry-goods?" asked the duchess, raising
+her large hands in wonder and accentuating the verb.
+
+"American novels," answered Lord Henry, helping himself to some quail.
+
+The duchess looked puzzled.
+
+"Don't mind him, my dear," whispered Lady Agatha. "He never means
+anything that he says."
+
+"When America was discovered," said the Radical member--and he began to
+give some wearisome facts. Like all people who try to exhaust a
+subject, he exhausted his listeners. The duchess sighed and exercised
+her privilege of interruption. "I wish to goodness it never had been
+discovered at all!" she exclaimed. "Really, our girls have no chance
+nowadays. It is most unfair."
+
+"Perhaps, after all, America never has been discovered," said Mr.
+Erskine; "I myself would say that it had merely been detected."
+
+"Oh! but I have seen specimens of the inhabitants," answered the
+duchess vaguely. "I must confess that most of them are extremely
+pretty. And they dress well, too. They get all their dresses in
+Paris. I wish I could afford to do the same."
+
+"They say that when good Americans die they go to Paris," chuckled Sir
+Thomas, who had a large wardrobe of Humour's cast-off clothes.
+
+"Really! And where do bad Americans go to when they die?" inquired the
+duchess.
+
+"They go to America," murmured Lord Henry.
+
+Sir Thomas frowned. "I am afraid that your nephew is prejudiced
+against that great country," he said to Lady Agatha. "I have travelled
+all over it in cars provided by the directors, who, in such matters,
+are extremely civil. I assure you that it is an education to visit it."
+
+"But must we really see Chicago in order to be educated?" asked Mr.
+Erskine plaintively. "I don't feel up to the journey."
+
+Sir Thomas waved his hand. "Mr. Erskine of Treadley has the world on
+his shelves. We practical men like to see things, not to read about
+them. The Americans are an extremely interesting people. They are
+absolutely reasonable. I think that is their distinguishing
+characteristic. Yes, Mr. Erskine, an absolutely reasonable people. I
+assure you there is no nonsense about the Americans."
+
+"How dreadful!" cried Lord Henry. "I can stand brute force, but brute
+reason is quite unbearable. There is something unfair about its use.
+It is hitting below the intellect."
+
+"I do not understand you," said Sir Thomas, growing rather red.
+
+"I do, Lord Henry," murmured Mr. Erskine, with a smile.
+
+"Paradoxes are all very well in their way...." rejoined the baronet.
+
+"Was that a paradox?" asked Mr. Erskine. "I did not think so. Perhaps
+it was. Well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth. To test
+reality we must see it on the tight rope. When the verities become
+acrobats, we can judge them."
+
+"Dear me!" said Lady Agatha, "how you men argue! I am sure I never can
+make out what you are talking about. Oh! Harry, I am quite vexed with
+you. Why do you try to persuade our nice Mr. Dorian Gray to give up
+the East End? I assure you he would be quite invaluable. They would
+love his playing."
+
+"I want him to play to me," cried Lord Henry, smiling, and he looked
+down the table and caught a bright answering glance.
+
+"But they are so unhappy in Whitechapel," continued Lady Agatha.
+
+"I can sympathize with everything except suffering," said Lord Henry,
+shrugging his shoulders. "I cannot sympathize with that. It is too
+ugly, too horrible, too distressing. There is something terribly
+morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathize with
+the colour, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life's
+sores, the better."
+
+"Still, the East End is a very important problem," remarked Sir Thomas
+with a grave shake of the head.
+
+"Quite so," answered the young lord. "It is the problem of slavery,
+and we try to solve it by amusing the slaves."
+
+The politician looked at him keenly. "What change do you propose,
+then?" he asked.
+
+Lord Henry laughed. "I don't desire to change anything in England
+except the weather," he answered. "I am quite content with philosophic
+contemplation. But, as the nineteenth century has gone bankrupt
+through an over-expenditure of sympathy, I would suggest that we should
+appeal to science to put us straight. The advantage of the emotions is
+that they lead us astray, and the advantage of science is that it is
+not emotional."
+
+"But we have such grave responsibilities," ventured Mrs. Vandeleur
+timidly.
+
+"Terribly grave," echoed Lady Agatha.
+
+Lord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine. "Humanity takes itself too
+seriously. It is the world's original sin. If the caveman had known
+how to laugh, history would have been different."
+
+"You are really very comforting," warbled the duchess. "I have always
+felt rather guilty when I came to see your dear aunt, for I take no
+interest at all in the East End. For the future I shall be able to
+look her in the face without a blush."
+
+"A blush is very becoming, Duchess," remarked Lord Henry.
+
+"Only when one is young," she answered. "When an old woman like myself
+blushes, it is a very bad sign. Ah! Lord Henry, I wish you would tell
+me how to become young again."
+
+He thought for a moment. "Can you remember any great error that you
+committed in your early days, Duchess?" he asked, looking at her across
+the table.
+
+"A great many, I fear," she cried.
+
+"Then commit them over again," he said gravely. "To get back one's
+youth, one has merely to repeat one's follies."
+
+"A delightful theory!" she exclaimed. "I must put it into practice."
+
+"A dangerous theory!" came from Sir Thomas's tight lips. Lady Agatha
+shook her head, but could not help being amused. Mr. Erskine listened.
+
+"Yes," he continued, "that is one of the great secrets of life.
+Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and
+discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are
+one's mistakes."
+
+A laugh ran round the table.
+
+He played with the idea and grew wilful; tossed it into the air and
+transformed it; let it escape and recaptured it; made it iridescent
+with fancy and winged it with paradox. The praise of folly, as he went
+on, soared into a philosophy, and philosophy herself became young, and
+catching the mad music of pleasure, wearing, one might fancy, her
+wine-stained robe and wreath of ivy, danced like a Bacchante over the
+hills of life, and mocked the slow Silenus for being sober. Facts fled
+before her like frightened forest things. Her white feet trod the huge
+press at which wise Omar sits, till the seething grape-juice rose round
+her bare limbs in waves of purple bubbles, or crawled in red foam over
+the vat's black, dripping, sloping sides. It was an extraordinary
+improvisation. He felt that the eyes of Dorian Gray were fixed on him,
+and the consciousness that amongst his audience there was one whose
+temperament he wished to fascinate seemed to give his wit keenness and
+to lend colour to his imagination. He was brilliant, fantastic,
+irresponsible. He charmed his listeners out of themselves, and they
+followed his pipe, laughing. Dorian Gray never took his gaze off him,
+but sat like one under a spell, smiles chasing each other over his lips
+and wonder growing grave in his darkening eyes.
+
+At last, liveried in the costume of the age, reality entered the room
+in the shape of a servant to tell the duchess that her carriage was
+waiting. She wrung her hands in mock despair. "How annoying!" she
+cried. "I must go. I have to call for my husband at the club, to take
+him to some absurd meeting at Willis's Rooms, where he is going to be
+in the chair. If I am late he is sure to be furious, and I couldn't
+have a scene in this bonnet. It is far too fragile. A harsh word
+would ruin it. No, I must go, dear Agatha. Good-bye, Lord Henry, you
+are quite delightful and dreadfully demoralizing. I am sure I don't
+know what to say about your views. You must come and dine with us some
+night. Tuesday? Are you disengaged Tuesday?"
+
+"For you I would throw over anybody, Duchess," said Lord Henry with a
+bow.
+
+"Ah! that is very nice, and very wrong of you," she cried; "so mind you
+come"; and she swept out of the room, followed by Lady Agatha and the
+other ladies.
+
+When Lord Henry had sat down again, Mr. Erskine moved round, and taking
+a chair close to him, placed his hand upon his arm.
+
+"You talk books away," he said; "why don't you write one?"
+
+"I am too fond of reading books to care to write them, Mr. Erskine. I
+should like to write a novel certainly, a novel that would be as lovely
+as a Persian carpet and as unreal. But there is no literary public in
+England for anything except newspapers, primers, and encyclopaedias.
+Of all people in the world the English have the least sense of the
+beauty of literature."
+
+"I fear you are right," answered Mr. Erskine. "I myself used to have
+literary ambitions, but I gave them up long ago. And now, my dear
+young friend, if you will allow me to call you so, may I ask if you
+really meant all that you said to us at lunch?"
+
+"I quite forget what I said," smiled Lord Henry. "Was it all very bad?"
+
+"Very bad indeed. In fact I consider you extremely dangerous, and if
+anything happens to our good duchess, we shall all look on you as being
+primarily responsible. But I should like to talk to you about life.
+The generation into which I was born was tedious. Some day, when you
+are tired of London, come down to Treadley and expound to me your
+philosophy of pleasure over some admirable Burgundy I am fortunate
+enough to possess."
+
+"I shall be charmed. A visit to Treadley would be a great privilege.
+It has a perfect host, and a perfect library."
+
+"You will complete it," answered the old gentleman with a courteous
+bow. "And now I must bid good-bye to your excellent aunt. I am due at
+the Athenaeum. It is the hour when we sleep there."
+
+"All of you, Mr. Erskine?"
+
+"Forty of us, in forty arm-chairs. We are practising for an English
+Academy of Letters."
+
+Lord Henry laughed and rose. "I am going to the park," he cried.
+
+As he was passing out of the door, Dorian Gray touched him on the arm.
+"Let me come with you," he murmured.
+
+"But I thought you had promised Basil Hallward to go and see him,"
+answered Lord Henry.
+
+"I would sooner come with you; yes, I feel I must come with you. Do
+let me. And you will promise to talk to me all the time? No one talks
+so wonderfully as you do."
+
+"Ah! I have talked quite enough for to-day," said Lord Henry, smiling.
+"All I want now is to look at life. You may come and look at it with
+me, if you care to."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 4
+
+One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious
+arm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry's house in Mayfair. It
+was, in its way, a very charming room, with its high panelled
+wainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-coloured frieze and ceiling
+of raised plasterwork, and its brickdust felt carpet strewn with silk,
+long-fringed Persian rugs. On a tiny satinwood table stood a statuette
+by Clodion, and beside it lay a copy of Les Cent Nouvelles, bound for
+Margaret of Valois by Clovis Eve and powdered with the gilt daisies
+that Queen had selected for her device. Some large blue china jars and
+parrot-tulips were ranged on the mantelshelf, and through the small
+leaded panes of the window streamed the apricot-coloured light of a
+summer day in London.
+
+Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late on principle, his
+principle being that punctuality is the thief of time. So the lad was
+looking rather sulky, as with listless fingers he turned over the pages
+of an elaborately illustrated edition of Manon Lescaut that he had
+found in one of the book-cases. The formal monotonous ticking of the
+Louis Quatorze clock annoyed him. Once or twice he thought of going
+away.
+
+At last he heard a step outside, and the door opened. "How late you
+are, Harry!" he murmured.
+
+"I am afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray," answered a shrill voice.
+
+He glanced quickly round and rose to his feet. "I beg your pardon. I
+thought--"
+
+"You thought it was my husband. It is only his wife. You must let me
+introduce myself. I know you quite well by your photographs. I think
+my husband has got seventeen of them."
+
+"Not seventeen, Lady Henry?"
+
+"Well, eighteen, then. And I saw you with him the other night at the
+opera." She laughed nervously as she spoke, and watched him with her
+vague forget-me-not eyes. She was a curious woman, whose dresses
+always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a
+tempest. She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion
+was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look
+picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy. Her name was
+Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church.
+
+"That was at Lohengrin, Lady Henry, I think?"
+
+"Yes; it was at dear Lohengrin. I like Wagner's music better than
+anybody's. It is so loud that one can talk the whole time without other
+people hearing what one says. That is a great advantage, don't you
+think so, Mr. Gray?"
+
+The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips, and her
+fingers began to play with a long tortoise-shell paper-knife.
+
+Dorian smiled and shook his head: "I am afraid I don't think so, Lady
+Henry. I never talk during music--at least, during good music. If one
+hears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it in conversation."
+
+"Ah! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr. Gray? I always hear
+Harry's views from his friends. It is the only way I get to know of
+them. But you must not think I don't like good music. I adore it, but
+I am afraid of it. It makes me too romantic. I have simply worshipped
+pianists--two at a time, sometimes, Harry tells me. I don't know what
+it is about them. Perhaps it is that they are foreigners. They all
+are, ain't they? Even those that are born in England become foreigners
+after a time, don't they? It is so clever of them, and such a
+compliment to art. Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it? You have
+never been to any of my parties, have you, Mr. Gray? You must come. I
+can't afford orchids, but I spare no expense in foreigners. They make
+one's rooms look so picturesque. But here is Harry! Harry, I came in
+to look for you, to ask you something--I forget what it was--and I
+found Mr. Gray here. We have had such a pleasant chat about music. We
+have quite the same ideas. No; I think our ideas are quite different.
+But he has been most pleasant. I am so glad I've seen him."
+
+"I am charmed, my love, quite charmed," said Lord Henry, elevating his
+dark, crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them both with an amused
+smile. "So sorry I am late, Dorian. I went to look after a piece of
+old brocade in Wardour Street and had to bargain for hours for it.
+Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing."
+
+"I am afraid I must be going," exclaimed Lady Henry, breaking an
+awkward silence with her silly sudden laugh. "I have promised to drive
+with the duchess. Good-bye, Mr. Gray. Good-bye, Harry. You are
+dining out, I suppose? So am I. Perhaps I shall see you at Lady
+Thornbury's."
+
+"I dare say, my dear," said Lord Henry, shutting the door behind her
+as, looking like a bird of paradise that had been out all night in the
+rain, she flitted out of the room, leaving a faint odour of
+frangipanni. Then he lit a cigarette and flung himself down on the
+sofa.
+
+"Never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair, Dorian," he said after a
+few puffs.
+
+"Why, Harry?"
+
+"Because they are so sentimental."
+
+"But I like sentimental people."
+
+"Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired; women,
+because they are curious: both are disappointed."
+
+"I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am too much in love.
+That is one of your aphorisms. I am putting it into practice, as I do
+everything that you say."
+
+"Who are you in love with?" asked Lord Henry after a pause.
+
+"With an actress," said Dorian Gray, blushing.
+
+Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "That is a rather commonplace
+_debut_."
+
+"You would not say so if you saw her, Harry."
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+"Her name is Sibyl Vane."
+
+"Never heard of her."
+
+"No one has. People will some day, however. She is a genius."
+
+"My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decorative sex. They
+never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. Women
+represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the
+triumph of mind over morals."
+
+"Harry, how can you?"
+
+"My dear Dorian, it is quite true. I am analysing women at present, so
+I ought to know. The subject is not so abstruse as I thought it was.
+I find that, ultimately, there are only two kinds of women, the plain
+and the coloured. The plain women are very useful. If you want to
+gain a reputation for respectability, you have merely to take them down
+to supper. The other women are very charming. They commit one
+mistake, however. They paint in order to try and look young. Our
+grandmothers painted in order to try and talk brilliantly. _Rouge_ and
+_esprit_ used to go together. That is all over now. As long as a woman
+can look ten years younger than her own daughter, she is perfectly
+satisfied. As for conversation, there are only five women in London
+worth talking to, and two of these can't be admitted into decent
+society. However, tell me about your genius. How long have you known
+her?"
+
+"Ah! Harry, your views terrify me."
+
+"Never mind that. How long have you known her?"
+
+"About three weeks."
+
+"And where did you come across her?"
+
+"I will tell you, Harry, but you mustn't be unsympathetic about it.
+After all, it never would have happened if I had not met you. You
+filled me with a wild desire to know everything about life. For days
+after I met you, something seemed to throb in my veins. As I lounged
+in the park, or strolled down Piccadilly, I used to look at every one
+who passed me and wonder, with a mad curiosity, what sort of lives they
+led. Some of them fascinated me. Others filled me with terror. There
+was an exquisite poison in the air. I had a passion for sensations....
+Well, one evening about seven o'clock, I determined to go out in search
+of some adventure. I felt that this grey monstrous London of ours,
+with its myriads of people, its sordid sinners, and its splendid sins,
+as you once phrased it, must have something in store for me. I fancied
+a thousand things. The mere danger gave me a sense of delight. I
+remembered what you had said to me on that wonderful evening when we
+first dined together, about the search for beauty being the real secret
+of life. I don't know what I expected, but I went out and wandered
+eastward, soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy streets and black
+grassless squares. About half-past eight I passed by an absurd little
+theatre, with great flaring gas-jets and gaudy play-bills. A hideous
+Jew, in the most amazing waistcoat I ever beheld in my life, was
+standing at the entrance, smoking a vile cigar. He had greasy
+ringlets, and an enormous diamond blazed in the centre of a soiled
+shirt. 'Have a box, my Lord?' he said, when he saw me, and he took off
+his hat with an air of gorgeous servility. There was something about
+him, Harry, that amused me. He was such a monster. You will laugh at
+me, I know, but I really went in and paid a whole guinea for the
+stage-box. To the present day I can't make out why I did so; and yet if
+I hadn't--my dear Harry, if I hadn't--I should have missed the greatest
+romance of my life. I see you are laughing. It is horrid of you!"
+
+"I am not laughing, Dorian; at least I am not laughing at you. But you
+should not say the greatest romance of your life. You should say the
+first romance of your life. You will always be loved, and you will
+always be in love with love. A _grande passion_ is the privilege of
+people who have nothing to do. That is the one use of the idle classes
+of a country. Don't be afraid. There are exquisite things in store
+for you. This is merely the beginning."
+
+"Do you think my nature so shallow?" cried Dorian Gray angrily.
+
+"No; I think your nature so deep."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"My dear boy, the people who love only once in their lives are really
+the shallow people. What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity,
+I call either the lethargy of custom or their lack of imagination.
+Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life
+of the intellect--simply a confession of failure. Faithfulness! I
+must analyse it some day. The passion for property is in it. There
+are many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that
+others might pick them up. But I don't want to interrupt you. Go on
+with your story."
+
+"Well, I found myself seated in a horrid little private box, with a
+vulgar drop-scene staring me in the face. I looked out from behind the
+curtain and surveyed the house. It was a tawdry affair, all Cupids and
+cornucopias, like a third-rate wedding-cake. The gallery and pit were
+fairly full, but the two rows of dingy stalls were quite empty, and
+there was hardly a person in what I suppose they called the
+dress-circle. Women went about with oranges and ginger-beer, and there
+was a terrible consumption of nuts going on."
+
+"It must have been just like the palmy days of the British drama."
+
+"Just like, I should fancy, and very depressing. I began to wonder
+what on earth I should do when I caught sight of the play-bill. What
+do you think the play was, Harry?"
+
+"I should think 'The Idiot Boy', or 'Dumb but Innocent'. Our fathers
+used to like that sort of piece, I believe. The longer I live, Dorian,
+the more keenly I feel that whatever was good enough for our fathers is
+not good enough for us. In art, as in politics, _les grandperes ont
+toujours tort_."
+
+"This play was good enough for us, Harry. It was Romeo and Juliet. I
+must admit that I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shakespeare
+done in such a wretched hole of a place. Still, I felt interested, in
+a sort of way. At any rate, I determined to wait for the first act.
+There was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Hebrew who sat
+at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, but at last the
+drop-scene was drawn up and the play began. Romeo was a stout elderly
+gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice, and a figure
+like a beer-barrel. Mercutio was almost as bad. He was played by the
+low-comedian, who had introduced gags of his own and was on most
+friendly terms with the pit. They were both as grotesque as the
+scenery, and that looked as if it had come out of a country-booth. But
+Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl, hardly seventeen years of age, with a
+little, flowerlike face, a small Greek head with plaited coils of
+dark-brown hair, eyes that were violet wells of passion, lips that were
+like the petals of a rose. She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen
+in my life. You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that
+beauty, mere beauty, could fill your eyes with tears. I tell you,
+Harry, I could hardly see this girl for the mist of tears that came
+across me. And her voice--I never heard such a voice. It was very low
+at first, with deep mellow notes that seemed to fall singly upon one's
+ear. Then it became a little louder, and sounded like a flute or a
+distant hautboy. In the garden-scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy
+that one hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing. There
+were moments, later on, when it had the wild passion of violins. You
+know how a voice can stir one. Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane
+are two things that I shall never forget. When I close my eyes, I hear
+them, and each of them says something different. I don't know which to
+follow. Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her. She is
+everything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play. One
+evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. I have
+seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poison from
+her lover's lips. I have watched her wandering through the forest of
+Arden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap.
+She has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty king, and
+given him rue to wear and bitter herbs to taste of. She has been
+innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reedlike
+throat. I have seen her in every age and in every costume. Ordinary
+women never appeal to one's imagination. They are limited to their
+century. No glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as
+easily as one knows their bonnets. One can always find them. There is
+no mystery in any of them. They ride in the park in the morning and
+chatter at tea-parties in the afternoon. They have their stereotyped
+smile and their fashionable manner. They are quite obvious. But an
+actress! How different an actress is! Harry! why didn't you tell me
+that the only thing worth loving is an actress?"
+
+"Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian."
+
+"Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces."
+
+"Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is an extraordinary
+charm in them, sometimes," said Lord Henry.
+
+"I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane."
+
+"You could not have helped telling me, Dorian. All through your life
+you will tell me everything you do."
+
+"Yes, Harry, I believe that is true. I cannot help telling you things.
+You have a curious influence over me. If I ever did a crime, I would
+come and confess it to you. You would understand me."
+
+"People like you--the wilful sunbeams of life--don't commit crimes,
+Dorian. But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same. And
+now tell me--reach me the matches, like a good boy--thanks--what are
+your actual relations with Sibyl Vane?"
+
+Dorian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning eyes.
+"Harry! Sibyl Vane is sacred!"
+
+"It is only the sacred things that are worth touching, Dorian," said
+Lord Henry, with a strange touch of pathos in his voice. "But why
+should you be annoyed? I suppose she will belong to you some day.
+When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one
+always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a
+romance. You know her, at any rate, I suppose?"
+
+"Of course I know her. On the first night I was at the theatre, the
+horrid old Jew came round to the box after the performance was over and
+offered to take me behind the scenes and introduce me to her. I was
+furious with him, and told him that Juliet had been dead for hundreds
+of years and that her body was lying in a marble tomb in Verona. I
+think, from his blank look of amazement, that he was under the
+impression that I had taken too much champagne, or something."
+
+"I am not surprised."
+
+"Then he asked me if I wrote for any of the newspapers. I told him I
+never even read them. He seemed terribly disappointed at that, and
+confided to me that all the dramatic critics were in a conspiracy
+against him, and that they were every one of them to be bought."
+
+"I should not wonder if he was quite right there. But, on the other
+hand, judging from their appearance, most of them cannot be at all
+expensive."
+
+"Well, he seemed to think they were beyond his means," laughed Dorian.
+"By this time, however, the lights were being put out in the theatre,
+and I had to go. He wanted me to try some cigars that he strongly
+recommended. I declined. The next night, of course, I arrived at the
+place again. When he saw me, he made me a low bow and assured me that
+I was a munificent patron of art. He was a most offensive brute,
+though he had an extraordinary passion for Shakespeare. He told me
+once, with an air of pride, that his five bankruptcies were entirely
+due to 'The Bard,' as he insisted on calling him. He seemed to think
+it a distinction."
+
+"It was a distinction, my dear Dorian--a great distinction. Most
+people become bankrupt through having invested too heavily in the prose
+of life. To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honour. But when
+did you first speak to Miss Sibyl Vane?"
+
+"The third night. She had been playing Rosalind. I could not help
+going round. I had thrown her some flowers, and she had looked at
+me--at least I fancied that she had. The old Jew was persistent. He
+seemed determined to take me behind, so I consented. It was curious my
+not wanting to know her, wasn't it?"
+
+"No; I don't think so."
+
+"My dear Harry, why?"
+
+"I will tell you some other time. Now I want to know about the girl."
+
+"Sibyl? Oh, she was so shy and so gentle. There is something of a
+child about her. Her eyes opened wide in exquisite wonder when I told
+her what I thought of her performance, and she seemed quite unconscious
+of her power. I think we were both rather nervous. The old Jew stood
+grinning at the doorway of the dusty greenroom, making elaborate
+speeches about us both, while we stood looking at each other like
+children. He would insist on calling me 'My Lord,' so I had to assure
+Sibyl that I was not anything of the kind. She said quite simply to
+me, 'You look more like a prince. I must call you Prince Charming.'"
+
+"Upon my word, Dorian, Miss Sibyl knows how to pay compliments."
+
+"You don't understand her, Harry. She regarded me merely as a person
+in a play. She knows nothing of life. She lives with her mother, a
+faded tired woman who played Lady Capulet in a sort of magenta
+dressing-wrapper on the first night, and looks as if she had seen
+better days."
+
+"I know that look. It depresses me," murmured Lord Henry, examining
+his rings.
+
+"The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I said it did not interest
+me."
+
+"You were quite right. There is always something infinitely mean about
+other people's tragedies."
+
+"Sibyl is the only thing I care about. What is it to me where she came
+from? From her little head to her little feet, she is absolutely and
+entirely divine. Every night of my life I go to see her act, and every
+night she is more marvellous."
+
+"That is the reason, I suppose, that you never dine with me now. I
+thought you must have some curious romance on hand. You have; but it
+is not quite what I expected."
+
+"My dear Harry, we either lunch or sup together every day, and I have
+been to the opera with you several times," said Dorian, opening his
+blue eyes in wonder.
+
+"You always come dreadfully late."
+
+"Well, I can't help going to see Sibyl play," he cried, "even if it is
+only for a single act. I get hungry for her presence; and when I think
+of the wonderful soul that is hidden away in that little ivory body, I
+am filled with awe."
+
+"You can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can't you?"
+
+He shook his head. "To-night she is Imogen," he answered, "and
+to-morrow night she will be Juliet."
+
+"When is she Sibyl Vane?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"I congratulate you."
+
+"How horrid you are! She is all the great heroines of the world in
+one. She is more than an individual. You laugh, but I tell you she
+has genius. I love her, and I must make her love me. You, who know
+all the secrets of life, tell me how to charm Sibyl Vane to love me! I
+want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to
+hear our laughter and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir
+their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain. My God,
+Harry, how I worship her!" He was walking up and down the room as he
+spoke. Hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks. He was terribly
+excited.
+
+Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure. How different
+he was now from the shy frightened boy he had met in Basil Hallward's
+studio! His nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of
+scarlet flame. Out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and
+desire had come to meet it on the way.
+
+"And what do you propose to do?" said Lord Henry at last.
+
+"I want you and Basil to come with me some night and see her act. I
+have not the slightest fear of the result. You are certain to
+acknowledge her genius. Then we must get her out of the Jew's hands.
+She is bound to him for three years--at least for two years and eight
+months--from the present time. I shall have to pay him something, of
+course. When all that is settled, I shall take a West End theatre and
+bring her out properly. She will make the world as mad as she has made
+me."
+
+"That would be impossible, my dear boy."
+
+"Yes, she will. She has not merely art, consummate art-instinct, in
+her, but she has personality also; and you have often told me that it
+is personalities, not principles, that move the age."
+
+"Well, what night shall we go?"
+
+"Let me see. To-day is Tuesday. Let us fix to-morrow. She plays
+Juliet to-morrow."
+
+"All right. The Bristol at eight o'clock; and I will get Basil."
+
+"Not eight, Harry, please. Half-past six. We must be there before the
+curtain rises. You must see her in the first act, where she meets
+Romeo."
+
+"Half-past six! What an hour! It will be like having a meat-tea, or
+reading an English novel. It must be seven. No gentleman dines before
+seven. Shall you see Basil between this and then? Or shall I write to
+him?"
+
+"Dear Basil! I have not laid eyes on him for a week. It is rather
+horrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful
+frame, specially designed by himself, and, though I am a little jealous
+of the picture for being a whole month younger than I am, I must admit
+that I delight in it. Perhaps you had better write to him. I don't
+want to see him alone. He says things that annoy me. He gives me good
+advice."
+
+Lord Henry smiled. "People are very fond of giving away what they need
+most themselves. It is what I call the depth of generosity."
+
+"Oh, Basil is the best of fellows, but he seems to me to be just a bit
+of a Philistine. Since I have known you, Harry, I have discovered
+that."
+
+"Basil, my dear boy, puts everything that is charming in him into his
+work. The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his
+prejudices, his principles, and his common sense. The only artists I
+have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists. Good
+artists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly
+uninteresting in what they are. A great poet, a really great poet, is
+the most unpoetical of all creatures. But inferior poets are
+absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes are, the more
+picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of
+second-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible. He lives the
+poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they
+dare not realize."
+
+"I wonder is that really so, Harry?" said Dorian Gray, putting some
+perfume on his handkerchief out of a large, gold-topped bottle that
+stood on the table. "It must be, if you say it. And now I am off.
+Imogen is waiting for me. Don't forget about to-morrow. Good-bye."
+
+As he left the room, Lord Henry's heavy eyelids drooped, and he began
+to think. Certainly few people had ever interested him so much as
+Dorian Gray, and yet the lad's mad adoration of some one else caused
+him not the slightest pang of annoyance or jealousy. He was pleased by
+it. It made him a more interesting study. He had been always
+enthralled by the methods of natural science, but the ordinary
+subject-matter of that science had seemed to him trivial and of no
+import. And so he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had ended by
+vivisecting others. Human life--that appeared to him the one thing
+worth investigating. Compared to it there was nothing else of any
+value. It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of
+pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass,
+nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the
+imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams. There
+were poisons so subtle that to know their properties one had to sicken
+of them. There were maladies so strange that one had to pass through
+them if one sought to understand their nature. And, yet, what a great
+reward one received! How wonderful the whole world became to one! To
+note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life
+of the intellect--to observe where they met, and where they separated,
+at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at
+discord--there was a delight in that! What matter what the cost was?
+One could never pay too high a price for any sensation.
+
+He was conscious--and the thought brought a gleam of pleasure into his
+brown agate eyes--that it was through certain words of his, musical
+words said with musical utterance, that Dorian Gray's soul had turned
+to this white girl and bowed in worship before her. To a large extent
+the lad was his own creation. He had made him premature. That was
+something. Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its
+secrets, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were
+revealed before the veil was drawn away. Sometimes this was the effect
+of art, and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt immediately
+with the passions and the intellect. But now and then a complex
+personality took the place and assumed the office of art, was indeed,
+in its way, a real work of art, life having its elaborate masterpieces,
+just as poetry has, or sculpture, or painting.
+
+Yes, the lad was premature. He was gathering his harvest while it was
+yet spring. The pulse and passion of youth were in him, but he was
+becoming self-conscious. It was delightful to watch him. With his
+beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at.
+It was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. He was like
+one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem
+to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir one's sense of beauty,
+and whose wounds are like red roses.
+
+Soul and body, body and soul--how mysterious they were! There was
+animalism in the soul, and the body had its moments of spirituality.
+The senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade. Who could
+say where the fleshly impulse ceased, or the psychical impulse began?
+How shallow were the arbitrary definitions of ordinary psychologists!
+And yet how difficult to decide between the claims of the various
+schools! Was the soul a shadow seated in the house of sin? Or was the
+body really in the soul, as Giordano Bruno thought? The separation of
+spirit from matter was a mystery, and the union of spirit with matter
+was a mystery also.
+
+He began to wonder whether we could ever make psychology so absolute a
+science that each little spring of life would be revealed to us. As it
+was, we always misunderstood ourselves and rarely understood others.
+Experience was of no ethical value. It was merely the name men gave to
+their mistakes. Moralists had, as a rule, regarded it as a mode of
+warning, had claimed for it a certain ethical efficacy in the formation
+of character, had praised it as something that taught us what to follow
+and showed us what to avoid. But there was no motive power in
+experience. It was as little of an active cause as conscience itself.
+All that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same
+as our past, and that the sin we had done once, and with loathing, we
+would do many times, and with joy.
+
+It was clear to him that the experimental method was the only method by
+which one could arrive at any scientific analysis of the passions; and
+certainly Dorian Gray was a subject made to his hand, and seemed to
+promise rich and fruitful results. His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane
+was a psychological phenomenon of no small interest. There was no
+doubt that curiosity had much to do with it, curiosity and the desire
+for new experiences, yet it was not a simple, but rather a very complex
+passion. What there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of
+boyhood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination,
+changed into something that seemed to the lad himself to be remote from
+sense, and was for that very reason all the more dangerous. It was the
+passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most
+strongly over us. Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we
+were conscious. It often happened that when we thought we were
+experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves.
+
+While Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things, a knock came to the
+door, and his valet entered and reminded him it was time to dress for
+dinner. He got up and looked out into the street. The sunset had
+smitten into scarlet gold the upper windows of the houses opposite.
+The panes glowed like plates of heated metal. The sky above was like a
+faded rose. He thought of his friend's young fiery-coloured life and
+wondered how it was all going to end.
+
+When he arrived home, about half-past twelve o'clock, he saw a telegram
+lying on the hall table. He opened it and found it was from Dorian
+Gray. It was to tell him that he was engaged to be married to Sibyl
+Vane.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 5
+
+"Mother, Mother, I am so happy!" whispered the girl, burying her face
+in the lap of the faded, tired-looking woman who, with back turned to
+the shrill intrusive light, was sitting in the one arm-chair that their
+dingy sitting-room contained. "I am so happy!" she repeated, "and you
+must be happy, too!"
+
+Mrs. Vane winced and put her thin, bismuth-whitened hands on her
+daughter's head. "Happy!" she echoed, "I am only happy, Sibyl, when I
+see you act. You must not think of anything but your acting. Mr.
+Isaacs has been very good to us, and we owe him money."
+
+The girl looked up and pouted. "Money, Mother?" she cried, "what does
+money matter? Love is more than money."
+
+"Mr. Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay off our debts and to
+get a proper outfit for James. You must not forget that, Sibyl. Fifty
+pounds is a very large sum. Mr. Isaacs has been most considerate."
+
+"He is not a gentleman, Mother, and I hate the way he talks to me,"
+said the girl, rising to her feet and going over to the window.
+
+"I don't know how we could manage without him," answered the elder
+woman querulously.
+
+Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed. "We don't want him any more,
+Mother. Prince Charming rules life for us now." Then she paused. A
+rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks. Quick breath parted
+the petals of her lips. They trembled. Some southern wind of passion
+swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress. "I love
+him," she said simply.
+
+"Foolish child! foolish child!" was the parrot-phrase flung in answer.
+The waving of crooked, false-jewelled fingers gave grotesqueness to the
+words.
+
+The girl laughed again. The joy of a caged bird was in her voice. Her
+eyes caught the melody and echoed it in radiance, then closed for a
+moment, as though to hide their secret. When they opened, the mist of
+a dream had passed across them.
+
+Thin-lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn chair, hinted at
+prudence, quoted from that book of cowardice whose author apes the name
+of common sense. She did not listen. She was free in her prison of
+passion. Her prince, Prince Charming, was with her. She had called on
+memory to remake him. She had sent her soul to search for him, and it
+had brought him back. His kiss burned again upon her mouth. Her
+eyelids were warm with his breath.
+
+Then wisdom altered its method and spoke of espial and discovery. This
+young man might be rich. If so, marriage should be thought of.
+Against the shell of her ear broke the waves of worldly cunning. The
+arrows of craft shot by her. She saw the thin lips moving, and smiled.
+
+Suddenly she felt the need to speak. The wordy silence troubled her.
+"Mother, Mother," she cried, "why does he love me so much? I know why
+I love him. I love him because he is like what love himself should be.
+But what does he see in me? I am not worthy of him. And yet--why, I
+cannot tell--though I feel so much beneath him, I don't feel humble. I
+feel proud, terribly proud. Mother, did you love my father as I love
+Prince Charming?"
+
+The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed her
+cheeks, and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of pain. Sybil rushed
+to her, flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her. "Forgive me,
+Mother. I know it pains you to talk about our father. But it only
+pains you because you loved him so much. Don't look so sad. I am as
+happy to-day as you were twenty years ago. Ah! let me be happy for
+ever!"
+
+"My child, you are far too young to think of falling in love. Besides,
+what do you know of this young man? You don't even know his name. The
+whole thing is most inconvenient, and really, when James is going away
+to Australia, and I have so much to think of, I must say that you
+should have shown more consideration. However, as I said before, if he
+is rich ..."
+
+"Ah! Mother, Mother, let me be happy!"
+
+Mrs. Vane glanced at her, and with one of those false theatrical
+gestures that so often become a mode of second nature to a
+stage-player, clasped her in her arms. At this moment, the door opened
+and a young lad with rough brown hair came into the room. He was
+thick-set of figure, and his hands and feet were large and somewhat
+clumsy in movement. He was not so finely bred as his sister. One
+would hardly have guessed the close relationship that existed between
+them. Mrs. Vane fixed her eyes on him and intensified her smile. She
+mentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience. She felt sure
+that the _tableau_ was interesting.
+
+"You might keep some of your kisses for me, Sibyl, I think," said the
+lad with a good-natured grumble.
+
+"Ah! but you don't like being kissed, Jim," she cried. "You are a
+dreadful old bear." And she ran across the room and hugged him.
+
+James Vane looked into his sister's face with tenderness. "I want you
+to come out with me for a walk, Sibyl. I don't suppose I shall ever
+see this horrid London again. I am sure I don't want to."
+
+"My son, don't say such dreadful things," murmured Mrs. Vane, taking up
+a tawdry theatrical dress, with a sigh, and beginning to patch it. She
+felt a little disappointed that he had not joined the group. It would
+have increased the theatrical picturesqueness of the situation.
+
+"Why not, Mother? I mean it."
+
+"You pain me, my son. I trust you will return from Australia in a
+position of affluence. I believe there is no society of any kind in
+the Colonies--nothing that I would call society--so when you have made
+your fortune, you must come back and assert yourself in London."
+
+"Society!" muttered the lad. "I don't want to know anything about
+that. I should like to make some money to take you and Sibyl off the
+stage. I hate it."
+
+"Oh, Jim!" said Sibyl, laughing, "how unkind of you! But are you
+really going for a walk with me? That will be nice! I was afraid you
+were going to say good-bye to some of your friends--to Tom Hardy, who
+gave you that hideous pipe, or Ned Langton, who makes fun of you for
+smoking it. It is very sweet of you to let me have your last
+afternoon. Where shall we go? Let us go to the park."
+
+"I am too shabby," he answered, frowning. "Only swell people go to the
+park."
+
+"Nonsense, Jim," she whispered, stroking the sleeve of his coat.
+
+He hesitated for a moment. "Very well," he said at last, "but don't be
+too long dressing." She danced out of the door. One could hear her
+singing as she ran upstairs. Her little feet pattered overhead.
+
+He walked up and down the room two or three times. Then he turned to
+the still figure in the chair. "Mother, are my things ready?" he asked.
+
+"Quite ready, James," she answered, keeping her eyes on her work. For
+some months past she had felt ill at ease when she was alone with this
+rough stern son of hers. Her shallow secret nature was troubled when
+their eyes met. She used to wonder if he suspected anything. The
+silence, for he made no other observation, became intolerable to her.
+She began to complain. Women defend themselves by attacking, just as
+they attack by sudden and strange surrenders. "I hope you will be
+contented, James, with your sea-faring life," she said. "You must
+remember that it is your own choice. You might have entered a
+solicitor's office. Solicitors are a very respectable class, and in
+the country often dine with the best families."
+
+"I hate offices, and I hate clerks," he replied. "But you are quite
+right. I have chosen my own life. All I say is, watch over Sibyl.
+Don't let her come to any harm. Mother, you must watch over her."
+
+"James, you really talk very strangely. Of course I watch over Sibyl."
+
+"I hear a gentleman comes every night to the theatre and goes behind to
+talk to her. Is that right? What about that?"
+
+"You are speaking about things you don't understand, James. In the
+profession we are accustomed to receive a great deal of most gratifying
+attention. I myself used to receive many bouquets at one time. That
+was when acting was really understood. As for Sibyl, I do not know at
+present whether her attachment is serious or not. But there is no
+doubt that the young man in question is a perfect gentleman. He is
+always most polite to me. Besides, he has the appearance of being
+rich, and the flowers he sends are lovely."
+
+"You don't know his name, though," said the lad harshly.
+
+"No," answered his mother with a placid expression in her face. "He
+has not yet revealed his real name. I think it is quite romantic of
+him. He is probably a member of the aristocracy."
+
+James Vane bit his lip. "Watch over Sibyl, Mother," he cried, "watch
+over her."
+
+"My son, you distress me very much. Sibyl is always under my special
+care. Of course, if this gentleman is wealthy, there is no reason why
+she should not contract an alliance with him. I trust he is one of the
+aristocracy. He has all the appearance of it, I must say. It might be
+a most brilliant marriage for Sibyl. They would make a charming
+couple. His good looks are really quite remarkable; everybody notices
+them."
+
+The lad muttered something to himself and drummed on the window-pane
+with his coarse fingers. He had just turned round to say something
+when the door opened and Sibyl ran in.
+
+"How serious you both are!" she cried. "What is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing," he answered. "I suppose one must be serious sometimes.
+Good-bye, Mother; I will have my dinner at five o'clock. Everything is
+packed, except my shirts, so you need not trouble."
+
+"Good-bye, my son," she answered with a bow of strained stateliness.
+
+She was extremely annoyed at the tone he had adopted with her, and
+there was something in his look that had made her feel afraid.
+
+"Kiss me, Mother," said the girl. Her flowerlike lips touched the
+withered cheek and warmed its frost.
+
+"My child! my child!" cried Mrs. Vane, looking up to the ceiling in
+search of an imaginary gallery.
+
+"Come, Sibyl," said her brother impatiently. He hated his mother's
+affectations.
+
+They went out into the flickering, wind-blown sunlight and strolled
+down the dreary Euston Road. The passersby glanced in wonder at the
+sullen heavy youth who, in coarse, ill-fitting clothes, was in the
+company of such a graceful, refined-looking girl. He was like a common
+gardener walking with a rose.
+
+Jim frowned from time to time when he caught the inquisitive glance of
+some stranger. He had that dislike of being stared at, which comes on
+geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace. Sibyl,
+however, was quite unconscious of the effect she was producing. Her
+love was trembling in laughter on her lips. She was thinking of Prince
+Charming, and, that she might think of him all the more, she did not
+talk of him, but prattled on about the ship in which Jim was going to
+sail, about the gold he was certain to find, about the wonderful
+heiress whose life he was to save from the wicked, red-shirted
+bushrangers. For he was not to remain a sailor, or a supercargo, or
+whatever he was going to be. Oh, no! A sailor's existence was
+dreadful. Fancy being cooped up in a horrid ship, with the hoarse,
+hump-backed waves trying to get in, and a black wind blowing the masts
+down and tearing the sails into long screaming ribands! He was to
+leave the vessel at Melbourne, bid a polite good-bye to the captain,
+and go off at once to the gold-fields. Before a week was over he was to
+come across a large nugget of pure gold, the largest nugget that had
+ever been discovered, and bring it down to the coast in a waggon
+guarded by six mounted policemen. The bushrangers were to attack them
+three times, and be defeated with immense slaughter. Or, no. He was
+not to go to the gold-fields at all. They were horrid places, where
+men got intoxicated, and shot each other in bar-rooms, and used bad
+language. He was to be a nice sheep-farmer, and one evening, as he was
+riding home, he was to see the beautiful heiress being carried off by a
+robber on a black horse, and give chase, and rescue her. Of course,
+she would fall in love with him, and he with her, and they would get
+married, and come home, and live in an immense house in London. Yes,
+there were delightful things in store for him. But he must be very
+good, and not lose his temper, or spend his money foolishly. She was
+only a year older than he was, but she knew so much more of life. He
+must be sure, also, to write to her by every mail, and to say his
+prayers each night before he went to sleep. God was very good, and
+would watch over him. She would pray for him, too, and in a few years
+he would come back quite rich and happy.
+
+The lad listened sulkily to her and made no answer. He was heart-sick
+at leaving home.
+
+Yet it was not this alone that made him gloomy and morose.
+Inexperienced though he was, he had still a strong sense of the danger
+of Sibyl's position. This young dandy who was making love to her could
+mean her no good. He was a gentleman, and he hated him for that, hated
+him through some curious race-instinct for which he could not account,
+and which for that reason was all the more dominant within him. He was
+conscious also of the shallowness and vanity of his mother's nature,
+and in that saw infinite peril for Sibyl and Sibyl's happiness.
+Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge
+them; sometimes they forgive them.
+
+His mother! He had something on his mind to ask of her, something that
+he had brooded on for many months of silence. A chance phrase that he
+had heard at the theatre, a whispered sneer that had reached his ears
+one night as he waited at the stage-door, had set loose a train of
+horrible thoughts. He remembered it as if it had been the lash of a
+hunting-crop across his face. His brows knit together into a wedge-like
+furrow, and with a twitch of pain he bit his underlip.
+
+"You are not listening to a word I am saying, Jim," cried Sibyl, "and I
+am making the most delightful plans for your future. Do say something."
+
+"What do you want me to say?"
+
+"Oh! that you will be a good boy and not forget us," she answered,
+smiling at him.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. "You are more likely to forget me than I am
+to forget you, Sibyl."
+
+She flushed. "What do you mean, Jim?" she asked.
+
+"You have a new friend, I hear. Who is he? Why have you not told me
+about him? He means you no good."
+
+"Stop, Jim!" she exclaimed. "You must not say anything against him. I
+love him."
+
+"Why, you don't even know his name," answered the lad. "Who is he? I
+have a right to know."
+
+"He is called Prince Charming. Don't you like the name. Oh! you silly
+boy! you should never forget it. If you only saw him, you would think
+him the most wonderful person in the world. Some day you will meet
+him--when you come back from Australia. You will like him so much.
+Everybody likes him, and I ... love him. I wish you could come to the
+theatre to-night. He is going to be there, and I am to play Juliet.
+Oh! how I shall play it! Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet!
+To have him sitting there! To play for his delight! I am afraid I may
+frighten the company, frighten or enthrall them. To be in love is to
+surpass one's self. Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius'
+to his loafers at the bar. He has preached me as a dogma; to-night he
+will announce me as a revelation. I feel it. And it is all his, his
+only, Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces. But I am
+poor beside him. Poor? What does that matter? When poverty creeps in
+at the door, love flies in through the window. Our proverbs want
+rewriting. They were made in winter, and it is summer now; spring-time
+for me, I think, a very dance of blossoms in blue skies."
+
+"He is a gentleman," said the lad sullenly.
+
+"A prince!" she cried musically. "What more do you want?"
+
+"He wants to enslave you."
+
+"I shudder at the thought of being free."
+
+"I want you to beware of him."
+
+"To see him is to worship him; to know him is to trust him."
+
+"Sibyl, you are mad about him."
+
+She laughed and took his arm. "You dear old Jim, you talk as if you
+were a hundred. Some day you will be in love yourself. Then you will
+know what it is. Don't look so sulky. Surely you should be glad to
+think that, though you are going away, you leave me happier than I have
+ever been before. Life has been hard for us both, terribly hard and
+difficult. But it will be different now. You are going to a new
+world, and I have found one. Here are two chairs; let us sit down and
+see the smart people go by."
+
+They took their seats amidst a crowd of watchers. The tulip-beds
+across the road flamed like throbbing rings of fire. A white
+dust--tremulous cloud of orris-root it seemed--hung in the panting air.
+The brightly coloured parasols danced and dipped like monstrous
+butterflies.
+
+She made her brother talk of himself, his hopes, his prospects. He
+spoke slowly and with effort. They passed words to each other as
+players at a game pass counters. Sibyl felt oppressed. She could not
+communicate her joy. A faint smile curving that sullen mouth was all
+the echo she could win. After some time she became silent. Suddenly
+she caught a glimpse of golden hair and laughing lips, and in an open
+carriage with two ladies Dorian Gray drove past.
+
+She started to her feet. "There he is!" she cried.
+
+"Who?" said Jim Vane.
+
+"Prince Charming," she answered, looking after the victoria.
+
+He jumped up and seized her roughly by the arm. "Show him to me.
+Which is he? Point him out. I must see him!" he exclaimed; but at
+that moment the Duke of Berwick's four-in-hand came between, and when
+it had left the space clear, the carriage had swept out of the park.
+
+"He is gone," murmured Sibyl sadly. "I wish you had seen him."
+
+"I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does
+you any wrong, I shall kill him."
+
+She looked at him in horror. He repeated his words. They cut the air
+like a dagger. The people round began to gape. A lady standing close
+to her tittered.
+
+"Come away, Jim; come away," she whispered. He followed her doggedly
+as she passed through the crowd. He felt glad at what he had said.
+
+When they reached the Achilles Statue, she turned round. There was
+pity in her eyes that became laughter on her lips. She shook her head
+at him. "You are foolish, Jim, utterly foolish; a bad-tempered boy,
+that is all. How can you say such horrible things? You don't know
+what you are talking about. You are simply jealous and unkind. Ah! I
+wish you would fall in love. Love makes people good, and what you said
+was wicked."
+
+"I am sixteen," he answered, "and I know what I am about. Mother is no
+help to you. She doesn't understand how to look after you. I wish now
+that I was not going to Australia at all. I have a great mind to chuck
+the whole thing up. I would, if my articles hadn't been signed."
+
+"Oh, don't be so serious, Jim. You are like one of the heroes of those
+silly melodramas Mother used to be so fond of acting in. I am not
+going to quarrel with you. I have seen him, and oh! to see him is
+perfect happiness. We won't quarrel. I know you would never harm any
+one I love, would you?"
+
+"Not as long as you love him, I suppose," was the sullen answer.
+
+"I shall love him for ever!" she cried.
+
+"And he?"
+
+"For ever, too!"
+
+"He had better."
+
+She shrank from him. Then she laughed and put her hand on his arm. He
+was merely a boy.
+
+At the Marble Arch they hailed an omnibus, which left them close to
+their shabby home in the Euston Road. It was after five o'clock, and
+Sibyl had to lie down for a couple of hours before acting. Jim
+insisted that she should do so. He said that he would sooner part with
+her when their mother was not present. She would be sure to make a
+scene, and he detested scenes of every kind.
+
+In Sybil's own room they parted. There was jealousy in the lad's
+heart, and a fierce murderous hatred of the stranger who, as it seemed
+to him, had come between them. Yet, when her arms were flung round his
+neck, and her fingers strayed through his hair, he softened and kissed
+her with real affection. There were tears in his eyes as he went
+downstairs.
+
+His mother was waiting for him below. She grumbled at his
+unpunctuality, as he entered. He made no answer, but sat down to his
+meagre meal. The flies buzzed round the table and crawled over the
+stained cloth. Through the rumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of
+street-cabs, he could hear the droning voice devouring each minute that
+was left to him.
+
+After some time, he thrust away his plate and put his head in his
+hands. He felt that he had a right to know. It should have been told
+to him before, if it was as he suspected. Leaden with fear, his mother
+watched him. Words dropped mechanically from her lips. A tattered
+lace handkerchief twitched in her fingers. When the clock struck six,
+he got up and went to the door. Then he turned back and looked at her.
+Their eyes met. In hers he saw a wild appeal for mercy. It enraged
+him.
+
+"Mother, I have something to ask you," he said. Her eyes wandered
+vaguely about the room. She made no answer. "Tell me the truth. I
+have a right to know. Were you married to my father?"
+
+She heaved a deep sigh. It was a sigh of relief. The terrible moment,
+the moment that night and day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded,
+had come at last, and yet she felt no terror. Indeed, in some measure
+it was a disappointment to her. The vulgar directness of the question
+called for a direct answer. The situation had not been gradually led
+up to. It was crude. It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.
+
+"No," she answered, wondering at the harsh simplicity of life.
+
+"My father was a scoundrel then!" cried the lad, clenching his fists.
+
+She shook her head. "I knew he was not free. We loved each other very
+much. If he had lived, he would have made provision for us. Don't
+speak against him, my son. He was your father, and a gentleman.
+Indeed, he was highly connected."
+
+An oath broke from his lips. "I don't care for myself," he exclaimed,
+"but don't let Sibyl.... It is a gentleman, isn't it, who is in love
+with her, or says he is? Highly connected, too, I suppose."
+
+For a moment a hideous sense of humiliation came over the woman. Her
+head drooped. She wiped her eyes with shaking hands. "Sibyl has a
+mother," she murmured; "I had none."
+
+The lad was touched. He went towards her, and stooping down, he kissed
+her. "I am sorry if I have pained you by asking about my father," he
+said, "but I could not help it. I must go now. Good-bye. Don't forget
+that you will have only one child now to look after, and believe me
+that if this man wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him
+down, and kill him like a dog. I swear it."
+
+The exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate gesture that
+accompanied it, the mad melodramatic words, made life seem more vivid
+to her. She was familiar with the atmosphere. She breathed more
+freely, and for the first time for many months she really admired her
+son. She would have liked to have continued the scene on the same
+emotional scale, but he cut her short. Trunks had to be carried down
+and mufflers looked for. The lodging-house drudge bustled in and out.
+There was the bargaining with the cabman. The moment was lost in
+vulgar details. It was with a renewed feeling of disappointment that
+she waved the tattered lace handkerchief from the window, as her son
+drove away. She was conscious that a great opportunity had been
+wasted. She consoled herself by telling Sibyl how desolate she felt
+her life would be, now that she had only one child to look after. She
+remembered the phrase. It had pleased her. Of the threat she said
+nothing. It was vividly and dramatically expressed. She felt that
+they would all laugh at it some day.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 6
+
+"I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?" said Lord Henry that
+evening as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol
+where dinner had been laid for three.
+
+"No, Harry," answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the bowing
+waiter. "What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope! They don't
+interest me. There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons
+worth painting, though many of them would be the better for a little
+whitewashing."
+
+"Dorian Gray is engaged to be married," said Lord Henry, watching him
+as he spoke.
+
+Hallward started and then frowned. "Dorian engaged to be married!" he
+cried. "Impossible!"
+
+"It is perfectly true."
+
+"To whom?"
+
+"To some little actress or other."
+
+"I can't believe it. Dorian is far too sensible."
+
+"Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear
+Basil."
+
+"Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry."
+
+"Except in America," rejoined Lord Henry languidly. "But I didn't say
+he was married. I said he was engaged to be married. There is a great
+difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have
+no recollection at all of being engaged. I am inclined to think that I
+never was engaged."
+
+"But think of Dorian's birth, and position, and wealth. It would be
+absurd for him to marry so much beneath him."
+
+"If you want to make him marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is
+sure to do it, then. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it
+is always from the noblest motives."
+
+"I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don't want to see Dorian tied to
+some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his
+intellect."
+
+"Oh, she is better than good--she is beautiful," murmured Lord Henry,
+sipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. "Dorian says she is
+beautiful, and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. Your
+portrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal
+appearance of other people. It has had that excellent effect, amongst
+others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn't forget his
+appointment."
+
+"Are you serious?"
+
+"Quite serious, Basil. I should be miserable if I thought I should
+ever be more serious than I am at the present moment."
+
+"But do you approve of it, Harry?" asked the painter, walking up and
+down the room and biting his lip. "You can't approve of it, possibly.
+It is some silly infatuation."
+
+"I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd
+attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air
+our moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people
+say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a
+personality fascinates me, whatever mode of expression that personality
+selects is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with
+a beautiful girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry her. Why not?
+If he wedded Messalina, he would be none the less interesting. You
+know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is
+that it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colourless.
+They lack individuality. Still, there are certain temperaments that
+marriage makes more complex. They retain their egotism, and add to it
+many other egos. They are forced to have more than one life. They
+become more highly organized, and to be highly organized is, I should
+fancy, the object of man's existence. Besides, every experience is of
+value, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an
+experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife,
+passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become
+fascinated by some one else. He would be a wonderful study."
+
+"You don't mean a single word of all that, Harry; you know you don't.
+If Dorian Gray's life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than
+yourself. You are much better than you pretend to be."
+
+Lord Henry laughed. "The reason we all like to think so well of others
+is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is
+sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our
+neighbour with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be a
+benefit to us. We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account,
+and find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare
+our pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest
+contempt for optimism. As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but
+one whose growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have
+merely to reform it. As for marriage, of course that would be silly,
+but there are other and more interesting bonds between men and women.
+I will certainly encourage them. They have the charm of being
+fashionable. But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I
+can."
+
+"My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me!" said the
+lad, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings and
+shaking each of his friends by the hand in turn. "I have never been so
+happy. Of course, it is sudden--all really delightful things are. And
+yet it seems to me to be the one thing I have been looking for all my
+life." He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked
+extraordinarily handsome.
+
+"I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian," said Hallward, "but I
+don't quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement.
+You let Harry know."
+
+"And I don't forgive you for being late for dinner," broke in Lord
+Henry, putting his hand on the lad's shoulder and smiling as he spoke.
+"Come, let us sit down and try what the new _chef_ here is like, and then
+you will tell us how it all came about."
+
+"There is really not much to tell," cried Dorian as they took their
+seats at the small round table. "What happened was simply this. After
+I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some dinner at that
+little Italian restaurant in Rupert Street you introduced me to, and
+went down at eight o'clock to the theatre. Sibyl was playing Rosalind.
+Of course, the scenery was dreadful and the Orlando absurd. But Sibyl!
+You should have seen her! When she came on in her boy's clothes, she
+was perfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-coloured velvet jerkin with
+cinnamon sleeves, slim, brown, cross-gartered hose, a dainty little
+green cap with a hawk's feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak
+lined with dull red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She
+had all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have in
+your studio, Basil. Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves
+round a pale rose. As for her acting--well, you shall see her
+to-night. She is simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy box
+absolutely enthralled. I forgot that I was in London and in the
+nineteenth century. I was away with my love in a forest that no man
+had ever seen. After the performance was over, I went behind and spoke
+to her. As we were sitting together, suddenly there came into her eyes
+a look that I had never seen there before. My lips moved towards hers.
+We kissed each other. I can't describe to you what I felt at that
+moment. It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one
+perfect point of rose-coloured joy. She trembled all over and shook
+like a white narcissus. Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed
+my hands. I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can't help
+it. Of course, our engagement is a dead secret. She has not even told
+her own mother. I don't know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley
+is sure to be furious. I don't care. I shall be of age in less than a
+year, and then I can do what I like. I have been right, Basil, haven't
+I, to take my love out of poetry and to find my wife in Shakespeare's
+plays? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their
+secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and
+kissed Juliet on the mouth."
+
+"Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right," said Hallward slowly.
+
+"Have you seen her to-day?" asked Lord Henry.
+
+Dorian Gray shook his head. "I left her in the forest of Arden; I
+shall find her in an orchard in Verona."
+
+Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. "At what
+particular point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian? And what
+did she say in answer? Perhaps you forgot all about it."
+
+"My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did
+not make any formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she
+said she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole
+world is nothing to me compared with her."
+
+"Women are wonderfully practical," murmured Lord Henry, "much more
+practical than we are. In situations of that kind we often forget to
+say anything about marriage, and they always remind us."
+
+Hallward laid his hand upon his arm. "Don't, Harry. You have annoyed
+Dorian. He is not like other men. He would never bring misery upon
+any one. His nature is too fine for that."
+
+Lord Henry looked across the table. "Dorian is never annoyed with me,"
+he answered. "I asked the question for the best reason possible, for
+the only reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking any
+question--simple curiosity. I have a theory that it is always the
+women who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women. Except,
+of course, in middle-class life. But then the middle classes are not
+modern."
+
+Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head. "You are quite incorrigible,
+Harry; but I don't mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When
+you see Sibyl Vane, you will feel that the man who could wrong her
+would be a beast, a beast without a heart. I cannot understand how any
+one can wish to shame the thing he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I want
+to place her on a pedestal of gold and to see the world worship the
+woman who is mine. What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. You mock at
+it for that. Ah! don't mock. It is an irrevocable vow that I want to
+take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me good. When I
+am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I become different
+from what you have known me to be. I am changed, and the mere touch of
+Sibyl Vane's hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating,
+poisonous, delightful theories."
+
+"And those are ...?" asked Lord Henry, helping himself to some salad.
+
+"Oh, your theories about life, your theories about love, your theories
+about pleasure. All your theories, in fact, Harry."
+
+"Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about," he answered
+in his slow melodious voice. "But I am afraid I cannot claim my theory
+as my own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure is Nature's
+test, her sign of approval. When we are happy, we are always good, but
+when we are good, we are not always happy."
+
+"Ah! but what do you mean by good?" cried Basil Hallward.
+
+"Yes," echoed Dorian, leaning back in his chair and looking at Lord
+Henry over the heavy clusters of purple-lipped irises that stood in the
+centre of the table, "what do you mean by good, Harry?"
+
+"To be good is to be in harmony with one's self," he replied, touching
+the thin stem of his glass with his pale, fine-pointed fingers.
+"Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others. One's own
+life--that is the important thing. As for the lives of one's
+neighbours, if one wishes to be a prig or a Puritan, one can flaunt
+one's moral views about them, but they are not one's concern. Besides,
+individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality consists in
+accepting the standard of one's age. I consider that for any man of
+culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest
+immorality."
+
+"But, surely, if one lives merely for one's self, Harry, one pays a
+terrible price for doing so?" suggested the painter.
+
+"Yes, we are overcharged for everything nowadays. I should fancy that
+the real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but
+self-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege
+of the rich."
+
+"One has to pay in other ways but money."
+
+"What sort of ways, Basil?"
+
+"Oh! I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, in ... well, in the
+consciousness of degradation."
+
+Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "My dear fellow, mediaeval art is
+charming, but mediaeval emotions are out of date. One can use them in
+fiction, of course. But then the only things that one can use in
+fiction are the things that one has ceased to use in fact. Believe me,
+no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever
+knows what a pleasure is."
+
+"I know what pleasure is," cried Dorian Gray. "It is to adore some
+one."
+
+"That is certainly better than being adored," he answered, toying with
+some fruits. "Being adored is a nuisance. Women treat us just as
+humanity treats its gods. They worship us, and are always bothering us
+to do something for them."
+
+"I should have said that whatever they ask for they had first given to
+us," murmured the lad gravely. "They create love in our natures. They
+have a right to demand it back."
+
+"That is quite true, Dorian," cried Hallward.
+
+"Nothing is ever quite true," said Lord Henry.
+
+"This is," interrupted Dorian. "You must admit, Harry, that women give
+to men the very gold of their lives."
+
+"Possibly," he sighed, "but they invariably want it back in such very
+small change. That is the worry. Women, as some witty Frenchman once
+put it, inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces and always
+prevent us from carrying them out."
+
+"Harry, you are dreadful! I don't know why I like you so much."
+
+"You will always like me, Dorian," he replied. "Will you have some
+coffee, you fellows? Waiter, bring coffee, and _fine-champagne_, and
+some cigarettes. No, don't mind the cigarettes--I have some. Basil, I
+can't allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A
+cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite,
+and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want? Yes, Dorian,
+you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you
+have never had the courage to commit."
+
+"What nonsense you talk, Harry!" cried the lad, taking a light from a
+fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table.
+"Let us go down to the theatre. When Sibyl comes on the stage you will
+have a new ideal of life. She will represent something to you that you
+have never known."
+
+"I have known everything," said Lord Henry, with a tired look in his
+eyes, "but I am always ready for a new emotion. I am afraid, however,
+that, for me at any rate, there is no such thing. Still, your
+wonderful girl may thrill me. I love acting. It is so much more real
+than life. Let us go. Dorian, you will come with me. I am so sorry,
+Basil, but there is only room for two in the brougham. You must follow
+us in a hansom."
+
+They got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing. The
+painter was silent and preoccupied. There was a gloom over him. He
+could not bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him to be better
+than many other things that might have happened. After a few minutes,
+they all passed downstairs. He drove off by himself, as had been
+arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little brougham in
+front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that
+Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the
+past. Life had come between them.... His eyes darkened, and the
+crowded flaring streets became blurred to his eyes. When the cab drew
+up at the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 7
+
+For some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat
+Jew manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with
+an oily tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box with a sort of
+pompous humility, waving his fat jewelled hands and talking at the top
+of his voice. Dorian Gray loathed him more than ever. He felt as if
+he had come to look for Miranda and had been met by Caliban. Lord
+Henry, upon the other hand, rather liked him. At least he declared he
+did, and insisted on shaking him by the hand and assuring him that he
+was proud to meet a man who had discovered a real genius and gone
+bankrupt over a poet. Hallward amused himself with watching the faces
+in the pit. The heat was terribly oppressive, and the huge sunlight
+flamed like a monstrous dahlia with petals of yellow fire. The youths
+in the gallery had taken off their coats and waistcoats and hung them
+over the side. They talked to each other across the theatre and shared
+their oranges with the tawdry girls who sat beside them. Some women
+were laughing in the pit. Their voices were horribly shrill and
+discordant. The sound of the popping of corks came from the bar.
+
+"What a place to find one's divinity in!" said Lord Henry.
+
+"Yes!" answered Dorian Gray. "It was here I found her, and she is
+divine beyond all living things. When she acts, you will forget
+everything. These common rough people, with their coarse faces and
+brutal gestures, become quite different when she is on the stage. They
+sit silently and watch her. They weep and laugh as she wills them to
+do. She makes them as responsive as a violin. She spiritualizes them,
+and one feels that they are of the same flesh and blood as one's self."
+
+"The same flesh and blood as one's self! Oh, I hope not!" exclaimed
+Lord Henry, who was scanning the occupants of the gallery through his
+opera-glass.
+
+"Don't pay any attention to him, Dorian," said the painter. "I
+understand what you mean, and I believe in this girl. Any one you love
+must be marvellous, and any girl who has the effect you describe must
+be fine and noble. To spiritualize one's age--that is something worth
+doing. If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without
+one, if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have
+been sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and
+lend them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of
+all your adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world. This
+marriage is quite right. I did not think so at first, but I admit it
+now. The gods made Sibyl Vane for you. Without her you would have
+been incomplete."
+
+"Thanks, Basil," answered Dorian Gray, pressing his hand. "I knew that
+you would understand me. Harry is so cynical, he terrifies me. But
+here is the orchestra. It is quite dreadful, but it only lasts for
+about five minutes. Then the curtain rises, and you will see the girl
+to whom I am going to give all my life, to whom I have given everything
+that is good in me."
+
+A quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst an extraordinary turmoil of
+applause, Sibyl Vane stepped on to the stage. Yes, she was certainly
+lovely to look at--one of the loveliest creatures, Lord Henry thought,
+that he had ever seen. There was something of the fawn in her shy
+grace and startled eyes. A faint blush, like the shadow of a rose in a
+mirror of silver, came to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowded
+enthusiastic house. She stepped back a few paces and her lips seemed
+to tremble. Basil Hallward leaped to his feet and began to applaud.
+Motionless, and as one in a dream, sat Dorian Gray, gazing at her.
+Lord Henry peered through his glasses, murmuring, "Charming! charming!"
+
+The scene was the hall of Capulet's house, and Romeo in his pilgrim's
+dress had entered with Mercutio and his other friends. The band, such
+as it was, struck up a few bars of music, and the dance began. Through
+the crowd of ungainly, shabbily dressed actors, Sibyl Vane moved like a
+creature from a finer world. Her body swayed, while she danced, as a
+plant sways in the water. The curves of her throat were the curves of
+a white lily. Her hands seemed to be made of cool ivory.
+
+Yet she was curiously listless. She showed no sign of joy when her
+eyes rested on Romeo. The few words she had to speak--
+
+ Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
+ Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
+ For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
+ And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss--
+
+with the brief dialogue that follows, were spoken in a thoroughly
+artificial manner. The voice was exquisite, but from the point of view
+of tone it was absolutely false. It was wrong in colour. It took away
+all the life from the verse. It made the passion unreal.
+
+Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. He was puzzled and anxious.
+Neither of his friends dared to say anything to him. She seemed to
+them to be absolutely incompetent. They were horribly disappointed.
+
+Yet they felt that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of
+the second act. They waited for that. If she failed there, there was
+nothing in her.
+
+She looked charming as she came out in the moonlight. That could not
+be denied. But the staginess of her acting was unbearable, and grew
+worse as she went on. Her gestures became absurdly artificial. She
+overemphasized everything that she had to say. The beautiful passage--
+
+ Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face,
+ Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
+ For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night--
+
+was declaimed with the painful precision of a schoolgirl who has been
+taught to recite by some second-rate professor of elocution. When she
+leaned over the balcony and came to those wonderful lines--
+
+ Although I joy in thee,
+ I have no joy of this contract to-night:
+ It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
+ Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
+ Ere one can say, "It lightens." Sweet, good-night!
+ This bud of love by summer's ripening breath
+ May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet--
+
+she spoke the words as though they conveyed no meaning to her. It was
+not nervousness. Indeed, so far from being nervous, she was absolutely
+self-contained. It was simply bad art. She was a complete failure.
+
+Even the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their
+interest in the play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and
+to whistle. The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of the
+dress-circle, stamped and swore with rage. The only person unmoved was
+the girl herself.
+
+When the second act was over, there came a storm of hisses, and Lord
+Henry got up from his chair and put on his coat. "She is quite
+beautiful, Dorian," he said, "but she can't act. Let us go."
+
+"I am going to see the play through," answered the lad, in a hard
+bitter voice. "I am awfully sorry that I have made you waste an
+evening, Harry. I apologize to you both."
+
+"My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill," interrupted
+Hallward. "We will come some other night."
+
+"I wish she were ill," he rejoined. "But she seems to me to be simply
+callous and cold. She has entirely altered. Last night she was a
+great artist. This evening she is merely a commonplace mediocre
+actress."
+
+"Don't talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a more
+wonderful thing than art."
+
+"They are both simply forms of imitation," remarked Lord Henry. "But
+do let us go. Dorian, you must not stay here any longer. It is not
+good for one's morals to see bad acting. Besides, I don't suppose you
+will want your wife to act, so what does it matter if she plays Juliet
+like a wooden doll? She is very lovely, and if she knows as little
+about life as she does about acting, she will be a delightful
+experience. There are only two kinds of people who are really
+fascinating--people who know absolutely everything, and people who know
+absolutely nothing. Good heavens, my dear boy, don't look so tragic!
+The secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is
+unbecoming. Come to the club with Basil and myself. We will smoke
+cigarettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane. She is beautiful.
+What more can you want?"
+
+"Go away, Harry," cried the lad. "I want to be alone. Basil, you must
+go. Ah! can't you see that my heart is breaking?" The hot tears came
+to his eyes. His lips trembled, and rushing to the back of the box, he
+leaned up against the wall, hiding his face in his hands.
+
+"Let us go, Basil," said Lord Henry with a strange tenderness in his
+voice, and the two young men passed out together.
+
+A few moments afterwards the footlights flared up and the curtain rose
+on the third act. Dorian Gray went back to his seat. He looked pale,
+and proud, and indifferent. The play dragged on, and seemed
+interminable. Half of the audience went out, tramping in heavy boots
+and laughing. The whole thing was a _fiasco_. The last act was played
+to almost empty benches. The curtain went down on a titter and some
+groans.
+
+As soon as it was over, Dorian Gray rushed behind the scenes into the
+greenroom. The girl was standing there alone, with a look of triumph
+on her face. Her eyes were lit with an exquisite fire. There was a
+radiance about her. Her parted lips were smiling over some secret of
+their own.
+
+When he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infinite joy
+came over her. "How badly I acted to-night, Dorian!" she cried.
+
+"Horribly!" he answered, gazing at her in amazement. "Horribly! It
+was dreadful. Are you ill? You have no idea what it was. You have no
+idea what I suffered."
+
+The girl smiled. "Dorian," she answered, lingering over his name with
+long-drawn music in her voice, as though it were sweeter than honey to
+the red petals of her mouth. "Dorian, you should have understood. But
+you understand now, don't you?"
+
+"Understand what?" he asked, angrily.
+
+"Why I was so bad to-night. Why I shall always be bad. Why I shall
+never act well again."
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. "You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill
+you shouldn't act. You make yourself ridiculous. My friends were
+bored. I was bored."
+
+She seemed not to listen to him. She was transfigured with joy. An
+ecstasy of happiness dominated her.
+
+"Dorian, Dorian," she cried, "before I knew you, acting was the one
+reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I
+thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night and Portia the
+other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia
+were mine also. I believed in everything. The common people who acted
+with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world.
+I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came--oh, my
+beautiful love!--and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what
+reality really is. To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw
+through the hollowness, the sham, the silliness of the empty pageant in
+which I had always played. To-night, for the first time, I became
+conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the
+moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and
+that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, were not
+what I wanted to say. You had brought me something higher, something
+of which all art is but a reflection. You had made me understand what
+love really is. My love! My love! Prince Charming! Prince of life!
+I have grown sick of shadows. You are more to me than all art can ever
+be. What have I to do with the puppets of a play? When I came on
+to-night, I could not understand how it was that everything had gone
+from me. I thought that I was going to be wonderful. I found that I
+could do nothing. Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant.
+The knowledge was exquisite to me. I heard them hissing, and I smiled.
+What could they know of love such as ours? Take me away, Dorian--take
+me away with you, where we can be quite alone. I hate the stage. I
+might mimic a passion that I do not feel, but I cannot mimic one that
+burns me like fire. Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you understand now what it
+signifies? Even if I could do it, it would be profanation for me to
+play at being in love. You have made me see that."
+
+He flung himself down on the sofa and turned away his face. "You have
+killed my love," he muttered.
+
+She looked at him in wonder and laughed. He made no answer. She came
+across to him, and with her little fingers stroked his hair. She knelt
+down and pressed his hands to her lips. He drew them away, and a
+shudder ran through him.
+
+Then he leaped up and went to the door. "Yes," he cried, "you have
+killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don't even
+stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because
+you were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you
+realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the
+shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and
+stupid. My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been!
+You are nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never
+think of you. I will never mention your name. You don't know what you
+were to me, once. Why, once ... Oh, I can't bear to think of it! I
+wish I had never laid eyes upon you! You have spoiled the romance of
+my life. How little you can know of love, if you say it mars your art!
+Without your art, you are nothing. I would have made you famous,
+splendid, magnificent. The world would have worshipped you, and you
+would have borne my name. What are you now? A third-rate actress with
+a pretty face."
+
+The girl grew white, and trembled. She clenched her hands together,
+and her voice seemed to catch in her throat. "You are not serious,
+Dorian?" she murmured. "You are acting."
+
+"Acting! I leave that to you. You do it so well," he answered
+bitterly.
+
+She rose from her knees and, with a piteous expression of pain in her
+face, came across the room to him. She put her hand upon his arm and
+looked into his eyes. He thrust her back. "Don't touch me!" he cried.
+
+A low moan broke from her, and she flung herself at his feet and lay
+there like a trampled flower. "Dorian, Dorian, don't leave me!" she
+whispered. "I am so sorry I didn't act well. I was thinking of you
+all the time. But I will try--indeed, I will try. It came so suddenly
+across me, my love for you. I think I should never have known it if
+you had not kissed me--if we had not kissed each other. Kiss me again,
+my love. Don't go away from me. I couldn't bear it. Oh! don't go
+away from me. My brother ... No; never mind. He didn't mean it. He
+was in jest.... But you, oh! can't you forgive me for to-night? I will
+work so hard and try to improve. Don't be cruel to me, because I love
+you better than anything in the world. After all, it is only once that
+I have not pleased you. But you are quite right, Dorian. I should
+have shown myself more of an artist. It was foolish of me, and yet I
+couldn't help it. Oh, don't leave me, don't leave me." A fit of
+passionate sobbing choked her. She crouched on the floor like a
+wounded thing, and Dorian Gray, with his beautiful eyes, looked down at
+her, and his chiselled lips curled in exquisite disdain. There is
+always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has
+ceased to love. Sibyl Vane seemed to him to be absurdly melodramatic.
+Her tears and sobs annoyed him.
+
+"I am going," he said at last in his calm clear voice. "I don't wish
+to be unkind, but I can't see you again. You have disappointed me."
+
+She wept silently, and made no answer, but crept nearer. Her little
+hands stretched blindly out, and appeared to be seeking for him. He
+turned on his heel and left the room. In a few moments he was out of
+the theatre.
+
+Where he went to he hardly knew. He remembered wandering through dimly
+lit streets, past gaunt, black-shadowed archways and evil-looking
+houses. Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had called after
+him. Drunkards had reeled by, cursing and chattering to themselves
+like monstrous apes. He had seen grotesque children huddled upon
+door-steps, and heard shrieks and oaths from gloomy courts.
+
+As the dawn was just breaking, he found himself close to Covent Garden.
+The darkness lifted, and, flushed with faint fires, the sky hollowed
+itself into a perfect pearl. Huge carts filled with nodding lilies
+rumbled slowly down the polished empty street. The air was heavy with
+the perfume of the flowers, and their beauty seemed to bring him an
+anodyne for his pain. He followed into the market and watched the men
+unloading their waggons. A white-smocked carter offered him some
+cherries. He thanked him, wondered why he refused to accept any money
+for them, and began to eat them listlessly. They had been plucked at
+midnight, and the coldness of the moon had entered into them. A long
+line of boys carrying crates of striped tulips, and of yellow and red
+roses, defiled in front of him, threading their way through the huge,
+jade-green piles of vegetables. Under the portico, with its grey,
+sun-bleached pillars, loitered a troop of draggled bareheaded girls,
+waiting for the auction to be over. Others crowded round the swinging
+doors of the coffee-house in the piazza. The heavy cart-horses slipped
+and stamped upon the rough stones, shaking their bells and trappings.
+Some of the drivers were lying asleep on a pile of sacks. Iris-necked
+and pink-footed, the pigeons ran about picking up seeds.
+
+After a little while, he hailed a hansom and drove home. For a few
+moments he loitered upon the doorstep, looking round at the silent
+square, with its blank, close-shuttered windows and its staring blinds.
+The sky was pure opal now, and the roofs of the houses glistened like
+silver against it. From some chimney opposite a thin wreath of smoke
+was rising. It curled, a violet riband, through the nacre-coloured air.
+
+In the huge gilt Venetian lantern, spoil of some Doge's barge, that
+hung from the ceiling of the great, oak-panelled hall of entrance,
+lights were still burning from three flickering jets: thin blue petals
+of flame they seemed, rimmed with white fire. He turned them out and,
+having thrown his hat and cape on the table, passed through the library
+towards the door of his bedroom, a large octagonal chamber on the
+ground floor that, in his new-born feeling for luxury, he had just had
+decorated for himself and hung with some curious Renaissance tapestries
+that had been discovered stored in a disused attic at Selby Royal. As
+he was turning the handle of the door, his eye fell upon the portrait
+Basil Hallward had painted of him. He started back as if in surprise.
+Then he went on into his own room, looking somewhat puzzled. After he
+had taken the button-hole out of his coat, he seemed to hesitate.
+Finally, he came back, went over to the picture, and examined it. In
+the dim arrested light that struggled through the cream-coloured silk
+blinds, the face appeared to him to be a little changed. The
+expression looked different. One would have said that there was a
+touch of cruelty in the mouth. It was certainly strange.
+
+He turned round and, walking to the window, drew up the blind. The
+bright dawn flooded the room and swept the fantastic shadows into dusky
+corners, where they lay shuddering. But the strange expression that he
+had noticed in the face of the portrait seemed to linger there, to be
+more intensified even. The quivering ardent sunlight showed him the
+lines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if he had been looking
+into a mirror after he had done some dreadful thing.
+
+He winced and, taking up from the table an oval glass framed in ivory
+Cupids, one of Lord Henry's many presents to him, glanced hurriedly
+into its polished depths. No line like that warped his red lips. What
+did it mean?
+
+He rubbed his eyes, and came close to the picture, and examined it
+again. There were no signs of any change when he looked into the
+actual painting, and yet there was no doubt that the whole expression
+had altered. It was not a mere fancy of his own. The thing was
+horribly apparent.
+
+He threw himself into a chair and began to think. Suddenly there
+flashed across his mind what he had said in Basil Hallward's studio the
+day the picture had been finished. Yes, he remembered it perfectly.
+He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the
+portrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the
+face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that
+the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and
+thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness
+of his then just conscious boyhood. Surely his wish had not been
+fulfilled? Such things were impossible. It seemed monstrous even to
+think of them. And, yet, there was the picture before him, with the
+touch of cruelty in the mouth.
+
+Cruelty! Had he been cruel? It was the girl's fault, not his. He had
+dreamed of her as a great artist, had given his love to her because he
+had thought her great. Then she had disappointed him. She had been
+shallow and unworthy. And, yet, a feeling of infinite regret came over
+him, as he thought of her lying at his feet sobbing like a little
+child. He remembered with what callousness he had watched her. Why
+had he been made like that? Why had such a soul been given to him?
+But he had suffered also. During the three terrible hours that the
+play had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain, aeon upon aeon of
+torture. His life was well worth hers. She had marred him for a
+moment, if he had wounded her for an age. Besides, women were better
+suited to bear sorrow than men. They lived on their emotions. They
+only thought of their emotions. When they took lovers, it was merely
+to have some one with whom they could have scenes. Lord Henry had told
+him that, and Lord Henry knew what women were. Why should he trouble
+about Sibyl Vane? She was nothing to him now.
+
+But the picture? What was he to say of that? It held the secret of
+his life, and told his story. It had taught him to love his own
+beauty. Would it teach him to loathe his own soul? Would he ever look
+at it again?
+
+No; it was merely an illusion wrought on the troubled senses. The
+horrible night that he had passed had left phantoms behind it.
+Suddenly there had fallen upon his brain that tiny scarlet speck that
+makes men mad. The picture had not changed. It was folly to think so.
+
+Yet it was watching him, with its beautiful marred face and its cruel
+smile. Its bright hair gleamed in the early sunlight. Its blue eyes
+met his own. A sense of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the
+painted image of himself, came over him. It had altered already, and
+would alter more. Its gold would wither into grey. Its red and white
+roses would die. For every sin that he committed, a stain would fleck
+and wreck its fairness. But he would not sin. The picture, changed or
+unchanged, would be to him the visible emblem of conscience. He would
+resist temptation. He would not see Lord Henry any more--would not, at
+any rate, listen to those subtle poisonous theories that in Basil
+Hallward's garden had first stirred within him the passion for
+impossible things. He would go back to Sibyl Vane, make her amends,
+marry her, try to love her again. Yes, it was his duty to do so. She
+must have suffered more than he had. Poor child! He had been selfish
+and cruel to her. The fascination that she had exercised over him
+would return. They would be happy together. His life with her would
+be beautiful and pure.
+
+He got up from his chair and drew a large screen right in front of the
+portrait, shuddering as he glanced at it. "How horrible!" he murmured
+to himself, and he walked across to the window and opened it. When he
+stepped out on to the grass, he drew a deep breath. The fresh morning
+air seemed to drive away all his sombre passions. He thought only of
+Sibyl. A faint echo of his love came back to him. He repeated her
+name over and over again. The birds that were singing in the
+dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 8
+
+It was long past noon when he awoke. His valet had crept several times
+on tiptoe into the room to see if he was stirring, and had wondered
+what made his young master sleep so late. Finally his bell sounded,
+and Victor came in softly with a cup of tea, and a pile of letters, on
+a small tray of old Sevres china, and drew back the olive-satin
+curtains, with their shimmering blue lining, that hung in front of the
+three tall windows.
+
+"Monsieur has well slept this morning," he said, smiling.
+
+"What o'clock is it, Victor?" asked Dorian Gray drowsily.
+
+"One hour and a quarter, Monsieur."
+
+How late it was! He sat up, and having sipped some tea, turned over
+his letters. One of them was from Lord Henry, and had been brought by
+hand that morning. He hesitated for a moment, and then put it aside.
+The others he opened listlessly. They contained the usual collection
+of cards, invitations to dinner, tickets for private views, programmes
+of charity concerts, and the like that are showered on fashionable
+young men every morning during the season. There was a rather heavy
+bill for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set that he had not yet
+had the courage to send on to his guardians, who were extremely
+old-fashioned people and did not realize that we live in an age when
+unnecessary things are our only necessities; and there were several
+very courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders
+offering to advance any sum of money at a moment's notice and at the
+most reasonable rates of interest.
+
+After about ten minutes he got up, and throwing on an elaborate
+dressing-gown of silk-embroidered cashmere wool, passed into the
+onyx-paved bathroom. The cool water refreshed him after his long
+sleep. He seemed to have forgotten all that he had gone through. A
+dim sense of having taken part in some strange tragedy came to him once
+or twice, but there was the unreality of a dream about it.
+
+As soon as he was dressed, he went into the library and sat down to a
+light French breakfast that had been laid out for him on a small round
+table close to the open window. It was an exquisite day. The warm air
+seemed laden with spices. A bee flew in and buzzed round the
+blue-dragon bowl that, filled with sulphur-yellow roses, stood before
+him. He felt perfectly happy.
+
+Suddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had placed in front of the
+portrait, and he started.
+
+"Too cold for Monsieur?" asked his valet, putting an omelette on the
+table. "I shut the window?"
+
+Dorian shook his head. "I am not cold," he murmured.
+
+Was it all true? Had the portrait really changed? Or had it been
+simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where
+there had been a look of joy? Surely a painted canvas could not alter?
+The thing was absurd. It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day.
+It would make him smile.
+
+And, yet, how vivid was his recollection of the whole thing! First in
+the dim twilight, and then in the bright dawn, he had seen the touch of
+cruelty round the warped lips. He almost dreaded his valet leaving the
+room. He knew that when he was alone he would have to examine the
+portrait. He was afraid of certainty. When the coffee and cigarettes
+had been brought and the man turned to go, he felt a wild desire to
+tell him to remain. As the door was closing behind him, he called him
+back. The man stood waiting for his orders. Dorian looked at him for
+a moment. "I am not at home to any one, Victor," he said with a sigh.
+The man bowed and retired.
+
+Then he rose from the table, lit a cigarette, and flung himself down on
+a luxuriously cushioned couch that stood facing the screen. The screen
+was an old one, of gilt Spanish leather, stamped and wrought with a
+rather florid Louis-Quatorze pattern. He scanned it curiously,
+wondering if ever before it had concealed the secret of a man's life.
+
+Should he move it aside, after all? Why not let it stay there? What
+was the use of knowing? If the thing was true, it was terrible. If it
+was not true, why trouble about it? But what if, by some fate or
+deadlier chance, eyes other than his spied behind and saw the horrible
+change? What should he do if Basil Hallward came and asked to look at
+his own picture? Basil would be sure to do that. No; the thing had to
+be examined, and at once. Anything would be better than this dreadful
+state of doubt.
+
+He got up and locked both doors. At least he would be alone when he
+looked upon the mask of his shame. Then he drew the screen aside and
+saw himself face to face. It was perfectly true. The portrait had
+altered.
+
+As he often remembered afterwards, and always with no small wonder, he
+found himself at first gazing at the portrait with a feeling of almost
+scientific interest. That such a change should have taken place was
+incredible to him. And yet it was a fact. Was there some subtle
+affinity between the chemical atoms that shaped themselves into form
+and colour on the canvas and the soul that was within him? Could it be
+that what that soul thought, they realized?--that what it dreamed, they
+made true? Or was there some other, more terrible reason? He
+shuddered, and felt afraid, and, going back to the couch, lay there,
+gazing at the picture in sickened horror.
+
+One thing, however, he felt that it had done for him. It had made him
+conscious how unjust, how cruel, he had been to Sibyl Vane. It was not
+too late to make reparation for that. She could still be his wife.
+His unreal and selfish love would yield to some higher influence, would
+be transformed into some nobler passion, and the portrait that Basil
+Hallward had painted of him would be a guide to him through life, would
+be to him what holiness is to some, and conscience to others, and the
+fear of God to us all. There were opiates for remorse, drugs that
+could lull the moral sense to sleep. But here was a visible symbol of
+the degradation of sin. Here was an ever-present sign of the ruin men
+brought upon their souls.
+
+Three o'clock struck, and four, and the half-hour rang its double
+chime, but Dorian Gray did not stir. He was trying to gather up the
+scarlet threads of life and to weave them into a pattern; to find his
+way through the sanguine labyrinth of passion through which he was
+wandering. He did not know what to do, or what to think. Finally, he
+went over to the table and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had
+loved, imploring her forgiveness and accusing himself of madness. He
+covered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of
+pain. There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we
+feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession,
+not the priest, that gives us absolution. When Dorian had finished the
+letter, he felt that he had been forgiven.
+
+Suddenly there came a knock to the door, and he heard Lord Henry's
+voice outside. "My dear boy, I must see you. Let me in at once. I
+can't bear your shutting yourself up like this."
+
+He made no answer at first, but remained quite still. The knocking
+still continued and grew louder. Yes, it was better to let Lord Henry
+in, and to explain to him the new life he was going to lead, to quarrel
+with him if it became necessary to quarrel, to part if parting was
+inevitable. He jumped up, drew the screen hastily across the picture,
+and unlocked the door.
+
+"I am so sorry for it all, Dorian," said Lord Henry as he entered.
+"But you must not think too much about it."
+
+"Do you mean about Sibyl Vane?" asked the lad.
+
+"Yes, of course," answered Lord Henry, sinking into a chair and slowly
+pulling off his yellow gloves. "It is dreadful, from one point of
+view, but it was not your fault. Tell me, did you go behind and see
+her, after the play was over?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I felt sure you had. Did you make a scene with her?"
+
+"I was brutal, Harry--perfectly brutal. But it is all right now. I am
+not sorry for anything that has happened. It has taught me to know
+myself better."
+
+"Ah, Dorian, I am so glad you take it in that way! I was afraid I
+would find you plunged in remorse and tearing that nice curly hair of
+yours."
+
+"I have got through all that," said Dorian, shaking his head and
+smiling. "I am perfectly happy now. I know what conscience is, to
+begin with. It is not what you told me it was. It is the divinest
+thing in us. Don't sneer at it, Harry, any more--at least not before
+me. I want to be good. I can't bear the idea of my soul being
+hideous."
+
+"A very charming artistic basis for ethics, Dorian! I congratulate you
+on it. But how are you going to begin?"
+
+"By marrying Sibyl Vane."
+
+"Marrying Sibyl Vane!" cried Lord Henry, standing up and looking at him
+in perplexed amazement. "But, my dear Dorian--"
+
+"Yes, Harry, I know what you are going to say. Something dreadful
+about marriage. Don't say it. Don't ever say things of that kind to
+me again. Two days ago I asked Sibyl to marry me. I am not going to
+break my word to her. She is to be my wife."
+
+"Your wife! Dorian! ... Didn't you get my letter? I wrote to you this
+morning, and sent the note down by my own man."
+
+"Your letter? Oh, yes, I remember. I have not read it yet, Harry. I
+was afraid there might be something in it that I wouldn't like. You
+cut life to pieces with your epigrams."
+
+"You know nothing then?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+Lord Henry walked across the room, and sitting down by Dorian Gray,
+took both his hands in his own and held them tightly. "Dorian," he
+said, "my letter--don't be frightened--was to tell you that Sibyl Vane
+is dead."
+
+A cry of pain broke from the lad's lips, and he leaped to his feet,
+tearing his hands away from Lord Henry's grasp. "Dead! Sibyl dead!
+It is not true! It is a horrible lie! How dare you say it?"
+
+"It is quite true, Dorian," said Lord Henry, gravely. "It is in all
+the morning papers. I wrote down to you to ask you not to see any one
+till I came. There will have to be an inquest, of course, and you must
+not be mixed up in it. Things like that make a man fashionable in
+Paris. But in London people are so prejudiced. Here, one should never
+make one's _debut_ with a scandal. One should reserve that to give an
+interest to one's old age. I suppose they don't know your name at the
+theatre? If they don't, it is all right. Did any one see you going
+round to her room? That is an important point."
+
+Dorian did not answer for a few moments. He was dazed with horror.
+Finally he stammered, in a stifled voice, "Harry, did you say an
+inquest? What did you mean by that? Did Sibyl--? Oh, Harry, I can't
+bear it! But be quick. Tell me everything at once."
+
+"I have no doubt it was not an accident, Dorian, though it must be put
+in that way to the public. It seems that as she was leaving the
+theatre with her mother, about half-past twelve or so, she said she had
+forgotten something upstairs. They waited some time for her, but she
+did not come down again. They ultimately found her lying dead on the
+floor of her dressing-room. She had swallowed something by mistake,
+some dreadful thing they use at theatres. I don't know what it was,
+but it had either prussic acid or white lead in it. I should fancy it
+was prussic acid, as she seems to have died instantaneously."
+
+"Harry, Harry, it is terrible!" cried the lad.
+
+"Yes; it is very tragic, of course, but you must not get yourself mixed
+up in it. I see by _The Standard_ that she was seventeen. I should have
+thought she was almost younger than that. She looked such a child, and
+seemed to know so little about acting. Dorian, you mustn't let this
+thing get on your nerves. You must come and dine with me, and
+afterwards we will look in at the opera. It is a Patti night, and
+everybody will be there. You can come to my sister's box. She has got
+some smart women with her."
+
+"So I have murdered Sibyl Vane," said Dorian Gray, half to himself,
+"murdered her as surely as if I had cut her little throat with a knife.
+Yet the roses are not less lovely for all that. The birds sing just as
+happily in my garden. And to-night I am to dine with you, and then go
+on to the opera, and sup somewhere, I suppose, afterwards. How
+extraordinarily dramatic life is! If I had read all this in a book,
+Harry, I think I would have wept over it. Somehow, now that it has
+happened actually, and to me, it seems far too wonderful for tears.
+Here is the first passionate love-letter I have ever written in my
+life. Strange, that my first passionate love-letter should have been
+addressed to a dead girl. Can they feel, I wonder, those white silent
+people we call the dead? Sibyl! Can she feel, or know, or listen?
+Oh, Harry, how I loved her once! It seems years ago to me now. She
+was everything to me. Then came that dreadful night--was it really
+only last night?--when she played so badly, and my heart almost broke.
+She explained it all to me. It was terribly pathetic. But I was not
+moved a bit. I thought her shallow. Suddenly something happened that
+made me afraid. I can't tell you what it was, but it was terrible. I
+said I would go back to her. I felt I had done wrong. And now she is
+dead. My God! My God! Harry, what shall I do? You don't know the
+danger I am in, and there is nothing to keep me straight. She would
+have done that for me. She had no right to kill herself. It was
+selfish of her."
+
+"My dear Dorian," answered Lord Henry, taking a cigarette from his case
+and producing a gold-latten matchbox, "the only way a woman can ever
+reform a man is by boring him so completely that he loses all possible
+interest in life. If you had married this girl, you would have been
+wretched. Of course, you would have treated her kindly. One can
+always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing. But she would
+have soon found out that you were absolutely indifferent to her. And
+when a woman finds that out about her husband, she either becomes
+dreadfully dowdy, or wears very smart bonnets that some other woman's
+husband has to pay for. I say nothing about the social mistake, which
+would have been abject--which, of course, I would not have allowed--but
+I assure you that in any case the whole thing would have been an
+absolute failure."
+
+"I suppose it would," muttered the lad, walking up and down the room
+and looking horribly pale. "But I thought it was my duty. It is not
+my fault that this terrible tragedy has prevented my doing what was
+right. I remember your saying once that there is a fatality about good
+resolutions--that they are always made too late. Mine certainly were."
+
+"Good resolutions are useless attempts to interfere with scientific
+laws. Their origin is pure vanity. Their result is absolutely _nil_.
+They give us, now and then, some of those luxurious sterile emotions
+that have a certain charm for the weak. That is all that can be said
+for them. They are simply cheques that men draw on a bank where they
+have no account."
+
+"Harry," cried Dorian Gray, coming over and sitting down beside him,
+"why is it that I cannot feel this tragedy as much as I want to? I
+don't think I am heartless. Do you?"
+
+"You have done too many foolish things during the last fortnight to be
+entitled to give yourself that name, Dorian," answered Lord Henry with
+his sweet melancholy smile.
+
+The lad frowned. "I don't like that explanation, Harry," he rejoined,
+"but I am glad you don't think I am heartless. I am nothing of the
+kind. I know I am not. And yet I must admit that this thing that has
+happened does not affect me as it should. It seems to me to be simply
+like a wonderful ending to a wonderful play. It has all the terrible
+beauty of a Greek tragedy, a tragedy in which I took a great part, but
+by which I have not been wounded."
+
+"It is an interesting question," said Lord Henry, who found an
+exquisite pleasure in playing on the lad's unconscious egotism, "an
+extremely interesting question. I fancy that the true explanation is
+this: It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such
+an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their
+absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack
+of style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us. They give us
+an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that.
+Sometimes, however, a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of
+beauty crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are real, the
+whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect. Suddenly
+we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the
+play. Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder
+of the spectacle enthralls us. In the present case, what is it that
+has really happened? Some one has killed herself for love of you. I
+wish that I had ever had such an experience. It would have made me in
+love with love for the rest of my life. The people who have adored
+me--there have not been very many, but there have been some--have
+always insisted on living on, long after I had ceased to care for them,
+or they to care for me. They have become stout and tedious, and when I
+meet them, they go in at once for reminiscences. That awful memory of
+woman! What a fearful thing it is! And what an utter intellectual
+stagnation it reveals! One should absorb the colour of life, but one
+should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar."
+
+"I must sow poppies in my garden," sighed Dorian.
+
+"There is no necessity," rejoined his companion. "Life has always
+poppies in her hands. Of course, now and then things linger. I once
+wore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic
+mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did
+die. I forget what killed it. I think it was her proposing to
+sacrifice the whole world for me. That is always a dreadful moment.
+It fills one with the terror of eternity. Well--would you believe
+it?--a week ago, at Lady Hampshire's, I found myself seated at dinner
+next the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole
+thing again, and digging up the past, and raking up the future. I had
+buried my romance in a bed of asphodel. She dragged it out again and
+assured me that I had spoiled her life. I am bound to state that she
+ate an enormous dinner, so I did not feel any anxiety. But what a lack
+of taste she showed! The one charm of the past is that it is the past.
+But women never know when the curtain has fallen. They always want a
+sixth act, and as soon as the interest of the play is entirely over,
+they propose to continue it. If they were allowed their own way, every
+comedy would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in
+a farce. They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense of
+art. You are more fortunate than I am. I assure you, Dorian, that not
+one of the women I have known would have done for me what Sibyl Vane
+did for you. Ordinary women always console themselves. Some of them
+do it by going in for sentimental colours. Never trust a woman who
+wears mauve, whatever her age may be, or a woman over thirty-five who
+is fond of pink ribbons. It always means that they have a history.
+Others find a great consolation in suddenly discovering the good
+qualities of their husbands. They flaunt their conjugal felicity in
+one's face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins. Religion
+consoles some. Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation, a
+woman once told me, and I can quite understand it. Besides, nothing
+makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner. Conscience makes
+egotists of us all. Yes; there is really no end to the consolations
+that women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not mentioned the most
+important one."
+
+"What is that, Harry?" said the lad listlessly.
+
+"Oh, the obvious consolation. Taking some one else's admirer when one
+loses one's own. In good society that always whitewashes a woman. But
+really, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have been from all the
+women one meets! There is something to me quite beautiful about her
+death. I am glad I am living in a century when such wonders happen.
+They make one believe in the reality of the things we all play with,
+such as romance, passion, and love."
+
+"I was terribly cruel to her. You forget that."
+
+"I am afraid that women appreciate cruelty, downright cruelty, more
+than anything else. They have wonderfully primitive instincts. We
+have emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their
+masters, all the same. They love being dominated. I am sure you were
+splendid. I have never seen you really and absolutely angry, but I can
+fancy how delightful you looked. And, after all, you said something to
+me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely
+fanciful, but that I see now was absolutely true, and it holds the key
+to everything."
+
+"What was that, Harry?"
+
+"You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of
+romance--that she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that
+if she died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen."
+
+"She will never come to life again now," muttered the lad, burying his
+face in his hands.
+
+"No, she will never come to life. She has played her last part. But
+you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply
+as a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful
+scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur. The girl never really
+lived, and so she has never really died. To you at least she was
+always a dream, a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare's plays and
+left them lovelier for its presence, a reed through which Shakespeare's
+music sounded richer and more full of joy. The moment she touched
+actual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away.
+Mourn for Ophelia, if you like. Put ashes on your head because
+Cordelia was strangled. Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of
+Brabantio died. But don't waste your tears over Sibyl Vane. She was
+less real than they are."
+
+There was a silence. The evening darkened in the room. Noiselessly,
+and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden. The
+colours faded wearily out of things.
+
+After some time Dorian Gray looked up. "You have explained me to
+myself, Harry," he murmured with something of a sigh of relief. "I
+felt all that you have said, but somehow I was afraid of it, and I
+could not express it to myself. How well you know me! But we will not
+talk again of what has happened. It has been a marvellous experience.
+That is all. I wonder if life has still in store for me anything as
+marvellous."
+
+"Life has everything in store for you, Dorian. There is nothing that
+you, with your extraordinary good looks, will not be able to do."
+
+"But suppose, Harry, I became haggard, and old, and wrinkled? What
+then?"
+
+"Ah, then," said Lord Henry, rising to go, "then, my dear Dorian, you
+would have to fight for your victories. As it is, they are brought to
+you. No, you must keep your good looks. We live in an age that reads
+too much to be wise, and that thinks too much to be beautiful. We
+cannot spare you. And now you had better dress and drive down to the
+club. We are rather late, as it is."
+
+"I think I shall join you at the opera, Harry. I feel too tired to eat
+anything. What is the number of your sister's box?"
+
+"Twenty-seven, I believe. It is on the grand tier. You will see her
+name on the door. But I am sorry you won't come and dine."
+
+"I don't feel up to it," said Dorian listlessly. "But I am awfully
+obliged to you for all that you have said to me. You are certainly my
+best friend. No one has ever understood me as you have."
+
+"We are only at the beginning of our friendship, Dorian," answered Lord
+Henry, shaking him by the hand. "Good-bye. I shall see you before
+nine-thirty, I hope. Remember, Patti is singing."
+
+As he closed the door behind him, Dorian Gray touched the bell, and in
+a few minutes Victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down.
+He waited impatiently for him to go. The man seemed to take an
+interminable time over everything.
+
+As soon as he had left, he rushed to the screen and drew it back. No;
+there was no further change in the picture. It had received the news
+of Sibyl Vane's death before he had known of it himself. It was
+conscious of the events of life as they occurred. The vicious cruelty
+that marred the fine lines of the mouth had, no doubt, appeared at the
+very moment that the girl had drunk the poison, whatever it was. Or
+was it indifferent to results? Did it merely take cognizance of what
+passed within the soul? He wondered, and hoped that some day he would
+see the change taking place before his very eyes, shuddering as he
+hoped it.
+
+Poor Sibyl! What a romance it had all been! She had often mimicked
+death on the stage. Then Death himself had touched her and taken her
+with him. How had she played that dreadful last scene? Had she cursed
+him, as she died? No; she had died for love of him, and love would
+always be a sacrament to him now. She had atoned for everything by the
+sacrifice she had made of her life. He would not think any more of
+what she had made him go through, on that horrible night at the
+theatre. When he thought of her, it would be as a wonderful tragic
+figure sent on to the world's stage to show the supreme reality of
+love. A wonderful tragic figure? Tears came to his eyes as he
+remembered her childlike look, and winsome fanciful ways, and shy
+tremulous grace. He brushed them away hastily and looked again at the
+picture.
+
+He felt that the time had really come for making his choice. Or had
+his choice already been made? Yes, life had decided that for
+him--life, and his own infinite curiosity about life. Eternal youth,
+infinite passion, pleasures subtle and secret, wild joys and wilder
+sins--he was to have all these things. The portrait was to bear the
+burden of his shame: that was all.
+
+A feeling of pain crept over him as he thought of the desecration that
+was in store for the fair face on the canvas. Once, in boyish mockery
+of Narcissus, he had kissed, or feigned to kiss, those painted lips
+that now smiled so cruelly at him. Morning after morning he had sat
+before the portrait wondering at its beauty, almost enamoured of it, as
+it seemed to him at times. Was it to alter now with every mood to
+which he yielded? Was it to become a monstrous and loathsome thing, to
+be hidden away in a locked room, to be shut out from the sunlight that
+had so often touched to brighter gold the waving wonder of its hair?
+The pity of it! the pity of it!
+
+For a moment, he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that
+existed between him and the picture might cease. It had changed in
+answer to a prayer; perhaps in answer to a prayer it might remain
+unchanged. And yet, who, that knew anything about life, would
+surrender the chance of remaining always young, however fantastic that
+chance might be, or with what fateful consequences it might be fraught?
+Besides, was it really under his control? Had it indeed been prayer
+that had produced the substitution? Might there not be some curious
+scientific reason for it all? If thought could exercise its influence
+upon a living organism, might not thought exercise an influence upon
+dead and inorganic things? Nay, without thought or conscious desire,
+might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods
+and passions, atom calling to atom in secret love or strange affinity?
+But the reason was of no importance. He would never again tempt by a
+prayer any terrible power. If the picture was to alter, it was to
+alter. That was all. Why inquire too closely into it?
+
+For there would be a real pleasure in watching it. He would be able to
+follow his mind into its secret places. This portrait would be to him
+the most magical of mirrors. As it had revealed to him his own body,
+so it would reveal to him his own soul. And when winter came upon it,
+he would still be standing where spring trembles on the verge of
+summer. When the blood crept from its face, and left behind a pallid
+mask of chalk with leaden eyes, he would keep the glamour of boyhood.
+Not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade. Not one pulse of
+his life would ever weaken. Like the gods of the Greeks, he would be
+strong, and fleet, and joyous. What did it matter what happened to the
+coloured image on the canvas? He would be safe. That was everything.
+
+He drew the screen back into its former place in front of the picture,
+smiling as he did so, and passed into his bedroom, where his valet was
+already waiting for him. An hour later he was at the opera, and Lord
+Henry was leaning over his chair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 9
+
+As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown
+into the room.
+
+"I am so glad I have found you, Dorian," he said gravely. "I called
+last night, and they told me you were at the opera. Of course, I knew
+that was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really
+gone to. I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy
+might be followed by another. I think you might have telegraphed for
+me when you heard of it first. I read of it quite by chance in a late
+edition of _The Globe_ that I picked up at the club. I came here at once
+and was miserable at not finding you. I can't tell you how
+heart-broken I am about the whole thing. I know what you must suffer.
+But where were you? Did you go down and see the girl's mother? For a
+moment I thought of following you there. They gave the address in the
+paper. Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn't it? But I was afraid of
+intruding upon a sorrow that I could not lighten. Poor woman! What a
+state she must be in! And her only child, too! What did she say about
+it all?"
+
+"My dear Basil, how do I know?" murmured Dorian Gray, sipping some
+pale-yellow wine from a delicate, gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass
+and looking dreadfully bored. "I was at the opera. You should have
+come on there. I met Lady Gwendolen, Harry's sister, for the first
+time. We were in her box. She is perfectly charming; and Patti sang
+divinely. Don't talk about horrid subjects. If one doesn't talk about
+a thing, it has never happened. It is simply expression, as Harry
+says, that gives reality to things. I may mention that she was not the
+woman's only child. There is a son, a charming fellow, I believe. But
+he is not on the stage. He is a sailor, or something. And now, tell
+me about yourself and what you are painting."
+
+"You went to the opera?" said Hallward, speaking very slowly and with a
+strained touch of pain in his voice. "You went to the opera while
+Sibyl Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging? You can talk to me
+of other women being charming, and of Patti singing divinely, before
+the girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in? Why,
+man, there are horrors in store for that little white body of hers!"
+
+"Stop, Basil! I won't hear it!" cried Dorian, leaping to his feet.
+"You must not tell me about things. What is done is done. What is
+past is past."
+
+"You call yesterday the past?"
+
+"What has the actual lapse of time got to do with it? It is only
+shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion. A man who
+is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a
+pleasure. I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to
+use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them."
+
+"Dorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely. You
+look exactly the same wonderful boy who, day after day, used to come
+down to my studio to sit for his picture. But you were simple,
+natural, and affectionate then. You were the most unspoiled creature
+in the whole world. Now, I don't know what has come over you. You
+talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you. It is all Harry's
+influence. I see that."
+
+The lad flushed up and, going to the window, looked out for a few
+moments on the green, flickering, sun-lashed garden. "I owe a great
+deal to Harry, Basil," he said at last, "more than I owe to you. You
+only taught me to be vain."
+
+"Well, I am punished for that, Dorian--or shall be some day."
+
+"I don't know what you mean, Basil," he exclaimed, turning round. "I
+don't know what you want. What do you want?"
+
+"I want the Dorian Gray I used to paint," said the artist sadly.
+
+"Basil," said the lad, going over to him and putting his hand on his
+shoulder, "you have come too late. Yesterday, when I heard that Sibyl
+Vane had killed herself--"
+
+"Killed herself! Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?" cried
+Hallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror.
+
+"My dear Basil! Surely you don't think it was a vulgar accident? Of
+course she killed herself."
+
+The elder man buried his face in his hands. "How fearful," he
+muttered, and a shudder ran through him.
+
+"No," said Dorian Gray, "there is nothing fearful about it. It is one
+of the great romantic tragedies of the age. As a rule, people who act
+lead the most commonplace lives. They are good husbands, or faithful
+wives, or something tedious. You know what I mean--middle-class virtue
+and all that kind of thing. How different Sibyl was! She lived her
+finest tragedy. She was always a heroine. The last night she
+played--the night you saw her--she acted badly because she had known
+the reality of love. When she knew its unreality, she died, as Juliet
+might have died. She passed again into the sphere of art. There is
+something of the martyr about her. Her death has all the pathetic
+uselessness of martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But, as I was saying,
+you must not think I have not suffered. If you had come in yesterday
+at a particular moment--about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter to
+six--you would have found me in tears. Even Harry, who was here, who
+brought me the news, in fact, had no idea what I was going through. I
+suffered immensely. Then it passed away. I cannot repeat an emotion.
+No one can, except sentimentalists. And you are awfully unjust, Basil.
+You come down here to console me. That is charming of you. You find
+me consoled, and you are furious. How like a sympathetic person! You
+remind me of a story Harry told me about a certain philanthropist who
+spent twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance
+redressed, or some unjust law altered--I forget exactly what it was.
+Finally he succeeded, and nothing could exceed his disappointment. He
+had absolutely nothing to do, almost died of _ennui_, and became a
+confirmed misanthrope. And besides, my dear old Basil, if you really
+want to console me, teach me rather to forget what has happened, or to
+see it from a proper artistic point of view. Was it not Gautier who
+used to write about _la consolation des arts_? I remember picking up a
+little vellum-covered book in your studio one day and chancing on that
+delightful phrase. Well, I am not like that young man you told me of
+when we were down at Marlow together, the young man who used to say
+that yellow satin could console one for all the miseries of life. I
+love beautiful things that one can touch and handle. Old brocades,
+green bronzes, lacquer-work, carved ivories, exquisite surroundings,
+luxury, pomp--there is much to be got from all these. But the artistic
+temperament that they create, or at any rate reveal, is still more to
+me. To become the spectator of one's own life, as Harry says, is to
+escape the suffering of life. I know you are surprised at my talking
+to you like this. You have not realized how I have developed. I was a
+schoolboy when you knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions, new
+thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you must not like me less. I
+am changed, but you must always be my friend. Of course, I am very
+fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is. You are not
+stronger--you are too much afraid of life--but you are better. And how
+happy we used to be together! Don't leave me, Basil, and don't quarrel
+with me. I am what I am. There is nothing more to be said."
+
+The painter felt strangely moved. The lad was infinitely dear to him,
+and his personality had been the great turning point in his art. He
+could not bear the idea of reproaching him any more. After all, his
+indifference was probably merely a mood that would pass away. There
+was so much in him that was good, so much in him that was noble.
+
+"Well, Dorian," he said at length, with a sad smile, "I won't speak to
+you again about this horrible thing, after to-day. I only trust your
+name won't be mentioned in connection with it. The inquest is to take
+place this afternoon. Have they summoned you?"
+
+Dorian shook his head, and a look of annoyance passed over his face at
+the mention of the word "inquest." There was something so crude and
+vulgar about everything of the kind. "They don't know my name," he
+answered.
+
+"But surely she did?"
+
+"Only my Christian name, and that I am quite sure she never mentioned
+to any one. She told me once that they were all rather curious to
+learn who I was, and that she invariably told them my name was Prince
+Charming. It was pretty of her. You must do me a drawing of Sibyl,
+Basil. I should like to have something more of her than the memory of
+a few kisses and some broken pathetic words."
+
+"I will try and do something, Dorian, if it would please you. But you
+must come and sit to me yourself again. I can't get on without you."
+
+"I can never sit to you again, Basil. It is impossible!" he exclaimed,
+starting back.
+
+The painter stared at him. "My dear boy, what nonsense!" he cried.
+"Do you mean to say you don't like what I did of you? Where is it?
+Why have you pulled the screen in front of it? Let me look at it. It
+is the best thing I have ever done. Do take the screen away, Dorian.
+It is simply disgraceful of your servant hiding my work like that. I
+felt the room looked different as I came in."
+
+"My servant has nothing to do with it, Basil. You don't imagine I let
+him arrange my room for me? He settles my flowers for me
+sometimes--that is all. No; I did it myself. The light was too strong
+on the portrait."
+
+"Too strong! Surely not, my dear fellow? It is an admirable place for
+it. Let me see it." And Hallward walked towards the corner of the
+room.
+
+A cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray's lips, and he rushed between
+the painter and the screen. "Basil," he said, looking very pale, "you
+must not look at it. I don't wish you to."
+
+"Not look at my own work! You are not serious. Why shouldn't I look
+at it?" exclaimed Hallward, laughing.
+
+"If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honour I will never
+speak to you again as long as I live. I am quite serious. I don't
+offer any explanation, and you are not to ask for any. But, remember,
+if you touch this screen, everything is over between us."
+
+Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at Dorian Gray in absolute
+amazement. He had never seen him like this before. The lad was
+actually pallid with rage. His hands were clenched, and the pupils of
+his eyes were like disks of blue fire. He was trembling all over.
+
+"Dorian!"
+
+"Don't speak!"
+
+"But what is the matter? Of course I won't look at it if you don't
+want me to," he said, rather coldly, turning on his heel and going over
+towards the window. "But, really, it seems rather absurd that I
+shouldn't see my own work, especially as I am going to exhibit it in
+Paris in the autumn. I shall probably have to give it another coat of
+varnish before that, so I must see it some day, and why not to-day?"
+
+"To exhibit it! You want to exhibit it?" exclaimed Dorian Gray, a
+strange sense of terror creeping over him. Was the world going to be
+shown his secret? Were people to gape at the mystery of his life?
+That was impossible. Something--he did not know what--had to be done
+at once.
+
+"Yes; I don't suppose you will object to that. Georges Petit is going
+to collect all my best pictures for a special exhibition in the Rue de
+Seze, which will open the first week in October. The portrait will
+only be away a month. I should think you could easily spare it for
+that time. In fact, you are sure to be out of town. And if you keep
+it always behind a screen, you can't care much about it."
+
+Dorian Gray passed his hand over his forehead. There were beads of
+perspiration there. He felt that he was on the brink of a horrible
+danger. "You told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it," he
+cried. "Why have you changed your mind? You people who go in for
+being consistent have just as many moods as others have. The only
+difference is that your moods are rather meaningless. You can't have
+forgotten that you assured me most solemnly that nothing in the world
+would induce you to send it to any exhibition. You told Harry exactly
+the same thing." He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of light came into
+his eyes. He remembered that Lord Henry had said to him once, half
+seriously and half in jest, "If you want to have a strange quarter of
+an hour, get Basil to tell you why he won't exhibit your picture. He
+told me why he wouldn't, and it was a revelation to me." Yes, perhaps
+Basil, too, had his secret. He would ask him and try.
+
+"Basil," he said, coming over quite close and looking him straight in
+the face, "we have each of us a secret. Let me know yours, and I shall
+tell you mine. What was your reason for refusing to exhibit my
+picture?"
+
+The painter shuddered in spite of himself. "Dorian, if I told you, you
+might like me less than you do, and you would certainly laugh at me. I
+could not bear your doing either of those two things. If you wish me
+never to look at your picture again, I am content. I have always you
+to look at. If you wish the best work I have ever done to be hidden
+from the world, I am satisfied. Your friendship is dearer to me than
+any fame or reputation."
+
+"No, Basil, you must tell me," insisted Dorian Gray. "I think I have a
+right to know." His feeling of terror had passed away, and curiosity
+had taken its place. He was determined to find out Basil Hallward's
+mystery.
+
+"Let us sit down, Dorian," said the painter, looking troubled. "Let us
+sit down. And just answer me one question. Have you noticed in the
+picture something curious?--something that probably at first did not
+strike you, but that revealed itself to you suddenly?"
+
+"Basil!" cried the lad, clutching the arms of his chair with trembling
+hands and gazing at him with wild startled eyes.
+
+"I see you did. Don't speak. Wait till you hear what I have to say.
+Dorian, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most
+extraordinary influence over me. I was dominated, soul, brain, and
+power, by you. You became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen
+ideal whose memory haunts us artists like an exquisite dream. I
+worshipped you. I grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. I
+wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with
+you. When you were away from me, you were still present in my art....
+Of course, I never let you know anything about this. It would have
+been impossible. You would not have understood it. I hardly
+understood it myself. I only knew that I had seen perfection face to
+face, and that the world had become wonderful to my eyes--too
+wonderful, perhaps, for in such mad worships there is peril, the peril
+of losing them, no less than the peril of keeping them.... Weeks and
+weeks went on, and I grew more and more absorbed in you. Then came a
+new development. I had drawn you as Paris in dainty armour, and as
+Adonis with huntsman's cloak and polished boar-spear. Crowned with
+heavy lotus-blossoms you had sat on the prow of Adrian's barge, gazing
+across the green turbid Nile. You had leaned over the still pool of
+some Greek woodland and seen in the water's silent silver the marvel of
+your own face. And it had all been what art should be--unconscious,
+ideal, and remote. One day, a fatal day I sometimes think, I
+determined to paint a wonderful portrait of you as you actually are,
+not in the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and in your own
+time. Whether it was the realism of the method, or the mere wonder of
+your own personality, thus directly presented to me without mist or
+veil, I cannot tell. But I know that as I worked at it, every flake
+and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. I grew afraid
+that others would know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told
+too much, that I had put too much of myself into it. Then it was that
+I resolved never to allow the picture to be exhibited. You were a
+little annoyed; but then you did not realize all that it meant to me.
+Harry, to whom I talked about it, laughed at me. But I did not mind
+that. When the picture was finished, and I sat alone with it, I felt
+that I was right.... Well, after a few days the thing left my studio,
+and as soon as I had got rid of the intolerable fascination of its
+presence, it seemed to me that I had been foolish in imagining that I
+had seen anything in it, more than that you were extremely good-looking
+and that I could paint. Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a
+mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really
+shown in the work one creates. Art is always more abstract than we
+fancy. Form and colour tell us of form and colour--that is all. It
+often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more completely than
+it ever reveals him. And so when I got this offer from Paris, I
+determined to make your portrait the principal thing in my exhibition.
+It never occurred to me that you would refuse. I see now that you were
+right. The picture cannot be shown. You must not be angry with me,
+Dorian, for what I have told you. As I said to Harry, once, you are
+made to be worshipped."
+
+Dorian Gray drew a long breath. The colour came back to his cheeks,
+and a smile played about his lips. The peril was over. He was safe
+for the time. Yet he could not help feeling infinite pity for the
+painter who had just made this strange confession to him, and wondered
+if he himself would ever be so dominated by the personality of a
+friend. Lord Henry had the charm of being very dangerous. But that
+was all. He was too clever and too cynical to be really fond of.
+Would there ever be some one who would fill him with a strange
+idolatry? Was that one of the things that life had in store?
+
+"It is extraordinary to me, Dorian," said Hallward, "that you should
+have seen this in the portrait. Did you really see it?"
+
+"I saw something in it," he answered, "something that seemed to me very
+curious."
+
+"Well, you don't mind my looking at the thing now?"
+
+Dorian shook his head. "You must not ask me that, Basil. I could not
+possibly let you stand in front of that picture."
+
+"You will some day, surely?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Well, perhaps you are right. And now good-bye, Dorian. You have been
+the one person in my life who has really influenced my art. Whatever I
+have done that is good, I owe to you. Ah! you don't know what it cost
+me to tell you all that I have told you."
+
+"My dear Basil," said Dorian, "what have you told me? Simply that you
+felt that you admired me too much. That is not even a compliment."
+
+"It was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession. Now that I
+have made it, something seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps one
+should never put one's worship into words."
+
+"It was a very disappointing confession."
+
+"Why, what did you expect, Dorian? You didn't see anything else in the
+picture, did you? There was nothing else to see?"
+
+"No; there was nothing else to see. Why do you ask? But you mustn't
+talk about worship. It is foolish. You and I are friends, Basil, and
+we must always remain so."
+
+"You have got Harry," said the painter sadly.
+
+"Oh, Harry!" cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter. "Harry spends
+his days in saying what is incredible and his evenings in doing what is
+improbable. Just the sort of life I would like to lead. But still I
+don't think I would go to Harry if I were in trouble. I would sooner
+go to you, Basil."
+
+"You will sit to me again?"
+
+"Impossible!"
+
+"You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian. No man comes
+across two ideal things. Few come across one."
+
+"I can't explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again.
+There is something fatal about a portrait. It has a life of its own.
+I will come and have tea with you. That will be just as pleasant."
+
+"Pleasanter for you, I am afraid," murmured Hallward regretfully. "And
+now good-bye. I am sorry you won't let me look at the picture once
+again. But that can't be helped. I quite understand what you feel
+about it."
+
+As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! How
+little he knew of the true reason! And how strange it was that,
+instead of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he had
+succeeded, almost by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend! How
+much that strange confession explained to him! The painter's absurd
+fits of jealousy, his wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his
+curious reticences--he understood them all now, and he felt sorry.
+There seemed to him to be something tragic in a friendship so coloured
+by romance.
+
+He sighed and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden away at
+all costs. He could not run such a risk of discovery again. It had
+been mad of him to have allowed the thing to remain, even for an hour,
+in a room to which any of his friends had access.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 10
+
+When his servant entered, he looked at him steadfastly and wondered if
+he had thought of peering behind the screen. The man was quite
+impassive and waited for his orders. Dorian lit a cigarette and walked
+over to the glass and glanced into it. He could see the reflection of
+Victor's face perfectly. It was like a placid mask of servility.
+There was nothing to be afraid of, there. Yet he thought it best to be
+on his guard.
+
+Speaking very slowly, he told him to tell the house-keeper that he
+wanted to see her, and then to go to the frame-maker and ask him to
+send two of his men round at once. It seemed to him that as the man
+left the room his eyes wandered in the direction of the screen. Or was
+that merely his own fancy?
+
+After a few moments, in her black silk dress, with old-fashioned thread
+mittens on her wrinkled hands, Mrs. Leaf bustled into the library. He
+asked her for the key of the schoolroom.
+
+"The old schoolroom, Mr. Dorian?" she exclaimed. "Why, it is full of
+dust. I must get it arranged and put straight before you go into it.
+It is not fit for you to see, sir. It is not, indeed."
+
+"I don't want it put straight, Leaf. I only want the key."
+
+"Well, sir, you'll be covered with cobwebs if you go into it. Why, it
+hasn't been opened for nearly five years--not since his lordship died."
+
+He winced at the mention of his grandfather. He had hateful memories
+of him. "That does not matter," he answered. "I simply want to see
+the place--that is all. Give me the key."
+
+"And here is the key, sir," said the old lady, going over the contents
+of her bunch with tremulously uncertain hands. "Here is the key. I'll
+have it off the bunch in a moment. But you don't think of living up
+there, sir, and you so comfortable here?"
+
+"No, no," he cried petulantly. "Thank you, Leaf. That will do."
+
+She lingered for a few moments, and was garrulous over some detail of
+the household. He sighed and told her to manage things as she thought
+best. She left the room, wreathed in smiles.
+
+As the door closed, Dorian put the key in his pocket and looked round
+the room. His eye fell on a large, purple satin coverlet heavily
+embroidered with gold, a splendid piece of late seventeenth-century
+Venetian work that his grandfather had found in a convent near Bologna.
+Yes, that would serve to wrap the dreadful thing in. It had perhaps
+served often as a pall for the dead. Now it was to hide something that
+had a corruption of its own, worse than the corruption of death
+itself--something that would breed horrors and yet would never die.
+What the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image
+on the canvas. They would mar its beauty and eat away its grace. They
+would defile it and make it shameful. And yet the thing would still
+live on. It would be always alive.
+
+He shuddered, and for a moment he regretted that he had not told Basil
+the true reason why he had wished to hide the picture away. Basil
+would have helped him to resist Lord Henry's influence, and the still
+more poisonous influences that came from his own temperament. The love
+that he bore him--for it was really love--had nothing in it that was
+not noble and intellectual. It was not that mere physical admiration
+of beauty that is born of the senses and that dies when the senses
+tire. It was such love as Michelangelo had known, and Montaigne, and
+Winckelmann, and Shakespeare himself. Yes, Basil could have saved him.
+But it was too late now. The past could always be annihilated.
+Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was
+inevitable. There were passions in him that would find their terrible
+outlet, dreams that would make the shadow of their evil real.
+
+He took up from the couch the great purple-and-gold texture that
+covered it, and, holding it in his hands, passed behind the screen.
+Was the face on the canvas viler than before? It seemed to him that it
+was unchanged, and yet his loathing of it was intensified. Gold hair,
+blue eyes, and rose-red lips--they all were there. It was simply the
+expression that had altered. That was horrible in its cruelty.
+Compared to what he saw in it of censure or rebuke, how shallow Basil's
+reproaches about Sibyl Vane had been!--how shallow, and of what little
+account! His own soul was looking out at him from the canvas and
+calling him to judgement. A look of pain came across him, and he flung
+the rich pall over the picture. As he did so, a knock came to the
+door. He passed out as his servant entered.
+
+"The persons are here, Monsieur."
+
+He felt that the man must be got rid of at once. He must not be
+allowed to know where the picture was being taken to. There was
+something sly about him, and he had thoughtful, treacherous eyes.
+Sitting down at the writing-table he scribbled a note to Lord Henry,
+asking him to send him round something to read and reminding him that
+they were to meet at eight-fifteen that evening.
+
+"Wait for an answer," he said, handing it to him, "and show the men in
+here."
+
+In two or three minutes there was another knock, and Mr. Hubbard
+himself, the celebrated frame-maker of South Audley Street, came in
+with a somewhat rough-looking young assistant. Mr. Hubbard was a
+florid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration for art was
+considerably tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of the
+artists who dealt with him. As a rule, he never left his shop. He
+waited for people to come to him. But he always made an exception in
+favour of Dorian Gray. There was something about Dorian that charmed
+everybody. It was a pleasure even to see him.
+
+"What can I do for you, Mr. Gray?" he said, rubbing his fat freckled
+hands. "I thought I would do myself the honour of coming round in
+person. I have just got a beauty of a frame, sir. Picked it up at a
+sale. Old Florentine. Came from Fonthill, I believe. Admirably
+suited for a religious subject, Mr. Gray."
+
+"I am so sorry you have given yourself the trouble of coming round, Mr.
+Hubbard. I shall certainly drop in and look at the frame--though I
+don't go in much at present for religious art--but to-day I only want a
+picture carried to the top of the house for me. It is rather heavy, so
+I thought I would ask you to lend me a couple of your men."
+
+"No trouble at all, Mr. Gray. I am delighted to be of any service to
+you. Which is the work of art, sir?"
+
+"This," replied Dorian, moving the screen back. "Can you move it,
+covering and all, just as it is? I don't want it to get scratched
+going upstairs."
+
+"There will be no difficulty, sir," said the genial frame-maker,
+beginning, with the aid of his assistant, to unhook the picture from
+the long brass chains by which it was suspended. "And, now, where
+shall we carry it to, Mr. Gray?"
+
+"I will show you the way, Mr. Hubbard, if you will kindly follow me.
+Or perhaps you had better go in front. I am afraid it is right at the
+top of the house. We will go up by the front staircase, as it is
+wider."
+
+He held the door open for them, and they passed out into the hall and
+began the ascent. The elaborate character of the frame had made the
+picture extremely bulky, and now and then, in spite of the obsequious
+protests of Mr. Hubbard, who had the true tradesman's spirited dislike
+of seeing a gentleman doing anything useful, Dorian put his hand to it
+so as to help them.
+
+"Something of a load to carry, sir," gasped the little man when they
+reached the top landing. And he wiped his shiny forehead.
+
+"I am afraid it is rather heavy," murmured Dorian as he unlocked the
+door that opened into the room that was to keep for him the curious
+secret of his life and hide his soul from the eyes of men.
+
+He had not entered the place for more than four years--not, indeed,
+since he had used it first as a play-room when he was a child, and then
+as a study when he grew somewhat older. It was a large,
+well-proportioned room, which had been specially built by the last Lord
+Kelso for the use of the little grandson whom, for his strange likeness
+to his mother, and also for other reasons, he had always hated and
+desired to keep at a distance. It appeared to Dorian to have but
+little changed. There was the huge Italian _cassone_, with its
+fantastically painted panels and its tarnished gilt mouldings, in which
+he had so often hidden himself as a boy. There the satinwood book-case
+filled with his dog-eared schoolbooks. On the wall behind it was
+hanging the same ragged Flemish tapestry where a faded king and queen
+were playing chess in a garden, while a company of hawkers rode by,
+carrying hooded birds on their gauntleted wrists. How well he
+remembered it all! Every moment of his lonely childhood came back to
+him as he looked round. He recalled the stainless purity of his boyish
+life, and it seemed horrible to him that it was here the fatal portrait
+was to be hidden away. How little he had thought, in those dead days,
+of all that was in store for him!
+
+But there was no other place in the house so secure from prying eyes as
+this. He had the key, and no one else could enter it. Beneath its
+purple pall, the face painted on the canvas could grow bestial, sodden,
+and unclean. What did it matter? No one could see it. He himself
+would not see it. Why should he watch the hideous corruption of his
+soul? He kept his youth--that was enough. And, besides, might not
+his nature grow finer, after all? There was no reason that the future
+should be so full of shame. Some love might come across his life, and
+purify him, and shield him from those sins that seemed to be already
+stirring in spirit and in flesh--those curious unpictured sins whose
+very mystery lent them their subtlety and their charm. Perhaps, some
+day, the cruel look would have passed away from the scarlet sensitive
+mouth, and he might show to the world Basil Hallward's masterpiece.
+
+No; that was impossible. Hour by hour, and week by week, the thing
+upon the canvas was growing old. It might escape the hideousness of
+sin, but the hideousness of age was in store for it. The cheeks would
+become hollow or flaccid. Yellow crow's feet would creep round the
+fading eyes and make them horrible. The hair would lose its
+brightness, the mouth would gape or droop, would be foolish or gross,
+as the mouths of old men are. There would be the wrinkled throat, the
+cold, blue-veined hands, the twisted body, that he remembered in the
+grandfather who had been so stern to him in his boyhood. The picture
+had to be concealed. There was no help for it.
+
+"Bring it in, Mr. Hubbard, please," he said, wearily, turning round.
+"I am sorry I kept you so long. I was thinking of something else."
+
+"Always glad to have a rest, Mr. Gray," answered the frame-maker, who
+was still gasping for breath. "Where shall we put it, sir?"
+
+"Oh, anywhere. Here: this will do. I don't want to have it hung up.
+Just lean it against the wall. Thanks."
+
+"Might one look at the work of art, sir?"
+
+Dorian started. "It would not interest you, Mr. Hubbard," he said,
+keeping his eye on the man. He felt ready to leap upon him and fling
+him to the ground if he dared to lift the gorgeous hanging that
+concealed the secret of his life. "I shan't trouble you any more now.
+I am much obliged for your kindness in coming round."
+
+"Not at all, not at all, Mr. Gray. Ever ready to do anything for you,
+sir." And Mr. Hubbard tramped downstairs, followed by the assistant,
+who glanced back at Dorian with a look of shy wonder in his rough
+uncomely face. He had never seen any one so marvellous.
+
+When the sound of their footsteps had died away, Dorian locked the door
+and put the key in his pocket. He felt safe now. No one would ever
+look upon the horrible thing. No eye but his would ever see his shame.
+
+On reaching the library, he found that it was just after five o'clock
+and that the tea had been already brought up. On a little table of
+dark perfumed wood thickly incrusted with nacre, a present from Lady
+Radley, his guardian's wife, a pretty professional invalid who had
+spent the preceding winter in Cairo, was lying a note from Lord Henry,
+and beside it was a book bound in yellow paper, the cover slightly torn
+and the edges soiled. A copy of the third edition of _The St. James's
+Gazette_ had been placed on the tea-tray. It was evident that Victor had
+returned. He wondered if he had met the men in the hall as they were
+leaving the house and had wormed out of them what they had been doing.
+He would be sure to miss the picture--had no doubt missed it already,
+while he had been laying the tea-things. The screen had not been set
+back, and a blank space was visible on the wall. Perhaps some night he
+might find him creeping upstairs and trying to force the door of the
+room. It was a horrible thing to have a spy in one's house. He had
+heard of rich men who had been blackmailed all their lives by some
+servant who had read a letter, or overheard a conversation, or picked
+up a card with an address, or found beneath a pillow a withered flower
+or a shred of crumpled lace.
+
+He sighed, and having poured himself out some tea, opened Lord Henry's
+note. It was simply to say that he sent him round the evening paper,
+and a book that might interest him, and that he would be at the club at
+eight-fifteen. He opened _The St. James's_ languidly, and looked through
+it. A red pencil-mark on the fifth page caught his eye. It drew
+attention to the following paragraph:
+
+
+INQUEST ON AN ACTRESS.--An inquest was held this morning at the Bell
+Tavern, Hoxton Road, by Mr. Danby, the District Coroner, on the body of
+Sibyl Vane, a young actress recently engaged at the Royal Theatre,
+Holborn. A verdict of death by misadventure was returned.
+Considerable sympathy was expressed for the mother of the deceased, who
+was greatly affected during the giving of her own evidence, and that of
+Dr. Birrell, who had made the post-mortem examination of the deceased.
+
+
+He frowned, and tearing the paper in two, went across the room and
+flung the pieces away. How ugly it all was! And how horribly real
+ugliness made things! He felt a little annoyed with Lord Henry for
+having sent him the report. And it was certainly stupid of him to have
+marked it with red pencil. Victor might have read it. The man knew
+more than enough English for that.
+
+Perhaps he had read it and had begun to suspect something. And, yet,
+what did it matter? What had Dorian Gray to do with Sibyl Vane's
+death? There was nothing to fear. Dorian Gray had not killed her.
+
+His eye fell on the yellow book that Lord Henry had sent him. What was
+it, he wondered. He went towards the little, pearl-coloured octagonal
+stand that had always looked to him like the work of some strange
+Egyptian bees that wrought in silver, and taking up the volume, flung
+himself into an arm-chair and began to turn over the leaves. After a
+few minutes he became absorbed. It was the strangest book that he had
+ever read. It seemed to him that in exquisite raiment, and to the
+delicate sound of flutes, the sins of the world were passing in dumb
+show before him. Things that he had dimly dreamed of were suddenly
+made real to him. Things of which he had never dreamed were gradually
+revealed.
+
+It was a novel without a plot and with only one character, being,
+indeed, simply a psychological study of a certain young Parisian who
+spent his life trying to realize in the nineteenth century all the
+passions and modes of thought that belonged to every century except his
+own, and to sum up, as it were, in himself the various moods through
+which the world-spirit had ever passed, loving for their mere
+artificiality those renunciations that men have unwisely called virtue,
+as much as those natural rebellions that wise men still call sin. The
+style in which it was written was that curious jewelled style, vivid
+and obscure at once, full of _argot_ and of archaisms, of technical
+expressions and of elaborate paraphrases, that characterizes the work
+of some of the finest artists of the French school of _Symbolistes_.
+There were in it metaphors as monstrous as orchids and as subtle in
+colour. The life of the senses was described in the terms of mystical
+philosophy. One hardly knew at times whether one was reading the
+spiritual ecstasies of some mediaeval saint or the morbid confessions
+of a modern sinner. It was a poisonous book. The heavy odour of
+incense seemed to cling about its pages and to trouble the brain. The
+mere cadence of the sentences, the subtle monotony of their music, so
+full as it was of complex refrains and movements elaborately repeated,
+produced in the mind of the lad, as he passed from chapter to chapter,
+a form of reverie, a malady of dreaming, that made him unconscious of
+the falling day and creeping shadows.
+
+Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleamed
+through the windows. He read on by its wan light till he could read no
+more. Then, after his valet had reminded him several times of the
+lateness of the hour, he got up, and going into the next room, placed
+the book on the little Florentine table that always stood at his
+bedside and began to dress for dinner.
+
+It was almost nine o'clock before he reached the club, where he found
+Lord Henry sitting alone, in the morning-room, looking very much bored.
+
+"I am so sorry, Harry," he cried, "but really it is entirely your
+fault. That book you sent me so fascinated me that I forgot how the
+time was going."
+
+"Yes, I thought you would like it," replied his host, rising from his
+chair.
+
+"I didn't say I liked it, Harry. I said it fascinated me. There is a
+great difference."
+
+"Ah, you have discovered that?" murmured Lord Henry. And they passed
+into the dining-room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 11
+
+For years, Dorian Gray could not free himself from the influence of
+this book. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he never
+sought to free himself from it. He procured from Paris no less than
+nine large-paper copies of the first edition, and had them bound in
+different colours, so that they might suit his various moods and the
+changing fancies of a nature over which he seemed, at times, to have
+almost entirely lost control. The hero, the wonderful young Parisian
+in whom the romantic and the scientific temperaments were so strangely
+blended, became to him a kind of prefiguring type of himself. And,
+indeed, the whole book seemed to him to contain the story of his own
+life, written before he had lived it.
+
+In one point he was more fortunate than the novel's fantastic hero. He
+never knew--never, indeed, had any cause to know--that somewhat
+grotesque dread of mirrors, and polished metal surfaces, and still
+water which came upon the young Parisian so early in his life, and was
+occasioned by the sudden decay of a beau that had once, apparently,
+been so remarkable. It was with an almost cruel joy--and perhaps in
+nearly every joy, as certainly in every pleasure, cruelty has its
+place--that he used to read the latter part of the book, with its
+really tragic, if somewhat overemphasized, account of the sorrow and
+despair of one who had himself lost what in others, and the world, he
+had most dearly valued.
+
+For the wonderful beauty that had so fascinated Basil Hallward, and
+many others besides him, seemed never to leave him. Even those who had
+heard the most evil things against him--and from time to time strange
+rumours about his mode of life crept through London and became the
+chatter of the clubs--could not believe anything to his dishonour when
+they saw him. He had always the look of one who had kept himself
+unspotted from the world. Men who talked grossly became silent when
+Dorian Gray entered the room. There was something in the purity of his
+face that rebuked them. His mere presence seemed to recall to them the
+memory of the innocence that they had tarnished. They wondered how one
+so charming and graceful as he was could have escaped the stain of an
+age that was at once sordid and sensual.
+
+Often, on returning home from one of those mysterious and prolonged
+absences that gave rise to such strange conjecture among those who were
+his friends, or thought that they were so, he himself would creep
+upstairs to the locked room, open the door with the key that never left
+him now, and stand, with a mirror, in front of the portrait that Basil
+Hallward had painted of him, looking now at the evil and aging face on
+the canvas, and now at the fair young face that laughed back at him
+from the polished glass. The very sharpness of the contrast used to
+quicken his sense of pleasure. He grew more and more enamoured of his
+own beauty, more and more interested in the corruption of his own soul.
+He would examine with minute care, and sometimes with a monstrous and
+terrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the wrinkling forehead
+or crawled around the heavy sensual mouth, wondering sometimes which
+were the more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age. He would
+place his white hands beside the coarse bloated hands of the picture,
+and smile. He mocked the misshapen body and the failing limbs.
+
+There were moments, indeed, at night, when, lying sleepless in his own
+delicately scented chamber, or in the sordid room of the little
+ill-famed tavern near the docks which, under an assumed name and in
+disguise, it was his habit to frequent, he would think of the ruin he
+had brought upon his soul with a pity that was all the more poignant
+because it was purely selfish. But moments such as these were rare.
+That curiosity about life which Lord Henry had first stirred in him, as
+they sat together in the garden of their friend, seemed to increase
+with gratification. The more he knew, the more he desired to know. He
+had mad hungers that grew more ravenous as he fed them.
+
+Yet he was not really reckless, at any rate in his relations to
+society. Once or twice every month during the winter, and on each
+Wednesday evening while the season lasted, he would throw open to the
+world his beautiful house and have the most celebrated musicians of the
+day to charm his guests with the wonders of their art. His little
+dinners, in the settling of which Lord Henry always assisted him, were
+noted as much for the careful selection and placing of those invited,
+as for the exquisite taste shown in the decoration of the table, with
+its subtle symphonic arrangements of exotic flowers, and embroidered
+cloths, and antique plate of gold and silver. Indeed, there were many,
+especially among the very young men, who saw, or fancied that they saw,
+in Dorian Gray the true realization of a type of which they had often
+dreamed in Eton or Oxford days, a type that was to combine something of
+the real culture of the scholar with all the grace and distinction and
+perfect manner of a citizen of the world. To them he seemed to be of
+the company of those whom Dante describes as having sought to "make
+themselves perfect by the worship of beauty." Like Gautier, he was one
+for whom "the visible world existed."
+
+And, certainly, to him life itself was the first, the greatest, of the
+arts, and for it all the other arts seemed to be but a preparation.
+Fashion, by which what is really fantastic becomes for a moment
+universal, and dandyism, which, in its own way, is an attempt to assert
+the absolute modernity of beauty, had, of course, their fascination for
+him. His mode of dressing, and the particular styles that from time to
+time he affected, had their marked influence on the young exquisites of
+the Mayfair balls and Pall Mall club windows, who copied him in
+everything that he did, and tried to reproduce the accidental charm of
+his graceful, though to him only half-serious, fopperies.
+
+For, while he was but too ready to accept the position that was almost
+immediately offered to him on his coming of age, and found, indeed, a
+subtle pleasure in the thought that he might really become to the
+London of his own day what to imperial Neronian Rome the author of the
+Satyricon once had been, yet in his inmost heart he desired to be
+something more than a mere _arbiter elegantiarum_, to be consulted on the
+wearing of a jewel, or the knotting of a necktie, or the conduct of a
+cane. He sought to elaborate some new scheme of life that would have
+its reasoned philosophy and its ordered principles, and find in the
+spiritualizing of the senses its highest realization.
+
+The worship of the senses has often, and with much justice, been
+decried, men feeling a natural instinct of terror about passions and
+sensations that seem stronger than themselves, and that they are
+conscious of sharing with the less highly organized forms of existence.
+But it appeared to Dorian Gray that the true nature of the senses had
+never been understood, and that they had remained savage and animal
+merely because the world had sought to starve them into submission or
+to kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making them elements of a
+new spirituality, of which a fine instinct for beauty was to be the
+dominant characteristic. As he looked back upon man moving through
+history, he was haunted by a feeling of loss. So much had been
+surrendered! and to such little purpose! There had been mad wilful
+rejections, monstrous forms of self-torture and self-denial, whose
+origin was fear and whose result was a degradation infinitely more
+terrible than that fancied degradation from which, in their ignorance,
+they had sought to escape; Nature, in her wonderful irony, driving out
+the anchorite to feed with the wild animals of the desert and giving to
+the hermit the beasts of the field as his companions.
+
+Yes: there was to be, as Lord Henry had prophesied, a new Hedonism
+that was to recreate life and to save it from that harsh uncomely
+puritanism that is having, in our own day, its curious revival. It was
+to have its service of the intellect, certainly, yet it was never to
+accept any theory or system that would involve the sacrifice of any
+mode of passionate experience. Its aim, indeed, was to be experience
+itself, and not the fruits of experience, sweet or bitter as they might
+be. Of the asceticism that deadens the senses, as of the vulgar
+profligacy that dulls them, it was to know nothing. But it was to
+teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of a life that is
+itself but a moment.
+
+There are few of us who have not sometimes wakened before dawn, either
+after one of those dreamless nights that make us almost enamoured of
+death, or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy, when through
+the chambers of the brain sweep phantoms more terrible than reality
+itself, and instinct with that vivid life that lurks in all grotesques,
+and that lends to Gothic art its enduring vitality, this art being, one
+might fancy, especially the art of those whose minds have been troubled
+with the malady of reverie. Gradually white fingers creep through the
+curtains, and they appear to tremble. In black fantastic shapes, dumb
+shadows crawl into the corners of the room and crouch there. Outside,
+there is the stirring of birds among the leaves, or the sound of men
+going forth to their work, or the sigh and sob of the wind coming down
+from the hills and wandering round the silent house, as though it
+feared to wake the sleepers and yet must needs call forth sleep from
+her purple cave. Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by
+degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we
+watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern. The wan
+mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless tapers stand where we
+had left them, and beside them lies the half-cut book that we had been
+studying, or the wired flower that we had worn at the ball, or the
+letter that we had been afraid to read, or that we had read too often.
+Nothing seems to us changed. Out of the unreal shadows of the night
+comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where
+we had left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the
+necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of
+stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids
+might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in
+the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh
+shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in
+which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate,
+in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of
+joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain.
+
+It was the creation of such worlds as these that seemed to Dorian Gray
+to be the true object, or amongst the true objects, of life; and in his
+search for sensations that would be at once new and delightful, and
+possess that element of strangeness that is so essential to romance, he
+would often adopt certain modes of thought that he knew to be really
+alien to his nature, abandon himself to their subtle influences, and
+then, having, as it were, caught their colour and satisfied his
+intellectual curiosity, leave them with that curious indifference that
+is not incompatible with a real ardour of temperament, and that,
+indeed, according to certain modern psychologists, is often a condition
+of it.
+
+It was rumoured of him once that he was about to join the Roman
+Catholic communion, and certainly the Roman ritual had always a great
+attraction for him. The daily sacrifice, more awful really than all
+the sacrifices of the antique world, stirred him as much by its superb
+rejection of the evidence of the senses as by the primitive simplicity
+of its elements and the eternal pathos of the human tragedy that it
+sought to symbolize. He loved to kneel down on the cold marble
+pavement and watch the priest, in his stiff flowered dalmatic, slowly
+and with white hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle, or
+raising aloft the jewelled, lantern-shaped monstrance with that pallid
+wafer that at times, one would fain think, is indeed the "_panis
+caelestis_," the bread of angels, or, robed in the garments of the
+Passion of Christ, breaking the Host into the chalice and smiting his
+breast for his sins. The fuming censers that the grave boys, in their
+lace and scarlet, tossed into the air like great gilt flowers had their
+subtle fascination for him. As he passed out, he used to look with
+wonder at the black confessionals and long to sit in the dim shadow of
+one of them and listen to men and women whispering through the worn
+grating the true story of their lives.
+
+But he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual
+development by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of
+mistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable
+for the sojourn of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which
+there are no stars and the moon is in travail. Mysticism, with its
+marvellous power of making common things strange to us, and the subtle
+antinomianism that always seems to accompany it, moved him for a
+season; and for a season he inclined to the materialistic doctrines of
+the _Darwinismus_ movement in Germany, and found a curious pleasure in
+tracing the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the
+brain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of
+the absolute dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions,
+morbid or healthy, normal or diseased. Yet, as has been said of him
+before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance
+compared with life itself. He felt keenly conscious of how barren all
+intellectual speculation is when separated from action and experiment.
+He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their spiritual
+mysteries to reveal.
+
+And so he would now study perfumes and the secrets of their
+manufacture, distilling heavily scented oils and burning odorous gums
+from the East. He saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not
+its counterpart in the sensuous life, and set himself to discover their
+true relations, wondering what there was in frankincense that made one
+mystical, and in ambergris that stirred one's passions, and in violets
+that woke the memory of dead romances, and in musk that troubled the
+brain, and in champak that stained the imagination; and seeking often
+to elaborate a real psychology of perfumes, and to estimate the several
+influences of sweet-smelling roots and scented, pollen-laden flowers;
+of aromatic balms and of dark and fragrant woods; of spikenard, that
+sickens; of hovenia, that makes men mad; and of aloes, that are said to
+be able to expel melancholy from the soul.
+
+At another time he devoted himself entirely to music, and in a long
+latticed room, with a vermilion-and-gold ceiling and walls of
+olive-green lacquer, he used to give curious concerts in which mad
+gipsies tore wild music from little zithers, or grave, yellow-shawled
+Tunisians plucked at the strained strings of monstrous lutes, while
+grinning Negroes beat monotonously upon copper drums and, crouching
+upon scarlet mats, slim turbaned Indians blew through long pipes of
+reed or brass and charmed--or feigned to charm--great hooded snakes and
+horrible horned adders. The harsh intervals and shrill discords of
+barbaric music stirred him at times when Schubert's grace, and Chopin's
+beautiful sorrows, and the mighty harmonies of Beethoven himself, fell
+unheeded on his ear. He collected together from all parts of the world
+the strangest instruments that could be found, either in the tombs of
+dead nations or among the few savage tribes that have survived contact
+with Western civilizations, and loved to touch and try them. He had
+the mysterious _juruparis_ of the Rio Negro Indians, that women are not
+allowed to look at and that even youths may not see till they have been
+subjected to fasting and scourging, and the earthen jars of the
+Peruvians that have the shrill cries of birds, and flutes of human
+bones such as Alfonso de Ovalle heard in Chile, and the sonorous green
+jaspers that are found near Cuzco and give forth a note of singular
+sweetness. He had painted gourds filled with pebbles that rattled when
+they were shaken; the long _clarin_ of the Mexicans, into which the
+performer does not blow, but through which he inhales the air; the
+harsh _ture_ of the Amazon tribes, that is sounded by the sentinels who
+sit all day long in high trees, and can be heard, it is said, at a
+distance of three leagues; the _teponaztli_, that has two vibrating
+tongues of wood and is beaten with sticks that are smeared with an
+elastic gum obtained from the milky juice of plants; the _yotl_-bells of
+the Aztecs, that are hung in clusters like grapes; and a huge
+cylindrical drum, covered with the skins of great serpents, like the
+one that Bernal Diaz saw when he went with Cortes into the Mexican
+temple, and of whose doleful sound he has left us so vivid a
+description. The fantastic character of these instruments fascinated
+him, and he felt a curious delight in the thought that art, like
+Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous
+voices. Yet, after some time, he wearied of them, and would sit in his
+box at the opera, either alone or with Lord Henry, listening in rapt
+pleasure to "Tannhauser" and seeing in the prelude to that great work
+of art a presentation of the tragedy of his own soul.
+
+On one occasion he took up the study of jewels, and appeared at a
+costume ball as Anne de Joyeuse, Admiral of France, in a dress covered
+with five hundred and sixty pearls. This taste enthralled him for
+years, and, indeed, may be said never to have left him. He would often
+spend a whole day settling and resettling in their cases the various
+stones that he had collected, such as the olive-green chrysoberyl that
+turns red by lamplight, the cymophane with its wirelike line of silver,
+the pistachio-coloured peridot, rose-pink and wine-yellow topazes,
+carbuncles of fiery scarlet with tremulous, four-rayed stars, flame-red
+cinnamon-stones, orange and violet spinels, and amethysts with their
+alternate layers of ruby and sapphire. He loved the red gold of the
+sunstone, and the moonstone's pearly whiteness, and the broken rainbow
+of the milky opal. He procured from Amsterdam three emeralds of
+extraordinary size and richness of colour, and had a turquoise _de la
+vieille roche_ that was the envy of all the connoisseurs.
+
+He discovered wonderful stories, also, about jewels. In Alphonso's
+Clericalis Disciplina a serpent was mentioned with eyes of real
+jacinth, and in the romantic history of Alexander, the Conqueror of
+Emathia was said to have found in the vale of Jordan snakes "with
+collars of real emeralds growing on their backs." There was a gem in
+the brain of the dragon, Philostratus told us, and "by the exhibition
+of golden letters and a scarlet robe" the monster could be thrown into
+a magical sleep and slain. According to the great alchemist, Pierre de
+Boniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India
+made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth
+provoked sleep, and the amethyst drove away the fumes of wine. The
+garnet cast out demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her
+colour. The selenite waxed and waned with the moon, and the meloceus,
+that discovers thieves, could be affected only by the blood of kids.
+Leonardus Camillus had seen a white stone taken from the brain of a
+newly killed toad, that was a certain antidote against poison. The
+bezoar, that was found in the heart of the Arabian deer, was a charm
+that could cure the plague. In the nests of Arabian birds was the
+aspilates, that, according to Democritus, kept the wearer from any
+danger by fire.
+
+The King of Ceilan rode through his city with a large ruby in his hand,
+as the ceremony of his coronation. The gates of the palace of John the
+Priest were "made of sardius, with the horn of the horned snake
+inwrought, so that no man might bring poison within." Over the gable
+were "two golden apples, in which were two carbuncles," so that the
+gold might shine by day and the carbuncles by night. In Lodge's
+strange romance 'A Margarite of America', it was stated that in the
+chamber of the queen one could behold "all the chaste ladies of the
+world, inchased out of silver, looking through fair mirrours of
+chrysolites, carbuncles, sapphires, and greene emeraults." Marco Polo
+had seen the inhabitants of Zipangu place rose-coloured pearls in the
+mouths of the dead. A sea-monster had been enamoured of the pearl that
+the diver brought to King Perozes, and had slain the thief, and mourned
+for seven moons over its loss. When the Huns lured the king into the
+great pit, he flung it away--Procopius tells the story--nor was it ever
+found again, though the Emperor Anastasius offered five hundred-weight
+of gold pieces for it. The King of Malabar had shown to a certain
+Venetian a rosary of three hundred and four pearls, one for every god
+that he worshipped.
+
+When the Duke de Valentinois, son of Alexander VI, visited Louis XII of
+France, his horse was loaded with gold leaves, according to Brantome,
+and his cap had double rows of rubies that threw out a great light.
+Charles of England had ridden in stirrups hung with four hundred and
+twenty-one diamonds. Richard II had a coat, valued at thirty thousand
+marks, which was covered with balas rubies. Hall described Henry VIII,
+on his way to the Tower previous to his coronation, as wearing "a
+jacket of raised gold, the placard embroidered with diamonds and other
+rich stones, and a great bauderike about his neck of large balasses."
+The favourites of James I wore ear-rings of emeralds set in gold
+filigrane. Edward II gave to Piers Gaveston a suit of red-gold armour
+studded with jacinths, a collar of gold roses set with
+turquoise-stones, and a skull-cap _parseme_ with pearls. Henry II wore
+jewelled gloves reaching to the elbow, and had a hawk-glove sewn with
+twelve rubies and fifty-two great orients. The ducal hat of Charles
+the Rash, the last Duke of Burgundy of his race, was hung with
+pear-shaped pearls and studded with sapphires.
+
+How exquisite life had once been! How gorgeous in its pomp and
+decoration! Even to read of the luxury of the dead was wonderful.
+
+Then he turned his attention to embroideries and to the tapestries that
+performed the office of frescoes in the chill rooms of the northern
+nations of Europe. As he investigated the subject--and he always had
+an extraordinary faculty of becoming absolutely absorbed for the moment
+in whatever he took up--he was almost saddened by the reflection of the
+ruin that time brought on beautiful and wonderful things. He, at any
+rate, had escaped that. Summer followed summer, and the yellow
+jonquils bloomed and died many times, and nights of horror repeated the
+story of their shame, but he was unchanged. No winter marred his face
+or stained his flowerlike bloom. How different it was with material
+things! Where had they passed to? Where was the great crocus-coloured
+robe, on which the gods fought against the giants, that had been worked
+by brown girls for the pleasure of Athena? Where the huge velarium
+that Nero had stretched across the Colosseum at Rome, that Titan sail
+of purple on which was represented the starry sky, and Apollo driving a
+chariot drawn by white, gilt-reined steeds? He longed to see the
+curious table-napkins wrought for the Priest of the Sun, on which were
+displayed all the dainties and viands that could be wanted for a feast;
+the mortuary cloth of King Chilperic, with its three hundred golden
+bees; the fantastic robes that excited the indignation of the Bishop of
+Pontus and were figured with "lions, panthers, bears, dogs, forests,
+rocks, hunters--all, in fact, that a painter can copy from nature"; and
+the coat that Charles of Orleans once wore, on the sleeves of which
+were embroidered the verses of a song beginning "_Madame, je suis tout
+joyeux_," the musical accompaniment of the words being wrought in gold
+thread, and each note, of square shape in those days, formed with four
+pearls. He read of the room that was prepared at the palace at Rheims
+for the use of Queen Joan of Burgundy and was decorated with "thirteen
+hundred and twenty-one parrots, made in broidery, and blazoned with the
+king's arms, and five hundred and sixty-one butterflies, whose wings
+were similarly ornamented with the arms of the queen, the whole worked
+in gold." Catherine de Medicis had a mourning-bed made for her of
+black velvet powdered with crescents and suns. Its curtains were of
+damask, with leafy wreaths and garlands, figured upon a gold and silver
+ground, and fringed along the edges with broideries of pearls, and it
+stood in a room hung with rows of the queen's devices in cut black
+velvet upon cloth of silver. Louis XIV had gold embroidered caryatides
+fifteen feet high in his apartment. The state bed of Sobieski, King of
+Poland, was made of Smyrna gold brocade embroidered in turquoises with
+verses from the Koran. Its supports were of silver gilt, beautifully
+chased, and profusely set with enamelled and jewelled medallions. It
+had been taken from the Turkish camp before Vienna, and the standard of
+Mohammed had stood beneath the tremulous gilt of its canopy.
+
+And so, for a whole year, he sought to accumulate the most exquisite
+specimens that he could find of textile and embroidered work, getting
+the dainty Delhi muslins, finely wrought with gold-thread palmates and
+stitched over with iridescent beetles' wings; the Dacca gauzes, that
+from their transparency are known in the East as "woven air," and
+"running water," and "evening dew"; strange figured cloths from Java;
+elaborate yellow Chinese hangings; books bound in tawny satins or fair
+blue silks and wrought with _fleurs-de-lis_, birds and images; veils of
+_lacis_ worked in Hungary point; Sicilian brocades and stiff Spanish
+velvets; Georgian work, with its gilt coins, and Japanese _Foukousas_,
+with their green-toned golds and their marvellously plumaged birds.
+
+He had a special passion, also, for ecclesiastical vestments, as indeed
+he had for everything connected with the service of the Church. In the
+long cedar chests that lined the west gallery of his house, he had
+stored away many rare and beautiful specimens of what is really the
+raiment of the Bride of Christ, who must wear purple and jewels and
+fine linen that she may hide the pallid macerated body that is worn by
+the suffering that she seeks for and wounded by self-inflicted pain.
+He possessed a gorgeous cope of crimson silk and gold-thread damask,
+figured with a repeating pattern of golden pomegranates set in
+six-petalled formal blossoms, beyond which on either side was the
+pine-apple device wrought in seed-pearls. The orphreys were divided
+into panels representing scenes from the life of the Virgin, and the
+coronation of the Virgin was figured in coloured silks upon the hood.
+This was Italian work of the fifteenth century. Another cope was of
+green velvet, embroidered with heart-shaped groups of acanthus-leaves,
+from which spread long-stemmed white blossoms, the details of which
+were picked out with silver thread and coloured crystals. The morse
+bore a seraph's head in gold-thread raised work. The orphreys were
+woven in a diaper of red and gold silk, and were starred with
+medallions of many saints and martyrs, among whom was St. Sebastian.
+He had chasubles, also, of amber-coloured silk, and blue silk and gold
+brocade, and yellow silk damask and cloth of gold, figured with
+representations of the Passion and Crucifixion of Christ, and
+embroidered with lions and peacocks and other emblems; dalmatics of
+white satin and pink silk damask, decorated with tulips and dolphins
+and _fleurs-de-lis_; altar frontals of crimson velvet and blue linen; and
+many corporals, chalice-veils, and sudaria. In the mystic offices to
+which such things were put, there was something that quickened his
+imagination.
+
+For these treasures, and everything that he collected in his lovely
+house, were to be to him means of forgetfulness, modes by which he
+could escape, for a season, from the fear that seemed to him at times
+to be almost too great to be borne. Upon the walls of the lonely
+locked room where he had spent so much of his boyhood, he had hung with
+his own hands the terrible portrait whose changing features showed him
+the real degradation of his life, and in front of it had draped the
+purple-and-gold pall as a curtain. For weeks he would not go there,
+would forget the hideous painted thing, and get back his light heart,
+his wonderful joyousness, his passionate absorption in mere existence.
+Then, suddenly, some night he would creep out of the house, go down to
+dreadful places near Blue Gate Fields, and stay there, day after day,
+until he was driven away. On his return he would sit in front of the
+picture, sometimes loathing it and himself, but filled, at other
+times, with that pride of individualism that is half the
+fascination of sin, and smiling with secret pleasure at the misshapen
+shadow that had to bear the burden that should have been his own.
+
+After a few years he could not endure to be long out of England, and
+gave up the villa that he had shared at Trouville with Lord Henry, as
+well as the little white walled-in house at Algiers where they had more
+than once spent the winter. He hated to be separated from the picture
+that was such a part of his life, and was also afraid that during his
+absence some one might gain access to the room, in spite of the
+elaborate bars that he had caused to be placed upon the door.
+
+He was quite conscious that this would tell them nothing. It was true
+that the portrait still preserved, under all the foulness and ugliness
+of the face, its marked likeness to himself; but what could they learn
+from that? He would laugh at any one who tried to taunt him. He had
+not painted it. What was it to him how vile and full of shame it
+looked? Even if he told them, would they believe it?
+
+Yet he was afraid. Sometimes when he was down at his great house in
+Nottinghamshire, entertaining the fashionable young men of his own rank
+who were his chief companions, and astounding the county by the wanton
+luxury and gorgeous splendour of his mode of life, he would suddenly
+leave his guests and rush back to town to see that the door had not
+been tampered with and that the picture was still there. What if it
+should be stolen? The mere thought made him cold with horror. Surely
+the world would know his secret then. Perhaps the world already
+suspected it.
+
+For, while he fascinated many, there were not a few who distrusted him.
+He was very nearly blackballed at a West End club of which his birth
+and social position fully entitled him to become a member, and it was
+said that on one occasion, when he was brought by a friend into the
+smoking-room of the Churchill, the Duke of Berwick and another
+gentleman got up in a marked manner and went out. Curious stories
+became current about him after he had passed his twenty-fifth year. It
+was rumoured that he had been seen brawling with foreign sailors in a
+low den in the distant parts of Whitechapel, and that he consorted with
+thieves and coiners and knew the mysteries of their trade. His
+extraordinary absences became notorious, and, when he used to reappear
+again in society, men would whisper to each other in corners, or pass
+him with a sneer, or look at him with cold searching eyes, as though
+they were determined to discover his secret.
+
+Of such insolences and attempted slights he, of course, took no notice,
+and in the opinion of most people his frank debonair manner, his
+charming boyish smile, and the infinite grace of that wonderful youth
+that seemed never to leave him, were in themselves a sufficient answer
+to the calumnies, for so they termed them, that were circulated about
+him. It was remarked, however, that some of those who had been most
+intimate with him appeared, after a time, to shun him. Women who had
+wildly adored him, and for his sake had braved all social censure and
+set convention at defiance, were seen to grow pallid with shame or
+horror if Dorian Gray entered the room.
+
+Yet these whispered scandals only increased in the eyes of many his
+strange and dangerous charm. His great wealth was a certain element of
+security. Society--civilized society, at least--is never very ready to
+believe anything to the detriment of those who are both rich and
+fascinating. It feels instinctively that manners are of more
+importance than morals, and, in its opinion, the highest respectability
+is of much less value than the possession of a good _chef_. And, after
+all, it is a very poor consolation to be told that the man who has
+given one a bad dinner, or poor wine, is irreproachable in his private
+life. Even the cardinal virtues cannot atone for half-cold _entrees_, as
+Lord Henry remarked once, in a discussion on the subject, and there is
+possibly a good deal to be said for his view. For the canons of good
+society are, or should be, the same as the canons of art. Form is
+absolutely essential to it. It should have the dignity of a ceremony,
+as well as its unreality, and should combine the insincere character of
+a romantic play with the wit and beauty that make such plays delightful
+to us. Is insincerity such a terrible thing? I think not. It is
+merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities.
+
+Such, at any rate, was Dorian Gray's opinion. He used to wonder at the
+shallow psychology of those who conceive the ego in man as a thing
+simple, permanent, reliable, and of one essence. To him, man was a
+being with myriad lives and myriad sensations, a complex multiform
+creature that bore within itself strange legacies of thought and
+passion, and whose very flesh was tainted with the monstrous maladies
+of the dead. He loved to stroll through the gaunt cold picture-gallery
+of his country house and look at the various portraits of those whose
+blood flowed in his veins. Here was Philip Herbert, described by
+Francis Osborne, in his Memoires on the Reigns of Queen Elizabeth and
+King James, as one who was "caressed by the Court for his handsome
+face, which kept him not long company." Was it young Herbert's life
+that he sometimes led? Had some strange poisonous germ crept from body
+to body till it had reached his own? Was it some dim sense of that
+ruined grace that had made him so suddenly, and almost without cause,
+give utterance, in Basil Hallward's studio, to the mad prayer that had
+so changed his life? Here, in gold-embroidered red doublet, jewelled
+surcoat, and gilt-edged ruff and wristbands, stood Sir Anthony Sherard,
+with his silver-and-black armour piled at his feet. What had this
+man's legacy been? Had the lover of Giovanna of Naples bequeathed him
+some inheritance of sin and shame? Were his own actions merely the
+dreams that the dead man had not dared to realize? Here, from the
+fading canvas, smiled Lady Elizabeth Devereux, in her gauze hood, pearl
+stomacher, and pink slashed sleeves. A flower was in her right hand,
+and her left clasped an enamelled collar of white and damask roses. On
+a table by her side lay a mandolin and an apple. There were large
+green rosettes upon her little pointed shoes. He knew her life, and
+the strange stories that were told about her lovers. Had he something
+of her temperament in him? These oval, heavy-lidded eyes seemed to
+look curiously at him. What of George Willoughby, with his powdered
+hair and fantastic patches? How evil he looked! The face was
+saturnine and swarthy, and the sensual lips seemed to be twisted with
+disdain. Delicate lace ruffles fell over the lean yellow hands that
+were so overladen with rings. He had been a macaroni of the eighteenth
+century, and the friend, in his youth, of Lord Ferrars. What of the
+second Lord Beckenham, the companion of the Prince Regent in his
+wildest days, and one of the witnesses at the secret marriage with Mrs.
+Fitzherbert? How proud and handsome he was, with his chestnut curls
+and insolent pose! What passions had he bequeathed? The world had
+looked upon him as infamous. He had led the orgies at Carlton House.
+The star of the Garter glittered upon his breast. Beside him hung the
+portrait of his wife, a pallid, thin-lipped woman in black. Her blood,
+also, stirred within him. How curious it all seemed! And his mother
+with her Lady Hamilton face and her moist, wine-dashed lips--he knew
+what he had got from her. He had got from her his beauty, and his
+passion for the beauty of others. She laughed at him in her loose
+Bacchante dress. There were vine leaves in her hair. The purple
+spilled from the cup she was holding. The carnations of the painting
+had withered, but the eyes were still wonderful in their depth and
+brilliancy of colour. They seemed to follow him wherever he went.
+
+Yet one had ancestors in literature as well as in one's own race,
+nearer perhaps in type and temperament, many of them, and certainly
+with an influence of which one was more absolutely conscious. There
+were times when it appeared to Dorian Gray that the whole of history
+was merely the record of his own life, not as he had lived it in act
+and circumstance, but as his imagination had created it for him, as it
+had been in his brain and in his passions. He felt that he had known
+them all, those strange terrible figures that had passed across the
+stage of the world and made sin so marvellous and evil so full of
+subtlety. It seemed to him that in some mysterious way their lives had
+been his own.
+
+The hero of the wonderful novel that had so influenced his life had
+himself known this curious fancy. In the seventh chapter he tells how,
+crowned with laurel, lest lightning might strike him, he had sat, as
+Tiberius, in a garden at Capri, reading the shameful books of
+Elephantis, while dwarfs and peacocks strutted round him and the
+flute-player mocked the swinger of the censer; and, as Caligula, had
+caroused with the green-shirted jockeys in their stables and supped in
+an ivory manger with a jewel-frontleted horse; and, as Domitian, had
+wandered through a corridor lined with marble mirrors, looking round
+with haggard eyes for the reflection of the dagger that was to end his
+days, and sick with that ennui, that terrible _taedium vitae_, that comes
+on those to whom life denies nothing; and had peered through a clear
+emerald at the red shambles of the circus and then, in a litter of
+pearl and purple drawn by silver-shod mules, been carried through the
+Street of Pomegranates to a House of Gold and heard men cry on Nero
+Caesar as he passed by; and, as Elagabalus, had painted his face with
+colours, and plied the distaff among the women, and brought the Moon
+from Carthage and given her in mystic marriage to the Sun.
+
+Over and over again Dorian used to read this fantastic chapter, and the
+two chapters immediately following, in which, as in some curious
+tapestries or cunningly wrought enamels, were pictured the awful and
+beautiful forms of those whom vice and blood and weariness had made
+monstrous or mad: Filippo, Duke of Milan, who slew his wife and
+painted her lips with a scarlet poison that her lover might suck death
+from the dead thing he fondled; Pietro Barbi, the Venetian, known as
+Paul the Second, who sought in his vanity to assume the title of
+Formosus, and whose tiara, valued at two hundred thousand florins, was
+bought at the price of a terrible sin; Gian Maria Visconti, who used
+hounds to chase living men and whose murdered body was covered with
+roses by a harlot who had loved him; the Borgia on his white horse,
+with Fratricide riding beside him and his mantle stained with the blood
+of Perotto; Pietro Riario, the young Cardinal Archbishop of Florence,
+child and minion of Sixtus IV, whose beauty was equalled only by his
+debauchery, and who received Leonora of Aragon in a pavilion of white
+and crimson silk, filled with nymphs and centaurs, and gilded a boy
+that he might serve at the feast as Ganymede or Hylas; Ezzelin, whose
+melancholy could be cured only by the spectacle of death, and who had a
+passion for red blood, as other men have for red wine--the son of the
+Fiend, as was reported, and one who had cheated his father at dice when
+gambling with him for his own soul; Giambattista Cibo, who in mockery
+took the name of Innocent and into whose torpid veins the blood of
+three lads was infused by a Jewish doctor; Sigismondo Malatesta, the
+lover of Isotta and the lord of Rimini, whose effigy was burned at Rome
+as the enemy of God and man, who strangled Polyssena with a napkin, and
+gave poison to Ginevra d'Este in a cup of emerald, and in honour of a
+shameful passion built a pagan church for Christian worship; Charles
+VI, who had so wildly adored his brother's wife that a leper had warned
+him of the insanity that was coming on him, and who, when his brain had
+sickened and grown strange, could only be soothed by Saracen cards
+painted with the images of love and death and madness; and, in his
+trimmed jerkin and jewelled cap and acanthuslike curls, Grifonetto
+Baglioni, who slew Astorre with his bride, and Simonetto with his page,
+and whose comeliness was such that, as he lay dying in the yellow
+piazza of Perugia, those who had hated him could not choose but weep,
+and Atalanta, who had cursed him, blessed him.
+
+There was a horrible fascination in them all. He saw them at night,
+and they troubled his imagination in the day. The Renaissance knew of
+strange manners of poisoning--poisoning by a helmet and a lighted
+torch, by an embroidered glove and a jewelled fan, by a gilded pomander
+and by an amber chain. Dorian Gray had been poisoned by a book. There
+were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he
+could realize his conception of the beautiful.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 12
+
+It was on the ninth of November, the eve of his own thirty-eighth
+birthday, as he often remembered afterwards.
+
+He was walking home about eleven o'clock from Lord Henry's, where he
+had been dining, and was wrapped in heavy furs, as the night was cold
+and foggy. At the corner of Grosvenor Square and South Audley Street,
+a man passed him in the mist, walking very fast and with the collar of
+his grey ulster turned up. He had a bag in his hand. Dorian
+recognized him. It was Basil Hallward. A strange sense of fear, for
+which he could not account, came over him. He made no sign of
+recognition and went on quickly in the direction of his own house.
+
+But Hallward had seen him. Dorian heard him first stopping on the
+pavement and then hurrying after him. In a few moments, his hand was
+on his arm.
+
+"Dorian! What an extraordinary piece of luck! I have been waiting for
+you in your library ever since nine o'clock. Finally I took pity on
+your tired servant and told him to go to bed, as he let me out. I am
+off to Paris by the midnight train, and I particularly wanted to see
+you before I left. I thought it was you, or rather your fur coat, as
+you passed me. But I wasn't quite sure. Didn't you recognize me?"
+
+"In this fog, my dear Basil? Why, I can't even recognize Grosvenor
+Square. I believe my house is somewhere about here, but I don't feel
+at all certain about it. I am sorry you are going away, as I have not
+seen you for ages. But I suppose you will be back soon?"
+
+"No: I am going to be out of England for six months. I intend to take
+a studio in Paris and shut myself up till I have finished a great
+picture I have in my head. However, it wasn't about myself I wanted to
+talk. Here we are at your door. Let me come in for a moment. I have
+something to say to you."
+
+"I shall be charmed. But won't you miss your train?" said Dorian Gray
+languidly as he passed up the steps and opened the door with his
+latch-key.
+
+The lamplight struggled out through the fog, and Hallward looked at his
+watch. "I have heaps of time," he answered. "The train doesn't go
+till twelve-fifteen, and it is only just eleven. In fact, I was on my
+way to the club to look for you, when I met you. You see, I shan't
+have any delay about luggage, as I have sent on my heavy things. All I
+have with me is in this bag, and I can easily get to Victoria in twenty
+minutes."
+
+Dorian looked at him and smiled. "What a way for a fashionable painter
+to travel! A Gladstone bag and an ulster! Come in, or the fog will
+get into the house. And mind you don't talk about anything serious.
+Nothing is serious nowadays. At least nothing should be."
+
+Hallward shook his head, as he entered, and followed Dorian into the
+library. There was a bright wood fire blazing in the large open
+hearth. The lamps were lit, and an open Dutch silver spirit-case
+stood, with some siphons of soda-water and large cut-glass tumblers, on
+a little marqueterie table.
+
+"You see your servant made me quite at home, Dorian. He gave me
+everything I wanted, including your best gold-tipped cigarettes. He is
+a most hospitable creature. I like him much better than the Frenchman
+you used to have. What has become of the Frenchman, by the bye?"
+
+Dorian shrugged his shoulders. "I believe he married Lady Radley's
+maid, and has established her in Paris as an English dressmaker.
+Anglomania is very fashionable over there now, I hear. It seems silly
+of the French, doesn't it? But--do you know?--he was not at all a bad
+servant. I never liked him, but I had nothing to complain about. One
+often imagines things that are quite absurd. He was really very
+devoted to me and seemed quite sorry when he went away. Have another
+brandy-and-soda? Or would you like hock-and-seltzer? I always take
+hock-and-seltzer myself. There is sure to be some in the next room."
+
+"Thanks, I won't have anything more," said the painter, taking his cap
+and coat off and throwing them on the bag that he had placed in the
+corner. "And now, my dear fellow, I want to speak to you seriously.
+Don't frown like that. You make it so much more difficult for me."
+
+"What is it all about?" cried Dorian in his petulant way, flinging
+himself down on the sofa. "I hope it is not about myself. I am tired
+of myself to-night. I should like to be somebody else."
+
+"It is about yourself," answered Hallward in his grave deep voice, "and
+I must say it to you. I shall only keep you half an hour."
+
+Dorian sighed and lit a cigarette. "Half an hour!" he murmured.
+
+"It is not much to ask of you, Dorian, and it is entirely for your own
+sake that I am speaking. I think it right that you should know that
+the most dreadful things are being said against you in London."
+
+"I don't wish to know anything about them. I love scandals about other
+people, but scandals about myself don't interest me. They have not got
+the charm of novelty."
+
+"They must interest you, Dorian. Every gentleman is interested in his
+good name. You don't want people to talk of you as something vile and
+degraded. Of course, you have your position, and your wealth, and all
+that kind of thing. But position and wealth are not everything. Mind
+you, I don't believe these rumours at all. At least, I can't believe
+them when I see you. Sin is a thing that writes itself across a man's
+face. It cannot be concealed. People talk sometimes of secret vices.
+There are no such things. If a wretched man has a vice, it shows
+itself in the lines of his mouth, the droop of his eyelids, the
+moulding of his hands even. Somebody--I won't mention his name, but
+you know him--came to me last year to have his portrait done. I had
+never seen him before, and had never heard anything about him at the
+time, though I have heard a good deal since. He offered an extravagant
+price. I refused him. There was something in the shape of his fingers
+that I hated. I know now that I was quite right in what I fancied
+about him. His life is dreadful. But you, Dorian, with your pure,
+bright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youth--I can't
+believe anything against you. And yet I see you very seldom, and you
+never come down to the studio now, and when I am away from you, and I
+hear all these hideous things that people are whispering about you, I
+don't know what to say. Why is it, Dorian, that a man like the Duke of
+Berwick leaves the room of a club when you enter it? Why is it that so
+many gentlemen in London will neither go to your house or invite you to
+theirs? You used to be a friend of Lord Staveley. I met him at dinner
+last week. Your name happened to come up in conversation, in
+connection with the miniatures you have lent to the exhibition at the
+Dudley. Staveley curled his lip and said that you might have the most
+artistic tastes, but that you were a man whom no pure-minded girl
+should be allowed to know, and whom no chaste woman should sit in the
+same room with. I reminded him that I was a friend of yours, and asked
+him what he meant. He told me. He told me right out before everybody.
+It was horrible! Why is your friendship so fatal to young men? There
+was that wretched boy in the Guards who committed suicide. You were
+his great friend. There was Sir Henry Ashton, who had to leave England
+with a tarnished name. You and he were inseparable. What about Adrian
+Singleton and his dreadful end? What about Lord Kent's only son and
+his career? I met his father yesterday in St. James's Street. He
+seemed broken with shame and sorrow. What about the young Duke of
+Perth? What sort of life has he got now? What gentleman would
+associate with him?"
+
+"Stop, Basil. You are talking about things of which you know nothing,"
+said Dorian Gray, biting his lip, and with a note of infinite contempt
+in his voice. "You ask me why Berwick leaves a room when I enter it.
+It is because I know everything about his life, not because he knows
+anything about mine. With such blood as he has in his veins, how could
+his record be clean? You ask me about Henry Ashton and young Perth.
+Did I teach the one his vices, and the other his debauchery? If Kent's
+silly son takes his wife from the streets, what is that to me? If
+Adrian Singleton writes his friend's name across a bill, am I his
+keeper? I know how people chatter in England. The middle classes air
+their moral prejudices over their gross dinner-tables, and whisper
+about what they call the profligacies of their betters in order to try
+and pretend that they are in smart society and on intimate terms with
+the people they slander. In this country, it is enough for a man to
+have distinction and brains for every common tongue to wag against him.
+And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead
+themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land
+of the hypocrite."
+
+"Dorian," cried Hallward, "that is not the question. England is bad
+enough I know, and English society is all wrong. That is the reason
+why I want you to be fine. You have not been fine. One has a right to
+judge of a man by the effect he has over his friends. Yours seem to
+lose all sense of honour, of goodness, of purity. You have filled them
+with a madness for pleasure. They have gone down into the depths. You
+led them there. Yes: you led them there, and yet you can smile, as
+you are smiling now. And there is worse behind. I know you and Harry
+are inseparable. Surely for that reason, if for none other, you should
+not have made his sister's name a by-word."
+
+"Take care, Basil. You go too far."
+
+"I must speak, and you must listen. You shall listen. When you met
+Lady Gwendolen, not a breath of scandal had ever touched her. Is there
+a single decent woman in London now who would drive with her in the
+park? Why, even her children are not allowed to live with her. Then
+there are other stories--stories that you have been seen creeping at
+dawn out of dreadful houses and slinking in disguise into the foulest
+dens in London. Are they true? Can they be true? When I first heard
+them, I laughed. I hear them now, and they make me shudder. What
+about your country-house and the life that is led there? Dorian, you
+don't know what is said about you. I won't tell you that I don't want
+to preach to you. I remember Harry saying once that every man who
+turned himself into an amateur curate for the moment always began by
+saying that, and then proceeded to break his word. I do want to preach
+to you. I want you to lead such a life as will make the world respect
+you. I want you to have a clean name and a fair record. I want you to
+get rid of the dreadful people you associate with. Don't shrug your
+shoulders like that. Don't be so indifferent. You have a wonderful
+influence. Let it be for good, not for evil. They say that you
+corrupt every one with whom you become intimate, and that it is quite
+sufficient for you to enter a house for shame of some kind to follow
+after. I don't know whether it is so or not. How should I know? But
+it is said of you. I am told things that it seems impossible to doubt.
+Lord Gloucester was one of my greatest friends at Oxford. He showed me
+a letter that his wife had written to him when she was dying alone in
+her villa at Mentone. Your name was implicated in the most terrible
+confession I ever read. I told him that it was absurd--that I knew you
+thoroughly and that you were incapable of anything of the kind. Know
+you? I wonder do I know you? Before I could answer that, I should
+have to see your soul."
+
+"To see my soul!" muttered Dorian Gray, starting up from the sofa and
+turning almost white from fear.
+
+"Yes," answered Hallward gravely, and with deep-toned sorrow in his
+voice, "to see your soul. But only God can do that."
+
+A bitter laugh of mockery broke from the lips of the younger man. "You
+shall see it yourself, to-night!" he cried, seizing a lamp from the
+table. "Come: it is your own handiwork. Why shouldn't you look at
+it? You can tell the world all about it afterwards, if you choose.
+Nobody would believe you. If they did believe you, they would like me
+all the better for it. I know the age better than you do, though you
+will prate about it so tediously. Come, I tell you. You have
+chattered enough about corruption. Now you shall look on it face to
+face."
+
+There was the madness of pride in every word he uttered. He stamped
+his foot upon the ground in his boyish insolent manner. He felt a
+terrible joy at the thought that some one else was to share his secret,
+and that the man who had painted the portrait that was the origin of
+all his shame was to be burdened for the rest of his life with the
+hideous memory of what he had done.
+
+"Yes," he continued, coming closer to him and looking steadfastly into
+his stern eyes, "I shall show you my soul. You shall see the thing
+that you fancy only God can see."
+
+Hallward started back. "This is blasphemy, Dorian!" he cried. "You
+must not say things like that. They are horrible, and they don't mean
+anything."
+
+"You think so?" He laughed again.
+
+"I know so. As for what I said to you to-night, I said it for your
+good. You know I have been always a stanch friend to you."
+
+"Don't touch me. Finish what you have to say."
+
+A twisted flash of pain shot across the painter's face. He paused for
+a moment, and a wild feeling of pity came over him. After all, what
+right had he to pry into the life of Dorian Gray? If he had done a
+tithe of what was rumoured about him, how much he must have suffered!
+Then he straightened himself up, and walked over to the fire-place, and
+stood there, looking at the burning logs with their frostlike ashes and
+their throbbing cores of flame.
+
+"I am waiting, Basil," said the young man in a hard clear voice.
+
+He turned round. "What I have to say is this," he cried. "You must
+give me some answer to these horrible charges that are made against
+you. If you tell me that they are absolutely untrue from beginning to
+end, I shall believe you. Deny them, Dorian, deny them! Can't you see
+what I am going through? My God! don't tell me that you are bad, and
+corrupt, and shameful."
+
+Dorian Gray smiled. There was a curl of contempt in his lips. "Come
+upstairs, Basil," he said quietly. "I keep a diary of my life from day
+to day, and it never leaves the room in which it is written. I shall
+show it to you if you come with me."
+
+"I shall come with you, Dorian, if you wish it. I see I have missed my
+train. That makes no matter. I can go to-morrow. But don't ask me to
+read anything to-night. All I want is a plain answer to my question."
+
+"That shall be given to you upstairs. I could not give it here. You
+will not have to read long."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 13
+
+He passed out of the room and began the ascent, Basil Hallward
+following close behind. They walked softly, as men do instinctively at
+night. The lamp cast fantastic shadows on the wall and staircase. A
+rising wind made some of the windows rattle.
+
+When they reached the top landing, Dorian set the lamp down on the
+floor, and taking out the key, turned it in the lock. "You insist on
+knowing, Basil?" he asked in a low voice.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I am delighted," he answered, smiling. Then he added, somewhat
+harshly, "You are the one man in the world who is entitled to know
+everything about me. You have had more to do with my life than you
+think"; and, taking up the lamp, he opened the door and went in. A
+cold current of air passed them, and the light shot up for a moment in
+a flame of murky orange. He shuddered. "Shut the door behind you," he
+whispered, as he placed the lamp on the table.
+
+Hallward glanced round him with a puzzled expression. The room looked
+as if it had not been lived in for years. A faded Flemish tapestry, a
+curtained picture, an old Italian _cassone_, and an almost empty
+book-case--that was all that it seemed to contain, besides a chair and
+a table. As Dorian Gray was lighting a half-burned candle that was
+standing on the mantelshelf, he saw that the whole place was covered
+with dust and that the carpet was in holes. A mouse ran scuffling
+behind the wainscoting. There was a damp odour of mildew.
+
+"So you think that it is only God who sees the soul, Basil? Draw that
+curtain back, and you will see mine."
+
+The voice that spoke was cold and cruel. "You are mad, Dorian, or
+playing a part," muttered Hallward, frowning.
+
+"You won't? Then I must do it myself," said the young man, and he tore
+the curtain from its rod and flung it on the ground.
+
+An exclamation of horror broke from the painter's lips as he saw in the
+dim light the hideous face on the canvas grinning at him. There was
+something in its expression that filled him with disgust and loathing.
+Good heavens! it was Dorian Gray's own face that he was looking at!
+The horror, whatever it was, had not yet entirely spoiled that
+marvellous beauty. There was still some gold in the thinning hair and
+some scarlet on the sensual mouth. The sodden eyes had kept something
+of the loveliness of their blue, the noble curves had not yet
+completely passed away from chiselled nostrils and from plastic throat.
+Yes, it was Dorian himself. But who had done it? He seemed to
+recognize his own brushwork, and the frame was his own design. The
+idea was monstrous, yet he felt afraid. He seized the lighted candle,
+and held it to the picture. In the left-hand corner was his own name,
+traced in long letters of bright vermilion.
+
+It was some foul parody, some infamous ignoble satire. He had never
+done that. Still, it was his own picture. He knew it, and he felt as
+if his blood had changed in a moment from fire to sluggish ice. His
+own picture! What did it mean? Why had it altered? He turned and
+looked at Dorian Gray with the eyes of a sick man. His mouth twitched,
+and his parched tongue seemed unable to articulate. He passed his hand
+across his forehead. It was dank with clammy sweat.
+
+The young man was leaning against the mantelshelf, watching him with
+that strange expression that one sees on the faces of those who are
+absorbed in a play when some great artist is acting. There was neither
+real sorrow in it nor real joy. There was simply the passion of the
+spectator, with perhaps a flicker of triumph in his eyes. He had taken
+the flower out of his coat, and was smelling it, or pretending to do so.
+
+"What does this mean?" cried Hallward, at last. His own voice sounded
+shrill and curious in his ears.
+
+"Years ago, when I was a boy," said Dorian Gray, crushing the flower in
+his hand, "you met me, flattered me, and taught me to be vain of my
+good looks. One day you introduced me to a friend of yours, who
+explained to me the wonder of youth, and you finished a portrait of me
+that revealed to me the wonder of beauty. In a mad moment that, even
+now, I don't know whether I regret or not, I made a wish, perhaps you
+would call it a prayer...."
+
+"I remember it! Oh, how well I remember it! No! the thing is
+impossible. The room is damp. Mildew has got into the canvas. The
+paints I used had some wretched mineral poison in them. I tell you the
+thing is impossible."
+
+"Ah, what is impossible?" murmured the young man, going over to the
+window and leaning his forehead against the cold, mist-stained glass.
+
+"You told me you had destroyed it."
+
+"I was wrong. It has destroyed me."
+
+"I don't believe it is my picture."
+
+"Can't you see your ideal in it?" said Dorian bitterly.
+
+"My ideal, as you call it..."
+
+"As you called it."
+
+"There was nothing evil in it, nothing shameful. You were to me such
+an ideal as I shall never meet again. This is the face of a satyr."
+
+"It is the face of my soul."
+
+"Christ! what a thing I must have worshipped! It has the eyes of a
+devil."
+
+"Each of us has heaven and hell in him, Basil," cried Dorian with a
+wild gesture of despair.
+
+Hallward turned again to the portrait and gazed at it. "My God! If it
+is true," he exclaimed, "and this is what you have done with your life,
+why, you must be worse even than those who talk against you fancy you
+to be!" He held the light up again to the canvas and examined it. The
+surface seemed to be quite undisturbed and as he had left it. It was
+from within, apparently, that the foulness and horror had come.
+Through some strange quickening of inner life the leprosies of sin were
+slowly eating the thing away. The rotting of a corpse in a watery
+grave was not so fearful.
+
+His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket on the floor and
+lay there sputtering. He placed his foot on it and put it out. Then
+he flung himself into the rickety chair that was standing by the table
+and buried his face in his hands.
+
+"Good God, Dorian, what a lesson! What an awful lesson!" There was no
+answer, but he could hear the young man sobbing at the window. "Pray,
+Dorian, pray," he murmured. "What is it that one was taught to say in
+one's boyhood? 'Lead us not into temptation. Forgive us our sins.
+Wash away our iniquities.' Let us say that together. The prayer of
+your pride has been answered. The prayer of your repentance will be
+answered also. I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You
+worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished."
+
+Dorian Gray turned slowly around and looked at him with tear-dimmed
+eyes. "It is too late, Basil," he faltered.
+
+"It is never too late, Dorian. Let us kneel down and try if we cannot
+remember a prayer. Isn't there a verse somewhere, 'Though your sins be
+as scarlet, yet I will make them as white as snow'?"
+
+"Those words mean nothing to me now."
+
+"Hush! Don't say that. You have done enough evil in your life. My
+God! Don't you see that accursed thing leering at us?"
+
+Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable
+feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had
+been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his
+ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal
+stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table,
+more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced
+wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest
+that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a
+knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord,
+and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it,
+passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized
+it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going
+to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that
+is behind the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table and
+stabbing again and again.
+
+There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking
+with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively,
+waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him
+twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on
+the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then
+he threw the knife on the table, and listened.
+
+He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He
+opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely
+quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the
+balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness.
+Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in
+as he did so.
+
+The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with
+bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been
+for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was
+slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was
+simply asleep.
+
+How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking
+over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind
+had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's
+tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the
+policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on
+the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom
+gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl
+was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and
+then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse
+voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She
+stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The
+gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their
+black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the
+window behind him.
+
+Having reached the door, he turned the key and opened it. He did not
+even glance at the murdered man. He felt that the secret of the whole
+thing was not to realize the situation. The friend who had painted the
+fatal portrait to which all his misery had been due had gone out of his
+life. That was enough.
+
+Then he remembered the lamp. It was a rather curious one of Moorish
+workmanship, made of dull silver inlaid with arabesques of burnished
+steel, and studded with coarse turquoises. Perhaps it might be missed
+by his servant, and questions would be asked. He hesitated for a
+moment, then he turned back and took it from the table. He could not
+help seeing the dead thing. How still it was! How horribly white the
+long hands looked! It was like a dreadful wax image.
+
+Having locked the door behind him, he crept quietly downstairs. The
+woodwork creaked and seemed to cry out as if in pain. He stopped
+several times and waited. No: everything was still. It was merely
+the sound of his own footsteps.
+
+When he reached the library, he saw the bag and coat in the corner.
+They must be hidden away somewhere. He unlocked a secret press that
+was in the wainscoting, a press in which he kept his own curious
+disguises, and put them into it. He could easily burn them afterwards.
+Then he pulled out his watch. It was twenty minutes to two.
+
+He sat down and began to think. Every year--every month, almost--men
+were strangled in England for what he had done. There had been a
+madness of murder in the air. Some red star had come too close to the
+earth.... And yet, what evidence was there against him? Basil Hallward
+had left the house at eleven. No one had seen him come in again. Most
+of the servants were at Selby Royal. His valet had gone to bed....
+Paris! Yes. It was to Paris that Basil had gone, and by the midnight
+train, as he had intended. With his curious reserved habits, it would
+be months before any suspicions would be roused. Months! Everything
+could be destroyed long before then.
+
+A sudden thought struck him. He put on his fur coat and hat and went
+out into the hall. There he paused, hearing the slow heavy tread of
+the policeman on the pavement outside and seeing the flash of the
+bull's-eye reflected in the window. He waited and held his breath.
+
+After a few moments he drew back the latch and slipped out, shutting
+the door very gently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. In
+about five minutes his valet appeared, half-dressed and looking very
+drowsy.
+
+"I am sorry to have had to wake you up, Francis," he said, stepping in;
+"but I had forgotten my latch-key. What time is it?"
+
+"Ten minutes past two, sir," answered the man, looking at the clock and
+blinking.
+
+"Ten minutes past two? How horribly late! You must wake me at nine
+to-morrow. I have some work to do."
+
+"All right, sir."
+
+"Did any one call this evening?"
+
+"Mr. Hallward, sir. He stayed here till eleven, and then he went away
+to catch his train."
+
+"Oh! I am sorry I didn't see him. Did he leave any message?"
+
+"No, sir, except that he would write to you from Paris, if he did not
+find you at the club."
+
+"That will do, Francis. Don't forget to call me at nine to-morrow."
+
+"No, sir."
+
+The man shambled down the passage in his slippers.
+
+Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the
+library. For a quarter of an hour he walked up and down the room,
+biting his lip and thinking. Then he took down the Blue Book from one
+of the shelves and began to turn over the leaves. "Alan Campbell, 152,
+Hertford Street, Mayfair." Yes; that was the man he wanted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 14
+
+At nine o'clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup of
+chocolate on a tray and opened the shutters. Dorian was sleeping quite
+peacefully, lying on his right side, with one hand underneath his
+cheek. He looked like a boy who had been tired out with play, or study.
+
+The man had to touch him twice on the shoulder before he woke, and as
+he opened his eyes a faint smile passed across his lips, as though he
+had been lost in some delightful dream. Yet he had not dreamed at all.
+His night had been untroubled by any images of pleasure or of pain.
+But youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
+
+He turned round, and leaning upon his elbow, began to sip his
+chocolate. The mellow November sun came streaming into the room. The
+sky was bright, and there was a genial warmth in the air. It was
+almost like a morning in May.
+
+Gradually the events of the preceding night crept with silent,
+blood-stained feet into his brain and reconstructed themselves there
+with terrible distinctness. He winced at the memory of all that he had
+suffered, and for a moment the same curious feeling of loathing for
+Basil Hallward that had made him kill him as he sat in the chair came
+back to him, and he grew cold with passion. The dead man was still
+sitting there, too, and in the sunlight now. How horrible that was!
+Such hideous things were for the darkness, not for the day.
+
+He felt that if he brooded on what he had gone through he would sicken
+or grow mad. There were sins whose fascination was more in the memory
+than in the doing of them, strange triumphs that gratified the pride
+more than the passions, and gave to the intellect a quickened sense of
+joy, greater than any joy they brought, or could ever bring, to the
+senses. But this was not one of them. It was a thing to be driven out
+of the mind, to be drugged with poppies, to be strangled lest it might
+strangle one itself.
+
+When the half-hour struck, he passed his hand across his forehead, and
+then got up hastily and dressed himself with even more than his usual
+care, giving a good deal of attention to the choice of his necktie and
+scarf-pin and changing his rings more than once. He spent a long time
+also over breakfast, tasting the various dishes, talking to his valet
+about some new liveries that he was thinking of getting made for the
+servants at Selby, and going through his correspondence. At some of
+the letters, he smiled. Three of them bored him. One he read several
+times over and then tore up with a slight look of annoyance in his
+face. "That awful thing, a woman's memory!" as Lord Henry had once
+said.
+
+After he had drunk his cup of black coffee, he wiped his lips slowly
+with a napkin, motioned to his servant to wait, and going over to the
+table, sat down and wrote two letters. One he put in his pocket, the
+other he handed to the valet.
+
+"Take this round to 152, Hertford Street, Francis, and if Mr. Campbell
+is out of town, get his address."
+
+As soon as he was alone, he lit a cigarette and began sketching upon a
+piece of paper, drawing first flowers and bits of architecture, and
+then human faces. Suddenly he remarked that every face that he drew
+seemed to have a fantastic likeness to Basil Hallward. He frowned, and
+getting up, went over to the book-case and took out a volume at hazard.
+He was determined that he would not think about what had happened until
+it became absolutely necessary that he should do so.
+
+When he had stretched himself on the sofa, he looked at the title-page
+of the book. It was Gautier's Emaux et Camees, Charpentier's
+Japanese-paper edition, with the Jacquemart etching. The binding was
+of citron-green leather, with a design of gilt trellis-work and dotted
+pomegranates. It had been given to him by Adrian Singleton. As he
+turned over the pages, his eye fell on the poem about the hand of
+Lacenaire, the cold yellow hand "_du supplice encore mal lavee_," with
+its downy red hairs and its "_doigts de faune_." He glanced at his own
+white taper fingers, shuddering slightly in spite of himself, and
+passed on, till he came to those lovely stanzas upon Venice:
+
+ Sur une gamme chromatique,
+ Le sein de peries ruisselant,
+ La Venus de l'Adriatique
+ Sort de l'eau son corps rose et blanc.
+
+ Les domes, sur l'azur des ondes
+ Suivant la phrase au pur contour,
+ S'enflent comme des gorges rondes
+ Que souleve un soupir d'amour.
+
+ L'esquif aborde et me depose,
+ Jetant son amarre au pilier,
+ Devant une facade rose,
+ Sur le marbre d'un escalier.
+
+
+How exquisite they were! As one read them, one seemed to be floating
+down the green water-ways of the pink and pearl city, seated in a black
+gondola with silver prow and trailing curtains. The mere lines looked
+to him like those straight lines of turquoise-blue that follow one as
+one pushes out to the Lido. The sudden flashes of colour reminded him
+of the gleam of the opal-and-iris-throated birds that flutter round the
+tall honeycombed Campanile, or stalk, with such stately grace, through
+the dim, dust-stained arcades. Leaning back with half-closed eyes, he
+kept saying over and over to himself:
+
+ "Devant une facade rose,
+ Sur le marbre d'un escalier."
+
+The whole of Venice was in those two lines. He remembered the autumn
+that he had passed there, and a wonderful love that had stirred him to
+mad delightful follies. There was romance in every place. But Venice,
+like Oxford, had kept the background for romance, and, to the true
+romantic, background was everything, or almost everything. Basil had
+been with him part of the time, and had gone wild over Tintoret. Poor
+Basil! What a horrible way for a man to die!
+
+He sighed, and took up the volume again, and tried to forget. He read
+of the swallows that fly in and out of the little _cafe_ at Smyrna where
+the Hadjis sit counting their amber beads and the turbaned merchants
+smoke their long tasselled pipes and talk gravely to each other; he
+read of the Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde that weeps tears of
+granite in its lonely sunless exile and longs to be back by the hot,
+lotus-covered Nile, where there are Sphinxes, and rose-red ibises, and
+white vultures with gilded claws, and crocodiles with small beryl eyes
+that crawl over the green steaming mud; he began to brood over those
+verses which, drawing music from kiss-stained marble, tell of that
+curious statue that Gautier compares to a contralto voice, the "_monstre
+charmant_" that couches in the porphyry-room of the Louvre. But after a
+time the book fell from his hand. He grew nervous, and a horrible fit
+of terror came over him. What if Alan Campbell should be out of
+England? Days would elapse before he could come back. Perhaps he
+might refuse to come. What could he do then? Every moment was of
+vital importance.
+
+They had been great friends once, five years before--almost
+inseparable, indeed. Then the intimacy had come suddenly to an end.
+When they met in society now, it was only Dorian Gray who smiled: Alan
+Campbell never did.
+
+He was an extremely clever young man, though he had no real
+appreciation of the visible arts, and whatever little sense of the
+beauty of poetry he possessed he had gained entirely from Dorian. His
+dominant intellectual passion was for science. At Cambridge he had
+spent a great deal of his time working in the laboratory, and had taken
+a good class in the Natural Science Tripos of his year. Indeed, he was
+still devoted to the study of chemistry, and had a laboratory of his
+own in which he used to shut himself up all day long, greatly to the
+annoyance of his mother, who had set her heart on his standing for
+Parliament and had a vague idea that a chemist was a person who made up
+prescriptions. He was an excellent musician, however, as well, and
+played both the violin and the piano better than most amateurs. In
+fact, it was music that had first brought him and Dorian Gray
+together--music and that indefinable attraction that Dorian seemed to
+be able to exercise whenever he wished--and, indeed, exercised often
+without being conscious of it. They had met at Lady Berkshire's the
+night that Rubinstein played there, and after that used to be always
+seen together at the opera and wherever good music was going on. For
+eighteen months their intimacy lasted. Campbell was always either at
+Selby Royal or in Grosvenor Square. To him, as to many others, Dorian
+Gray was the type of everything that is wonderful and fascinating in
+life. Whether or not a quarrel had taken place between them no one
+ever knew. But suddenly people remarked that they scarcely spoke when
+they met and that Campbell seemed always to go away early from any
+party at which Dorian Gray was present. He had changed, too--was
+strangely melancholy at times, appeared almost to dislike hearing
+music, and would never himself play, giving as his excuse, when he was
+called upon, that he was so absorbed in science that he had no time
+left in which to practise. And this was certainly true. Every day he
+seemed to become more interested in biology, and his name appeared once
+or twice in some of the scientific reviews in connection with certain
+curious experiments.
+
+This was the man Dorian Gray was waiting for. Every second he kept
+glancing at the clock. As the minutes went by he became horribly
+agitated. At last he got up and began to pace up and down the room,
+looking like a beautiful caged thing. He took long stealthy strides.
+His hands were curiously cold.
+
+The suspense became unbearable. Time seemed to him to be crawling with
+feet of lead, while he by monstrous winds was being swept towards the
+jagged edge of some black cleft of precipice. He knew what was waiting
+for him there; saw it, indeed, and, shuddering, crushed with dank hands
+his burning lids as though he would have robbed the very brain of sight
+and driven the eyeballs back into their cave. It was useless. The
+brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made
+grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain,
+danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving
+masks. Then, suddenly, time stopped for him. Yes: that blind,
+slow-breathing thing crawled no more, and horrible thoughts, time being
+dead, raced nimbly on in front, and dragged a hideous future from its
+grave, and showed it to him. He stared at it. Its very horror made
+him stone.
+
+At last the door opened and his servant entered. He turned glazed eyes
+upon him.
+
+"Mr. Campbell, sir," said the man.
+
+A sigh of relief broke from his parched lips, and the colour came back
+to his cheeks.
+
+"Ask him to come in at once, Francis." He felt that he was himself
+again. His mood of cowardice had passed away.
+
+The man bowed and retired. In a few moments, Alan Campbell walked in,
+looking very stern and rather pale, his pallor being intensified by his
+coal-black hair and dark eyebrows.
+
+"Alan! This is kind of you. I thank you for coming."
+
+"I had intended never to enter your house again, Gray. But you said it
+was a matter of life and death." His voice was hard and cold. He
+spoke with slow deliberation. There was a look of contempt in the
+steady searching gaze that he turned on Dorian. He kept his hands in
+the pockets of his Astrakhan coat, and seemed not to have noticed the
+gesture with which he had been greeted.
+
+"Yes: it is a matter of life and death, Alan, and to more than one
+person. Sit down."
+
+Campbell took a chair by the table, and Dorian sat opposite to him.
+The two men's eyes met. In Dorian's there was infinite pity. He knew
+that what he was going to do was dreadful.
+
+After a strained moment of silence, he leaned across and said, very
+quietly, but watching the effect of each word upon the face of him he
+had sent for, "Alan, in a locked room at the top of this house, a room
+to which nobody but myself has access, a dead man is seated at a table.
+He has been dead ten hours now. Don't stir, and don't look at me like
+that. Who the man is, why he died, how he died, are matters that do
+not concern you. What you have to do is this--"
+
+"Stop, Gray. I don't want to know anything further. Whether what you
+have told me is true or not true doesn't concern me. I entirely
+decline to be mixed up in your life. Keep your horrible secrets to
+yourself. They don't interest me any more."
+
+"Alan, they will have to interest you. This one will have to interest
+you. I am awfully sorry for you, Alan. But I can't help myself. You
+are the one man who is able to save me. I am forced to bring you into
+the matter. I have no option. Alan, you are scientific. You know
+about chemistry and things of that kind. You have made experiments.
+What you have got to do is to destroy the thing that is upstairs--to
+destroy it so that not a vestige of it will be left. Nobody saw this
+person come into the house. Indeed, at the present moment he is
+supposed to be in Paris. He will not be missed for months. When he is
+missed, there must be no trace of him found here. You, Alan, you must
+change him, and everything that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes
+that I may scatter in the air."
+
+"You are mad, Dorian."
+
+"Ah! I was waiting for you to call me Dorian."
+
+"You are mad, I tell you--mad to imagine that I would raise a finger to
+help you, mad to make this monstrous confession. I will have nothing
+to do with this matter, whatever it is. Do you think I am going to
+peril my reputation for you? What is it to me what devil's work you
+are up to?"
+
+"It was suicide, Alan."
+
+"I am glad of that. But who drove him to it? You, I should fancy."
+
+"Do you still refuse to do this for me?"
+
+"Of course I refuse. I will have absolutely nothing to do with it. I
+don't care what shame comes on you. You deserve it all. I should not
+be sorry to see you disgraced, publicly disgraced. How dare you ask
+me, of all men in the world, to mix myself up in this horror? I should
+have thought you knew more about people's characters. Your friend Lord
+Henry Wotton can't have taught you much about psychology, whatever else
+he has taught you. Nothing will induce me to stir a step to help you.
+You have come to the wrong man. Go to some of your friends. Don't
+come to me."
+
+"Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don't know what he had made
+me suffer. Whatever my life is, he had more to do with the making or
+the marring of it than poor Harry has had. He may not have intended
+it, the result was the same."
+
+"Murder! Good God, Dorian, is that what you have come to? I shall not
+inform upon you. It is not my business. Besides, without my stirring
+in the matter, you are certain to be arrested. Nobody ever commits a
+crime without doing something stupid. But I will have nothing to do
+with it."
+
+"You must have something to do with it. Wait, wait a moment; listen to
+me. Only listen, Alan. All I ask of you is to perform a certain
+scientific experiment. You go to hospitals and dead-houses, and the
+horrors that you do there don't affect you. If in some hideous
+dissecting-room or fetid laboratory you found this man lying on a
+leaden table with red gutters scooped out in it for the blood to flow
+through, you would simply look upon him as an admirable subject. You
+would not turn a hair. You would not believe that you were doing
+anything wrong. On the contrary, you would probably feel that you were
+benefiting the human race, or increasing the sum of knowledge in the
+world, or gratifying intellectual curiosity, or something of that kind.
+What I want you to do is merely what you have often done before.
+Indeed, to destroy a body must be far less horrible than what you are
+accustomed to work at. And, remember, it is the only piece of evidence
+against me. If it is discovered, I am lost; and it is sure to be
+discovered unless you help me."
+
+"I have no desire to help you. You forget that. I am simply
+indifferent to the whole thing. It has nothing to do with me."
+
+"Alan, I entreat you. Think of the position I am in. Just before you
+came I almost fainted with terror. You may know terror yourself some
+day. No! don't think of that. Look at the matter purely from the
+scientific point of view. You don't inquire where the dead things on
+which you experiment come from. Don't inquire now. I have told you
+too much as it is. But I beg of you to do this. We were friends once,
+Alan."
+
+"Don't speak about those days, Dorian--they are dead."
+
+"The dead linger sometimes. The man upstairs will not go away. He is
+sitting at the table with bowed head and outstretched arms. Alan!
+Alan! If you don't come to my assistance, I am ruined. Why, they will
+hang me, Alan! Don't you understand? They will hang me for what I
+have done."
+
+"There is no good in prolonging this scene. I absolutely refuse to do
+anything in the matter. It is insane of you to ask me."
+
+"You refuse?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I entreat you, Alan."
+
+"It is useless."
+
+The same look of pity came into Dorian Gray's eyes. Then he stretched
+out his hand, took a piece of paper, and wrote something on it. He
+read it over twice, folded it carefully, and pushed it across the
+table. Having done this, he got up and went over to the window.
+
+Campbell looked at him in surprise, and then took up the paper, and
+opened it. As he read it, his face became ghastly pale and he fell
+back in his chair. A horrible sense of sickness came over him. He
+felt as if his heart was beating itself to death in some empty hollow.
+
+After two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round and
+came and stood behind him, putting his hand upon his shoulder.
+
+"I am so sorry for you, Alan," he murmured, "but you leave me no
+alternative. I have a letter written already. Here it is. You see
+the address. If you don't help me, I must send it. If you don't help
+me, I will send it. You know what the result will be. But you are
+going to help me. It is impossible for you to refuse now. I tried to
+spare you. You will do me the justice to admit that. You were stern,
+harsh, offensive. You treated me as no man has ever dared to treat
+me--no living man, at any rate. I bore it all. Now it is for me to
+dictate terms."
+
+Campbell buried his face in his hands, and a shudder passed through him.
+
+"Yes, it is my turn to dictate terms, Alan. You know what they are.
+The thing is quite simple. Come, don't work yourself into this fever.
+The thing has to be done. Face it, and do it."
+
+A groan broke from Campbell's lips and he shivered all over. The
+ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to him to be dividing
+time into separate atoms of agony, each of which was too terrible to be
+borne. He felt as if an iron ring was being slowly tightened round his
+forehead, as if the disgrace with which he was threatened had already
+come upon him. The hand upon his shoulder weighed like a hand of lead.
+It was intolerable. It seemed to crush him.
+
+"Come, Alan, you must decide at once."
+
+"I cannot do it," he said, mechanically, as though words could alter
+things.
+
+"You must. You have no choice. Don't delay."
+
+He hesitated a moment. "Is there a fire in the room upstairs?"
+
+"Yes, there is a gas-fire with asbestos."
+
+"I shall have to go home and get some things from the laboratory."
+
+"No, Alan, you must not leave the house. Write out on a sheet of
+notepaper what you want and my servant will take a cab and bring the
+things back to you."
+
+Campbell scrawled a few lines, blotted them, and addressed an envelope
+to his assistant. Dorian took the note up and read it carefully. Then
+he rang the bell and gave it to his valet, with orders to return as
+soon as possible and to bring the things with him.
+
+As the hall door shut, Campbell started nervously, and having got up
+from the chair, went over to the chimney-piece. He was shivering with a
+kind of ague. For nearly twenty minutes, neither of the men spoke. A
+fly buzzed noisily about the room, and the ticking of the clock was
+like the beat of a hammer.
+
+As the chime struck one, Campbell turned round, and looking at Dorian
+Gray, saw that his eyes were filled with tears. There was something in
+the purity and refinement of that sad face that seemed to enrage him.
+"You are infamous, absolutely infamous!" he muttered.
+
+"Hush, Alan. You have saved my life," said Dorian.
+
+"Your life? Good heavens! what a life that is! You have gone from
+corruption to corruption, and now you have culminated in crime. In
+doing what I am going to do--what you force me to do--it is not of your
+life that I am thinking."
+
+"Ah, Alan," murmured Dorian with a sigh, "I wish you had a thousandth
+part of the pity for me that I have for you." He turned away as he
+spoke and stood looking out at the garden. Campbell made no answer.
+
+After about ten minutes a knock came to the door, and the servant
+entered, carrying a large mahogany chest of chemicals, with a long coil
+of steel and platinum wire and two rather curiously shaped iron clamps.
+
+"Shall I leave the things here, sir?" he asked Campbell.
+
+"Yes," said Dorian. "And I am afraid, Francis, that I have another
+errand for you. What is the name of the man at Richmond who supplies
+Selby with orchids?"
+
+"Harden, sir."
+
+"Yes--Harden. You must go down to Richmond at once, see Harden
+personally, and tell him to send twice as many orchids as I ordered,
+and to have as few white ones as possible. In fact, I don't want any
+white ones. It is a lovely day, Francis, and Richmond is a very pretty
+place--otherwise I wouldn't bother you about it."
+
+"No trouble, sir. At what time shall I be back?"
+
+Dorian looked at Campbell. "How long will your experiment take, Alan?"
+he said in a calm indifferent voice. The presence of a third person in
+the room seemed to give him extraordinary courage.
+
+Campbell frowned and bit his lip. "It will take about five hours," he
+answered.
+
+"It will be time enough, then, if you are back at half-past seven,
+Francis. Or stay: just leave my things out for dressing. You can
+have the evening to yourself. I am not dining at home, so I shall not
+want you."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said the man, leaving the room.
+
+"Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost. How heavy this chest is!
+I'll take it for you. You bring the other things." He spoke rapidly
+and in an authoritative manner. Campbell felt dominated by him. They
+left the room together.
+
+When they reached the top landing, Dorian took out the key and turned
+it in the lock. Then he stopped, and a troubled look came into his
+eyes. He shuddered. "I don't think I can go in, Alan," he murmured.
+
+"It is nothing to me. I don't require you," said Campbell coldly.
+
+Dorian half opened the door. As he did so, he saw the face of his
+portrait leering in the sunlight. On the floor in front of it the torn
+curtain was lying. He remembered that the night before he had
+forgotten, for the first time in his life, to hide the fatal canvas,
+and was about to rush forward, when he drew back with a shudder.
+
+What was that loathsome red dew that gleamed, wet and glistening, on
+one of the hands, as though the canvas had sweated blood? How horrible
+it was!--more horrible, it seemed to him for the moment, than the
+silent thing that he knew was stretched across the table, the thing
+whose grotesque misshapen shadow on the spotted carpet showed him that
+it had not stirred, but was still there, as he had left it.
+
+He heaved a deep breath, opened the door a little wider, and with
+half-closed eyes and averted head, walked quickly in, determined that
+he would not look even once upon the dead man. Then, stooping down and
+taking up the gold-and-purple hanging, he flung it right over the
+picture.
+
+There he stopped, feeling afraid to turn round, and his eyes fixed
+themselves on the intricacies of the pattern before him. He heard
+Campbell bringing in the heavy chest, and the irons, and the other
+things that he had required for his dreadful work. He began to wonder
+if he and Basil Hallward had ever met, and, if so, what they had
+thought of each other.
+
+"Leave me now," said a stern voice behind him.
+
+He turned and hurried out, just conscious that the dead man had been
+thrust back into the chair and that Campbell was gazing into a
+glistening yellow face. As he was going downstairs, he heard the key
+being turned in the lock.
+
+It was long after seven when Campbell came back into the library. He
+was pale, but absolutely calm. "I have done what you asked me to do,"
+he muttered. "And now, good-bye. Let us never see each other again."
+
+"You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot forget that," said Dorian
+simply.
+
+As soon as Campbell had left, he went upstairs. There was a horrible
+smell of nitric acid in the room. But the thing that had been sitting
+at the table was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 15
+
+That evening, at eight-thirty, exquisitely dressed and wearing a large
+button-hole of Parma violets, Dorian Gray was ushered into Lady
+Narborough's drawing-room by bowing servants. His forehead was
+throbbing with maddened nerves, and he felt wildly excited, but his
+manner as he bent over his hostess's hand was as easy and graceful as
+ever. Perhaps one never seems so much at one's ease as when one has to
+play a part. Certainly no one looking at Dorian Gray that night could
+have believed that he had passed through a tragedy as horrible as any
+tragedy of our age. Those finely shaped fingers could never have
+clutched a knife for sin, nor those smiling lips have cried out on God
+and goodness. He himself could not help wondering at the calm of his
+demeanour, and for a moment felt keenly the terrible pleasure of a
+double life.
+
+It was a small party, got up rather in a hurry by Lady Narborough, who
+was a very clever woman with what Lord Henry used to describe as the
+remains of really remarkable ugliness. She had proved an excellent
+wife to one of our most tedious ambassadors, and having buried her
+husband properly in a marble mausoleum, which she had herself designed,
+and married off her daughters to some rich, rather elderly men, she
+devoted herself now to the pleasures of French fiction, French cookery,
+and French _esprit_ when she could get it.
+
+Dorian was one of her especial favourites, and she always told him that
+she was extremely glad she had not met him in early life. "I know, my
+dear, I should have fallen madly in love with you," she used to say,
+"and thrown my bonnet right over the mills for your sake. It is most
+fortunate that you were not thought of at the time. As it was, our
+bonnets were so unbecoming, and the mills were so occupied in trying to
+raise the wind, that I never had even a flirtation with anybody.
+However, that was all Narborough's fault. He was dreadfully
+short-sighted, and there is no pleasure in taking in a husband who
+never sees anything."
+
+Her guests this evening were rather tedious. The fact was, as she
+explained to Dorian, behind a very shabby fan, one of her married
+daughters had come up quite suddenly to stay with her, and, to make
+matters worse, had actually brought her husband with her. "I think it
+is most unkind of her, my dear," she whispered. "Of course I go and
+stay with them every summer after I come from Homburg, but then an old
+woman like me must have fresh air sometimes, and besides, I really wake
+them up. You don't know what an existence they lead down there. It is
+pure unadulterated country life. They get up early, because they have
+so much to do, and go to bed early, because they have so little to
+think about. There has not been a scandal in the neighbourhood since
+the time of Queen Elizabeth, and consequently they all fall asleep
+after dinner. You shan't sit next either of them. You shall sit by me
+and amuse me."
+
+Dorian murmured a graceful compliment and looked round the room. Yes:
+it was certainly a tedious party. Two of the people he had never seen
+before, and the others consisted of Ernest Harrowden, one of those
+middle-aged mediocrities so common in London clubs who have no enemies,
+but are thoroughly disliked by their friends; Lady Ruxton, an
+overdressed woman of forty-seven, with a hooked nose, who was always
+trying to get herself compromised, but was so peculiarly plain that to
+her great disappointment no one would ever believe anything against
+her; Mrs. Erlynne, a pushing nobody, with a delightful lisp and
+Venetian-red hair; Lady Alice Chapman, his hostess's daughter, a dowdy
+dull girl, with one of those characteristic British faces that, once
+seen, are never remembered; and her husband, a red-cheeked,
+white-whiskered creature who, like so many of his class, was under the
+impression that inordinate joviality can atone for an entire lack of
+ideas.
+
+He was rather sorry he had come, till Lady Narborough, looking at the
+great ormolu gilt clock that sprawled in gaudy curves on the
+mauve-draped mantelshelf, exclaimed: "How horrid of Henry Wotton to be
+so late! I sent round to him this morning on chance and he promised
+faithfully not to disappoint me."
+
+It was some consolation that Harry was to be there, and when the door
+opened and he heard his slow musical voice lending charm to some
+insincere apology, he ceased to feel bored.
+
+But at dinner he could not eat anything. Plate after plate went away
+untasted. Lady Narborough kept scolding him for what she called "an
+insult to poor Adolphe, who invented the _menu_ specially for you," and
+now and then Lord Henry looked across at him, wondering at his silence
+and abstracted manner. From time to time the butler filled his glass
+with champagne. He drank eagerly, and his thirst seemed to increase.
+
+"Dorian," said Lord Henry at last, as the _chaud-froid_ was being handed
+round, "what is the matter with you to-night? You are quite out of
+sorts."
+
+"I believe he is in love," cried Lady Narborough, "and that he is
+afraid to tell me for fear I should be jealous. He is quite right. I
+certainly should."
+
+"Dear Lady Narborough," murmured Dorian, smiling, "I have not been in
+love for a whole week--not, in fact, since Madame de Ferrol left town."
+
+"How you men can fall in love with that woman!" exclaimed the old lady.
+"I really cannot understand it."
+
+"It is simply because she remembers you when you were a little girl,
+Lady Narborough," said Lord Henry. "She is the one link between us and
+your short frocks."
+
+"She does not remember my short frocks at all, Lord Henry. But I
+remember her very well at Vienna thirty years ago, and how _decolletee_
+she was then."
+
+"She is still _decolletee_," he answered, taking an olive in his long
+fingers; "and when she is in a very smart gown she looks like an
+_edition de luxe_ of a bad French novel. She is really wonderful, and
+full of surprises. Her capacity for family affection is extraordinary.
+When her third husband died, her hair turned quite gold from grief."
+
+"How can you, Harry!" cried Dorian.
+
+"It is a most romantic explanation," laughed the hostess. "But her
+third husband, Lord Henry! You don't mean to say Ferrol is the fourth?"
+
+"Certainly, Lady Narborough."
+
+"I don't believe a word of it."
+
+"Well, ask Mr. Gray. He is one of her most intimate friends."
+
+"Is it true, Mr. Gray?"
+
+"She assures me so, Lady Narborough," said Dorian. "I asked her
+whether, like Marguerite de Navarre, she had their hearts embalmed and
+hung at her girdle. She told me she didn't, because none of them had
+had any hearts at all."
+
+"Four husbands! Upon my word that is _trop de zele_."
+
+"_Trop d'audace_, I tell her," said Dorian.
+
+"Oh! she is audacious enough for anything, my dear. And what is Ferrol
+like? I don't know him."
+
+"The husbands of very beautiful women belong to the criminal classes,"
+said Lord Henry, sipping his wine.
+
+Lady Narborough hit him with her fan. "Lord Henry, I am not at all
+surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked."
+
+"But what world says that?" asked Lord Henry, elevating his eyebrows.
+"It can only be the next world. This world and I are on excellent
+terms."
+
+"Everybody I know says you are very wicked," cried the old lady,
+shaking her head.
+
+Lord Henry looked serious for some moments. "It is perfectly
+monstrous," he said, at last, "the way people go about nowadays saying
+things against one behind one's back that are absolutely and entirely
+true."
+
+"Isn't he incorrigible?" cried Dorian, leaning forward in his chair.
+
+"I hope so," said his hostess, laughing. "But really, if you all
+worship Madame de Ferrol in this ridiculous way, I shall have to marry
+again so as to be in the fashion."
+
+"You will never marry again, Lady Narborough," broke in Lord Henry.
+"You were far too happy. When a woman marries again, it is because she
+detested her first husband. When a man marries again, it is because he
+adored his first wife. Women try their luck; men risk theirs."
+
+"Narborough wasn't perfect," cried the old lady.
+
+"If he had been, you would not have loved him, my dear lady," was the
+rejoinder. "Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them,
+they will forgive us everything, even our intellects. You will never
+ask me to dinner again after saying this, I am afraid, Lady Narborough,
+but it is quite true."
+
+"Of course it is true, Lord Henry. If we women did not love you for
+your defects, where would you all be? Not one of you would ever be
+married. You would be a set of unfortunate bachelors. Not, however,
+that that would alter you much. Nowadays all the married men live like
+bachelors, and all the bachelors like married men."
+
+"_Fin de siecle_," murmured Lord Henry.
+
+"_Fin du globe_," answered his hostess.
+
+"I wish it were _fin du globe_," said Dorian with a sigh. "Life is a
+great disappointment."
+
+"Ah, my dear," cried Lady Narborough, putting on her gloves, "don't
+tell me that you have exhausted life. When a man says that one knows
+that life has exhausted him. Lord Henry is very wicked, and I
+sometimes wish that I had been; but you are made to be good--you look
+so good. I must find you a nice wife. Lord Henry, don't you think
+that Mr. Gray should get married?"
+
+"I am always telling him so, Lady Narborough," said Lord Henry with a
+bow.
+
+"Well, we must look out for a suitable match for him. I shall go
+through Debrett carefully to-night and draw out a list of all the
+eligible young ladies."
+
+"With their ages, Lady Narborough?" asked Dorian.
+
+"Of course, with their ages, slightly edited. But nothing must be done
+in a hurry. I want it to be what _The Morning Post_ calls a suitable
+alliance, and I want you both to be happy."
+
+"What nonsense people talk about happy marriages!" exclaimed Lord
+Henry. "A man can be happy with any woman, as long as he does not love
+her."
+
+"Ah! what a cynic you are!" cried the old lady, pushing back her chair
+and nodding to Lady Ruxton. "You must come and dine with me soon
+again. You are really an admirable tonic, much better than what Sir
+Andrew prescribes for me. You must tell me what people you would like
+to meet, though. I want it to be a delightful gathering."
+
+"I like men who have a future and women who have a past," he answered.
+"Or do you think that would make it a petticoat party?"
+
+"I fear so," she said, laughing, as she stood up. "A thousand pardons,
+my dear Lady Ruxton," she added, "I didn't see you hadn't finished your
+cigarette."
+
+"Never mind, Lady Narborough. I smoke a great deal too much. I am
+going to limit myself, for the future."
+
+"Pray don't, Lady Ruxton," said Lord Henry. "Moderation is a fatal
+thing. Enough is as bad as a meal. More than enough is as good as a
+feast."
+
+Lady Ruxton glanced at him curiously. "You must come and explain that
+to me some afternoon, Lord Henry. It sounds a fascinating theory," she
+murmured, as she swept out of the room.
+
+"Now, mind you don't stay too long over your politics and scandal,"
+cried Lady Narborough from the door. "If you do, we are sure to
+squabble upstairs."
+
+The men laughed, and Mr. Chapman got up solemnly from the foot of the
+table and came up to the top. Dorian Gray changed his seat and went
+and sat by Lord Henry. Mr. Chapman began to talk in a loud voice about
+the situation in the House of Commons. He guffawed at his adversaries.
+The word _doctrinaire_--word full of terror to the British
+mind--reappeared from time to time between his explosions. An
+alliterative prefix served as an ornament of oratory. He hoisted the
+Union Jack on the pinnacles of thought. The inherited stupidity of the
+race--sound English common sense he jovially termed it--was shown to be
+the proper bulwark for society.
+
+A smile curved Lord Henry's lips, and he turned round and looked at
+Dorian.
+
+"Are you better, my dear fellow?" he asked. "You seemed rather out of
+sorts at dinner."
+
+"I am quite well, Harry. I am tired. That is all."
+
+"You were charming last night. The little duchess is quite devoted to
+you. She tells me she is going down to Selby."
+
+"She has promised to come on the twentieth."
+
+"Is Monmouth to be there, too?"
+
+"Oh, yes, Harry."
+
+"He bores me dreadfully, almost as much as he bores her. She is very
+clever, too clever for a woman. She lacks the indefinable charm of
+weakness. It is the feet of clay that make the gold of the image
+precious. Her feet are very pretty, but they are not feet of clay.
+White porcelain feet, if you like. They have been through the fire,
+and what fire does not destroy, it hardens. She has had experiences."
+
+"How long has she been married?" asked Dorian.
+
+"An eternity, she tells me. I believe, according to the peerage, it is
+ten years, but ten years with Monmouth must have been like eternity,
+with time thrown in. Who else is coming?"
+
+"Oh, the Willoughbys, Lord Rugby and his wife, our hostess, Geoffrey
+Clouston, the usual set. I have asked Lord Grotrian."
+
+"I like him," said Lord Henry. "A great many people don't, but I find
+him charming. He atones for being occasionally somewhat overdressed by
+being always absolutely over-educated. He is a very modern type."
+
+"I don't know if he will be able to come, Harry. He may have to go to
+Monte Carlo with his father."
+
+"Ah! what a nuisance people's people are! Try and make him come. By
+the way, Dorian, you ran off very early last night. You left before
+eleven. What did you do afterwards? Did you go straight home?"
+
+Dorian glanced at him hurriedly and frowned.
+
+"No, Harry," he said at last, "I did not get home till nearly three."
+
+"Did you go to the club?"
+
+"Yes," he answered. Then he bit his lip. "No, I don't mean that. I
+didn't go to the club. I walked about. I forget what I did.... How
+inquisitive you are, Harry! You always want to know what one has been
+doing. I always want to forget what I have been doing. I came in at
+half-past two, if you wish to know the exact time. I had left my
+latch-key at home, and my servant had to let me in. If you want any
+corroborative evidence on the subject, you can ask him."
+
+Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "My dear fellow, as if I cared!
+Let us go up to the drawing-room. No sherry, thank you, Mr. Chapman.
+Something has happened to you, Dorian. Tell me what it is. You are
+not yourself to-night."
+
+"Don't mind me, Harry. I am irritable, and out of temper. I shall
+come round and see you to-morrow, or next day. Make my excuses to Lady
+Narborough. I shan't go upstairs. I shall go home. I must go home."
+
+"All right, Dorian. I dare say I shall see you to-morrow at tea-time.
+The duchess is coming."
+
+"I will try to be there, Harry," he said, leaving the room. As he
+drove back to his own house, he was conscious that the sense of terror
+he thought he had strangled had come back to him. Lord Henry's casual
+questioning had made him lose his nerve for the moment, and he wanted
+his nerve still. Things that were dangerous had to be destroyed. He
+winced. He hated the idea of even touching them.
+
+Yet it had to be done. He realized that, and when he had locked the
+door of his library, he opened the secret press into which he had
+thrust Basil Hallward's coat and bag. A huge fire was blazing. He
+piled another log on it. The smell of the singeing clothes and burning
+leather was horrible. It took him three-quarters of an hour to consume
+everything. At the end he felt faint and sick, and having lit some
+Algerian pastilles in a pierced copper brazier, he bathed his hands and
+forehead with a cool musk-scented vinegar.
+
+Suddenly he started. His eyes grew strangely bright, and he gnawed
+nervously at his underlip. Between two of the windows stood a large
+Florentine cabinet, made out of ebony and inlaid with ivory and blue
+lapis. He watched it as though it were a thing that could fascinate
+and make afraid, as though it held something that he longed for and yet
+almost loathed. His breath quickened. A mad craving came over him.
+He lit a cigarette and then threw it away. His eyelids drooped till
+the long fringed lashes almost touched his cheek. But he still watched
+the cabinet. At last he got up from the sofa on which he had been
+lying, went over to it, and having unlocked it, touched some hidden
+spring. A triangular drawer passed slowly out. His fingers moved
+instinctively towards it, dipped in, and closed on something. It was a
+small Chinese box of black and gold-dust lacquer, elaborately wrought,
+the sides patterned with curved waves, and the silken cords hung with
+round crystals and tasselled in plaited metal threads. He opened it.
+Inside was a green paste, waxy in lustre, the odour curiously heavy and
+persistent.
+
+He hesitated for some moments, with a strangely immobile smile upon his
+face. Then shivering, though the atmosphere of the room was terribly
+hot, he drew himself up and glanced at the clock. It was twenty
+minutes to twelve. He put the box back, shutting the cabinet doors as
+he did so, and went into his bedroom.
+
+As midnight was striking bronze blows upon the dusky air, Dorian Gray,
+dressed commonly, and with a muffler wrapped round his throat, crept
+quietly out of his house. In Bond Street he found a hansom with a good
+horse. He hailed it and in a low voice gave the driver an address.
+
+The man shook his head. "It is too far for me," he muttered.
+
+"Here is a sovereign for you," said Dorian. "You shall have another if
+you drive fast."
+
+"All right, sir," answered the man, "you will be there in an hour," and
+after his fare had got in he turned his horse round and drove rapidly
+towards the river.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 16
+
+A cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly
+in the dripping mist. The public-houses were just closing, and dim men
+and women were clustering in broken groups round their doors. From
+some of the bars came the sound of horrible laughter. In others,
+drunkards brawled and screamed.
+
+Lying back in the hansom, with his hat pulled over his forehead, Dorian
+Gray watched with listless eyes the sordid shame of the great city, and
+now and then he repeated to himself the words that Lord Henry had said
+to him on the first day they had met, "To cure the soul by means of the
+senses, and the senses by means of the soul." Yes, that was the
+secret. He had often tried it, and would try it again now. There were
+opium dens where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the
+memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were
+new.
+
+The moon hung low in the sky like a yellow skull. From time to time a
+huge misshapen cloud stretched a long arm across and hid it. The
+gas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy. Once the
+man lost his way and had to drive back half a mile. A steam rose from
+the horse as it splashed up the puddles. The sidewindows of the hansom
+were clogged with a grey-flannel mist.
+
+"To cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of
+the soul!" How the words rang in his ears! His soul, certainly, was
+sick to death. Was it true that the senses could cure it? Innocent
+blood had been spilled. What could atone for that? Ah! for that there
+was no atonement; but though forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness
+was possible still, and he was determined to forget, to stamp the thing
+out, to crush it as one would crush the adder that had stung one.
+Indeed, what right had Basil to have spoken to him as he had done? Who
+had made him a judge over others? He had said things that were
+dreadful, horrible, not to be endured.
+
+On and on plodded the hansom, going slower, it seemed to him, at each
+step. He thrust up the trap and called to the man to drive faster.
+The hideous hunger for opium began to gnaw at him. His throat burned
+and his delicate hands twitched nervously together. He struck at the
+horse madly with his stick. The driver laughed and whipped up. He
+laughed in answer, and the man was silent.
+
+The way seemed interminable, and the streets like the black web of some
+sprawling spider. The monotony became unbearable, and as the mist
+thickened, he felt afraid.
+
+Then they passed by lonely brickfields. The fog was lighter here, and
+he could see the strange, bottle-shaped kilns with their orange,
+fanlike tongues of fire. A dog barked as they went by, and far away in
+the darkness some wandering sea-gull screamed. The horse stumbled in a
+rut, then swerved aside and broke into a gallop.
+
+After some time they left the clay road and rattled again over
+rough-paven streets. Most of the windows were dark, but now and then
+fantastic shadows were silhouetted against some lamplit blind. He
+watched them curiously. They moved like monstrous marionettes and made
+gestures like live things. He hated them. A dull rage was in his
+heart. As they turned a corner, a woman yelled something at them from
+an open door, and two men ran after the hansom for about a hundred
+yards. The driver beat at them with his whip.
+
+It is said that passion makes one think in a circle. Certainly with
+hideous iteration the bitten lips of Dorian Gray shaped and reshaped
+those subtle words that dealt with soul and sense, till he had found in
+them the full expression, as it were, of his mood, and justified, by
+intellectual approval, passions that without such justification would
+still have dominated his temper. From cell to cell of his brain crept
+the one thought; and the wild desire to live, most terrible of all
+man's appetites, quickened into force each trembling nerve and fibre.
+Ugliness that had once been hateful to him because it made things real,
+became dear to him now for that very reason. Ugliness was the one
+reality. The coarse brawl, the loathsome den, the crude violence of
+disordered life, the very vileness of thief and outcast, were more
+vivid, in their intense actuality of impression, than all the gracious
+shapes of art, the dreamy shadows of song. They were what he needed
+for forgetfulness. In three days he would be free.
+
+Suddenly the man drew up with a jerk at the top of a dark lane. Over
+the low roofs and jagged chimney-stacks of the houses rose the black
+masts of ships. Wreaths of white mist clung like ghostly sails to the
+yards.
+
+"Somewhere about here, sir, ain't it?" he asked huskily through the
+trap.
+
+Dorian started and peered round. "This will do," he answered, and
+having got out hastily and given the driver the extra fare he had
+promised him, he walked quickly in the direction of the quay. Here and
+there a lantern gleamed at the stern of some huge merchantman. The
+light shook and splintered in the puddles. A red glare came from an
+outward-bound steamer that was coaling. The slimy pavement looked like
+a wet mackintosh.
+
+He hurried on towards the left, glancing back now and then to see if he
+was being followed. In about seven or eight minutes he reached a small
+shabby house that was wedged in between two gaunt factories. In one of
+the top-windows stood a lamp. He stopped and gave a peculiar knock.
+
+After a little time he heard steps in the passage and the chain being
+unhooked. The door opened quietly, and he went in without saying a
+word to the squat misshapen figure that flattened itself into the
+shadow as he passed. At the end of the hall hung a tattered green
+curtain that swayed and shook in the gusty wind which had followed him
+in from the street. He dragged it aside and entered a long low room
+which looked as if it had once been a third-rate dancing-saloon. Shrill
+flaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown mirrors that
+faced them, were ranged round the walls. Greasy reflectors of ribbed
+tin backed them, making quivering disks of light. The floor was
+covered with ochre-coloured sawdust, trampled here and there into mud,
+and stained with dark rings of spilled liquor. Some Malays were
+crouching by a little charcoal stove, playing with bone counters and
+showing their white teeth as they chattered. In one corner, with his
+head buried in his arms, a sailor sprawled over a table, and by the
+tawdrily painted bar that ran across one complete side stood two
+haggard women, mocking an old man who was brushing the sleeves of his
+coat with an expression of disgust. "He thinks he's got red ants on
+him," laughed one of them, as Dorian passed by. The man looked at her
+in terror and began to whimper.
+
+At the end of the room there was a little staircase, leading to a
+darkened chamber. As Dorian hurried up its three rickety steps, the
+heavy odour of opium met him. He heaved a deep breath, and his
+nostrils quivered with pleasure. When he entered, a young man with
+smooth yellow hair, who was bending over a lamp lighting a long thin
+pipe, looked up at him and nodded in a hesitating manner.
+
+"You here, Adrian?" muttered Dorian.
+
+"Where else should I be?" he answered, listlessly. "None of the chaps
+will speak to me now."
+
+"I thought you had left England."
+
+"Darlington is not going to do anything. My brother paid the bill at
+last. George doesn't speak to me either.... I don't care," he added
+with a sigh. "As long as one has this stuff, one doesn't want friends.
+I think I have had too many friends."
+
+Dorian winced and looked round at the grotesque things that lay in such
+fantastic postures on the ragged mattresses. The twisted limbs, the
+gaping mouths, the staring lustreless eyes, fascinated him. He knew in
+what strange heavens they were suffering, and what dull hells were
+teaching them the secret of some new joy. They were better off than he
+was. He was prisoned in thought. Memory, like a horrible malady, was
+eating his soul away. From time to time he seemed to see the eyes of
+Basil Hallward looking at him. Yet he felt he could not stay. The
+presence of Adrian Singleton troubled him. He wanted to be where no
+one would know who he was. He wanted to escape from himself.
+
+"I am going on to the other place," he said after a pause.
+
+"On the wharf?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That mad-cat is sure to be there. They won't have her in this place
+now."
+
+Dorian shrugged his shoulders. "I am sick of women who love one.
+Women who hate one are much more interesting. Besides, the stuff is
+better."
+
+"Much the same."
+
+"I like it better. Come and have something to drink. I must have
+something."
+
+"I don't want anything," murmured the young man.
+
+"Never mind."
+
+Adrian Singleton rose up wearily and followed Dorian to the bar. A
+half-caste, in a ragged turban and a shabby ulster, grinned a hideous
+greeting as he thrust a bottle of brandy and two tumblers in front of
+them. The women sidled up and began to chatter. Dorian turned his
+back on them and said something in a low voice to Adrian Singleton.
+
+A crooked smile, like a Malay crease, writhed across the face of one of
+the women. "We are very proud to-night," she sneered.
+
+"For God's sake don't talk to me," cried Dorian, stamping his foot on
+the ground. "What do you want? Money? Here it is. Don't ever talk
+to me again."
+
+Two red sparks flashed for a moment in the woman's sodden eyes, then
+flickered out and left them dull and glazed. She tossed her head and
+raked the coins off the counter with greedy fingers. Her companion
+watched her enviously.
+
+"It's no use," sighed Adrian Singleton. "I don't care to go back.
+What does it matter? I am quite happy here."
+
+"You will write to me if you want anything, won't you?" said Dorian,
+after a pause.
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Good night, then."
+
+"Good night," answered the young man, passing up the steps and wiping
+his parched mouth with a handkerchief.
+
+Dorian walked to the door with a look of pain in his face. As he drew
+the curtain aside, a hideous laugh broke from the painted lips of the
+woman who had taken his money. "There goes the devil's bargain!" she
+hiccoughed, in a hoarse voice.
+
+"Curse you!" he answered, "don't call me that."
+
+She snapped her fingers. "Prince Charming is what you like to be
+called, ain't it?" she yelled after him.
+
+The drowsy sailor leaped to his feet as she spoke, and looked wildly
+round. The sound of the shutting of the hall door fell on his ear. He
+rushed out as if in pursuit.
+
+Dorian Gray hurried along the quay through the drizzling rain. His
+meeting with Adrian Singleton had strangely moved him, and he wondered
+if the ruin of that young life was really to be laid at his door, as
+Basil Hallward had said to him with such infamy of insult. He bit his
+lip, and for a few seconds his eyes grew sad. Yet, after all, what did
+it matter to him? One's days were too brief to take the burden of
+another's errors on one's shoulders. Each man lived his own life and
+paid his own price for living it. The only pity was one had to pay so
+often for a single fault. One had to pay over and over again, indeed.
+In her dealings with man, destiny never closed her accounts.
+
+There are moments, psychologists tell us, when the passion for sin, or
+for what the world calls sin, so dominates a nature that every fibre of
+the body, as every cell of the brain, seems to be instinct with fearful
+impulses. Men and women at such moments lose the freedom of their
+will. They move to their terrible end as automatons move. Choice is
+taken from them, and conscience is either killed, or, if it lives at
+all, lives but to give rebellion its fascination and disobedience its
+charm. For all sins, as theologians weary not of reminding us, are
+sins of disobedience. When that high spirit, that morning star of
+evil, fell from heaven, it was as a rebel that he fell.
+
+Callous, concentrated on evil, with stained mind, and soul hungry for
+rebellion, Dorian Gray hastened on, quickening his step as he went, but
+as he darted aside into a dim archway, that had served him often as a
+short cut to the ill-famed place where he was going, he felt himself
+suddenly seized from behind, and before he had time to defend himself,
+he was thrust back against the wall, with a brutal hand round his
+throat.
+
+He struggled madly for life, and by a terrible effort wrenched the
+tightening fingers away. In a second he heard the click of a revolver,
+and saw the gleam of a polished barrel, pointing straight at his head,
+and the dusky form of a short, thick-set man facing him.
+
+"What do you want?" he gasped.
+
+"Keep quiet," said the man. "If you stir, I shoot you."
+
+"You are mad. What have I done to you?"
+
+"You wrecked the life of Sibyl Vane," was the answer, "and Sibyl Vane
+was my sister. She killed herself. I know it. Her death is at your
+door. I swore I would kill you in return. For years I have sought
+you. I had no clue, no trace. The two people who could have described
+you were dead. I knew nothing of you but the pet name she used to call
+you. I heard it to-night by chance. Make your peace with God, for
+to-night you are going to die."
+
+Dorian Gray grew sick with fear. "I never knew her," he stammered. "I
+never heard of her. You are mad."
+
+"You had better confess your sin, for as sure as I am James Vane, you
+are going to die." There was a horrible moment. Dorian did not know
+what to say or do. "Down on your knees!" growled the man. "I give you
+one minute to make your peace--no more. I go on board to-night for
+India, and I must do my job first. One minute. That's all."
+
+Dorian's arms fell to his side. Paralysed with terror, he did not know
+what to do. Suddenly a wild hope flashed across his brain. "Stop," he
+cried. "How long ago is it since your sister died? Quick, tell me!"
+
+"Eighteen years," said the man. "Why do you ask me? What do years
+matter?"
+
+"Eighteen years," laughed Dorian Gray, with a touch of triumph in his
+voice. "Eighteen years! Set me under the lamp and look at my face!"
+
+James Vane hesitated for a moment, not understanding what was meant.
+Then he seized Dorian Gray and dragged him from the archway.
+
+Dim and wavering as was the wind-blown light, yet it served to show him
+the hideous error, as it seemed, into which he had fallen, for the face
+of the man he had sought to kill had all the bloom of boyhood, all the
+unstained purity of youth. He seemed little more than a lad of twenty
+summers, hardly older, if older indeed at all, than his sister had been
+when they had parted so many years ago. It was obvious that this was
+not the man who had destroyed her life.
+
+He loosened his hold and reeled back. "My God! my God!" he cried, "and
+I would have murdered you!"
+
+Dorian Gray drew a long breath. "You have been on the brink of
+committing a terrible crime, my man," he said, looking at him sternly.
+"Let this be a warning to you not to take vengeance into your own
+hands."
+
+"Forgive me, sir," muttered James Vane. "I was deceived. A chance
+word I heard in that damned den set me on the wrong track."
+
+"You had better go home and put that pistol away, or you may get into
+trouble," said Dorian, turning on his heel and going slowly down the
+street.
+
+James Vane stood on the pavement in horror. He was trembling from head
+to foot. After a little while, a black shadow that had been creeping
+along the dripping wall moved out into the light and came close to him
+with stealthy footsteps. He felt a hand laid on his arm and looked
+round with a start. It was one of the women who had been drinking at
+the bar.
+
+"Why didn't you kill him?" she hissed out, putting haggard face quite
+close to his. "I knew you were following him when you rushed out from
+Daly's. You fool! You should have killed him. He has lots of money,
+and he's as bad as bad."
+
+"He is not the man I am looking for," he answered, "and I want no man's
+money. I want a man's life. The man whose life I want must be nearly
+forty now. This one is little more than a boy. Thank God, I have not
+got his blood upon my hands."
+
+The woman gave a bitter laugh. "Little more than a boy!" she sneered.
+"Why, man, it's nigh on eighteen years since Prince Charming made me
+what I am."
+
+"You lie!" cried James Vane.
+
+She raised her hand up to heaven. "Before God I am telling the truth,"
+she cried.
+
+"Before God?"
+
+"Strike me dumb if it ain't so. He is the worst one that comes here.
+They say he has sold himself to the devil for a pretty face. It's nigh
+on eighteen years since I met him. He hasn't changed much since then.
+I have, though," she added, with a sickly leer.
+
+"You swear this?"
+
+"I swear it," came in hoarse echo from her flat mouth. "But don't give
+me away to him," she whined; "I am afraid of him. Let me have some
+money for my night's lodging."
+
+He broke from her with an oath and rushed to the corner of the street,
+but Dorian Gray had disappeared. When he looked back, the woman had
+vanished also.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 17
+
+A week later Dorian Gray was sitting in the conservatory at Selby
+Royal, talking to the pretty Duchess of Monmouth, who with her husband,
+a jaded-looking man of sixty, was amongst his guests. It was tea-time,
+and the mellow light of the huge, lace-covered lamp that stood on the
+table lit up the delicate china and hammered silver of the service at
+which the duchess was presiding. Her white hands were moving daintily
+among the cups, and her full red lips were smiling at something that
+Dorian had whispered to her. Lord Henry was lying back in a
+silk-draped wicker chair, looking at them. On a peach-coloured divan
+sat Lady Narborough, pretending to listen to the duke's description of
+the last Brazilian beetle that he had added to his collection. Three
+young men in elaborate smoking-suits were handing tea-cakes to some of
+the women. The house-party consisted of twelve people, and there were
+more expected to arrive on the next day.
+
+"What are you two talking about?" said Lord Henry, strolling over to
+the table and putting his cup down. "I hope Dorian has told you about
+my plan for rechristening everything, Gladys. It is a delightful idea."
+
+"But I don't want to be rechristened, Harry," rejoined the duchess,
+looking up at him with her wonderful eyes. "I am quite satisfied with
+my own name, and I am sure Mr. Gray should be satisfied with his."
+
+"My dear Gladys, I would not alter either name for the world. They are
+both perfect. I was thinking chiefly of flowers. Yesterday I cut an
+orchid, for my button-hole. It was a marvellous spotted thing, as
+effective as the seven deadly sins. In a thoughtless moment I asked
+one of the gardeners what it was called. He told me it was a fine
+specimen of _Robinsoniana_, or something dreadful of that kind. It is a
+sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to
+things. Names are everything. I never quarrel with actions. My one
+quarrel is with words. That is the reason I hate vulgar realism in
+literature. The man who could call a spade a spade should be compelled
+to use one. It is the only thing he is fit for."
+
+"Then what should we call you, Harry?" she asked.
+
+"His name is Prince Paradox," said Dorian.
+
+"I recognize him in a flash," exclaimed the duchess.
+
+"I won't hear of it," laughed Lord Henry, sinking into a chair. "From
+a label there is no escape! I refuse the title."
+
+"Royalties may not abdicate," fell as a warning from pretty lips.
+
+"You wish me to defend my throne, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I give the truths of to-morrow."
+
+"I prefer the mistakes of to-day," she answered.
+
+"You disarm me, Gladys," he cried, catching the wilfulness of her mood.
+
+"Of your shield, Harry, not of your spear."
+
+"I never tilt against beauty," he said, with a wave of his hand.
+
+"That is your error, Harry, believe me. You value beauty far too much."
+
+"How can you say that? I admit that I think that it is better to be
+beautiful than to be good. But on the other hand, no one is more ready
+than I am to acknowledge that it is better to be good than to be ugly."
+
+"Ugliness is one of the seven deadly sins, then?" cried the duchess.
+"What becomes of your simile about the orchid?"
+
+"Ugliness is one of the seven deadly virtues, Gladys. You, as a good
+Tory, must not underrate them. Beer, the Bible, and the seven deadly
+virtues have made our England what she is."
+
+"You don't like your country, then?" she asked.
+
+"I live in it."
+
+"That you may censure it the better."
+
+"Would you have me take the verdict of Europe on it?" he inquired.
+
+"What do they say of us?"
+
+"That Tartuffe has emigrated to England and opened a shop."
+
+"Is that yours, Harry?"
+
+"I give it to you."
+
+"I could not use it. It is too true."
+
+"You need not be afraid. Our countrymen never recognize a description."
+
+"They are practical."
+
+"They are more cunning than practical. When they make up their ledger,
+they balance stupidity by wealth, and vice by hypocrisy."
+
+"Still, we have done great things."
+
+"Great things have been thrust on us, Gladys."
+
+"We have carried their burden."
+
+"Only as far as the Stock Exchange."
+
+She shook her head. "I believe in the race," she cried.
+
+"It represents the survival of the pushing."
+
+"It has development."
+
+"Decay fascinates me more."
+
+"What of art?" she asked.
+
+"It is a malady."
+
+"Love?"
+
+"An illusion."
+
+"Religion?"
+
+"The fashionable substitute for belief."
+
+"You are a sceptic."
+
+"Never! Scepticism is the beginning of faith."
+
+"What are you?"
+
+"To define is to limit."
+
+"Give me a clue."
+
+"Threads snap. You would lose your way in the labyrinth."
+
+"You bewilder me. Let us talk of some one else."
+
+"Our host is a delightful topic. Years ago he was christened Prince
+Charming."
+
+"Ah! don't remind me of that," cried Dorian Gray.
+
+"Our host is rather horrid this evening," answered the duchess,
+colouring. "I believe he thinks that Monmouth married me on purely
+scientific principles as the best specimen he could find of a modern
+butterfly."
+
+"Well, I hope he won't stick pins into you, Duchess," laughed Dorian.
+
+"Oh! my maid does that already, Mr. Gray, when she is annoyed with me."
+
+"And what does she get annoyed with you about, Duchess?"
+
+"For the most trivial things, Mr. Gray, I assure you. Usually because
+I come in at ten minutes to nine and tell her that I must be dressed by
+half-past eight."
+
+"How unreasonable of her! You should give her warning."
+
+"I daren't, Mr. Gray. Why, she invents hats for me. You remember the
+one I wore at Lady Hilstone's garden-party? You don't, but it is nice
+of you to pretend that you do. Well, she made it out of nothing. All
+good hats are made out of nothing."
+
+"Like all good reputations, Gladys," interrupted Lord Henry. "Every
+effect that one produces gives one an enemy. To be popular one must be
+a mediocrity."
+
+"Not with women," said the duchess, shaking her head; "and women rule
+the world. I assure you we can't bear mediocrities. We women, as some
+one says, love with our ears, just as you men love with your eyes, if
+you ever love at all."
+
+"It seems to me that we never do anything else," murmured Dorian.
+
+"Ah! then, you never really love, Mr. Gray," answered the duchess with
+mock sadness.
+
+"My dear Gladys!" cried Lord Henry. "How can you say that? Romance
+lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art.
+Besides, each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved.
+Difference of object does not alter singleness of passion. It merely
+intensifies it. We can have in life but one great experience at best,
+and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as
+possible."
+
+"Even when one has been wounded by it, Harry?" asked the duchess after
+a pause.
+
+"Especially when one has been wounded by it," answered Lord Henry.
+
+The duchess turned and looked at Dorian Gray with a curious expression
+in her eyes. "What do you say to that, Mr. Gray?" she inquired.
+
+Dorian hesitated for a moment. Then he threw his head back and
+laughed. "I always agree with Harry, Duchess."
+
+"Even when he is wrong?"
+
+"Harry is never wrong, Duchess."
+
+"And does his philosophy make you happy?"
+
+"I have never searched for happiness. Who wants happiness? I have
+searched for pleasure."
+
+"And found it, Mr. Gray?"
+
+"Often. Too often."
+
+The duchess sighed. "I am searching for peace," she said, "and if I
+don't go and dress, I shall have none this evening."
+
+"Let me get you some orchids, Duchess," cried Dorian, starting to his
+feet and walking down the conservatory.
+
+"You are flirting disgracefully with him," said Lord Henry to his
+cousin. "You had better take care. He is very fascinating."
+
+"If he were not, there would be no battle."
+
+"Greek meets Greek, then?"
+
+"I am on the side of the Trojans. They fought for a woman."
+
+"They were defeated."
+
+"There are worse things than capture," she answered.
+
+"You gallop with a loose rein."
+
+"Pace gives life," was the _riposte_.
+
+"I shall write it in my diary to-night."
+
+"What?"
+
+"That a burnt child loves the fire."
+
+"I am not even singed. My wings are untouched."
+
+"You use them for everything, except flight."
+
+"Courage has passed from men to women. It is a new experience for us."
+
+"You have a rival."
+
+"Who?"
+
+He laughed. "Lady Narborough," he whispered. "She perfectly adores
+him."
+
+"You fill me with apprehension. The appeal to antiquity is fatal to us
+who are romanticists."
+
+"Romanticists! You have all the methods of science."
+
+"Men have educated us."
+
+"But not explained you."
+
+"Describe us as a sex," was her challenge.
+
+"Sphinxes without secrets."
+
+She looked at him, smiling. "How long Mr. Gray is!" she said. "Let us
+go and help him. I have not yet told him the colour of my frock."
+
+"Ah! you must suit your frock to his flowers, Gladys."
+
+"That would be a premature surrender."
+
+"Romantic art begins with its climax."
+
+"I must keep an opportunity for retreat."
+
+"In the Parthian manner?"
+
+"They found safety in the desert. I could not do that."
+
+"Women are not always allowed a choice," he answered, but hardly had he
+finished the sentence before from the far end of the conservatory came
+a stifled groan, followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall. Everybody
+started up. The duchess stood motionless in horror. And with fear in
+his eyes, Lord Henry rushed through the flapping palms to find Dorian
+Gray lying face downwards on the tiled floor in a deathlike swoon.
+
+He was carried at once into the blue drawing-room and laid upon one of
+the sofas. After a short time, he came to himself and looked round
+with a dazed expression.
+
+"What has happened?" he asked. "Oh! I remember. Am I safe here,
+Harry?" He began to tremble.
+
+"My dear Dorian," answered Lord Henry, "you merely fainted. That was
+all. You must have overtired yourself. You had better not come down
+to dinner. I will take your place."
+
+"No, I will come down," he said, struggling to his feet. "I would
+rather come down. I must not be alone."
+
+He went to his room and dressed. There was a wild recklessness of
+gaiety in his manner as he sat at table, but now and then a thrill of
+terror ran through him when he remembered that, pressed against the
+window of the conservatory, like a white handkerchief, he had seen the
+face of James Vane watching him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 18
+
+The next day he did not leave the house, and, indeed, spent most of the
+time in his own room, sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet
+indifferent to life itself. The consciousness of being hunted, snared,
+tracked down, had begun to dominate him. If the tapestry did but
+tremble in the wind, he shook. The dead leaves that were blown against
+the leaded panes seemed to him like his own wasted resolutions and wild
+regrets. When he closed his eyes, he saw again the sailor's face
+peering through the mist-stained glass, and horror seemed once more to
+lay its hand upon his heart.
+
+But perhaps it had been only his fancy that had called vengeance out of
+the night and set the hideous shapes of punishment before him. Actual
+life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the
+imagination. It was the imagination that set remorse to dog the feet
+of sin. It was the imagination that made each crime bear its misshapen
+brood. In the common world of fact the wicked were not punished, nor
+the good rewarded. Success was given to the strong, failure thrust
+upon the weak. That was all. Besides, had any stranger been prowling
+round the house, he would have been seen by the servants or the
+keepers. Had any foot-marks been found on the flower-beds, the
+gardeners would have reported it. Yes, it had been merely fancy.
+Sibyl Vane's brother had not come back to kill him. He had sailed away
+in his ship to founder in some winter sea. From him, at any rate, he
+was safe. Why, the man did not know who he was, could not know who he
+was. The mask of youth had saved him.
+
+And yet if it had been merely an illusion, how terrible it was to think
+that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms, and give them
+visible form, and make them move before one! What sort of life would
+his be if, day and night, shadows of his crime were to peer at him from
+silent corners, to mock him from secret places, to whisper in his ear
+as he sat at the feast, to wake him with icy fingers as he lay asleep!
+As the thought crept through his brain, he grew pale with terror, and
+the air seemed to him to have become suddenly colder. Oh! in what a
+wild hour of madness he had killed his friend! How ghastly the mere
+memory of the scene! He saw it all again. Each hideous detail came
+back to him with added horror. Out of the black cave of time, terrible
+and swathed in scarlet, rose the image of his sin. When Lord Henry
+came in at six o'clock, he found him crying as one whose heart will
+break.
+
+It was not till the third day that he ventured to go out. There was
+something in the clear, pine-scented air of that winter morning that
+seemed to bring him back his joyousness and his ardour for life. But
+it was not merely the physical conditions of environment that had
+caused the change. His own nature had revolted against the excess of
+anguish that had sought to maim and mar the perfection of its calm.
+With subtle and finely wrought temperaments it is always so. Their
+strong passions must either bruise or bend. They either slay the man,
+or themselves die. Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on. The
+loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude.
+Besides, he had convinced himself that he had been the victim of a
+terror-stricken imagination, and looked back now on his fears with
+something of pity and not a little of contempt.
+
+After breakfast, he walked with the duchess for an hour in the garden
+and then drove across the park to join the shooting-party. The crisp
+frost lay like salt upon the grass. The sky was an inverted cup of
+blue metal. A thin film of ice bordered the flat, reed-grown lake.
+
+At the corner of the pine-wood he caught sight of Sir Geoffrey
+Clouston, the duchess's brother, jerking two spent cartridges out of
+his gun. He jumped from the cart, and having told the groom to take
+the mare home, made his way towards his guest through the withered
+bracken and rough undergrowth.
+
+"Have you had good sport, Geoffrey?" he asked.
+
+"Not very good, Dorian. I think most of the birds have gone to the
+open. I dare say it will be better after lunch, when we get to new
+ground."
+
+Dorian strolled along by his side. The keen aromatic air, the brown
+and red lights that glimmered in the wood, the hoarse cries of the
+beaters ringing out from time to time, and the sharp snaps of the guns
+that followed, fascinated him and filled him with a sense of delightful
+freedom. He was dominated by the carelessness of happiness, by the
+high indifference of joy.
+
+Suddenly from a lumpy tussock of old grass some twenty yards in front
+of them, with black-tipped ears erect and long hinder limbs throwing it
+forward, started a hare. It bolted for a thicket of alders. Sir
+Geoffrey put his gun to his shoulder, but there was something in the
+animal's grace of movement that strangely charmed Dorian Gray, and he
+cried out at once, "Don't shoot it, Geoffrey. Let it live."
+
+"What nonsense, Dorian!" laughed his companion, and as the hare bounded
+into the thicket, he fired. There were two cries heard, the cry of a
+hare in pain, which is dreadful, the cry of a man in agony, which is
+worse.
+
+"Good heavens! I have hit a beater!" exclaimed Sir Geoffrey. "What an
+ass the man was to get in front of the guns! Stop shooting there!" he
+called out at the top of his voice. "A man is hurt."
+
+The head-keeper came running up with a stick in his hand.
+
+"Where, sir? Where is he?" he shouted. At the same time, the firing
+ceased along the line.
+
+"Here," answered Sir Geoffrey angrily, hurrying towards the thicket.
+"Why on earth don't you keep your men back? Spoiled my shooting for
+the day."
+
+Dorian watched them as they plunged into the alder-clump, brushing the
+lithe swinging branches aside. In a few moments they emerged, dragging
+a body after them into the sunlight. He turned away in horror. It
+seemed to him that misfortune followed wherever he went. He heard Sir
+Geoffrey ask if the man was really dead, and the affirmative answer of
+the keeper. The wood seemed to him to have become suddenly alive with
+faces. There was the trampling of myriad feet and the low buzz of
+voices. A great copper-breasted pheasant came beating through the
+boughs overhead.
+
+After a few moments--that were to him, in his perturbed state, like
+endless hours of pain--he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He started
+and looked round.
+
+"Dorian," said Lord Henry, "I had better tell them that the shooting is
+stopped for to-day. It would not look well to go on."
+
+"I wish it were stopped for ever, Harry," he answered bitterly. "The
+whole thing is hideous and cruel. Is the man ...?"
+
+He could not finish the sentence.
+
+"I am afraid so," rejoined Lord Henry. "He got the whole charge of
+shot in his chest. He must have died almost instantaneously. Come;
+let us go home."
+
+They walked side by side in the direction of the avenue for nearly
+fifty yards without speaking. Then Dorian looked at Lord Henry and
+said, with a heavy sigh, "It is a bad omen, Harry, a very bad omen."
+
+"What is?" asked Lord Henry. "Oh! this accident, I suppose. My dear
+fellow, it can't be helped. It was the man's own fault. Why did he
+get in front of the guns? Besides, it is nothing to us. It is rather
+awkward for Geoffrey, of course. It does not do to pepper beaters. It
+makes people think that one is a wild shot. And Geoffrey is not; he
+shoots very straight. But there is no use talking about the matter."
+
+Dorian shook his head. "It is a bad omen, Harry. I feel as if
+something horrible were going to happen to some of us. To myself,
+perhaps," he added, passing his hand over his eyes, with a gesture of
+pain.
+
+The elder man laughed. "The only horrible thing in the world is _ennui_,
+Dorian. That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness. But we
+are not likely to suffer from it unless these fellows keep chattering
+about this thing at dinner. I must tell them that the subject is to be
+tabooed. As for omens, there is no such thing as an omen. Destiny
+does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.
+Besides, what on earth could happen to you, Dorian? You have
+everything in the world that a man can want. There is no one who would
+not be delighted to change places with you."
+
+"There is no one with whom I would not change places, Harry. Don't
+laugh like that. I am telling you the truth. The wretched peasant who
+has just died is better off than I am. I have no terror of death. It
+is the coming of death that terrifies me. Its monstrous wings seem to
+wheel in the leaden air around me. Good heavens! don't you see a man
+moving behind the trees there, watching me, waiting for me?"
+
+Lord Henry looked in the direction in which the trembling gloved hand
+was pointing. "Yes," he said, smiling, "I see the gardener waiting for
+you. I suppose he wants to ask you what flowers you wish to have on
+the table to-night. How absurdly nervous you are, my dear fellow! You
+must come and see my doctor, when we get back to town."
+
+Dorian heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the gardener approaching. The
+man touched his hat, glanced for a moment at Lord Henry in a hesitating
+manner, and then produced a letter, which he handed to his master.
+"Her Grace told me to wait for an answer," he murmured.
+
+Dorian put the letter into his pocket. "Tell her Grace that I am
+coming in," he said, coldly. The man turned round and went rapidly in
+the direction of the house.
+
+"How fond women are of doing dangerous things!" laughed Lord Henry.
+"It is one of the qualities in them that I admire most. A woman will
+flirt with anybody in the world as long as other people are looking on."
+
+"How fond you are of saying dangerous things, Harry! In the present
+instance, you are quite astray. I like the duchess very much, but I
+don't love her."
+
+"And the duchess loves you very much, but she likes you less, so you
+are excellently matched."
+
+"You are talking scandal, Harry, and there is never any basis for
+scandal."
+
+"The basis of every scandal is an immoral certainty," said Lord Henry,
+lighting a cigarette.
+
+"You would sacrifice anybody, Harry, for the sake of an epigram."
+
+"The world goes to the altar of its own accord," was the answer.
+
+"I wish I could love," cried Dorian Gray with a deep note of pathos in
+his voice. "But I seem to have lost the passion and forgotten the
+desire. I am too much concentrated on myself. My own personality has
+become a burden to me. I want to escape, to go away, to forget. It
+was silly of me to come down here at all. I think I shall send a wire
+to Harvey to have the yacht got ready. On a yacht one is safe."
+
+"Safe from what, Dorian? You are in some trouble. Why not tell me
+what it is? You know I would help you."
+
+"I can't tell you, Harry," he answered sadly. "And I dare say it is
+only a fancy of mine. This unfortunate accident has upset me. I have
+a horrible presentiment that something of the kind may happen to me."
+
+"What nonsense!"
+
+"I hope it is, but I can't help feeling it. Ah! here is the duchess,
+looking like Artemis in a tailor-made gown. You see we have come back,
+Duchess."
+
+"I have heard all about it, Mr. Gray," she answered. "Poor Geoffrey is
+terribly upset. And it seems that you asked him not to shoot the hare.
+How curious!"
+
+"Yes, it was very curious. I don't know what made me say it. Some
+whim, I suppose. It looked the loveliest of little live things. But I
+am sorry they told you about the man. It is a hideous subject."
+
+"It is an annoying subject," broke in Lord Henry. "It has no
+psychological value at all. Now if Geoffrey had done the thing on
+purpose, how interesting he would be! I should like to know some one
+who had committed a real murder."
+
+"How horrid of you, Harry!" cried the duchess. "Isn't it, Mr. Gray?
+Harry, Mr. Gray is ill again. He is going to faint."
+
+Dorian drew himself up with an effort and smiled. "It is nothing,
+Duchess," he murmured; "my nerves are dreadfully out of order. That is
+all. I am afraid I walked too far this morning. I didn't hear what
+Harry said. Was it very bad? You must tell me some other time. I
+think I must go and lie down. You will excuse me, won't you?"
+
+They had reached the great flight of steps that led from the
+conservatory on to the terrace. As the glass door closed behind
+Dorian, Lord Henry turned and looked at the duchess with his slumberous
+eyes. "Are you very much in love with him?" he asked.
+
+She did not answer for some time, but stood gazing at the landscape.
+"I wish I knew," she said at last.
+
+He shook his head. "Knowledge would be fatal. It is the uncertainty
+that charms one. A mist makes things wonderful."
+
+"One may lose one's way."
+
+"All ways end at the same point, my dear Gladys."
+
+"What is that?"
+
+"Disillusion."
+
+"It was my _debut_ in life," she sighed.
+
+"It came to you crowned."
+
+"I am tired of strawberry leaves."
+
+"They become you."
+
+"Only in public."
+
+"You would miss them," said Lord Henry.
+
+"I will not part with a petal."
+
+"Monmouth has ears."
+
+"Old age is dull of hearing."
+
+"Has he never been jealous?"
+
+"I wish he had been."
+
+He glanced about as if in search of something. "What are you looking
+for?" she inquired.
+
+"The button from your foil," he answered. "You have dropped it."
+
+She laughed. "I have still the mask."
+
+"It makes your eyes lovelier," was his reply.
+
+She laughed again. Her teeth showed like white seeds in a scarlet
+fruit.
+
+Upstairs, in his own room, Dorian Gray was lying on a sofa, with terror
+in every tingling fibre of his body. Life had suddenly become too
+hideous a burden for him to bear. The dreadful death of the unlucky
+beater, shot in the thicket like a wild animal, had seemed to him to
+pre-figure death for himself also. He had nearly swooned at what Lord
+Henry had said in a chance mood of cynical jesting.
+
+At five o'clock he rang his bell for his servant and gave him orders to
+pack his things for the night-express to town, and to have the brougham
+at the door by eight-thirty. He was determined not to sleep another
+night at Selby Royal. It was an ill-omened place. Death walked there
+in the sunlight. The grass of the forest had been spotted with blood.
+
+Then he wrote a note to Lord Henry, telling him that he was going up to
+town to consult his doctor and asking him to entertain his guests in
+his absence. As he was putting it into the envelope, a knock came to
+the door, and his valet informed him that the head-keeper wished to see
+him. He frowned and bit his lip. "Send him in," he muttered, after
+some moments' hesitation.
+
+As soon as the man entered, Dorian pulled his chequebook out of a
+drawer and spread it out before him.
+
+"I suppose you have come about the unfortunate accident of this
+morning, Thornton?" he said, taking up a pen.
+
+"Yes, sir," answered the gamekeeper.
+
+"Was the poor fellow married? Had he any people dependent on him?"
+asked Dorian, looking bored. "If so, I should not like them to be left
+in want, and will send them any sum of money you may think necessary."
+
+"We don't know who he is, sir. That is what I took the liberty of
+coming to you about."
+
+"Don't know who he is?" said Dorian, listlessly. "What do you mean?
+Wasn't he one of your men?"
+
+"No, sir. Never saw him before. Seems like a sailor, sir."
+
+The pen dropped from Dorian Gray's hand, and he felt as if his heart
+had suddenly stopped beating. "A sailor?" he cried out. "Did you say
+a sailor?"
+
+"Yes, sir. He looks as if he had been a sort of sailor; tattooed on
+both arms, and that kind of thing."
+
+"Was there anything found on him?" said Dorian, leaning forward and
+looking at the man with startled eyes. "Anything that would tell his
+name?"
+
+"Some money, sir--not much, and a six-shooter. There was no name of any
+kind. A decent-looking man, sir, but rough-like. A sort of sailor we
+think."
+
+Dorian started to his feet. A terrible hope fluttered past him. He
+clutched at it madly. "Where is the body?" he exclaimed. "Quick! I
+must see it at once."
+
+"It is in an empty stable in the Home Farm, sir. The folk don't like
+to have that sort of thing in their houses. They say a corpse brings
+bad luck."
+
+"The Home Farm! Go there at once and meet me. Tell one of the grooms
+to bring my horse round. No. Never mind. I'll go to the stables
+myself. It will save time."
+
+In less than a quarter of an hour, Dorian Gray was galloping down the
+long avenue as hard as he could go. The trees seemed to sweep past him
+in spectral procession, and wild shadows to fling themselves across his
+path. Once the mare swerved at a white gate-post and nearly threw him.
+He lashed her across the neck with his crop. She cleft the dusky air
+like an arrow. The stones flew from her hoofs.
+
+At last he reached the Home Farm. Two men were loitering in the yard.
+He leaped from the saddle and threw the reins to one of them. In the
+farthest stable a light was glimmering. Something seemed to tell him
+that the body was there, and he hurried to the door and put his hand
+upon the latch.
+
+There he paused for a moment, feeling that he was on the brink of a
+discovery that would either make or mar his life. Then he thrust the
+door open and entered.
+
+On a heap of sacking in the far corner was lying the dead body of a man
+dressed in a coarse shirt and a pair of blue trousers. A spotted
+handkerchief had been placed over the face. A coarse candle, stuck in
+a bottle, sputtered beside it.
+
+Dorian Gray shuddered. He felt that his could not be the hand to take
+the handkerchief away, and called out to one of the farm-servants to
+come to him.
+
+"Take that thing off the face. I wish to see it," he said, clutching
+at the door-post for support.
+
+When the farm-servant had done so, he stepped forward. A cry of joy
+broke from his lips. The man who had been shot in the thicket was
+James Vane.
+
+He stood there for some minutes looking at the dead body. As he rode
+home, his eyes were full of tears, for he knew he was safe.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 19
+
+"There is no use your telling me that you are going to be good," cried
+Lord Henry, dipping his white fingers into a red copper bowl filled
+with rose-water. "You are quite perfect. Pray, don't change."
+
+Dorian Gray shook his head. "No, Harry, I have done too many dreadful
+things in my life. I am not going to do any more. I began my good
+actions yesterday."
+
+"Where were you yesterday?"
+
+"In the country, Harry. I was staying at a little inn by myself."
+
+"My dear boy," said Lord Henry, smiling, "anybody can be good in the
+country. There are no temptations there. That is the reason why
+people who live out of town are so absolutely uncivilized.
+Civilization is not by any means an easy thing to attain to. There are
+only two ways by which man can reach it. One is by being cultured, the
+other by being corrupt. Country people have no opportunity of being
+either, so they stagnate."
+
+"Culture and corruption," echoed Dorian. "I have known something of
+both. It seems terrible to me now that they should ever be found
+together. For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter. I
+think I have altered."
+
+"You have not yet told me what your good action was. Or did you say
+you had done more than one?" asked his companion as he spilled into his
+plate a little crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries and, through a
+perforated, shell-shaped spoon, snowed white sugar upon them.
+
+"I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could tell to any one
+else. I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I
+mean. She was quite beautiful and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I
+think it was that which first attracted me to her. You remember Sibyl,
+don't you? How long ago that seems! Well, Hetty was not one of our
+own class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village. But I
+really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved her. All during this
+wonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her
+two or three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little orchard.
+The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was
+laughing. We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn.
+Suddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her."
+
+"I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill
+of real pleasure, Dorian," interrupted Lord Henry. "But I can finish
+your idyll for you. You gave her good advice and broke her heart.
+That was the beginning of your reformation."
+
+"Harry, you are horrible! You mustn't say these dreadful things.
+Hetty's heart is not broken. Of course, she cried and all that. But
+there is no disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in her
+garden of mint and marigold."
+
+"And weep over a faithless Florizel," said Lord Henry, laughing, as he
+leaned back in his chair. "My dear Dorian, you have the most curiously
+boyish moods. Do you think this girl will ever be really content now
+with any one of her own rank? I suppose she will be married some day
+to a rough carter or a grinning ploughman. Well, the fact of having
+met you, and loved you, will teach her to despise her husband, and she
+will be wretched. From a moral point of view, I cannot say that I
+think much of your great renunciation. Even as a beginning, it is
+poor. Besides, how do you know that Hetty isn't floating at the
+present moment in some starlit mill-pond, with lovely water-lilies
+round her, like Ophelia?"
+
+"I can't bear this, Harry! You mock at everything, and then suggest
+the most serious tragedies. I am sorry I told you now. I don't care
+what you say to me. I know I was right in acting as I did. Poor
+Hetty! As I rode past the farm this morning, I saw her white face at
+the window, like a spray of jasmine. Don't let us talk about it any
+more, and don't try to persuade me that the first good action I have
+done for years, the first little bit of self-sacrifice I have ever
+known, is really a sort of sin. I want to be better. I am going to be
+better. Tell me something about yourself. What is going on in town?
+I have not been to the club for days."
+
+"The people are still discussing poor Basil's disappearance."
+
+"I should have thought they had got tired of that by this time," said
+Dorian, pouring himself out some wine and frowning slightly.
+
+"My dear boy, they have only been talking about it for six weeks, and
+the British public are really not equal to the mental strain of having
+more than one topic every three months. They have been very fortunate
+lately, however. They have had my own divorce-case and Alan Campbell's
+suicide. Now they have got the mysterious disappearance of an artist.
+Scotland Yard still insists that the man in the grey ulster who left
+for Paris by the midnight train on the ninth of November was poor
+Basil, and the French police declare that Basil never arrived in Paris
+at all. I suppose in about a fortnight we shall be told that he has
+been seen in San Francisco. It is an odd thing, but every one who
+disappears is said to be seen at San Francisco. It must be a
+delightful city, and possess all the attractions of the next world."
+
+"What do you think has happened to Basil?" asked Dorian, holding up his
+Burgundy against the light and wondering how it was that he could
+discuss the matter so calmly.
+
+"I have not the slightest idea. If Basil chooses to hide himself, it
+is no business of mine. If he is dead, I don't want to think about
+him. Death is the only thing that ever terrifies me. I hate it."
+
+"Why?" said the younger man wearily.
+
+"Because," said Lord Henry, passing beneath his nostrils the gilt
+trellis of an open vinaigrette box, "one can survive everything
+nowadays except that. Death and vulgarity are the only two facts in
+the nineteenth century that one cannot explain away. Let us have our
+coffee in the music-room, Dorian. You must play Chopin to me. The man
+with whom my wife ran away played Chopin exquisitely. Poor Victoria!
+I was very fond of her. The house is rather lonely without her. Of
+course, married life is merely a habit, a bad habit. But then one
+regrets the loss even of one's worst habits. Perhaps one regrets them
+the most. They are such an essential part of one's personality."
+
+Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next
+room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white
+and black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he
+stopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, "Harry, did it ever
+occur to you that Basil was murdered?"
+
+Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a
+Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever
+enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for
+painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as
+possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once,
+and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration
+for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art."
+
+"I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian with a note of sadness in his
+voice. "But don't people say that he was murdered?"
+
+"Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to me to be at all
+probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not
+the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his
+chief defect."
+
+"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?"
+said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.
+
+"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that
+doesn't suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime.
+It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt
+your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs
+exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest
+degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us,
+simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations."
+
+"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then, that a man who
+has once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again?
+Don't tell me that."
+
+"Oh! anything becomes a pleasure if one does it too often," cried Lord
+Henry, laughing. "That is one of the most important secrets of life.
+I should fancy, however, that murder is always a mistake. One should
+never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner. But let us
+pass from poor Basil. I wish I could believe that he had come to such
+a really romantic end as you suggest, but I can't. I dare say he fell
+into the Seine off an omnibus and that the conductor hushed up the
+scandal. Yes: I should fancy that was his end. I see him lying now
+on his back under those dull-green waters, with the heavy barges
+floating over him and long weeds catching in his hair. Do you know, I
+don't think he would have done much more good work. During the last
+ten years his painting had gone off very much."
+
+Dorian heaved a sigh, and Lord Henry strolled across the room and began
+to stroke the head of a curious Java parrot, a large, grey-plumaged
+bird with pink crest and tail, that was balancing itself upon a bamboo
+perch. As his pointed fingers touched it, it dropped the white scurf
+of crinkled lids over black, glasslike eyes and began to sway backwards
+and forwards.
+
+"Yes," he continued, turning round and taking his handkerchief out of
+his pocket; "his painting had quite gone off. It seemed to me to have
+lost something. It had lost an ideal. When you and he ceased to be
+great friends, he ceased to be a great artist. What was it separated
+you? I suppose he bored you. If so, he never forgave you. It's a
+habit bores have. By the way, what has become of that wonderful
+portrait he did of you? I don't think I have ever seen it since he
+finished it. Oh! I remember your telling me years ago that you had
+sent it down to Selby, and that it had got mislaid or stolen on the
+way. You never got it back? What a pity! it was really a
+masterpiece. I remember I wanted to buy it. I wish I had now. It
+belonged to Basil's best period. Since then, his work was that curious
+mixture of bad painting and good intentions that always entitles a man
+to be called a representative British artist. Did you advertise for
+it? You should."
+
+"I forget," said Dorian. "I suppose I did. But I never really liked
+it. I am sorry I sat for it. The memory of the thing is hateful to
+me. Why do you talk of it? It used to remind me of those curious
+lines in some play--Hamlet, I think--how do they run?--
+
+ "Like the painting of a sorrow,
+ A face without a heart."
+
+Yes: that is what it was like."
+
+Lord Henry laughed. "If a man treats life artistically, his brain is
+his heart," he answered, sinking into an arm-chair.
+
+Dorian Gray shook his head and struck some soft chords on the piano.
+"'Like the painting of a sorrow,'" he repeated, "'a face without a
+heart.'"
+
+The elder man lay back and looked at him with half-closed eyes. "By
+the way, Dorian," he said after a pause, "'what does it profit a man if
+he gain the whole world and lose--how does the quotation run?--his own
+soul'?"
+
+The music jarred, and Dorian Gray started and stared at his friend.
+"Why do you ask me that, Harry?"
+
+"My dear fellow," said Lord Henry, elevating his eyebrows in surprise,
+"I asked you because I thought you might be able to give me an answer.
+That is all. I was going through the park last Sunday, and close by
+the Marble Arch there stood a little crowd of shabby-looking people
+listening to some vulgar street-preacher. As I passed by, I heard the
+man yelling out that question to his audience. It struck me as being
+rather dramatic. London is very rich in curious effects of that kind.
+A wet Sunday, an uncouth Christian in a mackintosh, a ring of sickly
+white faces under a broken roof of dripping umbrellas, and a wonderful
+phrase flung into the air by shrill hysterical lips--it was really very
+good in its way, quite a suggestion. I thought of telling the prophet
+that art had a soul, but that man had not. I am afraid, however, he
+would not have understood me."
+
+"Don't, Harry. The soul is a terrible reality. It can be bought, and
+sold, and bartered away. It can be poisoned, or made perfect. There
+is a soul in each one of us. I know it."
+
+"Do you feel quite sure of that, Dorian?"
+
+"Quite sure."
+
+"Ah! then it must be an illusion. The things one feels absolutely
+certain about are never true. That is the fatality of faith, and the
+lesson of romance. How grave you are! Don't be so serious. What have
+you or I to do with the superstitions of our age? No: we have given
+up our belief in the soul. Play me something. Play me a nocturne,
+Dorian, and, as you play, tell me, in a low voice, how you have kept
+your youth. You must have some secret. I am only ten years older than
+you are, and I am wrinkled, and worn, and yellow. You are really
+wonderful, Dorian. You have never looked more charming than you do
+to-night. You remind me of the day I saw you first. You were rather
+cheeky, very shy, and absolutely extraordinary. You have changed, of
+course, but not in appearance. I wish you would tell me your secret.
+To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take
+exercise, get up early, or be respectable. Youth! There is nothing
+like it. It's absurd to talk of the ignorance of youth. The only
+people to whose opinions I listen now with any respect are people much
+younger than myself. They seem in front of me. Life has revealed to
+them her latest wonder. As for the aged, I always contradict the aged.
+I do it on principle. If you ask them their opinion on something that
+happened yesterday, they solemnly give you the opinions current in
+1820, when people wore high stocks, believed in everything, and knew
+absolutely nothing. How lovely that thing you are playing is! I
+wonder, did Chopin write it at Majorca, with the sea weeping round the
+villa and the salt spray dashing against the panes? It is marvellously
+romantic. What a blessing it is that there is one art left to us that
+is not imitative! Don't stop. I want music to-night. It seems to me
+that you are the young Apollo and that I am Marsyas listening to you.
+I have sorrows, Dorian, of my own, that even you know nothing of. The
+tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young. I am
+amazed sometimes at my own sincerity. Ah, Dorian, how happy you are!
+What an exquisite life you have had! You have drunk deeply of
+everything. You have crushed the grapes against your palate. Nothing
+has been hidden from you. And it has all been to you no more than the
+sound of music. It has not marred you. You are still the same."
+
+"I am not the same, Harry."
+
+"Yes, you are the same. I wonder what the rest of your life will be.
+Don't spoil it by renunciations. At present you are a perfect type.
+Don't make yourself incomplete. You are quite flawless now. You need
+not shake your head: you know you are. Besides, Dorian, don't deceive
+yourself. Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a
+question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which
+thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy
+yourself safe and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of colour
+in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once
+loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten
+poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music
+that you had ceased to play--I tell you, Dorian, that it is on things
+like these that our lives depend. Browning writes about that
+somewhere; but our own senses will imagine them for us. There are
+moments when the odour of _lilas blanc_ passes suddenly across me, and I
+have to live the strangest month of my life over again. I wish I could
+change places with you, Dorian. The world has cried out against us
+both, but it has always worshipped you. It always will worship you.
+You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is
+afraid it has found. I am so glad that you have never done anything,
+never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything
+outside of yourself! Life has been your art. You have set yourself to
+music. Your days are your sonnets."
+
+Dorian rose up from the piano and passed his hand through his hair.
+"Yes, life has been exquisite," he murmured, "but I am not going to
+have the same life, Harry. And you must not say these extravagant
+things to me. You don't know everything about me. I think that if you
+did, even you would turn from me. You laugh. Don't laugh."
+
+"Why have you stopped playing, Dorian? Go back and give me the
+nocturne over again. Look at that great, honey-coloured moon that
+hangs in the dusky air. She is waiting for you to charm her, and if
+you play she will come closer to the earth. You won't? Let us go to
+the club, then. It has been a charming evening, and we must end it
+charmingly. There is some one at White's who wants immensely to know
+you--young Lord Poole, Bournemouth's eldest son. He has already copied
+your neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you. He is quite
+delightful and rather reminds me of you."
+
+"I hope not," said Dorian with a sad look in his eyes. "But I am tired
+to-night, Harry. I shan't go to the club. It is nearly eleven, and I
+want to go to bed early."
+
+"Do stay. You have never played so well as to-night. There was
+something in your touch that was wonderful. It had more expression
+than I had ever heard from it before."
+
+"It is because I am going to be good," he answered, smiling. "I am a
+little changed already."
+
+"You cannot change to me, Dorian," said Lord Henry. "You and I will
+always be friends."
+
+"Yet you poisoned me with a book once. I should not forgive that.
+Harry, promise me that you will never lend that book to any one. It
+does harm."
+
+"My dear boy, you are really beginning to moralize. You will soon be
+going about like the converted, and the revivalist, warning people
+against all the sins of which you have grown tired. You are much too
+delightful to do that. Besides, it is no use. You and I are what we
+are, and will be what we will be. As for being poisoned by a book,
+there is no such thing as that. Art has no influence upon action. It
+annihilates the desire to act. It is superbly sterile. The books that
+the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.
+That is all. But we won't discuss literature. Come round to-morrow. I
+am going to ride at eleven. We might go together, and I will take you
+to lunch afterwards with Lady Branksome. She is a charming woman, and
+wants to consult you about some tapestries she is thinking of buying.
+Mind you come. Or shall we lunch with our little duchess? She says
+she never sees you now. Perhaps you are tired of Gladys? I thought
+you would be. Her clever tongue gets on one's nerves. Well, in any
+case, be here at eleven."
+
+"Must I really come, Harry?"
+
+"Certainly. The park is quite lovely now. I don't think there have
+been such lilacs since the year I met you."
+
+"Very well. I shall be here at eleven," said Dorian. "Good night,
+Harry." As he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment, as if he
+had something more to say. Then he sighed and went out.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 20
+
+It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and
+did not even put his silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home,
+smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He
+heard one of them whisper to the other, "That is Dorian Gray." He
+remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared
+at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now. Half
+the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was
+that no one knew who he was. He had often told the girl whom he had
+lured to love him that he was poor, and she had believed him. He had
+told her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him and
+answered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly. What a
+laugh she had!--just like a thrush singing. And how pretty she had
+been in her cotton dresses and her large hats! She knew nothing, but
+she had everything that he had lost.
+
+When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent
+him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and
+began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him.
+
+Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing
+for the unstained purity of his boyhood--his rose-white boyhood, as
+Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself,
+filled his mind with corruption and given horror to his fancy; that he
+had been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible
+joy in being so; and that of the lives that had crossed his own, it had
+been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to
+shame. But was it all irretrievable? Was there no hope for him?
+
+Ah! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that
+the portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the
+unsullied splendour of eternal youth! All his failure had been due to
+that. Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure
+swift penalty along with it. There was purification in punishment.
+Not "Forgive us our sins" but "Smite us for our iniquities" should be
+the prayer of man to a most just God.
+
+The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many
+years ago now, was standing on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids
+laughed round it as of old. He took it up, as he had done on that
+night of horror when he had first noted the change in the fatal
+picture, and with wild, tear-dimmed eyes looked into its polished
+shield. Once, some one who had terribly loved him had written to him a
+mad letter, ending with these idolatrous words: "The world is changed
+because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips
+rewrite history." The phrases came back to his memory, and he repeated
+them over and over to himself. Then he loathed his own beauty, and
+flinging the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters
+beneath his heel. It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty
+and the youth that he had prayed for. But for those two things, his
+life might have been free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a
+mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth at best? A green, an
+unripe time, a time of shallow moods, and sickly thoughts. Why had he
+worn its livery? Youth had spoiled him.
+
+It was better not to think of the past. Nothing could alter that. It
+was of himself, and of his own future, that he had to think. James
+Vane was hidden in a nameless grave in Selby churchyard. Alan Campbell
+had shot himself one night in his laboratory, but had not revealed the
+secret that he had been forced to know. The excitement, such as it
+was, over Basil Hallward's disappearance would soon pass away. It was
+already waning. He was perfectly safe there. Nor, indeed, was it the
+death of Basil Hallward that weighed most upon his mind. It was the
+living death of his own soul that troubled him. Basil had painted the
+portrait that had marred his life. He could not forgive him that. It
+was the portrait that had done everything. Basil had said things to
+him that were unbearable, and that he had yet borne with patience. The
+murder had been simply the madness of a moment. As for Alan Campbell,
+his suicide had been his own act. He had chosen to do it. It was
+nothing to him.
+
+A new life! That was what he wanted. That was what he was waiting
+for. Surely he had begun it already. He had spared one innocent
+thing, at any rate. He would never again tempt innocence. He would be
+good.
+
+As he thought of Hetty Merton, he began to wonder if the portrait in
+the locked room had changed. Surely it was not still so horrible as it
+had been? Perhaps if his life became pure, he would be able to expel
+every sign of evil passion from the face. Perhaps the signs of evil
+had already gone away. He would go and look.
+
+He took the lamp from the table and crept upstairs. As he unbarred the
+door, a smile of joy flitted across his strangely young-looking face
+and lingered for a moment about his lips. Yes, he would be good, and
+the hideous thing that he had hidden away would no longer be a terror
+to him. He felt as if the load had been lifted from him already.
+
+He went in quietly, locking the door behind him, as was his custom, and
+dragged the purple hanging from the portrait. A cry of pain and
+indignation broke from him. He could see no change, save that in the
+eyes there was a look of cunning and in the mouth the curved wrinkle of
+the hypocrite. The thing was still loathsome--more loathsome, if
+possible, than before--and the scarlet dew that spotted the hand seemed
+brighter, and more like blood newly spilled. Then he trembled. Had it
+been merely vanity that had made him do his one good deed? Or the
+desire for a new sensation, as Lord Henry had hinted, with his mocking
+laugh? Or that passion to act a part that sometimes makes us do things
+finer than we are ourselves? Or, perhaps, all these? And why was the
+red stain larger than it had been? It seemed to have crept like a
+horrible disease over the wrinkled fingers. There was blood on the
+painted feet, as though the thing had dripped--blood even on the hand
+that had not held the knife. Confess? Did it mean that he was to
+confess? To give himself up and be put to death? He laughed. He felt
+that the idea was monstrous. Besides, even if he did confess, who
+would believe him? There was no trace of the murdered man anywhere.
+Everything belonging to him had been destroyed. He himself had burned
+what had been below-stairs. The world would simply say that he was mad.
+They would shut him up if he persisted in his story.... Yet it was
+his duty to confess, to suffer public shame, and to make public
+atonement. There was a God who called upon men to tell their sins to
+earth as well as to heaven. Nothing that he could do would cleanse him
+till he had told his own sin. His sin? He shrugged his shoulders.
+The death of Basil Hallward seemed very little to him. He was thinking
+of Hetty Merton. For it was an unjust mirror, this mirror of his soul
+that he was looking at. Vanity? Curiosity? Hypocrisy? Had there
+been nothing more in his renunciation than that? There had been
+something more. At least he thought so. But who could tell? ... No.
+There had been nothing more. Through vanity he had spared her. In
+hypocrisy he had worn the mask of goodness. For curiosity's sake he
+had tried the denial of self. He recognized that now.
+
+But this murder--was it to dog him all his life? Was he always to be
+burdened by his past? Was he really to confess? Never. There was
+only one bit of evidence left against him. The picture itself--that
+was evidence. He would destroy it. Why had he kept it so long? Once
+it had given him pleasure to watch it changing and growing old. Of
+late he had felt no such pleasure. It had kept him awake at night.
+When he had been away, he had been filled with terror lest other eyes
+should look upon it. It had brought melancholy across his passions.
+Its mere memory had marred many moments of joy. It had been like
+conscience to him. Yes, it had been conscience. He would destroy it.
+
+He looked round and saw the knife that had stabbed Basil Hallward. He
+had cleaned it many times, till there was no stain left upon it. It
+was bright, and glistened. As it had killed the painter, so it would
+kill the painter's work, and all that that meant. It would kill the
+past, and when that was dead, he would be free. It would kill this
+monstrous soul-life, and without its hideous warnings, he would be at
+peace. He seized the thing, and stabbed the picture with it.
+
+There was a cry heard, and a crash. The cry was so horrible in its
+agony that the frightened servants woke and crept out of their rooms.
+Two gentlemen, who were passing in the square below, stopped and looked
+up at the great house. They walked on till they met a policeman and
+brought him back. The man rang the bell several times, but there was
+no answer. Except for a light in one of the top windows, the house was
+all dark. After a time, he went away and stood in an adjoining portico
+and watched.
+
+"Whose house is that, Constable?" asked the elder of the two gentlemen.
+
+"Mr. Dorian Gray's, sir," answered the policeman.
+
+They looked at each other, as they walked away, and sneered. One of
+them was Sir Henry Ashton's uncle.
+
+Inside, in the servants' part of the house, the half-clad domestics
+were talking in low whispers to each other. Old Mrs. Leaf was crying
+and wringing her hands. Francis was as pale as death.
+
+After about a quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the
+footmen and crept upstairs. They knocked, but there was no reply.
+They called out. Everything was still. Finally, after vainly trying
+to force the door, they got on the roof and dropped down on to the
+balcony. The windows yielded easily--their bolts were old.
+
+When they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait
+of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his
+exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man, in
+evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled,
+and loathsome of visage. It was not till they had examined the rings
+that they recognized who it was.
--- /dev/null
+
+
+ THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD
+
+
+ [Picture: Rochester castle]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I—THE DAWN
+
+
+An ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the ancient English
+Cathedral tower be here! The well-known massive gray square tower of its
+old Cathedral? How can that be here! There is no spike of rusty iron in
+the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real prospect.
+What is the spike that intervenes, and who has set it up? Maybe it is
+set up by the Sultan’s orders for the impaling of a horde of Turkish
+robbers, one by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the Sultan goes by
+to his palace in long procession. Ten thousand scimitars flash in the
+sunlight, and thrice ten thousand dancing-girls strew flowers. Then,
+follow white elephants caparisoned in countless gorgeous colours, and
+infinite in number and attendants. Still the Cathedral Tower rises in
+the background, where it cannot be, and still no writhing figure is on
+the grim spike. Stay! Is the spike so low a thing as the rusty spike on
+the top of a post of an old bedstead that has tumbled all awry? Some
+vague period of drowsy laughter must be devoted to the consideration of
+this possibility.
+
+Shaking from head to foot, the man whose scattered consciousness has thus
+fantastically pieced itself together, at length rises, supports his
+trembling frame upon his arms, and looks around. He is in the meanest
+and closest of small rooms. Through the ragged window-curtain, the light
+of early day steals in from a miserable court. He lies, dressed, across
+a large unseemly bed, upon a bedstead that has indeed given way under the
+weight upon it. Lying, also dressed and also across the bed, not
+longwise, are a Chinaman, a Lascar, and a haggard woman. The two first
+are in a sleep or stupor; the last is blowing at a kind of pipe, to
+kindle it. And as she blows, and shading it with her lean hand,
+concentrates its red spark of light, it serves in the dim morning as a
+lamp to show him what he sees of her.
+
+‘Another?’ says this woman, in a querulous, rattling whisper. ‘Have
+another?’
+
+He looks about him, with his hand to his forehead.
+
+‘Ye’ve smoked as many as five since ye come in at midnight,’ the woman
+goes on, as she chronically complains. ‘Poor me, poor me, my head is so
+bad. Them two come in after ye. Ah, poor me, the business is slack, is
+slack! Few Chinamen about the Docks, and fewer Lascars, and no ships
+coming in, these say! Here’s another ready for ye, deary. Ye’ll
+remember like a good soul, won’t ye, that the market price is dreffle
+high just now? More nor three shillings and sixpence for a thimbleful!
+And ye’ll remember that nobody but me (and Jack Chinaman t’other side the
+court; but he can’t do it as well as me) has the true secret of mixing
+it? Ye’ll pay up accordingly, deary, won’t ye?’
+
+She blows at the pipe as she speaks, and, occasionally bubbling at it,
+inhales much of its contents.
+
+‘O me, O me, my lungs is weak, my lungs is bad! It’s nearly ready for
+ye, deary. Ah, poor me, poor me, my poor hand shakes like to drop off!
+I see ye coming-to, and I ses to my poor self, “I’ll have another ready
+for him, and he’ll bear in mind the market price of opium, and pay
+according.” O my poor head! I makes my pipes of old penny ink-bottles,
+ye see, deary—this is one—and I fits-in a mouthpiece, this way, and I
+takes my mixter out of this thimble with this little horn spoon; and so I
+fills, deary. Ah, my poor nerves! I got Heavens-hard drunk for sixteen
+year afore I took to this; but this don’t hurt me, not to speak of. And
+it takes away the hunger as well as wittles, deary.’
+
+She hands him the nearly-emptied pipe, and sinks back, turning over on
+her face.
+
+He rises unsteadily from the bed, lays the pipe upon the hearth-stone,
+draws back the ragged curtain, and looks with repugnance at his three
+companions. He notices that the woman has opium-smoked herself into a
+strange likeness of the Chinaman. His form of cheek, eye, and temple,
+and his colour, are repeated in her. Said Chinaman convulsively wrestles
+with one of his many Gods or Devils, perhaps, and snarls horribly. The
+Lascar laughs and dribbles at the mouth. The hostess is still.
+
+ [Picture: In the Court]
+
+‘What visions can _she_ have?’ the waking man muses, as he turns her face
+towards him, and stands looking down at it. ‘Visions of many butchers’
+shops, and public-houses, and much credit? Of an increase of hideous
+customers, and this horrible bedstead set upright again, and this
+horrible court swept clean? What can she rise to, under any quantity of
+opium, higher than that!—Eh?’
+
+He bends down his ear, to listen to her mutterings.
+
+‘Unintelligible!’
+
+As he watches the spasmodic shoots and darts that break out of her face
+and limbs, like fitful lightning out of a dark sky, some contagion in
+them seizes upon him: insomuch that he has to withdraw himself to a lean
+arm-chair by the hearth—placed there, perhaps, for such emergencies—and
+to sit in it, holding tight, until he has got the better of this unclean
+spirit of imitation.
+
+Then he comes back, pounces on the Chinaman, and seizing him with both
+hands by the throat, turns him violently on the bed. The Chinaman
+clutches the aggressive hands, resists, gasps, and protests.
+
+‘What do you say?’
+
+A watchful pause.
+
+‘Unintelligible!’
+
+Slowly loosening his grasp as he listens to the incoherent jargon with an
+attentive frown, he turns to the Lascar and fairly drags him forth upon
+the floor. As he falls, the Lascar starts into a half-risen attitude,
+glares with his eyes, lashes about him fiercely with his arms, and draws
+a phantom knife. It then becomes apparent that the woman has taken
+possession of this knife, for safety’s sake; for, she too starting up,
+and restraining and expostulating with him, the knife is visible in her
+dress, not in his, when they drowsily drop back, side by side.
+
+There has been chattering and clattering enough between them, but to no
+purpose. When any distinct word has been flung into the air, it has had
+no sense or sequence. Wherefore ‘unintelligible!’ is again the comment
+of the watcher, made with some reassured nodding of his head, and a
+gloomy smile. He then lays certain silver money on the table, finds his
+hat, gropes his way down the broken stairs, gives a good morning to some
+rat-ridden doorkeeper, in bed in a black hutch beneath the stairs, and
+passes out.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+That same afternoon, the massive gray square tower of an old Cathedral
+rises before the sight of a jaded traveller. The bells are going for
+daily vesper service, and he must needs attend it, one would say, from
+his haste to reach the open Cathedral door. The choir are getting on
+their sullied white robes, in a hurry, when he arrives among them, gets
+on his own robe, and falls into the procession filing in to service.
+Then, the Sacristan locks the iron-barred gates that divide the sanctuary
+from the chancel, and all of the procession having scuttled into their
+places, hide their faces; and then the intoned words, ‘WHEN THE WICKED
+MAN—’ rise among groins of arches and beams of roof, awakening muttered
+thunder.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II—A DEAN, AND A CHAPTER ALSO
+
+
+Whosoever has observed that sedate and clerical bird, the rook, may
+perhaps have noticed that when he wings his way homeward towards
+nightfall, in a sedate and clerical company, two rooks will suddenly
+detach themselves from the rest, will retrace their flight for some
+distance, and will there poise and linger; conveying to mere men the
+fancy that it is of some occult importance to the body politic, that this
+artful couple should pretend to have renounced connection with it.
+
+Similarly, service being over in the old Cathedral with the square tower,
+and the choir scuffling out again, and divers venerable persons of
+rook-like aspect dispersing, two of these latter retrace their steps, and
+walk together in the echoing Close.
+
+Not only is the day waning, but the year. The low sun is fiery and yet
+cold behind the monastery ruin, and the Virginia creeper on the Cathedral
+wall has showered half its deep-red leaves down on the pavement. There
+has been rain this afternoon, and a wintry shudder goes among the little
+pools on the cracked, uneven flag-stones, and through the giant elm-trees
+as they shed a gust of tears. Their fallen leaves lie strewn thickly
+about. Some of these leaves, in a timid rush, seek sanctuary within the
+low arched Cathedral door; but two men coming out resist them, and cast
+them forth again with their feet; this done, one of the two locks the
+door with a goodly key, and the other flits away with a folio music-book.
+
+‘Mr. Jasper was that, Tope?’
+
+‘Yes, Mr. Dean.’
+
+‘He has stayed late.’
+
+‘Yes, Mr. Dean. I have stayed for him, your Reverence. He has been took
+a little poorly.’
+
+‘Say “taken,” Tope—to the Dean,’ the younger rook interposes in a low
+tone with this touch of correction, as who should say: ‘You may offer bad
+grammar to the laity, or the humbler clergy, not to the Dean.’
+
+Mr. Tope, Chief Verger and Showman, and accustomed to be high with
+excursion parties, declines with a silent loftiness to perceive that any
+suggestion has been tendered to him.
+
+‘And when and how has Mr. Jasper been taken—for, as Mr. Crisparkle has
+remarked, it is better to say taken—taken—’ repeats the Dean; ‘when and
+how has Mr. Jasper been Taken—’
+
+‘Taken, sir,’ Tope deferentially murmurs.
+
+‘—Poorly, Tope?’
+
+‘Why, sir, Mr. Jasper was that breathed—’
+
+‘I wouldn’t say “That breathed,” Tope,’ Mr. Crisparkle interposes with
+the same touch as before. ‘Not English—to the Dean.’
+
+‘Breathed to that extent,’ the Dean (not unflattered by this indirect
+homage) condescendingly remarks, ‘would be preferable.’
+
+‘Mr. Jasper’s breathing was so remarkably short’—thus discreetly does Mr.
+Tope work his way round the sunken rock—‘when he came in, that it
+distressed him mightily to get his notes out: which was perhaps the cause
+of his having a kind of fit on him after a little. His memory grew
+DAZED.’ Mr. Tope, with his eyes on the Reverend Mr. Crisparkle, shoots
+this word out, as defying him to improve upon it: ‘and a dimness and
+giddiness crept over him as strange as ever I saw: though he didn’t seem
+to mind it particularly, himself. However, a little time and a little
+water brought him out of his DAZE.’ Mr. Tope repeats the word and its
+emphasis, with the air of saying: ‘As I _have_ made a success, I’ll make
+it again.’
+
+‘And Mr. Jasper has gone home quite himself, has he?’ asked the Dean.
+
+‘Your Reverence, he has gone home quite himself. And I’m glad to see
+he’s having his fire kindled up, for it’s chilly after the wet, and the
+Cathedral had both a damp feel and a damp touch this afternoon, and he
+was very shivery.’
+
+They all three look towards an old stone gatehouse crossing the Close,
+with an arched thoroughfare passing beneath it. Through its latticed
+window, a fire shines out upon the fast-darkening scene, involving in
+shadow the pendent masses of ivy and creeper covering the building’s
+front. As the deep Cathedral-bell strikes the hour, a ripple of wind
+goes through these at their distance, like a ripple of the solemn sound
+that hums through tomb and tower, broken niche and defaced statue, in the
+pile close at hand.
+
+‘Is Mr. Jasper’s nephew with him?’ the Dean asks.
+
+‘No, sir,’ replied the Verger, ‘but expected. There’s his own solitary
+shadow betwixt his two windows—the one looking this way, and the one
+looking down into the High Street—drawing his own curtains now.’
+
+‘Well, well,’ says the Dean, with a sprightly air of breaking up the
+little conference, ‘I hope Mr. Jasper’s heart may not be too much set
+upon his nephew. Our affections, however laudable, in this transitory
+world, should never master us; we should guide them, guide them. I find
+I am not disagreeably reminded of my dinner, by hearing my dinner-bell.
+Perhaps, Mr. Crisparkle, you will, before going home, look in on Jasper?’
+
+‘Certainly, Mr. Dean. And tell him that you had the kindness to desire
+to know how he was?’
+
+‘Ay; do so, do so. Certainly. Wished to know how he was. By all means.
+Wished to know how he was.’
+
+With a pleasant air of patronage, the Dean as nearly cocks his quaint hat
+as a Dean in good spirits may, and directs his comely gaiters towards the
+ruddy dining-room of the snug old red-brick house where he is at present,
+‘in residence’ with Mrs. Dean and Miss Dean.
+
+Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, fair and rosy, and perpetually pitching
+himself head-foremost into all the deep running water in the surrounding
+country; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, early riser, musical, classical,
+cheerful, kind, good-natured, social, contented, and boy-like; Mr.
+Crisparkle, Minor Canon and good man, lately ‘Coach’ upon the chief Pagan
+high roads, but since promoted by a patron (grateful for a well-taught
+son) to his present Christian beat; betakes himself to the gatehouse, on
+his way home to his early tea.
+
+‘Sorry to hear from Tope that you have not been well, Jasper.’
+
+‘O, it was nothing, nothing!’
+
+‘You look a little worn.’
+
+‘Do I? O, I don’t think so. What is better, I don’t feel so. Tope has
+made too much of it, I suspect. It’s his trade to make the most of
+everything appertaining to the Cathedral, you know.’
+
+‘I may tell the Dean—I call expressly from the Dean—that you are all
+right again?’
+
+The reply, with a slight smile, is: ‘Certainly; with my respects and
+thanks to the Dean.’
+
+‘I’m glad to hear that you expect young Drood.’
+
+‘I expect the dear fellow every moment.’
+
+‘Ah! He will do you more good than a doctor, Jasper.’
+
+‘More good than a dozen doctors. For I love him dearly, and I don’t love
+doctors, or doctors’ stuff.’
+
+Mr. Jasper is a dark man of some six-and-twenty, with thick, lustrous,
+well-arranged black hair and whiskers. He looks older than he is, as
+dark men often do. His voice is deep and good, his face and figure are
+good, his manner is a little sombre. His room is a little sombre, and
+may have had its influence in forming his manner. It is mostly in
+shadow. Even when the sun shines brilliantly, it seldom touches the
+grand piano in the recess, or the folio music-books on the stand, or the
+book-shelves on the wall, or the unfinished picture of a blooming
+schoolgirl hanging over the chimneypiece; her flowing brown hair tied
+with a blue riband, and her beauty remarkable for a quite childish,
+almost babyish, touch of saucy discontent, comically conscious of itself.
+(There is not the least artistic merit in this picture, which is a mere
+daub; but it is clear that the painter has made it humorously—one might
+almost say, revengefully—like the original.)
+
+‘We shall miss you, Jasper, at the “Alternate Musical Wednesdays”
+to-night; but no doubt you are best at home. Good-night. God bless you!
+“Tell me, shep-herds, te-e-ell me; tell me-e-e, have you seen (have you
+seen, have you seen, have you seen) my-y-y Flo-o-ora-a pass this way!”’
+Melodiously good Minor Canon the Reverend Septimus Crisparkle thus
+delivers himself, in musical rhythm, as he withdraws his amiable face
+from the doorway and conveys it down-stairs.
+
+Sounds of recognition and greeting pass between the Reverend Septimus and
+somebody else, at the stair-foot. Mr. Jasper listens, starts from his
+chair, and catches a young fellow in his arms, exclaiming:
+
+‘My dear Edwin!’
+
+‘My dear Jack! So glad to see you!’
+
+‘Get off your greatcoat, bright boy, and sit down here in your own
+corner. Your feet are not wet? Pull your boots off. Do pull your boots
+off.’
+
+‘My dear Jack, I am as dry as a bone. Don’t moddley-coddley, there’s a
+good fellow. I like anything better than being moddley-coddleyed.’
+
+With the check upon him of being unsympathetically restrained in a genial
+outburst of enthusiasm, Mr. Jasper stands still, and looks on intently at
+the young fellow, divesting himself of his outward coat, hat, gloves, and
+so forth. Once for all, a look of intentness and intensity—a look of
+hungry, exacting, watchful, and yet devoted affection—is always, now and
+ever afterwards, on the Jasper face whenever the Jasper face is addressed
+in this direction. And whenever it is so addressed, it is never, on this
+occasion or on any other, dividedly addressed; it is always concentrated.
+
+‘Now I am right, and now I’ll take my corner, Jack. Any dinner, Jack?’
+
+Mr. Jasper opens a door at the upper end of the room, and discloses a
+small inner room pleasantly lighted and prepared, wherein a comely dame
+is in the act of setting dishes on table.
+
+‘What a jolly old Jack it is!’ cries the young fellow, with a clap of his
+hands. ‘Look here, Jack; tell me; whose birthday is it?’
+
+‘Not yours, I know,’ Mr. Jasper answers, pausing to consider.
+
+‘Not mine, you know? No; not mine, _I_ know! Pussy’s!’
+
+Fixed as the look the young fellow meets, is, there is yet in it some
+strange power of suddenly including the sketch over the chimneypiece.
+
+‘Pussy’s, Jack! We must drink Many happy returns to her. Come, uncle;
+take your dutiful and sharp-set nephew in to dinner.’
+
+As the boy (for he is little more) lays a hand on Jasper’s shoulder,
+Jasper cordially and gaily lays a hand on _his_ shoulder, and so
+Marseillaise-wise they go in to dinner.
+
+‘And, Lord! here’s Mrs. Tope!’ cries the boy. ‘Lovelier than ever!’
+
+‘Never you mind me, Master Edwin,’ retorts the Verger’s wife; ‘I can take
+care of myself.’
+
+‘You can’t. You’re much too handsome. Give me a kiss because it’s
+Pussy’s birthday.’
+
+‘I’d Pussy you, young man, if I was Pussy, as you call her,’ Mrs. Tope
+blushingly retorts, after being saluted. ‘Your uncle’s too much wrapt up
+in you, that’s where it is. He makes so much of you, that it’s my
+opinion you think you’ve only to call your Pussys by the dozen, to make
+’em come.’
+
+‘You forget, Mrs. Tope,’ Mr. Jasper interposes, taking his place at the
+table with a genial smile, ‘and so do you, Ned, that Uncle and Nephew are
+words prohibited here by common consent and express agreement. For what
+we are going to receive His holy name be praised!’
+
+‘Done like the Dean! Witness, Edwin Drood! Please to carve, Jack, for I
+can’t.’
+
+This sally ushers in the dinner. Little to the present purpose, or to
+any purpose, is said, while it is in course of being disposed of. At
+length the cloth is drawn, and a dish of walnuts and a decanter of
+rich-coloured sherry are placed upon the table.
+
+‘I say! Tell me, Jack,’ the young fellow then flows on: ‘do you really
+and truly feel as if the mention of our relationship divided us at all?
+_I_ don’t.’
+
+‘Uncles as a rule, Ned, are so much older than their nephews,’ is the
+reply, ‘that I have that feeling instinctively.’
+
+‘As a rule! Ah, may-be! But what is a difference in age of half-a-dozen
+years or so? And some uncles, in large families, are even younger than
+their nephews. By George, I wish it was the case with us!’
+
+‘Why?’
+
+‘Because if it was, I’d take the lead with you, Jack, and be as wise as
+Begone, dull Care! that turned a young man gray, and Begone, dull Care!
+that turned an old man to clay.—Halloa, Jack! Don’t drink.’
+
+‘Why not?’
+
+‘Asks why not, on Pussy’s birthday, and no Happy returns proposed!
+Pussy, Jack, and many of ’em! Happy returns, I mean.’
+
+Laying an affectionate and laughing touch on the boy’s extended hand, as
+if it were at once his giddy head and his light heart, Mr. Jasper drinks
+the toast in silence.
+
+‘Hip, hip, hip, and nine times nine, and one to finish with, and all
+that, understood. Hooray, hooray, hooray!—And now, Jack, let’s have a
+little talk about Pussy. Two pairs of nut-crackers? Pass me one, and
+take the other.’ Crack. ‘How’s Pussy getting on Jack?’
+
+‘With her music? Fairly.’
+
+‘What a dreadfully conscientious fellow you are, Jack! But _I_ know,
+Lord bless you! Inattentive, isn’t she?’
+
+‘She can learn anything, if she will.’
+
+‘_If_ she will! Egad, that’s it. But if she won’t?’
+
+Crack!—on Mr. Jasper’s part.
+
+‘How’s she looking, Jack?’
+
+Mr. Jasper’s concentrated face again includes the portrait as he returns:
+‘Very like your sketch indeed.’
+
+‘I _am_ a little proud of it,’ says the young fellow, glancing up at the
+sketch with complacency, and then shutting one eye, and taking a
+corrected prospect of it over a level bridge of nut-crackers in the air:
+‘Not badly hit off from memory. But I ought to have caught that
+expression pretty well, for I have seen it often enough.’
+
+Crack!—on Edwin Drood’s part.
+
+Crack!—on Mr. Jasper’s part.
+
+‘In point of fact,’ the former resumes, after some silent dipping among
+his fragments of walnut with an air of pique, ‘I see it whenever I go to
+see Pussy. If I don’t find it on her face, I leave it there.—You know I
+do, Miss Scornful Pert. Booh!’ With a twirl of the nut-crackers at the
+portrait.
+
+Crack! crack! crack. Slowly, on Mr. Jasper’s part.
+
+Crack. Sharply on the part of Edwin Drood.
+
+Silence on both sides.
+
+‘Have you lost your tongue, Jack?’
+
+‘Have you found yours, Ned?’
+
+‘No, but really;—isn’t it, you know, after all—’
+
+Mr. Jasper lifts his dark eyebrows inquiringly.
+
+‘Isn’t it unsatisfactory to be cut off from choice in such a matter?
+There, Jack! I tell you! If I could choose, I would choose Pussy from
+all the pretty girls in the world.’
+
+‘But you have not got to choose.’
+
+‘That’s what I complain of. My dead and gone father and Pussy’s dead and
+gone father must needs marry us together by anticipation. Why the—Devil,
+I was going to say, if it had been respectful to their memory—couldn’t
+they leave us alone?’
+
+‘Tut, tut, dear boy,’ Mr. Jasper remonstrates, in a tone of gentle
+deprecation.
+
+‘Tut, tut? Yes, Jack, it’s all very well for _you_. _You_ can take it
+easily. _Your_ life is not laid down to scale, and lined and dotted out
+for you, like a surveyor’s plan. _You_ have no uncomfortable suspicion
+that you are forced upon anybody, nor has anybody an uncomfortable
+suspicion that she is forced upon you, or that you are forced upon her.
+_You_ can choose for yourself. Life, for _you_, is a plum with the
+natural bloom on; it hasn’t been over-carefully wiped off for _you_—’
+
+‘Don’t stop, dear fellow. Go on.’
+
+‘Can I anyhow have hurt your feelings, Jack?’
+
+‘How can you have hurt my feelings?’
+
+‘Good Heaven, Jack, you look frightfully ill! There’s a strange film
+come over your eyes.’
+
+Mr. Jasper, with a forced smile, stretches out his right hand, as if at
+once to disarm apprehension and gain time to get better. After a while
+he says faintly:
+
+‘I have been taking opium for a pain—an agony—that sometimes overcomes
+me. The effects of the medicine steal over me like a blight or a cloud,
+and pass. You see them in the act of passing; they will be gone
+directly. Look away from me. They will go all the sooner.’
+
+With a scared face the younger man complies by casting his eyes downward
+at the ashes on the hearth. Not relaxing his own gaze on the fire, but
+rather strengthening it with a fierce, firm grip upon his elbow-chair,
+the elder sits for a few moments rigid, and then, with thick drops
+standing on his forehead, and a sharp catch of his breath, becomes as he
+was before. On his so subsiding in his chair, his nephew gently and
+assiduously tends him while he quite recovers. When Jasper is restored,
+he lays a tender hand upon his nephew’s shoulder, and, in a tone of voice
+less troubled than the purport of his words—indeed with something of
+raillery or banter in it—thus addresses him:
+
+‘There is said to be a hidden skeleton in every house; but you thought
+there was none in mine, dear Ned.’
+
+‘Upon my life, Jack, I did think so. However, when I come to consider
+that even in Pussy’s house—if she had one—and in mine—if I had one—’
+
+‘You were going to say (but that I interrupted you in spite of myself)
+what a quiet life mine is. No whirl and uproar around me, no distracting
+commerce or calculation, no risk, no change of place, myself devoted to
+the art I pursue, my business my pleasure.’
+
+‘I really was going to say something of the kind, Jack; but you see, you,
+speaking of yourself, almost necessarily leave out much that I should
+have put in. For instance: I should have put in the foreground your
+being so much respected as Lay Precentor, or Lay Clerk, or whatever you
+call it, of this Cathedral; your enjoying the reputation of having done
+such wonders with the choir; your choosing your society, and holding such
+an independent position in this queer old place; your gift of teaching
+(why, even Pussy, who don’t like being taught, says there never was such
+a Master as you are!), and your connexion.’
+
+‘Yes; I saw what you were tending to. I hate it.’
+
+‘Hate it, Jack?’ (Much bewildered.)
+
+‘I hate it. The cramped monotony of my existence grinds me away by the
+grain. How does our service sound to you?’
+
+‘Beautiful! Quite celestial!’
+
+‘It often sounds to me quite devilish. I am so weary of it. The echoes
+of my own voice among the arches seem to mock me with my daily drudging
+round. No wretched monk who droned his life away in that gloomy place,
+before me, can have been more tired of it than I am. He could take for
+relief (and did take) to carving demons out of the stalls and seats and
+desks. What shall I do? Must I take to carving them out of my heart?’
+
+‘I thought you had so exactly found your niche in life, Jack,’ Edwin
+Drood returns, astonished, bending forward in his chair to lay a
+sympathetic hand on Jasper’s knee, and looking at him with an anxious
+face.
+
+‘I know you thought so. They all think so.’
+
+‘Well, I suppose they do,’ says Edwin, meditating aloud. ‘Pussy thinks
+so.’
+
+‘When did she tell you that?’
+
+‘The last time I was here. You remember when. Three months ago.’
+
+‘How did she phrase it?’
+
+‘O, she only said that she had become your pupil, and that you were made
+for your vocation.’
+
+The younger man glances at the portrait. The elder sees it in him.
+
+‘Anyhow, my dear Ned,’ Jasper resumes, as he shakes his head with a grave
+cheerfulness, ‘I must subdue myself to my vocation: which is much the
+same thing outwardly. It’s too late to find another now. This is a
+confidence between us.’
+
+‘It shall be sacredly preserved, Jack.’
+
+‘I have reposed it in you, because—’
+
+‘I feel it, I assure you. Because we are fast friends, and because you
+love and trust me, as I love and trust you. Both hands, Jack.’
+
+As each stands looking into the other’s eyes, and as the uncle holds the
+nephew’s hands, the uncle thus proceeds:
+
+‘You know now, don’t you, that even a poor monotonous chorister and
+grinder of music—in his niche—may be troubled with some stray sort of
+ambition, aspiration, restlessness, dissatisfaction, what shall we call
+it?’
+
+‘Yes, dear Jack.’
+
+‘And you will remember?’
+
+‘My dear Jack, I only ask you, am I likely to forget what you have said
+with so much feeling?’
+
+‘Take it as a warning, then.’
+
+In the act of having his hands released, and of moving a step back, Edwin
+pauses for an instant to consider the application of these last words.
+The instant over, he says, sensibly touched:
+
+‘I am afraid I am but a shallow, surface kind of fellow, Jack, and that
+my headpiece is none of the best. But I needn’t say I am young; and
+perhaps I shall not grow worse as I grow older. At all events, I hope I
+have something impressible within me, which feels—deeply feels—the
+disinterestedness of your painfully laying your inner self bare, as a
+warning to me.’
+
+Mr. Jasper’s steadiness of face and figure becomes so marvellous that his
+breathing seems to have stopped.
+
+‘I couldn’t fail to notice, Jack, that it cost you a great effort, and
+that you were very much moved, and very unlike your usual self. Of
+course I knew that you were extremely fond of me, but I really was not
+prepared for your, as I may say, sacrificing yourself to me in that way.’
+
+Mr. Jasper, becoming a breathing man again without the smallest stage of
+transition between the two extreme states, lifts his shoulders, laughs,
+and waves his right arm.
+
+‘No; don’t put the sentiment away, Jack; please don’t; for I am very much
+in earnest. I have no doubt that that unhealthy state of mind which you
+have so powerfully described is attended with some real suffering, and is
+hard to bear. But let me reassure you, Jack, as to the chances of its
+overcoming me. I don’t think I am in the way of it. In some few months
+less than another year, you know, I shall carry Pussy off from school as
+Mrs. Edwin Drood. I shall then go engineering into the East, and Pussy
+with me. And although we have our little tiffs now, arising out of a
+certain unavoidable flatness that attends our love-making, owing to its
+end being all settled beforehand, still I have no doubt of our getting on
+capitally then, when it’s done and can’t be helped. In short, Jack, to
+go back to the old song I was freely quoting at dinner (and who knows old
+songs better than you?), my wife shall dance, and I will sing, so merrily
+pass the day. Of Pussy’s being beautiful there cannot be a doubt;—and
+when you are good besides, Little Miss Impudence,’ once more
+apostrophising the portrait, ‘I’ll burn your comic likeness, and paint
+your music-master another.’
+
+Mr. Jasper, with his hand to his chin, and with an expression of musing
+benevolence on his face, has attentively watched every animated look and
+gesture attending the delivery of these words. He remains in that
+attitude after they, are spoken, as if in a kind of fascination attendant
+on his strong interest in the youthful spirit that he loves so well.
+Then he says with a quiet smile:
+
+‘You won’t be warned, then?’
+
+‘No, Jack.’
+
+‘You can’t be warned, then?’
+
+‘No, Jack, not by you. Besides that I don’t really consider myself in
+danger, I don’t like your putting yourself in that position.’
+
+‘Shall we go and walk in the churchyard?’
+
+‘By all means. You won’t mind my slipping out of it for half a moment to
+the Nuns’ House, and leaving a parcel there? Only gloves for Pussy; as
+many pairs of gloves as she is years old to-day. Rather poetical, Jack?’
+
+Mr. Jasper, still in the same attitude, murmurs: ‘“Nothing half so sweet
+in life,” Ned!’
+
+‘Here’s the parcel in my greatcoat-pocket. They must be presented
+to-night, or the poetry is gone. It’s against regulations for me to call
+at night, but not to leave a packet. I am ready, Jack!’
+
+Mr. Jasper dissolves his attitude, and they go out together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III—THE NUNS’ HOUSE
+
+
+For sufficient reasons, which this narrative will itself unfold as it
+advances, a fictitious name must be bestowed upon the old Cathedral town.
+Let it stand in these pages as Cloisterham. It was once possibly known
+to the Druids by another name, and certainly to the Romans by another,
+and to the Saxons by another, and to the Normans by another; and a name
+more or less in the course of many centuries can be of little moment to
+its dusty chronicles.
+
+An ancient city, Cloisterham, and no meet dwelling-place for any one with
+hankerings after the noisy world. A monotonous, silent city, deriving an
+earthy flavour throughout from its Cathedral crypt, and so abounding in
+vestiges of monastic graves, that the Cloisterham children grow small
+salad in the dust of abbots and abbesses, and make dirt-pies of nuns and
+friars; while every ploughman in its outlying fields renders to once
+puissant Lord Treasurers, Archbishops, Bishops, and such-like, the
+attention which the Ogre in the story-book desired to render to his
+unbidden visitor, and grinds their bones to make his bread.
+
+A drowsy city, Cloisterham, whose inhabitants seem to suppose, with an
+inconsistency more strange than rare, that all its changes lie behind it,
+and that there are no more to come. A queer moral to derive from
+antiquity, yet older than any traceable antiquity. So silent are the
+streets of Cloisterham (though prone to echo on the smallest
+provocation), that of a summer-day the sunblinds of its shops scarce dare
+to flap in the south wind; while the sun-browned tramps, who pass along
+and stare, quicken their limp a little, that they may the sooner get
+beyond the confines of its oppressive respectability. This is a feat not
+difficult of achievement, seeing that the streets of Cloisterham city are
+little more than one narrow street by which you get into it and get out
+of it: the rest being mostly disappointing yards with pumps in them and
+no thoroughfare—exception made of the Cathedral-close, and a paved Quaker
+settlement, in colour and general confirmation very like a Quakeress’s
+bonnet, up in a shady corner.
+
+In a word, a city of another and a bygone time is Cloisterham, with its
+hoarse Cathedral-bell, its hoarse rooks hovering about the Cathedral
+tower, its hoarser and less distinct rooks in the stalls far beneath.
+Fragments of old wall, saint’s chapel, chapter-house, convent and
+monastery, have got incongruously or obstructively built into many of its
+houses and gardens, much as kindred jumbled notions have become
+incorporated into many of its citizens’ minds. All things in it are of
+the past. Even its single pawnbroker takes in no pledges, nor has he for
+a long time, but offers vainly an unredeemed stock for sale, of which the
+costlier articles are dim and pale old watches apparently in a slow
+perspiration, tarnished sugar-tongs with ineffectual legs, and odd
+volumes of dismal books. The most abundant and the most agreeable
+evidences of progressing life in Cloisterham are the evidences of
+vegetable life in many gardens; even its drooping and despondent little
+theatre has its poor strip of garden, receiving the foul fiend, when he
+ducks from its stage into the infernal regions, among scarlet-beans or
+oyster-shells, according to the season of the year.
+
+In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns’ House: a venerable brick
+edifice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from the legend
+of its conventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its old courtyard is
+a resplendent brass plate flashing forth the legend: ‘Seminary for Young
+Ladies. Miss Twinkleton.’ The house-front is so old and worn, and the
+brass plate is so shining and staring, that the general result has
+reminded imaginative strangers of a battered old beau with a large modern
+eye-glass stuck in his blind eye.
+
+Whether the nuns of yore, being of a submissive rather than a
+stiff-necked generation, habitually bent their contemplative heads to
+avoid collision with the beams in the low ceilings of the many chambers
+of their House; whether they sat in its long low windows telling their
+beads for their mortification, instead of making necklaces of them for
+their adornment; whether they were ever walled up alive in odd angles and
+jutting gables of the building for having some ineradicable leaven of
+busy mother Nature in them which has kept the fermenting world alive ever
+since; these may be matters of interest to its haunting ghosts (if any),
+but constitute no item in Miss Twinkleton’s half-yearly accounts. They
+are neither of Miss Twinkleton’s inclusive regulars, nor of her extras.
+The lady who undertakes the poetical department of the establishment at
+so much (or so little) a quarter has no pieces in her list of recitals
+bearing on such unprofitable questions.
+
+As, in some cases of drunkenness, and in others of animal magnetism,
+there are two states of consciousness which never clash, but each of
+which pursues its separate course as though it were continuous instead of
+broken (thus, if I hide my watch when I am drunk, I must be drunk again
+before I can remember where), so Miss Twinkleton has two distinct and
+separate phases of being. Every night, the moment the young ladies have
+retired to rest, does Miss Twinkleton smarten up her curls a little,
+brighten up her eyes a little, and become a sprightlier Miss Twinkleton
+than the young ladies have ever seen. Every night, at the same hour,
+does Miss Twinkleton resume the topics of the previous night,
+comprehending the tenderer scandal of Cloisterham, of which she has no
+knowledge whatever by day, and references to a certain season at
+Tunbridge Wells (airily called by Miss Twinkleton in this state of her
+existence ‘The Wells’), notably the season wherein a certain finished
+gentleman (compassionately called by Miss Twinkleton, in this stage of
+her existence, ‘Foolish Mr. Porters’) revealed a homage of the heart,
+whereof Miss Twinkleton, in her scholastic state of existence, is as
+ignorant as a granite pillar. Miss Twinkleton’s companion in both states
+of existence, and equally adaptable to either, is one Mrs. Tisher: a
+deferential widow with a weak back, a chronic sigh, and a suppressed
+voice, who looks after the young ladies’ wardrobes, and leads them to
+infer that she has seen better days. Perhaps this is the reason why it
+is an article of faith with the servants, handed down from race to race,
+that the departed Tisher was a hairdresser.
+
+The pet pupil of the Nuns’ House is Miss Rosa Bud, of course called
+Rosebud; wonderfully pretty, wonderfully childish, wonderfully whimsical.
+An awkward interest (awkward because romantic) attaches to Miss Bud in
+the minds of the young ladies, on account of its being known to them that
+a husband has been chosen for her by will and bequest, and that her
+guardian is bound down to bestow her on that husband when he comes of
+age. Miss Twinkleton, in her seminarial state of existence, has combated
+the romantic aspect of this destiny by affecting to shake her head over
+it behind Miss Bud’s dimpled shoulders, and to brood on the unhappy lot
+of that doomed little victim. But with no better effect—possibly some
+unfelt touch of foolish Mr. Porters has undermined the endeavour—than to
+evoke from the young ladies an unanimous bedchamber cry of ‘O, what a
+pretending old thing Miss Twinkleton is, my dear!’
+
+The Nuns’ House is never in such a state of flutter as when this allotted
+husband calls to see little Rosebud. (It is unanimously understood by
+the young ladies that he is lawfully entitled to this privilege, and that
+if Miss Twinkleton disputed it, she would be instantly taken up and
+transported.) When his ring at the gate-bell is expected, or takes
+place, every young lady who can, under any pretence, look out of window,
+looks out of window; while every young lady who is ‘practising,’
+practises out of time; and the French class becomes so demoralised that
+the mark goes round as briskly as the bottle at a convivial party in the
+last century.
+
+On the afternoon of the day next after the dinner of two at the
+gatehouse, the bell is rung with the usual fluttering results.
+
+‘Mr. Edwin Drood to see Miss Rosa.’
+
+This is the announcement of the parlour-maid in chief. Miss Twinkleton,
+with an exemplary air of melancholy on her, turns to the sacrifice, and
+says, ‘You may go down, my dear.’ Miss Bud goes down, followed by all
+eyes.
+
+Mr. Edwin Drood is waiting in Miss Twinkleton’s own parlour: a dainty
+room, with nothing more directly scholastic in it than a terrestrial and
+a celestial globe. These expressive machines imply (to parents and
+guardians) that even when Miss Twinkleton retires into the bosom of
+privacy, duty may at any moment compel her to become a sort of Wandering
+Jewess, scouring the earth and soaring through the skies in search of
+knowledge for her pupils.
+
+The last new maid, who has never seen the young gentleman Miss Rosa is
+engaged to, and who is making his acquaintance between the hinges of the
+open door, left open for the purpose, stumbles guiltily down the kitchen
+stairs, as a charming little apparition, with its face concealed by a
+little silk apron thrown over its head, glides into the parlour.
+
+‘O! _it is_ so ridiculous!’ says the apparition, stopping and shrinking.
+‘Don’t, Eddy!’
+
+‘Don’t what, Rosa?’
+
+‘Don’t come any nearer, please. It _is_ so absurd.’
+
+‘What is absurd, Rosa?’
+
+‘The whole thing is. It _is_ so absurd to be an engaged orphan and it
+_is_ so absurd to have the girls and the servants scuttling about after
+one, like mice in the wainscot; and it _is_ so absurd to be called upon!’
+
+The apparition appears to have a thumb in the corner of its mouth while
+making this complaint.
+
+‘You give me an affectionate reception, Pussy, I must say.’
+
+‘Well, I will in a minute, Eddy, but I can’t just yet. How are you?’
+(very shortly.)
+
+‘I am unable to reply that I am much the better for seeing you, Pussy,
+inasmuch as I see nothing of you.’
+
+This second remonstrance brings a dark, bright, pouting eye out from a
+corner of the apron; but it swiftly becomes invisible again, as the
+apparition exclaims: ‘O good gracious! you have had half your hair cut
+off!’
+
+‘I should have done better to have had my head cut off, I think,’ says
+Edwin, rumpling the hair in question, with a fierce glance at the
+looking-glass, and giving an impatient stamp. ‘Shall I go?’
+
+‘No; you needn’t go just yet, Eddy. The girls would all be asking
+questions why you went.’
+
+‘Once for all, Rosa, will you uncover that ridiculous little head of
+yours and give me a welcome?’
+
+The apron is pulled off the childish head, as its wearer replies: ‘You’re
+very welcome, Eddy. There! I’m sure that’s nice. Shake hands. No, I
+can’t kiss you, because I’ve got an acidulated drop in my mouth.’
+
+‘Are you at all glad to see me, Pussy?’
+
+‘O, yes, I’m dreadfully glad.—Go and sit down.—Miss Twinkleton.’
+
+It is the custom of that excellent lady when these visits occur, to
+appear every three minutes, either in her own person or in that of Mrs.
+Tisher, and lay an offering on the shrine of Propriety by affecting to
+look for some desiderated article. On the present occasion Miss
+Twinkleton, gracefully gliding in and out, says in passing: ‘How do you
+do, Mr. Drood? Very glad indeed to have the pleasure. Pray excuse me.
+Tweezers. Thank you!’
+
+‘I got the gloves last evening, Eddy, and I like them very much. They
+are beauties.’
+
+‘Well, that’s something,’ the affianced replies, half grumbling. ‘The
+smallest encouragement thankfully received. And how did you pass your
+birthday, Pussy?’
+
+‘Delightfully! Everybody gave me a present. And we had a feast. And we
+had a ball at night.’
+
+‘A feast and a ball, eh? These occasions seem to go off tolerably well
+without me, Pussy.’
+
+‘De-lightfully!’ cries Rosa, in a quite spontaneous manner, and without
+the least pretence of reserve.
+
+‘Hah! And what was the feast?’
+
+‘Tarts, oranges, jellies, and shrimps.’
+
+‘Any partners at the ball?’
+
+‘We danced with one another, of course, sir. But some of the girls made
+game to be their brothers. It _was_ so droll!’
+
+‘Did anybody make game to be—’
+
+‘To be you? O dear yes!’ cries Rosa, laughing with great enjoyment.
+‘That was the first thing done.’
+
+‘I hope she did it pretty well,’ says Edwin rather doubtfully.
+
+‘O, it was excellent!—I wouldn’t dance with you, you know.’
+
+Edwin scarcely seems to see the force of this; begs to know if he may
+take the liberty to ask why?
+
+‘Because I was so tired of you,’ returns Rosa. But she quickly adds, and
+pleadingly too, seeing displeasure in his face: ‘Dear Eddy, you were just
+as tired of me, you know.’
+
+‘Did I say so, Rosa?’
+
+‘Say so! Do you ever say so? No, you only showed it. O, she did it so
+well!’ cries Rosa, in a sudden ecstasy with her counterfeit betrothed.
+
+‘It strikes me that she must be a devilish impudent girl,’ says Edwin
+Drood. ‘And so, Pussy, you have passed your last birthday in this old
+house.’
+
+‘Ah, yes!’ Rosa clasps her hands, looks down with a sigh, and shakes her
+head.
+
+‘You seem to be sorry, Rosa.’
+
+‘I am sorry for the poor old place. Somehow, I feel as if it would miss
+me, when I am gone so far away, so young.’
+
+‘Perhaps we had better stop short, Rosa?’
+
+She looks up at him with a swift bright look; next moment shakes her
+head, sighs, and looks down again.
+
+‘That is to say, is it, Pussy, that we are both resigned?’
+
+She nods her head again, and after a short silence, quaintly bursts out
+with: ‘You know we must be married, and married from here, Eddy, or the
+poor girls will be so dreadfully disappointed!’
+
+For the moment there is more of compassion, both for her and for himself,
+in her affianced husband’s face, than there is of love. He checks the
+look, and asks: ‘Shall I take you out for a walk, Rosa dear?’
+
+Rosa dear does not seem at all clear on this point, until her face, which
+has been comically reflective, brightens. ‘O, yes, Eddy; let us go for a
+walk! And I tell you what we’ll do. You shall pretend that you are
+engaged to somebody else, and I’ll pretend that I am not engaged to
+anybody, and then we shan’t quarrel.’
+
+‘Do you think that will prevent our falling out, Rosa?’
+
+‘I know it will. Hush! Pretend to look out of window—Mrs. Tisher!’
+
+Through a fortuitous concourse of accidents, the matronly Tisher heaves
+in sight, says, in rustling through the room like the legendary ghost of
+a dowager in silken skirts: ‘I hope I see Mr. Drood well; though I
+needn’t ask, if I may judge from his complexion. I trust I disturb no
+one; but there _was_ a paper-knife—O, thank you, I am sure!’ and
+disappears with her prize.
+
+‘One other thing you must do, Eddy, to oblige me,’ says Rosebud. ‘The
+moment we get into the street, you must put me outside, and keep close to
+the house yourself—squeeze and graze yourself against it.’
+
+‘By all means, Rosa, if you wish it. Might I ask why?’
+
+‘O! because I don’t want the girls to see you.’
+
+‘It’s a fine day; but would you like me to carry an umbrella up?’
+
+‘Don’t be foolish, sir. You haven’t got polished leather boots on,’
+pouting, with one shoulder raised.
+
+‘Perhaps that might escape the notice of the girls, even if they did see
+me,’ remarks Edwin, looking down at his boots with a sudden distaste for
+them.
+
+‘Nothing escapes their notice, sir. And then I know what would happen.
+Some of them would begin reflecting on me by saying (for _they_ are free)
+that they never will on any account engage themselves to lovers without
+polished leather boots. Hark! Miss Twinkleton. I’ll ask for leave.’
+
+That discreet lady being indeed heard without, inquiring of nobody in a
+blandly conversational tone as she advances: ‘Eh? Indeed! Are you quite
+sure you saw my mother-of-pearl button-holder on the work-table in my
+room?’ is at once solicited for walking leave, and graciously accords it.
+And soon the young couple go out of the Nuns’ House, taking all
+precautions against the discovery of the so vitally defective boots of
+Mr. Edwin Drood: precautions, let us hope, effective for the peace of
+Mrs. Edwin Drood that is to be.
+
+‘Which way shall we take, Rosa?’
+
+Rosa replies: ‘I want to go to the Lumps-of-Delight shop.’
+
+‘To the—?’
+
+‘A Turkish sweetmeat, sir. My gracious me, don’t you understand
+anything? Call yourself an Engineer, and not know _that_?’
+
+‘Why, how should I know it, Rosa?’
+
+‘Because I am very fond of them. But O! I forgot what we are to pretend.
+No, you needn’t know anything about them; never mind.’
+
+So he is gloomily borne off to the Lumps-of-Delight shop, where Rosa
+makes her purchase, and, after offering some to him (which he rather
+indignantly declines), begins to partake of it with great zest:
+previously taking off and rolling up a pair of little pink gloves, like
+rose-leaves, and occasionally putting her little pink fingers to her rosy
+lips, to cleanse them from the Dust of Delight that comes off the Lumps.
+
+‘Now, be a good-tempered Eddy, and pretend. And so you are engaged?’
+
+‘And so I am engaged.’
+
+‘Is she nice?’
+
+‘Charming.’
+
+‘Tall?’
+
+‘Immensely tall!’ Rosa being short.
+
+‘Must be gawky, I should think,’ is Rosa’s quiet commentary.
+
+‘I beg your pardon; not at all,’ contradiction rising in him.
+
+‘What is termed a fine woman; a splendid woman.’
+
+‘Big nose, no doubt,’ is the quiet commentary again.
+
+‘Not a little one, certainly,’ is the quick reply, (Rosa’s being a little
+one.)
+
+‘Long pale nose, with a red knob in the middle. I know the sort of
+nose,’ says Rosa, with a satisfied nod, and tranquilly enjoying the
+Lumps.
+
+‘You _don’t_ know the sort of nose, Rosa,’ with some warmth; ‘because
+it’s nothing of the kind.’
+
+‘Not a pale nose, Eddy?’
+
+‘No.’ Determined not to assent.
+
+‘A red nose? O! I don’t like red noses. However; to be sure she can
+always powder it.’
+
+‘She would scorn to powder it,’ says Edwin, becoming heated.
+
+‘Would she? What a stupid thing she must be! Is she stupid in
+everything?’
+
+‘No; in nothing.’
+
+After a pause, in which the whimsically wicked face has not been
+unobservant of him, Rosa says:
+
+‘And this most sensible of creatures likes the idea of being carried off
+to Egypt; does she, Eddy?’
+
+‘Yes. She takes a sensible interest in triumphs of engineering skill:
+especially when they are to change the whole condition of an undeveloped
+country.’
+
+‘Lor!’ says Rosa, shrugging her shoulders, with a little laugh of wonder.
+
+‘Do you object,’ Edwin inquires, with a majestic turn of his eyes
+downward upon the fairy figure: ‘do you object, Rosa, to her feeling that
+interest?’
+
+‘Object? my dear Eddy! But really, doesn’t she hate boilers and things?’
+
+‘I can answer for her not being so idiotic as to hate Boilers,’ he
+returns with angry emphasis; ‘though I cannot answer for her views about
+Things; really not understanding what Things are meant.’
+
+‘But don’t she hate Arabs, and Turks, and Fellahs, and people?’
+
+‘Certainly not.’ Very firmly.
+
+‘At least she _must_ hate the Pyramids? Come, Eddy?’
+
+‘Why should she be such a little—tall, I mean—goose, as to hate the
+Pyramids, Rosa?’
+
+‘Ah! you should hear Miss Twinkleton,’ often nodding her head, and much
+enjoying the Lumps, ‘bore about them, and then you wouldn’t ask.
+Tiresome old burying-grounds! Isises, and Ibises, and Cheopses, and
+Pharaohses; who cares about them? And then there was Belzoni, or
+somebody, dragged out by the legs, half-choked with bats and dust. All
+the girls say: Serve him right, and hope it hurt him, and wish he had
+been quite choked.’
+
+The two youthful figures, side by side, but not now arm-in-arm, wander
+discontentedly about the old Close; and each sometimes stops and slowly
+imprints a deeper footstep in the fallen leaves.
+
+‘Well!’ says Edwin, after a lengthy silence. ‘According to custom. We
+can’t get on, Rosa.’
+
+Rosa tosses her head, and says she don’t want to get on.
+
+‘That’s a pretty sentiment, Rosa, considering.’
+
+‘Considering what?’
+
+‘If I say what, you’ll go wrong again.’
+
+‘_You’ll_ go wrong, you mean, Eddy. Don’t be ungenerous.’
+
+‘Ungenerous! I like that!’
+
+‘Then I _don’t_ like that, and so I tell you plainly,’ Rosa pouts.
+
+‘Now, Rosa, I put it to you. Who disparaged my profession, my
+destination—’
+
+‘You are not going to be buried in the Pyramids, I hope?’ she interrupts,
+arching her delicate eyebrows. ‘You never said you were. If you are,
+why haven’t you mentioned it to me? I can’t find out your plans by
+instinct.’
+
+‘Now, Rosa, you know very well what I mean, my dear.’
+
+‘Well then, why did you begin with your detestable red-nosed giantesses?
+And she would, she would, she would, she would, she WOULD powder it!’
+cries Rosa, in a little burst of comical contradictory spleen.
+
+‘Somehow or other, I never can come right in these discussions,’ says
+Edwin, sighing and becoming resigned.
+
+‘How is it possible, sir, that you ever can come right when you’re always
+wrong? And as to Belzoni, I suppose he’s dead;—I’m sure I hope he is—and
+how can his legs or his chokes concern you?’
+
+‘It is nearly time for your return, Rosa. We have not had a very happy
+walk, have we?’
+
+‘A happy walk? A detestably unhappy walk, sir. If I go up-stairs the
+moment I get in and cry till I can’t take my dancing lesson, you are
+responsible, mind!’
+
+‘Let us be friends, Rosa.’
+
+‘Ah!’ cries Rosa, shaking her head and bursting into real tears, ‘I wish
+we _could_ be friends! It’s because we can’t be friends, that we try one
+another so. I am a young little thing, Eddy, to have an old heartache;
+but I really, really have, sometimes. Don’t be angry. I know you have
+one yourself too often. We should both of us have done better, if What
+is to be had been left What might have been. I am quite a little serious
+thing now, and not teasing you. Let each of us forbear, this one time,
+on our own account, and on the other’s!’
+
+Disarmed by this glimpse of a woman’s nature in the spoilt child, though
+for an instant disposed to resent it as seeming to involve the enforced
+infliction of himself upon her, Edwin Drood stands watching her as she
+childishly cries and sobs, with both hands to the handkerchief at her
+eyes, and then—she becoming more composed, and indeed beginning in her
+young inconstancy to laugh at herself for having been so moved—leads her
+to a seat hard by, under the elm-trees.
+
+ [Picture: Under the trees]
+
+‘One clear word of understanding, Pussy dear. I am not clever out of my
+own line—now I come to think of it, I don’t know that I am particularly
+clever in it—but I want to do right. There is not—there may be—I really
+don’t see my way to what I want to say, but I must say it before we
+part—there is not any other young—’
+
+‘O no, Eddy! It’s generous of you to ask me; but no, no, no!’
+
+They have come very near to the Cathedral windows, and at this moment the
+organ and the choir sound out sublimely. As they sit listening to the
+solemn swell, the confidence of last night rises in young Edwin Drood’s
+mind, and he thinks how unlike this music is to that discordance.
+
+‘I fancy I can distinguish Jack’s voice,’ is his remark in a low tone in
+connection with the train of thought.
+
+‘Take me back at once, please,’ urges his Affianced, quickly laying her
+light hand upon his wrist. ‘They will all be coming out directly; let us
+get away. O, what a resounding chord! But don’t let us stop to listen
+to it; let us get away!’
+
+Her hurry is over as soon as they have passed out of the Close. They go
+arm-in-arm now, gravely and deliberately enough, along the old
+High-street, to the Nuns’ House. At the gate, the street being within
+sight empty, Edwin bends down his face to Rosebud’s.
+
+She remonstrates, laughing, and is a childish schoolgirl again.
+
+‘Eddy, no! I’m too sticky to be kissed. But give me your hand, and I’ll
+blow a kiss into that.’
+
+He does so. She breathes a light breath into it and asks, retaining it
+and looking into it:—
+
+‘Now say, what do you see?’
+
+‘See, Rosa?’
+
+‘Why, I thought you Egyptian boys could look into a hand and see all
+sorts of phantoms. Can’t you see a happy Future?’
+
+For certain, neither of them sees a happy Present, as the gate opens and
+closes, and one goes in, and the other goes away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV—MR. SAPSEA
+
+
+Accepting the Jackass as the type of self-sufficient stupidity and
+conceit—a custom, perhaps, like some few other customs, more conventional
+than fair—then the purest jackass in Cloisterham is Mr. Thomas Sapsea,
+Auctioneer.
+
+Mr. Sapsea ‘dresses at’ the Dean; has been bowed to for the Dean, in
+mistake; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under the
+impression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, without his
+chaplain. Mr. Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice, and of his
+style. He has even (in selling landed property) tried the experiment of
+slightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more like what he takes
+to be the genuine ecclesiastical article. So, in ending a Sale by Public
+Auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air of bestowing a benediction
+on the assembled brokers, which leaves the real Dean—a modest and worthy
+gentleman—far behind.
+
+Mr. Sapsea has many admirers; indeed, the proposition is carried by a
+large local majority, even including non-believers in his wisdom, that he
+is a credit to Cloisterham. He possesses the great qualities of being
+portentous and dull, and of having a roll in his speech, and another roll
+in his gait; not to mention a certain gravely flowing action with his
+hands, as if he were presently going to Confirm the individual with whom
+he holds discourse. Much nearer sixty years of age than fifty, with a
+flowing outline of stomach, and horizontal creases in his waistcoat;
+reputed to be rich; voting at elections in the strictly respectable
+interest; morally satisfied that nothing but he himself has grown since
+he was a baby; how can dunder-headed Mr. Sapsea be otherwise than a
+credit to Cloisterham, and society?
+
+Mr. Sapsea’s premises are in the High-street, over against the Nuns’
+House. They are of about the period of the Nuns’ House, irregularly
+modernised here and there, as steadily deteriorating generations found,
+more and more, that they preferred air and light to Fever and the Plague.
+Over the doorway is a wooden effigy, about half life-size, representing
+Mr. Sapsea’s father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act of selling. The
+chastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of the little finger,
+hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired.
+
+Mr. Sapsea sits in his dull ground-floor sitting-room, giving first on
+his paved back yard; and then on his railed-off garden. Mr. Sapsea has a
+bottle of port wine on a table before the fire—the fire is an early
+luxury, but pleasant on the cool, chilly autumn evening—and is
+characteristically attended by his portrait, his eight-day clock, and his
+weather-glass. Characteristically, because he would uphold himself
+against mankind, his weather-glass against weather, and his clock against
+time.
+
+By Mr. Sapsea’s side on the table are a writing-desk and writing
+materials. Glancing at a scrap of manuscript, Mr. Sapsea reads it to
+himself with a lofty air, and then, slowly pacing the room with his
+thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, repeats it from memory: so
+internally, though with much dignity, that the word ‘Ethelinda’ is alone
+audible.
+
+There are three clean wineglasses in a tray on the table. His
+serving-maid entering, and announcing ‘Mr. Jasper is come, sir,’ Mr.
+Sapsea waves ‘Admit him,’ and draws two wineglasses from the rank, as
+being claimed.
+
+‘Glad to see you, sir. I congratulate myself on having the honour of
+receiving you here for the first time.’ Mr. Sapsea does the honours of
+his house in this wise.
+
+‘You are very good. The honour is mine and the self-congratulation is
+mine.’
+
+‘You are pleased to say so, sir. But I do assure you that it is a
+satisfaction to me to receive you in my humble home. And that is what I
+would not say to everybody.’ Ineffable loftiness on Mr. Sapsea’s part
+accompanies these words, as leaving the sentence to be understood: ‘You
+will not easily believe that your society can be a satisfaction to a man
+like myself; nevertheless, it is.’
+
+‘I have for some time desired to know you, Mr. Sapsea.’
+
+‘And I, sir, have long known you by reputation as a man of taste. Let me
+fill your glass. I will give you, sir,’ says Mr. Sapsea, filling his
+own:
+
+ ‘When the French come over,
+ May we meet them at Dover!’
+
+This was a patriotic toast in Mr. Sapsea’s infancy, and he is therefore
+fully convinced of its being appropriate to any subsequent era.
+
+‘You can scarcely be ignorant, Mr. Sapsea,’ observes Jasper, watching the
+auctioneer with a smile as the latter stretches out his legs before the
+fire, ‘that you know the world.’
+
+‘Well, sir,’ is the chuckling reply, ‘I think I know something of it;
+something of it.’
+
+‘Your reputation for that knowledge has always interested and surprised
+me, and made me wish to know you. For Cloisterham is a little place.
+Cooped up in it myself, I know nothing beyond it, and feel it to be a
+very little place.’
+
+‘If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man,’ Mr. Sapsea begins,
+and then stops:—‘You will excuse me calling you young man, Mr. Jasper?
+You are much my junior.’
+
+‘By all means.’
+
+‘If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man, foreign countries
+have come to me. They have come to me in the way of business, and I have
+improved upon my opportunities. Put it that I take an inventory, or make
+a catalogue. I see a French clock. I never saw him before, in my life,
+but I instantly lay my finger on him and say “Paris!” I see some cups
+and saucers of Chinese make, equally strangers to me personally: I put my
+finger on them, then and there, and I say “Pekin, Nankin, and Canton.”
+It is the same with Japan, with Egypt, and with bamboo and sandalwood
+from the East Indies; I put my finger on them all. I have put my finger
+on the North Pole before now, and said “Spear of Esquimaux make, for half
+a pint of pale sherry!”’
+
+‘Really? A very remarkable way, Mr. Sapsea, of acquiring a knowledge of
+men and things.’
+
+‘I mention it, sir,’ Mr. Sapsea rejoins, with unspeakable complacency,
+‘because, as I say, it don’t do to boast of what you are; but show how
+you came to be it, and then you prove it.’
+
+‘Most interesting. We were to speak of the late Mrs. Sapsea.’
+
+‘We were, sir.’ Mr. Sapsea fills both glasses, and takes the decanter
+into safe keeping again. ‘Before I consult your opinion as a man of
+taste on this little trifle’—holding it up—‘which is _but_ a trifle, and
+still has required some thought, sir, some little fever of the brow, I
+ought perhaps to describe the character of the late Mrs. Sapsea, now dead
+three quarters of a year.’
+
+Mr. Jasper, in the act of yawning behind his wineglass, puts down that
+screen and calls up a look of interest. It is a little impaired in its
+expressiveness by his having a shut-up gape still to dispose of, with
+watering eyes.
+
+‘Half a dozen years ago, or so,’ Mr. Sapsea proceeds, ‘when I had
+enlarged my mind up to—I will not say to what it now is, for that might
+seem to aim at too much, but up to the pitch of wanting another mind to
+be absorbed in it—I cast my eye about me for a nuptial partner. Because,
+as I say, it is not good for man to be alone.’
+
+Mr. Jasper appears to commit this original idea to memory.
+
+‘Miss Brobity at that time kept, I will not call it the rival
+establishment to the establishment at the Nuns’ House opposite, but I
+will call it the other parallel establishment down town. The world did
+have it that she showed a passion for attending my sales, when they took
+place on half holidays, or in vacation time. The world did put it about,
+that she admired my style. The world did notice that as time flowed by,
+my style became traceable in the dictation-exercises of Miss Brobity’s
+pupils. Young man, a whisper even sprang up in obscure malignity, that
+one ignorant and besotted Churl (a parent) so committed himself as to
+object to it by name. But I do not believe this. For is it likely that
+any human creature in his right senses would so lay himself open to be
+pointed at, by what I call the finger of scorn?’
+
+Mr. Jasper shakes his head. Not in the least likely. Mr. Sapsea, in a
+grandiloquent state of absence of mind, seems to refill his visitor’s
+glass, which is full already; and does really refill his own, which is
+empty.
+
+‘Miss Brobity’s Being, young man, was deeply imbued with homage to Mind.
+She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an
+extensive knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did me
+the honour to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be able to
+articulate only the two words, “O Thou!” meaning myself. Her limpid blue
+eyes were fixed upon me, her semi-transparent hands were clasped
+together, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though encouraged
+to proceed, she never did proceed a word further. I disposed of the
+parallel establishment by private contract, and we became as nearly one
+as could be expected under the circumstances. But she never could, and
+she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too-favourable
+estimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of liver), she
+addressed me in the same unfinished terms.’
+
+Mr. Jasper has closed his eyes as the auctioneer has deepened his voice.
+He now abruptly opens them, and says, in unison with the deepened voice
+‘Ah!’—rather as if stopping himself on the extreme verge of adding—‘men!’
+
+‘I have been since,’ says Mr. Sapsea, with his legs stretched out, and
+solemnly enjoying himself with the wine and the fire, ‘what you behold
+me; I have been since a solitary mourner; I have been since, as I say,
+wasting my evening conversation on the desert air. I will not say that I
+have reproached myself; but there have been times when I have asked
+myself the question: What if her husband had been nearer on a level with
+her? If she had not had to look up quite so high, what might the
+stimulating action have been upon the liver?’
+
+Mr. Jasper says, with an appearance of having fallen into dreadfully low
+spirits, that he ‘supposes it was to be.’
+
+‘We can only suppose so, sir,’ Mr. Sapsea coincides. ‘As I say, Man
+proposes, Heaven disposes. It may or may not be putting the same thought
+in another form; but that is the way I put it.’
+
+Mr. Jasper murmurs assent.
+
+‘And now, Mr. Jasper,’ resumes the auctioneer, producing his scrap of
+manuscript, ‘Mrs. Sapsea’s monument having had full time to settle and
+dry, let me take your opinion, as a man of taste, on the inscription I
+have (as I before remarked, not without some little fever of the brow)
+drawn out for it. Take it in your own hand. The setting out of the
+lines requires to be followed with the eye, as well as the contents with
+the mind.’
+
+Mr. Jasper complying, sees and reads as follows:
+
+ ETHELINDA,
+ Reverential Wife of
+ MR. THOMAS SAPSEA,
+ AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, &c.,
+ OF THIS CITY.
+ Whose Knowledge of the World,
+ Though somewhat extensive,
+ Never brought him acquainted with
+ A SPIRIT
+ More capable of
+ LOOKING UP TO HIM.
+ STRANGER, PAUSE
+ And ask thyself the Question,
+ CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE?
+ If Not,
+ WITH A BLUSH RETIRE.
+
+Mr. Sapsea having risen and stationed himself with his back to the fire,
+for the purpose of observing the effect of these lines on the countenance
+of a man of taste, consequently has his face towards the door, when his
+serving-maid, again appearing, announces, ‘Durdles is come, sir!’ He
+promptly draws forth and fills the third wineglass, as being now claimed,
+and replies, ‘Show Durdles in.’
+
+‘Admirable!’ quoth Mr. Jasper, handing back the paper.
+
+‘You approve, sir?’
+
+‘Impossible not to approve. Striking, characteristic, and complete.’
+
+The auctioneer inclines his head, as one accepting his due and giving a
+receipt; and invites the entering Durdles to take off that glass of wine
+(handing the same), for it will warm him.
+
+Durdles is a stonemason; chiefly in the gravestone, tomb, and monument
+way, and wholly of their colour from head to foot. No man is better
+known in Cloisterham. He is the chartered libertine of the place. Fame
+trumpets him a wonderful workman—which, for aught that anybody knows, he
+may be (as he never works); and a wonderful sot—which everybody knows he
+is. With the Cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than any living
+authority; it may even be than any dead one. It is said that the
+intimacy of this acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to that
+secret place, to lock-out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep off
+fumes of liquor: he having ready access to the Cathedral, as contractor
+for rough repairs. Be this as it may, he does know much about it, and,
+in the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and
+pavement, has seen strange sights. He often speaks of himself in the
+third person; perhaps, being a little misty as to his own identity, when
+he narrates; perhaps impartially adopting the Cloisterham nomenclature in
+reference to a character of acknowledged distinction. Thus he will say,
+touching his strange sights: ‘Durdles come upon the old chap,’ in
+reference to a buried magnate of ancient time and high degree, ‘by
+striking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles
+a look with his open eyes, as much as to say, “Is your name Durdles?
+Why, my man, I’ve been waiting for you a devil of a time!” And then he
+turned to powder.’ With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and a
+mason’s hammer all but always in his hand, Durdles goes continually
+sounding and tapping all about and about the Cathedral; and whenever he
+says to Tope: ‘Tope, here’s another old ’un in here!’ Tope announces it
+to the Dean as an established discovery.
+
+In a suit of coarse flannel with horn buttons, a yellow neckerchief with
+draggled ends, an old hat more russet-coloured than black, and laced
+boots of the hue of his stony calling, Durdles leads a hazy, gipsy sort
+of life, carrying his dinner about with him in a small bundle, and
+sitting on all manner of tombstones to dine. This dinner of Durdles’s
+has become quite a Cloisterham institution: not only because of his never
+appearing in public without it, but because of its having been, on
+certain renowned occasions, taken into custody along with Durdles (as
+drunk and incapable), and exhibited before the Bench of justices at the
+townhall. These occasions, however, have been few and far apart: Durdles
+being as seldom drunk as sober. For the rest, he is an old bachelor, and
+he lives in a little antiquated hole of a house that was never finished:
+supposed to be built, so far, of stones stolen from the city wall. To
+this abode there is an approach, ankle-deep in stone chips, resembling a
+petrified grove of tombstones, urns, draperies, and broken columns, in
+all stages of sculpture. Herein two journeymen incessantly chip, while
+other two journeymen, who face each other, incessantly saw stone; dipping
+as regularly in and out of their sheltering sentry-boxes, as if they were
+mechanical figures emblematical of Time and Death.
+
+To Durdles, when he had consumed his glass of port, Mr. Sapsea intrusts
+that precious effort of his Muse. Durdles unfeelingly takes out his
+two-foot rule, and measures the lines calmly, alloying them with
+stone-grit.
+
+‘This is for the monument, is it, Mr. Sapsea?’
+
+‘The Inscription. Yes.’ Mr. Sapsea waits for its effect on a common
+mind.
+
+‘It’ll come in to a eighth of a inch,’ says Durdles. ‘Your servant, Mr.
+Jasper. Hope I see you well.’
+
+‘How are you Durdles?’
+
+‘I’ve got a touch of the Tombatism on me, Mr. Jasper, but that I must
+expect.’
+
+‘You mean the Rheumatism,’ says Sapsea, in a sharp tone. (He is nettled
+by having his composition so mechanically received.)
+
+‘No, I don’t. I mean, Mr. Sapsea, the Tombatism. It’s another sort from
+Rheumatism. Mr. Jasper knows what Durdles means. You get among them
+Tombs afore it’s well light on a winter morning, and keep on, as the
+Catechism says, a-walking in the same all the days of your life, and
+_you’ll_ know what Durdles means.’
+
+‘It is a bitter cold place,’ Mr. Jasper assents, with an antipathetic
+shiver.
+
+‘And if it’s bitter cold for you, up in the chancel, with a lot of live
+breath smoking out about you, what the bitterness is to Durdles, down in
+the crypt among the earthy damps there, and the dead breath of the old
+’uns,’ returns that individual, ‘Durdles leaves you to judge.—Is this to
+be put in hand at once, Mr. Sapsea?’
+
+Mr. Sapsea, with an Author’s anxiety to rush into publication, replies
+that it cannot be out of hand too soon.
+
+‘You had better let me have the key then,’ says Durdles.
+
+‘Why, man, it is not to be put inside the monument!’
+
+‘Durdles knows where it’s to be put, Mr. Sapsea; no man better. Ask ’ere
+a man in Cloisterham whether Durdles knows his work.’
+
+Mr. Sapsea rises, takes a key from a drawer, unlocks an iron safe let
+into the wall, and takes from it another key.
+
+‘When Durdles puts a touch or a finish upon his work, no matter where,
+inside or outside, Durdles likes to look at his work all round, and see
+that his work is a-doing him credit,’ Durdles explains, doggedly.
+
+The key proffered him by the bereaved widower being a large one, he slips
+his two-foot rule into a side-pocket of his flannel trousers made for it,
+and deliberately opens his flannel coat, and opens the mouth of a large
+breast-pocket within it before taking the key to place it in that
+repository.
+
+‘Why, Durdles!’ exclaims Jasper, looking on amused, ‘you are undermined
+with pockets!’
+
+‘And I carries weight in ’em too, Mr. Jasper. Feel those!’ producing two
+other large keys.
+
+‘Hand me Mr. Sapsea’s likewise. Surely this is the heaviest of the
+three.’
+
+‘You’ll find ’em much of a muchness, I expect,’ says Durdles. ‘They all
+belong to monuments. They all open Durdles’s work. Durdles keeps the
+keys of his work mostly. Not that they’re much used.’
+
+‘By the bye,’ it comes into Jasper’s mind to say, as he idly examines the
+keys, ‘I have been going to ask you, many a day, and have always
+forgotten. You know they sometimes call you Stony Durdles, don’t you?’
+
+‘Cloisterham knows me as Durdles, Mr. Jasper.’
+
+‘I am aware of that, of course. But the boys sometimes—’
+
+‘O! if you mind them young imps of boys—’ Durdles gruffly interrupts.
+
+‘I don’t mind them any more than you do. But there was a discussion the
+other day among the Choir, whether Stony stood for Tony;’ clinking one
+key against another.
+
+(‘Take care of the wards, Mr. Jasper.’)
+
+‘Or whether Stony stood for Stephen;’ clinking with a change of keys.
+
+(‘You can’t make a pitch pipe of ’em, Mr. Jasper.’)
+
+‘Or whether the name comes from your trade. How stands the fact?’
+
+Mr. Jasper weighs the three keys in his hand, lifts his head from his
+idly stooping attitude over the fire, and delivers the keys to Durdles
+with an ingenuous and friendly face.
+
+But the stony one is a gruff one likewise, and that hazy state of his is
+always an uncertain state, highly conscious of its dignity, and prone to
+take offence. He drops his two keys back into his pocket one by one, and
+buttons them up; he takes his dinner-bundle from the chair-back on which
+he hung it when he came in; he distributes the weight he carries, by
+tying the third key up in it, as though he were an Ostrich, and liked to
+dine off cold iron; and he gets out of the room, deigning no word of
+answer.
+
+Mr. Sapsea then proposes a hit at backgammon, which, seasoned with his
+own improving conversation, and terminating in a supper of cold roast
+beef and salad, beguiles the golden evening until pretty late. Mr.
+Sapsea’s wisdom being, in its delivery to mortals, rather of the diffuse
+than the epigrammatic order, is by no means expended even then; but his
+visitor intimates that he will come back for more of the precious
+commodity on future occasions, and Mr. Sapsea lets him off for the
+present, to ponder on the instalment he carries away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V—MR. DURDLES AND FRIEND
+
+
+John Jasper, on his way home through the Close, is brought to a
+stand-still by the spectacle of Stony Durdles, dinner-bundle and all,
+leaning his back against the iron railing of the burial-ground enclosing
+it from the old cloister-arches; and a hideous small boy in rags flinging
+stones at him as a well-defined mark in the moonlight. Sometimes the
+stones hit him, and sometimes they miss him, but Durdles seems
+indifferent to either fortune. The hideous small boy, on the contrary,
+whenever he hits Durdles, blows a whistle of triumph through a jagged
+gap, convenient for the purpose, in the front of his mouth, where half
+his teeth are wanting; and whenever he misses him, yelps out ‘Mulled
+agin!’ and tries to atone for the failure by taking a more correct and
+vicious aim.
+
+‘What are you doing to the man?’ demands Jasper, stepping out into the
+moonlight from the shade.
+
+‘Making a cock-shy of him,’ replies the hideous small boy.
+
+‘Give me those stones in your hand.’
+
+‘Yes, I’ll give ’em you down your throat, if you come a-ketching hold of
+me,’ says the small boy, shaking himself loose, and backing. ‘I’ll smash
+your eye, if you don’t look out!’
+
+‘Baby-Devil that you are, what has the man done to you?’
+
+‘He won’t go home.’
+
+‘What is that to you?’
+
+‘He gives me a ’apenny to pelt him home if I ketches him out too late,’
+says the boy. And then chants, like a little savage, half stumbling and
+half dancing among the rags and laces of his dilapidated boots:—
+
+ ‘Widdy widdy wen!
+ I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—ten,
+ Widdy widdy wy!
+ Then—E—don’t—go—then—I—shy—
+ Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning!’
+
+—with a comprehensive sweep on the last word, and one more delivery at
+Durdles.
+
+This would seem to be a poetical note of preparation, agreed upon, as a
+caution to Durdles to stand clear if he can, or to betake himself
+homeward.
+
+John Jasper invites the boy with a beck of his head to follow him
+(feeling it hopeless to drag him, or coax him), and crosses to the iron
+railing where the Stony (and stoned) One is profoundly meditating.
+
+‘Do you know this thing, this child?’ asks Jasper, at a loss for a word
+that will define this thing.
+
+‘Deputy,’ says Durdles, with a nod.
+
+‘Is that its—his—name?’
+
+‘Deputy,’ assents Durdles.
+
+‘I’m man-servant up at the Travellers’ Twopenny in Gas Works Garding,’
+this thing explains. ‘All us man-servants at Travellers’ Lodgings is
+named Deputy. When we’re chock full and the Travellers is all a-bed I
+come out for my ’elth.’ Then withdrawing into the road, and taking aim,
+he resumes:—
+
+ ‘Widdy widdy wen!
+ I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—’
+
+‘Hold your hand,’ cries Jasper, ‘and don’t throw while I stand so near
+him, or I’ll kill you! Come, Durdles; let me walk home with you
+to-night. Shall I carry your bundle?’
+
+‘Not on any account,’ replies Durdles, adjusting it. ‘Durdles was making
+his reflections here when you come up, sir, surrounded by his works, like
+a poplar Author.—Your own brother-in-law;’ introducing a sarcophagus
+within the railing, white and cold in the moonlight. ‘Mrs. Sapsea;’
+introducing the monument of that devoted wife. ‘Late Incumbent;’
+introducing the Reverend Gentleman’s broken column. ‘Departed Assessed
+Taxes;’ introducing a vase and towel, standing on what might represent
+the cake of soap. ‘Former pastrycook and Muffin-maker, much respected;’
+introducing gravestone. ‘All safe and sound here, sir, and all Durdles’s
+work. Of the common folk, that is merely bundled up in turf and
+brambles, the less said the better. A poor lot, soon forgot.’
+
+‘This creature, Deputy, is behind us,’ says Jasper, looking back. ‘Is he
+to follow us?’
+
+The relations between Durdles and Deputy are of a capricious kind; for,
+on Durdles’s turning himself about with the slow gravity of beery
+suddenness, Deputy makes a pretty wide circuit into the road and stands
+on the defensive.
+
+‘You never cried Widdy Warning before you begun to-night,’ says Durdles,
+unexpectedly reminded of, or imagining, an injury.
+
+‘Yer lie, I did,’ says Deputy, in his only form of polite contradiction.
+
+‘Own brother, sir,’ observes Durdles, turning himself about again, and as
+unexpectedly forgetting his offence as he had recalled or conceived it;
+‘own brother to Peter the Wild Boy! But I gave him an object in life.’
+
+‘At which he takes aim?’ Mr. Jasper suggests.
+
+‘That’s it, sir,’ returns Durdles, quite satisfied; ‘at which he takes
+aim. I took him in hand and gave him an object. What was he before? A
+destroyer. What work did he do? Nothing but destruction. What did he
+earn by it? Short terms in Cloisterham jail. Not a person, not a piece
+of property, not a winder, not a horse, nor a dog, nor a cat, nor a bird,
+nor a fowl, nor a pig, but what he stoned, for want of an enlightened
+object. I put that enlightened object before him, and now he can turn
+his honest halfpenny by the three penn’orth a week.’
+
+‘I wonder he has no competitors.’
+
+‘He has plenty, Mr. Jasper, but he stones ’em all away. Now, I don’t
+know what this scheme of mine comes to,’ pursues Durdles, considering
+about it with the same sodden gravity; ‘I don’t know what you may
+precisely call it. It ain’t a sort of a—scheme of a—National Education?’
+
+‘I should say not,’ replies Jasper.
+
+‘I should say not,’ assents Durdles; ‘then we won’t try to give it a
+name.’
+
+‘He still keeps behind us,’ repeats Jasper, looking over his shoulder;
+‘is he to follow us?’
+
+‘We can’t help going round by the Travellers’ Twopenny, if we go the
+short way, which is the back way,’ Durdles answers, ‘and we’ll drop him
+there.’
+
+So they go on; Deputy, as a rear rank one, taking open order, and
+invading the silence of the hour and place by stoning every wall, post,
+pillar, and other inanimate object, by the deserted way.
+
+‘Is there anything new down in the crypt, Durdles?’ asks John Jasper.
+
+‘Anything old, I think you mean,’ growls Durdles. ‘It ain’t a spot for
+novelty.’
+
+‘Any new discovery on your part, I meant.’
+
+‘There’s a old ’un under the seventh pillar on the left as you go down
+the broken steps of the little underground chapel as formerly was; I make
+him out (so fur as I’ve made him out yet) to be one of them old ’uns with
+a crook. To judge from the size of the passages in the walls, and of the
+steps and doors, by which they come and went, them crooks must have been
+a good deal in the way of the old ’uns! Two on ’em meeting promiscuous
+must have hitched one another by the mitre pretty often, I should say.’
+
+Without any endeavour to correct the literality of this opinion, Jasper
+surveys his companion—covered from head to foot with old mortar, lime,
+and stone grit—as though he, Jasper, were getting imbued with a romantic
+interest in his weird life.
+
+‘Yours is a curious existence.’
+
+Without furnishing the least clue to the question, whether he receives
+this as a compliment or as quite the reverse, Durdles gruffly answers:
+‘Yours is another.’
+
+‘Well! inasmuch as my lot is cast in the same old earthy, chilly,
+never-changing place, Yes. But there is much more mystery and interest
+in your connection with the Cathedral than in mine. Indeed, I am
+beginning to have some idea of asking you to take me on as a sort of
+student, or free ’prentice, under you, and to let me go about with you
+sometimes, and see some of these odd nooks in which you pass your days.’
+
+The Stony One replies, in a general way, ‘All right. Everybody knows
+where to find Durdles, when he’s wanted.’ Which, if not strictly true,
+is approximately so, if taken to express that Durdles may always be found
+in a state of vagabondage somewhere.
+
+‘What I dwell upon most,’ says Jasper, pursuing his subject of romantic
+interest, ‘is the remarkable accuracy with which you would seem to find
+out where people are buried.—What is the matter? That bundle is in your
+way; let me hold it.’
+
+Durdles has stopped and backed a little (Deputy, attentive to all his
+movements, immediately skirmishing into the road), and was looking about
+for some ledge or corner to place his bundle on, when thus relieved of
+it.
+
+‘Just you give me my hammer out of that,’ says Durdles, ‘and I’ll show
+you.’
+
+Clink, clink. And his hammer is handed him.
+
+‘Now, lookee here. You pitch your note, don’t you, Mr. Jasper?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘So I sound for mine. I take my hammer, and I tap.’ (Here he strikes
+the pavement, and the attentive Deputy skirmishes at a rather wider
+range, as supposing that his head may be in requisition.) ‘I tap, tap,
+tap. Solid! I go on tapping. Solid still! Tap again. Holloa!
+Hollow! Tap again, persevering. Solid in hollow! Tap, tap, tap, to try
+it better. Solid in hollow; and inside solid, hollow again! There you
+are! Old ’un crumbled away in stone coffin, in vault!’
+
+‘Astonishing!’
+
+‘I have even done this,’ says Durdles, drawing out his two-foot rule
+(Deputy meanwhile skirmishing nearer, as suspecting that Treasure may be
+about to be discovered, which may somehow lead to his own enrichment, and
+the delicious treat of the discoverers being hanged by the neck, on his
+evidence, until they are dead). ‘Say that hammer of mine’s a wall—my
+work. Two; four; and two is six,’ measuring on the pavement. ‘Six foot
+inside that wall is Mrs. Sapsea.’
+
+‘Not really Mrs. Sapsea?’
+
+‘Say Mrs. Sapsea. Her wall’s thicker, but say Mrs. Sapsea. Durdles
+taps, that wall represented by that hammer, and says, after good
+sounding: “Something betwixt us!” Sure enough, some rubbish has been
+left in that same six-foot space by Durdles’s men!’
+
+Jasper opines that such accuracy ‘is a gift.’
+
+‘I wouldn’t have it at a gift,’ returns Durdles, by no means receiving
+the observation in good part. ‘I worked it out for myself. Durdles
+comes by _his_ knowledge through grubbing deep for it, and having it up
+by the roots when it don’t want to come.—Holloa you Deputy!’
+
+‘Widdy!’ is Deputy’s shrill response, standing off again.
+
+‘Catch that ha’penny. And don’t let me see any more of you to-night,
+after we come to the Travellers’ Twopenny.’
+
+‘Warning!’ returns Deputy, having caught the halfpenny, and appearing by
+this mystic word to express his assent to the arrangement.
+
+They have but to cross what was once the vineyard, belonging to what was
+once the Monastery, to come into the narrow back lane wherein stands the
+crazy wooden house of two low stories currently known as the Travellers’
+Twopenny:—a house all warped and distorted, like the morals of the
+travellers, with scant remains of a lattice-work porch over the door, and
+also of a rustic fence before its stamped-out garden; by reason of the
+travellers being so bound to the premises by a tender sentiment (or so
+fond of having a fire by the roadside in the course of the day), that
+they can never be persuaded or threatened into departure, without
+violently possessing themselves of some wooden forget-me-not, and bearing
+it off.
+
+The semblance of an inn is attempted to be given to this wretched place
+by fragments of conventional red curtaining in the windows, which rags
+are made muddily transparent in the night-season by feeble lights of rush
+or cotton dip burning dully in the close air of the inside. As Durdles
+and Jasper come near, they are addressed by an inscribed paper lantern
+over the door, setting forth the purport of the house. They are also
+addressed by some half-dozen other hideous small boys—whether twopenny
+lodgers or followers or hangers-on of such, who knows!—who, as if
+attracted by some carrion-scent of Deputy in the air, start into the
+moonlight, as vultures might gather in the desert, and instantly fall to
+stoning him and one another.
+
+‘Stop, you young brutes,’ cries Jasper angrily, ‘and let us go by!’
+
+This remonstrance being received with yells and flying stones, according
+to a custom of late years comfortably established among the police
+regulations of our English communities, where Christians are stoned on
+all sides, as if the days of Saint Stephen were revived, Durdles remarks
+of the young savages, with some point, that ‘they haven’t got an object,’
+and leads the way down the lane.
+
+At the corner of the lane, Jasper, hotly enraged, checks his companion
+and looks back. All is silent. Next moment, a stone coming rattling at
+his hat, and a distant yell of ‘Wake-Cock! Warning!’ followed by a crow,
+as from some infernally-hatched Chanticleer, apprising him under whose
+victorious fire he stands, he turns the corner into safety, and takes
+Durdles home: Durdles stumbling among the litter of his stony yard as if
+he were going to turn head foremost into one of the unfinished tombs.
+
+John Jasper returns by another way to his gatehouse, and entering softly
+with his key, finds his fire still burning. He takes from a locked press
+a peculiar-looking pipe, which he fills—but not with tobacco—and, having
+adjusted the contents of the bowl, very carefully, with a little
+instrument, ascends an inner staircase of only a few steps, leading to
+two rooms. One of these is his own sleeping chamber: the other is his
+nephew’s. There is a light in each.
+
+His nephew lies asleep, calm and untroubled. John Jasper stands looking
+down upon him, his unlighted pipe in his hand, for some time, with a
+fixed and deep attention. Then, hushing his footsteps, he passes to his
+own room, lights his pipe, and delivers himself to the Spectres it
+invokes at midnight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI—PHILANTHROPY IN MINOR CANON CORNER
+
+
+The Reverend Septimus Crisparkle (Septimus, because six little brother
+Crisparkles before him went out, one by one, as they were born, like six
+weak little rushlights, as they were lighted), having broken the thin
+morning ice near Cloisterham Weir with his amiable head, much to the
+invigoration of his frame, was now assisting his circulation by boxing at
+a looking-glass with great science and prowess. A fresh and healthy
+portrait the looking-glass presented of the Reverend Septimus, feinting
+and dodging with the utmost artfulness, and hitting out from the shoulder
+with the utmost straightness, while his radiant features teemed with
+innocence, and soft-hearted benevolence beamed from his boxing-gloves.
+
+It was scarcely breakfast-time yet, for Mrs. Crisparkle—mother, not wife
+of the Reverend Septimus—was only just down, and waiting for the urn.
+Indeed, the Reverend Septimus left off at this very moment to take the
+pretty old lady’s entering face between his boxing-gloves and kiss it.
+Having done so with tenderness, the Reverend Septimus turned to again,
+countering with his left, and putting in his right, in a tremendous
+manner.
+
+‘I say, every morning of my life, that you’ll do it at last, Sept,’
+remarked the old lady, looking on; ‘and so you will.’
+
+‘Do what, Ma dear?’
+
+‘Break the pier-glass, or burst a blood-vessel.’
+
+‘Neither, please God, Ma dear. Here’s wind, Ma. Look at this!’ In a
+concluding round of great severity, the Reverend Septimus administered
+and escaped all sorts of punishment, and wound up by getting the old
+lady’s cap into Chancery—such is the technical term used in scientific
+circles by the learned in the Noble Art—with a lightness of touch that
+hardly stirred the lightest lavender or cherry riband on it.
+Magnanimously releasing the defeated, just in time to get his gloves into
+a drawer and feign to be looking out of window in a contemplative state
+of mind when a servant entered, the Reverend Septimus then gave place to
+the urn and other preparations for breakfast. These completed, and the
+two alone again, it was pleasant to see (or would have been, if there had
+been any one to see it, which there never was), the old lady standing to
+say the Lord’s Prayer aloud, and her son, Minor Canon nevertheless,
+standing with bent head to hear it, he being within five years of forty:
+much as he had stood to hear the same words from the same lips when he
+was within five months of four.
+
+What is prettier than an old lady—except a young lady—when her eyes are
+bright, when her figure is trim and compact, when her face is cheerful
+and calm, when her dress is as the dress of a china shepherdess: so
+dainty in its colours, so individually assorted to herself, so neatly
+moulded on her? Nothing is prettier, thought the good Minor Canon
+frequently, when taking his seat at table opposite his long-widowed
+mother. Her thought at such times may be condensed into the two words
+that oftenest did duty together in all her conversations: ‘My Sept!’
+
+They were a good pair to sit breakfasting together in Minor Canon Corner,
+Cloisterham. For Minor Canon Corner was a quiet place in the shadow of
+the Cathedral, which the cawing of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of
+rare passers, the sound of the Cathedral bell, or the roll of the
+Cathedral organ, seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence.
+Swaggering fighting men had had their centuries of ramping and raving
+about Minor Canon Corner, and beaten serfs had had their centuries of
+drudging and dying there, and powerful monks had had their centuries of
+being sometimes useful and sometimes harmful there, and behold they were
+all gone out of Minor Canon Corner, and so much the better. Perhaps one
+of the highest uses of their ever having been there, was, that there
+might be left behind, that blessed air of tranquillity which pervaded
+Minor Canon Corner, and that serenely romantic state of the
+mind—productive for the most part of pity and forbearance—which is
+engendered by a sorrowful story that is all told, or a pathetic play that
+is played out.
+
+Red-brick walls harmoniously toned down in colour by time, strong-rooted
+ivy, latticed windows, panelled rooms, big oaken beams in little places,
+and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish
+trees, were the principal surroundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisparkle and
+the Reverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast.
+
+‘And what, Ma dear,’ inquired the Minor Canon, giving proof of a
+wholesome and vigorous appetite, ‘does the letter say?’
+
+The pretty old lady, after reading it, had just laid it down upon the
+breakfast-cloth. She handed it over to her son.
+
+Now, the old lady was exceedingly proud of her bright eyes being so clear
+that she could read writing without spectacles. Her son was also so
+proud of the circumstance, and so dutifully bent on her deriving the
+utmost possible gratification from it, that he had invented the pretence
+that he himself could _not_ read writing without spectacles. Therefore
+he now assumed a pair, of grave and prodigious proportions, which not
+only seriously inconvenienced his nose and his breakfast, but seriously
+impeded his perusal of the letter. For, he had the eyes of a microscope
+and a telescope combined, when they were unassisted.
+
+‘It’s from Mr. Honeythunder, of course,’ said the old lady, folding her
+arms.
+
+‘Of course,’ assented her son. He then lamely read on:
+
+ ‘“Haven of Philanthropy,
+ Chief Offices, London, Wednesday.
+
+‘“DEAR MADAM,
+
+‘“I write in the—;” In the what’s this? What does he write in?’
+
+‘In the chair,’ said the old lady.
+
+The Reverend Septimus took off his spectacles, that he might see her
+face, as he exclaimed:
+
+‘Why, what should he write in?’
+
+‘Bless me, bless me, Sept,’ returned the old lady, ‘you don’t see the
+context! Give it back to me, my dear.’
+
+Glad to get his spectacles off (for they always made his eyes water), her
+son obeyed: murmuring that his sight for reading manuscript got worse and
+worse daily.
+
+‘“I write,”’ his mother went on, reading very perspicuously and
+precisely, ‘“from the chair, to which I shall probably be confined for
+some hours.”’
+
+Septimus looked at the row of chairs against the wall, with a
+half-protesting and half-appealing countenance.
+
+‘“We have,”’ the old lady read on with a little extra emphasis, ‘“a
+meeting of our Convened Chief Composite Committee of Central and District
+Philanthropists, at our Head Haven as above; and it is their unanimous
+pleasure that I take the chair.”’
+
+Septimus breathed more freely, and muttered: ‘O! if he comes to _that_,
+let him.’
+
+‘“Not to lose a day’s post, I take the opportunity of a long report being
+read, denouncing a public miscreant—”’
+
+‘It is a most extraordinary thing,’ interposed the gentle Minor Canon,
+laying down his knife and fork to rub his ear in a vexed manner, ‘that
+these Philanthropists are always denouncing somebody. And it is another
+most extraordinary thing that they are always so violently flush of
+miscreants!’
+
+‘“Denouncing a public miscreant—”’—the old lady resumed, ‘“to get our
+little affair of business off my mind. I have spoken with my two wards,
+Neville and Helena Landless, on the subject of their defective education,
+and they give in to the plan proposed; as I should have taken good care
+they did, whether they liked it or not.”’
+
+‘And it is another most extraordinary thing,’ remarked the Minor Canon in
+the same tone as before, ‘that these philanthropists are so given to
+seizing their fellow-creatures by the scruff of the neck, and (as one may
+say) bumping them into the paths of peace.—I beg your pardon, Ma dear,
+for interrupting.’
+
+‘“Therefore, dear Madam, you will please prepare your son, the Rev. Mr.
+Septimus, to expect Neville as an inmate to be read with, on Monday next.
+On the same day Helena will accompany him to Cloisterham, to take up her
+quarters at the Nuns’ House, the establishment recommended by yourself
+and son jointly. Please likewise to prepare for her reception and
+tuition there. The terms in both cases are understood to be exactly as
+stated to me in writing by yourself, when I opened a correspondence with
+you on this subject, after the honour of being introduced to you at your
+sister’s house in town here. With compliments to the Rev. Mr. Septimus,
+I am, Dear Madam, Your affectionate brother (In Philanthropy), LUKE
+HONEYTHUNDER.”’
+
+‘Well, Ma,’ said Septimus, after a little more rubbing of his ear, ‘we
+must try it. There can be no doubt that we have room for an inmate, and
+that I have time to bestow upon him, and inclination too. I must confess
+to feeling rather glad that he is not Mr. Honeythunder himself. Though
+that seems wretchedly prejudiced—does it not?—for I never saw him. Is he
+a large man, Ma?’
+
+‘I should call him a large man, my dear,’ the old lady replied after some
+hesitation, ‘but that his voice is so much larger.’
+
+‘Than himself?’
+
+‘Than anybody.’
+
+‘Hah!’ said Septimus. And finished his breakfast as if the flavour of
+the Superior Family Souchong, and also of the ham and toast and eggs,
+were a little on the wane.
+
+Mrs. Crisparkle’s sister, another piece of Dresden china, and matching
+her so neatly that they would have made a delightful pair of ornaments
+for the two ends of any capacious old-fashioned chimneypiece, and by
+right should never have been seen apart, was the childless wife of a
+clergyman holding Corporation preferment in London City. Mr.
+Honeythunder in his public character of Professor of Philanthropy had
+come to know Mrs. Crisparkle during the last re-matching of the china
+ornaments (in other words during her last annual visit to her sister),
+after a public occasion of a philanthropic nature, when certain devoted
+orphans of tender years had been glutted with plum buns, and plump
+bumptiousness. These were all the antecedents known in Minor Canon
+Corner of the coming pupils.
+
+‘I am sure you will agree with me, Ma,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, after
+thinking the matter over, ‘that the first thing to be done, is, to put
+these young people as much at their ease as possible. There is nothing
+disinterested in the notion, because we cannot be at our ease with them
+unless they are at their ease with us. Now, Jasper’s nephew is down here
+at present; and like takes to like, and youth takes to youth. He is a
+cordial young fellow, and we will have him to meet the brother and sister
+at dinner. That’s three. We can’t think of asking him, without asking
+Jasper. That’s four. Add Miss Twinkleton and the fairy bride that is to
+be, and that’s six. Add our two selves, and that’s eight. Would eight
+at a friendly dinner at all put you out, Ma?’
+
+‘Nine would, Sept,’ returned the old lady, visibly nervous.
+
+‘My dear Ma, I particularise eight.’
+
+‘The exact size of the table and the room, my dear.’
+
+So it was settled that way: and when Mr. Crisparkle called with his
+mother upon Miss Twinkleton, to arrange for the reception of Miss Helena
+Landless at the Nuns’ House, the two other invitations having reference
+to that establishment were proffered and accepted. Miss Twinkleton did,
+indeed, glance at the globes, as regretting that they were not formed to
+be taken out into society; but became reconciled to leaving them behind.
+Instructions were then despatched to the Philanthropist for the departure
+and arrival, in good time for dinner, of Mr. Neville and Miss Helena; and
+stock for soup became fragrant in the air of Minor Canon Corner.
+
+In those days there was no railway to Cloisterham, and Mr. Sapsea said
+there never would be. Mr. Sapsea said more; he said there never should
+be. And yet, marvellous to consider, it has come to pass, in these days,
+that Express Trains don’t think Cloisterham worth stopping at, but yell
+and whirl through it on their larger errands, casting the dust off their
+wheels as a testimony against its insignificance. Some remote fragment
+of Main Line to somewhere else, there was, which was going to ruin the
+Money Market if it failed, and Church and State if it succeeded, and (of
+course), the Constitution, whether or no; but even that had already so
+unsettled Cloisterham traffic, that the traffic, deserting the high road,
+came sneaking in from an unprecedented part of the country by a back
+stable-way, for many years labelled at the corner: ‘Beware of the Dog.’
+
+To this ignominious avenue of approach, Mr. Crisparkle repaired, awaiting
+the arrival of a short, squat omnibus, with a disproportionate heap of
+luggage on the roof—like a little Elephant with infinitely too much
+Castle—which was then the daily service between Cloisterham and external
+mankind. As this vehicle lumbered up, Mr. Crisparkle could hardly see
+anything else of it for a large outside passenger seated on the box, with
+his elbows squared, and his hands on his knees, compressing the driver
+into a most uncomfortably small compass, and glowering about him with a
+strongly-marked face.
+
+‘Is this Cloisterham?’ demanded the passenger, in a tremendous voice.
+
+‘It is,’ replied the driver, rubbing himself as if he ached, after
+throwing the reins to the ostler. ‘And I never was so glad to see it.’
+
+‘Tell your master to make his box-seat wider, then,’ returned the
+passenger. ‘Your master is morally bound—and ought to be legally, under
+ruinous penalties—to provide for the comfort of his fellow-man.’
+
+The driver instituted, with the palms of his hands, a superficial
+perquisition into the state of his skeleton; which seemed to make him
+anxious.
+
+‘Have I sat upon you?’ asked the passenger.
+
+‘You have,’ said the driver, as if he didn’t like it at all.
+
+‘Take that card, my friend.’
+
+‘I think I won’t deprive you on it,’ returned the driver, casting his
+eyes over it with no great favour, without taking it. ‘What’s the good
+of it to me?’
+
+‘Be a Member of that Society,’ said the passenger.
+
+‘What shall I get by it?’ asked the driver.
+
+‘Brotherhood,’ returned the passenger, in a ferocious voice.
+
+‘Thankee,’ said the driver, very deliberately, as he got down; ‘my mother
+was contented with myself, and so am I. I don’t want no brothers.’
+
+‘But you must have them,’ replied the passenger, also descending,
+‘whether you like it or not. I am your brother.’
+
+‘I say!’ expostulated the driver, becoming more chafed in temper, ‘not
+too fur! The worm _will_, when—’
+
+But here, Mr. Crisparkle interposed, remonstrating aside, in a friendly
+voice: ‘Joe, Joe, Joe! don’t forget yourself, Joe, my good fellow!’ and
+then, when Joe peaceably touched his hat, accosting the passenger with:
+‘Mr. Honeythunder?’
+
+‘That is my name, sir.’
+
+‘My name is Crisparkle.’
+
+‘Reverend Mr. Septimus? Glad to see you, sir. Neville and Helena are
+inside. Having a little succumbed of late, under the pressure of my
+public labours, I thought I would take a mouthful of fresh air, and come
+down with them, and return at night. So you are the Reverend Mr.
+Septimus, are you?’ surveying him on the whole with disappointment, and
+twisting a double eyeglass by its ribbon, as if he were roasting it, but
+not otherwise using it. ‘Hah! I expected to see you older, sir.’
+
+‘I hope you will,’ was the good-humoured reply.
+
+‘Eh?’ demanded Mr. Honeythunder.
+
+‘Only a poor little joke. Not worth repeating.’
+
+‘Joke? Ay; I never see a joke,’ Mr. Honeythunder frowningly retorted.
+‘A joke is wasted upon me, sir. Where are they? Helena and Neville,
+come here! Mr. Crisparkle has come down to meet you.’
+
+An unusually handsome lithe young fellow, and an unusually handsome lithe
+girl; much alike; both very dark, and very rich in colour; she of almost
+the gipsy type; something untamed about them both; a certain air upon
+them of hunter and huntress; yet withal a certain air of being the
+objects of the chase, rather than the followers. Slender, supple, quick
+of eye and limb; half shy, half defiant; fierce of look; an indefinable
+kind of pause coming and going on their whole expression, both of face
+and form, which might be equally likened to the pause before a crouch or
+a bound. The rough mental notes made in the first five minutes by Mr.
+Crisparkle would have read thus, _verbatim_.
+
+He invited Mr. Honeythunder to dinner, with a troubled mind (for the
+discomfiture of the dear old china shepherdess lay heavy on it), and gave
+his arm to Helena Landless. Both she and her brother, as they walked all
+together through the ancient streets, took great delight in what he
+pointed out of the Cathedral and the Monastery ruin, and wondered—so his
+notes ran on—much as if they were beautiful barbaric captives brought
+from some wild tropical dominion. Mr. Honeythunder walked in the middle
+of the road, shouldering the natives out of his way, and loudly
+developing a scheme he had, for making a raid on all the unemployed
+persons in the United Kingdom, laying them every one by the heels in
+jail, and forcing them, on pain of prompt extermination, to become
+philanthropists.
+
+Mrs. Crisparkle had need of her own share of philanthropy when she beheld
+this very large and very loud excrescence on the little party. Always
+something in the nature of a Boil upon the face of society, Mr.
+Honeythunder expanded into an inflammatory Wen in Minor Canon Corner.
+Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him
+by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures:
+‘Curse your souls and bodies, come here and be blessed!’ still his
+philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it
+and animosity was hard to determine. You were to abolish military force,
+but you were first to bring all commanding officers who had done their
+duty, to trial by court-martial for that offence, and shoot them. You
+were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war upon them,
+and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to
+have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep off the face of the
+earth all legislators, jurists, and judges, who were of the contrary
+opinion. You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by
+eliminating all the people who wouldn’t, or conscientiously couldn’t, be
+concordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an
+indefinite interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and
+calling him all manner of names. Above all things, you were to do
+nothing in private, or on your own account. You were to go to the
+offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, and put your name down as a Member
+and a Professing Philanthropist. Then, you were to pay up your
+subscription, get your card of membership and your riband and medal, and
+were evermore to live upon a platform, and evermore to say what Mr.
+Honeythunder said, and what the Treasurer said, and what the
+sub-Treasurer said, and what the Committee said, and what the
+sub-Committee said, and what the Secretary said, and what the
+Vice-Secretary said. And this was usually said in the
+unanimously-carried resolution under hand and seal, to the effect: ‘That
+this assembled Body of Professing Philanthropists views, with indignant
+scorn and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing
+abhorrence’—in short, the baseness of all those who do not belong to it,
+and pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possible about
+them, without being at all particular as to facts.
+
+The dinner was a most doleful breakdown. The philanthropist deranged the
+symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way of the waiting, blocked up
+the thoroughfare, and drove Mr. Tope (who assisted the parlour-maid) to
+the verge of distraction by passing plates and dishes on, over his own
+head. Nobody could talk to anybody, because he held forth to everybody
+at once, as if the company had no individual existence, but were a
+Meeting. He impounded the Reverend Mr. Septimus, as an official
+personage to be addressed, or kind of human peg to hang his oratorical
+hat on, and fell into the exasperating habit, common among such orators,
+of impersonating him as a wicked and weak opponent. Thus, he would ask:
+‘And will you, sir, now stultify yourself by telling me’—and so forth,
+when the innocent man had not opened his lips, nor meant to open them.
+Or he would say: ‘Now see, sir, to what a position you are reduced. I
+will leave you no escape. After exhausting all the resources of fraud
+and falsehood, during years upon years; after exhibiting a combination of
+dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such as the world has not
+often witnessed; you have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the
+most degraded of mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy!’
+Whereat the unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in
+part perplexed; while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her
+eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous
+state, in which there was no flavour or solidity, and very little
+resistance.
+
+But the gush of philanthropy that burst forth when the departure of Mr.
+Honeythunder began to impend, must have been highly gratifying to the
+feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was produced, by the
+special activity of Mr. Tope, a full hour before he wanted it. Mr.
+Crisparkle sat with his watch in his hand for about the same period, lest
+he should overstay his time. The four young people were unanimous in
+believing that the Cathedral clock struck three-quarters, when it
+actually struck but one. Miss Twinkleton estimated the distance to the
+omnibus at five-and-twenty minutes’ walk, when it was really five. The
+affectionate kindness of the whole circle hustled him into his greatcoat,
+and shoved him out into the moonlight, as if he were a fugitive traitor
+with whom they sympathised, and a troop of horse were at the back door.
+Mr. Crisparkle and his new charge, who took him to the omnibus, were so
+fervent in their apprehensions of his catching cold, that they shut him
+up in it instantly and left him, with still half-an-hour to spare.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII—MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE
+
+
+‘I know very little of that gentleman, sir,’ said Neville to the Minor
+Canon as they turned back.
+
+‘You know very little of your guardian?’ the Minor Canon repeated.
+
+‘Almost nothing!’
+
+‘How came he—’
+
+‘To _be_ my guardian? I’ll tell you, sir. I suppose you know that we
+come (my sister and I) from Ceylon?’
+
+‘Indeed, no.’
+
+‘I wonder at that. We lived with a stepfather there. Our mother died
+there, when we were little children. We have had a wretched existence.
+She made him our guardian, and he was a miserly wretch who grudged us
+food to eat, and clothes to wear. At his death, he passed us over to
+this man; for no better reason that I know of, than his being a friend or
+connexion of his, whose name was always in print and catching his
+attention.’
+
+‘That was lately, I suppose?’
+
+‘Quite lately, sir. This stepfather of ours was a cruel brute as well as
+a grinding one. It is well he died when he did, or I might have killed
+him.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle stopped short in the moonlight and looked at his hopeful
+pupil in consternation.
+
+‘I surprise you, sir?’ he said, with a quick change to a submissive
+manner.
+
+‘You shock me; unspeakably shock me.’
+
+The pupil hung his head for a little while, as they walked on, and then
+said: ‘You never saw him beat your sister. I have seen him beat mine,
+more than once or twice, and I never forgot it.’
+
+‘Nothing,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘not even a beloved and beautiful
+sister’s tears under dastardly ill-usage;’ he became less severe, in
+spite of himself, as his indignation rose; ‘could justify those horrible
+expressions that you used.’
+
+‘I am sorry I used them, and especially to you, sir. I beg to recall
+them. But permit me to set you right on one point. You spoke of my
+sister’s tears. My sister would have let him tear her to pieces, before
+she would have let him believe that he could make her shed a tear.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle reviewed those mental notes of his, and was neither at all
+surprised to hear it, nor at all disposed to question it.
+
+‘Perhaps you will think it strange, sir,’—this was said in a hesitating
+voice—‘that I should so soon ask you to allow me to confide in you, and
+to have the kindness to hear a word or two from me in my defence?’
+
+‘Defence?’ Mr. Crisparkle repeated. ‘You are not on your defence, Mr.
+Neville.’
+
+‘I think I am, sir. At least I know I should be, if you were better
+acquainted with my character.’
+
+‘Well, Mr. Neville,’ was the rejoinder. ‘What if you leave me to find it
+out?’
+
+‘Since it is your pleasure, sir,’ answered the young man, with a quick
+change in his manner to sullen disappointment: ‘since it is your pleasure
+to check me in my impulse, I must submit.’
+
+There was that in the tone of this short speech which made the
+conscientious man to whom it was addressed uneasy. It hinted to him that
+he might, without meaning it, turn aside a trustfulness beneficial to a
+mis-shapen young mind and perhaps to his own power of directing and
+improving it. They were within sight of the lights in his windows, and
+he stopped.
+
+‘Let us turn back and take a turn or two up and down, Mr. Neville, or you
+may not have time to finish what you wish to say to me. You are hasty in
+thinking that I mean to check you. Quite the contrary. I invite your
+confidence.’
+
+‘You have invited it, sir, without knowing it, ever since I came here. I
+say “ever since,” as if I had been here a week. The truth is, we came
+here (my sister and I) to quarrel with you, and affront you, and break
+away again.’
+
+‘Really?’ said Mr. Crisparkle, at a dead loss for anything else to say.
+
+‘You see, we could not know what you were beforehand, sir; could we?’
+
+‘Clearly not,’ said Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘And having liked no one else with whom we have ever been brought into
+contact, we had made up our minds not to like you.’
+
+‘Really?’ said Mr. Crisparkle again.
+
+‘But we do like you, sir, and we see an unmistakable difference between
+your house and your reception of us, and anything else we have ever
+known. This—and my happening to be alone with you—and everything around
+us seeming so quiet and peaceful after Mr. Honeythunder’s departure—and
+Cloisterham being so old and grave and beautiful, with the moon shining
+on it—these things inclined me to open my heart.’
+
+‘I quite understand, Mr. Neville. And it is salutary to listen to such
+influences.’
+
+‘In describing my own imperfections, sir, I must ask you not to suppose
+that I am describing my sister’s. She has come out of the disadvantages
+of our miserable life, as much better than I am, as that Cathedral tower
+is higher than those chimneys.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle in his own breast was not so sure of this.
+
+‘I have had, sir, from my earliest remembrance, to suppress a deadly and
+bitter hatred. This has made me secret and revengeful. I have been
+always tyrannically held down by the strong hand. This has driven me, in
+my weakness, to the resource of being false and mean. I have been
+stinted of education, liberty, money, dress, the very necessaries of
+life, the commonest pleasures of childhood, the commonest possessions of
+youth. This has caused me to be utterly wanting in I don’t know what
+emotions, or remembrances, or good instincts—I have not even a name for
+the thing, you see!—that you have had to work upon in other young men to
+whom you have been accustomed.’
+
+‘This is evidently true. But this is not encouraging,’ thought Mr.
+Crisparkle as they turned again.
+
+‘And to finish with, sir: I have been brought up among abject and servile
+dependents, of an inferior race, and I may easily have contracted some
+affinity with them. Sometimes, I don’t know but that it may be a drop of
+what is tigerish in their blood.’
+
+‘As in the case of that remark just now,’ thought Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘In a last word of reference to my sister, sir (we are twin children),
+you ought to know, to her honour, that nothing in our misery ever subdued
+her, though it often cowed me. When we ran away from it (we ran away
+four times in six years, to be soon brought back and cruelly punished),
+the flight was always of her planning and leading. Each time she dressed
+as a boy, and showed the daring of a man. I take it we were seven years
+old when we first decamped; but I remember, when I lost the pocket-knife
+with which she was to have cut her hair short, how desperately she tried
+to tear it out, or bite it off. I have nothing further to say, sir,
+except that I hope you will bear with me and make allowance for me.’
+
+‘Of that, Mr. Neville, you may be sure,’ returned the Minor Canon. ‘I
+don’t preach more than I can help, and I will not repay your confidence
+with a sermon. But I entreat you to bear in mind, very seriously and
+steadily, that if I am to do you any good, it can only be with your own
+assistance; and that you can only render that, efficiently, by seeking
+aid from Heaven.’
+
+‘I will try to do my part, sir.’
+
+‘And, Mr. Neville, I will try to do mine. Here is my hand on it. May
+God bless our endeavours!’
+
+They were now standing at his house-door, and a cheerful sound of voices
+and laughter was heard within.
+
+‘We will take one more turn before going in,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘for I
+want to ask you a question. When you said you were in a changed mind
+concerning me, you spoke, not only for yourself, but for your sister
+too?’
+
+‘Undoubtedly I did, sir.’
+
+‘Excuse me, Mr. Neville, but I think you have had no opportunity of
+communicating with your sister, since I met you. Mr. Honeythunder was
+very eloquent; but perhaps I may venture to say, without ill-nature, that
+he rather monopolised the occasion. May you not have answered for your
+sister without sufficient warrant?’
+
+Neville shook his head with a proud smile.
+
+‘You don’t know, sir, yet, what a complete understanding can exist
+between my sister and me, though no spoken word—perhaps hardly as much as
+a look—may have passed between us. She not only feels as I have
+described, but she very well knows that I am taking this opportunity of
+speaking to you, both for her and for myself.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle looked in his face, with some incredulity; but his face
+expressed such absolute and firm conviction of the truth of what he said,
+that Mr. Crisparkle looked at the pavement, and mused, until they came to
+his door again.
+
+‘I will ask for one more turn, sir, this time,’ said the young man, with
+a rather heightened colour rising in his face. ‘But for Mr.
+Honeythunder’s—I think you called it eloquence, sir?’ (somewhat slyly.)
+
+‘I—yes, I called it eloquence,’ said Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘But for Mr. Honeythunder’s eloquence, I might have had no need to ask
+you what I am going to ask you. This Mr. Edwin Drood, sir: I think
+that’s the name?’
+
+‘Quite correct,’ said Mr. Crisparkle. ‘D-r-double o-d.’
+
+‘Does he—or did he—read with you, sir?’
+
+‘Never, Mr. Neville. He comes here visiting his relation, Mr. Jasper.’
+
+‘Is Miss Bud his relation too, sir?’
+
+(‘Now, why should he ask that, with sudden superciliousness?’ thought Mr.
+Crisparkle.) Then he explained, aloud, what he knew of the little story
+of their betrothal.
+
+‘O! _that’s_ it, is it?’ said the young man. ‘I understand his air of
+proprietorship now!’
+
+This was said so evidently to himself, or to anybody rather than Mr.
+Crisparkle, that the latter instinctively felt as if to notice it would
+be almost tantamount to noticing a passage in a letter which he had read
+by chance over the writer’s shoulder. A moment afterwards they
+re-entered the house.
+
+Mr. Jasper was seated at the piano as they came into his drawing-room,
+and was accompanying Miss Rosebud while she sang. It was a consequence
+of his playing the accompaniment without notes, and of her being a
+heedless little creature, very apt to go wrong, that he followed her lips
+most attentively, with his eyes as well as hands; carefully and softly
+hinting the key-note from time to time. Standing with an arm drawn round
+her, but with a face far more intent on Mr. Jasper than on her singing,
+stood Helena, between whom and her brother an instantaneous recognition
+passed, in which Mr. Crisparkle saw, or thought he saw, the understanding
+that had been spoken of, flash out. Mr. Neville then took his admiring
+station, leaning against the piano, opposite the singer; Mr. Crisparkle
+sat down by the china shepherdess; Edwin Drood gallantly furled and
+unfurled Miss Twinkleton’s fan; and that lady passively claimed that sort
+of exhibitor’s proprietorship in the accomplishment on view, which Mr.
+Tope, the Verger, daily claimed in the Cathedral service.
+
+ [Picture: At the piano]
+
+The song went on. It was a sorrowful strain of parting, and the fresh
+young voice was very plaintive and tender. As Jasper watched the pretty
+lips, and ever and again hinted the one note, as though it were a low
+whisper from himself, the voice became less steady, until all at once the
+singer broke into a burst of tears, and shrieked out, with her hands over
+her eyes: ‘I can’t bear this! I am frightened! Take me away!’
+
+With one swift turn of her lithe figures Helena laid the little beauty on
+a sofa, as if she had never caught her up. Then, on one knee beside her,
+and with one hand upon her rosy mouth, while with the other she appealed
+to all the rest, Helena said to them: ‘It’s nothing; it’s all over; don’t
+speak to her for one minute, and she is well!’
+
+Jasper’s hands had, in the same instant, lifted themselves from the keys,
+and were now poised above them, as though he waited to resume. In that
+attitude he yet sat quiet: not even looking round, when all the rest had
+changed their places and were reassuring one another.
+
+‘Pussy’s not used to an audience; that’s the fact,’ said Edwin Drood.
+‘She got nervous, and couldn’t hold out. Besides, Jack, you are such a
+conscientious master, and require so much, that I believe you make her
+afraid of you. No wonder.’
+
+‘No wonder,’ repeated Helena.
+
+‘There, Jack, you hear! You would be afraid of him, under similar
+circumstances, wouldn’t you, Miss Landless?’
+
+‘Not under any circumstances,’ returned Helena.
+
+Jasper brought down his hands, looked over his shoulder, and begged to
+thank Miss Landless for her vindication of his character. Then he fell
+to dumbly playing, without striking the notes, while his little pupil was
+taken to an open window for air, and was otherwise petted and restored.
+When she was brought back, his place was empty. ‘Jack’s gone, Pussy,’
+Edwin told her. ‘I am more than half afraid he didn’t like to be charged
+with being the Monster who had frightened you.’ But she answered never a
+word, and shivered, as if they had made her a little too cold.
+
+Miss Twinkleton now opining that indeed these were late hours, Mrs.
+Crisparkle, for finding ourselves outside the walls of the Nuns’ House,
+and that we who undertook the formation of the future wives and mothers
+of England (the last words in a lower voice, as requiring to be
+communicated in confidence) were really bound (voice coming up again) to
+set a better example than one of rakish habits, wrappers were put in
+requisition, and the two young cavaliers volunteered to see the ladies
+home. It was soon done, and the gate of the Nuns’ House closed upon
+them.
+
+The boarders had retired, and only Mrs. Tisher in solitary vigil awaited
+the new pupil. Her bedroom being within Rosa’s, very little introduction
+or explanation was necessary, before she was placed in charge of her new
+friend, and left for the night.
+
+‘This is a blessed relief, my dear,’ said Helena. ‘I have been dreading
+all day, that I should be brought to bay at this time.’
+
+‘There are not many of us,’ returned Rosa, ‘and we are good-natured
+girls; at least the others are; I can answer for them.’
+
+‘I can answer for you,’ laughed Helena, searching the lovely little face
+with her dark, fiery eyes, and tenderly caressing the small figure. ‘You
+will be a friend to me, won’t you?’
+
+‘I hope so. But the idea of my being a friend to you seems too absurd,
+though.’
+
+‘Why?’
+
+‘O, I am such a mite of a thing, and you are so womanly and handsome.
+You seem to have resolution and power enough to crush me. I shrink into
+nothing by the side of your presence even.’
+
+‘I am a neglected creature, my dear, unacquainted with all
+accomplishments, sensitively conscious that I have everything to learn,
+and deeply ashamed to own my ignorance.’
+
+‘And yet you acknowledge everything to me!’ said Rosa.
+
+‘My pretty one, can I help it? There is a fascination in you.’
+
+‘O! is there though?’ pouted Rosa, half in jest and half in earnest.
+‘What a pity Master Eddy doesn’t feel it more!’
+
+Of course her relations towards that young gentleman had been already
+imparted in Minor Canon Corner.
+
+‘Why, surely he must love you with all his heart!’ cried Helena, with an
+earnestness that threatened to blaze into ferocity if he didn’t.
+
+‘Eh? O, well, I suppose he does,’ said Rosa, pouting again; ‘I am sure I
+have no right to say he doesn’t. Perhaps it’s my fault. Perhaps I am
+not as nice to him as I ought to be. I don’t think I am. But it _is_ so
+ridiculous!’
+
+Helena’s eyes demanded what was.
+
+‘_We_ are,’ said Rosa, answering as if she had spoken. ‘We are such a
+ridiculous couple. And we are always quarrelling.’
+
+‘Why?’
+
+‘Because we both know we are ridiculous, my dear!’ Rosa gave that answer
+as if it were the most conclusive answer in the world.
+
+Helena’s masterful look was intent upon her face for a few moments, and
+then she impulsively put out both her hands and said:
+
+‘You will be my friend and help me?’
+
+‘Indeed, my dear, I will,’ replied Rosa, in a tone of affectionate
+childishness that went straight and true to her heart; ‘I will be as good
+a friend as such a mite of a thing can be to such a noble creature as
+you. And be a friend to me, please; I don’t understand myself: and I
+want a friend who can understand me, very much indeed.’
+
+Helena Landless kissed her, and retaining both her hands said:
+
+‘Who is Mr. Jasper?’
+
+Rosa turned aside her head in answering: ‘Eddy’s uncle, and my
+music-master.’
+
+‘You do not love him?’
+
+‘Ugh!’ She put her hands up to her face, and shook with fear or horror.
+
+‘You know that he loves you?’
+
+‘O, don’t, don’t, don’t!’ cried Rosa, dropping on her knees, and clinging
+to her new resource. ‘Don’t tell me of it! He terrifies me. He haunts
+my thoughts, like a dreadful ghost. I feel that I am never safe from
+him. I feel as if he could pass in through the wall when he is spoken
+of.’ She actually did look round, as if she dreaded to see him standing
+in the shadow behind her.
+
+‘Try to tell me more about it, darling.’
+
+‘Yes, I will, I will. Because you are so strong. But hold me the while,
+and stay with me afterwards.’
+
+‘My child! You speak as if he had threatened you in some dark way.’
+
+‘He has never spoken to me about—that. Never.’
+
+‘What has he done?’
+
+‘He has made a slave of me with his looks. He has forced me to
+understand him, without his saying a word; and he has forced me to keep
+silence, without his uttering a threat. When I play, he never moves his
+eyes from my hands. When I sing, he never moves his eyes from my lips.
+When he corrects me, and strikes a note, or a chord, or plays a passage,
+he himself is in the sounds, whispering that he pursues me as a lover,
+and commanding me to keep his secret. I avoid his eyes, but he forces me
+to see them without looking at them. Even when a glaze comes over them
+(which is sometimes the case), and he seems to wander away into a
+frightful sort of dream in which he threatens most, he obliges me to know
+it, and to know that he is sitting close at my side, more terrible to me
+than ever.’
+
+‘What is this imagined threatening, pretty one? What is threatened?’
+
+‘I don’t know. I have never even dared to think or wonder what it is.’
+
+‘And was this all, to-night?’
+
+‘This was all; except that to-night when he watched my lips so closely as
+I was singing, besides feeling terrified I felt ashamed and passionately
+hurt. It was as if he kissed me, and I couldn’t bear it, but cried out.
+You must never breathe this to any one. Eddy is devoted to him. But you
+said to-night that you would not be afraid of him, under any
+circumstances, and that gives me—who am so much afraid of him—courage to
+tell only you. Hold me! Stay with me! I am too frightened to be left
+by myself.’
+
+The lustrous gipsy-face drooped over the clinging arms and bosom, and the
+wild black hair fell down protectingly over the childish form. There was
+a slumbering gleam of fire in the intense dark eyes, though they were
+then softened with compassion and admiration. Let whomsoever it most
+concerned look well to it!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII—DAGGERS DRAWN
+
+
+The two young men, having seen the damsels, their charges, enter the
+courtyard of the Nuns’ House, and finding themselves coldly stared at by
+the brazen door-plate, as if the battered old beau with the glass in his
+eye were insolent, look at one another, look along the perspective of the
+moonlit street, and slowly walk away together.
+
+‘Do you stay here long, Mr. Drood?’ says Neville.
+
+‘Not this time,’ is the careless answer. ‘I leave for London again,
+to-morrow. But I shall be here, off and on, until next Midsummer; then I
+shall take my leave of Cloisterham, and England too; for many a long day,
+I expect.’
+
+‘Are you going abroad?’
+
+‘Going to wake up Egypt a little,’ is the condescending answer.
+
+‘Are you reading?’
+
+‘Reading?’ repeats Edwin Drood, with a touch of contempt. ‘No. Doing,
+working, engineering. My small patrimony was left a part of the capital
+of the Firm I am with, by my father, a former partner; and I am a charge
+upon the Firm until I come of age; and then I step into my modest share
+in the concern. Jack—you met him at dinner—is, until then, my guardian
+and trustee.’
+
+‘I heard from Mr. Crisparkle of your other good fortune.’
+
+‘What do you mean by my other good fortune?’
+
+Neville has made his remark in a watchfully advancing, and yet furtive
+and shy manner, very expressive of that peculiar air already noticed, of
+being at once hunter and hunted. Edwin has made his retort with an
+abruptness not at all polite. They stop and interchange a rather heated
+look.
+
+‘I hope,’ says Neville, ‘there is no offence, Mr. Drood, in my innocently
+referring to your betrothal?’
+
+‘By George!’ cries Edwin, leading on again at a somewhat quicker pace;
+‘everybody in this chattering old Cloisterham refers to it I wonder no
+public-house has been set up, with my portrait for the sign of The
+Betrothed’s Head. Or Pussy’s portrait. One or the other.’
+
+‘I am not accountable for Mr. Crisparkle’s mentioning the matter to me,
+quite openly,’ Neville begins.
+
+‘No; that’s true; you are not,’ Edwin Drood assents.
+
+‘But,’ resumes Neville, ‘I am accountable for mentioning it to you. And
+I did so, on the supposition that you could not fail to be highly proud
+of it.’
+
+Now, there are these two curious touches of human nature working the
+secret springs of this dialogue. Neville Landless is already enough
+impressed by Little Rosebud, to feel indignant that Edwin Drood (far
+below her) should hold his prize so lightly. Edwin Drood is already
+enough impressed by Helena, to feel indignant that Helena’s brother (far
+below her) should dispose of him so coolly, and put him out of the way so
+entirely.
+
+However, the last remark had better be answered. So, says Edwin:
+
+‘I don’t know, Mr. Neville’ (adopting that mode of address from Mr.
+Crisparkle), ‘that what people are proudest of, they usually talk most
+about; I don’t know either, that what they are proudest of, they most
+like other people to talk about. But I live a busy life, and I speak
+under correction by you readers, who ought to know everything, and I
+daresay do.’
+
+By this time they had both become savage; Mr. Neville out in the open;
+Edwin Drood under the transparent cover of a popular tune, and a stop now
+and then to pretend to admire picturesque effects in the moonlight before
+him.
+
+‘It does not seem to me very civil in you,’ remarks Neville, at length,
+‘to reflect upon a stranger who comes here, not having had your
+advantages, to try to make up for lost time. But, to be sure, I was not
+brought up in “busy life,” and my ideas of civility were formed among
+Heathens.’
+
+‘Perhaps, the best civility, whatever kind of people we are brought up
+among,’ retorts Edwin Drood, ‘is to mind our own business. If you will
+set me that example, I promise to follow it.’
+
+‘Do you know that you take a great deal too much upon yourself?’ is the
+angry rejoinder, ‘and that in the part of the world I come from, you
+would be called to account for it?’
+
+‘By whom, for instance?’ asks Edwin Drood, coming to a halt, and
+surveying the other with a look of disdain.
+
+But, here a startling right hand is laid on Edwin’s shoulder, and Jasper
+stands between them. For, it would seem that he, too, has strolled round
+by the Nuns’ House, and has come up behind them on the shadowy side of
+the road.
+
+‘Ned, Ned, Ned!’ he says; ‘we must have no more of this. I don’t like
+this. I have overheard high words between you two. Remember, my dear
+boy, you are almost in the position of host to-night. You belong, as it
+were, to the place, and in a manner represent it towards a stranger. Mr.
+Neville is a stranger, and you should respect the obligations of
+hospitality. And, Mr. Neville,’ laying his left hand on the inner
+shoulder of that young gentleman, and thus walking on between them, hand
+to shoulder on either side: ‘you will pardon me; but I appeal to you to
+govern your temper too. Now, what is amiss? But why ask! Let there be
+nothing amiss, and the question is superfluous. We are all three on a
+good understanding, are we not?’
+
+After a silent struggle between the two young men who shall speak last,
+Edwin Drood strikes in with: ‘So far as I am concerned, Jack, there is no
+anger in me.’
+
+‘Nor in me,’ says Neville Landless, though not so freely; or perhaps so
+carelessly. ‘But if Mr. Drood knew all that lies behind me, far away
+from here, he might know better how it is that sharp-edged words have
+sharp edges to wound me.’
+
+‘Perhaps,’ says Jasper, in a soothing manner, ‘we had better not qualify
+our good understanding. We had better not say anything having the
+appearance of a remonstrance or condition; it might not seem generous.
+Frankly and freely, you see there is no anger in Ned. Frankly and
+freely, there is no anger in you, Mr. Neville?’
+
+‘None at all, Mr. Jasper.’ Still, not quite so frankly or so freely; or,
+be it said once again, not quite so carelessly perhaps.
+
+‘All over then! Now, my bachelor gatehouse is a few yards from here, and
+the heater is on the fire, and the wine and glasses are on the table, and
+it is not a stone’s throw from Minor Canon Corner. Ned, you are up and
+away to-morrow. We will carry Mr. Neville in with us, to take a
+stirrup-cup.’
+
+‘With all my heart, Jack.’
+
+‘And with all mine, Mr. Jasper.’ Neville feels it impossible to say
+less, but would rather not go. He has an impression upon him that he has
+lost hold of his temper; feels that Edwin Drood’s coolness, so far from
+being infectious, makes him red-hot.
+
+Mr. Jasper, still walking in the centre, hand to shoulder on either side,
+beautifully turns the Refrain of a drinking song, and they all go up to
+his rooms. There, the first object visible, when he adds the light of a
+lamp to that of the fire, is the portrait over the chimneypicce. It is
+not an object calculated to improve the understanding between the two
+young men, as rather awkwardly reviving the subject of their difference.
+Accordingly, they both glance at it consciously, but say nothing.
+Jasper, however (who would appear from his conduct to have gained but an
+imperfect clue to the cause of their late high words), directly calls
+attention to it.
+
+‘You recognise that picture, Mr. Neville?’ shading the lamp to throw the
+light upon it.
+
+‘I recognise it, but it is far from flattering the original.’
+
+‘O, you are hard upon it! It was done by Ned, who made me a present of
+it.’
+
+‘I am sorry for that, Mr. Drood.’ Neville apologises, with a real
+intention to apologise; ‘if I had known I was in the artist’s presence—’
+
+‘O, a joke, sir, a mere joke,’ Edwin cuts in, with a provoking yawn. ‘A
+little humouring of Pussy’s points! I’m going to paint her gravely, one
+of these days, if she’s good.’
+
+The air of leisurely patronage and indifference with which this is said,
+as the speaker throws himself back in a chair and clasps his hands at the
+back of his head, as a rest for it, is very exasperating to the excitable
+and excited Neville. Jasper looks observantly from the one to the other,
+slightly smiles, and turns his back to mix a jug of mulled wine at the
+fire. It seems to require much mixing and compounding.
+
+‘I suppose, Mr. Neville,’ says Edwin, quick to resent the indignant
+protest against himself in the face of young Landless, which is fully as
+visible as the portrait, or the fire, or the lamp: ‘I suppose that if you
+painted the picture of your lady love—’
+
+‘I can’t paint,’ is the hasty interruption.
+
+‘That’s your misfortune, and not your fault. You would if you could.
+But if you could, I suppose you would make her (no matter what she was in
+reality), Juno, Minerva, Diana, and Venus, all in one. Eh?’
+
+‘I have no lady love, and I can’t say.’
+
+‘If I were to try my hand,’ says Edwin, with a boyish boastfulness
+getting up in him, ‘on a portrait of Miss Landless—in earnest, mind you;
+in earnest—you should see what I could do!’
+
+‘My sister’s consent to sit for it being first got, I suppose? As it
+never will be got, I am afraid I shall never see what you can do. I must
+bear the loss.’
+
+Jasper turns round from the fire, fills a large goblet glass for Neville,
+fills a large goblet glass for Edwin, and hands each his own; then fills
+for himself, saying:
+
+‘Come, Mr. Neville, we are to drink to my nephew, Ned. As it is his foot
+that is in the stirrup—metaphorically—our stirrup-cup is to be devoted to
+him. Ned, my dearest fellow, my love!’
+
+Jasper sets the example of nearly emptying his glass, and Neville follows
+it. Edwin Drood says, ‘Thank you both very much,’ and follows the double
+example.
+
+‘Look at him,’ cries Jasper, stretching out his hand admiringly and
+tenderly, though rallyingly too. ‘See where he lounges so easily, Mr.
+Neville! The world is all before him where to choose. A life of
+stirring work and interest, a life of change and excitement, a life of
+domestic ease and love! Look at him!’
+
+Edwin Drood’s face has become quickly and remarkably flushed with the
+wine; so has the face of Neville Landless. Edwin still sits thrown back
+in his chair, making that rest of clasped hands for his head.
+
+‘See how little he heeds it all!’ Jasper proceeds in a bantering vein.
+‘It is hardly worth his while to pluck the golden fruit that hangs ripe
+on the tree for him. And yet consider the contrast, Mr. Neville. You
+and I have no prospect of stirring work and interest, or of change and
+excitement, or of domestic ease and love. You and I have no prospect
+(unless you are more fortunate than I am, which may easily be), but the
+tedious unchanging round of this dull place.’
+
+‘Upon my soul, Jack,’ says Edwin, complacently, ‘I feel quite apologetic
+for having my way smoothed as you describe. But you know what I know,
+Jack, and it may not be so very easy as it seems, after all. May it,
+Pussy?’ To the portrait, with a snap of his thumb and finger. ‘We have
+got to hit it off yet; haven’t we, Pussy? You know what I mean, Jack.’
+
+ [Picture: On dangerous ground]
+
+His speech has become thick and indistinct. Jasper, quiet and
+self-possessed, looks to Neville, as expecting his answer or comment.
+When Neville speaks, _his_ speech is also thick and indistinct.
+
+‘It might have been better for Mr. Drood to have known some hardships,’
+he says, defiantly.
+
+‘Pray,’ retorts Edwin, turning merely his eyes in that direction, ‘pray
+why might it have been better for Mr. Drood to have known some
+hardships?’
+
+‘Ay,’ Jasper assents, with an air of interest; ‘let us know why?’
+
+‘Because they might have made him more sensible,’ says Neville, ‘of good
+fortune that is not by any means necessarily the result of his own
+merits.’
+
+Mr. Jasper quickly looks to his nephew for his rejoinder.
+
+‘Have _you_ known hardships, may I ask?’ says Edwin Drood, sitting
+upright.
+
+Mr. Jasper quickly looks to the other for his retort.
+
+‘I have.’
+
+‘And what have they made you sensible of?’
+
+Mr. Jasper’s play of eyes between the two holds good throughout the
+dialogue, to the end.
+
+‘I have told you once before to-night.’
+
+‘You have done nothing of the sort.’
+
+‘I tell you I have. That you take a great deal too much upon yourself.’
+
+‘You added something else to that, if I remember?’
+
+‘Yes, I did say something else.’
+
+‘Say it again.’
+
+‘I said that in the part of the world I come from, you would be called to
+account for it.’
+
+‘Only there?’ cries Edwin Drood, with a contemptuous laugh. ‘A long way
+off, I believe? Yes; I see! That part of the world is at a safe
+distance.’
+
+‘Say here, then,’ rejoins the other, rising in a fury. ‘Say anywhere!
+Your vanity is intolerable, your conceit is beyond endurance; you talk as
+if you were some rare and precious prize, instead of a common boaster.
+You are a common fellow, and a common boaster.’
+
+‘Pooh, pooh,’ says Edwin Drood, equally furious, but more collected; ‘how
+should you know? You may know a black common fellow, or a black common
+boaster, when you see him (and no doubt you have a large acquaintance
+that way); but you are no judge of white men.’
+
+This insulting allusion to his dark skin infuriates Neville to that
+violent degree, that he flings the dregs of his wine at Edwin Drood, and
+is in the act of flinging the goblet after it, when his arm is caught in
+the nick of time by Jasper.
+
+‘Ned, my dear fellow!’ he cries in a loud voice; ‘I entreat you, I
+command you, to be still!’ There has been a rush of all the three, and a
+clattering of glasses and overturning of chairs. ‘Mr. Neville, for
+shame! Give this glass to me. Open your hand, sir. I WILL have it!’
+
+But Neville throws him off, and pauses for an instant, in a raging
+passion, with the goblet yet in his uplifted hand. Then, he dashes it
+down under the grate, with such force that the broken splinters fly out
+again in a shower; and he leaves the house.
+
+When he first emerges into the night air, nothing around him is still or
+steady; nothing around him shows like what it is; he only knows that he
+stands with a bare head in the midst of a blood-red whirl, waiting to be
+struggled with, and to struggle to the death.
+
+But, nothing happening, and the moon looking down upon him as if he were
+dead after a fit of wrath, he holds his steam-hammer beating head and
+heart, and staggers away. Then, he becomes half-conscious of having
+heard himself bolted and barred out, like a dangerous animal; and thinks
+what shall he do?
+
+Some wildly passionate ideas of the river dissolve under the spell of the
+moonlight on the Cathedral and the graves, and the remembrance of his
+sister, and the thought of what he owes to the good man who has but that
+very day won his confidence and given him his pledge. He repairs to
+Minor Canon Corner, and knocks softly at the door.
+
+It is Mr. Crisparkle’s custom to sit up last of the early household, very
+softly touching his piano and practising his favourite parts in concerted
+vocal music. The south wind that goes where it lists, by way of Minor
+Canon Corner on a still night, is not more subdued than Mr. Crisparkle at
+such times, regardful of the slumbers of the china shepherdess.
+
+His knock is immediately answered by Mr. Crisparkle himself. When he
+opens the door, candle in hand, his cheerful face falls, and disappointed
+amazement is in it.
+
+‘Mr. Neville! In this disorder! Where have you been?’
+
+‘I have been to Mr. Jasper’s, sir. With his nephew.’
+
+‘Come in.’
+
+The Minor Canon props him by the elbow with a strong hand (in a strictly
+scientific manner, worthy of his morning trainings), and turns him into
+his own little book-room, and shuts the door.’
+
+‘I have begun ill, sir. I have begun dreadfully ill.’
+
+‘Too true. You are not sober, Mr. Neville.’
+
+‘I am afraid I am not, sir, though I can satisfy you at another time that
+I have had a very little indeed to drink, and that it overcame me in the
+strangest and most sudden manner.’
+
+‘Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville,’ says the Minor Canon, shaking his head with a
+sorrowful smile; ‘I have heard that said before.’
+
+‘I think—my mind is much confused, but I think—it is equally true of Mr.
+Jasper’s nephew, sir.’
+
+‘Very likely,’ is the dry rejoinder.
+
+‘We quarrelled, sir. He insulted me most grossly. He had heated that
+tigerish blood I told you of to-day, before then.’
+
+‘Mr. Neville,’ rejoins the Minor Canon, mildly, but firmly: ‘I request
+you not to speak to me with that clenched right hand. Unclench it, if
+you please.’
+
+‘He goaded me, sir,’ pursues the young man, instantly obeying, ‘beyond my
+power of endurance. I cannot say whether or no he meant it at first, but
+he did it. He certainly meant it at last. In short, sir,’ with an
+irrepressible outburst, ‘in the passion into which he lashed me, I would
+have cut him down if I could, and I tried to do it.’
+
+‘You have clenched that hand again,’ is Mr. Crisparkle’s quiet
+commentary.
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir.’
+
+‘You know your room, for I showed it you before dinner; but I will
+accompany you to it once more. Your arm, if you please. Softly, for the
+house is all a-bed.’
+
+Scooping his hand into the same scientific elbow-rest as before, and
+backing it up with the inert strength of his arm, as skilfully as a
+Police Expert, and with an apparent repose quite unattainable by novices,
+Mr. Crisparkle conducts his pupil to the pleasant and orderly old room
+prepared for him. Arrived there, the young man throws himself into a
+chair, and, flinging his arms upon his reading-table, rests his head upon
+them with an air of wretched self-reproach.
+
+The gentle Minor Canon has had it in his thoughts to leave the room,
+without a word. But looking round at the door, and seeing this dejected
+figure, he turns back to it, touches it with a mild hand, says ‘Good
+night!’ A sob is his only acknowledgment. He might have had many a
+worse; perhaps, could have had few better.
+
+Another soft knock at the outer door attracts his attention as he goes
+down-stairs. He opens it to Mr. Jasper, holding in his hand the pupil’s
+hat.
+
+‘We have had an awful scene with him,’ says Jasper, in a low voice.
+
+‘Has it been so bad as that?’
+
+‘Murderous!’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle remonstrates: ‘No, no, no. Do not use such strong words.’
+
+‘He might have laid my dear boy dead at my feet. It is no fault of his,
+that he did not. But that I was, through the mercy of God, swift and
+strong with him, he would have cut him down on my hearth.’
+
+The phrase smites home. ‘Ah!’ thinks Mr. Crisparkle, ‘his own words!’
+
+‘Seeing what I have seen to-night, and hearing what I have heard,’ adds
+Jasper, with great earnestness, ‘I shall never know peace of mind when
+there is danger of those two coming together, with no one else to
+interfere. It was horrible. There is something of the tiger in his dark
+blood.’
+
+‘Ah!’ thinks Mr. Crisparkle, ‘so he said!’
+
+‘You, my dear sir,’ pursues Jasper, taking his hand, ‘even you, have
+accepted a dangerous charge.’
+
+‘You need have no fear for me, Jasper,’ returns Mr. Crisparkle, with a
+quiet smile. ‘I have none for myself.’
+
+‘I have none for myself,’ returns Jasper, with an emphasis on the last
+pronoun, ‘because I am not, nor am I in the way of being, the object of
+his hostility. But you may be, and my dear boy has been. Good night!’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle goes in, with the hat that has so easily, so almost
+imperceptibly, acquired the right to be hung up in his hall; hangs it up;
+and goes thoughtfully to bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX—BIRDS IN THE BUSH
+
+
+Rosa, having no relation that she knew of in the world, had, from the
+seventh year of her age, known no home but the Nuns’ House, and no mother
+but Miss Twinkleton. Her remembrance of her own mother was of a pretty
+little creature like herself (not much older than herself it seemed to
+her), who had been brought home in her father’s arms, drowned. The fatal
+accident had happened at a party of pleasure. Every fold and colour in
+the pretty summer dress, and even the long wet hair, with scattered
+petals of ruined flowers still clinging to it, as the dead young figure,
+in its sad, sad beauty lay upon the bed, were fixed indelibly in Rosa’s
+recollection. So were the wild despair and the subsequent bowed-down
+grief of her poor young father, who died broken-hearted on the first
+anniversary of that hard day.
+
+The betrothal of Rosa grew out of the soothing of his year of mental
+distress by his fast friend and old college companion, Drood: who
+likewise had been left a widower in his youth. But he, too, went the
+silent road into which all earthly pilgrimages merge, some sooner, and
+some later; and thus the young couple had come to be as they were.
+
+The atmosphere of pity surrounding the little orphan girl when she first
+came to Cloisterham, had never cleared away. It had taken brighter hues
+as she grew older, happier, prettier; now it had been golden, now
+roseate, and now azure; but it had always adorned her with some soft
+light of its own. The general desire to console and caress her, had
+caused her to be treated in the beginning as a child much younger than
+her years; the same desire had caused her to be still petted when she was
+a child no longer. Who should be her favourite, who should anticipate
+this or that small present, or do her this or that small service; who
+should take her home for the holidays; who should write to her the
+oftenest when they were separated, and whom she would most rejoice to see
+again when they were reunited; even these gentle rivalries were not
+without their slight dashes of bitterness in the Nuns’ House. Well for
+the poor Nuns in their day, if they hid no harder strife under their
+veils and rosaries!
+
+Thus Rosa had grown to be an amiable, giddy, wilful, winning little
+creature; spoilt, in the sense of counting upon kindness from all around
+her; but not in the sense of repaying it with indifference. Possessing
+an exhaustless well of affection in her nature, its sparkling waters had
+freshened and brightened the Nuns’ House for years, and yet its depths
+had never yet been moved: what might betide when that came to pass; what
+developing changes might fall upon the heedless head, and light heart,
+then; remained to be seen.
+
+By what means the news that there had been a quarrel between the two
+young men overnight, involving even some kind of onslaught by Mr. Neville
+upon Edwin Drood, got into Miss Twinkleton’s establishment before
+breakfast, it is impossible to say. Whether it was brought in by the
+birds of the air, or came blowing in with the very air itself, when the
+casement windows were set open; whether the baker brought it kneaded into
+the bread, or the milkman delivered it as part of the adulteration of his
+milk; or the housemaids, beating the dust out of their mats against the
+gateposts, received it in exchange deposited on the mats by the town
+atmosphere; certain it is that the news permeated every gable of the old
+building before Miss Twinkleton was down, and that Miss Twinkleton
+herself received it through Mrs. Tisher, while yet in the act of
+dressing; or (as she might have expressed the phrase to a parent or
+guardian of a mythological turn) of sacrificing to the Graces.
+
+Miss Landless’s brother had thrown a bottle at Mr. Edwin Drood.
+
+Miss Landless’s brother had thrown a knife at Mr. Edwin Drood.
+
+A knife became suggestive of a fork; and Miss Landless’s brother had
+thrown a fork at Mr. Edwin Drood.
+
+As in the governing precedence of Peter Piper, alleged to have picked the
+peck of pickled pepper, it was held physically desirable to have evidence
+of the existence of the peck of pickled pepper which Peter Piper was
+alleged to have picked; so, in this case, it was held psychologically
+important to know why Miss Landless’s brother threw a bottle, knife, or
+fork-or bottle, knife, _and_ fork—for the cook had been given to
+understand it was all three—at Mr. Edwin Drood?
+
+Well, then. Miss Landless’s brother had said he admired Miss Bud. Mr.
+Edwin Drood had said to Miss Landless’s brother that he had no business
+to admire Miss Bud. Miss Landless’s brother had then ‘up’d’ (this was
+the cook’s exact information) with the bottle, knife, fork, and decanter
+(the decanter now coolly flying at everybody’s head, without the least
+introduction), and thrown them all at Mr. Edwin Drood.
+
+Poor little Rosa put a forefinger into each of her ears when these
+rumours began to circulate, and retired into a corner, beseeching not to
+be told any more; but Miss Landless, begging permission of Miss
+Twinkleton to go and speak with her brother, and pretty plainly showing
+that she would take it if it were not given, struck out the more definite
+course of going to Mr. Crisparkle’s for accurate intelligence.
+
+When she came back (being first closeted with Miss Twinkleton, in order
+that anything objectionable in her tidings might be retained by that
+discreet filter), she imparted to Rosa only, what had taken place;
+dwelling with a flushed cheek on the provocation her brother had
+received, but almost limiting it to that last gross affront as crowning
+‘some other words between them,’ and, out of consideration for her new
+friend, passing lightly over the fact that the other words had originated
+in her lover’s taking things in general so very easily. To Rosa direct,
+she brought a petition from her brother that she would forgive him; and,
+having delivered it with sisterly earnestness, made an end of the
+subject.
+
+It was reserved for Miss Twinkleton to tone down the public mind of the
+Nuns’ House. That lady, therefore, entering in a stately manner what
+plebeians might have called the school-room, but what, in the patrician
+language of the head of the Nuns’ House, was euphuistically, not to say
+round-aboutedly, denominated ‘the apartment allotted to study,’ and
+saying with a forensic air, ‘Ladies!’ all rose. Mrs. Tisher at the same
+time grouped herself behind her chief, as representing Queen Elizabeth’s
+first historical female friend at Tilbury fort. Miss Twinkleton then
+proceeded to remark that Rumour, Ladies, had been represented by the bard
+of Avon—needless were it to mention the immortal SHAKESPEARE, also called
+the Swan of his native river, not improbably with some reference to the
+ancient superstition that that bird of graceful plumage (Miss Jennings
+will please stand upright) sang sweetly on the approach of death, for
+which we have no ornithological authority,—Rumour, Ladies, had been
+represented by that bard—hem!—
+
+ ‘who drew
+ The celebrated Jew,’
+
+as painted full of tongues. Rumour in Cloisterham (Miss Ferdinand will
+honour me with her attention) was no exception to the great limner’s
+portrait of Rumour elsewhere. A slight _fracas_ between two young
+gentlemen occurring last night within a hundred miles of these peaceful
+walls (Miss Ferdinand, being apparently incorrigible, will have the
+kindness to write out this evening, in the original language, the first
+four fables of our vivacious neighbour, Monsieur La Fontaine) had been
+very grossly exaggerated by Rumour’s voice. In the first alarm and
+anxiety arising from our sympathy with a sweet young friend, not wholly
+to be dissociated from one of the gladiators in the bloodless arena in
+question (the impropriety of Miss Reynolds’s appearing to stab herself in
+the hand with a pin, is far too obvious, and too glaringly unladylike, to
+be pointed out), we descended from our maiden elevation to discuss this
+uncongenial and this unfit theme. Responsible inquiries having assured
+us that it was but one of those ‘airy nothings’ pointed at by the Poet
+(whose name and date of birth Miss Giggles will supply within half an
+hour), we would now discard the subject, and concentrate our minds upon
+the grateful labours of the day.
+
+But the subject so survived all day, nevertheless, that Miss Ferdinand
+got into new trouble by surreptitiously clapping on a paper moustache at
+dinner-time, and going through the motions of aiming a water-bottle at
+Miss Giggles, who drew a table-spoon in defence.
+
+Now, Rosa thought of this unlucky quarrel a great deal, and thought of it
+with an uncomfortable feeling that she was involved in it, as cause, or
+consequence, or what not, through being in a false position altogether as
+to her marriage engagement. Never free from such uneasiness when she was
+with her affianced husband, it was not likely that she would be free from
+it when they were apart. To-day, too, she was cast in upon herself, and
+deprived of the relief of talking freely with her new friend, because the
+quarrel had been with Helena’s brother, and Helena undisguisedly avoided
+the subject as a delicate and difficult one to herself. At this critical
+time, of all times, Rosa’s guardian was announced as having come to see
+her.
+
+Mr. Grewgious had been well selected for his trust, as a man of
+incorruptible integrity, but certainly for no other appropriate quality
+discernible on the surface. He was an arid, sandy man, who, if he had
+been put into a grinding-mill, looked as if he would have ground
+immediately into high-dried snuff. He had a scanty flat crop of hair, in
+colour and consistency like some very mangy yellow fur tippet; it was so
+unlike hair, that it must have been a wig, but for the stupendous
+improbability of anybody’s voluntarily sporting such a head. The little
+play of feature that his face presented, was cut deep into it, in a few
+hard curves that made it more like work; and he had certain notches in
+his forehead, which looked as though Nature had been about to touch them
+into sensibility or refinement, when she had impatiently thrown away the
+chisel, and said: ‘I really cannot be worried to finish off this man; let
+him go as he is.’
+
+With too great length of throat at his upper end, and too much ankle-bone
+and heel at his lower; with an awkward and hesitating manner; with a
+shambling walk; and with what is called a near sight—which perhaps
+prevented his observing how much white cotton stocking he displayed to
+the public eye, in contrast with his black suit—Mr. Grewgious still had
+some strange capacity in him of making on the whole an agreeable
+impression.
+
+Mr. Grewgious was discovered by his ward, much discomfited by being in
+Miss Twinkleton’s company in Miss Twinkleton’s own sacred room. Dim
+forebodings of being examined in something, and not coming well out of
+it, seemed to oppress the poor gentleman when found in these
+circumstances.
+
+‘My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you. My dear, how much
+improved you are. Permit me to hand you a chair, my dear.’
+
+Miss Twinkleton rose at her little writing-table, saying, with general
+sweetness, as to the polite Universe: ‘Will you permit me to retire?’
+
+‘By no means, madam, on my account. I beg that you will not move.’
+
+‘I must entreat permission to _move_,’ returned Miss Twinkleton,
+repeating the word with a charming grace; ‘but I will not withdraw, since
+you are so obliging. If I wheel my desk to this corner window, shall I
+be in the way?’
+
+‘Madam! In the way!’
+
+‘You are very kind.—Rosa, my dear, you will be under no restraint, I am
+sure.’
+
+Here Mr. Grewgious, left by the fire with Rosa, said again: ‘My dear, how
+do you do? I am glad to see you, my dear.’ And having waited for her to
+sit down, sat down himself.
+
+‘My visits,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘are, like those of the angels—not that
+I compare myself to an angel.’
+
+‘No, sir,’ said Rosa.
+
+‘Not by any means,’ assented Mr. Grewgious. ‘I merely refer to my
+visits, which are few and far between. The angels are, we know very
+well, up-stairs.’
+
+Miss Twinkleton looked round with a kind of stiff stare.
+
+‘I refer, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, laying his hand on Rosa’s, as the
+possibility thrilled through his frame of his otherwise seeming to take
+the awful liberty of calling Miss Twinkleton my dear; ‘I refer to the
+other young ladies.’
+
+Miss Twinkleton resumed her writing.
+
+Mr. Grewgious, with a sense of not having managed his opening point quite
+as neatly as he might have desired, smoothed his head from back to front
+as if he had just dived, and were pressing the water out—this smoothing
+action, however superfluous, was habitual with him—and took a pocket-book
+from his coat-pocket, and a stump of black-lead pencil from his
+waistcoat-pocket.
+
+‘I made,’ he said, turning the leaves: ‘I made a guiding memorandum or
+so—as I usually do, for I have no conversational powers whatever—to which
+I will, with your permission, my dear, refer. “Well and happy.” Truly.
+You are well and happy, my dear? You look so.’
+
+‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ answered Rosa.
+
+‘For which,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with a bend of his head towards the
+corner window, ‘our warmest acknowledgments are due, and I am sure are
+rendered, to the maternal kindness and the constant care and
+consideration of the lady whom I have now the honour to see before me.’
+
+This point, again, made but a lame departure from Mr. Grewgious, and
+never got to its destination; for, Miss Twinkleton, feeling that the
+courtesies required her to be by this time quite outside the
+conversation, was biting the end of her pen, and looking upward, as
+waiting for the descent of an idea from any member of the Celestial Nine
+who might have one to spare.
+
+Mr. Grewgious smoothed his smooth head again, and then made another
+reference to his pocket-book; lining out ‘well and happy,’ as disposed
+of.
+
+‘“Pounds, shillings, and pence,” is my next note. A dry subject for a
+young lady, but an important subject too. Life is pounds, shillings, and
+pence. Death is—’ A sudden recollection of the death of her two parents
+seemed to stop him, and he said in a softer tone, and evidently inserting
+the negative as an after-thought: ‘Death is _not_ pounds, shillings, and
+pence.’
+
+His voice was as hard and dry as himself, and Fancy might have ground it
+straight, like himself, into high-dried snuff. And yet, through the very
+limited means of expression that he possessed, he seemed to express
+kindness. If Nature had but finished him off, kindness might have been
+recognisable in his face at this moment. But if the notches in his
+forehead wouldn’t fuse together, and if his face would work and couldn’t
+play, what could he do, poor man!
+
+‘“Pounds, shillings, and pence.” You find your allowance always
+sufficient for your wants, my dear?’
+
+Rosa wanted for nothing, and therefore it was ample.
+
+‘And you are not in debt?’
+
+Rosa laughed at the idea of being in debt. It seemed, to her
+inexperience, a comical vagary of the imagination. Mr. Grewgious
+stretched his near sight to be sure that this was her view of the case.
+‘Ah!’ he said, as comment, with a furtive glance towards Miss Twinkleton,
+and lining out pounds, shillings, and pence: ‘I spoke of having got among
+the angels! So I did!’
+
+Rosa felt what his next memorandum would prove to be, and was blushing
+and folding a crease in her dress with one embarrassed hand, long before
+he found it.
+
+‘“Marriage.” Hem!’ Mr. Grewgious carried his smoothing hand down over
+his eyes and nose, and even chin, before drawing his chair a little
+nearer, and speaking a little more confidentially: ‘I now touch, my dear,
+upon the point that is the direct cause of my troubling you with the
+present visit. Othenwise, being a particularly Angular man, I should not
+have intruded here. I am the last man to intrude into a sphere for which
+I am so entirely unfitted. I feel, on these premises, as if I was a
+bear—with the cramp—in a youthful Cotillon.’
+
+His ungainliness gave him enough of the air of his simile to set Rosa off
+laughing heartily.
+
+‘It strikes you in the same light,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with perfect
+calmness. ‘Just so. To return to my memorandum. Mr. Edwin has been to
+and fro here, as was arranged. You have mentioned that, in your
+quarterly letters to me. And you like him, and he likes you.’
+
+‘I _like_ him very much, sir,’ rejoined Rosa.
+
+‘So I said, my dear,’ returned her guardian, for whose ear the timid
+emphasis was much too fine. ‘Good. And you correspond.’
+
+‘We write to one another,’ said Rosa, pouting, as she recalled their
+epistolary differences.
+
+‘Such is the meaning that I attach to the word “correspond” in this
+application, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Good. All goes well, time
+works on, and at this next Christmas-time it will become necessary, as a
+matter of form, to give the exemplary lady in the corner window, to whom
+we are so much indebted, business notice of your departure in the ensuing
+half-year. Your relations with her are far more than business relations,
+no doubt; but a residue of business remains in them, and business is
+business ever. I am a particularly Angular man,’ proceeded Mr.
+Grewgious, as if it suddenly occurred to him to mention it, ‘and I am not
+used to give anything away. If, for these two reasons, some competent
+Proxy would give _you_ away, I should take it very kindly.’
+
+Rosa intimated, with her eyes on the ground, that she thought a
+substitute might be found, if required.
+
+‘Surely, surely,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘For instance, the gentleman who
+teaches Dancing here—he would know how to do it with graceful propriety.
+He would advance and retire in a manner satisfactory to the feelings of
+the officiating clergyman, and of yourself, and the bridegroom, and all
+parties concerned. I am—I am a particularly Angular man,’ said Mr.
+Grewgious, as if he had made up his mind to screw it out at last: ‘and
+should only blunder.’
+
+Rosa sat still and silent. Perhaps her mind had not got quite so far as
+the ceremony yet, but was lagging on the way there.
+
+‘Memorandum, “Will.” Now, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, referring to his
+notes, disposing of ‘Marriage’ with his pencil, and taking a paper from
+his pocket; ‘although. I have before possessed you with the contents of
+your father’s will, I think it right at this time to leave a certified
+copy of it in your hands. And although Mr. Edwin is also aware of its
+contents, I think it right at this time likewise to place a certified
+copy of it in Mr. Jasper’s hand—’
+
+‘Not in his own!’ asked Rosa, looking up quickly. ‘Cannot the copy go to
+Eddy himself?’
+
+‘Why, yes, my dear, if you particularly wish it; but I spoke of Mr.
+Jasper as being his trustee.’
+
+‘I do particularly wish it, if you please,’ said Rosa, hurriedly and
+earnestly; ‘I don’t like Mr. Jasper to come between us, in any way.’
+
+‘It is natural, I suppose,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘that your young husband
+should be all in all. Yes. You observe that I say, I suppose. The fact
+is, I am a particularly Unnatural man, and I don’t know from my own
+knowledge.’
+
+Rosa looked at him with some wonder.
+
+‘I mean,’ he explained, ‘that young ways were never my ways. I was the
+only offspring of parents far advanced in life, and I half believe I was
+born advanced in life myself. No personality is intended towards the
+name you will so soon change, when I remark that while the general growth
+of people seem to have come into existence, buds, I seem to have come
+into existence a chip. I was a chip—and a very dry one—when I first
+became aware of myself. Respecting the other certified copy, your wish
+shall be complied with. Respecting your inheritance, I think you know
+all. It is an annuity of two hundred and fifty pounds. The savings upon
+that annuity, and some other items to your credit, all duly carried to
+account, with vouchers, will place you in possession of a lump-sum of
+money, rather exceeding Seventeen Hundred Pounds. I am empowered to
+advance the cost of your preparations for your marriage out of that fund.
+All is told.’
+
+‘Will you please tell me,’ said Rosa, taking the paper with a prettily
+knitted brow, but not opening it: ‘whether I am right in what I am going
+to say? I can understand what you tell me, so very much better than what
+I read in law-writings. My poor papa and Eddy’s father made their
+agreement together, as very dear and firm and fast friends, in order that
+we, too, might be very dear and firm and fast friends after them?’
+
+‘Just so.’
+
+‘For the lasting good of both of us, and the lasting happiness of both of
+us?’
+
+‘Just so.’
+
+‘That we might be to one another even much more than they had been to one
+another?’
+
+‘Just so.’
+
+‘It was not bound upon Eddy, and it was not bound upon me, by any
+forfeit, in case—’
+
+‘Don’t be agitated, my dear. In the case that it brings tears into your
+affectionate eyes even to picture to yourself—in the case of your not
+marrying one another—no, no forfeiture on either side. You would then
+have been my ward until you were of age. No worse would have befallen
+you. Bad enough perhaps!’
+
+‘And Eddy?’
+
+‘He would have come into his partnership derived from his father, and
+into its arrears to his credit (if any), on attaining his majority, just
+as now.’
+
+Rosa, with her perplexed face and knitted brow, bit the corner of her
+attested copy, as she sat with her head on one side, looking abstractedly
+on the floor, and smoothing it with her foot.
+
+‘In short,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘this betrothal is a wish, a sentiment, a
+friendly project, tenderly expressed on both sides. That it was strongly
+felt, and that there was a lively hope that it would prosper, there can
+be no doubt. When you were both children, you began to be accustomed to
+it, and it _has_ prospered. But circumstances alter cases; and I made
+this visit to-day, partly, indeed principally, to discharge myself of the
+duty of telling you, my dear, that two young people can only be betrothed
+in marriage (except as a matter of convenience, and therefore mockery and
+misery) of their own free will, their own attachment, and their own
+assurance (it may or it may not prove a mistaken one, but we must take
+our chance of that), that they are suited to each other, and will make
+each other happy. Is it to be supposed, for example, that if either of
+your fathers were living now, and had any mistrust on that subject, his
+mind would not be changed by the change of circumstances involved in the
+change of your years? Untenable, unreasonable, inconclusive, and
+preposterous!’
+
+Mr. Grewgious said all this, as if he were reading it aloud; or, still
+more, as if he were repeating a lesson. So expressionless of any
+approach to spontaneity were his face and manner.
+
+‘I have now, my dear,’ he added, blurring out ‘Will’ with his pencil,
+‘discharged myself of what is doubtless a formal duty in this case, but
+still a duty in such a case. Memorandum, “Wishes.” My dear, is there
+any wish of yours that I can further?’
+
+Rosa shook her head, with an almost plaintive air of hesitation in want
+of help.
+
+‘Is there any instruction that I can take from you with reference to your
+affairs?’
+
+‘I—I should like to settle them with Eddy first, if you please,’ said
+Rosa, plaiting the crease in her dress.
+
+‘Surely, surely,’ returned Mr. Grewgious. ‘You two should be of one mind
+in all things. Is the young gentleman expected shortly?’
+
+‘He has gone away only this morning. He will be back at Christmas.’
+
+‘Nothing could happen better. You will, on his return at Christmas,
+arrange all matters of detail with him; you will then communicate with
+me; and I will discharge myself (as a mere business acquaintance) of my
+business responsibilities towards the accomplished lady in the corner
+window. They will accrue at that season.’ Blurring pencil once again.
+‘Memorandum, “Leave.” Yes. I will now, my dear, take my leave.’
+
+‘Could I,’ said Rosa, rising, as he jerked out of his chair in his
+ungainly way: ‘could I ask you, most kindly to come to me at Christmas,
+if I had anything particular to say to you?’
+
+‘Why, certainly, certainly,’ he rejoined; apparently—if such a word can
+be used of one who had no apparent lights or shadows about
+him—complimented by the question. ‘As a particularly Angular man, I do
+not fit smoothly into the social circle, and consequently I have no other
+engagement at Christmas-time than to partake, on the twenty-fifth, of a
+boiled turkey and celery sauce with a—with a particularly Angular clerk I
+have the good fortune to possess, whose father, being a Norfolk farmer,
+sends him up (the turkey up), as a present to me, from the neighbourhood
+of Norwich. I should be quite proud of your wishing to see me, my dear.
+As a professional Receiver of rents, so very few people _do_ wish to see
+me, that the novelty would be bracing.’
+
+For his ready acquiescence, the grateful Rosa put her hands upon his
+shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and instantly kissed him.
+
+‘Lord bless me!’ cried Mr. Grewgious. ‘Thank you, my dear! The honour
+is almost equal to the pleasure. Miss Twinkleton, madam, I have had a
+most satisfactory conversation with my ward, and I will now release you
+from the incumbrance of my presence.’
+
+‘Nay, sir,’ rejoined Miss Twinkleton, rising with a gracious
+condescension: ‘say not incumbrance. Not so, by any means. I cannot
+permit you to say so.’
+
+‘Thank you, madam. I have read in the newspapers,’ said Mr. Grewgious,
+stammering a little, ‘that when a distinguished visitor (not that I am
+one: far from it) goes to a school (not that this is one: far from it),
+he asks for a holiday, or some sort of grace. It being now the afternoon
+in the—College—of which you are the eminent head, the young ladies might
+gain nothing, except in name, by having the rest of the day allowed them.
+But if there is any young lady at all under a cloud, might I solicit—’
+
+‘Ah, Mr. Grewgious, Mr. Grewgious!’ cried Miss Twinkleton, with a
+chastely-rallying forefinger. ‘O you gentlemen, you gentlemen! Fie for
+shame, that you are so hard upon us poor maligned disciplinarians of our
+sex, for your sakes! But as Miss Ferdinand is at present weighed down by
+an incubus’—Miss Twinkleton might have said a pen-and-ink-ubus of writing
+out Monsieur La Fontaine—‘go to her, Rosa my dear, and tell her the
+penalty is remitted, in deference to the intercession of your guardian,
+Mr. Grewgious.’
+
+Miss Twinkleton here achieved a curtsey, suggestive of marvels happening
+to her respected legs, and which she came out of nobly, three yards
+behind her starting-point.
+
+As he held it incumbent upon him to call on Mr. Jasper before leaving
+Cloisterham, Mr. Grewgious went to the gatehouse, and climbed its postern
+stair. But Mr. Jasper’s door being closed, and presenting on a slip of
+paper the word ‘Cathedral,’ the fact of its being service-time was borne
+into the mind of Mr. Grewgious. So he descended the stair again, and,
+crossing the Close, paused at the great western folding-door of the
+Cathedral, which stood open on the fine and bright, though short-lived,
+afternoon, for the airing of the place.
+
+‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Grewgious, peeping in, ‘it’s like looking down the
+throat of Old Time.’
+
+Old Time heaved a mouldy sigh from tomb and arch and vault; and gloomy
+shadows began to deepen in corners; and damps began to rise from green
+patches of stone; and jewels, cast upon the pavement of the nave from
+stained glass by the declining sun, began to perish. Within the
+grill-gate of the chancel, up the steps surmounted loomingly by the
+fast-darkening organ, white robes could be dimly seen, and one feeble
+voice, rising and falling in a cracked, monotonous mutter, could at
+intervals be faintly heard. In the free outer air, the river, the green
+pastures, and the brown arable lands, the teeming hills and dales, were
+reddened by the sunset: while the distant little windows in windmills and
+farm homesteads, shone, patches of bright beaten gold. In the Cathedral,
+all became gray, murky, and sepulchral, and the cracked monotonous mutter
+went on like a dying voice, until the organ and the choir burst forth,
+and drowned it in a sea of music. Then, the sea fell, and the dying
+voice made another feeble effort, and then the sea rose high, and beat
+its life out, and lashed the roof, and surged among the arches, and
+pierced the heights of the great tower; and then the sea was dry, and all
+was still.
+
+Mr. Grewgious had by that time walked to the chancel-steps, where he met
+the living waters coming out.
+
+‘Nothing is the matter?’ Thus Jasper accosted him, rather quickly. ‘You
+have not been sent for?’
+
+‘Not at all, not at all. I came down of my own accord. I have been to
+my pretty ward’s, and am now homeward bound again.’
+
+‘You found her thriving?’
+
+‘Blooming indeed. Most blooming. I merely came to tell her, seriously,
+what a betrothal by deceased parents is.’
+
+‘And what is it—according to your judgment?’
+
+Mr. Grewgious noticed the whiteness of the lips that asked the question,
+and put it down to the chilling account of the Cathedral.
+
+‘I merely came to tell her that it could not be considered binding,
+against any such reason for its dissolution as a want of affection, or
+want of disposition to carry it into effect, on the side of either
+party.’
+
+‘May I ask, had you any especial reason for telling her that?’
+
+Mr. Grewgious answered somewhat sharply: ‘The especial reason of doing my
+duty, sir. Simply that.’ Then he added: ‘Come, Mr. Jasper; I know your
+affection for your nephew, and that you are quick to feel on his behalf.
+I assure you that this implies not the least doubt of, or disrespect to,
+your nephew.’
+
+‘You could not,’ returned Jasper, with a friendly pressure of his arm, as
+they walked on side by side, ‘speak more handsomely.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious pulled off his hat to smooth his head, and, having smoothed
+it, nodded it contentedly, and put his hat on again.
+
+‘I will wager,’ said Jasper, smiling—his lips were still so white that he
+was conscious of it, and bit and moistened them while speaking: ‘I will
+wager that she hinted no wish to be released from Ned.’
+
+‘And you will win your wager, if you do,’ retorted Mr. Grewgious. ‘We
+should allow some margin for little maidenly delicacies in a young
+motherless creature, under such circumstances, I suppose; it is not in my
+line; what do you think?’
+
+‘There can be no doubt of it.’
+
+‘I am glad you say so. Because,’ proceeded Mr. Grewgious, who had all
+this time very knowingly felt his way round to action on his remembrance
+of what she had said of Jasper himself: ‘because she seems to have some
+little delicate instinct that all preliminary arrangements had best be
+made between Mr. Edwin Drood and herself, don’t you see? She don’t want
+us, don’t you know?’
+
+Jasper touched himself on the breast, and said, somewhat indistinctly:
+‘You mean me.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious touched himself on the breast, and said: ‘I mean us.
+Therefore, let them have their little discussions and councils together,
+when Mr. Edwin Drood comes back here at Christmas; and then you and I
+will step in, and put the final touches to the business.’
+
+‘So, you settled with her that you would come back at Christmas?’
+observed Jasper. ‘I see! Mr. Grewgious, as you quite fairly said just
+now, there is such an exceptional attachment between my nephew and me,
+that I am more sensitive for the dear, fortunate, happy, happy fellow
+than for myself. But it is only right that the young lady should be
+considered, as you have pointed out, and that I should accept my cue from
+you. I accept it. I understand that at Christmas they will complete
+their preparations for May, and that their marriage will be put in final
+train by themselves, and that nothing will remain for us but to put
+ourselves in train also, and have everything ready for our formal release
+from our trusts, on Edwin’s birthday.’
+
+‘That is my understanding,’ assented Mr. Grewgious, as they shook hands
+to part. ‘God bless them both!’
+
+‘God save them both!’ cried Jasper.
+
+‘I said, bless them,’ remarked the former, looking back over his
+shoulder.
+
+‘I said, save them,’ returned the latter. ‘Is there any difference?’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X—SMOOTHING THE WAY
+
+
+It has been often enough remarked that women have a curious power of
+divining the characters of men, which would seem to be innate and
+instinctive; seeing that it is arrived at through no patient process of
+reasoning, that it can give no satisfactory or sufficient account of
+itself, and that it pronounces in the most confident manner even against
+accumulated observation on the part of the other sex. But it has not
+been quite so often remarked that this power (fallible, like every other
+human attribute) is for the most part absolutely incapable of
+self-revision; and that when it has delivered an adverse opinion which by
+all human lights is subsequently proved to have failed, it is
+undistinguishable from prejudice, in respect of its determination not to
+be corrected. Nay, the very possibility of contradiction or disproof,
+however remote, communicates to this feminine judgment from the first, in
+nine cases out of ten, the weakness attendant on the testimony of an
+interested witness; so personally and strongly does the fair diviner
+connect herself with her divination.
+
+‘Now, don’t you think, Ma dear,’ said the Minor Canon to his mother one
+day as she sat at her knitting in his little book-room, ‘that you are
+rather hard on Mr. Neville?’
+
+‘No, I do _not_, Sept,’ returned the old lady.
+
+‘Let us discuss it, Ma.’
+
+‘I have no objection to discuss it, Sept. I trust, my dear, I am always
+open to discussion.’ There was a vibration in the old lady’s cap, as
+though she internally added: ‘and I should like to see the discussion
+that would change _my_ mind!’
+
+‘Very good, Ma,’ said her conciliatory son. ‘There is nothing like being
+open to discussion.’
+
+‘I hope not, my dear,’ returned the old lady, evidently shut to it.
+
+‘Well! Mr. Neville, on that unfortunate occasion, commits himself under
+provocation.’
+
+‘And under mulled wine,’ added the old lady.
+
+‘I must admit the wine. Though I believe the two young men were much
+alike in that regard.’
+
+‘I don’t,’ said the old lady.
+
+‘Why not, Ma?’
+
+‘Because I _don’t_,’ said the old lady. ‘Still, I am quite open to
+discussion.’
+
+‘But, my dear Ma, I cannot see how we are to discuss, if you take that
+line.’
+
+‘Blame Mr. Neville for it, Sept, and not me,’ said the old lady, with
+stately severity.
+
+‘My dear Ma! why Mr. Neville?’
+
+‘Because,’ said Mrs. Crisparkle, retiring on first principles, ‘he came
+home intoxicated, and did great discredit to this house, and showed great
+disrespect to this family.’
+
+‘That is not to be denied, Ma. He was then, and he is now, very sorry
+for it.’
+
+‘But for Mr. Jasper’s well-bred consideration in coming up to me, next
+day, after service, in the Nave itself, with his gown still on, and
+expressing his hope that I had not been greatly alarmed or had my rest
+violently broken, I believe I might never have heard of that disgraceful
+transaction,’ said the old lady.
+
+‘To be candid, Ma, I think I should have kept it from you if I could:
+though I had not decidedly made up my mind. I was following Jasper out,
+to confer with him on the subject, and to consider the expediency of his
+and my jointly hushing the thing up on all accounts, when I found him
+speaking to you. Then it was too late.’
+
+‘Too late, indeed, Sept. He was still as pale as gentlemanly ashes at
+what had taken place in his rooms overnight.’
+
+‘If I _had_ kept it from you, Ma, you may be sure it would have been for
+your peace and quiet, and for the good of the young men, and in my best
+discharge of my duty according to my lights.’
+
+The old lady immediately walked across the room and kissed him: saying,
+‘Of course, my dear Sept, I am sure of that.’
+
+‘However, it became the town-talk,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, rubbing his ear,
+as his mother resumed her seat, and her knitting, ‘and passed out of my
+power.’
+
+‘And I said then, Sept,’ returned the old lady, ‘that I thought ill of
+Mr. Neville. And I say now, that I think ill of Mr. Neville. And I said
+then, and I say now, that I hope Mr. Neville may come to good, but I
+don’t believe he will.’ Here the cap vibrated again considerably.
+
+‘I am sorry to hear you say so, Ma—’
+
+‘I am sorry to say so, my dear,’ interposed the old lady, knitting on
+firmly, ‘but I can’t help it.’
+
+‘—For,’ pursued the Minor Canon, ‘it is undeniable that Mr. Neville is
+exceedingly industrious and attentive, and that he improves apace, and
+that he has—I hope I may say—an attachment to me.’
+
+‘There is no merit in the last article, my dear,’ said the old lady,
+quickly; ‘and if he says there is, I think the worse of him for the
+boast.’
+
+‘But, my dear Ma, he never said there was.’
+
+‘Perhaps not,’ returned the old lady; ‘still, I don’t see that it greatly
+signifies.’
+
+There was no impatience in the pleasant look with which Mr. Crisparkle
+contemplated the pretty old piece of china as it knitted; but there was,
+certainly, a humorous sense of its not being a piece of china to argue
+with very closely.
+
+‘Besides, Sept, ask yourself what he would be without his sister. You
+know what an influence she has over him; you know what a capacity she
+has; you know that whatever he reads with you, he reads with her. Give
+her her fair share of your praise, and how much do you leave for him?’
+
+At these words Mr. Crisparkle fell into a little reverie, in which he
+thought of several things. He thought of the times he had seen the
+brother and sister together in deep converse over one of his own old
+college books; now, in the rimy mornings, when he made those sharpening
+pilgrimages to Cloisterham Weir; now, in the sombre evenings, when he
+faced the wind at sunset, having climbed his favourite outlook, a
+beetling fragment of monastery ruin; and the two studious figures passed
+below him along the margin of the river, in which the town fires and
+lights already shone, making the landscape bleaker. He thought how the
+consciousness had stolen upon him that in teaching one, he was teaching
+two; and how he had almost insensibly adapted his explanations to both
+minds—that with which his own was daily in contact, and that which he
+only approached through it. He thought of the gossip that had reached
+him from the Nuns’ House, to the effect that Helena, whom he had
+mistrusted as so proud and fierce, submitted herself to the fairy-bride
+(as he called her), and learnt from her what she knew. He thought of the
+picturesque alliance between those two, externally so very different. He
+thought—perhaps most of all—could it be that these things were yet but so
+many weeks old, and had become an integral part of his life?
+
+As, whenever the Reverend Septimus fell a-musing, his good mother took it
+to be an infallible sign that he ‘wanted support,’ the blooming old lady
+made all haste to the dining-room closet, to produce from it the support
+embodied in a glass of Constantia and a home-made biscuit. It was a most
+wonderful closet, worthy of Cloisterham and of Minor Canon Corner. Above
+it, a portrait of Handel in a flowing wig beamed down at the spectator,
+with a knowing air of being up to the contents of the closet, and a
+musical air of intending to combine all its harmonies in one delicious
+fugue. No common closet with a vulgar door on hinges, openable all at
+once, and leaving nothing to be disclosed by degrees, this rare closet
+had a lock in mid-air, where two perpendicular slides met; the one
+falling down, and the other pushing up. The upper slide, on being pulled
+down (leaving the lower a double mystery), revealed deep shelves of
+pickle-jars, jam-pots, tin canisters, spice-boxes, and agreeably
+outlandish vessels of blue and white, the luscious lodgings of preserved
+tamarinds and ginger. Every benevolent inhabitant of this retreat had
+his name inscribed upon his stomach. The pickles, in a uniform of rich
+brown double-breasted buttoned coat, and yellow or sombre drab
+continuations, announced their portly forms, in printed capitals, as
+Walnut, Gherkin, Onion, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Mixed, and other members of
+that noble family. The jams, as being of a less masculine temperament,
+and as wearing curlpapers, announced themselves in feminine caligraphy,
+like a soft whisper, to be Raspberry, Gooseberry, Apricot, Plum, Damson,
+Apple, and Peach. The scene closing on these charmers, and the lower
+slide ascending, oranges were revealed, attended by a mighty japanned
+sugar-box, to temper their acerbity if unripe. Home-made biscuits waited
+at the Court of these Powers, accompanied by a goodly fragment of
+plum-cake, and various slender ladies’ fingers, to be dipped into sweet
+wine and kissed. Lowest of all, a compact leaden-vault enshrined the
+sweet wine and a stock of cordials: whence issued whispers of Seville
+Orange, Lemon, Almond, and Caraway-seed. There was a crowning air upon
+this closet of closets, of having been for ages hummed through by the
+Cathedral bell and organ, until those venerable bees had made sublimated
+honey of everything in store; and it was always observed that every
+dipper among the shelves (deep, as has been noticed, and swallowing up
+head, shoulders, and elbows) came forth again mellow-faced, and seeming
+to have undergone a saccharine transfiguration.
+
+The Reverend Septimus yielded himself up quite as willing a victim to a
+nauseous medicinal herb-closet, also presided over by the china
+shepherdess, as to this glorious cupboard. To what amazing infusions of
+gentian, peppermint, gilliflower, sage, parsley, thyme, rue, rosemary,
+and dandelion, did his courageous stomach submit itself! In what
+wonderful wrappers, enclosing layers of dried leaves, would he swathe his
+rosy and contented face, if his mother suspected him of a toothache!
+What botanical blotches would he cheerfully stick upon his cheek, or
+forehead, if the dear old lady convicted him of an imperceptible pimple
+there! Into this herbaceous penitentiary, situated on an upper
+staircase-landing: a low and narrow whitewashed cell, where bunches of
+dried leaves hung from rusty hooks in the ceiling, and were spread out
+upon shelves, in company with portentous bottles: would the Reverend
+Septimus submissively be led, like the highly popular lamb who has so
+long and unresistingly been led to the slaughter, and there would he,
+unlike that lamb, bore nobody but himself. Not even doing that much, so
+that the old lady were busy and pleased, he would quietly swallow what
+was given him, merely taking a corrective dip of hands and face into the
+great bowl of dried rose-leaves, and into the other great bowl of dried
+lavender, and then would go out, as confident in the sweetening powers of
+Cloisterham Weir and a wholesome mind, as Lady Macbeth was hopeless of
+those of all the seas that roll.
+
+In the present instance the good Minor Canon took his glass of Constantia
+with an excellent grace, and, so supported to his mother’s satisfaction,
+applied himself to the remaining duties of the day. In their orderly and
+punctual progress they brought round Vesper Service and twilight. The
+Cathedral being very cold, he set off for a brisk trot after service; the
+trot to end in a charge at his favourite fragment of ruin, which was to
+be carried by storm, without a pause for breath.
+
+He carried it in a masterly manner, and, not breathed even then, stood
+looking down upon the river. The river at Cloisterham is sufficiently
+near the sea to throw up oftentimes a quantity of seaweed. An unusual
+quantity had come in with the last tide, and this, and the confusion of
+the water, and the restless dipping and flapping of the noisy gulls, and
+an angry light out seaward beyond the brown-sailed barges that were
+turning black, foreshadowed a stormy night. In his mind he was
+contrasting the wild and noisy sea with the quiet harbour of Minor Canon
+Corner, when Helena and Neville Landless passed below him. He had had
+the two together in his thoughts all day, and at once climbed down to
+speak to them together. The footing was rough in an uncertain light for
+any tread save that of a good climber; but the Minor Canon was as good a
+climber as most men, and stood beside them before many good climbers
+would have been half-way down.
+
+‘A wild evening, Miss Landless! Do you not find your usual walk with
+your brother too exposed and cold for the time of year? Or at all
+events, when the sun is down, and the weather is driving in from the
+sea?’
+
+Helena thought not. It was their favourite walk. It was very retired.
+
+‘It is very retired,’ assented Mr. Crisparkle, laying hold of his
+opportunity straightway, and walking on with them. ‘It is a place of all
+others where one can speak without interruption, as I wish to do. Mr.
+Neville, I believe you tell your sister everything that passes between
+us?’
+
+‘Everything, sir.’
+
+‘Consequently,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘your sister is aware that I have
+repeatedly urged you to make some kind of apology for that unfortunate
+occurrence which befell on the night of your arrival here.’ In saying it
+he looked to her, and not to him; therefore it was she, and not he, who
+replied:
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘I call it unfortunate, Miss Helena,’ resumed Mr. Crisparkle, ‘forasmuch
+as it certainly has engendered a prejudice against Neville. There is a
+notion about, that he is a dangerously passionate fellow, of an
+uncontrollable and furious temper: he is really avoided as such.’
+
+‘I have no doubt he is, poor fellow,’ said Helena, with a look of proud
+compassion at her brother, expressing a deep sense of his being
+ungenerously treated. ‘I should be quite sure of it, from your saying
+so; but what you tell me is confirmed by suppressed hints and references
+that I meet with every day.’
+
+‘Now,’ Mr. Crisparkle again resumed, in a tone of mild though firm
+persuasion, ‘is not this to be regretted, and ought it not to be amended?
+These are early days of Neville’s in Cloisterham, and I have no fear of
+his outliving such a prejudice, and proving himself to have been
+misunderstood. But how much wiser to take action at once, than to trust
+to uncertain time! Besides, apart from its being politic, it is right.
+For there can be no question that Neville was wrong.’
+
+‘He was provoked,’ Helena submitted.
+
+‘He was the assailant,’ Mr. Crisparkle submitted.
+
+They walked on in silence, until Helena raised her eyes to the Minor
+Canon’s face, and said, almost reproachfully: ‘O Mr. Crisparkle, would
+you have Neville throw himself at young Drood’s feet, or at Mr. Jasper’s,
+who maligns him every day? In your heart you cannot mean it. From your
+heart you could not do it, if his case were yours.’
+
+‘I have represented to Mr. Crisparkle, Helena,’ said Neville, with a
+glance of deference towards his tutor, ‘that if I could do it from my
+heart, I would. But I cannot, and I revolt from the pretence. You
+forget however, that to put the case to Mr. Crisparkle as his own, is to
+suppose to have done what I did.’
+
+‘I ask his pardon,’ said Helena.
+
+‘You see,’ remarked Mr. Crisparkle, again laying hold of his opportunity,
+though with a moderate and delicate touch, ‘you both instinctively
+acknowledge that Neville did wrong. Then why stop short, and not
+otherwise acknowledge it?’
+
+‘Is there no difference,’ asked Helena, with a little faltering in her
+manner; ‘between submission to a generous spirit, and submission to a
+base or trivial one?’
+
+Before the worthy Minor Canon was quite ready with his argument in
+reference to this nice distinction, Neville struck in:
+
+‘Help me to clear myself with Mr. Crisparkle, Helena. Help me to
+convince him that I cannot be the first to make concessions without
+mockery and falsehood. My nature must be changed before I can do so, and
+it is not changed. I am sensible of inexpressible affront, and
+deliberate aggravation of inexpressible affront, and I am angry. The
+plain truth is, I am still as angry when I recall that night as I was
+that night.’
+
+‘Neville,’ hinted the Minor Canon, with a steady countenance, ‘you have
+repeated that former action of your hands, which I so much dislike.’
+
+‘I am sorry for it, sir, but it was involuntary. I confessed that I was
+still as angry.’
+
+‘And I confess,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘that I hoped for better things.’
+
+‘I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but it would be far worse to deceive
+you, and I should deceive you grossly if I pretended that you had
+softened me in this respect. The time may come when your powerful
+influence will do even that with the difficult pupil whose antecedents
+you know; but it has not come yet. Is this so, and in spite of my
+struggles against myself, Helena?’
+
+She, whose dark eyes were watching the effect of what he said on Mr.
+Crisparkle’s face, replied—to Mr. Crisparkle, not to him: ‘It is so.’
+After a short pause, she answered the slightest look of inquiry
+conceivable, in her brother’s eyes, with as slight an affirmative bend of
+her own head; and he went on:
+
+‘I have never yet had the courage to say to you, sir, what in full
+openness I ought to have said when you first talked with me on this
+subject. It is not easy to say, and I have been withheld by a fear of
+its seeming ridiculous, which is very strong upon me down to this last
+moment, and might, but for my sister, prevent my being quite open with
+you even now.—I admire Miss Bud, sir, so very much, that I cannot bear
+her being treated with conceit or indifference; and even if I did not
+feel that I had an injury against young Drood on my own account, I should
+feel that I had an injury against him on hers.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle, in utter amazement, looked at Helena for corroboration,
+and met in her expressive face full corroboration, and a plea for advice.
+
+‘The young lady of whom you speak is, as you know, Mr. Neville, shortly
+to be married,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, gravely; ‘therefore your admiration,
+if it be of that special nature which you seem to indicate, is
+outrageously misplaced. Moreover, it is monstrous that you should take
+upon yourself to be the young lady’s champion against her chosen husband.
+Besides, you have seen them only once. The young lady has become your
+sister’s friend; and I wonder that your sister, even on her behalf, has
+not checked you in this irrational and culpable fancy.’
+
+‘She has tried, sir, but uselessly. Husband or no husband, that fellow
+is incapable of the feeling with which I am inspired towards the
+beautiful young creature whom he treats like a doll. I say he is as
+incapable of it, as he is unworthy of her. I say she is sacrificed in
+being bestowed upon him. I say that I love her, and despise and hate
+him!’ This with a face so flushed, and a gesture so violent, that his
+sister crossed to his side, and caught his arm, remonstrating, ‘Neville,
+Neville!’
+
+Thus recalled to himself, he quickly became sensible of having lost the
+guard he had set upon his passionate tendency, and covered his face with
+his hand, as one repentant and wretched.
+
+Mr. Crisparkle, watching him attentively, and at the same time meditating
+how to proceed, walked on for some paces in silence. Then he spoke:
+
+‘Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville, I am sorely grieved to see in you more traces
+of a character as sullen, angry, and wild, as the night now closing in.
+They are of too serious an aspect to leave me the resource of treating
+the infatuation you have disclosed, as undeserving serious consideration.
+I give it very serious consideration, and I speak to you accordingly.
+This feud between you and young Drood must not go on. I cannot permit it
+to go on any longer, knowing what I now know from you, and you living
+under my roof. Whatever prejudiced and unauthorised constructions your
+blind and envious wrath may put upon his character, it is a frank,
+good-natured character. I know I can trust to it for that. Now, pray
+observe what I am about to say. On reflection, and on your sister’s
+representation, I am willing to admit that, in making peace with young
+Drood, you have a right to be met half-way. I will engage that you shall
+be, and even that young Drood shall make the first advance. This
+condition fulfilled, you will pledge me the honour of a Christian
+gentleman that the quarrel is for ever at an end on your side. What may
+be in your heart when you give him your hand, can only be known to the
+Searcher of all hearts; but it will never go well with you, if there be
+any treachery there. So far, as to that; next as to what I must again
+speak of as your infatuation. I understand it to have been confided to
+me, and to be known to no other person save your sister and yourself. Do
+I understand aright?’
+
+Helena answered in a low voice: ‘It is only known to us three who are
+here together.’
+
+‘It is not at all known to the young lady, your friend?’
+
+‘On my soul, no!’
+
+‘I require you, then, to give me your similar and solemn pledge, Mr.
+Neville, that it shall remain the secret it is, and that you will take no
+other action whatsoever upon it than endeavouring (and that most
+earnestly) to erase it from your mind. I will not tell you that it will
+soon pass; I will not tell you that it is the fancy of the moment; I will
+not tell you that such caprices have their rise and fall among the young
+and ardent every hour; I will leave you undisturbed in the belief that it
+has few parallels or none, that it will abide with you a long time, and
+that it will be very difficult to conquer. So much the more weight shall
+I attach to the pledge I require from you, when it is unreservedly
+given.’
+
+The young man twice or thrice essayed to speak, but failed.
+
+‘Let me leave you with your sister, whom it is time you took home,’ said
+Mr. Crisparkle. ‘You will find me alone in my room by-and-by.’
+
+‘Pray do not leave us yet,’ Helena implored him. ‘Another minute.’
+
+‘I should not,’ said Neville, pressing his hand upon his face, ‘have
+needed so much as another minute, if you had been less patient with me,
+Mr. Crisparkle, less considerate of me, and less unpretendingly good and
+true. O, if in my childhood I had known such a guide!’
+
+‘Follow your guide now, Neville,’ murmured Helena, ‘and follow him to
+Heaven!’
+
+There was that in her tone which broke the good Minor Canon’s voice, or
+it would have repudiated her exaltation of him. As it was, he laid a
+finger on his lips, and looked towards her brother.
+
+‘To say that I give both pledges, Mr. Crisparkle, out of my innermost
+heart, and to say that there is no treachery in it, is to say nothing!’
+Thus Neville, greatly moved. ‘I beg your forgiveness for my miserable
+lapse into a burst of passion.’
+
+‘Not mine, Neville, not mine. You know with whom forgiveness lies, as
+the highest attribute conceivable. Miss Helena, you and your brother are
+twin children. You came into this world with the same dispositions, and
+you passed your younger days together surrounded by the same adverse
+circumstances. What you have overcome in yourself, can you not overcome
+in him? You see the rock that lies in his course. Who but you can keep
+him clear of it?’
+
+‘Who but you, sir?’ replied Helena. ‘What is my influence, or my weak
+wisdom, compared with yours!’
+
+‘You have the wisdom of Love,’ returned the Minor Canon, ‘and it was the
+highest wisdom ever known upon this earth, remember. As to mine—but the
+less said of that commonplace commodity the better. Good night!’
+
+She took the hand he offered her, and gratefully and almost reverently
+raised it to her lips.
+
+‘Tut!’ said the Minor Canon softly, ‘I am much overpaid!’ and turned
+away.
+
+ [Picture: Mr. Crisparkle is overpaid]
+
+Retracing his steps towards the Cathedral Close, he tried, as he went
+along in the dark, to think out the best means of bringing to pass what
+he had promised to effect, and what must somehow be done. ‘I shall
+probably be asked to marry them,’ he reflected, ‘and I would they were
+married and gone! But this presses first.’
+
+He debated principally whether he should write to young Drood, or whether
+he should speak to Jasper. The consciousness of being popular with the
+whole Cathedral establishment inclined him to the latter course, and the
+well-timed sight of the lighted gatehouse decided him to take it. ‘I
+will strike while the iron is hot,’ he said, ‘and see him now.’
+
+Jasper was lying asleep on a couch before the fire, when, having ascended
+the postern-stair, and received no answer to his knock at the door, Mr.
+Crisparkle gently turned the handle and looked in. Long afterwards he
+had cause to remember how Jasper sprang from the couch in a delirious
+state between sleeping and waking, and crying out: ‘What is the matter?
+Who did it?’
+
+‘It is only I, Jasper. I am sorry to have disturbed you.’
+
+The glare of his eyes settled down into a look of recognition, and he
+moved a chair or two, to make a way to the fireside.
+
+‘I was dreaming at a great rate, and am glad to be disturbed from an
+indigestive after-dinner sleep. Not to mention that you are always
+welcome.’
+
+‘Thank you. I am not confident,’ returned Mr. Crisparkle, as he sat
+himself down in the easy-chair placed for him, ‘that my subject will at
+first sight be quite as welcome as myself; but I am a minister of peace,
+and I pursue my subject in the interests of peace. In a word, Jasper, I
+want to establish peace between these two young fellows.’
+
+A very perplexed expression took hold of Mr. Jasper’s face; a very
+perplexing expression too, for Mr. Crisparkle could make nothing of it.
+
+‘How?’ was Jasper’s inquiry, in a low and slow voice, after a silence.
+
+‘For the “How” I come to you. I want to ask you to do me the great
+favour and service of interposing with your nephew (I have already
+interposed with Mr. Neville), and getting him to write you a short note,
+in his lively way, saying that he is willing to shake hands. I know what
+a good-natured fellow he is, and what influence you have with him. And
+without in the least defending Mr. Neville, we must all admit that he was
+bitterly stung.’
+
+Jasper turned that perplexed face towards the fire. Mr. Crisparkle
+continuing to observe it, found it even more perplexing than before,
+inasmuch as it seemed to denote (which could hardly be) some close
+internal calculation.
+
+‘I know that you are not prepossessed in Mr. Neville’s favour,’ the Minor
+Canon was going on, when Jasper stopped him:
+
+‘You have cause to say so. I am not, indeed.’
+
+‘Undoubtedly; and I admit his lamentable violence of temper, though I
+hope he and I will get the better of it between us. But I have exacted a
+very solemn promise from him as to his future demeanour towards your
+nephew, if you do kindly interpose; and I am sure he will keep it.’
+
+‘You are always responsible and trustworthy, Mr. Crisparkle. Do you
+really feel sure that you can answer for him so confidently?’
+
+‘I do.’
+
+The perplexed and perplexing look vanished.
+
+‘Then you relieve my mind of a great dread, and a heavy weight,’ said
+Jasper; ‘I will do it.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle, delighted by the swiftness and completeness of his
+success, acknowledged it in the handsomest terms.
+
+‘I will do it,’ repeated Jasper, ‘for the comfort of having your
+guarantee against my vague and unfounded fears. You will laugh—but do
+you keep a Diary?’
+
+‘A line for a day; not more.’
+
+‘A line for a day would be quite as much as my uneventful life would
+need, Heaven knows,’ said Jasper, taking a book from a desk, ‘but that my
+Diary is, in fact, a Diary of Ned’s life too. You will laugh at this
+entry; you will guess when it was made:
+
+ ‘“Past midnight.—After what I have just now seen, I have a morbid
+ dread upon me of some horrible consequences resulting to my dear boy,
+ that I cannot reason with or in any way contend against. All my
+ efforts are vain. The demoniacal passion of this Neville Landless,
+ his strength in his fury, and his savage rage for the destruction of
+ its object, appal me. So profound is the impression, that twice
+ since I have gone into my dear boy’s room, to assure myself of his
+ sleeping safely, and not lying dead in his blood.”
+
+‘Here is another entry next morning:
+
+ ‘“Ned up and away. Light-hearted and unsuspicious as ever. He
+ laughed when I cautioned him, and said he was as good a man as
+ Neville Landless any day. I told him that might be, but he was not
+ as bad a man. He continued to make light of it, but I travelled with
+ him as far as I could, and left him most unwillingly. I am unable to
+ shake off these dark intangible presentiments of evil—if feelings
+ founded upon staring facts are to be so called.”
+
+‘Again and again,’ said Jasper, in conclusion, twirling the leaves of the
+book before putting it by, ‘I have relapsed into these moods, as other
+entries show. But I have now your assurance at my back, and shall put it
+in my book, and make it an antidote to my black humours.’
+
+‘Such an antidote, I hope,’ returned Mr. Crisparkle, ‘as will induce you
+before long to consign the black humours to the flames. I ought to be
+the last to find any fault with you this evening, when you have met my
+wishes so freely; but I must say, Jasper, that your devotion to your
+nephew has made you exaggerative here.’
+
+‘You are my witness,’ said Jasper, shrugging his shoulders, ‘what my
+state of mind honestly was, that night, before I sat down to write, and
+in what words I expressed it. You remember objecting to a word I used,
+as being too strong? It was a stronger word than any in my Diary.’
+
+‘Well, well. Try the antidote,’ rejoined Mr. Crisparkle; ‘and may it
+give you a brighter and better view of the case! We will discuss it no
+more now. I have to thank you for myself, thank you sincerely.’
+
+‘You shall find,’ said Jasper, as they shook hands, ‘that I will not do
+the thing you wish me to do, by halves. I will take care that Ned,
+giving way at all, shall give way thoroughly.’
+
+On the third day after this conversation, he called on Mr. Crisparkle
+with the following letter:
+
+ ‘MY DEAR JACK,
+
+ ‘I am touched by your account of your interview with Mr. Crisparkle,
+ whom I much respect and esteem. At once I openly say that I forgot
+ myself on that occasion quite as much as Mr. Landless did, and that I
+ wish that bygone to be a bygone, and all to be right again.
+
+ ‘Look here, dear old boy. Ask Mr. Landless to dinner on Christmas
+ Eve (the better the day the better the deed), and let there be only
+ we three, and let us shake hands all round there and then, and say no
+ more about it.
+
+ ‘My dear Jack,
+ ‘Ever your most affectionate,
+ ‘EDWIN DROOD.
+
+ ‘P.S. Love to Miss Pussy at the next music-lesson.’
+
+‘You expect Mr. Neville, then?’ said Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘I count upon his coming,’ said Mr. Jasper.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI—A PICTURE AND A RING
+
+
+Behind the most ancient part of Holborn, London, where certain gabled
+houses some centuries of age still stand looking on the public way, as if
+disconsolately looking for the Old Bourne that has long run dry, is a
+little nook composed of two irregular quadrangles, called Staple Inn. It
+is one of those nooks, the turning into which out of the clashing street,
+imparts to the relieved pedestrian the sensation of having put cotton in
+his ears, and velvet soles on his boots. It is one of those nooks where
+a few smoky sparrows twitter in smoky trees, as though they called to one
+another, ‘Let us play at country,’ and where a few feet of garden-mould
+and a few yards of gravel enable them to do that refreshing violence to
+their tiny understandings. Moreover, it is one of those nooks which are
+legal nooks; and it contains a little Hall, with a little lantern in its
+roof: to what obstructive purposes devoted, and at whose expense, this
+history knoweth not.
+
+In the days when Cloisterham took offence at the existence of a railroad
+afar off, as menacing that sensitive constitution, the property of us
+Britons: the odd fortune of which sacred institution it is to be in
+exactly equal degrees croaked about, trembled for, and boasted of,
+whatever happens to anything, anywhere in the world: in those days no
+neighbouring architecture of lofty proportions had arisen to overshadow
+Staple Inn. The westering sun bestowed bright glances on it, and the
+south-west wind blew into it unimpeded.
+
+Neither wind nor sun, however, favoured Staple Inn one December afternoon
+towards six o’clock, when it was filled with fog, and candles shed murky
+and blurred rays through the windows of all its then-occupied sets of
+chambers; notably from a set of chambers in a corner house in the little
+inner quadrangle, presenting in black and white over its ugly portal the
+mysterious inscription:
+
+ P
+ J T
+ 1747
+
+In which set of chambers, never having troubled his head about the
+inscription, unless to bethink himself at odd times on glancing up at it,
+that haply it might mean Perhaps John Thomas, or Perhaps Joe Tyler, sat
+Mr. Grewgious writing by his fire.
+
+Who could have told, by looking at Mr. Grewgious, whether he had ever
+known ambition or disappointment? He had been bred to the Bar, and had
+laid himself out for chamber practice; to draw deeds; ‘convey the wise it
+call,’ as Pistol says. But Conveyancing and he had made such a very
+indifferent marriage of it that they had separated by consent—if there
+can be said to be separation where there has never been coming together.
+
+No. Coy Conveyancing would not come to Mr. Grewgious. She was wooed,
+not won, and they went their several ways. But an Arbitration being
+blown towards him by some unaccountable wind, and he gaining great credit
+in it as one indefatigable in seeking out right and doing right, a pretty
+fat Receivership was next blown into his pocket by a wind more traceable
+to its source. So, by chance, he had found his niche. Receiver and
+Agent now, to two rich estates, and deputing their legal business, in an
+amount worth having, to a firm of solicitors on the floor below, he had
+snuffed out his ambition (supposing him to have ever lighted it), and had
+settled down with his snuffers for the rest of his life under the dry
+vine and fig-tree of P. J. T., who planted in seventeen-forty-seven.
+
+Many accounts and account-books, many files of correspondence, and
+several strong boxes, garnished Mr. Grewgious’s room. They can scarcely
+be represented as having lumbered it, so conscientious and precise was
+their orderly arrangement. The apprehension of dying suddenly, and
+leaving one fact or one figure with any incompleteness or obscurity
+attaching to it, would have stretched Mr. Grewgious stone-dead any day.
+The largest fidelity to a trust was the life-blood of the man. There are
+sorts of life-blood that course more quickly, more gaily, more
+attractively; but there is no better sort in circulation.
+
+There was no luxury in his room. Even its comforts were limited to its
+being dry and warm, and having a snug though faded fireside. What may be
+called its private life was confined to the hearth, and all easy-chair,
+and an old-fashioned occasional round table that was brought out upon the
+rug after business hours, from a corner where it elsewise remained turned
+up like a shining mahogany shield. Behind it, when standing thus on the
+defensive, was a closet, usually containing something good to drink. An
+outer room was the clerk’s room; Mr. Grewgious’s sleeping-room was across
+the common stair; and he held some not empty cellarage at the bottom of
+the common stair. Three hundred days in the year, at least, he crossed
+over to the hotel in Furnival’s Inn for his dinner, and after dinner
+crossed back again, to make the most of these simplicities until it
+should become broad business day once more, with P. J. T., date
+seventeen-forty-seven.
+
+As Mr. Grewgious sat and wrote by his fire that afternoon, so did the
+clerk of Mr. Grewgious sit and write by _his_ fire. A pale, puffy-faced,
+dark-haired person of thirty, with big dark eyes that wholly wanted
+lustre, and a dissatisfied doughy complexion, that seemed to ask to be
+sent to the baker’s, this attendant was a mysterious being, possessed of
+some strange power over Mr. Grewgious. As though he had been called into
+existence, like a fabulous Familiar, by a magic spell which had failed
+when required to dismiss him, he stuck tight to Mr. Grewgious’s stool,
+although Mr. Grewgious’s comfort and convenience would manifestly have
+been advanced by dispossessing him. A gloomy person with tangled locks,
+and a general air of having been reared under the shadow of that baleful
+tree of Java which has given shelter to more lies than the whole
+botanical kingdom, Mr. Grewgious, nevertheless, treated him with
+unaccountable consideration.
+
+‘Now, Bazzard,’ said Mr. Grewgious, on the entrance of his clerk: looking
+up from his papers as he arranged them for the night: ‘what is in the
+wind besides fog?’
+
+‘Mr. Drood,’ said Bazzard.
+
+‘What of him?’
+
+‘Has called,’ said Bazzard.
+
+‘You might have shown him in.’
+
+‘I am doing it,’ said Bazzard.
+
+The visitor came in accordingly.
+
+‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Grewgious, looking round his pair of office candles.
+‘I thought you had called and merely left your name and gone. How do you
+do, Mr. Edwin? Dear me, you’re choking!’
+
+‘It’s this fog,’ returned Edwin; ‘and it makes my eyes smart, like
+Cayenne pepper.’
+
+‘Is it really so bad as that? Pray undo your wrappers. It’s fortunate I
+have so good a fire; but Mr. Bazzard has taken care of me.’
+
+‘No I haven’t,’ said Mr. Bazzard at the door.
+
+‘Ah! then it follows that I must have taken care of myself without
+observing it,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Pray be seated in my chair. No. I
+beg! Coming out of such an atmosphere, in _my_ chair.’
+
+Edwin took the easy-chair in the corner; and the fog he had brought in
+with him, and the fog he took off with his greatcoat and neck-shawl, was
+speedily licked up by the eager fire.
+
+‘I look,’ said Edwin, smiling, ‘as if I had come to stop.’
+
+‘—By the by,’ cried Mr. Grewgious; ‘excuse my interrupting you; do stop.
+The fog may clear in an hour or two. We can have dinner in from just
+across Holborn. You had better take your Cayenne pepper here than
+outside; pray stop and dine.’
+
+‘You are very kind,’ said Edwin, glancing about him as though attracted
+by the notion of a new and relishing sort of gipsy-party.
+
+‘Not at all,’ said Mr. Grewgious; ‘_you_ are very kind to join issue with
+a bachelor in chambers, and take pot-luck. And I’ll ask,’ said Mr.
+Grewgious, dropping his voice, and speaking with a twinkling eye, as if
+inspired with a bright thought: ‘I’ll ask Bazzard. He mightn’t like it
+else.—Bazzard!’
+
+Bazzard reappeared.
+
+‘Dine presently with Mr. Drood and me.’
+
+‘If I am ordered to dine, of course I will, sir,’ was the gloomy answer.
+
+‘Save the man!’ cried Mr. Grewgious. ‘You’re not ordered; you’re
+invited.’
+
+‘Thank you, sir,’ said Bazzard; ‘in that case I don’t care if I do.’
+
+‘That’s arranged. And perhaps you wouldn’t mind,’ said Mr. Grewgious,
+‘stepping over to the hotel in Furnival’s, and asking them to send in
+materials for laying the cloth. For dinner we’ll have a tureen of the
+hottest and strongest soup available, and we’ll have the best made-dish
+that can be recommended, and we’ll have a joint (such as a haunch of
+mutton), and we’ll have a goose, or a turkey, or any little stuffed thing
+of that sort that may happen to be in the bill of fare—in short, we’ll
+have whatever there is on hand.’
+
+These liberal directions Mr. Grewgious issued with his usual air of
+reading an inventory, or repeating a lesson, or doing anything else by
+rote. Bazzard, after drawing out the round table, withdrew to execute
+them.
+
+‘I was a little delicate, you see,’ said Mr. Grewgious, in a lower tone,
+after his clerk’s departure, ‘about employing him in the foraging or
+commissariat department. Because he mightn’t like it.’
+
+‘He seems to have his own way, sir,’ remarked Edwin.
+
+‘His own way?’ returned Mr. Grewgious. ‘O dear no! Poor fellow, you
+quite mistake him. If he had his own way, he wouldn’t be here.’
+
+‘I wonder where he would be!’ Edwin thought. But he only thought it,
+because Mr. Grewgious came and stood himself with his back to the other
+corner of the fire, and his shoulder-blades against the chimneypiece, and
+collected his skirts for easy conversation.
+
+‘I take it, without having the gift of prophecy, that you have done me
+the favour of looking in to mention that you are going down yonder—where
+I can tell you, you are expected—and to offer to execute any little
+commission from me to my charming ward, and perhaps to sharpen me up a
+bit in any proceedings? Eh, Mr. Edwin?’
+
+‘I called, sir, before going down, as an act of attention.’
+
+‘Of attention!’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Ah! of course, not of impatience?’
+
+‘Impatience, sir?’
+
+Mr. Grewgious had meant to be arch—not that he in the remotest degree
+expressed that meaning—and had brought himself into scarcely supportable
+proximity with the fire, as if to burn the fullest effect of his archness
+into himself, as other subtle impressions are burnt into hard metals.
+But his archness suddenly flying before the composed face and manner of
+his visitor, and only the fire remaining, he started and rubbed himself.
+
+‘I have lately been down yonder,’ said Mr. Grewgious, rearranging his
+skirts; ‘and that was what I referred to, when I said I could tell you
+you are expected.’
+
+‘Indeed, sir! Yes; I knew that Pussy was looking out for me.’
+
+‘Do you keep a cat down there?’ asked Mr. Grewgious.
+
+Edwin coloured a little as he explained: ‘I call Rosa Pussy.’
+
+‘O, really,’ said Mr. Grewgious, smoothing down his head; ‘that’s very
+affable.’
+
+Edwin glanced at his face, uncertain whether or no he seriously objected
+to the appellation. But Edwin might as well have glanced at the face of
+a clock.
+
+‘A pet name, sir,’ he explained again.
+
+‘Umps,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with a nod. But with such an extraordinary
+compromise between an unqualified assent and a qualified dissent, that
+his visitor was much disconcerted.
+
+‘Did PRosa—’ Edwin began by way of recovering himself.
+
+‘PRosa?’ repeated Mr. Grewgious.
+
+‘I was going to say Pussy, and changed my mind;—did she tell you anything
+about the Landlesses?’
+
+‘No,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘What is the Landlesses? An estate? A villa?
+A farm?’
+
+‘A brother and sister. The sister is at the Nuns’ House, and has become
+a great friend of P—’
+
+‘PRosa’s,’ Mr. Grewgious struck in, with a fixed face.
+
+‘She is a strikingly handsome girl, sir, and I thought she might have
+been described to you, or presented to you perhaps?’
+
+‘Neither,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘But here is Bazzard.’
+
+Bazzard returned, accompanied by two waiters—an immovable waiter, and a
+flying waiter; and the three brought in with them as much fog as gave a
+new roar to the fire. The flying waiter, who had brought everything on
+his shoulders, laid the cloth with amazing rapidity and dexterity; while
+the immovable waiter, who had brought nothing, found fault with him. The
+flying waiter then highly polished all the glasses he had brought, and
+the immovable waiter looked through them. The flying waiter then flew
+across Holborn for the soup, and flew back again, and then took another
+flight for the made-dish, and flew back again, and then took another
+flight for the joint and poultry, and flew back again, and between whiles
+took supplementary flights for a great variety of articles, as it was
+discovered from time to time that the immovable waiter had forgotten them
+all. But let the flying waiter cleave the air as he might, he was always
+reproached on his return by the immovable waiter for bringing fog with
+him, and being out of breath. At the conclusion of the repast, by which
+time the flying waiter was severely blown, the immovable waiter gathered
+up the tablecloth under his arm with a grand air, and having sternly (not
+to say with indignation) looked on at the flying waiter while he set the
+clean glasses round, directed a valedictory glance towards Mr. Grewgious,
+conveying: ‘Let it be clearly understood between us that the reward is
+mine, and that Nil is the claim of this slave,’ and pushed the flying
+waiter before him out of the room.
+
+It was like a highly-finished miniature painting representing My Lords of
+the Circumlocution Department, Commandership-in-Chief of any sort,
+Government. It was quite an edifying little picture to be hung on the
+line in the National Gallery.
+
+As the fog had been the proximate cause of this sumptuous repast, so the
+fog served for its general sauce. To hear the out-door clerks sneezing,
+wheezing, and beating their feet on the gravel was a zest far surpassing
+Doctor Kitchener’s. To bid, with a shiver, the unfortunate flying waiter
+shut the door before he had opened it, was a condiment of a profounder
+flavour than Harvey. And here let it be noticed, parenthetically, that
+the leg of this young man, in its application to the door, evinced the
+finest sense of touch: always preceding himself and tray (with something
+of an angling air about it), by some seconds: and always lingering after
+he and the tray had disappeared, like Macbeth’s leg when accompanying him
+off the stage with reluctance to the assassination of Duncan.
+
+The host had gone below to the cellar, and had brought up bottles of
+ruby, straw-coloured, and golden drinks, which had ripened long ago in
+lands where no fogs are, and had since lain slumbering in the shade.
+Sparkling and tingling after so long a nap, they pushed at their corks to
+help the corkscrew (like prisoners helping rioters to force their gates),
+and danced out gaily. If P. J. T. in seventeen-forty-seven, or in any
+other year of his period, drank such wines—then, for a certainty, P. J.
+T. was Pretty Jolly Too.
+
+Externally, Mr. Grewgious showed no signs of being mellowed by these
+glowing vintages. Instead of his drinking them, they might have been
+poured over him in his high-dried snuff form, and run to waste, for any
+lights and shades they caused to flicker over his face. Neither was his
+manner influenced. But, in his wooden way, he had observant eyes for
+Edwin; and when at the end of dinner, he motioned Edwin back to his own
+easy-chair in the fireside corner, and Edwin sank luxuriously into it
+after very brief remonstrance, Mr. Grewgious, as he turned his seat round
+towards the fire too, and smoothed his head and face, might have been
+seen looking at his visitor between his smoothing fingers.
+
+‘Bazzard!’ said Mr. Grewgious, suddenly turning to him.
+
+‘I follow you, sir,’ returned Bazzard; who had done his work of consuming
+meat and drink in a workmanlike manner, though mostly in speechlessness.
+
+‘I drink to you, Bazzard; Mr. Edwin, success to Mr. Bazzard!’
+
+‘Success to Mr. Bazzard!’ echoed Edwin, with a totally unfounded
+appearance of enthusiasm, and with the unspoken addition: ‘What in, I
+wonder!’
+
+‘And May!’ pursued Mr. Grewgious—‘I am not at liberty to be
+definite—May!—my conversational powers are so very limited that I know I
+shall not come well out of this—May!—it ought to be put imaginatively,
+but I have no imagination—May!—the thorn of anxiety is as nearly the mark
+as I am likely to get—May it come out at last!’
+
+Mr. Bazzard, with a frowning smile at the fire, put a hand into his
+tangled locks, as if the thorn of anxiety were there; then into his
+waistcoat, as if it were there; then into his pockets, as if it were
+there. In all these movements he was closely followed by the eyes of
+Edwin, as if that young gentleman expected to see the thorn in action.
+It was not produced, however, and Mr. Bazzard merely said: ‘I follow you,
+sir, and I thank you.’
+
+‘I am going,’ said Mr. Grewgious, jingling his glass on the table with
+one hand, and bending aside under cover of the other, to whisper to
+Edwin, ‘to drink to my ward. But I put Bazzard first. He mightn’t like
+it else.’
+
+This was said with a mysterious wink; or what would have been a wink, if,
+in Mr. Grewgious’s hands, it could have been quick enough. So Edwin
+winked responsively, without the least idea what he meant by doing so.
+
+‘And now,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘I devote a bumper to the fair and
+fascinating Miss Rosa. Bazzard, the fair and fascinating Miss Rosa!’
+
+‘I follow you, sir,’ said Bazzard, ‘and I pledge you!’
+
+‘And so do I!’ said Edwin.
+
+‘Lord bless me,’ cried Mr. Grewgious, breaking the blank silence which of
+course ensued: though why these pauses _should_ come upon us when we have
+performed any small social rite, not directly inducive of
+self-examination or mental despondency, who can tell? ‘I am a
+particularly Angular man, and yet I fancy (if I may use the word, not
+having a morsel of fancy), that I could draw a picture of a true lover’s
+state of mind, to-night.’
+
+‘Let us follow you, sir,’ said Bazzard, ‘and have the picture.’
+
+‘Mr. Edwin will correct it where it’s wrong,’ resumed Mr. Grewgious, ‘and
+will throw in a few touches from the life. I dare say it is wrong in
+many particulars, and wants many touches from the life, for I was born a
+Chip, and have neither soft sympathies nor soft experiences. Well! I
+hazard the guess that the true lover’s mind is completely permeated by
+the beloved object of his affections. I hazard the guess that her dear
+name is precious to him, cannot be heard or repeated without emotion, and
+is preserved sacred. If he has any distinguishing appellation of
+fondness for her, it is reserved for her, and is not for common ears. A
+name that it would be a privilege to call her by, being alone with her
+own bright self, it would be a liberty, a coldness, an insensibility,
+almost a breach of good faith, to flaunt elsewhere.’
+
+It was wonderful to see Mr. Grewgious sitting bolt upright, with his
+hands on his knees, continuously chopping this discourse out of himself:
+much as a charity boy with a very good memory might get his catechism
+said: and evincing no correspondent emotion whatever, unless in a certain
+occasional little tingling perceptible at the end of his nose.
+
+‘My picture,’ Mr. Grewgious proceeded, ‘goes on to represent (under
+correction from you, Mr. Edwin), the true lover as ever impatient to be
+in the presence or vicinity of the beloved object of his affections; as
+caring very little for his case in any other society; and as constantly
+seeking that. If I was to say seeking that, as a bird seeks its nest, I
+should make an ass of myself, because that would trench upon what I
+understand to be poetry; and I am so far from trenching upon poetry at
+any time, that I never, to my knowledge, got within ten thousand miles of
+it. And I am besides totally unacquainted with the habits of birds,
+except the birds of Staple Inn, who seek their nests on ledges, and in
+gutter-pipes and chimneypots, not constructed for them by the beneficent
+hand of Nature. I beg, therefore, to be understood as foregoing the
+bird’s-nest. But my picture does represent the true lover as having no
+existence separable from that of the beloved object of his affections,
+and as living at once a doubled life and a halved life. And if I do not
+clearly express what I mean by that, it is either for the reason that
+having no conversational powers, I cannot express what I mean, or that
+having no meaning, I do not mean what I fail to express. Which, to the
+best of my belief, is not the case.’
+
+Edwin had turned red and turned white, as certain points of this picture
+came into the light. He now sat looking at the fire, and bit his lip.
+
+‘The speculations of an Angular man,’ resumed Mr. Grewgious, still
+sitting and speaking exactly as before, ‘are probably erroneous on so
+globular a topic. But I figure to myself (subject, as before, to Mr.
+Edwin’s correction), that there can be no coolness, no lassitude, no
+doubt, no indifference, no half fire and half smoke state of mind, in a
+real lover. Pray am I at all near the mark in my picture?’
+
+As abrupt in his conclusion as in his commencement and progress, he
+jerked this inquiry at Edwin, and stopped when one might have supposed
+him in the middle of his oration.
+
+‘I should say, sir,’ stammered Edwin, ‘as you refer the question to me—’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘I refer it to you, as an authority.’
+
+‘I should say, then, sir,’ Edwin went on, embarrassed, ‘that the picture
+you have drawn is generally correct; but I submit that perhaps you may be
+rather hard upon the unlucky lover.’
+
+‘Likely so,’ assented Mr. Grewgious, ‘likely so. I am a hard man in the
+grain.’
+
+‘He may not show,’ said Edwin, ‘all he feels; or he may not—’
+
+There he stopped so long, to find the rest of his sentence, that Mr.
+Grewgious rendered his difficulty a thousand times the greater by
+unexpectedly striking in with:
+
+‘No to be sure; he _may_ not!’
+
+After that, they all sat silent; the silence of Mr. Bazzard being
+occasioned by slumber.
+
+‘His responsibility is very great, though,’ said Mr. Grewgious at length,
+with his eyes on the fire.
+
+Edwin nodded assent, with _his_ eyes on the fire.
+
+‘And let him be sure that he trifles with no one,’ said Mr. Grewgious;
+‘neither with himself, nor with any other.’
+
+Edwin bit his lip again, and still sat looking at the fire.
+
+‘He must not make a plaything of a treasure. Woe betide him if he does!
+Let him take that well to heart,’ said Mr. Grewgious.
+
+Though he said these things in short sentences, much as the
+supposititious charity boy just now referred to might have repeated a
+verse or two from the Book of Proverbs, there was something dreamy (for
+so literal a man) in the way in which he now shook his right forefinger
+at the live coals in the grate, and again fell silent.
+
+But not for long. As he sat upright and stiff in his chair, he suddenly
+rapped his knees, like the carved image of some queer Joss or other
+coming out of its reverie, and said: ‘We must finish this bottle, Mr.
+Edwin. Let me help you. I’ll help Bazzard too, though he _is_ asleep.
+He mightn’t like it else.’
+
+He helped them both, and helped himself, and drained his glass, and stood
+it bottom upward on the table, as though he had just caught a bluebottle
+in it.
+
+‘And now, Mr. Edwin,’ he proceeded, wiping his mouth and hands upon his
+handkerchief: ‘to a little piece of business. You received from me, the
+other day, a certified copy of Miss Rosa’s father’s will. You knew its
+contents before, but you received it from me as a matter of business. I
+should have sent it to Mr. Jasper, but for Miss Rosa’s wishing it to come
+straight to you, in preference. You received it?’
+
+‘Quite safely, sir.’
+
+‘You should have acknowledged its receipt,’ said Mr. Grewgious; ‘business
+being business all the world over. However, you did not.’
+
+‘I meant to have acknowledged it when I first came in this evening, sir.’
+
+‘Not a business-like acknowledgment,’ returned Mr. Grewgious; ‘however,
+let that pass. Now, in that document you have observed a few words of
+kindly allusion to its being left to me to discharge a little trust,
+confided to me in conversation, at such time as I in my discretion may
+think best.’
+
+‘Yes, sir.’
+
+‘Mr. Edwin, it came into my mind just now, when I was looking at the
+fire, that I could, in my discretion, acquit myself of that trust at no
+better time than the present. Favour me with your attention, half a
+minute.’
+
+He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, singled out by the candle-light
+the key he wanted, and then, with a candle in his hand, went to a bureau
+or escritoire, unlocked it, touched the spring of a little secret drawer,
+and took from it an ordinary ring-case made for a single ring. With this
+in his hand, he returned to his chair. As he held it up for the young
+man to see, his hand trembled.
+
+‘Mr. Edwin, this rose of diamonds and rubies delicately set in gold, was
+a ring belonging to Miss Rosa’s mother. It was removed from her dead
+hand, in my presence, with such distracted grief as I hope it may never
+be my lot to contemplate again. Hard man as I am, I am not hard enough
+for that. See how bright these stones shine!’ opening the case. ‘And
+yet the eyes that were so much brighter, and that so often looked upon
+them with a light and a proud heart, have been ashes among ashes, and
+dust among dust, some years! If I had any imagination (which it is
+needless to say I have not), I might imagine that the lasting beauty of
+these stones was almost cruel.’
+
+He closed the case again as he spoke.
+
+‘This ring was given to the young lady who was drowned so early in her
+beautiful and happy career, by her husband, when they first plighted
+their faith to one another. It was he who removed it from her
+unconscious hand, and it was he who, when his death drew very near,
+placed it in mine. The trust in which I received it, was, that, you and
+Miss Rosa growing to manhood and womanhood, and your betrothal prospering
+and coming to maturity, I should give it to you to place upon her finger.
+Failing those desired results, it was to remain in my possession.’
+
+Some trouble was in the young man’s face, and some indecision was in the
+action of his hand, as Mr. Grewgious, looking steadfastly at him, gave
+him the ring.
+
+‘Your placing it on her finger,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘will be the solemn
+seal upon your strict fidelity to the living and the dead. You are going
+to her, to make the last irrevocable preparations for your marriage.
+Take it with you.’
+
+The young man took the little case, and placed it in his breast.
+
+‘If anything should be amiss, if anything should be even slightly wrong,
+between you; if you should have any secret consciousness that you are
+committing yourself to this step for no higher reason than because you
+have long been accustomed to look forward to it; then,’ said Mr.
+Grewgious, ‘I charge you once more, by the living and by the dead, to
+bring that ring back to me!’
+
+Here Bazzard awoke himself by his own snoring; and, as is usual in such
+cases, sat apoplectically staring at vacancy, as defying vacancy to
+accuse him of having been asleep.
+
+‘Bazzard!’ said Mr. Grewgious, harder than ever.
+
+‘I follow you, sir,’ said Bazzard, ‘and I have been following you.’
+
+‘In discharge of a trust, I have handed Mr. Edwin Drood a ring of
+diamonds and rubies. You see?’
+
+Edwin reproduced the little case, and opened it; and Bazzard looked into
+it.
+
+‘I follow you both, sir,’ returned Bazzard, ‘and I witness the
+transaction.’
+
+Evidently anxious to get away and be alone, Edwin Drood now resumed his
+outer clothing, muttering something about time and appointments. The fog
+was reported no clearer (by the flying waiter, who alighted from a
+speculative flight in the coffee interest), but he went out into it; and
+Bazzard, after his manner, ‘followed’ him.
+
+Mr. Grewgious, left alone, walked softly and slowly to and fro, for an
+hour and more. He was restless to-night, and seemed dispirited.
+
+‘I hope I have done right,’ he said. ‘The appeal to him seemed
+necessary. It was hard to lose the ring, and yet it must have gone from
+me very soon.’
+
+He closed the empty little drawer with a sigh, and shut and locked the
+escritoire, and came back to the solitary fireside.
+
+‘Her ring,’ he went on. ‘Will it come back to me? My mind hangs about
+her ring very uneasily to-night. But that is explainable. I have had it
+so long, and I have prized it so much! I wonder—’
+
+He was in a wondering mood as well as a restless; for, though he checked
+himself at that point, and took another walk, he resumed his wondering
+when he sat down again.
+
+‘I wonder (for the ten-thousandth time, and what a weak fool I, for what
+can it signify now!) whether he confided the charge of their orphan child
+to me, because he knew—Good God, how like her mother she has become!’
+
+‘I wonder whether he ever so much as suspected that some one doted on
+her, at a hopeless, speechless distance, when he struck in and won her.
+I wonder whether it ever crept into his mind who that unfortunate some
+one was!’
+
+‘I wonder whether I shall sleep to-night! At all events, I will shut out
+the world with the bedclothes, and try.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious crossed the staircase to his raw and foggy bedroom, and was
+soon ready for bed. Dimly catching sight of his face in the misty
+looking-glass, he held his candle to it for a moment.
+
+‘A likely some one, _you_, to come into anybody’s thoughts in such an
+aspect!’ he exclaimed. ‘There! there! there! Get to bed, poor man, and
+cease to jabber!’
+
+With that, he extinguished his light, pulled up the bedclothes around
+him, and with another sigh shut out the world. And yet there are such
+unexplored romantic nooks in the unlikeliest men, that even old tinderous
+and touchwoody P. J. T. Possibly Jabbered Thus, at some odd times, in or
+about seventeen-forty-seven.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII—A NIGHT WITH DURDLES
+
+
+When Mr. Sapsea has nothing better to do, towards evening, and finds the
+contemplation of his own profundity becoming a little monotonous in spite
+of the vastness of the subject, he often takes an airing in the Cathedral
+Close and thereabout. He likes to pass the churchyard with a swelling
+air of proprietorship, and to encourage in his breast a sort of
+benignant-landlord feeling, in that he has been bountiful towards that
+meritorious tenant, Mrs. Sapsea, and has publicly given her a prize. He
+likes to see a stray face or two looking in through the railings, and
+perhaps reading his inscription. Should he meet a stranger coming from
+the churchyard with a quick step, he is morally convinced that the
+stranger is ‘with a blush retiring,’ as monumentally directed.
+
+Mr. Sapsea’s importance has received enhancement, for he has become Mayor
+of Cloisterham. Without mayors, and many of them, it cannot be disputed
+that the whole framework of society—Mr. Sapsea is confident that he
+invented that forcible figure—would fall to pieces. Mayors have been
+knighted for ‘going up’ with addresses: explosive machines intrepidly
+discharging shot and shell into the English Grammar. Mr. Sapsea may ‘go
+up’ with an address. Rise, Sir Thomas Sapsea! Of such is the salt of
+the earth.
+
+Mr. Sapsea has improved the acquaintance of Mr. Jasper, since their first
+meeting to partake of port, epitaph, backgammon, beef, and salad. Mr.
+Sapsea has been received at the gatehouse with kindred hospitality; and
+on that occasion Mr. Jasper seated himself at the piano, and sang to him,
+tickling his ears—figuratively—long enough to present a considerable area
+for tickling. What Mr. Sapsea likes in that young man is, that he is
+always ready to profit by the wisdom of his elders, and that he is sound,
+sir, at the core. In proof of which, he sang to Mr. Sapsea that evening,
+no kickshaw ditties, favourites with national enemies, but gave him the
+genuine George the Third home-brewed; exhorting him (as ‘my brave boys’)
+to reduce to a smashed condition all other islands but this island, and
+all continents, peninsulas, isthmuses, promontories, and other
+geographical forms of land soever, besides sweeping the seas in all
+directions. In short, he rendered it pretty clear that Providence made a
+distinct mistake in originating so small a nation of hearts of oak, and
+so many other verminous peoples.
+
+Mr. Sapsea, walking slowly this moist evening near the churchyard with
+his hands behind him, on the look-out for a blushing and retiring
+stranger, turns a corner, and comes instead into the goodly presence of
+the Dean, conversing with the Verger and Mr. Jasper. Mr. Sapsea makes
+his obeisance, and is instantly stricken far more ecclesiastical than any
+Archbishop of York or Canterbury.
+
+‘You are evidently going to write a book about us, Mr. Jasper,’ quoth the
+Dean; ‘to write a book about us. Well! We are very ancient, and we
+ought to make a good book. We are not so richly endowed in possessions
+as in age; but perhaps you will put _that_ in your book, among other
+things, and call attention to our wrongs.’
+
+Mr. Tope, as in duty bound, is greatly entertained by this.
+
+‘I really have no intention at all, sir,’ replies Jasper, ‘of turning
+author or archæologist. It is but a whim of mine. And even for my whim,
+Mr. Sapsea here is more accountable than I am.’
+
+‘How so, Mr. Mayor?’ says the Dean, with a nod of good-natured
+recognition of his Fetch. ‘How is that, Mr. Mayor?’
+
+‘I am not aware,’ Mr. Sapsea remarks, looking about him for information,
+‘to what the Very Reverend the Dean does me the honour of referring.’
+And then falls to studying his original in minute points of detail.
+
+‘Durdles,’ Mr. Tope hints.
+
+‘Ay!’ the Dean echoes; ‘Durdles, Durdles!’
+
+‘The truth is, sir,’ explains Jasper, ‘that my curiosity in the man was
+first really stimulated by Mr. Sapsea. Mr. Sapsea’s knowledge of mankind
+and power of drawing out whatever is recluse or odd around him, first led
+to my bestowing a second thought upon the man: though of course I had met
+him constantly about. You would not be surprised by this, Mr. Dean, if
+you had seen Mr. Sapsea deal with him in his own parlour, as I did.’
+
+‘O!’ cries Sapsea, picking up the ball thrown to him with ineffable
+complacency and pomposity; ‘yes, yes. The Very Reverend the Dean refers
+to that? Yes. I happened to bring Durdles and Mr. Jasper together. I
+regard Durdles as a Character.’
+
+‘A character, Mr. Sapsea, that with a few skilful touches you turn inside
+out,’ says Jasper.
+
+‘Nay, not quite that,’ returns the lumbering auctioneer. ‘I may have a
+little influence over him, perhaps; and a little insight into his
+character, perhaps. The Very Reverend the Dean will please to bear in
+mind that I have seen the world.’ Here Mr. Sapsea gets a little behind
+the Dean, to inspect his coat-buttons.
+
+‘Well!’ says the Dean, looking about him to see what has become of his
+copyist: ‘I hope, Mr. Mayor, you will use your study and knowledge of
+Durdles to the good purpose of exhorting him not to break our worthy and
+respected Choir-Master’s neck; we cannot afford it; his head and voice
+are much too valuable to us.’
+
+Mr. Tope is again highly entertained, and, having fallen into respectful
+convulsions of laughter, subsides into a deferential murmur, importing
+that surely any gentleman would deem it a pleasure and an honour to have
+his neck broken, in return for such a compliment from such a source.
+
+‘I will take it upon myself, sir,’ observes Sapsea loftily, ‘to answer
+for Mr. Jasper’s neck. I will tell Durdles to be careful of it. He will
+mind what _I_ say. How is it at present endangered?’ he inquires,
+looking about him with magnificent patronage.
+
+‘Only by my making a moonlight expedition with Durdles among the tombs,
+vaults, towers, and ruins,’ returns Jasper. ‘You remember suggesting,
+when you brought us together, that, as a lover of the picturesque, it
+might be worth my while?’
+
+‘I remember!’ replies the auctioneer. And the solemn idiot really
+believes that he does remember.
+
+‘Profiting by your hint,’ pursues Jasper, ‘I have had some day-rambles
+with the extraordinary old fellow, and we are to make a moonlight
+hole-and-corner exploration to-night.’
+
+‘And here he is,’ says the Dean.
+
+Durdles with his dinner-bundle in his hand, is indeed beheld slouching
+towards them. Slouching nearer, and perceiving the Dean, he pulls off
+his hat, and is slouching away with it under his arm, when Mr. Sapsea
+stops him.
+
+‘Mind you take care of my friend,’ is the injunction Mr. Sapsea lays upon
+him.
+
+‘What friend o’ yourn is dead?’ asks Durdles. ‘No orders has come in for
+any friend o’ yourn.’
+
+‘I mean my live friend there.’
+
+‘O! him?’ says Durdles. ‘He can take care of himself, can Mister
+Jarsper.’
+
+‘But do you take care of him too,’ says Sapsea.
+
+Whom Durdles (there being command in his tone) surlily surveys from head
+to foot.
+
+‘With submission to his Reverence the Dean, if you’ll mind what concerns
+you, Mr. Sapsea, Durdles he’ll mind what concerns him.’
+
+‘You’re out of temper,’ says Mr. Sapsea, winking to the company to
+observe how smoothly he will manage him. ‘My friend concerns me, and Mr.
+Jasper is my friend. And you are my friend.’
+
+‘Don’t you get into a bad habit of boasting,’ retorts Durdles, with a
+grave cautionary nod. ‘It’ll grow upon you.’
+
+ [Picture: Durdles cautions Mr. Sapsea against boasting]
+
+‘You are out of temper,’ says Sapsea again; reddening, but again sinking
+to the company.
+
+‘I own to it,’ returns Durdles; ‘I don’t like liberties.’
+
+Mr. Sapsea winks a third wink to the company, as who should say: ‘I think
+you will agree with me that I have settled _his_ business;’ and stalks
+out of the controversy.
+
+Durdles then gives the Dean a good evening, and adding, as he puts his
+hat on, ‘You’ll find me at home, Mister Jarsper, as agreed, when you want
+me; I’m a-going home to clean myself,’ soon slouches out of sight. This
+going home to clean himself is one of the man’s incomprehensible
+compromises with inexorable facts; he, and his hat, and his boots, and
+his clothes, never showing any trace of cleaning, but being uniformly in
+one condition of dust and grit.
+
+The lamplighter now dotting the quiet Close with specks of light, and
+running at a great rate up and down his little ladder with that
+object—his little ladder under the sacred shadow of whose inconvenience
+generations had grown up, and which all Cloisterham would have stood
+aghast at the idea of abolishing—the Dean withdraws to his dinner, Mr.
+Tope to his tea, and Mr. Jasper to his piano. There, with no light but
+that of the fire, he sits chanting choir-music in a low and beautiful
+voice, for two or three hours; in short, until it has been for some time
+dark, and the moon is about to rise.
+
+Then he closes his piano softly, softly changes his coat for a
+pea-jacket, with a goodly wicker-cased bottle in its largest pocket, and
+putting on a low-crowned, flap-brimmed hat, goes softly out. Why does he
+move so softly to-night? No outward reason is apparent for it. Can
+there be any sympathetic reason crouching darkly within him?
+
+Repairing to Durdles’s unfinished house, or hole in the city wall, and
+seeing a light within it, he softly picks his course among the
+gravestones, monuments, and stony lumber of the yard, already touched
+here and there, sidewise, by the rising moon. The two journeymen have
+left their two great saws sticking in their blocks of stone; and two
+skeleton journeymen out of the Dance of Death might be grinning in the
+shadow of their sheltering sentry-boxes, about to slash away at cutting
+out the gravestones of the next two people destined to die in
+Cloisterham. Likely enough, the two think little of that now, being
+alive, and perhaps merry. Curious, to make a guess at the two;—or say
+one of the two!
+
+‘Ho! Durdles!’
+
+The light moves, and he appears with it at the door. He would seem to
+have been ‘cleaning himself’ with the aid of a bottle, jug, and tumbler;
+for no other cleansing instruments are visible in the bare brick room
+with rafters overhead and no plastered ceiling, into which he shows his
+visitor.
+
+‘Are you ready?’
+
+‘I am ready, Mister Jarsper. Let the old ’uns come out if they dare,
+when we go among their tombs. My spirit is ready for ’em.’
+
+‘Do you mean animal spirits, or ardent?’
+
+‘The one’s the t’other,’ answers Durdles, ‘and I mean ’em both.’
+
+He takes a lantern from a hook, puts a match or two in his pocket
+wherewith to light it, should there be need; and they go out together,
+dinner-bundle and all.
+
+Surely an unaccountable sort of expedition! That Durdles himself, who is
+always prowling among old graves, and ruins, like a Ghoul—that he should
+be stealing forth to climb, and dive, and wander without an object, is
+nothing extraordinary; but that the Choir-Master or any one else should
+hold it worth his while to be with him, and to study moonlight effects in
+such company is another affair. Surely an unaccountable sort of
+expedition, therefore!
+
+‘’Ware that there mound by the yard-gate, Mister Jarsper.’
+
+‘I see it. What is it?’
+
+‘Lime.’
+
+Mr. Jasper stops, and waits for him to come up, for he lags behind.
+‘What you call quick-lime?’
+
+‘Ay!’ says Durdles; ‘quick enough to eat your boots. With a little handy
+stirring, quick enough to eat your bones.’
+
+They go on, presently passing the red windows of the Travellers’
+Twopenny, and emerging into the clear moonlight of the Monks’ Vineyard.
+This crossed, they come to Minor Canon Corner: of which the greater part
+lies in shadow until the moon shall rise higher in the sky.
+
+The sound of a closing house-door strikes their ears, and two men come
+out. These are Mr. Crisparkle and Neville. Jasper, with a strange and
+sudden smile upon his face, lays the palm of his hand upon the breast of
+Durdles, stopping him where he stands.
+
+At that end of Minor Canon Corner the shadow is profound in the existing
+state of the light: at that end, too, there is a piece of old dwarf wall,
+breast high, the only remaining boundary of what was once a garden, but
+is now the thoroughfare. Jasper and Durdles would have turned this wall
+in another instant; but, stopping so short, stand behind it.
+
+‘Those two are only sauntering,’ Jasper whispers; ‘they will go out into
+the moonlight soon. Let us keep quiet here, or they will detain us, or
+want to join us, or what not.’
+
+Durdles nods assent, and falls to munching some fragments from his
+bundle. Jasper folds his arms upon the top of the wall, and, with his
+chin resting on them, watches. He takes no note whatever of the Minor
+Canon, but watches Neville, as though his eye were at the trigger of a
+loaded rifle, and he had covered him, and were going to fire. A sense of
+destructive power is so expressed in his face, that even Durdles pauses
+in his munching, and looks at him, with an unmunched something in his
+cheek.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Crisparkle and Neville walk to and fro, quietly talking
+together. What they say, cannot be heard consecutively; but Mr. Jasper
+has already distinguished his own name more than once.
+
+‘This is the first day of the week,’ Mr. Crisparkle can be distinctly
+heard to observe, as they turn back; ‘and the last day of the week is
+Christmas Eve.’
+
+‘You may be certain of me, sir.’
+
+The echoes were favourable at those points, but as the two approach, the
+sound of their talking becomes confused again. The word ‘confidence,’
+shattered by the echoes, but still capable of being pieced together, is
+uttered by Mr. Crisparkle. As they draw still nearer, this fragment of a
+reply is heard: ‘Not deserved yet, but shall be, sir.’ As they turn away
+again, Jasper again hears his own name, in connection with the words from
+Mr. Crisparkle: ‘Remember that I said I answered for you confidently.’
+Then the sound of their talk becomes confused again; they halting for a
+little while, and some earnest action on the part of Neville succeeding.
+When they move once more, Mr. Crisparkle is seen to look up at the sky,
+and to point before him. They then slowly disappear; passing out into
+the moonlight at the opposite end of the Corner.
+
+It is not until they are gone, that Mr. Jasper moves. But then he turns
+to Durdles, and bursts into a fit of laughter. Durdles, who still has
+that suspended something in his cheek, and who sees nothing to laugh at,
+stares at him until Mr. Jasper lays his face down on his arms to have his
+laugh out. Then Durdles bolts the something, as if desperately resigning
+himself to indigestion.
+
+Among those secluded nooks there is very little stir or movement after
+dark. There is little enough in the high tide of the day, but there is
+next to none at night. Besides that the cheerfully frequented High
+Street lies nearly parallel to the spot (the old Cathedral rising between
+the two), and is the natural channel in which the Cloisterham traffic
+flows, a certain awful hush pervades the ancient pile, the cloisters, and
+the churchyard, after dark, which not many people care to encounter. Ask
+the first hundred citizens of Cloisterham, met at random in the streets
+at noon, if they believed in Ghosts, they would tell you no; but put them
+to choose at night between these eerie Precincts and the thoroughfare of
+shops, and you would find that ninety-nine declared for the longer round
+and the more frequented way. The cause of this is not to be found in any
+local superstition that attaches to the Precincts—albeit a mysterious
+lady, with a child in her arms and a rope dangling from her neck, has
+been seen flitting about there by sundry witnesses as intangible as
+herself—but it is to be sought in the innate shrinking of dust with the
+breath of life in it from dust out of which the breath of life has
+passed; also, in the widely diffused, and almost as widely
+unacknowledged, reflection: ‘If the dead do, under any circumstances,
+become visible to the living, these are such likely surroundings for the
+purpose that I, the living, will get out of them as soon as I can.’
+Hence, when Mr. Jasper and Durdles pause to glance around them, before
+descending into the crypt by a small side door, of which the latter has a
+key, the whole expanse of moonlight in their view is utterly deserted.
+One might fancy that the tide of life was stemmed by Mr. Jasper’s own
+gatehouse. The murmur of the tide is heard beyond; but no wave passes
+the archway, over which his lamp burns red behind his curtain, as if the
+building were a Lighthouse.
+
+They enter, locking themselves in, descend the rugged steps, and are down
+in the Crypt. The lantern is not wanted, for the moonlight strikes in at
+the groined windows, bare of glass, the broken frames for which cast
+patterns on the ground. The heavy pillars which support the roof
+engender masses of black shade, but between them there are lanes of
+light. Up and down these lanes they walk, Durdles discoursing of the
+‘old uns’ he yet counts on disinterring, and slapping a wall, in which he
+considers ‘a whole family on ’em’ to be stoned and earthed up, just as if
+he were a familiar friend of the family. The taciturnity of Durdles is
+for the time overcome by Mr. Jasper’s wicker bottle, which circulates
+freely;—in the sense, that is to say, that its contents enter freely into
+Mr. Durdles’s circulation, while Mr. Jasper only rinses his mouth once,
+and casts forth the rinsing.
+
+They are to ascend the great Tower. On the steps by which they rise to
+the Cathedral, Durdles pauses for new store of breath. The steps are
+very dark, but out of the darkness they can see the lanes of light they
+have traversed. Durdles seats himself upon a step. Mr. Jasper seats
+himself upon another. The odour from the wicker bottle (which has
+somehow passed into Durdles’s keeping) soon intimates that the cork has
+been taken out; but this is not ascertainable through the sense of sight,
+since neither can descry the other. And yet, in talking, they turn to
+one another, as though their faces could commune together.
+
+‘This is good stuff, Mister Jarsper!’
+
+‘It is very good stuff, I hope.—I bought it on purpose.’
+
+‘They don’t show, you see, the old uns don’t, Mister Jarsper!’
+
+‘It would be a more confused world than it is, if they could.’
+
+‘Well, it _would_ lead towards a mixing of things,’ Durdles acquiesces:
+pausing on the remark, as if the idea of ghosts had not previously
+presented itself to him in a merely inconvenient light, domestically or
+chronologically. ‘But do you think there may be Ghosts of other things,
+though not of men and women?’
+
+‘What things? Flower-beds and watering-pots? horses and harness?’
+
+‘No. Sounds.’
+
+‘What sounds?’
+
+‘Cries.’
+
+‘What cries do you mean? Chairs to mend?’
+
+‘No. I mean screeches. Now I’ll tell you, Mr. Jarsper. Wait a bit till
+I put the bottle right.’ Here the cork is evidently taken out again, and
+replaced again. ‘There! _Now_ it’s right! This time last year, only a
+few days later, I happened to have been doing what was correct by the
+season, in the way of giving it the welcome it had a right to expect,
+when them town-boys set on me at their worst. At length I gave ’em the
+slip, and turned in here. And here I fell asleep. And what woke me?
+The ghost of a cry. The ghost of one terrific shriek, which shriek was
+followed by the ghost of the howl of a dog: a long, dismal, woeful howl,
+such as a dog gives when a person’s dead. That was _my_ last Christmas
+Eve.’
+
+‘What do you mean?’ is the very abrupt, and, one might say, fierce
+retort.
+
+‘I mean that I made inquiries everywhere about, and, that no living ears
+but mine heard either that cry or that howl. So I say they was both
+ghosts; though why they came to me, I’ve never made out.’
+
+‘I thought you were another kind of man,’ says Jasper, scornfully.
+
+‘So I thought myself,’ answers Durdles with his usual composure; ‘and yet
+I was picked out for it.’
+
+Jasper had risen suddenly, when he asked him what he meant, and he now
+says, ‘Come; we shall freeze here; lead the way.’
+
+Durdles complies, not over-steadily; opens the door at the top of the
+steps with the key he has already used; and so emerges on the Cathedral
+level, in a passage at the side of the chancel. Here, the moonlight is
+so very bright again that the colours of the nearest stained-glass window
+are thrown upon their faces. The appearance of the unconscious Durdles,
+holding the door open for his companion to follow, as if from the grave,
+is ghastly enough, with a purple hand across his face, and a yellow
+splash upon his brow; but he bears the close scrutiny of his companion in
+an insensible way, although it is prolonged while the latter fumbles
+among his pockets for a key confided to him that will open an iron gate,
+so to enable them to pass to the staircase of the great tower.
+
+‘That and the bottle are enough for you to carry,’ he says, giving it to
+Durdles; ‘hand your bundle to me; I am younger and longer-winded than
+you.’ Durdles hesitates for a moment between bundle and bottle; but
+gives the preference to the bottle as being by far the better company,
+and consigns the dry weight to his fellow-explorer.
+
+Then they go up the winding staircase of the great tower, toilsomely,
+turning and turning, and lowering their heads to avoid the stairs above,
+or the rough stone pivot around which they twist. Durdles has lighted
+his lantern, by drawing from the cold, hard wall a spark of that
+mysterious fire which lurks in everything, and, guided by this speck,
+they clamber up among the cobwebs and the dust. Their way lies through
+strange places. Twice or thrice they emerge into level, low-arched
+galleries, whence they can look down into the moon-lit nave; and where
+Durdles, waving his lantern, waves the dim angels’ heads upon the corbels
+of the roof, seeming to watch their progress. Anon they turn into
+narrower and steeper staircases, and the night-air begins to blow upon
+them, and the chirp of some startled jackdaw or frightened rook precedes
+the heavy beating of wings in a confined space, and the beating down of
+dust and straws upon their heads. At last, leaving their light behind a
+stair—for it blows fresh up here—they look down on Cloisterham, fair to
+see in the moonlight: its ruined habitations and sanctuaries of the dead,
+at the tower’s base: its moss-softened red-tiled roofs and red-brick
+houses of the living, clustered beyond: its river winding down from the
+mist on the horizon, as though that were its source, and already heaving
+with a restless knowledge of its approach towards the sea.
+
+Once again, an unaccountable expedition this! Jasper (always moving
+softly with no visible reason) contemplates the scene, and especially
+that stillest part of it which the Cathedral overshadows. But he
+contemplates Durdles quite as curiously, and Durdles is by times
+conscious of his watchful eyes.
+
+Only by times, because Durdles is growing drowsy. As aëronauts lighten
+the load they carry, when they wish to rise, similarly Durdles has
+lightened the wicker bottle in coming up. Snatches of sleep surprise him
+on his legs, and stop him in his talk. A mild fit of calenture seizes
+him, in which he deems that the ground so far below, is on a level with
+the tower, and would as lief walk off the tower into the air as not.
+Such is his state when they begin to come down. And as aëronauts make
+themselves heavier when they wish to descend, similarly Durdles charges
+himself with more liquid from the wicker bottle, that he may come down
+the better.
+
+The iron gate attained and locked—but not before Durdles has tumbled
+twice, and cut an eyebrow open once—they descend into the crypt again,
+with the intent of issuing forth as they entered. But, while returning
+among those lanes of light, Durdles becomes so very uncertain, both of
+foot and speech, that he half drops, half throws himself down, by one of
+the heavy pillars, scarcely less heavy than itself, and indistinctly
+appeals to his companion for forty winks of a second each.
+
+‘If you will have it so, or must have it so,’ replies Jasper, ‘I’ll not
+leave you here. Take them, while I walk to and fro.’
+
+Durdles is asleep at once; and in his sleep he dreams a dream.
+
+It is not much of a dream, considering the vast extent of the domains of
+dreamland, and their wonderful productions; it is only remarkable for
+being unusually restless and unusually real. He dreams of lying there,
+asleep, and yet counting his companion’s footsteps as he walks to and
+fro. He dreams that the footsteps die away into distance of time and of
+space, and that something touches him, and that something falls from his
+hand. Then something clinks and gropes about, and he dreams that he is
+alone for so long a time, that the lanes of light take new directions as
+the moon advances in her course. From succeeding unconsciousness he
+passes into a dream of slow uneasiness from cold; and painfully awakes to
+a perception of the lanes of light—really changed, much as he had
+dreamed—and Jasper walking among them, beating his hands and feet.
+
+‘Holloa!’ Durdles cries out, unmeaningly alarmed.
+
+‘Awake at last?’ says Jasper, coming up to him. ‘Do you know that your
+forties have stretched into thousands?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘They have though.’
+
+‘What’s the time?’
+
+‘Hark! The bells are going in the Tower!’
+
+They strike four quarters, and then the great bell strikes.
+
+‘Two!’ cries Durdles, scrambling up; ‘why didn’t you try to wake me,
+Mister Jarsper?’
+
+‘I did. I might as well have tried to wake the dead—your own family of
+dead, up in the corner there.’
+
+‘Did you touch me?’
+
+‘Touch you! Yes. Shook you.’
+
+As Durdles recalls that touching something in his dream, he looks down on
+the pavement, and sees the key of the crypt door lying close to where he
+himself lay.
+
+‘I dropped you, did I?’ he says, picking it up, and recalling that part
+of his dream. As he gathers himself up again into an upright position,
+or into a position as nearly upright as he ever maintains, he is again
+conscious of being watched by his companion.
+
+‘Well?’ says Jasper, smiling, ‘are you quite ready? Pray don’t hurry.’
+
+‘Let me get my bundle right, Mister Jarsper, and I’m with you.’ As he
+ties it afresh, he is once more conscious that he is very narrowly
+observed.
+
+‘What do you suspect me of, Mister Jarsper?’ he asks, with drunken
+displeasure. ‘Let them as has any suspicions of Durdles name ’em.’
+
+‘I’ve no suspicions of you, my good Mr. Durdles; but I have suspicions
+that my bottle was filled with something stiffer than either of us
+supposed. And I also have suspicions,’ Jasper adds, taking it from the
+pavement and turning it bottom upwards, ‘that it’s empty.’
+
+Durdles condescends to laugh at this. Continuing to chuckle when his
+laugh is over, as though remonstrant with himself on his drinking powers,
+he rolls to the door and unlocks it. They both pass out, and Durdles
+relocks it, and pockets his key.
+
+‘A thousand thanks for a curious and interesting night,’ says Jasper,
+giving him his hand; ‘you can make your own way home?’
+
+‘I should think so!’ answers Durdles. ‘If you was to offer Durdles the
+affront to show him his way home, he wouldn’t go home.
+
+ Durdles wouldn’t go home till morning;
+ And _then_ Durdles wouldn’t go home,
+
+Durdles wouldn’t.’ This with the utmost defiance.
+
+‘Good-night, then.’
+
+‘Good-night, Mister Jarsper.’
+
+Each is turning his own way, when a sharp whistle rends the silence, and
+the jargon is yelped out:
+
+ Widdy widdy wen!
+ I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—ten.
+ Widdy widdy wy!
+ Then—E—don’t—go—then—I—shy—
+ Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning!’
+
+Instantly afterwards, a rapid fire of stones rattles at the Cathedral
+wall, and the hideous small boy is beheld opposite, dancing in the
+moonlight.
+
+‘What! Is that baby-devil on the watch there!’ cries Jasper in a fury:
+so quickly roused, and so violent, that he seems an older devil himself.
+‘I shall shed the blood of that impish wretch! I know I shall do it!’
+Regardless of the fire, though it hits him more than once, he rushes at
+Deputy, collars him, and tries to bring him across. But Deputy is not to
+be so easily brought across. With a diabolical insight into the
+strongest part of his position, he is no sooner taken by the throat than
+he curls up his legs, forces his assailant to hang him, as it were, and
+gurgles in his throat, and screws his body, and twists, as already
+undergoing the first agonies of strangulation. There is nothing for it
+but to drop him. He instantly gets himself together, backs over to
+Durdles, and cries to his assailant, gnashing the great gap in front of
+his mouth with rage and malice:
+
+‘I’ll blind yer, s’elp me! I’ll stone yer eyes out, s’elp me! If I
+don’t have yer eyesight, bellows me!’ At the same time dodging behind
+Durdles, and snarling at Jasper, now from this side of him, and now from
+that: prepared, if pounced upon, to dart away in all manner of
+curvilinear directions, and, if run down after all, to grovel in the
+dust, and cry: ‘Now, hit me when I’m down! Do it!’
+
+‘Don’t hurt the boy, Mister Jarsper,’ urges Durdles, shielding him.
+‘Recollect yourself.’
+
+‘He followed us to-night, when we first came here!’
+
+‘Yer lie, I didn’t!’ replies Deputy, in his one form of polite
+contradiction.
+
+‘He has been prowling near us ever since!’
+
+‘Yer lie, I haven’t,’ returns Deputy. ‘I’d only jist come out for my
+’elth when I see you two a-coming out of the Kin-freederel. If
+
+ I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—ten!’
+
+(with the usual rhythm and dance, though dodging behind Durdles), ‘it
+ain’t _any_ fault, is it?’
+
+‘Take him home, then,’ retorts Jasper, ferociously, though with a strong
+check upon himself, ‘and let my eyes be rid of the sight of you!’
+
+Deputy, with another sharp whistle, at once expressing his relief, and
+his commencement of a milder stoning of Mr. Durdles, begins stoning that
+respectable gentleman home, as if he were a reluctant ox. Mr. Jasper
+goes to his gatehouse, brooding. And thus, as everything comes to an
+end, the unaccountable expedition comes to an end—for the time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII—BOTH AT THEIR BEST
+
+
+Miss Twinkleton’s establishment was about to undergo a serene hush. The
+Christmas recess was at hand. What had once, and at no remote period,
+been called, even by the erudite Miss Twinkleton herself, ‘the half;’ but
+what was now called, as being more elegant, and more strictly collegiate,
+‘the term,’ would expire to-morrow. A noticeable relaxation of
+discipline had for some few days pervaded the Nuns’ House. Club suppers
+had occurred in the bedrooms, and a dressed tongue had been carved with a
+pair of scissors, and handed round with the curling tongs. Portions of
+marmalade had likewise been distributed on a service of plates
+constructed of curlpaper; and cowslip wine had been quaffed from the
+small squat measuring glass in which little Rickitts (a junior of weakly
+constitution) took her steel drops daily. The housemaids had been bribed
+with various fragments of riband, and sundry pairs of shoes more or less
+down at heel, to make no mention of crumbs in the beds; the airiest
+costumes had been worn on these festive occasions; and the daring Miss
+Ferdinand had even surprised the company with a sprightly solo on the
+comb-and-curlpaper, until suffocated in her own pillow by two
+flowing-haired executioners.
+
+Nor were these the only tokens of dispersal. Boxes appeared in the
+bedrooms (where they were capital at other times), and a surprising
+amount of packing took place, out of all proportion to the amount packed.
+Largess, in the form of odds and ends of cold cream and pomatum, and also
+of hairpins, was freely distributed among the attendants. On charges of
+inviolable secrecy, confidences were interchanged respecting golden youth
+of England expected to call, ‘at home,’ on the first opportunity. Miss
+Giggles (deficient in sentiment) did indeed profess that she, for her
+part, acknowledged such homage by making faces at the golden youth; but
+this young lady was outvoted by an immense majority.
+
+On the last night before a recess, it was always expressly made a point
+of honour that nobody should go to sleep, and that Ghosts should be
+encouraged by all possible means. This compact invariably broke down,
+and all the young ladies went to sleep very soon, and got up very early.
+
+The concluding ceremony came off at twelve o’clock on the day of
+departure; when Miss Twinkleton, supported by Mrs. Tisher, held a
+drawing-room in her own apartment (the globes already covered with brown
+Holland), where glasses of white-wine and plates of cut pound-cake were
+discovered on the table. Miss Twinkleton then said: Ladies, another
+revolving year had brought us round to that festive period at which the
+first feelings of our nature bounded in our—Miss Twinkleton was annually
+going to add ‘bosoms,’ but annually stopped on the brink of that
+expression, and substituted ‘hearts.’ Hearts; our hearts. Hem! Again a
+revolving year, ladies, had brought us to a pause in our studies—let us
+hope our greatly advanced studies—and, like the mariner in his bark, the
+warrior in his tent, the captive in his dungeon, and the traveller in his
+various conveyances, we yearned for home. Did we say, on such an
+occasion, in the opening words of Mr. Addison’s impressive tragedy:
+
+ ‘The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers,
+ And heavily in clouds brings on the day,
+ The great, th’ important day—?’
+
+Not so. From horizon to zenith all was _couleur de rose_, for all was
+redolent of our relations and friends. Might _we_ find _them_ prospering
+as _we_ expected; might _they_ find _us_ prospering as _they_ expected!
+Ladies, we would now, with our love to one another, wish one another
+good-bye, and happiness, until we met again. And when the time should
+come for our resumption of those pursuits which (here a general
+depression set in all round), pursuits which, pursuits which;—then let us
+ever remember what was said by the Spartan General, in words too trite
+for repetition, at the battle it were superfluous to specify.
+
+The handmaidens of the establishment, in their best caps, then handed the
+trays, and the young ladies sipped and crumbled, and the bespoken coaches
+began to choke the street. Then leave-taking was not long about; and
+Miss Twinkleton, in saluting each young lady’s cheek, confided to her an
+exceedingly neat letter, addressed to her next friend at law, ‘with Miss
+Twinkleton’s best compliments’ in the corner. This missive she handed
+with an air as if it had not the least connexion with the bill, but were
+something in the nature of a delicate and joyful surprise.
+
+So many times had Rosa seen such dispersals, and so very little did she
+know of any other Home, that she was contented to remain where she was,
+and was even better contented than ever before, having her latest friend
+with her. And yet her latest friendship had a blank place in it of which
+she could not fail to be sensible. Helena Landless, having been a party
+to her brother’s revelation about Rosa, and having entered into that
+compact of silence with Mr. Crisparkle, shrank from any allusion to Edwin
+Drood’s name. Why she so avoided it, was mysterious to Rosa, but she
+perfectly perceived the fact. But for the fact, she might have relieved
+her own little perplexed heart of some of its doubts and hesitations, by
+taking Helena into her confidence. As it was, she had no such vent: she
+could only ponder on her own difficulties, and wonder more and more why
+this avoidance of Edwin’s name should last, now that she knew—for so much
+Helena had told her—that a good understanding was to be reëstablished
+between the two young men, when Edwin came down.
+
+It would have made a pretty picture, so many pretty girls kissing Rosa in
+the cold porch of the Nuns’ House, and that sunny little creature peeping
+out of it (unconscious of sly faces carved on spout and gable peeping at
+her), and waving farewells to the departing coaches, as if she
+represented the spirit of rosy youth abiding in the place to keep it
+bright and warm in its desertion. The hoarse High Street became musical
+with the cry, in various silvery voices, ‘Good-bye, Rosebud darling!’ and
+the effigy of Mr. Sapsea’s father over the opposite doorway seemed to say
+to mankind: ‘Gentlemen, favour me with your attention to this charming
+little last lot left behind, and bid with a spirit worthy of the
+occasion!’ Then the staid street, so unwontedly sparkling, youthful, and
+fresh for a few rippling moments, ran dry, and Cloisterham was itself
+again.
+
+ [Picture: “Good-bye, Rosebud darling”]
+
+If Rosebud in her bower now waited Edwin Drood’s coming with an uneasy
+heart, Edwin for his part was uneasy too. With far less force of purpose
+in his composition than the childish beauty, crowned by acclamation fairy
+queen of Miss Twinkleton’s establishment, he had a conscience, and Mr.
+Grewgious had pricked it. That gentleman’s steady convictions of what
+was right and what was wrong in such a case as his, were neither to be
+frowned aside nor laughed aside. They would not be moved. But for the
+dinner in Staple Inn, and but for the ring he carried in the breast
+pocket of his coat, he would have drifted into their wedding-day without
+another pause for real thought, loosely trusting that all would go well,
+left alone. But that serious putting him on his truth to the living and
+the dead had brought him to a check. He must either give the ring to
+Rosa, or he must take it back. Once put into this narrowed way of
+action, it was curious that he began to consider Rosa’s claims upon him
+more unselfishly than he had ever considered them before, and began to be
+less sure of himself than he had ever been in all his easy-going days.
+
+‘I will be guided by what she says, and by how we get on,’ was his
+decision, walking from the gatehouse to the Nuns’ House. ‘Whatever comes
+of it, I will bear his words in mind, and try to be true to the living
+and the dead.’
+
+Rosa was dressed for walking. She expected him. It was a bright, frosty
+day, and Miss Twinkleton had already graciously sanctioned fresh air.
+Thus they got out together before it became necessary for either Miss
+Twinkleton, or the deputy high-priest Mrs. Tisher, to lay even so much as
+one of those usual offerings on the shrine of Propriety.
+
+‘My dear Eddy,’ said Rosa, when they had turned out of the High Street,
+and had got among the quiet walks in the neighbourhood of the Cathedral
+and the river: ‘I want to say something very serious to you. I have been
+thinking about it for a long, long time.’
+
+‘I want to be serious with you too, Rosa dear. I mean to be serious and
+earnest.’
+
+‘Thank you, Eddy. And you will not think me unkind because I begin, will
+you? You will not think I speak for myself only, because I speak first?
+That would not be generous, would it? And I know you are generous!’
+
+He said, ‘I hope I am not ungenerous to you, Rosa.’ He called her Pussy
+no more. Never again.
+
+‘And there is no fear,’ pursued Rosa, ‘of our quarrelling, is there?
+Because, Eddy,’ clasping her hand on his arm, ‘we have so much reason to
+be very lenient to each other!’
+
+‘We will be, Rosa.’
+
+‘That’s a dear good boy! Eddy, let us be courageous. Let us change to
+brother and sister from this day forth.’
+
+‘Never be husband and wife?’
+
+‘Never!’
+
+Neither spoke again for a little while. But after that pause he said,
+with some effort:
+
+‘Of course I know that this has been in both our minds, Rosa, and of
+course I am in honour bound to confess freely that it does not originate
+with you.’
+
+‘No, nor with you, dear,’ she returned, with pathetic earnestness. ‘That
+sprung up between us. You are not truly happy in our engagement; I am
+not truly happy in it. O, I am so sorry, so sorry!’ And there she broke
+into tears.
+
+‘I am deeply sorry too, Rosa. Deeply sorry for you.’
+
+‘And I for you, poor boy! And I for you!’
+
+This pure young feeling, this gentle and forbearing feeling of each
+towards the other, brought with it its reward in a softening light that
+seemed to shine on their position. The relations between them did not
+look wilful, or capricious, or a failure, in such a light; they became
+elevated into something more self-denying, honourable, affectionate, and
+true.
+
+‘If we knew yesterday,’ said Rosa, as she dried her eyes, ‘and we did
+know yesterday, and on many, many yesterdays, that we were far from right
+together in those relations which were not of our own choosing, what
+better could we do to-day than change them? It is natural that we should
+be sorry, and you see how sorry we both are; but how much better to be
+sorry now than then!’
+
+‘When, Rosa?’
+
+‘When it would be too late. And then we should be angry, besides.’
+
+Another silence fell upon them.
+
+‘And you know,’ said Rosa innocently, ‘you couldn’t like me then; and you
+can always like me now, for I shall not be a drag upon you, or a worry to
+you. And I can always like you now, and your sister will not tease or
+trifle with you. I often did when I was not your sister, and I beg your
+pardon for it.’
+
+‘Don’t let us come to that, Rosa; or I shall want more pardoning than I
+like to think of.’
+
+‘No, indeed, Eddy; you are too hard, my generous boy, upon yourself. Let
+us sit down, brother, on these ruins, and let me tell you how it was with
+us. I think I know, for I have considered about it very much since you
+were here last time. You liked me, didn’t you? You thought I was a nice
+little thing?’
+
+‘Everybody thinks that, Rosa.’
+
+‘Do they?’ She knitted her brow musingly for a moment, and then flashed
+out with the bright little induction: ‘Well, but say they do. Surely it
+was not enough that you should think of me only as other people did; now,
+was it?’
+
+The point was not to be got over. It was not enough.
+
+‘And that is just what I mean; that is just how it was with us,’ said
+Rosa. ‘You liked me very well, and you had grown used to me, and had
+grown used to the idea of our being married. You accepted the situation
+as an inevitable kind of thing, didn’t you? It was to be, you thought,
+and why discuss or dispute it?’
+
+It was new and strange to him to have himself presented to himself so
+clearly, in a glass of her holding up. He had always patronised her, in
+his superiority to her share of woman’s wit. Was that but another
+instance of something radically amiss in the terms on which they had been
+gliding towards a life-long bondage?
+
+‘All this that I say of you is true of me as well, Eddy. Unless it was,
+I might not be bold enough to say it. Only, the difference between us
+was, that by little and little there crept into my mind a habit of
+thinking about it, instead of dismissing it. My life is not so busy as
+yours, you see, and I have not so many things to think of. So I thought
+about it very much, and I cried about it very much too (though that was
+not your fault, poor boy); when all at once my guardian came down, to
+prepare for my leaving the Nuns’ House. I tried to hint to him that I
+was not quite settled in my mind, but I hesitated and failed, and he
+didn’t understand me. But he is a good, good man. And he put before me
+so kindly, and yet so strongly, how seriously we ought to consider, in
+our circumstances, that I resolved to speak to you the next moment we
+were alone and grave. And if I seemed to come to it easily just now,
+because I came to it all at once, don’t think it was so really, Eddy, for
+O, it was very, very hard, and O, I am very, very sorry!’
+
+Her full heart broke into tears again. He put his arm about her waist,
+and they walked by the river-side together.
+
+‘Your guardian has spoken to me too, Rosa dear. I saw him before I left
+London.’ His right hand was in his breast, seeking the ring; but he
+checked it, as he thought: ‘If I am to take it back, why should I tell
+her of it?’
+
+‘And that made you more serious about it, didn’t it, Eddy? And if I had
+not spoken to you, as I have, you would have spoken to me? I hope you
+can tell me so? I don’t like it to be _all_ my doing, though it _is_ so
+much better for us.’
+
+‘Yes, I should have spoken; I should have put everything before you; I
+came intending to do it. But I never could have spoken to you as you
+have spoken to me, Rosa.’
+
+‘Don’t say you mean so coldly or unkindly, Eddy, please, if you can help
+it.’
+
+‘I mean so sensibly and delicately, so wisely and affectionately.’
+
+‘That’s my dear brother!’ She kissed his hand in a little rapture. ‘The
+dear girls will be dreadfully disappointed,’ added Rosa, laughing, with
+the dewdrops glistening in her bright eyes. ‘They have looked forward to
+it so, poor pets!’
+
+‘Ah! but I fear it will be a worse disappointment to Jack,’ said Edwin
+Drood, with a start. ‘I never thought of Jack!’
+
+Her swift and intent look at him as he said the words could no more be
+recalled than a flash of lightning can. But it appeared as though she
+would have instantly recalled it, if she could; for she looked down,
+confused, and breathed quickly.
+
+‘You don’t doubt its being a blow to Jack, Rosa?’
+
+She merely replied, and that evasively and hurriedly: Why should she?
+She had not thought about it. He seemed, to her, to have so little to do
+with it.
+
+‘My dear child! can you suppose that any one so wrapped up in
+another—Mrs. Tope’s expression: not mine—as Jack is in me, could fail to
+be struck all of a heap by such a sudden and complete change in my life?
+I say sudden, because it will be sudden to _him_, you know.’
+
+She nodded twice or thrice, and her lips parted as if she would have
+assented. But she uttered no sound, and her breathing was no slower.
+
+‘How shall I tell Jack?’ said Edwin, ruminating. If he had been less
+occupied with the thought, he must have seen her singular emotion. ‘I
+never thought of Jack. It must be broken to him, before the town-crier
+knows it. I dine with the dear fellow to-morrow and next day—Christmas
+Eve and Christmas Day—but it would never do to spoil his feast-days. He
+always worries about me, and moddley-coddleys in the merest trifles. The
+news is sure to overset him. How on earth shall this be broken to Jack?’
+
+‘He must be told, I suppose?’ said Rosa.
+
+‘My dear Rosa! who ought to be in our confidence, if not Jack?’
+
+‘My guardian promised to come down, if I should write and ask him. I am
+going to do so. Would you like to leave it to him?’
+
+‘A bright idea!’ cried Edwin. ‘The other trustee. Nothing more natural.
+He comes down, he goes to Jack, he relates what we have agreed upon, and
+he states our case better than we could. He has already spoken feelingly
+to you, he has already spoken feelingly to me, and he’ll put the whole
+thing feelingly to Jack. That’s it! I am not a coward, Rosa, but to
+tell you a secret, I am a little afraid of Jack.’
+
+‘No, no! you are not afraid of him!’ cried Rosa, turning white, and
+clasping her hands.
+
+‘Why, sister Rosa, sister Rosa, what do you see from the turret?’ said
+Edwin, rallying her. ‘My dear girl!’
+
+‘You frightened me.’
+
+‘Most unintentionally, but I am as sorry as if I had meant to do it.
+Could you possibly suppose for a moment, from any loose way of speaking
+of mine, that I was literally afraid of the dear fond fellow? What I
+mean is, that he is subject to a kind of paroxysm, or fit—I saw him in it
+once—and I don’t know but that so great a surprise, coming upon him
+direct from me whom he is so wrapped up in, might bring it on perhaps.
+Which—and this is the secret I was going to tell you—is another reason
+for your guardian’s making the communication. He is so steady, precise,
+and exact, that he will talk Jack’s thoughts into shape, in no time:
+whereas with me Jack is always impulsive and hurried, and, I may say,
+almost womanish.’
+
+Rosa seemed convinced. Perhaps from her own very different point of view
+of ‘Jack,’ she felt comforted and protected by the interposition of Mr.
+Grewgious between herself and him.
+
+And now, Edwin Drood’s right hand closed again upon the ring in its
+little case, and again was checked by the consideration: ‘It is certain,
+now, that I am to give it back to him; then why should I tell her of it?’
+That pretty sympathetic nature which could be so sorry for him in the
+blight of their childish hopes of happiness together, and could so
+quietly find itself alone in a new world to weave fresh wreaths of such
+flowers as it might prove to bear, the old world’s flowers being
+withered, would be grieved by those sorrowful jewels; and to what
+purpose? Why should it be? They were but a sign of broken joys and
+baseless projects; in their very beauty they were (as the unlikeliest of
+men had said) almost a cruel satire on the loves, hopes, plans, of
+humanity, which are able to forecast nothing, and are so much brittle
+dust. Let them be. He would restore them to her guardian when he came
+down; he in his turn would restore them to the cabinet from which he had
+unwillingly taken them; and there, like old letters or old vows, or other
+records of old aspirations come to nothing, they would be disregarded,
+until, being valuable, they were sold into circulation again, to repeat
+their former round.
+
+Let them be. Let them lie unspoken of, in his breast. However
+distinctly or indistinctly he entertained these thoughts, he arrived at
+the conclusion, Let them be. Among the mighty store of wonderful chains
+that are for ever forging, day and night, in the vast iron-works of time
+and circumstance, there was one chain forged in the moment of that small
+conclusion, riveted to the foundations of heaven and earth, and gifted
+with invincible force to hold and drag.
+
+They walked on by the river. They began to speak of their separate
+plans. He would quicken his departure from England, and she would remain
+where she was, at least as long as Helena remained. The poor dear girls
+should have their disappointment broken to them gently, and, as the first
+preliminary, Miss Twinkleton should be confided in by Rosa, even in
+advance of the reappearance of Mr. Grewgious. It should be made clear in
+all quarters that she and Edwin were the best of friends. There had
+never been so serene an understanding between them since they were first
+affianced. And yet there was one reservation on each side; on hers, that
+she intended through her guardian to withdraw herself immediately from
+the tuition of her music-master; on his, that he did already entertain
+some wandering speculations whether it might ever come to pass that he
+would know more of Miss Landless.
+
+The bright, frosty day declined as they walked and spoke together. The
+sun dipped in the river far behind them, and the old city lay red before
+them, as their walk drew to a close. The moaning water cast its seaweed
+duskily at their feet, when they turned to leave its margin; and the
+rooks hovered above them with hoarse cries, darker splashes in the
+darkening air.
+
+‘I will prepare Jack for my flitting soon,’ said Edwin, in a low voice,
+‘and I will but see your guardian when he comes, and then go before they
+speak together. It will be better done without my being by. Don’t you
+think so?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘We know we have done right, Rosa?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘We know we are better so, even now?’
+
+‘And shall be far, far better so by-and-by.’
+
+Still there was that lingering tenderness in their hearts towards the old
+positions they were relinquishing, that they prolonged their parting.
+When they came among the elm-trees by the Cathedral, where they had last
+sat together, they stopped as by consent, and Rosa raised her face to
+his, as she had never raised it in the old days;—for they were old
+already.
+
+‘God bless you, dear! Good-bye!’
+
+‘God bless you, dear! Good-bye!’
+
+They kissed each other fervently.
+
+‘Now, please take me home, Eddy, and let me be by myself.’
+
+‘Don’t look round, Rosa,’ he cautioned her, as he drew her arm through
+his, and led her away. ‘Didn’t you see Jack?’
+
+‘No! Where?’
+
+‘Under the trees. He saw us, as we took leave of each other. Poor
+fellow! he little thinks we have parted. This will be a blow to him, I
+am much afraid!’
+
+She hurried on, without resting, and hurried on until they had passed
+under the gatehouse into the street; once there, she asked:
+
+‘Has he followed us? You can look without seeming to. Is he behind?’
+
+‘No. Yes, he is! He has just passed out under the gateway. The dear,
+sympathetic old fellow likes to keep us in sight. I am afraid he will be
+bitterly disappointed!’
+
+She pulled hurriedly at the handle of the hoarse old bell, and the gate
+soon opened. Before going in, she gave him one last, wide, wondering
+look, as if she would have asked him with imploring emphasis: ‘O! don’t
+you understand?’ And out of that look he vanished from her view.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV—WHEN SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN?
+
+
+Christmas Eve in Cloisterham. A few strange faces in the streets; a few
+other faces, half strange and half familiar, once the faces of
+Cloisterham children, now the faces of men and women who come back from
+the outer world at long intervals to find the city wonderfully shrunken
+in size, as if it had not washed by any means well in the meanwhile. To
+these, the striking of the Cathedral clock, and the cawing of the rooks
+from the Cathedral tower, are like voices of their nursery time. To such
+as these, it has happened in their dying hours afar off, that they have
+imagined their chamber-floor to be strewn with the autumnal leaves fallen
+from the elm-trees in the Close: so have the rustling sounds and fresh
+scents of their earliest impressions revived when the circle of their
+lives was very nearly traced, and the beginning and the end were drawing
+close together.
+
+Seasonable tokens are about. Red berries shine here and there in the
+lattices of Minor Canon Corner; Mr. and Mrs. Tope are daintily sticking
+sprigs of holly into the carvings and sconces of the Cathedral stalls, as
+if they were sticking them into the coat-button-holes of the Dean and
+Chapter. Lavish profusion is in the shops: particularly in the articles
+of currants, raisins, spices, candied peel, and moist sugar. An unusual
+air of gallantry and dissipation is abroad; evinced in an immense bunch
+of mistletoe hanging in the greengrocer’s shop doorway, and a poor little
+Twelfth Cake, culminating in the figure of a Harlequin—such a very poor
+little Twelfth Cake, that one would rather called it a Twenty-fourth Cake
+or a Forty-eighth Cake—to be raffled for at the pastrycook’s, terms one
+shilling per member. Public amusements are not wanting. The Wax-Work
+which made so deep an impression on the reflective mind of the Emperor of
+China is to be seen by particular desire during Christmas Week only, on
+the premises of the bankrupt livery-stable-keeper up the lane; and a new
+grand comic Christmas pantomime is to be produced at the Theatre: the
+latter heralded by the portrait of Signor Jacksonini the clown, saying
+‘How do you do to-morrow?’ quite as large as life, and almost as
+miserably. In short, Cloisterham is up and doing: though from this
+description the High School and Miss Twinkleton’s are to be excluded.
+From the former establishment the scholars have gone home, every one of
+them in love with one of Miss Twinkleton’s young ladies (who knows
+nothing about it); and only the handmaidens flutter occasionally in the
+windows of the latter. It is noticed, by the bye, that these damsels
+become, within the limits of decorum, more skittish when thus intrusted
+with the concrete representation of their sex, than when dividing the
+representation with Miss Twinkleton’s young ladies.
+
+Three are to meet at the gatehouse to-night. How does each one of the
+three get through the day?
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Neville Landless, though absolved from his books for the time by Mr.
+Crisparkle—whose fresh nature is by no means insensible to the charms of
+a holiday—reads and writes in his quiet room, with a concentrated air,
+until it is two hours past noon. He then sets himself to clearing his
+table, to arranging his books, and to tearing up and burning his stray
+papers. He makes a clean sweep of all untidy accumulations, puts all his
+drawers in order, and leaves no note or scrap of paper undestroyed, save
+such memoranda as bear directly on his studies. This done, he turns to
+his wardrobe, selects a few articles of ordinary wear—among them, change
+of stout shoes and socks for walking—and packs these in a knapsack. This
+knapsack is new, and he bought it in the High Street yesterday. He also
+purchased, at the same time and at the same place, a heavy walking-stick;
+strong in the handle for the grip of the hand, and iron-shod. He tries
+this, swings it, poises it, and lays it by, with the knapsack, on a
+window-seat. By this time his arrangements are complete.
+
+He dresses for going out, and is in the act of going—indeed has left his
+room, and has met the Minor Canon on the staircase, coming out of his
+bedroom upon the same story—when he turns back again for his
+walking-stick, thinking he will carry it now. Mr. Crisparkle, who has
+paused on the staircase, sees it in his hand on his immediately
+reappearing, takes it from him, and asks him with a smile how he chooses
+a stick?
+
+‘Really I don’t know that I understand the subject,’ he answers. ‘I
+chose it for its weight.’
+
+‘Much too heavy, Neville; _much_ too heavy.’
+
+‘To rest upon in a long walk, sir?’
+
+‘Rest upon?’ repeats Mr. Crisparkle, throwing himself into pedestrian
+form. ‘You don’t rest upon it; you merely balance with it.’
+
+‘I shall know better, with practice, sir. I have not lived in a walking
+country, you know.’
+
+‘True,’ says Mr. Crisparkle. ‘Get into a little training, and we will
+have a few score miles together. I should leave you nowhere now. Do you
+come back before dinner?’
+
+‘I think not, as we dine early.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle gives him a bright nod and a cheerful good-bye; expressing
+(not without intention) absolute confidence and ease.
+
+Neville repairs to the Nuns’ House, and requests that Miss Landless may
+be informed that her brother is there, by appointment. He waits at the
+gate, not even crossing the threshold; for he is on his parole not to put
+himself in Rosa’s way.
+
+His sister is at least as mindful of the obligation they have taken on
+themselves as he can be, and loses not a moment in joining him. They
+meet affectionately, avoid lingering there, and walk towards the upper
+inland country.
+
+‘I am not going to tread upon forbidden ground, Helena,’ says Neville,
+when they have walked some distance and are turning; ‘you will understand
+in another moment that I cannot help referring to—what shall I say?—my
+infatuation.’
+
+‘Had you not better avoid it, Neville? You know that I can hear
+nothing.’
+
+‘You can hear, my dear, what Mr. Crisparkle has heard, and heard with
+approval.’
+
+‘Yes; I can hear so much.’
+
+‘Well, it is this. I am not only unsettled and unhappy myself, but I am
+conscious of unsettling and interfering with other people. How do I know
+that, but for my unfortunate presence, you, and—and—the rest of that
+former party, our engaging guardian excepted, might be dining cheerfully
+in Minor Canon Corner to-morrow? Indeed it probably would be so. I can
+see too well that I am not high in the old lady’s opinion, and it is easy
+to understand what an irksome clog I must be upon the hospitalities of
+her orderly house—especially at this time of year—when I must be kept
+asunder from this person, and there is such a reason for my not being
+brought into contact with that person, and an unfavourable reputation has
+preceded me with such another person; and so on. I have put this very
+gently to Mr. Crisparkle, for you know his self-denying ways; but still I
+have put it. What I have laid much greater stress upon at the same time
+is, that I am engaged in a miserable struggle with myself, and that a
+little change and absence may enable me to come through it the better.
+So, the weather being bright and hard, I am going on a walking
+expedition, and intend taking myself out of everybody’s way (my own
+included, I hope) to-morrow morning.’
+
+‘When to come back?’
+
+‘In a fortnight.’
+
+‘And going quite alone?’
+
+‘I am much better without company, even if there were any one but you to
+bear me company, my dear Helena.’
+
+‘Mr. Crisparkle entirely agrees, you say?’
+
+‘Entirely. I am not sure but that at first he was inclined to think it
+rather a moody scheme, and one that might do a brooding mind harm. But
+we took a moonlight walk last Monday night, to talk it over at leisure,
+and I represented the case to him as it really is. I showed him that I
+do want to conquer myself, and that, this evening well got over, it is
+surely better that I should be away from here just now, than here. I
+could hardly help meeting certain people walking together here, and that
+could do no good, and is certainly not the way to forget. A fortnight
+hence, that chance will probably be over, for the time; and when it again
+arises for the last time, why, I can again go away. Farther, I really do
+feel hopeful of bracing exercise and wholesome fatigue. You know that
+Mr. Crisparkle allows such things their full weight in the preservation
+of his own sound mind in his own sound body, and that his just spirit is
+not likely to maintain one set of natural laws for himself and another
+for me. He yielded to my view of the matter, when convinced that I was
+honestly in earnest; and so, with his full consent, I start to-morrow
+morning. Early enough to be not only out of the streets, but out of
+hearing of the bells, when the good people go to church.’
+
+Helena thinks it over, and thinks well of it. Mr. Crisparkle doing so,
+she would do so; but she does originally, out of her own mind, think well
+of it, as a healthy project, denoting a sincere endeavour and an active
+attempt at self-correction. She is inclined to pity him, poor fellow,
+for going away solitary on the great Christmas festival; but she feels it
+much more to the purpose to encourage him. And she does encourage him.
+
+He will write to her?
+
+He will write to her every alternate day, and tell her all his
+adventures.
+
+Does he send clothes on in advance of him?
+
+‘My dear Helena, no. Travel like a pilgrim, with wallet and staff. My
+wallet—or my knapsack—is packed, and ready for strapping on; and here is
+my staff!’
+
+He hands it to her; she makes the same remark as Mr. Crisparkle, that it
+is very heavy; and gives it back to him, asking what wood it is?
+Iron-wood.
+
+Up to this point he has been extremely cheerful. Perhaps, the having to
+carry his case with her, and therefore to present it in its brightest
+aspect, has roused his spirits. Perhaps, the having done so with
+success, is followed by a revulsion. As the day closes in, and the
+city-lights begin to spring up before them, he grows depressed.
+
+‘I wish I were not going to this dinner, Helena.’
+
+‘Dear Neville, is it worth while to care much about it? Think how soon
+it will be over.’
+
+‘How soon it will be over!’ he repeats gloomily. ‘Yes. But I don’t like
+it.’
+
+There may be a moment’s awkwardness, she cheeringly represents to him,
+but it can only last a moment. He is quite sure of himself.
+
+‘I wish I felt as sure of everything else, as I feel of myself,’ he
+answers her.
+
+‘How strangely you speak, dear! What do you mean?’
+
+‘Helena, I don’t know. I only know that I don’t like it. What a strange
+dead weight there is in the air!’
+
+She calls his attention to those copperous clouds beyond the river, and
+says that the wind is rising. He scarcely speaks again, until he takes
+leave of her, at the gate of the Nuns’ House. She does not immediately
+enter, when they have parted, but remains looking after him along the
+street. Twice he passes the gatehouse, reluctant to enter. At length,
+the Cathedral clock chiming one quarter, with a rapid turn he hurries in.
+
+And so _he_ goes up the postern stair.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Edwin Drood passes a solitary day. Something of deeper moment than he
+had thought, has gone out of his life; and in the silence of his own
+chamber he wept for it last night. Though the image of Miss Landless
+still hovers in the background of his mind, the pretty little
+affectionate creature, so much firmer and wiser than he had supposed,
+occupies its stronghold. It is with some misgiving of his own
+unworthiness that he thinks of her, and of what they might have been to
+one another, if he had been more in earnest some time ago; if he had set
+a higher value on her; if, instead of accepting his lot in life as an
+inheritance of course, he had studied the right way to its appreciation
+and enhancement. And still, for all this, and though there is a sharp
+heartache in all this, the vanity and caprice of youth sustain that
+handsome figure of Miss Landless in the background of his mind.
+
+That was a curious look of Rosa’s when they parted at the gate. Did it
+mean that she saw below the surface of his thoughts, and down into their
+twilight depths? Scarcely that, for it was a look of astonished and keen
+inquiry. He decides that he cannot understand it, though it was
+remarkably expressive.
+
+As he only waits for Mr. Grewgious now, and will depart immediately after
+having seen him, he takes a sauntering leave of the ancient city and its
+neighbourhood. He recalls the time when Rosa and he walked here or
+there, mere children, full of the dignity of being engaged. Poor
+children! he thinks, with a pitying sadness.
+
+Finding that his watch has stopped, he turns into the jeweller’s shop, to
+have it wound and set. The jeweller is knowing on the subject of a
+bracelet, which he begs leave to submit, in a general and quite aimless
+way. It would suit (he considers) a young bride, to perfection;
+especially if of a rather diminutive style of beauty. Finding the
+bracelet but coldly looked at, the jeweller invites attention to a tray
+of rings for gentlemen; here is a style of ring, now, he remarks—a very
+chaste signet—which gentlemen are much given to purchasing, when changing
+their condition. A ring of a very responsible appearance. With the date
+of their wedding-day engraved inside, several gentlemen have preferred it
+to any other kind of memento.
+
+The rings are as coldly viewed as the bracelet. Edwin tells the tempter
+that he wears no jewellery but his watch and chain, which were his
+father’s; and his shirt-pin.
+
+‘That I was aware of,’ is the jeweller’s reply, ‘for Mr. Jasper dropped
+in for a watch-glass the other day, and, in fact, I showed these articles
+to him, remarking that if he _should_ wish to make a present to a
+gentleman relative, on any particular occasion—But he said with a smile
+that he had an inventory in his mind of all the jewellery his gentleman
+relative ever wore; namely, his watch and chain, and his shirt-pin.’
+Still (the jeweller considers) that might not apply to all times, though
+applying to the present time. ‘Twenty minutes past two, Mr. Drood, I set
+your watch at. Let me recommend you not to let it run down, sir.’
+
+Edwin takes his watch, puts it on, and goes out, thinking: ‘Dear old
+Jack! If I were to make an extra crease in my neckcloth, he would think
+it worth noticing!’
+
+He strolls about and about, to pass the time until the dinner-hour. It
+somehow happens that Cloisterham seems reproachful to him to-day; has
+fault to find with him, as if he had not used it well; but is far more
+pensive with him than angry. His wonted carelessness is replaced by a
+wistful looking at, and dwelling upon, all the old landmarks. He will
+soon be far away, and may never see them again, he thinks. Poor youth!
+Poor youth!
+
+As dusk draws on, he paces the Monks’ Vineyard. He has walked to and
+fro, full half an hour by the Cathedral chimes, and it has closed in
+dark, before he becomes quite aware of a woman crouching on the ground
+near a wicket gate in a corner. The gate commands a cross bye-path,
+little used in the gloaming; and the figure must have been there all the
+time, though he has but gradually and lately made it out.
+
+He strikes into that path, and walks up to the wicket. By the light of a
+lamp near it, he sees that the woman is of a haggard appearance, and that
+her weazen chin is resting on her hands, and that her eyes are
+staring—with an unwinking, blind sort of steadfastness—before her.
+
+Always kindly, but moved to be unusually kind this evening, and having
+bestowed kind words on most of the children and aged people he has met,
+he at once bends down, and speaks to this woman.
+
+‘Are you ill?’
+
+‘No, deary,’ she answers, without looking at him, and with no departure
+from her strange blind stare.
+
+‘Are you blind?’
+
+‘No, deary.’
+
+‘Are you lost, homeless, faint? What is the matter, that you stay here
+in the cold so long, without moving?’
+
+By slow and stiff efforts, she appears to contract her vision until it
+can rest upon him; and then a curious film passes over her, and she
+begins to shake.
+
+He straightens himself, recoils a step, and looks down at her in a dread
+amazement; for he seems to know her.
+
+‘Good Heaven!’ he thinks, next moment. ‘Like Jack that night!’
+
+As he looks down at her, she looks up at him, and whimpers: ‘My lungs is
+weakly; my lungs is dreffle bad. Poor me, poor me, my cough is rattling
+dry!’ and coughs in confirmation horribly.
+
+‘Where do you come from?’
+
+‘Come from London, deary.’ (Her cough still rending her.)
+
+‘Where are you going to?’
+
+‘Back to London, deary. I came here, looking for a needle in a haystack,
+and I ain’t found it. Look’ee, deary; give me three-and-sixpence, and
+don’t you be afeard for me. I’ll get back to London then, and trouble no
+one. I’m in a business.—Ah, me! It’s slack, it’s slack, and times is
+very bad!—but I can make a shift to live by it.’
+
+‘Do you eat opium?’
+
+‘Smokes it,’ she replies with difficulty, still racked by her cough.
+‘Give me three-and-sixpence, and I’ll lay it out well, and get back. If
+you don’t give me three-and-sixpence, don’t give me a brass farden. And
+if you do give me three-and-sixpence, deary, I’ll tell you something.’
+
+He counts the money from his pocket, and puts it in her hand. She
+instantly clutches it tight, and rises to her feet with a croaking laugh
+of satisfaction.
+
+‘Bless ye! Hark’ee, dear genl’mn. What’s your Chris’en name?’
+
+‘Edwin.’
+
+‘Edwin, Edwin, Edwin,’ she repeats, trailing off into a drowsy repetition
+of the word; and then asks suddenly: ‘Is the short of that name Eddy?’
+
+‘It is sometimes called so,’ he replies, with the colour starting to his
+face.
+
+‘Don’t sweethearts call it so?’ she asks, pondering.
+
+‘How should I know?’
+
+‘Haven’t you a sweetheart, upon your soul?’
+
+‘None.’
+
+She is moving away, with another ‘Bless ye, and thank’ee, deary!’ when he
+adds: ‘You were to tell me something; you may as well do so.’
+
+‘So I was, so I was. Well, then. Whisper. You be thankful that your
+name ain’t Ned.’
+
+He looks at her quite steadily, as he asks: ‘Why?’
+
+‘Because it’s a bad name to have just now.’
+
+‘How a bad name?’
+
+‘A threatened name. A dangerous name.’
+
+‘The proverb says that threatened men live long,’ he tells her, lightly.
+
+‘Then Ned—so threatened is he, wherever he may be while I am a-talking to
+you, deary—should live to all eternity!’ replies the woman.
+
+She has leaned forward to say it in his ear, with her forefinger shaking
+before his eyes, and now huddles herself together, and with another
+‘Bless ye, and thank’ee!’ goes away in the direction of the Travellers’
+Lodging House.
+
+This is not an inspiriting close to a dull day. Alone, in a sequestered
+place, surrounded by vestiges of old time and decay, it rather has a
+tendency to call a shudder into being. He makes for the better-lighted
+streets, and resolves as he walks on to say nothing of this to-night, but
+to mention it to Jack (who alone calls him Ned), as an odd coincidence,
+to-morrow; of course only as a coincidence, and not as anything better
+worth remembering.
+
+Still, it holds to him, as many things much better worth remembering
+never did. He has another mile or so, to linger out before the
+dinner-hour; and, when he walks over the bridge and by the river, the
+woman’s words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the troubled
+water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn echo of them even
+in the Cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise to his heart as
+he turns in under the archway of the gatehouse.
+
+And so _he_ goes up the postern stair.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+John Jasper passes a more agreeable and cheerful day than either of his
+guests. Having no music-lessons to give in the holiday season, his time
+is his own, but for the Cathedral services. He is early among the
+shopkeepers, ordering little table luxuries that his nephew likes. His
+nephew will not be with him long, he tells his provision-dealers, and so
+must be petted and made much of. While out on his hospitable
+preparations, he looks in on Mr. Sapsea; and mentions that dear Ned, and
+that inflammable young spark of Mr. Crisparkle’s, are to dine at the
+gatehouse to-day, and make up their difference. Mr. Sapsea is by no
+means friendly towards the inflammable young spark. He says that his
+complexion is ‘Un-English.’ And when Mr. Sapsea has once declared
+anything to be Un-English, he considers that thing everlastingly sunk in
+the bottomless pit.
+
+John Jasper is truly sorry to hear Mr. Sapsea speak thus, for he knows
+right well that Mr. Sapsea never speaks without a meaning, and that he
+has a subtle trick of being right. Mr. Sapsea (by a very remarkable
+coincidence) is of exactly that opinion.
+
+Mr. Jasper is in beautiful voice this day. In the pathetic supplication
+to have his heart inclined to keep this law, he quite astonishes his
+fellows by his melodious power. He has never sung difficult music with
+such skill and harmony, as in this day’s Anthem. His nervous temperament
+is occasionally prone to take difficult music a little too quickly;
+to-day, his time is perfect.
+
+These results are probably attained through a grand composure of the
+spirits. The mere mechanism of his throat is a little tender, for he
+wears, both with his singing-robe and with his ordinary dress, a large
+black scarf of strong close-woven silk, slung loosely round his neck.
+But his composure is so noticeable, that Mr. Crisparkle speaks of it as
+they come out from Vespers.
+
+‘I must thank you, Jasper, for the pleasure with which I have heard you
+to-day. Beautiful! Delightful! You could not have so outdone yourself,
+I hope, without being wonderfully well.’
+
+‘I _am_ wonderfully well.’
+
+‘Nothing unequal,’ says the Minor Canon, with a smooth motion of his
+hand: ‘nothing unsteady, nothing forced, nothing avoided; all thoroughly
+done in a masterly manner, with perfect self-command.’
+
+‘Thank you. I hope so, if it is not too much to say.’
+
+‘One would think, Jasper, you had been trying a new medicine for that
+occasional indisposition of yours.’
+
+‘No, really? That’s well observed; for I have.’
+
+‘Then stick to it, my good fellow,’ says Mr. Crisparkle, clapping him on
+the shoulder with friendly encouragement, ‘stick to it.’
+
+‘I will.’
+
+‘I congratulate you,’ Mr. Crisparkle pursues, as they come out of the
+Cathedral, ‘on all accounts.’
+
+‘Thank you again. I will walk round to the Corner with you, if you don’t
+object; I have plenty of time before my company come; and I want to say a
+word to you, which I think you will not be displeased to hear.’
+
+‘What is it?’
+
+‘Well. We were speaking, the other evening, of my black humours.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle’s face falls, and he shakes his head deploringly.
+
+‘I said, you know, that I should make you an antidote to those black
+humours; and you said you hoped I would consign them to the flames.’
+
+‘And I still hope so, Jasper.’
+
+‘With the best reason in the world! I mean to burn this year’s Diary at
+the year’s end.’
+
+‘Because you—?’ Mr. Crisparkle brightens greatly as he thus begins.
+
+‘You anticipate me. Because I feel that I have been out of sorts,
+gloomy, bilious, brain-oppressed, whatever it may be. You said I had
+been exaggerative. So I have.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle’s brightened face brightens still more.
+
+‘I couldn’t see it then, because I _was_ out of sorts; but I am in a
+healthier state now, and I acknowledge it with genuine pleasure. I made
+a great deal of a very little; that’s the fact.’
+
+‘It does me good,’ cries Mr. Crisparkle, ‘to hear you say it!’
+
+‘A man leading a monotonous life,’ Jasper proceeds, ‘and getting his
+nerves, or his stomach, out of order, dwells upon an idea until it loses
+its proportions. That was my case with the idea in question. So I shall
+burn the evidence of my case, when the book is full, and begin the next
+volume with a clearer vision.’
+
+‘This is better,’ says Mr. Crisparkle, stopping at the steps of his own
+door to shake hands, ‘than I could have hoped.’
+
+‘Why, naturally,’ returns Jasper. ‘You had but little reason to hope
+that I should become more like yourself. You are always training
+yourself to be, mind and body, as clear as crystal, and you always are,
+and never change; whereas I am a muddy, solitary, moping weed. However,
+I have got over that mope. Shall I wait, while you ask if Mr. Neville
+has left for my place? If not, he and I may walk round together.’
+
+‘I think,’ says Mr. Crisparkle, opening the entrance-door with his key,
+‘that he left some time ago; at least I know he left, and I think he has
+not come back. But I’ll inquire. You won’t come in?’
+
+‘My company wait,’ said Jasper, with a smile.
+
+The Minor Canon disappears, and in a few moments returns. As he thought,
+Mr. Neville has not come back; indeed, as he remembers now, Mr. Neville
+said he would probably go straight to the gatehouse.
+
+‘Bad manners in a host!’ says Jasper. ‘My company will be there before
+me! What will you bet that I don’t find my company embracing?’
+
+‘I will bet—or I would, if ever I did bet,’ returns Mr. Crisparkle, ‘that
+your company will have a gay entertainer this evening.’
+
+Jasper nods, and laughs good-night!
+
+He retraces his steps to the Cathedral door, and turns down past it to
+the gatehouse. He sings, in a low voice and with delicate expression, as
+he walks along. It still seems as if a false note were not within his
+power to-night, and as if nothing could hurry or retard him. Arriving
+thus under the arched entrance of his dwelling, he pauses for an instant
+in the shelter to pull off that great black scarf, and bang it in a loop
+upon his arm. For that brief time, his face is knitted and stern. But
+it immediately clears, as he resumes his singing, and his way.
+
+And so _he_ goes up the postern stair.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The red light burns steadily all the evening in the lighthouse on the
+margin of the tide of busy life. Softened sounds and hum of traffic pass
+it and flow on irregularly into the lonely Precincts; but very little
+else goes by, save violent rushes of wind. It comes on to blow a
+boisterous gale.
+
+The Precincts are never particularly well lighted; but the strong blasts
+of wind blowing out many of the lamps (in some instances shattering the
+frames too, and bringing the glass rattling to the ground), they are
+unusually dark to-night. The darkness is augmented and confused, by
+flying dust from the earth, dry twigs from the trees, and great ragged
+fragments from the rooks’ nests up in the tower. The trees themselves so
+toss and creak, as this tangible part of the darkness madly whirls about,
+that they seem in peril of being torn out of the earth: while ever and
+again a crack, and a rushing fall, denote that some large branch has
+yielded to the storm.
+
+Not such power of wind has blown for many a winter night. Chimneys
+topple in the streets, and people hold to posts and corners, and to one
+another, to keep themselves upon their feet. The violent rushes abate
+not, but increase in frequency and fury until at midnight, when the
+streets are empty, the storm goes thundering along them, rattling at all
+the latches, and tearing at all the shutters, as if warning the people to
+get up and fly with it, rather than have the roofs brought down upon
+their brains.
+
+Still, the red light burns steadily. Nothing is steady but the red
+light.
+
+All through the night the wind blows, and abates not. But early in the
+morning, when there is barely enough light in the east to dim the stars,
+it begins to lull. From that time, with occasional wild charges, like a
+wounded monster dying, it drops and sinks; and at full daylight it is
+dead.
+
+It is then seen that the hands of the Cathedral clock are torn off; that
+lead from the roof has been stripped away, rolled up, and blown into the
+Close; and that some stones have been displaced upon the summit of the
+great tower. Christmas morning though it be, it is necessary to send up
+workmen, to ascertain the extent of the damage done. These, led by
+Durdles, go aloft; while Mr. Tope and a crowd of early idlers gather down
+in Minor Canon Corner, shading their eyes and watching for their
+appearance up there.
+
+This cluster is suddenly broken and put aside by the hands of Mr. Jasper;
+all the gazing eyes are brought down to the earth by his loudly inquiring
+of Mr. Crisparkle, at an open window:
+
+‘Where is my nephew?’
+
+‘He has not been here. Is he not with you?’
+
+‘No. He went down to the river last night, with Mr. Neville, to look at
+the storm, and has not been back. Call Mr. Neville!’
+
+‘He left this morning, early.’
+
+‘Left this morning early? Let me in! let me in!’
+
+There is no more looking up at the tower, now. All the assembled eyes
+are turned on Mr. Jasper, white, half-dressed, panting, and clinging to
+the rail before the Minor Canon’s house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV—IMPEACHED
+
+
+Neville Landless had started so early and walked at so good a pace, that
+when the church-bells began to ring in Cloisterham for morning service,
+he was eight miles away. As he wanted his breakfast by that time, having
+set forth on a crust of bread, he stopped at the next roadside tavern to
+refresh.
+
+Visitors in want of breakfast—unless they were horses or cattle, for
+which class of guests there was preparation enough in the way of
+water-trough and hay—were so unusual at the sign of The Tilted Wagon,
+that it took a long time to get the wagon into the track of tea and toast
+and bacon. Neville in the interval, sitting in a sanded parlour,
+wondering in how long a time after he had gone, the sneezy fire of damp
+fagots would begin to make somebody else warm.
+
+Indeed, The Tilted Wagon, as a cool establishment on the top of a hill,
+where the ground before the door was puddled with damp hoofs and trodden
+straw; where a scolding landlady slapped a moist baby (with one red sock
+on and one wanting), in the bar; where the cheese was cast aground upon a
+shelf, in company with a mouldy tablecloth and a green-handled knife, in
+a sort of cast-iron canoe; where the pale-faced bread shed tears of crumb
+over its shipwreck in another canoe; where the family linen, half washed
+and half dried, led a public life of lying about; where everything to
+drink was drunk out of mugs, and everything else was suggestive of a
+rhyme to mugs; The Tilted Wagon, all these things considered, hardly kept
+its painted promise of providing good entertainment for Man and Beast.
+However, Man, in the present case, was not critical, but took what
+entertainment he could get, and went on again after a longer rest than he
+needed.
+
+He stopped at some quarter of a mile from the house, hesitating whether
+to pursue the road, or to follow a cart track between two high hedgerows,
+which led across the slope of a breezy heath, and evidently struck into
+the road again by-and-by. He decided in favour of this latter track, and
+pursued it with some toil; the rise being steep, and the way worn into
+deep ruts.
+
+He was labouring along, when he became aware of some other pedestrians
+behind him. As they were coming up at a faster pace than his, he stood
+aside, against one of the high banks, to let them pass. But their manner
+was very curious. Only four of them passed. Other four slackened speed,
+and loitered as intending to follow him when he should go on. The
+remainder of the party (half-a-dozen perhaps) turned, and went back at a
+great rate.
+
+He looked at the four behind him, and he looked at the four before him.
+They all returned his look. He resumed his way. The four in advance
+went on, constantly looking back; the four in the rear came closing up.
+
+When they all ranged out from the narrow track upon the open slope of the
+heath, and this order was maintained, let him diverge as he would to
+either side, there was no longer room to doubt that he was beset by these
+fellows. He stopped, as a last test; and they all stopped.
+
+‘Why do you attend upon me in this way?’ he asked the whole body. ‘Are
+you a pack of thieves?’
+
+‘Don’t answer him,’ said one of the number; he did not see which.
+‘Better be quiet.’
+
+‘Better be quiet?’ repeated Neville. ‘Who said so?’
+
+Nobody replied.
+
+‘It’s good advice, whichever of you skulkers gave it,’ he went on
+angrily. ‘I will not submit to be penned in between four men there, and
+four men there. I wish to pass, and I mean to pass, those four in
+front.’
+
+They were all standing still; himself included.
+
+‘If eight men, or four men, or two men, set upon one,’ he proceeded,
+growing more enraged, ‘the one has no chance but to set his mark upon
+some of them. And, by the Lord, I’ll do it, if I am interrupted any
+farther!’
+
+Shouldering his heavy stick, and quickening his pace, he shot on to pass
+the four ahead. The largest and strongest man of the number changed
+swiftly to the side on which he came up, and dexterously closed with him
+and went down with him; but not before the heavy stick had descended
+smartly.
+
+‘Let him be!’ said this man in a suppressed voice, as they struggled
+together on the grass. ‘Fair play! His is the build of a girl to mine,
+and he’s got a weight strapped to his back besides. Let him alone. I’ll
+manage him.’
+
+After a little rolling about, in a close scuffle which caused the faces
+of both to be besmeared with blood, the man took his knee from Neville’s
+chest, and rose, saying: ‘There! Now take him arm-in-arm, any two of
+you!’
+
+It was immediately done.
+
+‘As to our being a pack of thieves, Mr. Landless,’ said the man, as he
+spat out some blood, and wiped more from his face; ‘you know better than
+that at midday. We wouldn’t have touched you if you hadn’t forced us.
+We’re going to take you round to the high road, anyhow, and you’ll find
+help enough against thieves there, if you want it.—Wipe his face,
+somebody; see how it’s a-trickling down him!’
+
+When his face was cleansed, Neville recognised in the speaker, Joe,
+driver of the Cloisterham omnibus, whom he had seen but once, and that on
+the day of his arrival.
+
+‘And what I recommend you for the present, is, don’t talk, Mr. Landless.
+You’ll find a friend waiting for you, at the high road—gone ahead by the
+other way when we split into two parties—and you had much better say
+nothing till you come up with him. Bring that stick along, somebody
+else, and let’s be moving!’
+
+Utterly bewildered, Neville stared around him and said not a word.
+Walking between his two conductors, who held his arms in theirs, he went
+on, as in a dream, until they came again into the high road, and into the
+midst of a little group of people. The men who had turned back were
+among the group; and its central figures were Mr. Jasper and Mr.
+Crisparkle. Neville’s conductors took him up to the Minor Canon, and
+there released him, as an act of deference to that gentleman.
+
+‘What is all this, sir? What is the matter? I feel as if I had lost my
+senses!’ cried Neville, the group closing in around him.
+
+‘Where is my nephew?’ asked Mr. Jasper, wildly.
+
+‘Where is your nephew?’ repeated Neville, ‘Why do you ask me?’
+
+‘I ask you,’ retorted Jasper, ‘because you were the last person in his
+company, and he is not to be found.’
+
+‘Not to be found!’ cried Neville, aghast.
+
+‘Stay, stay,’ said Mr. Crisparkle. ‘Permit me, Jasper. Mr. Neville, you
+are confounded; collect your thoughts; it is of great importance that you
+should collect your thoughts; attend to me.’
+
+‘I will try, sir, but I seem mad.’
+
+‘You left Mr. Jasper last night with Edwin Drood?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘At what hour?’
+
+‘Was it at twelve o’clock?’ asked Neville, with his hand to his confused
+head, and appealing to Jasper.
+
+‘Quite right,’ said Mr. Crisparkle; ‘the hour Mr. Jasper has already
+named to me. You went down to the river together?’
+
+‘Undoubtedly. To see the action of the wind there.’
+
+‘What followed? How long did you stay there?’
+
+‘About ten minutes; I should say not more. We then walked together to
+your house, and he took leave of me at the door.’
+
+‘Did he say that he was going down to the river again?’
+
+‘No. He said that he was going straight back.’
+
+The bystanders looked at one another, and at Mr. Crisparkle. To whom Mr.
+Jasper, who had been intensely watching Neville, said, in a low,
+distinct, suspicious voice: ‘What are those stains upon his dress?’
+
+All eyes were turned towards the blood upon his clothes.
+
+‘And here are the same stains upon this stick!’ said Jasper, taking it
+from the hand of the man who held it. ‘I know the stick to be his, and
+he carried it last night. What does this mean?’
+
+‘In the name of God, say what it means, Neville!’ urged Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘That man and I,’ said Neville, pointing out his late adversary, ‘had a
+struggle for the stick just now, and you may see the same marks on him,
+sir. What was I to suppose, when I found myself molested by eight
+people? Could I dream of the true reason when they would give me none at
+all?’
+
+They admitted that they had thought it discreet to be silent, and that
+the struggle had taken place. And yet the very men who had seen it
+looked darkly at the smears which the bright cold air had already dried.
+
+‘We must return, Neville,’ said Mr. Crisparkle; ‘of course you will be
+glad to come back to clear yourself?’
+
+‘Of course, sir.’
+
+‘Mr. Landless will walk at my side,’ the Minor Canon continued, looking
+around him. ‘Come, Neville!’
+
+They set forth on the walk back; and the others, with one exception,
+straggled after them at various distances. Jasper walked on the other
+side of Neville, and never quitted that position. He was silent, while
+Mr. Crisparkle more than once repeated his former questions, and while
+Neville repeated his former answers; also, while they both hazarded some
+explanatory conjectures. He was obstinately silent, because Mr.
+Crisparkle’s manner directly appealed to him to take some part in the
+discussion, and no appeal would move his fixed face. When they drew near
+to the city, and it was suggested by the Minor Canon that they might do
+well in calling on the Mayor at once, he assented with a stern nod; but
+he spake no word until they stood in Mr. Sapsea’s parlour.
+
+Mr. Sapsea being informed by Mr. Crisparkle of the circumstances under
+which they desired to make a voluntary statement before him, Mr. Jasper
+broke silence by declaring that he placed his whole reliance, humanly
+speaking, on Mr. Sapsea’s penetration. There was no conceivable reason
+why his nephew should have suddenly absconded, unless Mr. Sapsea could
+suggest one, and then he would defer. There was no intelligible
+likelihood of his having returned to the river, and been accidentally
+drowned in the dark, unless it should appear likely to Mr. Sapsea, and
+then again he would defer. He washed his hands as clean as he could of
+all horrible suspicions, unless it should appear to Mr. Sapsea that some
+such were inseparable from his last companion before his disappearance
+(not on good terms with previously), and then, once more, he would defer.
+His own state of mind, he being distracted with doubts, and labouring
+under dismal apprehensions, was not to be safely trusted; but Mr.
+Sapsea’s was.
+
+Mr. Sapsea expressed his opinion that the case had a dark look; in short
+(and here his eyes rested full on Neville’s countenance), an Un-English
+complexion. Having made this grand point, he wandered into a denser haze
+and maze of nonsense than even a mayor might have been expected to
+disport himself in, and came out of it with the brilliant discovery that
+to take the life of a fellow-creature was to take something that didn’t
+belong to you. He wavered whether or no he should at once issue his
+warrant for the committal of Neville Landless to jail, under
+circumstances of grave suspicion; and he might have gone so far as to do
+it but for the indignant protest of the Minor Canon: who undertook for
+the young man’s remaining in his own house, and being produced by his own
+hands, whenever demanded. Mr. Jasper then understood Mr. Sapsea to
+suggest that the river should be dragged, that its banks should be
+rigidly examined, that particulars of the disappearance should be sent to
+all outlying places and to London, and that placards and advertisements
+should be widely circulated imploring Edwin Drood, if for any unknown
+reason he had withdrawn himself from his uncle’s home and society, to
+take pity on that loving kinsman’s sore bereavement and distress, and
+somehow inform him that he was yet alive. Mr. Sapsea was perfectly
+understood, for this was exactly his meaning (though he had said nothing
+about it); and measures were taken towards all these ends immediately.
+
+It would be difficult to determine which was the more oppressed with
+horror and amazement: Neville Landless, or John Jasper. But that
+Jasper’s position forced him to be active, while Neville’s forced him to
+be passive, there would have been nothing to choose between them. Each
+was bowed down and broken.
+
+With the earliest light of the next morning, men were at work upon the
+river, and other men—most of whom volunteered for the service—were
+examining the banks. All the livelong day the search went on; upon the
+river, with barge and pole, and drag and net; upon the muddy and rushy
+shore, with jack-boots, hatchet, spade, rope, dogs, and all imaginable
+appliances. Even at night, the river was specked with lanterns, and
+lurid with fires; far-off creeks, into which the tide washed as it
+changed, had their knots of watchers, listening to the lapping of the
+stream, and looking out for any burden it might bear; remote shingly
+causeways near the sea, and lonely points off which there was a race of
+water, had their unwonted flaring cressets and rough-coated figures when
+the next day dawned; but no trace of Edwin Drood revisited the light of
+the sun.
+
+All that day, again, the search went on. Now, in barge and boat; and now
+ashore among the osiers, or tramping amidst mud and stakes and jagged
+stones in low-lying places, where solitary watermarks and signals of
+strange shapes showed like spectres, John Jasper worked and toiled. But
+to no purpose; for still no trace of Edwin Drood revisited the light of
+the sun.
+
+Setting his watches for that night again, so that vigilant eyes should be
+kept on every change of tide, he went home exhausted. Unkempt and
+disordered, bedaubed with mud that had dried upon him, and with much of
+his clothing torn to rags, he had but just dropped into his easy-chair,
+when Mr. Grewgious stood before him.
+
+‘This is strange news,’ said Mr. Grewgious.
+
+‘Strange and fearful news.’
+
+Jasper had merely lifted up his heavy eyes to say it, and now dropped
+them again as he drooped, worn out, over one side of his easy-chair.
+
+Mr. Grewgious smoothed his head and face, and stood looking at the fire.
+
+‘How is your ward?’ asked Jasper, after a time, in a faint, fatigued
+voice.
+
+‘Poor little thing! You may imagine her condition.’
+
+‘Have you seen his sister?’ inquired Jasper, as before.
+
+‘Whose?’
+
+The curtness of the counter-question, and the cool, slow manner in which,
+as he put it, Mr. Grewgious moved his eyes from the fire to his
+companion’s face, might at any other time have been exasperating. In his
+depression and exhaustion, Jasper merely opened his eyes to say: ‘The
+suspected young man’s.’
+
+‘Do you suspect him?’ asked Mr. Grewgious.
+
+‘I don’t know what to think. I cannot make up my mind.’
+
+‘Nor I,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘But as you spoke of him as the suspected
+young man, I thought you _had_ made up your mind.—I have just left Miss
+Landless.’
+
+ [Picture: Mr. Grewgious has his suspicions]
+
+‘What is her state?’
+
+‘Defiance of all suspicion, and unbounded faith in her brother.’
+
+‘Poor thing!’
+
+‘However,’ pursued Mr. Grewgious, ‘it is not of her that I came to speak.
+It is of my ward. I have a communication to make that will surprise you.
+At least, it has surprised me.’
+
+Jasper, with a groaning sigh, turned wearily in his chair.
+
+‘Shall I put it off till to-morrow?’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Mind, I warn
+you, that I think it will surprise you!’
+
+More attention and concentration came into John Jasper’s eyes as they
+caught sight of Mr. Grewgious smoothing his head again, and again looking
+at the fire; but now, with a compressed and determined mouth.
+
+‘What is it?’ demanded Jasper, becoming upright in his chair.
+
+‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Grewgious, provokingly slowly and internally, as
+he kept his eyes on the fire: ‘I might have known it sooner; she gave me
+the opening; but I am such an exceedingly Angular man, that it never
+occurred to me; I took all for granted.’
+
+‘What is it?’ demanded Jasper once more.
+
+Mr. Grewgious, alternately opening and shutting the palms of his hands as
+he warmed them at the fire, and looking fixedly at him sideways, and
+never changing either his action or his look in all that followed, went
+on to reply.
+
+‘This young couple, the lost youth and Miss Rosa, my ward, though so long
+betrothed, and so long recognising their betrothal, and so near being
+married—’
+
+Mr. Grewgious saw a staring white face, and two quivering white lips, in
+the easy-chair, and saw two muddy hands gripping its sides. But for the
+hands, he might have thought he had never seen the face.
+
+‘—This young couple came gradually to the discovery (made on both sides
+pretty equally, I think), that they would be happier and better, both in
+their present and their future lives, as affectionate friends, or say
+rather as brother and sister, than as husband and wife.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious saw a lead-coloured face in the easy-chair, and on its
+surface dreadful starting drops or bubbles, as if of steel.
+
+‘This young couple formed at length the healthy resolution of
+interchanging their discoveries, openly, sensibly, and tenderly. They
+met for that purpose. After some innocent and generous talk, they agreed
+to dissolve their existing, and their intended, relations, for ever and
+ever.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious saw a ghastly figure rise, open-mouthed, from the
+easy-chair, and lift its outspread hands towards its head.
+
+‘One of this young couple, and that one your nephew, fearful, however,
+that in the tenderness of your affection for him you would be bitterly
+disappointed by so wide a departure from his projected life, forbore to
+tell you the secret, for a few days, and left it to be disclosed by me,
+when I should come down to speak to you, and he would be gone. I speak
+to you, and he is gone.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious saw the ghastly figure throw back its head, clutch its hair
+with its hands, and turn with a writhing action from him.
+
+‘I have now said all I have to say: except that this young couple parted,
+firmly, though not without tears and sorrow, on the evening when you last
+saw them together.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious heard a terrible shriek, and saw no ghastly figure, sitting
+or standing; saw nothing but a heap of torn and miry clothes upon the
+floor.
+
+Not changing his action even then, he opened and shut the palms of his
+hands as he warmed them, and looked down at it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI—DEVOTED
+
+
+When John Jasper recovered from his fit or swoon, he found himself being
+tended by Mr. and Mrs. Tope, whom his visitor had summoned for the
+purpose. His visitor, wooden of aspect, sat stiffly in a chair, with his
+hands upon his knees, watching his recovery.
+
+‘There! You’ve come to nicely now, sir,’ said the tearful Mrs. Tope;
+‘you were thoroughly worn out, and no wonder!’
+
+‘A man,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with his usual air of repeating a lesson,
+‘cannot have his rest broken, and his mind cruelly tormented, and his
+body overtaxed by fatigue, without being thoroughly worn out.’
+
+‘I fear I have alarmed you?’ Jasper apologised faintly, when he was
+helped into his easy-chair.
+
+‘Not at all, I thank you,’ answered Mr. Grewgious.
+
+‘You are too considerate.’
+
+‘Not at all, I thank you,’ answered Mr. Grewgious again.
+
+‘You must take some wine, sir,’ said Mrs. Tope, ‘and the jelly that I had
+ready for you, and that you wouldn’t put your lips to at noon, though I
+warned you what would come of it, you know, and you not breakfasted; and
+you must have a wing of the roast fowl that has been put back twenty
+times if it’s been put back once. It shall all be on table in five
+minutes, and this good gentleman belike will stop and see you take it.’
+
+This good gentleman replied with a snort, which might mean yes, or no, or
+anything or nothing, and which Mrs. Tope would have found highly
+mystifying, but that her attention was divided by the service of the
+table.
+
+‘You will take something with me?’ said Jasper, as the cloth was laid.
+
+‘I couldn’t get a morsel down my throat, I thank you,’ answered Mr.
+Grewgious.
+
+Jasper both ate and drank almost voraciously. Combined with the hurry in
+his mode of doing it, was an evident indifference to the taste of what he
+took, suggesting that he ate and drank to fortify himself against any
+other failure of the spirits, far more than to gratify his palate. Mr.
+Grewgious in the meantime sat upright, with no expression in his face,
+and a hard kind of imperturbably polite protest all over him: as though
+he would have said, in reply to some invitation to discourse; ‘I couldn’t
+originate the faintest approach to an observation on any subject
+whatever, I thank you.’
+
+‘Do you know,’ said Jasper, when he had pushed away his plate and glass,
+and had sat meditating for a few minutes: ‘do you know that I find some
+crumbs of comfort in the communication with which you have so much amazed
+me?’
+
+‘_Do_ you?’ returned Mr. Grewgious, pretty plainly adding the unspoken
+clause: ‘I don’t, I thank you!’
+
+‘After recovering from the shock of a piece of news of my dear boy, so
+entirely unexpected, and so destructive of all the castles I had built
+for him; and after having had time to think of it; yes.’
+
+‘I shall be glad to pick up your crumbs,’ said Mr. Grewgious, dryly.
+
+‘Is there not, or is there—if I deceive myself, tell me so, and shorten
+my pain—is there not, or is there, hope that, finding himself in this new
+position, and becoming sensitively alive to the awkward burden of
+explanation, in this quarter, and that, and the other, with which it
+would load him, he avoided the awkwardness, and took to flight?’
+
+‘Such a thing might be,’ said Mr. Grewgious, pondering.
+
+‘Such a thing has been. I have read of cases in which people, rather
+than face a seven days’ wonder, and have to account for themselves to the
+idle and impertinent, have taken themselves away, and been long unheard
+of.’
+
+‘I believe such things have happened,’ said Mr. Grewgious, pondering
+still.
+
+‘When I had, and could have, no suspicion,’ pursued Jasper, eagerly
+following the new track, ‘that the dear lost boy had withheld anything
+from me—most of all, such a leading matter as this—what gleam of light
+was there for me in the whole black sky? When I supposed that his
+intended wife was here, and his marriage close at hand, how could I
+entertain the possibility of his voluntarily leaving this place, in a
+manner that would be so unaccountable, capricious, and cruel? But now
+that I know what you have told me, is there no little chink through which
+day pierces? Supposing him to have disappeared of his own act, is not
+his disappearance more accountable and less cruel? The fact of his
+having just parted from your ward, is in itself a sort of reason for his
+going away. It does not make his mysterious departure the less cruel to
+me, it is true; but it relieves it of cruelty to her.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious could not but assent to this.
+
+‘And even as to me,’ continued Jasper, still pursuing the new track, with
+ardour, and, as he did so, brightening with hope: ‘he knew that you were
+coming to me; he knew that you were intrusted to tell me what you have
+told me; if your doing so has awakened a new train of thought in my
+perplexed mind, it reasonably follows that, from the same premises, he
+might have foreseen the inferences that I should draw. Grant that he did
+foresee them; and even the cruelty to me—and who am I!—John Jasper, Music
+Master, vanishes!’—
+
+Once more, Mr. Grewgious could not but assent to this.
+
+‘I have had my distrusts, and terrible distrusts they have been,’ said
+Jasper; ‘but your disclosure, overpowering as it was at first—showing me
+that my own dear boy had had a great disappointing reservation from me,
+who so fondly loved him, kindles hope within me. You do not extinguish
+it when I state it, but admit it to be a reasonable hope. I begin to
+believe it possible:’ here he clasped his hands: ‘that he may have
+disappeared from among us of his own accord, and that he may yet be alive
+and well.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle came in at the moment. To whom Mr. Jasper repeated:
+
+‘I begin to believe it possible that he may have disappeared of his own
+accord, and may yet be alive and well.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle taking a seat, and inquiring: ‘Why so?’ Mr. Jasper
+repeated the arguments he had just set forth. If they had been less
+plausible than they were, the good Minor Canon’s mind would have been in
+a state of preparation to receive them, as exculpatory of his unfortunate
+pupil. But he, too, did really attach great importance to the lost young
+man’s having been, so immediately before his disappearance, placed in a
+new and embarrassing relation towards every one acquainted with his
+projects and affairs; and the fact seemed to him to present the question
+in a new light.
+
+‘I stated to Mr. Sapsea, when we waited on him,’ said Jasper: as he
+really had done: ‘that there was no quarrel or difference between the two
+young men at their last meeting. We all know that their first meeting
+was unfortunately very far from amicable; but all went smoothly and
+quietly when they were last together at my house. My dear boy was not in
+his usual spirits; he was depressed—I noticed that—and I am bound
+henceforth to dwell upon the circumstance the more, now that I know there
+was a special reason for his being depressed: a reason, moreover, which
+may possibly have induced him to absent himself.’
+
+‘I pray to Heaven it may turn out so!’ exclaimed Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘_I_ pray to Heaven it may turn out so!’ repeated Jasper. ‘You know—and
+Mr. Grewgious should now know likewise—that I took a great prepossession
+against Mr. Neville Landless, arising out of his furious conduct on that
+first occasion. You know that I came to you, extremely apprehensive, on
+my dear boy’s behalf, of his mad violence. You know that I even entered
+in my Diary, and showed the entry to you, that I had dark forebodings
+against him. Mr. Grewgious ought to be possessed of the whole case. He
+shall not, through any suppression of mine, be informed of a part of it,
+and kept in ignorance of another part of it. I wish him to be good
+enough to understand that the communication he has made to me has
+hopefully influenced my mind, in spite of its having been, before this
+mysterious occurrence took place, profoundly impressed against young
+Landless.’
+
+This fairness troubled the Minor Canon much. He felt that he was not as
+open in his own dealing. He charged against himself reproachfully that
+he had suppressed, so far, the two points of a second strong outbreak of
+temper against Edwin Drood on the part of Neville, and of the passion of
+jealousy having, to his own certain knowledge, flamed up in Neville’s
+breast against him. He was convinced of Neville’s innocence of any part
+in the ugly disappearance; and yet so many little circumstances combined
+so wofully against him, that he dreaded to add two more to their
+cumulative weight. He was among the truest of men; but he had been
+balancing in his mind, much to its distress, whether his volunteering to
+tell these two fragments of truth, at this time, would not be tantamount
+to a piecing together of falsehood in the place of truth.
+
+However, here was a model before him. He hesitated no longer.
+Addressing Mr. Grewgious, as one placed in authority by the revelation he
+had brought to bear on the mystery (and surpassingly Angular Mr.
+Grewgious became when he found himself in that unexpected position), Mr.
+Crisparkle bore his testimony to Mr. Jasper’s strict sense of justice,
+and, expressing his absolute confidence in the complete clearance of his
+pupil from the least taint of suspicion, sooner or later, avowed that his
+confidence in that young gentleman had been formed, in spite of his
+confidential knowledge that his temper was of the hottest and fiercest,
+and that it was directly incensed against Mr. Jasper’s nephew, by the
+circumstance of his romantically supposing himself to be enamoured of the
+same young lady. The sanguine reaction manifest in Mr. Jasper was proof
+even against this unlooked-for declaration. It turned him paler; but he
+repeated that he would cling to the hope he had derived from Mr.
+Grewgious; and that if no trace of his dear boy were found, leading to
+the dreadful inference that he had been made away with, he would cherish
+unto the last stretch of possibility the idea, that he might have
+absconded of his own wild will.
+
+Now, it fell out that Mr. Crisparkle, going away from this conference
+still very uneasy in his mind, and very much troubled on behalf of the
+young man whom he held as a kind of prisoner in his own house, took a
+memorable night walk.
+
+He walked to Cloisterham Weir.
+
+He often did so, and consequently there was nothing remarkable in his
+footsteps tending that way. But the preoccupation of his mind so
+hindered him from planning any walk, or taking heed of the objects he
+passed, that his first consciousness of being near the Weir, was derived
+from the sound of the falling water close at hand.
+
+‘How did I come here!’ was his first thought, as he stopped.
+
+‘Why did I come here!’ was his second.
+
+Then, he stood intently listening to the water. A familiar passage in
+his reading, about airy tongues that syllable men’s names, rose so
+unbidden to his ear, that he put it from him with his hand, as if it were
+tangible.
+
+It was starlight. The Weir was full two miles above the spot to which
+the young men had repaired to watch the storm. No search had been made
+up here, for the tide had been running strongly down, at that time of the
+night of Christmas Eve, and the likeliest places for the discovery of a
+body, if a fatal accident had happened under such circumstances, all
+lay—both when the tide ebbed, and when it flowed again—between that spot
+and the sea. The water came over the Weir, with its usual sound on a
+cold starlight night, and little could be seen of it; yet Mr. Crisparkle
+had a strange idea that something unusual hung about the place.
+
+He reasoned with himself: What was it? Where was it? Put it to the
+proof. Which sense did it address?
+
+No sense reported anything unusual there. He listened again, and his
+sense of hearing again checked the water coming over the Weir, with its
+usual sound on a cold starlight night.
+
+Knowing very well that the mystery with which his mind was occupied,
+might of itself give the place this haunted air, he strained those hawk’s
+eyes of his for the correction of his sight. He got closer to the Weir,
+and peered at its well-known posts and timbers. Nothing in the least
+unusual was remotely shadowed forth. But he resolved that he would come
+back early in the morning.
+
+The Weir ran through his broken sleep, all night, and he was back again
+at sunrise. It was a bright frosty morning. The whole composition
+before him, when he stood where he had stood last night, was clearly
+discernible in its minutest details. He had surveyed it closely for some
+minutes, and was about to withdraw his eyes, when they were attracted
+keenly to one spot.
+
+He turned his back upon the Weir, and looked far away at the sky, and at
+the earth, and then looked again at that one spot. It caught his sight
+again immediately, and he concentrated his vision upon it. He could not
+lose it now, though it was but such a speck in the landscape. It
+fascinated his sight. His hands began plucking off his coat. For it
+struck him that at that spot—a corner of the Weir—something glistened,
+which did not move and come over with the glistening water-drops, but
+remained stationary.
+
+He assured himself of this, he threw off his clothes, he plunged into the
+icy water, and swam for the spot. Climbing the timbers, he took from
+them, caught among their interstices by its chain, a gold watch, bearing
+engraved upon its back E. D.
+
+He brought the watch to the bank, swam to the Weir again, climbed it, and
+dived off. He knew every hole and corner of all the depths, and dived
+and dived and dived, until he could bear the cold no more. His notion
+was, that he would find the body; he only found a shirt-pin sticking in
+some mud and ooze.
+
+With these discoveries he returned to Cloisterham, and, taking Neville
+Landless with him, went straight to the Mayor. Mr. Jasper was sent for,
+the watch and shirt-pin were identified, Neville was detained, and the
+wildest frenzy and fatuity of evil report rose against him. He was of
+that vindictive and violent nature, that but for his poor sister, who
+alone had influence over him, and out of whose sight he was never to be
+trusted, he would be in the daily commission of murder. Before coming to
+England he had caused to be whipped to death sundry ‘Natives’—nomadic
+persons, encamping now in Asia, now in Africa, now in the West Indies,
+and now at the North Pole—vaguely supposed in Cloisterham to be always
+black, always of great virtue, always calling themselves Me, and
+everybody else Massa or Missie (according to sex), and always reading
+tracts of the obscurest meaning, in broken English, but always accurately
+understanding them in the purest mother tongue. He had nearly brought
+Mrs. Crisparkle’s grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. (Those original
+expressions were Mr. Sapsea’s.) He had repeatedly said he would have Mr.
+Crisparkle’s life. He had repeatedly said he would have everybody’s
+life, and become in effect the last man. He had been brought down to
+Cloisterham, from London, by an eminent Philanthropist, and why? Because
+that Philanthropist had expressly declared: ‘I owe it to my
+fellow-creatures that he should be, in the words of BENTHAM, where he is
+the cause of the greatest danger to the smallest number.’
+
+These dropping shots from the blunderbusses of blunderheadedness might
+not have hit him in a vital place. But he had to stand against a trained
+and well-directed fire of arms of precision too. He had notoriously
+threatened the lost young man, and had, according to the showing of his
+own faithful friend and tutor who strove so hard for him, a cause of
+bitter animosity (created by himself, and stated by himself), against
+that ill-starred fellow. He had armed himself with an offensive weapon
+for the fatal night, and he had gone off early in the morning, after
+making preparations for departure. He had been found with traces of
+blood on him; truly, they might have been wholly caused as he
+represented, but they might not, also. On a search-warrant being issued
+for the examination of his room, clothes, and so forth, it was discovered
+that he had destroyed all his papers, and rearranged all his possessions,
+on the very afternoon of the disappearance. The watch found at the Weir
+was challenged by the jeweller as one he had wound and set for Edwin
+Drood, at twenty minutes past two on that same afternoon; and it had run
+down, before being cast into the water; and it was the jeweller’s
+positive opinion that it had never been re-wound. This would justify the
+hypothesis that the watch was taken from him not long after he left Mr.
+Jasper’s house at midnight, in company with the last person seen with
+him, and that it had been thrown away after being retained some hours.
+Why thrown away? If he had been murdered, and so artfully disfigured, or
+concealed, or both, as that the murderer hoped identification to be
+impossible, except from something that he wore, assuredly the murderer
+would seek to remove from the body the most lasting, the best known, and
+the most easily recognisable, things upon it. Those things would be the
+watch and shirt-pin. As to his opportunities of casting them into the
+river; if he were the object of these suspicions, they were easy. For,
+he had been seen by many persons, wandering about on that side of the
+city—indeed on all sides of it—in a miserable and seemingly
+half-distracted manner. As to the choice of the spot, obviously such
+criminating evidence had better take its chance of being found anywhere,
+rather than upon himself, or in his possession. Concerning the
+reconciliatory nature of the appointed meeting between the two young men,
+very little could be made of that in young Landless’s favour; for it
+distinctly appeared that the meeting originated, not with him, but with
+Mr. Crisparkle, and that it had been urged on by Mr. Crisparkle; and who
+could say how unwillingly, or in what ill-conditioned mood, his enforced
+pupil had gone to it? The more his case was looked into, the weaker it
+became in every point. Even the broad suggestion that the lost young man
+had absconded, was rendered additionally improbable on the showing of the
+young lady from whom he had so lately parted; for; what did she say, with
+great earnestness and sorrow, when interrogated? That he had, expressly
+and enthusiastically, planned with her, that he would await the arrival
+of her guardian, Mr. Grewgious. And yet, be it observed, he disappeared
+before that gentleman appeared.
+
+On the suspicions thus urged and supported, Neville was detained, and
+re-detained, and the search was pressed on every hand, and Jasper
+laboured night and day. But nothing more was found. No discovery being
+made, which proved the lost man to be dead, it at length became necessary
+to release the person suspected of having made away with him. Neville
+was set at large. Then, a consequence ensued which Mr. Crisparkle had
+too well foreseen. Neville must leave the place, for the place shunned
+him and cast him out. Even had it not been so, the dear old china
+shepherdess would have worried herself to death with fears for her son,
+and with general trepidation occasioned by their having such an inmate.
+Even had that not been so, the authority to which the Minor Canon
+deferred officially, would have settled the point.
+
+‘Mr. Crisparkle,’ quoth the Dean, ‘human justice may err, but it must act
+according to its lights. The days of taking sanctuary are past. This
+young man must not take sanctuary with us.’
+
+‘You mean that he must leave my house, sir?’
+
+‘Mr. Crisparkle,’ returned the prudent Dean, ‘I claim no authority in
+your house. I merely confer with you, on the painful necessity you find
+yourself under, of depriving this young man of the great advantages of
+your counsel and instruction.’
+
+‘It is very lamentable, sir,’ Mr. Crisparkle represented.
+
+‘Very much so,’ the Dean assented.
+
+‘And if it be a necessity—’ Mr. Crisparkle faltered.
+
+‘As you unfortunately find it to be,’ returned the Dean.
+
+Mr. Crisparkle bowed submissively: ‘It is hard to prejudge his case, sir,
+but I am sensible that—’
+
+‘Just so. Perfectly. As you say, Mr. Crisparkle,’ interposed the Dean,
+nodding his head smoothly, ‘there is nothing else to be done. No doubt,
+no doubt. There is no alternative, as your good sense has discovered.’
+
+‘I am entirely satisfied of his perfect innocence, sir, nevertheless.’
+
+‘We-e-ell!’ said the Dean, in a more confidential tone, and slightly
+glancing around him, ‘I would not say so, generally. Not generally.
+Enough of suspicion attaches to him to—no, I think I would not say so,
+generally.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle bowed again.
+
+‘It does not become us, perhaps,’ pursued the Dean, ‘to be partisans.
+Not partisans. We clergy keep our hearts warm and our heads cool, and we
+hold a judicious middle course.’
+
+‘I hope you do not object, sir, to my having stated in public,
+emphatically, that he will reappear here, whenever any new suspicion may
+be awakened, or any new circumstance may come to light in this
+extraordinary matter?’
+
+‘Not at all,’ returned the Dean. ‘And yet, do you know, I don’t think,’
+with a very nice and neat emphasis on those two words: ‘I _don’t think_ I
+would state it emphatically. State it? Ye-e-es! But emphatically?
+No-o-o. I _think_ not. In point of fact, Mr. Crisparkle, keeping our
+hearts warm and our heads cool, we clergy need do nothing emphatically.’
+
+So Minor Canon Row knew Neville Landless no more; and he went
+whithersoever he would, or could, with a blight upon his name and fame.
+
+It was not until then that John Jasper silently resumed his place in the
+choir. Haggard and red-eyed, his hopes plainly had deserted him, his
+sanguine mood was gone, and all his worst misgivings had come back. A
+day or two afterwards, while unrobing, he took his Diary from a pocket of
+his coat, turned the leaves, and with an impressive look, and without one
+spoken word, handed this entry to Mr. Crisparkle to read:
+
+‘My dear boy is murdered. The discovery of the watch and shirt-pin
+convinces me that he was murdered that night, and that his jewellery was
+taken from him to prevent identification by its means. All the delusive
+hopes I had founded on his separation from his betrothed wife, I give to
+the winds. They perish before this fatal discovery. I now swear, and
+record the oath on this page, That I nevermore will discuss this mystery
+with any human creature until I hold the clue to it in my hand. That I
+never will relax in my secrecy or in my search. That I will fasten the
+crime of the murder of my dear dead boy upon the murderer. And, That I
+devote myself to his destruction.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII—PHILANTHROPY, PROFESSIONAL AND UNPROFESSIONAL
+
+
+Full half a year had come and gone, and Mr. Crisparkle sat in a
+waiting-room in the London chief offices of the Haven of Philanthropy,
+until he could have audience of Mr. Honeythunder.
+
+In his college days of athletic exercises, Mr. Crisparkle had known
+professors of the Noble Art of fisticuffs, and had attended two or three
+of their gloved gatherings. He had now an opportunity of observing that
+as to the phrenological formation of the backs of their heads, the
+Professing Philanthropists were uncommonly like the Pugilists. In the
+development of all those organs which constitute, or attend, a propensity
+to ‘pitch into’ your fellow-creatures, the Philanthropists were
+remarkably favoured. There were several Professors passing in and out,
+with exactly the aggressive air upon them of being ready for a turn-up
+with any Novice who might happen to be on hand, that Mr. Crisparkle well
+remembered in the circles of the Fancy. Preparations were in progress
+for a moral little Mill somewhere on the rural circuit, and other
+Professors were backing this or that Heavy-Weight as good for such or
+such speech-making hits, so very much after the manner of the sporting
+publicans, that the intended Resolutions might have been Rounds. In an
+official manager of these displays much celebrated for his platform
+tactics, Mr. Crisparkle recognised (in a suit of black) the counterpart
+of a deceased benefactor of his species, an eminent public character,
+once known to fame as Frosty-faced Fogo, who in days of yore
+superintended the formation of the magic circle with the ropes and
+stakes. There were only three conditions of resemblance wanting between
+these Professors and those. Firstly, the Philanthropists were in very
+bad training: much too fleshy, and presenting, both in face and figure, a
+superabundance of what is known to Pugilistic Experts as Suet Pudding.
+Secondly, the Philanthropists had not the good temper of the Pugilists,
+and used worse language. Thirdly, their fighting code stood in great
+need of revision, as empowering them not only to bore their man to the
+ropes, but to bore him to the confines of distraction; also to hit him
+when he was down, hit him anywhere and anyhow, kick him, stamp upon him,
+gouge him, and maul him behind his back without mercy. In these last
+particulars the Professors of the Noble Art were much nobler than the
+Professors of Philanthropy.
+
+Mr. Crisparkle was so completely lost in musing on these similarities and
+dissimilarities, at the same time watching the crowd which came and went
+by, always, as it seemed, on errands of antagonistically snatching
+something from somebody, and never giving anything to anybody, that his
+name was called before he heard it. On his at length responding, he was
+shown by a miserably shabby and underpaid stipendiary Philanthropist (who
+could hardly have done worse if he had taken service with a declared
+enemy of the human race) to Mr. Honeythunder’s room.
+
+‘Sir,’ said Mr. Honeythunder, in his tremendous voice, like a
+schoolmaster issuing orders to a boy of whom he had a bad opinion, ‘sit
+down.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle seated himself.
+
+Mr. Honeythunder having signed the remaining few score of a few thousand
+circulars, calling upon a corresponding number of families without means
+to come forward, stump up instantly, and be Philanthropists, or go to the
+Devil, another shabby stipendiary Philanthropist (highly disinterested,
+if in earnest) gathered these into a basket and walked off with them.
+
+‘Now, Mr. Crisparkle,’ said Mr. Honeythunder, turning his chair half
+round towards him when they were alone, and squaring his arms with his
+hands on his knees, and his brows knitted, as if he added, I am going to
+make short work of _you_: ‘Now, Mr. Crisparkle, we entertain different
+views, you and I, sir, of the sanctity of human life.’
+
+‘Do we?’ returned the Minor Canon.
+
+‘We do, sir?’
+
+‘Might I ask you,’ said the Minor Canon: ‘what are your views on that
+subject?’
+
+‘That human life is a thing to be held sacred, sir.’
+
+‘Might I ask you,’ pursued the Minor Canon as before: ‘what you suppose
+to be my views on that subject?’
+
+‘By George, sir!’ returned the Philanthropist, squaring his arms still
+more, as he frowned on Mr. Crisparkle: ‘they are best known to yourself.’
+
+‘Readily admitted. But you began by saying that we took different views,
+you know. Therefore (or you could not say so) you must have set up some
+views as mine. Pray, what views _have_ you set up as mine?’
+
+‘Here is a man—and a young man,’ said Mr. Honeythunder, as if that made
+the matter infinitely worse, and he could have easily borne the loss of
+an old one, ‘swept off the face of the earth by a deed of violence. What
+do you call that?’
+
+‘Murder,’ said the Minor Canon.
+
+‘What do you call the doer of that deed, sir?
+
+‘A murderer,’ said the Minor Canon.
+
+‘I am glad to hear you admit so much, sir,’ retorted Mr. Honeythunder, in
+his most offensive manner; ‘and I candidly tell you that I didn’t expect
+it.’ Here he lowered heavily at Mr. Crisparkle again.
+
+‘Be so good as to explain what you mean by those very unjustifiable
+expressions.’
+
+‘I don’t sit here, sir,’ returned the Philanthropist, raising his voice
+to a roar, ‘to be browbeaten.’
+
+‘As the only other person present, no one can possibly know that better
+than I do,’ returned the Minor Canon very quietly. ‘But I interrupt your
+explanation.’
+
+‘Murder!’ proceeded Mr. Honeythunder, in a kind of boisterous reverie,
+with his platform folding of his arms, and his platform nod of abhorrent
+reflection after each short sentiment of a word. ‘Bloodshed! Abel!
+Cain! I hold no terms with Cain. I repudiate with a shudder the red
+hand when it is offered me.’
+
+Instead of instantly leaping into his chair and cheering himself hoarse,
+as the Brotherhood in public meeting assembled would infallibly have done
+on this cue, Mr. Crisparkle merely reversed the quiet crossing of his
+legs, and said mildly: ‘Don’t let me interrupt your explanation—when you
+begin it.’
+
+‘The Commandments say, no murder. NO murder, sir!’ proceeded Mr.
+Honeythunder, platformally pausing as if he took Mr. Crisparkle to task
+for having distinctly asserted that they said: You may do a little
+murder, and then leave off.
+
+‘And they also say, you shall bear no false witness,’ observed Mr.
+Crisparkle.
+
+‘Enough!’ bellowed Mr. Honeythunder, with a solemnity and severity that
+would have brought the house down at a meeting, ‘E-e-nough! My late
+wards being now of age, and I being released from a trust which I cannot
+contemplate without a thrill of horror, there are the accounts which you
+have undertaken to accept on their behalf, and there is a statement of
+the balance which you have undertaken to receive, and which you cannot
+receive too soon. And let me tell you, sir, I wish that, as a man and a
+Minor Canon, you were better employed,’ with a nod. ‘Better employed,’
+with another nod. ‘Bet-ter em-ployed!’ with another and the three nods
+added up.
+
+Mr. Crisparkle rose; a little heated in the face, but with perfect
+command of himself.
+
+‘Mr. Honeythunder,’ he said, taking up the papers referred to: ‘my being
+better or worse employed than I am at present is a matter of taste and
+opinion. You might think me better employed in enrolling myself a member
+of your Society.’
+
+‘Ay, indeed, sir!’ retorted Mr. Honeythunder, shaking his head in a
+threatening manner. ‘It would have been better for you if you had done
+that long ago!’
+
+‘I think otherwise.’
+
+‘Or,’ said Mr. Honeythunder, shaking his head again, ‘I might think one
+of your profession better employed in devoting himself to the discovery
+and punishment of guilt than in leaving that duty to be undertaken by a
+layman.’
+
+‘I may regard my profession from a point of view which teaches me that
+its first duty is towards those who are in necessity and tribulation, who
+are desolate and oppressed,’ said Mr. Crisparkle. ‘However, as I have
+quite clearly satisfied myself that it is no part of my profession to
+make professions, I say no more of that. But I owe it to Mr. Neville,
+and to Mr. Neville’s sister (and in a much lower degree to myself), to
+say to you that I _know_ I was in the full possession and understanding
+of Mr. Neville’s mind and heart at the time of this occurrence; and that,
+without in the least colouring or concealing what was to be deplored in
+him and required to be corrected, I feel certain that his tale is true.
+Feeling that certainty, I befriend him. As long as that certainty shall
+last, I will befriend him. And if any consideration could shake me in
+this resolve, I should be so ashamed of myself for my meanness, that no
+man’s good opinion—no, nor no woman’s—so gained, could compensate me for
+the loss of my own.’
+
+Good fellow! manly fellow! And he was so modest, too. There was no more
+self-assertion in the Minor Canon than in the schoolboy who had stood in
+the breezy playing-fields keeping a wicket. He was simply and staunchly
+true to his duty alike in the large case and in the small. So all true
+souls ever are. So every true soul ever was, ever is, and ever will be.
+There is nothing little to the really great in spirit.
+
+‘Then who do you make out did the deed?’ asked Mr. Honeythunder, turning
+on him abruptly.
+
+‘Heaven forbid,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘that in my desire to clear one man
+I should lightly criminate another! I accuse no one.’
+
+‘Tcha!’ ejaculated Mr. Honeythunder with great disgust; for this was by
+no means the principle on which the Philanthropic Brotherhood usually
+proceeded. ‘And, sir, you are not a disinterested witness, we must bear
+in mind.’
+
+‘How am I an interested one?’ inquired Mr. Crisparkle, smiling
+innocently, at a loss to imagine.
+
+‘There was a certain stipend, sir, paid to you for your pupil, which may
+have warped your judgment a bit,’ said Mr. Honeythunder, coarsely.
+
+‘Perhaps I expect to retain it still?’ Mr. Crisparkle returned,
+enlightened; ‘do you mean that too?’
+
+‘Well, sir,’ returned the professional Philanthropist, getting up and
+thrusting his hands down into his trousers-pockets, ‘I don’t go about
+measuring people for caps. If people find I have any about me that fit
+’em, they can put ’em on and wear ’em, if they like. That’s their look
+out: not mine.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle eyed him with a just indignation, and took him to task
+thus:
+
+‘Mr. Honeythunder, I hoped when I came in here that I might be under no
+necessity of commenting on the introduction of platform manners or
+platform manœuvres among the decent forbearances of private life. But
+you have given me such a specimen of both, that I should be a fit subject
+for both if I remained silent respecting them. They are detestable.’
+
+‘They don’t suit _you_, I dare say, sir.’
+
+‘They are,’ repeated Mr. Crisparkle, without noticing the interruption,
+‘detestable. They violate equally the justice that should belong to
+Christians, and the restraints that should belong to gentlemen. You
+assume a great crime to have been committed by one whom I, acquainted
+with the attendant circumstances, and having numerous reasons on my side,
+devoutly believe to be innocent of it. Because I differ from you on that
+vital point, what is your platform resource? Instantly to turn upon me,
+charging that I have no sense of the enormity of the crime itself, but am
+its aider and abettor! So, another time—taking me as representing your
+opponent in other cases—you set up a platform credulity; a moved and
+seconded and carried-unanimously profession of faith in some ridiculous
+delusion or mischievous imposition. I decline to believe it, and you
+fall back upon your platform resource of proclaiming that I believe
+nothing; that because I will not bow down to a false God of your making,
+I deny the true God! Another time you make the platform discovery that
+War is a calamity, and you propose to abolish it by a string of twisted
+resolutions tossed into the air like the tail of a kite. I do not admit
+the discovery to be yours in the least, and I have not a grain of faith
+in your remedy. Again, your platform resource of representing me as
+revelling in the horrors of a battle-field like a fiend incarnate!
+Another time, in another of your undiscriminating platform rushes, you
+would punish the sober for the drunken. I claim consideration for the
+comfort, convenience, and refreshment of the sober; and you presently
+make platform proclamation that I have a depraved desire to turn Heaven’s
+creatures into swine and wild beasts! In all such cases your movers, and
+your seconders, and your supporters—your regular Professors of all
+degrees, run amuck like so many mad Malays; habitually attributing the
+lowest and basest motives with the utmost recklessness (let me call your
+attention to a recent instance in yourself for which you should blush),
+and quoting figures which you know to be as wilfully onesided as a
+statement of any complicated account that should be all Creditor side and
+no Debtor, or all Debtor side and no Creditor. Therefore it is, Mr.
+Honeythunder, that I consider the platform a sufficiently bad example and
+a sufficiently bad school, even in public life; but hold that, carried
+into private life, it becomes an unendurable nuisance.’
+
+‘These are strong words, sir!’ exclaimed the Philanthropist.
+
+‘I hope so,’ said Mr. Crisparkle. ‘Good morning.’
+
+He walked out of the Haven at a great rate, but soon fell into his
+regular brisk pace, and soon had a smile upon his face as he went along,
+wondering what the china shepherdess would have said if she had seen him
+pounding Mr. Honeythunder in the late little lively affair. For Mr.
+Crisparkle had just enough of harmless vanity to hope that he had hit
+hard, and to glow with the belief that he had trimmed the Philanthropic
+Jacket pretty handsomely.
+
+He took himself to Staple Inn, but not to P. J. T. and Mr. Grewgious.
+Full many a creaking stair he climbed before he reached some attic rooms
+in a corner, turned the latch of their unbolted door, and stood beside
+the table of Neville Landless.
+
+An air of retreat and solitude hung about the rooms and about their
+inhabitant. He was much worn, and so were they. Their sloping ceilings,
+cumbrous rusty locks and grates, and heavy wooden bins and beams, slowly
+mouldering withal, had a prisonous look, and he had the haggard face of a
+prisoner. Yet the sunlight shone in at the ugly garret-window, which had
+a penthouse to itself thrust out among the tiles; and on the cracked and
+smoke-blackened parapet beyond, some of the deluded sparrows of the place
+rheumatically hopped, like little feathered cripples who had left their
+crutches in their nests; and there was a play of living leaves at hand
+that changed the air, and made an imperfect sort of music in it that
+would have been melody in the country.
+
+The rooms were sparely furnished, but with good store of books.
+Everything expressed the abode of a poor student. That Mr. Crisparkle
+had been either chooser, lender, or donor of the books, or that he
+combined the three characters, might have been easily seen in the
+friendly beam of his eyes upon them as he entered.
+
+‘How goes it, Neville?’
+
+‘I am in good heart, Mr. Crisparkle, and working away.’
+
+‘I wish your eyes were not quite so large and not quite so bright,’ said
+the Minor Canon, slowly releasing the hand he had taken in his.
+
+‘They brighten at the sight of you,’ returned Neville. ‘If you were to
+fall away from me, they would soon be dull enough.’
+
+‘Rally, rally!’ urged the other, in a stimulating tone. ‘Fight for it,
+Neville!’
+
+‘If I were dying, I feel as if a word from you would rally me; if my
+pulse had stopped, I feel as if your touch would make it beat again,’
+said Neville. ‘But I _have_ rallied, and am doing famously.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle turned him with his face a little more towards the light.
+
+‘I want to see a ruddier touch here, Neville,’ he said, indicating his
+own healthy cheek by way of pattern. ‘I want more sun to shine upon
+you.’
+
+Neville drooped suddenly, as he replied in a lowered voice: ‘I am not
+hardy enough for that, yet. I may become so, but I cannot bear it yet.
+If you had gone through those Cloisterham streets as I did; if you had
+seen, as I did, those averted eyes, and the better sort of people
+silently giving me too much room to pass, that I might not touch them or
+come near them, you wouldn’t think it quite unreasonable that I cannot go
+about in the daylight.’
+
+‘My poor fellow!’ said the Minor Canon, in a tone so purely sympathetic
+that the young man caught his hand, ‘I never said it was unreasonable;
+never thought so. But I should like you to do it.’
+
+‘And that would give me the strongest motive to do it. But I cannot yet.
+I cannot persuade myself that the eyes of even the stream of strangers I
+pass in this vast city look at me without suspicion. I feel marked and
+tainted, even when I go out—as I do only—at night. But the darkness
+covers me then, and I take courage from it.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle laid a hand upon his shoulder, and stood looking down at
+him.
+
+‘If I could have changed my name,’ said Neville, ‘I would have done so.
+But as you wisely pointed out to me, I can’t do that, for it would look
+like guilt. If I could have gone to some distant place, I might have
+found relief in that, but the thing is not to be thought of, for the same
+reason. Hiding and escaping would be the construction in either case.
+It seems a little hard to be so tied to a stake, and innocent; but I
+don’t complain.’
+
+‘And you must expect no miracle to help you, Neville,’ said Mr.
+Crisparkle, compassionately.
+
+‘No, sir, I know that. The ordinary fulness of time and circumstances is
+all I have to trust to.’
+
+‘It will right you at last, Neville.’
+
+‘So I believe, and I hope I may live to know it.’
+
+But perceiving that the despondent mood into which he was falling cast a
+shadow on the Minor Canon, and (it may be) feeling that the broad hand
+upon his shoulder was not then quite as steady as its own natural
+strength had rendered it when it first touched him just now, he
+brightened and said:
+
+‘Excellent circumstances for study, anyhow! and you know, Mr. Crisparkle,
+what need I have of study in all ways. Not to mention that you have
+advised me to study for the difficult profession of the law, specially,
+and that of course I am guiding myself by the advice of such a friend and
+helper. Such a good friend and helper!’
+
+He took the fortifying hand from his shoulder, and kissed it. Mr.
+Crisparkle beamed at the books, but not so brightly as when he had
+entered.
+
+‘I gather from your silence on the subject that my late guardian is
+adverse, Mr. Crisparkle?’
+
+The Minor Canon answered: ‘Your late guardian is a—a most unreasonable
+person, and it signifies nothing to any reasonable person whether he is
+_ad_verse, _per_verse, or the _re_verse.’
+
+‘Well for me that I have enough with economy to live upon,’ sighed
+Neville, half wearily and half cheerily, ‘while I wait to be learned, and
+wait to be righted! Else I might have proved the proverb, that while the
+grass grows, the steed starves!’
+
+He opened some books as he said it, and was soon immersed in their
+interleaved and annotated passages; while Mr. Crisparkle sat beside him,
+expounding, correcting, and advising. The Minor Canon’s Cathedral duties
+made these visits of his difficult to accomplish, and only to be
+compassed at intervals of many weeks. But they were as serviceable as
+they were precious to Neville Landless.
+
+When they had got through such studies as they had in hand, they stood
+leaning on the window-sill, and looking down upon the patch of garden.
+‘Next week,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘you will cease to be alone, and will
+have a devoted companion.’
+
+‘And yet,’ returned Neville, ‘this seems an uncongenial place to bring my
+sister to.’
+
+‘I don’t think so,’ said the Minor Canon. ‘There is duty to be done
+here; and there are womanly feeling, sense, and courage wanted here.’
+
+‘I meant,’ explained Neville, ‘that the surroundings are so dull and
+unwomanly, and that Helena can have no suitable friend or society here.’
+
+‘You have only to remember,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘that you are here
+yourself, and that she has to draw you into the sunlight.’
+
+They were silent for a little while, and then Mr. Crisparkle began anew.
+
+‘When we first spoke together, Neville, you told me that your sister had
+risen out of the disadvantages of your past lives as superior to you as
+the tower of Cloisterham Cathedral is higher than the chimneys of Minor
+Canon Corner. Do you remember that?’
+
+‘Right well!’
+
+‘I was inclined to think it at the time an enthusiastic flight. No
+matter what I think it now. What I would emphasise is, that under the
+head of Pride your sister is a great and opportune example to you.’
+
+‘Under _all_ heads that are included in the composition of a fine
+character, she is.’
+
+‘Say so; but take this one. Your sister has learnt how to govern what is
+proud in her nature. She can dominate it even when it is wounded through
+her sympathy with you. No doubt she has suffered deeply in those same
+streets where you suffered deeply. No doubt her life is darkened by the
+cloud that darkens yours. But bending her pride into a grand composure
+that is not haughty or aggressive, but is a sustained confidence in you
+and in the truth, she has won her way through those streets until she
+passes along them as high in the general respect as any one who treads
+them. Every day and hour of her life since Edwin Drood’s disappearance,
+she has faced malignity and folly—for you—as only a brave nature well
+directed can. So it will be with her to the end. Another and weaker
+kind of pride might sink broken-hearted, but never such a pride as hers:
+which knows no shrinking, and can get no mastery over her.’
+
+The pale cheek beside him flushed under the comparison, and the hint
+implied in it.
+
+‘I will do all I can to imitate her,’ said Neville.
+
+‘Do so, and be a truly brave man, as she is a truly brave woman,’
+answered Mr. Crisparkle stoutly. ‘It is growing dark. Will you go my
+way with me, when it is quite dark? Mind! it is not I who wait for
+darkness.’
+
+Neville replied, that he would accompany him directly. But Mr.
+Crisparkle said he had a moment’s call to make on Mr. Grewgious as an act
+of courtesy, and would run across to that gentleman’s chambers, and
+rejoin Neville on his own doorstep, if he would come down there to meet
+him.
+
+Mr. Grewgious, bolt upright as usual, sat taking his wine in the dusk at
+his open window; his wineglass and decanter on the round table at his
+elbow; himself and his legs on the window-seat; only one hinge in his
+whole body, like a bootjack.
+
+‘How do you do, reverend sir?’ said Mr. Grewgious, with abundant offers
+of hospitality, which were as cordially declined as made. ‘And how is
+your charge getting on over the way in the set that I had the pleasure of
+recommending to you as vacant and eligible?’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle replied suitably.
+
+‘I am glad you approve of them,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘because I entertain
+a sort of fancy for having him under my eye.’
+
+As Mr. Grewgious had to turn his eye up considerably before he could see
+the chambers, the phrase was to be taken figuratively and not literally.
+
+‘And how did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir?’ said Mr. Grewgious.
+
+Mr. Crisparkle had left him pretty well.
+
+‘And where did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir?’ Mr. Crisparkle had
+left him at Cloisterham.
+
+‘And when did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir?’ That morning.
+
+‘Umps!’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘He didn’t say he was coming, perhaps?’
+
+‘Coming where?’
+
+‘Anywhere, for instance?’ said Mr. Grewgious.
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Because here he is,’ said Mr. Grewgious, who had asked all these
+questions, with his preoccupied glance directed out at window. ‘And he
+don’t look agreeable, does he?’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle was craning towards the window, when Mr. Grewgious added:
+
+‘If you will kindly step round here behind me, in the gloom of the room,
+and will cast your eye at the second-floor landing window in yonder
+house, I think you will hardly fail to see a slinking individual in whom
+I recognise our local friend.’
+
+‘You are right!’ cried Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘Umps!’ said Mr. Grewgious. Then he added, turning his face so abruptly
+that his head nearly came into collision with Mr. Crisparkle’s: ‘what
+should you say that our local friend was up to?’
+
+The last passage he had been shown in the Diary returned on Mr.
+Crisparkle’s mind with the force of a strong recoil, and he asked Mr.
+Grewgious if he thought it possible that Neville was to be harassed by
+the keeping of a watch upon him?
+
+‘A watch?’ repeated Mr. Grewgious musingly. ‘Ay!’
+
+‘Which would not only of itself haunt and torture his life,’ said Mr.
+Crisparkle warmly, ‘but would expose him to the torment of a perpetually
+reviving suspicion, whatever he might do, or wherever he might go.’
+
+‘Ay!’ said Mr. Grewgious musingly still. ‘Do I see him waiting for you?’
+
+‘No doubt you do.’
+
+‘Then _would_ you have the goodness to excuse my getting up to see you
+out, and to go out to join him, and to go the way that you were going,
+and to take no notice of our local friend?’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘I
+entertain a sort of fancy for having _him_ under my eye to-night, do you
+know?’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle, with a significant need complied; and rejoining Neville,
+went away with him. They dined together, and parted at the yet
+unfinished and undeveloped railway station: Mr. Crisparkle to get home;
+Neville to walk the streets, cross the bridges, make a wide round of the
+city in the friendly darkness, and tire himself out.
+
+It was midnight when he returned from his solitary expedition and climbed
+his staircase. The night was hot, and the windows of the staircase were
+all wide open. Coming to the top, it gave him a passing chill of
+surprise (there being no rooms but his up there) to find a stranger
+sitting on the window-sill, more after the manner of a venturesome
+glazier than an amateur ordinarily careful of his neck; in fact, so much
+more outside the window than inside, as to suggest the thought that he
+must have come up by the water-spout instead of the stairs.
+
+The stranger said nothing until Neville put his key in his door; then,
+seeming to make sure of his identity from the action, he spoke:
+
+‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, coming from the window with a frank and
+smiling air, and a prepossessing address; ‘the beans.’
+
+Neville was quite at a loss.
+
+‘Runners,’ said the visitor. ‘Scarlet. Next door at the back.’
+
+‘O,’ returned Neville. ‘And the mignonette and wall-flower?’
+
+‘The same,’ said the visitor.
+
+‘Pray walk in.’
+
+‘Thank you.’
+
+Neville lighted his candles, and the visitor sat down. A handsome
+gentleman, with a young face, but with an older figure in its robustness
+and its breadth of shoulder; say a man of eight-and-twenty, or at the
+utmost thirty; so extremely sunburnt that the contrast between his brown
+visage and the white forehead shaded out of doors by his hat, and the
+glimpses of white throat below the neckerchief, would have been almost
+ludicrous but for his broad temples, bright blue eyes, clustering brown
+hair, and laughing teeth.
+
+‘I have noticed,’ said he; ‘—my name is Tartar.’
+
+Neville inclined his head.
+
+‘I have noticed (excuse me) that you shut yourself up a good deal, and
+that you seem to like my garden aloft here. If you would like a little
+more of it, I could throw out a few lines and stays between my windows
+and yours, which the runners would take to directly. And I have some
+boxes, both of mignonette and wall-flower, that I could shove on along
+the gutter (with a boathook I have by me) to your windows, and draw back
+again when they wanted watering or gardening, and shove on again when
+they were ship-shape; so that they would cause you no trouble. I
+couldn’t take this liberty without asking your permission, so I venture
+to ask it. Tartar, corresponding set, next door.’
+
+‘You are very kind.’
+
+‘Not at all. I ought to apologise for looking in so late. But having
+noticed (excuse me) that you generally walk out at night, I thought I
+should inconvenience you least by awaiting your return. I am always
+afraid of inconveniencing busy men, being an idle man.’
+
+‘I should not have thought so, from your appearance.’
+
+‘No? I take it as a compliment. In fact, I was bred in the Royal Navy,
+and was First Lieutenant when I quitted it. But, an uncle disappointed
+in the service leaving me his property on condition that I left the Navy,
+I accepted the fortune, and resigned my commission.’
+
+‘Lately, I presume?’
+
+‘Well, I had had twelve or fifteen years of knocking about first. I came
+here some nine months before you; I had had one crop before you came. I
+chose this place, because, having served last in a little corvette, I
+knew I should feel more at home where I had a constant opportunity of
+knocking my head against the ceiling. Besides, it would never do for a
+man who had been aboard ship from his boyhood to turn luxurious all at
+once. Besides, again; having been accustomed to a very short allowance
+of land all my life, I thought I’d feel my way to the command of a landed
+estate, by beginning in boxes.’
+
+Whimsically as this was said, there was a touch of merry earnestness in
+it that made it doubly whimsical.
+
+‘However,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘I have talked quite enough about myself.
+It is not my way, I hope; it has merely been to present myself to you
+naturally. If you will allow me to take the liberty I have described, it
+will be a charity, for it will give me something more to do. And you are
+not to suppose that it will entail any interruption or intrusion on you,
+for that is far from my intention.’
+
+Neville replied that he was greatly obliged, and that he thankfully
+accepted the kind proposal.
+
+‘I am very glad to take your windows in tow,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘From
+what I have seen of you when I have been gardening at mine, and you have
+been looking on, I have thought you (excuse me) rather too studious and
+delicate. May I ask, is your health at all affected?’
+
+‘I have undergone some mental distress,’ said Neville, confused, ‘which
+has stood me in the stead of illness.’
+
+‘Pardon me,’ said Mr. Tartar.
+
+With the greatest delicacy he shifted his ground to the windows again,
+and asked if he could look at one of them. On Neville’s opening it, he
+immediately sprang out, as if he were going aloft with a whole watch in
+an emergency, and were setting a bright example.
+
+‘For Heaven’s sake,’ cried Neville, ‘don’t do that! Where are you going
+Mr. Tartar? You’ll be dashed to pieces!’
+
+‘All well!’ said the Lieutenant, coolly looking about him on the
+housetop. ‘All taut and trim here. Those lines and stays shall be
+rigged before you turn out in the morning. May I take this short cut
+home, and say good-night?’
+
+‘Mr. Tartar!’ urged Neville. ‘Pray! It makes me giddy to see you!’
+
+But Mr. Tartar, with a wave of his hand and the deftness of a cat, had
+already dipped through his scuttle of scarlet runners without breaking a
+leaf, and ‘gone below.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious, his bedroom window-blind held aside with his hand,
+happened at the moment to have Neville’s chambers under his eye for the
+last time that night. Fortunately his eye was on the front of the house
+and not the back, or this remarkable appearance and disappearance might
+have broken his rest as a phenomenon. But Mr. Grewgious seeing nothing
+there, not even a light in the windows, his gaze wandered from the
+windows to the stars, as if he would have read in them something that was
+hidden from him. Many of us would, if we could; but none of us so much
+as know our letters in the stars yet—or seem likely to do it, in this
+state of existence—and few languages can be read until their alphabets
+are mastered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII—A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM
+
+
+At about this time a stranger appeared in Cloisterham; a white-haired
+personage, with black eyebrows. Being buttoned up in a tightish blue
+surtout, with a buff waistcoat and gray trousers, he had something of a
+military air, but he announced himself at the Crozier (the orthodox
+hotel, where he put up with a portmanteau) as an idle dog who lived upon
+his means; and he farther announced that he had a mind to take a lodging
+in the picturesque old city for a month or two, with a view of settling
+down there altogether. Both announcements were made in the coffee-room
+of the Crozier, to all whom it might or might not concern, by the
+stranger as he stood with his back to the empty fireplace, waiting for
+his fried sole, veal cutlet, and pint of sherry. And the waiter
+(business being chronically slack at the Crozier) represented all whom it
+might or might not concern, and absorbed the whole of the information.
+
+This gentleman’s white head was unusually large, and his shock of white
+hair was unusually thick and ample. ‘I suppose, waiter,’ he said,
+shaking his shock of hair, as a Newfoundland dog might shake his before
+sitting down to dinner, ‘that a fair lodging for a single buffer might be
+found in these parts, eh?’
+
+The waiter had no doubt of it.
+
+‘Something old,’ said the gentleman. ‘Take my hat down for a moment from
+that peg, will you? No, I don’t want it; look into it. What do you see
+written there?’
+
+The waiter read: ‘Datchery.’
+
+‘Now you know my name,’ said the gentleman; ‘Dick Datchery. Hang it up
+again. I was saying something old is what I should prefer, something odd
+and out of the way; something venerable, architectural, and
+inconvenient.’
+
+‘We have a good choice of inconvenient lodgings in the town, sir, I
+think,’ replied the waiter, with modest confidence in its resources that
+way; ‘indeed, I have no doubt that we could suit you that far, however
+particular you might be. But a architectural lodging!’ That seemed to
+trouble the waiter’s head, and he shook it.
+
+‘Anything Cathedraly, now,’ Mr. Datchery suggested.
+
+‘Mr. Tope,’ said the waiter, brightening, as he rubbed his chin with his
+hand, ‘would be the likeliest party to inform in that line.’
+
+‘Who is Mr. Tope?’ inquired Dick Datchery.
+
+The waiter explained that he was the Verger, and that Mrs. Tope had
+indeed once upon a time let lodgings herself or offered to let them; but
+that as nobody had ever taken them, Mrs. Tope’s window-bill, long a
+Cloisterham Institution, had disappeared; probably had tumbled down one
+day, and never been put up again.
+
+‘I’ll call on Mrs. Tope,’ said Mr. Datchery, ‘after dinner.’
+
+So when he had done his dinner, he was duly directed to the spot, and
+sallied out for it. But the Crozier being an hotel of a most retiring
+disposition, and the waiter’s directions being fatally precise, he soon
+became bewildered, and went boggling about and about the Cathedral Tower,
+whenever he could catch a glimpse of it, with a general impression on his
+mind that Mrs. Tope’s was somewhere very near it, and that, like the
+children in the game of hot boiled beans and very good butter, he was
+warm in his search when he saw the Tower, and cold when he didn’t see it.
+
+He was getting very cold indeed when he came upon a fragment of
+burial-ground in which an unhappy sheep was grazing. Unhappy, because a
+hideous small boy was stoning it through the railings, and had already
+lamed it in one leg, and was much excited by the benevolent sportsmanlike
+purpose of breaking its other three legs, and bringing it down.
+
+‘’It ’im agin!’ cried the boy, as the poor creature leaped; ‘and made a
+dint in his wool.’
+
+‘Let him be!’ said Mr. Datchery. ‘Don’t you see you have lamed him?’
+
+‘Yer lie,’ returned the sportsman. ‘’E went and lamed isself. I see ’im
+do it, and I giv’ ’im a shy as a Widdy-warning to ’im not to go
+a-bruisin’ ’is master’s mutton any more.’
+
+‘Come here.’
+
+‘I won’t; I’ll come when yer can ketch me.’
+
+‘Stay there then, and show me which is Mr. Tope’s.’
+
+‘Ow can I stay here and show you which is Topeseses, when Topeseses is
+t’other side the Kinfreederal, and over the crossings, and round ever so
+many comers? Stoo-pid! Ya-a-ah!’
+
+‘Show me where it is, and I’ll give you something.’
+
+‘Come on, then.’
+
+This brisk dialogue concluded, the boy led the way, and by-and-by stopped
+at some distance from an arched passage, pointing.
+
+‘Lookie yonder. You see that there winder and door?’
+
+‘That’s Tope’s?’
+
+‘Yer lie; it ain’t. That’s Jarsper’s.’
+
+‘Indeed?’ said Mr. Datchery, with a second look of some interest.
+
+‘Yes, and I ain’t a-goin’ no nearer ’IM, I tell yer.’
+
+‘Why not?’
+
+‘’Cos I ain’t a-goin’ to be lifted off my legs and ’ave my braces bust
+and be choked; not if I knows it, and not by ‘Im. Wait till I set a
+jolly good flint a-flyin’ at the back o’ ’is jolly old ’ed some day! Now
+look t’other side the harch; not the side where Jarsper’s door is;
+t’other side.’
+
+‘I see.’
+
+‘A little way in, o’ that side, there’s a low door, down two steps.
+That’s Topeseses with ’is name on a hoval plate.’
+
+‘Good. See here,’ said Mr. Datchery, producing a shilling. ‘You owe me
+half of this.’
+
+‘Yer lie! I don’t owe yer nothing; I never seen yer.’
+
+‘I tell you you owe me half of this, because I have no sixpence in my
+pocket. So the next time you meet me you shall do something else for me,
+to pay me.’
+
+‘All right, give us ’old.’
+
+‘What is your name, and where do you live?’
+
+‘Deputy. Travellers’ Twopenny, ’cross the green.’
+
+The boy instantly darted off with the shilling, lest Mr. Datchery should
+repent, but stopped at a safe distance, on the happy chance of his being
+uneasy in his mind about it, to goad him with a demon dance expressive of
+its irrevocability.
+
+Mr. Datchery, taking off his hat to give that shock of white hair of his
+another shake, seemed quite resigned, and betook himself whither he had
+been directed.
+
+Mr. Tope’s official dwelling, communicating by an upper stair with Mr.
+Jasper’s (hence Mrs. Tope’s attendance on that gentleman), was of very
+modest proportions, and partook of the character of a cool dungeon. Its
+ancient walls were massive, and its rooms rather seemed to have been dug
+out of them, than to have been designed beforehand with any reference to
+them. The main door opened at once on a chamber of no describable shape,
+with a groined roof, which in its turn opened on another chamber of no
+describable shape, with another groined roof: their windows small, and in
+the thickness of the walls. These two chambers, close as to their
+atmosphere, and swarthy as to their illumination by natural light, were
+the apartments which Mrs. Tope had so long offered to an unappreciative
+city. Mr. Datchery, however, was more appreciative. He found that if he
+sat with the main door open he would enjoy the passing society of all
+comers to and fro by the gateway, and would have light enough. He found
+that if Mr. and Mrs. Tope, living overhead, used for their own egress and
+ingress a little side stair that came plump into the Precincts by a door
+opening outward, to the surprise and inconvenience of a limited public of
+pedestrians in a narrow way, he would be alone, as in a separate
+residence. He found the rent moderate, and everything as quaintly
+inconvenient as he could desire. He agreed, therefore, to take the
+lodging then and there, and money down, possession to be had next
+evening, on condition that reference was permitted him to Mr. Jasper as
+occupying the gatehouse, of which on the other side of the gateway, the
+Verger’s hole-in-the-wall was an appanage or subsidiary part.
+
+The poor dear gentleman was very solitary and very sad, Mrs. Tope said,
+but she had no doubt he would ‘speak for her.’ Perhaps Mr. Datchery had
+heard something of what had occurred there last winter?
+
+Mr. Datchery had as confused a knowledge of the event in question, on
+trying to recall it, as he well could have. He begged Mrs. Tope’s pardon
+when she found it incumbent on her to correct him in every detail of his
+summary of the facts, but pleaded that he was merely a single buffer
+getting through life upon his means as idly as he could, and that so many
+people were so constantly making away with so many other people, as to
+render it difficult for a buffer of an easy temper to preserve the
+circumstances of the several cases unmixed in his mind.
+
+Mr. Jasper proving willing to speak for Mrs. Tope, Mr. Datchery, who had
+sent up his card, was invited to ascend the postern staircase. The Mayor
+was there, Mr. Tope said; but he was not to be regarded in the light of
+company, as he and Mr. Jasper were great friends.
+
+‘I beg pardon,’ said Mr. Datchery, making a leg with his hat under his
+arm, as he addressed himself equally to both gentlemen; ‘a selfish
+precaution on my part, and not personally interesting to anybody but
+myself. But as a buffer living on his means, and having an idea of doing
+it in this lovely place in peace and quiet, for remaining span of life, I
+beg to ask if the Tope family are quite respectable?’
+
+Mr. Jasper could answer for that without the slightest hesitation.
+
+‘That is enough, sir,’ said Mr. Datchery.
+
+‘My friend the Mayor,’ added Mr. Jasper, presenting Mr. Datchery with a
+courtly motion of his hand towards that potentate; ‘whose recommendation
+is actually much more important to a stranger than that of an obscure
+person like myself, will testify in their behalf, I am sure.’
+
+‘The Worshipful the Mayor,’ said Mr. Datchery, with a low bow, ‘places me
+under an infinite obligation.’
+
+‘Very good people, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Tope,’ said Mr. Sapsea, with
+condescension. ‘Very good opinions. Very well behaved. Very
+respectful. Much approved by the Dean and Chapter.’
+
+‘The Worshipful the Mayor gives them a character,’ said Mr. Datchery, ‘of
+which they may indeed be proud. I would ask His Honour (if I might be
+permitted) whether there are not many objects of great interest in the
+city which is under his beneficent sway?’
+
+‘We are, sir,’ returned Mr. Sapsea, ‘an ancient city, and an
+ecclesiastical city. We are a constitutional city, as it becomes such a
+city to be, and we uphold and maintain our glorious privileges.’
+
+‘His Honour,’ said Mr. Datchery, bowing, ‘inspires me with a desire to
+know more of the city, and confirms me in my inclination to end my days
+in the city.’
+
+‘Retired from the Army, sir?’ suggested Mr. Sapsea.
+
+‘His Honour the Mayor does me too much credit,’ returned Mr. Datchery.
+
+‘Navy, sir?’ suggested Mr. Sapsea.
+
+‘Again,’ repeated Mr. Datchery, ‘His Honour the Mayor does me too much
+credit.’
+
+‘Diplomacy is a fine profession,’ said Mr. Sapsea, as a general remark.
+
+‘There, I confess, His Honour the Mayor is too many for me,’ said Mr.
+Datchery, with an ingenious smile and bow; ‘even a diplomatic bird must
+fall to such a gun.’
+
+Now this was very soothing. Here was a gentleman of a great, not to say
+a grand, address, accustomed to rank and dignity, really setting a fine
+example how to behave to a Mayor. There was something in that
+third-person style of being spoken to, that Mr. Sapsea found particularly
+recognisant of his merits and position.
+
+‘But I crave pardon,’ said Mr. Datchery. ‘His Honour the Mayor will bear
+with me, if for a moment I have been deluded into occupying his time, and
+have forgotten the humble claims upon my own, of my hotel, the Crozier.’
+
+‘Not at all, sir,’ said Mr. Sapsea. ‘I am returning home, and if you
+would like to take the exterior of our Cathedral in your way, I shall be
+glad to point it out.’
+
+‘His Honour the Mayor,’ said Mr. Datchery, ‘is more than kind and
+gracious.’
+
+As Mr. Datchery, when he had made his acknowledgments to Mr. Jasper,
+could not be induced to go out of the room before the Worshipful, the
+Worshipful led the way down-stairs; Mr. Datchery following with his hat
+under his arm, and his shock of white hair streaming in the evening
+breeze.
+
+‘Might I ask His Honour,’ said Mr. Datchery, ‘whether that gentleman we
+have just left is the gentleman of whom I have heard in the neighbourhood
+as being much afflicted by the loss of a nephew, and concentrating his
+life on avenging the loss?’
+
+‘That is the gentleman. John Jasper, sir.’
+
+‘Would His Honour allow me to inquire whether there are strong suspicions
+of any one?’
+
+‘More than suspicions, sir,’ returned Mr. Sapsea; ‘all but certainties.’
+
+‘Only think now!’ cried Mr. Datchery.
+
+‘But proof, sir, proof must be built up stone by stone,’ said the Mayor.
+‘As I say, the end crowns the work. It is not enough that justice should
+be morally certain; she must be immorally certain—legally, that is.’
+
+‘His Honour,’ said Mr. Datchery, ‘reminds me of the nature of the law.
+Immoral. How true!’
+
+‘As I say, sir,’ pompously went on the Mayor, ‘the arm of the law is a
+strong arm, and a long arm. That is the may I put it. A strong arm and
+a long arm.’
+
+‘How forcible!—And yet, again, how true!’ murmured Mr. Datchery.
+
+‘And without betraying, what I call the secrets of the prison-house,’
+said Mr. Sapsea; ‘the secrets of the prison-house is the term I used on
+the bench.’
+
+‘And what other term than His Honour’s would express it?’ said Mr.
+Datchery.
+
+‘Without, I say, betraying them, I predict to you, knowing the iron will
+of the gentleman we have just left (I take the bold step of calling it
+iron, on account of its strength), that in this case the long arm will
+reach, and the strong arm will strike.—This is our Cathedral, sir. The
+best judges are pleased to admire it, and the best among our townsmen own
+to being a little vain of it.’
+
+All this time Mr. Datchery had walked with his hat under his arm, and his
+white hair streaming. He had an odd momentary appearance upon him of
+having forgotten his hat, when Mr. Sapsea now touched it; and he clapped
+his hand up to his head as if with some vague expectation of finding
+another hat upon it.
+
+‘Pray be covered, sir,’ entreated Mr. Sapsea; magnificently plying: ‘I
+shall not mind it, I assure you.’
+
+‘His Honour is very good, but I do it for coolness,’ said Mr. Datchery.
+
+Then Mr. Datchery admired the Cathedral, and Mr. Sapsea pointed it out as
+if he himself had invented and built it: there were a few details indeed
+of which he did not approve, but those he glossed over, as if the workmen
+had made mistakes in his absence. The Cathedral disposed of, he led the
+way by the churchyard, and stopped to extol the beauty of the evening—by
+chance—in the immediate vicinity of Mrs. Sapsea’s epitaph.
+
+‘And by the by,’ said Mr. Sapsea, appearing to descend from an elevation
+to remember it all of a sudden; like Apollo shooting down from Olympus to
+pick up his forgotten lyre; ‘_that_ is one of our small lions. The
+partiality of our people has made it so, and strangers have been seen
+taking a copy of it now and then. I am not a judge of it myself, for it
+is a little work of my own. But it was troublesome to turn, sir; I may
+say, difficult to turn with elegance.’
+
+Mr. Datchery became so ecstatic over Mr. Sapsea’s composition, that, in
+spite of his intention to end his days in Cloisterham, and therefore his
+probably having in reserve many opportunities of copying it, he would
+have transcribed it into his pocket-book on the spot, but for the
+slouching towards them of its material producer and perpetuator, Durdles,
+whom Mr. Sapsea hailed, not sorry to show him a bright example of
+behaviour to superiors.
+
+‘Ah, Durdles! This is the mason, sir; one of our Cloisterham worthies;
+everybody here knows Durdles. Mr. Datchery, Durdles a gentleman who is
+going to settle here.’
+
+‘I wouldn’t do it if I was him,’ growled Durdles. ‘We’re a heavy lot.’
+
+‘You surely don’t speak for yourself, Mr. Durdles,’ returned Mr.
+Datchery, ‘any more than for His Honour.’
+
+‘Who’s His Honour?’ demanded Durdles.
+
+‘His Honour the Mayor.’
+
+‘I never was brought afore him,’ said Durdles, with anything but the look
+of a loyal subject of the mayoralty, ‘and it’ll be time enough for me to
+Honour him when I am. Until which, and when, and where,
+
+ “Mister Sapsea is his name,
+ England is his nation,
+ Cloisterham’s his dwelling-place,
+ Aukshneer’s his occupation.”’
+
+Here, Deputy (preceded by a flying oyster-shell) appeared upon the scene,
+and requested to have the sum of threepence instantly ‘chucked’ to him by
+Mr. Durdles, whom he had been vainly seeking up and down, as lawful wages
+overdue. While that gentleman, with his bundle under his arm, slowly
+found and counted out the money, Mr. Sapsea informed the new settler of
+Durdles’s habits, pursuits, abode, and reputation. ‘I suppose a curious
+stranger might come to see you, and your works, Mr. Durdles, at any odd
+time?’ said Mr. Datchery upon that.
+
+‘Any gentleman is welcome to come and see me any evening if he brings
+liquor for two with him,’ returned Durdles, with a penny between his
+teeth and certain halfpence in his hands; ‘or if he likes to make it
+twice two, he’ll be doubly welcome.’
+
+‘I shall come. Master Deputy, what do you owe me?’
+
+‘A job.’
+
+‘Mind you pay me honestly with the job of showing me Mr. Durdles’s house
+when I want to go there.’
+
+Deputy, with a piercing broadside of whistle through the whole gap in his
+mouth, as a receipt in full for all arrears, vanished.
+
+The Worshipful and the Worshipper then passed on together until they
+parted, with many ceremonies, at the Worshipful’s door; even then the
+Worshipper carried his hat under his arm, and gave his streaming white
+hair to the breeze.
+
+Said Mr. Datchery to himself that night, as he looked at his white hair
+in the gas-lighted looking-glass over the coffee-room chimneypiece at the
+Crozier, and shook it out: ‘For a single buffer, of an easy temper,
+living idly on his means, I have had a rather busy afternoon!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX—SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL
+
+
+Again Miss Twinkleton has delivered her valedictory address, with the
+accompaniments of white-wine and pound-cake, and again the young ladies
+have departed to their several homes. Helena Landless has left the Nuns’
+House to attend her brother’s fortunes, and pretty Rosa is alone.
+
+Cloisterham is so bright and sunny in these summer days, that the
+Cathedral and the monastery-ruin show as if their strong walls were
+transparent. A soft glow seems to shine from within them, rather than
+upon them from without, such is their mellowness as they look forth on
+the hot corn-fields and the smoking roads that distantly wind among them.
+The Cloisterham gardens blush with ripening fruit. Time was when
+travel-stained pilgrims rode in clattering parties through the city’s
+welcome shades; time is when wayfarers, leading a gipsy life between
+haymaking time and harvest, and looking as if they were just made of the
+dust of the earth, so very dusty are they, lounge about on cool
+door-steps, trying to mend their unmendable shoes, or giving them to the
+city kennels as a hopeless job, and seeking others in the bundles that
+they carry, along with their yet unused sickles swathed in bands of
+straw. At all the more public pumps there is much cooling of bare feet,
+together with much bubbling and gurgling of drinking with hand to spout
+on the part of these Bedouins; the Cloisterham police meanwhile looking
+askant from their beats with suspicion, and manifest impatience that the
+intruders should depart from within the civic bounds, and once more fry
+themselves on the simmering high-roads.
+
+On the afternoon of such a day, when the last Cathedral service is done,
+and when that side of the High Street on which the Nuns’ House stands is
+in grateful shade, save where its quaint old garden opens to the west
+between the boughs of trees, a servant informs Rosa, to her terror, that
+Mr. Jasper desires to see her.
+
+If he had chosen his time for finding her at a disadvantage, he could
+have done no better. Perhaps he has chosen it. Helena Landless is gone,
+Mrs. Tisher is absent on leave, Miss Twinkleton (in her amateur state of
+existence) has contributed herself and a veal pie to a picnic.
+
+‘O why, why, why, did you say I was at home!’ cried Rosa, helplessly.
+
+The maid replies, that Mr. Jasper never asked the question.
+
+That he said he knew she was at home, and begged she might be told that
+he asked to see her.
+
+‘What shall I do! what shall I do!’ thinks Rosa, clasping her hands.
+
+Possessed by a kind of desperation, she adds in the next breath, that she
+will come to Mr. Jasper in the garden. She shudders at the thought of
+being shut up with him in the house; but many of its windows command the
+garden, and she can be seen as well as heard there, and can shriek in the
+free air and run away. Such is the wild idea that flutters through her
+mind.
+
+She has never seen him since the fatal night, except when she was
+questioned before the Mayor, and then he was present in gloomy
+watchfulness, as representing his lost nephew and burning to avenge him.
+She hangs her garden-hat on her arm, and goes out. The moment she sees
+him from the porch, leaning on the sun-dial, the old horrible feeling of
+being compelled by him, asserts its hold upon her. She feels that she
+would even then go back, but that he draws her feet towards him. She
+cannot resist, and sits down, with her head bent, on the garden-seat
+beside the sun-dial. She cannot look up at him for abhorrence, but she
+has perceived that he is dressed in deep mourning. So is she. It was
+not so at first; but the lost has long been given up, and mourned for, as
+dead.
+
+He would begin by touching her hand. She feels the intention, and draws
+her hand back. His eyes are then fixed upon her, she knows, though her
+own see nothing but the grass.
+
+‘I have been waiting,’ he begins, ‘for some time, to be summoned back to
+my duty near you.’
+
+After several times forming her lips, which she knows he is closely
+watching, into the shape of some other hesitating reply, and then into
+none, she answers: ‘Duty, sir?’
+
+‘The duty of teaching you, serving you as your faithful music-master.’
+
+‘I have left off that study.’
+
+‘Not left off, I think. Discontinued. I was told by your guardian that
+you discontinued it under the shock that we have all felt so acutely.
+When will you resume?’
+
+‘Never, sir.’
+
+‘Never? You could have done no more if you had loved my dear boy.’
+
+‘I did love him!’ cried Rosa, with a flash of anger.
+
+‘Yes; but not quite—not quite in the right way, shall I say? Not in the
+intended and expected way. Much as my dear boy was, unhappily, too
+self-conscious and self-satisfied (I’ll draw no parallel between him and
+you in that respect) to love as he should have loved, or as any one in
+his place would have loved—must have loved!’
+
+She sits in the same still attitude, but shrinking a little more.
+
+‘Then, to be told that you discontinued your study with me, was to be
+politely told that you abandoned it altogether?’ he suggested.
+
+‘Yes,’ says Rosa, with sudden spirit, ‘The politeness was my guardian’s,
+not mine. I told him that I was resolved to leave off, and that I was
+determined to stand by my resolution.’
+
+‘And you still are?’
+
+‘I still am, sir. And I beg not to be questioned any more about it. At
+all events, I will not answer any more; I have that in my power.’
+
+She is so conscious of his looking at her with a gloating admiration of
+the touch of anger on her, and the fire and animation it brings with it,
+that even as her spirit rises, it falls again, and she struggles with a
+sense of shame, affront, and fear, much as she did that night at the
+piano.
+
+‘I will not question you any more, since you object to it so much; I will
+confess—’
+
+‘I do not wish to hear you, sir,’ cries Rosa, rising.
+
+This time he does touch her with his outstretched hand. In shrinking
+from it, she shrinks into her seat again.
+
+‘We must sometimes act in opposition to our wishes,’ he tells her in a
+low voice. ‘You must do so now, or do more harm to others than you can
+ever set right.’
+
+‘What harm?’
+
+‘Presently, presently. You question _me_, you see, and surely that’s not
+fair when you forbid me to question you. Nevertheless, I will answer the
+question presently. Dearest Rosa! Charming Rosa!’
+
+She starts up again.
+
+This time he does not touch her. But his face looks so wicked and
+menacing, as he stands leaning against the sun-dial-setting, as it were,
+his black mark upon the very face of day—that her flight is arrested by
+horror as she looks at him.
+
+‘I do not forget how many windows command a view of us,’ he says,
+glancing towards them. ‘I will not touch you again; I will come no
+nearer to you than I am. Sit down, and there will be no mighty wonder in
+your music-master’s leaning idly against a pedestal and speaking with
+you, remembering all that has happened, and our shares in it. Sit down,
+my beloved.’
+
+She would have gone once more—was all but gone—and once more his face,
+darkly threatening what would follow if she went, has stopped her.
+Looking at him with the expression of the instant frozen on her face, she
+sits down on the seat again.
+
+‘Rosa, even when my dear boy was affianced to you, I loved you madly;
+even when I thought his happiness in having you for his wife was certain,
+I loved you madly; even when I strove to make him more ardently devoted
+to you, I loved you madly; even when he gave me the picture of your
+lovely face so carelessly traduced by him, which I feigned to hang always
+in my sight for his sake, but worshipped in torment for years, I loved
+you madly; in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of
+the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and
+Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I
+loved you madly.’
+
+If anything could make his words more hideous to her than they are in
+themselves, it would be the contrast between the violence of his look and
+delivery, and the composure of his assumed attitude.
+
+‘I endured it all in silence. So long as you were his, or so long as I
+supposed you to be his, I hid my secret loyally. Did I not?’
+
+This lie, so gross, while the mere words in which it is told are so true,
+is more than Rosa can endure. She answers with kindling indignation:
+‘You were as false throughout, sir, as you are now. You were false to
+him, daily and hourly. You know that you made my life unhappy by your
+pursuit of me. You know that you made me afraid to open his generous
+eyes, and that you forced me, for his own trusting, good, good sake, to
+keep the truth from him, that you were a bad, bad man!’
+
+His preservation of his easy attitude rendering his working features and
+his convulsive hands absolutely diabolical, he returns, with a fierce
+extreme of admiration:
+
+‘How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose.
+I don’t ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me
+yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting
+scorn; it will be enough for me.’
+
+Impatient tears rise to the eyes of the trembling little beauty, and her
+face flames; but as she again rises to leave him in indignation, and seek
+protection within the house, he stretches out his hand towards the porch,
+as though he invited her to enter it.
+
+‘I told you, you rare charmer, you sweet witch, that you must stay and
+hear me, or do more harm than can ever be undone. You asked me what
+harm. Stay, and I will tell you. Go, and I will do it!’
+
+Again Rosa quails before his threatening face, though innocent of its
+meaning, and she remains. Her panting breathing comes and goes as if it
+would choke her; but with a repressive hand upon her bosom, she remains.
+
+‘I have made my confession that my love is mad. It is so mad, that had
+the ties between me and my dear lost boy been one silken thread less
+strong, I might have swept even him from your side, when you favoured
+him.’
+
+A film comes over the eyes she raises for an instant, as though he had
+turned her faint.
+
+‘Even him,’ he repeats. ‘Yes, even him! Rosa, you see me and you hear
+me. Judge for yourself whether any other admirer shall love you and
+live, whose life is in my hand.’
+
+‘What do you mean, sir?’
+
+‘I mean to show you how mad my love is. It was hawked through the late
+inquiries by Mr. Crisparkle, that young Landless had confessed to him
+that he was a rival of my lost boy. That is an inexpiable offence in my
+eyes. The same Mr. Crisparkle knows under my hand that I have devoted
+myself to the murderer’s discovery and destruction, be he whom he might,
+and that I determined to discuss the mystery with no one until I should
+hold the clue in which to entangle the murderer as in a net. I have
+since worked patiently to wind and wind it round him; and it is slowly
+winding as I speak.’
+
+ [Picture: Jasper’s sacrifices]
+
+‘Your belief, if you believe in the criminality of Mr. Landless, is not
+Mr. Crisparkle’s belief, and he is a good man,’ Rosa retorts.
+
+‘My belief is my own; and I reserve it, worshipped of my soul!
+Circumstances may accumulate so strongly _even against an innocent man_,
+that directed, sharpened, and pointed, they may slay him. One wanting
+link discovered by perseverance against a guilty man, proves his guilt,
+however slight its evidence before, and he dies. Young Landless stands
+in deadly peril either way.’
+
+‘If you really suppose,’ Rosa pleads with him, turning paler, ‘that I
+favour Mr. Landless, or that Mr. Landless has ever in any way addressed
+himself to me, you are wrong.’
+
+He puts that from him with a slighting action of his hand and a curled
+lip.
+
+‘I was going to show you how madly I love you. More madly now than ever,
+for I am willing to renounce the second object that has arisen in my life
+to divide it with you; and henceforth to have no object in existence but
+you only. Miss Landless has become your bosom friend. You care for her
+peace of mind?’
+
+‘I love her dearly.’
+
+‘You care for her good name?’
+
+‘I have said, sir, I love her dearly.’
+
+‘I am unconsciously,’ he observes with a smile, as he folds his hands
+upon the sun-dial and leans his chin upon them, so that his talk would
+seem from the windows (faces occasionally come and go there) to be of the
+airiest and playfullest—‘I am unconsciously giving offence by questioning
+again. I will simply make statements, therefore, and not put questions.
+You do care for your bosom friend’s good name, and you do care for her
+peace of mind. Then remove the shadow of the gallows from her, dear
+one!’
+
+‘You dare propose to me to—’
+
+‘Darling, I dare propose to you. Stop there. If it be bad to idolise
+you, I am the worst of men; if it be good, I am the best. My love for
+you is above all other love, and my truth to you is above all other
+truth. Let me have hope and favour, and I am a forsworn man for your
+sake.’
+
+Rosa puts her hands to her temples, and, pushing back her hair, looks
+wildly and abhorrently at him, as though she were trying to piece
+together what it is his deep purpose to present to her only in fragments.
+
+‘Reckon up nothing at this moment, angel, but the sacrifices that I lay
+at those dear feet, which I could fall down among the vilest ashes and
+kiss, and put upon my head as a poor savage might. There is my fidelity
+to my dear boy after death. Tread upon it!’
+
+With an action of his hands, as though he cast down something precious.
+
+‘There is the inexpiable offence against my adoration of you. Spurn it!’
+
+With a similar action.
+
+‘There are my labours in the cause of a just vengeance for six toiling
+months. Crush them!’
+
+With another repetition of the action.
+
+‘There is my past and my present wasted life. There is the desolation of
+my heart and my soul. There is my peace; there is my despair. Stamp
+them into the dust; so that you take me, were it even mortally hating
+me!’
+
+The frightful vehemence of the man, now reaching its full height, so
+additionally terrifies her as to break the spell that has held her to the
+spot. She swiftly moves towards the porch; but in an instant he is at
+her side, and speaking in her ear.
+
+‘Rosa, I am self-repressed again. I am walking calmly beside you to the
+house. I shall wait for some encouragement and hope. I shall not strike
+too soon. Give me a sign that you attend to me.’
+
+She slightly and constrainedly moves her hand.
+
+‘Not a word of this to any one, or it will bring down the blow, as
+certainly as night follows day. Another sign that you attend to me.’
+
+She moves her hand once more.
+
+‘I love you, love you, love you! If you were to cast me off now—but you
+will not—you would never be rid of me. No one should come between us. I
+would pursue you to the death.’
+
+The handmaid coming out to open the gate for him, he quietly pulls off
+his hat as a parting salute, and goes away with no greater show of
+agitation than is visible in the effigy of Mr. Sapsea’s father opposite.
+Rosa faints in going up-stairs, and is carefully carried to her room and
+laid down on her bed. A thunderstorm is coming on, the maids say, and
+the hot and stifling air has overset the pretty dear: no wonder; they
+have felt their own knees all of a tremble all day long.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX—A FLIGHT
+
+
+Rosa no sooner came to herself than the whole of the late interview was
+before her. It even seemed as if it had pursued her into her
+insensibility, and she had not had a moment’s unconsciousness of it.
+What to do, she was at a frightened loss to know: the only one clear
+thought in her mind was, that she must fly from this terrible man.
+
+But where could she take refuge, and how could she go? She had never
+breathed her dread of him to any one but Helena. If she went to Helena,
+and told her what had passed, that very act might bring down the
+irreparable mischief that he threatened he had the power, and that she
+knew he had the will, to do. The more fearful he appeared to her excited
+memory and imagination, the more alarming her responsibility appeared;
+seeing that a slight mistake on her part, either in action or delay,
+might let his malevolence loose on Helena’s brother.
+
+Rosa’s mind throughout the last six months had been stormily confused. A
+half-formed, wholly unexpressed suspicion tossed in it, now heaving
+itself up, and now sinking into the deep; now gaining palpability, and
+now losing it. Jasper’s self-absorption in his nephew when he was alive,
+and his unceasing pursuit of the inquiry how he came by his death, if he
+were dead, were themes so rife in the place, that no one appeared able to
+suspect the possibility of foul play at his hands. She had asked herself
+the question, ‘Am I so wicked in my thoughts as to conceive a wickedness
+that others cannot imagine?’ Then she had considered, Did the suspicion
+come of her previous recoiling from him before the fact? And if so, was
+not that a proof of its baselessness? Then she had reflected, ‘What
+motive could he have, according to my accusation?’ She was ashamed to
+answer in her mind, ‘The motive of gaining _me_!’ And covered her face,
+as if the lightest shadow of the idea of founding murder on such an idle
+vanity were a crime almost as great.
+
+She ran over in her mind again, all that he had said by the sun-dial in
+the garden. He had persisted in treating the disappearance as murder,
+consistently with his whole public course since the finding of the watch
+and shirt-pin. If he were afraid of the crime being traced out, would he
+not rather encourage the idea of a voluntary disappearance? He had even
+declared that if the ties between him and his nephew had been less
+strong, he might have swept ‘even him’ away from her side. Was that like
+his having really done so? He had spoken of laying his six months’
+labours in the cause of a just vengeance at her feet. Would he have done
+that, with that violence of passion, if they were a pretence? Would he
+have ranged them with his desolate heart and soul, his wasted life, his
+peace and his despair? The very first sacrifice that he represented
+himself as making for her, was his fidelity to his dear boy after death.
+Surely these facts were strong against a fancy that scarcely dared to
+hint itself. And yet he was so terrible a man! In short, the poor girl
+(for what could she know of the criminal intellect, which its own
+professed students perpetually misread, because they persist in trying to
+reconcile it with the average intellect of average men, instead of
+identifying it as a horrible wonder apart) could get by no road to any
+other conclusion than that he _was_ a terrible man, and must be fled
+from.
+
+She had been Helena’s stay and comfort during the whole time. She had
+constantly assured her of her full belief in her brother’s innocence, and
+of her sympathy with him in his misery. But she had never seen him since
+the disappearance, nor had Helena ever spoken one word of his avowal to
+Mr. Crisparkle in regard of Rosa, though as a part of the interest of the
+case it was well known far and wide. He was Helena’s unfortunate
+brother, to her, and nothing more. The assurance she had given her
+odious suitor was strictly true, though it would have been better (she
+considered now) if she could have restrained herself from so giving it.
+Afraid of him as the bright and delicate little creature was, her spirit
+swelled at the thought of his knowing it from her own lips.
+
+But where was she to go? Anywhere beyond his reach, was no reply to the
+question. Somewhere must be thought of. She determined to go to her
+guardian, and to go immediately. The feeling she had imparted to Helena
+on the night of their first confidence, was so strong upon her—the
+feeling of not being safe from him, and of the solid walls of the old
+convent being powerless to keep out his ghostly following of her—that no
+reasoning of her own could calm her terrors. The fascination of
+repulsion had been upon her so long, and now culminated so darkly, that
+she felt as if he had power to bind her by a spell. Glancing out at
+window, even now, as she rose to dress, the sight of the sun-dial on
+which he had leaned when he declared himself, turned her cold, and made
+her shrink from it, as though he had invested it with some awful quality
+from his own nature.
+
+She wrote a hurried note to Miss Twinkleton, saying that she had sudden
+reason for wishing to see her guardian promptly, and had gone to him;
+also, entreating the good lady not to be uneasy, for all was well with
+her. She hurried a few quite useless articles into a very little bag,
+left the note in a conspicuous place, and went out, softly closing the
+gate after her.
+
+It was the first time she had ever been even in Cloisterham High Street
+alone. But knowing all its ways and windings very well, she hurried
+straight to the corner from which the omnibus departed. It was, at that
+very moment, going off.
+
+‘Stop and take me, if you please, Joe. I am obliged to go to London.’
+
+In less than another minute she was on her road to the railway, under
+Joe’s protection. Joe waited on her when she got there, put her safely
+into the railway carriage, and handed in the very little bag after her,
+as though it were some enormous trunk, hundredweights heavy, which she
+must on no account endeavour to lift.
+
+‘Can you go round when you get back, and tell Miss Twinkleton that you
+saw me safely off, Joe?’
+
+‘It shall be done, Miss.’
+
+‘With my love, please, Joe.’
+
+‘Yes, Miss—and I wouldn’t mind having it myself!’ But Joe did not
+articulate the last clause; only thought it.
+
+Now that she was whirling away for London in real earnest, Rosa was at
+leisure to resume the thoughts which her personal hurry had checked. The
+indignant thought that his declaration of love soiled her; that she could
+only be cleansed from the stain of its impurity by appealing to the
+honest and true; supported her for a time against her fears, and
+confirmed her in her hasty resolution. But as the evening grew darker
+and darker, and the great city impended nearer and nearer, the doubts
+usual in such cases began to arise. Whether this was not a wild
+proceeding, after all; how Mr. Grewgious might regard it; whether she
+should find him at the journey’s end; how she would act if he were
+absent; what might become of her, alone, in a place so strange and
+crowded; how if she had but waited and taken counsel first; whether, if
+she could now go back, she would not do it thankfully; a multitude of
+such uneasy speculations disturbed her, more and more as they
+accumulated. At length the train came into London over the housetops;
+and down below lay the gritty streets with their yet un-needed lamps
+a-glow, on a hot, light, summer night.
+
+‘Hiram Grewgious, Esquire, Staple Inn, London.’ This was all Rosa knew
+of her destination; but it was enough to send her rattling away again in
+a cab, through deserts of gritty streets, where many people crowded at
+the corner of courts and byways to get some air, and where many other
+people walked with a miserably monotonous noise of shuffling of feet on
+hot paving-stones, and where all the people and all their surroundings
+were so gritty and so shabby!
+
+There was music playing here and there, but it did not enliven the case.
+No barrel-organ mended the matter, and no big drum beat dull care away.
+Like the chapel bells that were also going here and there, they only
+seemed to evoke echoes from brick surfaces, and dust from everything. As
+to the flat wind-instruments, they seemed to have cracked their hearts
+and souls in pining for the country.
+
+Her jingling conveyance stopped at last at a fast-closed gateway, which
+appeared to belong to somebody who had gone to bed very early, and was
+much afraid of housebreakers; Rosa, discharging her conveyance, timidly
+knocked at this gateway, and was let in, very little bag and all, by a
+watchman.
+
+‘Does Mr. Grewgious live here?’
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious lives there, Miss,’ said the watchman, pointing further
+in.
+
+So Rosa went further in, and, when the clocks were striking ten, stood on
+P. J. T.’s doorsteps, wondering what P. J. T. had done with his
+street-door.
+
+Guided by the painted name of Mr. Grewgious, she went up-stairs and
+softly tapped and tapped several times. But no one answering, and Mr.
+Grewgious’s door-handle yielding to her touch, she went in, and saw her
+guardian sitting on a window-seat at an open window, with a shaded lamp
+placed far from him on a table in a corner.
+
+Rosa drew nearer to him in the twilight of the room. He saw her, and he
+said, in an undertone: ‘Good Heaven!’
+
+Rosa fell upon his neck, with tears, and then he said, returning her
+embrace:
+
+‘My child, my child! I thought you were your mother!—But what, what,
+what,’ he added, soothingly, ‘has happened? My dear, what has brought
+you here? Who has brought you here?’
+
+‘No one. I came alone.’
+
+‘Lord bless me!’ ejaculated Mr. Grewgious. ‘Came alone! Why didn’t you
+write to me to come and fetch you?’
+
+‘I had no time. I took a sudden resolution. Poor, poor Eddy!’
+
+‘Ah, poor fellow, poor fellow!’
+
+‘His uncle has made love to me. I cannot bear it,’ said Rosa, at once
+with a burst of tears, and a stamp of her little foot; ‘I shudder with
+horror of him, and I have come to you to protect me and all of us from
+him, if you will?’
+
+‘I will,’ cried Mr. Grewgious, with a sudden rush of amazing energy.
+‘Damn him!
+
+ “Confound his politics!
+ Frustrate his knavish tricks!
+ On Thee his hopes to fix?
+ Damn him again!”’
+
+After this most extraordinary outburst, Mr. Grewgious, quite beside
+himself, plunged about the room, to all appearance undecided whether he
+was in a fit of loyal enthusiasm, or combative denunciation.
+
+He stopped and said, wiping his face: ‘I beg your pardon, my dear, but
+you will be glad to know I feel better. Tell me no more just now, or I
+might do it again. You must be refreshed and cheered. What did you take
+last? Was it breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper? And what will
+you take next? Shall it be breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper?’
+
+The respectful tenderness with which, on one knee before her, he helped
+her to remove her hat, and disentangle her pretty hair from it, was quite
+a chivalrous sight. Yet who, knowing him only on the surface, would have
+expected chivalry—and of the true sort, too; not the spurious—from Mr.
+Grewgious?
+
+‘Your rest too must be provided for,’ he went on; ‘and you shall have the
+prettiest chamber in Furnival’s. Your toilet must be provided for, and
+you shall have everything that an unlimited head chambermaid—by which
+expression I mean a head chambermaid not limited as to outlay—can
+procure. Is that a bag?’ he looked hard at it; sooth to say, it required
+hard looking at to be seen at all in a dimly lighted room: ‘and is it
+your property, my dear?’
+
+‘Yes, sir. I brought it with me.’
+
+‘It is not an extensive bag,’ said Mr. Grewgious, candidly, ‘though
+admirably calculated to contain a day’s provision for a canary-bird.
+Perhaps you brought a canary-bird?’
+
+Rosa smiled and shook her head.
+
+‘If you had, he should have been made welcome,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘and
+I think he would have been pleased to be hung upon a nail outside and pit
+himself against our Staple sparrows; whose execution must be admitted to
+be not quite equal to their intention. Which is the case with so many of
+us! You didn’t say what meal, my dear. Have a nice jumble of all
+meals.’
+
+Rosa thanked him, but said she could only take a cup of tea. Mr.
+Grewgious, after several times running out, and in again, to mention such
+supplementary items as marmalade, eggs, watercresses, salted fish, and
+frizzled ham, ran across to Furnival’s without his hat, to give his
+various directions. And soon afterwards they were realised in practice,
+and the board was spread.
+
+‘Lord bless my soul,’ cried Mr. Grewgious, putting the lamp upon it, and
+taking his seat opposite Rosa; ‘what a new sensation for a poor old
+Angular bachelor, to be sure!’
+
+ [Picture: Mr. Grewgious experiences a new sensation]
+
+Rosa’s expressive little eyebrows asked him what he meant?
+
+‘The sensation of having a sweet young presence in the place, that
+whitewashes it, paints it, papers it, decorates it with gilding, and
+makes it Glorious!’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Ah me! Ah me!’
+
+As there was something mournful in his sigh, Rosa, in touching him with
+her tea-cup, ventured to touch him with her small hand too.
+
+‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Ahem! Let’s talk!’
+
+‘Do you always live here, sir?’ asked Rosa.
+
+‘Yes, my dear.’
+
+‘And always alone?’
+
+‘Always alone; except that I have daily company in a gentleman by the
+name of Bazzard, my clerk.’
+
+‘_He_ doesn’t live here?’
+
+‘No, he goes his way, after office hours. In fact, he is off duty here,
+altogether, just at present; and a firm down-stairs, with which I have
+business relations, lend me a substitute. But it would be extremely
+difficult to replace Mr. Bazzard.’
+
+‘He must be very fond of you,’ said Rosa.
+
+‘He bears up against it with commendable fortitude if he is,’ returned
+Mr. Grewgious, after considering the matter. ‘But I doubt if he is. Not
+particularly so. You see, he is discontented, poor fellow.’
+
+‘Why isn’t he contented?’ was the natural inquiry.
+
+‘Misplaced,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with great mystery.
+
+Rosa’s eyebrows resumed their inquisitive and perplexed expression.
+
+‘So misplaced,’ Mr. Grewgious went on, ‘that I feel constantly apologetic
+towards him. And he feels (though he doesn’t mention it) that I have
+reason to be.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious had by this time grown so very mysterious, that Rosa did
+not know how to go on. While she was thinking about it Mr. Grewgious
+suddenly jerked out of himself for the second time:
+
+‘Let’s talk. We were speaking of Mr. Bazzard. It’s a secret, and
+moreover it is Mr. Bazzard’s secret; but the sweet presence at my table
+makes me so unusually expansive, that I feel I must impart it in
+inviolable confidence. What do you think Mr. Bazzard has done?’
+
+‘O dear!’ cried Rosa, drawing her chair a little nearer, and her mind
+reverting to Jasper, ‘nothing dreadful, I hope?’
+
+‘He has written a play,’ said Mr. Grewgious, in a solemn whisper. ‘A
+tragedy.’
+
+Rosa seemed much relieved.
+
+‘And nobody,’ pursued Mr. Grewgious in the same tone, ‘will hear, on any
+account whatever, of bringing it out.’
+
+Rosa looked reflective, and nodded her head slowly; as who should say,
+‘Such things are, and why are they!’
+
+‘Now, you know,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘_I_ couldn’t write a play.’
+
+‘Not a bad one, sir?’ said Rosa, innocently, with her eyebrows again in
+action.
+
+‘No. If I was under sentence of decapitation, and was about to be
+instantly decapitated, and an express arrived with a pardon for the
+condemned convict Grewgious if he wrote a play, I should be under the
+necessity of resuming the block, and begging the executioner to proceed
+to extremities,—meaning,’ said Mr. Grewgious, passing his hand under his
+chin, ‘the singular number, and this extremity.’
+
+Rosa appeared to consider what she would do if the awkward supposititious
+case were hers.
+
+‘Consequently,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘Mr. Bazzard would have a sense of my
+inferiority to himself under any circumstances; but when I am his master,
+you know, the case is greatly aggravated.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious shook his head seriously, as if he felt the offence to be a
+little too much, though of his own committing.
+
+‘How came you to be his master, sir?’ asked Rosa.
+
+‘A question that naturally follows,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Let’s talk.
+Mr. Bazzard’s father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously laid
+about him with a flail, a pitch-fork, and every agricultural implement
+available for assaulting purposes, on the slightest hint of his son’s
+having written a play. So the son, bringing to me the father’s rent
+(which I receive), imparted his secret, and pointed out that he was
+determined to pursue his genius, and that it would put him in peril of
+starvation, and that he was not formed for it.’
+
+‘For pursuing his genius, sir?’
+
+‘No, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘for starvation. It was impossible to
+deny the position, that Mr. Bazzard was not formed to be starved, and Mr.
+Bazzard then pointed out that it was desirable that I should stand
+between him and a fate so perfectly unsuited to his formation. In that
+way Mr. Bazzard became my clerk, and he feels it very much.’
+
+‘I am glad he is grateful,’ said Rosa.
+
+‘I didn’t quite mean that, my dear. I mean, that he feels the
+degradation. There are some other geniuses that Mr. Bazzard has become
+acquainted with, who have also written tragedies, which likewise nobody
+will on any account whatever hear of bringing out, and these choice
+spirits dedicate their plays to one another in a highly panegyrical
+manner. Mr. Bazzard has been the subject of one of these dedications.
+Now, you know, I never had a play dedicated to _me_!’
+
+Rosa looked at him as if she would have liked him to be the recipient of
+a thousand dedications.
+
+‘Which again, naturally, rubs against the grain of Mr. Bazzard,’ said Mr.
+Grewgious. ‘He is very short with me sometimes, and then I feel that he
+is meditating, “This blockhead is my master! A fellow who couldn’t write
+a tragedy on pain of death, and who will never have one dedicated to him
+with the most complimentary congratulations on the high position he has
+taken in the eyes of posterity!” Very trying, very trying. However, in
+giving him directions, I reflect beforehand: “Perhaps he may not like
+this,” or “He might take it ill if I asked that;” and so we get on very
+well. Indeed, better than I could have expected.’
+
+‘Is the tragedy named, sir?’ asked Rosa.
+
+‘Strictly between ourselves,’ answered Mr. Grewgious, ‘it has a
+dreadfully appropriate name. It is called The Thorn of Anxiety. But Mr.
+Bazzard hopes—and I hope—that it will come out at last.’
+
+It was not hard to divine that Mr. Grewgious had related the Bazzard
+history thus fully, at least quite as much for the recreation of his
+ward’s mind from the subject that had driven her there, as for the
+gratification of his own tendency to be social and communicative.
+
+‘And now, my dear,’ he said at this point, ‘if you are not too tired to
+tell me more of what passed to-day—but only if you feel quite able—I
+should be glad to hear it. I may digest it the better, if I sleep on it
+to-night.’
+
+Rosa, composed now, gave him a faithful account of the interview. Mr.
+Grewgious often smoothed his head while it was in progress, and begged to
+be told a second time those parts which bore on Helena and Neville. When
+Rosa had finished, he sat grave, silent, and meditative for a while.
+
+‘Clearly narrated,’ was his only remark at last, ‘and, I hope, clearly
+put away here,’ smoothing his head again. ‘See, my dear,’ taking her to
+the open window, ‘where they live! The dark windows over yonder.’
+
+‘I may go to Helena to-morrow?’ asked Rosa.
+
+‘I should like to sleep on that question to-night,’ he answered
+doubtfully. ‘But let me take you to your own rest, for you must need
+it.’
+
+With that Mr. Grewgious helped her to get her hat on again, and hung upon
+his arm the very little bag that was of no earthly use, and led her by
+the hand (with a certain stately awkwardness, as if he were going to walk
+a minuet) across Holborn, and into Furnival’s Inn. At the hotel door, he
+confided her to the Unlimited head chambermaid, and said that while she
+went up to see her room, he would remain below, in case she should wish
+it exchanged for another, or should find that there was anything she
+wanted.
+
+Rosa’s room was airy, clean, comfortable, almost gay. The Unlimited had
+laid in everything omitted from the very little bag (that is to say,
+everything she could possibly need), and Rosa tripped down the great many
+stairs again, to thank her guardian for his thoughtful and affectionate
+care of her.
+
+‘Not at all, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, infinitely gratified; ‘it is I
+who thank you for your charming confidence and for your charming company.
+Your breakfast will be provided for you in a neat, compact, and graceful
+little sitting-room (appropriate to your figure), and I will come to you
+at ten o’clock in the morning. I hope you don’t feel very strange
+indeed, in this strange place.’
+
+‘O no, I feel so safe!’
+
+‘Yes, you may be sure that the stairs are fire-proof,’ said Mr.
+Grewgious, ‘and that any outbreak of the devouring element would be
+perceived and suppressed by the watchmen.’
+
+‘I did not mean that,’ Rosa replied. ‘I mean, I feel so safe from him.’
+
+‘There is a stout gate of iron bars to keep him out,’ said Mr. Grewgious,
+smiling; ‘and Furnival’s is fire-proof, and specially watched and
+lighted, and _I_ live over the way!’ In the stoutness of his
+knight-errantry, he seemed to think the last-named protection all
+sufficient. In the same spirit he said to the gate-porter as he went
+out, ‘If some one staying in the hotel should wish to send across the
+road to me in the night, a crown will be ready for the messenger.’ In
+the same spirit, he walked up and down outside the iron gate for the best
+part of an hour, with some solicitude; occasionally looking in between
+the bars, as if he had laid a dove in a high roost in a cage of lions,
+and had it on his mind that she might tumble out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI—A RECOGNITION
+
+
+Nothing occurred in the night to flutter the tired dove; and the dove
+arose refreshed. With Mr. Grewgious, when the clock struck ten in the
+morning, came Mr. Crisparkle, who had come at one plunge out of the river
+at Cloisterham.
+
+‘Miss Twinkleton was so uneasy, Miss Rosa,’ he explained to her, ‘and
+came round to Ma and me with your note, in such a state of wonder, that,
+to quiet her, I volunteered on this service by the very first train to be
+caught in the morning. I wished at the time that you had come to me; but
+now I think it best that you did _as_ you did, and came to your
+guardian.’
+
+‘I did think of you,’ Rosa told him; ‘but Minor Canon Corner was so near
+him—’
+
+‘I understand. It was quite natural.’
+
+‘I have told Mr. Crisparkle,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘all that you told me
+last night, my dear. Of course I should have written it to him
+immediately; but his coming was most opportune. And it was particularly
+kind of him to come, for he had but just gone.’
+
+‘Have you settled,’ asked Rosa, appealing to them both, ‘what is to be
+done for Helena and her brother?’
+
+‘Why really,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘I am in great perplexity. If even
+Mr. Grewgious, whose head is much longer than mine, and who is a whole
+night’s cogitation in advance of me, is undecided, what must I be!’
+
+The Unlimited here put her head in at the door—after having rapped, and
+been authorised to present herself—announcing that a gentleman wished for
+a word with another gentleman named Crisparkle, if any such gentleman
+were there. If no such gentleman were there, he begged pardon for being
+mistaken.
+
+‘Such a gentleman is here,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘but is engaged just
+now.’
+
+‘Is it a dark gentleman?’ interposed Rosa, retreating on her guardian.
+
+‘No, Miss, more of a brown gentleman.’
+
+‘You are sure not with black hair?’ asked Rosa, taking courage.
+
+‘Quite sure of that, Miss. Brown hair and blue eyes.’
+
+‘Perhaps,’ hinted Mr. Grewgious, with habitual caution, ‘it might be well
+to see him, reverend sir, if you don’t object. When one is in a
+difficulty or at a loss, one never knows in what direction a way out may
+chance to open. It is a business principle of mine, in such a case, not
+to close up any direction, but to keep an eye on every direction that may
+present itself. I could relate an anecdote in point, but that it would
+be premature.’
+
+‘If Miss Rosa will allow me, then? Let the gentleman come in,’ said Mr.
+Crisparkle.
+
+The gentleman came in; apologised, with a frank but modest grace, for not
+finding Mr. Crisparkle alone; turned to Mr. Crisparkle, and smilingly
+asked the unexpected question: ‘Who am I?’
+
+‘You are the gentleman I saw smoking under the trees in Staple Inn, a few
+minutes ago.’
+
+‘True. There I saw you. Who else am I?’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle concentrated his attention on a handsome face, much
+sunburnt; and the ghost of some departed boy seemed to rise, gradually
+and dimly, in the room.
+
+The gentleman saw a struggling recollection lighten up the Minor Canon’s
+features, and smiling again, said: ‘What will you have for breakfast this
+morning? You are out of jam.’
+
+‘Wait a moment!’ cried Mr. Crisparkle, raising his right hand. ‘Give me
+another instant! Tartar!’
+
+The two shook hands with the greatest heartiness, and then went the
+wonderful length—for Englishmen—of laying their hands each on the other’s
+shoulders, and looking joyfully each into the other’s face.
+
+‘My old fag!’ said Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘My old master!’ said Mr. Tartar.
+
+‘You saved me from drowning!’ said Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘After which you took to swimming, you know!’ said Mr. Tartar.
+
+‘God bless my soul!’ said Mr. Crisparkle.
+
+‘Amen!’ said Mr. Tartar.
+
+And then they fell to shaking hands most heartily again.
+
+‘Imagine,’ exclaimed Mr. Crisparkle, with glistening eyes: ‘Miss Rosa Bud
+and Mr. Grewgious, imagine Mr. Tartar, when he was the smallest of
+juniors, diving for me, catching me, a big heavy senior, by the hair of
+the head, and striking out for the shore with me like a water-giant!’
+
+‘Imagine my not letting him sink, as I was his fag!’ said Mr. Tartar.
+‘But the truth being that he was my best protector and friend, and did me
+more good than all the masters put together, an irrational impulse seized
+me to pick him up, or go down with him.’
+
+‘Hem! Permit me, sir, to have the honour,’ said Mr. Grewgious, advancing
+with extended hand, ‘for an honour I truly esteem it. I am proud to make
+your acquaintance. I hope you didn’t take cold. I hope you were not
+inconvenienced by swallowing too much water. How have you been since?’
+
+It was by no means apparent that Mr. Grewgious knew what he said, though
+it was very apparent that he meant to say something highly friendly and
+appreciative.
+
+If Heaven, Rosa thought, had but sent such courage and skill to her poor
+mother’s aid! And he to have been so slight and young then!
+
+‘I don’t wish to be complimented upon it, I thank you; but I think I have
+an idea,’ Mr. Grewgious announced, after taking a jog-trot or two across
+the room, so unexpected and unaccountable that they all stared at him,
+doubtful whether he was choking or had the cramp—‘I _think_ I have an
+idea. I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Tartar’s name as
+tenant of the top set in the house next the top set in the corner?’
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ returned Mr. Tartar. ‘You are right so far.’
+
+‘I am right so far,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Tick that off;’ which he did,
+with his right thumb on his left. ‘Might you happen to know the name of
+your neighbour in the top set on the other side of the party-wall?’
+coming very close to Mr. Tartar, to lose nothing of his face, in his
+shortness of sight.
+
+‘Landless.’
+
+‘Tick that off,’ said Mr. Grewgious, taking another trot, and then coming
+back. ‘No personal knowledge, I suppose, sir?’
+
+‘Slight, but some.’
+
+‘Tick that off,’ said Mr. Grewgious, taking another trot, and again
+coming back. ‘Nature of knowledge, Mr. Tartar?’
+
+‘I thought he seemed to be a young fellow in a poor way, and I asked his
+leave—only within a day or so—to share my flowers up there with him; that
+is to say, to extend my flower-garden to his windows.’
+
+‘Would you have the kindness to take seats?’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘I
+_have_ an idea!’
+
+They complied; Mr. Tartar none the less readily, for being all abroad;
+and Mr. Grewgious, seated in the centre, with his hands upon his knees,
+thus stated his idea, with his usual manner of having got the statement
+by heart.
+
+‘I cannot as yet make up my mind whether it is prudent to hold open
+communication under present circumstances, and on the part of the fair
+member of the present company, with Mr. Neville or Miss Helena. I have
+reason to know that a local friend of ours (on whom I beg to bestow a
+passing but a hearty malediction, with the kind permission of my reverend
+friend) sneaks to and fro, and dodges up and down. When not doing so
+himself, he may have some informant skulking about, in the person of a
+watchman, porter, or such-like hanger-on of Staple. On the other hand,
+Miss Rosa very naturally wishes to see her friend Miss Helena, and it
+would seem important that at least Miss Helena (if not her brother too,
+through her) should privately know from Miss Rosa’s lips what has
+occurred, and what has been threatened. Am I agreed with generally in
+the views I take?’
+
+‘I entirely coincide with them,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, who had been very
+attentive.
+
+‘As I have no doubt I should,’ added Mr. Tartar, smiling, ‘if I
+understood them.’
+
+‘Fair and softly, sir,’ said Mr. Grewgious; ‘we shall fully confide in
+you directly, if you will favour us with your permission. Now, if our
+local friend should have any informant on the spot, it is tolerably clear
+that such informant can only be set to watch the chambers in the
+occupation of Mr. Neville. He reporting, to our local friend, who comes
+and goes there, our local friend would supply for himself, from his own
+previous knowledge, the identity of the parties. Nobody can be set to
+watch all Staple, or to concern himself with comers and goers to other
+sets of chambers: unless, indeed, mine.’
+
+‘I begin to understand to what you tend,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘and
+highly approve of your caution.’
+
+‘I needn’t repeat that I know nothing yet of the why and wherefore,’ said
+Mr. Tartar; ‘but I also understand to what you tend, so let me say at
+once that my chambers are freely at your disposal.’
+
+‘There!’ cried Mr. Grewgious, smoothing his head triumphantly, ‘now we
+have all got the idea. You have it, my dear?’
+
+‘I think I have,’ said Rosa, blushing a little as Mr. Tartar looked
+quickly towards her.
+
+‘You see, you go over to Staple with Mr. Crisparkle and Mr. Tartar,’ said
+Mr. Grewgious; ‘I going in and out, and out and in alone, in my usual
+way; you go up with those gentlemen to Mr. Tartar’s rooms; you look into
+Mr. Tartar’s flower-garden; you wait for Miss Helena’s appearance there,
+or you signify to Miss Helena that you are close by; and you communicate
+with her freely, and no spy can be the wiser.’
+
+‘I am very much afraid I shall be—’
+
+‘Be what, my dear?’ asked Mr. Grewgious, as she hesitated. ‘Not
+frightened?’
+
+‘No, not that,’ said Rosa, shyly; ‘in Mr. Tartar’s way. We seem to be
+appropriating Mr. Tartar’s residence so very coolly.’
+
+‘I protest to you,’ returned that gentleman, ‘that I shall think the
+better of it for evermore, if your voice sounds in it only once.’
+
+Rosa, not quite knowing what to say about that, cast down her eyes, and
+turning to Mr. Grewgious, dutifully asked if she should put her hat on?
+Mr. Grewgious being of opinion that she could not do better, she withdrew
+for the purpose. Mr. Crisparkle took the opportunity of giving Mr.
+Tartar a summary of the distresses of Neville and his sister; the
+opportunity was quite long enough, as the hat happened to require a
+little extra fitting on.
+
+Mr. Tartar gave his arm to Rosa, and Mr. Crisparkle walked, detached, in
+front.
+
+‘Poor, poor Eddy!’ thought Rosa, as they went along.
+
+Mr. Tartar waved his right hand as he bent his head down over Rosa,
+talking in an animated way.
+
+‘It was not so powerful or so sun-browned when it saved Mr. Crisparkle,’
+thought Rosa, glancing at it; ‘but it must have been very steady and
+determined even then.’
+
+Mr. Tartar told her he had been a sailor, roving everywhere for years and
+years.
+
+‘When are you going to sea again?’ asked Rosa.
+
+‘Never!’
+
+Rosa wondered what the girls would say if they could see her crossing the
+wide street on the sailor’s arm. And she fancied that the passers-by
+must think her very little and very helpless, contrasted with the strong
+figure that could have caught her up and carried her out of any danger,
+miles and miles without resting.
+
+She was thinking further, that his far-seeing blue eyes looked as if they
+had been used to watch danger afar off, and to watch it without
+flinching, drawing nearer and nearer: when, happening to raise her own
+eyes, she found that he seemed to be thinking something about _them_.
+
+This a little confused Rosebud, and may account for her never afterwards
+quite knowing how she ascended (with his help) to his garden in the air,
+and seemed to get into a marvellous country that came into sudden bloom
+like the country on the summit of the magic bean-stalk. May it flourish
+for ever!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII—A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS COMES ON
+
+
+Mr. Tartar’s chambers were the neatest, the cleanest, and the
+best-ordered chambers ever seen under the sun, moon, and stars. The
+floors were scrubbed to that extent, that you might have supposed the
+London blacks emancipated for ever, and gone out of the land for good.
+Every inch of brass-work in Mr. Tartar’s possession was polished and
+burnished, till it shone like a brazen mirror. No speck, nor spot, nor
+spatter soiled the purity of any of Mr. Tartar’s household gods, large,
+small, or middle-sized. His sitting-room was like the admiral’s cabin,
+his bath-room was like a dairy, his sleeping-chamber, fitted all about
+with lockers and drawers, was like a seedsman’s shop; and his
+nicely-balanced cot just stirred in the midst, as if it breathed.
+Everything belonging to Mr. Tartar had quarters of its own assigned to
+it: his maps and charts had their quarters; his books had theirs; his
+brushes had theirs; his boots had theirs; his clothes had theirs; his
+case-bottles had theirs; his telescopes and other instruments had theirs.
+Everything was readily accessible. Shelf, bracket, locker, hook, and
+drawer were equally within reach, and were equally contrived with a view
+to avoiding waste of room, and providing some snug inches of stowage for
+something that would have exactly fitted nowhere else. His gleaming
+little service of plate was so arranged upon his sideboard as that a
+slack salt-spoon would have instantly betrayed itself; his toilet
+implements were so arranged upon his dressing-table as that a toothpick
+of slovenly deportment could have been reported at a glance. So with the
+curiosities he had brought home from various voyages. Stuffed, dried,
+repolished, or otherwise preserved, according to their kind; birds,
+fishes, reptiles, arms, articles of dress, shells, seaweeds, grasses, or
+memorials of coral reef; each was displayed in its especial place, and
+each could have been displayed in no better place. Paint and varnish
+seemed to be kept somewhere out of sight, in constant readiness to
+obliterate stray finger-marks wherever any might become perceptible in
+Mr. Tartar’s chambers. No man-of-war was ever kept more spick and span
+from careless touch. On this bright summer day, a neat awning was rigged
+over Mr. Tartar’s flower-garden as only a sailor can rig it, and there
+was a sea-going air upon the whole effect, so delightfully complete, that
+the flower-garden might have appertained to stern-windows afloat, and the
+whole concern might have bowled away gallantly with all on board, if Mr.
+Tartar had only clapped to his lips the speaking-trumpet that was slung
+in a corner, and given hoarse orders to heave the anchor up, look alive
+there, men, and get all sail upon her!
+
+Mr. Tartar doing the honours of this gallant craft was of a piece with
+the rest. When a man rides an amiable hobby that shies at nothing and
+kicks nobody, it is only agreeable to find him riding it with a humorous
+sense of the droll side of the creature. When the man is a cordial and
+an earnest man by nature, and withal is perfectly fresh and genuine, it
+may be doubted whether he is ever seen to greater advantage than at such
+a time. So Rosa would have naturally thought (even if she hadn’t been
+conducted over the ship with all the homage due to the First Lady of the
+Admiralty, or First Fairy of the Sea), that it was charming to see and
+hear Mr. Tartar half laughing at, and half rejoicing in, his various
+contrivances. So Rosa would have naturally thought, anyhow, that the
+sunburnt sailor showed to great advantage when, the inspection finished,
+he delicately withdrew out of his admiral’s cabin, beseeching her to
+consider herself its Queen, and waving her free of his flower-garden with
+the hand that had had Mr. Crisparkle’s life in it.
+
+‘Helena! Helena Landless! Are you there?’
+
+‘Who speaks to me? Not Rosa?’ Then a second handsome face appearing.
+
+‘Yes, my darling!’
+
+‘Why, how did you come here, dearest?’
+
+‘I—I don’t quite know,’ said Rosa with a blush; ‘unless I am dreaming!’
+
+Why with a blush? For their two faces were alone with the other flowers.
+Are blushes among the fruits of the country of the magic bean-stalk?
+
+‘_I_ am not dreaming,’ said Helena, smiling. ‘I should take more for
+granted if I were. How do we come together—or so near together—so very
+unexpectedly?’
+
+Unexpectedly indeed, among the dingy gables and chimney-pots of P. J.
+T.’s connection, and the flowers that had sprung from the salt sea. But
+Rosa, waking, told in a hurry how they came to be together, and all the
+why and wherefore of that matter.
+
+‘And Mr. Crisparkle is here,’ said Rosa, in rapid conclusion; ‘and, could
+you believe it? long ago he saved his life!’
+
+‘I could believe any such thing of Mr. Crisparkle,’ returned Helena, with
+a mantling face.
+
+(More blushes in the bean-stalk country!)
+
+‘Yes, but it wasn’t Crisparkle,’ said Rosa, quickly putting in the
+correction.
+
+‘I don’t understand, love.’
+
+‘It was very nice of Mr. Crisparkle to be saved,’ said Rosa, ‘and he
+couldn’t have shown his high opinion of Mr. Tartar more expressively.
+But it was Mr. Tartar who saved him.’
+
+Helena’s dark eyes looked very earnestly at the bright face among the
+leaves, and she asked, in a slower and more thoughtful tone:
+
+‘Is Mr. Tartar with you now, dear?’
+
+‘No; because he has given up his rooms to me—to us, I mean. It is such a
+beautiful place!’
+
+‘Is it?’
+
+‘It is like the inside of the most exquisite ship that ever sailed. It
+is like—it is like—’
+
+‘Like a dream?’ suggested Helena.
+
+Rosa answered with a little nod, and smelled the flowers.
+
+Helena resumed, after a short pause of silence, during which she seemed
+(or it was Rosa’s fancy) to compassionate somebody: ‘My poor Neville is
+reading in his own room, the sun being so very bright on this side just
+now. I think he had better not know that you are so near.’
+
+‘O, I think so too!’ cried Rosa very readily.
+
+‘I suppose,’ pursued Helena, doubtfully, ‘that he must know by-and-by all
+you have told me; but I am not sure. Ask Mr. Crisparkle’s advice, my
+darling. Ask him whether I may tell Neville as much or as little of what
+you have told me as I think best.’
+
+Rosa subsided into her state-cabin, and propounded the question. The
+Minor Canon was for the free exercise of Helena’s judgment.
+
+‘I thank him very much,’ said Helena, when Rosa emerged again with her
+report. ‘Ask him whether it would be best to wait until any more
+maligning and pursuing of Neville on the part of this wretch shall
+disclose itself, or to try to anticipate it: I mean, so far as to find
+out whether any such goes on darkly about us?’
+
+The Minor Canon found this point so difficult to give a confident opinion
+on, that, after two or three attempts and failures, he suggested a
+reference to Mr. Grewgious. Helena acquiescing, he betook himself (with
+a most unsuccessful assumption of lounging indifference) across the
+quadrangle to P. J. T.’s, and stated it. Mr. Grewgious held decidedly to
+the general principle, that if you could steal a march upon a brigand or
+a wild beast, you had better do it; and he also held decidedly to the
+special case, that John Jasper was a brigand and a wild beast in
+combination.
+
+Thus advised, Mr. Crisparkle came back again and reported to Rosa, who in
+her turn reported to Helena. She now steadily pursuing her train of
+thought at her window, considered thereupon.
+
+‘We may count on Mr. Tartar’s readiness to help us, Rosa?’ she inquired.
+
+O yes! Rosa shyly thought so. O yes, Rosa shyly believed she could
+almost answer for it. But should she ask Mr. Crisparkle? ‘I think your
+authority on the point as good as his, my dear,’ said Helena, sedately,
+‘and you needn’t disappear again for that.’ Odd of Helena!
+
+‘You see, Neville,’ Helena pursued after more reflection, ‘knows no one
+else here: he has not so much as exchanged a word with any one else here.
+If Mr. Tartar would call to see him openly and often; if he would spare a
+minute for the purpose, frequently; if he would even do so, almost daily;
+something might come of it.’
+
+‘Something might come of it, dear?’ repeated Rosa, surveying her friend’s
+beauty with a highly perplexed face. ‘Something might?’
+
+‘If Neville’s movements are really watched, and if the purpose really is
+to isolate him from all friends and acquaintance and wear his daily life
+out grain by grain (which would seem to be the threat to you), does it
+not appear likely,’ said Helena, ‘that his enemy would in some way
+communicate with Mr. Tartar to warn him off from Neville? In which case,
+we might not only know the fact, but might know from Mr. Tartar what the
+terms of the communication were.’
+
+‘I see!’ cried Rosa. And immediately darted into her state-cabin again.
+
+Presently her pretty face reappeared, with a greatly heightened colour,
+and she said that she had told Mr. Crisparkle, and that Mr. Crisparkle
+had fetched in Mr. Tartar, and that Mr. Tartar—‘who is waiting now, in
+case you want him,’ added Rosa, with a half look back, and in not a
+little confusion between the inside of the state-cabin and out—had
+declared his readiness to act as she had suggested, and to enter on his
+task that very day.
+
+‘I thank him from my heart,’ said Helena. ‘Pray tell him so.’
+
+Again not a little confused between the Flower-garden and the Cabin, Rosa
+dipped in with her message, and dipped out again with more assurances
+from Mr. Tartar, and stood wavering in a divided state between Helena and
+him, which proved that confusion is not always necessarily awkward, but
+may sometimes present a very pleasant appearance.
+
+‘And now, darling,’ said Helena, ‘we will be mindful of the caution that
+has restricted us to this interview for the present, and will part. I
+hear Neville moving too. Are you going back?’
+
+‘To Miss Twinkleton’s?’ asked Rosa.
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘O, I could never go there any more. I couldn’t indeed, after that
+dreadful interview!’ said Rosa.
+
+‘Then where _are_ you going, pretty one?’
+
+‘Now I come to think of it, I don’t know,’ said Rosa. ‘I have settled
+nothing at all yet, but my guardian will take care of me. Don’t be
+uneasy, dear. I shall be sure to be somewhere.’
+
+(It did seem likely.)
+
+‘And I shall hear of my Rosebud from Mr. Tartar?’ inquired Helena.
+
+‘Yes, I suppose so; from—’ Rosa looked back again in a flutter, instead
+of supplying the name. ‘But tell me one thing before we part, dearest
+Helena. Tell me—that you are sure, sure, sure, I couldn’t help it.’
+
+‘Help it, love?’
+
+‘Help making him malicious and revengeful. I couldn’t hold any terms
+with him, could I?’
+
+‘You know how I love you, darling,’ answered Helena, with indignation;
+‘but I would sooner see you dead at his wicked feet.’
+
+‘That’s a great comfort to me! And you will tell your poor brother so,
+won’t you? And you will give him my remembrance and my sympathy? And
+you will ask him not to hate me?’
+
+With a mournful shake of the head, as if that would be quite a
+superfluous entreaty, Helena lovingly kissed her two hands to her friend,
+and her friend’s two hands were kissed to her; and then she saw a third
+hand (a brown one) appear among the flowers and leaves, and help her
+friend out of sight.
+
+The refection that Mr. Tartar produced in the Admiral’s Cabin by merely
+touching the spring knob of a locker and the handle of a drawer, was a
+dazzling enchanted repast. Wonderful macaroons, glittering liqueurs,
+magically-preserved tropical spices, and jellies of celestial tropical
+fruits, displayed themselves profusely at an instant’s notice. But Mr.
+Tartar could not make time stand still; and time, with his hard-hearted
+fleetness, strode on so fast, that Rosa was obliged to come down from the
+bean-stalk country to earth and her guardian’s chambers.
+
+‘And now, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘what is to be done next? To put
+the same thought in another form; what is to be done with you?’
+
+Rosa could only look apologetically sensible of being very much in her
+own way and in everybody else’s. Some passing idea of living, fireproof,
+up a good many stairs in Furnival’s Inn for the rest of her life, was the
+only thing in the nature of a plan that occurred to her.
+
+‘It has come into my thoughts,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘that as the
+respected lady, Miss Twinkleton, occasionally repairs to London in the
+recess, with the view of extending her connection, and being available
+for interviews with metropolitan parents, if any—whether, until we have
+time in which to turn ourselves round, we might invite Miss Twinkleton to
+come and stay with you for a month?’
+
+‘Stay where, sir?’
+
+‘Whether,’ explained Mr. Grewgious, ‘we might take a furnished lodging in
+town for a month, and invite Miss Twinkleton to assume the charge of you
+in it for that period?’
+
+‘And afterwards?’ hinted Rosa.
+
+‘And afterwards,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘we should be no worse off than we
+are now.’
+
+‘I think that might smooth the way,’ assented Rosa.
+
+‘Then let us,’ said Mr. Grewgious, rising, ‘go and look for a furnished
+lodging. Nothing could be more acceptable to me than the sweet presence
+of last evening, for all the remaining evenings of my existence; but
+these are not fit surroundings for a young lady. Let us set out in quest
+of adventures, and look for a furnished lodging. In the meantime, Mr.
+Crisparkle here, about to return home immediately, will no doubt kindly
+see Miss Twinkleton, and invite that lady to co-operate in our plan.’
+
+Mr. Crisparkle, willingly accepting the commission, took his departure;
+Mr. Grewgious and his ward set forth on their expedition.
+
+As Mr. Grewgious’s idea of looking at a furnished lodging was to get on
+the opposite side of the street to a house with a suitable bill in the
+window, and stare at it; and then work his way tortuously to the back of
+the house, and stare at that; and then not go in, but make similar trials
+of another house, with the same result; their progress was but slow. At
+length he bethought himself of a widowed cousin, divers times removed, of
+Mr. Bazzard’s, who had once solicited his influence in the lodger world,
+and who lived in Southampton Street, Bloomsbury Square. This lady’s
+name, stated in uncompromising capitals of considerable size on a brass
+door-plate, and yet not lucidly as to sex or condition, was BILLICKIN.
+
+Personal faintness, and an overpowering personal candour, were the
+distinguishing features of Mrs. Billickin’s organisation. She came
+languishing out of her own exclusive back parlour, with the air of having
+been expressly brought-to for the purpose, from an accumulation of
+several swoons.
+
+‘I hope I see you well, sir,’ said Mrs. Billickin, recognising her
+visitor with a bend.
+
+‘Thank you, quite well. And you, ma’am?’ returned Mr. Grewgious.
+
+‘I am as well,’ said Mrs. Billickin, becoming aspirational with excess of
+faintness, ‘as I hever ham.’
+
+‘My ward and an elderly lady,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘wish to find a
+genteel lodging for a month or so. Have you any apartments available,
+ma’am?’
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious,’ returned Mrs. Billickin, ‘I will not deceive you; far
+from it. I _have_ apartments available.’
+
+This with the air of adding: ‘Convey me to the stake, if you will; but
+while I live, I will be candid.’
+
+‘And now, what apartments, ma’am?’ asked Mr. Grewgious, cosily. To tame
+a certain severity apparent on the part of Mrs. Billickin.
+
+‘There is this sitting-room—which, call it what you will, it is the front
+parlour, Miss,’ said Mrs. Billickin, impressing Rosa into the
+conversation: ‘the back parlour being what I cling to and never part
+with; and there is two bedrooms at the top of the ’ouse with gas laid on.
+I do not tell you that your bedroom floors is firm, for firm they are
+not. The gas-fitter himself allowed, that to make a firm job, he must go
+right under your jistes, and it were not worth the outlay as a yearly
+tenant so to do. The piping is carried above your jistes, and it is best
+that it should be made known to you.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious and Rosa exchanged looks of some dismay, though they had
+not the least idea what latent horrors this carriage of the piping might
+involve. Mrs. Billickin put her hand to her heart, as having eased it of
+a load.
+
+‘Well! The roof is all right, no doubt,’ said Mr. Grewgious, plucking up
+a little.
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious,’ returned Mrs. Billickin, ‘if I was to tell you, sir,
+that to have nothink above you is to have a floor above you, I should put
+a deception upon you which I will not do. No, sir. Your slates WILL
+rattle loose at that elewation in windy weather, do your utmost, best or
+worst! I defy you, sir, be you what you may, to keep your slates tight,
+try how you can.’ Here Mrs. Billickin, having been warm with Mr.
+Grewgious, cooled a little, not to abuse the moral power she held over
+him. ‘Consequent,’ proceeded Mrs. Billickin, more mildly, but still
+firmly in her incorruptible candour: ‘consequent it would be worse than
+of no use for me to trapse and travel up to the top of the ’ouse with
+you, and for you to say, “Mrs. Billickin, what stain do I notice in the
+ceiling, for a stain I do consider it?” and for me to answer, “I do not
+understand you, sir.” No, sir, I will not be so underhand. I _do_
+understand you before you pint it out. It is the wet, sir. It do come
+in, and it do not come in. You may lay dry there half your lifetime; but
+the time will come, and it is best that you should know it, when a
+dripping sop would be no name for you.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious looked much disgraced by being prefigured in this pickle.
+
+‘Have you any other apartments, ma’am?’ he asked.
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious,’ returned Mrs. Billickin, with much solemnity, ‘I have.
+You ask me have I, and my open and my honest answer air, I have. The
+first and second floors is wacant, and sweet rooms.’
+
+‘Come, come! There’s nothing against _them_,’ said Mr. Grewgious,
+comforting himself.
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious,’ replied Mrs. Billickin, ‘pardon me, there is the stairs.
+Unless your mind is prepared for the stairs, it will lead to inevitable
+disappointment. You cannot, Miss,’ said Mrs. Billickin, addressing Rosa
+reproachfully, ‘place a first floor, and far less a second, on the level
+footing ‘of a parlour. No, you cannot do it, Miss, it is beyond your
+power, and wherefore try?’
+
+Mrs. Billickin put it very feelingly, as if Rosa had shown a headstrong
+determination to hold the untenable position.
+
+‘Can we see these rooms, ma’am?’ inquired her guardian.
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious,’ returned Mrs. Billickin, ‘you can. I will not disguise
+it from you, sir; you can.’
+
+Mrs. Billickin then sent into her back parlour for her shawl (it being a
+state fiction, dating from immemorial antiquity, that she could never go
+anywhere without being wrapped up), and having been enrolled by her
+attendant, led the way. She made various genteel pauses on the stairs
+for breath, and clutched at her heart in the drawing-room as if it had
+very nearly got loose, and she had caught it in the act of taking wing.
+
+‘And the second floor?’ said Mr. Grewgious, on finding the first
+satisfactory.
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious,’ replied Mrs. Billickin, turning upon him with ceremony,
+as if the time had now come when a distinct understanding on a difficult
+point must be arrived at, and a solemn confidence established, ‘the
+second floor is over this.’
+
+‘Can we see that too, ma’am?’
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ returned Mrs. Billickin, ‘it is open as the day.’
+
+That also proving satisfactory, Mr. Grewgious retired into a window with
+Rosa for a few words of consultation, and then asking for pen and ink,
+sketched out a line or two of agreement. In the meantime Mrs. Billickin
+took a seat, and delivered a kind of Index to, or Abstract of, the
+general question.
+
+‘Five-and-forty shillings per week by the month certain at the time of
+year,’ said Mrs. Billickin, ‘is only reasonable to both parties. It is
+not Bond Street nor yet St. James’s Palace; but it is not pretended that
+it is. Neither is it attempted to be denied—for why should it?—that the
+Arching leads to a mews. Mewses must exist. Respecting attendance; two
+is kep’, at liberal wages. Words _has_ arisen as to tradesmen, but dirty
+shoes on fresh hearth-stoning was attributable, and no wish for a
+commission on your orders. Coals is either _by_ the fire, or _per_ the
+scuttle.’ She emphasised the prepositions as marking a subtle but
+immense difference. ‘Dogs is not viewed with favour. Besides litter,
+they gets stole, and sharing suspicions is apt to creep in, and
+unpleasantness takes place.’
+
+By this time Mr. Grewgious had his agreement-lines, and his
+earnest-money, ready. ‘I have signed it for the ladies, ma’am,’ he said,
+‘and you’ll have the goodness to sign it for yourself, Christian and
+Surname, there, if you please.’
+
+‘Mr. Grewgious,’ said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candour, ‘no, sir!
+You must excuse the Christian name.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious stared at her.
+
+‘The door-plate is used as a protection,’ said Mrs. Billickin, ‘and acts
+as such, and go from it I will not.’
+
+Mr. Grewgious stared at Rosa.
+
+‘No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me. So long as this ’ouse is known
+indefinite as Billickin’s, and so long as it is a doubt with the
+riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin’, near the street-door or down the
+airy, and what his weight and size, so long I feel safe. But commit
+myself to a solitary female statement, no, Miss! Nor would you for a
+moment wish,’ said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, ‘to
+take that advantage of your sex, if you were not brought to it by
+inconsiderate example.’
+
+Rosa reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to
+overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to rest content with any
+signature. And accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign-manual BILLICKIN
+got appended to the document.
+
+Details were then settled for taking possession on the next day but one,
+when Miss Twinkleton might be reasonably expected; and Rosa went back to
+Furnival’s Inn on her guardian’s arm.
+
+Behold Mr. Tartar walking up and down Furnival’s Inn, checking himself
+when he saw them coming, and advancing towards them!
+
+‘It occurred to me,’ hinted Mr. Tartar, ‘that we might go up the river,
+the weather being so delicious and the tide serving. I have a boat of my
+own at the Temple Stairs.’
+
+‘I have not been up the river for this many a day,’ said Mr. Grewgious,
+tempted.
+
+‘I was never up the river,’ added Rosa.
+
+Within half an hour they were setting this matter right by going up the
+river. The tide was running with them, the afternoon was charming. Mr.
+Tartar’s boat was perfect. Mr. Tartar and Lobley (Mr. Tartar’s man)
+pulled a pair of oars. Mr. Tartar had a yacht, it seemed, lying
+somewhere down by Greenhithe; and Mr. Tartar’s man had charge of this
+yacht, and was detached upon his present service. He was a
+jolly-favoured man, with tawny hair and whiskers, and a big red face. He
+was the dead image of the sun in old woodcuts, his hair and whiskers
+answering for rays all around him. Resplendent in the bow of the boat,
+he was a shining sight, with a man-of-war’s man’s shirt on—or off,
+according to opinion—and his arms and breast tattooed all sorts of
+patterns. Lobley seemed to take it easily, and so did Mr. Tartar; yet
+their oars bent as they pulled, and the boat bounded under them. Mr.
+Tartar talked as if he were doing nothing, to Rosa who was really doing
+nothing, and to Mr. Grewgious who was doing this much that he steered all
+wrong; but what did that matter, when a turn of Mr. Tartar’s skilful
+wrist, or a mere grin of Mr. Lobley’s over the bow, put all to rights!
+The tide bore them on in the gayest and most sparkling manner, until they
+stopped to dine in some ever-lastingly-green garden, needing no
+matter-of-fact identification here; and then the tide obligingly
+turned—being devoted to that party alone for that day; and as they
+floated idly among some osier-beds, Rosa tried what she could do in the
+rowing way, and came off splendidly, being much assisted; and Mr.
+Grewgious tried what he could do, and came off on his back, doubled up
+with an oar under his chin, being not assisted at all. Then there was an
+interval of rest under boughs (such rest!) what time Mr. Lobley mopped,
+and, arranging cushions, stretchers, and the like, danced the tight-rope
+the whole length of the boat like a man to whom shoes were a superstition
+and stockings slavery; and then came the sweet return among delicious
+odours of limes in bloom, and musical ripplings; and, all too soon, the
+great black city cast its shadow on the waters, and its dark bridges
+spanned them as death spans life, and the everlastingly-green garden
+seemed to be left for everlasting, unregainable and far away.
+
+ [Picture: Up the river]
+
+‘Cannot people get through life without gritty stages, I wonder?’ Rosa
+thought next day, when the town was very gritty again, and everything had
+a strange and an uncomfortable appearance of seeming to wait for
+something that wouldn’t come. NO. She began to think, that, now the
+Cloisterham school-days had glided past and gone, the gritty stages would
+begin to set in at intervals and make themselves wearily known!
+
+Yet what did Rosa expect? Did she expect Miss Twinkleton? Miss
+Twinkleton duly came. Forth from her back parlour issued the Billickin
+to receive Miss Twinkleton, and War was in the Billickin’s eye from that
+fell moment.
+
+Miss Twinkleton brought a quantity of luggage with her, having all Rosa’s
+as well as her own. The Billickin took it ill that Miss Twinkleton’s
+mind, being sorely disturbed by this luggage, failed to take in her
+personal identity with that clearness of perception which was due to its
+demands. Stateliness mounted her gloomy throne upon the Billickin’s brow
+in consequence. And when Miss Twinkleton, in agitation taking stock of
+her trunks and packages, of which she had seventeen, particularly counted
+in the Billickin herself as number eleven, the B. found it necessary to
+repudiate.
+
+‘Things cannot too soon be put upon the footing,’ said she, with a
+candour so demonstrative as to be almost obtrusive, ‘that the person of
+the ’ouse is not a box nor yet a bundle, nor a carpet-bag. No, I am ’ily
+obleeged to you, Miss Twinkleton, nor yet a beggar.’
+
+This last disclaimer had reference to Miss Twinkleton’s distractedly
+pressing two-and-sixpence on her, instead of the cabman.
+
+Thus cast off, Miss Twinkleton wildly inquired, ‘which gentleman’ was to
+be paid? There being two gentlemen in that position (Miss Twinkleton
+having arrived with two cabs), each gentleman on being paid held forth
+his two-and-sixpence on the flat of his open hand, and, with a speechless
+stare and a dropped jaw, displayed his wrong to heaven and earth.
+Terrified by this alarming spectacle, Miss Twinkleton placed another
+shilling in each hand; at the same time appealing to the law in flurried
+accents, and recounting her luggage this time with the two gentlemen in,
+who caused the total to come out complicated. Meanwhile the two
+gentlemen, each looking very hard at the last shilling grumblingly, as if
+it might become eighteen-pence if he kept his eyes on it, descended the
+doorsteps, ascended their carriages, and drove away, leaving Miss
+Twinkleton on a bonnet-box in tears.
+
+The Billickin beheld this manifestation of weakness without sympathy, and
+gave directions for ‘a young man to be got in’ to wrestle with the
+luggage. When that gladiator had disappeared from the arena, peace
+ensued, and the new lodgers dined.
+
+But the Billickin had somehow come to the knowledge that Miss Twinkleton
+kept a school. The leap from that knowledge to the inference that Miss
+Twinkleton set herself to teach _her_ something, was easy. ‘But you
+don’t do it,’ soliloquised the Billickin; ‘I am not your pupil, whatever
+she,’ meaning Rosa, ‘may be, poor thing!’
+
+Miss Twinkleton, on the other hand, having changed her dress and
+recovered her spirits, was animated by a bland desire to improve the
+occasion in all ways, and to be as serene a model as possible. In a
+happy compromise between her two states of existence, she had already
+become, with her workbasket before her, the equably vivacious companion
+with a slight judicious flavouring of information, when the Billickin
+announced herself.
+
+‘I will not hide from you, ladies,’ said the B., enveloped in the shawl
+of state, ‘for it is not my character to hide neither my motives nor my
+actions, that I take the liberty to look in upon you to express a ’ope
+that your dinner was to your liking. Though not Professed but Plain,
+still her wages should be a sufficient object to her to stimilate to soar
+above mere roast and biled.’
+
+‘We dined very well indeed,’ said Rosa, ‘thank you.’
+
+‘Accustomed,’ said Miss Twinkleton with a gracious air, which to the
+jealous ears of the Billickin seemed to add ‘my good woman’—‘accustomed
+to a liberal and nutritious, yet plain and salutary diet, we have found
+no reason to bemoan our absence from the ancient city, and the methodical
+household, in which the quiet routine of our lot has been hitherto cast.’
+
+‘I did think it well to mention to my cook,’ observed the Billickin with
+a gush of candour, ‘which I ’ope you will agree with, Miss Twinkleton,
+was a right precaution, that the young lady being used to what we should
+consider here but poor diet, had better be brought forward by degrees.
+For, a rush from scanty feeding to generous feeding, and from what you
+may call messing to what you may call method, do require a power of
+constitution which is not often found in youth, particular when
+undermined by boarding-school!’
+
+It will be seen that the Billickin now openly pitted herself against Miss
+Twinkleton, as one whom she had fully ascertained to be her natural
+enemy.
+
+‘Your remarks,’ returned Miss Twinkleton, from a remote moral eminence,
+‘are well meant, I have no doubt; but you will permit me to observe that
+they develop a mistaken view of the subject, which can only be imputed to
+your extreme want of accurate information.’
+
+‘My informiation,’ retorted the Billickin, throwing in an extra syllable
+for the sake of emphasis at once polite and powerful—‘my informiation,
+Miss Twinkleton, were my own experience, which I believe is usually
+considered to be good guidance. But whether so or not, I was put in
+youth to a very genteel boarding-school, the mistress being no less a
+lady than yourself, of about your own age or it may be some years
+younger, and a poorness of blood flowed from the table which has run
+through my life.’
+
+‘Very likely,’ said Miss Twinkleton, still from her distant eminence;
+‘and very much to be deplored.—Rosa, my dear, how are you getting on with
+your work?’
+
+‘Miss Twinkleton,’ resumed the Billickin, in a courtly manner, ‘before
+retiring on the ’int, as a lady should, I wish to ask of yourself, as a
+lady, whether I am to consider that my words is doubted?’
+
+‘I am not aware on what ground you cherish such a supposition,’ began
+Miss Twinkleton, when the Billickin neatly stopped her.
+
+‘Do not, if you please, put suppositions betwixt my lips where none such
+have been imparted by myself. Your flow of words is great, Miss
+Twinkleton, and no doubt is expected from you by your pupils, and no
+doubt is considered worth the money. _No_ doubt, I am sure. But not
+paying for flows of words, and not asking to be favoured with them here,
+I wish to repeat my question.’
+
+‘If you refer to the poverty of your circulation,’ began Miss Twinkleton,
+when again the Billickin neatly stopped her.
+
+‘I have used no such expressions.’
+
+‘If you refer, then, to the poorness of your blood—’
+
+‘Brought upon me,’ stipulated the Billickin, expressly, ‘at a
+boarding-school—’
+
+‘Then,’ resumed Miss Twinkleton, ‘all I can say is, that I am bound to
+believe, on your asseveration, that it is very poor indeed. I cannot
+forbear adding, that if that unfortunate circumstance influences your
+conversation, it is much to be lamented, and it is eminently desirable
+that your blood were richer.—Rosa, my dear, how are you getting on with
+your work?’
+
+‘Hem! Before retiring, Miss,’ proclaimed the Billickin to Rosa, loftily
+cancelling Miss Twinkleton, ‘I should wish it to be understood between
+yourself and me that my transactions in future is with you alone. I know
+no elderly lady here, Miss, none older than yourself.’
+
+‘A highly desirable arrangement, Rosa my dear,’ observed Miss Twinkleton.
+
+‘It is not, Miss,’ said the Billickin, with a sarcastic smile, ‘that I
+possess the Mill I have heard of, in which old single ladies could be
+ground up young (what a gift it would be to some of us), but that I limit
+myself to you totally.’
+
+‘When I have any desire to communicate a request to the person of the
+house, Rosa my dear,’ observed Miss Twinkleton with majestic
+cheerfulness, ‘I will make it known to you, and you will kindly
+undertake, I am sure, that it is conveyed to the proper quarter.’
+
+‘Good-evening, Miss,’ said the Billickin, at once affectionately and
+distantly. ‘Being alone in my eyes, I wish you good-evening with best
+wishes, and do not find myself drove, I am truly ’appy to say, into
+expressing my contempt for an indiwidual, unfortunately for yourself,
+belonging to you.’
+
+The Billickin gracefully withdrew with this parting speech, and from that
+time Rosa occupied the restless position of shuttlecock between these two
+battledores. Nothing could be done without a smart match being played
+out. Thus, on the daily-arising question of dinner, Miss Twinkleton
+would say, the three being present together:
+
+‘Perhaps, my love, you will consult with the person of the house, whether
+she can procure us a lamb’s fry; or, failing that, a roast fowl.’
+
+On which the Billickin would retort (Rosa not having spoken a word), ‘If
+you was better accustomed to butcher’s meat, Miss, you would not
+entertain the idea of a lamb’s fry. Firstly, because lambs has long been
+sheep, and secondly, because there is such things as killing-days, and
+there is not. As to roast fowls, Miss, why you must be quite surfeited
+with roast fowls, letting alone your buying, when you market for
+yourself, the agedest of poultry with the scaliest of legs, quite as if
+you was accustomed to picking ’em out for cheapness. Try a little
+inwention, Miss. Use yourself to ’ousekeeping a bit. Come now, think of
+somethink else.’
+
+To this encouragement, offered with the indulgent toleration of a wise
+and liberal expert, Miss Twinkleton would rejoin, reddening:
+
+‘Or, my dear, you might propose to the person of the house a duck.’
+
+‘Well, Miss!’ the Billickin would exclaim (still no word being spoken by
+Rosa), ‘you do surprise me when you speak of ducks! Not to mention that
+they’re getting out of season and very dear, it really strikes to my
+heart to see you have a duck; for the breast, which is the only delicate
+cuts in a duck, always goes in a direction which I cannot imagine where,
+and your own plate comes down so miserably skin-and-bony! Try again,
+Miss. Think more of yourself, and less of others. A dish of sweetbreads
+now, or a bit of mutton. Something at which you can get your equal
+chance.’
+
+Occasionally the game would wax very brisk indeed, and would be kept up
+with a smartness rendering such an encounter as this quite tame. But the
+Billickin almost invariably made by far the higher score; and would come
+in with side hits of the most unexpected and extraordinary description,
+when she seemed without a chance.
+
+All this did not improve the gritty state of things in London, or the air
+that London had acquired in Rosa’s eyes of waiting for something that
+never came. Tired of working, and conversing with Miss Twinkleton, she
+suggested working and reading: to which Miss Twinkleton readily assented,
+as an admirable reader, of tried powers. But Rosa soon made the
+discovery that Miss Twinkleton didn’t read fairly. She cut the
+love-scenes, interpolated passages in praise of female celibacy, and was
+guilty of other glaring pious frauds. As an instance in point, take the
+glowing passage: ‘Ever dearest and best adored,—said Edward, clasping the
+dear head to his breast, and drawing the silken hair through his
+caressing fingers, from which he suffered it to fall like golden
+rain,—ever dearest and best adored, let us fly from the unsympathetic
+world and the sterile coldness of the stony-hearted, to the rich warm
+Paradise of Trust and Love.’ Miss Twinkleton’s fraudulent version tamely
+ran thus: ‘Ever engaged to me with the consent of our parents on both
+sides, and the approbation of the silver-haired rector of the
+district,—said Edward, respectfully raising to his lips the taper fingers
+so skilful in embroidery, tambour, crochet, and other truly feminine
+arts,—let me call on thy papa ere to-morrow’s dawn has sunk into the
+west, and propose a suburban establishment, lowly it may be, but within
+our means, where he will be always welcome as an evening guest, and where
+every arrangement shall invest economy, and constant interchange of
+scholastic acquirements with the attributes of the ministering angel to
+domestic bliss.’
+
+As the days crept on and nothing happened, the neighbours began to say
+that the pretty girl at Billickin’s, who looked so wistfully and so much
+out of the gritty windows of the drawing-room, seemed to be losing her
+spirits. The pretty girl might have lost them but for the accident of
+lighting on some books of voyages and sea-adventure. As a compensation
+against their romance, Miss Twinkleton, reading aloud, made the most of
+all the latitudes and longitudes, bearings, winds, currents, offsets, and
+other statistics (which she felt to be none the less improving because
+they expressed nothing whatever to her); while Rosa, listening intently,
+made the most of what was nearest to her heart. So they both did better
+than before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII—THE DAWN AGAIN
+
+
+Although Mr. Crisparkle and John Jasper met daily under the Cathedral
+roof, nothing at any time passed between them having reference to Edwin
+Drood, after the time, more than half a year gone by, when Jasper mutely
+showed the Minor Canon the conclusion and the resolution entered in his
+Diary. It is not likely that they ever met, though so often, without the
+thoughts of each reverting to the subject. It is not likely that they
+ever met, though so often, without a sensation on the part of each that
+the other was a perplexing secret to him. Jasper as the denouncer and
+pursuer of Neville Landless, and Mr. Crisparkle as his consistent
+advocate and protector, must at least have stood sufficiently in
+opposition to have speculated with keen interest on the steadiness and
+next direction of the other’s designs. But neither ever broached the
+theme.
+
+False pretence not being in the Minor Canon’s nature, he doubtless
+displayed openly that he would at any time have revived the subject, and
+even desired to discuss it. The determined reticence of Jasper, however,
+was not to be so approached. Impassive, moody, solitary, resolute, so
+concentrated on one idea, and on its attendant fixed purpose, that he
+would share it with no fellow-creature, he lived apart from human life.
+Constantly exercising an Art which brought him into mechanical harmony
+with others, and which could not have been pursued unless he and they had
+been in the nicest mechanical relations and unison, it is curious to
+consider that the spirit of the man was in moral accordance or
+interchange with nothing around him. This indeed he had confided to his
+lost nephew, before the occasion for his present inflexibility arose.
+
+That he must know of Rosa’s abrupt departure, and that he must divine its
+cause, was not to be doubted. Did he suppose that he had terrified her
+into silence? or did he suppose that she had imparted to any one—to Mr.
+Crisparkle himself, for instance—the particulars of his last interview
+with her? Mr. Crisparkle could not determine this in his mind. He could
+not but admit, however, as a just man, that it was not, of itself, a
+crime to fall in love with Rosa, any more than it was a crime to offer to
+set love above revenge.
+
+The dreadful suspicion of Jasper, which Rosa was so shocked to have
+received into her imagination, appeared to have no harbour in Mr.
+Crisparkle’s. If it ever haunted Helena’s thoughts or Neville’s, neither
+gave it one spoken word of utterance. Mr. Grewgious took no pains to
+conceal his implacable dislike of Jasper, yet he never referred it,
+however distantly, to such a source. But he was a reticent as well as an
+eccentric man; and he made no mention of a certain evening when he warmed
+his hands at the gatehouse fire, and looked steadily down upon a certain
+heap of torn and miry clothes upon the floor.
+
+Drowsy Cloisterham, whenever it awoke to a passing reconsideration of a
+story above six months old and dismissed by the bench of magistrates, was
+pretty equally divided in opinion whether John Jasper’s beloved nephew
+had been killed by his treacherously passionate rival, or in an open
+struggle; or had, for his own purposes, spirited himself away. It then
+lifted up its head, to notice that the bereaved Jasper was still ever
+devoted to discovery and revenge; and then dozed off again. This was the
+condition of matters, all round, at the period to which the present
+history has now attained.
+
+The Cathedral doors have closed for the night; and the Choir-master, on a
+short leave of absence for two or three services, sets his face towards
+London. He travels thither by the means by which Rosa travelled, and
+arrives, as Rosa arrived, on a hot, dusty evening.
+
+His travelling baggage is easily carried in his hand, and he repairs with
+it on foot, to a hybrid hotel in a little square behind Aldersgate
+Street, near the General Post Office. It is hotel, boarding-house, or
+lodging-house, at its visitor’s option. It announces itself, in the new
+Railway Advertisers, as a novel enterprise, timidly beginning to spring
+up. It bashfully, almost apologetically, gives the traveller to
+understand that it does not expect him, on the good old constitutional
+hotel plan, to order a pint of sweet blacking for his drinking, and throw
+it away; but insinuates that he may have his boots blacked instead of his
+stomach, and maybe also have bed, breakfast, attendance, and a porter up
+all night, for a certain fixed charge. From these and similar premises,
+many true Britons in the lowest spirits deduce that the times are
+levelling times, except in the article of high roads, of which there will
+shortly be not one in England.
+
+He eats without appetite, and soon goes forth again. Eastward and still
+eastward through the stale streets he takes his way, until he reaches his
+destination: a miserable court, specially miserable among many such.
+
+He ascends a broken staircase, opens a door, looks into a dark stifling
+room, and says: ‘Are you alone here?’
+
+‘Alone, deary; worse luck for me, and better for you,’ replies a croaking
+voice. ‘Come in, come in, whoever you be: I can’t see you till I light a
+match, yet I seem to know the sound of your speaking. I’m acquainted
+with you, ain’t I?’
+
+‘Light your match, and try.’
+
+‘So I will, deary, so I will; but my hand that shakes, as I can’t lay it
+on a match all in a moment. And I cough so, that, put my matches where I
+may, I never find ’em there. They jump and start, as I cough and cough,
+like live things. Are you off a voyage, deary?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Not seafaring?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Well, there’s land customers, and there’s water customers. I’m a mother
+to both. Different from Jack Chinaman t’other side the court. He ain’t
+a father to neither. It ain’t in him. And he ain’t got the true secret
+of mixing, though he charges as much as me that has, and more if he can
+get it. Here’s a match, and now where’s the candle? If my cough takes
+me, I shall cough out twenty matches afore I gets a light.’
+
+But she finds the candle, and lights it, before the cough comes on. It
+seizes her in the moment of success, and she sits down rocking herself to
+and fro, and gasping at intervals: ‘O, my lungs is awful bad! my lungs is
+wore away to cabbage-nets!’ until the fit is over. During its
+continuance she has had no power of sight, or any other power not
+absorbed in the struggle; but as it leaves her, she begins to strain her
+eyes, and as soon as she is able to articulate, she cries, staring:
+
+‘Why, it’s you!’
+
+‘Are you so surprised to see me?’
+
+‘I thought I never should have seen you again, deary. I thought you was
+dead, and gone to Heaven.’
+
+‘Why?’
+
+‘I didn’t suppose you could have kept away, alive, so long, from the poor
+old soul with the real receipt for mixing it. And you are in mourning
+too! Why didn’t you come and have a pipe or two of comfort? Did they
+leave you money, perhaps, and so you didn’t want comfort?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Who was they as died, deary?’
+
+‘A relative.’
+
+‘Died of what, lovey?’
+
+‘Probably, Death.’
+
+‘We are short to-night!’ cries the woman, with a propitiatory laugh.
+‘Short and snappish we are! But we’re out of sorts for want of a smoke.
+We’ve got the all-overs, haven’t us, deary? But this is the place to
+cure ’em in; this is the place where the all-overs is smoked off.’
+
+‘You may make ready, then,’ replies the visitor, ‘as soon as you like.’
+
+He divests himself of his shoes, loosens his cravat, and lies across the
+foot of the squalid bed, with his head resting on his left hand.
+
+‘Now you begin to look like yourself,’ says the woman approvingly. ‘Now
+I begin to know my old customer indeed! Been trying to mix for yourself
+this long time, poppet?’
+
+‘I have been taking it now and then in my own way.’
+
+‘Never take it your own way. It ain’t good for trade, and it ain’t good
+for you. Where’s my ink-bottle, and where’s my thimble, and where’s my
+little spoon? He’s going to take it in a artful form now, my deary
+dear!’
+
+Entering on her process, and beginning to bubble and blow at the faint
+spark enclosed in the hollow of her hands, she speaks from time to time,
+in a tone of snuffling satisfaction, without leaving off. When he
+speaks, he does so without looking at her, and as if his thoughts were
+already roaming away by anticipation.
+
+‘I’ve got a pretty many smokes ready for you, first and last, haven’t I,
+chuckey?’
+
+‘A good many.’
+
+‘When you first come, you was quite new to it; warn’t ye?’
+
+‘Yes, I was easily disposed of, then.’
+
+‘But you got on in the world, and was able by-and-by to take your pipe
+with the best of ’em, warn’t ye?’
+
+‘Ah; and the worst.’
+
+‘It’s just ready for you. What a sweet singer you was when you first
+come! Used to drop your head, and sing yourself off like a bird! It’s
+ready for you now, deary.’
+
+He takes it from her with great care, and puts the mouthpiece to his
+lips. She seats herself beside him, ready to refill the pipe.
+
+After inhaling a few whiffs in silence, he doubtingly accosts her with:
+
+‘Is it as potent as it used to be?’
+
+‘What do you speak of, deary?’
+
+‘What should I speak of, but what I have in my mouth?’
+
+‘It’s just the same. Always the identical same.’
+
+‘It doesn’t taste so. And it’s slower.’
+
+‘You’ve got more used to it, you see.’
+
+‘That may be the cause, certainly. Look here.’ He stops, becomes
+dreamy, and seems to forget that he has invited her attention. She bends
+over him, and speaks in his ear.
+
+‘I’m attending to you. Says you just now, Look here. Says I now, I’m
+attending to ye. We was talking just before of your being used to it.’
+
+‘I know all that. I was only thinking. Look here. Suppose you had
+something in your mind; something you were going to do.’
+
+‘Yes, deary; something I was going to do?’
+
+‘But had not quite determined to do.’
+
+‘Yes, deary.’
+
+‘Might or might not do, you understand.’
+
+‘Yes.’ With the point of a needle she stirs the contents of the bowl.
+
+‘Should you do it in your fancy, when you were lying here doing this?’
+
+She nods her head. ‘Over and over again.’
+
+‘Just like me! I did it over and over again. I have done it hundreds of
+thousands of times in this room.’
+
+‘It’s to be hoped it was pleasant to do, deary.’
+
+‘It _was_ pleasant to do!’
+
+He says this with a savage air, and a spring or start at her. Quite
+unmoved she retouches and replenishes the contents of the bowl with her
+little spatula. Seeing her intent upon the occupation, he sinks into his
+former attitude.
+
+‘It was a journey, a difficult and dangerous journey. That was the
+subject in my mind. A hazardous and perilous journey, over abysses where
+a slip would be destruction. Look down, look down! You see what lies at
+the bottom there?’
+
+He has darted forward to say it, and to point at the ground, as though at
+some imaginary object far beneath. The woman looks at him, as his
+spasmodic face approaches close to hers, and not at his pointing. She
+seems to know what the influence of her perfect quietude would be; if so,
+she has not miscalculated it, for he subsides again.
+
+‘Well; I have told you I did it here hundreds of thousands of times.
+What do I say? I did it millions and billions of times. I did it so
+often, and through such vast expanses of time, that when it was really
+done, it seemed not worth the doing, it was done so soon.’
+
+‘That’s the journey you have been away upon,’ she quietly remarks.
+
+He glares at her as he smokes; and then, his eyes becoming filmy,
+answers: ‘That’s the journey.’
+
+Silence ensues. His eyes are sometimes closed and sometimes open. The
+woman sits beside him, very attentive to the pipe, which is all the while
+at his lips.
+
+‘I’ll warrant,’ she observes, when he has been looking fixedly at her for
+some consecutive moments, with a singular appearance in his eyes of
+seeming to see her a long way off, instead of so near him: ‘I’ll warrant
+you made the journey in a many ways, when you made it so often?’
+
+‘No, always in one way.’
+
+‘Always in the same way?’
+
+‘Ay.’
+
+‘In the way in which it was really made at last?’
+
+‘Ay.’
+
+‘And always took the same pleasure in harping on it?’
+
+‘Ay.’
+
+For the time he appears unequal to any other reply than this lazy
+monosyllabic assent. Probably to assure herself that it is not the
+assent of a mere automaton, she reverses the form of her next sentence.
+
+‘Did you never get tired of it, deary, and try to call up something else
+for a change?’
+
+He struggles into a sitting posture, and retorts upon her: ‘What do you
+mean? What did I want? What did I come for?’
+
+She gently lays him back again, and before returning him the instrument
+he has dropped, revives the fire in it with her own breath; then says to
+him, coaxingly:
+
+‘Sure, sure, sure! Yes, yes, yes! Now I go along with you. You was too
+quick for me. I see now. You come o’ purpose to take the journey. Why,
+I might have known it, through its standing by you so.’
+
+He answers first with a laugh, and then with a passionate setting of his
+teeth: ‘Yes, I came on purpose. When I could not bear my life, I came to
+get the relief, and I got it. It WAS one! It WAS one!’ This repetition
+with extraordinary vehemence, and the snarl of a wolf.
+
+She observes him very cautiously, as though mentally feeling her way to
+her next remark. It is: ‘There was a fellow-traveller, deary.’
+
+‘Ha, ha, ha!’ He breaks into a ringing laugh, or rather yell.
+
+‘To think,’ he cries, ‘how often fellow-traveller, and yet not know it!
+To think how many times he went the journey, and never saw the road!’
+
+The woman kneels upon the floor, with her arms crossed on the coverlet of
+the bed, close by him, and her chin upon them. In this crouching
+attitude she watches him. The pipe is falling from his mouth. She puts
+it back, and laying her hand upon his chest, moves him slightly from side
+to side. Upon that he speaks, as if she had spoken.
+
+‘Yes! I always made the journey first, before the changes of colours and
+the great landscapes and glittering processions began. They couldn’t
+begin till it was off my mind. I had no room till then for anything
+else.’
+
+Once more he lapses into silence. Once more she lays her hand upon his
+chest, and moves him slightly to and fro, as a cat might stimulate a
+half-slain mouse. Once more he speaks, as if she had spoken.
+
+ [Picture: Sleeping it off]
+
+‘What? I told you so. When it comes to be real at last, it is so short
+that it seems unreal for the first time. Hark!’
+
+‘Yes, deary. I’m listening.’
+
+‘Time and place are both at hand.’
+
+He is on his feet, speaking in a whisper, and as if in the dark.
+
+‘Time, place, and fellow-traveller,’ she suggests, adopting his tone, and
+holding him softly by the arm.
+
+‘How could the time be at hand unless the fellow-traveller was? Hush!
+The journey’s made. It’s over.’
+
+‘So soon?’
+
+‘That’s what I said to you. So soon. Wait a little. This is a vision.
+I shall sleep it off. It has been too short and easy. I must have a
+better vision than this; this is the poorest of all. No struggle, no
+consciousness of peril, no entreaty—and yet I never saw _that_ before.’
+With a start.
+
+‘Saw what, deary?’
+
+‘Look at it! Look what a poor, mean, miserable thing it is! _That_ must
+be real. It’s over.’
+
+He has accompanied this incoherence with some wild unmeaning gestures;
+but they trail off into the progressive inaction of stupor, and he lies a
+log upon the bed.
+
+The woman, however, is still inquisitive. With a repetition of her
+cat-like action she slightly stirs his body again, and listens; stirs
+again, and listens; whispers to it, and listens. Finding it past all
+rousing for the time, she slowly gets upon her feet, with an air of
+disappointment, and flicks the face with the back of her hand in turning
+from it.
+
+But she goes no further away from it than the chair upon the hearth. She
+sits in it, with an elbow on one of its arms, and her chin upon her hand,
+intent upon him. ‘I heard ye say once,’ she croaks under her breath, ‘I
+heard ye say once, when I was lying where you’re lying, and you were
+making your speculations upon me, “Unintelligible!” I heard you say so,
+of two more than me. But don’t ye be too sure always; don’t be ye too
+sure, beauty!’
+
+Unwinking, cat-like, and intent, she presently adds: ‘Not so potent as it
+once was? Ah! Perhaps not at first. You may be more right there.
+Practice makes perfect. I may have learned the secret how to make ye
+talk, deary.’
+
+He talks no more, whether or no. Twitching in an ugly way from time to
+time, both as to his face and limbs, he lies heavy and silent. The
+wretched candle burns down; the woman takes its expiring end between her
+fingers, lights another at it, crams the guttering frying morsel deep
+into the candlestick, and rams it home with the new candle, as if she
+were loading some ill-savoured and unseemly weapon of witchcraft; the new
+candle in its turn burns down; and still he lies insensible. At length
+what remains of the last candle is blown out, and daylight looks into the
+room.
+
+It has not looked very long, when he sits up, chilled and shaking, slowly
+recovers consciousness of where he is, and makes himself ready to depart.
+The woman receives what he pays her with a grateful, ‘Bless ye, bless ye,
+deary!’ and seems, tired out, to begin making herself ready for sleep as
+he leaves the room.
+
+But seeming may be false or true. It is false in this case; for, the
+moment the stairs have ceased to creak under his tread, she glides after
+him, muttering emphatically: ‘I’ll not miss ye twice!’
+
+There is no egress from the court but by its entrance. With a weird peep
+from the doorway, she watches for his looking back. He does not look
+back before disappearing, with a wavering step. She follows him, peeps
+from the court, sees him still faltering on without looking back, and
+holds him in view.
+
+He repairs to the back of Aldersgate Street, where a door immediately
+opens to his knocking. She crouches in another doorway, watching that
+one, and easily comprehending that he puts up temporarily at that house.
+Her patience is unexhausted by hours. For sustenance she can, and does,
+buy bread within a hundred yards, and milk as it is carried past her.
+
+He comes forth again at noon, having changed his dress, but carrying
+nothing in his hand, and having nothing carried for him. He is not going
+back into the country, therefore, just yet. She follows him a little
+way, hesitates, instantaneously turns confidently, and goes straight into
+the house he has quitted.
+
+‘Is the gentleman from Cloisterham indoors?
+
+‘Just gone out.’
+
+‘Unlucky. When does the gentleman return to Cloisterham?’
+
+‘At six this evening.’
+
+‘Bless ye and thank ye. May the Lord prosper a business where a civil
+question, even from a poor soul, is so civilly answered!’
+
+‘I’ll not miss ye twice!’ repeats the poor soul in the street, and not so
+civilly. ‘I lost ye last, where that omnibus you got into nigh your
+journey’s end plied betwixt the station and the place. I wasn’t so much
+as certain that you even went right on to the place. Now I know ye did.
+My gentleman from Cloisterham, I’ll be there before ye, and bide your
+coming. I’ve swore my oath that I’ll not miss ye twice!’
+
+Accordingly, that same evening the poor soul stands in Cloisterham High
+Street, looking at the many quaint gables of the Nuns’ House, and getting
+through the time as she best can until nine o’clock; at which hour she
+has reason to suppose that the arriving omnibus passengers may have some
+interest for her. The friendly darkness, at that hour, renders it easy
+for her to ascertain whether this be so or not; and it is so, for the
+passenger not to be missed twice arrives among the rest.
+
+‘Now let me see what becomes of you. Go on!’
+
+An observation addressed to the air, and yet it might be addressed to the
+passenger, so compliantly does he go on along the High Street until he
+comes to an arched gateway, at which he unexpectedly vanishes. The poor
+soul quickens her pace; is swift, and close upon him entering under the
+gateway; but only sees a postern staircase on one side of it, and on the
+other side an ancient vaulted room, in which a large-headed, gray-haired
+gentleman is writing, under the odd circumstances of sitting open to the
+thoroughfare and eyeing all who pass, as if he were toll-taker of the
+gateway: though the way is free.
+
+‘Halloa!’ he cries in a low voice, seeing her brought to a stand-still:
+‘who are you looking for?’
+
+‘There was a gentleman passed in here this minute, sir.’
+
+‘Of course there was. What do you want with him?’
+
+‘Where do he live, deary?’
+
+‘Live? Up that staircase.’
+
+‘Bless ye! Whisper. What’s his name, deary?’
+
+‘Surname Jasper, Christian name John. Mr. John Jasper.’
+
+‘Has he a calling, good gentleman?’
+
+‘Calling? Yes. Sings in the choir.’
+
+‘In the spire?’
+
+‘Choir.’
+
+‘What’s that?’
+
+Mr. Datchery rises from his papers, and comes to his doorstep. ‘Do you
+know what a cathedral is?’ he asks, jocosely.
+
+The woman nods.
+
+‘What is it?’
+
+She looks puzzled, casting about in her mind to find a definition, when
+it occurs to her that it is easier to point out the substantial object
+itself, massive against the dark-blue sky and the early stars.
+
+‘That’s the answer. Go in there at seven to-morrow morning, and you may
+see Mr. John Jasper, and hear him too.’
+
+‘Thank ye! Thank ye!’
+
+The burst of triumph in which she thanks him does not escape the notice
+of the single buffer of an easy temper living idly on his means. He
+glances at her; clasps his hands behind him, as the wont of such buffers
+is; and lounges along the echoing Precincts at her side.
+
+‘Or,’ he suggests, with a backward hitch of his head, ‘you can go up at
+once to Mr. Jasper’s rooms there.’
+
+The woman eyes him with a cunning smile, and shakes her head.
+
+‘O! you don’t want to speak to him?’
+
+She repeats her dumb reply, and forms with her lips a soundless ‘No.’
+
+‘You can admire him at a distance three times a day, whenever you like.
+It’s a long way to come for that, though.’
+
+The woman looks up quickly. If Mr. Datchery thinks she is to be so
+induced to declare where she comes from, he is of a much easier temper
+than she is. But she acquits him of such an artful thought, as he
+lounges along, like the chartered bore of the city, with his uncovered
+gray hair blowing about, and his purposeless hands rattling the loose
+money in the pockets of his trousers.
+
+The chink of the money has an attraction for her greedy ears. ‘Wouldn’t
+you help me to pay for my traveller’s lodging, dear gentleman, and to pay
+my way along? I am a poor soul, I am indeed, and troubled with a
+grievous cough.’
+
+‘You know the travellers’ lodging, I perceive, and are making directly
+for it,’ is Mr. Datchery’s bland comment, still rattling his loose money.
+‘Been here often, my good woman?’
+
+‘Once in all my life.’
+
+‘Ay, ay?’
+
+They have arrived at the entrance to the Monks’ Vineyard. An appropriate
+remembrance, presenting an exemplary model for imitation, is revived in
+the woman’s mind by the sight of the place. She stops at the gate, and
+says energetically:
+
+‘By this token, though you mayn’t believe it, That a young gentleman gave
+me three-and-sixpence as I was coughing my breath away on this very
+grass. I asked him for three-and-sixpence, and he gave it me.’
+
+‘Wasn’t it a little cool to name your sum?’ hints Mr. Datchery, still
+rattling. ‘Isn’t it customary to leave the amount open? Mightn’t it
+have had the appearance, to the young gentleman—only the appearance—that
+he was rather dictated to?’
+
+‘Look’ee here, deary,’ she replies, in a confidential and persuasive
+tone, ‘I wanted the money to lay it out on a medicine as does me good,
+and as I deal in. I told the young gentleman so, and he gave it me, and
+I laid it out honest to the last brass farden. I want to lay out the
+same sum in the same way now; and if you’ll give it me, I’ll lay it out
+honest to the last brass farden again, upon my soul!’
+
+‘What’s the medicine?’
+
+‘I’ll be honest with you beforehand, as well as after. It’s opium.’
+
+Mr. Datchery, with a sudden change of countenance, gives her a sudden
+look.
+
+‘It’s opium, deary. Neither more nor less. And it’s like a human
+creetur so far, that you always hear what can be said against it, but
+seldom what can be said in its praise.’
+
+Mr. Datchery begins very slowly to count out the sum demanded of him.
+Greedily watching his hands, she continues to hold forth on the great
+example set him.
+
+‘It was last Christmas Eve, just arter dark, the once that I was here
+afore, when the young gentleman gave me the three-and-six.’ Mr. Datchery
+stops in his counting, finds he has counted wrong, shakes his money
+together, and begins again.
+
+‘And the young gentleman’s name,’ she adds, ‘was Edwin.’
+
+Mr. Datchery drops some money, stoops to pick it up, and reddens with the
+exertion as he asks:
+
+‘How do you know the young gentleman’s name?’
+
+‘I asked him for it, and he told it me. I only asked him the two
+questions, what was his Chris’en name, and whether he’d a sweetheart?
+And he answered, Edwin, and he hadn’t.’
+
+Mr. Datchery pauses with the selected coins in his hand, rather as if he
+were falling into a brown study of their value, and couldn’t bear to part
+with them. The woman looks at him distrustfully, and with her anger
+brewing for the event of his thinking better of the gift; but he bestows
+it on her as if he were abstracting his mind from the sacrifice, and with
+many servile thanks she goes her way.
+
+John Jasper’s lamp is kindled, and his lighthouse is shining when Mr.
+Datchery returns alone towards it. As mariners on a dangerous voyage,
+approaching an iron-bound coast, may look along the beams of the warning
+light to the haven lying beyond it that may never be reached, so Mr.
+Datchery’s wistful gaze is directed to this beacon, and beyond.
+
+His object in now revisiting his lodging is merely to put on the hat
+which seems so superfluous an article in his wardrobe. It is half-past
+ten by the Cathedral clock when he walks out into the Precincts again; he
+lingers and looks about him, as though, the enchanted hour when Mr.
+Durdles may be stoned home having struck, he had some expectation of
+seeing the Imp who is appointed to the mission of stoning him.
+
+In effect, that Power of Evil is abroad. Having nothing living to stone
+at the moment, he is discovered by Mr. Datchery in the unholy office of
+stoning the dead, through the railings of the churchyard. The Imp finds
+this a relishing and piquing pursuit; firstly, because their
+resting-place is announced to be sacred; and secondly, because the tall
+headstones are sufficiently like themselves, on their beat in the dark,
+to justify the delicious fancy that they are hurt when hit.
+
+Mr. Datchery hails with him: ‘Halloa, Winks!’
+
+He acknowledges the hail with: ‘Halloa, Dick!’ Their acquaintance
+seemingly having been established on a familiar footing.
+
+‘But, I say,’ he remonstrates, ‘don’t yer go a-making my name public. I
+never means to plead to no name, mind yer. When they says to me in the
+Lock-up, a-going to put me down in the book, “What’s your name?” I says
+to them, “Find out.” Likewise when they says, “What’s your religion?” I
+says, “Find out.”’
+
+Which, it may be observed in passing, it would be immensely difficult for
+the State, however statistical, to do.
+
+‘Asides which,’ adds the boy, ‘there ain’t no family of Winkses.’
+
+‘I think there must be.’
+
+‘Yer lie, there ain’t. The travellers give me the name on account of my
+getting no settled sleep and being knocked up all night; whereby I gets
+one eye roused open afore I’ve shut the other. That’s what Winks means.
+Deputy’s the nighest name to indict me by: but yer wouldn’t catch me
+pleading to that, neither.’
+
+‘Deputy be it always, then. We two are good friends; eh, Deputy?’
+
+‘Jolly good.’
+
+‘I forgave you the debt you owed me when we first became acquainted, and
+many of my sixpences have come your way since; eh, Deputy?’
+
+‘Ah! And what’s more, yer ain’t no friend o’ Jarsper’s. What did he go
+a-histing me off my legs for?’
+
+‘What indeed! But never mind him now. A shilling of mine is going your
+way to-night, Deputy. You have just taken in a lodger I have been
+speaking to; an infirm woman with a cough.’
+
+‘Puffer,’ assents Deputy, with a shrewd leer of recognition, and smoking
+an imaginary pipe, with his head very much on one side and his eyes very
+much out of their places: ‘Hopeum Puffer.’
+
+‘What is her name?’
+
+‘’Er Royal Highness the Princess Puffer.’
+
+‘She has some other name than that; where does she live?’
+
+‘Up in London. Among the Jacks.’
+
+‘The sailors?’
+
+‘I said so; Jacks; and Chayner men: and hother Knifers.’
+
+‘I should like to know, through you, exactly where she lives.’
+
+‘All right. Give us ’old.’
+
+A shilling passes; and, in that spirit of confidence which should pervade
+all business transactions between principals of honour, this piece of
+business is considered done.
+
+‘But here’s a lark!’ cries Deputy. ‘Where did yer think ‘Er Royal
+Highness is a-goin’ to to-morrow morning? Blest if she ain’t a-goin’ to
+the KIN-FREE-DER-EL!’ He greatly prolongs the word in his ecstasy, and
+smites his leg, and doubles himself up in a fit of shrill laughter.
+
+‘How do you know that, Deputy?’
+
+‘Cos she told me so just now. She said she must be hup and hout o’
+purpose. She ses, “Deputy, I must ’ave a early wash, and make myself as
+swell as I can, for I’m a-goin’ to take a turn at the KIN-FREE-DER-EL!”’
+He separates the syllables with his former zest, and, not finding his
+sense of the ludicrous sufficiently relieved by stamping about on the
+pavement, breaks into a slow and stately dance, perhaps supposed to be
+performed by the Dean.
+
+Mr. Datchery receives the communication with a well-satisfied though
+pondering face, and breaks up the conference. Returning to his quaint
+lodging, and sitting long over the supper of bread-and-cheese and salad
+and ale which Mrs. Tope has left prepared for him, he still sits when his
+supper is finished. At length he rises, throws open the door of a corner
+cupboard, and refers to a few uncouth chalked strokes on its inner side.
+
+‘I like,’ says Mr. Datchery, ‘the old tavern way of keeping scores.
+Illegible except to the scorer. The scorer not committed, the scored
+debited with what is against him. Hum; ha! A very small score this; a
+very poor score!’
+
+He sighs over the contemplation of its poverty, takes a bit of chalk from
+one of the cupboard shelves, and pauses with it in his hand, uncertain
+what addition to make to the account.
+
+‘I think a moderate stroke,’ he concludes, ‘is all I am justified in
+scoring up;’ so, suits the action to the word, closes the cupboard, and
+goes to bed.
+
+A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins
+are surpassingly beautiful, with a lusty ivy gleaming in the sun, and the
+rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious light from
+moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fields—or,
+rather, from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its
+yielding time—penetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its earthy odour, and
+preach the Resurrection and the Life. The cold stone tombs of centuries
+ago grow warm; and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble
+corners of the building, fluttering there like wings.
+
+Comes Mr. Tope with his large keys, and yawningly unlocks and sets open.
+Come Mrs. Tope and attendant sweeping sprites. Come, in due time,
+organist and bellows-boy, peeping down from the red curtains in the loft,
+fearlessly flapping dust from books up at that remote elevation, and
+whisking it from stops and pedals. Come sundry rooks, from various
+quarters of the sky, back to the great tower; who may be presumed to
+enjoy vibration, and to know that bell and organ are going to give it
+them. Come a very small and straggling congregation indeed: chiefly from
+Minor Canon Corner and the Precincts. Come Mr. Crisparkle, fresh and
+bright; and his ministering brethren, not quite so fresh and bright.
+Come the Choir in a hurry (always in a hurry, and struggling into their
+nightgowns at the last moment, like children shirking bed), and comes
+John Jasper leading their line. Last of all comes Mr. Datchery into a
+stall, one of a choice empty collection very much at his service, and
+glancing about him for Her Royal Highness the Princess Puffer.
+
+The service is pretty well advanced before Mr. Datchery can discern Her
+Royal Highness. But by that time he has made her out, in the shade. She
+is behind a pillar, carefully withdrawn from the Choir-master’s view, but
+regards him with the closest attention. All unconscious of her presence,
+he chants and sings. She grins when he is most musically fervid,
+and—yes, Mr. Datchery sees her do it!—shakes her fist at him behind the
+pillar’s friendly shelter.
+
+Mr. Datchery looks again, to convince himself. Yes, again! As ugly and
+withered as one of the fantastic carvings on the under brackets of the
+stall seats, as malignant as the Evil One, as hard as the big brass eagle
+holding the sacred books upon his wings (and, according to the sculptor’s
+representation of his ferocious attributes, not at all converted by
+them), she hugs herself in her lean arms, and then shakes both fists at
+the leader of the Choir.
+
+And at that moment, outside the grated door of the Choir, having eluded
+the vigilance of Mr. Tope by shifty resources in which he is an adept,
+Deputy peeps, sharp-eyed, through the bars, and stares astounded from the
+threatener to the threatened.
+
+The service comes to an end, and the servitors disperse to breakfast.
+Mr. Datchery accosts his last new acquaintance outside, when the Choir
+(as much in a hurry to get their bedgowns off, as they were but now to
+get them on) have scuffled away.
+
+‘Well, mistress. Good morning. You have seen him?’
+
+‘_I’ve_ seen him, deary; _I’ve_ seen him!’
+
+‘And you know him?’
+
+‘Know him! Better far than all the Reverend Parsons put together know
+him.’
+
+Mrs. Tope’s care has spread a very neat, clean breakfast ready for her
+lodger. Before sitting down to it, he opens his corner-cupboard door;
+takes his bit of chalk from its shelf; adds one thick line to the score,
+extending from the top of the cupboard door to the bottom; and then falls
+to with an appetite.
+
+
+
+
+APPENDIX: FRAGMENT OF “THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD”
+
+
+When Forster was just finishing his biography of Dickens, he found among
+the leaves of one of the novelist’s other manuscripts certain loose slips
+in his writing, “on paper only half the size of that used for the tale,
+so cramped, interlined, and blotted as to be nearly illegible.” These
+proved, upon examination, to contain a suggested chapter for _Edwin
+Drood_, in which Sapsea, the auctioneer, appears as the principal figure,
+surrounded by a group of characters new to the story. That chapter,
+being among the last things Dickens wrote, seems to contain so much of
+interest that it may be well to reprint it here.—ED.
+
+
+
+HOW MR. SAPSEA CEASED TO BE A MEMBER OF THE EIGHT CLUB
+TOLD BY HIMSELF
+
+
+Wishing to take the air, I proceeded by a circuitous route to the Club,
+it being our weekly night of meeting. I found that we mustered our full
+strength. We were enrolled under the denomination of the Eight Club. We
+were eight in number; we met at eight o’clock during eight months of the
+year; we played eight games of four-handed cribbage, at eightpence the
+game; our frugal supper was composed of eight rolls, eight mutton chops,
+eight pork sausages, eight baked potatoes, eight marrow-bones, with eight
+toasts, and eight bottles of ale. There may, or may not, be a certain
+harmony of colour in the ruling idea of this (to adopt a phrase of our
+lively neighbours) reunion. It was a little idea of mine.
+
+ [Picture: Facsimile of a page of the manuscript of “The Mystery of Edwin
+ Drood”]
+
+A somewhat popular member of the Eight Club, was a member by the name of
+Kimber. By profession, a dancing-master. A commonplace, hopeful sort of
+man, wholly destitute of dignity or knowledge of the world.
+
+As I entered the Club-room, Kimber was making the remark: “And he still
+half-believes him to be very high in the Church.”
+
+In the act of hanging up my hat on the eighth peg by the door, I caught
+Kimber’s visual ray. He lowered it, and passed a remark on the next
+change of the moon. I did not take particular notice of this at the
+moment, because the world was often pleased to be a little shy of
+ecclesiastical topics in my presence. For I felt that I was picked out
+(though perhaps only through a coincidence) to a certain extent to
+represent what I call our glorious constitution in Church and State. The
+phrase may be objected to by cautious minds; but I own to it as mine. I
+threw it off in argument some little time back. I said: “OUR GLORIOUS
+CONSTITUTION in CHURCH and STATE.”
+
+Another member of the Eight Club was Peartree; also member of the Royal
+College of Surgeons. Mr. Peartree is not accountable to me for his
+opinions, and I say no more of them here than that he attends the poor
+gratis whenever they want him, and is not the parish doctor. Mr.
+Peartree may justify it to the grasp of _his_ mind thus to do his
+republican utmost to bring an appointed officer into contempt. Suffice
+it that Mr. Peartree can never justify it to the grasp of _mine_.
+
+Between Peartree and Kimber there was a sickly sort of feeble-minded
+alliance. It came under my particular notice when I sold off Kimber by
+auction. (Goods taken in execution.) He was a widower in a white
+under-waistcoat, and slight shoes with bows, and had two daughters not
+ill-looking. Indeed the reverse. Both daughters taught dancing in
+scholastic establishments for Young Ladies—had done so at Mrs. Sapsea’s;
+nay, Twinkleton’s—and both, in giving lessons, presented the unwomanly
+spectacle of having little fiddles tucked under their chins. In spite of
+which, the younger one might, if I am correctly informed—I will raise the
+veil so far as to say I KNOW she might—have soared for life from this
+degrading taint, but for having the class of mind allotted to what I call
+the common herd, and being so incredibly devoid of veneration as to
+become painfully ludicrous.
+
+When I sold off Kimber without reserve, Peartree (as poor as he can hold
+together) had several prime household lots knocked down to him. I am not
+to be blinded; and of course it was as plain to me what he was going to
+do with them, as it was that he was a brown hulking sort of revolutionary
+subject who had been in India with the soldiers, and ought (for the sake
+of society) to have his neck broke. I saw the lots shortly afterwards in
+Kimber’s lodgings—through the window—and I easily made out that there had
+been a sneaking pretence of lending them till better times. A man with a
+smaller knowledge of the world than myself might have been led to suspect
+that Kimber had held back money from his creditors, and fraudulently
+bought the goods. But, besides that I knew for certain he had no money,
+I knew that this would involve a species of forethought not to be made
+compatible with the frivolity of a caperer, inoculating other people with
+capering, for his bread.
+
+As it was the first time I had seen either of those two since the sale, I
+kept myself in what I call Abeyance. When selling him up, I had
+delivered a few remarks—shall I say a little homily?—concerning Kimber,
+which the world did regard as more than usually worth notice. I had come
+up into my pulpit, it was said, uncommonly like—and a murmur of
+recognition had repeated his (I will not name whose) title, before I
+spoke. I had then gone on to say that all present would find, in the
+first page of the catalogue that was lying before them, in the last
+paragraph before the first lot, the following words: “Sold in pursuance
+of a writ of execution issued by a creditor.” I had then proceeded to
+remind my friends, that however frivolous, not to say contemptible, the
+business by which a man got his goods together, still his goods were as
+dear to him, and as cheap to society (if sold without reserve), as though
+his pursuits had been of a character that would bear serious
+contemplation. I had then divided my text (if I may be allowed so to
+call it) into three heads: firstly, Sold; secondly, In pursuance of a
+writ of execution; thirdly, Issued by a creditor; with a few moral
+reflections on each, and winding up with, “Now to the first lot” in a
+manner that was complimented when I afterwards mingled with my hearers.
+
+So, not being certain on what terms I and Kimber stood, I was grave, I
+was chilling. Kimber, however, moving to me, I moved to Kimber. (I was
+the creditor who had issued the writ. Not that it matters.)
+
+“I was alluding, Mr. Sapsea,” said Kimber, “to a stranger who entered
+into conversation with me in the street as I came to the Club. He had
+been speaking to you just before, it seemed, by the churchyard; and
+though you had told him who you were, I could hardly persuade him that
+you were not high in the Church.”
+
+“Idiot?” said Peartree.
+
+“Ass!” said Kimber.
+
+“Idiot and Ass!” said the other five members.
+
+“Idiot and Ass, gentlemen,” I remonstrated, looking around me, “are
+strong expressions to apply to a young man of good appearance and
+address.” My generosity was roused; I own it.
+
+“You’ll admit that he must be a Fool,” said Peartree.
+
+“You can’t deny that he must be a Blockhead,” said Kimber.
+
+Their tone of disgust amounted to being offensive. Why should the young
+man be so calumniated? What had he done? He had only made an innocent
+and natural mistake. I controlled my generous indignation, and said so.
+
+“Natural?” repeated Kimber. “_He’s_ a Natural!”
+
+The remaining six members of the Eight Club laughed unanimously. It
+stung me. It was a scornful laugh. My anger was roused in behalf of an
+absent, friendless stranger. I rose (for I had been sitting down).
+
+“Gentlemen,” I said with dignity, “I will not remain one of this Club
+allowing opprobrium to be cast on an unoffending person in his absence.
+I will not so violate what I call the sacred rites of hospitality.
+Gentlemen, until you know how to behave yourselves better, I leave you.
+Gentlemen, until then I withdraw, from this place of meeting, whatever
+personal qualifications I may have brought into it. Gentlemen, until
+then you cease to be the Eight Club, and must make the best you can of
+becoming the Seven.”
+
+I put on my hat and retired. As I went down stairs I distinctly heard
+them give a suppressed cheer. Such is the power of demeanour and
+knowledge of mankind. I had forced it out of them.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Whom should I meet in the street, within a few yards of the door of the
+inn where the Club was held, but the self-same young man whoso cause I
+had felt it my duty so warmly—and I will add so disinterestedly—to take
+up.
+
+“Is it Mr. Sapsea,” he said doubtfully, “or is it—”
+
+“It is Mr. Sapsea,” I replied.
+
+“Pardon me, Mr. Sapsea; you appear warm, sir.”
+
+“I have been warm,” I said, “and on your account.” Having stated the
+circumstances at some length (my generosity almost overpowered him), I
+asked him his name.
+
+“Mr. Sapsea,” he answered, looking down, “your penetration is so acute,
+your glance into the souls of your fellow men is so penetrating, that if
+I was hardly enough to deny that my name is Poker, what would it avail
+me?”
+
+I don’t know that I had quite exactly made out to a fraction that his
+name _was_ Poker, but I daresay I had been pretty near doing it.
+
+“Well, well,” said I, trying to put him at his ease by nodding my head in
+a soothing way. “Your name is Poker, and there is no harm in being named
+Poker.”
+
+“Oh, Mr. Sapsea!” cried the young man, in a very well-behaved manner.
+“Bless you for those words!” He then, as if ashamed of having given way
+to his feelings, looked down again.
+
+“Come Poker,” said I, “let me hear more about you. Tell me. Where are
+you going to, Poker? and where do you come from?”
+
+“Ah Mr. Sapsea!” exclaimed the young man. “Disguise from you is
+impossible. You know already that I come from somewhere, and am going
+somewhere else. If I was to deny it, what would it avail me?”
+
+“Then don’t deny it,” was my remark.
+
+“Or,” pursued Poker, in a kind of despondent rapture, “or if I was to
+deny that I came to this town to see and hear you, sir, what would it
+avail me? Or if I was to deny—”
--- /dev/null
+DAVID COPPERFIELD
+
+
+By Charles Dickens
+
+
+
+ AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO
+ THE HON. Mr. AND Mrs. RICHARD WATSON,
+ OF ROCKINGHAM, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE.
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ I. I Am Born
+ II. I Observe
+ III. I Have a Change
+ IV. I Fall into Disgrace
+ V. I Am Sent Away
+ VI. I Enlarge My Circle of Acquaintance
+ VII. My ‘First Half’ at Salem House
+ VIII. My Holidays. Especially One Happy Afternoon
+ IX. I Have a Memorable Birthday
+ X. I Become Neglected, and Am Provided For
+ XI. I Begin Life on My Own Account, and Don’t Like It
+ XII. Liking Life on My Own Account No Better, I Form a Great Resolution
+ XIII. The Sequel of My Resolution
+ XIV. My Aunt Makes up Her Mind About Me
+ XV. I Make Another Beginning
+ XVI. I Am a New Boy in More Senses Than One
+ XVII. Somebody Turns Up
+ XVIII. A Retrospect
+ XIX. I Look About Me and Make a Discovery
+ XX. Steerforth’s Home
+ XXI. Little Em’ly
+ XXII. Some Old Scenes, and Some New People
+ XXIII. I Corroborate Mr. Dick, and Choose a Profession
+ XXIV. My First Dissipation
+ XXV. Good and Bad Angels
+ XXVI. I Fall into Captivity
+ XXVII. Tommy Traddles
+ XXVIII. Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet
+ XXIX. I Visit Steerforth at His Home, Again
+ XXX. A Loss
+ XXXI. A Greater Loss
+ XXXII. The Beginning of a Long Journey
+ XXXIII. Blissful
+ XXXIV. My Aunt Astonishes Me
+ XXXV. Depression
+ XXXVI. Enthusiasm
+ XXXVII. A Little Cold Water
+ XXXVIII. A Dissolution of Partnership
+ XXXIX. Wickfield and Heep
+ XL. The Wanderer
+ XLI. Dora’s Aunts
+ XLII. Mischief
+ XLIII. Another Retrospect
+ XLIV. Our Housekeeping
+ XLV. Mr. Dick Fulfils My Aunt’s Predictions
+ XLVI. Intelligence
+ XLVII. Martha
+ XLVIII. Domestic
+ XLIX. I Am Involved in Mystery
+ L. Mr. Peggotty’s Dream Comes True
+ LI. The Beginning of a Longer Journey
+ LII. I Assist at an Explosion
+ LIII. Another Retrospect
+ LIV. Mr. Micawber’s Transactions
+ LV. Tempest
+ LVI. The New Wound, and the Old
+ LVII. The Emigrants
+ LVIII. Absence
+ LIX. Return
+ LX. Agnes
+ LXI. I Am Shown Two Interesting Penitents
+ LXII. A Light Shines on My Way
+ LXIII. A Visitor
+ LXIV. A Last Retrospect
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE TO 1850 EDITION
+
+
+I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in
+the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the
+composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest
+in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between
+pleasure and regret--pleasure in the achievement of a long design,
+regret in the separation from many companions--that I am in danger of
+wearying the reader whom I love, with personal confidences, and private
+emotions.
+
+Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any purpose, I have
+endeavoured to say in it.
+
+It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how sorrowfully
+the pen is laid down at the close of a two-years’ imaginative task; or
+how an Author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself
+into the shadowy world, when a crowd of the creatures of his brain
+are going from him for ever. Yet, I have nothing else to tell; unless,
+indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less moment still) that no
+one can ever believe this Narrative, in the reading, more than I have
+believed it in the writing.
+
+Instead of looking back, therefore, I will look forward. I cannot close
+this Volume more agreeably to myself, than with a hopeful glance towards
+the time when I shall again put forth my two green leaves once a month,
+and with a faithful remembrance of the genial sun and showers that have
+fallen on these leaves of David Copperfield, and made me happy.
+
+ London, October, 1850.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE TO THE CHARLES DICKENS EDITION
+
+
+I REMARKED in the original Preface to this Book, that I did not find it
+easy to get sufficiently far away from it, in the first sensations of
+having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal
+heading would seem to require. My interest in it was so recent and
+strong, and my mind was so divided between pleasure and regret--pleasure
+in the achievement of a long design, regret in the separation from many
+companions--that I was in danger of wearying the reader with personal
+confidences and private emotions.
+
+Besides which, all that I could have said of the Story to any purpose, I
+had endeavoured to say in it.
+
+It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know how sorrowfully the
+pen is laid down at the close of a two-years’ imaginative task; or how
+an Author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself into
+the shadowy world, when a crowd of the creatures of his brain are going
+from him for ever. Yet, I had nothing else to tell; unless, indeed, I
+were to confess (which might be of less moment still), that no one can
+ever believe this Narrative, in the reading, more than I believed it in
+the writing.
+
+So true are these avowals at the present day, that I can now only take
+the reader into one confidence more. Of all my books, I like this the
+best. It will be easily believed that I am a fond parent to every child
+of my fancy, and that no one can ever love that family as dearly as I
+love them. But, like many fond parents, I have in my heart of hearts a
+favourite child. And his name is
+
+DAVID COPPERFIELD.
+
+ 1869
+
+
+
+
+THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE OF DAVID COPPERFIELD THE YOUNGER
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 1. I AM BORN
+
+
+
+Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that
+station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my
+life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have
+been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o’clock at night.
+It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry,
+simultaneously.
+
+In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was declared by
+the nurse, and by some sage women in the neighbourhood who had taken a
+lively interest in me several months before there was any possibility
+of our becoming personally acquainted, first, that I was destined to be
+unlucky in life; and secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and
+spirits; both these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to
+all unlucky infants of either gender, born towards the small hours on a
+Friday night.
+
+I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing can show
+better than my history whether that prediction was verified or falsified
+by the result. On the second branch of the question, I will only remark,
+that unless I ran through that part of my inheritance while I was still
+a baby, I have not come into it yet. But I do not at all complain of
+having been kept out of this property; and if anybody else should be in
+the present enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to keep it.
+
+I was born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in the
+newspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether sea-going
+people were short of money about that time, or were short of faith and
+preferred cork jackets, I don’t know; all I know is, that there was but
+one solitary bidding, and that was from an attorney connected with the
+bill-broking business, who offered two pounds in cash, and the balance
+in sherry, but declined to be guaranteed from drowning on any higher
+bargain. Consequently the advertisement was withdrawn at a dead
+loss--for as to sherry, my poor dear mother’s own sherry was in the
+market then--and ten years afterwards, the caul was put up in a raffle
+down in our part of the country, to fifty members at half-a-crown a
+head, the winner to spend five shillings. I was present myself, and I
+remember to have felt quite uncomfortable and confused, at a part of
+myself being disposed of in that way. The caul was won, I recollect, by
+an old lady with a hand-basket, who, very reluctantly, produced from it
+the stipulated five shillings, all in halfpence, and twopence halfpenny
+short--as it took an immense time and a great waste of arithmetic, to
+endeavour without any effect to prove to her. It is a fact which will
+be long remembered as remarkable down there, that she was never drowned,
+but died triumphantly in bed, at ninety-two. I have understood that it
+was, to the last, her proudest boast, that she never had been on the
+water in her life, except upon a bridge; and that over her tea (to which
+she was extremely partial) she, to the last, expressed her indignation
+at the impiety of mariners and others, who had the presumption to go
+‘meandering’ about the world. It was in vain to represent to her
+that some conveniences, tea perhaps included, resulted from this
+objectionable practice. She always returned, with greater emphasis and
+with an instinctive knowledge of the strength of her objection, ‘Let us
+have no meandering.’
+
+Not to meander myself, at present, I will go back to my birth.
+
+I was born at Blunderstone, in Suffolk, or ‘there by’, as they say in
+Scotland. I was a posthumous child. My father’s eyes had closed upon
+the light of this world six months, when mine opened on it. There is
+something strange to me, even now, in the reflection that he never saw
+me; and something stranger yet in the shadowy remembrance that I have
+of my first childish associations with his white grave-stone in the
+churchyard, and of the indefinable compassion I used to feel for it
+lying out alone there in the dark night, when our little parlour
+was warm and bright with fire and candle, and the doors of our house
+were--almost cruelly, it seemed to me sometimes--bolted and locked
+against it.
+
+An aunt of my father’s, and consequently a great-aunt of mine, of whom
+I shall have more to relate by and by, was the principal magnate of our
+family. Miss Trotwood, or Miss Betsey, as my poor mother always called
+her, when she sufficiently overcame her dread of this formidable
+personage to mention her at all (which was seldom), had been married
+to a husband younger than herself, who was very handsome, except in the
+sense of the homely adage, ‘handsome is, that handsome does’--for he
+was strongly suspected of having beaten Miss Betsey, and even of having
+once, on a disputed question of supplies, made some hasty but determined
+arrangements to throw her out of a two pair of stairs’ window. These
+evidences of an incompatibility of temper induced Miss Betsey to pay him
+off, and effect a separation by mutual consent. He went to India with
+his capital, and there, according to a wild legend in our family, he was
+once seen riding on an elephant, in company with a Baboon; but I think
+it must have been a Baboo--or a Begum. Anyhow, from India tidings of his
+death reached home, within ten years. How they affected my aunt, nobody
+knew; for immediately upon the separation, she took her maiden name
+again, bought a cottage in a hamlet on the sea-coast a long way off,
+established herself there as a single woman with one servant, and
+was understood to live secluded, ever afterwards, in an inflexible
+retirement.
+
+My father had once been a favourite of hers, I believe; but she was
+mortally affronted by his marriage, on the ground that my mother was ‘a
+wax doll’. She had never seen my mother, but she knew her to be not
+yet twenty. My father and Miss Betsey never met again. He was double
+my mother’s age when he married, and of but a delicate constitution. He
+died a year afterwards, and, as I have said, six months before I came
+into the world.
+
+This was the state of matters, on the afternoon of, what I may be
+excused for calling, that eventful and important Friday. I can make no
+claim therefore to have known, at that time, how matters stood; or to
+have any remembrance, founded on the evidence of my own senses, of what
+follows.
+
+My mother was sitting by the fire, but poorly in health, and very low in
+spirits, looking at it through her tears, and desponding heavily about
+herself and the fatherless little stranger, who was already welcomed by
+some grosses of prophetic pins, in a drawer upstairs, to a world not at
+all excited on the subject of his arrival; my mother, I say, was sitting
+by the fire, that bright, windy March afternoon, very timid and sad, and
+very doubtful of ever coming alive out of the trial that was before her,
+when, lifting her eyes as she dried them, to the window opposite, she
+saw a strange lady coming up the garden.
+
+My mother had a sure foreboding at the second glance, that it was
+Miss Betsey. The setting sun was glowing on the strange lady, over the
+garden-fence, and she came walking up to the door with a fell rigidity
+of figure and composure of countenance that could have belonged to
+nobody else.
+
+When she reached the house, she gave another proof of her identity.
+My father had often hinted that she seldom conducted herself like any
+ordinary Christian; and now, instead of ringing the bell, she came and
+looked in at that identical window, pressing the end of her nose against
+the glass to that extent, that my poor dear mother used to say it became
+perfectly flat and white in a moment.
+
+She gave my mother such a turn, that I have always been convinced I am
+indebted to Miss Betsey for having been born on a Friday.
+
+My mother had left her chair in her agitation, and gone behind it in
+the corner. Miss Betsey, looking round the room, slowly and inquiringly,
+began on the other side, and carried her eyes on, like a Saracen’s Head
+in a Dutch clock, until they reached my mother. Then she made a frown
+and a gesture to my mother, like one who was accustomed to be obeyed, to
+come and open the door. My mother went.
+
+‘Mrs. David Copperfield, I think,’ said Miss Betsey; the emphasis
+referring, perhaps, to my mother’s mourning weeds, and her condition.
+
+‘Yes,’ said my mother, faintly.
+
+‘Miss Trotwood,’ said the visitor. ‘You have heard of her, I dare say?’
+
+My mother answered she had had that pleasure. And she had a disagreeable
+consciousness of not appearing to imply that it had been an overpowering
+pleasure.
+
+‘Now you see her,’ said Miss Betsey. My mother bent her head, and begged
+her to walk in.
+
+They went into the parlour my mother had come from, the fire in the best
+room on the other side of the passage not being lighted--not having
+been lighted, indeed, since my father’s funeral; and when they were both
+seated, and Miss Betsey said nothing, my mother, after vainly trying to
+restrain herself, began to cry. ‘Oh tut, tut, tut!’ said Miss Betsey, in
+a hurry. ‘Don’t do that! Come, come!’
+
+My mother couldn’t help it notwithstanding, so she cried until she had
+had her cry out.
+
+‘Take off your cap, child,’ said Miss Betsey, ‘and let me see you.’
+
+My mother was too much afraid of her to refuse compliance with this odd
+request, if she had any disposition to do so. Therefore she did as she
+was told, and did it with such nervous hands that her hair (which was
+luxuriant and beautiful) fell all about her face.
+
+‘Why, bless my heart!’ exclaimed Miss Betsey. ‘You are a very Baby!’
+
+My mother was, no doubt, unusually youthful in appearance even for her
+years; she hung her head, as if it were her fault, poor thing, and said,
+sobbing, that indeed she was afraid she was but a childish widow, and
+would be but a childish mother if she lived. In a short pause which
+ensued, she had a fancy that she felt Miss Betsey touch her hair, and
+that with no ungentle hand; but, looking at her, in her timid hope, she
+found that lady sitting with the skirt of her dress tucked up, her hands
+folded on one knee, and her feet upon the fender, frowning at the fire.
+
+‘In the name of Heaven,’ said Miss Betsey, suddenly, ‘why Rookery?’
+
+‘Do you mean the house, ma’am?’ asked my mother.
+
+‘Why Rookery?’ said Miss Betsey. ‘Cookery would have been more to the
+purpose, if you had had any practical ideas of life, either of you.’
+
+‘The name was Mr. Copperfield’s choice,’ returned my mother. ‘When he
+bought the house, he liked to think that there were rooks about it.’
+
+The evening wind made such a disturbance just now, among some tall old
+elm-trees at the bottom of the garden, that neither my mother nor Miss
+Betsey could forbear glancing that way. As the elms bent to one another,
+like giants who were whispering secrets, and after a few seconds of such
+repose, fell into a violent flurry, tossing their wild arms about, as if
+their late confidences were really too wicked for their peace of mind,
+some weatherbeaten ragged old rooks’-nests, burdening their higher
+branches, swung like wrecks upon a stormy sea.
+
+‘Where are the birds?’ asked Miss Betsey.
+
+‘The--?’ My mother had been thinking of something else.
+
+‘The rooks--what has become of them?’ asked Miss Betsey.
+
+‘There have not been any since we have lived here,’ said my mother. ‘We
+thought--Mr. Copperfield thought--it was quite a large rookery; but
+the nests were very old ones, and the birds have deserted them a long
+while.’
+
+‘David Copperfield all over!’ cried Miss Betsey. ‘David Copperfield from
+head to foot! Calls a house a rookery when there’s not a rook near it,
+and takes the birds on trust, because he sees the nests!’
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ returned my mother, ‘is dead, and if you dare to
+speak unkindly of him to me--’
+
+My poor dear mother, I suppose, had some momentary intention of
+committing an assault and battery upon my aunt, who could easily have
+settled her with one hand, even if my mother had been in far better
+training for such an encounter than she was that evening. But it passed
+with the action of rising from her chair; and she sat down again very
+meekly, and fainted.
+
+When she came to herself, or when Miss Betsey had restored her,
+whichever it was, she found the latter standing at the window. The
+twilight was by this time shading down into darkness; and dimly as they
+saw each other, they could not have done that without the aid of the
+fire.
+
+‘Well?’ said Miss Betsey, coming back to her chair, as if she had only
+been taking a casual look at the prospect; ‘and when do you expect--’
+
+‘I am all in a tremble,’ faltered my mother. ‘I don’t know what’s the
+matter. I shall die, I am sure!’
+
+‘No, no, no,’ said Miss Betsey. ‘Have some tea.’
+
+‘Oh dear me, dear me, do you think it will do me any good?’ cried my
+mother in a helpless manner.
+
+‘Of course it will,’ said Miss Betsey. ‘It’s nothing but fancy. What do
+you call your girl?’
+
+‘I don’t know that it will be a girl, yet, ma’am,’ said my mother
+innocently.
+
+‘Bless the Baby!’ exclaimed Miss Betsey, unconsciously quoting the
+second sentiment of the pincushion in the drawer upstairs, but
+applying it to my mother instead of me, ‘I don’t mean that. I mean your
+servant-girl.’
+
+‘Peggotty,’ said my mother.
+
+‘Peggotty!’ repeated Miss Betsey, with some indignation. ‘Do you mean to
+say, child, that any human being has gone into a Christian church,
+and got herself named Peggotty?’ ‘It’s her surname,’ said my mother,
+faintly. ‘Mr. Copperfield called her by it, because her Christian name
+was the same as mine.’
+
+‘Here! Peggotty!’ cried Miss Betsey, opening the parlour door. ‘Tea.
+Your mistress is a little unwell. Don’t dawdle.’
+
+Having issued this mandate with as much potentiality as if she had been
+a recognized authority in the house ever since it had been a house,
+and having looked out to confront the amazed Peggotty coming along the
+passage with a candle at the sound of a strange voice, Miss Betsey shut
+the door again, and sat down as before: with her feet on the fender, the
+skirt of her dress tucked up, and her hands folded on one knee.
+
+‘You were speaking about its being a girl,’ said Miss Betsey. ‘I have no
+doubt it will be a girl. I have a presentiment that it must be a girl.
+Now child, from the moment of the birth of this girl--’
+
+‘Perhaps boy,’ my mother took the liberty of putting in.
+
+‘I tell you I have a presentiment that it must be a girl,’ returned Miss
+Betsey. ‘Don’t contradict. From the moment of this girl’s birth, child,
+I intend to be her friend. I intend to be her godmother, and I beg
+you’ll call her Betsey Trotwood Copperfield. There must be no mistakes
+in life with THIS Betsey Trotwood. There must be no trifling with HER
+affections, poor dear. She must be well brought up, and well guarded
+from reposing any foolish confidences where they are not deserved. I
+must make that MY care.’
+
+There was a twitch of Miss Betsey’s head, after each of these sentences,
+as if her own old wrongs were working within her, and she repressed any
+plainer reference to them by strong constraint. So my mother suspected,
+at least, as she observed her by the low glimmer of the fire: too
+much scared by Miss Betsey, too uneasy in herself, and too subdued and
+bewildered altogether, to observe anything very clearly, or to know what
+to say.
+
+‘And was David good to you, child?’ asked Miss Betsey, when she had been
+silent for a little while, and these motions of her head had gradually
+ceased. ‘Were you comfortable together?’
+
+‘We were very happy,’ said my mother. ‘Mr. Copperfield was only too good
+to me.’
+
+‘What, he spoilt you, I suppose?’ returned Miss Betsey.
+
+‘For being quite alone and dependent on myself in this rough world
+again, yes, I fear he did indeed,’ sobbed my mother.
+
+‘Well! Don’t cry!’ said Miss Betsey. ‘You were not equally matched,
+child--if any two people can be equally matched--and so I asked the
+question. You were an orphan, weren’t you?’ ‘Yes.’
+
+‘And a governess?’
+
+‘I was nursery-governess in a family where Mr. Copperfield came to
+visit. Mr. Copperfield was very kind to me, and took a great deal of
+notice of me, and paid me a good deal of attention, and at last proposed
+to me. And I accepted him. And so we were married,’ said my mother
+simply.
+
+‘Ha! Poor Baby!’ mused Miss Betsey, with her frown still bent upon the
+fire. ‘Do you know anything?’
+
+‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ faltered my mother.
+
+‘About keeping house, for instance,’ said Miss Betsey.
+
+‘Not much, I fear,’ returned my mother. ‘Not so much as I could wish.
+But Mr. Copperfield was teaching me--’
+
+[‘Much he knew about it himself!’) said Miss Betsey in a parenthesis.
+--‘And I hope I should have improved, being very anxious to learn, and
+he very patient to teach me, if the great misfortune of his death’--my
+mother broke down again here, and could get no farther.
+
+‘Well, well!’ said Miss Betsey. --‘I kept my housekeeping-book
+regularly, and balanced it with Mr. Copperfield every night,’ cried my
+mother in another burst of distress, and breaking down again.
+
+‘Well, well!’ said Miss Betsey. ‘Don’t cry any more.’ --‘And I am
+sure we never had a word of difference respecting it, except when Mr.
+Copperfield objected to my threes and fives being too much like each
+other, or to my putting curly tails to my sevens and nines,’ resumed my
+mother in another burst, and breaking down again.
+
+‘You’ll make yourself ill,’ said Miss Betsey, ‘and you know that will
+not be good either for you or for my god-daughter. Come! You mustn’t do
+it!’
+
+This argument had some share in quieting my mother, though her
+increasing indisposition had a larger one. There was an interval of
+silence, only broken by Miss Betsey’s occasionally ejaculating ‘Ha!’ as
+she sat with her feet upon the fender.
+
+‘David had bought an annuity for himself with his money, I know,’ said
+she, by and by. ‘What did he do for you?’
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ said my mother, answering with some difficulty, ‘was
+so considerate and good as to secure the reversion of a part of it to
+me.’
+
+‘How much?’ asked Miss Betsey.
+
+‘A hundred and five pounds a year,’ said my mother.
+
+‘He might have done worse,’ said my aunt.
+
+The word was appropriate to the moment. My mother was so much worse
+that Peggotty, coming in with the teaboard and candles, and seeing at a
+glance how ill she was,--as Miss Betsey might have done sooner if there
+had been light enough,--conveyed her upstairs to her own room with all
+speed; and immediately dispatched Ham Peggotty, her nephew, who had been
+for some days past secreted in the house, unknown to my mother, as a
+special messenger in case of emergency, to fetch the nurse and doctor.
+
+Those allied powers were considerably astonished, when they arrived
+within a few minutes of each other, to find an unknown lady of
+portentous appearance, sitting before the fire, with her bonnet tied
+over her left arm, stopping her ears with jewellers’ cotton. Peggotty
+knowing nothing about her, and my mother saying nothing about her,
+she was quite a mystery in the parlour; and the fact of her having a
+magazine of jewellers’ cotton in her pocket, and sticking the article
+in her ears in that way, did not detract from the solemnity of her
+presence.
+
+The doctor having been upstairs and come down again, and having
+satisfied himself, I suppose, that there was a probability of this
+unknown lady and himself having to sit there, face to face, for some
+hours, laid himself out to be polite and social. He was the meekest of
+his sex, the mildest of little men. He sidled in and out of a room, to
+take up the less space. He walked as softly as the Ghost in Hamlet,
+and more slowly. He carried his head on one side, partly in modest
+depreciation of himself, partly in modest propitiation of everybody
+else. It is nothing to say that he hadn’t a word to throw at a dog. He
+couldn’t have thrown a word at a mad dog. He might have offered him one
+gently, or half a one, or a fragment of one; for he spoke as slowly as
+he walked; but he wouldn’t have been rude to him, and he couldn’t have
+been quick with him, for any earthly consideration.
+
+Mr. Chillip, looking mildly at my aunt with his head on one side, and
+making her a little bow, said, in allusion to the jewellers’ cotton, as
+he softly touched his left ear:
+
+‘Some local irritation, ma’am?’
+
+‘What!’ replied my aunt, pulling the cotton out of one ear like a cork.
+
+Mr. Chillip was so alarmed by her abruptness--as he told my mother
+afterwards--that it was a mercy he didn’t lose his presence of mind. But
+he repeated sweetly:
+
+‘Some local irritation, ma’am?’
+
+‘Nonsense!’ replied my aunt, and corked herself again, at one blow.
+
+Mr. Chillip could do nothing after this, but sit and look at her feebly,
+as she sat and looked at the fire, until he was called upstairs again.
+After some quarter of an hour’s absence, he returned.
+
+‘Well?’ said my aunt, taking the cotton out of the ear nearest to him.
+
+‘Well, ma’am,’ returned Mr. Chillip, ‘we are--we are progressing slowly,
+ma’am.’
+
+‘Ba--a--ah!’ said my aunt, with a perfect shake on the contemptuous
+interjection. And corked herself as before.
+
+Really--really--as Mr. Chillip told my mother, he was almost shocked;
+speaking in a professional point of view alone, he was almost shocked.
+But he sat and looked at her, notwithstanding, for nearly two hours,
+as she sat looking at the fire, until he was again called out. After
+another absence, he again returned.
+
+‘Well?’ said my aunt, taking out the cotton on that side again.
+
+‘Well, ma’am,’ returned Mr. Chillip, ‘we are--we are progressing slowly,
+ma’am.’
+
+‘Ya--a--ah!’ said my aunt. With such a snarl at him, that Mr. Chillip
+absolutely could not bear it. It was really calculated to break his
+spirit, he said afterwards. He preferred to go and sit upon the stairs,
+in the dark and a strong draught, until he was again sent for.
+
+Ham Peggotty, who went to the national school, and was a very dragon at
+his catechism, and who may therefore be regarded as a credible witness,
+reported next day, that happening to peep in at the parlour-door an hour
+after this, he was instantly descried by Miss Betsey, then walking to
+and fro in a state of agitation, and pounced upon before he could make
+his escape. That there were now occasional sounds of feet and voices
+overhead which he inferred the cotton did not exclude, from the
+circumstance of his evidently being clutched by the lady as a victim on
+whom to expend her superabundant agitation when the sounds were loudest.
+That, marching him constantly up and down by the collar (as if he had
+been taking too much laudanum), she, at those times, shook him, rumpled
+his hair, made light of his linen, stopped his ears as if she confounded
+them with her own, and otherwise tousled and maltreated him. This was
+in part confirmed by his aunt, who saw him at half past twelve o’clock,
+soon after his release, and affirmed that he was then as red as I was.
+
+The mild Mr. Chillip could not possibly bear malice at such a time, if
+at any time. He sidled into the parlour as soon as he was at liberty,
+and said to my aunt in his meekest manner:
+
+‘Well, ma’am, I am happy to congratulate you.’
+
+‘What upon?’ said my aunt, sharply.
+
+Mr. Chillip was fluttered again, by the extreme severity of my aunt’s
+manner; so he made her a little bow and gave her a little smile, to
+mollify her.
+
+‘Mercy on the man, what’s he doing!’ cried my aunt, impatiently. ‘Can’t
+he speak?’
+
+‘Be calm, my dear ma’am,’ said Mr. Chillip, in his softest accents.
+
+‘There is no longer any occasion for uneasiness, ma’am. Be calm.’
+
+It has since been considered almost a miracle that my aunt didn’t shake
+him, and shake what he had to say, out of him. She only shook her own
+head at him, but in a way that made him quail.
+
+‘Well, ma’am,’ resumed Mr. Chillip, as soon as he had courage, ‘I am
+happy to congratulate you. All is now over, ma’am, and well over.’
+
+During the five minutes or so that Mr. Chillip devoted to the delivery
+of this oration, my aunt eyed him narrowly.
+
+‘How is she?’ said my aunt, folding her arms with her bonnet still tied
+on one of them.
+
+‘Well, ma’am, she will soon be quite comfortable, I hope,’ returned Mr.
+Chillip. ‘Quite as comfortable as we can expect a young mother to be,
+under these melancholy domestic circumstances. There cannot be any
+objection to your seeing her presently, ma’am. It may do her good.’
+
+‘And SHE. How is SHE?’ said my aunt, sharply.
+
+Mr. Chillip laid his head a little more on one side, and looked at my
+aunt like an amiable bird.
+
+‘The baby,’ said my aunt. ‘How is she?’
+
+‘Ma’am,’ returned Mr. Chillip, ‘I apprehended you had known. It’s a
+boy.’
+
+My aunt said never a word, but took her bonnet by the strings, in the
+manner of a sling, aimed a blow at Mr. Chillip’s head with it, put it on
+bent, walked out, and never came back. She vanished like a discontented
+fairy; or like one of those supernatural beings, whom it was popularly
+supposed I was entitled to see; and never came back any more.
+
+No. I lay in my basket, and my mother lay in her bed; but Betsey
+Trotwood Copperfield was for ever in the land of dreams and shadows, the
+tremendous region whence I had so lately travelled; and the light upon
+the window of our room shone out upon the earthly bourne of all such
+travellers, and the mound above the ashes and the dust that once was he,
+without whom I had never been.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 2. I OBSERVE
+
+
+The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I look
+far back, into the blank of my infancy, are my mother with her pretty
+hair and youthful shape, and Peggotty with no shape at all, and eyes so
+dark that they seemed to darken their whole neighbourhood in her face,
+and cheeks and arms so hard and red that I wondered the birds didn’t
+peck her in preference to apples.
+
+I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart, dwarfed
+to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the floor, and I going
+unsteadily from the one to the other. I have an impression on my mind
+which I cannot distinguish from actual remembrance, of the touch of
+Peggotty’s forefinger as she used to hold it out to me, and of its being
+roughened by needlework, like a pocket nutmeg-grater.
+
+This may be fancy, though I think the memory of most of us can go
+farther back into such times than many of us suppose; just as I believe
+the power of observation in numbers of very young children to be quite
+wonderful for its closeness and accuracy. Indeed, I think that most
+grown men who are remarkable in this respect, may with greater propriety
+be said not to have lost the faculty, than to have acquired it; the
+rather, as I generally observe such men to retain a certain freshness,
+and gentleness, and capacity of being pleased, which are also an
+inheritance they have preserved from their childhood.
+
+I might have a misgiving that I am ‘meandering’ in stopping to say this,
+but that it brings me to remark that I build these conclusions, in part
+upon my own experience of myself; and if it should appear from
+anything I may set down in this narrative that I was a child of close
+observation, or that as a man I have a strong memory of my childhood, I
+undoubtedly lay claim to both of these characteristics.
+
+Looking back, as I was saying, into the blank of my infancy, the first
+objects I can remember as standing out by themselves from a confusion of
+things, are my mother and Peggotty. What else do I remember? Let me see.
+
+
+There comes out of the cloud, our house--not new to me, but quite
+familiar, in its earliest remembrance. On the ground-floor is Peggotty’s
+kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house on a pole, in
+the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a corner,
+without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me,
+walking about, in a menacing and ferocious manner. There is one cock who
+gets upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice of me as
+I look at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is so
+fierce. Of the geese outside the side-gate who come waddling after
+me with their long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream at
+night: as a man environed by wild beasts might dream of lions.
+
+Here is a long passage--what an enormous perspective I make of
+it!--leading from Peggotty’s kitchen to the front door. A dark
+store-room opens out of it, and that is a place to be run past at
+night; for I don’t know what may be among those tubs and jars and old
+tea-chests, when there is nobody in there with a dimly-burning light,
+letting a mouldy air come out of the door, in which there is the smell
+of soap, pickles, pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then
+there are the two parlours: the parlour in which we sit of an evening,
+my mother and I and Peggotty--for Peggotty is quite our companion, when
+her work is done and we are alone--and the best parlour where we sit
+on a Sunday; grandly, but not so comfortably. There is something of a
+doleful air about that room to me, for Peggotty has told me--I don’t
+know when, but apparently ages ago--about my father’s funeral, and the
+company having their black cloaks put on. One Sunday night my mother
+reads to Peggotty and me in there, how Lazarus was raised up from the
+dead. And I am so frightened that they are afterwards obliged to take me
+out of bed, and show me the quiet churchyard out of the bedroom window,
+with the dead all lying in their graves at rest, below the solemn moon.
+
+There is nothing half so green that I know anywhere, as the grass of
+that churchyard; nothing half so shady as its trees; nothing half so
+quiet as its tombstones. The sheep are feeding there, when I kneel up,
+early in the morning, in my little bed in a closet within my mother’s
+room, to look out at it; and I see the red light shining on the
+sun-dial, and think within myself, ‘Is the sun-dial glad, I wonder, that
+it can tell the time again?’
+
+Here is our pew in the church. What a high-backed pew! With a window
+near it, out of which our house can be seen, and IS seen many times
+during the morning’s service, by Peggotty, who likes to make herself
+as sure as she can that it’s not being robbed, or is not in flames. But
+though Peggotty’s eye wanders, she is much offended if mine does,
+and frowns to me, as I stand upon the seat, that I am to look at the
+clergyman. But I can’t always look at him--I know him without that white
+thing on, and I am afraid of his wondering why I stare so, and perhaps
+stopping the service to inquire--and what am I to do? It’s a dreadful
+thing to gape, but I must do something. I look at my mother, but she
+pretends not to see me. I look at a boy in the aisle, and he makes faces
+at me. I look at the sunlight coming in at the open door through
+the porch, and there I see a stray sheep--I don’t mean a sinner, but
+mutton--half making up his mind to come into the church. I feel that
+if I looked at him any longer, I might be tempted to say something out
+loud; and what would become of me then! I look up at the monumental
+tablets on the wall, and try to think of Mr. Bodgers late of this
+parish, and what the feelings of Mrs. Bodgers must have been, when
+affliction sore, long time Mr. Bodgers bore, and physicians were in
+vain. I wonder whether they called in Mr. Chillip, and he was in vain;
+and if so, how he likes to be reminded of it once a week. I look from
+Mr. Chillip, in his Sunday neckcloth, to the pulpit; and think what a
+good place it would be to play in, and what a castle it would make, with
+another boy coming up the stairs to attack it, and having the velvet
+cushion with the tassels thrown down on his head. In time my eyes
+gradually shut up; and, from seeming to hear the clergyman singing a
+drowsy song in the heat, I hear nothing, until I fall off the seat with
+a crash, and am taken out, more dead than alive, by Peggotty.
+
+And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed
+bedroom-windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling air, and the
+ragged old rooks’-nests still dangling in the elm-trees at the bottom
+of the front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond the
+yard where the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are--a very preserve
+of butterflies, as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and
+padlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer than
+fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my
+mother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting furtive
+gooseberries, and trying to look unmoved. A great wind rises, and the
+summer is gone in a moment. We are playing in the winter twilight,
+dancing about the parlour. When my mother is out of breath and rests
+herself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls round
+her fingers, and straitening her waist, and nobody knows better than I
+do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty.
+
+That is among my very earliest impressions. That, and a sense that we
+were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submitted ourselves in most
+things to her direction, were among the first opinions--if they may be
+so called--that I ever derived from what I saw.
+
+Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlour fire, alone. I
+had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I must have read very
+perspicuously, or the poor soul must have been deeply interested, for I
+remember she had a cloudy impression, after I had done, that they were
+a sort of vegetable. I was tired of reading, and dead sleepy; but
+having leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home from
+spending the evening at a neighbour’s, I would rather have died upon
+my post (of course) than have gone to bed. I had reached that stage of
+sleepiness when Peggotty seemed to swell and grow immensely large.
+I propped my eyelids open with my two forefingers, and looked
+perseveringly at her as she sat at work; at the little bit of wax-candle
+she kept for her thread--how old it looked, being so wrinkled in
+all directions!--at the little house with a thatched roof, where the
+yard-measure lived; at her work-box with a sliding lid, with a view of
+St. Paul’s Cathedral (with a pink dome) painted on the top; at the brass
+thimble on her finger; at herself, whom I thought lovely. I felt so
+sleepy, that I knew if I lost sight of anything for a moment, I was
+gone.
+
+‘Peggotty,’ says I, suddenly, ‘were you ever married?’
+
+‘Lord, Master Davy,’ replied Peggotty. ‘What’s put marriage in your
+head?’
+
+She answered with such a start, that it quite awoke me. And then she
+stopped in her work, and looked at me, with her needle drawn out to its
+thread’s length.
+
+‘But WERE you ever married, Peggotty?’ says I. ‘You are a very handsome
+woman, an’t you?’
+
+I thought her in a different style from my mother, certainly; but of
+another school of beauty, I considered her a perfect example. There
+was a red velvet footstool in the best parlour, on which my mother
+had painted a nosegay. The ground-work of that stool, and Peggotty’s
+complexion appeared to me to be one and the same thing. The stool was
+smooth, and Peggotty was rough, but that made no difference.
+
+‘Me handsome, Davy!’ said Peggotty. ‘Lawk, no, my dear! But what put
+marriage in your head?’
+
+‘I don’t know!--You mustn’t marry more than one person at a time, may
+you, Peggotty?’
+
+‘Certainly not,’ says Peggotty, with the promptest decision.
+
+‘But if you marry a person, and the person dies, why then you may marry
+another person, mayn’t you, Peggotty?’
+
+‘YOU MAY,’ says Peggotty, ‘if you choose, my dear. That’s a matter of
+opinion.’
+
+‘But what is your opinion, Peggotty?’ said I.
+
+I asked her, and looked curiously at her, because she looked so
+curiously at me.
+
+‘My opinion is,’ said Peggotty, taking her eyes from me, after a little
+indecision and going on with her work, ‘that I never was married myself,
+Master Davy, and that I don’t expect to be. That’s all I know about the
+subject.’
+
+‘You an’t cross, I suppose, Peggotty, are you?’ said I, after sitting
+quiet for a minute.
+
+I really thought she was, she had been so short with me; but I was quite
+mistaken: for she laid aside her work (which was a stocking of her own),
+and opening her arms wide, took my curly head within them, and gave it
+a good squeeze. I know it was a good squeeze, because, being very plump,
+whenever she made any little exertion after she was dressed, some of the
+buttons on the back of her gown flew off. And I recollect two bursting
+to the opposite side of the parlour, while she was hugging me.
+
+‘Now let me hear some more about the Crorkindills,’ said Peggotty, who
+was not quite right in the name yet, ‘for I an’t heard half enough.’
+
+I couldn’t quite understand why Peggotty looked so queer, or why she
+was so ready to go back to the crocodiles. However, we returned to those
+monsters, with fresh wakefulness on my part, and we left their eggs in
+the sand for the sun to hatch; and we ran away from them, and baffled
+them by constantly turning, which they were unable to do quickly, on
+account of their unwieldy make; and we went into the water after them,
+as natives, and put sharp pieces of timber down their throats; and in
+short we ran the whole crocodile gauntlet. I did, at least; but I had
+my doubts of Peggotty, who was thoughtfully sticking her needle into
+various parts of her face and arms, all the time.
+
+We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with the alligators, when
+the garden-bell rang. We went out to the door; and there was my mother,
+looking unusually pretty, I thought, and with her a gentleman with
+beautiful black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us from
+church last Sunday.
+
+As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms and
+kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little fellow
+than a monarch--or something like that; for my later understanding
+comes, I am sensible, to my aid here.
+
+‘What does that mean?’ I asked him, over her shoulder.
+
+He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn’t like him or his deep
+voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother’s in
+touching me--which it did. I put it away, as well as I could.
+
+‘Oh, Davy!’ remonstrated my mother.
+
+‘Dear boy!’ said the gentleman. ‘I cannot wonder at his devotion!’
+
+I never saw such a beautiful colour on my mother’s face before. She
+gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl,
+turned to thank the gentleman for taking so much trouble as to bring her
+home. She put out her hand to him as she spoke, and, as he met it with
+his own, she glanced, I thought, at me.
+
+‘Let us say “good night”, my fine boy,’ said the gentleman, when he had
+bent his head--I saw him!--over my mother’s little glove.
+
+‘Good night!’ said I.
+
+‘Come! Let us be the best friends in the world!’ said the gentleman,
+laughing. ‘Shake hands!’
+
+My right hand was in my mother’s left, so I gave him the other.
+
+‘Why, that’s the Wrong hand, Davy!’ laughed the gentleman.
+
+My mother drew my right hand forward, but I was resolved, for my former
+reason, not to give it him, and I did not. I gave him the other, and he
+shook it heartily, and said I was a brave fellow, and went away.
+
+At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give us a last
+look with his ill-omened black eyes, before the door was shut.
+
+Peggotty, who had not said a word or moved a finger, secured the
+fastenings instantly, and we all went into the parlour. My mother,
+contrary to her usual habit, instead of coming to the elbow-chair by the
+fire, remained at the other end of the room, and sat singing to herself.
+--‘Hope you have had a pleasant evening, ma’am,’ said Peggotty, standing
+as stiff as a barrel in the centre of the room, with a candlestick in
+her hand.
+
+‘Much obliged to you, Peggotty,’ returned my mother, in a cheerful
+voice, ‘I have had a VERY pleasant evening.’
+
+‘A stranger or so makes an agreeable change,’ suggested Peggotty.
+
+‘A very agreeable change, indeed,’ returned my mother.
+
+Peggotty continuing to stand motionless in the middle of the room, and
+my mother resuming her singing, I fell asleep, though I was not so sound
+asleep but that I could hear voices, without hearing what they said.
+When I half awoke from this uncomfortable doze, I found Peggotty and my
+mother both in tears, and both talking.
+
+‘Not such a one as this, Mr. Copperfield wouldn’t have liked,’ said
+Peggotty. ‘That I say, and that I swear!’
+
+‘Good Heavens!’ cried my mother, ‘you’ll drive me mad! Was ever any
+poor girl so ill-used by her servants as I am! Why do I do myself
+the injustice of calling myself a girl? Have I never been married,
+Peggotty?’
+
+‘God knows you have, ma’am,’ returned Peggotty. ‘Then, how can you
+dare,’ said my mother--‘you know I don’t mean how can you dare,
+Peggotty, but how can you have the heart--to make me so uncomfortable
+and say such bitter things to me, when you are well aware that I
+haven’t, out of this place, a single friend to turn to?’
+
+‘The more’s the reason,’ returned Peggotty, ‘for saying that it won’t
+do. No! That it won’t do. No! No price could make it do. No!’--I thought
+Peggotty would have thrown the candlestick away, she was so emphatic
+with it.
+
+‘How can you be so aggravating,’ said my mother, shedding more tears
+than before, ‘as to talk in such an unjust manner! How can you go on as
+if it was all settled and arranged, Peggotty, when I tell you over
+and over again, you cruel thing, that beyond the commonest civilities
+nothing has passed! You talk of admiration. What am I to do? If people
+are so silly as to indulge the sentiment, is it my fault? What am I to
+do, I ask you? Would you wish me to shave my head and black my face, or
+disfigure myself with a burn, or a scald, or something of that sort? I
+dare say you would, Peggotty. I dare say you’d quite enjoy it.’
+
+Peggotty seemed to take this aspersion very much to heart, I thought.
+
+‘And my dear boy,’ cried my mother, coming to the elbow-chair in which
+I was, and caressing me, ‘my own little Davy! Is it to be hinted to me
+that I am wanting in affection for my precious treasure, the dearest
+little fellow that ever was!’
+
+‘Nobody never went and hinted no such a thing,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘You did, Peggotty!’ returned my mother. ‘You know you did. What else
+was it possible to infer from what you said, you unkind creature,
+when you know as well as I do, that on his account only last quarter I
+wouldn’t buy myself a new parasol, though that old green one is frayed
+the whole way up, and the fringe is perfectly mangy? You know it is,
+Peggotty. You can’t deny it.’ Then, turning affectionately to me, with
+her cheek against mine, ‘Am I a naughty mama to you, Davy? Am I a nasty,
+cruel, selfish, bad mama? Say I am, my child; say “yes”, dear boy, and
+Peggotty will love you; and Peggotty’s love is a great deal better than
+mine, Davy. I don’t love you at all, do I?’
+
+At this, we all fell a-crying together. I think I was the loudest of
+the party, but I am sure we were all sincere about it. I was quite
+heart-broken myself, and am afraid that in the first transports of
+wounded tenderness I called Peggotty a ‘Beast’. That honest creature was
+in deep affliction, I remember, and must have become quite buttonless
+on the occasion; for a little volley of those explosives went off,
+when, after having made it up with my mother, she kneeled down by the
+elbow-chair, and made it up with me.
+
+We went to bed greatly dejected. My sobs kept waking me, for a long
+time; and when one very strong sob quite hoisted me up in bed, I found
+my mother sitting on the coverlet, and leaning over me. I fell asleep in
+her arms, after that, and slept soundly.
+
+Whether it was the following Sunday when I saw the gentleman again,
+or whether there was any greater lapse of time before he reappeared,
+I cannot recall. I don’t profess to be clear about dates. But there he
+was, in church, and he walked home with us afterwards. He came in, too,
+to look at a famous geranium we had, in the parlour-window. It did not
+appear to me that he took much notice of it, but before he went he asked
+my mother to give him a bit of the blossom. She begged him to choose it
+for himself, but he refused to do that--I could not understand why--so
+she plucked it for him, and gave it into his hand. He said he would
+never, never part with it any more; and I thought he must be quite a
+fool not to know that it would fall to pieces in a day or two.
+
+Peggotty began to be less with us, of an evening, than she had always
+been. My mother deferred to her very much--more than usual, it occurred
+to me--and we were all three excellent friends; still we were different
+from what we used to be, and were not so comfortable among ourselves.
+Sometimes I fancied that Peggotty perhaps objected to my mother’s
+wearing all the pretty dresses she had in her drawers, or to her
+going so often to visit at that neighbour’s; but I couldn’t, to my
+satisfaction, make out how it was.
+
+Gradually, I became used to seeing the gentleman with the black
+whiskers. I liked him no better than at first, and had the same uneasy
+jealousy of him; but if I had any reason for it beyond a child’s
+instinctive dislike, and a general idea that Peggotty and I could make
+much of my mother without any help, it certainly was not THE reason that
+I might have found if I had been older. No such thing came into my mind,
+or near it. I could observe, in little pieces, as it were; but as to
+making a net of a number of these pieces, and catching anybody in it,
+that was, as yet, beyond me.
+
+One autumn morning I was with my mother in the front garden, when Mr.
+Murdstone--I knew him by that name now--came by, on horseback. He reined
+up his horse to salute my mother, and said he was going to Lowestoft to
+see some friends who were there with a yacht, and merrily proposed to
+take me on the saddle before him if I would like the ride.
+
+The air was so clear and pleasant, and the horse seemed to like the
+idea of the ride so much himself, as he stood snorting and pawing at the
+garden-gate, that I had a great desire to go. So I was sent upstairs
+to Peggotty to be made spruce; and in the meantime Mr. Murdstone
+dismounted, and, with his horse’s bridle drawn over his arm, walked
+slowly up and down on the outer side of the sweetbriar fence, while my
+mother walked slowly up and down on the inner to keep him company. I
+recollect Peggotty and I peeping out at them from my little window; I
+recollect how closely they seemed to be examining the sweetbriar between
+them, as they strolled along; and how, from being in a perfectly angelic
+temper, Peggotty turned cross in a moment, and brushed my hair the wrong
+way, excessively hard.
+
+Mr. Murdstone and I were soon off, and trotting along on the green turf
+by the side of the road. He held me quite easily with one arm, and I
+don’t think I was restless usually; but I could not make up my mind to
+sit in front of him without turning my head sometimes, and looking up in
+his face. He had that kind of shallow black eye--I want a better word to
+express an eye that has no depth in it to be looked into--which, when
+it is abstracted, seems from some peculiarity of light to be disfigured,
+for a moment at a time, by a cast. Several times when I glanced at him,
+I observed that appearance with a sort of awe, and wondered what he
+was thinking about so closely. His hair and whiskers were blacker and
+thicker, looked at so near, than even I had given them credit for being.
+A squareness about the lower part of his face, and the dotted indication
+of the strong black beard he shaved close every day, reminded me of
+the wax-work that had travelled into our neighbourhood some half-a-year
+before. This, his regular eyebrows, and the rich white, and black, and
+brown, of his complexion--confound his complexion, and his memory!--made
+me think him, in spite of my misgivings, a very handsome man. I have no
+doubt that my poor dear mother thought him so too.
+
+We went to an hotel by the sea, where two gentlemen were smoking cigars
+in a room by themselves. Each of them was lying on at least four chairs,
+and had a large rough jacket on. In a corner was a heap of coats and
+boat-cloaks, and a flag, all bundled up together.
+
+They both rolled on to their feet in an untidy sort of manner, when we
+came in, and said, ‘Halloa, Murdstone! We thought you were dead!’
+
+‘Not yet,’ said Mr. Murdstone.
+
+‘And who’s this shaver?’ said one of the gentlemen, taking hold of me.
+
+‘That’s Davy,’ returned Mr. Murdstone.
+
+‘Davy who?’ said the gentleman. ‘Jones?’
+
+‘Copperfield,’ said Mr. Murdstone.
+
+‘What! Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield’s encumbrance?’ cried the gentleman.
+‘The pretty little widow?’
+
+‘Quinion,’ said Mr. Murdstone, ‘take care, if you please. Somebody’s
+sharp.’
+
+‘Who is?’ asked the gentleman, laughing. I looked up, quickly; being
+curious to know.
+
+‘Only Brooks of Sheffield,’ said Mr. Murdstone.
+
+I was quite relieved to find that it was only Brooks of Sheffield; for,
+at first, I really thought it was I.
+
+There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of Mr.
+Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when he
+was mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone was a good deal amused also. After some
+laughing, the gentleman whom he had called Quinion, said:
+
+‘And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in reference to the
+projected business?’
+
+‘Why, I don’t know that Brooks understands much about it at present,’
+replied Mr. Murdstone; ‘but he is not generally favourable, I believe.’
+
+There was more laughter at this, and Mr. Quinion said he would ring the
+bell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks. This he did; and when
+the wine came, he made me have a little, with a biscuit, and, before
+I drank it, stand up and say, ‘Confusion to Brooks of Sheffield!’ The
+toast was received with great applause, and such hearty laughter that
+it made me laugh too; at which they laughed the more. In short, we quite
+enjoyed ourselves.
+
+We walked about on the cliff after that, and sat on the grass, and
+looked at things through a telescope--I could make out nothing myself
+when it was put to my eye, but I pretended I could--and then we came
+back to the hotel to an early dinner. All the time we were out, the two
+gentlemen smoked incessantly--which, I thought, if I might judge from
+the smell of their rough coats, they must have been doing, ever since
+the coats had first come home from the tailor’s. I must not forget that
+we went on board the yacht, where they all three descended into the
+cabin, and were busy with some papers. I saw them quite hard at work,
+when I looked down through the open skylight. They left me, during this
+time, with a very nice man with a very large head of red hair and a very
+small shiny hat upon it, who had got a cross-barred shirt or waistcoat
+on, with ‘Skylark’ in capital letters across the chest. I thought it was
+his name; and that as he lived on board ship and hadn’t a street door
+to put his name on, he put it there instead; but when I called him Mr.
+Skylark, he said it meant the vessel.
+
+I observed all day that Mr. Murdstone was graver and steadier than the
+two gentlemen. They were very gay and careless. They joked freely with
+one another, but seldom with him. It appeared to me that he was
+more clever and cold than they were, and that they regarded him with
+something of my own feeling. I remarked that, once or twice when Mr.
+Quinion was talking, he looked at Mr. Murdstone sideways, as if to make
+sure of his not being displeased; and that once when Mr. Passnidge (the
+other gentleman) was in high spirits, he trod upon his foot, and gave
+him a secret caution with his eyes, to observe Mr. Murdstone, who was
+sitting stern and silent. Nor do I recollect that Mr. Murdstone laughed
+at all that day, except at the Sheffield joke--and that, by the by, was
+his own.
+
+We went home early in the evening. It was a very fine evening, and my
+mother and he had another stroll by the sweetbriar, while I was sent in
+to get my tea. When he was gone, my mother asked me all about the day I
+had had, and what they had said and done. I mentioned what they had said
+about her, and she laughed, and told me they were impudent fellows who
+talked nonsense--but I knew it pleased her. I knew it quite as well as
+I know it now. I took the opportunity of asking if she was at all
+acquainted with Mr. Brooks of Sheffield, but she answered No, only she
+supposed he must be a manufacturer in the knife and fork way.
+
+Can I say of her face--altered as I have reason to remember it, perished
+as I know it is--that it is gone, when here it comes before me at this
+instant, as distinct as any face that I may choose to look on in a
+crowded street? Can I say of her innocent and girlish beauty, that it
+faded, and was no more, when its breath falls on my cheek now, as it
+fell that night? Can I say she ever changed, when my remembrance brings
+her back to life, thus only; and, truer to its loving youth than I have
+been, or man ever is, still holds fast what it cherished then?
+
+I write of her just as she was when I had gone to bed after this talk,
+and she came to bid me good night. She kneeled down playfully by the
+side of the bed, and laying her chin upon her hands, and laughing, said:
+
+‘What was it they said, Davy? Tell me again. I can’t believe it.’
+
+‘“Bewitching--“’ I began.
+
+My mother put her hands upon my lips to stop me.
+
+‘It was never bewitching,’ she said, laughing. ‘It never could have been
+bewitching, Davy. Now I know it wasn’t!’
+
+‘Yes, it was. “Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield”,’ I repeated stoutly. ‘And,
+“pretty.”’
+
+‘No, no, it was never pretty. Not pretty,’ interposed my mother, laying
+her fingers on my lips again.
+
+‘Yes it was. “Pretty little widow.”’
+
+‘What foolish, impudent creatures!’ cried my mother, laughing and
+covering her face. ‘What ridiculous men! An’t they? Davy dear--’
+
+‘Well, Ma.’
+
+‘Don’t tell Peggotty; she might be angry with them. I am dreadfully
+angry with them myself; but I would rather Peggotty didn’t know.’
+
+I promised, of course; and we kissed one another over and over again,
+and I soon fell fast asleep.
+
+It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if it were the next day
+when Peggotty broached the striking and adventurous proposition I am
+about to mention; but it was probably about two months afterwards.
+
+We were sitting as before, one evening (when my mother was out as
+before), in company with the stocking and the yard-measure, and the bit
+of wax, and the box with St. Paul’s on the lid, and the crocodile book,
+when Peggotty, after looking at me several times, and opening her mouth
+as if she were going to speak, without doing it--which I thought was
+merely gaping, or I should have been rather alarmed--said coaxingly:
+
+‘Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a
+fortnight at my brother’s at Yarmouth? Wouldn’t that be a treat?’
+
+‘Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?’ I inquired, provisionally.
+
+‘Oh, what an agreeable man he is!’ cried Peggotty, holding up her hands.
+‘Then there’s the sea; and the boats and ships; and the fishermen; and
+the beach; and Am to play with--’
+
+Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, mentioned in my first chapter; but she
+spoke of him as a morsel of English Grammar.
+
+I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied that it would
+indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?
+
+‘Why then I’ll as good as bet a guinea,’ said Peggotty, intent upon my
+face, ‘that she’ll let us go. I’ll ask her, if you like, as soon as ever
+she comes home. There now!’
+
+‘But what’s she to do while we’re away?’ said I, putting my small elbows
+on the table to argue the point. ‘She can’t live by herself.’
+
+If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the heel of
+that stocking, it must have been a very little one indeed, and not worth
+darning.
+
+‘I say! Peggotty! She can’t live by herself, you know.’
+
+‘Oh, bless you!’ said Peggotty, looking at me again at last. ‘Don’t
+you know? She’s going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs.
+Grayper’s going to have a lot of company.’
+
+Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in the utmost
+impatience, until my mother came home from Mrs. Grayper’s (for it was
+that identical neighbour), to ascertain if we could get leave to carry
+out this great idea. Without being nearly so much surprised as I had
+expected, my mother entered into it readily; and it was all arranged
+that night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be paid
+for.
+
+The day soon came for our going. It was such an early day that it came
+soon, even to me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half afraid
+that an earthquake or a fiery mountain, or some other great convulsion
+of nature, might interpose to stop the expedition. We were to go in a
+carrier’s cart, which departed in the morning after breakfast. I would
+have given any money to have been allowed to wrap myself up over-night,
+and sleep in my hat and boots.
+
+It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to recollect how
+eager I was to leave my happy home; to think how little I suspected what
+I did leave for ever.
+
+I am glad to recollect that when the carrier’s cart was at the gate, and
+my mother stood there kissing me, a grateful fondness for her and for
+the old place I had never turned my back upon before, made me cry. I am
+glad to know that my mother cried too, and that I felt her heart beat
+against mine.
+
+I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, my mother
+ran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that she might kiss me
+once more. I am glad to dwell upon the earnestness and love with which
+she lifted up her face to mine, and did so.
+
+As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up to where
+she was, and seemed to expostulate with her for being so moved. I was
+looking back round the awning of the cart, and wondered what business
+it was of his. Peggotty, who was also looking back on the other side,
+seemed anything but satisfied; as the face she brought back in the cart
+denoted.
+
+I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on this
+supposititious case: whether, if she were employed to lose me like the
+boy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way home again by
+the buttons she would shed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 3. I HAVE A CHANGE
+
+
+The carrier’s horse was the laziest horse in the world, I should hope,
+and shuffled along, with his head down, as if he liked to keep people
+waiting to whom the packages were directed. I fancied, indeed, that he
+sometimes chuckled audibly over this reflection, but the carrier said
+he was only troubled with a cough. The carrier had a way of keeping his
+head down, like his horse, and of drooping sleepily forward as he drove,
+with one of his arms on each of his knees. I say ‘drove’, but it struck
+me that the cart would have gone to Yarmouth quite as well without him,
+for the horse did all that; and as to conversation, he had no idea of it
+but whistling.
+
+Peggotty had a basket of refreshments on her knee, which would have
+lasted us out handsomely, if we had been going to London by the same
+conveyance. We ate a good deal, and slept a good deal. Peggotty always
+went to sleep with her chin upon the handle of the basket, her hold of
+which never relaxed; and I could not have believed unless I had heard
+her do it, that one defenceless woman could have snored so much.
+
+We made so many deviations up and down lanes, and were such a long time
+delivering a bedstead at a public-house, and calling at other places,
+that I was quite tired, and very glad, when we saw Yarmouth. It looked
+rather spongy and soppy, I thought, as I carried my eye over the great
+dull waste that lay across the river; and I could not help wondering, if
+the world were really as round as my geography book said, how any
+part of it came to be so flat. But I reflected that Yarmouth might be
+situated at one of the poles; which would account for it.
+
+As we drew a little nearer, and saw the whole adjacent prospect lying a
+straight low line under the sky, I hinted to Peggotty that a mound or so
+might have improved it; and also that if the land had been a little more
+separated from the sea, and the town and the tide had not been quite
+so much mixed up, like toast and water, it would have been nicer. But
+Peggotty said, with greater emphasis than usual, that we must take
+things as we found them, and that, for her part, she was proud to call
+herself a Yarmouth Bloater.
+
+When we got into the street (which was strange enough to me) and smelt
+the fish, and pitch, and oakum, and tar, and saw the sailors walking
+about, and the carts jingling up and down over the stones, I felt that I
+had done so busy a place an injustice; and said as much to Peggotty, who
+heard my expressions of delight with great complacency, and told me it
+was well known (I suppose to those who had the good fortune to be born
+Bloaters) that Yarmouth was, upon the whole, the finest place in the
+universe.
+
+‘Here’s my Am!’ screamed Peggotty, ‘growed out of knowledge!’
+
+He was waiting for us, in fact, at the public-house; and asked me how I
+found myself, like an old acquaintance. I did not feel, at first, that
+I knew him as well as he knew me, because he had never come to our house
+since the night I was born, and naturally he had the advantage of me.
+But our intimacy was much advanced by his taking me on his back to carry
+me home. He was, now, a huge, strong fellow of six feet high, broad in
+proportion, and round-shouldered; but with a simpering boy’s face and
+curly light hair that gave him quite a sheepish look. He was dressed in
+a canvas jacket, and a pair of such very stiff trousers that they
+would have stood quite as well alone, without any legs in them. And you
+couldn’t so properly have said he wore a hat, as that he was covered in
+a-top, like an old building, with something pitchy.
+
+Ham carrying me on his back and a small box of ours under his arm,
+and Peggotty carrying another small box of ours, we turned down lanes
+bestrewn with bits of chips and little hillocks of sand, and went
+past gas-works, rope-walks, boat-builders’ yards, shipwrights’ yards,
+ship-breakers’ yards, caulkers’ yards, riggers’ lofts, smiths’ forges,
+and a great litter of such places, until we came out upon the dull waste
+I had already seen at a distance; when Ham said,
+
+‘Yon’s our house, Mas’r Davy!’
+
+I looked in all directions, as far as I could stare over the wilderness,
+and away at the sea, and away at the river, but no house could I make
+out. There was a black barge, or some other kind of superannuated boat,
+not far off, high and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel sticking
+out of it for a chimney and smoking very cosily; but nothing else in the
+way of a habitation that was visible to me.
+
+‘That’s not it?’ said I. ‘That ship-looking thing?’
+
+‘That’s it, Mas’r Davy,’ returned Ham.
+
+If it had been Aladdin’s palace, roc’s egg and all, I suppose I could
+not have been more charmed with the romantic idea of living in it. There
+was a delightful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there
+were little windows in it; but the wonderful charm of it was, that
+it was a real boat which had no doubt been upon the water hundreds of
+times, and which had never been intended to be lived in, on dry land.
+That was the captivation of it to me. If it had ever been meant to be
+lived in, I might have thought it small, or inconvenient, or lonely; but
+never having been designed for any such use, it became a perfect abode.
+
+It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. There was a
+table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and on the chest of
+drawers there was a tea-tray with a painting on it of a lady with a
+parasol, taking a walk with a military-looking child who was trundling a
+hoop. The tray was kept from tumbling down, by a bible; and the tray, if
+it had tumbled down, would have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers
+and a teapot that were grouped around the book. On the walls there were
+some common coloured pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects;
+such as I have never seen since in the hands of pedlars, without seeing
+the whole interior of Peggotty’s brother’s house again, at one view.
+Abraham in red going to sacrifice Isaac in blue, and Daniel in yellow
+cast into a den of green lions, were the most prominent of these. Over
+the little mantelshelf, was a picture of the ‘Sarah Jane’ lugger, built
+at Sunderland, with a real little wooden stern stuck on to it; a work of
+art, combining composition with carpentry, which I considered to be one
+of the most enviable possessions that the world could afford. There
+were some hooks in the beams of the ceiling, the use of which I did not
+divine then; and some lockers and boxes and conveniences of that sort,
+which served for seats and eked out the chairs.
+
+All this I saw in the first glance after I crossed the
+threshold--child-like, according to my theory--and then Peggotty opened
+a little door and showed me my bedroom. It was the completest and most
+desirable bedroom ever seen--in the stern of the vessel; with a little
+window, where the rudder used to go through; a little looking-glass,
+just the right height for me, nailed against the wall, and framed with
+oyster-shells; a little bed, which there was just room enough to get
+into; and a nosegay of seaweed in a blue mug on the table. The walls
+were whitewashed as white as milk, and the patchwork counterpane made my
+eyes quite ache with its brightness. One thing I particularly noticed
+in this delightful house, was the smell of fish; which was so searching,
+that when I took out my pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it
+smelt exactly as if it had wrapped up a lobster. On my imparting this
+discovery in confidence to Peggotty, she informed me that her brother
+dealt in lobsters, crabs, and crawfish; and I afterwards found that a
+heap of these creatures, in a state of wonderful conglomeration with one
+another, and never leaving off pinching whatever they laid hold of,
+were usually to be found in a little wooden outhouse where the pots and
+kettles were kept.
+
+We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, whom I had seen
+curtseying at the door when I was on Ham’s back, about a quarter of a
+mile off. Likewise by a most beautiful little girl (or I thought her so)
+with a necklace of blue beads on, who wouldn’t let me kiss her when I
+offered to, but ran away and hid herself. By and by, when we had dined
+in a sumptuous manner off boiled dabs, melted butter, and potatoes, with
+a chop for me, a hairy man with a very good-natured face came home. As
+he called Peggotty ‘Lass’, and gave her a hearty smack on the cheek, I
+had no doubt, from the general propriety of her conduct, that he was her
+brother; and so he turned out--being presently introduced to me as Mr.
+Peggotty, the master of the house.
+
+‘Glad to see you, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘You’ll find us rough, sir,
+but you’ll find us ready.’
+
+I thanked him, and replied that I was sure I should be happy in such a
+delightful place.
+
+‘How’s your Ma, sir?’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘Did you leave her pretty
+jolly?’
+
+I gave Mr. Peggotty to understand that she was as jolly as I could wish,
+and that she desired her compliments--which was a polite fiction on my
+part.
+
+‘I’m much obleeged to her, I’m sure,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘Well, sir,
+if you can make out here, fur a fortnut, ‘long wi’ her,’ nodding at his
+sister, ‘and Ham, and little Em’ly, we shall be proud of your company.’
+
+Having done the honours of his house in this hospitable manner, Mr.
+Peggotty went out to wash himself in a kettleful of hot water, remarking
+that ‘cold would never get his muck off’. He soon returned, greatly
+improved in appearance; but so rubicund, that I couldn’t help
+thinking his face had this in common with the lobsters, crabs, and
+crawfish,--that it went into the hot water very black, and came out very
+red.
+
+After tea, when the door was shut and all was made snug (the nights
+being cold and misty now), it seemed to me the most delicious retreat
+that the imagination of man could conceive. To hear the wind getting
+up out at sea, to know that the fog was creeping over the desolate flat
+outside, and to look at the fire, and think that there was no house near
+but this one, and this one a boat, was like enchantment. Little Em’ly
+had overcome her shyness, and was sitting by my side upon the lowest and
+least of the lockers, which was just large enough for us two, and just
+fitted into the chimney corner. Mrs. Peggotty with the white apron, was
+knitting on the opposite side of the fire. Peggotty at her needlework
+was as much at home with St. Paul’s and the bit of wax-candle, as if
+they had never known any other roof. Ham, who had been giving me my
+first lesson in all-fours, was trying to recollect a scheme of telling
+fortunes with the dirty cards, and was printing off fishy impressions of
+his thumb on all the cards he turned. Mr. Peggotty was smoking his pipe.
+I felt it was a time for conversation and confidence.
+
+‘Mr. Peggotty!’ says I.
+
+‘Sir,’ says he.
+
+‘Did you give your son the name of Ham, because you lived in a sort of
+ark?’
+
+Mr. Peggotty seemed to think it a deep idea, but answered:
+
+‘No, sir. I never giv him no name.’
+
+‘Who gave him that name, then?’ said I, putting question number two of
+the catechism to Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘Why, sir, his father giv it him,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘I thought you were his father!’
+
+‘My brother Joe was his father,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘Dead, Mr. Peggotty?’ I hinted, after a respectful pause.
+
+‘Drowndead,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+I was very much surprised that Mr. Peggotty was not Ham’s father, and
+began to wonder whether I was mistaken about his relationship to anybody
+else there. I was so curious to know, that I made up my mind to have it
+out with Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘Little Em’ly,’ I said, glancing at her. ‘She is your daughter, isn’t
+she, Mr. Peggotty?’
+
+‘No, sir. My brother-in-law, Tom, was her father.’
+
+I couldn’t help it. ‘--Dead, Mr. Peggotty?’ I hinted, after another
+respectful silence.
+
+‘Drowndead,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+I felt the difficulty of resuming the subject, but had not got to the
+bottom of it yet, and must get to the bottom somehow. So I said:
+
+‘Haven’t you ANY children, Mr. Peggotty?’
+
+‘No, master,’ he answered with a short laugh. ‘I’m a bacheldore.’
+
+‘A bachelor!’ I said, astonished. ‘Why, who’s that, Mr. Peggotty?’
+pointing to the person in the apron who was knitting.
+
+‘That’s Missis Gummidge,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘Gummidge, Mr. Peggotty?’
+
+But at this point Peggotty--I mean my own peculiar Peggotty--made such
+impressive motions to me not to ask any more questions, that I could
+only sit and look at all the silent company, until it was time to go to
+bed. Then, in the privacy of my own little cabin, she informed me that
+Ham and Em’ly were an orphan nephew and niece, whom my host had
+at different times adopted in their childhood, when they were left
+destitute: and that Mrs. Gummidge was the widow of his partner in
+a boat, who had died very poor. He was but a poor man himself, said
+Peggotty, but as good as gold and as true as steel--those were her
+similes. The only subject, she informed me, on which he ever showed a
+violent temper or swore an oath, was this generosity of his; and if it
+were ever referred to, by any one of them, he struck the table a heavy
+blow with his right hand (had split it on one such occasion), and swore
+a dreadful oath that he would be ‘Gormed’ if he didn’t cut and run
+for good, if it was ever mentioned again. It appeared, in answer to
+my inquiries, that nobody had the least idea of the etymology of this
+terrible verb passive to be gormed; but that they all regarded it as
+constituting a most solemn imprecation.
+
+I was very sensible of my entertainer’s goodness, and listened to the
+women’s going to bed in another little crib like mine at the opposite
+end of the boat, and to him and Ham hanging up two hammocks for
+themselves on the hooks I had noticed in the roof, in a very luxurious
+state of mind, enhanced by my being sleepy. As slumber gradually stole
+upon me, I heard the wind howling out at sea and coming on across the
+flat so fiercely, that I had a lazy apprehension of the great deep
+rising in the night. But I bethought myself that I was in a boat, after
+all; and that a man like Mr. Peggotty was not a bad person to have on
+board if anything did happen.
+
+Nothing happened, however, worse than morning. Almost as soon as it
+shone upon the oyster-shell frame of my mirror I was out of bed, and out
+with little Em’ly, picking up stones upon the beach.
+
+‘You’re quite a sailor, I suppose?’ I said to Em’ly. I don’t know that I
+supposed anything of the kind, but I felt it an act of gallantry to
+say something; and a shining sail close to us made such a pretty little
+image of itself, at the moment, in her bright eye, that it came into my
+head to say this.
+
+‘No,’ replied Em’ly, shaking her head, ‘I’m afraid of the sea.’
+
+‘Afraid!’ I said, with a becoming air of boldness, and looking very big
+at the mighty ocean. ‘I an’t!’
+
+‘Ah! but it’s cruel,’ said Em’ly. ‘I have seen it very cruel to some of
+our men. I have seen it tear a boat as big as our house, all to pieces.’
+
+‘I hope it wasn’t the boat that--’
+
+‘That father was drownded in?’ said Em’ly. ‘No. Not that one, I never
+see that boat.’
+
+‘Nor him?’ I asked her.
+
+Little Em’ly shook her head. ‘Not to remember!’
+
+Here was a coincidence! I immediately went into an explanation how I had
+never seen my own father; and how my mother and I had always lived
+by ourselves in the happiest state imaginable, and lived so then, and
+always meant to live so; and how my father’s grave was in the churchyard
+near our house, and shaded by a tree, beneath the boughs of which I had
+walked and heard the birds sing many a pleasant morning. But there were
+some differences between Em’ly’s orphanhood and mine, it appeared. She
+had lost her mother before her father; and where her father’s grave was
+no one knew, except that it was somewhere in the depths of the sea.
+
+‘Besides,’ said Em’ly, as she looked about for shells and pebbles, ‘your
+father was a gentleman and your mother is a lady; and my father was a
+fisherman and my mother was a fisherman’s daughter, and my uncle Dan is
+a fisherman.’
+
+‘Dan is Mr. Peggotty, is he?’ said I.
+
+‘Uncle Dan--yonder,’ answered Em’ly, nodding at the boat-house.
+
+‘Yes. I mean him. He must be very good, I should think?’
+
+‘Good?’ said Em’ly. ‘If I was ever to be a lady, I’d give him a sky-blue
+coat with diamond buttons, nankeen trousers, a red velvet waistcoat, a
+cocked hat, a large gold watch, a silver pipe, and a box of money.’
+
+I said I had no doubt that Mr. Peggotty well deserved these treasures.
+I must acknowledge that I felt it difficult to picture him quite at his
+ease in the raiment proposed for him by his grateful little niece, and
+that I was particularly doubtful of the policy of the cocked hat; but I
+kept these sentiments to myself.
+
+Little Em’ly had stopped and looked up at the sky in her enumeration
+of these articles, as if they were a glorious vision. We went on again,
+picking up shells and pebbles.
+
+‘You would like to be a lady?’ I said.
+
+Emily looked at me, and laughed and nodded ‘yes’.
+
+‘I should like it very much. We would all be gentlefolks together, then.
+Me, and uncle, and Ham, and Mrs. Gummidge. We wouldn’t mind then, when
+there comes stormy weather.---Not for our own sakes, I mean. We would
+for the poor fishermen’s, to be sure, and we’d help ‘em with money when
+they come to any hurt.’ This seemed to me to be a very satisfactory and
+therefore not at all improbable picture. I expressed my pleasure in the
+contemplation of it, and little Em’ly was emboldened to say, shyly,
+
+‘Don’t you think you are afraid of the sea, now?’
+
+It was quiet enough to reassure me, but I have no doubt if I had seen a
+moderately large wave come tumbling in, I should have taken to my heels,
+with an awful recollection of her drowned relations. However, I said
+‘No,’ and I added, ‘You don’t seem to be either, though you say you
+are,’--for she was walking much too near the brink of a sort of old
+jetty or wooden causeway we had strolled upon, and I was afraid of her
+falling over.
+
+‘I’m not afraid in this way,’ said little Em’ly. ‘But I wake when it
+blows, and tremble to think of Uncle Dan and Ham and believe I hear ‘em
+crying out for help. That’s why I should like so much to be a lady. But
+I’m not afraid in this way. Not a bit. Look here!’
+
+She started from my side, and ran along a jagged timber which protruded
+from the place we stood upon, and overhung the deep water at some
+height, without the least defence. The incident is so impressed on my
+remembrance, that if I were a draughtsman I could draw its form here,
+I dare say, accurately as it was that day, and little Em’ly springing
+forward to her destruction (as it appeared to me), with a look that I
+have never forgotten, directed far out to sea.
+
+The light, bold, fluttering little figure turned and came back safe
+to me, and I soon laughed at my fears, and at the cry I had uttered;
+fruitlessly in any case, for there was no one near. But there have been
+times since, in my manhood, many times there have been, when I have
+thought, Is it possible, among the possibilities of hidden things, that
+in the sudden rashness of the child and her wild look so far off, there
+was any merciful attraction of her into danger, any tempting her towards
+him permitted on the part of her dead father, that her life might have
+a chance of ending that day? There has been a time since when I have
+wondered whether, if the life before her could have been revealed to me
+at a glance, and so revealed as that a child could fully comprehend it,
+and if her preservation could have depended on a motion of my hand, I
+ought to have held it up to save her. There has been a time since--I do
+not say it lasted long, but it has been--when I have asked myself the
+question, would it have been better for little Em’ly to have had the
+waters close above her head that morning in my sight; and when I have
+answered Yes, it would have been.
+
+This may be premature. I have set it down too soon, perhaps. But let it
+stand.
+
+We strolled a long way, and loaded ourselves with things that we thought
+curious, and put some stranded starfish carefully back into the water--I
+hardly know enough of the race at this moment to be quite certain
+whether they had reason to feel obliged to us for doing so, or the
+reverse--and then made our way home to Mr. Peggotty’s dwelling. We
+stopped under the lee of the lobster-outhouse to exchange an innocent
+kiss, and went in to breakfast glowing with health and pleasure.
+
+‘Like two young mavishes,’ Mr. Peggotty said. I knew this meant, in our
+local dialect, like two young thrushes, and received it as a compliment.
+
+Of course I was in love with little Em’ly. I am sure I loved that
+baby quite as truly, quite as tenderly, with greater purity and more
+disinterestedness, than can enter into the best love of a later time
+of life, high and ennobling as it is. I am sure my fancy raised up
+something round that blue-eyed mite of a child, which etherealized,
+and made a very angel of her. If, any sunny forenoon, she had spread
+a little pair of wings and flown away before my eyes, I don’t think I
+should have regarded it as much more than I had had reason to expect.
+
+We used to walk about that dim old flat at Yarmouth in a loving manner,
+hours and hours. The days sported by us, as if Time had not grown up
+himself yet, but were a child too, and always at play. I told Em’ly
+I adored her, and that unless she confessed she adored me I should be
+reduced to the necessity of killing myself with a sword. She said she
+did, and I have no doubt she did.
+
+As to any sense of inequality, or youthfulness, or other difficulty
+in our way, little Em’ly and I had no such trouble, because we had no
+future. We made no more provision for growing older, than we did for
+growing younger. We were the admiration of Mrs. Gummidge and Peggotty,
+who used to whisper of an evening when we sat, lovingly, on our little
+locker side by side, ‘Lor! wasn’t it beautiful!’ Mr. Peggotty smiled at
+us from behind his pipe, and Ham grinned all the evening and did nothing
+else. They had something of the sort of pleasure in us, I suppose, that
+they might have had in a pretty toy, or a pocket model of the Colosseum.
+
+I soon found out that Mrs. Gummidge did not always make herself so
+agreeable as she might have been expected to do, under the circumstances
+of her residence with Mr. Peggotty. Mrs. Gummidge’s was rather a fretful
+disposition, and she whimpered more sometimes than was comfortable for
+other parties in so small an establishment. I was very sorry for
+her; but there were moments when it would have been more agreeable, I
+thought, if Mrs. Gummidge had had a convenient apartment of her own to
+retire to, and had stopped there until her spirits revived.
+
+Mr. Peggotty went occasionally to a public-house called The Willing
+Mind. I discovered this, by his being out on the second or third evening
+of our visit, and by Mrs. Gummidge’s looking up at the Dutch clock,
+between eight and nine, and saying he was there, and that, what was
+more, she had known in the morning he would go there.
+
+Mrs. Gummidge had been in a low state all day, and had burst into tears
+in the forenoon, when the fire smoked. ‘I am a lone lorn creetur’,’ were
+Mrs. Gummidge’s words, when that unpleasant occurrence took place, ‘and
+everythink goes contrary with me.’
+
+‘Oh, it’ll soon leave off,’ said Peggotty--I again mean our
+Peggotty--‘and besides, you know, it’s not more disagreeable to you than
+to us.’
+
+‘I feel it more,’ said Mrs. Gummidge.
+
+It was a very cold day, with cutting blasts of wind. Mrs. Gummidge’s
+peculiar corner of the fireside seemed to me to be the warmest and
+snuggest in the place, as her chair was certainly the easiest, but it
+didn’t suit her that day at all. She was constantly complaining of the
+cold, and of its occasioning a visitation in her back which she called
+‘the creeps’. At last she shed tears on that subject, and said again
+that she was ‘a lone lorn creetur’ and everythink went contrary with
+her’.
+
+‘It is certainly very cold,’ said Peggotty. ‘Everybody must feel it so.’
+
+‘I feel it more than other people,’ said Mrs. Gummidge.
+
+So at dinner; when Mrs. Gummidge was always helped immediately after me,
+to whom the preference was given as a visitor of distinction. The
+fish were small and bony, and the potatoes were a little burnt. We all
+acknowledged that we felt this something of a disappointment; but Mrs.
+Gummidge said she felt it more than we did, and shed tears again, and
+made that former declaration with great bitterness.
+
+Accordingly, when Mr. Peggotty came home about nine o’clock, this
+unfortunate Mrs. Gummidge was knitting in her corner, in a very wretched
+and miserable condition. Peggotty had been working cheerfully. Ham had
+been patching up a great pair of waterboots; and I, with little Em’ly
+by my side, had been reading to them. Mrs. Gummidge had never made any
+other remark than a forlorn sigh, and had never raised her eyes since
+tea.
+
+‘Well, Mates,’ said Mr. Peggotty, taking his seat, ‘and how are you?’
+
+We all said something, or looked something, to welcome him, except Mrs.
+Gummidge, who only shook her head over her knitting.
+
+‘What’s amiss?’ said Mr. Peggotty, with a clap of his hands. ‘Cheer up,
+old Mawther!’ (Mr. Peggotty meant old girl.)
+
+Mrs. Gummidge did not appear to be able to cheer up. She took out an old
+black silk handkerchief and wiped her eyes; but instead of putting it
+in her pocket, kept it out, and wiped them again, and still kept it out,
+ready for use.
+
+‘What’s amiss, dame?’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘Nothing,’ returned Mrs. Gummidge. ‘You’ve come from The Willing Mind,
+Dan’l?’
+
+‘Why yes, I’ve took a short spell at The Willing Mind tonight,’ said Mr.
+Peggotty.
+
+‘I’m sorry I should drive you there,’ said Mrs. Gummidge.
+
+‘Drive! I don’t want no driving,’ returned Mr. Peggotty with an honest
+laugh. ‘I only go too ready.’
+
+‘Very ready,’ said Mrs. Gummidge, shaking her head, and wiping her eyes.
+‘Yes, yes, very ready. I am sorry it should be along of me that you’re
+so ready.’
+
+‘Along o’ you! It an’t along o’ you!’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘Don’t ye
+believe a bit on it.’
+
+‘Yes, yes, it is,’ cried Mrs. Gummidge. ‘I know what I am. I know that I
+am a lone lorn creetur’, and not only that everythink goes contrary with
+me, but that I go contrary with everybody. Yes, yes. I feel more than
+other people do, and I show it more. It’s my misfortun’.’
+
+I really couldn’t help thinking, as I sat taking in all this, that the
+misfortune extended to some other members of that family besides Mrs.
+Gummidge. But Mr. Peggotty made no such retort, only answering with
+another entreaty to Mrs. Gummidge to cheer up.
+
+‘I an’t what I could wish myself to be,’ said Mrs. Gummidge. ‘I am far
+from it. I know what I am. My troubles has made me contrary. I feel my
+troubles, and they make me contrary. I wish I didn’t feel ‘em, but I
+do. I wish I could be hardened to ‘em, but I an’t. I make the house
+uncomfortable. I don’t wonder at it. I’ve made your sister so all day,
+and Master Davy.’
+
+Here I was suddenly melted, and roared out, ‘No, you haven’t, Mrs.
+Gummidge,’ in great mental distress.
+
+‘It’s far from right that I should do it,’ said Mrs. Gummidge. ‘It an’t
+a fit return. I had better go into the house and die. I am a lone lorn
+creetur’, and had much better not make myself contrary here. If thinks
+must go contrary with me, and I must go contrary myself, let me go
+contrary in my parish. Dan’l, I’d better go into the house, and die and
+be a riddance!’
+
+Mrs. Gummidge retired with these words, and betook herself to bed. When
+she was gone, Mr. Peggotty, who had not exhibited a trace of any feeling
+but the profoundest sympathy, looked round upon us, and nodding his head
+with a lively expression of that sentiment still animating his face,
+said in a whisper:
+
+‘She’s been thinking of the old ‘un!’
+
+I did not quite understand what old one Mrs. Gummidge was supposed to
+have fixed her mind upon, until Peggotty, on seeing me to bed, explained
+that it was the late Mr. Gummidge; and that her brother always took that
+for a received truth on such occasions, and that it always had a moving
+effect upon him. Some time after he was in his hammock that night, I
+heard him myself repeat to Ham, ‘Poor thing! She’s been thinking of the
+old ‘un!’ And whenever Mrs. Gummidge was overcome in a similar manner
+during the remainder of our stay (which happened some few times), he
+always said the same thing in extenuation of the circumstance, and
+always with the tenderest commiseration.
+
+So the fortnight slipped away, varied by nothing but the variation of
+the tide, which altered Mr. Peggotty’s times of going out and coming in,
+and altered Ham’s engagements also. When the latter was unemployed, he
+sometimes walked with us to show us the boats and ships, and once
+or twice he took us for a row. I don’t know why one slight set of
+impressions should be more particularly associated with a place than
+another, though I believe this obtains with most people, in reference
+especially to the associations of their childhood. I never hear the
+name, or read the name, of Yarmouth, but I am reminded of a certain
+Sunday morning on the beach, the bells ringing for church, little Em’ly
+leaning on my shoulder, Ham lazily dropping stones into the water, and
+the sun, away at sea, just breaking through the heavy mist, and showing
+us the ships, like their own shadows.
+
+At last the day came for going home. I bore up against the separation
+from Mr. Peggotty and Mrs. Gummidge, but my agony of mind at leaving
+little Em’ly was piercing. We went arm-in-arm to the public-house where
+the carrier put up, and I promised, on the road, to write to her. (I
+redeemed that promise afterwards, in characters larger than those in
+which apartments are usually announced in manuscript, as being to let.)
+We were greatly overcome at parting; and if ever, in my life, I have had
+a void made in my heart, I had one made that day.
+
+Now, all the time I had been on my visit, I had been ungrateful to my
+home again, and had thought little or nothing about it. But I was no
+sooner turned towards it, than my reproachful young conscience seemed
+to point that way with a ready finger; and I felt, all the more for the
+sinking of my spirits, that it was my nest, and that my mother was my
+comforter and friend.
+
+This gained upon me as we went along; so that the nearer we drew, the
+more familiar the objects became that we passed, the more excited I was
+to get there, and to run into her arms. But Peggotty, instead of sharing
+in those transports, tried to check them (though very kindly), and
+looked confused and out of sorts.
+
+Blunderstone Rookery would come, however, in spite of her, when the
+carrier’s horse pleased--and did. How well I recollect it, on a cold
+grey afternoon, with a dull sky, threatening rain!
+
+The door opened, and I looked, half laughing and half crying in my
+pleasant agitation, for my mother. It was not she, but a strange
+servant.
+
+‘Why, Peggotty!’ I said, ruefully, ‘isn’t she come home?’
+
+‘Yes, yes, Master Davy,’ said Peggotty. ‘She’s come home. Wait a bit,
+Master Davy, and I’ll--I’ll tell you something.’
+
+Between her agitation, and her natural awkwardness in getting out of the
+cart, Peggotty was making a most extraordinary festoon of herself, but
+I felt too blank and strange to tell her so. When she had got down, she
+took me by the hand; led me, wondering, into the kitchen; and shut the
+door.
+
+‘Peggotty!’ said I, quite frightened. ‘What’s the matter?’
+
+‘Nothing’s the matter, bless you, Master Davy dear!’ she answered,
+assuming an air of sprightliness.
+
+‘Something’s the matter, I’m sure. Where’s mama?’
+
+‘Where’s mama, Master Davy?’ repeated Peggotty.
+
+‘Yes. Why hasn’t she come out to the gate, and what have we come in here
+for? Oh, Peggotty!’ My eyes were full, and I felt as if I were going to
+tumble down.
+
+‘Bless the precious boy!’ cried Peggotty, taking hold of me. ‘What is
+it? Speak, my pet!’
+
+‘Not dead, too! Oh, she’s not dead, Peggotty?’
+
+Peggotty cried out No! with an astonishing volume of voice; and then sat
+down, and began to pant, and said I had given her a turn.
+
+I gave her a hug to take away the turn, or to give her another turn
+in the right direction, and then stood before her, looking at her in
+anxious inquiry.
+
+‘You see, dear, I should have told you before now,’ said Peggotty,
+‘but I hadn’t an opportunity. I ought to have made it, perhaps, but
+I couldn’t azackly’--that was always the substitute for exactly, in
+Peggotty’s militia of words--‘bring my mind to it.’
+
+‘Go on, Peggotty,’ said I, more frightened than before.
+
+‘Master Davy,’ said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a shaking hand,
+and speaking in a breathless sort of way. ‘What do you think? You have
+got a Pa!’
+
+I trembled, and turned white. Something--I don’t know what, or
+how--connected with the grave in the churchyard, and the raising of the
+dead, seemed to strike me like an unwholesome wind.
+
+‘A new one,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘A new one?’ I repeated.
+
+Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something that was very
+hard, and, putting out her hand, said:
+
+‘Come and see him.’
+
+‘I don’t want to see him.’ --‘And your mama,’ said Peggotty.
+
+I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlour, where
+she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other, Mr.
+Murdstone. My mother dropped her work, and arose hurriedly, but timidly
+I thought.
+
+‘Now, Clara my dear,’ said Mr. Murdstone. ‘Recollect! control yourself,
+always control yourself! Davy boy, how do you do?’
+
+I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went and kissed my
+mother: she kissed me, patted me gently on the shoulder, and sat down
+again to her work. I could not look at her, I could not look at him,
+I knew quite well that he was looking at us both; and I turned to the
+window and looked out there, at some shrubs that were drooping their
+heads in the cold.
+
+As soon as I could creep away, I crept upstairs. My old dear bedroom was
+changed, and I was to lie a long way off. I rambled downstairs to find
+anything that was like itself, so altered it all seemed; and roamed into
+the yard. I very soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel
+was filled up with a great dog--deep mouthed and black-haired like
+Him--and he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprang out to get at
+me.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 4. I FALL INTO DISGRACE
+
+
+If the room to which my bed was removed were a sentient thing that could
+give evidence, I might appeal to it at this day--who sleeps there now,
+I wonder!--to bear witness for me what a heavy heart I carried to it.
+I went up there, hearing the dog in the yard bark after me all the way
+while I climbed the stairs; and, looking as blank and strange upon the
+room as the room looked upon me, sat down with my small hands crossed,
+and thought.
+
+I thought of the oddest things. Of the shape of the room, of the
+cracks in the ceiling, of the paper on the walls, of the flaws in
+the window-glass making ripples and dimples on the prospect, of the
+washing-stand being rickety on its three legs, and having a discontented
+something about it, which reminded me of Mrs. Gummidge under the
+influence of the old one. I was crying all the time, but, except that I
+was conscious of being cold and dejected, I am sure I never thought
+why I cried. At last in my desolation I began to consider that I was
+dreadfully in love with little Em’ly, and had been torn away from her to
+come here where no one seemed to want me, or to care about me, half as
+much as she did. This made such a very miserable piece of business of
+it, that I rolled myself up in a corner of the counterpane, and cried
+myself to sleep.
+
+I was awoke by somebody saying ‘Here he is!’ and uncovering my hot head.
+My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me, and it was one of them
+who had done it.
+
+‘Davy,’ said my mother. ‘What’s the matter?’
+
+I thought it was very strange that she should ask me, and answered,
+‘Nothing.’ I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling
+lip, which answered her with greater truth. ‘Davy,’ said my mother.
+‘Davy, my child!’
+
+I dare say no words she could have uttered would have affected me
+so much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the
+bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have
+raised me up.
+
+‘This is your doing, Peggotty, you cruel thing!’ said my mother. ‘I have
+no doubt at all about it. How can you reconcile it to your conscience,
+I wonder, to prejudice my own boy against me, or against anybody who is
+dear to me? What do you mean by it, Peggotty?’
+
+Poor Peggotty lifted up her hands and eyes, and only answered, in a
+sort of paraphrase of the grace I usually repeated after dinner, ‘Lord
+forgive you, Mrs. Copperfield, and for what you have said this minute,
+may you never be truly sorry!’
+
+‘It’s enough to distract me,’ cried my mother. ‘In my honeymoon, too,
+when my most inveterate enemy might relent, one would think, and not
+envy me a little peace of mind and happiness. Davy, you naughty boy!
+Peggotty, you savage creature! Oh, dear me!’ cried my mother, turning
+from one of us to the other, in her pettish wilful manner, ‘what a
+troublesome world this is, when one has the most right to expect it to
+be as agreeable as possible!’
+
+I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor Peggotty’s,
+and slipped to my feet at the bed-side. It was Mr. Murdstone’s hand, and
+he kept it on my arm as he said:
+
+‘What’s this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten?--Firmness, my dear!’
+
+‘I am very sorry, Edward,’ said my mother. ‘I meant to be very good, but
+I am so uncomfortable.’
+
+‘Indeed!’ he answered. ‘That’s a bad hearing, so soon, Clara.’
+
+‘I say it’s very hard I should be made so now,’ returned my mother,
+pouting; ‘and it is--very hard--isn’t it?’
+
+He drew her to him, whispered in her ear, and kissed her. I knew as
+well, when I saw my mother’s head lean down upon his shoulder, and her
+arm touch his neck--I knew as well that he could mould her pliant nature
+into any form he chose, as I know, now, that he did it.
+
+‘Go you below, my love,’ said Mr. Murdstone. ‘David and I will come
+down, together. My friend,’ turning a darkening face on Peggotty, when
+he had watched my mother out, and dismissed her with a nod and a smile;
+‘do you know your mistress’s name?’
+
+‘She has been my mistress a long time, sir,’ answered Peggotty, ‘I ought
+to know it.’ ‘That’s true,’ he answered. ‘But I thought I heard you, as
+I came upstairs, address her by a name that is not hers. She has taken
+mine, you know. Will you remember that?’
+
+Peggotty, with some uneasy glances at me, curtseyed herself out of the
+room without replying; seeing, I suppose, that she was expected to go,
+and had no excuse for remaining. When we two were left alone, he shut
+the door, and sitting on a chair, and holding me standing before him,
+looked steadily into my eyes. I felt my own attracted, no less steadily,
+to his. As I recall our being opposed thus, face to face, I seem again
+to hear my heart beat fast and high.
+
+‘David,’ he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, ‘if I
+have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?’
+
+‘I don’t know.’
+
+‘I beat him.’
+
+I had answered in a kind of breathless whisper, but I felt, in my
+silence, that my breath was shorter now.
+
+‘I make him wince, and smart. I say to myself, “I’ll conquer that
+fellow”; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should do
+it. What is that upon your face?’
+
+‘Dirt,’ I said.
+
+He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked the
+question twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my baby
+heart would have burst before I would have told him so.
+
+‘You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow,’ he said,
+with a grave smile that belonged to him, ‘and you understood me very
+well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me.’
+
+He pointed to the washing-stand, which I had made out to be like Mrs.
+Gummidge, and motioned me with his head to obey him directly. I had
+little doubt then, and I have less doubt now, that he would have knocked
+me down without the least compunction, if I had hesitated.
+
+‘Clara, my dear,’ he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked me
+into the parlour, with his hand still on my arm; ‘you will not be made
+uncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthful
+humours.’
+
+God help me, I might have been improved for my whole life, I might have
+been made another creature perhaps, for life, by a kind word at that
+season. A word of encouragement and explanation, of pity for my childish
+ignorance, of welcome home, of reassurance to me that it was home, might
+have made me dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in my
+hypocritical outside, and might have made me respect instead of hate
+him. I thought my mother was sorry to see me standing in the room so
+scared and strange, and that, presently, when I stole to a chair, she
+followed me with her eyes more sorrowfully still--missing, perhaps, some
+freedom in my childish tread--but the word was not spoken, and the time
+for it was gone.
+
+We dined alone, we three together. He seemed to be very fond of my
+mother--I am afraid I liked him none the better for that--and she was
+very fond of him. I gathered from what they said, that an elder sister
+of his was coming to stay with them, and that she was expected that
+evening. I am not certain whether I found out then, or afterwards, that,
+without being actively concerned in any business, he had some share in,
+or some annual charge upon the profits of, a wine-merchant’s house
+in London, with which his family had been connected from his
+great-grandfather’s time, and in which his sister had a similar
+interest; but I may mention it in this place, whether or no.
+
+After dinner, when we were sitting by the fire, and I was meditating an
+escape to Peggotty without having the hardihood to slip away, lest
+it should offend the master of the house, a coach drove up to the
+garden-gate and he went out to receive the visitor. My mother followed
+him. I was timidly following her, when she turned round at the parlour
+door, in the dusk, and taking me in her embrace as she had been used to
+do, whispered me to love my new father and be obedient to him. She did
+this hurriedly and secretly, as if it were wrong, but tenderly; and,
+putting out her hand behind her, held mine in it, until we came near
+to where he was standing in the garden, where she let mine go, and drew
+hers through his arm.
+
+It was Miss Murdstone who was arrived, and a gloomy-looking lady she
+was; dark, like her brother, whom she greatly resembled in face and
+voice; and with very heavy eyebrows, nearly meeting over her large nose,
+as if, being disabled by the wrongs of her sex from wearing whiskers,
+she had carried them to that account. She brought with her two
+uncompromising hard black boxes, with her initials on the lids in hard
+brass nails. When she paid the coachman she took her money out of a hard
+steel purse, and she kept the purse in a very jail of a bag which hung
+upon her arm by a heavy chain, and shut up like a bite. I had never, at
+that time, seen such a metallic lady altogether as Miss Murdstone was.
+
+She was brought into the parlour with many tokens of welcome, and there
+formally recognized my mother as a new and near relation. Then she
+looked at me, and said:
+
+‘Is that your boy, sister-in-law?’
+
+My mother acknowledged me.
+
+‘Generally speaking,’ said Miss Murdstone, ‘I don’t like boys. How d’ye
+do, boy?’
+
+Under these encouraging circumstances, I replied that I was very well,
+and that I hoped she was the same; with such an indifferent grace, that
+Miss Murdstone disposed of me in two words:
+
+‘Wants manner!’
+
+Having uttered which, with great distinctness, she begged the favour of
+being shown to her room, which became to me from that time forth a place
+of awe and dread, wherein the two black boxes were never seen open or
+known to be left unlocked, and where (for I peeped in once or twice when
+she was out) numerous little steel fetters and rivets, with which Miss
+Murdstone embellished herself when she was dressed, generally hung upon
+the looking-glass in formidable array.
+
+As well as I could make out, she had come for good, and had no intention
+of ever going again. She began to ‘help’ my mother next morning, and was
+in and out of the store-closet all day, putting things to rights, and
+making havoc in the old arrangements. Almost the first remarkable thing
+I observed in Miss Murdstone was, her being constantly haunted by
+a suspicion that the servants had a man secreted somewhere on the
+premises. Under the influence of this delusion, she dived into the
+coal-cellar at the most untimely hours, and scarcely ever opened the
+door of a dark cupboard without clapping it to again, in the belief that
+she had got him.
+
+Though there was nothing very airy about Miss Murdstone, she was a
+perfect Lark in point of getting up. She was up (and, as I believe
+to this hour, looking for that man) before anybody in the house was
+stirring. Peggotty gave it as her opinion that she even slept with one
+eye open; but I could not concur in this idea; for I tried it myself
+after hearing the suggestion thrown out, and found it couldn’t be done.
+
+On the very first morning after her arrival she was up and ringing her
+bell at cock-crow. When my mother came down to breakfast and was going
+to make the tea, Miss Murdstone gave her a kind of peck on the cheek,
+which was her nearest approach to a kiss, and said:
+
+‘Now, Clara, my dear, I am come here, you know, to relieve you of all
+the trouble I can. You’re much too pretty and thoughtless’--my mother
+blushed but laughed, and seemed not to dislike this character--‘to have
+any duties imposed upon you that can be undertaken by me. If you’ll be
+so good as give me your keys, my dear, I’ll attend to all this sort of
+thing in future.’
+
+From that time, Miss Murdstone kept the keys in her own little jail all
+day, and under her pillow all night, and my mother had no more to do
+with them than I had.
+
+My mother did not suffer her authority to pass from her without a shadow
+of protest. One night when Miss Murdstone had been developing certain
+household plans to her brother, of which he signified his approbation,
+my mother suddenly began to cry, and said she thought she might have
+been consulted.
+
+‘Clara!’ said Mr. Murdstone sternly. ‘Clara! I wonder at you.’
+
+‘Oh, it’s very well to say you wonder, Edward!’ cried my mother, ‘and
+it’s very well for you to talk about firmness, but you wouldn’t like it
+yourself.’
+
+Firmness, I may observe, was the grand quality on which both Mr. and
+Miss Murdstone took their stand. However I might have expressed
+my comprehension of it at that time, if I had been called upon, I
+nevertheless did clearly comprehend in my own way, that it was another
+name for tyranny; and for a certain gloomy, arrogant, devil’s humour,
+that was in them both. The creed, as I should state it now, was this.
+Mr. Murdstone was firm; nobody in his world was to be so firm as Mr.
+Murdstone; nobody else in his world was to be firm at all, for everybody
+was to be bent to his firmness. Miss Murdstone was an exception.
+She might be firm, but only by relationship, and in an inferior and
+tributary degree. My mother was another exception. She might be firm,
+and must be; but only in bearing their firmness, and firmly believing
+there was no other firmness upon earth.
+
+‘It’s very hard,’ said my mother, ‘that in my own house--’
+
+‘My own house?’ repeated Mr. Murdstone. ‘Clara!’
+
+‘OUR own house, I mean,’ faltered my mother, evidently frightened--‘I
+hope you must know what I mean, Edward--it’s very hard that in YOUR own
+house I may not have a word to say about domestic matters. I am sure
+I managed very well before we were married. There’s evidence,’ said my
+mother, sobbing; ‘ask Peggotty if I didn’t do very well when I wasn’t
+interfered with!’
+
+‘Edward,’ said Miss Murdstone, ‘let there be an end of this. I go
+tomorrow.’
+
+‘Jane Murdstone,’ said her brother, ‘be silent! How dare you to
+insinuate that you don’t know my character better than your words
+imply?’
+
+‘I am sure,’ my poor mother went on, at a grievous disadvantage, and
+with many tears, ‘I don’t want anybody to go. I should be very
+miserable and unhappy if anybody was to go. I don’t ask much. I am not
+unreasonable. I only want to be consulted sometimes. I am very much
+obliged to anybody who assists me, and I only want to be consulted as a
+mere form, sometimes. I thought you were pleased, once, with my being a
+little inexperienced and girlish, Edward--I am sure you said so--but you
+seem to hate me for it now, you are so severe.’
+
+‘Edward,’ said Miss Murdstone, again, ‘let there be an end of this. I go
+tomorrow.’
+
+‘Jane Murdstone,’ thundered Mr. Murdstone. ‘Will you be silent? How dare
+you?’
+
+Miss Murdstone made a jail-delivery of her pocket-handkerchief, and held
+it before her eyes.
+
+‘Clara,’ he continued, looking at my mother, ‘you surprise me! You
+astound me! Yes, I had a satisfaction in the thought of marrying
+an inexperienced and artless person, and forming her character, and
+infusing into it some amount of that firmness and decision of which
+it stood in need. But when Jane Murdstone is kind enough to come to my
+assistance in this endeavour, and to assume, for my sake, a condition
+something like a housekeeper’s, and when she meets with a base return--’
+
+‘Oh, pray, pray, Edward,’ cried my mother, ‘don’t accuse me of being
+ungrateful. I am sure I am not ungrateful. No one ever said I was
+before. I have many faults, but not that. Oh, don’t, my dear!’
+
+‘When Jane Murdstone meets, I say,’ he went on, after waiting until my
+mother was silent, ‘with a base return, that feeling of mine is chilled
+and altered.’
+
+‘Don’t, my love, say that!’ implored my mother very piteously.
+‘Oh, don’t, Edward! I can’t bear to hear it. Whatever I am, I am
+affectionate. I know I am affectionate. I wouldn’t say it, if I
+wasn’t sure that I am. Ask Peggotty. I am sure she’ll tell you I’m
+affectionate.’
+
+‘There is no extent of mere weakness, Clara,’ said Mr. Murdstone in
+reply, ‘that can have the least weight with me. You lose breath.’
+
+‘Pray let us be friends,’ said my mother, ‘I couldn’t live under
+coldness or unkindness. I am so sorry. I have a great many defects, I
+know, and it’s very good of you, Edward, with your strength of mind, to
+endeavour to correct them for me. Jane, I don’t object to anything. I
+should be quite broken-hearted if you thought of leaving--’ My mother
+was too much overcome to go on.
+
+‘Jane Murdstone,’ said Mr. Murdstone to his sister, ‘any harsh words
+between us are, I hope, uncommon. It is not my fault that so unusual an
+occurrence has taken place tonight. I was betrayed into it by another.
+Nor is it your fault. You were betrayed into it by another. Let us both
+try to forget it. And as this,’ he added, after these magnanimous words,
+‘is not a fit scene for the boy--David, go to bed!’
+
+I could hardly find the door, through the tears that stood in my eyes.
+I was so sorry for my mother’s distress; but I groped my way out, and
+groped my way up to my room in the dark, without even having the heart
+to say good night to Peggotty, or to get a candle from her. When her
+coming up to look for me, an hour or so afterwards, awoke me, she said
+that my mother had gone to bed poorly, and that Mr. and Miss Murdstone
+were sitting alone.
+
+Going down next morning rather earlier than usual, I paused outside the
+parlour door, on hearing my mother’s voice. She was very earnestly and
+humbly entreating Miss Murdstone’s pardon, which that lady granted, and
+a perfect reconciliation took place. I never knew my mother afterwards
+to give an opinion on any matter, without first appealing to Miss
+Murdstone, or without having first ascertained by some sure means, what
+Miss Murdstone’s opinion was; and I never saw Miss Murdstone, when out
+of temper (she was infirm that way), move her hand towards her bag as
+if she were going to take out the keys and offer to resign them to my
+mother, without seeing that my mother was in a terrible fright.
+
+The gloomy taint that was in the Murdstone blood, darkened the Murdstone
+religion, which was austere and wrathful. I have thought, since,
+that its assuming that character was a necessary consequence of Mr.
+Murdstone’s firmness, which wouldn’t allow him to let anybody off from
+the utmost weight of the severest penalties he could find any excuse
+for. Be this as it may, I well remember the tremendous visages with
+which we used to go to church, and the changed air of the place. Again,
+the dreaded Sunday comes round, and I file into the old pew first, like
+a guarded captive brought to a condemned service. Again, Miss Murdstone,
+in a black velvet gown, that looks as if it had been made out of a pall,
+follows close upon me; then my mother; then her husband. There is no
+Peggotty now, as in the old time. Again, I listen to Miss Murdstone
+mumbling the responses, and emphasizing all the dread words with a cruel
+relish. Again, I see her dark eyes roll round the church when she says
+‘miserable sinners’, as if she were calling all the congregation names.
+Again, I catch rare glimpses of my mother, moving her lips timidly
+between the two, with one of them muttering at each ear like low
+thunder. Again, I wonder with a sudden fear whether it is likely that
+our good old clergyman can be wrong, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone right,
+and that all the angels in Heaven can be destroying angels. Again, if I
+move a finger or relax a muscle of my face, Miss Murdstone pokes me with
+her prayer-book, and makes my side ache.
+
+Yes, and again, as we walk home, I note some neighbours looking at my
+mother and at me, and whispering. Again, as the three go on arm-in-arm,
+and I linger behind alone, I follow some of those looks, and wonder if
+my mother’s step be really not so light as I have seen it, and if the
+gaiety of her beauty be really almost worried away. Again, I wonder
+whether any of the neighbours call to mind, as I do, how we used to
+walk home together, she and I; and I wonder stupidly about that, all the
+dreary dismal day.
+
+There had been some talk on occasions of my going to boarding-school.
+Mr. and Miss Murdstone had originated it, and my mother had of course
+agreed with them. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet.
+In the meantime, I learnt lessons at home. Shall I ever forget those
+lessons! They were presided over nominally by my mother, but really by
+Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always present, and found them
+a favourable occasion for giving my mother lessons in that miscalled
+firmness, which was the bane of both our lives. I believe I was kept
+at home for that purpose. I had been apt enough to learn, and willing
+enough, when my mother and I had lived alone together. I can faintly
+remember learning the alphabet at her knee. To this day, when I look
+upon the fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of their
+shapes, and the easy good-nature of O and Q and S, seem to present
+themselves again before me as they used to do. But they recall no
+feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, I seem to have walked
+along a path of flowers as far as the crocodile-book, and to have been
+cheered by the gentleness of my mother’s voice and manner all the
+way. But these solemn lessons which succeeded those, I remember as the
+death-blow of my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They
+were very long, very numerous, very hard--perfectly unintelligible,
+some of them, to me--and I was generally as much bewildered by them as I
+believe my poor mother was herself.
+
+Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again.
+
+I come into the second-best parlour after breakfast, with my books,
+and an exercise-book, and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her
+writing-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair
+by the window (though he pretends to be reading a book), or as Miss
+Murdstone, sitting near my mother stringing steel beads. The very sight
+of these two has such an influence over me, that I begin to feel the
+words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head, all sliding
+away, and going I don’t know where. I wonder where they do go, by the
+by?
+
+I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps a
+history, or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I give
+it into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I have
+got it fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip
+over another word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble over
+half-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the book
+if she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly:
+
+‘Oh, Davy, Davy!’
+
+‘Now, Clara,’ says Mr. Murdstone, ‘be firm with the boy. Don’t say, “Oh,
+Davy, Davy!” That’s childish. He knows his lesson, or he does not know
+it.’
+
+‘He does NOT know it,’ Miss Murdstone interposes awfully.
+
+‘I am really afraid he does not,’ says my mother.
+
+‘Then, you see, Clara,’ returns Miss Murdstone, ‘you should just give
+him the book back, and make him know it.’
+
+‘Yes, certainly,’ says my mother; ‘that is what I intend to do, my dear
+Jane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don’t be stupid.’
+
+I obey the first clause of the injunction by trying once more, but am
+not so successful with the second, for I am very stupid. I tumble down
+before I get to the old place, at a point where I was all right before,
+and stop to think. But I can’t think about the lesson. I think of the
+number of yards of net in Miss Murdstone’s cap, or of the price of Mr.
+Murdstone’s dressing-gown, or any such ridiculous problem that I have
+no business with, and don’t want to have anything at all to do with. Mr.
+Murdstone makes a movement of impatience which I have been expecting
+for a long time. Miss Murdstone does the same. My mother glances
+submissively at them, shuts the book, and lays it by as an arrear to be
+worked out when my other tasks are done.
+
+There is a pile of these arrears very soon, and it swells like a rolling
+snowball. The bigger it gets, the more stupid I get. The case is so
+hopeless, and I feel that I am wallowing in such a bog of nonsense, that
+I give up all idea of getting out, and abandon myself to my fate. The
+despairing way in which my mother and I look at each other, as I blunder
+on, is truly melancholy. But the greatest effect in these miserable
+lessons is when my mother (thinking nobody is observing her) tries
+to give me the cue by the motion of her lips. At that instant, Miss
+Murdstone, who has been lying in wait for nothing else all along, says
+in a deep warning voice:
+
+‘Clara!’
+
+My mother starts, colours, and smiles faintly. Mr. Murdstone comes out
+of his chair, takes the book, throws it at me or boxes my ears with it,
+and turns me out of the room by the shoulders.
+
+Even when the lessons are done, the worst is yet to happen, in the shape
+of an appalling sum. This is invented for me, and delivered to me orally
+by Mr. Murdstone, and begins, ‘If I go into a cheesemonger’s shop, and
+buy five thousand double-Gloucester cheeses at fourpence-halfpenny each,
+present payment’--at which I see Miss Murdstone secretly overjoyed.
+I pore over these cheeses without any result or enlightenment until
+dinner-time, when, having made a Mulatto of myself by getting the dirt
+of the slate into the pores of my skin, I have a slice of bread to help
+me out with the cheeses, and am considered in disgrace for the rest of
+the evening.
+
+It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if my unfortunate studies
+generally took this course. I could have done very well if I had been
+without the Murdstones; but the influence of the Murdstones upon me was
+like the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird. Even when
+I did get through the morning with tolerable credit, there was not
+much gained but dinner; for Miss Murdstone never could endure to see me
+untasked, and if I rashly made any show of being unemployed, called her
+brother’s attention to me by saying, ‘Clara, my dear, there’s nothing
+like work--give your boy an exercise’; which caused me to be clapped
+down to some new labour, there and then. As to any recreation with other
+children of my age, I had very little of that; for the gloomy theology
+of the Murdstones made all children out to be a swarm of little vipers
+(though there WAS a child once set in the midst of the Disciples), and
+held that they contaminated one another.
+
+The natural result of this treatment, continued, I suppose, for some six
+months or more, was to make me sullen, dull, and dogged. I was not
+made the less so by my sense of being daily more and more shut out and
+alienated from my mother. I believe I should have been almost stupefied
+but for one circumstance.
+
+It was this. My father had left a small collection of books in a little
+room upstairs, to which I had access (for it adjoined my own) and which
+nobody else in our house ever troubled. From that blessed little room,
+Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, the
+Vicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gil Blas, and Robinson Crusoe, came
+out, a glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alive my fancy, and
+my hope of something beyond that place and time,--they, and the Arabian
+Nights, and the Tales of the Genii,--and did me no harm; for whatever
+harm was in some of them was not there for me; I knew nothing of it. It
+is astonishing to me now, how I found time, in the midst of my porings
+and blunderings over heavier themes, to read those books as I did. It
+is curious to me how I could ever have consoled myself under my
+small troubles (which were great troubles to me), by impersonating my
+favourite characters in them--as I did--and by putting Mr. and Miss
+Murdstone into all the bad ones--which I did too. I have been Tom Jones
+(a child’s Tom Jones, a harmless creature) for a week together. I have
+sustained my own idea of Roderick Random for a month at a stretch, I
+verily believe. I had a greedy relish for a few volumes of Voyages and
+Travels--I forget what, now--that were on those shelves; and for days
+and days I can remember to have gone about my region of our house,
+armed with the centre-piece out of an old set of boot-trees--the perfect
+realization of Captain Somebody, of the Royal British Navy, in danger of
+being beset by savages, and resolved to sell his life at a great price.
+The Captain never lost dignity, from having his ears boxed with the
+Latin Grammar. I did; but the Captain was a Captain and a hero, in
+despite of all the grammars of all the languages in the world, dead or
+alive.
+
+This was my only and my constant comfort. When I think of it, the
+picture always rises in my mind, of a summer evening, the boys at play
+in the churchyard, and I sitting on my bed, reading as if for life.
+Every barn in the neighbourhood, every stone in the church, and every
+foot of the churchyard, had some association of its own, in my mind,
+connected with these books, and stood for some locality made famous in
+them. I have seen Tom Pipes go climbing up the church-steeple; I have
+watched Strap, with the knapsack on his back, stopping to rest himself
+upon the wicket-gate; and I know that Commodore Trunnion held that club
+with Mr. Pickle, in the parlour of our little village alehouse.
+
+The reader now understands, as well as I do, what I was when I came to
+that point of my youthful history to which I am now coming again.
+
+One morning when I went into the parlour with my books, I found my
+mother looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone
+binding something round the bottom of a cane--a lithe and limber cane,
+which he left off binding when I came in, and poised and switched in the
+air.
+
+‘I tell you, Clara,’ said Mr. Murdstone, ‘I have been often flogged
+myself.’
+
+‘To be sure; of course,’ said Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘Certainly, my dear Jane,’ faltered my mother, meekly. ‘But--but do you
+think it did Edward good?’
+
+‘Do you think it did Edward harm, Clara?’ asked Mr. Murdstone, gravely.
+
+‘That’s the point,’ said his sister.
+
+To this my mother returned, ‘Certainly, my dear Jane,’ and said no more.
+
+I felt apprehensive that I was personally interested in this dialogue,
+and sought Mr. Murdstone’s eye as it lighted on mine.
+
+‘Now, David,’ he said--and I saw that cast again as he said it--‘you
+must be far more careful today than usual.’ He gave the cane another
+poise, and another switch; and having finished his preparation of it,
+laid it down beside him, with an impressive look, and took up his book.
+
+This was a good freshener to my presence of mind, as a beginning. I felt
+the words of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line,
+but by the entire page; I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed,
+if I may so express it, to have put skates on, and to skim away from me
+with a smoothness there was no checking.
+
+We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in with an idea of
+distinguishing myself rather, conceiving that I was very well prepared;
+but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book after book was added to
+the heap of failures, Miss Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all the
+time. And when we came at last to the five thousand cheeses (canes he
+made it that day, I remember), my mother burst out crying.
+
+‘Clara!’ said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.
+
+‘I am not quite well, my dear Jane, I think,’ said my mother.
+
+I saw him wink, solemnly, at his sister, as he rose and said, taking up
+the cane:
+
+‘Why, Jane, we can hardly expect Clara to bear, with perfect firmness,
+the worry and torment that David has occasioned her today. That would be
+stoical. Clara is greatly strengthened and improved, but we can hardly
+expect so much from her. David, you and I will go upstairs, boy.’
+
+As he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. Miss Murdstone
+said, ‘Clara! are you a perfect fool?’ and interfered. I saw my mother
+stop her ears then, and I heard her crying.
+
+He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely--I am certain he had a
+delight in that formal parade of executing justice--and when we got
+there, suddenly twisted my head under his arm.
+
+‘Mr. Murdstone! Sir!’ I cried to him. ‘Don’t! Pray don’t beat me! I have
+tried to learn, sir, but I can’t learn while you and Miss Murdstone are
+by. I can’t indeed!’
+
+‘Can’t you, indeed, David?’ he said. ‘We’ll try that.’
+
+He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped
+him for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only a moment
+that I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in
+the same instant I caught the hand with which he held me in my mouth,
+between my teeth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to think
+of it.
+
+He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the
+noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out--I
+heard my mother crying out--and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the
+door was locked outside; and I was lying, fevered and hot, and torn, and
+sore, and raging in my puny way, upon the floor.
+
+How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness
+seemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my
+smart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel!
+
+I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawled
+up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and
+ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and
+made me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I
+felt. It lay heavier on my breast than if I had been a most atrocious
+criminal, I dare say.
+
+It had begun to grow dark, and I had shut the window (I had been lying,
+for the most part, with my head upon the sill, by turns crying, dozing,
+and looking listlessly out), when the key was turned, and Miss Murdstone
+came in with some bread and meat, and milk. These she put down upon the
+table without a word, glaring at me the while with exemplary firmness,
+and then retired, locking the door after her.
+
+Long after it was dark I sat there, wondering whether anybody else would
+come. When this appeared improbable for that night, I undressed, and
+went to bed; and, there, I began to wonder fearfully what would be done
+to me. Whether it was a criminal act that I had committed? Whether I
+should be taken into custody, and sent to prison? Whether I was at all
+in danger of being hanged?
+
+I never shall forget the waking, next morning; the being cheerful and
+fresh for the first moment, and then the being weighed down by the stale
+and dismal oppression of remembrance. Miss Murdstone reappeared before
+I was out of bed; told me, in so many words, that I was free to walk in
+the garden for half an hour and no longer; and retired, leaving the door
+open, that I might avail myself of that permission.
+
+I did so, and did so every morning of my imprisonment, which lasted five
+days. If I could have seen my mother alone, I should have gone down on
+my knees to her and besought her forgiveness; but I saw no one, Miss
+Murdstone excepted, during the whole time--except at evening prayers in
+the parlour; to which I was escorted by Miss Murdstone after everybody
+else was placed; where I was stationed, a young outlaw, all alone by
+myself near the door; and whence I was solemnly conducted by my jailer,
+before any one arose from the devotional posture. I only observed that
+my mother was as far off from me as she could be, and kept her face
+another way so that I never saw it; and that Mr. Murdstone’s hand was
+bound up in a large linen wrapper.
+
+The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to any one. They
+occupy the place of years in my remembrance. The way in which I listened
+to all the incidents of the house that made themselves audible to me;
+the ringing of bells, the opening and shutting of doors, the murmuring
+of voices, the footsteps on the stairs; to any laughing, whistling, or
+singing, outside, which seemed more dismal than anything else to me in
+my solitude and disgrace--the uncertain pace of the hours, especially
+at night, when I would wake thinking it was morning, and find that the
+family were not yet gone to bed, and that all the length of night had
+yet to come--the depressed dreams and nightmares I had--the return of
+day, noon, afternoon, evening, when the boys played in the churchyard,
+and I watched them from a distance within the room, being ashamed to
+show myself at the window lest they should know I was a prisoner--the
+strange sensation of never hearing myself speak--the fleeting intervals
+of something like cheerfulness, which came with eating and drinking,
+and went away with it--the setting in of rain one evening, with a fresh
+smell, and its coming down faster and faster between me and the church,
+until it and gathering night seemed to quench me in gloom, and fear, and
+remorse--all this appears to have gone round and round for years instead
+of days, it is so vividly and strongly stamped on my remembrance. On the
+last night of my restraint, I was awakened by hearing my own name spoken
+in a whisper. I started up in bed, and putting out my arms in the dark,
+said:
+
+‘Is that you, Peggotty?’
+
+There was no immediate answer, but presently I heard my name again, in a
+tone so very mysterious and awful, that I think I should have gone into
+a fit, if it had not occurred to me that it must have come through the
+keyhole.
+
+I groped my way to the door, and putting my own lips to the keyhole,
+whispered: ‘Is that you, Peggotty dear?’
+
+‘Yes, my own precious Davy,’ she replied. ‘Be as soft as a mouse, or the
+Cat’ll hear us.’
+
+I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, and was sensible of the
+urgency of the case; her room being close by.
+
+‘How’s mama, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?’
+
+I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I was
+doing on mine, before she answered. ‘No. Not very.’
+
+‘What is going to be done with me, Peggotty dear? Do you know?’
+
+‘School. Near London,’ was Peggotty’s answer. I was obliged to get her
+to repeat it, for she spoke it the first time quite down my throat,
+in consequence of my having forgotten to take my mouth away from the
+keyhole and put my ear there; and though her words tickled me a good
+deal, I didn’t hear them.
+
+‘When, Peggotty?’
+
+‘Tomorrow.’
+
+‘Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes out of my
+drawers?’ which she had done, though I have forgotten to mention it.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Peggotty. ‘Box.’
+
+‘Shan’t I see mama?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Peggotty. ‘Morning.’
+
+Then Peggotty fitted her mouth close to the keyhole, and delivered these
+words through it with as much feeling and earnestness as a keyhole
+has ever been the medium of communicating, I will venture to assert:
+shooting in each broken little sentence in a convulsive little burst of
+its own.
+
+‘Davy, dear. If I ain’t been azackly as intimate with you. Lately, as I
+used to be. It ain’t because I don’t love you. Just as well and more, my
+pretty poppet. It’s because I thought it better for you. And for someone
+else besides. Davy, my darling, are you listening? Can you hear?’
+
+‘Ye-ye-ye-yes, Peggotty!’ I sobbed.
+
+‘My own!’ said Peggotty, with infinite compassion. ‘What I want to say,
+is. That you must never forget me. For I’ll never forget you. And I’ll
+take as much care of your mama, Davy. As ever I took of you. And I won’t
+leave her. The day may come when she’ll be glad to lay her poor head.
+On her stupid, cross old Peggotty’s arm again. And I’ll write to you,
+my dear. Though I ain’t no scholar. And I’ll--I’ll--’ Peggotty fell to
+kissing the keyhole, as she couldn’t kiss me.
+
+‘Thank you, dear Peggotty!’ said I. ‘Oh, thank you! Thank you! Will you
+promise me one thing, Peggotty? Will you write and tell Mr. Peggotty and
+little Em’ly, and Mrs. Gummidge and Ham, that I am not so bad as they
+might suppose, and that I sent ‘em all my love--especially to little
+Em’ly? Will you, if you please, Peggotty?’
+
+The kind soul promised, and we both of us kissed the keyhole with the
+greatest affection--I patted it with my hand, I recollect, as if it had
+been her honest face--and parted. From that night there grew up in my
+breast a feeling for Peggotty which I cannot very well define. She did
+not replace my mother; no one could do that; but she came into a vacancy
+in my heart, which closed upon her, and I felt towards her something
+I have never felt for any other human being. It was a sort of comical
+affection, too; and yet if she had died, I cannot think what I should
+have done, or how I should have acted out the tragedy it would have been
+to me.
+
+In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared as usual, and told me I was going
+to school; which was not altogether such news to me as she supposed. She
+also informed me that when I was dressed, I was to come downstairs into
+the parlour, and have my breakfast. There, I found my mother, very pale
+and with red eyes: into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my
+suffering soul.
+
+‘Oh, Davy!’ she said. ‘That you could hurt anyone I love! Try to be
+better, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy,
+that you should have such bad passions in your heart.’
+
+They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was more
+sorry for that than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried to eat
+my parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon my bread-and-butter,
+and trickled into my tea. I saw my mother look at me sometimes, and then
+glance at the watchful Miss Murdstone, and than look down, or look away.
+
+‘Master Copperfield’s box there!’ said Miss Murdstone, when wheels were
+heard at the gate.
+
+I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she; neither she nor Mr. Murdstone
+appeared. My former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the door. The box
+was taken out to his cart, and lifted in.
+
+‘Clara!’ said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note.
+
+‘Ready, my dear Jane,’ returned my mother. ‘Good-bye, Davy. You are
+going for your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in the
+holidays, and be a better boy.’
+
+‘Clara!’ Miss Murdstone repeated.
+
+‘Certainly, my dear Jane,’ replied my mother, who was holding me. ‘I
+forgive you, my dear boy. God bless you!’
+
+‘Clara!’ Miss Murdstone repeated.
+
+Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say on
+the way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; and
+then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 5. I AM SENT AWAY FROM HOME
+
+
+We might have gone about half a mile, and my pocket-handkerchief was
+quite wet through, when the carrier stopped short. Looking out to
+ascertain for what, I saw, to My amazement, Peggotty burst from a hedge
+and climb into the cart. She took me in both her arms, and squeezed me
+to her stays until the pressure on my nose was extremely painful, though
+I never thought of that till afterwards when I found it very tender. Not
+a single word did Peggotty speak. Releasing one of her arms, she put
+it down in her pocket to the elbow, and brought out some paper bags of
+cakes which she crammed into my pockets, and a purse which she put into
+my hand, but not one word did she say. After another and a final squeeze
+with both arms, she got down from the cart and ran away; and, my belief
+is, and has always been, without a solitary button on her gown. I
+picked up one, of several that were rolling about, and treasured it as a
+keepsake for a long time.
+
+The carrier looked at me, as if to inquire if she were coming back. I
+shook my head, and said I thought not. ‘Then come up,’ said the carrier
+to the lazy horse; who came up accordingly.
+
+Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to think
+it was of no use crying any more, especially as neither Roderick Random,
+nor that Captain in the Royal British Navy, had ever cried, that I
+could remember, in trying situations. The carrier, seeing me in this
+resolution, proposed that my pocket-handkerchief should be spread upon
+the horse’s back to dry. I thanked him, and assented; and particularly
+small it looked, under those circumstances.
+
+I had now leisure to examine the purse. It was a stiff leather purse,
+with a snap, and had three bright shillings in it, which Peggotty had
+evidently polished up with whitening, for my greater delight. But its
+most precious contents were two half-crowns folded together in a bit
+of paper, on which was written, in my mother’s hand, ‘For Davy. With my
+love.’ I was so overcome by this, that I asked the carrier to be so good
+as to reach me my pocket-handkerchief again; but he said he thought I
+had better do without it, and I thought I really had, so I wiped my eyes
+on my sleeve and stopped myself.
+
+For good, too; though, in consequence of my previous emotions, I was
+still occasionally seized with a stormy sob. After we had jogged on for
+some little time, I asked the carrier if he was going all the way.
+
+‘All the way where?’ inquired the carrier.
+
+‘There,’ I said.
+
+‘Where’s there?’ inquired the carrier.
+
+‘Near London,’ I said.
+
+‘Why that horse,’ said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him out,
+‘would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground.’
+
+‘Are you only going to Yarmouth then?’ I asked.
+
+‘That’s about it,’ said the carrier. ‘And there I shall take you to the
+stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that’ll take you to--wherever it is.’
+
+As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was Mr. Barkis)
+to say--he being, as I observed in a former chapter, of a phlegmatic
+temperament, and not at all conversational--I offered him a cake as a
+mark of attention, which he ate at one gulp, exactly like an elephant,
+and which made no more impression on his big face than it would have
+done on an elephant’s.
+
+‘Did SHE make ‘em, now?’ said Mr. Barkis, always leaning forward, in his
+slouching way, on the footboard of the cart with an arm on each knee.
+
+‘Peggotty, do you mean, sir?’
+
+‘Ah!’ said Mr. Barkis. ‘Her.’
+
+‘Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking.’
+
+‘Do she though?’ said Mr. Barkis. He made up his mouth as if to whistle,
+but he didn’t whistle. He sat looking at the horse’s ears, as if he saw
+something new there; and sat so, for a considerable time. By and by, he
+said:
+
+‘No sweethearts, I b’lieve?’
+
+‘Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?’ For I thought he wanted
+something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description of
+refreshment.
+
+‘Hearts,’ said Mr. Barkis. ‘Sweet hearts; no person walks with her!’
+
+‘With Peggotty?’
+
+‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Her.’
+
+‘Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart.’
+
+‘Didn’t she, though!’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn’t whistle, but
+sat looking at the horse’s ears.
+
+‘So she makes,’ said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection,
+‘all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do she?’
+
+I replied that such was the fact.
+
+‘Well. I’ll tell you what,’ said Mr. Barkis. ‘P’raps you might be
+writin’ to her?’
+
+‘I shall certainly write to her,’ I rejoined.
+
+‘Ah!’ he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. ‘Well! If you was
+writin’ to her, p’raps you’d recollect to say that Barkis was willin’;
+would you?’
+
+‘That Barkis is willing,’ I repeated, innocently. ‘Is that all the
+message?’
+
+‘Ye-es,’ he said, considering. ‘Ye-es. Barkis is willin’.’
+
+‘But you will be at Blunderstone again tomorrow, Mr. Barkis,’ I said,
+faltering a little at the idea of my being far away from it then, and
+could give your own message so much better.’
+
+As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head,
+and once more confirmed his previous request by saying, with profound
+gravity, ‘Barkis is willin’. That’s the message,’ I readily undertook
+its transmission. While I was waiting for the coach in the hotel
+at Yarmouth that very afternoon, I procured a sheet of paper and
+an inkstand, and wrote a note to Peggotty, which ran thus: ‘My dear
+Peggotty. I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to mama.
+Yours affectionately. P.S. He says he particularly wants you to
+know--BARKIS IS WILLING.’
+
+When I had taken this commission on myself prospectively, Mr. Barkis
+relapsed into perfect silence; and I, feeling quite worn out by all that
+had happened lately, lay down on a sack in the cart and fell asleep. I
+slept soundly until we got to Yarmouth; which was so entirely new
+and strange to me in the inn-yard to which we drove, that I at once
+abandoned a latent hope I had had of meeting with some of Mr. Peggotty’s
+family there, perhaps even with little Em’ly herself.
+
+The coach was in the yard, shining very much all over, but without any
+horses to it as yet; and it looked in that state as if nothing was
+more unlikely than its ever going to London. I was thinking this, and
+wondering what would ultimately become of my box, which Mr. Barkis had
+put down on the yard-pavement by the pole (he having driven up the yard
+to turn his cart), and also what would ultimately become of me, when a
+lady looked out of a bow-window where some fowls and joints of meat were
+hanging up, and said:
+
+‘Is that the little gentleman from Blunderstone?’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said.
+
+‘What name?’ inquired the lady.
+
+‘Copperfield, ma’am,’ I said.
+
+‘That won’t do,’ returned the lady. ‘Nobody’s dinner is paid for here,
+in that name.’
+
+‘Is it Murdstone, ma’am?’ I said.
+
+‘If you’re Master Murdstone,’ said the lady, ‘why do you go and give
+another name, first?’
+
+I explained to the lady how it was, who than rang a bell, and called
+out, ‘William! show the coffee-room!’ upon which a waiter came running
+out of a kitchen on the opposite side of the yard to show it, and seemed
+a good deal surprised when he was only to show it to me.
+
+It was a large long room with some large maps in it. I doubt if I could
+have felt much stranger if the maps had been real foreign countries, and
+I cast away in the middle of them. I felt it was taking a liberty to
+sit down, with my cap in my hand, on the corner of the chair nearest the
+door; and when the waiter laid a cloth on purpose for me, and put a set
+of castors on it, I think I must have turned red all over with modesty.
+
+He brought me some chops, and vegetables, and took the covers off in
+such a bouncing manner that I was afraid I must have given him some
+offence. But he greatly relieved my mind by putting a chair for me at
+the table, and saying, very affably, ‘Now, six-foot! come on!’
+
+I thanked him, and took my seat at the board; but found it extremely
+difficult to handle my knife and fork with anything like dexterity,
+or to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, while he was standing
+opposite, staring so hard, and making me blush in the most dreadful
+manner every time I caught his eye. After watching me into the second
+chop, he said:
+
+‘There’s half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it now?’
+
+I thanked him and said, ‘Yes.’ Upon which he poured it out of a jug
+into a large tumbler, and held it up against the light, and made it look
+beautiful.
+
+‘My eye!’ he said. ‘It seems a good deal, don’t it?’
+
+‘It does seem a good deal,’ I answered with a smile. For it was quite
+delightful to me, to find him so pleasant. He was a twinkling-eyed,
+pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; and
+as he stood with one arm a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the light with
+the other hand, he looked quite friendly.
+
+‘There was a gentleman here, yesterday,’ he said--‘a stout gentleman, by
+the name of Topsawyer--perhaps you know him?’
+
+‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t think--’
+
+‘In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, grey coat, speckled
+choker,’ said the waiter.
+
+‘No,’ I said bashfully, ‘I haven’t the pleasure--’
+
+‘He came in here,’ said the waiter, looking at the light through the
+tumbler, ‘ordered a glass of this ale--WOULD order it--I told him
+not--drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn’t to be
+drawn; that’s the fact.’
+
+I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I
+thought I had better have some water.
+
+‘Why you see,’ said the waiter, still looking at the light through the
+tumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, ‘our people don’t like things
+being ordered and left. It offends ‘em. But I’ll drink it, if you like.
+I’m used to it, and use is everything. I don’t think it’ll hurt me, if I
+throw my head back, and take it off quick. Shall I?’
+
+I replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if he thought
+he could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. When he did throw his
+head back, and take it off quick, I had a horrible fear, I confess,
+of seeing him meet the fate of the lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and fall
+lifeless on the carpet. But it didn’t hurt him. On the contrary, I
+thought he seemed the fresher for it.
+
+‘What have we got here?’ he said, putting a fork into my dish. ‘Not
+chops?’
+
+‘Chops,’ I said.
+
+‘Lord bless my soul!’ he exclaimed, ‘I didn’t know they were chops. Why,
+a chop’s the very thing to take off the bad effects of that beer! Ain’t
+it lucky?’
+
+So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other,
+and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction.
+He afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that,
+another chop and another potato. When we had done, he brought me a
+pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become
+absent in his mind for some moments.
+
+‘How’s the pie?’ he said, rousing himself.
+
+‘It’s a pudding,’ I made answer.
+
+‘Pudding!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why, bless me, so it is! What!’ looking at it
+nearer. ‘You don’t mean to say it’s a batter-pudding!’
+
+‘Yes, it is indeed.’
+
+‘Why, a batter-pudding,’ he said, taking up a table-spoon, ‘is my
+favourite pudding! Ain’t that lucky? Come on, little ‘un, and let’s see
+who’ll get most.’
+
+The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come in
+and win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his dispatch to
+my dispatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind at
+the first mouthful, and had no chance with him. I never saw anyone enjoy
+a pudding so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as if
+his enjoyment of it lasted still.
+
+Finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was then that I asked
+for the pen and ink and paper, to write to Peggotty. He not only brought
+it immediately, but was good enough to look over me while I wrote the
+letter. When I had finished it, he asked me where I was going to school.
+
+I said, ‘Near London,’ which was all I knew.
+
+‘Oh! my eye!’ he said, looking very low-spirited, ‘I am sorry for that.’
+
+‘Why?’ I asked him.
+
+‘Oh, Lord!’ he said, shaking his head, ‘that’s the school where they
+broke the boy’s ribs--two ribs--a little boy he was. I should say he
+was--let me see--how old are you, about?’
+
+I told him between eight and nine.
+
+‘That’s just his age,’ he said. ‘He was eight years and six months old
+when they broke his first rib; eight years and eight months old when
+they broke his second, and did for him.’
+
+I could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that this was an
+uncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it was done. His answer was
+not cheering to my spirits, for it consisted of two dismal words, ‘With
+whopping.’
+
+The blowing of the coach-horn in the yard was a seasonable diversion,
+which made me get up and hesitatingly inquire, in the mingled pride and
+diffidence of having a purse (which I took out of my pocket), if there
+were anything to pay.
+
+‘There’s a sheet of letter-paper,’ he returned. ‘Did you ever buy a
+sheet of letter-paper?’
+
+I could not remember that I ever had.
+
+‘It’s dear,’ he said, ‘on account of the duty. Threepence. That’s
+the way we’re taxed in this country. There’s nothing else, except the
+waiter. Never mind the ink. I lose by that.’
+
+‘What should you--what should I--how much ought I to--what would it be
+right to pay the waiter, if you please?’ I stammered, blushing.
+
+‘If I hadn’t a family, and that family hadn’t the cowpock,’ said the
+waiter, ‘I wouldn’t take a sixpence. If I didn’t support a aged pairint,
+and a lovely sister,’--here the waiter was greatly agitated--‘I wouldn’t
+take a farthing. If I had a good place, and was treated well here, I
+should beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it. But I live
+on broken wittles--and I sleep on the coals’--here the waiter burst into
+tears.
+
+I was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and felt that any
+recognition short of ninepence would be mere brutality and hardness of
+heart. Therefore I gave him one of my three bright shillings, which he
+received with much humility and veneration, and spun up with his thumb,
+directly afterwards, to try the goodness of.
+
+It was a little disconcerting to me, to find, when I was being helped
+up behind the coach, that I was supposed to have eaten all the dinner
+without any assistance. I discovered this, from overhearing the lady in
+the bow-window say to the guard, ‘Take care of that child, George, or
+he’ll burst!’ and from observing that the women-servants who were about
+the place came out to look and giggle at me as a young phenomenon. My
+unfortunate friend the waiter, who had quite recovered his spirits, did
+not appear to be disturbed by this, but joined in the general admiration
+without being at all confused. If I had any doubt of him, I suppose
+this half awakened it; but I am inclined to believe that with the simple
+confidence of a child, and the natural reliance of a child upon superior
+years (qualities I am very sorry any children should prematurely change
+for worldly wisdom), I had no serious mistrust of him on the whole, even
+then.
+
+I felt it rather hard, I must own, to be made, without deserving it, the
+subject of jokes between the coachman and guard as to the coach drawing
+heavy behind, on account of my sitting there, and as to the greater
+expediency of my travelling by waggon. The story of my supposed appetite
+getting wind among the outside passengers, they were merry upon it
+likewise; and asked me whether I was going to be paid for, at school,
+as two brothers or three, and whether I was contracted for, or went upon
+the regular terms; with other pleasant questions. But the worst of
+it was, that I knew I should be ashamed to eat anything, when an
+opportunity offered, and that, after a rather light dinner, I should
+remain hungry all night--for I had left my cakes behind, at the hotel,
+in my hurry. My apprehensions were realized. When we stopped for supper
+I couldn’t muster courage to take any, though I should have liked it
+very much, but sat by the fire and said I didn’t want anything. This did
+not save me from more jokes, either; for a husky-voiced gentleman with
+a rough face, who had been eating out of a sandwich-box nearly all the
+way, except when he had been drinking out of a bottle, said I was like
+a boa-constrictor who took enough at one meal to last him a long time;
+after which, he actually brought a rash out upon himself with boiled
+beef.
+
+We had started from Yarmouth at three o’clock in the afternoon, and we
+were due in London about eight next morning. It was Mid-summer weather,
+and the evening was very pleasant. When we passed through a village, I
+pictured to myself what the insides of the houses were like, and what
+the inhabitants were about; and when boys came running after us, and
+got up behind and swung there for a little way, I wondered whether their
+fathers were alive, and whether they were happy at home. I had plenty to
+think of, therefore, besides my mind running continually on the kind
+of place I was going to--which was an awful speculation. Sometimes, I
+remember, I resigned myself to thoughts of home and Peggotty; and to
+endeavouring, in a confused blind way, to recall how I had felt, and
+what sort of boy I used to be, before I bit Mr. Murdstone: which I
+couldn’t satisfy myself about by any means, I seemed to have bitten him
+in such a remote antiquity.
+
+The night was not so pleasant as the evening, for it got chilly; and
+being put between two gentlemen (the rough-faced one and another) to
+prevent my tumbling off the coach, I was nearly smothered by their
+falling asleep, and completely blocking me up. They squeezed me so hard
+sometimes, that I could not help crying out, ‘Oh! If you please!’--which
+they didn’t like at all, because it woke them. Opposite me was an
+elderly lady in a great fur cloak, who looked in the dark more like a
+haystack than a lady, she was wrapped up to such a degree. This lady had
+a basket with her, and she hadn’t known what to do with it, for a long
+time, until she found that on account of my legs being short, it could
+go underneath me. It cramped and hurt me so, that it made me perfectly
+miserable; but if I moved in the least, and made a glass that was in the
+basket rattle against something else (as it was sure to do), she gave
+me the cruellest poke with her foot, and said, ‘Come, don’t YOU fidget.
+YOUR bones are young enough, I’m sure!’
+
+At last the sun rose, and then my companions seemed to sleep easier.
+The difficulties under which they had laboured all night, and which had
+found utterance in the most terrific gasps and snorts, are not to be
+conceived. As the sun got higher, their sleep became lighter, and so
+they gradually one by one awoke. I recollect being very much surprised
+by the feint everybody made, then, of not having been to sleep at all,
+and by the uncommon indignation with which everyone repelled the
+charge. I labour under the same kind of astonishment to this day, having
+invariably observed that of all human weaknesses, the one to which our
+common nature is the least disposed to confess (I cannot imagine why) is
+the weakness of having gone to sleep in a coach.
+
+What an amazing place London was to me when I saw it in the distance,
+and how I believed all the adventures of all my favourite heroes to be
+constantly enacting and re-enacting there, and how I vaguely made it
+out in my own mind to be fuller of wonders and wickedness than all the
+cities of the earth, I need not stop here to relate. We approached it by
+degrees, and got, in due time, to the inn in the Whitechapel district,
+for which we were bound. I forget whether it was the Blue Bull, or the
+Blue Boar; but I know it was the Blue Something, and that its likeness
+was painted up on the back of the coach.
+
+The guard’s eye lighted on me as he was getting down, and he said at the
+booking-office door:
+
+‘Is there anybody here for a yoongster booked in the name of Murdstone,
+from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, to be left till called for?’
+
+Nobody answered.
+
+‘Try Copperfield, if you please, sir,’ said I, looking helplessly down.
+
+‘Is there anybody here for a yoongster, booked in the name of Murdstone,
+from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, but owning to the name of Copperfield, to
+be left till called for?’ said the guard. ‘Come! IS there anybody?’
+
+No. There was nobody. I looked anxiously around; but the inquiry made no
+impression on any of the bystanders, if I except a man in gaiters, with
+one eye, who suggested that they had better put a brass collar round my
+neck, and tie me up in the stable.
+
+A ladder was brought, and I got down after the lady, who was like a
+haystack: not daring to stir, until her basket was removed. The coach
+was clear of passengers by that time, the luggage was very soon cleared
+out, the horses had been taken out before the luggage, and now the coach
+itself was wheeled and backed off by some hostlers, out of the way.
+Still, nobody appeared, to claim the dusty youngster from Blunderstone,
+Suffolk.
+
+More solitary than Robinson Crusoe, who had nobody to look at him
+and see that he was solitary, I went into the booking-office, and, by
+invitation of the clerk on duty, passed behind the counter, and sat down
+on the scale at which they weighed the luggage. Here, as I sat looking
+at the parcels, packages, and books, and inhaling the smell of stables
+(ever since associated with that morning), a procession of most
+tremendous considerations began to march through my mind. Supposing
+nobody should ever fetch me, how long would they consent to keep me
+there? Would they keep me long enough to spend seven shillings? Should I
+sleep at night in one of those wooden bins, with the other luggage,
+and wash myself at the pump in the yard in the morning; or should I
+be turned out every night, and expected to come again to be left till
+called for, when the office opened next day? Supposing there was no
+mistake in the case, and Mr. Murdstone had devised this plan to get rid
+of me, what should I do? If they allowed me to remain there until my
+seven shillings were spent, I couldn’t hope to remain there when I began
+to starve. That would obviously be inconvenient and unpleasant to the
+customers, besides entailing on the Blue Whatever-it-was, the risk of
+funeral expenses. If I started off at once, and tried to walk back home,
+how could I ever find my way, how could I ever hope to walk so far, how
+could I make sure of anyone but Peggotty, even if I got back? If I
+found out the nearest proper authorities, and offered myself to go for a
+soldier, or a sailor, I was such a little fellow that it was most likely
+they wouldn’t take me in. These thoughts, and a hundred other such
+thoughts, turned me burning hot, and made me giddy with apprehension and
+dismay. I was in the height of my fever when a man entered and whispered
+to the clerk, who presently slanted me off the scale, and pushed me over
+to him, as if I were weighed, bought, delivered, and paid for.
+
+As I went out of the office, hand in hand with this new acquaintance,
+I stole a look at him. He was a gaunt, sallow young man, with hollow
+cheeks, and a chin almost as black as Mr. Murdstone’s; but there the
+likeness ended, for his whiskers were shaved off, and his hair, instead
+of being glossy, was rusty and dry. He was dressed in a suit of black
+clothes which were rather rusty and dry too, and rather short in the
+sleeves and legs; and he had a white neck-kerchief on, that was not
+over-clean. I did not, and do not, suppose that this neck-kerchief was
+all the linen he wore, but it was all he showed or gave any hint of.
+
+‘You’re the new boy?’ he said. ‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
+
+I supposed I was. I didn’t know.
+
+‘I’m one of the masters at Salem House,’ he said.
+
+I made him a bow and felt very much overawed. I was so ashamed to allude
+to a commonplace thing like my box, to a scholar and a master at Salem
+House, that we had gone some little distance from the yard before I had
+the hardihood to mention it. We turned back, on my humbly insinuating
+that it might be useful to me hereafter; and he told the clerk that the
+carrier had instructions to call for it at noon.
+
+‘If you please, sir,’ I said, when we had accomplished about the same
+distance as before, ‘is it far?’
+
+‘It’s down by Blackheath,’ he said.
+
+‘Is that far, sir?’ I diffidently asked.
+
+‘It’s a good step,’ he said. ‘We shall go by the stage-coach. It’s about
+six miles.’
+
+I was so faint and tired, that the idea of holding out for six miles
+more, was too much for me. I took heart to tell him that I had had
+nothing all night, and that if he would allow me to buy something to
+eat, I should be very much obliged to him. He appeared surprised at
+this--I see him stop and look at me now--and after considering for a few
+moments, said he wanted to call on an old person who lived not far off,
+and that the best way would be for me to buy some bread, or whatever I
+liked best that was wholesome, and make my breakfast at her house, where
+we could get some milk.
+
+Accordingly we looked in at a baker’s window, and after I had made a
+series of proposals to buy everything that was bilious in the shop, and
+he had rejected them one by one, we decided in favour of a nice little
+loaf of brown bread, which cost me threepence. Then, at a grocer’s shop,
+we bought an egg and a slice of streaky bacon; which still left what
+I thought a good deal of change, out of the second of the bright
+shillings, and made me consider London a very cheap place. These
+provisions laid in, we went on through a great noise and uproar that
+confused my weary head beyond description, and over a bridge which, no
+doubt, was London Bridge (indeed I think he told me so, but I was half
+asleep), until we came to the poor person’s house, which was a part of
+some alms-houses, as I knew by their look, and by an inscription on a
+stone over the gate which said they were established for twenty-five
+poor women.
+
+The Master at Salem House lifted the latch of one of a number of little
+black doors that were all alike, and had each a little diamond-paned
+window on one side, and another little diamond--paned window above; and
+we went into the little house of one of these poor old women, who was
+blowing a fire to make a little saucepan boil. On seeing the master
+enter, the old woman stopped with the bellows on her knee, and said
+something that I thought sounded like ‘My Charley!’ but on seeing me
+come in too, she got up, and rubbing her hands made a confused sort of
+half curtsey.
+
+‘Can you cook this young gentleman’s breakfast for him, if you please?’
+said the Master at Salem House.
+
+‘Can I?’ said the old woman. ‘Yes can I, sure!’
+
+‘How’s Mrs. Fibbitson today?’ said the Master, looking at another old
+woman in a large chair by the fire, who was such a bundle of clothes
+that I feel grateful to this hour for not having sat upon her by
+mistake.
+
+‘Ah, she’s poorly,’ said the first old woman. ‘It’s one of her bad days.
+If the fire was to go out, through any accident, I verily believe she’d
+go out too, and never come to life again.’
+
+As they looked at her, I looked at her also. Although it was a warm day,
+she seemed to think of nothing but the fire. I fancied she was jealous
+even of the saucepan on it; and I have reason to know that she took its
+impressment into the service of boiling my egg and broiling my bacon, in
+dudgeon; for I saw her, with my own discomfited eyes, shake her fist at
+me once, when those culinary operations were going on, and no one else
+was looking. The sun streamed in at the little window, but she sat with
+her own back and the back of the large chair towards it, screening the
+fire as if she were sedulously keeping IT warm, instead of it keeping
+her warm, and watching it in a most distrustful manner. The completion
+of the preparations for my breakfast, by relieving the fire, gave her
+such extreme joy that she laughed aloud--and a very unmelodious laugh
+she had, I must say.
+
+I sat down to my brown loaf, my egg, and my rasher of bacon, with a
+basin of milk besides, and made a most delicious meal. While I was yet
+in the full enjoyment of it, the old woman of the house said to the
+Master:
+
+‘Have you got your flute with you?’
+
+‘Yes,’ he returned.
+
+‘Have a blow at it,’ said the old woman, coaxingly. ‘Do!’
+
+The Master, upon this, put his hand underneath the skirts of his coat,
+and brought out his flute in three pieces, which he screwed together,
+and began immediately to play. My impression is, after many years of
+consideration, that there never can have been anybody in the world who
+played worse. He made the most dismal sounds I have ever heard produced
+by any means, natural or artificial. I don’t know what the tunes
+were--if there were such things in the performance at all, which I
+doubt--but the influence of the strain upon me was, first, to make me
+think of all my sorrows until I could hardly keep my tears back; then to
+take away my appetite; and lastly, to make me so sleepy that I couldn’t
+keep my eyes open. They begin to close again, and I begin to nod, as the
+recollection rises fresh upon me. Once more the little room, with its
+open corner cupboard, and its square-backed chairs, and its angular
+little staircase leading to the room above, and its three peacock’s
+feathers displayed over the mantelpiece--I remember wondering when I
+first went in, what that peacock would have thought if he had known what
+his finery was doomed to come to--fades from before me, and I nod, and
+sleep. The flute becomes inaudible, the wheels of the coach are heard
+instead, and I am on my journey. The coach jolts, I wake with a start,
+and the flute has come back again, and the Master at Salem House is
+sitting with his legs crossed, playing it dolefully, while the old woman
+of the house looks on delighted. She fades in her turn, and he fades,
+and all fades, and there is no flute, no Master, no Salem House, no
+David Copperfield, no anything but heavy sleep.
+
+I dreamed, I thought, that once while he was blowing into this dismal
+flute, the old woman of the house, who had gone nearer and nearer to him
+in her ecstatic admiration, leaned over the back of his chair and gave
+him an affectionate squeeze round the neck, which stopped his playing
+for a moment. I was in the middle state between sleeping and waking,
+either then or immediately afterwards; for, as he resumed--it was a real
+fact that he had stopped playing--I saw and heard the same old woman ask
+Mrs. Fibbitson if it wasn’t delicious (meaning the flute), to which Mrs.
+Fibbitson replied, ‘Ay, ay! yes!’ and nodded at the fire: to which, I am
+persuaded, she gave the credit of the whole performance.
+
+When I seemed to have been dozing a long while, the Master at Salem
+House unscrewed his flute into the three pieces, put them up as before,
+and took me away. We found the coach very near at hand, and got upon the
+roof; but I was so dead sleepy, that when we stopped on the road to take
+up somebody else, they put me inside where there were no passengers, and
+where I slept profoundly, until I found the coach going at a footpace up
+a steep hill among green leaves. Presently, it stopped, and had come to
+its destination.
+
+A short walk brought us--I mean the Master and me--to Salem House, which
+was enclosed with a high brick wall, and looked very dull. Over a door
+in this wall was a board with SALEM HOUSE upon it; and through a grating
+in this door we were surveyed when we rang the bell by a surly face,
+which I found, on the door being opened, belonged to a stout man with a
+bull-neck, a wooden leg, overhanging temples, and his hair cut close all
+round his head.
+
+‘The new boy,’ said the Master.
+
+The man with the wooden leg eyed me all over--it didn’t take long, for
+there was not much of me--and locked the gate behind us, and took out
+the key. We were going up to the house, among some dark heavy trees,
+when he called after my conductor. ‘Hallo!’
+
+We looked back, and he was standing at the door of a little lodge, where
+he lived, with a pair of boots in his hand.
+
+‘Here! The cobbler’s been,’ he said, ‘since you’ve been out, Mr. Mell,
+and he says he can’t mend ‘em any more. He says there ain’t a bit of the
+original boot left, and he wonders you expect it.’
+
+With these words he threw the boots towards Mr. Mell, who went back a
+few paces to pick them up, and looked at them (very disconsolately,
+I was afraid), as we went on together. I observed then, for the first
+time, that the boots he had on were a good deal the worse for wear, and
+that his stocking was just breaking out in one place, like a bud.
+
+Salem House was a square brick building with wings; of a bare and
+unfurnished appearance. All about it was so very quiet, that I said to
+Mr. Mell I supposed the boys were out; but he seemed surprised at my
+not knowing that it was holiday-time. That all the boys were at their
+several homes. That Mr. Creakle, the proprietor, was down by the
+sea-side with Mrs. and Miss Creakle; and that I was sent in holiday-time
+as a punishment for my misdoing, all of which he explained to me as we
+went along.
+
+I gazed upon the schoolroom into which he took me, as the most forlorn
+and desolate place I had ever seen. I see it now. A long room with three
+long rows of desks, and six of forms, and bristling all round with pegs
+for hats and slates. Scraps of old copy-books and exercises litter the
+dirty floor. Some silkworms’ houses, made of the same materials, are
+scattered over the desks. Two miserable little white mice, left behind
+by their owner, are running up and down in a fusty castle made of
+pasteboard and wire, looking in all the corners with their red eyes
+for anything to eat. A bird, in a cage very little bigger than himself,
+makes a mournful rattle now and then in hopping on his perch, two inches
+high, or dropping from it; but neither sings nor chirps. There is a
+strange unwholesome smell upon the room, like mildewed corduroys, sweet
+apples wanting air, and rotten books. There could not well be more ink
+splashed about it, if it had been roofless from its first construction,
+and the skies had rained, snowed, hailed, and blown ink through the
+varying seasons of the year.
+
+Mr. Mell having left me while he took his irreparable boots upstairs, I
+went softly to the upper end of the room, observing all this as I crept
+along. Suddenly I came upon a pasteboard placard, beautifully written,
+which was lying on the desk, and bore these words: ‘TAKE CARE OF HIM. HE
+BITES.’
+
+I got upon the desk immediately, apprehensive of at least a great dog
+underneath. But, though I looked all round with anxious eyes, I could
+see nothing of him. I was still engaged in peering about, when Mr. Mell
+came back, and asked me what I did up there?
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ says I, ‘if you please, I’m looking for the
+dog.’
+
+‘Dog?’ he says. ‘What dog?’
+
+‘Isn’t it a dog, sir?’
+
+‘Isn’t what a dog?’
+
+‘That’s to be taken care of, sir; that bites.’
+
+‘No, Copperfield,’ says he, gravely, ‘that’s not a dog. That’s a boy.
+My instructions are, Copperfield, to put this placard on your back. I am
+sorry to make such a beginning with you, but I must do it.’ With that he
+took me down, and tied the placard, which was neatly constructed for
+the purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and wherever I went,
+afterwards, I had the consolation of carrying it.
+
+What I suffered from that placard, nobody can imagine. Whether it was
+possible for people to see me or not, I always fancied that somebody was
+reading it. It was no relief to turn round and find nobody; for wherever
+my back was, there I imagined somebody always to be. That cruel man with
+the wooden leg aggravated my sufferings. He was in authority; and if he
+ever saw me leaning against a tree, or a wall, or the house, he roared
+out from his lodge door in a stupendous voice, ‘Hallo, you sir! You
+Copperfield! Show that badge conspicuous, or I’ll report you!’ The
+playground was a bare gravelled yard, open to all the back of the house
+and the offices; and I knew that the servants read it, and the butcher
+read it, and the baker read it; that everybody, in a word, who came
+backwards and forwards to the house, of a morning when I was ordered to
+walk there, read that I was to be taken care of, for I bit, I recollect
+that I positively began to have a dread of myself, as a kind of wild boy
+who did bite.
+
+There was an old door in this playground, on which the boys had a
+custom of carving their names. It was completely covered with such
+inscriptions. In my dread of the end of the vacation and their coming
+back, I could not read a boy’s name, without inquiring in what tone and
+with what emphasis HE would read, ‘Take care of him. He bites.’ There
+was one boy--a certain J. Steerforth--who cut his name very deep and
+very often, who, I conceived, would read it in a rather strong voice,
+and afterwards pull my hair. There was another boy, one Tommy Traddles,
+who I dreaded would make game of it, and pretend to be dreadfully
+frightened of me. There was a third, George Demple, who I fancied would
+sing it. I have looked, a little shrinking creature, at that door, until
+the owners of all the names--there were five-and-forty of them in the
+school then, Mr. Mell said--seemed to send me to Coventry by general
+acclamation, and to cry out, each in his own way, ‘Take care of him. He
+bites!’
+
+It was the same with the places at the desks and forms. It was the same
+with the groves of deserted bedsteads I peeped at, on my way to, and
+when I was in, my own bed. I remember dreaming night after night, of
+being with my mother as she used to be, or of going to a party at Mr.
+Peggotty’s, or of travelling outside the stage-coach, or of dining again
+with my unfortunate friend the waiter, and in all these circumstances
+making people scream and stare, by the unhappy disclosure that I had
+nothing on but my little night-shirt, and that placard.
+
+In the monotony of my life, and in my constant apprehension of the
+re-opening of the school, it was such an insupportable affliction! I had
+long tasks every day to do with Mr. Mell; but I did them, there being
+no Mr. and Miss Murdstone here, and got through them without disgrace.
+Before, and after them, I walked about--supervised, as I have mentioned,
+by the man with the wooden leg. How vividly I call to mind the damp
+about the house, the green cracked flagstones in the court, an old leaky
+water-butt, and the discoloured trunks of some of the grim trees, which
+seemed to have dripped more in the rain than other trees, and to have
+blown less in the sun! At one we dined, Mr. Mell and I, at the upper end
+of a long bare dining-room, full of deal tables, and smelling of fat.
+Then, we had more tasks until tea, which Mr. Mell drank out of a blue
+teacup, and I out of a tin pot. All day long, and until seven or eight
+in the evening, Mr. Mell, at his own detached desk in the schoolroom,
+worked hard with pen, ink, ruler, books, and writing-paper, making out
+the bills (as I found) for last half-year. When he had put up his things
+for the night he took out his flute, and blew at it, until I almost
+thought he would gradually blow his whole being into the large hole at
+the top, and ooze away at the keys.
+
+I picture my small self in the dimly-lighted rooms, sitting with my
+head upon my hand, listening to the doleful performance of Mr. Mell,
+and conning tomorrow’s lessons. I picture myself with my books shut up,
+still listening to the doleful performance of Mr. Mell, and listening
+through it to what used to be at home, and to the blowing of the wind
+on Yarmouth flats, and feeling very sad and solitary. I picture myself
+going up to bed, among the unused rooms, and sitting on my bed-side
+crying for a comfortable word from Peggotty. I picture myself coming
+downstairs in the morning, and looking through a long ghastly gash of a
+staircase window at the school-bell hanging on the top of an out-house
+with a weathercock above it; and dreading the time when it shall ring J.
+Steerforth and the rest to work: which is only second, in my foreboding
+apprehensions, to the time when the man with the wooden leg shall unlock
+the rusty gate to give admission to the awful Mr. Creakle. I cannot
+think I was a very dangerous character in any of these aspects, but in
+all of them I carried the same warning on my back.
+
+Mr. Mell never said much to me, but he was never harsh to me. I suppose
+we were company to each other, without talking. I forgot to mention that
+he would talk to himself sometimes, and grin, and clench his fist, and
+grind his teeth, and pull his hair in an unaccountable manner. But he
+had these peculiarities: and at first they frightened me, though I soon
+got used to them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 6. I ENLARGE MY CIRCLE OF ACQUAINTANCE
+
+
+I HAD led this life about a month, when the man with the wooden leg
+began to stump about with a mop and a bucket of water, from which I
+inferred that preparations were making to receive Mr. Creakle and the
+boys. I was not mistaken; for the mop came into the schoolroom before
+long, and turned out Mr. Mell and me, who lived where we could, and got
+on how we could, for some days, during which we were always in the way
+of two or three young women, who had rarely shown themselves before, and
+were so continually in the midst of dust that I sneezed almost as much
+as if Salem House had been a great snuff-box.
+
+One day I was informed by Mr. Mell that Mr. Creakle would be home that
+evening. In the evening, after tea, I heard that he was come. Before
+bedtime, I was fetched by the man with the wooden leg to appear before
+him.
+
+Mr. Creakle’s part of the house was a good deal more comfortable than
+ours, and he had a snug bit of garden that looked pleasant after the
+dusty playground, which was such a desert in miniature, that I thought
+no one but a camel, or a dromedary, could have felt at home in it. It
+seemed to me a bold thing even to take notice that the passage looked
+comfortable, as I went on my way, trembling, to Mr. Creakle’s presence:
+which so abashed me, when I was ushered into it, that I hardly saw
+Mrs. Creakle or Miss Creakle (who were both there, in the parlour), or
+anything but Mr. Creakle, a stout gentleman with a bunch of watch-chain
+and seals, in an arm-chair, with a tumbler and bottle beside him.
+
+‘So!’ said Mr. Creakle. ‘This is the young gentleman whose teeth are to
+be filed! Turn him round.’
+
+The wooden-legged man turned me about so as to exhibit the placard; and
+having afforded time for a full survey of it, turned me about again,
+with my face to Mr. Creakle, and posted himself at Mr. Creakle’s side.
+Mr. Creakle’s face was fiery, and his eyes were small, and deep in his
+head; he had thick veins in his forehead, a little nose, and a large
+chin. He was bald on the top of his head; and had some thin wet-looking
+hair that was just turning grey, brushed across each temple, so that
+the two sides interlaced on his forehead. But the circumstance about
+him which impressed me most, was, that he had no voice, but spoke in a
+whisper. The exertion this cost him, or the consciousness of talking in
+that feeble way, made his angry face so much more angry, and his thick
+veins so much thicker, when he spoke, that I am not surprised, on
+looking back, at this peculiarity striking me as his chief one. ‘Now,’
+said Mr. Creakle. ‘What’s the report of this boy?’
+
+‘There’s nothing against him yet,’ returned the man with the wooden leg.
+‘There has been no opportunity.’
+
+I thought Mr. Creakle was disappointed. I thought Mrs. and Miss Creakle
+(at whom I now glanced for the first time, and who were, both, thin and
+quiet) were not disappointed.
+
+‘Come here, sir!’ said Mr. Creakle, beckoning to me.
+
+‘Come here!’ said the man with the wooden leg, repeating the gesture.
+
+‘I have the happiness of knowing your father-in-law,’ whispered Mr.
+Creakle, taking me by the ear; ‘and a worthy man he is, and a man of
+a strong character. He knows me, and I know him. Do YOU know me? Hey?’
+said Mr. Creakle, pinching my ear with ferocious playfulness.
+
+‘Not yet, sir,’ I said, flinching with the pain.
+
+‘Not yet? Hey?’ repeated Mr. Creakle. ‘But you will soon. Hey?’
+
+‘You will soon. Hey?’ repeated the man with the wooden leg. I afterwards
+found that he generally acted, with his strong voice, as Mr. Creakle’s
+interpreter to the boys.
+
+I was very much frightened, and said, I hoped so, if he pleased. I felt,
+all this while, as if my ear were blazing; he pinched it so hard.
+
+‘I’ll tell you what I am,’ whispered Mr. Creakle, letting it go at last,
+with a screw at parting that brought the water into my eyes. ‘I’m a
+Tartar.’
+
+‘A Tartar,’ said the man with the wooden leg.
+
+‘When I say I’ll do a thing, I do it,’ said Mr. Creakle; ‘and when I say
+I will have a thing done, I will have it done.’
+
+‘--Will have a thing done, I will have it done,’ repeated the man with
+the wooden leg.
+
+‘I am a determined character,’ said Mr. Creakle. ‘That’s what I am. I
+do my duty. That’s what I do. My flesh and blood’--he looked at Mrs.
+Creakle as he said this--‘when it rises against me, is not my flesh
+and blood. I discard it. Has that fellow’--to the man with the wooden
+leg--‘been here again?’
+
+‘No,’ was the answer.
+
+‘No,’ said Mr. Creakle. ‘He knows better. He knows me. Let him keep
+away. I say let him keep away,’ said Mr. Creakle, striking his hand upon
+the table, and looking at Mrs. Creakle, ‘for he knows me. Now you have
+begun to know me too, my young friend, and you may go. Take him away.’
+
+I was very glad to be ordered away, for Mrs. and Miss Creakle were both
+wiping their eyes, and I felt as uncomfortable for them as I did for
+myself. But I had a petition on my mind which concerned me so nearly,
+that I couldn’t help saying, though I wondered at my own courage:
+
+‘If you please, sir--’
+
+Mr. Creakle whispered, ‘Hah! What’s this?’ and bent his eyes upon me, as
+if he would have burnt me up with them.
+
+‘If you please, sir,’ I faltered, ‘if I might be allowed (I am very
+sorry indeed, sir, for what I did) to take this writing off, before the
+boys come back--’
+
+Whether Mr. Creakle was in earnest, or whether he only did it to
+frighten me, I don’t know, but he made a burst out of his chair, before
+which I precipitately retreated, without waiting for the escort of the
+man with the wooden leg, and never once stopped until I reached my own
+bedroom, where, finding I was not pursued, I went to bed, as it was
+time, and lay quaking, for a couple of hours.
+
+Next morning Mr. Sharp came back. Mr. Sharp was the first master, and
+superior to Mr. Mell. Mr. Mell took his meals with the boys, but
+Mr. Sharp dined and supped at Mr. Creakle’s table. He was a limp,
+delicate-looking gentleman, I thought, with a good deal of nose, and a
+way of carrying his head on one side, as if it were a little too heavy
+for him. His hair was very smooth and wavy; but I was informed by the
+very first boy who came back that it was a wig (a second-hand one HE
+said), and that Mr. Sharp went out every Saturday afternoon to get it
+curled.
+
+It was no other than Tommy Traddles who gave me this piece of
+intelligence. He was the first boy who returned. He introduced himself
+by informing me that I should find his name on the right-hand corner of
+the gate, over the top-bolt; upon that I said, ‘Traddles?’ to which he
+replied, ‘The same,’ and then he asked me for a full account of myself
+and family.
+
+It was a happy circumstance for me that Traddles came back first. He
+enjoyed my placard so much, that he saved me from the embarrassment of
+either disclosure or concealment, by presenting me to every other boy
+who came back, great or small, immediately on his arrival, in this form
+of introduction, ‘Look here! Here’s a game!’ Happily, too, the greater
+part of the boys came back low-spirited, and were not so boisterous at
+my expense as I had expected. Some of them certainly did dance about me
+like wild Indians, and the greater part could not resist the temptation
+of pretending that I was a dog, and patting and soothing me, lest I
+should bite, and saying, ‘Lie down, sir!’ and calling me Towzer. This
+was naturally confusing, among so many strangers, and cost me some
+tears, but on the whole it was much better than I had anticipated.
+
+I was not considered as being formally received into the school,
+however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, who was
+reputed to be a great scholar, and was very good-looking, and at least
+half-a-dozen years my senior, I was carried as before a magistrate. He
+inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the particulars of my
+punishment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it was ‘a jolly
+shame’; for which I became bound to him ever afterwards.
+
+‘What money have you got, Copperfield?’ he said, walking aside with
+me when he had disposed of my affair in these terms. I told him seven
+shillings.
+
+‘You had better give it to me to take care of,’ he said. ‘At least, you
+can if you like. You needn’t if you don’t like.’
+
+I hastened to comply with his friendly suggestion, and opening
+Peggotty’s purse, turned it upside down into his hand.
+
+‘Do you want to spend anything now?’ he asked me.
+
+‘No thank you,’ I replied.
+
+‘You can, if you like, you know,’ said Steerforth. ‘Say the word.’
+
+‘No, thank you, sir,’ I repeated.
+
+‘Perhaps you’d like to spend a couple of shillings or so, in a bottle of
+currant wine by and by, up in the bedroom?’ said Steerforth. ‘You belong
+to my bedroom, I find.’
+
+It certainly had not occurred to me before, but I said, Yes, I should
+like that.
+
+‘Very good,’ said Steerforth. ‘You’ll be glad to spend another shilling
+or so, in almond cakes, I dare say?’
+
+I said, Yes, I should like that, too.
+
+‘And another shilling or so in biscuits, and another in fruit, eh?’ said
+Steerforth. ‘I say, young Copperfield, you’re going it!’
+
+I smiled because he smiled, but I was a little troubled in my mind, too.
+
+‘Well!’ said Steerforth. ‘We must make it stretch as far as we can;
+that’s all. I’ll do the best in my power for you. I can go out when I
+like, and I’ll smuggle the prog in.’ With these words he put the money
+in his pocket, and kindly told me not to make myself uneasy; he would
+take care it should be all right. He was as good as his word, if that
+were all right which I had a secret misgiving was nearly all wrong--for
+I feared it was a waste of my mother’s two half-crowns--though I had
+preserved the piece of paper they were wrapped in: which was a precious
+saving. When we went upstairs to bed, he produced the whole seven
+shillings’ worth, and laid it out on my bed in the moonlight, saying:
+
+‘There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you’ve got.’
+
+I couldn’t think of doing the honours of the feast, at my time of life,
+while he was by; my hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged him
+to do me the favour of presiding; and my request being seconded by the
+other boys who were in that room, he acceded to it, and sat upon my
+pillow, handing round the viands--with perfect fairness, I must say--and
+dispensing the currant wine in a little glass without a foot, which was
+his own property. As to me, I sat on his left hand, and the rest were
+grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the floor.
+
+How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers; or their
+talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the
+moonlight falling a little way into the room, through the window,
+painting a pale window on the floor, and the greater part of us in
+shadow, except when Steerforth dipped a match into a phosphorus-box,
+when he wanted to look for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare
+over us that was gone directly! A certain mysterious feeling, consequent
+on the darkness, the secrecy of the revel, and the whisper in which
+everything was said, steals over me again, and I listen to all they tell
+me with a vague feeling of solemnity and awe, which makes me glad that
+they are all so near, and frightens me (though I feign to laugh) when
+Traddles pretends to see a ghost in the corner.
+
+I heard all kinds of things about the school and all belonging to it.
+I heard that Mr. Creakle had not preferred his claim to being a Tartar
+without reason; that he was the sternest and most severe of masters;
+that he laid about him, right and left, every day of his life, charging
+in among the boys like a trooper, and slashing away, unmercifully. That
+he knew nothing himself, but the art of slashing, being more ignorant
+(J. Steerforth said) than the lowest boy in the school; that he had
+been, a good many years ago, a small hop-dealer in the Borough, and had
+taken to the schooling business after being bankrupt in hops, and making
+away with Mrs. Creakle’s money. With a good deal more of that sort,
+which I wondered how they knew.
+
+I heard that the man with the wooden leg, whose name was Tungay, was an
+obstinate barbarian who had formerly assisted in the hop business, but
+had come into the scholastic line with Mr. Creakle, in consequence,
+as was supposed among the boys, of his having broken his leg in Mr.
+Creakle’s service, and having done a deal of dishonest work for him,
+and knowing his secrets. I heard that with the single exception of Mr.
+Creakle, Tungay considered the whole establishment, masters and boys,
+as his natural enemies, and that the only delight of his life was to be
+sour and malicious. I heard that Mr. Creakle had a son, who had not been
+Tungay’s friend, and who, assisting in the school, had once held some
+remonstrance with his father on an occasion when its discipline was very
+cruelly exercised, and was supposed, besides, to have protested against
+his father’s usage of his mother. I heard that Mr. Creakle had turned
+him out of doors, in consequence; and that Mrs. and Miss Creakle had
+been in a sad way, ever since.
+
+But the greatest wonder that I heard of Mr. Creakle was, there being one
+boy in the school on whom he never ventured to lay a hand, and that
+boy being J. Steerforth. Steerforth himself confirmed this when it was
+stated, and said that he should like to begin to see him do it. On being
+asked by a mild boy (not me) how he would proceed if he did begin to see
+him do it, he dipped a match into his phosphorus-box on purpose to shed
+a glare over his reply, and said he would commence by knocking him down
+with a blow on the forehead from the seven-and-sixpenny ink-bottle
+that was always on the mantelpiece. We sat in the dark for some time,
+breathless.
+
+I heard that Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both supposed to be wretchedly
+paid; and that when there was hot and cold meat for dinner at Mr.
+Creakle’s table, Mr. Sharp was always expected to say he preferred cold;
+which was again corroborated by J. Steerforth, the only parlour-boarder.
+I heard that Mr. Sharp’s wig didn’t fit him; and that he needn’t be so
+‘bounceable’--somebody else said ‘bumptious’--about it, because his own
+red hair was very plainly to be seen behind.
+
+I heard that one boy, who was a coal-merchant’s son, came as a set-off
+against the coal-bill, and was called, on that account, ‘Exchange or
+Barter’--a name selected from the arithmetic book as expressing this
+arrangement. I heard that the table beer was a robbery of parents, and
+the pudding an imposition. I heard that Miss Creakle was regarded by the
+school in general as being in love with Steerforth; and I am sure, as I
+sat in the dark, thinking of his nice voice, and his fine face, and his
+easy manner, and his curling hair, I thought it very likely. I heard
+that Mr. Mell was not a bad sort of fellow, but hadn’t a sixpence to
+bless himself with; and that there was no doubt that old Mrs. Mell, his
+mother, was as poor as job. I thought of my breakfast then, and what had
+sounded like ‘My Charley!’ but I was, I am glad to remember, as mute as
+a mouse about it.
+
+The hearing of all this, and a good deal more, outlasted the banquet
+some time. The greater part of the guests had gone to bed as soon as the
+eating and drinking were over; and we, who had remained whispering and
+listening half-undressed, at last betook ourselves to bed, too.
+
+‘Good night, young Copperfield,’ said Steerforth. ‘I’ll take care of
+you.’ ‘You’re very kind,’ I gratefully returned. ‘I am very much obliged
+to you.’
+
+‘You haven’t got a sister, have you?’ said Steerforth, yawning.
+
+‘No,’ I answered.
+
+‘That’s a pity,’ said Steerforth. ‘If you had had one, I should think
+she would have been a pretty, timid, little, bright-eyed sort of girl. I
+should have liked to know her. Good night, young Copperfield.’
+
+‘Good night, sir,’ I replied.
+
+I thought of him very much after I went to bed, and raised myself,
+I recollect, to look at him where he lay in the moonlight, with his
+handsome face turned up, and his head reclining easily on his arm. He
+was a person of great power in my eyes; that was, of course, the reason
+of my mind running on him. No veiled future dimly glanced upon him in
+the moonbeams. There was no shadowy picture of his footsteps, in the
+garden that I dreamed of walking in all night.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 7. MY ‘FIRST HALF’ AT SALEM HOUSE
+
+
+School began in earnest next day. A profound impression was made
+upon me, I remember, by the roar of voices in the schoolroom suddenly
+becoming hushed as death when Mr. Creakle entered after breakfast, and
+stood in the doorway looking round upon us like a giant in a story-book
+surveying his captives.
+
+Tungay stood at Mr. Creakle’s elbow. He had no occasion, I thought,
+to cry out ‘Silence!’ so ferociously, for the boys were all struck
+speechless and motionless.
+
+Mr. Creakle was seen to speak, and Tungay was heard, to this effect.
+
+‘Now, boys, this is a new half. Take care what you’re about, in this new
+half. Come fresh up to the lessons, I advise you, for I come fresh up
+to the punishment. I won’t flinch. It will be of no use your rubbing
+yourselves; you won’t rub the marks out that I shall give you. Now get
+to work, every boy!’
+
+When this dreadful exordium was over, and Tungay had stumped out again,
+Mr. Creakle came to where I sat, and told me that if I were famous for
+biting, he was famous for biting, too. He then showed me the cane, and
+asked me what I thought of THAT, for a tooth? Was it a sharp tooth, hey?
+Was it a double tooth, hey? Had it a deep prong, hey? Did it bite, hey?
+Did it bite? At every question he gave me a fleshy cut with it that made
+me writhe; so I was very soon made free of Salem House (as Steerforth
+said), and was very soon in tears also.
+
+Not that I mean to say these were special marks of distinction,
+which only I received. On the contrary, a large majority of the boys
+(especially the smaller ones) were visited with similar instances
+of notice, as Mr. Creakle made the round of the schoolroom. Half the
+establishment was writhing and crying, before the day’s work began; and
+how much of it had writhed and cried before the day’s work was over, I
+am really afraid to recollect, lest I should seem to exaggerate.
+
+I should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his
+profession more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting at
+the boys, which was like the satisfaction of a craving appetite. I am
+confident that he couldn’t resist a chubby boy, especially; that there
+was a fascination in such a subject, which made him restless in his
+mind, until he had scored and marked him for the day. I was chubby
+myself, and ought to know. I am sure when I think of the fellow now, my
+blood rises against him with the disinterested indignation I should
+feel if I could have known all about him without having ever been in his
+power; but it rises hotly, because I know him to have been an incapable
+brute, who had no more right to be possessed of the great trust he held,
+than to be Lord High Admiral, or Commander-in-Chief--in either of
+which capacities it is probable that he would have done infinitely less
+mischief.
+
+Miserable little propitiators of a remorseless Idol, how abject we were
+to him! What a launch in life I think it now, on looking back, to be so
+mean and servile to a man of such parts and pretensions!
+
+Here I sit at the desk again, watching his eye--humbly watching his eye,
+as he rules a ciphering-book for another victim whose hands have just
+been flattened by that identical ruler, and who is trying to wipe the
+sting out with a pocket-handkerchief. I have plenty to do. I don’t watch
+his eye in idleness, but because I am morbidly attracted to it, in a
+dread desire to know what he will do next, and whether it will be my
+turn to suffer, or somebody else’s. A lane of small boys beyond me, with
+the same interest in his eye, watch it too. I think he knows it,
+though he pretends he don’t. He makes dreadful mouths as he rules the
+ciphering-book; and now he throws his eye sideways down our lane, and we
+all droop over our books and tremble. A moment afterwards we are again
+eyeing him. An unhappy culprit, found guilty of imperfect exercise,
+approaches at his command. The culprit falters excuses, and professes a
+determination to do better tomorrow. Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he
+beats him, and we laugh at it,--miserable little dogs, we laugh, with
+our visages as white as ashes, and our hearts sinking into our boots.
+
+Here I sit at the desk again, on a drowsy summer afternoon. A buzz and
+hum go up around me, as if the boys were so many bluebottles. A cloggy
+sensation of the lukewarm fat of meat is upon me (we dined an hour or
+two ago), and my head is as heavy as so much lead. I would give the
+world to go to sleep. I sit with my eye on Mr. Creakle, blinking at him
+like a young owl; when sleep overpowers me for a minute, he still looms
+through my slumber, ruling those ciphering-books, until he softly comes
+behind me and wakes me to plainer perception of him, with a red ridge
+across my back.
+
+Here I am in the playground, with my eye still fascinated by him, though
+I can’t see him. The window at a little distance from which I know he is
+having his dinner, stands for him, and I eye that instead. If he shows
+his face near it, mine assumes an imploring and submissive expression.
+If he looks out through the glass, the boldest boy (Steerforth excepted)
+stops in the middle of a shout or yell, and becomes contemplative. One
+day, Traddles (the most unfortunate boy in the world) breaks that window
+accidentally, with a ball. I shudder at this moment with the tremendous
+sensation of seeing it done, and feeling that the ball has bounded on to
+Mr. Creakle’s sacred head.
+
+Poor Traddles! In a tight sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs like
+German sausages, or roly-poly puddings, he was the merriest and most
+miserable of all the boys. He was always being caned--I think he was
+caned every day that half-year, except one holiday Monday when he was
+only ruler’d on both hands--and was always going to write to his uncle
+about it, and never did. After laying his head on the desk for a little
+while, he would cheer up, somehow, begin to laugh again, and draw
+skeletons all over his slate, before his eyes were dry. I used at first
+to wonder what comfort Traddles found in drawing skeletons; and for some
+time looked upon him as a sort of hermit, who reminded himself by those
+symbols of mortality that caning couldn’t last for ever. But I believe
+he only did it because they were easy, and didn’t want any features.
+
+He was very honourable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty
+in the boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several
+occasions; and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church,
+and the Beadle thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now,
+going away in custody, despised by the congregation. He never said
+who was the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was
+imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard-full
+of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had his
+reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and
+we all felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have
+gone through a good deal (though I was much less brave than Traddles,
+and nothing like so old) to have won such a recompense.
+
+To see Steerforth walk to church before us, arm-in-arm with Miss
+Creakle, was one of the great sights of my life. I didn’t think Miss
+Creakle equal to little Em’ly in point of beauty, and I didn’t love
+her (I didn’t dare); but I thought her a young lady of extraordinary
+attractions, and in point of gentility not to be surpassed. When
+Steerforth, in white trousers, carried her parasol for her, I felt proud
+to know him; and believed that she could not choose but adore him with
+all her heart. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both notable personages in my
+eyes; but Steerforth was to them what the sun was to two stars.
+
+Steerforth continued his protection of me, and proved a very useful
+friend; since nobody dared to annoy one whom he honoured with his
+countenance. He couldn’t--or at all events he didn’t--defend me from Mr.
+Creakle, who was very severe with me; but whenever I had been treated
+worse than usual, he always told me that I wanted a little of his pluck,
+and that he wouldn’t have stood it himself; which I felt he intended
+for encouragement, and considered to be very kind of him. There was one
+advantage, and only one that I know of, in Mr. Creakle’s severity. He
+found my placard in his way when he came up or down behind the form on
+which I sat, and wanted to make a cut at me in passing; for this reason
+it was soon taken off, and I saw it no more.
+
+An accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy between Steerforth
+and me, in a manner that inspired me with great pride and satisfaction,
+though it sometimes led to inconvenience. It happened on one occasion,
+when he was doing me the honour of talking to me in the playground, that
+I hazarded the observation that something or somebody--I forget what
+now--was like something or somebody in Peregrine Pickle. He said nothing
+at the time; but when I was going to bed at night, asked me if I had got
+that book?
+
+I told him no, and explained how it was that I had read it, and all
+those other books of which I have made mention.
+
+‘And do you recollect them?’ Steerforth said.
+
+‘Oh yes,’ I replied; I had a good memory, and I believed I recollected
+them very well.
+
+‘Then I tell you what, young Copperfield,’ said Steerforth, ‘you
+shall tell ‘em to me. I can’t get to sleep very early at night, and I
+generally wake rather early in the morning. We’ll go over ‘em one after
+another. We’ll make some regular Arabian Nights of it.’
+
+I felt extremely flattered by this arrangement, and we commenced
+carrying it into execution that very evening. What ravages I committed
+on my favourite authors in the course of my interpretation of them, I am
+not in a condition to say, and should be very unwilling to know; but
+I had a profound faith in them, and I had, to the best of my belief,
+a simple, earnest manner of narrating what I did narrate; and these
+qualities went a long way.
+
+The drawback was, that I was often sleepy at night, or out of spirits
+and indisposed to resume the story; and then it was rather hard work,
+and it must be done; for to disappoint or to displease Steerforth was of
+course out of the question. In the morning, too, when I felt weary, and
+should have enjoyed another hour’s repose very much, it was a tiresome
+thing to be roused, like the Sultana Scheherazade, and forced into a
+long story before the getting-up bell rang; but Steerforth was resolute;
+and as he explained to me, in return, my sums and exercises, and
+anything in my tasks that was too hard for me, I was no loser by the
+transaction. Let me do myself justice, however. I was moved by no
+interested or selfish motive, nor was I moved by fear of him. I admired
+and loved him, and his approval was return enough. It was so precious to
+me that I look back on these trifles, now, with an aching heart.
+
+Steerforth was considerate, too; and showed his consideration, in
+one particular instance, in an unflinching manner that was a little
+tantalizing, I suspect, to poor Traddles and the rest. Peggotty’s
+promised letter--what a comfortable letter it was!--arrived before
+‘the half’ was many weeks old; and with it a cake in a perfect nest
+of oranges, and two bottles of cowslip wine. This treasure, as in duty
+bound, I laid at the feet of Steerforth, and begged him to dispense.
+
+‘Now, I’ll tell you what, young Copperfield,’ said he: ‘the wine shall
+be kept to wet your whistle when you are story-telling.’
+
+I blushed at the idea, and begged him, in my modesty, not to think of
+it. But he said he had observed I was sometimes hoarse--a little roopy
+was his exact expression--and it should be, every drop, devoted to the
+purpose he had mentioned. Accordingly, it was locked up in his box, and
+drawn off by himself in a phial, and administered to me through a
+piece of quill in the cork, when I was supposed to be in want of a
+restorative. Sometimes, to make it a more sovereign specific, he was so
+kind as to squeeze orange juice into it, or to stir it up with ginger,
+or dissolve a peppermint drop in it; and although I cannot assert that
+the flavour was improved by these experiments, or that it was exactly
+the compound one would have chosen for a stomachic, the last thing at
+night and the first thing in the morning, I drank it gratefully and was
+very sensible of his attention.
+
+We seem, to me, to have been months over Peregrine, and months more over
+the other stories. The institution never flagged for want of a story, I
+am certain; and the wine lasted out almost as well as the matter. Poor
+Traddles--I never think of that boy but with a strange disposition to
+laugh, and with tears in my eyes--was a sort of chorus, in general;
+and affected to be convulsed with mirth at the comic parts, and to be
+overcome with fear when there was any passage of an alarming character
+in the narrative. This rather put me out, very often. It was a great
+jest of his, I recollect, to pretend that he couldn’t keep his teeth
+from chattering, whenever mention was made of an Alguazill in connexion
+with the adventures of Gil Blas; and I remember that when Gil Blas met
+the captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker counterfeited
+such an ague of terror, that he was overheard by Mr. Creakle, who
+was prowling about the passage, and handsomely flogged for disorderly
+conduct in the bedroom. Whatever I had within me that was romantic and
+dreamy, was encouraged by so much story-telling in the dark; and in that
+respect the pursuit may not have been very profitable to me. But the
+being cherished as a kind of plaything in my room, and the consciousness
+that this accomplishment of mine was bruited about among the boys, and
+attracted a good deal of notice to me though I was the youngest there,
+stimulated me to exertion. In a school carried on by sheer cruelty,
+whether it is presided over by a dunce or not, there is not likely to
+be much learnt. I believe our boys were, generally, as ignorant a set
+as any schoolboys in existence; they were too much troubled and knocked
+about to learn; they could no more do that to advantage, than any one
+can do anything to advantage in a life of constant misfortune, torment,
+and worry. But my little vanity, and Steerforth’s help, urged me on
+somehow; and without saving me from much, if anything, in the way of
+punishment, made me, for the time I was there, an exception to the
+general body, insomuch that I did steadily pick up some crumbs of
+knowledge.
+
+In this I was much assisted by Mr. Mell, who had a liking for me that
+I am grateful to remember. It always gave me pain to observe that
+Steerforth treated him with systematic disparagement, and seldom lost
+an occasion of wounding his feelings, or inducing others to do so.
+This troubled me the more for a long time, because I had soon told
+Steerforth, from whom I could no more keep such a secret, than I could
+keep a cake or any other tangible possession, about the two old women
+Mr. Mell had taken me to see; and I was always afraid that Steerforth
+would let it out, and twit him with it.
+
+We little thought, any one of us, I dare say, when I ate my breakfast
+that first morning, and went to sleep under the shadow of the peacock’s
+feathers to the sound of the flute, what consequences would come of the
+introduction into those alms-houses of my insignificant person. But the
+visit had its unforeseen consequences; and of a serious sort, too, in
+their way.
+
+One day when Mr. Creakle kept the house from indisposition, which
+naturally diffused a lively joy through the school, there was a good
+deal of noise in the course of the morning’s work. The great relief and
+satisfaction experienced by the boys made them difficult to manage; and
+though the dreaded Tungay brought his wooden leg in twice or thrice, and
+took notes of the principal offenders’ names, no great impression was
+made by it, as they were pretty sure of getting into trouble tomorrow,
+do what they would, and thought it wise, no doubt, to enjoy themselves
+today.
+
+It was, properly, a half-holiday; being Saturday. But as the noise in
+the playground would have disturbed Mr. Creakle, and the weather was
+not favourable for going out walking, we were ordered into school in the
+afternoon, and set some lighter tasks than usual, which were made for
+the occasion. It was the day of the week on which Mr. Sharp went out to
+get his wig curled; so Mr. Mell, who always did the drudgery, whatever
+it was, kept school by himself. If I could associate the idea of a bull
+or a bear with anyone so mild as Mr. Mell, I should think of him, in
+connexion with that afternoon when the uproar was at its height, as of
+one of those animals, baited by a thousand dogs. I recall him bending
+his aching head, supported on his bony hand, over the book on his desk,
+and wretchedly endeavouring to get on with his tiresome work, amidst an
+uproar that might have made the Speaker of the House of Commons giddy.
+Boys started in and out of their places, playing at puss in the corner
+with other boys; there were laughing boys, singing boys, talking boys,
+dancing boys, howling boys; boys shuffled with their feet, boys whirled
+about him, grinning, making faces, mimicking him behind his back and
+before his eyes; mimicking his poverty, his boots, his coat, his mother,
+everything belonging to him that they should have had consideration for.
+
+‘Silence!’ cried Mr. Mell, suddenly rising up, and striking his desk
+with the book. ‘What does this mean! It’s impossible to bear it. It’s
+maddening. How can you do it to me, boys?’
+
+It was my book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him,
+following his eye as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop,
+some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.
+
+Steerforth’s place was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end
+of the long room. He was lounging with his back against the wall, and
+his hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up
+as if he were whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him.
+
+‘Silence, Mr. Steerforth!’ said Mr. Mell.
+
+‘Silence yourself,’ said Steerforth, turning red. ‘Whom are you talking
+to?’
+
+‘Sit down,’ said Mr. Mell.
+
+‘Sit down yourself,’ said Steerforth, ‘and mind your business.’
+
+There was a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white, that
+silence immediately succeeded; and one boy, who had darted out behind
+him to imitate his mother again, changed his mind, and pretended to want
+a pen mended.
+
+‘If you think, Steerforth,’ said Mr. Mell, ‘that I am not acquainted
+with the power you can establish over any mind here’--he laid his hand,
+without considering what he did (as I supposed), upon my head--‘or that
+I have not observed you, within a few minutes, urging your juniors on to
+every sort of outrage against me, you are mistaken.’
+
+‘I don’t give myself the trouble of thinking at all about you,’ said
+Steerforth, coolly; ‘so I’m not mistaken, as it happens.’
+
+‘And when you make use of your position of favouritism here, sir,’
+pursued Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling very much, ‘to insult a
+gentleman--’
+
+‘A what?--where is he?’ said Steerforth.
+
+Here somebody cried out, ‘Shame, J. Steerforth! Too bad!’ It was
+Traddles; whom Mr. Mell instantly discomfited by bidding him hold his
+tongue. --‘To insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who
+never gave you the least offence, and the many reasons for not insulting
+whom you are old enough and wise enough to understand,’ said Mr. Mell,
+with his lips trembling more and more, ‘you commit a mean and base
+action. You can sit down or stand up as you please, sir. Copperfield, go
+on.’
+
+‘Young Copperfield,’ said Steerforth, coming forward up the room,
+‘stop a bit. I tell you what, Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the
+liberty of calling me mean or base, or anything of that sort, you are
+an impudent beggar. You are always a beggar, you know; but when you do
+that, you are an impudent beggar.’
+
+I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was
+going to strike him, or there was any such intention on either side.
+I saw a rigidity come upon the whole school as if they had been turned
+into stone, and found Mr. Creakle in the midst of us, with Tungay at his
+side, and Mrs. and Miss Creakle looking in at the door as if they were
+frightened. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his face in his
+hands, sat, for some moments, quite still.
+
+‘Mr. Mell,’ said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm; and his whisper
+was so audible now, that Tungay felt it unnecessary to repeat his words;
+‘you have not forgotten yourself, I hope?’
+
+‘No, sir, no,’ returned the Master, showing his face, and shaking his
+head, and rubbing his hands in great agitation. ‘No, sir. No. I have
+remembered myself, I--no, Mr. Creakle, I have not forgotten myself, I--I
+have remembered myself, sir. I--I--could wish you had remembered me a
+little sooner, Mr. Creakle. It--it--would have been more kind, sir, more
+just, sir. It would have saved me something, sir.’
+
+Mr. Creakle, looking hard at Mr. Mell, put his hand on Tungay’s
+shoulder, and got his feet upon the form close by, and sat upon the
+desk. After still looking hard at Mr. Mell from his throne, as he
+shook his head, and rubbed his hands, and remained in the same state of
+agitation, Mr. Creakle turned to Steerforth, and said:
+
+‘Now, sir, as he don’t condescend to tell me, what is this?’
+
+Steerforth evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and
+anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking
+even in that interval, I remember, what a noble fellow he was in
+appearance, and how homely and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him.
+
+‘What did he mean by talking about favourites, then?’ said Steerforth at
+length.
+
+‘Favourites?’ repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead
+swelling quickly. ‘Who talked about favourites?’
+
+‘He did,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?’ demanded Mr. Creakle,
+turning angrily on his assistant.
+
+‘I meant, Mr. Creakle,’ he returned in a low voice, ‘as I said; that
+no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favouritism to
+degrade me.’
+
+‘To degrade YOU?’ said Mr. Creakle. ‘My stars! But give me leave to ask
+you, Mr. What’s-your-name’; and here Mr. Creakle folded his arms, cane
+and all, upon his chest, and made such a knot of his brows that his
+little eyes were hardly visible below them; ‘whether, when you talk
+about favourites, you showed proper respect to me? To me, sir,’ said Mr.
+Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly, and drawing it back again,
+‘the principal of this establishment, and your employer.’
+
+‘It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit,’ said Mr. Mell. ‘I
+should not have done so, if I had been cool.’
+
+Here Steerforth struck in.
+
+‘Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called
+him a beggar. If I had been cool, perhaps I shouldn’t have called him a
+beggar. But I did, and I am ready to take the consequences of it.’
+
+Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any consequences to
+be taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an
+impression on the boys too, for there was a low stir among them, though
+no one spoke a word.
+
+‘I am surprised, Steerforth--although your candour does you honour,’
+said Mr. Creakle, ‘does you honour, certainly--I am surprised,
+Steerforth, I must say, that you should attach such an epithet to any
+person employed and paid in Salem House, sir.’
+
+Steerforth gave a short laugh.
+
+‘That’s not an answer, sir,’ said Mr. Creakle, ‘to my remark. I expect
+more than that from you, Steerforth.’
+
+If Mr. Mell looked homely, in my eyes, before the handsome boy, it would
+be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked. ‘Let him deny
+it,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?’ cried Mr. Creakle. ‘Why, where
+does he go a-begging?’
+
+‘If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation’s one,’ said
+Steerforth. ‘It’s all the same.’
+
+He glanced at me, and Mr. Mell’s hand gently patted me upon the
+shoulder. I looked up with a flush upon my face and remorse in my heart,
+but Mr. Mell’s eyes were fixed on Steerforth. He continued to pat me
+kindly on the shoulder, but he looked at him.
+
+‘Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself,’ said Steerforth,
+‘and to say what I mean,--what I have to say is, that his mother lives
+on charity in an alms-house.’
+
+Mr. Mell still looked at him, and still patted me kindly on the
+shoulder, and said to himself, in a whisper, if I heard right: ‘Yes, I
+thought so.’
+
+Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant, with a severe frown and laboured
+politeness:
+
+‘Now, you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have the goodness, if
+you please, to set him right before the assembled school.’
+
+‘He is right, sir, without correction,’ returned Mr. Mell, in the midst
+of a dead silence; ‘what he has said is true.’
+
+‘Be so good then as declare publicly, will you,’ said Mr. Creakle,
+putting his head on one side, and rolling his eyes round the school,
+‘whether it ever came to my knowledge until this moment?’
+
+‘I believe not directly,’ he returned.
+
+‘Why, you know not,’ said Mr. Creakle. ‘Don’t you, man?’
+
+‘I apprehend you never supposed my worldly circumstances to be very
+good,’ replied the assistant. ‘You know what my position is, and always
+has been, here.’
+
+‘I apprehend, if you come to that,’ said Mr. Creakle, with his veins
+swelling again bigger than ever, ‘that you’ve been in a wrong position
+altogether, and mistook this for a charity school. Mr. Mell, we’ll part,
+if you please. The sooner the better.’
+
+‘There is no time,’ answered Mr. Mell, rising, ‘like the present.’
+
+‘Sir, to you!’ said Mr. Creakle.
+
+‘I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and all of you,’ said Mr. Mell,
+glancing round the room, and again patting me gently on the shoulders.
+‘James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to
+be ashamed of what you have done today. At present I would prefer to see
+you anything rather than a friend, to me, or to anyone in whom I feel an
+interest.’
+
+Once more he laid his hand upon my shoulder; and then taking his
+flute and a few books from his desk, and leaving the key in it for his
+successor, he went out of the school, with his property under his arm.
+Mr. Creakle then made a speech, through Tungay, in which he thanked
+Steerforth for asserting (though perhaps too warmly) the independence
+and respectability of Salem House; and which he wound up by shaking
+hands with Steerforth, while we gave three cheers--I did not quite know
+what for, but I supposed for Steerforth, and so joined in them ardently,
+though I felt miserable. Mr. Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for
+being discovered in tears, instead of cheers, on account of Mr. Mell’s
+departure; and went back to his sofa, or his bed, or wherever he had
+come from.
+
+We were left to ourselves now, and looked very blank, I recollect, on
+one another. For myself, I felt so much self-reproach and contrition for
+my part in what had happened, that nothing would have enabled me to keep
+back my tears but the fear that Steerforth, who often looked at me, I
+saw, might think it unfriendly--or, I should rather say, considering our
+relative ages, and the feeling with which I regarded him, undutiful--if
+I showed the emotion which distressed me. He was very angry with
+Traddles, and said he was glad he had caught it.
+
+Poor Traddles, who had passed the stage of lying with his head upon the
+desk, and was relieving himself as usual with a burst of skeletons, said
+he didn’t care. Mr. Mell was ill-used.
+
+‘Who has ill-used him, you girl?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Why, you have,’ returned Traddles.
+
+‘What have I done?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘What have you done?’ retorted Traddles. ‘Hurt his feelings, and lost
+him his situation.’
+
+‘His feelings?’ repeated Steerforth disdainfully. ‘His feelings will
+soon get the better of it, I’ll be bound. His feelings are not like
+yours, Miss Traddles. As to his situation--which was a precious one,
+wasn’t it?--do you suppose I am not going to write home, and take care
+that he gets some money? Polly?’
+
+We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was
+a widow, and rich, and would do almost anything, it was said, that he
+asked her. We were all extremely glad to see Traddles so put down,
+and exalted Steerforth to the skies: especially when he told us, as he
+condescended to do, that what he had done had been done expressly for
+us, and for our cause; and that he had conferred a great boon upon us
+by unselfishly doing it. But I must say that when I was going on with a
+story in the dark that night, Mr. Mell’s old flute seemed more than once
+to sound mournfully in my ears; and that when at last Steerforth was
+tired, and I lay down in my bed, I fancied it playing so sorrowfully
+somewhere, that I was quite wretched.
+
+I soon forgot him in the contemplation of Steerforth, who, in an easy
+amateur way, and without any book (he seemed to me to know everything by
+heart), took some of his classes until a new master was found. The new
+master came from a grammar school; and before he entered on his duties,
+dined in the parlour one day, to be introduced to Steerforth. Steerforth
+approved of him highly, and told us he was a Brick. Without exactly
+understanding what learned distinction was meant by this, I respected
+him greatly for it, and had no doubt whatever of his superior knowledge:
+though he never took the pains with me--not that I was anybody--that Mr.
+Mell had taken.
+
+There was only one other event in this half-year, out of the daily
+school-life, that made an impression upon me which still survives. It
+survives for many reasons.
+
+One afternoon, when we were all harassed into a state of dire confusion,
+and Mr. Creakle was laying about him dreadfully, Tungay came in, and
+called out in his usual strong way: ‘Visitors for Copperfield!’
+
+A few words were interchanged between him and Mr. Creakle, as, who the
+visitors were, and what room they were to be shown into; and then I, who
+had, according to custom, stood up on the announcement being made, and
+felt quite faint with astonishment, was told to go by the back stairs
+and get a clean frill on, before I repaired to the dining-room. These
+orders I obeyed, in such a flutter and hurry of my young spirits as
+I had never known before; and when I got to the parlour door, and the
+thought came into my head that it might be my mother--I had only thought
+of Mr. or Miss Murdstone until then--I drew back my hand from the lock,
+and stopped to have a sob before I went in.
+
+At first I saw nobody; but feeling a pressure against the door, I looked
+round it, and there, to my amazement, were Mr. Peggotty and Ham, ducking
+at me with their hats, and squeezing one another against the wall. I
+could not help laughing; but it was much more in the pleasure of seeing
+them, than at the appearance they made. We shook hands in a very
+cordial way; and I laughed and laughed, until I pulled out my
+pocket-handkerchief and wiped my eyes.
+
+Mr. Peggotty (who never shut his mouth once, I remember, during the
+visit) showed great concern when he saw me do this, and nudged Ham to
+say something.
+
+‘Cheer up, Mas’r Davy bor’!’ said Ham, in his simpering way. ‘Why, how
+you have growed!’
+
+‘Am I grown?’ I said, drying my eyes. I was not crying at anything
+in particular that I know of; but somehow it made me cry, to see old
+friends.
+
+‘Growed, Mas’r Davy bor’? Ain’t he growed!’ said Ham.
+
+‘Ain’t he growed!’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+They made me laugh again by laughing at each other, and then we all
+three laughed until I was in danger of crying again.
+
+‘Do you know how mama is, Mr. Peggotty?’ I said. ‘And how my dear, dear,
+old Peggotty is?’
+
+‘Oncommon,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘And little Em’ly, and Mrs. Gummidge?’
+
+‘On--common,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+There was a silence. Mr. Peggotty, to relieve it, took two prodigious
+lobsters, and an enormous crab, and a large canvas bag of shrimps, out
+of his pockets, and piled them up in Ham’s arms.
+
+‘You see,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘knowing as you was partial to a little
+relish with your wittles when you was along with us, we took the
+liberty. The old Mawther biled ‘em, she did. Mrs. Gummidge biled ‘em.
+Yes,’ said Mr. Peggotty, slowly, who I thought appeared to stick to the
+subject on account of having no other subject ready, ‘Mrs. Gummidge, I
+do assure you, she biled ‘em.’
+
+I expressed my thanks; and Mr. Peggotty, after looking at Ham, who stood
+smiling sheepishly over the shellfish, without making any attempt to
+help him, said:
+
+‘We come, you see, the wind and tide making in our favour, in one of our
+Yarmouth lugs to Gravesen’. My sister she wrote to me the name of this
+here place, and wrote to me as if ever I chanced to come to Gravesen’,
+I was to come over and inquire for Mas’r Davy and give her dooty,
+humbly wishing him well and reporting of the fam’ly as they was oncommon
+toe-be-sure. Little Em’ly, you see, she’ll write to my sister when I go
+back, as I see you and as you was similarly oncommon, and so we make it
+quite a merry-go-rounder.’
+
+I was obliged to consider a little before I understood what Mr. Peggotty
+meant by this figure, expressive of a complete circle of intelligence. I
+then thanked him heartily; and said, with a consciousness of reddening,
+that I supposed little Em’ly was altered too, since we used to pick up
+shells and pebbles on the beach?
+
+‘She’s getting to be a woman, that’s wot she’s getting to be,’ said Mr.
+Peggotty. ‘Ask HIM.’ He meant Ham, who beamed with delight and assent
+over the bag of shrimps.
+
+‘Her pretty face!’ said Mr. Peggotty, with his own shining like a light.
+
+‘Her learning!’ said Ham.
+
+‘Her writing!’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘Why it’s as black as jet! And so
+large it is, you might see it anywheres.’
+
+It was perfectly delightful to behold with what enthusiasm Mr. Peggotty
+became inspired when he thought of his little favourite. He stands
+before me again, his bluff hairy face irradiating with a joyful love and
+pride, for which I can find no description. His honest eyes fire up, and
+sparkle, as if their depths were stirred by something bright. His broad
+chest heaves with pleasure. His strong loose hands clench themselves,
+in his earnestness; and he emphasizes what he says with a right arm that
+shows, in my pigmy view, like a sledge-hammer.
+
+Ham was quite as earnest as he. I dare say they would have said much
+more about her, if they had not been abashed by the unexpected coming in
+of Steerforth, who, seeing me in a corner speaking with two strangers,
+stopped in a song he was singing, and said: ‘I didn’t know you were
+here, young Copperfield!’ (for it was not the usual visiting room) and
+crossed by us on his way out.
+
+I am not sure whether it was in the pride of having such a friend as
+Steerforth, or in the desire to explain to him how I came to have such a
+friend as Mr. Peggotty, that I called to him as he was going away. But I
+said, modestly--Good Heaven, how it all comes back to me this long time
+afterwards--!
+
+‘Don’t go, Steerforth, if you please. These are two Yarmouth
+boatmen--very kind, good people--who are relations of my nurse, and have
+come from Gravesend to see me.’
+
+‘Aye, aye?’ said Steerforth, returning. ‘I am glad to see them. How are
+you both?’
+
+There was an ease in his manner--a gay and light manner it was, but not
+swaggering--which I still believe to have borne a kind of enchantment
+with it. I still believe him, in virtue of this carriage, his animal
+spirits, his delightful voice, his handsome face and figure, and, for
+aught I know, of some inborn power of attraction besides (which I think
+a few people possess), to have carried a spell with him to which it was
+a natural weakness to yield, and which not many persons could withstand.
+I could not but see how pleased they were with him, and how they seemed
+to open their hearts to him in a moment.
+
+‘You must let them know at home, if you please, Mr. Peggotty,’ I said,
+‘when that letter is sent, that Mr. Steerforth is very kind to me, and
+that I don’t know what I should ever do here without him.’
+
+‘Nonsense!’ said Steerforth, laughing. ‘You mustn’t tell them anything
+of the sort.’
+
+‘And if Mr. Steerforth ever comes into Norfolk or Suffolk, Mr.
+Peggotty,’ I said, ‘while I am there, you may depend upon it I shall
+bring him to Yarmouth, if he will let me, to see your house. You never
+saw such a good house, Steerforth. It’s made out of a boat!’
+
+‘Made out of a boat, is it?’ said Steerforth. ‘It’s the right sort of a
+house for such a thorough-built boatman.’
+
+‘So ‘tis, sir, so ‘tis, sir,’ said Ham, grinning. ‘You’re right, young
+gen’l’m’n! Mas’r Davy bor’, gen’l’m’n’s right. A thorough-built boatman!
+Hor, hor! That’s what he is, too!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty was no less pleased than his nephew, though his modesty
+forbade him to claim a personal compliment so vociferously.
+
+‘Well, sir,’ he said, bowing and chuckling, and tucking in the ends
+of his neckerchief at his breast: ‘I thankee, sir, I thankee! I do my
+endeavours in my line of life, sir.’
+
+‘The best of men can do no more, Mr. Peggotty,’ said Steerforth. He had
+got his name already.
+
+‘I’ll pound it, it’s wot you do yourself, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty,
+shaking his head, ‘and wot you do well--right well! I thankee, sir. I’m
+obleeged to you, sir, for your welcoming manner of me. I’m rough, sir,
+but I’m ready--least ways, I hope I’m ready, you unnerstand. My house
+ain’t much for to see, sir, but it’s hearty at your service if ever you
+should come along with Mas’r Davy to see it. I’m a reg’lar Dodman,
+I am,’ said Mr. Peggotty, by which he meant snail, and this was in
+allusion to his being slow to go, for he had attempted to go after every
+sentence, and had somehow or other come back again; ‘but I wish you both
+well, and I wish you happy!’
+
+Ham echoed this sentiment, and we parted with them in the heartiest
+manner. I was almost tempted that evening to tell Steerforth about
+pretty little Em’ly, but I was too timid of mentioning her name, and
+too much afraid of his laughing at me. I remember that I thought a good
+deal, and in an uneasy sort of way, about Mr. Peggotty having said that
+she was getting on to be a woman; but I decided that was nonsense.
+
+We transported the shellfish, or the ‘relish’ as Mr. Peggotty had
+modestly called it, up into our room unobserved, and made a great supper
+that evening. But Traddles couldn’t get happily out of it. He was too
+unfortunate even to come through a supper like anybody else. He was
+taken ill in the night--quite prostrate he was--in consequence of Crab;
+and after being drugged with black draughts and blue pills, to an extent
+which Demple (whose father was a doctor) said was enough to undermine
+a horse’s constitution, received a caning and six chapters of Greek
+Testament for refusing to confess.
+
+The rest of the half-year is a jumble in my recollection of the daily
+strife and struggle of our lives; of the waning summer and the changing
+season; of the frosty mornings when we were rung out of bed, and the
+cold, cold smell of the dark nights when we were rung into bed again; of
+the evening schoolroom dimly lighted and indifferently warmed, and the
+morning schoolroom which was nothing but a great shivering-machine; of
+the alternation of boiled beef with roast beef, and boiled mutton with
+roast mutton; of clods of bread-and-butter, dog’s-eared lesson-books,
+cracked slates, tear-blotted copy-books, canings, rulerings,
+hair-cuttings, rainy Sundays, suet-puddings, and a dirty atmosphere of
+ink, surrounding all.
+
+I well remember though, how the distant idea of the holidays, after
+seeming for an immense time to be a stationary speck, began to come
+towards us, and to grow and grow. How from counting months, we came to
+weeks, and then to days; and how I then began to be afraid that I should
+not be sent for and when I learnt from Steerforth that I had been sent
+for, and was certainly to go home, had dim forebodings that I might
+break my leg first. How the breaking-up day changed its place fast, at
+last, from the week after next to next week, this week, the day after
+tomorrow, tomorrow, today, tonight--when I was inside the Yarmouth mail,
+and going home.
+
+I had many a broken sleep inside the Yarmouth mail, and many an
+incoherent dream of all these things. But when I awoke at intervals, the
+ground outside the window was not the playground of Salem House, and the
+sound in my ears was not the sound of Mr. Creakle giving it to Traddles,
+but the sound of the coachman touching up the horses.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 8. MY HOLIDAYS. ESPECIALLY ONE HAPPY AFTERNOON
+
+
+When we arrived before day at the inn where the mail stopped, which was
+not the inn where my friend the waiter lived, I was shown up to a nice
+little bedroom, with DOLPHIN painted on the door. Very cold I was, I
+know, notwithstanding the hot tea they had given me before a large fire
+downstairs; and very glad I was to turn into the Dolphin’s bed, pull the
+Dolphin’s blankets round my head, and go to sleep.
+
+Mr. Barkis the carrier was to call for me in the morning at nine
+o’clock. I got up at eight, a little giddy from the shortness of my
+night’s rest, and was ready for him before the appointed time. He
+received me exactly as if not five minutes had elapsed since we were
+last together, and I had only been into the hotel to get change for
+sixpence, or something of that sort.
+
+As soon as I and my box were in the cart, and the carrier seated, the
+lazy horse walked away with us all at his accustomed pace.
+
+‘You look very well, Mr. Barkis,’ I said, thinking he would like to know
+it.
+
+Mr. Barkis rubbed his cheek with his cuff, and then looked at his cuff
+as if he expected to find some of the bloom upon it; but made no other
+acknowledgement of the compliment.
+
+‘I gave your message, Mr. Barkis,’ I said: ‘I wrote to Peggotty.’
+
+‘Ah!’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+Mr. Barkis seemed gruff, and answered drily.
+
+‘Wasn’t it right, Mr. Barkis?’ I asked, after a little hesitation.
+
+‘Why, no,’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+‘Not the message?’
+
+‘The message was right enough, perhaps,’ said Mr. Barkis; ‘but it come
+to an end there.’
+
+Not understanding what he meant, I repeated inquisitively: ‘Came to an
+end, Mr. Barkis?’
+
+‘Nothing come of it,’ he explained, looking at me sideways. ‘No answer.’
+
+‘There was an answer expected, was there, Mr. Barkis?’ said I, opening
+my eyes. For this was a new light to me.
+
+‘When a man says he’s willin’,’ said Mr. Barkis, turning his glance
+slowly on me again, ‘it’s as much as to say, that man’s a-waitin’ for a
+answer.’
+
+‘Well, Mr. Barkis?’
+
+‘Well,’ said Mr. Barkis, carrying his eyes back to his horse’s ears;
+‘that man’s been a-waitin’ for a answer ever since.’
+
+‘Have you told her so, Mr. Barkis?’
+
+‘No--no,’ growled Mr. Barkis, reflecting about it. ‘I ain’t got no call
+to go and tell her so. I never said six words to her myself, I ain’t
+a-goin’ to tell her so.’
+
+‘Would you like me to do it, Mr. Barkis?’ said I, doubtfully. ‘You might
+tell her, if you would,’ said Mr. Barkis, with another slow look at me,
+‘that Barkis was a-waitin’ for a answer. Says you--what name is it?’
+
+‘Her name?’
+
+‘Ah!’ said Mr. Barkis, with a nod of his head.
+
+‘Peggotty.’
+
+‘Chrisen name? Or nat’ral name?’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+‘Oh, it’s not her Christian name. Her Christian name is Clara.’
+
+‘Is it though?’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+He seemed to find an immense fund of reflection in this circumstance,
+and sat pondering and inwardly whistling for some time.
+
+‘Well!’ he resumed at length. ‘Says you, “Peggotty! Barkis is waitin’
+for a answer.” Says she, perhaps, “Answer to what?” Says you, “To what I
+told you.” “What is that?” says she. “Barkis is willin’,” says you.’
+
+This extremely artful suggestion Mr. Barkis accompanied with a nudge
+of his elbow that gave me quite a stitch in my side. After that, he
+slouched over his horse in his usual manner; and made no other reference
+to the subject except, half an hour afterwards, taking a piece of chalk
+from his pocket, and writing up, inside the tilt of the cart, ‘Clara
+Peggotty’--apparently as a private memorandum.
+
+Ah, what a strange feeling it was to be going home when it was not home,
+and to find that every object I looked at, reminded me of the happy old
+home, which was like a dream I could never dream again! The days when my
+mother and I and Peggotty were all in all to one another, and there was
+no one to come between us, rose up before me so sorrowfully on the road,
+that I am not sure I was glad to be there--not sure but that I would
+rather have remained away, and forgotten it in Steerforth’s company. But
+there I was; and soon I was at our house, where the bare old elm-trees
+wrung their many hands in the bleak wintry air, and shreds of the old
+rooks’-nests drifted away upon the wind.
+
+The carrier put my box down at the garden-gate, and left me. I walked
+along the path towards the house, glancing at the windows, and fearing
+at every step to see Mr. Murdstone or Miss Murdstone lowering out of
+one of them. No face appeared, however; and being come to the house, and
+knowing how to open the door, before dark, without knocking, I went in
+with a quiet, timid step.
+
+God knows how infantine the memory may have been, that was awakened
+within me by the sound of my mother’s voice in the old parlour, when I
+set foot in the hall. She was singing in a low tone. I think I must have
+lain in her arms, and heard her singing so to me when I was but a baby.
+The strain was new to me, and yet it was so old that it filled my heart
+brim-full; like a friend come back from a long absence.
+
+I believed, from the solitary and thoughtful way in which my mother
+murmured her song, that she was alone. And I went softly into the room.
+She was sitting by the fire, suckling an infant, whose tiny hand she
+held against her neck. Her eyes were looking down upon its face, and she
+sat singing to it. I was so far right, that she had no other companion.
+
+I spoke to her, and she started, and cried out. But seeing me, she
+called me her dear Davy, her own boy! and coming half across the room
+to meet me, kneeled down upon the ground and kissed me, and laid my head
+down on her bosom near the little creature that was nestling there, and
+put its hand to my lips.
+
+I wish I had died. I wish I had died then, with that feeling in my
+heart! I should have been more fit for Heaven than I ever have been
+since.
+
+‘He is your brother,’ said my mother, fondling me. ‘Davy, my pretty boy!
+My poor child!’ Then she kissed me more and more, and clasped me round
+the neck. This she was doing when Peggotty came running in, and bounced
+down on the ground beside us, and went mad about us both for a quarter
+of an hour.
+
+It seemed that I had not been expected so soon, the carrier being much
+before his usual time. It seemed, too, that Mr. and Miss Murdstone had
+gone out upon a visit in the neighbourhood, and would not return before
+night. I had never hoped for this. I had never thought it possible that
+we three could be together undisturbed, once more; and I felt, for the
+time, as if the old days were come back.
+
+We dined together by the fireside. Peggotty was in attendance to wait
+upon us, but my mother wouldn’t let her do it, and made her dine with
+us. I had my own old plate, with a brown view of a man-of-war in full
+sail upon it, which Peggotty had hoarded somewhere all the time I
+had been away, and would not have had broken, she said, for a hundred
+pounds. I had my own old mug with David on it, and my own old little
+knife and fork that wouldn’t cut.
+
+While we were at table, I thought it a favourable occasion to tell
+Peggotty about Mr. Barkis, who, before I had finished what I had to tell
+her, began to laugh, and throw her apron over her face.
+
+‘Peggotty,’ said my mother. ‘What’s the matter?’
+
+Peggotty only laughed the more, and held her apron tight over her face
+when my mother tried to pull it away, and sat as if her head were in a
+bag.
+
+‘What are you doing, you stupid creature?’ said my mother, laughing.
+
+‘Oh, drat the man!’ cried Peggotty. ‘He wants to marry me.’
+
+‘It would be a very good match for you; wouldn’t it?’ said my mother.
+
+‘Oh! I don’t know,’ said Peggotty. ‘Don’t ask me. I wouldn’t have him if
+he was made of gold. Nor I wouldn’t have anybody.’
+
+‘Then, why don’t you tell him so, you ridiculous thing?’ said my mother.
+
+‘Tell him so,’ retorted Peggotty, looking out of her apron. ‘He has
+never said a word to me about it. He knows better. If he was to make so
+bold as say a word to me, I should slap his face.’
+
+Her own was as red as ever I saw it, or any other face, I think; but she
+only covered it again, for a few moments at a time, when she was taken
+with a violent fit of laughter; and after two or three of those attacks,
+went on with her dinner.
+
+I remarked that my mother, though she smiled when Peggotty looked at
+her, became more serious and thoughtful. I had seen at first that she
+was changed. Her face was very pretty still, but it looked careworn, and
+too delicate; and her hand was so thin and white that it seemed to me
+to be almost transparent. But the change to which I now refer was
+superadded to this: it was in her manner, which became anxious and
+fluttered. At last she said, putting out her hand, and laying it
+affectionately on the hand of her old servant,
+
+‘Peggotty, dear, you are not going to be married?’
+
+‘Me, ma’am?’ returned Peggotty, staring. ‘Lord bless you, no!’
+
+‘Not just yet?’ said my mother, tenderly.
+
+‘Never!’ cried Peggotty.
+
+My mother took her hand, and said:
+
+‘Don’t leave me, Peggotty. Stay with me. It will not be for long,
+perhaps. What should I ever do without you!’
+
+‘Me leave you, my precious!’ cried Peggotty. ‘Not for all the world and
+his wife. Why, what’s put that in your silly little head?’--For Peggotty
+had been used of old to talk to my mother sometimes like a child.
+
+But my mother made no answer, except to thank her, and Peggotty went
+running on in her own fashion.
+
+‘Me leave you? I think I see myself. Peggotty go away from you? I should
+like to catch her at it! No, no, no,’ said Peggotty, shaking her head,
+and folding her arms; ‘not she, my dear. It isn’t that there ain’t some
+Cats that would be well enough pleased if she did, but they sha’n’t be
+pleased. They shall be aggravated. I’ll stay with you till I am a cross
+cranky old woman. And when I’m too deaf, and too lame, and too blind,
+and too mumbly for want of teeth, to be of any use at all, even to be
+found fault with, than I shall go to my Davy, and ask him to take me
+in.’
+
+‘And, Peggotty,’ says I, ‘I shall be glad to see you, and I’ll make you
+as welcome as a queen.’
+
+‘Bless your dear heart!’ cried Peggotty. ‘I know you will!’ And she
+kissed me beforehand, in grateful acknowledgement of my hospitality.
+After that, she covered her head up with her apron again and had another
+laugh about Mr. Barkis. After that, she took the baby out of its little
+cradle, and nursed it. After that, she cleared the dinner table;
+after that, came in with another cap on, and her work-box, and the
+yard-measure, and the bit of wax-candle, all just the same as ever.
+
+We sat round the fire, and talked delightfully. I told them what a hard
+master Mr. Creakle was, and they pitied me very much. I told them what a
+fine fellow Steerforth was, and what a patron of mine, and Peggotty said
+she would walk a score of miles to see him. I took the little baby in
+my arms when it was awake, and nursed it lovingly. When it was asleep
+again, I crept close to my mother’s side according to my old custom,
+broken now a long time, and sat with my arms embracing her waist, and my
+little red cheek on her shoulder, and once more felt her beautiful
+hair drooping over me--like an angel’s wing as I used to think, I
+recollect--and was very happy indeed.
+
+While I sat thus, looking at the fire, and seeing pictures in the
+red-hot coals, I almost believed that I had never been away; that Mr.
+and Miss Murdstone were such pictures, and would vanish when the fire
+got low; and that there was nothing real in all that I remembered, save
+my mother, Peggotty, and I.
+
+Peggotty darned away at a stocking as long as she could see, and then
+sat with it drawn on her left hand like a glove, and her needle in her
+right, ready to take another stitch whenever there was a blaze. I cannot
+conceive whose stockings they can have been that Peggotty was always
+darning, or where such an unfailing supply of stockings in want of
+darning can have come from. From my earliest infancy she seems to have
+been always employed in that class of needlework, and never by any
+chance in any other.
+
+‘I wonder,’ said Peggotty, who was sometimes seized with a fit of
+wondering on some most unexpected topic, ‘what’s become of Davy’s
+great-aunt?’ ‘Lor, Peggotty!’ observed my mother, rousing herself from a
+reverie, ‘what nonsense you talk!’
+
+‘Well, but I really do wonder, ma’am,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘What can have put such a person in your head?’ inquired my mother. ‘Is
+there nobody else in the world to come there?’
+
+‘I don’t know how it is,’ said Peggotty, ‘unless it’s on account of
+being stupid, but my head never can pick and choose its people. They
+come and they go, and they don’t come and they don’t go, just as they
+like. I wonder what’s become of her?’
+
+‘How absurd you are, Peggotty!’ returned my mother. ‘One would suppose
+you wanted a second visit from her.’
+
+‘Lord forbid!’ cried Peggotty.
+
+‘Well then, don’t talk about such uncomfortable things, there’s a good
+soul,’ said my mother. ‘Miss Betsey is shut up in her cottage by the
+sea, no doubt, and will remain there. At all events, she is not likely
+ever to trouble us again.’
+
+‘No!’ mused Peggotty. ‘No, that ain’t likely at all.---I wonder, if she
+was to die, whether she’d leave Davy anything?’
+
+‘Good gracious me, Peggotty,’ returned my mother, ‘what a nonsensical
+woman you are! when you know that she took offence at the poor dear
+boy’s ever being born at all.’
+
+‘I suppose she wouldn’t be inclined to forgive him now,’ hinted
+Peggotty.
+
+‘Why should she be inclined to forgive him now?’ said my mother, rather
+sharply.
+
+‘Now that he’s got a brother, I mean,’ said Peggotty.
+
+My mother immediately began to cry, and wondered how Peggotty dared to
+say such a thing.
+
+‘As if this poor little innocent in its cradle had ever done any harm to
+you or anybody else, you jealous thing!’ said she. ‘You had much better
+go and marry Mr. Barkis, the carrier. Why don’t you?’
+
+‘I should make Miss Murdstone happy, if I was to,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘What a bad disposition you have, Peggotty!’ returned my mother. ‘You
+are as jealous of Miss Murdstone as it is possible for a ridiculous
+creature to be. You want to keep the keys yourself, and give out all the
+things, I suppose? I shouldn’t be surprised if you did. When you know
+that she only does it out of kindness and the best intentions! You know
+she does, Peggotty--you know it well.’
+
+Peggotty muttered something to the effect of ‘Bother the best
+intentions!’ and something else to the effect that there was a little
+too much of the best intentions going on.
+
+‘I know what you mean, you cross thing,’ said my mother. ‘I understand
+you, Peggotty, perfectly. You know I do, and I wonder you don’t colour
+up like fire. But one point at a time. Miss Murdstone is the point now,
+Peggotty, and you sha’n’t escape from it. Haven’t you heard her
+say, over and over again, that she thinks I am too thoughtless and
+too--a--a--’
+
+‘Pretty,’ suggested Peggotty.
+
+‘Well,’ returned my mother, half laughing, ‘and if she is so silly as to
+say so, can I be blamed for it?’
+
+‘No one says you can,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘No, I should hope not, indeed!’ returned my mother. ‘Haven’t you heard
+her say, over and over again, that on this account she wished to spare
+me a great deal of trouble, which she thinks I am not suited for, and
+which I really don’t know myself that I AM suited for; and isn’t she up
+early and late, and going to and fro continually--and doesn’t she do
+all sorts of things, and grope into all sorts of places, coal-holes and
+pantries and I don’t know where, that can’t be very agreeable--and do
+you mean to insinuate that there is not a sort of devotion in that?’
+
+‘I don’t insinuate at all,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘You do, Peggotty,’ returned my mother. ‘You never do anything else,
+except your work. You are always insinuating. You revel in it. And when
+you talk of Mr. Murdstone’s good intentions--’
+
+‘I never talked of ‘em,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘No, Peggotty,’ returned my mother, ‘but you insinuated. That’s what I
+told you just now. That’s the worst of you. You WILL insinuate. I said,
+at the moment, that I understood you, and you see I did. When you talk
+of Mr. Murdstone’s good intentions, and pretend to slight them (for I
+don’t believe you really do, in your heart, Peggotty), you must be as
+well convinced as I am how good they are, and how they actuate him in
+everything. If he seems to have been at all stern with a certain person,
+Peggotty--you understand, and so I am sure does Davy, that I am not
+alluding to anybody present--it is solely because he is satisfied that
+it is for a certain person’s benefit. He naturally loves a certain
+person, on my account; and acts solely for a certain person’s good. He
+is better able to judge of it than I am; for I very well know that I am
+a weak, light, girlish creature, and that he is a firm, grave, serious
+man. And he takes,’ said my mother, with the tears which were engendered
+in her affectionate nature, stealing down her face, ‘he takes great
+pains with me; and I ought to be very thankful to him, and very
+submissive to him even in my thoughts; and when I am not, Peggotty, I
+worry and condemn myself, and feel doubtful of my own heart, and don’t
+know what to do.’
+
+Peggotty sat with her chin on the foot of the stocking, looking silently
+at the fire.
+
+‘There, Peggotty,’ said my mother, changing her tone, ‘don’t let us fall
+out with one another, for I couldn’t bear it. You are my true friend, I
+know, if I have any in the world. When I call you a ridiculous creature,
+or a vexatious thing, or anything of that sort, Peggotty, I only mean
+that you are my true friend, and always have been, ever since the night
+when Mr. Copperfield first brought me home here, and you came out to the
+gate to meet me.’
+
+Peggotty was not slow to respond, and ratify the treaty of friendship by
+giving me one of her best hugs. I think I had some glimpses of the real
+character of this conversation at the time; but I am sure, now, that
+the good creature originated it, and took her part in it, merely that
+my mother might comfort herself with the little contradictory summary in
+which she had indulged. The design was efficacious; for I remember that
+my mother seemed more at ease during the rest of the evening, and that
+Peggotty observed her less.
+
+When we had had our tea, and the ashes were thrown up, and the candles
+snuffed, I read Peggotty a chapter out of the Crocodile Book, in
+remembrance of old times--she took it out of her pocket: I don’t know
+whether she had kept it there ever since--and then we talked about Salem
+House, which brought me round again to Steerforth, who was my great
+subject. We were very happy; and that evening, as the last of its race,
+and destined evermore to close that volume of my life, will never pass
+out of my memory.
+
+It was almost ten o’clock before we heard the sound of wheels. We all
+got up then; and my mother said hurriedly that, as it was so late, and
+Mr. and Miss Murdstone approved of early hours for young people, perhaps
+I had better go to bed. I kissed her, and went upstairs with my candle
+directly, before they came in. It appeared to my childish fancy, as I
+ascended to the bedroom where I had been imprisoned, that they brought
+a cold blast of air into the house which blew away the old familiar
+feeling like a feather.
+
+I felt uncomfortable about going down to breakfast in the morning, as
+I had never set eyes on Mr. Murdstone since the day when I committed my
+memorable offence. However, as it must be done, I went down, after two
+or three false starts half-way, and as many runs back on tiptoe to my
+own room, and presented myself in the parlour.
+
+He was standing before the fire with his back to it, while Miss
+Murdstone made the tea. He looked at me steadily as I entered, but made
+no sign of recognition whatever. I went up to him, after a moment of
+confusion, and said: ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I am very sorry for what I
+did, and I hope you will forgive me.’
+
+‘I am glad to hear you are sorry, David,’ he replied.
+
+The hand he gave me was the hand I had bitten. I could not restrain my
+eye from resting for an instant on a red spot upon it; but it was not so
+red as I turned, when I met that sinister expression in his face.
+
+‘How do you do, ma’am?’ I said to Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘Ah, dear me!’ sighed Miss Murdstone, giving me the tea-caddy scoop
+instead of her fingers. ‘How long are the holidays?’
+
+‘A month, ma’am.’
+
+‘Counting from when?’
+
+‘From today, ma’am.’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Miss Murdstone. ‘Then here’s one day off.’
+
+She kept a calendar of the holidays in this way, and every morning
+checked a day off in exactly the same manner. She did it gloomily until
+she came to ten, but when she got into two figures she became more
+hopeful, and, as the time advanced, even jocular.
+
+It was on this very first day that I had the misfortune to throw her,
+though she was not subject to such weakness in general, into a state of
+violent consternation. I came into the room where she and my mother
+were sitting; and the baby (who was only a few weeks old) being on
+my mother’s lap, I took it very carefully in my arms. Suddenly Miss
+Murdstone gave such a scream that I all but dropped it.
+
+‘My dear Jane!’ cried my mother.
+
+‘Good heavens, Clara, do you see?’ exclaimed Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘See what, my dear Jane?’ said my mother; ‘where?’
+
+‘He’s got it!’ cried Miss Murdstone. ‘The boy has got the baby!’
+
+She was limp with horror; but stiffened herself to make a dart at me,
+and take it out of my arms. Then, she turned faint; and was so very
+ill that they were obliged to give her cherry brandy. I was solemnly
+interdicted by her, on her recovery, from touching my brother any more
+on any pretence whatever; and my poor mother, who, I could see, wished
+otherwise, meekly confirmed the interdict, by saying: ‘No doubt you are
+right, my dear Jane.’
+
+On another occasion, when we three were together, this same dear
+baby--it was truly dear to me, for our mother’s sake--was the innocent
+occasion of Miss Murdstone’s going into a passion. My mother, who had
+been looking at its eyes as it lay upon her lap, said:
+
+‘Davy! come here!’ and looked at mine.
+
+I saw Miss Murdstone lay her beads down.
+
+‘I declare,’ said my mother, gently, ‘they are exactly alike. I suppose
+they are mine. I think they are the colour of mine. But they are
+wonderfully alike.’
+
+‘What are you talking about, Clara?’ said Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘My dear Jane,’ faltered my mother, a little abashed by the harsh tone
+of this inquiry, ‘I find that the baby’s eyes and Davy’s are exactly
+alike.’
+
+‘Clara!’ said Miss Murdstone, rising angrily, ‘you are a positive fool
+sometimes.’
+
+‘My dear Jane,’ remonstrated my mother.
+
+‘A positive fool,’ said Miss Murdstone. ‘Who else could compare my
+brother’s baby with your boy? They are not at all alike. They are
+exactly unlike. They are utterly dissimilar in all respects. I hope
+they will ever remain so. I will not sit here, and hear such comparisons
+made.’ With that she stalked out, and made the door bang after her.
+
+In short, I was not a favourite with Miss Murdstone. In short, I was not
+a favourite there with anybody, not even with myself; for those who did
+like me could not show it, and those who did not, showed it so plainly
+that I had a sensitive consciousness of always appearing constrained,
+boorish, and dull.
+
+I felt that I made them as uncomfortable as they made me. If I came into
+the room where they were, and they were talking together and my mother
+seemed cheerful, an anxious cloud would steal over her face from the
+moment of my entrance. If Mr. Murdstone were in his best humour, I
+checked him. If Miss Murdstone were in her worst, I intensified it. I
+had perception enough to know that my mother was the victim always; that
+she was afraid to speak to me or to be kind to me, lest she should
+give them some offence by her manner of doing so, and receive a
+lecture afterwards; that she was not only ceaselessly afraid of her own
+offending, but of my offending, and uneasily watched their looks if I
+only moved. Therefore I resolved to keep myself as much out of their way
+as I could; and many a wintry hour did I hear the church clock strike,
+when I was sitting in my cheerless bedroom, wrapped in my little
+great-coat, poring over a book.
+
+In the evening, sometimes, I went and sat with Peggotty in the kitchen.
+There I was comfortable, and not afraid of being myself. But neither of
+these resources was approved of in the parlour. The tormenting humour
+which was dominant there stopped them both. I was still held to be
+necessary to my poor mother’s training, and, as one of her trials, could
+not be suffered to absent myself.
+
+‘David,’ said Mr. Murdstone, one day after dinner when I was going to
+leave the room as usual; ‘I am sorry to observe that you are of a sullen
+disposition.’
+
+‘As sulky as a bear!’ said Miss Murdstone.
+
+I stood still, and hung my head.
+
+‘Now, David,’ said Mr. Murdstone, ‘a sullen obdurate disposition is, of
+all tempers, the worst.’
+
+‘And the boy’s is, of all such dispositions that ever I have seen,’
+remarked his sister, ‘the most confirmed and stubborn. I think, my dear
+Clara, even you must observe it?’
+
+‘I beg your pardon, my dear Jane,’ said my mother, ‘but are you quite
+sure--I am certain you’ll excuse me, my dear Jane--that you understand
+Davy?’
+
+‘I should be somewhat ashamed of myself, Clara,’ returned Miss
+Murdstone, ‘if I could not understand the boy, or any boy. I don’t
+profess to be profound; but I do lay claim to common sense.’
+
+‘No doubt, my dear Jane,’ returned my mother, ‘your understanding is
+very vigorous--’
+
+‘Oh dear, no! Pray don’t say that, Clara,’ interposed Miss Murdstone,
+angrily.
+
+‘But I am sure it is,’ resumed my mother; ‘and everybody knows it is. I
+profit so much by it myself, in many ways--at least I ought to--that no
+one can be more convinced of it than myself; and therefore I speak with
+great diffidence, my dear Jane, I assure you.’
+
+‘We’ll say I don’t understand the boy, Clara,’ returned Miss Murdstone,
+arranging the little fetters on her wrists. ‘We’ll agree, if you please,
+that I don’t understand him at all. He is much too deep for me. But
+perhaps my brother’s penetration may enable him to have some insight
+into his character. And I believe my brother was speaking on the subject
+when we--not very decently--interrupted him.’
+
+‘I think, Clara,’ said Mr. Murdstone, in a low grave voice, ‘that there
+may be better and more dispassionate judges of such a question than
+you.’
+
+‘Edward,’ replied my mother, timidly, ‘you are a far better judge of all
+questions than I pretend to be. Both you and Jane are. I only said--’
+
+‘You only said something weak and inconsiderate,’ he replied. ‘Try not
+to do it again, my dear Clara, and keep a watch upon yourself.’
+
+My mother’s lips moved, as if she answered ‘Yes, my dear Edward,’ but
+she said nothing aloud.
+
+‘I was sorry, David, I remarked,’ said Mr. Murdstone, turning his head
+and his eyes stiffly towards me, ‘to observe that you are of a sullen
+disposition. This is not a character that I can suffer to develop itself
+beneath my eyes without an effort at improvement. You must endeavour,
+sir, to change it. We must endeavour to change it for you.’
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ I faltered. ‘I have never meant to be sullen
+since I came back.’
+
+‘Don’t take refuge in a lie, sir!’ he returned so fiercely, that I saw
+my mother involuntarily put out her trembling hand as if to interpose
+between us. ‘You have withdrawn yourself in your sullenness to your own
+room. You have kept your own room when you ought to have been here. You
+know now, once for all, that I require you to be here, and not there.
+Further, that I require you to bring obedience here. You know me, David.
+I will have it done.’
+
+Miss Murdstone gave a hoarse chuckle.
+
+‘I will have a respectful, prompt, and ready bearing towards myself,’ he
+continued, ‘and towards Jane Murdstone, and towards your mother. I will
+not have this room shunned as if it were infected, at the pleasure of a
+child. Sit down.’
+
+He ordered me like a dog, and I obeyed like a dog.
+
+‘One thing more,’ he said. ‘I observe that you have an attachment to low
+and common company. You are not to associate with servants. The
+kitchen will not improve you, in the many respects in which you need
+improvement. Of the woman who abets you, I say nothing--since you,
+Clara,’ addressing my mother in a lower voice, ‘from old associations
+and long-established fancies, have a weakness respecting her which is
+not yet overcome.’
+
+‘A most unaccountable delusion it is!’ cried Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘I only say,’ he resumed, addressing me, ‘that I disapprove of your
+preferring such company as Mistress Peggotty, and that it is to be
+abandoned. Now, David, you understand me, and you know what will be the
+consequence if you fail to obey me to the letter.’
+
+I knew well--better perhaps than he thought, as far as my poor mother
+was concerned--and I obeyed him to the letter. I retreated to my own
+room no more; I took refuge with Peggotty no more; but sat wearily in
+the parlour day after day, looking forward to night, and bedtime.
+
+What irksome constraint I underwent, sitting in the same attitude hours
+upon hours, afraid to move an arm or a leg lest Miss Murdstone should
+complain (as she did on the least pretence) of my restlessness, and
+afraid to move an eye lest she should light on some look of dislike
+or scrutiny that would find new cause for complaint in mine! What
+intolerable dulness to sit listening to the ticking of the clock; and
+watching Miss Murdstone’s little shiny steel beads as she strung them;
+and wondering whether she would ever be married, and if so, to what
+sort of unhappy man; and counting the divisions in the moulding of the
+chimney-piece; and wandering away, with my eyes, to the ceiling, among
+the curls and corkscrews in the paper on the wall!
+
+What walks I took alone, down muddy lanes, in the bad winter weather,
+carrying that parlour, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone in it, everywhere: a
+monstrous load that I was obliged to bear, a daymare that there was
+no possibility of breaking in, a weight that brooded on my wits, and
+blunted them!
+
+What meals I had in silence and embarrassment, always feeling that there
+were a knife and fork too many, and that mine; an appetite too many, and
+that mine; a plate and chair too many, and those mine; a somebody too
+many, and that I!
+
+What evenings, when the candles came, and I was expected to employ
+myself, but, not daring to read an entertaining book, pored over some
+hard-headed, harder-hearted treatise on arithmetic; when the tables of
+weights and measures set themselves to tunes, as ‘Rule Britannia’, or
+‘Away with Melancholy’; when they wouldn’t stand still to be learnt, but
+would go threading my grandmother’s needle through my unfortunate head,
+in at one ear and out at the other! What yawns and dozes I lapsed into,
+in spite of all my care; what starts I came out of concealed sleeps
+with; what answers I never got, to little observations that I rarely
+made; what a blank space I seemed, which everybody overlooked, and
+yet was in everybody’s way; what a heavy relief it was to hear Miss
+Murdstone hail the first stroke of nine at night, and order me to bed!
+
+Thus the holidays lagged away, until the morning came when Miss
+Murdstone said: ‘Here’s the last day off!’ and gave me the closing cup
+of tea of the vacation.
+
+I was not sorry to go. I had lapsed into a stupid state; but I was
+recovering a little and looking forward to Steerforth, albeit Mr.
+Creakle loomed behind him. Again Mr. Barkis appeared at the gate, and
+again Miss Murdstone in her warning voice, said: ‘Clara!’ when my mother
+bent over me, to bid me farewell.
+
+I kissed her, and my baby brother, and was very sorry then; but not
+sorry to go away, for the gulf between us was there, and the parting was
+there, every day. And it is not so much the embrace she gave me, that
+lives in my mind, though it was as fervent as could be, as what followed
+the embrace.
+
+I was in the carrier’s cart when I heard her calling to me. I looked
+out, and she stood at the garden-gate alone, holding her baby up in her
+arms for me to see. It was cold still weather; and not a hair of her
+head, nor a fold of her dress, was stirred, as she looked intently at
+me, holding up her child.
+
+So I lost her. So I saw her afterwards, in my sleep at school--a silent
+presence near my bed--looking at me with the same intent face--holding
+up her baby in her arms.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 9. I HAVE A MEMORABLE BIRTHDAY
+
+
+I PASS over all that happened at school, until the anniversary of my
+birthday came round in March. Except that Steerforth was more to be
+admired than ever, I remember nothing. He was going away at the end of
+the half-year, if not sooner, and was more spirited and independent than
+before in my eyes, and therefore more engaging than before; but beyond
+this I remember nothing. The great remembrance by which that time is
+marked in my mind, seems to have swallowed up all lesser recollections,
+and to exist alone.
+
+It is even difficult for me to believe that there was a gap of full
+two months between my return to Salem House and the arrival of that
+birthday. I can only understand that the fact was so, because I know it
+must have been so; otherwise I should feel convinced that there was no
+interval, and that the one occasion trod upon the other’s heels.
+
+How well I recollect the kind of day it was! I smell the fog that hung
+about the place; I see the hoar frost, ghostly, through it; I feel my
+rimy hair fall clammy on my cheek; I look along the dim perspective of
+the schoolroom, with a sputtering candle here and there to light up the
+foggy morning, and the breath of the boys wreathing and smoking in the
+raw cold as they blow upon their fingers, and tap their feet upon the
+floor. It was after breakfast, and we had been summoned in from the
+playground, when Mr. Sharp entered and said:
+
+‘David Copperfield is to go into the parlour.’
+
+I expected a hamper from Peggotty, and brightened at the order. Some
+of the boys about me put in their claim not to be forgotten in the
+distribution of the good things, as I got out of my seat with great
+alacrity.
+
+‘Don’t hurry, David,’ said Mr. Sharp. ‘There’s time enough, my boy,
+don’t hurry.’
+
+I might have been surprised by the feeling tone in which he spoke, if I
+had given it a thought; but I gave it none until afterwards. I hurried
+away to the parlour; and there I found Mr. Creakle, sitting at his
+breakfast with the cane and a newspaper before him, and Mrs. Creakle
+with an opened letter in her hand. But no hamper.
+
+‘David Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Creakle, leading me to a sofa, and
+sitting down beside me. ‘I want to speak to you very particularly. I
+have something to tell you, my child.’
+
+Mr. Creakle, at whom of course I looked, shook his head without looking
+at me, and stopped up a sigh with a very large piece of buttered toast.
+
+‘You are too young to know how the world changes every day,’ said Mrs.
+Creakle, ‘and how the people in it pass away. But we all have to learn
+it, David; some of us when we are young, some of us when we are old,
+some of us at all times of our lives.’
+
+I looked at her earnestly.
+
+‘When you came away from home at the end of the vacation,’ said Mrs.
+Creakle, after a pause, ‘were they all well?’ After another pause, ‘Was
+your mama well?’
+
+I trembled without distinctly knowing why, and still looked at her
+earnestly, making no attempt to answer.
+
+‘Because,’ said she, ‘I grieve to tell you that I hear this morning your
+mama is very ill.’
+
+A mist rose between Mrs. Creakle and me, and her figure seemed to move
+in it for an instant. Then I felt the burning tears run down my face,
+and it was steady again.
+
+‘She is very dangerously ill,’ she added.
+
+I knew all now.
+
+‘She is dead.’
+
+There was no need to tell me so. I had already broken out into a
+desolate cry, and felt an orphan in the wide world.
+
+She was very kind to me. She kept me there all day, and left me alone
+sometimes; and I cried, and wore myself to sleep, and awoke and
+cried again. When I could cry no more, I began to think; and then the
+oppression on my breast was heaviest, and my grief a dull pain that
+there was no ease for.
+
+And yet my thoughts were idle; not intent on the calamity that weighed
+upon my heart, but idly loitering near it. I thought of our house shut
+up and hushed. I thought of the little baby, who, Mrs. Creakle said, had
+been pining away for some time, and who, they believed, would die too. I
+thought of my father’s grave in the churchyard, by our house, and of my
+mother lying there beneath the tree I knew so well. I stood upon a chair
+when I was left alone, and looked into the glass to see how red my eyes
+were, and how sorrowful my face. I considered, after some hours were
+gone, if my tears were really hard to flow now, as they seemed to be,
+what, in connexion with my loss, it would affect me most to think
+of when I drew near home--for I was going home to the funeral. I am
+sensible of having felt that a dignity attached to me among the rest of
+the boys, and that I was important in my affliction.
+
+If ever child were stricken with sincere grief, I was. But I remember
+that this importance was a kind of satisfaction to me, when I walked in
+the playground that afternoon while the boys were in school. When I
+saw them glancing at me out of the windows, as they went up to their
+classes, I felt distinguished, and looked more melancholy, and walked
+slower. When school was over, and they came out and spoke to me, I felt
+it rather good in myself not to be proud to any of them, and to take
+exactly the same notice of them all, as before.
+
+I was to go home next night; not by the mail, but by the heavy
+night-coach, which was called the Farmer, and was principally used by
+country-people travelling short intermediate distances upon the road. We
+had no story-telling that evening, and Traddles insisted on lending me
+his pillow. I don’t know what good he thought it would do me, for I
+had one of my own: but it was all he had to lend, poor fellow, except a
+sheet of letter-paper full of skeletons; and that he gave me at parting,
+as a soother of my sorrows and a contribution to my peace of mind.
+
+I left Salem House upon the morrow afternoon. I little thought then that
+I left it, never to return. We travelled very slowly all night, and
+did not get into Yarmouth before nine or ten o’clock in the morning. I
+looked out for Mr. Barkis, but he was not there; and instead of him a
+fat, short-winded, merry-looking, little old man in black, with rusty
+little bunches of ribbons at the knees of his breeches, black stockings,
+and a broad-brimmed hat, came puffing up to the coach window, and said:
+
+‘Master Copperfield?’
+
+‘Yes, sir.’
+
+‘Will you come with me, young sir, if you please,’ he said, opening the
+door, ‘and I shall have the pleasure of taking you home.’
+
+I put my hand in his, wondering who he was, and we walked away to a
+shop in a narrow street, on which was written OMER, DRAPER, TAILOR,
+HABERDASHER, FUNERAL FURNISHER, &c. It was a close and stifling little
+shop; full of all sorts of clothing, made and unmade, including
+one window full of beaver-hats and bonnets. We went into a little
+back-parlour behind the shop, where we found three young women at work
+on a quantity of black materials, which were heaped upon the table,
+and little bits and cuttings of which were littered all over the floor.
+There was a good fire in the room, and a breathless smell of warm black
+crape--I did not know what the smell was then, but I know now.
+
+The three young women, who appeared to be very industrious and
+comfortable, raised their heads to look at me, and then went on with
+their work. Stitch, stitch, stitch. At the same time there came from
+a workshop across a little yard outside the window, a regular sound
+of hammering that kept a kind of tune: RAT--tat-tat, RAT--tat-tat,
+RAT--tat-tat, without any variation.
+
+‘Well,’ said my conductor to one of the three young women. ‘How do you
+get on, Minnie?’
+
+‘We shall be ready by the trying-on time,’ she replied gaily, without
+looking up. ‘Don’t you be afraid, father.’
+
+Mr. Omer took off his broad-brimmed hat, and sat down and panted. He was
+so fat that he was obliged to pant some time before he could say:
+
+‘That’s right.’
+
+‘Father!’ said Minnie, playfully. ‘What a porpoise you do grow!’
+
+‘Well, I don’t know how it is, my dear,’ he replied, considering about
+it. ‘I am rather so.’
+
+‘You are such a comfortable man, you see,’ said Minnie. ‘You take things
+so easy.’
+
+‘No use taking ‘em otherwise, my dear,’ said Mr. Omer.
+
+‘No, indeed,’ returned his daughter. ‘We are all pretty gay here, thank
+Heaven! Ain’t we, father?’
+
+‘I hope so, my dear,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘As I have got my breath now, I
+think I’ll measure this young scholar. Would you walk into the shop,
+Master Copperfield?’
+
+I preceded Mr. Omer, in compliance with his request; and after showing
+me a roll of cloth which he said was extra super, and too good mourning
+for anything short of parents, he took my various dimensions, and put
+them down in a book. While he was recording them he called my attention
+to his stock in trade, and to certain fashions which he said had ‘just
+come up’, and to certain other fashions which he said had ‘just gone
+out’.
+
+‘And by that sort of thing we very often lose a little mint of money,’
+said Mr. Omer. ‘But fashions are like human beings. They come in, nobody
+knows when, why, or how; and they go out, nobody knows when, why, or
+how. Everything is like life, in my opinion, if you look at it in that
+point of view.’
+
+I was too sorrowful to discuss the question, which would possibly have
+been beyond me under any circumstances; and Mr. Omer took me back into
+the parlour, breathing with some difficulty on the way.
+
+He then called down a little break-neck range of steps behind a door:
+‘Bring up that tea and bread-and-butter!’ which, after some time,
+during which I sat looking about me and thinking, and listening to the
+stitching in the room and the tune that was being hammered across the
+yard, appeared on a tray, and turned out to be for me.
+
+‘I have been acquainted with you,’ said Mr. Omer, after watching me
+for some minutes, during which I had not made much impression on the
+breakfast, for the black things destroyed my appetite, ‘I have been
+acquainted with you a long time, my young friend.’
+
+‘Have you, sir?’
+
+‘All your life,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘I may say before it. I knew your
+father before you. He was five foot nine and a half, and he lays in
+five-and-twen-ty foot of ground.’
+
+‘RAT--tat-tat, RAT--tat-tat, RAT--tat-tat,’ across the yard.
+
+‘He lays in five and twen-ty foot of ground, if he lays in a fraction,’
+said Mr. Omer, pleasantly. ‘It was either his request or her direction,
+I forget which.’
+
+‘Do you know how my little brother is, sir?’ I inquired.
+
+Mr. Omer shook his head.
+
+‘RAT--tat-tat, RAT--tat-tat, RAT--tat-tat.’
+
+‘He is in his mother’s arms,’ said he.
+
+‘Oh, poor little fellow! Is he dead?’
+
+‘Don’t mind it more than you can help,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Yes. The baby’s
+dead.’
+
+My wounds broke out afresh at this intelligence. I left the
+scarcely-tasted breakfast, and went and rested my head on another table,
+in a corner of the little room, which Minnie hastily cleared, lest I
+should spot the mourning that was lying there with my tears. She was
+a pretty, good-natured girl, and put my hair away from my eyes with a
+soft, kind touch; but she was very cheerful at having nearly finished
+her work and being in good time, and was so different from me!
+
+Presently the tune left off, and a good-looking young fellow came across
+the yard into the room. He had a hammer in his hand, and his mouth was
+full of little nails, which he was obliged to take out before he could
+speak.
+
+‘Well, Joram!’ said Mr. Omer. ‘How do you get on?’
+
+‘All right,’ said Joram. ‘Done, sir.’
+
+Minnie coloured a little, and the other two girls smiled at one another.
+
+‘What! you were at it by candle-light last night, when I was at the
+club, then? Were you?’ said Mr. Omer, shutting up one eye.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Joram. ‘As you said we could make a little trip of it, and
+go over together, if it was done, Minnie and me--and you.’
+
+‘Oh! I thought you were going to leave me out altogether,’ said Mr.
+Omer, laughing till he coughed.
+
+‘--As you was so good as to say that,’ resumed the young man, ‘why I
+turned to with a will, you see. Will you give me your opinion of it?’
+
+‘I will,’ said Mr. Omer, rising. ‘My dear’; and he stopped and turned to
+me: ‘would you like to see your--’
+
+‘No, father,’ Minnie interposed.
+
+‘I thought it might be agreeable, my dear,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘But perhaps
+you’re right.’
+
+I can’t say how I knew it was my dear, dear mother’s coffin that they
+went to look at. I had never heard one making; I had never seen one that
+I know of.--but it came into my mind what the noise was, while it was
+going on; and when the young man entered, I am sure I knew what he had
+been doing.
+
+The work being now finished, the two girls, whose names I had not heard,
+brushed the shreds and threads from their dresses, and went into the
+shop to put that to rights, and wait for customers. Minnie stayed behind
+to fold up what they had made, and pack it in two baskets. This she did
+upon her knees, humming a lively little tune the while. Joram, who I had
+no doubt was her lover, came in and stole a kiss from her while she was
+busy (he didn’t appear to mind me, at all), and said her father was gone
+for the chaise, and he must make haste and get himself ready. Then he
+went out again; and then she put her thimble and scissors in her pocket,
+and stuck a needle threaded with black thread neatly in the bosom of her
+gown, and put on her outer clothing smartly, at a little glass behind
+the door, in which I saw the reflection of her pleased face.
+
+All this I observed, sitting at the table in the corner with my head
+leaning on my hand, and my thoughts running on very different things.
+The chaise soon came round to the front of the shop, and the baskets
+being put in first, I was put in next, and those three followed. I
+remember it as a kind of half chaise-cart, half pianoforte-van, painted
+of a sombre colour, and drawn by a black horse with a long tail. There
+was plenty of room for us all.
+
+I do not think I have ever experienced so strange a feeling in my life
+(I am wiser now, perhaps) as that of being with them, remembering how
+they had been employed, and seeing them enjoy the ride. I was not angry
+with them; I was more afraid of them, as if I were cast away among
+creatures with whom I had no community of nature. They were very
+cheerful. The old man sat in front to drive, and the two young people
+sat behind him, and whenever he spoke to them leaned forward, the one on
+one side of his chubby face and the other on the other, and made a great
+deal of him. They would have talked to me too, but I held back, and
+moped in my corner; scared by their love-making and hilarity, though
+it was far from boisterous, and almost wondering that no judgement came
+upon them for their hardness of heart.
+
+So, when they stopped to bait the horse, and ate and drank and enjoyed
+themselves, I could touch nothing that they touched, but kept my fast
+unbroken. So, when we reached home, I dropped out of the chaise behind,
+as quickly as possible, that I might not be in their company before
+those solemn windows, looking blindly on me like closed eyes once
+bright. And oh, how little need I had had to think what would move me to
+tears when I came back--seeing the window of my mother’s room, and next
+it that which, in the better time, was mine!
+
+I was in Peggotty’s arms before I got to the door, and she took me into
+the house. Her grief burst out when she first saw me; but she controlled
+it soon, and spoke in whispers, and walked softly, as if the dead could
+be disturbed. She had not been in bed, I found, for a long time. She
+sat up at night still, and watched. As long as her poor dear pretty was
+above the ground, she said, she would never desert her.
+
+Mr. Murdstone took no heed of me when I went into the parlour where he
+was, but sat by the fireside, weeping silently, and pondering in his
+elbow-chair. Miss Murdstone, who was busy at her writing-desk, which
+was covered with letters and papers, gave me her cold finger-nails, and
+asked me, in an iron whisper, if I had been measured for my mourning.
+
+I said: ‘Yes.’
+
+‘And your shirts,’ said Miss Murdstone; ‘have you brought ‘em home?’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am. I have brought home all my clothes.’
+
+This was all the consolation that her firmness administered to me. I do
+not doubt that she had a choice pleasure in exhibiting what she called
+her self-command, and her firmness, and her strength of mind, and
+her common sense, and the whole diabolical catalogue of her unamiable
+qualities, on such an occasion. She was particularly proud of her turn
+for business; and she showed it now in reducing everything to pen and
+ink, and being moved by nothing. All the rest of that day, and from
+morning to night afterwards, she sat at that desk, scratching composedly
+with a hard pen, speaking in the same imperturbable whisper to
+everybody; never relaxing a muscle of her face, or softening a tone of
+her voice, or appearing with an atom of her dress astray.
+
+Her brother took a book sometimes, but never read it that I saw. He
+would open it and look at it as if he were reading, but would remain for
+a whole hour without turning the leaf, and then put it down and walk to
+and fro in the room. I used to sit with folded hands watching him, and
+counting his footsteps, hour after hour. He very seldom spoke to her,
+and never to me. He seemed to be the only restless thing, except the
+clocks, in the whole motionless house.
+
+In these days before the funeral, I saw but little of Peggotty, except
+that, in passing up or down stairs, I always found her close to the room
+where my mother and her baby lay, and except that she came to me every
+night, and sat by my bed’s head while I went to sleep. A day or
+two before the burial--I think it was a day or two before, but I am
+conscious of confusion in my mind about that heavy time, with nothing
+to mark its progress--she took me into the room. I only recollect that
+underneath some white covering on the bed, with a beautiful cleanliness
+and freshness all around it, there seemed to me to lie embodied the
+solemn stillness that was in the house; and that when she would have
+turned the cover gently back, I cried: ‘Oh no! oh no!’ and held her
+hand.
+
+If the funeral had been yesterday, I could not recollect it better. The
+very air of the best parlour, when I went in at the door, the bright
+condition of the fire, the shining of the wine in the decanters, the
+patterns of the glasses and plates, the faint sweet smell of cake, the
+odour of Miss Murdstone’s dress, and our black clothes. Mr. Chillip is
+in the room, and comes to speak to me.
+
+‘And how is Master David?’ he says, kindly.
+
+I cannot tell him very well. I give him my hand, which he holds in his.
+
+‘Dear me!’ says Mr. Chillip, meekly smiling, with something shining in
+his eye. ‘Our little friends grow up around us. They grow out of our
+knowledge, ma’am?’ This is to Miss Murdstone, who makes no reply.
+
+‘There is a great improvement here, ma’am?’ says Mr. Chillip.
+
+Miss Murdstone merely answers with a frown and a formal bend: Mr.
+Chillip, discomfited, goes into a corner, keeping me with him, and opens
+his mouth no more.
+
+I remark this, because I remark everything that happens, not because
+I care about myself, or have done since I came home. And now the bell
+begins to sound, and Mr. Omer and another come to make us ready. As
+Peggotty was wont to tell me, long ago, the followers of my father to
+the same grave were made ready in the same room.
+
+There are Mr. Murdstone, our neighbour Mr. Grayper, Mr. Chillip, and
+I. When we go out to the door, the Bearers and their load are in the
+garden; and they move before us down the path, and past the elms, and
+through the gate, and into the churchyard, where I have so often heard
+the birds sing on a summer morning.
+
+We stand around the grave. The day seems different to me from every
+other day, and the light not of the same colour--of a sadder colour.
+Now there is a solemn hush, which we have brought from home with what is
+resting in the mould; and while we stand bareheaded, I hear the voice
+of the clergyman, sounding remote in the open air, and yet distinct and
+plain, saying: ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord!’
+Then I hear sobs; and, standing apart among the lookers-on, I see that
+good and faithful servant, whom of all the people upon earth I love the
+best, and unto whom my childish heart is certain that the Lord will one
+day say: ‘Well done.’
+
+There are many faces that I know, among the little crowd; faces that I
+knew in church, when mine was always wondering there; faces that first
+saw my mother, when she came to the village in her youthful bloom. I do
+not mind them--I mind nothing but my grief--and yet I see and know them
+all; and even in the background, far away, see Minnie looking on, and
+her eye glancing on her sweetheart, who is near me.
+
+It is over, and the earth is filled in, and we turn to come away. Before
+us stands our house, so pretty and unchanged, so linked in my mind with
+the young idea of what is gone, that all my sorrow has been nothing to
+the sorrow it calls forth. But they take me on; and Mr. Chillip talks to
+me; and when we get home, puts some water to my lips; and when I ask his
+leave to go up to my room, dismisses me with the gentleness of a woman.
+
+All this, I say, is yesterday’s event. Events of later date have floated
+from me to the shore where all forgotten things will reappear, but this
+stands like a high rock in the ocean.
+
+I knew that Peggotty would come to me in my room. The Sabbath stillness
+of the time (the day was so like Sunday! I have forgotten that) was
+suited to us both. She sat down by my side upon my little bed; and
+holding my hand, and sometimes putting it to her lips, and sometimes
+smoothing it with hers, as she might have comforted my little brother,
+told me, in her way, all that she had to tell concerning what had
+happened.
+
+‘She was never well,’ said Peggotty, ‘for a long time. She was uncertain
+in her mind, and not happy. When her baby was born, I thought at first
+she would get better, but she was more delicate, and sunk a little every
+day. She used to like to sit alone before her baby came, and then she
+cried; but afterwards she used to sing to it--so soft, that I once
+thought, when I heard her, it was like a voice up in the air, that was
+rising away.
+
+‘I think she got to be more timid, and more frightened-like, of late;
+and that a hard word was like a blow to her. But she was always the same
+to me. She never changed to her foolish Peggotty, didn’t my sweet girl.’
+
+Here Peggotty stopped, and softly beat upon my hand a little while.
+
+‘The last time that I saw her like her own old self, was the night when
+you came home, my dear. The day you went away, she said to me, “I never
+shall see my pretty darling again. Something tells me so, that tells the
+truth, I know.”
+
+‘She tried to hold up after that; and many a time, when they told her
+she was thoughtless and light-hearted, made believe to be so; but it was
+all a bygone then. She never told her husband what she had told me--she
+was afraid of saying it to anybody else--till one night, a little more
+than a week before it happened, when she said to him: “My dear, I think
+I am dying.”
+
+‘“It’s off my mind now, Peggotty,” she told me, when I laid her in her
+bed that night. “He will believe it more and more, poor fellow, every
+day for a few days to come; and then it will be past. I am very tired.
+If this is sleep, sit by me while I sleep: don’t leave me. God bless
+both my children! God protect and keep my fatherless boy!”
+
+‘I never left her afterwards,’ said Peggotty. ‘She often talked to them
+two downstairs--for she loved them; she couldn’t bear not to love anyone
+who was about her--but when they went away from her bed-side, she always
+turned to me, as if there was rest where Peggotty was, and never fell
+asleep in any other way.
+
+‘On the last night, in the evening, she kissed me, and said: “If my baby
+should die too, Peggotty, please let them lay him in my arms, and bury
+us together.” (It was done; for the poor lamb lived but a day beyond
+her.) “Let my dearest boy go with us to our resting-place,” she said,
+“and tell him that his mother, when she lay here, blessed him not once,
+but a thousand times.”’
+
+Another silence followed this, and another gentle beating on my hand.
+
+‘It was pretty far in the night,’ said Peggotty, ‘when she asked me for
+some drink; and when she had taken it, gave me such a patient smile, the
+dear!--so beautiful!
+
+‘Daybreak had come, and the sun was rising, when she said to me, how
+kind and considerate Mr. Copperfield had always been to her, and how
+he had borne with her, and told her, when she doubted herself, that
+a loving heart was better and stronger than wisdom, and that he was a
+happy man in hers. “Peggotty, my dear,” she said then, “put me nearer to
+you,” for she was very weak. “Lay your good arm underneath my neck,” she
+said, “and turn me to you, for your face is going far off, and I want it
+to be near.” I put it as she asked; and oh Davy! the time had come when
+my first parting words to you were true--when she was glad to lay her
+poor head on her stupid cross old Peggotty’s arm--and she died like a
+child that had gone to sleep!’
+
+
+Thus ended Peggotty’s narration. From the moment of my knowing of the
+death of my mother, the idea of her as she had been of late had vanished
+from me. I remembered her, from that instant, only as the young mother
+of my earliest impressions, who had been used to wind her bright curls
+round and round her finger, and to dance with me at twilight in the
+parlour. What Peggotty had told me now, was so far from bringing me back
+to the later period, that it rooted the earlier image in my mind. It may
+be curious, but it is true. In her death she winged her way back to her
+calm untroubled youth, and cancelled all the rest.
+
+The mother who lay in the grave, was the mother of my infancy; the
+little creature in her arms, was myself, as I had once been, hushed for
+ever on her bosom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 10. I BECOME NEGLECTED, AND AM PROVIDED FOR
+
+
+The first act of business Miss Murdstone performed when the day of the
+solemnity was over, and light was freely admitted into the house, was
+to give Peggotty a month’s warning. Much as Peggotty would have disliked
+such a service, I believe she would have retained it, for my sake, in
+preference to the best upon earth. She told me we must part, and told me
+why; and we condoled with one another, in all sincerity.
+
+As to me or my future, not a word was said, or a step taken. Happy
+they would have been, I dare say, if they could have dismissed me at a
+month’s warning too. I mustered courage once, to ask Miss Murdstone when
+I was going back to school; and she answered dryly, she believed I was
+not going back at all. I was told nothing more. I was very anxious to
+know what was going to be done with me, and so was Peggotty; but neither
+she nor I could pick up any information on the subject.
+
+There was one change in my condition, which, while it relieved me of
+a great deal of present uneasiness, might have made me, if I had been
+capable of considering it closely, yet more uncomfortable about the
+future. It was this. The constraint that had been put upon me, was quite
+abandoned. I was so far from being required to keep my dull post in
+the parlour, that on several occasions, when I took my seat there, Miss
+Murdstone frowned to me to go away. I was so far from being warned off
+from Peggotty’s society, that, provided I was not in Mr. Murdstone’s, I
+was never sought out or inquired for. At first I was in daily dread of
+his taking my education in hand again, or of Miss Murdstone’s
+devoting herself to it; but I soon began to think that such fears were
+groundless, and that all I had to anticipate was neglect.
+
+I do not conceive that this discovery gave me much pain then. I was
+still giddy with the shock of my mother’s death, and in a kind of
+stunned state as to all tributary things. I can recollect, indeed, to
+have speculated, at odd times, on the possibility of my not being taught
+any more, or cared for any more; and growing up to be a shabby, moody
+man, lounging an idle life away, about the village; as well as on the
+feasibility of my getting rid of this picture by going away somewhere,
+like the hero in a story, to seek my fortune: but these were transient
+visions, daydreams I sat looking at sometimes, as if they were faintly
+painted or written on the wall of my room, and which, as they melted
+away, left the wall blank again.
+
+‘Peggotty,’ I said in a thoughtful whisper, one evening, when I was
+warming my hands at the kitchen fire, ‘Mr. Murdstone likes me less than
+he used to. He never liked me much, Peggotty; but he would rather not
+even see me now, if he can help it.’
+
+‘Perhaps it’s his sorrow,’ said Peggotty, stroking my hair.
+
+‘I am sure, Peggotty, I am sorry too. If I believed it was his sorrow,
+I should not think of it at all. But it’s not that; oh, no, it’s not
+that.’
+
+‘How do you know it’s not that?’ said Peggotty, after a silence.
+
+‘Oh, his sorrow is another and quite a different thing. He is sorry at
+this moment, sitting by the fireside with Miss Murdstone; but if I was
+to go in, Peggotty, he would be something besides.’
+
+‘What would he be?’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘Angry,’ I answered, with an involuntary imitation of his dark frown.
+‘If he was only sorry, he wouldn’t look at me as he does. I am only
+sorry, and it makes me feel kinder.’
+
+Peggotty said nothing for a little while; and I warmed my hands, as
+silent as she.
+
+‘Davy,’ she said at length.
+
+‘Yes, Peggotty?’ ‘I have tried, my dear, all ways I could think of--all
+the ways there are, and all the ways there ain’t, in short--to get a
+suitable service here, in Blunderstone; but there’s no such a thing, my
+love.’
+
+‘And what do you mean to do, Peggotty,’ says I, wistfully. ‘Do you mean
+to go and seek your fortune?’
+
+‘I expect I shall be forced to go to Yarmouth,’ replied Peggotty, ‘and
+live there.’
+
+‘You might have gone farther off,’ I said, brightening a little, ‘and
+been as bad as lost. I shall see you sometimes, my dear old Peggotty,
+there. You won’t be quite at the other end of the world, will you?’
+
+‘Contrary ways, please God!’ cried Peggotty, with great animation. ‘As
+long as you are here, my pet, I shall come over every week of my life to
+see you. One day, every week of my life!’
+
+I felt a great weight taken off my mind by this promise: but even this
+was not all, for Peggotty went on to say:
+
+‘I’m a-going, Davy, you see, to my brother’s, first, for another
+fortnight’s visit--just till I have had time to look about me, and
+get to be something like myself again. Now, I have been thinking that
+perhaps, as they don’t want you here at present, you might be let to go
+along with me.’
+
+If anything, short of being in a different relation to every one about
+me, Peggotty excepted, could have given me a sense of pleasure at that
+time, it would have been this project of all others. The idea of being
+again surrounded by those honest faces, shining welcome on me; of
+renewing the peacefulness of the sweet Sunday morning, when the bells
+were ringing, the stones dropping in the water, and the shadowy ships
+breaking through the mist; of roaming up and down with little Em’ly,
+telling her my troubles, and finding charms against them in the shells
+and pebbles on the beach; made a calm in my heart. It was ruffled next
+moment, to be sure, by a doubt of Miss Murdstone’s giving her consent;
+but even that was set at rest soon, for she came out to take an evening
+grope in the store-closet while we were yet in conversation, and
+Peggotty, with a boldness that amazed me, broached the topic on the
+spot.
+
+‘The boy will be idle there,’ said Miss Murdstone, looking into a
+pickle-jar, ‘and idleness is the root of all evil. But, to be sure, he
+would be idle here--or anywhere, in my opinion.’
+
+Peggotty had an angry answer ready, I could see; but she swallowed it
+for my sake, and remained silent.
+
+‘Humph!’ said Miss Murdstone, still keeping her eye on the pickles;
+‘it is of more importance than anything else--it is of paramount
+importance--that my brother should not be disturbed or made
+uncomfortable. I suppose I had better say yes.’
+
+I thanked her, without making any demonstration of joy, lest it should
+induce her to withdraw her assent. Nor could I help thinking this a
+prudent course, since she looked at me out of the pickle-jar, with
+as great an access of sourness as if her black eyes had absorbed its
+contents. However, the permission was given, and was never retracted;
+for when the month was out, Peggotty and I were ready to depart.
+
+Mr. Barkis came into the house for Peggotty’s boxes. I had never known
+him to pass the garden-gate before, but on this occasion he came into
+the house. And he gave me a look as he shouldered the largest box and
+went out, which I thought had meaning in it, if meaning could ever be
+said to find its way into Mr. Barkis’s visage.
+
+Peggotty was naturally in low spirits at leaving what had been her home
+so many years, and where the two strong attachments of her life--for
+my mother and myself--had been formed. She had been walking in the
+churchyard, too, very early; and she got into the cart, and sat in it
+with her handkerchief at her eyes.
+
+So long as she remained in this condition, Mr. Barkis gave no sign
+of life whatever. He sat in his usual place and attitude like a great
+stuffed figure. But when she began to look about her, and to speak to
+me, he nodded his head and grinned several times. I have not the least
+notion at whom, or what he meant by it.
+
+‘It’s a beautiful day, Mr. Barkis!’ I said, as an act of politeness.
+
+‘It ain’t bad,’ said Mr. Barkis, who generally qualified his speech, and
+rarely committed himself.
+
+‘Peggotty is quite comfortable now, Mr. Barkis,’ I remarked, for his
+satisfaction.
+
+‘Is she, though?’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+After reflecting about it, with a sagacious air, Mr. Barkis eyed her,
+and said:
+
+‘ARE you pretty comfortable?’
+
+Peggotty laughed, and answered in the affirmative.
+
+‘But really and truly, you know. Are you?’ growled Mr. Barkis, sliding
+nearer to her on the seat, and nudging her with his elbow. ‘Are you?
+Really and truly pretty comfortable? Are you? Eh?’
+
+At each of these inquiries Mr. Barkis shuffled nearer to her, and gave
+her another nudge; so that at last we were all crowded together in the
+left-hand corner of the cart, and I was so squeezed that I could hardly
+bear it.
+
+Peggotty calling his attention to my sufferings, Mr. Barkis gave me a
+little more room at once, and got away by degrees. But I could not help
+observing that he seemed to think he had hit upon a wonderful expedient
+for expressing himself in a neat, agreeable, and pointed manner, without
+the inconvenience of inventing conversation. He manifestly chuckled over
+it for some time. By and by he turned to Peggotty again, and repeating,
+‘Are you pretty comfortable though?’ bore down upon us as before, until
+the breath was nearly edged out of my body. By and by he made another
+descent upon us with the same inquiry, and the same result. At length,
+I got up whenever I saw him coming, and standing on the foot-board,
+pretended to look at the prospect; after which I did very well.
+
+He was so polite as to stop at a public-house, expressly on our account,
+and entertain us with broiled mutton and beer. Even when Peggotty was
+in the act of drinking, he was seized with one of those approaches, and
+almost choked her. But as we drew nearer to the end of our journey, he
+had more to do and less time for gallantry; and when we got on Yarmouth
+pavement, we were all too much shaken and jolted, I apprehend, to have
+any leisure for anything else.
+
+Mr. Peggotty and Ham waited for us at the old place. They received me
+and Peggotty in an affectionate manner, and shook hands with Mr. Barkis,
+who, with his hat on the very back of his head, and a shame-faced leer
+upon his countenance, and pervading his very legs, presented but a
+vacant appearance, I thought. They each took one of Peggotty’s trunks,
+and we were going away, when Mr. Barkis solemnly made a sign to me with
+his forefinger to come under an archway.
+
+‘I say,’ growled Mr. Barkis, ‘it was all right.’
+
+I looked up into his face, and answered, with an attempt to be very
+profound: ‘Oh!’
+
+‘It didn’t come to a end there,’ said Mr. Barkis, nodding
+confidentially. ‘It was all right.’
+
+Again I answered, ‘Oh!’
+
+‘You know who was willin’,’ said my friend. ‘It was Barkis, and Barkis
+only.’
+
+I nodded assent.
+
+‘It’s all right,’ said Mr. Barkis, shaking hands; ‘I’m a friend of
+your’n. You made it all right, first. It’s all right.’
+
+In his attempts to be particularly lucid, Mr. Barkis was so extremely
+mysterious, that I might have stood looking in his face for an hour, and
+most assuredly should have got as much information out of it as out
+of the face of a clock that had stopped, but for Peggotty’s calling me
+away. As we were going along, she asked me what he had said; and I told
+her he had said it was all right.
+
+‘Like his impudence,’ said Peggotty, ‘but I don’t mind that! Davy dear,
+what should you think if I was to think of being married?’
+
+‘Why--I suppose you would like me as much then, Peggotty, as you do
+now?’ I returned, after a little consideration.
+
+Greatly to the astonishment of the passengers in the street, as well as
+of her relations going on before, the good soul was obliged to stop and
+embrace me on the spot, with many protestations of her unalterable love.
+
+‘Tell me what should you say, darling?’ she asked again, when this was
+over, and we were walking on.
+
+‘If you were thinking of being married--to Mr. Barkis, Peggotty?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘I should think it would be a very good thing. For then you know,
+Peggotty, you would always have the horse and cart to bring you over to
+see me, and could come for nothing, and be sure of coming.’
+
+‘The sense of the dear!’ cried Peggotty. ‘What I have been thinking
+of, this month back! Yes, my precious; and I think I should be more
+independent altogether, you see; let alone my working with a better
+heart in my own house, than I could in anybody else’s now. I don’t know
+what I might be fit for, now, as a servant to a stranger. And I shall be
+always near my pretty’s resting-place,’ said Peggotty, musing, ‘and be
+able to see it when I like; and when I lie down to rest, I may be laid
+not far off from my darling girl!’
+
+We neither of us said anything for a little while.
+
+‘But I wouldn’t so much as give it another thought,’ said Peggotty,
+cheerily ‘if my Davy was anyways against it--not if I had been asked in
+church thirty times three times over, and was wearing out the ring in my
+pocket.’
+
+‘Look at me, Peggotty,’ I replied; ‘and see if I am not really glad, and
+don’t truly wish it!’ As indeed I did, with all my heart.
+
+‘Well, my life,’ said Peggotty, giving me a squeeze, ‘I have thought of
+it night and day, every way I can, and I hope the right way; but I’ll
+think of it again, and speak to my brother about it, and in the meantime
+we’ll keep it to ourselves, Davy, you and me. Barkis is a good plain
+creature,’ said Peggotty, ‘and if I tried to do my duty by him, I think
+it would be my fault if I wasn’t--if I wasn’t pretty comfortable,’
+said Peggotty, laughing heartily. This quotation from Mr. Barkis was
+so appropriate, and tickled us both so much, that we laughed again and
+again, and were quite in a pleasant humour when we came within view of
+Mr. Peggotty’s cottage.
+
+It looked just the same, except that it may, perhaps, have shrunk a
+little in my eyes; and Mrs. Gummidge was waiting at the door as if she
+had stood there ever since. All within was the same, down to the seaweed
+in the blue mug in my bedroom. I went into the out-house to look about
+me; and the very same lobsters, crabs, and crawfish possessed by the
+same desire to pinch the world in general, appeared to be in the same
+state of conglomeration in the same old corner.
+
+But there was no little Em’ly to be seen, so I asked Mr. Peggotty where
+she was.
+
+‘She’s at school, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty, wiping the heat consequent
+on the porterage of Peggotty’s box from his forehead; ‘she’ll be home,’
+looking at the Dutch clock, ‘in from twenty minutes to half-an-hour’s
+time. We all on us feel the loss of her, bless ye!’
+
+Mrs. Gummidge moaned.
+
+‘Cheer up, Mawther!’ cried Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘I feel it more than anybody else,’ said Mrs. Gummidge; ‘I’m a lone
+lorn creetur’, and she used to be a’most the only thing that didn’t go
+contrary with me.’
+
+Mrs. Gummidge, whimpering and shaking her head, applied herself to
+blowing the fire. Mr. Peggotty, looking round upon us while she was so
+engaged, said in a low voice, which he shaded with his hand: ‘The old
+‘un!’ From this I rightly conjectured that no improvement had taken
+place since my last visit in the state of Mrs. Gummidge’s spirits.
+
+Now, the whole place was, or it should have been, quite as delightful
+a place as ever; and yet it did not impress me in the same way. I felt
+rather disappointed with it. Perhaps it was because little Em’ly was
+not at home. I knew the way by which she would come, and presently found
+myself strolling along the path to meet her.
+
+A figure appeared in the distance before long, and I soon knew it to be
+Em’ly, who was a little creature still in stature, though she was grown.
+But when she drew nearer, and I saw her blue eyes looking bluer, and her
+dimpled face looking brighter, and her whole self prettier and gayer, a
+curious feeling came over me that made me pretend not to know her, and
+pass by as if I were looking at something a long way off. I have done
+such a thing since in later life, or I am mistaken.
+
+Little Em’ly didn’t care a bit. She saw me well enough; but instead of
+turning round and calling after me, ran away laughing. This obliged me
+to run after her, and she ran so fast that we were very near the cottage
+before I caught her.
+
+‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ said little Em’ly.
+
+‘Why, you knew who it was, Em’ly,’ said I.
+
+‘And didn’t YOU know who it was?’ said Em’ly. I was going to kiss her,
+but she covered her cherry lips with her hands, and said she wasn’t a
+baby now, and ran away, laughing more than ever, into the house.
+
+She seemed to delight in teasing me, which was a change in her I
+wondered at very much. The tea table was ready, and our little locker
+was put out in its old place, but instead of coming to sit by me, she
+went and bestowed her company upon that grumbling Mrs. Gummidge: and on
+Mr. Peggotty’s inquiring why, rumpled her hair all over her face to hide
+it, and could do nothing but laugh.
+
+‘A little puss, it is!’ said Mr. Peggotty, patting her with his great
+hand.
+
+‘So sh’ is! so sh’ is!’ cried Ham. ‘Mas’r Davy bor’, so sh’ is!’ and he
+sat and chuckled at her for some time, in a state of mingled admiration
+and delight, that made his face a burning red.
+
+Little Em’ly was spoiled by them all, in fact; and by no one more than
+Mr. Peggotty himself, whom she could have coaxed into anything, by
+only going and laying her cheek against his rough whisker. That was my
+opinion, at least, when I saw her do it; and I held Mr. Peggotty to be
+thoroughly in the right. But she was so affectionate and sweet-natured,
+and had such a pleasant manner of being both sly and shy at once, that
+she captivated me more than ever.
+
+She was tender-hearted, too; for when, as we sat round the fire after
+tea, an allusion was made by Mr. Peggotty over his pipe to the loss
+I had sustained, the tears stood in her eyes, and she looked at me so
+kindly across the table, that I felt quite thankful to her.
+
+‘Ah!’ said Mr. Peggotty, taking up her curls, and running them over his
+hand like water, ‘here’s another orphan, you see, sir. And here,’ said
+Mr. Peggotty, giving Ham a backhanded knock in the chest, ‘is another of
+‘em, though he don’t look much like it.’
+
+‘If I had you for my guardian, Mr. Peggotty,’ said I, shaking my head,
+‘I don’t think I should FEEL much like it.’
+
+‘Well said, Mas’r Davy bor’!’ cried Ham, in an ecstasy. ‘Hoorah! Well
+said! Nor more you wouldn’t! Hor! Hor!’--Here he returned Mr. Peggotty’s
+back-hander, and little Em’ly got up and kissed Mr. Peggotty. ‘And how’s
+your friend, sir?’ said Mr. Peggotty to me.
+
+‘Steerforth?’ said I.
+
+‘That’s the name!’ cried Mr. Peggotty, turning to Ham. ‘I knowed it was
+something in our way.’
+
+‘You said it was Rudderford,’ observed Ham, laughing.
+
+‘Well!’ retorted Mr. Peggotty. ‘And ye steer with a rudder, don’t ye? It
+ain’t fur off. How is he, sir?’
+
+‘He was very well indeed when I came away, Mr. Peggotty.’
+
+‘There’s a friend!’ said Mr. Peggotty, stretching out his pipe. ‘There’s
+a friend, if you talk of friends! Why, Lord love my heart alive, if it
+ain’t a treat to look at him!’
+
+‘He is very handsome, is he not?’ said I, my heart warming with this
+praise.
+
+‘Handsome!’ cried Mr. Peggotty. ‘He stands up to you like--like a--why I
+don’t know what he don’t stand up to you like. He’s so bold!’
+
+‘Yes! That’s just his character,’ said I. ‘He’s as brave as a lion, and
+you can’t think how frank he is, Mr. Peggotty.’
+
+‘And I do suppose, now,’ said Mr. Peggotty, looking at me through the
+smoke of his pipe, ‘that in the way of book-larning he’d take the wind
+out of a’most anything.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said I, delighted; ‘he knows everything. He is astonishingly
+clever.’
+
+‘There’s a friend!’ murmured Mr. Peggotty, with a grave toss of his
+head.
+
+‘Nothing seems to cost him any trouble,’ said I. ‘He knows a task if he
+only looks at it. He is the best cricketer you ever saw. He will give
+you almost as many men as you like at draughts, and beat you easily.’
+
+Mr. Peggotty gave his head another toss, as much as to say: ‘Of course
+he will.’
+
+‘He is such a speaker,’ I pursued, ‘that he can win anybody over; and I
+don’t know what you’d say if you were to hear him sing, Mr. Peggotty.’
+
+Mr. Peggotty gave his head another toss, as much as to say: ‘I have no
+doubt of it.’
+
+‘Then, he’s such a generous, fine, noble fellow,’ said I, quite carried
+away by my favourite theme, ‘that it’s hardly possible to give him as
+much praise as he deserves. I am sure I can never feel thankful enough
+for the generosity with which he has protected me, so much younger and
+lower in the school than himself.’
+
+I was running on, very fast indeed, when my eyes rested on little
+Em’ly’s face, which was bent forward over the table, listening with the
+deepest attention, her breath held, her blue eyes sparkling like jewels,
+and the colour mantling in her cheeks. She looked so extraordinarily
+earnest and pretty, that I stopped in a sort of wonder; and they all
+observed her at the same time, for as I stopped, they laughed and looked
+at her.
+
+‘Em’ly is like me,’ said Peggotty, ‘and would like to see him.’
+
+Em’ly was confused by our all observing her, and hung down her head,
+and her face was covered with blushes. Glancing up presently through her
+stray curls, and seeing that we were all looking at her still (I am sure
+I, for one, could have looked at her for hours), she ran away, and kept
+away till it was nearly bedtime.
+
+I lay down in the old little bed in the stern of the boat, and the wind
+came moaning on across the flat as it had done before. But I could not
+help fancying, now, that it moaned of those who were gone; and instead
+of thinking that the sea might rise in the night and float the boat
+away, I thought of the sea that had risen, since I last heard those
+sounds, and drowned my happy home. I recollect, as the wind and water
+began to sound fainter in my ears, putting a short clause into my
+prayers, petitioning that I might grow up to marry little Em’ly, and so
+dropping lovingly asleep.
+
+The days passed pretty much as they had passed before, except--it was
+a great exception--that little Em’ly and I seldom wandered on the beach
+now. She had tasks to learn, and needle-work to do; and was absent
+during a great part of each day. But I felt that we should not have had
+those old wanderings, even if it had been otherwise. Wild and full of
+childish whims as Em’ly was, she was more of a little woman than I
+had supposed. She seemed to have got a great distance away from me,
+in little more than a year. She liked me, but she laughed at me, and
+tormented me; and when I went to meet her, stole home another way, and
+was laughing at the door when I came back, disappointed. The best times
+were when she sat quietly at work in the doorway, and I sat on the
+wooden step at her feet, reading to her. It seems to me, at this
+hour, that I have never seen such sunlight as on those bright April
+afternoons; that I have never seen such a sunny little figure as I used
+to see, sitting in the doorway of the old boat; that I have never beheld
+such sky, such water, such glorified ships sailing away into golden air.
+
+On the very first evening after our arrival, Mr. Barkis appeared in an
+exceedingly vacant and awkward condition, and with a bundle of oranges
+tied up in a handkerchief. As he made no allusion of any kind to this
+property, he was supposed to have left it behind him by accident when
+he went away; until Ham, running after him to restore it, came back with
+the information that it was intended for Peggotty. After that occasion
+he appeared every evening at exactly the same hour, and always with a
+little bundle, to which he never alluded, and which he regularly put
+behind the door and left there. These offerings of affection were of a
+most various and eccentric description. Among them I remember a double
+set of pigs’ trotters, a huge pin-cushion, half a bushel or so of
+apples, a pair of jet earrings, some Spanish onions, a box of dominoes,
+a canary bird and cage, and a leg of pickled pork.
+
+Mr. Barkis’s wooing, as I remember it, was altogether of a peculiar
+kind. He very seldom said anything; but would sit by the fire in much
+the same attitude as he sat in his cart, and stare heavily at Peggotty,
+who was opposite. One night, being, as I suppose, inspired by love, he
+made a dart at the bit of wax-candle she kept for her thread, and put
+it in his waistcoat-pocket and carried it off. After that, his great
+delight was to produce it when it was wanted, sticking to the lining of
+his pocket, in a partially melted state, and pocket it again when it was
+done with. He seemed to enjoy himself very much, and not to feel at all
+called upon to talk. Even when he took Peggotty out for a walk on the
+flats, he had no uneasiness on that head, I believe; contenting himself
+with now and then asking her if she was pretty comfortable; and I
+remember that sometimes, after he was gone, Peggotty would throw her
+apron over her face, and laugh for half-an-hour. Indeed, we were
+all more or less amused, except that miserable Mrs. Gummidge, whose
+courtship would appear to have been of an exactly parallel nature, she
+was so continually reminded by these transactions of the old one.
+
+At length, when the term of my visit was nearly expired, it was given
+out that Peggotty and Mr. Barkis were going to make a day’s holiday
+together, and that little Em’ly and I were to accompany them. I had but
+a broken sleep the night before, in anticipation of the pleasure of
+a whole day with Em’ly. We were all astir betimes in the morning; and
+while we were yet at breakfast, Mr. Barkis appeared in the distance,
+driving a chaise-cart towards the object of his affections.
+
+Peggotty was dressed as usual, in her neat and quiet mourning; but Mr.
+Barkis bloomed in a new blue coat, of which the tailor had given him
+such good measure, that the cuffs would have rendered gloves unnecessary
+in the coldest weather, while the collar was so high that it pushed his
+hair up on end on the top of his head. His bright buttons, too, were
+of the largest size. Rendered complete by drab pantaloons and a buff
+waistcoat, I thought Mr. Barkis a phenomenon of respectability.
+
+When we were all in a bustle outside the door, I found that Mr. Peggotty
+was prepared with an old shoe, which was to be thrown after us for luck,
+and which he offered to Mrs. Gummidge for that purpose.
+
+‘No. It had better be done by somebody else, Dan’l,’ said Mrs. Gummidge.
+‘I’m a lone lorn creetur’ myself, and everythink that reminds me of
+creetur’s that ain’t lone and lorn, goes contrary with me.’
+
+‘Come, old gal!’ cried Mr. Peggotty. ‘Take and heave it.’
+
+‘No, Dan’l,’ returned Mrs. Gummidge, whimpering and shaking her head.
+‘If I felt less, I could do more. You don’t feel like me, Dan’l; thinks
+don’t go contrary with you, nor you with them; you had better do it
+yourself.’
+
+But here Peggotty, who had been going about from one to another in a
+hurried way, kissing everybody, called out from the cart, in which we
+all were by this time (Em’ly and I on two little chairs, side by side),
+that Mrs. Gummidge must do it. So Mrs. Gummidge did it; and, I am sorry
+to relate, cast a damp upon the festive character of our departure, by
+immediately bursting into tears, and sinking subdued into the arms of
+Ham, with the declaration that she knowed she was a burden, and had
+better be carried to the House at once. Which I really thought was a
+sensible idea, that Ham might have acted on.
+
+Away we went, however, on our holiday excursion; and the first thing
+we did was to stop at a church, where Mr. Barkis tied the horse to some
+rails, and went in with Peggotty, leaving little Em’ly and me alone in
+the chaise. I took that occasion to put my arm round Em’ly’s waist, and
+propose that as I was going away so very soon now, we should determine
+to be very affectionate to one another, and very happy, all day. Little
+Em’ly consenting, and allowing me to kiss her, I became desperate;
+informing her, I recollect, that I never could love another, and that
+I was prepared to shed the blood of anybody who should aspire to her
+affections.
+
+How merry little Em’ly made herself about it! With what a demure
+assumption of being immensely older and wiser than I, the fairy little
+woman said I was ‘a silly boy’; and then laughed so charmingly that
+I forgot the pain of being called by that disparaging name, in the
+pleasure of looking at her.
+
+Mr. Barkis and Peggotty were a good while in the church, but came out at
+last, and then we drove away into the country. As we were going along,
+Mr. Barkis turned to me, and said, with a wink,--by the by, I should
+hardly have thought, before, that he could wink:
+
+‘What name was it as I wrote up in the cart?’
+
+‘Clara Peggotty,’ I answered.
+
+‘What name would it be as I should write up now, if there was a tilt
+here?’
+
+‘Clara Peggotty, again?’ I suggested.
+
+‘Clara Peggotty BARKIS!’ he returned, and burst into a roar of laughter
+that shook the chaise.
+
+In a word, they were married, and had gone into the church for no other
+purpose. Peggotty was resolved that it should be quietly done; and
+the clerk had given her away, and there had been no witnesses of the
+ceremony. She was a little confused when Mr. Barkis made this abrupt
+announcement of their union, and could not hug me enough in token of her
+unimpaired affection; but she soon became herself again, and said she
+was very glad it was over.
+
+We drove to a little inn in a by-road, where we were expected, and
+where we had a very comfortable dinner, and passed the day with great
+satisfaction. If Peggotty had been married every day for the last ten
+years, she could hardly have been more at her ease about it; it made no
+sort of difference in her: she was just the same as ever, and went
+out for a stroll with little Em’ly and me before tea, while Mr. Barkis
+philosophically smoked his pipe, and enjoyed himself, I suppose, with
+the contemplation of his happiness. If so, it sharpened his appetite;
+for I distinctly call to mind that, although he had eaten a good deal of
+pork and greens at dinner, and had finished off with a fowl or two, he
+was obliged to have cold boiled bacon for tea, and disposed of a large
+quantity without any emotion.
+
+I have often thought, since, what an odd, innocent, out-of-the-way kind
+of wedding it must have been! We got into the chaise again soon after
+dark, and drove cosily back, looking up at the stars, and talking about
+them. I was their chief exponent, and opened Mr. Barkis’s mind to
+an amazing extent. I told him all I knew, but he would have believed
+anything I might have taken it into my head to impart to him; for he
+had a profound veneration for my abilities, and informed his wife in my
+hearing, on that very occasion, that I was ‘a young Roeshus’--by which I
+think he meant prodigy.
+
+When we had exhausted the subject of the stars, or rather when I had
+exhausted the mental faculties of Mr. Barkis, little Em’ly and I made a
+cloak of an old wrapper, and sat under it for the rest of the journey.
+Ah, how I loved her! What happiness (I thought) if we were married,
+and were going away anywhere to live among the trees and in the fields,
+never growing older, never growing wiser, children ever, rambling hand
+in hand through sunshine and among flowery meadows, laying down our
+heads on moss at night, in a sweet sleep of purity and peace, and buried
+by the birds when we were dead! Some such picture, with no real world in
+it, bright with the light of our innocence, and vague as the stars afar
+off, was in my mind all the way. I am glad to think there were two such
+guileless hearts at Peggotty’s marriage as little Em’ly’s and mine. I
+am glad to think the Loves and Graces took such airy forms in its homely
+procession.
+
+Well, we came to the old boat again in good time at night; and there
+Mr. and Mrs. Barkis bade us good-bye, and drove away snugly to their
+own home. I felt then, for the first time, that I had lost Peggotty. I
+should have gone to bed with a sore heart indeed under any other roof
+but that which sheltered little Em’ly’s head.
+
+Mr. Peggotty and Ham knew what was in my thoughts as well as I did, and
+were ready with some supper and their hospitable faces to drive it away.
+Little Em’ly came and sat beside me on the locker for the only time in
+all that visit; and it was altogether a wonderful close to a wonderful
+day.
+
+It was a night tide; and soon after we went to bed, Mr. Peggotty and Ham
+went out to fish. I felt very brave at being left alone in the solitary
+house, the protector of Em’ly and Mrs. Gummidge, and only wished that
+a lion or a serpent, or any ill-disposed monster, would make an attack
+upon us, that I might destroy him, and cover myself with glory. But as
+nothing of the sort happened to be walking about on Yarmouth flats that
+night, I provided the best substitute I could by dreaming of dragons
+until morning.
+
+With morning came Peggotty; who called to me, as usual, under my window
+as if Mr. Barkis the carrier had been from first to last a dream too.
+After breakfast she took me to her own home, and a beautiful little
+home it was. Of all the moveables in it, I must have been impressed by
+a certain old bureau of some dark wood in the parlour (the tile-floored
+kitchen was the general sitting-room), with a retreating top which
+opened, let down, and became a desk, within which was a large quarto
+edition of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. This precious volume, of which I do
+not recollect one word, I immediately discovered and immediately applied
+myself to; and I never visited the house afterwards, but I kneeled on
+a chair, opened the casket where this gem was enshrined, spread my arms
+over the desk, and fell to devouring the book afresh. I was chiefly
+edified, I am afraid, by the pictures, which were numerous, and
+represented all kinds of dismal horrors; but the Martyrs and Peggotty’s
+house have been inseparable in my mind ever since, and are now.
+
+I took leave of Mr. Peggotty, and Ham, and Mrs. Gummidge, and little
+Em’ly, that day; and passed the night at Peggotty’s, in a little room
+in the roof (with the Crocodile Book on a shelf by the bed’s head) which
+was to be always mine, Peggotty said, and should always be kept for me
+in exactly the same state.
+
+‘Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive and have this house over
+my head,’ said Peggotty, ‘you shall find it as if I expected you here
+directly minute. I shall keep it every day, as I used to keep your old
+little room, my darling; and if you was to go to China, you might think
+of it as being kept just the same, all the time you were away.’
+
+I felt the truth and constancy of my dear old nurse, with all my heart,
+and thanked her as well as I could. That was not very well, for she
+spoke to me thus, with her arms round my neck, in the morning, and I was
+going home in the morning, and I went home in the morning, with herself
+and Mr. Barkis in the cart. They left me at the gate, not easily or
+lightly; and it was a strange sight to me to see the cart go on, taking
+Peggotty away, and leaving me under the old elm-trees looking at the
+house, in which there was no face to look on mine with love or liking
+any more.
+
+And now I fell into a state of neglect, which I cannot look back upon
+without compassion. I fell at once into a solitary condition,--apart
+from all friendly notice, apart from the society of all other boys of
+my own age, apart from all companionship but my own spiritless
+thoughts,--which seems to cast its gloom upon this paper as I write.
+
+What would I have given, to have been sent to the hardest school that
+ever was kept!--to have been taught something, anyhow, anywhere! No
+such hope dawned upon me. They disliked me; and they sullenly, sternly,
+steadily, overlooked me. I think Mr. Murdstone’s means were straitened
+at about this time; but it is little to the purpose. He could not bear
+me; and in putting me from him he tried, as I believe, to put away the
+notion that I had any claim upon him--and succeeded.
+
+I was not actively ill-used. I was not beaten, or starved; but the wrong
+that was done to me had no intervals of relenting, and was done in a
+systematic, passionless manner. Day after day, week after week, month
+after month, I was coldly neglected. I wonder sometimes, when I think
+of it, what they would have done if I had been taken with an illness;
+whether I should have lain down in my lonely room, and languished
+through it in my usual solitary way, or whether anybody would have
+helped me out.
+
+When Mr. and Miss Murdstone were at home, I took my meals with them; in
+their absence, I ate and drank by myself. At all times I lounged about
+the house and neighbourhood quite disregarded, except that they were
+jealous of my making any friends: thinking, perhaps, that if I did, I
+might complain to someone. For this reason, though Mr. Chillip often
+asked me to go and see him (he was a widower, having, some years before
+that, lost a little small light-haired wife, whom I can just remember
+connecting in my own thoughts with a pale tortoise-shell cat), it was
+but seldom that I enjoyed the happiness of passing an afternoon in his
+closet of a surgery; reading some book that was new to me, with
+the smell of the whole Pharmacopoeia coming up my nose, or pounding
+something in a mortar under his mild directions.
+
+For the same reason, added no doubt to the old dislike of her, I was
+seldom allowed to visit Peggotty. Faithful to her promise, she either
+came to see me, or met me somewhere near, once every week, and never
+empty-handed; but many and bitter were the disappointments I had, in
+being refused permission to pay a visit to her at her house. Some few
+times, however, at long intervals, I was allowed to go there; and then
+I found out that Mr. Barkis was something of a miser, or as Peggotty
+dutifully expressed it, was ‘a little near’, and kept a heap of money
+in a box under his bed, which he pretended was only full of coats
+and trousers. In this coffer, his riches hid themselves with such a
+tenacious modesty, that the smallest instalments could only be tempted
+out by artifice; so that Peggotty had to prepare a long and elaborate
+scheme, a very Gunpowder Plot, for every Saturday’s expenses.
+
+All this time I was so conscious of the waste of any promise I had
+given, and of my being utterly neglected, that I should have been
+perfectly miserable, I have no doubt, but for the old books. They were
+my only comfort; and I was as true to them as they were to me, and read
+them over and over I don’t know how many times more.
+
+I now approach a period of my life, which I can never lose the
+remembrance of, while I remember anything: and the recollection of
+which has often, without my invocation, come before me like a ghost, and
+haunted happier times.
+
+I had been out, one day, loitering somewhere, in the listless,
+meditative manner that my way of life engendered, when, turning the
+corner of a lane near our house, I came upon Mr. Murdstone walking with
+a gentleman. I was confused, and was going by them, when the gentleman
+cried:
+
+‘What! Brooks!’
+
+‘No, sir, David Copperfield,’ I said.
+
+‘Don’t tell me. You are Brooks,’ said the gentleman. ‘You are Brooks of
+Sheffield. That’s your name.’
+
+At these words, I observed the gentleman more attentively. His laugh
+coming to my remembrance too, I knew him to be Mr. Quinion, whom I
+had gone over to Lowestoft with Mr. Murdstone to see, before--it is no
+matter--I need not recall when.
+
+‘And how do you get on, and where are you being educated, Brooks?’ said
+Mr. Quinion.
+
+He had put his hand upon my shoulder, and turned me about, to walk
+with them. I did not know what to reply, and glanced dubiously at Mr.
+Murdstone.
+
+‘He is at home at present,’ said the latter. ‘He is not being educated
+anywhere. I don’t know what to do with him. He is a difficult subject.’
+
+That old, double look was on me for a moment; and then his eyes darkened
+with a frown, as it turned, in its aversion, elsewhere.
+
+‘Humph!’ said Mr. Quinion, looking at us both, I thought. ‘Fine
+weather!’
+
+Silence ensued, and I was considering how I could best disengage my
+shoulder from his hand, and go away, when he said:
+
+‘I suppose you are a pretty sharp fellow still? Eh, Brooks?’
+
+‘Aye! He is sharp enough,’ said Mr. Murdstone, impatiently. ‘You had
+better let him go. He will not thank you for troubling him.’
+
+On this hint, Mr. Quinion released me, and I made the best of my
+way home. Looking back as I turned into the front garden, I saw Mr.
+Murdstone leaning against the wicket of the churchyard, and Mr. Quinion
+talking to him. They were both looking after me, and I felt that they
+were speaking of me.
+
+Mr. Quinion lay at our house that night. After breakfast, the next
+morning, I had put my chair away, and was going out of the room, when
+Mr. Murdstone called me back. He then gravely repaired to another table,
+where his sister sat herself at her desk. Mr. Quinion, with his hands
+in his pockets, stood looking out of window; and I stood looking at them
+all.
+
+‘David,’ said Mr. Murdstone, ‘to the young this is a world for action;
+not for moping and droning in.’ --‘As you do,’ added his sister.
+
+‘Jane Murdstone, leave it to me, if you please. I say, David, to the
+young this is a world for action, and not for moping and droning in. It
+is especially so for a young boy of your disposition, which requires a
+great deal of correcting; and to which no greater service can be done
+than to force it to conform to the ways of the working world, and to
+bend it and break it.’
+
+‘For stubbornness won’t do here,’ said his sister ‘What it wants is, to
+be crushed. And crushed it must be. Shall be, too!’
+
+He gave her a look, half in remonstrance, half in approval, and went on:
+
+‘I suppose you know, David, that I am not rich. At any rate, you know it
+now. You have received some considerable education already. Education is
+costly; and even if it were not, and I could afford it, I am of opinion
+that it would not be at all advantageous to you to be kept at school.
+What is before you, is a fight with the world; and the sooner you begin
+it, the better.’
+
+I think it occurred to me that I had already begun it, in my poor way:
+but it occurs to me now, whether or no.
+
+‘You have heard the “counting-house” mentioned sometimes,’ said Mr.
+Murdstone.
+
+‘The counting-house, sir?’ I repeated. ‘Of Murdstone and Grinby, in the
+wine trade,’ he replied.
+
+I suppose I looked uncertain, for he went on hastily:
+
+‘You have heard the “counting-house” mentioned, or the business, or the
+cellars, or the wharf, or something about it.’
+
+‘I think I have heard the business mentioned, sir,’ I said, remembering
+what I vaguely knew of his and his sister’s resources. ‘But I don’t know
+when.’
+
+‘It does not matter when,’ he returned. ‘Mr. Quinion manages that
+business.’
+
+I glanced at the latter deferentially as he stood looking out of window.
+
+‘Mr. Quinion suggests that it gives employment to some other boys,
+and that he sees no reason why it shouldn’t, on the same terms, give
+employment to you.’
+
+‘He having,’ Mr. Quinion observed in a low voice, and half turning
+round, ‘no other prospect, Murdstone.’
+
+Mr. Murdstone, with an impatient, even an angry gesture, resumed,
+without noticing what he had said:
+
+‘Those terms are, that you will earn enough for yourself to provide for
+your eating and drinking, and pocket-money. Your lodging (which I have
+arranged for) will be paid by me. So will your washing--’
+
+‘--Which will be kept down to my estimate,’ said his sister.
+
+‘Your clothes will be looked after for you, too,’ said Mr. Murdstone;
+‘as you will not be able, yet awhile, to get them for yourself. So you
+are now going to London, David, with Mr. Quinion, to begin the world on
+your own account.’
+
+‘In short, you are provided for,’ observed his sister; ‘and will please
+to do your duty.’
+
+Though I quite understood that the purpose of this announcement was
+to get rid of me, I have no distinct remembrance whether it pleased
+or frightened me. My impression is, that I was in a state of confusion
+about it, and, oscillating between the two points, touched neither. Nor
+had I much time for the clearing of my thoughts, as Mr. Quinion was to
+go upon the morrow.
+
+Behold me, on the morrow, in a much-worn little white hat, with a black
+crape round it for my mother, a black jacket, and a pair of hard, stiff
+corduroy trousers--which Miss Murdstone considered the best armour for
+the legs in that fight with the world which was now to come off. Behold
+me so attired, and with my little worldly all before me in a small
+trunk, sitting, a lone lorn child (as Mrs. Gummidge might have said),
+in the post-chaise that was carrying Mr. Quinion to the London coach at
+Yarmouth! See, how our house and church are lessening in the distance;
+how the grave beneath the tree is blotted out by intervening objects;
+how the spire points upwards from my old playground no more, and the sky
+is empty!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 11. I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT, AND DON’T LIKE IT
+
+
+I know enough of the world now, to have almost lost the capacity of
+being much surprised by anything; but it is matter of some surprise to
+me, even now, that I can have been so easily thrown away at such an age.
+A child of excellent abilities, and with strong powers of observation,
+quick, eager, delicate, and soon hurt bodily or mentally, it seems
+wonderful to me that nobody should have made any sign in my behalf. But
+none was made; and I became, at ten years old, a little labouring hind
+in the service of Murdstone and Grinby.
+
+Murdstone and Grinby’s warehouse was at the waterside. It was down in
+Blackfriars. Modern improvements have altered the place; but it was the
+last house at the bottom of a narrow street, curving down hill to the
+river, with some stairs at the end, where people took boat. It was a
+crazy old house with a wharf of its own, abutting on the water when the
+tide was in, and on the mud when the tide was out, and literally overrun
+with rats. Its panelled rooms, discoloured with the dirt and smoke of
+a hundred years, I dare say; its decaying floors and staircase; the
+squeaking and scuffling of the old grey rats down in the cellars; and
+the dirt and rottenness of the place; are things, not of many years ago,
+in my mind, but of the present instant. They are all before me, just as
+they were in the evil hour when I went among them for the first time,
+with my trembling hand in Mr. Quinion’s.
+
+Murdstone and Grinby’s trade was among a good many kinds of people, but
+an important branch of it was the supply of wines and spirits to certain
+packet ships. I forget now where they chiefly went, but I think there
+were some among them that made voyages both to the East and West Indies.
+I know that a great many empty bottles were one of the consequences of
+this traffic, and that certain men and boys were employed to examine
+them against the light, and reject those that were flawed, and to rinse
+and wash them. When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be
+pasted on full ones, or corks to be fitted to them, or seals to be put
+upon the corks, or finished bottles to be packed in casks. All this work
+was my work, and of the boys employed upon it I was one.
+
+There were three or four of us, counting me. My working place was
+established in a corner of the warehouse, where Mr. Quinion could see
+me, when he chose to stand up on the bottom rail of his stool in the
+counting-house, and look at me through a window above the desk. Hither,
+on the first morning of my so auspiciously beginning life on my own
+account, the oldest of the regular boys was summoned to show me my
+business. His name was Mick Walker, and he wore a ragged apron and a
+paper cap. He informed me that his father was a bargeman, and walked, in
+a black velvet head-dress, in the Lord Mayor’s Show. He also informed me
+that our principal associate would be another boy whom he introduced by
+the--to me--extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, however,
+that this youth had not been christened by that name, but that it had
+been bestowed upon him in the warehouse, on account of his complexion,
+which was pale or mealy. Mealy’s father was a waterman, who had the
+additional distinction of being a fireman, and was engaged as such at
+one of the large theatres; where some young relation of Mealy’s--I think
+his little sister--did Imps in the Pantomimes.
+
+No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this
+companionship; compared these henceforth everyday associates with those
+of my happier childhood--not to say with Steerforth, Traddles, and the
+rest of those boys; and felt my hopes of growing up to be a learned
+and distinguished man, crushed in my bosom. The deep remembrance of the
+sense I had, of being utterly without hope now; of the shame I felt in
+my position; of the misery it was to my young heart to believe that day
+by day what I had learned, and thought, and delighted in, and raised my
+fancy and my emulation up by, would pass away from me, little by little,
+never to be brought back any more; cannot be written. As often as Mick
+Walker went away in the course of that forenoon, I mingled my tears with
+the water in which I was washing the bottles; and sobbed as if there
+were a flaw in my own breast, and it were in danger of bursting.
+
+The counting-house clock was at half past twelve, and there was
+general preparation for going to dinner, when Mr. Quinion tapped at the
+counting-house window, and beckoned to me to go in. I went in, and
+found there a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout and black
+tights and shoes, with no more hair upon his head (which was a large
+one, and very shining) than there is upon an egg, and with a very
+extensive face, which he turned full upon me. His clothes were shabby,
+but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty sort of a
+stick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it; and a quizzing-glass
+hung outside his coat,--for ornament, I afterwards found, as he very
+seldom looked through it, and couldn’t see anything when he did.
+
+‘This,’ said Mr. Quinion, in allusion to myself, ‘is he.’
+
+‘This,’ said the stranger, with a certain condescending roll in his
+voice, and a certain indescribable air of doing something genteel, which
+impressed me very much, ‘is Master Copperfield. I hope I see you well,
+sir?’
+
+I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufficiently ill at
+ease, Heaven knows; but it was not in my nature to complain much at that
+time of my life, so I said I was very well, and hoped he was.
+
+‘I am,’ said the stranger, ‘thank Heaven, quite well. I have received a
+letter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he mentions that he would desire
+me to receive into an apartment in the rear of my house, which is at
+present unoccupied--and is, in short, to be let as a--in short,’
+said the stranger, with a smile and in a burst of confidence, ‘as a
+bedroom--the young beginner whom I have now the pleasure to--’ and the
+stranger waved his hand, and settled his chin in his shirt-collar.
+
+‘This is Mr. Micawber,’ said Mr. Quinion to me.
+
+‘Ahem!’ said the stranger, ‘that is my name.’
+
+‘Mr. Micawber,’ said Mr. Quinion, ‘is known to Mr. Murdstone. He takes
+orders for us on commission, when he can get any. He has been written to
+by Mr. Murdstone, on the subject of your lodgings, and he will receive
+you as a lodger.’
+
+‘My address,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘is Windsor Terrace, City Road. I--in
+short,’ said Mr. Micawber, with the same genteel air, and in another
+burst of confidence--‘I live there.’
+
+I made him a bow.
+
+‘Under the impression,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘that your peregrinations in
+this metropolis have not as yet been extensive, and that you might have
+some difficulty in penetrating the arcana of the Modern Babylon in the
+direction of the City Road,--in short,’ said Mr. Micawber, in another
+burst of confidence, ‘that you might lose yourself--I shall be happy to
+call this evening, and install you in the knowledge of the nearest way.’
+
+I thanked him with all my heart, for it was friendly in him to offer to
+take that trouble.
+
+‘At what hour,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘shall I--’
+
+‘At about eight,’ said Mr. Quinion.
+
+‘At about eight,’ said Mr. Micawber. ‘I beg to wish you good day, Mr.
+Quinion. I will intrude no longer.’
+
+So he put on his hat, and went out with his cane under his arm: very
+upright, and humming a tune when he was clear of the counting-house.
+
+Mr. Quinion then formally engaged me to be as useful as I could in
+the warehouse of Murdstone and Grinby, at a salary, I think, of six
+shillings a week. I am not clear whether it was six or seven. I am
+inclined to believe, from my uncertainty on this head, that it was six
+at first and seven afterwards. He paid me a week down (from his own
+pocket, I believe), and I gave Mealy sixpence out of it to get my
+trunk carried to Windsor Terrace that night: it being too heavy for my
+strength, small as it was. I paid sixpence more for my dinner, which was
+a meat pie and a turn at a neighbouring pump; and passed the hour which
+was allowed for that meal, in walking about the streets.
+
+At the appointed time in the evening, Mr. Micawber reappeared. I washed
+my hands and face, to do the greater honour to his gentility, and we
+walked to our house, as I suppose I must now call it, together; Mr.
+Micawber impressing the name of streets, and the shapes of corner houses
+upon me, as we went along, that I might find my way back, easily, in the
+morning.
+
+Arrived at this house in Windsor Terrace (which I noticed was shabby
+like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could), he
+presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all
+young, who was sitting in the parlour (the first floor was altogether
+unfurnished, and the blinds were kept down to delude the neighbours),
+with a baby at her breast. This baby was one of twins; and I may remark
+here that I hardly ever, in all my experience of the family, saw both
+the twins detached from Mrs. Micawber at the same time. One of them was
+always taking refreshment.
+
+There were two other children; Master Micawber, aged about four, and
+Miss Micawber, aged about three. These, and a dark-complexioned young
+woman, with a habit of snorting, who was servant to the family, and
+informed me, before half an hour had expired, that she was ‘a Orfling’,
+and came from St. Luke’s workhouse, in the neighbourhood, completed the
+establishment. My room was at the top of the house, at the back: a close
+chamber; stencilled all over with an ornament which my young imagination
+represented as a blue muffin; and very scantily furnished.
+
+‘I never thought,’ said Mrs. Micawber, when she came up, twin and all,
+to show me the apartment, and sat down to take breath, ‘before I was
+married, when I lived with papa and mama, that I should ever find it
+necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, all
+considerations of private feeling must give way.’
+
+I said: ‘Yes, ma’am.’
+
+‘Mr. Micawber’s difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,’
+said Mrs. Micawber; ‘and whether it is possible to bring him through
+them, I don’t know. When I lived at home with papa and mama, I really
+should have hardly understood what the word meant, in the sense in which
+I now employ it, but experientia does it,--as papa used to say.’
+
+I cannot satisfy myself whether she told me that Mr. Micawber had been
+an officer in the Marines, or whether I have imagined it. I only know
+that I believe to this hour that he WAS in the Marines once upon a time,
+without knowing why. He was a sort of town traveller for a number
+of miscellaneous houses, now; but made little or nothing of it, I am
+afraid.
+
+‘If Mr. Micawber’s creditors will not give him time,’ said Mrs.
+Micawber, ‘they must take the consequences; and the sooner they bring it
+to an issue the better. Blood cannot be obtained from a stone, neither
+can anything on account be obtained at present (not to mention law
+expenses) from Mr. Micawber.’
+
+I never can quite understand whether my precocious self-dependence
+confused Mrs. Micawber in reference to my age, or whether she was so
+full of the subject that she would have talked about it to the very
+twins if there had been nobody else to communicate with, but this was
+the strain in which she began, and she went on accordingly all the time
+I knew her.
+
+Poor Mrs. Micawber! She said she had tried to exert herself, and so,
+I have no doubt, she had. The centre of the street door was perfectly
+covered with a great brass-plate, on which was engraved ‘Mrs. Micawber’s
+Boarding Establishment for Young Ladies’: but I never found that any
+young lady had ever been to school there; or that any young lady ever
+came, or proposed to come; or that the least preparation was ever made
+to receive any young lady. The only visitors I ever saw, or heard of,
+were creditors. THEY used to come at all hours, and some of them were
+quite ferocious. One dirty-faced man, I think he was a boot-maker,
+used to edge himself into the passage as early as seven o’clock in the
+morning, and call up the stairs to Mr. Micawber--‘Come! You ain’t out
+yet, you know. Pay us, will you? Don’t hide, you know; that’s mean. I
+wouldn’t be mean if I was you. Pay us, will you? You just pay us, d’ye
+hear? Come!’ Receiving no answer to these taunts, he would mount in
+his wrath to the words ‘swindlers’ and ‘robbers’; and these being
+ineffectual too, would sometimes go to the extremity of crossing the
+street, and roaring up at the windows of the second floor, where he knew
+Mr. Micawber was. At these times, Mr. Micawber would be transported with
+grief and mortification, even to the length (as I was once made aware by
+a scream from his wife) of making motions at himself with a razor;
+but within half-an-hour afterwards, he would polish up his shoes with
+extraordinary pains, and go out, humming a tune with a greater air of
+gentility than ever. Mrs. Micawber was quite as elastic. I have known
+her to be thrown into fainting fits by the king’s taxes at three
+o’clock, and to eat lamb chops, breaded, and drink warm ale (paid for
+with two tea-spoons that had gone to the pawnbroker’s) at four. On one
+occasion, when an execution had just been put in, coming home through
+some chance as early as six o’clock, I saw her lying (of course with a
+twin) under the grate in a swoon, with her hair all torn about her face;
+but I never knew her more cheerful than she was, that very same night,
+over a veal cutlet before the kitchen fire, telling me stories about her
+papa and mama, and the company they used to keep.
+
+In this house, and with this family, I passed my leisure time. My own
+exclusive breakfast of a penny loaf and a pennyworth of milk, I provided
+myself. I kept another small loaf, and a modicum of cheese, on a
+particular shelf of a particular cupboard, to make my supper on when I
+came back at night. This made a hole in the six or seven shillings, I
+know well; and I was out at the warehouse all day, and had to support
+myself on that money all the week. From Monday morning until Saturday
+night, I had no advice, no counsel, no encouragement, no consolation,
+no assistance, no support, of any kind, from anyone, that I can call to
+mind, as I hope to go to heaven!
+
+I was so young and childish, and so little qualified--how could I be
+otherwise?--to undertake the whole charge of my own existence, that
+often, in going to Murdstone and Grinby’s, of a morning, I could
+not resist the stale pastry put out for sale at half-price at the
+pastrycooks’ doors, and spent in that the money I should have kept for
+my dinner. Then, I went without my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice
+of pudding. I remember two pudding shops, between which I was divided,
+according to my finances. One was in a court close to St. Martin’s
+Church--at the back of the church,--which is now removed altogether.
+The pudding at that shop was made of currants, and was rather a special
+pudding, but was dear, twopennyworth not being larger than a pennyworth
+of more ordinary pudding. A good shop for the latter was in the
+Strand--somewhere in that part which has been rebuilt since. It was a
+stout pale pudding, heavy and flabby, and with great flat raisins in it,
+stuck in whole at wide distances apart. It came up hot at about my time
+every day, and many a day did I dine off it. When I dined regularly and
+handsomely, I had a saveloy and a penny loaf, or a fourpenny plate of
+red beef from a cook’s shop; or a plate of bread and cheese and a
+glass of beer, from a miserable old public-house opposite our place of
+business, called the Lion, or the Lion and something else that I have
+forgotten. Once, I remember carrying my own bread (which I had brought
+from home in the morning) under my arm, wrapped in a piece of paper,
+like a book, and going to a famous alamode beef-house near Drury Lane,
+and ordering a ‘small plate’ of that delicacy to eat with it. What the
+waiter thought of such a strange little apparition coming in all alone,
+I don’t know; but I can see him now, staring at me as I ate my dinner,
+and bringing up the other waiter to look. I gave him a halfpenny for
+himself, and I wish he hadn’t taken it.
+
+We had half-an-hour, I think, for tea. When I had money enough, I used
+to get half-a-pint of ready-made coffee and a slice of bread and butter.
+When I had none, I used to look at a venison shop in Fleet Street; or
+I have strolled, at such a time, as far as Covent Garden Market, and
+stared at the pineapples. I was fond of wandering about the Adelphi,
+because it was a mysterious place, with those dark arches. I see myself
+emerging one evening from some of these arches, on a little public-house
+close to the river, with an open space before it, where some
+coal-heavers were dancing; to look at whom I sat down upon a bench. I
+wonder what they thought of me!
+
+I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went into the
+bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porter, to moisten
+what I had had for dinner, they were afraid to give it me. I remember
+one hot evening I went into the bar of a public-house, and said to the
+landlord: ‘What is your best--your very best--ale a glass?’ For it was a
+special occasion. I don’t know what. It may have been my birthday.
+
+‘Twopence-halfpenny,’ says the landlord, ‘is the price of the Genuine
+Stunning ale.’
+
+‘Then,’ says I, producing the money, ‘just draw me a glass of the
+Genuine Stunning, if you please, with a good head to it.’
+
+The landlord looked at me in return over the bar, from head to foot,
+with a strange smile on his face; and instead of drawing the beer,
+looked round the screen and said something to his wife. She came out
+from behind it, with her work in her hand, and joined him in surveying
+me. Here we stand, all three, before me now. The landlord in his
+shirt-sleeves, leaning against the bar window-frame; his wife looking
+over the little half-door; and I, in some confusion, looking up at them
+from outside the partition. They asked me a good many questions; as,
+what my name was, how old I was, where I lived, how I was employed,
+and how I came there. To all of which, that I might commit nobody, I
+invented, I am afraid, appropriate answers. They served me with the ale,
+though I suspect it was not the Genuine Stunning; and the landlord’s
+wife, opening the little half-door of the bar, and bending down, gave
+me my money back, and gave me a kiss that was half admiring and half
+compassionate, but all womanly and good, I am sure.
+
+I know I do not exaggerate, unconsciously and unintentionally, the
+scantiness of my resources or the difficulties of my life. I know that
+if a shilling were given me by Mr. Quinion at any time, I spent it in
+a dinner or a tea. I know that I worked, from morning until night, with
+common men and boys, a shabby child. I know that I lounged about the
+streets, insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for
+the mercy of God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken
+of me, a little robber or a little vagabond.
+
+Yet I held some station at Murdstone and Grinby’s too. Besides that Mr.
+Quinion did what a careless man so occupied, and dealing with a thing so
+anomalous, could, to treat me as one upon a different footing from the
+rest, I never said, to man or boy, how it was that I came to be there,
+or gave the least indication of being sorry that I was there. That I
+suffered in secret, and that I suffered exquisitely, no one ever knew
+but I. How much I suffered, it is, as I have said already, utterly
+beyond my power to tell. But I kept my own counsel, and I did my work.
+I knew from the first, that, if I could not do my work as well as any
+of the rest, I could not hold myself above slight and contempt. I soon
+became at least as expeditious and as skilful as either of the other
+boys. Though perfectly familiar with them, my conduct and manner were
+different enough from theirs to place a space between us. They and
+the men generally spoke of me as ‘the little gent’, or ‘the young
+Suffolker.’ A certain man named Gregory, who was foreman of the packers,
+and another named Tipp, who was the carman, and wore a red jacket, used
+to address me sometimes as ‘David’: but I think it was mostly when we
+were very confidential, and when I had made some efforts to entertain
+them, over our work, with some results of the old readings; which were
+fast perishing out of my remembrance. Mealy Potatoes uprose once, and
+rebelled against my being so distinguished; but Mick Walker settled him
+in no time.
+
+My rescue from this kind of existence I considered quite hopeless, and
+abandoned, as such, altogether. I am solemnly convinced that I never for
+one hour was reconciled to it, or was otherwise than miserably unhappy;
+but I bore it; and even to Peggotty, partly for the love of her and
+partly for shame, never in any letter (though many passed between us)
+revealed the truth.
+
+Mr. Micawber’s difficulties were an addition to the distressed state of
+my mind. In my forlorn state I became quite attached to the family, and
+used to walk about, busy with Mrs. Micawber’s calculations of ways and
+means, and heavy with the weight of Mr. Micawber’s debts. On a Saturday
+night, which was my grand treat,--partly because it was a great thing
+to walk home with six or seven shillings in my pocket, looking into the
+shops and thinking what such a sum would buy, and partly because I went
+home early,--Mrs. Micawber would make the most heart-rending confidences
+to me; also on a Sunday morning, when I mixed the portion of tea or
+coffee I had bought over-night, in a little shaving-pot, and sat late
+at my breakfast. It was nothing at all unusual for Mr. Micawber to sob
+violently at the beginning of one of these Saturday night conversations,
+and sing about Jack’s delight being his lovely Nan, towards the end of
+it. I have known him come home to supper with a flood of tears, and a
+declaration that nothing was now left but a jail; and go to bed making a
+calculation of the expense of putting bow-windows to the house, ‘in
+case anything turned up’, which was his favourite expression. And Mrs.
+Micawber was just the same.
+
+A curious equality of friendship, originating, I suppose, in our
+respective circumstances, sprung up between me and these people,
+notwithstanding the ludicrous disparity in our years. But I never
+allowed myself to be prevailed upon to accept any invitation to eat and
+drink with them out of their stock (knowing that they got on badly with
+the butcher and baker, and had often not too much for themselves),
+until Mrs. Micawber took me into her entire confidence. This she did one
+evening as follows:
+
+‘Master Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘I make no stranger of you,
+and therefore do not hesitate to say that Mr. Micawber’s difficulties
+are coming to a crisis.’
+
+It made me very miserable to hear it, and I looked at Mrs. Micawber’s
+red eyes with the utmost sympathy.
+
+‘With the exception of the heel of a Dutch cheese--which is not adapted
+to the wants of a young family’--said Mrs. Micawber, ‘there is really
+not a scrap of anything in the larder. I was accustomed to speak of
+the larder when I lived with papa and mama, and I use the word almost
+unconsciously. What I mean to express is, that there is nothing to eat
+in the house.’
+
+‘Dear me!’ I said, in great concern.
+
+I had two or three shillings of my week’s money in my pocket--from which
+I presume that it must have been on a Wednesday night when we held this
+conversation--and I hastily produced them, and with heartfelt emotion
+begged Mrs. Micawber to accept of them as a loan. But that lady, kissing
+me, and making me put them back in my pocket, replied that she couldn’t
+think of it.
+
+‘No, my dear Master Copperfield,’ said she, ‘far be it from my thoughts!
+But you have a discretion beyond your years, and can render me another
+kind of service, if you will; and a service I will thankfully accept
+of.’
+
+I begged Mrs. Micawber to name it.
+
+‘I have parted with the plate myself,’ said Mrs. Micawber. ‘Six tea, two
+salt, and a pair of sugars, I have at different times borrowed money on,
+in secret, with my own hands. But the twins are a great tie; and to me,
+with my recollections, of papa and mama, these transactions are very
+painful. There are still a few trifles that we could part with. Mr.
+Micawber’s feelings would never allow him to dispose of them; and
+Clickett’--this was the girl from the workhouse--‘being of a vulgar
+mind, would take painful liberties if so much confidence was reposed in
+her. Master Copperfield, if I might ask you--’
+
+I understood Mrs. Micawber now, and begged her to make use of me to any
+extent. I began to dispose of the more portable articles of property
+that very evening; and went out on a similar expedition almost every
+morning, before I went to Murdstone and Grinby’s.
+
+Mr. Micawber had a few books on a little chiffonier, which he called the
+library; and those went first. I carried them, one after another, to
+a bookstall in the City Road--one part of which, near our house, was
+almost all bookstalls and bird shops then--and sold them for whatever
+they would bring. The keeper of this bookstall, who lived in a little
+house behind it, used to get tipsy every night, and to be violently
+scolded by his wife every morning. More than once, when I went there
+early, I had audience of him in a turn-up bedstead, with a cut in his
+forehead or a black eye, bearing witness to his excesses over-night (I
+am afraid he was quarrelsome in his drink), and he, with a shaking
+hand, endeavouring to find the needful shillings in one or other of the
+pockets of his clothes, which lay upon the floor, while his wife, with a
+baby in her arms and her shoes down at heel, never left off rating him.
+Sometimes he had lost his money, and then he would ask me to call again;
+but his wife had always got some--had taken his, I dare say, while he
+was drunk--and secretly completed the bargain on the stairs, as we went
+down together. At the pawnbroker’s shop, too, I began to be very well
+known. The principal gentleman who officiated behind the counter, took
+a good deal of notice of me; and often got me, I recollect, to decline a
+Latin noun or adjective, or to conjugate a Latin verb, in his ear, while
+he transacted my business. After all these occasions Mrs. Micawber made
+a little treat, which was generally a supper; and there was a peculiar
+relish in these meals which I well remember.
+
+At last Mr. Micawber’s difficulties came to a crisis, and he was
+arrested early one morning, and carried over to the King’s Bench Prison
+in the Borough. He told me, as he went out of the house, that the God
+of day had now gone down upon him--and I really thought his heart was
+broken and mine too. But I heard, afterwards, that he was seen to play a
+lively game at skittles, before noon.
+
+On the first Sunday after he was taken there, I was to go and see him,
+and have dinner with him. I was to ask my way to such a place, and just
+short of that place I should see such another place, and just short of
+that I should see a yard, which I was to cross, and keep straight on
+until I saw a turnkey. All this I did; and when at last I did see a
+turnkey (poor little fellow that I was!), and thought how, when Roderick
+Random was in a debtors’ prison, there was a man there with nothing
+on him but an old rug, the turnkey swam before my dimmed eyes and my
+beating heart.
+
+Mr. Micawber was waiting for me within the gate, and we went up to his
+room (top story but one), and cried very much. He solemnly conjured me,
+I remember, to take warning by his fate; and to observe that if a man
+had twenty pounds a-year for his income, and spent nineteen pounds
+nineteen shillings and sixpence, he would be happy, but that if he
+spent twenty pounds one he would be miserable. After which he borrowed a
+shilling of me for porter, gave me a written order on Mrs. Micawber for
+the amount, and put away his pocket-handkerchief, and cheered up.
+
+We sat before a little fire, with two bricks put within the rusted
+grate, one on each side, to prevent its burning too many coals; until
+another debtor, who shared the room with Mr. Micawber, came in from the
+bakehouse with the loin of mutton which was our joint-stock repast.
+Then I was sent up to ‘Captain Hopkins’ in the room overhead, with Mr.
+Micawber’s compliments, and I was his young friend, and would Captain
+Hopkins lend me a knife and fork.
+
+Captain Hopkins lent me the knife and fork, with his compliments to Mr.
+Micawber. There was a very dirty lady in his little room, and two wan
+girls, his daughters, with shock heads of hair. I thought it was better
+to borrow Captain Hopkins’s knife and fork, than Captain Hopkins’s comb.
+The Captain himself was in the last extremity of shabbiness, with large
+whiskers, and an old, old brown great-coat with no other coat below it.
+I saw his bed rolled up in a corner; and what plates and dishes and pots
+he had, on a shelf; and I divined (God knows how) that though the two
+girls with the shock heads of hair were Captain Hopkins’s children, the
+dirty lady was not married to Captain Hopkins. My timid station on his
+threshold was not occupied more than a couple of minutes at most; but
+I came down again with all this in my knowledge, as surely as the knife
+and fork were in my hand.
+
+There was something gipsy-like and agreeable in the dinner, after all.
+I took back Captain Hopkins’s knife and fork early in the afternoon,
+and went home to comfort Mrs. Micawber with an account of my visit.
+She fainted when she saw me return, and made a little jug of egg-hot
+afterwards to console us while we talked it over.
+
+I don’t know how the household furniture came to be sold for the family
+benefit, or who sold it, except that I did not. Sold it was, however,
+and carried away in a van; except the bed, a few chairs, and the kitchen
+table. With these possessions we encamped, as it were, in the two
+parlours of the emptied house in Windsor Terrace; Mrs. Micawber, the
+children, the Orfling, and myself; and lived in those rooms night and
+day. I have no idea for how long, though it seems to me for a long
+time. At last Mrs. Micawber resolved to move into the prison, where Mr.
+Micawber had now secured a room to himself. So I took the key of the
+house to the landlord, who was very glad to get it; and the beds were
+sent over to the King’s Bench, except mine, for which a little room was
+hired outside the walls in the neighbourhood of that Institution, very
+much to my satisfaction, since the Micawbers and I had become too used
+to one another, in our troubles, to part. The Orfling was likewise
+accommodated with an inexpensive lodging in the same neighbourhood.
+Mine was a quiet back-garret with a sloping roof, commanding a pleasant
+prospect of a timberyard; and when I took possession of it, with the
+reflection that Mr. Micawber’s troubles had come to a crisis at last, I
+thought it quite a paradise.
+
+All this time I was working at Murdstone and Grinby’s in the same common
+way, and with the same common companions, and with the same sense of
+unmerited degradation as at first. But I never, happily for me no doubt,
+made a single acquaintance, or spoke to any of the many boys whom I
+saw daily in going to the warehouse, in coming from it, and in prowling
+about the streets at meal-times. I led the same secretly unhappy life;
+but I led it in the same lonely, self-reliant manner. The only changes
+I am conscious of are, firstly, that I had grown more shabby, and
+secondly, that I was now relieved of much of the weight of Mr. and Mrs.
+Micawber’s cares; for some relatives or friends had engaged to help them
+at their present pass, and they lived more comfortably in the prison
+than they had lived for a long while out of it. I used to breakfast with
+them now, in virtue of some arrangement, of which I have forgotten
+the details. I forget, too, at what hour the gates were opened in the
+morning, admitting of my going in; but I know that I was often up at six
+o’clock, and that my favourite lounging-place in the interval was old
+London Bridge, where I was wont to sit in one of the stone recesses,
+watching the people going by, or to look over the balustrades at the sun
+shining in the water, and lighting up the golden flame on the top of the
+Monument. The Orfling met me here sometimes, to be told some astonishing
+fictions respecting the wharves and the Tower; of which I can say no
+more than that I hope I believed them myself. In the evening I used
+to go back to the prison, and walk up and down the parade with Mr.
+Micawber; or play casino with Mrs. Micawber, and hear reminiscences of
+her papa and mama. Whether Mr. Murdstone knew where I was, I am unable
+to say. I never told them at Murdstone and Grinby’s.
+
+Mr. Micawber’s affairs, although past their crisis, were very much
+involved by reason of a certain ‘Deed’, of which I used to hear a great
+deal, and which I suppose, now, to have been some former composition
+with his creditors, though I was so far from being clear about it
+then, that I am conscious of having confounded it with those demoniacal
+parchments which are held to have, once upon a time, obtained to a great
+extent in Germany. At last this document appeared to be got out of the
+way, somehow; at all events it ceased to be the rock-ahead it had been;
+and Mrs. Micawber informed me that ‘her family’ had decided that Mr.
+Micawber should apply for his release under the Insolvent Debtors Act,
+which would set him free, she expected, in about six weeks.
+
+‘And then,’ said Mr. Micawber, who was present, ‘I have no doubt I
+shall, please Heaven, begin to be beforehand with the world, and to live
+in a perfectly new manner, if--in short, if anything turns up.’
+
+By way of going in for anything that might be on the cards, I call to
+mind that Mr. Micawber, about this time, composed a petition to the
+House of Commons, praying for an alteration in the law of imprisonment
+for debt. I set down this remembrance here, because it is an instance to
+myself of the manner in which I fitted my old books to my altered life,
+and made stories for myself, out of the streets, and out of men and
+women; and how some main points in the character I shall unconsciously
+develop, I suppose, in writing my life, were gradually forming all this
+while.
+
+There was a club in the prison, in which Mr. Micawber, as a gentleman,
+was a great authority. Mr. Micawber had stated his idea of this petition
+to the club, and the club had strongly approved of the same. Wherefore
+Mr. Micawber (who was a thoroughly good-natured man, and as active a
+creature about everything but his own affairs as ever existed, and never
+so happy as when he was busy about something that could never be of any
+profit to him) set to work at the petition, invented it, engrossed it
+on an immense sheet of paper, spread it out on a table, and appointed a
+time for all the club, and all within the walls if they chose, to come
+up to his room and sign it.
+
+When I heard of this approaching ceremony, I was so anxious to see them
+all come in, one after another, though I knew the greater part of
+them already, and they me, that I got an hour’s leave of absence from
+Murdstone and Grinby’s, and established myself in a corner for that
+purpose. As many of the principal members of the club as could be got
+into the small room without filling it, supported Mr. Micawber in front
+of the petition, while my old friend Captain Hopkins (who had washed
+himself, to do honour to so solemn an occasion) stationed himself close
+to it, to read it to all who were unacquainted with its contents. The
+door was then thrown open, and the general population began to come in,
+in a long file: several waiting outside, while one entered, affixed his
+signature, and went out. To everybody in succession, Captain Hopkins
+said: ‘Have you read it?’--‘No.’---‘Would you like to hear it read?’ If
+he weakly showed the least disposition to hear it, Captain Hopkins, in
+a loud sonorous voice, gave him every word of it. The Captain would
+have read it twenty thousand times, if twenty thousand people would have
+heard him, one by one. I remember a certain luscious roll he gave to
+such phrases as ‘The people’s representatives in Parliament assembled,’
+‘Your petitioners therefore humbly approach your honourable house,’ ‘His
+gracious Majesty’s unfortunate subjects,’ as if the words were something
+real in his mouth, and delicious to taste; Mr. Micawber, meanwhile,
+listening with a little of an author’s vanity, and contemplating (not
+severely) the spikes on the opposite wall.
+
+As I walked to and fro daily between Southwark and Blackfriars, and
+lounged about at meal-times in obscure streets, the stones of which
+may, for anything I know, be worn at this moment by my childish feet, I
+wonder how many of these people were wanting in the crowd that used to
+come filing before me in review again, to the echo of Captain Hopkins’s
+voice! When my thoughts go back, now, to that slow agony of my youth, I
+wonder how much of the histories I invented for such people hangs like a
+mist of fancy over well-remembered facts! When I tread the old ground,
+I do not wonder that I seem to see and pity, going on before me, an
+innocent romantic boy, making his imaginative world out of such strange
+experiences and sordid things!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 12. LIKING LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT NO BETTER, I FORM A GREAT RESOLUTION
+
+
+In due time, Mr. Micawber’s petition was ripe for hearing; and that
+gentleman was ordered to be discharged under the Act, to my great joy.
+His creditors were not implacable; and Mrs. Micawber informed me that
+even the revengeful boot-maker had declared in open court that he bore
+him no malice, but that when money was owing to him he liked to be paid.
+He said he thought it was human nature.
+
+Mr. Micawber returned to the King’s Bench when his case was over, as
+some fees were to be settled, and some formalities observed, before he
+could be actually released. The club received him with transport, and
+held an harmonic meeting that evening in his honour; while Mrs. Micawber
+and I had a lamb’s fry in private, surrounded by the sleeping family.
+
+‘On such an occasion I will give you, Master Copperfield,’ said Mrs.
+Micawber, ‘in a little more flip,’ for we had been having some already,
+‘the memory of my papa and mama.’
+
+‘Are they dead, ma’am?’ I inquired, after drinking the toast in a
+wine-glass.
+
+‘My mama departed this life,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘before Mr. Micawber’s
+difficulties commenced, or at least before they became pressing. My papa
+lived to bail Mr. Micawber several times, and then expired, regretted by
+a numerous circle.’
+
+Mrs. Micawber shook her head, and dropped a pious tear upon the twin who
+happened to be in hand.
+
+As I could hardly hope for a more favourable opportunity of putting a
+question in which I had a near interest, I said to Mrs. Micawber:
+
+‘May I ask, ma’am, what you and Mr. Micawber intend to do, now that Mr.
+Micawber is out of his difficulties, and at liberty? Have you settled
+yet?’
+
+‘My family,’ said Mrs. Micawber, who always said those two words with an
+air, though I never could discover who came under the denomination, ‘my
+family are of opinion that Mr. Micawber should quit London, and exert
+his talents in the country. Mr. Micawber is a man of great talent,
+Master Copperfield.’
+
+I said I was sure of that.
+
+‘Of great talent,’ repeated Mrs. Micawber. ‘My family are of opinion,
+that, with a little interest, something might be done for a man of his
+ability in the Custom House. The influence of my family being local, it
+is their wish that Mr. Micawber should go down to Plymouth. They think
+it indispensable that he should be upon the spot.’
+
+‘That he may be ready?’ I suggested.
+
+‘Exactly,’ returned Mrs. Micawber. ‘That he may be ready--in case of
+anything turning up.’
+
+‘And do you go too, ma’am?’
+
+The events of the day, in combination with the twins, if not with the
+flip, had made Mrs. Micawber hysterical, and she shed tears as she
+replied:
+
+‘I never will desert Mr. Micawber. Mr. Micawber may have concealed his
+difficulties from me in the first instance, but his sanguine temper may
+have led him to expect that he would overcome them. The pearl necklace
+and bracelets which I inherited from mama, have been disposed of for
+less than half their value; and the set of coral, which was the wedding
+gift of my papa, has been actually thrown away for nothing. But I never
+will desert Mr. Micawber. No!’ cried Mrs. Micawber, more affected than
+before, ‘I never will do it! It’s of no use asking me!’
+
+I felt quite uncomfortable--as if Mrs. Micawber supposed I had asked her
+to do anything of the sort!--and sat looking at her in alarm.
+
+‘Mr. Micawber has his faults. I do not deny that he is improvident. I
+do not deny that he has kept me in the dark as to his resources and his
+liabilities both,’ she went on, looking at the wall; ‘but I never will
+desert Mr. Micawber!’
+
+Mrs. Micawber having now raised her voice into a perfect scream, I
+was so frightened that I ran off to the club-room, and disturbed Mr.
+Micawber in the act of presiding at a long table, and leading the chorus
+of
+
+ Gee up, Dobbin,
+ Gee ho, Dobbin,
+ Gee up, Dobbin,
+ Gee up, and gee ho--o--o!
+
+with the tidings that Mrs. Micawber was in an alarming state, upon
+which he immediately burst into tears, and came away with me with his
+waistcoat full of the heads and tails of shrimps, of which he had been
+partaking.
+
+‘Emma, my angel!’ cried Mr. Micawber, running into the room; ‘what is
+the matter?’
+
+‘I never will desert you, Micawber!’ she exclaimed.
+
+‘My life!’ said Mr. Micawber, taking her in his arms. ‘I am perfectly
+aware of it.’
+
+‘He is the parent of my children! He is the father of my twins! He is
+the husband of my affections,’ cried Mrs. Micawber, struggling; ‘and I
+ne--ver--will--desert Mr. Micawber!’
+
+Mr. Micawber was so deeply affected by this proof of her devotion (as
+to me, I was dissolved in tears), that he hung over her in a passionate
+manner, imploring her to look up, and to be calm. But the more he asked
+Mrs. Micawber to look up, the more she fixed her eyes on nothing;
+and the more he asked her to compose herself, the more she wouldn’t.
+Consequently Mr. Micawber was soon so overcome, that he mingled his
+tears with hers and mine; until he begged me to do him the favour of
+taking a chair on the staircase, while he got her into bed. I would have
+taken my leave for the night, but he would not hear of my doing that
+until the strangers’ bell should ring. So I sat at the staircase window,
+until he came out with another chair and joined me.
+
+‘How is Mrs. Micawber now, sir?’ I said.
+
+‘Very low,’ said Mr. Micawber, shaking his head; ‘reaction. Ah, this has
+been a dreadful day! We stand alone now--everything is gone from us!’
+
+Mr. Micawber pressed my hand, and groaned, and afterwards shed tears.
+I was greatly touched, and disappointed too, for I had expected that we
+should be quite gay on this happy and long-looked-for occasion. But Mr.
+and Mrs. Micawber were so used to their old difficulties, I think, that
+they felt quite shipwrecked when they came to consider that they were
+released from them. All their elasticity was departed, and I never saw
+them half so wretched as on this night; insomuch that when the bell
+rang, and Mr. Micawber walked with me to the lodge, and parted from me
+there with a blessing, I felt quite afraid to leave him by himself, he
+was so profoundly miserable.
+
+But through all the confusion and lowness of spirits in which we had
+been, so unexpectedly to me, involved, I plainly discerned that Mr. and
+Mrs. Micawber and their family were going away from London, and that a
+parting between us was near at hand. It was in my walk home that night,
+and in the sleepless hours which followed when I lay in bed, that the
+thought first occurred to me--though I don’t know how it came into my
+head--which afterwards shaped itself into a settled resolution.
+
+I had grown to be so accustomed to the Micawbers, and had been so
+intimate with them in their distresses, and was so utterly friendless
+without them, that the prospect of being thrown upon some new shift for
+a lodging, and going once more among unknown people, was like being that
+moment turned adrift into my present life, with such a knowledge of it
+ready made as experience had given me. All the sensitive feelings it
+wounded so cruelly, all the shame and misery it kept alive within my
+breast, became more poignant as I thought of this; and I determined that
+the life was unendurable.
+
+That there was no hope of escape from it, unless the escape was my own
+act, I knew quite well. I rarely heard from Miss Murdstone, and never
+from Mr. Murdstone: but two or three parcels of made or mended clothes
+had come up for me, consigned to Mr. Quinion, and in each there was
+a scrap of paper to the effect that J. M. trusted D. C. was applying
+himself to business, and devoting himself wholly to his duties--not the
+least hint of my ever being anything else than the common drudge into
+which I was fast settling down.
+
+The very next day showed me, while my mind was in the first agitation of
+what it had conceived, that Mrs. Micawber had not spoken of their going
+away without warrant. They took a lodging in the house where I lived,
+for a week; at the expiration of which time they were to start for
+Plymouth. Mr. Micawber himself came down to the counting-house, in the
+afternoon, to tell Mr. Quinion that he must relinquish me on the day
+of his departure, and to give me a high character, which I am sure I
+deserved. And Mr. Quinion, calling in Tipp the carman, who was a married
+man, and had a room to let, quartered me prospectively on him--by our
+mutual consent, as he had every reason to think; for I said nothing,
+though my resolution was now taken.
+
+I passed my evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, during the remaining
+term of our residence under the same roof; and I think we became fonder
+of one another as the time went on. On the last Sunday, they invited me
+to dinner; and we had a loin of pork and apple sauce, and a pudding. I
+had bought a spotted wooden horse over-night as a parting gift to little
+Wilkins Micawber--that was the boy--and a doll for little Emma. I had
+also bestowed a shilling on the Orfling, who was about to be disbanded.
+
+We had a very pleasant day, though we were all in a tender state about
+our approaching separation.
+
+‘I shall never, Master Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘revert to the
+period when Mr. Micawber was in difficulties, without thinking of
+you. Your conduct has always been of the most delicate and obliging
+description. You have never been a lodger. You have been a friend.’
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Micawber; ‘Copperfield,’ for so he had been
+accustomed to call me, of late, ‘has a heart to feel for the distresses
+of his fellow-creatures when they are behind a cloud, and a head to
+plan, and a hand to--in short, a general ability to dispose of such
+available property as could be made away with.’
+
+I expressed my sense of this commendation, and said I was very sorry we
+were going to lose one another.
+
+‘My dear young friend,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘I am older than you; a man
+of some experience in life, and--and of some experience, in short, in
+difficulties, generally speaking. At present, and until something turns
+up (which I am, I may say, hourly expecting), I have nothing to bestow
+but advice. Still my advice is so far worth taking, that--in short, that
+I have never taken it myself, and am the’--here Mr. Micawber, who had
+been beaming and smiling, all over his head and face, up to the present
+moment, checked himself and frowned--‘the miserable wretch you behold.’
+
+‘My dear Micawber!’ urged his wife.
+
+‘I say,’ returned Mr. Micawber, quite forgetting himself, and smiling
+again, ‘the miserable wretch you behold. My advice is, never do tomorrow
+what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time. Collar
+him!’
+
+‘My poor papa’s maxim,’ Mrs. Micawber observed.
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘your papa was very well in his way, and
+Heaven forbid that I should disparage him. Take him for all in all, we
+ne’er shall--in short, make the acquaintance, probably, of anybody else
+possessing, at his time of life, the same legs for gaiters, and able to
+read the same description of print, without spectacles. But he applied
+that maxim to our marriage, my dear; and that was so far prematurely
+entered into, in consequence, that I never recovered the expense.’ Mr.
+Micawber looked aside at Mrs. Micawber, and added: ‘Not that I am sorry
+for it. Quite the contrary, my love.’ After which, he was grave for a
+minute or so.
+
+‘My other piece of advice, Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘you know.
+Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen nineteen and
+six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure
+twenty pounds ought and six, result misery. The blossom is blighted,
+the leaf is withered, the god of day goes down upon the dreary scene,
+and--and in short you are for ever floored. As I am!’
+
+To make his example the more impressive, Mr. Micawber drank a glass of
+punch with an air of great enjoyment and satisfaction, and whistled the
+College Hornpipe.
+
+I did not fail to assure him that I would store these precepts in my
+mind, though indeed I had no need to do so, for, at the time, they
+affected me visibly. Next morning I met the whole family at the coach
+office, and saw them, with a desolate heart, take their places outside,
+at the back.
+
+‘Master Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘God bless you! I never can
+forget all that, you know, and I never would if I could.’
+
+‘Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘farewell! Every happiness and
+prosperity! If, in the progress of revolving years, I could persuade
+myself that my blighted destiny had been a warning to you, I should feel
+that I had not occupied another man’s place in existence altogether in
+vain. In case of anything turning up (of which I am rather confident),
+I shall be extremely happy if it should be in my power to improve your
+prospects.’
+
+I think, as Mrs. Micawber sat at the back of the coach, with the
+children, and I stood in the road looking wistfully at them, a mist
+cleared from her eyes, and she saw what a little creature I really was.
+I think so, because she beckoned to me to climb up, with quite a new and
+motherly expression in her face, and put her arm round my neck, and gave
+me just such a kiss as she might have given to her own boy. I had barely
+time to get down again before the coach started, and I could hardly see
+the family for the handkerchiefs they waved. It was gone in a minute.
+The Orfling and I stood looking vacantly at each other in the middle
+of the road, and then shook hands and said good-bye; she going back,
+I suppose, to St. Luke’s workhouse, as I went to begin my weary day at
+Murdstone and Grinby’s.
+
+But with no intention of passing many more weary days there. No. I had
+resolved to run away.---To go, by some means or other, down into the
+country, to the only relation I had in the world, and tell my story to
+my aunt, Miss Betsey. I have already observed that I don’t know how this
+desperate idea came into my brain. But, once there, it remained there;
+and hardened into a purpose than which I have never entertained a more
+determined purpose in my life. I am far from sure that I believed there
+was anything hopeful in it, but my mind was thoroughly made up that it
+must be carried into execution.
+
+Again, and again, and a hundred times again, since the night when the
+thought had first occurred to me and banished sleep, I had gone over
+that old story of my poor mother’s about my birth, which it had been one
+of my great delights in the old time to hear her tell, and which I knew
+by heart. My aunt walked into that story, and walked out of it, a dread
+and awful personage; but there was one little trait in her behaviour
+which I liked to dwell on, and which gave me some faint shadow of
+encouragement. I could not forget how my mother had thought that she
+felt her touch her pretty hair with no ungentle hand; and though it
+might have been altogether my mother’s fancy, and might have had no
+foundation whatever in fact, I made a little picture, out of it, of my
+terrible aunt relenting towards the girlish beauty that I recollected so
+well and loved so much, which softened the whole narrative. It is very
+possible that it had been in my mind a long time, and had gradually
+engendered my determination.
+
+As I did not even know where Miss Betsey lived, I wrote a long letter
+to Peggotty, and asked her, incidentally, if she remembered; pretending
+that I had heard of such a lady living at a certain place I named at
+random, and had a curiosity to know if it were the same. In the course
+of that letter, I told Peggotty that I had a particular occasion for
+half a guinea; and that if she could lend me that sum until I could
+repay it, I should be very much obliged to her, and would tell her
+afterwards what I had wanted it for.
+
+Peggotty’s answer soon arrived, and was, as usual, full of affectionate
+devotion. She enclosed the half guinea (I was afraid she must have had
+a world of trouble to get it out of Mr. Barkis’s box), and told me that
+Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at Hythe,
+Sandgate, or Folkestone, she could not say. One of our men, however,
+informing me on my asking him about these places, that they were all
+close together, I deemed this enough for my object, and resolved to set
+out at the end of that week.
+
+Being a very honest little creature, and unwilling to disgrace the
+memory I was going to leave behind me at Murdstone and Grinby’s, I
+considered myself bound to remain until Saturday night; and, as I had
+been paid a week’s wages in advance when I first came there, not to
+present myself in the counting-house at the usual hour, to receive my
+stipend. For this express reason, I had borrowed the half-guinea, that
+I might not be without a fund for my travelling-expenses. Accordingly,
+when the Saturday night came, and we were all waiting in the warehouse
+to be paid, and Tipp the carman, who always took precedence, went in
+first to draw his money, I shook Mick Walker by the hand; asked him,
+when it came to his turn to be paid, to say to Mr. Quinion that I had
+gone to move my box to Tipp’s; and, bidding a last good night to Mealy
+Potatoes, ran away.
+
+My box was at my old lodging, over the water, and I had written a
+direction for it on the back of one of our address cards that we nailed
+on the casks: ‘Master David, to be left till called for, at the Coach
+Office, Dover.’ This I had in my pocket ready to put on the box, after I
+should have got it out of the house; and as I went towards my lodging,
+I looked about me for someone who would help me to carry it to the
+booking-office.
+
+There was a long-legged young man with a very little empty donkey-cart,
+standing near the Obelisk, in the Blackfriars Road, whose eye I caught
+as I was going by, and who, addressing me as ‘Sixpenn’orth of bad
+ha’pence,’ hoped ‘I should know him agin to swear to’--in allusion, I
+have no doubt, to my staring at him. I stopped to assure him that I had
+not done so in bad manners, but uncertain whether he might or might not
+like a job.
+
+‘Wot job?’ said the long-legged young man.
+
+‘To move a box,’ I answered.
+
+‘Wot box?’ said the long-legged young man.
+
+I told him mine, which was down that street there, and which I wanted
+him to take to the Dover coach office for sixpence.
+
+‘Done with you for a tanner!’ said the long-legged young man, and
+directly got upon his cart, which was nothing but a large wooden tray on
+wheels, and rattled away at such a rate, that it was as much as I could
+do to keep pace with the donkey.
+
+There was a defiant manner about this young man, and particularly about
+the way in which he chewed straw as he spoke to me, that I did not much
+like; as the bargain was made, however, I took him upstairs to the room
+I was leaving, and we brought the box down, and put it on his cart.
+Now, I was unwilling to put the direction-card on there, lest any of my
+landlord’s family should fathom what I was doing, and detain me; so
+I said to the young man that I would be glad if he would stop for a
+minute, when he came to the dead-wall of the King’s Bench prison. The
+words were no sooner out of my mouth, than he rattled away as if he, my
+box, the cart, and the donkey, were all equally mad; and I was quite out
+of breath with running and calling after him, when I caught him at the
+place appointed.
+
+Being much flushed and excited, I tumbled my half-guinea out of my
+pocket in pulling the card out. I put it in my mouth for safety, and
+though my hands trembled a good deal, had just tied the card on very
+much to my satisfaction, when I felt myself violently chucked under the
+chin by the long-legged young man, and saw my half-guinea fly out of my
+mouth into his hand.
+
+‘Wot!’ said the young man, seizing me by my jacket collar, with a
+frightful grin. ‘This is a pollis case, is it? You’re a-going to bolt,
+are you? Come to the pollis, you young warmin, come to the pollis!’
+
+‘You give me my money back, if you please,’ said I, very much
+frightened; ‘and leave me alone.’
+
+‘Come to the pollis!’ said the young man. ‘You shall prove it yourn to
+the pollis.’
+
+‘Give me my box and money, will you,’ I cried, bursting into tears.
+
+The young man still replied: ‘Come to the pollis!’ and was dragging me
+against the donkey in a violent manner, as if there were any affinity
+between that animal and a magistrate, when he changed his mind, jumped
+into the cart, sat upon my box, and, exclaiming that he would drive to
+the pollis straight, rattled away harder than ever.
+
+I ran after him as fast as I could, but I had no breath to call out
+with, and should not have dared to call out, now, if I had. I narrowly
+escaped being run over, twenty times at least, in half a mile. Now I
+lost him, now I saw him, now I lost him, now I was cut at with a whip,
+now shouted at, now down in the mud, now up again, now running into
+somebody’s arms, now running headlong at a post. At length, confused by
+fright and heat, and doubting whether half London might not by this time
+be turning out for my apprehension, I left the young man to go where
+he would with my box and money; and, panting and crying, but never
+stopping, faced about for Greenwich, which I had understood was on
+the Dover Road: taking very little more out of the world, towards the
+retreat of my aunt, Miss Betsey, than I had brought into it, on the
+night when my arrival gave her so much umbrage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 13. THE SEQUEL OF MY RESOLUTION
+
+
+For anything I know, I may have had some wild idea of running all the
+way to Dover, when I gave up the pursuit of the young man with the
+donkey-cart, and started for Greenwich. My scattered senses were soon
+collected as to that point, if I had; for I came to a stop in the Kent
+Road, at a terrace with a piece of water before it, and a great foolish
+image in the middle, blowing a dry shell. Here I sat down on a doorstep,
+quite spent and exhausted with the efforts I had already made, and with
+hardly breath enough to cry for the loss of my box and half-guinea.
+
+It was by this time dark; I heard the clocks strike ten, as I sat
+resting. But it was a summer night, fortunately, and fine weather. When
+I had recovered my breath, and had got rid of a stifling sensation in
+my throat, I rose up and went on. In the midst of my distress, I had no
+notion of going back. I doubt if I should have had any, though there had
+been a Swiss snow-drift in the Kent Road.
+
+But my standing possessed of only three-halfpence in the world (and I
+am sure I wonder how they came to be left in my pocket on a Saturday
+night!) troubled me none the less because I went on. I began to picture
+to myself, as a scrap of newspaper intelligence, my being found dead in
+a day or two, under some hedge; and I trudged on miserably, though as
+fast as I could, until I happened to pass a little shop, where it was
+written up that ladies’ and gentlemen’s wardrobes were bought, and that
+the best price was given for rags, bones, and kitchen-stuff. The master
+of this shop was sitting at the door in his shirt-sleeves, smoking; and
+as there were a great many coats and pairs of trousers dangling from
+the low ceiling, and only two feeble candles burning inside to show
+what they were, I fancied that he looked like a man of a revengeful
+disposition, who had hung all his enemies, and was enjoying himself.
+
+My late experiences with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber suggested to me that here
+might be a means of keeping off the wolf for a little while. I went up
+the next by-street, took off my waistcoat, rolled it neatly under my
+arm, and came back to the shop door.
+
+‘If you please, sir,’ I said, ‘I am to sell this for a fair price.’
+
+Mr. Dolloby--Dolloby was the name over the shop door, at least--took the
+waistcoat, stood his pipe on its head, against the door-post, went into
+the shop, followed by me, snuffed the two candles with his fingers,
+spread the waistcoat on the counter, and looked at it there, held it up
+against the light, and looked at it there, and ultimately said:
+
+‘What do you call a price, now, for this here little weskit?’
+
+‘Oh! you know best, sir,’ I returned modestly.
+
+‘I can’t be buyer and seller too,’ said Mr. Dolloby. ‘Put a price on
+this here little weskit.’
+
+‘Would eighteenpence be?’--I hinted, after some hesitation.
+
+Mr. Dolloby rolled it up again, and gave it me back. ‘I should rob my
+family,’ he said, ‘if I was to offer ninepence for it.’
+
+This was a disagreeable way of putting the business; because it imposed
+upon me, a perfect stranger, the unpleasantness of asking Mr. Dolloby to
+rob his family on my account. My circumstances being so very pressing,
+however, I said I would take ninepence for it, if he pleased. Mr.
+Dolloby, not without some grumbling, gave ninepence. I wished him good
+night, and walked out of the shop the richer by that sum, and the
+poorer by a waistcoat. But when I buttoned my jacket, that was not much.
+Indeed, I foresaw pretty clearly that my jacket would go next, and that
+I should have to make the best of my way to Dover in a shirt and a pair
+of trousers, and might deem myself lucky if I got there even in that
+trim. But my mind did not run so much on this as might be supposed.
+Beyond a general impression of the distance before me, and of the young
+man with the donkey-cart having used me cruelly, I think I had no
+very urgent sense of my difficulties when I once again set off with my
+ninepence in my pocket.
+
+A plan had occurred to me for passing the night, which I was going to
+carry into execution. This was, to lie behind the wall at the back of my
+old school, in a corner where there used to be a haystack. I imagined
+it would be a kind of company to have the boys, and the bedroom where
+I used to tell the stories, so near me: although the boys would know
+nothing of my being there, and the bedroom would yield me no shelter.
+
+I had had a hard day’s work, and was pretty well jaded when I came
+climbing out, at last, upon the level of Blackheath. It cost me some
+trouble to find out Salem House; but I found it, and I found a haystack
+in the corner, and I lay down by it; having first walked round the wall,
+and looked up at the windows, and seen that all was dark and silent
+within. Never shall I forget the lonely sensation of first lying down,
+without a roof above my head!
+
+Sleep came upon me as it came on many other outcasts, against whom
+house-doors were locked, and house-dogs barked, that night--and I
+dreamed of lying on my old school-bed, talking to the boys in my room;
+and found myself sitting upright, with Steerforth’s name upon my lips,
+looking wildly at the stars that were glistening and glimmering above
+me. When I remembered where I was at that untimely hour, a feeling
+stole upon me that made me get up, afraid of I don’t know what, and walk
+about. But the fainter glimmering of the stars, and the pale light in
+the sky where the day was coming, reassured me: and my eyes being very
+heavy, I lay down again and slept--though with a knowledge in my sleep
+that it was cold--until the warm beams of the sun, and the ringing of
+the getting-up bell at Salem House, awoke me. If I could have hoped that
+Steerforth was there, I would have lurked about until he came out
+alone; but I knew he must have left long since. Traddles still remained,
+perhaps, but it was very doubtful; and I had not sufficient confidence
+in his discretion or good luck, however strong my reliance was on his
+good nature, to wish to trust him with my situation. So I crept away
+from the wall as Mr. Creakle’s boys were getting up, and struck into the
+long dusty track which I had first known to be the Dover Road when I was
+one of them, and when I little expected that any eyes would ever see me
+the wayfarer I was now, upon it.
+
+What a different Sunday morning from the old Sunday morning at Yarmouth!
+In due time I heard the church-bells ringing, as I plodded on; and I met
+people who were going to church; and I passed a church or two where the
+congregation were inside, and the sound of singing came out into the
+sunshine, while the beadle sat and cooled himself in the shade of the
+porch, or stood beneath the yew-tree, with his hand to his forehead,
+glowering at me going by. But the peace and rest of the old Sunday
+morning were on everything, except me. That was the difference. I felt
+quite wicked in my dirt and dust, with my tangled hair. But for the
+quiet picture I had conjured up, of my mother in her youth and beauty,
+weeping by the fire, and my aunt relenting to her, I hardly think I
+should have had the courage to go on until next day. But it always went
+before me, and I followed.
+
+I got, that Sunday, through three-and-twenty miles on the straight
+road, though not very easily, for I was new to that kind of toil. I
+see myself, as evening closes in, coming over the bridge at Rochester,
+footsore and tired, and eating bread that I had bought for supper.
+One or two little houses, with the notice, ‘Lodgings for Travellers’,
+hanging out, had tempted me; but I was afraid of spending the few pence
+I had, and was even more afraid of the vicious looks of the trampers I
+had met or overtaken. I sought no shelter, therefore, but the sky; and
+toiling into Chatham,--which, in that night’s aspect, is a mere dream of
+chalk, and drawbridges, and mastless ships in a muddy river, roofed
+like Noah’s arks,--crept, at last, upon a sort of grass-grown battery
+overhanging a lane, where a sentry was walking to and fro. Here I
+lay down, near a cannon; and, happy in the society of the sentry’s
+footsteps, though he knew no more of my being above him than the boys
+at Salem House had known of my lying by the wall, slept soundly until
+morning.
+
+Very stiff and sore of foot I was in the morning, and quite dazed by the
+beating of drums and marching of troops, which seemed to hem me in on
+every side when I went down towards the long narrow street. Feeling
+that I could go but a very little way that day, if I were to reserve any
+strength for getting to my journey’s end, I resolved to make the sale
+of my jacket its principal business. Accordingly, I took the jacket off,
+that I might learn to do without it; and carrying it under my arm, began
+a tour of inspection of the various slop-shops.
+
+It was a likely place to sell a jacket in; for the dealers in
+second-hand clothes were numerous, and were, generally speaking, on the
+look-out for customers at their shop doors. But as most of them had,
+hanging up among their stock, an officer’s coat or two, epaulettes and
+all, I was rendered timid by the costly nature of their dealings, and
+walked about for a long time without offering my merchandise to anyone.
+
+This modesty of mine directed my attention to the marine-store shops,
+and such shops as Mr. Dolloby’s, in preference to the regular dealers.
+At last I found one that I thought looked promising, at the corner of a
+dirty lane, ending in an enclosure full of stinging-nettles, against the
+palings of which some second-hand sailors’ clothes, that seemed to have
+overflowed the shop, were fluttering among some cots, and rusty guns,
+and oilskin hats, and certain trays full of so many old rusty keys of so
+many sizes that they seemed various enough to open all the doors in the
+world.
+
+Into this shop, which was low and small, and which was darkened
+rather than lighted by a little window, overhung with clothes, and was
+descended into by some steps, I went with a palpitating heart; which was
+not relieved when an ugly old man, with the lower part of his face all
+covered with a stubbly grey beard, rushed out of a dirty den behind it,
+and seized me by the hair of my head. He was a dreadful old man to look
+at, in a filthy flannel waistcoat, and smelling terribly of rum. His
+bedstead, covered with a tumbled and ragged piece of patchwork, was in
+the den he had come from, where another little window showed a prospect
+of more stinging-nettles, and a lame donkey.
+
+‘Oh, what do you want?’ grinned this old man, in a fierce, monotonous
+whine. ‘Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do you want? Oh, my lungs and liver,
+what do you want? Oh, goroo, goroo!’
+
+I was so much dismayed by these words, and particularly by the
+repetition of the last unknown one, which was a kind of rattle in his
+throat, that I could make no answer; hereupon the old man, still holding
+me by the hair, repeated:
+
+‘Oh, what do you want? Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do you want? Oh, my
+lungs and liver, what do you want? Oh, goroo!’--which he screwed out of
+himself, with an energy that made his eyes start in his head.
+
+‘I wanted to know,’ I said, trembling, ‘if you would buy a jacket.’
+
+‘Oh, let’s see the jacket!’ cried the old man. ‘Oh, my heart on fire,
+show the jacket to us! Oh, my eyes and limbs, bring the jacket out!’
+
+With that he took his trembling hands, which were like the claws of a
+great bird, out of my hair; and put on a pair of spectacles, not at all
+ornamental to his inflamed eyes.
+
+‘Oh, how much for the jacket?’ cried the old man, after examining it.
+‘Oh--goroo!--how much for the jacket?’
+
+‘Half-a-crown,’ I answered, recovering myself.
+
+‘Oh, my lungs and liver,’ cried the old man, ‘no! Oh, my eyes, no! Oh,
+my limbs, no! Eighteenpence. Goroo!’
+
+Every time he uttered this ejaculation, his eyes seemed to be in danger
+of starting out; and every sentence he spoke, he delivered in a sort
+of tune, always exactly the same, and more like a gust of wind, which
+begins low, mounts up high, and falls again, than any other comparison I
+can find for it.
+
+‘Well,’ said I, glad to have closed the bargain, ‘I’ll take
+eighteenpence.’
+
+‘Oh, my liver!’ cried the old man, throwing the jacket on a shelf. ‘Get
+out of the shop! Oh, my lungs, get out of the shop! Oh, my eyes and
+limbs--goroo!--don’t ask for money; make it an exchange.’ I never was
+so frightened in my life, before or since; but I told him humbly that
+I wanted money, and that nothing else was of any use to me, but that I
+would wait for it, as he desired, outside, and had no wish to hurry
+him. So I went outside, and sat down in the shade in a corner. And I sat
+there so many hours, that the shade became sunlight, and the sunlight
+became shade again, and still I sat there waiting for the money.
+
+There never was such another drunken madman in that line of business,
+I hope. That he was well known in the neighbourhood, and enjoyed the
+reputation of having sold himself to the devil, I soon understood from
+the visits he received from the boys, who continually came skirmishing
+about the shop, shouting that legend, and calling to him to bring out
+his gold. ‘You ain’t poor, you know, Charley, as you pretend. Bring out
+your gold. Bring out some of the gold you sold yourself to the devil
+for. Come! It’s in the lining of the mattress, Charley. Rip it open
+and let’s have some!’ This, and many offers to lend him a knife for
+the purpose, exasperated him to such a degree, that the whole day was a
+succession of rushes on his part, and flights on the part of the boys.
+Sometimes in his rage he would take me for one of them, and come at me,
+mouthing as if he were going to tear me in pieces; then, remembering
+me, just in time, would dive into the shop, and lie upon his bed, as I
+thought from the sound of his voice, yelling in a frantic way, to his
+own windy tune, the ‘Death of Nelson’; with an Oh! before every line,
+and innumerable Goroos interspersed. As if this were not bad enough for
+me, the boys, connecting me with the establishment, on account of the
+patience and perseverance with which I sat outside, half-dressed, pelted
+me, and used me very ill all day.
+
+He made many attempts to induce me to consent to an exchange; at one
+time coming out with a fishing-rod, at another with a fiddle, at another
+with a cocked hat, at another with a flute. But I resisted all these
+overtures, and sat there in desperation; each time asking him, with
+tears in my eyes, for my money or my jacket. At last he began to pay me
+in halfpence at a time; and was full two hours getting by easy stages to
+a shilling.
+
+‘Oh, my eyes and limbs!’ he then cried, peeping hideously out of the
+shop, after a long pause, ‘will you go for twopence more?’
+
+‘I can’t,’ I said; ‘I shall be starved.’
+
+‘Oh, my lungs and liver, will you go for threepence?’
+
+‘I would go for nothing, if I could,’ I said, ‘but I want the money
+badly.’
+
+‘Oh, go-roo!’ (it is really impossible to express how he twisted this
+ejaculation out of himself, as he peeped round the door-post at me,
+showing nothing but his crafty old head); ‘will you go for fourpence?’
+
+I was so faint and weary that I closed with this offer; and taking the
+money out of his claw, not without trembling, went away more hungry and
+thirsty than I had ever been, a little before sunset. But at an expense
+of threepence I soon refreshed myself completely; and, being in better
+spirits then, limped seven miles upon my road.
+
+My bed at night was under another haystack, where I rested comfortably,
+after having washed my blistered feet in a stream, and dressed them as
+well as I was able, with some cool leaves. When I took the road again
+next morning, I found that it lay through a succession of hop-grounds
+and orchards. It was sufficiently late in the year for the orchards
+to be ruddy with ripe apples; and in a few places the hop-pickers were
+already at work. I thought it all extremely beautiful, and made up
+my mind to sleep among the hops that night: imagining some cheerful
+companionship in the long perspectives of poles, with the graceful
+leaves twining round them.
+
+The trampers were worse than ever that day, and inspired me with a
+dread that is yet quite fresh in my mind. Some of them were most
+ferocious-looking ruffians, who stared at me as I went by; and stopped,
+perhaps, and called after me to come back and speak to them, and when I
+took to my heels, stoned me. I recollect one young fellow--a tinker, I
+suppose, from his wallet and brazier--who had a woman with him, and
+who faced about and stared at me thus; and then roared to me in such a
+tremendous voice to come back, that I halted and looked round.
+
+‘Come here, when you’re called,’ said the tinker, ‘or I’ll rip your
+young body open.’
+
+I thought it best to go back. As I drew nearer to them, trying to
+propitiate the tinker by my looks, I observed that the woman had a black
+eye.
+
+‘Where are you going?’ said the tinker, gripping the bosom of my shirt
+with his blackened hand.
+
+‘I am going to Dover,’ I said.
+
+‘Where do you come from?’ asked the tinker, giving his hand another turn
+in my shirt, to hold me more securely.
+
+‘I come from London,’ I said.
+
+‘What lay are you upon?’ asked the tinker. ‘Are you a prig?’
+
+‘N-no,’ I said.
+
+‘Ain’t you, by G--? If you make a brag of your honesty to me,’ said the
+tinker, ‘I’ll knock your brains out.’
+
+With his disengaged hand he made a menace of striking me, and then
+looked at me from head to foot.
+
+‘Have you got the price of a pint of beer about you?’ said the tinker.
+‘If you have, out with it, afore I take it away!’
+
+I should certainly have produced it, but that I met the woman’s look,
+and saw her very slightly shake her head, and form ‘No!’ with her lips.
+
+‘I am very poor,’ I said, attempting to smile, ‘and have got no money.’
+
+‘Why, what do you mean?’ said the tinker, looking so sternly at me, that
+I almost feared he saw the money in my pocket.
+
+‘Sir!’ I stammered.
+
+‘What do you mean,’ said the tinker, ‘by wearing my brother’s silk
+handkerchief! Give it over here!’ And he had mine off my neck in a
+moment, and tossed it to the woman.
+
+The woman burst into a fit of laughter, as if she thought this a joke,
+and tossed it back to me, nodded once, as slightly as before, and made
+the word ‘Go!’ with her lips. Before I could obey, however, the tinker
+seized the handkerchief out of my hand with a roughness that threw me
+away like a feather, and putting it loosely round his own neck, turned
+upon the woman with an oath, and knocked her down. I never shall forget
+seeing her fall backward on the hard road, and lie there with her bonnet
+tumbled off, and her hair all whitened in the dust; nor, when I looked
+back from a distance, seeing her sitting on the pathway, which was a
+bank by the roadside, wiping the blood from her face with a corner of
+her shawl, while he went on ahead.
+
+This adventure frightened me so, that, afterwards, when I saw any of
+these people coming, I turned back until I could find a hiding-place,
+where I remained until they had gone out of sight; which happened so
+often, that I was very seriously delayed. But under this difficulty, as
+under all the other difficulties of my journey, I seemed to be sustained
+and led on by my fanciful picture of my mother in her youth, before I
+came into the world. It always kept me company. It was there, among
+the hops, when I lay down to sleep; it was with me on my waking in the
+morning; it went before me all day. I have associated it, ever since,
+with the sunny street of Canterbury, dozing as it were in the hot light;
+and with the sight of its old houses and gateways, and the stately,
+grey Cathedral, with the rooks sailing round the towers. When I came,
+at last, upon the bare, wide downs near Dover, it relieved the solitary
+aspect of the scene with hope; and not until I reached that first great
+aim of my journey, and actually set foot in the town itself, on the
+sixth day of my flight, did it desert me. But then, strange to say,
+when I stood with my ragged shoes, and my dusty, sunburnt, half-clothed
+figure, in the place so long desired, it seemed to vanish like a dream,
+and to leave me helpless and dispirited.
+
+I inquired about my aunt among the boatmen first, and received various
+answers. One said she lived in the South Foreland Light, and had singed
+her whiskers by doing so; another, that she was made fast to the great
+buoy outside the harbour, and could only be visited at half-tide; a
+third, that she was locked up in Maidstone jail for child-stealing; a
+fourth, that she was seen to mount a broom in the last high wind, and
+make direct for Calais. The fly-drivers, among whom I inquired next,
+were equally jocose and equally disrespectful; and the shopkeepers, not
+liking my appearance, generally replied, without hearing what I had
+to say, that they had got nothing for me. I felt more miserable and
+destitute than I had done at any period of my running away. My money was
+all gone, I had nothing left to dispose of; I was hungry, thirsty, and
+worn out; and seemed as distant from my end as if I had remained in
+London.
+
+The morning had worn away in these inquiries, and I was sitting on
+the step of an empty shop at a street corner, near the market-place,
+deliberating upon wandering towards those other places which had been
+mentioned, when a fly-driver, coming by with his carriage, dropped a
+horsecloth. Something good-natured in the man’s face, as I handed it up,
+encouraged me to ask him if he could tell me where Miss Trotwood lived;
+though I had asked the question so often, that it almost died upon my
+lips.
+
+‘Trotwood,’ said he. ‘Let me see. I know the name, too. Old lady?’
+
+‘Yes,’ I said, ‘rather.’
+
+‘Pretty stiff in the back?’ said he, making himself upright.
+
+‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I should think it very likely.’
+
+‘Carries a bag?’ said he--‘bag with a good deal of room in it--is
+gruffish, and comes down upon you, sharp?’
+
+My heart sank within me as I acknowledged the undoubted accuracy of this
+description.
+
+‘Why then, I tell you what,’ said he. ‘If you go up there,’ pointing
+with his whip towards the heights, ‘and keep right on till you come to
+some houses facing the sea, I think you’ll hear of her. My opinion is
+she won’t stand anything, so here’s a penny for you.’
+
+I accepted the gift thankfully, and bought a loaf with it. Dispatching
+this refreshment by the way, I went in the direction my friend had
+indicated, and walked on a good distance without coming to the houses
+he had mentioned. At length I saw some before me; and approaching them,
+went into a little shop (it was what we used to call a general shop,
+at home), and inquired if they could have the goodness to tell me where
+Miss Trotwood lived. I addressed myself to a man behind the counter,
+who was weighing some rice for a young woman; but the latter, taking the
+inquiry to herself, turned round quickly.
+
+‘My mistress?’ she said. ‘What do you want with her, boy?’
+
+‘I want,’ I replied, ‘to speak to her, if you please.’
+
+‘To beg of her, you mean,’ retorted the damsel.
+
+‘No,’ I said, ‘indeed.’ But suddenly remembering that in truth I came
+for no other purpose, I held my peace in confusion, and felt my face
+burn.
+
+My aunt’s handmaid, as I supposed she was from what she had said, put
+her rice in a little basket and walked out of the shop; telling me that
+I could follow her, if I wanted to know where Miss Trotwood lived. I
+needed no second permission; though I was by this time in such a state
+of consternation and agitation, that my legs shook under me. I followed
+the young woman, and we soon came to a very neat little cottage with
+cheerful bow-windows: in front of it, a small square gravelled court or
+garden full of flowers, carefully tended, and smelling deliciously.
+
+‘This is Miss Trotwood’s,’ said the young woman. ‘Now you know; and
+that’s all I have got to say.’ With which words she hurried into the
+house, as if to shake off the responsibility of my appearance; and left
+me standing at the garden-gate, looking disconsolately over the top of
+it towards the parlour window, where a muslin curtain partly undrawn
+in the middle, a large round green screen or fan fastened on to the
+windowsill, a small table, and a great chair, suggested to me that my
+aunt might be at that moment seated in awful state.
+
+My shoes were by this time in a woeful condition. The soles had shed
+themselves bit by bit, and the upper leathers had broken and burst until
+the very shape and form of shoes had departed from them. My hat (which
+had served me for a night-cap, too) was so crushed and bent, that no old
+battered handleless saucepan on a dunghill need have been ashamed to vie
+with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and
+the Kentish soil on which I had slept--and torn besides--might have
+frightened the birds from my aunt’s garden, as I stood at the gate. My
+hair had known no comb or brush since I left London. My face, neck, and
+hands, from unaccustomed exposure to the air and sun, were burnt to a
+berry-brown. From head to foot I was powdered almost as white with chalk
+and dust, as if I had come out of a lime-kiln. In this plight, and with
+a strong consciousness of it, I waited to introduce myself to, and make
+my first impression on, my formidable aunt.
+
+The unbroken stillness of the parlour window leading me to infer, after
+a while, that she was not there, I lifted up my eyes to the window above
+it, where I saw a florid, pleasant-looking gentleman, with a grey head,
+who shut up one eye in a grotesque manner, nodded his head at me several
+times, shook it at me as often, laughed, and went away.
+
+I had been discomposed enough before; but I was so much the more
+discomposed by this unexpected behaviour, that I was on the point of
+slinking off, to think how I had best proceed, when there came out of
+the house a lady with her handkerchief tied over her cap, and a pair
+of gardening gloves on her hands, wearing a gardening pocket like a
+toll-man’s apron, and carrying a great knife. I knew her immediately
+to be Miss Betsey, for she came stalking out of the house exactly as
+my poor mother had so often described her stalking up our garden at
+Blunderstone Rookery.
+
+‘Go away!’ said Miss Betsey, shaking her head, and making a distant chop
+in the air with her knife. ‘Go along! No boys here!’
+
+I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as she marched to a corner of
+her garden, and stooped to dig up some little root there. Then, without
+a scrap of courage, but with a great deal of desperation, I went softly
+in and stood beside her, touching her with my finger.
+
+‘If you please, ma’am,’ I began.
+
+She started and looked up.
+
+‘If you please, aunt.’
+
+‘EH?’ exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I have never heard
+approached.
+
+‘If you please, aunt, I am your nephew.’
+
+‘Oh, Lord!’ said my aunt. And sat flat down in the garden-path.
+
+‘I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk--where you came,
+on the night when I was born, and saw my dear mama. I have been very
+unhappy since she died. I have been slighted, and taught nothing, and
+thrown upon myself, and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away
+to you. I was robbed at first setting out, and have walked all the
+way, and have never slept in a bed since I began the journey.’ Here
+my self-support gave way all at once; and with a movement of my hands,
+intended to show her my ragged state, and call it to witness that I had
+suffered something, I broke into a passion of crying, which I suppose
+had been pent up within me all the week.
+
+My aunt, with every sort of expression but wonder discharged from her
+countenance, sat on the gravel, staring at me, until I began to cry;
+when she got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me into the
+parlour. Her first proceeding there was to unlock a tall press, bring
+out several bottles, and pour some of the contents of each into my
+mouth. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I am sure
+I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. When she had
+administered these restoratives, as I was still quite hysterical, and
+unable to control my sobs, she put me on the sofa, with a shawl under
+my head, and the handkerchief from her own head under my feet, lest I
+should sully the cover; and then, sitting herself down behind the green
+fan or screen I have already mentioned, so that I could not see her
+face, ejaculated at intervals, ‘Mercy on us!’ letting those exclamations
+off like minute guns.
+
+After a time she rang the bell. ‘Janet,’ said my aunt, when her servant
+came in. ‘Go upstairs, give my compliments to Mr. Dick, and say I wish
+to speak to him.’
+
+Janet looked a little surprised to see me lying stiffly on the sofa (I
+was afraid to move lest it should be displeasing to my aunt), but went
+on her errand. My aunt, with her hands behind her, walked up and down
+the room, until the gentleman who had squinted at me from the upper
+window came in laughing.
+
+‘Mr. Dick,’ said my aunt, ‘don’t be a fool, because nobody can be more
+discreet than you can, when you choose. We all know that. So don’t be a
+fool, whatever you are.’
+
+The gentleman was serious immediately, and looked at me, I thought, as
+if he would entreat me to say nothing about the window.
+
+‘Mr. Dick,’ said my aunt, ‘you have heard me mention David Copperfield?
+Now don’t pretend not to have a memory, because you and I know better.’
+
+‘David Copperfield?’ said Mr. Dick, who did not appear to me to
+remember much about it. ‘David Copperfield? Oh yes, to be sure. David,
+certainly.’
+
+‘Well,’ said my aunt, ‘this is his boy--his son. He would be as like his
+father as it’s possible to be, if he was not so like his mother, too.’
+
+‘His son?’ said Mr. Dick. ‘David’s son? Indeed!’
+
+‘Yes,’ pursued my aunt, ‘and he has done a pretty piece of business.
+He has run away. Ah! His sister, Betsey Trotwood, never would have run
+away.’ My aunt shook her head firmly, confident in the character and
+behaviour of the girl who never was born.
+
+‘Oh! you think she wouldn’t have run away?’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+‘Bless and save the man,’ exclaimed my aunt, sharply, ‘how he talks!
+Don’t I know she wouldn’t? She would have lived with her god-mother,
+and we should have been devoted to one another. Where, in the name of
+wonder, should his sister, Betsey Trotwood, have run from, or to?’
+
+‘Nowhere,’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+‘Well then,’ returned my aunt, softened by the reply, ‘how can you
+pretend to be wool-gathering, Dick, when you are as sharp as a surgeon’s
+lancet? Now, here you see young David Copperfield, and the question I
+put to you is, what shall I do with him?’
+
+‘What shall you do with him?’ said Mr. Dick, feebly, scratching his
+head. ‘Oh! do with him?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said my aunt, with a grave look, and her forefinger held up.
+‘Come! I want some very sound advice.’
+
+‘Why, if I was you,’ said Mr. Dick, considering, and looking vacantly
+at me, ‘I should--’ The contemplation of me seemed to inspire him with a
+sudden idea, and he added, briskly, ‘I should wash him!’
+
+‘Janet,’ said my aunt, turning round with a quiet triumph, which I did
+not then understand, ‘Mr. Dick sets us all right. Heat the bath!’
+
+Although I was deeply interested in this dialogue, I could not help
+observing my aunt, Mr. Dick, and Janet, while it was in progress, and
+completing a survey I had already been engaged in making of the room.
+
+My aunt was a tall, hard-featured lady, but by no means ill-looking.
+There was an inflexibility in her face, in her voice, in her gait and
+carriage, amply sufficient to account for the effect she had made upon
+a gentle creature like my mother; but her features were rather handsome
+than otherwise, though unbending and austere. I particularly noticed
+that she had a very quick, bright eye. Her hair, which was grey, was
+arranged in two plain divisions, under what I believe would be called a
+mob-cap; I mean a cap, much more common then than now, with side-pieces
+fastening under the chin. Her dress was of a lavender colour, and
+perfectly neat; but scantily made, as if she desired to be as little
+encumbered as possible. I remember that I thought it, in form, more like
+a riding-habit with the superfluous skirt cut off, than anything else.
+She wore at her side a gentleman’s gold watch, if I might judge from its
+size and make, with an appropriate chain and seals; she had some linen
+at her throat not unlike a shirt-collar, and things at her wrists like
+little shirt-wristbands.
+
+Mr. Dick, as I have already said, was grey-headed, and florid: I should
+have said all about him, in saying so, had not his head been curiously
+bowed--not by age; it reminded me of one of Mr. Creakle’s boys’ heads
+after a beating--and his grey eyes prominent and large, with a strange
+kind of watery brightness in them that made me, in combination with his
+vacant manner, his submission to my aunt, and his childish delight when
+she praised him, suspect him of being a little mad; though, if he were
+mad, how he came to be there puzzled me extremely. He was dressed
+like any other ordinary gentleman, in a loose grey morning coat and
+waistcoat, and white trousers; and had his watch in his fob, and his
+money in his pockets: which he rattled as if he were very proud of it.
+
+Janet was a pretty blooming girl, of about nineteen or twenty, and a
+perfect picture of neatness. Though I made no further observation of
+her at the moment, I may mention here what I did not discover until
+afterwards, namely, that she was one of a series of protegees whom my
+aunt had taken into her service expressly to educate in a renouncement
+of mankind, and who had generally completed their abjuration by marrying
+the baker.
+
+The room was as neat as Janet or my aunt. As I laid down my pen, a
+moment since, to think of it, the air from the sea came blowing
+in again, mixed with the perfume of the flowers; and I saw the
+old-fashioned furniture brightly rubbed and polished, my aunt’s
+inviolable chair and table by the round green fan in the bow-window, the
+drugget-covered carpet, the cat, the kettle-holder, the two canaries,
+the old china, the punchbowl full of dried rose-leaves, the tall press
+guarding all sorts of bottles and pots, and, wonderfully out of keeping
+with the rest, my dusty self upon the sofa, taking note of everything.
+
+Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my aunt, to my great
+alarm, became in one moment rigid with indignation, and had hardly voice
+to cry out, ‘Janet! Donkeys!’
+
+Upon which, Janet came running up the stairs as if the house were in
+flames, darted out on a little piece of green in front, and warned off
+two saddle-donkeys, lady-ridden, that had presumed to set hoof upon it;
+while my aunt, rushing out of the house, seized the bridle of a third
+animal laden with a bestriding child, turned him, led him forth from
+those sacred precincts, and boxed the ears of the unlucky urchin in
+attendance who had dared to profane that hallowed ground.
+
+To this hour I don’t know whether my aunt had any lawful right of way
+over that patch of green; but she had settled it in her own mind that
+she had, and it was all the same to her. The one great outrage of her
+life, demanding to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a donkey
+over that immaculate spot. In whatever occupation she was engaged,
+however interesting to her the conversation in which she was taking
+part, a donkey turned the current of her ideas in a moment, and she was
+upon him straight. Jugs of water, and watering-pots, were kept in secret
+places ready to be discharged on the offending boys; sticks were laid
+in ambush behind the door; sallies were made at all hours; and
+incessant war prevailed. Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the
+donkey-boys; or perhaps the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding
+how the case stood, delighted with constitutional obstinacy in coming
+that way. I only know that there were three alarms before the bath was
+ready; and that on the occasion of the last and most desperate of all,
+I saw my aunt engage, single-handed, with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen,
+and bump his sandy head against her own gate, before he seemed to
+comprehend what was the matter. These interruptions were of the more
+ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth out of a table-spoon
+at the time (having firmly persuaded herself that I was actually
+starving, and must receive nourishment at first in very small
+quantities), and, while my mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, she
+would put it back into the basin, cry ‘Janet! Donkeys!’ and go out to
+the assault.
+
+The bath was a great comfort. For I began to be sensible of acute pains
+in my limbs from lying out in the fields, and was now so tired and low
+that I could hardly keep myself awake for five minutes together. When I
+had bathed, they (I mean my aunt and Janet) enrobed me in a shirt and a
+pair of trousers belonging to Mr. Dick, and tied me up in two or three
+great shawls. What sort of bundle I looked like, I don’t know, but I
+felt a very hot one. Feeling also very faint and drowsy, I soon lay down
+on the sofa again and fell asleep.
+
+It might have been a dream, originating in the fancy which had occupied
+my mind so long, but I awoke with the impression that my aunt had come
+and bent over me, and had put my hair away from my face, and laid my
+head more comfortably, and had then stood looking at me. The words,
+‘Pretty fellow,’ or ‘Poor fellow,’ seemed to be in my ears, too; but
+certainly there was nothing else, when I awoke, to lead me to believe
+that they had been uttered by my aunt, who sat in the bow-window gazing
+at the sea from behind the green fan, which was mounted on a kind of
+swivel, and turned any way.
+
+We dined soon after I awoke, off a roast fowl and a pudding; I sitting
+at table, not unlike a trussed bird myself, and moving my arms with
+considerable difficulty. But as my aunt had swathed me up, I made no
+complaint of being inconvenienced. All this time I was deeply anxious
+to know what she was going to do with me; but she took her dinner in
+profound silence, except when she occasionally fixed her eyes on me
+sitting opposite, and said, ‘Mercy upon us!’ which did not by any means
+relieve my anxiety.
+
+The cloth being drawn, and some sherry put upon the table (of which I
+had a glass), my aunt sent up for Mr. Dick again, who joined us, and
+looked as wise as he could when she requested him to attend to my story,
+which she elicited from me, gradually, by a course of questions. During
+my recital, she kept her eyes on Mr. Dick, who I thought would have gone
+to sleep but for that, and who, whensoever he lapsed into a smile, was
+checked by a frown from my aunt.
+
+‘Whatever possessed that poor unfortunate Baby, that she must go and be
+married again,’ said my aunt, when I had finished, ‘I can’t conceive.’
+
+‘Perhaps she fell in love with her second husband,’ Mr. Dick suggested.
+
+‘Fell in love!’ repeated my aunt. ‘What do you mean? What business had
+she to do it?’
+
+‘Perhaps,’ Mr. Dick simpered, after thinking a little, ‘she did it for
+pleasure.’
+
+‘Pleasure, indeed!’ replied my aunt. ‘A mighty pleasure for the poor
+Baby to fix her simple faith upon any dog of a fellow, certain to
+ill-use her in some way or other. What did she propose to herself,
+I should like to know! She had had one husband. She had seen David
+Copperfield out of the world, who was always running after wax dolls
+from his cradle. She had got a baby--oh, there were a pair of babies
+when she gave birth to this child sitting here, that Friday night!--and
+what more did she want?’
+
+Mr. Dick secretly shook his head at me, as if he thought there was no
+getting over this.
+
+‘She couldn’t even have a baby like anybody else,’ said my aunt. ‘Where
+was this child’s sister, Betsey Trotwood? Not forthcoming. Don’t tell
+me!’
+
+Mr. Dick seemed quite frightened.
+
+‘That little man of a doctor, with his head on one side,’ said my aunt,
+‘Jellips, or whatever his name was, what was he about? All he could do,
+was to say to me, like a robin redbreast--as he is--“It’s a boy.” A boy!
+Yah, the imbecility of the whole set of ‘em!’
+
+The heartiness of the ejaculation startled Mr. Dick exceedingly; and me,
+too, if I am to tell the truth.
+
+‘And then, as if this was not enough, and she had not stood sufficiently
+in the light of this child’s sister, Betsey Trotwood,’ said my aunt,
+‘she marries a second time--goes and marries a Murderer--or a man with
+a name like it--and stands in THIS child’s light! And the natural
+consequence is, as anybody but a baby might have foreseen, that he
+prowls and wanders. He’s as like Cain before he was grown up, as he can
+be.’
+
+Mr. Dick looked hard at me, as if to identify me in this character.
+
+‘And then there’s that woman with the Pagan name,’ said my aunt, ‘that
+Peggotty, she goes and gets married next. Because she has not seen
+enough of the evil attending such things, she goes and gets married
+next, as the child relates. I only hope,’ said my aunt, shaking her
+head, ‘that her husband is one of those Poker husbands who abound in the
+newspapers, and will beat her well with one.’
+
+I could not bear to hear my old nurse so decried, and made the subject
+of such a wish. I told my aunt that indeed she was mistaken. That
+Peggotty was the best, the truest, the most faithful, most devoted, and
+most self-denying friend and servant in the world; who had ever loved
+me dearly, who had ever loved my mother dearly; who had held my mother’s
+dying head upon her arm, on whose face my mother had imprinted her last
+grateful kiss. And my remembrance of them both, choking me, I broke down
+as I was trying to say that her home was my home, and that all she had
+was mine, and that I would have gone to her for shelter, but for her
+humble station, which made me fear that I might bring some trouble on
+her--I broke down, I say, as I was trying to say so, and laid my face in
+my hands upon the table.
+
+‘Well, well!’ said my aunt, ‘the child is right to stand by those who
+have stood by him--Janet! Donkeys!’
+
+I thoroughly believe that but for those unfortunate donkeys, we should
+have come to a good understanding; for my aunt had laid her hand on my
+shoulder, and the impulse was upon me, thus emboldened, to embrace her
+and beseech her protection. But the interruption, and the disorder she
+was thrown into by the struggle outside, put an end to all softer ideas
+for the present, and kept my aunt indignantly declaiming to Mr. Dick
+about her determination to appeal for redress to the laws of her
+country, and to bring actions for trespass against the whole donkey
+proprietorship of Dover, until tea-time.
+
+After tea, we sat at the window--on the look-out, as I imagined, from
+my aunt’s sharp expression of face, for more invaders--until dusk, when
+Janet set candles, and a backgammon-board, on the table, and pulled down
+the blinds.
+
+‘Now, Mr. Dick,’ said my aunt, with her grave look, and her forefinger
+up as before, ‘I am going to ask you another question. Look at this
+child.’
+
+‘David’s son?’ said Mr. Dick, with an attentive, puzzled face.
+
+‘Exactly so,’ returned my aunt. ‘What would you do with him, now?’
+
+‘Do with David’s son?’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+‘Ay,’ replied my aunt, ‘with David’s son.’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Mr. Dick. ‘Yes. Do with--I should put him to bed.’
+
+‘Janet!’ cried my aunt, with the same complacent triumph that I had
+remarked before. ‘Mr. Dick sets us all right. If the bed is ready, we’ll
+take him up to it.’
+
+Janet reporting it to be quite ready, I was taken up to it; kindly, but
+in some sort like a prisoner; my aunt going in front and Janet bringing
+up the rear. The only circumstance which gave me any new hope, was my
+aunt’s stopping on the stairs to inquire about a smell of fire that was
+prevalent there; and janet’s replying that she had been making tinder
+down in the kitchen, of my old shirt. But there were no other clothes in
+my room than the odd heap of things I wore; and when I was left there,
+with a little taper which my aunt forewarned me would burn exactly five
+minutes, I heard them lock my door on the outside. Turning these things
+over in my mind I deemed it possible that my aunt, who could know
+nothing of me, might suspect I had a habit of running away, and took
+precautions, on that account, to have me in safe keeping.
+
+The room was a pleasant one, at the top of the house, overlooking the
+sea, on which the moon was shining brilliantly. After I had said my
+prayers, and the candle had burnt out, I remember how I still sat
+looking at the moonlight on the water, as if I could hope to read my
+fortune in it, as in a bright book; or to see my mother with her child,
+coming from Heaven, along that shining path, to look upon me as she had
+looked when I last saw her sweet face. I remember how the solemn feeling
+with which at length I turned my eyes away, yielded to the sensation of
+gratitude and rest which the sight of the white-curtained bed--and how
+much more the lying softly down upon it, nestling in the snow-white
+sheets!--inspired. I remember how I thought of all the solitary places
+under the night sky where I had slept, and how I prayed that I never
+might be houseless any more, and never might forget the houseless. I
+remember how I seemed to float, then, down the melancholy glory of that
+track upon the sea, away into the world of dreams.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 14. MY AUNT MAKES UP HER MIND ABOUT ME
+
+
+On going down in the morning, I found my aunt musing so profoundly over
+the breakfast table, with her elbow on the tray, that the contents of
+the urn had overflowed the teapot and were laying the whole table-cloth
+under water, when my entrance put her meditations to flight. I felt sure
+that I had been the subject of her reflections, and was more than ever
+anxious to know her intentions towards me. Yet I dared not express my
+anxiety, lest it should give her offence.
+
+My eyes, however, not being so much under control as my tongue, were
+attracted towards my aunt very often during breakfast. I never could
+look at her for a few moments together but I found her looking at me--in
+an odd thoughtful manner, as if I were an immense way off, instead of
+being on the other side of the small round table. When she had finished
+her breakfast, my aunt very deliberately leaned back in her chair,
+knitted her brows, folded her arms, and contemplated me at her leisure,
+with such a fixedness of attention that I was quite overpowered by
+embarrassment. Not having as yet finished my own breakfast, I attempted
+to hide my confusion by proceeding with it; but my knife tumbled over my
+fork, my fork tripped up my knife, I chipped bits of bacon a surprising
+height into the air instead of cutting them for my own eating, and
+choked myself with my tea, which persisted in going the wrong way
+instead of the right one, until I gave in altogether, and sat blushing
+under my aunt’s close scrutiny.
+
+‘Hallo!’ said my aunt, after a long time.
+
+I looked up, and met her sharp bright glance respectfully.
+
+‘I have written to him,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘To--?’
+
+‘To your father-in-law,’ said my aunt. ‘I have sent him a letter that
+I’ll trouble him to attend to, or he and I will fall out, I can tell
+him!’
+
+‘Does he know where I am, aunt?’ I inquired, alarmed.
+
+‘I have told him,’ said my aunt, with a nod.
+
+‘Shall I--be--given up to him?’ I faltered.
+
+‘I don’t know,’ said my aunt. ‘We shall see.’
+
+‘Oh! I can’t think what I shall do,’ I exclaimed, ‘if I have to go back
+to Mr. Murdstone!’
+
+‘I don’t know anything about it,’ said my aunt, shaking her head. ‘I
+can’t say, I am sure. We shall see.’
+
+My spirits sank under these words, and I became very downcast and heavy
+of heart. My aunt, without appearing to take much heed of me, put on a
+coarse apron with a bib, which she took out of the press; washed up the
+teacups with her own hands; and, when everything was washed and set in
+the tray again, and the cloth folded and put on the top of the whole,
+rang for Janet to remove it. She next swept up the crumbs with a little
+broom (putting on a pair of gloves first), until there did not appear
+to be one microscopic speck left on the carpet; next dusted and arranged
+the room, which was dusted and arranged to a hair’s breadth already.
+When all these tasks were performed to her satisfaction, she took off
+the gloves and apron, folded them up, put them in the particular corner
+of the press from which they had been taken, brought out her work-box
+to her own table in the open window, and sat down, with the green fan
+between her and the light, to work.
+
+‘I wish you’d go upstairs,’ said my aunt, as she threaded her needle,
+‘and give my compliments to Mr. Dick, and I’ll be glad to know how he
+gets on with his Memorial.’
+
+I rose with all alacrity, to acquit myself of this commission.
+
+‘I suppose,’ said my aunt, eyeing me as narrowly as she had eyed the
+needle in threading it, ‘you think Mr. Dick a short name, eh?’
+
+‘I thought it was rather a short name, yesterday,’ I confessed.
+
+‘You are not to suppose that he hasn’t got a longer name, if he chose
+to use it,’ said my aunt, with a loftier air. ‘Babley--Mr. Richard
+Babley--that’s the gentleman’s true name.’
+
+I was going to suggest, with a modest sense of my youth and the
+familiarity I had been already guilty of, that I had better give him the
+full benefit of that name, when my aunt went on to say:
+
+‘But don’t you call him by it, whatever you do. He can’t bear his name.
+That’s a peculiarity of his. Though I don’t know that it’s much of a
+peculiarity, either; for he has been ill-used enough, by some that bear
+it, to have a mortal antipathy for it, Heaven knows. Mr. Dick is his
+name here, and everywhere else, now--if he ever went anywhere else,
+which he don’t. So take care, child, you don’t call him anything BUT Mr.
+Dick.’
+
+I promised to obey, and went upstairs with my message; thinking, as I
+went, that if Mr. Dick had been working at his Memorial long, at the
+same rate as I had seen him working at it, through the open door, when
+I came down, he was probably getting on very well indeed. I found him
+still driving at it with a long pen, and his head almost laid upon the
+paper. He was so intent upon it, that I had ample leisure to observe the
+large paper kite in a corner, the confusion of bundles of manuscript,
+the number of pens, and, above all, the quantity of ink (which he seemed
+to have in, in half-gallon jars by the dozen), before he observed my
+being present.
+
+‘Ha! Phoebus!’ said Mr. Dick, laying down his pen. ‘How does the world
+go? I’ll tell you what,’ he added, in a lower tone, ‘I shouldn’t wish it
+to be mentioned, but it’s a--’ here he beckoned to me, and put his lips
+close to my ear--‘it’s a mad world. Mad as Bedlam, boy!’ said Mr. Dick,
+taking snuff from a round box on the table, and laughing heartily.
+
+Without presuming to give my opinion on this question, I delivered my
+message.
+
+‘Well,’ said Mr. Dick, in answer, ‘my compliments to her, and I--I
+believe I have made a start. I think I have made a start,’ said Mr.
+Dick, passing his hand among his grey hair, and casting anything but a
+confident look at his manuscript. ‘You have been to school?’
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ I answered; ‘for a short time.’
+
+‘Do you recollect the date,’ said Mr. Dick, looking earnestly at me, and
+taking up his pen to note it down, ‘when King Charles the First had his
+head cut off?’ I said I believed it happened in the year sixteen hundred
+and forty-nine.
+
+‘Well,’ returned Mr. Dick, scratching his ear with his pen, and looking
+dubiously at me. ‘So the books say; but I don’t see how that can be.
+Because, if it was so long ago, how could the people about him have made
+that mistake of putting some of the trouble out of his head, after it
+was taken off, into mine?’
+
+I was very much surprised by the inquiry; but could give no information
+on this point.
+
+‘It’s very strange,’ said Mr. Dick, with a despondent look upon his
+papers, and with his hand among his hair again, ‘that I never can get
+that quite right. I never can make that perfectly clear. But no matter,
+no matter!’ he said cheerfully, and rousing himself, ‘there’s time
+enough! My compliments to Miss Trotwood, I am getting on very well
+indeed.’
+
+I was going away, when he directed my attention to the kite.
+
+‘What do you think of that for a kite?’ he said.
+
+I answered that it was a beautiful one. I should think it must have been
+as much as seven feet high.
+
+‘I made it. We’ll go and fly it, you and I,’ said Mr. Dick. ‘Do you see
+this?’
+
+He showed me that it was covered with manuscript, very closely and
+laboriously written; but so plainly, that as I looked along the lines,
+I thought I saw some allusion to King Charles the First’s head again, in
+one or two places.
+
+‘There’s plenty of string,’ said Mr. Dick, ‘and when it flies high, it
+takes the facts a long way. That’s my manner of diffusing ‘em. I don’t
+know where they may come down. It’s according to circumstances, and the
+wind, and so forth; but I take my chance of that.’
+
+His face was so very mild and pleasant, and had something so reverend in
+it, though it was hale and hearty, that I was not sure but that he was
+having a good-humoured jest with me. So I laughed, and he laughed, and
+we parted the best friends possible.
+
+‘Well, child,’ said my aunt, when I went downstairs. ‘And what of Mr.
+Dick, this morning?’
+
+I informed her that he sent his compliments, and was getting on very
+well indeed.
+
+‘What do you think of him?’ said my aunt.
+
+I had some shadowy idea of endeavouring to evade the question, by
+replying that I thought him a very nice gentleman; but my aunt was
+not to be so put off, for she laid her work down in her lap, and said,
+folding her hands upon it:
+
+‘Come! Your sister Betsey Trotwood would have told me what she thought
+of anyone, directly. Be as like your sister as you can, and speak out!’
+
+‘Is he--is Mr. Dick--I ask because I don’t know, aunt--is he at all out
+of his mind, then?’ I stammered; for I felt I was on dangerous ground.
+
+‘Not a morsel,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Oh, indeed!’ I observed faintly.
+
+‘If there is anything in the world,’ said my aunt, with great decision
+and force of manner, ‘that Mr. Dick is not, it’s that.’
+
+I had nothing better to offer, than another timid, ‘Oh, indeed!’
+
+‘He has been CALLED mad,’ said my aunt. ‘I have a selfish pleasure in
+saying he has been called mad, or I should not have had the benefit of
+his society and advice for these last ten years and upwards--in fact,
+ever since your sister, Betsey Trotwood, disappointed me.’
+
+‘So long as that?’ I said.
+
+‘And nice people they were, who had the audacity to call him mad,’
+pursued my aunt. ‘Mr. Dick is a sort of distant connexion of mine--it
+doesn’t matter how; I needn’t enter into that. If it hadn’t been for me,
+his own brother would have shut him up for life. That’s all.’
+
+I am afraid it was hypocritical in me, but seeing that my aunt felt
+strongly on the subject, I tried to look as if I felt strongly too.
+
+‘A proud fool!’ said my aunt. ‘Because his brother was a little
+eccentric--though he is not half so eccentric as a good many people--he
+didn’t like to have him visible about his house, and sent him away to
+some private asylum-place: though he had been left to his particular
+care by their deceased father, who thought him almost a natural. And a
+wise man he must have been to think so! Mad himself, no doubt.’
+
+Again, as my aunt looked quite convinced, I endeavoured to look quite
+convinced also.
+
+‘So I stepped in,’ said my aunt, ‘and made him an offer. I said, “Your
+brother’s sane--a great deal more sane than you are, or ever will be, it
+is to be hoped. Let him have his little income, and come and live with
+me. I am not afraid of him, I am not proud, I am ready to take care
+of him, and shall not ill-treat him as some people (besides the
+asylum-folks) have done.” After a good deal of squabbling,’ said my
+aunt, ‘I got him; and he has been here ever since. He is the most
+friendly and amenable creature in existence; and as for advice!--But
+nobody knows what that man’s mind is, except myself.’
+
+My aunt smoothed her dress and shook her head, as if she smoothed
+defiance of the whole world out of the one, and shook it out of the
+other.
+
+‘He had a favourite sister,’ said my aunt, ‘a good creature, and very
+kind to him. But she did what they all do--took a husband. And HE did
+what they all do--made her wretched. It had such an effect upon the mind
+of Mr. Dick (that’s not madness, I hope!) that, combined with his fear
+of his brother, and his sense of his unkindness, it threw him into a
+fever. That was before he came to me, but the recollection of it is
+oppressive to him even now. Did he say anything to you about King
+Charles the First, child?’
+
+‘Yes, aunt.’
+
+‘Ah!’ said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if she were a little vexed.
+‘That’s his allegorical way of expressing it. He connects his illness
+with great disturbance and agitation, naturally, and that’s the figure,
+or the simile, or whatever it’s called, which he chooses to use. And why
+shouldn’t he, if he thinks proper!’
+
+I said: ‘Certainly, aunt.’
+
+‘It’s not a business-like way of speaking,’ said my aunt, ‘nor a worldly
+way. I am aware of that; and that’s the reason why I insist upon it,
+that there shan’t be a word about it in his Memorial.’
+
+‘Is it a Memorial about his own history that he is writing, aunt?’
+
+‘Yes, child,’ said my aunt, rubbing her nose again. ‘He is memorializing
+the Lord Chancellor, or the Lord Somebody or other--one of those people,
+at all events, who are paid to be memorialized--about his affairs. I
+suppose it will go in, one of these days. He hasn’t been able to draw
+it up yet, without introducing that mode of expressing himself; but it
+don’t signify; it keeps him employed.’
+
+In fact, I found out afterwards that Mr. Dick had been for upwards
+of ten years endeavouring to keep King Charles the First out of the
+Memorial; but he had been constantly getting into it, and was there now.
+
+‘I say again,’ said my aunt, ‘nobody knows what that man’s mind is
+except myself; and he’s the most amenable and friendly creature in
+existence. If he likes to fly a kite sometimes, what of that! Franklin
+used to fly a kite. He was a Quaker, or something of that sort, if I
+am not mistaken. And a Quaker flying a kite is a much more ridiculous
+object than anybody else.’
+
+If I could have supposed that my aunt had recounted these particulars
+for my especial behoof, and as a piece of confidence in me, I should
+have felt very much distinguished, and should have augured favourably
+from such a mark of her good opinion. But I could hardly help observing
+that she had launched into them, chiefly because the question was raised
+in her own mind, and with very little reference to me, though she had
+addressed herself to me in the absence of anybody else.
+
+At the same time, I must say that the generosity of her championship
+of poor harmless Mr. Dick, not only inspired my young breast with
+some selfish hope for myself, but warmed it unselfishly towards her.
+I believe that I began to know that there was something about my aunt,
+notwithstanding her many eccentricities and odd humours, to be honoured
+and trusted in. Though she was just as sharp that day as on the day
+before, and was in and out about the donkeys just as often, and was
+thrown into a tremendous state of indignation, when a young man, going
+by, ogled Janet at a window (which was one of the gravest misdemeanours
+that could be committed against my aunt’s dignity), she seemed to me to
+command more of my respect, if not less of my fear.
+
+The anxiety I underwent, in the interval which necessarily elapsed
+before a reply could be received to her letter to Mr. Murdstone, was
+extreme; but I made an endeavour to suppress it, and to be as agreeable
+as I could in a quiet way, both to my aunt and Mr. Dick. The latter and
+I would have gone out to fly the great kite; but that I had still no
+other clothes than the anything but ornamental garments with which I
+had been decorated on the first day, and which confined me to the house,
+except for an hour after dark, when my aunt, for my health’s sake,
+paraded me up and down on the cliff outside, before going to bed. At
+length the reply from Mr. Murdstone came, and my aunt informed me, to my
+infinite terror, that he was coming to speak to her herself on the next
+day. On the next day, still bundled up in my curious habiliments, I sat
+counting the time, flushed and heated by the conflict of sinking hopes
+and rising fears within me; and waiting to be startled by the sight of
+the gloomy face, whose non-arrival startled me every minute.
+
+My aunt was a little more imperious and stern than usual, but I observed
+no other token of her preparing herself to receive the visitor so much
+dreaded by me. She sat at work in the window, and I sat by, with my
+thoughts running astray on all possible and impossible results of Mr.
+Murdstone’s visit, until pretty late in the afternoon. Our dinner had
+been indefinitely postponed; but it was growing so late, that my aunt
+had ordered it to be got ready, when she gave a sudden alarm of donkeys,
+and to my consternation and amazement, I beheld Miss Murdstone, on a
+side-saddle, ride deliberately over the sacred piece of green, and stop
+in front of the house, looking about her.
+
+‘Go along with you!’ cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist at the
+window. ‘You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Go along!
+Oh! you bold-faced thing!’
+
+My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss Murdstone
+looked about her, that I really believe she was motionless, and unable
+for the moment to dart out according to custom. I seized the opportunity
+to inform her who it was; and that the gentleman now coming near the
+offender (for the way up was very steep, and he had dropped behind), was
+Mr. Murdstone himself.
+
+‘I don’t care who it is!’ cried my aunt, still shaking her head and
+gesticulating anything but welcome from the bow-window. ‘I won’t be
+trespassed upon. I won’t allow it. Go away! Janet, turn him round.
+Lead him off!’ and I saw, from behind my aunt, a sort of hurried
+battle-piece, in which the donkey stood resisting everybody, with all
+his four legs planted different ways, while Janet tried to pull him
+round by the bridle, Mr. Murdstone tried to lead him on, Miss Murdstone
+struck at Janet with a parasol, and several boys, who had come to see
+the engagement, shouted vigorously. But my aunt, suddenly descrying
+among them the young malefactor who was the donkey’s guardian, and who
+was one of the most inveterate offenders against her, though hardly in
+his teens, rushed out to the scene of action, pounced upon him, captured
+him, dragged him, with his jacket over his head, and his heels grinding
+the ground, into the garden, and, calling upon Janet to fetch the
+constables and justices, that he might be taken, tried, and executed on
+the spot, held him at bay there. This part of the business, however, did
+not last long; for the young rascal, being expert at a variety of feints
+and dodges, of which my aunt had no conception, soon went whooping away,
+leaving some deep impressions of his nailed boots in the flower-beds,
+and taking his donkey in triumph with him.
+
+Miss Murdstone, during the latter portion of the contest, had
+dismounted, and was now waiting with her brother at the bottom of the
+steps, until my aunt should be at leisure to receive them. My aunt, a
+little ruffled by the combat, marched past them into the house, with
+great dignity, and took no notice of their presence, until they were
+announced by Janet.
+
+‘Shall I go away, aunt?’ I asked, trembling.
+
+‘No, sir,’ said my aunt. ‘Certainly not!’ With which she pushed me into
+a corner near her, and fenced Me in with a chair, as if it were a prison
+or a bar of justice. This position I continued to occupy during the
+whole interview, and from it I now saw Mr. and Miss Murdstone enter the
+room.
+
+‘Oh!’ said my aunt, ‘I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasure
+of objecting. But I don’t allow anybody to ride over that turf. I make
+no exceptions. I don’t allow anybody to do it.’
+
+‘Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers,’ said Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘Is it!’ said my aunt.
+
+Mr. Murdstone seemed afraid of a renewal of hostilities, and interposing
+began:
+
+‘Miss Trotwood!’
+
+‘I beg your pardon,’ observed my aunt with a keen look. ‘You are the Mr.
+Murdstone who married the widow of my late nephew, David Copperfield, of
+Blunderstone Rookery!--Though why Rookery, I don’t know!’
+
+‘I am,’ said Mr. Murdstone.
+
+‘You’ll excuse my saying, sir,’ returned my aunt, ‘that I think it would
+have been a much better and happier thing if you had left that poor
+child alone.’
+
+‘I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has remarked,’ observed Miss
+Murdstone, bridling, ‘that I consider our lamented Clara to have been,
+in all essential respects, a mere child.’
+
+‘It is a comfort to you and me, ma’am,’ said my aunt, ‘who are getting
+on in life, and are not likely to be made unhappy by our personal
+attractions, that nobody can say the same of us.’
+
+‘No doubt!’ returned Miss Murdstone, though, I thought, not with a very
+ready or gracious assent. ‘And it certainly might have been, as you say,
+a better and happier thing for my brother if he had never entered into
+such a marriage. I have always been of that opinion.’
+
+‘I have no doubt you have,’ said my aunt. ‘Janet,’ ringing the bell, ‘my
+compliments to Mr. Dick, and beg him to come down.’
+
+Until he came, my aunt sat perfectly upright and stiff, frowning at the
+wall. When he came, my aunt performed the ceremony of introduction.
+
+‘Mr. Dick. An old and intimate friend. On whose judgement,’ said my
+aunt, with emphasis, as an admonition to Mr. Dick, who was biting his
+forefinger and looking rather foolish, ‘I rely.’
+
+Mr. Dick took his finger out of his mouth, on this hint, and stood among
+the group, with a grave and attentive expression of face.
+
+My aunt inclined her head to Mr. Murdstone, who went on:
+
+‘Miss Trotwood: on the receipt of your letter, I considered it an act of
+greater justice to myself, and perhaps of more respect to you--’
+
+‘Thank you,’ said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. ‘You needn’t mind
+me.’
+
+‘To answer it in person, however inconvenient the journey,’ pursued Mr.
+Murdstone, ‘rather than by letter. This unhappy boy who has run away
+from his friends and his occupation--’
+
+‘And whose appearance,’ interposed his sister, directing general
+attention to me in my indefinable costume, ‘is perfectly scandalous and
+disgraceful.’
+
+‘Jane Murdstone,’ said her brother, ‘have the goodness not to interrupt
+me. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has been the occasion of much
+domestic trouble and uneasiness; both during the lifetime of my late
+dear wife, and since. He has a sullen, rebellious spirit; a violent
+temper; and an untoward, intractable disposition. Both my sister and
+myself have endeavoured to correct his vices, but ineffectually. And
+I have felt--we both have felt, I may say; my sister being fully in
+my confidence--that it is right you should receive this grave and
+dispassionate assurance from our lips.’
+
+‘It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything stated by my
+brother,’ said Miss Murdstone; ‘but I beg to observe, that, of all the
+boys in the world, I believe this is the worst boy.’
+
+‘Strong!’ said my aunt, shortly.
+
+‘But not at all too strong for the facts,’ returned Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘Ha!’ said my aunt. ‘Well, sir?’
+
+‘I have my own opinions,’ resumed Mr. Murdstone, whose face darkened
+more and more, the more he and my aunt observed each other, which they
+did very narrowly, ‘as to the best mode of bringing him up; they are
+founded, in part, on my knowledge of him, and in part on my knowledge of
+my own means and resources. I am responsible for them to myself, I act
+upon them, and I say no more about them. It is enough that I place this
+boy under the eye of a friend of my own, in a respectable business;
+that it does not please him; that he runs away from it; makes himself a
+common vagabond about the country; and comes here, in rags, to appeal
+to you, Miss Trotwood. I wish to set before you, honourably, the exact
+consequences--so far as they are within my knowledge--of your abetting
+him in this appeal.’
+
+‘But about the respectable business first,’ said my aunt. ‘If he had
+been your own boy, you would have put him to it, just the same, I
+suppose?’
+
+‘If he had been my brother’s own boy,’ returned Miss Murdstone, striking
+in, ‘his character, I trust, would have been altogether different.’
+
+‘Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he would still have
+gone into the respectable business, would he?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘I believe,’ said Mr. Murdstone, with an inclination of his head,
+‘that Clara would have disputed nothing which myself and my sister Jane
+Murdstone were agreed was for the best.’
+
+Miss Murdstone confirmed this with an audible murmur.
+
+‘Humph!’ said my aunt. ‘Unfortunate baby!’
+
+Mr. Dick, who had been rattling his money all this time, was rattling it
+so loudly now, that my aunt felt it necessary to check him with a look,
+before saying:
+
+‘The poor child’s annuity died with her?’
+
+‘Died with her,’ replied Mr. Murdstone.
+
+‘And there was no settlement of the little property--the house and
+garden--the what’s-its-name Rookery without any rooks in it--upon her
+boy?’
+
+‘It had been left to her, unconditionally, by her first husband,’
+Mr. Murdstone began, when my aunt caught him up with the greatest
+irascibility and impatience.
+
+‘Good Lord, man, there’s no occasion to say that. Left to her
+unconditionally! I think I see David Copperfield looking forward to any
+condition of any sort or kind, though it stared him point-blank in the
+face! Of course it was left to her unconditionally. But when she married
+again--when she took that most disastrous step of marrying you, in
+short,’ said my aunt, ‘to be plain--did no one put in a word for the boy
+at that time?’
+
+‘My late wife loved her second husband, ma’am,’ said Mr. Murdstone, ‘and
+trusted implicitly in him.’
+
+‘Your late wife, sir, was a most unworldly, most unhappy, most
+unfortunate baby,’ returned my aunt, shaking her head at him. ‘That’s
+what she was. And now, what have you got to say next?’
+
+‘Merely this, Miss Trotwood,’ he returned. ‘I am here to take David
+back--to take him back unconditionally, to dispose of him as I think
+proper, and to deal with him as I think right. I am not here to make any
+promise, or give any pledge to anybody. You may possibly have some
+idea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away, and in his
+complaints to you. Your manner, which I must say does not seem intended
+to propitiate, induces me to think it possible. Now I must caution you
+that if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all; if you step
+in between him and me, now, you must step in, Miss Trotwood, for ever.
+I cannot trifle, or be trifled with. I am here, for the first and last
+time, to take him away. Is he ready to go? If he is not--and you tell me
+he is not; on any pretence; it is indifferent to me what--my doors are
+shut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are open
+to him.’
+
+To this address, my aunt had listened with the closest attention,
+sitting perfectly upright, with her hands folded on one knee, and
+looking grimly on the speaker. When he had finished, she turned her
+eyes so as to command Miss Murdstone, without otherwise disturbing her
+attitude, and said:
+
+‘Well, ma’am, have YOU got anything to remark?’
+
+‘Indeed, Miss Trotwood,’ said Miss Murdstone, ‘all that I could say has
+been so well said by my brother, and all that I know to be the fact
+has been so plainly stated by him, that I have nothing to add except my
+thanks for your politeness. For your very great politeness, I am sure,’
+said Miss Murdstone; with an irony which no more affected my aunt, than
+it discomposed the cannon I had slept by at Chatham.
+
+‘And what does the boy say?’ said my aunt. ‘Are you ready to go, David?’
+
+I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said that neither
+Mr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or had ever been kind to me.
+That they had made my mama, who always loved me dearly, unhappy about
+me, and that I knew it well, and that Peggotty knew it. I said that I
+had been more miserable than I thought anybody could believe, who only
+knew how young I was. And I begged and prayed my aunt--I forget in
+what terms now, but I remember that they affected me very much then--to
+befriend and protect me, for my father’s sake.
+
+‘Mr. Dick,’ said my aunt, ‘what shall I do with this child?’
+
+Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, ‘Have him
+measured for a suit of clothes directly.’
+
+‘Mr. Dick,’ said my aunt triumphantly, ‘give me your hand, for your
+common sense is invaluable.’ Having shaken it with great cordiality, she
+pulled me towards her and said to Mr. Murdstone:
+
+‘You can go when you like; I’ll take my chance with the boy. If he’s all
+you say he is, at least I can do as much for him then, as you have done.
+But I don’t believe a word of it.’
+
+‘Miss Trotwood,’ rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his shoulders, as he
+rose, ‘if you were a gentleman--’
+
+‘Bah! Stuff and nonsense!’ said my aunt. ‘Don’t talk to me!’
+
+‘How exquisitely polite!’ exclaimed Miss Murdstone, rising.
+‘Overpowering, really!’
+
+‘Do you think I don’t know,’ said my aunt, turning a deaf ear to the
+sister, and continuing to address the brother, and to shake her head at
+him with infinite expression, ‘what kind of life you must have led that
+poor, unhappy, misdirected baby? Do you think I don’t know what a woeful
+day it was for the soft little creature when you first came in her
+way--smirking and making great eyes at her, I’ll be bound, as if you
+couldn’t say boh! to a goose!’
+
+‘I never heard anything so elegant!’ said Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘Do you think I can’t understand you as well as if I had seen you,’
+pursued my aunt, ‘now that I DO see and hear you--which, I tell you
+candidly, is anything but a pleasure to me? Oh yes, bless us! who so
+smooth and silky as Mr. Murdstone at first! The poor, benighted innocent
+had never seen such a man. He was made of sweetness. He worshipped her.
+He doted on her boy--tenderly doted on him! He was to be another father
+to him, and they were all to live together in a garden of roses, weren’t
+they? Ugh! Get along with you, do!’ said my aunt.
+
+‘I never heard anything like this person in my life!’ exclaimed Miss
+Murdstone.
+
+‘And when you had made sure of the poor little fool,’ said my aunt--‘God
+forgive me that I should call her so, and she gone where YOU won’t go in
+a hurry--because you had not done wrong enough to her and hers, you
+must begin to train her, must you? begin to break her, like a poor
+caged bird, and wear her deluded life away, in teaching her to sing YOUR
+notes?’
+
+‘This is either insanity or intoxication,’ said Miss Murdstone, in a
+perfect agony at not being able to turn the current of my aunt’s address
+towards herself; ‘and my suspicion is that it’s intoxication.’
+
+Miss Betsey, without taking the least notice of the interruption,
+continued to address herself to Mr. Murdstone as if there had been no
+such thing.
+
+‘Mr. Murdstone,’ she said, shaking her finger at him, ‘you were a tyrant
+to the simple baby, and you broke her heart. She was a loving baby--I
+know that; I knew it, years before you ever saw her--and through the
+best part of her weakness you gave her the wounds she died of. There
+is the truth for your comfort, however you like it. And you and your
+instruments may make the most of it.’
+
+‘Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood,’ interposed Miss Murdstone,
+‘whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of words in which I am not
+experienced, my brother’s instruments?’
+
+‘It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before YOU ever saw
+her--and why, in the mysterious dispensations of Providence, you ever
+did see her, is more than humanity can comprehend--it was clear enough
+that the poor soft little thing would marry somebody, at some time or
+other; but I did hope it wouldn’t have been as bad as it has turned out.
+That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she gave birth to her boy here,’
+said my aunt; ‘to the poor child you sometimes tormented her through
+afterwards, which is a disagreeable remembrance and makes the sight of
+him odious now. Aye, aye! you needn’t wince!’ said my aunt. ‘I know it’s
+true without that.’
+
+He had stood by the door, all this while, observant of her with a smile
+upon his face, though his black eyebrows were heavily contracted. I
+remarked now, that, though the smile was on his face still, his colour
+had gone in a moment, and he seemed to breathe as if he had been
+running.
+
+‘Good day, sir,’ said my aunt, ‘and good-bye! Good day to you, too,
+ma’am,’ said my aunt, turning suddenly upon his sister. ‘Let me see you
+ride a donkey over my green again, and as sure as you have a head upon
+your shoulders, I’ll knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it!’
+
+It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to depict my
+aunt’s face as she delivered herself of this very unexpected sentiment,
+and Miss Murdstone’s face as she heard it. But the manner of the speech,
+no less than the matter, was so fiery, that Miss Murdstone, without a
+word in answer, discreetly put her arm through her brother’s, and walked
+haughtily out of the cottage; my aunt remaining in the window looking
+after them; prepared, I have no doubt, in case of the donkey’s
+reappearance, to carry her threat into instant execution.
+
+No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face gradually relaxed,
+and became so pleasant, that I was emboldened to kiss and thank her;
+which I did with great heartiness, and with both my arms clasped round
+her neck. I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me a
+great many times, and hailed this happy close of the proceedings with
+repeated bursts of laughter.
+
+‘You’ll consider yourself guardian, jointly with me, of this child, Mr.
+Dick,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘I shall be delighted,’ said Mr. Dick, ‘to be the guardian of David’s
+son.’
+
+‘Very good,’ returned my aunt, ‘that’s settled. I have been thinking, do
+you know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood?’
+
+‘Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood, certainly,’ said Mr. Dick.
+‘David’s son’s Trotwood.’
+
+‘Trotwood Copperfield, you mean,’ returned my aunt.
+
+‘Yes, to be sure. Yes. Trotwood Copperfield,’ said Mr. Dick, a little
+abashed.
+
+My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that some ready-made clothes,
+which were purchased for me that afternoon, were marked ‘Trotwood
+Copperfield’, in her own handwriting, and in indelible marking-ink,
+before I put them on; and it was settled that all the other clothes
+which were ordered to be made for me (a complete outfit was bespoke that
+afternoon) should be marked in the same way.
+
+Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about
+me. Now that the state of doubt was over, I felt, for many days,
+like one in a dream. I never thought that I had a curious couple of
+guardians, in my aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything about
+myself, distinctly. The two things clearest in my mind were, that a
+remoteness had come upon the old Blunderstone life--which seemed to lie
+in the haze of an immeasurable distance; and that a curtain had for ever
+fallen on my life at Murdstone and Grinby’s. No one has ever raised that
+curtain since. I have lifted it for a moment, even in this narrative,
+with a reluctant hand, and dropped it gladly. The remembrance of that
+life is fraught with so much pain to me, with so much mental suffering
+and want of hope, that I have never had the courage even to examine how
+long I was doomed to lead it. Whether it lasted for a year, or more, or
+less, I do not know. I only know that it was, and ceased to be; and that
+I have written, and there I leave it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 15. I MAKE ANOTHER BEGINNING
+
+
+Mr. Dick and I soon became the best of friends, and very often, when his
+day’s work was done, went out together to fly the great kite. Every day
+of his life he had a long sitting at the Memorial, which never made the
+least progress, however hard he laboured, for King Charles the First
+always strayed into it, sooner or later, and then it was thrown aside,
+and another one begun. The patience and hope with which he bore these
+perpetual disappointments, the mild perception he had that there was
+something wrong about King Charles the First, the feeble efforts he made
+to keep him out, and the certainty with which he came in, and tumbled
+the Memorial out of all shape, made a deep impression on me. What Mr.
+Dick supposed would come of the Memorial, if it were completed; where he
+thought it was to go, or what he thought it was to do; he knew no more
+than anybody else, I believe. Nor was it at all necessary that he should
+trouble himself with such questions, for if anything were certain under
+the sun, it was certain that the Memorial never would be finished. It
+was quite an affecting sight, I used to think, to see him with the kite
+when it was up a great height in the air. What he had told me, in his
+room, about his belief in its disseminating the statements pasted on it,
+which were nothing but old leaves of abortive Memorials, might have been
+a fancy with him sometimes; but not when he was out, looking up at
+the kite in the sky, and feeling it pull and tug at his hand. He never
+looked so serene as he did then. I used to fancy, as I sat by him of an
+evening, on a green slope, and saw him watch the kite high in the quiet
+air, that it lifted his mind out of its confusion, and bore it (such was
+my boyish thought) into the skies. As he wound the string in and it came
+lower and lower down out of the beautiful light, until it fluttered to
+the ground, and lay there like a dead thing, he seemed to wake gradually
+out of a dream; and I remember to have seen him take it up, and look
+about him in a lost way, as if they had both come down together, so that
+I pitied him with all my heart.
+
+While I advanced in friendship and intimacy with Mr. Dick, I did not
+go backward in the favour of his staunch friend, my aunt. She took
+so kindly to me, that, in the course of a few weeks, she shortened my
+adopted name of Trotwood into Trot; and even encouraged me to hope, that
+if I went on as I had begun, I might take equal rank in her affections
+with my sister Betsey Trotwood.
+
+‘Trot,’ said my aunt one evening, when the backgammon-board was placed
+as usual for herself and Mr. Dick, ‘we must not forget your education.’
+
+This was my only subject of anxiety, and I felt quite delighted by her
+referring to it.
+
+‘Should you like to go to school at Canterbury?’ said my aunt.
+
+I replied that I should like it very much, as it was so near her.
+
+‘Good,’ said my aunt. ‘Should you like to go tomorrow?’
+
+Being already no stranger to the general rapidity of my aunt’s
+evolutions, I was not surprised by the suddenness of the proposal, and
+said: ‘Yes.’
+
+‘Good,’ said my aunt again. ‘Janet, hire the grey pony and chaise
+tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, and pack up Master Trotwood’s clothes
+tonight.’
+
+I was greatly elated by these orders; but my heart smote me for my
+selfishness, when I witnessed their effect on Mr. Dick, who was so
+low-spirited at the prospect of our separation, and played so ill in
+consequence, that my aunt, after giving him several admonitory raps on
+the knuckles with her dice-box, shut up the board, and declined to play
+with him any more. But, on hearing from my aunt that I should sometimes
+come over on a Saturday, and that he could sometimes come and see me
+on a Wednesday, he revived; and vowed to make another kite for those
+occasions, of proportions greatly surpassing the present one. In the
+morning he was downhearted again, and would have sustained himself by
+giving me all the money he had in his possession, gold and silver too,
+if my aunt had not interposed, and limited the gift to five shillings,
+which, at his earnest petition, were afterwards increased to ten. We
+parted at the garden-gate in a most affectionate manner, and Mr. Dick
+did not go into the house until my aunt had driven me out of sight of
+it.
+
+My aunt, who was perfectly indifferent to public opinion, drove the grey
+pony through Dover in a masterly manner; sitting high and stiff like
+a state coachman, keeping a steady eye upon him wherever he went, and
+making a point of not letting him have his own way in any respect. When
+we came into the country road, she permitted him to relax a little,
+however; and looking at me down in a valley of cushion by her side,
+asked me whether I was happy?
+
+‘Very happy indeed, thank you, aunt,’ I said.
+
+She was much gratified; and both her hands being occupied, patted me on
+the head with her whip.
+
+‘Is it a large school, aunt?’ I asked.
+
+‘Why, I don’t know,’ said my aunt. ‘We are going to Mr. Wickfield’s
+first.’
+
+‘Does he keep a school?’ I asked.
+
+‘No, Trot,’ said my aunt. ‘He keeps an office.’
+
+I asked for no more information about Mr. Wickfield, as she offered
+none, and we conversed on other subjects until we came to Canterbury,
+where, as it was market-day, my aunt had a great opportunity of
+insinuating the grey pony among carts, baskets, vegetables, and
+huckster’s goods. The hair-breadth turns and twists we made, drew down
+upon us a variety of speeches from the people standing about, which
+were not always complimentary; but my aunt drove on with perfect
+indifference, and I dare say would have taken her own way with as much
+coolness through an enemy’s country.
+
+At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out over the road;
+a house with long low lattice-windows bulging out still farther, and
+beams with carved heads on the ends bulging out too, so that I fancied
+the whole house was leaning forward, trying to see who was passing on
+the narrow pavement below. It was quite spotless in its cleanliness.
+The old-fashioned brass knocker on the low arched door, ornamented with
+carved garlands of fruit and flowers, twinkled like a star; the two
+stone steps descending to the door were as white as if they had been
+covered with fair linen; and all the angles and corners, and carvings
+and mouldings, and quaint little panes of glass, and quainter little
+windows, though as old as the hills, were as pure as any snow that ever
+fell upon the hills.
+
+When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were intent upon
+the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at a small window on the
+ground floor (in a little round tower that formed one side of the
+house), and quickly disappear. The low arched door then opened, and
+the face came out. It was quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the
+window, though in the grain of it there was that tinge of red which is
+sometimes to be observed in the skins of red-haired people. It belonged
+to a red-haired person--a youth of fifteen, as I take it now, but
+looking much older--whose hair was cropped as close as the closest
+stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a
+red-brown, so unsheltered and unshaded, that I remember wondering how he
+went to sleep. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black,
+with a white wisp of a neckcloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a
+long, lank, skeleton hand, which particularly attracted my attention, as
+he stood at the pony’s head, rubbing his chin with it, and looking up at
+us in the chaise.
+
+‘Is Mr. Wickfield at home, Uriah Heep?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Mr. Wickfield’s at home, ma’am,’ said Uriah Heep, ‘if you’ll please to
+walk in there’--pointing with his long hand to the room he meant.
+
+We got out; and leaving him to hold the pony, went into a long low
+parlour looking towards the street, from the window of which I caught a
+glimpse, as I went in, of Uriah Heep breathing into the pony’s nostrils,
+and immediately covering them with his hand, as if he were putting
+some spell upon him. Opposite to the tall old chimney-piece were two
+portraits: one of a gentleman with grey hair (though not by any means
+an old man) and black eyebrows, who was looking over some papers tied
+together with red tape; the other, of a lady, with a very placid and
+sweet expression of face, who was looking at me.
+
+I believe I was turning about in search of Uriah’s picture, when, a door
+at the farther end of the room opening, a gentleman entered, at sight of
+whom I turned to the first-mentioned portrait again, to make quite sure
+that it had not come out of its frame. But it was stationary; and as the
+gentleman advanced into the light, I saw that he was some years older
+than when he had had his picture painted.
+
+‘Miss Betsey Trotwood,’ said the gentleman, ‘pray walk in. I was engaged
+for a moment, but you’ll excuse my being busy. You know my motive. I
+have but one in life.’
+
+Miss Betsey thanked him, and we went into his room, which was furnished
+as an office, with books, papers, tin boxes, and so forth. It looked
+into a garden, and had an iron safe let into the wall; so immediately
+over the mantelshelf, that I wondered, as I sat down, how the sweeps got
+round it when they swept the chimney.
+
+‘Well, Miss Trotwood,’ said Mr. Wickfield; for I soon found that it
+was he, and that he was a lawyer, and steward of the estates of a rich
+gentleman of the county; ‘what wind blows you here? Not an ill wind, I
+hope?’
+
+‘No,’ replied my aunt. ‘I have not come for any law.’
+
+‘That’s right, ma’am,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘You had better come for
+anything else.’ His hair was quite white now, though his eyebrows were
+still black. He had a very agreeable face, and, I thought, was handsome.
+There was a certain richness in his complexion, which I had been long
+accustomed, under Peggotty’s tuition, to connect with port wine; and I
+fancied it was in his voice too, and referred his growing corpulency
+to the same cause. He was very cleanly dressed, in a blue coat, striped
+waistcoat, and nankeen trousers; and his fine frilled shirt and cambric
+neckcloth looked unusually soft and white, reminding my strolling fancy
+(I call to mind) of the plumage on the breast of a swan.
+
+‘This is my nephew,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Wasn’t aware you had one, Miss Trotwood,’ said Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘My grand-nephew, that is to say,’ observed my aunt.
+
+‘Wasn’t aware you had a grand-nephew, I give you my word,’ said Mr.
+Wickfield.
+
+‘I have adopted him,’ said my aunt, with a wave of her hand, importing
+that his knowledge and his ignorance were all one to her, ‘and I have
+brought him here, to put to a school where he may be thoroughly well
+taught, and well treated. Now tell me where that school is, and what it
+is, and all about it.’
+
+‘Before I can advise you properly,’ said Mr. Wickfield--‘the old
+question, you know. What’s your motive in this?’
+
+‘Deuce take the man!’ exclaimed my aunt. ‘Always fishing for motives,
+when they’re on the surface! Why, to make the child happy and useful.’
+
+‘It must be a mixed motive, I think,’ said Mr. Wickfield, shaking his
+head and smiling incredulously.
+
+‘A mixed fiddlestick,’ returned my aunt. ‘You claim to have one plain
+motive in all you do yourself. You don’t suppose, I hope, that you are
+the only plain dealer in the world?’
+
+‘Ay, but I have only one motive in life, Miss Trotwood,’ he rejoined,
+smiling. ‘Other people have dozens, scores, hundreds. I have only one.
+There’s the difference. However, that’s beside the question. The best
+school? Whatever the motive, you want the best?’
+
+My aunt nodded assent.
+
+‘At the best we have,’ said Mr. Wickfield, considering, ‘your nephew
+couldn’t board just now.’
+
+‘But he could board somewhere else, I suppose?’ suggested my aunt.
+
+Mr. Wickfield thought I could. After a little discussion, he proposed to
+take my aunt to the school, that she might see it and judge for herself;
+also, to take her, with the same object, to two or three houses where he
+thought I could be boarded. My aunt embracing the proposal, we were all
+three going out together, when he stopped and said:
+
+‘Our little friend here might have some motive, perhaps, for objecting
+to the arrangements. I think we had better leave him behind?’
+
+My aunt seemed disposed to contest the point; but to facilitate matters
+I said I would gladly remain behind, if they pleased; and returned into
+Mr. Wickfield’s office, where I sat down again, in the chair I had first
+occupied, to await their return.
+
+It so happened that this chair was opposite a narrow passage, which
+ended in the little circular room where I had seen Uriah Heep’s pale
+face looking out of the window. Uriah, having taken the pony to a
+neighbouring stable, was at work at a desk in this room, which had a
+brass frame on the top to hang paper upon, and on which the writing he
+was making a copy of was then hanging. Though his face was towards me, I
+thought, for some time, the writing being between us, that he could not
+see me; but looking that way more attentively, it made me uncomfortable
+to observe that, every now and then, his sleepless eyes would come below
+the writing, like two red suns, and stealthily stare at me for I dare
+say a whole minute at a time, during which his pen went, or pretended
+to go, as cleverly as ever. I made several attempts to get out of their
+way--such as standing on a chair to look at a map on the other side of
+the room, and poring over the columns of a Kentish newspaper--but they
+always attracted me back again; and whenever I looked towards those two
+red suns, I was sure to find them, either just rising or just setting.
+
+At length, much to my relief, my aunt and Mr. Wickfield came back,
+after a pretty long absence. They were not so successful as I could have
+wished; for though the advantages of the school were undeniable, my aunt
+had not approved of any of the boarding-houses proposed for me.
+
+‘It’s very unfortunate,’ said my aunt. ‘I don’t know what to do, Trot.’
+
+‘It does happen unfortunately,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘But I’ll tell you
+what you can do, Miss Trotwood.’
+
+‘What’s that?’ inquired my aunt.
+
+‘Leave your nephew here, for the present. He’s a quiet fellow. He
+won’t disturb me at all. It’s a capital house for study. As quiet as a
+monastery, and almost as roomy. Leave him here.’
+
+My aunt evidently liked the offer, though she was delicate of accepting
+it. So did I. ‘Come, Miss Trotwood,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘This is the
+way out of the difficulty. It’s only a temporary arrangement, you know.
+If it don’t act well, or don’t quite accord with our mutual convenience,
+he can easily go to the right-about. There will be time to find some
+better place for him in the meanwhile. You had better determine to leave
+him here for the present!’
+
+‘I am very much obliged to you,’ said my aunt; ‘and so is he, I see;
+but--’
+
+‘Come! I know what you mean,’ cried Mr. Wickfield. ‘You shall not be
+oppressed by the receipt of favours, Miss Trotwood. You may pay for
+him, if you like. We won’t be hard about terms, but you shall pay if you
+will.’
+
+‘On that understanding,’ said my aunt, ‘though it doesn’t lessen the
+real obligation, I shall be very glad to leave him.’
+
+‘Then come and see my little housekeeper,’ said Mr. Wickfield.
+
+We accordingly went up a wonderful old staircase; with a balustrade
+so broad that we might have gone up that, almost as easily; and into
+a shady old drawing-room, lighted by some three or four of the quaint
+windows I had looked up at from the street: which had old oak seats
+in them, that seemed to have come of the same trees as the shining oak
+floor, and the great beams in the ceiling. It was a prettily furnished
+room, with a piano and some lively furniture in red and green, and some
+flowers. It seemed to be all old nooks and corners; and in every nook
+and corner there was some queer little table, or cupboard, or bookcase,
+or seat, or something or other, that made me think there was not such
+another good corner in the room; until I looked at the next one, and
+found it equal to it, if not better. On everything there was the same
+air of retirement and cleanliness that marked the house outside.
+
+Mr. Wickfield tapped at a door in a corner of the panelled wall, and a
+girl of about my own age came quickly out and kissed him. On her face,
+I saw immediately the placid and sweet expression of the lady whose
+picture had looked at me downstairs. It seemed to my imagination as
+if the portrait had grown womanly, and the original remained a child.
+Although her face was quite bright and happy, there was a tranquillity
+about it, and about her--a quiet, good, calm spirit--that I never have
+forgotten; that I shall never forget. This was his little housekeeper,
+his daughter Agnes, Mr. Wickfield said. When I heard how he said it, and
+saw how he held her hand, I guessed what the one motive of his life was.
+
+She had a little basket-trifle hanging at her side, with keys in it; and
+she looked as staid and as discreet a housekeeper as the old house
+could have. She listened to her father as he told her about me, with a
+pleasant face; and when he had concluded, proposed to my aunt that we
+should go upstairs and see my room. We all went together, she before us:
+and a glorious old room it was, with more oak beams, and diamond panes;
+and the broad balustrade going all the way up to it.
+
+I cannot call to mind where or when, in my childhood, I had seen a
+stained glass window in a church. Nor do I recollect its subject. But
+I know that when I saw her turn round, in the grave light of the old
+staircase, and wait for us, above, I thought of that window; and I
+associated something of its tranquil brightness with Agnes Wickfield
+ever afterwards.
+
+My aunt was as happy as I was, in the arrangement made for me; and we
+went down to the drawing-room again, well pleased and gratified. As she
+would not hear of staying to dinner, lest she should by any chance fail
+to arrive at home with the grey pony before dark; and as I apprehend Mr.
+Wickfield knew her too well to argue any point with her; some lunch was
+provided for her there, and Agnes went back to her governess, and Mr.
+Wickfield to his office. So we were left to take leave of one another
+without any restraint.
+
+She told me that everything would be arranged for me by Mr. Wickfield,
+and that I should want for nothing, and gave me the kindest words and
+the best advice.
+
+‘Trot,’ said my aunt in conclusion, ‘be a credit to yourself, to me, and
+Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you!’
+
+I was greatly overcome, and could only thank her, again and again, and
+send my love to Mr. Dick.
+
+‘Never,’ said my aunt, ‘be mean in anything; never be false; never be
+cruel. Avoid those three vices, Trot, and I can always be hopeful of
+you.’
+
+I promised, as well as I could, that I would not abuse her kindness or
+forget her admonition.
+
+‘The pony’s at the door,’ said my aunt, ‘and I am off! Stay here.’ With
+these words she embraced me hastily, and went out of the room, shutting
+the door after her. At first I was startled by so abrupt a departure,
+and almost feared I had displeased her; but when I looked into the
+street, and saw how dejectedly she got into the chaise, and drove away
+without looking up, I understood her better and did not do her that
+injustice.
+
+By five o’clock, which was Mr. Wickfield’s dinner-hour, I had mustered
+up my spirits again, and was ready for my knife and fork. The cloth was
+only laid for us two; but Agnes was waiting in the drawing-room before
+dinner, went down with her father, and sat opposite to him at table. I
+doubted whether he could have dined without her.
+
+We did not stay there, after dinner, but came upstairs into the
+drawing-room again: in one snug corner of which, Agnes set glasses for
+her father, and a decanter of port wine. I thought he would have missed
+its usual flavour, if it had been put there for him by any other hands.
+
+There he sat, taking his wine, and taking a good deal of it, for two
+hours; while Agnes played on the piano, worked, and talked to him and
+me. He was, for the most part, gay and cheerful with us; but sometimes
+his eyes rested on her, and he fell into a brooding state, and was
+silent. She always observed this quickly, I thought, and always roused
+him with a question or caress. Then he came out of his meditation, and
+drank more wine.
+
+Agnes made the tea, and presided over it; and the time passed away after
+it, as after dinner, until she went to bed; when her father took her
+in his arms and kissed her, and, she being gone, ordered candles in his
+office. Then I went to bed too.
+
+But in the course of the evening I had rambled down to the door, and a
+little way along the street, that I might have another peep at the old
+houses, and the grey Cathedral; and might think of my coming through
+that old city on my journey, and of my passing the very house I lived
+in, without knowing it. As I came back, I saw Uriah Heep shutting up
+the office; and feeling friendly towards everybody, went in and spoke
+to him, and at parting, gave him my hand. But oh, what a clammy hand his
+was! as ghostly to the touch as to the sight! I rubbed mine afterwards,
+to warm it, AND TO RUB HIS OFF.
+
+It was such an uncomfortable hand, that, when I went to my room, it was
+still cold and wet upon my memory. Leaning out of the window, and seeing
+one of the faces on the beam-ends looking at me sideways, I fancied it
+was Uriah Heep got up there somehow, and shut him out in a hurry.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 16. I AM A NEW BOY IN MORE SENSES THAN ONE
+
+
+Next morning, after breakfast, I entered on school life again. I went,
+accompanied by Mr. Wickfield, to the scene of my future studies--a grave
+building in a courtyard, with a learned air about it that seemed very
+well suited to the stray rooks and jackdaws who came down from the
+Cathedral towers to walk with a clerkly bearing on the grass-plot--and
+was introduced to my new master, Doctor Strong.
+
+Doctor Strong looked almost as rusty, to my thinking, as the tall iron
+rails and gates outside the house; and almost as stiff and heavy as the
+great stone urns that flanked them, and were set up, on the top of
+the red-brick wall, at regular distances all round the court, like
+sublimated skittles, for Time to play at. He was in his library (I mean
+Doctor Strong was), with his clothes not particularly well brushed, and
+his hair not particularly well combed; his knee-smalls unbraced; his
+long black gaiters unbuttoned; and his shoes yawning like two caverns on
+the hearth-rug. Turning upon me a lustreless eye, that reminded me of
+a long-forgotten blind old horse who once used to crop the grass, and
+tumble over the graves, in Blunderstone churchyard, he said he was glad
+to see me: and then he gave me his hand; which I didn’t know what to do
+with, as it did nothing for itself.
+
+But, sitting at work, not far from Doctor Strong, was a very pretty
+young lady--whom he called Annie, and who was his daughter, I
+supposed--who got me out of my difficulty by kneeling down to put Doctor
+Strong’s shoes on, and button his gaiters, which she did with great
+cheerfulness and quickness. When she had finished, and we were going
+out to the schoolroom, I was much surprised to hear Mr. Wickfield,
+in bidding her good morning, address her as ‘Mrs. Strong’; and I was
+wondering could she be Doctor Strong’s son’s wife, or could she be Mrs.
+Doctor Strong, when Doctor Strong himself unconsciously enlightened me.
+
+‘By the by, Wickfield,’ he said, stopping in a passage with his hand on
+my shoulder; ‘you have not found any suitable provision for my wife’s
+cousin yet?’
+
+‘No,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘No. Not yet.’
+
+‘I could wish it done as soon as it can be done, Wickfield,’ said
+Doctor Strong, ‘for Jack Maldon is needy, and idle; and of those two
+bad things, worse things sometimes come. What does Doctor Watts say,’ he
+added, looking at me, and moving his head to the time of his quotation,
+‘“Satan finds some mischief still, for idle hands to do.”’
+
+‘Egad, Doctor,’ returned Mr. Wickfield, ‘if Doctor Watts knew mankind,
+he might have written, with as much truth, “Satan finds some mischief
+still, for busy hands to do.” The busy people achieve their full share
+of mischief in the world, you may rely upon it. What have the people
+been about, who have been the busiest in getting money, and in getting
+power, this century or two? No mischief?’
+
+‘Jack Maldon will never be very busy in getting either, I expect,’ said
+Doctor Strong, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
+
+‘Perhaps not,’ said Mr. Wickfield; ‘and you bring me back to the
+question, with an apology for digressing. No, I have not been able
+to dispose of Mr. Jack Maldon yet. I believe,’ he said this with some
+hesitation, ‘I penetrate your motive, and it makes the thing more
+difficult.’
+
+‘My motive,’ returned Doctor Strong, ‘is to make some suitable provision
+for a cousin, and an old playfellow, of Annie’s.’
+
+‘Yes, I know,’ said Mr. Wickfield; ‘at home or abroad.’
+
+‘Aye!’ replied the Doctor, apparently wondering why he emphasized those
+words so much. ‘At home or abroad.’
+
+‘Your own expression, you know,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘Or abroad.’
+
+‘Surely,’ the Doctor answered. ‘Surely. One or other.’
+
+‘One or other? Have you no choice?’ asked Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘No,’ returned the Doctor.
+
+‘No?’ with astonishment.
+
+‘Not the least.’
+
+‘No motive,’ said Mr. Wickfield, ‘for meaning abroad, and not at home?’
+
+‘No,’ returned the Doctor.
+
+‘I am bound to believe you, and of course I do believe you,’ said Mr.
+Wickfield. ‘It might have simplified my office very much, if I had known
+it before. But I confess I entertained another impression.’
+
+Doctor Strong regarded him with a puzzled and doubting look,
+which almost immediately subsided into a smile that gave me great
+encouragement; for it was full of amiability and sweetness, and there
+was a simplicity in it, and indeed in his whole manner, when the
+studious, pondering frost upon it was got through, very attractive and
+hopeful to a young scholar like me. Repeating ‘no’, and ‘not the least’,
+and other short assurances to the same purport, Doctor Strong jogged
+on before us, at a queer, uneven pace; and we followed: Mr. Wickfield,
+looking grave, I observed, and shaking his head to himself, without
+knowing that I saw him.
+
+The schoolroom was a pretty large hall, on the quietest side of the
+house, confronted by the stately stare of some half-dozen of the great
+urns, and commanding a peep of an old secluded garden belonging to the
+Doctor, where the peaches were ripening on the sunny south wall. There
+were two great aloes, in tubs, on the turf outside the windows; the
+broad hard leaves of which plant (looking as if they were made of
+painted tin) have ever since, by association, been symbolical to me
+of silence and retirement. About five-and-twenty boys were studiously
+engaged at their books when we went in, but they rose to give the Doctor
+good morning, and remained standing when they saw Mr. Wickfield and me.
+
+‘A new boy, young gentlemen,’ said the Doctor; ‘Trotwood Copperfield.’
+
+One Adams, who was the head-boy, then stepped out of his place and
+welcomed me. He looked like a young clergyman, in his white cravat, but
+he was very affable and good-humoured; and he showed me my place, and
+presented me to the masters, in a gentlemanly way that would have put me
+at my ease, if anything could.
+
+It seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among such boys,
+or among any companions of my own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy
+Potatoes, that I felt as strange as ever I have done in my life. I was
+so conscious of having passed through scenes of which they could have
+no knowledge, and of having acquired experiences foreign to my age,
+appearance, and condition as one of them, that I half believed it was an
+imposture to come there as an ordinary little schoolboy. I had become,
+in the Murdstone and Grinby time, however short or long it may have
+been, so unused to the sports and games of boys, that I knew I was
+awkward and inexperienced in the commonest things belonging to them.
+Whatever I had learnt, had so slipped away from me in the sordid cares
+of my life from day to night, that now, when I was examined about what
+I knew, I knew nothing, and was put into the lowest form of the school.
+But, troubled as I was, by my want of boyish skill, and of book-learning
+too, I was made infinitely more uncomfortable by the consideration,
+that, in what I did know, I was much farther removed from my companions
+than in what I did not. My mind ran upon what they would think, if they
+knew of my familiar acquaintance with the King’s Bench Prison? Was there
+anything about me which would reveal my proceedings in connexion with
+the Micawber family--all those pawnings, and sellings, and suppers--in
+spite of myself? Suppose some of the boys had seen me coming through
+Canterbury, wayworn and ragged, and should find me out? What would they
+say, who made so light of money, if they could know how I had scraped my
+halfpence together, for the purchase of my daily saveloy and beer, or
+my slices of pudding? How would it affect them, who were so innocent of
+London life, and London streets, to discover how knowing I was (and was
+ashamed to be) in some of the meanest phases of both? All this ran in
+my head so much, on that first day at Doctor Strong’s, that I felt
+distrustful of my slightest look and gesture; shrunk within myself
+whensoever I was approached by one of my new schoolfellows; and hurried
+off the minute school was over, afraid of committing myself in my
+response to any friendly notice or advance.
+
+But there was such an influence in Mr. Wickfield’s old house, that when
+I knocked at it, with my new school-books under my arm, I began to feel
+my uneasiness softening away. As I went up to my airy old room, the
+grave shadow of the staircase seemed to fall upon my doubts and fears,
+and to make the past more indistinct. I sat there, sturdily conning my
+books, until dinner-time (we were out of school for good at three); and
+went down, hopeful of becoming a passable sort of boy yet.
+
+Agnes was in the drawing-room, waiting for her father, who was detained
+by someone in his office. She met me with her pleasant smile, and asked
+me how I liked the school. I told her I should like it very much, I
+hoped; but I was a little strange to it at first.
+
+‘You have never been to school,’ I said, ‘have you?’ ‘Oh yes! Every
+day.’
+
+‘Ah, but you mean here, at your own home?’
+
+‘Papa couldn’t spare me to go anywhere else,’ she answered, smiling and
+shaking her head. ‘His housekeeper must be in his house, you know.’
+
+‘He is very fond of you, I am sure,’ I said.
+
+She nodded ‘Yes,’ and went to the door to listen for his coming up, that
+she might meet him on the stairs. But, as he was not there, she came
+back again.
+
+‘Mama has been dead ever since I was born,’ she said, in her quiet way.
+‘I only know her picture, downstairs. I saw you looking at it yesterday.
+Did you think whose it was?’
+
+I told her yes, because it was so like herself.
+
+‘Papa says so, too,’ said Agnes, pleased. ‘Hark! That’s papa now!’
+
+Her bright calm face lighted up with pleasure as she went to meet him,
+and as they came in, hand in hand. He greeted me cordially; and told
+me I should certainly be happy under Doctor Strong, who was one of the
+gentlest of men.
+
+‘There may be some, perhaps--I don’t know that there are--who abuse
+his kindness,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘Never be one of those, Trotwood, in
+anything. He is the least suspicious of mankind; and whether that’s
+a merit, or whether it’s a blemish, it deserves consideration in all
+dealings with the Doctor, great or small.’
+
+He spoke, I thought, as if he were weary, or dissatisfied with
+something; but I did not pursue the question in my mind, for dinner was
+just then announced, and we went down and took the same seats as before.
+
+We had scarcely done so, when Uriah Heep put in his red head and his
+lank hand at the door, and said:
+
+‘Here’s Mr. Maldon begs the favour of a word, sir.’
+
+‘I am but this moment quit of Mr. Maldon,’ said his master.
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ returned Uriah; ‘but Mr. Maldon has come back, and he begs
+the favour of a word.’
+
+As he held the door open with his hand, Uriah looked at me, and looked
+at Agnes, and looked at the dishes, and looked at the plates, and looked
+at every object in the room, I thought,--yet seemed to look at nothing;
+he made such an appearance all the while of keeping his red eyes
+dutifully on his master. ‘I beg your pardon. It’s only to say, on
+reflection,’ observed a voice behind Uriah, as Uriah’s head was
+pushed away, and the speaker’s substituted--‘pray excuse me for this
+intrusion--that as it seems I have no choice in the matter, the sooner
+I go abroad the better. My cousin Annie did say, when we talked of it,
+that she liked to have her friends within reach rather than to have them
+banished, and the old Doctor--’
+
+‘Doctor Strong, was that?’ Mr. Wickfield interposed, gravely.
+
+‘Doctor Strong, of course,’ returned the other; ‘I call him the old
+Doctor; it’s all the same, you know.’
+
+‘I don’t know,’ returned Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘Well, Doctor Strong,’ said the other--‘Doctor Strong was of the same
+mind, I believed. But as it appears from the course you take with me he
+has changed his mind, why there’s no more to be said, except that the
+sooner I am off, the better. Therefore, I thought I’d come back and say,
+that the sooner I am off the better. When a plunge is to be made into
+the water, it’s of no use lingering on the bank.’
+
+‘There shall be as little lingering as possible, in your case, Mr.
+Maldon, you may depend upon it,’ said Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘Thank’ee,’ said the other. ‘Much obliged. I don’t want to look a
+gift-horse in the mouth, which is not a gracious thing to do; otherwise,
+I dare say, my cousin Annie could easily arrange it in her own way. I
+suppose Annie would only have to say to the old Doctor--’
+
+‘Meaning that Mrs. Strong would only have to say to her husband--do I
+follow you?’ said Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘Quite so,’ returned the other, ‘--would only have to say, that she
+wanted such and such a thing to be so and so; and it would be so and so,
+as a matter of course.’
+
+‘And why as a matter of course, Mr. Maldon?’ asked Mr. Wickfield,
+sedately eating his dinner.
+
+‘Why, because Annie’s a charming young girl, and the old Doctor--Doctor
+Strong, I mean--is not quite a charming young boy,’ said Mr. Jack
+Maldon, laughing. ‘No offence to anybody, Mr. Wickfield. I only mean
+that I suppose some compensation is fair and reasonable in that sort of
+marriage.’
+
+‘Compensation to the lady, sir?’ asked Mr. Wickfield gravely.
+
+‘To the lady, sir,’ Mr. Jack Maldon answered, laughing. But appearing
+to remark that Mr. Wickfield went on with his dinner in the same sedate,
+immovable manner, and that there was no hope of making him relax a
+muscle of his face, he added: ‘However, I have said what I came to say,
+and, with another apology for this intrusion, I may take myself off. Of
+course I shall observe your directions, in considering the matter as one
+to be arranged between you and me solely, and not to be referred to, up
+at the Doctor’s.’
+
+‘Have you dined?’ asked Mr. Wickfield, with a motion of his hand towards
+the table.
+
+‘Thank’ee. I am going to dine,’ said Mr. Maldon, ‘with my cousin Annie.
+Good-bye!’
+
+Mr. Wickfield, without rising, looked after him thoughtfully as he went
+out. He was rather a shallow sort of young gentleman, I thought, with
+a handsome face, a rapid utterance, and a confident, bold air. And this
+was the first I ever saw of Mr. Jack Maldon; whom I had not expected to
+see so soon, when I heard the Doctor speak of him that morning.
+
+When we had dined, we went upstairs again, where everything went on
+exactly as on the previous day. Agnes set the glasses and decanters in
+the same corner, and Mr. Wickfield sat down to drink, and drank a good
+deal. Agnes played the piano to him, sat by him, and worked and talked,
+and played some games at dominoes with me. In good time she made tea;
+and afterwards, when I brought down my books, looked into them, and
+showed me what she knew of them (which was no slight matter, though she
+said it was), and what was the best way to learn and understand them.
+I see her, with her modest, orderly, placid manner, and I hear her
+beautiful calm voice, as I write these words. The influence for all
+good, which she came to exercise over me at a later time, begins
+already to descend upon my breast. I love little Em’ly, and I don’t love
+Agnes--no, not at all in that way--but I feel that there are goodness,
+peace, and truth, wherever Agnes is; and that the soft light of the
+coloured window in the church, seen long ago, falls on her always, and
+on me when I am near her, and on everything around.
+
+The time having come for her withdrawal for the night, and she having
+left us, I gave Mr. Wickfield my hand, preparatory to going away myself.
+But he checked me and said: ‘Should you like to stay with us, Trotwood,
+or to go elsewhere?’
+
+‘To stay,’ I answered, quickly.
+
+‘You are sure?’
+
+‘If you please. If I may!’
+
+‘Why, it’s but a dull life that we lead here, boy, I am afraid,’ he
+said.
+
+‘Not more dull for me than Agnes, sir. Not dull at all!’
+
+‘Than Agnes,’ he repeated, walking slowly to the great chimney-piece,
+and leaning against it. ‘Than Agnes!’
+
+He had drank wine that evening (or I fancied it), until his eyes were
+bloodshot. Not that I could see them now, for they were cast down, and
+shaded by his hand; but I had noticed them a little while before.
+
+‘Now I wonder,’ he muttered, ‘whether my Agnes tires of me. When should
+I ever tire of her! But that’s different, that’s quite different.’
+
+He was musing, not speaking to me; so I remained quiet.
+
+‘A dull old house,’ he said, ‘and a monotonous life; but I must have
+her near me. I must keep her near me. If the thought that I may die and
+leave my darling, or that my darling may die and leave me, comes like a
+spectre, to distress my happiest hours, and is only to be drowned in--’
+
+He did not supply the word; but pacing slowly to the place where he had
+sat, and mechanically going through the action of pouring wine from the
+empty decanter, set it down and paced back again.
+
+‘If it is miserable to bear, when she is here,’ he said, ‘what would it
+be, and she away? No, no, no. I cannot try that.’
+
+He leaned against the chimney-piece, brooding so long that I could not
+decide whether to run the risk of disturbing him by going, or to remain
+quietly where I was, until he should come out of his reverie. At length
+he aroused himself, and looked about the room until his eyes encountered
+mine.
+
+‘Stay with us, Trotwood, eh?’ he said in his usual manner, and as if
+he were answering something I had just said. ‘I am glad of it. You are
+company to us both. It is wholesome to have you here. Wholesome for me,
+wholesome for Agnes, wholesome perhaps for all of us.’
+
+‘I am sure it is for me, sir,’ I said. ‘I am so glad to be here.’
+
+‘That’s a fine fellow!’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘As long as you are glad
+to be here, you shall stay here.’ He shook hands with me upon it, and
+clapped me on the back; and told me that when I had anything to do
+at night after Agnes had left us, or when I wished to read for my own
+pleasure, I was free to come down to his room, if he were there and if
+I desired it for company’s sake, and to sit with him. I thanked him for
+his consideration; and, as he went down soon afterwards, and I was
+not tired, went down too, with a book in my hand, to avail myself, for
+half-an-hour, of his permission.
+
+But, seeing a light in the little round office, and immediately feeling
+myself attracted towards Uriah Heep, who had a sort of fascination for
+me, I went in there instead. I found Uriah reading a great fat book,
+with such demonstrative attention, that his lank forefinger followed up
+every line as he read, and made clammy tracks along the page (or so I
+fully believed) like a snail.
+
+‘You are working late tonight, Uriah,’ says I.
+
+‘Yes, Master Copperfield,’ says Uriah.
+
+As I was getting on the stool opposite, to talk to him more
+conveniently, I observed that he had not such a thing as a smile about
+him, and that he could only widen his mouth and make two hard creases
+down his cheeks, one on each side, to stand for one.
+
+‘I am not doing office-work, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah.
+
+‘What work, then?’ I asked.
+
+‘I am improving my legal knowledge, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah. ‘I
+am going through Tidd’s Practice. Oh, what a writer Mr. Tidd is, Master
+Copperfield!’
+
+My stool was such a tower of observation, that as I watched him reading
+on again, after this rapturous exclamation, and following up the lines
+with his forefinger, I observed that his nostrils, which were thin and
+pointed, with sharp dints in them, had a singular and most uncomfortable
+way of expanding and contracting themselves--that they seemed to twinkle
+instead of his eyes, which hardly ever twinkled at all.
+
+‘I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?’ I said, after looking at him
+for some time.
+
+‘Me, Master Copperfield?’ said Uriah. ‘Oh, no! I’m a very umble person.’
+
+It was no fancy of mine about his hands, I observed; for he frequently
+ground the palms against each other as if to squeeze them dry and
+warm, besides often wiping them, in a stealthy way, on his
+pocket-handkerchief.
+
+‘I am well aware that I am the umblest person going,’ said Uriah Heep,
+modestly; ‘let the other be where he may. My mother is likewise a very
+umble person. We live in a numble abode, Master Copperfield, but have
+much to be thankful for. My father’s former calling was umble. He was a
+sexton.’
+
+‘What is he now?’ I asked.
+
+‘He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah
+Heep. ‘But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be
+thankful for in living with Mr. Wickfield!’
+
+I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long?
+
+‘I have been with him, going on four year, Master Copperfield,’ said
+Uriah; shutting up his book, after carefully marking the place where he
+had left off. ‘Since a year after my father’s death. How much have I
+to be thankful for, in that! How much have I to be thankful for, in Mr.
+Wickfield’s kind intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise
+not lay within the umble means of mother and self!’
+
+‘Then, when your articled time is over, you’ll be a regular lawyer, I
+suppose?’ said I.
+
+‘With the blessing of Providence, Master Copperfield,’ returned Uriah.
+
+‘Perhaps you’ll be a partner in Mr. Wickfield’s business, one of these
+days,’ I said, to make myself agreeable; ‘and it will be Wickfield and
+Heep, or Heep late Wickfield.’
+
+‘Oh no, Master Copperfield,’ returned Uriah, shaking his head, ‘I am
+much too umble for that!’
+
+He certainly did look uncommonly like the carved face on the beam
+outside my window, as he sat, in his humility, eyeing me sideways, with
+his mouth widened, and the creases in his cheeks.
+
+‘Mr. Wickfield is a most excellent man, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah.
+‘If you have known him long, you know it, I am sure, much better than I
+can inform you.’
+
+I replied that I was certain he was; but that I had not known him long
+myself, though he was a friend of my aunt’s.
+
+‘Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah. ‘Your aunt is a sweet
+lady, Master Copperfield!’
+
+He had a way of writhing when he wanted to express enthusiasm, which was
+very ugly; and which diverted my attention from the compliment he had
+paid my relation, to the snaky twistings of his throat and body.
+
+‘A sweet lady, Master Copperfield!’ said Uriah Heep. ‘She has a great
+admiration for Miss Agnes, Master Copperfield, I believe?’
+
+I said, ‘Yes,’ boldly; not that I knew anything about it, Heaven forgive
+me!
+
+‘I hope you have, too, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah. ‘But I am sure
+you must have.’
+
+‘Everybody must have,’ I returned.
+
+‘Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah Heep, ‘for that remark!
+It is so true! Umble as I am, I know it is so true! Oh, thank you,
+Master Copperfield!’ He writhed himself quite off his stool in the
+excitement of his feelings, and, being off, began to make arrangements
+for going home.
+
+‘Mother will be expecting me,’ he said, referring to a pale,
+inexpressive-faced watch in his pocket, ‘and getting uneasy; for though
+we are very umble, Master Copperfield, we are much attached to one
+another. If you would come and see us, any afternoon, and take a cup of
+tea at our lowly dwelling, mother would be as proud of your company as I
+should be.’
+
+I said I should be glad to come.
+
+‘Thank you, Master Copperfield,’ returned Uriah, putting his book
+away upon the shelf--‘I suppose you stop here, some time, Master
+Copperfield?’
+
+I said I was going to be brought up there, I believed, as long as I
+remained at school.
+
+‘Oh, indeed!’ exclaimed Uriah. ‘I should think YOU would come into the
+business at last, Master Copperfield!’
+
+I protested that I had no views of that sort, and that no such scheme
+was entertained in my behalf by anybody; but Uriah insisted on blandly
+replying to all my assurances, ‘Oh, yes, Master Copperfield, I should
+think you would, indeed!’ and, ‘Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield, I should
+think you would, certainly!’ over and over again. Being, at last, ready
+to leave the office for the night, he asked me if it would suit my
+convenience to have the light put out; and on my answering ‘Yes,’
+instantly extinguished it. After shaking hands with me--his hand felt
+like a fish, in the dark--he opened the door into the street a very
+little, and crept out, and shut it, leaving me to grope my way back into
+the house: which cost me some trouble and a fall over his stool. This
+was the proximate cause, I suppose, of my dreaming about him, for what
+appeared to me to be half the night; and dreaming, among other things,
+that he had launched Mr. Peggotty’s house on a piratical expedition,
+with a black flag at the masthead, bearing the inscription ‘Tidd’s
+Practice’, under which diabolical ensign he was carrying me and little
+Em’ly to the Spanish Main, to be drowned.
+
+I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school
+next day, and a good deal the better next day, and so shook it off by
+degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy,
+among my new companions. I was awkward enough in their games, and
+backward enough in their studies; but custom would improve me in the
+first respect, I hoped, and hard work in the second. Accordingly, I
+went to work very hard, both in play and in earnest, and gained great
+commendation. And, in a very little while, the Murdstone and Grinby life
+became so strange to me that I hardly believed in it, while my present
+life grew so familiar, that I seemed to have been leading it a long
+time.
+
+Doctor Strong’s was an excellent school; as different from Mr. Creakle’s
+as good is from evil. It was very gravely and decorously ordered, and
+on a sound system; with an appeal, in everything, to the honour and good
+faith of the boys, and an avowed intention to rely on their possession
+of those qualities unless they proved themselves unworthy of it, which
+worked wonders. We all felt that we had a part in the management of
+the place, and in sustaining its character and dignity. Hence, we soon
+became warmly attached to it--I am sure I did for one, and I never knew,
+in all my time, of any other boy being otherwise--and learnt with a good
+will, desiring to do it credit. We had noble games out of hours, and
+plenty of liberty; but even then, as I remember, we were well spoken of
+in the town, and rarely did any disgrace, by our appearance or manner,
+to the reputation of Doctor Strong and Doctor Strong’s boys.
+
+Some of the higher scholars boarded in the Doctor’s house, and through
+them I learned, at second hand, some particulars of the Doctor’s
+history--as, how he had not yet been married twelve months to the
+beautiful young lady I had seen in the study, whom he had married for
+love; for she had not a sixpence, and had a world of poor relations (so
+our fellows said) ready to swarm the Doctor out of house and home. Also,
+how the Doctor’s cogitating manner was attributable to his being always
+engaged in looking out for Greek roots; which, in my innocence and
+ignorance, I supposed to be a botanical furor on the Doctor’s part,
+especially as he always looked at the ground when he walked about,
+until I understood that they were roots of words, with a view to a new
+Dictionary which he had in contemplation. Adams, our head-boy, who had
+a turn for mathematics, had made a calculation, I was informed, of the
+time this Dictionary would take in completing, on the Doctor’s plan, and
+at the Doctor’s rate of going. He considered that it might be done
+in one thousand six hundred and forty-nine years, counting from the
+Doctor’s last, or sixty-second, birthday.
+
+But the Doctor himself was the idol of the whole school: and it must
+have been a badly composed school if he had been anything else, for
+he was the kindest of men; with a simple faith in him that might have
+touched the stone hearts of the very urns upon the wall. As he walked up
+and down that part of the courtyard which was at the side of the house,
+with the stray rooks and jackdaws looking after him with their heads
+cocked slyly, as if they knew how much more knowing they were in worldly
+affairs than he, if any sort of vagabond could only get near enough to
+his creaking shoes to attract his attention to one sentence of a tale
+of distress, that vagabond was made for the next two days. It was so
+notorious in the house, that the masters and head-boys took pains to cut
+these marauders off at angles, and to get out of windows, and turn them
+out of the courtyard, before they could make the Doctor aware of their
+presence; which was sometimes happily effected within a few yards of
+him, without his knowing anything of the matter, as he jogged to and
+fro. Outside his own domain, and unprotected, he was a very sheep for
+the shearers. He would have taken his gaiters off his legs, to give
+away. In fact, there was a story current among us (I have no idea, and
+never had, on what authority, but I have believed it for so many
+years that I feel quite certain it is true), that on a frosty day, one
+winter-time, he actually did bestow his gaiters on a beggar-woman, who
+occasioned some scandal in the neighbourhood by exhibiting a fine infant
+from door to door, wrapped in those garments, which were universally
+recognized, being as well known in the vicinity as the Cathedral. The
+legend added that the only person who did not identify them was the
+Doctor himself, who, when they were shortly afterwards displayed at the
+door of a little second-hand shop of no very good repute, where such
+things were taken in exchange for gin, was more than once observed to
+handle them approvingly, as if admiring some curious novelty in the
+pattern, and considering them an improvement on his own.
+
+It was very pleasant to see the Doctor with his pretty young wife. He
+had a fatherly, benignant way of showing his fondness for her, which
+seemed in itself to express a good man. I often saw them walking in the
+garden where the peaches were, and I sometimes had a nearer observation
+of them in the study or the parlour. She appeared to me to take great
+care of the Doctor, and to like him very much, though I never thought
+her vitally interested in the Dictionary: some cumbrous fragments of
+which work the Doctor always carried in his pockets, and in the lining
+of his hat, and generally seemed to be expounding to her as they walked
+about.
+
+I saw a good deal of Mrs. Strong, both because she had taken a liking
+for me on the morning of my introduction to the Doctor, and was always
+afterwards kind to me, and interested in me; and because she was very
+fond of Agnes, and was often backwards and forwards at our house. There
+was a curious constraint between her and Mr. Wickfield, I thought (of
+whom she seemed to be afraid), that never wore off. When she came there
+of an evening, she always shrunk from accepting his escort home, and ran
+away with me instead. And sometimes, as we were running gaily across
+the Cathedral yard together, expecting to meet nobody, we would meet Mr.
+Jack Maldon, who was always surprised to see us.
+
+Mrs. Strong’s mama was a lady I took great delight in. Her name was Mrs.
+Markleham; but our boys used to call her the Old Soldier, on account of
+her generalship, and the skill with which she marshalled great forces
+of relations against the Doctor. She was a little, sharp-eyed woman,
+who used to wear, when she was dressed, one unchangeable cap, ornamented
+with some artificial flowers, and two artificial butterflies supposed
+to be hovering above the flowers. There was a superstition among us
+that this cap had come from France, and could only originate in the
+workmanship of that ingenious nation: but all I certainly know about it,
+is, that it always made its appearance of an evening, wheresoever Mrs.
+Markleham made HER appearance; that it was carried about to friendly
+meetings in a Hindoo basket; that the butterflies had the gift of
+trembling constantly; and that they improved the shining hours at Doctor
+Strong’s expense, like busy bees.
+
+I observed the Old Soldier--not to adopt the name disrespectfully--to
+pretty good advantage, on a night which is made memorable to me by
+something else I shall relate. It was the night of a little party at the
+Doctor’s, which was given on the occasion of Mr. Jack Maldon’s departure
+for India, whither he was going as a cadet, or something of that kind:
+Mr. Wickfield having at length arranged the business. It happened to be
+the Doctor’s birthday, too. We had had a holiday, had made presents to
+him in the morning, had made a speech to him through the head-boy, and
+had cheered him until we were hoarse, and until he had shed tears. And
+now, in the evening, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and I, went to have tea with
+him in his private capacity.
+
+Mr. Jack Maldon was there, before us. Mrs. Strong, dressed in white,
+with cherry-coloured ribbons, was playing the piano, when we went in;
+and he was leaning over her to turn the leaves. The clear red and
+white of her complexion was not so blooming and flower-like as usual, I
+thought, when she turned round; but she looked very pretty, Wonderfully
+pretty.
+
+‘I have forgotten, Doctor,’ said Mrs. Strong’s mama, when we were
+seated, ‘to pay you the compliments of the day--though they are, as you
+may suppose, very far from being mere compliments in my case. Allow me
+to wish you many happy returns.’
+
+‘I thank you, ma’am,’ replied the Doctor.
+
+‘Many, many, many, happy returns,’ said the Old Soldier. ‘Not only
+for your own sake, but for Annie’s, and John Maldon’s, and many other
+people’s. It seems but yesterday to me, John, when you were a little
+creature, a head shorter than Master Copperfield, making baby love to
+Annie behind the gooseberry bushes in the back-garden.’
+
+‘My dear mama,’ said Mrs. Strong, ‘never mind that now.’
+
+‘Annie, don’t be absurd,’ returned her mother. ‘If you are to blush to
+hear of such things now you are an old married woman, when are you not
+to blush to hear of them?’
+
+‘Old?’ exclaimed Mr. Jack Maldon. ‘Annie? Come!’
+
+‘Yes, John,’ returned the Soldier. ‘Virtually, an old married woman.
+Although not old by years--for when did you ever hear me say, or who has
+ever heard me say, that a girl of twenty was old by years!--your cousin
+is the wife of the Doctor, and, as such, what I have described her. It
+is well for you, John, that your cousin is the wife of the Doctor. You
+have found in him an influential and kind friend, who will be kinder
+yet, I venture to predict, if you deserve it. I have no false pride.
+I never hesitate to admit, frankly, that there are some members of our
+family who want a friend. You were one yourself, before your cousin’s
+influence raised up one for you.’
+
+The Doctor, in the goodness of his heart, waved his hand as if to make
+light of it, and save Mr. Jack Maldon from any further reminder. But
+Mrs. Markleham changed her chair for one next the Doctor’s, and putting
+her fan on his coat-sleeve, said:
+
+‘No, really, my dear Doctor, you must excuse me if I appear to dwell
+on this rather, because I feel so very strongly. I call it quite my
+monomania, it is such a subject of mine. You are a blessing to us. You
+really are a Boon, you know.’
+
+‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ said the Doctor.
+
+‘No, no, I beg your pardon,’ retorted the Old Soldier. ‘With nobody
+present, but our dear and confidential friend Mr. Wickfield, I cannot
+consent to be put down. I shall begin to assert the privileges of a
+mother-in-law, if you go on like that, and scold you. I am perfectly
+honest and outspoken. What I am saying, is what I said when you first
+overpowered me with surprise--you remember how surprised I was?--by
+proposing for Annie. Not that there was anything so very much out of
+the way, in the mere fact of the proposal--it would be ridiculous to say
+that!--but because, you having known her poor father, and having known
+her from a baby six months old, I hadn’t thought of you in such a light
+at all, or indeed as a marrying man in any way,--simply that, you know.’
+
+‘Aye, aye,’ returned the Doctor, good-humouredly. ‘Never mind.’
+
+‘But I DO mind,’ said the Old Soldier, laying her fan upon his lips. ‘I
+mind very much. I recall these things that I may be contradicted if I am
+wrong. Well! Then I spoke to Annie, and I told her what had happened.
+I said, “My dear, here’s Doctor Strong has positively been and made you
+the subject of a handsome declaration and an offer.” Did I press it in
+the least? No. I said, “Now, Annie, tell me the truth this moment; is
+your heart free?” “Mama,” she said crying, “I am extremely young”--which
+was perfectly true--“and I hardly know if I have a heart at all.” “Then,
+my dear,” I said, “you may rely upon it, it’s free. At all events, my
+love,” said I, “Doctor Strong is in an agitated state of mind, and
+must be answered. He cannot be kept in his present state of suspense.”
+ “Mama,” said Annie, still crying, “would he be unhappy without me? If he
+would, I honour and respect him so much, that I think I will have him.”
+ So it was settled. And then, and not till then, I said to Annie, “Annie,
+Doctor Strong will not only be your husband, but he will represent your
+late father: he will represent the head of our family, he will represent
+the wisdom and station, and I may say the means, of our family; and will
+be, in short, a Boon to it.” I used the word at the time, and I have
+used it again, today. If I have any merit it is consistency.’
+
+The daughter had sat quite silent and still during this speech, with her
+eyes fixed on the ground; her cousin standing near her, and looking on
+the ground too. She now said very softly, in a trembling voice:
+
+‘Mama, I hope you have finished?’ ‘No, my dear Annie,’ returned the Old
+Soldier, ‘I have not quite finished. Since you ask me, my love, I reply
+that I have not. I complain that you really are a little unnatural
+towards your own family; and, as it is of no use complaining to you. I
+mean to complain to your husband. Now, my dear Doctor, do look at that
+silly wife of yours.’
+
+As the Doctor turned his kind face, with its smile of simplicity and
+gentleness, towards her, she drooped her head more. I noticed that Mr.
+Wickfield looked at her steadily.
+
+‘When I happened to say to that naughty thing, the other day,’ pursued
+her mother, shaking her head and her fan at her, playfully, ‘that there
+was a family circumstance she might mention to you--indeed, I think, was
+bound to mention--she said, that to mention it was to ask a favour;
+and that, as you were too generous, and as for her to ask was always to
+have, she wouldn’t.’
+
+‘Annie, my dear,’ said the Doctor. ‘That was wrong. It robbed me of a
+pleasure.’
+
+‘Almost the very words I said to her!’ exclaimed her mother. ‘Now
+really, another time, when I know what she would tell you but for this
+reason, and won’t, I have a great mind, my dear Doctor, to tell you
+myself.’
+
+‘I shall be glad if you will,’ returned the Doctor.
+
+‘Shall I?’
+
+‘Certainly.’
+
+‘Well, then, I will!’ said the Old Soldier. ‘That’s a bargain.’ And
+having, I suppose, carried her point, she tapped the Doctor’s hand
+several times with her fan (which she kissed first), and returned
+triumphantly to her former station.
+
+Some more company coming in, among whom were the two masters and Adams,
+the talk became general; and it naturally turned on Mr. Jack Maldon, and
+his voyage, and the country he was going to, and his various plans and
+prospects. He was to leave that night, after supper, in a post-chaise,
+for Gravesend; where the ship, in which he was to make the voyage, lay;
+and was to be gone--unless he came home on leave, or for his health--I
+don’t know how many years. I recollect it was settled by general
+consent that India was quite a misrepresented country, and had nothing
+objectionable in it, but a tiger or two, and a little heat in the warm
+part of the day. For my own part, I looked on Mr. Jack Maldon as a
+modern Sindbad, and pictured him the bosom friend of all the Rajahs in
+the East, sitting under canopies, smoking curly golden pipes--a mile
+long, if they could be straightened out.
+
+Mrs. Strong was a very pretty singer: as I knew, who often heard her
+singing by herself. But, whether she was afraid of singing before
+people, or was out of voice that evening, it was certain that she
+couldn’t sing at all. She tried a duet, once, with her cousin Maldon,
+but could not so much as begin; and afterwards, when she tried to sing
+by herself, although she began sweetly, her voice died away on a sudden,
+and left her quite distressed, with her head hanging down over the keys.
+The good Doctor said she was nervous, and, to relieve her, proposed a
+round game at cards; of which he knew as much as of the art of playing
+the trombone. But I remarked that the Old Soldier took him into custody
+directly, for her partner; and instructed him, as the first preliminary
+of initiation, to give her all the silver he had in his pocket.
+
+We had a merry game, not made the less merry by the Doctor’s mistakes,
+of which he committed an innumerable quantity, in spite of the
+watchfulness of the butterflies, and to their great aggravation. Mrs.
+Strong had declined to play, on the ground of not feeling very well; and
+her cousin Maldon had excused himself because he had some packing to
+do. When he had done it, however, he returned, and they sat together,
+talking, on the sofa. From time to time she came and looked over the
+Doctor’s hand, and told him what to play. She was very pale, as she
+bent over him, and I thought her finger trembled as she pointed out
+the cards; but the Doctor was quite happy in her attention, and took no
+notice of this, if it were so.
+
+At supper, we were hardly so gay. Everyone appeared to feel that a
+parting of that sort was an awkward thing, and that the nearer it
+approached, the more awkward it was. Mr. Jack Maldon tried to be very
+talkative, but was not at his ease, and made matters worse. And they
+were not improved, as it appeared to me, by the Old Soldier: who
+continually recalled passages of Mr. Jack Maldon’s youth.
+
+The Doctor, however, who felt, I am sure, that he was making everybody
+happy, was well pleased, and had no suspicion but that we were all at
+the utmost height of enjoyment.
+
+‘Annie, my dear,’ said he, looking at his watch, and filling his glass,
+‘it is past your cousin Jack’s time, and we must not detain him, since
+time and tide--both concerned in this case--wait for no man. Mr. Jack
+Maldon, you have a long voyage, and a strange country, before you; but
+many men have had both, and many men will have both, to the end of time.
+The winds you are going to tempt, have wafted thousands upon thousands
+to fortune, and brought thousands upon thousands happily back.’
+
+‘It’s an affecting thing,’ said Mrs. Markleham--‘however it’s viewed,
+it’s affecting, to see a fine young man one has known from an infant,
+going away to the other end of the world, leaving all he knows behind,
+and not knowing what’s before him. A young man really well deserves
+constant support and patronage,’ looking at the Doctor, ‘who makes such
+sacrifices.’
+
+‘Time will go fast with you, Mr. Jack Maldon,’ pursued the Doctor,
+‘and fast with all of us. Some of us can hardly expect, perhaps, in the
+natural course of things, to greet you on your return. The next best
+thing is to hope to do it, and that’s my case. I shall not weary you
+with good advice. You have long had a good model before you, in your
+cousin Annie. Imitate her virtues as nearly as you can.’
+
+Mrs. Markleham fanned herself, and shook her head.
+
+‘Farewell, Mr. Jack,’ said the Doctor, standing up; on which we all
+stood up. ‘A prosperous voyage out, a thriving career abroad, and a
+happy return home!’
+
+We all drank the toast, and all shook hands with Mr. Jack Maldon; after
+which he hastily took leave of the ladies who were there, and hurried
+to the door, where he was received, as he got into the chaise, with a
+tremendous broadside of cheers discharged by our boys, who had assembled
+on the lawn for the purpose. Running in among them to swell the ranks,
+I was very near the chaise when it rolled away; and I had a lively
+impression made upon me, in the midst of the noise and dust, of having
+seen Mr. Jack Maldon rattle past with an agitated face, and something
+cherry-coloured in his hand.
+
+After another broadside for the Doctor, and another for the Doctor’s
+wife, the boys dispersed, and I went back into the house, where I found
+the guests all standing in a group about the Doctor, discussing how Mr.
+Jack Maldon had gone away, and how he had borne it, and how he had
+felt it, and all the rest of it. In the midst of these remarks, Mrs.
+Markleham cried: ‘Where’s Annie?’
+
+No Annie was there; and when they called to her, no Annie replied. But
+all pressing out of the room, in a crowd, to see what was the matter, we
+found her lying on the hall floor. There was great alarm at first, until
+it was found that she was in a swoon, and that the swoon was yielding
+to the usual means of recovery; when the Doctor, who had lifted her
+head upon his knee, put her curls aside with his hand, and said, looking
+around:
+
+‘Poor Annie! She’s so faithful and tender-hearted! It’s the parting from
+her old playfellow and friend--her favourite cousin--that has done this.
+Ah! It’s a pity! I am very sorry!’
+
+When she opened her eyes, and saw where she was, and that we were all
+standing about her, she arose with assistance: turning her head, as she
+did so, to lay it on the Doctor’s shoulder--or to hide it, I don’t know
+which. We went into the drawing-room, to leave her with the Doctor and
+her mother; but she said, it seemed, that she was better than she had
+been since morning, and that she would rather be brought among us; so
+they brought her in, looking very white and weak, I thought, and sat her
+on a sofa.
+
+‘Annie, my dear,’ said her mother, doing something to her dress. ‘See
+here! You have lost a bow. Will anybody be so good as find a ribbon; a
+cherry-coloured ribbon?’
+
+It was the one she had worn at her bosom. We all looked for it; I myself
+looked everywhere, I am certain--but nobody could find it.
+
+‘Do you recollect where you had it last, Annie?’ said her mother.
+
+I wondered how I could have thought she looked white, or anything but
+burning red, when she answered that she had had it safe, a little while
+ago, she thought, but it was not worth looking for.
+
+Nevertheless, it was looked for again, and still not found. She
+entreated that there might be no more searching; but it was still sought
+for, in a desultory way, until she was quite well, and the company took
+their departure.
+
+We walked very slowly home, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and I--Agnes and I
+admiring the moonlight, and Mr. Wickfield scarcely raising his eyes from
+the ground. When we, at last, reached our own door, Agnes discovered
+that she had left her little reticule behind. Delighted to be of any
+service to her, I ran back to fetch it.
+
+I went into the supper-room where it had been left, which was deserted
+and dark. But a door of communication between that and the Doctor’s
+study, where there was a light, being open, I passed on there, to say
+what I wanted, and to get a candle.
+
+The Doctor was sitting in his easy-chair by the fireside, and his young
+wife was on a stool at his feet. The Doctor, with a complacent smile,
+was reading aloud some manuscript explanation or statement of a theory
+out of that interminable Dictionary, and she was looking up at him. But
+with such a face as I never saw. It was so beautiful in its form, it was
+so ashy pale, it was so fixed in its abstraction, it was so full of a
+wild, sleep-walking, dreamy horror of I don’t know what. The eyes
+were wide open, and her brown hair fell in two rich clusters on her
+shoulders, and on her white dress, disordered by the want of the lost
+ribbon. Distinctly as I recollect her look, I cannot say of what it was
+expressive, I cannot even say of what it is expressive to me now, rising
+again before my older judgement. Penitence, humiliation, shame, pride,
+love, and trustfulness--I see them all; and in them all, I see that
+horror of I don’t know what.
+
+My entrance, and my saying what I wanted, roused her. It disturbed the
+Doctor too, for when I went back to replace the candle I had taken from
+the table, he was patting her head, in his fatherly way, and saying he
+was a merciless drone to let her tempt him into reading on; and he would
+have her go to bed.
+
+But she asked him, in a rapid, urgent manner, to let her stay--to let
+her feel assured (I heard her murmur some broken words to this effect)
+that she was in his confidence that night. And, as she turned again
+towards him, after glancing at me as I left the room and went out at the
+door, I saw her cross her hands upon his knee, and look up at him with
+the same face, something quieted, as he resumed his reading.
+
+It made a great impression on me, and I remembered it a long time
+afterwards; as I shall have occasion to narrate when the time comes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 17. SOMEBODY TURNS UP
+
+
+It has not occurred to me to mention Peggotty since I ran away; but, of
+course, I wrote her a letter almost as soon as I was housed at Dover,
+and another, and a longer letter, containing all particulars fully
+related, when my aunt took me formally under her protection. On my being
+settled at Doctor Strong’s I wrote to her again, detailing my happy
+condition and prospects. I never could have derived anything like the
+pleasure from spending the money Mr. Dick had given me, that I felt in
+sending a gold half-guinea to Peggotty, per post, enclosed in this last
+letter, to discharge the sum I had borrowed of her: in which epistle,
+not before, I mentioned about the young man with the donkey-cart.
+
+To these communications Peggotty replied as promptly, if not as
+concisely, as a merchant’s clerk. Her utmost powers of expression (which
+were certainly not great in ink) were exhausted in the attempt to write
+what she felt on the subject of my journey. Four sides of incoherent and
+interjectional beginnings of sentences, that had no end, except blots,
+were inadequate to afford her any relief. But the blots were more
+expressive to me than the best composition; for they showed me that
+Peggotty had been crying all over the paper, and what could I have
+desired more?
+
+I made out, without much difficulty, that she could not take quite
+kindly to my aunt yet. The notice was too short after so long a
+prepossession the other way. We never knew a person, she wrote; but to
+think that Miss Betsey should seem to be so different from what she had
+been thought to be, was a Moral!--that was her word. She was evidently
+still afraid of Miss Betsey, for she sent her grateful duty to her but
+timidly; and she was evidently afraid of me, too, and entertained the
+probability of my running away again soon: if I might judge from the
+repeated hints she threw out, that the coach-fare to Yarmouth was always
+to be had of her for the asking.
+
+She gave me one piece of intelligence which affected me very much,
+namely, that there had been a sale of the furniture at our old home, and
+that Mr. and Miss Murdstone were gone away, and the house was shut up,
+to be let or sold. God knows I had no part in it while they remained
+there, but it pained me to think of the dear old place as altogether
+abandoned; of the weeds growing tall in the garden, and the fallen
+leaves lying thick and wet upon the paths. I imagined how the winds
+of winter would howl round it, how the cold rain would beat upon the
+window-glass, how the moon would make ghosts on the walls of the empty
+rooms, watching their solitude all night. I thought afresh of the grave
+in the churchyard, underneath the tree: and it seemed as if the house
+were dead too, now, and all connected with my father and mother were
+faded away.
+
+There was no other news in Peggotty’s letters. Mr. Barkis was an
+excellent husband, she said, though still a little near; but we all had
+our faults, and she had plenty (though I am sure I don’t know what they
+were); and he sent his duty, and my little bedroom was always ready for
+me. Mr. Peggotty was well, and Ham was well, and Mrs. Gummidge was but
+poorly, and little Em’ly wouldn’t send her love, but said that Peggotty
+might send it, if she liked.
+
+All this intelligence I dutifully imparted to my aunt, only reserving
+to myself the mention of little Em’ly, to whom I instinctively felt
+that she would not very tenderly incline. While I was yet new at Doctor
+Strong’s, she made several excursions over to Canterbury to see me, and
+always at unseasonable hours: with the view, I suppose, of taking me by
+surprise. But, finding me well employed, and bearing a good character,
+and hearing on all hands that I rose fast in the school, she soon
+discontinued these visits. I saw her on a Saturday, every third or
+fourth week, when I went over to Dover for a treat; and I saw Mr. Dick
+every alternate Wednesday, when he arrived by stage-coach at noon, to
+stay until next morning.
+
+On these occasions Mr. Dick never travelled without a leathern
+writing-desk, containing a supply of stationery and the Memorial; in
+relation to which document he had a notion that time was beginning to
+press now, and that it really must be got out of hand.
+
+Mr. Dick was very partial to gingerbread. To render his visits the more
+agreeable, my aunt had instructed me to open a credit for him at a cake
+shop, which was hampered with the stipulation that he should not be
+served with more than one shilling’s-worth in the course of any one day.
+This, and the reference of all his little bills at the county inn where
+he slept, to my aunt, before they were paid, induced me to suspect that
+he was only allowed to rattle his money, and not to spend it. I found
+on further investigation that this was so, or at least there was an
+agreement between him and my aunt that he should account to her for
+all his disbursements. As he had no idea of deceiving her, and always
+desired to please her, he was thus made chary of launching into expense.
+On this point, as well as on all other possible points, Mr. Dick was
+convinced that my aunt was the wisest and most wonderful of women; as he
+repeatedly told me with infinite secrecy, and always in a whisper.
+
+‘Trotwood,’ said Mr. Dick, with an air of mystery, after imparting this
+confidence to me, one Wednesday; ‘who’s the man that hides near our
+house and frightens her?’
+
+‘Frightens my aunt, sir?’
+
+Mr. Dick nodded. ‘I thought nothing would have frightened her,’ he said,
+‘for she’s--’ here he whispered softly, ‘don’t mention it--the wisest
+and most wonderful of women.’ Having said which, he drew back, to
+observe the effect which this description of her made upon me.
+
+‘The first time he came,’ said Mr. Dick, ‘was--let me see--sixteen
+hundred and forty-nine was the date of King Charles’s execution. I think
+you said sixteen hundred and forty-nine?’
+
+‘Yes, sir.’
+
+‘I don’t know how it can be,’ said Mr. Dick, sorely puzzled and shaking
+his head. ‘I don’t think I am as old as that.’
+
+‘Was it in that year that the man appeared, sir?’ I asked.
+
+‘Why, really’ said Mr. Dick, ‘I don’t see how it can have been in that
+year, Trotwood. Did you get that date out of history?’
+
+‘Yes, sir.’
+
+‘I suppose history never lies, does it?’ said Mr. Dick, with a gleam of
+hope.
+
+‘Oh dear, no, sir!’ I replied, most decisively. I was ingenuous and
+young, and I thought so.
+
+‘I can’t make it out,’ said Mr. Dick, shaking his head. ‘There’s
+something wrong, somewhere. However, it was very soon after the mistake
+was made of putting some of the trouble out of King Charles’s head into
+my head, that the man first came. I was walking out with Miss Trotwood
+after tea, just at dark, and there he was, close to our house.’
+
+‘Walking about?’ I inquired.
+
+‘Walking about?’ repeated Mr. Dick. ‘Let me see, I must recollect a bit.
+N-no, no; he was not walking about.’
+
+I asked, as the shortest way to get at it, what he WAS doing.
+
+‘Well, he wasn’t there at all,’ said Mr. Dick, ‘until he came up behind
+her, and whispered. Then she turned round and fainted, and I stood still
+and looked at him, and he walked away; but that he should have
+been hiding ever since (in the ground or somewhere), is the most
+extraordinary thing!’
+
+‘HAS he been hiding ever since?’ I asked.
+
+‘To be sure he has,’ retorted Mr. Dick, nodding his head gravely. ‘Never
+came out, till last night! We were walking last night, and he came up
+behind her again, and I knew him again.’
+
+‘And did he frighten my aunt again?’
+
+‘All of a shiver,’ said Mr. Dick, counterfeiting that affection and
+making his teeth chatter. ‘Held by the palings. Cried. But, Trotwood,
+come here,’ getting me close to him, that he might whisper very softly;
+‘why did she give him money, boy, in the moonlight?’
+
+‘He was a beggar, perhaps.’
+
+Mr. Dick shook his head, as utterly renouncing the suggestion; and
+having replied a great many times, and with great confidence, ‘No
+beggar, no beggar, no beggar, sir!’ went on to say, that from his window
+he had afterwards, and late at night, seen my aunt give this person
+money outside the garden rails in the moonlight, who then slunk
+away--into the ground again, as he thought probable--and was seen no
+more: while my aunt came hurriedly and secretly back into the house, and
+had, even that morning, been quite different from her usual self; which
+preyed on Mr. Dick’s mind.
+
+I had not the least belief, in the outset of this story, that the
+unknown was anything but a delusion of Mr. Dick’s, and one of the line
+of that ill-fated Prince who occasioned him so much difficulty; but
+after some reflection I began to entertain the question whether an
+attempt, or threat of an attempt, might have been twice made to take
+poor Mr. Dick himself from under my aunt’s protection, and whether
+my aunt, the strength of whose kind feeling towards him I knew from
+herself, might have been induced to pay a price for his peace and quiet.
+As I was already much attached to Mr. Dick, and very solicitous for his
+welfare, my fears favoured this supposition; and for a long time his
+Wednesday hardly ever came round, without my entertaining a misgiving
+that he would not be on the coach-box as usual. There he always
+appeared, however, grey-headed, laughing, and happy; and he never had
+anything more to tell of the man who could frighten my aunt.
+
+These Wednesdays were the happiest days of Mr. Dick’s life; they were
+far from being the least happy of mine. He soon became known to every
+boy in the school; and though he never took an active part in any game
+but kite-flying, was as deeply interested in all our sports as anyone
+among us. How often have I seen him, intent upon a match at marbles
+or pegtop, looking on with a face of unutterable interest, and hardly
+breathing at the critical times! How often, at hare and hounds, have
+I seen him mounted on a little knoll, cheering the whole field on
+to action, and waving his hat above his grey head, oblivious of King
+Charles the Martyr’s head, and all belonging to it! How many a
+summer hour have I known to be but blissful minutes to him in
+the cricket-field! How many winter days have I seen him, standing
+blue-nosed, in the snow and east wind, looking at the boys going down
+the long slide, and clapping his worsted gloves in rapture!
+
+He was an universal favourite, and his ingenuity in little things was
+transcendent. He could cut oranges into such devices as none of us had
+an idea of. He could make a boat out of anything, from a skewer upwards.
+He could turn cramp-bones into chessmen; fashion Roman chariots from old
+court cards; make spoked wheels out of cotton reels, and bird-cages of
+old wire. But he was greatest of all, perhaps, in the articles of string
+and straw; with which we were all persuaded he could do anything that
+could be done by hands.
+
+Mr. Dick’s renown was not long confined to us. After a few Wednesdays,
+Doctor Strong himself made some inquiries of me about him, and I told
+him all my aunt had told me; which interested the Doctor so much that
+he requested, on the occasion of his next visit, to be presented to him.
+This ceremony I performed; and the Doctor begging Mr. Dick, whensoever
+he should not find me at the coach office, to come on there, and rest
+himself until our morning’s work was over, it soon passed into a custom
+for Mr. Dick to come on as a matter of course, and, if we were a little
+late, as often happened on a Wednesday, to walk about the courtyard,
+waiting for me. Here he made the acquaintance of the Doctor’s beautiful
+young wife (paler than formerly, all this time; more rarely seen by
+me or anyone, I think; and not so gay, but not less beautiful), and so
+became more and more familiar by degrees, until, at last, he would come
+into the school and wait. He always sat in a particular corner, on a
+particular stool, which was called ‘Dick’, after him; here he would sit,
+with his grey head bent forward, attentively listening to whatever might
+be going on, with a profound veneration for the learning he had never
+been able to acquire.
+
+This veneration Mr. Dick extended to the Doctor, whom he thought the
+most subtle and accomplished philosopher of any age. It was long before
+Mr. Dick ever spoke to him otherwise than bareheaded; and even when he
+and the Doctor had struck up quite a friendship, and would walk together
+by the hour, on that side of the courtyard which was known among us as
+The Doctor’s Walk, Mr. Dick would pull off his hat at intervals to show
+his respect for wisdom and knowledge. How it ever came about that the
+Doctor began to read out scraps of the famous Dictionary, in these
+walks, I never knew; perhaps he felt it all the same, at first, as
+reading to himself. However, it passed into a custom too; and Mr. Dick,
+listening with a face shining with pride and pleasure, in his heart of
+hearts believed the Dictionary to be the most delightful book in the
+world.
+
+As I think of them going up and down before those schoolroom
+windows--the Doctor reading with his complacent smile, an occasional
+flourish of the manuscript, or grave motion of his head; and Mr. Dick
+listening, enchained by interest, with his poor wits calmly wandering
+God knows where, upon the wings of hard words--I think of it as one of
+the pleasantest things, in a quiet way, that I have ever seen. I feel
+as if they might go walking to and fro for ever, and the world might
+somehow be the better for it--as if a thousand things it makes a noise
+about, were not one half so good for it, or me.
+
+Agnes was one of Mr. Dick’s friends, very soon; and in often coming
+to the house, he made acquaintance with Uriah. The friendship between
+himself and me increased continually, and it was maintained on this odd
+footing: that, while Mr. Dick came professedly to look after me as my
+guardian, he always consulted me in any little matter of doubt that
+arose, and invariably guided himself by my advice; not only having a
+high respect for my native sagacity, but considering that I inherited a
+good deal from my aunt.
+
+One Thursday morning, when I was about to walk with Mr. Dick from the
+hotel to the coach office before going back to school (for we had an
+hour’s school before breakfast), I met Uriah in the street, who reminded
+me of the promise I had made to take tea with himself and his mother:
+adding, with a writhe, ‘But I didn’t expect you to keep it, Master
+Copperfield, we’re so very umble.’
+
+I really had not yet been able to make up my mind whether I liked Uriah
+or detested him; and I was very doubtful about it still, as I stood
+looking him in the face in the street. But I felt it quite an affront to
+be supposed proud, and said I only wanted to be asked.
+
+‘Oh, if that’s all, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah, ‘and it really
+isn’t our umbleness that prevents you, will you come this evening?
+But if it is our umbleness, I hope you won’t mind owning to it, Master
+Copperfield; for we are well aware of our condition.’
+
+I said I would mention it to Mr. Wickfield, and if he approved, as I had
+no doubt he would, I would come with pleasure. So, at six o’clock that
+evening, which was one of the early office evenings, I announced myself
+as ready, to Uriah.
+
+‘Mother will be proud, indeed,’ he said, as we walked away together. ‘Or
+she would be proud, if it wasn’t sinful, Master Copperfield.’
+
+‘Yet you didn’t mind supposing I was proud this morning,’ I returned.
+
+‘Oh dear, no, Master Copperfield!’ returned Uriah. ‘Oh, believe me, no!
+Such a thought never came into my head! I shouldn’t have deemed it at
+all proud if you had thought US too umble for you. Because we are so
+very umble.’
+
+‘Have you been studying much law lately?’ I asked, to change the
+subject.
+
+‘Oh, Master Copperfield,’ he said, with an air of self-denial, ‘my
+reading is hardly to be called study. I have passed an hour or two in
+the evening, sometimes, with Mr. Tidd.’
+
+‘Rather hard, I suppose?’ said I. ‘He is hard to me sometimes,’ returned
+Uriah. ‘But I don’t know what he might be to a gifted person.’
+
+After beating a little tune on his chin as he walked on, with the two
+forefingers of his skeleton right hand, he added:
+
+‘There are expressions, you see, Master Copperfield--Latin words
+and terms--in Mr. Tidd, that are trying to a reader of my umble
+attainments.’
+
+‘Would you like to be taught Latin?’ I said briskly. ‘I will teach it
+you with pleasure, as I learn it.’
+
+‘Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield,’ he answered, shaking his head. ‘I
+am sure it’s very kind of you to make the offer, but I am much too umble
+to accept it.’
+
+‘What nonsense, Uriah!’
+
+‘Oh, indeed you must excuse me, Master Copperfield! I am greatly
+obliged, and I should like it of all things, I assure you; but I am far
+too umble. There are people enough to tread upon me in my lowly state,
+without my doing outrage to their feelings by possessing learning.
+Learning ain’t for me. A person like myself had better not aspire. If he
+is to get on in life, he must get on umbly, Master Copperfield!’
+
+I never saw his mouth so wide, or the creases in his cheeks so deep, as
+when he delivered himself of these sentiments: shaking his head all the
+time, and writhing modestly.
+
+‘I think you are wrong, Uriah,’ I said. ‘I dare say there are several
+things that I could teach you, if you would like to learn them.’
+
+‘Oh, I don’t doubt that, Master Copperfield,’ he answered; ‘not in the
+least. But not being umble yourself, you don’t judge well, perhaps, for
+them that are. I won’t provoke my betters with knowledge, thank you. I’m
+much too umble. Here is my umble dwelling, Master Copperfield!’
+
+We entered a low, old-fashioned room, walked straight into from the
+street, and found there Mrs. Heep, who was the dead image of Uriah, only
+short. She received me with the utmost humility, and apologized to me
+for giving her son a kiss, observing that, lowly as they were, they
+had their natural affections, which they hoped would give no offence to
+anyone. It was a perfectly decent room, half parlour and half kitchen,
+but not at all a snug room. The tea-things were set upon the table, and
+the kettle was boiling on the hob. There was a chest of drawers with an
+escritoire top, for Uriah to read or write at of an evening; there was
+Uriah’s blue bag lying down and vomiting papers; there was a company of
+Uriah’s books commanded by Mr. Tidd; there was a corner cupboard: and
+there were the usual articles of furniture. I don’t remember that any
+individual object had a bare, pinched, spare look; but I do remember
+that the whole place had.
+
+It was perhaps a part of Mrs. Heep’s humility, that she still wore
+weeds. Notwithstanding the lapse of time that had occurred since Mr.
+Heep’s decease, she still wore weeds. I think there was some compromise
+in the cap; but otherwise she was as weedy as in the early days of her
+mourning.
+
+‘This is a day to be remembered, my Uriah, I am sure,’ said Mrs. Heep,
+making the tea, ‘when Master Copperfield pays us a visit.’
+
+‘I said you’d think so, mother,’ said Uriah.
+
+‘If I could have wished father to remain among us for any reason,’ said
+Mrs. Heep, ‘it would have been, that he might have known his company
+this afternoon.’
+
+I felt embarrassed by these compliments; but I was sensible, too, of
+being entertained as an honoured guest, and I thought Mrs. Heep an
+agreeable woman.
+
+‘My Uriah,’ said Mrs. Heep, ‘has looked forward to this, sir, a long
+while. He had his fears that our umbleness stood in the way, and I
+joined in them myself. Umble we are, umble we have been, umble we shall
+ever be,’ said Mrs. Heep.
+
+‘I am sure you have no occasion to be so, ma’am,’ I said, ‘unless you
+like.’
+
+‘Thank you, sir,’ retorted Mrs. Heep. ‘We know our station and are
+thankful in it.’
+
+I found that Mrs. Heep gradually got nearer to me, and that Uriah
+gradually got opposite to me, and that they respectfully plied me
+with the choicest of the eatables on the table. There was nothing
+particularly choice there, to be sure; but I took the will for the deed,
+and felt that they were very attentive. Presently they began to talk
+about aunts, and then I told them about mine; and about fathers and
+mothers, and then I told them about mine; and then Mrs. Heep began to
+talk about fathers-in-law, and then I began to tell her about mine--but
+stopped, because my aunt had advised me to observe a silence on that
+subject. A tender young cork, however, would have had no more chance
+against a pair of corkscrews, or a tender young tooth against a pair of
+dentists, or a little shuttlecock against two battledores, than I had
+against Uriah and Mrs. Heep. They did just what they liked with me; and
+wormed things out of me that I had no desire to tell, with a certainty
+I blush to think of, the more especially, as in my juvenile frankness, I
+took some credit to myself for being so confidential and felt that I was
+quite the patron of my two respectful entertainers.
+
+They were very fond of one another: that was certain. I take it, that
+had its effect upon me, as a touch of nature; but the skill with which
+the one followed up whatever the other said, was a touch of art which I
+was still less proof against. When there was nothing more to be got
+out of me about myself (for on the Murdstone and Grinby life, and on my
+journey, I was dumb), they began about Mr. Wickfield and Agnes. Uriah
+threw the ball to Mrs. Heep, Mrs. Heep caught it and threw it back to
+Uriah, Uriah kept it up a little while, then sent it back to Mrs. Heep,
+and so they went on tossing it about until I had no idea who had got it,
+and was quite bewildered. The ball itself was always changing too. Now
+it was Mr. Wickfield, now Agnes, now the excellence of Mr. Wickfield,
+now my admiration of Agnes; now the extent of Mr. Wickfield’s business
+and resources, now our domestic life after dinner; now, the wine that
+Mr. Wickfield took, the reason why he took it, and the pity that it was
+he took so much; now one thing, now another, then everything at once;
+and all the time, without appearing to speak very often, or to do
+anything but sometimes encourage them a little, for fear they should be
+overcome by their humility and the honour of my company, I found myself
+perpetually letting out something or other that I had no business to
+let out and seeing the effect of it in the twinkling of Uriah’s dinted
+nostrils.
+
+I had begun to be a little uncomfortable, and to wish myself well out
+of the visit, when a figure coming down the street passed the door--it
+stood open to air the room, which was warm, the weather being close for
+the time of year--came back again, looked in, and walked in, exclaiming
+loudly, ‘Copperfield! Is it possible?’
+
+It was Mr. Micawber! It was Mr. Micawber, with his eye-glass, and
+his walking-stick, and his shirt-collar, and his genteel air, and the
+condescending roll in his voice, all complete!
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, putting out his hand, ‘this is
+indeed a meeting which is calculated to impress the mind with a sense
+of the instability and uncertainty of all human--in short, it is a most
+extraordinary meeting. Walking along the street, reflecting upon the
+probability of something turning up (of which I am at present rather
+sanguine), I find a young but valued friend turn up, who is connected
+with the most eventful period of my life; I may say, with the
+turning-point of my existence. Copperfield, my dear fellow, how do you
+do?’
+
+I cannot say--I really cannot say--that I was glad to see Mr. Micawber
+there; but I was glad to see him too, and shook hands with him,
+heartily, inquiring how Mrs. Micawber was.
+
+‘Thank you,’ said Mr. Micawber, waving his hand as of old, and settling
+his chin in his shirt-collar. ‘She is tolerably convalescent. The twins
+no longer derive their sustenance from Nature’s founts--in short,’ said
+Mr. Micawber, in one of his bursts of confidence, ‘they are weaned--and
+Mrs. Micawber is, at present, my travelling companion. She will be
+rejoiced, Copperfield, to renew her acquaintance with one who has
+proved himself in all respects a worthy minister at the sacred altar of
+friendship.’
+
+I said I should be delighted to see her.
+
+‘You are very good,’ said Mr. Micawber.
+
+Mr. Micawber then smiled, settled his chin again, and looked about him.
+
+‘I have discovered my friend Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber genteelly,
+and without addressing himself particularly to anyone, ‘not in solitude,
+but partaking of a social meal in company with a widow lady, and one who
+is apparently her offspring--in short,’ said Mr. Micawber, in another
+of his bursts of confidence, ‘her son. I shall esteem it an honour to be
+presented.’
+
+I could do no less, under these circumstances, than make Mr. Micawber
+known to Uriah Heep and his mother; which I accordingly did. As they
+abased themselves before him, Mr. Micawber took a seat, and waved his
+hand in his most courtly manner.
+
+‘Any friend of my friend Copperfield’s,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘has a
+personal claim upon myself.’
+
+‘We are too umble, sir,’ said Mrs. Heep, ‘my son and me, to be the
+friends of Master Copperfield. He has been so good as take his tea with
+us, and we are thankful to him for his company, also to you, sir, for
+your notice.’
+
+‘Ma’am,’ returned Mr. Micawber, with a bow, ‘you are very obliging: and
+what are you doing, Copperfield? Still in the wine trade?’
+
+I was excessively anxious to get Mr. Micawber away; and replied, with my
+hat in my hand, and a very red face, I have no doubt, that I was a pupil
+at Doctor Strong’s.
+
+‘A pupil?’ said Mr. Micawber, raising his eyebrows. ‘I am extremely
+happy to hear it. Although a mind like my friend Copperfield’s’--to
+Uriah and Mrs. Heep--‘does not require that cultivation which, without
+his knowledge of men and things, it would require, still it is a rich
+soil teeming with latent vegetation--in short,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+smiling, in another burst of confidence, ‘it is an intellect capable of
+getting up the classics to any extent.’
+
+Uriah, with his long hands slowly twining over one another, made a
+ghastly writhe from the waist upwards, to express his concurrence in
+this estimation of me.
+
+‘Shall we go and see Mrs. Micawber, sir?’ I said, to get Mr. Micawber
+away.
+
+‘If you will do her that favour, Copperfield,’ replied Mr. Micawber,
+rising. ‘I have no scruple in saying, in the presence of our friends
+here, that I am a man who has, for some years, contended against the
+pressure of pecuniary difficulties.’ I knew he was certain to say
+something of this kind; he always would be so boastful about his
+difficulties. ‘Sometimes I have risen superior to my difficulties.
+Sometimes my difficulties have--in short, have floored me. There have
+been times when I have administered a succession of facers to them;
+there have been times when they have been too many for me, and I have
+given in, and said to Mrs. Micawber, in the words of Cato, “Plato, thou
+reasonest well. It’s all up now. I can show fight no more.” But at no
+time of my life,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘have I enjoyed a higher degree of
+satisfaction than in pouring my griefs (if I may describe difficulties,
+chiefly arising out of warrants of attorney and promissory notes at two
+and four months, by that word) into the bosom of my friend Copperfield.’
+
+Mr. Micawber closed this handsome tribute by saying, ‘Mr. Heep! Good
+evening. Mrs. Heep! Your servant,’ and then walking out with me in his
+most fashionable manner, making a good deal of noise on the pavement
+with his shoes, and humming a tune as we went.
+
+It was a little inn where Mr. Micawber put up, and he occupied a little
+room in it, partitioned off from the commercial room, and strongly
+flavoured with tobacco-smoke. I think it was over the kitchen, because
+a warm greasy smell appeared to come up through the chinks in the floor,
+and there was a flabby perspiration on the walls. I know it was near the
+bar, on account of the smell of spirits and jingling of glasses. Here,
+recumbent on a small sofa, underneath a picture of a race-horse, with
+her head close to the fire, and her feet pushing the mustard off the
+dumb-waiter at the other end of the room, was Mrs. Micawber, to whom Mr.
+Micawber entered first, saying, ‘My dear, allow me to introduce to you a
+pupil of Doctor Strong’s.’
+
+I noticed, by the by, that although Mr. Micawber was just as much
+confused as ever about my age and standing, he always remembered, as a
+genteel thing, that I was a pupil of Doctor Strong’s.
+
+Mrs. Micawber was amazed, but very glad to see me. I was very glad to
+see her too, and, after an affectionate greeting on both sides, sat down
+on the small sofa near her.
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘if you will mention to Copperfield what
+our present position is, which I have no doubt he will like to know, I
+will go and look at the paper the while, and see whether anything turns
+up among the advertisements.’
+
+‘I thought you were at Plymouth, ma’am,’ I said to Mrs. Micawber, as he
+went out.
+
+‘My dear Master Copperfield,’ she replied, ‘we went to Plymouth.’
+
+‘To be on the spot,’ I hinted.
+
+‘Just so,’ said Mrs. Micawber. ‘To be on the spot. But, the truth is,
+talent is not wanted in the Custom House. The local influence of my
+family was quite unavailing to obtain any employment in that department,
+for a man of Mr. Micawber’s abilities. They would rather NOT have a man
+of Mr. Micawber’s abilities. He would only show the deficiency of the
+others. Apart from which,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘I will not disguise
+from you, my dear Master Copperfield, that when that branch of my
+family which is settled in Plymouth, became aware that Mr. Micawber was
+accompanied by myself, and by little Wilkins and his sister, and by the
+twins, they did not receive him with that ardour which he might have
+expected, being so newly released from captivity. In fact,’ said Mrs.
+Micawber, lowering her voice,--‘this is between ourselves--our reception
+was cool.’
+
+‘Dear me!’ I said.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Micawber. ‘It is truly painful to contemplate mankind
+in such an aspect, Master Copperfield, but our reception was, decidedly,
+cool. There is no doubt about it. In fact, that branch of my family
+which is settled in Plymouth became quite personal to Mr. Micawber,
+before we had been there a week.’
+
+I said, and thought, that they ought to be ashamed of themselves.
+
+‘Still, so it was,’ continued Mrs. Micawber. ‘Under such circumstances,
+what could a man of Mr. Micawber’s spirit do? But one obvious course
+was left. To borrow, of that branch of my family, the money to return to
+London, and to return at any sacrifice.’
+
+‘Then you all came back again, ma’am?’ I said.
+
+‘We all came back again,’ replied Mrs. Micawber. ‘Since then, I have
+consulted other branches of my family on the course which it is most
+expedient for Mr. Micawber to take--for I maintain that he must take
+some course, Master Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, argumentatively.
+‘It is clear that a family of six, not including a domestic, cannot live
+upon air.’
+
+‘Certainly, ma’am,’ said I.
+
+‘The opinion of those other branches of my family,’ pursued Mrs.
+Micawber, ‘is, that Mr. Micawber should immediately turn his attention
+to coals.’
+
+‘To what, ma’am?’
+
+‘To coals,’ said Mrs. Micawber. ‘To the coal trade. Mr. Micawber was
+induced to think, on inquiry, that there might be an opening for a
+man of his talent in the Medway Coal Trade. Then, as Mr. Micawber very
+properly said, the first step to be taken clearly was, to come and see
+the Medway. Which we came and saw. I say “we”, Master Copperfield; for
+I never will,’ said Mrs. Micawber with emotion, ‘I never will desert Mr.
+Micawber.’
+
+I murmured my admiration and approbation.
+
+‘We came,’ repeated Mrs. Micawber, ‘and saw the Medway. My opinion of
+the coal trade on that river is, that it may require talent, but that
+it certainly requires capital. Talent, Mr. Micawber has; capital, Mr.
+Micawber has not. We saw, I think, the greater part of the Medway; and
+that is my individual conclusion. Being so near here, Mr. Micawber was
+of opinion that it would be rash not to come on, and see the Cathedral.
+Firstly, on account of its being so well worth seeing, and our never
+having seen it; and secondly, on account of the great probability of
+something turning up in a cathedral town. We have been here,’ said Mrs.
+Micawber, ‘three days. Nothing has, as yet, turned up; and it may
+not surprise you, my dear Master Copperfield, so much as it would a
+stranger, to know that we are at present waiting for a remittance from
+London, to discharge our pecuniary obligations at this hotel. Until the
+arrival of that remittance,’ said Mrs. Micawber with much feeling, ‘I am
+cut off from my home (I allude to lodgings in Pentonville), from my boy
+and girl, and from my twins.’
+
+I felt the utmost sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Micawber in this anxious
+extremity, and said as much to Mr. Micawber, who now returned: adding
+that I only wished I had money enough, to lend them the amount they
+needed. Mr. Micawber’s answer expressed the disturbance of his mind. He
+said, shaking hands with me, ‘Copperfield, you are a true friend; but
+when the worst comes to the worst, no man is without a friend who is
+possessed of shaving materials.’ At this dreadful hint Mrs. Micawber
+threw her arms round Mr. Micawber’s neck and entreated him to be calm.
+He wept; but so far recovered, almost immediately, as to ring the bell
+for the waiter, and bespeak a hot kidney pudding and a plate of shrimps
+for breakfast in the morning.
+
+When I took my leave of them, they both pressed me so much to come and
+dine before they went away, that I could not refuse. But, as I knew I
+could not come next day, when I should have a good deal to prepare in
+the evening, Mr. Micawber arranged that he would call at Doctor Strong’s
+in the course of the morning (having a presentiment that the remittance
+would arrive by that post), and propose the day after, if it would suit
+me better. Accordingly I was called out of school next forenoon, and
+found Mr. Micawber in the parlour; who had called to say that the dinner
+would take place as proposed. When I asked him if the remittance had
+come, he pressed my hand and departed.
+
+As I was looking out of window that same evening, it surprised me, and
+made me rather uneasy, to see Mr. Micawber and Uriah Heep walk past, arm
+in arm: Uriah humbly sensible of the honour that was done him, and Mr.
+Micawber taking a bland delight in extending his patronage to Uriah. But
+I was still more surprised, when I went to the little hotel next day at
+the appointed dinner-hour, which was four o’clock, to find, from what
+Mr. Micawber said, that he had gone home with Uriah, and had drunk
+brandy-and-water at Mrs. Heep’s.
+
+‘And I’ll tell you what, my dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘your
+friend Heep is a young fellow who might be attorney-general. If I had
+known that young man, at the period when my difficulties came to a
+crisis, all I can say is, that I believe my creditors would have been a
+great deal better managed than they were.’
+
+I hardly understood how this could have been, seeing that Mr. Micawber
+had paid them nothing at all as it was; but I did not like to
+ask. Neither did I like to say, that I hoped he had not been too
+communicative to Uriah; or to inquire if they had talked much about me.
+I was afraid of hurting Mr. Micawber’s feelings, or, at all events, Mrs.
+Micawber’s, she being very sensitive; but I was uncomfortable about it,
+too, and often thought about it afterwards.
+
+We had a beautiful little dinner. Quite an elegant dish of fish; the
+kidney-end of a loin of veal, roasted; fried sausage-meat; a partridge,
+and a pudding. There was wine, and there was strong ale; and after
+dinner Mrs. Micawber made us a bowl of hot punch with her own hands.
+
+Mr. Micawber was uncommonly convivial. I never saw him such good
+company. He made his face shine with the punch, so that it looked as if
+it had been varnished all over. He got cheerfully sentimental about
+the town, and proposed success to it; observing that Mrs. Micawber and
+himself had been made extremely snug and comfortable there and that he
+never should forget the agreeable hours they had passed in Canterbury.
+He proposed me afterwards; and he, and Mrs. Micawber, and I, took a
+review of our past acquaintance, in the course of which we sold the
+property all over again. Then I proposed Mrs. Micawber: or, at least,
+said, modestly, ‘If you’ll allow me, Mrs. Micawber, I shall now have
+the pleasure of drinking your health, ma’am.’ On which Mr. Micawber
+delivered an eulogium on Mrs. Micawber’s character, and said she
+had ever been his guide, philosopher, and friend, and that he would
+recommend me, when I came to a marrying time of life, to marry such
+another woman, if such another woman could be found.
+
+As the punch disappeared, Mr. Micawber became still more friendly and
+convivial. Mrs. Micawber’s spirits becoming elevated, too, we sang ‘Auld
+Lang Syne’. When we came to ‘Here’s a hand, my trusty frere’, we all
+joined hands round the table; and when we declared we would ‘take a
+right gude Willie Waught’, and hadn’t the least idea what it meant, we
+were really affected.
+
+In a word, I never saw anybody so thoroughly jovial as Mr. Micawber
+was, down to the very last moment of the evening, when I took a hearty
+farewell of himself and his amiable wife. Consequently, I was not
+prepared, at seven o’clock next morning, to receive the following
+communication, dated half past nine in the evening; a quarter of an hour
+after I had left him:--
+
+‘My DEAR YOUNG FRIEND,
+
+‘The die is cast--all is over. Hiding the ravages of care with a sickly
+mask of mirth, I have not informed you, this evening, that there is no
+hope of the remittance! Under these circumstances, alike humiliating to
+endure, humiliating to contemplate, and humiliating to relate, I have
+discharged the pecuniary liability contracted at this establishment,
+by giving a note of hand, made payable fourteen days after date, at
+my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes due, it will not be
+taken up. The result is destruction. The bolt is impending, and the tree
+must fall.
+
+‘Let the wretched man who now addresses you, my dear Copperfield, be a
+beacon to you through life. He writes with that intention, and in that
+hope. If he could think himself of so much use, one gleam of day might,
+by possibility, penetrate into the cheerless dungeon of his remaining
+existence--though his longevity is, at present (to say the least of it),
+extremely problematical.
+
+‘This is the last communication, my dear Copperfield, you will ever
+receive
+
+ ‘From
+
+ ‘The
+
+ ‘Beggared Outcast,
+
+ ‘WILKINS MICAWBER.’
+
+
+I was so shocked by the contents of this heart-rending letter, that I
+ran off directly towards the little hotel with the intention of taking
+it on my way to Doctor Strong’s, and trying to soothe Mr. Micawber with
+a word of comfort. But, half-way there, I met the London coach with Mr.
+and Mrs. Micawber up behind; Mr. Micawber, the very picture of tranquil
+enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. Micawber’s conversation, eating walnuts out
+of a paper bag, with a bottle sticking out of his breast pocket. As they
+did not see me, I thought it best, all things considered, not to
+see them. So, with a great weight taken off my mind, I turned into a
+by-street that was the nearest way to school, and felt, upon the whole,
+relieved that they were gone; though I still liked them very much,
+nevertheless.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 18. A RETROSPECT
+
+
+My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,
+unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth! Let me think,
+as I look back upon that flowing water, now a dry channel overgrown with
+leaves, whether there are any marks along its course, by which I can
+remember how it ran.
+
+A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral, where we all went
+together, every Sunday morning, assembling first at school for that
+purpose. The earthy smell, the sunless air, the sensation of the world
+being shut out, the resounding of the organ through the black and white
+arched galleries and aisles, are wings that take me back, and hold me
+hovering above those days, in a half-sleeping and half-waking dream.
+
+I am not the last boy in the school. I have risen in a few months, over
+several heads. But the first boy seems to me a mighty creature, dwelling
+afar off, whose giddy height is unattainable. Agnes says ‘No,’ but I say
+‘Yes,’ and tell her that she little thinks what stores of knowledge have
+been mastered by the wonderful Being, at whose place she thinks I, even
+I, weak aspirant, may arrive in time. He is not my private friend
+and public patron, as Steerforth was, but I hold him in a reverential
+respect. I chiefly wonder what he’ll be, when he leaves Doctor Strong’s,
+and what mankind will do to maintain any place against him.
+
+But who is this that breaks upon me? This is Miss Shepherd, whom I love.
+
+Miss Shepherd is a boarder at the Misses Nettingalls’ establishment. I
+adore Miss Shepherd. She is a little girl, in a spencer, with a round
+face and curly flaxen hair. The Misses Nettingalls’ young ladies come to
+the Cathedral too. I cannot look upon my book, for I must look upon
+Miss Shepherd. When the choristers chaunt, I hear Miss Shepherd. In the
+service I mentally insert Miss Shepherd’s name--I put her in among the
+Royal Family. At home, in my own room, I am sometimes moved to cry out,
+‘Oh, Miss Shepherd!’ in a transport of love.
+
+For some time, I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd’s feelings, but, at
+length, Fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing-school. I have
+Miss Shepherd for my partner. I touch Miss Shepherd’s glove, and feel a
+thrill go up the right arm of my jacket, and come out at my hair. I say
+nothing to Miss Shepherd, but we understand each other. Miss Shepherd
+and myself live but to be united.
+
+Why do I secretly give Miss Shepherd twelve Brazil nuts for a present, I
+wonder? They are not expressive of affection, they are difficult to pack
+into a parcel of any regular shape, they are hard to crack, even in
+room doors, and they are oily when cracked; yet I feel that they are
+appropriate to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy biscuits, also, I bestow upon
+Miss Shepherd; and oranges innumerable. Once, I kiss Miss Shepherd in
+the cloak-room. Ecstasy! What are my agony and indignation next day,
+when I hear a flying rumour that the Misses Nettingall have stood Miss
+Shepherd in the stocks for turning in her toes!
+
+Miss Shepherd being the one pervading theme and vision of my life, how
+do I ever come to break with her? I can’t conceive. And yet a coolness
+grows between Miss Shepherd and myself. Whispers reach me of Miss
+Shepherd having said she wished I wouldn’t stare so, and having avowed a
+preference for Master Jones--for Jones! a boy of no merit whatever! The
+gulf between me and Miss Shepherd widens. At last, one day, I meet the
+Misses Nettingalls’ establishment out walking. Miss Shepherd makes
+a face as she goes by, and laughs to her companion. All is over. The
+devotion of a life--it seems a life, it is all the same--is at an end;
+Miss Shepherd comes out of the morning service, and the Royal Family
+know her no more.
+
+I am higher in the school, and no one breaks my peace. I am not at all
+polite, now, to the Misses Nettingalls’ young ladies, and shouldn’t
+dote on any of them, if they were twice as many and twenty times as
+beautiful. I think the dancing-school a tiresome affair, and wonder why
+the girls can’t dance by themselves and leave us alone. I am growing
+great in Latin verses, and neglect the laces of my boots. Doctor Strong
+refers to me in public as a promising young scholar. Mr. Dick is wild
+with joy, and my aunt remits me a guinea by the next post.
+
+The shade of a young butcher rises, like the apparition of an armed head
+in Macbeth. Who is this young butcher? He is the terror of the youth
+of Canterbury. There is a vague belief abroad, that the beef suet with
+which he anoints his hair gives him unnatural strength, and that he is
+a match for a man. He is a broad-faced, bull-necked, young butcher, with
+rough red cheeks, an ill-conditioned mind, and an injurious tongue.
+His main use of this tongue, is, to disparage Doctor Strong’s young
+gentlemen. He says, publicly, that if they want anything he’ll give it
+‘em. He names individuals among them (myself included), whom he could
+undertake to settle with one hand, and the other tied behind him. He
+waylays the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads, and calls
+challenges after me in the open streets. For these sufficient reasons I
+resolve to fight the butcher.
+
+It is a summer evening, down in a green hollow, at the corner of a wall.
+I meet the butcher by appointment. I am attended by a select body of our
+boys; the butcher, by two other butchers, a young publican, and a sweep.
+The preliminaries are adjusted, and the butcher and myself stand face to
+face. In a moment the butcher lights ten thousand candles out of my left
+eyebrow. In another moment, I don’t know where the wall is, or where
+I am, or where anybody is. I hardly know which is myself and which the
+butcher, we are always in such a tangle and tussle, knocking about upon
+the trodden grass. Sometimes I see the butcher, bloody but confident;
+sometimes I see nothing, and sit gasping on my second’s knee; sometimes
+I go in at the butcher madly, and cut my knuckles open against his face,
+without appearing to discompose him at all. At last I awake, very queer
+about the head, as from a giddy sleep, and see the butcher walking off,
+congratulated by the two other butchers and the sweep and publican, and
+putting on his coat as he goes; from which I augur, justly, that the
+victory is his.
+
+I am taken home in a sad plight, and I have beef-steaks put to my eyes,
+and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy, and find a great puffy place
+bursting out on my upper lip, which swells immoderately. For three or
+four days I remain at home, a very ill-looking subject, with a green
+shade over my eyes; and I should be very dull, but that Agnes is a
+sister to me, and condoles with me, and reads to me, and makes the time
+light and happy. Agnes has my confidence completely, always; I tell her
+all about the butcher, and the wrongs he has heaped upon me; she thinks
+I couldn’t have done otherwise than fight the butcher, while she shrinks
+and trembles at my having fought him.
+
+Time has stolen on unobserved, for Adams is not the head-boy in the days
+that are come now, nor has he been this many and many a day. Adams has
+left the school so long, that when he comes back, on a visit to Doctor
+Strong, there are not many there, besides myself, who know him. Adams is
+going to be called to the bar almost directly, and is to be an advocate,
+and to wear a wig. I am surprised to find him a meeker man than I had
+thought, and less imposing in appearance. He has not staggered the world
+yet, either; for it goes on (as well as I can make out) pretty much the
+same as if he had never joined it.
+
+A blank, through which the warriors of poetry and history march on in
+stately hosts that seem to have no end--and what comes next! I am
+the head-boy, now! I look down on the line of boys below me, with a
+condescending interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was
+myself, when I first came there. That little fellow seems to be no part
+of me; I remember him as something left behind upon the road of life--as
+something I have passed, rather than have actually been--and almost
+think of him as of someone else.
+
+And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield’s, where
+is she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture,
+a child likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweet
+sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend, the
+better angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good,
+self-denying influence--is quite a woman.
+
+What other changes have come upon me, besides the changes in my growth
+and looks, and in the knowledge I have garnered all this while? I wear
+a gold watch and chain, a ring upon my little finger, and a long-tailed
+coat; and I use a great deal of bear’s grease--which, taken in
+conjunction with the ring, looks bad. Am I in love again? I am. I
+worship the eldest Miss Larkins.
+
+The eldest Miss Larkins is not a little girl. She is a tall, dark,
+black-eyed, fine figure of a woman. The eldest Miss Larkins is not a
+chicken; for the youngest Miss Larkins is not that, and the eldest must
+be three or four years older. Perhaps the eldest Miss Larkins may be
+about thirty. My passion for her is beyond all bounds.
+
+The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful thing to bear. I
+see them speaking to her in the street. I see them cross the way to meet
+her, when her bonnet (she has a bright taste in bonnets) is seen coming
+down the pavement, accompanied by her sister’s bonnet. She laughs and
+talks, and seems to like it. I spend a good deal of my own spare time in
+walking up and down to meet her. If I can bow to her once in the day (I
+know her to bow to, knowing Mr. Larkins), I am happier. I deserve a bow
+now and then. The raging agonies I suffer on the night of the Race Ball,
+where I know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing with the military,
+ought to have some compensation, if there be even-handed justice in the
+world.
+
+My passion takes away my appetite, and makes me wear my newest silk
+neckerchief continually. I have no relief but in putting on my best
+clothes, and having my boots cleaned over and over again. I seem, then,
+to be worthier of the eldest Miss Larkins. Everything that belongs to
+her, or is connected with her, is precious to me. Mr. Larkins (a gruff
+old gentleman with a double chin, and one of his eyes immovable in his
+head) is fraught with interest to me. When I can’t meet his daughter,
+I go where I am likely to meet him. To say ‘How do you do, Mr. Larkins?
+Are the young ladies and all the family quite well?’ seems so pointed,
+that I blush.
+
+I think continually about my age. Say I am seventeen, and say that
+seventeen is young for the eldest Miss Larkins, what of that? Besides,
+I shall be one-and-twenty in no time almost. I regularly take walks
+outside Mr. Larkins’s house in the evening, though it cuts me to the
+heart to see the officers go in, or to hear them up in the drawing-room,
+where the eldest Miss Larkins plays the harp. I even walk, on two or
+three occasions, in a sickly, spoony manner, round and round the house
+after the family are gone to bed, wondering which is the eldest Miss
+Larkins’s chamber (and pitching, I dare say now, on Mr. Larkins’s
+instead); wishing that a fire would burst out; that the assembled crowd
+would stand appalled; that I, dashing through them with a ladder, might
+rear it against her window, save her in my arms, go back for something
+she had left behind, and perish in the flames. For I am generally
+disinterested in my love, and think I could be content to make a figure
+before Miss Larkins, and expire.
+
+Generally, but not always. Sometimes brighter visions rise before me.
+When I dress (the occupation of two hours), for a great ball given at
+the Larkins’s (the anticipation of three weeks), I indulge my fancy with
+pleasing images. I picture myself taking courage to make a declaration
+to Miss Larkins. I picture Miss Larkins sinking her head upon my
+shoulder, and saying, ‘Oh, Mr. Copperfield, can I believe my ears!’ I
+picture Mr. Larkins waiting on me next morning, and saying, ‘My dear
+Copperfield, my daughter has told me all. Youth is no objection. Here
+are twenty thousand pounds. Be happy!’ I picture my aunt relenting,
+and blessing us; and Mr. Dick and Doctor Strong being present at the
+marriage ceremony. I am a sensible fellow, I believe--I believe,
+on looking back, I mean--and modest I am sure; but all this goes on
+notwithstanding. I repair to the enchanted house, where there are
+lights, chattering, music, flowers, officers (I am sorry to see), and
+the eldest Miss Larkins, a blaze of beauty. She is dressed in blue, with
+blue flowers in her hair--forget-me-nots--as if SHE had any need to wear
+forget-me-nots. It is the first really grown-up party that I have ever
+been invited to, and I am a little uncomfortable; for I appear not to
+belong to anybody, and nobody appears to have anything to say to me,
+except Mr. Larkins, who asks me how my schoolfellows are, which he
+needn’t do, as I have not come there to be insulted.
+
+But after I have stood in the doorway for some time, and feasted my eyes
+upon the goddess of my heart, she approaches me--she, the eldest Miss
+Larkins!--and asks me pleasantly, if I dance?
+
+I stammer, with a bow, ‘With you, Miss Larkins.’
+
+‘With no one else?’ inquires Miss Larkins.
+
+‘I should have no pleasure in dancing with anyone else.’
+
+Miss Larkins laughs and blushes (or I think she blushes), and says,
+‘Next time but one, I shall be very glad.’
+
+The time arrives. ‘It is a waltz, I think,’ Miss Larkins doubtfully
+observes, when I present myself. ‘Do you waltz? If not, Captain
+Bailey--’
+
+But I do waltz (pretty well, too, as it happens), and I take Miss
+Larkins out. I take her sternly from the side of Captain Bailey. He
+is wretched, I have no doubt; but he is nothing to me. I have been
+wretched, too. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins! I don’t know where,
+among whom, or how long. I only know that I swim about in space, with a
+blue angel, in a state of blissful delirium, until I find myself alone
+with her in a little room, resting on a sofa. She admires a flower (pink
+camellia japonica, price half-a-crown), in my button-hole. I give it
+her, and say:
+
+‘I ask an inestimable price for it, Miss Larkins.’
+
+‘Indeed! What is that?’ returns Miss Larkins.
+
+‘A flower of yours, that I may treasure it as a miser does gold.’
+
+‘You’re a bold boy,’ says Miss Larkins. ‘There.’
+
+She gives it me, not displeased; and I put it to my lips, and then into
+my breast. Miss Larkins, laughing, draws her hand through my arm, and
+says, ‘Now take me back to Captain Bailey.’
+
+I am lost in the recollection of this delicious interview, and the
+waltz, when she comes to me again, with a plain elderly gentleman who
+has been playing whist all night, upon her arm, and says:
+
+‘Oh! here is my bold friend! Mr. Chestle wants to know you, Mr.
+Copperfield.’
+
+I feel at once that he is a friend of the family, and am much gratified.
+
+‘I admire your taste, sir,’ says Mr. Chestle. ‘It does you credit. I
+suppose you don’t take much interest in hops; but I am a pretty
+large grower myself; and if you ever like to come over to our
+neighbourhood--neighbourhood of Ashford--and take a run about our
+place,--we shall be glad for you to stop as long as you like.’
+
+I thank Mr. Chestle warmly, and shake hands. I think I am in a happy
+dream. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins once again. She says I
+waltz so well! I go home in a state of unspeakable bliss, and waltz in
+imagination, all night long, with my arm round the blue waist of my dear
+divinity. For some days afterwards, I am lost in rapturous reflections;
+but I neither see her in the street, nor when I call. I am imperfectly
+consoled for this disappointment by the sacred pledge, the perished
+flower.
+
+‘Trotwood,’ says Agnes, one day after dinner. ‘Who do you think is going
+to be married tomorrow? Someone you admire.’
+
+‘Not you, I suppose, Agnes?’
+
+‘Not me!’ raising her cheerful face from the music she is copying. ‘Do
+you hear him, Papa?--The eldest Miss Larkins.’
+
+‘To--to Captain Bailey?’ I have just enough power to ask.
+
+‘No; to no Captain. To Mr. Chestle, a hop-grower.’
+
+I am terribly dejected for about a week or two. I take off my ring, I
+wear my worst clothes, I use no bear’s grease, and I frequently lament
+over the late Miss Larkins’s faded flower. Being, by that time, rather
+tired of this kind of life, and having received new provocation from
+the butcher, I throw the flower away, go out with the butcher, and
+gloriously defeat him.
+
+This, and the resumption of my ring, as well as of the bear’s grease
+in moderation, are the last marks I can discern, now, in my progress to
+seventeen.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 19. I LOOK ABOUT ME, AND MAKE A DISCOVERY
+
+
+I am doubtful whether I was at heart glad or sorry, when my school-days
+drew to an end, and the time came for my leaving Doctor Strong’s. I had
+been very happy there, I had a great attachment for the Doctor, and I
+was eminent and distinguished in that little world. For these reasons
+I was sorry to go; but for other reasons, unsubstantial enough, I
+was glad. Misty ideas of being a young man at my own disposal, of
+the importance attaching to a young man at his own disposal, of the
+wonderful things to be seen and done by that magnificent animal, and the
+wonderful effects he could not fail to make upon society, lured me away.
+So powerful were these visionary considerations in my boyish mind, that
+I seem, according to my present way of thinking, to have left school
+without natural regret. The separation has not made the impression on
+me, that other separations have. I try in vain to recall how I felt
+about it, and what its circumstances were; but it is not momentous in my
+recollection. I suppose the opening prospect confused me. I know that my
+juvenile experiences went for little or nothing then; and that life was
+more like a great fairy story, which I was just about to begin to read,
+than anything else.
+
+My aunt and I had held many grave deliberations on the calling to which
+I should be devoted. For a year or more I had endeavoured to find a
+satisfactory answer to her often-repeated question, ‘What I would like
+to be?’ But I had no particular liking, that I could discover, for
+anything. If I could have been inspired with a knowledge of the science
+of navigation, taken the command of a fast-sailing expedition, and gone
+round the world on a triumphant voyage of discovery, I think I might
+have considered myself completely suited. But, in the absence of any
+such miraculous provision, my desire was to apply myself to some pursuit
+that would not lie too heavily upon her purse; and to do my duty in it,
+whatever it might be.
+
+Mr. Dick had regularly assisted at our councils, with a meditative
+and sage demeanour. He never made a suggestion but once; and on that
+occasion (I don’t know what put it in his head), he suddenly proposed
+that I should be ‘a Brazier’. My aunt received this proposal so very
+ungraciously, that he never ventured on a second; but ever afterwards
+confined himself to looking watchfully at her for her suggestions, and
+rattling his money.
+
+‘Trot, I tell you what, my dear,’ said my aunt, one morning in the
+Christmas season when I left school: ‘as this knotty point is still
+unsettled, and as we must not make a mistake in our decision if we can
+help it, I think we had better take a little breathing-time. In the
+meanwhile, you must try to look at it from a new point of view, and not
+as a schoolboy.’
+
+‘I will, aunt.’
+
+‘It has occurred to me,’ pursued my aunt, ‘that a little change, and a
+glimpse of life out of doors, may be useful in helping you to know your
+own mind, and form a cooler judgement. Suppose you were to go down into
+the old part of the country again, for instance, and see that--that
+out-of-the-way woman with the savagest of names,’ said my aunt, rubbing
+her nose, for she could never thoroughly forgive Peggotty for being so
+called.
+
+‘Of all things in the world, aunt, I should like it best!’
+
+‘Well,’ said my aunt, ‘that’s lucky, for I should like it too. But
+it’s natural and rational that you should like it. And I am very
+well persuaded that whatever you do, Trot, will always be natural and
+rational.’
+
+‘I hope so, aunt.’
+
+‘Your sister, Betsey Trotwood,’ said my aunt, ‘would have been as
+natural and rational a girl as ever breathed. You’ll be worthy of her,
+won’t you?’
+
+‘I hope I shall be worthy of YOU, aunt. That will be enough for me.’
+
+‘It’s a mercy that poor dear baby of a mother of yours didn’t live,’
+said my aunt, looking at me approvingly, ‘or she’d have been so vain
+of her boy by this time, that her soft little head would have been
+completely turned, if there was anything of it left to turn.’ (My aunt
+always excused any weakness of her own in my behalf, by transferring it
+in this way to my poor mother.) ‘Bless me, Trotwood, how you do remind
+me of her!’
+
+‘Pleasantly, I hope, aunt?’ said I.
+
+‘He’s as like her, Dick,’ said my aunt, emphatically, ‘he’s as like her,
+as she was that afternoon before she began to fret--bless my heart, he’s
+as like her, as he can look at me out of his two eyes!’
+
+‘Is he indeed?’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+‘And he’s like David, too,’ said my aunt, decisively.
+
+‘He is very like David!’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+‘But what I want you to be, Trot,’ resumed my aunt, ‘--I don’t mean
+physically, but morally; you are very well physically--is, a firm
+fellow. A fine firm fellow, with a will of your own. With resolution,’
+said my aunt, shaking her cap at me, and clenching her hand. ‘With
+determination. With character, Trot--with strength of character that is
+not to be influenced, except on good reason, by anybody, or by anything.
+That’s what I want you to be. That’s what your father and mother might
+both have been, Heaven knows, and been the better for it.’
+
+I intimated that I hoped I should be what she described.
+
+‘That you may begin, in a small way, to have a reliance upon yourself,
+and to act for yourself,’ said my aunt, ‘I shall send you upon your
+trip, alone. I did think, once, of Mr. Dick’s going with you; but, on
+second thoughts, I shall keep him to take care of me.’
+
+Mr. Dick, for a moment, looked a little disappointed; until the honour
+and dignity of having to take care of the most wonderful woman in the
+world, restored the sunshine to his face.
+
+‘Besides,’ said my aunt, ‘there’s the Memorial--’
+
+‘Oh, certainly,’ said Mr. Dick, in a hurry, ‘I intend, Trotwood, to get
+that done immediately--it really must be done immediately! And then it
+will go in, you know--and then--’ said Mr. Dick, after checking himself,
+and pausing a long time, ‘there’ll be a pretty kettle of fish!’
+
+In pursuance of my aunt’s kind scheme, I was shortly afterwards fitted
+out with a handsome purse of money, and a portmanteau, and tenderly
+dismissed upon my expedition. At parting, my aunt gave me some good
+advice, and a good many kisses; and said that as her object was that I
+should look about me, and should think a little, she would recommend me
+to stay a few days in London, if I liked it, either on my way down into
+Suffolk, or in coming back. In a word, I was at liberty to do what I
+would, for three weeks or a month; and no other conditions were imposed
+upon my freedom than the before-mentioned thinking and looking about me,
+and a pledge to write three times a week and faithfully report myself.
+
+I went to Canterbury first, that I might take leave of Agnes and Mr.
+Wickfield (my old room in whose house I had not yet relinquished), and
+also of the good Doctor. Agnes was very glad to see me, and told me that
+the house had not been like itself since I had left it.
+
+‘I am sure I am not like myself when I am away,’ said I. ‘I seem to
+want my right hand, when I miss you. Though that’s not saying much; for
+there’s no head in my right hand, and no heart. Everyone who knows you,
+consults with you, and is guided by you, Agnes.’
+
+‘Everyone who knows me, spoils me, I believe,’ she answered, smiling.
+
+‘No. It’s because you are like no one else. You are so good, and so
+sweet-tempered. You have such a gentle nature, and you are always
+right.’
+
+‘You talk,’ said Agnes, breaking into a pleasant laugh, as she sat at
+work, ‘as if I were the late Miss Larkins.’
+
+‘Come! It’s not fair to abuse my confidence,’ I answered, reddening at
+the recollection of my blue enslaver. ‘But I shall confide in you, just
+the same, Agnes. I can never grow out of that. Whenever I fall into
+trouble, or fall in love, I shall always tell you, if you’ll let
+me--even when I come to fall in love in earnest.’
+
+‘Why, you have always been in earnest!’ said Agnes, laughing again.
+
+‘Oh! that was as a child, or a schoolboy,’ said I, laughing in my turn,
+not without being a little shame-faced. ‘Times are altering now, and I
+suppose I shall be in a terrible state of earnestness one day or other.
+My wonder is, that you are not in earnest yourself, by this time,
+Agnes.’
+
+Agnes laughed again, and shook her head.
+
+‘Oh, I know you are not!’ said I, ‘because if you had been you would
+have told me. Or at least’--for I saw a faint blush in her face, ‘you
+would have let me find it out for myself. But there is no one that I
+know of, who deserves to love you, Agnes. Someone of a nobler character,
+and more worthy altogether than anyone I have ever seen here, must rise
+up, before I give my consent. In the time to come, I shall have a wary
+eye on all admirers; and shall exact a great deal from the successful
+one, I assure you.’
+
+We had gone on, so far, in a mixture of confidential jest and earnest,
+that had long grown naturally out of our familiar relations, begun as
+mere children. But Agnes, now suddenly lifting up her eyes to mine, and
+speaking in a different manner, said:
+
+‘Trotwood, there is something that I want to ask you, and that I may not
+have another opportunity of asking for a long time, perhaps--something
+I would ask, I think, of no one else. Have you observed any gradual
+alteration in Papa?’
+
+I had observed it, and had often wondered whether she had too. I must
+have shown as much, now, in my face; for her eyes were in a moment cast
+down, and I saw tears in them.
+
+‘Tell me what it is,’ she said, in a low voice.
+
+‘I think--shall I be quite plain, Agnes, liking him so much?’
+
+‘Yes,’ she said.
+
+‘I think he does himself no good by the habit that has increased upon
+him since I first came here. He is often very nervous--or I fancy so.’
+
+‘It is not fancy,’ said Agnes, shaking her head.
+
+‘His hand trembles, his speech is not plain, and his eyes look wild. I
+have remarked that at those times, and when he is least like himself, he
+is most certain to be wanted on some business.’
+
+‘By Uriah,’ said Agnes.
+
+‘Yes; and the sense of being unfit for it, or of not having understood
+it, or of having shown his condition in spite of himself, seems to make
+him so uneasy, that next day he is worse, and next day worse, and so he
+becomes jaded and haggard. Do not be alarmed by what I say, Agnes, but
+in this state I saw him, only the other evening, lay down his head upon
+his desk, and shed tears like a child.’
+
+Her hand passed softly before my lips while I was yet speaking, and in
+a moment she had met her father at the door of the room, and was hanging
+on his shoulder. The expression of her face, as they both looked towards
+me, I felt to be very touching. There was such deep fondness for him,
+and gratitude to him for all his love and care, in her beautiful look;
+and there was such a fervent appeal to me to deal tenderly by him, even
+in my inmost thoughts, and to let no harsh construction find any place
+against him; she was, at once, so proud of him and devoted to him, yet
+so compassionate and sorry, and so reliant upon me to be so, too; that
+nothing she could have said would have expressed more to me, or moved me
+more.
+
+We were to drink tea at the Doctor’s. We went there at the usual hour;
+and round the study fireside found the Doctor, and his young wife, and
+her mother. The Doctor, who made as much of my going away as if I were
+going to China, received me as an honoured guest; and called for a log
+of wood to be thrown on the fire, that he might see the face of his old
+pupil reddening in the blaze.
+
+‘I shall not see many more new faces in Trotwood’s stead, Wickfield,’
+said the Doctor, warming his hands; ‘I am getting lazy, and want ease.
+I shall relinquish all my young people in another six months, and lead a
+quieter life.’
+
+‘You have said so, any time these ten years, Doctor,’ Mr. Wickfield
+answered.
+
+‘But now I mean to do it,’ returned the Doctor. ‘My first master will
+succeed me--I am in earnest at last--so you’ll soon have to arrange our
+contracts, and to bind us firmly to them, like a couple of knaves.’
+
+‘And to take care,’ said Mr. Wickfield, ‘that you’re not imposed on, eh?
+As you certainly would be, in any contract you should make for yourself.
+Well! I am ready. There are worse tasks than that, in my calling.’
+
+‘I shall have nothing to think of then,’ said the Doctor, with a smile,
+‘but my Dictionary; and this other contract-bargain--Annie.’
+
+As Mr. Wickfield glanced towards her, sitting at the tea table by Agnes,
+she seemed to me to avoid his look with such unwonted hesitation and
+timidity, that his attention became fixed upon her, as if something were
+suggested to his thoughts.
+
+‘There is a post come in from India, I observe,’ he said, after a short
+silence.
+
+‘By the by! and letters from Mr. Jack Maldon!’ said the Doctor.
+
+‘Indeed!’ ‘Poor dear Jack!’ said Mrs. Markleham, shaking her head. ‘That
+trying climate!--like living, they tell me, on a sand-heap, underneath
+a burning-glass! He looked strong, but he wasn’t. My dear Doctor, it was
+his spirit, not his constitution, that he ventured on so boldly. Annie,
+my dear, I am sure you must perfectly recollect that your cousin
+never was strong--not what can be called ROBUST, you know,’ said Mrs.
+Markleham, with emphasis, and looking round upon us generally, ‘--from
+the time when my daughter and himself were children together, and
+walking about, arm-in-arm, the livelong day.’
+
+Annie, thus addressed, made no reply.
+
+‘Do I gather from what you say, ma’am, that Mr. Maldon is ill?’ asked
+Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘Ill!’ replied the Old Soldier. ‘My dear sir, he’s all sorts of things.’
+
+‘Except well?’ said Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘Except well, indeed!’ said the Old Soldier. ‘He has had dreadful
+strokes of the sun, no doubt, and jungle fevers and agues, and every
+kind of thing you can mention. As to his liver,’ said the Old Soldier
+resignedly, ‘that, of course, he gave up altogether, when he first went
+out!’
+
+‘Does he say all this?’ asked Mr. Wickfield.
+
+‘Say? My dear sir,’ returned Mrs. Markleham, shaking her head and her
+fan, ‘you little know my poor Jack Maldon when you ask that question.
+Say? Not he. You might drag him at the heels of four wild horses first.’
+
+‘Mama!’ said Mrs. Strong.
+
+‘Annie, my dear,’ returned her mother, ‘once for all, I must really beg
+that you will not interfere with me, unless it is to confirm what I say.
+You know as well as I do that your cousin Maldon would be dragged at the
+heels of any number of wild horses--why should I confine myself to four!
+I WON’T confine myself to four--eight, sixteen, two-and-thirty, rather
+than say anything calculated to overturn the Doctor’s plans.’
+
+‘Wickfield’s plans,’ said the Doctor, stroking his face, and looking
+penitently at his adviser. ‘That is to say, our joint plans for him. I
+said myself, abroad or at home.’
+
+‘And I said’ added Mr. Wickfield gravely, ‘abroad. I was the means of
+sending him abroad. It’s my responsibility.’
+
+‘Oh! Responsibility!’ said the Old Soldier. ‘Everything was done for
+the best, my dear Mr. Wickfield; everything was done for the kindest and
+best, we know. But if the dear fellow can’t live there, he can’t live
+there. And if he can’t live there, he’ll die there, sooner than he’ll
+overturn the Doctor’s plans. I know him,’ said the Old Soldier, fanning
+herself, in a sort of calm prophetic agony, ‘and I know he’ll die there,
+sooner than he’ll overturn the Doctor’s plans.’
+
+‘Well, well, ma’am,’ said the Doctor cheerfully, ‘I am not bigoted to
+my plans, and I can overturn them myself. I can substitute some other
+plans. If Mr. Jack Maldon comes home on account of ill health, he must
+not be allowed to go back, and we must endeavour to make some more
+suitable and fortunate provision for him in this country.’
+
+Mrs. Markleham was so overcome by this generous speech--which, I need
+not say, she had not at all expected or led up to--that she could only
+tell the Doctor it was like himself, and go several times through that
+operation of kissing the sticks of her fan, and then tapping his hand
+with it. After which she gently chid her daughter Annie, for not being
+more demonstrative when such kindnesses were showered, for her sake, on
+her old playfellow; and entertained us with some particulars concerning
+other deserving members of her family, whom it was desirable to set on
+their deserving legs.
+
+All this time, her daughter Annie never once spoke, or lifted up her
+eyes. All this time, Mr. Wickfield had his glance upon her as she sat
+by his own daughter’s side. It appeared to me that he never thought of
+being observed by anyone; but was so intent upon her, and upon his own
+thoughts in connexion with her, as to be quite absorbed. He now asked
+what Mr. Jack Maldon had actually written in reference to himself, and
+to whom he had written?
+
+‘Why, here,’ said Mrs. Markleham, taking a letter from the chimney-piece
+above the Doctor’s head, ‘the dear fellow says to the Doctor
+himself--where is it? Oh!--“I am sorry to inform you that my health is
+suffering severely, and that I fear I may be reduced to the necessity
+of returning home for a time, as the only hope of restoration.” That’s
+pretty plain, poor fellow! His only hope of restoration! But Annie’s
+letter is plainer still. Annie, show me that letter again.’
+
+‘Not now, mama,’ she pleaded in a low tone.
+
+‘My dear, you absolutely are, on some subjects, one of the most
+ridiculous persons in the world,’ returned her mother, ‘and perhaps the
+most unnatural to the claims of your own family. We never should have
+heard of the letter at all, I believe, unless I had asked for it myself.
+Do you call that confidence, my love, towards Doctor Strong? I am
+surprised. You ought to know better.’
+
+The letter was reluctantly produced; and as I handed it to the old lady,
+I saw how the unwilling hand from which I took it, trembled.
+
+‘Now let us see,’ said Mrs. Markleham, putting her glass to her eye,
+‘where the passage is. “The remembrance of old times, my dearest
+Annie”--and so forth--it’s not there. “The amiable old Proctor”--who’s
+he? Dear me, Annie, how illegibly your cousin Maldon writes, and how
+stupid I am! “Doctor,” of course. Ah! amiable indeed!’ Here she left
+off, to kiss her fan again, and shake it at the Doctor, who was looking
+at us in a state of placid satisfaction. ‘Now I have found it. “You may
+not be surprised to hear, Annie,”--no, to be sure, knowing that he never
+was really strong; what did I say just now?--“that I have undergone
+so much in this distant place, as to have decided to leave it at all
+hazards; on sick leave, if I can; on total resignation, if that is
+not to be obtained. What I have endured, and do endure here, is
+insupportable.” And but for the promptitude of that best of creatures,’
+said Mrs. Markleham, telegraphing the Doctor as before, and refolding
+the letter, ‘it would be insupportable to me to think of.’
+
+Mr. Wickfield said not one word, though the old lady looked to him as if
+for his commentary on this intelligence; but sat severely silent, with
+his eyes fixed on the ground. Long after the subject was dismissed,
+and other topics occupied us, he remained so; seldom raising his eyes,
+unless to rest them for a moment, with a thoughtful frown, upon the
+Doctor, or his wife, or both.
+
+The Doctor was very fond of music. Agnes sang with great sweetness and
+expression, and so did Mrs. Strong. They sang together, and played duets
+together, and we had quite a little concert. But I remarked two things:
+first, that though Annie soon recovered her composure, and was quite
+herself, there was a blank between her and Mr. Wickfield which separated
+them wholly from each other; secondly, that Mr. Wickfield seemed
+to dislike the intimacy between her and Agnes, and to watch it with
+uneasiness. And now, I must confess, the recollection of what I had seen
+on that night when Mr. Maldon went away, first began to return upon me
+with a meaning it had never had, and to trouble me. The innocent beauty
+of her face was not as innocent to me as it had been; I mistrusted the
+natural grace and charm of her manner; and when I looked at Agnes by her
+side, and thought how good and true Agnes was, suspicions arose within
+me that it was an ill-assorted friendship.
+
+She was so happy in it herself, however, and the other was so happy too,
+that they made the evening fly away as if it were but an hour. It closed
+in an incident which I well remember. They were taking leave of each
+other, and Agnes was going to embrace her and kiss her, when Mr.
+Wickfield stepped between them, as if by accident, and drew Agnes
+quickly away. Then I saw, as though all the intervening time had been
+cancelled, and I were still standing in the doorway on the night of the
+departure, the expression of that night in the face of Mrs. Strong, as
+it confronted his.
+
+I cannot say what an impression this made upon me, or how impossible I
+found it, when I thought of her afterwards, to separate her from this
+look, and remember her face in its innocent loveliness again. It haunted
+me when I got home. I seemed to have left the Doctor’s roof with a dark
+cloud lowering on it. The reverence that I had for his grey head, was
+mingled with commiseration for his faith in those who were treacherous
+to him, and with resentment against those who injured him. The impending
+shadow of a great affliction, and a great disgrace that had no distinct
+form in it yet, fell like a stain upon the quiet place where I had
+worked and played as a boy, and did it a cruel wrong. I had no pleasure
+in thinking, any more, of the grave old broad-leaved aloe-trees, which
+remained shut up in themselves a hundred years together, and of the trim
+smooth grass-plot, and the stone urns, and the Doctor’s walk, and the
+congenial sound of the Cathedral bell hovering above them all. It was as
+if the tranquil sanctuary of my boyhood had been sacked before my face,
+and its peace and honour given to the winds.
+
+But morning brought with it my parting from the old house, which Agnes
+had filled with her influence; and that occupied my mind sufficiently.
+I should be there again soon, no doubt; I might sleep again--perhaps
+often--in my old room; but the days of my inhabiting there were gone,
+and the old time was past. I was heavier at heart when I packed up such
+of my books and clothes as still remained there to be sent to Dover,
+than I cared to show to Uriah Heep; who was so officious to help me,
+that I uncharitably thought him mighty glad that I was going.
+
+I got away from Agnes and her father, somehow, with an indifferent show
+of being very manly, and took my seat upon the box of the London coach.
+I was so softened and forgiving, going through the town, that I had half
+a mind to nod to my old enemy the butcher, and throw him five shillings
+to drink. But he looked such a very obdurate butcher as he stood
+scraping the great block in the shop, and moreover, his appearance was
+so little improved by the loss of a front tooth which I had knocked out,
+that I thought it best to make no advances.
+
+The main object on my mind, I remember, when we got fairly on the road,
+was to appear as old as possible to the coachman, and to speak extremely
+gruff. The latter point I achieved at great personal inconvenience; but
+I stuck to it, because I felt it was a grown-up sort of thing.
+
+‘You are going through, sir?’ said the coachman.
+
+‘Yes, William,’ I said, condescendingly (I knew him); ‘I am going to
+London. I shall go down into Suffolk afterwards.’
+
+‘Shooting, sir?’ said the coachman.
+
+He knew as well as I did that it was just as likely, at that time of
+year, I was going down there whaling; but I felt complimented, too.
+
+‘I don’t know,’ I said, pretending to be undecided, ‘whether I shall
+take a shot or not.’ ‘Birds is got wery shy, I’m told,’ said William.
+
+‘So I understand,’ said I.
+
+‘Is Suffolk your county, sir?’ asked William.
+
+‘Yes,’ I said, with some importance. ‘Suffolk’s my county.’
+
+‘I’m told the dumplings is uncommon fine down there,’ said William.
+
+I was not aware of it myself, but I felt it necessary to uphold the
+institutions of my county, and to evince a familiarity with them; so I
+shook my head, as much as to say, ‘I believe you!’
+
+‘And the Punches,’ said William. ‘There’s cattle! A Suffolk Punch, when
+he’s a good un, is worth his weight in gold. Did you ever breed any
+Suffolk Punches yourself, sir?’
+
+‘N-no,’ I said, ‘not exactly.’
+
+‘Here’s a gen’lm’n behind me, I’ll pound it,’ said William, ‘as has bred
+‘em by wholesale.’
+
+The gentleman spoken of was a gentleman with a very unpromising squint,
+and a prominent chin, who had a tall white hat on with a narrow flat
+brim, and whose close-fitting drab trousers seemed to button all the way
+up outside his legs from his boots to his hips. His chin was cocked over
+the coachman’s shoulder, so near to me, that his breath quite tickled
+the back of my head; and as I looked at him, he leered at the leaders
+with the eye with which he didn’t squint, in a very knowing manner.
+
+‘Ain’t you?’ asked William.
+
+‘Ain’t I what?’ said the gentleman behind.
+
+‘Bred them Suffolk Punches by wholesale?’
+
+‘I should think so,’ said the gentleman. ‘There ain’t no sort of orse
+that I ain’t bred, and no sort of dorg. Orses and dorgs is some
+men’s fancy. They’re wittles and drink to me--lodging, wife, and
+children--reading, writing, and Arithmetic--snuff, tobacker, and sleep.’
+
+‘That ain’t a sort of man to see sitting behind a coach-box, is it
+though?’ said William in my ear, as he handled the reins.
+
+I construed this remark into an indication of a wish that he should have
+my place, so I blushingly offered to resign it.
+
+‘Well, if you don’t mind, sir,’ said William, ‘I think it would be more
+correct.’
+
+I have always considered this as the first fall I had in life. When I
+booked my place at the coach office I had had ‘Box Seat’ written against
+the entry, and had given the book-keeper half-a-crown. I was got up in
+a special great-coat and shawl, expressly to do honour to that
+distinguished eminence; had glorified myself upon it a good deal; and
+had felt that I was a credit to the coach. And here, in the very first
+stage, I was supplanted by a shabby man with a squint, who had no other
+merit than smelling like a livery-stables, and being able to walk across
+me, more like a fly than a human being, while the horses were at a
+canter!
+
+A distrust of myself, which has often beset me in life on small
+occasions, when it would have been better away, was assuredly not
+stopped in its growth by this little incident outside the Canterbury
+coach. It was in vain to take refuge in gruffness of speech. I spoke
+from the pit of my stomach for the rest of the journey, but I felt
+completely extinguished, and dreadfully young.
+
+It was curious and interesting, nevertheless, to be sitting up there
+behind four horses: well educated, well dressed, and with plenty of
+money in my pocket; and to look out for the places where I had slept on
+my weary journey. I had abundant occupation for my thoughts, in every
+conspicuous landmark on the road. When I looked down at the trampers
+whom we passed, and saw that well-remembered style of face turned up,
+I felt as if the tinker’s blackened hand were in the bosom of my shirt
+again. When we clattered through the narrow street of Chatham, and I
+caught a glimpse, in passing, of the lane where the old monster lived
+who had bought my jacket, I stretched my neck eagerly to look for the
+place where I had sat, in the sun and in the shade, waiting for my
+money. When we came, at last, within a stage of London, and passed the
+veritable Salem House where Mr. Creakle had laid about him with a heavy
+hand, I would have given all I had, for lawful permission to get down
+and thrash him, and let all the boys out like so many caged sparrows.
+
+We went to the Golden Cross at Charing Cross, then a mouldy sort of
+establishment in a close neighbourhood. A waiter showed me into the
+coffee-room; and a chambermaid introduced me to my small bedchamber,
+which smelt like a hackney-coach, and was shut up like a family vault.
+I was still painfully conscious of my youth, for nobody stood in any awe
+of me at all: the chambermaid being utterly indifferent to my opinions
+on any subject, and the waiter being familiar with me, and offering
+advice to my inexperience.
+
+‘Well now,’ said the waiter, in a tone of confidence, ‘what would you
+like for dinner? Young gentlemen likes poultry in general: have a fowl!’
+
+I told him, as majestically as I could, that I wasn’t in the humour for
+a fowl.
+
+‘Ain’t you?’ said the waiter. ‘Young gentlemen is generally tired of
+beef and mutton: have a weal cutlet!’
+
+I assented to this proposal, in default of being able to suggest
+anything else.
+
+‘Do you care for taters?’ said the waiter, with an insinuating smile,
+and his head on one side. ‘Young gentlemen generally has been overdosed
+with taters.’
+
+I commanded him, in my deepest voice, to order a veal cutlet and
+potatoes, and all things fitting; and to inquire at the bar if there
+were any letters for Trotwood Copperfield, Esquire--which I knew there
+were not, and couldn’t be, but thought it manly to appear to expect.
+
+He soon came back to say that there were none (at which I was much
+surprised) and began to lay the cloth for my dinner in a box by the
+fire. While he was so engaged, he asked me what I would take with it;
+and on my replying ‘Half a pint of sherry,’ thought it a favourable
+opportunity, I am afraid, to extract that measure of wine from the
+stale leavings at the bottoms of several small decanters. I am of this
+opinion, because, while I was reading the newspaper, I observed him
+behind a low wooden partition, which was his private apartment, very
+busy pouring out of a number of those vessels into one, like a chemist
+and druggist making up a prescription. When the wine came, too, I
+thought it flat; and it certainly had more English crumbs in it, than
+were to be expected in a foreign wine in anything like a pure state, but
+I was bashful enough to drink it, and say nothing.
+
+Being then in a pleasant frame of mind (from which I infer that
+poisoning is not always disagreeable in some stages of the process), I
+resolved to go to the play. It was Covent Garden Theatre that I chose;
+and there, from the back of a centre box, I saw Julius Caesar and the
+new Pantomime. To have all those noble Romans alive before me, and
+walking in and out for my entertainment, instead of being the stern
+taskmasters they had been at school, was a most novel and delightful
+effect. But the mingled reality and mystery of the whole show, the
+influence upon me of the poetry, the lights, the music, the company, the
+smooth stupendous changes of glittering and brilliant scenery, were so
+dazzling, and opened up such illimitable regions of delight, that when I
+came out into the rainy street, at twelve o’clock at night, I felt as if
+I had come from the clouds, where I had been leading a romantic life
+for ages, to a bawling, splashing, link-lighted, umbrella-struggling,
+hackney-coach-jostling, patten-clinking, muddy, miserable world.
+
+I had emerged by another door, and stood in the street for a little
+while, as if I really were a stranger upon earth: but the unceremonious
+pushing and hustling that I received, soon recalled me to myself, and
+put me in the road back to the hotel; whither I went, revolving the
+glorious vision all the way; and where, after some porter and oysters,
+I sat revolving it still, at past one o’clock, with my eyes on the
+coffee-room fire.
+
+I was so filled with the play, and with the past--for it was, in a
+manner, like a shining transparency, through which I saw my earlier
+life moving along--that I don’t know when the figure of a handsome
+well-formed young man dressed with a tasteful easy negligence which I
+have reason to remember very well, became a real presence to me. But
+I recollect being conscious of his company without having noticed his
+coming in--and my still sitting, musing, over the coffee-room fire.
+
+At last I rose to go to bed, much to the relief of the sleepy waiter,
+who had got the fidgets in his legs, and was twisting them, and hitting
+them, and putting them through all kinds of contortions in his small
+pantry. In going towards the door, I passed the person who had come in,
+and saw him plainly. I turned directly, came back, and looked again. He
+did not know me, but I knew him in a moment.
+
+At another time I might have wanted the confidence or the decision to
+speak to him, and might have put it off until next day, and might have
+lost him. But, in the then condition of my mind, where the play was
+still running high, his former protection of me appeared so deserving
+of my gratitude, and my old love for him overflowed my breast so freshly
+and spontaneously, that I went up to him at once, with a fast-beating
+heart, and said:
+
+‘Steerforth! won’t you speak to me?’
+
+He looked at me--just as he used to look, sometimes--but I saw no
+recognition in his face.
+
+‘You don’t remember me, I am afraid,’ said I.
+
+‘My God!’ he suddenly exclaimed. ‘It’s little Copperfield!’
+
+I grasped him by both hands, and could not let them go. But for very
+shame, and the fear that it might displease him, I could have held him
+round the neck and cried.
+
+‘I never, never, never was so glad! My dear Steerforth, I am so
+overjoyed to see you!’
+
+‘And I am rejoiced to see you, too!’ he said, shaking my hands heartily.
+‘Why, Copperfield, old boy, don’t be overpowered!’ And yet he was glad,
+too, I thought, to see how the delight I had in meeting him affected me.
+
+I brushed away the tears that my utmost resolution had not been able to
+keep back, and I made a clumsy laugh of it, and we sat down together,
+side by side.
+
+‘Why, how do you come to be here?’ said Steerforth, clapping me on the
+shoulder.
+
+‘I came here by the Canterbury coach, today. I have been adopted by
+an aunt down in that part of the country, and have just finished my
+education there. How do YOU come to be here, Steerforth?’
+
+‘Well, I am what they call an Oxford man,’ he returned; ‘that is to say,
+I get bored to death down there, periodically--and I am on my way now to
+my mother’s. You’re a devilish amiable-looking fellow, Copperfield. Just
+what you used to be, now I look at you! Not altered in the least!’
+
+‘I knew you immediately,’ I said; ‘but you are more easily remembered.’
+
+He laughed as he ran his hand through the clustering curls of his hair,
+and said gaily:
+
+‘Yes, I am on an expedition of duty. My mother lives a little way out of
+town; and the roads being in a beastly condition, and our house tedious
+enough, I remained here tonight instead of going on. I have not been in
+town half-a-dozen hours, and those I have been dozing and grumbling away
+at the play.’
+
+‘I have been at the play, too,’ said I. ‘At Covent Garden. What a
+delightful and magnificent entertainment, Steerforth!’
+
+Steerforth laughed heartily.
+
+‘My dear young Davy,’ he said, clapping me on the shoulder again, ‘you
+are a very Daisy. The daisy of the field, at sunrise, is not fresher
+than you are. I have been at Covent Garden, too, and there never was a
+more miserable business. Holloa, you sir!’
+
+This was addressed to the waiter, who had been very attentive to our
+recognition, at a distance, and now came forward deferentially.
+
+‘Where have you put my friend, Mr. Copperfield?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Beg your pardon, sir?’
+
+‘Where does he sleep? What’s his number? You know what I mean,’ said
+Steerforth.
+
+‘Well, sir,’ said the waiter, with an apologetic air. ‘Mr. Copperfield
+is at present in forty-four, sir.’
+
+‘And what the devil do you mean,’ retorted Steerforth, ‘by putting Mr.
+Copperfield into a little loft over a stable?’
+
+‘Why, you see we wasn’t aware, sir,’ returned the waiter, still
+apologetically, ‘as Mr. Copperfield was anyways particular. We can give
+Mr. Copperfield seventy-two, sir, if it would be preferred. Next you,
+sir.’
+
+‘Of course it would be preferred,’ said Steerforth. ‘And do it at once.’
+The waiter immediately withdrew to make the exchange. Steerforth, very
+much amused at my having been put into forty-four, laughed again, and
+clapped me on the shoulder again, and invited me to breakfast with him
+next morning at ten o’clock--an invitation I was only too proud and
+happy to accept. It being now pretty late, we took our candles and went
+upstairs, where we parted with friendly heartiness at his door, and
+where I found my new room a great improvement on my old one, it not
+being at all musty, and having an immense four-post bedstead in it,
+which was quite a little landed estate. Here, among pillows enough for
+six, I soon fell asleep in a blissful condition, and dreamed of ancient
+Rome, Steerforth, and friendship, until the early morning coaches,
+rumbling out of the archway underneath, made me dream of thunder and the
+gods.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 20. STEERFORTH’S HOME
+
+
+When the chambermaid tapped at my door at eight o’clock, and informed
+me that my shaving-water was outside, I felt severely the having no
+occasion for it, and blushed in my bed. The suspicion that she laughed
+too, when she said it, preyed upon my mind all the time I was dressing;
+and gave me, I was conscious, a sneaking and guilty air when I passed
+her on the staircase, as I was going down to breakfast. I was so
+sensitively aware, indeed, of being younger than I could have wished,
+that for some time I could not make up my mind to pass her at all, under
+the ignoble circumstances of the case; but, hearing her there with
+a broom, stood peeping out of window at King Charles on horseback,
+surrounded by a maze of hackney-coaches, and looking anything but regal
+in a drizzling rain and a dark-brown fog, until I was admonished by the
+waiter that the gentleman was waiting for me.
+
+It was not in the coffee-room that I found Steerforth expecting me, but
+in a snug private apartment, red-curtained and Turkey-carpeted, where
+the fire burnt bright, and a fine hot breakfast was set forth on a table
+covered with a clean cloth; and a cheerful miniature of the room, the
+fire, the breakfast, Steerforth, and all, was shining in the little
+round mirror over the sideboard. I was rather bashful at first,
+Steerforth being so self-possessed, and elegant, and superior to me in
+all respects (age included); but his easy patronage soon put that to
+rights, and made me quite at home. I could not enough admire the change
+he had wrought in the Golden Cross; or compare the dull forlorn state
+I had held yesterday, with this morning’s comfort and this morning’s
+entertainment. As to the waiter’s familiarity, it was quenched as if it
+had never been. He attended on us, as I may say, in sackcloth and ashes.
+
+‘Now, Copperfield,’ said Steerforth, when we were alone, ‘I should like
+to hear what you are doing, and where you are going, and all about you.
+I feel as if you were my property.’ Glowing with pleasure to find that
+he had still this interest in me, I told him how my aunt had proposed
+the little expedition that I had before me, and whither it tended.
+
+‘As you are in no hurry, then,’ said Steerforth, ‘come home with me to
+Highgate, and stay a day or two. You will be pleased with my mother--she
+is a little vain and prosy about me, but that you can forgive her--and
+she will be pleased with you.’
+
+‘I should like to be as sure of that, as you are kind enough to say you
+are,’ I answered, smiling.
+
+‘Oh!’ said Steerforth, ‘everyone who likes me, has a claim on her that
+is sure to be acknowledged.’
+
+‘Then I think I shall be a favourite,’ said I.
+
+‘Good!’ said Steerforth. ‘Come and prove it. We will go and see the
+lions for an hour or two--it’s something to have a fresh fellow like you
+to show them to, Copperfield--and then we’ll journey out to Highgate by
+the coach.’
+
+I could hardly believe but that I was in a dream, and that I should wake
+presently in number forty-four, to the solitary box in the coffee-room
+and the familiar waiter again. After I had written to my aunt and told
+her of my fortunate meeting with my admired old schoolfellow, and my
+acceptance of his invitation, we went out in a hackney-chariot, and saw
+a Panorama and some other sights, and took a walk through the Museum,
+where I could not help observing how much Steerforth knew, on an
+infinite variety of subjects, and of how little account he seemed to
+make his knowledge.
+
+‘You’ll take a high degree at college, Steerforth,’ said I, ‘if you have
+not done so already; and they will have good reason to be proud of you.’
+
+‘I take a degree!’ cried Steerforth. ‘Not I! my dear Daisy--will you
+mind my calling you Daisy?’
+
+‘Not at all!’ said I.
+
+‘That’s a good fellow! My dear Daisy,’ said Steerforth, laughing. ‘I
+have not the least desire or intention to distinguish myself in that
+way. I have done quite sufficient for my purpose. I find that I am heavy
+company enough for myself as I am.’
+
+‘But the fame--’ I was beginning.
+
+‘You romantic Daisy!’ said Steerforth, laughing still more heartily:
+‘why should I trouble myself, that a parcel of heavy-headed fellows may
+gape and hold up their hands? Let them do it at some other man. There’s
+fame for him, and he’s welcome to it.’
+
+I was abashed at having made so great a mistake, and was glad to change
+the subject. Fortunately it was not difficult to do, for Steerforth
+could always pass from one subject to another with a carelessness and
+lightness that were his own.
+
+Lunch succeeded to our sight-seeing, and the short winter day wore away
+so fast, that it was dusk when the stage-coach stopped with us at an
+old brick house at Highgate on the summit of the hill. An elderly lady,
+though not very far advanced in years, with a proud carriage and
+a handsome face, was in the doorway as we alighted; and greeting
+Steerforth as ‘My dearest James,’ folded him in her arms. To this lady
+he presented me as his mother, and she gave me a stately welcome.
+
+It was a genteel old-fashioned house, very quiet and orderly. From the
+windows of my room I saw all London lying in the distance like a great
+vapour, with here and there some lights twinkling through it. I had only
+time, in dressing, to glance at the solid furniture, the framed pieces
+of work (done, I supposed, by Steerforth’s mother when she was a girl),
+and some pictures in crayons of ladies with powdered hair and bodices,
+coming and going on the walls, as the newly-kindled fire crackled and
+sputtered, when I was called to dinner.
+
+There was a second lady in the dining-room, of a slight short figure,
+dark, and not agreeable to look at, but with some appearance of good
+looks too, who attracted my attention: perhaps because I had not
+expected to see her; perhaps because I found myself sitting opposite
+to her; perhaps because of something really remarkable in her. She had
+black hair and eager black eyes, and was thin, and had a scar upon her
+lip. It was an old scar--I should rather call it seam, for it was not
+discoloured, and had healed years ago--which had once cut through her
+mouth, downward towards the chin, but was now barely visible across
+the table, except above and on her upper lip, the shape of which it had
+altered. I concluded in my own mind that she was about thirty years
+of age, and that she wished to be married. She was a little
+dilapidated--like a house--with having been so long to let; yet had, as
+I have said, an appearance of good looks. Her thinness seemed to be the
+effect of some wasting fire within her, which found a vent in her gaunt
+eyes.
+
+She was introduced as Miss Dartle, and both Steerforth and his mother
+called her Rosa. I found that she lived there, and had been for a long
+time Mrs. Steerforth’s companion. It appeared to me that she never said
+anything she wanted to say, outright; but hinted it, and made a great
+deal more of it by this practice. For example, when Mrs. Steerforth
+observed, more in jest than earnest, that she feared her son led but a
+wild life at college, Miss Dartle put in thus:
+
+‘Oh, really? You know how ignorant I am, and that I only ask for
+information, but isn’t it always so? I thought that kind of life was
+on all hands understood to be--eh?’ ‘It is education for a very grave
+profession, if you mean that, Rosa,’ Mrs. Steerforth answered with some
+coldness.
+
+‘Oh! Yes! That’s very true,’ returned Miss Dartle. ‘But isn’t it,
+though?--I want to be put right, if I am wrong--isn’t it, really?’
+
+‘Really what?’ said Mrs. Steerforth.
+
+‘Oh! You mean it’s not!’ returned Miss Dartle. ‘Well, I’m very glad to
+hear it! Now, I know what to do! That’s the advantage of asking. I shall
+never allow people to talk before me about wastefulness and profligacy,
+and so forth, in connexion with that life, any more.’
+
+‘And you will be right,’ said Mrs. Steerforth. ‘My son’s tutor is a
+conscientious gentleman; and if I had not implicit reliance on my son, I
+should have reliance on him.’
+
+‘Should you?’ said Miss Dartle. ‘Dear me! Conscientious, is he? Really
+conscientious, now?’
+
+‘Yes, I am convinced of it,’ said Mrs. Steerforth.
+
+‘How very nice!’ exclaimed Miss Dartle. ‘What a comfort! Really
+conscientious? Then he’s not--but of course he can’t be, if he’s really
+conscientious. Well, I shall be quite happy in my opinion of him, from
+this time. You can’t think how it elevates him in my opinion, to know
+for certain that he’s really conscientious!’
+
+Her own views of every question, and her correction of everything that
+was said to which she was opposed, Miss Dartle insinuated in the same
+way: sometimes, I could not conceal from myself, with great power,
+though in contradiction even of Steerforth. An instance happened before
+dinner was done. Mrs. Steerforth speaking to me about my intention
+of going down into Suffolk, I said at hazard how glad I should be, if
+Steerforth would only go there with me; and explaining to him that I was
+going to see my old nurse, and Mr. Peggotty’s family, I reminded him of
+the boatman whom he had seen at school.
+
+‘Oh! That bluff fellow!’ said Steerforth. ‘He had a son with him, hadn’t
+he?’
+
+‘No. That was his nephew,’ I replied; ‘whom he adopted, though, as
+a son. He has a very pretty little niece too, whom he adopted as a
+daughter. In short, his house--or rather his boat, for he lives in one,
+on dry land--is full of people who are objects of his generosity and
+kindness. You would be delighted to see that household.’
+
+‘Should I?’ said Steerforth. ‘Well, I think I should. I must see what
+can be done. It would be worth a journey (not to mention the pleasure of
+a journey with you, Daisy), to see that sort of people together, and to
+make one of ‘em.’
+
+My heart leaped with a new hope of pleasure. But it was in reference
+to the tone in which he had spoken of ‘that sort of people’, that Miss
+Dartle, whose sparkling eyes had been watchful of us, now broke in
+again.
+
+‘Oh, but, really? Do tell me. Are they, though?’ she said.
+
+‘Are they what? And are who what?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘That sort of people.---Are they really animals and clods, and beings of
+another order? I want to know SO much.’
+
+‘Why, there’s a pretty wide separation between them and us,’ said
+Steerforth, with indifference. ‘They are not to be expected to be
+as sensitive as we are. Their delicacy is not to be shocked, or hurt
+easily. They are wonderfully virtuous, I dare say--some people contend
+for that, at least; and I am sure I don’t want to contradict them--but
+they have not very fine natures, and they may be thankful that, like
+their coarse rough skins, they are not easily wounded.’
+
+‘Really!’ said Miss Dartle. ‘Well, I don’t know, now, when I have been
+better pleased than to hear that. It’s so consoling! It’s such a delight
+to know that, when they suffer, they don’t feel! Sometimes I have been
+quite uneasy for that sort of people; but now I shall just dismiss the
+idea of them, altogether. Live and learn. I had my doubts, I confess,
+but now they’re cleared up. I didn’t know, and now I do know, and that
+shows the advantage of asking--don’t it?’
+
+I believed that Steerforth had said what he had, in jest, or to draw
+Miss Dartle out; and I expected him to say as much when she was gone,
+and we two were sitting before the fire. But he merely asked me what I
+thought of her.
+
+‘She is very clever, is she not?’ I asked.
+
+‘Clever! She brings everything to a grindstone,’ said Steerforth, and
+sharpens it, as she has sharpened her own face and figure these years
+past. She has worn herself away by constant sharpening. She is all
+edge.’
+
+‘What a remarkable scar that is upon her lip!’ I said.
+
+Steerforth’s face fell, and he paused a moment.
+
+‘Why, the fact is,’ he returned, ‘I did that.’
+
+‘By an unfortunate accident!’
+
+‘No. I was a young boy, and she exasperated me, and I threw a hammer at
+her. A promising young angel I must have been!’ I was deeply sorry to
+have touched on such a painful theme, but that was useless now.
+
+‘She has borne the mark ever since, as you see,’ said Steerforth; ‘and
+she’ll bear it to her grave, if she ever rests in one--though I can
+hardly believe she will ever rest anywhere. She was the motherless child
+of a sort of cousin of my father’s. He died one day. My mother, who was
+then a widow, brought her here to be company to her. She has a couple of
+thousand pounds of her own, and saves the interest of it every year, to
+add to the principal. There’s the history of Miss Rosa Dartle for you.’
+
+‘And I have no doubt she loves you like a brother?’ said I.
+
+‘Humph!’ retorted Steerforth, looking at the fire. ‘Some brothers are
+not loved over much; and some love--but help yourself, Copperfield!
+We’ll drink the daisies of the field, in compliment to you; and the
+lilies of the valley that toil not, neither do they spin, in compliment
+to me--the more shame for me!’ A moody smile that had overspread his
+features cleared off as he said this merrily, and he was his own frank,
+winning self again.
+
+I could not help glancing at the scar with a painful interest when we
+went in to tea. It was not long before I observed that it was the most
+susceptible part of her face, and that, when she turned pale, that mark
+altered first, and became a dull, lead-coloured streak, lengthening out
+to its full extent, like a mark in invisible ink brought to the fire.
+There was a little altercation between her and Steerforth about a cast
+of the dice at back gammon--when I thought her, for one moment, in a
+storm of rage; and then I saw it start forth like the old writing on the
+wall.
+
+It was no matter of wonder to me to find Mrs. Steerforth devoted to her
+son. She seemed to be able to speak or think about nothing else. She
+showed me his picture as an infant, in a locket, with some of his
+baby-hair in it; she showed me his picture as he had been when I first
+knew him; and she wore at her breast his picture as he was now. All the
+letters he had ever written to her, she kept in a cabinet near her own
+chair by the fire; and she would have read me some of them, and I should
+have been very glad to hear them too, if he had not interposed, and
+coaxed her out of the design.
+
+‘It was at Mr. Creakle’s, my son tells me, that you first became
+acquainted,’ said Mrs. Steerforth, as she and I were talking at one
+table, while they played backgammon at another. ‘Indeed, I recollect his
+speaking, at that time, of a pupil younger than himself who had taken
+his fancy there; but your name, as you may suppose, has not lived in my
+memory.’
+
+‘He was very generous and noble to me in those days, I assure you,
+ma’am,’ said I, ‘and I stood in need of such a friend. I should have
+been quite crushed without him.’
+
+‘He is always generous and noble,’ said Mrs. Steerforth, proudly.
+
+I subscribed to this with all my heart, God knows. She knew I did; for
+the stateliness of her manner already abated towards me, except when she
+spoke in praise of him, and then her air was always lofty.
+
+‘It was not a fit school generally for my son,’ said she; ‘far from it;
+but there were particular circumstances to be considered at the time, of
+more importance even than that selection. My son’s high spirit made
+it desirable that he should be placed with some man who felt its
+superiority, and would be content to bow himself before it; and we found
+such a man there.’
+
+I knew that, knowing the fellow. And yet I did not despise him the more
+for it, but thought it a redeeming quality in him if he could be allowed
+any grace for not resisting one so irresistible as Steerforth.
+
+‘My son’s great capacity was tempted on, there, by a feeling of
+voluntary emulation and conscious pride,’ the fond lady went on to say.
+‘He would have risen against all constraint; but he found himself the
+monarch of the place, and he haughtily determined to be worthy of his
+station. It was like himself.’
+
+I echoed, with all my heart and soul, that it was like himself.
+
+‘So my son took, of his own will, and on no compulsion, to the course
+in which he can always, when it is his pleasure, outstrip every
+competitor,’ she pursued. ‘My son informs me, Mr. Copperfield, that
+you were quite devoted to him, and that when you met yesterday you made
+yourself known to him with tears of joy. I should be an affected woman
+if I made any pretence of being surprised by my son’s inspiring such
+emotions; but I cannot be indifferent to anyone who is so sensible of
+his merit, and I am very glad to see you here, and can assure you that
+he feels an unusual friendship for you, and that you may rely on his
+protection.’
+
+Miss Dartle played backgammon as eagerly as she did everything else.
+If I had seen her, first, at the board, I should have fancied that her
+figure had got thin, and her eyes had got large, over that pursuit, and
+no other in the world. But I am very much mistaken if she missed a
+word of this, or lost a look of mine as I received it with the utmost
+pleasure, and honoured by Mrs. Steerforth’s confidence, felt older than
+I had done since I left Canterbury.
+
+When the evening was pretty far spent, and a tray of glasses and
+decanters came in, Steerforth promised, over the fire, that he would
+seriously think of going down into the country with me. There was no
+hurry, he said; a week hence would do; and his mother hospitably said
+the same. While we were talking, he more than once called me Daisy;
+which brought Miss Dartle out again.
+
+‘But really, Mr. Copperfield,’ she asked, ‘is it a nickname? And
+why does he give it you? Is it--eh?--because he thinks you young and
+innocent? I am so stupid in these things.’
+
+I coloured in replying that I believed it was.
+
+‘Oh!’ said Miss Dartle. ‘Now I am glad to know that! I ask for
+information, and I am glad to know it. He thinks you young and innocent;
+and so you are his friend. Well, that’s quite delightful!’
+
+She went to bed soon after this, and Mrs. Steerforth retired too.
+Steerforth and I, after lingering for half-an-hour over the fire,
+talking about Traddles and all the rest of them at old Salem House, went
+upstairs together. Steerforth’s room was next to mine, and I went in to
+look at it. It was a picture of comfort, full of easy-chairs, cushions
+and footstools, worked by his mother’s hand, and with no sort of thing
+omitted that could help to render it complete. Finally, her handsome
+features looked down on her darling from a portrait on the wall, as if
+it were even something to her that her likeness should watch him while
+he slept.
+
+I found the fire burning clear enough in my room by this time, and the
+curtains drawn before the windows and round the bed, giving it a very
+snug appearance. I sat down in a great chair upon the hearth to meditate
+on my happiness; and had enjoyed the contemplation of it for some time,
+when I found a likeness of Miss Dartle looking eagerly at me from above
+the chimney-piece.
+
+It was a startling likeness, and necessarily had a startling look. The
+painter hadn’t made the scar, but I made it; and there it was, coming
+and going; now confined to the upper lip as I had seen it at dinner, and
+now showing the whole extent of the wound inflicted by the hammer, as I
+had seen it when she was passionate.
+
+I wondered peevishly why they couldn’t put her anywhere else instead
+of quartering her on me. To get rid of her, I undressed quickly,
+extinguished my light, and went to bed. But, as I fell asleep, I could
+not forget that she was still there looking, ‘Is it really, though?
+I want to know’; and when I awoke in the night, I found that I was
+uneasily asking all sorts of people in my dreams whether it really was
+or not--without knowing what I meant.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 21. LITTLE EM’LY
+
+
+There was a servant in that house, a man who, I understood, was usually
+with Steerforth, and had come into his service at the University, who
+was in appearance a pattern of respectability. I believe there never
+existed in his station a more respectable-looking man. He was taciturn,
+soft-footed, very quiet in his manner, deferential, observant, always at
+hand when wanted, and never near when not wanted; but his great claim to
+consideration was his respectability. He had not a pliant face, he had
+rather a stiff neck, rather a tight smooth head with short hair clinging
+to it at the sides, a soft way of speaking, with a peculiar habit of
+whispering the letter S so distinctly, that he seemed to use it
+oftener than any other man; but every peculiarity that he had he made
+respectable. If his nose had been upside-down, he would have made that
+respectable. He surrounded himself with an atmosphere of respectability,
+and walked secure in it. It would have been next to impossible to
+suspect him of anything wrong, he was so thoroughly respectable.
+Nobody could have thought of putting him in a livery, he was so highly
+respectable. To have imposed any derogatory work upon him, would have
+been to inflict a wanton insult on the feelings of a most respectable
+man. And of this, I noticed--the women-servants in the household were
+so intuitively conscious, that they always did such work themselves, and
+generally while he read the paper by the pantry fire.
+
+Such a self-contained man I never saw. But in that quality, as in every
+other he possessed, he only seemed to be the more respectable. Even the
+fact that no one knew his Christian name, seemed to form a part of his
+respectability. Nothing could be objected against his surname, Littimer,
+by which he was known. Peter might have been hanged, or Tom transported;
+but Littimer was perfectly respectable.
+
+It was occasioned, I suppose, by the reverend nature of respectability
+in the abstract, but I felt particularly young in this man’s presence.
+How old he was himself, I could not guess--and that again went to his
+credit on the same score; for in the calmness of respectability he might
+have numbered fifty years as well as thirty.
+
+Littimer was in my room in the morning before I was up, to bring me that
+reproachful shaving-water, and to put out my clothes. When I undrew the
+curtains and looked out of bed, I saw him, in an equable temperature
+of respectability, unaffected by the east wind of January, and not
+even breathing frostily, standing my boots right and left in the first
+dancing position, and blowing specks of dust off my coat as he laid it
+down like a baby.
+
+I gave him good morning, and asked him what o’clock it was. He took
+out of his pocket the most respectable hunting-watch I ever saw, and
+preventing the spring with his thumb from opening far, looked in at the
+face as if he were consulting an oracular oyster, shut it up again, and
+said, if I pleased, it was half past eight.
+
+‘Mr. Steerforth will be glad to hear how you have rested, sir.’
+
+‘Thank you,’ said I, ‘very well indeed. Is Mr. Steerforth quite well?’
+
+‘Thank you, sir, Mr. Steerforth is tolerably well.’ Another of his
+characteristics--no use of superlatives. A cool calm medium always.
+
+‘Is there anything more I can have the honour of doing for you, sir? The
+warning-bell will ring at nine; the family take breakfast at half past
+nine.’
+
+‘Nothing, I thank you.’
+
+‘I thank YOU, sir, if you please’; and with that, and with a little
+inclination of his head when he passed the bed-side, as an apology for
+correcting me, he went out, shutting the door as delicately as if I had
+just fallen into a sweet sleep on which my life depended.
+
+Every morning we held exactly this conversation: never any more, and
+never any less: and yet, invariably, however far I might have been
+lifted out of myself over-night, and advanced towards maturer years,
+by Steerforth’s companionship, or Mrs. Steerforth’s confidence, or Miss
+Dartle’s conversation, in the presence of this most respectable man I
+became, as our smaller poets sing, ‘a boy again’.
+
+He got horses for us; and Steerforth, who knew everything, gave me
+lessons in riding. He provided foils for us, and Steerforth gave me
+lessons in fencing--gloves, and I began, of the same master, to improve
+in boxing. It gave me no manner of concern that Steerforth should find
+me a novice in these sciences, but I never could bear to show my want of
+skill before the respectable Littimer. I had no reason to believe
+that Littimer understood such arts himself; he never led me to suppose
+anything of the kind, by so much as the vibration of one of his
+respectable eyelashes; yet whenever he was by, while we were practising,
+I felt myself the greenest and most inexperienced of mortals.
+
+I am particular about this man, because he made a particular effect on
+me at that time, and because of what took place thereafter.
+
+The week passed away in a most delightful manner. It passed rapidly, as
+may be supposed, to one entranced as I was; and yet it gave me so many
+occasions for knowing Steerforth better, and admiring him more in a
+thousand respects, that at its close I seemed to have been with him
+for a much longer time. A dashing way he had of treating me like a
+plaything, was more agreeable to me than any behaviour he could have
+adopted. It reminded me of our old acquaintance; it seemed the natural
+sequel of it; it showed me that he was unchanged; it relieved me of
+any uneasiness I might have felt, in comparing my merits with his, and
+measuring my claims upon his friendship by any equal standard; above
+all, it was a familiar, unrestrained, affectionate demeanour that he
+used towards no one else. As he had treated me at school differently
+from all the rest, I joyfully believed that he treated me in life unlike
+any other friend he had. I believed that I was nearer to his heart than
+any other friend, and my own heart warmed with attachment to him. He
+made up his mind to go with me into the country, and the day arrived for
+our departure. He had been doubtful at first whether to take Littimer
+or not, but decided to leave him at home. The respectable creature,
+satisfied with his lot whatever it was, arranged our portmanteaux on
+the little carriage that was to take us into London, as if they were
+intended to defy the shocks of ages, and received my modestly proffered
+donation with perfect tranquillity.
+
+We bade adieu to Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle, with many thanks on
+my part, and much kindness on the devoted mother’s. The last thing I
+saw was Littimer’s unruffled eye; fraught, as I fancied, with the silent
+conviction that I was very young indeed.
+
+What I felt, in returning so auspiciously to the old familiar places,
+I shall not endeavour to describe. We went down by the Mail. I was
+so concerned, I recollect, even for the honour of Yarmouth, that when
+Steerforth said, as we drove through its dark streets to the inn, that,
+as well as he could make out, it was a good, queer, out-of-the-way kind
+of hole, I was highly pleased. We went to bed on our arrival (I observed
+a pair of dirty shoes and gaiters in connexion with my old friend the
+Dolphin as we passed that door), and breakfasted late in the morning.
+Steerforth, who was in great spirits, had been strolling about the
+beach before I was up, and had made acquaintance, he said, with half the
+boatmen in the place. Moreover, he had seen, in the distance, what he
+was sure must be the identical house of Mr. Peggotty, with smoke coming
+out of the chimney; and had had a great mind, he told me, to walk in and
+swear he was myself grown out of knowledge.
+
+‘When do you propose to introduce me there, Daisy?’ he said. ‘I am at
+your disposal. Make your own arrangements.’
+
+‘Why, I was thinking that this evening would be a good time, Steerforth,
+when they are all sitting round the fire. I should like you to see it
+when it’s snug, it’s such a curious place.’
+
+‘So be it!’ returned Steerforth. ‘This evening.’
+
+‘I shall not give them any notice that we are here, you know,’ said I,
+delighted. ‘We must take them by surprise.’
+
+‘Oh, of course! It’s no fun,’ said Steerforth, ‘unless we take them by
+surprise. Let us see the natives in their aboriginal condition.’
+
+‘Though they ARE that sort of people that you mentioned,’ I returned.
+
+‘Aha! What! you recollect my skirmishes with Rosa, do you?’ he exclaimed
+with a quick look. ‘Confound the girl, I am half afraid of her. She’s
+like a goblin to me. But never mind her. Now what are you going to do?
+You are going to see your nurse, I suppose?’
+
+‘Why, yes,’ I said, ‘I must see Peggotty first of all.’
+
+‘Well,’ replied Steerforth, looking at his watch. ‘Suppose I deliver you
+up to be cried over for a couple of hours. Is that long enough?’
+
+I answered, laughing, that I thought we might get through it in that
+time, but that he must come also; for he would find that his renown had
+preceded him, and that he was almost as great a personage as I was.
+
+‘I’ll come anywhere you like,’ said Steerforth, ‘or do anything you
+like. Tell me where to come to; and in two hours I’ll produce myself in
+any state you please, sentimental or comical.’
+
+I gave him minute directions for finding the residence of Mr. Barkis,
+carrier to Blunderstone and elsewhere; and, on this understanding, went
+out alone. There was a sharp bracing air; the ground was dry; the sea
+was crisp and clear; the sun was diffusing abundance of light, if not
+much warmth; and everything was fresh and lively. I was so fresh and
+lively myself, in the pleasure of being there, that I could have stopped
+the people in the streets and shaken hands with them.
+
+The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only seen
+as children always do, I believe, when we go back to them. But I had
+forgotten nothing in them, and found nothing changed, until I came to
+Mr. Omer’s shop. OMER AND Joram was now written up, where OMER used to
+be; but the inscription, DRAPER, TAILOR, HABERDASHER, FUNERAL FURNISHER,
+&c., remained as it was.
+
+My footsteps seemed to tend so naturally to the shop door, after I had
+read these words from over the way, that I went across the road and
+looked in. There was a pretty woman at the back of the shop, dancing
+a little child in her arms, while another little fellow clung to her
+apron. I had no difficulty in recognizing either Minnie or Minnie’s
+children. The glass door of the parlour was not open; but in the
+workshop across the yard I could faintly hear the old tune playing, as
+if it had never left off.
+
+‘Is Mr. Omer at home?’ said I, entering. ‘I should like to see him, for
+a moment, if he is.’
+
+‘Oh yes, sir, he is at home,’ said Minnie; ‘the weather don’t suit his
+asthma out of doors. Joe, call your grandfather!’
+
+The little fellow, who was holding her apron, gave such a lusty shout,
+that the sound of it made him bashful, and he buried his face in her
+skirts, to her great admiration. I heard a heavy puffing and blowing
+coming towards us, and soon Mr. Omer, shorter-winded than of yore, but
+not much older-looking, stood before me.
+
+‘Servant, sir,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ ‘You can
+shake hands with me, Mr. Omer, if you please,’ said I, putting out my
+own. ‘You were very good-natured to me once, when I am afraid I didn’t
+show that I thought so.’
+
+‘Was I though?’ returned the old man. ‘I’m glad to hear it, but I don’t
+remember when. Are you sure it was me?’
+
+‘Quite.’
+
+‘I think my memory has got as short as my breath,’ said Mr. Omer,
+looking at me and shaking his head; ‘for I don’t remember you.’
+
+‘Don’t you remember your coming to the coach to meet me, and my having
+breakfast here, and our riding out to Blunderstone together: you, and I,
+and Mrs. Joram, and Mr. Joram too--who wasn’t her husband then?’
+
+‘Why, Lord bless my soul!’ exclaimed Mr. Omer, after being thrown by his
+surprise into a fit of coughing, ‘you don’t say so! Minnie, my dear, you
+recollect? Dear me, yes; the party was a lady, I think?’
+
+‘My mother,’ I rejoined.
+
+‘To--be--sure,’ said Mr. Omer, touching my waistcoat with his
+forefinger, ‘and there was a little child too! There was two parties.
+The little party was laid along with the other party. Over at
+Blunderstone it was, of course. Dear me! And how have you been since?’
+
+Very well, I thanked him, as I hoped he had been too.
+
+‘Oh! nothing to grumble at, you know,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘I find my breath
+gets short, but it seldom gets longer as a man gets older. I take it as
+it comes, and make the most of it. That’s the best way, ain’t it?’
+
+Mr. Omer coughed again, in consequence of laughing, and was assisted out
+of his fit by his daughter, who now stood close beside us, dancing her
+smallest child on the counter.
+
+‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Yes, to be sure. Two parties! Why, in that
+very ride, if you’ll believe me, the day was named for my Minnie to
+marry Joram. “Do name it, sir,” says Joram. “Yes, do, father,” says
+Minnie. And now he’s come into the business. And look here! The
+youngest!’
+
+Minnie laughed, and stroked her banded hair upon her temples, as her
+father put one of his fat fingers into the hand of the child she was
+dancing on the counter.
+
+‘Two parties, of course!’ said Mr. Omer, nodding his head
+retrospectively. ‘Ex-actly so! And Joram’s at work, at this minute, on
+a grey one with silver nails, not this measurement’--the measurement of
+the dancing child upon the counter--‘by a good two inches.---Will you
+take something?’
+
+I thanked him, but declined.
+
+‘Let me see,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Barkis’s the carrier’s wife--Peggotty’s
+the boatman’s sister--she had something to do with your family? She was
+in service there, sure?’
+
+My answering in the affirmative gave him great satisfaction.
+
+‘I believe my breath will get long next, my memory’s getting so much
+so,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Well, sir, we’ve got a young relation of hers here,
+under articles to us, that has as elegant a taste in the dress-making
+business--I assure you I don’t believe there’s a Duchess in England can
+touch her.’
+
+‘Not little Em’ly?’ said I, involuntarily.
+
+‘Em’ly’s her name,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘and she’s little too. But if you’ll
+believe me, she has such a face of her own that half the women in this
+town are mad against her.’
+
+‘Nonsense, father!’ cried Minnie.
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘I don’t say it’s the case with you,’ winking
+at me, ‘but I say that half the women in Yarmouth--ah! and in five mile
+round--are mad against that girl.’
+
+‘Then she should have kept to her own station in life, father,’ said
+Minnie, ‘and not have given them any hold to talk about her, and then
+they couldn’t have done it.’
+
+‘Couldn’t have done it, my dear!’ retorted Mr. Omer. ‘Couldn’t have
+done it! Is that YOUR knowledge of life? What is there that any woman
+couldn’t do, that she shouldn’t do--especially on the subject of another
+woman’s good looks?’
+
+I really thought it was all over with Mr. Omer, after he had uttered
+this libellous pleasantry. He coughed to that extent, and his breath
+eluded all his attempts to recover it with that obstinacy, that I fully
+expected to see his head go down behind the counter, and his little
+black breeches, with the rusty little bunches of ribbons at the knees,
+come quivering up in a last ineffectual struggle. At length, however,
+he got better, though he still panted hard, and was so exhausted that he
+was obliged to sit on the stool of the shop-desk.
+
+‘You see,’ he said, wiping his head, and breathing with difficulty, ‘she
+hasn’t taken much to any companions here; she hasn’t taken kindly to
+any particular acquaintances and friends, not to mention sweethearts. In
+consequence, an ill-natured story got about, that Em’ly wanted to be a
+lady. Now my opinion is, that it came into circulation principally on
+account of her sometimes saying, at the school, that if she was a lady
+she would like to do so-and-so for her uncle--don’t you see?--and buy
+him such-and-such fine things.’
+
+‘I assure you, Mr. Omer, she has said so to me,’ I returned eagerly,
+‘when we were both children.’
+
+Mr. Omer nodded his head and rubbed his chin. ‘Just so. Then out of a
+very little, she could dress herself, you see, better than most others
+could out of a deal, and that made things unpleasant. Moreover, she was
+rather what might be called wayward--I’ll go so far as to say what I
+should call wayward myself,’ said Mr. Omer; ‘--didn’t know her own mind
+quite--a little spoiled--and couldn’t, at first, exactly bind herself
+down. No more than that was ever said against her, Minnie?’
+
+‘No, father,’ said Mrs. Joram. ‘That’s the worst, I believe.’
+
+‘So when she got a situation,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘to keep a fractious old
+lady company, they didn’t very well agree, and she didn’t stop. At last
+she came here, apprenticed for three years. Nearly two of ‘em are over,
+and she has been as good a girl as ever was. Worth any six! Minnie, is
+she worth any six, now?’
+
+‘Yes, father,’ replied Minnie. ‘Never say I detracted from her!’
+
+‘Very good,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘That’s right. And so, young gentleman,’ he
+added, after a few moments’ further rubbing of his chin, ‘that you may
+not consider me long-winded as well as short-breathed, I believe that’s
+all about it.’
+
+As they had spoken in a subdued tone, while speaking of Em’ly, I had no
+doubt that she was near. On my asking now, if that were not so, Mr.
+Omer nodded yes, and nodded towards the door of the parlour. My hurried
+inquiry if I might peep in, was answered with a free permission; and,
+looking through the glass, I saw her sitting at her work. I saw her, a
+most beautiful little creature, with the cloudless blue eyes, that had
+looked into my childish heart, turned laughingly upon another child
+of Minnie’s who was playing near her; with enough of wilfulness in her
+bright face to justify what I had heard; with much of the old capricious
+coyness lurking in it; but with nothing in her pretty looks, I am sure,
+but what was meant for goodness and for happiness, and what was on a
+good and happy course.
+
+The tune across the yard that seemed as if it never had left off--alas!
+it was the tune that never DOES leave off--was beating, softly, all the
+while.
+
+‘Wouldn’t you like to step in,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘and speak to her? Walk
+in and speak to her, sir! Make yourself at home!’
+
+I was too bashful to do so then--I was afraid of confusing her, and I
+was no less afraid of confusing myself.--but I informed myself of the
+hour at which she left of an evening, in order that our visit might
+be timed accordingly; and taking leave of Mr. Omer, and his pretty
+daughter, and her little children, went away to my dear old Peggotty’s.
+
+Here she was, in the tiled kitchen, cooking dinner! The moment I knocked
+at the door she opened it, and asked me what I pleased to want. I looked
+at her with a smile, but she gave me no smile in return. I had never
+ceased to write to her, but it must have been seven years since we had
+met.
+
+‘Is Mr. Barkis at home, ma’am?’ I said, feigning to speak roughly to
+her.
+
+‘He’s at home, sir,’ returned Peggotty, ‘but he’s bad abed with the
+rheumatics.’
+
+‘Don’t he go over to Blunderstone now?’ I asked.
+
+‘When he’s well he do,’ she answered.
+
+‘Do YOU ever go there, Mrs. Barkis?’
+
+She looked at me more attentively, and I noticed a quick movement of her
+hands towards each other.
+
+‘Because I want to ask a question about a house there, that they call
+the--what is it?--the Rookery,’ said I.
+
+She took a step backward, and put out her hands in an undecided
+frightened way, as if to keep me off.
+
+‘Peggotty!’ I cried to her.
+
+She cried, ‘My darling boy!’ and we both burst into tears, and were
+locked in one another’s arms.
+
+What extravagances she committed; what laughing and crying over me; what
+pride she showed, what joy, what sorrow that she whose pride and joy I
+might have been, could never hold me in a fond embrace; I have not the
+heart to tell. I was troubled with no misgiving that it was young in
+me to respond to her emotions. I had never laughed and cried in all my
+life, I dare say--not even to her--more freely than I did that morning.
+
+‘Barkis will be so glad,’ said Peggotty, wiping her eyes with her apron,
+‘that it’ll do him more good than pints of liniment. May I go and tell
+him you are here? Will you come up and see him, my dear?’
+
+Of course I would. But Peggotty could not get out of the room as easily
+as she meant to, for as often as she got to the door and looked round
+at me, she came back again to have another laugh and another cry upon my
+shoulder. At last, to make the matter easier, I went upstairs with
+her; and having waited outside for a minute, while she said a word of
+preparation to Mr. Barkis, presented myself before that invalid.
+
+He received me with absolute enthusiasm. He was too rheumatic to be
+shaken hands with, but he begged me to shake the tassel on the top of
+his nightcap, which I did most cordially. When I sat down by the side
+of the bed, he said that it did him a world of good to feel as if he
+was driving me on the Blunderstone road again. As he lay in bed, face
+upward, and so covered, with that exception, that he seemed to be
+nothing but a face--like a conventional cherubim--he looked the queerest
+object I ever beheld.
+
+‘What name was it, as I wrote up in the cart, sir?’ said Mr. Barkis,
+with a slow rheumatic smile.
+
+‘Ah! Mr. Barkis, we had some grave talks about that matter, hadn’t we?’
+
+‘I was willin’ a long time, sir?’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+‘A long time,’ said I.
+
+‘And I don’t regret it,’ said Mr. Barkis. ‘Do you remember what you
+told me once, about her making all the apple parsties and doing all the
+cooking?’
+
+‘Yes, very well,’ I returned.
+
+‘It was as true,’ said Mr. Barkis, ‘as turnips is. It was as true,’ said
+Mr. Barkis, nodding his nightcap, which was his only means of emphasis,
+‘as taxes is. And nothing’s truer than them.’
+
+Mr. Barkis turned his eyes upon me, as if for my assent to this result
+of his reflections in bed; and I gave it.
+
+‘Nothing’s truer than them,’ repeated Mr. Barkis; ‘a man as poor as I
+am, finds that out in his mind when he’s laid up. I’m a very poor man,
+sir!’
+
+‘I am sorry to hear it, Mr. Barkis.’
+
+‘A very poor man, indeed I am,’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+Here his right hand came slowly and feebly from under the bedclothes,
+and with a purposeless uncertain grasp took hold of a stick which was
+loosely tied to the side of the bed. After some poking about with
+this instrument, in the course of which his face assumed a variety of
+distracted expressions, Mr. Barkis poked it against a box, an end
+of which had been visible to me all the time. Then his face became
+composed.
+
+‘Old clothes,’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+‘Oh!’ said I.
+
+‘I wish it was Money, sir,’ said Mr. Barkis.
+
+‘I wish it was, indeed,’ said I.
+
+‘But it AIN’T,’ said Mr. Barkis, opening both his eyes as wide as he
+possibly could.
+
+I expressed myself quite sure of that, and Mr. Barkis, turning his eyes
+more gently to his wife, said:
+
+‘She’s the usefullest and best of women, C. P. Barkis. All the praise
+that anyone can give to C. P. Barkis, she deserves, and more! My dear,
+you’ll get a dinner today, for company; something good to eat and drink,
+will you?’
+
+I should have protested against this unnecessary demonstration in
+my honour, but that I saw Peggotty, on the opposite side of the bed,
+extremely anxious I should not. So I held my peace.
+
+‘I have got a trifle of money somewhere about me, my dear,’ said Mr.
+Barkis, ‘but I’m a little tired. If you and Mr. David will leave me for
+a short nap, I’ll try and find it when I wake.’
+
+We left the room, in compliance with this request. When we got outside
+the door, Peggotty informed me that Mr. Barkis, being now ‘a little
+nearer’ than he used to be, always resorted to this same device before
+producing a single coin from his store; and that he endured unheard-of
+agonies in crawling out of bed alone, and taking it from that unlucky
+box. In effect, we presently heard him uttering suppressed groans of the
+most dismal nature, as this magpie proceeding racked him in every joint;
+but while Peggotty’s eyes were full of compassion for him, she said his
+generous impulse would do him good, and it was better not to check it.
+So he groaned on, until he had got into bed again, suffering, I have no
+doubt, a martyrdom; and then called us in, pretending to have just
+woke up from a refreshing sleep, and to produce a guinea from under his
+pillow. His satisfaction in which happy imposition on us, and in
+having preserved the impenetrable secret of the box, appeared to be a
+sufficient compensation to him for all his tortures.
+
+I prepared Peggotty for Steerforth’s arrival and it was not long before
+he came. I am persuaded she knew no difference between his having been a
+personal benefactor of hers, and a kind friend to me, and that she would
+have received him with the utmost gratitude and devotion in any case.
+But his easy, spirited good humour; his genial manner, his handsome
+looks, his natural gift of adapting himself to whomsoever he pleased,
+and making direct, when he cared to do it, to the main point of interest
+in anybody’s heart; bound her to him wholly in five minutes. His
+manner to me, alone, would have won her. But, through all these causes
+combined, I sincerely believe she had a kind of adoration for him before
+he left the house that night.
+
+He stayed there with me to dinner--if I were to say willingly, I should
+not half express how readily and gaily. He went into Mr. Barkis’s room
+like light and air, brightening and refreshing it as if he were healthy
+weather. There was no noise, no effort, no consciousness, in anything
+he did; but in everything an indescribable lightness, a seeming
+impossibility of doing anything else, or doing anything better, which
+was so graceful, so natural, and agreeable, that it overcomes me, even
+now, in the remembrance.
+
+We made merry in the little parlour, where the Book of Martyrs,
+unthumbed since my time, was laid out upon the desk as of old, and where
+I now turned over its terrific pictures, remembering the old sensations
+they had awakened, but not feeling them. When Peggotty spoke of what
+she called my room, and of its being ready for me at night, and of her
+hoping I would occupy it, before I could so much as look at Steerforth,
+hesitating, he was possessed of the whole case.
+
+‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’ll sleep here, while we stay, and I shall
+sleep at the hotel.’
+
+‘But to bring you so far,’ I returned, ‘and to separate, seems bad
+companionship, Steerforth.’
+
+‘Why, in the name of Heaven, where do you naturally belong?’ he said.
+‘What is “seems”, compared to that?’ It was settled at once.
+
+He maintained all his delightful qualities to the last, until we started
+forth, at eight o’clock, for Mr. Peggotty’s boat. Indeed, they were more
+and more brightly exhibited as the hours went on; for I thought even
+then, and I have no doubt now, that the consciousness of success in his
+determination to please, inspired him with a new delicacy of perception,
+and made it, subtle as it was, more easy to him. If anyone had told me,
+then, that all this was a brilliant game, played for the excitement of
+the moment, for the employment of high spirits, in the thoughtless love
+of superiority, in a mere wasteful careless course of winning what was
+worthless to him, and next minute thrown away--I say, if anyone had told
+me such a lie that night, I wonder in what manner of receiving it my
+indignation would have found a vent! Probably only in an increase, had
+that been possible, of the romantic feelings of fidelity and friendship
+with which I walked beside him, over the dark wintry sands towards the
+old boat; the wind sighing around us even more mournfully, than it had
+sighed and moaned upon the night when I first darkened Mr. Peggotty’s
+door.
+
+‘This is a wild kind of place, Steerforth, is it not?’
+
+‘Dismal enough in the dark,’ he said: ‘and the sea roars as if it were
+hungry for us. Is that the boat, where I see a light yonder?’ ‘That’s
+the boat,’ said I.
+
+‘And it’s the same I saw this morning,’ he returned. ‘I came straight to
+it, by instinct, I suppose.’
+
+We said no more as we approached the light, but made softly for the
+door. I laid my hand upon the latch; and whispering Steerforth to keep
+close to me, went in.
+
+A murmur of voices had been audible on the outside, and, at the
+moment of our entrance, a clapping of hands: which latter noise, I
+was surprised to see, proceeded from the generally disconsolate Mrs.
+Gummidge. But Mrs. Gummidge was not the only person there who was
+unusually excited. Mr. Peggotty, his face lighted up with uncommon
+satisfaction, and laughing with all his might, held his rough arms
+wide open, as if for little Em’ly to run into them; Ham, with a mixed
+expression in his face of admiration, exultation, and a lumbering sort
+of bashfulness that sat upon him very well, held little Em’ly by
+the hand, as if he were presenting her to Mr. Peggotty; little Em’ly
+herself, blushing and shy, but delighted with Mr. Peggotty’s delight, as
+her joyous eyes expressed, was stopped by our entrance (for she saw us
+first) in the very act of springing from Ham to nestle in Mr. Peggotty’s
+embrace. In the first glimpse we had of them all, and at the moment of
+our passing from the dark cold night into the warm light room, this
+was the way in which they were all employed: Mrs. Gummidge in the
+background, clapping her hands like a madwoman.
+
+The little picture was so instantaneously dissolved by our going in,
+that one might have doubted whether it had ever been. I was in the midst
+of the astonished family, face to face with Mr. Peggotty, and holding
+out my hand to him, when Ham shouted:
+
+‘Mas’r Davy! It’s Mas’r Davy!’
+
+In a moment we were all shaking hands with one another, and asking one
+another how we did, and telling one another how glad we were to meet,
+and all talking at once. Mr. Peggotty was so proud and overjoyed to see
+us, that he did not know what to say or do, but kept over and over again
+shaking hands with me, and then with Steerforth, and then with me, and
+then ruffling his shaggy hair all over his head, and laughing with such
+glee and triumph, that it was a treat to see him.
+
+‘Why, that you two gent’lmen--gent’lmen growed--should come to this here
+roof tonight, of all nights in my life,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘is such a
+thing as never happened afore, I do rightly believe! Em’ly, my darling,
+come here! Come here, my little witch! There’s Mas’r Davy’s friend, my
+dear! There’s the gent’lman as you’ve heerd on, Em’ly. He comes to see
+you, along with Mas’r Davy, on the brightest night of your uncle’s life
+as ever was or will be, Gorm the t’other one, and horroar for it!’
+
+After delivering this speech all in a breath, and with extraordinary
+animation and pleasure, Mr. Peggotty put one of his large hands
+rapturously on each side of his niece’s face, and kissing it a dozen
+times, laid it with a gentle pride and love upon his broad chest, and
+patted it as if his hand had been a lady’s. Then he let her go; and as
+she ran into the little chamber where I used to sleep, looked round upon
+us, quite hot and out of breath with his uncommon satisfaction.
+
+‘If you two gent’lmen--gent’lmen growed now, and such gent’lmen--’ said
+Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘So th’ are, so th’ are!’ cried Ham. ‘Well said! So th’ are. Mas’r Davy
+bor’--gent’lmen growed--so th’ are!’
+
+‘If you two gent’lmen, gent’lmen growed,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘don’t
+ex-cuse me for being in a state of mind, when you understand matters,
+I’ll arks your pardon. Em’ly, my dear!--She knows I’m a going to tell,’
+here his delight broke out again, ‘and has made off. Would you be so
+good as look arter her, Mawther, for a minute?’
+
+Mrs. Gummidge nodded and disappeared.
+
+‘If this ain’t,’ said Mr. Peggotty, sitting down among us by the fire,
+‘the brightest night o’ my life, I’m a shellfish--biled too--and more I
+can’t say. This here little Em’ly, sir,’ in a low voice to Steerforth,
+‘--her as you see a blushing here just now--’
+
+Steerforth only nodded; but with such a pleased expression of interest,
+and of participation in Mr. Peggotty’s feelings, that the latter
+answered him as if he had spoken.
+
+‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘That’s her, and so she is. Thankee,
+sir.’
+
+Ham nodded to me several times, as if he would have said so too.
+
+‘This here little Em’ly of ours,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘has been, in our
+house, what I suppose (I’m a ignorant man, but that’s my belief) no one
+but a little bright-eyed creetur can be in a house. She ain’t my
+child; I never had one; but I couldn’t love her more. You understand! I
+couldn’t do it!’
+
+‘I quite understand,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘I know you do, sir,’ returned Mr. Peggotty, ‘and thankee again. Mas’r
+Davy, he can remember what she was; you may judge for your own self what
+she is; but neither of you can’t fully know what she has been, is, and
+will be, to my loving art. I am rough, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘I am as
+rough as a Sea Porkypine; but no one, unless, mayhap, it is a woman, can
+know, I think, what our little Em’ly is to me. And betwixt ourselves,’
+sinking his voice lower yet, ‘that woman’s name ain’t Missis Gummidge
+neither, though she has a world of merits.’ Mr. Peggotty ruffled his
+hair again, with both hands, as a further preparation for what he was
+going to say, and went on, with a hand upon each of his knees:
+
+‘There was a certain person as had know’d our Em’ly, from the time when
+her father was drownded; as had seen her constant; when a babby, when
+a young gal, when a woman. Not much of a person to look at, he warn’t,’
+said Mr. Peggotty, ‘something o’ my own build--rough--a good deal o’
+the sou’-wester in him--wery salt--but, on the whole, a honest sort of a
+chap, with his art in the right place.’
+
+I thought I had never seen Ham grin to anything like the extent to which
+he sat grinning at us now.
+
+‘What does this here blessed tarpaulin go and do,’ said Mr. Peggotty,
+with his face one high noon of enjoyment, ‘but he loses that there art
+of his to our little Em’ly. He follers her about, he makes hisself a
+sort o’ servant to her, he loses in a great measure his relish for his
+wittles, and in the long-run he makes it clear to me wot’s amiss. Now I
+could wish myself, you see, that our little Em’ly was in a fair way of
+being married. I could wish to see her, at all ewents, under articles to
+a honest man as had a right to defend her. I don’t know how long I may
+live, or how soon I may die; but I know that if I was capsized, any
+night, in a gale of wind in Yarmouth Roads here, and was to see the
+town-lights shining for the last time over the rollers as I couldn’t
+make no head against, I could go down quieter for thinking “There’s a
+man ashore there, iron-true to my little Em’ly, God bless her, and no
+wrong can touch my Em’ly while so be as that man lives.”’
+
+Mr. Peggotty, in simple earnestness, waved his right arm, as if he were
+waving it at the town-lights for the last time, and then, exchanging a
+nod with Ham, whose eye he caught, proceeded as before.
+
+‘Well! I counsels him to speak to Em’ly. He’s big enough, but he’s
+bashfuller than a little un, and he don’t like. So I speak. “What! Him!”
+ says Em’ly. “Him that I’ve know’d so intimate so many years, and like so
+much. Oh, Uncle! I never can have him. He’s such a good fellow!” I gives
+her a kiss, and I says no more to her than, “My dear, you’re right to
+speak out, you’re to choose for yourself, you’re as free as a little
+bird.” Then I aways to him, and I says, “I wish it could have been so,
+but it can’t. But you can both be as you was, and wot I say to you is,
+Be as you was with her, like a man.” He says to me, a-shaking of my
+hand, “I will!” he says. And he was--honourable and manful--for two year
+going on, and we was just the same at home here as afore.’
+
+Mr. Peggotty’s face, which had varied in its expression with the various
+stages of his narrative, now resumed all its former triumphant delight,
+as he laid a hand upon my knee and a hand upon Steerforth’s (previously
+wetting them both, for the greater emphasis of the action), and divided
+the following speech between us:
+
+‘All of a sudden, one evening--as it might be tonight--comes little
+Em’ly from her work, and him with her! There ain’t so much in that,
+you’ll say. No, because he takes care on her, like a brother, arter
+dark, and indeed afore dark, and at all times. But this tarpaulin chap,
+he takes hold of her hand, and he cries out to me, joyful, “Look here!
+This is to be my little wife!” And she says, half bold and half shy, and
+half a laughing and half a crying, “Yes, Uncle! If you please.”--If I
+please!’ cried Mr. Peggotty, rolling his head in an ecstasy at the idea;
+‘Lord, as if I should do anythink else!--“If you please, I am steadier
+now, and I have thought better of it, and I’ll be as good a little wife
+as I can to him, for he’s a dear, good fellow!” Then Missis Gummidge,
+she claps her hands like a play, and you come in. Theer! the murder’s
+out!’ said Mr. Peggotty--‘You come in! It took place this here present
+hour; and here’s the man that’ll marry her, the minute she’s out of her
+time.’
+
+Ham staggered, as well he might, under the blow Mr. Peggotty dealt
+him in his unbounded joy, as a mark of confidence and friendship; but
+feeling called upon to say something to us, he said, with much faltering
+and great difficulty:
+
+‘She warn’t no higher than you was, Mas’r Davy--when you first
+come--when I thought what she’d grow up to be. I see her grown
+up--gent’lmen--like a flower. I’d lay down my life for
+her--Mas’r Davy--Oh! most content and cheerful! She’s more to
+me--gent’lmen--than--she’s all to me that ever I can want, and more
+than ever I--than ever I could say. I--I love her true. There ain’t a
+gent’lman in all the land--nor yet sailing upon all the sea--that
+can love his lady more than I love her, though there’s many a common
+man--would say better--what he meant.’
+
+I thought it affecting to see such a sturdy fellow as Ham was now,
+trembling in the strength of what he felt for the pretty little creature
+who had won his heart. I thought the simple confidence reposed in us by
+Mr. Peggotty and by himself, was, in itself, affecting. I was affected
+by the story altogether. How far my emotions were influenced by the
+recollections of my childhood, I don’t know. Whether I had come there
+with any lingering fancy that I was still to love little Em’ly, I don’t
+know. I know that I was filled with pleasure by all this; but, at first,
+with an indescribably sensitive pleasure, that a very little would have
+changed to pain.
+
+Therefore, if it had depended upon me to touch the prevailing chord
+among them with any skill, I should have made a poor hand of it. But it
+depended upon Steerforth; and he did it with such address, that in a few
+minutes we were all as easy and as happy as it was possible to be.
+
+‘Mr. Peggotty,’ he said, ‘you are a thoroughly good fellow, and deserve
+to be as happy as you are tonight. My hand upon it! Ham, I give you
+joy, my boy. My hand upon that, too! Daisy, stir the fire, and make it a
+brisk one! and Mr. Peggotty, unless you can induce your gentle niece to
+come back (for whom I vacate this seat in the corner), I shall go.
+Any gap at your fireside on such a night--such a gap least of all--I
+wouldn’t make, for the wealth of the Indies!’
+
+So Mr. Peggotty went into my old room to fetch little Em’ly. At first
+little Em’ly didn’t like to come, and then Ham went. Presently they
+brought her to the fireside, very much confused, and very shy,--but
+she soon became more assured when she found how gently and respectfully
+Steerforth spoke to her; how skilfully he avoided anything that would
+embarrass her; how he talked to Mr. Peggotty of boats, and ships, and
+tides, and fish; how he referred to me about the time when he had seen
+Mr. Peggotty at Salem House; how delighted he was with the boat and all
+belonging to it; how lightly and easily he carried on, until he brought
+us, by degrees, into a charmed circle, and we were all talking away
+without any reserve.
+
+Em’ly, indeed, said little all the evening; but she looked, and
+listened, and her face got animated, and she was charming. Steerforth
+told a story of a dismal shipwreck (which arose out of his talk with Mr.
+Peggotty), as if he saw it all before him--and little Em’ly’s eyes were
+fastened on him all the time, as if she saw it too. He told us a merry
+adventure of his own, as a relief to that, with as much gaiety as if the
+narrative were as fresh to him as it was to us--and little Em’ly
+laughed until the boat rang with the musical sounds, and we all laughed
+(Steerforth too), in irresistible sympathy with what was so pleasant and
+light-hearted. He got Mr. Peggotty to sing, or rather to roar, ‘When
+the stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow’; and he sang a sailor’s
+song himself, so pathetically and beautifully, that I could have almost
+fancied that the real wind creeping sorrowfully round the house, and
+murmuring low through our unbroken silence, was there to listen.
+
+As to Mrs. Gummidge, he roused that victim of despondency with a success
+never attained by anyone else (so Mr. Peggotty informed me), since
+the decease of the old one. He left her so little leisure for being
+miserable, that she said next day she thought she must have been
+bewitched.
+
+But he set up no monopoly of the general attention, or the conversation.
+When little Em’ly grew more courageous, and talked (but still bashfully)
+across the fire to me, of our old wanderings upon the beach, to pick up
+shells and pebbles; and when I asked her if she recollected how I used
+to be devoted to her; and when we both laughed and reddened, casting
+these looks back on the pleasant old times, so unreal to look at now; he
+was silent and attentive, and observed us thoughtfully. She sat, at this
+time, and all the evening, on the old locker in her old little corner
+by the fire--Ham beside her, where I used to sit. I could not satisfy
+myself whether it was in her own little tormenting way, or in a maidenly
+reserve before us, that she kept quite close to the wall, and away from
+him; but I observed that she did so, all the evening.
+
+As I remember, it was almost midnight when we took our leave. We had had
+some biscuit and dried fish for supper, and Steerforth had produced from
+his pocket a full flask of Hollands, which we men (I may say we men,
+now, without a blush) had emptied. We parted merrily; and as they all
+stood crowded round the door to light us as far as they could upon our
+road, I saw the sweet blue eyes of little Em’ly peeping after us, from
+behind Ham, and heard her soft voice calling to us to be careful how we
+went.
+
+‘A most engaging little Beauty!’ said Steerforth, taking my arm. ‘Well!
+It’s a quaint place, and they are quaint company, and it’s quite a new
+sensation to mix with them.’
+
+‘How fortunate we are, too,’ I returned, ‘to have arrived to witness
+their happiness in that intended marriage! I never saw people so happy.
+How delightful to see it, and to be made the sharers in their honest
+joy, as we have been!’
+
+‘That’s rather a chuckle-headed fellow for the girl; isn’t he?’ said
+Steerforth.
+
+He had been so hearty with him, and with them all, that I felt a shock
+in this unexpected and cold reply. But turning quickly upon him, and
+seeing a laugh in his eyes, I answered, much relieved:
+
+‘Ah, Steerforth! It’s well for you to joke about the poor! You may
+skirmish with Miss Dartle, or try to hide your sympathies in jest from
+me, but I know better. When I see how perfectly you understand them, how
+exquisitely you can enter into happiness like this plain fisherman’s,
+or humour a love like my old nurse’s, I know that there is not a joy or
+sorrow, not an emotion, of such people, that can be indifferent to you.
+And I admire and love you for it, Steerforth, twenty times the more!’
+
+He stopped, and, looking in my face, said, ‘Daisy, I believe you are
+in earnest, and are good. I wish we all were!’ Next moment he was
+gaily singing Mr. Peggotty’s song, as we walked at a round pace back to
+Yarmouth.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 22. SOME OLD SCENES, AND SOME NEW PEOPLE
+
+
+Steerforth and I stayed for more than a fortnight in that part of the
+country. We were very much together, I need not say; but occasionally we
+were asunder for some hours at a time. He was a good sailor, and I was
+but an indifferent one; and when he went out boating with Mr. Peggotty,
+which was a favourite amusement of his, I generally remained ashore. My
+occupation of Peggotty’s spare-room put a constraint upon me, from which
+he was free: for, knowing how assiduously she attended on Mr. Barkis
+all day, I did not like to remain out late at night; whereas Steerforth,
+lying at the Inn, had nothing to consult but his own humour. Thus it
+came about, that I heard of his making little treats for the fishermen
+at Mr. Peggotty’s house of call, ‘The Willing Mind’, after I was in bed,
+and of his being afloat, wrapped in fishermen’s clothes, whole moonlight
+nights, and coming back when the morning tide was at flood. By this
+time, however, I knew that his restless nature and bold spirits
+delighted to find a vent in rough toil and hard weather, as in any other
+means of excitement that presented itself freshly to him; so none of his
+proceedings surprised me.
+
+Another cause of our being sometimes apart, was, that I had naturally an
+interest in going over to Blunderstone, and revisiting the old familiar
+scenes of my childhood; while Steerforth, after being there once, had
+naturally no great interest in going there again. Hence, on three or
+four days that I can at once recall, we went our several ways after an
+early breakfast, and met again at a late dinner. I had no idea how he
+employed his time in the interval, beyond a general knowledge that
+he was very popular in the place, and had twenty means of actively
+diverting himself where another man might not have found one.
+
+For my own part, my occupation in my solitary pilgrimages was to recall
+every yard of the old road as I went along it, and to haunt the old
+spots, of which I never tired. I haunted them, as my memory had often
+done, and lingered among them as my younger thoughts had lingered when I
+was far away. The grave beneath the tree, where both my parents lay--on
+which I had looked out, when it was my father’s only, with such curious
+feelings of compassion, and by which I had stood, so desolate, when it
+was opened to receive my pretty mother and her baby--the grave which
+Peggotty’s own faithful care had ever since kept neat, and made a garden
+of, I walked near, by the hour. It lay a little off the churchyard path,
+in a quiet corner, not so far removed but I could read the names
+upon the stone as I walked to and fro, startled by the sound of the
+church-bell when it struck the hour, for it was like a departed voice to
+me. My reflections at these times were always associated with the figure
+I was to make in life, and the distinguished things I was to do. My
+echoing footsteps went to no other tune, but were as constant to that as
+if I had come home to build my castles in the air at a living mother’s
+side.
+
+There were great changes in my old home. The ragged nests, so long
+deserted by the rooks, were gone; and the trees were lopped and topped
+out of their remembered shapes. The garden had run wild, and half the
+windows of the house were shut up. It was occupied, but only by a poor
+lunatic gentleman, and the people who took care of him. He was always
+sitting at my little window, looking out into the churchyard; and I
+wondered whether his rambling thoughts ever went upon any of the fancies
+that used to occupy mine, on the rosy mornings when I peeped out of
+that same little window in my night-clothes, and saw the sheep quietly
+feeding in the light of the rising sun.
+
+Our old neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Grayper, were gone to South America,
+and the rain had made its way through the roof of their empty house,
+and stained the outer walls. Mr. Chillip was married again to a tall,
+raw-boned, high-nosed wife; and they had a weazen little baby, with a
+heavy head that it couldn’t hold up, and two weak staring eyes, with
+which it seemed to be always wondering why it had ever been born.
+
+It was with a singular jumble of sadness and pleasure that I used to
+linger about my native place, until the reddening winter sun admonished
+me that it was time to start on my returning walk. But, when the place
+was left behind, and especially when Steerforth and I were happily
+seated over our dinner by a blazing fire, it was delicious to think of
+having been there. So it was, though in a softened degree, when I
+went to my neat room at night; and, turning over the leaves of the
+crocodile-book (which was always there, upon a little table), remembered
+with a grateful heart how blest I was in having such a friend as
+Steerforth, such a friend as Peggotty, and such a substitute for what I
+had lost as my excellent and generous aunt.
+
+MY nearest way to Yarmouth, in coming back from these long walks, was by
+a ferry. It landed me on the flat between the town and the sea, which I
+could make straight across, and so save myself a considerable circuit by
+the high road. Mr. Peggotty’s house being on that waste-place, and not
+a hundred yards out of my track, I always looked in as I went by.
+Steerforth was pretty sure to be there expecting me, and we went on
+together through the frosty air and gathering fog towards the twinkling
+lights of the town.
+
+One dark evening, when I was later than usual--for I had, that day, been
+making my parting visit to Blunderstone, as we were now about to return
+home--I found him alone in Mr. Peggotty’s house, sitting thoughtfully
+before the fire. He was so intent upon his own reflections that he was
+quite unconscious of my approach. This, indeed, he might easily have
+been if he had been less absorbed, for footsteps fell noiselessly on the
+sandy ground outside; but even my entrance failed to rouse him. I was
+standing close to him, looking at him; and still, with a heavy brow, he
+was lost in his meditations.
+
+He gave such a start when I put my hand upon his shoulder, that he made
+me start too.
+
+‘You come upon me,’ he said, almost angrily, ‘like a reproachful ghost!’
+
+‘I was obliged to announce myself, somehow,’ I replied. ‘Have I called
+you down from the stars?’
+
+‘No,’ he answered. ‘No.’
+
+‘Up from anywhere, then?’ said I, taking my seat near him.
+
+‘I was looking at the pictures in the fire,’ he returned.
+
+‘But you are spoiling them for me,’ said I, as he stirred it quickly
+with a piece of burning wood, striking out of it a train of red-hot
+sparks that went careering up the little chimney, and roaring out into
+the air.
+
+‘You would not have seen them,’ he returned. ‘I detest this mongrel
+time, neither day nor night. How late you are! Where have you been?’
+
+‘I have been taking leave of my usual walk,’ said I.
+
+‘And I have been sitting here,’ said Steerforth, glancing round the
+room, ‘thinking that all the people we found so glad on the night of
+our coming down, might--to judge from the present wasted air of the
+place--be dispersed, or dead, or come to I don’t know what harm. David,
+I wish to God I had had a judicious father these last twenty years!’
+
+‘My dear Steerforth, what is the matter?’
+
+‘I wish with all my soul I had been better guided!’ he exclaimed. ‘I
+wish with all my soul I could guide myself better!’
+
+There was a passionate dejection in his manner that quite amazed me. He
+was more unlike himself than I could have supposed possible.
+
+‘It would be better to be this poor Peggotty, or his lout of a nephew,’
+he said, getting up and leaning moodily against the chimney-piece, with
+his face towards the fire, ‘than to be myself, twenty times richer and
+twenty times wiser, and be the torment to myself that I have been, in
+this Devil’s bark of a boat, within the last half-hour!’
+
+I was so confounded by the alteration in him, that at first I could only
+observe him in silence, as he stood leaning his head upon his hand, and
+looking gloomily down at the fire. At length I begged him, with all
+the earnestness I felt, to tell me what had occurred to cross him so
+unusually, and to let me sympathize with him, if I could not hope to
+advise him. Before I had well concluded, he began to laugh--fretfully at
+first, but soon with returning gaiety.
+
+‘Tut, it’s nothing, Daisy! nothing!’ he replied. ‘I told you at the
+inn in London, I am heavy company for myself, sometimes. I have been a
+nightmare to myself, just now--must have had one, I think. At odd dull
+times, nursery tales come up into the memory, unrecognized for what
+they are. I believe I have been confounding myself with the bad boy who
+“didn’t care”, and became food for lions--a grander kind of going to
+the dogs, I suppose. What old women call the horrors, have been creeping
+over me from head to foot. I have been afraid of myself.’
+
+‘You are afraid of nothing else, I think,’ said I.
+
+‘Perhaps not, and yet may have enough to be afraid of too,’ he answered.
+‘Well! So it goes by! I am not about to be hipped again, David; but I
+tell you, my good fellow, once more, that it would have been well for me
+(and for more than me) if I had had a steadfast and judicious father!’
+
+His face was always full of expression, but I never saw it express such
+a dark kind of earnestness as when he said these words, with his glance
+bent on the fire.
+
+‘So much for that!’ he said, making as if he tossed something light
+into the air, with his hand. “‘Why, being gone, I am a man again,” like
+Macbeth. And now for dinner! If I have not (Macbeth-like) broken up the
+feast with most admired disorder, Daisy.’
+
+‘But where are they all, I wonder!’ said I.
+
+‘God knows,’ said Steerforth. ‘After strolling to the ferry looking
+for you, I strolled in here and found the place deserted. That set me
+thinking, and you found me thinking.’
+
+The advent of Mrs. Gummidge with a basket, explained how the house had
+happened to be empty. She had hurried out to buy something that was
+needed, against Mr. Peggotty’s return with the tide; and had left the
+door open in the meanwhile, lest Ham and little Em’ly, with whom it was
+an early night, should come home while she was gone. Steerforth, after
+very much improving Mrs. Gummidge’s spirits by a cheerful salutation and
+a jocose embrace, took my arm, and hurried me away.
+
+He had improved his own spirits, no less than Mrs. Gummidge’s, for
+they were again at their usual flow, and he was full of vivacious
+conversation as we went along.
+
+‘And so,’ he said, gaily, ‘we abandon this buccaneer life tomorrow, do
+we?’
+
+‘So we agreed,’ I returned. ‘And our places by the coach are taken, you
+know.’
+
+‘Ay! there’s no help for it, I suppose,’ said Steerforth. ‘I have
+almost forgotten that there is anything to do in the world but to go out
+tossing on the sea here. I wish there was not.’
+
+‘As long as the novelty should last,’ said I, laughing.
+
+‘Like enough,’ he returned; ‘though there’s a sarcastic meaning in that
+observation for an amiable piece of innocence like my young friend.
+Well! I dare say I am a capricious fellow, David. I know I am; but
+while the iron is hot, I can strike it vigorously too. I could pass
+a reasonably good examination already, as a pilot in these waters, I
+think.’
+
+‘Mr. Peggotty says you are a wonder,’ I returned.
+
+‘A nautical phenomenon, eh?’ laughed Steerforth.
+
+‘Indeed he does, and you know how truly; I know how ardent you are
+in any pursuit you follow, and how easily you can master it. And that
+amazes me most in you, Steerforth--that you should be contented with
+such fitful uses of your powers.’
+
+‘Contented?’ he answered, merrily. ‘I am never contented, except with
+your freshness, my gentle Daisy. As to fitfulness, I have never learnt
+the art of binding myself to any of the wheels on which the Ixions of
+these days are turning round and round. I missed it somehow in a bad
+apprenticeship, and now don’t care about it.---You know I have bought a
+boat down here?’
+
+‘What an extraordinary fellow you are, Steerforth!’ I exclaimed,
+stopping--for this was the first I had heard of it. ‘When you may never
+care to come near the place again!’
+
+‘I don’t know that,’ he returned. ‘I have taken a fancy to the place. At
+all events,’ walking me briskly on, ‘I have bought a boat that was for
+sale--a clipper, Mr. Peggotty says; and so she is--and Mr. Peggotty will
+be master of her in my absence.’
+
+‘Now I understand you, Steerforth!’ said I, exultingly. ‘You pretend
+to have bought it for yourself, but you have really done so to confer
+a benefit on him. I might have known as much at first, knowing you.
+My dear kind Steerforth, how can I tell you what I think of your
+generosity?’
+
+‘Tush!’ he answered, turning red. ‘The less said, the better.’
+
+‘Didn’t I know?’ cried I, ‘didn’t I say that there was not a joy, or
+sorrow, or any emotion of such honest hearts that was indifferent to
+you?’
+
+‘Aye, aye,’ he answered, ‘you told me all that. There let it rest. We
+have said enough!’
+
+Afraid of offending him by pursuing the subject when he made so light
+of it, I only pursued it in my thoughts as we went on at even a quicker
+pace than before.
+
+‘She must be newly rigged,’ said Steerforth, ‘and I shall leave Littimer
+behind to see it done, that I may know she is quite complete. Did I tell
+you Littimer had come down?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Oh yes! came down this morning, with a letter from my mother.’
+
+As our looks met, I observed that he was pale even to his lips, though
+he looked very steadily at me. I feared that some difference between him
+and his mother might have led to his being in the frame of mind in which
+I had found him at the solitary fireside. I hinted so.
+
+‘Oh no!’ he said, shaking his head, and giving a slight laugh. ‘Nothing
+of the sort! Yes. He is come down, that man of mine.’
+
+‘The same as ever?’ said I.
+
+‘The same as ever,’ said Steerforth. ‘Distant and quiet as the North
+Pole. He shall see to the boat being fresh named. She’s the “Stormy
+Petrel” now. What does Mr. Peggotty care for Stormy Petrels! I’ll have
+her christened again.’
+
+‘By what name?’ I asked.
+
+‘The “Little Em’ly”.’
+
+As he had continued to look steadily at me, I took it as a reminder that
+he objected to being extolled for his consideration. I could not help
+showing in my face how much it pleased me, but I said little, and he
+resumed his usual smile, and seemed relieved.
+
+‘But see here,’ he said, looking before us, ‘where the original little
+Em’ly comes! And that fellow with her, eh? Upon my soul, he’s a true
+knight. He never leaves her!’
+
+Ham was a boat-builder in these days, having improved a natural
+ingenuity in that handicraft, until he had become a skilled workman. He
+was in his working-dress, and looked rugged enough, but manly withal,
+and a very fit protector for the blooming little creature at his
+side. Indeed, there was a frankness in his face, an honesty, and an
+undisguised show of his pride in her, and his love for her, which were,
+to me, the best of good looks. I thought, as they came towards us, that
+they were well matched even in that particular.
+
+She withdrew her hand timidly from his arm as we stopped to speak to
+them, and blushed as she gave it to Steerforth and to me. When they
+passed on, after we had exchanged a few words, she did not like to
+replace that hand, but, still appearing timid and constrained, walked
+by herself. I thought all this very pretty and engaging, and Steerforth
+seemed to think so too, as we looked after them fading away in the light
+of a young moon.
+
+Suddenly there passed us--evidently following them--a young woman whose
+approach we had not observed, but whose face I saw as she went by, and
+thought I had a faint remembrance of. She was lightly dressed; looked
+bold, and haggard, and flaunting, and poor; but seemed, for the time, to
+have given all that to the wind which was blowing, and to have nothing
+in her mind but going after them. As the dark distant level, absorbing
+their figures into itself, left but itself visible between us and the
+sea and clouds, her figure disappeared in like manner, still no nearer
+to them than before.
+
+‘That is a black shadow to be following the girl,’ said Steerforth,
+standing still; ‘what does it mean?’
+
+He spoke in a low voice that sounded almost strange to Me.
+
+‘She must have it in her mind to beg of them, I think,’ said I.
+
+‘A beggar would be no novelty,’ said Steerforth; ‘but it is a strange
+thing that the beggar should take that shape tonight.’
+
+‘Why?’ I asked.
+
+‘For no better reason, truly, than because I was thinking,’ he said,
+after a pause, ‘of something like it, when it came by. Where the Devil
+did it come from, I wonder!’
+
+‘From the shadow of this wall, I think,’ said I, as we emerged upon a
+road on which a wall abutted.
+
+‘It’s gone!’ he returned, looking over his shoulder. ‘And all ill go
+with it. Now for our dinner!’
+
+But he looked again over his shoulder towards the sea-line glimmering
+afar off, and yet again. And he wondered about it, in some broken
+expressions, several times, in the short remainder of our walk; and only
+seemed to forget it when the light of fire and candle shone upon us,
+seated warm and merry, at table.
+
+Littimer was there, and had his usual effect upon me. When I said to
+him that I hoped Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle were well, he answered
+respectfully (and of course respectably), that they were tolerably well,
+he thanked me, and had sent their compliments. This was all, and yet he
+seemed to me to say as plainly as a man could say: ‘You are very young,
+sir; you are exceedingly young.’
+
+We had almost finished dinner, when taking a step or two towards the
+table, from the corner where he kept watch upon us, or rather upon me,
+as I felt, he said to his master:
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir. Miss Mowcher is down here.’
+
+‘Who?’ cried Steerforth, much astonished.
+
+‘Miss Mowcher, sir.’
+
+‘Why, what on earth does she do here?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘It appears to be her native part of the country, sir. She informs me
+that she makes one of her professional visits here, every year, sir.
+I met her in the street this afternoon, and she wished to know if she
+might have the honour of waiting on you after dinner, sir.’
+
+‘Do you know the Giantess in question, Daisy?’ inquired Steerforth.
+
+I was obliged to confess--I felt ashamed, even of being at this
+disadvantage before Littimer--that Miss Mowcher and I were wholly
+unacquainted.
+
+‘Then you shall know her,’ said Steerforth, ‘for she is one of the seven
+wonders of the world. When Miss Mowcher comes, show her in.’
+
+I felt some curiosity and excitement about this lady, especially as
+Steerforth burst into a fit of laughing when I referred to her, and
+positively refused to answer any question of which I made her the
+subject. I remained, therefore, in a state of considerable expectation
+until the cloth had been removed some half an hour, and we were sitting
+over our decanter of wine before the fire, when the door opened, and
+Littimer, with his habitual serenity quite undisturbed, announced:
+
+‘Miss Mowcher!’
+
+I looked at the doorway and saw nothing. I was still looking at
+the doorway, thinking that Miss Mowcher was a long while making her
+appearance, when, to my infinite astonishment, there came waddling round
+a sofa which stood between me and it, a pursy dwarf, of about forty
+or forty-five, with a very large head and face, a pair of roguish grey
+eyes, and such extremely little arms, that, to enable herself to lay a
+finger archly against her snub nose, as she ogled Steerforth, she was
+obliged to meet the finger half-way, and lay her nose against it.
+Her chin, which was what is called a double chin, was so fat that it
+entirely swallowed up the strings of her bonnet, bow and all. Throat she
+had none; waist she had none; legs she had none, worth mentioning; for
+though she was more than full-sized down to where her waist would have
+been, if she had had any, and though she terminated, as human beings
+generally do, in a pair of feet, she was so short that she stood at a
+common-sized chair as at a table, resting a bag she carried on the seat.
+This lady--dressed in an off-hand, easy style; bringing her nose and her
+forefinger together, with the difficulty I have described; standing with
+her head necessarily on one side, and, with one of her sharp eyes shut
+up, making an uncommonly knowing face--after ogling Steerforth for a few
+moments, broke into a torrent of words.
+
+‘What! My flower!’ she pleasantly began, shaking her large head at him.
+‘You’re there, are you! Oh, you naughty boy, fie for shame, what do you
+do so far away from home? Up to mischief, I’ll be bound. Oh, you’re a
+downy fellow, Steerforth, so you are, and I’m another, ain’t I? Ha, ha,
+ha! You’d have betted a hundred pound to five, now, that you wouldn’t
+have seen me here, wouldn’t you? Bless you, man alive, I’m everywhere.
+I’m here and there, and where not, like the conjurer’s half-crown in the
+lady’s handkercher. Talking of handkerchers--and talking of ladies--what
+a comfort you are to your blessed mother, ain’t you, my dear boy, over
+one of my shoulders, and I don’t say which!’
+
+Miss Mowcher untied her bonnet, at this passage of her discourse, threw
+back the strings, and sat down, panting, on a footstool in front of
+the fire--making a kind of arbour of the dining table, which spread its
+mahogany shelter above her head.
+
+‘Oh my stars and what’s-their-names!’ she went on, clapping a hand on
+each of her little knees, and glancing shrewdly at me, ‘I’m of too full
+a habit, that’s the fact, Steerforth. After a flight of stairs, it gives
+me as much trouble to draw every breath I want, as if it was a bucket of
+water. If you saw me looking out of an upper window, you’d think I was a
+fine woman, wouldn’t you?’
+
+‘I should think that, wherever I saw you,’ replied Steerforth.
+
+‘Go along, you dog, do!’ cried the little creature, making a whisk at
+him with the handkerchief with which she was wiping her face, ‘and don’t
+be impudent! But I give you my word and honour I was at Lady Mithers’s
+last week--THERE’S a woman! How SHE wears!--and Mithers himself came
+into the room where I was waiting for her--THERE’S a man! How HE wears!
+and his wig too, for he’s had it these ten years--and he went on at
+that rate in the complimentary line, that I began to think I should be
+obliged to ring the bell. Ha! ha! ha! He’s a pleasant wretch, but he
+wants principle.’
+
+‘What were you doing for Lady Mithers?’ asked Steerforth.
+
+‘That’s tellings, my blessed infant,’ she retorted, tapping her nose
+again, screwing up her face, and twinkling her eyes like an imp of
+supernatural intelligence. ‘Never YOU mind! You’d like to know whether
+I stop her hair from falling off, or dye it, or touch up her
+complexion, or improve her eyebrows, wouldn’t you? And so you shall, my
+darling--when I tell you! Do you know what my great grandfather’s name
+was?’
+
+‘No,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘It was Walker, my sweet pet,’ replied Miss Mowcher, ‘and he came of a
+long line of Walkers, that I inherit all the Hookey estates from.’
+
+I never beheld anything approaching to Miss Mowcher’s wink except Miss
+Mowcher’s self-possession. She had a wonderful way too, when listening
+to what was said to her, or when waiting for an answer to what she had
+said herself, of pausing with her head cunningly on one side, and one
+eye turned up like a magpie’s. Altogether I was lost in amazement,
+and sat staring at her, quite oblivious, I am afraid, of the laws of
+politeness.
+
+She had by this time drawn the chair to her side, and was busily engaged
+in producing from the bag (plunging in her short arm to the shoulder, at
+every dive) a number of small bottles, sponges, combs, brushes, bits of
+flannel, little pairs of curling-irons, and other instruments, which
+she tumbled in a heap upon the chair. From this employment she suddenly
+desisted, and said to Steerforth, much to my confusion:
+
+‘Who’s your friend?’
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ said Steerforth; ‘he wants to know you.’
+
+‘Well, then, he shall! I thought he looked as if he did!’ returned Miss
+Mowcher, waddling up to me, bag in hand, and laughing on me as she came.
+‘Face like a peach!’ standing on tiptoe to pinch my cheek as I
+sat. ‘Quite tempting! I’m very fond of peaches. Happy to make your
+acquaintance, Mr. Copperfield, I’m sure.’
+
+I said that I congratulated myself on having the honour to make hers,
+and that the happiness was mutual.
+
+‘Oh, my goodness, how polite we are!’ exclaimed Miss Mowcher, making a
+preposterous attempt to cover her large face with her morsel of a hand.
+‘What a world of gammon and spinnage it is, though, ain’t it!’
+
+This was addressed confidentially to both of us, as the morsel of a
+hand came away from the face, and buried itself, arm and all, in the bag
+again.
+
+‘What do you mean, Miss Mowcher?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Ha! ha! ha! What a refreshing set of humbugs we are, to be sure, ain’t
+we, my sweet child?’ replied that morsel of a woman, feeling in the bag
+with her head on one side and her eye in the air. ‘Look here!’ taking
+something out. ‘Scraps of the Russian Prince’s nails. Prince Alphabet
+turned topsy-turvy, I call him, for his name’s got all the letters in
+it, higgledy-piggledy.’
+
+‘The Russian Prince is a client of yours, is he?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘I believe you, my pet,’ replied Miss Mowcher. ‘I keep his nails in
+order for him. Twice a week! Fingers and toes.’
+
+‘He pays well, I hope?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Pays, as he speaks, my dear child--through the nose,’ replied Miss
+Mowcher. ‘None of your close shavers the Prince ain’t. You’d say so, if
+you saw his moustachios. Red by nature, black by art.’
+
+‘By your art, of course,’ said Steerforth.
+
+Miss Mowcher winked assent. ‘Forced to send for me. Couldn’t help it.
+The climate affected his dye; it did very well in Russia, but it was no
+go here. You never saw such a rusty Prince in all your born days as he
+was. Like old iron!’ ‘Is that why you called him a humbug, just now?’
+inquired Steerforth.
+
+‘Oh, you’re a broth of a boy, ain’t you?’ returned Miss Mowcher, shaking
+her head violently. ‘I said, what a set of humbugs we were in general,
+and I showed you the scraps of the Prince’s nails to prove it. The
+Prince’s nails do more for me in private families of the genteel sort,
+than all my talents put together. I always carry ‘em about. They’re the
+best introduction. If Miss Mowcher cuts the Prince’s nails, she must be
+all right. I give ‘em away to the young ladies. They put ‘em in albums,
+I believe. Ha! ha! ha! Upon my life, “the whole social system” (as
+the men call it when they make speeches in Parliament) is a system of
+Prince’s nails!’ said this least of women, trying to fold her short
+arms, and nodding her large head.
+
+Steerforth laughed heartily, and I laughed too. Miss Mowcher continuing
+all the time to shake her head (which was very much on one side), and to
+look into the air with one eye, and to wink with the other.
+
+‘Well, well!’ she said, smiting her small knees, and rising, ‘this is
+not business. Come, Steerforth, let’s explore the polar regions, and
+have it over.’
+
+She then selected two or three of the little instruments, and a
+little bottle, and asked (to my surprise) if the table would bear. On
+Steerforth’s replying in the affirmative, she pushed a chair against it,
+and begging the assistance of my hand, mounted up, pretty nimbly, to the
+top, as if it were a stage.
+
+‘If either of you saw my ankles,’ she said, when she was safely
+elevated, ‘say so, and I’ll go home and destroy myself!’
+
+‘I did not,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘I did not,’ said I.
+
+‘Well then,’ cried Miss Mowcher, ‘I’ll consent to live. Now, ducky,
+ducky, ducky, come to Mrs. Bond and be killed.’
+
+This was an invocation to Steerforth to place himself under her hands;
+who, accordingly, sat himself down, with his back to the table, and
+his laughing face towards me, and submitted his head to her inspection,
+evidently for no other purpose than our entertainment. To see Miss
+Mowcher standing over him, looking at his rich profusion of brown
+hair through a large round magnifying glass, which she took out of her
+pocket, was a most amazing spectacle.
+
+‘You’re a pretty fellow!’ said Miss Mowcher, after a brief inspection.
+‘You’d be as bald as a friar on the top of your head in twelve months,
+but for me. Just half a minute, my young friend, and we’ll give you a
+polishing that shall keep your curls on for the next ten years!’
+
+With this, she tilted some of the contents of the little bottle on to
+one of the little bits of flannel, and, again imparting some of the
+virtues of that preparation to one of the little brushes, began rubbing
+and scraping away with both on the crown of Steerforth’s head in the
+busiest manner I ever witnessed, talking all the time.
+
+‘There’s Charley Pyegrave, the duke’s son,’ she said. ‘You know
+Charley?’ peeping round into his face.
+
+‘A little,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘What a man HE is! THERE’S a whisker! As to Charley’s legs, if they
+were only a pair (which they ain’t), they’d defy competition. Would you
+believe he tried to do without me--in the Life-Guards, too?’
+
+‘Mad!’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘It looks like it. However, mad or sane, he tried,’ returned Miss
+Mowcher. ‘What does he do, but, lo and behold you, he goes into a
+perfumer’s shop, and wants to buy a bottle of the Madagascar Liquid.’
+
+‘Charley does?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Charley does. But they haven’t got any of the Madagascar Liquid.’
+
+‘What is it? Something to drink?’ asked Steerforth.
+
+‘To drink?’ returned Miss Mowcher, stopping to slap his cheek. ‘To
+doctor his own moustachios with, you know. There was a woman in the
+shop--elderly female--quite a Griffin--who had never even heard of it
+by name. “Begging pardon, sir,” said the Griffin to Charley, “it’s
+not--not--not ROUGE, is it?” “Rouge,” said Charley to the Griffin. “What
+the unmentionable to ears polite, do you think I want with rouge?” “No
+offence, sir,” said the Griffin; “we have it asked for by so many names,
+I thought it might be.” Now that, my child,’ continued Miss Mowcher,
+rubbing all the time as busily as ever, ‘is another instance of
+the refreshing humbug I was speaking of. I do something in that way
+myself--perhaps a good deal--perhaps a little--sharp’s the word, my dear
+boy--never mind!’
+
+‘In what way do you mean? In the rouge way?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Put this and that together, my tender pupil,’ returned the wary
+Mowcher, touching her nose, ‘work it by the rule of Secrets in all
+trades, and the product will give you the desired result. I say I do a
+little in that way myself. One Dowager, SHE calls it lip-salve. Another,
+SHE calls it gloves. Another, SHE calls it tucker-edging. Another, SHE
+calls it a fan. I call it whatever THEY call it. I supply it for ‘em,
+but we keep up the trick so, to one another, and make believe with
+such a face, that they’d as soon think of laying it on, before a whole
+drawing-room, as before me. And when I wait upon ‘em, they’ll say to
+me sometimes--WITH IT ON--thick, and no mistake--“How am I looking,
+Mowcher? Am I pale?” Ha! ha! ha! ha! Isn’t THAT refreshing, my young
+friend!’
+
+I never did in my days behold anything like Mowcher as she stood upon
+the dining table, intensely enjoying this refreshment, rubbing busily at
+Steerforth’s head, and winking at me over it.
+
+‘Ah!’ she said. ‘Such things are not much in demand hereabouts. That
+sets me off again! I haven’t seen a pretty woman since I’ve been here,
+jemmy.’
+
+‘No?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Not the ghost of one,’ replied Miss Mowcher.
+
+‘We could show her the substance of one, I think?’ said Steerforth,
+addressing his eyes to mine. ‘Eh, Daisy?’
+
+‘Yes, indeed,’ said I.
+
+‘Aha?’ cried the little creature, glancing sharply at my face, and then
+peeping round at Steerforth’s. ‘Umph?’
+
+The first exclamation sounded like a question put to both of us, and the
+second like a question put to Steerforth only. She seemed to have found
+no answer to either, but continued to rub, with her head on one side and
+her eye turned up, as if she were looking for an answer in the air and
+were confident of its appearing presently.
+
+‘A sister of yours, Mr. Copperfield?’ she cried, after a pause, and
+still keeping the same look-out. ‘Aye, aye?’
+
+‘No,’ said Steerforth, before I could reply. ‘Nothing of the sort. On
+the contrary, Mr. Copperfield used--or I am much mistaken--to have a
+great admiration for her.’
+
+‘Why, hasn’t he now?’ returned Miss Mowcher. ‘Is he fickle? Oh, for
+shame! Did he sip every flower, and change every hour, until Polly his
+passion requited?--Is her name Polly?’
+
+The Elfin suddenness with which she pounced upon me with this question,
+and a searching look, quite disconcerted me for a moment.
+
+‘No, Miss Mowcher,’ I replied. ‘Her name is Emily.’
+
+‘Aha?’ she cried exactly as before. ‘Umph? What a rattle I am! Mr.
+Copperfield, ain’t I volatile?’
+
+Her tone and look implied something that was not agreeable to me in
+connexion with the subject. So I said, in a graver manner than any of us
+had yet assumed: ‘She is as virtuous as she is pretty. She is engaged
+to be married to a most worthy and deserving man in her own station of
+life. I esteem her for her good sense, as much as I admire her for her
+good looks.’
+
+‘Well said!’ cried Steerforth. ‘Hear, hear, hear! Now I’ll quench the
+curiosity of this little Fatima, my dear Daisy, by leaving her nothing
+to guess at. She is at present apprenticed, Miss Mowcher, or articled,
+or whatever it may be, to Omer and Joram, Haberdashers, Milliners, and
+so forth, in this town. Do you observe? Omer and Joram. The promise of
+which my friend has spoken, is made and entered into with her cousin;
+Christian name, Ham; surname, Peggotty; occupation, boat-builder;
+also of this town. She lives with a relative; Christian name, unknown;
+surname, Peggotty; occupation, seafaring; also of this town. She is the
+prettiest and most engaging little fairy in the world. I admire her--as
+my friend does--exceedingly. If it were not that I might appear to
+disparage her Intended, which I know my friend would not like, I would
+add, that to me she seems to be throwing herself away; that I am sure
+she might do better; and that I swear she was born to be a lady.’
+
+Miss Mowcher listened to these words, which were very slowly and
+distinctly spoken, with her head on one side, and her eye in the air
+as if she were still looking for that answer. When he ceased she became
+brisk again in an instant, and rattled away with surprising volubility.
+
+‘Oh! And that’s all about it, is it?’ she exclaimed, trimming his
+whiskers with a little restless pair of scissors, that went glancing
+round his head in all directions. ‘Very well: very well! Quite a long
+story. Ought to end “and they lived happy ever afterwards”; oughtn’t
+it? Ah! What’s that game at forfeits? I love my love with an E, because
+she’s enticing; I hate her with an E, because she’s engaged. I took her
+to the sign of the exquisite, and treated her with an elopement, her
+name’s Emily, and she lives in the east? Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Copperfield,
+ain’t I volatile?’
+
+Merely looking at me with extravagant slyness, and not waiting for any
+reply, she continued, without drawing breath:
+
+‘There! If ever any scapegrace was trimmed and touched up to perfection,
+you are, Steerforth. If I understand any noddle in the world, I
+understand yours. Do you hear me when I tell you that, my darling? I
+understand yours,’ peeping down into his face. ‘Now you may mizzle,
+jemmy (as we say at Court), and if Mr. Copperfield will take the chair
+I’ll operate on him.’
+
+‘What do you say, Daisy?’ inquired Steerforth, laughing, and resigning
+his seat. ‘Will you be improved?’
+
+‘Thank you, Miss Mowcher, not this evening.’
+
+‘Don’t say no,’ returned the little woman, looking at me with the aspect
+of a connoisseur; ‘a little bit more eyebrow?’
+
+‘Thank you,’ I returned, ‘some other time.’
+
+‘Have it carried half a quarter of an inch towards the temple,’ said
+Miss Mowcher. ‘We can do it in a fortnight.’
+
+‘No, I thank you. Not at present.’
+
+‘Go in for a tip,’ she urged. ‘No? Let’s get the scaffolding up, then,
+for a pair of whiskers. Come!’
+
+I could not help blushing as I declined, for I felt we were on my weak
+point, now. But Miss Mowcher, finding that I was not at present disposed
+for any decoration within the range of her art, and that I was, for the
+time being, proof against the blandishments of the small bottle which
+she held up before one eye to enforce her persuasions, said we would
+make a beginning on an early day, and requested the aid of my hand to
+descend from her elevated station. Thus assisted, she skipped down with
+much agility, and began to tie her double chin into her bonnet.
+
+‘The fee,’ said Steerforth, ‘is--’
+
+‘Five bob,’ replied Miss Mowcher, ‘and dirt cheap, my chicken. Ain’t I
+volatile, Mr. Copperfield?’
+
+I replied politely: ‘Not at all.’ But I thought she was rather so, when
+she tossed up his two half-crowns like a goblin pieman, caught them,
+dropped them in her pocket, and gave it a loud slap.
+
+‘That’s the Till!’ observed Miss Mowcher, standing at the chair again,
+and replacing in the bag a miscellaneous collection of little objects
+she had emptied out of it. ‘Have I got all my traps? It seems so. It
+won’t do to be like long Ned Beadwood, when they took him to church “to
+marry him to somebody”, as he says, and left the bride behind. Ha! ha!
+ha! A wicked rascal, Ned, but droll! Now, I know I’m going to break
+your hearts, but I am forced to leave you. You must call up all your
+fortitude, and try to bear it. Good-bye, Mr. Copperfield! Take care of
+yourself, jockey of Norfolk! How I have been rattling on! It’s all
+the fault of you two wretches. I forgive you! “Bob swore!”--as the
+Englishman said for “Good night”, when he first learnt French, and
+thought it so like English. “Bob swore,” my ducks!’
+
+With the bag slung over her arm, and rattling as she waddled away, she
+waddled to the door, where she stopped to inquire if she should leave
+us a lock of her hair. ‘Ain’t I volatile?’ she added, as a commentary on
+this offer, and, with her finger on her nose, departed.
+
+Steerforth laughed to that degree, that it was impossible for me to help
+laughing too; though I am not sure I should have done so, but for this
+inducement. When we had had our laugh quite out, which was after some
+time, he told me that Miss Mowcher had quite an extensive connexion, and
+made herself useful to a variety of people in a variety of ways. Some
+people trifled with her as a mere oddity, he said; but she was as
+shrewdly and sharply observant as anyone he knew, and as long-headed as
+she was short-armed. He told me that what she had said of being here,
+and there, and everywhere, was true enough; for she made little darts
+into the provinces, and seemed to pick up customers everywhere, and to
+know everybody. I asked him what her disposition was: whether it was at
+all mischievous, and if her sympathies were generally on the right side
+of things: but, not succeeding in attracting his attention to these
+questions after two or three attempts, I forbore or forgot to repeat
+them. He told me instead, with much rapidity, a good deal about her
+skill, and her profits; and about her being a scientific cupper, if I
+should ever have occasion for her service in that capacity.
+
+She was the principal theme of our conversation during the evening:
+and when we parted for the night Steerforth called after me over the
+banisters, ‘Bob swore!’ as I went downstairs.
+
+I was surprised, when I came to Mr. Barkis’s house, to find Ham walking
+up and down in front of it, and still more surprised to learn from him
+that little Em’ly was inside. I naturally inquired why he was not there
+too, instead of pacing the streets by himself?
+
+‘Why, you see, Mas’r Davy,’ he rejoined, in a hesitating manner, ‘Em’ly,
+she’s talking to some ‘un in here.’
+
+‘I should have thought,’ said I, smiling, ‘that that was a reason for
+your being in here too, Ham.’
+
+‘Well, Mas’r Davy, in a general way, so ‘t would be,’ he returned;
+‘but look’ee here, Mas’r Davy,’ lowering his voice, and speaking very
+gravely. ‘It’s a young woman, sir--a young woman, that Em’ly knowed
+once, and doen’t ought to know no more.’
+
+When I heard these words, a light began to fall upon the figure I had
+seen following them, some hours ago.
+
+‘It’s a poor wurem, Mas’r Davy,’ said Ham, ‘as is trod under foot by all
+the town. Up street and down street. The mowld o’ the churchyard don’t
+hold any that the folk shrink away from, more.’
+
+‘Did I see her tonight, Ham, on the sand, after we met you?’
+
+‘Keeping us in sight?’ said Ham. ‘It’s like you did, Mas’r Davy. Not
+that I know’d then, she was theer, sir, but along of her creeping soon
+arterwards under Em’ly’s little winder, when she see the light come,
+and whispering “Em’ly, Em’ly, for Christ’s sake, have a woman’s heart
+towards me. I was once like you!” Those was solemn words, Mas’r Davy,
+fur to hear!’
+
+‘They were indeed, Ham. What did Em’ly do?’ ‘Says Em’ly, “Martha, is
+it you? Oh, Martha, can it be you?”--for they had sat at work together,
+many a day, at Mr. Omer’s.’
+
+‘I recollect her now!’ cried I, recalling one of the two girls I had
+seen when I first went there. ‘I recollect her quite well!’
+
+‘Martha Endell,’ said Ham. ‘Two or three year older than Em’ly, but was
+at the school with her.’
+
+‘I never heard her name,’ said I. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt you.’
+
+‘For the matter o’ that, Mas’r Davy,’ replied Ham, ‘all’s told a’most
+in them words, “Em’ly, Em’ly, for Christ’s sake, have a woman’s heart
+towards me. I was once like you!” She wanted to speak to Em’ly. Em’ly
+couldn’t speak to her theer, for her loving uncle was come home, and
+he wouldn’t--no, Mas’r Davy,’ said Ham, with great earnestness, ‘he
+couldn’t, kind-natur’d, tender-hearted as he is, see them two together,
+side by side, for all the treasures that’s wrecked in the sea.’
+
+I felt how true this was. I knew it, on the instant, quite as well as
+Ham.
+
+‘So Em’ly writes in pencil on a bit of paper,’ he pursued, ‘and gives it
+to her out o’ winder to bring here. “Show that,” she says, “to my aunt,
+Mrs. Barkis, and she’ll set you down by her fire, for the love of me,
+till uncle is gone out, and I can come.” By and by she tells me what
+I tell you, Mas’r Davy, and asks me to bring her. What can I do? She
+doen’t ought to know any such, but I can’t deny her, when the tears is
+on her face.’
+
+He put his hand into the breast of his shaggy jacket, and took out with
+great care a pretty little purse.
+
+‘And if I could deny her when the tears was on her face, Mas’r Davy,’
+said Ham, tenderly adjusting it on the rough palm of his hand, ‘how
+could I deny her when she give me this to carry for her--knowing what
+she brought it for? Such a toy as it is!’ said Ham, thoughtfully looking
+on it. ‘With such a little money in it, Em’ly my dear.’
+
+I shook him warmly by the hand when he had put it away again--for that
+was more satisfactory to me than saying anything--and we walked up
+and down, for a minute or two, in silence. The door opened then, and
+Peggotty appeared, beckoning to Ham to come in. I would have kept away,
+but she came after me, entreating me to come in too. Even then, I
+would have avoided the room where they all were, but for its being the
+neat-tiled kitchen I have mentioned more than once. The door opening
+immediately into it, I found myself among them before I considered
+whither I was going.
+
+The girl--the same I had seen upon the sands--was near the fire. She
+was sitting on the ground, with her head and one arm lying on a chair.
+I fancied, from the disposition of her figure, that Em’ly had but newly
+risen from the chair, and that the forlorn head might perhaps have been
+lying on her lap. I saw but little of the girl’s face, over which her
+hair fell loose and scattered, as if she had been disordering it with
+her own hands; but I saw that she was young, and of a fair complexion.
+Peggotty had been crying. So had little Em’ly. Not a word was spoken
+when we first went in; and the Dutch clock by the dresser seemed, in the
+silence, to tick twice as loud as usual. Em’ly spoke first.
+
+‘Martha wants,’ she said to Ham, ‘to go to London.’
+
+‘Why to London?’ returned Ham.
+
+He stood between them, looking on the prostrate girl with a mixture of
+compassion for her, and of jealousy of her holding any companionship
+with her whom he loved so well, which I have always remembered
+distinctly. They both spoke as if she were ill; in a soft, suppressed
+tone that was plainly heard, although it hardly rose above a whisper.
+
+‘Better there than here,’ said a third voice aloud--Martha’s, though she
+did not move. ‘No one knows me there. Everybody knows me here.’
+
+‘What will she do there?’ inquired Ham.
+
+She lifted up her head, and looked darkly round at him for a moment;
+then laid it down again, and curved her right arm about her neck, as
+a woman in a fever, or in an agony of pain from a shot, might twist
+herself.
+
+‘She will try to do well,’ said little Em’ly. ‘You don’t know what she
+has said to us. Does he--do they--aunt?’
+
+Peggotty shook her head compassionately.
+
+‘I’ll try,’ said Martha, ‘if you’ll help me away. I never can do worse
+than I have done here. I may do better. Oh!’ with a dreadful shiver,
+‘take me out of these streets, where the whole town knows me from a
+child!’
+
+As Em’ly held out her hand to Ham, I saw him put in it a little canvas
+bag. She took it, as if she thought it were her purse, and made a step
+or two forward; but finding her mistake, came back to where he had
+retired near me, and showed it to him.
+
+‘It’s all yourn, Em’ly,’ I could hear him say. ‘I haven’t nowt in all
+the wureld that ain’t yourn, my dear. It ain’t of no delight to me,
+except for you!’
+
+The tears rose freshly in her eyes, but she turned away and went to
+Martha. What she gave her, I don’t know. I saw her stooping over her,
+and putting money in her bosom. She whispered something, as she asked
+was that enough? ‘More than enough,’ the other said, and took her hand
+and kissed it.
+
+Then Martha arose, and gathering her shawl about her, covering her
+face with it, and weeping aloud, went slowly to the door. She stopped
+a moment before going out, as if she would have uttered something or
+turned back; but no word passed her lips. Making the same low, dreary,
+wretched moaning in her shawl, she went away.
+
+As the door closed, little Em’ly looked at us three in a hurried manner
+and then hid her face in her hands, and fell to sobbing.
+
+‘Doen’t, Em’ly!’ said Ham, tapping her gently on the shoulder. ‘Doen’t,
+my dear! You doen’t ought to cry so, pretty!’
+
+‘Oh, Ham!’ she exclaimed, still weeping pitifully, ‘I am not so good a
+girl as I ought to be! I know I have not the thankful heart, sometimes,
+I ought to have!’
+
+‘Yes, yes, you have, I’m sure,’ said Ham.
+
+‘No! no! no!’ cried little Em’ly, sobbing, and shaking her head. ‘I am
+not as good a girl as I ought to be. Not near! not near!’ And still she
+cried, as if her heart would break.
+
+‘I try your love too much. I know I do!’ she sobbed. ‘I’m often cross to
+you, and changeable with you, when I ought to be far different. You are
+never so to me. Why am I ever so to you, when I should think of nothing
+but how to be grateful, and to make you happy!’
+
+‘You always make me so,’ said Ham, ‘my dear! I am happy in the sight of
+you. I am happy, all day long, in the thoughts of you.’
+
+‘Ah! that’s not enough!’ she cried. ‘That is because you are good; not
+because I am! Oh, my dear, it might have been a better fortune for
+you, if you had been fond of someone else--of someone steadier and
+much worthier than me, who was all bound up in you, and never vain and
+changeable like me!’
+
+‘Poor little tender-heart,’ said Ham, in a low voice. ‘Martha has
+overset her, altogether.’
+
+‘Please, aunt,’ sobbed Em’ly, ‘come here, and let me lay my head upon
+you. Oh, I am very miserable tonight, aunt! Oh, I am not as good a girl
+as I ought to be. I am not, I know!’
+
+Peggotty had hastened to the chair before the fire. Em’ly, with her
+arms around her neck, kneeled by her, looking up most earnestly into her
+face.
+
+‘Oh, pray, aunt, try to help me! Ham, dear, try to help me! Mr. David,
+for the sake of old times, do, please, try to help me! I want to be a
+better girl than I am. I want to feel a hundred times more thankful than
+I do. I want to feel more, what a blessed thing it is to be the wife of
+a good man, and to lead a peaceful life. Oh me, oh me! Oh my heart, my
+heart!’
+
+She dropped her face on my old nurse’s breast, and, ceasing this
+supplication, which in its agony and grief was half a woman’s, half a
+child’s, as all her manner was (being, in that, more natural, and better
+suited to her beauty, as I thought, than any other manner could have
+been), wept silently, while my old nurse hushed her like an infant.
+
+She got calmer by degrees, and then we soothed her; now talking
+encouragingly, and now jesting a little with her, until she began to
+raise her head and speak to us. So we got on, until she was able to
+smile, and then to laugh, and then to sit up, half ashamed; while
+Peggotty recalled her stray ringlets, dried her eyes, and made her neat
+again, lest her uncle should wonder, when she got home, why his darling
+had been crying.
+
+I saw her do, that night, what I had never seen her do before. I saw her
+innocently kiss her chosen husband on the cheek, and creep close to his
+bluff form as if it were her best support. When they went away together,
+in the waning moonlight, and I looked after them, comparing their
+departure in my mind with Martha’s, I saw that she held his arm with
+both her hands, and still kept close to him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 23. I CORROBORATE Mr. DICK, AND CHOOSE A PROFESSION
+
+
+When I awoke in the morning I thought very much of little Em’ly, and her
+emotion last night, after Martha had left. I felt as if I had come into
+the knowledge of those domestic weaknesses and tendernesses in a sacred
+confidence, and that to disclose them, even to Steerforth, would be
+wrong. I had no gentler feeling towards anyone than towards the
+pretty creature who had been my playmate, and whom I have always been
+persuaded, and shall always be persuaded, to my dying day, I then
+devotedly loved. The repetition to any ears--even to Steerforth’s--of
+what she had been unable to repress when her heart lay open to me by an
+accident, I felt would be a rough deed, unworthy of myself, unworthy of
+the light of our pure childhood, which I always saw encircling her head.
+I made a resolution, therefore, to keep it in my own breast; and there
+it gave her image a new grace.
+
+While we were at breakfast, a letter was delivered to me from my aunt.
+As it contained matter on which I thought Steerforth could advise me
+as well as anyone, and on which I knew I should be delighted to consult
+him, I resolved to make it a subject of discussion on our journey home.
+For the present we had enough to do, in taking leave of all our friends.
+Mr. Barkis was far from being the last among them, in his regret at
+our departure; and I believe would even have opened the box again, and
+sacrificed another guinea, if it would have kept us eight-and-forty
+hours in Yarmouth. Peggotty and all her family were full of grief at our
+going. The whole house of Omer and Joram turned out to bid us good-bye;
+and there were so many seafaring volunteers in attendance on Steerforth,
+when our portmanteaux went to the coach, that if we had had the baggage
+of a regiment with us, we should hardly have wanted porters to carry it.
+In a word, we departed to the regret and admiration of all concerned,
+and left a great many people very sorry behind US.
+
+‘Do you stay long here, Littimer?’ said I, as he stood waiting to see the
+coach start.
+
+‘No, sir,’ he replied; ‘probably not very long, sir.’
+
+‘He can hardly say, just now,’ observed Steerforth, carelessly. ‘He
+knows what he has to do, and he’ll do it.’
+
+‘That I am sure he will,’ said I.
+
+Littimer touched his hat in acknowledgement of my good opinion, and I
+felt about eight years old. He touched it once more, wishing us a good
+journey; and we left him standing on the pavement, as respectable a
+mystery as any pyramid in Egypt.
+
+For some little time we held no conversation, Steerforth being unusually
+silent, and I being sufficiently engaged in wondering, within myself,
+when I should see the old places again, and what new changes might
+happen to me or them in the meanwhile. At length Steerforth, becoming
+gay and talkative in a moment, as he could become anything he liked at
+any moment, pulled me by the arm:
+
+‘Find a voice, David. What about that letter you were speaking of at
+breakfast?’
+
+‘Oh!’ said I, taking it out of my pocket. ‘It’s from my aunt.’
+
+‘And what does she say, requiring consideration?’
+
+‘Why, she reminds me, Steerforth,’ said I, ‘that I came out on this
+expedition to look about me, and to think a little.’
+
+‘Which, of course, you have done?’
+
+‘Indeed I can’t say I have, particularly. To tell you the truth, I am
+afraid I have forgotten it.’
+
+‘Well! look about you now, and make up for your negligence,’ said
+Steerforth. ‘Look to the right, and you’ll see a flat country, with a
+good deal of marsh in it; look to the left, and you’ll see the same.
+Look to the front, and you’ll find no difference; look to the rear,
+and there it is still.’ I laughed, and replied that I saw no suitable
+profession in the whole prospect; which was perhaps to be attributed to
+its flatness.
+
+‘What says our aunt on the subject?’ inquired Steerforth, glancing at
+the letter in my hand. ‘Does she suggest anything?’
+
+‘Why, yes,’ said I. ‘She asks me, here, if I think I should like to be a
+proctor? What do you think of it?’
+
+‘Well, I don’t know,’ replied Steerforth, coolly. ‘You may as well do
+that as anything else, I suppose?’
+
+I could not help laughing again, at his balancing all callings and
+professions so equally; and I told him so.
+
+‘What is a proctor, Steerforth?’ said I.
+
+‘Why, he is a sort of monkish attorney,’ replied Steerforth. ‘He is, to
+some faded courts held in Doctors’ Commons,--a lazy old nook near St.
+Paul’s Churchyard--what solicitors are to the courts of law and equity.
+He is a functionary whose existence, in the natural course of things,
+would have terminated about two hundred years ago. I can tell you best
+what he is, by telling you what Doctors’ Commons is. It’s a
+little out-of-the-way place, where they administer what is called
+ecclesiastical law, and play all kinds of tricks with obsolete old
+monsters of acts of Parliament, which three-fourths of the world know
+nothing about, and the other fourth supposes to have been dug up, in
+a fossil state, in the days of the Edwards. It’s a place that has an
+ancient monopoly in suits about people’s wills and people’s marriages,
+and disputes among ships and boats.’
+
+‘Nonsense, Steerforth!’ I exclaimed. ‘You don’t mean to say that there
+is any affinity between nautical matters and ecclesiastical matters?’
+
+‘I don’t, indeed, my dear boy,’ he returned; ‘but I mean to say that
+they are managed and decided by the same set of people, down in that
+same Doctors’ Commons. You shall go there one day, and find them
+blundering through half the nautical terms in Young’s Dictionary,
+apropos of the “Nancy” having run down the “Sarah Jane”, or Mr. Peggotty
+and the Yarmouth boatmen having put off in a gale of wind with an anchor
+and cable to the “Nelson” Indiaman in distress; and you shall go there
+another day, and find them deep in the evidence, pro and con, respecting
+a clergyman who has misbehaved himself; and you shall find the judge
+in the nautical case, the advocate in the clergyman’s case, or
+contrariwise. They are like actors: now a man’s a judge, and now he is
+not a judge; now he’s one thing, now he’s another; now he’s something
+else, change and change about; but it’s always a very pleasant,
+profitable little affair of private theatricals, presented to an
+uncommonly select audience.’
+
+‘But advocates and proctors are not one and the same?’ said I, a little
+puzzled. ‘Are they?’
+
+‘No,’ returned Steerforth, ‘the advocates are civilians--men who have
+taken a doctor’s degree at college--which is the first reason of my
+knowing anything about it. The proctors employ the advocates. Both get
+very comfortable fees, and altogether they make a mighty snug little
+party. On the whole, I would recommend you to take to Doctors’ Commons
+kindly, David. They plume them-selves on their gentility there, I can
+tell you, if that’s any satisfaction.’
+
+I made allowance for Steerforth’s light way of treating the subject,
+and, considering it with reference to the staid air of gravity and
+antiquity which I associated with that ‘lazy old nook near St. Paul’s
+Churchyard’, did not feel indisposed towards my aunt’s suggestion; which
+she left to my free decision, making no scruple of telling me that it
+had occurred to her, on her lately visiting her own proctor in Doctors’
+Commons for the purpose of settling her will in my favour.
+
+‘That’s a laudable proceeding on the part of our aunt, at all events,’
+said Steerforth, when I mentioned it; ‘and one deserving of all
+encouragement. Daisy, my advice is that you take kindly to Doctors’
+Commons.’
+
+I quite made up my mind to do so. I then told Steerforth that my aunt
+was in town awaiting me (as I found from her letter), and that she had
+taken lodgings for a week at a kind of private hotel at Lincoln’s Inn
+Fields, where there was a stone staircase, and a convenient door in
+the roof; my aunt being firmly persuaded that every house in London was
+going to be burnt down every night.
+
+We achieved the rest of our journey pleasantly, sometimes recurring to
+Doctors’ Commons, and anticipating the distant days when I should be a
+proctor there, which Steerforth pictured in a variety of humorous and
+whimsical lights, that made us both merry. When we came to our journey’s
+end, he went home, engaging to call upon me next day but one; and I
+drove to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where I found my aunt up, and waiting
+supper.
+
+If I had been round the world since we parted, we could hardly have been
+better pleased to meet again. My aunt cried outright as she embraced me;
+and said, pretending to laugh, that if my poor mother had been alive,
+that silly little creature would have shed tears, she had no doubt.
+
+‘So you have left Mr. Dick behind, aunt?’ said I. ‘I am sorry for that.
+Ah, Janet, how do you do?’
+
+As Janet curtsied, hoping I was well, I observed my aunt’s visage
+lengthen very much.
+
+‘I am sorry for it, too,’ said my aunt, rubbing her nose. ‘I have had
+no peace of mind, Trot, since I have been here.’ Before I could ask why,
+she told me.
+
+‘I am convinced,’ said my aunt, laying her hand with melancholy firmness
+on the table, ‘that Dick’s character is not a character to keep the
+donkeys off. I am confident he wants strength of purpose. I ought to
+have left Janet at home, instead, and then my mind might perhaps have
+been at ease. If ever there was a donkey trespassing on my green,’ said
+my aunt, with emphasis, ‘there was one this afternoon at four o’clock.
+A cold feeling came over me from head to foot, and I know it was a
+donkey!’
+
+I tried to comfort her on this point, but she rejected consolation.
+
+‘It was a donkey,’ said my aunt; ‘and it was the one with the stumpy
+tail which that Murdering sister of a woman rode, when she came to my
+house.’ This had been, ever since, the only name my aunt knew for Miss
+Murdstone. ‘If there is any Donkey in Dover, whose audacity it is harder
+to me to bear than another’s, that,’ said my aunt, striking the table,
+‘is the animal!’
+
+Janet ventured to suggest that my aunt might be disturbing herself
+unnecessarily, and that she believed the donkey in question was then
+engaged in the sand-and-gravel line of business, and was not available
+for purposes of trespass. But my aunt wouldn’t hear of it.
+
+Supper was comfortably served and hot, though my aunt’s rooms were very
+high up--whether that she might have more stone stairs for her money, or
+might be nearer to the door in the roof, I don’t know--and consisted of
+a roast fowl, a steak, and some vegetables, to all of which I did ample
+justice, and which were all excellent. But my aunt had her own ideas
+concerning London provision, and ate but little.
+
+‘I suppose this unfortunate fowl was born and brought up in a cellar,’
+said my aunt, ‘and never took the air except on a hackney coach-stand. I
+hope the steak may be beef, but I don’t believe it. Nothing’s genuine in
+the place, in my opinion, but the dirt.’
+
+‘Don’t you think the fowl may have come out of the country, aunt?’ I
+hinted.
+
+‘Certainly not,’ returned my aunt. ‘It would be no pleasure to a London
+tradesman to sell anything which was what he pretended it was.’
+
+I did not venture to controvert this opinion, but I made a good supper,
+which it greatly satisfied her to see me do. When the table was cleared,
+Janet assisted her to arrange her hair, to put on her nightcap, which
+was of a smarter construction than usual [‘in case of fire’, my aunt
+said), and to fold her gown back over her knees, these being her usual
+preparations for warming herself before going to bed. I then made her,
+according to certain established regulations from which no deviation,
+however slight, could ever be permitted, a glass of hot wine and
+water, and a slice of toast cut into long thin strips. With these
+accompaniments we were left alone to finish the evening, my aunt sitting
+opposite to me drinking her wine and water; soaking her strips of toast
+in it, one by one, before eating them; and looking benignantly on me,
+from among the borders of her nightcap.
+
+‘Well, Trot,’ she began, ‘what do you think of the proctor plan? Or have
+you not begun to think about it yet?’
+
+‘I have thought a good deal about it, my dear aunt, and I have talked a
+good deal about it with Steerforth. I like it very much indeed. I like
+it exceedingly.’
+
+‘Come!’ said my aunt. ‘That’s cheering!’
+
+‘I have only one difficulty, aunt.’
+
+‘Say what it is, Trot,’ she returned.
+
+‘Why, I want to ask, aunt, as this seems, from what I understand, to
+be a limited profession, whether my entrance into it would not be very
+expensive?’
+
+‘It will cost,’ returned my aunt, ‘to article you, just a thousand
+pounds.’
+
+‘Now, my dear aunt,’ said I, drawing my chair nearer, ‘I am uneasy in
+my mind about that. It’s a large sum of money. You have expended a
+great deal on my education, and have always been as liberal to me in all
+things as it was possible to be. You have been the soul of generosity.
+Surely there are some ways in which I might begin life with hardly any
+outlay, and yet begin with a good hope of getting on by resolution and
+exertion. Are you sure that it would not be better to try that course?
+Are you certain that you can afford to part with so much money, and that
+it is right that it should be so expended? I only ask you, my second
+mother, to consider. Are you certain?’
+
+My aunt finished eating the piece of toast on which she was then
+engaged, looking me full in the face all the while; and then setting
+her glass on the chimney-piece, and folding her hands upon her folded
+skirts, replied as follows:
+
+‘Trot, my child, if I have any object in life, it is to provide for
+your being a good, a sensible, and a happy man. I am bent upon it--so is
+Dick. I should like some people that I know to hear Dick’s conversation
+on the subject. Its sagacity is wonderful. But no one knows the
+resources of that man’s intellect, except myself!’
+
+She stopped for a moment to take my hand between hers, and went on:
+
+‘It’s in vain, Trot, to recall the past, unless it works some influence
+upon the present. Perhaps I might have been better friends with your
+poor father. Perhaps I might have been better friends with that poor
+child your mother, even after your sister Betsey Trotwood disappointed
+me. When you came to me, a little runaway boy, all dusty and way-worn,
+perhaps I thought so. From that time until now, Trot, you have ever been
+a credit to me and a pride and a pleasure. I have no other claim upon
+my means; at least’--here to my surprise she hesitated, and was
+confused--‘no, I have no other claim upon my means--and you are my
+adopted child. Only be a loving child to me in my age, and bear with my
+whims and fancies; and you will do more for an old woman whose prime of
+life was not so happy or conciliating as it might have been, than ever
+that old woman did for you.’
+
+It was the first time I had heard my aunt refer to her past history.
+There was a magnanimity in her quiet way of doing so, and of dismissing
+it, which would have exalted her in my respect and affection, if
+anything could.
+
+‘All is agreed and understood between us, now, Trot,’ said my aunt,
+‘and we need talk of this no more. Give me a kiss, and we’ll go to the
+Commons after breakfast tomorrow.’
+
+We had a long chat by the fire before we went to bed. I slept in a room
+on the same floor with my aunt’s, and was a little disturbed in the
+course of the night by her knocking at my door as often as she was
+agitated by a distant sound of hackney-coaches or market-carts, and
+inquiring, ‘if I heard the engines?’ But towards morning she slept
+better, and suffered me to do so too.
+
+At about mid-day, we set out for the office of Messrs Spenlow and
+Jorkins, in Doctors’ Commons. My aunt, who had this other general
+opinion in reference to London, that every man she saw was a pickpocket,
+gave me her purse to carry for her, which had ten guineas in it and some
+silver.
+
+We made a pause at the toy shop in Fleet Street, to see the giants of
+Saint Dunstan’s strike upon the bells--we had timed our going, so as to
+catch them at it, at twelve o’clock--and then went on towards Ludgate
+Hill, and St. Paul’s Churchyard. We were crossing to the former place,
+when I found that my aunt greatly accelerated her speed, and looked
+frightened. I observed, at the same time, that a lowering ill-dressed
+man who had stopped and stared at us in passing, a little before, was
+coming so close after us as to brush against her.
+
+‘Trot! My dear Trot!’ cried my aunt, in a terrified whisper, and
+pressing my arm. ‘I don’t know what I am to do.’
+
+‘Don’t be alarmed,’ said I. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. Step into
+a shop, and I’ll soon get rid of this fellow.’
+
+‘No, no, child!’ she returned. ‘Don’t speak to him for the world. I
+entreat, I order you!’
+
+‘Good Heaven, aunt!’ said I. ‘He is nothing but a sturdy beggar.’
+
+‘You don’t know what he is!’ replied my aunt. ‘You don’t know who he is!
+You don’t know what you say!’
+
+We had stopped in an empty door-way, while this was passing, and he had
+stopped too.
+
+‘Don’t look at him!’ said my aunt, as I turned my head indignantly, ‘but
+get me a coach, my dear, and wait for me in St. Paul’s Churchyard.’
+
+‘Wait for you?’ I replied.
+
+‘Yes,’ rejoined my aunt. ‘I must go alone. I must go with him.’
+
+‘With him, aunt? This man?’
+
+‘I am in my senses,’ she replied, ‘and I tell you I must. Get me a
+coach!’
+
+However much astonished I might be, I was sensible that I had no right
+to refuse compliance with such a peremptory command. I hurried away a
+few paces, and called a hackney-chariot which was passing empty. Almost
+before I could let down the steps, my aunt sprang in, I don’t know how,
+and the man followed. She waved her hand to me to go away, so earnestly,
+that, all confounded as I was, I turned from them at once. In doing so,
+I heard her say to the coachman, ‘Drive anywhere! Drive straight on!’
+and presently the chariot passed me, going up the hill.
+
+What Mr. Dick had told me, and what I had supposed to be a delusion of
+his, now came into my mind. I could not doubt that this person was the
+person of whom he had made such mysterious mention, though what the
+nature of his hold upon my aunt could possibly be, I was quite unable
+to imagine. After half an hour’s cooling in the churchyard, I saw the
+chariot coming back. The driver stopped beside me, and my aunt was
+sitting in it alone.
+
+She had not yet sufficiently recovered from her agitation to be quite
+prepared for the visit we had to make. She desired me to get into the
+chariot, and to tell the coachman to drive slowly up and down a little
+while. She said no more, except, ‘My dear child, never ask me what
+it was, and don’t refer to it,’ until she had perfectly regained her
+composure, when she told me she was quite herself now, and we might get
+out. On her giving me her purse to pay the driver, I found that all the
+guineas were gone, and only the loose silver remained.
+
+Doctors’ Commons was approached by a little low archway. Before we had
+taken many paces down the street beyond it, the noise of the city seemed
+to melt, as if by magic, into a softened distance. A few dull courts
+and narrow ways brought us to the sky-lighted offices of Spenlow and
+Jorkins; in the vestibule of which temple, accessible to pilgrims
+without the ceremony of knocking, three or four clerks were at work as
+copyists. One of these, a little dry man, sitting by himself, who wore
+a stiff brown wig that looked as if it were made of gingerbread, rose to
+receive my aunt, and show us into Mr. Spenlow’s room.
+
+‘Mr. Spenlow’s in Court, ma’am,’ said the dry man; ‘it’s an Arches day;
+but it’s close by, and I’ll send for him directly.’
+
+As we were left to look about us while Mr. Spenlow was fetched, I
+availed myself of the opportunity. The furniture of the room was
+old-fashioned and dusty; and the green baize on the top of the
+writing-table had lost all its colour, and was as withered and pale as
+an old pauper. There were a great many bundles of papers on it, some
+endorsed as Allegations, and some (to my surprise) as Libels, and some
+as being in the Consistory Court, and some in the Arches Court, and some
+in the Prerogative Court, and some in the Admiralty Court, and some in
+the Delegates’ Court; giving me occasion to wonder much, how many Courts
+there might be in the gross, and how long it would take to understand
+them all. Besides these, there were sundry immense manuscript Books
+of Evidence taken on affidavit, strongly bound, and tied together in
+massive sets, a set to each cause, as if every cause were a history in
+ten or twenty volumes. All this looked tolerably expensive, I thought,
+and gave me an agreeable notion of a proctor’s business. I was casting
+my eyes with increasing complacency over these and many similar objects,
+when hasty footsteps were heard in the room outside, and Mr. Spenlow,
+in a black gown trimmed with white fur, came hurrying in, taking off his
+hat as he came.
+
+He was a little light-haired gentleman, with undeniable boots, and the
+stiffest of white cravats and shirt-collars. He was buttoned up, mighty
+trim and tight, and must have taken a great deal of pains with his
+whiskers, which were accurately curled. His gold watch-chain was so
+massive, that a fancy came across me, that he ought to have a sinewy
+golden arm, to draw it out with, like those which are put up over the
+goldbeaters’ shops. He was got up with such care, and was so stiff, that
+he could hardly bend himself; being obliged, when he glanced at some
+papers on his desk, after sitting down in his chair, to move his whole
+body, from the bottom of his spine, like Punch.
+
+I had previously been presented by my aunt, and had been courteously
+received. He now said:
+
+‘And so, Mr. Copperfield, you think of entering into our profession?
+I casually mentioned to Miss Trotwood, when I had the pleasure of an
+interview with her the other day,’--with another inclination of his
+body--Punch again--‘that there was a vacancy here. Miss Trotwood was
+good enough to mention that she had a nephew who was her peculiar care,
+and for whom she was seeking to provide genteelly in life. That
+nephew, I believe, I have now the pleasure of’--Punch again. I bowed my
+acknowledgements, and said, my aunt had mentioned to me that there was
+that opening, and that I believed I should like it very much. That I was
+strongly inclined to like it, and had taken immediately to the proposal.
+That I could not absolutely pledge myself to like it, until I knew
+something more about it. That although it was little else than a matter
+of form, I presumed I should have an opportunity of trying how I liked
+it, before I bound myself to it irrevocably.
+
+‘Oh surely! surely!’ said Mr. Spenlow. ‘We always, in this house,
+propose a month--an initiatory month. I should be happy, myself, to
+propose two months--three--an indefinite period, in fact--but I have a
+partner. Mr. Jorkins.’
+
+‘And the premium, sir,’ I returned, ‘is a thousand pounds?’
+
+‘And the premium, Stamp included, is a thousand pounds,’ said Mr.
+Spenlow. ‘As I have mentioned to Miss Trotwood, I am actuated by no
+mercenary considerations; few men are less so, I believe; but Mr.
+Jorkins has his opinions on these subjects, and I am bound to respect
+Mr. Jorkins’s opinions. Mr. Jorkins thinks a thousand pounds too little,
+in short.’
+
+‘I suppose, sir,’ said I, still desiring to spare my aunt, ‘that it is
+not the custom here, if an articled clerk were particularly useful,
+and made himself a perfect master of his profession’--I could not help
+blushing, this looked so like praising myself--‘I suppose it is not the
+custom, in the later years of his time, to allow him any--’
+
+Mr. Spenlow, by a great effort, just lifted his head far enough out of
+his cravat to shake it, and answered, anticipating the word ‘salary’:
+
+‘No. I will not say what consideration I might give to that point
+myself, Mr. Copperfield, if I were unfettered. Mr. Jorkins is
+immovable.’
+
+I was quite dismayed by the idea of this terrible Jorkins. But I found
+out afterwards that he was a mild man of a heavy temperament, whose
+place in the business was to keep himself in the background, and be
+constantly exhibited by name as the most obdurate and ruthless of men.
+If a clerk wanted his salary raised, Mr. Jorkins wouldn’t listen to such
+a proposition. If a client were slow to settle his bill of costs, Mr.
+Jorkins was resolved to have it paid; and however painful these things
+might be (and always were) to the feelings of Mr. Spenlow, Mr. Jorkins
+would have his bond. The heart and hand of the good angel Spenlow would
+have been always open, but for the restraining demon Jorkins. As I have
+grown older, I think I have had experience of some other houses doing
+business on the principle of Spenlow and Jorkins!
+
+It was settled that I should begin my month’s probation as soon as I
+pleased, and that my aunt need neither remain in town nor return at
+its expiration, as the articles of agreement, of which I was to be the
+subject, could easily be sent to her at home for her signature. When
+we had got so far, Mr. Spenlow offered to take me into Court then and
+there, and show me what sort of place it was. As I was willing enough
+to know, we went out with this object, leaving my aunt behind; who would
+trust herself, she said, in no such place, and who, I think, regarded
+all Courts of Law as a sort of powder-mills that might blow up at any
+time.
+
+Mr. Spenlow conducted me through a paved courtyard formed of grave brick
+houses, which I inferred, from the Doctors’ names upon the doors, to be
+the official abiding-places of the learned advocates of whom Steerforth
+had told me; and into a large dull room, not unlike a chapel to my
+thinking, on the left hand. The upper part of this room was fenced off
+from the rest; and there, on the two sides of a raised platform of the
+horse-shoe form, sitting on easy old-fashioned dining-room chairs, were
+sundry gentlemen in red gowns and grey wigs, whom I found to be the
+Doctors aforesaid. Blinking over a little desk like a pulpit-desk, in
+the curve of the horse-shoe, was an old gentleman, whom, if I had seen
+him in an aviary, I should certainly have taken for an owl, but who, I
+learned, was the presiding judge. In the space within the horse-shoe,
+lower than these, that is to say, on about the level of the floor, were
+sundry other gentlemen, of Mr. Spenlow’s rank, and dressed like him in
+black gowns with white fur upon them, sitting at a long green table.
+Their cravats were in general stiff, I thought, and their looks haughty;
+but in this last respect I presently conceived I had done them an
+injustice, for when two or three of them had to rise and answer a
+question of the presiding dignitary, I never saw anything more sheepish.
+The public, represented by a boy with a comforter, and a shabby-genteel
+man secretly eating crumbs out of his coat pockets, was warming itself
+at a stove in the centre of the Court. The languid stillness of the
+place was only broken by the chirping of this fire and by the voice of
+one of the Doctors, who was wandering slowly through a perfect library
+of evidence, and stopping to put up, from time to time, at little
+roadside inns of argument on the journey. Altogether, I have never,
+on any occasion, made one at such a cosey, dosey, old-fashioned,
+time-forgotten, sleepy-headed little family-party in all my life; and
+I felt it would be quite a soothing opiate to belong to it in any
+character--except perhaps as a suitor.
+
+Very well satisfied with the dreamy nature of this retreat, I informed
+Mr. Spenlow that I had seen enough for that time, and we rejoined
+my aunt; in company with whom I presently departed from the Commons,
+feeling very young when I went out of Spenlow and Jorkins’s, on account
+of the clerks poking one another with their pens to point me out.
+
+We arrived at Lincoln’s Inn Fields without any new adventures, except
+encountering an unlucky donkey in a costermonger’s cart, who suggested
+painful associations to my aunt. We had another long talk about my
+plans, when we were safely housed; and as I knew she was anxious to
+get home, and, between fire, food, and pickpockets, could never be
+considered at her ease for half-an-hour in London, I urged her not to be
+uncomfortable on my account, but to leave me to take care of myself.
+
+‘I have not been here a week tomorrow, without considering that too, my
+dear,’ she returned. ‘There is a furnished little set of chambers to be
+let in the Adelphi, Trot, which ought to suit you to a marvel.’
+
+With this brief introduction, she produced from her pocket an
+advertisement, carefully cut out of a newspaper, setting forth that in
+Buckingham Street in the Adelphi there was to be let furnished, with a
+view of the river, a singularly desirable, and compact set of chambers,
+forming a genteel residence for a young gentleman, a member of one
+of the Inns of Court, or otherwise, with immediate possession. Terms
+moderate, and could be taken for a month only, if required.
+
+‘Why, this is the very thing, aunt!’ said I, flushed with the possible
+dignity of living in chambers.
+
+‘Then come,’ replied my aunt, immediately resuming the bonnet she had a
+minute before laid aside. ‘We’ll go and look at ‘em.’
+
+Away we went. The advertisement directed us to apply to Mrs. Crupp
+on the premises, and we rung the area bell, which we supposed to
+communicate with Mrs. Crupp. It was not until we had rung three or four
+times that we could prevail on Mrs. Crupp to communicate with us, but
+at last she appeared, being a stout lady with a flounce of flannel
+petticoat below a nankeen gown.
+
+‘Let us see these chambers of yours, if you please, ma’am,’ said my
+aunt.
+
+‘For this gentleman?’ said Mrs. Crupp, feeling in her pocket for her
+keys.
+
+‘Yes, for my nephew,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘And a sweet set they is for sich!’ said Mrs. Crupp.
+
+So we went upstairs.
+
+They were on the top of the house--a great point with my aunt, being
+near the fire-escape--and consisted of a little half-blind entry where
+you could see hardly anything, a little stone-blind pantry where you
+could see nothing at all, a sitting-room, and a bedroom. The furniture
+was rather faded, but quite good enough for me; and, sure enough, the
+river was outside the windows.
+
+As I was delighted with the place, my aunt and Mrs. Crupp withdrew into
+the pantry to discuss the terms, while I remained on the sitting-room
+sofa, hardly daring to think it possible that I could be destined to
+live in such a noble residence. After a single combat of some duration
+they returned, and I saw, to my joy, both in Mrs. Crupp’s countenance
+and in my aunt’s, that the deed was done.
+
+‘Is it the last occupant’s furniture?’ inquired my aunt.
+
+‘Yes, it is, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Crupp.
+
+‘What’s become of him?’ asked my aunt.
+
+Mrs. Crupp was taken with a troublesome cough, in the midst of which
+she articulated with much difficulty. ‘He was took ill here, ma’am,
+and--ugh! ugh! ugh! dear me!--and he died!’
+
+‘Hey! What did he die of?’ asked my aunt.
+
+‘Well, ma’am, he died of drink,’ said Mrs. Crupp, in confidence. ‘And
+smoke.’
+
+‘Smoke? You don’t mean chimneys?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘No, ma’am,’ returned Mrs. Crupp. ‘Cigars and pipes.’
+
+‘That’s not catching, Trot, at any rate,’ remarked my aunt, turning to
+me.
+
+‘No, indeed,’ said I.
+
+In short, my aunt, seeing how enraptured I was with the premises, took
+them for a month, with leave to remain for twelve months when that
+time was out. Mrs. Crupp was to find linen, and to cook; every other
+necessary was already provided; and Mrs. Crupp expressly intimated that
+she should always yearn towards me as a son. I was to take possession
+the day after tomorrow, and Mrs. Crupp said, thank Heaven she had now
+found summun she could care for!
+
+On our way back, my aunt informed me how she confidently trusted that
+the life I was now to lead would make me firm and self-reliant, which
+was all I wanted. She repeated this several times next day, in the
+intervals of our arranging for the transmission of my clothes and books
+from Mr. Wickfield’s; relative to which, and to all my late holiday, I
+wrote a long letter to Agnes, of which my aunt took charge, as she was
+to leave on the succeeding day. Not to lengthen these particulars, I
+need only add, that she made a handsome provision for all my
+possible wants during my month of trial; that Steerforth, to my great
+disappointment and hers too, did not make his appearance before she went
+away; that I saw her safely seated in the Dover coach, exulting in the
+coming discomfiture of the vagrant donkeys, with Janet at her side; and
+that when the coach was gone, I turned my face to the Adelphi, pondering
+on the old days when I used to roam about its subterranean arches, and
+on the happy changes which had brought me to the surface.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 24. MY FIRST DISSIPATION
+
+
+It was a wonderfully fine thing to have that lofty castle to myself, and
+to feel, when I shut my outer door, like Robinson Crusoe, when he had
+got into his fortification, and pulled his ladder up after him. It was a
+wonderfully fine thing to walk about town with the key of my house in my
+pocket, and to know that I could ask any fellow to come home, and make
+quite sure of its being inconvenient to nobody, if it were not so to me.
+It was a wonderfully fine thing to let myself in and out, and to come
+and go without a word to anyone, and to ring Mrs. Crupp up, gasping,
+from the depths of the earth, when I wanted her--and when she was
+disposed to come. All this, I say, was wonderfully fine; but I must say,
+too, that there were times when it was very dreary.
+
+It was fine in the morning, particularly in the fine mornings. It looked
+a very fresh, free life, by daylight: still fresher, and more free, by
+sunlight. But as the day declined, the life seemed to go down too. I
+don’t know how it was; it seldom looked well by candle-light. I wanted
+somebody to talk to, then. I missed Agnes. I found a tremendous blank,
+in the place of that smiling repository of my confidence. Mrs. Crupp
+appeared to be a long way off. I thought about my predecessor, who had
+died of drink and smoke; and I could have wished he had been so good as
+to live, and not bother me with his decease.
+
+After two days and nights, I felt as if I had lived there for a year,
+and yet I was not an hour older, but was quite as much tormented by my
+own youthfulness as ever.
+
+Steerforth not yet appearing, which induced me to apprehend that he must
+be ill, I left the Commons early on the third day, and walked out to
+Highgate. Mrs. Steerforth was very glad to see me, and said that he had
+gone away with one of his Oxford friends to see another who lived near
+St. Albans, but that she expected him to return tomorrow. I was so fond
+of him, that I felt quite jealous of his Oxford friends.
+
+As she pressed me to stay to dinner, I remained, and I believe we talked
+about nothing but him all day. I told her how much the people liked him
+at Yarmouth, and what a delightful companion he had been. Miss Dartle
+was full of hints and mysterious questions, but took a great interest
+in all our proceedings there, and said, ‘Was it really though?’ and so
+forth, so often, that she got everything out of me she wanted to know.
+Her appearance was exactly what I have described it, when I first saw
+her; but the society of the two ladies was so agreeable, and came so
+natural to me, that I felt myself falling a little in love with her. I
+could not help thinking, several times in the course of the evening, and
+particularly when I walked home at night, what delightful company she
+would be in Buckingham Street.
+
+I was taking my coffee and roll in the morning, before going to the
+Commons--and I may observe in this place that it is surprising how
+much coffee Mrs. Crupp used, and how weak it was, considering--when
+Steerforth himself walked in, to my unbounded joy.
+
+‘My dear Steerforth,’ cried I, ‘I began to think I should never see you
+again!’
+
+‘I was carried off, by force of arms,’ said Steerforth, ‘the very next
+morning after I got home. Why, Daisy, what a rare old bachelor you are
+here!’
+
+I showed him over the establishment, not omitting the pantry, with no
+little pride, and he commended it highly. ‘I tell you what, old boy,’ he
+added, ‘I shall make quite a town-house of this place, unless you give
+me notice to quit.’
+
+This was a delightful hearing. I told him if he waited for that, he
+would have to wait till doomsday.
+
+‘But you shall have some breakfast!’ said I, with my hand on the
+bell-rope, ‘and Mrs. Crupp shall make you some fresh coffee, and I’ll
+toast you some bacon in a bachelor’s Dutch-oven, that I have got here.’
+
+‘No, no!’ said Steerforth. ‘Don’t ring! I can’t! I am going to breakfast
+with one of these fellows who is at the Piazza Hotel, in Covent Garden.’
+
+‘But you’ll come back to dinner?’ said I.
+
+‘I can’t, upon my life. There’s nothing I should like better, but I must
+remain with these two fellows. We are all three off together tomorrow
+morning.’
+
+‘Then bring them here to dinner,’ I returned. ‘Do you think they would
+come?’
+
+‘Oh! they would come fast enough,’ said Steerforth; ‘but we should
+inconvenience you. You had better come and dine with us somewhere.’
+
+I would not by any means consent to this, for it occurred to me that I
+really ought to have a little house-warming, and that there never
+could be a better opportunity. I had a new pride in my rooms after
+his approval of them, and burned with a desire to develop their utmost
+resources. I therefore made him promise positively in the names of his
+two friends, and we appointed six o’clock as the dinner-hour.
+
+When he was gone, I rang for Mrs. Crupp, and acquainted her with my
+desperate design. Mrs. Crupp said, in the first place, of course it was
+well known she couldn’t be expected to wait, but she knew a handy young
+man, who she thought could be prevailed upon to do it, and whose terms
+would be five shillings, and what I pleased. I said, certainly we would
+have him. Next Mrs. Crupp said it was clear she couldn’t be in two
+places at once (which I felt to be reasonable), and that ‘a young gal’
+stationed in the pantry with a bedroom candle, there never to desist
+from washing plates, would be indispensable. I said, what would be
+the expense of this young female? and Mrs. Crupp said she supposed
+eighteenpence would neither make me nor break me. I said I supposed not;
+and THAT was settled. Then Mrs. Crupp said, Now about the dinner.
+
+It was a remarkable instance of want of forethought on the part of the
+ironmonger who had made Mrs. Crupp’s kitchen fireplace, that it was
+capable of cooking nothing but chops and mashed potatoes. As to a
+fish-kittle, Mrs. Crupp said, well! would I only come and look at the
+range? She couldn’t say fairer than that. Would I come and look at
+it? As I should not have been much the wiser if I HAD looked at it, I
+declined, and said, ‘Never mind fish.’ But Mrs. Crupp said, Don’t say
+that; oysters was in, why not them? So THAT was settled. Mrs. Crupp
+then said what she would recommend would be this. A pair of hot
+roast fowls--from the pastry-cook’s; a dish of stewed beef, with
+vegetables--from the pastry-cook’s; two little corner things, as a
+raised pie and a dish of kidneys--from the pastrycook’s; a tart, and (if
+I liked) a shape of jelly--from the pastrycook’s. This, Mrs. Crupp said,
+would leave her at full liberty to concentrate her mind on the potatoes,
+and to serve up the cheese and celery as she could wish to see it done.
+
+I acted on Mrs. Crupp’s opinion, and gave the order at the pastry-cook’s
+myself. Walking along the Strand, afterwards, and observing a hard
+mottled substance in the window of a ham and beef shop, which resembled
+marble, but was labelled ‘Mock Turtle’, I went in and bought a slab of
+it, which I have since seen reason to believe would have sufficed for
+fifteen people. This preparation, Mrs. Crupp, after some difficulty,
+consented to warm up; and it shrunk so much in a liquid state, that we
+found it what Steerforth called ‘rather a tight fit’ for four.
+
+These preparations happily completed, I bought a little dessert in
+Covent Garden Market, and gave a rather extensive order at a retail
+wine-merchant’s in that vicinity. When I came home in the afternoon, and
+saw the bottles drawn up in a square on the pantry floor, they looked
+so numerous (though there were two missing, which made Mrs. Crupp very
+uncomfortable), that I was absolutely frightened at them.
+
+One of Steerforth’s friends was named Grainger, and the other Markham.
+They were both very gay and lively fellows; Grainger, something older
+than Steerforth; Markham, youthful-looking, and I should say not
+more than twenty. I observed that the latter always spoke of himself
+indefinitely, as ‘a man’, and seldom or never in the first person
+singular.
+
+‘A man might get on very well here, Mr. Copperfield,’ said
+Markham--meaning himself.
+
+‘It’s not a bad situation,’ said I, ‘and the rooms are really
+commodious.’
+
+‘I hope you have both brought appetites with you?’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Upon my honour,’ returned Markham, ‘town seems to sharpen a man’s
+appetite. A man is hungry all day long. A man is perpetually eating.’
+
+Being a little embarrassed at first, and feeling much too young to
+preside, I made Steerforth take the head of the table when dinner was
+announced, and seated myself opposite to him. Everything was very good;
+we did not spare the wine; and he exerted himself so brilliantly to make
+the thing pass off well, that there was no pause in our festivity. I was
+not quite such good company during dinner as I could have wished to be,
+for my chair was opposite the door, and my attention was distracted by
+observing that the handy young man went out of the room very often, and
+that his shadow always presented itself, immediately afterwards, on the
+wall of the entry, with a bottle at its mouth. The ‘young gal’ likewise
+occasioned me some uneasiness: not so much by neglecting to wash the
+plates, as by breaking them. For being of an inquisitive disposition,
+and unable to confine herself (as her positive instructions were) to the
+pantry, she was constantly peering in at us, and constantly imagining
+herself detected; in which belief, she several times retired upon the
+plates (with which she had carefully paved the floor), and did a great
+deal of destruction.
+
+These, however, were small drawbacks, and easily forgotten when the
+cloth was cleared, and the dessert put on the table; at which period of
+the entertainment the handy young man was discovered to be speechless.
+Giving him private directions to seek the society of Mrs. Crupp, and
+to remove the ‘young gal’ to the basement also, I abandoned myself to
+enjoyment.
+
+I began, by being singularly cheerful and light-hearted; all sorts of
+half-forgotten things to talk about, came rushing into my mind, and made
+me hold forth in a most unwonted manner. I laughed heartily at my own
+jokes, and everybody else’s; called Steerforth to order for not passing
+the wine; made several engagements to go to Oxford; announced that
+I meant to have a dinner-party exactly like that, once a week, until
+further notice; and madly took so much snuff out of Grainger’s box, that
+I was obliged to go into the pantry, and have a private fit of sneezing
+ten minutes long.
+
+I went on, by passing the wine faster and faster yet, and continually
+starting up with a corkscrew to open more wine, long before any was
+needed. I proposed Steerforth’s health. I said he was my dearest friend,
+the protector of my boyhood, and the companion of my prime. I said I was
+delighted to propose his health. I said I owed him more obligations than
+I could ever repay, and held him in a higher admiration than I could
+ever express. I finished by saying, ‘I’ll give you Steerforth! God bless
+him! Hurrah!’ We gave him three times three, and another, and a good one
+to finish with. I broke my glass in going round the table to shake
+hands with him, and I said (in two words)
+
+‘Steerforth--you’retheguidingstarofmyexistence.’
+
+I went on, by finding suddenly that somebody was in the middle of a
+song. Markham was the singer, and he sang ‘When the heart of a man is
+depressed with care’. He said, when he had sung it, he would give us
+‘Woman!’ I took objection to that, and I couldn’t allow it. I said
+it was not a respectful way of proposing the toast, and I would never
+permit that toast to be drunk in my house otherwise than as ‘The
+Ladies!’ I was very high with him, mainly I think because I saw
+Steerforth and Grainger laughing at me--or at him--or at both of us. He
+said a man was not to be dictated to. I said a man was. He said a man
+was not to be insulted, then. I said he was right there--never under
+my roof, where the Lares were sacred, and the laws of hospitality
+paramount. He said it was no derogation from a man’s dignity to confess
+that I was a devilish good fellow. I instantly proposed his health.
+
+Somebody was smoking. We were all smoking. I was smoking, and trying
+to suppress a rising tendency to shudder. Steerforth had made a speech
+about me, in the course of which I had been affected almost to tears.
+I returned thanks, and hoped the present company would dine with me
+tomorrow, and the day after--each day at five o’clock, that we might
+enjoy the pleasures of conversation and society through a long evening.
+I felt called upon to propose an individual. I would give them my aunt.
+Miss Betsey Trotwood, the best of her sex!
+
+Somebody was leaning out of my bedroom window, refreshing his forehead
+against the cool stone of the parapet, and feeling the air upon his
+face. It was myself. I was addressing myself as ‘Copperfield’, and
+saying, ‘Why did you try to smoke? You might have known you couldn’t
+do it.’ Now, somebody was unsteadily contemplating his features in the
+looking-glass. That was I too. I was very pale in the looking-glass;
+my eyes had a vacant appearance; and my hair--only my hair, nothing
+else--looked drunk.
+
+Somebody said to me, ‘Let us go to the theatre, Copperfield!’ There was
+no bedroom before me, but again the jingling table covered with glasses;
+the lamp; Grainger on my right hand, Markham on my left, and Steerforth
+opposite--all sitting in a mist, and a long way off. The theatre? To
+be sure. The very thing. Come along! But they must excuse me if I saw
+everybody out first, and turned the lamp off--in case of fire.
+
+Owing to some confusion in the dark, the door was gone. I was feeling
+for it in the window-curtains, when Steerforth, laughing, took me by
+the arm and led me out. We went downstairs, one behind another. Near
+the bottom, somebody fell, and rolled down. Somebody else said it was
+Copperfield. I was angry at that false report, until, finding myself on
+my back in the passage, I began to think there might be some foundation
+for it.
+
+A very foggy night, with great rings round the lamps in the streets!
+There was an indistinct talk of its being wet. I considered it frosty.
+Steerforth dusted me under a lamp-post, and put my hat into shape, which
+somebody produced from somewhere in a most extraordinary manner, for
+I hadn’t had it on before. Steerforth then said, ‘You are all right,
+Copperfield, are you not?’ and I told him, ‘Neverberrer.’
+
+A man, sitting in a pigeon-hole-place, looked out of the fog, and took
+money from somebody, inquiring if I was one of the gentlemen paid for,
+and appearing rather doubtful (as I remember in the glimpse I had of
+him) whether to take the money for me or not. Shortly afterwards, we
+were very high up in a very hot theatre, looking down into a large pit,
+that seemed to me to smoke; the people with whom it was crammed were so
+indistinct. There was a great stage, too, looking very clean and
+smooth after the streets; and there were people upon it, talking about
+something or other, but not at all intelligibly. There was an abundance
+of bright lights, and there was music, and there were ladies down in the
+boxes, and I don’t know what more. The whole building looked to me as if
+it were learning to swim; it conducted itself in such an unaccountable
+manner, when I tried to steady it.
+
+On somebody’s motion, we resolved to go downstairs to the dress-boxes,
+where the ladies were. A gentleman lounging, full dressed, on a sofa,
+with an opera-glass in his hand, passed before my view, and also my own
+figure at full length in a glass. Then I was being ushered into one of
+these boxes, and found myself saying something as I sat down, and people
+about me crying ‘Silence!’ to somebody, and ladies casting indignant
+glances at me, and--what! yes!--Agnes, sitting on the seat before me, in
+the same box, with a lady and gentleman beside her, whom I didn’t
+know. I see her face now, better than I did then, I dare say, with its
+indelible look of regret and wonder turned upon me.
+
+‘Agnes!’ I said, thickly, ‘Lorblessmer! Agnes!’
+
+‘Hush! Pray!’ she answered, I could not conceive why. ‘You disturb the
+company. Look at the stage!’
+
+I tried, on her injunction, to fix it, and to hear something of what was
+going on there, but quite in vain. I looked at her again by and by, and
+saw her shrink into her corner, and put her gloved hand to her forehead.
+
+‘Agnes!’ I said. ‘I’mafraidyou’renorwell.’
+
+‘Yes, yes. Do not mind me, Trotwood,’ she returned. ‘Listen! Are you
+going away soon?’
+
+‘Amigoarawaysoo?’ I repeated.
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+I had a stupid intention of replying that I was going to wait, to hand
+her downstairs. I suppose I expressed it, somehow; for after she had
+looked at me attentively for a little while, she appeared to understand,
+and replied in a low tone:
+
+‘I know you will do as I ask you, if I tell you I am very earnest in
+it. Go away now, Trotwood, for my sake, and ask your friends to take you
+home.’
+
+She had so far improved me, for the time, that though I was angry with
+her, I felt ashamed, and with a short ‘Goori!’ (which I intended for
+‘Good night!’) got up and went away. They followed, and I stepped at
+once out of the box-door into my bedroom, where only Steerforth was with
+me, helping me to undress, and where I was by turns telling him that
+Agnes was my sister, and adjuring him to bring the corkscrew, that I
+might open another bottle of wine.
+
+How somebody, lying in my bed, lay saying and doing all this over again,
+at cross purposes, in a feverish dream all night--the bed a rocking sea
+that was never still! How, as that somebody slowly settled down into
+myself, did I begin to parch, and feel as if my outer covering of skin
+were a hard board; my tongue the bottom of an empty kettle, furred with
+long service, and burning up over a slow fire; the palms of my hands,
+hot plates of metal which no ice could cool!
+
+But the agony of mind, the remorse, and shame I felt when I became
+conscious next day! My horror of having committed a thousand offences I
+had forgotten, and which nothing could ever expiate--my recollection
+of that indelible look which Agnes had given me--the torturing
+impossibility of communicating with her, not knowing, Beast that I was,
+how she came to be in London, or where she stayed--my disgust of
+the very sight of the room where the revel had been held--my racking
+head--the smell of smoke, the sight of glasses, the impossibility of
+going out, or even getting up! Oh, what a day it was!
+
+Oh, what an evening, when I sat down by my fire to a basin of mutton
+broth, dimpled all over with fat, and thought I was going the way of my
+predecessor, and should succeed to his dismal story as well as to his
+chambers, and had half a mind to rush express to Dover and reveal
+all! What an evening, when Mrs. Crupp, coming in to take away the
+broth-basin, produced one kidney on a cheese-plate as the entire remains
+of yesterday’s feast, and I was really inclined to fall upon her nankeen
+breast and say, in heartfelt penitence, ‘Oh, Mrs. Crupp, Mrs. Crupp,
+never mind the broken meats! I am very miserable!’--only that I doubted,
+even at that pass, if Mrs. Crupp were quite the sort of woman to confide
+in!
+
+
+CHAPTER 25. GOOD AND BAD ANGELS
+
+
+I was going out at my door on the morning after that deplorable day of
+headache, sickness, and repentance, with an odd confusion in my mind
+relative to the date of my dinner-party, as if a body of Titans had
+taken an enormous lever and pushed the day before yesterday some months
+back, when I saw a ticket-porter coming upstairs, with a letter in his
+hand. He was taking his time about his errand, then; but when he saw me
+on the top of the staircase, looking at him over the banisters, he swung
+into a trot, and came up panting as if he had run himself into a state
+of exhaustion.
+
+‘T. Copperfield, Esquire,’ said the ticket-porter, touching his hat with
+his little cane.
+
+I could scarcely lay claim to the name: I was so disturbed by the
+conviction that the letter came from Agnes. However, I told him I was T.
+Copperfield, Esquire, and he believed it, and gave me the letter, which
+he said required an answer. I shut him out on the landing to wait for
+the answer, and went into my chambers again, in such a nervous state
+that I was fain to lay the letter down on my breakfast table, and
+familiarize myself with the outside of it a little, before I could
+resolve to break the seal.
+
+I found, when I did open it, that it was a very kind note, containing
+no reference to my condition at the theatre. All it said was, ‘My dear
+Trotwood. I am staying at the house of papa’s agent, Mr. Waterbrook, in
+Ely Place, Holborn. Will you come and see me today, at any time you like
+to appoint? Ever yours affectionately, AGNES.’
+
+It took me such a long time to write an answer at all to my
+satisfaction, that I don’t know what the ticket-porter can have
+thought, unless he thought I was learning to write. I must have written
+half-a-dozen answers at least. I began one, ‘How can I ever hope,
+my dear Agnes, to efface from your remembrance the disgusting
+impression’--there I didn’t like it, and then I tore it up. I began
+another, ‘Shakespeare has observed, my dear Agnes, how strange it is
+that a man should put an enemy into his mouth’--that reminded me of
+Markham, and it got no farther. I even tried poetry. I began one note,
+in a six-syllable line, ‘Oh, do not remember’--but that associated
+itself with the fifth of November, and became an absurdity. After many
+attempts, I wrote, ‘My dear Agnes. Your letter is like you, and what
+could I say of it that would be higher praise than that? I will come at
+four o’clock. Affectionately and sorrowfully, T.C.’ With this missive
+(which I was in twenty minds at once about recalling, as soon as it was
+out of my hands), the ticket-porter at last departed.
+
+If the day were half as tremendous to any other professional gentleman
+in Doctors’ Commons as it was to me, I sincerely believe he made some
+expiation for his share in that rotten old ecclesiastical cheese.
+Although I left the office at half past three, and was prowling about
+the place of appointment within a few minutes afterwards, the appointed
+time was exceeded by a full quarter of an hour, according to the
+clock of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, before I could muster up sufficient
+desperation to pull the private bell-handle let into the left-hand
+door-post of Mr. Waterbrook’s house.
+
+The professional business of Mr. Waterbrook’s establishment was done on
+the ground-floor, and the genteel business (of which there was a good
+deal) in the upper part of the building. I was shown into a pretty but
+rather close drawing-room, and there sat Agnes, netting a purse.
+
+She looked so quiet and good, and reminded me so strongly of my airy
+fresh school days at Canterbury, and the sodden, smoky, stupid wretch
+I had been the other night, that, nobody being by, I yielded to my
+self-reproach and shame, and--in short, made a fool of myself. I cannot
+deny that I shed tears. To this hour I am undecided whether it was upon
+the whole the wisest thing I could have done, or the most ridiculous.
+
+‘If it had been anyone but you, Agnes,’ said I, turning away my head, ‘I
+should not have minded it half so much. But that it should have been you
+who saw me! I almost wish I had been dead, first.’
+
+She put her hand--its touch was like no other hand--upon my arm for a
+moment; and I felt so befriended and comforted, that I could not help
+moving it to my lips, and gratefully kissing it.
+
+‘Sit down,’ said Agnes, cheerfully. ‘Don’t be unhappy, Trotwood. If you
+cannot confidently trust me, whom will you trust?’
+
+‘Ah, Agnes!’ I returned. ‘You are my good Angel!’
+
+She smiled rather sadly, I thought, and shook her head.
+
+‘Yes, Agnes, my good Angel! Always my good Angel!’
+
+‘If I were, indeed, Trotwood,’ she returned, ‘there is one thing that I
+should set my heart on very much.’
+
+I looked at her inquiringly; but already with a foreknowledge of her
+meaning.
+
+‘On warning you,’ said Agnes, with a steady glance, ‘against your bad
+Angel.’
+
+‘My dear Agnes,’ I began, ‘if you mean Steerforth--’
+
+‘I do, Trotwood,’ she returned. ‘Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much.
+He my bad Angel, or anyone’s! He, anything but a guide, a support, and
+a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to
+judge him from what you saw of me the other night?’
+
+‘I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night,’ she quietly
+replied.
+
+‘From what, then?’
+
+‘From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to
+be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account
+of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over
+you.’
+
+There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a
+chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest;
+but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it
+that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on
+her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite
+of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone.
+
+‘It is very bold in me,’ said Agnes, looking up again, ‘who have lived
+in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my
+advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know
+in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our
+having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating
+to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is
+right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were someone else speaking
+to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous
+friend.’
+
+Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and
+again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened.
+
+‘I am not so unreasonable as to expect,’ said Agnes, resuming her usual
+tone, after a little while, ‘that you will, or that you can, at once,
+change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all
+a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not
+hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I
+mean,’ with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she
+knew why, ‘as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do
+you forgive me for all this?’
+
+‘I will forgive you, Agnes,’ I replied, ‘when you come to do Steerforth
+justice, and to like him as well as I do.’
+
+‘Not until then?’ said Agnes.
+
+I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but
+she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual
+confidence as of old.
+
+‘And when, Agnes,’ said I, ‘will you forgive me the other night?’
+
+‘When I recall it,’ said Agnes.
+
+She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to
+allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had
+disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the
+theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and
+to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of
+me when I was unable to take care of myself.
+
+‘You must not forget,’ said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as
+soon as I had concluded, ‘that you are always to tell me, not only when
+you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to
+Miss Larkins, Trotwood?’
+
+‘No one, Agnes.’
+
+‘Someone, Trotwood,’ said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger.
+
+‘No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs.
+Steerforth’s house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss
+Dartle--but I don’t adore her.’
+
+Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were
+faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little
+register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and
+termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and
+queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen
+Uriah.
+
+‘Uriah Heep?’ said I. ‘No. Is he in London?’
+
+‘He comes to the office downstairs, every day,’ returned Agnes. ‘He
+was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business,
+Trotwood.’
+
+‘On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see,’ said I. ‘What
+can that be?’
+
+Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one
+another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of
+hers:
+
+‘I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa.’
+
+‘What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such
+promotion!’ I cried, indignantly. ‘Have you made no remonstrance about
+it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak
+out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must
+prevent it, Agnes, while there’s time.’
+
+Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a
+faint smile at my warmth: and then replied:
+
+‘You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after
+that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first
+intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between
+his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part,
+and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very
+sorry.’
+
+‘Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?’
+
+‘Uriah,’ she replied, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘has made himself
+indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa’s
+weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say
+all that I mean in a word, Trotwood,--until papa is afraid of him.’
+
+There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she
+suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it
+was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It
+had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but
+feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a
+long time. I remained silent.
+
+‘His ascendancy over papa,’ said Agnes, ‘is very great. He professes
+humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position
+is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power.’
+
+I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to
+me.
+
+‘At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me,’ pursued
+Agnes, ‘he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry,
+and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very
+much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have
+seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership,
+though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it.’
+
+‘And how did you receive it, Agnes?’
+
+‘I did, Trotwood,’ she replied, ‘what I hope was right. Feeling sure
+that it was necessary for papa’s peace that the sacrifice should be
+made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load
+of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased
+opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!’ cried Agnes,
+putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, ‘I almost
+feel as if I had been papa’s enemy, instead of his loving child. For
+I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has
+narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration
+of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut
+out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his
+life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon
+one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his
+restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!’
+
+I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I
+had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when
+we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head
+aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve
+like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish,
+helpless manner, ‘Pray, Agnes, don’t! Don’t, my dear sister!’
+
+But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know
+well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of
+my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different
+in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud
+had passed from a serene sky.
+
+‘We are not likely to remain alone much longer,’ said Agnes, ‘and while
+I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be
+friendly to Uriah. Don’t repel him. Don’t resent (as I think you have a
+general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may
+not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think
+first of papa and me!’
+
+Agnes had no time to say more, for the room door opened, and Mrs.
+Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don’t
+exactly know which, for I don’t know which was dress and which was
+lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her
+at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she
+appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a
+state of intoxication.
+
+Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was
+a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me
+considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks,
+and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these
+questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her
+good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to
+dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave, making a
+call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in
+his absence.
+
+When I went to dinner next day, and on the street door being opened,
+plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was
+not the only guest, for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in
+disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the
+stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when
+he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before;
+but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made
+cowards of us both.
+
+I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short
+throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to
+be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the
+honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs.
+Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in
+a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as
+looking like a near relation of Hamlet’s--say his aunt.
+
+Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady’s name; and her husband was there
+too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to
+be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry
+Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr.
+Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what
+or which, remotely connected with the Treasury.
+
+I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep
+humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud
+to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my
+condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for
+he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and
+whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and
+cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind.
+
+There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me,
+like the wine. But there was one who attracted my attention before he
+came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind
+flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to
+draw the skeletons!
+
+I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober,
+steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair,
+and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner
+so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had
+a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old
+unfortunate Tommy.
+
+I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the
+pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there.
+
+‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. ‘You are too young to have
+been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?’
+
+‘Oh, I don’t mean him!’ I returned. ‘I mean the gentleman named
+Traddles.’
+
+‘Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!’ said my host, with much diminished interest.
+‘Possibly.’
+
+‘If it’s really the same person,’ said I, glancing towards him, ‘it
+was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an
+excellent fellow.’
+
+‘Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow,’ returned my host nodding his head
+with an air of toleration. ‘Traddles is quite a good fellow.’
+
+‘It’s a curious coincidence,’ said I.
+
+‘It is really,’ returned my host, ‘quite a coincidence, that Traddles
+should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when
+the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker’s
+brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very
+gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker’s brother, Mr. Copperfield.’
+
+I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I
+knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by
+profession.
+
+‘Traddles,’ returned Mr. Waterbrook, ‘is a young man reading for the
+bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody’s enemy but his own.’
+
+‘Is he his own enemy?’ said I, sorry to hear this.
+
+‘Well,’ returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with
+his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. ‘I should say
+he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say
+he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was
+recommended to me by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind
+of talent for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I
+am able to throw something in Traddles’s way, in the course of the year;
+something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes.’
+
+I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner
+in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word ‘Yes’,
+every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely
+conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver
+spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the
+heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of
+the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the
+people down in the trenches.
+
+My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was
+announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet’s aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker
+took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself,
+was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I,
+as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was
+not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been, since it gave me
+an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who
+greeted me with great fervour; while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive
+satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched
+him over the banisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being
+billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady;
+I, in the gloom of Hamlet’s aunt. The dinner was very long, and the
+conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook
+repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood.
+
+It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we
+had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our
+scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who
+had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with
+the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with
+the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the
+matter, Hamlet’s aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy,
+and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that
+was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell
+back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her
+nephew himself.
+
+We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a
+sanguine complexion.
+
+‘I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook’s opinion,’ said Mr. Waterbrook, with
+his wine-glass at his eye. ‘Other things are all very well in their way,
+but give me Blood!’
+
+‘Oh! There is nothing,’ observed Hamlet’s aunt, ‘so satisfactory to one!
+There is nothing that is so much one’s beau-ideal of--of all that sort
+of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am
+happy to believe, but there are some) that would prefer to do what I
+should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before service,
+intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so.
+We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and
+we say, “There it is! That’s Blood!” It is an actual matter of fact. We
+point it out. It admits of no doubt.’
+
+The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down,
+stated the question more decisively yet, I thought.
+
+‘Oh, you know, deuce take it,’ said this gentleman, looking round the
+board with an imbecile smile, ‘we can’t forego Blood, you know. We must
+have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little
+behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and
+may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people
+into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it’s
+delightful to reflect that they’ve got Blood in ‘em! Myself, I’d rather
+at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I’d
+be picked up by a man who hadn’t!’
+
+This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell,
+gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great
+notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr.
+Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant,
+entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and
+exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and
+overthrow.
+
+‘That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has
+not taken the course that was expected, Spiker,’ said Mr. Gulpidge.
+
+‘Do you mean the D. of A.’s?’ said Mr. Spiker.
+
+‘The C. of B.’s!’ said Mr. Gulpidge.
+
+Mr. Spiker raised his eyebrows, and looked much concerned.
+
+‘When the question was referred to Lord--I needn’t name him,’ said Mr.
+Gulpidge, checking himself--
+
+‘I understand,’ said Mr. Spiker, ‘N.’
+
+Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--‘was referred to him, his answer was,
+“Money, or no release.”’
+
+‘Lord bless my soul!’ cried Mr. Spiker.
+
+“‘Money, or no release,”’ repeated Mr. Gulpidge, firmly. ‘The next in
+reversion--you understand me?’
+
+‘K.,’ said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look.
+
+‘--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for
+that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it.’
+
+Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony.
+
+‘So the matter rests at this hour,’ said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself
+back in his chair. ‘Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to
+explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests
+involved.’
+
+Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such
+interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed
+an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew
+no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the
+discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such
+a confidence, naturally desired to favour his friend with a confidence
+of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another,
+in which it was Mr. Gulpidge’s turn to be surprised, and that by another
+in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker’s turn again, and so on,
+turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed
+by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our
+host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and
+astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get upstairs to Agnes, and to
+talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was
+shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he
+was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for
+a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have
+wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure
+of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly
+interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such
+warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only
+looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I
+observed her.
+
+As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much
+at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few
+days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again
+so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone.
+Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful
+reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so
+beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having
+no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook’s
+society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my
+inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel;
+and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had
+shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no
+harm.
+
+I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted
+Uriah, whom I don’t include in that denomination, and who had never
+ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went downstairs.
+He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly
+fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a
+great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves.
+
+It was in no disposition for Uriah’s company, but in remembrance of the
+entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to
+my rooms, and have some coffee.
+
+‘Oh, really, Master Copperfield,’ he rejoined--‘I beg your pardon,
+Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural, I don’t like that
+you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me
+to your ouse.’
+
+‘There is no constraint in the case,’ said I. ‘Will you come?’
+
+‘I should like to, very much,’ replied Uriah, with a writhe.
+
+‘Well, then, come along!’ said I.
+
+I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to
+mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road;
+and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he
+was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that
+labour, when we got to my place.
+
+I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against
+anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine,
+that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality
+prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted
+my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed
+to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel
+in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because
+it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because
+there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the
+pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have
+scalded him.
+
+‘Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield,’ said
+Uriah, ‘to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected!
+But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never
+could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems
+to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a
+change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister
+Copperfield?’
+
+As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup,
+his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly
+round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had
+scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the
+disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and
+going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from
+his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him
+intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I
+was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt.
+
+‘You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations,
+Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?’ observed Uriah.
+
+‘Yes,’ said I, ‘something.’
+
+‘Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!’ he quietly returned. ‘I’m
+glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister
+Copperfield!’
+
+I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for
+having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes,
+however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee.
+
+‘What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!’ pursued
+Uriah. ‘Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don’t
+you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in
+Mr. Wickfield’s business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and
+Heep? You may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master
+Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!’
+
+‘I recollect talking about it,’ said I, ‘though I certainly did not
+think it very likely then.’ ‘Oh! who would have thought it likely,
+Mister Copperfield!’ returned Uriah, enthusiastically. ‘I am sure I
+didn’t myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too
+umble. So I considered myself really and truly.’
+
+He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I
+looked at him.
+
+‘But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield,’ he presently resumed,
+‘may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the
+instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what
+a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!’
+
+‘I am sorry to hear it,’ said I. I could not help adding, rather
+pointedly, ‘on all accounts.’
+
+‘Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield,’ replied Uriah. ‘On all accounts.
+Miss Agnes’s above all! You don’t remember your own eloquent
+expressions, Master Copperfield; but I remember how you said one day
+that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have
+forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?’
+
+‘No,’ said I, drily.
+
+‘Oh how glad I am you have not!’ exclaimed Uriah. ‘To think that you
+should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition in my umble breast,
+and that you’ve not forgot it! Oh!--Would you excuse me asking for a cup
+more coffee?’
+
+Something in the emphasis he laid upon the kindling of those sparks,
+and something in the glance he directed at me as he said it, had made me
+start as if I had seen him illuminated by a blaze of light. Recalled by
+his request, preferred in quite another tone of voice, I did the honours
+of the shaving-pot; but I did them with an unsteadiness of hand, a
+sudden sense of being no match for him, and a perplexed suspicious
+anxiety as to what he might be going to say next, which I felt could not
+escape his observation.
+
+He said nothing at all. He stirred his coffee round and round, he sipped
+it, he felt his chin softly with his grisly hand, he looked at the fire,
+he looked about the room, he gasped rather than smiled at me, he writhed
+and undulated about, in his deferential servility, he stirred and sipped
+again, but he left the renewal of the conversation to me.
+
+‘So, Mr. Wickfield,’ said I, at last, ‘who is worth five hundred of
+you--or me’; for my life, I think, I could not have helped dividing that
+part of the sentence with an awkward jerk; ‘has been imprudent, has he,
+Mr. Heep?’
+
+‘Oh, very imprudent indeed, Master Copperfield,’ returned Uriah, sighing
+modestly. ‘Oh, very much so! But I wish you’d call me Uriah, if you
+please. It’s like old times.’
+
+‘Well! Uriah,’ said I, bolting it out with some difficulty.
+
+‘Thank you,’ he returned, with fervour. ‘Thank you, Master Copperfield!
+It’s like the blowing of old breezes or the ringing of old bellses to
+hear YOU say Uriah. I beg your pardon. Was I making any observation?’
+
+‘About Mr. Wickfield,’ I suggested.
+
+‘Oh! Yes, truly,’ said Uriah. ‘Ah! Great imprudence, Master Copperfield.
+It’s a topic that I wouldn’t touch upon, to any soul but you. Even to
+you I can only touch upon it, and no more. If anyone else had been in
+my place during the last few years, by this time he would have had Mr.
+Wickfield (oh, what a worthy man he is, Master Copperfield, too!) under
+his thumb. Un--der--his thumb,’ said Uriah, very slowly, as he stretched
+out his cruel-looking hand above my table, and pressed his own thumb
+upon it, until it shook, and shook the room.
+
+If I had been obliged to look at him with him splay foot on Mr.
+Wickfield’s head, I think I could scarcely have hated him more.
+
+‘Oh, dear, yes, Master Copperfield,’ he proceeded, in a soft voice,
+most remarkably contrasting with the action of his thumb, which did not
+diminish its hard pressure in the least degree, ‘there’s no doubt of
+it. There would have been loss, disgrace, I don’t know what at all. Mr.
+Wickfield knows it. I am the umble instrument of umbly serving him,
+and he puts me on an eminence I hardly could have hoped to reach. How
+thankful should I be!’ With his face turned towards me, as he finished,
+but without looking at me, he took his crooked thumb off the spot where
+he had planted it, and slowly and thoughtfully scraped his lank jaw with
+it, as if he were shaving himself.
+
+I recollect well how indignantly my heart beat, as I saw his crafty
+face, with the appropriately red light of the fire upon it, preparing
+for something else.
+
+‘Master Copperfield,’ he began--‘but am I keeping you up?’
+
+‘You are not keeping me up. I generally go to bed late.’
+
+‘Thank you, Master Copperfield! I have risen from my umble station since
+first you used to address me, it is true; but I am umble still. I hope I
+never shall be otherwise than umble. You will not think the worse of
+my umbleness, if I make a little confidence to you, Master Copperfield?
+Will you?’
+
+‘Oh no,’ said I, with an effort.
+
+‘Thank you!’ He took out his pocket-handkerchief, and began wiping the
+palms of his hands. ‘Miss Agnes, Master Copperfield--’ ‘Well, Uriah?’
+
+‘Oh, how pleasant to be called Uriah, spontaneously!’ he cried; and gave
+himself a jerk, like a convulsive fish. ‘You thought her looking very
+beautiful tonight, Master Copperfield?’
+
+‘I thought her looking as she always does: superior, in all respects, to
+everyone around her,’ I returned.
+
+‘Oh, thank you! It’s so true!’ he cried. ‘Oh, thank you very much for
+that!’
+
+‘Not at all,’ I said, loftily. ‘There is no reason why you should thank
+me.’
+
+‘Why that, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah, ‘is, in fact, the confidence
+that I am going to take the liberty of reposing. Umble as I am,’ he
+wiped his hands harder, and looked at them and at the fire by turns,
+‘umble as my mother is, and lowly as our poor but honest roof has ever
+been, the image of Miss Agnes (I don’t mind trusting you with my secret,
+Master Copperfield, for I have always overflowed towards you since the
+first moment I had the pleasure of beholding you in a pony-shay) has
+been in my breast for years. Oh, Master Copperfield, with what a pure
+affection do I love the ground my Agnes walks on!’
+
+I believe I had a delirious idea of seizing the red-hot poker out of
+the fire, and running him through with it. It went from me with a shock,
+like a ball fired from a rifle: but the image of Agnes, outraged by so
+much as a thought of this red-headed animal’s, remained in my mind when
+I looked at him, sitting all awry as if his mean soul griped his body,
+and made me giddy. He seemed to swell and grow before my eyes; the room
+seemed full of the echoes of his voice; and the strange feeling (to
+which, perhaps, no one is quite a stranger) that all this had occurred
+before, at some indefinite time, and that I knew what he was going to
+say next, took possession of me.
+
+A timely observation of the sense of power that there was in his face,
+did more to bring back to my remembrance the entreaty of Agnes, in
+its full force, than any effort I could have made. I asked him, with
+a better appearance of composure than I could have thought possible a
+minute before, whether he had made his feelings known to Agnes.
+
+‘Oh no, Master Copperfield!’ he returned; ‘oh dear, no! Not to anyone
+but you. You see I am only just emerging from my lowly station. I rest a
+good deal of hope on her observing how useful I am to her father (for
+I trust to be very useful to him indeed, Master Copperfield), and how I
+smooth the way for him, and keep him straight. She’s so much attached
+to her father, Master Copperfield (oh, what a lovely thing it is in a
+daughter!), that I think she may come, on his account, to be kind to
+me.’
+
+I fathomed the depth of the rascal’s whole scheme, and understood why he
+laid it bare.
+
+‘If you’ll have the goodness to keep my secret, Master Copperfield,’ he
+pursued, ‘and not, in general, to go against me, I shall take it as a
+particular favour. You wouldn’t wish to make unpleasantness. I know
+what a friendly heart you’ve got; but having only known me on my umble
+footing (on my umblest I should say, for I am very umble still), you
+might, unbeknown, go against me rather, with my Agnes. I call her mine,
+you see, Master Copperfield. There’s a song that says, “I’d crowns
+resign, to call her mine!” I hope to do it, one of these days.’
+
+Dear Agnes! So much too loving and too good for anyone that I could
+think of, was it possible that she was reserved to be the wife of such a
+wretch as this!
+
+‘There’s no hurry at present, you know, Master Copperfield,’ Uriah
+proceeded, in his slimy way, as I sat gazing at him, with this thought
+in my mind. ‘My Agnes is very young still; and mother and me will have
+to work our way upwards, and make a good many new arrangements, before
+it would be quite convenient. So I shall have time gradually to make her
+familiar with my hopes, as opportunities offer. Oh, I’m so much obliged
+to you for this confidence! Oh, it’s such a relief, you can’t think, to
+know that you understand our situation, and are certain (as you wouldn’t
+wish to make unpleasantness in the family) not to go against me!’
+
+He took the hand which I dared not withhold, and having given it a damp
+squeeze, referred to his pale-faced watch.
+
+‘Dear me!’ he said, ‘it’s past one. The moments slip away so, in the
+confidence of old times, Master Copperfield, that it’s almost half past
+one!’
+
+I answered that I had thought it was later. Not that I had really
+thought so, but because my conversational powers were effectually
+scattered.
+
+‘Dear me!’ he said, considering. ‘The ouse that I am stopping at--a sort
+of a private hotel and boarding ouse, Master Copperfield, near the New
+River ed--will have gone to bed these two hours.’
+
+‘I am sorry,’ I returned, ‘that there is only one bed here, and that
+I--’
+
+‘Oh, don’t think of mentioning beds, Master Copperfield!’ he rejoined
+ecstatically, drawing up one leg. ‘But would you have any objections to
+my laying down before the fire?’
+
+‘If it comes to that,’ I said, ‘pray take my bed, and I’ll lie down
+before the fire.’
+
+His repudiation of this offer was almost shrill enough, in the excess of
+its surprise and humility, to have penetrated to the ears of Mrs. Crupp,
+then sleeping, I suppose, in a distant chamber, situated at about the
+level of low-water mark, soothed in her slumbers by the ticking of an
+incorrigible clock, to which she always referred me when we had any
+little difference on the score of punctuality, and which was never less
+than three-quarters of an hour too slow, and had always been put right
+in the morning by the best authorities. As no arguments I could urge,
+in my bewildered condition, had the least effect upon his modesty
+in inducing him to accept my bedroom, I was obliged to make the best
+arrangements I could, for his repose before the fire. The mattress of
+the sofa (which was a great deal too short for his lank figure), the
+sofa pillows, a blanket, the table-cover, a clean breakfast-cloth, and
+a great-coat, made him a bed and covering, for which he was more than
+thankful. Having lent him a night-cap, which he put on at once, and in
+which he made such an awful figure, that I have never worn one since, I
+left him to his rest.
+
+I never shall forget that night. I never shall forget how I turned
+and tumbled; how I wearied myself with thinking about Agnes and this
+creature; how I considered what could I do, and what ought I to do; how
+I could come to no other conclusion than that the best course for her
+peace was to do nothing, and to keep to myself what I had heard. If
+I went to sleep for a few moments, the image of Agnes with her tender
+eyes, and of her father looking fondly on her, as I had so often seen
+him look, arose before me with appealing faces, and filled me with vague
+terrors. When I awoke, the recollection that Uriah was lying in the next
+room, sat heavy on me like a waking nightmare; and oppressed me with a
+leaden dread, as if I had had some meaner quality of devil for a lodger.
+
+The poker got into my dozing thoughts besides, and wouldn’t come out. I
+thought, between sleeping and waking, that it was still red hot, and I
+had snatched it out of the fire, and run him through the body. I was so
+haunted at last by the idea, though I knew there was nothing in it, that
+I stole into the next room to look at him. There I saw him, lying on his
+back, with his legs extending to I don’t know where, gurglings taking
+place in his throat, stoppages in his nose, and his mouth open like
+a post-office. He was so much worse in reality than in my distempered
+fancy, that afterwards I was attracted to him in very repulsion, and
+could not help wandering in and out every half-hour or so, and taking
+another look at him. Still, the long, long night seemed heavy and
+hopeless as ever, and no promise of day was in the murky sky.
+
+When I saw him going downstairs early in the morning (for, thank Heaven!
+he would not stay to breakfast), it appeared to me as if the night was
+going away in his person. When I went out to the Commons, I charged
+Mrs. Crupp with particular directions to leave the windows open, that my
+sitting-room might be aired, and purged of his presence.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 26. I FALL INTO CAPTIVITY
+
+
+I saw no more of Uriah Heep, until the day when Agnes left town. I was
+at the coach office to take leave of her and see her go; and there was
+he, returning to Canterbury by the same conveyance. It was some small
+satisfaction to me to observe his spare, short-waisted, high-shouldered,
+mulberry-coloured great-coat perched up, in company with an umbrella
+like a small tent, on the edge of the back seat on the roof, while
+Agnes was, of course, inside; but what I underwent in my efforts to be
+friendly with him, while Agnes looked on, perhaps deserved that little
+recompense. At the coach window, as at the dinner-party, he hovered
+about us without a moment’s intermission, like a great vulture: gorging
+himself on every syllable that I said to Agnes, or Agnes said to me.
+
+In the state of trouble into which his disclosure by my fire had thrown
+me, I had thought very much of the words Agnes had used in reference to
+the partnership. ‘I did what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it
+was necessary for papa’s peace that the sacrifice should be made, I
+entreated him to make it.’ A miserable foreboding that she would
+yield to, and sustain herself by, the same feeling in reference to any
+sacrifice for his sake, had oppressed me ever since. I knew how she
+loved him. I knew what the devotion of her nature was. I knew from her
+own lips that she regarded herself as the innocent cause of his errors,
+and as owing him a great debt she ardently desired to pay. I had no
+consolation in seeing how different she was from this detestable Rufus
+with the mulberry-coloured great-coat, for I felt that in the very
+difference between them, in the self-denial of her pure soul and the
+sordid baseness of his, the greatest danger lay. All this, doubtless, he
+knew thoroughly, and had, in his cunning, considered well.
+
+Yet I was so certain that the prospect of such a sacrifice afar off,
+must destroy the happiness of Agnes; and I was so sure, from her manner,
+of its being unseen by her then, and having cast no shadow on her yet;
+that I could as soon have injured her, as given her any warning of what
+impended. Thus it was that we parted without explanation: she waving
+her hand and smiling farewell from the coach window; her evil genius
+writhing on the roof, as if he had her in his clutches and triumphed.
+
+I could not get over this farewell glimpse of them for a long time. When
+Agnes wrote to tell me of her safe arrival, I was as miserable as when
+I saw her going away. Whenever I fell into a thoughtful state, this
+subject was sure to present itself, and all my uneasiness was sure to be
+redoubled. Hardly a night passed without my dreaming of it. It became a
+part of my life, and as inseparable from my life as my own head.
+
+I had ample leisure to refine upon my uneasiness: for Steerforth was at
+Oxford, as he wrote to me, and when I was not at the Commons, I was
+very much alone. I believe I had at this time some lurking distrust of
+Steerforth. I wrote to him most affectionately in reply to his, but I
+think I was glad, upon the whole, that he could not come to London just
+then. I suspect the truth to be, that the influence of Agnes was upon
+me, undisturbed by the sight of him; and that it was the more powerful
+with me, because she had so large a share in my thoughts and interest.
+
+In the meantime, days and weeks slipped away. I was articled to Spenlow
+and Jorkins. I had ninety pounds a year (exclusive of my house-rent
+and sundry collateral matters) from my aunt. My rooms were engaged
+for twelve months certain: and though I still found them dreary of an
+evening, and the evenings long, I could settle down into a state of
+equable low spirits, and resign myself to coffee; which I seem, on
+looking back, to have taken by the gallon at about this period of my
+existence. At about this time, too, I made three discoveries: first,
+that Mrs. Crupp was a martyr to a curious disorder called ‘the
+spazzums’, which was generally accompanied with inflammation of the
+nose, and required to be constantly treated with peppermint; secondly,
+that something peculiar in the temperature of my pantry, made the
+brandy-bottles burst; thirdly, that I was alone in the world, and much
+given to record that circumstance in fragments of English versification.
+
+On the day when I was articled, no festivity took place, beyond my
+having sandwiches and sherry into the office for the clerks, and going
+alone to the theatre at night. I went to see The Stranger, as a Doctors’
+Commons sort of play, and was so dreadfully cut up, that I hardly knew
+myself in my own glass when I got home. Mr. Spenlow remarked, on this
+occasion, when we concluded our business, that he should have been
+happy to have seen me at his house at Norwood to celebrate our becoming
+connected, but for his domestic arrangements being in some disorder,
+on account of the expected return of his daughter from finishing her
+education at Paris. But, he intimated that when she came home he should
+hope to have the pleasure of entertaining me. I knew that he was a
+widower with one daughter, and expressed my acknowledgements.
+
+Mr. Spenlow was as good as his word. In a week or two, he referred to
+this engagement, and said, that if I would do him the favour to come
+down next Saturday, and stay till Monday, he would be extremely happy.
+Of course I said I would do him the favour; and he was to drive me down
+in his phaeton, and to bring me back.
+
+When the day arrived, my very carpet-bag was an object of veneration
+to the stipendiary clerks, to whom the house at Norwood was a sacred
+mystery. One of them informed me that he had heard that Mr. Spenlow
+ate entirely off plate and china; and another hinted at champagne being
+constantly on draught, after the usual custom of table-beer. The old
+clerk with the wig, whose name was Mr. Tiffey, had been down on business
+several times in the course of his career, and had on each occasion
+penetrated to the breakfast-parlour. He described it as an apartment of
+the most sumptuous nature, and said that he had drunk brown East India
+sherry there, of a quality so precious as to make a man wink. We had
+an adjourned cause in the Consistory that day--about excommunicating a
+baker who had been objecting in a vestry to a paving-rate--and as the
+evidence was just twice the length of Robinson Crusoe, according to a
+calculation I made, it was rather late in the day before we finished.
+However, we got him excommunicated for six weeks, and sentenced in
+no end of costs; and then the baker’s proctor, and the judge, and the
+advocates on both sides (who were all nearly related), went out of town
+together, and Mr. Spenlow and I drove away in the phaeton.
+
+The phaeton was a very handsome affair; the horses arched their necks
+and lifted up their legs as if they knew they belonged to Doctors’
+Commons. There was a good deal of competition in the Commons on all
+points of display, and it turned out some very choice equipages then;
+though I always have considered, and always shall consider, that in my
+time the great article of competition there was starch: which I think
+was worn among the proctors to as great an extent as it is in the nature
+of man to bear.
+
+We were very pleasant, going down, and Mr. Spenlow gave me some hints in
+reference to my profession. He said it was the genteelest profession in
+the world, and must on no account be confounded with the profession of a
+solicitor: being quite another sort of thing, infinitely more exclusive,
+less mechanical, and more profitable. We took things much more easily
+in the Commons than they could be taken anywhere else, he observed, and
+that set us, as a privileged class, apart. He said it was impossible
+to conceal the disagreeable fact, that we were chiefly employed by
+solicitors; but he gave me to understand that they were an inferior race
+of men, universally looked down upon by all proctors of any pretensions.
+
+I asked Mr. Spenlow what he considered the best sort of professional
+business? He replied, that a good case of a disputed will, where there
+was a neat little estate of thirty or forty thousand pounds, was,
+perhaps, the best of all. In such a case, he said, not only were there
+very pretty pickings, in the way of arguments at every stage of the
+proceedings, and mountains upon mountains of evidence on interrogatory
+and counter-interrogatory (to say nothing of an appeal lying, first to
+the Delegates, and then to the Lords), but, the costs being pretty sure
+to come out of the estate at last, both sides went at it in a lively
+and spirited manner, and expense was no consideration. Then, he launched
+into a general eulogium on the Commons. What was to be particularly
+admired (he said) in the Commons, was its compactness. It was the most
+conveniently organized place in the world. It was the complete idea of
+snugness. It lay in a nutshell. For example: You brought a divorce case,
+or a restitution case, into the Consistory. Very good. You tried it in
+the Consistory. You made a quiet little round game of it, among a family
+group, and you played it out at leisure. Suppose you were not satisfied
+with the Consistory, what did you do then? Why, you went into the
+Arches. What was the Arches? The same court, in the same room, with the
+same bar, and the same practitioners, but another judge, for there the
+Consistory judge could plead any court-day as an advocate. Well, you
+played your round game out again. Still you were not satisfied. Very
+good. What did you do then? Why, you went to the Delegates. Who were the
+Delegates? Why, the Ecclesiastical Delegates were the advocates without
+any business, who had looked on at the round game when it was playing in
+both courts, and had seen the cards shuffled, and cut, and played, and
+had talked to all the players about it, and now came fresh, as judges,
+to settle the matter to the satisfaction of everybody! Discontented
+people might talk of corruption in the Commons, closeness in the
+Commons, and the necessity of reforming the Commons, said Mr. Spenlow
+solemnly, in conclusion; but when the price of wheat per bushel had been
+highest, the Commons had been busiest; and a man might lay his hand upon
+his heart, and say this to the whole world,--‘Touch the Commons, and
+down comes the country!’
+
+I listened to all this with attention; and though, I must say, I had my
+doubts whether the country was quite as much obliged to the Commons as
+Mr. Spenlow made out, I respectfully deferred to his opinion. That
+about the price of wheat per bushel, I modestly felt was too much for
+my strength, and quite settled the question. I have never, to this hour,
+got the better of that bushel of wheat. It has reappeared to annihilate
+me, all through my life, in connexion with all kinds of subjects. I
+don’t know now, exactly, what it has to do with me, or what right it has
+to crush me, on an infinite variety of occasions; but whenever I see my
+old friend the bushel brought in by the head and shoulders (as he always
+is, I observe), I give up a subject for lost.
+
+This is a digression. I was not the man to touch the Commons, and
+bring down the country. I submissively expressed, by my silence, my
+acquiescence in all I had heard from my superior in years and knowledge;
+and we talked about The Stranger and the Drama, and the pairs of horses,
+until we came to Mr. Spenlow’s gate.
+
+There was a lovely garden to Mr. Spenlow’s house; and though that was
+not the best time of the year for seeing a garden, it was so beautifully
+kept, that I was quite enchanted. There was a charming lawn, there were
+clusters of trees, and there were perspective walks that I could just
+distinguish in the dark, arched over with trellis-work, on which shrubs
+and flowers grew in the growing season. ‘Here Miss Spenlow walks by
+herself,’ I thought. ‘Dear me!’
+
+We went into the house, which was cheerfully lighted up, and into a hall
+where there were all sorts of hats, caps, great-coats, plaids, gloves,
+whips, and walking-sticks. ‘Where is Miss Dora?’ said Mr. Spenlow to the
+servant. ‘Dora!’ I thought. ‘What a beautiful name!’
+
+We turned into a room near at hand (I think it was the identical
+breakfast-room, made memorable by the brown East Indian sherry), and I
+heard a voice say, ‘Mr. Copperfield, my daughter Dora, and my daughter
+Dora’s confidential friend!’ It was, no doubt, Mr. Spenlow’s voice,
+but I didn’t know it, and I didn’t care whose it was. All was over in a
+moment. I had fulfilled my destiny. I was a captive and a slave. I loved
+Dora Spenlow to distraction!
+
+She was more than human to me. She was a Fairy, a Sylph, I don’t
+know what she was--anything that no one ever saw, and everything that
+everybody ever wanted. I was swallowed up in an abyss of love in an
+instant. There was no pausing on the brink; no looking down, or looking
+back; I was gone, headlong, before I had sense to say a word to her.
+
+‘I,’ observed a well-remembered voice, when I had bowed and murmured
+something, ‘have seen Mr. Copperfield before.’
+
+The speaker was not Dora. No; the confidential friend, Miss Murdstone!
+
+I don’t think I was much astonished. To the best of my judgement,
+no capacity of astonishment was left in me. There was nothing worth
+mentioning in the material world, but Dora Spenlow, to be astonished
+about. I said, ‘How do you do, Miss Murdstone? I hope you are well.’ She
+answered, ‘Very well.’ I said, ‘How is Mr. Murdstone?’ She replied, ‘My
+brother is robust, I am obliged to you.’
+
+Mr. Spenlow, who, I suppose, had been surprised to see us recognize each
+other, then put in his word.
+
+‘I am glad to find,’ he said, ‘Copperfield, that you and Miss Murdstone
+are already acquainted.’
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield and myself,’ said Miss Murdstone, with severe
+composure, ‘are connexions. We were once slightly acquainted. It was in
+his childish days. Circumstances have separated us since. I should not
+have known him.’
+
+I replied that I should have known her, anywhere. Which was true enough.
+
+‘Miss Murdstone has had the goodness,’ said Mr. Spenlow to me, ‘to
+accept the office--if I may so describe it--of my daughter Dora’s
+confidential friend. My daughter Dora having, unhappily, no mother, Miss
+Murdstone is obliging enough to become her companion and protector.’
+
+A passing thought occurred to me that Miss Murdstone, like the pocket
+instrument called a life-preserver, was not so much designed for
+purposes of protection as of assault. But as I had none but passing
+thoughts for any subject save Dora, I glanced at her, directly
+afterwards, and was thinking that I saw, in her prettily pettish manner,
+that she was not very much inclined to be particularly confidential to
+her companion and protector, when a bell rang, which Mr. Spenlow said
+was the first dinner-bell, and so carried me off to dress.
+
+The idea of dressing one’s self, or doing anything in the way of action,
+in that state of love, was a little too ridiculous. I could only sit
+down before my fire, biting the key of my carpet-bag, and think of the
+captivating, girlish, bright-eyed lovely Dora. What a form she had, what
+a face she had, what a graceful, variable, enchanting manner!
+
+The bell rang again so soon that I made a mere scramble of my dressing,
+instead of the careful operation I could have wished under the
+circumstances, and went downstairs. There was some company. Dora was
+talking to an old gentleman with a grey head. Grey as he was--and a
+great-grandfather into the bargain, for he said so--I was madly jealous
+of him.
+
+What a state of mind I was in! I was jealous of everybody. I couldn’t
+bear the idea of anybody knowing Mr. Spenlow better than I did. It was
+torturing to me to hear them talk of occurrences in which I had had no
+share. When a most amiable person, with a highly polished bald head,
+asked me across the dinner table, if that were the first occasion of my
+seeing the grounds, I could have done anything to him that was savage
+and revengeful.
+
+I don’t remember who was there, except Dora. I have not the least idea
+what we had for dinner, besides Dora. My impression is, that I dined off
+Dora, entirely, and sent away half-a-dozen plates untouched. I sat next
+to her. I talked to her. She had the most delightful little voice, the
+gayest little laugh, the pleasantest and most fascinating little
+ways, that ever led a lost youth into hopeless slavery. She was rather
+diminutive altogether. So much the more precious, I thought.
+
+When she went out of the room with Miss Murdstone (no other ladies
+were of the party), I fell into a reverie, only disturbed by the cruel
+apprehension that Miss Murdstone would disparage me to her. The amiable
+creature with the polished head told me a long story, which I think was
+about gardening. I think I heard him say, ‘my gardener’, several times.
+I seemed to pay the deepest attention to him, but I was wandering in a
+garden of Eden all the while, with Dora.
+
+My apprehensions of being disparaged to the object of my engrossing
+affection were revived when we went into the drawing-room, by the grim
+and distant aspect of Miss Murdstone. But I was relieved of them in an
+unexpected manner.
+
+‘David Copperfield,’ said Miss Murdstone, beckoning me aside into a
+window. ‘A word.’
+
+I confronted Miss Murdstone alone.
+
+‘David Copperfield,’ said Miss Murdstone, ‘I need not enlarge upon
+family circumstances. They are not a tempting subject.’ ‘Far from it,
+ma’am,’ I returned.
+
+‘Far from it,’ assented Miss Murdstone. ‘I do not wish to revive
+the memory of past differences, or of past outrages. I have received
+outrages from a person--a female I am sorry to say, for the credit of my
+sex--who is not to be mentioned without scorn and disgust; and therefore
+I would rather not mention her.’
+
+I felt very fiery on my aunt’s account; but I said it would certainly be
+better, if Miss Murdstone pleased, not to mention her. I could not hear
+her disrespectfully mentioned, I added, without expressing my opinion in
+a decided tone.
+
+Miss Murdstone shut her eyes, and disdainfully inclined her head; then,
+slowly opening her eyes, resumed:
+
+‘David Copperfield, I shall not attempt to disguise the fact, that I
+formed an unfavourable opinion of you in your childhood. It may have
+been a mistaken one, or you may have ceased to justify it. That is not
+in question between us now. I belong to a family remarkable, I believe,
+for some firmness; and I am not the creature of circumstance or change.
+I may have my opinion of you. You may have your opinion of me.’
+
+I inclined my head, in my turn.
+
+‘But it is not necessary,’ said Miss Murdstone, ‘that these opinions
+should come into collision here. Under existing circumstances, it is as
+well on all accounts that they should not. As the chances of life have
+brought us together again, and may bring us together on other occasions,
+I would say, let us meet here as distant acquaintances. Family
+circumstances are a sufficient reason for our only meeting on that
+footing, and it is quite unnecessary that either of us should make the
+other the subject of remark. Do you approve of this?’
+
+‘Miss Murdstone,’ I returned, ‘I think you and Mr. Murdstone used me
+very cruelly, and treated my mother with great unkindness. I shall
+always think so, as long as I live. But I quite agree in what you
+propose.’
+
+Miss Murdstone shut her eyes again, and bent her head. Then, just
+touching the back of my hand with the tips of her cold, stiff fingers,
+she walked away, arranging the little fetters on her wrists and round
+her neck; which seemed to be the same set, in exactly the same state,
+as when I had seen her last. These reminded me, in reference to Miss
+Murdstone’s nature, of the fetters over a jail door; suggesting on the
+outside, to all beholders, what was to be expected within.
+
+All I know of the rest of the evening is, that I heard the empress of
+my heart sing enchanted ballads in the French language, generally to the
+effect that, whatever was the matter, we ought always to dance, Ta ra
+la, Ta ra la! accompanying herself on a glorified instrument, resembling
+a guitar. That I was lost in blissful delirium. That I refused
+refreshment. That my soul recoiled from punch particularly. That when
+Miss Murdstone took her into custody and led her away, she smiled and
+gave me her delicious hand. That I caught a view of myself in a mirror,
+looking perfectly imbecile and idiotic. That I retired to bed in a most
+maudlin state of mind, and got up in a crisis of feeble infatuation.
+
+It was a fine morning, and early, and I thought I would go and take a
+stroll down one of those wire-arched walks, and indulge my passion by
+dwelling on her image. On my way through the hall, I encountered her
+little dog, who was called Jip--short for Gipsy. I approached him
+tenderly, for I loved even him; but he showed his whole set of teeth,
+got under a chair expressly to snarl, and wouldn’t hear of the least
+familiarity.
+
+The garden was cool and solitary. I walked about, wondering what my
+feelings of happiness would be, if I could ever become engaged to this
+dear wonder. As to marriage, and fortune, and all that, I believe I was
+almost as innocently undesigning then, as when I loved little Em’ly. To
+be allowed to call her ‘Dora’, to write to her, to dote upon and worship
+her, to have reason to think that when she was with other people she was
+yet mindful of me, seemed to me the summit of human ambition--I am
+sure it was the summit of mine. There is no doubt whatever that I was
+a lackadaisical young spooney; but there was a purity of heart in all
+this, that prevents my having quite a contemptuous recollection of it,
+let me laugh as I may.
+
+I had not been walking long, when I turned a corner, and met her. I
+tingle again from head to foot as my recollection turns that corner, and
+my pen shakes in my hand.
+
+‘You--are--out early, Miss Spenlow,’ said I.
+
+‘It’s so stupid at home,’ she replied, ‘and Miss Murdstone is so absurd!
+She talks such nonsense about its being necessary for the day to be
+aired, before I come out. Aired!’ (She laughed, here, in the most
+melodious manner.) ‘On a Sunday morning, when I don’t practise, I must
+do something. So I told papa last night I must come out. Besides, it’s
+the brightest time of the whole day. Don’t you think so?’
+
+I hazarded a bold flight, and said (not without stammering) that it
+was very bright to me then, though it had been very dark to me a minute
+before.
+
+‘Do you mean a compliment?’ said Dora, ‘or that the weather has really
+changed?’
+
+I stammered worse than before, in replying that I meant no compliment,
+but the plain truth; though I was not aware of any change having taken
+place in the weather. It was in the state of my own feelings, I added
+bashfully: to clench the explanation.
+
+I never saw such curls--how could I, for there never were such
+curls!--as those she shook out to hide her blushes. As to the straw hat
+and blue ribbons which was on the top of the curls, if I could only have
+hung it up in my room in Buckingham Street, what a priceless possession
+it would have been!
+
+‘You have just come home from Paris,’ said I.
+
+‘Yes,’ said she. ‘Have you ever been there?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Oh! I hope you’ll go soon! You would like it so much!’
+
+Traces of deep-seated anguish appeared in my countenance. That she
+should hope I would go, that she should think it possible I could go,
+was insupportable. I depreciated Paris; I depreciated France. I said I
+wouldn’t leave England, under existing circumstances, for any earthly
+consideration. Nothing should induce me. In short, she was shaking the
+curls again, when the little dog came running along the walk to our
+relief.
+
+He was mortally jealous of me, and persisted in barking at me. She took
+him up in her arms--oh my goodness!--and caressed him, but he persisted
+upon barking still. He wouldn’t let me touch him, when I tried; and then
+she beat him. It increased my sufferings greatly to see the pats she
+gave him for punishment on the bridge of his blunt nose, while he winked
+his eyes, and licked her hand, and still growled within himself like a
+little double-bass. At length he was quiet--well he might be with her
+dimpled chin upon his head!--and we walked away to look at a greenhouse.
+
+‘You are not very intimate with Miss Murdstone, are you?’ said Dora.
+--‘My pet.’
+
+(The two last words were to the dog. Oh, if they had only been to me!)
+
+‘No,’ I replied. ‘Not at all so.’
+
+‘She is a tiresome creature,’ said Dora, pouting. ‘I can’t think what
+papa can have been about, when he chose such a vexatious thing to be my
+companion. Who wants a protector? I am sure I don’t want a protector.
+Jip can protect me a great deal better than Miss Murdstone,--can’t you,
+Jip, dear?’
+
+He only winked lazily, when she kissed his ball of a head.
+
+‘Papa calls her my confidential friend, but I am sure she is no such
+thing--is she, Jip? We are not going to confide in any such cross
+people, Jip and I. We mean to bestow our confidence where we like,
+and to find out our own friends, instead of having them found out for
+us--don’t we, Jip?’
+
+Jip made a comfortable noise, in answer, a little like a tea-kettle when
+it sings. As for me, every word was a new heap of fetters, riveted above
+the last.
+
+‘It is very hard, because we have not a kind Mama, that we are to have,
+instead, a sulky, gloomy old thing like Miss Murdstone, always following
+us about--isn’t it, Jip? Never mind, Jip. We won’t be confidential, and
+we’ll make ourselves as happy as we can in spite of her, and we’ll tease
+her, and not please her--won’t we, Jip?’
+
+If it had lasted any longer, I think I must have gone down on my knees
+on the gravel, with the probability before me of grazing them, and of
+being presently ejected from the premises besides. But, by good fortune
+the greenhouse was not far off, and these words brought us to it.
+
+It contained quite a show of beautiful geraniums. We loitered along in
+front of them, and Dora often stopped to admire this one or that one,
+and I stopped to admire the same one, and Dora, laughing, held the dog
+up childishly, to smell the flowers; and if we were not all three in
+Fairyland, certainly I was. The scent of a geranium leaf, at this day,
+strikes me with a half comical half serious wonder as to what change has
+come over me in a moment; and then I see a straw hat and blue ribbons,
+and a quantity of curls, and a little black dog being held up, in two
+slender arms, against a bank of blossoms and bright leaves.
+
+Miss Murdstone had been looking for us. She found us here; and presented
+her uncongenial cheek, the little wrinkles in it filled with hair
+powder, to Dora to be kissed. Then she took Dora’s arm in hers, and
+marched us into breakfast as if it were a soldier’s funeral.
+
+How many cups of tea I drank, because Dora made it, I don’t know. But,
+I perfectly remember that I sat swilling tea until my whole nervous
+system, if I had had any in those days, must have gone by the board. By
+and by we went to church. Miss Murdstone was between Dora and me in the
+pew; but I heard her sing, and the congregation vanished. A sermon was
+delivered--about Dora, of course--and I am afraid that is all I know of
+the service.
+
+We had a quiet day. No company, a walk, a family dinner of four, and an
+evening of looking over books and pictures; Miss Murdstone with a homily
+before her, and her eye upon us, keeping guard vigilantly. Ah! little
+did Mr. Spenlow imagine, when he sat opposite to me after dinner that
+day, with his pocket-handkerchief over his head, how fervently I was
+embracing him, in my fancy, as his son-in-law! Little did he think, when
+I took leave of him at night, that he had just given his full consent to
+my being engaged to Dora, and that I was invoking blessings on his head!
+
+We departed early in the morning, for we had a Salvage case coming on in
+the Admiralty Court, requiring a rather accurate knowledge of the whole
+science of navigation, in which (as we couldn’t be expected to know
+much about those matters in the Commons) the judge had entreated two old
+Trinity Masters, for charity’s sake, to come and help him out. Dora was
+at the breakfast-table to make the tea again, however; and I had the
+melancholy pleasure of taking off my hat to her in the phaeton, as she
+stood on the door-step with Jip in her arms.
+
+What the Admiralty was to me that day; what nonsense I made of our case
+in my mind, as I listened to it; how I saw ‘DORA’ engraved upon the
+blade of the silver oar which they lay upon the table, as the emblem
+of that high jurisdiction; and how I felt when Mr. Spenlow went home
+without me (I had had an insane hope that he might take me back again),
+as if I were a mariner myself, and the ship to which I belonged had
+sailed away and left me on a desert island; I shall make no fruitless
+effort to describe. If that sleepy old court could rouse itself, and
+present in any visible form the daydreams I have had in it about Dora,
+it would reveal my truth.
+
+I don’t mean the dreams that I dreamed on that day alone, but day after
+day, from week to week, and term to term. I went there, not to attend to
+what was going on, but to think about Dora. If ever I bestowed a thought
+upon the cases, as they dragged their slow length before me, it was only
+to wonder, in the matrimonial cases (remembering Dora), how it was
+that married people could ever be otherwise than happy; and, in the
+Prerogative cases, to consider, if the money in question had been left
+to me, what were the foremost steps I should immediately have taken
+in regard to Dora. Within the first week of my passion, I bought four
+sumptuous waistcoats--not for myself; I had no pride in them; for
+Dora--and took to wearing straw-coloured kid gloves in the streets, and
+laid the foundations of all the corns I have ever had. If the boots I
+wore at that period could only be produced and compared with the natural
+size of my feet, they would show what the state of my heart was, in a
+most affecting manner.
+
+And yet, wretched cripple as I made myself by this act of homage to
+Dora, I walked miles upon miles daily in the hope of seeing her. Not
+only was I soon as well known on the Norwood Road as the postmen on that
+beat, but I pervaded London likewise. I walked about the streets where
+the best shops for ladies were, I haunted the Bazaar like an unquiet
+spirit, I fagged through the Park again and again, long after I was
+quite knocked up. Sometimes, at long intervals and on rare occasions, I
+saw her. Perhaps I saw her glove waved in a carriage window; perhaps I
+met her, walked with her and Miss Murdstone a little way, and spoke to
+her. In the latter case I was always very miserable afterwards, to think
+that I had said nothing to the purpose; or that she had no idea of the
+extent of my devotion, or that she cared nothing about me. I was always
+looking out, as may be supposed, for another invitation to Mr. Spenlow’s
+house. I was always being disappointed, for I got none.
+
+Mrs. Crupp must have been a woman of penetration; for when this
+attachment was but a few weeks old, and I had not had the courage
+to write more explicitly even to Agnes, than that I had been to Mr.
+Spenlow’s house, ‘whose family,’ I added, ‘consists of one daughter’;--I
+say Mrs. Crupp must have been a woman of penetration, for, even in that
+early stage, she found it out. She came up to me one evening, when I
+was very low, to ask (she being then afflicted with the disorder I have
+mentioned) if I could oblige her with a little tincture of cardamums
+mixed with rhubarb, and flavoured with seven drops of the essence of
+cloves, which was the best remedy for her complaint;--or, if I had not
+such a thing by me, with a little brandy, which was the next best. It
+was not, she remarked, so palatable to her, but it was the next best. As
+I had never even heard of the first remedy, and always had the second in
+the closet, I gave Mrs. Crupp a glass of the second, which (that I might
+have no suspicion of its being devoted to any improper use) she began to
+take in my presence.
+
+‘Cheer up, sir,’ said Mrs. Crupp. ‘I can’t abear to see you so, sir: I’m
+a mother myself.’
+
+I did not quite perceive the application of this fact to myself, but I
+smiled on Mrs. Crupp, as benignly as was in my power.
+
+‘Come, sir,’ said Mrs. Crupp. ‘Excuse me. I know what it is, sir.
+There’s a lady in the case.’
+
+‘Mrs. Crupp?’ I returned, reddening.
+
+‘Oh, bless you! Keep a good heart, sir!’ said Mrs. Crupp, nodding
+encouragement. ‘Never say die, sir! If She don’t smile upon you,
+there’s a many as will. You are a young gentleman to be smiled on, Mr.
+Copperfull, and you must learn your walue, sir.’
+
+Mrs. Crupp always called me Mr. Copperfull: firstly, no doubt, because
+it was not my name; and secondly, I am inclined to think, in some
+indistinct association with a washing-day.
+
+‘What makes you suppose there is any young lady in the case, Mrs.
+Crupp?’ said I.
+
+‘Mr. Copperfull,’ said Mrs. Crupp, with a great deal of feeling, ‘I’m a
+mother myself.’
+
+For some time Mrs. Crupp could only lay her hand upon her nankeen bosom,
+and fortify herself against returning pain with sips of her medicine. At
+length she spoke again.
+
+‘When the present set were took for you by your dear aunt, Mr.
+Copperfull,’ said Mrs. Crupp, ‘my remark were, I had now found summun
+I could care for. “Thank Ev’in!” were the expression, “I have now found
+summun I can care for!”--You don’t eat enough, sir, nor yet drink.’
+
+‘Is that what you found your supposition on, Mrs. Crupp?’ said I.
+
+‘Sir,’ said Mrs. Crupp, in a tone approaching to severity, ‘I’ve
+laundressed other young gentlemen besides yourself. A young gentleman
+may be over-careful of himself, or he may be under-careful of himself.
+He may brush his hair too regular, or too un-regular. He may wear his
+boots much too large for him, or much too small. That is according as
+the young gentleman has his original character formed. But let him go to
+which extreme he may, sir, there’s a young lady in both of ‘em.’
+
+Mrs. Crupp shook her head in such a determined manner, that I had not an
+inch of vantage-ground left.
+
+‘It was but the gentleman which died here before yourself,’ said Mrs.
+Crupp, ‘that fell in love--with a barmaid--and had his waistcoats took
+in directly, though much swelled by drinking.’
+
+‘Mrs. Crupp,’ said I, ‘I must beg you not to connect the young lady in
+my case with a barmaid, or anything of that sort, if you please.’
+
+‘Mr. Copperfull,’ returned Mrs. Crupp, ‘I’m a mother myself, and not
+likely. I ask your pardon, sir, if I intrude. I should never wish to
+intrude where I were not welcome. But you are a young gentleman, Mr.
+Copperfull, and my adwice to you is, to cheer up, sir, to keep a good
+heart, and to know your own walue. If you was to take to something,
+sir,’ said Mrs. Crupp, ‘if you was to take to skittles, now, which is
+healthy, you might find it divert your mind, and do you good.’
+
+With these words, Mrs. Crupp, affecting to be very careful of the
+brandy--which was all gone--thanked me with a majestic curtsey, and
+retired. As her figure disappeared into the gloom of the entry, this
+counsel certainly presented itself to my mind in the light of a slight
+liberty on Mrs. Crupp’s part; but, at the same time, I was content
+to receive it, in another point of view, as a word to the wise, and a
+warning in future to keep my secret better.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 27. TOMMY TRADDLES
+
+
+It may have been in consequence of Mrs. Crupp’s advice, and, perhaps,
+for no better reason than because there was a certain similarity in the
+sound of the word skittles and Traddles, that it came into my head, next
+day, to go and look after Traddles. The time he had mentioned was more
+than out, and he lived in a little street near the Veterinary College
+at Camden Town, which was principally tenanted, as one of our clerks who
+lived in that direction informed me, by gentlemen students, who bought
+live donkeys, and made experiments on those quadrupeds in their private
+apartments. Having obtained from this clerk a direction to the academic
+grove in question, I set out, the same afternoon, to visit my old
+schoolfellow.
+
+I found that the street was not as desirable a one as I could have
+wished it to be, for the sake of Traddles. The inhabitants appeared to
+have a propensity to throw any little trifles they were not in want of,
+into the road: which not only made it rank and sloppy, but untidy too,
+on account of the cabbage-leaves. The refuse was not wholly vegetable
+either, for I myself saw a shoe, a doubled-up saucepan, a black bonnet,
+and an umbrella, in various stages of decomposition, as I was looking
+out for the number I wanted.
+
+The general air of the place reminded me forcibly of the days when I
+lived with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. An indescribable character of faded
+gentility that attached to the house I sought, and made it unlike
+all the other houses in the street--though they were all built on one
+monotonous pattern, and looked like the early copies of a blundering boy
+who was learning to make houses, and had not yet got out of his cramped
+brick-and-mortar pothooks--reminded me still more of Mr. and Mrs.
+Micawber. Happening to arrive at the door as it was opened to the
+afternoon milkman, I was reminded of Mr. and Mrs. Micawber more forcibly
+yet.
+
+‘Now,’ said the milkman to a very youthful servant girl. ‘Has that there
+little bill of mine been heerd on?’
+
+‘Oh, master says he’ll attend to it immediate,’ was the reply.
+
+‘Because,’ said the milkman, going on as if he had received no answer,
+and speaking, as I judged from his tone, rather for the edification of
+somebody within the house, than of the youthful servant--an
+impression which was strengthened by his manner of glaring down the
+passage--‘because that there little bill has been running so long, that
+I begin to believe it’s run away altogether, and never won’t be heerd
+of. Now, I’m not a going to stand it, you know!’ said the milkman, still
+throwing his voice into the house, and glaring down the passage.
+
+As to his dealing in the mild article of milk, by the by, there never
+was a greater anomaly. His deportment would have been fierce in a
+butcher or a brandy-merchant.
+
+The voice of the youthful servant became faint, but she seemed to me,
+from the action of her lips, again to murmur that it would be attended
+to immediate.
+
+‘I tell you what,’ said the milkman, looking hard at her for the first
+time, and taking her by the chin, ‘are you fond of milk?’
+
+‘Yes, I likes it,’ she replied. ‘Good,’ said the milkman. ‘Then you
+won’t have none tomorrow. D’ye hear? Not a fragment of milk you won’t
+have tomorrow.’
+
+I thought she seemed, upon the whole, relieved by the prospect of having
+any today. The milkman, after shaking his head at her darkly, released
+her chin, and with anything rather than good-will opened his can, and
+deposited the usual quantity in the family jug. This done, he went away,
+muttering, and uttered the cry of his trade next door, in a vindictive
+shriek.
+
+‘Does Mr. Traddles live here?’ I then inquired.
+
+A mysterious voice from the end of the passage replied ‘Yes.’ Upon which
+the youthful servant replied ‘Yes.’
+
+‘Is he at home?’ said I.
+
+Again the mysterious voice replied in the affirmative, and again the
+servant echoed it. Upon this, I walked in, and in pursuance of the
+servant’s directions walked upstairs; conscious, as I passed the
+back parlour-door, that I was surveyed by a mysterious eye, probably
+belonging to the mysterious voice.
+
+When I got to the top of the stairs--the house was only a story high
+above the ground floor--Traddles was on the landing to meet me. He was
+delighted to see me, and gave me welcome, with great heartiness, to
+his little room. It was in the front of the house, and extremely neat,
+though sparely furnished. It was his only room, I saw; for there was a
+sofa-bedstead in it, and his blacking-brushes and blacking were among
+his books--on the top shelf, behind a dictionary. His table was covered
+with papers, and he was hard at work in an old coat. I looked at
+nothing, that I know of, but I saw everything, even to the prospect of
+a church upon his china inkstand, as I sat down--and this, too, was a
+faculty confirmed in me in the old Micawber times. Various ingenious
+arrangements he had made, for the disguise of his chest of drawers,
+and the accommodation of his boots, his shaving-glass, and so forth,
+particularly impressed themselves upon me, as evidences of the same
+Traddles who used to make models of elephants’ dens in writing-paper to
+put flies in; and to comfort himself under ill usage, with the memorable
+works of art I have so often mentioned.
+
+In a corner of the room was something neatly covered up with a large
+white cloth. I could not make out what that was.
+
+‘Traddles,’ said I, shaking hands with him again, after I had sat down,
+‘I am delighted to see you.’
+
+‘I am delighted to see YOU, Copperfield,’ he returned. ‘I am very glad
+indeed to see you. It was because I was thoroughly glad to see you when
+we met in Ely Place, and was sure you were thoroughly glad to see me,
+that I gave you this address instead of my address at chambers.’ ‘Oh!
+You have chambers?’ said I.
+
+‘Why, I have the fourth of a room and a passage, and the fourth of a
+clerk,’ returned Traddles. ‘Three others and myself unite to have a
+set of chambers--to look business-like--and we quarter the clerk too.
+Half-a-crown a week he costs me.’
+
+His old simple character and good temper, and something of his old
+unlucky fortune also, I thought, smiled at me in the smile with which he
+made this explanation.
+
+‘It’s not because I have the least pride, Copperfield, you understand,’
+said Traddles, ‘that I don’t usually give my address here. It’s only on
+account of those who come to me, who might not like to come here. For
+myself, I am fighting my way on in the world against difficulties, and
+it would be ridiculous if I made a pretence of doing anything else.’
+
+‘You are reading for the bar, Mr. Waterbrook informed me?’ said I.
+
+‘Why, yes,’ said Traddles, rubbing his hands slowly over one another. ‘I
+am reading for the bar. The fact is, I have just begun to keep my terms,
+after rather a long delay. It’s some time since I was articled, but the
+payment of that hundred pounds was a great pull. A great pull!’ said
+Traddles, with a wince, as if he had had a tooth out.
+
+‘Do you know what I can’t help thinking of, Traddles, as I sit here
+looking at you?’ I asked him.
+
+‘No,’ said he.
+
+‘That sky-blue suit you used to wear.’
+
+‘Lord, to be sure!’ cried Traddles, laughing. ‘Tight in the arms and
+legs, you know? Dear me! Well! Those were happy times, weren’t they?’
+
+‘I think our schoolmaster might have made them happier, without doing
+any harm to any of us, I acknowledge,’ I returned.
+
+‘Perhaps he might,’ said Traddles. ‘But dear me, there was a good deal
+of fun going on. Do you remember the nights in the bedroom? When we used
+to have the suppers? And when you used to tell the stories? Ha, ha,
+ha! And do you remember when I got caned for crying about Mr. Mell? Old
+Creakle! I should like to see him again, too!’
+
+‘He was a brute to you, Traddles,’ said I, indignantly; for his good
+humour made me feel as if I had seen him beaten but yesterday.
+
+‘Do you think so?’ returned Traddles. ‘Really? Perhaps he was rather.
+But it’s all over, a long while. Old Creakle!’
+
+‘You were brought up by an uncle, then?’ said I.
+
+‘Of course I was!’ said Traddles. ‘The one I was always going to write
+to. And always didn’t, eh! Ha, ha, ha! Yes, I had an uncle then. He died
+soon after I left school.’
+
+‘Indeed!’
+
+‘Yes. He was a retired--what do you call
+it!--draper--cloth-merchant--and had made me his heir. But he didn’t
+like me when I grew up.’
+
+‘Do you really mean that?’ said I. He was so composed, that I fancied he
+must have some other meaning.
+
+‘Oh dear, yes, Copperfield! I mean it,’ replied Traddles. ‘It was an
+unfortunate thing, but he didn’t like me at all. He said I wasn’t at all
+what he expected, and so he married his housekeeper.’
+
+‘And what did you do?’ I asked.
+
+‘I didn’t do anything in particular,’ said Traddles. ‘I lived with them,
+waiting to be put out in the world, until his gout unfortunately flew
+to his stomach--and so he died, and so she married a young man, and so I
+wasn’t provided for.’
+
+‘Did you get nothing, Traddles, after all?’
+
+‘Oh dear, yes!’ said Traddles. ‘I got fifty pounds. I had never been
+brought up to any profession, and at first I was at a loss what to
+do for myself. However, I began, with the assistance of the son of a
+professional man, who had been to Salem House--Yawler, with his nose on
+one side. Do you recollect him?’
+
+No. He had not been there with me; all the noses were straight in my
+day.
+
+‘It don’t matter,’ said Traddles. ‘I began, by means of his assistance,
+to copy law writings. That didn’t answer very well; and then I began to
+state cases for them, and make abstracts, and that sort of work. For
+I am a plodding kind of fellow, Copperfield, and had learnt the way of
+doing such things pithily. Well! That put it in my head to enter myself
+as a law student; and that ran away with all that was left of the fifty
+pounds. Yawler recommended me to one or two other offices, however--Mr.
+Waterbrook’s for one--and I got a good many jobs. I was fortunate
+enough, too, to become acquainted with a person in the publishing way,
+who was getting up an Encyclopaedia, and he set me to work; and, indeed’
+(glancing at his table), ‘I am at work for him at this minute. I am not
+a bad compiler, Copperfield,’ said Traddles, preserving the same air of
+cheerful confidence in all he said, ‘but I have no invention at all; not
+a particle. I suppose there never was a young man with less originality
+than I have.’
+
+As Traddles seemed to expect that I should assent to this as a matter
+of course, I nodded; and he went on, with the same sprightly patience--I
+can find no better expression--as before.
+
+‘So, by little and little, and not living high, I managed to scrape up
+the hundred pounds at last,’ said Traddles; ‘and thank Heaven that’s
+paid--though it was--though it certainly was,’ said Traddles, wincing
+again as if he had had another tooth out, ‘a pull. I am living by the
+sort of work I have mentioned, still, and I hope, one of these days, to
+get connected with some newspaper: which would almost be the making of
+my fortune. Now, Copperfield, you are so exactly what you used to
+be, with that agreeable face, and it’s so pleasant to see you, that I
+sha’n’t conceal anything. Therefore you must know that I am engaged.’
+
+Engaged! Oh, Dora!
+
+‘She is a curate’s daughter,’ said Traddles; ‘one of ten, down in
+Devonshire. Yes!’ For he saw me glance, involuntarily, at the prospect
+on the inkstand. ‘That’s the church! You come round here to the left,
+out of this gate,’ tracing his finger along the inkstand, ‘and exactly
+where I hold this pen, there stands the house--facing, you understand,
+towards the church.’
+
+The delight with which he entered into these particulars, did not fully
+present itself to me until afterwards; for my selfish thoughts were
+making a ground-plan of Mr. Spenlow’s house and garden at the same
+moment.
+
+‘She is such a dear girl!’ said Traddles; ‘a little older than me, but
+the dearest girl! I told you I was going out of town? I have been down
+there. I walked there, and I walked back, and I had the most delightful
+time! I dare say ours is likely to be a rather long engagement, but our
+motto is “Wait and hope!” We always say that. “Wait and hope,” we always
+say. And she would wait, Copperfield, till she was sixty--any age you
+can mention--for me!’
+
+Traddles rose from his chair, and, with a triumphant smile, put his hand
+upon the white cloth I had observed.
+
+‘However,’ he said, ‘it’s not that we haven’t made a beginning towards
+housekeeping. No, no; we have begun. We must get on by degrees, but we
+have begun. Here,’ drawing the cloth off with great pride and care, ‘are
+two pieces of furniture to commence with. This flower-pot and stand,
+she bought herself. You put that in a parlour window,’ said Traddles,
+falling a little back from it to survey it with the greater admiration,
+‘with a plant in it, and--and there you are! This little round table
+with the marble top (it’s two feet ten in circumference), I bought. You
+want to lay a book down, you know, or somebody comes to see you or your
+wife, and wants a place to stand a cup of tea upon, and--and there you
+are again!’ said Traddles. ‘It’s an admirable piece of workmanship--firm
+as a rock!’ I praised them both, highly, and Traddles replaced the
+covering as carefully as he had removed it.
+
+‘It’s not a great deal towards the furnishing,’ said Traddles, ‘but
+it’s something. The table-cloths, and pillow-cases, and articles of
+that kind, are what discourage me most, Copperfield. So does
+the ironmongery--candle-boxes, and gridirons, and that sort of
+necessaries--because those things tell, and mount up. However, “wait and
+hope!” And I assure you she’s the dearest girl!’
+
+‘I am quite certain of it,’ said I.
+
+‘In the meantime,’ said Traddles, coming back to his chair; ‘and this is
+the end of my prosing about myself, I get on as well as I can. I don’t
+make much, but I don’t spend much. In general, I board with the people
+downstairs, who are very agreeable people indeed. Both Mr. and Mrs.
+Micawber have seen a good deal of life, and are excellent company.’
+
+‘My dear Traddles!’ I quickly exclaimed. ‘What are you talking about?’
+
+Traddles looked at me, as if he wondered what I was talking about.
+
+‘Mr. and Mrs. Micawber!’ I repeated. ‘Why, I am intimately acquainted
+with them!’
+
+An opportune double knock at the door, which I knew well from old
+experience in Windsor Terrace, and which nobody but Mr. Micawber could
+ever have knocked at that door, resolved any doubt in my mind as to
+their being my old friends. I begged Traddles to ask his landlord
+to walk up. Traddles accordingly did so, over the banister; and Mr.
+Micawber, not a bit changed--his tights, his stick, his shirt-collar,
+and his eye-glass, all the same as ever--came into the room with a
+genteel and youthful air.
+
+‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Traddles,’ said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll
+in his voice, as he checked himself in humming a soft tune. ‘I was not
+aware that there was any individual, alien to this tenement, in your
+sanctum.’
+
+Mr. Micawber slightly bowed to me, and pulled up his shirt-collar.
+
+‘How do you do, Mr. Micawber?’ said I.
+
+‘Sir,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘you are exceedingly obliging. I am in statu
+quo.’
+
+‘And Mrs. Micawber?’ I pursued.
+
+‘Sir,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘she is also, thank God, in statu quo.’
+
+‘And the children, Mr. Micawber?’
+
+‘Sir,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘I rejoice to reply that they are, likewise,
+in the enjoyment of salubrity.’
+
+All this time, Mr. Micawber had not known me in the least, though he
+had stood face to face with me. But now, seeing me smile, he examined my
+features with more attention, fell back, cried, ‘Is it possible! Have I
+the pleasure of again beholding Copperfield!’ and shook me by both hands
+with the utmost fervour.
+
+‘Good Heaven, Mr. Traddles!’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘to think that I should
+find you acquainted with the friend of my youth, the companion of
+earlier days! My dear!’ calling over the banisters to Mrs. Micawber,
+while Traddles looked (with reason) not a little amazed at this
+description of me. ‘Here is a gentleman in Mr. Traddles’s apartment,
+whom he wishes to have the pleasure of presenting to you, my love!’
+
+Mr. Micawber immediately reappeared, and shook hands with me again.
+
+‘And how is our good friend the Doctor, Copperfield?’ said Mr. Micawber,
+‘and all the circle at Canterbury?’
+
+‘I have none but good accounts of them,’ said I.
+
+‘I am most delighted to hear it,’ said Mr. Micawber. ‘It was at
+Canterbury where we last met. Within the shadow, I may figuratively say,
+of that religious edifice immortalized by Chaucer, which was anciently
+the resort of Pilgrims from the remotest corners of--in short,’ said Mr.
+Micawber, ‘in the immediate neighbourhood of the Cathedral.’
+
+I replied that it was. Mr. Micawber continued talking as volubly as he
+could; but not, I thought, without showing, by some marks of concern in
+his countenance, that he was sensible of sounds in the next room, as
+of Mrs. Micawber washing her hands, and hurriedly opening and shutting
+drawers that were uneasy in their action.
+
+‘You find us, Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, with one eye on Traddles,
+‘at present established, on what may be designated as a small and
+unassuming scale; but, you are aware that I have, in the course of my
+career, surmounted difficulties, and conquered obstacles. You are no
+stranger to the fact, that there have been periods of my life, when it
+has been requisite that I should pause, until certain expected events
+should turn up; when it has been necessary that I should fall back,
+before making what I trust I shall not be accused of presumption in
+terming--a spring. The present is one of those momentous stages in the
+life of man. You find me, fallen back, FOR a spring; and I have every
+reason to believe that a vigorous leap will shortly be the result.’
+
+I was expressing my satisfaction, when Mrs. Micawber came in; a little
+more slatternly than she used to be, or so she seemed now, to my
+unaccustomed eyes, but still with some preparation of herself for
+company, and with a pair of brown gloves on.
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Micawber, leading her towards me, ‘here is
+a gentleman of the name of Copperfield, who wishes to renew his
+acquaintance with you.’
+
+It would have been better, as it turned out, to have led gently up
+to this announcement, for Mrs. Micawber, being in a delicate state of
+health, was overcome by it, and was taken so unwell, that Mr. Micawber
+was obliged, in great trepidation, to run down to the water-butt in
+the backyard, and draw a basinful to lave her brow with. She
+presently revived, however, and was really pleased to see me. We had
+half-an-hour’s talk, all together; and I asked her about the twins,
+who, she said, were ‘grown great creatures’; and after Master and Miss
+Micawber, whom she described as ‘absolute giants’, but they were not
+produced on that occasion.
+
+Mr. Micawber was very anxious that I should stay to dinner. I should not
+have been averse to do so, but that I imagined I detected trouble, and
+calculation relative to the extent of the cold meat, in Mrs. Micawber’s
+eye. I therefore pleaded another engagement; and observing that Mrs.
+Micawber’s spirits were immediately lightened, I resisted all persuasion
+to forego it.
+
+But I told Traddles, and Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, that before I could
+think of leaving, they must appoint a day when they would come and dine
+with me. The occupations to which Traddles stood pledged, rendered it
+necessary to fix a somewhat distant one; but an appointment was made for
+the purpose, that suited us all, and then I took my leave.
+
+Mr. Micawber, under pretence of showing me a nearer way than that by
+which I had come, accompanied me to the corner of the street; being
+anxious (he explained to me) to say a few words to an old friend, in
+confidence.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘I need hardly tell you that
+to have beneath our roof, under existing circumstances, a mind like that
+which gleams--if I may be allowed the expression--which gleams--in your
+friend Traddles, is an unspeakable comfort. With a washerwoman, who
+exposes hard-bake for sale in her parlour-window, dwelling next door,
+and a Bow-street officer residing over the way, you may imagine that his
+society is a source of consolation to myself and to Mrs. Micawber. I
+am at present, my dear Copperfield, engaged in the sale of corn upon
+commission. It is not an avocation of a remunerative description--in
+other words, it does not pay--and some temporary embarrassments of a
+pecuniary nature have been the consequence. I am, however, delighted to
+add that I have now an immediate prospect of something turning up (I am
+not at liberty to say in what direction), which I trust will enable me
+to provide, permanently, both for myself and for your friend Traddles,
+in whom I have an unaffected interest. You may, perhaps, be prepared
+to hear that Mrs. Micawber is in a state of health which renders it
+not wholly improbable that an addition may be ultimately made to those
+pledges of affection which--in short, to the infantine group. Mrs.
+Micawber’s family have been so good as to express their dissatisfaction
+at this state of things. I have merely to observe, that I am not aware
+that it is any business of theirs, and that I repel that exhibition of
+feeling with scorn, and with defiance!’
+
+Mr. Micawber then shook hands with me again, and left me.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 28. Mr. MICAWBER’S GAUNTLET
+
+
+Until the day arrived on which I was to entertain my newly-found
+old friends, I lived principally on Dora and coffee. In my love-lorn
+condition, my appetite languished; and I was glad of it, for I felt
+as though it would have been an act of perfidy towards Dora to have a
+natural relish for my dinner. The quantity of walking exercise I took,
+was not in this respect attended with its usual consequence, as the
+disappointment counteracted the fresh air. I have my doubts, too,
+founded on the acute experience acquired at this period of my life,
+whether a sound enjoyment of animal food can develop itself freely in
+any human subject who is always in torment from tight boots. I think
+the extremities require to be at peace before the stomach will conduct
+itself with vigour.
+
+On the occasion of this domestic little party, I did not repeat my
+former extensive preparations. I merely provided a pair of soles,
+a small leg of mutton, and a pigeon-pie. Mrs. Crupp broke out into
+rebellion on my first bashful hint in reference to the cooking of the
+fish and joint, and said, with a dignified sense of injury, ‘No! No,
+sir! You will not ask me sich a thing, for you are better acquainted
+with me than to suppose me capable of doing what I cannot do with ampial
+satisfaction to my own feelings!’ But, in the end, a compromise was
+effected; and Mrs. Crupp consented to achieve this feat, on condition
+that I dined from home for a fortnight afterwards.
+
+And here I may remark, that what I underwent from Mrs. Crupp, in
+consequence of the tyranny she established over me, was dreadful. I
+never was so much afraid of anyone. We made a compromise of everything.
+If I hesitated, she was taken with that wonderful disorder which was
+always lying in ambush in her system, ready, at the shortest notice, to
+prey upon her vitals. If I rang the bell impatiently, after half-a-dozen
+unavailing modest pulls, and she appeared at last--which was not by any
+means to be relied upon--she would appear with a reproachful aspect,
+sink breathless on a chair near the door, lay her hand upon her nankeen
+bosom, and become so ill, that I was glad, at any sacrifice of brandy or
+anything else, to get rid of her. If I objected to having my bed made at
+five o’clock in the afternoon--which I do still think an uncomfortable
+arrangement--one motion of her hand towards the same nankeen region of
+wounded sensibility was enough to make me falter an apology. In short,
+I would have done anything in an honourable way rather than give Mrs.
+Crupp offence; and she was the terror of my life.
+
+I bought a second-hand dumb-waiter for this dinner-party, in preference
+to re-engaging the handy young man; against whom I had conceived a
+prejudice, in consequence of meeting him in the Strand, one Sunday
+morning, in a waistcoat remarkably like one of mine, which had been
+missing since the former occasion. The ‘young gal’ was re-engaged; but
+on the stipulation that she should only bring in the dishes, and then
+withdraw to the landing-place, beyond the outer door; where a habit of
+sniffing she had contracted would be lost upon the guests, and where her
+retiring on the plates would be a physical impossibility.
+
+Having laid in the materials for a bowl of punch, to be compounded
+by Mr. Micawber; having provided a bottle of lavender-water, two
+wax-candles, a paper of mixed pins, and a pincushion, to assist Mrs.
+Micawber in her toilette at my dressing-table; having also caused the
+fire in my bedroom to be lighted for Mrs. Micawber’s convenience; and
+having laid the cloth with my own hands, I awaited the result with
+composure.
+
+At the appointed time, my three visitors arrived together. Mr. Micawber
+with more shirt-collar than usual, and a new ribbon to his eye-glass;
+Mrs. Micawber with her cap in a whitey-brown paper parcel; Traddles
+carrying the parcel, and supporting Mrs. Micawber on his arm. They were
+all delighted with my residence. When I conducted Mrs. Micawber to my
+dressing-table, and she saw the scale on which it was prepared for her,
+she was in such raptures, that she called Mr. Micawber to come in and
+look.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘this is luxurious. This is a
+way of life which reminds me of the period when I was myself in a state
+of celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber had not yet been solicited to plight her
+faith at the Hymeneal altar.’
+
+‘He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber,
+archly. ‘He cannot answer for others.’
+
+‘My dear,’ returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, ‘I have no
+desire to answer for others. I am too well aware that when, in the
+inscrutable decrees of Fate, you were reserved for me, it is possible
+you may have been reserved for one, destined, after a protracted
+struggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniary involvements of a
+complicated nature. I understand your allusion, my love. I regret it,
+but I can bear it.’
+
+‘Micawber!’ exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. ‘Have I deserved this! I,
+who never have deserted you; who never WILL desert you, Micawber!’ ‘My
+love,’ said Mr. Micawber, much affected, ‘you will forgive, and our old
+and tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure, forgive, the momentary
+laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent collision
+with the Minion of Power--in other words, with a ribald Turncock
+attached to the water-works--and will pity, not condemn, its excesses.’
+
+Mr. Micawber then embraced Mrs. Micawber, and pressed my hand; leaving
+me to infer from this broken allusion that his domestic supply of
+water had been cut off that afternoon, in consequence of default in the
+payment of the company’s rates.
+
+To divert his thoughts from this melancholy subject, I informed Mr.
+Micawber that I relied upon him for a bowl of punch, and led him to
+the lemons. His recent despondency, not to say despair, was gone in a
+moment. I never saw a man so thoroughly enjoy himself amid the fragrance
+of lemon-peel and sugar, the odour of burning rum, and the steam of
+boiling water, as Mr. Micawber did that afternoon. It was wonderful to
+see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud of these delicate fumes,
+as he stirred, and mixed, and tasted, and looked as if he were making,
+instead of punch, a fortune for his family down to the latest posterity.
+As to Mrs. Micawber, I don’t know whether it was the effect of the cap,
+or the lavender-water, or the pins, or the fire, or the wax-candles, but
+she came out of my room, comparatively speaking, lovely. And the lark
+was never gayer than that excellent woman.
+
+I suppose--I never ventured to inquire, but I suppose--that Mrs. Crupp,
+after frying the soles, was taken ill. Because we broke down at that
+point. The leg of mutton came up very red within, and very pale without:
+besides having a foreign substance of a gritty nature sprinkled over
+it, as if if had had a fall into the ashes of that remarkable kitchen
+fireplace. But we were not in condition to judge of this fact from the
+appearance of the gravy, forasmuch as the ‘young gal’ had dropped it all
+upon the stairs--where it remained, by the by, in a long train, until it
+was worn out. The pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie: the
+crust being like a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking: full
+of lumps and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, the
+banquet was such a failure that I should have been quite unhappy--about
+the failure, I mean, for I was always unhappy about Dora--if I had not
+been relieved by the great good humour of my company, and by a bright
+suggestion from Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘My dear friend Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘accidents will occur
+in the best-regulated families; and in families not regulated by that
+pervading influence which sanctifies while it enhances the--a--I would
+say, in short, by the influence of Woman, in the lofty character of
+Wife, they may be expected with confidence, and must be borne with
+philosophy. If you will allow me to take the liberty of remarking that
+there are few comestibles better, in their way, than a Devil, and that
+I believe, with a little division of labour, we could accomplish a good
+one if the young person in attendance could produce a gridiron, I would
+put it to you, that this little misfortune may be easily repaired.’
+
+There was a gridiron in the pantry, on which my morning rasher of
+bacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, and immediately applied
+ourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber’s idea into effect. The division of
+labour to which he had referred was this:--Traddles cut the mutton into
+slices; Mr. Micawber (who could do anything of this sort to perfection)
+covered them with pepper, mustard, salt, and cayenne; I put them on
+the gridiron, turned them with a fork, and took them off, under Mr.
+Micawber’s direction; and Mrs. Micawber heated, and continually stirred,
+some mushroom ketchup in a little saucepan. When we had slices enough
+done to begin upon, we fell-to, with our sleeves still tucked up at the
+wrist, more slices sputtering and blazing on the fire, and our attention
+divided between the mutton on our plates, and the mutton then preparing.
+
+What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it, the bustle
+of it, the frequent starting up to look after it, the frequent sitting
+down to dispose of it as the crisp slices came off the gridiron hot and
+hot, the being so busy, so flushed with the fire, so amused, and in the
+midst of such a tempting noise and savour, we reduced the leg of mutton
+to the bone. My own appetite came back miraculously. I am ashamed to
+record it, but I really believe I forgot Dora for a little while. I am
+satisfied that Mr. and Mrs. Micawber could not have enjoyed the
+feast more, if they had sold a bed to provide it. Traddles laughed as
+heartily, almost the whole time, as he ate and worked. Indeed we all
+did, all at once; and I dare say there was never a greater success.
+
+We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all busily engaged, in
+our several departments, endeavouring to bring the last batch of slices
+to a state of perfection that should crown the feast, when I was aware
+of a strange presence in the room, and my eyes encountered those of the
+staid Littimer, standing hat in hand before me.
+
+‘What’s the matter?’ I involuntarily asked.
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my master not
+here, sir?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Have you not seen him, sir?’
+
+‘No; don’t you come from him?’
+
+‘Not immediately so, sir.’
+
+‘Did he tell you you would find him here?’
+
+‘Not exactly so, sir. But I should think he might be here tomorrow, as
+he has not been here today.’ ‘Is he coming up from Oxford?’
+
+‘I beg, sir,’ he returned respectfully, ‘that you will be seated, and
+allow me to do this.’ With which he took the fork from my unresisting
+hand, and bent over the gridiron, as if his whole attention were
+concentrated on it.
+
+We should not have been much discomposed, I dare say, by the appearance
+of Steerforth himself, but we became in a moment the meekest of the meek
+before his respectable serving-man. Mr. Micawber, humming a tune, to
+show that he was quite at ease, subsided into his chair, with the handle
+of a hastily concealed fork sticking out of the bosom of his coat, as
+if he had stabbed himself. Mrs. Micawber put on her brown gloves, and
+assumed a genteel languor. Traddles ran his greasy hands through
+his hair, and stood it bolt upright, and stared in confusion on the
+table-cloth. As for me, I was a mere infant at the head of my own table;
+and hardly ventured to glance at the respectable phenomenon, who had
+come from Heaven knows where, to put my establishment to rights.
+
+Meanwhile he took the mutton off the gridiron, and gravely handed it
+round. We all took some, but our appreciation of it was gone, and we
+merely made a show of eating it. As we severally pushed away our plates,
+he noiselessly removed them, and set on the cheese. He took that off,
+too, when it was done with; cleared the table; piled everything on the
+dumb-waiter; gave us our wine-glasses; and, of his own accord, wheeled
+the dumb-waiter into the pantry. All this was done in a perfect manner,
+and he never raised his eyes from what he was about. Yet his very
+elbows, when he had his back towards me, seemed to teem with the
+expression of his fixed opinion that I was extremely young.
+
+‘Can I do anything more, sir?’
+
+I thanked him and said, No; but would he take no dinner himself?
+
+‘None, I am obliged to you, sir.’
+
+‘Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?’
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
+
+‘Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?’
+
+‘I should imagine that he might be here tomorrow, sir. I rather thought
+he might have been here today, sir. The mistake is mine, no doubt, sir.’
+
+‘If you should see him first--’ said I.
+
+‘If you’ll excuse me, sir, I don’t think I shall see him first.’
+
+‘In case you do,’ said I, ‘pray say that I am sorry he was not here
+today, as an old schoolfellow of his was here.’
+
+‘Indeed, sir!’ and he divided a bow between me and Traddles, with a
+glance at the latter.
+
+He was moving softly to the door, when, in a forlorn hope of saying
+something naturally--which I never could, to this man--I said:
+
+‘Oh! Littimer!’
+
+‘Sir!’
+
+‘Did you remain long at Yarmouth, that time?’
+
+‘Not particularly so, sir.’
+
+‘You saw the boat completed?’
+
+‘Yes, sir. I remained behind on purpose to see the boat completed.’
+
+‘I know!’ He raised his eyes to mine respectfully.
+
+‘Mr. Steerforth has not seen it yet, I suppose?’
+
+‘I really can’t say, sir. I think--but I really can’t say, sir. I wish
+you good night, sir.’
+
+He comprehended everybody present, in the respectful bow with which he
+followed these words, and disappeared. My visitors seemed to breathe
+more freely when he was gone; but my own relief was very great, for
+besides the constraint, arising from that extraordinary sense of
+being at a disadvantage which I always had in this man’s presence, my
+conscience had embarrassed me with whispers that I had mistrusted his
+master, and I could not repress a vague uneasy dread that he might
+find it out. How was it, having so little in reality to conceal, that I
+always DID feel as if this man were finding me out?
+
+Mr. Micawber roused me from this reflection, which was blended with
+a certain remorseful apprehension of seeing Steerforth himself, by
+bestowing many encomiums on the absent Littimer as a most respectable
+fellow, and a thoroughly admirable servant. Mr. Micawber, I may remark,
+had taken his full share of the general bow, and had received it with
+infinite condescension.
+
+‘But punch, my dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, tasting it, ‘like
+time and tide, waits for no man. Ah! it is at the present moment in high
+flavour. My love, will you give me your opinion?’
+
+Mrs. Micawber pronounced it excellent.
+
+‘Then I will drink,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘if my friend Copperfield
+will permit me to take that social liberty, to the days when my friend
+Copperfield and myself were younger, and fought our way in the world
+side by side. I may say, of myself and Copperfield, in words we have
+sung together before now, that
+
+ We twa hae run about the braes
+ And pu’d the gowans’ fine
+--in a figurative point of view--on several occasions. I am not exactly
+aware,’ said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll in his voice, and the old
+indescribable air of saying something genteel, ‘what gowans may be, but
+I have no doubt that Copperfield and myself would frequently have taken
+a pull at them, if it had been feasible.’
+
+Mr. Micawber, at the then present moment, took a pull at his punch. So
+we all did: Traddles evidently lost in wondering at what distant time
+Mr. Micawber and I could have been comrades in the battle of the world.
+
+‘Ahem!’ said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat, and warming with the
+punch and with the fire. ‘My dear, another glass?’
+
+Mrs. Micawber said it must be very little; but we couldn’t allow that,
+so it was a glassful.
+
+‘As we are quite confidential here, Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs.
+Micawber, sipping her punch, ‘Mr. Traddles being a part of our
+domesticity, I should much like to have your opinion on Mr. Micawber’s
+prospects. For corn,’ said Mrs. Micawber argumentatively, ‘as I have
+repeatedly said to Mr. Micawber, may be gentlemanly, but it is not
+remunerative. Commission to the extent of two and ninepence in
+a fortnight cannot, however limited our ideas, be considered
+remunerative.’
+
+We were all agreed upon that.
+
+‘Then,’ said Mrs. Micawber, who prided herself on taking a clear view of
+things, and keeping Mr. Micawber straight by her woman’s wisdom, when he
+might otherwise go a little crooked, ‘then I ask myself this question.
+If corn is not to be relied upon, what is? Are coals to be relied upon?
+Not at all. We have turned our attention to that experiment, on the
+suggestion of my family, and we find it fallacious.’
+
+Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets,
+eyed us aside, and nodded his head, as much as to say that the case was
+very clearly put.
+
+‘The articles of corn and coals,’ said Mrs. Micawber, still more
+argumentatively, ‘being equally out of the question, Mr. Copperfield,
+I naturally look round the world, and say, “What is there in which a
+person of Mr. Micawber’s talent is likely to succeed?” And I exclude
+the doing anything on commission, because commission is not a certainty.
+What is best suited to a person of Mr. Micawber’s peculiar temperament
+is, I am convinced, a certainty.’
+
+Traddles and I both expressed, by a feeling murmur, that this great
+discovery was no doubt true of Mr. Micawber, and that it did him much
+credit.
+
+‘I will not conceal from you, my dear Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs.
+Micawber, ‘that I have long felt the Brewing business to be particularly
+adapted to Mr. Micawber. Look at Barclay and Perkins! Look at Truman,
+Hanbury, and Buxton! It is on that extensive footing that Mr. Micawber,
+I know from my own knowledge of him, is calculated to shine; and the
+profits, I am told, are e-NOR-MOUS! But if Mr. Micawber cannot get into
+those firms--which decline to answer his letters, when he offers his
+services even in an inferior capacity--what is the use of dwelling upon
+that idea? None. I may have a conviction that Mr. Micawber’s manners--’
+
+‘Hem! Really, my dear,’ interposed Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘My love, be silent,’ said Mrs. Micawber, laying her brown glove on his
+hand. ‘I may have a conviction, Mr. Copperfield, that Mr. Micawber’s
+manners peculiarly qualify him for the Banking business. I may argue
+within myself, that if I had a deposit at a banking-house, the manners
+of Mr. Micawber, as representing that banking-house, would inspire
+confidence, and must extend the connexion. But if the various
+banking-houses refuse to avail themselves of Mr. Micawber’s abilities,
+or receive the offer of them with contumely, what is the use of dwelling
+upon THAT idea? None. As to originating a banking-business, I may know
+that there are members of my family who, if they chose to place their
+money in Mr. Micawber’s hands, might found an establishment of that
+description. But if they do NOT choose to place their money in Mr.
+Micawber’s hands--which they don’t--what is the use of that? Again I
+contend that we are no farther advanced than we were before.’
+
+I shook my head, and said, ‘Not a bit.’ Traddles also shook his head,
+and said, ‘Not a bit.’
+
+‘What do I deduce from this?’ Mrs. Micawber went on to say, still with
+the same air of putting a case lucidly. ‘What is the conclusion, my
+dear Mr. Copperfield, to which I am irresistibly brought? Am I wrong in
+saying, it is clear that we must live?’
+
+I answered ‘Not at all!’ and Traddles answered ‘Not at all!’ and I found
+myself afterwards sagely adding, alone, that a person must either live
+or die.
+
+‘Just so,’ returned Mrs. Micawber, ‘It is precisely that. And the fact
+is, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that we can not live without something
+widely different from existing circumstances shortly turning up. Now
+I am convinced, myself, and this I have pointed out to Mr. Micawber
+several times of late, that things cannot be expected to turn up of
+themselves. We must, in a measure, assist to turn them up. I may be
+wrong, but I have formed that opinion.’
+
+Both Traddles and I applauded it highly.
+
+‘Very well,’ said Mrs. Micawber. ‘Then what do I recommend? Here is Mr.
+Micawber with a variety of qualifications--with great talent--’
+
+‘Really, my love,’ said Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘Pray, my dear, allow me to conclude. Here is Mr. Micawber, with a
+variety of qualifications, with great talent--I should say, with genius,
+but that may be the partiality of a wife--’
+
+Traddles and I both murmured ‘No.’
+
+‘And here is Mr. Micawber without any suitable position or employment.
+Where does that responsibility rest? Clearly on society. Then I would
+make a fact so disgraceful known, and boldly challenge society to set it
+right. It appears to me, my dear Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber,
+forcibly, ‘that what Mr. Micawber has to do, is to throw down the
+gauntlet to society, and say, in effect, “Show me who will take that up.
+Let the party immediately step forward.”’
+
+I ventured to ask Mrs. Micawber how this was to be done.
+
+‘By advertising,’ said Mrs. Micawber--‘in all the papers. It appears to
+me, that what Mr. Micawber has to do, in justice to himself, in justice
+to his family, and I will even go so far as to say in justice to
+society, by which he has been hitherto overlooked, is to advertise in
+all the papers; to describe himself plainly as so-and-so, with such and
+such qualifications and to put it thus: “Now employ me, on remunerative
+terms, and address, post-paid, to W. M., Post Office, Camden Town.”’
+
+‘This idea of Mrs. Micawber’s, my dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+making his shirt-collar meet in front of his chin, and glancing at me
+sideways, ‘is, in fact, the Leap to which I alluded, when I last had the
+pleasure of seeing you.’
+
+‘Advertising is rather expensive,’ I remarked, dubiously.
+
+‘Exactly so!’ said Mrs. Micawber, preserving the same logical air.
+‘Quite true, my dear Mr. Copperfield! I have made the identical
+observation to Mr. Micawber. It is for that reason especially, that I
+think Mr. Micawber ought (as I have already said, in justice to himself,
+in justice to his family, and in justice to society) to raise a certain
+sum of money--on a bill.’
+
+Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair, trifled with his eye-glass
+and cast his eyes up at the ceiling; but I thought him observant of
+Traddles, too, who was looking at the fire.
+
+‘If no member of my family,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘is possessed of
+sufficient natural feeling to negotiate that bill--I believe there is a
+better business-term to express what I mean--’
+
+Mr. Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling, suggested
+‘Discount.’
+
+‘To discount that bill,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘then my opinion is, that
+Mr. Micawber should go into the City, should take that bill into the
+Money Market, and should dispose of it for what he can get. If the
+individuals in the Money Market oblige Mr. Micawber to sustain a great
+sacrifice, that is between themselves and their consciences. I view
+it, steadily, as an investment. I recommend Mr. Micawber, my dear Mr.
+Copperfield, to do the same; to regard it as an investment which is sure
+of return, and to make up his mind to any sacrifice.’
+
+I felt, but I am sure I don’t know why, that this was self-denying
+and devoted in Mrs. Micawber, and I uttered a murmur to that effect.
+Traddles, who took his tone from me, did likewise, still looking at the
+fire.
+
+‘I will not,’ said Mrs. Micawber, finishing her punch, and gathering her
+scarf about her shoulders, preparatory to her withdrawal to my bedroom:
+‘I will not protract these remarks on the subject of Mr. Micawber’s
+pecuniary affairs. At your fireside, my dear Mr. Copperfield, and in the
+presence of Mr. Traddles, who, though not so old a friend, is quite one
+of ourselves, I could not refrain from making you acquainted with the
+course I advise Mr. Micawber to take. I feel that the time is arrived
+when Mr. Micawber should exert himself and--I will add--assert himself,
+and it appears to me that these are the means. I am aware that I am
+merely a female, and that a masculine judgement is usually considered
+more competent to the discussion of such questions; still I must not
+forget that, when I lived at home with my papa and mama, my papa was in
+the habit of saying, “Emma’s form is fragile, but her grasp of a subject
+is inferior to none.” That my papa was too partial, I well know; but
+that he was an observer of character in some degree, my duty and my
+reason equally forbid me to doubt.’
+
+With these words, and resisting our entreaties that she would grace
+the remaining circulation of the punch with her presence, Mrs. Micawber
+retired to my bedroom. And really I felt that she was a noble woman--the
+sort of woman who might have been a Roman matron, and done all manner of
+heroic things, in times of public trouble.
+
+In the fervour of this impression, I congratulated Mr. Micawber on the
+treasure he possessed. So did Traddles. Mr. Micawber extended his
+hand to each of us in succession, and then covered his face with his
+pocket-handkerchief, which I think had more snuff upon it than he
+was aware of. He then returned to the punch, in the highest state of
+exhilaration.
+
+He was full of eloquence. He gave us to understand that in our children
+we lived again, and that, under the pressure of pecuniary difficulties,
+any accession to their number was doubly welcome. He said that Mrs.
+Micawber had latterly had her doubts on this point, but that he had
+dispelled them, and reassured her. As to her family, they were totally
+unworthy of her, and their sentiments were utterly indifferent to him,
+and they might--I quote his own expression--go to the Devil.
+
+Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. He said
+Traddles’s was a character, to the steady virtues of which he (Mr.
+Micawber) could lay no claim, but which, he thanked Heaven, he could
+admire. He feelingly alluded to the young lady, unknown, whom Traddles
+had honoured with his affection, and who had reciprocated that affection
+by honouring and blessing Traddles with her affection. Mr. Micawber
+pledged her. So did I. Traddles thanked us both, by saying, with a
+simplicity and honesty I had sense enough to be quite charmed with,
+‘I am very much obliged to you indeed. And I do assure you, she’s the
+dearest girl!--’
+
+Mr. Micawber took an early opportunity, after that, of hinting, with the
+utmost delicacy and ceremony, at the state of my affections. Nothing
+but the serious assurance of his friend Copperfield to the contrary,
+he observed, could deprive him of the impression that his friend
+Copperfield loved and was beloved. After feeling very hot and
+uncomfortable for some time, and after a good deal of blushing,
+stammering, and denying, I said, having my glass in my hand, ‘Well! I
+would give them D.!’ which so excited and gratified Mr. Micawber,
+that he ran with a glass of punch into my bedroom, in order that Mrs.
+Micawber might drink D., who drank it with enthusiasm, crying from
+within, in a shrill voice, ‘Hear, hear! My dear Mr. Copperfield, I am
+delighted. Hear!’ and tapping at the wall, by way of applause.
+
+Our conversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; Mr. Micawber
+telling us that he found Camden Town inconvenient, and that the first
+thing he contemplated doing, when the advertisement should have been the
+cause of something satisfactory turning up, was to move. He mentioned
+a terrace at the western end of Oxford Street, fronting Hyde Park, on
+which he had always had his eye, but which he did not expect to attain
+immediately, as it would require a large establishment. There would
+probably be an interval, he explained, in which he should content
+himself with the upper part of a house, over some respectable place of
+business--say in Piccadilly,--which would be a cheerful situation for
+Mrs. Micawber; and where, by throwing out a bow-window, or carrying up
+the roof another story, or making some little alteration of that sort,
+they might live, comfortably and reputably, for a few years. Whatever
+was reserved for him, he expressly said, or wherever his abode might be,
+we might rely on this--there would always be a room for Traddles, and a
+knife and fork for me. We acknowledged his kindness; and he begged us
+to forgive his having launched into these practical and business-like
+details, and to excuse it as natural in one who was making entirely new
+arrangements in life.
+
+Mrs. Micawber, tapping at the wall again to know if tea were ready,
+broke up this particular phase of our friendly conversation. She made
+tea for us in a most agreeable manner; and, whenever I went near her, in
+handing about the tea-cups and bread-and-butter, asked me, in a whisper,
+whether D. was fair, or dark, or whether she was short, or tall: or
+something of that kind; which I think I liked. After tea, we discussed a
+variety of topics before the fire; and Mrs. Micawber was good enough
+to sing us (in a small, thin, flat voice, which I remembered to have
+considered, when I first knew her, the very table-beer of acoustics) the
+favourite ballads of ‘The Dashing White Sergeant’, and ‘Little Tafflin’.
+For both of these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived at
+home with her papa and mama. Mr. Micawber told us, that when he heard
+her sing the first one, on the first occasion of his seeing her beneath
+the parental roof, she had attracted his attention in an extraordinary
+degree; but that when it came to Little Tafflin, he had resolved to win
+that woman or perish in the attempt.
+
+It was between ten and eleven o’clock when Mrs. Micawber rose to replace
+her cap in the whitey-brown paper parcel, and to put on her bonnet. Mr.
+Micawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting on his great-coat, to
+slip a letter into my hand, with a whispered request that I would read
+it at my leisure. I also took the opportunity of my holding a candle
+over the banisters to light them down, when Mr. Micawber was going
+first, leading Mrs. Micawber, and Traddles was following with the cap,
+to detain Traddles for a moment on the top of the stairs.
+
+‘Traddles,’ said I, ‘Mr. Micawber don’t mean any harm, poor fellow: but,
+if I were you, I wouldn’t lend him anything.’
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ returned Traddles, smiling, ‘I haven’t got
+anything to lend.’
+
+‘You have got a name, you know,’ said I.
+
+‘Oh! You call THAT something to lend?’ returned Traddles, with a
+thoughtful look.
+
+‘Certainly.’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Traddles. ‘Yes, to be sure! I am very much obliged to you,
+Copperfield; but--I am afraid I have lent him that already.’
+
+‘For the bill that is to be a certain investment?’ I inquired.
+
+‘No,’ said Traddles. ‘Not for that one. This is the first I have heard
+of that one. I have been thinking that he will most likely propose that
+one, on the way home. Mine’s another.’
+
+‘I hope there will be nothing wrong about it,’ said I. ‘I hope not,’
+said Traddles. ‘I should think not, though, because he told me, only the
+other day, that it was provided for. That was Mr. Micawber’s expression,
+“Provided for.”’
+
+Mr. Micawber looking up at this juncture to where we were standing, I
+had only time to repeat my caution. Traddles thanked me, and descended.
+But I was much afraid, when I observed the good-natured manner in which
+he went down with the cap in his hand, and gave Mrs. Micawber his arm,
+that he would be carried into the Money Market neck and heels.
+
+I returned to my fireside, and was musing, half gravely and half
+laughing, on the character of Mr. Micawber and the old relations between
+us, when I heard a quick step ascending the stairs. At first, I thought
+it was Traddles coming back for something Mrs. Micawber had left behind;
+but as the step approached, I knew it, and felt my heart beat high, and
+the blood rush to my face, for it was Steerforth’s.
+
+I was never unmindful of Agnes, and she never left that sanctuary in my
+thoughts--if I may call it so--where I had placed her from the first.
+But when he entered, and stood before me with his hand out, the darkness
+that had fallen on him changed to light, and I felt confounded and
+ashamed of having doubted one I loved so heartily. I loved her none the
+less; I thought of her as the same benignant, gentle angel in my life; I
+reproached myself, not her, with having done him an injury; and I would
+have made him any atonement if I had known what to make, and how to make
+it.
+
+‘Why, Daisy, old boy, dumb-foundered!’ laughed Steerforth, shaking
+my hand heartily, and throwing it gaily away. ‘Have I detected you in
+another feast, you Sybarite! These Doctors’ Commons fellows are the
+gayest men in town, I believe, and beat us sober Oxford people all to
+nothing!’ His bright glance went merrily round the room, as he took
+the seat on the sofa opposite to me, which Mrs. Micawber had recently
+vacated, and stirred the fire into a blaze.
+
+‘I was so surprised at first,’ said I, giving him welcome with all
+the cordiality I felt, ‘that I had hardly breath to greet you with,
+Steerforth.’
+
+‘Well, the sight of me is good for sore eyes, as the Scotch say,’
+replied Steerforth, ‘and so is the sight of you, Daisy, in full bloom.
+How are you, my Bacchanal?’
+
+‘I am very well,’ said I; ‘and not at all Bacchanalian tonight, though I
+confess to another party of three.’
+
+‘All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,’ returned
+Steerforth. ‘Who’s our friend in the tights?’
+
+I gave him the best idea I could, in a few words, of Mr. Micawber. He
+laughed heartily at my feeble portrait of that gentleman, and said he
+was a man to know, and he must know him. ‘But who do you suppose our
+other friend is?’ said I, in my turn.
+
+‘Heaven knows,’ said Steerforth. ‘Not a bore, I hope? I thought he
+looked a little like one.’
+
+‘Traddles!’ I replied, triumphantly.
+
+‘Who’s he?’ asked Steerforth, in his careless way.
+
+‘Don’t you remember Traddles? Traddles in our room at Salem House?’
+
+‘Oh! That fellow!’ said Steerforth, beating a lump of coal on the top
+of the fire, with the poker. ‘Is he as soft as ever? And where the deuce
+did you pick him up?’
+
+I extolled Traddles in reply, as highly as I could; for I felt that
+Steerforth rather slighted him. Steerforth, dismissing the subject with
+a light nod, and a smile, and the remark that he would be glad to see
+the old fellow too, for he had always been an odd fish, inquired if I
+could give him anything to eat? During most of this short dialogue, when
+he had not been speaking in a wild vivacious manner, he had sat idly
+beating on the lump of coal with the poker. I observed that he did the
+same thing while I was getting out the remains of the pigeon-pie, and so
+forth.
+
+‘Why, Daisy, here’s a supper for a king!’ he exclaimed, starting out of
+his silence with a burst, and taking his seat at the table. ‘I shall do
+it justice, for I have come from Yarmouth.’
+
+‘I thought you came from Oxford?’ I returned.
+
+‘Not I,’ said Steerforth. ‘I have been seafaring--better employed.’
+
+‘Littimer was here today, to inquire for you,’ I remarked, ‘and I
+understood him that you were at Oxford; though, now I think of it, he
+certainly did not say so.’
+
+‘Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been inquiring
+for me at all,’ said Steerforth, jovially pouring out a glass of wine,
+and drinking to me. ‘As to understanding him, you are a cleverer fellow
+than most of us, Daisy, if you can do that.’
+
+‘That’s true, indeed,’ said I, moving my chair to the table. ‘So you
+have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!’ interested to know all about it.
+‘Have you been there long?’
+
+‘No,’ he returned. ‘An escapade of a week or so.’
+
+‘And how are they all? Of course, little Emily is not married yet?’
+
+‘Not yet. Going to be, I believe--in so many weeks, or months, or
+something or other. I have not seen much of ‘em. By the by’; he laid
+down his knife and fork, which he had been using with great diligence,
+and began feeling in his pockets; ‘I have a letter for you.’
+
+‘From whom?’
+
+‘Why, from your old nurse,’ he returned, taking some papers out of his
+breast pocket. “‘J. Steerforth, Esquire, debtor, to The Willing
+Mind”; that’s not it. Patience, and we’ll find it presently. Old
+what’s-his-name’s in a bad way, and it’s about that, I believe.’
+
+‘Barkis, do you mean?’
+
+‘Yes!’ still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their contents:
+‘it’s all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I saw a little apothecary
+there--surgeon, or whatever he is--who brought your worship into the
+world. He was mighty learned about the case, to me; but the upshot of
+his opinion was, that the carrier was making his last journey rather
+fast.---Put your hand into the breast pocket of my great-coat on the
+chair yonder, and I think you’ll find the letter. Is it there?’
+
+‘Here it is!’ said I.
+
+‘That’s right!’
+
+It was from Peggotty; something less legible than usual, and brief. It
+informed me of her husband’s hopeless state, and hinted at his being
+‘a little nearer’ than heretofore, and consequently more difficult
+to manage for his own comfort. It said nothing of her weariness
+and watching, and praised him highly. It was written with a plain,
+unaffected, homely piety that I knew to be genuine, and ended with ‘my
+duty to my ever darling’--meaning myself.
+
+While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink.
+
+‘It’s a bad job,’ he said, when I had done; ‘but the sun sets every day,
+and people die every minute, and we mustn’t be scared by the common lot.
+If we failed to hold our own, because that equal foot at all men’s doors
+was heard knocking somewhere, every object in this world would slip from
+us. No! Ride on! Rough-shod if need be, smooth-shod if that will do, but
+ride on! Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!’
+
+‘And win what race?’ said I.
+
+‘The race that one has started in,’ said he. ‘Ride on!’
+
+I noticed, I remember, as he paused, looking at me with his handsome
+head a little thrown back, and his glass raised in his hand, that,
+though the freshness of the sea-wind was on his face, and it was ruddy,
+there were traces in it, made since I last saw it, as if he had applied
+himself to some habitual strain of the fervent energy which, when
+roused, was so passionately roused within him. I had it in my thoughts
+to remonstrate with him upon his desperate way of pursuing any fancy
+that he took--such as this buffeting of rough seas, and braving of hard
+weather, for example--when my mind glanced off to the immediate subject
+of our conversation again, and pursued that instead.
+
+‘I tell you what, Steerforth,’ said I, ‘if your high spirits will listen
+to me--’
+
+‘They are potent spirits, and will do whatever you like,’ he answered,
+moving from the table to the fireside again.
+
+‘Then I tell you what, Steerforth. I think I will go down and see my
+old nurse. It is not that I can do her any good, or render her any real
+service; but she is so attached to me that my visit will have as much
+effect on her, as if I could do both. She will take it so kindly that it
+will be a comfort and support to her. It is no great effort to make,
+I am sure, for such a friend as she has been to me. Wouldn’t you go a
+day’s journey, if you were in my place?’
+
+His face was thoughtful, and he sat considering a little before he
+answered, in a low voice, ‘Well! Go. You can do no harm.’
+
+‘You have just come back,’ said I, ‘and it would be in vain to ask you
+to go with me?’
+
+‘Quite,’ he returned. ‘I am for Highgate tonight. I have not seen
+my mother this long time, and it lies upon my conscience, for
+it’s something to be loved as she loves her prodigal son.---Bah!
+Nonsense!--You mean to go tomorrow, I suppose?’ he said, holding me out
+at arm’s length, with a hand on each of my shoulders.
+
+‘Yes, I think so.’
+
+‘Well, then, don’t go till next day. I wanted you to come and stay a
+few days with us. Here I am, on purpose to bid you, and you fly off to
+Yarmouth!’
+
+‘You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerforth, who are always
+running wild on some unknown expedition or other!’
+
+He looked at me for a moment without speaking, and then rejoined, still
+holding me as before, and giving me a shake:
+
+‘Come! Say the next day, and pass as much of tomorrow as you can with
+us! Who knows when we may meet again, else? Come! Say the next day! I
+want you to stand between Rosa Dartle and me, and keep us asunder.’
+
+‘Would you love each other too much, without me?’
+
+‘Yes; or hate,’ laughed Steerforth; ‘no matter which. Come! Say the next
+day!’
+
+I said the next day; and he put on his great-coat and lighted his cigar,
+and set off to walk home. Finding him in this intention, I put on my own
+great-coat (but did not light my own cigar, having had enough of that
+for one while) and walked with him as far as the open road: a dull road,
+then, at night. He was in great spirits all the way; and when we parted,
+and I looked after him going so gallantly and airily homeward, I thought
+of his saying, ‘Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!’ and
+wished, for the first time, that he had some worthy race to run.
+
+I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber’s letter tumbled on
+the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the seal and read as follows. It
+was dated an hour and a half before dinner. I am not sure whether I
+have mentioned that, when Mr. Micawber was at any particularly desperate
+crisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology, which he seemed to think
+equivalent to winding up his affairs.
+
+
+‘SIR--for I dare not say my dear Copperfield,
+
+‘It is expedient that I should inform you that the undersigned is
+Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the premature knowledge of
+his calamitous position, you may observe in him this day; but hope has
+sunk beneath the horizon, and the undersigned is Crushed.
+
+‘The present communication is penned within the personal range (I cannot
+call it the society) of an individual, in a state closely bordering
+on intoxication, employed by a broker. That individual is in legal
+possession of the premises, under a distress for rent. His inventory
+includes, not only the chattels and effects of every description
+belonging to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this habitation, but
+also those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles, lodger, a member of the
+Honourable Society of the Inner Temple.
+
+‘If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, which is now
+“commended” (in the language of an immortal Writer) to the lips of the
+undersigned, it would be found in the fact, that a friendly acceptance
+granted to the undersigned, by the before-mentioned Mr. Thomas Traddles,
+for the sum Of 23l 4s 9 1/2d is over due, and is NOT provided for. Also,
+in the fact that the living responsibilities clinging to the undersigned
+will, in the course of nature, be increased by the sum of one more
+helpless victim; whose miserable appearance may be looked for--in round
+numbers--at the expiration of a period not exceeding six lunar months
+from the present date.
+
+‘After premising thus much, it would be a work of supererogation to add,
+that dust and ashes are for ever scattered
+
+ ‘On
+ ‘The
+ ‘Head
+ ‘Of
+ ‘WILKINS MICAWBER.’
+
+
+Poor Traddles! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this time, to foresee
+that he might be expected to recover the blow; but my night’s rest was
+sorely distressed by thoughts of Traddles, and of the curate’s daughter,
+who was one of ten, down in Devonshire, and who was such a dear girl,
+and who would wait for Traddles (ominous praise!) until she was sixty,
+or any age that could be mentioned.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 29. I VISIT STEERFORTH AT HIS HOME, AGAIN
+
+
+I mentioned to Mr. Spenlow in the morning, that I wanted leave of
+absence for a short time; and as I was not in the receipt of any salary,
+and consequently was not obnoxious to the implacable Jorkins, there was
+no difficulty about it. I took that opportunity, with my voice sticking
+in my throat, and my sight failing as I uttered the words, to express
+my hope that Miss Spenlow was quite well; to which Mr. Spenlow replied,
+with no more emotion than if he had been speaking of an ordinary human
+being, that he was much obliged to me, and she was very well.
+
+We articled clerks, as germs of the patrician order of proctors, were
+treated with so much consideration, that I was almost my own master at
+all times. As I did not care, however, to get to Highgate before one
+or two o’clock in the day, and as we had another little excommunication
+case in court that morning, which was called The office of the judge
+promoted by Tipkins against Bullock for his soul’s correction, I passed
+an hour or two in attendance on it with Mr. Spenlow very agreeably.
+It arose out of a scuffle between two churchwardens, one of whom was
+alleged to have pushed the other against a pump; the handle of which
+pump projecting into a school-house, which school-house was under a
+gable of the church-roof, made the push an ecclesiastical offence.
+It was an amusing case; and sent me up to Highgate, on the box of the
+stage-coach, thinking about the Commons, and what Mr. Spenlow had said
+about touching the Commons and bringing down the country.
+
+Mrs. Steerforth was pleased to see me, and so was Rosa Dartle. I was
+agreeably surprised to find that Littimer was not there, and that we
+were attended by a modest little parlour-maid, with blue ribbons in her
+cap, whose eye it was much more pleasant, and much less disconcerting,
+to catch by accident, than the eye of that respectable man. But what I
+particularly observed, before I had been half-an-hour in the house, was
+the close and attentive watch Miss Dartle kept upon me; and the lurking
+manner in which she seemed to compare my face with Steerforth’s, and
+Steerforth’s with mine, and to lie in wait for something to come out
+between the two. So surely as I looked towards her, did I see that eager
+visage, with its gaunt black eyes and searching brow, intent on mine; or
+passing suddenly from mine to Steerforth’s; or comprehending both of us
+at once. In this lynx-like scrutiny she was so far from faltering when
+she saw I observed it, that at such a time she only fixed her piercing
+look upon me with a more intent expression still. Blameless as I was,
+and knew that I was, in reference to any wrong she could possibly
+suspect me of, I shrunk before her strange eyes, quite unable to endure
+their hungry lustre.
+
+All day, she seemed to pervade the whole house. If I talked to
+Steerforth in his room, I heard her dress rustle in the little gallery
+outside. When he and I engaged in some of our old exercises on the lawn
+behind the house, I saw her face pass from window to window, like a
+wandering light, until it fixed itself in one, and watched us. When we
+all four went out walking in the afternoon, she closed her thin hand on
+my arm like a spring, to keep me back, while Steerforth and his mother
+went on out of hearing: and then spoke to me.
+
+‘You have been a long time,’ she said, ‘without coming here. Is your
+profession really so engaging and interesting as to absorb your whole
+attention? I ask because I always want to be informed, when I am
+ignorant. Is it really, though?’
+
+I replied that I liked it well enough, but that I certainly could not
+claim so much for it.
+
+‘Oh! I am glad to know that, because I always like to be put right when
+I am wrong,’ said Rosa Dartle. ‘You mean it is a little dry, perhaps?’
+
+‘Well,’ I replied; ‘perhaps it was a little dry.’
+
+‘Oh! and that’s a reason why you want relief and change--excitement and
+all that?’ said she. ‘Ah! very true! But isn’t it a little--Eh?--for
+him; I don’t mean you?’
+
+A quick glance of her eye towards the spot where Steerforth was walking,
+with his mother leaning on his arm, showed me whom she meant; but beyond
+that, I was quite lost. And I looked so, I have no doubt.
+
+‘Don’t it--I don’t say that it does, mind I want to know--don’t it
+rather engross him? Don’t it make him, perhaps, a little more remiss
+than usual in his visits to his blindly-doting--eh?’ With another
+quick glance at them, and such a glance at me as seemed to look into my
+innermost thoughts.
+
+‘Miss Dartle,’ I returned, ‘pray do not think--’
+
+‘I don’t!’ she said. ‘Oh dear me, don’t suppose that I think anything!
+I am not suspicious. I only ask a question. I don’t state any opinion. I
+want to found an opinion on what you tell me. Then, it’s not so? Well! I
+am very glad to know it.’
+
+‘It certainly is not the fact,’ said I, perplexed, ‘that I am
+accountable for Steerforth’s having been away from home longer than
+usual--if he has been: which I really don’t know at this moment, unless
+I understand it from you. I have not seen him this long while, until
+last night.’
+
+‘No?’
+
+‘Indeed, Miss Dartle, no!’
+
+As she looked full at me, I saw her face grow sharper and paler, and the
+marks of the old wound lengthen out until it cut through the disfigured
+lip, and deep into the nether lip, and slanted down the face. There was
+something positively awful to me in this, and in the brightness of her
+eyes, as she said, looking fixedly at me:
+
+‘What is he doing?’
+
+I repeated the words, more to myself than her, being so amazed.
+
+‘What is he doing?’ she said, with an eagerness that seemed enough to
+consume her like a fire. ‘In what is that man assisting him, who never
+looks at me without an inscrutable falsehood in his eyes? If you are
+honourable and faithful, I don’t ask you to betray your friend. I ask
+you only to tell me, is it anger, is it hatred, is it pride, is it
+restlessness, is it some wild fancy, is it love, what is it, that is
+leading him?’
+
+‘Miss Dartle,’ I returned, ‘how shall I tell you, so that you will
+believe me, that I know of nothing in Steerforth different from what
+there was when I first came here? I can think of nothing. I firmly
+believe there is nothing. I hardly understand even what you mean.’
+
+As she still stood looking fixedly at me, a twitching or throbbing,
+from which I could not dissociate the idea of pain, came into that cruel
+mark; and lifted up the corner of her lip as if with scorn, or with a
+pity that despised its object. She put her hand upon it hurriedly--a
+hand so thin and delicate, that when I had seen her hold it up before
+the fire to shade her face, I had compared it in my thoughts to fine
+porcelain--and saying, in a quick, fierce, passionate way, ‘I swear you
+to secrecy about this!’ said not a word more.
+
+Mrs. Steerforth was particularly happy in her son’s society, and
+Steerforth was, on this occasion, particularly attentive and respectful
+to her. It was very interesting to me to see them together, not only on
+account of their mutual affection, but because of the strong personal
+resemblance between them, and the manner in which what was haughty or
+impetuous in him was softened by age and sex, in her, to a gracious
+dignity. I thought, more than once, that it was well no serious cause of
+division had ever come between them; or two such natures--I ought rather
+to express it, two such shades of the same nature--might have been
+harder to reconcile than the two extremest opposites in creation. The
+idea did not originate in my own discernment, I am bound to confess, but
+in a speech of Rosa Dartle’s.
+
+She said at dinner:
+
+‘Oh, but do tell me, though, somebody, because I have been thinking
+about it all day, and I want to know.’
+
+‘You want to know what, Rosa?’ returned Mrs. Steerforth. ‘Pray, pray,
+Rosa, do not be mysterious.’
+
+‘Mysterious!’ she cried. ‘Oh! really? Do you consider me so?’
+
+‘Do I constantly entreat you,’ said Mrs. Steerforth, ‘to speak plainly,
+in your own natural manner?’
+
+‘Oh! then this is not my natural manner?’ she rejoined. ‘Now you must
+really bear with me, because I ask for information. We never know
+ourselves.’
+
+‘It has become a second nature,’ said Mrs. Steerforth, without any
+displeasure; ‘but I remember,--and so must you, I think,--when your
+manner was different, Rosa; when it was not so guarded, and was more
+trustful.’
+
+‘I am sure you are right,’ she returned; ‘and so it is that bad habits
+grow upon one! Really? Less guarded and more trustful? How can I,
+imperceptibly, have changed, I wonder! Well, that’s very odd! I must
+study to regain my former self.’
+
+‘I wish you would,’ said Mrs. Steerforth, with a smile.
+
+‘Oh! I really will, you know!’ she answered. ‘I will learn frankness
+from--let me see--from James.’
+
+‘You cannot learn frankness, Rosa,’ said Mrs. Steerforth quickly--for
+there was always some effect of sarcasm in what Rosa Dartle said,
+though it was said, as this was, in the most unconscious manner in the
+world--‘in a better school.’
+
+‘That I am sure of,’ she answered, with uncommon fervour. ‘If I am sure
+of anything, of course, you know, I am sure of that.’
+
+Mrs. Steerforth appeared to me to regret having been a little nettled;
+for she presently said, in a kind tone:
+
+‘Well, my dear Rosa, we have not heard what it is that you want to be
+satisfied about?’
+
+‘That I want to be satisfied about?’ she replied, with provoking
+coldness. ‘Oh! It was only whether people, who are like each other in
+their moral constitution--is that the phrase?’
+
+‘It’s as good a phrase as another,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Thank you:--whether people, who are like each other in their moral
+constitution, are in greater danger than people not so circumstanced,
+supposing any serious cause of variance to arise between them, of being
+divided angrily and deeply?’
+
+‘I should say yes,’ said Steerforth.
+
+‘Should you?’ she retorted. ‘Dear me! Supposing then, for instance--any
+unlikely thing will do for a supposition--that you and your mother were
+to have a serious quarrel.’
+
+‘My dear Rosa,’ interposed Mrs. Steerforth, laughing good-naturedly,
+‘suggest some other supposition! James and I know our duty to each other
+better, I pray Heaven!’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Miss Dartle, nodding her head thoughtfully. ‘To be sure. That
+would prevent it? Why, of course it would. Exactly. Now, I am glad I
+have been so foolish as to put the case, for it is so very good to know
+that your duty to each other would prevent it! Thank you very much.’
+
+One other little circumstance connected with Miss Dartle I must
+not omit; for I had reason to remember it thereafter, when all the
+irremediable past was rendered plain. During the whole of this day, but
+especially from this period of it, Steerforth exerted himself with his
+utmost skill, and that was with his utmost ease, to charm this singular
+creature into a pleasant and pleased companion. That he should succeed,
+was no matter of surprise to me. That she should struggle against the
+fascinating influence of his delightful art--delightful nature I thought
+it then--did not surprise me either; for I knew that she was sometimes
+jaundiced and perverse. I saw her features and her manner slowly change;
+I saw her look at him with growing admiration; I saw her try, more and
+more faintly, but always angrily, as if she condemned a weakness in
+herself, to resist the captivating power that he possessed; and finally,
+I saw her sharp glance soften, and her smile become quite gentle, and I
+ceased to be afraid of her as I had really been all day, and we all sat
+about the fire, talking and laughing together, with as little reserve as
+if we had been children.
+
+Whether it was because we had sat there so long, or because Steerforth
+was resolved not to lose the advantage he had gained, I do not know; but
+we did not remain in the dining-room more than five minutes after her
+departure. ‘She is playing her harp,’ said Steerforth, softly, at the
+drawing-room door, ‘and nobody but my mother has heard her do that, I
+believe, these three years.’ He said it with a curious smile, which was
+gone directly; and we went into the room and found her alone.
+
+‘Don’t get up,’ said Steerforth (which she had already done)’ my dear
+Rosa, don’t! Be kind for once, and sing us an Irish song.’
+
+‘What do you care for an Irish song?’ she returned.
+
+‘Much!’ said Steerforth. ‘Much more than for any other. Here is Daisy,
+too, loves music from his soul. Sing us an Irish song, Rosa! and let me
+sit and listen as I used to do.’
+
+He did not touch her, or the chair from which she had risen, but sat
+himself near the harp. She stood beside it for some little while, in a
+curious way, going through the motion of playing it with her right hand,
+but not sounding it. At length she sat down, and drew it to her with one
+sudden action, and played and sang.
+
+I don’t know what it was, in her touch or voice, that made that song the
+most unearthly I have ever heard in my life, or can imagine. There was
+something fearful in the reality of it. It was as if it had never been
+written, or set to music, but sprung out of passion within her; which
+found imperfect utterance in the low sounds of her voice, and crouched
+again when all was still. I was dumb when she leaned beside the harp
+again, playing it, but not sounding it, with her right hand.
+
+A minute more, and this had roused me from my trance:--Steerforth had
+left his seat, and gone to her, and had put his arm laughingly about
+her, and had said, ‘Come, Rosa, for the future we will love each other
+very much!’ And she had struck him, and had thrown him off with the fury
+of a wild cat, and had burst out of the room.
+
+‘What is the matter with Rosa?’ said Mrs. Steerforth, coming in.
+
+‘She has been an angel, mother,’ returned Steerforth, ‘for a little
+while; and has run into the opposite extreme, since, by way of
+compensation.’
+
+‘You should be careful not to irritate her, James. Her temper has been
+soured, remember, and ought not to be tried.’
+
+Rosa did not come back; and no other mention was made of her, until I
+went with Steerforth into his room to say Good night. Then he laughed
+about her, and asked me if I had ever seen such a fierce little piece of
+incomprehensibility.
+
+I expressed as much of my astonishment as was then capable of
+expression, and asked if he could guess what it was that she had taken
+so much amiss, so suddenly.
+
+‘Oh, Heaven knows,’ said Steerforth. ‘Anything you like--or nothing!
+I told you she took everything, herself included, to a grindstone, and
+sharpened it. She is an edge-tool, and requires great care in dealing
+with. She is always dangerous. Good night!’
+
+‘Good night!’ said I, ‘my dear Steerforth! I shall be gone before you
+wake in the morning. Good night!’
+
+He was unwilling to let me go; and stood, holding me out, with a hand on
+each of my shoulders, as he had done in my own room.
+
+‘Daisy,’ he said, with a smile--‘for though that’s not the name your
+godfathers and godmothers gave you, it’s the name I like best to call
+you by--and I wish, I wish, I wish, you could give it to me!’
+
+‘Why so I can, if I choose,’ said I.
+
+‘Daisy, if anything should ever separate us, you must think of me at my
+best, old boy. Come! Let us make that bargain. Think of me at my best,
+if circumstances should ever part us!’
+
+‘You have no best to me, Steerforth,’ said I, ‘and no worst. You are
+always equally loved, and cherished in my heart.’
+
+So much compunction for having ever wronged him, even by a shapeless
+thought, did I feel within me, that the confession of having done so was
+rising to my lips. But for the reluctance I had to betray the confidence
+of Agnes, but for my uncertainty how to approach the subject with no
+risk of doing so, it would have reached them before he said, ‘God bless
+you, Daisy, and good night!’ In my doubt, it did NOT reach them; and we
+shook hands, and we parted.
+
+I was up with the dull dawn, and, having dressed as quietly as I could,
+looked into his room. He was fast asleep; lying, easily, with his head
+upon his arm, as I had often seen him lie at school.
+
+The time came in its season, and that was very soon, when I almost
+wondered that nothing troubled his repose, as I looked at him. But he
+slept--let me think of him so again--as I had often seen him sleep at
+school; and thus, in this silent hour, I left him. --Never more, oh
+God forgive you, Steerforth! to touch that passive hand in love and
+friendship. Never, never more!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 30. A LOSS
+
+
+I got down to Yarmouth in the evening, and went to the inn. I knew that
+Peggotty’s spare room--my room--was likely to have occupation enough
+in a little while, if that great Visitor, before whose presence all
+the living must give place, were not already in the house; so I betook
+myself to the inn, and dined there, and engaged my bed.
+
+It was ten o’clock when I went out. Many of the shops were shut, and the
+town was dull. When I came to Omer and Joram’s, I found the shutters up,
+but the shop door standing open. As I could obtain a perspective view
+of Mr. Omer inside, smoking his pipe by the parlour door, I entered, and
+asked him how he was.
+
+‘Why, bless my life and soul!’ said Mr. Omer, ‘how do you find yourself?
+Take a seat.---Smoke not disagreeable, I hope?’
+
+‘By no means,’ said I. ‘I like it--in somebody else’s pipe.’
+
+‘What, not in your own, eh?’ Mr. Omer returned, laughing. ‘All the
+better, sir. Bad habit for a young man. Take a seat. I smoke, myself,
+for the asthma.’
+
+Mr. Omer had made room for me, and placed a chair. He now sat down again
+very much out of breath, gasping at his pipe as if it contained a supply
+of that necessary, without which he must perish.
+
+‘I am sorry to have heard bad news of Mr. Barkis,’ said I.
+
+Mr. Omer looked at me, with a steady countenance, and shook his head.
+
+‘Do you know how he is tonight?’ I asked.
+
+‘The very question I should have put to you, sir,’ returned Mr. Omer,
+‘but on account of delicacy. It’s one of the drawbacks of our line of
+business. When a party’s ill, we can’t ask how the party is.’
+
+The difficulty had not occurred to me; though I had had my apprehensions
+too, when I went in, of hearing the old tune. On its being mentioned, I
+recognized it, however, and said as much.
+
+‘Yes, yes, you understand,’ said Mr. Omer, nodding his head. ‘We dursn’t
+do it. Bless you, it would be a shock that the generality of parties
+mightn’t recover, to say “Omer and Joram’s compliments, and how do you
+find yourself this morning?”--or this afternoon--as it may be.’
+
+Mr. Omer and I nodded at each other, and Mr. Omer recruited his wind by
+the aid of his pipe.
+
+‘It’s one of the things that cut the trade off from attentions they
+could often wish to show,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Take myself. If I have known
+Barkis a year, to move to as he went by, I have known him forty years.
+But I can’t go and say, “how is he?”’
+
+I felt it was rather hard on Mr. Omer, and I told him so.
+
+‘I’m not more self-interested, I hope, than another man,’ said Mr. Omer.
+‘Look at me! My wind may fail me at any moment, and it ain’t
+likely that, to my own knowledge, I’d be self-interested under such
+circumstances. I say it ain’t likely, in a man who knows his wind will
+go, when it DOES go, as if a pair of bellows was cut open; and that man
+a grandfather,’ said Mr. Omer.
+
+I said, ‘Not at all.’
+
+‘It ain’t that I complain of my line of business,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘It
+ain’t that. Some good and some bad goes, no doubt, to all callings. What
+I wish is, that parties was brought up stronger-minded.’
+
+Mr. Omer, with a very complacent and amiable face, took several puffs in
+silence; and then said, resuming his first point:
+
+‘Accordingly we’re obleeged, in ascertaining how Barkis goes on, to
+limit ourselves to Em’ly. She knows what our real objects are, and she
+don’t have any more alarms or suspicions about us, than if we was so
+many lambs. Minnie and Joram have just stepped down to the house, in
+fact (she’s there, after hours, helping her aunt a bit), to ask her how
+he is tonight; and if you was to please to wait till they come back,
+they’d give you full partic’lers. Will you take something? A glass of
+srub and water, now? I smoke on srub and water, myself,’ said Mr. Omer,
+taking up his glass, ‘because it’s considered softening to the passages,
+by which this troublesome breath of mine gets into action. But, Lord
+bless you,’ said Mr. Omer, huskily, ‘it ain’t the passages that’s out of
+order! “Give me breath enough,” said I to my daughter Minnie, “and I’ll
+find passages, my dear.”’
+
+He really had no breath to spare, and it was very alarming to see him
+laugh. When he was again in a condition to be talked to, I thanked
+him for the proffered refreshment, which I declined, as I had just had
+dinner; and, observing that I would wait, since he was so good as to
+invite me, until his daughter and his son-in-law came back, I inquired
+how little Emily was?
+
+‘Well, sir,’ said Mr. Omer, removing his pipe, that he might rub his
+chin: ‘I tell you truly, I shall be glad when her marriage has taken
+place.’
+
+‘Why so?’ I inquired.
+
+‘Well, she’s unsettled at present,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘It ain’t that she’s
+not as pretty as ever, for she’s prettier--I do assure you, she is
+prettier. It ain’t that she don’t work as well as ever, for she does.
+She WAS worth any six, and she IS worth any six. But somehow she wants
+heart. If you understand,’ said Mr. Omer, after rubbing his chin again,
+and smoking a little, ‘what I mean in a general way by the expression,
+“A long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether, my hearties,
+hurrah!” I should say to you, that that was--in a general way--what I
+miss in Em’ly.’
+
+Mr. Omer’s face and manner went for so much, that I could
+conscientiously nod my head, as divining his meaning. My quickness of
+apprehension seemed to please him, and he went on: ‘Now I consider this
+is principally on account of her being in an unsettled state, you
+see. We have talked it over a good deal, her uncle and myself, and her
+sweetheart and myself, after business; and I consider it is principally
+on account of her being unsettled. You must always recollect of Em’ly,’
+said Mr. Omer, shaking his head gently, ‘that she’s a most extraordinary
+affectionate little thing. The proverb says, “You can’t make a silk
+purse out of a sow’s ear.” Well, I don’t know about that. I rather think
+you may, if you begin early in life. She has made a home out of that old
+boat, sir, that stone and marble couldn’t beat.’
+
+‘I am sure she has!’ said I.
+
+‘To see the clinging of that pretty little thing to her uncle,’ said
+Mr. Omer; ‘to see the way she holds on to him, tighter and tighter, and
+closer and closer, every day, is to see a sight. Now, you know, there’s
+a struggle going on when that’s the case. Why should it be made a longer
+one than is needful?’
+
+I listened attentively to the good old fellow, and acquiesced, with all
+my heart, in what he said.
+
+‘Therefore, I mentioned to them,’ said Mr. Omer, in a comfortable,
+easy-going tone, ‘this. I said, “Now, don’t consider Em’ly nailed down
+in point of time, at all. Make it your own time. Her services have been
+more valuable than was supposed; her learning has been quicker than was
+supposed; Omer and Joram can run their pen through what remains; and
+she’s free when you wish. If she likes to make any little arrangement,
+afterwards, in the way of doing any little thing for us at home,
+very well. If she don’t, very well still. We’re no losers, anyhow.”
+ For--don’t you see,’ said Mr. Omer, touching me with his pipe, ‘it ain’t
+likely that a man so short of breath as myself, and a grandfather too,
+would go and strain points with a little bit of a blue-eyed blossom,
+like her?’
+
+‘Not at all, I am certain,’ said I.
+
+‘Not at all! You’re right!’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Well, sir, her cousin--you
+know it’s a cousin she’s going to be married to?’
+
+‘Oh yes,’ I replied. ‘I know him well.’
+
+‘Of course you do,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Well, sir! Her cousin being, as it
+appears, in good work, and well to do, thanked me in a very manly sort
+of manner for this (conducting himself altogether, I must say, in a way
+that gives me a high opinion of him), and went and took as comfortable
+a little house as you or I could wish to clap eyes on. That little
+house is now furnished right through, as neat and complete as a doll’s
+parlour; and but for Barkis’s illness having taken this bad turn, poor
+fellow, they would have been man and wife--I dare say, by this time. As
+it is, there’s a postponement.’
+
+‘And Emily, Mr. Omer?’ I inquired. ‘Has she become more settled?’
+
+‘Why that, you know,’ he returned, rubbing his double chin again, ‘can’t
+naturally be expected. The prospect of the change and separation, and
+all that, is, as one may say, close to her and far away from her, both
+at once. Barkis’s death needn’t put it off much, but his lingering
+might. Anyway, it’s an uncertain state of matters, you see.’
+
+‘I see,’ said I.
+
+‘Consequently,’ pursued Mr. Omer, ‘Em’ly’s still a little down, and a
+little fluttered; perhaps, upon the whole, she’s more so than she was.
+Every day she seems to get fonder and fonder of her uncle, and more loth
+to part from all of us. A kind word from me brings the tears into her
+eyes; and if you was to see her with my daughter Minnie’s little girl,
+you’d never forget it. Bless my heart alive!’ said Mr. Omer, pondering,
+‘how she loves that child!’
+
+Having so favourable an opportunity, it occurred to me to ask Mr. Omer,
+before our conversation should be interrupted by the return of his
+daughter and her husband, whether he knew anything of Martha.
+
+‘Ah!’ he rejoined, shaking his head, and looking very much dejected.
+‘No good. A sad story, sir, however you come to know it. I never thought
+there was harm in the girl. I wouldn’t wish to mention it before my
+daughter Minnie--for she’d take me up directly--but I never did. None of
+us ever did.’
+
+Mr. Omer, hearing his daughter’s footstep before I heard it, touched me
+with his pipe, and shut up one eye, as a caution. She and her husband
+came in immediately afterwards.
+
+Their report was, that Mr. Barkis was ‘as bad as bad could be’; that he
+was quite unconscious; and that Mr. Chillip had mournfully said in the
+kitchen, on going away just now, that the College of Physicians, the
+College of Surgeons, and Apothecaries’ Hall, if they were all called
+in together, couldn’t help him. He was past both Colleges, Mr. Chillip
+said, and the Hall could only poison him.
+
+Hearing this, and learning that Mr. Peggotty was there, I determined to
+go to the house at once. I bade good night to Mr. Omer, and to Mr. and
+Mrs. Joram; and directed my steps thither, with a solemn feeling, which
+made Mr. Barkis quite a new and different creature.
+
+My low tap at the door was answered by Mr. Peggotty. He was not so much
+surprised to see me as I had expected. I remarked this in Peggotty,
+too, when she came down; and I have seen it since; and I think, in the
+expectation of that dread surprise, all other changes and surprises
+dwindle into nothing.
+
+I shook hands with Mr. Peggotty, and passed into the kitchen, while he
+softly closed the door. Little Emily was sitting by the fire, with her
+hands before her face. Ham was standing near her.
+
+We spoke in whispers; listening, between whiles, for any sound in the
+room above. I had not thought of it on the occasion of my last visit,
+but how strange it was to me, now, to miss Mr. Barkis out of the
+kitchen!
+
+‘This is very kind of you, Mas’r Davy,’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘It’s oncommon kind,’ said Ham.
+
+‘Em’ly, my dear,’ cried Mr. Peggotty. ‘See here! Here’s Mas’r Davy come!
+What, cheer up, pretty! Not a wured to Mas’r Davy?’
+
+There was a trembling upon her, that I can see now. The coldness of her
+hand when I touched it, I can feel yet. Its only sign of animation was
+to shrink from mine; and then she glided from the chair, and creeping
+to the other side of her uncle, bowed herself, silently and trembling
+still, upon his breast.
+
+‘It’s such a loving art,’ said Mr. Peggotty, smoothing her rich hair
+with his great hard hand, ‘that it can’t abear the sorrer of this.
+It’s nat’ral in young folk, Mas’r Davy, when they’re new to these here
+trials, and timid, like my little bird,--it’s nat’ral.’
+
+She clung the closer to him, but neither lifted up her face, nor spoke a
+word.
+
+‘It’s getting late, my dear,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘and here’s Ham come
+fur to take you home. Theer! Go along with t’other loving art! What’
+Em’ly? Eh, my pretty?’
+
+The sound of her voice had not reached me, but he bent his head as if he
+listened to her, and then said:
+
+‘Let you stay with your uncle? Why, you doen’t mean to ask me that! Stay
+with your uncle, Moppet? When your husband that’ll be so soon, is here
+fur to take you home? Now a person wouldn’t think it, fur to see this
+little thing alongside a rough-weather chap like me,’ said Mr. Peggotty,
+looking round at both of us, with infinite pride; ‘but the sea ain’t
+more salt in it than she has fondness in her for her uncle--a foolish
+little Em’ly!’
+
+‘Em’ly’s in the right in that, Mas’r Davy!’ said Ham. ‘Lookee here! As
+Em’ly wishes of it, and as she’s hurried and frightened, like, besides,
+I’ll leave her till morning. Let me stay too!’
+
+‘No, no,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘You doen’t ought--a married man like
+you--or what’s as good--to take and hull away a day’s work. And you
+doen’t ought to watch and work both. That won’t do. You go home and turn
+in. You ain’t afeerd of Em’ly not being took good care on, I know.’
+
+Ham yielded to this persuasion, and took his hat to go. Even when he
+kissed her--and I never saw him approach her, but I felt that nature
+had given him the soul of a gentleman--she seemed to cling closer to
+her uncle, even to the avoidance of her chosen husband. I shut the
+door after him, that it might cause no disturbance of the quiet that
+prevailed; and when I turned back, I found Mr. Peggotty still talking to
+her.
+
+‘Now, I’m a going upstairs to tell your aunt as Mas’r Davy’s here, and
+that’ll cheer her up a bit,’ he said. ‘Sit ye down by the fire, the
+while, my dear, and warm those mortal cold hands. You doen’t need to be
+so fearsome, and take on so much. What? You’ll go along with me?--Well!
+come along with me--come! If her uncle was turned out of house and home,
+and forced to lay down in a dyke, Mas’r Davy,’ said Mr. Peggotty, with
+no less pride than before, ‘it’s my belief she’d go along with him, now!
+But there’ll be someone else, soon,--someone else, soon, Em’ly!’
+
+Afterwards, when I went upstairs, as I passed the door of my little
+chamber, which was dark, I had an indistinct impression of her being
+within it, cast down upon the floor. But, whether it was really she, or
+whether it was a confusion of the shadows in the room, I don’t know now.
+
+I had leisure to think, before the kitchen fire, of pretty little
+Emily’s dread of death--which, added to what Mr. Omer had told me, I
+took to be the cause of her being so unlike herself--and I had leisure,
+before Peggotty came down, even to think more leniently of the weakness
+of it: as I sat counting the ticking of the clock, and deepening my
+sense of the solemn hush around me. Peggotty took me in her arms, and
+blessed and thanked me over and over again for being such a comfort to
+her (that was what she said) in her distress. She then entreated me to
+come upstairs, sobbing that Mr. Barkis had always liked me and admired
+me; that he had often talked of me, before he fell into a stupor; and
+that she believed, in case of his coming to himself again, he would
+brighten up at sight of me, if he could brighten up at any earthly
+thing.
+
+The probability of his ever doing so, appeared to me, when I saw him, to
+be very small. He was lying with his head and shoulders out of bed, in
+an uncomfortable attitude, half resting on the box which had cost him so
+much pain and trouble. I learned, that, when he was past creeping out of
+bed to open it, and past assuring himself of its safety by means of the
+divining rod I had seen him use, he had required to have it placed on
+the chair at the bed-side, where he had ever since embraced it, night
+and day. His arm lay on it now. Time and the world were slipping from
+beneath him, but the box was there; and the last words he had uttered
+were (in an explanatory tone) ‘Old clothes!’
+
+‘Barkis, my dear!’ said Peggotty, almost cheerfully: bending over him,
+while her brother and I stood at the bed’s foot. ‘Here’s my dear boy--my
+dear boy, Master Davy, who brought us together, Barkis! That you sent
+messages by, you know! Won’t you speak to Master Davy?’
+
+He was as mute and senseless as the box, from which his form derived the
+only expression it had.
+
+‘He’s a going out with the tide,’ said Mr. Peggotty to me, behind his
+hand.
+
+My eyes were dim and so were Mr. Peggotty’s; but I repeated in a
+whisper, ‘With the tide?’
+
+‘People can’t die, along the coast,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘except when
+the tide’s pretty nigh out. They can’t be born, unless it’s pretty nigh
+in--not properly born, till flood. He’s a going out with the tide. It’s
+ebb at half-arter three, slack water half an hour. If he lives till it
+turns, he’ll hold his own till past the flood, and go out with the next
+tide.’
+
+We remained there, watching him, a long time--hours. What mysterious
+influence my presence had upon him in that state of his senses, I shall
+not pretend to say; but when he at last began to wander feebly, it is
+certain he was muttering about driving me to school.
+
+‘He’s coming to himself,’ said Peggotty.
+
+Mr. Peggotty touched me, and whispered with much awe and reverence.
+‘They are both a-going out fast.’
+
+‘Barkis, my dear!’ said Peggotty.
+
+‘C. P. Barkis,’ he cried faintly. ‘No better woman anywhere!’
+
+‘Look! Here’s Master Davy!’ said Peggotty. For he now opened his eyes.
+
+I was on the point of asking him if he knew me, when he tried to stretch
+out his arm, and said to me, distinctly, with a pleasant smile:
+
+‘Barkis is willin’!’
+
+And, it being low water, he went out with the tide.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 31. A GREATER LOSS
+
+
+It was not difficult for me, on Peggotty’s solicitation, to resolve to
+stay where I was, until after the remains of the poor carrier should
+have made their last journey to Blunderstone. She had long ago bought,
+out of her own savings, a little piece of ground in our old churchyard
+near the grave of ‘her sweet girl’, as she always called my mother; and
+there they were to rest.
+
+In keeping Peggotty company, and doing all I could for her (little
+enough at the utmost), I was as grateful, I rejoice to think, as even
+now I could wish myself to have been. But I am afraid I had a supreme
+satisfaction, of a personal and professional nature, in taking charge of
+Mr. Barkis’s will, and expounding its contents.
+
+I may claim the merit of having originated the suggestion that the will
+should be looked for in the box. After some search, it was found in the
+box, at the bottom of a horse’s nose-bag; wherein (besides hay) there
+was discovered an old gold watch, with chain and seals, which Mr. Barkis
+had worn on his wedding-day, and which had never been seen before or
+since; a silver tobacco-stopper, in the form of a leg; an imitation
+lemon, full of minute cups and saucers, which I have some idea Mr.
+Barkis must have purchased to present to me when I was a child, and
+afterwards found himself unable to part with; eighty-seven guineas and
+a half, in guineas and half-guineas; two hundred and ten pounds, in
+perfectly clean Bank notes; certain receipts for Bank of England
+stock; an old horseshoe, a bad shilling, a piece of camphor, and an
+oyster-shell. From the circumstance of the latter article having
+been much polished, and displaying prismatic colours on the inside,
+I conclude that Mr. Barkis had some general ideas about pearls, which
+never resolved themselves into anything definite.
+
+For years and years, Mr. Barkis had carried this box, on all his
+journeys, every day. That it might the better escape notice, he had
+invented a fiction that it belonged to ‘Mr. Blackboy’, and was ‘to be
+left with Barkis till called for’; a fable he had elaborately written on
+the lid, in characters now scarcely legible.
+
+He had hoarded, all these years, I found, to good purpose. His property
+in money amounted to nearly three thousand pounds. Of this he bequeathed
+the interest of one thousand to Mr. Peggotty for his life; on his
+decease, the principal to be equally divided between Peggotty, little
+Emily, and me, or the survivor or survivors of us, share and share
+alike. All the rest he died possessed of, he bequeathed to Peggotty;
+whom he left residuary legatee, and sole executrix of that his last will
+and testament.
+
+I felt myself quite a proctor when I read this document aloud with all
+possible ceremony, and set forth its provisions, any number of times,
+to those whom they concerned. I began to think there was more in the
+Commons than I had supposed. I examined the will with the deepest
+attention, pronounced it perfectly formal in all respects, made a
+pencil-mark or so in the margin, and thought it rather extraordinary
+that I knew so much.
+
+In this abstruse pursuit; in making an account for Peggotty, of all the
+property into which she had come; in arranging all the affairs in an
+orderly manner; and in being her referee and adviser on every point, to
+our joint delight; I passed the week before the funeral. I did not see
+little Emily in that interval, but they told me she was to be quietly
+married in a fortnight.
+
+I did not attend the funeral in character, if I may venture to say so.
+I mean I was not dressed up in a black coat and a streamer, to frighten
+the birds; but I walked over to Blunderstone early in the morning, and
+was in the churchyard when it came, attended only by Peggotty and her
+brother. The mad gentleman looked on, out of my little window; Mr.
+Chillip’s baby wagged its heavy head, and rolled its goggle eyes, at
+the clergyman, over its nurse’s shoulder; Mr. Omer breathed short in
+the background; no one else was there; and it was very quiet. We walked
+about the churchyard for an hour, after all was over; and pulled some
+young leaves from the tree above my mother’s grave.
+
+A dread falls on me here. A cloud is lowering on the distant town,
+towards which I retraced my solitary steps. I fear to approach it. I
+cannot bear to think of what did come, upon that memorable night; of
+what must come again, if I go on.
+
+It is no worse, because I write of it. It would be no better, if I
+stopped my most unwilling hand. It is done. Nothing can undo it; nothing
+can make it otherwise than as it was.
+
+My old nurse was to go to London with me next day, on the business of
+the will. Little Emily was passing that day at Mr. Omer’s. We were all
+to meet in the old boathouse that night. Ham would bring Emily at the
+usual hour. I would walk back at my leisure. The brother and sister
+would return as they had come, and be expecting us, when the day closed
+in, at the fireside.
+
+I parted from them at the wicket-gate, where visionary Strap had rested
+with Roderick Random’s knapsack in the days of yore; and, instead of
+going straight back, walked a little distance on the road to Lowestoft.
+Then I turned, and walked back towards Yarmouth. I stayed to dine at
+a decent alehouse, some mile or two from the Ferry I have mentioned
+before; and thus the day wore away, and it was evening when I reached
+it. Rain was falling heavily by that time, and it was a wild night; but
+there was a moon behind the clouds, and it was not dark.
+
+I was soon within sight of Mr. Peggotty’s house, and of the light within
+it shining through the window. A little floundering across the sand,
+which was heavy, brought me to the door, and I went in.
+
+It looked very comfortable indeed. Mr. Peggotty had smoked his evening
+pipe and there were preparations for some supper by and by. The fire was
+bright, the ashes were thrown up, the locker was ready for little Emily
+in her old place. In her own old place sat Peggotty, once more, looking
+(but for her dress) as if she had never left it. She had fallen back,
+already, on the society of the work-box with St. Paul’s upon the lid,
+the yard-measure in the cottage, and the bit of wax-candle; and there
+they all were, just as if they had never been disturbed. Mrs. Gummidge
+appeared to be fretting a little, in her old corner; and consequently
+looked quite natural, too.
+
+‘You’re first of the lot, Mas’r Davy!’ said Mr. Peggotty with a happy
+face. ‘Doen’t keep in that coat, sir, if it’s wet.’
+
+‘Thank you, Mr. Peggotty,’ said I, giving him my outer coat to hang up.
+‘It’s quite dry.’
+
+‘So ‘tis!’ said Mr. Peggotty, feeling my shoulders. ‘As a chip! Sit ye
+down, sir. It ain’t o’ no use saying welcome to you, but you’re welcome,
+kind and hearty.’
+
+‘Thank you, Mr. Peggotty, I am sure of that. Well, Peggotty!’ said I,
+giving her a kiss. ‘And how are you, old woman?’
+
+‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Mr. Peggotty, sitting down beside us, and rubbing his
+hands in his sense of relief from recent trouble, and in the genuine
+heartiness of his nature; ‘there’s not a woman in the wureld, sir--as I
+tell her--that need to feel more easy in her mind than her! She done her
+dooty by the departed, and the departed know’d it; and the departed
+done what was right by her, as she done what was right by the
+departed;--and--and--and it’s all right!’
+
+Mrs. Gummidge groaned.
+
+‘Cheer up, my pritty mawther!’ said Mr. Peggotty. (But he shook his head
+aside at us, evidently sensible of the tendency of the late occurrences
+to recall the memory of the old one.) ‘Doen’t be down! Cheer up, for
+your own self, on’y a little bit, and see if a good deal more doen’t
+come nat’ral!’
+
+‘Not to me, Dan’l,’ returned Mrs. Gummidge. ‘Nothink’s nat’ral to me but
+to be lone and lorn.’
+
+‘No, no,’ said Mr. Peggotty, soothing her sorrows.
+
+‘Yes, yes, Dan’l!’ said Mrs. Gummidge. ‘I ain’t a person to live with
+them as has had money left. Things go too contrary with me. I had better
+be a riddance.’
+
+‘Why, how should I ever spend it without you?’ said Mr. Peggotty, with
+an air of serious remonstrance. ‘What are you a talking on? Doen’t I
+want you more now, than ever I did?’
+
+‘I know’d I was never wanted before!’ cried Mrs. Gummidge, with a
+pitiable whimper, ‘and now I’m told so! How could I expect to be wanted,
+being so lone and lorn, and so contrary!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty seemed very much shocked at himself for having made a
+speech capable of this unfeeling construction, but was prevented from
+replying, by Peggotty’s pulling his sleeve, and shaking her head. After
+looking at Mrs. Gummidge for some moments, in sore distress of mind, he
+glanced at the Dutch clock, rose, snuffed the candle, and put it in the
+window.
+
+‘Theer!’ said Mr. Peggotty, cheerily. ‘Theer we are, Missis Gummidge!’
+Mrs. Gummidge slightly groaned. ‘Lighted up, accordin’ to custom! You’re
+a wonderin’ what that’s fur, sir! Well, it’s fur our little Em’ly. You
+see, the path ain’t over light or cheerful arter dark; and when I’m
+here at the hour as she’s a comin’ home, I puts the light in the winder.
+That, you see,’ said Mr. Peggotty, bending over me with great glee,
+‘meets two objects. She says, says Em’ly, “Theer’s home!” she says. And
+likewise, says Em’ly, “My uncle’s theer!” Fur if I ain’t theer, I never
+have no light showed.’
+
+‘You’re a baby!’ said Peggotty; very fond of him for it, if she thought
+so.
+
+‘Well,’ returned Mr. Peggotty, standing with his legs pretty wide apart,
+and rubbing his hands up and down them in his comfortable satisfaction,
+as he looked alternately at us and at the fire. ‘I doen’t know but I am.
+Not, you see, to look at.’
+
+‘Not azackly,’ observed Peggotty.
+
+‘No,’ laughed Mr. Peggotty, ‘not to look at, but to--to consider on, you
+know. I doen’t care, bless you! Now I tell you. When I go a looking and
+looking about that theer pritty house of our Em’ly’s, I’m--I’m Gormed,’
+said Mr. Peggotty, with sudden emphasis--‘theer! I can’t say more--if
+I doen’t feel as if the littlest things was her, a’most. I takes ‘em up
+and I put ‘em down, and I touches of ‘em as delicate as if they was our
+Em’ly. So ‘tis with her little bonnets and that. I couldn’t see one on
+‘em rough used a purpose--not fur the whole wureld. There’s a babby fur
+you, in the form of a great Sea Porkypine!’ said Mr. Peggotty, relieving
+his earnestness with a roar of laughter.
+
+Peggotty and I both laughed, but not so loud.
+
+‘It’s my opinion, you see,’ said Mr. Peggotty, with a delighted face,
+after some further rubbing of his legs, ‘as this is along of my havin’
+played with her so much, and made believe as we was Turks, and French,
+and sharks, and every wariety of forinners--bless you, yes; and lions
+and whales, and I doen’t know what all!--when she warn’t no higher than
+my knee. I’ve got into the way on it, you know. Why, this here candle,
+now!’ said Mr. Peggotty, gleefully holding out his hand towards it,
+‘I know wery well that arter she’s married and gone, I shall put that
+candle theer, just the same as now. I know wery well that when I’m
+here o’ nights (and where else should I live, bless your arts, whatever
+fortun’ I come into!) and she ain’t here or I ain’t theer, I shall
+put the candle in the winder, and sit afore the fire, pretending I’m
+expecting of her, like I’m a doing now. THERE’S a babby for you,’ said
+Mr. Peggotty, with another roar, ‘in the form of a Sea Porkypine! Why,
+at the present minute, when I see the candle sparkle up, I says to
+myself, “She’s a looking at it! Em’ly’s a coming!” THERE’S a babby
+for you, in the form of a Sea Porkypine! Right for all that,’ said Mr.
+Peggotty, stopping in his roar, and smiting his hands together; ‘fur
+here she is!’
+
+It was only Ham. The night should have turned more wet since I came in,
+for he had a large sou’wester hat on, slouched over his face.
+
+‘Wheer’s Em’ly?’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+Ham made a motion with his head, as if she were outside. Mr. Peggotty
+took the light from the window, trimmed it, put it on the table, and was
+busily stirring the fire, when Ham, who had not moved, said:
+
+‘Mas’r Davy, will you come out a minute, and see what Em’ly and me has
+got to show you?’
+
+We went out. As I passed him at the door, I saw, to my astonishment and
+fright, that he was deadly pale. He pushed me hastily into the open air,
+and closed the door upon us. Only upon us two.
+
+‘Ham! what’s the matter?’
+
+‘Mas’r Davy!--’ Oh, for his broken heart, how dreadfully he wept!
+
+I was paralysed by the sight of such grief. I don’t know what I thought,
+or what I dreaded. I could only look at him.
+
+‘Ham! Poor good fellow! For Heaven’s sake, tell me what’s the matter!’
+
+‘My love, Mas’r Davy--the pride and hope of my art--her that I’d have
+died for, and would die for now--she’s gone!’
+
+‘Gone!’
+
+‘Em’ly’s run away! Oh, Mas’r Davy, think HOW she’s run away, when I
+pray my good and gracious God to kill her (her that is so dear above all
+things) sooner than let her come to ruin and disgrace!’
+
+The face he turned up to the troubled sky, the quivering of his clasped
+hands, the agony of his figure, remain associated with the lonely waste,
+in my remembrance, to this hour. It is always night there, and he is the
+only object in the scene.
+
+‘You’re a scholar,’ he said, hurriedly, ‘and know what’s right and
+best. What am I to say, indoors? How am I ever to break it to him, Mas’r
+Davy?’
+
+I saw the door move, and instinctively tried to hold the latch on the
+outside, to gain a moment’s time. It was too late. Mr. Peggotty thrust
+forth his face; and never could I forget the change that came upon it
+when he saw us, if I were to live five hundred years.
+
+I remember a great wail and cry, and the women hanging about him, and we
+all standing in the room; I with a paper in my hand, which Ham had given
+me; Mr. Peggotty, with his vest torn open, his hair wild, his face and
+lips quite white, and blood trickling down his bosom (it had sprung from
+his mouth, I think), looking fixedly at me.
+
+‘Read it, sir,’ he said, in a low shivering voice. ‘Slow, please. I
+doen’t know as I can understand.’
+
+In the midst of the silence of death, I read thus, from a blotted
+letter:
+
+
+‘“When you, who love me so much better than I ever have deserved, even
+when my mind was innocent, see this, I shall be far away.”’
+
+
+‘I shall be fur away,’ he repeated slowly. ‘Stop! Em’ly fur away. Well!’
+
+
+‘“When I leave my dear home--my dear home--oh, my dear home!--in the
+morning,”’
+
+the letter bore date on the previous night:
+
+
+’”--it will be never to come back, unless he brings me back a lady. This
+will be found at night, many hours after, instead of me. Oh, if you knew
+how my heart is torn. If even you, that I have wronged so much, that
+never can forgive me, could only know what I suffer! I am too wicked to
+write about myself! Oh, take comfort in thinking that I am so bad. Oh,
+for mercy’s sake, tell uncle that I never loved him half so dear as
+now. Oh, don’t remember how affectionate and kind you have all been to
+me--don’t remember we were ever to be married--but try to think as if I
+died when I was little, and was buried somewhere. Pray Heaven that I
+am going away from, have compassion on my uncle! Tell him that I never
+loved him half so dear. Be his comfort. Love some good girl that will
+be what I was once to uncle, and be true to you, and worthy of you, and
+know no shame but me. God bless all! I’ll pray for all, often, on my
+knees. If he don’t bring me back a lady, and I don’t pray for my own
+self, I’ll pray for all. My parting love to uncle. My last tears, and my
+last thanks, for uncle!”’
+
+That was all.
+
+He stood, long after I had ceased to read, still looking at me. At
+length I ventured to take his hand, and to entreat him, as well as
+I could, to endeavour to get some command of himself. He replied, ‘I
+thankee, sir, I thankee!’ without moving.
+
+Ham spoke to him. Mr. Peggotty was so far sensible of HIS affliction,
+that he wrung his hand; but, otherwise, he remained in the same state,
+and no one dared to disturb him.
+
+Slowly, at last, he moved his eyes from my face, as if he were waking
+from a vision, and cast them round the room. Then he said, in a low
+voice:
+
+‘Who’s the man? I want to know his name.’
+
+Ham glanced at me, and suddenly I felt a shock that struck me back.
+
+‘There’s a man suspected,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘Who is it?’
+
+‘Mas’r Davy!’ implored Ham. ‘Go out a bit, and let me tell him what I
+must. You doen’t ought to hear it, sir.’
+
+I felt the shock again. I sank down in a chair, and tried to utter some
+reply; but my tongue was fettered, and my sight was weak.
+
+‘I want to know his name!’ I heard said once more.
+
+‘For some time past,’ Ham faltered, ‘there’s been a servant about here,
+at odd times. There’s been a gen’lm’n too. Both of ‘em belonged to one
+another.’
+
+Mr. Peggotty stood fixed as before, but now looking at him.
+
+‘The servant,’ pursued Ham, ‘was seen along with--our poor girl--last
+night. He’s been in hiding about here, this week or over. He was thought
+to have gone, but he was hiding. Doen’t stay, Mas’r Davy, doen’t!’
+
+I felt Peggotty’s arm round my neck, but I could not have moved if the
+house had been about to fall upon me.
+
+‘A strange chay and hosses was outside town, this morning, on the
+Norwich road, a’most afore the day broke,’ Ham went on. ‘The servant
+went to it, and come from it, and went to it again. When he went to it
+again, Em’ly was nigh him. The t’other was inside. He’s the man.’
+
+‘For the Lord’s love,’ said Mr. Peggotty, falling back, and putting out
+his hand, as if to keep off what he dreaded. ‘Doen’t tell me his name’s
+Steerforth!’
+
+‘Mas’r Davy,’ exclaimed Ham, in a broken voice, ‘it ain’t no fault
+of yourn--and I am far from laying of it to you--but his name is
+Steerforth, and he’s a damned villain!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty uttered no cry, and shed no tear, and moved no more, until
+he seemed to wake again, all at once, and pulled down his rough coat
+from its peg in a corner.
+
+‘Bear a hand with this! I’m struck of a heap, and can’t do it,’ he said,
+impatiently. ‘Bear a hand and help me. Well!’ when somebody had done so.
+‘Now give me that theer hat!’
+
+Ham asked him whither he was going.
+
+‘I’m a going to seek my niece. I’m a going to seek my Em’ly. I’m a
+going, first, to stave in that theer boat, and sink it where I would
+have drownded him, as I’m a living soul, if I had had one thought of
+what was in him! As he sat afore me,’ he said, wildly, holding out his
+clenched right hand, ‘as he sat afore me, face to face, strike me down
+dead, but I’d have drownded him, and thought it right!--I’m a going to
+seek my niece.’
+
+‘Where?’ cried Ham, interposing himself before the door.
+
+‘Anywhere! I’m a going to seek my niece through the wureld. I’m a going
+to find my poor niece in her shame, and bring her back. No one stop me!
+I tell you I’m a going to seek my niece!’
+
+‘No, no!’ cried Mrs. Gummidge, coming between them, in a fit of crying.
+‘No, no, Dan’l, not as you are now. Seek her in a little while, my lone
+lorn Dan’l, and that’ll be but right! but not as you are now. Sit ye
+down, and give me your forgiveness for having ever been a worrit to you,
+Dan’l--what have my contraries ever been to this!--and let us speak a
+word about them times when she was first an orphan, and when Ham was
+too, and when I was a poor widder woman, and you took me in. It’ll
+soften your poor heart, Dan’l,’ laying her head upon his shoulder, ‘and
+you’ll bear your sorrow better; for you know the promise, Dan’l, “As
+you have done it unto one of the least of these, you have done it unto
+me”,--and that can never fail under this roof, that’s been our shelter
+for so many, many year!’
+
+He was quite passive now; and when I heard him crying, the impulse that
+had been upon me to go down upon my knees, and ask their pardon for the
+desolation I had caused, and curse Steerforth, yielded to a better
+feeling. My overcharged heart found the same relief, and I cried too.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 32. THE BEGINNING OF A LONG JOURNEY
+
+
+What is natural in me, is natural in many other men, I infer, and so
+I am not afraid to write that I never had loved Steerforth better than
+when the ties that bound me to him were broken. In the keen distress
+of the discovery of his unworthiness, I thought more of all that was
+brilliant in him, I softened more towards all that was good in him, I
+did more justice to the qualities that might have made him a man of a
+noble nature and a great name, than ever I had done in the height of
+my devotion to him. Deeply as I felt my own unconscious part in his
+pollution of an honest home, I believed that if I had been brought face
+to face with him, I could not have uttered one reproach. I should have
+loved him so well still--though he fascinated me no longer--I should
+have held in so much tenderness the memory of my affection for him, that
+I think I should have been as weak as a spirit-wounded child, in all
+but the entertainment of a thought that we could ever be re-united.
+That thought I never had. I felt, as he had felt, that all was at an end
+between us. What his remembrances of me were, I have never known--they
+were light enough, perhaps, and easily dismissed--but mine of him were
+as the remembrances of a cherished friend, who was dead.
+
+Yes, Steerforth, long removed from the scenes of this poor history! My
+sorrow may bear involuntary witness against you at the judgement Throne;
+but my angry thoughts or my reproaches never will, I know!
+
+The news of what had happened soon spread through the town; insomuch
+that as I passed along the streets next morning, I overheard the people
+speaking of it at their doors. Many were hard upon her, some few were
+hard upon him, but towards her second father and her lover there was
+but one sentiment. Among all kinds of people a respect for them in
+their distress prevailed, which was full of gentleness and delicacy. The
+seafaring men kept apart, when those two were seen early, walking with
+slow steps on the beach; and stood in knots, talking compassionately
+among themselves.
+
+It was on the beach, close down by the sea, that I found them. It would
+have been easy to perceive that they had not slept all last night, even
+if Peggotty had failed to tell me of their still sitting just as I
+left them, when it was broad day. They looked worn; and I thought Mr.
+Peggotty’s head was bowed in one night more than in all the years I had
+known him. But they were both as grave and steady as the sea itself,
+then lying beneath a dark sky, waveless--yet with a heavy roll upon it,
+as if it breathed in its rest--and touched, on the horizon, with a strip
+of silvery light from the unseen sun.
+
+‘We have had a mort of talk, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty to me, when we had
+all three walked a little while in silence, ‘of what we ought and doen’t
+ought to do. But we see our course now.’
+
+I happened to glance at Ham, then looking out to sea upon the distant
+light, and a frightful thought came into my mind--not that his face
+was angry, for it was not; I recall nothing but an expression of stern
+determination in it--that if ever he encountered Steerforth, he would
+kill him.
+
+‘My dooty here, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘is done. I’m a going to seek
+my--’ he stopped, and went on in a firmer voice: ‘I’m a going to seek
+her. That’s my dooty evermore.’
+
+He shook his head when I asked him where he would seek her, and inquired
+if I were going to London tomorrow? I told him I had not gone today,
+fearing to lose the chance of being of any service to him; but that I
+was ready to go when he would.
+
+‘I’ll go along with you, sir,’ he rejoined, ‘if you’re agreeable,
+tomorrow.’
+
+We walked again, for a while, in silence.
+
+‘Ham,’ he presently resumed, ‘he’ll hold to his present work, and go and
+live along with my sister. The old boat yonder--’
+
+‘Will you desert the old boat, Mr. Peggotty?’ I gently interposed.
+
+‘My station, Mas’r Davy,’ he returned, ‘ain’t there no longer; and if
+ever a boat foundered, since there was darkness on the face of the deep,
+that one’s gone down. But no, sir, no; I doen’t mean as it should be
+deserted. Fur from that.’
+
+We walked again for a while, as before, until he explained:
+
+‘My wishes is, sir, as it shall look, day and night, winter and summer,
+as it has always looked, since she fust know’d it. If ever she should
+come a wandering back, I wouldn’t have the old place seem to cast her
+off, you understand, but seem to tempt her to draw nigher to ‘t, and to
+peep in, maybe, like a ghost, out of the wind and rain, through the old
+winder, at the old seat by the fire. Then, maybe, Mas’r Davy, seein’
+none but Missis Gummidge there, she might take heart to creep in,
+trembling; and might come to be laid down in her old bed, and rest her
+weary head where it was once so gay.’
+
+I could not speak to him in reply, though I tried.
+
+‘Every night,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘as reg’lar as the night comes, the
+candle must be stood in its old pane of glass, that if ever she should
+see it, it may seem to say “Come back, my child, come back!” If ever
+there’s a knock, Ham (partic’ler a soft knock), arter dark, at your
+aunt’s door, doen’t you go nigh it. Let it be her--not you--that sees my
+fallen child!’
+
+He walked a little in front of us, and kept before us for some minutes.
+During this interval, I glanced at Ham again, and observing the same
+expression on his face, and his eyes still directed to the distant
+light, I touched his arm.
+
+Twice I called him by his name, in the tone in which I might have tried
+to rouse a sleeper, before he heeded me. When I at last inquired on what
+his thoughts were so bent, he replied:
+
+‘On what’s afore me, Mas’r Davy; and over yon.’ ‘On the life before you,
+do you mean?’ He had pointed confusedly out to sea.
+
+‘Ay, Mas’r Davy. I doen’t rightly know how ‘tis, but from over yon there
+seemed to me to come--the end of it like,’ looking at me as if he were
+waking, but with the same determined face.
+
+‘What end?’ I asked, possessed by my former fear.
+
+‘I doen’t know,’ he said, thoughtfully; ‘I was calling to mind that the
+beginning of it all did take place here--and then the end come. But it’s
+gone! Mas’r Davy,’ he added; answering, as I think, my look; ‘you han’t
+no call to be afeerd of me: but I’m kiender muddled; I don’t fare to
+feel no matters,’--which was as much as to say that he was not himself,
+and quite confounded.
+
+Mr. Peggotty stopping for us to join him: we did so, and said no more.
+The remembrance of this, in connexion with my former thought, however,
+haunted me at intervals, even until the inexorable end came at its
+appointed time.
+
+We insensibly approached the old boat, and entered. Mrs. Gummidge, no
+longer moping in her especial corner, was busy preparing breakfast.
+She took Mr. Peggotty’s hat, and placed his seat for him, and spoke so
+comfortably and softly, that I hardly knew her.
+
+‘Dan’l, my good man,’ said she, ‘you must eat and drink, and keep up
+your strength, for without it you’ll do nowt. Try, that’s a dear soul!
+An if I disturb you with my clicketten,’ she meant her chattering, ‘tell
+me so, Dan’l, and I won’t.’
+
+When she had served us all, she withdrew to the window, where she
+sedulously employed herself in repairing some shirts and other clothes
+belonging to Mr. Peggotty, and neatly folding and packing them in an old
+oilskin bag, such as sailors carry. Meanwhile, she continued talking, in
+the same quiet manner:
+
+‘All times and seasons, you know, Dan’l,’ said Mrs. Gummidge, ‘I shall
+be allus here, and everythink will look accordin’ to your wishes. I’m a
+poor scholar, but I shall write to you, odd times, when you’re away, and
+send my letters to Mas’r Davy. Maybe you’ll write to me too, Dan’l, odd
+times, and tell me how you fare to feel upon your lone lorn journies.’
+
+‘You’ll be a solitary woman heer, I’m afeerd!’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘No, no, Dan’l,’ she returned, ‘I shan’t be that. Doen’t you mind me. I
+shall have enough to do to keep a Beein for you’ (Mrs. Gummidge meant a
+home), ‘again you come back--to keep a Beein here for any that may hap
+to come back, Dan’l. In the fine time, I shall set outside the door as I
+used to do. If any should come nigh, they shall see the old widder woman
+true to ‘em, a long way off.’
+
+What a change in Mrs. Gummidge in a little time! She was another woman.
+She was so devoted, she had such a quick perception of what it would
+be well to say, and what it would be well to leave unsaid; she was so
+forgetful of herself, and so regardful of the sorrow about her, that I
+held her in a sort of veneration. The work she did that day! There
+were many things to be brought up from the beach and stored in the
+outhouse--as oars, nets, sails, cordage, spars, lobster-pots, bags of
+ballast, and the like; and though there was abundance of assistance
+rendered, there being not a pair of working hands on all that shore but
+would have laboured hard for Mr. Peggotty, and been well paid in being
+asked to do it, yet she persisted, all day long, in toiling under
+weights that she was quite unequal to, and fagging to and fro on all
+sorts of unnecessary errands. As to deploring her misfortunes, she
+appeared to have entirely lost the recollection of ever having had any.
+She preserved an equable cheerfulness in the midst of her sympathy,
+which was not the least astonishing part of the change that had come
+over her. Querulousness was out of the question. I did not even observe
+her voice to falter, or a tear to escape from her eyes, the whole day
+through, until twilight; when she and I and Mr. Peggotty being alone
+together, and he having fallen asleep in perfect exhaustion, she broke
+into a half-suppressed fit of sobbing and crying, and taking me to the
+door, said, ‘Ever bless you, Mas’r Davy, be a friend to him, poor dear!’
+Then, she immediately ran out of the house to wash her face, in order
+that she might sit quietly beside him, and be found at work there, when
+he should awake. In short I left her, when I went away at night, the
+prop and staff of Mr. Peggotty’s affliction; and I could not meditate
+enough upon the lesson that I read in Mrs. Gummidge, and the new
+experience she unfolded to me.
+
+It was between nine and ten o’clock when, strolling in a melancholy
+manner through the town, I stopped at Mr. Omer’s door. Mr. Omer had
+taken it so much to heart, his daughter told me, that he had been very
+low and poorly all day, and had gone to bed without his pipe.
+
+‘A deceitful, bad-hearted girl,’ said Mrs. Joram. ‘There was no good in
+her, ever!’
+
+‘Don’t say so,’ I returned. ‘You don’t think so.’
+
+‘Yes, I do!’ cried Mrs. Joram, angrily.
+
+‘No, no,’ said I.
+
+Mrs. Joram tossed her head, endeavouring to be very stern and cross; but
+she could not command her softer self, and began to cry. I was young,
+to be sure; but I thought much the better of her for this sympathy, and
+fancied it became her, as a virtuous wife and mother, very well indeed.
+
+‘What will she ever do!’ sobbed Minnie. ‘Where will she go! What will
+become of her! Oh, how could she be so cruel, to herself and him!’
+
+I remembered the time when Minnie was a young and pretty girl; and I was
+glad she remembered it too, so feelingly.
+
+‘My little Minnie,’ said Mrs. Joram, ‘has only just now been got to
+sleep. Even in her sleep she is sobbing for Em’ly. All day long, little
+Minnie has cried for her, and asked me, over and over again, whether
+Em’ly was wicked? What can I say to her, when Em’ly tied a ribbon off
+her own neck round little Minnie’s the last night she was here, and laid
+her head down on the pillow beside her till she was fast asleep! The
+ribbon’s round my little Minnie’s neck now. It ought not to be, perhaps,
+but what can I do? Em’ly is very bad, but they were fond of one another.
+And the child knows nothing!’
+
+Mrs. Joram was so unhappy that her husband came out to take care of
+her. Leaving them together, I went home to Peggotty’s; more melancholy
+myself, if possible, than I had been yet.
+
+That good creature--I mean Peggotty--all untired by her late anxieties
+and sleepless nights, was at her brother’s, where she meant to stay till
+morning. An old woman, who had been employed about the house for some
+weeks past, while Peggotty had been unable to attend to it, was the
+house’s only other occupant besides myself. As I had no occasion for her
+services, I sent her to bed, by no means against her will, and sat down
+before the kitchen fire a little while, to think about all this.
+
+I was blending it with the deathbed of the late Mr. Barkis, and was
+driving out with the tide towards the distance at which Ham had looked
+so singularly in the morning, when I was recalled from my wanderings by
+a knock at the door. There was a knocker upon the door, but it was not
+that which made the sound. The tap was from a hand, and low down upon
+the door, as if it were given by a child.
+
+It made me start as much as if it had been the knock of a footman to a
+person of distinction. I opened the door; and at first looked down,
+to my amazement, on nothing but a great umbrella that appeared to be
+walking about of itself. But presently I discovered underneath it, Miss
+Mowcher.
+
+I might not have been prepared to give the little creature a very kind
+reception, if, on her removing the umbrella, which her utmost efforts
+were unable to shut up, she had shown me the ‘volatile’ expression of
+face which had made so great an impression on me at our first and last
+meeting. But her face, as she turned it up to mine, was so earnest;
+and when I relieved her of the umbrella (which would have been an
+inconvenient one for the Irish Giant), she wrung her little hands in
+such an afflicted manner; that I rather inclined towards her.
+
+‘Miss Mowcher!’ said I, after glancing up and down the empty street,
+without distinctly knowing what I expected to see besides; ‘how do you
+come here? What is the matter?’ She motioned to me with her short right
+arm, to shut the umbrella for her; and passing me hurriedly, went into
+the kitchen. When I had closed the door, and followed, with the umbrella
+in my hand, I found her sitting on the corner of the fender--it was a
+low iron one, with two flat bars at top to stand plates upon--in the
+shadow of the boiler, swaying herself backwards and forwards, and
+chafing her hands upon her knees like a person in pain.
+
+Quite alarmed at being the only recipient of this untimely visit, and
+the only spectator of this portentous behaviour, I exclaimed again,
+‘Pray tell me, Miss Mowcher, what is the matter! are you ill?’
+
+‘My dear young soul,’ returned Miss Mowcher, squeezing her hands upon
+her heart one over the other. ‘I am ill here, I am very ill. To think
+that it should come to this, when I might have known it and perhaps
+prevented it, if I hadn’t been a thoughtless fool!’
+
+Again her large bonnet (very disproportionate to the figure) went
+backwards and forwards, in her swaying of her little body to and fro;
+while a most gigantic bonnet rocked, in unison with it, upon the wall.
+
+‘I am surprised,’ I began, ‘to see you so distressed and serious’--when
+she interrupted me.
+
+‘Yes, it’s always so!’ she said. ‘They are all surprised, these
+inconsiderate young people, fairly and full grown, to see any natural
+feeling in a little thing like me! They make a plaything of me, use me
+for their amusement, throw me away when they are tired, and wonder that
+I feel more than a toy horse or a wooden soldier! Yes, yes, that’s the
+way. The old way!’
+
+‘It may be, with others,’ I returned, ‘but I do assure you it is not
+with me. Perhaps I ought not to be at all surprised to see you as you
+are now: I know so little of you. I said, without consideration, what I
+thought.’
+
+‘What can I do?’ returned the little woman, standing up, and holding out
+her arms to show herself. ‘See! What I am, my father was; and my sister
+is; and my brother is. I have worked for sister and brother these many
+years--hard, Mr. Copperfield--all day. I must live. I do no harm. If
+there are people so unreflecting or so cruel, as to make a jest of
+me, what is left for me to do but to make a jest of myself, them, and
+everything? If I do so, for the time, whose fault is that? Mine?’
+
+No. Not Miss Mowcher’s, I perceived.
+
+‘If I had shown myself a sensitive dwarf to your false friend,’ pursued
+the little woman, shaking her head at me, with reproachful earnestness,
+‘how much of his help or good will do you think I should ever have had?
+If little Mowcher (who had no hand, young gentleman, in the making of
+herself) addressed herself to him, or the like of him, because of her
+misfortunes, when do you suppose her small voice would have been heard?
+Little Mowcher would have as much need to live, if she was the bitterest
+and dullest of pigmies; but she couldn’t do it. No. She might whistle
+for her bread and butter till she died of Air.’
+
+Miss Mowcher sat down on the fender again, and took out her
+handkerchief, and wiped her eyes.
+
+‘Be thankful for me, if you have a kind heart, as I think you have,’ she
+said, ‘that while I know well what I am, I can be cheerful and endure it
+all. I am thankful for myself, at any rate, that I can find my tiny way
+through the world, without being beholden to anyone; and that in return
+for all that is thrown at me, in folly or vanity, as I go along, I can
+throw bubbles back. If I don’t brood over all I want, it is the better
+for me, and not the worse for anyone. If I am a plaything for you
+giants, be gentle with me.’
+
+Miss Mowcher replaced her handkerchief in her pocket, looking at me with
+very intent expression all the while, and pursued:
+
+‘I saw you in the street just now. You may suppose I am not able to
+walk as fast as you, with my short legs and short breath, and I couldn’t
+overtake you; but I guessed where you came, and came after you. I have
+been here before, today, but the good woman wasn’t at home.’
+
+‘Do you know her?’ I demanded.
+
+‘I know of her, and about her,’ she replied, ‘from Omer and Joram. I
+was there at seven o’clock this morning. Do you remember what Steerforth
+said to me about this unfortunate girl, that time when I saw you both at
+the inn?’
+
+The great bonnet on Miss Mowcher’s head, and the greater bonnet on
+the wall, began to go backwards and forwards again when she asked this
+question.
+
+I remembered very well what she referred to, having had it in my
+thoughts many times that day. I told her so.
+
+‘May the Father of all Evil confound him,’ said the little woman,
+holding up her forefinger between me and her sparkling eyes, ‘and ten
+times more confound that wicked servant; but I believed it was YOU who
+had a boyish passion for her!’
+
+‘I?’ I repeated.
+
+‘Child, child! In the name of blind ill-fortune,’ cried Miss Mowcher,
+wringing her hands impatiently, as she went to and fro again upon the
+fender, ‘why did you praise her so, and blush, and look disturbed?’
+
+I could not conceal from myself that I had done this, though for a
+reason very different from her supposition.
+
+‘What did I know?’ said Miss Mowcher, taking out her handkerchief again,
+and giving one little stamp on the ground whenever, at short intervals,
+she applied it to her eyes with both hands at once. ‘He was crossing you
+and wheedling you, I saw; and you were soft wax in his hands, I saw. Had
+I left the room a minute, when his man told me that “Young Innocence”
+ (so he called you, and you may call him “Old Guilt” all the days of your
+life) had set his heart upon her, and she was giddy and liked him, but
+his master was resolved that no harm should come of it--more for your
+sake than for hers--and that that was their business here? How could I
+BUT believe him? I saw Steerforth soothe and please you by his praise
+of her! You were the first to mention her name. You owned to an old
+admiration of her. You were hot and cold, and red and white, all at once
+when I spoke to you of her. What could I think--what DID I think--but
+that you were a young libertine in everything but experience, and had
+fallen into hands that had experience enough, and could manage you
+(having the fancy) for your own good? Oh! oh! oh! They were afraid of my
+finding out the truth,’ exclaimed Miss Mowcher, getting off the
+fender, and trotting up and down the kitchen with her two short arms
+distressfully lifted up, ‘because I am a sharp little thing--I need be,
+to get through the world at all!--and they deceived me altogether, and
+I gave the poor unfortunate girl a letter, which I fully believe was
+the beginning of her ever speaking to Littimer, who was left behind on
+purpose!’
+
+I stood amazed at the revelation of all this perfidy, looking at Miss
+Mowcher as she walked up and down the kitchen until she was out of
+breath: when she sat upon the fender again, and, drying her face with
+her handkerchief, shook her head for a long time, without otherwise
+moving, and without breaking silence.
+
+‘My country rounds,’ she added at length, ‘brought me to Norwich, Mr.
+Copperfield, the night before last. What I happened to find there,
+about their secret way of coming and going, without you--which was
+strange--led to my suspecting something wrong. I got into the coach
+from London last night, as it came through Norwich, and was here this
+morning. Oh, oh, oh! too late!’
+
+Poor little Mowcher turned so chilly after all her crying and fretting,
+that she turned round on the fender, putting her poor little wet feet in
+among the ashes to warm them, and sat looking at the fire, like a large
+doll. I sat in a chair on the other side of the hearth, lost in unhappy
+reflections, and looking at the fire too, and sometimes at her.
+
+‘I must go,’ she said at last, rising as she spoke. ‘It’s late. You
+don’t mistrust me?’
+
+Meeting her sharp glance, which was as sharp as ever when she asked me,
+I could not on that short challenge answer no, quite frankly.
+
+‘Come!’ said she, accepting the offer of my hand to help her over the
+fender, and looking wistfully up into my face, ‘you know you wouldn’t
+mistrust me, if I was a full-sized woman!’
+
+I felt that there was much truth in this; and I felt rather ashamed of
+myself.
+
+‘You are a young man,’ she said, nodding. ‘Take a word of advice,
+even from three foot nothing. Try not to associate bodily defects with
+mental, my good friend, except for a solid reason.’
+
+She had got over the fender now, and I had got over my suspicion. I told
+her that I believed she had given me a faithful account of herself,
+and that we had both been hapless instruments in designing hands. She
+thanked me, and said I was a good fellow.
+
+‘Now, mind!’ she exclaimed, turning back on her way to the door, and
+looking shrewdly at me, with her forefinger up again.--‘I have some
+reason to suspect, from what I have heard--my ears are always open; I
+can’t afford to spare what powers I have--that they are gone abroad. But
+if ever they return, if ever any one of them returns, while I am alive,
+I am more likely than another, going about as I do, to find it out soon.
+Whatever I know, you shall know. If ever I can do anything to serve the
+poor betrayed girl, I will do it faithfully, please Heaven! And Littimer
+had better have a bloodhound at his back, than little Mowcher!’
+
+I placed implicit faith in this last statement, when I marked the look
+with which it was accompanied.
+
+‘Trust me no more, but trust me no less, than you would trust a
+full-sized woman,’ said the little creature, touching me appealingly
+on the wrist. ‘If ever you see me again, unlike what I am now, and like
+what I was when you first saw me, observe what company I am in. Call to
+mind that I am a very helpless and defenceless little thing. Think of
+me at home with my brother like myself and sister like myself, when my
+day’s work is done. Perhaps you won’t, then, be very hard upon me, or
+surprised if I can be distressed and serious. Good night!’
+
+I gave Miss Mowcher my hand, with a very different opinion of her from
+that which I had hitherto entertained, and opened the door to let her
+out. It was not a trifling business to get the great umbrella up, and
+properly balanced in her grasp; but at last I successfully accomplished
+this, and saw it go bobbing down the street through the rain, without
+the least appearance of having anybody underneath it, except when a
+heavier fall than usual from some over-charged water-spout sent it
+toppling over, on one side, and discovered Miss Mowcher struggling
+violently to get it right. After making one or two sallies to her
+relief, which were rendered futile by the umbrella’s hopping on again,
+like an immense bird, before I could reach it, I came in, went to bed,
+and slept till morning.
+
+In the morning I was joined by Mr. Peggotty and by my old nurse, and we
+went at an early hour to the coach office, where Mrs. Gummidge and Ham
+were waiting to take leave of us.
+
+‘Mas’r Davy,’ Ham whispered, drawing me aside, while Mr. Peggotty was
+stowing his bag among the luggage, ‘his life is quite broke up. He
+doen’t know wheer he’s going; he doen’t know--what’s afore him; he’s
+bound upon a voyage that’ll last, on and off, all the rest of his days,
+take my wured for ‘t, unless he finds what he’s a seeking of. I am sure
+you’ll be a friend to him, Mas’r Davy?’
+
+‘Trust me, I will indeed,’ said I, shaking hands with Ham earnestly.
+
+‘Thankee. Thankee, very kind, sir. One thing furder. I’m in good employ,
+you know, Mas’r Davy, and I han’t no way now of spending what I gets.
+Money’s of no use to me no more, except to live. If you can lay it out
+for him, I shall do my work with a better art. Though as to that, sir,’
+and he spoke very steadily and mildly, ‘you’re not to think but I shall
+work at all times, like a man, and act the best that lays in my power!’
+
+I told him I was well convinced of it; and I hinted that I hoped the
+time might even come, when he would cease to lead the lonely life he
+naturally contemplated now.
+
+‘No, sir,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘all that’s past and over with me,
+sir. No one can never fill the place that’s empty. But you’ll bear in
+mind about the money, as theer’s at all times some laying by for him?’
+
+Reminding him of the fact, that Mr. Peggotty derived a steady,
+though certainly a very moderate income from the bequest of his late
+brother-in-law, I promised to do so. We then took leave of each other. I
+cannot leave him even now, without remembering with a pang, at once his
+modest fortitude and his great sorrow.
+
+As to Mrs. Gummidge, if I were to endeavour to describe how she ran down
+the street by the side of the coach, seeing nothing but Mr. Peggotty on
+the roof, through the tears she tried to repress, and dashing herself
+against the people who were coming in the opposite direction, I should
+enter on a task of some difficulty. Therefore I had better leave her
+sitting on a baker’s door-step, out of breath, with no shape at all
+remaining in her bonnet, and one of her shoes off, lying on the pavement
+at a considerable distance.
+
+When we got to our journey’s end, our first pursuit was to look about
+for a little lodging for Peggotty, where her brother could have a
+bed. We were so fortunate as to find one, of a very clean and cheap
+description, over a chandler’s shop, only two streets removed from
+me. When we had engaged this domicile, I bought some cold meat at an
+eating-house, and took my fellow-travellers home to tea; a proceeding,
+I regret to state, which did not meet with Mrs. Crupp’s approval, but
+quite the contrary. I ought to observe, however, in explanation of that
+lady’s state of mind, that she was much offended by Peggotty’s tucking
+up her widow’s gown before she had been ten minutes in the place, and
+setting to work to dust my bedroom. This Mrs. Crupp regarded in the
+light of a liberty, and a liberty, she said, was a thing she never
+allowed.
+
+Mr. Peggotty had made a communication to me on the way to London for
+which I was not unprepared. It was, that he purposed first seeing Mrs.
+Steerforth. As I felt bound to assist him in this, and also to mediate
+between them; with the view of sparing the mother’s feelings as much
+as possible, I wrote to her that night. I told her as mildly as I could
+what his wrong was, and what my own share in his injury. I said he was a
+man in very common life, but of a most gentle and upright character; and
+that I ventured to express a hope that she would not refuse to see him
+in his heavy trouble. I mentioned two o’clock in the afternoon as the
+hour of our coming, and I sent the letter myself by the first coach in
+the morning.
+
+At the appointed time, we stood at the door--the door of that house
+where I had been, a few days since, so happy: where my youthful
+confidence and warmth of heart had been yielded up so freely: which was
+closed against me henceforth: which was now a waste, a ruin.
+
+No Littimer appeared. The pleasanter face which had replaced his, on the
+occasion of my last visit, answered to our summons, and went before
+us to the drawing-room. Mrs. Steerforth was sitting there. Rosa Dartle
+glided, as we went in, from another part of the room and stood behind
+her chair.
+
+I saw, directly, in his mother’s face, that she knew from himself what
+he had done. It was very pale; and bore the traces of deeper emotion
+than my letter alone, weakened by the doubts her fondness would have
+raised upon it, would have been likely to create. I thought her more
+like him than ever I had thought her; and I felt, rather than saw, that
+the resemblance was not lost on my companion.
+
+She sat upright in her arm-chair, with a stately, immovable, passionless
+air, that it seemed as if nothing could disturb. She looked very
+steadfastly at Mr. Peggotty when he stood before her; and he looked
+quite as steadfastly at her. Rosa Dartle’s keen glance comprehended all
+of us. For some moments not a word was spoken.
+
+She motioned to Mr. Peggotty to be seated. He said, in a low voice, ‘I
+shouldn’t feel it nat’ral, ma’am, to sit down in this house. I’d sooner
+stand.’ And this was succeeded by another silence, which she broke thus:
+
+‘I know, with deep regret, what has brought you here. What do you want
+of me? What do you ask me to do?’
+
+He put his hat under his arm, and feeling in his breast for Emily’s
+letter, took it out, unfolded it, and gave it to her. ‘Please to read
+that, ma’am. That’s my niece’s hand!’
+
+She read it, in the same stately and impassive way,--untouched by its
+contents, as far as I could see,--and returned it to him.
+
+‘“Unless he brings me back a lady,”’ said Mr. Peggotty, tracing out that
+part with his finger. ‘I come to know, ma’am, whether he will keep his
+wured?’
+
+‘No,’ she returned.
+
+‘Why not?’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘It is impossible. He would disgrace himself. You cannot fail to know
+that she is far below him.’
+
+‘Raise her up!’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘She is uneducated and ignorant.’
+
+‘Maybe she’s not; maybe she is,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘I think not, ma’am;
+but I’m no judge of them things. Teach her better!’
+
+‘Since you oblige me to speak more plainly, which I am very unwilling
+to do, her humble connexions would render such a thing impossible, if
+nothing else did.’
+
+‘Hark to this, ma’am,’ he returned, slowly and quietly. ‘You know what
+it is to love your child. So do I. If she was a hundred times my child,
+I couldn’t love her more. You doen’t know what it is to lose your child.
+I do. All the heaps of riches in the wureld would be nowt to me (if they
+was mine) to buy her back! But, save her from this disgrace, and she
+shall never be disgraced by us. Not one of us that she’s growed up
+among, not one of us that’s lived along with her and had her for their
+all in all, these many year, will ever look upon her pritty face again.
+We’ll be content to let her be; we’ll be content to think of her, far
+off, as if she was underneath another sun and sky; we’ll be content to
+trust her to her husband,--to her little children, p’raps,--and bide the
+time when all of us shall be alike in quality afore our God!’
+
+The rugged eloquence with which he spoke, was not devoid of all effect.
+She still preserved her proud manner, but there was a touch of softness
+in her voice, as she answered:
+
+‘I justify nothing. I make no counter-accusations. But I am sorry to
+repeat, it is impossible. Such a marriage would irretrievably blight my
+son’s career, and ruin his prospects. Nothing is more certain than
+that it never can take place, and never will. If there is any other
+compensation--’
+
+‘I am looking at the likeness of the face,’ interrupted Mr. Peggotty,
+with a steady but a kindling eye, ‘that has looked at me, in my home, at
+my fireside, in my boat--wheer not?---smiling and friendly, when it was
+so treacherous, that I go half wild when I think of it. If the likeness
+of that face don’t turn to burning fire, at the thought of offering
+money to me for my child’s blight and ruin, it’s as bad. I doen’t know,
+being a lady’s, but what it’s worse.’
+
+She changed now, in a moment. An angry flush overspread her features;
+and she said, in an intolerant manner, grasping the arm-chair tightly
+with her hands:
+
+‘What compensation can you make to ME for opening such a pit between me
+and my son? What is your love to mine? What is your separation to ours?’
+
+Miss Dartle softly touched her, and bent down her head to whisper, but
+she would not hear a word.
+
+‘No, Rosa, not a word! Let the man listen to what I say! My son, who has
+been the object of my life, to whom its every thought has been devoted,
+whom I have gratified from a child in every wish, from whom I have had
+no separate existence since his birth,--to take up in a moment with a
+miserable girl, and avoid me! To repay my confidence with systematic
+deception, for her sake, and quit me for her! To set this wretched
+fancy, against his mother’s claims upon his duty, love, respect,
+gratitude--claims that every day and hour of his life should have
+strengthened into ties that nothing could be proof against! Is this no
+injury?’
+
+Again Rosa Dartle tried to soothe her; again ineffectually.
+
+‘I say, Rosa, not a word! If he can stake his all upon the lightest
+object, I can stake my all upon a greater purpose. Let him go where he
+will, with the means that my love has secured to him! Does he think to
+reduce me by long absence? He knows his mother very little if he does.
+Let him put away his whim now, and he is welcome back. Let him not put
+her away now, and he never shall come near me, living or dying, while
+I can raise my hand to make a sign against it, unless, being rid of her
+for ever, he comes humbly to me and begs for my forgiveness. This is my
+right. This is the acknowledgement I WILL HAVE. This is the separation
+that there is between us! And is this,’ she added, looking at her
+visitor with the proud intolerant air with which she had begun, ‘no
+injury?’
+
+While I heard and saw the mother as she said these words, I seemed to
+hear and see the son, defying them. All that I had ever seen in him of
+an unyielding, wilful spirit, I saw in her. All the understanding that
+I had now of his misdirected energy, became an understanding of her
+character too, and a perception that it was, in its strongest springs,
+the same.
+
+She now observed to me, aloud, resuming her former restraint, that it
+was useless to hear more, or to say more, and that she begged to put an
+end to the interview. She rose with an air of dignity to leave the room,
+when Mr. Peggotty signified that it was needless.
+
+‘Doen’t fear me being any hindrance to you, I have no more to say,
+ma’am,’ he remarked, as he moved towards the door. ‘I come heer with no
+hope, and I take away no hope. I have done what I thowt should be done,
+but I never looked fur any good to come of my stan’ning where I do.
+This has been too evil a house fur me and mine, fur me to be in my right
+senses and expect it.’
+
+With this, we departed; leaving her standing by her elbow-chair, a
+picture of a noble presence and a handsome face.
+
+We had, on our way out, to cross a paved hall, with glass sides and
+roof, over which a vine was trained. Its leaves and shoots were green
+then, and the day being sunny, a pair of glass doors leading to the
+garden were thrown open. Rosa Dartle, entering this way with a noiseless
+step, when we were close to them, addressed herself to me:
+
+‘You do well,’ she said, ‘indeed, to bring this fellow here!’
+
+Such a concentration of rage and scorn as darkened her face, and flashed
+in her jet-black eyes, I could not have thought compressible even into
+that face. The scar made by the hammer was, as usual in this excited
+state of her features, strongly marked. When the throbbing I had seen
+before, came into it as I looked at her, she absolutely lifted up her
+hand, and struck it.
+
+‘This is a fellow,’ she said, ‘to champion and bring here, is he not?
+You are a true man!’
+
+‘Miss Dartle,’ I returned, ‘you are surely not so unjust as to condemn
+ME!’
+
+‘Why do you bring division between these two mad creatures?’ she
+returned. ‘Don’t you know that they are both mad with their own
+self-will and pride?’
+
+‘Is it my doing?’ I returned.
+
+‘Is it your doing!’ she retorted. ‘Why do you bring this man here?’
+
+‘He is a deeply-injured man, Miss Dartle,’ I replied. ‘You may not know
+it.’
+
+‘I know that James Steerforth,’ she said, with her hand on her bosom, as
+if to prevent the storm that was raging there, from being loud, ‘has
+a false, corrupt heart, and is a traitor. But what need I know or care
+about this fellow, and his common niece?’
+
+‘Miss Dartle,’ I returned, ‘you deepen the injury. It is sufficient
+already. I will only say, at parting, that you do him a great wrong.’
+
+‘I do him no wrong,’ she returned. ‘They are a depraved, worthless set.
+I would have her whipped!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty passed on, without a word, and went out at the door.
+
+‘Oh, shame, Miss Dartle! shame!’ I said indignantly. ‘How can you bear
+to trample on his undeserved affliction!’
+
+‘I would trample on them all,’ she answered. ‘I would have his house
+pulled down. I would have her branded on the face, dressed in rags,
+and cast out in the streets to starve. If I had the power to sit in
+judgement on her, I would see it done. See it done? I would do it! I
+detest her. If I ever could reproach her with her infamous condition, I
+would go anywhere to do so. If I could hunt her to her grave, I would.
+If there was any word of comfort that would be a solace to her in her
+dying hour, and only I possessed it, I wouldn’t part with it for Life
+itself.’
+
+The mere vehemence of her words can convey, I am sensible, but a weak
+impression of the passion by which she was possessed, and which made
+itself articulate in her whole figure, though her voice, instead of
+being raised, was lower than usual. No description I could give of her
+would do justice to my recollection of her, or to her entire deliverance
+of herself to her anger. I have seen passion in many forms, but I have
+never seen it in such a form as that.
+
+When I joined Mr. Peggotty, he was walking slowly and thoughtfully down
+the hill. He told me, as soon as I came up with him, that having now
+discharged his mind of what he had purposed doing in London, he meant
+‘to set out on his travels’, that night. I asked him where he meant to
+go? He only answered, ‘I’m a going, sir, to seek my niece.’
+
+We went back to the little lodging over the chandler’s shop, and there
+I found an opportunity of repeating to Peggotty what he had said to
+me. She informed me, in return, that he had said the same to her that
+morning. She knew no more than I did, where he was going, but she
+thought he had some project shaped out in his mind.
+
+I did not like to leave him, under such circumstances, and we all three
+dined together off a beefsteak pie--which was one of the many good
+things for which Peggotty was famous--and which was curiously flavoured
+on this occasion, I recollect well, by a miscellaneous taste of tea,
+coffee, butter, bacon, cheese, new loaves, firewood, candles, and walnut
+ketchup, continually ascending from the shop. After dinner we sat for an
+hour or so near the window, without talking much; and then Mr. Peggotty
+got up, and brought his oilskin bag and his stout stick, and laid them
+on the table.
+
+He accepted, from his sister’s stock of ready money, a small sum on
+account of his legacy; barely enough, I should have thought, to keep him
+for a month. He promised to communicate with me, when anything befell
+him; and he slung his bag about him, took his hat and stick, and bade us
+both ‘Good-bye!’
+
+‘All good attend you, dear old woman,’ he said, embracing Peggotty, ‘and
+you too, Mas’r Davy!’ shaking hands with me. ‘I’m a-going to seek her,
+fur and wide. If she should come home while I’m away--but ah, that ain’t
+like to be!--or if I should bring her back, my meaning is, that she
+and me shall live and die where no one can’t reproach her. If any hurt
+should come to me, remember that the last words I left for her was, “My
+unchanged love is with my darling child, and I forgive her!”’
+
+He said this solemnly, bare-headed; then, putting on his hat, he went
+down the stairs, and away. We followed to the door. It was a warm, dusty
+evening, just the time when, in the great main thoroughfare out of which
+that by-way turned, there was a temporary lull in the eternal tread of
+feet upon the pavement, and a strong red sunshine. He turned, alone, at
+the corner of our shady street, into a glow of light, in which we lost
+him.
+
+Rarely did that hour of the evening come, rarely did I wake at night,
+rarely did I look up at the moon, or stars, or watch the falling rain,
+or hear the wind, but I thought of his solitary figure toiling on, poor
+pilgrim, and recalled the words:
+
+‘I’m a going to seek her, fur and wide. If any hurt should come to me,
+remember that the last words I left for her was, “My unchanged love is
+with my darling child, and I forgive her!”’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 33. BLISSFUL
+
+
+All this time, I had gone on loving Dora, harder than ever. Her idea was
+my refuge in disappointment and distress, and made some amends to me,
+even for the loss of my friend. The more I pitied myself, or pitied
+others, the more I sought for consolation in the image of Dora. The
+greater the accumulation of deceit and trouble in the world, the
+brighter and the purer shone the star of Dora high above the world. I
+don’t think I had any definite idea where Dora came from, or in what
+degree she was related to a higher order of beings; but I am quite sure
+I should have scouted the notion of her being simply human, like any
+other young lady, with indignation and contempt.
+
+If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was not merely over
+head and ears in love with her, but I was saturated through and through.
+Enough love might have been wrung out of me, metaphorically speaking,
+to drown anybody in; and yet there would have remained enough within me,
+and all over me, to pervade my entire existence.
+
+The first thing I did, on my own account, when I came back, was to take
+a night-walk to Norwood, and, like the subject of a venerable riddle of
+my childhood, to go ‘round and round the house, without ever
+touching the house’, thinking about Dora. I believe the theme of this
+incomprehensible conundrum was the moon. No matter what it was, I, the
+moon-struck slave of Dora, perambulated round and round the house and
+garden for two hours, looking through crevices in the palings, getting
+my chin by dint of violent exertion above the rusty nails on the top,
+blowing kisses at the lights in the windows, and romantically calling
+on the night, at intervals, to shield my Dora--I don’t exactly know what
+from, I suppose from fire. Perhaps from mice, to which she had a great
+objection.
+
+My love was so much in my mind and it was so natural to me to confide in
+Peggotty, when I found her again by my side of an evening with the old
+set of industrial implements, busily making the tour of my wardrobe,
+that I imparted to her, in a sufficiently roundabout way, my great
+secret. Peggotty was strongly interested, but I could not get her into
+my view of the case at all. She was audaciously prejudiced in my favour,
+and quite unable to understand why I should have any misgivings, or be
+low-spirited about it. ‘The young lady might think herself well off,’
+she observed, ‘to have such a beau. And as to her Pa,’ she said, ‘what
+did the gentleman expect, for gracious sake!’
+
+I observed, however, that Mr. Spenlow’s proctorial gown and stiff cravat
+took Peggotty down a little, and inspired her with a greater reverence
+for the man who was gradually becoming more and more etherealized in my
+eyes every day, and about whom a reflected radiance seemed to me to beam
+when he sat erect in Court among his papers, like a little lighthouse in
+a sea of stationery. And by the by, it used to be uncommonly strange
+to me to consider, I remember, as I sat in Court too, how those dim old
+judges and doctors wouldn’t have cared for Dora, if they had known
+her; how they wouldn’t have gone out of their senses with rapture, if
+marriage with Dora had been proposed to them; how Dora might have sung,
+and played upon that glorified guitar, until she led me to the verge of
+madness, yet not have tempted one of those slow-goers an inch out of his
+road!
+
+I despised them, to a man. Frozen-out old gardeners in the flower-beds
+of the heart, I took a personal offence against them all. The Bench
+was nothing to me but an insensible blunderer. The Bar had no more
+tenderness or poetry in it, than the bar of a public-house.
+
+Taking the management of Peggotty’s affairs into my own hands, with
+no little pride, I proved the will, and came to a settlement with the
+Legacy Duty-office, and took her to the Bank, and soon got everything
+into an orderly train. We varied the legal character of these
+proceedings by going to see some perspiring Wax-work, in Fleet Street
+(melted, I should hope, these twenty years); and by visiting Miss
+Linwood’s Exhibition, which I remember as a Mausoleum of needlework,
+favourable to self-examination and repentance; and by inspecting the
+Tower of London; and going to the top of St. Paul’s. All these wonders
+afforded Peggotty as much pleasure as she was able to enjoy, under
+existing circumstances: except, I think, St. Paul’s, which, from her
+long attachment to her work-box, became a rival of the picture on the
+lid, and was, in some particulars, vanquished, she considered, by that
+work of art.
+
+Peggotty’s business, which was what we used to call ‘common-form
+business’ in the Commons (and very light and lucrative the common-form
+business was), being settled, I took her down to the office one morning
+to pay her bill. Mr. Spenlow had stepped out, old Tiffey said, to get a
+gentleman sworn for a marriage licence; but as I knew he would be
+back directly, our place lying close to the Surrogate’s, and to the
+Vicar-General’s office too, I told Peggotty to wait.
+
+We were a little like undertakers, in the Commons, as regarded Probate
+transactions; generally making it a rule to look more or less cut up,
+when we had to deal with clients in mourning. In a similar feeling
+of delicacy, we were always blithe and light-hearted with the licence
+clients. Therefore I hinted to Peggotty that she would find Mr. Spenlow
+much recovered from the shock of Mr. Barkis’s decease; and indeed he
+came in like a bridegroom.
+
+But neither Peggotty nor I had eyes for him, when we saw, in company
+with him, Mr. Murdstone. He was very little changed. His hair looked as
+thick, and was certainly as black, as ever; and his glance was as little
+to be trusted as of old.
+
+‘Ah, Copperfield?’ said Mr. Spenlow. ‘You know this gentleman, I
+believe?’
+
+I made my gentleman a distant bow, and Peggotty barely recognized him.
+He was, at first, somewhat disconcerted to meet us two together; but
+quickly decided what to do, and came up to me.
+
+‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that you are doing well?’
+
+‘It can hardly be interesting to you,’ said I. ‘Yes, if you wish to
+know.’
+
+We looked at each other, and he addressed himself to Peggotty.
+
+‘And you,’ said he. ‘I am sorry to observe that you have lost your
+husband.’
+
+‘It’s not the first loss I have had in my life, Mr. Murdstone,’ replied
+Peggotty, trembling from head to foot. ‘I am glad to hope that there is
+nobody to blame for this one,--nobody to answer for it.’
+
+‘Ha!’ said he; ‘that’s a comfortable reflection. You have done your
+duty?’
+
+‘I have not worn anybody’s life away,’ said Peggotty, ‘I am thankful to
+think! No, Mr. Murdstone, I have not worrited and frightened any sweet
+creetur to an early grave!’
+
+He eyed her gloomily--remorsefully I thought--for an instant; and said,
+turning his head towards me, but looking at my feet instead of my face:
+
+‘We are not likely to encounter soon again;--a source of satisfaction to
+us both, no doubt, for such meetings as this can never be agreeable. I
+do not expect that you, who always rebelled against my just authority,
+exerted for your benefit and reformation, should owe me any good-will
+now. There is an antipathy between us--’
+
+‘An old one, I believe?’ said I, interrupting him.
+
+He smiled, and shot as evil a glance at me as could come from his dark
+eyes.
+
+‘It rankled in your baby breast,’ he said. ‘It embittered the life of
+your poor mother. You are right. I hope you may do better, yet; I hope
+you may correct yourself.’
+
+Here he ended the dialogue, which had been carried on in a low voice,
+in a corner of the outer office, by passing into Mr. Spenlow’s room, and
+saying aloud, in his smoothest manner:
+
+‘Gentlemen of Mr. Spenlow’s profession are accustomed to family
+differences, and know how complicated and difficult they always are!’
+With that, he paid the money for his licence; and, receiving it neatly
+folded from Mr. Spenlow, together with a shake of the hand, and a polite
+wish for his happiness and the lady’s, went out of the office.
+
+I might have had more difficulty in constraining myself to be silent
+under his words, if I had had less difficulty in impressing upon
+Peggotty (who was only angry on my account, good creature!) that we were
+not in a place for recrimination, and that I besought her to hold her
+peace. She was so unusually roused, that I was glad to compound for
+an affectionate hug, elicited by this revival in her mind of our old
+injuries, and to make the best I could of it, before Mr. Spenlow and the
+clerks.
+
+Mr. Spenlow did not appear to know what the connexion between Mr.
+Murdstone and myself was; which I was glad of, for I could not bear to
+acknowledge him, even in my own breast, remembering what I did of the
+history of my poor mother. Mr. Spenlow seemed to think, if he thought
+anything about the matter, that my aunt was the leader of the state
+party in our family, and that there was a rebel party commanded by
+somebody else--so I gathered at least from what he said, while we were
+waiting for Mr. Tiffey to make out Peggotty’s bill of costs.
+
+‘Miss Trotwood,’ he remarked, ‘is very firm, no doubt, and not likely
+to give way to opposition. I have an admiration for her character, and
+I may congratulate you, Copperfield, on being on the right side.
+Differences between relations are much to be deplored--but they are
+extremely general--and the great thing is, to be on the right side’:
+meaning, I take it, on the side of the moneyed interest.
+
+‘Rather a good marriage this, I believe?’ said Mr. Spenlow.
+
+I explained that I knew nothing about it.
+
+‘Indeed!’ he said. ‘Speaking from the few words Mr. Murdstone
+dropped--as a man frequently does on these occasions--and from what Miss
+Murdstone let fall, I should say it was rather a good marriage.’
+
+‘Do you mean that there is money, sir?’ I asked.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Mr. Spenlow, ‘I understand there’s money. Beauty too, I am
+told.’
+
+‘Indeed! Is his new wife young?’
+
+‘Just of age,’ said Mr. Spenlow. ‘So lately, that I should think they
+had been waiting for that.’
+
+‘Lord deliver her!’ said Peggotty. So very emphatically and
+unexpectedly, that we were all three discomposed; until Tiffey came in
+with the bill.
+
+Old Tiffey soon appeared, however, and handed it to Mr. Spenlow, to
+look over. Mr. Spenlow, settling his chin in his cravat and rubbing it
+softly, went over the items with a deprecatory air--as if it were all
+Jorkins’s doing--and handed it back to Tiffey with a bland sigh.
+
+‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s right. Quite right. I should have been extremely
+happy, Copperfield, to have limited these charges to the actual
+expenditure out of pocket, but it is an irksome incident in my
+professional life, that I am not at liberty to consult my own wishes. I
+have a partner--Mr. Jorkins.’
+
+As he said this with a gentle melancholy, which was the next thing to
+making no charge at all, I expressed my acknowledgements on Peggotty’s
+behalf, and paid Tiffey in banknotes. Peggotty then retired to
+her lodging, and Mr. Spenlow and I went into Court, where we had a
+divorce-suit coming on, under an ingenious little statute (repealed
+now, I believe, but in virtue of which I have seen several marriages
+annulled), of which the merits were these. The husband, whose name was
+Thomas Benjamin, had taken out his marriage licence as Thomas only;
+suppressing the Benjamin, in case he should not find himself as
+comfortable as he expected. NOT finding himself as comfortable as he
+expected, or being a little fatigued with his wife, poor fellow, he
+now came forward, by a friend, after being married a year or two, and
+declared that his name was Thomas Benjamin, and therefore he was not
+married at all. Which the Court confirmed, to his great satisfaction.
+
+I must say that I had my doubts about the strict justice of this,
+and was not even frightened out of them by the bushel of wheat which
+reconciles all anomalies. But Mr. Spenlow argued the matter with me. He
+said, Look at the world, there was good and evil in that; look at the
+ecclesiastical law, there was good and evil in THAT. It was all part of
+a system. Very good. There you were!
+
+I had not the hardihood to suggest to Dora’s father that possibly
+we might even improve the world a little, if we got up early in the
+morning, and took off our coats to the work; but I confessed that I
+thought we might improve the Commons. Mr. Spenlow replied that he would
+particularly advise me to dismiss that idea from my mind, as not being
+worthy of my gentlemanly character; but that he would be glad to hear
+from me of what improvement I thought the Commons susceptible?
+
+Taking that part of the Commons which happened to be nearest to us--for
+our man was unmarried by this time, and we were out of Court, and
+strolling past the Prerogative Office--I submitted that I thought the
+Prerogative Office rather a queerly managed institution. Mr. Spenlow
+inquired in what respect? I replied, with all due deference to his
+experience (but with more deference, I am afraid, to his being Dora’s
+father), that perhaps it was a little nonsensical that the Registry of
+that Court, containing the original wills of all persons leaving effects
+within the immense province of Canterbury, for three whole centuries,
+should be an accidental building, never designed for the purpose, leased
+by the registrars for their Own private emolument, unsafe, not even
+ascertained to be fire-proof, choked with the important documents
+it held, and positively, from the roof to the basement, a mercenary
+speculation of the registrars, who took great fees from the public, and
+crammed the public’s wills away anyhow and anywhere, having no other
+object than to get rid of them cheaply. That, perhaps, it was a little
+unreasonable that these registrars in the receipt of profits amounting
+to eight or nine thousand pounds a year (to say nothing of the profits
+of the deputy registrars, and clerks of seats), should not be obliged to
+spend a little of that money, in finding a reasonably safe place for the
+important documents which all classes of people were compelled to hand
+over to them, whether they would or no. That, perhaps, it was a little
+unjust, that all the great offices in this great office should be
+magnificent sinecures, while the unfortunate working-clerks in the cold
+dark room upstairs were the worst rewarded, and the least considered
+men, doing important services, in London. That perhaps it was a little
+indecent that the principal registrar of all, whose duty it was to
+find the public, constantly resorting to this place, all needful
+accommodation, should be an enormous sinecurist in virtue of that post
+(and might be, besides, a clergyman, a pluralist, the holder of a
+staff in a cathedral, and what not),--while the public was put to the
+inconvenience of which we had a specimen every afternoon when the office
+was busy, and which we knew to be quite monstrous. That, perhaps,
+in short, this Prerogative Office of the diocese of Canterbury was
+altogether such a pestilent job, and such a pernicious absurdity, that
+but for its being squeezed away in a corner of St. Paul’s Churchyard,
+which few people knew, it must have been turned completely inside out,
+and upside down, long ago.
+
+Mr. Spenlow smiled as I became modestly warm on the subject, and then
+argued this question with me as he had argued the other. He said, what
+was it after all? It was a question of feeling. If the public felt
+that their wills were in safe keeping, and took it for granted that the
+office was not to be made better, who was the worse for it? Nobody. Who
+was the better for it? All the Sinecurists. Very well. Then the good
+predominated. It might not be a perfect system; nothing was perfect;
+but what he objected to, was, the insertion of the wedge. Under the
+Prerogative Office, the country had been glorious. Insert the wedge into
+the Prerogative Office, and the country would cease to be glorious. He
+considered it the principle of a gentleman to take things as he found
+them; and he had no doubt the Prerogative Office would last our time. I
+deferred to his opinion, though I had great doubts of it myself. I find
+he was right, however; for it has not only lasted to the present moment,
+but has done so in the teeth of a great parliamentary report made (not
+too willingly) eighteen years ago, when all these objections of mine
+were set forth in detail, and when the existing stowage for wills was
+described as equal to the accumulation of only two years and a half
+more. What they have done with them since; whether they have lost many,
+or whether they sell any, now and then, to the butter shops; I don’t
+know. I am glad mine is not there, and I hope it may not go there, yet
+awhile.
+
+I have set all this down, in my present blissful chapter, because here
+it comes into its natural place. Mr. Spenlow and I falling into this
+conversation, prolonged it and our saunter to and fro, until we diverged
+into general topics. And so it came about, in the end, that Mr. Spenlow
+told me this day week was Dora’s birthday, and he would be glad if I
+would come down and join a little picnic on the occasion. I went out of
+my senses immediately; became a mere driveller next day, on receipt of
+a little lace-edged sheet of note-paper, ‘Favoured by papa. To remind’;
+and passed the intervening period in a state of dotage.
+
+I think I committed every possible absurdity in the way of preparation
+for this blessed event. I turn hot when I remember the cravat I bought.
+My boots might be placed in any collection of instruments of torture.
+I provided, and sent down by the Norwood coach the night before, a
+delicate little hamper, amounting in itself, I thought, almost to a
+declaration. There were crackers in it with the tenderest mottoes that
+could be got for money. At six in the morning, I was in Covent Garden
+Market, buying a bouquet for Dora. At ten I was on horseback (I hired a
+gallant grey, for the occasion), with the bouquet in my hat, to keep it
+fresh, trotting down to Norwood.
+
+I suppose that when I saw Dora in the garden and pretended not to see
+her, and rode past the house pretending to be anxiously looking for
+it, I committed two small fooleries which other young gentlemen in my
+circumstances might have committed--because they came so very natural
+to me. But oh! when I DID find the house, and DID dismount at the
+garden-gate, and drag those stony-hearted boots across the lawn to Dora
+sitting on a garden-seat under a lilac tree, what a spectacle she was,
+upon that beautiful morning, among the butterflies, in a white chip
+bonnet and a dress of celestial blue! There was a young lady with
+her--comparatively stricken in years--almost twenty, I should say. Her
+name was Miss Mills. And Dora called her Julia. She was the bosom friend
+of Dora. Happy Miss Mills!
+
+Jip was there, and Jip WOULD bark at me again. When I presented my
+bouquet, he gnashed his teeth with jealousy. Well he might. If he had
+the least idea how I adored his mistress, well he might!
+
+‘Oh, thank you, Mr. Copperfield! What dear flowers!’ said Dora.
+
+I had had an intention of saying (and had been studying the best form of
+words for three miles) that I thought them beautiful before I saw them
+so near HER. But I couldn’t manage it. She was too bewildering. To see
+her lay the flowers against her little dimpled chin, was to lose all
+presence of mind and power of language in a feeble ecstasy. I wonder I
+didn’t say, ‘Kill me, if you have a heart, Miss Mills. Let me die here!’
+
+Then Dora held my flowers to Jip to smell. Then Jip growled, and
+wouldn’t smell them. Then Dora laughed, and held them a little closer
+to Jip, to make him. Then Jip laid hold of a bit of geranium with his
+teeth, and worried imaginary cats in it. Then Dora beat him, and pouted,
+and said, ‘My poor beautiful flowers!’ as compassionately, I thought, as
+if Jip had laid hold of me. I wished he had!
+
+‘You’ll be so glad to hear, Mr. Copperfield,’ said Dora, ‘that that
+cross Miss Murdstone is not here. She has gone to her brother’s
+marriage, and will be away at least three weeks. Isn’t that delightful?’
+
+I said I was sure it must be delightful to her, and all that was
+delightful to her was delightful to me. Miss Mills, with an air of
+superior wisdom and benevolence, smiled upon us.
+
+‘She is the most disagreeable thing I ever saw,’ said Dora. ‘You can’t
+believe how ill-tempered and shocking she is, Julia.’
+
+‘Yes, I can, my dear!’ said Julia.
+
+‘YOU can, perhaps, love,’ returned Dora, with her hand on Julia’s.
+‘Forgive my not excepting you, my dear, at first.’
+
+I learnt, from this, that Miss Mills had had her trials in the course
+of a chequered existence; and that to these, perhaps, I might refer that
+wise benignity of manner which I had already noticed. I found, in
+the course of the day, that this was the case: Miss Mills having been
+unhappy in a misplaced affection, and being understood to have retired
+from the world on her awful stock of experience, but still to take a
+calm interest in the unblighted hopes and loves of youth.
+
+But now Mr. Spenlow came out of the house, and Dora went to him,
+saying, ‘Look, papa, what beautiful flowers!’ And Miss Mills smiled
+thoughtfully, as who should say, ‘Ye Mayflies, enjoy your brief
+existence in the bright morning of life!’ And we all walked from the
+lawn towards the carriage, which was getting ready.
+
+I shall never have such a ride again. I have never had such another.
+There were only those three, their hamper, my hamper, and the
+guitar-case, in the phaeton; and, of course, the phaeton was open; and
+I rode behind it, and Dora sat with her back to the horses, looking
+towards me. She kept the bouquet close to her on the cushion, and
+wouldn’t allow Jip to sit on that side of her at all, for fear he should
+crush it. She often carried it in her hand, often refreshed herself
+with its fragrance. Our eyes at those times often met; and my great
+astonishment is that I didn’t go over the head of my gallant grey into
+the carriage.
+
+There was dust, I believe. There was a good deal of dust, I believe. I
+have a faint impression that Mr. Spenlow remonstrated with me for riding
+in it; but I knew of none. I was sensible of a mist of love and beauty
+about Dora, but of nothing else. He stood up sometimes, and asked me
+what I thought of the prospect. I said it was delightful, and I dare
+say it was; but it was all Dora to me. The sun shone Dora, and the birds
+sang Dora. The south wind blew Dora, and the wild flowers in the hedges
+were all Doras, to a bud. My comfort is, Miss Mills understood me. Miss
+Mills alone could enter into my feelings thoroughly.
+
+I don’t know how long we were going, and to this hour I know as little
+where we went. Perhaps it was near Guildford. Perhaps some Arabian-night
+magician, opened up the place for the day, and shut it up for ever when
+we came away. It was a green spot, on a hill, carpeted with soft turf.
+There were shady trees, and heather, and, as far as the eye could see, a
+rich landscape.
+
+It was a trying thing to find people here, waiting for us; and my
+jealousy, even of the ladies, knew no bounds. But all of my own
+sex--especially one impostor, three or four years my elder, with a red
+whisker, on which he established an amount of presumption not to be
+endured--were my mortal foes.
+
+We all unpacked our baskets, and employed ourselves in getting dinner
+ready. Red Whisker pretended he could make a salad (which I don’t
+believe), and obtruded himself on public notice. Some of the young
+ladies washed the lettuces for him, and sliced them under his
+directions. Dora was among these. I felt that fate had pitted me against
+this man, and one of us must fall.
+
+Red Whisker made his salad (I wondered how they could eat it. Nothing
+should have induced ME to touch it!) and voted himself into the charge
+of the wine-cellar, which he constructed, being an ingenious beast, in
+the hollow trunk of a tree. By and by, I saw him, with the majority of a
+lobster on his plate, eating his dinner at the feet of Dora!
+
+I have but an indistinct idea of what happened for some time after this
+baleful object presented itself to my view. I was very merry, I know;
+but it was hollow merriment. I attached myself to a young creature in
+pink, with little eyes, and flirted with her desperately. She received
+my attentions with favour; but whether on my account solely, or because
+she had any designs on Red Whisker, I can’t say. Dora’s health was
+drunk. When I drank it, I affected to interrupt my conversation for that
+purpose, and to resume it immediately afterwards. I caught Dora’s eye as
+I bowed to her, and I thought it looked appealing. But it looked at me
+over the head of Red Whisker, and I was adamant.
+
+The young creature in pink had a mother in green; and I rather think the
+latter separated us from motives of policy. Howbeit, there was a general
+breaking up of the party, while the remnants of the dinner were being
+put away; and I strolled off by myself among the trees, in a raging and
+remorseful state. I was debating whether I should pretend that I was not
+well, and fly--I don’t know where--upon my gallant grey, when Dora and
+Miss Mills met me.
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ said Miss Mills, ‘you are dull.’
+
+I begged her pardon. Not at all.
+
+‘And Dora,’ said Miss Mills, ‘YOU are dull.’
+
+Oh dear no! Not in the least.
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield and Dora,’ said Miss Mills, with an almost venerable
+air. ‘Enough of this. Do not allow a trivial misunderstanding to wither
+the blossoms of spring, which, once put forth and blighted, cannot be
+renewed. I speak,’ said Miss Mills, ‘from experience of the past--the
+remote, irrevocable past. The gushing fountains which sparkle in the
+sun, must not be stopped in mere caprice; the oasis in the desert of
+Sahara must not be plucked up idly.’
+
+I hardly knew what I did, I was burning all over to that extraordinary
+extent; but I took Dora’s little hand and kissed it--and she let me!
+I kissed Miss Mills’s hand; and we all seemed, to my thinking, to go
+straight up to the seventh heaven. We did not come down again. We stayed
+up there all the evening. At first we strayed to and fro among the
+trees: I with Dora’s shy arm drawn through mine: and Heaven knows,
+folly as it all was, it would have been a happy fate to have been struck
+immortal with those foolish feelings, and have stayed among the trees
+for ever!
+
+But, much too soon, we heard the others laughing and talking, and
+calling ‘where’s Dora?’ So we went back, and they wanted Dora to sing.
+Red Whisker would have got the guitar-case out of the carriage, but Dora
+told him nobody knew where it was, but I. So Red Whisker was done for
+in a moment; and I got it, and I unlocked it, and I took the guitar out,
+and I sat by her, and I held her handkerchief and gloves, and I drank in
+every note of her dear voice, and she sang to ME who loved her, and all
+the others might applaud as much as they liked, but they had nothing to
+do with it!
+
+I was intoxicated with joy. I was afraid it was too happy to be real,
+and that I should wake in Buckingham Street presently, and hear Mrs.
+Crupp clinking the teacups in getting breakfast ready. But Dora sang,
+and others sang, and Miss Mills sang--about the slumbering echoes in the
+caverns of Memory; as if she were a hundred years old--and the evening
+came on; and we had tea, with the kettle boiling gipsy-fashion; and I
+was still as happy as ever.
+
+I was happier than ever when the party broke up, and the other people,
+defeated Red Whisker and all, went their several ways, and we went ours
+through the still evening and the dying light, with sweet scents
+rising up around us. Mr. Spenlow being a little drowsy after the
+champagne--honour to the soil that grew the grape, to the grape that
+made the wine, to the sun that ripened it, and to the merchant who
+adulterated it!--and being fast asleep in a corner of the carriage, I
+rode by the side and talked to Dora. She admired my horse and patted
+him--oh, what a dear little hand it looked upon a horse!--and her shawl
+would not keep right, and now and then I drew it round her with my arm;
+and I even fancied that Jip began to see how it was, and to understand
+that he must make up his mind to be friends with me.
+
+That sagacious Miss Mills, too; that amiable, though quite used up,
+recluse; that little patriarch of something less than twenty, who had
+done with the world, and mustn’t on any account have the slumbering
+echoes in the caverns of Memory awakened; what a kind thing she did!
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ said Miss Mills, ‘come to this side of the carriage a
+moment--if you can spare a moment. I want to speak to you.’
+
+Behold me, on my gallant grey, bending at the side of Miss Mills, with
+my hand upon the carriage door!
+
+‘Dora is coming to stay with me. She is coming home with me the day
+after tomorrow. If you would like to call, I am sure papa would be
+happy to see you.’ What could I do but invoke a silent blessing on Miss
+Mills’s head, and store Miss Mills’s address in the securest corner of
+my memory! What could I do but tell Miss Mills, with grateful looks
+and fervent words, how much I appreciated her good offices, and what an
+inestimable value I set upon her friendship!
+
+Then Miss Mills benignantly dismissed me, saying, ‘Go back to Dora!’ and
+I went; and Dora leaned out of the carriage to talk to me, and we talked
+all the rest of the way; and I rode my gallant grey so close to the
+wheel that I grazed his near fore leg against it, and ‘took the bark
+off’, as his owner told me, ‘to the tune of three pun’ sivin’--which I
+paid, and thought extremely cheap for so much joy. What time Miss Mills
+sat looking at the moon, murmuring verses--and recalling, I suppose, the
+ancient days when she and earth had anything in common.
+
+Norwood was many miles too near, and we reached it many hours too soon;
+but Mr. Spenlow came to himself a little short of it, and said,
+‘You must come in, Copperfield, and rest!’ and I consenting, we had
+sandwiches and wine-and-water. In the light room, Dora blushing looked
+so lovely, that I could not tear myself away, but sat there staring, in
+a dream, until the snoring of Mr. Spenlow inspired me with sufficient
+consciousness to take my leave. So we parted; I riding all the way
+to London with the farewell touch of Dora’s hand still light on mine,
+recalling every incident and word ten thousand times; lying down in my
+own bed at last, as enraptured a young noodle as ever was carried out of
+his five wits by love.
+
+When I awoke next morning, I was resolute to declare my passion to Dora,
+and know my fate. Happiness or misery was now the question. There was no
+other question that I knew of in the world, and only Dora could give the
+answer to it. I passed three days in a luxury of wretchedness, torturing
+myself by putting every conceivable variety of discouraging construction
+on all that ever had taken place between Dora and me. At last, arrayed
+for the purpose at a vast expense, I went to Miss Mills’s, fraught with
+a declaration.
+
+How many times I went up and down the street, and round the
+square--painfully aware of being a much better answer to the old riddle
+than the original one--before I could persuade myself to go up the steps
+and knock, is no matter now. Even when, at last, I had knocked, and was
+waiting at the door, I had some flurried thought of asking if that
+were Mr. Blackboy’s (in imitation of poor Barkis), begging pardon, and
+retreating. But I kept my ground.
+
+Mr. Mills was not at home. I did not expect he would be. Nobody wanted
+HIM. Miss Mills was at home. Miss Mills would do.
+
+I was shown into a room upstairs, where Miss Mills and Dora were. Jip
+was there. Miss Mills was copying music (I recollect, it was a new song,
+called ‘Affection’s Dirge’), and Dora was painting flowers. What were my
+feelings, when I recognized my own flowers; the identical Covent Garden
+Market purchase! I cannot say that they were very like, or that
+they particularly resembled any flowers that have ever come under my
+observation; but I knew from the paper round them which was accurately
+copied, what the composition was.
+
+Miss Mills was very glad to see me, and very sorry her papa was not at
+home: though I thought we all bore that with fortitude. Miss Mills was
+conversational for a few minutes, and then, laying down her pen upon
+‘Affection’s Dirge’, got up, and left the room.
+
+I began to think I would put it off till tomorrow.
+
+‘I hope your poor horse was not tired, when he got home at night,’ said
+Dora, lifting up her beautiful eyes. ‘It was a long way for him.’
+
+I began to think I would do it today.
+
+‘It was a long way for him,’ said I, ‘for he had nothing to uphold him
+on the journey.’
+
+‘Wasn’t he fed, poor thing?’ asked Dora.
+
+I began to think I would put it off till tomorrow.
+
+‘Ye-yes,’ I said, ‘he was well taken care of. I mean he had not the
+unutterable happiness that I had in being so near you.’
+
+Dora bent her head over her drawing and said, after a little while--I
+had sat, in the interval, in a burning fever, and with my legs in a very
+rigid state--
+
+‘You didn’t seem to be sensible of that happiness yourself, at one time
+of the day.’
+
+I saw now that I was in for it, and it must be done on the spot.
+
+‘You didn’t care for that happiness in the least,’ said Dora, slightly
+raising her eyebrows, and shaking her head, ‘when you were sitting by
+Miss Kitt.’
+
+Kitt, I should observe, was the name of the creature in pink, with the
+little eyes.
+
+‘Though certainly I don’t know why you should,’ said Dora, ‘or why you
+should call it a happiness at all. But of course you don’t mean what you
+say. And I am sure no one doubts your being at liberty to do whatever
+you like. Jip, you naughty boy, come here!’
+
+I don’t know how I did it. I did it in a moment. I intercepted Jip.
+I had Dora in my arms. I was full of eloquence. I never stopped for a
+word. I told her how I loved her. I told her I should die without her.
+I told her that I idolized and worshipped her. Jip barked madly all the
+time.
+
+When Dora hung her head and cried, and trembled, my eloquence increased
+so much the more. If she would like me to die for her, she had but to
+say the word, and I was ready. Life without Dora’s love was not a thing
+to have on any terms. I couldn’t bear it, and I wouldn’t. I had loved
+her every minute, day and night, since I first saw her. I loved her at
+that minute to distraction. I should always love her, every minute, to
+distraction. Lovers had loved before, and lovers would love again; but
+no lover had loved, might, could, would, or should ever love, as I loved
+Dora. The more I raved, the more Jip barked. Each of us, in his own way,
+got more mad every moment.
+
+Well, well! Dora and I were sitting on the sofa by and by, quiet enough,
+and Jip was lying in her lap, winking peacefully at me. It was off my
+mind. I was in a state of perfect rapture. Dora and I were engaged.
+
+I suppose we had some notion that this was to end in marriage. We must
+have had some, because Dora stipulated that we were never to be married
+without her papa’s consent. But, in our youthful ecstasy, I don’t think
+that we really looked before us or behind us; or had any aspiration
+beyond the ignorant present. We were to keep our secret from Mr.
+Spenlow; but I am sure the idea never entered my head, then, that there
+was anything dishonourable in that.
+
+Miss Mills was more than usually pensive when Dora, going to find her,
+brought her back;--I apprehend, because there was a tendency in what had
+passed to awaken the slumbering echoes in the caverns of Memory. But she
+gave us her blessing, and the assurance of her lasting friendship, and
+spoke to us, generally, as became a Voice from the Cloister.
+
+What an idle time it was! What an insubstantial, happy, foolish time it
+was!
+
+When I measured Dora’s finger for a ring that was to be made of
+Forget-me-nots, and when the jeweller, to whom I took the measure, found
+me out, and laughed over his order-book, and charged me anything he
+liked for the pretty little toy, with its blue stones--so associated
+in my remembrance with Dora’s hand, that yesterday, when I saw such
+another, by chance, on the finger of my own daughter, there was a
+momentary stirring in my heart, like pain!
+
+When I walked about, exalted with my secret, and full of my own
+interest, and felt the dignity of loving Dora, and of being beloved, so
+much, that if I had walked the air, I could not have been more above the
+people not so situated, who were creeping on the earth!
+
+When we had those meetings in the garden of the square, and sat within
+the dingy summer-house, so happy, that I love the London sparrows to
+this hour, for nothing else, and see the plumage of the tropics in their
+smoky feathers! When we had our first great quarrel (within a week
+of our betrothal), and when Dora sent me back the ring, enclosed in a
+despairing cocked-hat note, wherein she used the terrible expression
+that ‘our love had begun in folly, and ended in madness!’ which dreadful
+words occasioned me to tear my hair, and cry that all was over!
+
+When, under cover of the night, I flew to Miss Mills, whom I saw by
+stealth in a back kitchen where there was a mangle, and implored Miss
+Mills to interpose between us and avert insanity. When Miss Mills
+undertook the office and returned with Dora, exhorting us, from the
+pulpit of her own bitter youth, to mutual concession, and the avoidance
+of the Desert of Sahara!
+
+When we cried, and made it up, and were so blest again, that the back
+kitchen, mangle and all, changed to Love’s own temple, where we arranged
+a plan of correspondence through Miss Mills, always to comprehend at
+least one letter on each side every day!
+
+What an idle time! What an insubstantial, happy, foolish time! Of all
+the times of mine that Time has in his grip, there is none that in one
+retrospect I can smile at half so much, and think of half so tenderly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 34. MY AUNT ASTONISHES ME
+
+
+I wrote to Agnes as soon as Dora and I were engaged. I wrote her a long
+letter, in which I tried to make her comprehend how blest I was, and
+what a darling Dora was. I entreated Agnes not to regard this as a
+thoughtless passion which could ever yield to any other, or had the
+least resemblance to the boyish fancies that we used to joke about. I
+assured her that its profundity was quite unfathomable, and expressed my
+belief that nothing like it had ever been known.
+
+Somehow, as I wrote to Agnes on a fine evening by my open window, and
+the remembrance of her clear calm eyes and gentle face came stealing
+over me, it shed such a peaceful influence upon the hurry and agitation
+in which I had been living lately, and of which my very happiness
+partook in some degree, that it soothed me into tears. I remember that
+I sat resting my head upon my hand, when the letter was half done,
+cherishing a general fancy as if Agnes were one of the elements of my
+natural home. As if, in the retirement of the house made almost sacred
+to me by her presence, Dora and I must be happier than anywhere. As if,
+in love, joy, sorrow, hope, or disappointment; in all emotions; my heart
+turned naturally there, and found its refuge and best friend.
+
+Of Steerforth I said nothing. I only told her there had been sad grief
+at Yarmouth, on account of Emily’s flight; and that on me it made a
+double wound, by reason of the circumstances attending it. I knew how
+quick she always was to divine the truth, and that she would never be
+the first to breathe his name.
+
+To this letter, I received an answer by return of post. As I read it, I
+seemed to hear Agnes speaking to me. It was like her cordial voice in my
+ears. What can I say more!
+
+While I had been away from home lately, Traddles had called twice or
+thrice. Finding Peggotty within, and being informed by Peggotty (who
+always volunteered that information to whomsoever would receive
+it), that she was my old nurse, he had established a good-humoured
+acquaintance with her, and had stayed to have a little chat with her
+about me. So Peggotty said; but I am afraid the chat was all on her
+own side, and of immoderate length, as she was very difficult indeed to
+stop, God bless her! when she had me for her theme.
+
+This reminds me, not only that I expected Traddles on a certain
+afternoon of his own appointing, which was now come, but that Mrs. Crupp
+had resigned everything appertaining to her office (the salary excepted)
+until Peggotty should cease to present herself. Mrs. Crupp, after
+holding divers conversations respecting Peggotty, in a very high-pitched
+voice, on the staircase--with some invisible Familiar it would appear,
+for corporeally speaking she was quite alone at those times--addressed a
+letter to me, developing her views. Beginning it with that statement
+of universal application, which fitted every occurrence of her life,
+namely, that she was a mother herself, she went on to inform me that
+she had once seen very different days, but that at all periods of her
+existence she had had a constitutional objection to spies, intruders,
+and informers. She named no names, she said; let them the cap fitted,
+wear it; but spies, intruders, and informers, especially in widders’
+weeds (this clause was underlined), she had ever accustomed herself to
+look down upon. If a gentleman was the victim of spies, intruders, and
+informers (but still naming no names), that was his own pleasure. He
+had a right to please himself; so let him do. All that she, Mrs. Crupp,
+stipulated for, was, that she should not be ‘brought in contract’
+with such persons. Therefore she begged to be excused from any further
+attendance on the top set, until things were as they formerly was, and
+as they could be wished to be; and further mentioned that her little
+book would be found upon the breakfast-table every Saturday morning,
+when she requested an immediate settlement of the same, with the
+benevolent view of saving trouble ‘and an ill-conwenience’ to all
+parties.
+
+After this, Mrs. Crupp confined herself to making pitfalls on the
+stairs, principally with pitchers, and endeavouring to delude Peggotty
+into breaking her legs. I found it rather harassing to live in this
+state of siege, but was too much afraid of Mrs. Crupp to see any way out
+of it.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ cried Traddles, punctually appearing at my door,
+in spite of all these obstacles, ‘how do you do?’
+
+‘My dear Traddles,’ said I, ‘I am delighted to see you at last, and very
+sorry I have not been at home before. But I have been so much engaged--’
+
+‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Traddles, ‘of course. Yours lives in London, I
+think.’
+
+‘What did you say?’
+
+‘She--excuse me--Miss D., you know,’ said Traddles, colouring in his
+great delicacy, ‘lives in London, I believe?’
+
+‘Oh yes. Near London.’
+
+‘Mine, perhaps you recollect,’ said Traddles, with a serious look,
+‘lives down in Devonshire--one of ten. Consequently, I am not so much
+engaged as you--in that sense.’
+
+‘I wonder you can bear,’ I returned, ‘to see her so seldom.’
+
+‘Hah!’ said Traddles, thoughtfully. ‘It does seem a wonder. I suppose it
+is, Copperfield, because there is no help for it?’
+
+‘I suppose so,’ I replied with a smile, and not without a blush. ‘And
+because you have so much constancy and patience, Traddles.’
+
+‘Dear me!’ said Traddles, considering about it, ‘do I strike you in that
+way, Copperfield? Really I didn’t know that I had. But she is such
+an extraordinarily dear girl herself, that it’s possible she may
+have imparted something of those virtues to me. Now you mention it,
+Copperfield, I shouldn’t wonder at all. I assure you she is always
+forgetting herself, and taking care of the other nine.’
+
+‘Is she the eldest?’ I inquired.
+
+‘Oh dear, no,’ said Traddles. ‘The eldest is a Beauty.’
+
+He saw, I suppose, that I could not help smiling at the simplicity of
+this reply; and added, with a smile upon his own ingenuous face:
+
+‘Not, of course, but that my Sophy--pretty name, Copperfield, I always
+think?’
+
+‘Very pretty!’ said I.
+
+‘Not, of course, but that Sophy is beautiful too in my eyes, and would
+be one of the dearest girls that ever was, in anybody’s eyes (I should
+think). But when I say the eldest is a Beauty, I mean she really is
+a--’ he seemed to be describing clouds about himself, with both hands:
+‘Splendid, you know,’ said Traddles, energetically. ‘Indeed!’ said I.
+
+‘Oh, I assure you,’ said Traddles, ‘something very uncommon, indeed!
+Then, you know, being formed for society and admiration, and not being
+able to enjoy much of it in consequence of their limited means, she
+naturally gets a little irritable and exacting, sometimes. Sophy puts
+her in good humour!’
+
+‘Is Sophy the youngest?’ I hazarded.
+
+‘Oh dear, no!’ said Traddles, stroking his chin. ‘The two youngest are
+only nine and ten. Sophy educates ‘em.’
+
+‘The second daughter, perhaps?’ I hazarded.
+
+‘No,’ said Traddles. ‘Sarah’s the second. Sarah has something the matter
+with her spine, poor girl. The malady will wear out by and by, the
+doctors say, but in the meantime she has to lie down for a twelvemonth.
+Sophy nurses her. Sophy’s the fourth.’
+
+‘Is the mother living?’ I inquired.
+
+‘Oh yes,’ said Traddles, ‘she is alive. She is a very superior woman
+indeed, but the damp country is not adapted to her constitution, and--in
+fact, she has lost the use of her limbs.’
+
+‘Dear me!’ said I.
+
+‘Very sad, is it not?’ returned Traddles. ‘But in a merely domestic view
+it is not so bad as it might be, because Sophy takes her place. She is
+quite as much a mother to her mother, as she is to the other nine.’
+
+I felt the greatest admiration for the virtues of this young lady; and,
+honestly with the view of doing my best to prevent the good-nature
+of Traddles from being imposed upon, to the detriment of their joint
+prospects in life, inquired how Mr. Micawber was?
+
+‘He is quite well, Copperfield, thank you,’ said Traddles. ‘I am not
+living with him at present.’
+
+‘No?’
+
+‘No. You see the truth is,’ said Traddles, in a whisper, ‘he had changed
+his name to Mortimer, in consequence of his temporary embarrassments;
+and he don’t come out till after dark--and then in spectacles. There was
+an execution put into our house, for rent. Mrs. Micawber was in such
+a dreadful state that I really couldn’t resist giving my name to that
+second bill we spoke of here. You may imagine how delightful it was to
+my feelings, Copperfield, to see the matter settled with it, and Mrs.
+Micawber recover her spirits.’
+
+‘Hum!’ said I. ‘Not that her happiness was of long duration,’ pursued
+Traddles, ‘for, unfortunately, within a week another execution came
+in. It broke up the establishment. I have been living in a furnished
+apartment since then, and the Mortimers have been very private indeed.
+I hope you won’t think it selfish, Copperfield, if I mention that
+the broker carried off my little round table with the marble top, and
+Sophy’s flower-pot and stand?’
+
+‘What a hard thing!’ I exclaimed indignantly.
+
+‘It was a--it was a pull,’ said Traddles, with his usual wince at that
+expression. ‘I don’t mention it reproachfully, however, but with a
+motive. The fact is, Copperfield, I was unable to repurchase them at the
+time of their seizure; in the first place, because the broker, having an
+idea that I wanted them, ran the price up to an extravagant extent; and,
+in the second place, because I--hadn’t any money. Now, I have kept
+my eye since, upon the broker’s shop,’ said Traddles, with a great
+enjoyment of his mystery, ‘which is up at the top of Tottenham Court
+Road, and, at last, today I find them put out for sale. I have only
+noticed them from over the way, because if the broker saw me, bless you,
+he’d ask any price for them! What has occurred to me, having now the
+money, is, that perhaps you wouldn’t object to ask that good nurse of
+yours to come with me to the shop--I can show it her from round the
+corner of the next street--and make the best bargain for them, as if
+they were for herself, that she can!’
+
+The delight with which Traddles propounded this plan to me, and the
+sense he had of its uncommon artfulness, are among the freshest things
+in my remembrance.
+
+I told him that my old nurse would be delighted to assist him, and that
+we would all three take the field together, but on one condition. That
+condition was, that he should make a solemn resolution to grant no more
+loans of his name, or anything else, to Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Traddles, ‘I have already done so, because
+I begin to feel that I have not only been inconsiderate, but that I have
+been positively unjust to Sophy. My word being passed to myself, there
+is no longer any apprehension; but I pledge it to you, too, with the
+greatest readiness. That first unlucky obligation, I have paid. I have
+no doubt Mr. Micawber would have paid it if he could, but he could not.
+One thing I ought to mention, which I like very much in Mr. Micawber,
+Copperfield. It refers to the second obligation, which is not yet due.
+He don’t tell me that it is provided for, but he says it WILL BE. Now, I
+think there is something very fair and honest about that!’
+
+I was unwilling to damp my good friend’s confidence, and therefore
+assented. After a little further conversation, we went round to the
+chandler’s shop, to enlist Peggotty; Traddles declining to pass the
+evening with me, both because he endured the liveliest apprehensions
+that his property would be bought by somebody else before he could
+re-purchase it, and because it was the evening he always devoted to
+writing to the dearest girl in the world.
+
+I never shall forget him peeping round the corner of the street in
+Tottenham Court Road, while Peggotty was bargaining for the precious
+articles; or his agitation when she came slowly towards us after vainly
+offering a price, and was hailed by the relenting broker, and went back
+again. The end of the negotiation was, that she bought the property on
+tolerably easy terms, and Traddles was transported with pleasure.
+
+‘I am very much obliged to you, indeed,’ said Traddles, on hearing it
+was to be sent to where he lived, that night. ‘If I might ask one other
+favour, I hope you would not think it absurd, Copperfield?’
+
+I said beforehand, certainly not.
+
+‘Then if you WOULD be good enough,’ said Traddles to Peggotty, ‘to
+get the flower-pot now, I think I should like (it being Sophy’s,
+Copperfield) to carry it home myself!’
+
+Peggotty was glad to get it for him, and he overwhelmed her with thanks,
+and went his way up Tottenham Court Road, carrying the flower-pot
+affectionately in his arms, with one of the most delighted expressions
+of countenance I ever saw.
+
+We then turned back towards my chambers. As the shops had charms for
+Peggotty which I never knew them possess in the same degree for anybody
+else, I sauntered easily along, amused by her staring in at the windows,
+and waiting for her as often as she chose. We were thus a good while in
+getting to the Adelphi.
+
+On our way upstairs, I called her attention to the sudden disappearance
+of Mrs. Crupp’s pitfalls, and also to the prints of recent footsteps. We
+were both very much surprised, coming higher up, to find my outer door
+standing open (which I had shut) and to hear voices inside.
+
+We looked at one another, without knowing what to make of this, and went
+into the sitting-room. What was my amazement to find, of all people upon
+earth, my aunt there, and Mr. Dick! My aunt sitting on a quantity of
+luggage, with her two birds before her, and her cat on her knee, like a
+female Robinson Crusoe, drinking tea. Mr. Dick leaning thoughtfully on
+a great kite, such as we had often been out together to fly, with more
+luggage piled about him!
+
+‘My dear aunt!’ cried I. ‘Why, what an unexpected pleasure!’
+
+We cordially embraced; and Mr. Dick and I cordially shook hands; and
+Mrs. Crupp, who was busy making tea, and could not be too attentive,
+cordially said she had knowed well as Mr. Copperfull would have his
+heart in his mouth, when he see his dear relations.
+
+‘Holloa!’ said my aunt to Peggotty, who quailed before her awful
+presence. ‘How are YOU?’
+
+‘You remember my aunt, Peggotty?’ said I.
+
+‘For the love of goodness, child,’ exclaimed my aunt, ‘don’t call the
+woman by that South Sea Island name! If she married and got rid of
+it, which was the best thing she could do, why don’t you give her the
+benefit of the change? What’s your name now,--P?’ said my aunt, as a
+compromise for the obnoxious appellation.
+
+‘Barkis, ma’am,’ said Peggotty, with a curtsey.
+
+‘Well! That’s human,’ said my aunt. ‘It sounds less as if you wanted a
+missionary. How d’ye do, Barkis? I hope you’re well?’
+
+Encouraged by these gracious words, and by my aunt’s extending her
+hand, Barkis came forward, and took the hand, and curtseyed her
+acknowledgements.
+
+‘We are older than we were, I see,’ said my aunt. ‘We have only met each
+other once before, you know. A nice business we made of it then! Trot,
+my dear, another cup.’
+
+I handed it dutifully to my aunt, who was in her usual inflexible state
+of figure; and ventured a remonstrance with her on the subject of her
+sitting on a box.
+
+‘Let me draw the sofa here, or the easy-chair, aunt,’ said I. ‘Why
+should you be so uncomfortable?’
+
+‘Thank you, Trot,’ replied my aunt, ‘I prefer to sit upon my property.’
+Here my aunt looked hard at Mrs. Crupp, and observed, ‘We needn’t
+trouble you to wait, ma’am.’
+
+‘Shall I put a little more tea in the pot afore I go, ma’am?’ said Mrs.
+Crupp.
+
+‘No, I thank you, ma’am,’ replied my aunt.
+
+‘Would you let me fetch another pat of butter, ma’am?’ said Mrs. Crupp.
+‘Or would you be persuaded to try a new-laid hegg? or should I brile
+a rasher? Ain’t there nothing I could do for your dear aunt, Mr.
+Copperfull?’
+
+‘Nothing, ma’am,’ returned my aunt. ‘I shall do very well, I thank you.’
+
+Mrs. Crupp, who had been incessantly smiling to express sweet temper,
+and incessantly holding her head on one side, to express a general
+feebleness of constitution, and incessantly rubbing her hands, to
+express a desire to be of service to all deserving objects, gradually
+smiled herself, one-sided herself, and rubbed herself, out of the room.
+‘Dick!’ said my aunt. ‘You know what I told you about time-servers and
+wealth-worshippers?’
+
+Mr. Dick--with rather a scared look, as if he had forgotten it--returned
+a hasty answer in the affirmative.
+
+‘Mrs. Crupp is one of them,’ said my aunt. ‘Barkis, I’ll trouble you to
+look after the tea, and let me have another cup, for I don’t fancy that
+woman’s pouring-out!’
+
+I knew my aunt sufficiently well to know that she had something of
+importance on her mind, and that there was far more matter in this
+arrival than a stranger might have supposed. I noticed how her eye
+lighted on me, when she thought my attention otherwise occupied; and
+what a curious process of hesitation appeared to be going on within
+her, while she preserved her outward stiffness and composure. I began
+to reflect whether I had done anything to offend her; and my conscience
+whispered me that I had not yet told her about Dora. Could it by any
+means be that, I wondered!
+
+As I knew she would only speak in her own good time, I sat down near
+her, and spoke to the birds, and played with the cat, and was as easy
+as I could be. But I was very far from being really easy; and I should
+still have been so, even if Mr. Dick, leaning over the great kite behind
+my aunt, had not taken every secret opportunity of shaking his head
+darkly at me, and pointing at her.
+
+‘Trot,’ said my aunt at last, when she had finished her tea, and
+carefully smoothed down her dress, and wiped her lips--‘you needn’t go,
+Barkis!--Trot, have you got to be firm and self-reliant?’
+
+‘I hope so, aunt.’
+
+‘What do you think?’ inquired Miss Betsey.
+
+‘I think so, aunt.’
+
+‘Then why, my love,’ said my aunt, looking earnestly at me, ‘why do you
+think I prefer to sit upon this property of mine tonight?’
+
+I shook my head, unable to guess.
+
+‘Because,’ said my aunt, ‘it’s all I have. Because I’m ruined, my dear!’
+
+If the house, and every one of us, had tumbled out into the river
+together, I could hardly have received a greater shock.
+
+‘Dick knows it,’ said my aunt, laying her hand calmly on my shoulder. ‘I
+am ruined, my dear Trot! All I have in the world is in this room, except
+the cottage; and that I have left Janet to let. Barkis, I want to get a
+bed for this gentleman tonight. To save expense, perhaps you can make
+up something here for myself. Anything will do. It’s only for tonight.
+We’ll talk about this, more, tomorrow.’
+
+I was roused from my amazement, and concern for her--I am sure, for
+her--by her falling on my neck, for a moment, and crying that she only
+grieved for me. In another moment she suppressed this emotion; and said
+with an aspect more triumphant than dejected:
+
+‘We must meet reverses boldly, and not suffer them to frighten us, my
+dear. We must learn to act the play out. We must live misfortune down,
+Trot!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 35. DEPRESSION
+
+
+As soon as I could recover my presence of mind, which quite deserted me
+in the first overpowering shock of my aunt’s intelligence, I proposed
+to Mr. Dick to come round to the chandler’s shop, and take possession of
+the bed which Mr. Peggotty had lately vacated. The chandler’s shop being
+in Hungerford Market, and Hungerford Market being a very different place
+in those days, there was a low wooden colonnade before the door (not
+very unlike that before the house where the little man and woman used
+to live, in the old weather-glass), which pleased Mr. Dick mightily. The
+glory of lodging over this structure would have compensated him, I dare
+say, for many inconveniences; but, as there were really few to bear,
+beyond the compound of flavours I have already mentioned, and perhaps
+the want of a little more elbow-room, he was perfectly charmed with his
+accommodation. Mrs. Crupp had indignantly assured him that there wasn’t
+room to swing a cat there; but, as Mr. Dick justly observed to me,
+sitting down on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg, ‘You know,
+Trotwood, I don’t want to swing a cat. I never do swing a cat.
+Therefore, what does that signify to ME!’
+
+I tried to ascertain whether Mr. Dick had any understanding of the
+causes of this sudden and great change in my aunt’s affairs. As I might
+have expected, he had none at all. The only account he could give of it
+was, that my aunt had said to him, the day before yesterday, ‘Now, Dick,
+are you really and truly the philosopher I take you for?’ That then
+he had said, Yes, he hoped so. That then my aunt had said, ‘Dick, I
+am ruined.’ That then he had said, ‘Oh, indeed!’ That then my aunt had
+praised him highly, which he was glad of. And that then they had come to
+me, and had had bottled porter and sandwiches on the road.
+
+Mr. Dick was so very complacent, sitting on the foot of the bed, nursing
+his leg, and telling me this, with his eyes wide open and a surprised
+smile, that I am sorry to say I was provoked into explaining to him
+that ruin meant distress, want, and starvation; but I was soon bitterly
+reproved for this harshness, by seeing his face turn pale, and tears
+course down his lengthened cheeks, while he fixed upon me a look of such
+unutterable woe, that it might have softened a far harder heart than
+mine. I took infinitely greater pains to cheer him up again than I had
+taken to depress him; and I soon understood (as I ought to have known at
+first) that he had been so confident, merely because of his faith in
+the wisest and most wonderful of women, and his unbounded reliance on my
+intellectual resources. The latter, I believe, he considered a match for
+any kind of disaster not absolutely mortal.
+
+‘What can we do, Trotwood?’ said Mr. Dick. ‘There’s the Memorial-’
+
+‘To be sure there is,’ said I. ‘But all we can do just now, Mr. Dick,
+is to keep a cheerful countenance, and not let my aunt see that we are
+thinking about it.’
+
+He assented to this in the most earnest manner; and implored me, if I
+should see him wandering an inch out of the right course, to recall him
+by some of those superior methods which were always at my command. But I
+regret to state that the fright I had given him proved too much for his
+best attempts at concealment. All the evening his eyes wandered to my
+aunt’s face, with an expression of the most dismal apprehension, as if
+he saw her growing thin on the spot. He was conscious of this, and put
+a constraint upon his head; but his keeping that immovable, and sitting
+rolling his eyes like a piece of machinery, did not mend the matter at
+all. I saw him look at the loaf at supper (which happened to be a small
+one), as if nothing else stood between us and famine; and when my aunt
+insisted on his making his customary repast, I detected him in the act
+of pocketing fragments of his bread and cheese; I have no doubt for the
+purpose of reviving us with those savings, when we should have reached
+an advanced stage of attenuation.
+
+My aunt, on the other hand, was in a composed frame of mind, which was
+a lesson to all of us--to me, I am sure. She was extremely gracious
+to Peggotty, except when I inadvertently called her by that name; and,
+strange as I knew she felt in London, appeared quite at home. She was
+to have my bed, and I was to lie in the sitting-room, to keep guard over
+her. She made a great point of being so near the river, in case of a
+conflagration; and I suppose really did find some satisfaction in that
+circumstance.
+
+‘Trot, my dear,’ said my aunt, when she saw me making preparations for
+compounding her usual night-draught, ‘No!’
+
+‘Nothing, aunt?’
+
+‘Not wine, my dear. Ale.’
+
+‘But there is wine here, aunt. And you always have it made of wine.’
+
+‘Keep that, in case of sickness,’ said my aunt. ‘We mustn’t use it
+carelessly, Trot. Ale for me. Half a pint.’
+
+I thought Mr. Dick would have fallen, insensible. My aunt being
+resolute, I went out and got the ale myself. As it was growing late,
+Peggotty and Mr. Dick took that opportunity of repairing to the
+chandler’s shop together. I parted from him, poor fellow, at the corner
+of the street, with his great kite at his back, a very monument of human
+misery.
+
+My aunt was walking up and down the room when I returned, crimping the
+borders of her nightcap with her fingers. I warmed the ale and made the
+toast on the usual infallible principles. When it was ready for her, she
+was ready for it, with her nightcap on, and the skirt of her gown turned
+back on her knees.
+
+‘My dear,’ said my aunt, after taking a spoonful of it; ‘it’s a great
+deal better than wine. Not half so bilious.’
+
+I suppose I looked doubtful, for she added:
+
+‘Tut, tut, child. If nothing worse than Ale happens to us, we are well
+off.’
+
+‘I should think so myself, aunt, I am sure,’ said I.
+
+‘Well, then, why DON’T you think so?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Because you and I are very different people,’ I returned.
+
+‘Stuff and nonsense, Trot!’ replied my aunt.
+
+My aunt went on with a quiet enjoyment, in which there was very little
+affectation, if any; drinking the warm ale with a tea-spoon, and soaking
+her strips of toast in it.
+
+‘Trot,’ said she, ‘I don’t care for strange faces in general, but I
+rather like that Barkis of yours, do you know!’
+
+‘It’s better than a hundred pounds to hear you say so!’ said I.
+
+‘It’s a most extraordinary world,’ observed my aunt, rubbing her nose;
+‘how that woman ever got into it with that name, is unaccountable to me.
+It would be much more easy to be born a Jackson, or something of that
+sort, one would think.’
+
+‘Perhaps she thinks so, too; it’s not her fault,’ said I.
+
+‘I suppose not,’ returned my aunt, rather grudging the admission; ‘but
+it’s very aggravating. However, she’s Barkis now. That’s some comfort.
+Barkis is uncommonly fond of you, Trot.’
+
+‘There is nothing she would leave undone to prove it,’ said I.
+
+‘Nothing, I believe,’ returned my aunt. ‘Here, the poor fool has been
+begging and praying about handing over some of her money--because she
+has got too much of it. A simpleton!’
+
+My aunt’s tears of pleasure were positively trickling down into the warm
+ale.
+
+‘She’s the most ridiculous creature that ever was born,’ said my aunt.
+‘I knew, from the first moment when I saw her with that poor dear
+blessed baby of a mother of yours, that she was the most ridiculous of
+mortals. But there are good points in Barkis!’
+
+Affecting to laugh, she got an opportunity of putting her hand to
+her eyes. Having availed herself of it, she resumed her toast and her
+discourse together.
+
+‘Ah! Mercy upon us!’ sighed my aunt. ‘I know all about it, Trot! Barkis
+and myself had quite a gossip while you were out with Dick. I know all
+about it. I don’t know where these wretched girls expect to go to, for
+my part. I wonder they don’t knock out their brains against--against
+mantelpieces,’ said my aunt; an idea which was probably suggested to her
+by her contemplation of mine.
+
+‘Poor Emily!’ said I.
+
+‘Oh, don’t talk to me about poor,’ returned my aunt. ‘She should have
+thought of that, before she caused so much misery! Give me a kiss, Trot.
+I am sorry for your early experience.’
+
+As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to detain me, and
+said:
+
+‘Oh, Trot, Trot! And so you fancy yourself in love! Do you?’
+
+‘Fancy, aunt!’ I exclaimed, as red as I could be. ‘I adore her with my
+whole soul!’
+
+‘Dora, indeed!’ returned my aunt. ‘And you mean to say the little thing
+is very fascinating, I suppose?’
+
+‘My dear aunt,’ I replied, ‘no one can form the least idea what she is!’
+
+‘Ah! And not silly?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Silly, aunt!’
+
+I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a single
+moment, to consider whether she was or not. I resented the idea, of
+course; but I was in a manner struck by it, as a new one altogether.
+
+‘Not light-headed?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Light-headed, aunt!’ I could only repeat this daring speculation
+with the same kind of feeling with which I had repeated the preceding
+question.
+
+‘Well, well!’ said my aunt. ‘I only ask. I don’t depreciate her. Poor
+little couple! And so you think you were formed for one another, and are
+to go through a party-supper-table kind of life, like two pretty pieces
+of confectionery, do you, Trot?’
+
+She asked me this so kindly, and with such a gentle air, half playful
+and half sorrowful, that I was quite touched.
+
+‘We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know,’ I replied; ‘and I dare
+say we say and think a good deal that is rather foolish. But we love
+one another truly, I am sure. If I thought Dora could ever love anybody
+else, or cease to love me; or that I could ever love anybody else, or
+cease to love her; I don’t know what I should do--go out of my mind, I
+think!’
+
+‘Ah, Trot!’ said my aunt, shaking her head, and smiling gravely; ‘blind,
+blind, blind!’
+
+‘Someone that I know, Trot,’ my aunt pursued, after a pause, ‘though of
+a very pliant disposition, has an earnestness of affection in him that
+reminds me of poor Baby. Earnestness is what that Somebody must look
+for, to sustain him and improve him, Trot. Deep, downright, faithful
+earnestness.’
+
+‘If you only knew the earnestness of Dora, aunt!’ I cried.
+
+‘Oh, Trot!’ she said again; ‘blind, blind!’ and without knowing why,
+I felt a vague unhappy loss or want of something overshadow me like a
+cloud.
+
+‘However,’ said my aunt, ‘I don’t want to put two young creatures out
+of conceit with themselves, or to make them unhappy; so, though it is a
+girl and boy attachment, and girl and boy attachments very often--mind!
+I don’t say always!--come to nothing, still we’ll be serious about it,
+and hope for a prosperous issue one of these days. There’s time enough
+for it to come to anything!’
+
+This was not upon the whole very comforting to a rapturous lover; but
+I was glad to have my aunt in my confidence, and I was mindful of
+her being fatigued. So I thanked her ardently for this mark of her
+affection, and for all her other kindnesses towards me; and after a
+tender good night, she took her nightcap into my bedroom.
+
+How miserable I was, when I lay down! How I thought and thought about my
+being poor, in Mr. Spenlow’s eyes; about my not being what I thought I
+was, when I proposed to Dora; about the chivalrous necessity of
+telling Dora what my worldly condition was, and releasing her from her
+engagement if she thought fit; about how I should contrive to live,
+during the long term of my articles, when I was earning nothing; about
+doing something to assist my aunt, and seeing no way of doing anything;
+about coming down to have no money in my pocket, and to wear a shabby
+coat, and to be able to carry Dora no little presents, and to ride no
+gallant greys, and to show myself in no agreeable light! Sordid and
+selfish as I knew it was, and as I tortured myself by knowing that it
+was, to let my mind run on my own distress so much, I was so devoted
+to Dora that I could not help it. I knew that it was base in me not to
+think more of my aunt, and less of myself; but, so far, selfishness
+was inseparable from Dora, and I could not put Dora on one side for any
+mortal creature. How exceedingly miserable I was, that night!
+
+As to sleep, I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes, but I
+seemed to dream without the previous ceremony of going to sleep. Now I
+was ragged, wanting to sell Dora matches, six bundles for a halfpenny;
+now I was at the office in a nightgown and boots, remonstrated with by
+Mr. Spenlow on appearing before the clients in that airy attire; now
+I was hungrily picking up the crumbs that fell from old Tiffey’s
+daily biscuit, regularly eaten when St. Paul’s struck one; now I was
+hopelessly endeavouring to get a licence to marry Dora, having nothing
+but one of Uriah Heep’s gloves to offer in exchange, which the whole
+Commons rejected; and still, more or less conscious of my own room, I
+was always tossing about like a distressed ship in a sea of bed-clothes.
+
+My aunt was restless, too, for I frequently heard her walking to and
+fro. Two or three times in the course of the night, attired in a long
+flannel wrapper in which she looked seven feet high, she appeared, like
+a disturbed ghost, in my room, and came to the side of the sofa on which
+I lay. On the first occasion I started up in alarm, to learn that she
+inferred from a particular light in the sky, that Westminster Abbey
+was on fire; and to be consulted in reference to the probability of its
+igniting Buckingham Street, in case the wind changed. Lying still, after
+that, I found that she sat down near me, whispering to herself ‘Poor
+boy!’ And then it made me twenty times more wretched, to know how
+unselfishly mindful she was of me, and how selfishly mindful I was of
+myself.
+
+It was difficult to believe that a night so long to me, could be short
+to anybody else. This consideration set me thinking and thinking of an
+imaginary party where people were dancing the hours away, until that
+became a dream too, and I heard the music incessantly playing one tune,
+and saw Dora incessantly dancing one dance, without taking the least
+notice of me. The man who had been playing the harp all night, was
+trying in vain to cover it with an ordinary-sized nightcap, when I
+awoke; or I should rather say, when I left off trying to go to sleep,
+and saw the sun shining in through the window at last.
+
+There was an old Roman bath in those days at the bottom of one of the
+streets out of the Strand--it may be there still--in which I have had
+many a cold plunge. Dressing myself as quietly as I could, and leaving
+Peggotty to look after my aunt, I tumbled head foremost into it,
+and then went for a walk to Hampstead. I had a hope that this brisk
+treatment might freshen my wits a little; and I think it did them good,
+for I soon came to the conclusion that the first step I ought to take
+was, to try if my articles could be cancelled and the premium recovered.
+I got some breakfast on the Heath, and walked back to Doctors’ Commons,
+along the watered roads and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers,
+growing in gardens and carried into town on hucksters’ heads, intent on
+this first effort to meet our altered circumstances.
+
+I arrived at the office so soon, after all, that I had half an hour’s
+loitering about the Commons, before old Tiffey, who was always first,
+appeared with his key. Then I sat down in my shady corner, looking up
+at the sunlight on the opposite chimney-pots, and thinking about Dora;
+until Mr. Spenlow came in, crisp and curly.
+
+‘How are you, Copperfield?’ said he. ‘Fine morning!’
+
+‘Beautiful morning, sir,’ said I. ‘Could I say a word to you before you
+go into Court?’
+
+‘By all means,’ said he. ‘Come into my room.’
+
+I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown, and
+touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside a
+closet door.
+
+‘I am sorry to say,’ said I, ‘that I have some rather disheartening
+intelligence from my aunt.’
+
+‘No!’ said he. ‘Dear me! Not paralysis, I hope?’
+
+‘It has no reference to her health, sir,’ I replied. ‘She has met with
+some large losses. In fact, she has very little left, indeed.’
+
+‘You as-tound me, Copperfield!’ cried Mr. Spenlow.
+
+I shook my head. ‘Indeed, sir,’ said I, ‘her affairs are so changed,
+that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible--at a sacrifice on
+our part of some portion of the premium, of course,’ I put in this, on
+the spur of the moment, warned by the blank expression of his face--‘to
+cancel my articles?’
+
+What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows. It was like asking,
+as a favour, to be sentenced to transportation from Dora.
+
+‘To cancel your articles, Copperfield? Cancel?’
+
+I explained with tolerable firmness, that I really did not know where
+my means of subsistence were to come from, unless I could earn them for
+myself. I had no fear for the future, I said--and I laid great emphasis
+on that, as if to imply that I should still be decidedly eligible for a
+son-in-law one of these days--but, for the present, I was thrown upon
+my own resources. ‘I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfield,’ said
+Mr. Spenlow. ‘Extremely sorry. It is not usual to cancel articles for
+any such reason. It is not a professional course of proceeding. It is
+not a convenient precedent at all. Far from it. At the same time--’
+
+‘You are very good, sir,’ I murmured, anticipating a concession.
+
+‘Not at all. Don’t mention it,’ said Mr. Spenlow. ‘At the same time, I
+was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered--if
+I had not a partner--Mr. Jorkins--’
+
+My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another effort.
+
+‘Do you think, sir,’ said I, ‘if I were to mention it to Mr. Jorkins--’
+
+Mr. Spenlow shook his head discouragingly. ‘Heaven forbid, Copperfield,’
+he replied, ‘that I should do any man an injustice: still less, Mr.
+Jorkins. But I know my partner, Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is not a man
+to respond to a proposition of this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very
+difficult to move from the beaten track. You know what he is!’
+
+I am sure I knew nothing about him, except that he had originally been
+alone in the business, and now lived by himself in a house near Montagu
+Square, which was fearfully in want of painting; that he came very
+late of a day, and went away very early; that he never appeared to be
+consulted about anything; and that he had a dingy little black-hole of
+his own upstairs, where no business was ever done, and where there was
+a yellow old cartridge-paper pad upon his desk, unsoiled by ink, and
+reported to be twenty years of age.
+
+‘Would you object to my mentioning it to him, sir?’ I asked.
+
+‘By no means,’ said Mr. Spenlow. ‘But I have some experience of Mr.
+Jorkins, Copperfield. I wish it were otherwise, for I should be happy
+to meet your views in any respect. I cannot have the objection to your
+mentioning it to Mr. Jorkins, Copperfield, if you think it worth while.’
+
+Availing myself of this permission, which was given with a warm shake
+of the hand, I sat thinking about Dora, and looking at the sunlight
+stealing from the chimney-pots down the wall of the opposite house,
+until Mr. Jorkins came. I then went up to Mr. Jorkins’s room, and
+evidently astonished Mr. Jorkins very much by making my appearance
+there.
+
+‘Come in, Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mr. Jorkins. ‘Come in!’
+
+I went in, and sat down; and stated my case to Mr. Jorkins pretty much
+as I had stated it to Mr. Spenlow. Mr. Jorkins was not by any means the
+awful creature one might have expected, but a large, mild, smooth-faced
+man of sixty, who took so much snuff that there was a tradition in the
+Commons that he lived principally on that stimulant, having little room
+in his system for any other article of diet.
+
+‘You have mentioned this to Mr. Spenlow, I suppose?’ said Mr. Jorkins;
+when he had heard me, very restlessly, to an end.
+
+I answered Yes, and told him that Mr. Spenlow had introduced his name.
+
+‘He said I should object?’ asked Mr. Jorkins.
+
+I was obliged to admit that Mr. Spenlow had considered it probable.
+
+‘I am sorry to say, Mr. Copperfield, I can’t advance your object,’ said
+Mr. Jorkins, nervously. ‘The fact is--but I have an appointment at the
+Bank, if you’ll have the goodness to excuse me.’
+
+With that he rose in a great hurry, and was going out of the room, when
+I made bold to say that I feared, then, there was no way of arranging
+the matter?
+
+‘No!’ said Mr. Jorkins, stopping at the door to shake his head. ‘Oh, no!
+I object, you know,’ which he said very rapidly, and went out. ‘You must
+be aware, Mr. Copperfield,’ he added, looking restlessly in at the door
+again, ‘if Mr. Spenlow objects--’
+
+‘Personally, he does not object, sir,’ said I.
+
+‘Oh! Personally!’ repeated Mr. Jorkins, in an impatient manner. ‘I
+assure you there’s an objection, Mr. Copperfield. Hopeless! What you
+wish to be done, can’t be done. I--I really have got an appointment
+at the Bank.’ With that he fairly ran away; and to the best of my
+knowledge, it was three days before he showed himself in the Commons
+again.
+
+Being very anxious to leave no stone unturned, I waited until Mr.
+Spenlow came in, and then described what had passed; giving him to
+understand that I was not hopeless of his being able to soften the
+adamantine Jorkins, if he would undertake the task.
+
+‘Copperfield,’ returned Mr. Spenlow, with a gracious smile, ‘you have
+not known my partner, Mr. Jorkins, as long as I have. Nothing is
+farther from my thoughts than to attribute any degree of artifice to Mr.
+Jorkins. But Mr. Jorkins has a way of stating his objections which often
+deceives people. No, Copperfield!’ shaking his head. ‘Mr. Jorkins is not
+to be moved, believe me!’
+
+I was completely bewildered between Mr. Spenlow and Mr. Jorkins, as
+to which of them really was the objecting partner; but I saw with
+sufficient clearness that there was obduracy somewhere in the firm, and
+that the recovery of my aunt’s thousand pounds was out of the
+question. In a state of despondency, which I remember with anything
+but satisfaction, for I know it still had too much reference to myself
+(though always in connexion with Dora), I left the office, and went
+homeward.
+
+I was trying to familiarize my mind with the worst, and to present to
+myself the arrangements we should have to make for the future in their
+sternest aspect, when a hackney-chariot coming after me, and stopping at
+my very feet, occasioned me to look up. A fair hand was stretched forth
+to me from the window; and the face I had never seen without a feeling
+of serenity and happiness, from the moment when it first turned back
+on the old oak staircase with the great broad balustrade, and when I
+associated its softened beauty with the stained-glass window in the
+church, was smiling on me.
+
+‘Agnes!’ I joyfully exclaimed. ‘Oh, my dear Agnes, of all people in the
+world, what a pleasure to see you!’
+
+‘Is it, indeed?’ she said, in her cordial voice.
+
+‘I want to talk to you so much!’ said I. ‘It’s such a lightening of my
+heart, only to look at you! If I had had a conjuror’s cap, there is no
+one I should have wished for but you!’
+
+‘What?’ returned Agnes.
+
+‘Well! perhaps Dora first,’ I admitted, with a blush.
+
+‘Certainly, Dora first, I hope,’ said Agnes, laughing.
+
+‘But you next!’ said I. ‘Where are you going?’
+
+She was going to my rooms to see my aunt. The day being very fine, she
+was glad to come out of the chariot, which smelt (I had my head in it
+all this time) like a stable put under a cucumber-frame. I dismissed the
+coachman, and she took my arm, and we walked on together. She was like
+Hope embodied, to me. How different I felt in one short minute, having
+Agnes at my side!
+
+My aunt had written her one of the odd, abrupt notes--very little longer
+than a Bank note--to which her epistolary efforts were usually limited.
+She had stated therein that she had fallen into adversity, and was
+leaving Dover for good, but had quite made up her mind to it, and was
+so well that nobody need be uncomfortable about her. Agnes had come to
+London to see my aunt, between whom and herself there had been a mutual
+liking these many years: indeed, it dated from the time of my taking up
+my residence in Mr. Wickfield’s house. She was not alone, she said. Her
+papa was with her--and Uriah Heep.
+
+‘And now they are partners,’ said I. ‘Confound him!’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Agnes. ‘They have some business here; and I took advantage
+of their coming, to come too. You must not think my visit all friendly
+and disinterested, Trotwood, for--I am afraid I may be cruelly
+prejudiced--I do not like to let papa go away alone, with him.’ ‘Does he
+exercise the same influence over Mr. Wickfield still, Agnes?’
+
+Agnes shook her head. ‘There is such a change at home,’ said she, ‘that
+you would scarcely know the dear old house. They live with us now.’
+
+‘They?’ said I.
+
+‘Mr. Heep and his mother. He sleeps in your old room,’ said Agnes,
+looking up into my face.
+
+‘I wish I had the ordering of his dreams,’ said I. ‘He wouldn’t sleep
+there long.’
+
+‘I keep my own little room,’ said Agnes, ‘where I used to learn my
+lessons. How the time goes! You remember? The little panelled room that
+opens from the drawing-room?’
+
+‘Remember, Agnes? When I saw you, for the first time, coming out at the
+door, with your quaint little basket of keys hanging at your side?’
+
+‘It is just the same,’ said Agnes, smiling. ‘I am glad you think of it
+so pleasantly. We were very happy.’
+
+‘We were, indeed,’ said I.
+
+‘I keep that room to myself still; but I cannot always desert Mrs. Heep,
+you know. And so,’ said Agnes, quietly, ‘I feel obliged to bear her
+company, when I might prefer to be alone. But I have no other reason to
+complain of her. If she tires me, sometimes, by her praises of her son,
+it is only natural in a mother. He is a very good son to her.’
+
+I looked at Agnes when she said these words, without detecting in her
+any consciousness of Uriah’s design. Her mild but earnest eyes met
+mine with their own beautiful frankness, and there was no change in her
+gentle face.
+
+‘The chief evil of their presence in the house,’ said Agnes, ‘is that I
+cannot be as near papa as I could wish--Uriah Heep being so much between
+us--and cannot watch over him, if that is not too bold a thing to say,
+as closely as I would. But if any fraud or treachery is practising
+against him, I hope that simple love and truth will be strong in the
+end. I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any
+evil or misfortune in the world.’
+
+A certain bright smile, which I never saw on any other face, died away,
+even while I thought how good it was, and how familiar it had once been
+to me; and she asked me, with a quick change of expression (we were
+drawing very near my street), if I knew how the reverse in my aunt’s
+circumstances had been brought about. On my replying no, she had not
+told me yet, Agnes became thoughtful, and I fancied I felt her arm
+tremble in mine.
+
+We found my aunt alone, in a state of some excitement. A difference
+of opinion had arisen between herself and Mrs. Crupp, on an abstract
+question (the propriety of chambers being inhabited by the gentler sex);
+and my aunt, utterly indifferent to spasms on the part of Mrs. Crupp,
+had cut the dispute short, by informing that lady that she smelt of
+my brandy, and that she would trouble her to walk out. Both of these
+expressions Mrs. Crupp considered actionable, and had expressed her
+intention of bringing before a ‘British Judy’--meaning, it was supposed,
+the bulwark of our national liberties.
+
+My aunt, however, having had time to cool, while Peggotty was out
+showing Mr. Dick the soldiers at the Horse Guards--and being, besides,
+greatly pleased to see Agnes--rather plumed herself on the affair than
+otherwise, and received us with unimpaired good humour. When Agnes laid
+her bonnet on the table, and sat down beside her, I could not but think,
+looking on her mild eyes and her radiant forehead, how natural it
+seemed to have her there; how trustfully, although she was so young and
+inexperienced, my aunt confided in her; how strong she was, indeed, in
+simple love and truth.
+
+We began to talk about my aunt’s losses, and I told them what I had
+tried to do that morning.
+
+‘Which was injudicious, Trot,’ said my aunt, ‘but well meant. You are
+a generous boy--I suppose I must say, young man, now--and I am proud of
+you, my dear. So far, so good. Now, Trot and Agnes, let us look the case
+of Betsey Trotwood in the face, and see how it stands.’
+
+I observed Agnes turn pale, as she looked very attentively at my aunt.
+My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes.
+
+‘Betsey Trotwood,’ said my aunt, who had always kept her money matters
+to herself. ‘--I don’t mean your sister, Trot, my dear, but myself--had
+a certain property. It don’t matter how much; enough to live on. More;
+for she had saved a little, and added to it. Betsey funded her property
+for some time, and then, by the advice of her man of business, laid
+it out on landed security. That did very well, and returned very good
+interest, till Betsey was paid off. I am talking of Betsey as if she
+was a man-of-war. Well! Then, Betsey had to look about her, for a new
+investment. She thought she was wiser, now, than her man of business,
+who was not such a good man of business by this time, as he used to
+be--I am alluding to your father, Agnes--and she took it into her head
+to lay it out for herself. So she took her pigs,’ said my aunt, ‘to a
+foreign market; and a very bad market it turned out to be. First, she
+lost in the mining way, and then she lost in the diving way--fishing up
+treasure, or some such Tom Tiddler nonsense,’ explained my aunt, rubbing
+her nose; ‘and then she lost in the mining way again, and, last of all,
+to set the thing entirely to rights, she lost in the banking way. I
+don’t know what the Bank shares were worth for a little while,’ said my
+aunt; ‘cent per cent was the lowest of it, I believe; but the Bank was
+at the other end of the world, and tumbled into space, for what I know;
+anyhow, it fell to pieces, and never will and never can pay sixpence;
+and Betsey’s sixpences were all there, and there’s an end of them. Least
+said, soonest mended!’
+
+My aunt concluded this philosophical summary, by fixing her eyes with a
+kind of triumph on Agnes, whose colour was gradually returning.
+
+‘Dear Miss Trotwood, is that all the history?’ said Agnes.
+
+‘I hope it’s enough, child,’ said my aunt. ‘If there had been more
+money to lose, it wouldn’t have been all, I dare say. Betsey would have
+contrived to throw that after the rest, and make another chapter, I have
+little doubt. But there was no more money, and there’s no more story.’
+
+Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath. Her colour still came
+and went, but she breathed more freely. I thought I knew why. I thought
+she had had some fear that her unhappy father might be in some way to
+blame for what had happened. My aunt took her hand in hers, and laughed.
+
+‘Is that all?’ repeated my aunt. ‘Why, yes, that’s all, except, “And she
+lived happy ever afterwards.” Perhaps I may add that of Betsey yet, one
+of these days. Now, Agnes, you have a wise head. So have you, Trot, in
+some things, though I can’t compliment you always’; and here my aunt
+shook her own at me, with an energy peculiar to herself. ‘What’s to be
+done? Here’s the cottage, taking one time with another, will produce
+say seventy pounds a year. I think we may safely put it down at
+that. Well!--That’s all we’ve got,’ said my aunt; with whom it was an
+idiosyncrasy, as it is with some horses, to stop very short when she
+appeared to be in a fair way of going on for a long while.
+
+‘Then,’ said my aunt, after a rest, ‘there’s Dick. He’s good for a
+hundred a-year, but of course that must be expended on himself. I would
+sooner send him away, though I know I am the only person who appreciates
+him, than have him, and not spend his money on himself. How can Trot and
+I do best, upon our means? What do you say, Agnes?’
+
+‘I say, aunt,’ I interposed, ‘that I must do something!’
+
+‘Go for a soldier, do you mean?’ returned my aunt, alarmed; ‘or go to
+sea? I won’t hear of it. You are to be a proctor. We’re not going to
+have any knockings on the head in THIS family, if you please, sir.’
+
+I was about to explain that I was not desirous of introducing that mode
+of provision into the family, when Agnes inquired if my rooms were held
+for any long term?
+
+‘You come to the point, my dear,’ said my aunt. ‘They are not to be got
+rid of, for six months at least, unless they could be underlet, and that
+I don’t believe. The last man died here. Five people out of six would
+die--of course--of that woman in nankeen with the flannel petticoat. I
+have a little ready money; and I agree with you, the best thing we can
+do, is, to live the term out here, and get a bedroom hard by.’
+
+I thought it my duty to hint at the discomfort my aunt would sustain,
+from living in a continual state of guerilla warfare with Mrs. Crupp;
+but she disposed of that objection summarily by declaring that, on the
+first demonstration of hostilities, she was prepared to astonish Mrs.
+Crupp for the whole remainder of her natural life.
+
+‘I have been thinking, Trotwood,’ said Agnes, diffidently, ‘that if you
+had time--’
+
+‘I have a good deal of time, Agnes. I am always disengaged after four
+or five o’clock, and I have time early in the morning. In one way and
+another,’ said I, conscious of reddening a little as I thought of the
+hours and hours I had devoted to fagging about town, and to and fro upon
+the Norwood Road, ‘I have abundance of time.’
+
+‘I know you would not mind,’ said Agnes, coming to me, and speaking in
+a low voice, so full of sweet and hopeful consideration that I hear it
+now, ‘the duties of a secretary.’
+
+‘Mind, my dear Agnes?’
+
+‘Because,’ continued Agnes, ‘Doctor Strong has acted on his intention of
+retiring, and has come to live in London; and he asked papa, I know,
+if he could recommend him one. Don’t you think he would rather have his
+favourite old pupil near him, than anybody else?’
+
+‘Dear Agnes!’ said I. ‘What should I do without you! You are always my
+good angel. I told you so. I never think of you in any other light.’
+
+Agnes answered with her pleasant laugh, that one good Angel (meaning
+Dora) was enough; and went on to remind me that the Doctor had been
+used to occupy himself in his study, early in the morning, and in the
+evening--and that probably my leisure would suit his requirements very
+well. I was scarcely more delighted with the prospect of earning my own
+bread, than with the hope of earning it under my old master; in short,
+acting on the advice of Agnes, I sat down and wrote a letter to the
+Doctor, stating my object, and appointing to call on him next day at
+ten in the forenoon. This I addressed to Highgate--for in that place, so
+memorable to me, he lived--and went and posted, myself, without losing a
+minute.
+
+Wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noiseless presence
+seemed inseparable from the place. When I came back, I found my aunt’s
+birds hanging, just as they had hung so long in the parlour window of
+the cottage; and my easy-chair imitating my aunt’s much easier chair in
+its position at the open window; and even the round green fan, which my
+aunt had brought away with her, screwed on to the window-sill. I knew
+who had done all this, by its seeming to have quietly done itself; and I
+should have known in a moment who had arranged my neglected books in the
+old order of my school days, even if I had supposed Agnes to be miles
+away, instead of seeing her busy with them, and smiling at the disorder
+into which they had fallen.
+
+My aunt was quite gracious on the subject of the Thames (it really did
+look very well with the sun upon it, though not like the sea before the
+cottage), but she could not relent towards the London smoke, which, she
+said, ‘peppered everything’. A complete revolution, in which Peggotty
+bore a prominent part, was being effected in every corner of my rooms,
+in regard of this pepper; and I was looking on, thinking how little even
+Peggotty seemed to do with a good deal of bustle, and how much Agnes did
+without any bustle at all, when a knock came at the door.
+
+‘I think,’ said Agnes, turning pale, ‘it’s papa. He promised me that he
+would come.’
+
+I opened the door, and admitted, not only Mr. Wickfield, but Uriah Heep.
+I had not seen Mr. Wickfield for some time. I was prepared for a great
+change in him, after what I had heard from Agnes, but his appearance
+shocked me.
+
+It was not that he looked many years older, though still dressed
+with the old scrupulous cleanliness; or that there was an unwholesome
+ruddiness upon his face; or that his eyes were full and bloodshot; or
+that there was a nervous trembling in his hand, the cause of which I
+knew, and had for some years seen at work. It was not that he had lost
+his good looks, or his old bearing of a gentleman--for that he had
+not--but the thing that struck me most, was, that with the evidences of
+his native superiority still upon him, he should submit himself to that
+crawling impersonation of meanness, Uriah Heep. The reversal of the
+two natures, in their relative positions, Uriah’s of power and Mr.
+Wickfield’s of dependence, was a sight more painful to me than I can
+express. If I had seen an Ape taking command of a Man, I should hardly
+have thought it a more degrading spectacle.
+
+He appeared to be only too conscious of it himself. When he came in, he
+stood still; and with his head bowed, as if he felt it. This was
+only for a moment; for Agnes softly said to him, ‘Papa! Here is Miss
+Trotwood--and Trotwood, whom you have not seen for a long while!’ and
+then he approached, and constrainedly gave my aunt his hand, and shook
+hands more cordially with me. In the moment’s pause I speak of, I saw
+Uriah’s countenance form itself into a most ill-favoured smile. Agnes
+saw it too, I think, for she shrank from him.
+
+What my aunt saw, or did not see, I defy the science of physiognomy
+to have made out, without her own consent. I believe there never was
+anybody with such an imperturbable countenance when she chose. Her face
+might have been a dead-wall on the occasion in question, for any light
+it threw upon her thoughts; until she broke silence with her usual
+abruptness.
+
+‘Well, Wickfield!’ said my aunt; and he looked up at her for the first
+time. ‘I have been telling your daughter how well I have been disposing
+of my money for myself, because I couldn’t trust it to you, as you were
+growing rusty in business matters. We have been taking counsel together,
+and getting on very well, all things considered. Agnes is worth the
+whole firm, in my opinion.’
+
+‘If I may umbly make the remark,’ said Uriah Heep, with a writhe, ‘I
+fully agree with Miss Betsey Trotwood, and should be only too appy if
+Miss Agnes was a partner.’
+
+‘You’re a partner yourself, you know,’ returned my aunt, ‘and that’s
+about enough for you, I expect. How do you find yourself, sir?’
+
+In acknowledgement of this question, addressed to him with extraordinary
+curtness, Mr. Heep, uncomfortably clutching the blue bag he carried,
+replied that he was pretty well, he thanked my aunt, and hoped she was
+the same.
+
+‘And you, Master--I should say, Mister Copperfield,’ pursued Uriah. ‘I
+hope I see you well! I am rejoiced to see you, Mister Copperfield, even
+under present circumstances.’ I believed that; for he seemed to relish
+them very much. ‘Present circumstances is not what your friends would
+wish for you, Mister Copperfield, but it isn’t money makes the man:
+it’s--I am really unequal with my umble powers to express what it is,’
+said Uriah, with a fawning jerk, ‘but it isn’t money!’
+
+Here he shook hands with me: not in the common way, but standing at
+a good distance from me, and lifting my hand up and down like a pump
+handle, that he was a little afraid of.
+
+‘And how do you think we are looking, Master Copperfield,--I should
+say, Mister?’ fawned Uriah. ‘Don’t you find Mr. Wickfield blooming, sir?
+Years don’t tell much in our firm, Master Copperfield, except in raising
+up the umble, namely, mother and self--and in developing,’ he added, as
+an afterthought, ‘the beautiful, namely, Miss Agnes.’
+
+He jerked himself about, after this compliment, in such an intolerable
+manner, that my aunt, who had sat looking straight at him, lost all
+patience.
+
+‘Deuce take the man!’ said my aunt, sternly, ‘what’s he about? Don’t be
+galvanic, sir!’
+
+‘I ask your pardon, Miss Trotwood,’ returned Uriah; ‘I’m aware you’re
+nervous.’
+
+‘Go along with you, sir!’ said my aunt, anything but appeased. ‘Don’t
+presume to say so! I am nothing of the sort. If you’re an eel, sir,
+conduct yourself like one. If you’re a man, control your limbs, sir!
+Good God!’ said my aunt, with great indignation, ‘I am not going to be
+serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses!’
+
+Mr. Heep was rather abashed, as most people might have been, by this
+explosion; which derived great additional force from the indignant
+manner in which my aunt afterwards moved in her chair, and shook her
+head as if she were making snaps or bounces at him. But he said to me
+aside in a meek voice:
+
+‘I am well aware, Master Copperfield, that Miss Trotwood, though an
+excellent lady, has a quick temper (indeed I think I had the pleasure
+of knowing her, when I was a numble clerk, before you did, Master
+Copperfield), and it’s only natural, I am sure, that it should be made
+quicker by present circumstances. The wonder is, that it isn’t much
+worse! I only called to say that if there was anything we could do, in
+present circumstances, mother or self, or Wickfield and Heep,--we should
+be really glad. I may go so far?’ said Uriah, with a sickly smile at his
+partner.
+
+‘Uriah Heep,’ said Mr. Wickfield, in a monotonous forced way, ‘is active
+in the business, Trotwood. What he says, I quite concur in. You know
+I had an old interest in you. Apart from that, what Uriah says I quite
+concur in!’
+
+‘Oh, what a reward it is,’ said Uriah, drawing up one leg, at the risk
+of bringing down upon himself another visitation from my aunt, ‘to be so
+trusted in! But I hope I am able to do something to relieve him from the
+fatigues of business, Master Copperfield!’
+
+‘Uriah Heep is a great relief to me,’ said Mr. Wickfield, in the same
+dull voice. ‘It’s a load off my mind, Trotwood, to have such a partner.’
+
+The red fox made him say all this, I knew, to exhibit him to me in the
+light he had indicated on the night when he poisoned my rest. I saw the
+same ill-favoured smile upon his face again, and saw how he watched me.
+
+‘You are not going, papa?’ said Agnes, anxiously. ‘Will you not walk
+back with Trotwood and me?’
+
+He would have looked to Uriah, I believe, before replying, if that
+worthy had not anticipated him.
+
+‘I am bespoke myself,’ said Uriah, ‘on business; otherwise I should
+have been appy to have kept with my friends. But I leave my partner to
+represent the firm. Miss Agnes, ever yours! I wish you good-day, Master
+Copperfield, and leave my umble respects for Miss Betsey Trotwood.’
+
+With those words, he retired, kissing his great hand, and leering at us
+like a mask.
+
+We sat there, talking about our pleasant old Canterbury days, an hour
+or two. Mr. Wickfield, left to Agnes, soon became more like his former
+self; though there was a settled depression upon him, which he never
+shook off. For all that, he brightened; and had an evident pleasure in
+hearing us recall the little incidents of our old life, many of which he
+remembered very well. He said it was like those times, to be alone with
+Agnes and me again; and he wished to Heaven they had never changed. I am
+sure there was an influence in the placid face of Agnes, and in the very
+touch of her hand upon his arm, that did wonders for him.
+
+My aunt (who was busy nearly all this while with Peggotty, in the inner
+room) would not accompany us to the place where they were staying, but
+insisted on my going; and I went. We dined together. After dinner, Agnes
+sat beside him, as of old, and poured out his wine. He took what she
+gave him, and no more--like a child--and we all three sat together at a
+window as the evening gathered in. When it was almost dark, he lay down
+on a sofa, Agnes pillowing his head and bending over him a little while;
+and when she came back to the window, it was not so dark but I could see
+tears glittering in her eyes.
+
+I pray Heaven that I never may forget the dear girl in her love and
+truth, at that time of my life; for if I should, I must be drawing near
+the end, and then I would desire to remember her best! She filled my
+heart with such good resolutions, strengthened my weakness so, by her
+example, so directed--I know not how, she was too modest and gentle
+to advise me in many words--the wandering ardour and unsettled purpose
+within me, that all the little good I have done, and all the harm I have
+forborne, I solemnly believe I may refer to her.
+
+And how she spoke to me of Dora, sitting at the window in the dark;
+listened to my praises of her; praised again; and round the little
+fairy-figure shed some glimpses of her own pure light, that made it yet
+more precious and more innocent to me! Oh, Agnes, sister of my boyhood,
+if I had known then, what I knew long afterwards--!
+
+There was a beggar in the street, when I went down; and as I turned my
+head towards the window, thinking of her calm seraphic eyes, he made me
+start by muttering, as if he were an echo of the morning: ‘Blind! Blind!
+Blind!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 36. ENTHUSIASM
+
+I began the next day with another dive into the Roman bath, and then
+started for Highgate. I was not dispirited now. I was not afraid of the
+shabby coat, and had no yearnings after gallant greys. My whole manner
+of thinking of our late misfortune was changed. What I had to do, was,
+to show my aunt that her past goodness to me had not been thrown away
+on an insensible, ungrateful object. What I had to do, was, to turn the
+painful discipline of my younger days to account, by going to work with
+a resolute and steady heart. What I had to do, was, to take my woodman’s
+axe in my hand, and clear my own way through the forest of difficulty,
+by cutting down the trees until I came to Dora. And I went on at a
+mighty rate, as if it could be done by walking.
+
+When I found myself on the familiar Highgate road, pursuing such a
+different errand from that old one of pleasure, with which it was
+associated, it seemed as if a complete change had come on my whole life.
+But that did not discourage me. With the new life, came new purpose,
+new intention. Great was the labour; priceless the reward. Dora was the
+reward, and Dora must be won.
+
+I got into such a transport, that I felt quite sorry my coat was not
+a little shabby already. I wanted to be cutting at those trees in the
+forest of difficulty, under circumstances that should prove my strength.
+I had a good mind to ask an old man, in wire spectacles, who was
+breaking stones upon the road, to lend me his hammer for a little while,
+and let me begin to beat a path to Dora out of granite. I stimulated
+myself into such a heat, and got so out of breath, that I felt as if I
+had been earning I don’t know how much.
+
+In this state, I went into a cottage that I saw was to let, and examined
+it narrowly,--for I felt it necessary to be practical. It would do for
+me and Dora admirably: with a little front garden for Jip to run about
+in, and bark at the tradespeople through the railings, and a capital
+room upstairs for my aunt. I came out again, hotter and faster than
+ever, and dashed up to Highgate, at such a rate that I was there an
+hour too early; and, though I had not been, should have been obliged to
+stroll about to cool myself, before I was at all presentable.
+
+My first care, after putting myself under this necessary course of
+preparation, was to find the Doctor’s house. It was not in that part of
+Highgate where Mrs. Steerforth lived, but quite on the opposite side
+of the little town. When I had made this discovery, I went back, in
+an attraction I could not resist, to a lane by Mrs. Steerforth’s, and
+looked over the corner of the garden wall. His room was shut up close.
+The conservatory doors were standing open, and Rosa Dartle was walking,
+bareheaded, with a quick, impetuous step, up and down a gravel walk on
+one side of the lawn. She gave me the idea of some fierce thing, that
+was dragging the length of its chain to and fro upon a beaten track, and
+wearing its heart out.
+
+I came softly away from my place of observation, and avoiding that part
+of the neighbourhood, and wishing I had not gone near it, strolled about
+until it was ten o’clock. The church with the slender spire, that stands
+on the top of the hill now, was not there then to tell me the time. An
+old red-brick mansion, used as a school, was in its place; and a fine
+old house it must have been to go to school at, as I recollect it.
+
+When I approached the Doctor’s cottage--a pretty old place, on which
+he seemed to have expended some money, if I might judge from the
+embellishments and repairs that had the look of being just completed--I
+saw him walking in the garden at the side, gaiters and all, as if he
+had never left off walking since the days of my pupilage. He had his old
+companions about him, too; for there were plenty of high trees in the
+neighbourhood, and two or three rooks were on the grass, looking after
+him, as if they had been written to about him by the Canterbury rooks,
+and were observing him closely in consequence.
+
+Knowing the utter hopelessness of attracting his attention from that
+distance, I made bold to open the gate, and walk after him, so as to
+meet him when he should turn round. When he did, and came towards me, he
+looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, evidently without thinking
+about me at all; and then his benevolent face expressed extraordinary
+pleasure, and he took me by both hands.
+
+‘Why, my dear Copperfield,’ said the Doctor, ‘you are a man! How do you
+do? I am delighted to see you. My dear Copperfield, how very much you
+have improved! You are quite--yes--dear me!’
+
+I hoped he was well, and Mrs. Strong too.
+
+‘Oh dear, yes!’ said the Doctor; ‘Annie’s quite well, and she’ll be
+delighted to see you. You were always her favourite. She said so,
+last night, when I showed her your letter. And--yes, to be sure--you
+recollect Mr. Jack Maldon, Copperfield?’
+
+‘Perfectly, sir.’
+
+‘Of course,’ said the Doctor. ‘To be sure. He’s pretty well, too.’
+
+‘Has he come home, sir?’ I inquired.
+
+‘From India?’ said the Doctor. ‘Yes. Mr. Jack Maldon couldn’t bear
+the climate, my dear. Mrs. Markleham--you have not forgotten Mrs.
+Markleham?’
+
+Forgotten the Old Soldier! And in that short time!
+
+‘Mrs. Markleham,’ said the Doctor, ‘was quite vexed about him, poor
+thing; so we have got him at home again; and we have bought him a little
+Patent place, which agrees with him much better.’ I knew enough of Mr.
+Jack Maldon to suspect from this account that it was a place where there
+was not much to do, and which was pretty well paid. The Doctor, walking
+up and down with his hand on my shoulder, and his kind face turned
+encouragingly to mine, went on:
+
+‘Now, my dear Copperfield, in reference to this proposal of yours. It’s
+very gratifying and agreeable to me, I am sure; but don’t you think you
+could do better? You achieved distinction, you know, when you were with
+us. You are qualified for many good things. You have laid a foundation
+that any edifice may be raised upon; and is it not a pity that you
+should devote the spring-time of your life to such a poor pursuit as I
+can offer?’
+
+I became very glowing again, and, expressing myself in a rhapsodical
+style, I am afraid, urged my request strongly; reminding the Doctor that
+I had already a profession.
+
+‘Well, well,’ said the Doctor, ‘that’s true. Certainly, your having
+a profession, and being actually engaged in studying it, makes a
+difference. But, my good young friend, what’s seventy pounds a year?’
+
+‘It doubles our income, Doctor Strong,’ said I.
+
+‘Dear me!’ replied the Doctor. ‘To think of that! Not that I mean to
+say it’s rigidly limited to seventy pounds a-year, because I have always
+contemplated making any young friend I might thus employ, a present too.
+Undoubtedly,’ said the Doctor, still walking me up and down with
+his hand on my shoulder. ‘I have always taken an annual present into
+account.’
+
+‘My dear tutor,’ said I (now, really, without any nonsense), ‘to whom I
+owe more obligations already than I ever can acknowledge--’
+
+‘No, no,’ interposed the Doctor. ‘Pardon me!’
+
+‘If you will take such time as I have, and that is my mornings and
+evenings, and can think it worth seventy pounds a year, you will do me
+such a service as I cannot express.’
+
+‘Dear me!’ said the Doctor, innocently. ‘To think that so little should
+go for so much! Dear, dear! And when you can do better, you will? On
+your word, now?’ said the Doctor,--which he had always made a very grave
+appeal to the honour of us boys.
+
+‘On my word, sir!’ I returned, answering in our old school manner.
+
+‘Then be it so,’ said the Doctor, clapping me on the shoulder, and still
+keeping his hand there, as we still walked up and down.
+
+‘And I shall be twenty times happier, sir,’ said I, with a little--I
+hope innocent--flattery, ‘if my employment is to be on the Dictionary.’
+
+The Doctor stopped, smilingly clapped me on the shoulder again, and
+exclaimed, with a triumph most delightful to behold, as if I had
+penetrated to the profoundest depths of mortal sagacity, ‘My dear young
+friend, you have hit it. It IS the Dictionary!’
+
+How could it be anything else! His pockets were as full of it as his
+head. It was sticking out of him in all directions. He told me that
+since his retirement from scholastic life, he had been advancing with
+it wonderfully; and that nothing could suit him better than the proposed
+arrangements for morning and evening work, as it was his custom to walk
+about in the daytime with his considering cap on. His papers were in
+a little confusion, in consequence of Mr. Jack Maldon having lately
+proffered his occasional services as an amanuensis, and not being
+accustomed to that occupation; but we should soon put right what was
+amiss, and go on swimmingly. Afterwards, when we were fairly at our
+work, I found Mr. Jack Maldon’s efforts more troublesome to me than
+I had expected, as he had not confined himself to making numerous
+mistakes, but had sketched so many soldiers, and ladies’ heads, over
+the Doctor’s manuscript, that I often became involved in labyrinths of
+obscurity.
+
+The Doctor was quite happy in the prospect of our going to work together
+on that wonderful performance, and we settled to begin next morning at
+seven o’clock. We were to work two hours every morning, and two or three
+hours every night, except on Saturdays, when I was to rest. On Sundays,
+of course, I was to rest also, and I considered these very easy terms.
+
+Our plans being thus arranged to our mutual satisfaction, the Doctor
+took me into the house to present me to Mrs. Strong, whom we found in
+the Doctor’s new study, dusting his books,--a freedom which he never
+permitted anybody else to take with those sacred favourites.
+
+They had postponed their breakfast on my account, and we sat down to
+table together. We had not been seated long, when I saw an approaching
+arrival in Mrs. Strong’s face, before I heard any sound of it. A
+gentleman on horseback came to the gate, and leading his horse into the
+little court, with the bridle over his arm, as if he were quite at home,
+tied him to a ring in the empty coach-house wall, and came into the
+breakfast parlour, whip in hand. It was Mr. Jack Maldon; and Mr. Jack
+Maldon was not at all improved by India, I thought. I was in a state
+of ferocious virtue, however, as to young men who were not cutting down
+trees in the forest of difficulty; and my impression must be received
+with due allowance.
+
+‘Mr. Jack!’ said the Doctor. ‘Copperfield!’
+
+Mr. Jack Maldon shook hands with me; but not very warmly, I believed;
+and with an air of languid patronage, at which I secretly took great
+umbrage. But his languor altogether was quite a wonderful sight; except
+when he addressed himself to his cousin Annie. ‘Have you breakfasted
+this morning, Mr. Jack?’ said the Doctor.
+
+‘I hardly ever take breakfast, sir,’ he replied, with his head thrown
+back in an easy-chair. ‘I find it bores me.’
+
+‘Is there any news today?’ inquired the Doctor.
+
+‘Nothing at all, sir,’ replied Mr. Maldon. ‘There’s an account about
+the people being hungry and discontented down in the North, but they are
+always being hungry and discontented somewhere.’
+
+The Doctor looked grave, and said, as though he wished to change the
+subject, ‘Then there’s no news at all; and no news, they say, is good
+news.’
+
+‘There’s a long statement in the papers, sir, about a murder,’ observed
+Mr. Maldon. ‘But somebody is always being murdered, and I didn’t read
+it.’
+
+A display of indifference to all the actions and passions of mankind was
+not supposed to be such a distinguished quality at that time, I think,
+as I have observed it to be considered since. I have known it very
+fashionable indeed. I have seen it displayed with such success, that I
+have encountered some fine ladies and gentlemen who might as well have
+been born caterpillars. Perhaps it impressed me the more then, because
+it was new to me, but it certainly did not tend to exalt my opinion of,
+or to strengthen my confidence in, Mr. Jack Maldon.
+
+‘I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to the opera
+tonight,’ said Mr. Maldon, turning to her. ‘It’s the last good night
+there will be, this season; and there’s a singer there, whom she really
+ought to hear. She is perfectly exquisite. Besides which, she is so
+charmingly ugly,’ relapsing into languor.
+
+The Doctor, ever pleased with what was likely to please his young wife,
+turned to her and said:
+
+‘You must go, Annie. You must go.’
+
+‘I would rather not,’ she said to the Doctor. ‘I prefer to remain at
+home. I would much rather remain at home.’
+
+Without looking at her cousin, she then addressed me, and asked me about
+Agnes, and whether she should see her, and whether she was not likely to
+come that day; and was so much disturbed, that I wondered how even the
+Doctor, buttering his toast, could be blind to what was so obvious.
+
+But he saw nothing. He told her, good-naturedly, that she was young and
+ought to be amused and entertained, and must not allow herself to be
+made dull by a dull old fellow. Moreover, he said, he wanted to hear her
+sing all the new singer’s songs to him; and how could she do that well,
+unless she went? So the Doctor persisted in making the engagement for
+her, and Mr. Jack Maldon was to come back to dinner. This concluded, he
+went to his Patent place, I suppose; but at all events went away on his
+horse, looking very idle.
+
+I was curious to find out next morning, whether she had been. She had
+not, but had sent into London to put her cousin off; and had gone out in
+the afternoon to see Agnes, and had prevailed upon the Doctor to go with
+her; and they had walked home by the fields, the Doctor told me, the
+evening being delightful. I wondered then, whether she would have gone
+if Agnes had not been in town, and whether Agnes had some good influence
+over her too!
+
+She did not look very happy, I thought; but it was a good face, or a
+very false one. I often glanced at it, for she sat in the window all the
+time we were at work; and made our breakfast, which we took by snatches
+as we were employed. When I left, at nine o’clock, she was kneeling on
+the ground at the Doctor’s feet, putting on his shoes and gaiters for
+him. There was a softened shade upon her face, thrown from some green
+leaves overhanging the open window of the low room; and I thought all
+the way to Doctors’ Commons, of the night when I had seen it looking at
+him as he read.
+
+I was pretty busy now; up at five in the morning, and home at nine
+or ten at night. But I had infinite satisfaction in being so
+closely engaged, and never walked slowly on any account, and felt
+enthusiastically that the more I tired myself, the more I was doing to
+deserve Dora. I had not revealed myself in my altered character to
+Dora yet, because she was coming to see Miss Mills in a few days, and
+I deferred all I had to tell her until then; merely informing her in
+my letters (all our communications were secretly forwarded through Miss
+Mills), that I had much to tell her. In the meantime, I put myself on
+a short allowance of bear’s grease, wholly abandoned scented soap and
+lavender water, and sold off three waistcoats at a prodigious sacrifice,
+as being too luxurious for my stern career.
+
+Not satisfied with all these proceedings, but burning with impatience
+to do something more, I went to see Traddles, now lodging up behind the
+parapet of a house in Castle Street, Holborn. Mr. Dick, who had been
+with me to Highgate twice already, and had resumed his companionship
+with the Doctor, I took with me.
+
+I took Mr. Dick with me, because, acutely sensitive to my aunt’s
+reverses, and sincerely believing that no galley-slave or convict worked
+as I did, he had begun to fret and worry himself out of spirits and
+appetite, as having nothing useful to do. In this condition, he felt
+more incapable of finishing the Memorial than ever; and the harder he
+worked at it, the oftener that unlucky head of King Charles the First
+got into it. Seriously apprehending that his malady would increase,
+unless we put some innocent deception upon him and caused him to believe
+that he was useful, or unless we could put him in the way of being
+really useful (which would be better), I made up my mind to try
+if Traddles could help us. Before we went, I wrote Traddles a full
+statement of all that had happened, and Traddles wrote me back a capital
+answer, expressive of his sympathy and friendship.
+
+We found him hard at work with his inkstand and papers, refreshed by the
+sight of the flower-pot stand and the little round table in a corner of
+the small apartment. He received us cordially, and made friends with
+Mr. Dick in a moment. Mr. Dick professed an absolute certainty of having
+seen him before, and we both said, ‘Very likely.’
+
+The first subject on which I had to consult Traddles was this,--I had
+heard that many men distinguished in various pursuits had begun life
+by reporting the debates in Parliament. Traddles having mentioned
+newspapers to me, as one of his hopes, I had put the two things
+together, and told Traddles in my letter that I wished to know how I
+could qualify myself for this pursuit. Traddles now informed me, as the
+result of his inquiries, that the mere mechanical acquisition necessary,
+except in rare cases, for thorough excellence in it, that is to say,
+a perfect and entire command of the mystery of short-hand writing and
+reading, was about equal in difficulty to the mastery of six languages;
+and that it might perhaps be attained, by dint of perseverance, in the
+course of a few years. Traddles reasonably supposed that this would
+settle the business; but I, only feeling that here indeed were a few
+tall trees to be hewn down, immediately resolved to work my way on to
+Dora through this thicket, axe in hand.
+
+‘I am very much obliged to you, my dear Traddles!’ said I. ‘I’ll begin
+tomorrow.’
+
+Traddles looked astonished, as he well might; but he had no notion as
+yet of my rapturous condition.
+
+‘I’ll buy a book,’ said I, ‘with a good scheme of this art in it; I’ll
+work at it at the Commons, where I haven’t half enough to do; I’ll take
+down the speeches in our court for practice--Traddles, my dear fellow,
+I’ll master it!’
+
+‘Dear me,’ said Traddles, opening his eyes, ‘I had no idea you were such
+a determined character, Copperfield!’
+
+I don’t know how he should have had, for it was new enough to me. I
+passed that off, and brought Mr. Dick on the carpet.
+
+‘You see,’ said Mr. Dick, wistfully, ‘if I could exert myself, Mr.
+Traddles--if I could beat a drum--or blow anything!’
+
+Poor fellow! I have little doubt he would have preferred such an
+employment in his heart to all others. Traddles, who would not have
+smiled for the world, replied composedly:
+
+‘But you are a very good penman, sir. You told me so, Copperfield?’
+‘Excellent!’ said I. And indeed he was. He wrote with extraordinary
+neatness.
+
+‘Don’t you think,’ said Traddles, ‘you could copy writings, sir, if I
+got them for you?’
+
+Mr. Dick looked doubtfully at me. ‘Eh, Trotwood?’
+
+I shook my head. Mr. Dick shook his, and sighed. ‘Tell him about the
+Memorial,’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+I explained to Traddles that there was a difficulty in keeping King
+Charles the First out of Mr. Dick’s manuscripts; Mr. Dick in the
+meanwhile looking very deferentially and seriously at Traddles, and
+sucking his thumb.
+
+‘But these writings, you know, that I speak of, are already drawn up
+and finished,’ said Traddles after a little consideration. ‘Mr. Dick has
+nothing to do with them. Wouldn’t that make a difference, Copperfield?
+At all events, wouldn’t it be well to try?’
+
+This gave us new hope. Traddles and I laying our heads together apart,
+while Mr. Dick anxiously watched us from his chair, we concocted a
+scheme in virtue of which we got him to work next day, with triumphant
+success.
+
+On a table by the window in Buckingham Street, we set out the work
+Traddles procured for him--which was to make, I forget how many copies
+of a legal document about some right of way--and on another table
+we spread the last unfinished original of the great Memorial. Our
+instructions to Mr. Dick were that he should copy exactly what he had
+before him, without the least departure from the original; and that when
+he felt it necessary to make the slightest allusion to King Charles the
+First, he should fly to the Memorial. We exhorted him to be resolute
+in this, and left my aunt to observe him. My aunt reported to us,
+afterwards, that, at first, he was like a man playing the kettle-drums,
+and constantly divided his attentions between the two; but that, finding
+this confuse and fatigue him, and having his copy there, plainly before
+his eyes, he soon sat at it in an orderly business-like manner, and
+postponed the Memorial to a more convenient time. In a word, although we
+took great care that he should have no more to do than was good for him,
+and although he did not begin with the beginning of a week, he earned
+by the following Saturday night ten shillings and nine-pence; and never,
+while I live, shall I forget his going about to all the shops in the
+neighbourhood to change this treasure into sixpences, or his bringing
+them to my aunt arranged in the form of a heart upon a waiter, with
+tears of joy and pride in his eyes. He was like one under the propitious
+influence of a charm, from the moment of his being usefully employed;
+and if there were a happy man in the world, that Saturday night, it was
+the grateful creature who thought my aunt the most wonderful woman in
+existence, and me the most wonderful young man.
+
+‘No starving now, Trotwood,’ said Mr. Dick, shaking hands with me in a
+corner. ‘I’ll provide for her, Sir!’ and he flourished his ten fingers
+in the air, as if they were ten banks.
+
+I hardly know which was the better pleased, Traddles or I. ‘It really,’
+said Traddles, suddenly, taking a letter out of his pocket, and giving
+it to me, ‘put Mr. Micawber quite out of my head!’
+
+The letter (Mr. Micawber never missed any possible opportunity of
+writing a letter) was addressed to me, ‘By the kindness of T. Traddles,
+Esquire, of the Inner Temple.’ It ran thus:--
+
+
+‘MY DEAR COPPERFIELD,
+
+‘You may possibly not be unprepared to receive the intimation that
+something has turned up. I may have mentioned to you on a former
+occasion that I was in expectation of such an event.
+
+‘I am about to establish myself in one of the provincial towns of our
+favoured island (where the society may be described as a happy admixture
+of the agricultural and the clerical), in immediate connexion with
+one of the learned professions. Mrs. Micawber and our offspring will
+accompany me. Our ashes, at a future period, will probably be found
+commingled in the cemetery attached to a venerable pile, for which the
+spot to which I refer has acquired a reputation, shall I say from China
+to Peru?
+
+‘In bidding adieu to the modern Babylon, where we have undergone many
+vicissitudes, I trust not ignobly, Mrs. Micawber and myself cannot
+disguise from our minds that we part, it may be for years and it may be
+for ever, with an individual linked by strong associations to the altar
+of our domestic life. If, on the eve of such a departure, you will
+accompany our mutual friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, to our present abode,
+and there reciprocate the wishes natural to the occasion, you will
+confer a Boon
+
+ ‘On
+ ‘One
+ ‘Who
+ ‘Is
+ ‘Ever yours,
+ ‘WILKINS MICAWBER.’
+
+
+I was glad to find that Mr. Micawber had got rid of his dust and ashes,
+and that something really had turned up at last. Learning from Traddles
+that the invitation referred to the evening then wearing away, I
+expressed my readiness to do honour to it; and we went off together to
+the lodging which Mr. Micawber occupied as Mr. Mortimer, and which was
+situated near the top of the Gray’s Inn Road.
+
+The resources of this lodging were so limited, that we found the twins,
+now some eight or nine years old, reposing in a turn-up bedstead in
+the family sitting-room, where Mr. Micawber had prepared, in a
+wash-hand-stand jug, what he called ‘a Brew’ of the agreeable beverage
+for which he was famous. I had the pleasure, on this occasion, of
+renewing the acquaintance of Master Micawber, whom I found a promising
+boy of about twelve or thirteen, very subject to that restlessness of
+limb which is not an unfrequent phenomenon in youths of his age. I also
+became once more known to his sister, Miss Micawber, in whom, as Mr.
+Micawber told us, ‘her mother renewed her youth, like the Phoenix’.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘yourself and Mr. Traddles
+find us on the brink of migration, and will excuse any little
+discomforts incidental to that position.’
+
+Glancing round as I made a suitable reply, I observed that the family
+effects were already packed, and that the amount of luggage was by no
+means overwhelming. I congratulated Mrs. Micawber on the approaching
+change.
+
+‘My dear Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘of your friendly
+interest in all our affairs, I am well assured. My family may consider
+it banishment, if they please; but I am a wife and mother, and I never
+will desert Mr. Micawber.’
+
+Traddles, appealed to by Mrs. Micawber’s eye, feelingly acquiesced.
+
+‘That,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘that, at least, is my view, my dear Mr.
+Copperfield and Mr. Traddles, of the obligation which I took upon myself
+when I repeated the irrevocable words, “I, Emma, take thee, Wilkins.” I
+read the service over with a flat-candle on the previous night, and
+the conclusion I derived from it was, that I never could desert Mr.
+Micawber. And,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘though it is possible I may be
+mistaken in my view of the ceremony, I never will!’
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Micawber, a little impatiently, ‘I am not conscious
+that you are expected to do anything of the sort.’
+
+‘I am aware, my dear Mr. Copperfield,’ pursued Mrs. Micawber, ‘that I am
+now about to cast my lot among strangers; and I am also aware that the
+various members of my family, to whom Mr. Micawber has written in the
+most gentlemanly terms, announcing that fact, have not taken the least
+notice of Mr. Micawber’s communication. Indeed I may be superstitious,’
+said Mrs. Micawber, ‘but it appears to me that Mr. Micawber is destined
+never to receive any answers whatever to the great majority of the
+communications he writes. I may augur, from the silence of my family,
+that they object to the resolution I have taken; but I should not allow
+myself to be swerved from the path of duty, Mr. Copperfield, even by my
+papa and mama, were they still living.’
+
+I expressed my opinion that this was going in the right direction. ‘It
+may be a sacrifice,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘to immure one’s-self in a
+Cathedral town; but surely, Mr. Copperfield, if it is a sacrifice in me,
+it is much more a sacrifice in a man of Mr. Micawber’s abilities.’
+
+‘Oh! You are going to a Cathedral town?’ said I.
+
+Mr. Micawber, who had been helping us all, out of the wash-hand-stand
+jug, replied:
+
+‘To Canterbury. In fact, my dear Copperfield, I have entered into
+arrangements, by virtue of which I stand pledged and contracted to our
+friend Heep, to assist and serve him in the capacity of--and to be--his
+confidential clerk.’
+
+I stared at Mr. Micawber, who greatly enjoyed my surprise.
+
+‘I am bound to state to you,’ he said, with an official air, ‘that the
+business habits, and the prudent suggestions, of Mrs. Micawber, have
+in a great measure conduced to this result. The gauntlet, to which Mrs.
+Micawber referred upon a former occasion, being thrown down in the form
+of an advertisement, was taken up by my friend Heep, and led to a mutual
+recognition. Of my friend Heep,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘who is a man of
+remarkable shrewdness, I desire to speak with all possible respect.
+My friend Heep has not fixed the positive remuneration at too high a
+figure, but he has made a great deal, in the way of extrication from
+the pressure of pecuniary difficulties, contingent on the value of
+my services; and on the value of those services I pin my faith. Such
+address and intelligence as I chance to possess,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+boastfully disparaging himself, with the old genteel air, ‘will be
+devoted to my friend Heep’s service. I have already some acquaintance
+with the law--as a defendant on civil process--and I shall immediately
+apply myself to the Commentaries of one of the most eminent and
+remarkable of our English jurists. I believe it is unnecessary to add
+that I allude to Mr. justice Blackstone.’
+
+These observations, and indeed the greater part of the observations
+made that evening, were interrupted by Mrs. Micawber’s discovering that
+Master Micawber was sitting on his boots, or holding his head on with
+both arms as if he felt it loose, or accidentally kicking Traddles under
+the table, or shuffling his feet over one another, or producing them
+at distances from himself apparently outrageous to nature, or lying
+sideways with his hair among the wine-glasses, or developing his
+restlessness of limb in some other form incompatible with the general
+interests of society; and by Master Micawber’s receiving those
+discoveries in a resentful spirit. I sat all the while, amazed by Mr.
+Micawber’s disclosure, and wondering what it meant; until Mrs. Micawber
+resumed the thread of the discourse, and claimed my attention.
+
+‘What I particularly request Mr. Micawber to be careful of, is,’ said
+Mrs. Micawber, ‘that he does not, my dear Mr. Copperfield, in applying
+himself to this subordinate branch of the law, place it out of his power
+to rise, ultimately, to the top of the tree. I am convinced that Mr.
+Micawber, giving his mind to a profession so adapted to his fertile
+resources, and his flow of language, must distinguish himself. Now, for
+example, Mr. Traddles,’ said Mrs. Micawber, assuming a profound air, ‘a
+judge, or even say a Chancellor. Does an individual place himself beyond
+the pale of those preferments by entering on such an office as Mr.
+Micawber has accepted?’
+
+‘My dear,’ observed Mr. Micawber--but glancing inquisitively at
+Traddles, too; ‘we have time enough before us, for the consideration of
+those questions.’
+
+‘Micawber,’ she returned, ‘no! Your mistake in life is, that you do not
+look forward far enough. You are bound, in justice to your family, if
+not to yourself, to take in at a comprehensive glance the extremest
+point in the horizon to which your abilities may lead you.’
+
+Mr. Micawber coughed, and drank his punch with an air of exceeding
+satisfaction--still glancing at Traddles, as if he desired to have his
+opinion.
+
+‘Why, the plain state of the case, Mrs. Micawber,’ said Traddles, mildly
+breaking the truth to her. ‘I mean the real prosaic fact, you know--’
+
+‘Just so,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘my dear Mr. Traddles, I wish to be as
+prosaic and literal as possible on a subject of so much importance.’
+
+‘--Is,’ said Traddles, ‘that this branch of the law, even if Mr.
+Micawber were a regular solicitor--’
+
+‘Exactly so,’ returned Mrs. Micawber. [‘Wilkins, you are squinting, and
+will not be able to get your eyes back.’)
+
+‘--Has nothing,’ pursued Traddles, ‘to do with that. Only a barrister
+is eligible for such preferments; and Mr. Micawber could not be a
+barrister, without being entered at an inn of court as a student, for
+five years.’
+
+‘Do I follow you?’ said Mrs. Micawber, with her most affable air
+of business. ‘Do I understand, my dear Mr. Traddles, that, at the
+expiration of that period, Mr. Micawber would be eligible as a Judge or
+Chancellor?’
+
+‘He would be ELIGIBLE,’ returned Traddles, with a strong emphasis on
+that word.
+
+‘Thank you,’ said Mrs. Micawber. ‘That is quite sufficient. If such is
+the case, and Mr. Micawber forfeits no privilege by entering on these
+duties, my anxiety is set at rest. I speak,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘as a
+female, necessarily; but I have always been of opinion that Mr. Micawber
+possesses what I have heard my papa call, when I lived at home, the
+judicial mind; and I hope Mr. Micawber is now entering on a field where
+that mind will develop itself, and take a commanding station.’
+
+I quite believe that Mr. Micawber saw himself, in his judicial mind’s
+eye, on the woolsack. He passed his hand complacently over his bald
+head, and said with ostentatious resignation:
+
+‘My dear, we will not anticipate the decrees of fortune. If I am
+reserved to wear a wig, I am at least prepared, externally,’ in allusion
+to his baldness, ‘for that distinction. I do not,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+‘regret my hair, and I may have been deprived of it for a specific
+purpose. I cannot say. It is my intention, my dear Copperfield, to
+educate my son for the Church; I will not deny that I should be happy,
+on his account, to attain to eminence.’
+
+‘For the Church?’ said I, still pondering, between whiles, on Uriah
+Heep.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Mr. Micawber. ‘He has a remarkable head-voice, and will
+commence as a chorister. Our residence at Canterbury, and our local
+connexion, will, no doubt, enable him to take advantage of any vacancy
+that may arise in the Cathedral corps.’
+
+On looking at Master Micawber again, I saw that he had a certain
+expression of face, as if his voice were behind his eyebrows; where it
+presently appeared to be, on his singing us (as an alternative between
+that and bed) ‘The Wood-Pecker tapping’. After many compliments on this
+performance, we fell into some general conversation; and as I was too
+full of my desperate intentions to keep my altered circumstances to
+myself, I made them known to Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. I cannot express how
+extremely delighted they both were, by the idea of my aunt’s being in
+difficulties; and how comfortable and friendly it made them.
+
+When we were nearly come to the last round of the punch, I addressed
+myself to Traddles, and reminded him that we must not separate, without
+wishing our friends health, happiness, and success in their new career.
+I begged Mr. Micawber to fill us bumpers, and proposed the toast in
+due form: shaking hands with him across the table, and kissing Mrs.
+Micawber, to commemorate that eventful occasion. Traddles imitated me
+in the first particular, but did not consider himself a sufficiently old
+friend to venture on the second.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, rising with one of his thumbs
+in each of his waistcoat pockets, ‘the companion of my youth: if I may
+be allowed the expression--and my esteemed friend Traddles: if I may be
+permitted to call him so--will allow me, on the part of Mrs. Micawber,
+myself, and our offspring, to thank them in the warmest and most
+uncompromising terms for their good wishes. It may be expected that
+on the eve of a migration which will consign us to a perfectly new
+existence,’ Mr. Micawber spoke as if they were going five hundred
+thousand miles, ‘I should offer a few valedictory remarks to two such
+friends as I see before me. But all that I have to say in this way, I
+have said. Whatever station in society I may attain, through the medium
+of the learned profession of which I am about to become an unworthy
+member, I shall endeavour not to disgrace, and Mrs. Micawber will be
+safe to adorn. Under the temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities,
+contracted with a view to their immediate liquidation, but remaining
+unliquidated through a combination of circumstances, I have been
+under the necessity of assuming a garb from which my natural instincts
+recoil--I allude to spectacles--and possessing myself of a cognomen, to
+which I can establish no legitimate pretensions. All I have to say on
+that score is, that the cloud has passed from the dreary scene, and the
+God of Day is once more high upon the mountain tops. On Monday next, on
+the arrival of the four o’clock afternoon coach at Canterbury, my foot
+will be on my native heath--my name, Micawber!’
+
+Mr. Micawber resumed his seat on the close of these remarks, and
+drank two glasses of punch in grave succession. He then said with much
+solemnity:
+
+‘One thing more I have to do, before this separation is complete, and
+that is to perform an act of justice. My friend Mr. Thomas Traddles
+has, on two several occasions, “put his name”, if I may use a common
+expression, to bills of exchange for my accommodation. On the first
+occasion Mr. Thomas Traddles was left--let me say, in short, in the
+lurch. The fulfilment of the second has not yet arrived. The amount of
+the first obligation,’ here Mr. Micawber carefully referred to papers,
+‘was, I believe, twenty-three, four, nine and a half, of the second,
+according to my entry of that transaction, eighteen, six, two. These
+sums, united, make a total, if my calculation is correct, amounting to
+forty-one, ten, eleven and a half. My friend Copperfield will perhaps do
+me the favour to check that total?’
+
+I did so and found it correct.
+
+‘To leave this metropolis,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘and my friend Mr.
+Thomas Traddles, without acquitting myself of the pecuniary part of this
+obligation, would weigh upon my mind to an insupportable extent. I have,
+therefore, prepared for my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles, and I now hold
+in my hand, a document, which accomplishes the desired object. I beg
+to hand to my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles my I.O.U. for forty-one, ten,
+eleven and a half, and I am happy to recover my moral dignity, and to
+know that I can once more walk erect before my fellow man!’
+
+With this introduction (which greatly affected him), Mr. Micawber placed
+his I.O.U. in the hands of Traddles, and said he wished him well in
+every relation of life. I am persuaded, not only that this was quite
+the same to Mr. Micawber as paying the money, but that Traddles himself
+hardly knew the difference until he had had time to think about it. Mr.
+Micawber walked so erect before his fellow man, on the strength of
+this virtuous action, that his chest looked half as broad again when he
+lighted us downstairs. We parted with great heartiness on both sides;
+and when I had seen Traddles to his own door, and was going home alone,
+I thought, among the other odd and contradictory things I mused upon,
+that, slippery as Mr. Micawber was, I was probably indebted to some
+compassionate recollection he retained of me as his boy-lodger, for
+never having been asked by him for money. I certainly should not have
+had the moral courage to refuse it; and I have no doubt he knew that (to
+his credit be it written), quite as well as I did.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 37. A LITTLE COLD WATER
+
+
+My new life had lasted for more than a week, and I was stronger than
+ever in those tremendous practical resolutions that I felt the crisis
+required. I continued to walk extremely fast, and to have a general idea
+that I was getting on. I made it a rule to take as much out of myself
+as I possibly could, in my way of doing everything to which I applied
+my energies. I made a perfect victim of myself. I even entertained some
+idea of putting myself on a vegetable diet, vaguely conceiving that, in
+becoming a graminivorous animal, I should sacrifice to Dora.
+
+As yet, little Dora was quite unconscious of my desperate firmness,
+otherwise than as my letters darkly shadowed it forth. But another
+Saturday came, and on that Saturday evening she was to be at Miss
+Mills’s; and when Mr. Mills had gone to his whist-club (telegraphed to
+me in the street, by a bird-cage in the drawing-room middle window), I
+was to go there to tea.
+
+By this time, we were quite settled down in Buckingham Street, where Mr.
+Dick continued his copying in a state of absolute felicity. My aunt had
+obtained a signal victory over Mrs. Crupp, by paying her off, throwing
+the first pitcher she planted on the stairs out of window, and
+protecting in person, up and down the staircase, a supernumerary whom
+she engaged from the outer world. These vigorous measures struck such
+terror to the breast of Mrs. Crupp, that she subsided into her own
+kitchen, under the impression that my aunt was mad. My aunt being
+supremely indifferent to Mrs. Crupp’s opinion and everybody else’s, and
+rather favouring than discouraging the idea, Mrs. Crupp, of late the
+bold, became within a few days so faint-hearted, that rather than
+encounter my aunt upon the staircase, she would endeavour to hide her
+portly form behind doors--leaving visible, however, a wide margin of
+flannel petticoat--or would shrink into dark corners. This gave my aunt
+such unspeakable satisfaction, that I believe she took a delight in
+prowling up and down, with her bonnet insanely perched on the top of her
+head, at times when Mrs. Crupp was likely to be in the way.
+
+My aunt, being uncommonly neat and ingenious, made so many little
+improvements in our domestic arrangements, that I seemed to be richer
+instead of poorer. Among the rest, she converted the pantry into a
+dressing-room for me; and purchased and embellished a bedstead for my
+occupation, which looked as like a bookcase in the daytime as a bedstead
+could. I was the object of her constant solicitude; and my poor mother
+herself could not have loved me better, or studied more how to make me
+happy.
+
+Peggotty had considered herself highly privileged in being allowed to
+participate in these labours; and, although she still retained something
+of her old sentiment of awe in reference to my aunt, had received so
+many marks of encouragement and confidence, that they were the best
+friends possible. But the time had now come (I am speaking of the
+Saturday when I was to take tea at Miss Mills’s) when it was necessary
+for her to return home, and enter on the discharge of the duties she had
+undertaken in behalf of Ham. ‘So good-bye, Barkis,’ said my aunt, ‘and
+take care of yourself! I am sure I never thought I could be sorry to
+lose you!’
+
+I took Peggotty to the coach office and saw her off. She cried at
+parting, and confided her brother to my friendship as Ham had done. We
+had heard nothing of him since he went away, that sunny afternoon.
+
+‘And now, my own dear Davy,’ said Peggotty, ‘if, while you’re a
+prentice, you should want any money to spend; or if, when you’re out of
+your time, my dear, you should want any to set you up (and you must do
+one or other, or both, my darling); who has such a good right to ask
+leave to lend it you, as my sweet girl’s own old stupid me!’
+
+I was not so savagely independent as to say anything in reply, but that
+if ever I borrowed money of anyone, I would borrow it of her. Next to
+accepting a large sum on the spot, I believe this gave Peggotty more
+comfort than anything I could have done.
+
+‘And, my dear!’ whispered Peggotty, ‘tell the pretty little angel that
+I should so have liked to see her, only for a minute! And tell her that
+before she marries my boy, I’ll come and make your house so beautiful
+for you, if you’ll let me!’
+
+I declared that nobody else should touch it; and this gave Peggotty such
+delight that she went away in good spirits.
+
+I fatigued myself as much as I possibly could in the Commons all day, by
+a variety of devices, and at the appointed time in the evening repaired
+to Mr. Mills’s street. Mr. Mills, who was a terrible fellow to fall
+asleep after dinner, had not yet gone out, and there was no bird-cage in
+the middle window.
+
+He kept me waiting so long, that I fervently hoped the Club would fine
+him for being late. At last he came out; and then I saw my own Dora hang
+up the bird-cage, and peep into the balcony to look for me, and run
+in again when she saw I was there, while Jip remained behind, to bark
+injuriously at an immense butcher’s dog in the street, who could have
+taken him like a pill.
+
+Dora came to the drawing-room door to meet me; and Jip came scrambling
+out, tumbling over his own growls, under the impression that I was a
+Bandit; and we all three went in, as happy and loving as could be. I
+soon carried desolation into the bosom of our joys--not that I meant to
+do it, but that I was so full of the subject--by asking Dora, without
+the smallest preparation, if she could love a beggar?
+
+My pretty, little, startled Dora! Her only association with the word was
+a yellow face and a nightcap, or a pair of crutches, or a wooden leg, or
+a dog with a decanter-stand in his mouth, or something of that kind; and
+she stared at me with the most delightful wonder.
+
+‘How can you ask me anything so foolish?’ pouted Dora. ‘Love a beggar!’
+
+‘Dora, my own dearest!’ said I. ‘I am a beggar!’
+
+‘How can you be such a silly thing,’ replied Dora, slapping my hand, ‘as
+to sit there, telling such stories? I’ll make Jip bite you!’
+
+Her childish way was the most delicious way in the world to me, but it
+was necessary to be explicit, and I solemnly repeated:
+
+‘Dora, my own life, I am your ruined David!’
+
+‘I declare I’ll make Jip bite you!’ said Dora, shaking her curls, ‘if
+you are so ridiculous.’
+
+But I looked so serious, that Dora left off shaking her curls, and laid
+her trembling little hand upon my shoulder, and first looked scared
+and anxious, then began to cry. That was dreadful. I fell upon my knees
+before the sofa, caressing her, and imploring her not to rend my heart;
+but, for some time, poor little Dora did nothing but exclaim Oh dear! Oh
+dear! And oh, she was so frightened! And where was Julia Mills! And oh,
+take her to Julia Mills, and go away, please! until I was almost beside
+myself.
+
+At last, after an agony of supplication and protestation, I got Dora
+to look at me, with a horrified expression of face, which I gradually
+soothed until it was only loving, and her soft, pretty cheek was lying
+against mine. Then I told her, with my arms clasped round her, how I
+loved her, so dearly, and so dearly; how I felt it right to offer to
+release her from her engagement, because now I was poor; how I never
+could bear it, or recover it, if I lost her; how I had no fears of
+poverty, if she had none, my arm being nerved and my heart inspired by
+her; how I was already working with a courage such as none but lovers
+knew; how I had begun to be practical, and look into the future; how a
+crust well earned was sweeter far than a feast inherited; and much
+more to the same purpose, which I delivered in a burst of passionate
+eloquence quite surprising to myself, though I had been thinking about
+it, day and night, ever since my aunt had astonished me.
+
+‘Is your heart mine still, dear Dora?’ said I, rapturously, for I knew
+by her clinging to me that it was.
+
+‘Oh, yes!’ cried Dora. ‘Oh, yes, it’s all yours. Oh, don’t be dreadful!’
+
+I dreadful! To Dora!
+
+‘Don’t talk about being poor, and working hard!’ said Dora, nestling
+closer to me. ‘Oh, don’t, don’t!’
+
+‘My dearest love,’ said I, ‘the crust well-earned--’
+
+‘Oh, yes; but I don’t want to hear any more about crusts!’ said Dora.
+‘And Jip must have a mutton-chop every day at twelve, or he’ll die.’
+
+I was charmed with her childish, winning way. I fondly explained to Dora
+that Jip should have his mutton-chop with his accustomed regularity.
+I drew a picture of our frugal home, made independent by my
+labour--sketching in the little house I had seen at Highgate, and my
+aunt in her room upstairs.
+
+‘I am not dreadful now, Dora?’ said I, tenderly.
+
+‘Oh, no, no!’ cried Dora. ‘But I hope your aunt will keep in her own
+room a good deal. And I hope she’s not a scolding old thing!’
+
+If it were possible for me to love Dora more than ever, I am sure I did.
+But I felt she was a little impracticable. It damped my new-born ardour,
+to find that ardour so difficult of communication to her. I made another
+trial. When she was quite herself again, and was curling Jip’s ears, as
+he lay upon her lap, I became grave, and said:
+
+‘My own! May I mention something?’
+
+‘Oh, please don’t be practical!’ said Dora, coaxingly. ‘Because it
+frightens me so!’
+
+‘Sweetheart!’ I returned; ‘there is nothing to alarm you in all this. I
+want you to think of it quite differently. I want to make it nerve you,
+and inspire you, Dora!’
+
+‘Oh, but that’s so shocking!’ cried Dora.
+
+‘My love, no. Perseverance and strength of character will enable us to
+bear much worse things.’ ‘But I haven’t got any strength at all,’
+said Dora, shaking her curls. ‘Have I, Jip? Oh, do kiss Jip, and be
+agreeable!’
+
+It was impossible to resist kissing Jip, when she held him up to me for
+that purpose, putting her own bright, rosy little mouth into kissing
+form, as she directed the operation, which she insisted should be
+performed symmetrically, on the centre of his nose. I did as she bade
+me--rewarding myself afterwards for my obedience--and she charmed me out
+of my graver character for I don’t know how long.
+
+‘But, Dora, my beloved!’ said I, at last resuming it; ‘I was going to
+mention something.’
+
+The judge of the Prerogative Court might have fallen in love with her,
+to see her fold her little hands and hold them up, begging and praying
+me not to be dreadful any more.
+
+‘Indeed I am not going to be, my darling!’ I assured her. ‘But, Dora, my
+love, if you will sometimes think,--not despondingly, you know; far from
+that!--but if you will sometimes think--just to encourage yourself--that
+you are engaged to a poor man--’
+
+‘Don’t, don’t! Pray don’t!’ cried Dora. ‘It’s so very dreadful!’
+
+‘My soul, not at all!’ said I, cheerfully. ‘If you will sometimes think
+of that, and look about now and then at your papa’s housekeeping, and
+endeavour to acquire a little habit--of accounts, for instance--’
+
+Poor little Dora received this suggestion with something that was half a
+sob and half a scream.
+
+‘--It would be so useful to us afterwards,’ I went on. ‘And if you would
+promise me to read a little--a little Cookery Book that I would send
+you, it would be so excellent for both of us. For our path in life, my
+Dora,’ said I, warming with the subject, ‘is stony and rugged now, and
+it rests with us to smooth it. We must fight our way onward. We must be
+brave. There are obstacles to be met, and we must meet, and crush them!’
+
+I was going on at a great rate, with a clenched hand, and a most
+enthusiastic countenance; but it was quite unnecessary to proceed. I had
+said enough. I had done it again. Oh, she was so frightened! Oh, where
+was Julia Mills! Oh, take her to Julia Mills, and go away, please!
+So that, in short, I was quite distracted, and raved about the
+drawing-room.
+
+I thought I had killed her, this time. I sprinkled water on her face.
+I went down on my knees. I plucked at my hair. I denounced myself as a
+remorseless brute and a ruthless beast. I implored her forgiveness.
+I besought her to look up. I ravaged Miss Mills’s work-box for a
+smelling-bottle, and in my agony of mind applied an ivory needle-case
+instead, and dropped all the needles over Dora. I shook my fists at Jip,
+who was as frantic as myself. I did every wild extravagance that could
+be done, and was a long way beyond the end of my wits when Miss Mills
+came into the room.
+
+‘Who has done this?’ exclaimed Miss Mills, succouring her friend.
+
+I replied, ‘I, Miss Mills! I have done it! Behold the destroyer!’--or
+words to that effect--and hid my face from the light, in the sofa
+cushion.
+
+At first Miss Mills thought it was a quarrel, and that we were verging
+on the Desert of Sahara; but she soon found out how matters stood, for
+my dear affectionate little Dora, embracing her, began exclaiming that I
+was ‘a poor labourer’; and then cried for me, and embraced me, and asked
+me would I let her give me all her money to keep, and then fell on Miss
+Mills’s neck, sobbing as if her tender heart were broken.
+
+Miss Mills must have been born to be a blessing to us. She ascertained
+from me in a few words what it was all about, comforted Dora, and
+gradually convinced her that I was not a labourer--from my manner of
+stating the case I believe Dora concluded that I was a navigator,
+and went balancing myself up and down a plank all day with a
+wheelbarrow--and so brought us together in peace. When we were quite
+composed, and Dora had gone up-stairs to put some rose-water to her
+eyes, Miss Mills rang for tea. In the ensuing interval, I told Miss
+Mills that she was evermore my friend, and that my heart must cease to
+vibrate ere I could forget her sympathy.
+
+I then expounded to Miss Mills what I had endeavoured, so very
+unsuccessfully, to expound to Dora. Miss Mills replied, on general
+principles, that the Cottage of content was better than the Palace of
+cold splendour, and that where love was, all was.
+
+I said to Miss Mills that this was very true, and who should know
+it better than I, who loved Dora with a love that never mortal had
+experienced yet? But on Miss Mills observing, with despondency, that
+it were well indeed for some hearts if this were so, I explained that
+I begged leave to restrict the observation to mortals of the masculine
+gender.
+
+I then put it to Miss Mills, to say whether she considered that there
+was or was not any practical merit in the suggestion I had been anxious
+to make, concerning the accounts, the housekeeping, and the Cookery
+Book?
+
+Miss Mills, after some consideration, thus replied:
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield, I will be plain with you. Mental suffering and trial
+supply, in some natures, the place of years, and I will be as plain with
+you as if I were a Lady Abbess. No. The suggestion is not appropriate
+to our Dora. Our dearest Dora is a favourite child of nature. She is a
+thing of light, and airiness, and joy. I am free to confess that if it
+could be done, it might be well, but--’ And Miss Mills shook her head.
+
+I was encouraged by this closing admission on the part of Miss Mills to
+ask her, whether, for Dora’s sake, if she had any opportunity of luring
+her attention to such preparations for an earnest life, she would avail
+herself of it? Miss Mills replied in the affirmative so readily, that I
+further asked her if she would take charge of the Cookery Book; and, if
+she ever could insinuate it upon Dora’s acceptance, without frightening
+her, undertake to do me that crowning service. Miss Mills accepted this
+trust, too; but was not sanguine.
+
+And Dora returned, looking such a lovely little creature, that I really
+doubted whether she ought to be troubled with anything so ordinary. And
+she loved me so much, and was so captivating (particularly when she made
+Jip stand on his hind legs for toast, and when she pretended to hold
+that nose of his against the hot teapot for punishment because he
+wouldn’t), that I felt like a sort of Monster who had got into a Fairy’s
+bower, when I thought of having frightened her, and made her cry.
+
+After tea we had the guitar; and Dora sang those same dear old French
+songs about the impossibility of ever on any account leaving off
+dancing, La ra la, La ra la, until I felt a much greater Monster than
+before.
+
+We had only one check to our pleasure, and that happened a little while
+before I took my leave, when, Miss Mills chancing to make some allusion
+to tomorrow morning, I unluckily let out that, being obliged to exert
+myself now, I got up at five o’clock. Whether Dora had any idea that
+I was a Private Watchman, I am unable to say; but it made a great
+impression on her, and she neither played nor sang any more.
+
+It was still on her mind when I bade her adieu; and she said to me, in
+her pretty coaxing way--as if I were a doll, I used to think:
+
+‘Now don’t get up at five o’clock, you naughty boy. It’s so
+nonsensical!’
+
+‘My love,’ said I, ‘I have work to do.’
+
+‘But don’t do it!’ returned Dora. ‘Why should you?’
+
+It was impossible to say to that sweet little surprised face, otherwise
+than lightly and playfully, that we must work to live.
+
+‘Oh! How ridiculous!’ cried Dora.
+
+‘How shall we live without, Dora?’ said I.
+
+‘How? Any how!’ said Dora.
+
+She seemed to think she had quite settled the question, and gave me such
+a triumphant little kiss, direct from her innocent heart, that I would
+hardly have put her out of conceit with her answer, for a fortune.
+
+Well! I loved her, and I went on loving her, most absorbingly, entirely,
+and completely. But going on, too, working pretty hard, and busily
+keeping red-hot all the irons I now had in the fire, I would sit
+sometimes of a night, opposite my aunt, thinking how I had frightened
+Dora that time, and how I could best make my way with a guitar-case
+through the forest of difficulty, until I used to fancy that my head was
+turning quite grey.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 38. A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP
+
+
+I did not allow my resolution, with respect to the Parliamentary
+Debates, to cool. It was one of the irons I began to heat immediately,
+and one of the irons I kept hot, and hammered at, with a perseverance
+I may honestly admire. I bought an approved scheme of the noble art and
+mystery of stenography (which cost me ten and sixpence); and plunged
+into a sea of perplexity that brought me, in a few weeks, to the
+confines of distraction. The changes that were rung upon dots, which
+in such a position meant such a thing, and in such another position
+something else, entirely different; the wonderful vagaries that were
+played by circles; the unaccountable consequences that resulted from
+marks like flies’ legs; the tremendous effects of a curve in a wrong
+place; not only troubled my waking hours, but reappeared before me in
+my sleep. When I had groped my way, blindly, through these difficulties,
+and had mastered the alphabet, which was an Egyptian Temple in itself,
+there then appeared a procession of new horrors, called arbitrary
+characters; the most despotic characters I have ever known; who
+insisted, for instance, that a thing like the beginning of a cobweb,
+meant expectation, and that a pen-and-ink sky-rocket, stood for
+disadvantageous. When I had fixed these wretches in my mind, I found
+that they had driven everything else out of it; then, beginning again, I
+forgot them; while I was picking them up, I dropped the other fragments
+of the system; in short, it was almost heart-breaking.
+
+It might have been quite heart-breaking, but for Dora, who was the stay
+and anchor of my tempest-driven bark. Every scratch in the scheme was
+a gnarled oak in the forest of difficulty, and I went on cutting them
+down, one after another, with such vigour, that in three or four months
+I was in a condition to make an experiment on one of our crack speakers
+in the Commons. Shall I ever forget how the crack speaker walked off
+from me before I began, and left my imbecile pencil staggering about the
+paper as if it were in a fit!
+
+This would not do, it was quite clear. I was flying too high, and should
+never get on, so. I resorted to Traddles for advice; who suggested
+that he should dictate speeches to me, at a pace, and with occasional
+stoppages, adapted to my weakness. Very grateful for this friendly aid,
+I accepted the proposal; and night after night, almost every night, for
+a long time, we had a sort of Private Parliament in Buckingham Street,
+after I came home from the Doctor’s.
+
+I should like to see such a Parliament anywhere else! My aunt and Mr.
+Dick represented the Government or the Opposition (as the case might
+be), and Traddles, with the assistance of Enfield’s Speakers, or a
+volume of parliamentary orations, thundered astonishing invectives
+against them. Standing by the table, with his finger in the page to keep
+the place, and his right arm flourishing above his head, Traddles, as
+Mr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Burke, Lord Castlereagh, Viscount
+Sidmouth, or Mr. Canning, would work himself into the most violent
+heats, and deliver the most withering denunciations of the profligacy
+and corruption of my aunt and Mr. Dick; while I used to sit, at a little
+distance, with my notebook on my knee, fagging after him with all my
+might and main. The inconsistency and recklessness of Traddles were not
+to be exceeded by any real politician. He was for any description of
+policy, in the compass of a week; and nailed all sorts of colours to
+every denomination of mast. My aunt, looking very like an immovable
+Chancellor of the Exchequer, would occasionally throw in an interruption
+or two, as ‘Hear!’ or ‘No!’ or ‘Oh!’ when the text seemed to require it:
+which was always a signal to Mr. Dick (a perfect country gentleman)
+to follow lustily with the same cry. But Mr. Dick got taxed with
+such things in the course of his Parliamentary career, and was made
+responsible for such awful consequences, that he became uncomfortable in
+his mind sometimes. I believe he actually began to be afraid he really
+had been doing something, tending to the annihilation of the British
+constitution, and the ruin of the country.
+
+Often and often we pursued these debates until the clock pointed to
+midnight, and the candles were burning down. The result of so much good
+practice was, that by and by I began to keep pace with Traddles pretty
+well, and should have been quite triumphant if I had had the least idea
+what my notes were about. But, as to reading them after I had got them,
+I might as well have copied the Chinese inscriptions of an immense
+collection of tea-chests, or the golden characters on all the great red
+and green bottles in the chemists’ shops!
+
+There was nothing for it, but to turn back and begin all over again. It
+was very hard, but I turned back, though with a heavy heart, and began
+laboriously and methodically to plod over the same tedious ground at a
+snail’s pace; stopping to examine minutely every speck in the way, on
+all sides, and making the most desperate efforts to know these elusive
+characters by sight wherever I met them. I was always punctual at
+the office; at the Doctor’s too: and I really did work, as the common
+expression is, like a cart-horse. One day, when I went to the Commons as
+usual, I found Mr. Spenlow in the doorway looking extremely grave, and
+talking to himself. As he was in the habit of complaining of pains in
+his head--he had naturally a short throat, and I do seriously believe
+he over-starched himself--I was at first alarmed by the idea that he was
+not quite right in that direction; but he soon relieved my uneasiness.
+
+Instead of returning my ‘Good morning’ with his usual affability, he
+looked at me in a distant, ceremonious manner, and coldly requested me
+to accompany him to a certain coffee-house, which, in those days, had
+a door opening into the Commons, just within the little archway in St.
+Paul’s Churchyard. I complied, in a very uncomfortable state, and with a
+warm shooting all over me, as if my apprehensions were breaking out into
+buds. When I allowed him to go on a little before, on account of the
+narrowness of the way, I observed that he carried his head with a lofty
+air that was particularly unpromising; and my mind misgave me that he
+had found out about my darling Dora.
+
+If I had not guessed this, on the way to the coffee-house, I could
+hardly have failed to know what was the matter when I followed him
+into an upstairs room, and found Miss Murdstone there, supported by
+a background of sideboard, on which were several inverted tumblers
+sustaining lemons, and two of those extraordinary boxes, all corners and
+flutings, for sticking knives and forks in, which, happily for mankind,
+are now obsolete.
+
+Miss Murdstone gave me her chilly finger-nails, and sat severely rigid.
+Mr. Spenlow shut the door, motioned me to a chair, and stood on the
+hearth-rug in front of the fireplace.
+
+‘Have the goodness to show Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mr. Spenlow, what you
+have in your reticule, Miss Murdstone.’
+
+I believe it was the old identical steel-clasped reticule of my
+childhood, that shut up like a bite. Compressing her lips, in sympathy
+with the snap, Miss Murdstone opened it--opening her mouth a little
+at the same time--and produced my last letter to Dora, teeming with
+expressions of devoted affection.
+
+‘I believe that is your writing, Mr. Copperfield?’ said Mr. Spenlow.
+
+I was very hot, and the voice I heard was very unlike mine, when I said,
+‘It is, sir!’
+
+‘If I am not mistaken,’ said Mr. Spenlow, as Miss Murdstone brought a
+parcel of letters out of her reticule, tied round with the dearest bit
+of blue ribbon, ‘those are also from your pen, Mr. Copperfield?’
+
+I took them from her with a most desolate sensation; and, glancing at
+such phrases at the top, as ‘My ever dearest and own Dora,’ ‘My best
+beloved angel,’ ‘My blessed one for ever,’ and the like, blushed deeply,
+and inclined my head.
+
+‘No, thank you!’ said Mr. Spenlow, coldly, as I mechanically offered
+them back to him. ‘I will not deprive you of them. Miss Murdstone, be so
+good as to proceed!’
+
+That gentle creature, after a moment’s thoughtful survey of the carpet,
+delivered herself with much dry unction as follows.
+
+‘I must confess to having entertained my suspicions of Miss Spenlow, in
+reference to David Copperfield, for some time. I observed Miss Spenlow
+and David Copperfield, when they first met; and the impression made upon
+me then was not agreeable. The depravity of the human heart is such--’
+
+‘You will oblige me, ma’am,’ interrupted Mr. Spenlow, ‘by confining
+yourself to facts.’
+
+Miss Murdstone cast down her eyes, shook her head as if protesting
+against this unseemly interruption, and with frowning dignity resumed:
+
+‘Since I am to confine myself to facts, I will state them as dryly as I
+can. Perhaps that will be considered an acceptable course of proceeding.
+I have already said, sir, that I have had my suspicions of Miss Spenlow,
+in reference to David Copperfield, for some time. I have frequently
+endeavoured to find decisive corroboration of those suspicions, but
+without effect. I have therefore forborne to mention them to Miss
+Spenlow’s father’; looking severely at him--‘knowing how little
+disposition there usually is in such cases, to acknowledge the
+conscientious discharge of duty.’
+
+Mr. Spenlow seemed quite cowed by the gentlemanly sternness of Miss
+Murdstone’s manner, and deprecated her severity with a conciliatory
+little wave of his hand.
+
+‘On my return to Norwood, after the period of absence occasioned by my
+brother’s marriage,’ pursued Miss Murdstone in a disdainful voice, ‘and
+on the return of Miss Spenlow from her visit to her friend Miss Mills,
+I imagined that the manner of Miss Spenlow gave me greater occasion for
+suspicion than before. Therefore I watched Miss Spenlow closely.’
+
+Dear, tender little Dora, so unconscious of this Dragon’s eye!
+
+‘Still,’ resumed Miss Murdstone, ‘I found no proof until last night.
+It appeared to me that Miss Spenlow received too many letters from her
+friend Miss Mills; but Miss Mills being her friend with her father’s
+full concurrence,’ another telling blow at Mr. Spenlow, ‘it was not
+for me to interfere. If I may not be permitted to allude to the natural
+depravity of the human heart, at least I may--I must--be permitted, so
+far to refer to misplaced confidence.’
+
+Mr. Spenlow apologetically murmured his assent.
+
+‘Last evening after tea,’ pursued Miss Murdstone, ‘I observed the little
+dog starting, rolling, and growling about the drawing-room, worrying
+something. I said to Miss Spenlow, “Dora, what is that the dog has in
+his mouth? It’s paper.” Miss Spenlow immediately put her hand to her
+frock, gave a sudden cry, and ran to the dog. I interposed, and said,
+“Dora, my love, you must permit me.”’
+
+Oh Jip, miserable Spaniel, this wretchedness, then, was your work!
+
+‘Miss Spenlow endeavoured,’ said Miss Murdstone, ‘to bribe me with
+kisses, work-boxes, and small articles of jewellery--that, of course,
+I pass over. The little dog retreated under the sofa on my approaching
+him, and was with great difficulty dislodged by the fire-irons. Even
+when dislodged, he still kept the letter in his mouth; and on my
+endeavouring to take it from him, at the imminent risk of being bitten,
+he kept it between his teeth so pertinaciously as to suffer himself
+to be held suspended in the air by means of the document. At length I
+obtained possession of it. After perusing it, I taxed Miss Spenlow with
+having many such letters in her possession; and ultimately obtained from
+her the packet which is now in David Copperfield’s hand.’
+
+Here she ceased; and snapping her reticule again, and shutting her
+mouth, looked as if she might be broken, but could never be bent.
+
+‘You have heard Miss Murdstone,’ said Mr. Spenlow, turning to me. ‘I beg
+to ask, Mr. Copperfield, if you have anything to say in reply?’
+
+The picture I had before me, of the beautiful little treasure of my
+heart, sobbing and crying all night--of her being alone, frightened,
+and wretched, then--of her having so piteously begged and prayed that
+stony-hearted woman to forgive her--of her having vainly offered her
+those kisses, work-boxes, and trinkets--of her being in such grievous
+distress, and all for me--very much impaired the little dignity I had
+been able to muster. I am afraid I was in a tremulous state for a minute
+or so, though I did my best to disguise it.
+
+‘There is nothing I can say, sir,’ I returned, ‘except that all the
+blame is mine. Dora--’
+
+‘Miss Spenlow, if you please,’ said her father, majestically.
+
+‘--was induced and persuaded by me,’ I went on, swallowing that colder
+designation, ‘to consent to this concealment, and I bitterly regret it.’
+
+‘You are very much to blame, sir,’ said Mr. Spenlow, walking to and fro
+upon the hearth-rug, and emphasizing what he said with his whole body
+instead of his head, on account of the stiffness of his cravat and
+spine. ‘You have done a stealthy and unbecoming action, Mr. Copperfield.
+When I take a gentleman to my house, no matter whether he is nineteen,
+twenty-nine, or ninety, I take him there in a spirit of confidence.
+If he abuses my confidence, he commits a dishonourable action, Mr.
+Copperfield.’
+
+‘I feel it, sir, I assure you,’ I returned. ‘But I never thought so,
+before. Sincerely, honestly, indeed, Mr. Spenlow, I never thought so,
+before. I love Miss Spenlow to that extent--’
+
+‘Pooh! nonsense!’ said Mr. Spenlow, reddening. ‘Pray don’t tell me to my
+face that you love my daughter, Mr. Copperfield!’
+
+‘Could I defend my conduct if I did not, sir?’ I returned, with all
+humility.
+
+‘Can you defend your conduct if you do, sir?’ said Mr. Spenlow, stopping
+short upon the hearth-rug. ‘Have you considered your years, and my
+daughter’s years, Mr. Copperfield? Have you considered what it is to
+undermine the confidence that should subsist between my daughter and
+myself? Have you considered my daughter’s station in life, the projects
+I may contemplate for her advancement, the testamentary intentions I
+may have with reference to her? Have you considered anything, Mr.
+Copperfield?’
+
+‘Very little, sir, I am afraid;’ I answered, speaking to him as
+respectfully and sorrowfully as I felt; ‘but pray believe me, I have
+considered my own worldly position. When I explained it to you, we were
+already engaged--’
+
+‘I BEG,’ said Mr. Spenlow, more like Punch than I had ever seen him,
+as he energetically struck one hand upon the other--I could not help
+noticing that even in my despair; ‘that YOU Will NOT talk to me of
+engagements, Mr. Copperfield!’
+
+The otherwise immovable Miss Murdstone laughed contemptuously in one
+short syllable.
+
+‘When I explained my altered position to you, sir,’ I began again,
+substituting a new form of expression for what was so unpalatable to
+him, ‘this concealment, into which I am so unhappy as to have led Miss
+Spenlow, had begun. Since I have been in that altered position, I have
+strained every nerve, I have exerted every energy, to improve it. I am
+sure I shall improve it in time. Will you grant me time--any length of
+time? We are both so young, sir,--’
+
+‘You are right,’ interrupted Mr. Spenlow, nodding his head a great
+many times, and frowning very much, ‘you are both very young. It’s all
+nonsense. Let there be an end of the nonsense. Take away those letters,
+and throw them in the fire. Give me Miss Spenlow’s letters to throw in
+the fire; and although our future intercourse must, you are aware, be
+restricted to the Commons here, we will agree to make no further mention
+of the past. Come, Mr. Copperfield, you don’t want sense; and this is
+the sensible course.’
+
+No. I couldn’t think of agreeing to it. I was very sorry, but there
+was a higher consideration than sense. Love was above all earthly
+considerations, and I loved Dora to idolatry, and Dora loved me. I
+didn’t exactly say so; I softened it down as much as I could; but I
+implied it, and I was resolute upon it. I don’t think I made myself very
+ridiculous, but I know I was resolute.
+
+‘Very well, Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mr. Spenlow, ‘I must try my influence
+with my daughter.’
+
+Miss Murdstone, by an expressive sound, a long drawn respiration, which
+was neither a sigh nor a moan, but was like both, gave it as her opinion
+that he should have done this at first.
+
+‘I must try,’ said Mr. Spenlow, confirmed by this support, ‘my
+influence with my daughter. Do you decline to take those letters, Mr.
+Copperfield?’ For I had laid them on the table.
+
+Yes. I told him I hoped he would not think it wrong, but I couldn’t
+possibly take them from Miss Murdstone.
+
+‘Nor from me?’ said Mr. Spenlow.
+
+No, I replied with the profoundest respect; nor from him.
+
+‘Very well!’ said Mr. Spenlow.
+
+A silence succeeding, I was undecided whether to go or stay. At length
+I was moving quietly towards the door, with the intention of saying that
+perhaps I should consult his feelings best by withdrawing: when he said,
+with his hands in his coat pockets, into which it was as much as he
+could do to get them; and with what I should call, upon the whole, a
+decidedly pious air:
+
+‘You are probably aware, Mr. Copperfield, that I am not altogether
+destitute of worldly possessions, and that my daughter is my nearest and
+dearest relative?’
+
+I hurriedly made him a reply to the effect, that I hoped the error into
+which I had been betrayed by the desperate nature of my love, did not
+induce him to think me mercenary too?
+
+‘I don’t allude to the matter in that light,’ said Mr. Spenlow. ‘It
+would be better for yourself, and all of us, if you WERE mercenary, Mr.
+Copperfield--I mean, if you were more discreet and less influenced by
+all this youthful nonsense. No. I merely say, with quite another view,
+you are probably aware I have some property to bequeath to my child?’
+
+I certainly supposed so.
+
+‘And you can hardly think,’ said Mr. Spenlow, ‘having experience of what
+we see, in the Commons here, every day, of the various unaccountable
+and negligent proceedings of men, in respect of their testamentary
+arrangements--of all subjects, the one on which perhaps the strangest
+revelations of human inconsistency are to be met with--but that mine are
+made?’
+
+I inclined my head in acquiescence.
+
+‘I should not allow,’ said Mr. Spenlow, with an evident increase of
+pious sentiment, and slowly shaking his head as he poised himself upon
+his toes and heels alternately, ‘my suitable provision for my child to
+be influenced by a piece of youthful folly like the present. It is mere
+folly. Mere nonsense. In a little while, it will weigh lighter than
+any feather. But I might--I might--if this silly business were not
+completely relinquished altogether, be induced in some anxious moment
+to guard her from, and surround her with protections against, the
+consequences of any foolish step in the way of marriage. Now, Mr.
+Copperfield, I hope that you will not render it necessary for me to
+open, even for a quarter of an hour, that closed page in the book of
+life, and unsettle, even for a quarter of an hour, grave affairs long
+since composed.’
+
+There was a serenity, a tranquillity, a calm sunset air about him, which
+quite affected me. He was so peaceful and resigned--clearly had his
+affairs in such perfect train, and so systematically wound up--that he
+was a man to feel touched in the contemplation of. I really think I saw
+tears rise to his eyes, from the depth of his own feeling of all this.
+
+But what could I do? I could not deny Dora and my own heart. When he
+told me I had better take a week to consider of what he had said, how
+could I say I wouldn’t take a week, yet how could I fail to know that no
+amount of weeks could influence such love as mine?
+
+‘In the meantime, confer with Miss Trotwood, or with any person with
+any knowledge of life,’ said Mr. Spenlow, adjusting his cravat with both
+hands. ‘Take a week, Mr. Copperfield.’
+
+I submitted; and, with a countenance as expressive as I was able to
+make it of dejected and despairing constancy, came out of the room. Miss
+Murdstone’s heavy eyebrows followed me to the door--I say her eyebrows
+rather than her eyes, because they were much more important in her
+face--and she looked so exactly as she used to look, at about that
+hour of the morning, in our parlour at Blunderstone, that I could have
+fancied I had been breaking down in my lessons again, and that the
+dead weight on my mind was that horrible old spelling-book, with
+oval woodcuts, shaped, to my youthful fancy, like the glasses out of
+spectacles.
+
+When I got to the office, and, shutting out old Tiffey and the rest of
+them with my hands, sat at my desk, in my own particular nook, thinking
+of this earthquake that had taken place so unexpectedly, and in the
+bitterness of my spirit cursing Jip, I fell into such a state of torment
+about Dora, that I wonder I did not take up my hat and rush insanely to
+Norwood. The idea of their frightening her, and making her cry, and of
+my not being there to comfort her, was so excruciating, that it impelled
+me to write a wild letter to Mr. Spenlow, beseeching him not to visit
+upon her the consequences of my awful destiny. I implored him to spare
+her gentle nature--not to crush a fragile flower--and addressed him
+generally, to the best of my remembrance, as if, instead of being her
+father, he had been an Ogre, or the Dragon of Wantley. This letter I
+sealed and laid upon his desk before he returned; and when he came in,
+I saw him, through the half-opened door of his room, take it up and read
+it.
+
+He said nothing about it all the morning; but before he went away in the
+afternoon he called me in, and told me that I need not make myself at
+all uneasy about his daughter’s happiness. He had assured her, he said,
+that it was all nonsense; and he had nothing more to say to her. He
+believed he was an indulgent father (as indeed he was), and I might
+spare myself any solicitude on her account.
+
+‘You may make it necessary, if you are foolish or obstinate, Mr.
+Copperfield,’ he observed, ‘for me to send my daughter abroad again,
+for a term; but I have a better opinion of you. I hope you will be wiser
+than that, in a few days. As to Miss Murdstone,’ for I had alluded to
+her in the letter, ‘I respect that lady’s vigilance, and feel obliged to
+her; but she has strict charge to avoid the subject. All I desire, Mr.
+Copperfield, is, that it should be forgotten. All you have got to do,
+Mr. Copperfield, is to forget it.’
+
+All! In the note I wrote to Miss Mills, I bitterly quoted this
+sentiment. All I had to do, I said, with gloomy sarcasm, was to forget
+Dora. That was all, and what was that! I entreated Miss Mills to see
+me, that evening. If it could not be done with Mr. Mills’s sanction
+and concurrence, I besought a clandestine interview in the back kitchen
+where the Mangle was. I informed her that my reason was tottering on
+its throne, and only she, Miss Mills, could prevent its being deposed.
+I signed myself, hers distractedly; and I couldn’t help feeling, while
+I read this composition over, before sending it by a porter, that it was
+something in the style of Mr. Micawber.
+
+However, I sent it. At night I repaired to Miss Mills’s street, and
+walked up and down, until I was stealthily fetched in by Miss Mills’s
+maid, and taken the area way to the back kitchen. I have since seen
+reason to believe that there was nothing on earth to prevent my going in
+at the front door, and being shown up into the drawing-room, except Miss
+Mills’s love of the romantic and mysterious.
+
+In the back kitchen, I raved as became me. I went there, I suppose,
+to make a fool of myself, and I am quite sure I did it. Miss Mills had
+received a hasty note from Dora, telling her that all was discovered,
+and saying. ‘Oh pray come to me, Julia, do, do!’ But Miss Mills,
+mistrusting the acceptability of her presence to the higher powers, had
+not yet gone; and we were all benighted in the Desert of Sahara.
+
+Miss Mills had a wonderful flow of words, and liked to pour them out. I
+could not help feeling, though she mingled her tears with mine, that she
+had a dreadful luxury in our afflictions. She petted them, as I may say,
+and made the most of them. A deep gulf, she observed, had opened between
+Dora and me, and Love could only span it with its rainbow. Love must
+suffer in this stern world; it ever had been so, it ever would be so. No
+matter, Miss Mills remarked. Hearts confined by cobwebs would burst at
+last, and then Love was avenged.
+
+This was small consolation, but Miss Mills wouldn’t encourage fallacious
+hopes. She made me much more wretched than I was before, and I felt (and
+told her with the deepest gratitude) that she was indeed a friend. We
+resolved that she should go to Dora the first thing in the morning,
+and find some means of assuring her, either by looks or words, of my
+devotion and misery. We parted, overwhelmed with grief; and I think Miss
+Mills enjoyed herself completely.
+
+I confided all to my aunt when I got home; and in spite of all she could
+say to me, went to bed despairing. I got up despairing, and went out
+despairing. It was Saturday morning, and I went straight to the Commons.
+
+I was surprised, when I came within sight of our office-door, to see the
+ticket-porters standing outside talking together, and some half-dozen
+stragglers gazing at the windows which were shut up. I quickened my
+pace, and, passing among them, wondering at their looks, went hurriedly
+in.
+
+The clerks were there, but nobody was doing anything. Old Tiffey, for
+the first time in his life I should think, was sitting on somebody
+else’s stool, and had not hung up his hat.
+
+‘This is a dreadful calamity, Mr. Copperfield,’ said he, as I entered.
+
+‘What is?’ I exclaimed. ‘What’s the matter?’
+
+‘Don’t you know?’ cried Tiffey, and all the rest of them, coming round
+me.
+
+‘No!’ said I, looking from face to face.
+
+‘Mr. Spenlow,’ said Tiffey.
+
+‘What about him!’
+
+‘Dead!’ I thought it was the office reeling, and not I, as one of
+the clerks caught hold of me. They sat me down in a chair, untied my
+neck-cloth, and brought me some water. I have no idea whether this took
+any time.
+
+‘Dead?’ said I.
+
+‘He dined in town yesterday, and drove down in the phaeton by himself,’
+said Tiffey, ‘having sent his own groom home by the coach, as he
+sometimes did, you know--’
+
+‘Well?’
+
+‘The phaeton went home without him. The horses stopped at the
+stable-gate. The man went out with a lantern. Nobody in the carriage.’
+
+‘Had they run away?’
+
+‘They were not hot,’ said Tiffey, putting on his glasses; ‘no hotter, I
+understand, than they would have been, going down at the usual pace. The
+reins were broken, but they had been dragging on the ground. The house
+was roused up directly, and three of them went out along the road. They
+found him a mile off.’
+
+‘More than a mile off, Mr. Tiffey,’ interposed a junior.
+
+‘Was it? I believe you are right,’ said Tiffey,--‘more than a mile
+off--not far from the church--lying partly on the roadside, and partly
+on the path, upon his face. Whether he fell out in a fit, or got out,
+feeling ill before the fit came on--or even whether he was quite dead
+then, though there is no doubt he was quite insensible--no one appears
+to know. If he breathed, certainly he never spoke. Medical assistance
+was got as soon as possible, but it was quite useless.’
+
+I cannot describe the state of mind into which I was thrown by this
+intelligence. The shock of such an event happening so suddenly, and
+happening to one with whom I had been in any respect at variance--the
+appalling vacancy in the room he had occupied so lately, where his chair
+and table seemed to wait for him, and his handwriting of yesterday was
+like a ghost--the indefinable impossibility of separating him from the
+place, and feeling, when the door opened, as if he might come in--the
+lazy hush and rest there was in the office, and the insatiable relish
+with which our people talked about it, and other people came in and
+out all day, and gorged themselves with the subject--this is easily
+intelligible to anyone. What I cannot describe is, how, in the innermost
+recesses of my own heart, I had a lurking jealousy even of Death. How
+I felt as if its might would push me from my ground in Dora’s thoughts.
+How I was, in a grudging way I have no words for, envious of her grief.
+How it made me restless to think of her weeping to others, or being
+consoled by others. How I had a grasping, avaricious wish to shut out
+everybody from her but myself, and to be all in all to her, at that
+unseasonable time of all times.
+
+In the trouble of this state of mind--not exclusively my own, I hope,
+but known to others--I went down to Norwood that night; and finding from
+one of the servants, when I made my inquiries at the door, that Miss
+Mills was there, got my aunt to direct a letter to her, which I wrote.
+I deplored the untimely death of Mr. Spenlow, most sincerely, and shed
+tears in doing so. I entreated her to tell Dora, if Dora were in a
+state to hear it, that he had spoken to me with the utmost kindness and
+consideration; and had coupled nothing but tenderness, not a single or
+reproachful word, with her name. I know I did this selfishly, to have my
+name brought before her; but I tried to believe it was an act of justice
+to his memory. Perhaps I did believe it.
+
+My aunt received a few lines next day in reply; addressed, outside, to
+her; within, to me. Dora was overcome by grief; and when her friend had
+asked her should she send her love to me, had only cried, as she was
+always crying, ‘Oh, dear papa! oh, poor papa!’ But she had not said No,
+and that I made the most of.
+
+Mr. Jorkins, who had been at Norwood since the occurrence, came to the
+office a few days afterwards. He and Tiffey were closeted together for
+some few moments, and then Tiffey looked out at the door and beckoned me
+in.
+
+‘Oh!’ said Mr. Jorkins. ‘Mr. Tiffey and myself, Mr. Copperfield, are
+about to examine the desks, the drawers, and other such repositories
+of the deceased, with the view of sealing up his private papers, and
+searching for a Will. There is no trace of any, elsewhere. It may be as
+well for you to assist us, if you please.’
+
+I had been in agony to obtain some knowledge of the circumstances
+in which my Dora would be placed--as, in whose guardianship, and so
+forth--and this was something towards it. We began the search at once;
+Mr. Jorkins unlocking the drawers and desks, and we all taking out the
+papers. The office-papers we placed on one side, and the private papers
+(which were not numerous) on the other. We were very grave; and when we
+came to a stray seal, or pencil-case, or ring, or any little article of
+that kind which we associated personally with him, we spoke very low.
+
+We had sealed up several packets; and were still going on dustily and
+quietly, when Mr. Jorkins said to us, applying exactly the same words to
+his late partner as his late partner had applied to him:
+
+‘Mr. Spenlow was very difficult to move from the beaten track. You know
+what he was! I am disposed to think he had made no will.’
+
+‘Oh, I know he had!’ said I.
+
+They both stopped and looked at me. ‘On the very day when I last saw
+him,’ said I, ‘he told me that he had, and that his affairs were long
+since settled.’
+
+Mr. Jorkins and old Tiffey shook their heads with one accord.
+
+‘That looks unpromising,’ said Tiffey.
+
+‘Very unpromising,’ said Mr. Jorkins.
+
+‘Surely you don’t doubt--’ I began.
+
+‘My good Mr. Copperfield!’ said Tiffey, laying his hand upon my arm, and
+shutting up both his eyes as he shook his head: ‘if you had been in the
+Commons as long as I have, you would know that there is no subject on
+which men are so inconsistent, and so little to be trusted.’
+
+‘Why, bless my soul, he made that very remark!’ I replied persistently.
+
+‘I should call that almost final,’ observed Tiffey. ‘My opinion is--no
+will.’
+
+It appeared a wonderful thing to me, but it turned out that there was
+no will. He had never so much as thought of making one, so far as his
+papers afforded any evidence; for there was no kind of hint, sketch, or
+memorandum, of any testamentary intention whatever. What was scarcely
+less astonishing to me, was, that his affairs were in a most disordered
+state. It was extremely difficult, I heard, to make out what he owed, or
+what he had paid, or of what he died possessed. It was considered likely
+that for years he could have had no clear opinion on these subjects
+himself. By little and little it came out, that, in the competition on
+all points of appearance and gentility then running high in the Commons,
+he had spent more than his professional income, which was not a very
+large one, and had reduced his private means, if they ever had been
+great (which was exceedingly doubtful), to a very low ebb indeed. There
+was a sale of the furniture and lease, at Norwood; and Tiffey told me,
+little thinking how interested I was in the story, that, paying all the
+just debts of the deceased, and deducting his share of outstanding bad
+and doubtful debts due to the firm, he wouldn’t give a thousand pounds
+for all the assets remaining.
+
+This was at the expiration of about six weeks. I had suffered tortures
+all the time; and thought I really must have laid violent hands upon
+myself, when Miss Mills still reported to me, that my broken-hearted
+little Dora would say nothing, when I was mentioned, but ‘Oh, poor papa!
+Oh, dear papa!’ Also, that she had no other relations than two aunts,
+maiden sisters of Mr. Spenlow, who lived at Putney, and who had not held
+any other than chance communication with their brother for many years.
+Not that they had ever quarrelled (Miss Mills informed me); but that
+having been, on the occasion of Dora’s christening, invited to tea, when
+they considered themselves privileged to be invited to dinner, they
+had expressed their opinion in writing, that it was ‘better for the
+happiness of all parties’ that they should stay away. Since which they
+had gone their road, and their brother had gone his.
+
+These two ladies now emerged from their retirement, and proposed to
+take Dora to live at Putney. Dora, clinging to them both, and weeping,
+exclaimed, ‘O yes, aunts! Please take Julia Mills and me and Jip to
+Putney!’ So they went, very soon after the funeral.
+
+How I found time to haunt Putney, I am sure I don’t know; but I
+contrived, by some means or other, to prowl about the neighbourhood
+pretty often. Miss Mills, for the more exact discharge of the duties of
+friendship, kept a journal; and she used to meet me sometimes, on the
+Common, and read it, or (if she had not time to do that) lend it to me.
+How I treasured up the entries, of which I subjoin a sample--!
+
+‘Monday. My sweet D. still much depressed. Headache. Called attention to
+J. as being beautifully sleek. D. fondled J. Associations thus awakened,
+opened floodgates of sorrow. Rush of grief admitted. (Are tears the
+dewdrops of the heart? J. M.)
+
+‘Tuesday. D. weak and nervous. Beautiful in pallor. (Do we not remark
+this in moon likewise? J. M.) D., J. M. and J. took airing in carriage.
+J. looking out of window, and barking violently at dustman, occasioned
+smile to overspread features of D. (Of such slight links is chain of
+life composed! J. M.)
+
+‘Wednesday. D. comparatively cheerful. Sang to her, as congenial melody,
+“Evening Bells”. Effect not soothing, but reverse. D. inexpressibly
+affected. Found sobbing afterwards, in own room. Quoted verses
+respecting self and young Gazelle. Ineffectually. Also referred to
+Patience on Monument. (Qy. Why on monument? J. M.)
+
+‘Thursday. D. certainly improved. Better night. Slight tinge of damask
+revisiting cheek. Resolved to mention name of D. C. Introduced same,
+cautiously, in course of airing. D. immediately overcome. “Oh, dear,
+dear Julia! Oh, I have been a naughty and undutiful child!” Soothed
+and caressed. Drew ideal picture of D. C. on verge of tomb. D. again
+overcome. “Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do? Oh, take me somewhere!”
+ Much alarmed. Fainting of D. and glass of water from public-house.
+(Poetical affinity. Chequered sign on door-post; chequered human life.
+Alas! J. M.)
+
+‘Friday. Day of incident. Man appears in kitchen, with blue bag, “for
+lady’s boots left out to heel”. Cook replies, “No such orders.” Man
+argues point. Cook withdraws to inquire, leaving man alone with J. On
+Cook’s return, man still argues point, but ultimately goes. J. missing.
+D. distracted. Information sent to police. Man to be identified by
+broad nose, and legs like balustrades of bridge. Search made in
+every direction. No J. D. weeping bitterly, and inconsolable. Renewed
+reference to young Gazelle. Appropriate, but unavailing. Towards
+evening, strange boy calls. Brought into parlour. Broad nose, but no
+balustrades. Says he wants a pound, and knows a dog. Declines to explain
+further, though much pressed. Pound being produced by D. takes Cook
+to little house, where J. alone tied up to leg of table. Joy of D.
+who dances round J. while he eats his supper. Emboldened by this happy
+change, mention D. C. upstairs. D. weeps afresh, cries piteously, “Oh,
+don’t, don’t, don’t! It is so wicked to think of anything but poor
+papa!”--embraces J. and sobs herself to sleep. (Must not D. C. confine
+himself to the broad pinions of Time? J. M.)’
+
+Miss Mills and her journal were my sole consolation at this period.
+To see her, who had seen Dora but a little while before--to trace the
+initial letter of Dora’s name through her sympathetic pages--to be made
+more and more miserable by her--were my only comforts. I felt as if I
+had been living in a palace of cards, which had tumbled down, leaving
+only Miss Mills and me among the ruins; I felt as if some grim enchanter
+had drawn a magic circle round the innocent goddess of my heart, which
+nothing indeed but those same strong pinions, capable of carrying so
+many people over so much, would enable me to enter!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 39. WICKFIELD AND HEEP
+
+
+My aunt, beginning, I imagine, to be made seriously uncomfortable by my
+prolonged dejection, made a pretence of being anxious that I should go
+to Dover, to see that all was working well at the cottage, which was
+let; and to conclude an agreement, with the same tenant, for a longer
+term of occupation. Janet was drafted into the service of Mrs. Strong,
+where I saw her every day. She had been undecided, on leaving Dover,
+whether or no to give the finishing touch to that renunciation of
+mankind in which she had been educated, by marrying a pilot; but she
+decided against that venture. Not so much for the sake of principle, I
+believe, as because she happened not to like him.
+
+Although it required an effort to leave Miss Mills, I fell rather
+willingly into my aunt’s pretence, as a means of enabling me to pass a
+few tranquil hours with Agnes. I consulted the good Doctor relative
+to an absence of three days; and the Doctor wishing me to take that
+relaxation,--he wished me to take more; but my energy could not bear
+that,--I made up my mind to go.
+
+As to the Commons, I had no great occasion to be particular about my
+duties in that quarter. To say the truth, we were getting in no very
+good odour among the tip-top proctors, and were rapidly sliding down
+to but a doubtful position. The business had been indifferent under Mr.
+Jorkins, before Mr. Spenlow’s time; and although it had been quickened
+by the infusion of new blood, and by the display which Mr. Spenlow made,
+still it was not established on a sufficiently strong basis to bear,
+without being shaken, such a blow as the sudden loss of its active
+manager. It fell off very much. Mr. Jorkins, notwithstanding his
+reputation in the firm, was an easy-going, incapable sort of man, whose
+reputation out of doors was not calculated to back it up. I was turned
+over to him now, and when I saw him take his snuff and let the business
+go, I regretted my aunt’s thousand pounds more than ever.
+
+But this was not the worst of it. There were a number of hangers-on and
+outsiders about the Commons, who, without being proctors themselves,
+dabbled in common-form business, and got it done by real proctors, who
+lent their names in consideration of a share in the spoil;--and there
+were a good many of these too. As our house now wanted business on any
+terms, we joined this noble band; and threw out lures to the hangers-on
+and outsiders, to bring their business to us. Marriage licences and
+small probates were what we all looked for, and what paid us best;
+and the competition for these ran very high indeed. Kidnappers and
+inveiglers were planted in all the avenues of entrance to the Commons,
+with instructions to do their utmost to cut off all persons in mourning,
+and all gentlemen with anything bashful in their appearance, and entice
+them to the offices in which their respective employers were interested;
+which instructions were so well observed, that I myself, before I was
+known by sight, was twice hustled into the premises of our principal
+opponent. The conflicting interests of these touting gentlemen being of
+a nature to irritate their feelings, personal collisions took place;
+and the Commons was even scandalized by our principal inveigler (who
+had formerly been in the wine trade, and afterwards in the sworn brokery
+line) walking about for some days with a black eye. Any one of these
+scouts used to think nothing of politely assisting an old lady in
+black out of a vehicle, killing any proctor whom she inquired for,
+representing his employer as the lawful successor and representative of
+that proctor, and bearing the old lady off (sometimes greatly affected)
+to his employer’s office. Many captives were brought to me in this way.
+As to marriage licences, the competition rose to such a pitch, that a
+shy gentleman in want of one, had nothing to do but submit himself
+to the first inveigler, or be fought for, and become the prey of the
+strongest. One of our clerks, who was an outsider, used, in the height
+of this contest, to sit with his hat on, that he might be ready to rush
+out and swear before a surrogate any victim who was brought in. The
+system of inveigling continues, I believe, to this day. The last time I
+was in the Commons, a civil able-bodied person in a white apron pounced
+out upon me from a doorway, and whispering the word ‘Marriage-licence’
+in my ear, was with great difficulty prevented from taking me up in
+his arms and lifting me into a proctor’s. From this digression, let me
+proceed to Dover.
+
+I found everything in a satisfactory state at the cottage; and was
+enabled to gratify my aunt exceedingly by reporting that the tenant
+inherited her feud, and waged incessant war against donkeys. Having
+settled the little business I had to transact there, and slept there one
+night, I walked on to Canterbury early in the morning. It was now
+winter again; and the fresh, cold windy day, and the sweeping downland,
+brightened up my hopes a little.
+
+Coming into Canterbury, I loitered through the old streets with a sober
+pleasure that calmed my spirits, and eased my heart. There were the old
+signs, the old names over the shops, the old people serving in them. It
+appeared so long, since I had been a schoolboy there, that I wondered
+the place was so little changed, until I reflected how little I
+was changed myself. Strange to say, that quiet influence which was
+inseparable in my mind from Agnes, seemed to pervade even the city where
+she dwelt. The venerable cathedral towers, and the old jackdaws and
+rooks whose airy voices made them more retired than perfect silence
+would have done; the battered gateways, one stuck full with statues,
+long thrown down, and crumbled away, like the reverential pilgrims
+who had gazed upon them; the still nooks, where the ivied growth of
+centuries crept over gabled ends and ruined walls; the ancient houses,
+the pastoral landscape of field, orchard, and garden; everywhere--on
+everything--I felt the same serener air, the same calm, thoughtful,
+softening spirit.
+
+Arrived at Mr. Wickfield’s house, I found, in the little lower room on
+the ground floor, where Uriah Heep had been of old accustomed to sit,
+Mr. Micawber plying his pen with great assiduity. He was dressed in a
+legal-looking suit of black, and loomed, burly and large, in that small
+office.
+
+Mr. Micawber was extremely glad to see me, but a little confused too.
+He would have conducted me immediately into the presence of Uriah, but I
+declined.
+
+‘I know the house of old, you recollect,’ said I, ‘and will find my way
+upstairs. How do you like the law, Mr. Micawber?’
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ he replied. ‘To a man possessed of the higher
+imaginative powers, the objection to legal studies is the amount of
+detail which they involve. Even in our professional correspondence,’
+said Mr. Micawber, glancing at some letters he was writing, ‘the mind is
+not at liberty to soar to any exalted form of expression. Still, it is a
+great pursuit. A great pursuit!’
+
+He then told me that he had become the tenant of Uriah Heep’s old house;
+and that Mrs. Micawber would be delighted to receive me, once more,
+under her own roof.
+
+‘It is humble,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘--to quote a favourite expression
+of my friend Heep; but it may prove the stepping-stone to more ambitious
+domiciliary accommodation.’
+
+I asked him whether he had reason, so far, to be satisfied with his
+friend Heep’s treatment of him? He got up to ascertain if the door were
+close shut, before he replied, in a lower voice:
+
+‘My dear Copperfield, a man who labours under the pressure of pecuniary
+embarrassments, is, with the generality of people, at a disadvantage.
+That disadvantage is not diminished, when that pressure necessitates the
+drawing of stipendiary emoluments, before those emoluments are strictly
+due and payable. All I can say is, that my friend Heep has responded
+to appeals to which I need not more particularly refer, in a manner
+calculated to redound equally to the honour of his head, and of his
+heart.’
+
+‘I should not have supposed him to be very free with his money either,’
+I observed.
+
+‘Pardon me!’ said Mr. Micawber, with an air of constraint, ‘I speak of
+my friend Heep as I have experience.’
+
+‘I am glad your experience is so favourable,’ I returned.
+
+‘You are very obliging, my dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber; and
+hummed a tune.
+
+‘Do you see much of Mr. Wickfield?’ I asked, to change the subject.
+
+‘Not much,’ said Mr. Micawber, slightingly. ‘Mr. Wickfield is, I dare
+say, a man of very excellent intentions; but he is--in short, he is
+obsolete.’
+
+‘I am afraid his partner seeks to make him so,’ said I.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield!’ returned Mr. Micawber, after some uneasy
+evolutions on his stool, ‘allow me to offer a remark! I am here, in
+a capacity of confidence. I am here, in a position of trust. The
+discussion of some topics, even with Mrs. Micawber herself (so long the
+partner of my various vicissitudes, and a woman of a remarkable lucidity
+of intellect), is, I am led to consider, incompatible with the functions
+now devolving on me. I would therefore take the liberty of suggesting
+that in our friendly intercourse--which I trust will never be
+disturbed!--we draw a line. On one side of this line,’ said Mr.
+Micawber, representing it on the desk with the office ruler, ‘is the
+whole range of the human intellect, with a trifling exception; on
+the other, IS that exception; that is to say, the affairs of Messrs
+Wickfield and Heep, with all belonging and appertaining thereunto. I
+trust I give no offence to the companion of my youth, in submitting this
+proposition to his cooler judgement?’
+
+Though I saw an uneasy change in Mr. Micawber, which sat tightly on
+him, as if his new duties were a misfit, I felt I had no right to be
+offended. My telling him so, appeared to relieve him; and he shook hands
+with me.
+
+‘I am charmed, Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘let me assure you, with
+Miss Wickfield. She is a very superior young lady, of very remarkable
+attractions, graces, and virtues. Upon my honour,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+indefinitely kissing his hand and bowing with his genteelest air, ‘I do
+Homage to Miss Wickfield! Hem!’ ‘I am glad of that, at least,’ said I.
+
+‘If you had not assured us, my dear Copperfield, on the occasion of that
+agreeable afternoon we had the happiness of passing with you, that D.
+was your favourite letter,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘I should unquestionably
+have supposed that A. had been so.’
+
+We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over us
+occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done
+before, in a remote time--of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago,
+by the same faces, objects, and circumstances--of our knowing perfectly
+what will be said next, as if we suddenly remembered it! I never had
+this mysterious impression more strongly in my life, than before he
+uttered those words.
+
+I took my leave of Mr. Micawber, for the time, charging him with my best
+remembrances to all at home. As I left him, resuming his stool and his
+pen, and rolling his head in his stock, to get it into easier writing
+order, I clearly perceived that there was something interposed between
+him and me, since he had come into his new functions, which prevented
+our getting at each other as we used to do, and quite altered the
+character of our intercourse.
+
+There was no one in the quaint old drawing-room, though it presented
+tokens of Mrs. Heep’s whereabouts. I looked into the room still
+belonging to Agnes, and saw her sitting by the fire, at a pretty
+old-fashioned desk she had, writing.
+
+My darkening the light made her look up. What a pleasure to be the cause
+of that bright change in her attentive face, and the object of that
+sweet regard and welcome!
+
+‘Ah, Agnes!’ said I, when we were sitting together, side by side; ‘I
+have missed you so much, lately!’
+
+‘Indeed?’ she replied. ‘Again! And so soon?’
+
+I shook my head.
+
+‘I don’t know how it is, Agnes; I seem to want some faculty of mind that
+I ought to have. You were so much in the habit of thinking for me, in
+the happy old days here, and I came so naturally to you for counsel and
+support, that I really think I have missed acquiring it.’
+
+‘And what is it?’ said Agnes, cheerfully.
+
+‘I don’t know what to call it,’ I replied. ‘I think I am earnest and
+persevering?’
+
+‘I am sure of it,’ said Agnes.
+
+‘And patient, Agnes?’ I inquired, with a little hesitation.
+
+‘Yes,’ returned Agnes, laughing. ‘Pretty well.’
+
+‘And yet,’ said I, ‘I get so miserable and worried, and am so unsteady
+and irresolute in my power of assuring myself, that I know I must
+want--shall I call it--reliance, of some kind?’
+
+‘Call it so, if you will,’ said Agnes.
+
+‘Well!’ I returned. ‘See here! You come to London, I rely on you, and I
+have an object and a course at once. I am driven out of it, I come
+here, and in a moment I feel an altered person. The circumstances that
+distressed me are not changed, since I came into this room; but an
+influence comes over me in that short interval that alters me, oh, how
+much for the better! What is it? What is your secret, Agnes?’
+
+Her head was bent down, looking at the fire.
+
+‘It’s the old story,’ said I. ‘Don’t laugh, when I say it was always
+the same in little things as it is in greater ones. My old troubles were
+nonsense, and now they are serious; but whenever I have gone away from
+my adopted sister--’
+
+Agnes looked up--with such a Heavenly face!--and gave me her hand, which
+I kissed.
+
+‘Whenever I have not had you, Agnes, to advise and approve in the
+beginning, I have seemed to go wild, and to get into all sorts of
+difficulty. When I have come to you, at last (as I have always done),
+I have come to peace and happiness. I come home, now, like a tired
+traveller, and find such a blessed sense of rest!’
+
+I felt so deeply what I said, it affected me so sincerely, that my voice
+failed, and I covered my face with my hand, and broke into tears. I
+write the truth. Whatever contradictions and inconsistencies there were
+within me, as there are within so many of us; whatever might have been
+so different, and so much better; whatever I had done, in which I had
+perversely wandered away from the voice of my own heart; I knew nothing
+of. I only knew that I was fervently in earnest, when I felt the rest
+and peace of having Agnes near me.
+
+In her placid sisterly manner; with her beaming eyes; with her tender
+voice; and with that sweet composure, which had long ago made the house
+that held her quite a sacred place to me; she soon won me from this
+weakness, and led me on to tell all that had happened since our last
+meeting.
+
+‘And there is not another word to tell, Agnes,’ said I, when I had made
+an end of my confidence. ‘Now, my reliance is on you.’
+
+‘But it must not be on me, Trotwood,’ returned Agnes, with a pleasant
+smile. ‘It must be on someone else.’
+
+‘On Dora?’ said I.
+
+‘Assuredly.’
+
+‘Why, I have not mentioned, Agnes,’ said I, a little embarrassed, ‘that
+Dora is rather difficult to--I would not, for the world, say, to rely
+upon, because she is the soul of purity and truth--but rather difficult
+to--I hardly know how to express it, really, Agnes. She is a timid
+little thing, and easily disturbed and frightened. Some time ago, before
+her father’s death, when I thought it right to mention to her--but I’ll
+tell you, if you will bear with me, how it was.’
+
+Accordingly, I told Agnes about my declaration of poverty, about the
+cookery-book, the housekeeping accounts, and all the rest of it.
+
+‘Oh, Trotwood!’ she remonstrated, with a smile. ‘Just your old headlong
+way! You might have been in earnest in striving to get on in the world,
+without being so very sudden with a timid, loving, inexperienced girl.
+Poor Dora!’
+
+I never heard such sweet forbearing kindness expressed in a voice,
+as she expressed in making this reply. It was as if I had seen her
+admiringly and tenderly embracing Dora, and tacitly reproving me, by
+her considerate protection, for my hot haste in fluttering that little
+heart. It was as if I had seen Dora, in all her fascinating artlessness,
+caressing Agnes, and thanking her, and coaxingly appealing against me,
+and loving me with all her childish innocence.
+
+I felt so grateful to Agnes, and admired her so! I saw those two
+together, in a bright perspective, such well-associated friends, each
+adorning the other so much!
+
+‘What ought I to do then, Agnes?’ I inquired, after looking at the fire
+a little while. ‘What would it be right to do?’
+
+‘I think,’ said Agnes, ‘that the honourable course to take, would be to
+write to those two ladies. Don’t you think that any secret course is an
+unworthy one?’
+
+‘Yes. If YOU think so,’ said I.
+
+‘I am poorly qualified to judge of such matters,’ replied Agnes, with
+a modest hesitation, ‘but I certainly feel--in short, I feel that your
+being secret and clandestine, is not being like yourself.’
+
+‘Like myself, in the too high opinion you have of me, Agnes, I am
+afraid,’ said I.
+
+‘Like yourself, in the candour of your nature,’ she returned; ‘and
+therefore I would write to those two ladies. I would relate, as plainly
+and as openly as possible, all that has taken place; and I would ask
+their permission to visit sometimes, at their house. Considering that
+you are young, and striving for a place in life, I think it would be
+well to say that you would readily abide by any conditions they might
+impose upon you. I would entreat them not to dismiss your request,
+without a reference to Dora; and to discuss it with her when they should
+think the time suitable. I would not be too vehement,’ said Agnes,
+gently, ‘or propose too much. I would trust to my fidelity and
+perseverance--and to Dora.’
+
+‘But if they were to frighten Dora again, Agnes, by speaking to her,’
+said I. ‘And if Dora were to cry, and say nothing about me!’
+
+‘Is that likely?’ inquired Agnes, with the same sweet consideration in
+her face.
+
+‘God bless her, she is as easily scared as a bird,’ said I. ‘It might
+be! Or if the two Miss Spenlows (elderly ladies of that sort are odd
+characters sometimes) should not be likely persons to address in that
+way!’
+
+‘I don’t think, Trotwood,’ returned Agnes, raising her soft eyes
+to mine, ‘I would consider that. Perhaps it would be better only to
+consider whether it is right to do this; and, if it is, to do it.’
+
+I had no longer any doubt on the subject. With a lightened heart, though
+with a profound sense of the weighty importance of my task, I devoted
+the whole afternoon to the composition of the draft of this letter; for
+which great purpose, Agnes relinquished her desk to me. But first I went
+downstairs to see Mr. Wickfield and Uriah Heep.
+
+I found Uriah in possession of a new, plaster-smelling office, built out
+in the garden; looking extraordinarily mean, in the midst of a quantity
+of books and papers. He received me in his usual fawning way, and
+pretended not to have heard of my arrival from Mr. Micawber; a
+pretence I took the liberty of disbelieving. He accompanied me into Mr.
+Wickfield’s room, which was the shadow of its former self--having been
+divested of a variety of conveniences, for the accommodation of the new
+partner--and stood before the fire, warming his back, and shaving his
+chin with his bony hand, while Mr. Wickfield and I exchanged greetings.
+
+‘You stay with us, Trotwood, while you remain in Canterbury?’ said Mr.
+Wickfield, not without a glance at Uriah for his approval.
+
+‘Is there room for me?’ said I.
+
+‘I am sure, Master Copperfield--I should say Mister, but the other
+comes so natural,’ said Uriah,--‘I would turn out of your old room with
+pleasure, if it would be agreeable.’
+
+‘No, no,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘Why should you be inconvenienced? There’s
+another room. There’s another room.’ ‘Oh, but you know,’ returned Uriah,
+with a grin, ‘I should really be delighted!’
+
+To cut the matter short, I said I would have the other room or none at
+all; so it was settled that I should have the other room; and, taking my
+leave of the firm until dinner, I went upstairs again.
+
+I had hoped to have no other companion than Agnes. But Mrs. Heep had
+asked permission to bring herself and her knitting near the fire, in
+that room; on pretence of its having an aspect more favourable for
+her rheumatics, as the wind then was, than the drawing-room or
+dining-parlour. Though I could almost have consigned her to the mercies
+of the wind on the topmost pinnacle of the Cathedral, without remorse, I
+made a virtue of necessity, and gave her a friendly salutation.
+
+‘I’m umbly thankful to you, sir,’ said Mrs. Heep, in acknowledgement of
+my inquiries concerning her health, ‘but I’m only pretty well. I haven’t
+much to boast of. If I could see my Uriah well settled in life, I
+couldn’t expect much more I think. How do you think my Ury looking,
+sir?’
+
+I thought him looking as villainous as ever, and I replied that I saw no
+change in him.
+
+‘Oh, don’t you think he’s changed?’ said Mrs. Heep. ‘There I must umbly
+beg leave to differ from you. Don’t you see a thinness in him?’
+
+‘Not more than usual,’ I replied.
+
+‘Don’t you though!’ said Mrs. Heep. ‘But you don’t take notice of him
+with a mother’s eye!’
+
+His mother’s eye was an evil eye to the rest of the world, I thought as
+it met mine, howsoever affectionate to him; and I believe she and her
+son were devoted to one another. It passed me, and went on to Agnes.
+
+‘Don’t YOU see a wasting and a wearing in him, Miss Wickfield?’ inquired
+Mrs. Heep.
+
+‘No,’ said Agnes, quietly pursuing the work on which she was engaged.
+‘You are too solicitous about him. He is very well.’
+
+Mrs. Heep, with a prodigious sniff, resumed her knitting.
+
+She never left off, or left us for a moment. I had arrived early in the
+day, and we had still three or four hours before dinner; but she sat
+there, plying her knitting-needles as monotonously as an hour-glass
+might have poured out its sands. She sat on one side of the fire; I sat
+at the desk in front of it; a little beyond me, on the other side, sat
+Agnes. Whensoever, slowly pondering over my letter, I lifted up my
+eyes, and meeting the thoughtful face of Agnes, saw it clear, and beam
+encouragement upon me, with its own angelic expression, I was conscious
+presently of the evil eye passing me, and going on to her, and coming
+back to me again, and dropping furtively upon the knitting. What the
+knitting was, I don’t know, not being learned in that art; but it looked
+like a net; and as she worked away with those Chinese chopsticks of
+knitting-needles, she showed in the firelight like an ill-looking
+enchantress, baulked as yet by the radiant goodness opposite, but
+getting ready for a cast of her net by and by.
+
+At dinner she maintained her watch, with the same unwinking eyes. After
+dinner, her son took his turn; and when Mr. Wickfield, himself, and I
+were left alone together, leered at me, and writhed until I could hardly
+bear it. In the drawing-room, there was the mother knitting and watching
+again. All the time that Agnes sang and played, the mother sat at the
+piano. Once she asked for a particular ballad, which she said her Ury
+(who was yawning in a great chair) doted on; and at intervals she looked
+round at him, and reported to Agnes that he was in raptures with the
+music. But she hardly ever spoke--I question if she ever did--without
+making some mention of him. It was evident to me that this was the duty
+assigned to her.
+
+This lasted until bedtime. To have seen the mother and son, like two
+great bats hanging over the whole house, and darkening it with their
+ugly forms, made me so uncomfortable, that I would rather have remained
+downstairs, knitting and all, than gone to bed. I hardly got any sleep.
+Next day the knitting and watching began again, and lasted all day.
+
+I had not an opportunity of speaking to Agnes, for ten minutes. I could
+barely show her my letter. I proposed to her to walk out with me; but
+Mrs. Heep repeatedly complaining that she was worse, Agnes charitably
+remained within, to bear her company. Towards the twilight I went out
+by myself, musing on what I ought to do, and whether I was justified
+in withholding from Agnes, any longer, what Uriah Heep had told me in
+London; for that began to trouble me again, very much.
+
+I had not walked out far enough to be quite clear of the town, upon the
+Ramsgate road, where there was a good path, when I was hailed, through
+the dust, by somebody behind me. The shambling figure, and the scanty
+great-coat, were not to be mistaken. I stopped, and Uriah Heep came up.
+
+‘Well?’ said I.
+
+‘How fast you walk!’ said he. ‘My legs are pretty long, but you’ve given
+‘em quite a job.’
+
+‘Where are you going?’ said I.
+
+‘I am going with you, Master Copperfield, if you’ll allow me the
+pleasure of a walk with an old acquaintance.’ Saying this, with a jerk
+of his body, which might have been either propitiatory or derisive, he
+fell into step beside me.
+
+‘Uriah!’ said I, as civilly as I could, after a silence.
+
+‘Master Copperfield!’ said Uriah.
+
+‘To tell you the truth (at which you will not be offended), I came Out
+to walk alone, because I have had so much company.’
+
+He looked at me sideways, and said with his hardest grin, ‘You mean
+mother.’
+
+‘Why yes, I do,’ said I.
+
+‘Ah! But you know we’re so very umble,’ he returned. ‘And having such a
+knowledge of our own umbleness, we must really take care that we’re not
+pushed to the wall by them as isn’t umble. All stratagems are fair in
+love, sir.’
+
+Raising his great hands until they touched his chin, he rubbed them
+softly, and softly chuckled; looking as like a malevolent baboon, I
+thought, as anything human could look.
+
+‘You see,’ he said, still hugging himself in that unpleasant way,
+and shaking his head at me, ‘you’re quite a dangerous rival, Master
+Copperfield. You always was, you know.’
+
+‘Do you set a watch upon Miss Wickfield, and make her home no home,
+because of me?’ said I.
+
+‘Oh! Master Copperfield! Those are very arsh words,’ he replied.
+
+‘Put my meaning into any words you like,’ said I. ‘You know what it is,
+Uriah, as well as I do.’
+
+‘Oh no! You must put it into words,’ he said. ‘Oh, really! I couldn’t
+myself.’
+
+‘Do you suppose,’ said I, constraining myself to be very temperate
+and quiet with him, on account of Agnes, ‘that I regard Miss Wickfield
+otherwise than as a very dear sister?’
+
+‘Well, Master Copperfield,’ he replied, ‘you perceive I am not bound
+to answer that question. You may not, you know. But then, you see, you
+may!’
+
+Anything to equal the low cunning of his visage, and of his shadowless
+eyes without the ghost of an eyelash, I never saw.
+
+‘Come then!’ said I. ‘For the sake of Miss Wickfield--’
+
+‘My Agnes!’ he exclaimed, with a sickly, angular contortion of himself.
+‘Would you be so good as call her Agnes, Master Copperfield!’
+
+‘For the sake of Agnes Wickfield--Heaven bless her!’
+
+‘Thank you for that blessing, Master Copperfield!’ he interposed.
+
+‘I will tell you what I should, under any other circumstances, as soon
+have thought of telling to--Jack Ketch.’
+
+‘To who, sir?’ said Uriah, stretching out his neck, and shading his ear
+with his hand.
+
+‘To the hangman,’ I returned. ‘The most unlikely person I could think
+of,’--though his own face had suggested the allusion quite as a natural
+sequence. ‘I am engaged to another young lady. I hope that contents
+you.’
+
+‘Upon your soul?’ said Uriah.
+
+I was about indignantly to give my assertion the confirmation he
+required, when he caught hold of my hand, and gave it a squeeze.
+
+‘Oh, Master Copperfield!’ he said. ‘If you had only had the
+condescension to return my confidence when I poured out the fulness of
+my art, the night I put you so much out of the way by sleeping before
+your sitting-room fire, I never should have doubted you. As it is, I’m
+sure I’ll take off mother directly, and only too appy. I know you’ll
+excuse the precautions of affection, won’t you? What a pity, Master
+Copperfield, that you didn’t condescend to return my confidence! I’m
+sure I gave you every opportunity. But you never have condescended to
+me, as much as I could have wished. I know you have never liked me, as I
+have liked you!’
+
+All this time he was squeezing my hand with his damp fishy fingers,
+while I made every effort I decently could to get it away. But I was
+quite unsuccessful. He drew it under the sleeve of his mulberry-coloured
+great-coat, and I walked on, almost upon compulsion, arm-in-arm with
+him.
+
+‘Shall we turn?’ said Uriah, by and by wheeling me face about towards
+the town, on which the early moon was now shining, silvering the distant
+windows.
+
+‘Before we leave the subject, you ought to understand,’ said I, breaking
+a pretty long silence, ‘that I believe Agnes Wickfield to be as far
+above you, and as far removed from all your aspirations, as that moon
+herself!’
+
+‘Peaceful! Ain’t she!’ said Uriah. ‘Very! Now confess, Master
+Copperfield, that you haven’t liked me quite as I have liked you. All
+along you’ve thought me too umble now, I shouldn’t wonder?’
+
+‘I am not fond of professions of humility,’ I returned, ‘or professions
+of anything else.’ ‘There now!’ said Uriah, looking flabby and
+lead-coloured in the moonlight. ‘Didn’t I know it! But how little
+you think of the rightful umbleness of a person in my station, Master
+Copperfield! Father and me was both brought up at a foundation school
+for boys; and mother, she was likewise brought up at a public, sort of
+charitable, establishment. They taught us all a deal of umbleness--not
+much else that I know of, from morning to night. We was to be umble to
+this person, and umble to that; and to pull off our caps here, and
+to make bows there; and always to know our place, and abase ourselves
+before our betters. And we had such a lot of betters! Father got the
+monitor-medal by being umble. So did I. Father got made a sexton by
+being umble. He had the character, among the gentlefolks, of being
+such a well-behaved man, that they were determined to bring him in. “Be
+umble, Uriah,” says father to me, “and you’ll get on. It was what was
+always being dinned into you and me at school; it’s what goes down best.
+Be umble,” says father, “and you’ll do!” And really it ain’t done bad!’
+
+It was the first time it had ever occurred to me, that this detestable
+cant of false humility might have originated out of the Heep family. I
+had seen the harvest, but had never thought of the seed.
+
+‘When I was quite a young boy,’ said Uriah, ‘I got to know what
+umbleness did, and I took to it. I ate umble pie with an appetite. I
+stopped at the umble point of my learning, and says I, “Hold hard!” When
+you offered to teach me Latin, I knew better. “People like to be above
+you,” says father, “keep yourself down.” I am very umble to the present
+moment, Master Copperfield, but I’ve got a little power!’
+
+And he said all this--I knew, as I saw his face in the moonlight--that
+I might understand he was resolved to recompense himself by using his
+power. I had never doubted his meanness, his craft and malice; but I
+fully comprehended now, for the first time, what a base, unrelenting,
+and revengeful spirit, must have been engendered by this early, and this
+long, suppression.
+
+His account of himself was so far attended with an agreeable result,
+that it led to his withdrawing his hand in order that he might have
+another hug of himself under the chin. Once apart from him, I was
+determined to keep apart; and we walked back, side by side, saying
+very little more by the way. Whether his spirits were elevated by the
+communication I had made to him, or by his having indulged in this
+retrospect, I don’t know; but they were raised by some influence. He
+talked more at dinner than was usual with him; asked his mother (off
+duty, from the moment of our re-entering the house) whether he was not
+growing too old for a bachelor; and once looked at Agnes so, that I
+would have given all I had, for leave to knock him down.
+
+When we three males were left alone after dinner, he got into a more
+adventurous state. He had taken little or no wine; and I presume it was
+the mere insolence of triumph that was upon him, flushed perhaps by the
+temptation my presence furnished to its exhibition.
+
+I had observed yesterday, that he tried to entice Mr. Wickfield to
+drink; and, interpreting the look which Agnes had given me as she went
+out, had limited myself to one glass, and then proposed that we should
+follow her. I would have done so again today; but Uriah was too quick
+for me.
+
+‘We seldom see our present visitor, sir,’ he said, addressing Mr.
+Wickfield, sitting, such a contrast to him, at the end of the table,
+‘and I should propose to give him welcome in another glass or two
+of wine, if you have no objections. Mr. Copperfield, your elth and
+appiness!’
+
+I was obliged to make a show of taking the hand he stretched across
+to me; and then, with very different emotions, I took the hand of the
+broken gentleman, his partner.
+
+‘Come, fellow-partner,’ said Uriah, ‘if I may take the liberty,--now,
+suppose you give us something or another appropriate to Copperfield!’
+
+I pass over Mr. Wickfield’s proposing my aunt, his proposing Mr. Dick,
+his proposing Doctors’ Commons, his proposing Uriah, his drinking
+everything twice; his consciousness of his own weakness, the ineffectual
+effort that he made against it; the struggle between his shame in
+Uriah’s deportment, and his desire to conciliate him; the manifest
+exultation with which Uriah twisted and turned, and held him up before
+me. It made me sick at heart to see, and my hand recoils from writing
+it.
+
+‘Come, fellow-partner!’ said Uriah, at last, ‘I’ll give you another one,
+and I umbly ask for bumpers, seeing I intend to make it the divinest of
+her sex.’
+
+Her father had his empty glass in his hand. I saw him set it down, look
+at the picture she was so like, put his hand to his forehead, and shrink
+back in his elbow-chair.
+
+‘I’m an umble individual to give you her elth,’ proceeded Uriah, ‘but I
+admire--adore her.’
+
+No physical pain that her father’s grey head could have borne, I think,
+could have been more terrible to me, than the mental endurance I saw
+compressed now within both his hands.
+
+‘Agnes,’ said Uriah, either not regarding him, or not knowing what the
+nature of his action was, ‘Agnes Wickfield is, I am safe to say, the
+divinest of her sex. May I speak out, among friends? To be her father is
+a proud distinction, but to be her usband--’
+
+Spare me from ever again hearing such a cry, as that with which her
+father rose up from the table! ‘What’s the matter?’ said Uriah, turning
+of a deadly colour. ‘You are not gone mad, after all, Mr. Wickfield, I
+hope? If I say I’ve an ambition to make your Agnes my Agnes, I have as
+good a right to it as another man. I have a better right to it than any
+other man!’
+
+I had my arms round Mr. Wickfield, imploring him by everything that I
+could think of, oftenest of all by his love for Agnes, to calm himself
+a little. He was mad for the moment; tearing out his hair, beating his
+head, trying to force me from him, and to force himself from me, not
+answering a word, not looking at or seeing anyone; blindly striving
+for he knew not what, his face all staring and distorted--a frightful
+spectacle.
+
+I conjured him, incoherently, but in the most impassioned manner, not
+to abandon himself to this wildness, but to hear me. I besought him to
+think of Agnes, to connect me with Agnes, to recollect how Agnes and I
+had grown up together, how I honoured her and loved her, how she was his
+pride and joy. I tried to bring her idea before him in any form; I even
+reproached him with not having firmness to spare her the knowledge of
+such a scene as this. I may have effected something, or his wildness may
+have spent itself; but by degrees he struggled less, and began to look
+at me--strangely at first, then with recognition in his eyes. At length
+he said, ‘I know, Trotwood! My darling child and you--I know! But look
+at him!’
+
+He pointed to Uriah, pale and glowering in a corner, evidently very much
+out in his calculations, and taken by surprise.
+
+‘Look at my torturer,’ he replied. ‘Before him I have step by step
+abandoned name and reputation, peace and quiet, house and home.’
+
+‘I have kept your name and reputation for you, and your peace and
+quiet, and your house and home too,’ said Uriah, with a sulky, hurried,
+defeated air of compromise. ‘Don’t be foolish, Mr. Wickfield. If I
+have gone a little beyond what you were prepared for, I can go back, I
+suppose? There’s no harm done.’
+
+‘I looked for single motives in everyone,’ said Mr. Wickfield, ‘and I was
+satisfied I had bound him to me by motives of interest. But see what he
+is--oh, see what he is!’
+
+‘You had better stop him, Copperfield, if you can,’ cried Uriah,
+with his long forefinger pointing towards me. ‘He’ll say something
+presently--mind you!--he’ll be sorry to have said afterwards, and you’ll
+be sorry to have heard!’
+
+‘I’ll say anything!’ cried Mr. Wickfield, with a desperate air. ‘Why
+should I not be in all the world’s power if I am in yours?’
+
+‘Mind! I tell you!’ said Uriah, continuing to warn me. ‘If you don’t
+stop his mouth, you’re not his friend! Why shouldn’t you be in all the
+world’s power, Mr. Wickfield? Because you have got a daughter. You and
+me know what we know, don’t we? Let sleeping dogs lie--who wants to
+rouse ‘em? I don’t. Can’t you see I am as umble as I can be? I tell you,
+if I’ve gone too far, I’m sorry. What would you have, sir?’
+
+‘Oh, Trotwood, Trotwood!’ exclaimed Mr. Wickfield, wringing his hands.
+‘What I have come down to be, since I first saw you in this house! I was
+on my downward way then, but the dreary, dreary road I have traversed
+since! Weak indulgence has ruined me. Indulgence in remembrance, and
+indulgence in forgetfulness. My natural grief for my child’s mother
+turned to disease; my natural love for my child turned to disease. I
+have infected everything I touched. I have brought misery on what I
+dearly love, I know--you know! I thought it possible that I could truly
+love one creature in the world, and not love the rest; I thought it
+possible that I could truly mourn for one creature gone out of the
+world, and not have some part in the grief of all who mourned. Thus the
+lessons of my life have been perverted! I have preyed on my own morbid
+coward heart, and it has preyed on me. Sordid in my grief, sordid in my
+love, sordid in my miserable escape from the darker side of both, oh see
+the ruin I am, and hate me, shun me!’
+
+He dropped into a chair, and weakly sobbed. The excitement into which he
+had been roused was leaving him. Uriah came out of his corner.
+
+‘I don’t know all I have done, in my fatuity,’ said Mr. Wickfield,
+putting out his hands, as if to deprecate my condemnation. ‘He knows
+best,’ meaning Uriah Heep, ‘for he has always been at my elbow,
+whispering me. You see the millstone that he is about my neck. You
+find him in my house, you find him in my business. You heard him, but a
+little time ago. What need have I to say more!’
+
+‘You haven’t need to say so much, nor half so much, nor anything at
+all,’ observed Uriah, half defiant, and half fawning. ‘You wouldn’t have
+took it up so, if it hadn’t been for the wine. You’ll think better of
+it tomorrow, sir. If I have said too much, or more than I meant, what of
+it? I haven’t stood by it!’
+
+The door opened, and Agnes, gliding in, without a vestige of colour in
+her face, put her arm round his neck, and steadily said, ‘Papa, you are
+not well. Come with me!’
+
+He laid his head upon her shoulder, as if he were oppressed with heavy
+shame, and went out with her. Her eyes met mine for but an instant, yet
+I saw how much she knew of what had passed.
+
+‘I didn’t expect he’d cut up so rough, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah.
+‘But it’s nothing. I’ll be friends with him tomorrow. It’s for his good.
+I’m umbly anxious for his good.’
+
+I gave him no answer, and went upstairs into the quiet room where Agnes
+had so often sat beside me at my books. Nobody came near me until late
+at night. I took up a book, and tried to read. I heard the clocks strike
+twelve, and was still reading, without knowing what I read, when Agnes
+touched me.
+
+‘You will be going early in the morning, Trotwood! Let us say good-bye,
+now!’
+
+She had been weeping, but her face then was so calm and beautiful!
+
+‘Heaven bless you!’ she said, giving me her hand.
+
+‘Dearest Agnes!’ I returned, ‘I see you ask me not to speak of
+tonight--but is there nothing to be done?’
+
+‘There is God to trust in!’ she replied.
+
+‘Can I do nothing--I, who come to you with my poor sorrows?’
+
+‘And make mine so much lighter,’ she replied. ‘Dear Trotwood, no!’
+
+‘Dear Agnes,’ I said, ‘it is presumptuous for me, who am so poor in all
+in which you are so rich--goodness, resolution, all noble qualities--to
+doubt or direct you; but you know how much I love you, and how much I
+owe you. You will never sacrifice yourself to a mistaken sense of duty,
+Agnes?’
+
+More agitated for a moment than I had ever seen her, she took her hands
+from me, and moved a step back.
+
+‘Say you have no such thought, dear Agnes! Much more than sister!
+Think of the priceless gift of such a heart as yours, of such a love as
+yours!’
+
+Oh! long, long afterwards, I saw that face rise up before me, with its
+momentary look, not wondering, not accusing, not regretting. Oh, long,
+long afterwards, I saw that look subside, as it did now, into the lovely
+smile, with which she told me she had no fear for herself--I need have
+none for her--and parted from me by the name of Brother, and was gone!
+
+It was dark in the morning, when I got upon the coach at the inn door.
+The day was just breaking when we were about to start, and then, as
+I sat thinking of her, came struggling up the coach side, through the
+mingled day and night, Uriah’s head.
+
+‘Copperfield!’ said he, in a croaking whisper, as he hung by the iron
+on the roof, ‘I thought you’d be glad to hear before you went off, that
+there are no squares broke between us. I’ve been into his room already,
+and we’ve made it all smooth. Why, though I’m umble, I’m useful to him,
+you know; and he understands his interest when he isn’t in liquor! What
+an agreeable man he is, after all, Master Copperfield!’
+
+I obliged myself to say that I was glad he had made his apology.
+
+‘Oh, to be sure!’ said Uriah. ‘When a person’s umble, you know, what’s
+an apology? So easy! I say! I suppose,’ with a jerk, ‘you have sometimes
+plucked a pear before it was ripe, Master Copperfield?’
+
+‘I suppose I have,’ I replied.
+
+‘I did that last night,’ said Uriah; ‘but it’ll ripen yet! It only wants
+attending to. I can wait!’
+
+Profuse in his farewells, he got down again as the coachman got up. For
+anything I know, he was eating something to keep the raw morning
+air out; but he made motions with his mouth as if the pear were ripe
+already, and he were smacking his lips over it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 40. THE WANDERER
+
+
+We had a very serious conversation in Buckingham Street that night,
+about the domestic occurrences I have detailed in the last chapter. My
+aunt was deeply interested in them, and walked up and down the room with
+her arms folded, for more than two hours afterwards. Whenever she was
+particularly discomposed, she always performed one of these pedestrian
+feats; and the amount of her discomposure might always be estimated by
+the duration of her walk. On this occasion she was so much disturbed in
+mind as to find it necessary to open the bedroom door, and make a course
+for herself, comprising the full extent of the bedrooms from wall to
+wall; and while Mr. Dick and I sat quietly by the fire, she kept passing
+in and out, along this measured track, at an unchanging pace, with the
+regularity of a clock-pendulum.
+
+When my aunt and I were left to ourselves by Mr. Dick’s going out to
+bed, I sat down to write my letter to the two old ladies. By that time
+she was tired of walking, and sat by the fire with her dress tucked up
+as usual. But instead of sitting in her usual manner, holding her glass
+upon her knee, she suffered it to stand neglected on the chimney-piece;
+and, resting her left elbow on her right arm, and her chin on her left
+hand, looked thoughtfully at me. As often as I raised my eyes from what
+I was about, I met hers. ‘I am in the lovingest of tempers, my dear,’
+she would assure me with a nod, ‘but I am fidgeted and sorry!’
+
+I had been too busy to observe, until after she was gone to bed, that
+she had left her night-mixture, as she always called it, untasted on
+the chimney-piece. She came to her door, with even more than her usual
+affection of manner, when I knocked to acquaint her with this discovery;
+but only said, ‘I have not the heart to take it, Trot, tonight,’ and
+shook her head, and went in again.
+
+She read my letter to the two old ladies, in the morning, and approved
+of it. I posted it, and had nothing to do then, but wait, as patiently
+as I could, for the reply. I was still in this state of expectation, and
+had been, for nearly a week; when I left the Doctor’s one snowy night,
+to walk home.
+
+It had been a bitter day, and a cutting north-east wind had blown for
+some time. The wind had gone down with the light, and so the snow had
+come on. It was a heavy, settled fall, I recollect, in great flakes; and
+it lay thick. The noise of wheels and tread of people were as hushed, as
+if the streets had been strewn that depth with feathers.
+
+My shortest way home,--and I naturally took the shortest way on such a
+night--was through St. Martin’s Lane. Now, the church which gives its
+name to the lane, stood in a less free situation at that time; there
+being no open space before it, and the lane winding down to the Strand.
+As I passed the steps of the portico, I encountered, at the corner,
+a woman’s face. It looked in mine, passed across the narrow lane,
+and disappeared. I knew it. I had seen it somewhere. But I could not
+remember where. I had some association with it, that struck upon my
+heart directly; but I was thinking of anything else when it came upon
+me, and was confused.
+
+On the steps of the church, there was the stooping figure of a man, who
+had put down some burden on the smooth snow, to adjust it; my seeing the
+face, and my seeing him, were simultaneous. I don’t think I had stopped
+in my surprise; but, in any case, as I went on, he rose, turned, and
+came down towards me. I stood face to face with Mr. Peggotty!
+
+Then I remembered the woman. It was Martha, to whom Emily had given the
+money that night in the kitchen. Martha Endell--side by side with whom,
+he would not have seen his dear niece, Ham had told me, for all the
+treasures wrecked in the sea.
+
+We shook hands heartily. At first, neither of us could speak a word.
+
+‘Mas’r Davy!’ he said, gripping me tight, ‘it do my art good to see you,
+sir. Well met, well met!’
+
+‘Well met, my dear old friend!’ said I.
+
+‘I had my thowts o’ coming to make inquiration for you, sir, tonight,’
+he said, ‘but knowing as your aunt was living along wi’ you--fur I’ve
+been down yonder--Yarmouth way--I was afeerd it was too late. I should
+have come early in the morning, sir, afore going away.’
+
+‘Again?’ said I.
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, patiently shaking his head, ‘I’m away tomorrow.’
+
+‘Where were you going now?’ I asked.
+
+‘Well!’ he replied, shaking the snow out of his long hair, ‘I was
+a-going to turn in somewheers.’
+
+In those days there was a side-entrance to the stable-yard of the Golden
+Cross, the inn so memorable to me in connexion with his misfortune,
+nearly opposite to where we stood. I pointed out the gateway, put my arm
+through his, and we went across. Two or three public-rooms opened out of
+the stable-yard; and looking into one of them, and finding it empty, and
+a good fire burning, I took him in there.
+
+When I saw him in the light, I observed, not only that his hair was long
+and ragged, but that his face was burnt dark by the sun. He was greyer,
+the lines in his face and forehead were deeper, and he had every
+appearance of having toiled and wandered through all varieties
+of weather; but he looked very strong, and like a man upheld by
+steadfastness of purpose, whom nothing could tire out. He shook the snow
+from his hat and clothes, and brushed it away from his face, while I was
+inwardly making these remarks. As he sat down opposite to me at a table,
+with his back to the door by which we had entered, he put out his rough
+hand again, and grasped mine warmly.
+
+‘I’ll tell you, Mas’r Davy,’ he said,--‘wheer all I’ve been, and
+what-all we’ve heerd. I’ve been fur, and we’ve heerd little; but I’ll
+tell you!’
+
+I rang the bell for something hot to drink. He would have nothing
+stronger than ale; and while it was being brought, and being warmed
+at the fire, he sat thinking. There was a fine, massive gravity in his
+face, I did not venture to disturb.
+
+‘When she was a child,’ he said, lifting up his head soon after we were
+left alone, ‘she used to talk to me a deal about the sea, and about
+them coasts where the sea got to be dark blue, and to lay a-shining and
+a-shining in the sun. I thowt, odd times, as her father being drownded
+made her think on it so much. I doen’t know, you see, but maybe she
+believed--or hoped--he had drifted out to them parts, where the flowers
+is always a-blowing, and the country bright.’
+
+‘It is likely to have been a childish fancy,’ I replied.
+
+‘When she was--lost,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘I know’d in my mind, as he
+would take her to them countries. I know’d in my mind, as he’d have told
+her wonders of ‘em, and how she was to be a lady theer, and how he got
+her to listen to him fust, along o’ sech like. When we see his mother,
+I know’d quite well as I was right. I went across-channel to France, and
+landed theer, as if I’d fell down from the sky.’
+
+I saw the door move, and the snow drift in. I saw it move a little more,
+and a hand softly interpose to keep it open.
+
+‘I found out an English gen’leman as was in authority,’ said Mr.
+Peggotty, ‘and told him I was a-going to seek my niece. He got me them
+papers as I wanted fur to carry me through--I doen’t rightly know how
+they’re called--and he would have give me money, but that I was thankful
+to have no need on. I thank him kind, for all he done, I’m sure! “I’ve
+wrote afore you,” he says to me, “and I shall speak to many as will come
+that way, and many will know you, fur distant from here, when you’re
+a-travelling alone.” I told him, best as I was able, what my gratitoode
+was, and went away through France.’
+
+‘Alone, and on foot?’ said I.
+
+‘Mostly a-foot,’ he rejoined; ‘sometimes in carts along with people
+going to market; sometimes in empty coaches. Many mile a day a-foot, and
+often with some poor soldier or another, travelling to see his friends.
+I couldn’t talk to him,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘nor he to me; but we was
+company for one another, too, along the dusty roads.’
+
+I should have known that by his friendly tone.
+
+‘When I come to any town,’ he pursued, ‘I found the inn, and waited
+about the yard till someone turned up (someone mostly did) as know’d
+English. Then I told how that I was on my way to seek my niece, and they
+told me what manner of gentlefolks was in the house, and I waited to see
+any as seemed like her, going in or out. When it warn’t Em’ly, I went on
+agen. By little and little, when I come to a new village or that, among
+the poor people, I found they know’d about me. They would set me down at
+their cottage doors, and give me what-not fur to eat and drink, and show
+me where to sleep; and many a woman, Mas’r Davy, as has had a daughter
+of about Em’ly’s age, I’ve found a-waiting fur me, at Our Saviour’s
+Cross outside the village, fur to do me sim’lar kindnesses. Some has had
+daughters as was dead. And God only knows how good them mothers was to
+me!’
+
+It was Martha at the door. I saw her haggard, listening face distinctly.
+My dread was lest he should turn his head, and see her too.
+
+‘They would often put their children--particular their little girls,’
+said Mr. Peggotty, ‘upon my knee; and many a time you might have seen
+me sitting at their doors, when night was coming in, a’most as if they’d
+been my Darling’s children. Oh, my Darling!’
+
+Overpowered by sudden grief, he sobbed aloud. I laid my trembling hand
+upon the hand he put before his face. ‘Thankee, sir,’ he said, ‘doen’t
+take no notice.’
+
+In a very little while he took his hand away and put it on his breast,
+and went on with his story. ‘They often walked with me,’ he said, ‘in
+the morning, maybe a mile or two upon my road; and when we parted, and
+I said, “I’m very thankful to you! God bless you!” they always seemed to
+understand, and answered pleasant. At last I come to the sea. It warn’t
+hard, you may suppose, for a seafaring man like me to work his way
+over to Italy. When I got theer, I wandered on as I had done afore. The
+people was just as good to me, and I should have gone from town to town,
+maybe the country through, but that I got news of her being seen among
+them Swiss mountains yonder. One as know’d his servant see ‘em there,
+all three, and told me how they travelled, and where they was. I made
+fur them mountains, Mas’r Davy, day and night. Ever so fur as I went,
+ever so fur the mountains seemed to shift away from me. But I come up
+with ‘em, and I crossed ‘em. When I got nigh the place as I had been
+told of, I began to think within my own self, “What shall I do when I
+see her?”’
+
+The listening face, insensible to the inclement night, still drooped at
+the door, and the hands begged me--prayed me--not to cast it forth.
+
+‘I never doubted her,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘No! Not a bit! On’y let her
+see my face--on’y let her heer my voice--on’y let my stanning still
+afore her bring to her thoughts the home she had fled away from, and the
+child she had been--and if she had growed to be a royal lady, she’d have
+fell down at my feet! I know’d it well! Many a time in my sleep had I
+heerd her cry out, “Uncle!” and seen her fall like death afore me. Many
+a time in my sleep had I raised her up, and whispered to her, “Em’ly, my
+dear, I am come fur to bring forgiveness, and to take you home!”’
+
+He stopped and shook his head, and went on with a sigh.
+
+‘He was nowt to me now. Em’ly was all. I bought a country dress to put
+upon her; and I know’d that, once found, she would walk beside me over
+them stony roads, go where I would, and never, never, leave me more. To
+put that dress upon her, and to cast off what she wore--to take her on
+my arm again, and wander towards home--to stop sometimes upon the road,
+and heal her bruised feet and her worse-bruised heart--was all that I
+thowt of now. I doen’t believe I should have done so much as look at
+him. But, Mas’r Davy, it warn’t to be--not yet! I was too late, and they
+was gone. Wheer, I couldn’t learn. Some said heer, some said theer.
+I travelled heer, and I travelled theer, but I found no Em’ly, and I
+travelled home.’
+
+‘How long ago?’ I asked.
+
+‘A matter o’ fower days,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘I sighted the old boat
+arter dark, and the light a-shining in the winder. When I come nigh and
+looked in through the glass, I see the faithful creetur Missis Gummidge
+sittin’ by the fire, as we had fixed upon, alone. I called out, “Doen’t
+be afeerd! It’s Dan’l!” and I went in. I never could have thowt the old
+boat would have been so strange!’ From some pocket in his breast, he
+took out, with a very careful hand a small paper bundle containing two
+or three letters or little packets, which he laid upon the table.
+
+‘This fust one come,’ he said, selecting it from the rest, ‘afore I had
+been gone a week. A fifty pound Bank note, in a sheet of paper, directed
+to me, and put underneath the door in the night. She tried to hide her
+writing, but she couldn’t hide it from Me!’
+
+He folded up the note again, with great patience and care, in exactly
+the same form, and laid it on one side.
+
+‘This come to Missis Gummidge,’ he said, opening another, ‘two or three
+months ago.’ After looking at it for some moments, he gave it to me, and
+added in a low voice, ‘Be so good as read it, sir.’
+
+I read as follows:
+
+
+‘Oh what will you feel when you see this writing, and know it comes from
+my wicked hand! But try, try--not for my sake, but for uncle’s goodness,
+try to let your heart soften to me, only for a little little time! Try,
+pray do, to relent towards a miserable girl, and write down on a bit of
+paper whether he is well, and what he said about me before you left off
+ever naming me among yourselves--and whether, of a night, when it is my
+old time of coming home, you ever see him look as if he thought of one
+he used to love so dear. Oh, my heart is breaking when I think about
+it! I am kneeling down to you, begging and praying you not to be as
+hard with me as I deserve--as I well, well, know I deserve--but to be so
+gentle and so good, as to write down something of him, and to send it to
+me. You need not call me Little, you need not call me by the name I have
+disgraced; but oh, listen to my agony, and have mercy on me so far as to
+write me some word of uncle, never, never to be seen in this world by my
+eyes again!
+
+‘Dear, if your heart is hard towards me--justly hard, I know--but,
+listen, if it is hard, dear, ask him I have wronged the most--him whose
+wife I was to have been--before you quite decide against my poor poor
+prayer! If he should be so compassionate as to say that you might write
+something for me to read--I think he would, oh, I think he would, if you
+would only ask him, for he always was so brave and so forgiving--tell
+him then (but not else), that when I hear the wind blowing at night,
+I feel as if it was passing angrily from seeing him and uncle, and was
+going up to God against me. Tell him that if I was to die tomorrow (and
+oh, if I was fit, I would be so glad to die!) I would bless him and
+uncle with my last words, and pray for his happy home with my last
+breath!’
+
+
+Some money was enclosed in this letter also. Five pounds. It was
+untouched like the previous sum, and he refolded it in the same way.
+Detailed instructions were added relative to the address of a reply,
+which, although they betrayed the intervention of several hands, and
+made it difficult to arrive at any very probable conclusion in reference
+to her place of concealment, made it at least not unlikely that she had
+written from that spot where she was stated to have been seen.
+
+‘What answer was sent?’ I inquired of Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘Missis Gummidge,’ he returned, ‘not being a good scholar, sir, Ham
+kindly drawed it out, and she made a copy on it. They told her I was
+gone to seek her, and what my parting words was.’
+
+‘Is that another letter in your hand?’ said I.
+
+‘It’s money, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty, unfolding it a little way. ‘Ten
+pound, you see. And wrote inside, “From a true friend,” like the fust.
+But the fust was put underneath the door, and this come by the post, day
+afore yesterday. I’m a-going to seek her at the post-mark.’
+
+He showed it to me. It was a town on the Upper Rhine. He had found out,
+at Yarmouth, some foreign dealers who knew that country, and they had
+drawn him a rude map on paper, which he could very well understand. He
+laid it between us on the table; and, with his chin resting on one hand,
+tracked his course upon it with the other.
+
+I asked him how Ham was? He shook his head.
+
+‘He works,’ he said, ‘as bold as a man can. His name’s as good, in all
+that part, as any man’s is, anywheres in the wureld. Anyone’s hand is
+ready to help him, you understand, and his is ready to help them. He’s
+never been heerd fur to complain. But my sister’s belief is [‘twixt
+ourselves) as it has cut him deep.’
+
+‘Poor fellow, I can believe it!’
+
+‘He ain’t no care, Mas’r Davy,’ said Mr. Peggotty in a solemn
+whisper--‘kinder no care no-how for his life. When a man’s wanted for
+rough sarvice in rough weather, he’s theer. When there’s hard duty to
+be done with danger in it, he steps for’ard afore all his mates. And yet
+he’s as gentle as any child. There ain’t a child in Yarmouth that doen’t
+know him.’
+
+He gathered up the letters thoughtfully, smoothing them with his hand;
+put them into their little bundle; and placed it tenderly in his breast
+again. The face was gone from the door. I still saw the snow drifting
+in; but nothing else was there.
+
+‘Well!’ he said, looking to his bag, ‘having seen you tonight, Mas’r
+Davy (and that doos me good!), I shall away betimes tomorrow morning.
+You have seen what I’ve got heer’; putting his hand on where the little
+packet lay; ‘all that troubles me is, to think that any harm might come
+to me, afore that money was give back. If I was to die, and it was lost,
+or stole, or elseways made away with, and it was never know’d by him
+but what I’d took it, I believe the t’other wureld wouldn’t hold me! I
+believe I must come back!’
+
+He rose, and I rose too; we grasped each other by the hand again, before
+going out.
+
+‘I’d go ten thousand mile,’ he said, ‘I’d go till I dropped dead, to lay
+that money down afore him. If I do that, and find my Em’ly, I’m content.
+If I doen’t find her, maybe she’ll come to hear, sometime, as her loving
+uncle only ended his search for her when he ended his life; and if I
+know her, even that will turn her home at last!’
+
+As he went out into the rigorous night, I saw the lonely figure flit
+away before us. I turned him hastily on some pretence, and held him in
+conversation until it was gone.
+
+He spoke of a traveller’s house on the Dover Road, where he knew he
+could find a clean, plain lodging for the night. I went with him over
+Westminster Bridge, and parted from him on the Surrey shore. Everything
+seemed, to my imagination, to be hushed in reverence for him, as he
+resumed his solitary journey through the snow.
+
+I returned to the inn yard, and, impressed by my remembrance of the
+face, looked awfully around for it. It was not there. The snow had
+covered our late footprints; my new track was the only one to be seen;
+and even that began to die away (it snowed so fast) as I looked back
+over my shoulder.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 41. DORA’S AUNTS
+
+
+At last, an answer came from the two old ladies. They presented their
+compliments to Mr. Copperfield, and informed him that they had given his
+letter their best consideration, ‘with a view to the happiness of
+both parties’--which I thought rather an alarming expression, not
+only because of the use they had made of it in relation to the family
+difference before-mentioned, but because I had (and have all my life)
+observed that conventional phrases are a sort of fireworks, easily let
+off, and liable to take a great variety of shapes and colours not at
+all suggested by their original form. The Misses Spenlow added that they
+begged to forbear expressing, ‘through the medium of correspondence’, an
+opinion on the subject of Mr. Copperfield’s communication; but that if
+Mr. Copperfield would do them the favour to call, upon a certain day
+(accompanied, if he thought proper, by a confidential friend), they
+would be happy to hold some conversation on the subject.
+
+To this favour, Mr. Copperfield immediately replied, with his respectful
+compliments, that he would have the honour of waiting on the Misses
+Spenlow, at the time appointed; accompanied, in accordance with their
+kind permission, by his friend Mr. Thomas Traddles of the Inner Temple.
+Having dispatched which missive, Mr. Copperfield fell into a condition
+of strong nervous agitation; and so remained until the day arrived.
+
+It was a great augmentation of my uneasiness to be bereaved, at this
+eventful crisis, of the inestimable services of Miss Mills. But Mr.
+Mills, who was always doing something or other to annoy me--or I felt
+as if he were, which was the same thing--had brought his conduct to a
+climax, by taking it into his head that he would go to India. Why should
+he go to India, except to harass me? To be sure he had nothing to do
+with any other part of the world, and had a good deal to do with that
+part; being entirely in the India trade, whatever that was (I had
+floating dreams myself concerning golden shawls and elephants’ teeth);
+having been at Calcutta in his youth; and designing now to go out there
+again, in the capacity of resident partner. But this was nothing to me.
+However, it was so much to him that for India he was bound, and
+Julia with him; and Julia went into the country to take leave of
+her relations; and the house was put into a perfect suit of bills,
+announcing that it was to be let or sold, and that the furniture (Mangle
+and all) was to be taken at a valuation. So, here was another earthquake
+of which I became the sport, before I had recovered from the shock of
+its predecessor!
+
+I was in several minds how to dress myself on the important day; being
+divided between my desire to appear to advantage, and my apprehensions
+of putting on anything that might impair my severely practical character
+in the eyes of the Misses Spenlow. I endeavoured to hit a happy medium
+between these two extremes; my aunt approved the result; and Mr. Dick
+threw one of his shoes after Traddles and me, for luck, as we went
+downstairs.
+
+Excellent fellow as I knew Traddles to be, and warmly attached to him as
+I was, I could not help wishing, on that delicate occasion, that he had
+never contracted the habit of brushing his hair so very upright. It
+gave him a surprised look--not to say a hearth-broomy kind of
+expression--which, my apprehensions whispered, might be fatal to us.
+
+I took the liberty of mentioning it to Traddles, as we were walking to
+Putney; and saying that if he WOULD smooth it down a little--
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Traddles, lifting off his hat, and rubbing
+his hair all kinds of ways, ‘nothing would give me greater pleasure. But
+it won’t.’
+
+‘Won’t be smoothed down?’ said I.
+
+‘No,’ said Traddles. ‘Nothing will induce it. If I was to carry a
+half-hundred-weight upon it, all the way to Putney, it would be up again
+the moment the weight was taken off. You have no idea what obstinate
+hair mine is, Copperfield. I am quite a fretful porcupine.’
+
+I was a little disappointed, I must confess, but thoroughly charmed by
+his good-nature too. I told him how I esteemed his good-nature; and said
+that his hair must have taken all the obstinacy out of his character,
+for he had none.
+
+‘Oh!’ returned Traddles, laughing. ‘I assure you, it’s quite an old
+story, my unfortunate hair. My uncle’s wife couldn’t bear it. She said
+it exasperated her. It stood very much in my way, too, when I first fell
+in love with Sophy. Very much!’
+
+‘Did she object to it?’
+
+‘SHE didn’t,’ rejoined Traddles; ‘but her eldest sister--the one that’s
+the Beauty--quite made game of it, I understand. In fact, all the
+sisters laugh at it.’
+
+‘Agreeable!’ said I.
+
+‘Yes,’ returned Traddles with perfect innocence, ‘it’s a joke for us.
+They pretend that Sophy has a lock of it in her desk, and is obliged to
+shut it in a clasped book, to keep it down. We laugh about it.’
+
+‘By the by, my dear Traddles,’ said I, ‘your experience may suggest
+something to me. When you became engaged to the young lady whom you have
+just mentioned, did you make a regular proposal to her family? Was there
+anything like--what we are going through today, for instance?’ I added,
+nervously.
+
+‘Why,’ replied Traddles, on whose attentive face a thoughtful shade had
+stolen, ‘it was rather a painful transaction, Copperfield, in my case.
+You see, Sophy being of so much use in the family, none of them could
+endure the thought of her ever being married. Indeed, they had quite
+settled among themselves that she never was to be married, and they
+called her the old maid. Accordingly, when I mentioned it, with the
+greatest precaution, to Mrs. Crewler--’
+
+‘The mama?’ said I.
+
+‘The mama,’ said Traddles--‘Reverend Horace Crewler--when I mentioned it
+with every possible precaution to Mrs. Crewler, the effect upon her was
+such that she gave a scream and became insensible. I couldn’t approach
+the subject again, for months.’
+
+‘You did at last?’ said I.
+
+‘Well, the Reverend Horace did,’ said Traddles. ‘He is an excellent man,
+most exemplary in every way; and he pointed out to her that she ought,
+as a Christian, to reconcile herself to the sacrifice (especially as it
+was so uncertain), and to bear no uncharitable feeling towards me. As to
+myself, Copperfield, I give you my word, I felt a perfect bird of prey
+towards the family.’
+
+‘The sisters took your part, I hope, Traddles?’
+
+‘Why, I can’t say they did,’ he returned. ‘When we had comparatively
+reconciled Mrs. Crewler to it, we had to break it to Sarah. You
+recollect my mentioning Sarah, as the one that has something the matter
+with her spine?’
+
+‘Perfectly!’
+
+‘She clenched both her hands,’ said Traddles, looking at me in dismay;
+‘shut her eyes; turned lead-colour; became perfectly stiff; and
+took nothing for two days but toast-and-water, administered with a
+tea-spoon.’
+
+‘What a very unpleasant girl, Traddles!’ I remarked.
+
+‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Copperfield!’ said Traddles. ‘She is a very
+charming girl, but she has a great deal of feeling. In fact, they all
+have. Sophy told me afterwards, that the self-reproach she underwent
+while she was in attendance upon Sarah, no words could describe. I know
+it must have been severe, by my own feelings, Copperfield; which were
+like a criminal’s. After Sarah was restored, we still had to break it
+to the other eight; and it produced various effects upon them of a most
+pathetic nature. The two little ones, whom Sophy educates, have only
+just left off de-testing me.’
+
+‘At any rate, they are all reconciled to it now, I hope?’ said I.
+
+‘Ye-yes, I should say they were, on the whole, resigned to it,’ said
+Traddles, doubtfully. ‘The fact is, we avoid mentioning the subject;
+and my unsettled prospects and indifferent circumstances are a great
+consolation to them. There will be a deplorable scene, whenever we
+are married. It will be much more like a funeral, than a wedding. And
+they’ll all hate me for taking her away!’
+
+His honest face, as he looked at me with a serio-comic shake of his
+head, impresses me more in the remembrance than it did in the reality,
+for I was by this time in a state of such excessive trepidation
+and wandering of mind, as to be quite unable to fix my attention on
+anything. On our approaching the house where the Misses Spenlow lived,
+I was at such a discount in respect of my personal looks and presence of
+mind, that Traddles proposed a gentle stimulant in the form of a glass
+of ale. This having been administered at a neighbouring public-house, he
+conducted me, with tottering steps, to the Misses Spenlow’s door.
+
+I had a vague sensation of being, as it were, on view, when the maid
+opened it; and of wavering, somehow, across a hall with a weather-glass
+in it, into a quiet little drawing-room on the ground-floor, commanding
+a neat garden. Also of sitting down here, on a sofa, and seeing
+Traddles’s hair start up, now his hat was removed, like one of those
+obtrusive little figures made of springs, that fly out of fictitious
+snuff-boxes when the lid is taken off. Also of hearing an old-fashioned
+clock ticking away on the chimney-piece, and trying to make it keep time
+to the jerking of my heart,--which it wouldn’t. Also of looking round
+the room for any sign of Dora, and seeing none. Also of thinking that
+Jip once barked in the distance, and was instantly choked by somebody.
+Ultimately I found myself backing Traddles into the fireplace, and
+bowing in great confusion to two dry little elderly ladies, dressed in
+black, and each looking wonderfully like a preparation in chip or tan of
+the late Mr. Spenlow.
+
+‘Pray,’ said one of the two little ladies, ‘be seated.’
+
+When I had done tumbling over Traddles, and had sat upon something which
+was not a cat--my first seat was--I so far recovered my sight, as to
+perceive that Mr. Spenlow had evidently been the youngest of the
+family; that there was a disparity of six or eight years between the
+two sisters; and that the younger appeared to be the manager of the
+conference, inasmuch as she had my letter in her hand--so familiar as
+it looked to me, and yet so odd!--and was referring to it through an
+eye-glass. They were dressed alike, but this sister wore her dress with
+a more youthful air than the other; and perhaps had a trifle more frill,
+or tucker, or brooch, or bracelet, or some little thing of that kind,
+which made her look more lively. They were both upright in their
+carriage, formal, precise, composed, and quiet. The sister who had
+not my letter, had her arms crossed on her breast, and resting on each
+other, like an Idol.
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield, I believe,’ said the sister who had got my letter,
+addressing herself to Traddles.
+
+This was a frightful beginning. Traddles had to indicate that I was Mr.
+Copperfield, and I had to lay claim to myself, and they had to divest
+themselves of a preconceived opinion that Traddles was Mr. Copperfield,
+and altogether we were in a nice condition. To improve it, we all
+distinctly heard Jip give two short barks, and receive another choke.
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield!’ said the sister with the letter.
+
+I did something--bowed, I suppose--and was all attention, when the other
+sister struck in.
+
+‘My sister Lavinia,’ said she ‘being conversant with matters of this
+nature, will state what we consider most calculated to promote the
+happiness of both parties.’
+
+I discovered afterwards that Miss Lavinia was an authority in affairs
+of the heart, by reason of there having anciently existed a certain Mr.
+Pidger, who played short whist, and was supposed to have been enamoured
+of her. My private opinion is, that this was entirely a gratuitous
+assumption, and that Pidger was altogether innocent of any such
+sentiments--to which he had never given any sort of expression that
+I could ever hear of. Both Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa had a
+superstition, however, that he would have declared his passion, if he
+had not been cut short in his youth (at about sixty) by over-drinking
+his constitution, and over-doing an attempt to set it right again by
+swilling Bath water. They had a lurking suspicion even, that he died of
+secret love; though I must say there was a picture of him in the house
+with a damask nose, which concealment did not appear to have ever preyed
+upon.
+
+‘We will not,’ said Miss Lavinia, ‘enter on the past history of this
+matter. Our poor brother Francis’s death has cancelled that.’
+
+‘We had not,’ said Miss Clarissa, ‘been in the habit of frequent
+association with our brother Francis; but there was no decided division
+or disunion between us. Francis took his road; we took ours. We
+considered it conducive to the happiness of all parties that it should
+be so. And it was so.’
+
+Each of the sisters leaned a little forward to speak, shook her head
+after speaking, and became upright again when silent. Miss Clarissa
+never moved her arms. She sometimes played tunes upon them with her
+fingers--minuets and marches I should think--but never moved them.
+
+‘Our niece’s position, or supposed position, is much changed by our
+brother Francis’s death,’ said Miss Lavinia; ‘and therefore we consider
+our brother’s opinions as regarded her position as being changed too. We
+have no reason to doubt, Mr. Copperfield, that you are a young gentleman
+possessed of good qualities and honourable character; or that you have
+an affection--or are fully persuaded that you have an affection--for our
+niece.’
+
+I replied, as I usually did whenever I had a chance, that nobody had
+ever loved anybody else as I loved Dora. Traddles came to my assistance
+with a confirmatory murmur.
+
+Miss Lavinia was going on to make some rejoinder, when Miss Clarissa,
+who appeared to be incessantly beset by a desire to refer to her brother
+Francis, struck in again:
+
+‘If Dora’s mama,’ she said, ‘when she married our brother Francis, had
+at once said that there was not room for the family at the dinner-table,
+it would have been better for the happiness of all parties.’
+
+‘Sister Clarissa,’ said Miss Lavinia. ‘Perhaps we needn’t mind that
+now.’
+
+‘Sister Lavinia,’ said Miss Clarissa, ‘it belongs to the subject. With
+your branch of the subject, on which alone you are competent to speak, I
+should not think of interfering. On this branch of the subject I have a
+voice and an opinion. It would have been better for the happiness of
+all parties, if Dora’s mama, when she married our brother Francis, had
+mentioned plainly what her intentions were. We should then have known
+what we had to expect. We should have said “Pray do not invite us,
+at any time”; and all possibility of misunderstanding would have been
+avoided.’
+
+When Miss Clarissa had shaken her head, Miss Lavinia resumed: again
+referring to my letter through her eye-glass. They both had little
+bright round twinkling eyes, by the way, which were like birds’ eyes.
+They were not unlike birds, altogether; having a sharp, brisk, sudden
+manner, and a little short, spruce way of adjusting themselves, like
+canaries.
+
+Miss Lavinia, as I have said, resumed:
+
+‘You ask permission of my sister Clarissa and myself, Mr. Copperfield,
+to visit here, as the accepted suitor of our niece.’
+
+‘If our brother Francis,’ said Miss Clarissa, breaking out again, if I
+may call anything so calm a breaking out, ‘wished to surround himself
+with an atmosphere of Doctors’ Commons, and of Doctors’ Commons only,
+what right or desire had we to object? None, I am sure. We have ever
+been far from wishing to obtrude ourselves on anyone. But why not say
+so? Let our brother Francis and his wife have their society. Let
+my sister Lavinia and myself have our society. We can find it for
+ourselves, I hope.’
+
+As this appeared to be addressed to Traddles and me, both Traddles and
+I made some sort of reply. Traddles was inaudible. I think I observed,
+myself, that it was highly creditable to all concerned. I don’t in the
+least know what I meant.
+
+‘Sister Lavinia,’ said Miss Clarissa, having now relieved her mind, ‘you
+can go on, my dear.’
+
+Miss Lavinia proceeded:
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield, my sister Clarissa and I have been very careful
+indeed in considering this letter; and we have not considered it without
+finally showing it to our niece, and discussing it with our niece. We
+have no doubt that you think you like her very much.’
+
+‘Think, ma’am,’ I rapturously began, ‘oh!--’
+
+But Miss Clarissa giving me a look (just like a sharp canary), as
+requesting that I would not interrupt the oracle, I begged pardon.
+
+‘Affection,’ said Miss Lavinia, glancing at her sister for
+corroboration, which she gave in the form of a little nod to every
+clause, ‘mature affection, homage, devotion, does not easily express
+itself. Its voice is low. It is modest and retiring, it lies in ambush,
+waits and waits. Such is the mature fruit. Sometimes a life glides away,
+and finds it still ripening in the shade.’
+
+Of course I did not understand then that this was an allusion to her
+supposed experience of the stricken Pidger; but I saw, from the gravity
+with which Miss Clarissa nodded her head, that great weight was attached
+to these words.
+
+‘The light--for I call them, in comparison with such sentiments, the
+light--inclinations of very young people,’ pursued Miss Lavinia, ‘are
+dust, compared to rocks. It is owing to the difficulty of knowing
+whether they are likely to endure or have any real foundation, that
+my sister Clarissa and myself have been very undecided how to act, Mr.
+Copperfield, and Mr.--’
+
+‘Traddles,’ said my friend, finding himself looked at.
+
+‘I beg pardon. Of the Inner Temple, I believe?’ said Miss Clarissa,
+again glancing at my letter.
+
+Traddles said ‘Exactly so,’ and became pretty red in the face.
+
+Now, although I had not received any express encouragement as yet, I
+fancied that I saw in the two little sisters, and particularly in Miss
+Lavinia, an intensified enjoyment of this new and fruitful subject of
+domestic interest, a settling down to make the most of it, a disposition
+to pet it, in which there was a good bright ray of hope. I thought
+I perceived that Miss Lavinia would have uncommon satisfaction in
+superintending two young lovers, like Dora and me; and that Miss
+Clarissa would have hardly less satisfaction in seeing her superintend
+us, and in chiming in with her own particular department of the subject
+whenever that impulse was strong upon her. This gave me courage to
+protest most vehemently that I loved Dora better than I could tell, or
+anyone believe; that all my friends knew how I loved her; that my aunt,
+Agnes, Traddles, everyone who knew me, knew how I loved her, and how
+earnest my love had made me. For the truth of this, I appealed to
+Traddles. And Traddles, firing up as if he were plunging into a
+Parliamentary Debate, really did come out nobly: confirming me in good
+round terms, and in a plain sensible practical manner, that evidently
+made a favourable impression.
+
+‘I speak, if I may presume to say so, as one who has some little
+experience of such things,’ said Traddles, ‘being myself engaged to a
+young lady--one of ten, down in Devonshire--and seeing no probability,
+at present, of our engagement coming to a termination.’
+
+‘You may be able to confirm what I have said, Mr. Traddles,’ observed
+Miss Lavinia, evidently taking a new interest in him, ‘of the affection
+that is modest and retiring; that waits and waits?’
+
+‘Entirely, ma’am,’ said Traddles.
+
+Miss Clarissa looked at Miss Lavinia, and shook her head gravely. Miss
+Lavinia looked consciously at Miss Clarissa, and heaved a little sigh.
+‘Sister Lavinia,’ said Miss Clarissa, ‘take my smelling-bottle.’
+
+Miss Lavinia revived herself with a few whiffs of aromatic
+vinegar--Traddles and I looking on with great solicitude the while; and
+then went on to say, rather faintly:
+
+‘My sister and myself have been in great doubt, Mr. Traddles, what
+course we ought to take in reference to the likings, or imaginary
+likings, of such very young people as your friend Mr. Copperfield and
+our niece.’
+
+‘Our brother Francis’s child,’ remarked Miss Clarissa. ‘If our brother
+Francis’s wife had found it convenient in her lifetime (though she had
+an unquestionable right to act as she thought best) to invite the family
+to her dinner-table, we might have known our brother Francis’s child
+better at the present moment. Sister Lavinia, proceed.’
+
+Miss Lavinia turned my letter, so as to bring the superscription towards
+herself, and referred through her eye-glass to some orderly-looking
+notes she had made on that part of it.
+
+‘It seems to us,’ said she, ‘prudent, Mr. Traddles, to bring these
+feelings to the test of our own observation. At present we know nothing
+of them, and are not in a situation to judge how much reality there
+may be in them. Therefore we are inclined so far to accede to Mr.
+Copperfield’s proposal, as to admit his visits here.’
+
+‘I shall never, dear ladies,’ I exclaimed, relieved of an immense load
+of apprehension, ‘forget your kindness!’
+
+‘But,’ pursued Miss Lavinia,--‘but, we would prefer to regard those
+visits, Mr. Traddles, as made, at present, to us. We must guard
+ourselves from recognizing any positive engagement between Mr.
+Copperfield and our niece, until we have had an opportunity--’
+
+‘Until YOU have had an opportunity, sister Lavinia,’ said Miss Clarissa.
+
+‘Be it so,’ assented Miss Lavinia, with a sigh--‘until I have had an
+opportunity of observing them.’
+
+‘Copperfield,’ said Traddles, turning to me, ‘you feel, I am sure, that
+nothing could be more reasonable or considerate.’
+
+‘Nothing!’ cried I. ‘I am deeply sensible of it.’
+
+‘In this position of affairs,’ said Miss Lavinia, again referring to
+her notes, ‘and admitting his visits on this understanding only, we
+must require from Mr. Copperfield a distinct assurance, on his word of
+honour, that no communication of any kind shall take place between him
+and our niece without our knowledge. That no project whatever shall be
+entertained with regard to our niece, without being first submitted to
+us--’ ‘To you, sister Lavinia,’ Miss Clarissa interposed.
+
+‘Be it so, Clarissa!’ assented Miss Lavinia resignedly--‘to me--and
+receiving our concurrence. We must make this a most express and serious
+stipulation, not to be broken on any account. We wished Mr. Copperfield
+to be accompanied by some confidential friend today,’ with an
+inclination of her head towards Traddles, who bowed, ‘in order that
+there might be no doubt or misconception on this subject. If Mr.
+Copperfield, or if you, Mr. Traddles, feel the least scruple, in giving
+this promise, I beg you to take time to consider it.’
+
+I exclaimed, in a state of high ecstatic fervour, that not a moment’s
+consideration could be necessary. I bound myself by the required
+promise, in a most impassioned manner; called upon Traddles to witness
+it; and denounced myself as the most atrocious of characters if I ever
+swerved from it in the least degree.
+
+‘Stay!’ said Miss Lavinia, holding up her hand; ‘we resolved, before we
+had the pleasure of receiving you two gentlemen, to leave you alone
+for a quarter of an hour, to consider this point. You will allow us to
+retire.’
+
+It was in vain for me to say that no consideration was necessary. They
+persisted in withdrawing for the specified time. Accordingly, these
+little birds hopped out with great dignity; leaving me to receive the
+congratulations of Traddles, and to feel as if I were translated to
+regions of exquisite happiness. Exactly at the expiration of the
+quarter of an hour, they reappeared with no less dignity than they had
+disappeared. They had gone rustling away as if their little dresses were
+made of autumn-leaves: and they came rustling back, in like manner.
+
+I then bound myself once more to the prescribed conditions.
+
+‘Sister Clarissa,’ said Miss Lavinia, ‘the rest is with you.’
+
+Miss Clarissa, unfolding her arms for the first time, took the notes and
+glanced at them.
+
+‘We shall be happy,’ said Miss Clarissa, ‘to see Mr. Copperfield to
+dinner, every Sunday, if it should suit his convenience. Our hour is
+three.’
+
+I bowed.
+
+‘In the course of the week,’ said Miss Clarissa, ‘we shall be happy to
+see Mr. Copperfield to tea. Our hour is half-past six.’
+
+I bowed again.
+
+‘Twice in the week,’ said Miss Clarissa, ‘but, as a rule, not oftener.’
+
+I bowed again.
+
+‘Miss Trotwood,’ said Miss Clarissa, ‘mentioned in Mr. Copperfield’s
+letter, will perhaps call upon us. When visiting is better for the
+happiness of all parties, we are glad to receive visits, and return
+them. When it is better for the happiness of all parties that no
+visiting should take place, (as in the case of our brother Francis, and
+his establishment) that is quite different.’
+
+I intimated that my aunt would be proud and delighted to make their
+acquaintance; though I must say I was not quite sure of their getting
+on very satisfactorily together. The conditions being now closed, I
+expressed my acknowledgements in the warmest manner; and, taking the
+hand, first of Miss Clarissa, and then of Miss Lavinia, pressed it, in
+each case, to my lips.
+
+Miss Lavinia then arose, and begging Mr. Traddles to excuse us for a
+minute, requested me to follow her. I obeyed, all in a tremble, and was
+conducted into another room. There I found my blessed darling stopping
+her ears behind the door, with her dear little face against the wall;
+and Jip in the plate-warmer with his head tied up in a towel.
+
+Oh! How beautiful she was in her black frock, and how she sobbed and
+cried at first, and wouldn’t come out from behind the door! How fond we
+were of one another, when she did come out at last; and what a state of
+bliss I was in, when we took Jip out of the plate-warmer, and restored
+him to the light, sneezing very much, and were all three reunited!
+
+‘My dearest Dora! Now, indeed, my own for ever!’
+
+‘Oh, DON’T!’ pleaded Dora. ‘Please!’
+
+‘Are you not my own for ever, Dora?’
+
+‘Oh yes, of course I am!’ cried Dora, ‘but I am so frightened!’
+
+‘Frightened, my own?’
+
+‘Oh yes! I don’t like him,’ said Dora. ‘Why don’t he go?’
+
+‘Who, my life?’
+
+‘Your friend,’ said Dora. ‘It isn’t any business of his. What a stupid
+he must be!’
+
+‘My love!’ (There never was anything so coaxing as her childish ways.)
+‘He is the best creature!’
+
+‘Oh, but we don’t want any best creatures!’ pouted Dora.
+
+‘My dear,’ I argued, ‘you will soon know him well, and like him of all
+things. And here is my aunt coming soon; and you’ll like her of all
+things too, when you know her.’
+
+‘No, please don’t bring her!’ said Dora, giving me a horrified
+little kiss, and folding her hands. ‘Don’t. I know she’s a naughty,
+mischief-making old thing! Don’t let her come here, Doady!’ which was a
+corruption of David.
+
+Remonstrance was of no use, then; so I laughed, and admired, and was
+very much in love and very happy; and she showed me Jip’s new trick of
+standing on his hind legs in a corner--which he did for about the space
+of a flash of lightning, and then fell down--and I don’t know how long I
+should have stayed there, oblivious of Traddles, if Miss Lavinia had not
+come in to take me away. Miss Lavinia was very fond of Dora (she told
+me Dora was exactly like what she had been herself at her age--she must
+have altered a good deal), and she treated Dora just as if she had been
+a toy. I wanted to persuade Dora to come and see Traddles, but on my
+proposing it she ran off to her own room and locked herself in; so I
+went to Traddles without her, and walked away with him on air.
+
+‘Nothing could be more satisfactory,’ said Traddles; ‘and they are very
+agreeable old ladies, I am sure. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you
+were to be married years before me, Copperfield.’
+
+‘Does your Sophy play on any instrument, Traddles?’ I inquired, in the
+pride of my heart.
+
+‘She knows enough of the piano to teach it to her little sisters,’ said
+Traddles.
+
+‘Does she sing at all?’ I asked.
+
+‘Why, she sings ballads, sometimes, to freshen up the others a little
+when they’re out of spirits,’ said Traddles. ‘Nothing scientific.’
+
+‘She doesn’t sing to the guitar?’ said I.
+
+‘Oh dear no!’ said Traddles.
+
+‘Paint at all?’
+
+‘Not at all,’ said Traddles.
+
+I promised Traddles that he should hear Dora sing, and see some of her
+flower-painting. He said he should like it very much, and we went home
+arm in arm in great good humour and delight. I encouraged him to talk
+about Sophy, on the way; which he did with a loving reliance on her
+that I very much admired. I compared her in my mind with Dora, with
+considerable inward satisfaction; but I candidly admitted to myself that
+she seemed to be an excellent kind of girl for Traddles, too.
+
+Of course my aunt was immediately made acquainted with the successful
+issue of the conference, and with all that had been said and done in the
+course of it. She was happy to see me so happy, and promised to call on
+Dora’s aunts without loss of time. But she took such a long walk up and
+down our rooms that night, while I was writing to Agnes, that I began to
+think she meant to walk till morning.
+
+My letter to Agnes was a fervent and grateful one, narrating all the
+good effects that had resulted from my following her advice. She wrote,
+by return of post, to me. Her letter was hopeful, earnest, and cheerful.
+She was always cheerful from that time.
+
+I had my hands more full than ever, now. My daily journeys to Highgate
+considered, Putney was a long way off; and I naturally wanted to go
+there as often as I could. The proposed tea-drinkings being quite
+impracticable, I compounded with Miss Lavinia for permission to visit
+every Saturday afternoon, without detriment to my privileged Sundays.
+So, the close of every week was a delicious time for me; and I got
+through the rest of the week by looking forward to it.
+
+I was wonderfully relieved to find that my aunt and Dora’s aunts
+rubbed on, all things considered, much more smoothly than I could have
+expected. My aunt made her promised visit within a few days of the
+conference; and within a few more days, Dora’s aunts called upon her,
+in due state and form. Similar but more friendly exchanges took place
+afterwards, usually at intervals of three or four weeks. I know that my
+aunt distressed Dora’s aunts very much, by utterly setting at naught the
+dignity of fly-conveyance, and walking out to Putney at extraordinary
+times, as shortly after breakfast or just before tea; likewise by
+wearing her bonnet in any manner that happened to be comfortable to her
+head, without at all deferring to the prejudices of civilization on that
+subject. But Dora’s aunts soon agreed to regard my aunt as an eccentric
+and somewhat masculine lady, with a strong understanding; and although
+my aunt occasionally ruffled the feathers of Dora’s aunts, by expressing
+heretical opinions on various points of ceremony, she loved me too
+well not to sacrifice some of her little peculiarities to the general
+harmony.
+
+The only member of our small society who positively refused to adapt
+himself to circumstances, was Jip. He never saw my aunt without
+immediately displaying every tooth in his head, retiring under a chair,
+and growling incessantly: with now and then a doleful howl, as if she
+really were too much for his feelings. All kinds of treatment were tried
+with him, coaxing, scolding, slapping, bringing him to Buckingham
+Street (where he instantly dashed at the two cats, to the terror of all
+beholders); but he never could prevail upon himself to bear my
+aunt’s society. He would sometimes think he had got the better of his
+objection, and be amiable for a few minutes; and then would put up his
+snub nose, and howl to that extent, that there was nothing for it but
+to blind him and put him in the plate-warmer. At length, Dora regularly
+muffled him in a towel and shut him up there, whenever my aunt was
+reported at the door.
+
+One thing troubled me much, after we had fallen into this quiet train.
+It was, that Dora seemed by one consent to be regarded like a pretty toy
+or plaything. My aunt, with whom she gradually became familiar, always
+called her Little Blossom; and the pleasure of Miss Lavinia’s life was
+to wait upon her, curl her hair, make ornaments for her, and treat her
+like a pet child. What Miss Lavinia did, her sister did as a matter of
+course. It was very odd to me; but they all seemed to treat Dora, in her
+degree, much as Dora treated Jip in his.
+
+I made up my mind to speak to Dora about this; and one day when we were
+out walking (for we were licensed by Miss Lavinia, after a while, to
+go out walking by ourselves), I said to her that I wished she could get
+them to behave towards her differently.
+
+‘Because you know, my darling,’ I remonstrated, ‘you are not a child.’
+
+‘There!’ said Dora. ‘Now you’re going to be cross!’
+
+‘Cross, my love?’
+
+‘I am sure they’re very kind to me,’ said Dora, ‘and I am very happy--’
+
+‘Well! But my dearest life!’ said I, ‘you might be very happy, and yet
+be treated rationally.’
+
+Dora gave me a reproachful look--the prettiest look!--and then began to
+sob, saying, if I didn’t like her, why had I ever wanted so much to be
+engaged to her? And why didn’t I go away, now, if I couldn’t bear her?
+
+What could I do, but kiss away her tears, and tell her how I doted on
+her, after that!
+
+‘I am sure I am very affectionate,’ said Dora; ‘you oughtn’t to be cruel
+to me, Doady!’
+
+‘Cruel, my precious love! As if I would--or could--be cruel to you, for
+the world!’
+
+‘Then don’t find fault with me,’ said Dora, making a rosebud of her
+mouth; ‘and I’ll be good.’
+
+I was charmed by her presently asking me, of her own accord, to give
+her that cookery-book I had once spoken of, and to show her how to keep
+accounts as I had once promised I would. I brought the volume with me on
+my next visit (I got it prettily bound, first, to make it look less dry
+and more inviting); and as we strolled about the Common, I showed her an
+old housekeeping-book of my aunt’s, and gave her a set of tablets, and
+a pretty little pencil-case and box of leads, to practise housekeeping
+with.
+
+But the cookery-book made Dora’s head ache, and the figures made her
+cry. They wouldn’t add up, she said. So she rubbed them out, and drew
+little nosegays and likenesses of me and Jip, all over the tablets.
+
+Then I playfully tried verbal instruction in domestic matters, as we
+walked about on a Saturday afternoon. Sometimes, for example, when we
+passed a butcher’s shop, I would say:
+
+‘Now suppose, my pet, that we were married, and you were going to buy a
+shoulder of mutton for dinner, would you know how to buy it?’
+
+My pretty little Dora’s face would fall, and she would make her mouth
+into a bud again, as if she would very much prefer to shut mine with a
+kiss.
+
+‘Would you know how to buy it, my darling?’ I would repeat, perhaps, if
+I were very inflexible.
+
+Dora would think a little, and then reply, perhaps, with great triumph:
+
+‘Why, the butcher would know how to sell it, and what need I know? Oh,
+you silly boy!’
+
+So, when I once asked Dora, with an eye to the cookery-book, what she
+would do, if we were married, and I were to say I should like a nice
+Irish stew, she replied that she would tell the servant to make it; and
+then clapped her little hands together across my arm, and laughed in
+such a charming manner that she was more delightful than ever.
+
+Consequently, the principal use to which the cookery-book was devoted,
+was being put down in the corner for Jip to stand upon. But Dora was so
+pleased, when she had trained him to stand upon it without offering to
+come off, and at the same time to hold the pencil-case in his mouth,
+that I was very glad I had bought it.
+
+And we fell back on the guitar-case, and the flower-painting, and the
+songs about never leaving off dancing, Ta ra la! and were as happy as
+the week was long. I occasionally wished I could venture to hint to Miss
+Lavinia, that she treated the darling of my heart a little too much like
+a plaything; and I sometimes awoke, as it were, wondering to find that
+I had fallen into the general fault, and treated her like a plaything
+too--but not often.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 42. MISCHIEF
+
+I feel as if it were not for me to record, even though this manuscript
+is intended for no eyes but mine, how hard I worked at that tremendous
+short-hand, and all improvement appertaining to it, in my sense of
+responsibility to Dora and her aunts. I will only add, to what I have
+already written of my perseverance at this time of my life, and of a
+patient and continuous energy which then began to be matured within me,
+and which I know to be the strong part of my character, if it have any
+strength at all, that there, on looking back, I find the source of my
+success. I have been very fortunate in worldly matters; many men have
+worked much harder, and not succeeded half so well; but I never could
+have done what I have done, without the habits of punctuality, order,
+and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on one
+object at a time, no matter how quickly its successor should come upon
+its heels, which I then formed. Heaven knows I write this, in no spirit
+of self-laudation. The man who reviews his own life, as I do mine,
+in going on here, from page to page, had need to have been a good man
+indeed, if he would be spared the sharp consciousness of many talents
+neglected, many opportunities wasted, many erratic and perverted
+feelings constantly at war within his breast, and defeating him. I
+do not hold one natural gift, I dare say, that I have not abused. My
+meaning simply is, that whatever I have tried to do in life, I have
+tried with all my heart to do well; that whatever I have devoted myself
+to, I have devoted myself to completely; that in great aims and in
+small, I have always been thoroughly in earnest. I have never believed
+it possible that any natural or improved ability can claim immunity from
+the companionship of the steady, plain, hard-working qualities, and
+hope to gain its end. There is no such thing as such fulfilment on this
+earth. Some happy talent, and some fortunate opportunity, may form the
+two sides of the ladder on which some men mount, but the rounds of that
+ladder must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear; and there is no
+substitute for thorough-going, ardent, and sincere earnestness. Never
+to put one hand to anything, on which I could throw my whole self; and
+never to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it was; I find, now,
+to have been my golden rules.
+
+How much of the practice I have just reduced to precept, I owe to Agnes,
+I will not repeat here. My narrative proceeds to Agnes, with a thankful
+love.
+
+She came on a visit of a fortnight to the Doctor’s. Mr. Wickfield was
+the Doctor’s old friend, and the Doctor wished to talk with him, and
+do him good. It had been matter of conversation with Agnes when she was
+last in town, and this visit was the result. She and her father came
+together. I was not much surprised to hear from her that she had engaged
+to find a lodging in the neighbourhood for Mrs. Heep, whose rheumatic
+complaint required change of air, and who would be charmed to have it in
+such company. Neither was I surprised when, on the very next day, Uriah,
+like a dutiful son, brought his worthy mother to take possession.
+
+‘You see, Master Copperfield,’ said he, as he forced himself upon my
+company for a turn in the Doctor’s garden, ‘where a person loves, a
+person is a little jealous--leastways, anxious to keep an eye on the
+beloved one.’
+
+‘Of whom are you jealous, now?’ said I.
+
+‘Thanks to you, Master Copperfield,’ he returned, ‘of no one in
+particular just at present--no male person, at least.’
+
+‘Do you mean that you are jealous of a female person?’
+
+He gave me a sidelong glance out of his sinister red eyes, and laughed.
+
+‘Really, Master Copperfield,’ he said, ‘--I should say Mister, but I
+know you’ll excuse the abit I’ve got into--you’re so insinuating, that
+you draw me like a corkscrew! Well, I don’t mind telling you,’ putting
+his fish-like hand on mine, ‘I’m not a lady’s man in general, sir, and I
+never was, with Mrs. Strong.’
+
+His eyes looked green now, as they watched mine with a rascally cunning.
+
+‘What do you mean?’ said I.
+
+‘Why, though I am a lawyer, Master Copperfield,’ he replied, with a dry
+grin, ‘I mean, just at present, what I say.’
+
+‘And what do you mean by your look?’ I retorted, quietly.
+
+‘By my look? Dear me, Copperfield, that’s sharp practice! What do I mean
+by my look?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said I. ‘By your look.’
+
+He seemed very much amused, and laughed as heartily as it was in his
+nature to laugh. After some scraping of his chin with his hand, he went
+on to say, with his eyes cast downward--still scraping, very slowly:
+
+‘When I was but an umble clerk, she always looked down upon me. She was
+for ever having my Agnes backwards and forwards at her ouse, and she was
+for ever being a friend to you, Master Copperfield; but I was too far
+beneath her, myself, to be noticed.’
+
+‘Well?’ said I; ‘suppose you were!’
+
+‘--And beneath him too,’ pursued Uriah, very distinctly, and in a
+meditative tone of voice, as he continued to scrape his chin.
+
+‘Don’t you know the Doctor better,’ said I, ‘than to suppose him
+conscious of your existence, when you were not before him?’
+
+He directed his eyes at me in that sidelong glance again, and he made
+his face very lantern-jawed, for the greater convenience of scraping, as
+he answered:
+
+‘Oh dear, I am not referring to the Doctor! Oh no, poor man! I mean Mr.
+Maldon!’
+
+My heart quite died within me. All my old doubts and apprehensions on
+that subject, all the Doctor’s happiness and peace, all the mingled
+possibilities of innocence and compromise, that I could not unravel, I
+saw, in a moment, at the mercy of this fellow’s twisting.
+
+‘He never could come into the office, without ordering and shoving me
+about,’ said Uriah. ‘One of your fine gentlemen he was! I was very meek
+and umble--and I am. But I didn’t like that sort of thing--and I don’t!’
+
+He left off scraping his chin, and sucked in his cheeks until they
+seemed to meet inside; keeping his sidelong glance upon me all the
+while.
+
+‘She is one of your lovely women, she is,’ he pursued, when he had
+slowly restored his face to its natural form; ‘and ready to be no friend
+to such as me, I know. She’s just the person as would put my Agnes up
+to higher sort of game. Now, I ain’t one of your lady’s men, Master
+Copperfield; but I’ve had eyes in my ed, a pretty long time back. We
+umble ones have got eyes, mostly speaking--and we look out of ‘em.’
+
+I endeavoured to appear unconscious and not disquieted, but, I saw in
+his face, with poor success.
+
+‘Now, I’m not a-going to let myself be run down, Copperfield,’ he
+continued, raising that part of his countenance, where his red eyebrows
+would have been if he had had any, with malignant triumph, ‘and I shall
+do what I can to put a stop to this friendship. I don’t approve of it.
+I don’t mind acknowledging to you that I’ve got rather a grudging
+disposition, and want to keep off all intruders. I ain’t a-going, if I
+know it, to run the risk of being plotted against.’
+
+‘You are always plotting, and delude yourself into the belief that
+everybody else is doing the like, I think,’ said I.
+
+‘Perhaps so, Master Copperfield,’ he replied. ‘But I’ve got a motive, as
+my fellow-partner used to say; and I go at it tooth and nail. I mustn’t
+be put upon, as a numble person, too much. I can’t allow people in my
+way. Really they must come out of the cart, Master Copperfield!’
+
+‘I don’t understand you,’ said I.
+
+‘Don’t you, though?’ he returned, with one of his jerks. ‘I’m astonished
+at that, Master Copperfield, you being usually so quick! I’ll try to be
+plainer, another time.---Is that Mr. Maldon a-norseback, ringing at the
+gate, sir?’
+
+‘It looks like him,’ I replied, as carelessly as I could.
+
+Uriah stopped short, put his hands between his great knobs of knees, and
+doubled himself up with laughter. With perfectly silent laughter. Not
+a sound escaped from him. I was so repelled by his odious behaviour,
+particularly by this concluding instance, that I turned away without any
+ceremony; and left him doubled up in the middle of the garden, like a
+scarecrow in want of support.
+
+It was not on that evening; but, as I well remember, on the next evening
+but one, which was a Sunday; that I took Agnes to see Dora. I had
+arranged the visit, beforehand, with Miss Lavinia; and Agnes was
+expected to tea.
+
+I was in a flutter of pride and anxiety; pride in my dear little
+betrothed, and anxiety that Agnes should like her. All the way to
+Putney, Agnes being inside the stage-coach, and I outside, I pictured
+Dora to myself in every one of the pretty looks I knew so well; now
+making up my mind that I should like her to look exactly as she looked
+at such a time, and then doubting whether I should not prefer her
+looking as she looked at such another time; and almost worrying myself
+into a fever about it.
+
+I was troubled by no doubt of her being very pretty, in any case; but
+it fell out that I had never seen her look so well. She was not in the
+drawing-room when I presented Agnes to her little aunts, but was shyly
+keeping out of the way. I knew where to look for her, now; and sure
+enough I found her stopping her ears again, behind the same dull old
+door.
+
+At first she wouldn’t come at all; and then she pleaded for five minutes
+by my watch. When at length she put her arm through mine, to be taken
+to the drawing-room, her charming little face was flushed, and had never
+been so pretty. But, when we went into the room, and it turned pale, she
+was ten thousand times prettier yet.
+
+Dora was afraid of Agnes. She had told me that she knew Agnes was
+‘too clever’. But when she saw her looking at once so cheerful and so
+earnest, and so thoughtful, and so good, she gave a faint little cry of
+pleased surprise, and just put her affectionate arms round Agnes’s neck,
+and laid her innocent cheek against her face.
+
+I never was so happy. I never was so pleased as when I saw those two sit
+down together, side by side. As when I saw my little darling looking up
+so naturally to those cordial eyes. As when I saw the tender, beautiful
+regard which Agnes cast upon her.
+
+Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa partook, in their way, of my joy. It was
+the pleasantest tea-table in the world. Miss Clarissa presided. I cut
+and handed the sweet seed-cake--the little sisters had a bird-like
+fondness for picking up seeds and pecking at sugar; Miss Lavinia looked
+on with benignant patronage, as if our happy love were all her work; and
+we were perfectly contented with ourselves and one another.
+
+The gentle cheerfulness of Agnes went to all their hearts. Her quiet
+interest in everything that interested Dora; her manner of making
+acquaintance with Jip (who responded instantly); her pleasant way, when
+Dora was ashamed to come over to her usual seat by me; her modest grace
+and ease, eliciting a crowd of blushing little marks of confidence from
+Dora; seemed to make our circle quite complete.
+
+‘I am so glad,’ said Dora, after tea, ‘that you like me. I didn’t think
+you would; and I want, more than ever, to be liked, now Julia Mills is
+gone.’
+
+I have omitted to mention it, by the by. Miss Mills had sailed, and Dora
+and I had gone aboard a great East Indiaman at Gravesend to see her;
+and we had had preserved ginger, and guava, and other delicacies of that
+sort for lunch; and we had left Miss Mills weeping on a camp-stool on
+the quarter-deck, with a large new diary under her arm, in which the
+original reflections awakened by the contemplation of Ocean were to be
+recorded under lock and key.
+
+Agnes said she was afraid I must have given her an unpromising
+character; but Dora corrected that directly.
+
+‘Oh no!’ she said, shaking her curls at me; ‘it was all praise. He
+thinks so much of your opinion, that I was quite afraid of it.’
+
+‘My good opinion cannot strengthen his attachment to some people whom he
+knows,’ said Agnes, with a smile; ‘it is not worth their having.’
+
+‘But please let me have it,’ said Dora, in her coaxing way, ‘if you
+can!’
+
+We made merry about Dora’s wanting to be liked, and Dora said I was a
+goose, and she didn’t like me at any rate, and the short evening flew
+away on gossamer-wings. The time was at hand when the coach was to call
+for us. I was standing alone before the fire, when Dora came stealing
+softly in, to give me that usual precious little kiss before I went.
+
+‘Don’t you think, if I had had her for a friend a long time ago, Doady,’
+said Dora, her bright eyes shining very brightly, and her little right
+hand idly busying itself with one of the buttons of my coat, ‘I might
+have been more clever perhaps?’
+
+‘My love!’ said I, ‘what nonsense!’
+
+‘Do you think it is nonsense?’ returned Dora, without looking at me.
+‘Are you sure it is?’
+
+‘Of course I am!’ ‘I have forgotten,’ said Dora, still turning the
+button round and round, ‘what relation Agnes is to you, you dear bad
+boy.’
+
+‘No blood-relation,’ I replied; ‘but we were brought up together, like
+brother and sister.’
+
+‘I wonder why you ever fell in love with me?’ said Dora, beginning on
+another button of my coat.
+
+‘Perhaps because I couldn’t see you, and not love you, Dora!’
+
+‘Suppose you had never seen me at all,’ said Dora, going to another
+button.
+
+‘Suppose we had never been born!’ said I, gaily.
+
+I wondered what she was thinking about, as I glanced in admiring silence
+at the little soft hand travelling up the row of buttons on my coat, and
+at the clustering hair that lay against my breast, and at the lashes of
+her downcast eyes, slightly rising as they followed her idle fingers. At
+length her eyes were lifted up to mine, and she stood on tiptoe to
+give me, more thoughtfully than usual, that precious little kiss--once,
+twice, three times--and went out of the room.
+
+They all came back together within five minutes afterwards, and Dora’s
+unusual thoughtfulness was quite gone then. She was laughingly resolved
+to put Jip through the whole of his performances, before the coach came.
+They took some time (not so much on account of their variety, as Jip’s
+reluctance), and were still unfinished when it was heard at the door.
+There was a hurried but affectionate parting between Agnes and herself;
+and Dora was to write to Agnes (who was not to mind her letters being
+foolish, she said), and Agnes was to write to Dora; and they had a
+second parting at the coach door, and a third when Dora, in spite of
+the remonstrances of Miss Lavinia, would come running out once more to
+remind Agnes at the coach window about writing, and to shake her curls
+at me on the box.
+
+The stage-coach was to put us down near Covent Garden, where we were
+to take another stage-coach for Highgate. I was impatient for the short
+walk in the interval, that Agnes might praise Dora to me. Ah! what
+praise it was! How lovingly and fervently did it commend the pretty
+creature I had won, with all her artless graces best displayed, to my
+most gentle care! How thoughtfully remind me, yet with no pretence of
+doing so, of the trust in which I held the orphan child!
+
+Never, never, had I loved Dora so deeply and truly, as I loved her that
+night. When we had again alighted, and were walking in the starlight
+along the quiet road that led to the Doctor’s house, I told Agnes it was
+her doing.
+
+‘When you were sitting by her,’ said I, ‘you seemed to be no less her
+guardian angel than mine; and you seem so now, Agnes.’
+
+‘A poor angel,’ she returned, ‘but faithful.’
+
+The clear tone of her voice, going straight to my heart, made it natural
+to me to say:
+
+‘The cheerfulness that belongs to you, Agnes (and to no one else that
+ever I have seen), is so restored, I have observed today, that I have
+begun to hope you are happier at home?’
+
+‘I am happier in myself,’ she said; ‘I am quite cheerful and
+light-hearted.’
+
+I glanced at the serene face looking upward, and thought it was the
+stars that made it seem so noble.
+
+‘There has been no change at home,’ said Agnes, after a few moments.
+
+‘No fresh reference,’ said I, ‘to--I wouldn’t distress you, Agnes, but I
+cannot help asking--to what we spoke of, when we parted last?’
+
+‘No, none,’ she answered.
+
+‘I have thought so much about it.’
+
+‘You must think less about it. Remember that I confide in simple love
+and truth at last. Have no apprehensions for me, Trotwood,’ she added,
+after a moment; ‘the step you dread my taking, I shall never take.’
+
+Although I think I had never really feared it, in any season of cool
+reflection, it was an unspeakable relief to me to have this assurance
+from her own truthful lips. I told her so, earnestly.
+
+‘And when this visit is over,’ said I,--‘for we may not be alone another
+time,--how long is it likely to be, my dear Agnes, before you come to
+London again?’
+
+‘Probably a long time,’ she replied; ‘I think it will be best--for
+papa’s sake--to remain at home. We are not likely to meet often, for
+some time to come; but I shall be a good correspondent of Dora’s, and we
+shall frequently hear of one another that way.’
+
+We were now within the little courtyard of the Doctor’s cottage. It was
+growing late. There was a light in the window of Mrs. Strong’s chamber,
+and Agnes, pointing to it, bade me good night.
+
+‘Do not be troubled,’ she said, giving me her hand, ‘by our misfortunes
+and anxieties. I can be happier in nothing than in your happiness. If
+you can ever give me help, rely upon it I will ask you for it. God
+bless you always!’ In her beaming smile, and in these last tones of her
+cheerful voice, I seemed again to see and hear my little Dora in her
+company. I stood awhile, looking through the porch at the stars, with
+a heart full of love and gratitude, and then walked slowly forth. I had
+engaged a bed at a decent alehouse close by, and was going out at the
+gate, when, happening to turn my head, I saw a light in the Doctor’s
+study. A half-reproachful fancy came into my mind, that he had been
+working at the Dictionary without my help. With the view of seeing if
+this were so, and, in any case, of bidding him good night, if he were
+yet sitting among his books, I turned back, and going softly across the
+hall, and gently opening the door, looked in.
+
+The first person whom I saw, to my surprise, by the sober light of the
+shaded lamp, was Uriah. He was standing close beside it, with one of
+his skeleton hands over his mouth, and the other resting on the Doctor’s
+table. The Doctor sat in his study chair, covering his face with his
+hands. Mr. Wickfield, sorely troubled and distressed, was leaning
+forward, irresolutely touching the Doctor’s arm.
+
+For an instant, I supposed that the Doctor was ill. I hastily advanced a
+step under that impression, when I met Uriah’s eye, and saw what was the
+matter. I would have withdrawn, but the Doctor made a gesture to detain
+me, and I remained.
+
+‘At any rate,’ observed Uriah, with a writhe of his ungainly person, ‘we
+may keep the door shut. We needn’t make it known to ALL the town.’
+
+Saying which, he went on his toes to the door, which I had left open,
+and carefully closed it. He then came back, and took up his former
+position. There was an obtrusive show of compassionate zeal in his voice
+and manner, more intolerable--at least to me--than any demeanour he
+could have assumed.
+
+‘I have felt it incumbent upon me, Master Copperfield,’ said Uriah, ‘to
+point out to Doctor Strong what you and me have already talked about.
+You didn’t exactly understand me, though?’
+
+I gave him a look, but no other answer; and, going to my good old
+master, said a few words that I meant to be words of comfort and
+encouragement. He put his hand upon my shoulder, as it had been his
+custom to do when I was quite a little fellow, but did not lift his grey
+head.
+
+‘As you didn’t understand me, Master Copperfield,’ resumed Uriah in
+the same officious manner, ‘I may take the liberty of umbly mentioning,
+being among friends, that I have called Doctor Strong’s attention to the
+goings-on of Mrs. Strong. It’s much against the grain with me, I assure
+you, Copperfield, to be concerned in anything so unpleasant; but really,
+as it is, we’re all mixing ourselves up with what oughtn’t to be. That
+was what my meaning was, sir, when you didn’t understand me.’ I wonder
+now, when I recall his leer, that I did not collar him, and try to shake
+the breath out of his body.
+
+‘I dare say I didn’t make myself very clear,’ he went on, ‘nor you
+neither. Naturally, we was both of us inclined to give such a subject
+a wide berth. Hows’ever, at last I have made up my mind to speak plain;
+and I have mentioned to Doctor Strong that--did you speak, sir?’
+
+This was to the Doctor, who had moaned. The sound might have touched any
+heart, I thought, but it had no effect upon Uriah’s.
+
+‘--mentioned to Doctor Strong,’ he proceeded, ‘that anyone may see that
+Mr. Maldon, and the lovely and agreeable lady as is Doctor Strong’s
+wife, are too sweet on one another. Really the time is come (we being at
+present all mixing ourselves up with what oughtn’t to be), when Doctor
+Strong must be told that this was full as plain to everybody as the sun,
+before Mr. Maldon went to India; that Mr. Maldon made excuses to come
+back, for nothing else; and that he’s always here, for nothing else.
+When you come in, sir, I was just putting it to my fellow-partner,’
+towards whom he turned, ‘to say to Doctor Strong upon his word and
+honour, whether he’d ever been of this opinion long ago, or not. Come,
+Mr. Wickfield, sir! Would you be so good as tell us? Yes or no, sir?
+Come, partner!’
+
+‘For God’s sake, my dear Doctor,’ said Mr. Wickfield again laying his
+irresolute hand upon the Doctor’s arm, ‘don’t attach too much weight to
+any suspicions I may have entertained.’
+
+‘There!’ cried Uriah, shaking his head. ‘What a melancholy confirmation:
+ain’t it? Him! Such an old friend! Bless your soul, when I was nothing
+but a clerk in his office, Copperfield, I’ve seen him twenty times, if
+I’ve seen him once, quite in a taking about it--quite put out, you know
+(and very proper in him as a father; I’m sure I can’t blame him), to
+think that Miss Agnes was mixing herself up with what oughtn’t to be.’
+
+‘My dear Strong,’ said Mr. Wickfield in a tremulous voice, ‘my good
+friend, I needn’t tell you that it has been my vice to look for some one
+master motive in everybody, and to try all actions by one narrow test. I
+may have fallen into such doubts as I have had, through this mistake.’
+
+‘You have had doubts, Wickfield,’ said the Doctor, without lifting up
+his head. ‘You have had doubts.’
+
+‘Speak up, fellow-partner,’ urged Uriah.
+
+‘I had, at one time, certainly,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘I--God forgive
+me--I thought YOU had.’
+
+‘No, no, no!’ returned the Doctor, in a tone of most pathetic grief.
+‘I thought, at one time,’ said Mr. Wickfield, ‘that you wished to send
+Maldon abroad to effect a desirable separation.’
+
+‘No, no, no!’ returned the Doctor. ‘To give Annie pleasure, by making
+some provision for the companion of her childhood. Nothing else.’
+
+‘So I found,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘I couldn’t doubt it, when you told
+me so. But I thought--I implore you to remember the narrow construction
+which has been my besetting sin--that, in a case where there was so much
+disparity in point of years--’
+
+‘That’s the way to put it, you see, Master Copperfield!’ observed Uriah,
+with fawning and offensive pity.
+
+‘--a lady of such youth, and such attractions, however real her
+respect for you, might have been influenced in marrying, by worldly
+considerations only. I make no allowance for innumerable feelings
+and circumstances that may have all tended to good. For Heaven’s sake
+remember that!’
+
+‘How kind he puts it!’ said Uriah, shaking his head.
+
+‘Always observing her from one point of view,’ said Mr. Wickfield; ‘but
+by all that is dear to you, my old friend, I entreat you to consider
+what it was; I am forced to confess now, having no escape-’
+
+‘No! There’s no way out of it, Mr. Wickfield, sir,’ observed Uriah,
+‘when it’s got to this.’
+
+‘--that I did,’ said Mr. Wickfield, glancing helplessly and distractedly
+at his partner, ‘that I did doubt her, and think her wanting in her
+duty to you; and that I did sometimes, if I must say all, feel averse
+to Agnes being in such a familiar relation towards her, as to see what I
+saw, or in my diseased theory fancied that I saw. I never mentioned
+this to anyone. I never meant it to be known to anyone. And though it
+is terrible to you to hear,’ said Mr. Wickfield, quite subdued, ‘if you
+knew how terrible it is for me to tell, you would feel compassion for
+me!’
+
+The Doctor, in the perfect goodness of his nature, put out his hand. Mr.
+Wickfield held it for a little while in his, with his head bowed down.
+
+‘I am sure,’ said Uriah, writhing himself into the silence like a
+Conger-eel, ‘that this is a subject full of unpleasantness to everybody.
+But since we have got so far, I ought to take the liberty of mentioning
+that Copperfield has noticed it too.’
+
+I turned upon him, and asked him how he dared refer to me!
+
+‘Oh! it’s very kind of you, Copperfield,’ returned Uriah, undulating all
+over, ‘and we all know what an amiable character yours is; but you know
+that the moment I spoke to you the other night, you knew what I meant.
+You know you knew what I meant, Copperfield. Don’t deny it! You deny it
+with the best intentions; but don’t do it, Copperfield.’
+
+I saw the mild eye of the good old Doctor turned upon me for a moment,
+and I felt that the confession of my old misgivings and remembrances
+was too plainly written in my face to be overlooked. It was of no use
+raging. I could not undo that. Say what I would, I could not unsay it.
+
+We were silent again, and remained so, until the Doctor rose and walked
+twice or thrice across the room. Presently he returned to where his
+chair stood; and, leaning on the back of it, and occasionally putting
+his handkerchief to his eyes, with a simple honesty that did him more
+honour, to my thinking, than any disguise he could have effected, said:
+
+‘I have been much to blame. I believe I have been very much to blame.
+I have exposed one whom I hold in my heart, to trials and aspersions--I
+call them aspersions, even to have been conceived in anybody’s inmost
+mind--of which she never, but for me, could have been the object.’
+
+Uriah Heep gave a kind of snivel. I think to express sympathy.
+
+‘Of which my Annie,’ said the Doctor, ‘never, but for me, could have
+been the object. Gentlemen, I am old now, as you know; I do not feel,
+tonight, that I have much to live for. But my life--my Life--upon the
+truth and honour of the dear lady who has been the subject of this
+conversation!’
+
+I do not think that the best embodiment of chivalry, the realization of
+the handsomest and most romantic figure ever imagined by painter, could
+have said this, with a more impressive and affecting dignity than the
+plain old Doctor did.
+
+‘But I am not prepared,’ he went on, ‘to deny--perhaps I may have been,
+without knowing it, in some degree prepared to admit--that I may have
+unwittingly ensnared that lady into an unhappy marriage. I am a man
+quite unaccustomed to observe; and I cannot but believe that the
+observation of several people, of different ages and positions, all too
+plainly tending in one direction (and that so natural), is better than
+mine.’
+
+I had often admired, as I have elsewhere described, his benignant manner
+towards his youthful wife; but the respectful tenderness he manifested
+in every reference to her on this occasion, and the almost reverential
+manner in which he put away from him the lightest doubt of her
+integrity, exalted him, in my eyes, beyond description.
+
+‘I married that lady,’ said the Doctor, ‘when she was extremely young. I
+took her to myself when her character was scarcely formed. So far as it
+was developed, it had been my happiness to form it. I knew her father
+well. I knew her well. I had taught her what I could, for the love of
+all her beautiful and virtuous qualities. If I did her wrong; as I fear
+I did, in taking advantage (but I never meant it) of her gratitude and
+her affection; I ask pardon of that lady, in my heart!’
+
+He walked across the room, and came back to the same place; holding
+the chair with a grasp that trembled, like his subdued voice, in its
+earnestness.
+
+‘I regarded myself as a refuge, for her, from the dangers and
+vicissitudes of life. I persuaded myself that, unequal though we were in
+years, she would live tranquilly and contentedly with me. I did not shut
+out of my consideration the time when I should leave her free, and still
+young and still beautiful, but with her judgement more matured--no,
+gentlemen--upon my truth!’
+
+His homely figure seemed to be lightened up by his fidelity and
+generosity. Every word he uttered had a force that no other grace could
+have imparted to it.
+
+‘My life with this lady has been very happy. Until tonight, I have
+had uninterrupted occasion to bless the day on which I did her great
+injustice.’
+
+His voice, more and more faltering in the utterance of these words,
+stopped for a few moments; then he went on:
+
+‘Once awakened from my dream--I have been a poor dreamer, in one way or
+other, all my life--I see how natural it is that she should have some
+regretful feeling towards her old companion and her equal. That she does
+regard him with some innocent regret, with some blameless thoughts of
+what might have been, but for me, is, I fear, too true. Much that I have
+seen, but not noted, has come back upon me with new meaning, during
+this last trying hour. But, beyond this, gentlemen, the dear lady’s name
+never must be coupled with a word, a breath, of doubt.’
+
+For a little while, his eye kindled and his voice was firm; for a little
+while he was again silent. Presently, he proceeded as before:
+
+‘It only remains for me, to bear the knowledge of the unhappiness I have
+occasioned, as submissively as I can. It is she who should reproach; not
+I. To save her from misconstruction, cruel misconstruction, that even my
+friends have not been able to avoid, becomes my duty. The more retired
+we live, the better I shall discharge it. And when the time comes--may
+it come soon, if it be His merciful pleasure!--when my death shall
+release her from constraint, I shall close my eyes upon her honoured
+face, with unbounded confidence and love; and leave her, with no sorrow
+then, to happier and brighter days.’
+
+I could not see him for the tears which his earnestness and goodness,
+so adorned by, and so adorning, the perfect simplicity of his manner,
+brought into my eyes. He had moved to the door, when he added:
+
+‘Gentlemen, I have shown you my heart. I am sure you will respect it.
+What we have said tonight is never to be said more. Wickfield, give me
+an old friend’s arm upstairs!’
+
+Mr. Wickfield hastened to him. Without interchanging a word they went
+slowly out of the room together, Uriah looking after them.
+
+‘Well, Master Copperfield!’ said Uriah, meekly turning to me. ‘The thing
+hasn’t took quite the turn that might have been expected, for the old
+Scholar--what an excellent man!--is as blind as a brickbat; but this
+family’s out of the cart, I think!’
+
+I needed but the sound of his voice to be so madly enraged as I never
+was before, and never have been since.
+
+‘You villain,’ said I, ‘what do you mean by entrapping me into your
+schemes? How dare you appeal to me just now, you false rascal, as if we
+had been in discussion together?’
+
+As we stood, front to front, I saw so plainly, in the stealthy
+exultation of his face, what I already so plainly knew; I mean that he
+forced his confidence upon me, expressly to make me miserable, and had
+set a deliberate trap for me in this very matter; that I couldn’t bear
+it. The whole of his lank cheek was invitingly before me, and I struck
+it with my open hand with that force that my fingers tingled as if I had
+burnt them.
+
+He caught the hand in his, and we stood in that connexion, looking at
+each other. We stood so, a long time; long enough for me to see the
+white marks of my fingers die out of the deep red of his cheek, and
+leave it a deeper red.
+
+‘Copperfield,’ he said at length, in a breathless voice, ‘have you taken
+leave of your senses?’
+
+‘I have taken leave of you,’ said I, wresting my hand away. ‘You dog,
+I’ll know no more of you.’
+
+‘Won’t you?’ said he, constrained by the pain of his cheek to put his
+hand there. ‘Perhaps you won’t be able to help it. Isn’t this ungrateful
+of you, now?’
+
+‘I have shown you often enough,’ said I, ‘that I despise you. I have
+shown you now, more plainly, that I do. Why should I dread your doing
+your worst to all about you? What else do you ever do?’
+
+He perfectly understood this allusion to the considerations that had
+hitherto restrained me in my communications with him. I rather think
+that neither the blow, nor the allusion, would have escaped me, but for
+the assurance I had had from Agnes that night. It is no matter.
+
+There was another long pause. His eyes, as he looked at me, seemed to
+take every shade of colour that could make eyes ugly.
+
+‘Copperfield,’ he said, removing his hand from his cheek, ‘you have
+always gone against me. I know you always used to be against me at Mr.
+Wickfield’s.’
+
+‘You may think what you like,’ said I, still in a towering rage. ‘If it
+is not true, so much the worthier you.’
+
+‘And yet I always liked you, Copperfield!’ he rejoined.
+
+I deigned to make him no reply; and, taking up my hat, was going out to
+bed, when he came between me and the door.
+
+‘Copperfield,’ he said, ‘there must be two parties to a quarrel. I won’t
+be one.’
+
+‘You may go to the devil!’ said I.
+
+‘Don’t say that!’ he replied. ‘I know you’ll be sorry afterwards. How
+can you make yourself so inferior to me, as to show such a bad spirit?
+But I forgive you.’
+
+‘You forgive me!’ I repeated disdainfully.
+
+‘I do, and you can’t help yourself,’ replied Uriah. ‘To think of your
+going and attacking me, that have always been a friend to you! But there
+can’t be a quarrel without two parties, and I won’t be one. I will be
+a friend to you, in spite of you. So now you know what you’ve got to
+expect.’
+
+The necessity of carrying on this dialogue (his part in which was
+very slow; mine very quick) in a low tone, that the house might not be
+disturbed at an unseasonable hour, did not improve my temper; though my
+passion was cooling down. Merely telling him that I should expect from
+him what I always had expected, and had never yet been disappointed in,
+I opened the door upon him, as if he had been a great walnut put there
+to be cracked, and went out of the house. But he slept out of the house
+too, at his mother’s lodging; and before I had gone many hundred yards,
+came up with me.
+
+‘You know, Copperfield,’ he said, in my ear (I did not turn my head),
+‘you’re in quite a wrong position’; which I felt to be true, and that
+made me chafe the more; ‘you can’t make this a brave thing, and you
+can’t help being forgiven. I don’t intend to mention it to mother, nor
+to any living soul. I’m determined to forgive you. But I do wonder
+that you should lift your hand against a person that you knew to be so
+umble!’
+
+I felt only less mean than he. He knew me better than I knew myself. If
+he had retorted or openly exasperated me, it would have been a relief
+and a justification; but he had put me on a slow fire, on which I lay
+tormented half the night.
+
+In the morning, when I came out, the early church-bell was ringing,
+and he was walking up and down with his mother. He addressed me as if
+nothing had happened, and I could do no less than reply. I had struck
+him hard enough to give him the toothache, I suppose. At all events
+his face was tied up in a black silk handkerchief, which, with his hat
+perched on the top of it, was far from improving his appearance. I heard
+that he went to a dentist’s in London on the Monday morning, and had a
+tooth out. I hope it was a double one.
+
+The Doctor gave out that he was not quite well; and remained alone, for
+a considerable part of every day, during the remainder of the visit.
+Agnes and her father had been gone a week, before we resumed our usual
+work. On the day preceding its resumption, the Doctor gave me with his
+own hands a folded note not sealed. It was addressed to myself; and laid
+an injunction on me, in a few affectionate words, never to refer to the
+subject of that evening. I had confided it to my aunt, but to no
+one else. It was not a subject I could discuss with Agnes, and Agnes
+certainly had not the least suspicion of what had passed.
+
+Neither, I felt convinced, had Mrs. Strong then. Several weeks elapsed
+before I saw the least change in her. It came on slowly, like a cloud
+when there is no wind. At first, she seemed to wonder at the gentle
+compassion with which the Doctor spoke to her, and at his wish that she
+should have her mother with her, to relieve the dull monotony of her
+life. Often, when we were at work, and she was sitting by, I would see
+her pausing and looking at him with that memorable face. Afterwards, I
+sometimes observed her rise, with her eyes full of tears, and go out
+of the room. Gradually, an unhappy shadow fell upon her beauty, and
+deepened every day. Mrs. Markleham was a regular inmate of the cottage
+then; but she talked and talked, and saw nothing.
+
+As this change stole on Annie, once like sunshine in the Doctor’s house,
+the Doctor became older in appearance, and more grave; but the sweetness
+of his temper, the placid kindness of his manner, and his benevolent
+solicitude for her, if they were capable of any increase, were
+increased. I saw him once, early on the morning of her birthday, when
+she came to sit in the window while we were at work (which she had
+always done, but now began to do with a timid and uncertain air that I
+thought very touching), take her forehead between his hands, kiss it,
+and go hurriedly away, too much moved to remain. I saw her stand where
+he had left her, like a statue; and then bend down her head, and clasp
+her hands, and weep, I cannot say how sorrowfully.
+
+Sometimes, after that, I fancied that she tried to speak even to me,
+in intervals when we were left alone. But she never uttered a word. The
+Doctor always had some new project for her participating in amusements
+away from home, with her mother; and Mrs. Markleham, who was very fond
+of amusements, and very easily dissatisfied with anything else, entered
+into them with great good-will, and was loud in her commendations. But
+Annie, in a spiritless unhappy way, only went whither she was led, and
+seemed to have no care for anything.
+
+I did not know what to think. Neither did my aunt; who must have walked,
+at various times, a hundred miles in her uncertainty. What was strangest
+of all was, that the only real relief which seemed to make its way into
+the secret region of this domestic unhappiness, made its way there in
+the person of Mr. Dick.
+
+What his thoughts were on the subject, or what his observation was, I am
+as unable to explain, as I dare say he would have been to assist me in
+the task. But, as I have recorded in the narrative of my school days,
+his veneration for the Doctor was unbounded; and there is a subtlety of
+perception in real attachment, even when it is borne towards man by one
+of the lower animals, which leaves the highest intellect behind. To this
+mind of the heart, if I may call it so, in Mr. Dick, some bright ray of
+the truth shot straight.
+
+He had proudly resumed his privilege, in many of his spare hours,
+of walking up and down the garden with the Doctor; as he had been
+accustomed to pace up and down The Doctor’s Walk at Canterbury. But
+matters were no sooner in this state, than he devoted all his spare time
+(and got up earlier to make it more) to these perambulations. If he had
+never been so happy as when the Doctor read that marvellous performance,
+the Dictionary, to him; he was now quite miserable unless the Doctor
+pulled it out of his pocket, and began. When the Doctor and I were
+engaged, he now fell into the custom of walking up and down with Mrs.
+Strong, and helping her to trim her favourite flowers, or weed the
+beds. I dare say he rarely spoke a dozen words in an hour: but his quiet
+interest, and his wistful face, found immediate response in both their
+breasts; each knew that the other liked him, and that he loved both; and
+he became what no one else could be--a link between them.
+
+When I think of him, with his impenetrably wise face, walking up and
+down with the Doctor, delighted to be battered by the hard words in the
+Dictionary; when I think of him carrying huge watering-pots after Annie;
+kneeling down, in very paws of gloves, at patient microscopic work among
+the little leaves; expressing as no philosopher could have expressed,
+in everything he did, a delicate desire to be her friend; showering
+sympathy, trustfulness, and affection, out of every hole in the
+watering-pot; when I think of him never wandering in that better mind
+of his to which unhappiness addressed itself, never bringing the
+unfortunate King Charles into the garden, never wavering in his grateful
+service, never diverted from his knowledge that there was something
+wrong, or from his wish to set it right--I really feel almost ashamed
+of having known that he was not quite in his wits, taking account of the
+utmost I have done with mine.
+
+‘Nobody but myself, Trot, knows what that man is!’ my aunt would proudly
+remark, when we conversed about it. ‘Dick will distinguish himself yet!’
+
+I must refer to one other topic before I close this chapter. While the
+visit at the Doctor’s was still in progress, I observed that the postman
+brought two or three letters every morning for Uriah Heep, who remained
+at Highgate until the rest went back, it being a leisure time; and that
+these were always directed in a business-like manner by Mr. Micawber,
+who now assumed a round legal hand. I was glad to infer, from these
+slight premises, that Mr. Micawber was doing well; and consequently was
+much surprised to receive, about this time, the following letter from
+his amiable wife.
+
+
+
+ ‘CANTERBURY, Monday Evening.
+
+‘You will doubtless be surprised, my dear Mr. Copperfield, to receive
+this communication. Still more so, by its contents. Still more so, by
+the stipulation of implicit confidence which I beg to impose. But my
+feelings as a wife and mother require relief; and as I do not wish to
+consult my family (already obnoxious to the feelings of Mr. Micawber),
+I know no one of whom I can better ask advice than my friend and former
+lodger.
+
+‘You may be aware, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that between myself and Mr.
+Micawber (whom I will never desert), there has always been preserved a
+spirit of mutual confidence. Mr. Micawber may have occasionally given
+a bill without consulting me, or he may have misled me as to the period
+when that obligation would become due. This has actually happened.
+But, in general, Mr. Micawber has had no secrets from the bosom of
+affection--I allude to his wife--and has invariably, on our retirement
+to rest, recalled the events of the day.
+
+‘You will picture to yourself, my dear Mr. Copperfield, what the
+poignancy of my feelings must be, when I inform you that Mr. Micawber is
+entirely changed. He is reserved. He is secret. His life is a mystery to
+the partner of his joys and sorrows--I again allude to his wife--and if
+I should assure you that beyond knowing that it is passed from morning
+to night at the office, I now know less of it than I do of the man in
+the south, connected with whose mouth the thoughtless children repeat
+an idle tale respecting cold plum porridge, I should adopt a popular
+fallacy to express an actual fact.
+
+‘But this is not all. Mr. Micawber is morose. He is severe. He is
+estranged from our eldest son and daughter, he has no pride in his
+twins, he looks with an eye of coldness even on the unoffending stranger
+who last became a member of our circle. The pecuniary means of meeting
+our expenses, kept down to the utmost farthing, are obtained from him
+with great difficulty, and even under fearful threats that he will
+Settle himself (the exact expression); and he inexorably refuses to give
+any explanation whatever of this distracting policy.
+
+‘This is hard to bear. This is heart-breaking. If you will advise me,
+knowing my feeble powers such as they are, how you think it will be best
+to exert them in a dilemma so unwonted, you will add another friendly
+obligation to the many you have already rendered me. With loves from the
+children, and a smile from the happily-unconscious stranger, I remain,
+dear Mr. Copperfield,
+
+ Your afflicted,
+
+ ‘EMMA MICAWBER.’
+
+
+I did not feel justified in giving a wife of Mrs. Micawber’s experience
+any other recommendation, than that she should try to reclaim Mr.
+Micawber by patience and kindness (as I knew she would in any case); but
+the letter set me thinking about him very much.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 43. ANOTHER RETROSPECT
+
+
+Once again, let me pause upon a memorable period of my life. Let me
+stand aside, to see the phantoms of those days go by me, accompanying
+the shadow of myself, in dim procession.
+
+Weeks, months, seasons, pass along. They seem little more than a summer
+day and a winter evening. Now, the Common where I walk with Dora is all
+in bloom, a field of bright gold; and now the unseen heather lies in
+mounds and bunches underneath a covering of snow. In a breath, the river
+that flows through our Sunday walks is sparkling in the summer sun, is
+ruffled by the winter wind, or thickened with drifting heaps of ice.
+Faster than ever river ran towards the sea, it flashes, darkens, and
+rolls away.
+
+Not a thread changes, in the house of the two little bird-like ladies.
+The clock ticks over the fireplace, the weather-glass hangs in the hall.
+Neither clock nor weather-glass is ever right; but we believe in both,
+devoutly.
+
+I have come legally to man’s estate. I have attained the dignity of
+twenty-one. But this is a sort of dignity that may be thrust upon one.
+Let me think what I have achieved.
+
+I have tamed that savage stenographic mystery. I make a respectable
+income by it. I am in high repute for my accomplishment in all
+pertaining to the art, and am joined with eleven others in reporting
+the debates in Parliament for a Morning Newspaper. Night after night, I
+record predictions that never come to pass, professions that are never
+fulfilled, explanations that are only meant to mystify. I wallow in
+words. Britannia, that unfortunate female, is always before me, like a
+trussed fowl: skewered through and through with office-pens, and bound
+hand and foot with red tape. I am sufficiently behind the scenes to know
+the worth of political life. I am quite an Infidel about it, and shall
+never be converted.
+
+My dear old Traddles has tried his hand at the same pursuit, but it
+is not in Traddles’s way. He is perfectly good-humoured respecting his
+failure, and reminds me that he always did consider himself slow. He has
+occasional employment on the same newspaper, in getting up the facts of
+dry subjects, to be written about and embellished by more fertile minds.
+He is called to the bar; and with admirable industry and self-denial
+has scraped another hundred pounds together, to fee a Conveyancer whose
+chambers he attends. A great deal of very hot port wine was consumed at
+his call; and, considering the figure, I should think the Inner Temple
+must have made a profit by it.
+
+I have come out in another way. I have taken with fear and trembling
+to authorship. I wrote a little something, in secret, and sent it to a
+magazine, and it was published in the magazine. Since then, I have taken
+heart to write a good many trifling pieces. Now, I am regularly paid for
+them. Altogether, I am well off, when I tell my income on the fingers
+of my left hand, I pass the third finger and take in the fourth to the
+middle joint.
+
+We have removed, from Buckingham Street, to a pleasant little cottage
+very near the one I looked at, when my enthusiasm first came on. My
+aunt, however (who has sold the house at Dover, to good advantage), is
+not going to remain here, but intends removing herself to a still more
+tiny cottage close at hand. What does this portend? My marriage? Yes!
+
+Yes! I am going to be married to Dora! Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa
+have given their consent; and if ever canary birds were in a flutter,
+they are. Miss Lavinia, self-charged with the superintendence of my
+darling’s wardrobe, is constantly cutting out brown-paper cuirasses, and
+differing in opinion from a highly respectable young man, with a long
+bundle, and a yard measure under his arm. A dressmaker, always stabbed
+in the breast with a needle and thread, boards and lodges in the house;
+and seems to me, eating, drinking, or sleeping, never to take her
+thimble off. They make a lay-figure of my dear. They are always sending
+for her to come and try something on. We can’t be happy together for
+five minutes in the evening, but some intrusive female knocks at the
+door, and says, ‘Oh, if you please, Miss Dora, would you step upstairs!’
+
+Miss Clarissa and my aunt roam all over London, to find out articles of
+furniture for Dora and me to look at. It would be better for them to buy
+the goods at once, without this ceremony of inspection; for, when we go
+to see a kitchen fender and meat-screen, Dora sees a Chinese house for
+Jip, with little bells on the top, and prefers that. And it takes a
+long time to accustom Jip to his new residence, after we have bought it;
+whenever he goes in or out, he makes all the little bells ring, and is
+horribly frightened.
+
+Peggotty comes up to make herself useful, and falls to work immediately.
+Her department appears to be, to clean everything over and over again.
+She rubs everything that can be rubbed, until it shines, like her own
+honest forehead, with perpetual friction. And now it is, that I begin to
+see her solitary brother passing through the dark streets at night, and
+looking, as he goes, among the wandering faces. I never speak to him at
+such an hour. I know too well, as his grave figure passes onward, what
+he seeks, and what he dreads.
+
+Why does Traddles look so important when he calls upon me this afternoon
+in the Commons--where I still occasionally attend, for form’s sake, when
+I have time? The realization of my boyish day-dreams is at hand. I am
+going to take out the licence.
+
+It is a little document to do so much; and Traddles contemplates it,
+as it lies upon my desk, half in admiration, half in awe. There are the
+names, in the sweet old visionary connexion, David Copperfield and Dora
+Spenlow; and there, in the corner, is that Parental Institution,
+the Stamp Office, which is so benignantly interested in the various
+transactions of human life, looking down upon our Union; and there is
+the Archbishop of Canterbury invoking a blessing on us in print, and
+doing it as cheap as could possibly be expected.
+
+Nevertheless, I am in a dream, a flustered, happy, hurried dream. I
+can’t believe that it is going to be; and yet I can’t believe but that
+everyone I pass in the street, must have some kind of perception, that I
+am to be married the day after tomorrow. The Surrogate knows me, when
+I go down to be sworn; and disposes of me easily, as if there were a
+Masonic understanding between us. Traddles is not at all wanted, but is
+in attendance as my general backer.
+
+‘I hope the next time you come here, my dear fellow,’ I say to Traddles,
+‘it will be on the same errand for yourself. And I hope it will be
+soon.’
+
+‘Thank you for your good wishes, my dear Copperfield,’ he replies. ‘I
+hope so too. It’s a satisfaction to know that she’ll wait for me any
+length of time, and that she really is the dearest girl--’
+
+‘When are you to meet her at the coach?’ I ask.
+
+‘At seven,’ says Traddles, looking at his plain old silver watch--the
+very watch he once took a wheel out of, at school, to make a water-mill.
+‘That is about Miss Wickfield’s time, is it not?’
+
+‘A little earlier. Her time is half past eight.’ ‘I assure you, my dear
+boy,’ says Traddles, ‘I am almost as pleased as if I were going to
+be married myself, to think that this event is coming to such a happy
+termination. And really the great friendship and consideration of
+personally associating Sophy with the joyful occasion, and inviting
+her to be a bridesmaid in conjunction with Miss Wickfield, demands my
+warmest thanks. I am extremely sensible of it.’
+
+I hear him, and shake hands with him; and we talk, and walk, and dine,
+and so on; but I don’t believe it. Nothing is real.
+
+Sophy arrives at the house of Dora’s aunts, in due course. She has the
+most agreeable of faces,--not absolutely beautiful, but extraordinarily
+pleasant,--and is one of the most genial, unaffected, frank, engaging
+creatures I have ever seen. Traddles presents her to us with great
+pride; and rubs his hands for ten minutes by the clock, with every
+individual hair upon his head standing on tiptoe, when I congratulate
+him in a corner on his choice.
+
+I have brought Agnes from the Canterbury coach, and her cheerful and
+beautiful face is among us for the second time. Agnes has a great liking
+for Traddles, and it is capital to see them meet, and to observe the
+glory of Traddles as he commends the dearest girl in the world to her
+acquaintance.
+
+Still I don’t believe it. We have a delightful evening, and are
+supremely happy; but I don’t believe it yet. I can’t collect myself. I
+can’t check off my happiness as it takes place. I feel in a misty and
+unsettled kind of state; as if I had got up very early in the morning a
+week or two ago, and had never been to bed since. I can’t make out when
+yesterday was. I seem to have been carrying the licence about, in my
+pocket, many months.
+
+Next day, too, when we all go in a flock to see the house--our
+house--Dora’s and mine--I am quite unable to regard myself as its
+master. I seem to be there, by permission of somebody else. I half
+expect the real master to come home presently, and say he is glad to see
+me. Such a beautiful little house as it is, with everything so bright
+and new; with the flowers on the carpets looking as if freshly gathered,
+and the green leaves on the paper as if they had just come out; with the
+spotless muslin curtains, and the blushing rose-coloured furniture, and
+Dora’s garden hat with the blue ribbon--do I remember, now, how I loved
+her in such another hat when I first knew her!--already hanging on its
+little peg; the guitar-case quite at home on its heels in a corner;
+and everybody tumbling over Jip’s pagoda, which is much too big for the
+establishment. Another happy evening, quite as unreal as all the rest
+of it, and I steal into the usual room before going away. Dora is not
+there. I suppose they have not done trying on yet. Miss Lavinia peeps
+in, and tells me mysteriously that she will not be long. She is rather
+long, notwithstanding; but by and by I hear a rustling at the door, and
+someone taps.
+
+I say, ‘Come in!’ but someone taps again.
+
+I go to the door, wondering who it is; there, I meet a pair of bright
+eyes, and a blushing face; they are Dora’s eyes and face, and Miss
+Lavinia has dressed her in tomorrow’s dress, bonnet and all, for me to
+see. I take my little wife to my heart; and Miss Lavinia gives a little
+scream because I tumble the bonnet, and Dora laughs and cries at once,
+because I am so pleased; and I believe it less than ever.
+
+‘Do you think it pretty, Doady?’ says Dora.
+
+Pretty! I should rather think I did.
+
+‘And are you sure you like me very much?’ says Dora.
+
+The topic is fraught with such danger to the bonnet, that Miss Lavinia
+gives another little scream, and begs me to understand that Dora is only
+to be looked at, and on no account to be touched. So Dora stands in a
+delightful state of confusion for a minute or two, to be admired; and
+then takes off her bonnet--looking so natural without it!--and runs away
+with it in her hand; and comes dancing down again in her own familiar
+dress, and asks Jip if I have got a beautiful little wife, and whether
+he’ll forgive her for being married, and kneels down to make him stand
+upon the cookery-book, for the last time in her single life.
+
+I go home, more incredulous than ever, to a lodging that I have hard by;
+and get up very early in the morning, to ride to the Highgate road and
+fetch my aunt.
+
+I have never seen my aunt in such state. She is dressed in
+lavender-coloured silk, and has a white bonnet on, and is amazing. Janet
+has dressed her, and is there to look at me. Peggotty is ready to go to
+church, intending to behold the ceremony from the gallery. Mr. Dick,
+who is to give my darling to me at the altar, has had his hair curled.
+Traddles, whom I have taken up by appointment at the turnpike, presents
+a dazzling combination of cream colour and light blue; and both he and
+Mr. Dick have a general effect about them of being all gloves.
+
+No doubt I see this, because I know it is so; but I am astray, and seem
+to see nothing. Nor do I believe anything whatever. Still, as we drive
+along in an open carriage, this fairy marriage is real enough to fill
+me with a sort of wondering pity for the unfortunate people who have
+no part in it, but are sweeping out the shops, and going to their daily
+occupations.
+
+My aunt sits with my hand in hers all the way. When we stop a little way
+short of the church, to put down Peggotty, whom we have brought on the
+box, she gives it a squeeze, and me a kiss.
+
+‘God bless you, Trot! My own boy never could be dearer. I think of poor
+dear Baby this morning.’ ‘So do I. And of all I owe to you, dear aunt.’
+
+‘Tut, child!’ says my aunt; and gives her hand in overflowing cordiality
+to Traddles, who then gives his to Mr. Dick, who then gives his to me,
+who then gives mine to Traddles, and then we come to the church door.
+
+The church is calm enough, I am sure; but it might be a steam-power loom
+in full action, for any sedative effect it has on me. I am too far gone
+for that.
+
+The rest is all a more or less incoherent dream.
+
+A dream of their coming in with Dora; of the pew-opener arranging us,
+like a drill-sergeant, before the altar rails; of my wondering, even
+then, why pew-openers must always be the most disagreeable females
+procurable, and whether there is any religious dread of a disastrous
+infection of good-humour which renders it indispensable to set those
+vessels of vinegar upon the road to Heaven.
+
+Of the clergyman and clerk appearing; of a few boatmen and some
+other people strolling in; of an ancient mariner behind me, strongly
+flavouring the church with rum; of the service beginning in a deep
+voice, and our all being very attentive.
+
+Of Miss Lavinia, who acts as a semi-auxiliary bridesmaid, being the
+first to cry, and of her doing homage (as I take it) to the memory of
+Pidger, in sobs; of Miss Clarissa applying a smelling-bottle; of Agnes
+taking care of Dora; of my aunt endeavouring to represent herself as
+a model of sternness, with tears rolling down her face; of little Dora
+trembling very much, and making her responses in faint whispers.
+
+Of our kneeling down together, side by side; of Dora’s trembling less
+and less, but always clasping Agnes by the hand; of the service being
+got through, quietly and gravely; of our all looking at each other in an
+April state of smiles and tears, when it is over; of my young wife being
+hysterical in the vestry, and crying for her poor papa, her dear papa.
+
+Of her soon cheering up again, and our signing the register all round.
+Of my going into the gallery for Peggotty to bring her to sign it; of
+Peggotty’s hugging me in a corner, and telling me she saw my own dear
+mother married; of its being over, and our going away.
+
+Of my walking so proudly and lovingly down the aisle with my sweet wife
+upon my arm, through a mist of half-seen people, pulpits, monuments,
+pews, fonts, organs, and church windows, in which there flutter faint
+airs of association with my childish church at home, so long ago.
+
+Of their whispering, as we pass, what a youthful couple we are, and what
+a pretty little wife she is. Of our all being so merry and talkative in
+the carriage going back. Of Sophy telling us that when she saw Traddles
+(whom I had entrusted with the licence) asked for it, she almost
+fainted, having been convinced that he would contrive to lose it, or to
+have his pocket picked. Of Agnes laughing gaily; and of Dora being so
+fond of Agnes that she will not be separated from her, but still keeps
+her hand.
+
+Of there being a breakfast, with abundance of things, pretty and
+substantial, to eat and drink, whereof I partake, as I should do in any
+other dream, without the least perception of their flavour; eating
+and drinking, as I may say, nothing but love and marriage, and no more
+believing in the viands than in anything else.
+
+Of my making a speech in the same dreamy fashion, without having an idea
+of what I want to say, beyond such as may be comprehended in the full
+conviction that I haven’t said it. Of our being very sociably and simply
+happy (always in a dream though); and of Jip’s having wedding cake, and
+its not agreeing with him afterwards.
+
+Of the pair of hired post-horses being ready, and of Dora’s going away
+to change her dress. Of my aunt and Miss Clarissa remaining with us; and
+our walking in the garden; and my aunt, who has made quite a speech at
+breakfast touching Dora’s aunts, being mightily amused with herself, but
+a little proud of it too.
+
+Of Dora’s being ready, and of Miss Lavinia’s hovering about her, loth to
+lose the pretty toy that has given her so much pleasant occupation.
+Of Dora’s making a long series of surprised discoveries that she
+has forgotten all sorts of little things; and of everybody’s running
+everywhere to fetch them.
+
+Of their all closing about Dora, when at last she begins to say
+good-bye, looking, with their bright colours and ribbons, like a bed
+of flowers. Of my darling being almost smothered among the flowers, and
+coming out, laughing and crying both together, to my jealous arms.
+
+Of my wanting to carry Jip (who is to go along with us), and Dora’s
+saying no, that she must carry him, or else he’ll think she don’t like
+him any more, now she is married, and will break his heart. Of our
+going, arm in arm, and Dora stopping and looking back, and saying, ‘If
+I have ever been cross or ungrateful to anybody, don’t remember it!’ and
+bursting into tears.
+
+Of her waving her little hand, and our going away once more. Of her
+once more stopping, and looking back, and hurrying to Agnes, and giving
+Agnes, above all the others, her last kisses and farewells.
+
+We drive away together, and I awake from the dream. I believe it at
+last. It is my dear, dear, little wife beside me, whom I love so well!
+
+‘Are you happy now, you foolish boy?’ says Dora, ‘and sure you don’t
+repent?’
+
+
+I have stood aside to see the phantoms of those days go by me. They are
+gone, and I resume the journey of my story.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 44. OUR HOUSEKEEPING
+
+
+It was a strange condition of things, the honeymoon being over, and the
+bridesmaids gone home, when I found myself sitting down in my own
+small house with Dora; quite thrown out of employment, as I may say, in
+respect of the delicious old occupation of making love.
+
+It seemed such an extraordinary thing to have Dora always there. It was
+so unaccountable not to be obliged to go out to see her, not to have any
+occasion to be tormenting myself about her, not to have to write to her,
+not to be scheming and devising opportunities of being alone with her.
+Sometimes of an evening, when I looked up from my writing, and saw her
+seated opposite, I would lean back in my chair, and think how queer it
+was that there we were, alone together as a matter of course--nobody’s
+business any more--all the romance of our engagement put away upon a
+shelf, to rust--no one to please but one another--one another to please,
+for life.
+
+When there was a debate, and I was kept out very late, it seemed so
+strange to me, as I was walking home, to think that Dora was at home! It
+was such a wonderful thing, at first, to have her coming softly down to
+talk to me as I ate my supper. It was such a stupendous thing to know
+for certain that she put her hair in papers. It was altogether such an
+astonishing event to see her do it!
+
+I doubt whether two young birds could have known less about keeping
+house, than I and my pretty Dora did. We had a servant, of course. She
+kept house for us. I have still a latent belief that she must have been
+Mrs. Crupp’s daughter in disguise, we had such an awful time of it with
+Mary Anne.
+
+Her name was Paragon. Her nature was represented to us, when we engaged
+her, as being feebly expressed in her name. She had a written character,
+as large as a proclamation; and, according to this document, could do
+everything of a domestic nature that ever I heard of, and a great many
+things that I never did hear of. She was a woman in the prime of life;
+of a severe countenance; and subject (particularly in the arms) to
+a sort of perpetual measles or fiery rash. She had a cousin in the
+Life-Guards, with such long legs that he looked like the afternoon
+shadow of somebody else. His shell-jacket was as much too little for him
+as he was too big for the premises. He made the cottage smaller than it
+need have been, by being so very much out of proportion to it. Besides
+which, the walls were not thick, and, whenever he passed the evening at
+our house, we always knew of it by hearing one continual growl in the
+kitchen.
+
+Our treasure was warranted sober and honest. I am therefore willing to
+believe that she was in a fit when we found her under the boiler; and
+that the deficient tea-spoons were attributable to the dustman.
+
+But she preyed upon our minds dreadfully. We felt our inexperience, and
+were unable to help ourselves. We should have been at her mercy, if she
+had had any; but she was a remorseless woman, and had none. She was the
+cause of our first little quarrel.
+
+‘My dearest life,’ I said one day to Dora, ‘do you think Mary Anne has
+any idea of time?’
+
+‘Why, Doady?’ inquired Dora, looking up, innocently, from her drawing.
+
+‘My love, because it’s five, and we were to have dined at four.’
+
+Dora glanced wistfully at the clock, and hinted that she thought it was
+too fast.
+
+‘On the contrary, my love,’ said I, referring to my watch, ‘it’s a few
+minutes too slow.’
+
+My little wife came and sat upon my knee, to coax me to be quiet, and
+drew a line with her pencil down the middle of my nose; but I couldn’t
+dine off that, though it was very agreeable.
+
+‘Don’t you think, my dear,’ said I, ‘it would be better for you to
+remonstrate with Mary Anne?’
+
+‘Oh no, please! I couldn’t, Doady!’ said Dora.
+
+‘Why not, my love?’ I gently asked.
+
+‘Oh, because I am such a little goose,’ said Dora, ‘and she knows I am!’
+
+I thought this sentiment so incompatible with the establishment of any
+system of check on Mary Anne, that I frowned a little.
+
+‘Oh, what ugly wrinkles in my bad boy’s forehead!’ said Dora, and still
+being on my knee, she traced them with her pencil; putting it to her
+rosy lips to make it mark blacker, and working at my forehead with a
+quaint little mockery of being industrious, that quite delighted me in
+spite of myself.
+
+‘There’s a good child,’ said Dora, ‘it makes its face so much prettier
+to laugh.’ ‘But, my love,’ said I.
+
+‘No, no! please!’ cried Dora, with a kiss, ‘don’t be a naughty Blue
+Beard! Don’t be serious!’
+
+‘My precious wife,’ said I, ‘we must be serious sometimes. Come! Sit
+down on this chair, close beside me! Give me the pencil! There! Now let
+us talk sensibly. You know, dear’; what a little hand it was to hold,
+and what a tiny wedding-ring it was to see! ‘You know, my love, it is
+not exactly comfortable to have to go out without one’s dinner. Now, is
+it?’
+
+‘N-n-no!’ replied Dora, faintly.
+
+‘My love, how you tremble!’
+
+‘Because I KNOW you’re going to scold me,’ exclaimed Dora, in a piteous
+voice.
+
+‘My sweet, I am only going to reason.’
+
+‘Oh, but reasoning is worse than scolding!’ exclaimed Dora, in despair.
+‘I didn’t marry to be reasoned with. If you meant to reason with such a
+poor little thing as I am, you ought to have told me so, you cruel boy!’
+
+I tried to pacify Dora, but she turned away her face, and shook her
+curls from side to side, and said, ‘You cruel, cruel boy!’ so many
+times, that I really did not exactly know what to do: so I took a few
+turns up and down the room in my uncertainty, and came back again.
+
+‘Dora, my darling!’
+
+‘No, I am not your darling. Because you must be sorry that you married
+me, or else you wouldn’t reason with me!’ returned Dora.
+
+I felt so injured by the inconsequential nature of this charge, that it
+gave me courage to be grave.
+
+‘Now, my own Dora,’ said I, ‘you are very childish, and are talking
+nonsense. You must remember, I am sure, that I was obliged to go out
+yesterday when dinner was half over; and that, the day before, I was
+made quite unwell by being obliged to eat underdone veal in a hurry;
+today, I don’t dine at all--and I am afraid to say how long we waited
+for breakfast--and then the water didn’t boil. I don’t mean to reproach
+you, my dear, but this is not comfortable.’
+
+‘Oh, you cruel, cruel boy, to say I am a disagreeable wife!’ cried Dora.
+
+‘Now, my dear Dora, you must know that I never said that!’
+
+‘You said, I wasn’t comfortable!’ cried Dora. ‘I said the housekeeping
+was not comfortable!’
+
+‘It’s exactly the same thing!’ cried Dora. And she evidently thought so,
+for she wept most grievously.
+
+I took another turn across the room, full of love for my pretty wife,
+and distracted by self-accusatory inclinations to knock my head against
+the door. I sat down again, and said:
+
+‘I am not blaming you, Dora. We have both a great deal to learn. I am
+only trying to show you, my dear, that you must--you really must’ (I
+was resolved not to give this up)--‘accustom yourself to look after Mary
+Anne. Likewise to act a little for yourself, and me.’
+
+‘I wonder, I do, at your making such ungrateful speeches,’ sobbed Dora.
+‘When you know that the other day, when you said you would like a little
+bit of fish, I went out myself, miles and miles, and ordered it, to
+surprise you.’
+
+‘And it was very kind of you, my own darling,’ said I. ‘I felt it so
+much that I wouldn’t on any account have even mentioned that you
+bought a Salmon--which was too much for two. Or that it cost one pound
+six--which was more than we can afford.’
+
+‘You enjoyed it very much,’ sobbed Dora. ‘And you said I was a Mouse.’
+
+‘And I’ll say so again, my love,’ I returned, ‘a thousand times!’
+
+But I had wounded Dora’s soft little heart, and she was not to be
+comforted. She was so pathetic in her sobbing and bewailing, that I felt
+as if I had said I don’t know what to hurt her. I was obliged to hurry
+away; I was kept out late; and I felt all night such pangs of remorse as
+made me miserable. I had the conscience of an assassin, and was haunted
+by a vague sense of enormous wickedness.
+
+It was two or three hours past midnight when I got home. I found my
+aunt, in our house, sitting up for me.
+
+‘Is anything the matter, aunt?’ said I, alarmed.
+
+‘Nothing, Trot,’ she replied. ‘Sit down, sit down. Little Blossom has
+been rather out of spirits, and I have been keeping her company. That’s
+all.’
+
+I leaned my head upon my hand; and felt more sorry and downcast, as I
+sat looking at the fire, than I could have supposed possible so soon
+after the fulfilment of my brightest hopes. As I sat thinking, I
+happened to meet my aunt’s eyes, which were resting on my face. There
+was an anxious expression in them, but it cleared directly.
+
+‘I assure you, aunt,’ said I, ‘I have been quite unhappy myself all
+night, to think of Dora’s being so. But I had no other intention than to
+speak to her tenderly and lovingly about our home-affairs.’
+
+My aunt nodded encouragement.
+
+‘You must have patience, Trot,’ said she.
+
+‘Of course. Heaven knows I don’t mean to be unreasonable, aunt!’
+
+‘No, no,’ said my aunt. ‘But Little Blossom is a very tender little
+blossom, and the wind must be gentle with her.’
+
+I thanked my good aunt, in my heart, for her tenderness towards my wife;
+and I was sure that she knew I did.
+
+‘Don’t you think, aunt,’ said I, after some further contemplation of the
+fire, ‘that you could advise and counsel Dora a little, for our mutual
+advantage, now and then?’
+
+‘Trot,’ returned my aunt, with some emotion, ‘no! Don’t ask me such a
+thing.’
+
+Her tone was so very earnest that I raised my eyes in surprise.
+
+‘I look back on my life, child,’ said my aunt, ‘and I think of some who
+are in their graves, with whom I might have been on kinder terms. If I
+judged harshly of other people’s mistakes in marriage, it may have been
+because I had bitter reason to judge harshly of my own. Let that pass. I
+have been a grumpy, frumpy, wayward sort of a woman, a good many years.
+I am still, and I always shall be. But you and I have done one another
+some good, Trot,--at all events, you have done me good, my dear; and
+division must not come between us, at this time of day.’
+
+‘Division between us!’ cried I.
+
+‘Child, child!’ said my aunt, smoothing her dress, ‘how soon it might
+come between us, or how unhappy I might make our Little Blossom, if I
+meddled in anything, a prophet couldn’t say. I want our pet to like me,
+and be as gay as a butterfly. Remember your own home, in that second
+marriage; and never do both me and her the injury you have hinted at!’
+
+I comprehended, at once, that my aunt was right; and I comprehended the
+full extent of her generous feeling towards my dear wife.
+
+‘These are early days, Trot,’ she pursued, ‘and Rome was not built in a
+day, nor in a year. You have chosen freely for yourself’; a cloud passed
+over her face for a moment, I thought; ‘and you have chosen a very
+pretty and a very affectionate creature. It will be your duty, and it
+will be your pleasure too--of course I know that; I am not delivering
+a lecture--to estimate her (as you chose her) by the qualities she has,
+and not by the qualities she may not have. The latter you must develop
+in her, if you can. And if you cannot, child,’ here my aunt rubbed her
+nose, ‘you must just accustom yourself to do without ‘em. But remember,
+my dear, your future is between you two. No one can assist you; you are
+to work it out for yourselves. This is marriage, Trot; and Heaven bless
+you both, in it, for a pair of babes in the wood as you are!’
+
+My aunt said this in a sprightly way, and gave me a kiss to ratify the
+blessing.
+
+‘Now,’ said she, ‘light my little lantern, and see me into my bandbox by
+the garden path’; for there was a communication between our cottages in
+that direction. ‘Give Betsey Trotwood’s love to Blossom, when you come
+back; and whatever you do, Trot, never dream of setting Betsey up as a
+scarecrow, for if I ever saw her in the glass, she’s quite grim enough
+and gaunt enough in her private capacity!’
+
+With this my aunt tied her head up in a handkerchief, with which she was
+accustomed to make a bundle of it on such occasions; and I escorted her
+home. As she stood in her garden, holding up her little lantern to light
+me back, I thought her observation of me had an anxious air again; but
+I was too much occupied in pondering on what she had said, and too much
+impressed--for the first time, in reality--by the conviction that Dora
+and I had indeed to work out our future for ourselves, and that no one
+could assist us, to take much notice of it.
+
+Dora came stealing down in her little slippers, to meet me, now that I
+was alone; and cried upon my shoulder, and said I had been hard-hearted
+and she had been naughty; and I said much the same thing in effect, I
+believe; and we made it up, and agreed that our first little difference
+was to be our last, and that we were never to have another if we lived a
+hundred years.
+
+The next domestic trial we went through, was the Ordeal of Servants.
+Mary Anne’s cousin deserted into our coal-hole, and was brought out, to
+our great amazement, by a piquet of his companions in arms, who took
+him away handcuffed in a procession that covered our front-garden with
+ignominy. This nerved me to get rid of Mary Anne, who went so mildly,
+on receipt of wages, that I was surprised, until I found out about the
+tea-spoons, and also about the little sums she had borrowed in my
+name of the tradespeople without authority. After an interval of Mrs.
+Kidgerbury--the oldest inhabitant of Kentish Town, I believe, who went
+out charing, but was too feeble to execute her conceptions of that
+art--we found another treasure, who was one of the most amiable of
+women, but who generally made a point of falling either up or down the
+kitchen stairs with the tray, and almost plunged into the parlour,
+as into a bath, with the tea-things. The ravages committed by this
+unfortunate, rendering her dismissal necessary, she was succeeded (with
+intervals of Mrs. Kidgerbury) by a long line of Incapables; terminating
+in a young person of genteel appearance, who went to Greenwich Fair in
+Dora’s bonnet. After whom I remember nothing but an average equality of
+failure.
+
+Everybody we had anything to do with seemed to cheat us. Our appearance
+in a shop was a signal for the damaged goods to be brought out
+immediately. If we bought a lobster, it was full of water. All our meat
+turned out to be tough, and there was hardly any crust to our loaves.
+In search of the principle on which joints ought to be roasted, to be
+roasted enough, and not too much, I myself referred to the Cookery Book,
+and found it there established as the allowance of a quarter of an hour
+to every pound, and say a quarter over. But the principle always failed
+us by some curious fatality, and we never could hit any medium between
+redness and cinders.
+
+I had reason to believe that in accomplishing these failures we incurred
+a far greater expense than if we had achieved a series of triumphs. It
+appeared to me, on looking over the tradesmen’s books, as if we might
+have kept the basement storey paved with butter, such was the extensive
+scale of our consumption of that article. I don’t know whether the
+Excise returns of the period may have exhibited any increase in the
+demand for pepper; but if our performances did not affect the market,
+I should say several families must have left off using it. And the most
+wonderful fact of all was, that we never had anything in the house.
+
+As to the washerwoman pawning the clothes, and coming in a state of
+penitent intoxication to apologize, I suppose that might have happened
+several times to anybody. Also the chimney on fire, the parish engine,
+and perjury on the part of the Beadle. But I apprehend that we were
+personally fortunate in engaging a servant with a taste for cordials,
+who swelled our running account for porter at the public-house by such
+inexplicable items as ‘quartern rum shrub (Mrs. C.)’; ‘Half-quartern
+gin and cloves (Mrs. C.)’; ‘Glass rum and peppermint (Mrs. C.)’--the
+parentheses always referring to Dora, who was supposed, it appeared on
+explanation, to have imbibed the whole of these refreshments.
+
+One of our first feats in the housekeeping way was a little dinner to
+Traddles. I met him in town, and asked him to walk out with me that
+afternoon. He readily consenting, I wrote to Dora, saying I would bring
+him home. It was pleasant weather, and on the road we made my domestic
+happiness the theme of conversation. Traddles was very full of it; and
+said, that, picturing himself with such a home, and Sophy waiting and
+preparing for him, he could think of nothing wanting to complete his
+bliss.
+
+I could not have wished for a prettier little wife at the opposite end
+of the table, but I certainly could have wished, when we sat down, for a
+little more room. I did not know how it was, but though there were only
+two of us, we were at once always cramped for room, and yet had always
+room enough to lose everything in. I suspect it may have been because
+nothing had a place of its own, except Jip’s pagoda, which invariably
+blocked up the main thoroughfare. On the present occasion, Traddles
+was so hemmed in by the pagoda and the guitar-case, and Dora’s
+flower-painting, and my writing-table, that I had serious doubts of the
+possibility of his using his knife and fork; but he protested, with his
+own good-humour, ‘Oceans of room, Copperfield! I assure you, Oceans!’
+
+There was another thing I could have wished, namely, that Jip had never
+been encouraged to walk about the tablecloth during dinner. I began to
+think there was something disorderly in his being there at all, even
+if he had not been in the habit of putting his foot in the salt or the
+melted butter. On this occasion he seemed to think he was introduced
+expressly to keep Traddles at bay; and he barked at my old friend, and
+made short runs at his plate, with such undaunted pertinacity, that he
+may be said to have engrossed the conversation.
+
+However, as I knew how tender-hearted my dear Dora was, and how
+sensitive she would be to any slight upon her favourite, I hinted no
+objection. For similar reasons I made no allusion to the skirmishing
+plates upon the floor; or to the disreputable appearance of the castors,
+which were all at sixes and sevens, and looked drunk; or to the further
+blockade of Traddles by wandering vegetable dishes and jugs. I could
+not help wondering in my own mind, as I contemplated the boiled leg of
+mutton before me, previous to carving it, how it came to pass that
+our joints of meat were of such extraordinary shapes--and whether our
+butcher contracted for all the deformed sheep that came into the world;
+but I kept my reflections to myself.
+
+‘My love,’ said I to Dora, ‘what have you got in that dish?’
+
+I could not imagine why Dora had been making tempting little faces at
+me, as if she wanted to kiss me.
+
+‘Oysters, dear,’ said Dora, timidly.
+
+‘Was that YOUR thought?’ said I, delighted.
+
+‘Ye-yes, Doady,’ said Dora.
+
+‘There never was a happier one!’ I exclaimed, laying down the
+carving-knife and fork. ‘There is nothing Traddles likes so much!’
+
+‘Ye-yes, Doady,’ said Dora, ‘and so I bought a beautiful little barrel
+of them, and the man said they were very good. But I--I am afraid
+there’s something the matter with them. They don’t seem right.’ Here
+Dora shook her head, and diamonds twinkled in her eyes.
+
+‘They are only opened in both shells,’ said I. ‘Take the top one off, my
+love.’
+
+‘But it won’t come off!’ said Dora, trying very hard, and looking very
+much distressed.
+
+‘Do you know, Copperfield,’ said Traddles, cheerfully examining the
+dish, ‘I think it is in consequence--they are capital oysters, but I
+think it is in consequence--of their never having been opened.’
+
+They never had been opened; and we had no oyster-knives--and couldn’t
+have used them if we had; so we looked at the oysters and ate the
+mutton. At least we ate as much of it as was done, and made up with
+capers. If I had permitted him, I am satisfied that Traddles would have
+made a perfect savage of himself, and eaten a plateful of raw meat, to
+express enjoyment of the repast; but I would hear of no such immolation
+on the altar of friendship, and we had a course of bacon instead; there
+happening, by good fortune, to be cold bacon in the larder.
+
+My poor little wife was in such affliction when she thought I should be
+annoyed, and in such a state of joy when she found I was not, that the
+discomfiture I had subdued, very soon vanished, and we passed a happy
+evening; Dora sitting with her arm on my chair while Traddles and I
+discussed a glass of wine, and taking every opportunity of whispering
+in my ear that it was so good of me not to be a cruel, cross old boy. By
+and by she made tea for us; which it was so pretty to see her do, as if
+she was busying herself with a set of doll’s tea-things, that I was not
+particular about the quality of the beverage. Then Traddles and I played
+a game or two at cribbage; and Dora singing to the guitar the while,
+it seemed to me as if our courtship and marriage were a tender dream
+of mine, and the night when I first listened to her voice were not yet
+over.
+
+When Traddles went away, and I came back into the parlour from seeing
+him out, my wife planted her chair close to mine, and sat down by my
+side. ‘I am very sorry,’ she said. ‘Will you try to teach me, Doady?’
+
+‘I must teach myself first, Dora,’ said I. ‘I am as bad as you, love.’
+
+‘Ah! But you can learn,’ she returned; ‘and you are a clever, clever
+man!’
+
+‘Nonsense, mouse!’ said I.
+
+‘I wish,’ resumed my wife, after a long silence, ‘that I could have gone
+down into the country for a whole year, and lived with Agnes!’
+
+Her hands were clasped upon my shoulder, and her chin rested on them,
+and her blue eyes looked quietly into mine.
+
+‘Why so?’ I asked.
+
+‘I think she might have improved me, and I think I might have learned
+from her,’ said Dora.
+
+‘All in good time, my love. Agnes has had her father to take care of for
+these many years, you should remember. Even when she was quite a child,
+she was the Agnes whom we know,’ said I.
+
+‘Will you call me a name I want you to call me?’ inquired Dora, without
+moving.
+
+‘What is it?’ I asked with a smile.
+
+‘It’s a stupid name,’ she said, shaking her curls for a moment.
+‘Child-wife.’
+
+I laughingly asked my child-wife what her fancy was in desiring to be so
+called. She answered without moving, otherwise than as the arm I twined
+about her may have brought her blue eyes nearer to me:
+
+‘I don’t mean, you silly fellow, that you should use the name instead
+of Dora. I only mean that you should think of me that way. When you are
+going to be angry with me, say to yourself, “it’s only my child-wife!”
+ When I am very disappointing, say, “I knew, a long time ago, that she
+would make but a child-wife!” When you miss what I should like to be,
+and I think can never be, say, “still my foolish child-wife loves me!”
+ For indeed I do.’
+
+I had not been serious with her; having no idea until now, that she was
+serious herself. But her affectionate nature was so happy in what I now
+said to her with my whole heart, that her face became a laughing one
+before her glittering eyes were dry. She was soon my child-wife indeed;
+sitting down on the floor outside the Chinese House, ringing all
+the little bells one after another, to punish Jip for his recent bad
+behaviour; while Jip lay blinking in the doorway with his head out, even
+too lazy to be teased.
+
+This appeal of Dora’s made a strong impression on me. I look back on the
+time I write of; I invoke the innocent figure that I dearly loved, to
+come out from the mists and shadows of the past, and turn its gentle
+head towards me once again; and I can still declare that this one little
+speech was constantly in my memory. I may not have used it to the best
+account; I was young and inexperienced; but I never turned a deaf ear to
+its artless pleading.
+
+Dora told me, shortly afterwards, that she was going to be a wonderful
+housekeeper. Accordingly, she polished the tablets, pointed the pencil,
+bought an immense account-book, carefully stitched up with a needle and
+thread all the leaves of the Cookery Book which Jip had torn, and made
+quite a desperate little attempt ‘to be good’, as she called it. But the
+figures had the old obstinate propensity--they WOULD NOT add up. When
+she had entered two or three laborious items in the account-book, Jip
+would walk over the page, wagging his tail, and smear them all out. Her
+own little right-hand middle finger got steeped to the very bone in ink;
+and I think that was the only decided result obtained.
+
+Sometimes, of an evening, when I was at home and at work--for I wrote
+a good deal now, and was beginning in a small way to be known as a
+writer--I would lay down my pen, and watch my child-wife trying to be
+good. First of all, she would bring out the immense account-book, and
+lay it down upon the table, with a deep sigh. Then she would open it at
+the place where Jip had made it illegible last night, and call Jip
+up, to look at his misdeeds. This would occasion a diversion in Jip’s
+favour, and some inking of his nose, perhaps, as a penalty. Then she
+would tell Jip to lie down on the table instantly, ‘like a lion’--which
+was one of his tricks, though I cannot say the likeness was
+striking--and, if he were in an obedient humour, he would obey. Then she
+would take up a pen, and begin to write, and find a hair in it. Then
+she would take up another pen, and begin to write, and find that it
+spluttered. Then she would take up another pen, and begin to write, and
+say in a low voice, ‘Oh, it’s a talking pen, and will disturb Doady!’
+And then she would give it up as a bad job, and put the account-book
+away, after pretending to crush the lion with it.
+
+Or, if she were in a very sedate and serious state of mind, she would
+sit down with the tablets, and a little basket of bills and other
+documents, which looked more like curl-papers than anything else, and
+endeavour to get some result out of them. After severely comparing one
+with another, and making entries on the tablets, and blotting them
+out, and counting all the fingers of her left hand over and over again,
+backwards and forwards, she would be so vexed and discouraged, and
+would look so unhappy, that it gave me pain to see her bright face
+clouded--and for me!--and I would go softly to her, and say:
+
+‘What’s the matter, Dora?’
+
+Dora would look up hopelessly, and reply, ‘They won’t come right. They
+make my head ache so. And they won’t do anything I want!’
+
+Then I would say, ‘Now let us try together. Let me show you, Dora.’
+
+Then I would commence a practical demonstration, to which Dora would pay
+profound attention, perhaps for five minutes; when she would begin to be
+dreadfully tired, and would lighten the subject by curling my hair,
+or trying the effect of my face with my shirt-collar turned down. If
+I tacitly checked this playfulness, and persisted, she would look so
+scared and disconsolate, as she became more and more bewildered, that
+the remembrance of her natural gaiety when I first strayed into her
+path, and of her being my child-wife, would come reproachfully upon me;
+and I would lay the pencil down, and call for the guitar.
+
+I had a great deal of work to do, and had many anxieties, but the same
+considerations made me keep them to myself. I am far from sure, now,
+that it was right to do this, but I did it for my child-wife’s sake. I
+search my breast, and I commit its secrets, if I know them, without any
+reservation to this paper. The old unhappy loss or want of something
+had, I am conscious, some place in my heart; but not to the embitterment
+of my life. When I walked alone in the fine weather, and thought of the
+summer days when all the air had been filled with my boyish enchantment,
+I did miss something of the realization of my dreams; but I thought it
+was a softened glory of the Past, which nothing could have thrown upon
+the present time. I did feel, sometimes, for a little while, that I
+could have wished my wife had been my counsellor; had had more character
+and purpose, to sustain me and improve me by; had been endowed with
+power to fill up the void which somewhere seemed to be about me; but
+I felt as if this were an unearthly consummation of my happiness, that
+never had been meant to be, and never could have been.
+
+I was a boyish husband as to years. I had known the softening influence
+of no other sorrows or experiences than those recorded in these leaves.
+If I did any wrong, as I may have done much, I did it in mistaken love,
+and in my want of wisdom. I write the exact truth. It would avail me
+nothing to extenuate it now.
+
+Thus it was that I took upon myself the toils and cares of our life,
+and had no partner in them. We lived much as before, in reference to our
+scrambling household arrangements; but I had got used to those, and Dora
+I was pleased to see was seldom vexed now. She was bright and cheerful
+in the old childish way, loved me dearly, and was happy with her old
+trifles.
+
+When the debates were heavy--I mean as to length, not quality, for in
+the last respect they were not often otherwise--and I went home late,
+Dora would never rest when she heard my footsteps, but would always come
+downstairs to meet me. When my evenings were unoccupied by the pursuit
+for which I had qualified myself with so much pains, and I was engaged
+in writing at home, she would sit quietly near me, however late the
+hour, and be so mute, that I would often think she had dropped asleep.
+But generally, when I raised my head, I saw her blue eyes looking at me
+with the quiet attention of which I have already spoken.
+
+‘Oh, what a weary boy!’ said Dora one night, when I met her eyes as I
+was shutting up my desk.
+
+‘What a weary girl!’ said I. ‘That’s more to the purpose. You must go to
+bed another time, my love. It’s far too late for you.’
+
+‘No, don’t send me to bed!’ pleaded Dora, coming to my side. ‘Pray,
+don’t do that!’
+
+‘Dora!’ To my amazement she was sobbing on my neck. ‘Not well, my dear!
+not happy!’
+
+‘Yes! quite well, and very happy!’ said Dora. ‘But say you’ll let me
+stop, and see you write.’
+
+‘Why, what a sight for such bright eyes at midnight!’ I replied.
+
+‘Are they bright, though?’ returned Dora, laughing. ‘I’m so glad they’re
+bright.’ ‘Little Vanity!’ said I.
+
+But it was not vanity; it was only harmless delight in my admiration. I
+knew that very well, before she told me so.
+
+‘If you think them pretty, say I may always stop, and see you write!’
+said Dora. ‘Do you think them pretty?’
+
+‘Very pretty.’
+
+‘Then let me always stop and see you write.’
+
+‘I am afraid that won’t improve their brightness, Dora.’
+
+‘Yes, it will! Because, you clever boy, you’ll not forget me then, while
+you are full of silent fancies. Will you mind it, if I say something
+very, very silly?---more than usual?’ inquired Dora, peeping over my
+shoulder into my face.
+
+‘What wonderful thing is that?’ said I.
+
+‘Please let me hold the pens,’ said Dora. ‘I want to have something to
+do with all those many hours when you are so industrious. May I hold the
+pens?’
+
+The remembrance of her pretty joy when I said yes, brings tears into my
+eyes. The next time I sat down to write, and regularly afterwards,
+she sat in her old place, with a spare bundle of pens at her side. Her
+triumph in this connexion with my work, and her delight when I wanted a
+new pen--which I very often feigned to do--suggested to me a new way of
+pleasing my child-wife. I occasionally made a pretence of wanting a
+page or two of manuscript copied. Then Dora was in her glory. The
+preparations she made for this great work, the aprons she put on, the
+bibs she borrowed from the kitchen to keep off the ink, the time she
+took, the innumerable stoppages she made to have a laugh with Jip as if
+he understood it all, her conviction that her work was incomplete unless
+she signed her name at the end, and the way in which she would bring it
+to me, like a school-copy, and then, when I praised it, clasp me round
+the neck, are touching recollections to me, simple as they might appear
+to other men.
+
+She took possession of the keys soon after this, and went jingling about
+the house with the whole bunch in a little basket, tied to her slender
+waist. I seldom found that the places to which they belonged were
+locked, or that they were of any use except as a plaything for Jip--but
+Dora was pleased, and that pleased me. She was quite satisfied that a
+good deal was effected by this make-belief of housekeeping; and was as
+merry as if we had been keeping a baby-house, for a joke.
+
+So we went on. Dora was hardly less affectionate to my aunt than to me,
+and often told her of the time when she was afraid she was ‘a cross old
+thing’. I never saw my aunt unbend more systematically to anyone. She
+courted Jip, though Jip never responded; listened, day after day, to the
+guitar, though I am afraid she had no taste for music; never attacked
+the Incapables, though the temptation must have been severe; went
+wonderful distances on foot to purchase, as surprises, any trifles that
+she found out Dora wanted; and never came in by the garden, and missed
+her from the room, but she would call out, at the foot of the stairs, in
+a voice that sounded cheerfully all over the house:
+
+‘Where’s Little Blossom?’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 45. MR. DICK FULFILS MY AUNT’S PREDICTIONS
+
+
+It was some time now, since I had left the Doctor. Living in his
+neighbourhood, I saw him frequently; and we all went to his house on two
+or three occasions to dinner or tea. The Old Soldier was in permanent
+quarters under the Doctor’s roof. She was exactly the same as ever, and
+the same immortal butterflies hovered over her cap.
+
+Like some other mothers, whom I have known in the course of my life,
+Mrs. Markleham was far more fond of pleasure than her daughter was.
+She required a great deal of amusement, and, like a deep old soldier,
+pretended, in consulting her own inclinations, to be devoting herself
+to her child. The Doctor’s desire that Annie should be entertained,
+was therefore particularly acceptable to this excellent parent; who
+expressed unqualified approval of his discretion.
+
+I have no doubt, indeed, that she probed the Doctor’s wound without
+knowing it. Meaning nothing but a certain matured frivolity and
+selfishness, not always inseparable from full-blown years, I think she
+confirmed him in his fear that he was a constraint upon his young
+wife, and that there was no congeniality of feeling between them, by so
+strongly commending his design of lightening the load of her life.
+
+‘My dear soul,’ she said to him one day when I was present, ‘you know
+there is no doubt it would be a little pokey for Annie to be always shut
+up here.’
+
+The Doctor nodded his benevolent head. ‘When she comes to her mother’s
+age,’ said Mrs. Markleham, with a flourish of her fan, ‘then it’ll be
+another thing. You might put ME into a Jail, with genteel society and
+a rubber, and I should never care to come out. But I am not Annie, you
+know; and Annie is not her mother.’
+
+‘Surely, surely,’ said the Doctor.
+
+‘You are the best of creatures--no, I beg your pardon!’ for the Doctor
+made a gesture of deprecation, ‘I must say before your face, as I always
+say behind your back, you are the best of creatures; but of course you
+don’t--now do you?---enter into the same pursuits and fancies as Annie?’
+
+‘No,’ said the Doctor, in a sorrowful tone.
+
+‘No, of course not,’ retorted the Old Soldier. ‘Take your Dictionary,
+for example. What a useful work a Dictionary is! What a necessary work!
+The meanings of words! Without Doctor Johnson, or somebody of that sort,
+we might have been at this present moment calling an Italian-iron,
+a bedstead. But we can’t expect a Dictionary--especially when it’s
+making--to interest Annie, can we?’
+
+The Doctor shook his head.
+
+‘And that’s why I so much approve,’ said Mrs. Markleham, tapping him
+on the shoulder with her shut-up fan, ‘of your thoughtfulness. It shows
+that you don’t expect, as many elderly people do expect, old heads on
+young shoulders. You have studied Annie’s character, and you understand
+it. That’s what I find so charming!’
+
+Even the calm and patient face of Doctor Strong expressed some little
+sense of pain, I thought, under the infliction of these compliments.
+
+‘Therefore, my dear Doctor,’ said the Old Soldier, giving him several
+affectionate taps, ‘you may command me, at all times and seasons. Now,
+do understand that I am entirely at your service. I am ready to go with
+Annie to operas, concerts, exhibitions, all kinds of places; and you
+shall never find that I am tired. Duty, my dear Doctor, before every
+consideration in the universe!’
+
+She was as good as her word. She was one of those people who can bear
+a great deal of pleasure, and she never flinched in her perseverance
+in the cause. She seldom got hold of the newspaper (which she settled
+herself down in the softest chair in the house to read through an
+eye-glass, every day, for two hours), but she found out something that
+she was certain Annie would like to see. It was in vain for Annie to
+protest that she was weary of such things. Her mother’s remonstrance
+always was, ‘Now, my dear Annie, I am sure you know better; and I must
+tell you, my love, that you are not making a proper return for the
+kindness of Doctor Strong.’
+
+This was usually said in the Doctor’s presence, and appeared to me to
+constitute Annie’s principal inducement for withdrawing her objections
+when she made any. But in general she resigned herself to her mother,
+and went where the Old Soldier would.
+
+It rarely happened now that Mr. Maldon accompanied them. Sometimes
+my aunt and Dora were invited to do so, and accepted the invitation.
+Sometimes Dora only was asked. The time had been, when I should have
+been uneasy in her going; but reflection on what had passed that
+former night in the Doctor’s study, had made a change in my mistrust. I
+believed that the Doctor was right, and I had no worse suspicions.
+
+My aunt rubbed her nose sometimes when she happened to be alone with
+me, and said she couldn’t make it out; she wished they were happier; she
+didn’t think our military friend (so she always called the Old Soldier)
+mended the matter at all. My aunt further expressed her opinion, ‘that
+if our military friend would cut off those butterflies, and give ‘em to
+the chimney-sweepers for May-day, it would look like the beginning of
+something sensible on her part.’
+
+But her abiding reliance was on Mr. Dick. That man had evidently an
+idea in his head, she said; and if he could only once pen it up into a
+corner, which was his great difficulty, he would distinguish himself in
+some extraordinary manner.
+
+Unconscious of this prediction, Mr. Dick continued to occupy precisely
+the same ground in reference to the Doctor and to Mrs. Strong. He seemed
+neither to advance nor to recede. He appeared to have settled into his
+original foundation, like a building; and I must confess that my faith
+in his ever Moving, was not much greater than if he had been a building.
+
+But one night, when I had been married some months, Mr. Dick put his
+head into the parlour, where I was writing alone (Dora having gone out
+with my aunt to take tea with the two little birds), and said, with a
+significant cough:
+
+‘You couldn’t speak to me without inconveniencing yourself, Trotwood, I
+am afraid?’
+
+‘Certainly, Mr. Dick,’ said I; ‘come in!’
+
+‘Trotwood,’ said Mr. Dick, laying his finger on the side of his nose,
+after he had shaken hands with me. ‘Before I sit down, I wish to make an
+observation. You know your aunt?’
+
+‘A little,’ I replied.
+
+‘She is the most wonderful woman in the world, sir!’
+
+After the delivery of this communication, which he shot out of himself
+as if he were loaded with it, Mr. Dick sat down with greater gravity
+than usual, and looked at me.
+
+‘Now, boy,’ said Mr. Dick, ‘I am going to put a question to you.’
+
+‘As many as you please,’ said I.
+
+‘What do you consider me, sir?’ asked Mr. Dick, folding his arms.
+
+‘A dear old friend,’ said I. ‘Thank you, Trotwood,’ returned Mr. Dick,
+laughing, and reaching across in high glee to shake hands with me. ‘But
+I mean, boy,’ resuming his gravity, ‘what do you consider me in this
+respect?’ touching his forehead.
+
+I was puzzled how to answer, but he helped me with a word.
+
+‘Weak?’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+‘Well,’ I replied, dubiously. ‘Rather so.’
+
+‘Exactly!’ cried Mr. Dick, who seemed quite enchanted by my reply. ‘That
+is, Trotwood, when they took some of the trouble out of you-know-who’s
+head, and put it you know where, there was a--’ Mr. Dick made his two
+hands revolve very fast about each other a great number of times, and
+then brought them into collision, and rolled them over and over one
+another, to express confusion. ‘There was that sort of thing done to me
+somehow. Eh?’
+
+I nodded at him, and he nodded back again.
+
+‘In short, boy,’ said Mr. Dick, dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘I am
+simple.’
+
+I would have qualified that conclusion, but he stopped me.
+
+‘Yes, I am! She pretends I am not. She won’t hear of it; but I am. I
+know I am. If she hadn’t stood my friend, sir, I should have been shut
+up, to lead a dismal life these many years. But I’ll provide for her!
+I never spend the copying money. I put it in a box. I have made a will.
+I’ll leave it all to her. She shall be rich--noble!’
+
+Mr. Dick took out his pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his eyes. He then
+folded it up with great care, pressed it smooth between his two hands,
+put it in his pocket, and seemed to put my aunt away with it.
+
+‘Now you are a scholar, Trotwood,’ said Mr. Dick. ‘You are a fine
+scholar. You know what a learned man, what a great man, the Doctor is.
+You know what honour he has always done me. Not proud in his wisdom.
+Humble, humble--condescending even to poor Dick, who is simple and knows
+nothing. I have sent his name up, on a scrap of paper, to the kite,
+along the string, when it has been in the sky, among the larks. The kite
+has been glad to receive it, sir, and the sky has been brighter with
+it.’
+
+I delighted him by saying, most heartily, that the Doctor was deserving
+of our best respect and highest esteem.
+
+‘And his beautiful wife is a star,’ said Mr. Dick. ‘A shining star. I
+have seen her shine, sir. But,’ bringing his chair nearer, and laying
+one hand upon my knee--‘clouds, sir--clouds.’
+
+I answered the solicitude which his face expressed, by conveying the
+same expression into my own, and shaking my head.
+
+‘What clouds?’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+He looked so wistfully into my face, and was so anxious to understand,
+that I took great pains to answer him slowly and distinctly, as I might
+have entered on an explanation to a child.
+
+‘There is some unfortunate division between them,’ I replied. ‘Some
+unhappy cause of separation. A secret. It may be inseparable from the
+discrepancy in their years. It may have grown up out of almost nothing.’
+
+Mr. Dick, who had told off every sentence with a thoughtful nod, paused
+when I had done, and sat considering, with his eyes upon my face, and
+his hand upon my knee.
+
+‘Doctor not angry with her, Trotwood?’ he said, after some time.
+
+‘No. Devoted to her.’
+
+‘Then, I have got it, boy!’ said Mr. Dick.
+
+The sudden exultation with which he slapped me on the knee, and leaned
+back in his chair, with his eyebrows lifted up as high as he could
+possibly lift them, made me think him farther out of his wits than
+ever. He became as suddenly grave again, and leaning forward as before,
+said--first respectfully taking out his pocket-handkerchief, as if it
+really did represent my aunt:
+
+‘Most wonderful woman in the world, Trotwood. Why has she done nothing
+to set things right?’
+
+‘Too delicate and difficult a subject for such interference,’ I replied.
+
+‘Fine scholar,’ said Mr. Dick, touching me with his finger. ‘Why has HE
+done nothing?’
+
+‘For the same reason,’ I returned.
+
+‘Then, I have got it, boy!’ said Mr. Dick. And he stood up before me,
+more exultingly than before, nodding his head, and striking himself
+repeatedly upon the breast, until one might have supposed that he had
+nearly nodded and struck all the breath out of his body.
+
+‘A poor fellow with a craze, sir,’ said Mr. Dick, ‘a simpleton, a
+weak-minded person--present company, you know!’ striking himself again,
+‘may do what wonderful people may not do. I’ll bring them together, boy.
+I’ll try. They’ll not blame me. They’ll not object to me. They’ll not
+mind what I do, if it’s wrong. I’m only Mr. Dick. And who minds Dick?
+Dick’s nobody! Whoo!’ He blew a slight, contemptuous breath, as if he
+blew himself away.
+
+It was fortunate he had proceeded so far with his mystery, for we heard
+the coach stop at the little garden gate, which brought my aunt and Dora
+home.
+
+‘Not a word, boy!’ he pursued in a whisper; ‘leave all the blame with
+Dick--simple Dick--mad Dick. I have been thinking, sir, for some time,
+that I was getting it, and now I have got it. After what you have said
+to me, I am sure I have got it. All right!’ Not another word did Mr.
+Dick utter on the subject; but he made a very telegraph of himself for
+the next half-hour (to the great disturbance of my aunt’s mind), to
+enjoin inviolable secrecy on me.
+
+To my surprise, I heard no more about it for some two or three weeks,
+though I was sufficiently interested in the result of his endeavours;
+descrying a strange gleam of good sense--I say nothing of good feeling,
+for that he always exhibited--in the conclusion to which he had come. At
+last I began to believe, that, in the flighty and unsettled state of his
+mind, he had either forgotten his intention or abandoned it.
+
+One fair evening, when Dora was not inclined to go out, my aunt and I
+strolled up to the Doctor’s cottage. It was autumn, when there were no
+debates to vex the evening air; and I remember how the leaves smelt like
+our garden at Blunderstone as we trod them under foot, and how the old,
+unhappy feeling, seemed to go by, on the sighing wind.
+
+It was twilight when we reached the cottage. Mrs. Strong was just coming
+out of the garden, where Mr. Dick yet lingered, busy with his knife,
+helping the gardener to point some stakes. The Doctor was engaged with
+someone in his study; but the visitor would be gone directly, Mrs.
+Strong said, and begged us to remain and see him. We went into the
+drawing-room with her, and sat down by the darkening window. There was
+never any ceremony about the visits of such old friends and neighbours
+as we were.
+
+We had not sat here many minutes, when Mrs. Markleham, who usually
+contrived to be in a fuss about something, came bustling in, with her
+newspaper in her hand, and said, out of breath, ‘My goodness gracious,
+Annie, why didn’t you tell me there was someone in the Study!’
+
+‘My dear mama,’ she quietly returned, ‘how could I know that you desired
+the information?’
+
+‘Desired the information!’ said Mrs. Markleham, sinking on the sofa. ‘I
+never had such a turn in all my life!’
+
+‘Have you been to the Study, then, mama?’ asked Annie.
+
+‘BEEN to the Study, my dear!’ she returned emphatically. ‘Indeed I have!
+I came upon the amiable creature--if you’ll imagine my feelings, Miss
+Trotwood and David--in the act of making his will.’
+
+Her daughter looked round from the window quickly.
+
+‘In the act, my dear Annie,’ repeated Mrs. Markleham, spreading the
+newspaper on her lap like a table-cloth, and patting her hands upon it,
+‘of making his last Will and Testament. The foresight and affection of
+the dear! I must tell you how it was. I really must, in justice to the
+darling--for he is nothing less!--tell you how it was. Perhaps you know,
+Miss Trotwood, that there is never a candle lighted in this house, until
+one’s eyes are literally falling out of one’s head with being stretched
+to read the paper. And that there is not a chair in this house, in which
+a paper can be what I call, read, except one in the Study. This took me
+to the Study, where I saw a light. I opened the door. In company with
+the dear Doctor were two professional people, evidently connected with
+the law, and they were all three standing at the table: the
+darling Doctor pen in hand. “This simply expresses then,” said the
+Doctor--Annie, my love, attend to the very words--“this simply expresses
+then, gentlemen, the confidence I have in Mrs. Strong, and gives her all
+unconditionally?” One of the professional people replied, “And gives her
+all unconditionally.” Upon that, with the natural feelings of a mother,
+I said, “Good God, I beg your pardon!” fell over the door-step, and came
+away through the little back passage where the pantry is.’
+
+Mrs. Strong opened the window, and went out into the verandah, where she
+stood leaning against a pillar.
+
+‘But now isn’t it, Miss Trotwood, isn’t it, David, invigorating,’ said
+Mrs. Markleham, mechanically following her with her eyes, ‘to find a man
+at Doctor Strong’s time of life, with the strength of mind to do this
+kind of thing? It only shows how right I was. I said to Annie, when
+Doctor Strong paid a very flattering visit to myself, and made her the
+subject of a declaration and an offer, I said, “My dear, there is no
+doubt whatever, in my opinion, with reference to a suitable provision
+for you, that Doctor Strong will do more than he binds himself to do.”’
+
+Here the bell rang, and we heard the sound of the visitors’ feet as they
+went out.
+
+‘It’s all over, no doubt,’ said the Old Soldier, after listening; ‘the
+dear creature has signed, sealed, and delivered, and his mind’s at rest.
+Well it may be! What a mind! Annie, my love, I am going to the Study
+with my paper, for I am a poor creature without news. Miss Trotwood,
+David, pray come and see the Doctor.’
+
+I was conscious of Mr. Dick’s standing in the shadow of the room,
+shutting up his knife, when we accompanied her to the Study; and of my
+aunt’s rubbing her nose violently, by the way, as a mild vent for her
+intolerance of our military friend; but who got first into the Study, or
+how Mrs. Markleham settled herself in a moment in her easy-chair, or how
+my aunt and I came to be left together near the door (unless her eyes
+were quicker than mine, and she held me back), I have forgotten, if I
+ever knew. But this I know,--that we saw the Doctor before he saw us,
+sitting at his table, among the folio volumes in which he delighted,
+resting his head calmly on his hand. That, in the same moment, we saw
+Mrs. Strong glide in, pale and trembling. That Mr. Dick supported her on
+his arm. That he laid his other hand upon the Doctor’s arm, causing him
+to look up with an abstracted air. That, as the Doctor moved his head,
+his wife dropped down on one knee at his feet, and, with her hands
+imploringly lifted, fixed upon his face the memorable look I had never
+forgotten. That at this sight Mrs. Markleham dropped the newspaper,
+and stared more like a figure-head intended for a ship to be called The
+Astonishment, than anything else I can think of.
+
+The gentleness of the Doctor’s manner and surprise, the dignity that
+mingled with the supplicating attitude of his wife, the amiable concern
+of Mr. Dick, and the earnestness with which my aunt said to herself,
+‘That man mad!’ (triumphantly expressive of the misery from which she
+had saved him)--I see and hear, rather than remember, as I write about
+it.
+
+‘Doctor!’ said Mr. Dick. ‘What is it that’s amiss? Look here!’
+
+‘Annie!’ cried the Doctor. ‘Not at my feet, my dear!’
+
+‘Yes!’ she said. ‘I beg and pray that no one will leave the room! Oh, my
+husband and father, break this long silence. Let us both know what it is
+that has come between us!’
+
+Mrs. Markleham, by this time recovering the power of speech, and seeming
+to swell with family pride and motherly indignation, here exclaimed,
+‘Annie, get up immediately, and don’t disgrace everybody belonging to
+you by humbling yourself like that, unless you wish to see me go out of
+my mind on the spot!’
+
+‘Mama!’ returned Annie. ‘Waste no words on me, for my appeal is to my
+husband, and even you are nothing here.’
+
+‘Nothing!’ exclaimed Mrs. Markleham. ‘Me, nothing! The child has taken
+leave of her senses. Please to get me a glass of water!’
+
+I was too attentive to the Doctor and his wife, to give any heed to this
+request; and it made no impression on anybody else; so Mrs. Markleham
+panted, stared, and fanned herself.
+
+‘Annie!’ said the Doctor, tenderly taking her in his hands. ‘My dear!
+If any unavoidable change has come, in the sequence of time, upon our
+married life, you are not to blame. The fault is mine, and only mine.
+There is no change in my affection, admiration, and respect. I wish to
+make you happy. I truly love and honour you. Rise, Annie, pray!’
+
+But she did not rise. After looking at him for a little while, she sank
+down closer to him, laid her arm across his knee, and dropping her head
+upon it, said:
+
+‘If I have any friend here, who can speak one word for me, or for my
+husband in this matter; if I have any friend here, who can give a voice
+to any suspicion that my heart has sometimes whispered to me; if I have
+any friend here, who honours my husband, or has ever cared for me, and
+has anything within his knowledge, no matter what it is, that may help
+to mediate between us, I implore that friend to speak!’
+
+There was a profound silence. After a few moments of painful hesitation,
+I broke the silence.
+
+‘Mrs. Strong,’ I said, ‘there is something within my knowledge, which
+I have been earnestly entreated by Doctor Strong to conceal, and have
+concealed until tonight. But, I believe the time has come when it would
+be mistaken faith and delicacy to conceal it any longer, and when your
+appeal absolves me from his injunction.’
+
+She turned her face towards me for a moment, and I knew that I was
+right. I could not have resisted its entreaty, if the assurance that it
+gave me had been less convincing.
+
+‘Our future peace,’ she said, ‘may be in your hands. I trust it
+confidently to your not suppressing anything. I know beforehand that
+nothing you, or anyone, can tell me, will show my husband’s noble heart
+in any other light than one. Howsoever it may seem to you to touch me,
+disregard that. I will speak for myself, before him, and before God
+afterwards.’
+
+Thus earnestly besought, I made no reference to the Doctor for his
+permission, but, without any other compromise of the truth than a little
+softening of the coarseness of Uriah Heep, related plainly what had
+passed in that same room that night. The staring of Mrs. Markleham
+during the whole narration, and the shrill, sharp interjections with
+which she occasionally interrupted it, defy description.
+
+When I had finished, Annie remained, for some few moments, silent, with
+her head bent down, as I have described. Then, she took the Doctor’s
+hand (he was sitting in the same attitude as when we had entered the
+room), and pressed it to her breast, and kissed it. Mr. Dick softly
+raised her; and she stood, when she began to speak, leaning on him, and
+looking down upon her husband--from whom she never turned her eyes.
+
+‘All that has ever been in my mind, since I was married,’ she said in a
+low, submissive, tender voice, ‘I will lay bare before you. I could not
+live and have one reservation, knowing what I know now.’
+
+‘Nay, Annie,’ said the Doctor, mildly, ‘I have never doubted you, my
+child. There is no need; indeed there is no need, my dear.’
+
+‘There is great need,’ she answered, in the same way, ‘that I should
+open my whole heart before the soul of generosity and truth, whom, year
+by year, and day by day, I have loved and venerated more and more, as
+Heaven knows!’
+
+‘Really,’ interrupted Mrs. Markleham, ‘if I have any discretion at
+all--’
+
+[‘Which you haven’t, you Marplot,’ observed my aunt, in an indignant
+whisper.) --‘I must be permitted to observe that it cannot be requisite
+to enter into these details.’
+
+‘No one but my husband can judge of that, mama,’ said Annie without
+removing her eyes from his face, ‘and he will hear me. If I say anything
+to give you pain, mama, forgive me. I have borne pain first, often and
+long, myself.’
+
+‘Upon my word!’ gasped Mrs. Markleham.
+
+‘When I was very young,’ said Annie, ‘quite a little child, my first
+associations with knowledge of any kind were inseparable from a patient
+friend and teacher--the friend of my dead father--who was always dear
+to me. I can remember nothing that I know, without remembering him. He
+stored my mind with its first treasures, and stamped his character upon
+them all. They never could have been, I think, as good as they have been
+to me, if I had taken them from any other hands.’
+
+‘Makes her mother nothing!’ exclaimed Mrs. Markleham.
+
+‘Not so mama,’ said Annie; ‘but I make him what he was. I must do that.
+As I grew up, he occupied the same place still. I was proud of his
+interest: deeply, fondly, gratefully attached to him. I looked up to
+him, I can hardly describe how--as a father, as a guide, as one whose
+praise was different from all other praise, as one in whom I could have
+trusted and confided, if I had doubted all the world. You know, mama,
+how young and inexperienced I was, when you presented him before me, of
+a sudden, as a lover.’
+
+‘I have mentioned the fact, fifty times at least, to everybody here!’
+said Mrs. Markleham.
+
+[‘Then hold your tongue, for the Lord’s sake, and don’t mention it any
+more!’ muttered my aunt.)
+
+‘It was so great a change: so great a loss, I felt it, at first,’ said
+Annie, still preserving the same look and tone, ‘that I was agitated
+and distressed. I was but a girl; and when so great a change came in the
+character in which I had so long looked up to him, I think I was sorry.
+But nothing could have made him what he used to be again; and I was
+proud that he should think me so worthy, and we were married.’ ‘--At
+Saint Alphage, Canterbury,’ observed Mrs. Markleham.
+
+[‘Confound the woman!’ said my aunt, ‘she WON’T be quiet!’)
+
+‘I never thought,’ proceeded Annie, with a heightened colour, ‘of any
+worldly gain that my husband would bring to me. My young heart had no
+room in its homage for any such poor reference. Mama, forgive me when
+I say that it was you who first presented to my mind the thought that
+anyone could wrong me, and wrong him, by such a cruel suspicion.’
+
+‘Me!’ cried Mrs. Markleham.
+
+[‘Ah! You, to be sure!’ observed my aunt, ‘and you can’t fan it away, my
+military friend!’)
+
+‘It was the first unhappiness of my new life,’ said Annie. ‘It was the
+first occasion of every unhappy moment I have known. These moments have
+been more, of late, than I can count; but not--my generous husband!--not
+for the reason you suppose; for in my heart there is not a thought, a
+recollection, or a hope, that any power could separate from you!’
+
+She raised her eyes, and clasped her hands, and looked as beautiful and
+true, I thought, as any Spirit. The Doctor looked on her, henceforth, as
+steadfastly as she on him.
+
+‘Mama is blameless,’ she went on, ‘of having ever urged you for herself,
+and she is blameless in intention every way, I am sure,--but when I saw
+how many importunate claims were pressed upon you in my name; how you
+were traded on in my name; how generous you were, and how Mr. Wickfield,
+who had your welfare very much at heart, resented it; the first sense
+of my exposure to the mean suspicion that my tenderness was bought--and
+sold to you, of all men on earth--fell upon me like unmerited disgrace,
+in which I forced you to participate. I cannot tell you what it
+was--mama cannot imagine what it was--to have this dread and trouble
+always on my mind, yet know in my own soul that on my marriage-day I
+crowned the love and honour of my life!’
+
+‘A specimen of the thanks one gets,’ cried Mrs. Markleham, in tears,
+‘for taking care of one’s family! I wish I was a Turk!’
+
+[‘I wish you were, with all my heart--and in your native country!’ said
+my aunt.)
+
+‘It was at that time that mama was most solicitous about my Cousin
+Maldon. I had liked him’: she spoke softly, but without any hesitation:
+‘very much. We had been little lovers once. If circumstances had not
+happened otherwise, I might have come to persuade myself that I really
+loved him, and might have married him, and been most wretched. There can
+be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose.’
+
+I pondered on those words, even while I was studiously attending to
+what followed, as if they had some particular interest, or some strange
+application that I could not divine. ‘There can be no disparity in
+marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose’--‘no disparity in
+marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose.’
+
+‘There is nothing,’ said Annie, ‘that we have in common. I have long
+found that there is nothing. If I were thankful to my husband for no
+more, instead of for so much, I should be thankful to him for having
+saved me from the first mistaken impulse of my undisciplined heart.’
+
+She stood quite still, before the Doctor, and spoke with an earnestness
+that thrilled me. Yet her voice was just as quiet as before.
+
+‘When he was waiting to be the object of your munificence, so freely
+bestowed for my sake, and when I was unhappy in the mercenary shape
+I was made to wear, I thought it would have become him better to have
+worked his own way on. I thought that if I had been he, I would have
+tried to do it, at the cost of almost any hardship. But I thought no
+worse of him, until the night of his departure for India. That night I
+knew he had a false and thankless heart. I saw a double meaning, then,
+in Mr. Wickfield’s scrutiny of me. I perceived, for the first time, the
+dark suspicion that shadowed my life.’
+
+‘Suspicion, Annie!’ said the Doctor. ‘No, no, no!’
+
+‘In your mind there was none, I know, my husband!’ she returned. ‘And
+when I came to you, that night, to lay down all my load of shame and
+grief, and knew that I had to tell that, underneath your roof, one of my
+own kindred, to whom you had been a benefactor, for the love of me, had
+spoken to me words that should have found no utterance, even if I had
+been the weak and mercenary wretch he thought me--my mind revolted from
+the taint the very tale conveyed. It died upon my lips, and from that
+hour till now has never passed them.’
+
+Mrs. Markleham, with a short groan, leaned back in her easy-chair; and
+retired behind her fan, as if she were never coming out any more.
+
+‘I have never, but in your presence, interchanged a word with him from
+that time; then, only when it has been necessary for the avoidance of
+this explanation. Years have passed since he knew, from me, what his
+situation here was. The kindnesses you have secretly done for his
+advancement, and then disclosed to me, for my surprise and pleasure,
+have been, you will believe, but aggravations of the unhappiness and
+burden of my secret.’
+
+She sunk down gently at the Doctor’s feet, though he did his utmost to
+prevent her; and said, looking up, tearfully, into his face:
+
+‘Do not speak to me yet! Let me say a little more! Right or wrong, if
+this were to be done again, I think I should do just the same. You never
+can know what it was to be devoted to you, with those old associations;
+to find that anyone could be so hard as to suppose that the truth of my
+heart was bartered away, and to be surrounded by appearances confirming
+that belief. I was very young, and had no adviser. Between mama and
+me, in all relating to you, there was a wide division. If I shrunk into
+myself, hiding the disrespect I had undergone, it was because I honoured
+you so much, and so much wished that you should honour me!’
+
+‘Annie, my pure heart!’ said the Doctor, ‘my dear girl!’
+
+‘A little more! a very few words more! I used to think there were so
+many whom you might have married, who would not have brought such charge
+and trouble on you, and who would have made your home a worthier home. I
+used to be afraid that I had better have remained your pupil, and almost
+your child. I used to fear that I was so unsuited to your learning and
+wisdom. If all this made me shrink within myself (as indeed it did),
+when I had that to tell, it was still because I honoured you so much,
+and hoped that you might one day honour me.’
+
+‘That day has shone this long time, Annie,’ said the Doctor, ‘and can
+have but one long night, my dear.’
+
+‘Another word! I afterwards meant--steadfastly meant, and purposed to
+myself--to bear the whole weight of knowing the unworthiness of one
+to whom you had been so good. And now a last word, dearest and best of
+friends! The cause of the late change in you, which I have seen with
+so much pain and sorrow, and have sometimes referred to my old
+apprehension--at other times to lingering suppositions nearer to the
+truth--has been made clear tonight; and by an accident I have also come
+to know, tonight, the full measure of your noble trust in me, even
+under that mistake. I do not hope that any love and duty I may render in
+return, will ever make me worthy of your priceless confidence; but with
+all this knowledge fresh upon me, I can lift my eyes to this dear
+face, revered as a father’s, loved as a husband’s, sacred to me in
+my childhood as a friend’s, and solemnly declare that in my lightest
+thought I have never wronged you; never wavered in the love and the
+fidelity I owe you!’
+
+She had her arms around the Doctor’s neck, and he leant his head down
+over her, mingling his grey hair with her dark brown tresses.
+
+‘Oh, hold me to your heart, my husband! Never cast me out! Do not think
+or speak of disparity between us, for there is none, except in all my
+many imperfections. Every succeeding year I have known this better, as I
+have esteemed you more and more. Oh, take me to your heart, my husband,
+for my love was founded on a rock, and it endures!’
+
+In the silence that ensued, my aunt walked gravely up to Mr. Dick,
+without at all hurrying herself, and gave him a hug and a sounding kiss.
+And it was very fortunate, with a view to his credit, that she did so;
+for I am confident that I detected him at that moment in the act of
+making preparations to stand on one leg, as an appropriate expression of
+delight.
+
+‘You are a very remarkable man, Dick!’ said my aunt, with an air of
+unqualified approbation; ‘and never pretend to be anything else, for I
+know better!’
+
+With that, my aunt pulled him by the sleeve, and nodded to me; and we
+three stole quietly out of the room, and came away.
+
+‘That’s a settler for our military friend, at any rate,’ said my aunt,
+on the way home. ‘I should sleep the better for that, if there was
+nothing else to be glad of!’
+
+‘She was quite overcome, I am afraid,’ said Mr. Dick, with great
+commiseration.
+
+‘What! Did you ever see a crocodile overcome?’ inquired my aunt.
+
+‘I don’t think I ever saw a crocodile,’ returned Mr. Dick, mildly.
+
+‘There never would have been anything the matter, if it hadn’t been for
+that old Animal,’ said my aunt, with strong emphasis. ‘It’s very much
+to be wished that some mothers would leave their daughters alone after
+marriage, and not be so violently affectionate. They seem to think the
+only return that can be made them for bringing an unfortunate young
+woman into the world--God bless my soul, as if she asked to be brought,
+or wanted to come!--is full liberty to worry her out of it again. What
+are you thinking of, Trot?’
+
+I was thinking of all that had been said. My mind was still running on
+some of the expressions used. ‘There can be no disparity in marriage
+like unsuitability of mind and purpose.’ ‘The first mistaken impulse of
+an undisciplined heart.’ ‘My love was founded on a rock.’ But we were at
+home; and the trodden leaves were lying under-foot, and the autumn wind
+was blowing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 46. INTELLIGENCE
+
+
+I must have been married, if I may trust to my imperfect memory for
+dates, about a year or so, when one evening, as I was returning from a
+solitary walk, thinking of the book I was then writing--for my success
+had steadily increased with my steady application, and I was engaged at
+that time upon my first work of fiction--I came past Mrs. Steerforth’s
+house. I had often passed it before, during my residence in that
+neighbourhood, though never when I could choose another road. Howbeit,
+it did sometimes happen that it was not easy to find another, without
+making a long circuit; and so I had passed that way, upon the whole,
+pretty often.
+
+I had never done more than glance at the house, as I went by with a
+quickened step. It had been uniformly gloomy and dull. None of the best
+rooms abutted on the road; and the narrow, heavily-framed old-fashioned
+windows, never cheerful under any circumstances, looked very dismal,
+close shut, and with their blinds always drawn down. There was a covered
+way across a little paved court, to an entrance that was never used; and
+there was one round staircase window, at odds with all the rest, and the
+only one unshaded by a blind, which had the same unoccupied blank look.
+I do not remember that I ever saw a light in all the house. If I had
+been a casual passer-by, I should have probably supposed that some
+childless person lay dead in it. If I had happily possessed no knowledge
+of the place, and had seen it often in that changeless state, I should
+have pleased my fancy with many ingenious speculations, I dare say.
+
+As it was, I thought as little of it as I might. But my mind could not
+go by it and leave it, as my body did; and it usually awakened a long
+train of meditations. Coming before me, on this particular evening that
+I mention, mingled with the childish recollections and later fancies,
+the ghosts of half-formed hopes, the broken shadows of disappointments
+dimly seen and understood, the blending of experience and imagination,
+incidental to the occupation with which my thoughts had been busy, it
+was more than commonly suggestive. I fell into a brown study as I walked
+on, and a voice at my side made me start.
+
+It was a woman’s voice, too. I was not long in recollecting Mrs.
+Steerforth’s little parlour-maid, who had formerly worn blue ribbons in
+her cap. She had taken them out now, to adapt herself, I suppose, to
+the altered character of the house; and wore but one or two disconsolate
+bows of sober brown.
+
+‘If you please, sir, would you have the goodness to walk in, and speak
+to Miss Dartle?’
+
+‘Has Miss Dartle sent you for me?’ I inquired.
+
+‘Not tonight, sir, but it’s just the same. Miss Dartle saw you pass a
+night or two ago; and I was to sit at work on the staircase, and when I
+saw you pass again, to ask you to step in and speak to her.’
+
+I turned back, and inquired of my conductor, as we went along, how Mrs.
+Steerforth was. She said her lady was but poorly, and kept her own room
+a good deal.
+
+When we arrived at the house, I was directed to Miss Dartle in the
+garden, and left to make my presence known to her myself. She was
+sitting on a seat at one end of a kind of terrace, overlooking the great
+city. It was a sombre evening, with a lurid light in the sky; and as
+I saw the prospect scowling in the distance, with here and there some
+larger object starting up into the sullen glare, I fancied it was no
+inapt companion to the memory of this fierce woman.
+
+She saw me as I advanced, and rose for a moment to receive me. I thought
+her, then, still more colourless and thin than when I had seen her last;
+the flashing eyes still brighter, and the scar still plainer.
+
+Our meeting was not cordial. We had parted angrily on the last occasion;
+and there was an air of disdain about her, which she took no pains to
+conceal.
+
+‘I am told you wish to speak to me, Miss Dartle,’ said I, standing near
+her, with my hand upon the back of the seat, and declining her gesture
+of invitation to sit down.
+
+‘If you please,’ said she. ‘Pray has this girl been found?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘And yet she has run away!’
+
+I saw her thin lips working while she looked at me, as if they were
+eager to load her with reproaches.
+
+‘Run away?’ I repeated.
+
+‘Yes! From him,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘If she is not found, perhaps
+she never will be found. She may be dead!’
+
+The vaunting cruelty with which she met my glance, I never saw expressed
+in any other face that ever I have seen.
+
+‘To wish her dead,’ said I, ‘may be the kindest wish that one of her own
+sex could bestow upon her. I am glad that time has softened you so much,
+Miss Dartle.’
+
+She condescended to make no reply, but, turning on me with another
+scornful laugh, said:
+
+‘The friends of this excellent and much-injured young lady are friends
+of yours. You are their champion, and assert their rights. Do you wish
+to know what is known of her?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said I.
+
+She rose with an ill-favoured smile, and taking a few steps towards
+a wall of holly that was near at hand, dividing the lawn from a
+kitchen-garden, said, in a louder voice, ‘Come here!’--as if she were
+calling to some unclean beast.
+
+‘You will restrain any demonstrative championship or vengeance in this
+place, of course, Mr. Copperfield?’ said she, looking over her shoulder
+at me with the same expression.
+
+I inclined my head, without knowing what she meant; and she said, ‘Come
+here!’ again; and returned, followed by the respectable Mr. Littimer,
+who, with undiminished respectability, made me a bow, and took up his
+position behind her. The air of wicked grace: of triumph, in which,
+strange to say, there was yet something feminine and alluring: with
+which she reclined upon the seat between us, and looked at me, was
+worthy of a cruel Princess in a Legend.
+
+‘Now,’ said she, imperiously, without glancing at him, and touching
+the old wound as it throbbed: perhaps, in this instance, with pleasure
+rather than pain. ‘Tell Mr. Copperfield about the flight.’
+
+‘Mr. James and myself, ma’am--’
+
+‘Don’t address yourself to me!’ she interrupted with a frown.
+
+‘Mr. James and myself, sir--’
+
+‘Nor to me, if you please,’ said I.
+
+Mr. Littimer, without being at all discomposed, signified by a slight
+obeisance, that anything that was most agreeable to us was most
+agreeable to him; and began again.
+
+‘Mr. James and myself have been abroad with the young woman, ever
+since she left Yarmouth under Mr. James’s protection. We have been in a
+variety of places, and seen a deal of foreign country. We have been in
+France, Switzerland, Italy, in fact, almost all parts.’
+
+He looked at the back of the seat, as if he were addressing himself to
+that; and softly played upon it with his hands, as if he were striking
+chords upon a dumb piano.
+
+‘Mr. James took quite uncommonly to the young woman; and was more
+settled, for a length of time, than I have known him to be since I have
+been in his service. The young woman was very improvable, and spoke the
+languages; and wouldn’t have been known for the same country-person. I
+noticed that she was much admired wherever we went.’
+
+Miss Dartle put her hand upon her side. I saw him steal a glance at her,
+and slightly smile to himself.
+
+‘Very much admired, indeed, the young woman was. What with her dress;
+what with the air and sun; what with being made so much of; what with
+this, that, and the other; her merits really attracted general notice.’
+
+He made a short pause. Her eyes wandered restlessly over the distant
+prospect, and she bit her nether lip to stop that busy mouth.
+
+Taking his hands from the seat, and placing one of them within the
+other, as he settled himself on one leg, Mr. Littimer proceeded, with
+his eyes cast down, and his respectable head a little advanced, and a
+little on one side:
+
+‘The young woman went on in this manner for some time, being
+occasionally low in her spirits, until I think she began to weary Mr.
+James by giving way to her low spirits and tempers of that kind; and
+things were not so comfortable. Mr. James he began to be restless again.
+The more restless he got, the worse she got; and I must say, for myself,
+that I had a very difficult time of it indeed between the two. Still
+matters were patched up here, and made good there, over and over again;
+and altogether lasted, I am sure, for a longer time than anybody could
+have expected.’
+
+Recalling her eyes from the distance, she looked at me again now, with
+her former air. Mr. Littimer, clearing his throat behind his hand with a
+respectable short cough, changed legs, and went on:
+
+‘At last, when there had been, upon the whole, a good many words and
+reproaches, Mr. James he set off one morning, from the neighbourhood of
+Naples, where we had a villa (the young woman being very partial to
+the sea), and, under pretence of coming back in a day or so, left it in
+charge with me to break it out, that, for the general happiness of all
+concerned, he was’--here an interruption of the short cough--‘gone. But
+Mr. James, I must say, certainly did behave extremely honourable; for
+he proposed that the young woman should marry a very respectable person,
+who was fully prepared to overlook the past, and who was, at least, as
+good as anybody the young woman could have aspired to in a regular way:
+her connexions being very common.’
+
+He changed legs again, and wetted his lips. I was convinced that the
+scoundrel spoke of himself, and I saw my conviction reflected in Miss
+Dartle’s face.
+
+‘This I also had it in charge to communicate. I was willing to do
+anything to relieve Mr. James from his difficulty, and to restore
+harmony between himself and an affectionate parent, who has undergone
+so much on his account. Therefore I undertook the commission. The
+young woman’s violence when she came to, after I broke the fact of his
+departure, was beyond all expectations. She was quite mad, and had to
+be held by force; or, if she couldn’t have got to a knife, or got to the
+sea, she’d have beaten her head against the marble floor.’
+
+Miss Dartle, leaning back upon the seat, with a light of exultation in
+her face, seemed almost to caress the sounds this fellow had uttered.
+
+‘But when I came to the second part of what had been entrusted to me,’
+said Mr. Littimer, rubbing his hands uneasily, ‘which anybody might
+have supposed would have been, at all events, appreciated as a kind
+intention, then the young woman came out in her true colours. A more
+outrageous person I never did see. Her conduct was surprisingly bad. She
+had no more gratitude, no more feeling, no more patience, no more reason
+in her, than a stock or a stone. If I hadn’t been upon my guard, I am
+convinced she would have had my blood.’
+
+‘I think the better of her for it,’ said I, indignantly.
+
+Mr. Littimer bent his head, as much as to say, ‘Indeed, sir? But you’re
+young!’ and resumed his narrative.
+
+‘It was necessary, in short, for a time, to take away everything nigh
+her, that she could do herself, or anybody else, an injury with, and
+to shut her up close. Notwithstanding which, she got out in the night;
+forced the lattice of a window, that I had nailed up myself; dropped on
+a vine that was trailed below; and never has been seen or heard of, to
+my knowledge, since.’
+
+‘She is dead, perhaps,’ said Miss Dartle, with a smile, as if she could
+have spurned the body of the ruined girl.
+
+‘She may have drowned herself, miss,’ returned Mr. Littimer, catching at
+an excuse for addressing himself to somebody. ‘It’s very possible. Or,
+she may have had assistance from the boatmen, and the boatmen’s wives
+and children. Being given to low company, she was very much in the
+habit of talking to them on the beach, Miss Dartle, and sitting by their
+boats. I have known her do it, when Mr. James has been away, whole days.
+Mr. James was far from pleased to find out, once, that she had told the
+children she was a boatman’s daughter, and that in her own country, long
+ago, she had roamed about the beach, like them.’
+
+Oh, Emily! Unhappy beauty! What a picture rose before me of her sitting
+on the far-off shore, among the children like herself when she was
+innocent, listening to little voices such as might have called her
+Mother had she been a poor man’s wife; and to the great voice of the
+sea, with its eternal ‘Never more!’
+
+‘When it was clear that nothing could be done, Miss Dartle--’
+
+‘Did I tell you not to speak to me?’ she said, with stern contempt.
+
+‘You spoke to me, miss,’ he replied. ‘I beg your pardon. But it is my
+service to obey.’
+
+‘Do your service,’ she returned. ‘Finish your story, and go!’
+
+‘When it was clear,’ he said, with infinite respectability and an
+obedient bow, ‘that she was not to be found, I went to Mr. James, at the
+place where it had been agreed that I should write to him, and informed
+him of what had occurred. Words passed between us in consequence, and
+I felt it due to my character to leave him. I could bear, and I have
+borne, a great deal from Mr. James; but he insulted me too far. He hurt
+me. Knowing the unfortunate difference between himself and his mother,
+and what her anxiety of mind was likely to be, I took the liberty of
+coming home to England, and relating--’
+
+‘For money which I paid him,’ said Miss Dartle to me.
+
+‘Just so, ma’am--and relating what I knew. I am not aware,’ said Mr.
+Littimer, after a moment’s reflection, ‘that there is anything else.
+I am at present out of employment, and should be happy to meet with a
+respectable situation.’
+
+Miss Dartle glanced at me, as though she would inquire if there were
+anything that I desired to ask. As there was something which had
+occurred to my mind, I said in reply:
+
+‘I could wish to know from this--creature,’ I could not bring myself
+to utter any more conciliatory word, ‘whether they intercepted a letter
+that was written to her from home, or whether he supposes that she
+received it.’
+
+He remained calm and silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and the
+tip of every finger of his right hand delicately poised against the tip
+of every finger of his left.
+
+Miss Dartle turned her head disdainfully towards him.
+
+‘I beg your pardon, miss,’ he said, awakening from his abstraction,
+‘but, however submissive to you, I have my position, though a servant.
+Mr. Copperfield and you, miss, are different people. If Mr. Copperfield
+wishes to know anything from me, I take the liberty of reminding Mr.
+Copperfield that he can put a question to me. I have a character to
+maintain.’
+
+After a momentary struggle with myself, I turned my eyes upon him, and
+said, ‘You have heard my question. Consider it addressed to yourself, if
+you choose. What answer do you make?’
+
+‘Sir,’ he rejoined, with an occasional separation and reunion of those
+delicate tips, ‘my answer must be qualified; because, to betray Mr.
+James’s confidence to his mother, and to betray it to you, are two
+different actions. It is not probable, I consider, that Mr. James would
+encourage the receipt of letters likely to increase low spirits and
+unpleasantness; but further than that, sir, I should wish to avoid
+going.’
+
+‘Is that all?’ inquired Miss Dartle of me.
+
+I indicated that I had nothing more to say. ‘Except,’ I added, as I
+saw him moving off, ‘that I understand this fellow’s part in the wicked
+story, and that, as I shall make it known to the honest man who has been
+her father from her childhood, I would recommend him to avoid going too
+much into public.’
+
+He had stopped the moment I began, and had listened with his usual
+repose of manner.
+
+‘Thank you, sir. But you’ll excuse me if I say, sir, that there are
+neither slaves nor slave-drivers in this country, and that people are
+not allowed to take the law into their own hands. If they do, it is
+more to their own peril, I believe, than to other people’s. Consequently
+speaking, I am not at all afraid of going wherever I may wish, sir.’
+
+With that, he made a polite bow; and, with another to Miss Dartle, went
+away through the arch in the wall of holly by which he had come. Miss
+Dartle and I regarded each other for a little while in silence; her
+manner being exactly what it was, when she had produced the man.
+
+‘He says besides,’ she observed, with a slow curling of her lip, ‘that
+his master, as he hears, is coasting Spain; and this done, is away
+to gratify his seafaring tastes till he is weary. But this is of no
+interest to you. Between these two proud persons, mother and son, there
+is a wider breach than before, and little hope of its healing, for they
+are one at heart, and time makes each more obstinate and imperious.
+Neither is this of any interest to you; but it introduces what I wish to
+say. This devil whom you make an angel of. I mean this low girl whom he
+picked out of the tide-mud,’ with her black eyes full upon me, and her
+passionate finger up, ‘may be alive,--for I believe some common things
+are hard to die. If she is, you will desire to have a pearl of such
+price found and taken care of. We desire that, too; that he may not
+by any chance be made her prey again. So far, we are united in one
+interest; and that is why I, who would do her any mischief that so
+coarse a wretch is capable of feeling, have sent for you to hear what
+you have heard.’
+
+I saw, by the change in her face, that someone was advancing behind me.
+It was Mrs. Steerforth, who gave me her hand more coldly than of yore,
+and with an augmentation of her former stateliness of manner, but still,
+I perceived--and I was touched by it--with an ineffaceable remembrance
+of my old love for her son. She was greatly altered. Her fine figure was
+far less upright, her handsome face was deeply marked, and her hair was
+almost white. But when she sat down on the seat, she was a handsome lady
+still; and well I knew the bright eye with its lofty look, that had been
+a light in my very dreams at school.
+
+‘Is Mr. Copperfield informed of everything, Rosa?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘And has he heard Littimer himself?’
+
+‘Yes; I have told him why you wished it.’ ‘You are a good girl. I have
+had some slight correspondence with your former friend, sir,’ addressing
+me, ‘but it has not restored his sense of duty or natural obligation.
+Therefore I have no other object in this, than what Rosa has mentioned.
+If, by the course which may relieve the mind of the decent man you
+brought here (for whom I am sorry--I can say no more), my son may be
+saved from again falling into the snares of a designing enemy, well!’
+
+She drew herself up, and sat looking straight before her, far away.
+
+‘Madam,’ I said respectfully, ‘I understand. I assure you I am in no
+danger of putting any strained construction on your motives. But I must
+say, even to you, having known this injured family from childhood,
+that if you suppose the girl, so deeply wronged, has not been cruelly
+deluded, and would not rather die a hundred deaths than take a cup of
+water from your son’s hand now, you cherish a terrible mistake.’
+
+‘Well, Rosa, well!’ said Mrs. Steerforth, as the other was about to
+interpose, ‘it is no matter. Let it be. You are married, sir, I am
+told?’
+
+I answered that I had been some time married.
+
+‘And are doing well? I hear little in the quiet life I lead, but I
+understand you are beginning to be famous.’
+
+‘I have been very fortunate,’ I said, ‘and find my name connected with
+some praise.’
+
+‘You have no mother?’--in a softened voice.
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘It is a pity,’ she returned. ‘She would have been proud of you. Good
+night!’
+
+I took the hand she held out with a dignified, unbending air, and it
+was as calm in mine as if her breast had been at peace. Her pride could
+still its very pulses, it appeared, and draw the placid veil before
+her face, through which she sat looking straight before her on the far
+distance.
+
+As I moved away from them along the terrace, I could not help observing
+how steadily they both sat gazing on the prospect, and how it thickened
+and closed around them. Here and there, some early lamps were seen to
+twinkle in the distant city; and in the eastern quarter of the sky
+the lurid light still hovered. But, from the greater part of the broad
+valley interposed, a mist was rising like a sea, which, mingling with
+the darkness, made it seem as if the gathering waters would encompass
+them. I have reason to remember this, and think of it with awe; for
+before I looked upon those two again, a stormy sea had risen to their
+feet.
+
+Reflecting on what had been thus told me, I felt it right that it should
+be communicated to Mr. Peggotty. On the following evening I went into
+London in quest of him. He was always wandering about from place to
+place, with his one object of recovering his niece before him; but was
+more in London than elsewhere. Often and often, now, had I seen him in
+the dead of night passing along the streets, searching, among the few
+who loitered out of doors at those untimely hours, for what he dreaded
+to find.
+
+He kept a lodging over the little chandler’s shop in Hungerford Market,
+which I have had occasion to mention more than once, and from which he
+first went forth upon his errand of mercy. Hither I directed my walk. On
+making inquiry for him, I learned from the people of the house that he
+had not gone out yet, and I should find him in his room upstairs.
+
+He was sitting reading by a window in which he kept a few plants. The
+room was very neat and orderly. I saw in a moment that it was always
+kept prepared for her reception, and that he never went out but he
+thought it possible he might bring her home. He had not heard my tap
+at the door, and only raised his eyes when I laid my hand upon his
+shoulder.
+
+‘Mas’r Davy! Thankee, sir! thankee hearty, for this visit! Sit ye down.
+You’re kindly welcome, sir!’
+
+‘Mr. Peggotty,’ said I, taking the chair he handed me, ‘don’t expect
+much! I have heard some news.’
+
+‘Of Em’ly!’
+
+He put his hand, in a nervous manner, on his mouth, and turned pale, as
+he fixed his eyes on mine.
+
+‘It gives no clue to where she is; but she is not with him.’
+
+He sat down, looking intently at me, and listened in profound silence
+to all I had to tell. I well remember the sense of dignity, beauty even,
+with which the patient gravity of his face impressed me, when, having
+gradually removed his eyes from mine, he sat looking downward, leaning
+his forehead on his hand. He offered no interruption, but remained
+throughout perfectly still. He seemed to pursue her figure through
+the narrative, and to let every other shape go by him, as if it were
+nothing.
+
+When I had done, he shaded his face, and continued silent. I looked out
+of the window for a little while, and occupied myself with the plants.
+
+‘How do you fare to feel about it, Mas’r Davy?’ he inquired at length.
+
+‘I think that she is living,’ I replied.
+
+‘I doen’t know. Maybe the first shock was too rough, and in the wildness
+of her art--! That there blue water as she used to speak on. Could she
+have thowt o’ that so many year, because it was to be her grave!’
+
+He said this, musing, in a low, frightened voice; and walked across the
+little room.
+
+‘And yet,’ he added, ‘Mas’r Davy, I have felt so sure as she was
+living--I have know’d, awake and sleeping, as it was so trew that I
+should find her--I have been so led on by it, and held up by it--that I
+doen’t believe I can have been deceived. No! Em’ly’s alive!’
+
+He put his hand down firmly on the table, and set his sunburnt face into
+a resolute expression.
+
+‘My niece, Em’ly, is alive, sir!’ he said, steadfastly. ‘I doen’t know
+wheer it comes from, or how ‘tis, but I am told as she’s alive!’
+
+He looked almost like a man inspired, as he said it. I waited for a
+few moments, until he could give me his undivided attention; and then
+proceeded to explain the precaution, that, it had occurred to me last
+night, it would be wise to take.
+
+‘Now, my dear friend--‘I began.
+
+‘Thankee, thankee, kind sir,’ he said, grasping my hand in both of his.
+
+‘If she should make her way to London, which is likely--for where could
+she lose herself so readily as in this vast city; and what would she
+wish to do, but lose and hide herself, if she does not go home?--’
+
+‘And she won’t go home,’ he interposed, shaking his head mournfully. ‘If
+she had left of her own accord, she might; not as It was, sir.’
+
+‘If she should come here,’ said I, ‘I believe there is one person,
+here, more likely to discover her than any other in the world. Do
+you remember--hear what I say, with fortitude--think of your great
+object!--do you remember Martha?’
+
+‘Of our town?’
+
+I needed no other answer than his face.
+
+‘Do you know that she is in London?’
+
+‘I have seen her in the streets,’ he answered, with a shiver.
+
+‘But you don’t know,’ said I, ‘that Emily was charitable to her, with
+Ham’s help, long before she fled from home. Nor, that, when we met one
+night, and spoke together in the room yonder, over the way, she listened
+at the door.’
+
+‘Mas’r Davy!’ he replied in astonishment. ‘That night when it snew so
+hard?’
+
+‘That night. I have never seen her since. I went back, after parting
+from you, to speak to her, but she was gone. I was unwilling to mention
+her to you then, and I am now; but she is the person of whom I speak,
+and with whom I think we should communicate. Do you understand?’
+
+‘Too well, sir,’ he replied. We had sunk our voices, almost to a
+whisper, and continued to speak in that tone.
+
+‘You say you have seen her. Do you think that you could find her? I
+could only hope to do so by chance.’
+
+‘I think, Mas’r Davy, I know wheer to look.’
+
+‘It is dark. Being together, shall we go out now, and try to find her
+tonight?’
+
+He assented, and prepared to accompany me. Without appearing to observe
+what he was doing, I saw how carefully he adjusted the little room,
+put a candle ready and the means of lighting it, arranged the bed, and
+finally took out of a drawer one of her dresses (I remember to have
+seen her wear it), neatly folded with some other garments, and a bonnet,
+which he placed upon a chair. He made no allusion to these clothes,
+neither did I. There they had been waiting for her, many and many a
+night, no doubt.
+
+‘The time was, Mas’r Davy,’ he said, as we came downstairs, ‘when I
+thowt this girl, Martha, a’most like the dirt underneath my Em’ly’s
+feet. God forgive me, theer’s a difference now!’
+
+As we went along, partly to hold him in conversation, and partly to
+satisfy myself, I asked him about Ham. He said, almost in the same words
+as formerly, that Ham was just the same, ‘wearing away his life with
+kiender no care nohow for ‘t; but never murmuring, and liked by all’.
+
+I asked him what he thought Ham’s state of mind was, in reference to the
+cause of their misfortunes? Whether he believed it was dangerous? What
+he supposed, for example, Ham would do, if he and Steerforth ever should
+encounter?
+
+‘I doen’t know, sir,’ he replied. ‘I have thowt of it oftentimes, but I
+can’t awize myself of it, no matters.’
+
+I recalled to his remembrance the morning after her departure, when we
+were all three on the beach. ‘Do you recollect,’ said I, ‘a certain wild
+way in which he looked out to sea, and spoke about “the end of it”?’
+
+‘Sure I do!’ said he.
+
+‘What do you suppose he meant?’
+
+‘Mas’r Davy,’ he replied, ‘I’ve put the question to myself a mort o’
+times, and never found no answer. And theer’s one curious thing--that,
+though he is so pleasant, I wouldn’t fare to feel comfortable to try and
+get his mind upon ‘t. He never said a wured to me as warn’t as dootiful
+as dootiful could be, and it ain’t likely as he’d begin to speak any
+other ways now; but it’s fur from being fleet water in his mind, where
+them thowts lays. It’s deep, sir, and I can’t see down.’
+
+‘You are right,’ said I, ‘and that has sometimes made me anxious.’
+
+‘And me too, Mas’r Davy,’ he rejoined. ‘Even more so, I do assure you,
+than his ventersome ways, though both belongs to the alteration in him.
+I doen’t know as he’d do violence under any circumstances, but I hope as
+them two may be kep asunders.’
+
+We had come, through Temple Bar, into the city. Conversing no more now,
+and walking at my side, he yielded himself up to the one aim of his
+devoted life, and went on, with that hushed concentration of his
+faculties which would have made his figure solitary in a multitude.
+We were not far from Blackfriars Bridge, when he turned his head and
+pointed to a solitary female figure flitting along the opposite side of
+the street. I knew it, readily, to be the figure that we sought.
+
+We crossed the road, and were pressing on towards her, when it occurred
+to me that she might be more disposed to feel a woman’s interest in the
+lost girl, if we spoke to her in a quieter place, aloof from the crowd,
+and where we should be less observed. I advised my companion, therefore,
+that we should not address her yet, but follow her; consulting in this,
+likewise, an indistinct desire I had, to know where she went.
+
+He acquiescing, we followed at a distance: never losing sight of her,
+but never caring to come very near, as she frequently looked about.
+Once, she stopped to listen to a band of music; and then we stopped too.
+
+She went on a long way. Still we went on. It was evident, from the
+manner in which she held her course, that she was going to some fixed
+destination; and this, and her keeping in the busy streets, and I
+suppose the strange fascination in the secrecy and mystery of so
+following anyone, made me adhere to my first purpose. At length she
+turned into a dull, dark street, where the noise and crowd were lost;
+and I said, ‘We may speak to her now’; and, mending our pace, we went
+after her.
+
+
+CHAPTER 47. MARTHA
+
+
+We were now down in Westminster. We had turned back to follow her,
+having encountered her coming towards us; and Westminster Abbey was
+the point at which she passed from the lights and noise of the leading
+streets. She proceeded so quickly, when she got free of the two currents
+of passengers setting towards and from the bridge, that, between this
+and the advance she had of us when she struck off, we were in the narrow
+water-side street by Millbank before we came up with her. At that moment
+she crossed the road, as if to avoid the footsteps that she heard so
+close behind; and, without looking back, passed on even more rapidly.
+
+A glimpse of the river through a dull gateway, where some waggons were
+housed for the night, seemed to arrest my feet. I touched my companion
+without speaking, and we both forbore to cross after her, and both
+followed on that opposite side of the way; keeping as quietly as we
+could in the shadow of the houses, but keeping very near her.
+
+There was, and is when I write, at the end of that low-lying street,
+a dilapidated little wooden building, probably an obsolete old
+ferry-house. Its position is just at that point where the street ceases,
+and the road begins to lie between a row of houses and the river. As
+soon as she came here, and saw the water, she stopped as if she had come
+to her destination; and presently went slowly along by the brink of the
+river, looking intently at it.
+
+All the way here, I had supposed that she was going to some house;
+indeed, I had vaguely entertained the hope that the house might be in
+some way associated with the lost girl. But that one dark glimpse of the
+river, through the gateway, had instinctively prepared me for her going
+no farther.
+
+The neighbourhood was a dreary one at that time; as oppressive, sad, and
+solitary by night, as any about London. There were neither wharves nor
+houses on the melancholy waste of road near the great blank Prison. A
+sluggish ditch deposited its mud at the prison walls. Coarse grass and
+rank weeds straggled over all the marshy land in the vicinity. In one
+part, carcases of houses, inauspiciously begun and never finished,
+rotted away. In another, the ground was cumbered with rusty iron
+monsters of steam-boilers, wheels, cranks, pipes, furnaces, paddles,
+anchors, diving-bells, windmill-sails, and I know not what strange
+objects, accumulated by some speculator, and grovelling in the dust,
+underneath which--having sunk into the soil of their own weight in wet
+weather--they had the appearance of vainly trying to hide themselves.
+The clash and glare of sundry fiery Works upon the river-side, arose
+by night to disturb everything except the heavy and unbroken smoke that
+poured out of their chimneys. Slimy gaps and causeways, winding among
+old wooden piles, with a sickly substance clinging to the latter, like
+green hair, and the rags of last year’s handbills offering rewards for
+drowned men fluttering above high-water mark, led down through the ooze
+and slush to the ebb-tide. There was a story that one of the pits
+dug for the dead in the time of the Great Plague was hereabout; and
+a blighting influence seemed to have proceeded from it over the whole
+place. Or else it looked as if it had gradually decomposed into that
+nightmare condition, out of the overflowings of the polluted stream.
+
+As if she were a part of the refuse it had cast out, and left to
+corruption and decay, the girl we had followed strayed down to the
+river’s brink, and stood in the midst of this night-picture, lonely and
+still, looking at the water.
+
+There were some boats and barges astrand in the mud, and these enabled
+us to come within a few yards of her without being seen. I then signed
+to Mr. Peggotty to remain where he was, and emerged from their shade to
+speak to her. I did not approach her solitary figure without trembling;
+for this gloomy end to her determined walk, and the way in which she
+stood, almost within the cavernous shadow of the iron bridge, looking
+at the lights crookedly reflected in the strong tide, inspired a dread
+within me.
+
+I think she was talking to herself. I am sure, although absorbed in
+gazing at the water, that her shawl was off her shoulders, and that she
+was muffling her hands in it, in an unsettled and bewildered way, more
+like the action of a sleep-walker than a waking person. I know, and
+never can forget, that there was that in her wild manner which gave me
+no assurance but that she would sink before my eyes, until I had her arm
+within my grasp.
+
+At the same moment I said ‘Martha!’
+
+She uttered a terrified scream, and struggled with me with such strength
+that I doubt if I could have held her alone. But a stronger hand than
+mine was laid upon her; and when she raised her frightened eyes and saw
+whose it was, she made but one more effort and dropped down between us.
+We carried her away from the water to where there were some dry stones,
+and there laid her down, crying and moaning. In a little while she sat
+among the stones, holding her wretched head with both her hands.
+
+‘Oh, the river!’ she cried passionately. ‘Oh, the river!’
+
+‘Hush, hush!’ said I. ‘Calm yourself.’
+
+But she still repeated the same words, continually exclaiming, ‘Oh, the
+river!’ over and over again.
+
+‘I know it’s like me!’ she exclaimed. ‘I know that I belong to it.
+I know that it’s the natural company of such as I am! It comes from
+country places, where there was once no harm in it--and it creeps
+through the dismal streets, defiled and miserable--and it goes away,
+like my life, to a great sea, that is always troubled--and I feel that
+I must go with it!’ I have never known what despair was, except in the
+tone of those words.
+
+‘I can’t keep away from it. I can’t forget it. It haunts me day and
+night. It’s the only thing in all the world that I am fit for, or that’s
+fit for me. Oh, the dreadful river!’
+
+The thought passed through my mind that in the face of my companion,
+as he looked upon her without speech or motion, I might have read his
+niece’s history, if I had known nothing of it. I never saw, in any
+painting or reality, horror and compassion so impressively blended. He
+shook as if he would have fallen; and his hand--I touched it with my
+own, for his appearance alarmed me--was deadly cold.
+
+‘She is in a state of frenzy,’ I whispered to him. ‘She will speak
+differently in a little time.’
+
+I don’t know what he would have said in answer. He made some motion with
+his mouth, and seemed to think he had spoken; but he had only pointed to
+her with his outstretched hand.
+
+A new burst of crying came upon her now, in which she once more hid
+her face among the stones, and lay before us, a prostrate image of
+humiliation and ruin. Knowing that this state must pass, before we could
+speak to her with any hope, I ventured to restrain him when he would
+have raised her, and we stood by in silence until she became more
+tranquil.
+
+‘Martha,’ said I then, leaning down, and helping her to rise--she seemed
+to want to rise as if with the intention of going away, but she was
+weak, and leaned against a boat. ‘Do you know who this is, who is with
+me?’
+
+She said faintly, ‘Yes.’
+
+‘Do you know that we have followed you a long way tonight?’
+
+She shook her head. She looked neither at him nor at me, but stood in
+a humble attitude, holding her bonnet and shawl in one hand, without
+appearing conscious of them, and pressing the other, clenched, against
+her forehead.
+
+‘Are you composed enough,’ said I, ‘to speak on the subject which so
+interested you--I hope Heaven may remember it!--that snowy night?’
+
+Her sobs broke out afresh, and she murmured some inarticulate thanks to
+me for not having driven her away from the door.
+
+‘I want to say nothing for myself,’ she said, after a few moments. ‘I
+am bad, I am lost. I have no hope at all. But tell him, sir,’ she had
+shrunk away from him, ‘if you don’t feel too hard to me to do it, that
+I never was in any way the cause of his misfortune.’ ‘It has never been
+attributed to you,’ I returned, earnestly responding to her earnestness.
+
+‘It was you, if I don’t deceive myself,’ she said, in a broken voice,
+‘that came into the kitchen, the night she took such pity on me; was so
+gentle to me; didn’t shrink away from me like all the rest, and gave me
+such kind help! Was it you, sir?’
+
+‘It was,’ said I.
+
+‘I should have been in the river long ago,’ she said, glancing at it
+with a terrible expression, ‘if any wrong to her had been upon my mind.
+I never could have kept out of it a single winter’s night, if I had not
+been free of any share in that!’
+
+‘The cause of her flight is too well understood,’ I said. ‘You are
+innocent of any part in it, we thoroughly believe,--we know.’
+
+‘Oh, I might have been much the better for her, if I had had a better
+heart!’ exclaimed the girl, with most forlorn regret; ‘for she was
+always good to me! She never spoke a word to me but what was pleasant
+and right. Is it likely I would try to make her what I am myself,
+knowing what I am myself, so well? When I lost everything that makes
+life dear, the worst of all my thoughts was that I was parted for ever
+from her!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty, standing with one hand on the gunwale of the boat, and his
+eyes cast down, put his disengaged hand before his face.
+
+‘And when I heard what had happened before that snowy night, from some
+belonging to our town,’ cried Martha, ‘the bitterest thought in all my
+mind was, that the people would remember she once kept company with me,
+and would say I had corrupted her! When, Heaven knows, I would have died
+to have brought back her good name!’
+
+Long unused to any self-control, the piercing agony of her remorse and
+grief was terrible.
+
+‘To have died, would not have been much--what can I say?---I would
+have lived!’ she cried. ‘I would have lived to be old, in the wretched
+streets--and to wander about, avoided, in the dark--and to see the day
+break on the ghastly line of houses, and remember how the same sun used
+to shine into my room, and wake me once--I would have done even that, to
+save her!’
+
+Sinking on the stones, she took some in each hand, and clenched them
+up, as if she would have ground them. She writhed into some new posture
+constantly: stiffening her arms, twisting them before her face, as
+though to shut out from her eyes the little light there was, and
+drooping her head, as if it were heavy with insupportable recollections.
+
+‘What shall I ever do!’ she said, fighting thus with her despair. ‘How
+can I go on as I am, a solitary curse to myself, a living disgrace to
+everyone I come near!’ Suddenly she turned to my companion. ‘Stamp upon
+me, kill me! When she was your pride, you would have thought I had
+done her harm if I had brushed against her in the street. You can’t
+believe--why should you?---a syllable that comes out of my lips. It
+would be a burning shame upon you, even now, if she and I exchanged a
+word. I don’t complain. I don’t say she and I are alike--I know there
+is a long, long way between us. I only say, with all my guilt and
+wretchedness upon my head, that I am grateful to her from my soul, and
+love her. Oh, don’t think that all the power I had of loving anything is
+quite worn out! Throw me away, as all the world does. Kill me for being
+what I am, and having ever known her; but don’t think that of me!’
+
+He looked upon her, while she made this supplication, in a wild
+distracted manner; and, when she was silent, gently raised her.
+
+‘Martha,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘God forbid as I should judge you. Forbid
+as I, of all men, should do that, my girl! You doen’t know half the
+change that’s come, in course of time, upon me, when you think it
+likely. Well!’ he paused a moment, then went on. ‘You doen’t understand
+how ‘tis that this here gentleman and me has wished to speak to you. You
+doen’t understand what ‘tis we has afore us. Listen now!’
+
+His influence upon her was complete. She stood, shrinkingly, before him,
+as if she were afraid to meet his eyes; but her passionate sorrow was
+quite hushed and mute.
+
+‘If you heerd,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘owt of what passed between Mas’r
+Davy and me, th’ night when it snew so hard, you know as I have
+been--wheer not--fur to seek my dear niece. My dear niece,’ he repeated
+steadily. ‘Fur she’s more dear to me now, Martha, than she was dear
+afore.’
+
+She put her hands before her face; but otherwise remained quiet.
+
+‘I have heerd her tell,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘as you was early left
+fatherless and motherless, with no friend fur to take, in a rough
+seafaring-way, their place. Maybe you can guess that if you’d had such
+a friend, you’d have got into a way of being fond of him in course of
+time, and that my niece was kiender daughter-like to me.’
+
+As she was silently trembling, he put her shawl carefully about her,
+taking it up from the ground for that purpose.
+
+‘Whereby,’ said he, ‘I know, both as she would go to the wureld’s
+furdest end with me, if she could once see me again; and that she would
+fly to the wureld’s furdest end to keep off seeing me. For though she
+ain’t no call to doubt my love, and doen’t--and doen’t,’ he repeated,
+with a quiet assurance of the truth of what he said, ‘there’s shame
+steps in, and keeps betwixt us.’
+
+I read, in every word of his plain impressive way of delivering himself,
+new evidence of his having thought of this one topic, in every feature
+it presented.
+
+‘According to our reckoning,’ he proceeded, ‘Mas’r Davy’s here, and
+mine, she is like, one day, to make her own poor solitary course to
+London. We believe--Mas’r Davy, me, and all of us--that you are as
+innocent of everything that has befell her, as the unborn child. You’ve
+spoke of her being pleasant, kind, and gentle to you. Bless her, I knew
+she was! I knew she always was, to all. You’re thankful to her, and you
+love her. Help us all you can to find her, and may Heaven reward you!’
+
+She looked at him hastily, and for the first time, as if she were
+doubtful of what he had said.
+
+‘Will you trust me?’ she asked, in a low voice of astonishment.
+
+‘Full and free!’ said Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘To speak to her, if I should ever find her; shelter her, if I have any
+shelter to divide with her; and then, without her knowledge, come to
+you, and bring you to her?’ she asked hurriedly.
+
+We both replied together, ‘Yes!’
+
+She lifted up her eyes, and solemnly declared that she would devote
+herself to this task, fervently and faithfully. That she would never
+waver in it, never be diverted from it, never relinquish it, while there
+was any chance of hope. If she were not true to it, might the object
+she now had in life, which bound her to something devoid of evil, in its
+passing away from her, leave her more forlorn and more despairing, if
+that were possible, than she had been upon the river’s brink that night;
+and then might all help, human and Divine, renounce her evermore!
+
+She did not raise her voice above her breath, or address us, but said
+this to the night sky; then stood profoundly quiet, looking at the
+gloomy water.
+
+We judged it expedient, now, to tell her all we knew; which I recounted
+at length. She listened with great attention, and with a face that often
+changed, but had the same purpose in all its varying expressions. Her
+eyes occasionally filled with tears, but those she repressed. It seemed
+as if her spirit were quite altered, and she could not be too quiet.
+
+She asked, when all was told, where we were to be communicated with, if
+occasion should arise. Under a dull lamp in the road, I wrote our two
+addresses on a leaf of my pocket-book, which I tore out and gave to
+her, and which she put in her poor bosom. I asked her where she lived
+herself. She said, after a pause, in no place long. It were better not
+to know.
+
+Mr. Peggotty suggesting to me, in a whisper, what had already occurred
+to myself, I took out my purse; but I could not prevail upon her to
+accept any money, nor could I exact any promise from her that she would
+do so at another time. I represented to her that Mr. Peggotty could
+not be called, for one in his condition, poor; and that the idea of her
+engaging in this search, while depending on her own resources, shocked
+us both. She continued steadfast. In this particular, his influence
+upon her was equally powerless with mine. She gratefully thanked him but
+remained inexorable.
+
+‘There may be work to be got,’ she said. ‘I’ll try.’
+
+‘At least take some assistance,’ I returned, ‘until you have tried.’
+
+‘I could not do what I have promised, for money,’ she replied. ‘I could
+not take it, if I was starving. To give me money would be to take away
+your trust, to take away the object that you have given me, to take away
+the only certain thing that saves me from the river.’
+
+‘In the name of the great judge,’ said I, ‘before whom you and all of us
+must stand at His dread time, dismiss that terrible idea! We can all do
+some good, if we will.’
+
+She trembled, and her lip shook, and her face was paler, as she
+answered:
+
+‘It has been put into your hearts, perhaps, to save a wretched creature
+for repentance. I am afraid to think so; it seems too bold. If any good
+should come of me, I might begin to hope; for nothing but harm has ever
+come of my deeds yet. I am to be trusted, for the first time in a long
+while, with my miserable life, on account of what you have given me to
+try for. I know no more, and I can say no more.’
+
+Again she repressed the tears that had begun to flow; and, putting out
+her trembling hand, and touching Mr. Peggotty, as if there was some
+healing virtue in him, went away along the desolate road. She had been
+ill, probably for a long time. I observed, upon that closer opportunity
+of observation, that she was worn and haggard, and that her sunken eyes
+expressed privation and endurance.
+
+We followed her at a short distance, our way lying in the same
+direction, until we came back into the lighted and populous streets. I
+had such implicit confidence in her declaration, that I then put it to
+Mr. Peggotty, whether it would not seem, in the onset, like distrusting
+her, to follow her any farther. He being of the same mind, and equally
+reliant on her, we suffered her to take her own road, and took ours,
+which was towards Highgate. He accompanied me a good part of the way;
+and when we parted, with a prayer for the success of this fresh effort,
+there was a new and thoughtful compassion in him that I was at no loss
+to interpret.
+
+It was midnight when I arrived at home. I had reached my own gate, and
+was standing listening for the deep bell of St. Paul’s, the sound
+of which I thought had been borne towards me among the multitude of
+striking clocks, when I was rather surprised to see that the door of my
+aunt’s cottage was open, and that a faint light in the entry was shining
+out across the road.
+
+Thinking that my aunt might have relapsed into one of her old alarms,
+and might be watching the progress of some imaginary conflagration in
+the distance, I went to speak to her. It was with very great surprise
+that I saw a man standing in her little garden.
+
+He had a glass and bottle in his hand, and was in the act of drinking. I
+stopped short, among the thick foliage outside, for the moon was up now,
+though obscured; and I recognized the man whom I had once supposed to be
+a delusion of Mr. Dick’s, and had once encountered with my aunt in the
+streets of the city.
+
+He was eating as well as drinking, and seemed to eat with a hungry
+appetite. He seemed curious regarding the cottage, too, as if it were
+the first time he had seen it. After stooping to put the bottle on the
+ground, he looked up at the windows, and looked about; though with a
+covert and impatient air, as if he was anxious to be gone.
+
+The light in the passage was obscured for a moment, and my aunt came
+out. She was agitated, and told some money into his hand. I heard it
+chink.
+
+‘What’s the use of this?’ he demanded.
+
+‘I can spare no more,’ returned my aunt.
+
+‘Then I can’t go,’ said he. ‘Here! You may take it back!’
+
+‘You bad man,’ returned my aunt, with great emotion; ‘how can you use me
+so? But why do I ask? It is because you know how weak I am! What have
+I to do, to free myself for ever of your visits, but to abandon you to
+your deserts?’
+
+‘And why don’t you abandon me to my deserts?’ said he.
+
+‘You ask me why!’ returned my aunt. ‘What a heart you must have!’
+
+He stood moodily rattling the money, and shaking his head, until at
+length he said:
+
+‘Is this all you mean to give me, then?’
+
+‘It is all I CAN give you,’ said my aunt. ‘You know I have had losses,
+and am poorer than I used to be. I have told you so. Having got it, why
+do you give me the pain of looking at you for another moment, and seeing
+what you have become?’
+
+‘I have become shabby enough, if you mean that,’ he said. ‘I lead the
+life of an owl.’
+
+‘You stripped me of the greater part of all I ever had,’ said my aunt.
+‘You closed my heart against the whole world, years and years. You
+treated me falsely, ungratefully, and cruelly. Go, and repent of it.
+Don’t add new injuries to the long, long list of injuries you have done
+me!’
+
+‘Aye!’ he returned. ‘It’s all very fine--Well! I must do the best I can,
+for the present, I suppose.’
+
+In spite of himself, he appeared abashed by my aunt’s indignant tears,
+and came slouching out of the garden. Taking two or three quick steps,
+as if I had just come up, I met him at the gate, and went in as he came
+out. We eyed one another narrowly in passing, and with no favour.
+
+‘Aunt,’ said I, hurriedly. ‘This man alarming you again! Let me speak to
+him. Who is he?’
+
+‘Child,’ returned my aunt, taking my arm, ‘come in, and don’t speak to
+me for ten minutes.’
+
+We sat down in her little parlour. My aunt retired behind the round
+green fan of former days, which was screwed on the back of a chair, and
+occasionally wiped her eyes, for about a quarter of an hour. Then she
+came out, and took a seat beside me.
+
+‘Trot,’ said my aunt, calmly, ‘it’s my husband.’
+
+‘Your husband, aunt? I thought he had been dead!’
+
+‘Dead to me,’ returned my aunt, ‘but living.’
+
+I sat in silent amazement.
+
+‘Betsey Trotwood don’t look a likely subject for the tender passion,’
+said my aunt, composedly, ‘but the time was, Trot, when she believed in
+that man most entirely. When she loved him, Trot, right well. When there
+was no proof of attachment and affection that she would not have given
+him. He repaid her by breaking her fortune, and nearly breaking her
+heart. So she put all that sort of sentiment, once and for ever, in a
+grave, and filled it up, and flattened it down.’
+
+‘My dear, good aunt!’
+
+‘I left him,’ my aunt proceeded, laying her hand as usual on the back of
+mine, ‘generously. I may say at this distance of time, Trot, that I left
+him generously. He had been so cruel to me, that I might have effected
+a separation on easy terms for myself; but I did not. He soon made ducks
+and drakes of what I gave him, sank lower and lower, married another
+woman, I believe, became an adventurer, a gambler, and a cheat. What he
+is now, you see. But he was a fine-looking man when I married him,’ said
+my aunt, with an echo of her old pride and admiration in her tone; ‘and
+I believed him--I was a fool!--to be the soul of honour!’
+
+She gave my hand a squeeze, and shook her head.
+
+‘He is nothing to me now, Trot--less than nothing. But, sooner than have
+him punished for his offences (as he would be if he prowled about in
+this country), I give him more money than I can afford, at intervals
+when he reappears, to go away. I was a fool when I married him; and I am
+so far an incurable fool on that subject, that, for the sake of what
+I once believed him to be, I wouldn’t have even this shadow of my idle
+fancy hardly dealt with. For I was in earnest, Trot, if ever a woman
+was.’
+
+My aunt dismissed the matter with a heavy sigh, and smoothed her dress.
+
+‘There, my dear!’ she said. ‘Now you know the beginning, middle, and
+end, and all about it. We won’t mention the subject to one another any
+more; neither, of course, will you mention it to anybody else. This is
+my grumpy, frumpy story, and we’ll keep it to ourselves, Trot!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 48. DOMESTIC
+
+
+I laboured hard at my book, without allowing it to interfere with the
+punctual discharge of my newspaper duties; and it came out and was very
+successful. I was not stunned by the praise which sounded in my ears,
+notwithstanding that I was keenly alive to it, and thought better of
+my own performance, I have little doubt, than anybody else did. It has
+always been in my observation of human nature, that a man who has any
+good reason to believe in himself never flourishes himself before the
+faces of other people in order that they may believe in him. For this
+reason, I retained my modesty in very self-respect; and the more praise
+I got, the more I tried to deserve.
+
+It is not my purpose, in this record, though in all other essentials
+it is my written memory, to pursue the history of my own fictions. They
+express themselves, and I leave them to themselves. When I refer to
+them, incidentally, it is only as a part of my progress.
+
+Having some foundation for believing, by this time, that nature and
+accident had made me an author, I pursued my vocation with confidence.
+Without such assurance I should certainly have left it alone, and
+bestowed my energy on some other endeavour. I should have tried to find
+out what nature and accident really had made me, and to be that, and
+nothing else. I had been writing, in the newspaper and elsewhere, so
+prosperously, that when my new success was achieved, I considered myself
+reasonably entitled to escape from the dreary debates. One joyful night,
+therefore, I noted down the music of the parliamentary bagpipes for the
+last time, and I have never heard it since; though I still recognize the
+old drone in the newspapers, without any substantial variation (except,
+perhaps, that there is more of it), all the livelong session.
+
+I now write of the time when I had been married, I suppose, about a year
+and a half. After several varieties of experiment, we had given up the
+housekeeping as a bad job. The house kept itself, and we kept a page.
+The principal function of this retainer was to quarrel with the cook;
+in which respect he was a perfect Whittington, without his cat, or the
+remotest chance of being made Lord Mayor.
+
+He appears to me to have lived in a hail of saucepan-lids. His whole
+existence was a scuffle. He would shriek for help on the most improper
+occasions,--as when we had a little dinner-party, or a few friends in
+the evening,--and would come tumbling out of the kitchen, with iron
+missiles flying after him. We wanted to get rid of him, but he was very
+much attached to us, and wouldn’t go. He was a tearful boy, and broke
+into such deplorable lamentations, when a cessation of our connexion
+was hinted at, that we were obliged to keep him. He had no mother--no
+anything in the way of a relative, that I could discover, except a
+sister, who fled to America the moment we had taken him off her hands;
+and he became quartered on us like a horrible young changeling. He had
+a lively perception of his own unfortunate state, and was always rubbing
+his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, or stooping to blow his nose on
+the extreme corner of a little pocket-handkerchief, which he never would
+take completely out of his pocket, but always economized and secreted.
+
+This unlucky page, engaged in an evil hour at six pounds ten per annum,
+was a source of continual trouble to me. I watched him as he grew--and
+he grew like scarlet beans--with painful apprehensions of the time when
+he would begin to shave; even of the days when he would be bald or grey.
+I saw no prospect of ever getting rid of him; and, projecting myself
+into the future, used to think what an inconvenience he would be when he
+was an old man.
+
+I never expected anything less, than this unfortunate’s manner of
+getting me out of my difficulty. He stole Dora’s watch, which, like
+everything else belonging to us, had no particular place of its own;
+and, converting it into money, spent the produce (he was always a
+weak-minded boy) in incessantly riding up and down between London and
+Uxbridge outside the coach. He was taken to Bow Street, as well as
+I remember, on the completion of his fifteenth journey; when
+four-and-sixpence, and a second-hand fife which he couldn’t play, were
+found upon his person.
+
+The surprise and its consequences would have been much less disagreeable
+to me if he had not been penitent. But he was very penitent indeed, and
+in a peculiar way--not in the lump, but by instalments. For example:
+the day after that on which I was obliged to appear against him, he made
+certain revelations touching a hamper in the cellar, which we believed
+to be full of wine, but which had nothing in it except bottles and
+corks. We supposed he had now eased his mind, and told the worst he knew
+of the cook; but, a day or two afterwards, his conscience sustained a
+new twinge, and he disclosed how she had a little girl, who, early every
+morning, took away our bread; and also how he himself had been suborned
+to maintain the milkman in coals. In two or three days more, I was
+informed by the authorities of his having led to the discovery of
+sirloins of beef among the kitchen-stuff, and sheets in the rag-bag. A
+little while afterwards, he broke out in an entirely new direction, and
+confessed to a knowledge of burglarious intentions as to our premises,
+on the part of the pot-boy, who was immediately taken up. I got to be so
+ashamed of being such a victim, that I would have given him any money
+to hold his tongue, or would have offered a round bribe for his being
+permitted to run away. It was an aggravating circumstance in the case
+that he had no idea of this, but conceived that he was making me amends
+in every new discovery: not to say, heaping obligations on my head.
+
+At last I ran away myself, whenever I saw an emissary of the police
+approaching with some new intelligence; and lived a stealthy life until
+he was tried and ordered to be transported. Even then he couldn’t be
+quiet, but was always writing us letters; and wanted so much to see Dora
+before he went away, that Dora went to visit him, and fainted when she
+found herself inside the iron bars. In short, I had no peace of my life
+until he was expatriated, and made (as I afterwards heard) a shepherd
+of, ‘up the country’ somewhere; I have no geographical idea where.
+
+All this led me into some serious reflections, and presented our
+mistakes in a new aspect; as I could not help communicating to Dora one
+evening, in spite of my tenderness for her.
+
+‘My love,’ said I, ‘it is very painful to me to think that our want of
+system and management, involves not only ourselves (which we have got
+used to), but other people.’
+
+‘You have been silent for a long time, and now you are going to be
+cross!’ said Dora.
+
+‘No, my dear, indeed! Let me explain to you what I mean.’
+
+‘I think I don’t want to know,’ said Dora.
+
+‘But I want you to know, my love. Put Jip down.’
+
+Dora put his nose to mine, and said ‘Boh!’ to drive my seriousness away;
+but, not succeeding, ordered him into his Pagoda, and sat looking at
+me, with her hands folded, and a most resigned little expression of
+countenance.
+
+‘The fact is, my dear,’ I began, ‘there is contagion in us. We infect
+everyone about us.’
+
+I might have gone on in this figurative manner, if Dora’s face had not
+admonished me that she was wondering with all her might whether I was
+going to propose any new kind of vaccination, or other medical remedy,
+for this unwholesome state of ours. Therefore I checked myself, and made
+my meaning plainer.
+
+‘It is not merely, my pet,’ said I, ‘that we lose money and comfort, and
+even temper sometimes, by not learning to be more careful; but that we
+incur the serious responsibility of spoiling everyone who comes into
+our service, or has any dealings with us. I begin to be afraid that the
+fault is not entirely on one side, but that these people all turn out
+ill because we don’t turn out very well ourselves.’
+
+‘Oh, what an accusation,’ exclaimed Dora, opening her eyes wide; ‘to say
+that you ever saw me take gold watches! Oh!’
+
+‘My dearest,’ I remonstrated, ‘don’t talk preposterous nonsense! Who has
+made the least allusion to gold watches?’
+
+‘You did,’ returned Dora. ‘You know you did. You said I hadn’t turned
+out well, and compared me to him.’
+
+‘To whom?’ I asked.
+
+‘To the page,’ sobbed Dora. ‘Oh, you cruel fellow, to compare your
+affectionate wife to a transported page! Why didn’t you tell me
+your opinion of me before we were married? Why didn’t you say,
+you hard-hearted thing, that you were convinced I was worse than a
+transported page? Oh, what a dreadful opinion to have of me! Oh, my
+goodness!’
+
+‘Now, Dora, my love,’ I returned, gently trying to remove the
+handkerchief she pressed to her eyes, ‘this is not only very ridiculous
+of you, but very wrong. In the first place, it’s not true.’
+
+‘You always said he was a story-teller,’ sobbed Dora. ‘And now you say
+the same of me! Oh, what shall I do! What shall I do!’
+
+‘My darling girl,’ I retorted, ‘I really must entreat you to be
+reasonable, and listen to what I did say, and do say. My dear Dora,
+unless we learn to do our duty to those whom we employ, they will never
+learn to do their duty to us. I am afraid we present opportunities to
+people to do wrong, that never ought to be presented. Even if we were
+as lax as we are, in all our arrangements, by choice--which we are
+not--even if we liked it, and found it agreeable to be so--which we
+don’t--I am persuaded we should have no right to go on in this way. We
+are positively corrupting people. We are bound to think of that. I can’t
+help thinking of it, Dora. It is a reflection I am unable to dismiss,
+and it sometimes makes me very uneasy. There, dear, that’s all. Come
+now. Don’t be foolish!’
+
+Dora would not allow me, for a long time, to remove the handkerchief.
+She sat sobbing and murmuring behind it, that, if I was uneasy, why had
+I ever been married? Why hadn’t I said, even the day before we went to
+church, that I knew I should be uneasy, and I would rather not? If I
+couldn’t bear her, why didn’t I send her away to her aunts at Putney, or
+to Julia Mills in India? Julia would be glad to see her, and would not
+call her a transported page; Julia never had called her anything of the
+sort. In short, Dora was so afflicted, and so afflicted me by being
+in that condition, that I felt it was of no use repeating this kind of
+effort, though never so mildly, and I must take some other course.
+
+What other course was left to take? To ‘form her mind’? This was a
+common phrase of words which had a fair and promising sound, and I
+resolved to form Dora’s mind.
+
+I began immediately. When Dora was very childish, and I would
+have infinitely preferred to humour her, I tried to be grave--and
+disconcerted her, and myself too. I talked to her on the subjects which
+occupied my thoughts; and I read Shakespeare to her--and fatigued her
+to the last degree. I accustomed myself to giving her, as it were quite
+casually, little scraps of useful information, or sound opinion--and she
+started from them when I let them off, as if they had been crackers.
+No matter how incidentally or naturally I endeavoured to form my little
+wife’s mind, I could not help seeing that she always had an instinctive
+perception of what I was about, and became a prey to the keenest
+apprehensions. In particular, it was clear to me, that she thought
+Shakespeare a terrible fellow. The formation went on very slowly.
+
+I pressed Traddles into the service without his knowledge; and whenever
+he came to see us, exploded my mines upon him for the edification of
+Dora at second hand. The amount of practical wisdom I bestowed upon
+Traddles in this manner was immense, and of the best quality; but it
+had no other effect upon Dora than to depress her spirits, and make her
+always nervous with the dread that it would be her turn next. I found
+myself in the condition of a schoolmaster, a trap, a pitfall; of always
+playing spider to Dora’s fly, and always pouncing out of my hole to her
+infinite disturbance.
+
+Still, looking forward through this intermediate stage, to the time
+when there should be a perfect sympathy between Dora and me, and when I
+should have ‘formed her mind’ to my entire satisfaction, I persevered,
+even for months. Finding at last, however, that, although I had been
+all this time a very porcupine or hedgehog, bristling all over with
+determination, I had effected nothing, it began to occur to me that
+perhaps Dora’s mind was already formed.
+
+On further consideration this appeared so likely, that I abandoned
+my scheme, which had had a more promising appearance in words than in
+action; resolving henceforth to be satisfied with my child-wife, and to
+try to change her into nothing else by any process. I was heartily tired
+of being sagacious and prudent by myself, and of seeing my darling under
+restraint; so I bought a pretty pair of ear-rings for her, and a collar
+for Jip, and went home one day to make myself agreeable.
+
+Dora was delighted with the little presents, and kissed me joyfully; but
+there was a shadow between us, however slight, and I had made up my mind
+that it should not be there. If there must be such a shadow anywhere, I
+would keep it for the future in my own breast.
+
+I sat down by my wife on the sofa, and put the ear-rings in her ears;
+and then I told her that I feared we had not been quite as good company
+lately, as we used to be, and that the fault was mine. Which I sincerely
+felt, and which indeed it was.
+
+‘The truth is, Dora, my life,’ I said; ‘I have been trying to be wise.’
+
+‘And to make me wise too,’ said Dora, timidly. ‘Haven’t you, Doady?’
+
+I nodded assent to the pretty inquiry of the raised eyebrows, and kissed
+the parted lips.
+
+‘It’s of not a bit of use,’ said Dora, shaking her head, until the
+ear-rings rang again. ‘You know what a little thing I am, and what I
+wanted you to call me from the first. If you can’t do so, I am afraid
+you’ll never like me. Are you sure you don’t think, sometimes, it would
+have been better to have--’
+
+‘Done what, my dear?’ For she made no effort to proceed.
+
+‘Nothing!’ said Dora.
+
+‘Nothing?’ I repeated.
+
+She put her arms round my neck, and laughed, and called herself by her
+favourite name of a goose, and hid her face on my shoulder in such a
+profusion of curls that it was quite a task to clear them away and see
+it.
+
+‘Don’t I think it would have been better to have done nothing, than to
+have tried to form my little wife’s mind?’ said I, laughing at myself.
+‘Is that the question? Yes, indeed, I do.’
+
+‘Is that what you have been trying?’ cried Dora. ‘Oh what a shocking
+boy!’
+
+‘But I shall never try any more,’ said I. ‘For I love her dearly as she
+is.’
+
+‘Without a story--really?’ inquired Dora, creeping closer to me.
+
+‘Why should I seek to change,’ said I, ‘what has been so precious to me
+for so long! You never can show better than as your own natural self, my
+sweet Dora; and we’ll try no conceited experiments, but go back to our
+old way, and be happy.’
+
+‘And be happy!’ returned Dora. ‘Yes! All day! And you won’t mind things
+going a tiny morsel wrong, sometimes?’
+
+‘No, no,’ said I. ‘We must do the best we can.’
+
+‘And you won’t tell me, any more, that we make other people bad,’ coaxed
+Dora; ‘will you? Because you know it’s so dreadfully cross!’
+
+‘No, no,’ said I.
+
+‘It’s better for me to be stupid than uncomfortable, isn’t it?’ said
+Dora.
+
+‘Better to be naturally Dora than anything else in the world.’
+
+‘In the world! Ah, Doady, it’s a large place!’
+
+She shook her head, turned her delighted bright eyes up to mine, kissed
+me, broke into a merry laugh, and sprang away to put on Jip’s new
+collar.
+
+So ended my last attempt to make any change in Dora. I had been unhappy
+in trying it; I could not endure my own solitary wisdom; I could not
+reconcile it with her former appeal to me as my child-wife. I resolved
+to do what I could, in a quiet way, to improve our proceedings myself,
+but I foresaw that my utmost would be very little, or I must degenerate
+into the spider again, and be for ever lying in wait.
+
+And the shadow I have mentioned, that was not to be between us any more,
+but was to rest wholly on my own heart? How did that fall?
+
+The old unhappy feeling pervaded my life. It was deepened, if it were
+changed at all; but it was as undefined as ever, and addressed me like
+a strain of sorrowful music faintly heard in the night. I loved my wife
+dearly, and I was happy; but the happiness I had vaguely anticipated,
+once, was not the happiness I enjoyed, and there was always something
+wanting.
+
+In fulfilment of the compact I have made with myself, to reflect my mind
+on this paper, I again examine it, closely, and bring its secrets to the
+light. What I missed, I still regarded--I always regarded--as something
+that had been a dream of my youthful fancy; that was incapable of
+realization; that I was now discovering to be so, with some natural
+pain, as all men did. But that it would have been better for me if my
+wife could have helped me more, and shared the many thoughts in which I
+had no partner; and that this might have been; I knew.
+
+Between these two irreconcilable conclusions: the one, that what I felt
+was general and unavoidable; the other, that it was particular to me,
+and might have been different: I balanced curiously, with no distinct
+sense of their opposition to each other. When I thought of the airy
+dreams of youth that are incapable of realization, I thought of the
+better state preceding manhood that I had outgrown; and then the
+contented days with Agnes, in the dear old house, arose before me, like
+spectres of the dead, that might have some renewal in another world, but
+never more could be reanimated here.
+
+Sometimes, the speculation came into my thoughts, What might have
+happened, or what would have happened, if Dora and I had never known
+each other? But she was so incorporated with my existence, that it
+was the idlest of all fancies, and would soon rise out of my reach and
+sight, like gossamer floating in the air.
+
+I always loved her. What I am describing, slumbered, and half awoke, and
+slept again, in the innermost recesses of my mind. There was no evidence
+of it in me; I know of no influence it had in anything I said or did. I
+bore the weight of all our little cares, and all my projects; Dora held
+the pens; and we both felt that our shares were adjusted as the case
+required. She was truly fond of me, and proud of me; and when Agnes
+wrote a few earnest words in her letters to Dora, of the pride and
+interest with which my old friends heard of my growing reputation, and
+read my book as if they heard me speaking its contents, Dora read them
+out to me with tears of joy in her bright eyes, and said I was a dear
+old clever, famous boy.
+
+‘The first mistaken impulse of an undisciplined heart.’ Those words of
+Mrs. Strong’s were constantly recurring to me, at this time; were almost
+always present to my mind. I awoke with them, often, in the night; I
+remember to have even read them, in dreams, inscribed upon the walls
+of houses. For I knew, now, that my own heart was undisciplined when it
+first loved Dora; and that if it had been disciplined, it never
+could have felt, when we were married, what it had felt in its secret
+experience.
+
+‘There can be no disparity in marriage, like unsuitability of mind and
+purpose.’ Those words I remembered too. I had endeavoured to adapt
+Dora to myself, and found it impracticable. It remained for me to adapt
+myself to Dora; to share with her what I could, and be happy; to bear
+on my own shoulders what I must, and be happy still. This was the
+discipline to which I tried to bring my heart, when I began to think.
+It made my second year much happier than my first; and, what was better
+still, made Dora’s life all sunshine.
+
+But, as that year wore on, Dora was not strong. I had hoped that lighter
+hands than mine would help to mould her character, and that a baby-smile
+upon her breast might change my child-wife to a woman. It was not to be.
+The spirit fluttered for a moment on the threshold of its little prison,
+and, unconscious of captivity, took wing.
+
+‘When I can run about again, as I used to do, aunt,’ said Dora, ‘I shall
+make Jip race. He is getting quite slow and lazy.’
+
+‘I suspect, my dear,’ said my aunt quietly working by her side, ‘he has
+a worse disorder than that. Age, Dora.’
+
+‘Do you think he is old?’ said Dora, astonished. ‘Oh, how strange it
+seems that Jip should be old!’
+
+‘It’s a complaint we are all liable to, Little One, as we get on in
+life,’ said my aunt, cheerfully; ‘I don’t feel more free from it than I
+used to be, I assure you.’
+
+‘But Jip,’ said Dora, looking at him with compassion, ‘even little Jip!
+Oh, poor fellow!’
+
+‘I dare say he’ll last a long time yet, Blossom,’ said my aunt, patting
+Dora on the cheek, as she leaned out of her couch to look at Jip, who
+responded by standing on his hind legs, and baulking himself in various
+asthmatic attempts to scramble up by the head and shoulders. ‘He must
+have a piece of flannel in his house this winter, and I shouldn’t wonder
+if he came out quite fresh again, with the flowers in the spring. Bless
+the little dog!’ exclaimed my aunt, ‘if he had as many lives as a cat,
+and was on the point of losing ‘em all, he’d bark at me with his last
+breath, I believe!’
+
+Dora had helped him up on the sofa; where he really was defying my aunt
+to such a furious extent, that he couldn’t keep straight, but barked
+himself sideways. The more my aunt looked at him, the more he reproached
+her; for she had lately taken to spectacles, and for some inscrutable
+reason he considered the glasses personal.
+
+Dora made him lie down by her, with a good deal of persuasion; and when
+he was quiet, drew one of his long ears through and through her hand,
+repeating thoughtfully, ‘Even little Jip! Oh, poor fellow!’
+
+‘His lungs are good enough,’ said my aunt, gaily, ‘and his dislikes are
+not at all feeble. He has a good many years before him, no doubt. But if
+you want a dog to race with, Little Blossom, he has lived too well for
+that, and I’ll give you one.’
+
+‘Thank you, aunt,’ said Dora, faintly. ‘But don’t, please!’
+
+‘No?’ said my aunt, taking off her spectacles.
+
+‘I couldn’t have any other dog but Jip,’ said Dora. ‘It would be so
+unkind to Jip! Besides, I couldn’t be such friends with any other dog
+but Jip; because he wouldn’t have known me before I was married,
+and wouldn’t have barked at Doady when he first came to our house. I
+couldn’t care for any other dog but Jip, I am afraid, aunt.’
+
+‘To be sure!’ said my aunt, patting her cheek again. ‘You are right.’
+
+‘You are not offended,’ said Dora. ‘Are you?’
+
+‘Why, what a sensitive pet it is!’ cried my aunt, bending over her
+affectionately. ‘To think that I could be offended!’
+
+‘No, no, I didn’t really think so,’ returned Dora; ‘but I am a little
+tired, and it made me silly for a moment--I am always a silly little
+thing, you know, but it made me more silly--to talk about Jip. He
+has known me in all that has happened to me, haven’t you, Jip? And I
+couldn’t bear to slight him, because he was a little altered--could I,
+Jip?’
+
+Jip nestled closer to his mistress, and lazily licked her hand.
+
+‘You are not so old, Jip, are you, that you’ll leave your mistress yet?’
+said Dora. ‘We may keep one another company a little longer!’
+
+My pretty Dora! When she came down to dinner on the ensuing Sunday, and
+was so glad to see old Traddles (who always dined with us on Sunday), we
+thought she would be ‘running about as she used to do’, in a few days.
+But they said, wait a few days more; and then, wait a few days more; and
+still she neither ran nor walked. She looked very pretty, and was very
+merry; but the little feet that used to be so nimble when they danced
+round Jip, were dull and motionless.
+
+I began to carry her downstairs every morning, and upstairs every night.
+She would clasp me round the neck and laugh, the while, as if I did it
+for a wager. Jip would bark and caper round us, and go on before, and
+look back on the landing, breathing short, to see that we were coming.
+My aunt, the best and most cheerful of nurses, would trudge after us, a
+moving mass of shawls and pillows. Mr. Dick would not have relinquished
+his post of candle-bearer to anyone alive. Traddles would be often at
+the bottom of the staircase, looking on, and taking charge of sportive
+messages from Dora to the dearest girl in the world. We made quite a gay
+procession of it, and my child-wife was the gayest there.
+
+But, sometimes, when I took her up, and felt that she was lighter in
+my arms, a dead blank feeling came upon me, as if I were approaching
+to some frozen region yet unseen, that numbed my life. I avoided the
+recognition of this feeling by any name, or by any communing with
+myself; until one night, when it was very strong upon me, and my aunt
+had left her with a parting cry of ‘Good night, Little Blossom,’ I sat
+down at my desk alone, and tried to think, Oh what a fatal name it was,
+and how the blossom withered in its bloom upon the tree!
+
+
+CHAPTER 49. I AM INVOLVED IN MYSTERY
+
+
+I received one morning by the post, the following letter, dated
+Canterbury, and addressed to me at Doctor’s Commons; which I read with
+some surprise:
+
+
+‘MY DEAR SIR,
+
+‘Circumstances beyond my individual control have, for a considerable
+lapse of time, effected a severance of that intimacy which, in the
+limited opportunities conceded to me in the midst of my professional
+duties, of contemplating the scenes and events of the past, tinged by
+the prismatic hues of memory, has ever afforded me, as it ever must
+continue to afford, gratifying emotions of no common description. This
+fact, my dear sir, combined with the distinguished elevation to which
+your talents have raised you, deters me from presuming to aspire to
+the liberty of addressing the companion of my youth, by the familiar
+appellation of Copperfield! It is sufficient to know that the name to
+which I do myself the honour to refer, will ever be treasured among
+the muniments of our house (I allude to the archives connected with our
+former lodgers, preserved by Mrs. Micawber), with sentiments of personal
+esteem amounting to affection.
+
+‘It is not for one, situated, through his original errors and a
+fortuitous combination of unpropitious events, as is the foundered Bark
+(if he may be allowed to assume so maritime a denomination), who
+now takes up the pen to address you--it is not, I repeat, for one
+so circumstanced, to adopt the language of compliment, or of
+congratulation. That he leaves to abler and to purer hands.
+
+‘If your more important avocations should admit of your ever tracing
+these imperfect characters thus far--which may be, or may not be, as
+circumstances arise--you will naturally inquire by what object am I
+influenced, then, in inditing the present missive? Allow me to say that
+I fully defer to the reasonable character of that inquiry, and proceed
+to develop it; premising that it is not an object of a pecuniary nature.
+
+‘Without more directly referring to any latent ability that may
+possibly exist on my part, of wielding the thunderbolt, or directing
+the devouring and avenging flame in any quarter, I may be permitted
+to observe, in passing, that my brightest visions are for ever
+dispelled--that my peace is shattered and my power of enjoyment
+destroyed--that my heart is no longer in the right place--and that I no
+more walk erect before my fellow man. The canker is in the flower.
+The cup is bitter to the brim. The worm is at his work, and will soon
+dispose of his victim. The sooner the better. But I will not digress.
+‘Placed in a mental position of peculiar painfulness, beyond the
+assuaging reach even of Mrs. Micawber’s influence, though exercised in
+the tripartite character of woman, wife, and mother, it is my intention
+to fly from myself for a short period, and devote a respite of
+eight-and-forty hours to revisiting some metropolitan scenes of past
+enjoyment. Among other havens of domestic tranquillity and peace of
+mind, my feet will naturally tend towards the King’s Bench Prison. In
+stating that I shall be (D. V.) on the outside of the south wall of
+that place of incarceration on civil process, the day after tomorrow,
+at seven in the evening, precisely, my object in this epistolary
+communication is accomplished.
+
+‘I do not feel warranted in soliciting my former friend Mr. Copperfield,
+or my former friend Mr. Thomas Traddles of the Inner Temple, if that
+gentleman is still existent and forthcoming, to condescend to meet me,
+and renew (so far as may be) our past relations of the olden time. I
+confine myself to throwing out the observation, that, at the hour and
+place I have indicated, may be found such ruined vestiges as yet
+
+ ‘Remain,
+ ‘Of
+ ‘A
+ ‘Fallen Tower,
+ ‘WILKINS MICAWBER.
+
+‘P.S. It may be advisable to superadd to the above, the statement that
+Mrs. Micawber is not in confidential possession of my intentions.’
+
+
+I read the letter over several times. Making due allowance for Mr.
+Micawber’s lofty style of composition, and for the extraordinary relish
+with which he sat down and wrote long letters on all possible and
+impossible occasions, I still believed that something important lay
+hidden at the bottom of this roundabout communication. I put it down,
+to think about it; and took it up again, to read it once more; and
+was still pursuing it, when Traddles found me in the height of my
+perplexity.
+
+‘My dear fellow,’ said I, ‘I never was better pleased to see you. You
+come to give me the benefit of your sober judgement at a most opportune
+time. I have received a very singular letter, Traddles, from Mr.
+Micawber.’
+
+‘No?’ cried Traddles. ‘You don’t say so? And I have received one from
+Mrs. Micawber!’
+
+With that, Traddles, who was flushed with walking, and whose hair, under
+the combined effects of exercise and excitement, stood on end as if he
+saw a cheerful ghost, produced his letter and made an exchange with me.
+I watched him into the heart of Mr. Micawber’s letter, and returned the
+elevation of eyebrows with which he said “‘Wielding the thunderbolt,
+or directing the devouring and avenging flame!” Bless me,
+Copperfield!’--and then entered on the perusal of Mrs. Micawber’s
+epistle.
+
+It ran thus:
+
+
+‘My best regards to Mr. Thomas Traddles, and if he should still remember
+one who formerly had the happiness of being well acquainted with him,
+may I beg a few moments of his leisure time? I assure Mr. T. T. that I
+would not intrude upon his kindness, were I in any other position than
+on the confines of distraction.
+
+‘Though harrowing to myself to mention, the alienation of Mr. Micawber
+(formerly so domesticated) from his wife and family, is the cause of my
+addressing my unhappy appeal to Mr. Traddles, and soliciting his best
+indulgence. Mr. T. can form no adequate idea of the change in Mr.
+Micawber’s conduct, of his wildness, of his violence. It has gradually
+augmented, until it assumes the appearance of aberration of intellect.
+Scarcely a day passes, I assure Mr. Traddles, on which some paroxysm
+does not take place. Mr. T. will not require me to depict my feelings,
+when I inform him that I have become accustomed to hear Mr. Micawber
+assert that he has sold himself to the D. Mystery and secrecy have
+long been his principal characteristic, have long replaced unlimited
+confidence. The slightest provocation, even being asked if there is
+anything he would prefer for dinner, causes him to express a wish for a
+separation. Last night, on being childishly solicited for twopence, to
+buy ‘lemon-stunners’--a local sweetmeat--he presented an oyster-knife at
+the twins!
+
+‘I entreat Mr. Traddles to bear with me in entering into these details.
+Without them, Mr. T. would indeed find it difficult to form the faintest
+conception of my heart-rending situation.
+
+‘May I now venture to confide to Mr. T. the purport of my letter? Will
+he now allow me to throw myself on his friendly consideration? Oh yes,
+for I know his heart!
+
+‘The quick eye of affection is not easily blinded, when of the female
+sex. Mr. Micawber is going to London. Though he studiously concealed his
+hand, this morning before breakfast, in writing the direction-card which
+he attached to the little brown valise of happier days, the eagle-glance
+of matrimonial anxiety detected, d, o, n, distinctly traced. The
+West-End destination of the coach, is the Golden Cross. Dare I fervently
+implore Mr. T. to see my misguided husband, and to reason with him?
+Dare I ask Mr. T. to endeavour to step in between Mr. Micawber and his
+agonized family? Oh no, for that would be too much!
+
+‘If Mr. Copperfield should yet remember one unknown to fame, will Mr.
+T. take charge of my unalterable regards and similar entreaties? In
+any case, he will have the benevolence to consider this communication
+strictly private, and on no account whatever to be alluded to, however
+distantly, in the presence of Mr. Micawber. If Mr. T. should ever
+reply to it (which I cannot but feel to be most improbable), a letter
+addressed to M. E., Post Office, Canterbury, will be fraught with
+less painful consequences than any addressed immediately to one, who
+subscribes herself, in extreme distress,
+
+‘Mr. Thomas Traddles’s respectful friend and suppliant,
+
+ ‘EMMA MICAWBER.’
+
+
+‘What do you think of that letter?’ said Traddles, casting his eyes upon
+me, when I had read it twice.
+
+‘What do you think of the other?’ said I. For he was still reading it
+with knitted brows.
+
+‘I think that the two together, Copperfield,’ replied Traddles,
+‘mean more than Mr. and Mrs. Micawber usually mean in their
+correspondence--but I don’t know what. They are both written in good
+faith, I have no doubt, and without any collusion. Poor thing!’ he was
+now alluding to Mrs. Micawber’s letter, and we were standing side by
+side comparing the two; ‘it will be a charity to write to her, at all
+events, and tell her that we will not fail to see Mr. Micawber.’
+
+I acceded to this the more readily, because I now reproached myself with
+having treated her former letter rather lightly. It had set me thinking
+a good deal at the time, as I have mentioned in its place; but my
+absorption in my own affairs, my experience of the family, and my
+hearing nothing more, had gradually ended in my dismissing the subject.
+I had often thought of the Micawbers, but chiefly to wonder what
+‘pecuniary liabilities’ they were establishing in Canterbury, and to
+recall how shy Mr. Micawber was of me when he became clerk to Uriah
+Heep.
+
+However, I now wrote a comforting letter to Mrs. Micawber, in our
+joint names, and we both signed it. As we walked into town to post it,
+Traddles and I held a long conference, and launched into a number of
+speculations, which I need not repeat. We took my aunt into our counsels
+in the afternoon; but our only decided conclusion was, that we would be
+very punctual in keeping Mr. Micawber’s appointment.
+
+Although we appeared at the stipulated place a quarter of an hour before
+the time, we found Mr. Micawber already there. He was standing with his
+arms folded, over against the wall, looking at the spikes on the top,
+with a sentimental expression, as if they were the interlacing boughs of
+trees that had shaded him in his youth.
+
+When we accosted him, his manner was something more confused, and
+something less genteel, than of yore. He had relinquished his legal suit
+of black for the purposes of this excursion, and wore the old surtout
+and tights, but not quite with the old air. He gradually picked up more
+and more of it as we conversed with him; but, his very eye-glass seemed
+to hang less easily, and his shirt-collar, though still of the old
+formidable dimensions, rather drooped.
+
+‘Gentlemen!’ said Mr. Micawber, after the first salutations, ‘you are
+friends in need, and friends indeed. Allow me to offer my inquiries with
+reference to the physical welfare of Mrs. Copperfield in esse, and
+Mrs. Traddles in posse,--presuming, that is to say, that my friend Mr.
+Traddles is not yet united to the object of his affections, for weal and
+for woe.’
+
+We acknowledged his politeness, and made suitable replies. He then
+directed our attention to the wall, and was beginning, ‘I assure you,
+gentlemen,’ when I ventured to object to that ceremonious form of
+address, and to beg that he would speak to us in the old way.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ he returned, pressing my hand, ‘your cordiality
+overpowers me. This reception of a shattered fragment of the Temple once
+called Man--if I may be permitted so to express myself--bespeaks a heart
+that is an honour to our common nature. I was about to observe that
+I again behold the serene spot where some of the happiest hours of my
+existence fleeted by.’
+
+‘Made so, I am sure, by Mrs. Micawber,’ said I. ‘I hope she is well?’
+
+‘Thank you,’ returned Mr. Micawber, whose face clouded at this
+reference, ‘she is but so-so. And this,’ said Mr. Micawber, nodding
+his head sorrowfully, ‘is the Bench! Where, for the first time in many
+revolving years, the overwhelming pressure of pecuniary liabilities was
+not proclaimed, from day to day, by importune voices declining to vacate
+the passage; where there was no knocker on the door for any creditor
+to appeal to; where personal service of process was not required, and
+detainees were merely lodged at the gate! Gentlemen,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+‘when the shadow of that iron-work on the summit of the brick structure
+has been reflected on the gravel of the Parade, I have seen my children
+thread the mazes of the intricate pattern, avoiding the dark marks. I
+have been familiar with every stone in the place. If I betray weakness,
+you will know how to excuse me.’
+
+‘We have all got on in life since then, Mr. Micawber,’ said I.
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ returned Mr. Micawber, bitterly, ‘when I was an
+inmate of that retreat I could look my fellow-man in the face, and punch
+his head if he offended me. My fellow-man and myself are no longer on
+those glorious terms!’
+
+Turning from the building in a downcast manner, Mr. Micawber accepted
+my proffered arm on one side, and the proffered arm of Traddles on the
+other, and walked away between us.
+
+‘There are some landmarks,’ observed Mr. Micawber, looking fondly back
+over his shoulder, ‘on the road to the tomb, which, but for the impiety
+of the aspiration, a man would wish never to have passed. Such is the
+Bench in my chequered career.’
+
+‘Oh, you are in low spirits, Mr. Micawber,’ said Traddles.
+
+‘I am, sir,’ interposed Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘I hope,’ said Traddles, ‘it is not because you have conceived a dislike
+to the law--for I am a lawyer myself, you know.’
+
+Mr. Micawber answered not a word.
+
+‘How is our friend Heep, Mr. Micawber?’ said I, after a silence.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ returned Mr. Micawber, bursting into a state of
+much excitement, and turning pale, ‘if you ask after my employer as
+YOUR friend, I am sorry for it; if you ask after him as MY friend,
+I sardonically smile at it. In whatever capacity you ask after my
+employer, I beg, without offence to you, to limit my reply to this--that
+whatever his state of health may be, his appearance is foxy: not to
+say diabolical. You will allow me, as a private individual, to
+decline pursuing a subject which has lashed me to the utmost verge of
+desperation in my professional capacity.’
+
+I expressed my regret for having innocently touched upon a theme
+that roused him so much. ‘May I ask,’ said I, ‘without any hazard of
+repeating the mistake, how my old friends Mr. and Miss Wickfield are?’
+
+‘Miss Wickfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, now turning red, ‘is, as she always
+is, a pattern, and a bright example. My dear Copperfield, she is the
+only starry spot in a miserable existence. My respect for that young
+lady, my admiration of her character, my devotion to her for her love
+and truth, and goodness!--Take me,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘down a turning,
+for, upon my soul, in my present state of mind I am not equal to this!’
+
+We wheeled him off into a narrow street, where he took out his
+pocket-handkerchief, and stood with his back to a wall. If I looked as
+gravely at him as Traddles did, he must have found our company by no
+means inspiriting.
+
+‘It is my fate,’ said Mr. Micawber, unfeignedly sobbing, but doing even
+that, with a shadow of the old expression of doing something genteel;
+‘it is my fate, gentlemen, that the finer feelings of our nature have
+become reproaches to me. My homage to Miss Wickfield, is a flight of
+arrows in my bosom. You had better leave me, if you please, to walk the
+earth as a vagabond. The worm will settle my business in double-quick
+time.’
+
+Without attending to this invocation, we stood by, until he put up his
+pocket-handkerchief, pulled up his shirt-collar, and, to delude any
+person in the neighbourhood who might have been observing him, hummed a
+tune with his hat very much on one side. I then mentioned--not knowing
+what might be lost if we lost sight of him yet--that it would give me
+great pleasure to introduce him to my aunt, if he would ride out to
+Highgate, where a bed was at his service.
+
+‘You shall make us a glass of your own punch, Mr. Micawber,’ said
+I, ‘and forget whatever you have on your mind, in pleasanter
+reminiscences.’
+
+‘Or, if confiding anything to friends will be more likely to relieve
+you, you shall impart it to us, Mr. Micawber,’ said Traddles, prudently.
+
+‘Gentlemen,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘do with me as you will! I am a
+straw upon the surface of the deep, and am tossed in all directions by
+the elephants--I beg your pardon; I should have said the elements.’
+
+We walked on, arm-in-arm, again; found the coach in the act of starting;
+and arrived at Highgate without encountering any difficulties by the
+way. I was very uneasy and very uncertain in my mind what to say or do
+for the best--so was Traddles, evidently. Mr. Micawber was for the most
+part plunged into deep gloom. He occasionally made an attempt to smarten
+himself, and hum the fag-end of a tune; but his relapses into profound
+melancholy were only made the more impressive by the mockery of a hat
+exceedingly on one side, and a shirt-collar pulled up to his eyes.
+
+We went to my aunt’s house rather than to mine, because of Dora’s not
+being well. My aunt presented herself on being sent for, and welcomed
+Mr. Micawber with gracious cordiality. Mr. Micawber kissed her hand,
+retired to the window, and pulling out his pocket-handkerchief, had a
+mental wrestle with himself.
+
+Mr. Dick was at home. He was by nature so exceedingly compassionate of
+anyone who seemed to be ill at ease, and was so quick to find any such
+person out, that he shook hands with Mr. Micawber, at least half-a-dozen
+times in five minutes. To Mr. Micawber, in his trouble, this warmth, on
+the part of a stranger, was so extremely touching, that he could
+only say, on the occasion of each successive shake, ‘My dear sir, you
+overpower me!’ Which gratified Mr. Dick so much, that he went at it
+again with greater vigour than before.
+
+‘The friendliness of this gentleman,’ said Mr. Micawber to my aunt, ‘if
+you will allow me, ma’am, to cull a figure of speech from the vocabulary
+of our coarser national sports--floors me. To a man who is struggling
+with a complicated burden of perplexity and disquiet, such a reception
+is trying, I assure you.’
+
+‘My friend Mr. Dick,’ replied my aunt proudly, ‘is not a common man.’
+
+‘That I am convinced of,’ said Mr. Micawber. ‘My dear sir!’ for Mr.
+Dick was shaking hands with him again; ‘I am deeply sensible of your
+cordiality!’
+
+‘How do you find yourself?’ said Mr. Dick, with an anxious look.
+
+‘Indifferent, my dear sir,’ returned Mr. Micawber, sighing.
+
+‘You must keep up your spirits,’ said Mr. Dick, ‘and make yourself as
+comfortable as possible.’
+
+Mr. Micawber was quite overcome by these friendly words, and by finding
+Mr. Dick’s hand again within his own. ‘It has been my lot,’ he observed,
+‘to meet, in the diversified panorama of human existence, with an
+occasional oasis, but never with one so green, so gushing, as the
+present!’
+
+At another time I should have been amused by this; but I felt that
+we were all constrained and uneasy, and I watched Mr. Micawber so
+anxiously, in his vacillations between an evident disposition to reveal
+something, and a counter-disposition to reveal nothing, that I was in a
+perfect fever. Traddles, sitting on the edge of his chair, with his eyes
+wide open, and his hair more emphatically erect than ever, stared by
+turns at the ground and at Mr. Micawber, without so much as attempting
+to put in a word. My aunt, though I saw that her shrewdest observation
+was concentrated on her new guest, had more useful possession of her
+wits than either of us; for she held him in conversation, and made it
+necessary for him to talk, whether he liked it or not.
+
+‘You are a very old friend of my nephew’s, Mr. Micawber,’ said my aunt.
+‘I wish I had had the pleasure of seeing you before.’
+
+‘Madam,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘I wish I had had the honour of knowing
+you at an earlier period. I was not always the wreck you at present
+behold.’
+
+‘I hope Mrs. Micawber and your family are well, sir,’ said my aunt.
+
+Mr. Micawber inclined his head. ‘They are as well, ma’am,’ he
+desperately observed after a pause, ‘as Aliens and Outcasts can ever
+hope to be.’
+
+‘Lord bless you, sir!’ exclaimed my aunt, in her abrupt way. ‘What are
+you talking about?’
+
+‘The subsistence of my family, ma’am,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘trembles
+in the balance. My employer--’
+
+Here Mr. Micawber provokingly left off; and began to peel the lemons
+that had been under my directions set before him, together with all the
+other appliances he used in making punch.
+
+‘Your employer, you know,’ said Mr. Dick, jogging his arm as a gentle
+reminder.
+
+‘My good sir,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘you recall me, I am obliged to
+you.’ They shook hands again. ‘My employer, ma’am--Mr. Heep--once did
+me the favour to observe to me, that if I were not in the receipt of the
+stipendiary emoluments appertaining to my engagement with him, I should
+probably be a mountebank about the country, swallowing a sword-blade,
+and eating the devouring element. For anything that I can perceive to
+the contrary, it is still probable that my children may be reduced to
+seek a livelihood by personal contortion, while Mrs. Micawber abets
+their unnatural feats by playing the barrel-organ.’
+
+Mr. Micawber, with a random but expressive flourish of his knife,
+signified that these performances might be expected to take place after
+he was no more; then resumed his peeling with a desperate air.
+
+My aunt leaned her elbow on the little round table that she usually kept
+beside her, and eyed him attentively. Notwithstanding the aversion with
+which I regarded the idea of entrapping him into any disclosure he was
+not prepared to make voluntarily, I should have taken him up at this
+point, but for the strange proceedings in which I saw him engaged;
+whereof his putting the lemon-peel into the kettle, the sugar into the
+snuffer-tray, the spirit into the empty jug, and confidently attempting
+to pour boiling water out of a candlestick, were among the most
+remarkable. I saw that a crisis was at hand, and it came. He clattered
+all his means and implements together, rose from his chair, pulled out
+his pocket-handkerchief, and burst into tears.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, behind his handkerchief,
+‘this is an occupation, of all others, requiring an untroubled mind, and
+self-respect. I cannot perform it. It is out of the question.’
+
+‘Mr. Micawber,’ said I, ‘what is the matter? Pray speak out. You are
+among friends.’
+
+‘Among friends, sir!’ repeated Mr. Micawber; and all he had reserved
+came breaking out of him. ‘Good heavens, it is principally because I AM
+among friends that my state of mind is what it is. What is the matter,
+gentlemen? What is NOT the matter? Villainy is the matter; baseness is
+the matter; deception, fraud, conspiracy, are the matter; and the name
+of the whole atrocious mass is--HEEP!’
+
+My aunt clapped her hands, and we all started up as if we were
+possessed.
+
+‘The struggle is over!’ said Mr. Micawber violently gesticulating with
+his pocket-handkerchief, and fairly striking out from time to time with
+both arms, as if he were swimming under superhuman difficulties. ‘I will
+lead this life no longer. I am a wretched being, cut off from everything
+that makes life tolerable. I have been under a Taboo in that infernal
+scoundrel’s service. Give me back my wife, give me back my family,
+substitute Micawber for the petty wretch who walks about in the boots
+at present on my feet, and call upon me to swallow a sword tomorrow, and
+I’ll do it. With an appetite!’
+
+I never saw a man so hot in my life. I tried to calm him, that we might
+come to something rational; but he got hotter and hotter, and wouldn’t
+hear a word.
+
+‘I’ll put my hand in no man’s hand,’ said Mr. Micawber, gasping,
+puffing, and sobbing, to that degree that he was like a man
+fighting with cold water, ‘until I have--blown to
+fragments--the--a--detestable--serpent--HEEP! I’ll partake of no
+one’s hospitality, until I have--a--moved Mount Vesuvius--to
+eruption--on--a--the abandoned rascal--HEEP! Refreshment--a--underneath
+this roof--particularly punch--would--a--choke me--unless--I
+had--previously--choked the eyes--out of the head--a--of--interminable
+cheat, and liar--HEEP! I--a--I’ll know nobody--and--a--say
+nothing--and--a--live nowhere--until I have
+crushed--to--a--undiscoverable atoms--the--transcendent and immortal
+hypocrite and perjurer--HEEP!’
+
+I really had some fear of Mr. Micawber’s dying on the spot. The manner
+in which he struggled through these inarticulate sentences, and,
+whenever he found himself getting near the name of Heep, fought his way
+on to it, dashed at it in a fainting state, and brought it out with a
+vehemence little less than marvellous, was frightful; but now, when
+he sank into a chair, steaming, and looked at us, with every possible
+colour in his face that had no business there, and an endless procession
+of lumps following one another in hot haste up his throat, whence they
+seemed to shoot into his forehead, he had the appearance of being in
+the last extremity. I would have gone to his assistance, but he waved me
+off, and wouldn’t hear a word.
+
+‘No, Copperfield!--No communication--a--until--Miss
+Wickfield--a--redress from wrongs inflicted by consummate
+scoundrel--HEEP!’ (I am quite convinced he could not have uttered three
+words, but for the amazing energy with which this word inspired him when
+he felt it coming.) ‘Inviolable secret--a--from the whole world--a--no
+exceptions--this day week--a--at breakfast-time--a--everybody
+present--including aunt--a--and extremely friendly gentleman--to be at
+the hotel at Canterbury--a--where--Mrs. Micawber and myself--Auld Lang
+Syne in chorus--and--a--will expose intolerable ruffian--HEEP! No more
+to say--a--or listen to persuasion--go immediately--not capable--a--bear
+society--upon the track of devoted and doomed traitor--HEEP!’
+
+With this last repetition of the magic word that had kept him going at
+all, and in which he surpassed all his previous efforts, Mr. Micawber
+rushed out of the house; leaving us in a state of excitement, hope, and
+wonder, that reduced us to a condition little better than his own. But
+even then his passion for writing letters was too strong to be resisted;
+for while we were yet in the height of our excitement, hope, and wonder,
+the following pastoral note was brought to me from a neighbouring
+tavern, at which he had called to write it:--
+
+
+ ‘Most secret and confidential.
+‘MY DEAR SIR,
+
+‘I beg to be allowed to convey, through you, my apologies to your
+excellent aunt for my late excitement. An explosion of a smouldering
+volcano long suppressed, was the result of an internal contest more
+easily conceived than described.
+
+‘I trust I rendered tolerably intelligible my appointment for the
+morning of this day week, at the house of public entertainment at
+Canterbury, where Mrs. Micawber and myself had once the honour of
+uniting our voices to yours, in the well-known strain of the Immortal
+exciseman nurtured beyond the Tweed.
+
+‘The duty done, and act of reparation performed, which can alone enable
+me to contemplate my fellow mortal, I shall be known no more. I shall
+simply require to be deposited in that place of universal resort, where
+
+ Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
+ The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,
+
+ ‘--With the plain Inscription,
+
+ ‘WILKINS MICAWBER.’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 50. Mr. PEGGOTTY’S DREAM COMES TRUE
+
+
+By this time, some months had passed since our interview on the bank
+of the river with Martha. I had never seen her since, but she had
+communicated with Mr. Peggotty on several occasions. Nothing had come of
+her zealous intervention; nor could I infer, from what he told me, that
+any clue had been obtained, for a moment, to Emily’s fate. I confess
+that I began to despair of her recovery, and gradually to sink deeper
+and deeper into the belief that she was dead.
+
+His conviction remained unchanged. So far as I know--and I believe
+his honest heart was transparent to me--he never wavered again, in his
+solemn certainty of finding her. His patience never tired. And, although
+I trembled for the agony it might one day be to him to have his strong
+assurance shivered at a blow, there was something so religious in it, so
+affectingly expressive of its anchor being in the purest depths of
+his fine nature, that the respect and honour in which I held him were
+exalted every day.
+
+His was not a lazy trustfulness that hoped, and did no more. He had
+been a man of sturdy action all his life, and he knew that in all things
+wherein he wanted help he must do his own part faithfully, and help
+himself. I have known him set out in the night, on a misgiving that the
+light might not be, by some accident, in the window of the old boat,
+and walk to Yarmouth. I have known him, on reading something in the
+newspaper that might apply to her, take up his stick, and go forth on a
+journey of three--or four-score miles. He made his way by sea to Naples,
+and back, after hearing the narrative to which Miss Dartle had assisted
+me. All his journeys were ruggedly performed; for he was always
+steadfast in a purpose of saving money for Emily’s sake, when she should
+be found. In all this long pursuit, I never heard him repine; I never
+heard him say he was fatigued, or out of heart.
+
+Dora had often seen him since our marriage, and was quite fond of him.
+I fancy his figure before me now, standing near her sofa, with his rough
+cap in his hand, and the blue eyes of my child-wife raised, with a timid
+wonder, to his face. Sometimes of an evening, about twilight, when
+he came to talk with me, I would induce him to smoke his pipe in the
+garden, as we slowly paced to and fro together; and then, the picture
+of his deserted home, and the comfortable air it used to have in my
+childish eyes of an evening when the fire was burning, and the wind
+moaning round it, came most vividly into my mind.
+
+One evening, at this hour, he told me that he had found Martha waiting
+near his lodging on the preceding night when he came out, and that she
+had asked him not to leave London on any account, until he should have
+seen her again.
+
+‘Did she tell you why?’ I inquired.
+
+‘I asked her, Mas’r Davy,’ he replied, ‘but it is but few words as she
+ever says, and she on’y got my promise and so went away.’
+
+‘Did she say when you might expect to see her again?’ I demanded.
+
+‘No, Mas’r Davy,’ he returned, drawing his hand thoughtfully down his
+face. ‘I asked that too; but it was more (she said) than she could
+tell.’
+
+As I had long forborne to encourage him with hopes that hung on threads,
+I made no other comment on this information than that I supposed he
+would see her soon. Such speculations as it engendered within me I kept
+to myself, and those were faint enough.
+
+I was walking alone in the garden, one evening, about a fortnight
+afterwards. I remember that evening well. It was the second in Mr.
+Micawber’s week of suspense. There had been rain all day, and there was
+a damp feeling in the air. The leaves were thick upon the trees, and
+heavy with wet; but the rain had ceased, though the sky was still dark;
+and the hopeful birds were singing cheerfully. As I walked to and fro
+in the garden, and the twilight began to close around me, their little
+voices were hushed; and that peculiar silence which belongs to such an
+evening in the country when the lightest trees are quite still, save for
+the occasional droppings from their boughs, prevailed.
+
+There was a little green perspective of trellis-work and ivy at the side
+of our cottage, through which I could see, from the garden where I was
+walking, into the road before the house. I happened to turn my eyes
+towards this place, as I was thinking of many things; and I saw a figure
+beyond, dressed in a plain cloak. It was bending eagerly towards me, and
+beckoning.
+
+‘Martha!’ said I, going to it.
+
+‘Can you come with me?’ she inquired, in an agitated whisper. ‘I have
+been to him, and he is not at home. I wrote down where he was to come,
+and left it on his table with my own hand. They said he would not be out
+long. I have tidings for him. Can you come directly?’
+
+My answer was, to pass out at the gate immediately. She made a hasty
+gesture with her hand, as if to entreat my patience and my silence,
+and turned towards London, whence, as her dress betokened, she had come
+expeditiously on foot.
+
+I asked her if that were not our destination? On her motioning Yes,
+with the same hasty gesture as before, I stopped an empty coach that was
+coming by, and we got into it. When I asked her where the coachman was
+to drive, she answered, ‘Anywhere near Golden Square! And quick!’--then
+shrunk into a corner, with one trembling hand before her face, and the
+other making the former gesture, as if she could not bear a voice.
+
+Now much disturbed, and dazzled with conflicting gleams of hope and
+dread, I looked at her for some explanation. But seeing how strongly
+she desired to remain quiet, and feeling that it was my own natural
+inclination too, at such a time, I did not attempt to break the silence.
+We proceeded without a word being spoken. Sometimes she glanced out of
+the window, as though she thought we were going slowly, though indeed we
+were going fast; but otherwise remained exactly as at first.
+
+We alighted at one of the entrances to the Square she had mentioned,
+where I directed the coach to wait, not knowing but that we might have
+some occasion for it. She laid her hand on my arm, and hurried me on
+to one of the sombre streets, of which there are several in that part,
+where the houses were once fair dwellings in the occupation of single
+families, but have, and had, long degenerated into poor lodgings let off
+in rooms. Entering at the open door of one of these, and releasing my
+arm, she beckoned me to follow her up the common staircase, which was
+like a tributary channel to the street.
+
+The house swarmed with inmates. As we went up, doors of rooms were
+opened and people’s heads put out; and we passed other people on the
+stairs, who were coming down. In glancing up from the outside, before
+we entered, I had seen women and children lolling at the windows over
+flower-pots; and we seemed to have attracted their curiosity, for these
+were principally the observers who looked out of their doors. It was a
+broad panelled staircase, with massive balustrades of some dark wood;
+cornices above the doors, ornamented with carved fruit and flowers; and
+broad seats in the windows. But all these tokens of past grandeur
+were miserably decayed and dirty; rot, damp, and age, had weakened
+the flooring, which in many places was unsound and even unsafe. Some
+attempts had been made, I noticed, to infuse new blood into this
+dwindling frame, by repairing the costly old wood-work here and there
+with common deal; but it was like the marriage of a reduced old noble to
+a plebeian pauper, and each party to the ill-assorted union shrunk away
+from the other. Several of the back windows on the staircase had
+been darkened or wholly blocked up. In those that remained, there was
+scarcely any glass; and, through the crumbling frames by which the bad
+air seemed always to come in, and never to go out, I saw, through other
+glassless windows, into other houses in a similar condition, and looked
+giddily down into a wretched yard, which was the common dust-heap of the
+mansion.
+
+We proceeded to the top-storey of the house. Two or three times, by the
+way, I thought I observed in the indistinct light the skirts of a female
+figure going up before us. As we turned to ascend the last flight of
+stairs between us and the roof, we caught a full view of this figure
+pausing for a moment, at a door. Then it turned the handle, and went in.
+
+‘What’s this!’ said Martha, in a whisper. ‘She has gone into my room. I
+don’t know her!’
+
+I knew her. I had recognized her with amazement, for Miss Dartle.
+
+I said something to the effect that it was a lady whom I had seen
+before, in a few words, to my conductress; and had scarcely done so,
+when we heard her voice in the room, though not, from where we stood,
+what she was saying. Martha, with an astonished look, repeated her
+former action, and softly led me up the stairs; and then, by a little
+back-door which seemed to have no lock, and which she pushed open with a
+touch, into a small empty garret with a low sloping roof, little better
+than a cupboard. Between this, and the room she had called hers,
+there was a small door of communication, standing partly open. Here we
+stopped, breathless with our ascent, and she placed her hand lightly on
+my lips. I could only see, of the room beyond, that it was pretty large;
+that there was a bed in it; and that there were some common pictures of
+ships upon the walls. I could not see Miss Dartle, or the person whom
+we had heard her address. Certainly, my companion could not, for my
+position was the best. A dead silence prevailed for some moments. Martha
+kept one hand on my lips, and raised the other in a listening attitude.
+
+‘It matters little to me her not being at home,’ said Rosa Dartle
+haughtily, ‘I know nothing of her. It is you I come to see.’
+
+‘Me?’ replied a soft voice.
+
+At the sound of it, a thrill went through my frame. For it was Emily’s!
+
+‘Yes,’ returned Miss Dartle, ‘I have come to look at you. What? You are
+not ashamed of the face that has done so much?’
+
+The resolute and unrelenting hatred of her tone, its cold stern
+sharpness, and its mastered rage, presented her before me, as if I had
+seen her standing in the light. I saw the flashing black eyes, and the
+passion-wasted figure; and I saw the scar, with its white track cutting
+through her lips, quivering and throbbing as she spoke.
+
+‘I have come to see,’ she said, ‘James Steerforth’s fancy; the girl who
+ran away with him, and is the town-talk of the commonest people of her
+native place; the bold, flaunting, practised companion of persons like
+James Steerforth. I want to know what such a thing is like.’
+
+There was a rustle, as if the unhappy girl, on whom she heaped these
+taunts, ran towards the door, and the speaker swiftly interposed herself
+before it. It was succeeded by a moment’s pause.
+
+When Miss Dartle spoke again, it was through her set teeth, and with a
+stamp upon the ground.
+
+‘Stay there!’ she said, ‘or I’ll proclaim you to the house, and the
+whole street! If you try to evade me, I’ll stop you, if it’s by the
+hair, and raise the very stones against you!’
+
+A frightened murmur was the only reply that reached my ears. A silence
+succeeded. I did not know what to do. Much as I desired to put an end to
+the interview, I felt that I had no right to present myself; that it was
+for Mr. Peggotty alone to see her and recover her. Would he never come?
+I thought impatiently.
+
+‘So!’ said Rosa Dartle, with a contemptuous laugh, ‘I see her at last!
+Why, he was a poor creature to be taken by that delicate mock-modesty,
+and that hanging head!’
+
+‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, spare me!’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Whoever you are,
+you know my pitiable story, and for Heaven’s sake spare me, if you would
+be spared yourself!’
+
+‘If I would be spared!’ returned the other fiercely; ‘what is there in
+common between US, do you think!’
+
+‘Nothing but our sex,’ said Emily, with a burst of tears.
+
+‘And that,’ said Rosa Dartle, ‘is so strong a claim, preferred by one
+so infamous, that if I had any feeling in my breast but scorn and
+abhorrence of you, it would freeze it up. Our sex! You are an honour to
+our sex!’
+
+‘I have deserved this,’ said Emily, ‘but it’s dreadful! Dear, dear lady,
+think what I have suffered, and how I am fallen! Oh, Martha, come back!
+Oh, home, home!’
+
+Miss Dartle placed herself in a chair, within view of the door, and
+looked downward, as if Emily were crouching on the floor before her.
+Being now between me and the light, I could see her curled lip, and her
+cruel eyes intently fixed on one place, with a greedy triumph.
+
+‘Listen to what I say!’ she said; ‘and reserve your false arts for your
+dupes. Do you hope to move me by your tears? No more than you could
+charm me by your smiles, you purchased slave.’
+
+‘Oh, have some mercy on me!’ cried Emily. ‘Show me some compassion, or I
+shall die mad!’
+
+‘It would be no great penance,’ said Rosa Dartle, ‘for your crimes. Do
+you know what you have done? Do you ever think of the home you have laid
+waste?’
+
+‘Oh, is there ever night or day, when I don’t think of it!’ cried Emily;
+and now I could just see her, on her knees, with her head thrown back,
+her pale face looking upward, her hands wildly clasped and held out,
+and her hair streaming about her. ‘Has there ever been a single minute,
+waking or sleeping, when it hasn’t been before me, just as it used to
+be in the lost days when I turned my back upon it for ever and for ever!
+Oh, home, home! Oh dear, dear uncle, if you ever could have known the
+agony your love would cause me when I fell away from good, you never
+would have shown it to me so constant, much as you felt it; but would
+have been angry to me, at least once in my life, that I might have had
+some comfort! I have none, none, no comfort upon earth, for all of them
+were always fond of me!’ She dropped on her face, before the imperious
+figure in the chair, with an imploring effort to clasp the skirt of her
+dress.
+
+Rosa Dartle sat looking down upon her, as inflexible as a figure of
+brass. Her lips were tightly compressed, as if she knew that she
+must keep a strong constraint upon herself--I write what I sincerely
+believe--or she would be tempted to strike the beautiful form with
+her foot. I saw her, distinctly, and the whole power of her face and
+character seemed forced into that expression.---Would he never come?
+
+‘The miserable vanity of these earth-worms!’ she said, when she had so
+far controlled the angry heavings of her breast, that she could trust
+herself to speak. ‘YOUR home! Do you imagine that I bestow a thought
+on it, or suppose you could do any harm to that low place, which money
+would not pay for, and handsomely? YOUR home! You were a part of the
+trade of your home, and were bought and sold like any other vendible
+thing your people dealt in.’
+
+‘Oh, not that!’ cried Emily. ‘Say anything of me; but don’t visit
+my disgrace and shame, more than I have done, on folks who are as
+honourable as you! Have some respect for them, as you are a lady, if you
+have no mercy for me.’
+
+‘I speak,’ she said, not deigning to take any heed of this appeal, and
+drawing away her dress from the contamination of Emily’s touch, ‘I speak
+of HIS home--where I live. Here,’ she said, stretching out her hand with
+her contemptuous laugh, and looking down upon the prostrate girl, ‘is a
+worthy cause of division between lady-mother and gentleman-son; of grief
+in a house where she wouldn’t have been admitted as a kitchen-girl; of
+anger, and repining, and reproach. This piece of pollution, picked up
+from the water-side, to be made much of for an hour, and then tossed
+back to her original place!’
+
+‘No! no!’ cried Emily, clasping her hands together. ‘When he first came
+into my way--that the day had never dawned upon me, and he had met me
+being carried to my grave!--I had been brought up as virtuous as you or
+any lady, and was going to be the wife of as good a man as you or any
+lady in the world can ever marry. If you live in his home and know him,
+you know, perhaps, what his power with a weak, vain girl might be. I
+don’t defend myself, but I know well, and he knows well, or he will know
+when he comes to die, and his mind is troubled with it, that he used all
+his power to deceive me, and that I believed him, trusted him, and loved
+him!’
+
+Rosa Dartle sprang up from her seat; recoiled; and in recoiling struck
+at her, with a face of such malignity, so darkened and disfigured by
+passion, that I had almost thrown myself between them. The blow, which
+had no aim, fell upon the air. As she now stood panting, looking at
+her with the utmost detestation that she was capable of expressing, and
+trembling from head to foot with rage and scorn, I thought I had never
+seen such a sight, and never could see such another.
+
+‘YOU love him? You?’ she cried, with her clenched hand, quivering as if
+it only wanted a weapon to stab the object of her wrath.
+
+Emily had shrunk out of my view. There was no reply.
+
+‘And tell that to ME,’ she added, ‘with your shameful lips? Why don’t
+they whip these creatures? If I could order it to be done, I would have
+this girl whipped to death.’
+
+And so she would, I have no doubt. I would not have trusted her with the
+rack itself, while that furious look lasted. She slowly, very slowly,
+broke into a laugh, and pointed at Emily with her hand, as if she were a
+sight of shame for gods and men.
+
+‘SHE love!’ she said. ‘THAT carrion! And he ever cared for her, she’d
+tell me. Ha, ha! The liars that these traders are!’
+
+Her mockery was worse than her undisguised rage. Of the two, I would
+have much preferred to be the object of the latter. But, when she
+suffered it to break loose, it was only for a moment. She had chained
+it up again, and however it might tear her within, she subdued it to
+herself.
+
+‘I came here, you pure fountain of love,’ she said, ‘to see--as I began
+by telling you--what such a thing as you was like. I was curious. I am
+satisfied. Also to tell you, that you had best seek that home of yours,
+with all speed, and hide your head among those excellent people who are
+expecting you, and whom your money will console. When it’s all gone, you
+can believe, and trust, and love again, you know! I thought you a broken
+toy that had lasted its time; a worthless spangle that was tarnished,
+and thrown away. But, finding you true gold, a very lady, and
+an ill-used innocent, with a fresh heart full of love and
+trustfulness--which you look like, and is quite consistent with your
+story!--I have something more to say. Attend to it; for what I say I’ll
+do. Do you hear me, you fairy spirit? What I say, I mean to do!’
+
+Her rage got the better of her again, for a moment; but it passed over
+her face like a spasm, and left her smiling.
+
+‘Hide yourself,’ she pursued, ‘if not at home, somewhere. Let it be
+somewhere beyond reach; in some obscure life--or, better still, in some
+obscure death. I wonder, if your loving heart will not break, you have
+found no way of helping it to be still! I have heard of such means
+sometimes. I believe they may be easily found.’
+
+A low crying, on the part of Emily, interrupted her here. She stopped,
+and listened to it as if it were music.
+
+‘I am of a strange nature, perhaps,’ Rosa Dartle went on; ‘but I can’t
+breathe freely in the air you breathe. I find it sickly. Therefore, I
+will have it cleared; I will have it purified of you. If you live here
+tomorrow, I’ll have your story and your character proclaimed on the
+common stair. There are decent women in the house, I am told; and it
+is a pity such a light as you should be among them, and concealed. If,
+leaving here, you seek any refuge in this town in any character but your
+true one (which you are welcome to bear, without molestation from me),
+the same service shall be done you, if I hear of your retreat. Being
+assisted by a gentleman who not long ago aspired to the favour of your
+hand, I am sanguine as to that.’
+
+Would he never, never come? How long was I to bear this? How long could
+I bear it? ‘Oh me, oh me!’ exclaimed the wretched Emily, in a tone that
+might have touched the hardest heart, I should have thought; but there
+was no relenting in Rosa Dartle’s smile. ‘What, what, shall I do!’
+
+‘Do?’ returned the other. ‘Live happy in your own reflections!
+Consecrate your existence to the recollection of James Steerforth’s
+tenderness--he would have made you his serving-man’s wife, would he
+not?---or to feeling grateful to the upright and deserving creature who
+would have taken you as his gift. Or, if those proud remembrances, and
+the consciousness of your own virtues, and the honourable position to
+which they have raised you in the eyes of everything that wears the
+human shape, will not sustain you, marry that good man, and be happy in
+his condescension. If this will not do either, die! There are doorways
+and dust-heaps for such deaths, and such despair--find one, and take
+your flight to Heaven!’
+
+I heard a distant foot upon the stairs. I knew it, I was certain. It was
+his, thank God!
+
+She moved slowly from before the door when she said this, and passed out
+of my sight.
+
+‘But mark!’ she added, slowly and sternly, opening the other door to
+go away, ‘I am resolved, for reasons that I have and hatreds that
+I entertain, to cast you out, unless you withdraw from my reach
+altogether, or drop your pretty mask. This is what I had to say; and
+what I say, I mean to do!’
+
+The foot upon the stairs came nearer--nearer--passed her as she went
+down--rushed into the room!
+
+‘Uncle!’
+
+A fearful cry followed the word. I paused a moment, and looking in, saw
+him supporting her insensible figure in his arms. He gazed for a few
+seconds in the face; then stooped to kiss it--oh, how tenderly!--and
+drew a handkerchief before it.
+
+‘Mas’r Davy,’ he said, in a low tremulous voice, when it was covered, ‘I
+thank my Heav’nly Father as my dream’s come true! I thank Him hearty for
+having guided of me, in His own ways, to my darling!’
+
+With those words he took her up in his arms; and, with the veiled
+face lying on his bosom, and addressed towards his own, carried her,
+motionless and unconscious, down the stairs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 51. THE BEGINNING OF A LONGER JOURNEY
+
+
+It was yet early in the morning of the following day, when, as I was
+walking in my garden with my aunt (who took little other exercise
+now, being so much in attendance on my dear Dora), I was told that Mr.
+Peggotty desired to speak with me. He came into the garden to meet me
+half-way, on my going towards the gate; and bared his head, as it was
+always his custom to do when he saw my aunt, for whom he had a high
+respect. I had been telling her all that had happened overnight. Without
+saying a word, she walked up with a cordial face, shook hands with him,
+and patted him on the arm. It was so expressively done, that she had no
+need to say a word. Mr. Peggotty understood her quite as well as if she
+had said a thousand.
+
+‘I’ll go in now, Trot,’ said my aunt, ‘and look after Little Blossom,
+who will be getting up presently.’
+
+‘Not along of my being heer, ma’am, I hope?’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘Unless
+my wits is gone a bahd’s neezing’--by which Mr. Peggotty meant to say,
+bird’s-nesting--‘this morning, ‘tis along of me as you’re a-going to
+quit us?’
+
+‘You have something to say, my good friend,’ returned my aunt, ‘and will
+do better without me.’
+
+‘By your leave, ma’am,’ returned Mr. Peggotty, ‘I should take it kind,
+pervising you doen’t mind my clicketten, if you’d bide heer.’
+
+‘Would you?’ said my aunt, with short good-nature. ‘Then I am sure I
+will!’
+
+So, she drew her arm through Mr. Peggotty’s, and walked with him to a
+leafy little summer-house there was at the bottom of the garden, where
+she sat down on a bench, and I beside her. There was a seat for Mr.
+Peggotty too, but he preferred to stand, leaning his hand on the small
+rustic table. As he stood, looking at his cap for a little while before
+beginning to speak, I could not help observing what power and force
+of character his sinewy hand expressed, and what a good and trusty
+companion it was to his honest brow and iron-grey hair.
+
+‘I took my dear child away last night,’ Mr. Peggotty began, as he
+raised his eyes to ours, ‘to my lodging, wheer I have a long time been
+expecting of her and preparing fur her. It was hours afore she knowed me
+right; and when she did, she kneeled down at my feet, and kiender said
+to me, as if it was her prayers, how it all come to be. You may believe
+me, when I heerd her voice, as I had heerd at home so playful--and see
+her humbled, as it might be in the dust our Saviour wrote in with his
+blessed hand--I felt a wownd go to my ‘art, in the midst of all its
+thankfulness.’
+
+He drew his sleeve across his face, without any pretence of concealing
+why; and then cleared his voice.
+
+‘It warn’t for long as I felt that; for she was found. I had on’y to
+think as she was found, and it was gone. I doen’t know why I do so much
+as mention of it now, I’m sure. I didn’t have it in my mind a minute
+ago, to say a word about myself; but it come up so nat’ral, that I
+yielded to it afore I was aweer.’
+
+‘You are a self-denying soul,’ said my aunt, ‘and will have your
+reward.’
+
+Mr. Peggotty, with the shadows of the leaves playing athwart his
+face, made a surprised inclination of the head towards my aunt, as an
+acknowledgement of her good opinion; then took up the thread he had
+relinquished.
+
+‘When my Em’ly took flight,’ he said, in stern wrath for the moment,
+‘from the house wheer she was made a prisoner by that theer spotted
+snake as Mas’r Davy see,--and his story’s trew, and may GOD confound
+him!--she took flight in the night. It was a dark night, with a many
+stars a-shining. She was wild. She ran along the sea beach, believing
+the old boat was theer; and calling out to us to turn away our faces,
+for she was a-coming by. She heerd herself a-crying out, like as if
+it was another person; and cut herself on them sharp-pinted stones and
+rocks, and felt it no more than if she had been rock herself. Ever so
+fur she run, and there was fire afore her eyes, and roarings in her
+ears. Of a sudden--or so she thowt, you unnerstand--the day broke, wet
+and windy, and she was lying b’low a heap of stone upon the shore, and
+a woman was a-speaking to her, saying, in the language of that country,
+what was it as had gone so much amiss?’
+
+He saw everything he related. It passed before him, as he spoke, so
+vividly, that, in the intensity of his earnestness, he presented what
+he described to me, with greater distinctness than I can express. I can
+hardly believe, writing now long afterwards, but that I was actually
+present in these scenes; they are impressed upon me with such an
+astonishing air of fidelity.
+
+‘As Em’ly’s eyes--which was heavy--see this woman better,’ Mr. Peggotty
+went on, ‘she know’d as she was one of them as she had often talked to
+on the beach. Fur, though she had run (as I have said) ever so fur in
+the night, she had oftentimes wandered long ways, partly afoot, partly
+in boats and carriages, and know’d all that country, ‘long the coast,
+miles and miles. She hadn’t no children of her own, this woman, being
+a young wife; but she was a-looking to have one afore long. And may
+my prayers go up to Heaven that ‘twill be a happiness to her, and a
+comfort, and a honour, all her life! May it love her and be dootiful to
+her, in her old age; helpful of her at the last; a Angel to her heer,
+and heerafter!’
+
+‘Amen!’ said my aunt.
+
+‘She had been summat timorous and down,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘and had sat,
+at first, a little way off, at her spinning, or such work as it was,
+when Em’ly talked to the children. But Em’ly had took notice of her,
+and had gone and spoke to her; and as the young woman was partial to
+the children herself, they had soon made friends. Sermuchser, that when
+Em’ly went that way, she always giv Em’ly flowers. This was her as
+now asked what it was that had gone so much amiss. Em’ly told her,
+and she--took her home. She did indeed. She took her home,’ said Mr.
+Peggotty, covering his face.
+
+He was more affected by this act of kindness, than I had ever seen him
+affected by anything since the night she went away. My aunt and I did
+not attempt to disturb him.
+
+‘It was a little cottage, you may suppose,’ he said, presently, ‘but she
+found space for Em’ly in it,--her husband was away at sea,--and she kep
+it secret, and prevailed upon such neighbours as she had (they was not
+many near) to keep it secret too. Em’ly was took bad with fever,
+and, what is very strange to me is,--maybe ‘tis not so strange to
+scholars,--the language of that country went out of her head, and she
+could only speak her own, that no one unnerstood. She recollects, as if
+she had dreamed it, that she lay there always a-talking her own tongue,
+always believing as the old boat was round the next pint in the bay, and
+begging and imploring of ‘em to send theer and tell how she was dying,
+and bring back a message of forgiveness, if it was on’y a wured. A’most
+the whole time, she thowt,--now, that him as I made mention on just now
+was lurking for her unnerneath the winder; now that him as had brought
+her to this was in the room,--and cried to the good young woman not to
+give her up, and know’d, at the same time, that she couldn’t unnerstand,
+and dreaded that she must be took away. Likewise the fire was afore
+her eyes, and the roarings in her ears; and theer was no today, nor
+yesterday, nor yet tomorrow; but everything in her life as ever had
+been, or as ever could be, and everything as never had been, and as
+never could be, was a crowding on her all at once, and nothing clear nor
+welcome, and yet she sang and laughed about it! How long this lasted, I
+doen’t know; but then theer come a sleep; and in that sleep, from being
+a many times stronger than her own self, she fell into the weakness of
+the littlest child.’
+
+Here he stopped, as if for relief from the terrors of his own
+description. After being silent for a few moments, he pursued his story.
+
+‘It was a pleasant arternoon when she awoke; and so quiet, that there
+warn’t a sound but the rippling of that blue sea without a tide, upon
+the shore. It was her belief, at first, that she was at home upon a
+Sunday morning; but the vine leaves as she see at the winder, and the
+hills beyond, warn’t home, and contradicted of her. Then, come in her
+friend to watch alongside of her bed; and then she know’d as the old
+boat warn’t round that next pint in the bay no more, but was fur off;
+and know’d where she was, and why; and broke out a-crying on that good
+young woman’s bosom, wheer I hope her baby is a-lying now, a-cheering of
+her with its pretty eyes!’
+
+He could not speak of this good friend of Emily’s without a flow of
+tears. It was in vain to try. He broke down again, endeavouring to bless
+her!
+
+‘That done my Em’ly good,’ he resumed, after such emotion as I could
+not behold without sharing in; and as to my aunt, she wept with all her
+heart; ‘that done Em’ly good, and she begun to mend. But, the language
+of that country was quite gone from her, and she was forced to make
+signs. So she went on, getting better from day to day, slow, but sure,
+and trying to learn the names of common things--names as she seemed
+never to have heerd in all her life--till one evening come, when she
+was a-setting at her window, looking at a little girl at play upon the
+beach. And of a sudden this child held out her hand, and said, what
+would be in English, “Fisherman’s daughter, here’s a shell!”--for you
+are to unnerstand that they used at first to call her “Pretty lady”, as
+the general way in that country is, and that she had taught ‘em to
+call her “Fisherman’s daughter” instead. The child says of a sudden,
+“Fisherman’s daughter, here’s a shell!” Then Em’ly unnerstands her; and
+she answers, bursting out a-crying; and it all comes back!
+
+‘When Em’ly got strong again,’ said Mr. Peggotty, after another short
+interval of silence, ‘she cast about to leave that good young creetur,
+and get to her own country. The husband was come home, then; and the two
+together put her aboard a small trader bound to Leghorn, and from that
+to France. She had a little money, but it was less than little as they
+would take for all they done. I’m a’most glad on it, though they was
+so poor! What they done, is laid up wheer neither moth or rust doth
+corrupt, and wheer thieves do not break through nor steal. Mas’r Davy,
+it’ll outlast all the treasure in the wureld.
+
+‘Em’ly got to France, and took service to wait on travelling ladies at a
+inn in the port. Theer, theer come, one day, that snake. --Let him never
+come nigh me. I doen’t know what hurt I might do him!--Soon as she see
+him, without him seeing her, all her fear and wildness returned upon
+her, and she fled afore the very breath he draw’d. She come to England,
+and was set ashore at Dover.
+
+‘I doen’t know,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘for sure, when her ‘art begun to
+fail her; but all the way to England she had thowt to come to her dear
+home. Soon as she got to England she turned her face tow’rds it. But,
+fear of not being forgiv, fear of being pinted at, fear of some of
+us being dead along of her, fear of many things, turned her from it,
+kiender by force, upon the road: “Uncle, uncle,” she says to me, “the
+fear of not being worthy to do what my torn and bleeding breast so
+longed to do, was the most fright’ning fear of all! I turned back, when
+my ‘art was full of prayers that I might crawl to the old door-step, in
+the night, kiss it, lay my wicked face upon it, and theer be found dead
+in the morning.”
+
+‘She come,’ said Mr. Peggotty, dropping his voice to an
+awe-stricken whisper, ‘to London. She--as had never seen it in her
+life--alone--without a penny--young--so pretty--come to London. A’most
+the moment as she lighted heer, all so desolate, she found (as she
+believed) a friend; a decent woman as spoke to her about the needle-work
+as she had been brought up to do, about finding plenty of it fur her,
+about a lodging fur the night, and making secret inquiration concerning
+of me and all at home, tomorrow. When my child,’ he said aloud, and with
+an energy of gratitude that shook him from head to foot, ‘stood upon the
+brink of more than I can say or think on--Martha, trew to her promise,
+saved her.’
+
+I could not repress a cry of joy.
+
+‘Mas’r Davy!’ said he, gripping my hand in that strong hand of his,
+‘it was you as first made mention of her to me. I thankee, sir! She was
+arnest. She had know’d of her bitter knowledge wheer to watch and what
+to do. She had done it. And the Lord was above all! She come, white and
+hurried, upon Em’ly in her sleep. She says to her, “Rise up from worse
+than death, and come with me!” Them belonging to the house would have
+stopped her, but they might as soon have stopped the sea. “Stand away
+from me,” she says, “I am a ghost that calls her from beside her open
+grave!” She told Em’ly she had seen me, and know’d I loved her, and
+forgive her. She wrapped her, hasty, in her clothes. She took her, faint
+and trembling, on her arm. She heeded no more what they said, than if
+she had had no ears. She walked among ‘em with my child, minding only
+her; and brought her safe out, in the dead of the night, from that black
+pit of ruin!
+
+‘She attended on Em’ly,’ said Mr. Peggotty, who had released my hand,
+and put his own hand on his heaving chest; ‘she attended to my Em’ly,
+lying wearied out, and wandering betwixt whiles, till late next day.
+Then she went in search of me; then in search of you, Mas’r Davy. She
+didn’t tell Em’ly what she come out fur, lest her ‘art should fail, and
+she should think of hiding of herself. How the cruel lady know’d of
+her being theer, I can’t say. Whether him as I have spoke so much of,
+chanced to see ‘em going theer, or whether (which is most like, to my
+thinking) he had heerd it from the woman, I doen’t greatly ask myself.
+My niece is found.
+
+‘All night long,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘we have been together, Em’ly
+and me. ‘Tis little (considering the time) as she has said, in wureds,
+through them broken-hearted tears; ‘tis less as I have seen of her dear
+face, as grow’d into a woman’s at my hearth. But, all night long, her
+arms has been about my neck; and her head has laid heer; and we knows
+full well, as we can put our trust in one another, ever more.’
+
+He ceased to speak, and his hand upon the table rested there in perfect
+repose, with a resolution in it that might have conquered lions.
+
+‘It was a gleam of light upon me, Trot,’ said my aunt, drying her eyes,
+‘when I formed the resolution of being godmother to your sister Betsey
+Trotwood, who disappointed me; but, next to that, hardly anything would
+have given me greater pleasure, than to be godmother to that good young
+creature’s baby!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty nodded his understanding of my aunt’s feelings, but could
+not trust himself with any verbal reference to the subject of her
+commendation. We all remained silent, and occupied with our own
+reflections (my aunt drying her eyes, and now sobbing convulsively, and
+now laughing and calling herself a fool); until I spoke.
+
+‘You have quite made up your mind,’ said I to Mr. Peggotty, ‘as to the
+future, good friend? I need scarcely ask you.’
+
+‘Quite, Mas’r Davy,’ he returned; ‘and told Em’ly. Theer’s mighty
+countries, fur from heer. Our future life lays over the sea.’
+
+‘They will emigrate together, aunt,’ said I.
+
+‘Yes!’ said Mr. Peggotty, with a hopeful smile. ‘No one can’t reproach
+my darling in Australia. We will begin a new life over theer!’
+
+I asked him if he yet proposed to himself any time for going away.
+
+‘I was down at the Docks early this morning, sir,’ he returned, ‘to get
+information concerning of them ships. In about six weeks or two
+months from now, there’ll be one sailing--I see her this morning--went
+aboard--and we shall take our passage in her.’
+
+‘Quite alone?’ I asked.
+
+‘Aye, Mas’r Davy!’ he returned. ‘My sister, you see, she’s that fond
+of you and yourn, and that accustomed to think on’y of her own country,
+that it wouldn’t be hardly fair to let her go. Besides which, theer’s
+one she has in charge, Mas’r Davy, as doen’t ought to be forgot.’
+
+‘Poor Ham!’ said I.
+
+‘My good sister takes care of his house, you see, ma’am, and he takes
+kindly to her,’ Mr. Peggotty explained for my aunt’s better information.
+‘He’ll set and talk to her, with a calm spirit, wen it’s like he
+couldn’t bring himself to open his lips to another. Poor fellow!’ said
+Mr. Peggotty, shaking his head, ‘theer’s not so much left him, that he
+could spare the little as he has!’
+
+‘And Mrs. Gummidge?’ said I.
+
+‘Well, I’ve had a mort of consideration, I do tell you,’ returned Mr.
+Peggotty, with a perplexed look which gradually cleared as he went
+on, ‘concerning of Missis Gummidge. You see, wen Missis Gummidge falls
+a-thinking of the old ‘un, she an’t what you may call good company.
+Betwixt you and me, Mas’r Davy--and you, ma’am--wen Mrs. Gummidge takes
+to wimicking,’--our old country word for crying,--‘she’s liable to be
+considered to be, by them as didn’t know the old ‘un, peevish-like. Now
+I DID know the old ‘un,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘and I know’d his merits,
+so I unnerstan’ her; but ‘tan’t entirely so, you see, with
+others--nat’rally can’t be!’
+
+My aunt and I both acquiesced.
+
+‘Wheerby,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘my sister might--I doen’t say she would,
+but might--find Missis Gummidge give her a leetle trouble now-and-again.
+Theerfur ‘tan’t my intentions to moor Missis Gummidge ‘long with them,
+but to find a Beein’ fur her wheer she can fisherate for herself.’
+(A Beein’ signifies, in that dialect, a home, and to fisherate is to
+provide.) ‘Fur which purpose,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘I means to make her
+a ‘lowance afore I go, as’ll leave her pretty comfort’ble. She’s the
+faithfullest of creeturs. ‘Tan’t to be expected, of course, at her
+time of life, and being lone and lorn, as the good old Mawther is to
+be knocked about aboardship, and in the woods and wilds of a new and
+fur-away country. So that’s what I’m a-going to do with her.’
+
+He forgot nobody. He thought of everybody’s claims and strivings, but
+his own.
+
+‘Em’ly,’ he continued, ‘will keep along with me--poor child, she’s sore
+in need of peace and rest!--until such time as we goes upon our voyage.
+She’ll work at them clothes, as must be made; and I hope her troubles
+will begin to seem longer ago than they was, wen she finds herself once
+more by her rough but loving uncle.’
+
+My aunt nodded confirmation of this hope, and imparted great
+satisfaction to Mr. Peggotty.
+
+‘Theer’s one thing furder, Mas’r Davy,’ said he, putting his hand in his
+breast-pocket, and gravely taking out the little paper bundle I had
+seen before, which he unrolled on the table. ‘Theer’s these here
+banknotes--fifty pound, and ten. To them I wish to add the money as she
+come away with. I’ve asked her about that (but not saying why), and have
+added of it up. I an’t a scholar. Would you be so kind as see how ‘tis?’
+
+He handed me, apologetically for his scholarship, a piece of paper, and
+observed me while I looked it over. It was quite right.
+
+‘Thankee, sir,’ he said, taking it back. ‘This money, if you doen’t
+see objections, Mas’r Davy, I shall put up jest afore I go, in a cover
+directed to him; and put that up in another, directed to his mother.
+I shall tell her, in no more wureds than I speak to you, what it’s the
+price on; and that I’m gone, and past receiving of it back.’
+
+I told him that I thought it would be right to do so--that I was
+thoroughly convinced it would be, since he felt it to be right.
+
+‘I said that theer was on’y one thing furder,’ he proceeded with a grave
+smile, when he had made up his little bundle again, and put it in his
+pocket; ‘but theer was two. I warn’t sure in my mind, wen I come out
+this morning, as I could go and break to Ham, of my own self, what had
+so thankfully happened. So I writ a letter while I was out, and put
+it in the post-office, telling of ‘em how all was as ‘tis; and that I
+should come down tomorrow to unload my mind of what little needs a-doing
+of down theer, and, most-like, take my farewell leave of Yarmouth.’
+
+‘And do you wish me to go with you?’ said I, seeing that he left
+something unsaid.
+
+‘If you could do me that kind favour, Mas’r Davy,’ he replied. ‘I know
+the sight on you would cheer ‘em up a bit.’
+
+My little Dora being in good spirits, and very desirous that I should
+go--as I found on talking it over with her--I readily pledged myself to
+accompany him in accordance with his wish. Next morning, consequently,
+we were on the Yarmouth coach, and again travelling over the old ground.
+
+As we passed along the familiar street at night--Mr. Peggotty, in
+despite of all my remonstrances, carrying my bag--I glanced into Omer
+and Joram’s shop, and saw my old friend Mr. Omer there, smoking his
+pipe. I felt reluctant to be present, when Mr. Peggotty first met his
+sister and Ham; and made Mr. Omer my excuse for lingering behind.
+
+‘How is Mr. Omer, after this long time?’ said I, going in.
+
+He fanned away the smoke of his pipe, that he might get a better view of
+me, and soon recognized me with great delight.
+
+‘I should get up, sir, to acknowledge such an honour as this visit,’
+said he, ‘only my limbs are rather out of sorts, and I am wheeled about.
+With the exception of my limbs and my breath, howsoever, I am as hearty
+as a man can be, I’m thankful to say.’
+
+I congratulated him on his contented looks and his good spirits, and
+saw, now, that his easy-chair went on wheels.
+
+‘It’s an ingenious thing, ain’t it?’ he inquired, following the
+direction of my glance, and polishing the elbow with his arm. ‘It runs
+as light as a feather, and tracks as true as a mail-coach. Bless you,
+my little Minnie--my grand-daughter you know, Minnie’s child--puts her
+little strength against the back, gives it a shove, and away we go, as
+clever and merry as ever you see anything! And I tell you what--it’s a
+most uncommon chair to smoke a pipe in.’
+
+I never saw such a good old fellow to make the best of a thing, and
+find out the enjoyment of it, as Mr. Omer. He was as radiant, as if
+his chair, his asthma, and the failure of his limbs, were the various
+branches of a great invention for enhancing the luxury of a pipe.
+
+‘I see more of the world, I can assure you,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘in this
+chair, than ever I see out of it. You’d be surprised at the number of
+people that looks in of a day to have a chat. You really would! There’s
+twice as much in the newspaper, since I’ve taken to this chair, as there
+used to be. As to general reading, dear me, what a lot of it I do get
+through! That’s what I feel so strong, you know! If it had been my eyes,
+what should I have done? If it had been my ears, what should I have
+done? Being my limbs, what does it signify? Why, my limbs only made my
+breath shorter when I used ‘em. And now, if I want to go out into
+the street or down to the sands, I’ve only got to call Dick, Joram’s
+youngest ‘prentice, and away I go in my own carriage, like the Lord
+Mayor of London.’
+
+He half suffocated himself with laughing here.
+
+‘Lord bless you!’ said Mr. Omer, resuming his pipe, ‘a man must take
+the fat with the lean; that’s what he must make up his mind to, in this
+life. Joram does a fine business. Ex-cellent business!’
+
+‘I am very glad to hear it,’ said I.
+
+‘I knew you would be,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘And Joram and Minnie are like
+Valentines. What more can a man expect? What’s his limbs to that!’
+
+His supreme contempt for his own limbs, as he sat smoking, was one of
+the pleasantest oddities I have ever encountered.
+
+‘And since I’ve took to general reading, you’ve took to general writing,
+eh, sir?’ said Mr. Omer, surveying me admiringly. ‘What a lovely work
+that was of yours! What expressions in it! I read it every word--every
+word. And as to feeling sleepy! Not at all!’
+
+I laughingly expressed my satisfaction, but I must confess that I
+thought this association of ideas significant.
+
+‘I give you my word and honour, sir,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘that when I lay
+that book upon the table, and look at it outside; compact in three
+separate and indiwidual wollumes--one, two, three; I am as proud as
+Punch to think that I once had the honour of being connected with
+your family. And dear me, it’s a long time ago, now, ain’t it? Over
+at Blunderstone. With a pretty little party laid along with the other
+party. And you quite a small party then, yourself. Dear, dear!’
+
+I changed the subject by referring to Emily. After assuring him that I
+did not forget how interested he had always been in her, and how
+kindly he had always treated her, I gave him a general account of her
+restoration to her uncle by the aid of Martha; which I knew would please
+the old man. He listened with the utmost attention, and said, feelingly,
+when I had done:
+
+‘I am rejoiced at it, sir! It’s the best news I have heard for many
+a day. Dear, dear, dear! And what’s going to be undertook for that
+unfortunate young woman, Martha, now?’
+
+‘You touch a point that my thoughts have been dwelling on since
+yesterday,’ said I, ‘but on which I can give you no information yet, Mr.
+Omer. Mr. Peggotty has not alluded to it, and I have a delicacy in
+doing so. I am sure he has not forgotten it. He forgets nothing that is
+disinterested and good.’
+
+‘Because you know,’ said Mr. Omer, taking himself up, where he had left
+off, ‘whatever is done, I should wish to be a member of. Put me down for
+anything you may consider right, and let me know. I never could think
+the girl all bad, and I am glad to find she’s not. So will my daughter
+Minnie be. Young women are contradictory creatures in some things--her
+mother was just the same as her--but their hearts are soft and kind.
+It’s all show with Minnie, about Martha. Why she should consider it
+necessary to make any show, I don’t undertake to tell you. But it’s all
+show, bless you. She’d do her any kindness in private. So, put me down
+for whatever you may consider right, will you be so good? and drop me
+a line where to forward it. Dear me!’ said Mr. Omer, ‘when a man is
+drawing on to a time of life, where the two ends of life meet; when he
+finds himself, however hearty he is, being wheeled about for the second
+time, in a speeches of go-cart; he should be over-rejoiced to do a
+kindness if he can. He wants plenty. And I don’t speak of myself,
+particular,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘because, sir, the way I look at it is, that
+we are all drawing on to the bottom of the hill, whatever age we are,
+on account of time never standing still for a single moment. So let us
+always do a kindness, and be over-rejoiced. To be sure!’
+
+He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and put it on a ledge in the back
+of his chair, expressly made for its reception.
+
+‘There’s Em’ly’s cousin, him that she was to have been married to,’ said
+Mr. Omer, rubbing his hands feebly, ‘as fine a fellow as there is in
+Yarmouth! He’ll come and talk or read to me, in the evening, for an hour
+together sometimes. That’s a kindness, I should call it! All his life’s
+a kindness.’
+
+‘I am going to see him now,’ said I.
+
+‘Are you?’ said Mr. Omer. ‘Tell him I was hearty, and sent my respects.
+Minnie and Joram’s at a ball. They would be as proud to see you as I
+am, if they was at home. Minnie won’t hardly go out at all, you see, “on
+account of father”, as she says. So I swore tonight, that if she didn’t
+go, I’d go to bed at six. In consequence of which,’ Mr. Omer shook
+himself and his chair with laughter at the success of his device, ‘she
+and Joram’s at a ball.’
+
+I shook hands with him, and wished him good night.
+
+‘Half a minute, sir,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘If you was to go without seeing
+my little elephant, you’d lose the best of sights. You never see such
+a sight! Minnie!’ A musical little voice answered, from somewhere
+upstairs, ‘I am coming, grandfather!’ and a pretty little girl with
+long, flaxen, curling hair, soon came running into the shop.
+
+‘This is my little elephant, sir,’ said Mr. Omer, fondling the child.
+‘Siamese breed, sir. Now, little elephant!’
+
+The little elephant set the door of the parlour open, enabling me to see
+that, in these latter days, it was converted into a bedroom for Mr.
+Omer who could not be easily conveyed upstairs; and then hid her pretty
+forehead, and tumbled her long hair, against the back of Mr. Omer’s
+chair.
+
+‘The elephant butts, you know, sir,’ said Mr. Omer, winking, ‘when he
+goes at a object. Once, elephant. Twice. Three times!’
+
+At this signal, the little elephant, with a dexterity that was next to
+marvellous in so small an animal, whisked the chair round with Mr. Omer
+in it, and rattled it off, pell-mell, into the parlour, without touching
+the door-post: Mr. Omer indescribably enjoying the performance, and
+looking back at me on the road as if it were the triumphant issue of his
+life’s exertions.
+
+After a stroll about the town I went to Ham’s house. Peggotty had now
+removed here for good; and had let her own house to the successor of
+Mr. Barkis in the carrying business, who had paid her very well for the
+good-will, cart, and horse. I believe the very same slow horse that Mr.
+Barkis drove was still at work.
+
+I found them in the neat kitchen, accompanied by Mrs. Gummidge, who had
+been fetched from the old boat by Mr. Peggotty himself. I doubt if
+she could have been induced to desert her post, by anyone else. He
+had evidently told them all. Both Peggotty and Mrs. Gummidge had their
+aprons to their eyes, and Ham had just stepped out ‘to take a turn on
+the beach’. He presently came home, very glad to see me; and I hope they
+were all the better for my being there. We spoke, with some approach to
+cheerfulness, of Mr. Peggotty’s growing rich in a new country, and of
+the wonders he would describe in his letters. We said nothing of Emily
+by name, but distantly referred to her more than once. Ham was the
+serenest of the party.
+
+But, Peggotty told me, when she lighted me to a little chamber where the
+Crocodile book was lying ready for me on the table, that he always was
+the same. She believed (she told me, crying) that he was broken-hearted;
+though he was as full of courage as of sweetness, and worked harder and
+better than any boat-builder in any yard in all that part. There were
+times, she said, of an evening, when he talked of their old life in
+the boat-house; and then he mentioned Emily as a child. But, he never
+mentioned her as a woman.
+
+I thought I had read in his face that he would like to speak to me
+alone. I therefore resolved to put myself in his way next evening, as he
+came home from his work. Having settled this with myself, I fell asleep.
+That night, for the first time in all those many nights, the candle was
+taken out of the window, Mr. Peggotty swung in his old hammock in the
+old boat, and the wind murmured with the old sound round his head.
+
+All next day, he was occupied in disposing of his fishing-boat and
+tackle; in packing up, and sending to London by waggon, such of his
+little domestic possessions as he thought would be useful to him; and in
+parting with the rest, or bestowing them on Mrs. Gummidge. She was with
+him all day. As I had a sorrowful wish to see the old place once more,
+before it was locked up, I engaged to meet them there in the evening.
+But I so arranged it, as that I should meet Ham first.
+
+It was easy to come in his way, as I knew where he worked. I met him
+at a retired part of the sands, which I knew he would cross, and turned
+back with him, that he might have leisure to speak to me if he really
+wished. I had not mistaken the expression of his face. We had walked but
+a little way together, when he said, without looking at me:
+
+‘Mas’r Davy, have you seen her?’
+
+‘Only for a moment, when she was in a swoon,’ I softly answered.
+
+We walked a little farther, and he said:
+
+‘Mas’r Davy, shall you see her, d’ye think?’
+
+‘It would be too painful to her, perhaps,’ said I.
+
+‘I have thowt of that,’ he replied. ‘So ‘twould, sir, so ‘twould.’
+
+‘But, Ham,’ said I, gently, ‘if there is anything that I could write
+to her, for you, in case I could not tell it; if there is anything
+you would wish to make known to her through me; I should consider it a
+sacred trust.’
+
+‘I am sure on’t. I thankee, sir, most kind! I think theer is something I
+could wish said or wrote.’
+
+‘What is it?’
+
+We walked a little farther in silence, and then he spoke.
+
+‘’Tan’t that I forgive her. ‘Tan’t that so much. ‘Tis more as I beg of
+her to forgive me, for having pressed my affections upon her. Odd times,
+I think that if I hadn’t had her promise fur to marry me, sir, she was
+that trustful of me, in a friendly way, that she’d have told me what was
+struggling in her mind, and would have counselled with me, and I might
+have saved her.’
+
+I pressed his hand. ‘Is that all?’ ‘Theer’s yet a something else,’ he
+returned, ‘if I can say it, Mas’r Davy.’
+
+We walked on, farther than we had walked yet, before he spoke again. He
+was not crying when he made the pauses I shall express by lines. He was
+merely collecting himself to speak very plainly.
+
+‘I loved her--and I love the mem’ry of her--too deep--to be able to
+lead her to believe of my own self as I’m a happy man. I could only be
+happy--by forgetting of her--and I’m afeerd I couldn’t hardly bear as
+she should be told I done that. But if you, being so full of learning,
+Mas’r Davy, could think of anything to say as might bring her to believe
+I wasn’t greatly hurt: still loving of her, and mourning for her:
+anything as might bring her to believe as I was not tired of my life,
+and yet was hoping fur to see her without blame, wheer the wicked cease
+from troubling and the weary are at rest--anything as would ease her
+sorrowful mind, and yet not make her think as I could ever marry, or as
+‘twas possible that anyone could ever be to me what she was--I should
+ask of you to say that--with my prayers for her--that was so dear.’
+
+I pressed his manly hand again, and told him I would charge myself to do
+this as well as I could.
+
+‘I thankee, sir,’ he answered. ‘’Twas kind of you to meet me. ‘Twas kind
+of you to bear him company down. Mas’r Davy, I unnerstan’ very well,
+though my aunt will come to Lon’on afore they sail, and they’ll unite
+once more, that I am not like to see him agen. I fare to feel sure on’t.
+We doen’t say so, but so ‘twill be, and better so. The last you see on
+him--the very last--will you give him the lovingest duty and thanks of
+the orphan, as he was ever more than a father to?’
+
+This I also promised, faithfully.
+
+‘I thankee agen, sir,’ he said, heartily shaking hands. ‘I know wheer
+you’re a-going. Good-bye!’
+
+With a slight wave of his hand, as though to explain to me that he could
+not enter the old place, he turned away. As I looked after his figure,
+crossing the waste in the moonlight, I saw him turn his face towards a
+strip of silvery light upon the sea, and pass on, looking at it, until
+he was a shadow in the distance.
+
+The door of the boat-house stood open when I approached; and, on
+entering, I found it emptied of all its furniture, saving one of the old
+lockers, on which Mrs. Gummidge, with a basket on her knee, was seated,
+looking at Mr. Peggotty. He leaned his elbow on the rough chimney-piece,
+and gazed upon a few expiring embers in the grate; but he raised his
+head, hopefully, on my coming in, and spoke in a cheery manner.
+
+‘Come, according to promise, to bid farewell to ‘t, eh, Mas’r Davy?’
+he said, taking up the candle. ‘Bare enough, now, an’t it?’ ‘Indeed you
+have made good use of the time,’ said I.
+
+‘Why, we have not been idle, sir. Missis Gummidge has worked like a--I
+doen’t know what Missis Gummidge an’t worked like,’ said Mr. Peggotty,
+looking at her, at a loss for a sufficiently approving simile.
+
+Mrs. Gummidge, leaning on her basket, made no observation.
+
+‘Theer’s the very locker that you used to sit on, ‘long with Em’ly!’
+said Mr. Peggotty, in a whisper. ‘I’m a-going to carry it away with me,
+last of all. And heer’s your old little bedroom, see, Mas’r Davy! A’most
+as bleak tonight, as ‘art could wish!’
+
+In truth, the wind, though it was low, had a solemn sound, and crept
+around the deserted house with a whispered wailing that was very
+mournful. Everything was gone, down to the little mirror with the
+oyster-shell frame. I thought of myself, lying here, when that first
+great change was being wrought at home. I thought of the blue-eyed child
+who had enchanted me. I thought of Steerforth: and a foolish, fearful
+fancy came upon me of his being near at hand, and liable to be met at
+any turn.
+
+‘’Tis like to be long,’ said Mr. Peggotty, in a low voice, ‘afore
+the boat finds new tenants. They look upon ‘t, down heer, as being
+unfortunate now!’
+
+‘Does it belong to anybody in the neighbourhood?’ I asked.
+
+‘To a mast-maker up town,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘I’m a-going to give the
+key to him tonight.’
+
+We looked into the other little room, and came back to Mrs. Gummidge,
+sitting on the locker, whom Mr. Peggotty, putting the light on the
+chimney-piece, requested to rise, that he might carry it outside the
+door before extinguishing the candle.
+
+‘Dan’l,’ said Mrs. Gummidge, suddenly deserting her basket, and clinging
+to his arm ‘my dear Dan’l, the parting words I speak in this house is, I
+mustn’t be left behind. Doen’t ye think of leaving me behind, Dan’l! Oh,
+doen’t ye ever do it!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty, taken aback, looked from Mrs. Gummidge to me, and from me
+to Mrs. Gummidge, as if he had been awakened from a sleep.
+
+‘Doen’t ye, dearest Dan’l, doen’t ye!’ cried Mrs. Gummidge, fervently.
+‘Take me ‘long with you, Dan’l, take me ‘long with you and Em’ly! I’ll
+be your servant, constant and trew. If there’s slaves in them parts
+where you’re a-going, I’ll be bound to you for one, and happy, but
+doen’t ye leave me behind, Dan’l, that’s a deary dear!’
+
+‘My good soul,’ said Mr. Peggotty, shaking his head, ‘you doen’t know
+what a long voyage, and what a hard life ‘tis!’ ‘Yes, I do, Dan’l! I can
+guess!’ cried Mrs. Gummidge. ‘But my parting words under this roof is,
+I shall go into the house and die, if I am not took. I can dig, Dan’l.
+I can work. I can live hard. I can be loving and patient now--more than
+you think, Dan’l, if you’ll on’y try me. I wouldn’t touch the ‘lowance,
+not if I was dying of want, Dan’l Peggotty; but I’ll go with you and
+Em’ly, if you’ll on’y let me, to the world’s end! I know how ‘tis; I
+know you think that I am lone and lorn; but, deary love, ‘tan’t so no
+more! I ain’t sat here, so long, a-watching, and a-thinking of your
+trials, without some good being done me. Mas’r Davy, speak to him for
+me! I knows his ways, and Em’ly’s, and I knows their sorrows, and can be
+a comfort to ‘em, some odd times, and labour for ‘em allus! Dan’l, deary
+Dan’l, let me go ‘long with you!’
+
+And Mrs. Gummidge took his hand, and kissed it with a homely pathos and
+affection, in a homely rapture of devotion and gratitude, that he well
+deserved.
+
+We brought the locker out, extinguished the candle, fastened the door
+on the outside, and left the old boat close shut up, a dark speck in
+the cloudy night. Next day, when we were returning to London outside the
+coach, Mrs. Gummidge and her basket were on the seat behind, and Mrs.
+Gummidge was happy.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 52. I ASSIST AT AN EXPLOSION
+
+
+When the time Mr. Micawber had appointed so mysteriously, was within
+four-and-twenty hours of being come, my aunt and I consulted how we
+should proceed; for my aunt was very unwilling to leave Dora. Ah! how
+easily I carried Dora up and down stairs, now!
+
+We were disposed, notwithstanding Mr. Micawber’s stipulation for my
+aunt’s attendance, to arrange that she should stay at home, and be
+represented by Mr. Dick and me. In short, we had resolved to take this
+course, when Dora again unsettled us by declaring that she never
+would forgive herself, and never would forgive her bad boy, if my aunt
+remained behind, on any pretence.
+
+‘I won’t speak to you,’ said Dora, shaking her curls at my aunt. ‘I’ll
+be disagreeable! I’ll make Jip bark at you all day. I shall be sure that
+you really are a cross old thing, if you don’t go!’
+
+‘Tut, Blossom!’ laughed my aunt. ‘You know you can’t do without me!’
+
+‘Yes, I can,’ said Dora. ‘You are no use to me at all. You never run up
+and down stairs for me, all day long. You never sit and tell me stories
+about Doady, when his shoes were worn out, and he was covered with
+dust--oh, what a poor little mite of a fellow! You never do anything at
+all to please me, do you, dear?’ Dora made haste to kiss my aunt, and
+say, ‘Yes, you do! I’m only joking!’-lest my aunt should think she
+really meant it.
+
+‘But, aunt,’ said Dora, coaxingly, ‘now listen. You must go. I shall
+tease you, ‘till you let me have my own way about it. I shall lead my
+naughty boy such a life, if he don’t make you go. I shall make myself
+so disagreeable--and so will Jip! You’ll wish you had gone, like a good
+thing, for ever and ever so long, if you don’t go. Besides,’ said Dora,
+putting back her hair, and looking wonderingly at my aunt and me, ‘why
+shouldn’t you both go? I am not very ill indeed. Am I?’
+
+‘Why, what a question!’ cried my aunt.
+
+‘What a fancy!’ said I.
+
+‘Yes! I know I am a silly little thing!’ said Dora, slowly looking from
+one of us to the other, and then putting up her pretty lips to kiss us
+as she lay upon her couch. ‘Well, then, you must both go, or I shall not
+believe you; and then I shall cry!’
+
+I saw, in my aunt’s face, that she began to give way now, and Dora
+brightened again, as she saw it too.
+
+‘You’ll come back with so much to tell me, that it’ll take at least
+a week to make me understand!’ said Dora. ‘Because I know I shan’t
+understand, for a length of time, if there’s any business in it. And
+there’s sure to be some business in it! If there’s anything to add up,
+besides, I don’t know when I shall make it out; and my bad boy will look
+so miserable all the time. There! Now you’ll go, won’t you? You’ll only
+be gone one night, and Jip will take care of me while you are gone.
+Doady will carry me upstairs before you go, and I won’t come down again
+till you come back; and you shall take Agnes a dreadfully scolding
+letter from me, because she has never been to see us!’
+
+We agreed, without any more consultation, that we would both go, and
+that Dora was a little Impostor, who feigned to be rather unwell,
+because she liked to be petted. She was greatly pleased, and very merry;
+and we four, that is to say, my aunt, Mr. Dick, Traddles, and I, went
+down to Canterbury by the Dover mail that night.
+
+At the hotel where Mr. Micawber had requested us to await him, which
+we got into, with some trouble, in the middle of the night, I found a
+letter, importing that he would appear in the morning punctually at half
+past nine. After which, we went shivering, at that uncomfortable hour,
+to our respective beds, through various close passages; which smelt as
+if they had been steeped, for ages, in a solution of soup and stables.
+
+Early in the morning, I sauntered through the dear old tranquil streets,
+and again mingled with the shadows of the venerable gateways and
+churches. The rooks were sailing about the cathedral towers; and the
+towers themselves, overlooking many a long unaltered mile of the rich
+country and its pleasant streams, were cutting the bright morning air,
+as if there were no such thing as change on earth. Yet the bells, when
+they sounded, told me sorrowfully of change in everything; told me of
+their own age, and my pretty Dora’s youth; and of the many, never old,
+who had lived and loved and died, while the reverberations of the bells
+had hummed through the rusty armour of the Black Prince hanging up
+within, and, motes upon the deep of Time, had lost themselves in air, as
+circles do in water.
+
+I looked at the old house from the corner of the street, but did not go
+nearer to it, lest, being observed, I might unwittingly do any harm to
+the design I had come to aid. The early sun was striking edgewise on its
+gables and lattice-windows, touching them with gold; and some beams of
+its old peace seemed to touch my heart.
+
+I strolled into the country for an hour or so, and then returned by
+the main street, which in the interval had shaken off its last night’s
+sleep. Among those who were stirring in the shops, I saw my ancient
+enemy the butcher, now advanced to top-boots and a baby, and in business
+for himself. He was nursing the baby, and appeared to be a benignant
+member of society.
+
+We all became very anxious and impatient, when we sat down to breakfast.
+As it approached nearer and nearer to half past nine o’clock, our
+restless expectation of Mr. Micawber increased. At last we made no more
+pretence of attending to the meal, which, except with Mr. Dick, had been
+a mere form from the first; but my aunt walked up and down the room.
+Traddles sat upon the sofa affecting to read the paper with his eyes on
+the ceiling; and I looked out of the window to give early notice of Mr.
+Micawber’s coming. Nor had I long to watch, for, at the first chime of
+the half hour, he appeared in the street.
+
+‘Here he is,’ said I, ‘and not in his legal attire!’
+
+My aunt tied the strings of her bonnet (she had come down to breakfast
+in it), and put on her shawl, as if she were ready for anything that
+was resolute and uncompromising. Traddles buttoned his coat with a
+determined air. Mr. Dick, disturbed by these formidable appearances, but
+feeling it necessary to imitate them, pulled his hat, with both hands,
+as firmly over his ears as he possibly could; and instantly took it off
+again, to welcome Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘Gentlemen, and madam,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘good morning! My dear sir,’
+to Mr. Dick, who shook hands with him violently, ‘you are extremely
+good.’
+
+‘Have you breakfasted?’ said Mr. Dick. ‘Have a chop!’
+
+‘Not for the world, my good sir!’ cried Mr. Micawber, stopping him on
+his way to the bell; ‘appetite and myself, Mr. Dixon, have long been
+strangers.’
+
+Mr. Dixon was so well pleased with his new name, and appeared to think
+it so obliging in Mr. Micawber to confer it upon him, that he shook
+hands with him again, and laughed rather childishly.
+
+‘Dick,’ said my aunt, ‘attention!’
+
+Mr. Dick recovered himself, with a blush.
+
+‘Now, sir,’ said my aunt to Mr. Micawber, as she put on her gloves, ‘we
+are ready for Mount Vesuvius, or anything else, as soon as YOU please.’
+
+‘Madam,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘I trust you will shortly witness an
+eruption. Mr. Traddles, I have your permission, I believe, to mention
+here that we have been in communication together?’
+
+‘It is undoubtedly the fact, Copperfield,’ said Traddles, to whom I
+looked in surprise. ‘Mr. Micawber has consulted me in reference to
+what he has in contemplation; and I have advised him to the best of my
+judgement.’
+
+‘Unless I deceive myself, Mr. Traddles,’ pursued Mr. Micawber, ‘what I
+contemplate is a disclosure of an important nature.’
+
+‘Highly so,’ said Traddles.
+
+‘Perhaps, under such circumstances, madam and gentlemen,’ said Mr.
+Micawber, ‘you will do me the favour to submit yourselves, for the
+moment, to the direction of one who, however unworthy to be regarded in
+any other light but as a Waif and Stray upon the shore of human nature,
+is still your fellow-man, though crushed out of his original form
+by individual errors, and the accumulative force of a combination of
+circumstances?’
+
+‘We have perfect confidence in you, Mr. Micawber,’ said I, ‘and will do
+what you please.’
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘your confidence is not, at
+the existing juncture, ill-bestowed. I would beg to be allowed a start
+of five minutes by the clock; and then to receive the present company,
+inquiring for Miss Wickfield, at the office of Wickfield and Heep, whose
+Stipendiary I am.’
+
+My aunt and I looked at Traddles, who nodded his approval.
+
+‘I have no more,’ observed Mr. Micawber, ‘to say at present.’
+
+With which, to my infinite surprise, he included us all in a
+comprehensive bow, and disappeared; his manner being extremely distant,
+and his face extremely pale.
+
+Traddles only smiled, and shook his head (with his hair standing upright
+on the top of it), when I looked to him for an explanation; so I took
+out my watch, and, as a last resource, counted off the five minutes. My
+aunt, with her own watch in her hand, did the like. When the time was
+expired, Traddles gave her his arm; and we all went out together to the
+old house, without saying one word on the way.
+
+We found Mr. Micawber at his desk, in the turret office on the
+ground floor, either writing, or pretending to write, hard. The large
+office-ruler was stuck into his waistcoat, and was not so well concealed
+but that a foot or more of that instrument protruded from his bosom,
+like a new kind of shirt-frill.
+
+As it appeared to me that I was expected to speak, I said aloud:
+
+‘How do you do, Mr. Micawber?’
+
+‘Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, gravely, ‘I hope I see you well?’
+
+‘Is Miss Wickfield at home?’ said I.
+
+‘Mr. Wickfield is unwell in bed, sir, of a rheumatic fever,’ he
+returned; ‘but Miss Wickfield, I have no doubt, will be happy to see old
+friends. Will you walk in, sir?’
+
+He preceded us to the dining-room--the first room I had entered in that
+house--and flinging open the door of Mr. Wickfield’s former office,
+said, in a sonorous voice:
+
+‘Miss Trotwood, Mr. David Copperfield, Mr. Thomas Traddles, and Mr.
+Dixon!’
+
+I had not seen Uriah Heep since the time of the blow. Our visit
+astonished him, evidently; not the less, I dare say, because it
+astonished ourselves. He did not gather his eyebrows together, for he
+had none worth mentioning; but he frowned to that degree that he almost
+closed his small eyes, while the hurried raising of his grisly hand to
+his chin betrayed some trepidation or surprise. This was only when we
+were in the act of entering his room, and when I caught a glance at him
+over my aunt’s shoulder. A moment afterwards, he was as fawning and as
+humble as ever.
+
+‘Well, I am sure,’ he said. ‘This is indeed an unexpected pleasure! To
+have, as I may say, all friends round St. Paul’s at once, is a treat
+unlooked for! Mr. Copperfield, I hope I see you well, and--if I may
+umbly express myself so--friendly towards them as is ever your friends,
+whether or not. Mrs. Copperfield, sir, I hope she’s getting on. We have
+been made quite uneasy by the poor accounts we have had of her state,
+lately, I do assure you.’
+
+I felt ashamed to let him take my hand, but I did not know yet what else
+to do.
+
+‘Things are changed in this office, Miss Trotwood, since I was an umble
+clerk, and held your pony; ain’t they?’ said Uriah, with his sickliest
+smile. ‘But I am not changed, Miss Trotwood.’
+
+‘Well, sir,’ returned my aunt, ‘to tell you the truth, I think you are
+pretty constant to the promise of your youth; if that’s any satisfaction
+to you.’
+
+‘Thank you, Miss Trotwood,’ said Uriah, writhing in his ungainly manner,
+‘for your good opinion! Micawber, tell ‘em to let Miss Agnes know--and
+mother. Mother will be quite in a state, when she sees the present
+company!’ said Uriah, setting chairs.
+
+‘You are not busy, Mr. Heep?’ said Traddles, whose eye the cunning red
+eye accidentally caught, as it at once scrutinized and evaded us.
+
+‘No, Mr. Traddles,’ replied Uriah, resuming his official seat, and
+squeezing his bony hands, laid palm to palm between his bony knees. ‘Not
+so much so as I could wish. But lawyers, sharks, and leeches, are not
+easily satisfied, you know! Not but what myself and Micawber have our
+hands pretty full, in general, on account of Mr. Wickfield’s being
+hardly fit for any occupation, sir. But it’s a pleasure as well as a
+duty, I am sure, to work for him. You’ve not been intimate with Mr.
+Wickfield, I think, Mr. Traddles? I believe I’ve only had the honour of
+seeing you once myself?’
+
+‘No, I have not been intimate with Mr. Wickfield,’ returned Traddles;
+‘or I might perhaps have waited on you long ago, Mr. Heep.’
+
+There was something in the tone of this reply, which made Uriah look at
+the speaker again, with a very sinister and suspicious expression. But,
+seeing only Traddles, with his good-natured face, simple manner, and
+hair on end, he dismissed it as he replied, with a jerk of his whole
+body, but especially his throat:
+
+‘I am sorry for that, Mr. Traddles. You would have admired him as much
+as we all do. His little failings would only have endeared him to you
+the more. But if you would like to hear my fellow-partner eloquently
+spoken of, I should refer you to Copperfield. The family is a subject
+he’s very strong upon, if you never heard him.’
+
+I was prevented from disclaiming the compliment (if I should have
+done so, in any case), by the entrance of Agnes, now ushered in by Mr.
+Micawber. She was not quite so self-possessed as usual, I thought; and
+had evidently undergone anxiety and fatigue. But her earnest cordiality,
+and her quiet beauty, shone with the gentler lustre for it.
+
+I saw Uriah watch her while she greeted us; and he reminded me of an
+ugly and rebellious genie watching a good spirit. In the meanwhile,
+some slight sign passed between Mr. Micawber and Traddles; and Traddles,
+unobserved except by me, went out.
+
+‘Don’t wait, Micawber,’ said Uriah.
+
+Mr. Micawber, with his hand upon the ruler in his breast, stood erect
+before the door, most unmistakably contemplating one of his fellow-men,
+and that man his employer.
+
+‘What are you waiting for?’ said Uriah. ‘Micawber! did you hear me tell
+you not to wait?’
+
+‘Yes!’ replied the immovable Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘Then why DO you wait?’ said Uriah.
+
+‘Because I--in short, choose,’ replied Mr. Micawber, with a burst.
+
+Uriah’s cheeks lost colour, and an unwholesome paleness, still faintly
+tinged by his pervading red, overspread them. He looked at Mr. Micawber
+attentively, with his whole face breathing short and quick in every
+feature.
+
+‘You are a dissipated fellow, as all the world knows,’ he said, with an
+effort at a smile, ‘and I am afraid you’ll oblige me to get rid of you.
+Go along! I’ll talk to you presently.’
+
+‘If there is a scoundrel on this earth,’ said Mr. Micawber, suddenly
+breaking out again with the utmost vehemence, ‘with whom I have already
+talked too much, that scoundrel’s name is--HEEP!’
+
+Uriah fell back, as if he had been struck or stung. Looking slowly round
+upon us with the darkest and wickedest expression that his face could
+wear, he said, in a lower voice:
+
+‘Oho! This is a conspiracy! You have met here by appointment! You are
+playing Booty with my clerk, are you, Copperfield? Now, take care.
+You’ll make nothing of this. We understand each other, you and me.
+There’s no love between us. You were always a puppy with a proud
+stomach, from your first coming here; and you envy me my rise, do you?
+None of your plots against me; I’ll counterplot you! Micawber, you be
+off. I’ll talk to you presently.’
+
+‘Mr. Micawber,’ said I, ‘there is a sudden change in this fellow, in
+more respects than the extraordinary one of his speaking the truth in
+one particular, which assures me that he is brought to bay. Deal with
+him as he deserves!’
+
+‘You are a precious set of people, ain’t you?’ said Uriah, in the same
+low voice, and breaking out into a clammy heat, which he wiped from his
+forehead, with his long lean hand, ‘to buy over my clerk, who is the
+very scum of society,--as you yourself were, Copperfield, you know it,
+before anyone had charity on you,--to defame me with his lies? Miss
+Trotwood, you had better stop this; or I’ll stop your husband shorter
+than will be pleasant to you. I won’t know your story professionally,
+for nothing, old lady! Miss Wickfield, if you have any love for your
+father, you had better not join that gang. I’ll ruin him, if you do.
+Now, come! I have got some of you under the harrow. Think twice, before
+it goes over you. Think twice, you, Micawber, if you don’t want to
+be crushed. I recommend you to take yourself off, and be talked to
+presently, you fool! while there’s time to retreat. Where’s mother?’ he
+said, suddenly appearing to notice, with alarm, the absence of Traddles,
+and pulling down the bell-rope. ‘Fine doings in a person’s own house!’
+
+‘Mrs. Heep is here, sir,’ said Traddles, returning with that worthy
+mother of a worthy son. ‘I have taken the liberty of making myself known
+to her.’
+
+‘Who are you to make yourself known?’ retorted Uriah. ‘And what do you
+want here?’
+
+‘I am the agent and friend of Mr. Wickfield, sir,’ said Traddles, in a
+composed and business-like way. ‘And I have a power of attorney from him
+in my pocket, to act for him in all matters.’
+
+‘The old ass has drunk himself into a state of dotage,’ said Uriah,
+turning uglier than before, ‘and it has been got from him by fraud!’
+
+‘Something has been got from him by fraud, I know,’ returned Traddles
+quietly; ‘and so do you, Mr. Heep. We will refer that question, if you
+please, to Mr. Micawber.’
+
+‘Ury--!’ Mrs. Heep began, with an anxious gesture.
+
+‘YOU hold your tongue, mother,’ he returned; ‘least said, soonest
+mended.’
+
+‘But, my Ury--’
+
+‘Will you hold your tongue, mother, and leave it to me?’
+
+Though I had long known that his servility was false, and all his
+pretences knavish and hollow, I had had no adequate conception of the
+extent of his hypocrisy, until I now saw him with his mask off. The
+suddenness with which he dropped it, when he perceived that it was
+useless to him; the malice, insolence, and hatred, he revealed; the leer
+with which he exulted, even at this moment, in the evil he had done--all
+this time being desperate too, and at his wits’ end for the means
+of getting the better of us--though perfectly consistent with the
+experience I had of him, at first took even me by surprise, who had
+known him so long, and disliked him so heartily.
+
+I say nothing of the look he conferred on me, as he stood eyeing us,
+one after another; for I had always understood that he hated me, and I
+remembered the marks of my hand upon his cheek. But when his eyes passed
+on to Agnes, and I saw the rage with which he felt his power over her
+slipping away, and the exhibition, in their disappointment, of the
+odious passions that had led him to aspire to one whose virtues he could
+never appreciate or care for, I was shocked by the mere thought of her
+having lived, an hour, within sight of such a man.
+
+After some rubbing of the lower part of his face, and some looking at us
+with those bad eyes, over his grisly fingers, he made one more address
+to me, half whining, and half abusive.
+
+‘You think it justifiable, do you, Copperfield, you who pride yourself
+so much on your honour and all the rest of it, to sneak about my place,
+eaves-dropping with my clerk? If it had been ME, I shouldn’t have
+wondered; for I don’t make myself out a gentleman (though I never was
+in the streets either, as you were, according to Micawber), but being
+you!--And you’re not afraid of doing this, either? You don’t think at
+all of what I shall do, in return; or of getting yourself into
+trouble for conspiracy and so forth? Very well. We shall see! Mr.
+What’s-your-name, you were going to refer some question to Micawber.
+There’s your referee. Why don’t you make him speak? He has learnt his
+lesson, I see.’
+
+Seeing that what he said had no effect on me or any of us, he sat on the
+edge of his table with his hands in his pockets, and one of his splay
+feet twisted round the other leg, waiting doggedly for what might
+follow.
+
+Mr. Micawber, whose impetuosity I had restrained thus far with the
+greatest difficulty, and who had repeatedly interposed with the first
+syllable of SCOUN-drel! without getting to the second, now burst
+forward, drew the ruler from his breast (apparently as a defensive
+weapon), and produced from his pocket a foolscap document, folded in the
+form of a large letter. Opening this packet, with his old flourish, and
+glancing at the contents, as if he cherished an artistic admiration of
+their style of composition, he began to read as follows:
+
+
+‘“Dear Miss Trotwood and gentlemen--“’
+
+‘Bless and save the man!’ exclaimed my aunt in a low voice. ‘He’d write
+letters by the ream, if it was a capital offence!’
+
+Mr. Micawber, without hearing her, went on.
+
+‘“In appearing before you to denounce probably the most consummate
+Villain that has ever existed,”’ Mr. Micawber, without looking off the
+letter, pointed the ruler, like a ghostly truncheon, at Uriah Heep,
+‘“I ask no consideration for myself. The victim, from my cradle, of
+pecuniary liabilities to which I have been unable to respond, I have
+ever been the sport and toy of debasing circumstances. Ignominy,
+Want, Despair, and Madness, have, collectively or separately, been the
+attendants of my career.”’
+
+The relish with which Mr. Micawber described himself as a prey to these
+dismal calamities, was only to be equalled by the emphasis with which he
+read his letter; and the kind of homage he rendered to it with a roll of
+his head, when he thought he had hit a sentence very hard indeed.
+
+‘“In an accumulation of Ignominy, Want, Despair, and Madness, I entered
+the office--or, as our lively neighbour the Gaul would term it, the
+Bureau--of the Firm, nominally conducted under the appellation of
+Wickfield and--HEEP, but in reality, wielded by--HEEP alone. HEEP, and
+only HEEP, is the mainspring of that machine. HEEP, and only HEEP, is
+the Forger and the Cheat.”’
+
+Uriah, more blue than white at these words, made a dart at the letter,
+as if to tear it in pieces. Mr. Micawber, with a perfect miracle of
+dexterity or luck, caught his advancing knuckles with the ruler, and
+disabled his right hand. It dropped at the wrist, as if it were broken.
+The blow sounded as if it had fallen on wood.
+
+‘The Devil take you!’ said Uriah, writhing in a new way with pain. ‘I’ll
+be even with you.’
+
+‘Approach me again, you--you--you HEEP of infamy,’ gasped Mr. Micawber,
+‘and if your head is human, I’ll break it. Come on, come on!’
+
+I think I never saw anything more ridiculous--I was sensible of it, even
+at the time--than Mr. Micawber making broad-sword guards with the ruler,
+and crying, ‘Come on!’ while Traddles and I pushed him back into a
+corner, from which, as often as we got him into it, he persisted in
+emerging again.
+
+His enemy, muttering to himself, after wringing his wounded hand for
+sometime, slowly drew off his neck-kerchief and bound it up; then
+held it in his other hand, and sat upon his table with his sullen face
+looking down.
+
+Mr. Micawber, when he was sufficiently cool, proceeded with his letter.
+
+‘“The stipendiary emoluments in consideration of which I entered into
+the service of--HEEP,”’ always pausing before that word and uttering
+it with astonishing vigour, ‘“were not defined, beyond the pittance of
+twenty-two shillings and six per week. The rest was left contingent on
+the value of my professional exertions; in other and more expressive
+words, on the baseness of my nature, the cupidity of my motives, the
+poverty of my family, the general moral (or rather immoral) resemblance
+between myself and--HEEP. Need I say, that it soon became necessary for
+me to solicit from--HEEP--pecuniary advances towards the support of
+Mrs. Micawber, and our blighted but rising family? Need I say that this
+necessity had been foreseen by--HEEP? That those advances were secured
+by I.O.U.’s and other similar acknowledgements, known to the legal
+institutions of this country? And that I thus became immeshed in the web
+he had spun for my reception?”’
+
+Mr. Micawber’s enjoyment of his epistolary powers, in describing this
+unfortunate state of things, really seemed to outweigh any pain or
+anxiety that the reality could have caused him. He read on:
+
+‘“Then it was that--HEEP--began to favour me with just so much of his
+confidence, as was necessary to the discharge of his infernal business.
+Then it was that I began, if I may so Shakespearianly express myself, to
+dwindle, peak, and pine. I found that my services were constantly
+called into requisition for the falsification of business, and the
+mystification of an individual whom I will designate as Mr. W. That Mr.
+W. was imposed upon, kept in ignorance, and deluded, in every possible
+way; yet, that all this while, the ruffian--HEEP--was professing
+unbounded gratitude to, and unbounded friendship for, that much-abused
+gentleman. This was bad enough; but, as the philosophic Dane observes,
+with that universal applicability which distinguishes the illustrious
+ornament of the Elizabethan Era, worse remains behind!”’
+
+Mr. Micawber was so very much struck by this happy rounding off with a
+quotation, that he indulged himself, and us, with a second reading of
+the sentence, under pretence of having lost his place.
+
+‘“It is not my intention,”’ he continued reading on, ‘“to enter on a
+detailed list, within the compass of the present epistle (though it
+is ready elsewhere), of the various malpractices of a minor nature,
+affecting the individual whom I have denominated Mr. W., to which I
+have been a tacitly consenting party. My object, when the contest within
+myself between stipend and no stipend, baker and no baker, existence
+and non-existence, ceased, was to take advantage of my opportunities
+to discover and expose the major malpractices committed, to that
+gentleman’s grievous wrong and injury, by--HEEP. Stimulated by the
+silent monitor within, and by a no less touching and appealing monitor
+without--to whom I will briefly refer as Miss W.--I entered on a not
+unlaborious task of clandestine investigation, protracted--now, to the
+best of my knowledge, information, and belief, over a period exceeding
+twelve calendar months.”’
+
+He read this passage as if it were from an Act of Parliament; and
+appeared majestically refreshed by the sound of the words.
+
+‘“My charges against--HEEP,”’ he read on, glancing at him, and drawing
+the ruler into a convenient position under his left arm, in case of
+need, ‘“are as follows.”’
+
+We all held our breath, I think. I am sure Uriah held his.
+
+‘“First,”’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘“When Mr. W.’s faculties and memory
+for business became, through causes into which it is not necessary or
+expedient for me to enter, weakened and confused,--HEEP--designedly
+perplexed and complicated the whole of the official transactions. When
+Mr. W. was least fit to enter on business,--HEEP was always at hand
+to force him to enter on it. He obtained Mr. W.’s signature under such
+circumstances to documents of importance, representing them to be other
+documents of no importance. He induced Mr. W. to empower him to draw
+out, thus, one particular sum of trust-money, amounting to twelve six
+fourteen, two and nine, and employed it to meet pretended business
+charges and deficiencies which were either already provided for, or
+had never really existed. He gave this proceeding, throughout, the
+appearance of having originated in Mr. W.’s own dishonest intention, and
+of having been accomplished by Mr. W.’s own dishonest act; and has used
+it, ever since, to torture and constrain him.”’
+
+‘You shall prove this, you Copperfield!’ said Uriah, with a threatening
+shake of the head. ‘All in good time!’
+
+‘Ask--HEEP--Mr. Traddles, who lived in his house after him,’ said Mr.
+Micawber, breaking off from the letter; ‘will you?’
+
+‘The fool himself--and lives there now,’ said Uriah, disdainfully.
+
+‘Ask--HEEP--if he ever kept a pocket-book in that house,’ said Mr.
+Micawber; ‘will you?’
+
+I saw Uriah’s lank hand stop, involuntarily, in the scraping of his
+chin.
+
+‘Or ask him,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘if he ever burnt one there. If he says
+yes, and asks you where the ashes are, refer him to Wilkins Micawber,
+and he will hear of something not at all to his advantage!’
+
+The triumphant flourish with which Mr. Micawber delivered himself of
+these words, had a powerful effect in alarming the mother; who cried
+out, in much agitation:
+
+‘Ury, Ury! Be umble, and make terms, my dear!’
+
+‘Mother!’ he retorted, ‘will you keep quiet? You’re in a fright, and
+don’t know what you say or mean. Umble!’ he repeated, looking at me,
+with a snarl; ‘I’ve umbled some of ‘em for a pretty long time back,
+umble as I was!’
+
+Mr. Micawber, genteelly adjusting his chin in his cravat, presently
+proceeded with his composition.
+
+‘“Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of my knowledge,
+information, and belief--“’
+
+‘But that won’t do,’ muttered Uriah, relieved. ‘Mother, you keep quiet.’
+
+‘We will endeavour to provide something that WILL do, and do for you
+finally, sir, very shortly,’ replied Mr. Micawber.
+
+‘“Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of my knowledge,
+information, and belief, systematically forged, to various entries,
+books, and documents, the signature of Mr. W.; and has distinctly done
+so in one instance, capable of proof by me. To wit, in manner following,
+that is to say:”’
+
+Again, Mr. Micawber had a relish in this formal piling up of words,
+which, however ludicrously displayed in his case, was, I must say, not
+at all peculiar to him. I have observed it, in the course of my life,
+in numbers of men. It seems to me to be a general rule. In the taking of
+legal oaths, for instance, deponents seem to enjoy themselves mightily
+when they come to several good words in succession, for the expression
+of one idea; as, that they utterly detest, abominate, and abjure, or so
+forth; and the old anathemas were made relishing on the same principle.
+We talk about the tyranny of words, but we like to tyrannize over them
+too; we are fond of having a large superfluous establishment of words to
+wait upon us on great occasions; we think it looks important, and sounds
+well. As we are not particular about the meaning of our liveries on
+state occasions, if they be but fine and numerous enough, so, the
+meaning or necessity of our words is a secondary consideration, if there
+be but a great parade of them. And as individuals get into trouble by
+making too great a show of liveries, or as slaves when they are too
+numerous rise against their masters, so I think I could mention a
+nation that has got into many great difficulties, and will get into many
+greater, from maintaining too large a retinue of words.
+
+Mr. Micawber read on, almost smacking his lips:
+
+‘“To wit, in manner following, that is to say. Mr. W. being infirm, and
+it being within the bounds of probability that his decease might lead
+to some discoveries, and to the downfall of--HEEP’S--power over the W.
+family,--as I, Wilkins Micawber, the undersigned, assume--unless the
+filial affection of his daughter could be secretly influenced from
+allowing any investigation of the partnership affairs to be ever made,
+the said--HEEP--deemed it expedient to have a bond ready by him, as from
+Mr. W., for the before-mentioned sum of twelve six fourteen, two and
+nine, with interest, stated therein to have been advanced by--HEEP--to
+Mr. W. to save Mr. W. from dishonour; though really the sum was never
+advanced by him, and has long been replaced. The signatures to this
+instrument purporting to be executed by Mr. W. and attested by Wilkins
+Micawber, are forgeries by--HEEP. I have, in my possession, in his hand
+and pocket-book, several similar imitations of Mr. W.’s signature, here
+and there defaced by fire, but legible to anyone. I never attested any
+such document. And I have the document itself, in my possession.”’ Uriah
+Heep, with a start, took out of his pocket a bunch of keys, and opened
+a certain drawer; then, suddenly bethought himself of what he was about,
+and turned again towards us, without looking in it.
+
+‘“And I have the document,”’ Mr. Micawber read again, looking about as
+if it were the text of a sermon, ‘“in my possession,--that is to say,
+I had, early this morning, when this was written, but have since
+relinquished it to Mr. Traddles.”’
+
+‘It is quite true,’ assented Traddles.
+
+‘Ury, Ury!’ cried the mother, ‘be umble and make terms. I know my
+son will be umble, gentlemen, if you’ll give him time to think. Mr.
+Copperfield, I’m sure you know that he was always very umble, sir!’
+
+It was singular to see how the mother still held to the old trick, when
+the son had abandoned it as useless.
+
+‘Mother,’ he said, with an impatient bite at the handkerchief in which
+his hand was wrapped, ‘you had better take and fire a loaded gun at me.’
+
+‘But I love you, Ury,’ cried Mrs. Heep. And I have no doubt she did; or
+that he loved her, however strange it may appear; though, to be sure,
+they were a congenial couple. ‘And I can’t bear to hear you provoking
+the gentlemen, and endangering of yourself more. I told the gentleman
+at first, when he told me upstairs it was come to light, that I would
+answer for your being umble, and making amends. Oh, see how umble I am,
+gentlemen, and don’t mind him!’
+
+‘Why, there’s Copperfield, mother,’ he angrily retorted, pointing his
+lean finger at me, against whom all his animosity was levelled, as the
+prime mover in the discovery; and I did not undeceive him; ‘there’s
+Copperfield, would have given you a hundred pound to say less than
+you’ve blurted out!’
+
+‘I can’t help it, Ury,’ cried his mother. ‘I can’t see you running into
+danger, through carrying your head so high. Better be umble, as you
+always was.’
+
+He remained for a little, biting the handkerchief, and then said to me
+with a scowl:
+
+‘What more have you got to bring forward? If anything, go on with it.
+What do you look at me for?’
+
+Mr. Micawber promptly resumed his letter, glad to revert to a
+performance with which he was so highly satisfied.
+
+‘“Third. And last. I am now in a condition to show, by--HEEP’S--false
+books, and--HEEP’S--real memoranda, beginning with the partially
+destroyed pocket-book (which I was unable to comprehend, at the time of
+its accidental discovery by Mrs. Micawber, on our taking possession of
+our present abode, in the locker or bin devoted to the reception of the
+ashes calcined on our domestic hearth), that the weaknesses, the faults,
+the very virtues, the parental affections, and the sense of honour, of
+the unhappy Mr. W. have been for years acted on by, and warped to the
+base purposes of--HEEP. That Mr. W. has been for years deluded and
+plundered, in every conceivable manner, to the pecuniary aggrandisement
+of the avaricious, false, and grasping--HEEP. That the engrossing object
+of--HEEP--was, next to gain, to subdue Mr. and Miss W. (of his ulterior
+views in reference to the latter I say nothing) entirely to himself.
+That his last act, completed but a few months since, was to induce Mr.
+W. to execute a relinquishment of his share in the partnership, and even
+a bill of sale on the very furniture of his house, in consideration of a
+certain annuity, to be well and truly paid by--HEEP--on the four common
+quarter-days in each and every year. That these meshes; beginning with
+alarming and falsified accounts of the estate of which Mr. W. is the
+receiver, at a period when Mr. W. had launched into imprudent and
+ill-judged speculations, and may not have had the money, for which he
+was morally and legally responsible, in hand; going on with pretended
+borrowings of money at enormous interest, really coming from--HEEP--and
+by--HEEP--fraudulently obtained or withheld from Mr. W. himself,
+on pretence of such speculations or otherwise; perpetuated by a
+miscellaneous catalogue of unscrupulous chicaneries--gradually
+thickened, until the unhappy Mr. W. could see no world beyond. Bankrupt,
+as he believed, alike in circumstances, in all other hope, and
+in honour, his sole reliance was upon the monster in the garb of
+man,”’--Mr. Micawber made a good deal of this, as a new turn of
+expression,--‘“who, by making himself necessary to him, had achieved his
+destruction. All this I undertake to show. Probably much more!”’
+
+I whispered a few words to Agnes, who was weeping, half joyfully, half
+sorrowfully, at my side; and there was a movement among us, as if Mr.
+Micawber had finished. He said, with exceeding gravity, ‘Pardon me,’
+and proceeded, with a mixture of the lowest spirits and the most intense
+enjoyment, to the peroration of his letter.
+
+‘“I have now concluded. It merely remains for me to substantiate these
+accusations; and then, with my ill-starred family, to disappear from the
+landscape on which we appear to be an encumbrance. That is soon done. It
+may be reasonably inferred that our baby will first expire of inanition,
+as being the frailest member of our circle; and that our twins will
+follow next in order. So be it! For myself, my Canterbury Pilgrimage has
+done much; imprisonment on civil process, and want, will soon do more.
+I trust that the labour and hazard of an investigation--of which the
+smallest results have been slowly pieced together, in the pressure of
+arduous avocations, under grinding penurious apprehensions, at rise of
+morn, at dewy eve, in the shadows of night, under the watchful eye of
+one whom it were superfluous to call Demon--combined with the struggle
+of parental Poverty to turn it, when completed, to the right account,
+may be as the sprinkling of a few drops of sweet water on my funeral
+pyre. I ask no more. Let it be, in justice, merely said of me, as of a
+gallant and eminent naval Hero, with whom I have no pretensions to
+cope, that what I have done, I did, in despite of mercenary and selfish
+objects,
+
+ For England, home, and Beauty.
+
+ ‘“Remaining always, &c. &c., WILKINS MICAWBER.”’
+
+
+Much affected, but still intensely enjoying himself, Mr. Micawber folded
+up his letter, and handed it with a bow to my aunt, as something she
+might like to keep.
+
+There was, as I had noticed on my first visit long ago, an iron safe in
+the room. The key was in it. A hasty suspicion seemed to strike Uriah;
+and, with a glance at Mr. Micawber, he went to it, and threw the doors
+clanking open. It was empty.
+
+‘Where are the books?’ he cried, with a frightful face. ‘Some thief has
+stolen the books!’
+
+Mr. Micawber tapped himself with the ruler. ‘I did, when I got the key
+from you as usual--but a little earlier--and opened it this morning.’
+
+‘Don’t be uneasy,’ said Traddles. ‘They have come into my possession. I
+will take care of them, under the authority I mentioned.’
+
+‘You receive stolen goods, do you?’ cried Uriah.
+
+‘Under such circumstances,’ answered Traddles, ‘yes.’
+
+What was my astonishment when I beheld my aunt, who had been profoundly
+quiet and attentive, make a dart at Uriah Heep, and seize him by the
+collar with both hands!
+
+‘You know what I want?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘A strait-waistcoat,’ said he.
+
+‘No. My property!’ returned my aunt. ‘Agnes, my dear, as long as
+I believed it had been really made away with by your father, I
+wouldn’t--and, my dear, I didn’t, even to Trot, as he knows--breathe a
+syllable of its having been placed here for investment. But, now I know
+this fellow’s answerable for it, and I’ll have it! Trot, come and take
+it away from him!’
+
+Whether my aunt supposed, for the moment, that he kept her property in
+his neck-kerchief, I am sure I don’t know; but she certainly pulled at
+it as if she thought so. I hastened to put myself between them, and to
+assure her that we would all take care that he should make the utmost
+restitution of everything he had wrongly got. This, and a few moments’
+reflection, pacified her; but she was not at all disconcerted by what
+she had done (though I cannot say as much for her bonnet) and resumed
+her seat composedly.
+
+During the last few minutes, Mrs. Heep had been clamouring to her son
+to be ‘umble’; and had been going down on her knees to all of us in
+succession, and making the wildest promises. Her son sat her down in his
+chair; and, standing sulkily by her, holding her arm with his hand, but
+not rudely, said to me, with a ferocious look:
+
+‘What do you want done?’
+
+‘I will tell you what must be done,’ said Traddles.
+
+‘Has that Copperfield no tongue?’ muttered Uriah, ‘I would do a good
+deal for you if you could tell me, without lying, that somebody had cut
+it out.’
+
+‘My Uriah means to be umble!’ cried his mother. ‘Don’t mind what he
+says, good gentlemen!’
+
+‘What must be done,’ said Traddles, ‘is this. First, the deed of
+relinquishment, that we have heard of, must be given over to me
+now--here.’
+
+‘Suppose I haven’t got it,’ he interrupted.
+
+‘But you have,’ said Traddles; ‘therefore, you know, we won’t suppose
+so.’ And I cannot help avowing that this was the first occasion on
+which I really did justice to the clear head, and the plain, patient,
+practical good sense, of my old schoolfellow. ‘Then,’ said Traddles,
+‘you must prepare to disgorge all that your rapacity has become
+possessed of, and to make restoration to the last farthing. All the
+partnership books and papers must remain in our possession; all your
+books and papers; all money accounts and securities, of both kinds. In
+short, everything here.’
+
+‘Must it? I don’t know that,’ said Uriah. ‘I must have time to think
+about that.’
+
+‘Certainly,’ replied Traddles; ‘but, in the meanwhile, and until
+everything is done to our satisfaction, we shall maintain possession
+of these things; and beg you--in short, compel you--to keep to your own
+room, and hold no communication with anyone.’
+
+‘I won’t do it!’ said Uriah, with an oath.
+
+‘Maidstone jail is a safer place of detention,’ observed Traddles; ‘and
+though the law may be longer in righting us, and may not be able to
+right us so completely as you can, there is no doubt of its punishing
+YOU. Dear me, you know that quite as well as I! Copperfield, will you go
+round to the Guildhall, and bring a couple of officers?’
+
+Here, Mrs. Heep broke out again, crying on her knees to Agnes to
+interfere in their behalf, exclaiming that he was very humble, and it
+was all true, and if he didn’t do what we wanted, she would, and much
+more to the same purpose; being half frantic with fears for her darling.
+To inquire what he might have done, if he had had any boldness, would
+be like inquiring what a mongrel cur might do, if it had the spirit of
+a tiger. He was a coward, from head to foot; and showed his dastardly
+nature through his sullenness and mortification, as much as at any time
+of his mean life.
+
+‘Stop!’ he growled to me; and wiped his hot face with his hand. ‘Mother,
+hold your noise. Well! Let ‘em have that deed. Go and fetch it!’
+
+‘Do you help her, Mr. Dick,’ said Traddles, ‘if you please.’
+
+Proud of his commission, and understanding it, Mr. Dick accompanied her
+as a shepherd’s dog might accompany a sheep. But, Mrs. Heep gave him
+little trouble; for she not only returned with the deed, but with the
+box in which it was, where we found a banker’s book and some other
+papers that were afterwards serviceable.
+
+‘Good!’ said Traddles, when this was brought. ‘Now, Mr. Heep, you can
+retire to think: particularly observing, if you please, that I declare
+to you, on the part of all present, that there is only one thing to be
+done; that it is what I have explained; and that it must be done without
+delay.’
+
+Uriah, without lifting his eyes from the ground, shuffled across the
+room with his hand to his chin, and pausing at the door, said:
+
+‘Copperfield, I have always hated you. You’ve always been an upstart,
+and you’ve always been against me.’
+
+‘As I think I told you once before,’ said I, ‘it is you who have been,
+in your greed and cunning, against all the world. It may be profitable
+to you to reflect, in future, that there never were greed and cunning in
+the world yet, that did not do too much, and overreach themselves. It is
+as certain as death.’
+
+‘Or as certain as they used to teach at school (the same school where I
+picked up so much umbleness), from nine o’clock to eleven, that labour
+was a curse; and from eleven o’clock to one, that it was a blessing and
+a cheerfulness, and a dignity, and I don’t know what all, eh?’ said
+he with a sneer. ‘You preach, about as consistent as they did.
+Won’t umbleness go down? I shouldn’t have got round my gentleman
+fellow-partner without it, I think. --Micawber, you old bully, I’ll pay
+YOU!’
+
+Mr. Micawber, supremely defiant of him and his extended finger, and
+making a great deal of his chest until he had slunk out at the door,
+then addressed himself to me, and proffered me the satisfaction of
+‘witnessing the re-establishment of mutual confidence between himself
+and Mrs. Micawber’. After which, he invited the company generally to the
+contemplation of that affecting spectacle.
+
+‘The veil that has long been interposed between Mrs. Micawber and
+myself, is now withdrawn,’ said Mr. Micawber; ‘and my children and the
+Author of their Being can once more come in contact on equal terms.’
+
+As we were all very grateful to him, and all desirous to show that we
+were, as well as the hurry and disorder of our spirits would permit, I
+dare say we should all have gone, but that it was necessary for Agnes to
+return to her father, as yet unable to bear more than the dawn of
+hope; and for someone else to hold Uriah in safe keeping. So, Traddles
+remained for the latter purpose, to be presently relieved by Mr. Dick;
+and Mr. Dick, my aunt, and I, went home with Mr. Micawber. As I parted
+hurriedly from the dear girl to whom I owed so much, and thought from
+what she had been saved, perhaps, that morning--her better resolution
+notwithstanding--I felt devoutly thankful for the miseries of my younger
+days which had brought me to the knowledge of Mr. Micawber.
+
+His house was not far off; and as the street door opened into the
+sitting-room, and he bolted in with a precipitation quite his own,
+we found ourselves at once in the bosom of the family. Mr. Micawber
+exclaiming, ‘Emma! my life!’ rushed into Mrs. Micawber’s arms. Mrs.
+Micawber shrieked, and folded Mr. Micawber in her embrace. Miss
+Micawber, nursing the unconscious stranger of Mrs. Micawber’s last
+letter to me, was sensibly affected. The stranger leaped. The twins
+testified their joy by several inconvenient but innocent demonstrations.
+Master Micawber, whose disposition appeared to have been soured by
+early disappointment, and whose aspect had become morose, yielded to his
+better feelings, and blubbered.
+
+‘Emma!’ said Mr. Micawber. ‘The cloud is past from my mind. Mutual
+confidence, so long preserved between us once, is restored, to know
+no further interruption. Now, welcome poverty!’ cried Mr. Micawber,
+shedding tears. ‘Welcome misery, welcome houselessness, welcome hunger,
+rags, tempest, and beggary! Mutual confidence will sustain us to the
+end!’
+
+With these expressions, Mr. Micawber placed Mrs. Micawber in a chair,
+and embraced the family all round; welcoming a variety of bleak
+prospects, which appeared, to the best of my judgement, to be anything
+but welcome to them; and calling upon them to come out into Canterbury
+and sing a chorus, as nothing else was left for their support.
+
+But Mrs. Micawber having, in the strength of her emotions, fainted away,
+the first thing to be done, even before the chorus could be considered
+complete, was to recover her. This my aunt and Mr. Micawber did; and
+then my aunt was introduced, and Mrs. Micawber recognized me.
+
+‘Excuse me, dear Mr. Copperfield,’ said the poor lady, giving me her
+hand, ‘but I am not strong; and the removal of the late misunderstanding
+between Mr. Micawber and myself was at first too much for me.’
+
+‘Is this all your family, ma’am?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘There are no more at present,’ returned Mrs. Micawber.
+
+‘Good gracious, I didn’t mean that, ma’am,’ said my aunt. ‘I mean, are
+all these yours?’
+
+‘Madam,’ replied Mr. Micawber, ‘it is a true bill.’
+
+‘And that eldest young gentleman, now,’ said my aunt, musing, ‘what has
+he been brought up to?’
+
+‘It was my hope when I came here,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘to have got
+Wilkins into the Church: or perhaps I shall express my meaning more
+strictly, if I say the Choir. But there was no vacancy for a tenor in
+the venerable Pile for which this city is so justly eminent; and he
+has--in short, he has contracted a habit of singing in public-houses,
+rather than in sacred edifices.’
+
+‘But he means well,’ said Mrs. Micawber, tenderly.
+
+‘I dare say, my love,’ rejoined Mr. Micawber, ‘that he means
+particularly well; but I have not yet found that he carries out his
+meaning, in any given direction whatsoever.’
+
+Master Micawber’s moroseness of aspect returned upon him again, and he
+demanded, with some temper, what he was to do? Whether he had been born
+a carpenter, or a coach-painter, any more than he had been born a bird?
+Whether he could go into the next street, and open a chemist’s shop?
+Whether he could rush to the next assizes, and proclaim himself a
+lawyer? Whether he could come out by force at the opera, and succeed
+by violence? Whether he could do anything, without being brought up to
+something?
+
+My aunt mused a little while, and then said:
+
+‘Mr. Micawber, I wonder you have never turned your thoughts to
+emigration.’
+
+‘Madam,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘it was the dream of my youth, and the
+fallacious aspiration of my riper years.’ I am thoroughly persuaded, by
+the by, that he had never thought of it in his life.
+
+‘Aye?’ said my aunt, with a glance at me. ‘Why, what a thing it would
+be for yourselves and your family, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, if you were to
+emigrate now.’
+
+‘Capital, madam, capital,’ urged Mr. Micawber, gloomily.
+
+‘That is the principal, I may say the only difficulty, my dear Mr.
+Copperfield,’ assented his wife.
+
+‘Capital?’ cried my aunt. ‘But you are doing us a great service--have
+done us a great service, I may say, for surely much will come out of
+the fire--and what could we do for you, that would be half so good as to
+find the capital?’
+
+‘I could not receive it as a gift,’ said Mr. Micawber, full of fire and
+animation, ‘but if a sufficient sum could be advanced, say at five per
+cent interest, per annum, upon my personal liability--say my notes of
+hand, at twelve, eighteen, and twenty-four months, respectively, to
+allow time for something to turn up--’
+
+‘Could be? Can be and shall be, on your own terms,’ returned my aunt,
+‘if you say the word. Think of this now, both of you. Here are some
+people David knows, going out to Australia shortly. If you decide to go,
+why shouldn’t you go in the same ship? You may help each other. Think of
+this now, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Take your time, and weigh it well.’
+
+‘There is but one question, my dear ma’am, I could wish to ask,’ said
+Mrs. Micawber. ‘The climate, I believe, is healthy?’
+
+‘Finest in the world!’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Just so,’ returned Mrs. Micawber. ‘Then my question arises. Now, are
+the circumstances of the country such, that a man of Mr. Micawber’s
+abilities would have a fair chance of rising in the social scale? I will
+not say, at present, might he aspire to be Governor, or anything of that
+sort; but would there be a reasonable opening for his talents to
+develop themselves--that would be amply sufficient--and find their own
+expansion?’
+
+‘No better opening anywhere,’ said my aunt, ‘for a man who conducts
+himself well, and is industrious.’
+
+‘For a man who conducts himself well,’ repeated Mrs. Micawber, with her
+clearest business manner, ‘and is industrious. Precisely. It is
+evident to me that Australia is the legitimate sphere of action for Mr.
+Micawber!’
+
+‘I entertain the conviction, my dear madam,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘that
+it is, under existing circumstances, the land, the only land, for myself
+and family; and that something of an extraordinary nature will turn up
+on that shore. It is no distance--comparatively speaking; and though
+consideration is due to the kindness of your proposal, I assure you that
+is a mere matter of form.’
+
+Shall I ever forget how, in a moment, he was the most sanguine of men,
+looking on to fortune; or how Mrs. Micawber presently discoursed
+about the habits of the kangaroo! Shall I ever recall that street of
+Canterbury on a market-day, without recalling him, as he walked
+back with us; expressing, in the hardy roving manner he assumed, the
+unsettled habits of a temporary sojourner in the land; and looking at
+the bullocks, as they came by, with the eye of an Australian farmer!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 53. ANOTHER RETROSPECT
+
+
+I must pause yet once again. O, my child-wife, there is a figure in the
+moving crowd before my memory, quiet and still, saying in its innocent
+love and childish beauty, Stop to think of me--turn to look upon the
+Little Blossom, as it flutters to the ground!
+
+I do. All else grows dim, and fades away. I am again with Dora, in our
+cottage. I do not know how long she has been ill. I am so used to it in
+feeling, that I cannot count the time. It is not really long, in weeks
+or months; but, in my usage and experience, it is a weary, weary while.
+
+They have left off telling me to ‘wait a few days more’. I have begun
+to fear, remotely, that the day may never shine, when I shall see my
+child-wife running in the sunlight with her old friend Jip.
+
+He is, as it were suddenly, grown very old. It may be that he misses in
+his mistress, something that enlivened him and made him younger; but he
+mopes, and his sight is weak, and his limbs are feeble, and my aunt is
+sorry that he objects to her no more, but creeps near her as he lies on
+Dora’s bed--she sitting at the bedside--and mildly licks her hand.
+
+Dora lies smiling on us, and is beautiful, and utters no hasty or
+complaining word. She says that we are very good to her; that her dear
+old careful boy is tiring himself out, she knows; that my aunt has no
+sleep, yet is always wakeful, active, and kind. Sometimes, the
+little bird-like ladies come to see her; and then we talk about our
+wedding-day, and all that happy time.
+
+What a strange rest and pause in my life there seems to be--and in all
+life, within doors and without--when I sit in the quiet, shaded, orderly
+room, with the blue eyes of my child-wife turned towards me, and her
+little fingers twining round my hand! Many and many an hour I sit thus;
+but, of all those times, three times come the freshest on my mind.
+
+
+It is morning; and Dora, made so trim by my aunt’s hands, shows me how
+her pretty hair will curl upon the pillow yet, an how long and bright it
+is, and how she likes to have it loosely gathered in that net she wears.
+
+‘Not that I am vain of it, now, you mocking boy,’ she says, when I
+smile; ‘but because you used to say you thought it so beautiful; and
+because, when I first began to think about you, I used to peep in the
+glass, and wonder whether you would like very much to have a lock of it.
+Oh what a foolish fellow you were, Doady, when I gave you one!’
+
+‘That was on the day when you were painting the flowers I had given you,
+Dora, and when I told you how much in love I was.’
+
+‘Ah! but I didn’t like to tell you,’ says Dora, ‘then, how I had cried
+over them, because I believed you really liked me! When I can run about
+again as I used to do, Doady, let us go and see those places where we
+were such a silly couple, shall we? And take some of the old walks? And
+not forget poor papa?’
+
+‘Yes, we will, and have some happy days. So you must make haste to get
+well, my dear.’
+
+‘Oh, I shall soon do that! I am so much better, you don’t know!’
+
+
+It is evening; and I sit in the same chair, by the same bed, with the
+same face turned towards me. We have been silent, and there is a smile
+upon her face. I have ceased to carry my light burden up and down stairs
+now. She lies here all the day.
+
+‘Doady!’
+
+‘My dear Dora!’
+
+‘You won’t think what I am going to say, unreasonable, after what you
+told me, such a little while ago, of Mr. Wickfield’s not being well? I
+want to see Agnes. Very much I want to see her.’
+
+‘I will write to her, my dear.’
+
+‘Will you?’
+
+‘Directly.’
+
+‘What a good, kind boy! Doady, take me on your arm. Indeed, my dear,
+it’s not a whim. It’s not a foolish fancy. I want, very much indeed, to
+see her!’
+
+‘I am certain of it. I have only to tell her so, and she is sure to
+come.’
+
+‘You are very lonely when you go downstairs, now?’ Dora whispers, with
+her arm about my neck.
+
+‘How can I be otherwise, my own love, when I see your empty chair?’
+
+‘My empty chair!’ She clings to me for a little while, in silence. ‘And
+you really miss me, Doady?’ looking up, and brightly smiling. ‘Even
+poor, giddy, stupid me?’
+
+‘My heart, who is there upon earth that I could miss so much?’
+
+‘Oh, husband! I am so glad, yet so sorry!’ creeping closer to me, and
+folding me in both her arms. She laughs and sobs, and then is quiet, and
+quite happy.
+
+‘Quite!’ she says. ‘Only give Agnes my dear love, and tell her that I
+want very, very, much to see her; and I have nothing left to wish for.’
+
+‘Except to get well again, Dora.’
+
+‘Ah, Doady! Sometimes I think--you know I always was a silly little
+thing!--that that will never be!’
+
+‘Don’t say so, Dora! Dearest love, don’t think so!’
+
+‘I won’t, if I can help it, Doady. But I am very happy; though my dear
+boy is so lonely by himself, before his child-wife’s empty chair!’
+
+
+It is night; and I am with her still. Agnes has arrived; has been among
+us for a whole day and an evening. She, my aunt, and I, have sat with
+Dora since the morning, all together. We have not talked much, but Dora
+has been perfectly contented and cheerful. We are now alone.
+
+Do I know, now, that my child-wife will soon leave me? They have told me
+so; they have told me nothing new to my thoughts--but I am far from
+sure that I have taken that truth to heart. I cannot master it. I have
+withdrawn by myself, many times today, to weep. I have remembered Who
+wept for a parting between the living and the dead. I have bethought me
+of all that gracious and compassionate history. I have tried to resign
+myself, and to console myself; and that, I hope, I may have done
+imperfectly; but what I cannot firmly settle in my mind is, that the end
+will absolutely come. I hold her hand in mine, I hold her heart in mine,
+I see her love for me, alive in all its strength. I cannot shut out a
+pale lingering shadow of belief that she will be spared.
+
+‘I am going to speak to you, Doady. I am going to say something I have
+often thought of saying, lately. You won’t mind?’ with a gentle look.
+
+‘Mind, my darling?’
+
+‘Because I don’t know what you will think, or what you may have thought
+sometimes. Perhaps you have often thought the same. Doady, dear, I am
+afraid I was too young.’
+
+I lay my face upon the pillow by her, and she looks into my eyes, and
+speaks very softly. Gradually, as she goes on, I feel, with a stricken
+heart, that she is speaking of herself as past.
+
+‘I am afraid, dear, I was too young. I don’t mean in years only, but
+in experience, and thoughts, and everything. I was such a silly little
+creature! I am afraid it would have been better, if we had only loved
+each other as a boy and girl, and forgotten it. I have begun to think I
+was not fit to be a wife.’
+
+I try to stay my tears, and to reply, ‘Oh, Dora, love, as fit as I to be
+a husband!’
+
+‘I don’t know,’ with the old shake of her curls. ‘Perhaps! But if I had
+been more fit to be married I might have made you more so, too. Besides,
+you are very clever, and I never was.’
+
+‘We have been very happy, my sweet Dora.’
+
+‘I was very happy, very. But, as years went on, my dear boy would have
+wearied of his child-wife. She would have been less and less a companion
+for him. He would have been more and more sensible of what was wanting
+in his home. She wouldn’t have improved. It is better as it is.’
+
+‘Oh, Dora, dearest, dearest, do not speak to me so. Every word seems a
+reproach!’
+
+‘No, not a syllable!’ she answers, kissing me. ‘Oh, my dear, you never
+deserved it, and I loved you far too well to say a reproachful word to
+you, in earnest--it was all the merit I had, except being pretty--or you
+thought me so. Is it lonely, down-stairs, Doady?’
+
+‘Very! Very!’
+
+‘Don’t cry! Is my chair there?’
+
+‘In its old place.’
+
+‘Oh, how my poor boy cries! Hush, hush! Now, make me one promise. I want
+to speak to Agnes. When you go downstairs, tell Agnes so, and send her
+up to me; and while I speak to her, let no one come--not even aunt.
+I want to speak to Agnes by herself. I want to speak to Agnes, quite
+alone.’
+
+I promise that she shall, immediately; but I cannot leave her, for my
+grief.
+
+‘I said that it was better as it is!’ she whispers, as she holds me in
+her arms. ‘Oh, Doady, after more years, you never could have loved your
+child-wife better than you do; and, after more years, she would so have
+tried and disappointed you, that you might not have been able to love
+her half so well! I know I was too young and foolish. It is much better
+as it is!’
+
+Agnes is downstairs, when I go into the parlour; and I give her the
+message. She disappears, leaving me alone with Jip.
+
+His Chinese house is by the fire; and he lies within it, on his bed of
+flannel, querulously trying to sleep. The bright moon is high and clear.
+As I look out on the night, my tears fall fast, and my undisciplined
+heart is chastened heavily--heavily.
+
+I sit down by the fire, thinking with a blind remorse of all those
+secret feelings I have nourished since my marriage. I think of every
+little trifle between me and Dora, and feel the truth, that trifles
+make the sum of life. Ever rising from the sea of my remembrance, is the
+image of the dear child as I knew her first, graced by my young love,
+and by her own, with every fascination wherein such love is rich. Would
+it, indeed, have been better if we had loved each other as a boy and a
+girl, and forgotten it? Undisciplined heart, reply!
+
+How the time wears, I know not; until I am recalled by my child-wife’s
+old companion. More restless than he was, he crawls out of his house,
+and looks at me, and wanders to the door, and whines to go upstairs.
+
+‘Not tonight, Jip! Not tonight!’
+
+He comes very slowly back to me, licks my hand, and lifts his dim eyes
+to my face.
+
+‘Oh, Jip! It may be, never again!’
+
+He lies down at my feet, stretches himself out as if to sleep, and with
+a plaintive cry, is dead.
+
+‘Oh, Agnes! Look, look, here!’ --That face, so full of pity, and of
+grief, that rain of tears, that awful mute appeal to me, that solemn
+hand upraised towards Heaven!
+
+‘Agnes?’
+
+It is over. Darkness comes before my eyes; and, for a time, all things
+are blotted out of my remembrance.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 54. Mr. MICAWBER’S TRANSACTIONS
+
+
+This is not the time at which I am to enter on the state of my mind
+beneath its load of sorrow. I came to think that the Future was walled
+up before me, that the energy and action of my life were at an end, that
+I never could find any refuge but in the grave. I came to think so, I
+say, but not in the first shock of my grief. It slowly grew to that.
+If the events I go on to relate, had not thickened around me, in the
+beginning to confuse, and in the end to augment, my affliction, it is
+possible (though I think not probable), that I might have fallen at once
+into this condition. As it was, an interval occurred before I fully knew
+my own distress; an interval, in which I even supposed that its sharpest
+pangs were past; and when my mind could soothe itself by resting on
+all that was most innocent and beautiful, in the tender story that was
+closed for ever.
+
+When it was first proposed that I should go abroad, or how it came to be
+agreed among us that I was to seek the restoration of my peace in change
+and travel, I do not, even now, distinctly know. The spirit of Agnes so
+pervaded all we thought, and said, and did, in that time of sorrow, that
+I assume I may refer the project to her influence. But her influence was
+so quiet that I know no more.
+
+And now, indeed, I began to think that in my old association of her with
+the stained-glass window in the church, a prophetic foreshadowing of
+what she would be to me, in the calamity that was to happen in the
+fullness of time, had found a way into my mind. In all that sorrow, from
+the moment, never to be forgotten, when she stood before me with her
+upraised hand, she was like a sacred presence in my lonely house. When
+the Angel of Death alighted there, my child-wife fell asleep--they told
+me so when I could bear to hear it--on her bosom, with a smile. From my
+swoon, I first awoke to a consciousness of her compassionate tears, her
+words of hope and peace, her gentle face bending down as from a purer
+region nearer Heaven, over my undisciplined heart, and softening its
+pain.
+
+Let me go on.
+
+I was to go abroad. That seemed to have been determined among us from
+the first. The ground now covering all that could perish of my
+departed wife, I waited only for what Mr. Micawber called the ‘final
+pulverization of Heep’; and for the departure of the emigrants.
+
+At the request of Traddles, most affectionate and devoted of friends in
+my trouble, we returned to Canterbury: I mean my aunt, Agnes, and I. We
+proceeded by appointment straight to Mr. Micawber’s house; where, and at
+Mr. Wickfield’s, my friend had been labouring ever since our explosive
+meeting. When poor Mrs. Micawber saw me come in, in my black clothes,
+she was sensibly affected. There was a great deal of good in Mrs.
+Micawber’s heart, which had not been dunned out of it in all those many
+years.
+
+‘Well, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber,’ was my aunt’s first salutation after we
+were seated. ‘Pray, have you thought about that emigration proposal of
+mine?’
+
+‘My dear madam,’ returned Mr. Micawber, ‘perhaps I cannot better express
+the conclusion at which Mrs. Micawber, your humble servant, and I may
+add our children, have jointly and severally arrived, than by borrowing
+the language of an illustrious poet, to reply that our Boat is on the
+shore, and our Bark is on the sea.’
+
+‘That’s right,’ said my aunt. ‘I augur all sort of good from your
+sensible decision.’
+
+‘Madam, you do us a great deal of honour,’ he rejoined. He then referred
+to a memorandum. ‘With respect to the pecuniary assistance enabling
+us to launch our frail canoe on the ocean of enterprise, I have
+reconsidered that important business-point; and would beg to propose
+my notes of hand--drawn, it is needless to stipulate, on stamps of the
+amounts respectively required by the various Acts of Parliament applying
+to such securities--at eighteen, twenty-four, and thirty months.
+The proposition I originally submitted, was twelve, eighteen, and
+twenty-four; but I am apprehensive that such an arrangement might not
+allow sufficient time for the requisite amount of--Something--to turn
+up. We might not,’ said Mr. Micawber, looking round the room as if it
+represented several hundred acres of highly cultivated land, ‘on the
+first responsibility becoming due, have been successful in our harvest,
+or we might not have got our harvest in. Labour, I believe, is sometimes
+difficult to obtain in that portion of our colonial possessions where it
+will be our lot to combat with the teeming soil.’
+
+‘Arrange it in any way you please, sir,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Madam,’ he replied, ‘Mrs. Micawber and myself are deeply sensible of
+the very considerate kindness of our friends and patrons. What I wish
+is, to be perfectly business-like, and perfectly punctual. Turning over,
+as we are about to turn over, an entirely new leaf; and falling back,
+as we are now in the act of falling back, for a Spring of no common
+magnitude; it is important to my sense of self-respect, besides being
+an example to my son, that these arrangements should be concluded as
+between man and man.’
+
+I don’t know that Mr. Micawber attached any meaning to this last phrase;
+I don’t know that anybody ever does, or did; but he appeared to relish
+it uncommonly, and repeated, with an impressive cough, ‘as between man
+and man’.
+
+‘I propose,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘Bills--a convenience to the mercantile
+world, for which, I believe, we are originally indebted to the Jews, who
+appear to me to have had a devilish deal too much to do with them
+ever since--because they are negotiable. But if a Bond, or any other
+description of security, would be preferred, I should be happy to
+execute any such instrument. As between man and man.’
+
+My aunt observed, that in a case where both parties were willing to
+agree to anything, she took it for granted there would be no difficulty
+in settling this point. Mr. Micawber was of her opinion.
+
+‘In reference to our domestic preparations, madam,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+with some pride, ‘for meeting the destiny to which we are now understood
+to be self-devoted, I beg to report them. My eldest daughter attends
+at five every morning in a neighbouring establishment, to acquire
+the process--if process it may be called--of milking cows. My younger
+children are instructed to observe, as closely as circumstances will
+permit, the habits of the pigs and poultry maintained in the poorer
+parts of this city: a pursuit from which they have, on two occasions,
+been brought home, within an inch of being run over. I have myself
+directed some attention, during the past week, to the art of baking; and
+my son Wilkins has issued forth with a walking-stick and driven cattle,
+when permitted, by the rugged hirelings who had them in charge, to
+render any voluntary service in that direction--which I regret to say,
+for the credit of our nature, was not often; he being generally warned,
+with imprecations, to desist.’
+
+‘All very right indeed,’ said my aunt, encouragingly. ‘Mrs. Micawber has
+been busy, too, I have no doubt.’
+
+‘My dear madam,’ returned Mrs. Micawber, with her business-like air.
+‘I am free to confess that I have not been actively engaged in pursuits
+immediately connected with cultivation or with stock, though well aware
+that both will claim my attention on a foreign shore. Such opportunities
+as I have been enabled to alienate from my domestic duties, I have
+devoted to corresponding at some length with my family. For I own it
+seems to me, my dear Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, who always
+fell back on me, I suppose from old habit, to whomsoever else she might
+address her discourse at starting, ‘that the time is come when the past
+should be buried in oblivion; when my family should take Mr. Micawber by
+the hand, and Mr. Micawber should take my family by the hand; when the
+lion should lie down with the lamb, and my family be on terms with Mr.
+Micawber.’
+
+I said I thought so too.
+
+‘This, at least, is the light, my dear Mr. Copperfield,’ pursued Mrs.
+Micawber, ‘in which I view the subject. When I lived at home with my
+papa and mama, my papa was accustomed to ask, when any point was under
+discussion in our limited circle, “In what light does my Emma view the
+subject?” That my papa was too partial, I know; still, on such a point
+as the frigid coldness which has ever subsisted between Mr. Micawber and
+my family, I necessarily have formed an opinion, delusive though it may
+be.’
+
+‘No doubt. Of course you have, ma’am,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Precisely so,’ assented Mrs. Micawber. ‘Now, I may be wrong in my
+conclusions; it is very likely that I am, but my individual impression
+is, that the gulf between my family and Mr. Micawber may be traced to an
+apprehension, on the part of my family, that Mr. Micawber would require
+pecuniary accommodation. I cannot help thinking,’ said Mrs. Micawber,
+with an air of deep sagacity, ‘that there are members of my family who
+have been apprehensive that Mr. Micawber would solicit them for their
+names.---I do not mean to be conferred in Baptism upon our children,
+but to be inscribed on Bills of Exchange, and negotiated in the Money
+Market.’
+
+The look of penetration with which Mrs. Micawber announced this
+discovery, as if no one had ever thought of it before, seemed rather to
+astonish my aunt; who abruptly replied, ‘Well, ma’am, upon the whole, I
+shouldn’t wonder if you were right!’
+
+‘Mr. Micawber being now on the eve of casting off the pecuniary
+shackles that have so long enthralled him,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘and of
+commencing a new career in a country where there is sufficient range
+for his abilities,--which, in my opinion, is exceedingly important; Mr.
+Micawber’s abilities peculiarly requiring space,--it seems to me that
+my family should signalize the occasion by coming forward. What I could
+wish to see, would be a meeting between Mr. Micawber and my family at
+a festive entertainment, to be given at my family’s expense; where Mr.
+Micawber’s health and prosperity being proposed, by some leading member
+of my family, Mr. Micawber might have an opportunity of developing his
+views.’
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Micawber, with some heat, ‘it may be better for me
+to state distinctly, at once, that if I were to develop my views to that
+assembled group, they would possibly be found of an offensive nature:
+my impression being that your family are, in the aggregate, impertinent
+Snobs; and, in detail, unmitigated Ruffians.’
+
+‘Micawber,’ said Mrs. Micawber, shaking her head, ‘no! You have never
+understood them, and they have never understood you.’
+
+Mr. Micawber coughed.
+
+‘They have never understood you, Micawber,’ said his wife. ‘They may
+be incapable of it. If so, that is their misfortune. I can pity their
+misfortune.’
+
+‘I am extremely sorry, my dear Emma,’ said Mr. Micawber, relenting, ‘to
+have been betrayed into any expressions that might, even remotely, have
+the appearance of being strong expressions. All I would say is, that
+I can go abroad without your family coming forward to favour me,--in
+short, with a parting Shove of their cold shoulders; and that, upon the
+whole, I would rather leave England with such impetus as I possess, than
+derive any acceleration of it from that quarter. At the same time, my
+dear, if they should condescend to reply to your communications--which
+our joint experience renders most improbable--far be it from me to be a
+barrier to your wishes.’
+
+The matter being thus amicably settled, Mr. Micawber gave Mrs. Micawber
+his arm, and glancing at the heap of books and papers lying before
+Traddles on the table, said they would leave us to ourselves; which they
+ceremoniously did.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ said Traddles, leaning back in his chair when
+they were gone, and looking at me with an affection that made his eyes
+red, and his hair all kinds of shapes, ‘I don’t make any excuse for
+troubling you with business, because I know you are deeply interested
+in it, and it may divert your thoughts. My dear boy, I hope you are not
+worn out?’
+
+‘I am quite myself,’ said I, after a pause. ‘We have more cause to think
+of my aunt than of anyone. You know how much she has done.’
+
+‘Surely, surely,’ answered Traddles. ‘Who can forget it!’
+
+‘But even that is not all,’ said I. ‘During the last fortnight, some new
+trouble has vexed her; and she has been in and out of London every day.
+Several times she has gone out early, and been absent until evening.
+Last night, Traddles, with this journey before her, it was almost
+midnight before she came home. You know what her consideration for
+others is. She will not tell me what has happened to distress her.’
+
+My aunt, very pale, and with deep lines in her face, sat immovable until
+I had finished; when some stray tears found their way to her cheeks, and
+she put her hand on mine.
+
+‘It’s nothing, Trot; it’s nothing. There will be no more of it. You
+shall know by and by. Now Agnes, my dear, let us attend to these
+affairs.’
+
+‘I must do Mr. Micawber the justice to say,’ Traddles began, ‘that
+although he would appear not to have worked to any good account for
+himself, he is a most untiring man when he works for other people. I
+never saw such a fellow. If he always goes on in the same way, he must
+be, virtually, about two hundred years old, at present. The heat into
+which he has been continually putting himself; and the distracted and
+impetuous manner in which he has been diving, day and night, among
+papers and books; to say nothing of the immense number of letters he has
+written me between this house and Mr. Wickfield’s, and often across the
+table when he has been sitting opposite, and might much more easily have
+spoken; is quite extraordinary.’
+
+‘Letters!’ cried my aunt. ‘I believe he dreams in letters!’
+
+‘There’s Mr. Dick, too,’ said Traddles, ‘has been doing wonders! As soon
+as he was released from overlooking Uriah Heep, whom he kept in such
+charge as I never saw exceeded, he began to devote himself to Mr.
+Wickfield. And really his anxiety to be of use in the investigations we
+have been making, and his real usefulness in extracting, and copying,
+and fetching, and carrying, have been quite stimulating to us.’
+
+‘Dick is a very remarkable man,’ exclaimed my aunt; ‘and I always said
+he was. Trot, you know it.’
+
+‘I am happy to say, Miss Wickfield,’ pursued Traddles, at once with
+great delicacy and with great earnestness, ‘that in your absence Mr.
+Wickfield has considerably improved. Relieved of the incubus that had
+fastened upon him for so long a time, and of the dreadful apprehensions
+under which he had lived, he is hardly the same person. At times,
+even his impaired power of concentrating his memory and attention on
+particular points of business, has recovered itself very much; and he
+has been able to assist us in making some things clear, that we should
+have found very difficult indeed, if not hopeless, without him. But
+what I have to do is to come to results; which are short enough; not
+to gossip on all the hopeful circumstances I have observed, or I shall
+never have done.’ His natural manner and agreeable simplicity made it
+transparent that he said this to put us in good heart, and to enable
+Agnes to hear her father mentioned with greater confidence; but it was
+not the less pleasant for that.
+
+‘Now, let me see,’ said Traddles, looking among the papers on the
+table. ‘Having counted our funds, and reduced to order a great mass of
+unintentional confusion in the first place, and of wilful confusion and
+falsification in the second, we take it to be clear that Mr. Wickfield
+might now wind up his business, and his agency-trust, and exhibit no
+deficiency or defalcation whatever.’
+
+‘Oh, thank Heaven!’ cried Agnes, fervently.
+
+‘But,’ said Traddles, ‘the surplus that would be left as his means of
+support--and I suppose the house to be sold, even in saying this--would
+be so small, not exceeding in all probability some hundreds of pounds,
+that perhaps, Miss Wickfield, it would be best to consider whether he
+might not retain his agency of the estate to which he has so long been
+receiver. His friends might advise him, you know; now he is free. You
+yourself, Miss Wickfield--Copperfield--I--’
+
+‘I have considered it, Trotwood,’ said Agnes, looking to me, ‘and I feel
+that it ought not to be, and must not be; even on the recommendation of
+a friend to whom I am so grateful, and owe so much.’
+
+‘I will not say that I recommend it,’ observed Traddles. ‘I think it
+right to suggest it. No more.’
+
+‘I am happy to hear you say so,’ answered Agnes, steadily, ‘for it gives
+me hope, almost assurance, that we think alike. Dear Mr. Traddles and
+dear Trotwood, papa once free with honour, what could I wish for! I have
+always aspired, if I could have released him from the toils in which he
+was held, to render back some little portion of the love and care I owe
+him, and to devote my life to him. It has been, for years, the utmost
+height of my hopes. To take our future on myself, will be the next
+great happiness--the next to his release from all trust and
+responsibility--that I can know.’
+
+‘Have you thought how, Agnes?’
+
+‘Often! I am not afraid, dear Trotwood. I am certain of success. So many
+people know me here, and think kindly of me, that I am certain. Don’t
+mistrust me. Our wants are not many. If I rent the dear old house, and
+keep a school, I shall be useful and happy.’
+
+The calm fervour of her cheerful voice brought back so vividly, first
+the dear old house itself, and then my solitary home, that my heart was
+too full for speech. Traddles pretended for a little while to be busily
+looking among the papers.
+
+‘Next, Miss Trotwood,’ said Traddles, ‘that property of yours.’
+
+‘Well, sir,’ sighed my aunt. ‘All I have got to say about it is, that if
+it’s gone, I can bear it; and if it’s not gone, I shall be glad to get
+it back.’
+
+‘It was originally, I think, eight thousand pounds, Consols?’ said
+Traddles.
+
+‘Right!’ replied my aunt.
+
+‘I can’t account for more than five,’ said Traddles, with an air of
+perplexity.
+
+‘--thousand, do you mean?’ inquired my aunt, with uncommon composure,
+‘or pounds?’
+
+‘Five thousand pounds,’ said Traddles.
+
+‘It was all there was,’ returned my aunt. ‘I sold three, myself. One, I
+paid for your articles, Trot, my dear; and the other two I have by me.
+When I lost the rest, I thought it wise to say nothing about that sum,
+but to keep it secretly for a rainy day. I wanted to see how you would
+come out of the trial, Trot; and you came out nobly--persevering,
+self-reliant, self-denying! So did Dick. Don’t speak to me, for I find
+my nerves a little shaken!’
+
+Nobody would have thought so, to see her sitting upright, with her arms
+folded; but she had wonderful self-command.
+
+‘Then I am delighted to say,’ cried Traddles, beaming with joy, ‘that we
+have recovered the whole money!’
+
+‘Don’t congratulate me, anybody!’ exclaimed my aunt. ‘How so, sir?’
+
+‘You believed it had been misappropriated by Mr. Wickfield?’ said
+Traddles.
+
+‘Of course I did,’ said my aunt, ‘and was therefore easily silenced.
+Agnes, not a word!’
+
+‘And indeed,’ said Traddles, ‘it was sold, by virtue of the power of
+management he held from you; but I needn’t say by whom sold, or on whose
+actual signature. It was afterwards pretended to Mr. Wickfield, by that
+rascal,--and proved, too, by figures,--that he had possessed himself of
+the money (on general instructions, he said) to keep other deficiencies
+and difficulties from the light. Mr. Wickfield, being so weak and
+helpless in his hands as to pay you, afterwards, several sums of
+interest on a pretended principal which he knew did not exist, made
+himself, unhappily, a party to the fraud.’
+
+‘And at last took the blame upon himself,’ added my aunt; ‘and wrote me
+a mad letter, charging himself with robbery, and wrong unheard of. Upon
+which I paid him a visit early one morning, called for a candle, burnt
+the letter, and told him if he ever could right me and himself, to
+do it; and if he couldn’t, to keep his own counsel for his daughter’s
+sake.---If anybody speaks to me, I’ll leave the house!’
+
+We all remained quiet; Agnes covering her face.
+
+‘Well, my dear friend,’ said my aunt, after a pause, ‘and you have
+really extorted the money back from him?’
+
+‘Why, the fact is,’ returned Traddles, ‘Mr. Micawber had so completely
+hemmed him in, and was always ready with so many new points if an
+old one failed, that he could not escape from us. A most remarkable
+circumstance is, that I really don’t think he grasped this sum even so
+much for the gratification of his avarice, which was inordinate, as in
+the hatred he felt for Copperfield. He said so to me, plainly. He said
+he would even have spent as much, to baulk or injure Copperfield.’
+
+‘Ha!’ said my aunt, knitting her brows thoughtfully, and glancing at
+Agnes. ‘And what’s become of him?’
+
+‘I don’t know. He left here,’ said Traddles, ‘with his mother, who had
+been clamouring, and beseeching, and disclosing, the whole time. They
+went away by one of the London night coaches, and I know no more about
+him; except that his malevolence to me at parting was audacious. He
+seemed to consider himself hardly less indebted to me, than to Mr.
+Micawber; which I consider (as I told him) quite a compliment.’
+
+‘Do you suppose he has any money, Traddles?’ I asked.
+
+‘Oh dear, yes, I should think so,’ he replied, shaking his head,
+seriously. ‘I should say he must have pocketed a good deal, in one
+way or other. But, I think you would find, Copperfield, if you had an
+opportunity of observing his course, that money would never keep that
+man out of mischief. He is such an incarnate hypocrite, that whatever
+object he pursues, he must pursue crookedly. It’s his only compensation
+for the outward restraints he puts upon himself. Always creeping along
+the ground to some small end or other, he will always magnify every
+object in the way; and consequently will hate and suspect everybody that
+comes, in the most innocent manner, between him and it. So the crooked
+courses will become crookeder, at any moment, for the least reason,
+or for none. It’s only necessary to consider his history here,’ said
+Traddles, ‘to know that.’
+
+‘He’s a monster of meanness!’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Really I don’t know about that,’ observed Traddles thoughtfully. ‘Many
+people can be very mean, when they give their minds to it.’
+
+‘And now, touching Mr. Micawber,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Well, really,’ said Traddles, cheerfully, ‘I must, once more, give Mr.
+Micawber high praise. But for his having been so patient and persevering
+for so long a time, we never could have hoped to do anything worth
+speaking of. And I think we ought to consider that Mr. Micawber did
+right, for right’s sake, when we reflect what terms he might have made
+with Uriah Heep himself, for his silence.’
+
+‘I think so too,’ said I.
+
+‘Now, what would you give him?’ inquired my aunt.
+
+‘Oh! Before you come to that,’ said Traddles, a little disconcerted,
+‘I am afraid I thought it discreet to omit (not being able to carry
+everything before me) two points, in making this lawless adjustment--for
+it’s perfectly lawless from beginning to end--of a difficult affair.
+Those I.O.U.’s, and so forth, which Mr. Micawber gave him for the
+advances he had--’
+
+‘Well! They must be paid,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Yes, but I don’t know when they may be proceeded on, or where they
+are,’ rejoined Traddles, opening his eyes; ‘and I anticipate, that,
+between this time and his departure, Mr. Micawber will be constantly
+arrested, or taken in execution.’
+
+‘Then he must be constantly set free again, and taken out of execution,’
+said my aunt. ‘What’s the amount altogether?’
+
+‘Why, Mr. Micawber has entered the transactions--he calls them
+transactions--with great form, in a book,’ rejoined Traddles, smiling;
+‘and he makes the amount a hundred and three pounds, five.’
+
+‘Now, what shall we give him, that sum included?’ said my aunt. ‘Agnes,
+my dear, you and I can talk about division of it afterwards. What should
+it be? Five hundred pounds?’
+
+Upon this, Traddles and I both struck in at once. We both recommended
+a small sum in money, and the payment, without stipulation to Mr.
+Micawber, of the Uriah claims as they came in. We proposed that the
+family should have their passage and their outfit, and a hundred pounds;
+and that Mr. Micawber’s arrangement for the repayment of the advances
+should be gravely entered into, as it might be wholesome for him
+to suppose himself under that responsibility. To this, I added the
+suggestion, that I should give some explanation of his character and
+history to Mr. Peggotty, who I knew could be relied on; and that to Mr.
+Peggotty should be quietly entrusted the discretion of advancing another
+hundred. I further proposed to interest Mr. Micawber in Mr. Peggotty,
+by confiding so much of Mr. Peggotty’s story to him as I might feel
+justified in relating, or might think expedient; and to endeavour to
+bring each of them to bear upon the other, for the common advantage. We
+all entered warmly into these views; and I may mention at once, that the
+principals themselves did so, shortly afterwards, with perfect good will
+and harmony.
+
+Seeing that Traddles now glanced anxiously at my aunt again, I reminded
+him of the second and last point to which he had adverted.
+
+‘You and your aunt will excuse me, Copperfield, if I touch upon a
+painful theme, as I greatly fear I shall,’ said Traddles, hesitating;
+‘but I think it necessary to bring it to your recollection. On the day
+of Mr. Micawber’s memorable denunciation a threatening allusion was made
+by Uriah Heep to your aunt’s--husband.’
+
+My aunt, retaining her stiff position, and apparent composure, assented
+with a nod.
+
+‘Perhaps,’ observed Traddles, ‘it was mere purposeless impertinence?’
+
+‘No,’ returned my aunt.
+
+‘There was--pardon me--really such a person, and at all in his power?’
+hinted Traddles.
+
+‘Yes, my good friend,’ said my aunt.
+
+Traddles, with a perceptible lengthening of his face, explained that he
+had not been able to approach this subject; that it had shared the fate
+of Mr. Micawber’s liabilities, in not being comprehended in the terms he
+had made; that we were no longer of any authority with Uriah Heep; and
+that if he could do us, or any of us, any injury or annoyance, no doubt
+he would.
+
+My aunt remained quiet; until again some stray tears found their way to
+her cheeks. ‘You are quite right,’ she said. ‘It was very thoughtful to
+mention it.’
+
+‘Can I--or Copperfield--do anything?’ asked Traddles, gently.
+
+‘Nothing,’ said my aunt. ‘I thank you many times. Trot, my dear, a vain
+threat! Let us have Mr. and Mrs. Micawber back. And don’t any of you
+speak to me!’ With that she smoothed her dress, and sat, with her
+upright carriage, looking at the door.
+
+‘Well, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber!’ said my aunt, when they entered. ‘We have
+been discussing your emigration, with many apologies to you for keeping
+you out of the room so long; and I’ll tell you what arrangements we
+propose.’
+
+These she explained to the unbounded satisfaction of the
+family,--children and all being then present,--and so much to the
+awakening of Mr. Micawber’s punctual habits in the opening stage of
+all bill transactions, that he could not be dissuaded from immediately
+rushing out, in the highest spirits, to buy the stamps for his notes of
+hand. But, his joy received a sudden check; for within five minutes,
+he returned in the custody of a sheriff ‘s officer, informing us, in
+a flood of tears, that all was lost. We, being quite prepared for this
+event, which was of course a proceeding of Uriah Heep’s, soon paid the
+money; and in five minutes more Mr. Micawber was seated at the table,
+filling up the stamps with an expression of perfect joy, which only
+that congenial employment, or the making of punch, could impart in full
+completeness to his shining face. To see him at work on the stamps, with
+the relish of an artist, touching them like pictures, looking at them
+sideways, taking weighty notes of dates and amounts in his pocket-book,
+and contemplating them when finished, with a high sense of their
+precious value, was a sight indeed.
+
+‘Now, the best thing you can do, sir, if you’ll allow me to advise
+you,’ said my aunt, after silently observing him, ‘is to abjure that
+occupation for evermore.’
+
+‘Madam,’ replied Mr. Micawber, ‘it is my intention to register such a
+vow on the virgin page of the future. Mrs. Micawber will attest it. I
+trust,’ said Mr. Micawber, solemnly, ‘that my son Wilkins will ever bear
+in mind, that he had infinitely better put his fist in the fire, than
+use it to handle the serpents that have poisoned the life-blood of his
+unhappy parent!’ Deeply affected, and changed in a moment to the image
+of despair, Mr. Micawber regarded the serpents with a look of gloomy
+abhorrence (in which his late admiration of them was not quite subdued),
+folded them up and put them in his pocket.
+
+This closed the proceedings of the evening. We were weary with sorrow
+and fatigue, and my aunt and I were to return to London on the morrow.
+It was arranged that the Micawbers should follow us, after effecting a
+sale of their goods to a broker; that Mr. Wickfield’s affairs should be
+brought to a settlement, with all convenient speed, under the direction
+of Traddles; and that Agnes should also come to London, pending those
+arrangements. We passed the night at the old house, which, freed from
+the presence of the Heeps, seemed purged of a disease; and I lay in my
+old room, like a shipwrecked wanderer come home.
+
+We went back next day to my aunt’s house--not to mine--and when she and
+I sat alone, as of old, before going to bed, she said:
+
+‘Trot, do you really wish to know what I have had upon my mind lately?’
+
+‘Indeed I do, aunt. If there ever was a time when I felt unwilling that
+you should have a sorrow or anxiety which I could not share, it is now.’
+
+‘You have had sorrow enough, child,’ said my aunt, affectionately,
+‘without the addition of my little miseries. I could have no other
+motive, Trot, in keeping anything from you.’
+
+‘I know that well,’ said I. ‘But tell me now.’
+
+‘Would you ride with me a little way tomorrow morning?’ asked my aunt.
+
+‘Of course.’
+
+‘At nine,’ said she. ‘I’ll tell you then, my dear.’
+
+At nine, accordingly, we went out in a little chariot, and drove to
+London. We drove a long way through the streets, until we came to one of
+the large hospitals. Standing hard by the building was a plain hearse.
+The driver recognized my aunt, and, in obedience to a motion of her hand
+at the window, drove slowly off; we following.
+
+‘You understand it now, Trot,’ said my aunt. ‘He is gone!’
+
+‘Did he die in the hospital?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+She sat immovable beside me; but, again I saw the stray tears on her
+face.
+
+‘He was there once before,’ said my aunt presently. ‘He was ailing a
+long time--a shattered, broken man, these many years. When he knew his
+state in this last illness, he asked them to send for me. He was sorry
+then. Very sorry.’
+
+‘You went, I know, aunt.’
+
+‘I went. I was with him a good deal afterwards.’
+
+‘He died the night before we went to Canterbury?’ said I. My aunt
+nodded. ‘No one can harm him now,’ she said. ‘It was a vain threat.’
+
+We drove away, out of town, to the churchyard at Hornsey. ‘Better here
+than in the streets,’ said my aunt. ‘He was born here.’
+
+We alighted; and followed the plain coffin to a corner I remember well,
+where the service was read consigning it to the dust.
+
+‘Six-and-thirty years ago, this day, my dear,’ said my aunt, as we
+walked back to the chariot, ‘I was married. God forgive us all!’ We took
+our seats in silence; and so she sat beside me for a long time, holding
+my hand. At length she suddenly burst into tears, and said:
+
+‘He was a fine-looking man when I married him, Trot--and he was sadly
+changed!’
+
+It did not last long. After the relief of tears, she soon became
+composed, and even cheerful. Her nerves were a little shaken, she said,
+or she would not have given way to it. God forgive us all!
+
+So we rode back to her little cottage at Highgate, where we found the
+following short note, which had arrived by that morning’s post from Mr.
+Micawber:
+
+
+ ‘Canterbury,
+
+ ‘Friday.
+
+‘My dear Madam, and Copperfield,
+
+‘The fair land of promise lately looming on the horizon is again
+enveloped in impenetrable mists, and for ever withdrawn from the eyes of
+a drifting wretch whose Doom is sealed!
+
+‘Another writ has been issued (in His Majesty’s High Court of King’s
+Bench at Westminster), in another cause of HEEP V. MICAWBER, and
+the defendant in that cause is the prey of the sheriff having legal
+jurisdiction in this bailiwick.
+
+ ‘Now’s the day, and now’s the hour,
+ See the front of battle lower,
+ See approach proud EDWARD’S power--
+ Chains and slavery!
+
+‘Consigned to which, and to a speedy end (for mental torture is not
+supportable beyond a certain point, and that point I feel I have
+attained), my course is run. Bless you, bless you! Some future
+traveller, visiting, from motives of curiosity, not unmingled, let us
+hope, with sympathy, the place of confinement allotted to debtors in
+this city, may, and I trust will, Ponder, as he traces on its wall,
+inscribed with a rusty nail,
+
+ ‘The obscure initials,
+
+ ‘W. M.
+
+‘P.S. I re-open this to say that our common friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles
+(who has not yet left us, and is looking extremely well), has paid the
+debt and costs, in the noble name of Miss Trotwood; and that myself and
+family are at the height of earthly bliss.’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 55. TEMPEST
+
+
+I now approach an event in my life, so indelible, so awful, so bound by
+an infinite variety of ties to all that has preceded it, in these pages,
+that, from the beginning of my narrative, I have seen it growing larger
+and larger as I advanced, like a great tower in a plain, and throwing
+its fore-cast shadow even on the incidents of my childish days.
+
+For years after it occurred, I dreamed of it often. I have started up so
+vividly impressed by it, that its fury has yet seemed raging in my quiet
+room, in the still night. I dream of it sometimes, though at lengthened
+and uncertain intervals, to this hour. I have an association between it
+and a stormy wind, or the lightest mention of a sea-shore, as strong as
+any of which my mind is conscious. As plainly as I behold what happened,
+I will try to write it down. I do not recall it, but see it done; for it
+happens again before me.
+
+The time drawing on rapidly for the sailing of the emigrant-ship, my
+good old nurse (almost broken-hearted for me, when we first met) came up
+to London. I was constantly with her, and her brother, and the Micawbers
+(they being very much together); but Emily I never saw.
+
+One evening when the time was close at hand, I was alone with Peggotty
+and her brother. Our conversation turned on Ham. She described to us how
+tenderly he had taken leave of her, and how manfully and quietly he
+had borne himself. Most of all, of late, when she believed he was most
+tried. It was a subject of which the affectionate creature never tired;
+and our interest in hearing the many examples which she, who was so much
+with him, had to relate, was equal to hers in relating them.
+
+My aunt and I were at that time vacating the two cottages at Highgate; I
+intending to go abroad, and she to return to her house at Dover. We had
+a temporary lodging in Covent Garden. As I walked home to it, after this
+evening’s conversation, reflecting on what had passed between Ham and
+myself when I was last at Yarmouth, I wavered in the original purpose
+I had formed, of leaving a letter for Emily when I should take leave of
+her uncle on board the ship, and thought it would be better to write to
+her now. She might desire, I thought, after receiving my communication,
+to send some parting word by me to her unhappy lover. I ought to give
+her the opportunity.
+
+I therefore sat down in my room, before going to bed, and wrote to her.
+I told her that I had seen him, and that he had requested me to tell her
+what I have already written in its place in these sheets. I faithfully
+repeated it. I had no need to enlarge upon it, if I had had the right.
+Its deep fidelity and goodness were not to be adorned by me or any
+man. I left it out, to be sent round in the morning; with a line to Mr.
+Peggotty, requesting him to give it to her; and went to bed at daybreak.
+
+I was weaker than I knew then; and, not falling asleep until the sun
+was up, lay late, and unrefreshed, next day. I was roused by the silent
+presence of my aunt at my bedside. I felt it in my sleep, as I suppose
+we all do feel such things.
+
+‘Trot, my dear,’ she said, when I opened my eyes, ‘I couldn’t make up my
+mind to disturb you. Mr. Peggotty is here; shall he come up?’
+
+I replied yes, and he soon appeared.
+
+‘Mas’r Davy,’ he said, when we had shaken hands, ‘I giv Em’ly your
+letter, sir, and she writ this heer; and begged of me fur to ask you
+to read it, and if you see no hurt in’t, to be so kind as take charge
+on’t.’
+
+‘Have you read it?’ said I.
+
+He nodded sorrowfully. I opened it, and read as follows:
+
+
+‘I have got your message. Oh, what can I write, to thank you for your
+good and blessed kindness to me!
+
+‘I have put the words close to my heart. I shall keep them till I die.
+They are sharp thorns, but they are such comfort. I have prayed over
+them, oh, I have prayed so much. When I find what you are, and what
+uncle is, I think what God must be, and can cry to him.
+
+‘Good-bye for ever. Now, my dear, my friend, good-bye for ever in this
+world. In another world, if I am forgiven, I may wake a child and come
+to you. All thanks and blessings. Farewell, evermore.’
+
+
+This, blotted with tears, was the letter.
+
+‘May I tell her as you doen’t see no hurt in’t, and as you’ll be so kind
+as take charge on’t, Mas’r Davy?’ said Mr. Peggotty, when I had read it.
+‘Unquestionably,’ said I--‘but I am thinking--’
+
+‘Yes, Mas’r Davy?’
+
+‘I am thinking,’ said I, ‘that I’ll go down again to Yarmouth. There’s
+time, and to spare, for me to go and come back before the ship sails. My
+mind is constantly running on him, in his solitude; to put this letter
+of her writing in his hand at this time, and to enable you to tell her,
+in the moment of parting, that he has got it, will be a kindness to
+both of them. I solemnly accepted his commission, dear good fellow, and
+cannot discharge it too completely. The journey is nothing to me. I am
+restless, and shall be better in motion. I’ll go down tonight.’
+
+Though he anxiously endeavoured to dissuade me, I saw that he was of my
+mind; and this, if I had required to be confirmed in my intention, would
+have had the effect. He went round to the coach office, at my request,
+and took the box-seat for me on the mail. In the evening I started,
+by that conveyance, down the road I had traversed under so many
+vicissitudes.
+
+‘Don’t you think that,’ I asked the coachman, in the first stage out of
+London, ‘a very remarkable sky? I don’t remember to have seen one like
+it.’
+
+‘Nor I--not equal to it,’ he replied. ‘That’s wind, sir. There’ll be
+mischief done at sea, I expect, before long.’
+
+It was a murky confusion--here and there blotted with a colour like the
+colour of the smoke from damp fuel--of flying clouds, tossed up into
+most remarkable heaps, suggesting greater heights in the clouds than
+there were depths below them to the bottom of the deepest hollows in the
+earth, through which the wild moon seemed to plunge headlong, as if, in
+a dread disturbance of the laws of nature, she had lost her way and were
+frightened. There had been a wind all day; and it was rising then, with
+an extraordinary great sound. In another hour it had much increased, and
+the sky was more overcast, and blew hard.
+
+But, as the night advanced, the clouds closing in and densely
+over-spreading the whole sky, then very dark, it came on to blow, harder
+and harder. It still increased, until our horses could scarcely face
+the wind. Many times, in the dark part of the night (it was then late in
+September, when the nights were not short), the leaders turned about, or
+came to a dead stop; and we were often in serious apprehension that the
+coach would be blown over. Sweeping gusts of rain came up before this
+storm, like showers of steel; and, at those times, when there was any
+shelter of trees or lee walls to be got, we were fain to stop, in a
+sheer impossibility of continuing the struggle.
+
+When the day broke, it blew harder and harder. I had been in Yarmouth
+when the seamen said it blew great guns, but I had never known the like
+of this, or anything approaching to it. We came to Ipswich--very late,
+having had to fight every inch of ground since we were ten miles out of
+London; and found a cluster of people in the market-place, who had
+risen from their beds in the night, fearful of falling chimneys. Some of
+these, congregating about the inn-yard while we changed horses, told us
+of great sheets of lead having been ripped off a high church-tower, and
+flung into a by-street, which they then blocked up. Others had to tell
+of country people, coming in from neighbouring villages, who had seen
+great trees lying torn out of the earth, and whole ricks scattered about
+the roads and fields. Still, there was no abatement in the storm, but it
+blew harder.
+
+As we struggled on, nearer and nearer to the sea, from which this mighty
+wind was blowing dead on shore, its force became more and more terrific.
+Long before we saw the sea, its spray was on our lips, and showered
+salt rain upon us. The water was out, over miles and miles of the flat
+country adjacent to Yarmouth; and every sheet and puddle lashed its
+banks, and had its stress of little breakers setting heavily towards us.
+When we came within sight of the sea, the waves on the horizon, caught
+at intervals above the rolling abyss, were like glimpses of another
+shore with towers and buildings. When at last we got into the town, the
+people came out to their doors, all aslant, and with streaming hair,
+making a wonder of the mail that had come through such a night.
+
+I put up at the old inn, and went down to look at the sea; staggering
+along the street, which was strewn with sand and seaweed, and with
+flying blotches of sea-foam; afraid of falling slates and tiles; and
+holding by people I met, at angry corners. Coming near the beach, I saw,
+not only the boatmen, but half the people of the town, lurking behind
+buildings; some, now and then braving the fury of the storm to look
+away to sea, and blown sheer out of their course in trying to get zigzag
+back.
+
+Joining these groups, I found bewailing women whose husbands were away
+in herring or oyster boats, which there was too much reason to think
+might have foundered before they could run in anywhere for safety.
+Grizzled old sailors were among the people, shaking their heads, as they
+looked from water to sky, and muttering to one another; ship-owners,
+excited and uneasy; children, huddling together, and peering into older
+faces; even stout mariners, disturbed and anxious, levelling their
+glasses at the sea from behind places of shelter, as if they were
+surveying an enemy.
+
+The tremendous sea itself, when I could find sufficient pause to look at
+it, in the agitation of the blinding wind, the flying stones and sand,
+and the awful noise, confounded me. As the high watery walls came
+rolling in, and, at their highest, tumbled into surf, they looked as if
+the least would engulf the town. As the receding wave swept back with a
+hoarse roar, it seemed to scoop out deep caves in the beach, as if its
+purpose were to undermine the earth. When some white-headed billows
+thundered on, and dashed themselves to pieces before they reached the
+land, every fragment of the late whole seemed possessed by the full
+might of its wrath, rushing to be gathered to the composition of another
+monster. Undulating hills were changed to valleys, undulating valleys
+(with a solitary storm-bird sometimes skimming through them) were lifted
+up to hills; masses of water shivered and shook the beach with a booming
+sound; every shape tumultuously rolled on, as soon as made, to change
+its shape and place, and beat another shape and place away; the ideal
+shore on the horizon, with its towers and buildings, rose and fell; the
+clouds fell fast and thick; I seemed to see a rending and upheaving of
+all nature.
+
+Not finding Ham among the people whom this memorable wind--for it is
+still remembered down there, as the greatest ever known to blow upon
+that coast--had brought together, I made my way to his house. It was
+shut; and as no one answered to my knocking, I went, by back ways and
+by-lanes, to the yard where he worked. I learned, there, that he had
+gone to Lowestoft, to meet some sudden exigency of ship-repairing
+in which his skill was required; but that he would be back tomorrow
+morning, in good time.
+
+I went back to the inn; and when I had washed and dressed, and tried to
+sleep, but in vain, it was five o’clock in the afternoon. I had not sat
+five minutes by the coffee-room fire, when the waiter, coming to stir
+it, as an excuse for talking, told me that two colliers had gone down,
+with all hands, a few miles away; and that some other ships had been
+seen labouring hard in the Roads, and trying, in great distress, to keep
+off shore. Mercy on them, and on all poor sailors, said he, if we had
+another night like the last!
+
+I was very much depressed in spirits; very solitary; and felt an
+uneasiness in Ham’s not being there, disproportionate to the occasion. I
+was seriously affected, without knowing how much, by late events; and my
+long exposure to the fierce wind had confused me. There was that jumble
+in my thoughts and recollections, that I had lost the clear arrangement
+of time and distance. Thus, if I had gone out into the town, I should
+not have been surprised, I think, to encounter someone who I knew must
+be then in London. So to speak, there was in these respects a curious
+inattention in my mind. Yet it was busy, too, with all the remembrances
+the place naturally awakened; and they were particularly distinct and
+vivid.
+
+In this state, the waiter’s dismal intelligence about the ships
+immediately connected itself, without any effort of my volition, with my
+uneasiness about Ham. I was persuaded that I had an apprehension of his
+returning from Lowestoft by sea, and being lost. This grew so strong
+with me, that I resolved to go back to the yard before I took my dinner,
+and ask the boat-builder if he thought his attempting to return by sea
+at all likely? If he gave me the least reason to think so, I would go
+over to Lowestoft and prevent it by bringing him with me.
+
+I hastily ordered my dinner, and went back to the yard. I was none too
+soon; for the boat-builder, with a lantern in his hand, was locking
+the yard-gate. He quite laughed when I asked him the question, and said
+there was no fear; no man in his senses, or out of them, would put off
+in such a gale of wind, least of all Ham Peggotty, who had been born to
+seafaring.
+
+So sensible of this, beforehand, that I had really felt ashamed of doing
+what I was nevertheless impelled to do, I went back to the inn. If
+such a wind could rise, I think it was rising. The howl and roar, the
+rattling of the doors and windows, the rumbling in the chimneys, the
+apparent rocking of the very house that sheltered me, and the prodigious
+tumult of the sea, were more fearful than in the morning. But there
+was now a great darkness besides; and that invested the storm with new
+terrors, real and fanciful.
+
+I could not eat, I could not sit still, I could not continue steadfast
+to anything. Something within me, faintly answering to the storm
+without, tossed up the depths of my memory and made a tumult in them.
+Yet, in all the hurry of my thoughts, wild running with the thundering
+sea,--the storm, and my uneasiness regarding Ham were always in the
+fore-ground.
+
+My dinner went away almost untasted, and I tried to refresh myself with
+a glass or two of wine. In vain. I fell into a dull slumber before
+the fire, without losing my consciousness, either of the uproar out of
+doors, or of the place in which I was. Both became overshadowed by a new
+and indefinable horror; and when I awoke--or rather when I shook off
+the lethargy that bound me in my chair--my whole frame thrilled with
+objectless and unintelligible fear.
+
+I walked to and fro, tried to read an old gazetteer, listened to the
+awful noises: looked at faces, scenes, and figures in the fire.
+At length, the steady ticking of the undisturbed clock on the wall
+tormented me to that degree that I resolved to go to bed.
+
+It was reassuring, on such a night, to be told that some of the
+inn-servants had agreed together to sit up until morning. I went to bed,
+exceedingly weary and heavy; but, on my lying down, all such sensations
+vanished, as if by magic, and I was broad awake, with every sense
+refined.
+
+For hours I lay there, listening to the wind and water; imagining, now,
+that I heard shrieks out at sea; now, that I distinctly heard the firing
+of signal guns; and now, the fall of houses in the town. I got up,
+several times, and looked out; but could see nothing, except the
+reflection in the window-panes of the faint candle I had left burning,
+and of my own haggard face looking in at me from the black void.
+
+At length, my restlessness attained to such a pitch, that I hurried on
+my clothes, and went downstairs. In the large kitchen, where I dimly
+saw bacon and ropes of onions hanging from the beams, the watchers were
+clustered together, in various attitudes, about a table, purposely moved
+away from the great chimney, and brought near the door. A pretty girl,
+who had her ears stopped with her apron, and her eyes upon the door,
+screamed when I appeared, supposing me to be a spirit; but the others
+had more presence of mind, and were glad of an addition to their
+company. One man, referring to the topic they had been discussing, asked
+me whether I thought the souls of the collier-crews who had gone down,
+were out in the storm?
+
+I remained there, I dare say, two hours. Once, I opened the yard-gate,
+and looked into the empty street. The sand, the sea-weed, and the flakes
+of foam, were driving by; and I was obliged to call for assistance
+before I could shut the gate again, and make it fast against the wind.
+
+There was a dark gloom in my solitary chamber, when I at length returned
+to it; but I was tired now, and, getting into bed again, fell--off
+a tower and down a precipice--into the depths of sleep. I have an
+impression that for a long time, though I dreamed of being elsewhere and
+in a variety of scenes, it was always blowing in my dream. At length,
+I lost that feeble hold upon reality, and was engaged with two dear
+friends, but who they were I don’t know, at the siege of some town in a
+roar of cannonading.
+
+The thunder of the cannon was so loud and incessant, that I could not
+hear something I much desired to hear, until I made a great exertion
+and awoke. It was broad day--eight or nine o’clock; the storm raging, in
+lieu of the batteries; and someone knocking and calling at my door.
+
+‘What is the matter?’ I cried.
+
+‘A wreck! Close by!’
+
+I sprung out of bed, and asked, what wreck?
+
+‘A schooner, from Spain or Portugal, laden with fruit and wine. Make
+haste, sir, if you want to see her! It’s thought, down on the beach,
+she’ll go to pieces every moment.’
+
+The excited voice went clamouring along the staircase; and I wrapped
+myself in my clothes as quickly as I could, and ran into the street.
+
+Numbers of people were there before me, all running in one direction, to
+the beach. I ran the same way, outstripping a good many, and soon came
+facing the wild sea.
+
+The wind might by this time have lulled a little, though not more
+sensibly than if the cannonading I had dreamed of, had been diminished
+by the silencing of half-a-dozen guns out of hundreds. But the sea,
+having upon it the additional agitation of the whole night, was
+infinitely more terrific than when I had seen it last. Every appearance
+it had then presented, bore the expression of being swelled; and the
+height to which the breakers rose, and, looking over one another,
+bore one another down, and rolled in, in interminable hosts, was most
+appalling. In the difficulty of hearing anything but wind and waves,
+and in the crowd, and the unspeakable confusion, and my first breathless
+efforts to stand against the weather, I was so confused that I looked
+out to sea for the wreck, and saw nothing but the foaming heads of the
+great waves. A half-dressed boatman, standing next me, pointed with his
+bare arm (a tattoo’d arrow on it, pointing in the same direction) to the
+left. Then, O great Heaven, I saw it, close in upon us!
+
+One mast was broken short off, six or eight feet from the deck, and lay
+over the side, entangled in a maze of sail and rigging; and all that
+ruin, as the ship rolled and beat--which she did without a moment’s
+pause, and with a violence quite inconceivable--beat the side as if it
+would stave it in. Some efforts were even then being made, to cut this
+portion of the wreck away; for, as the ship, which was broadside on,
+turned towards us in her rolling, I plainly descried her people at
+work with axes, especially one active figure with long curling hair,
+conspicuous among the rest. But a great cry, which was audible even
+above the wind and water, rose from the shore at this moment; the sea,
+sweeping over the rolling wreck, made a clean breach, and carried men,
+spars, casks, planks, bulwarks, heaps of such toys, into the boiling
+surge.
+
+The second mast was yet standing, with the rags of a rent sail, and
+a wild confusion of broken cordage flapping to and fro. The ship had
+struck once, the same boatman hoarsely said in my ear, and then lifted
+in and struck again. I understood him to add that she was parting
+amidships, and I could readily suppose so, for the rolling and beating
+were too tremendous for any human work to suffer long. As he spoke,
+there was another great cry of pity from the beach; four men arose with
+the wreck out of the deep, clinging to the rigging of the remaining
+mast; uppermost, the active figure with the curling hair.
+
+There was a bell on board; and as the ship rolled and dashed, like a
+desperate creature driven mad, now showing us the whole sweep of her
+deck, as she turned on her beam-ends towards the shore, now nothing but
+her keel, as she sprung wildly over and turned towards the sea, the bell
+rang; and its sound, the knell of those unhappy men, was borne towards
+us on the wind. Again we lost her, and again she rose. Two men were
+gone. The agony on the shore increased. Men groaned, and clasped their
+hands; women shrieked, and turned away their faces. Some ran wildly
+up and down along the beach, crying for help where no help could be. I
+found myself one of these, frantically imploring a knot of sailors whom
+I knew, not to let those two lost creatures perish before our eyes.
+
+They were making out to me, in an agitated way--I don’t know how,
+for the little I could hear I was scarcely composed enough to
+understand--that the lifeboat had been bravely manned an hour ago, and
+could do nothing; and that as no man would be so desperate as to attempt
+to wade off with a rope, and establish a communication with the shore,
+there was nothing left to try; when I noticed that some new sensation
+moved the people on the beach, and saw them part, and Ham come breaking
+through them to the front.
+
+I ran to him--as well as I know, to repeat my appeal for help. But,
+distracted though I was, by a sight so new to me and terrible, the
+determination in his face, and his look out to sea--exactly the same
+look as I remembered in connexion with the morning after Emily’s
+flight--awoke me to a knowledge of his danger. I held him back with both
+arms; and implored the men with whom I had been speaking, not to listen
+to him, not to do murder, not to let him stir from off that sand!
+
+Another cry arose on shore; and looking to the wreck, we saw the cruel
+sail, with blow on blow, beat off the lower of the two men, and fly up
+in triumph round the active figure left alone upon the mast.
+
+Against such a sight, and against such determination as that of the
+calmly desperate man who was already accustomed to lead half the people
+present, I might as hopefully have entreated the wind. ‘Mas’r Davy,’
+he said, cheerily grasping me by both hands, ‘if my time is come, ‘tis
+come. If ‘tan’t, I’ll bide it. Lord above bless you, and bless all!
+Mates, make me ready! I’m a-going off!’
+
+I was swept away, but not unkindly, to some distance, where the people
+around me made me stay; urging, as I confusedly perceived, that he was
+bent on going, with help or without, and that I should endanger the
+precautions for his safety by troubling those with whom they rested. I
+don’t know what I answered, or what they rejoined; but I saw hurry on
+the beach, and men running with ropes from a capstan that was there, and
+penetrating into a circle of figures that hid him from me. Then, I saw
+him standing alone, in a seaman’s frock and trousers: a rope in his
+hand, or slung to his wrist: another round his body: and several of the
+best men holding, at a little distance, to the latter, which he laid out
+himself, slack upon the shore, at his feet.
+
+The wreck, even to my unpractised eye, was breaking up. I saw that she
+was parting in the middle, and that the life of the solitary man upon
+the mast hung by a thread. Still, he clung to it. He had a singular red
+cap on,--not like a sailor’s cap, but of a finer colour; and as the few
+yielding planks between him and destruction rolled and bulged, and his
+anticipative death-knell rung, he was seen by all of us to wave it. I
+saw him do it now, and thought I was going distracted, when his action
+brought an old remembrance to my mind of a once dear friend.
+
+Ham watched the sea, standing alone, with the silence of suspended
+breath behind him, and the storm before, until there was a great
+retiring wave, when, with a backward glance at those who held the rope
+which was made fast round his body, he dashed in after it, and in a
+moment was buffeting with the water; rising with the hills, falling
+with the valleys, lost beneath the foam; then drawn again to land. They
+hauled in hastily.
+
+He was hurt. I saw blood on his face, from where I stood; but he took
+no thought of that. He seemed hurriedly to give them some directions for
+leaving him more free--or so I judged from the motion of his arm--and
+was gone as before.
+
+And now he made for the wreck, rising with the hills, falling with the
+valleys, lost beneath the rugged foam, borne in towards the shore,
+borne on towards the ship, striving hard and valiantly. The distance was
+nothing, but the power of the sea and wind made the strife deadly. At
+length he neared the wreck. He was so near, that with one more of his
+vigorous strokes he would be clinging to it,--when a high, green, vast
+hill-side of water, moving on shoreward, from beyond the ship, he seemed
+to leap up into it with a mighty bound, and the ship was gone!
+
+Some eddying fragments I saw in the sea, as if a mere cask had been
+broken, in running to the spot where they were hauling in. Consternation
+was in every face. They drew him to my very feet--insensible--dead.
+He was carried to the nearest house; and, no one preventing me now, I
+remained near him, busy, while every means of restoration were tried;
+but he had been beaten to death by the great wave, and his generous
+heart was stilled for ever.
+
+As I sat beside the bed, when hope was abandoned and all was done, a
+fisherman, who had known me when Emily and I were children, and ever
+since, whispered my name at the door.
+
+‘Sir,’ said he, with tears starting to his weather-beaten face, which,
+with his trembling lips, was ashy pale, ‘will you come over yonder?’
+
+The old remembrance that had been recalled to me, was in his look. I
+asked him, terror-stricken, leaning on the arm he held out to support
+me:
+
+‘Has a body come ashore?’
+
+He said, ‘Yes.’
+
+‘Do I know it?’ I asked then.
+
+He answered nothing.
+
+But he led me to the shore. And on that part of it where she and I had
+looked for shells, two children--on that part of it where some lighter
+fragments of the old boat, blown down last night, had been scattered by
+the wind--among the ruins of the home he had wronged--I saw him lying
+with his head upon his arm, as I had often seen him lie at school.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 56. THE NEW WOUND, AND THE OLD
+
+No need, O Steerforth, to have said, when we last spoke together, in
+that hour which I so little deemed to be our parting-hour--no need to
+have said, ‘Think of me at my best!’ I had done that ever; and could I
+change now, looking on this sight!
+
+They brought a hand-bier, and laid him on it, and covered him with a
+flag, and took him up and bore him on towards the houses. All the men
+who carried him had known him, and gone sailing with him, and seen him
+merry and bold. They carried him through the wild roar, a hush in the
+midst of all the tumult; and took him to the cottage where Death was
+already.
+
+But when they set the bier down on the threshold, they looked at one
+another, and at me, and whispered. I knew why. They felt as if it were
+not right to lay him down in the same quiet room.
+
+We went into the town, and took our burden to the inn. So soon as I
+could at all collect my thoughts, I sent for Joram, and begged him to
+provide me a conveyance in which it could be got to London in the night.
+I knew that the care of it, and the hard duty of preparing his mother to
+receive it, could only rest with me; and I was anxious to discharge that
+duty as faithfully as I could.
+
+I chose the night for the journey, that there might be less curiosity
+when I left the town. But, although it was nearly midnight when I came
+out of the yard in a chaise, followed by what I had in charge, there
+were many people waiting. At intervals, along the town, and even a
+little way out upon the road, I saw more: but at length only the bleak
+night and the open country were around me, and the ashes of my youthful
+friendship.
+
+Upon a mellow autumn day, about noon, when the ground was perfumed by
+fallen leaves, and many more, in beautiful tints of yellow, red, and
+brown, yet hung upon the trees, through which the sun was shining, I
+arrived at Highgate. I walked the last mile, thinking as I went along of
+what I had to do; and left the carriage that had followed me all through
+the night, awaiting orders to advance.
+
+The house, when I came up to it, looked just the same. Not a blind was
+raised; no sign of life was in the dull paved court, with its covered
+way leading to the disused door. The wind had quite gone down, and
+nothing moved.
+
+I had not, at first, the courage to ring at the gate; and when I did
+ring, my errand seemed to me to be expressed in the very sound of the
+bell. The little parlour-maid came out, with the key in her hand; and
+looking earnestly at me as she unlocked the gate, said:
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir. Are you ill?’
+
+‘I have been much agitated, and am fatigued.’
+
+‘Is anything the matter, sir?---Mr. James?--’ ‘Hush!’ said I. ‘Yes,
+something has happened, that I have to break to Mrs. Steerforth. She is
+at home?’
+
+The girl anxiously replied that her mistress was very seldom out now,
+even in a carriage; that she kept her room; that she saw no company, but
+would see me. Her mistress was up, she said, and Miss Dartle was with
+her. What message should she take upstairs?
+
+Giving her a strict charge to be careful of her manner, and only to
+carry in my card and say I waited, I sat down in the drawing-room (which
+we had now reached) until she should come back. Its former pleasant air
+of occupation was gone, and the shutters were half closed. The harp had
+not been used for many and many a day. His picture, as a boy, was
+there. The cabinet in which his mother had kept his letters was there. I
+wondered if she ever read them now; if she would ever read them more!
+
+The house was so still that I heard the girl’s light step upstairs. On
+her return, she brought a message, to the effect that Mrs. Steerforth
+was an invalid and could not come down; but that if I would excuse her
+being in her chamber, she would be glad to see me. In a few moments I
+stood before her.
+
+She was in his room; not in her own. I felt, of course, that she had
+taken to occupy it, in remembrance of him; and that the many tokens
+of his old sports and accomplishments, by which she was surrounded,
+remained there, just as he had left them, for the same reason. She
+murmured, however, even in her reception of me, that she was out of her
+own chamber because its aspect was unsuited to her infirmity; and with
+her stately look repelled the least suspicion of the truth.
+
+At her chair, as usual, was Rosa Dartle. From the first moment of
+her dark eyes resting on me, I saw she knew I was the bearer of evil
+tidings. The scar sprung into view that instant. She withdrew herself
+a step behind the chair, to keep her own face out of Mrs. Steerforth’s
+observation; and scrutinized me with a piercing gaze that never
+faltered, never shrunk.
+
+‘I am sorry to observe you are in mourning, sir,’ said Mrs. Steerforth.
+
+‘I am unhappily a widower,’ said I.
+
+‘You are very young to know so great a loss,’ she returned. ‘I am
+grieved to hear it. I am grieved to hear it. I hope Time will be good to
+you.’
+
+‘I hope Time,’ said I, looking at her, ‘will be good to all of us.
+Dear Mrs. Steerforth, we must all trust to that, in our heaviest
+misfortunes.’
+
+The earnestness of my manner, and the tears in my eyes, alarmed her. The
+whole course of her thoughts appeared to stop, and change.
+
+I tried to command my voice in gently saying his name, but it trembled.
+She repeated it to herself, two or three times, in a low tone. Then,
+addressing me, she said, with enforced calmness:
+
+‘My son is ill.’
+
+‘Very ill.’
+
+‘You have seen him?’
+
+‘I have.’
+
+‘Are you reconciled?’
+
+I could not say Yes, I could not say No. She slightly turned her head
+towards the spot where Rosa Dartle had been standing at her elbow, and
+in that moment I said, by the motion of my lips, to Rosa, ‘Dead!’
+
+That Mrs. Steerforth might not be induced to look behind her, and read,
+plainly written, what she was not yet prepared to know, I met her look
+quickly; but I had seen Rosa Dartle throw her hands up in the air with
+vehemence of despair and horror, and then clasp them on her face.
+
+The handsome lady--so like, oh so like!--regarded me with a fixed look,
+and put her hand to her forehead. I besought her to be calm, and prepare
+herself to bear what I had to tell; but I should rather have entreated
+her to weep, for she sat like a stone figure.
+
+‘When I was last here,’ I faltered, ‘Miss Dartle told me he was sailing
+here and there. The night before last was a dreadful one at sea. If he
+were at sea that night, and near a dangerous coast, as it is said he
+was; and if the vessel that was seen should really be the ship which--’
+
+‘Rosa!’ said Mrs. Steerforth, ‘come to me!’
+
+She came, but with no sympathy or gentleness. Her eyes gleamed like fire
+as she confronted his mother, and broke into a frightful laugh.
+
+‘Now,’ she said, ‘is your pride appeased, you madwoman? Now has he made
+atonement to you--with his life! Do you hear?---His life!’
+
+Mrs. Steerforth, fallen back stiffly in her chair, and making no sound
+but a moan, cast her eyes upon her with a wide stare.
+
+‘Aye!’ cried Rosa, smiting herself passionately on the breast, ‘look at
+me! Moan, and groan, and look at me! Look here!’ striking the scar, ‘at
+your dead child’s handiwork!’
+
+The moan the mother uttered, from time to time, went to My heart. Always
+the same. Always inarticulate and stifled. Always accompanied with
+an incapable motion of the head, but with no change of face. Always
+proceeding from a rigid mouth and closed teeth, as if the jaw were
+locked and the face frozen up in pain.
+
+‘Do you remember when he did this?’ she proceeded. ‘Do you remember
+when, in his inheritance of your nature, and in your pampering of his
+pride and passion, he did this, and disfigured me for life? Look at me,
+marked until I die with his high displeasure; and moan and groan for
+what you made him!’
+
+‘Miss Dartle,’ I entreated her. ‘For Heaven’s sake--’
+
+‘I WILL speak!’ she said, turning on me with her lightning eyes. ‘Be
+silent, you! Look at me, I say, proud mother of a proud, false son! Moan
+for your nurture of him, moan for your corruption of him, moan for your
+loss of him, moan for mine!’
+
+She clenched her hand, and trembled through her spare, worn figure, as
+if her passion were killing her by inches.
+
+‘You, resent his self-will!’ she exclaimed. ‘You, injured by his haughty
+temper! You, who opposed to both, when your hair was grey, the qualities
+which made both when you gave him birth! YOU, who from his cradle reared
+him to be what he was, and stunted what he should have been! Are you
+rewarded, now, for your years of trouble?’
+
+‘Oh, Miss Dartle, shame! Oh cruel!’
+
+‘I tell you,’ she returned, ‘I WILL speak to her. No power on earth
+should stop me, while I was standing here! Have I been silent all these
+years, and shall I not speak now? I loved him better than you ever loved
+him!’ turning on her fiercely. ‘I could have loved him, and asked no
+return. If I had been his wife, I could have been the slave of his
+caprices for a word of love a year. I should have been. Who knows it
+better than I? You were exacting, proud, punctilious, selfish. My love
+would have been devoted--would have trod your paltry whimpering under
+foot!’
+
+With flashing eyes, she stamped upon the ground as if she actually did
+it.
+
+‘Look here!’ she said, striking the scar again, with a relentless hand.
+‘When he grew into the better understanding of what he had done, he saw
+it, and repented of it! I could sing to him, and talk to him, and show
+the ardour that I felt in all he did, and attain with labour to such
+knowledge as most interested him; and I attracted him. When he was
+freshest and truest, he loved me. Yes, he did! Many a time, when you
+were put off with a slight word, he has taken Me to his heart!’
+
+She said it with a taunting pride in the midst of her frenzy--for it
+was little less--yet with an eager remembrance of it, in which the
+smouldering embers of a gentler feeling kindled for the moment.
+
+‘I descended--as I might have known I should, but that he fascinated me
+with his boyish courtship--into a doll, a trifle for the occupation
+of an idle hour, to be dropped, and taken up, and trifled with, as the
+inconstant humour took him. When he grew weary, I grew weary. As his
+fancy died out, I would no more have tried to strengthen any power I
+had, than I would have married him on his being forced to take me for
+his wife. We fell away from one another without a word. Perhaps you saw
+it, and were not sorry. Since then, I have been a mere disfigured piece
+of furniture between you both; having no eyes, no ears, no feelings,
+no remembrances. Moan? Moan for what you made him; not for your love. I
+tell you that the time was, when I loved him better than you ever did!’
+
+She stood with her bright angry eyes confronting the wide stare, and the
+set face; and softened no more, when the moaning was repeated, than if
+the face had been a picture.
+
+‘Miss Dartle,’ said I, ‘if you can be so obdurate as not to feel for
+this afflicted mother--’
+
+‘Who feels for me?’ she sharply retorted. ‘She has sown this. Let her
+moan for the harvest that she reaps today!’
+
+‘And if his faults--’ I began.
+
+‘Faults!’ she cried, bursting into passionate tears. ‘Who dares malign
+him? He had a soul worth millions of the friends to whom he stooped!’
+
+‘No one can have loved him better, no one can hold him in dearer
+remembrance than I,’ I replied. ‘I meant to say, if you have no
+compassion for his mother; or if his faults--you have been bitter on
+them--’
+
+‘It’s false,’ she cried, tearing her black hair; ‘I loved him!’
+
+‘--if his faults cannot,’ I went on, ‘be banished from your remembrance,
+in such an hour; look at that figure, even as one you have never seen
+before, and render it some help!’
+
+All this time, the figure was unchanged, and looked unchangeable.
+Motionless, rigid, staring; moaning in the same dumb way from time to
+time, with the same helpless motion of the head; but giving no other
+sign of life. Miss Dartle suddenly kneeled down before it, and began to
+loosen the dress.
+
+‘A curse upon you!’ she said, looking round at me, with a mingled
+expression of rage and grief. ‘It was in an evil hour that you ever came
+here! A curse upon you! Go!’
+
+After passing out of the room, I hurried back to ring the bell, the
+sooner to alarm the servants. She had then taken the impassive figure
+in her arms, and, still upon her knees, was weeping over it, kissing it,
+calling to it, rocking it to and fro upon her bosom like a child, and
+trying every tender means to rouse the dormant senses. No longer afraid
+of leaving her, I noiselessly turned back again; and alarmed the house
+as I went out.
+
+Later in the day, I returned, and we laid him in his mother’s room. She
+was just the same, they told me; Miss Dartle never left her; doctors
+were in attendance, many things had been tried; but she lay like a
+statue, except for the low sound now and then.
+
+I went through the dreary house, and darkened the windows. The windows
+of the chamber where he lay, I darkened last. I lifted up the leaden
+hand, and held it to my heart; and all the world seemed death and
+silence, broken only by his mother’s moaning.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 57. THE EMIGRANTS
+
+
+One thing more, I had to do, before yielding myself to the shock of
+these emotions. It was, to conceal what had occurred, from those who
+were going away; and to dismiss them on their voyage in happy ignorance.
+In this, no time was to be lost.
+
+I took Mr. Micawber aside that same night, and confided to him the
+task of standing between Mr. Peggotty and intelligence of the late
+catastrophe. He zealously undertook to do so, and to intercept any
+newspaper through which it might, without such precautions, reach him.
+
+‘If it penetrates to him, sir,’ said Mr. Micawber, striking himself on
+the breast, ‘it shall first pass through this body!’
+
+Mr. Micawber, I must observe, in his adaptation of himself to a new
+state of society, had acquired a bold buccaneering air, not absolutely
+lawless, but defensive and prompt. One might have supposed him a child
+of the wilderness, long accustomed to live out of the confines of
+civilization, and about to return to his native wilds.
+
+He had provided himself, among other things, with a complete suit of
+oilskin, and a straw hat with a very low crown, pitched or caulked on
+the outside. In this rough clothing, with a common mariner’s telescope
+under his arm, and a shrewd trick of casting up his eye at the sky
+as looking out for dirty weather, he was far more nautical, after his
+manner, than Mr. Peggotty. His whole family, if I may so express it,
+were cleared for action. I found Mrs. Micawber in the closest and most
+uncompromising of bonnets, made fast under the chin; and in a shawl
+which tied her up (as I had been tied up, when my aunt first received
+me) like a bundle, and was secured behind at the waist, in a strong
+knot. Miss Micawber I found made snug for stormy weather, in the same
+manner; with nothing superfluous about her. Master Micawber was hardly
+visible in a Guernsey shirt, and the shaggiest suit of slops I ever
+saw; and the children were done up, like preserved meats, in impervious
+cases. Both Mr. Micawber and his eldest son wore their sleeves loosely
+turned back at the wrists, as being ready to lend a hand in any
+direction, and to ‘tumble up’, or sing out, ‘Yeo--Heave--Yeo!’ on the
+shortest notice.
+
+Thus Traddles and I found them at nightfall, assembled on the wooden
+steps, at that time known as Hungerford Stairs, watching the departure
+of a boat with some of their property on board. I had told Traddles of
+the terrible event, and it had greatly shocked him; but there could be
+no doubt of the kindness of keeping it a secret, and he had come to help
+me in this last service. It was here that I took Mr. Micawber aside, and
+received his promise.
+
+The Micawber family were lodged in a little, dirty, tumble-down
+public-house, which in those days was close to the stairs, and whose
+protruding wooden rooms overhung the river. The family, as emigrants,
+being objects of some interest in and about Hungerford, attracted so
+many beholders, that we were glad to take refuge in their room. It was
+one of the wooden chambers upstairs, with the tide flowing underneath.
+My aunt and Agnes were there, busily making some little extra comforts,
+in the way of dress, for the children. Peggotty was quietly assisting,
+with the old insensible work-box, yard-measure, and bit of wax-candle
+before her, that had now outlived so much.
+
+It was not easy to answer her inquiries; still less to whisper Mr.
+Peggotty, when Mr. Micawber brought him in, that I had given the letter,
+and all was well. But I did both, and made them happy. If I showed any
+trace of what I felt, my own sorrows were sufficient to account for it.
+
+‘And when does the ship sail, Mr. Micawber?’ asked my aunt.
+
+Mr. Micawber considered it necessary to prepare either my aunt or his
+wife, by degrees, and said, sooner than he had expected yesterday.
+
+‘The boat brought you word, I suppose?’ said my aunt.
+
+‘It did, ma’am,’ he returned.
+
+‘Well?’ said my aunt. ‘And she sails--’
+
+‘Madam,’ he replied, ‘I am informed that we must positively be on board
+before seven tomorrow morning.’
+
+‘Heyday!’ said my aunt, ‘that’s soon. Is it a sea-going fact, Mr.
+Peggotty?’ ‘’Tis so, ma’am. She’ll drop down the river with that theer
+tide. If Mas’r Davy and my sister comes aboard at Gravesen’, arternoon
+o’ next day, they’ll see the last on us.’
+
+‘And that we shall do,’ said I, ‘be sure!’
+
+‘Until then, and until we are at sea,’ observed Mr. Micawber, with a
+glance of intelligence at me, ‘Mr. Peggotty and myself will constantly
+keep a double look-out together, on our goods and chattels. Emma, my
+love,’ said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat in his magnificent way,
+‘my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles is so obliging as to solicit, in my ear,
+that he should have the privilege of ordering the ingredients necessary
+to the composition of a moderate portion of that Beverage which is
+peculiarly associated, in our minds, with the Roast Beef of Old England.
+I allude to--in short, Punch. Under ordinary circumstances, I should
+scruple to entreat the indulgence of Miss Trotwood and Miss Wickfield,
+but-’
+
+‘I can only say for myself,’ said my aunt, ‘that I will drink all
+happiness and success to you, Mr. Micawber, with the utmost pleasure.’
+
+‘And I too!’ said Agnes, with a smile.
+
+Mr. Micawber immediately descended to the bar, where he appeared to be
+quite at home; and in due time returned with a steaming jug. I could
+not but observe that he had been peeling the lemons with his own
+clasp-knife, which, as became the knife of a practical settler, was
+about a foot long; and which he wiped, not wholly without ostentation,
+on the sleeve of his coat. Mrs. Micawber and the two elder members
+of the family I now found to be provided with similar formidable
+instruments, while every child had its own wooden spoon attached to its
+body by a strong line. In a similar anticipation of life afloat, and in
+the Bush, Mr. Micawber, instead of helping Mrs. Micawber and his eldest
+son and daughter to punch, in wine-glasses, which he might easily have
+done, for there was a shelf-full in the room, served it out to them in a
+series of villainous little tin pots; and I never saw him enjoy anything
+so much as drinking out of his own particular pint pot, and putting it
+in his pocket at the close of the evening.
+
+‘The luxuries of the old country,’ said Mr. Micawber, with an intense
+satisfaction in their renouncement, ‘we abandon. The denizens of the
+forest cannot, of course, expect to participate in the refinements of
+the land of the Free.’
+
+Here, a boy came in to say that Mr. Micawber was wanted downstairs.
+
+‘I have a presentiment,’ said Mrs. Micawber, setting down her tin pot,
+‘that it is a member of my family!’
+
+‘If so, my dear,’ observed Mr. Micawber, with his usual suddenness of
+warmth on that subject, ‘as the member of your family--whoever he, she,
+or it, may be--has kept us waiting for a considerable period, perhaps
+the Member may now wait MY convenience.’
+
+‘Micawber,’ said his wife, in a low tone, ‘at such a time as this--’
+
+‘“It is not meet,”’ said Mr. Micawber, rising, ‘“that every nice offence
+should bear its comment!” Emma, I stand reproved.’
+
+‘The loss, Micawber,’ observed his wife, ‘has been my family’s, not
+yours. If my family are at length sensible of the deprivation to which
+their own conduct has, in the past, exposed them, and now desire to
+extend the hand of fellowship, let it not be repulsed.’
+
+‘My dear,’ he returned, ‘so be it!’
+
+‘If not for their sakes; for mine, Micawber,’ said his wife.
+
+‘Emma,’ he returned, ‘that view of the question is, at such a moment,
+irresistible. I cannot, even now, distinctly pledge myself to fall
+upon your family’s neck; but the member of your family, who is now in
+attendance, shall have no genial warmth frozen by me.’
+
+Mr. Micawber withdrew, and was absent some little time; in the course of
+which Mrs. Micawber was not wholly free from an apprehension that words
+might have arisen between him and the Member. At length the same boy
+reappeared, and presented me with a note written in pencil, and headed,
+in a legal manner, ‘Heep v. Micawber’. From this document, I learned
+that Mr. Micawber being again arrested, ‘Was in a final paroxysm of
+despair; and that he begged me to send him his knife and pint pot, by
+bearer, as they might prove serviceable during the brief remainder of
+his existence, in jail. He also requested, as a last act of friendship,
+that I would see his family to the Parish Workhouse, and forget that
+such a Being ever lived.
+
+Of course I answered this note by going down with the boy to pay the
+money, where I found Mr. Micawber sitting in a corner, looking darkly at
+the Sheriff ‘s Officer who had effected the capture. On his release,
+he embraced me with the utmost fervour; and made an entry of the
+transaction in his pocket-book--being very particular, I recollect,
+about a halfpenny I inadvertently omitted from my statement of the
+total.
+
+This momentous pocket-book was a timely reminder to him of another
+transaction. On our return to the room upstairs (where he accounted for
+his absence by saying that it had been occasioned by circumstances over
+which he had no control), he took out of it a large sheet of paper,
+folded small, and quite covered with long sums, carefully worked. From
+the glimpse I had of them, I should say that I never saw such sums
+out of a school ciphering-book. These, it seemed, were calculations of
+compound interest on what he called ‘the principal amount of forty-one,
+ten, eleven and a half’, for various periods. After a careful
+consideration of these, and an elaborate estimate of his resources,
+he had come to the conclusion to select that sum which represented the
+amount with compound interest to two years, fifteen calendar months, and
+fourteen days, from that date. For this he had drawn a note-of-hand
+with great neatness, which he handed over to Traddles on the spot,
+a discharge of his debt in full (as between man and man), with many
+acknowledgements.
+
+‘I have still a presentiment,’ said Mrs. Micawber, pensively shaking her
+head, ‘that my family will appear on board, before we finally depart.’
+
+Mr. Micawber evidently had his presentiment on the subject too, but he
+put it in his tin pot and swallowed it.
+
+‘If you have any opportunity of sending letters home, on your passage,
+Mrs. Micawber,’ said my aunt, ‘you must let us hear from you, you know.’
+
+‘My dear Miss Trotwood,’ she replied, ‘I shall only be too happy
+to think that anyone expects to hear from us. I shall not fail to
+correspond. Mr. Copperfield, I trust, as an old and familiar friend,
+will not object to receive occasional intelligence, himself, from one
+who knew him when the twins were yet unconscious?’
+
+I said that I should hope to hear, whenever she had an opportunity of
+writing.
+
+‘Please Heaven, there will be many such opportunities,’ said Mr.
+Micawber. ‘The ocean, in these times, is a perfect fleet of ships; and
+we can hardly fail to encounter many, in running over. It is merely
+crossing,’ said Mr. Micawber, trifling with his eye-glass, ‘merely
+crossing. The distance is quite imaginary.’
+
+I think, now, how odd it was, but how wonderfully like Mr. Micawber,
+that, when he went from London to Canterbury, he should have talked as
+if he were going to the farthest limits of the earth; and, when he went
+from England to Australia, as if he were going for a little trip across
+the channel.
+
+‘On the voyage, I shall endeavour,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘occasionally
+to spin them a yarn; and the melody of my son Wilkins will, I trust,
+be acceptable at the galley-fire. When Mrs. Micawber has her
+sea-legs on--an expression in which I hope there is no conventional
+impropriety--she will give them, I dare say, “Little Tafflin”. Porpoises
+and dolphins, I believe, will be frequently observed athwart our
+Bows; and, either on the starboard or the larboard quarter, objects of
+interest will be continually descried. In short,’ said Mr. Micawber,
+with the old genteel air, ‘the probability is, all will be found so
+exciting, alow and aloft, that when the lookout, stationed in the
+main-top, cries Land-oh! we shall be very considerably astonished!’
+
+With that he flourished off the contents of his little tin pot, as if he
+had made the voyage, and had passed a first-class examination before the
+highest naval authorities.
+
+‘What I chiefly hope, my dear Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber,
+‘is, that in some branches of our family we may live again in the old
+country. Do not frown, Micawber! I do not now refer to my own family,
+but to our children’s children. However vigorous the sapling,’ said Mrs.
+Micawber, shaking her head, ‘I cannot forget the parent-tree; and when
+our race attains to eminence and fortune, I own I should wish that
+fortune to flow into the coffers of Britannia.’
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘Britannia must take her chance. I am
+bound to say that she has never done much for me, and that I have no
+particular wish upon the subject.’
+
+‘Micawber,’ returned Mrs. Micawber, ‘there, you are wrong. You are going
+out, Micawber, to this distant clime, to strengthen, not to weaken, the
+connexion between yourself and Albion.’
+
+‘The connexion in question, my love,’ rejoined Mr. Micawber, ‘has not
+laid me, I repeat, under that load of personal obligation, that I am at
+all sensitive as to the formation of another connexion.’
+
+‘Micawber,’ returned Mrs. Micawber. ‘There, I again say, you are wrong.
+You do not know your power, Micawber. It is that which will strengthen,
+even in this step you are about to take, the connexion between yourself
+and Albion.’
+
+Mr. Micawber sat in his elbow-chair, with his eyebrows raised; half
+receiving and half repudiating Mrs. Micawber’s views as they were
+stated, but very sensible of their foresight.
+
+‘My dear Mr. Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘I wish Mr. Micawber to
+feel his position. It appears to me highly important that Mr. Micawber
+should, from the hour of his embarkation, feel his position. Your old
+knowledge of me, my dear Mr. Copperfield, will have told you that I have
+not the sanguine disposition of Mr. Micawber. My disposition is, if I
+may say so, eminently practical. I know that this is a long voyage. I
+know that it will involve many privations and inconveniences. I cannot
+shut my eyes to those facts. But I also know what Mr. Micawber is.
+I know the latent power of Mr. Micawber. And therefore I consider it
+vitally important that Mr. Micawber should feel his position.’
+
+‘My love,’ he observed, ‘perhaps you will allow me to remark that it is
+barely possible that I DO feel my position at the present moment.’
+
+‘I think not, Micawber,’ she rejoined. ‘Not fully. My dear Mr.
+Copperfield, Mr. Micawber’s is not a common case. Mr. Micawber is going
+to a distant country expressly in order that he may be fully understood
+and appreciated for the first time. I wish Mr. Micawber to take his
+stand upon that vessel’s prow, and firmly say, “This country I am
+come to conquer! Have you honours? Have you riches? Have you posts of
+profitable pecuniary emolument? Let them be brought forward. They are
+mine!”’
+
+Mr. Micawber, glancing at us all, seemed to think there was a good deal
+in this idea.
+
+‘I wish Mr. Micawber, if I make myself understood,’ said Mrs. Micawber,
+in her argumentative tone, ‘to be the Caesar of his own fortunes. That,
+my dear Mr. Copperfield, appears to me to be his true position. From
+the first moment of this voyage, I wish Mr. Micawber to stand upon
+that vessel’s prow and say, “Enough of delay: enough of disappointment:
+enough of limited means. That was in the old country. This is the new.
+Produce your reparation. Bring it forward!”’
+
+Mr. Micawber folded his arms in a resolute manner, as if he were then
+stationed on the figure-head.
+
+‘And doing that,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘--feeling his position--am I not
+right in saying that Mr. Micawber will strengthen, and not weaken, his
+connexion with Britain? An important public character arising in that
+hemisphere, shall I be told that its influence will not be felt at home?
+Can I be so weak as to imagine that Mr. Micawber, wielding the rod of
+talent and of power in Australia, will be nothing in England? I am but
+a woman; but I should be unworthy of myself and of my papa, if I were
+guilty of such absurd weakness.’
+
+Mrs. Micawber’s conviction that her arguments were unanswerable, gave
+a moral elevation to her tone which I think I had never heard in it
+before.
+
+‘And therefore it is,’ said Mrs. Micawber, ‘that I the more wish, that,
+at a future period, we may live again on the parent soil. Mr. Micawber
+may be--I cannot disguise from myself that the probability is, Mr.
+Micawber will be--a page of History; and he ought then to be represented
+in the country which gave him birth, and did NOT give him employment!’
+
+‘My love,’ observed Mr. Micawber, ‘it is impossible for me not to be
+touched by your affection. I am always willing to defer to your good
+sense. What will be--will be. Heaven forbid that I should grudge my
+native country any portion of the wealth that may be accumulated by our
+descendants!’
+
+‘That’s well,’ said my aunt, nodding towards Mr. Peggotty, ‘and I drink
+my love to you all, and every blessing and success attend you!’
+
+Mr. Peggotty put down the two children he had been nursing, one on each
+knee, to join Mr. and Mrs. Micawber in drinking to all of us in return;
+and when he and the Micawbers cordially shook hands as comrades, and his
+brown face brightened with a smile, I felt that he would make his way,
+establish a good name, and be beloved, go where he would.
+
+Even the children were instructed, each to dip a wooden spoon into Mr.
+Micawber’s pot, and pledge us in its contents. When this was done, my
+aunt and Agnes rose, and parted from the emigrants. It was a sorrowful
+farewell. They were all crying; the children hung about Agnes to the
+last; and we left poor Mrs. Micawber in a very distressed condition,
+sobbing and weeping by a dim candle, that must have made the room look,
+from the river, like a miserable light-house.
+
+I went down again next morning to see that they were away. They had
+departed, in a boat, as early as five o’clock. It was a wonderful
+instance to me of the gap such partings make, that although my
+association of them with the tumble-down public-house and the wooden
+stairs dated only from last night, both seemed dreary and deserted, now
+that they were gone.
+
+In the afternoon of the next day, my old nurse and I went down to
+Gravesend. We found the ship in the river, surrounded by a crowd
+of boats; a favourable wind blowing; the signal for sailing at her
+mast-head. I hired a boat directly, and we put off to her; and getting
+through the little vortex of confusion of which she was the centre, went
+on board.
+
+Mr. Peggotty was waiting for us on deck. He told me that Mr. Micawber
+had just now been arrested again (and for the last time) at the suit of
+Heep, and that, in compliance with a request I had made to him, he had
+paid the money, which I repaid him. He then took us down between decks;
+and there, any lingering fears I had of his having heard any rumours of
+what had happened, were dispelled by Mr. Micawber’s coming out of the
+gloom, taking his arm with an air of friendship and protection, and
+telling me that they had scarcely been asunder for a moment, since the
+night before last.
+
+It was such a strange scene to me, and so confined and dark, that, at
+first, I could make out hardly anything; but, by degrees, it cleared, as
+my eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, and I seemed to stand in
+a picture by OSTADE. Among the great beams, bulks, and ringbolts of the
+ship, and the emigrant-berths, and chests, and bundles, and barrels, and
+heaps of miscellaneous baggage--‘lighted up, here and there, by dangling
+lanterns; and elsewhere by the yellow daylight straying down a windsail
+or a hatchway--were crowded groups of people, making new friendships,
+taking leave of one another, talking, laughing, crying, eating and
+drinking; some, already settled down into the possession of their few
+feet of space, with their little households arranged, and tiny children
+established on stools, or in dwarf elbow-chairs; others, despairing of
+a resting-place, and wandering disconsolately. From babies who had but a
+week or two of life behind them, to crooked old men and women who seemed
+to have but a week or two of life before them; and from ploughmen bodily
+carrying out soil of England on their boots, to smiths taking away
+samples of its soot and smoke upon their skins; every age and occupation
+appeared to be crammed into the narrow compass of the ‘tween decks.
+
+As my eye glanced round this place, I thought I saw sitting, by an open
+port, with one of the Micawber children near her, a figure like Emily’s;
+it first attracted my attention, by another figure parting from it with
+a kiss; and as it glided calmly away through the disorder, reminding
+me of--Agnes! But in the rapid motion and confusion, and in the
+unsettlement of my own thoughts, I lost it again; and only knew that
+the time was come when all visitors were being warned to leave the ship;
+that my nurse was crying on a chest beside me; and that Mrs. Gummidge,
+assisted by some younger stooping woman in black, was busily arranging
+Mr. Peggotty’s goods.
+
+‘Is there any last wured, Mas’r Davy?’ said he. ‘Is there any one
+forgotten thing afore we parts?’
+
+‘One thing!’ said I. ‘Martha!’
+
+He touched the younger woman I have mentioned on the shoulder, and
+Martha stood before me.
+
+‘Heaven bless you, you good man!’ cried I. ‘You take her with you!’
+
+She answered for him, with a burst of tears. I could speak no more at
+that time, but I wrung his hand; and if ever I have loved and honoured
+any man, I loved and honoured that man in my soul.
+
+The ship was clearing fast of strangers. The greatest trial that I had,
+remained. I told him what the noble spirit that was gone, had given me
+in charge to say at parting. It moved him deeply. But when he charged
+me, in return, with many messages of affection and regret for those deaf
+ears, he moved me more.
+
+The time was come. I embraced him, took my weeping nurse upon my arm,
+and hurried away. On deck, I took leave of poor Mrs. Micawber. She was
+looking distractedly about for her family, even then; and her last words
+to me were, that she never would desert Mr. Micawber.
+
+We went over the side into our boat, and lay at a little distance, to
+see the ship wafted on her course. It was then calm, radiant sunset.
+She lay between us, and the red light; and every taper line and spar was
+visible against the glow. A sight at once so beautiful, so mournful, and
+so hopeful, as the glorious ship, lying, still, on the flushed water,
+with all the life on board her crowded at the bulwarks, and there
+clustering, for a moment, bare-headed and silent, I never saw.
+
+Silent, only for a moment. As the sails rose to the wind, and the ship
+began to move, there broke from all the boats three resounding cheers,
+which those on board took up, and echoed back, and which were echoed
+and re-echoed. My heart burst out when I heard the sound, and beheld the
+waving of the hats and handkerchiefs--and then I saw her!
+
+Then I saw her, at her uncle’s side, and trembling on his shoulder. He
+pointed to us with an eager hand; and she saw us, and waved her last
+good-bye to me. Aye, Emily, beautiful and drooping, cling to him with
+the utmost trust of thy bruised heart; for he has clung to thee, with
+all the might of his great love!
+
+Surrounded by the rosy light, and standing high upon the deck, apart
+together, she clinging to him, and he holding her, they solemnly passed
+away. The night had fallen on the Kentish hills when we were rowed
+ashore--and fallen darkly upon me.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 58. ABSENCE
+
+
+It was a long and gloomy night that gathered on me, haunted by the
+ghosts of many hopes, of many dear remembrances, many errors, many
+unavailing sorrows and regrets.
+
+I went away from England; not knowing, even then, how great the shock
+was, that I had to bear. I left all who were dear to me, and went away;
+and believed that I had borne it, and it was past. As a man upon a
+field of battle will receive a mortal hurt, and scarcely know that he is
+struck, so I, when I was left alone with my undisciplined heart, had no
+conception of the wound with which it had to strive.
+
+The knowledge came upon me, not quickly, but little by little, and grain
+by grain. The desolate feeling with which I went abroad, deepened
+and widened hourly. At first it was a heavy sense of loss and sorrow,
+wherein I could distinguish little else. By imperceptible degrees,
+it became a hopeless consciousness of all that I had lost--love,
+friendship, interest; of all that had been shattered--my first trust,
+my first affection, the whole airy castle of my life; of all that
+remained--a ruined blank and waste, lying wide around me, unbroken, to
+the dark horizon.
+
+If my grief were selfish, I did not know it to be so. I mourned for my
+child-wife, taken from her blooming world, so young. I mourned for him
+who might have won the love and admiration of thousands, as he had won
+mine long ago. I mourned for the broken heart that had found rest in the
+stormy sea; and for the wandering remnants of the simple home, where I
+had heard the night-wind blowing, when I was a child.
+
+From the accumulated sadness into which I fell, I had at length no hope
+of ever issuing again. I roamed from place to place, carrying my burden
+with me everywhere. I felt its whole weight now; and I drooped beneath
+it, and I said in my heart that it could never be lightened.
+
+When this despondency was at its worst, I believed that I should die.
+Sometimes, I thought that I would like to die at home; and actually
+turned back on my road, that I might get there soon. At other times, I
+passed on farther away,--from city to city, seeking I know not what, and
+trying to leave I know not what behind.
+
+It is not in my power to retrace, one by one, all the weary phases of
+distress of mind through which I passed. There are some dreams that can
+only be imperfectly and vaguely described; and when I oblige myself to
+look back on this time of my life, I seem to be recalling such a dream.
+I see myself passing on among the novelties of foreign towns, palaces,
+cathedrals, temples, pictures, castles, tombs, fantastic streets--the
+old abiding places of History and Fancy--as a dreamer might; bearing my
+painful load through all, and hardly conscious of the objects as they
+fade before me. Listlessness to everything, but brooding sorrow, was the
+night that fell on my undisciplined heart. Let me look up from it--as
+at last I did, thank Heaven!--and from its long, sad, wretched dream, to
+dawn.
+
+For many months I travelled with this ever-darkening cloud upon my
+mind. Some blind reasons that I had for not returning home--reasons then
+struggling within me, vainly, for more distinct expression--kept me
+on my pilgrimage. Sometimes, I had proceeded restlessly from place to
+place, stopping nowhere; sometimes, I had lingered long in one spot. I
+had had no purpose, no sustaining soul within me, anywhere.
+
+I was in Switzerland. I had come out of Italy, over one of the great
+passes of the Alps, and had since wandered with a guide among the
+by-ways of the mountains. If those awful solitudes had spoken to my
+heart, I did not know it. I had found sublimity and wonder in the dread
+heights and precipices, in the roaring torrents, and the wastes of ice
+and snow; but as yet, they had taught me nothing else.
+
+I came, one evening before sunset, down into a valley, where I was to
+rest. In the course of my descent to it, by the winding track along
+the mountain-side, from which I saw it shining far below, I think some
+long-unwonted sense of beauty and tranquillity, some softening influence
+awakened by its peace, moved faintly in my breast. I remember pausing
+once, with a kind of sorrow that was not all oppressive, not quite
+despairing. I remember almost hoping that some better change was
+possible within me.
+
+I came into the valley, as the evening sun was shining on the remote
+heights of snow, that closed it in, like eternal clouds. The bases of
+the mountains forming the gorge in which the little village lay, were
+richly green; and high above this gentler vegetation, grew forests of
+dark fir, cleaving the wintry snow-drift, wedge-like, and stemming the
+avalanche. Above these, were range upon range of craggy steeps, grey
+rock, bright ice, and smooth verdure-specks of pasture, all gradually
+blending with the crowning snow. Dotted here and there on the
+mountain’s-side, each tiny dot a home, were lonely wooden cottages, so
+dwarfed by the towering heights that they appeared too small for toys.
+So did even the clustered village in the valley, with its wooden bridge
+across the stream, where the stream tumbled over broken rocks, and
+roared away among the trees. In the quiet air, there was a sound of
+distant singing--shepherd voices; but, as one bright evening cloud
+floated midway along the mountain’s-side, I could almost have believed
+it came from there, and was not earthly music. All at once, in this
+serenity, great Nature spoke to me; and soothed me to lay down my weary
+head upon the grass, and weep as I had not wept yet, since Dora died!
+
+I had found a packet of letters awaiting me but a few minutes before,
+and had strolled out of the village to read them while my supper was
+making ready. Other packets had missed me, and I had received none for a
+long time. Beyond a line or two, to say that I was well, and had arrived
+at such a place, I had not had fortitude or constancy to write a letter
+since I left home.
+
+The packet was in my hand. I opened it, and read the writing of Agnes.
+
+She was happy and useful, was prospering as she had hoped. That was all
+she told me of herself. The rest referred to me.
+
+She gave me no advice; she urged no duty on me; she only told me, in her
+own fervent manner, what her trust in me was. She knew (she said) how
+such a nature as mine would turn affliction to good. She knew how trial
+and emotion would exalt and strengthen it. She was sure that in my every
+purpose I should gain a firmer and a higher tendency, through the grief
+I had undergone. She, who so gloried in my fame, and so looked forward
+to its augmentation, well knew that I would labour on. She knew that in
+me, sorrow could not be weakness, but must be strength. As the endurance
+of my childish days had done its part to make me what I was, so greater
+calamities would nerve me on, to be yet better than I was; and so, as
+they had taught me, would I teach others. She commended me to God, who
+had taken my innocent darling to His rest; and in her sisterly affection
+cherished me always, and was always at my side go where I would; proud
+of what I had done, but infinitely prouder yet of what I was reserved to
+do.
+
+I put the letter in my breast, and thought what had I been an hour ago!
+When I heard the voices die away, and saw the quiet evening cloud grow
+dim, and all the colours in the valley fade, and the golden snow upon
+the mountain-tops become a remote part of the pale night sky, yet felt
+that the night was passing from my mind, and all its shadows clearing,
+there was no name for the love I bore her, dearer to me, henceforward,
+than ever until then.
+
+I read her letter many times. I wrote to her before I slept. I told her
+that I had been in sore need of her help; that without her I was not,
+and I never had been, what she thought me; but that she inspired me to
+be that, and I would try.
+
+I did try. In three months more, a year would have passed since the
+beginning of my sorrow. I determined to make no resolutions until the
+expiration of those three months, but to try. I lived in that valley,
+and its neighbourhood, all the time.
+
+The three months gone, I resolved to remain away from home for some
+time longer; to settle myself for the present in Switzerland, which was
+growing dear to me in the remembrance of that evening; to resume my pen;
+to work.
+
+I resorted humbly whither Agnes had commended me; I sought out Nature,
+never sought in vain; and I admitted to my breast the human interest
+I had lately shrunk from. It was not long, before I had almost as many
+friends in the valley as in Yarmouth: and when I left it, before the
+winter set in, for Geneva, and came back in the spring, their cordial
+greetings had a homely sound to me, although they were not conveyed in
+English words.
+
+I worked early and late, patiently and hard. I wrote a Story, with a
+purpose growing, not remotely, out of my experience, and sent it to
+Traddles, and he arranged for its publication very advantageously for
+me; and the tidings of my growing reputation began to reach me from
+travellers whom I encountered by chance. After some rest and change, I
+fell to work, in my old ardent way, on a new fancy, which took strong
+possession of me. As I advanced in the execution of this task, I felt it
+more and more, and roused my utmost energies to do it well. This was my
+third work of fiction. It was not half written, when, in an interval of
+rest, I thought of returning home.
+
+For a long time, though studying and working patiently, I had accustomed
+myself to robust exercise. My health, severely impaired when I left
+England, was quite restored. I had seen much. I had been in many
+countries, and I hope I had improved my store of knowledge.
+
+I have now recalled all that I think it needful to recall here, of this
+term of absence--with one reservation. I have made it, thus far, with
+no purpose of suppressing any of my thoughts; for, as I have elsewhere
+said, this narrative is my written memory. I have desired to keep the
+most secret current of my mind apart, and to the last. I enter on it
+now. I cannot so completely penetrate the mystery of my own heart, as
+to know when I began to think that I might have set its earliest and
+brightest hopes on Agnes. I cannot say at what stage of my grief
+it first became associated with the reflection, that, in my wayward
+boyhood, I had thrown away the treasure of her love. I believe I may
+have heard some whisper of that distant thought, in the old unhappy loss
+or want of something never to be realized, of which I had been sensible.
+But the thought came into my mind as a new reproach and new regret, when
+I was left so sad and lonely in the world.
+
+If, at that time, I had been much with her, I should, in the weakness of
+my desolation, have betrayed this. It was what I remotely dreaded when I
+was first impelled to stay away from England. I could not have borne
+to lose the smallest portion of her sisterly affection; yet, in that
+betrayal, I should have set a constraint between us hitherto unknown.
+
+I could not forget that the feeling with which she now regarded me had
+grown up in my own free choice and course. That if she had ever loved me
+with another love--and I sometimes thought the time was when she might
+have done so--I had cast it away. It was nothing, now, that I had
+accustomed myself to think of her, when we were both mere children,
+as one who was far removed from my wild fancies. I had bestowed my
+passionate tenderness upon another object; and what I might have done,
+I had not done; and what Agnes was to me, I and her own noble heart had
+made her.
+
+In the beginning of the change that gradually worked in me, when I
+tried to get a better understanding of myself and be a better man, I
+did glance, through some indefinite probation, to a period when I might
+possibly hope to cancel the mistaken past, and to be so blessed as
+to marry her. But, as time wore on, this shadowy prospect faded, and
+departed from me. If she had ever loved me, then, I should hold her
+the more sacred; remembering the confidences I had reposed in her, her
+knowledge of my errant heart, the sacrifice she must have made to be my
+friend and sister, and the victory she had won. If she had never loved
+me, could I believe that she would love me now?
+
+I had always felt my weakness, in comparison with her constancy and
+fortitude; and now I felt it more and more. Whatever I might have been
+to her, or she to me, if I had been more worthy of her long ago, I was
+not now, and she was not. The time was past. I had let it go by, and had
+deservedly lost her.
+
+That I suffered much in these contentions, that they filled me with
+unhappiness and remorse, and yet that I had a sustaining sense that it
+was required of me, in right and honour, to keep away from myself, with
+shame, the thought of turning to the dear girl in the withering of my
+hopes, from whom I had frivolously turned when they were bright and
+fresh--which consideration was at the root of every thought I had
+concerning her--is all equally true. I made no effort to conceal from
+myself, now, that I loved her, that I was devoted to her; but I brought
+the assurance home to myself, that it was now too late, and that our
+long-subsisting relation must be undisturbed.
+
+I had thought, much and often, of my Dora’s shadowing out to me what
+might have happened, in those years that were destined not to try us;
+I had considered how the things that never happen, are often as much
+realities to us, in their effects, as those that are accomplished. The
+very years she spoke of, were realities now, for my correction; and
+would have been, one day, a little later perhaps, though we had parted
+in our earliest folly. I endeavoured to convert what might have been
+between myself and Agnes, into a means of making me more self-denying,
+more resolved, more conscious of myself, and my defects and errors.
+Thus, through the reflection that it might have been, I arrived at the
+conviction that it could never be.
+
+These, with their perplexities and inconsistencies, were the shifting
+quicksands of my mind, from the time of my departure to the time of my
+return home, three years afterwards. Three years had elapsed since the
+sailing of the emigrant ship; when, at that same hour of sunset, and in
+the same place, I stood on the deck of the packet vessel that brought me
+home, looking on the rosy water where I had seen the image of that ship
+reflected.
+
+Three years. Long in the aggregate, though short as they went by. And
+home was very dear to me, and Agnes too--but she was not mine--she was
+never to be mine. She might have been, but that was past!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 59. RETURN
+
+
+I landed in London on a wintry autumn evening. It was dark and raining,
+and I saw more fog and mud in a minute than I had seen in a year. I
+walked from the Custom House to the Monument before I found a coach;
+and although the very house-fronts, looking on the swollen gutters, were
+like old friends to me, I could not but admit that they were very dingy
+friends.
+
+I have often remarked--I suppose everybody has--that one’s going away
+from a familiar place, would seem to be the signal for change in it.
+As I looked out of the coach window, and observed that an old house on
+Fish-street Hill, which had stood untouched by painter, carpenter, or
+bricklayer, for a century, had been pulled down in my absence; and that
+a neighbouring street, of time-honoured insalubrity and inconvenience,
+was being drained and widened; I half expected to find St. Paul’s
+Cathedral looking older.
+
+For some changes in the fortunes of my friends, I was prepared. My aunt
+had long been re-established at Dover, and Traddles had begun to get
+into some little practice at the Bar, in the very first term after my
+departure. He had chambers in Gray’s Inn, now; and had told me, in his
+last letters, that he was not without hopes of being soon united to the
+dearest girl in the world.
+
+They expected me home before Christmas; but had no idea of my returning
+so soon. I had purposely misled them, that I might have the pleasure of
+taking them by surprise. And yet, I was perverse enough to feel a chill
+and disappointment in receiving no welcome, and rattling, alone and
+silent, through the misty streets.
+
+The well-known shops, however, with their cheerful lights, did something
+for me; and when I alighted at the door of the Gray’s Inn Coffee-house,
+I had recovered my spirits. It recalled, at first, that so-different
+time when I had put up at the Golden Cross, and reminded me of the
+changes that had come to pass since then; but that was natural.
+
+‘Do you know where Mr. Traddles lives in the Inn?’ I asked the waiter,
+as I warmed myself by the coffee-room fire.
+
+‘Holborn Court, sir. Number two.’
+
+‘Mr. Traddles has a rising reputation among the lawyers, I believe?’
+said I.
+
+‘Well, sir,’ returned the waiter, ‘probably he has, sir; but I am not
+aware of it myself.’
+
+This waiter, who was middle-aged and spare, looked for help to a waiter
+of more authority--a stout, potential old man, with a double chin,
+in black breeches and stockings, who came out of a place like a
+churchwarden’s pew, at the end of the coffee-room, where he kept company
+with a cash-box, a Directory, a Law-list, and other books and papers.
+
+‘Mr. Traddles,’ said the spare waiter. ‘Number two in the Court.’
+
+The potential waiter waved him away, and turned, gravely, to me.
+
+‘I was inquiring,’ said I, ‘whether Mr. Traddles, at number two in the
+Court, has not a rising reputation among the lawyers?’
+
+‘Never heard his name,’ said the waiter, in a rich husky voice.
+
+I felt quite apologetic for Traddles.
+
+‘He’s a young man, sure?’ said the portentous waiter, fixing his eyes
+severely on me. ‘How long has he been in the Inn?’
+
+‘Not above three years,’ said I.
+
+The waiter, who I supposed had lived in his churchwarden’s pew for forty
+years, could not pursue such an insignificant subject. He asked me what
+I would have for dinner?
+
+I felt I was in England again, and really was quite cast down on
+Traddles’s account. There seemed to be no hope for him. I meekly ordered
+a bit of fish and a steak, and stood before the fire musing on his
+obscurity.
+
+As I followed the chief waiter with my eyes, I could not help thinking
+that the garden in which he had gradually blown to be the flower he
+was, was an arduous place to rise in. It had such a prescriptive,
+stiff-necked, long-established, solemn, elderly air. I glanced about the
+room, which had had its sanded floor sanded, no doubt, in exactly the
+same manner when the chief waiter was a boy--if he ever was a boy,
+which appeared improbable; and at the shining tables, where I saw
+myself reflected, in unruffled depths of old mahogany; and at the lamps,
+without a flaw in their trimming or cleaning; and at the comfortable
+green curtains, with their pure brass rods, snugly enclosing the boxes;
+and at the two large coal fires, brightly burning; and at the rows of
+decanters, burly as if with the consciousness of pipes of expensive old
+port wine below; and both England, and the law, appeared to me to be
+very difficult indeed to be taken by storm. I went up to my bedroom
+to change my wet clothes; and the vast extent of that old wainscoted
+apartment (which was over the archway leading to the Inn, I remember),
+and the sedate immensity of the four-post bedstead, and the indomitable
+gravity of the chests of drawers, all seemed to unite in sternly
+frowning on the fortunes of Traddles, or on any such daring youth. I
+came down again to my dinner; and even the slow comfort of the meal,
+and the orderly silence of the place--which was bare of guests, the Long
+Vacation not yet being over--were eloquent on the audacity of Traddles,
+and his small hopes of a livelihood for twenty years to come.
+
+I had seen nothing like this since I went away, and it quite dashed my
+hopes for my friend. The chief waiter had had enough of me. He came near
+me no more; but devoted himself to an old gentleman in long gaiters, to
+meet whom a pint of special port seemed to come out of the cellar of its
+own accord, for he gave no order. The second waiter informed me, in a
+whisper, that this old gentleman was a retired conveyancer living in the
+Square, and worth a mint of money, which it was expected he would leave
+to his laundress’s daughter; likewise that it was rumoured that he had
+a service of plate in a bureau, all tarnished with lying by, though more
+than one spoon and a fork had never yet been beheld in his chambers
+by mortal vision. By this time, I quite gave Traddles up for lost; and
+settled in my own mind that there was no hope for him.
+
+Being very anxious to see the dear old fellow, nevertheless, I
+dispatched my dinner, in a manner not at all calculated to raise me in
+the opinion of the chief waiter, and hurried out by the back way. Number
+two in the Court was soon reached; and an inscription on the door-post
+informing me that Mr. Traddles occupied a set of chambers on the top
+storey, I ascended the staircase. A crazy old staircase I found it to
+be, feebly lighted on each landing by a club--headed little oil wick,
+dying away in a little dungeon of dirty glass.
+
+In the course of my stumbling upstairs, I fancied I heard a pleasant
+sound of laughter; and not the laughter of an attorney or barrister, or
+attorney’s clerk or barrister’s clerk, but of two or three merry girls.
+Happening, however, as I stopped to listen, to put my foot in a hole
+where the Honourable Society of Gray’s Inn had left a plank deficient,
+I fell down with some noise, and when I recovered my footing all was
+silent.
+
+Groping my way more carefully, for the rest of the journey, my heart
+beat high when I found the outer door, which had Mr. TRADDLES painted on
+it, open. I knocked. A considerable scuffling within ensued, but nothing
+else. I therefore knocked again.
+
+A small sharp-looking lad, half-footboy and half-clerk, who was very
+much out of breath, but who looked at me as if he defied me to prove it
+legally, presented himself.
+
+‘Is Mr. Traddles within?’ I said.
+
+‘Yes, sir, but he’s engaged.’
+
+‘I want to see him.’
+
+After a moment’s survey of me, the sharp-looking lad decided to let me
+in; and opening the door wider for that purpose, admitted me, first,
+into a little closet of a hall, and next into a little sitting-room;
+where I came into the presence of my old friend (also out of breath),
+seated at a table, and bending over papers.
+
+‘Good God!’ cried Traddles, looking up. ‘It’s Copperfield!’ and rushed
+into my arms, where I held him tight.
+
+‘All well, my dear Traddles?’
+
+‘All well, my dear, dear Copperfield, and nothing but good news!’
+
+We cried with pleasure, both of us.
+
+‘My dear fellow,’ said Traddles, rumpling his hair in his excitement,
+which was a most unnecessary operation, ‘my dearest Copperfield, my
+long-lost and most welcome friend, how glad I am to see you! How
+brown you are! How glad I am! Upon my life and honour, I never was so
+rejoiced, my beloved Copperfield, never!’
+
+I was equally at a loss to express my emotions. I was quite unable to
+speak, at first.
+
+‘My dear fellow!’ said Traddles. ‘And grown so famous! My glorious
+Copperfield! Good gracious me, WHEN did you come, WHERE have you come
+from, WHAT have you been doing?’
+
+Never pausing for an answer to anything he said, Traddles, who had
+clapped me into an easy-chair by the fire, all this time impetuously
+stirred the fire with one hand, and pulled at my neck-kerchief with
+the other, under some wild delusion that it was a great-coat. Without
+putting down the poker, he now hugged me again; and I hugged him; and,
+both laughing, and both wiping our eyes, we both sat down, and shook
+hands across the hearth.
+
+‘To think,’ said Traddles, ‘that you should have been so nearly coming
+home as you must have been, my dear old boy, and not at the ceremony!’
+
+‘What ceremony, my dear Traddles?’
+
+‘Good gracious me!’ cried Traddles, opening his eyes in his old way.
+‘Didn’t you get my last letter?’
+
+‘Certainly not, if it referred to any ceremony.’
+
+‘Why, my dear Copperfield,’ said Traddles, sticking his hair upright
+with both hands, and then putting his hands on my knees, ‘I am married!’
+
+‘Married!’ I cried joyfully.
+
+‘Lord bless me, yes!’ said Traddles--‘by the Reverend Horace--to
+Sophy--down in Devonshire. Why, my dear boy, she’s behind the window
+curtain! Look here!’
+
+To my amazement, the dearest girl in the world came at that same
+instant, laughing and blushing, from her place of concealment. And a
+more cheerful, amiable, honest, happy, bright-looking bride, I believe
+(as I could not help saying on the spot) the world never saw. I kissed
+her as an old acquaintance should, and wished them joy with all my might
+of heart.
+
+‘Dear me,’ said Traddles, ‘what a delightful re-union this is! You are
+so extremely brown, my dear Copperfield! God bless my soul, how happy I
+am!’
+
+‘And so am I,’ said I.
+
+‘And I am sure I am!’ said the blushing and laughing Sophy.
+
+‘We are all as happy as possible!’ said Traddles. ‘Even the girls are
+happy. Dear me, I declare I forgot them!’
+
+‘Forgot?’ said I.
+
+‘The girls,’ said Traddles. ‘Sophy’s sisters. They are staying with us.
+They have come to have a peep at London. The fact is, when--was it you
+that tumbled upstairs, Copperfield?’
+
+‘It was,’ said I, laughing.
+
+‘Well then, when you tumbled upstairs,’ said Traddles, ‘I was romping
+with the girls. In point of fact, we were playing at Puss in the Corner.
+But as that wouldn’t do in Westminster Hall, and as it wouldn’t look
+quite professional if they were seen by a client, they decamped. And
+they are now--listening, I have no doubt,’ said Traddles, glancing at
+the door of another room.
+
+‘I am sorry,’ said I, laughing afresh, ‘to have occasioned such a
+dispersion.’
+
+‘Upon my word,’ rejoined Traddles, greatly delighted, ‘if you had seen
+them running away, and running back again, after you had knocked, to
+pick up the combs they had dropped out of their hair, and going on in
+the maddest manner, you wouldn’t have said so. My love, will you fetch
+the girls?’
+
+Sophy tripped away, and we heard her received in the adjoining room with
+a peal of laughter.
+
+‘Really musical, isn’t it, my dear Copperfield?’ said Traddles. ‘It’s
+very agreeable to hear. It quite lights up these old rooms. To an
+unfortunate bachelor of a fellow who has lived alone all his life, you
+know, it’s positively delicious. It’s charming. Poor things, they have
+had a great loss in Sophy--who, I do assure you, Copperfield is, and
+ever was, the dearest girl!--and it gratifies me beyond expression
+to find them in such good spirits. The society of girls is a very
+delightful thing, Copperfield. It’s not professional, but it’s very
+delightful.’
+
+Observing that he slightly faltered, and comprehending that in the
+goodness of his heart he was fearful of giving me some pain by what he
+had said, I expressed my concurrence with a heartiness that evidently
+relieved and pleased him greatly.
+
+‘But then,’ said Traddles, ‘our domestic arrangements are, to say
+the truth, quite unprofessional altogether, my dear Copperfield. Even
+Sophy’s being here, is unprofessional. And we have no other place of
+abode. We have put to sea in a cockboat, but we are quite prepared to
+rough it. And Sophy’s an extraordinary manager! You’ll be surprised how
+those girls are stowed away. I am sure I hardly know how it’s done!’
+
+‘Are many of the young ladies with you?’ I inquired.
+
+‘The eldest, the Beauty is here,’ said Traddles, in a low confidential
+voice, ‘Caroline. And Sarah’s here--the one I mentioned to you as having
+something the matter with her spine, you know. Immensely better! And the
+two youngest that Sophy educated are with us. And Louisa’s here.’
+
+‘Indeed!’ cried I.
+
+‘Yes,’ said Traddles. ‘Now the whole set--I mean the chambers--is only
+three rooms; but Sophy arranges for the girls in the most wonderful way,
+and they sleep as comfortably as possible. Three in that room,’ said
+Traddles, pointing. ‘Two in that.’
+
+I could not help glancing round, in search of the accommodation
+remaining for Mr. and Mrs. Traddles. Traddles understood me.
+
+‘Well!’ said Traddles, ‘we are prepared to rough it, as I said just now,
+and we did improvise a bed last week, upon the floor here. But there’s
+a little room in the roof--a very nice room, when you’re up there--which
+Sophy papered herself, to surprise me; and that’s our room at present.
+It’s a capital little gipsy sort of place. There’s quite a view from
+it.’
+
+‘And you are happily married at last, my dear Traddles!’ said I. ‘How
+rejoiced I am!’
+
+‘Thank you, my dear Copperfield,’ said Traddles, as we shook hands
+once more. ‘Yes, I am as happy as it’s possible to be. There’s your old
+friend, you see,’ said Traddles, nodding triumphantly at the flower-pot
+and stand; ‘and there’s the table with the marble top! All the other
+furniture is plain and serviceable, you perceive. And as to plate, Lord
+bless you, we haven’t so much as a tea-spoon.’
+
+‘All to be earned?’ said I, cheerfully.
+
+‘Exactly so,’ replied Traddles, ‘all to be earned. Of course we have
+something in the shape of tea-spoons, because we stir our tea. But
+they’re Britannia metal.’
+
+‘The silver will be the brighter when it comes,’ said I.
+
+‘The very thing we say!’ cried Traddles. ‘You see, my dear Copperfield,’
+falling again into the low confidential tone, ‘after I had delivered my
+argument in DOE dem. JIPES versus WIGZIELL, which did me great service
+with the profession, I went down into Devonshire, and had some serious
+conversation in private with the Reverend Horace. I dwelt upon the fact
+that Sophy--who I do assure you, Copperfield, is the dearest girl!--’
+
+‘I am certain she is!’ said I.
+
+‘She is, indeed!’ rejoined Traddles. ‘But I am afraid I am wandering
+from the subject. Did I mention the Reverend Horace?’
+
+‘You said that you dwelt upon the fact--’
+
+‘True! Upon the fact that Sophy and I had been engaged for a long
+period, and that Sophy, with the permission of her parents, was more
+than content to take me--in short,’ said Traddles, with his old frank
+smile, ‘on our present Britannia-metal footing. Very well. I then
+proposed to the Reverend Horace--who is a most excellent clergyman,
+Copperfield, and ought to be a Bishop; or at least ought to have enough
+to live upon, without pinching himself--that if I could turn the corner,
+say of two hundred and fifty pounds, in one year; and could see my
+way pretty clearly to that, or something better, next year; and could
+plainly furnish a little place like this, besides; then, and in that
+case, Sophy and I should be united. I took the liberty of representing
+that we had been patient for a good many years; and that the
+circumstance of Sophy’s being extraordinarily useful at home, ought not
+to operate with her affectionate parents, against her establishment in
+life--don’t you see?’
+
+‘Certainly it ought not,’ said I.
+
+‘I am glad you think so, Copperfield,’ rejoined Traddles, ‘because,
+without any imputation on the Reverend Horace, I do think parents, and
+brothers, and so forth, are sometimes rather selfish in such cases.
+Well! I also pointed out, that my most earnest desire was, to be useful
+to the family; and that if I got on in the world, and anything should
+happen to him--I refer to the Reverend Horace--’
+
+‘I understand,’ said I.
+
+‘--Or to Mrs. Crewler--it would be the utmost gratification of my
+wishes, to be a parent to the girls. He replied in a most admirable
+manner, exceedingly flattering to my feelings, and undertook to obtain
+the consent of Mrs. Crewler to this arrangement. They had a dreadful
+time of it with her. It mounted from her legs into her chest, and then
+into her head--’
+
+‘What mounted?’ I asked.
+
+‘Her grief,’ replied Traddles, with a serious look. ‘Her feelings
+generally. As I mentioned on a former occasion, she is a very superior
+woman, but has lost the use of her limbs. Whatever occurs to harass
+her, usually settles in her legs; but on this occasion it mounted to the
+chest, and then to the head, and, in short, pervaded the whole system
+in a most alarming manner. However, they brought her through it by
+unremitting and affectionate attention; and we were married yesterday
+six weeks. You have no idea what a Monster I felt, Copperfield, when I
+saw the whole family crying and fainting away in every direction! Mrs.
+Crewler couldn’t see me before we left--couldn’t forgive me, then, for
+depriving her of her child--but she is a good creature, and has done so
+since. I had a delightful letter from her, only this morning.’
+
+‘And in short, my dear friend,’ said I, ‘you feel as blest as you
+deserve to feel!’
+
+‘Oh! That’s your partiality!’ laughed Traddles. ‘But, indeed, I am in a
+most enviable state. I work hard, and read Law insatiably. I get up at
+five every morning, and don’t mind it at all. I hide the girls in the
+daytime, and make merry with them in the evening. And I assure you I am
+quite sorry that they are going home on Tuesday, which is the day before
+the first day of Michaelmas Term. But here,’ said Traddles, breaking off
+in his confidence, and speaking aloud, ‘ARE the girls! Mr. Copperfield,
+Miss Crewler--Miss Sarah--Miss Louisa--Margaret and Lucy!’
+
+They were a perfect nest of roses; they looked so wholesome and fresh.
+They were all pretty, and Miss Caroline was very handsome; but there was
+a loving, cheerful, fireside quality in Sophy’s bright looks, which was
+better than that, and which assured me that my friend had chosen well.
+We all sat round the fire; while the sharp boy, who I now divined had
+lost his breath in putting the papers out, cleared them away again, and
+produced the tea-things. After that, he retired for the night, shutting
+the outer door upon us with a bang. Mrs. Traddles, with perfect pleasure
+and composure beaming from her household eyes, having made the tea, then
+quietly made the toast as she sat in a corner by the fire.
+
+She had seen Agnes, she told me while she was toasting. ‘Tom’ had taken
+her down into Kent for a wedding trip, and there she had seen my aunt,
+too; and both my aunt and Agnes were well, and they had all talked of
+nothing but me. ‘Tom’ had never had me out of his thoughts, she really
+believed, all the time I had been away. ‘Tom’ was the authority for
+everything. ‘Tom’ was evidently the idol of her life; never to be shaken
+on his pedestal by any commotion; always to be believed in, and done
+homage to with the whole faith of her heart, come what might.
+
+The deference which both she and Traddles showed towards the Beauty,
+pleased me very much. I don’t know that I thought it very reasonable;
+but I thought it very delightful, and essentially a part of their
+character. If Traddles ever for an instant missed the tea-spoons that
+were still to be won, I have no doubt it was when he handed the Beauty
+her tea. If his sweet-tempered wife could have got up any self-assertion
+against anyone, I am satisfied it could only have been because she was
+the Beauty’s sister. A few slight indications of a rather petted and
+capricious manner, which I observed in the Beauty, were manifestly
+considered, by Traddles and his wife, as her birthright and natural
+endowment. If she had been born a Queen Bee, and they labouring Bees,
+they could not have been more satisfied of that.
+
+But their self-forgetfulness charmed me. Their pride in these girls, and
+their submission of themselves to all their whims, was the pleasantest
+little testimony to their own worth I could have desired to see. If
+Traddles were addressed as ‘a darling’, once in the course of that
+evening; and besought to bring something here, or carry something there,
+or take something up, or put something down, or find something, or fetch
+something, he was so addressed, by one or other of his sisters-in-law,
+at least twelve times in an hour. Neither could they do anything without
+Sophy. Somebody’s hair fell down, and nobody but Sophy could put it up.
+Somebody forgot how a particular tune went, and nobody but Sophy could
+hum that tune right. Somebody wanted to recall the name of a place in
+Devonshire, and only Sophy knew it. Something was wanted to be written
+home, and Sophy alone could be trusted to write before breakfast in
+the morning. Somebody broke down in a piece of knitting, and no one but
+Sophy was able to put the defaulter in the right direction. They were
+entire mistresses of the place, and Sophy and Traddles waited on them.
+How many children Sophy could have taken care of in her time, I can’t
+imagine; but she seemed to be famous for knowing every sort of song that
+ever was addressed to a child in the English tongue; and she sang dozens
+to order with the clearest little voice in the world, one after another
+(every sister issuing directions for a different tune, and the Beauty
+generally striking in last), so that I was quite fascinated. The best
+of all was, that, in the midst of their exactions, all the sisters had
+a great tenderness and respect both for Sophy and Traddles. I am sure,
+when I took my leave, and Traddles was coming out to walk with me to the
+coffee-house, I thought I had never seen an obstinate head of hair, or
+any other head of hair, rolling about in such a shower of kisses.
+
+Altogether, it was a scene I could not help dwelling on with pleasure,
+for a long time after I got back and had wished Traddles good night. If
+I had beheld a thousand roses blowing in a top set of chambers, in that
+withered Gray’s Inn, they could not have brightened it half so much.
+The idea of those Devonshire girls, among the dry law-stationers and the
+attorneys’ offices; and of the tea and toast, and children’s songs, in
+that grim atmosphere of pounce and parchment, red-tape, dusty wafers,
+ink-jars, brief and draft paper, law reports, writs, declarations, and
+bills of costs; seemed almost as pleasantly fanciful as if I had
+dreamed that the Sultan’s famous family had been admitted on the roll of
+attorneys, and had brought the talking bird, the singing tree, and the
+golden water into Gray’s Inn Hall. Somehow, I found that I had taken
+leave of Traddles for the night, and come back to the coffee-house, with
+a great change in my despondency about him. I began to think he would
+get on, in spite of all the many orders of chief waiters in England.
+
+Drawing a chair before one of the coffee-room fires to think about him
+at my leisure, I gradually fell from the consideration of his happiness
+to tracing prospects in the live-coals, and to thinking, as they broke
+and changed, of the principal vicissitudes and separations that had
+marked my life. I had not seen a coal fire, since I had left England
+three years ago: though many a wood fire had I watched, as it crumbled
+into hoary ashes, and mingled with the feathery heap upon the hearth,
+which not inaptly figured to me, in my despondency, my own dead hopes.
+
+I could think of the past now, gravely, but not bitterly; and could
+contemplate the future in a brave spirit. Home, in its best sense, was
+for me no more. She in whom I might have inspired a dearer love, I had
+taught to be my sister. She would marry, and would have new claimants on
+her tenderness; and in doing it, would never know the love for her that
+had grown up in my heart. It was right that I should pay the forfeit of
+my headlong passion. What I reaped, I had sown.
+
+I was thinking. And had I truly disciplined my heart to this, and could
+I resolutely bear it, and calmly hold the place in her home which she
+had calmly held in mine,--when I found my eyes resting on a countenance
+that might have arisen out of the fire, in its association with my early
+remembrances.
+
+Little Mr. Chillip the Doctor, to whose good offices I was indebted in
+the very first chapter of this history, sat reading a newspaper in the
+shadow of an opposite corner. He was tolerably stricken in years by this
+time; but, being a mild, meek, calm little man, had worn so easily, that
+I thought he looked at that moment just as he might have looked when he
+sat in our parlour, waiting for me to be born.
+
+Mr. Chillip had left Blunderstone six or seven years ago, and I had
+never seen him since. He sat placidly perusing the newspaper, with his
+little head on one side, and a glass of warm sherry negus at his
+elbow. He was so extremely conciliatory in his manner that he seemed to
+apologize to the very newspaper for taking the liberty of reading it.
+
+I walked up to where he was sitting, and said, ‘How do you do, Mr.
+Chillip?’
+
+He was greatly fluttered by this unexpected address from a stranger, and
+replied, in his slow way, ‘I thank you, sir, you are very good. Thank
+you, sir. I hope YOU are well.’
+
+‘You don’t remember me?’ said I.
+
+‘Well, sir,’ returned Mr. Chillip, smiling very meekly, and shaking his
+head as he surveyed me, ‘I have a kind of an impression that something
+in your countenance is familiar to me, sir; but I couldn’t lay my hand
+upon your name, really.’
+
+‘And yet you knew it, long before I knew it myself,’ I returned.
+
+‘Did I indeed, sir?’ said Mr. Chillip. ‘Is it possible that I had the
+honour, sir, of officiating when--?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said I.
+
+‘Dear me!’ cried Mr. Chillip. ‘But no doubt you are a good deal changed
+since then, sir?’
+
+‘Probably,’ said I.
+
+‘Well, sir,’ observed Mr. Chillip, ‘I hope you’ll excuse me, if I am
+compelled to ask the favour of your name?’
+
+On my telling him my name, he was really moved. He quite shook hands
+with me--which was a violent proceeding for him, his usual course being
+to slide a tepid little fish-slice, an inch or two in advance of his
+hip, and evince the greatest discomposure when anybody grappled with
+it. Even now, he put his hand in his coat-pocket as soon as he could
+disengage it, and seemed relieved when he had got it safe back.
+
+‘Dear me, sir!’ said Mr. Chillip, surveying me with his head on one
+side. ‘And it’s Mr. Copperfield, is it? Well, sir, I think I should have
+known you, if I had taken the liberty of looking more closely at you.
+There’s a strong resemblance between you and your poor father, sir.’
+
+‘I never had the happiness of seeing my father,’ I observed.
+
+‘Very true, sir,’ said Mr. Chillip, in a soothing tone. ‘And very much
+to be deplored it was, on all accounts! We are not ignorant, sir,’ said
+Mr. Chillip, slowly shaking his little head again, ‘down in our part of
+the country, of your fame. There must be great excitement here, sir,’
+said Mr. Chillip, tapping himself on the forehead with his forefinger.
+‘You must find it a trying occupation, sir!’
+
+‘What is your part of the country now?’ I asked, seating myself near
+him.
+
+‘I am established within a few miles of Bury St. Edmund’s, sir,’ said
+Mr. Chillip. ‘Mrs. Chillip, coming into a little property in that
+neighbourhood, under her father’s will, I bought a practice down there,
+in which you will be glad to hear I am doing well. My daughter is
+growing quite a tall lass now, sir,’ said Mr. Chillip, giving his little
+head another little shake. ‘Her mother let down two tucks in her frocks
+only last week. Such is time, you see, sir!’
+
+As the little man put his now empty glass to his lips, when he made this
+reflection, I proposed to him to have it refilled, and I would keep him
+company with another. ‘Well, sir,’ he returned, in his slow way, ‘it’s
+more than I am accustomed to; but I can’t deny myself the pleasure
+of your conversation. It seems but yesterday that I had the honour of
+attending you in the measles. You came through them charmingly, sir!’
+
+I acknowledged this compliment, and ordered the negus, which was soon
+produced. ‘Quite an uncommon dissipation!’ said Mr. Chillip, stirring
+it, ‘but I can’t resist so extraordinary an occasion. You have no
+family, sir?’
+
+I shook my head.
+
+‘I was aware that you sustained a bereavement, sir, some time ago,’ said
+Mr. Chillip. ‘I heard it from your father-in-law’s sister. Very decided
+character there, sir?’
+
+‘Why, yes,’ said I, ‘decided enough. Where did you see her, Mr.
+Chillip?’
+
+‘Are you not aware, sir,’ returned Mr. Chillip, with his placidest
+smile, ‘that your father-in-law is again a neighbour of mine?’
+
+‘No,’ said I.
+
+‘He is indeed, sir!’ said Mr. Chillip. ‘Married a young lady of that
+part, with a very good little property, poor thing.---And this action
+of the brain now, sir? Don’t you find it fatigue you?’ said Mr. Chillip,
+looking at me like an admiring Robin.
+
+I waived that question, and returned to the Murdstones. ‘I was aware of
+his being married again. Do you attend the family?’ I asked.
+
+‘Not regularly. I have been called in,’ he replied. ‘Strong
+phrenological developments of the organ of firmness, in Mr. Murdstone
+and his sister, sir.’
+
+I replied with such an expressive look, that Mr. Chillip was emboldened
+by that, and the negus together, to give his head several short shakes,
+and thoughtfully exclaim, ‘Ah, dear me! We remember old times, Mr.
+Copperfield!’
+
+‘And the brother and sister are pursuing their old course, are they?’
+said I.
+
+‘Well, sir,’ replied Mr. Chillip, ‘a medical man, being so much in
+families, ought to have neither eyes nor ears for anything but his
+profession. Still, I must say, they are very severe, sir: both as to
+this life and the next.’
+
+‘The next will be regulated without much reference to them, I dare say,’
+I returned: ‘what are they doing as to this?’
+
+Mr. Chillip shook his head, stirred his negus, and sipped it.
+
+‘She was a charming woman, sir!’ he observed in a plaintive manner.
+
+‘The present Mrs. Murdstone?’
+
+‘A charming woman indeed, sir,’ said Mr. Chillip; ‘as amiable, I am sure,
+as it was possible to be! Mrs. Chillip’s opinion is, that her spirit
+has been entirely broken since her marriage, and that she is all but
+melancholy mad. And the ladies,’ observed Mr. Chillip, timorously, ‘are
+great observers, sir.’
+
+‘I suppose she was to be subdued and broken to their detestable mould,
+Heaven help her!’ said I. ‘And she has been.’
+
+‘Well, sir, there were violent quarrels at first, I assure you,’ said
+Mr. Chillip; ‘but she is quite a shadow now. Would it be considered
+forward if I was to say to you, sir, in confidence, that since the
+sister came to help, the brother and sister between them have nearly
+reduced her to a state of imbecility?’
+
+I told him I could easily believe it.
+
+‘I have no hesitation in saying,’ said Mr. Chillip, fortifying himself
+with another sip of negus, ‘between you and me, sir, that her mother
+died of it--or that tyranny, gloom, and worry have made Mrs. Murdstone
+nearly imbecile. She was a lively young woman, sir, before marriage, and
+their gloom and austerity destroyed her. They go about with her, now,
+more like her keepers than her husband and sister-in-law. That was
+Mrs. Chillip’s remark to me, only last week. And I assure you, sir, the
+ladies are great observers. Mrs. Chillip herself is a great observer!’
+
+‘Does he gloomily profess to be (I am ashamed to use the word in such
+association) religious still?’ I inquired.
+
+‘You anticipate, sir,’ said Mr. Chillip, his eyelids getting quite
+red with the unwonted stimulus in which he was indulging. ‘One of Mrs.
+Chillip’s most impressive remarks. Mrs. Chillip,’ he proceeded, in the
+calmest and slowest manner, ‘quite electrified me, by pointing out
+that Mr. Murdstone sets up an image of himself, and calls it the Divine
+Nature. You might have knocked me down on the flat of my back, sir,
+with the feather of a pen, I assure you, when Mrs. Chillip said so. The
+ladies are great observers, sir?’
+
+‘Intuitively,’ said I, to his extreme delight.
+
+‘I am very happy to receive such support in my opinion, sir,’ he
+rejoined. ‘It is not often that I venture to give a non-medical opinion,
+I assure you. Mr. Murdstone delivers public addresses sometimes, and it
+is said,--in short, sir, it is said by Mrs. Chillip,--that the darker
+tyrant he has lately been, the more ferocious is his doctrine.’
+
+‘I believe Mrs. Chillip to be perfectly right,’ said I.
+
+‘Mrs. Chillip does go so far as to say,’ pursued the meekest of little
+men, much encouraged, ‘that what such people miscall their religion, is
+a vent for their bad humours and arrogance. And do you know I must say,
+sir,’ he continued, mildly laying his head on one side, ‘that I DON’T
+find authority for Mr. and Miss Murdstone in the New Testament?’
+
+‘I never found it either!’ said I.
+
+‘In the meantime, sir,’ said Mr. Chillip, ‘they are much disliked;
+and as they are very free in consigning everybody who dislikes them
+to perdition, we really have a good deal of perdition going on in
+our neighbourhood! However, as Mrs. Chillip says, sir, they undergo a
+continual punishment; for they are turned inward, to feed upon their own
+hearts, and their own hearts are very bad feeding. Now, sir, about that
+brain of yours, if you’ll excuse my returning to it. Don’t you expose it
+to a good deal of excitement, sir?’
+
+I found it not difficult, in the excitement of Mr. Chillip’s own brain,
+under his potations of negus, to divert his attention from this topic
+to his own affairs, on which, for the next half-hour, he was quite
+loquacious; giving me to understand, among other pieces of information,
+that he was then at the Gray’s Inn Coffee-house to lay his professional
+evidence before a Commission of Lunacy, touching the state of mind of a
+patient who had become deranged from excessive drinking. ‘And I assure
+you, sir,’ he said, ‘I am extremely nervous on such occasions. I could
+not support being what is called Bullied, sir. It would quite unman
+me. Do you know it was some time before I recovered the conduct of that
+alarming lady, on the night of your birth, Mr. Copperfield?’
+
+I told him that I was going down to my aunt, the Dragon of that night,
+early in the morning; and that she was one of the most tender-hearted
+and excellent of women, as he would know full well if he knew her
+better. The mere notion of the possibility of his ever seeing her again,
+appeared to terrify him. He replied with a small pale smile, ‘Is she so,
+indeed, sir? Really?’ and almost immediately called for a candle, and
+went to bed, as if he were not quite safe anywhere else. He did not
+actually stagger under the negus; but I should think his placid little
+pulse must have made two or three more beats in a minute, than it had
+done since the great night of my aunt’s disappointment, when she struck
+at him with her bonnet.
+
+Thoroughly tired, I went to bed too, at midnight; passed the next day on
+the Dover coach; burst safe and sound into my aunt’s old parlour while
+she was at tea (she wore spectacles now); and was received by her, and
+Mr. Dick, and dear old Peggotty, who acted as housekeeper, with open
+arms and tears of joy. My aunt was mightily amused, when we began to
+talk composedly, by my account of my meeting with Mr. Chillip, and of
+his holding her in such dread remembrance; and both she and Peggotty
+had a great deal to say about my poor mother’s second husband, and ‘that
+murdering woman of a sister’,--on whom I think no pain or penalty would
+have induced my aunt to bestow any Christian or Proper Name, or any
+other designation.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 60. AGNES
+
+
+My aunt and I, when we were left alone, talked far into the night. How
+the emigrants never wrote home, otherwise than cheerfully and hopefully;
+how Mr. Micawber had actually remitted divers small sums of money, on
+account of those ‘pecuniary liabilities’, in reference to which he had
+been so business-like as between man and man; how Janet, returning into
+my aunt’s service when she came back to Dover, had finally carried out
+her renunciation of mankind by entering into wedlock with a thriving
+tavern-keeper; and how my aunt had finally set her seal on the same
+great principle, by aiding and abetting the bride, and crowning the
+marriage-ceremony with her presence; were among our topics--already
+more or less familiar to me through the letters I had had. Mr. Dick,
+as usual, was not forgotten. My aunt informed me how he incessantly
+occupied himself in copying everything he could lay his hands on, and
+kept King Charles the First at a respectful distance by that semblance
+of employment; how it was one of the main joys and rewards of her life
+that he was free and happy, instead of pining in monotonous restraint;
+and how (as a novel general conclusion) nobody but she could ever fully
+know what he was.
+
+‘And when, Trot,’ said my aunt, patting the back of my hand, as we sat
+in our old way before the fire, ‘when are you going over to Canterbury?’
+
+‘I shall get a horse, and ride over tomorrow morning, aunt, unless you
+will go with me?’
+
+‘No!’ said my aunt, in her short abrupt way. ‘I mean to stay where I
+am.’
+
+Then, I should ride, I said. I could not have come through Canterbury
+today without stopping, if I had been coming to anyone but her.
+
+She was pleased, but answered, ‘Tut, Trot; MY old bones would have
+kept till tomorrow!’ and softly patted my hand again, as I sat looking
+thoughtfully at the fire.
+
+Thoughtfully, for I could not be here once more, and so near Agnes,
+without the revival of those regrets with which I had so long been
+occupied. Softened regrets they might be, teaching me what I had failed
+to learn when my younger life was all before me, but not the less
+regrets. ‘Oh, Trot,’ I seemed to hear my aunt say once more; and I
+understood her better now--‘Blind, blind, blind!’
+
+We both kept silence for some minutes. When I raised my eyes, I found
+that she was steadily observant of me. Perhaps she had followed the
+current of my mind; for it seemed to me an easy one to track now, wilful
+as it had been once.
+
+‘You will find her father a white-haired old man,’ said my aunt, ‘though
+a better man in all other respects--a reclaimed man. Neither will you
+find him measuring all human interests, and joys, and sorrows, with his
+one poor little inch-rule now. Trust me, child, such things must shrink
+very much, before they can be measured off in that way.’
+
+‘Indeed they must,’ said I.
+
+‘You will find her,’ pursued my aunt, ‘as good, as beautiful, as
+earnest, as disinterested, as she has always been. If I knew higher
+praise, Trot, I would bestow it on her.’
+
+There was no higher praise for her; no higher reproach for me. Oh, how
+had I strayed so far away!
+
+‘If she trains the young girls whom she has about her, to be like
+herself,’ said my aunt, earnest even to the filling of her eyes with
+tears, ‘Heaven knows, her life will be well employed! Useful and happy,
+as she said that day! How could she be otherwise than useful and happy!’
+
+‘Has Agnes any--’ I was thinking aloud, rather than speaking.
+
+‘Well? Hey? Any what?’ said my aunt, sharply.
+
+‘Any lover,’ said I.
+
+‘A score,’ cried my aunt, with a kind of indignant pride. ‘She might
+have married twenty times, my dear, since you have been gone!’
+
+‘No doubt,’ said I. ‘No doubt. But has she any lover who is worthy of
+her? Agnes could care for no other.’
+
+My aunt sat musing for a little while, with her chin upon her hand.
+Slowly raising her eyes to mine, she said:
+
+‘I suspect she has an attachment, Trot.’
+
+‘A prosperous one?’ said I.
+
+‘Trot,’ returned my aunt gravely, ‘I can’t say. I have no right to tell
+you even so much. She has never confided it to me, but I suspect it.’
+
+She looked so attentively and anxiously at me (I even saw her tremble),
+that I felt now, more than ever, that she had followed my late thoughts.
+I summoned all the resolutions I had made, in all those many days and
+nights, and all those many conflicts of my heart.
+
+‘If it should be so,’ I began, ‘and I hope it is-’
+
+‘I don’t know that it is,’ said my aunt curtly. ‘You must not be ruled
+by my suspicions. You must keep them secret. They are very slight,
+perhaps. I have no right to speak.’
+
+‘If it should be so,’ I repeated, ‘Agnes will tell me at her own good
+time. A sister to whom I have confided so much, aunt, will not be
+reluctant to confide in me.’
+
+My aunt withdrew her eyes from mine, as slowly as she had turned them
+upon me; and covered them thoughtfully with her hand. By and by she
+put her other hand on my shoulder; and so we both sat, looking into the
+past, without saying another word, until we parted for the night.
+
+I rode away, early in the morning, for the scene of my old school-days.
+I cannot say that I was yet quite happy, in the hope that I was gaining
+a victory over myself; even in the prospect of so soon looking on her
+face again.
+
+The well-remembered ground was soon traversed, and I came into the quiet
+streets, where every stone was a boy’s book to me. I went on foot to the
+old house, and went away with a heart too full to enter. I returned; and
+looking, as I passed, through the low window of the turret-room where
+first Uriah Heep, and afterwards Mr. Micawber, had been wont to sit,
+saw that it was a little parlour now, and that there was no office.
+Otherwise the staid old house was, as to its cleanliness and order,
+still just as it had been when I first saw it. I requested the new maid
+who admitted me, to tell Miss Wickfield that a gentleman who waited on
+her from a friend abroad, was there; and I was shown up the grave old
+staircase (cautioned of the steps I knew so well), into the unchanged
+drawing-room. The books that Agnes and I had read together, were on
+their shelves; and the desk where I had laboured at my lessons, many
+a night, stood yet at the same old corner of the table. All the little
+changes that had crept in when the Heeps were there, were changed again.
+Everything was as it used to be, in the happy time.
+
+I stood in a window, and looked across the ancient street at the
+opposite houses, recalling how I had watched them on wet afternoons,
+when I first came there; and how I had used to speculate about the
+people who appeared at any of the windows, and had followed them with my
+eyes up and down stairs, while women went clicking along the pavement in
+pattens, and the dull rain fell in slanting lines, and poured out of the
+water-spout yonder, and flowed into the road. The feeling with which
+I used to watch the tramps, as they came into the town on those wet
+evenings, at dusk, and limped past, with their bundles drooping over
+their shoulders at the ends of sticks, came freshly back to me; fraught,
+as then, with the smell of damp earth, and wet leaves and briar, and the
+sensation of the very airs that blew upon me in my own toilsome journey.
+
+The opening of the little door in the panelled wall made me start and
+turn. Her beautiful serene eyes met mine as she came towards me. She
+stopped and laid her hand upon her bosom, and I caught her in my arms.
+
+‘Agnes! my dear girl! I have come too suddenly upon you.’
+
+‘No, no! I am so rejoiced to see you, Trotwood!’
+
+‘Dear Agnes, the happiness it is to me, to see you once again!’
+
+I folded her to my heart, and, for a little while, we were both silent.
+Presently we sat down, side by side; and her angel-face was turned upon
+me with the welcome I had dreamed of, waking and sleeping, for whole
+years.
+
+She was so true, she was so beautiful, she was so good,--I owed her so
+much gratitude, she was so dear to me, that I could find no utterance
+for what I felt. I tried to bless her, tried to thank her, tried to tell
+her (as I had often done in letters) what an influence she had upon me;
+but all my efforts were in vain. My love and joy were dumb.
+
+With her own sweet tranquillity, she calmed my agitation; led me back to
+the time of our parting; spoke to me of Emily, whom she had visited,
+in secret, many times; spoke to me tenderly of Dora’s grave. With the
+unerring instinct of her noble heart, she touched the chords of my
+memory so softly and harmoniously, that not one jarred within me; I
+could listen to the sorrowful, distant music, and desire to shrink from
+nothing it awoke. How could I, when, blended with it all, was her dear
+self, the better angel of my life?
+
+‘And you, Agnes,’ I said, by and by. ‘Tell me of yourself. You have
+hardly ever told me of your own life, in all this lapse of time!’
+
+‘What should I tell?’ she answered, with her radiant smile. ‘Papa is
+well. You see us here, quiet in our own home; our anxieties set at rest,
+our home restored to us; and knowing that, dear Trotwood, you know all.’
+
+‘All, Agnes?’ said I.
+
+She looked at me, with some fluttering wonder in her face.
+
+‘Is there nothing else, Sister?’ I said.
+
+Her colour, which had just now faded, returned, and faded again. She
+smiled; with a quiet sadness, I thought; and shook her head.
+
+I had sought to lead her to what my aunt had hinted at; for, sharply
+painful to me as it must be to receive that confidence, I was to
+discipline my heart, and do my duty to her. I saw, however, that she was
+uneasy, and I let it pass.
+
+‘You have much to do, dear Agnes?’
+
+‘With my school?’ said she, looking up again, in all her bright
+composure.
+
+‘Yes. It is laborious, is it not?’
+
+‘The labour is so pleasant,’ she returned, ‘that it is scarcely grateful
+in me to call it by that name.’
+
+‘Nothing good is difficult to you,’ said I.
+
+Her colour came and went once more; and once more, as she bent her head,
+I saw the same sad smile.
+
+‘You will wait and see papa,’ said Agnes, cheerfully, ‘and pass the
+day with us? Perhaps you will sleep in your own room? We always call it
+yours.’
+
+I could not do that, having promised to ride back to my aunt’s at night;
+but I would pass the day there, joyfully.
+
+‘I must be a prisoner for a little while,’ said Agnes, ‘but here are the
+old books, Trotwood, and the old music.’
+
+‘Even the old flowers are here,’ said I, looking round; ‘or the old
+kinds.’
+
+‘I have found a pleasure,’ returned Agnes, smiling, ‘while you have been
+absent, in keeping everything as it used to be when we were children.
+For we were very happy then, I think.’
+
+‘Heaven knows we were!’ said I.
+
+‘And every little thing that has reminded me of my brother,’ said Agnes,
+with her cordial eyes turned cheerfully upon me, ‘has been a welcome
+companion. Even this,’ showing me the basket-trifle, full of keys, still
+hanging at her side, ‘seems to jingle a kind of old tune!’
+
+She smiled again, and went out at the door by which she had come.
+
+It was for me to guard this sisterly affection with religious care. It
+was all that I had left myself, and it was a treasure. If I once shook
+the foundations of the sacred confidence and usage, in virtue of which
+it was given to me, it was lost, and could never be recovered. I set
+this steadily before myself. The better I loved her, the more it behoved
+me never to forget it.
+
+I walked through the streets; and, once more seeing my old adversary the
+butcher--now a constable, with his staff hanging up in the shop--went
+down to look at the place where I had fought him; and there meditated
+on Miss Shepherd and the eldest Miss Larkins, and all the idle loves and
+likings, and dislikings, of that time. Nothing seemed to have survived
+that time but Agnes; and she, ever a star above me, was brighter and
+higher.
+
+When I returned, Mr. Wickfield had come home, from a garden he had, a
+couple of miles or so out of town, where he now employed himself almost
+every day. I found him as my aunt had described him. We sat down to
+dinner, with some half-dozen little girls; and he seemed but the shadow
+of his handsome picture on the wall.
+
+The tranquillity and peace belonging, of old, to that quiet ground in my
+memory, pervaded it again. When dinner was done, Mr. Wickfield taking no
+wine, and I desiring none, we went up-stairs; where Agnes and her little
+charges sang and played, and worked. After tea the children left us; and
+we three sat together, talking of the bygone days.
+
+‘My part in them,’ said Mr. Wickfield, shaking his white head, ‘has much
+matter for regret--for deep regret, and deep contrition, Trotwood, you
+well know. But I would not cancel it, if it were in my power.’
+
+I could readily believe that, looking at the face beside him.
+
+‘I should cancel with it,’ he pursued, ‘such patience and devotion, such
+fidelity, such a child’s love, as I must not forget, no! even to forget
+myself.’
+
+‘I understand you, sir,’ I softly said. ‘I hold it--I have always held
+it--in veneration.’
+
+‘But no one knows, not even you,’ he returned, ‘how much she has done,
+how much she has undergone, how hard she has striven. Dear Agnes!’
+
+She had put her hand entreatingly on his arm, to stop him; and was very,
+very pale.
+
+‘Well, well!’ he said with a sigh, dismissing, as I then saw, some trial
+she had borne, or was yet to bear, in connexion with what my aunt had
+told me. ‘Well! I have never told you, Trotwood, of her mother. Has
+anyone?’
+
+‘Never, sir.’
+
+‘It’s not much--though it was much to suffer. She married me in
+opposition to her father’s wish, and he renounced her. She prayed him
+to forgive her, before my Agnes came into this world. He was a very hard
+man, and her mother had long been dead. He repulsed her. He broke her
+heart.’
+
+Agnes leaned upon his shoulder, and stole her arm about his neck.
+
+‘She had an affectionate and gentle heart,’ he said; ‘and it was broken.
+I knew its tender nature very well. No one could, if I did not. She
+loved me dearly, but was never happy. She was always labouring, in
+secret, under this distress; and being delicate and downcast at the time
+of his last repulse--for it was not the first, by many--pined away
+and died. She left me Agnes, two weeks old; and the grey hair that you
+recollect me with, when you first came.’ He kissed Agnes on her cheek.
+
+‘My love for my dear child was a diseased love, but my mind was all
+unhealthy then. I say no more of that. I am not speaking of myself,
+Trotwood, but of her mother, and of her. If I give you any clue to what
+I am, or to what I have been, you will unravel it, I know. What Agnes
+is, I need not say. I have always read something of her poor mother’s
+story, in her character; and so I tell it you tonight, when we three are
+again together, after such great changes. I have told it all.’
+
+His bowed head, and her angel-face and filial duty, derived a more
+pathetic meaning from it than they had had before. If I had wanted
+anything by which to mark this night of our re-union, I should have
+found it in this.
+
+Agnes rose up from her father’s side, before long; and going softly to
+her piano, played some of the old airs to which we had often listened in
+that place.
+
+‘Have you any intention of going away again?’ Agnes asked me, as I was
+standing by.
+
+‘What does my sister say to that?’
+
+‘I hope not.’
+
+‘Then I have no such intention, Agnes.’
+
+‘I think you ought not, Trotwood, since you ask me,’ she said, mildly.
+‘Your growing reputation and success enlarge your power of doing good;
+and if I could spare my brother,’ with her eyes upon me, ‘perhaps the
+time could not.’
+
+‘What I am, you have made me, Agnes. You should know best.’
+
+‘I made you, Trotwood?’
+
+‘Yes! Agnes, my dear girl!’ I said, bending over her. ‘I tried to tell
+you, when we met today, something that has been in my thoughts since
+Dora died. You remember, when you came down to me in our little
+room--pointing upward, Agnes?’
+
+‘Oh, Trotwood!’ she returned, her eyes filled with tears. ‘So loving, so
+confiding, and so young! Can I ever forget?’
+
+‘As you were then, my sister, I have often thought since, you have ever
+been to me. Ever pointing upward, Agnes; ever leading me to something
+better; ever directing me to higher things!’
+
+She only shook her head; through her tears I saw the same sad quiet
+smile.
+
+‘And I am so grateful to you for it, Agnes, so bound to you, that there
+is no name for the affection of my heart. I want you to know, yet don’t
+know how to tell you, that all my life long I shall look up to you,
+and be guided by you, as I have been through the darkness that is past.
+Whatever betides, whatever new ties you may form, whatever changes may
+come between us, I shall always look to you, and love you, as I do now,
+and have always done. You will always be my solace and resource, as you
+have always been. Until I die, my dearest sister, I shall see you always
+before me, pointing upward!’
+
+She put her hand in mine, and told me she was proud of me, and of what I
+said; although I praised her very far beyond her worth. Then she went
+on softly playing, but without removing her eyes from me. ‘Do you know,
+what I have heard tonight, Agnes,’ said I, strangely seems to be a part
+of the feeling with which I regarded you when I saw you first--with
+which I sat beside you in my rough school-days?’
+
+‘You knew I had no mother,’ she replied with a smile, ‘and felt kindly
+towards me.’
+
+‘More than that, Agnes, I knew, almost as if I had known this story,
+that there was something inexplicably gentle and softened, surrounding
+you; something that might have been sorrowful in someone else (as I can
+now understand it was), but was not so in you.’
+
+She softly played on, looking at me still.
+
+‘Will you laugh at my cherishing such fancies, Agnes?’
+
+‘No!’
+
+‘Or at my saying that I really believe I felt, even then, that you could
+be faithfully affectionate against all discouragement, and never cease
+to be so, until you ceased to live?---Will you laugh at such a dream?’
+
+‘Oh, no! Oh, no!’
+
+For an instant, a distressful shadow crossed her face; but, even in the
+start it gave me, it was gone; and she was playing on, and looking at me
+with her own calm smile.
+
+As I rode back in the lonely night, the wind going by me like a restless
+memory, I thought of this, and feared she was not happy. I was not
+happy; but, thus far, I had faithfully set the seal upon the Past, and,
+thinking of her, pointing upward, thought of her as pointing to that
+sky above me, where, in the mystery to come, I might yet love her with
+a love unknown on earth, and tell her what the strife had been within me
+when I loved her here.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 61. I AM SHOWN TWO INTERESTING PENITENTS
+
+
+For a time--at all events until my book should be completed, which would
+be the work of several months--I took up my abode in my aunt’s house at
+Dover; and there, sitting in the window from which I had looked out at
+the moon upon the sea, when that roof first gave me shelter, I quietly
+pursued my task.
+
+In pursuance of my intention of referring to my own fictions only when
+their course should incidentally connect itself with the progress of my
+story, I do not enter on the aspirations, the delights, anxieties, and
+triumphs of my art. That I truly devoted myself to it with my strongest
+earnestness, and bestowed upon it every energy of my soul, I have
+already said. If the books I have written be of any worth, they will
+supply the rest. I shall otherwise have written to poor purpose, and the
+rest will be of interest to no one.
+
+Occasionally, I went to London; to lose myself in the swarm of life
+there, or to consult with Traddles on some business point. He had
+managed for me, in my absence, with the soundest judgement; and my
+worldly affairs were prospering. As my notoriety began to bring upon
+me an enormous quantity of letters from people of whom I had no
+knowledge--chiefly about nothing, and extremely difficult to answer--I
+agreed with Traddles to have my name painted up on his door. There, the
+devoted postman on that beat delivered bushels of letters for me; and
+there, at intervals, I laboured through them, like a Home Secretary of
+State without the salary.
+
+Among this correspondence, there dropped in, every now and then, an
+obliging proposal from one of the numerous outsiders always lurking
+about the Commons, to practise under cover of my name (if I would take
+the necessary steps remaining to make a proctor of myself), and pay me
+a percentage on the profits. But I declined these offers; being already
+aware that there were plenty of such covert practitioners in existence,
+and considering the Commons quite bad enough, without my doing anything
+to make it worse.
+
+The girls had gone home, when my name burst into bloom on Traddles’s
+door; and the sharp boy looked, all day, as if he had never heard of
+Sophy, shut up in a back room, glancing down from her work into a sooty
+little strip of garden with a pump in it. But there I always found her,
+the same bright housewife; often humming her Devonshire ballads when no
+strange foot was coming up the stairs, and blunting the sharp boy in his
+official closet with melody.
+
+I wondered, at first, why I so often found Sophy writing in a copy-book;
+and why she always shut it up when I appeared, and hurried it into the
+table-drawer. But the secret soon came out. One day, Traddles (who had
+just come home through the drizzling sleet from Court) took a paper out
+of his desk, and asked me what I thought of that handwriting?
+
+‘Oh, DON’T, Tom!’ cried Sophy, who was warming his slippers before the
+fire.
+
+‘My dear,’ returned Tom, in a delighted state, ‘why not? What do you say
+to that writing, Copperfield?’
+
+‘It’s extraordinarily legal and formal,’ said I. ‘I don’t think I ever
+saw such a stiff hand.’
+
+‘Not like a lady’s hand, is it?’ said Traddles.
+
+‘A lady’s!’ I repeated. ‘Bricks and mortar are more like a lady’s hand!’
+
+Traddles broke into a rapturous laugh, and informed me that it was
+Sophy’s writing; that Sophy had vowed and declared he would need a
+copying-clerk soon, and she would be that clerk; that she had acquired
+this hand from a pattern; and that she could throw off--I forget how
+many folios an hour. Sophy was very much confused by my being told all
+this, and said that when ‘Tom’ was made a judge he wouldn’t be so ready
+to proclaim it. Which ‘Tom’ denied; averring that he should always be
+equally proud of it, under all circumstances.
+
+‘What a thoroughly good and charming wife she is, my dear Traddles!’
+said I, when she had gone away, laughing.
+
+‘My dear Copperfield,’ returned Traddles, ‘she is, without any
+exception, the dearest girl! The way she manages this place; her
+punctuality, domestic knowledge, economy, and order; her cheerfulness,
+Copperfield!’
+
+‘Indeed, you have reason to commend her!’ I returned. ‘You are a happy
+fellow. I believe you make yourselves, and each other, two of the
+happiest people in the world.’
+
+‘I am sure we ARE two of the happiest people,’ returned Traddles. ‘I
+admit that, at all events. Bless my soul, when I see her getting up
+by candle-light on these dark mornings, busying herself in the day’s
+arrangements, going out to market before the clerks come into the Inn,
+caring for no weather, devising the most capital little dinners out of
+the plainest materials, making puddings and pies, keeping everything in
+its right place, always so neat and ornamental herself, sitting up
+at night with me if it’s ever so late, sweet-tempered and encouraging
+always, and all for me, I positively sometimes can’t believe it,
+Copperfield!’
+
+He was tender of the very slippers she had been warming, as he put them
+on, and stretched his feet enjoyingly upon the fender.
+
+‘I positively sometimes can’t believe it,’ said Traddles. ‘Then our
+pleasures! Dear me, they are inexpensive, but they are quite wonderful!
+When we are at home here, of an evening, and shut the outer door, and
+draw those curtains--which she made--where could we be more snug? When
+it’s fine, and we go out for a walk in the evening, the streets
+abound in enjoyment for us. We look into the glittering windows of the
+jewellers’ shops; and I show Sophy which of the diamond-eyed serpents,
+coiled up on white satin rising grounds, I would give her if I could
+afford it; and Sophy shows me which of the gold watches that are
+capped and jewelled and engine-turned, and possessed of the horizontal
+lever-escape-movement, and all sorts of things, she would buy for me if
+she could afford it; and we pick out the spoons and forks, fish-slices,
+butter-knives, and sugar-tongs, we should both prefer if we could both
+afford it; and really we go away as if we had got them! Then, when we
+stroll into the squares, and great streets, and see a house to let,
+sometimes we look up at it, and say, how would THAT do, if I was made
+a judge? And we parcel it out--such a room for us, such rooms for the
+girls, and so forth; until we settle to our satisfaction that it
+would do, or it wouldn’t do, as the case may be. Sometimes, we go at
+half-price to the pit of the theatre--the very smell of which is cheap,
+in my opinion, at the money--and there we thoroughly enjoy the play:
+which Sophy believes every word of, and so do I. In walking home,
+perhaps we buy a little bit of something at a cook’s-shop, or a little
+lobster at the fishmongers, and bring it here, and make a splendid
+supper, chatting about what we have seen. Now, you know, Copperfield, if
+I was Lord Chancellor, we couldn’t do this!’
+
+‘You would do something, whatever you were, my dear Traddles,’ thought
+I, ‘that would be pleasant and amiable. And by the way,’ I said aloud,
+‘I suppose you never draw any skeletons now?’
+
+‘Really,’ replied Traddles, laughing, and reddening, ‘I can’t wholly
+deny that I do, my dear Copperfield. For being in one of the back rows
+of the King’s Bench the other day, with a pen in my hand, the fancy came
+into my head to try how I had preserved that accomplishment. And I am
+afraid there’s a skeleton--in a wig--on the ledge of the desk.’
+
+After we had both laughed heartily, Traddles wound up by looking with a
+smile at the fire, and saying, in his forgiving way, ‘Old Creakle!’
+
+‘I have a letter from that old--Rascal here,’ said I. For I never was
+less disposed to forgive him the way he used to batter Traddles, than
+when I saw Traddles so ready to forgive him himself.
+
+‘From Creakle the schoolmaster?’ exclaimed Traddles. ‘No!’
+
+‘Among the persons who are attracted to me in my rising fame and
+fortune,’ said I, looking over my letters, ‘and who discover that they
+were always much attached to me, is the self-same Creakle. He is not
+a schoolmaster now, Traddles. He is retired. He is a Middlesex
+Magistrate.’
+
+I thought Traddles might be surprised to hear it, but he was not so at
+all.
+
+‘How do you suppose he comes to be a Middlesex Magistrate?’ said I.
+
+‘Oh dear me!’ replied Traddles, ‘it would be very difficult to answer
+that question. Perhaps he voted for somebody, or lent money to somebody,
+or bought something of somebody, or otherwise obliged somebody, or
+jobbed for somebody, who knew somebody who got the lieutenant of the
+county to nominate him for the commission.’
+
+‘On the commission he is, at any rate,’ said I. ‘And he writes to me
+here, that he will be glad to show me, in operation, the only true
+system of prison discipline; the only unchallengeable way of making
+sincere and lasting converts and penitents--which, you know, is by
+solitary confinement. What do you say?’
+
+‘To the system?’ inquired Traddles, looking grave.
+
+‘No. To my accepting the offer, and your going with me?’
+
+‘I don’t object,’ said Traddles.
+
+‘Then I’ll write to say so. You remember (to say nothing of our
+treatment) this same Creakle turning his son out of doors, I suppose,
+and the life he used to lead his wife and daughter?’
+
+‘Perfectly,’ said Traddles.
+
+‘Yet, if you’ll read his letter, you’ll find he is the tenderest of
+men to prisoners convicted of the whole calendar of felonies,’ said I;
+‘though I can’t find that his tenderness extends to any other class of
+created beings.’
+
+Traddles shrugged his shoulders, and was not at all surprised. I had not
+expected him to be, and was not surprised myself; or my observation of
+similar practical satires would have been but scanty. We arranged the
+time of our visit, and I wrote accordingly to Mr. Creakle that evening.
+
+On the appointed day--I think it was the next day, but no
+matter--Traddles and I repaired to the prison where Mr. Creakle was
+powerful. It was an immense and solid building, erected at a vast
+expense. I could not help thinking, as we approached the gate, what
+an uproar would have been made in the country, if any deluded man had
+proposed to spend one half the money it had cost, on the erection of an
+industrial school for the young, or a house of refuge for the deserving
+old.
+
+In an office that might have been on the ground-floor of the Tower of
+Babel, it was so massively constructed, we were presented to our old
+schoolmaster; who was one of a group, composed of two or three of the
+busier sort of magistrates, and some visitors they had brought. He
+received me, like a man who had formed my mind in bygone years, and
+had always loved me tenderly. On my introducing Traddles, Mr. Creakle
+expressed, in like manner, but in an inferior degree, that he had always
+been Traddles’s guide, philosopher, and friend. Our venerable instructor
+was a great deal older, and not improved in appearance. His face was
+as fiery as ever; his eyes were as small, and rather deeper set. The
+scanty, wet-looking grey hair, by which I remembered him, was almost
+gone; and the thick veins in his bald head were none the more agreeable
+to look at.
+
+After some conversation among these gentlemen, from which I might have
+supposed that there was nothing in the world to be legitimately taken
+into account but the supreme comfort of prisoners, at any expense, and
+nothing on the wide earth to be done outside prison-doors, we began
+our inspection. It being then just dinner-time, we went, first into the
+great kitchen, where every prisoner’s dinner was in course of being set
+out separately (to be handed to him in his cell), with the regularity
+and precision of clock-work. I said aside, to Traddles, that I wondered
+whether it occurred to anybody, that there was a striking contrast
+between these plentiful repasts of choice quality, and the dinners, not
+to say of paupers, but of soldiers, sailors, labourers, the great bulk
+of the honest, working community; of whom not one man in five hundred
+ever dined half so well. But I learned that the ‘system’ required high
+living; and, in short, to dispose of the system, once for all, I found
+that on that head and on all others, ‘the system’ put an end to all
+doubts, and disposed of all anomalies. Nobody appeared to have the least
+idea that there was any other system, but THE system, to be considered.
+
+As we were going through some of the magnificent passages, I inquired of
+Mr. Creakle and his friends what were supposed to be the main advantages
+of this all-governing and universally over-riding system? I found
+them to be the perfect isolation of prisoners--so that no one man in
+confinement there, knew anything about another; and the reduction of
+prisoners to a wholesome state of mind, leading to sincere contrition
+and repentance.
+
+Now, it struck me, when we began to visit individuals in their cells,
+and to traverse the passages in which those cells were, and to have the
+manner of the going to chapel and so forth, explained to us, that there
+was a strong probability of the prisoners knowing a good deal about each
+other, and of their carrying on a pretty complete system of intercourse.
+This, at the time I write, has been proved, I believe, to be the case;
+but, as it would have been flat blasphemy against the system to have
+hinted such a doubt then, I looked out for the penitence as diligently
+as I could.
+
+And here again, I had great misgivings. I found as prevalent a fashion
+in the form of the penitence, as I had left outside in the forms of the
+coats and waistcoats in the windows of the tailors’ shops. I found a
+vast amount of profession, varying very little in character: varying
+very little (which I thought exceedingly suspicious), even in words. I
+found a great many foxes, disparaging whole vineyards of inaccessible
+grapes; but I found very few foxes whom I would have trusted within
+reach of a bunch. Above all, I found that the most professing men were
+the greatest objects of interest; and that their conceit, their vanity,
+their want of excitement, and their love of deception (which many
+of them possessed to an almost incredible extent, as their histories
+showed), all prompted to these professions, and were all gratified by
+them.
+
+However, I heard so repeatedly, in the course of our goings to and fro,
+of a certain Number Twenty Seven, who was the Favourite, and who really
+appeared to be a Model Prisoner, that I resolved to suspend my judgement
+until I should see Twenty Seven. Twenty Eight, I understood, was also
+a bright particular star; but it was his misfortune to have his glory
+a little dimmed by the extraordinary lustre of Twenty Seven. I heard so
+much of Twenty Seven, of his pious admonitions to everybody around him,
+and of the beautiful letters he constantly wrote to his mother (whom he
+seemed to consider in a very bad way), that I became quite impatient to
+see him.
+
+I had to restrain my impatience for some time, on account of Twenty
+Seven being reserved for a concluding effect. But, at last, we came to
+the door of his cell; and Mr. Creakle, looking through a little hole in
+it, reported to us, in a state of the greatest admiration, that he was
+reading a Hymn Book.
+
+There was such a rush of heads immediately, to see Number Twenty Seven
+reading his Hymn Book, that the little hole was blocked up, six or seven
+heads deep. To remedy this inconvenience, and give us an opportunity of
+conversing with Twenty Seven in all his purity, Mr. Creakle directed the
+door of the cell to be unlocked, and Twenty Seven to be invited out into
+the passage. This was done; and whom should Traddles and I then behold,
+to our amazement, in this converted Number Twenty Seven, but Uriah Heep!
+
+He knew us directly; and said, as he came out--with the old writhe,--
+
+‘How do you do, Mr. Copperfield? How do you do, Mr. Traddles?’
+
+This recognition caused a general admiration in the party. I rather
+thought that everyone was struck by his not being proud, and taking
+notice of us.
+
+‘Well, Twenty Seven,’ said Mr. Creakle, mournfully admiring him. ‘How do
+you find yourself today?’
+
+‘I am very umble, sir!’ replied Uriah Heep.
+
+‘You are always so, Twenty Seven,’ said Mr. Creakle.
+
+Here, another gentleman asked, with extreme anxiety: ‘Are you quite
+comfortable?’
+
+‘Yes, I thank you, sir!’ said Uriah Heep, looking in that direction.
+‘Far more comfortable here, than ever I was outside. I see my follies,
+now, sir. That’s what makes me comfortable.’
+
+Several gentlemen were much affected; and a third questioner, forcing
+himself to the front, inquired with extreme feeling: ‘How do you find
+the beef?’
+
+‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Uriah, glancing in the new direction of this
+voice, ‘it was tougher yesterday than I could wish; but it’s my duty to
+bear. I have committed follies, gentlemen,’ said Uriah, looking round
+with a meek smile, ‘and I ought to bear the consequences without
+repining.’ A murmur, partly of gratification at Twenty Seven’s celestial
+state of mind, and partly of indignation against the Contractor who had
+given him any cause of complaint (a note of which was immediately made
+by Mr. Creakle), having subsided, Twenty Seven stood in the midst of
+us, as if he felt himself the principal object of merit in a highly
+meritorious museum. That we, the neophytes, might have an excess of
+light shining upon us all at once, orders were given to let out Twenty
+Eight.
+
+I had been so much astonished already, that I only felt a kind of
+resigned wonder when Mr. Littimer walked forth, reading a good book!
+
+‘Twenty Eight,’ said a gentleman in spectacles, who had not yet spoken,
+‘you complained last week, my good fellow, of the cocoa. How has it been
+since?’
+
+‘I thank you, sir,’ said Mr. Littimer, ‘it has been better made. If I
+might take the liberty of saying so, sir, I don’t think the milk which
+is boiled with it is quite genuine; but I am aware, sir, that there is
+a great adulteration of milk, in London, and that the article in a pure
+state is difficult to be obtained.’
+
+It appeared to me that the gentleman in spectacles backed his Twenty
+Eight against Mr. Creakle’s Twenty Seven, for each of them took his own
+man in hand.
+
+‘What is your state of mind, Twenty Eight?’ said the questioner in
+spectacles.
+
+‘I thank you, sir,’ returned Mr. Littimer; ‘I see my follies now, sir.
+I am a good deal troubled when I think of the sins of my former
+companions, sir; but I trust they may find forgiveness.’
+
+‘You are quite happy yourself?’ said the questioner, nodding
+encouragement.
+
+‘I am much obliged to you, sir,’ returned Mr. Littimer. ‘Perfectly so.’
+
+‘Is there anything at all on your mind now?’ said the questioner. ‘If
+so, mention it, Twenty Eight.’
+
+‘Sir,’ said Mr. Littimer, without looking up, ‘if my eyes have not
+deceived me, there is a gentleman present who was acquainted with me
+in my former life. It may be profitable to that gentleman to know, sir,
+that I attribute my past follies, entirely to having lived a thoughtless
+life in the service of young men; and to having allowed myself to be led
+by them into weaknesses, which I had not the strength to resist. I hope
+that gentleman will take warning, sir, and will not be offended at my
+freedom. It is for his good. I am conscious of my own past follies. I
+hope he may repent of all the wickedness and sin to which he has been a
+party.’
+
+I observed that several gentlemen were shading their eyes, each with one
+hand, as if they had just come into church.
+
+‘This does you credit, Twenty Eight,’ returned the questioner. ‘I should
+have expected it of you. Is there anything else?’
+
+‘Sir,’ returned Mr. Littimer, slightly lifting up his eyebrows, but not
+his eyes, ‘there was a young woman who fell into dissolute courses, that
+I endeavoured to save, sir, but could not rescue. I beg that gentleman,
+if he has it in his power, to inform that young woman from me that
+I forgive her her bad conduct towards myself, and that I call her to
+repentance--if he will be so good.’
+
+‘I have no doubt, Twenty Eight,’ returned the questioner, ‘that the
+gentleman you refer to feels very strongly--as we all must--what you
+have so properly said. We will not detain you.’
+
+‘I thank you, sir,’ said Mr. Littimer. ‘Gentlemen, I wish you a good
+day, and hoping you and your families will also see your wickedness, and
+amend!’
+
+With this, Number Twenty Eight retired, after a glance between him and
+Uriah; as if they were not altogether unknown to each other, through
+some medium of communication; and a murmur went round the group, as his
+door shut upon him, that he was a most respectable man, and a beautiful
+case.
+
+‘Now, Twenty Seven,’ said Mr. Creakle, entering on a clear stage with
+his man, ‘is there anything that anyone can do for you? If so, mention
+it.’
+
+‘I would umbly ask, sir,’ returned Uriah, with a jerk of his malevolent
+head, ‘for leave to write again to mother.’
+
+‘It shall certainly be granted,’ said Mr. Creakle.
+
+‘Thank you, sir! I am anxious about mother. I am afraid she ain’t safe.’
+
+Somebody incautiously asked, what from? But there was a scandalized
+whisper of ‘Hush!’
+
+‘Immortally safe, sir,’ returned Uriah, writhing in the direction of
+the voice. ‘I should wish mother to be got into my state. I never should
+have been got into my present state if I hadn’t come here. I wish mother
+had come here. It would be better for everybody, if they got took up,
+and was brought here.’
+
+This sentiment gave unbounded satisfaction--greater satisfaction, I
+think, than anything that had passed yet.
+
+‘Before I come here,’ said Uriah, stealing a look at us, as if he would
+have blighted the outer world to which we belonged, if he could, ‘I was
+given to follies; but now I am sensible of my follies. There’s a deal
+of sin outside. There’s a deal of sin in mother. There’s nothing but sin
+everywhere--except here.’
+
+‘You are quite changed?’ said Mr. Creakle.
+
+‘Oh dear, yes, sir!’ cried this hopeful penitent.
+
+‘You wouldn’t relapse, if you were going out?’ asked somebody else.
+
+‘Oh de-ar no, sir!’
+
+‘Well!’ said Mr. Creakle, ‘this is very gratifying. You have addressed
+Mr. Copperfield, Twenty Seven. Do you wish to say anything further to
+him?’
+
+‘You knew me, a long time before I came here and was changed, Mr.
+Copperfield,’ said Uriah, looking at me; and a more villainous look
+I never saw, even on his visage. ‘You knew me when, in spite of my
+follies, I was umble among them that was proud, and meek among them that
+was violent--you was violent to me yourself, Mr. Copperfield. Once, you
+struck me a blow in the face, you know.’
+
+General commiseration. Several indignant glances directed at me.
+
+‘But I forgive you, Mr. Copperfield,’ said Uriah, making his forgiving
+nature the subject of a most impious and awful parallel, which I shall
+not record. ‘I forgive everybody. It would ill become me to bear malice.
+I freely forgive you, and I hope you’ll curb your passions in future. I
+hope Mr. W. will repent, and Miss W., and all of that sinful lot. You’ve
+been visited with affliction, and I hope it may do you good; but you’d
+better have come here. Mr. W. had better have come here, and Miss W.
+too. The best wish I could give you, Mr. Copperfield, and give all of
+you gentlemen, is, that you could be took up and brought here. When I
+think of my past follies, and my present state, I am sure it would be
+best for you. I pity all who ain’t brought here!’
+
+He sneaked back into his cell, amidst a little chorus of approbation;
+and both Traddles and I experienced a great relief when he was locked
+in.
+
+It was a characteristic feature in this repentance, that I was fain to
+ask what these two men had done, to be there at all. That appeared to be
+the last thing about which they had anything to say. I addressed
+myself to one of the two warders, who, I suspected from certain latent
+indications in their faces, knew pretty well what all this stir was
+worth.
+
+‘Do you know,’ said I, as we walked along the passage, ‘what felony was
+Number Twenty Seven’s last “folly”?’
+
+The answer was that it was a Bank case.
+
+‘A fraud on the Bank of England?’ I asked. ‘Yes, sir. Fraud, forgery,
+and conspiracy. He and some others. He set the others on. It was a deep
+plot for a large sum. Sentence, transportation for life. Twenty Seven
+was the knowingest bird of the lot, and had very nearly kept himself
+safe; but not quite. The Bank was just able to put salt upon his
+tail--and only just.’
+
+‘Do you know Twenty Eight’s offence?’
+
+‘Twenty Eight,’ returned my informant, speaking throughout in a low
+tone, and looking over his shoulder as we walked along the passage, to
+guard himself from being overheard, in such an unlawful reference
+to these Immaculates, by Creakle and the rest; ‘Twenty Eight (also
+transportation) got a place, and robbed a young master of a matter of
+two hundred and fifty pounds in money and valuables, the night before
+they were going abroad. I particularly recollect his case, from his
+being took by a dwarf.’
+
+‘A what?’
+
+‘A little woman. I have forgot her name?’
+
+‘Not Mowcher?’
+
+‘That’s it! He had eluded pursuit, and was going to America in a flaxen
+wig, and whiskers, and such a complete disguise as never you see in all
+your born days; when the little woman, being in Southampton, met
+him walking along the street--picked him out with her sharp eye in a
+moment--ran betwixt his legs to upset him--and held on to him like grim
+Death.’
+
+‘Excellent Miss Mowcher!’ cried I.
+
+‘You’d have said so, if you had seen her, standing on a chair in the
+witness-box at the trial, as I did,’ said my friend. ‘He cut her face
+right open, and pounded her in the most brutal manner, when she took
+him; but she never loosed her hold till he was locked up. She held so
+tight to him, in fact, that the officers were obliged to take ‘em
+both together. She gave her evidence in the gamest way, and was highly
+complimented by the Bench, and cheered right home to her lodgings. She
+said in Court that she’d have took him single-handed (on account of what
+she knew concerning him), if he had been Samson. And it’s my belief she
+would!’
+
+It was mine too, and I highly respected Miss Mowcher for it.
+
+We had now seen all there was to see. It would have been in vain to
+represent to such a man as the Worshipful Mr. Creakle, that Twenty Seven
+and Twenty Eight were perfectly consistent and unchanged; that exactly
+what they were then, they had always been; that the hypocritical knaves
+were just the subjects to make that sort of profession in such a place;
+that they knew its market-value at least as well as we did, in the
+immediate service it would do them when they were expatriated; in
+a word, that it was a rotten, hollow, painfully suggestive piece of
+business altogether. We left them to their system and themselves, and
+went home wondering.
+
+‘Perhaps it’s a good thing, Traddles,’ said I, ‘to have an unsound Hobby
+ridden hard; for it’s the sooner ridden to death.’
+
+‘I hope so,’ replied Traddles.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 62. A LIGHT SHINES ON MY WAY
+
+
+The year came round to Christmas-time, and I had been at home above
+two months. I had seen Agnes frequently. However loud the general voice
+might be in giving me encouragement, and however fervent the emotions
+and endeavours to which it roused me, I heard her lightest word of
+praise as I heard nothing else.
+
+At least once a week, and sometimes oftener, I rode over there, and
+passed the evening. I usually rode back at night; for the old unhappy
+sense was always hovering about me now--most sorrowfully when I left
+her--and I was glad to be up and out, rather than wandering over the
+past in weary wakefulness or miserable dreams. I wore away the longest
+part of many wild sad nights, in those rides; reviving, as I went, the
+thoughts that had occupied me in my long absence.
+
+Or, if I were to say rather that I listened to the echoes of those
+thoughts, I should better express the truth. They spoke to me from afar
+off. I had put them at a distance, and accepted my inevitable place.
+When I read to Agnes what I wrote; when I saw her listening face; moved
+her to smiles or tears; and heard her cordial voice so earnest on the
+shadowy events of that imaginative world in which I lived; I thought
+what a fate mine might have been--but only thought so, as I had thought
+after I was married to Dora, what I could have wished my wife to be.
+
+My duty to Agnes, who loved me with a love, which, if I disquieted, I
+wronged most selfishly and poorly, and could never restore; my matured
+assurance that I, who had worked out my own destiny, and won what I
+had impetuously set my heart on, had no right to murmur, and must bear;
+comprised what I felt and what I had learned. But I loved her: and now
+it even became some consolation to me, vaguely to conceive a distant day
+when I might blamelessly avow it; when all this should be over; when I
+could say ‘Agnes, so it was when I came home; and now I am old, and I
+never have loved since!’
+
+She did not once show me any change in herself. What she always had been
+to me, she still was; wholly unaltered.
+
+Between my aunt and me there had been something, in this connexion,
+since the night of my return, which I cannot call a restraint, or an
+avoidance of the subject, so much as an implied understanding that we
+thought of it together, but did not shape our thoughts into words. When,
+according to our old custom, we sat before the fire at night, we often
+fell into this train; as naturally, and as consciously to each other, as
+if we had unreservedly said so. But we preserved an unbroken silence. I
+believed that she had read, or partly read, my thoughts that night; and
+that she fully comprehended why I gave mine no more distinct expression.
+
+This Christmas-time being come, and Agnes having reposed no new
+confidence in me, a doubt that had several times arisen in my
+mind--whether she could have that perception of the true state of
+my breast, which restrained her with the apprehension of giving me
+pain--began to oppress me heavily. If that were so, my sacrifice was
+nothing; my plainest obligation to her unfulfilled; and every poor
+action I had shrunk from, I was hourly doing. I resolved to set this
+right beyond all doubt;--if such a barrier were between us, to break it
+down at once with a determined hand.
+
+It was--what lasting reason have I to remember it!--a cold, harsh,
+winter day. There had been snow, some hours before; and it lay, not
+deep, but hard-frozen on the ground. Out at sea, beyond my window, the
+wind blew ruggedly from the north. I had been thinking of it, sweeping
+over those mountain wastes of snow in Switzerland, then inaccessible to
+any human foot; and had been speculating which was the lonelier, those
+solitary regions, or a deserted ocean.
+
+‘Riding today, Trot?’ said my aunt, putting her head in at the door.
+
+‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I am going over to Canterbury. It’s a good day for a
+ride.’
+
+‘I hope your horse may think so too,’ said my aunt; ‘but at present he
+is holding down his head and his ears, standing before the door there,
+as if he thought his stable preferable.’
+
+My aunt, I may observe, allowed my horse on the forbidden ground, but
+had not at all relented towards the donkeys.
+
+‘He will be fresh enough, presently!’ said I.
+
+‘The ride will do his master good, at all events,’ observed my aunt,
+glancing at the papers on my table. ‘Ah, child, you pass a good many
+hours here! I never thought, when I used to read books, what work it was
+to write them.’
+
+‘It’s work enough to read them, sometimes,’ I returned. ‘As to the
+writing, it has its own charms, aunt.’
+
+‘Ah! I see!’ said my aunt. ‘Ambition, love of approbation, sympathy, and
+much more, I suppose? Well: go along with you!’
+
+‘Do you know anything more,’ said I, standing composedly before her--she
+had patted me on the shoulder, and sat down in my chair--‘of that
+attachment of Agnes?’
+
+She looked up in my face a little while, before replying:
+
+‘I think I do, Trot.’
+
+‘Are you confirmed in your impression?’ I inquired.
+
+‘I think I am, Trot.’
+
+She looked so steadfastly at me: with a kind of doubt, or pity, or
+suspense in her affection: that I summoned the stronger determination to
+show her a perfectly cheerful face.
+
+‘And what is more, Trot--’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Yes!’
+
+‘I think Agnes is going to be married.’
+
+‘God bless her!’ said I, cheerfully.
+
+‘God bless her!’ said my aunt, ‘and her husband too!’
+
+I echoed it, parted from my aunt, and went lightly downstairs, mounted,
+and rode away. There was greater reason than before to do what I had
+resolved to do.
+
+How well I recollect the wintry ride! The frozen particles of ice,
+brushed from the blades of grass by the wind, and borne across my face;
+the hard clatter of the horse’s hoofs, beating a tune upon the ground;
+the stiff-tilled soil; the snowdrift, lightly eddying in the chalk-pit
+as the breeze ruffled it; the smoking team with the waggon of old hay,
+stopping to breathe on the hill-top, and shaking their bells musically;
+the whitened slopes and sweeps of Down-land lying against the dark sky,
+as if they were drawn on a huge slate!
+
+I found Agnes alone. The little girls had gone to their own homes now,
+and she was alone by the fire, reading. She put down her book on seeing
+me come in; and having welcomed me as usual, took her work-basket and
+sat in one of the old-fashioned windows.
+
+I sat beside her on the window-seat, and we talked of what I was doing,
+and when it would be done, and of the progress I had made since my last
+visit. Agnes was very cheerful; and laughingly predicted that I should
+soon become too famous to be talked to, on such subjects.
+
+‘So I make the most of the present time, you see,’ said Agnes, ‘and talk
+to you while I may.’
+
+As I looked at her beautiful face, observant of her work, she raised her
+mild clear eyes, and saw that I was looking at her.
+
+‘You are thoughtful today, Trotwood!’
+
+‘Agnes, shall I tell you what about? I came to tell you.’
+
+She put aside her work, as she was used to do when we were seriously
+discussing anything; and gave me her whole attention.
+
+‘My dear Agnes, do you doubt my being true to you?’
+
+‘No!’ she answered, with a look of astonishment.
+
+‘Do you doubt my being what I always have been to you?’
+
+‘No!’ she answered, as before.
+
+‘Do you remember that I tried to tell you, when I came home, what a debt
+of gratitude I owed you, dearest Agnes, and how fervently I felt towards
+you?’
+
+‘I remember it,’ she said, gently, ‘very well.’
+
+‘You have a secret,’ said I. ‘Let me share it, Agnes.’
+
+She cast down her eyes, and trembled.
+
+‘I could hardly fail to know, even if I had not heard--but from other
+lips than yours, Agnes, which seems strange--that there is someone upon
+whom you have bestowed the treasure of your love. Do not shut me out of
+what concerns your happiness so nearly! If you can trust me, as you say
+you can, and as I know you may, let me be your friend, your brother, in
+this matter, of all others!’
+
+With an appealing, almost a reproachful, glance, she rose from the
+window; and hurrying across the room as if without knowing where, put
+her hands before her face, and burst into such tears as smote me to the
+heart.
+
+And yet they awakened something in me, bringing promise to my heart.
+Without my knowing why, these tears allied themselves with the quietly
+sad smile which was so fixed in my remembrance, and shook me more with
+hope than fear or sorrow.
+
+‘Agnes! Sister! Dearest! What have I done?’
+
+‘Let me go away, Trotwood. I am not well. I am not myself. I will speak
+to you by and by--another time. I will write to you. Don’t speak to me
+now. Don’t! don’t!’
+
+I sought to recollect what she had said, when I had spoken to her on
+that former night, of her affection needing no return. It seemed a very
+world that I must search through in a moment. ‘Agnes, I cannot bear
+to see you so, and think that I have been the cause. My dearest girl,
+dearer to me than anything in life, if you are unhappy, let me share
+your unhappiness. If you are in need of help or counsel, let me try to
+give it to you. If you have indeed a burden on your heart, let me try to
+lighten it. For whom do I live now, Agnes, if it is not for you!’
+
+‘Oh, spare me! I am not myself! Another time!’ was all I could
+distinguish.
+
+Was it a selfish error that was leading me away? Or, having once a clue
+to hope, was there something opening to me that I had not dared to think
+of?
+
+‘I must say more. I cannot let you leave me so! For Heaven’s sake,
+Agnes, let us not mistake each other after all these years, and all
+that has come and gone with them! I must speak plainly. If you have any
+lingering thought that I could envy the happiness you will confer; that
+I could not resign you to a dearer protector, of your own choosing; that
+I could not, from my removed place, be a contented witness of your joy;
+dismiss it, for I don’t deserve it! I have not suffered quite in vain.
+You have not taught me quite in vain. There is no alloy of self in what
+I feel for you.’
+
+She was quiet now. In a little time, she turned her pale face towards
+me, and said in a low voice, broken here and there, but very clear:
+
+‘I owe it to your pure friendship for me, Trotwood--which, indeed, I do
+not doubt--to tell you, you are mistaken. I can do no more. If I have
+sometimes, in the course of years, wanted help and counsel, they have
+come to me. If I have sometimes been unhappy, the feeling has passed
+away. If I have ever had a burden on my heart, it has been lightened
+for me. If I have any secret, it is--no new one; and is--not what you
+suppose. I cannot reveal it, or divide it. It has long been mine, and
+must remain mine.’
+
+‘Agnes! Stay! A moment!’
+
+She was going away, but I detained her. I clasped my arm about her
+waist. ‘In the course of years!’ ‘It is not a new one!’ New thoughts and
+hopes were whirling through my mind, and all the colours of my life were
+changing.
+
+‘Dearest Agnes! Whom I so respect and honour--whom I so devotedly love!
+When I came here today, I thought that nothing could have wrested this
+confession from me. I thought I could have kept it in my bosom all our
+lives, till we were old. But, Agnes, if I have indeed any new-born hope
+that I may ever call you something more than Sister, widely different
+from Sister!--’
+
+Her tears fell fast; but they were not like those she had lately shed,
+and I saw my hope brighten in them.
+
+‘Agnes! Ever my guide, and best support! If you had been more mindful
+of yourself, and less of me, when we grew up here together, I think my
+heedless fancy never would have wandered from you. But you were so
+much better than I, so necessary to me in every boyish hope and
+disappointment, that to have you to confide in, and rely upon in
+everything, became a second nature, supplanting for the time the first
+and greater one of loving you as I do!’
+
+Still weeping, but not sadly--joyfully! And clasped in my arms as she
+had never been, as I had thought she never was to be!
+
+‘When I loved Dora--fondly, Agnes, as you know--’
+
+‘Yes!’ she cried, earnestly. ‘I am glad to know it!’
+
+‘When I loved her--even then, my love would have been incomplete,
+without your sympathy. I had it, and it was perfected. And when I lost
+her, Agnes, what should I have been without you, still!’
+
+Closer in my arms, nearer to my heart, her trembling hand upon my
+shoulder, her sweet eyes shining through her tears, on mine!
+
+‘I went away, dear Agnes, loving you. I stayed away, loving you. I
+returned home, loving you!’
+
+And now, I tried to tell her of the struggle I had had, and the
+conclusion I had come to. I tried to lay my mind before her, truly, and
+entirely. I tried to show her how I had hoped I had come into the better
+knowledge of myself and of her; how I had resigned myself to what that
+better knowledge brought; and how I had come there, even that day, in my
+fidelity to this. If she did so love me (I said) that she could take me
+for her husband, she could do so, on no deserving of mine, except upon
+the truth of my love for her, and the trouble in which it had ripened to
+be what it was; and hence it was that I revealed it. And O, Agnes, even
+out of thy true eyes, in that same time, the spirit of my child-wife
+looked upon me, saying it was well; and winning me, through thee, to
+tenderest recollections of the Blossom that had withered in its bloom!
+
+‘I am so blest, Trotwood--my heart is so overcharged--but there is one
+thing I must say.’
+
+‘Dearest, what?’
+
+She laid her gentle hands upon my shoulders, and looked calmly in my
+face.
+
+‘Do you know, yet, what it is?’
+
+‘I am afraid to speculate on what it is. Tell me, my dear.’
+
+‘I have loved you all my life!’
+
+O, we were happy, we were happy! Our tears were not for the trials (hers
+so much the greater) through which we had come to be thus, but for the
+rapture of being thus, never to be divided more!
+
+We walked, that winter evening, in the fields together; and the blessed
+calm within us seemed to be partaken by the frosty air. The early stars
+began to shine while we were lingering on, and looking up to them, we
+thanked our GOD for having guided us to this tranquillity.
+
+We stood together in the same old-fashioned window at night, when the
+moon was shining; Agnes with her quiet eyes raised up to it; I following
+her glance. Long miles of road then opened out before my mind; and,
+toiling on, I saw a ragged way-worn boy, forsaken and neglected, who
+should come to call even the heart now beating against mine, his own.
+
+
+It was nearly dinner-time next day when we appeared before my aunt. She
+was up in my study, Peggotty said: which it was her pride to keep in
+readiness and order for me. We found her, in her spectacles, sitting by
+the fire.
+
+‘Goodness me!’ said my aunt, peering through the dusk, ‘who’s this
+you’re bringing home?’
+
+‘Agnes,’ said I.
+
+As we had arranged to say nothing at first, my aunt was not a little
+discomfited. She darted a hopeful glance at me, when I said ‘Agnes’; but
+seeing that I looked as usual, she took off her spectacles in despair,
+and rubbed her nose with them.
+
+She greeted Agnes heartily, nevertheless; and we were soon in the
+lighted parlour downstairs, at dinner. My aunt put on her spectacles
+twice or thrice, to take another look at me, but as often took them
+off again, disappointed, and rubbed her nose with them. Much to the
+discomfiture of Mr. Dick, who knew this to be a bad symptom.
+
+‘By the by, aunt,’ said I, after dinner; ‘I have been speaking to Agnes
+about what you told me.’
+
+‘Then, Trot,’ said my aunt, turning scarlet, ‘you did wrong, and broke
+your promise.’
+
+‘You are not angry, aunt, I trust? I am sure you won’t be, when you
+learn that Agnes is not unhappy in any attachment.’
+
+‘Stuff and nonsense!’ said my aunt.
+
+As my aunt appeared to be annoyed, I thought the best way was to cut her
+annoyance short. I took Agnes in my arm to the back of her chair, and we
+both leaned over her. My aunt, with one clap of her hands, and one look
+through her spectacles, immediately went into hysterics, for the first
+and only time in all my knowledge of her.
+
+The hysterics called up Peggotty. The moment my aunt was restored, she
+flew at Peggotty, and calling her a silly old creature, hugged her with
+all her might. After that, she hugged Mr. Dick (who was highly honoured,
+but a good deal surprised); and after that, told them why. Then, we were
+all happy together.
+
+I could not discover whether my aunt, in her last short conversation
+with me, had fallen on a pious fraud, or had really mistaken the state
+of my mind. It was quite enough, she said, that she had told me Agnes
+was going to be married; and that I now knew better than anyone how true
+it was.
+
+
+We were married within a fortnight. Traddles and Sophy, and Doctor and
+Mrs. Strong, were the only guests at our quiet wedding. We left them
+full of joy; and drove away together. Clasped in my embrace, I held the
+source of every worthy aspiration I had ever had; the centre of myself,
+the circle of my life, my own, my wife; my love of whom was founded on a
+rock!
+
+‘Dearest husband!’ said Agnes. ‘Now that I may call you by that name, I
+have one thing more to tell you.’
+
+‘Let me hear it, love.’
+
+‘It grows out of the night when Dora died. She sent you for me.’
+
+‘She did.’
+
+‘She told me that she left me something. Can you think what it was?’
+
+I believed I could. I drew the wife who had so long loved me, closer to
+my side.
+
+‘She told me that she made a last request to me, and left me a last
+charge.’
+
+‘And it was--’
+
+‘That only I would occupy this vacant place.’
+
+And Agnes laid her head upon my breast, and wept; and I wept with her,
+though we were so happy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 63. A VISITOR
+
+What I have purposed to record is nearly finished; but there is yet an
+incident conspicuous in my memory, on which it often rests with delight,
+and without which one thread in the web I have spun would have a
+ravelled end.
+
+I had advanced in fame and fortune, my domestic joy was perfect, I had
+been married ten happy years. Agnes and I were sitting by the fire, in
+our house in London, one night in spring, and three of our children were
+playing in the room, when I was told that a stranger wished to see me.
+
+He had been asked if he came on business, and had answered No; he had
+come for the pleasure of seeing me, and had come a long way. He was an
+old man, my servant said, and looked like a farmer.
+
+As this sounded mysterious to the children, and moreover was like the
+beginning of a favourite story Agnes used to tell them, introductory
+to the arrival of a wicked old Fairy in a cloak who hated everybody, it
+produced some commotion. One of our boys laid his head in his mother’s
+lap to be out of harm’s way, and little Agnes (our eldest child) left
+her doll in a chair to represent her, and thrust out her little heap
+of golden curls from between the window-curtains, to see what happened
+next.
+
+‘Let him come in here!’ said I.
+
+There soon appeared, pausing in the dark doorway as he entered, a hale,
+grey-haired old man. Little Agnes, attracted by his looks, had run to
+bring him in, and I had not yet clearly seen his face, when my wife,
+starting up, cried out to me, in a pleased and agitated voice, that it
+was Mr. Peggotty!
+
+It WAS Mr. Peggotty. An old man now, but in a ruddy, hearty, strong old
+age. When our first emotion was over, and he sat before the fire with
+the children on his knees, and the blaze shining on his face, he looked,
+to me, as vigorous and robust, withal as handsome, an old man, as ever I
+had seen.
+
+‘Mas’r Davy,’ said he. And the old name in the old tone fell so
+naturally on my ear! ‘Mas’r Davy, ‘tis a joyful hour as I see you, once
+more, ‘long with your own trew wife!’
+
+‘A joyful hour indeed, old friend!’ cried I.
+
+‘And these heer pretty ones,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘To look at these heer
+flowers! Why, Mas’r Davy, you was but the heighth of the littlest of
+these, when I first see you! When Em’ly warn’t no bigger, and our poor
+lad were BUT a lad!’
+
+‘Time has changed me more than it has changed you since then,’ said I.
+‘But let these dear rogues go to bed; and as no house in England but
+this must hold you, tell me where to send for your luggage (is the old
+black bag among it, that went so far, I wonder!), and then, over a glass
+of Yarmouth grog, we will have the tidings of ten years!’
+
+‘Are you alone?’ asked Agnes.
+
+‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, kissing her hand, ‘quite alone.’
+
+We sat him between us, not knowing how to give him welcome enough; and
+as I began to listen to his old familiar voice, I could have fancied he
+was still pursuing his long journey in search of his darling niece.
+
+‘It’s a mort of water,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘fur to come across, and
+on’y stay a matter of fower weeks. But water [‘specially when ‘tis salt)
+comes nat’ral to me; and friends is dear, and I am heer. --Which is
+verse,’ said Mr. Peggotty, surprised to find it out, ‘though I hadn’t
+such intentions.’
+
+‘Are you going back those many thousand miles, so soon?’ asked Agnes.
+
+‘Yes, ma’am,’ he returned. ‘I giv the promise to Em’ly, afore I come
+away. You see, I doen’t grow younger as the years comes round, and if
+I hadn’t sailed as ‘twas, most like I shouldn’t never have done ‘t. And
+it’s allus been on my mind, as I must come and see Mas’r Davy and your
+own sweet blooming self, in your wedded happiness, afore I got to be too
+old.’
+
+He looked at us, as if he could never feast his eyes on us sufficiently.
+Agnes laughingly put back some scattered locks of his grey hair, that he
+might see us better.
+
+‘And now tell us,’ said I, ‘everything relating to your fortunes.’
+
+‘Our fortuns, Mas’r Davy,’ he rejoined, ‘is soon told. We haven’t fared
+nohows, but fared to thrive. We’ve allus thrived. We’ve worked as we
+ought to ‘t, and maybe we lived a leetle hard at first or so, but
+we have allus thrived. What with sheep-farming, and what with
+stock-farming, and what with one thing and what with t’other, we are as
+well to do, as well could be. Theer’s been kiender a blessing fell upon
+us,’ said Mr. Peggotty, reverentially inclining his head, ‘and we’ve
+done nowt but prosper. That is, in the long run. If not yesterday, why
+then today. If not today, why then tomorrow.’
+
+‘And Emily?’ said Agnes and I, both together.
+
+‘Em’ly,’ said he, ‘arter you left her, ma’am--and I never heerd her
+saying of her prayers at night, t’other side the canvas screen, when we
+was settled in the Bush, but what I heerd your name--and arter she and
+me lost sight of Mas’r Davy, that theer shining sundown--was that low,
+at first, that, if she had know’d then what Mas’r Davy kep from us so
+kind and thowtful, ‘tis my opinion she’d have drooped away. But theer
+was some poor folks aboard as had illness among ‘em, and she took care
+of them; and theer was the children in our company, and she took care of
+them; and so she got to be busy, and to be doing good, and that helped
+her.’
+
+‘When did she first hear of it?’ I asked.
+
+‘I kep it from her arter I heerd on ‘t,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘going
+on nigh a year. We was living then in a solitary place, but among the
+beautifullest trees, and with the roses a-covering our Beein to the
+roof. Theer come along one day, when I was out a-working on the land, a
+traveller from our own Norfolk or Suffolk in England (I doen’t rightly
+mind which), and of course we took him in, and giv him to eat and drink,
+and made him welcome. We all do that, all the colony over. He’d got an
+old newspaper with him, and some other account in print of the storm.
+That’s how she know’d it. When I came home at night, I found she know’d
+it.’
+
+He dropped his voice as he said these words, and the gravity I so well
+remembered overspread his face.
+
+‘Did it change her much?’ we asked.
+
+‘Aye, for a good long time,’ he said, shaking his head; ‘if not to this
+present hour. But I think the solitoode done her good. And she had a
+deal to mind in the way of poultry and the like, and minded of it, and
+come through. I wonder,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘if you could see my
+Em’ly now, Mas’r Davy, whether you’d know her!’
+
+‘Is she so altered?’ I inquired.
+
+‘I doen’t know. I see her ev’ry day, and doen’t know; But, odd-times, I
+have thowt so. A slight figure,’ said Mr. Peggotty, looking at the fire,
+‘kiender worn; soft, sorrowful, blue eyes; a delicate face; a pritty
+head, leaning a little down; a quiet voice and way--timid a’most. That’s
+Em’ly!’
+
+We silently observed him as he sat, still looking at the fire.
+
+‘Some thinks,’ he said, ‘as her affection was ill-bestowed; some, as her
+marriage was broken off by death. No one knows how ‘tis. She might have
+married well, a mort of times, “but, uncle,” she says to me, “that’s
+gone for ever.” Cheerful along with me; retired when others is by;
+fond of going any distance fur to teach a child, or fur to tend a sick
+person, or fur to do some kindness tow’rds a young girl’s wedding (and
+she’s done a many, but has never seen one); fondly loving of her uncle;
+patient; liked by young and old; sowt out by all that has any trouble.
+That’s Em’ly!’
+
+He drew his hand across his face, and with a half-suppressed sigh looked
+up from the fire.
+
+‘Is Martha with you yet?’ I asked.
+
+‘Martha,’ he replied, ‘got married, Mas’r Davy, in the second year. A
+young man, a farm-labourer, as come by us on his way to market with his
+mas’r’s drays--a journey of over five hundred mile, theer and back--made
+offers fur to take her fur his wife (wives is very scarce theer), and
+then to set up fur their two selves in the Bush. She spoke to me fur to
+tell him her trew story. I did. They was married, and they live fower
+hundred mile away from any voices but their own and the singing birds.’
+
+‘Mrs. Gummidge?’ I suggested.
+
+It was a pleasant key to touch, for Mr. Peggotty suddenly burst into a
+roar of laughter, and rubbed his hands up and down his legs, as he had
+been accustomed to do when he enjoyed himself in the long-shipwrecked
+boat.
+
+‘Would you believe it!’ he said. ‘Why, someun even made offer fur to
+marry her! If a ship’s cook that was turning settler, Mas’r Davy, didn’t
+make offers fur to marry Missis Gummidge, I’m Gormed--and I can’t say no
+fairer than that!’
+
+I never saw Agnes laugh so. This sudden ecstasy on the part of Mr.
+Peggotty was so delightful to her, that she could not leave off
+laughing; and the more she laughed the more she made me laugh, and the
+greater Mr. Peggotty’s ecstasy became, and the more he rubbed his legs.
+
+‘And what did Mrs. Gummidge say?’ I asked, when I was grave enough.
+
+‘If you’ll believe me,’ returned Mr. Peggotty, ‘Missis Gummidge, ‘stead
+of saying “thank you, I’m much obleeged to you, I ain’t a-going fur
+to change my condition at my time of life,” up’d with a bucket as was
+standing by, and laid it over that theer ship’s cook’s head ‘till he
+sung out fur help, and I went in and reskied of him.’
+
+Mr. Peggotty burst into a great roar of laughter, and Agnes and I both
+kept him company.
+
+‘But I must say this, for the good creetur,’ he resumed, wiping his
+face, when we were quite exhausted; ‘she has been all she said she’d
+be to us, and more. She’s the willingest, the trewest, the
+honestest-helping woman, Mas’r Davy, as ever draw’d the breath of life.
+I have never know’d her to be lone and lorn, for a single minute,
+not even when the colony was all afore us, and we was new to it. And
+thinking of the old ‘un is a thing she never done, I do assure you,
+since she left England!’
+
+‘Now, last, not least, Mr. Micawber,’ said I. ‘He has paid off every
+obligation he incurred here--even to Traddles’s bill, you remember my
+dear Agnes--and therefore we may take it for granted that he is doing
+well. But what is the latest news of him?’
+
+Mr. Peggotty, with a smile, put his hand in his breast-pocket, and
+produced a flat-folded, paper parcel, from which he took out, with much
+care, a little odd-looking newspaper.
+
+‘You are to understan’, Mas’r Davy,’ said he, ‘as we have left the
+Bush now, being so well to do; and have gone right away round to Port
+Middlebay Harbour, wheer theer’s what we call a town.’
+
+‘Mr. Micawber was in the Bush near you?’ said I.
+
+‘Bless you, yes,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘and turned to with a will. I never
+wish to meet a better gen’l’man for turning to with a will. I’ve seen
+that theer bald head of his a perspiring in the sun, Mas’r Davy, till I
+a’most thowt it would have melted away. And now he’s a Magistrate.’
+
+‘A Magistrate, eh?’ said I.
+
+Mr. Peggotty pointed to a certain paragraph in the newspaper, where I
+read aloud as follows, from the Port Middlebay Times:
+
+
+‘The public dinner to our distinguished fellow-colonist and townsman,
+WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, Port Middlebay District Magistrate, came
+off yesterday in the large room of the Hotel, which was crowded to
+suffocation. It is estimated that not fewer than forty-seven persons
+must have been accommodated with dinner at one time, exclusive of the
+company in the passage and on the stairs. The beauty, fashion, and
+exclusiveness of Port Middlebay, flocked to do honour to one so
+deservedly esteemed, so highly talented, and so widely popular. Doctor
+Mell (of Colonial Salem-House Grammar School, Port Middlebay) presided,
+and on his right sat the distinguished guest. After the removal of the
+cloth, and the singing of Non Nobis (beautifully executed, and in which
+we were at no loss to distinguish the bell-like notes of that gifted
+amateur, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR), the usual loyal and
+patriotic toasts were severally given and rapturously received. Doctor
+Mell, in a speech replete with feeling, then proposed “Our distinguished
+Guest, the ornament of our town. May he never leave us but to better
+himself, and may his success among us be such as to render his bettering
+himself impossible!” The cheering with which the toast was received
+defies description. Again and again it rose and fell, like the waves
+of ocean. At length all was hushed, and WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE,
+presented himself to return thanks. Far be it from us, in the present
+comparatively imperfect state of the resources of our establishment,
+to endeavour to follow our distinguished townsman through the
+smoothly-flowing periods of his polished and highly-ornate address!
+Suffice it to observe, that it was a masterpiece of eloquence; and that
+those passages in which he more particularly traced his own successful
+career to its source, and warned the younger portion of his auditory
+from the shoals of ever incurring pecuniary liabilities which they were
+unable to liquidate, brought a tear into the manliest eye present. The
+remaining toasts were DOCTOR MELL; Mrs. MICAWBER (who gracefully bowed
+her acknowledgements from the side-door, where a galaxy of beauty was
+elevated on chairs, at once to witness and adorn the gratifying scene),
+Mrs. RIDGER BEGS (late Miss Micawber); Mrs. MELL; WILKINS MICAWBER,
+ESQUIRE, JUNIOR (who convulsed the assembly by humorously remarking that
+he found himself unable to return thanks in a speech, but would do so,
+with their permission, in a song); Mrs. MICAWBER’S FAMILY (well known,
+it is needless to remark, in the mother-country), &c. &c. &c. At the
+conclusion of the proceedings the tables were cleared as if by art-magic
+for dancing. Among the votaries of TERPSICHORE, who disported themselves
+until Sol gave warning for departure, Wilkins Micawber, Esquire, Junior,
+and the lovely and accomplished Miss Helena, fourth daughter of Doctor
+Mell, were particularly remarkable.’
+
+
+I was looking back to the name of Doctor Mell, pleased to have
+discovered, in these happier circumstances, Mr. Mell, formerly poor
+pinched usher to my Middlesex magistrate, when Mr. Peggotty pointing
+to another part of the paper, my eyes rested on my own name, and I read
+thus:
+
+
+‘TO DAVID COPPERFIELD, ESQUIRE,
+
+‘THE EMINENT AUTHOR.
+
+‘My Dear Sir,
+
+‘Years have elapsed, since I had an opportunity of ocularly perusing the
+lineaments, now familiar to the imaginations of a considerable portion
+of the civilized world.
+
+‘But, my dear Sir, though estranged (by the force of circumstances over
+which I have had no control) from the personal society of the friend and
+companion of my youth, I have not been unmindful of his soaring flight.
+Nor have I been debarred,
+
+ Though seas between us braid ha’ roared,
+
+(BURNS) from participating in the intellectual feasts he has spread
+before us.
+
+‘I cannot, therefore, allow of the departure from this place of an
+individual whom we mutually respect and esteem, without, my dear Sir,
+taking this public opportunity of thanking you, on my own behalf, and,
+I may undertake to add, on that of the whole of the Inhabitants of Port
+Middlebay, for the gratification of which you are the ministering agent.
+
+‘Go on, my dear Sir! You are not unknown here, you are not
+unappreciated. Though “remote”, we are neither “unfriended”,
+“melancholy”, nor (I may add) “slow”. Go on, my dear Sir, in your Eagle
+course! The inhabitants of Port Middlebay may at least aspire to watch
+it, with delight, with entertainment, with instruction!
+
+‘Among the eyes elevated towards you from this portion of the globe,
+will ever be found, while it has light and life,
+
+ ‘The
+ ‘Eye
+ ‘Appertaining to
+
+ ‘WILKINS MICAWBER,
+ ‘Magistrate.’
+
+
+I found, on glancing at the remaining contents of the newspaper, that
+Mr. Micawber was a diligent and esteemed correspondent of that journal.
+There was another letter from him in the same paper, touching a bridge;
+there was an advertisement of a collection of similar letters by him, to
+be shortly republished, in a neat volume, ‘with considerable additions’;
+and, unless I am very much mistaken, the Leading Article was his also.
+
+We talked much of Mr. Micawber, on many other evenings while Mr.
+Peggotty remained with us. He lived with us during the whole term of his
+stay,--which, I think, was something less than a month,--and his sister
+and my aunt came to London to see him. Agnes and I parted from him
+aboard-ship, when he sailed; and we shall never part from him more, on
+earth.
+
+But before he left, he went with me to Yarmouth, to see a little tablet
+I had put up in the churchyard to the memory of Ham. While I was copying
+the plain inscription for him at his request, I saw him stoop, and
+gather a tuft of grass from the grave and a little earth.
+
+‘For Em’ly,’ he said, as he put it in his breast. ‘I promised, Mas’r
+Davy.’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER 64. A LAST RETROSPECT
+
+
+And now my written story ends. I look back, once more--for the last
+time--before I close these leaves.
+
+I see myself, with Agnes at my side, journeying along the road of life.
+I see our children and our friends around us; and I hear the roar of
+many voices, not indifferent to me as I travel on.
+
+What faces are the most distinct to me in the fleeting crowd? Lo, these;
+all turning to me as I ask my thoughts the question!
+
+Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of four-score
+years and more, but upright yet, and a steady walker of six miles at a
+stretch in winter weather.
+
+Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse, likewise in
+spectacles, accustomed to do needle-work at night very close to the
+lamp, but never sitting down to it without a bit of wax candle, a
+yard-measure in a little house, and a work-box with a picture of St.
+Paul’s upon the lid.
+
+The cheeks and arms of Peggotty, so hard and red in my childish days,
+when I wondered why the birds didn’t peck her in preference to apples,
+are shrivelled now; and her eyes, that used to darken their whole
+neighbourhood in her face, are fainter (though they glitter still);
+but her rough forefinger, which I once associated with a pocket
+nutmeg-grater, is just the same, and when I see my least child catching
+at it as it totters from my aunt to her, I think of our little parlour
+at home, when I could scarcely walk. My aunt’s old disappointment is set
+right, now. She is godmother to a real living Betsey Trotwood; and Dora
+(the next in order) says she spoils her.
+
+There is something bulky in Peggotty’s pocket. It is nothing smaller
+than the Crocodile Book, which is in rather a dilapidated condition by
+this time, with divers of the leaves torn and stitched across, but which
+Peggotty exhibits to the children as a precious relic. I find it very
+curious to see my own infant face, looking up at me from the Crocodile
+stories; and to be reminded by it of my old acquaintance Brooks of
+Sheffield.
+
+Among my boys, this summer holiday time, I see an old man making giant
+kites, and gazing at them in the air, with a delight for which there
+are no words. He greets me rapturously, and whispers, with many nods
+and winks, ‘Trotwood, you will be glad to hear that I shall finish the
+Memorial when I have nothing else to do, and that your aunt’s the most
+extraordinary woman in the world, sir!’
+
+Who is this bent lady, supporting herself by a stick, and showing me
+a countenance in which there are some traces of old pride and beauty,
+feebly contending with a querulous, imbecile, fretful wandering of the
+mind? She is in a garden; and near her stands a sharp, dark, withered
+woman, with a white scar on her lip. Let me hear what they say.
+
+‘Rosa, I have forgotten this gentleman’s name.’
+
+Rosa bends over her, and calls to her, ‘Mr. Copperfield.’
+
+‘I am glad to see you, sir. I am sorry to observe you are in mourning. I
+hope Time will be good to you.’
+
+Her impatient attendant scolds her, tells her I am not in mourning, bids
+her look again, tries to rouse her.
+
+‘You have seen my son, sir,’ says the elder lady. ‘Are you reconciled?’
+
+Looking fixedly at me, she puts her hand to her forehead, and moans.
+Suddenly, she cries, in a terrible voice, ‘Rosa, come to me. He is
+dead!’ Rosa kneeling at her feet, by turns caresses her, and quarrels
+with her; now fiercely telling her, ‘I loved him better than you ever
+did!’--now soothing her to sleep on her breast, like a sick child. Thus
+I leave them; thus I always find them; thus they wear their time away,
+from year to year.
+
+What ship comes sailing home from India, and what English lady is this,
+married to a growling old Scotch Croesus with great flaps of ears? Can
+this be Julia Mills?
+
+Indeed it is Julia Mills, peevish and fine, with a black man to carry
+cards and letters to her on a golden salver, and a copper-coloured woman
+in linen, with a bright handkerchief round her head, to serve her Tiffin
+in her dressing-room. But Julia keeps no diary in these days; never
+sings Affection’s Dirge; eternally quarrels with the old Scotch Croesus,
+who is a sort of yellow bear with a tanned hide. Julia is steeped in
+money to the throat, and talks and thinks of nothing else. I liked her
+better in the Desert of Sahara.
+
+Or perhaps this IS the Desert of Sahara! For, though Julia has a stately
+house, and mighty company, and sumptuous dinners every day, I see no
+green growth near her; nothing that can ever come to fruit or flower.
+What Julia calls ‘society’, I see; among it Mr. Jack Maldon, from his
+Patent Place, sneering at the hand that gave it him, and speaking to me
+of the Doctor as ‘so charmingly antique’. But when society is the name
+for such hollow gentlemen and ladies, Julia, and when its breeding is
+professed indifference to everything that can advance or can retard
+mankind, I think we must have lost ourselves in that same Desert of
+Sahara, and had better find the way out.
+
+And lo, the Doctor, always our good friend, labouring at his Dictionary
+(somewhere about the letter D), and happy in his home and wife. Also
+the Old Soldier, on a considerably reduced footing, and by no means so
+influential as in days of yore!
+
+Working at his chambers in the Temple, with a busy aspect, and his hair
+(where he is not bald) made more rebellious than ever by the constant
+friction of his lawyer’s-wig, I come, in a later time, upon my dear old
+Traddles. His table is covered with thick piles of papers; and I say, as
+I look around me:
+
+‘If Sophy were your clerk, now, Traddles, she would have enough to do!’
+
+‘You may say that, my dear Copperfield! But those were capital days,
+too, in Holborn Court! Were they not?’
+
+‘When she told you you would be a judge? But it was not the town talk
+then!’
+
+‘At all events,’ says Traddles, ‘if I ever am one--’ ‘Why, you know you
+will be.’
+
+‘Well, my dear Copperfield, WHEN I am one, I shall tell the story, as I
+said I would.’
+
+We walk away, arm in arm. I am going to have a family dinner with
+Traddles. It is Sophy’s birthday; and, on our road, Traddles discourses
+to me of the good fortune he has enjoyed.
+
+‘I really have been able, my dear Copperfield, to do all that I had most
+at heart. There’s the Reverend Horace promoted to that living at four
+hundred and fifty pounds a year; there are our two boys receiving the
+very best education, and distinguishing themselves as steady scholars
+and good fellows; there are three of the girls married very comfortably;
+there are three more living with us; there are three more keeping house
+for the Reverend Horace since Mrs. Crewler’s decease; and all of them
+happy.’
+
+‘Except--’ I suggest.
+
+‘Except the Beauty,’ says Traddles. ‘Yes. It was very unfortunate that
+she should marry such a vagabond. But there was a certain dash and glare
+about him that caught her. However, now we have got her safe at our
+house, and got rid of him, we must cheer her up again.’
+
+Traddles’s house is one of the very houses--or it easily may have
+been--which he and Sophy used to parcel out, in their evening walks. It
+is a large house; but Traddles keeps his papers in his dressing-room
+and his boots with his papers; and he and Sophy squeeze themselves into
+upper rooms, reserving the best bedrooms for the Beauty and the girls.
+There is no room to spare in the house; for more of ‘the girls’ are
+here, and always are here, by some accident or other, than I know how
+to count. Here, when we go in, is a crowd of them, running down to
+the door, and handing Traddles about to be kissed, until he is out of
+breath. Here, established in perpetuity, is the poor Beauty, a widow
+with a little girl; here, at dinner on Sophy’s birthday, are the three
+married girls with their three husbands, and one of the husband’s
+brothers, and another husband’s cousin, and another husband’s sister,
+who appears to me to be engaged to the cousin. Traddles, exactly the
+same simple, unaffected fellow as he ever was, sits at the foot of the
+large table like a Patriarch; and Sophy beams upon him, from the head,
+across a cheerful space that is certainly not glittering with Britannia
+metal.
+
+And now, as I close my task, subduing my desire to linger yet, these
+faces fade away. But one face, shining on me like a Heavenly light by
+which I see all other objects, is above them and beyond them all. And
+that remains.
+
+I turn my head, and see it, in its beautiful serenity, beside me.
+
+My lamp burns low, and I have written far into the night; but the dear
+presence, without which I were nothing, bears me company.
+
+O Agnes, O my soul, so may thy face be by me when I close my life
+indeed; so may I, when realities are melting from me, like the shadows
+which I now dismiss, still find thee near me, pointing upward!
--- /dev/null
+
+
+ HARD TIMES
+ AND
+ REPRINTED PIECES {0}
+
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ By CHARLES DICKENS
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ _With illustrations by Marcus Stone_, _Maurice_
+ _Greiffenhagen_, _and F. Walker_
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.
+ NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
+
+ 1905
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+ _BOOK THE FIRST_. _SOWING_
+ PAGE
+ CHAPTER I
+_The One Thing Needful_ 3
+ CHAPTER II
+_Murdering the Innocents_ 4
+ CHAPTER III
+_A Loophole_ 8
+ CHAPTER IV
+_Mr. Bounderby_ 12
+ CHAPTER V
+_The Keynote_ 18
+ CHAPTER VI
+_Sleary’s Horsemanship_ 23
+ CHAPTER VII
+_Mrs. Sparsit_ 33
+ CHAPTER VIII
+_Never Wonder_ 38
+ CHAPTER IX
+_Sissy’s Progress_ 43
+ CHAPTER X
+_Stephen Blackpool_ 49
+ CHAPTER XI
+_No Way Out_ 53
+ CHAPTER XII
+_The Old Woman_ 59
+ CHAPTER XIII
+_Rachael_ 63
+ CHAPTER XIV
+_The Great Manufacturer_ 69
+ CHAPTER XV
+_Father and Daughter_ 73
+ CHAPTER XVI
+_Husband and Wife_ 79
+ _BOOK THE SECOND_. _REAPING_
+ CHAPTER I
+_Effects in the Bank_ 84
+ CHAPTER II
+_Mr. James Harthouse_ 94
+ CHAPTER III
+_The Whelp_ 101
+ CHAPTER IV
+_Men and Brothers_ 111
+ CHAPTER V
+_Men and Masters_ 105
+ CHAPTER VI
+_Fading Away_ 116
+ CHAPTER VII
+_Gunpowder_ 126
+ CHAPTER VIII
+_Explosion_ 136
+ CHAPTER IX
+_Hearing the Last of it_ 146
+ CHAPTER X
+_Mrs. Sparsit’s Staircase_ 152
+ CHAPTER XI
+_Lower and Lower_ 156
+ CHAPTER XII
+_Down_ 163
+ _BOOK THE THIRD_. _GARNERING_
+ CHAPTER I
+_Another Thing Needful_ 167
+ CHAPTER II
+_Very Ridiculous_ 172
+ CHAPTER III
+_Very Decided_ 179
+ CHAPTER IV
+_Lost_ 186
+ CHAPTER V
+_Found_ 193
+ CHAPTER VI
+_The Starlight_ 200
+ CHAPTER VII
+_Whelp-Hunting_ 208
+ CHAPTER VIII
+_Philosophical_ 216
+ CHAPTER IX
+_Final_ 222
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+ PAGE
+_Stephen and Rachael in the Sick-room_ 64
+_Mr. Harthouse Dining at the Bounderbys’_ 100
+_Mr. Harthouse and Tom Gradgrind in the Garden_ 132
+_Stephen Blackpool recovered from the Old Hell Shaft_ 206
+
+
+
+
+BOOK THE FIRST
+_SOWING_
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+THE ONE THING NEEDFUL
+
+
+‘NOW, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but
+Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out
+everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon
+Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the
+principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle
+on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!’
+
+The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a school-room, and the
+speaker’s square forefinger emphasized his observations by underscoring
+every sentence with a line on the schoolmaster’s sleeve. The emphasis
+was helped by the speaker’s square wall of a forehead, which had his
+eyebrows for its base, while his eyes found commodious cellarage in two
+dark caves, overshadowed by the wall. The emphasis was helped by the
+speaker’s mouth, which was wide, thin, and hard set. The emphasis was
+helped by the speaker’s voice, which was inflexible, dry, and
+dictatorial. The emphasis was helped by the speaker’s hair, which
+bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation of firs to keep the
+wind from its shining surface, all covered with knobs, like the crust of
+a plum pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts
+stored inside. The speaker’s obstinate carriage, square coat, square
+legs, square shoulders,—nay, his very neckcloth, trained to take him by
+the throat with an unaccommodating grasp, like a stubborn fact, as it
+was,—all helped the emphasis.
+
+‘In this life, we want nothing but Facts, sir; nothing but Facts!’
+
+The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and the third grown person present,
+all backed a little, and swept with their eyes the inclined plane of
+little vessels then and there arranged in order, ready to have imperial
+gallons of facts poured into them until they were full to the brim.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+MURDERING THE INNOCENTS
+
+
+THOMAS GRADGRIND, sir. A man of realities. A man of facts and
+calculations. A man who proceeds upon the principle that two and two are
+four, and nothing over, and who is not to be talked into allowing for
+anything over. Thomas Gradgrind, sir—peremptorily Thomas—Thomas
+Gradgrind. With a rule and a pair of scales, and the multiplication
+table always in his pocket, sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of
+human nature, and tell you exactly what it comes to. It is a mere
+question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic. You might hope to get
+some other nonsensical belief into the head of George Gradgrind, or
+Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind (all
+supposititious, non-existent persons), but into the head of Thomas
+Gradgrind—no, sir!
+
+In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether
+to his private circle of acquaintance, or to the public in general. In
+such terms, no doubt, substituting the words ‘boys and girls,’ for ‘sir,’
+Thomas Gradgrind now presented Thomas Gradgrind to the little pitchers
+before him, who were to be filled so full of facts.
+
+Indeed, as he eagerly sparkled at them from the cellarage before
+mentioned, he seemed a kind of cannon loaded to the muzzle with facts,
+and prepared to blow them clean out of the regions of childhood at one
+discharge. He seemed a galvanizing apparatus, too, charged with a grim
+mechanical substitute for the tender young imaginations that were to be
+stormed away.
+
+‘Girl number twenty,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, squarely pointing with his
+square forefinger, ‘I don’t know that girl. Who is that girl?’
+
+‘Sissy Jupe, sir,’ explained number twenty, blushing, standing up, and
+curtseying.
+
+‘Sissy is not a name,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Don’t call yourself Sissy.
+Call yourself Cecilia.’
+
+‘It’s father as calls me Sissy, sir,’ returned the young girl in a
+trembling voice, and with another curtsey.
+
+‘Then he has no business to do it,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Tell him he
+mustn’t. Cecilia Jupe. Let me see. What is your father?’
+
+‘He belongs to the horse-riding, if you please, sir.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind frowned, and waved off the objectionable calling with his
+hand.
+
+‘We don’t want to know anything about that, here. You mustn’t tell us
+about that, here. Your father breaks horses, don’t he?’
+
+‘If you please, sir, when they can get any to break, they do break horses
+in the ring, sir.’
+
+‘You mustn’t tell us about the ring, here. Very well, then. Describe
+your father as a horsebreaker. He doctors sick horses, I dare say?’
+
+‘Oh yes, sir.’
+
+‘Very well, then. He is a veterinary surgeon, a farrier, and
+horsebreaker. Give me your definition of a horse.’
+
+(Sissy Jupe thrown into the greatest alarm by this demand.)
+
+‘Girl number twenty unable to define a horse!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, for
+the general behoof of all the little pitchers. ‘Girl number twenty
+possessed of no facts, in reference to one of the commonest of animals!
+Some boy’s definition of a horse. Bitzer, yours.’
+
+The square finger, moving here and there, lighted suddenly on Bitzer,
+perhaps because he chanced to sit in the same ray of sunlight which,
+darting in at one of the bare windows of the intensely white-washed room,
+irradiated Sissy. For, the boys and girls sat on the face of the
+inclined plane in two compact bodies, divided up the centre by a narrow
+interval; and Sissy, being at the corner of a row on the sunny side, came
+in for the beginning of a sunbeam, of which Bitzer, being at the corner
+of a row on the other side, a few rows in advance, caught the end. But,
+whereas the girl was so dark-eyed and dark-haired, that she seemed to
+receive a deeper and more lustrous colour from the sun, when it shone
+upon her, the boy was so light-eyed and light-haired that the self-same
+rays appeared to draw out of him what little colour he ever possessed.
+His cold eyes would hardly have been eyes, but for the short ends of
+lashes which, by bringing them into immediate contrast with something
+paler than themselves, expressed their form. His short-cropped hair
+might have been a mere continuation of the sandy freckles on his forehead
+and face. His skin was so unwholesomely deficient in the natural tinge,
+that he looked as though, if he were cut, he would bleed white.
+
+‘Bitzer,’ said Thomas Gradgrind. ‘Your definition of a horse.’
+
+‘Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth, namely twenty-four grinders,
+four eye-teeth, and twelve incisive. Sheds coat in the spring; in marshy
+countries, sheds hoofs, too. Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod with
+iron. Age known by marks in mouth.’ Thus (and much more) Bitzer.
+
+‘Now girl number twenty,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘You know what a horse
+is.’
+
+She curtseyed again, and would have blushed deeper, if she could have
+blushed deeper than she had blushed all this time. Bitzer, after rapidly
+blinking at Thomas Gradgrind with both eyes at once, and so catching the
+light upon his quivering ends of lashes that they looked like the antennæ
+of busy insects, put his knuckles to his freckled forehead, and sat down
+again.
+
+The third gentleman now stepped forth. A mighty man at cutting and
+drying, he was; a government officer; in his way (and in most other
+people’s too), a professed pugilist; always in training, always with a
+system to force down the general throat like a bolus, always to be heard
+of at the bar of his little Public-office, ready to fight all England.
+To continue in fistic phraseology, he had a genius for coming up to the
+scratch, wherever and whatever it was, and proving himself an ugly
+customer. He would go in and damage any subject whatever with his right,
+follow up with his left, stop, exchange, counter, bore his opponent (he
+always fought All England) to the ropes, and fall upon him neatly. He
+was certain to knock the wind out of common sense, and render that
+unlucky adversary deaf to the call of time. And he had it in charge from
+high authority to bring about the great public-office Millennium, when
+Commissioners should reign upon earth.
+
+‘Very well,’ said this gentleman, briskly smiling, and folding his arms.
+‘That’s a horse. Now, let me ask you girls and boys, Would you paper a
+room with representations of horses?’
+
+After a pause, one half of the children cried in chorus, ‘Yes, sir!’
+Upon which the other half, seeing in the gentleman’s face that Yes was
+wrong, cried out in chorus, ‘No, sir!’—as the custom is, in these
+examinations.
+
+‘Of course, No. Why wouldn’t you?’
+
+A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a wheezy manner of breathing,
+ventured the answer, Because he wouldn’t paper a room at all, but would
+paint it.
+
+‘You _must_ paper it,’ said the gentleman, rather warmly.
+
+‘You must paper it,’ said Thomas Gradgrind, ‘whether you like it or not.
+Don’t tell _us_ you wouldn’t paper it. What do you mean, boy?’
+
+‘I’ll explain to you, then,’ said the gentleman, after another and a
+dismal pause, ‘why you wouldn’t paper a room with representations of
+horses. Do you ever see horses walking up and down the sides of rooms in
+reality—in fact? Do you?’
+
+‘Yes, sir!’ from one half. ‘No, sir!’ from the other.
+
+‘Of course no,’ said the gentleman, with an indignant look at the wrong
+half. ‘Why, then, you are not to see anywhere, what you don’t see in
+fact; you are not to have anywhere, what you don’t have in fact. What is
+called Taste, is only another name for Fact.’ Thomas Gradgrind nodded
+his approbation.
+
+‘This is a new principle, a discovery, a great discovery,’ said the
+gentleman. ‘Now, I’ll try you again. Suppose you were going to carpet a
+room. Would you use a carpet having a representation of flowers upon
+it?’
+
+There being a general conviction by this time that ‘No, sir!’ was always
+the right answer to this gentleman, the chorus of NO was very strong.
+Only a few feeble stragglers said Yes: among them Sissy Jupe.
+
+‘Girl number twenty,’ said the gentleman, smiling in the calm strength of
+knowledge.
+
+Sissy blushed, and stood up.
+
+‘So you would carpet your room—or your husband’s room, if you were a
+grown woman, and had a husband—with representations of flowers, would
+you?’ said the gentleman. ‘Why would you?’
+
+‘If you please, sir, I am very fond of flowers,’ returned the girl.
+
+‘And is that why you would put tables and chairs upon them, and have
+people walking over them with heavy boots?’
+
+‘It wouldn’t hurt them, sir. They wouldn’t crush and wither, if you
+please, sir. They would be the pictures of what was very pretty and
+pleasant, and I would fancy—’
+
+‘Ay, ay, ay! But you mustn’t fancy,’ cried the gentleman, quite elated
+by coming so happily to his point. ‘That’s it! You are never to fancy.’
+
+‘You are not, Cecilia Jupe,’ Thomas Gradgrind solemnly repeated, ‘to do
+anything of that kind.’
+
+‘Fact, fact, fact!’ said the gentleman. And ‘Fact, fact, fact!’ repeated
+Thomas Gradgrind.
+
+‘You are to be in all things regulated and governed,’ said the gentleman,
+‘by fact. We hope to have, before long, a board of fact, composed of
+commissioners of fact, who will force the people to be a people of fact,
+and of nothing but fact. You must discard the word Fancy altogether.
+You have nothing to do with it. You are not to have, in any object of
+use or ornament, what would be a contradiction in fact. You don’t walk
+upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowed to walk upon flowers in
+carpets. You don’t find that foreign birds and butterflies come and
+perch upon your crockery; you cannot be permitted to paint foreign birds
+and butterflies upon your crockery. You never meet with quadrupeds going
+up and down walls; you must not have quadrupeds represented upon walls.
+You must use,’ said the gentleman, ‘for all these purposes, combinations
+and modifications (in primary colours) of mathematical figures which are
+susceptible of proof and demonstration. This is the new discovery. This
+is fact. This is taste.’
+
+The girl curtseyed, and sat down. She was very young, and she looked as
+if she were frightened by the matter-of-fact prospect the world afforded.
+
+‘Now, if Mr. M’Choakumchild,’ said the gentleman, ‘will proceed to give
+his first lesson here, Mr. Gradgrind, I shall be happy, at your request,
+to observe his mode of procedure.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind was much obliged. ‘Mr. M’Choakumchild, we only wait for
+you.’
+
+So, Mr. M’Choakumchild began in his best manner. He and some one hundred
+and forty other schoolmasters, had been lately turned at the same time,
+in the same factory, on the same principles, like so many pianoforte
+legs. He had been put through an immense variety of paces, and had
+answered volumes of head-breaking questions. Orthography, etymology,
+syntax, and prosody, biography, astronomy, geography, and general
+cosmography, the sciences of compound proportion, algebra, land-surveying
+and levelling, vocal music, and drawing from models, were all at the ends
+of his ten chilled fingers. He had worked his stony way into Her
+Majesty’s most Honourable Privy Council’s Schedule B, and had taken the
+bloom off the higher branches of mathematics and physical science,
+French, German, Latin, and Greek. He knew all about all the Water Sheds
+of all the world (whatever they are), and all the histories of all the
+peoples, and all the names of all the rivers and mountains, and all the
+productions, manners, and customs of all the countries, and all their
+boundaries and bearings on the two and thirty points of the compass. Ah,
+rather overdone, M’Choakumchild. If he had only learnt a little less,
+how infinitely better he might have taught much more!
+
+He went to work in this preparatory lesson, not unlike Morgiana in the
+Forty Thieves: looking into all the vessels ranged before him, one after
+another, to see what they contained. Say, good M’Choakumchild. When
+from thy boiling store, thou shalt fill each jar brim full by-and-by,
+dost thou think that thou wilt always kill outright the robber Fancy
+lurking within—or sometimes only maim him and distort him!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+A LOOPHOLE
+
+
+MR. GRADGRIND walked homeward from the school, in a state of considerable
+satisfaction. It was his school, and he intended it to be a model. He
+intended every child in it to be a model—just as the young Gradgrinds
+were all models.
+
+There were five young Gradgrinds, and they were models every one. They
+had been lectured at, from their tenderest years; coursed, like little
+hares. Almost as soon as they could run alone, they had been made to run
+to the lecture-room. The first object with which they had an
+association, or of which they had a remembrance, was a large black board
+with a dry Ogre chalking ghastly white figures on it.
+
+Not that they knew, by name or nature, anything about an Ogre Fact
+forbid! I only use the word to express a monster in a lecturing castle,
+with Heaven knows how many heads manipulated into one, taking childhood
+captive, and dragging it into gloomy statistical dens by the hair.
+
+No little Gradgrind had ever seen a face in the moon; it was up in the
+moon before it could speak distinctly. No little Gradgrind had ever
+learnt the silly jingle, Twinkle, twinkle, little star; how I wonder what
+you are! No little Gradgrind had ever known wonder on the subject, each
+little Gradgrind having at five years old dissected the Great Bear like a
+Professor Owen, and driven Charles’s Wain like a locomotive
+engine-driver. No little Gradgrind had ever associated a cow in a field
+with that famous cow with the crumpled horn who tossed the dog who
+worried the cat who killed the rat who ate the malt, or with that yet
+more famous cow who swallowed Tom Thumb: it had never heard of those
+celebrities, and had only been introduced to a cow as a graminivorous
+ruminating quadruped with several stomachs.
+
+To his matter-of-fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind
+directed his steps. He had virtually retired from the wholesale hardware
+trade before he built Stone Lodge, and was now looking about for a
+suitable opportunity of making an arithmetical figure in Parliament.
+Stone Lodge was situated on a moor within a mile or two of a great
+town—called Coketown in the present faithful guide-book.
+
+A very regular feature on the face of the country, Stone Lodge was. Not
+the least disguise toned down or shaded off that uncompromising fact in
+the landscape. A great square house, with a heavy portico darkening the
+principal windows, as its master’s heavy brows overshadowed his eyes. A
+calculated, cast up, balanced, and proved house. Six windows on this
+side of the door, six on that side; a total of twelve in this wing, a
+total of twelve in the other wing; four-and-twenty carried over to the
+back wings. A lawn and garden and an infant avenue, all ruled straight
+like a botanical account-book. Gas and ventilation, drainage and
+water-service, all of the primest quality. Iron clamps and girders,
+fire-proof from top to bottom; mechanical lifts for the housemaids, with
+all their brushes and brooms; everything that heart could desire.
+
+Everything? Well, I suppose so. The little Gradgrinds had cabinets in
+various departments of science too. They had a little conchological
+cabinet, and a little metallurgical cabinet, and a little mineralogical
+cabinet; and the specimens were all arranged and labelled, and the bits
+of stone and ore looked as though they might have been broken from the
+parent substances by those tremendously hard instruments their own names;
+and, to paraphrase the idle legend of Peter Piper, who had never found
+his way into their nursery, If the greedy little Gradgrinds grasped at
+more than this, what was it for good gracious goodness’ sake, that the
+greedy little Gradgrinds grasped it!
+
+Their father walked on in a hopeful and satisfied frame of mind. He was
+an affectionate father, after his manner; but he would probably have
+described himself (if he had been put, like Sissy Jupe, upon a
+definition) as ‘an eminently practical’ father. He had a particular
+pride in the phrase eminently practical, which was considered to have a
+special application to him. Whatsoever the public meeting held in
+Coketown, and whatsoever the subject of such meeting, some Coketowner was
+sure to seize the occasion of alluding to his eminently practical friend
+Gradgrind. This always pleased the eminently practical friend. He knew
+it to be his due, but his due was acceptable.
+
+He had reached the neutral ground upon the outskirts of the town, which
+was neither town nor country, and yet was either spoiled, when his ears
+were invaded by the sound of music. The clashing and banging band
+attached to the horse-riding establishment, which had there set up its
+rest in a wooden pavilion, was in full bray. A flag, floating from the
+summit of the temple, proclaimed to mankind that it was ‘Sleary’s
+Horse-riding’ which claimed their suffrages. Sleary himself, a stout
+modern statue with a money-box at its elbow, in an ecclesiastical niche
+of early Gothic architecture, took the money. Miss Josephine Sleary, as
+some very long and very narrow strips of printed bill announced, was then
+inaugurating the entertainments with her graceful equestrian Tyrolean
+flower-act. Among the other pleasing but always strictly moral wonders
+which must be seen to be believed, Signor Jupe was that afternoon to
+‘elucidate the diverting accomplishments of his highly trained performing
+dog Merrylegs.’ He was also to exhibit ‘his astounding feat of throwing
+seventy-five hundred-weight in rapid succession backhanded over his head,
+thus forming a fountain of solid iron in mid-air, a feat never before
+attempted in this or any other country, and which having elicited such
+rapturous plaudits from enthusiastic throngs it cannot be withdrawn.’
+The same Signor Jupe was to ‘enliven the varied performances at frequent
+intervals with his chaste Shaksperean quips and retorts.’ Lastly, he was
+to wind them up by appearing in his favourite character of Mr. William
+Button, of Tooley Street, in ‘the highly novel and laughable
+hippo-comedietta of The Tailor’s Journey to Brentford.’
+
+Thomas Gradgrind took no heed of these trivialities of course, but passed
+on as a practical man ought to pass on, either brushing the noisy insects
+from his thoughts, or consigning them to the House of Correction. But,
+the turning of the road took him by the back of the booth, and at the
+back of the booth a number of children were congregated in a number of
+stealthy attitudes, striving to peep in at the hidden glories of the
+place.
+
+This brought him to a stop. ‘Now, to think of these vagabonds,’ said he,
+‘attracting the young rabble from a model school.’
+
+A space of stunted grass and dry rubbish being between him and the young
+rabble, he took his eyeglass out of his waistcoat to look for any child
+he knew by name, and might order off. Phenomenon almost incredible
+though distinctly seen, what did he then behold but his own metallurgical
+Louisa, peeping with all her might through a hole in a deal board, and
+his own mathematical Thomas abasing himself on the ground to catch but a
+hoof of the graceful equestrian Tyrolean flower-act!
+
+Dumb with amazement, Mr. Gradgrind crossed to the spot where his family
+was thus disgraced, laid his hand upon each erring child, and said:
+
+‘Louisa!! Thomas!!’
+
+Both rose, red and disconcerted. But, Louisa looked at her father with
+more boldness than Thomas did. Indeed, Thomas did not look at him, but
+gave himself up to be taken home like a machine.
+
+‘In the name of wonder, idleness, and folly!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, leading
+each away by a hand; ‘what do you do here?’
+
+‘Wanted to see what it was like,’ returned Louisa, shortly.
+
+‘What it was like?’
+
+‘Yes, father.’
+
+There was an air of jaded sullenness in them both, and particularly in
+the girl: yet, struggling through the dissatisfaction of her face, there
+was a light with nothing to rest upon, a fire with nothing to burn, a
+starved imagination keeping life in itself somehow, which brightened its
+expression. Not with the brightness natural to cheerful youth, but with
+uncertain, eager, doubtful flashes, which had something painful in them,
+analogous to the changes on a blind face groping its way.
+
+She was a child now, of fifteen or sixteen; but at no distant day would
+seem to become a woman all at once. Her father thought so as he looked
+at her. She was pretty. Would have been self-willed (he thought in his
+eminently practical way) but for her bringing-up.
+
+‘Thomas, though I have the fact before me, I find it difficult to believe
+that you, with your education and resources, should have brought your
+sister to a scene like this.’
+
+‘I brought _him_, father,’ said Louisa, quickly. ‘I asked him to come.’
+
+‘I am sorry to hear it. I am very sorry indeed to hear it. It makes
+Thomas no better, and it makes you worse, Louisa.’
+
+She looked at her father again, but no tear fell down her cheek.
+
+‘You! Thomas and you, to whom the circle of the sciences is open; Thomas
+and you, who may be said to be replete with facts; Thomas and you, who
+have been trained to mathematical exactness; Thomas and you, here!’ cried
+Mr. Gradgrind. ‘In this degraded position! I am amazed.’
+
+‘I was tired, father. I have been tired a long time,’ said Louisa.
+
+‘Tired? Of what?’ asked the astonished father.
+
+‘I don’t know of what—of everything, I think.’
+
+‘Say not another word,’ returned Mr. Gradgrind. ‘You are childish. I
+will hear no more.’ He did not speak again until they had walked some
+half-a-mile in silence, when he gravely broke out with: ‘What would your
+best friends say, Louisa? Do you attach no value to their good opinion?
+What would Mr. Bounderby say?’ At the mention of this name, his daughter
+stole a look at him, remarkable for its intense and searching character.
+He saw nothing of it, for before he looked at her, she had again cast
+down her eyes!
+
+‘What,’ he repeated presently, ‘would Mr. Bounderby say?’ All the way to
+Stone Lodge, as with grave indignation he led the two delinquents home,
+he repeated at intervals ‘What would Mr. Bounderby say?’—as if Mr.
+Bounderby had been Mrs. Grundy.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+MR. BOUNDERBY
+
+
+NOT being Mrs. Grundy, who _was_ Mr. Bounderby?
+
+Why, Mr. Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind’s bosom friend, as a
+man perfectly devoid of sentiment can approach that spiritual
+relationship towards another man perfectly devoid of sentiment. So near
+was Mr. Bounderby—or, if the reader should prefer it, so far off.
+
+He was a rich man: banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not. A big,
+loud man, with a stare, and a metallic laugh. A man made out of a coarse
+material, which seemed to have been stretched to make so much of him. A
+man with a great puffed head and forehead, swelled veins in his temples,
+and such a strained skin to his face that it seemed to hold his eyes
+open, and lift his eyebrows up. A man with a pervading appearance on him
+of being inflated like a balloon, and ready to start. A man who could
+never sufficiently vaunt himself a self-made man. A man who was always
+proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his
+old ignorance and his old poverty. A man who was the Bully of humility.
+
+A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend, Mr. Bounderby
+looked older; his seven or eight and forty might have had the seven or
+eight added to it again, without surprising anybody. He had not much
+hair. One might have fancied he had talked it off; and that what was
+left, all standing up in disorder, was in that condition from being
+constantly blown about by his windy boastfulness.
+
+In the formal drawing-room of Stone Lodge, standing on the hearthrug,
+warming himself before the fire, Mr. Bounderby delivered some
+observations to Mrs. Gradgrind on the circumstance of its being his
+birthday. He stood before the fire, partly because it was a cool spring
+afternoon, though the sun shone; partly because the shade of Stone Lodge
+was always haunted by the ghost of damp mortar; partly because he thus
+took up a commanding position, from which to subdue Mrs. Gradgrind.
+
+‘I hadn’t a shoe to my foot. As to a stocking, I didn’t know such a
+thing by name. I passed the day in a ditch, and the night in a pigsty.
+That’s the way I spent my tenth birthday. Not that a ditch was new to
+me, for I was born in a ditch.’
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind, a little, thin, white, pink-eyed bundle of shawls, of
+surpassing feebleness, mental and bodily; who was always taking physic
+without any effect, and who, whenever she showed a symptom of coming to
+life, was invariably stunned by some weighty piece of fact tumbling on
+her; Mrs. Gradgrind hoped it was a dry ditch?
+
+‘No! As wet as a sop. A foot of water in it,’ said Mr. Bounderby.
+
+‘Enough to give a baby cold,’ Mrs. Gradgrind considered.
+
+‘Cold? I was born with inflammation of the lungs, and of everything
+else, I believe, that was capable of inflammation,’ returned Mr.
+Bounderby. ‘For years, ma’am, I was one of the most miserable little
+wretches ever seen. I was so sickly, that I was always moaning and
+groaning. I was so ragged and dirty, that you wouldn’t have touched me
+with a pair of tongs.’
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind faintly looked at the tongs, as the most appropriate thing
+her imbecility could think of doing.
+
+‘How I fought through it, _I_ don’t know,’ said Bounderby. ‘I was
+determined, I suppose. I have been a determined character in later life,
+and I suppose I was then. Here I am, Mrs. Gradgrind, anyhow, and nobody
+to thank for my being here, but myself.’
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind meekly and weakly hoped that his mother—
+
+‘_My_ mother? Bolted, ma’am!’ said Bounderby.
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind, stunned as usual, collapsed and gave it up.
+
+‘My mother left me to my grandmother,’ said Bounderby; ‘and, according to
+the best of my remembrance, my grandmother was the wickedest and the
+worst old woman that ever lived. If I got a little pair of shoes by any
+chance, she would take ’em off and sell ’em for drink. Why, I have known
+that grandmother of mine lie in her bed and drink her four-teen glasses
+of liquor before breakfast!’
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind, weakly smiling, and giving no other sign of vitality,
+looked (as she always did) like an indifferently executed transparency of
+a small female figure, without enough light behind it.
+
+‘She kept a chandler’s shop,’ pursued Bounderby, ‘and kept me in an
+egg-box. That was the cot of _my_ infancy; an old egg-box. As soon as I
+was big enough to run away, of course I ran away. Then I became a young
+vagabond; and instead of one old woman knocking me about and starving me,
+everybody of all ages knocked me about and starved me. They were right;
+they had no business to do anything else. I was a nuisance, an
+incumbrance, and a pest. I know that very well.’
+
+His pride in having at any time of his life achieved such a great social
+distinction as to be a nuisance, an incumbrance, and a pest, was only to
+be satisfied by three sonorous repetitions of the boast.
+
+‘I was to pull through it, I suppose, Mrs. Gradgrind. Whether I was to
+do it or not, ma’am, I did it. I pulled through it, though nobody threw
+me out a rope. Vagabond, errand-boy, vagabond, labourer, porter, clerk,
+chief manager, small partner, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown. Those are
+the antecedents, and the culmination. Josiah Bounderby of Coketown
+learnt his letters from the outsides of the shops, Mrs. Gradgrind, and
+was first able to tell the time upon a dial-plate, from studying the
+steeple clock of St. Giles’s Church, London, under the direction of a
+drunken cripple, who was a convicted thief, and an incorrigible vagrant.
+Tell Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, of your district schools and your
+model schools, and your training schools, and your whole kettle-of-fish
+of schools; and Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, tells you plainly, all
+right, all correct—he hadn’t such advantages—but let us have hard-headed,
+solid-fisted people—the education that made him won’t do for everybody,
+he knows well—such and such his education was, however, and you may force
+him to swallow boiling fat, but you shall never force him to suppress the
+facts of his life.’
+
+Being heated when he arrived at this climax, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown
+stopped. He stopped just as his eminently practical friend, still
+accompanied by the two young culprits, entered the room. His eminently
+practical friend, on seeing him, stopped also, and gave Louisa a
+reproachful look that plainly said, ‘Behold your Bounderby!’
+
+‘Well!’ blustered Mr. Bounderby, ‘what’s the matter? What is young
+Thomas in the dumps about?’
+
+He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa.
+
+‘We were peeping at the circus,’ muttered Louisa, haughtily, without
+lifting up her eyes, ‘and father caught us.’
+
+‘And, Mrs. Gradgrind,’ said her husband in a lofty manner, ‘I should as
+soon have expected to find my children reading poetry.’
+
+‘Dear me,’ whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. ‘How can you, Louisa and Thomas! I
+wonder at you. I declare you’re enough to make one regret ever having
+had a family at all. I have a great mind to say I wish I hadn’t. _Then_
+what would you have done, I should like to know?’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind did not seem favourably impressed by these cogent remarks.
+He frowned impatiently.
+
+‘As if, with my head in its present throbbing state, you couldn’t go and
+look at the shells and minerals and things provided for you, instead of
+circuses!’ said Mrs. Gradgrind. ‘You know, as well as I do, no young
+people have circus masters, or keep circuses in cabinets, or attend
+lectures about circuses. What can you possibly want to know of circuses
+then? I am sure you have enough to do, if that’s what you want. With my
+head in its present state, I couldn’t remember the mere names of half the
+facts you have got to attend to.’
+
+‘That’s the reason!’ pouted Louisa.
+
+‘Don’t tell me that’s the reason, because it can’t be nothing of the
+sort,’ said Mrs. Gradgrind. ‘Go and be somethingological directly.’
+Mrs. Gradgrind was not a scientific character, and usually dismissed her
+children to their studies with this general injunction to choose their
+pursuit.
+
+In truth, Mrs. Gradgrind’s stock of facts in general was woefully
+defective; but Mr. Gradgrind in raising her to her high matrimonial
+position, had been influenced by two reasons. Firstly, she was most
+satisfactory as a question of figures; and, secondly, she had ‘no
+nonsense’ about her. By nonsense he meant fancy; and truly it is
+probable she was as free from any alloy of that nature, as any human
+being not arrived at the perfection of an absolute idiot, ever was.
+
+The simple circumstance of being left alone with her husband and Mr.
+Bounderby, was sufficient to stun this admirable lady again without
+collision between herself and any other fact. So, she once more died
+away, and nobody minded her.
+
+‘Bounderby,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, drawing a chair to the fireside, ‘you
+are always so interested in my young people—particularly in Louisa—that I
+make no apology for saying to you, I am very much vexed by this
+discovery. I have systematically devoted myself (as you know) to the
+education of the reason of my family. The reason is (as you know) the
+only faculty to which education should be addressed. ‘And yet,
+Bounderby, it would appear from this unexpected circumstance of to-day,
+though in itself a trifling one, as if something had crept into Thomas’s
+and Louisa’s minds which is—or rather, which is not—I don’t know that I
+can express myself better than by saying—which has never been intended to
+be developed, and in which their reason has no part.’
+
+‘There certainly is no reason in looking with interest at a parcel of
+vagabonds,’ returned Bounderby. ‘When I was a vagabond myself, nobody
+looked with any interest at _me_; I know that.’
+
+‘Then comes the question; said the eminently practical father, with his
+eyes on the fire, ‘in what has this vulgar curiosity its rise?’
+
+‘I’ll tell you in what. In idle imagination.’
+
+‘I hope not,’ said the eminently practical; ‘I confess, however, that the
+misgiving _has_ crossed me on my way home.’
+
+‘In idle imagination, Gradgrind,’ repeated Bounderby. ‘A very bad thing
+for anybody, but a cursed bad thing for a girl like Louisa. I should ask
+Mrs. Gradgrind’s pardon for strong expressions, but that she knows very
+well I am not a refined character. Whoever expects refinement in _me_
+will be disappointed. I hadn’t a refined bringing up.’
+
+‘Whether,’ said Gradgrind, pondering with his hands in his pockets, and
+his cavernous eyes on the fire, ‘whether any instructor or servant can
+have suggested anything? Whether Louisa or Thomas can have been reading
+anything? Whether, in spite of all precautions, any idle story-book can
+have got into the house? Because, in minds that have been practically
+formed by rule and line, from the cradle upwards, this is so curious, so
+incomprehensible.’
+
+‘Stop a bit!’ cried Bounderby, who all this time had been standing, as
+before, on the hearth, bursting at the very furniture of the room with
+explosive humility. ‘You have one of those strollers’ children in the
+school.’
+
+‘Cecilia Jupe, by name,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, with something of a stricken
+look at his friend.
+
+‘Now, stop a bit!’ cried Bounderby again. ‘How did she come there?’
+
+‘Why, the fact is, I saw the girl myself, for the first time, only just
+now. She specially applied here at the house to be admitted, as not
+regularly belonging to our town, and—yes, you are right, Bounderby, you
+are right.’
+
+‘Now, stop a bit!’ cried Bounderby, once more. ‘Louisa saw her when she
+came?’
+
+‘Louisa certainly did see her, for she mentioned the application to me.
+But Louisa saw her, I have no doubt, in Mrs. Gradgrind’s presence.’
+
+‘Pray, Mrs. Gradgrind,’ said Bounderby, ‘what passed?’
+
+‘Oh, my poor health!’ returned Mrs. Gradgrind. ‘The girl wanted to come
+to the school, and Mr. Gradgrind wanted girls to come to the school, and
+Louisa and Thomas both said that the girl wanted to come, and that Mr.
+Gradgrind wanted girls to come, and how was it possible to contradict
+them when such was the fact!’
+
+‘Now I tell you what, Gradgrind!’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘Turn this girl to
+the right about, and there’s an end of it.’
+
+‘I am much of your opinion.’
+
+‘Do it at once,’ said Bounderby, ‘has always been my motto from a child.
+When I thought I would run away from my egg-box and my grandmother, I did
+it at once. Do you the same. Do this at once!’
+
+‘Are you walking?’ asked his friend. ‘I have the father’s address.
+Perhaps you would not mind walking to town with me?’
+
+‘Not the least in the world,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘as long as you do it
+at once!’
+
+So, Mr. Bounderby threw on his hat—he always threw it on, as expressing a
+man who had been far too busily employed in making himself, to acquire
+any fashion of wearing his hat—and with his hands in his pockets,
+sauntered out into the hall. ‘I never wear gloves,’ it was his custom to
+say. ‘I didn’t climb up the ladder in _them_.—Shouldn’t be so high up,
+if I had.’
+
+Being left to saunter in the hall a minute or two while Mr. Gradgrind
+went up-stairs for the address, he opened the door of the children’s
+study and looked into that serene floor-clothed apartment, which,
+notwithstanding its book-cases and its cabinets and its variety of
+learned and philosophical appliances, had much of the genial aspect of a
+room devoted to hair-cutting. Louisa languidly leaned upon the window
+looking out, without looking at anything, while young Thomas stood
+sniffing revengefully at the fire. Adam Smith and Malthus, two younger
+Gradgrinds, were out at lecture in custody; and little Jane, after
+manufacturing a good deal of moist pipe-clay on her face with
+slate-pencil and tears, had fallen asleep over vulgar fractions.
+
+‘It’s all right now, Louisa: it’s all right, young Thomas,’ said Mr.
+Bounderby; ‘you won’t do so any more. I’ll answer for it’s being all
+over with father. Well, Louisa, that’s worth a kiss, isn’t it?’
+
+‘You can take one, Mr. Bounderby,’ returned Louisa, when she had coldly
+paused, and slowly walked across the room, and ungraciously raised her
+cheek towards him, with her face turned away.
+
+‘Always my pet; ain’t you, Louisa?’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘Good-bye,
+Louisa!’
+
+He went his way, but she stood on the same spot, rubbing the cheek he had
+kissed, with her handkerchief, until it was burning red. She was still
+doing this, five minutes afterwards.
+
+‘What are you about, Loo?’ her brother sulkily remonstrated. ‘You’ll rub
+a hole in your face.’
+
+‘You may cut the piece out with your penknife if you like, Tom. I
+wouldn’t cry!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+THE KEYNOTE
+
+
+COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a
+triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs.
+Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing
+our tune.
+
+It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the
+smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of
+unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town
+of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of
+smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It
+had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling
+dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a
+rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the
+steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an
+elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large
+streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like
+one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went
+in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same
+pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as
+yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and
+the next.
+
+These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work
+by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of
+life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life
+which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely
+bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were
+voluntary, and they were these.
+
+You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the
+members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there—as the members of
+eighteen religious persuasions had done—they made it a pious warehouse of
+red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental
+examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception
+was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the
+door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All
+the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe
+characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary,
+the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been
+either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the
+contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact,
+everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact,
+everywhere in the immaterial. The M’Choakumchild school was all fact,
+and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master
+and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in
+hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn’t state in figures, or
+show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the
+dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen.
+
+A town so sacred to fact, and so triumphant in its assertion, of course
+got on well? Why no, not quite well. No? Dear me!
+
+No. Coketown did not come out of its own furnaces, in all respects like
+gold that had stood the fire. First, the perplexing mystery of the place
+was, Who belonged to the eighteen denominations? Because, whoever did,
+the labouring people did not. It was very strange to walk through the
+streets on a Sunday morning, and note how few of _them_ the barbarous
+jangling of bells that was driving the sick and nervous mad, called away
+from their own quarter, from their own close rooms, from the corners of
+their own streets, where they lounged listlessly, gazing at all the
+church and chapel going, as at a thing with which they had no manner of
+concern. Nor was it merely the stranger who noticed this, because there
+was a native organization in Coketown itself, whose members were to be
+heard of in the House of Commons every session, indignantly petitioning
+for acts of parliament that should make these people religious by main
+force. Then came the Teetotal Society, who complained that these same
+people _would_ get drunk, and showed in tabular statements that they did
+get drunk, and proved at tea parties that no inducement, human or Divine
+(except a medal), would induce them to forego their custom of getting
+drunk. Then came the chemist and druggist, with other tabular
+statements, showing that when they didn’t get drunk, they took opium.
+Then came the experienced chaplain of the jail, with more tabular
+statements, outdoing all the previous tabular statements, and showing
+that the same people _would_ resort to low haunts, hidden from the public
+eye, where they heard low singing and saw low dancing, and mayhap joined
+in it; and where A. B., aged twenty-four next birthday, and committed for
+eighteen months’ solitary, had himself said (not that he had ever shown
+himself particularly worthy of belief) his ruin began, as he was
+perfectly sure and confident that otherwise he would have been a tip-top
+moral specimen. Then came Mr. Gradgrind and Mr. Bounderby, the two
+gentlemen at this present moment walking through Coketown, and both
+eminently practical, who could, on occasion, furnish more tabular
+statements derived from their own personal experience, and illustrated by
+cases they had known and seen, from which it clearly appeared—in short,
+it was the only clear thing in the case—that these same people were a bad
+lot altogether, gentlemen; that do what you would for them they were
+never thankful for it, gentlemen; that they were restless, gentlemen;
+that they never knew what they wanted; that they lived upon the best, and
+bought fresh butter; and insisted on Mocha coffee, and rejected all but
+prime parts of meat, and yet were eternally dissatisfied and
+unmanageable. In short, it was the moral of the old nursery fable:
+
+ There was an old woman, and what do you think?
+ She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
+ Victuals and drink were the whole of her diet,
+ And yet this old woman would NEVER be quiet.
+
+Is it possible, I wonder, that there was any analogy between the case of
+the Coketown population and the case of the little Gradgrinds? Surely,
+none of us in our sober senses and acquainted with figures, are to be
+told at this time of day, that one of the foremost elements in the
+existence of the Coketown working-people had been for scores of years,
+deliberately set at nought? That there was any Fancy in them demanding
+to be brought into healthy existence instead of struggling on in
+convulsions? That exactly in the ratio as they worked long and
+monotonously, the craving grew within them for some physical relief—some
+relaxation, encouraging good humour and good spirits, and giving them a
+vent—some recognized holiday, though it were but for an honest dance to a
+stirring band of music—some occasional light pie in which even
+M’Choakumchild had no finger—which craving must and would be satisfied
+aright, or must and would inevitably go wrong, until the laws of the
+Creation were repealed?
+
+‘This man lives at Pod’s End, and I don’t quite know Pod’s End,’ said Mr.
+Gradgrind. ‘Which is it, Bounderby?’
+
+Mr. Bounderby knew it was somewhere down town, but knew no more
+respecting it. So they stopped for a moment, looking about.
+
+Almost as they did so, there came running round the corner of the street
+at a quick pace and with a frightened look, a girl whom Mr. Gradgrind
+recognized. ‘Halloa!’ said he. ‘Stop! Where are you going! Stop!’
+Girl number twenty stopped then, palpitating, and made him a curtsey.
+
+‘Why are you tearing about the streets,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘in this
+improper manner?’
+
+‘I was—I was run after, sir,’ the girl panted, ‘and I wanted to get
+away.’
+
+‘Run after?’ repeated Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Who would run after _you_?’
+
+The question was unexpectedly and suddenly answered for her, by the
+colourless boy, Bitzer, who came round the corner with such blind speed
+and so little anticipating a stoppage on the pavement, that he brought
+himself up against Mr. Gradgrind’s waistcoat and rebounded into the road.
+
+‘What do you mean, boy?’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘What are you doing? How
+dare you dash against—everybody—in this manner?’ Bitzer picked up his
+cap, which the concussion had knocked off; and backing, and knuckling his
+forehead, pleaded that it was an accident.
+
+‘Was this boy running after you, Jupe?’ asked Mr. Gradgrind.
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ said the girl reluctantly.
+
+‘No, I wasn’t, sir!’ cried Bitzer. ‘Not till she run away from me. But
+the horse-riders never mind what they say, sir; they’re famous for it.
+You know the horse-riders are famous for never minding what they say,’
+addressing Sissy. ‘It’s as well known in the town as—please, sir, as the
+multiplication table isn’t known to the horse-riders.’ Bitzer tried Mr.
+Bounderby with this.
+
+‘He frightened me so,’ said the girl, ‘with his cruel faces!’
+
+‘Oh!’ cried Bitzer. ‘Oh! An’t you one of the rest! An’t you a
+horse-rider! I never looked at her, sir. I asked her if she would know
+how to define a horse to-morrow, and offered to tell her again, and she
+ran away, and I ran after her, sir, that she might know how to answer
+when she was asked. You wouldn’t have thought of saying such mischief if
+you hadn’t been a horse-rider?’
+
+‘Her calling seems to be pretty well known among ’em,’ observed Mr.
+Bounderby. ‘You’d have had the whole school peeping in a row, in a
+week.’
+
+‘Truly, I think so,’ returned his friend. ‘Bitzer, turn you about and
+take yourself home. Jupe, stay here a moment. Let me hear of your
+running in this manner any more, boy, and you will hear of me through the
+master of the school. You understand what I mean. Go along.’
+
+The boy stopped in his rapid blinking, knuckled his forehead again,
+glanced at Sissy, turned about, and retreated.
+
+‘Now, girl,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘take this gentleman and me to your
+father’s; we are going there. What have you got in that bottle you are
+carrying?’
+
+‘Gin,’ said Mr. Bounderby.
+
+‘Dear, no, sir! It’s the nine oils.’
+
+‘The what?’ cried Mr. Bounderby.
+
+‘The nine oils, sir, to rub father with.’
+
+‘Then,’ said Mr. Bounderby, with a loud short laugh, ‘what the devil do
+you rub your father with nine oils for?’
+
+‘It’s what our people aways use, sir, when they get any hurts in the
+ring,’ replied the girl, looking over her shoulder, to assure herself
+that her pursuer was gone. ‘They bruise themselves very bad sometimes.’
+
+‘Serve ’em right,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘for being idle.’ She glanced up
+at his face, with mingled astonishment and dread.
+
+‘By George!’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘when I was four or five years younger
+than you, I had worse bruises upon me than ten oils, twenty oils, forty
+oils, would have rubbed off. I didn’t get ’em by posture-making, but by
+being banged about. There was no rope-dancing for me; I danced on the
+bare ground and was larruped with the rope.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, though hard enough, was by no means so rough a man as Mr.
+Bounderby. His character was not unkind, all things considered; it might
+have been a very kind one indeed, if he had only made some round mistake
+in the arithmetic that balanced it, years ago. He said, in what he meant
+for a reassuring tone, as they turned down a narrow road, ‘And this is
+Pod’s End; is it, Jupe?’
+
+‘This is it, sir, and—if you wouldn’t mind, sir—this is the house.’
+
+She stopped, at twilight, at the door of a mean little public-house, with
+dim red lights in it. As haggard and as shabby, as if, for want of
+custom, it had itself taken to drinking, and had gone the way all
+drunkards go, and was very near the end of it.
+
+‘It’s only crossing the bar, sir, and up the stairs, if you wouldn’t
+mind, and waiting there for a moment till I get a candle. If you should
+hear a dog, sir, it’s only Merrylegs, and he only barks.’
+
+‘Merrylegs and nine oils, eh!’ said Mr. Bounderby, entering last with his
+metallic laugh. ‘Pretty well this, for a self-made man!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+SLEARY’S HORSEMANSHIP
+
+
+THE name of the public-house was the Pegasus’s Arms. The Pegasus’s legs
+might have been more to the purpose; but, underneath the winged horse
+upon the sign-board, the Pegasus’s Arms was inscribed in Roman letters.
+Beneath that inscription again, in a flowing scroll, the painter had
+touched off the lines:
+
+ Good malt makes good beer,
+ Walk in, and they’ll draw it here;
+ Good wine makes good brandy,
+ Give us a call, and you’ll find it handy.
+
+Framed and glazed upon the wall behind the dingy little bar, was another
+Pegasus—a theatrical one—with real gauze let in for his wings, golden
+stars stuck on all over him, and his ethereal harness made of red silk.
+
+As it had grown too dusky without, to see the sign, and as it had not
+grown light enough within to see the picture, Mr. Gradgrind and Mr.
+Bounderby received no offence from these idealities. They followed the
+girl up some steep corner-stairs without meeting any one, and stopped in
+the dark while she went on for a candle. They expected every moment to
+hear Merrylegs give tongue, but the highly trained performing dog had not
+barked when the girl and the candle appeared together.
+
+‘Father is not in our room, sir,’ she said, with a face of great
+surprise. ‘If you wouldn’t mind walking in, I’ll find him directly.’
+They walked in; and Sissy, having set two chairs for them, sped away with
+a quick light step. It was a mean, shabbily furnished room, with a bed
+in it. The white night-cap, embellished with two peacock’s feathers and
+a pigtail bolt upright, in which Signor Jupe had that very afternoon
+enlivened the varied performances with his chaste Shaksperean quips and
+retorts, hung upon a nail; but no other portion of his wardrobe, or other
+token of himself or his pursuits, was to be seen anywhere. As to
+Merrylegs, that respectable ancestor of the highly trained animal who
+went aboard the ark, might have been accidentally shut out of it, for any
+sign of a dog that was manifest to eye or ear in the Pegasus’s Arms.
+
+They heard the doors of rooms above, opening and shutting as Sissy went
+from one to another in quest of her father; and presently they heard
+voices expressing surprise. She came bounding down again in a great
+hurry, opened a battered and mangy old hair trunk, found it empty, and
+looked round with her hands clasped and her face full of terror.
+
+‘Father must have gone down to the Booth, sir. I don’t know why he
+should go there, but he must be there; I’ll bring him in a minute!’ She
+was gone directly, without her bonnet; with her long, dark, childish hair
+streaming behind her.
+
+‘What does she mean!’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Back in a minute? It’s more
+than a mile off.’
+
+Before Mr. Bounderby could reply, a young man appeared at the door, and
+introducing himself with the words, ‘By your leaves, gentlemen!’ walked
+in with his hands in his pockets. His face, close-shaven, thin, and
+sallow, was shaded by a great quantity of dark hair, brushed into a roll
+all round his head, and parted up the centre. His legs were very robust,
+but shorter than legs of good proportions should have been. His chest
+and back were as much too broad, as his legs were too short. He was
+dressed in a Newmarket coat and tight-fitting trousers; wore a shawl
+round his neck; smelt of lamp-oil, straw, orange-peel, horses’ provender,
+and sawdust; and looked a most remarkable sort of Centaur, compounded of
+the stable and the play-house. Where the one began, and the other ended,
+nobody could have told with any precision. This gentleman was mentioned
+in the bills of the day as Mr. E. W. B. Childers, so justly celebrated
+for his daring vaulting act as the Wild Huntsman of the North American
+Prairies; in which popular performance, a diminutive boy with an old
+face, who now accompanied him, assisted as his infant son: being carried
+upside down over his father’s shoulder, by one foot, and held by the
+crown of his head, heels upwards, in the palm of his father’s hand,
+according to the violent paternal manner in which wild huntsmen may be
+observed to fondle their offspring. Made up with curls, wreaths, wings,
+white bismuth, and carmine, this hopeful young person soared into so
+pleasing a Cupid as to constitute the chief delight of the maternal part
+of the spectators; but in private, where his characteristics were a
+precocious cutaway coat and an extremely gruff voice, he became of the
+Turf, turfy.
+
+‘By your leaves, gentlemen,’ said Mr. E. W. B. Childers, glancing round
+the room. ‘It was you, I believe, that were wishing to see Jupe!’
+
+‘It was,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘His daughter has gone to fetch him, but I
+can’t wait; therefore, if you please, I will leave a message for him with
+you.’
+
+‘You see, my friend,’ Mr. Bounderby put in, ‘we are the kind of people
+who know the value of time, and you are the kind of people who don’t know
+the value of time.’
+
+‘I have not,’ retorted Mr. Childers, after surveying him from head to
+foot, ‘the honour of knowing _you_,—but if you mean that you can make
+more money of your time than I can of mine, I should judge from your
+appearance, that you are about right.’
+
+‘And when you have made it, you can keep it too, I should think,’ said
+Cupid.
+
+‘Kidderminster, stow that!’ said Mr. Childers. (Master Kidderminster was
+Cupid’s mortal name.)
+
+‘What does he come here cheeking us for, then?’ cried Master
+Kidderminster, showing a very irascible temperament. ‘If you want to
+cheek us, pay your ochre at the doors and take it out.’
+
+‘Kidderminster,’ said Mr. Childers, raising his voice, ‘stow that!—Sir,’
+to Mr. Gradgrind, ‘I was addressing myself to you. You may or you may
+not be aware (for perhaps you have not been much in the audience), that
+Jupe has missed his tip very often, lately.’
+
+‘Has—what has he missed?’ asked Mr. Gradgrind, glancing at the potent
+Bounderby for assistance.
+
+‘Missed his tip.’
+
+‘Offered at the Garters four times last night, and never done ’em once,’
+said Master Kidderminster. ‘Missed his tip at the banners, too, and was
+loose in his ponging.’
+
+‘Didn’t do what he ought to do. Was short in his leaps and bad in his
+tumbling,’ Mr. Childers interpreted.
+
+‘Oh!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘that is tip, is it?’
+
+‘In a general way that’s missing his tip,’ Mr. E. W. B. Childers
+answered.
+
+‘Nine oils, Merrylegs, missing tips, garters, banners, and Ponging, eh!’
+ejaculated Bounderby, with his laugh of laughs. ‘Queer sort of company,
+too, for a man who has raised himself!’
+
+‘Lower yourself, then,’ retorted Cupid. ‘Oh Lord! if you’ve raised
+yourself so high as all that comes to, let yourself down a bit.’
+
+‘This is a very obtrusive lad!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, turning, and knitting
+his brows on him.
+
+‘We’d have had a young gentleman to meet you, if we had known you were
+coming,’ retorted Master Kidderminster, nothing abashed. ‘It’s a pity
+you don’t have a bespeak, being so particular. You’re on the Tight-Jeff,
+ain’t you?’
+
+‘What does this unmannerly boy mean,’ asked Mr. Gradgrind, eyeing him in
+a sort of desperation, ‘by Tight-Jeff?’
+
+‘There! Get out, get out!’ said Mr. Childers, thrusting his young friend
+from the room, rather in the prairie manner. ‘Tight-Jeff or Slack-Jeff,
+it don’t much signify: it’s only tight-rope and slack-rope. You were
+going to give me a message for Jupe?’
+
+‘Yes, I was.’
+
+‘Then,’ continued Mr. Childers, quickly, ‘my opinion is, he will never
+receive it. Do you know much of him?’
+
+‘I never saw the man in my life.’
+
+‘I doubt if you ever _will_ see him now. It’s pretty plain to me, he’s
+off.’
+
+‘Do you mean that he has deserted his daughter?’
+
+‘Ay! I mean,’ said Mr. Childers, with a nod, ‘that he has cut. He was
+goosed last night, he was goosed the night before last, he was goosed
+to-day. He has lately got in the way of being always goosed, and he
+can’t stand it.’
+
+‘Why has he been—so very much—Goosed?’ asked Mr. Gradgrind, forcing the
+word out of himself, with great solemnity and reluctance.
+
+‘His joints are turning stiff, and he is getting used up,’ said Childers.
+‘He has his points as a Cackler still, but he can’t get a living out of
+_them_.’
+
+‘A Cackler!’ Bounderby repeated. ‘Here we go again!’
+
+‘A speaker, if the gentleman likes it better,’ said Mr. E. W. B.
+Childers, superciliously throwing the interpretation over his shoulder,
+and accompanying it with a shake of his long hair—which all shook at
+once. ‘Now, it’s a remarkable fact, sir, that it cut that man deeper, to
+know that his daughter knew of his being goosed, than to go through with
+it.’
+
+‘Good!’ interrupted Mr. Bounderby. ‘This is good, Gradgrind! A man so
+fond of his daughter, that he runs away from her! This is devilish good!
+Ha! ha! Now, I’ll tell you what, young man. I haven’t always occupied
+my present station of life. I know what these things are. You may be
+astonished to hear it, but my mother—ran away from _me_.’
+
+E. W. B. Childers replied pointedly, that he was not at all astonished to
+hear it.
+
+‘Very well,’ said Bounderby. ‘I was born in a ditch, and my mother ran
+away from me. Do I excuse her for it? No. Have I ever excused her for
+it? Not I. What do I call her for it? I call her probably the very
+worst woman that ever lived in the world, except my drunken grandmother.
+There’s no family pride about me, there’s no imaginative sentimental
+humbug about me. I call a spade a spade; and I call the mother of Josiah
+Bounderby of Coketown, without any fear or any favour, what I should call
+her if she had been the mother of Dick Jones of Wapping. So, with this
+man. He is a runaway rogue and a vagabond, that’s what he is, in
+English.’
+
+‘It’s all the same to me what he is or what he is not, whether in English
+or whether in French,’ retorted Mr. E. W. B. Childers, facing about. ‘I
+am telling your friend what’s the fact; if you don’t like to hear it, you
+can avail yourself of the open air. You give it mouth enough, you do;
+but give it mouth in your own building at least,’ remonstrated E. W. B.
+with stern irony. ‘Don’t give it mouth in this building, till you’re
+called upon. You have got some building of your own I dare say, now?’
+
+‘Perhaps so,’ replied Mr. Bounderby, rattling his money and laughing.
+
+‘Then give it mouth in your own building, will you, if you please?’ said
+Childers. ‘Because this isn’t a strong building, and too much of you
+might bring it down!’
+
+Eyeing Mr. Bounderby from head to foot again, he turned from him, as from
+a man finally disposed of, to Mr. Gradgrind.
+
+‘Jupe sent his daughter out on an errand not an hour ago, and then was
+seen to slip out himself, with his hat over his eyes, and a bundle tied
+up in a handkerchief under his arm. She will never believe it of him,
+but he has cut away and left her.’
+
+‘Pray,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘why will she never believe it of him?’
+
+‘Because those two were one. Because they were never asunder. Because,
+up to this time, he seemed to dote upon her,’ said Childers, taking a
+step or two to look into the empty trunk. Both Mr. Childers and Master
+Kidderminster walked in a curious manner; with their legs wider apart
+than the general run of men, and with a very knowing assumption of being
+stiff in the knees. This walk was common to all the male members of
+Sleary’s company, and was understood to express, that they were always on
+horseback.
+
+‘Poor Sissy! He had better have apprenticed her,’ said Childers, giving
+his hair another shake, as he looked up from the empty box. ‘Now, he
+leaves her without anything to take to.’
+
+‘It is creditable to you, who have never been apprenticed, to express
+that opinion,’ returned Mr. Gradgrind, approvingly.
+
+‘_I_ never apprenticed? I was apprenticed when I was seven year old.’
+
+‘Oh! Indeed?’ said Mr. Gradgrind, rather resentfully, as having been
+defrauded of his good opinion. ‘I was not aware of its being the custom
+to apprentice young persons to—’
+
+‘Idleness,’ Mr. Bounderby put in with a loud laugh. ‘No, by the Lord
+Harry! Nor I!’
+
+‘Her father always had it in his head,’ resumed Childers, feigning
+unconsciousness of Mr. Bounderby’s existence, ‘that she was to be taught
+the deuce-and-all of education. How it got into his head, I can’t say; I
+can only say that it never got out. He has been picking up a bit of
+reading for her, here—and a bit of writing for her, there—and a bit of
+ciphering for her, somewhere else—these seven years.’
+
+Mr. E. W. B. Childers took one of his hands out of his pockets, stroked
+his face and chin, and looked, with a good deal of doubt and a little
+hope, at Mr. Gradgrind. From the first he had sought to conciliate that
+gentleman, for the sake of the deserted girl.
+
+‘When Sissy got into the school here,’ he pursued, ‘her father was as
+pleased as Punch. I couldn’t altogether make out why, myself, as we were
+not stationary here, being but comers and goers anywhere. I suppose,
+however, he had this move in his mind—he was always half-cracked—and then
+considered her provided for. If you should happen to have looked in
+to-night, for the purpose of telling him that you were going to do her
+any little service,’ said Mr. Childers, stroking his face again, and
+repeating his look, ‘it would be very fortunate and well-timed; very
+fortunate and well-timed.’
+
+‘On the contrary,’ returned Mr. Gradgrind. ‘I came to tell him that her
+connections made her not an object for the school, and that she must not
+attend any more. Still, if her father really has left her, without any
+connivance on her part—Bounderby, let me have a word with you.’
+
+Upon this, Mr. Childers politely betook himself, with his equestrian
+walk, to the landing outside the door, and there stood stroking his face,
+and softly whistling. While thus engaged, he overheard such phrases in
+Mr. Bounderby’s voice as ‘No. _I_ say no. I advise you not. I say by
+no means.’ While, from Mr. Gradgrind, he heard in his much lower tone
+the words, ‘But even as an example to Louisa, of what this pursuit which
+has been the subject of a vulgar curiosity, leads to and ends in. Think
+of it, Bounderby, in that point of view.’
+
+Meanwhile, the various members of Sleary’s company gradually gathered
+together from the upper regions, where they were quartered, and, from
+standing about, talking in low voices to one another and to Mr. Childers,
+gradually insinuated themselves and him into the room. There were two or
+three handsome young women among them, with their two or three husbands,
+and their two or three mothers, and their eight or nine little children,
+who did the fairy business when required. The father of one of the
+families was in the habit of balancing the father of another of the
+families on the top of a great pole; the father of a third family often
+made a pyramid of both those fathers, with Master Kidderminster for the
+apex, and himself for the base; all the fathers could dance upon rolling
+casks, stand upon bottles, catch knives and balls, twirl hand-basins,
+ride upon anything, jump over everything, and stick at nothing. All the
+mothers could (and did) dance, upon the slack wire and the tight-rope,
+and perform rapid acts on bare-backed steeds; none of them were at all
+particular in respect of showing their legs; and one of them, alone in a
+Greek chariot, drove six in hand into every town they came to. They all
+assumed to be mighty rakish and knowing, they were not very tidy in their
+private dresses, they were not at all orderly in their domestic
+arrangements, and the combined literature of the whole company would have
+produced but a poor letter on any subject. Yet there was a remarkable
+gentleness and childishness about these people, a special inaptitude for
+any kind of sharp practice, and an untiring readiness to help and pity
+one another, deserving often of as much respect, and always of as much
+generous construction, as the every-day virtues of any class of people in
+the world.
+
+Last of all appeared Mr. Sleary: a stout man as already mentioned, with
+one fixed eye, and one loose eye, a voice (if it can be called so) like
+the efforts of a broken old pair of bellows, a flabby surface, and a
+muddled head which was never sober and never drunk.
+
+‘Thquire!’ said Mr. Sleary, who was troubled with asthma, and whose
+breath came far too thick and heavy for the letter s, ‘Your thervant!
+Thith ith a bad piethe of bithnith, thith ith. You’ve heard of my Clown
+and hith dog being thuppothed to have morrithed?’
+
+He addressed Mr. Gradgrind, who answered ‘Yes.’
+
+‘Well, Thquire,’ he returned, taking off his hat, and rubbing the lining
+with his pocket-handkerchief, which he kept inside for the purpose. ‘Ith
+it your intenthion to do anything for the poor girl, Thquire?’
+
+‘I shall have something to propose to her when she comes back,’ said Mr.
+Gradgrind.
+
+‘Glad to hear it, Thquire. Not that I want to get rid of the child, any
+more than I want to thtand in her way. I’m willing to take her prentith,
+though at her age ith late. My voithe ith a little huthky, Thquire, and
+not eathy heard by them ath don’t know me; but if you’d been chilled and
+heated, heated and chilled, chilled and heated in the ring when you wath
+young, ath often ath I have been, _your_ voithe wouldn’t have lathted
+out, Thquire, no more than mine.’
+
+‘I dare say not,’ said Mr. Gradgrind.
+
+‘What thall it be, Thquire, while you wait? Thall it be Therry? Give it
+a name, Thquire!’ said Mr. Sleary, with hospitable ease.
+
+‘Nothing for me, I thank you,’ said Mr. Gradgrind.
+
+‘Don’t thay nothing, Thquire. What doth your friend thay? If you
+haven’t took your feed yet, have a glath of bitterth.’
+
+Here his daughter Josephine—a pretty fair-haired girl of eighteen, who
+had been tied on a horse at two years old, and had made a will at twelve,
+which she always carried about with her, expressive of her dying desire
+to be drawn to the grave by the two piebald ponies—cried, ‘Father, hush!
+she has come back!’ Then came Sissy Jupe, running into the room as she
+had run out of it. And when she saw them all assembled, and saw their
+looks, and saw no father there, she broke into a most deplorable cry, and
+took refuge on the bosom of the most accomplished tight-rope lady
+(herself in the family-way), who knelt down on the floor to nurse her,
+and to weep over her.
+
+‘Ith an internal thame, upon my thoul it ith,’ said Sleary.
+
+‘O my dear father, my good kind father, where are you gone? You are gone
+to try to do me some good, I know! You are gone away for my sake, I am
+sure! And how miserable and helpless you will be without me, poor, poor
+father, until you come back!’ It was so pathetic to hear her saying many
+things of this kind, with her face turned upward, and her arms stretched
+out as if she were trying to stop his departing shadow and embrace it,
+that no one spoke a word until Mr. Bounderby (growing impatient) took the
+case in hand.
+
+‘Now, good people all,’ said he, ‘this is wanton waste of time. Let the
+girl understand the fact. Let her take it from me, if you like, who have
+been run away from, myself. Here, what’s your name! Your father has
+absconded—deserted you—and you mustn’t expect to see him again as long as
+you live.’
+
+They cared so little for plain Fact, these people, and were in that
+advanced state of degeneracy on the subject, that instead of being
+impressed by the speaker’s strong common sense, they took it in
+extraordinary dudgeon. The men muttered ‘Shame!’ and the women ‘Brute!’
+and Sleary, in some haste, communicated the following hint, apart to Mr.
+Bounderby.
+
+‘I tell you what, Thquire. To thpeak plain to you, my opinion ith that
+you had better cut it thort, and drop it. They’re a very good natur’d
+people, my people, but they’re accuthtomed to be quick in their
+movementh; and if you don’t act upon my advithe, I’m damned if I don’t
+believe they’ll pith you out o’ winder.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby being restrained by this mild suggestion, Mr. Gradgrind
+found an opening for his eminently practical exposition of the subject.
+
+‘It is of no moment,’ said he, ‘whether this person is to be expected
+back at any time, or the contrary. He is gone away, and there is no
+present expectation of his return. That, I believe, is agreed on all
+hands.’
+
+‘Thath agreed, Thquire. Thick to that!’ From Sleary.
+
+‘Well then. I, who came here to inform the father of the poor girl,
+Jupe, that she could not be received at the school any more, in
+consequence of there being practical objections, into which I need not
+enter, to the reception there of the children of persons so employed, am
+prepared in these altered circumstances to make a proposal. I am willing
+to take charge of you, Jupe, and to educate you, and provide for you.
+The only condition (over and above your good behaviour) I make is, that
+you decide now, at once, whether to accompany me or remain here. Also,
+that if you accompany me now, it is understood that you communicate no
+more with any of your friends who are here present. These observations
+comprise the whole of the case.’
+
+‘At the thame time,’ said Sleary, ‘I mutht put in my word, Thquire, tho
+that both thides of the banner may be equally theen. If you like,
+Thethilia, to be prentitht, you know the natur of the work and you know
+your companionth. Emma Gordon, in whothe lap you’re a lying at prethent,
+would be a mother to you, and Joth’phine would be a thithter to you. I
+don’t pretend to be of the angel breed myself, and I don’t thay but what,
+when you mith’d your tip, you’d find me cut up rough, and thwear an oath
+or two at you. But what I thay, Thquire, ith, that good tempered or bad
+tempered, I never did a horthe a injury yet, no more than thwearing at
+him went, and that I don’t expect I thall begin otherwithe at my time of
+life, with a rider. I never wath much of a Cackler, Thquire, and I have
+thed my thay.’
+
+The latter part of this speech was addressed to Mr. Gradgrind, who
+received it with a grave inclination of his head, and then remarked:
+
+‘The only observation I will make to you, Jupe, in the way of influencing
+your decision, is, that it is highly desirable to have a sound practical
+education, and that even your father himself (from what I understand)
+appears, on your behalf, to have known and felt that much.’
+
+The last words had a visible effect upon her. She stopped in her wild
+crying, a little detached herself from Emma Gordon, and turned her face
+full upon her patron. The whole company perceived the force of the
+change, and drew a long breath together, that plainly said, ‘she will
+go!’
+
+‘Be sure you know your own mind, Jupe,’ Mr. Gradgrind cautioned her; ‘I
+say no more. Be sure you know your own mind!’
+
+‘When father comes back,’ cried the girl, bursting into tears again after
+a minute’s silence, ‘how will he ever find me if I go away!’
+
+‘You may be quite at ease,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, calmly; he worked out the
+whole matter like a sum: ‘you may be quite at ease, Jupe, on that score.
+In such a case, your father, I apprehend, must find out Mr.—’
+
+‘Thleary. Thath my name, Thquire. Not athamed of it. Known all over
+England, and alwayth paythe ith way.’
+
+‘Must find out Mr. Sleary, who would then let him know where you went. I
+should have no power of keeping you against his wish, and he would have
+no difficulty, at any time, in finding Mr. Thomas Gradgrind of Coketown.
+I am well known.’
+
+‘Well known,’ assented Mr. Sleary, rolling his loose eye. ‘You’re one of
+the thort, Thquire, that keepth a prethiouth thight of money out of the
+houthe. But never mind that at prethent.’
+
+There was another silence; and then she exclaimed, sobbing with her hands
+before her face, ‘Oh, give me my clothes, give me my clothes, and let me
+go away before I break my heart!’
+
+The women sadly bestirred themselves to get the clothes together—it was
+soon done, for they were not many—and to pack them in a basket which had
+often travelled with them. Sissy sat all the time upon the ground, still
+sobbing, and covering her eyes. Mr. Gradgrind and his friend Bounderby
+stood near the door, ready to take her away. Mr. Sleary stood in the
+middle of the room, with the male members of the company about him,
+exactly as he would have stood in the centre of the ring during his
+daughter Josephine’s performance. He wanted nothing but his whip.
+
+The basket packed in silence, they brought her bonnet to her, and
+smoothed her disordered hair, and put it on. Then they pressed about
+her, and bent over her in very natural attitudes, kissing and embracing
+her: and brought the children to take leave of her; and were a
+tender-hearted, simple, foolish set of women altogether.
+
+‘Now, Jupe,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘If you are quite determined, come!’
+
+But she had to take her farewell of the male part of the company yet, and
+every one of them had to unfold his arms (for they all assumed the
+professional attitude when they found themselves near Sleary), and give
+her a parting kiss—Master Kidderminster excepted, in whose young nature
+there was an original flavour of the misanthrope, who was also known to
+have harboured matrimonial views, and who moodily withdrew. Mr. Sleary
+was reserved until the last. Opening his arms wide he took her by both
+her hands, and would have sprung her up and down, after the riding-master
+manner of congratulating young ladies on their dismounting from a rapid
+act; but there was no rebound in Sissy, and she only stood before him
+crying.
+
+‘Good-bye, my dear!’ said Sleary. ‘You’ll make your fortun, I hope, and
+none of our poor folkth will ever trouble you, I’ll pound it. I with
+your father hadn’t taken hith dog with him; ith a ill-conwenienth to have
+the dog out of the billth. But on thecond thoughth, he wouldn’t have
+performed without hith mathter, tho ith ath broad ath ith long!’
+
+With that he regarded her attentively with his fixed eye, surveyed his
+company with his loose one, kissed her, shook his head, and handed her to
+Mr. Gradgrind as to a horse.
+
+‘There the ith, Thquire,’ he said, sweeping her with a professional
+glance as if she were being adjusted in her seat, ‘and the’ll do you
+juthtithe. Good-bye, Thethilia!’
+
+‘Good-bye, Cecilia!’ ‘Good-bye, Sissy!’ ‘God bless you, dear!’ In a
+variety of voices from all the room.
+
+But the riding-master eye had observed the bottle of the nine oils in her
+bosom, and he now interposed with ‘Leave the bottle, my dear; ith large
+to carry; it will be of no uthe to you now. Give it to me!’
+
+‘No, no!’ she said, in another burst of tears. ‘Oh, no! Pray let me
+keep it for father till he comes back! He will want it when he comes
+back. He had never thought of going away, when he sent me for it. I
+must keep it for him, if you please!’
+
+‘Tho be it, my dear. (You thee how it ith, Thquire!) Farewell,
+Thethilia! My latht wordth to you ith thith, Thtick to the termth of
+your engagement, be obedient to the Thquire, and forget uth. But if,
+when you’re grown up and married and well off, you come upon any
+horthe-riding ever, don’t be hard upon it, don’t be croth with it, give
+it a Bethpeak if you can, and think you might do wurth. People mutht be
+amuthed, Thquire, thomehow,’ continued Sleary, rendered more pursy than
+ever, by so much talking; ‘they can’t be alwayth a working, nor yet they
+can’t be alwayth a learning. Make the betht of uth; not the wurtht.
+I’ve got my living out of the horthe-riding all my life, I know; but I
+conthider that I lay down the philothophy of the thubject when I thay to
+you, Thquire, make the betht of uth: not the wurtht!’
+
+The Sleary philosophy was propounded as they went downstairs and the
+fixed eye of Philosophy—and its rolling eye, too—soon lost the three
+figures and the basket in the darkness of the street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+MRS. SPARSIT
+
+
+MR. BOUNDERBY being a bachelor, an elderly lady presided over his
+establishment, in consideration of a certain annual stipend. Mrs.
+Sparsit was this lady’s name; and she was a prominent figure in
+attendance on Mr. Bounderby’s car, as it rolled along in triumph with the
+Bully of humility inside.
+
+For, Mrs. Sparsit had not only seen different days, but was highly
+connected. She had a great aunt living in these very times called Lady
+Scadgers. Mr. Sparsit, deceased, of whom she was the relict, had been by
+the mother’s side what Mrs. Sparsit still called ‘a Powler.’ Strangers
+of limited information and dull apprehension were sometimes observed not
+to know what a Powler was, and even to appear uncertain whether it might
+be a business, or a political party, or a profession of faith. The
+better class of minds, however, did not need to be informed that the
+Powlers were an ancient stock, who could trace themselves so exceedingly
+far back that it was not surprising if they sometimes lost
+themselves—which they had rather frequently done, as respected
+horse-flesh, blind-hookey, Hebrew monetary transactions, and the
+Insolvent Debtors’ Court.
+
+The late Mr. Sparsit, being by the mother’s side a Powler, married this
+lady, being by the father’s side a Scadgers. Lady Scadgers (an immensely
+fat old woman, with an inordinate appetite for butcher’s meat, and a
+mysterious leg which had now refused to get out of bed for fourteen
+years) contrived the marriage, at a period when Sparsit was just of age,
+and chiefly noticeable for a slender body, weakly supported on two long
+slim props, and surmounted by no head worth mentioning. He inherited a
+fair fortune from his uncle, but owed it all before he came into it, and
+spent it twice over immediately afterwards. Thus, when he died, at
+twenty-four (the scene of his decease, Calais, and the cause, brandy), he
+did not leave his widow, from whom he had been separated soon after the
+honeymoon, in affluent circumstances. That bereaved lady, fifteen years
+older than he, fell presently at deadly feud with her only relative, Lady
+Scadgers; and, partly to spite her ladyship, and partly to maintain
+herself, went out at a salary. And here she was now, in her elderly
+days, with the Coriolanian style of nose and the dense black eyebrows
+which had captivated Sparsit, making Mr. Bounderby’s tea as he took his
+breakfast.
+
+If Bounderby had been a Conqueror, and Mrs. Sparsit a captive Princess
+whom he took about as a feature in his state-processions, he could not
+have made a greater flourish with her than he habitually did. Just as it
+belonged to his boastfulness to depreciate his own extraction, so it
+belonged to it to exalt Mrs. Sparsit’s. In the measure that he would not
+allow his own youth to have been attended by a single favourable
+circumstance, he brightened Mrs. Sparsit’s juvenile career with every
+possible advantage, and showered waggon-loads of early roses all over
+that lady’s path. ‘And yet, sir,’ he would say, ‘how does it turn out
+after all? Why here she is at a hundred a year (I give her a hundred,
+which she is pleased to term handsome), keeping the house of Josiah
+Bounderby of Coketown!’
+
+Nay, he made this foil of his so very widely known, that third parties
+took it up, and handled it on some occasions with considerable briskness.
+It was one of the most exasperating attributes of Bounderby, that he not
+only sang his own praises but stimulated other men to sing them. There
+was a moral infection of clap-trap in him. Strangers, modest enough
+elsewhere, started up at dinners in Coketown, and boasted, in quite a
+rampant way, of Bounderby. They made him out to be the Royal arms, the
+Union-Jack, Magna Charta, John Bull, Habeas Corpus, the Bill of Rights,
+An Englishman’s house is his castle, Church and State, and God save the
+Queen, all put together. And as often (and it was very often) as an
+orator of this kind brought into his peroration,
+
+ ‘Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,
+ A breath can make them, as a breath has made,’
+
+—it was, for certain, more or less understood among the company that he
+had heard of Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘Mr. Bounderby,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘you are unusually slow, sir, with
+your breakfast this morning.’
+
+‘Why, ma’am,’ he returned, ‘I am thinking about Tom Gradgrind’s whim;’
+Tom Gradgrind, for a bluff independent manner of speaking—as if somebody
+were always endeavouring to bribe him with immense sums to say Thomas,
+and he wouldn’t; ‘Tom Gradgrind’s whim, ma’am, of bringing up the
+tumbling-girl.’
+
+‘The girl is now waiting to know,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘whether she is to
+go straight to the school, or up to the Lodge.’
+
+‘She must wait, ma’am,’ answered Bounderby, ‘till I know myself. We
+shall have Tom Gradgrind down here presently, I suppose. If he should
+wish her to remain here a day or two longer, of course she can, ma’am.’
+
+‘Of course she can if you wish it, Mr. Bounderby.’
+
+‘I told him I would give her a shake-down here, last night, in order that
+he might sleep on it before he decided to let her have any association
+with Louisa.’
+
+‘Indeed, Mr. Bounderby? Very thoughtful of you!’ Mrs. Sparsit’s
+Coriolanian nose underwent a slight expansion of the nostrils, and her
+black eyebrows contracted as she took a sip of tea.
+
+‘It’s tolerably clear to _me_,’ said Bounderby, ‘that the little puss can
+get small good out of such companionship.’
+
+‘Are you speaking of young Miss Gradgrind, Mr. Bounderby?’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am, I’m speaking of Louisa.’
+
+‘Your observation being limited to “little puss,”’ said Mrs. Sparsit,
+‘and there being two little girls in question, I did not know which might
+be indicated by that expression.’
+
+‘Louisa,’ repeated Mr. Bounderby. ‘Louisa, Louisa.’
+
+‘You are quite another father to Louisa, sir.’ Mrs. Sparsit took a
+little more tea; and, as she bent her again contracted eyebrows over her
+steaming cup, rather looked as if her classical countenance were invoking
+the infernal gods.
+
+‘If you had said I was another father to Tom—young Tom, I mean, not my
+friend Tom Gradgrind—you might have been nearer the mark. I am going to
+take young Tom into my office. Going to have him under my wing, ma’am.’
+
+‘Indeed? Rather young for that, is he not, sir?’ Mrs. Spirit’s ‘sir,’
+in addressing Mr. Bounderby, was a word of ceremony, rather exacting
+consideration for herself in the use, than honouring him.
+
+‘I’m not going to take him at once; he is to finish his educational
+cramming before then,’ said Bounderby. ‘By the Lord Harry, he’ll have
+enough of it, first and last! He’d open his eyes, that boy would, if he
+knew how empty of learning _my_ young maw was, at his time of life.’
+Which, by the by, he probably did know, for he had heard of it often
+enough. ‘But it’s extraordinary the difficulty I have on scores of such
+subjects, in speaking to any one on equal terms. Here, for example, I
+have been speaking to you this morning about tumblers. Why, what do
+_you_ know about tumblers? At the time when, to have been a tumbler in
+the mud of the streets, would have been a godsend to me, a prize in the
+lottery to me, you were at the Italian Opera. You were coming out of the
+Italian Opera, ma’am, in white satin and jewels, a blaze of splendour,
+when I hadn’t a penny to buy a link to light you.’
+
+‘I certainly, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a dignity serenely
+mournful, ‘was familiar with the Italian Opera at a very early age.’
+
+‘Egad, ma’am, so was I,’ said Bounderby, ‘—with the wrong side of it. A
+hard bed the pavement of its Arcade used to make, I assure you. People
+like you, ma’am, accustomed from infancy to lie on Down feathers, have no
+idea _how_ hard a paving-stone is, without trying it. No, no, it’s of no
+use my talking to _you_ about tumblers. I should speak of foreign
+dancers, and the West End of London, and May Fair, and lords and ladies
+and honourables.’
+
+‘I trust, sir,’ rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, with decent resignation, ‘it is
+not necessary that you should do anything of that kind. I hope I have
+learnt how to accommodate myself to the changes of life. If I have
+acquired an interest in hearing of your instructive experiences, and can
+scarcely hear enough of them, I claim no merit for that, since I believe
+it is a general sentiment.’
+
+‘Well, ma’am,’ said her patron, ‘perhaps some people may be pleased to
+say that they do like to hear, in his own unpolished way, what Josiah
+Bounderby, of Coketown, has gone through. But you must confess that you
+were born in the lap of luxury, yourself. Come, ma’am, you know you were
+born in the lap of luxury.’
+
+‘I do not, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit with a shake of her head, ‘deny
+it.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby was obliged to get up from table, and stand with his back
+to the fire, looking at her; she was such an enhancement of his position.
+
+‘And you were in crack society. Devilish high society,’ he said, warming
+his legs.
+
+‘It is true, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, with an affectation of humility
+the very opposite of his, and therefore in no danger of jostling it.
+
+‘You were in the tiptop fashion, and all the rest of it,’ said Mr.
+Bounderby.
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a kind of social widowhood upon
+her. ‘It is unquestionably true.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby, bending himself at the knees, literally embraced his legs
+in his great satisfaction and laughed aloud. Mr. and Miss Gradgrind
+being then announced, he received the former with a shake of the hand,
+and the latter with a kiss.
+
+‘Can Jupe be sent here, Bounderby?’ asked Mr. Gradgrind.
+
+Certainly. So Jupe was sent there. On coming in, she curtseyed to Mr.
+Bounderby, and to his friend Tom Gradgrind, and also to Louisa; but in
+her confusion unluckily omitted Mrs. Sparsit. Observing this, the
+blustrous Bounderby had the following remarks to make:
+
+‘Now, I tell you what, my girl. The name of that lady by the teapot, is
+Mrs. Sparsit. That lady acts as mistress of this house, and she is a
+highly connected lady. Consequently, if ever you come again into any
+room in this house, you will make a short stay in it if you don’t behave
+towards that lady in your most respectful manner. Now, I don’t care a
+button what you do to _me_, because I don’t affect to be anybody. So far
+from having high connections I have no connections at all, and I come of
+the scum of the earth. But towards that lady, I do care what you do; and
+you shall do what is deferential and respectful, or you shall not come
+here.’
+
+‘I hope, Bounderby,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, in a conciliatory voice, ‘that
+this was merely an oversight.’
+
+‘My friend Tom Gradgrind suggests, Mrs. Sparsit,’ said Bounderby, ‘that
+this was merely an oversight. Very likely. However, as you are aware,
+ma’am, I don’t allow of even oversights towards you.’
+
+‘You are very good indeed, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head
+with her State humility. ‘It is not worth speaking of.’
+
+Sissy, who all this time had been faintly excusing herself with tears in
+her eyes, was now waved over by the master of the house to Mr. Gradgrind.
+She stood looking intently at him, and Louisa stood coldly by, with her
+eyes upon the ground, while he proceeded thus:
+
+‘Jupe, I have made up my mind to take you into my house; and, when you
+are not in attendance at the school, to employ you about Mrs. Gradgrind,
+who is rather an invalid. I have explained to Miss Louisa—this is Miss
+Louisa—the miserable but natural end of your late career; and you are to
+expressly understand that the whole of that subject is past, and is not
+to be referred to any more. From this time you begin your history. You
+are, at present, ignorant, I know.’
+
+‘Yes, sir, very,’ she answered, curtseying.
+
+‘I shall have the satisfaction of causing you to be strictly educated;
+and you will be a living proof to all who come into communication with
+you, of the advantages of the training you will receive. You will be
+reclaimed and formed. You have been in the habit now of reading to your
+father, and those people I found you among, I dare say?’ said Mr.
+Gradgrind, beckoning her nearer to him before he said so, and dropping
+his voice.
+
+‘Only to father and Merrylegs, sir. At least I mean to father, when
+Merrylegs was always there.’
+
+‘Never mind Merrylegs, Jupe,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, with a passing frown.
+‘I don’t ask about him. I understand you to have been in the habit of
+reading to your father?’
+
+‘O, yes, sir, thousands of times. They were the happiest—O, of all the
+happy times we had together, sir!’
+
+It was only now when her sorrow broke out, that Louisa looked at her.
+
+‘And what,’ asked Mr. Gradgrind, in a still lower voice, ‘did you read to
+your father, Jupe?’
+
+‘About the Fairies, sir, and the Dwarf, and the Hunchback, and the
+Genies,’ she sobbed out; ‘and about—’
+
+‘Hush!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘that is enough. Never breathe a word of
+such destructive nonsense any more. Bounderby, this is a case for rigid
+training, and I shall observe it with interest.’
+
+‘Well,’ returned Mr. Bounderby, ‘I have given you my opinion already, and
+I shouldn’t do as you do. But, very well, very well. Since you are bent
+upon it, _very_ well!’
+
+So, Mr. Gradgrind and his daughter took Cecilia Jupe off with them to
+Stone Lodge, and on the way Louisa never spoke one word, good or bad.
+And Mr. Bounderby went about his daily pursuits. And Mrs. Sparsit got
+behind her eyebrows and meditated in the gloom of that retreat, all the
+evening.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+NEVER WONDER
+
+
+LET us strike the key-note again, before pursuing the tune.
+
+When she was half a dozen years younger, Louisa had been overheard to
+begin a conversation with her brother one day, by saying ‘Tom, I
+wonder’—upon which Mr. Gradgrind, who was the person overhearing, stepped
+forth into the light and said, ‘Louisa, never wonder!’
+
+Herein lay the spring of the mechanical art and mystery of educating the
+reason without stooping to the cultivation of the sentiments and
+affections. Never wonder. By means of addition, subtraction,
+multiplication, and division, settle everything somehow, and never
+wonder. Bring to me, says M’Choakumchild, yonder baby just able to walk,
+and I will engage that it shall never wonder.
+
+Now, besides very many babies just able to walk, there happened to be in
+Coketown a considerable population of babies who had been walking against
+time towards the infinite world, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years and
+more. These portentous infants being alarming creatures to stalk about
+in any human society, the eighteen denominations incessantly scratched
+one another’s faces and pulled one another’s hair by way of agreeing on
+the steps to be taken for their improvement—which they never did; a
+surprising circumstance, when the happy adaptation of the means to the
+end is considered. Still, although they differed in every other
+particular, conceivable and inconceivable (especially inconceivable),
+they were pretty well united on the point that these unlucky infants were
+never to wonder. Body number one, said they must take everything on
+trust. Body number two, said they must take everything on political
+economy. Body number three, wrote leaden little books for them, showing
+how the good grown-up baby invariably got to the Savings-bank, and the
+bad grown-up baby invariably got transported. Body number four, under
+dreary pretences of being droll (when it was very melancholy indeed),
+made the shallowest pretences of concealing pitfalls of knowledge, into
+which it was the duty of these babies to be smuggled and inveigled. But,
+all the bodies agreed that they were never to wonder.
+
+There was a library in Coketown, to which general access was easy. Mr.
+Gradgrind greatly tormented his mind about what the people read in this
+library: a point whereon little rivers of tabular statements periodically
+flowed into the howling ocean of tabular statements, which no diver ever
+got to any depth in and came up sane. It was a disheartening
+circumstance, but a melancholy fact, that even these readers persisted in
+wondering. They wondered about human nature, human passions, human hopes
+and fears, the struggles, triumphs and defeats, the cares and joys and
+sorrows, the lives and deaths of common men and women! They sometimes,
+after fifteen hours’ work, sat down to read mere fables about men and
+women, more or less like themselves, and about children, more or less
+like their own. They took De Foe to their bosoms, instead of Euclid, and
+seemed to be on the whole more comforted by Goldsmith than by Cocker.
+Mr. Gradgrind was for ever working, in print and out of print, at this
+eccentric sum, and he never could make out how it yielded this
+unaccountable product.
+
+‘I am sick of my life, Loo. I, hate it altogether, and I hate everybody
+except you,’ said the unnatural young Thomas Gradgrind in the
+hair-cutting chamber at twilight.
+
+‘You don’t hate Sissy, Tom?’
+
+‘I hate to be obliged to call her Jupe. And she hates me,’ said Tom,
+moodily.
+
+‘No, she does not, Tom, I am sure!’
+
+‘She must,’ said Tom. ‘She must just hate and detest the whole set-out
+of us. They’ll bother her head off, I think, before they have done with
+her. Already she’s getting as pale as wax, and as heavy as—I am.’
+
+Young Thomas expressed these sentiments sitting astride of a chair before
+the fire, with his arms on the back, and his sulky face on his arms. His
+sister sat in the darker corner by the fireside, now looking at him, now
+looking at the bright sparks as they dropped upon the hearth.
+
+‘As to me,’ said Tom, tumbling his hair all manner of ways with his sulky
+hands, ‘I am a Donkey, that’s what _I_ am. I am as obstinate as one, I
+am more stupid than one, I get as much pleasure as one, and I should like
+to kick like one.’
+
+‘Not me, I hope, Tom?’
+
+‘No, Loo; I wouldn’t hurt _you_. I made an exception of you at first. I
+don’t know what this—jolly old—Jaundiced Jail,’ Tom had paused to find a
+sufficiently complimentary and expressive name for the parental roof, and
+seemed to relieve his mind for a moment by the strong alliteration of
+this one, ‘would be without you.’
+
+‘Indeed, Tom? Do you really and truly say so?’
+
+‘Why, of course I do. What’s the use of talking about it!’ returned Tom,
+chafing his face on his coat-sleeve, as if to mortify his flesh, and have
+it in unison with his spirit.
+
+‘Because, Tom,’ said his sister, after silently watching the sparks
+awhile, ‘as I get older, and nearer growing up, I often sit wondering
+here, and think how unfortunate it is for me that I can’t reconcile you
+to home better than I am able to do. I don’t know what other girls know.
+I can’t play to you, or sing to you. I can’t talk to you so as to
+lighten your mind, for I never see any amusing sights or read any amusing
+books that it would be a pleasure or a relief to you to talk about, when
+you are tired.’
+
+‘Well, no more do I. I am as bad as you in that respect; and I am a Mule
+too, which you’re not. If father was determined to make me either a Prig
+or a Mule, and I am not a Prig, why, it stands to reason, I must be a
+Mule. And so I am,’ said Tom, desperately.
+
+‘It’s a great pity,’ said Louisa, after another pause, and speaking
+thoughtfully out of her dark corner: ‘it’s a great pity, Tom. It’s very
+unfortunate for both of us.’
+
+‘Oh! You,’ said Tom; ‘you are a girl, Loo, and a girl comes out of it
+better than a boy does. I don’t miss anything in you. You are the only
+pleasure I have—you can brighten even this place—and you can always lead
+me as you like.’
+
+‘You are a dear brother, Tom; and while you think I can do such things, I
+don’t so much mind knowing better. Though I do know better, Tom, and am
+very sorry for it.’ She came and kissed him, and went back into her
+corner again.
+
+‘I wish I could collect all the Facts we hear so much about,’ said Tom,
+spitefully setting his teeth, ‘and all the Figures, and all the people
+who found them out: and I wish I could put a thousand barrels of
+gunpowder under them, and blow them all up together! However, when I go
+to live with old Bounderby, I’ll have my revenge.’
+
+‘Your revenge, Tom?’
+
+‘I mean, I’ll enjoy myself a little, and go about and see something, and
+hear something. I’ll recompense myself for the way in which I have been
+brought up.’
+
+‘But don’t disappoint yourself beforehand, Tom. Mr. Bounderby thinks as
+father thinks, and is a great deal rougher, and not half so kind.’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Tom, laughing; ‘I don’t mind that. I shall very well know how
+to manage and smooth old Bounderby!’
+
+Their shadows were defined upon the wall, but those of the high presses
+in the room were all blended together on the wall and on the ceiling, as
+if the brother and sister were overhung by a dark cavern. Or, a fanciful
+imagination—if such treason could have been there—might have made it out
+to be the shadow of their subject, and of its lowering association with
+their future.
+
+‘What is your great mode of smoothing and managing, Tom? Is it a
+secret?’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Tom, ‘if it is a secret, it’s not far off. It’s you. You are
+his little pet, you are his favourite; he’ll do anything for you. When
+he says to me what I don’t like, I shall say to him, “My sister Loo will
+be hurt and disappointed, Mr. Bounderby. She always used to tell me she
+was sure you would be easier with me than this.” That’ll bring him
+about, or nothing will.’
+
+After waiting for some answering remark, and getting none, Tom wearily
+relapsed into the present time, and twined himself yawning round and
+about the rails of his chair, and rumpled his head more and more, until
+he suddenly looked up, and asked:
+
+‘Have you gone to sleep, Loo?’
+
+‘No, Tom. I am looking at the fire.’
+
+‘You seem to find more to look at in it than ever I could find,’ said
+Tom. ‘Another of the advantages, I suppose, of being a girl.’
+
+‘Tom,’ enquired his sister, slowly, and in a curious tone, as if she were
+reading what she asked in the fire, and it was not quite plainly written
+there, ‘do you look forward with any satisfaction to this change to Mr.
+Bounderby’s?’
+
+‘Why, there’s one thing to be said of it,’ returned Tom, pushing his
+chair from him, and standing up; ‘it will be getting away from home.’
+
+‘There is one thing to be said of it,’ Louisa repeated in her former
+curious tone; ‘it will be getting away from home. Yes.’
+
+‘Not but what I shall be very unwilling, both to leave you, Loo, and to
+leave you here. But I must go, you know, whether I like it or not; and I
+had better go where I can take with me some advantage of your influence,
+than where I should lose it altogether. Don’t you see?’
+
+‘Yes, Tom.’
+
+The answer was so long in coming, though there was no indecision in it,
+that Tom went and leaned on the back of her chair, to contemplate the
+fire which so engrossed her, from her point of view, and see what he
+could make of it.
+
+‘Except that it is a fire,’ said Tom, ‘it looks to me as stupid and blank
+as everything else looks. What do you see in it? Not a circus?’
+
+‘I don’t see anything in it, Tom, particularly. But since I have been
+looking at it, I have been wondering about you and me, grown up.’
+
+‘Wondering again!’ said Tom.
+
+‘I have such unmanageable thoughts,’ returned his sister, ‘that they
+_will_ wonder.’
+
+‘Then I beg of you, Louisa,’ said Mrs. Gradgrind, who had opened the door
+without being heard, ‘to do nothing of that description, for goodness’
+sake, you inconsiderate girl, or I shall never hear the last of it from
+your father. And, Thomas, it is really shameful, with my poor head
+continually wearing me out, that a boy brought up as you have been, and
+whose education has cost what yours has, should be found encouraging his
+sister to wonder, when he knows his father has expressly said that she is
+not to do it.’
+
+Louisa denied Tom’s participation in the offence; but her mother stopped
+her with the conclusive answer, ‘Louisa, don’t tell me, in my state of
+health; for unless you had been encouraged, it is morally and physically
+impossible that you could have done it.’
+
+‘I was encouraged by nothing, mother, but by looking at the red sparks
+dropping out of the fire, and whitening and dying. It made me think,
+after all, how short my life would be, and how little I could hope to do
+in it.’
+
+‘Nonsense!’ said Mrs. Gradgrind, rendered almost energetic. ‘Nonsense!
+Don’t stand there and tell me such stuff, Louisa, to my face, when you
+know very well that if it was ever to reach your father’s ears I should
+never hear the last of it. After all the trouble that has been taken
+with you! After the lectures you have attended, and the experiments you
+have seen! After I have heard you myself, when the whole of my right
+side has been benumbed, going on with your master about combustion, and
+calcination, and calorification, and I may say every kind of ation that
+could drive a poor invalid distracted, to hear you talking in this absurd
+way about sparks and ashes! I wish,’ whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind, taking a
+chair, and discharging her strongest point before succumbing under these
+mere shadows of facts, ‘yes, I really _do_ wish that I had never had a
+family, and then you would have known what it was to do without me!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+SISSY’S PROGRESS
+
+
+SISSY JUPE had not an easy time of it, between Mr. M’Choakumchild and
+Mrs. Gradgrind, and was not without strong impulses, in the first months
+of her probation, to run away. It hailed facts all day long so very
+hard, and life in general was opened to her as such a closely ruled
+ciphering-book, that assuredly she would have run away, but for only one
+restraint.
+
+It is lamentable to think of; but this restraint was the result of no
+arithmetical process, was self-imposed in defiance of all calculation,
+and went dead against any table of probabilities that any Actuary would
+have drawn up from the premises. The girl believed that her father had
+not deserted her; she lived in the hope that he would come back, and in
+the faith that he would be made the happier by her remaining where she
+was.
+
+The wretched ignorance with which Jupe clung to this consolation,
+rejecting the superior comfort of knowing, on a sound arithmetical basis,
+that her father was an unnatural vagabond, filled Mr. Gradgrind with
+pity. Yet, what was to be done? M’Choakumchild reported that she had a
+very dense head for figures; that, once possessed with a general idea of
+the globe, she took the smallest conceivable interest in its exact
+measurements; that she was extremely slow in the acquisition of dates,
+unless some pitiful incident happened to be connected therewith; that she
+would burst into tears on being required (by the mental process)
+immediately to name the cost of two hundred and forty-seven muslin caps
+at fourteen-pence halfpenny; that she was as low down, in the school, as
+low could be; that after eight weeks of induction into the elements of
+Political Economy, she had only yesterday been set right by a prattler
+three feet high, for returning to the question, ‘What is the first
+principle of this science?’ the absurd answer, ‘To do unto others as I
+would that they should do unto me.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind observed, shaking his head, that all this was very bad;
+that it showed the necessity of infinite grinding at the mill of
+knowledge, as per system, schedule, blue book, report, and tabular
+statements A to Z; and that Jupe ‘must be kept to it.’ So Jupe was kept
+to it, and became low-spirited, but no wiser.
+
+‘It would be a fine thing to be you, Miss Louisa!’ she said, one night,
+when Louisa had endeavoured to make her perplexities for next day
+something clearer to her.
+
+‘Do you think so?’
+
+‘I should know so much, Miss Louisa. All that is difficult to me now,
+would be so easy then.’
+
+‘You might not be the better for it, Sissy.’
+
+Sissy submitted, after a little hesitation, ‘I should not be the worse,
+Miss Louisa.’ To which Miss Louisa answered, ‘I don’t know that.’
+
+There had been so little communication between these two—both because
+life at Stone Lodge went monotonously round like a piece of machinery
+which discouraged human interference, and because of the prohibition
+relative to Sissy’s past career—that they were still almost strangers.
+Sissy, with her dark eyes wonderingly directed to Louisa’s face, was
+uncertain whether to say more or to remain silent.
+
+‘You are more useful to my mother, and more pleasant with her than I can
+ever be,’ Louisa resumed. ‘You are pleasanter to yourself, than _I_ am
+to _my_self.’
+
+‘But, if you please, Miss Louisa,’ Sissy pleaded, ‘I am—O so stupid!’
+
+Louisa, with a brighter laugh than usual, told her she would be wiser
+by-and-by.
+
+‘You don’t know,’ said Sissy, half crying, ‘what a stupid girl I am. All
+through school hours I make mistakes. Mr. and Mrs. M’Choakumchild call
+me up, over and over again, regularly to make mistakes. I can’t help
+them. They seem to come natural to me.’
+
+‘Mr. and Mrs. M’Choakumchild never make any mistakes themselves, I
+suppose, Sissy?’
+
+‘O no!’ she eagerly returned. ‘They know everything.’
+
+‘Tell me some of your mistakes.’
+
+‘I am almost ashamed,’ said Sissy, with reluctance. ‘But to-day, for
+instance, Mr. M’Choakumchild was explaining to us about Natural
+Prosperity.’
+
+‘National, I think it must have been,’ observed Louisa.
+
+‘Yes, it was.—But isn’t it the same?’ she timidly asked.
+
+‘You had better say, National, as he said so,’ returned Louisa, with her
+dry reserve.
+
+‘National Prosperity. And he said, Now, this schoolroom is a Nation.
+And in this nation, there are fifty millions of money. Isn’t this a
+prosperous nation? Girl number twenty, isn’t this a prosperous nation,
+and a’n’t you in a thriving state?’
+
+‘What did you say?’ asked Louisa.
+
+‘Miss Louisa, I said I didn’t know. I thought I couldn’t know whether it
+was a prosperous nation or not, and whether I was in a thriving state or
+not, unless I knew who had got the money, and whether any of it was mine.
+But that had nothing to do with it. It was not in the figures at all,’
+said Sissy, wiping her eyes.
+
+‘That was a great mistake of yours,’ observed Louisa.
+
+‘Yes, Miss Louisa, I know it was, now. Then Mr. M’Choakumchild said he
+would try me again. And he said, This schoolroom is an immense town, and
+in it there are a million of inhabitants, and only five-and-twenty are
+starved to death in the streets, in the course of a year. What is your
+remark on that proportion? And my remark was—for I couldn’t think of a
+better one—that I thought it must be just as hard upon those who were
+starved, whether the others were a million, or a million million. And
+that was wrong, too.’
+
+‘Of course it was.’
+
+‘Then Mr. M’Choakumchild said he would try me once more. And he said,
+Here are the stutterings—’
+
+‘Statistics,’ said Louisa.
+
+‘Yes, Miss Louisa—they always remind me of stutterings, and that’s
+another of my mistakes—of accidents upon the sea. And I find (Mr.
+M’Choakumchild said) that in a given time a hundred thousand persons went
+to sea on long voyages, and only five hundred of them were drowned or
+burnt to death. What is the percentage? And I said, Miss;’ here Sissy
+fairly sobbed as confessing with extreme contrition to her greatest
+error; ‘I said it was nothing.’
+
+‘Nothing, Sissy?’
+
+‘Nothing, Miss—to the relations and friends of the people who were
+killed. I shall never learn,’ said Sissy. ‘And the worst of all is,
+that although my poor father wished me so much to learn, and although I
+am so anxious to learn, because he wished me to, I am afraid I don’t like
+it.’
+
+Louisa stood looking at the pretty modest head, as it drooped abashed
+before her, until it was raised again to glance at her face. Then she
+asked:
+
+‘Did your father know so much himself, that he wished you to be well
+taught too, Sissy?’
+
+Sissy hesitated before replying, and so plainly showed her sense that
+they were entering on forbidden ground, that Louisa added, ‘No one hears
+us; and if any one did, I am sure no harm could be found in such an
+innocent question.’
+
+‘No, Miss Louisa,’ answered Sissy, upon this encouragement, shaking her
+head; ‘father knows very little indeed. It’s as much as he can do to
+write; and it’s more than people in general can do to read his writing.
+Though it’s plain to _me_.’
+
+‘Your mother?’
+
+‘Father says she was quite a scholar. She died when I was born. She
+was;’ Sissy made the terrible communication nervously; ‘she was a
+dancer.’
+
+‘Did your father love her?’ Louisa asked these questions with a strong,
+wild, wandering interest peculiar to her; an interest gone astray like a
+banished creature, and hiding in solitary places.
+
+‘O yes! As dearly as he loves me. Father loved me, first, for her sake.
+He carried me about with him when I was quite a baby. We have never been
+asunder from that time.’
+
+‘Yet he leaves you now, Sissy?’
+
+‘Only for my good. Nobody understands him as I do; nobody knows him as I
+do. When he left me for my good—he never would have left me for his
+own—I know he was almost broken-hearted with the trial. He will not be
+happy for a single minute, till he comes back.’
+
+‘Tell me more about him,’ said Louisa, ‘I will never ask you again.
+Where did you live?’
+
+‘We travelled about the country, and had no fixed place to live in.
+Father’s a;’ Sissy whispered the awful word, ‘a clown.’
+
+‘To make the people laugh?’ said Louisa, with a nod of intelligence.
+
+‘Yes. But they wouldn’t laugh sometimes, and then father cried. Lately,
+they very often wouldn’t laugh, and he used to come home despairing.
+Father’s not like most. Those who didn’t know him as well as I do, and
+didn’t love him as dearly as I do, might believe he was not quite right.
+Sometimes they played tricks upon him; but they never knew how he felt
+them, and shrunk up, when he was alone with me. He was far, far timider
+than they thought!’
+
+‘And you were his comfort through everything?’
+
+She nodded, with the tears rolling down her face. ‘I hope so, and father
+said I was. It was because he grew so scared and trembling, and because
+he felt himself to be a poor, weak, ignorant, helpless man (those used to
+be his words), that he wanted me so much to know a great deal, and be
+different from him. I used to read to him to cheer his courage, and he
+was very fond of that. They were wrong books—I am never to speak of them
+here—but we didn’t know there was any harm in them.’
+
+‘And he liked them?’ said Louisa, with a searching gaze on Sissy all this
+time.
+
+‘O very much! They kept him, many times, from what did him real harm.
+And often and often of a night, he used to forget all his troubles in
+wondering whether the Sultan would let the lady go on with the story, or
+would have her head cut off before it was finished.’
+
+‘And your father was always kind? To the last?’ asked Louisa
+contravening the great principle, and wondering very much.
+
+‘Always, always!’ returned Sissy, clasping her hands. ‘Kinder and kinder
+than I can tell. He was angry only one night, and that was not to me,
+but Merrylegs. Merrylegs;’ she whispered the awful fact; ‘is his
+performing dog.’
+
+‘Why was he angry with the dog?’ Louisa demanded.
+
+‘Father, soon after they came home from performing, told Merrylegs to
+jump up on the backs of the two chairs and stand across them—which is one
+of his tricks. He looked at father, and didn’t do it at once.
+Everything of father’s had gone wrong that night, and he hadn’t pleased
+the public at all. He cried out that the very dog knew he was failing,
+and had no compassion on him. Then he beat the dog, and I was
+frightened, and said, “Father, father! Pray don’t hurt the creature who
+is so fond of you! O Heaven forgive you, father, stop!” And he stopped,
+and the dog was bloody, and father lay down crying on the floor with the
+dog in his arms, and the dog licked his face.’
+
+Louisa saw that she was sobbing; and going to her, kissed her, took her
+hand, and sat down beside her.
+
+‘Finish by telling me how your father left you, Sissy. Now that I have
+asked you so much, tell me the end. The blame, if there is any blame, is
+mine, not yours.’
+
+‘Dear Miss Louisa,’ said Sissy, covering her eyes, and sobbing yet; ‘I
+came home from the school that afternoon, and found poor father just come
+home too, from the booth. And he sat rocking himself over the fire, as
+if he was in pain. And I said, “Have you hurt yourself, father?” (as he
+did sometimes, like they all did), and he said, “A little, my darling.”
+And when I came to stoop down and look up at his face, I saw that he was
+crying. The more I spoke to him, the more he hid his face; and at first
+he shook all over, and said nothing but “My darling;” and “My love!”’
+
+Here Tom came lounging in, and stared at the two with a coolness not
+particularly savouring of interest in anything but himself, and not much
+of that at present.
+
+‘I am asking Sissy a few questions, Tom,’ observed his sister. ‘You have
+no occasion to go away; but don’t interrupt us for a moment, Tom dear.’
+
+‘Oh! very well!’ returned Tom. ‘Only father has brought old Bounderby
+home, and I want you to come into the drawing-room. Because if you come,
+there’s a good chance of old Bounderby’s asking me to dinner; and if you
+don’t, there’s none.’
+
+‘I’ll come directly.’
+
+‘I’ll wait for you,’ said Tom, ‘to make sure.’
+
+Sissy resumed in a lower voice. ‘At last poor father said that he had
+given no satisfaction again, and never did give any satisfaction now, and
+that he was a shame and disgrace, and I should have done better without
+him all along. I said all the affectionate things to him that came into
+my heart, and presently he was quiet and I sat down by him, and told him
+all about the school and everything that had been said and done there.
+When I had no more left to tell, he put his arms round my neck, and
+kissed me a great many times. Then he asked me to fetch some of the
+stuff he used, for the little hurt he had had, and to get it at the best
+place, which was at the other end of town from there; and then, after
+kissing me again, he let me go. When I had gone down-stairs, I turned
+back that I might be a little bit more company to him yet, and looked in
+at the door, and said, “Father dear, shall I take Merrylegs?” Father
+shook his head and said, “No, Sissy, no; take nothing that’s known to be
+mine, my darling;” and I left him sitting by the fire. Then the thought
+must have come upon him, poor, poor father! of going away to try
+something for my sake; for when I came back, he was gone.’
+
+‘I say! Look sharp for old Bounderby, Loo!’ Tom remonstrated.
+
+‘There’s no more to tell, Miss Louisa. I keep the nine oils ready for
+him, and I know he will come back. Every letter that I see in Mr.
+Gradgrind’s hand takes my breath away and blinds my eyes, for I think it
+comes from father, or from Mr. Sleary about father. Mr. Sleary promised
+to write as soon as ever father should be heard of, and I trust to him to
+keep his word.’
+
+‘Do look sharp for old Bounderby, Loo!’ said Tom, with an impatient
+whistle. ‘He’ll be off if you don’t look sharp!’
+
+After this, whenever Sissy dropped a curtsey to Mr. Gradgrind in the
+presence of his family, and said in a faltering way, ‘I beg your pardon,
+sir, for being troublesome—but—have you had any letter yet about me?’
+Louisa would suspend the occupation of the moment, whatever it was, and
+look for the reply as earnestly as Sissy did. And when Mr. Gradgrind
+regularly answered, ‘No, Jupe, nothing of the sort,’ the trembling of
+Sissy’s lip would be repeated in Louisa’s face, and her eyes would follow
+Sissy with compassion to the door. Mr. Gradgrind usually improved these
+occasions by remarking, when she was gone, that if Jupe had been properly
+trained from an early age she would have remonstrated to herself on sound
+principles the baselessness of these fantastic hopes. Yet it did seem
+(though not to him, for he saw nothing of it) as if fantastic hope could
+take as strong a hold as Fact.
+
+This observation must be limited exclusively to his daughter. As to Tom,
+he was becoming that not unprecedented triumph of calculation which is
+usually at work on number one. As to Mrs. Gradgrind, if she said
+anything on the subject, she would come a little way out of her wrappers,
+like a feminine dormouse, and say:
+
+‘Good gracious bless me, how my poor head is vexed and worried by that
+girl Jupe’s so perseveringly asking, over and over again, about her
+tiresome letters! Upon my word and honour I seem to be fated, and
+destined, and ordained, to live in the midst of things that I am never to
+hear the last of. It really is a most extraordinary circumstance that it
+appears as if I never was to hear the last of anything!’
+
+At about this point, Mr. Gradgrind’s eye would fall upon her; and under
+the influence of that wintry piece of fact, she would become torpid
+again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+STEPHEN BLACKPOOL
+
+
+I ENTERTAIN a weak idea that the English people are as hard-worked as any
+people upon whom the sun shines. I acknowledge to this ridiculous
+idiosyncrasy, as a reason why I would give them a little more play.
+
+In the hardest working part of Coketown; in the innermost fortifications
+of that ugly citadel, where Nature was as strongly bricked out as killing
+airs and gases were bricked in; at the heart of the labyrinth of narrow
+courts upon courts, and close streets upon streets, which had come into
+existence piecemeal, every piece in a violent hurry for some one man’s
+purpose, and the whole an unnatural family, shouldering, and trampling,
+and pressing one another to death; in the last close nook of this great
+exhausted receiver, where the chimneys, for want of air to make a
+draught, were built in an immense variety of stunted and crooked shapes,
+as though every house put out a sign of the kind of people who might be
+expected to be born in it; among the multitude of Coketown, generically
+called ‘the Hands,’—a race who would have found more favour with some
+people, if Providence had seen fit to make them only hands, or, like the
+lower creatures of the seashore, only hands and stomachs—lived a certain
+Stephen Blackpool, forty years of age.
+
+Stephen looked older, but he had had a hard life. It is said that every
+life has its roses and thorns; there seemed, however, to have been a
+misadventure or mistake in Stephen’s case, whereby somebody else had
+become possessed of his roses, and he had become possessed of the same
+somebody else’s thorns in addition to his own. He had known, to use his
+words, a peck of trouble. He was usually called Old Stephen, in a kind
+of rough homage to the fact.
+
+A rather stooping man, with a knitted brow, a pondering expression of
+face, and a hard-looking head sufficiently capacious, on which his
+iron-grey hair lay long and thin, Old Stephen might have passed for a
+particularly intelligent man in his condition. Yet he was not. He took
+no place among those remarkable ‘Hands,’ who, piecing together their
+broken intervals of leisure through many years, had mastered difficult
+sciences, and acquired a knowledge of most unlikely things. He held no
+station among the Hands who could make speeches and carry on debates.
+Thousands of his compeers could talk much better than he, at any time.
+He was a good power-loom weaver, and a man of perfect integrity. What
+more he was, or what else he had in him, if anything, let him show for
+himself.
+
+The lights in the great factories, which looked, when they were
+illuminated, like Fairy palaces—or the travellers by express-train said
+so—were all extinguished; and the bells had rung for knocking off for the
+night, and had ceased again; and the Hands, men and women, boy and girl,
+were clattering home. Old Stephen was standing in the street, with the
+old sensation upon him which the stoppage of the machinery always
+produced—the sensation of its having worked and stopped in his own head.
+
+‘Yet I don’t see Rachael, still!’ said he.
+
+It was a wet night, and many groups of young women passed him, with their
+shawls drawn over their bare heads and held close under their chins to
+keep the rain out. He knew Rachael well, for a glance at any one of
+these groups was sufficient to show him that she was not there. At last,
+there were no more to come; and then he turned away, saying in a tone of
+disappointment, ‘Why, then, ha’ missed her!’
+
+But, he had not gone the length of three streets, when he saw another of
+the shawled figures in advance of him, at which he looked so keenly that
+perhaps its mere shadow indistinctly reflected on the wet pavement—if he
+could have seen it without the figure itself moving along from lamp to
+lamp, brightening and fading as it went—would have been enough to tell
+him who was there. Making his pace at once much quicker and much softer,
+he darted on until he was very near this figure, then fell into his
+former walk, and called ‘Rachael!’
+
+She turned, being then in the brightness of a lamp; and raising her hood
+a little, showed a quiet oval face, dark and rather delicate, irradiated
+by a pair of very gentle eyes, and further set off by the perfect order
+of her shining black hair. It was not a face in its first bloom; she was
+a woman five and thirty years of age.
+
+‘Ah, lad! ’Tis thou?’ When she had said this, with a smile which would
+have been quite expressed, though nothing of her had been seen but her
+pleasant eyes, she replaced her hood again, and they went on together.
+
+‘I thought thou wast ahind me, Rachael?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Early t’night, lass?’
+
+‘’Times I’m a little early, Stephen! ’times a little late. I’m never to
+be counted on, going home.’
+
+‘Nor going t’other way, neither, ’t seems to me, Rachael?’
+
+‘No, Stephen.’
+
+He looked at her with some disappointment in his face, but with a
+respectful and patient conviction that she must be right in whatever she
+did. The expression was not lost upon her; she laid her hand lightly on
+his arm a moment as if to thank him for it.
+
+‘We are such true friends, lad, and such old friends, and getting to be
+such old folk, now.’
+
+‘No, Rachael, thou’rt as young as ever thou wast.’
+
+‘One of us would be puzzled how to get old, Stephen, without ’t other
+getting so too, both being alive,’ she answered, laughing; ‘but, anyways,
+we’re such old friends, and t’ hide a word of honest truth fro’ one
+another would be a sin and a pity. ’Tis better not to walk too much
+together. ’Times, yes! ’Twould be hard, indeed, if ’twas not to be at
+all,’ she said, with a cheerfulness she sought to communicate to him.
+
+‘’Tis hard, anyways, Rachael.’
+
+‘Try to think not; and ’twill seem better.’
+
+‘I’ve tried a long time, and ’ta’nt got better. But thou’rt right; ’t
+might mak fok talk, even of thee. Thou hast been that to me, Rachael,
+through so many year: thou hast done me so much good, and heartened of me
+in that cheering way, that thy word is a law to me. Ah, lass, and a
+bright good law! Better than some real ones.’
+
+‘Never fret about them, Stephen,’ she answered quickly, and not without
+an anxious glance at his face. ‘Let the laws be.’
+
+‘Yes,’ he said, with a slow nod or two. ‘Let ’em be. Let everything be.
+Let all sorts alone. ’Tis a muddle, and that’s aw.’
+
+‘Always a muddle?’ said Rachael, with another gentle touch upon his arm,
+as if to recall him out of the thoughtfulness, in which he was biting the
+long ends of his loose neckerchief as he walked along. The touch had its
+instantaneous effect. He let them fall, turned a smiling face upon her,
+and said, as he broke into a good-humoured laugh, ‘Ay, Rachael, lass,
+awlus a muddle. That’s where I stick. I come to the muddle many times
+and agen, and I never get beyond it.’
+
+They had walked some distance, and were near their own homes. The
+woman’s was the first reached. It was in one of the many small streets
+for which the favourite undertaker (who turned a handsome sum out of the
+one poor ghastly pomp of the neighbourhood) kept a black ladder, in order
+that those who had done their daily groping up and down the narrow stairs
+might slide out of this working world by the windows. She stopped at the
+corner, and putting her hand in his, wished him good night.
+
+‘Good night, dear lass; good night!’
+
+She went, with her neat figure and her sober womanly step, down the dark
+street, and he stood looking after her until she turned into one of the
+small houses. There was not a flutter of her coarse shawl, perhaps, but
+had its interest in this man’s eyes; not a tone of her voice but had its
+echo in his innermost heart.
+
+When she was lost to his view, he pursued his homeward way, glancing up
+sometimes at the sky, where the clouds were sailing fast and wildly.
+But, they were broken now, and the rain had ceased, and the moon
+shone,—looking down the high chimneys of Coketown on the deep furnaces
+below, and casting Titanic shadows of the steam-engines at rest, upon the
+walls where they were lodged. The man seemed to have brightened with the
+night, as he went on.
+
+His home, in such another street as the first, saving that it was
+narrower, was over a little shop. How it came to pass that any people
+found it worth their while to sell or buy the wretched little toys, mixed
+up in its window with cheap newspapers and pork (there was a leg to be
+raffled for to-morrow-night), matters not here. He took his end of
+candle from a shelf, lighted it at another end of candle on the counter,
+without disturbing the mistress of the shop who was asleep in her little
+room, and went upstairs into his lodging.
+
+It was a room, not unacquainted with the black ladder under various
+tenants; but as neat, at present, as such a room could be. A few books
+and writings were on an old bureau in a corner, the furniture was decent
+and sufficient, and, though the atmosphere was tainted, the room was
+clean.
+
+Going to the hearth to set the candle down upon a round three-legged
+table standing there, he stumbled against something. As he recoiled,
+looking down at it, it raised itself up into the form of a woman in a
+sitting attitude.
+
+‘Heaven’s mercy, woman!’ he cried, falling farther off from the figure.
+‘Hast thou come back again!’
+
+Such a woman! A disabled, drunken creature, barely able to preserve her
+sitting posture by steadying herself with one begrimed hand on the floor,
+while the other was so purposeless in trying to push away her tangled
+hair from her face, that it only blinded her the more with the dirt upon
+it. A creature so foul to look at, in her tatters, stains and splashes,
+but so much fouler than that in her moral infamy, that it was a shameful
+thing even to see her.
+
+After an impatient oath or two, and some stupid clawing of herself with
+the hand not necessary to her support, she got her hair away from her
+eyes sufficiently to obtain a sight of him. Then she sat swaying her
+body to and fro, and making gestures with her unnerved arm, which seemed
+intended as the accompaniment to a fit of laughter, though her face was
+stolid and drowsy.
+
+‘Eigh, lad? What, yo’r there?’ Some hoarse sounds meant for this, came
+mockingly out of her at last; and her head dropped forward on her breast.
+
+‘Back agen?’ she screeched, after some minutes, as if he had that moment
+said it. ‘Yes! And back agen. Back agen ever and ever so often. Back?
+Yes, back. Why not?’
+
+Roused by the unmeaning violence with which she cried it out, she
+scrambled up, and stood supporting herself with her shoulders against the
+wall; dangling in one hand by the string, a dunghill-fragment of a
+bonnet, and trying to look scornfully at him.
+
+‘I’ll sell thee off again, and I’ll sell thee off again, and I’ll sell
+thee off a score of times!’ she cried, with something between a furious
+menace and an effort at a defiant dance. ‘Come awa’ from th’ bed!’ He
+was sitting on the side of it, with his face hidden in his hands. ‘Come
+awa! from ’t. ’Tis mine, and I’ve a right to t’!’
+
+As she staggered to it, he avoided her with a shudder, and passed—his
+face still hidden—to the opposite end of the room. She threw herself
+upon the bed heavily, and soon was snoring hard. He sunk into a chair,
+and moved but once all that night. It was to throw a covering over her;
+as if his hands were not enough to hide her, even in the darkness.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+NO WAY OUT
+
+
+THE Fairy palaces burst into illumination, before pale morning showed the
+monstrous serpents of smoke trailing themselves over Coketown. A
+clattering of clogs upon the pavement; a rapid ringing of bells; and all
+the melancholy mad elephants, polished and oiled up for the day’s
+monotony, were at their heavy exercise again.
+
+Stephen bent over his loom, quiet, watchful, and steady. A special
+contrast, as every man was in the forest of looms where Stephen worked,
+to the crashing, smashing, tearing piece of mechanism at which he
+laboured. Never fear, good people of an anxious turn of mind, that Art
+will consign Nature to oblivion. Set anywhere, side by side, the work of
+GOD and the work of man; and the former, even though it be a troop of
+Hands of very small account, will gain in dignity from the comparison.
+
+So many hundred Hands in this Mill; so many hundred horse Steam Power.
+It is known, to the force of a single pound weight, what the engine will
+do; but, not all the calculators of the National Debt can tell me the
+capacity for good or evil, for love or hatred, for patriotism or
+discontent, for the decomposition of virtue into vice, or the reverse, at
+any single moment in the soul of one of these its quiet servants, with
+the composed faces and the regulated actions. There is no mystery in it;
+there is an unfathomable mystery in the meanest of them, for
+ever.—Supposing we were to reverse our arithmetic for material objects,
+and to govern these awful unknown quantities by other means!
+
+The day grew strong, and showed itself outside, even against the flaming
+lights within. The lights were turned out, and the work went on. The
+rain fell, and the Smoke-serpents, submissive to the curse of all that
+tribe, trailed themselves upon the earth. In the waste-yard outside, the
+steam from the escape pipe, the litter of barrels and old iron, the
+shining heaps of coals, the ashes everywhere, were shrouded in a veil of
+mist and rain.
+
+The work went on, until the noon-bell rang. More clattering upon the
+pavements. The looms, and wheels, and Hands all out of gear for an hour.
+
+Stephen came out of the hot mill into the damp wind and cold wet streets,
+haggard and worn. He turned from his own class and his own quarter,
+taking nothing but a little bread as he walked along, towards the hill on
+which his principal employer lived, in a red house with black outside
+shutters, green inside blinds, a black street door, up two white steps,
+BOUNDERBY (in letters very like himself) upon a brazen plate, and a round
+brazen door-handle underneath it, like a brazen full-stop.
+
+Mr. Bounderby was at his lunch. So Stephen had expected. Would his
+servant say that one of the Hands begged leave to speak to him? Message
+in return, requiring name of such Hand. Stephen Blackpool. There was
+nothing troublesome against Stephen Blackpool; yes, he might come in.
+
+Stephen Blackpool in the parlour. Mr. Bounderby (whom he just knew by
+sight), at lunch on chop and sherry. Mrs. Sparsit netting at the
+fireside, in a side-saddle attitude, with one foot in a cotton stirrup.
+It was a part, at once of Mrs. Sparsit’s dignity and service, not to
+lunch. She supervised the meal officially, but implied that in her own
+stately person she considered lunch a weakness.
+
+‘Now, Stephen,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘what’s the matter with _you_?’
+
+Stephen made a bow. Not a servile one—these Hands will never do that!
+Lord bless you, sir, you’ll never catch them at that, if they have been
+with you twenty years!—and, as a complimentary toilet for Mrs. Sparsit,
+tucked his neckerchief ends into his waistcoat.
+
+‘Now, you know,’ said Mr. Bounderby, taking some sherry, ‘we have never
+had any difficulty with you, and you have never been one of the
+unreasonable ones. You don’t expect to be set up in a coach and six, and
+to be fed on turtle soup and venison, with a gold spoon, as a good many
+of ’em do!’ Mr. Bounderby always represented this to be the sole,
+immediate, and direct object of any Hand who was not entirely satisfied;
+‘and therefore I know already that you have not come here to make a
+complaint. Now, you know, I am certain of that, beforehand.’
+
+‘No, sir, sure I ha’ not coom for nowt o’ th’ kind.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby seemed agreeably surprised, notwithstanding his previous
+strong conviction. ‘Very well,’ he returned. ‘You’re a steady Hand, and
+I was not mistaken. Now, let me hear what it’s all about. As it’s not
+that, let me hear what it is. What have you got to say? Out with it,
+lad!’
+
+Stephen happened to glance towards Mrs. Sparsit. ‘I can go, Mr.
+Bounderby, if you wish it,’ said that self-sacrificing lady, making a
+feint of taking her foot out of the stirrup.
+
+Mr. Bounderby stayed her, by holding a mouthful of chop in suspension
+before swallowing it, and putting out his left hand. Then, withdrawing
+his hand and swallowing his mouthful of chop, he said to Stephen:
+
+‘Now you know, this good lady is a born lady, a high lady. You are not
+to suppose because she keeps my house for me, that she hasn’t been very
+high up the tree—ah, up at the top of the tree! Now, if you have got
+anything to say that can’t be said before a born lady, this lady will
+leave the room. If what you have got to say _can_ be said before a born
+lady, this lady will stay where she is.’
+
+‘Sir, I hope I never had nowt to say, not fitten for a born lady to year,
+sin’ I were born mysen’,’ was the reply, accompanied with a slight flush.
+
+‘Very well,’ said Mr. Bounderby, pushing away his plate, and leaning
+back. ‘Fire away!’
+
+‘I ha’ coom,’ Stephen began, raising his eyes from the floor, after a
+moment’s consideration, ‘to ask yo yor advice. I need ’t overmuch. I
+were married on Eas’r Monday nineteen year sin, long and dree. She were
+a young lass—pretty enow—wi’ good accounts of herseln. Well! She went
+bad—soon. Not along of me. Gonnows I were not a unkind husband to her.’
+
+‘I have heard all this before,’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘She took to
+drinking, left off working, sold the furniture, pawned the clothes, and
+played old Gooseberry.’
+
+‘I were patient wi’ her.’
+
+(‘The more fool you, I think,’ said Mr. Bounderby, in confidence to his
+wine-glass.)
+
+‘I were very patient wi’ her. I tried to wean her fra ’t ower and ower
+agen. I tried this, I tried that, I tried t’other. I ha’ gone home,
+many’s the time, and found all vanished as I had in the world, and her
+without a sense left to bless herseln lying on bare ground. I ha’ dun ’t
+not once, not twice—twenty time!’
+
+Every line in his face deepened as he said it, and put in its affecting
+evidence of the suffering he had undergone.
+
+‘From bad to worse, from worse to worsen. She left me. She disgraced
+herseln everyways, bitter and bad. She coom back, she coom back, she
+coom back. What could I do t’ hinder her? I ha’ walked the streets
+nights long, ere ever I’d go home. I ha’ gone t’ th’ brigg, minded to
+fling myseln ower, and ha’ no more on’t. I ha’ bore that much, that I
+were owd when I were young.’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit, easily ambling along with her netting-needles, raised the
+Coriolanian eyebrows and shook her head, as much as to say, ‘The great
+know trouble as well as the small. Please to turn your humble eye in My
+direction.’
+
+‘I ha’ paid her to keep awa’ fra’ me. These five year I ha’ paid her. I
+ha’ gotten decent fewtrils about me agen. I ha’ lived hard and sad, but
+not ashamed and fearfo’ a’ the minnits o’ my life. Last night, I went
+home. There she lay upon my har-stone! There she is!’
+
+In the strength of his misfortune, and the energy of his distress, he
+fired for the moment like a proud man. In another moment, he stood as he
+had stood all the time—his usual stoop upon him; his pondering face
+addressed to Mr. Bounderby, with a curious expression on it, half shrewd,
+half perplexed, as if his mind were set upon unravelling something very
+difficult; his hat held tight in his left hand, which rested on his hip;
+his right arm, with a rugged propriety and force of action, very
+earnestly emphasizing what he said: not least so when it always paused, a
+little bent, but not withdrawn, as he paused.
+
+‘I was acquainted with all this, you know,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘except
+the last clause, long ago. It’s a bad job; that’s what it is. You had
+better have been satisfied as you were, and not have got married.
+However, it’s too late to say that.’
+
+‘Was it an unequal marriage, sir, in point of years?’ asked Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘You hear what this lady asks. Was it an unequal marriage in point of
+years, this unlucky job of yours?’ said Mr. Bounderby.
+
+‘Not e’en so. I were one-and-twenty myseln; she were twenty nighbut.’
+
+‘Indeed, sir?’ said Mrs. Sparsit to her Chief, with great placidity. ‘I
+inferred, from its being so miserable a marriage, that it was probably an
+unequal one in point of years.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby looked very hard at the good lady in a side-long way that
+had an odd sheepishness about it. He fortified himself with a little
+more sherry.
+
+‘Well? Why don’t you go on?’ he then asked, turning rather irritably on
+Stephen Blackpool.
+
+‘I ha’ coom to ask yo, sir, how I am to be ridded o’ this woman.’
+Stephen infused a yet deeper gravity into the mixed expression of his
+attentive face. Mrs. Sparsit uttered a gentle ejaculation, as having
+received a moral shock.
+
+‘What do you mean?’ said Bounderby, getting up to lean his back against
+the chimney-piece. ‘What are you talking about? You took her for better
+for worse.’
+
+‘I mun’ be ridden o’ her. I cannot bear ’t nommore. I ha’ lived under
+’t so long, for that I ha’ had’n the pity and comforting words o’ th’
+best lass living or dead. Haply, but for her, I should ha’ gone
+battering mad.’
+
+‘He wishes to be free, to marry the female of whom he speaks, I fear,
+sir,’ observed Mrs. Sparsit in an undertone, and much dejected by the
+immorality of the people.
+
+‘I do. The lady says what’s right. I do. I were a coming to ’t. I ha’
+read i’ th’ papers that great folk (fair faw ’em a’! I wishes ’em no
+hurt!) are not bonded together for better for worst so fast, but that
+they can be set free fro’ _their_ misfortnet marriages, an’ marry ower
+agen. When they dunnot agree, for that their tempers is ill-sorted, they
+has rooms o’ one kind an’ another in their houses, above a bit, and they
+can live asunders. We fok ha’ only one room, and we can’t. When that
+won’t do, they ha’ gowd an’ other cash, an’ they can say “This for yo’
+an’ that for me,” an’ they can go their separate ways. We can’t. Spite
+o’ all that, they can be set free for smaller wrongs than mine. So, I
+mun be ridden o’ this woman, and I want t’ know how?’
+
+‘No how,’ returned Mr. Bounderby.
+
+‘If I do her any hurt, sir, there’s a law to punish me?’
+
+‘Of course there is.’
+
+‘If I flee from her, there’s a law to punish me?’
+
+‘Of course there is.’
+
+‘If I marry t’oother dear lass, there’s a law to punish me?’
+
+‘Of course there is.’
+
+‘If I was to live wi’ her an’ not marry her—saying such a thing could be,
+which it never could or would, an’ her so good—there’s a law to punish
+me, in every innocent child belonging to me?’
+
+‘Of course there is.’
+
+‘Now, a’ God’s name,’ said Stephen Blackpool, ‘show me the law to help
+me!’
+
+‘Hem! There’s a sanctity in this relation of life,’ said Mr. Bounderby,
+‘and—and—it must be kept up.’
+
+‘No no, dunnot say that, sir. ’Tan’t kep’ up that way. Not that way.
+’Tis kep’ down that way. I’m a weaver, I were in a fact’ry when a chilt,
+but I ha’ gotten een to see wi’ and eern to year wi’. I read in th’
+papers every ’Sizes, every Sessions—and you read too—I know it!—with
+dismay—how th’ supposed unpossibility o’ ever getting unchained from one
+another, at any price, on any terms, brings blood upon this land, and
+brings many common married fok to battle, murder, and sudden death. Let
+us ha’ this, right understood. Mine’s a grievous case, an’ I want—if yo
+will be so good—t’ know the law that helps me.’
+
+‘Now, I tell you what!’ said Mr. Bounderby, putting his hands in his
+pockets. ‘There _is_ such a law.’
+
+Stephen, subsiding into his quiet manner, and never wandering in his
+attention, gave a nod.
+
+‘But it’s not for you at all. It costs money. It costs a mint of
+money.’
+
+‘How much might that be?’ Stephen calmly asked.
+
+‘Why, you’d have to go to Doctors’ Commons with a suit, and you’d have to
+go to a court of Common Law with a suit, and you’d have to go to the
+House of Lords with a suit, and you’d have to get an Act of Parliament to
+enable you to marry again, and it would cost you (if it was a case of
+very plain sailing), I suppose from a thousand to fifteen hundred pound,’
+said Mr. Bounderby. ‘Perhaps twice the money.’
+
+‘There’s no other law?’
+
+‘Certainly not.’
+
+‘Why then, sir,’ said Stephen, turning white, and motioning with that
+right hand of his, as if he gave everything to the four winds, ‘’_tis_ a
+muddle. ’Tis just a muddle a’toogether, an’ the sooner I am dead, the
+better.’
+
+(Mrs. Sparsit again dejected by the impiety of the people.)
+
+‘Pooh, pooh! Don’t you talk nonsense, my good fellow,’ said Mr.
+Bounderby, ‘about things you don’t understand; and don’t you call the
+Institutions of your country a muddle, or you’ll get yourself into a real
+muddle one of these fine mornings. The institutions of your country are
+not your piece-work, and the only thing you have got to do, is, to mind
+your piece-work. You didn’t take your wife for fast and for loose; but
+for better for worse. If she has turned out worse—why, all we have got
+to say is, she might have turned out better.’
+
+‘’Tis a muddle,’ said Stephen, shaking his head as he moved to the door.
+‘’Tis a’ a muddle!’
+
+‘Now, I’ll tell you what!’ Mr. Bounderby resumed, as a valedictory
+address. ‘With what I shall call your unhallowed opinions, you have been
+quite shocking this lady: who, as I have already told you, is a born
+lady, and who, as I have not already told you, has had her own marriage
+misfortunes to the tune of tens of thousands of pounds—tens of Thousands
+of Pounds!’ (he repeated it with great relish). ‘Now, you have always
+been a steady Hand hitherto; but my opinion is, and so I tell you
+plainly, that you are turning into the wrong road. You have been
+listening to some mischievous stranger or other—they’re always about—and
+the best thing you can do is, to come out of that. Now you know;’ here
+his countenance expressed marvellous acuteness; ‘I can see as far into a
+grindstone as another man; farther than a good many, perhaps, because I
+had my nose well kept to it when I was young. I see traces of the turtle
+soup, and venison, and gold spoon in this. Yes, I do!’ cried Mr.
+Bounderby, shaking his head with obstinate cunning. ‘By the Lord Harry,
+I do!’
+
+With a very different shake of the head and deep sigh, Stephen said,
+‘Thank you, sir, I wish you good day.’ So he left Mr. Bounderby swelling
+at his own portrait on the wall, as if he were going to explode himself
+into it; and Mrs. Sparsit still ambling on with her foot in her stirrup,
+looking quite cast down by the popular vices.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+THE OLD WOMAN
+
+
+OLD STEPHEN descended the two white steps, shutting the black door with
+the brazen door-plate, by the aid of the brazen full-stop, to which he
+gave a parting polish with the sleeve of his coat, observing that his hot
+hand clouded it. He crossed the street with his eyes bent upon the
+ground, and thus was walking sorrowfully away, when he felt a touch upon
+his arm.
+
+It was not the touch he needed most at such a moment—the touch that could
+calm the wild waters of his soul, as the uplifted hand of the sublimest
+love and patience could abate the raging of the sea—yet it was a woman’s
+hand too. It was an old woman, tall and shapely still, though withered
+by time, on whom his eyes fell when he stopped and turned. She was very
+cleanly and plainly dressed, had country mud upon her shoes, and was
+newly come from a journey. The flutter of her manner, in the unwonted
+noise of the streets; the spare shawl, carried unfolded on her arm; the
+heavy umbrella, and little basket; the loose long-fingered gloves, to
+which her hands were unused; all bespoke an old woman from the country,
+in her plain holiday clothes, come into Coketown on an expedition of rare
+occurrence. Remarking this at a glance, with the quick observation of
+his class, Stephen Blackpool bent his attentive face—his face, which,
+like the faces of many of his order, by dint of long working with eyes
+and hands in the midst of a prodigious noise, had acquired the
+concentrated look with which we are familiar in the countenances of the
+deaf—the better to hear what she asked him.
+
+‘Pray, sir,’ said the old woman, ‘didn’t I see you come out of that
+gentleman’s house?’ pointing back to Mr. Bounderby’s. ‘I believe it was
+you, unless I have had the bad luck to mistake the person in following?’
+
+‘Yes, missus,’ returned Stephen, ‘it were me.’
+
+‘Have you—you’ll excuse an old woman’s curiosity—have you seen the
+gentleman?’
+
+‘Yes, missus.’
+
+‘And how did he look, sir? Was he portly, bold, outspoken, and hearty?’
+As she straightened her own figure, and held up her head in adapting her
+action to her words, the idea crossed Stephen that he had seen this old
+woman before, and had not quite liked her.
+
+‘O yes,’ he returned, observing her more attentively, ‘he were all that.’
+
+‘And healthy,’ said the old woman, ‘as the fresh wind?’
+
+‘Yes,’ returned Stephen. ‘He were ett’n and drinking—as large and as
+loud as a Hummobee.’
+
+‘Thank you!’ said the old woman, with infinite content. ‘Thank you!’
+
+He certainly never had seen this old woman before. Yet there was a vague
+remembrance in his mind, as if he had more than once dreamed of some old
+woman like her.
+
+She walked along at his side, and, gently accommodating himself to her
+humour, he said Coketown was a busy place, was it not? To which she
+answered ‘Eigh sure! Dreadful busy!’ Then he said, she came from the
+country, he saw? To which she answered in the affirmative.
+
+‘By Parliamentary, this morning. I came forty mile by Parliamentary this
+morning, and I’m going back the same forty mile this afternoon. I walked
+nine mile to the station this morning, and if I find nobody on the road
+to give me a lift, I shall walk the nine mile back to-night. That’s
+pretty well, sir, at my age!’ said the chatty old woman, her eye
+brightening with exultation.
+
+‘’Deed ’tis. Don’t do’t too often, missus.’
+
+‘No, no. Once a year,’ she answered, shaking her head. ‘I spend my
+savings so, once every year. I come regular, to tramp about the streets,
+and see the gentlemen.’
+
+‘Only to see ’em?’ returned Stephen.
+
+‘That’s enough for me,’ she replied, with great earnestness and interest
+of manner. ‘I ask no more! I have been standing about, on this side of
+the way, to see that gentleman,’ turning her head back towards Mr.
+Bounderby’s again, ‘come out. But, he’s late this year, and I have not
+seen him. You came out instead. Now, if I am obliged to go back without
+a glimpse of him—I only want a glimpse—well! I have seen you, and you
+have seen him, and I must make that do.’ Saying this, she looked at
+Stephen as if to fix his features in her mind, and her eye was not so
+bright as it had been.
+
+With a large allowance for difference of tastes, and with all submission
+to the patricians of Coketown, this seemed so extraordinary a source of
+interest to take so much trouble about, that it perplexed him. But they
+were passing the church now, and as his eye caught the clock, he
+quickened his pace.
+
+He was going to his work? the old woman said, quickening hers, too, quite
+easily. Yes, time was nearly out. On his telling her where he worked,
+the old woman became a more singular old woman than before.
+
+‘An’t you happy?’ she asked him.
+
+‘Why—there’s awmost nobbody but has their troubles, missus.’ He answered
+evasively, because the old woman appeared to take it for granted that he
+would be very happy indeed, and he had not the heart to disappoint her.
+He knew that there was trouble enough in the world; and if the old woman
+had lived so long, and could count upon his having so little, why so much
+the better for her, and none the worse for him.
+
+‘Ay, ay! You have your troubles at home, you mean?’ she said.
+
+‘Times. Just now and then,’ he answered, slightly.
+
+‘But, working under such a gentleman, they don’t follow you to the
+Factory?’
+
+No, no; they didn’t follow him there, said Stephen. All correct there.
+Everything accordant there. (He did not go so far as to say, for her
+pleasure, that there was a sort of Divine Right there; but, I have heard
+claims almost as magnificent of late years.)
+
+They were now in the black by-road near the place, and the Hands were
+crowding in. The bell was ringing, and the Serpent was a Serpent of many
+coils, and the Elephant was getting ready. The strange old woman was
+delighted with the very bell. It was the beautifullest bell she had ever
+heard, she said, and sounded grand!
+
+She asked him, when he stopped good-naturedly to shake hands with her
+before going in, how long he had worked there?
+
+‘A dozen year,’ he told her.
+
+‘I must kiss the hand,’ said she, ‘that has worked in this fine factory
+for a dozen year!’ And she lifted it, though he would have prevented
+her, and put it to her lips. What harmony, besides her age and her
+simplicity, surrounded her, he did not know, but even in this fantastic
+action there was a something neither out of time nor place: a something
+which it seemed as if nobody else could have made as serious, or done
+with such a natural and touching air.
+
+He had been at his loom full half an hour, thinking about this old woman,
+when, having occasion to move round the loom for its adjustment, he
+glanced through a window which was in his corner, and saw her still
+looking up at the pile of building, lost in admiration. Heedless of the
+smoke and mud and wet, and of her two long journeys, she was gazing at
+it, as if the heavy thrum that issued from its many stories were proud
+music to her.
+
+She was gone by and by, and the day went after her, and the lights sprung
+up again, and the Express whirled in full sight of the Fairy Palace over
+the arches near: little felt amid the jarring of the machinery, and
+scarcely heard above its crash and rattle. Long before then his thoughts
+had gone back to the dreary room above the little shop, and to the
+shameful figure heavy on the bed, but heavier on his heart.
+
+Machinery slackened; throbbing feebly like a fainting pulse; stopped.
+The bell again; the glare of light and heat dispelled; the factories,
+looming heavy in the black wet night—their tall chimneys rising up into
+the air like competing Towers of Babel.
+
+He had spoken to Rachael only last night, it was true, and had walked
+with her a little way; but he had his new misfortune on him, in which no
+one else could give him a moment’s relief, and, for the sake of it, and
+because he knew himself to want that softening of his anger which no
+voice but hers could effect, he felt he might so far disregard what she
+had said as to wait for her again. He waited, but she had eluded him.
+She was gone. On no other night in the year could he so ill have spared
+her patient face.
+
+O! Better to have no home in which to lay his head, than to have a home
+and dread to go to it, through such a cause. He ate and drank, for he
+was exhausted—but he little knew or cared what; and he wandered about in
+the chill rain, thinking and thinking, and brooding and brooding.
+
+No word of a new marriage had ever passed between them; but Rachael had
+taken great pity on him years ago, and to her alone he had opened his
+closed heart all this time, on the subject of his miseries; and he knew
+very well that if he were free to ask her, she would take him. He
+thought of the home he might at that moment have been seeking with
+pleasure and pride; of the different man he might have been that night;
+of the lightness then in his now heavy-laden breast; of the then restored
+honour, self-respect, and tranquillity all torn to pieces. He thought of
+the waste of the best part of his life, of the change it made in his
+character for the worse every day, of the dreadful nature of his
+existence, bound hand and foot, to a dead woman, and tormented by a demon
+in her shape. He thought of Rachael, how young when they were first
+brought together in these circumstances, how mature now, how soon to grow
+old. He thought of the number of girls and women she had seen marry, how
+many homes with children in them she had seen grow up around her, how she
+had contentedly pursued her own lone quiet path—for him—and how he had
+sometimes seen a shade of melancholy on her blessed face, that smote him
+with remorse and despair. He set the picture of her up, beside the
+infamous image of last night; and thought, Could it be, that the whole
+earthly course of one so gentle, good, and self-denying, was subjugate to
+such a wretch as that!
+
+Filled with these thoughts—so filled that he had an unwholesome sense of
+growing larger, of being placed in some new and diseased relation towards
+the objects among which he passed, of seeing the iris round every misty
+light turn red—he went home for shelter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+RACHAEL
+
+
+A CANDLE faintly burned in the window, to which the black ladder had
+often been raised for the sliding away of all that was most precious in
+this world to a striving wife and a brood of hungry babies; and Stephen
+added to his other thoughts the stern reflection, that of all the
+casualties of this existence upon earth, not one was dealt out with so
+unequal a hand as Death. The inequality of Birth was nothing to it.
+For, say that the child of a King and the child of a Weaver were born
+to-night in the same moment, what was that disparity, to the death of any
+human creature who was serviceable to, or beloved by, another, while this
+abandoned woman lived on!
+
+From the outside of his home he gloomily passed to the inside, with
+suspended breath and with a slow footstep. He went up to his door,
+opened it, and so into the room.
+
+Quiet and peace were there. Rachael was there, sitting by the bed.
+
+She turned her head, and the light of her face shone in upon the midnight
+of his mind. She sat by the bed, watching and tending his wife. That is
+to say, he saw that some one lay there, and he knew too well it must be
+she; but Rachael’s hands had put a curtain up, so that she was screened
+from his eyes. Her disgraceful garments were removed, and some of
+Rachael’s were in the room. Everything was in its place and order as he
+had always kept it, the little fire was newly trimmed, and the hearth was
+freshly swept. It appeared to him that he saw all this in Rachael’s
+face, and looked at nothing besides. While looking at it, it was shut
+out from his view by the softened tears that filled his eyes; but not
+before he had seen how earnestly she looked at him, and how her own eyes
+were filled too.
+
+She turned again towards the bed, and satisfying herself that all was
+quiet there, spoke in a low, calm, cheerful voice.
+
+‘I am glad you have come at last, Stephen. You are very late.’
+
+‘I ha’ been walking up an’ down.’
+
+‘I thought so. But ’tis too bad a night for that. The rain falls very
+heavy, and the wind has risen.’
+
+The wind? True. It was blowing hard. Hark to the thundering in the
+chimney, and the surging noise! To have been out in such a wind, and not
+to have known it was blowing!
+
+‘I have been here once before, to-day, Stephen. Landlady came round for
+me at dinner-time. There was some one here that needed looking to, she
+said. And ‘deed she was right. All wandering and lost, Stephen.
+Wounded too, and bruised.’
+
+He slowly moved to a chair and sat down, drooping his head before her.
+
+‘I came to do what little I could, Stephen; first, for that she worked
+with me when we were girls both, and for that you courted her and married
+her when I was her friend—’
+
+He laid his furrowed forehead on his hand, with a low groan.
+
+‘And next, for that I know your heart, and am right sure and certain that
+’tis far too merciful to let her die, or even so much as suffer, for want
+of aid. Thou knowest who said, “Let him who is without sin among you
+cast the first stone at her!” There have been plenty to do that. Thou
+art not the man to cast the last stone, Stephen, when she is brought so
+low.’
+
+‘O Rachael, Rachael!’
+
+‘Thou hast been a cruel sufferer, Heaven reward thee!’ she said, in
+compassionate accents. ‘I am thy poor friend, with all my heart and
+mind.’
+
+ [Picture: Stephen and Rachael in the sick room]
+
+The wounds of which she had spoken, seemed to be about the neck of the
+self-made outcast. She dressed them now, still without showing her. She
+steeped a piece of linen in a basin, into which she poured some liquid
+from a bottle, and laid it with a gentle hand upon the sore. The
+three-legged table had been drawn close to the bedside, and on it there
+were two bottles. This was one.
+
+It was not so far off, but that Stephen, following her hands with his
+eyes, could read what was printed on it in large letters. He turned of a
+deadly hue, and a sudden horror seemed to fall upon him.
+
+‘I will stay here, Stephen,’ said Rachael, quietly resuming her seat,
+‘till the bells go Three. ’Tis to be done again at three, and then she
+may be left till morning.’
+
+‘But thy rest agen to-morrow’s work, my dear.’
+
+‘I slept sound last night. I can wake many nights, when I am put to it.
+’Tis thou who art in need of rest—so white and tired. Try to sleep in
+the chair there, while I watch. Thou hadst no sleep last night, I can
+well believe. To-morrow’s work is far harder for thee than for me.’
+
+He heard the thundering and surging out of doors, and it seemed to him as
+if his late angry mood were going about trying to get at him. She had
+cast it out; she would keep it out; he trusted to her to defend him from
+himself.
+
+‘She don’t know me, Stephen; she just drowsily mutters and stares. I
+have spoken to her times and again, but she don’t notice! ’Tis as well
+so. When she comes to her right mind once more, I shall have done what I
+can, and she never the wiser.’
+
+‘How long, Rachael, is ’t looked for, that she’ll be so?’
+
+‘Doctor said she would haply come to her mind to-morrow.’
+
+His eyes fell again on the bottle, and a tremble passed over him, causing
+him to shiver in every limb. She thought he was chilled with the wet.
+‘No,’ he said, ‘it was not that. He had had a fright.’
+
+‘A fright?’
+
+‘Ay, ay! coming in. When I were walking. When I were thinking. When
+I—’ It seized him again; and he stood up, holding by the mantel-shelf,
+as he pressed his dank cold hair down with a hand that shook as if it
+were palsied.
+
+‘Stephen!’
+
+She was coming to him, but he stretched out his arm to stop her.
+
+‘No! Don’t, please; don’t. Let me see thee setten by the bed. Let me
+see thee, a’ so good, and so forgiving. Let me see thee as I see thee
+when I coom in. I can never see thee better than so. Never, never,
+never!’
+
+He had a violent fit of trembling, and then sunk into his chair. After a
+time he controlled himself, and, resting with an elbow on one knee, and
+his head upon that hand, could look towards Rachael. Seen across the dim
+candle with his moistened eyes, she looked as if she had a glory shining
+round her head. He could have believed she had. He did believe it, as
+the noise without shook the window, rattled at the door below, and went
+about the house clamouring and lamenting.
+
+‘When she gets better, Stephen, ’tis to be hoped she’ll leave thee to
+thyself again, and do thee no more hurt. Anyways we will hope so now.
+And now I shall keep silence, for I want thee to sleep.’
+
+He closed his eyes, more to please her than to rest his weary head; but,
+by slow degrees as he listened to the great noise of the wind, he ceased
+to hear it, or it changed into the working of his loom, or even into the
+voices of the day (his own included) saying what had been really said.
+Even this imperfect consciousness faded away at last, and he dreamed a
+long, troubled dream.
+
+He thought that he, and some one on whom his heart had long been set—but
+she was not Rachael, and that surprised him, even in the midst of his
+imaginary happiness—stood in the church being married. While the
+ceremony was performing, and while he recognized among the witnesses some
+whom he knew to be living, and many whom he knew to be dead, darkness
+came on, succeeded by the shining of a tremendous light. It broke from
+one line in the table of commandments at the altar, and illuminated the
+building with the words. They were sounded through the church, too, as
+if there were voices in the fiery letters. Upon this, the whole
+appearance before him and around him changed, and nothing was left as it
+had been, but himself and the clergyman. They stood in the daylight
+before a crowd so vast, that if all the people in the world could have
+been brought together into one space, they could not have looked, he
+thought, more numerous; and they all abhorred him, and there was not one
+pitying or friendly eye among the millions that were fastened on his
+face. He stood on a raised stage, under his own loom; and, looking up at
+the shape the loom took, and hearing the burial service distinctly read,
+he knew that he was there to suffer death. In an instant what he stood
+on fell below him, and he was gone.
+
+—Out of what mystery he came back to his usual life, and to places that
+he knew, he was unable to consider; but he was back in those places by
+some means, and with this condemnation upon him, that he was never, in
+this world or the next, through all the unimaginable ages of eternity, to
+look on Rachael’s face or hear her voice. Wandering to and fro,
+unceasingly, without hope, and in search of he knew not what (he only
+knew that he was doomed to seek it), he was the subject of a nameless,
+horrible dread, a mortal fear of one particular shape which everything
+took. Whatsoever he looked at, grew into that form sooner or later. The
+object of his miserable existence was to prevent its recognition by any
+one among the various people he encountered. Hopeless labour! If he led
+them out of rooms where it was, if he shut up drawers and closets where
+it stood, if he drew the curious from places where he knew it to be
+secreted, and got them out into the streets, the very chimneys of the
+mills assumed that shape, and round them was the printed word.
+
+The wind was blowing again, the rain was beating on the house-tops, and
+the larger spaces through which he had strayed contracted to the four
+walls of his room. Saving that the fire had died out, it was as his eyes
+had closed upon it. Rachael seemed to have fallen into a doze, in the
+chair by the bed. She sat wrapped in her shawl, perfectly still. The
+table stood in the same place, close by the bedside, and on it, in its
+real proportions and appearance, was the shape so often repeated.
+
+He thought he saw the curtain move. He looked again, and he was sure it
+moved. He saw a hand come forth and grope about a little. Then the
+curtain moved more perceptibly, and the woman in the bed put it back, and
+sat up.
+
+With her woful eyes, so haggard and wild, so heavy and large, she looked
+all round the room, and passed the corner where he slept in his chair.
+Her eyes returned to that corner, and she put her hand over them as a
+shade, while she looked into it. Again they went all round the room,
+scarcely heeding Rachael if at all, and returned to that corner. He
+thought, as she once more shaded them—not so much looking at him, as
+looking for him with a brutish instinct that he was there—that no single
+trace was left in those debauched features, or in the mind that went
+along with them, of the woman he had married eighteen years before. But
+that he had seen her come to this by inches, he never could have believed
+her to be the same.
+
+All this time, as if a spell were on him, he was motionless and
+powerless, except to watch her.
+
+Stupidly dozing, or communing with her incapable self about nothing, she
+sat for a little while with her hands at her ears, and her head resting
+on them. Presently, she resumed her staring round the room. And now,
+for the first time, her eyes stopped at the table with the bottles on it.
+
+Straightway she turned her eyes back to his corner, with the defiance of
+last night, and moving very cautiously and softly, stretched out her
+greedy hand. She drew a mug into the bed, and sat for a while
+considering which of the two bottles she should choose. Finally, she
+laid her insensate grasp upon the bottle that had swift and certain death
+in it, and, before his eyes, pulled out the cork with her teeth.
+
+Dream or reality, he had no voice, nor had he power to stir. If this be
+real, and her allotted time be not yet come, wake, Rachael, wake!
+
+She thought of that, too. She looked at Rachael, and very slowly, very
+cautiously, poured out the contents. The draught was at her lips. A
+moment and she would be past all help, let the whole world wake and come
+about her with its utmost power. But in that moment Rachael started up
+with a suppressed cry. The creature struggled, struck her, seized her by
+the hair; but Rachael had the cup.
+
+Stephen broke out of his chair. ‘Rachael, am I wakin’ or dreamin’ this
+dreadfo’ night?’
+
+‘’Tis all well, Stephen. I have been asleep, myself. ’Tis near three.
+Hush! I hear the bells.’
+
+The wind brought the sounds of the church clock to the window. They
+listened, and it struck three. Stephen looked at her, saw how pale she
+was, noted the disorder of her hair, and the red marks of fingers on her
+forehead, and felt assured that his senses of sight and hearing had been
+awake. She held the cup in her hand even now.
+
+‘I thought it must be near three,’ she said, calmly pouring from the cup
+into the basin, and steeping the linen as before. ‘I am thankful I
+stayed! ’Tis done now, when I have put this on. There! And now she’s
+quiet again. The few drops in the basin I’ll pour away, for ’tis bad
+stuff to leave about, though ever so little of it.’ As she spoke, she
+drained the basin into the ashes of the fire, and broke the bottle on the
+hearth.
+
+She had nothing to do, then, but to cover herself with her shawl before
+going out into the wind and rain.
+
+‘Thou’lt let me walk wi’ thee at this hour, Rachael?’
+
+‘No, Stephen. ’Tis but a minute, and I’m home.’
+
+‘Thou’rt not fearfo’;’ he said it in a low voice, as they went out at the
+door; ‘to leave me alone wi’ her!’
+
+As she looked at him, saying, ‘Stephen?’ he went down on his knee before
+her, on the poor mean stairs, and put an end of her shawl to his lips.
+
+‘Thou art an Angel. Bless thee, bless thee!’
+
+‘I am, as I have told thee, Stephen, thy poor friend. Angels are not
+like me. Between them, and a working woman fu’ of faults, there is a
+deep gulf set. My little sister is among them, but she is changed.’
+
+She raised her eyes for a moment as she said the words; and then they
+fell again, in all their gentleness and mildness, on his face.
+
+‘Thou changest me from bad to good. Thou mak’st me humbly wishfo’ to be
+more like thee, and fearfo’ to lose thee when this life is ower, and a’
+the muddle cleared awa’. Thou’rt an Angel; it may be, thou hast saved my
+soul alive!’
+
+She looked at him, on his knee at her feet, with her shawl still in his
+hand, and the reproof on her lips died away when she saw the working of
+his face.
+
+‘I coom home desp’rate. I coom home wi’out a hope, and mad wi’ thinking
+that when I said a word o’ complaint I was reckoned a unreasonable Hand.
+I told thee I had had a fright. It were the Poison-bottle on table. I
+never hurt a livin’ creetur; but happenin’ so suddenly upon ’t, I thowt,
+“How can _I_ say what I might ha’ done to myseln, or her, or both!”’
+
+She put her two hands on his mouth, with a face of terror, to stop him
+from saying more. He caught them in his unoccupied hand, and holding
+them, and still clasping the border of her shawl, said hurriedly:
+
+‘But I see thee, Rachael, setten by the bed. I ha’ seen thee, aw this
+night. In my troublous sleep I ha’ known thee still to be there.
+Evermore I will see thee there. I nevermore will see her or think o’
+her, but thou shalt be beside her. I nevermore will see or think o’
+anything that angers me, but thou, so much better than me, shalt be by
+th’ side on’t. And so I will try t’ look t’ th’ time, and so I will try
+t’ trust t’ th’ time, when thou and me at last shall walk together far
+awa’, beyond the deep gulf, in th’ country where thy little sister is.’
+
+He kissed the border of her shawl again, and let her go. She bade him
+good night in a broken voice, and went out into the street.
+
+The wind blew from the quarter where the day would soon appear, and still
+blew strongly. It had cleared the sky before it, and the rain had spent
+itself or travelled elsewhere, and the stars were bright. He stood
+bare-headed in the road, watching her quick disappearance. As the
+shining stars were to the heavy candle in the window, so was Rachael, in
+the rugged fancy of this man, to the common experiences of his life.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+THE GREAT MANUFACTURER
+
+
+TIME went on in Coketown like its own machinery: so much material wrought
+up, so much fuel consumed, so many powers worn out, so much money made.
+But, less inexorable than iron, steel, and brass, it brought its varying
+seasons even into that wilderness of smoke and brick, and made the only
+stand that ever _was_ made in the place against its direful uniformity.
+
+‘Louisa is becoming,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘almost a young woman.’
+
+Time, with his innumerable horse-power, worked away, not minding what
+anybody said, and presently turned out young Thomas a foot taller than
+when his father had last taken particular notice of him.
+
+‘Thomas is becoming,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘almost a young man.’
+
+Time passed Thomas on in the mill, while his father was thinking about
+it, and there he stood in a long-tailed coat and a stiff shirt-collar.
+
+‘Really,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘the period has arrived when Thomas ought
+to go to Bounderby.’
+
+Time, sticking to him, passed him on into Bounderby’s Bank, made him an
+inmate of Bounderby’s house, necessitated the purchase of his first
+razor, and exercised him diligently in his calculations relative to
+number one.
+
+The same great manufacturer, always with an immense variety of work on
+hand, in every stage of development, passed Sissy onward in his mill, and
+worked her up into a very pretty article indeed.
+
+‘I fear, Jupe,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘that your continuance at the school
+any longer would be useless.’
+
+‘I am afraid it would, sir,’ Sissy answered with a curtsey.
+
+‘I cannot disguise from you, Jupe,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, knitting his
+brow, ‘that the result of your probation there has disappointed me; has
+greatly disappointed me. You have not acquired, under Mr. and Mrs.
+M’Choakumchild, anything like that amount of exact knowledge which I
+looked for. You are extremely deficient in your facts. Your
+acquaintance with figures is very limited. You are altogether backward,
+and below the mark.’
+
+‘I am sorry, sir,’ she returned; ‘but I know it is quite true. Yet I
+have tried hard, sir.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘yes, I believe you have tried hard; I have
+observed you, and I can find no fault in that respect.’
+
+‘Thank you, sir. I have thought sometimes;’ Sissy very timid here; ‘that
+perhaps I tried to learn too much, and that if I had asked to be allowed
+to try a little less, I might have—’
+
+‘No, Jupe, no,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, shaking his head in his profoundest
+and most eminently practical way. ‘No. The course you pursued, you
+pursued according to the system—the system—and there is no more to be
+said about it. I can only suppose that the circumstances of your early
+life were too unfavourable to the development of your reasoning powers,
+and that we began too late. Still, as I have said already, I am
+disappointed.’
+
+‘I wish I could have made a better acknowledgment, sir, of your kindness
+to a poor forlorn girl who had no claim upon you, and of your protection
+of her.’
+
+‘Don’t shed tears,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Don’t shed tears. I don’t
+complain of you. You are an affectionate, earnest, good young
+woman—and—and we must make that do.’
+
+‘Thank you, sir, very much,’ said Sissy, with a grateful curtsey.
+
+‘You are useful to Mrs. Gradgrind, and (in a generally pervading way) you
+are serviceable in the family also; so I understand from Miss Louisa,
+and, indeed, so I have observed myself. I therefore hope,’ said Mr.
+Gradgrind, ‘that you can make yourself happy in those relations.’
+
+‘I should have nothing to wish, sir, if—’
+
+‘I understand you,’ said Mr. Gradgrind; ‘you still refer to your father.
+I have heard from Miss Louisa that you still preserve that bottle. Well!
+If your training in the science of arriving at exact results had been
+more successful, you would have been wiser on these points. I will say
+no more.’
+
+He really liked Sissy too well to have a contempt for her; otherwise he
+held her calculating powers in such very slight estimation that he must
+have fallen upon that conclusion. Somehow or other, he had become
+possessed by an idea that there was something in this girl which could
+hardly be set forth in a tabular form. Her capacity of definition might
+be easily stated at a very low figure, her mathematical knowledge at
+nothing; yet he was not sure that if he had been required, for example,
+to tick her off into columns in a parliamentary return, he would have
+quite known how to divide her.
+
+In some stages of his manufacture of the human fabric, the processes of
+Time are very rapid. Young Thomas and Sissy being both at such a stage
+of their working up, these changes were effected in a year or two; while
+Mr. Gradgrind himself seemed stationary in his course, and underwent no
+alteration.
+
+Except one, which was apart from his necessary progress through the mill.
+Time hustled him into a little noisy and rather dirty machinery, in a
+by-comer, and made him Member of Parliament for Coketown: one of the
+respected members for ounce weights and measures, one of the
+representatives of the multiplication table, one of the deaf honourable
+gentlemen, dumb honourable gentlemen, blind honourable gentlemen, lame
+honourable gentlemen, dead honourable gentlemen, to every other
+consideration. Else wherefore live we in a Christian land, eighteen
+hundred and odd years after our Master?
+
+All this while, Louisa had been passing on, so quiet and reserved, and so
+much given to watching the bright ashes at twilight as they fell into the
+grate, and became extinct, that from the period when her father had said
+she was almost a young woman—which seemed but yesterday—she had scarcely
+attracted his notice again, when he found her quite a young woman.
+
+‘Quite a young woman,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, musing. ‘Dear me!’
+
+Soon after this discovery, he became more thoughtful than usual for
+several days, and seemed much engrossed by one subject. On a certain
+night, when he was going out, and Louisa came to bid him good-bye before
+his departure—as he was not to be home until late and she would not see
+him again until the morning—he held her in his arms, looking at her in
+his kindest manner, and said:
+
+‘My dear Louisa, you are a woman!’
+
+She answered with the old, quick, searching look of the night when she
+was found at the Circus; then cast down her eyes. ‘Yes, father.’
+
+‘My dear,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘I must speak with you alone and
+seriously. Come to me in my room after breakfast to-morrow, will you?’
+
+‘Yes, father.’
+
+‘Your hands are rather cold, Louisa. Are you not well?’
+
+‘Quite well, father.’
+
+‘And cheerful?’
+
+She looked at him again, and smiled in her peculiar manner. ‘I am as
+cheerful, father, as I usually am, or usually have been.’
+
+‘That’s well,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. So, he kissed her and went away; and
+Louisa returned to the serene apartment of the hair-cutting character,
+and leaning her elbow on her hand, looked again at the short-lived sparks
+that so soon subsided into ashes.
+
+‘Are you there, Loo?’ said her brother, looking in at the door. He was
+quite a young gentleman of pleasure now, and not quite a prepossessing
+one.
+
+‘Dear Tom,’ she answered, rising and embracing him, ‘how long it is since
+you have been to see me!’
+
+‘Why, I have been otherwise engaged, Loo, in the evenings; and in the
+daytime old Bounderby has been keeping me at it rather. But I touch him
+up with you when he comes it too strong, and so we preserve an
+understanding. I say! Has father said anything particular to you to-day
+or yesterday, Loo?’
+
+‘No, Tom. But he told me to-night that he wished to do so in the
+morning.’
+
+‘Ah! That’s what I mean,’ said Tom. ‘Do you know where he is
+to-night?’—with a very deep expression.
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Then I’ll tell you. He’s with old Bounderby. They are having a regular
+confab together up at the Bank. Why at the Bank, do you think? Well,
+I’ll tell you again. To keep Mrs. Sparsit’s ears as far off as possible,
+I expect.’
+
+With her hand upon her brother’s shoulder, Louisa still stood looking at
+the fire. Her brother glanced at her face with greater interest than
+usual, and, encircling her waist with his arm, drew her coaxingly to him.
+
+‘You are very fond of me, an’t you, Loo?’
+
+‘Indeed I am, Tom, though you do let such long intervals go by without
+coming to see me.’
+
+‘Well, sister of mine,’ said Tom, ‘when you say that, you are near my
+thoughts. We might be so much oftener together—mightn’t we? Always
+together, almost—mightn’t we? It would do me a great deal of good if you
+were to make up your mind to I know what, Loo. It would be a splendid
+thing for me. It would be uncommonly jolly!’
+
+Her thoughtfulness baffled his cunning scrutiny. He could make nothing
+of her face. He pressed her in his arm, and kissed her cheek. She
+returned the kiss, but still looked at the fire.
+
+‘I say, Loo! I thought I’d come, and just hint to you what was going on:
+though I supposed you’d most likely guess, even if you didn’t know. I
+can’t stay, because I’m engaged to some fellows to-night. You won’t
+forget how fond you are of me?’
+
+‘No, dear Tom, I won’t forget.’
+
+‘That’s a capital girl,’ said Tom. ‘Good-bye, Loo.’
+
+She gave him an affectionate good-night, and went out with him to the
+door, whence the fires of Coketown could be seen, making the distance
+lurid. She stood there, looking steadfastly towards them, and listening
+to his departing steps. They retreated quickly, as glad to get away from
+Stone Lodge; and she stood there yet, when he was gone and all was quiet.
+It seemed as if, first in her own fire within the house, and then in the
+fiery haze without, she tried to discover what kind of woof Old Time,
+that greatest and longest-established Spinner of all, would weave from
+the threads he had already spun into a woman. But his factory is a
+secret place, his work is noiseless, and his Hands are mutes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+FATHER AND DAUGHTER
+
+
+ALTHOUGH Mr. Gradgrind did not take after Blue Beard, his room was quite
+a blue chamber in its abundance of blue books. Whatever they could prove
+(which is usually anything you like), they proved there, in an army
+constantly strengthening by the arrival of new recruits. In that charmed
+apartment, the most complicated social questions were cast up, got into
+exact totals, and finally settled—if those concerned could only have been
+brought to know it. As if an astronomical observatory should be made
+without any windows, and the astronomer within should arrange the starry
+universe solely by pen, ink, and paper, so Mr. Gradgrind, in _his_
+Observatory (and there are many like it), had no need to cast an eye upon
+the teeming myriads of human beings around him, but could settle all
+their destinies on a slate, and wipe out all their tears with one dirty
+little bit of sponge.
+
+To this Observatory, then: a stern room, with a deadly statistical clock
+in it, which measured every second with a beat like a rap upon a
+coffin-lid; Louisa repaired on the appointed morning. A window looked
+towards Coketown; and when she sat down near her father’s table, she saw
+the high chimneys and the long tracts of smoke looming in the heavy
+distance gloomily.
+
+‘My dear Louisa,’ said her father, ‘I prepared you last night to give me
+your serious attention in the conversation we are now going to have
+together. You have been so well trained, and you do, I am happy to say,
+so much justice to the education you have received, that I have perfect
+confidence in your good sense. You are not impulsive, you are not
+romantic, you are accustomed to view everything from the strong
+dispassionate ground of reason and calculation. From that ground alone,
+I know you will view and consider what I am going to communicate.’
+
+He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said something. But
+she said never a word.
+
+‘Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of marriage that has
+been made to me.’
+
+Again he waited, and again she answered not one word. This so far
+surprised him, as to induce him gently to repeat, ‘a proposal of
+marriage, my dear.’ To which she returned, without any visible emotion
+whatever:
+
+‘I hear you, father. I am attending, I assure you.’
+
+‘Well!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, breaking into a smile, after being for the
+moment at a loss, ‘you are even more dispassionate than I expected,
+Louisa. Or, perhaps, you are not unprepared for the announcement I have
+it in charge to make?’
+
+‘I cannot say that, father, until I hear it. Prepared or unprepared, I
+wish to hear it all from you. I wish to hear you state it to me,
+father.’
+
+Strange to relate, Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this moment as
+his daughter was. He took a paper-knife in his hand, turned it over,
+laid it down, took it up again, and even then had to look along the blade
+of it, considering how to go on.
+
+‘What you say, my dear Louisa, is perfectly reasonable. I have
+undertaken then to let you know that—in short, that Mr. Bounderby has
+informed me that he has long watched your progress with particular
+interest and pleasure, and has long hoped that the time might ultimately
+arrive when he should offer you his hand in marriage. That time, to
+which he has so long, and certainly with great constancy, looked forward,
+is now come. Mr. Bounderby has made his proposal of marriage to me, and
+has entreated me to make it known to you, and to express his hope that
+you will take it into your favourable consideration.’
+
+Silence between them. The deadly statistical clock very hollow. The
+distant smoke very black and heavy.
+
+‘Father,’ said Louisa, ‘do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomfited by this unexpected question.
+‘Well, my child,’ he returned, ‘I—really—cannot take upon myself to say.’
+
+‘Father,’ pursued Louisa in exactly the same voice as before, ‘do you ask
+me to love Mr. Bounderby?’
+
+‘My dear Louisa, no. No. I ask nothing.’
+
+‘Father,’ she still pursued, ‘does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love him?’
+
+‘Really, my dear,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘it is difficult to answer your
+question—’
+
+‘Difficult to answer it, Yes or No, father?
+
+‘Certainly, my dear. Because;’ here was something to demonstrate, and it
+set him up again; ‘because the reply depends so materially, Louisa, on
+the sense in which we use the expression. Now, Mr. Bounderby does not do
+you the injustice, and does not do himself the injustice, of pretending
+to anything fanciful, fantastic, or (I am using synonymous terms)
+sentimental. Mr. Bounderby would have seen you grow up under his eyes,
+to very little purpose, if he could so far forget what is due to your
+good sense, not to say to his, as to address you from any such ground.
+Therefore, perhaps the expression itself—I merely suggest this to you, my
+dear—may be a little misplaced.’
+
+‘What would you advise me to use in its stead, father?’
+
+‘Why, my dear Louisa,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, completely recovered by this
+time, ‘I would advise you (since you ask me) to consider this question,
+as you have been accustomed to consider every other question, simply as
+one of tangible Fact. The ignorant and the giddy may embarrass such
+subjects with irrelevant fancies, and other absurdities that have no
+existence, properly viewed—really no existence—but it is no compliment to
+you to say, that you know better. Now, what are the Facts of this case?
+You are, we will say in round numbers, twenty years of age; Mr. Bounderby
+is, we will say in round numbers, fifty. There is some disparity in your
+respective years, but in your means and positions there is none; on the
+contrary, there is a great suitability. Then the question arises, Is
+this one disparity sufficient to operate as a bar to such a marriage? In
+considering this question, it is not unimportant to take into account the
+statistics of marriage, so far as they have yet been obtained, in England
+and Wales. I find, on reference to the figures, that a large proportion
+of these marriages are contracted between parties of very unequal ages,
+and that the elder of these contracting parties is, in rather more than
+three-fourths of these instances, the bridegroom. It is remarkable as
+showing the wide prevalence of this law, that among the natives of the
+British possessions in India, also in a considerable part of China, and
+among the Calmucks of Tartary, the best means of computation yet
+furnished us by travellers, yield similar results. The disparity I have
+mentioned, therefore, almost ceases to be disparity, and (virtually) all
+but disappears.’
+
+‘What do you recommend, father,’ asked Louisa, her reserved composure not
+in the least affected by these gratifying results, ‘that I should
+substitute for the term I used just now? For the misplaced expression?’
+
+‘Louisa,’ returned her father, ‘it appears to me that nothing can be
+plainer. Confining yourself rigidly to Fact, the question of Fact you
+state to yourself is: Does Mr. Bounderby ask me to marry him? Yes, he
+does. The sole remaining question then is: Shall I marry him? I think
+nothing can be plainer than that?’
+
+‘Shall I marry him?’ repeated Louisa, with great deliberation.
+
+‘Precisely. And it is satisfactory to me, as your father, my dear
+Louisa, to know that you do not come to the consideration of that
+question with the previous habits of mind, and habits of life, that
+belong to many young women.’
+
+‘No, father,’ she returned, ‘I do not.’
+
+‘I now leave you to judge for yourself,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘I have
+stated the case, as such cases are usually stated among practical minds;
+I have stated it, as the case of your mother and myself was stated in its
+time. The rest, my dear Louisa, is for you to decide.’
+
+From the beginning, she had sat looking at him fixedly. As he now leaned
+back in his chair, and bent his deep-set eyes upon her in his turn,
+perhaps he might have seen one wavering moment in her, when she was
+impelled to throw herself upon his breast, and give him the pent-up
+confidences of her heart. But, to see it, he must have overleaped at a
+bound the artificial barriers he had for many years been erecting,
+between himself and all those subtle essences of humanity which will
+elude the utmost cunning of algebra until the last trumpet ever to be
+sounded shall blow even algebra to wreck. The barriers were too many and
+too high for such a leap. With his unbending, utilitarian,
+matter-of-fact face, he hardened her again; and the moment shot away into
+the plumbless depths of the past, to mingle with all the lost
+opportunities that are drowned there.
+
+Removing her eyes from him, she sat so long looking silently towards the
+town, that he said, at length: ‘Are you consulting the chimneys of the
+Coketown works, Louisa?’
+
+‘There seems to be nothing there but languid and monotonous smoke. Yet
+when the night comes, Fire bursts out, father!’ she answered, turning
+quickly.
+
+‘Of course I know that, Louisa. I do not see the application of the
+remark.’ To do him justice he did not, at all.
+
+She passed it away with a slight motion of her hand, and concentrating
+her attention upon him again, said, ‘Father, I have often thought that
+life is very short.’—This was so distinctly one of his subjects that he
+interposed.
+
+‘It is short, no doubt, my dear. Still, the average duration of human
+life is proved to have increased of late years. The calculations of
+various life assurance and annuity offices, among other figures which
+cannot go wrong, have established the fact.’
+
+‘I speak of my own life, father.’
+
+‘O indeed? Still,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘I need not point out to you,
+Louisa, that it is governed by the laws which govern lives in the
+aggregate.’
+
+‘While it lasts, I would wish to do the little I can, and the little I am
+fit for. What does it matter?’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind seemed rather at a loss to understand the last four words;
+replying, ‘How, matter? What matter, my dear?’
+
+‘Mr. Bounderby,’ she went on in a steady, straight way, without regarding
+this, ‘asks me to marry him. The question I have to ask myself is, shall
+I marry him? That is so, father, is it not? You have told me so,
+father. Have you not?’
+
+‘Certainly, my dear.’
+
+‘Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I am satisfied
+to accept his proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you please, that
+this was my answer. Repeat it, word for word, if you can, because I
+should wish him to know what I said.’
+
+‘It is quite right, my dear,’ retorted her father approvingly, ‘to be
+exact. I will observe your very proper request. Have you any wish in
+reference to the period of your marriage, my child?’
+
+‘None, father. What does it matter!’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind had drawn his chair a little nearer to her, and taken her
+hand. But, her repetition of these words seemed to strike with some
+little discord on his ear. He paused to look at her, and, still holding
+her hand, said:
+
+‘Louisa, I have not considered it essential to ask you one question,
+because the possibility implied in it appeared to me to be too remote.
+But perhaps I ought to do so. You have never entertained in secret any
+other proposal?’
+
+‘Father,’ she returned, almost scornfully, ‘what other proposal can have
+been made to _me_? Whom have I seen? Where have I been? What are my
+heart’s experiences?’
+
+‘My dear Louisa,’ returned Mr. Gradgrind, reassured and satisfied. ‘You
+correct me justly. I merely wished to discharge my duty.’
+
+‘What do _I_ know, father,’ said Louisa in her quiet manner, ‘of tastes
+and fancies; of aspirations and affections; of all that part of my nature
+in which such light things might have been nourished? What escape have I
+had from problems that could be demonstrated, and realities that could be
+grasped?’ As she said it, she unconsciously closed her hand, as if upon
+a solid object, and slowly opened it as though she were releasing dust or
+ash.
+
+‘My dear,’ assented her eminently practical parent, ‘quite true, quite
+true.’
+
+‘Why, father,’ she pursued, ‘what a strange question to ask _me_! The
+baby-preference that even I have heard of as common among children, has
+never had its innocent resting-place in my breast. You have been so
+careful of me, that I never had a child’s heart. You have trained me so
+well, that I never dreamed a child’s dream. You have dealt so wisely
+with me, father, from my cradle to this hour, that I never had a child’s
+belief or a child’s fear.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind was quite moved by his success, and by this testimony to
+it. ‘My dear Louisa,’ said he, ‘you abundantly repay my care. Kiss me,
+my dear girl.’
+
+So, his daughter kissed him. Detaining her in his embrace, he said, ‘I
+may assure you now, my favourite child, that I am made happy by the sound
+decision at which you have arrived. Mr. Bounderby is a very remarkable
+man; and what little disparity can be said to exist between you—if any—is
+more than counterbalanced by the tone your mind has acquired. It has
+always been my object so to educate you, as that you might, while still
+in your early youth, be (if I may so express myself) almost any age.
+Kiss me once more, Louisa. Now, let us go and find your mother.’
+
+Accordingly, they went down to the drawing-room, where the esteemed lady
+with no nonsense about her, was recumbent as usual, while Sissy worked
+beside her. She gave some feeble signs of returning animation when they
+entered, and presently the faint transparency was presented in a sitting
+attitude.
+
+‘Mrs. Gradgrind,’ said her husband, who had waited for the achievement of
+this feat with some impatience, ‘allow me to present to you Mrs.
+Bounderby.’
+
+‘Oh!’ said Mrs. Gradgrind, ‘so you have settled it! Well, I’m sure I
+hope your health may be good, Louisa; for if your head begins to split as
+soon as you are married, which was the case with mine, I cannot consider
+that you are to be envied, though I have no doubt you think you are, as
+all girls do. However, I give you joy, my dear—and I hope you may now
+turn all your ological studies to good account, I am sure I do! I must
+give you a kiss of congratulation, Louisa; but don’t touch my right
+shoulder, for there’s something running down it all day long. And now
+you see,’ whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind, adjusting her shawls after the
+affectionate ceremony, ‘I shall be worrying myself, morning, noon, and
+night, to know what I am to call him!’
+
+‘Mrs. Gradgrind,’ said her husband, solemnly, ‘what do you mean?’
+
+‘Whatever I am to call him, Mr. Gradgrind, when he is married to Louisa!
+I must call him something. It’s impossible,’ said Mrs. Gradgrind, with a
+mingled sense of politeness and injury, ‘to be constantly addressing him
+and never giving him a name. I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is
+insupportable to me. You yourself wouldn’t hear of Joe, you very well
+know. Am I to call my own son-in-law, Mister! Not, I believe, unless
+the time has arrived when, as an invalid, I am to be trampled upon by my
+relations. Then, what am I to call him!’
+
+Nobody present having any suggestion to offer in the remarkable
+emergency, Mrs. Gradgrind departed this life for the time being, after
+delivering the following codicil to her remarks already executed:
+
+‘As to the wedding, all I ask, Louisa, is,—and I ask it with a fluttering
+in my chest, which actually extends to the soles of my feet,—that it may
+take place soon. Otherwise, I know it is one of those subjects I shall
+never hear the last of.’
+
+When Mr. Gradgrind had presented Mrs. Bounderby, Sissy had suddenly
+turned her head, and looked, in wonder, in pity, in sorrow, in doubt, in
+a multitude of emotions, towards Louisa. Louisa had known it, and seen
+it, without looking at her. From that moment she was impassive, proud
+and cold—held Sissy at a distance—changed to her altogether.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+HUSBAND AND WIFE
+
+
+MR. BOUNDERBY’S first disquietude on hearing of his happiness, was
+occasioned by the necessity of imparting it to Mrs. Sparsit. He could
+not make up his mind how to do that, or what the consequences of the step
+might be. Whether she would instantly depart, bag and baggage, to Lady
+Scadgers, or would positively refuse to budge from the premises; whether
+she would be plaintive or abusive, tearful or tearing; whether she would
+break her heart, or break the looking-glass; Mr. Bounderby could not all
+foresee. However, as it must be done, he had no choice but to do it; so,
+after attempting several letters, and failing in them all, he resolved to
+do it by word of mouth.
+
+On his way home, on the evening he set aside for this momentous purpose,
+he took the precaution of stepping into a chemist’s shop and buying a
+bottle of the very strongest smelling-salts. ‘By George!’ said Mr.
+Bounderby, ‘if she takes it in the fainting way, I’ll have the skin off
+her nose, at all events!’ But, in spite of being thus forearmed, he
+entered his own house with anything but a courageous air; and appeared
+before the object of his misgivings, like a dog who was conscious of
+coming direct from the pantry.
+
+‘Good evening, Mr. Bounderby!’
+
+‘Good evening, ma’am, good evening.’ He drew up his chair, and Mrs.
+Sparsit drew back hers, as who should say, ‘Your fireside, sir. I freely
+admit it. It is for you to occupy it all, if you think proper.’
+
+‘Don’t go to the North Pole, ma’am!’ said Mr. Bounderby.
+
+‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, and returned, though short of her
+former position.
+
+Mr. Bounderby sat looking at her, as, with the points of a stiff, sharp
+pair of scissors, she picked out holes for some inscrutable ornamental
+purpose, in a piece of cambric. An operation which, taken in connexion
+with the bushy eyebrows and the Roman nose, suggested with some
+liveliness the idea of a hawk engaged upon the eyes of a tough little
+bird. She was so steadfastly occupied, that many minutes elapsed before
+she looked up from her work; when she did so Mr. Bounderby bespoke her
+attention with a hitch of his head.
+
+‘Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am,’ said Mr. Bounderby, putting his hands in his
+pockets, and assuring himself with his right hand that the cork of the
+little bottle was ready for use, ‘I have no occasion to say to you, that
+you are not only a lady born and bred, but a devilish sensible woman.’
+
+‘Sir,’ returned the lady, ‘this is indeed not the first time that you
+have honoured me with similar expressions of your good opinion.’
+
+‘Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘I am going to astonish you.’
+
+‘Yes, sir?’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, interrogatively, and in the most
+tranquil manner possible. She generally wore mittens, and she now laid
+down her work, and smoothed those mittens.
+
+‘I am going, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, ‘to marry Tom Gradgrind’s daughter.’
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit. ‘I hope you may be happy, Mr.
+Bounderby. Oh, indeed I hope you may be happy, sir!’ And she said it
+with such great condescension as well as with such great compassion for
+him, that Bounderby,—far more disconcerted than if she had thrown her
+workbox at the mirror, or swooned on the hearthrug,—corked up the
+smelling-salts tight in his pocket, and thought, ‘Now confound this
+woman, who could have even guessed that she would take it in this way!’
+
+‘I wish with all my heart, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, in a highly superior
+manner; somehow she seemed, in a moment, to have established a right to
+pity him ever afterwards; ‘that you may be in all respects very happy.’
+
+‘Well, ma’am,’ returned Bounderby, with some resentment in his tone:
+which was clearly lowered, though in spite of himself, ‘I am obliged to
+you. I hope I shall be.’
+
+‘_Do_ you, sir!’ said Mrs. Sparsit, with great affability. ‘But
+naturally you do; of course you do.’
+
+A very awkward pause on Mr. Bounderby’s part, succeeded. Mrs. Sparsit
+sedately resumed her work and occasionally gave a small cough, which
+sounded like the cough of conscious strength and forbearance.
+
+‘Well, ma’am,’ resumed Bounderby, ‘under these circumstances, I imagine
+it would not be agreeable to a character like yours to remain here,
+though you would be very welcome here.’
+
+‘Oh, dear no, sir, I could on no account think of that!’ Mrs. Sparsit
+shook her head, still in her highly superior manner, and a little changed
+the small cough—coughing now, as if the spirit of prophecy rose within
+her, but had better be coughed down.
+
+‘However, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, ‘there are apartments at the Bank,
+where a born and bred lady, as keeper of the place, would be rather a
+catch than otherwise; and if the same terms—’
+
+‘I beg your pardon, sir. You were so good as to promise that you would
+always substitute the phrase, annual compliment.’
+
+‘Well, ma’am, annual compliment. If the same annual compliment would be
+acceptable there, why, I see nothing to part us, unless you do.’
+
+‘Sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit. ‘The proposal is like yourself, and if the
+position I shall assume at the Bank is one that I could occupy without
+descending lower in the social scale—’
+
+‘Why, of course it is,’ said Bounderby. ‘If it was not, ma’am, you don’t
+suppose that I should offer it to a lady who has moved in the society you
+have moved in. Not that _I_ care for such society, you know! But _you_
+do.’
+
+‘Mr. Bounderby, you are very considerate.’
+
+‘You’ll have your own private apartments, and you’ll have your coals and
+your candles, and all the rest of it, and you’ll have your maid to attend
+upon you, and you’ll have your light porter to protect you, and you’ll be
+what I take the liberty of considering precious comfortable,’ said
+Bounderby.
+
+‘Sir,’ rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, ‘say no more. In yielding up my trust
+here, I shall not be freed from the necessity of eating the bread of
+dependence:’ she might have said the sweetbread, for that delicate
+article in a savoury brown sauce was her favourite supper: ‘and I would
+rather receive it from your hand, than from any other. Therefore, sir, I
+accept your offer gratefully, and with many sincere acknowledgments for
+past favours. And I hope, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, concluding in an
+impressively compassionate manner, ‘I fondly hope that Miss Gradgrind may
+be all you desire, and deserve!’
+
+Nothing moved Mrs. Sparsit from that position any more. It was in vain
+for Bounderby to bluster or to assert himself in any of his explosive
+ways; Mrs. Sparsit was resolved to have compassion on him, as a Victim.
+She was polite, obliging, cheerful, hopeful; but, the more polite, the
+more obliging, the more cheerful, the more hopeful, the more exemplary
+altogether, she; the forlorner Sacrifice and Victim, he. She had that
+tenderness for his melancholy fate, that his great red countenance used
+to break out into cold perspirations when she looked at him.
+
+Meanwhile the marriage was appointed to be solemnized in eight weeks’
+time, and Mr. Bounderby went every evening to Stone Lodge as an accepted
+wooer. Love was made on these occasions in the form of bracelets; and,
+on all occasions during the period of betrothal, took a manufacturing
+aspect. Dresses were made, jewellery was made, cakes and gloves were
+made, settlements were made, and an extensive assortment of Facts did
+appropriate honour to the contract. The business was all Fact, from
+first to last. The Hours did not go through any of those rosy
+performances, which foolish poets have ascribed to them at such times;
+neither did the clocks go any faster, or any slower, than at other
+seasons. The deadly statistical recorder in the Gradgrind observatory
+knocked every second on the head as it was born, and buried it with his
+accustomed regularity.
+
+So the day came, as all other days come to people who will only stick to
+reason; and when it came, there were married in the church of the florid
+wooden legs—that popular order of architecture—Josiah Bounderby Esquire
+of Coketown, to Louisa eldest daughter of Thomas Gradgrind Esquire of
+Stone Lodge, M.P. for that borough. And when they were united in holy
+matrimony, they went home to breakfast at Stone Lodge aforesaid.
+
+There was an improving party assembled on the auspicious occasion, who
+knew what everything they had to eat and drink was made of, and how it
+was imported or exported, and in what quantities, and in what bottoms,
+whether native or foreign, and all about it. The bridesmaids, down to
+little Jane Gradgrind, were, in an intellectual point of view, fit
+helpmates for the calculating boy; and there was no nonsense about any of
+the company.
+
+After breakfast, the bridegroom addressed them in the following terms:
+
+‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown. Since you have
+done my wife and myself the honour of drinking our healths and happiness,
+I suppose I must acknowledge the same; though, as you all know me, and
+know what I am, and what my extraction was, you won’t expect a speech
+from a man who, when he sees a Post, says “that’s a Post,” and when he
+sees a Pump, says “that’s a Pump,” and is not to be got to call a Post a
+Pump, or a Pump a Post, or either of them a Toothpick. If you want a
+speech this morning, my friend and father-in-law, Tom Gradgrind, is a
+Member of Parliament, and you know where to get it. I am not your man.
+However, if I feel a little independent when I look around this table
+to-day, and reflect how little I thought of marrying Tom Gradgrind’s
+daughter when I was a ragged street-boy, who never washed his face unless
+it was at a pump, and that not oftener than once a fortnight, I hope I
+may be excused. So, I hope you like my feeling independent; if you
+don’t, I can’t help it. I _do_ feel independent. Now I have mentioned,
+and you have mentioned, that I am this day married to Tom Gradgrind’s
+daughter. I am very glad to be so. It has long been my wish to be so.
+I have watched her bringing-up, and I believe she is worthy of me. At
+the same time—not to deceive you—I believe I am worthy of her. So, I
+thank you, on both our parts, for the good-will you have shown towards
+us; and the best wish I can give the unmarried part of the present
+company, is this: I hope every bachelor may find as good a wife as I have
+found. And I hope every spinster may find as good a husband as my wife
+has found.’
+
+Shortly after which oration, as they were going on a nuptial trip to
+Lyons, in order that Mr. Bounderby might take the opportunity of seeing
+how the Hands got on in those parts, and whether they, too, required to
+be fed with gold spoons; the happy pair departed for the railroad. The
+bride, in passing down-stairs, dressed for her journey, found Tom waiting
+for her—flushed, either with his feelings, or the vinous part of the
+breakfast.
+
+‘What a game girl you are, to be such a first-rate sister, Loo!’
+whispered Tom.
+
+She clung to him as she should have clung to some far better nature that
+day, and was a little shaken in her reserved composure for the first
+time.
+
+‘Old Bounderby’s quite ready,’ said Tom. ‘Time’s up. Good-bye! I shall
+be on the look-out for you, when you come back. I say, my dear Loo!
+AN’T it uncommonly jolly now!’
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ END OF THE FIRST BOOK
+
+
+
+
+BOOK THE SECOND
+_REAPING_
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+EFFECTS IN THE BANK
+
+
+A SUNNY midsummer day. There was such a thing sometimes, even in
+Coketown.
+
+Seen from a distance in such weather, Coketown lay shrouded in a haze of
+its own, which appeared impervious to the sun’s rays. You only knew the
+town was there, because you knew there could have been no such sulky
+blotch upon the prospect without a town. A blur of soot and smoke, now
+confusedly tending this way, now that way, now aspiring to the vault of
+Heaven, now murkily creeping along the earth, as the wind rose and fell,
+or changed its quarter: a dense formless jumble, with sheets of cross
+light in it, that showed nothing but masses of darkness:—Coketown in the
+distance was suggestive of itself, though not a brick of it could be
+seen.
+
+The wonder was, it was there at all. It had been ruined so often, that
+it was amazing how it had borne so many shocks. Surely there never was
+such fragile china-ware as that of which the millers of Coketown were
+made. Handle them never so lightly, and they fell to pieces with such
+ease that you might suspect them of having been flawed before. They were
+ruined, when they were required to send labouring children to school;
+they were ruined when inspectors were appointed to look into their works;
+they were ruined, when such inspectors considered it doubtful whether
+they were quite justified in chopping people up with their machinery;
+they were utterly undone, when it was hinted that perhaps they need not
+always make quite so much smoke. Besides Mr. Bounderby’s gold spoon
+which was generally received in Coketown, another prevalent fiction was
+very popular there. It took the form of a threat. Whenever a Coketowner
+felt he was ill-used—that is to say, whenever he was not left entirely
+alone, and it was proposed to hold him accountable for the consequences
+of any of his acts—he was sure to come out with the awful menace, that he
+would ‘sooner pitch his property into the Atlantic.’ This had terrified
+the Home Secretary within an inch of his life, on several occasions.
+
+However, the Coketowners were so patriotic after all, that they never had
+pitched their property into the Atlantic yet, but, on the contrary, had
+been kind enough to take mighty good care of it. So there it was, in the
+haze yonder; and it increased and multiplied.
+
+The streets were hot and dusty on the summer day, and the sun was so
+bright that it even shone through the heavy vapour drooping over
+Coketown, and could not be looked at steadily. Stokers emerged from low
+underground doorways into factory yards, and sat on steps, and posts, and
+palings, wiping their swarthy visages, and contemplating coals. The
+whole town seemed to be frying in oil. There was a stifling smell of hot
+oil everywhere. The steam-engines shone with it, the dresses of the
+Hands were soiled with it, the mills throughout their many stories oozed
+and trickled it. The atmosphere of those Fairy palaces was like the
+breath of the simoom: and their inhabitants, wasting with heat, toiled
+languidly in the desert. But no temperature made the melancholy mad
+elephants more mad or more sane. Their wearisome heads went up and down
+at the same rate, in hot weather and cold, wet weather and dry, fair
+weather and foul. The measured motion of their shadows on the walls, was
+the substitute Coketown had to show for the shadows of rustling woods;
+while, for the summer hum of insects, it could offer, all the year round,
+from the dawn of Monday to the night of Saturday, the whirr of shafts and
+wheels.
+
+Drowsily they whirred all through this sunny day, making the passenger
+more sleepy and more hot as he passed the humming walls of the mills.
+Sun-blinds, and sprinklings of water, a little cooled the main streets
+and the shops; but the mills, and the courts and alleys, baked at a
+fierce heat. Down upon the river that was black and thick with dye, some
+Coketown boys who were at large—a rare sight there—rowed a crazy boat,
+which made a spumous track upon the water as it jogged along, while every
+dip of an oar stirred up vile smells. But the sun itself, however
+beneficent, generally, was less kind to Coketown than hard frost, and
+rarely looked intently into any of its closer regions without engendering
+more death than life. So does the eye of Heaven itself become an evil
+eye, when incapable or sordid hands are interposed between it and the
+things it looks upon to bless.
+
+Mrs. Sparsit sat in her afternoon apartment at the Bank, on the shadier
+side of the frying street. Office-hours were over: and at that period of
+the day, in warm weather, she usually embellished with her genteel
+presence, a managerial board-room over the public office. Her own
+private sitting-room was a story higher, at the window of which post of
+observation she was ready, every morning, to greet Mr. Bounderby, as he
+came across the road, with the sympathizing recognition appropriate to a
+Victim. He had been married now a year; and Mrs. Sparsit had never
+released him from her determined pity a moment.
+
+The Bank offered no violence to the wholesome monotony of the town. It
+was another red brick house, with black outside shutters, green inside
+blinds, a black street-door up two white steps, a brazen door-plate, and
+a brazen door-handle full stop. It was a size larger than Mr.
+Bounderby’s house, as other houses were from a size to half-a-dozen sizes
+smaller; in all other particulars, it was strictly according to pattern.
+
+Mrs. Sparsit was conscious that by coming in the evening-tide among the
+desks and writing implements, she shed a feminine, not to say also
+aristocratic, grace upon the office. Seated, with her needlework or
+netting apparatus, at the window, she had a self-laudatory sense of
+correcting, by her ladylike deportment, the rude business aspect of the
+place. With this impression of her interesting character upon her, Mrs.
+Sparsit considered herself, in some sort, the Bank Fairy. The
+townspeople who, in their passing and repassing, saw her there, regarded
+her as the Bank Dragon keeping watch over the treasures of the mine.
+
+What those treasures were, Mrs. Sparsit knew as little as they did. Gold
+and silver coin, precious paper, secrets that if divulged would bring
+vague destruction upon vague persons (generally, however, people whom she
+disliked), were the chief items in her ideal catalogue thereof. For the
+rest, she knew that after office-hours, she reigned supreme over all the
+office furniture, and over a locked-up iron room with three locks,
+against the door of which strong chamber the light porter laid his head
+every night, on a truckle bed, that disappeared at cockcrow. Further,
+she was lady paramount over certain vaults in the basement, sharply
+spiked off from communication with the predatory world; and over the
+relics of the current day’s work, consisting of blots of ink, worn-out
+pens, fragments of wafers, and scraps of paper torn so small, that
+nothing interesting could ever be deciphered on them when Mrs. Sparsit
+tried. Lastly, she was guardian over a little armoury of cutlasses and
+carbines, arrayed in vengeful order above one of the official
+chimney-pieces; and over that respectable tradition never to be separated
+from a place of business claiming to be wealthy—a row of
+fire-buckets—vessels calculated to be of no physical utility on any
+occasion, but observed to exercise a fine moral influence, almost equal
+to bullion, on most beholders.
+
+A deaf serving-woman and the light porter completed Mrs. Sparsit’s
+empire. The deaf serving-woman was rumoured to be wealthy; and a saying
+had for years gone about among the lower orders of Coketown, that she
+would be murdered some night when the Bank was shut, for the sake of her
+money. It was generally considered, indeed, that she had been due some
+time, and ought to have fallen long ago; but she had kept her life, and
+her situation, with an ill-conditioned tenacity that occasioned much
+offence and disappointment.
+
+Mrs. Sparsit’s tea was just set for her on a pert little table, with its
+tripod of legs in an attitude, which she insinuated after office-hours,
+into the company of the stern, leathern-topped, long board-table that
+bestrode the middle of the room. The light porter placed the tea-tray on
+it, knuckling his forehead as a form of homage.
+
+‘Thank you, Bitzer,’ said Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘Thank _you_, ma’am,’ returned the light porter. He was a very light
+porter indeed; as light as in the days when he blinkingly defined a
+horse, for girl number twenty.
+
+‘All is shut up, Bitzer?’ said Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘All is shut up, ma’am.’
+
+‘And what,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, pouring out her tea, ‘is the news of the
+day? Anything?’
+
+‘Well, ma’am, I can’t say that I have heard anything particular. Our
+people are a bad lot, ma’am; but that is no news, unfortunately.’
+
+‘What are the restless wretches doing now?’ asked Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘Merely going on in the old way, ma’am. Uniting, and leaguing, and
+engaging to stand by one another.’
+
+‘It is much to be regretted,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, making her nose more
+Roman and her eyebrows more Coriolanian in the strength of her severity,
+‘that the united masters allow of any such class-combinations.’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Bitzer.
+
+‘Being united themselves, they ought one and all to set their faces
+against employing any man who is united with any other man,’ said Mrs.
+Sparsit.
+
+‘They have done that, ma’am,’ returned Bitzer; ‘but it rather fell
+through, ma’am.’
+
+‘I do not pretend to understand these things,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, with
+dignity, ‘my lot having been signally cast in a widely different sphere;
+and Mr. Sparsit, as a Powler, being also quite out of the pale of any
+such dissensions. I only know that these people must be conquered, and
+that it’s high time it was done, once for all.’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am,’ returned Bitzer, with a demonstration of great respect for
+Mrs. Sparsit’s oracular authority. ‘You couldn’t put it clearer, I am
+sure, ma’am.’
+
+As this was his usual hour for having a little confidential chat with
+Mrs. Sparsit, and as he had already caught her eye and seen that she was
+going to ask him something, he made a pretence of arranging the rulers,
+inkstands, and so forth, while that lady went on with her tea, glancing
+through the open window, down into the street.
+
+‘Has it been a busy day, Bitzer?’ asked Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘Not a very busy day, my lady. About an average day.’ He now and then
+slided into my lady, instead of ma’am, as an involuntary acknowledgment
+of Mrs. Sparsit’s personal dignity and claims to reverence.
+
+‘The clerks,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, carefully brushing an imperceptible
+crumb of bread and butter from her left-hand mitten, ‘are trustworthy,
+punctual, and industrious, of course?’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am, pretty fair, ma’am. With the usual exception.’
+
+He held the respectable office of general spy and informer in the
+establishment, for which volunteer service he received a present at
+Christmas, over and above his weekly wage. He had grown into an
+extremely clear-headed, cautious, prudent young man, who was safe to rise
+in the world. His mind was so exactly regulated, that he had no
+affections or passions. All his proceedings were the result of the
+nicest and coldest calculation; and it was not without cause that Mrs.
+Sparsit habitually observed of him, that he was a young man of the
+steadiest principle she had ever known. Having satisfied himself, on his
+father’s death, that his mother had a right of settlement in Coketown,
+this excellent young economist had asserted that right for her with such
+a steadfast adherence to the principle of the case, that she had been
+shut up in the workhouse ever since. It must be admitted that he allowed
+her half a pound of tea a year, which was weak in him: first, because all
+gifts have an inevitable tendency to pauperise the recipient, and
+secondly, because his only reasonable transaction in that commodity would
+have been to buy it for as little as he could possibly give, and sell it
+for as much as he could possibly get; it having been clearly ascertained
+by philosophers that in this is comprised the whole duty of man—not a
+part of man’s duty, but the whole.
+
+‘Pretty fair, ma’am. With the usual exception, ma’am,’ repeated Bitzer.
+
+‘Ah—h!’ said Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head over her tea-cup, and taking
+a long gulp.
+
+‘Mr. Thomas, ma’am, I doubt Mr. Thomas very much, ma’am, I don’t like his
+ways at all.’
+
+‘Bitzer,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, in a very impressive manner, ‘do you
+recollect my having said anything to you respecting names?’
+
+‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. It’s quite true that you did object to names
+being used, and they’re always best avoided.’
+
+‘Please to remember that I have a charge here,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, with
+her air of state. ‘I hold a trust here, Bitzer, under Mr. Bounderby.
+However improbable both Mr. Bounderby and myself might have deemed it
+years ago, that he would ever become my patron, making me an annual
+compliment, I cannot but regard him in that light. From Mr. Bounderby I
+have received every acknowledgment of my social station, and every
+recognition of my family descent, that I could possibly expect. More,
+far more. Therefore, to my patron I will be scrupulously true. And I do
+not consider, I will not consider, I cannot consider,’ said Mrs. Sparsit,
+with a most extensive stock on hand of honour and morality, ‘that I
+_should_ be scrupulously true, if I allowed names to be mentioned under
+this roof, that are unfortunately—most unfortunately—no doubt of
+that—connected with his.’
+
+Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, and again begged pardon.
+
+‘No, Bitzer,’ continued Mrs. Sparsit, ‘say an individual, and I will hear
+you; say Mr. Thomas, and you must excuse me.’
+
+‘With the usual exception, ma’am,’ said Bitzer, trying back, ‘of an
+individual.’
+
+‘Ah—h!’ Mrs. Sparsit repeated the ejaculation, the shake of the head
+over her tea-cup, and the long gulp, as taking up the conversation again
+at the point where it had been interrupted.
+
+‘An individual, ma’am,’ said Bitzer, ‘has never been what he ought to
+have been, since he first came into the place. He is a dissipated,
+extravagant idler. He is not worth his salt, ma’am. He wouldn’t get it
+either, if he hadn’t a friend and relation at court, ma’am!’
+
+‘Ah—h!’ said Mrs. Sparsit, with another melancholy shake of her head.
+
+‘I only hope, ma’am,’ pursued Bitzer, ‘that his friend and relation may
+not supply him with the means of carrying on. Otherwise, ma’am, we know
+out of whose pocket _that_ money comes.’
+
+‘Ah—h!’ sighed Mrs. Sparsit again, with another melancholy shake of her
+head.
+
+‘He is to be pitied, ma’am. The last party I have alluded to, is to be
+pitied, ma’am,’ said Bitzer.
+
+‘Yes, Bitzer,’ said Mrs. Sparsit. ‘I have always pitied the delusion,
+always.’
+
+‘As to an individual, ma’am,’ said Bitzer, dropping his voice and drawing
+nearer, ‘he is as improvident as any of the people in this town. And you
+know what _their_ improvidence is, ma’am. No one could wish to know it
+better than a lady of your eminence does.’
+
+‘They would do well,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘to take example by you,
+Bitzer.’
+
+‘Thank you, ma’am. But, since you do refer to me, now look at me, ma’am.
+I have put by a little, ma’am, already. That gratuity which I receive at
+Christmas, ma’am: I never touch it. I don’t even go the length of my
+wages, though they’re not high, ma’am. Why can’t they do as I have done,
+ma’am? What one person can do, another can do.’
+
+This, again, was among the fictions of Coketown. Any capitalist there,
+who had made sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, always professed to
+wonder why the sixty thousand nearest Hands didn’t each make sixty
+thousand pounds out of sixpence, and more or less reproached them every
+one for not accomplishing the little feat. What I did you can do. Why
+don’t you go and do it?
+
+‘As to their wanting recreations, ma’am,’ said Bitzer, ‘it’s stuff and
+nonsense. _I_ don’t want recreations. I never did, and I never shall; I
+don’t like ’em. As to their combining together; there are many of them,
+I have no doubt, that by watching and informing upon one another could
+earn a trifle now and then, whether in money or good will, and improve
+their livelihood. Then, why don’t they improve it, ma’am! It’s the
+first consideration of a rational creature, and it’s what they pretend to
+want.’
+
+‘Pretend indeed!’ said Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘I am sure we are constantly hearing, ma’am, till it becomes quite
+nauseous, concerning their wives and families,’ said Bitzer. ‘Why look
+at me, ma’am! I don’t want a wife and family. Why should they?’
+
+‘Because they are improvident,’ said Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘Yes, ma’am,’ returned Bitzer, ‘that’s where it is. If they were more
+provident and less perverse, ma’am, what would they do? They would say,
+“While my hat covers my family,” or “while my bonnet covers my
+family,”—as the case might be, ma’am—“I have only one to feed, and that’s
+the person I most like to feed.”’
+
+‘To be sure,’ assented Mrs. Sparsit, eating muffin.
+
+‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Bitzer, knuckling his forehead again, in return
+for the favour of Mrs. Sparsit’s improving conversation. ‘Would you wish
+a little more hot water, ma’am, or is there anything else that I could
+fetch you?’
+
+‘Nothing just now, Bitzer.’
+
+‘Thank you, ma’am. I shouldn’t wish to disturb you at your meals, ma’am,
+particularly tea, knowing your partiality for it,’ said Bitzer, craning a
+little to look over into the street from where he stood; ‘but there’s a
+gentleman been looking up here for a minute or so, ma’am, and he has come
+across as if he was going to knock. That _is_ his knock, ma’am, no
+doubt.’
+
+He stepped to the window; and looking out, and drawing in his head again,
+confirmed himself with, ‘Yes, ma’am. Would you wish the gentleman to be
+shown in, ma’am?’
+
+‘I don’t know who it can be,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, wiping her mouth and
+arranging her mittens.
+
+‘A stranger, ma’am, evidently.’
+
+‘What a stranger can want at the Bank at this time of the evening, unless
+he comes upon some business for which he is too late, I don’t know,’ said
+Mrs. Sparsit, ‘but I hold a charge in this establishment from Mr.
+Bounderby, and I will never shrink from it. If to see him is any part of
+the duty I have accepted, I will see him. Use your own discretion,
+Bitzer.’
+
+Here the visitor, all unconscious of Mrs. Sparsit’s magnanimous words,
+repeated his knock so loudly that the light porter hastened down to open
+the door; while Mrs. Sparsit took the precaution of concealing her little
+table, with all its appliances upon it, in a cupboard, and then decamped
+up-stairs, that she might appear, if needful, with the greater dignity.
+
+‘If you please, ma’am, the gentleman would wish to see you,’ said Bitzer,
+with his light eye at Mrs. Sparsit’s keyhole. So, Mrs. Sparsit, who had
+improved the interval by touching up her cap, took her classical features
+down-stairs again, and entered the board-room in the manner of a Roman
+matron going outside the city walls to treat with an invading general.
+
+The visitor having strolled to the window, and being then engaged in
+looking carelessly out, was as unmoved by this impressive entry as man
+could possibly be. He stood whistling to himself with all imaginable
+coolness, with his hat still on, and a certain air of exhaustion upon
+him, in part arising from excessive summer, and in part from excessive
+gentility. For it was to be seen with half an eye that he was a thorough
+gentleman, made to the model of the time; weary of everything, and
+putting no more faith in anything than Lucifer.
+
+‘I believe, sir,’ quoth Mrs. Sparsit, ‘you wished to see me.’
+
+‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, turning and removing his hat; ‘pray excuse
+me.’
+
+‘Humph!’ thought Mrs. Sparsit, as she made a stately bend. ‘Five and
+thirty, good-looking, good figure, good teeth, good voice, good breeding,
+well-dressed, dark hair, bold eyes.’ All which Mrs. Sparsit observed in
+her womanly way—like the Sultan who put his head in the pail of
+water—merely in dipping down and coming up again.
+
+‘Please to be seated, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘Thank you. Allow me.’ He placed a chair for her, but remained himself
+carelessly lounging against the table. ‘I left my servant at the railway
+looking after the luggage—very heavy train and vast quantity of it in the
+van—and strolled on, looking about me. Exceedingly odd place. Will you
+allow me to ask you if it’s _always_ as black as this?’
+
+‘In general much blacker,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, in her uncompromising
+way.
+
+‘Is it possible! Excuse me: you are not a native, I think?’
+
+‘No, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit. ‘It was once my good or ill fortune,
+as it may be—before I became a widow—to move in a very different sphere.
+My husband was a Powler.’
+
+‘Beg your pardon, really!’ said the stranger. ‘Was—?’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit repeated, ‘A Powler.’
+
+‘Powler Family,’ said the stranger, after reflecting a few moments. Mrs.
+Sparsit signified assent. The stranger seemed a little more fatigued
+than before.
+
+‘You must be very much bored here?’ was the inference he drew from the
+communication.
+
+‘I am the servant of circumstances, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘and I have
+long adapted myself to the governing power of my life.’
+
+‘Very philosophical,’ returned the stranger, ‘and very exemplary and
+laudable, and—’ It seemed to be scarcely worth his while to finish the
+sentence, so he played with his watch-chain wearily.
+
+‘May I be permitted to ask, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘to what I am
+indebted for the favour of—’
+
+‘Assuredly,’ said the stranger. ‘Much obliged to you for reminding me.
+I am the bearer of a letter of introduction to Mr. Bounderby, the banker.
+Walking through this extraordinarily black town, while they were getting
+dinner ready at the hotel, I asked a fellow whom I met; one of the
+working people; who appeared to have been taking a shower-bath of
+something fluffy, which I assume to be the raw material—’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit inclined her head.
+
+‘—Raw material—where Mr. Bounderby, the banker, might reside. Upon
+which, misled no doubt by the word Banker, he directed me to the Bank.
+Fact being, I presume, that Mr. Bounderby the Banker does _not_ reside in
+the edifice in which I have the honour of offering this explanation?’
+
+‘No, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘he does not.’
+
+‘Thank you. I had no intention of delivering my letter at the present
+moment, nor have I. But strolling on to the Bank to kill time, and having
+the good fortune to observe at the window,’ towards which he languidly
+waved his hand, then slightly bowed, ‘a lady of a very superior and
+agreeable appearance, I considered that I could not do better than take
+the liberty of asking that lady where Mr. Bounderby the Banker _does_
+live. Which I accordingly venture, with all suitable apologies, to do.’
+
+The inattention and indolence of his manner were sufficiently relieved,
+to Mrs. Sparsit’s thinking, by a certain gallantry at ease, which offered
+her homage too. Here he was, for instance, at this moment, all but
+sitting on the table, and yet lazily bending over her, as if he
+acknowledged an attraction in her that made her charming—in her way.
+
+‘Banks, I know, are always suspicious, and officially must be,’ said the
+stranger, whose lightness and smoothness of speech were pleasant
+likewise; suggesting matter far more sensible and humorous than it ever
+contained—which was perhaps a shrewd device of the founder of this
+numerous sect, whosoever may have been that great man: ‘therefore I may
+observe that my letter—here it is—is from the member for this
+place—Gradgrind—whom I have had the pleasure of knowing in London.’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit recognized the hand, intimated that such confirmation was
+quite unnecessary, and gave Mr. Bounderby’s address, with all needful
+clues and directions in aid.
+
+‘Thousand thanks,’ said the stranger. ‘Of course you know the Banker
+well?’
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ rejoined Mrs. Sparsit. ‘In my dependent relation towards
+him, I have known him ten years.’
+
+‘Quite an eternity! I think he married Gradgrind’s daughter?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, suddenly compressing her mouth, ‘he had
+that—honour.’
+
+‘The lady is quite a philosopher, I am told?’
+
+‘Indeed, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit. ‘_Is_ she?’
+
+‘Excuse my impertinent curiosity,’ pursued the stranger, fluttering over
+Mrs. Sparsit’s eyebrows, with a propitiatory air, ‘but you know the
+family, and know the world. I am about to know the family, and may have
+much to do with them. Is the lady so very alarming? Her father gives
+her such a portentously hard-headed reputation, that I have a burning
+desire to know. Is she absolutely unapproachable? Repellently and
+stunningly clever? I see, by your meaning smile, you think not. You
+have poured balm into my anxious soul. As to age, now. Forty? Five and
+thirty?’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit laughed outright. ‘A chit,’ said she. ‘Not twenty when she
+was married.’
+
+‘I give you my honour, Mrs. Powler,’ returned the stranger, detaching
+himself from the table, ‘that I never was so astonished in my life!’
+
+It really did seem to impress him, to the utmost extent of his capacity
+of being impressed. He looked at his informant for full a quarter of a
+minute, and appeared to have the surprise in his mind all the time. ‘I
+assure you, Mrs. Powler,’ he then said, much exhausted, ‘that the
+father’s manner prepared me for a grim and stony maturity. I am obliged
+to you, of all things, for correcting so absurd a mistake. Pray excuse
+my intrusion. Many thanks. Good day!’
+
+He bowed himself out; and Mrs. Sparsit, hiding in the window curtain, saw
+him languishing down the street on the shady side of the way, observed of
+all the town.
+
+‘What do you think of the gentleman, Bitzer?’ she asked the light porter,
+when he came to take away.
+
+‘Spends a deal of money on his dress, ma’am.’
+
+‘It must be admitted,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘that it’s very tasteful.’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am,’ returned Bitzer, ‘if that’s worth the money.’
+
+‘Besides which, ma’am,’ resumed Bitzer, while he was polishing the table,
+‘he looks to me as if he gamed.’
+
+‘It’s immoral to game,’ said Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘It’s ridiculous, ma’am,’ said Bitzer, ‘because the chances are against
+the players.’
+
+Whether it was that the heat prevented Mrs. Sparsit from working, or
+whether it was that her hand was out, she did no work that night. She
+sat at the window, when the sun began to sink behind the smoke; she sat
+there, when the smoke was burning red, when the colour faded from it,
+when darkness seemed to rise slowly out of the ground, and creep upward,
+upward, up to the house-tops, up the church steeple, up to the summits of
+the factory chimneys, up to the sky. Without a candle in the room, Mrs.
+Sparsit sat at the window, with her hands before her, not thinking much
+of the sounds of evening; the whooping of boys, the barking of dogs, the
+rumbling of wheels, the steps and voices of passengers, the shrill street
+cries, the clogs upon the pavement when it was their hour for going by,
+the shutting-up of shop-shutters. Not until the light porter announced
+that her nocturnal sweetbread was ready, did Mrs. Sparsit arouse herself
+from her reverie, and convey her dense black eyebrows—by that time
+creased with meditation, as if they needed ironing out-up-stairs.
+
+‘O, you Fool!’ said Mrs. Sparsit, when she was alone at her supper. Whom
+she meant, she did not say; but she could scarcely have meant the
+sweetbread.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+MR. JAMES HARTHOUSE
+
+
+THE Gradgrind party wanted assistance in cutting the throats of the
+Graces. They went about recruiting; and where could they enlist recruits
+more hopefully, than among the fine gentlemen who, having found out
+everything to be worth nothing, were equally ready for anything?
+
+Moreover, the healthy spirits who had mounted to this sublime height were
+attractive to many of the Gradgrind school. They liked fine gentlemen;
+they pretended that they did not, but they did. They became exhausted in
+imitation of them; and they yaw-yawed in their speech like them; and they
+served out, with an enervated air, the little mouldy rations of political
+economy, on which they regaled their disciples. There never before was
+seen on earth such a wonderful hybrid race as was thus produced.
+
+Among the fine gentlemen not regularly belonging to the Gradgrind school,
+there was one of a good family and a better appearance, with a happy turn
+of humour which had told immensely with the House of Commons on the
+occasion of his entertaining it with his (and the Board of Directors)
+view of a railway accident, in which the most careful officers ever
+known, employed by the most liberal managers ever heard of, assisted by
+the finest mechanical contrivances ever devised, the whole in action on
+the best line ever constructed, had killed five people and wounded
+thirty-two, by a casualty without which the excellence of the whole
+system would have been positively incomplete. Among the slain was a cow,
+and among the scattered articles unowned, a widow’s cap. And the
+honourable member had so tickled the House (which has a delicate sense of
+humour) by putting the cap on the cow, that it became impatient of any
+serious reference to the Coroner’s Inquest, and brought the railway off
+with Cheers and Laughter.
+
+Now, this gentleman had a younger brother of still better appearance than
+himself, who had tried life as a Cornet of Dragoons, and found it a bore;
+and had afterwards tried it in the train of an English minister abroad,
+and found it a bore; and had then strolled to Jerusalem, and got bored
+there; and had then gone yachting about the world, and got bored
+everywhere. To whom this honourable and jocular, member fraternally said
+one day, ‘Jem, there’s a good opening among the hard Fact fellows, and
+they want men. I wonder you don’t go in for statistics.’ Jem, rather
+taken by the novelty of the idea, and very hard up for a change, was as
+ready to ‘go in’ for statistics as for anything else. So, he went in.
+He coached himself up with a blue-book or two; and his brother put it
+about among the hard Fact fellows, and said, ‘If you want to bring in,
+for any place, a handsome dog who can make you a devilish good speech,
+look after my brother Jem, for he’s your man.’ After a few dashes in the
+public meeting way, Mr. Gradgrind and a council of political sages
+approved of Jem, and it was resolved to send him down to Coketown, to
+become known there and in the neighbourhood. Hence the letter Jem had
+last night shown to Mrs. Sparsit, which Mr. Bounderby now held in his
+hand; superscribed, ‘Josiah Bounderby, Esquire, Banker, Coketown.
+Specially to introduce James Harthouse, Esquire. Thomas Gradgrind.’
+
+Within an hour of the receipt of this dispatch and Mr. James Harthouse’s
+card, Mr. Bounderby put on his hat and went down to the Hotel. There he
+found Mr. James Harthouse looking out of window, in a state of mind so
+disconsolate, that he was already half-disposed to ‘go in’ for something
+else.
+
+‘My name, sir,’ said his visitor, ‘is Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown.’
+
+Mr. James Harthouse was very happy indeed (though he scarcely looked so)
+to have a pleasure he had long expected.
+
+‘Coketown, sir,’ said Bounderby, obstinately taking a chair, ‘is not the
+kind of place you have been accustomed to. Therefore, if you will allow
+me—or whether you will or not, for I am a plain man—I’ll tell you
+something about it before we go any further.’
+
+Mr. Harthouse would be charmed.
+
+‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ said Bounderby. ‘I don’t promise it. First
+of all, you see our smoke. That’s meat and drink to us. It’s the
+healthiest thing in the world in all respects, and particularly for the
+lungs. If you are one of those who want us to consume it, I differ from
+you. We are not going to wear the bottoms of our boilers out any faster
+than we wear ’em out now, for all the humbugging sentiment in Great
+Britain and Ireland.’
+
+By way of ‘going in’ to the fullest extent, Mr. Harthouse rejoined, ‘Mr.
+Bounderby, I assure you I am entirely and completely of your way of
+thinking. On conviction.’
+
+‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Bounderby. ‘Now, you have heard a lot of
+talk about the work in our mills, no doubt. You have? Very good. I’ll
+state the fact of it to you. It’s the pleasantest work there is, and
+it’s the lightest work there is, and it’s the best-paid work there is.
+More than that, we couldn’t improve the mills themselves, unless we laid
+down Turkey carpets on the floors. Which we’re not a-going to do.’
+
+‘Mr. Bounderby, perfectly right.’
+
+‘Lastly,’ said Bounderby, ‘as to our Hands. There’s not a Hand in this
+town, sir, man, woman, or child, but has one ultimate object in life.
+That object is, to be fed on turtle soup and venison with a gold spoon.
+Now, they’re not a-going—none of ’em—ever to be fed on turtle soup and
+venison with a gold spoon. And now you know the place.’
+
+Mr. Harthouse professed himself in the highest degree instructed and
+refreshed, by this condensed epitome of the whole Coketown question.
+
+‘Why, you see,’ replied Mr. Bounderby, ‘it suits my disposition to have a
+full understanding with a man, particularly with a public man, when I
+make his acquaintance. I have only one thing more to say to you, Mr.
+Harthouse, before assuring you of the pleasure with which I shall
+respond, to the utmost of my poor ability, to my friend Tom Gradgrind’s
+letter of introduction. You are a man of family. Don’t you deceive
+yourself by supposing for a moment that I am a man of family. I am a bit
+of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine scrap of tag, rag, and bobtail.’
+
+If anything could have exalted Jem’s interest in Mr. Bounderby, it would
+have been this very circumstance. Or, so he told him.
+
+‘So now,’ said Bounderby, ‘we may shake hands on equal terms. I say,
+equal terms, because although I know what I am, and the exact depth of
+the gutter I have lifted myself out of, better than any man does, I am as
+proud as you are. I am just as proud as you are. Having now asserted my
+independence in a proper manner, I may come to how do you find yourself,
+and I hope you’re pretty well.’
+
+The better, Mr. Harthouse gave him to understand as they shook hands, for
+the salubrious air of Coketown. Mr. Bounderby received the answer with
+favour.
+
+‘Perhaps you know,’ said he, ‘or perhaps you don’t know, I married Tom
+Gradgrind’s daughter. If you have nothing better to do than to walk up
+town with me, I shall be glad to introduce you to Tom Gradgrind’s
+daughter.’
+
+‘Mr. Bounderby,’ said Jem, ‘you anticipate my dearest wishes.’
+
+They went out without further discourse; and Mr. Bounderby piloted the
+new acquaintance who so strongly contrasted with him, to the private red
+brick dwelling, with the black outside shutters, the green inside blinds,
+and the black street door up the two white steps. In the drawing-room of
+which mansion, there presently entered to them the most remarkable girl
+Mr. James Harthouse had ever seen. She was so constrained, and yet so
+careless; so reserved, and yet so watchful; so cold and proud, and yet so
+sensitively ashamed of her husband’s braggart humility—from which she
+shrunk as if every example of it were a cut or a blow; that it was quite
+a new sensation to observe her. In face she was no less remarkable than
+in manner. Her features were handsome; but their natural play was so
+locked up, that it seemed impossible to guess at their genuine
+expression. Utterly indifferent, perfectly self-reliant, never at a
+loss, and yet never at her ease, with her figure in company with them
+there, and her mind apparently quite alone—it was of no use ‘going in’
+yet awhile to comprehend this girl, for she baffled all penetration.
+
+From the mistress of the house, the visitor glanced to the house itself.
+There was no mute sign of a woman in the room. No graceful little
+adornment, no fanciful little device, however trivial, anywhere expressed
+her influence. Cheerless and comfortless, boastfully and doggedly rich,
+there the room stared at its present occupants, unsoftened and unrelieved
+by the least trace of any womanly occupation. As Mr. Bounderby stood in
+the midst of his household gods, so those unrelenting divinities occupied
+their places around Mr. Bounderby, and they were worthy of one another,
+and well matched.
+
+‘This, sir,’ said Bounderby, ‘is my wife, Mrs. Bounderby: Tom Gradgrind’s
+eldest daughter. Loo, Mr. James Harthouse. Mr. Harthouse has joined
+your father’s muster-roll. If he is not Tom Gradgrind’s colleague before
+long, I believe we shall at least hear of him in connexion with one of
+our neighbouring towns. You observe, Mr. Harthouse, that my wife is my
+junior. I don’t know what she saw in me to marry me, but she saw
+something in me, I suppose, or she wouldn’t have married me. She has
+lots of expensive knowledge, sir, political and otherwise. If you want
+to cram for anything, I should be troubled to recommend you to a better
+adviser than Loo Bounderby.’
+
+To a more agreeable adviser, or one from whom he would be more likely to
+learn, Mr. Harthouse could never be recommended.
+
+‘Come!’ said his host. ‘If you’re in the complimentary line, you’ll get
+on here, for you’ll meet with no competition. I have never been in the
+way of learning compliments myself, and I don’t profess to understand the
+art of paying ’em. In fact, despise ’em. But, your bringing-up was
+different from mine; mine was a real thing, by George! You’re a
+gentleman, and I don’t pretend to be one. I am Josiah Bounderby of
+Coketown, and that’s enough for me. However, though I am not influenced
+by manners and station, Loo Bounderby may be. She hadn’t my
+advantages—disadvantages you would call ’em, but I call ’em advantages—so
+you’ll not waste your power, I dare say.’
+
+‘Mr. Bounderby,’ said Jem, turning with a smile to Louisa, ‘is a noble
+animal in a comparatively natural state, quite free from the harness in
+which a conventional hack like myself works.’
+
+‘You respect Mr. Bounderby very much,’ she quietly returned. ‘It is
+natural that you should.’
+
+He was disgracefully thrown out, for a gentleman who had seen so much of
+the world, and thought, ‘Now, how am I to take this?’
+
+‘You are going to devote yourself, as I gather from what Mr. Bounderby
+has said, to the service of your country. You have made up your mind,’
+said Louisa, still standing before him where she had first stopped—in all
+the singular contrariety of her self-possession, and her being obviously
+very ill at ease—‘to show the nation the way out of all its
+difficulties.’
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby,’ he returned, laughing, ‘upon my honour, no. I will
+make no such pretence to you. I have seen a little, here and there, up
+and down; I have found it all to be very worthless, as everybody has, and
+as some confess they have, and some do not; and I am going in for your
+respected father’s opinions—really because I have no choice of opinions,
+and may as well back them as anything else.’
+
+‘Have you none of your own?’ asked Louisa.
+
+‘I have not so much as the slightest predilection left. I assure you I
+attach not the least importance to any opinions. The result of the
+varieties of boredom I have undergone, is a conviction (unless conviction
+is too industrious a word for the lazy sentiment I entertain on the
+subject), that any set of ideas will do just as much good as any other
+set, and just as much harm as any other set. There’s an English family
+with a charming Italian motto. What will be, will be. It’s the only
+truth going!’
+
+This vicious assumption of honesty in dishonesty—a vice so dangerous, so
+deadly, and so common—seemed, he observed, a little to impress her in his
+favour. He followed up the advantage, by saying in his pleasantest
+manner: a manner to which she might attach as much or as little meaning
+as she pleased: ‘The side that can prove anything in a line of units,
+tens, hundreds, and thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the
+most fun, and to give a man the best chance. I am quite as much attached
+to it as if I believed it. I am quite ready to go in for it, to the same
+extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do, if I did
+believe it!’
+
+‘You are a singular politician,’ said Louisa.
+
+‘Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party in the
+state, I assure you, Mrs. Bounderby, if we all fell out of our adopted
+ranks and were reviewed together.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby, who had been in danger of bursting in silence, interposed
+here with a project for postponing the family dinner till half-past six,
+and taking Mr. James Harthouse in the meantime on a round of visits to
+the voting and interesting notabilities of Coketown and its vicinity.
+The round of visits was made; and Mr. James Harthouse, with a discreet
+use of his blue coaching, came off triumphantly, though with a
+considerable accession of boredom.
+
+In the evening, he found the dinner-table laid for four, but they sat
+down only three. It was an appropriate occasion for Mr. Bounderby to
+discuss the flavour of the hap’orth of stewed eels he had purchased in
+the streets at eight years old; and also of the inferior water, specially
+used for laying the dust, with which he had washed down that repast. He
+likewise entertained his guest over the soup and fish, with the
+calculation that he (Bounderby) had eaten in his youth at least three
+horses under the guise of polonies and saveloys. These recitals, Jem, in
+a languid manner, received with ‘charming!’ every now and then; and they
+probably would have decided him to ‘go in’ for Jerusalem again to-morrow
+morning, had he been less curious respecting Louisa.
+
+‘Is there nothing,’ he thought, glancing at her as she sat at the head of
+the table, where her youthful figure, small and slight, but very
+graceful, looked as pretty as it looked misplaced; ‘is there nothing that
+will move that face?’
+
+Yes! By Jupiter, there was something, and here it was, in an unexpected
+shape. Tom appeared. She changed as the door opened, and broke into a
+beaming smile.
+
+A beautiful smile. Mr. James Harthouse might not have thought so much of
+it, but that he had wondered so long at her impassive face. She put out
+her hand—a pretty little soft hand; and her fingers closed upon her
+brother’s, as if she would have carried them to her lips.
+
+‘Ay, ay?’ thought the visitor. ‘This whelp is the only creature she
+cares for. So, so!’
+
+The whelp was presented, and took his chair. The appellation was not
+flattering, but not unmerited.
+
+‘When I was your age, young Tom,’ said Bounderby, ‘I was punctual, or I
+got no dinner!’
+
+‘When you were my age,’ resumed Tom, ‘you hadn’t a wrong balance to get
+right, and hadn’t to dress afterwards.’
+
+‘Never mind that now,’ said Bounderby.
+
+‘Well, then,’ grumbled Tom. ‘Don’t begin with me.’
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby,’ said Harthouse, perfectly hearing this under-strain as
+it went on; ‘your brother’s face is quite familiar to me. Can I have
+seen him abroad? Or at some public school, perhaps?’
+
+‘No,’ she resumed, quite interested, ‘he has never been abroad yet, and
+was educated here, at home. Tom, love, I am telling Mr. Harthouse that
+he never saw you abroad.’
+
+‘No such luck, sir,’ said Tom.
+
+There was little enough in him to brighten her face, for he was a sullen
+young fellow, and ungracious in his manner even to her. So much the
+greater must have been the solitude of her heart, and her need of some
+one on whom to bestow it. ‘So much the more is this whelp the only
+creature she has ever cared for,’ thought Mr. James Harthouse, turning it
+over and over. ‘So much the more. So much the more.’
+
+Both in his sister’s presence, and after she had left the room, the whelp
+took no pains to hide his contempt for Mr. Bounderby, whenever he could
+indulge it without the observation of that independent man, by making wry
+faces, or shutting one eye. Without responding to these telegraphic
+communications, Mr. Harthouse encouraged him much in the course of the
+evening, and showed an unusual liking for him. At last, when he rose to
+return to his hotel, and was a little doubtful whether he knew the way by
+night, the whelp immediately proffered his services as guide, and turned
+out with him to escort him thither.
+
+ [Picture: Mr. Harthouse dines at the Bounderby’s]
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+THE WHELP
+
+
+IT was very remarkable that a young gentleman who had been brought up
+under one continuous system of unnatural restraint, should be a
+hypocrite; but it was certainly the case with Tom. It was very strange
+that a young gentleman who had never been left to his own guidance for
+five consecutive minutes, should be incapable at last of governing
+himself; but so it was with Tom. It was altogether unaccountable that a
+young gentleman whose imagination had been strangled in his cradle,
+should be still inconvenienced by its ghost in the form of grovelling
+sensualities; but such a monster, beyond all doubt, was Tom.
+
+‘Do you smoke?’ asked Mr. James Harthouse, when they came to the hotel.
+
+‘I believe you!’ said Tom.
+
+He could do no less than ask Tom up; and Tom could do no less than go up.
+What with a cooling drink adapted to the weather, but not so weak as
+cool; and what with a rarer tobacco than was to be bought in those parts;
+Tom was soon in a highly free and easy state at his end of the sofa, and
+more than ever disposed to admire his new friend at the other end.
+
+Tom blew his smoke aside, after he had been smoking a little while, and
+took an observation of his friend. ‘He don’t seem to care about his
+dress,’ thought Tom, ‘and yet how capitally he does it. What an easy
+swell he is!’
+
+Mr. James Harthouse, happening to catch Tom’s eye, remarked that he drank
+nothing, and filled his glass with his own negligent hand.
+
+‘Thank’ee,’ said Tom. ‘Thank’ee. Well, Mr. Harthouse, I hope you have
+had about a dose of old Bounderby to-night.’ Tom said this with one eye
+shut up again, and looking over his glass knowingly, at his entertainer.
+
+‘A very good fellow indeed!’ returned Mr. James Harthouse.
+
+‘You think so, don’t you?’ said Tom. And shut up his eye again.
+
+Mr. James Harthouse smiled; and rising from his end of the sofa, and
+lounging with his back against the chimney-piece, so that he stood before
+the empty fire-grate as he smoked, in front of Tom and looking down at
+him, observed:
+
+‘What a comical brother-in-law you are!’
+
+‘What a comical brother-in-law old Bounderby is, I think you mean,’ said
+Tom.
+
+‘You are a piece of caustic, Tom,’ retorted Mr. James Harthouse.
+
+There was something so very agreeable in being so intimate with such a
+waistcoat; in being called Tom, in such an intimate way, by such a voice;
+in being on such off-hand terms so soon, with such a pair of whiskers;
+that Tom was uncommonly pleased with himself.
+
+‘Oh! I don’t care for old Bounderby,’ said he, ‘if you mean that. I
+have always called old Bounderby by the same name when I have talked
+about him, and I have always thought of him in the same way. I am not
+going to begin to be polite now, about old Bounderby. It would be rather
+late in the day.’
+
+‘Don’t mind me,’ returned James; ‘but take care when his wife is by, you
+know.’
+
+‘His wife?’ said Tom. ‘My sister Loo? O yes!’ And he laughed, and took
+a little more of the cooling drink.
+
+James Harthouse continued to lounge in the same place and attitude,
+smoking his cigar in his own easy way, and looking pleasantly at the
+whelp, as if he knew himself to be a kind of agreeable demon who had only
+to hover over him, and he must give up his whole soul if required. It
+certainly did seem that the whelp yielded to this influence. He looked
+at his companion sneakingly, he looked at him admiringly, he looked at
+him boldly, and put up one leg on the sofa.
+
+‘My sister Loo?’ said Tom. ‘_She_ never cared for old Bounderby.’
+
+‘That’s the past tense, Tom,’ returned Mr. James Harthouse, striking the
+ash from his cigar with his little finger. ‘We are in the present tense,
+now.’
+
+‘Verb neuter, not to care. Indicative mood, present tense. First person
+singular, I do not care; second person singular, thou dost not care;
+third person singular, she does not care,’ returned Tom.
+
+‘Good! Very quaint!’ said his friend. ‘Though you don’t mean it.’
+
+‘But I _do_ mean it,’ cried Tom. ‘Upon my honour! Why, you won’t tell
+me, Mr. Harthouse, that you really suppose my sister Loo does care for
+old Bounderby.’
+
+‘My dear fellow,’ returned the other, ‘what am I bound to suppose, when I
+find two married people living in harmony and happiness?’
+
+Tom had by this time got both his legs on the sofa. If his second leg
+had not been already there when he was called a dear fellow, he would
+have put it up at that great stage of the conversation. Feeling it
+necessary to do something then, he stretched himself out at greater
+length, and, reclining with the back of his head on the end of the sofa,
+and smoking with an infinite assumption of negligence, turned his common
+face, and not too sober eyes, towards the face looking down upon him so
+carelessly yet so potently.
+
+‘You know our governor, Mr. Harthouse,’ said Tom, ‘and therefore, you
+needn’t be surprised that Loo married old Bounderby. She never had a
+lover, and the governor proposed old Bounderby, and she took him.’
+
+‘Very dutiful in your interesting sister,’ said Mr. James Harthouse.
+
+‘Yes, but she wouldn’t have been as dutiful, and it would not have come
+off as easily,’ returned the whelp, ‘if it hadn’t been for me.’
+
+The tempter merely lifted his eyebrows; but the whelp was obliged to go
+on.
+
+‘_I_ persuaded her,’ he said, with an edifying air of superiority. ‘I
+was stuck into old Bounderby’s bank (where I never wanted to be), and I
+knew I should get into scrapes there, if she put old Bounderby’s pipe
+out; so I told her my wishes, and she came into them. She would do
+anything for me. It was very game of her, wasn’t it?’
+
+‘It was charming, Tom!’
+
+‘Not that it was altogether so important to her as it was to me,’
+continued Tom coolly, ‘because my liberty and comfort, and perhaps my
+getting on, depended on it; and she had no other lover, and staying at
+home was like staying in jail—especially when I was gone. It wasn’t as
+if she gave up another lover for old Bounderby; but still it was a good
+thing in her.’
+
+‘Perfectly delightful. And she gets on so placidly.’
+
+‘Oh,’ returned Tom, with contemptuous patronage, ‘she’s a regular girl.
+A girl can get on anywhere. She has settled down to the life, and _she_
+don’t mind. It does just as well as another. Besides, though Loo is a
+girl, she’s not a common sort of girl. She can shut herself up within
+herself, and think—as I have often known her sit and watch the fire—for
+an hour at a stretch.’
+
+‘Ay, ay? Has resources of her own,’ said Harthouse, smoking quietly.
+
+‘Not so much of that as you may suppose,’ returned Tom; ‘for our governor
+had her crammed with all sorts of dry bones and sawdust. It’s his
+system.’
+
+‘Formed his daughter on his own model?’ suggested Harthouse.
+
+‘His daughter? Ah! and everybody else. Why, he formed Me that way!’
+said Tom.
+
+‘Impossible!’
+
+‘He did, though,’ said Tom, shaking his head. ‘I mean to say, Mr.
+Harthouse, that when I first left home and went to old Bounderby’s, I was
+as flat as a warming-pan, and knew no more about life, than any oyster
+does.’
+
+‘Come, Tom! I can hardly believe that. A joke’s a joke.’
+
+‘Upon my soul!’ said the whelp. ‘I am serious; I am indeed!’ He smoked
+with great gravity and dignity for a little while, and then added, in a
+highly complacent tone, ‘Oh! I have picked up a little since. I don’t
+deny that. But I have done it myself; no thanks to the governor.’
+
+‘And your intelligent sister?’
+
+‘My intelligent sister is about where she was. She used to complain to
+me that she had nothing to fall back upon, that girls usually fall back
+upon; and I don’t see how she is to have got over that since. But _she_
+don’t mind,’ he sagaciously added, puffing at his cigar again. ‘Girls
+can always get on, somehow.’
+
+‘Calling at the Bank yesterday evening, for Mr. Bounderby’s address, I
+found an ancient lady there, who seems to entertain great admiration for
+your sister,’ observed Mr. James Harthouse, throwing away the last small
+remnant of the cigar he had now smoked out.
+
+‘Mother Sparsit!’ said Tom. ‘What! you have seen her already, have you?’
+
+His friend nodded. Tom took his cigar out of his mouth, to shut up his
+eye (which had grown rather unmanageable) with the greater expression,
+and to tap his nose several times with his finger.
+
+‘Mother Sparsit’s feeling for Loo is more than admiration, I should
+think,’ said Tom. ‘Say affection and devotion. Mother Sparsit never set
+her cap at Bounderby when he was a bachelor. Oh no!’
+
+These were the last words spoken by the whelp, before a giddy drowsiness
+came upon him, followed by complete oblivion. He was roused from the
+latter state by an uneasy dream of being stirred up with a boot, and also
+of a voice saying: ‘Come, it’s late. Be off!’
+
+‘Well!’ he said, scrambling from the sofa. ‘I must take my leave of you
+though. I say. Yours is very good tobacco. But it’s too mild.’
+
+‘Yes, it’s too mild,’ returned his entertainer.
+
+‘It’s—it’s ridiculously mild,’ said Tom. ‘Where’s the door! Good
+night!’
+
+‘He had another odd dream of being taken by a waiter through a mist,
+which, after giving him some trouble and difficulty, resolved itself into
+the main street, in which he stood alone. He then walked home pretty
+easily, though not yet free from an impression of the presence and
+influence of his new friend—as if he were lounging somewhere in the air,
+in the same negligent attitude, regarding him with the same look.
+
+The whelp went home, and went to bed. If he had had any sense of what he
+had done that night, and had been less of a whelp and more of a brother,
+he might have turned short on the road, might have gone down to the
+ill-smelling river that was dyed black, might have gone to bed in it for
+good and all, and have curtained his head for ever with its filthy
+waters.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+MEN AND BROTHERS
+
+
+‘OH, my friends, the down-trodden operatives of Coketown! Oh, my friends
+and fellow-countrymen, the slaves of an iron-handed and a grinding
+despotism! Oh, my friends and fellow-sufferers, and fellow-workmen, and
+fellow-men! I tell you that the hour is come, when we must rally round
+one another as One united power, and crumble into dust the oppressors
+that too long have battened upon the plunder of our families, upon the
+sweat of our brows, upon the labour of our hands, upon the strength of
+our sinews, upon the God-created glorious rights of Humanity, and upon
+the holy and eternal privileges of Brotherhood!’
+
+‘Good!’ ‘Hear, hear, hear!’ ‘Hurrah!’ and other cries, arose in many
+voices from various parts of the densely crowded and suffocatingly close
+Hall, in which the orator, perched on a stage, delivered himself of this
+and what other froth and fume he had in him. He had declaimed himself
+into a violent heat, and was as hoarse as he was hot. By dint of roaring
+at the top of his voice under a flaring gaslight, clenching his fists,
+knitting his brows, setting his teeth, and pounding with his arms, he had
+taken so much out of himself by this time, that he was brought to a stop,
+and called for a glass of water.
+
+As he stood there, trying to quench his fiery face with his drink of
+water, the comparison between the orator and the crowd of attentive faces
+turned towards him, was extremely to his disadvantage. Judging him by
+Nature’s evidence, he was above the mass in very little but the stage on
+which he stood. In many great respects he was essentially below them.
+He was not so honest, he was not so manly, he was not so good-humoured;
+he substituted cunning for their simplicity, and passion for their safe
+solid sense. An ill-made, high-shouldered man, with lowering brows, and
+his features crushed into an habitually sour expression, he contrasted
+most unfavourably, even in his mongrel dress, with the great body of his
+hearers in their plain working clothes. Strange as it always is to
+consider any assembly in the act of submissively resigning itself to the
+dreariness of some complacent person, lord or commoner, whom
+three-fourths of it could, by no human means, raise out of the slough of
+inanity to their own intellectual level, it was particularly strange, and
+it was even particularly affecting, to see this crowd of earnest faces,
+whose honesty in the main no competent observer free from bias could
+doubt, so agitated by such a leader.
+
+Good! Hear, hear! Hurrah! The eagerness both of attention and
+intention, exhibited in all the countenances, made them a most impressive
+sight. There was no carelessness, no languor, no idle curiosity; none of
+the many shades of indifference to be seen in all other assemblies,
+visible for one moment there. That every man felt his condition to be,
+somehow or other, worse than it might be; that every man considered it
+incumbent on him to join the rest, towards the making of it better; that
+every man felt his only hope to be in his allying himself to the comrades
+by whom he was surrounded; and that in this belief, right or wrong
+(unhappily wrong then), the whole of that crowd were gravely, deeply,
+faithfully in earnest; must have been as plain to any one who chose to
+see what was there, as the bare beams of the roof and the whitened brick
+walls. Nor could any such spectator fail to know in his own breast, that
+these men, through their very delusions, showed great qualities,
+susceptible of being turned to the happiest and best account; and that to
+pretend (on the strength of sweeping axioms, howsoever cut and dried)
+that they went astray wholly without cause, and of their own irrational
+wills, was to pretend that there could be smoke without fire, death
+without birth, harvest without seed, anything or everything produced from
+nothing.
+
+The orator having refreshed himself, wiped his corrugated forehead from
+left to right several times with his handkerchief folded into a pad, and
+concentrated all his revived forces, in a sneer of great disdain and
+bitterness.
+
+‘But oh, my friends and brothers! Oh, men and Englishmen, the
+down-trodden operatives of Coketown! What shall we say of that man—that
+working-man, that I should find it necessary so to libel the glorious
+name—who, being practically and well acquainted with the grievances and
+wrongs of you, the injured pith and marrow of this land, and having heard
+you, with a noble and majestic unanimity that will make Tyrants tremble,
+resolve for to subscribe to the funds of the United Aggregate Tribunal,
+and to abide by the injunctions issued by that body for your benefit,
+whatever they may be—what, I ask you, will you say of that working-man,
+since such I must acknowledge him to be, who, at such a time, deserts his
+post, and sells his flag; who, at such a time, turns a traitor and a
+craven and a recreant, who, at such a time, is not ashamed to make to you
+the dastardly and humiliating avowal that he will hold himself aloof, and
+will _not_ be one of those associated in the gallant stand for Freedom
+and for Right?’
+
+The assembly was divided at this point. There were some groans and
+hisses, but the general sense of honour was much too strong for the
+condemnation of a man unheard. ‘Be sure you’re right, Slackbridge!’
+‘Put him up!’ ‘Let’s hear him!’ Such things were said on many sides.
+Finally, one strong voice called out, ‘Is the man heer? If the man’s
+heer, Slackbridge, let’s hear the man himseln, ’stead o’ yo.’ Which was
+received with a round of applause.
+
+Slackbridge, the orator, looked about him with a withering smile; and,
+holding out his right hand at arm’s length (as the manner of all
+Slackbridges is), to still the thundering sea, waited until there was a
+profound silence.
+
+‘Oh, my friends and fellow-men!’ said Slackbridge then, shaking his head
+with violent scorn, ‘I do not wonder that you, the prostrate sons of
+labour, are incredulous of the existence of such a man. But he who sold
+his birthright for a mess of pottage existed, and Judas Iscariot existed,
+and Castlereagh existed, and this man exists!’
+
+Here, a brief press and confusion near the stage, ended in the man
+himself standing at the orator’s side before the concourse. He was pale
+and a little moved in the face—his lips especially showed it; but he
+stood quiet, with his left hand at his chin, waiting to be heard. There
+was a chairman to regulate the proceedings, and this functionary now took
+the case into his own hands.
+
+‘My friends,’ said he, ‘by virtue o’ my office as your president, I askes
+o’ our friend Slackbridge, who may be a little over hetter in this
+business, to take his seat, whiles this man Stephen Blackpool is heern.
+You all know this man Stephen Blackpool. You know him awlung o’ his
+misfort’ns, and his good name.’
+
+With that, the chairman shook him frankly by the hand, and sat down
+again. Slackbridge likewise sat down, wiping his hot forehead—always
+from left to right, and never the reverse way.
+
+‘My friends,’ Stephen began, in the midst of a dead calm; ‘I ha’ hed
+what’s been spok’n o’ me, and ’tis lickly that I shan’t mend it. But I’d
+liefer you’d hearn the truth concernin myseln, fro my lips than fro onny
+other man’s, though I never cud’n speak afore so monny, wi’out bein
+moydert and muddled.’
+
+Slackbridge shook his head as if he would shake it off, in his
+bitterness.
+
+‘I’m th’ one single Hand in Bounderby’s mill, o’ a’ the men theer, as
+don’t coom in wi’ th’ proposed reg’lations. I canna coom in wi’ ’em. My
+friends, I doubt their doin’ yo onny good. Licker they’ll do yo hurt.’
+
+Slackbridge laughed, folded his arms, and frowned sarcastically.
+
+‘But ’t an’t sommuch for that as I stands out. If that were aw, I’d coom
+in wi’ th’ rest. But I ha’ my reasons—mine, yo see—for being hindered;
+not on’y now, but awlus—awlus—life long!’
+
+Slackbridge jumped up and stood beside him, gnashing and tearing. ‘Oh,
+my friends, what but this did I tell you? Oh, my fellow-countrymen, what
+warning but this did I give you? And how shows this recreant conduct in
+a man on whom unequal laws are known to have fallen heavy? Oh, you
+Englishmen, I ask you how does this subornation show in one of
+yourselves, who is thus consenting to his own undoing and to yours, and
+to your children’s and your children’s children’s?’
+
+There was some applause, and some crying of Shame upon the man; but the
+greater part of the audience were quiet. They looked at Stephen’s worn
+face, rendered more pathetic by the homely emotions it evinced; and, in
+the kindness of their nature, they were more sorry than indignant.
+
+‘’Tis this Delegate’s trade for t’ speak,’ said Stephen, ‘an’ he’s paid
+for ’t, an’ he knows his work. Let him keep to ’t. Let him give no heed
+to what I ha had’n to bear. That’s not for him. That’s not for nobbody
+but me.’
+
+There was a propriety, not to say a dignity in these words, that made the
+hearers yet more quiet and attentive. The same strong voice called out,
+‘Slackbridge, let the man be heern, and howd thee tongue!’ Then the
+place was wonderfully still.
+
+‘My brothers,’ said Stephen, whose low voice was distinctly heard, ‘and
+my fellow-workmen—for that yo are to me, though not, as I knows on, to
+this delegate here—I ha but a word to sen, and I could sen nommore if I
+was to speak till Strike o’ day. I know weel, aw what’s afore me. I
+know weel that yo aw resolve to ha nommore ado wi’ a man who is not wi’
+yo in this matther. I know weel that if I was a lyin parisht i’ th’
+road, yo’d feel it right to pass me by, as a forrenner and stranger.
+What I ha getn, I mun mak th’ best on.’
+
+‘Stephen Blackpool,’ said the chairman, rising, ‘think on ’t agen. Think
+on ’t once agen, lad, afore thou’rt shunned by aw owd friends.’
+
+There was an universal murmur to the same effect, though no man
+articulated a word. Every eye was fixed on Stephen’s face. To repent of
+his determination, would be to take a load from all their minds. He
+looked around him, and knew that it was so. Not a grain of anger with
+them was in his heart; he knew them, far below their surface weaknesses
+and misconceptions, as no one but their fellow-labourer could.
+
+‘I ha thowt on ’t, above a bit, sir. I simply canna coom in. I mun go
+th’ way as lays afore me. I mun tak my leave o’ aw heer.’
+
+He made a sort of reverence to them by holding up his arms, and stood for
+the moment in that attitude; not speaking until they slowly dropped at
+his sides.
+
+‘Monny’s the pleasant word as soom heer has spok’n wi’ me; monny’s the
+face I see heer, as I first seen when I were yoong and lighter heart’n
+than now. I ha’ never had no fratch afore, sin ever I were born, wi’ any
+o’ my like; Gonnows I ha’ none now that’s o’ my makin’. Yo’ll ca’ me
+traitor and that—yo I mean t’ say,’ addressing Slackbridge, ‘but ’tis
+easier to ca’ than mak’ out. So let be.’
+
+He had moved away a pace or two to come down from the platform, when he
+remembered something he had not said, and returned again.
+
+‘Haply,’ he said, turning his furrowed face slowly about, that he might
+as it were individually address the whole audience, those both near and
+distant; ‘haply, when this question has been tak’n up and discoosed,
+there’ll be a threat to turn out if I’m let to work among yo. I hope I
+shall die ere ever such a time cooms, and I shall work solitary among yo
+unless it cooms—truly, I mun do ’t, my friends; not to brave yo, but to
+live. I ha nobbut work to live by; and wheerever can I go, I who ha
+worked sin I were no heighth at aw, in Coketown heer? I mak’ no
+complaints o’ bein turned to the wa’, o’ bein outcasten and overlooken
+fro this time forrard, but hope I shall be let to work. If there is any
+right for me at aw, my friends, I think ’tis that.’
+
+Not a word was spoken. Not a sound was audible in the building, but the
+slight rustle of men moving a little apart, all along the centre of the
+room, to open a means of passing out, to the man with whom they had all
+bound themselves to renounce companionship. Looking at no one, and going
+his way with a lowly steadiness upon him that asserted nothing and sought
+nothing, Old Stephen, with all his troubles on his head, left the scene.
+
+Then Slackbridge, who had kept his oratorical arm extended during the
+going out, as if he were repressing with infinite solicitude and by a
+wonderful moral power the vehement passions of the multitude, applied
+himself to raising their spirits. Had not the Roman Brutus, oh, my
+British countrymen, condemned his son to death; and had not the Spartan
+mothers, oh my soon to be victorious friends, driven their flying
+children on the points of their enemies’ swords? Then was it not the
+sacred duty of the men of Coketown, with forefathers before them, an
+admiring world in company with them, and a posterity to come after them,
+to hurl out traitors from the tents they had pitched in a sacred and a
+God-like cause? The winds of heaven answered Yes; and bore Yes, east,
+west, north, and south. And consequently three cheers for the United
+Aggregate Tribunal!
+
+Slackbridge acted as fugleman, and gave the time. The multitude of
+doubtful faces (a little conscience-stricken) brightened at the sound,
+and took it up. Private feeling must yield to the common cause. Hurrah!
+The roof yet vibrated with the cheering, when the assembly dispersed.
+
+Thus easily did Stephen Blackpool fall into the loneliest of lives, the
+life of solitude among a familiar crowd. The stranger in the land who
+looks into ten thousand faces for some answering look and never finds it,
+is in cheering society as compared with him who passes ten averted faces
+daily, that were once the countenances of friends. Such experience was
+to be Stephen’s now, in every waking moment of his life; at his work, on
+his way to it and from it, at his door, at his window, everywhere. By
+general consent, they even avoided that side of the street on which he
+habitually walked; and left it, of all the working men, to him only.
+
+He had been for many years, a quiet silent man, associating but little
+with other men, and used to companionship with his own thoughts. He had
+never known before the strength of the want in his heart for the frequent
+recognition of a nod, a look, a word; or the immense amount of relief
+that had been poured into it by drops through such small means. It was
+even harder than he could have believed possible, to separate in his own
+conscience his abandonment by all his fellows from a baseless sense of
+shame and disgrace.
+
+The first four days of his endurance were days so long and heavy, that he
+began to be appalled by the prospect before him. Not only did he see no
+Rachael all the time, but he avoided every chance of seeing her; for,
+although he knew that the prohibition did not yet formally extend to the
+women working in the factories, he found that some of them with whom he
+was acquainted were changed to him, and he feared to try others, and
+dreaded that Rachael might be even singled out from the rest if she were
+seen in his company. So, he had been quite alone during the four days,
+and had spoken to no one, when, as he was leaving his work at night, a
+young man of a very light complexion accosted him in the street.
+
+‘Your name’s Blackpool, ain’t it?’ said the young man.
+
+Stephen coloured to find himself with his hat in his hand, in his
+gratitude for being spoken to, or in the suddenness of it, or both. He
+made a feint of adjusting the lining, and said, ‘Yes.’
+
+‘You are the Hand they have sent to Coventry, I mean?’ said Bitzer, the
+very light young man in question.
+
+Stephen answered ‘Yes,’ again.
+
+‘I supposed so, from their all appearing to keep away from you. Mr.
+Bounderby wants to speak to you. You know his house, don’t you?’
+
+Stephen said ‘Yes,’ again.
+
+‘Then go straight up there, will you?’ said Bitzer. ‘You’re expected,
+and have only to tell the servant it’s you. I belong to the Bank; so, if
+you go straight up without me (I was sent to fetch you), you’ll save me a
+walk.’
+
+Stephen, whose way had been in the contrary direction, turned about, and
+betook himself as in duty bound, to the red brick castle of the giant
+Bounderby.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+MEN AND MASTERS
+
+
+‘WELL, Stephen,’ said Bounderby, in his windy manner, ‘what’s this I
+hear? What have these pests of the earth been doing to _you_? Come in,
+and speak up.’
+
+It was into the drawing-room that he was thus bidden. A tea-table was
+set out; and Mr. Bounderby’s young wife, and her brother, and a great
+gentleman from London, were present. To whom Stephen made his obeisance,
+closing the door and standing near it, with his hat in his hand.
+
+‘This is the man I was telling you about, Harthouse,’ said Mr. Bounderby.
+The gentleman he addressed, who was talking to Mrs. Bounderby on the
+sofa, got up, saying in an indolent way, ‘Oh really?’ and dawdled to the
+hearthrug where Mr. Bounderby stood.
+
+‘Now,’ said Bounderby, ‘speak up!’
+
+After the four days he had passed, this address fell rudely and
+discordantly on Stephen’s ear. Besides being a rough handling of his
+wounded mind, it seemed to assume that he really was the self-interested
+deserter he had been called.
+
+‘What were it, sir,’ said Stephen, ‘as yo were pleased to want wi’ me?’
+
+‘Why, I have told you,’ returned Bounderby. ‘Speak up like a man, since
+you are a man, and tell us about yourself and this Combination.’
+
+‘Wi’ yor pardon, sir,’ said Stephen Blackpool, ‘I ha’ nowt to sen about
+it.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby, who was always more or less like a Wind, finding something
+in his way here, began to blow at it directly.
+
+‘Now, look here, Harthouse,’ said he, ‘here’s a specimen of ’em. When
+this man was here once before, I warned this man against the mischievous
+strangers who are always about—and who ought to be hanged wherever they
+are found—and I told this man that he was going in the wrong direction.
+Now, would you believe it, that although they have put this mark upon
+him, he is such a slave to them still, that he’s afraid to open his lips
+about them?’
+
+‘I sed as I had nowt to sen, sir; not as I was fearfo’ o’ openin’ my
+lips.’
+
+‘You said! Ah! _I_ know what you said; more than that, I know what you
+mean, you see. Not always the same thing, by the Lord Harry! Quite
+different things. You had better tell us at once, that that fellow
+Slackbridge is not in the town, stirring up the people to mutiny; and
+that he is not a regular qualified leader of the people: that is, a most
+confounded scoundrel. You had better tell us so at once; you can’t
+deceive me. You want to tell us so. Why don’t you?’
+
+‘I’m as sooary as yo, sir, when the people’s leaders is bad,’ said
+Stephen, shaking his head. ‘They taks such as offers. Haply ’tis na’
+the sma’est o’ their misfortuns when they can get no better.’
+
+The wind began to get boisterous.
+
+‘Now, you’ll think this pretty well, Harthouse,’ said Mr. Bounderby.
+‘You’ll think this tolerably strong. You’ll say, upon my soul this is a
+tidy specimen of what my friends have to deal with; but this is nothing,
+sir! You shall hear me ask this man a question. Pray, Mr.
+Blackpool’—wind springing up very fast—‘may I take the liberty of asking
+you how it happens that you refused to be in this Combination?’
+
+‘How ’t happens?’
+
+‘Ah!’ said Mr. Bounderby, with his thumbs in the arms of his coat, and
+jerking his head and shutting his eyes in confidence with the opposite
+wall: ‘how it happens.’
+
+‘I’d leefer not coom to ’t, sir; but sin you put th’ question—an’ not
+want’n t’ be ill-manner’n—I’ll answer. I ha passed a promess.’
+
+‘Not to me, you know,’ said Bounderby. (Gusty weather with deceitful
+calms. One now prevailing.)
+
+‘O no, sir. Not to yo.’
+
+‘As for me, any consideration for me has had just nothing at all to do
+with it,’ said Bounderby, still in confidence with the wall. ‘If only
+Josiah Bounderby of Coketown had been in question, you would have joined
+and made no bones about it?’
+
+‘Why yes, sir. ’Tis true.’
+
+‘Though he knows,’ said Mr. Bounderby, now blowing a gale, ‘that there
+are a set of rascals and rebels whom transportation is too good for!
+Now, Mr. Harthouse, you have been knocking about in the world some time.
+Did you ever meet with anything like that man out of this blessed
+country?’ And Mr. Bounderby pointed him out for inspection, with an
+angry finger.
+
+‘Nay, ma’am,’ said Stephen Blackpool, staunchly protesting against the
+words that had been used, and instinctively addressing himself to Louisa,
+after glancing at her face. ‘Not rebels, nor yet rascals. Nowt o’ th’
+kind, ma’am, nowt o’ th’ kind. They’ve not doon me a kindness, ma’am, as
+I know and feel. But there’s not a dozen men amoong ’em, ma’am—a dozen?
+Not six—but what believes as he has doon his duty by the rest and by
+himseln. God forbid as I, that ha’ known, and had’n experience o’ these
+men aw my life—I, that ha’ ett’n an’ droonken wi’ ’em, an’ seet’n wi’
+’em, and toil’n wi’ ’em, and lov’n ’em, should fail fur to stan by ’em
+wi’ the truth, let ’em ha’ doon to me what they may!’
+
+He spoke with the rugged earnestness of his place and character—deepened
+perhaps by a proud consciousness that he was faithful to his class under
+all their mistrust; but he fully remembered where he was, and did not
+even raise his voice.
+
+‘No, ma’am, no. They’re true to one another, faithfo’ to one another,
+’fectionate to one another, e’en to death. Be poor amoong ’em, be sick
+amoong ’em, grieve amoong ’em for onny o’ th’ monny causes that carries
+grief to the poor man’s door, an’ they’ll be tender wi’ yo, gentle wi’
+yo, comfortable wi’ yo, Chrisen wi’ yo. Be sure o’ that, ma’am. They’d
+be riven to bits, ere ever they’d be different.’
+
+‘In short,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘it’s because they are so full of virtues
+that they have turned you adrift. Go through with it while you are about
+it. Out with it.’
+
+‘How ’tis, ma’am,’ resumed Stephen, appearing still to find his natural
+refuge in Louisa’s face, ‘that what is best in us fok, seems to turn us
+most to trouble an’ misfort’n an’ mistake, I dunno. But ’tis so. I know
+’tis, as I know the heavens is over me ahint the smoke. We’re patient
+too, an’ wants in general to do right. An’ I canna think the fawt is aw
+wi’ us.’
+
+‘Now, my friend,’ said Mr. Bounderby, whom he could not have exasperated
+more, quite unconscious of it though he was, than by seeming to appeal to
+any one else, ‘if you will favour me with your attention for half a
+minute, I should like to have a word or two with you. You said just now,
+that you had nothing to tell us about this business. You are quite sure
+of that before we go any further.’
+
+‘Sir, I am sure on ’t.’
+
+‘Here’s a gentleman from London present,’ Mr. Bounderby made a backhanded
+point at Mr. James Harthouse with his thumb, ‘a Parliament gentleman. I
+should like him to hear a short bit of dialogue between you and me,
+instead of taking the substance of it—for I know precious well,
+beforehand, what it will be; nobody knows better than I do, take
+notice!—instead of receiving it on trust from my mouth.’
+
+Stephen bent his head to the gentleman from London, and showed a rather
+more troubled mind than usual. He turned his eyes involuntarily to his
+former refuge, but at a look from that quarter (expressive though
+instantaneous) he settled them on Mr. Bounderby’s face.
+
+‘Now, what do you complain of?’ asked Mr. Bounderby.
+
+‘I ha’ not coom here, sir,’ Stephen reminded him, ‘to complain. I coom
+for that I were sent for.’
+
+‘What,’ repeated Mr. Bounderby, folding his arms, ‘do you people, in a
+general way, complain of?’
+
+Stephen looked at him with some little irresolution for a moment, and
+then seemed to make up his mind.
+
+‘Sir, I were never good at showin o ’t, though I ha had’n my share in
+feeling o ’t. ’Deed we are in a muddle, sir. Look round town—so rich as
+’tis—and see the numbers o’ people as has been broughten into bein heer,
+fur to weave, an’ to card, an’ to piece out a livin’, aw the same one
+way, somehows, ’twixt their cradles and their graves. Look how we live,
+an’ wheer we live, an’ in what numbers, an’ by what chances, and wi’ what
+sameness; and look how the mills is awlus a goin, and how they never
+works us no nigher to ony dis’ant object—ceptin awlus, Death. Look how
+you considers of us, and writes of us, and talks of us, and goes up wi’
+yor deputations to Secretaries o’ State ’bout us, and how yo are awlus
+right, and how we are awlus wrong, and never had’n no reason in us sin
+ever we were born. Look how this ha growen an’ growen, sir, bigger an’
+bigger, broader an’ broader, harder an’ harder, fro year to year, fro
+generation unto generation. Who can look on ’t, sir, and fairly tell a
+man ’tis not a muddle?’
+
+‘Of course,’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘Now perhaps you’ll let the gentleman
+know, how you would set this muddle (as you’re so fond of calling it) to
+rights.’
+
+‘I donno, sir. I canna be expecten to ’t. ’Tis not me as should be
+looken to for that, sir. ’Tis them as is put ower me, and ower aw the
+rest of us. What do they tak upon themseln, sir, if not to do’t?’
+
+‘I’ll tell you something towards it, at any rate,’ returned Mr.
+Bounderby. ‘We will make an example of half a dozen Slackbridges. We’ll
+indict the blackguards for felony, and get ’em shipped off to penal
+settlements.’
+
+Stephen gravely shook his head.
+
+‘Don’t tell me we won’t, man,’ said Mr. Bounderby, by this time blowing a
+hurricane, ‘because we will, I tell you!’
+
+‘Sir,’ returned Stephen, with the quiet confidence of absolute certainty,
+‘if yo was t’ tak a hundred Slackbridges—aw as there is, and aw the
+number ten times towd—an’ was t’ sew ’em up in separate sacks, an’ sink
+’em in the deepest ocean as were made ere ever dry land coom to be, yo’d
+leave the muddle just wheer ’tis. Mischeevous strangers!’ said Stephen,
+with an anxious smile; ‘when ha we not heern, I am sure, sin ever we can
+call to mind, o’ th’ mischeevous strangers! ’Tis not by _them_ the
+trouble’s made, sir. ’Tis not wi’ _them_ ’t commences. I ha no favour
+for ’em—I ha no reason to favour ’em—but ’tis hopeless and useless to
+dream o’ takin them fro their trade, ’stead o’ takin their trade fro
+them! Aw that’s now about me in this room were heer afore I coom, an’
+will be heer when I am gone. Put that clock aboard a ship an’ pack it
+off to Norfolk Island, an’ the time will go on just the same. So ’tis
+wi’ Slackbridge every bit.’
+
+Reverting for a moment to his former refuge, he observed a cautionary
+movement of her eyes towards the door. Stepping back, he put his hand
+upon the lock. But he had not spoken out of his own will and desire; and
+he felt it in his heart a noble return for his late injurious treatment
+to be faithful to the last to those who had repudiated him. He stayed to
+finish what was in his mind.
+
+‘Sir, I canna, wi’ my little learning an’ my common way, tell the
+genelman what will better aw this—though some working men o’ this town
+could, above my powers—but I can tell him what I know will never do ’t.
+The strong hand will never do ’t. Vict’ry and triumph will never do ’t.
+Agreeing fur to mak one side unnat’rally awlus and for ever right, and
+toother side unnat’rally awlus and for ever wrong, will never, never do
+’t. Nor yet lettin alone will never do ’t. Let thousands upon thousands
+alone, aw leading the like lives and aw faw’en into the like muddle, and
+they will be as one, and yo will be as anoother, wi’ a black unpassable
+world betwixt yo, just as long or short a time as sich-like misery can
+last. Not drawin nigh to fok, wi’ kindness and patience an’ cheery ways,
+that so draws nigh to one another in their monny troubles, and so
+cherishes one another in their distresses wi’ what they need
+themseln—like, I humbly believe, as no people the genelman ha seen in aw
+his travels can beat—will never do ’t till th’ Sun turns t’ ice. Most o’
+aw, rating ’em as so much Power, and reg’latin ’em as if they was figures
+in a soom, or machines: wi’out loves and likens, wi’out memories and
+inclinations, wi’out souls to weary and souls to hope—when aw goes quiet,
+draggin on wi’ ’em as if they’d nowt o’ th’ kind, and when aw goes
+onquiet, reproachin ’em for their want o’ sitch humanly feelins in their
+dealins wi’ yo—this will never do ’t, sir, till God’s work is onmade.’
+
+Stephen stood with the open door in his hand, waiting to know if anything
+more were expected of him.
+
+‘Just stop a moment,’ said Mr. Bounderby, excessively red in the face.
+‘I told you, the last time you were here with a grievance, that you had
+better turn about and come out of that. And I also told you, if you
+remember, that I was up to the gold spoon look-out.’
+
+‘I were not up to ’t myseln, sir; I do assure yo.’
+
+‘Now it’s clear to me,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘that you are one of those
+chaps who have always got a grievance. And you go about, sowing it and
+raising crops. That’s the business of _your_ life, my friend.’
+
+Stephen shook his head, mutely protesting that indeed he had other
+business to do for his life.
+
+‘You are such a waspish, raspish, ill-conditioned chap, you see,’ said
+Mr. Bounderby, ‘that even your own Union, the men who know you best, will
+have nothing to do with you. I never thought those fellows could be
+right in anything; but I tell you what! I so far go along with them for
+a novelty, that _I_’ll have nothing to do with you either.’
+
+Stephen raised his eyes quickly to his face.
+
+‘You can finish off what you’re at,’ said Mr. Bounderby, with a meaning
+nod, ‘and then go elsewhere.’
+
+‘Sir, yo know weel,’ said Stephen expressively, ‘that if I canna get work
+wi’ yo, I canna get it elsewheer.’
+
+The reply was, ‘What I know, I know; and what you know, you know. I have
+no more to say about it.’
+
+Stephen glanced at Louisa again, but her eyes were raised to his no more;
+therefore, with a sigh, and saying, barely above his breath, ‘Heaven help
+us aw in this world!’ he departed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+FADING AWAY
+
+
+IT was falling dark when Stephen came out of Mr. Bounderby’s house. The
+shadows of night had gathered so fast, that he did not look about him
+when he closed the door, but plodded straight along the street. Nothing
+was further from his thoughts than the curious old woman he had
+encountered on his previous visit to the same house, when he heard a step
+behind him that he knew, and turning, saw her in Rachael’s company.
+
+He saw Rachael first, as he had heard her only.
+
+‘Ah, Rachael, my dear! Missus, thou wi’ her!’
+
+‘Well, and now you are surprised to be sure, and with reason I must say,’
+the old woman returned. ‘Here I am again, you see.’
+
+‘But how wi’ Rachael?’ said Stephen, falling into their step, walking
+between them, and looking from the one to the other.
+
+‘Why, I come to be with this good lass pretty much as I came to be with
+you,’ said the old woman, cheerfully, taking the reply upon herself. ‘My
+visiting time is later this year than usual, for I have been rather
+troubled with shortness of breath, and so put it off till the weather was
+fine and warm. For the same reason I don’t make all my journey in one
+day, but divide it into two days, and get a bed to-night at the
+Travellers’ Coffee House down by the railroad (a nice clean house), and
+go back Parliamentary, at six in the morning. Well, but what has this to
+do with this good lass, says you? I’m going to tell you. I have heard
+of Mr. Bounderby being married. I read it in the paper, where it looked
+grand—oh, it looked fine!’ the old woman dwelt on it with strange
+enthusiasm: ‘and I want to see his wife. I have never seen her yet.
+Now, if you’ll believe me, she hasn’t come out of that house since noon
+to-day. So not to give her up too easily, I was waiting about, a little
+last bit more, when I passed close to this good lass two or three times;
+and her face being so friendly I spoke to her, and she spoke to me.
+There!’ said the old woman to Stephen, ‘you can make all the rest out for
+yourself now, a deal shorter than I can, I dare say!’
+
+Once again, Stephen had to conquer an instinctive propensity to dislike
+this old woman, though her manner was as honest and simple as a manner
+possibly could be. With a gentleness that was as natural to him as he
+knew it to be to Rachael, he pursued the subject that interested her in
+her old age.
+
+‘Well, missus,’ said he, ‘I ha seen the lady, and she were young and
+hansom. Wi’ fine dark thinkin eyes, and a still way, Rachael, as I ha
+never seen the like on.’
+
+‘Young and handsome. Yes!’ cried the old woman, quite delighted. ‘As
+bonny as a rose! And what a happy wife!’
+
+‘Aye, missus, I suppose she be,’ said Stephen. But with a doubtful
+glance at Rachael.
+
+‘Suppose she be? She must be. She’s your master’s wife,’ returned the
+old woman.
+
+Stephen nodded assent. ‘Though as to master,’ said he, glancing again at
+Rachael, ‘not master onny more. That’s aw enden ’twixt him and me.’
+
+‘Have you left his work, Stephen?’ asked Rachael, anxiously and quickly.
+
+‘Why, Rachael,’ he replied, ‘whether I ha lef’n his work, or whether his
+work ha lef’n me, cooms t’ th’ same. His work and me are parted. ’Tis
+as weel so—better, I were thinkin when yo coom up wi’ me. It would ha
+brought’n trouble upon trouble if I had stayed theer. Haply ’tis a
+kindness to monny that I go; haply ’tis a kindness to myseln; anyways it
+mun be done. I mun turn my face fro Coketown fur th’ time, and seek a
+fort’n, dear, by beginnin fresh.’
+
+‘Where will you go, Stephen?’
+
+‘I donno t’night,’ said he, lifting off his hat, and smoothing his thin
+hair with the flat of his hand. ‘But I’m not goin t’night, Rachael, nor
+yet t’morrow. ’Tan’t easy overmuch t’ know wheer t’ turn, but a good
+heart will coom to me.’
+
+Herein, too, the sense of even thinking unselfishly aided him. Before he
+had so much as closed Mr. Bounderby’s door, he had reflected that at
+least his being obliged to go away was good for her, as it would save her
+from the chance of being brought into question for not withdrawing from
+him. Though it would cost him a hard pang to leave her, and though he
+could think of no similar place in which his condemnation would not
+pursue him, perhaps it was almost a relief to be forced away from the
+endurance of the last four days, even to unknown difficulties and
+distresses.
+
+So he said, with truth, ‘I’m more leetsome, Rachael, under ’t, than I
+could’n ha believed.’ It was not her part to make his burden heavier.
+She answered with her comforting smile, and the three walked on together.
+
+Age, especially when it strives to be self-reliant and cheerful, finds
+much consideration among the poor. The old woman was so decent and
+contented, and made so light of her infirmities, though they had
+increased upon her since her former interview with Stephen, that they
+both took an interest in her. She was too sprightly to allow of their
+walking at a slow pace on her account, but she was very grateful to be
+talked to, and very willing to talk to any extent: so, when they came to
+their part of the town, she was more brisk and vivacious than ever.
+
+‘Come to my poor place, missus,’ said Stephen, ‘and tak a coop o’ tea.
+Rachael will coom then; and arterwards I’ll see thee safe t’ thy
+Travellers’ lodgin. ’T may be long, Rachael, ere ever I ha th’ chance o’
+thy coompany agen.’
+
+They complied, and the three went on to the house where he lodged. When
+they turned into a narrow street, Stephen glanced at his window with a
+dread that always haunted his desolate home; but it was open, as he had
+left it, and no one was there. The evil spirit of his life had flitted
+away again, months ago, and he had heard no more of her since. The only
+evidence of her last return now, were the scantier moveables in his room,
+and the grayer hair upon his head.
+
+He lighted a candle, set out his little tea-board, got hot water from
+below, and brought in small portions of tea and sugar, a loaf, and some
+butter from the nearest shop. The bread was new and crusty, the butter
+fresh, and the sugar lump, of course—in fulfilment of the standard
+testimony of the Coketown magnates, that these people lived like princes,
+sir. Rachael made the tea (so large a party necessitated the borrowing
+of a cup), and the visitor enjoyed it mightily. It was the first glimpse
+of sociality the host had had for many days. He too, with the world a
+wide heath before him, enjoyed the meal—again in corroboration of the
+magnates, as exemplifying the utter want of calculation on the part of
+these people, sir.
+
+‘I ha never thowt yet, missus,’ said Stephen, ‘o’ askin thy name.’
+
+The old lady announced herself as ‘Mrs. Pegler.’
+
+‘A widder, I think?’ said Stephen.
+
+‘Oh, many long years!’ Mrs. Pegler’s husband (one of the best on record)
+was already dead, by Mrs. Pegler’s calculation, when Stephen was born.
+
+‘’Twere a bad job, too, to lose so good a one,’ said Stephen. ‘Onny
+children?’
+
+Mrs. Pegler’s cup, rattling against her saucer as she held it, denoted
+some nervousness on her part. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not now, not now.’
+
+‘Dead, Stephen,’ Rachael softly hinted.
+
+‘I’m sooary I ha spok’n on ’t,’ said Stephen, ‘I ought t’ hadn in my mind
+as I might touch a sore place. I—I blame myseln.’
+
+While he excused himself, the old lady’s cup rattled more and more. ‘I
+had a son,’ she said, curiously distressed, and not by any of the usual
+appearances of sorrow; ‘and he did well, wonderfully well. But he is not
+to be spoken of if you please. He is—’ Putting down her cup, she moved
+her hands as if she would have added, by her action, ‘dead!’ Then she
+said aloud, ‘I have lost him.’
+
+Stephen had not yet got the better of his having given the old lady pain,
+when his landlady came stumbling up the narrow stairs, and calling him to
+the door, whispered in his ear. Mrs. Pegler was by no means deaf, for
+she caught a word as it was uttered.
+
+‘Bounderby!’ she cried, in a suppressed voice, starting up from the
+table. ‘Oh hide me! Don’t let me be seen for the world. Don’t let him
+come up till I’ve got away. Pray, pray!’ She trembled, and was
+excessively agitated; getting behind Rachael, when Rachael tried to
+reassure her; and not seeming to know what she was about.
+
+‘But hearken, missus, hearken,’ said Stephen, astonished. ‘’Tisn’t Mr.
+Bounderby; ’tis his wife. Yo’r not fearfo’ o’ her. Yo was hey-go-mad
+about her, but an hour sin.’
+
+‘But are you sure it’s the lady, and not the gentleman?’ she asked, still
+trembling.
+
+‘Certain sure!’
+
+‘Well then, pray don’t speak to me, nor yet take any notice of me,’ said
+the old woman. ‘Let me be quite to myself in this corner.’
+
+Stephen nodded; looking to Rachael for an explanation, which she was
+quite unable to give him; took the candle, went downstairs, and in a few
+moments returned, lighting Louisa into the room. She was followed by the
+whelp.
+
+Rachael had risen, and stood apart with her shawl and bonnet in her hand,
+when Stephen, himself profoundly astonished by this visit, put the candle
+on the table. Then he too stood, with his doubled hand upon the table
+near it, waiting to be addressed.
+
+For the first time in her life Louisa had come into one of the dwellings
+of the Coketown Hands; for the first time in her life she was face to
+face with anything like individuality in connection with them. She knew
+of their existence by hundreds and by thousands. She knew what results
+in work a given number of them would produce in a given space of time.
+She knew them in crowds passing to and from their nests, like ants or
+beetles. But she knew from her reading infinitely more of the ways of
+toiling insects than of these toiling men and women.
+
+Something to be worked so much and paid so much, and there ended;
+something to be infallibly settled by laws of supply and demand;
+something that blundered against those laws, and floundered into
+difficulty; something that was a little pinched when wheat was dear, and
+over-ate itself when wheat was cheap; something that increased at such a
+rate of percentage, and yielded such another percentage of crime, and
+such another percentage of pauperism; something wholesale, of which vast
+fortunes were made; something that occasionally rose like a sea, and did
+some harm and waste (chiefly to itself), and fell again; this she knew
+the Coketown Hands to be. But, she had scarcely thought more of
+separating them into units, than of separating the sea itself into its
+component drops.
+
+She stood for some moments looking round the room. From the few chairs,
+the few books, the common prints, and the bed, she glanced to the two
+women, and to Stephen.
+
+‘I have come to speak to you, in consequence of what passed just now. I
+should like to be serviceable to you, if you will let me. Is this your
+wife?’
+
+Rachael raised her eyes, and they sufficiently answered no, and dropped
+again.
+
+‘I remember,’ said Louisa, reddening at her mistake; ‘I recollect, now,
+to have heard your domestic misfortunes spoken of, though I was not
+attending to the particulars at the time. It was not my meaning to ask a
+question that would give pain to any one here. If I should ask any other
+question that may happen to have that result, give me credit, if you
+please, for being in ignorance how to speak to you as I ought.’
+
+As Stephen had but a little while ago instinctively addressed himself to
+her, so she now instinctively addressed herself to Rachael. Her manner
+was short and abrupt, yet faltering and timid.
+
+‘He has told you what has passed between himself and my husband? You
+would be his first resource, I think.’
+
+‘I have heard the end of it, young lady,’ said Rachael.
+
+‘Did I understand, that, being rejected by one employer, he would
+probably be rejected by all? I thought he said as much?’
+
+‘The chances are very small, young lady—next to nothing—for a man who
+gets a bad name among them.’
+
+‘What shall I understand that you mean by a bad name?’
+
+‘The name of being troublesome.’
+
+‘Then, by the prejudices of his own class, and by the prejudices of the
+other, he is sacrificed alike? Are the two so deeply separated in this
+town, that there is no place whatever for an honest workman between
+them?’
+
+Rachael shook her head in silence.
+
+‘He fell into suspicion,’ said Louisa, ‘with his fellow-weavers,
+because—he had made a promise not to be one of them. I think it must
+have been to you that he made that promise. Might I ask you why he made
+it?’
+
+Rachael burst into tears. ‘I didn’t seek it of him, poor lad. I prayed
+him to avoid trouble for his own good, little thinking he’d come to it
+through me. But I know he’d die a hundred deaths, ere ever he’d break
+his word. I know that of him well.’
+
+Stephen had remained quietly attentive, in his usual thoughtful attitude,
+with his hand at his chin. He now spoke in a voice rather less steady
+than usual.
+
+‘No one, excepting myseln, can ever know what honour, an’ what love, an’
+respect, I bear to Rachael, or wi’ what cause. When I passed that
+promess, I towd her true, she were th’ Angel o’ my life. ’Twere a solemn
+promess. ’Tis gone fro’ me, for ever.’
+
+Louisa turned her head to him, and bent it with a deference that was new
+in her. She looked from him to Rachael, and her features softened.
+‘What will you do?’ she asked him. And her voice had softened too.
+
+‘Weel, ma’am,’ said Stephen, making the best of it, with a smile; ‘when I
+ha finished off, I mun quit this part, and try another. Fortnet or
+misfortnet, a man can but try; there’s nowt to be done wi’out tryin’—cept
+laying down and dying.’
+
+‘How will you travel?’
+
+‘Afoot, my kind ledy, afoot.’
+
+Louisa coloured, and a purse appeared in her hand. The rustling of a
+bank-note was audible, as she unfolded one and laid it on the table.
+
+‘Rachael, will you tell him—for you know how, without offence—that this
+is freely his, to help him on his way? Will you entreat him to take it?’
+
+‘I canna do that, young lady,’ she answered, turning her head aside.
+‘Bless you for thinking o’ the poor lad wi’ such tenderness. But ’tis
+for him to know his heart, and what is right according to it.’
+
+Louisa looked, in part incredulous, in part frightened, in part overcome
+with quick sympathy, when this man of so much self-command, who had been
+so plain and steady through the late interview, lost his composure in a
+moment, and now stood with his hand before his face. She stretched out
+hers, as if she would have touched him; then checked herself, and
+remained still.
+
+‘Not e’en Rachael,’ said Stephen, when he stood again with his face
+uncovered, ‘could mak sitch a kind offerin, by onny words, kinder. T’
+show that I’m not a man wi’out reason and gratitude, I’ll tak two pound.
+I’ll borrow ’t for t’ pay ’t back. ’Twill be the sweetest work as ever I
+ha done, that puts it in my power t’ acknowledge once more my lastin
+thankfulness for this present action.’
+
+She was fain to take up the note again, and to substitute the much
+smaller sum he had named. He was neither courtly, nor handsome, nor
+picturesque, in any respect; and yet his manner of accepting it, and of
+expressing his thanks without more words, had a grace in it that Lord
+Chesterfield could not have taught his son in a century.
+
+Tom had sat upon the bed, swinging one leg and sucking his walking-stick
+with sufficient unconcern, until the visit had attained this stage.
+Seeing his sister ready to depart, he got up, rather hurriedly, and put
+in a word.
+
+‘Just wait a moment, Loo! Before we go, I should like to speak to him a
+moment. Something comes into my head. If you’ll step out on the stairs,
+Blackpool, I’ll mention it. Never mind a light, man!’ Tom was
+remarkably impatient of his moving towards the cupboard, to get one. ‘It
+don’t want a light.’
+
+Stephen followed him out, and Tom closed the room door, and held the lock
+in his hand.
+
+‘I say!’ he whispered. ‘I think I can do you a good turn. Don’t ask me
+what it is, because it may not come to anything. But there’s no harm in
+my trying.’
+
+His breath fell like a flame of fire on Stephen’s ear, it was so hot.
+
+‘That was our light porter at the Bank,’ said Tom, ‘who brought you the
+message to-night. I call him our light porter, because I belong to the
+Bank too.’
+
+Stephen thought, ‘What a hurry he is in!’ He spoke so confusedly.
+
+‘Well!’ said Tom. ‘Now look here! When are you off?’
+
+‘T’ day’s Monday,’ replied Stephen, considering. ‘Why, sir, Friday or
+Saturday, nigh ’bout.’
+
+‘Friday or Saturday,’ said Tom. ‘Now look here! I am not sure that I
+can do you the good turn I want to do you—that’s my sister, you know, in
+your room—but I may be able to, and if I should not be able to, there’s
+no harm done. So I tell you what. You’ll know our light porter again?’
+
+‘Yes, sure,’ said Stephen.
+
+‘Very well,’ returned Tom. ‘When you leave work of a night, between this
+and your going away, just hang about the Bank an hour or so, will you?
+Don’t take on, as if you meant anything, if he should see you hanging
+about there; because I shan’t put him up to speak to you, unless I find I
+can do you the service I want to do you. In that case he’ll have a note
+or a message for you, but not else. Now look here! You are sure you
+understand.’
+
+He had wormed a finger, in the darkness, through a button-hole of
+Stephen’s coat, and was screwing that corner of the garment tight up
+round and round, in an extraordinary manner.
+
+‘I understand, sir,’ said Stephen.
+
+‘Now look here!’ repeated Tom. ‘Be sure you don’t make any mistake then,
+and don’t forget. I shall tell my sister as we go home, what I have in
+view, and she’ll approve, I know. Now look here! You’re all right, are
+you? You understand all about it? Very well then. Come along, Loo!’
+
+He pushed the door open as he called to her, but did not return into the
+room, or wait to be lighted down the narrow stairs. He was at the bottom
+when she began to descend, and was in the street before she could take
+his arm.
+
+Mrs. Pegler remained in her corner until the brother and sister were
+gone, and until Stephen came back with the candle in his hand. She was
+in a state of inexpressible admiration of Mrs. Bounderby, and, like an
+unaccountable old woman, wept, ‘because she was such a pretty dear.’ Yet
+Mrs. Pegler was so flurried lest the object of her admiration should
+return by chance, or anybody else should come, that her cheerfulness was
+ended for that night. It was late too, to people who rose early and
+worked hard; therefore the party broke up; and Stephen and Rachael
+escorted their mysterious acquaintance to the door of the Travellers’
+Coffee House, where they parted from her.
+
+They walked back together to the corner of the street where Rachael
+lived, and as they drew nearer and nearer to it, silence crept upon them.
+When they came to the dark corner where their unfrequent meetings always
+ended, they stopped, still silent, as if both were afraid to speak.
+
+‘I shall strive t’ see thee agen, Rachael, afore I go, but if not—’
+
+‘Thou wilt not, Stephen, I know. ’Tis better that we make up our minds
+to be open wi’ one another.’
+
+‘Thou’rt awlus right. ’Tis bolder and better. I ha been thinkin then,
+Rachael, that as ’tis but a day or two that remains, ’twere better for
+thee, my dear, not t’ be seen wi’ me. ’T might bring thee into trouble,
+fur no good.’
+
+‘’Tis not for that, Stephen, that I mind. But thou know’st our old
+agreement. ’Tis for that.’
+
+‘Well, well,’ said he. ‘’Tis better, onnyways.’
+
+‘Thou’lt write to me, and tell me all that happens, Stephen?’
+
+‘Yes. What can I say now, but Heaven be wi’ thee, Heaven bless thee,
+Heaven thank thee and reward thee!’
+
+‘May it bless thee, Stephen, too, in all thy wanderings, and send thee
+peace and rest at last!’
+
+‘I towd thee, my dear,’ said Stephen Blackpool—‘that night—that I would
+never see or think o’ onnything that angered me, but thou, so much better
+than me, should’st be beside it. Thou’rt beside it now. Thou mak’st me
+see it wi’ a better eye. Bless thee. Good night. Good-bye!’
+
+It was but a hurried parting in a common street, yet it was a sacred
+remembrance to these two common people. Utilitarian economists,
+skeletons of schoolmasters, Commissioners of Fact, genteel and used-up
+infidels, gabblers of many little dog’s-eared creeds, the poor you will
+have always with you. Cultivate in them, while there is yet time, the
+utmost graces of the fancies and affections, to adorn their lives so much
+in need of ornament; or, in the day of your triumph, when romance is
+utterly driven out of their souls, and they and a bare existence stand
+face to face, Reality will take a wolfish turn, and make an end of you.
+
+Stephen worked the next day, and the next, uncheered by a word from any
+one, and shunned in all his comings and goings as before. At the end of
+the second day, he saw land; at the end of the third, his loom stood
+empty.
+
+He had overstayed his hour in the street outside the Bank, on each of the
+two first evenings; and nothing had happened there, good or bad. That he
+might not be remiss in his part of the engagement, he resolved to wait
+full two hours, on this third and last night.
+
+There was the lady who had once kept Mr. Bounderby’s house, sitting at
+the first-floor window as he had seen her before; and there was the light
+porter, sometimes talking with her there, and sometimes looking over the
+blind below which had BANK upon it, and sometimes coming to the door and
+standing on the steps for a breath of air. When he first came out,
+Stephen thought he might be looking for him, and passed near; but the
+light porter only cast his winking eyes upon him slightly, and said
+nothing.
+
+Two hours were a long stretch of lounging about, after a long day’s
+labour. Stephen sat upon the step of a door, leaned against a wall under
+an archway, strolled up and down, listened for the church clock, stopped
+and watched children playing in the street. Some purpose or other is so
+natural to every one, that a mere loiterer always looks and feels
+remarkable. When the first hour was out, Stephen even began to have an
+uncomfortable sensation upon him of being for the time a disreputable
+character.
+
+Then came the lamplighter, and two lengthening lines of light all down
+the long perspective of the street, until they were blended and lost in
+the distance. Mrs. Sparsit closed the first-floor window, drew down the
+blind, and went up-stairs. Presently, a light went up-stairs after her,
+passing first the fanlight of the door, and afterwards the two staircase
+windows, on its way up. By and by, one corner of the second-floor blind
+was disturbed, as if Mrs. Sparsit’s eye were there; also the other
+corner, as if the light porter’s eye were on that side. Still, no
+communication was made to Stephen. Much relieved when the two hours were
+at last accomplished, he went away at a quick pace, as a recompense for
+so much loitering.
+
+He had only to take leave of his landlady, and lie down on his temporary
+bed upon the floor; for his bundle was made up for to-morrow, and all was
+arranged for his departure. He meant to be clear of the town very early;
+before the Hands were in the streets.
+
+It was barely daybreak, when, with a parting look round his room,
+mournfully wondering whether he should ever see it again, he went out.
+The town was as entirely deserted as if the inhabitants had abandoned it,
+rather than hold communication with him. Everything looked wan at that
+hour. Even the coming sun made but a pale waste in the sky, like a sad
+sea.
+
+By the place where Rachael lived, though it was not in his way; by the
+red brick streets; by the great silent factories, not trembling yet; by
+the railway, where the danger-lights were waning in the strengthening
+day; by the railway’s crazy neighbourhood, half pulled down and half
+built up; by scattered red brick villas, where the besmoked evergreens
+were sprinkled with a dirty powder, like untidy snuff-takers; by
+coal-dust paths and many varieties of ugliness; Stephen got to the top of
+the hill, and looked back.
+
+Day was shining radiantly upon the town then, and the bells were going
+for the morning work. Domestic fires were not yet lighted, and the high
+chimneys had the sky to themselves. Puffing out their poisonous volumes,
+they would not be long in hiding it; but, for half an hour, some of the
+many windows were golden, which showed the Coketown people a sun
+eternally in eclipse, through a medium of smoked glass.
+
+So strange to turn from the chimneys to the birds. So strange, to have
+the road-dust on his feet instead of the coal-grit. So strange to have
+lived to his time of life, and yet to be beginning like a boy this summer
+morning! With these musings in his mind, and his bundle under his arm,
+Stephen took his attentive face along the high road. And the trees
+arched over him, whispering that he left a true and loving heart behind.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+GUNPOWDER
+
+
+MR. JAMES HARTHOUSE, ‘going in’ for his adopted party, soon began to
+score. With the aid of a little more coaching for the political sages, a
+little more genteel listlessness for the general society, and a tolerable
+management of the assumed honesty in dishonesty, most effective and most
+patronized of the polite deadly sins, he speedily came to be considered
+of much promise. The not being troubled with earnestness was a grand
+point in his favour, enabling him to take to the hard Fact fellows with
+as good a grace as if he had been born one of the tribe, and to throw all
+other tribes overboard, as conscious hypocrites.
+
+‘Whom none of us believe, my dear Mrs. Bounderby, and who do not believe
+themselves. The only difference between us and the professors of virtue
+or benevolence, or philanthropy—never mind the name—is, that we know it
+is all meaningless, and say so; while they know it equally and will never
+say so.’
+
+Why should she be shocked or warned by this reiteration? It was not so
+unlike her father’s principles, and her early training, that it need
+startle her. Where was the great difference between the two schools,
+when each chained her down to material realities, and inspired her with
+no faith in anything else? What was there in her soul for James
+Harthouse to destroy, which Thomas Gradgrind had nurtured there in its
+state of innocence!
+
+It was even the worse for her at this pass, that in her mind—implanted
+there before her eminently practical father began to form it—a struggling
+disposition to believe in a wider and nobler humanity than she had ever
+heard of, constantly strove with doubts and resentments. With doubts,
+because the aspiration had been so laid waste in her youth. With
+resentments, because of the wrong that had been done her, if it were
+indeed a whisper of the truth. Upon a nature long accustomed to
+self-suppression, thus torn and divided, the Harthouse philosophy came as
+a relief and justification. Everything being hollow and worthless, she
+had missed nothing and sacrificed nothing. What did it matter, she had
+said to her father, when he proposed her husband. What did it matter,
+she said still. With a scornful self-reliance, she asked herself, What
+did anything matter—and went on.
+
+Towards what? Step by step, onward and downward, towards some end, yet
+so gradually, that she believed herself to remain motionless. As to Mr.
+Harthouse, whither _he_ tended, he neither considered nor cared. He had
+no particular design or plan before him: no energetic wickedness ruffled
+his lassitude. He was as much amused and interested, at present, as it
+became so fine a gentleman to be; perhaps even more than it would have
+been consistent with his reputation to confess. Soon after his arrival
+he languidly wrote to his brother, the honourable and jocular member,
+that the Bounderbys were ‘great fun;’ and further, that the female
+Bounderby, instead of being the Gorgon he had expected, was young, and
+remarkably pretty. After that, he wrote no more about them, and devoted
+his leisure chiefly to their house. He was very often in their house, in
+his flittings and visitings about the Coketown district; and was much
+encouraged by Mr. Bounderby. It was quite in Mr. Bounderby’s gusty way
+to boast to all his world that _he_ didn’t care about your highly
+connected people, but that if his wife Tom Gradgrind’s daughter did, she
+was welcome to their company.
+
+Mr. James Harthouse began to think it would be a new sensation, if the
+face which changed so beautifully for the whelp, would change for him.
+
+He was quick enough to observe; he had a good memory, and did not forget
+a word of the brother’s revelations. He interwove them with everything
+he saw of the sister, and he began to understand her. To be sure, the
+better and profounder part of her character was not within his scope of
+perception; for in natures, as in seas, depth answers unto depth; but he
+soon began to read the rest with a student’s eye.
+
+Mr. Bounderby had taken possession of a house and grounds, about fifteen
+miles from the town, and accessible within a mile or two, by a railway
+striding on many arches over a wild country, undermined by deserted
+coal-shafts, and spotted at night by fires and black shapes of stationary
+engines at pits’ mouths. This country, gradually softening towards the
+neighbourhood of Mr. Bounderby’s retreat, there mellowed into a rustic
+landscape, golden with heath, and snowy with hawthorn in the spring of
+the year, and tremulous with leaves and their shadows all the summer
+time. The bank had foreclosed a mortgage effected on the property thus
+pleasantly situated, by one of the Coketown magnates, who, in his
+determination to make a shorter cut than usual to an enormous fortune,
+overspeculated himself by about two hundred thousand pounds. These
+accidents did sometimes happen in the best regulated families of
+Coketown, but the bankrupts had no connexion whatever with the
+improvident classes.
+
+It afforded Mr. Bounderby supreme satisfaction to instal himself in this
+snug little estate, and with demonstrative humility to grow cabbages in
+the flower-garden. He delighted to live, barrack-fashion, among the
+elegant furniture, and he bullied the very pictures with his origin.
+‘Why, sir,’ he would say to a visitor, ‘I am told that Nickits,’ the late
+owner, ‘gave seven hundred pound for that Seabeach. Now, to be plain
+with you, if I ever, in the whole course of my life, take seven looks at
+it, at a hundred pound a look, it will be as much as I shall do. No, by
+George! I don’t forget that I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown. For
+years upon years, the only pictures in my possession, or that I could
+have got into my possession, by any means, unless I stole ’em, were the
+engravings of a man shaving himself in a boot, on the blacking bottles
+that I was overjoyed to use in cleaning boots with, and that I sold when
+they were empty for a farthing a-piece, and glad to get it!’
+
+Then he would address Mr. Harthouse in the same style.
+
+‘Harthouse, you have a couple of horses down here. Bring half a dozen
+more if you like, and we’ll find room for ’em. There’s stabling in this
+place for a dozen horses; and unless Nickits is belied, he kept the full
+number. A round dozen of ’em, sir. When that man was a boy, he went to
+Westminster School. Went to Westminster School as a King’s Scholar, when
+I was principally living on garbage, and sleeping in market baskets.
+Why, if I wanted to keep a dozen horses—which I don’t, for one’s enough
+for me—I couldn’t bear to see ’em in their stalls here, and think what my
+own lodging used to be. I couldn’t look at ’em, sir, and not order ’em
+out. Yet so things come round. You see this place; you know what sort
+of a place it is; you are aware that there’s not a completer place of its
+size in this kingdom or elsewhere—I don’t care where—and here, got into
+the middle of it, like a maggot into a nut, is Josiah Bounderby. While
+Nickits (as a man came into my office, and told me yesterday), Nickits,
+who used to act in Latin, in the Westminster School plays, with the
+chief-justices and nobility of this country applauding him till they were
+black in the face, is drivelling at this minute—drivelling, sir!—in a
+fifth floor, up a narrow dark back street in Antwerp.’
+
+It was among the leafy shadows of this retirement, in the long sultry
+summer days, that Mr. Harthouse began to prove the face which had set him
+wondering when he first saw it, and to try if it would change for him.
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby, I esteem it a most fortunate accident that I find you
+alone here. I have for some time had a particular wish to speak to you.’
+
+It was not by any wonderful accident that he found her, the time of day
+being that at which she was always alone, and the place being her
+favourite resort. It was an opening in a dark wood, where some felled
+trees lay, and where she would sit watching the fallen leaves of last
+year, as she had watched the falling ashes at home.
+
+He sat down beside her, with a glance at her face.
+
+‘Your brother. My young friend Tom—’
+
+Her colour brightened, and she turned to him with a look of interest. ‘I
+never in my life,’ he thought, ‘saw anything so remarkable and so
+captivating as the lighting of those features!’ His face betrayed his
+thoughts—perhaps without betraying him, for it might have been according
+to its instructions so to do.
+
+‘Pardon me. The expression of your sisterly interest is so beautiful—Tom
+should be so proud of it—I know this is inexcusable, but I am so
+compelled to admire.’
+
+‘Being so impulsive,’ she said composedly.
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby, no: you know I make no pretence with you. You know I am
+a sordid piece of human nature, ready to sell myself at any time for any
+reasonable sum, and altogether incapable of any Arcadian proceeding
+whatever.’
+
+‘I am waiting,’ she returned, ‘for your further reference to my brother.’
+
+‘You are rigid with me, and I deserve it. I am as worthless a dog as you
+will find, except that I am not false—not false. But you surprised and
+started me from my subject, which was your brother. I have an interest
+in him.’
+
+‘Have you an interest in anything, Mr. Harthouse?’ she asked, half
+incredulously and half gratefully.
+
+‘If you had asked me when I first came here, I should have said no. I
+must say now—even at the hazard of appearing to make a pretence, and of
+justly awakening your incredulity—yes.’
+
+She made a slight movement, as if she were trying to speak, but could not
+find voice; at length she said, ‘Mr. Harthouse, I give you credit for
+being interested in my brother.’
+
+‘Thank you. I claim to deserve it. You know how little I do claim, but
+I will go that length. You have done so much for him, you are so fond of
+him; your whole life, Mrs. Bounderby, expresses such charming
+self-forgetfulness on his account—pardon me again—I am running wide of
+the subject. I am interested in him for his own sake.’
+
+She had made the slightest action possible, as if she would have risen in
+a hurry and gone away. He had turned the course of what he said at that
+instant, and she remained.
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby,’ he resumed, in a lighter manner, and yet with a show of
+effort in assuming it, which was even more expressive than the manner he
+dismissed; ‘it is no irrevocable offence in a young fellow of your
+brother’s years, if he is heedless, inconsiderate, and expensive—a little
+dissipated, in the common phrase. Is he?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Allow me to be frank. Do you think he games at all?’
+
+‘I think he makes bets.’ Mr. Harthouse waiting, as if that were not her
+whole answer, she added, ‘I know he does.’
+
+‘Of course he loses?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Everybody does lose who bets. May I hint at the probability of your
+sometimes supplying him with money for these purposes?’
+
+She sat, looking down; but, at this question, raised her eyes searchingly
+and a little resentfully.
+
+‘Acquit me of impertinent curiosity, my dear Mrs. Bounderby. I think Tom
+may be gradually falling into trouble, and I wish to stretch out a
+helping hand to him from the depths of my wicked experience.—Shall I say
+again, for his sake? Is that necessary?’
+
+She seemed to try to answer, but nothing came of it.
+
+‘Candidly to confess everything that has occurred to me,’ said James
+Harthouse, again gliding with the same appearance of effort into his more
+airy manner; ‘I will confide to you my doubt whether he has had many
+advantages. Whether—forgive my plainness—whether any great amount of
+confidence is likely to have been established between himself and his
+most worthy father.’
+
+‘I do not,’ said Louisa, flushing with her own great remembrance in that
+wise, ‘think it likely.’
+
+‘Or, between himself, and—I may trust to your perfect understanding of my
+meaning, I am sure—and his highly esteemed brother-in-law.’
+
+She flushed deeper and deeper, and was burning red when she replied in a
+fainter voice, ‘I do not think that likely, either.’
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby,’ said Harthouse, after a short silence, ‘may there be a
+better confidence between yourself and me? Tom has borrowed a
+considerable sum of you?’
+
+‘You will understand, Mr. Harthouse,’ she returned, after some
+indecision: she had been more or less uncertain, and troubled throughout
+the conversation, and yet had in the main preserved her self-contained
+manner; ‘you will understand that if I tell you what you press to know,
+it is not by way of complaint or regret. I would never complain of
+anything, and what I have done I do not in the least regret.’
+
+‘So spirited, too!’ thought James Harthouse.
+
+‘When I married, I found that my brother was even at that time heavily in
+debt. Heavily for him, I mean. Heavily enough to oblige me to sell some
+trinkets. They were no sacrifice. I sold them very willingly. I
+attached no value to them. They, were quite worthless to me.’
+
+Either she saw in his face that he knew, or she only feared in her
+conscience that he knew, that she spoke of some of her husband’s gifts.
+She stopped, and reddened again. If he had not known it before, he would
+have known it then, though he had been a much duller man than he was.
+
+‘Since then, I have given my brother, at various times, what money I
+could spare: in short, what money I have had. Confiding in you at all,
+on the faith of the interest you profess for him, I will not do so by
+halves. Since you have been in the habit of visiting here, he has wanted
+in one sum as much as a hundred pounds. I have not been able to give it
+to him. I have felt uneasy for the consequences of his being so
+involved, but I have kept these secrets until now, when I trust them to
+your honour. I have held no confidence with any one, because—you
+anticipated my reason just now.’ She abruptly broke off.
+
+He was a ready man, and he saw, and seized, an opportunity here of
+presenting her own image to her, slightly disguised as her brother.
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby, though a graceless person, of the world worldly, I feel
+the utmost interest, I assure you, in what you tell me. I cannot
+possibly be hard upon your brother. I understand and share the wise
+consideration with which you regard his errors. With all possible
+respect both for Mr. Gradgrind and for Mr. Bounderby, I think I perceive
+that he has not been fortunate in his training. Bred at a disadvantage
+towards the society in which he has his part to play, he rushes into
+these extremes for himself, from opposite extremes that have long been
+forced—with the very best intentions we have no doubt—upon him. Mr.
+Bounderby’s fine bluff English independence, though a most charming
+characteristic, does not—as we have agreed—invite confidence. If I might
+venture to remark that it is the least in the world deficient in that
+delicacy to which a youth mistaken, a character misconceived, and
+abilities misdirected, would turn for relief and guidance, I should
+express what it presents to my own view.’
+
+As she sat looking straight before her, across the changing lights upon
+the grass into the darkness of the wood beyond, he saw in her face her
+application of his very distinctly uttered words.
+
+‘All allowance,’ he continued, ‘must be made. I have one great fault to
+find with Tom, however, which I cannot forgive, and for which I take him
+heavily to account.’
+
+Louisa turned her eyes to his face, and asked him what fault was that?
+
+‘Perhaps,’ he returned, ‘I have said enough. Perhaps it would have been
+better, on the whole, if no allusion to it had escaped me.’
+
+‘You alarm me, Mr. Harthouse. Pray let me know it.’
+
+‘To relieve you from needless apprehension—and as this confidence
+regarding your brother, which I prize I am sure above all possible
+things, has been established between us—I obey. I cannot forgive him for
+not being more sensible in every word, look, and act of his life, of the
+affection of his best friend; of the devotion of his best friend; of her
+unselfishness; of her sacrifice. The return he makes her, within my
+observation, is a very poor one. What she has done for him demands his
+constant love and gratitude, not his ill-humour and caprice. Careless
+fellow as I am, I am not so indifferent, Mrs. Bounderby, as to be
+regardless of this vice in your brother, or inclined to consider it a
+venial offence.’
+
+The wood floated before her, for her eyes were suffused with tears. They
+rose from a deep well, long concealed, and her heart was filled with
+acute pain that found no relief in them.
+
+‘In a word, it is to correct your brother in this, Mrs. Bounderby, that I
+must aspire. My better knowledge of his circumstances, and my direction
+and advice in extricating them—rather valuable, I hope, as coming from a
+scapegrace on a much larger scale—will give me some influence over him,
+and all I gain I shall certainly use towards this end. I have said
+enough, and more than enough. I seem to be protesting that I am a sort
+of good fellow, when, upon my honour, I have not the least intention to
+make any protestation to that effect, and openly announce that I am
+nothing of the sort. Yonder, among the trees,’ he added, having lifted
+up his eyes and looked about; for he had watched her closely until now;
+‘is your brother himself; no doubt, just come down. As he seems to be
+loitering in this direction, it may be as well, perhaps, to walk towards
+him, and throw ourselves in his way. He has been very silent and doleful
+of late. Perhaps, his brotherly conscience is touched—if there are such
+things as consciences. Though, upon my honour, I hear of them much too
+often to believe in them.’
+
+He assisted her to rise, and she took his arm, and they advanced to meet
+the whelp. He was idly beating the branches as he lounged along: or he
+stooped viciously to rip the moss from the trees with his stick. He was
+startled when they came upon him while he was engaged in this latter
+pastime, and his colour changed.
+
+‘Halloa!’ he stammered; ‘I didn’t know you were here.’
+
+‘Whose name, Tom,’ said Mr. Harthouse, putting his hand upon his shoulder
+and turning him, so that they all three walked towards the house
+together, ‘have you been carving on the trees?’
+
+‘Whose name?’ returned Tom. ‘Oh! You mean what girl’s name?’
+
+‘You have a suspicious appearance of inscribing some fair creature’s on
+the bark, Tom.’
+
+ [Picture: Mr. Harthouse and Tom Gradgrind in the garden]
+
+‘Not much of that, Mr. Harthouse, unless some fair creature with a
+slashing fortune at her own disposal would take a fancy to me. Or she
+might be as ugly as she was rich, without any fear of losing me. I’d
+carve her name as often as she liked.’
+
+‘I am afraid you are mercenary, Tom.’
+
+‘Mercenary,’ repeated Tom. ‘Who is not mercenary? Ask my sister.’
+
+‘Have you so proved it to be a failing of mine, Tom?’ said Louisa,
+showing no other sense of his discontent and ill-nature.
+
+‘You know whether the cap fits you, Loo,’ returned her brother sulkily.
+‘If it does, you can wear it.’
+
+‘Tom is misanthropical to-day, as all bored people are now and then,’
+said Mr. Harthouse. ‘Don’t believe him, Mrs. Bounderby. He knows much
+better. I shall disclose some of his opinions of you, privately
+expressed to me, unless he relents a little.’
+
+‘At all events, Mr. Harthouse,’ said Tom, softening in his admiration of
+his patron, but shaking his head sullenly too, ‘you can’t tell her that I
+ever praised her for being mercenary. I may have praised her for being
+the contrary, and I should do it again, if I had as good reason.
+However, never mind this now; it’s not very interesting to you, and I am
+sick of the subject.’
+
+They walked on to the house, where Louisa quitted her visitor’s arm and
+went in. He stood looking after her, as she ascended the steps, and
+passed into the shadow of the door; then put his hand upon her brother’s
+shoulder again, and invited him with a confidential nod to a walk in the
+garden.
+
+‘Tom, my fine fellow, I want to have a word with you.’
+
+They had stopped among a disorder of roses—it was part of Mr. Bounderby’s
+humility to keep Nickits’s roses on a reduced scale—and Tom sat down on a
+terrace-parapet, plucking buds and picking them to pieces; while his
+powerful Familiar stood over him, with a foot upon the parapet, and his
+figure easily resting on the arm supported by that knee. They were just
+visible from her window. Perhaps she saw them.
+
+‘Tom, what’s the matter?’
+
+‘Oh! Mr. Harthouse,’ said Tom with a groan, ‘I am hard up, and bothered
+out of my life.’
+
+‘My good fellow, so am I.’
+
+‘You!’ returned Tom. ‘You are the picture of independence. Mr.
+Harthouse, I am in a horrible mess. You have no idea what a state I have
+got myself into—what a state my sister might have got me out of, if she
+would only have done it.’
+
+He took to biting the rosebuds now, and tearing them away from his teeth
+with a hand that trembled like an infirm old man’s. After one
+exceedingly observant look at him, his companion relapsed into his
+lightest air.
+
+‘Tom, you are inconsiderate: you expect too much of your sister. You
+have had money of her, you dog, you know you have.’
+
+‘Well, Mr. Harthouse, I know I have. How else was I to get it? Here’s
+old Bounderby always boasting that at my age he lived upon twopence a
+month, or something of that sort. Here’s my father drawing what he calls
+a line, and tying me down to it from a baby, neck and heels. Here’s my
+mother who never has anything of her own, except her complaints. What
+_is_ a fellow to do for money, and where _am_ I to look for it, if not to
+my sister?’
+
+He was almost crying, and scattered the buds about by dozens. Mr.
+Harthouse took him persuasively by the coat.
+
+‘But, my dear Tom, if your sister has not got it—’
+
+‘Not got it, Mr. Harthouse? I don’t say she has got it. I may have
+wanted more than she was likely to have got. But then she ought to get
+it. She could get it. It’s of no use pretending to make a secret of
+matters now, after what I have told you already; you know she didn’t
+marry old Bounderby for her own sake, or for his sake, but for my sake.
+Then why doesn’t she get what I want, out of him, for my sake? She is
+not obliged to say what she is going to do with it; she is sharp enough;
+she could manage to coax it out of him, if she chose. Then why doesn’t
+she choose, when I tell her of what consequence it is? But no. There
+she sits in his company like a stone, instead of making herself agreeable
+and getting it easily. I don’t know what you may call this, but I call
+it unnatural conduct.’
+
+There was a piece of ornamental water immediately below the parapet, on
+the other side, into which Mr. James Harthouse had a very strong
+inclination to pitch Mr. Thomas Gradgrind junior, as the injured men of
+Coketown threatened to pitch their property into the Atlantic. But he
+preserved his easy attitude; and nothing more solid went over the stone
+balustrades than the accumulated rosebuds now floating about, a little
+surface-island.
+
+‘My dear Tom,’ said Harthouse, ‘let me try to be your banker.’
+
+‘For God’s sake,’ replied Tom, suddenly, ‘don’t talk about bankers!’ And
+very white he looked, in contrast with the roses. Very white.
+
+Mr. Harthouse, as a thoroughly well-bred man, accustomed to the best
+society, was not to be surprised—he could as soon have been affected—but
+he raised his eyelids a little more, as if they were lifted by a feeble
+touch of wonder. Albeit it was as much against the precepts of his
+school to wonder, as it was against the doctrines of the Gradgrind
+College.
+
+‘What is the present need, Tom? Three figures? Out with them. Say what
+they are.’
+
+‘Mr. Harthouse,’ returned Tom, now actually crying; and his tears were
+better than his injuries, however pitiful a figure he made: ‘it’s too
+late; the money is of no use to me at present. I should have had it
+before to be of use to me. But I am very much obliged to you; you’re a
+true friend.’
+
+A true friend! ‘Whelp, whelp!’ thought Mr. Harthouse, lazily; ‘what an
+Ass you are!’
+
+‘And I take your offer as a great kindness,’ said Tom, grasping his hand.
+‘As a great kindness, Mr. Harthouse.’
+
+‘Well,’ returned the other, ‘it may be of more use by and by. And, my
+good fellow, if you will open your bedevilments to me when they come
+thick upon you, I may show you better ways out of them than you can find
+for yourself.’
+
+‘Thank you,’ said Tom, shaking his head dismally, and chewing rosebuds.
+‘I wish I had known you sooner, Mr. Harthouse.’
+
+‘Now, you see, Tom,’ said Mr. Harthouse in conclusion, himself tossing
+over a rose or two, as a contribution to the island, which was always
+drifting to the wall as if it wanted to become a part of the mainland:
+‘every man is selfish in everything he does, and I am exactly like the
+rest of my fellow-creatures. I am desperately intent;’ the languor of
+his desperation being quite tropical; ‘on your softening towards your
+sister—which you ought to do; and on your being a more loving and
+agreeable sort of brother—which you ought to be.’
+
+‘I will be, Mr. Harthouse.’
+
+‘No time like the present, Tom. Begin at once.’
+
+‘Certainly I will. And my sister Loo shall say so.’
+
+‘Having made which bargain, Tom,’ said Harthouse, clapping him on the
+shoulder again, with an air which left him at liberty to infer—as he did,
+poor fool—that this condition was imposed upon him in mere careless good
+nature to lessen his sense of obligation, ‘we will tear ourselves asunder
+until dinner-time.’
+
+When Tom appeared before dinner, though his mind seemed heavy enough, his
+body was on the alert; and he appeared before Mr. Bounderby came in. ‘I
+didn’t mean to be cross, Loo,’ he said, giving her his hand, and kissing
+her. ‘I know you are fond of me, and you know I am fond of you.’
+
+After this, there was a smile upon Louisa’s face that day, for some one
+else. Alas, for some one else!
+
+‘So much the less is the whelp the only creature that she cares for,’
+thought James Harthouse, reversing the reflection of his first day’s
+knowledge of her pretty face. ‘So much the less, so much the less.’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+EXPLOSION
+
+
+THE next morning was too bright a morning for sleep, and James Harthouse
+rose early, and sat in the pleasant bay window of his dressing-room,
+smoking the rare tobacco that had had so wholesome an influence on his
+young friend. Reposing in the sunlight, with the fragrance of his
+eastern pipe about him, and the dreamy smoke vanishing into the air, so
+rich and soft with summer odours, he reckoned up his advantages as an
+idle winner might count his gains. He was not at all bored for the time,
+and could give his mind to it.
+
+He had established a confidence with her, from which her husband was
+excluded. He had established a confidence with her, that absolutely
+turned upon her indifference towards her husband, and the absence, now
+and at all times, of any congeniality between them. He had artfully, but
+plainly, assured her that he knew her heart in its last most delicate
+recesses; he had come so near to her through its tenderest sentiment; he
+had associated himself with that feeling; and the barrier behind which
+she lived, had melted away. All very odd, and very satisfactory!
+
+And yet he had not, even now, any earnest wickedness of purpose in him.
+Publicly and privately, it were much better for the age in which he
+lived, that he and the legion of whom he was one were designedly bad,
+than indifferent and purposeless. It is the drifting icebergs setting
+with any current anywhere, that wreck the ships.
+
+When the Devil goeth about like a roaring lion, he goeth about in a shape
+by which few but savages and hunters are attracted. But, when he is
+trimmed, smoothed, and varnished, according to the mode; when he is
+aweary of vice, and aweary of virtue, used up as to brimstone, and used
+up as to bliss; then, whether he take to the serving out of red tape, or
+to the kindling of red fire, he is the very Devil.
+
+So James Harthouse reclined in the window, indolently smoking, and
+reckoning up the steps he had taken on the road by which he happened to
+be travelling. The end to which it led was before him, pretty plainly;
+but he troubled himself with no calculations about it. What will be,
+will be.
+
+As he had rather a long ride to take that day—for there was a public
+occasion ‘to do’ at some distance, which afforded a tolerable opportunity
+of going in for the Gradgrind men—he dressed early and went down to
+breakfast. He was anxious to see if she had relapsed since the previous
+evening. No. He resumed where he had left off. There was a look of
+interest for him again.
+
+He got through the day as much (or as little) to his own satisfaction, as
+was to be expected under the fatiguing circumstances; and came riding
+back at six o’clock. There was a sweep of some half-mile between the
+lodge and the house, and he was riding along at a foot pace over the
+smooth gravel, once Nickits’s, when Mr. Bounderby burst out of the
+shrubbery, with such violence as to make his horse shy across the road.
+
+‘Harthouse!’ cried Mr. Bounderby. ‘Have you heard?’
+
+‘Heard what?’ said Harthouse, soothing his horse, and inwardly favouring
+Mr. Bounderby with no good wishes.
+
+‘Then you _haven’t_ heard!’
+
+‘I have heard you, and so has this brute. I have heard nothing else.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby, red and hot, planted himself in the centre of the path
+before the horse’s head, to explode his bombshell with more effect.
+
+‘The Bank’s robbed!’
+
+‘You don’t mean it!’
+
+‘Robbed last night, sir. Robbed in an extraordinary manner. Robbed with
+a false key.’
+
+‘Of much?’
+
+Mr. Bounderby, in his desire to make the most of it, really seemed
+mortified by being obliged to reply, ‘Why, no; not of very much. But it
+might have been.’
+
+‘Of how much?’
+
+‘Oh! as a sum—if you stick to a sum—of not more than a hundred and fifty
+pound,’ said Bounderby, with impatience. ‘But it’s not the sum; it’s the
+fact. It’s the fact of the Bank being robbed, that’s the important
+circumstance. I am surprised you don’t see it.’
+
+‘My dear Bounderby,’ said James, dismounting, and giving his bridle to
+his servant, ‘I _do_ see it; and am as overcome as you can possibly
+desire me to be, by the spectacle afforded to my mental view.
+Nevertheless, I may be allowed, I hope, to congratulate you—which I do
+with all my soul, I assure you—on your not having sustained a greater
+loss.’
+
+‘Thank’ee,’ replied Bounderby, in a short, ungracious manner. ‘But I
+tell you what. It might have been twenty thousand pound.’
+
+‘I suppose it might.’
+
+‘Suppose it might! By the Lord, you _may_ suppose so. By George!’ said
+Mr. Bounderby, with sundry menacing nods and shakes of his head. ‘It
+might have been twice twenty. There’s no knowing what it would have
+been, or wouldn’t have been, as it was, but for the fellows’ being
+disturbed.’
+
+Louisa had come up now, and Mrs. Sparsit, and Bitzer.
+
+‘Here’s Tom Gradgrind’s daughter knows pretty well what it might have
+been, if you don’t,’ blustered Bounderby. ‘Dropped, sir, as if she was
+shot when I told her! Never knew her do such a thing before. Does her
+credit, under the circumstances, in my opinion!’
+
+She still looked faint and pale. James Harthouse begged her to take his
+arm; and as they moved on very slowly, asked her how the robbery had been
+committed.
+
+‘Why, I am going to tell you,’ said Bounderby, irritably giving his arm
+to Mrs. Sparsit. ‘If you hadn’t been so mighty particular about the sum,
+I should have begun to tell you before. You know this lady (for she _is_
+a lady), Mrs. Sparsit?’
+
+‘I have already had the honour—’
+
+‘Very well. And this young man, Bitzer, you saw him too on the same
+occasion?’ Mr. Harthouse inclined his head in assent, and Bitzer
+knuckled his forehead.
+
+‘Very well. They live at the Bank. You know they live at the Bank,
+perhaps? Very well. Yesterday afternoon, at the close of business
+hours, everything was put away as usual. In the iron room that this
+young fellow sleeps outside of, there was never mind how much. In the
+little safe in young Tom’s closet, the safe used for petty purposes,
+there was a hundred and fifty odd pound.’
+
+‘A hundred and fifty-four, seven, one,’ said Bitzer.
+
+‘Come!’ retorted Bounderby, stopping to wheel round upon him, ‘let’s have
+none of _your_ interruptions. It’s enough to be robbed while you’re
+snoring because you’re too comfortable, without being put right with
+_your_ four seven ones. I didn’t snore, myself, when I was your age, let
+me tell you. I hadn’t victuals enough to snore. And I didn’t four seven
+one. Not if I knew it.’
+
+Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, in a sneaking manner, and seemed at
+once particularly impressed and depressed by the instance last given of
+Mr. Bounderby’s moral abstinence.
+
+‘A hundred and fifty odd pound,’ resumed Mr. Bounderby. ‘That sum of
+money, young Tom locked in his safe, not a very strong safe, but that’s
+no matter now. Everything was left, all right. Some time in the night,
+while this young fellow snored—Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am, you say you have
+heard him snore?’
+
+‘Sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘I cannot say that I have heard him
+precisely snore, and therefore must not make that statement. But on
+winter evenings, when he has fallen asleep at his table, I have heard
+him, what I should prefer to describe as partially choke. I have heard
+him on such occasions produce sounds of a nature similar to what may be
+sometimes heard in Dutch clocks. Not,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, with a lofty
+sense of giving strict evidence, ‘that I would convey any imputation on
+his moral character. Far from it. I have always considered Bitzer a
+young man of the most upright principle; and to that I beg to bear my
+testimony.’
+
+‘Well!’ said the exasperated Bounderby, ‘while he was snoring, _or_
+choking, _or_ Dutch-clocking, _or_ something _or_ other—being asleep—some
+fellows, somehow, whether previously concealed in the house or not
+remains to be seen, got to young Tom’s safe, forced it, and abstracted
+the contents. Being then disturbed, they made off; letting themselves
+out at the main door, and double-locking it again (it was double-locked,
+and the key under Mrs. Sparsit’s pillow) with a false key, which was
+picked up in the street near the Bank, about twelve o’clock to-day. No
+alarm takes place, till this chap, Bitzer, turns out this morning, and
+begins to open and prepare the offices for business. Then, looking at
+Tom’s safe, he sees the door ajar, and finds the lock forced, and the
+money gone.’
+
+‘Where is Tom, by the by?’ asked Harthouse, glancing round.
+
+‘He has been helping the police,’ said Bounderby, ‘and stays behind at
+the Bank. I wish these fellows had tried to rob me when I was at his
+time of life. They would have been out of pocket if they had invested
+eighteenpence in the job; I can tell ’em that.’
+
+‘Is anybody suspected?’
+
+‘Suspected? I should think there was somebody suspected. Egod!’ said
+Bounderby, relinquishing Mrs. Sparsit’s arm to wipe his heated head.
+‘Josiah Bounderby of Coketown is not to be plundered and nobody
+suspected. No, thank you!’
+
+Might Mr. Harthouse inquire Who was suspected?
+
+‘Well,’ said Bounderby, stopping and facing about to confront them all,
+‘I’ll tell you. It’s not to be mentioned everywhere; it’s not to be
+mentioned anywhere: in order that the scoundrels concerned (there’s a
+gang of ’em) may be thrown off their guard. So take this in confidence.
+Now wait a bit.’ Mr. Bounderby wiped his head again. ‘What should you
+say to;’ here he violently exploded: ‘to a Hand being in it?’
+
+‘I hope,’ said Harthouse, lazily, ‘not our friend Blackpot?’
+
+‘Say Pool instead of Pot, sir,’ returned Bounderby, ‘and that’s the man.’
+
+Louisa faintly uttered some word of incredulity and surprise.
+
+‘O yes! I know!’ said Bounderby, immediately catching at the sound. ‘I
+know! I am used to that. I know all about it. They are the finest
+people in the world, these fellows are. They have got the gift of the
+gab, they have. They only want to have their rights explained to them,
+they do. But I tell you what. Show me a dissatisfied Hand, and I’ll
+show you a man that’s fit for anything bad, I don’t care what it is.’
+
+Another of the popular fictions of Coketown, which some pains had been
+taken to disseminate—and which some people really believed.
+
+‘But I am acquainted with these chaps,’ said Bounderby. ‘I can read ’em
+off, like books. Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am, I appeal to you. What warning did
+I give that fellow, the first time he set foot in the house, when the
+express object of his visit was to know how he could knock Religion over,
+and floor the Established Church? Mrs. Sparsit, in point of high
+connexions, you are on a level with the aristocracy,—did I say, or did I
+not say, to that fellow, “you can’t hide the truth from me: you are not
+the kind of fellow I like; you’ll come to no good”?’
+
+‘Assuredly, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘you did, in a highly impressive
+manner, give him such an admonition.’
+
+‘When he shocked you, ma’am,’ said Bounderby; ‘when he shocked your
+feelings?’
+
+‘Yes, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a meek shake of her head, ‘he
+certainly did so. Though I do not mean to say but that my feelings may
+be weaker on such points—more foolish if the term is preferred—than they
+might have been, if I had always occupied my present position.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby stared with a bursting pride at Mr. Harthouse, as much as
+to say, ‘I am the proprietor of this female, and she’s worth your
+attention, I think.’ Then, resumed his discourse.
+
+‘You can recall for yourself, Harthouse, what I said to him when you saw
+him. I didn’t mince the matter with him. I am never mealy with ’em. I
+KNOW ’em. Very well, sir. Three days after that, he bolted. Went off,
+nobody knows where: as my mother did in my infancy—only with this
+difference, that he is a worse subject than my mother, if possible. What
+did he do before he went? What do you say;’ Mr. Bounderby, with his hat
+in his hand, gave a beat upon the crown at every little division of his
+sentences, as if it were a tambourine; ‘to his being seen—night after
+night—watching the Bank?—to his lurking about there—after dark?—To its
+striking Mrs. Sparsit—that he could be lurking for no good—To her calling
+Bitzer’s attention to him, and their both taking notice of him—And to its
+appearing on inquiry to-day—that he was also noticed by the neighbours?’
+Having come to the climax, Mr. Bounderby, like an oriental dancer, put
+his tambourine on his head.
+
+‘Suspicious,’ said James Harthouse, ‘certainly.’
+
+‘I think so, sir,’ said Bounderby, with a defiant nod. ‘I think so. But
+there are more of ’em in it. There’s an old woman. One never hears of
+these things till the mischief’s done; all sorts of defects are found out
+in the stable door after the horse is stolen; there’s an old woman turns
+up now. An old woman who seems to have been flying into town on a
+broomstick, every now and then. _She_ watches the place a whole day
+before this fellow begins, and on the night when you saw him, she steals
+away with him and holds a council with him—I suppose, to make her report
+on going off duty, and be damned to her.’
+
+There was such a person in the room that night, and she shrunk from
+observation, thought Louisa.
+
+‘This is not all of ’em, even as we already know ’em,’ said Bounderby,
+with many nods of hidden meaning. ‘But I have said enough for the
+present. You’ll have the goodness to keep it quiet, and mention it to no
+one. It may take time, but we shall have ’em. It’s policy to give ’em
+line enough, and there’s no objection to that.’
+
+‘Of course, they will be punished with the utmost rigour of the law, as
+notice-boards observe,’ replied James Harthouse, ‘and serve them right.
+Fellows who go in for Banks must take the consequences. If there were no
+consequences, we should all go in for Banks.’ He had gently taken
+Louisa’s parasol from her hand, and had put it up for her; and she walked
+under its shade, though the sun did not shine there.
+
+‘For the present, Loo Bounderby,’ said her husband, ‘here’s Mrs. Sparsit
+to look after. Mrs. Sparsit’s nerves have been acted upon by this
+business, and she’ll stay here a day or two. So make her comfortable.’
+
+‘Thank you very much, sir,’ that discreet lady observed, ‘but pray do not
+let My comfort be a consideration. Anything will do for Me.’
+
+It soon appeared that if Mrs. Sparsit had a failing in her association
+with that domestic establishment, it was that she was so excessively
+regardless of herself and regardful of others, as to be a nuisance. On
+being shown her chamber, she was so dreadfully sensible of its comforts
+as to suggest the inference that she would have preferred to pass the
+night on the mangle in the laundry. True, the Powlers and the Scadgerses
+were accustomed to splendour, ‘but it is my duty to remember,’ Mrs.
+Sparsit was fond of observing with a lofty grace: particularly when any
+of the domestics were present, ‘that what I was, I am no longer.
+Indeed,’ said she, ‘if I could altogether cancel the remembrance that Mr.
+Sparsit was a Powler, or that I myself am related to the Scadgers family;
+or if I could even revoke the fact, and make myself a person of common
+descent and ordinary connexions; I would gladly do so. I should think
+it, under existing circumstances, right to do so.’ The same Hermitical
+state of mind led to her renunciation of made dishes and wines at dinner,
+until fairly commanded by Mr. Bounderby to take them; when she said,
+‘Indeed you are very good, sir;’ and departed from a resolution of which
+she had made rather formal and public announcement, to ‘wait for the
+simple mutton.’ She was likewise deeply apologetic for wanting the salt;
+and, feeling amiably bound to bear out Mr. Bounderby to the fullest
+extent in the testimony he had borne to her nerves, occasionally sat back
+in her chair and silently wept; at which periods a tear of large
+dimensions, like a crystal ear-ring, might be observed (or rather, must
+be, for it insisted on public notice) sliding down her Roman nose.
+
+But Mrs. Sparsit’s greatest point, first and last, was her determination
+to pity Mr. Bounderby. There were occasions when in looking at him she
+was involuntarily moved to shake her head, as who would say, ‘Alas, poor
+Yorick!’ After allowing herself to be betrayed into these evidences of
+emotion, she would force a lambent brightness, and would be fitfully
+cheerful, and would say, ‘You have still good spirits, sir, I am thankful
+to find;’ and would appear to hail it as a blessed dispensation that Mr.
+Bounderby bore up as he did. One idiosyncrasy for which she often
+apologized, she found it excessively difficult to conquer. She had a
+curious propensity to call Mrs. Bounderby ‘Miss Gradgrind,’ and yielded
+to it some three or four score times in the course of the evening. Her
+repetition of this mistake covered Mrs. Sparsit with modest confusion;
+but indeed, she said, it seemed so natural to say Miss Gradgrind:
+whereas, to persuade herself that the young lady whom she had had the
+happiness of knowing from a child could be really and truly Mrs.
+Bounderby, she found almost impossible. It was a further singularity of
+this remarkable case, that the more she thought about it, the more
+impossible it appeared; ‘the differences,’ she observed, ‘being such.’
+
+In the drawing-room after dinner, Mr. Bounderby tried the case of the
+robbery, examined the witnesses, made notes of the evidence, found the
+suspected persons guilty, and sentenced them to the extreme punishment of
+the law. That done, Bitzer was dismissed to town with instructions to
+recommend Tom to come home by the mail-train.
+
+When candles were brought, Mrs. Sparsit murmured, ‘Don’t be low, sir.
+Pray let me see you cheerful, sir, as I used to do.’ Mr. Bounderby, upon
+whom these consolations had begun to produce the effect of making him, in
+a bull-headed blundering way, sentimental, sighed like some large
+sea-animal. ‘I cannot bear to see you so, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit. ‘Try
+a hand at backgammon, sir, as you used to do when I had the honour of
+living under your roof.’ ‘I haven’t played backgammon, ma’am,’ said Mr.
+Bounderby, ‘since that time.’ ‘No, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, soothingly,
+‘I am aware that you have not. I remember that Miss Gradgrind takes no
+interest in the game. But I shall be happy, sir, if you will
+condescend.’
+
+They played near a window, opening on the garden. It was a fine night:
+not moonlight, but sultry and fragrant. Louisa and Mr. Harthouse
+strolled out into the garden, where their voices could be heard in the
+stillness, though not what they said. Mrs. Sparsit, from her place at
+the backgammon board, was constantly straining her eyes to pierce the
+shadows without. ‘What’s the matter, ma’am?’ said Mr. Bounderby; ‘you
+don’t see a Fire, do you?’ ‘Oh dear no, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘I
+was thinking of the dew.’ ‘What have you got to do with the dew, ma’am?’
+said Mr. Bounderby. ‘It’s not myself, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘I am
+fearful of Miss Gradgrind’s taking cold.’ ‘She never takes cold,’ said
+Mr. Bounderby. ‘Really, sir?’ said Mrs. Sparsit. And was affected with
+a cough in her throat.
+
+When the time drew near for retiring, Mr. Bounderby took a glass of
+water. ‘Oh, sir?’ said Mrs. Sparsit. ‘Not your sherry warm, with
+lemon-peel and nutmeg?’ ‘Why, I have got out of the habit of taking it
+now, ma’am,’ said Mr. Bounderby. ‘The more’s the pity, sir,’ returned
+Mrs. Sparsit; ‘you are losing all your good old habits. Cheer up, sir!
+If Miss Gradgrind will permit me, I will offer to make it for you, as I
+have often done.’
+
+Miss Gradgrind readily permitting Mrs. Sparsit to do anything she
+pleased, that considerate lady made the beverage, and handed it to Mr.
+Bounderby. ‘It will do you good, sir. It will warm your heart. It is
+the sort of thing you want, and ought to take, sir.’ And when Mr.
+Bounderby said, ‘Your health, ma’am!’ she answered with great feeling,
+‘Thank you, sir. The same to you, and happiness also.’ Finally, she
+wished him good night, with great pathos; and Mr. Bounderby went to bed,
+with a maudlin persuasion that he had been crossed in something tender,
+though he could not, for his life, have mentioned what it was.
+
+Long after Louisa had undressed and lain down, she watched and waited for
+her brother’s coming home. That could hardly be, she knew, until an hour
+past midnight; but in the country silence, which did anything but calm
+the trouble of her thoughts, time lagged wearily. At last, when the
+darkness and stillness had seemed for hours to thicken one another, she
+heard the bell at the gate. She felt as though she would have been glad
+that it rang on until daylight; but it ceased, and the circles of its
+last sound spread out fainter and wider in the air, and all was dead
+again.
+
+She waited yet some quarter of an hour, as she judged. Then she arose,
+put on a loose robe, and went out of her room in the dark, and up the
+staircase to her brother’s room. His door being shut, she softly opened
+it and spoke to him, approaching his bed with a noiseless step.
+
+She kneeled down beside it, passed her arm over his neck, and drew his
+face to hers. She knew that he only feigned to be asleep, but she said
+nothing to him.
+
+He started by and by as if he were just then awakened, and asked who that
+was, and what was the matter?
+
+‘Tom, have you anything to tell me? If ever you loved me in your life,
+and have anything concealed from every one besides, tell it to me.’
+
+‘I don’t know what you mean, Loo. You have been dreaming.’
+
+‘My dear brother:’ she laid her head down on his pillow, and her hair
+flowed over him as if she would hide him from every one but herself: ‘is
+there nothing that you have to tell me? Is there nothing you can tell me
+if you will? You can tell me nothing that will change me. O Tom, tell
+me the truth!’
+
+‘I don’t know what you mean, Loo!’
+
+‘As you lie here alone, my dear, in the melancholy night, so you must lie
+somewhere one night, when even I, if I am living then, shall have left
+you. As I am here beside you, barefoot, unclothed, undistinguishable in
+darkness, so must I lie through all the night of my decay, until I am
+dust. In the name of that time, Tom, tell me the truth now!’
+
+‘What is it you want to know?’
+
+‘You may be certain;’ in the energy of her love she took him to her bosom
+as if he were a child; ‘that I will not reproach you. You may be certain
+that I will be compassionate and true to you. You may be certain that I
+will save you at whatever cost. O Tom, have you nothing to tell me?
+Whisper very softly. Say only “yes,” and I shall understand you!’
+
+She turned her ear to his lips, but he remained doggedly silent.
+
+‘Not a word, Tom?’
+
+‘How can I say Yes, or how can I say No, when I don’t know what you mean?
+Loo, you are a brave, kind girl, worthy I begin to think of a better
+brother than I am. But I have nothing more to say. Go to bed, go to
+bed.’
+
+‘You are tired,’ she whispered presently, more in her usual way.
+
+‘Yes, I am quite tired out.’
+
+‘You have been so hurried and disturbed to-day. Have any fresh
+discoveries been made?’
+
+‘Only those you have heard of, from—him.’
+
+‘Tom, have you said to any one that we made a visit to those people, and
+that we saw those three together?’
+
+‘No. Didn’t you yourself particularly ask me to keep it quiet when you
+asked me to go there with you?’
+
+‘Yes. But I did not know then what was going to happen.’
+
+‘Nor I neither. How could I?’
+
+He was very quick upon her with this retort.
+
+‘Ought I to say, after what has happened,’ said his sister, standing by
+the bed—she had gradually withdrawn herself and risen, ‘that I made that
+visit? Should I say so? Must I say so?’
+
+‘Good Heavens, Loo,’ returned her brother, ‘you are not in the habit of
+asking my advice. Say what you like. If you keep it to yourself, I
+shall keep it to _my_self. If you disclose it, there’s an end of it.’
+
+It was too dark for either to see the other’s face; but each seemed very
+attentive, and to consider before speaking.
+
+‘Tom, do you believe the man I gave the money to, is really implicated in
+this crime?’
+
+‘I don’t know. I don’t see why he shouldn’t be.’
+
+‘He seemed to me an honest man.’
+
+‘Another person may seem to you dishonest, and yet not be so.’ There was
+a pause, for he had hesitated and stopped.
+
+‘In short,’ resumed Tom, as if he had made up his mind, ‘if you come to
+that, perhaps I was so far from being altogether in his favour, that I
+took him outside the door to tell him quietly, that I thought he might
+consider himself very well off to get such a windfall as he had got from
+my sister, and that I hoped he would make good use of it. You remember
+whether I took him out or not. I say nothing against the man; he may be
+a very good fellow, for anything I know; I hope he is.’
+
+‘Was he offended by what you said?’
+
+‘No, he took it pretty well; he was civil enough. Where are you, Loo?’
+He sat up in bed and kissed her. ‘Good night, my dear, good night.’
+
+‘You have nothing more to tell me?’
+
+‘No. What should I have? You wouldn’t have me tell you a lie!’
+
+‘I wouldn’t have you do that to-night, Tom, of all the nights in your
+life; many and much happier as I hope they will be.’
+
+‘Thank you, my dear Loo. I am so tired, that I am sure I wonder I don’t
+say anything to get to sleep. Go to bed, go to bed.’
+
+Kissing her again, he turned round, drew the coverlet over his head, and
+lay as still as if that time had come by which she had adjured him. She
+stood for some time at the bedside before she slowly moved away. She
+stopped at the door, looked back when she had opened it, and asked him if
+he had called her? But he lay still, and she softly closed the door and
+returned to her room.
+
+Then the wretched boy looked cautiously up and found her gone, crept out
+of bed, fastened his door, and threw himself upon his pillow again:
+tearing his hair, morosely crying, grudgingly loving her, hatefully but
+impenitently spurning himself, and no less hatefully and unprofitably
+spurning all the good in the world.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+HEARING THE LAST OF IT
+
+
+MRS. SPARSIT, lying by to recover the tone of her nerves in Mr.
+Bounderby’s retreat, kept such a sharp look-out, night and day, under her
+Coriolanian eyebrows, that her eyes, like a couple of lighthouses on an
+iron-bound coast, might have warned all prudent mariners from that bold
+rock her Roman nose and the dark and craggy region in its neighbourhood,
+but for the placidity of her manner. Although it was hard to believe
+that her retiring for the night could be anything but a form, so severely
+wide awake were those classical eyes of hers, and so impossible did it
+seem that her rigid nose could yield to any relaxing influence, yet her
+manner of sitting, smoothing her uncomfortable, not to say, gritty
+mittens (they were constructed of a cool fabric like a meat-safe), or of
+ambling to unknown places of destination with her foot in her cotton
+stirrup, was so perfectly serene, that most observers would have been
+constrained to suppose her a dove, embodied by some freak of nature, in
+the earthly tabernacle of a bird of the hook-beaked order.
+
+She was a most wonderful woman for prowling about the house. How she got
+from story to story was a mystery beyond solution. A lady so decorous in
+herself, and so highly connected, was not to be suspected of dropping
+over the banisters or sliding down them, yet her extraordinary facility
+of locomotion suggested the wild idea. Another noticeable circumstance
+in Mrs. Sparsit was, that she was never hurried. She would shoot with
+consummate velocity from the roof to the hall, yet would be in full
+possession of her breath and dignity on the moment of her arrival there.
+Neither was she ever seen by human vision to go at a great pace.
+
+She took very kindly to Mr. Harthouse, and had some pleasant conversation
+with him soon after her arrival. She made him her stately curtsey in the
+garden, one morning before breakfast.
+
+‘It appears but yesterday, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘that I had the
+honour of receiving you at the Bank, when you were so good as to wish to
+be made acquainted with Mr. Bounderby’s address.’
+
+‘An occasion, I am sure, not to be forgotten by myself in the course of
+Ages,’ said Mr. Harthouse, inclining his head to Mrs. Sparsit with the
+most indolent of all possible airs.
+
+‘We live in a singular world, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘I have had the honour, by a coincidence of which I am proud, to have
+made a remark, similar in effect, though not so epigrammatically
+expressed.’
+
+‘A singular world, I would say, sir,’ pursued Mrs. Sparsit; after
+acknowledging the compliment with a drooping of her dark eyebrows, not
+altogether so mild in its expression as her voice was in its dulcet
+tones; ‘as regards the intimacies we form at one time, with individuals
+we were quite ignorant of, at another. I recall, sir, that on that
+occasion you went so far as to say you were actually apprehensive of Miss
+Gradgrind.’
+
+‘Your memory does me more honour than my insignificance deserves. I
+availed myself of your obliging hints to correct my timidity, and it is
+unnecessary to add that they were perfectly accurate. Mrs. Sparsit’s
+talent for—in fact for anything requiring accuracy—with a combination of
+strength of mind—and Family—is too habitually developed to admit of any
+question.’ He was almost falling asleep over this compliment; it took
+him so long to get through, and his mind wandered so much in the course
+of its execution.
+
+‘You found Miss Gradgrind—I really cannot call her Mrs. Bounderby; it’s
+very absurd of me—as youthful as I described her?’ asked Mrs. Sparsit,
+sweetly.
+
+‘You drew her portrait perfectly,’ said Mr. Harthouse. ‘Presented her
+dead image.’
+
+‘Very engaging, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, causing her mittens slowly to
+revolve over one another.
+
+‘Highly so.’
+
+‘It used to be considered,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘that Miss Gradgrind was
+wanting in animation, but I confess she appears to me considerably and
+strikingly improved in that respect. Ay, and indeed here _is_ Mr.
+Bounderby!’ cried Mrs. Sparsit, nodding her head a great many times, as
+if she had been talking and thinking of no one else. ‘How do you find
+yourself this morning, sir? Pray let us see you cheerful, sir.’
+
+Now, these persistent assuagements of his misery, and lightenings of his
+load, had by this time begun to have the effect of making Mr. Bounderby
+softer than usual towards Mrs. Sparsit, and harder than usual to most
+other people from his wife downward. So, when Mrs. Sparsit said with
+forced lightness of heart, ‘You want your breakfast, sir, but I dare say
+Miss Gradgrind will soon be here to preside at the table,’ Mr. Bounderby
+replied, ‘If I waited to be taken care of by my wife, ma’am, I believe
+you know pretty well I should wait till Doomsday, so I’ll trouble _you_
+to take charge of the teapot.’ Mrs. Sparsit complied, and assumed her
+old position at table.
+
+This again made the excellent woman vastly sentimental. She was so
+humble withal, that when Louisa appeared, she rose, protesting she never
+could think of sitting in that place under existing circumstances, often
+as she had had the honour of making Mr. Bounderby’s breakfast, before
+Mrs. Gradgrind—she begged pardon, she meant to say Miss Bounderby—she
+hoped to be excused, but she really could not get it right yet, though
+she trusted to become familiar with it by and by—had assumed her present
+position. It was only (she observed) because Miss Gradgrind happened to
+be a little late, and Mr. Bounderby’s time was so very precious, and she
+knew it of old to be so essential that he should breakfast to the moment,
+that she had taken the liberty of complying with his request; long as his
+will had been a law to her.
+
+‘There! Stop where you are, ma’am,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘stop where you
+are! Mrs. Bounderby will be very glad to be relieved of the trouble, I
+believe.’
+
+‘Don’t say that, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, almost with severity,
+‘because that is very unkind to Mrs. Bounderby. And to be unkind is not
+to be you, sir.’
+
+‘You may set your mind at rest, ma’am.—You can take it very quietly,
+can’t you, Loo?’ said Mr. Bounderby, in a blustering way to his wife.
+
+‘Of course. It is of no moment. Why should it be of any importance to
+me?’
+
+‘Why should it be of any importance to any one, Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am?’
+said Mr. Bounderby, swelling with a sense of slight. ‘You attach too
+much importance to these things, ma’am. By George, you’ll be corrupted
+in some of your notions here. You are old-fashioned, ma’am. You are
+behind Tom Gradgrind’s children’s time.’
+
+‘What is the matter with you?’ asked Louisa, coldly surprised. ‘What has
+given you offence?’
+
+‘Offence!’ repeated Bounderby. ‘Do you suppose if there was any offence
+given me, I shouldn’t name it, and request to have it corrected? I am a
+straightforward man, I believe. I don’t go beating about for
+side-winds.’
+
+‘I suppose no one ever had occasion to think you too diffident, or too
+delicate,’ Louisa answered him composedly: ‘I have never made that
+objection to you, either as a child or as a woman. I don’t understand
+what you would have.’
+
+‘Have?’ returned Mr. Bounderby. ‘Nothing. Otherwise, don’t you, Loo
+Bounderby, know thoroughly well that I, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown,
+would have it?’
+
+She looked at him, as he struck the table and made the teacups ring, with
+a proud colour in her face that was a new change, Mr. Harthouse thought.
+‘You are incomprehensible this morning,’ said Louisa. ‘Pray take no
+further trouble to explain yourself. I am not curious to know your
+meaning. What does it matter?’
+
+Nothing more was said on this theme, and Mr. Harthouse was soon idly gay
+on indifferent subjects. But from this day, the Sparsit action upon Mr.
+Bounderby threw Louisa and James Harthouse more together, and
+strengthened the dangerous alienation from her husband and confidence
+against him with another, into which she had fallen by degrees so fine
+that she could not retrace them if she tried. But whether she ever tried
+or no, lay hidden in her own closed heart.
+
+Mrs. Sparsit was so much affected on this particular occasion, that,
+assisting Mr. Bounderby to his hat after breakfast, and being then alone
+with him in the hall, she imprinted a chaste kiss upon his hand, murmured
+‘My benefactor!’ and retired, overwhelmed with grief. Yet it is an
+indubitable fact, within the cognizance of this history, that five
+minutes after he had left the house in the self-same hat, the same
+descendant of the Scadgerses and connexion by matrimony of the Powlers,
+shook her right-hand mitten at his portrait, made a contemptuous grimace
+at that work of art, and said ‘Serve you right, you Noodle, and I am glad
+of it.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby had not been long gone, when Bitzer appeared. Bitzer had
+come down by train, shrieking and rattling over the long line of arches
+that bestrode the wild country of past and present coal-pits, with an
+express from Stone Lodge. It was a hasty note to inform Louisa that Mrs.
+Gradgrind lay very ill. She had never been well within her daughter’s
+knowledge; but, she had declined within the last few days, had continued
+sinking all through the night, and was now as nearly dead, as her limited
+capacity of being in any state that implied the ghost of an intention to
+get out of it, allowed.
+
+Accompanied by the lightest of porters, fit colourless servitor at
+Death’s door when Mrs. Gradgrind knocked, Louisa rumbled to Coketown,
+over the coal-pits past and present, and was whirled into its smoky jaws.
+She dismissed the messenger to his own devices, and rode away to her old
+home.
+
+She had seldom been there since her marriage. Her father was usually
+sifting and sifting at his parliamentary cinder-heap in London (without
+being observed to turn up many precious articles among the rubbish), and
+was still hard at it in the national dust-yard. Her mother had taken it
+rather as a disturbance than otherwise, to be visited, as she reclined
+upon her sofa; young people, Louisa felt herself all unfit for; Sissy she
+had never softened to again, since the night when the stroller’s child
+had raised her eyes to look at Mr. Bounderby’s intended wife. She had no
+inducements to go back, and had rarely gone.
+
+Neither, as she approached her old home now, did any of the best
+influences of old home descend upon her. The dreams of childhood—its
+airy fables; its graceful, beautiful, humane, impossible adornments of
+the world beyond: so good to be believed in once, so good to be
+remembered when outgrown, for then the least among them rises to the
+stature of a great Charity in the heart, suffering little children to
+come into the midst of it, and to keep with their pure hands a garden in
+the stony ways of this world, wherein it were better for all the children
+of Adam that they should oftener sun themselves, simple and trustful, and
+not worldly-wise—what had she to do with these? Remembrances of how she
+had journeyed to the little that she knew, by the enchanted roads of what
+she and millions of innocent creatures had hoped and imagined; of how,
+first coming upon Reason through the tender light of Fancy, she had seen
+it a beneficent god, deferring to gods as great as itself; not a grim
+Idol, cruel and cold, with its victims bound hand to foot, and its big
+dumb shape set up with a sightless stare, never to be moved by anything
+but so many calculated tons of leverage—what had she to do with these?
+Her remembrances of home and childhood were remembrances of the drying up
+of every spring and fountain in her young heart as it gushed out. The
+golden waters were not there. They were flowing for the fertilization of
+the land where grapes are gathered from thorns, and figs from thistles.
+
+She went, with a heavy, hardened kind of sorrow upon her, into the house
+and into her mother’s room. Since the time of her leaving home, Sissy
+had lived with the rest of the family on equal terms. Sissy was at her
+mother’s side; and Jane, her sister, now ten or twelve years old, was in
+the room.
+
+There was great trouble before it could be made known to Mrs. Gradgrind
+that her eldest child was there. She reclined, propped up, from mere
+habit, on a couch: as nearly in her old usual attitude, as anything so
+helpless could be kept in. She had positively refused to take to her
+bed; on the ground that if she did, she would never hear the last of it.
+
+Her feeble voice sounded so far away in her bundle of shawls, and the
+sound of another voice addressing her seemed to take such a long time in
+getting down to her ears, that she might have been lying at the bottom of
+a well. The poor lady was nearer Truth than she ever had been: which had
+much to do with it.
+
+On being told that Mrs. Bounderby was there, she replied, at
+cross-purposes, that she had never called him by that name since he
+married Louisa; that pending her choice of an objectionable name, she had
+called him J; and that she could not at present depart from that
+regulation, not being yet provided with a permanent substitute. Louisa
+had sat by her for some minutes, and had spoken to her often, before she
+arrived at a clear understanding who it was. She then seemed to come to
+it all at once.
+
+‘Well, my dear,’ said Mrs. Gradgrind, ‘and I hope you are going on
+satisfactorily to yourself. It was all your father’s doing. He set his
+heart upon it. And he ought to know.’
+
+‘I want to hear of you, mother; not of myself.’
+
+‘You want to hear of me, my dear? That’s something new, I am sure, when
+anybody wants to hear of me. Not at all well, Louisa. Very faint and
+giddy.’
+
+‘Are you in pain, dear mother?’
+
+‘I think there’s a pain somewhere in the room,’ said Mrs. Gradgrind, ‘but
+I couldn’t positively say that I have got it.’
+
+After this strange speech, she lay silent for some time. Louisa, holding
+her hand, could feel no pulse; but kissing it, could see a slight thin
+thread of life in fluttering motion.
+
+‘You very seldom see your sister,’ said Mrs. Gradgrind. ‘She grows like
+you. I wish you would look at her. Sissy, bring her here.’
+
+She was brought, and stood with her hand in her sister’s. Louisa had
+observed her with her arm round Sissy’s neck, and she felt the difference
+of this approach.
+
+‘Do you see the likeness, Louisa?’
+
+‘Yes, mother. I should think her like me. But—’
+
+‘Eh! Yes, I always say so,’ Mrs. Gradgrind cried, with unexpected
+quickness. ‘And that reminds me. I—I want to speak to you, my dear.
+Sissy, my good girl, leave us alone a minute.’ Louisa had relinquished
+the hand: had thought that her sister’s was a better and brighter face
+than hers had ever been: had seen in it, not without a rising feeling of
+resentment, even in that place and at that time, something of the
+gentleness of the other face in the room; the sweet face with the
+trusting eyes, made paler than watching and sympathy made it, by the rich
+dark hair.
+
+Left alone with her mother, Louisa saw her lying with an awful lull upon
+her face, like one who was floating away upon some great water, all
+resistance over, content to be carried down the stream. She put the
+shadow of a hand to her lips again, and recalled her.
+
+‘You were going to speak to me, mother.’
+
+‘Eh? Yes, to be sure, my dear. You know your father is almost always
+away now, and therefore I must write to him about it.’
+
+‘About what, mother? Don’t be troubled. About what?’
+
+‘You must remember, my dear, that whenever I have said anything, on any
+subject, I have never heard the last of it: and consequently, that I have
+long left off saying anything.’
+
+‘I can hear you, mother.’ But, it was only by dint of bending down to
+her ear, and at the same time attentively watching the lips as they
+moved, that she could link such faint and broken sounds into any chain of
+connexion.
+
+‘You learnt a great deal, Louisa, and so did your brother. Ologies of
+all kinds from morning to night. If there is any Ology left, of any
+description, that has not been worn to rags in this house, all I can say
+is, I hope I shall never hear its name.’
+
+‘I can hear you, mother, when you have strength to go on.’ This, to keep
+her from floating away.
+
+‘But there is something—not an Ology at all—that your father has missed,
+or forgotten, Louisa. I don’t know what it is. I have often sat with
+Sissy near me, and thought about it. I shall never get its name now.
+But your father may. It makes me restless. I want to write to him, to
+find out for God’s sake, what it is. Give me a pen, give me a pen.’
+
+Even the power of restlessness was gone, except from the poor head, which
+could just turn from side to side.
+
+She fancied, however, that her request had been complied with, and that
+the pen she could not have held was in her hand. It matters little what
+figures of wonderful no-meaning she began to trace upon her wrappers.
+The hand soon stopped in the midst of them; the light that had always
+been feeble and dim behind the weak transparency, went out; and even Mrs.
+Gradgrind, emerged from the shadow in which man walketh and disquieteth
+himself in vain, took upon her the dread solemnity of the sages and
+patriarchs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+MRS. SPARSIT’S STAIRCASE
+
+
+MRS. SPARSIT’S nerves being slow to recover their tone, the worthy woman
+made a stay of some weeks in duration at Mr. Bounderby’s retreat, where,
+notwithstanding her anchorite turn of mind based upon her becoming
+consciousness of her altered station, she resigned herself with noble
+fortitude to lodging, as one may say, in clover, and feeding on the fat
+of the land. During the whole term of this recess from the guardianship
+of the Bank, Mrs. Sparsit was a pattern of consistency; continuing to
+take such pity on Mr. Bounderby to his face, as is rarely taken on man,
+and to call his portrait a Noodle to _its_ face, with the greatest
+acrimony and contempt.
+
+Mr. Bounderby, having got it into his explosive composition that Mrs.
+Sparsit was a highly superior woman to perceive that he had that general
+cross upon him in his deserts (for he had not yet settled what it was),
+and further that Louisa would have objected to her as a frequent visitor
+if it had comported with his greatness that she should object to anything
+he chose to do, resolved not to lose sight of Mrs. Sparsit easily. So
+when her nerves were strung up to the pitch of again consuming
+sweetbreads in solitude, he said to her at the dinner-table, on the day
+before her departure, ‘I tell you what, ma’am; you shall come down here
+of a Saturday, while the fine weather lasts, and stay till Monday.’ To
+which Mrs. Sparsit returned, in effect, though not of the Mahomedan
+persuasion: ‘To hear is to obey.’
+
+Now, Mrs. Sparsit was not a poetical woman; but she took an idea in the
+nature of an allegorical fancy, into her head. Much watching of Louisa,
+and much consequent observation of her impenetrable demeanour, which
+keenly whetted and sharpened Mrs. Sparsit’s edge, must have given her as
+it were a lift, in the way of inspiration. She erected in her mind a
+mighty Staircase, with a dark pit of shame and ruin at the bottom; and
+down those stairs, from day to day and hour to hour, she saw Louisa
+coming.
+
+It became the business of Mrs. Sparsit’s life, to look up at her
+staircase, and to watch Louisa coming down. Sometimes slowly, sometimes
+quickly, sometimes several steps at one bout, sometimes stopping, never
+turning back. If she had once turned back, it might have been the death
+of Mrs. Sparsit in spleen and grief.
+
+She had been descending steadily, to the day, and on the day, when Mr.
+Bounderby issued the weekly invitation recorded above. Mrs. Sparsit was
+in good spirits, and inclined to be conversational.
+
+‘And pray, sir,’ said she, ‘if I may venture to ask a question
+appertaining to any subject on which you show reserve—which is indeed
+hardy in me, for I well know you have a reason for everything you do—have
+you received intelligence respecting the robbery?’
+
+‘Why, ma’am, no; not yet. Under the circumstances, I didn’t expect it
+yet. Rome wasn’t built in a day, ma’am.’
+
+‘Very true, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head.
+
+‘Nor yet in a week, ma’am.’
+
+‘No, indeed, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a gentle melancholy upon
+her.
+
+‘In a similar manner, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, ‘I can wait, you know. If
+Romulus and Remus could wait, Josiah Bounderby can wait. They were
+better off in their youth than I was, however. They had a she-wolf for a
+nurse; I had only a she-wolf for a grandmother. She didn’t give any
+milk, ma’am; she gave bruises. She was a regular Alderney at that.’
+
+‘Ah!’ Mrs. Sparsit sighed and shuddered.
+
+‘No, ma’am,’ continued Bounderby, ‘I have not heard anything more about
+it. It’s in hand, though; and young Tom, who rather sticks to business
+at present—something new for him; he hadn’t the schooling _I_ had—is
+helping. My injunction is, Keep it quiet, and let it seem to blow over.
+Do what you like under the rose, but don’t give a sign of what you’re
+about; or half a hundred of ’em will combine together and get this fellow
+who has bolted, out of reach for good. Keep it quiet, and the thieves
+will grow in confidence by little and little, and we shall have ’em.’
+
+‘Very sagacious indeed, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit. ‘Very interesting. The
+old woman you mentioned, sir—’
+
+‘The old woman I mentioned, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, cutting the matter
+short, as it was nothing to boast about, ‘is not laid hold of; but, she
+may take her oath she will be, if that is any satisfaction to her
+villainous old mind. In the mean time, ma’am, I am of opinion, if you
+ask me my opinion, that the less she is talked about, the better.’
+
+The same evening, Mrs. Sparsit, in her chamber window, resting from her
+packing operations, looked towards her great staircase and saw Louisa
+still descending.
+
+She sat by Mr. Harthouse, in an alcove in the garden, talking very low;
+he stood leaning over her, as they whispered together, and his face
+almost touched her hair. ‘If not quite!’ said Mrs. Sparsit, straining
+her hawk’s eyes to the utmost. Mrs. Sparsit was too distant to hear a
+word of their discourse, or even to know that they were speaking softly,
+otherwise than from the expression of their figures; but what they said
+was this:
+
+‘You recollect the man, Mr. Harthouse?’
+
+‘Oh, perfectly!’
+
+‘His face, and his manner, and what he said?’
+
+‘Perfectly. And an infinitely dreary person he appeared to me to be.
+Lengthy and prosy in the extreme. It was knowing to hold forth, in the
+humble-virtue school of eloquence; but, I assure you I thought at the
+time, “My good fellow, you are over-doing this!”’
+
+‘It has been very difficult to me to think ill of that man.’
+
+‘My dear Louisa—as Tom says.’ Which he never did say. ‘You know no good
+of the fellow?’
+
+‘No, certainly.’
+
+‘Nor of any other such person?’
+
+‘How can I,’ she returned, with more of her first manner on her than he
+had lately seen, ‘when I know nothing of them, men or women?’
+
+‘My dear Louisa, then consent to receive the submissive representation of
+your devoted friend, who knows something of several varieties of his
+excellent fellow-creatures—for excellent they are, I am quite ready to
+believe, in spite of such little foibles as always helping themselves to
+what they can get hold of. This fellow talks. Well; every fellow talks.
+He professes morality. Well; all sorts of humbugs profess morality.
+From the House of Commons to the House of Correction, there is a general
+profession of morality, except among our people; it really is that
+exception which makes our people quite reviving. You saw and heard the
+case. Here was one of the fluffy classes pulled up extremely short by my
+esteemed friend Mr. Bounderby—who, as we know, is not possessed of that
+delicacy which would soften so tight a hand. The member of the fluffy
+classes was injured, exasperated, left the house grumbling, met somebody
+who proposed to him to go in for some share in this Bank business, went
+in, put something in his pocket which had nothing in it before, and
+relieved his mind extremely. Really he would have been an uncommon,
+instead of a common, fellow, if he had not availed himself of such an
+opportunity. Or he may have originated it altogether, if he had the
+cleverness.’
+
+‘I almost feel as though it must be bad in me,’ returned Louisa, after
+sitting thoughtful awhile, ‘to be so ready to agree with you, and to be
+so lightened in my heart by what you say.’
+
+‘I only say what is reasonable; nothing worse. I have talked it over
+with my friend Tom more than once—of course I remain on terms of perfect
+confidence with Tom—and he is quite of my opinion, and I am quite of his.
+Will you walk?’
+
+They strolled away, among the lanes beginning to be indistinct in the
+twilight—she leaning on his arm—and she little thought how she was going
+down, down, down, Mrs. Sparsit’s staircase.
+
+Night and day, Mrs. Sparsit kept it standing. When Louisa had arrived at
+the bottom and disappeared in the gulf, it might fall in upon her if it
+would; but, until then, there it was to be, a Building, before Mrs.
+Sparsit’s eyes. And there Louisa always was, upon it.
+
+And always gliding down, down, down!
+
+Mrs. Sparsit saw James Harthouse come and go; she heard of him here and
+there; she saw the changes of the face he had studied; she, too, remarked
+to a nicety how and when it clouded, how and when it cleared; she kept
+her black eyes wide open, with no touch of pity, with no touch of
+compunction, all absorbed in interest. In the interest of seeing her,
+ever drawing, with no hand to stay her, nearer and nearer to the bottom
+of this new Giant’s Staircase.
+
+With all her deference for Mr. Bounderby as contradistinguished from his
+portrait, Mrs. Sparsit had not the smallest intention of interrupting the
+descent. Eager to see it accomplished, and yet patient, she waited for
+the last fall, as for the ripeness and fulness of the harvest of her
+hopes. Hushed in expectancy, she kept her wary gaze upon the stairs; and
+seldom so much as darkly shook her right mitten (with her fist in it), at
+the figure coming down.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+LOWER AND LOWER
+
+
+THE figure descended the great stairs, steadily, steadily; always
+verging, like a weight in deep water, to the black gulf at the bottom.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, apprised of his wife’s decease, made an expedition from
+London, and buried her in a business-like manner. He then returned with
+promptitude to the national cinder-heap, and resumed his sifting for the
+odds and ends he wanted, and his throwing of the dust about into the eyes
+of other people who wanted other odds and ends—in fact resumed his
+parliamentary duties.
+
+In the meantime, Mrs. Sparsit kept unwinking watch and ward. Separated
+from her staircase, all the week, by the length of iron road dividing
+Coketown from the country house, she yet maintained her cat-like
+observation of Louisa, through her husband, through her brother, through
+James Harthouse, through the outsides of letters and packets, through
+everything animate and inanimate that at any time went near the stairs.
+‘Your foot on the last step, my lady,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, apostrophizing
+the descending figure, with the aid of her threatening mitten, ‘and all
+your art shall never blind me.’
+
+Art or nature though, the original stock of Louisa’s character or the
+graft of circumstances upon it,—her curious reserve did baffle, while it
+stimulated, one as sagacious as Mrs. Sparsit. There were times when Mr.
+James Harthouse was not sure of her. There were times when he could not
+read the face he had studied so long; and when this lonely girl was a
+greater mystery to him, than any woman of the world with a ring of
+satellites to help her.
+
+So the time went on; until it happened that Mr. Bounderby was called away
+from home by business which required his presence elsewhere, for three or
+four days. It was on a Friday that he intimated this to Mrs. Sparsit at
+the Bank, adding: ‘But you’ll go down to-morrow, ma’am, all the same.
+You’ll go down just as if I was there. It will make no difference to
+you.’
+
+‘Pray, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, reproachfully, ‘let me beg you not to
+say that. Your absence will make a vast difference to me, sir, as I
+think you very well know.’
+
+‘Well, ma’am, then you must get on in my absence as well as you can,’
+said Mr. Bounderby, not displeased.
+
+‘Mr. Bounderby,’ retorted Mrs. Sparsit, ‘your will is to me a law, sir;
+otherwise, it might be my inclination to dispute your kind commands, not
+feeling sure that it will be quite so agreeable to Miss Gradgrind to
+receive me, as it ever is to your own munificent hospitality. But you
+shall say no more, sir. I will go, upon your invitation.’
+
+‘Why, when I invite you to my house, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, opening his
+eyes, ‘I should hope you want no other invitation.’
+
+‘No, indeed, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘I should hope not. Say no
+more, sir. I would, sir, I could see you gay again.’
+
+‘What do you mean, ma’am?’ blustered Bounderby.
+
+‘Sir,’ rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, ‘there was wont to be an elasticity in you
+which I sadly miss. Be buoyant, sir!’
+
+Mr. Bounderby, under the influence of this difficult adjuration, backed
+up by her compassionate eye, could only scratch his head in a feeble and
+ridiculous manner, and afterwards assert himself at a distance, by being
+heard to bully the small fry of business all the morning.
+
+‘Bitzer,’ said Mrs. Sparsit that afternoon, when her patron was gone on
+his journey, and the Bank was closing, ‘present my compliments to young
+Mr. Thomas, and ask him if he would step up and partake of a lamb chop
+and walnut ketchup, with a glass of India ale?’ Young Mr. Thomas being
+usually ready for anything in that way, returned a gracious answer, and
+followed on its heels. ‘Mr. Thomas,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘these plain
+viands being on table, I thought you might be tempted.’
+
+‘Thank’ee, Mrs. Sparsit,’ said the whelp. And gloomily fell to.
+
+‘How is Mr. Harthouse, Mr. Tom?’ asked Mrs. Sparsit.
+
+‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Tom.
+
+‘Where may he be at present?’ Mrs. Sparsit asked in a light
+conversational manner, after mentally devoting the whelp to the Furies
+for being so uncommunicative.
+
+‘He is shooting in Yorkshire,’ said Tom. ‘Sent Loo a basket half as big
+as a church, yesterday.’
+
+‘The kind of gentleman, now,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, sweetly, ‘whom one might
+wager to be a good shot!’
+
+‘Crack,’ said Tom.
+
+He had long been a down-looking young fellow, but this characteristic had
+so increased of late, that he never raised his eyes to any face for three
+seconds together. Mrs. Sparsit consequently had ample means of watching
+his looks, if she were so inclined.
+
+‘Mr. Harthouse is a great favourite of mine,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘as
+indeed he is of most people. May we expect to see him again shortly, Mr.
+Tom?’
+
+‘Why, _I_ expect to see him to-morrow,’ returned the whelp.
+
+‘Good news!’ cried Mrs. Sparsit, blandly.
+
+‘I have got an appointment with him to meet him in the evening at the
+station here,’ said Tom, ‘and I am going to dine with him afterwards, I
+believe. He is not coming down to the country house for a week or so,
+being due somewhere else. At least, he says so; but I shouldn’t wonder
+if he was to stop here over Sunday, and stray that way.’
+
+‘Which reminds me!’ said Mrs. Sparsit. ‘Would you remember a message to
+your sister, Mr. Tom, if I was to charge you with one?’
+
+‘Well? I’ll try,’ returned the reluctant whelp, ‘if it isn’t a long un.’
+
+‘It is merely my respectful compliments,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘and I fear
+I may not trouble her with my society this week; being still a little
+nervous, and better perhaps by my poor self.’
+
+‘Oh! If that’s all,’ observed Tom, ‘it wouldn’t much matter, even if I
+was to forget it, for Loo’s not likely to think of you unless she sees
+you.’
+
+Having paid for his entertainment with this agreeable compliment, he
+relapsed into a hangdog silence until there was no more India ale left,
+when he said, ‘Well, Mrs. Sparsit, I must be off!’ and went off.
+
+Next day, Saturday, Mrs. Sparsit sat at her window all day long looking
+at the customers coming in and out, watching the postmen, keeping an eye
+on the general traffic of the street, revolving many things in her mind,
+but, above all, keeping her attention on her staircase. The evening
+come, she put on her bonnet and shawl, and went quietly out: having her
+reasons for hovering in a furtive way about the station by which a
+passenger would arrive from Yorkshire, and for preferring to peep into it
+round pillars and corners, and out of ladies’ waiting-room windows, to
+appearing in its precincts openly.
+
+Tom was in attendance, and loitered about until the expected train came
+in. It brought no Mr. Harthouse. Tom waited until the crowd had
+dispersed, and the bustle was over; and then referred to a posted list of
+trains, and took counsel with porters. That done, he strolled away idly,
+stopping in the street and looking up it and down it, and lifting his hat
+off and putting it on again, and yawning and stretching himself, and
+exhibiting all the symptoms of mortal weariness to be expected in one who
+had still to wait until the next train should come in, an hour and forty
+minutes hence.
+
+‘This is a device to keep him out of the way,’ said Mrs. Sparsit,
+starting from the dull office window whence she had watched him last.
+‘Harthouse is with his sister now!’
+
+It was the conception of an inspired moment, and she shot off with her
+utmost swiftness to work it out. The station for the country house was
+at the opposite end of the town, the time was short, the road not easy;
+but she was so quick in pouncing on a disengaged coach, so quick in
+darting out of it, producing her money, seizing her ticket, and diving
+into the train, that she was borne along the arches spanning the land of
+coal-pits past and present, as if she had been caught up in a cloud and
+whirled away.
+
+All the journey, immovable in the air though never left behind; plain to
+the dark eyes of her mind, as the electric wires which ruled a colossal
+strip of music-paper out of the evening sky, were plain to the dark eyes
+of her body; Mrs. Sparsit saw her staircase, with the figure coming down.
+Very near the bottom now. Upon the brink of the abyss.
+
+An overcast September evening, just at nightfall, saw beneath its
+drooping eyelids Mrs. Sparsit glide out of her carriage, pass down the
+wooden steps of the little station into a stony road, cross it into a
+green lane, and become hidden in a summer-growth of leaves and branches.
+One or two late birds sleepily chirping in their nests, and a bat heavily
+crossing and recrossing her, and the reek of her own tread in the thick
+dust that felt like velvet, were all Mrs. Sparsit heard or saw until she
+very softly closed a gate.
+
+She went up to the house, keeping within the shrubbery, and went round
+it, peeping between the leaves at the lower windows. Most of them were
+open, as they usually were in such warm weather, but there were no lights
+yet, and all was silent. She tried the garden with no better effect.
+She thought of the wood, and stole towards it, heedless of long grass and
+briers: of worms, snails, and slugs, and all the creeping things that be.
+With her dark eyes and her hook nose warily in advance of her, Mrs.
+Sparsit softly crushed her way through the thick undergrowth, so intent
+upon her object that she probably would have done no less, if the wood
+had been a wood of adders.
+
+Hark!
+
+The smaller birds might have tumbled out of their nests, fascinated by
+the glittering of Mrs. Sparsit’s eyes in the gloom, as she stopped and
+listened.
+
+Low voices close at hand. His voice and hers. The appointment _was_ a
+device to keep the brother away! There they were yonder, by the felled
+tree.
+
+Bending low among the dewy grass, Mrs. Sparsit advanced closer to them.
+She drew herself up, and stood behind a tree, like Robinson Crusoe in his
+ambuscade against the savages; so near to them that at a spring, and that
+no great one, she could have touched them both. He was there secretly,
+and had not shown himself at the house. He had come on horseback, and
+must have passed through the neighbouring fields; for his horse was tied
+to the meadow side of the fence, within a few paces.
+
+‘My dearest love,’ said he, ‘what could I do? Knowing you were alone,
+was it possible that I could stay away?’
+
+‘You may hang your head, to make yourself the more attractive; _I_ don’t
+know what they see in you when you hold it up,’ thought Mrs. Sparsit;
+‘but you little think, my dearest love, whose eyes are on you!’
+
+That she hung her head, was certain. She urged him to go away, she
+commanded him to go away; but she neither turned her face to him, nor
+raised it. Yet it was remarkable that she sat as still as ever the
+amiable woman in ambuscade had seen her sit, at any period in her life.
+Her hands rested in one another, like the hands of a statue; and even her
+manner of speaking was not hurried.
+
+‘My dear child,’ said Harthouse; Mrs. Sparsit saw with delight that his
+arm embraced her; ‘will you not bear with my society for a little while?’
+
+‘Not here.’
+
+‘Where, Louisa?
+
+‘Not here.’
+
+‘But we have so little time to make so much of, and I have come so far,
+and am altogether so devoted, and distracted. There never was a slave at
+once so devoted and ill-used by his mistress. To look for your sunny
+welcome that has warmed me into life, and to be received in your frozen
+manner, is heart-rending.’
+
+‘Am I to say again, that I must be left to myself here?’
+
+‘But we must meet, my dear Louisa. Where shall we meet?’
+
+They both started. The listener started, guiltily, too; for she thought
+there was another listener among the trees. It was only rain, beginning
+to fall fast, in heavy drops.
+
+‘Shall I ride up to the house a few minutes hence, innocently supposing
+that its master is at home and will be charmed to receive me?’
+
+‘No!’
+
+‘Your cruel commands are implicitly to be obeyed; though I am the most
+unfortunate fellow in the world, I believe, to have been insensible to
+all other women, and to have fallen prostrate at last under the foot of
+the most beautiful, and the most engaging, and the most imperious. My
+dearest Louisa, I cannot go myself, or let you go, in this hard abuse of
+your power.’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit saw him detain her with his encircling arm, and heard him
+then and there, within her (Mrs. Sparsit’s) greedy hearing, tell her how
+he loved her, and how she was the stake for which he ardently desired to
+play away all that he had in life. The objects he had lately pursued,
+turned worthless beside her; such success as was almost in his grasp, he
+flung away from him like the dirt it was, compared with her. Its
+pursuit, nevertheless, if it kept him near her, or its renunciation if it
+took him from her, or flight if she shared it, or secrecy if she
+commanded it, or any fate, or every fate, all was alike to him, so that
+she was true to him,—the man who had seen how cast away she was, whom she
+had inspired at their first meeting with an admiration, an interest, of
+which he had thought himself incapable, whom she had received into her
+confidence, who was devoted to her and adored her. All this, and more,
+in his hurry, and in hers, in the whirl of her own gratified malice, in
+the dread of being discovered, in the rapidly increasing noise of heavy
+rain among the leaves, and a thunderstorm rolling up—Mrs. Sparsit
+received into her mind, set off with such an unavoidable halo of
+confusion and indistinctness, that when at length he climbed the fence
+and led his horse away, she was not sure where they were to meet, or
+when, except that they had said it was to be that night.
+
+But one of them yet remained in the darkness before her; and while she
+tracked that one she must be right. ‘Oh, my dearest love,’ thought Mrs.
+Sparsit, ‘you little think how well attended you are!’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit saw her out of the wood, and saw her enter the house. What
+to do next? It rained now, in a sheet of water. Mrs. Sparsit’s white
+stockings were of many colours, green predominating; prickly things were
+in her shoes; caterpillars slung themselves, in hammocks of their own
+making, from various parts of her dress; rills ran from her bonnet, and
+her Roman nose. In such condition, Mrs. Sparsit stood hidden in the
+density of the shrubbery, considering what next?
+
+Lo, Louisa coming out of the house! Hastily cloaked and muffled, and
+stealing away. She elopes! She falls from the lowermost stair, and is
+swallowed up in the gulf.
+
+Indifferent to the rain, and moving with a quick determined step, she
+struck into a side-path parallel with the ride. Mrs. Sparsit followed in
+the shadow of the trees, at but a short distance; for it was not easy to
+keep a figure in view going quickly through the umbrageous darkness.
+
+When she stopped to close the side-gate without noise, Mrs. Sparsit
+stopped. When she went on, Mrs. Sparsit went on. She went by the way
+Mrs. Sparsit had come, emerged from the green lane, crossed the stony
+road, and ascended the wooden steps to the railroad. A train for
+Coketown would come through presently, Mrs. Sparsit knew; so she
+understood Coketown to be her first place of destination.
+
+In Mrs. Sparsit’s limp and streaming state, no extensive precautions were
+necessary to change her usual appearance; but, she stopped under the lee
+of the station wall, tumbled her shawl into a new shape, and put it on
+over her bonnet. So disguised she had no fear of being recognized when
+she followed up the railroad steps, and paid her money in the small
+office. Louisa sat waiting in a corner. Mrs. Sparsit sat waiting in
+another corner. Both listened to the thunder, which was loud, and to the
+rain, as it washed off the roof, and pattered on the parapets of the
+arches. Two or three lamps were rained out and blown out; so, both saw
+the lightning to advantage as it quivered and zigzagged on the iron
+tracks.
+
+The seizure of the station with a fit of trembling, gradually deepening
+to a complaint of the heart, announced the train. Fire and steam, and
+smoke, and red light; a hiss, a crash, a bell, and a shriek; Louisa put
+into one carriage, Mrs. Sparsit put into another: the little station a
+desert speck in the thunderstorm.
+
+Though her teeth chattered in her head from wet and cold, Mrs. Sparsit
+exulted hugely. The figure had plunged down the precipice, and she felt
+herself, as it were, attending on the body. Could she, who had been so
+active in the getting up of the funeral triumph, do less than exult?
+‘She will be at Coketown long before him,’ thought Mrs. Sparsit, ‘though
+his horse is never so good. Where will she wait for him? And where will
+they go together? Patience. We shall see.’
+
+The tremendous rain occasioned infinite confusion, when the train stopped
+at its destination. Gutters and pipes had burst, drains had overflowed,
+and streets were under water. In the first instant of alighting, Mrs.
+Sparsit turned her distracted eyes towards the waiting coaches, which
+were in great request. ‘She will get into one,’ she considered, ‘and
+will be away before I can follow in another. At all risks of being run
+over, I must see the number, and hear the order given to the coachman.’
+
+But, Mrs. Sparsit was wrong in her calculation. Louisa got into no
+coach, and was already gone. The black eyes kept upon the
+railroad-carriage in which she had travelled, settled upon it a moment
+too late. The door not being opened after several minutes, Mrs. Sparsit
+passed it and repassed it, saw nothing, looked in, and found it empty.
+Wet through and through: with her feet squelching and squashing in her
+shoes whenever she moved; with a rash of rain upon her classical visage;
+with a bonnet like an over-ripe fig; with all her clothes spoiled; with
+damp impressions of every button, string, and hook-and-eye she wore,
+printed off upon her highly connected back; with a stagnant verdure on
+her general exterior, such as accumulates on an old park fence in a
+mouldy lane; Mrs. Sparsit had no resource but to burst into tears of
+bitterness and say, ‘I have lost her!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+DOWN
+
+
+THE national dustmen, after entertaining one another with a great many
+noisy little fights among themselves, had dispersed for the present, and
+Mr. Gradgrind was at home for the vacation.
+
+He sat writing in the room with the deadly statistical clock, proving
+something no doubt—probably, in the main, that the Good Samaritan was a
+Bad Economist. The noise of the rain did not disturb him much; but it
+attracted his attention sufficiently to make him raise his head
+sometimes, as if he were rather remonstrating with the elements. When it
+thundered very loudly, he glanced towards Coketown, having it in his mind
+that some of the tall chimneys might be struck by lightning.
+
+The thunder was rolling into distance, and the rain was pouring down like
+a deluge, when the door of his room opened. He looked round the lamp
+upon his table, and saw, with amazement, his eldest daughter.
+
+‘Louisa!’
+
+‘Father, I want to speak to you.’
+
+‘What is the matter? How strange you look! And good Heaven,’ said Mr.
+Gradgrind, wondering more and more, ‘have you come here exposed to this
+storm?’
+
+She put her hands to her dress, as if she hardly knew. ‘Yes.’ Then she
+uncovered her head, and letting her cloak and hood fall where they might,
+stood looking at him: so colourless, so dishevelled, so defiant and
+despairing, that he was afraid of her.
+
+‘What is it? I conjure you, Louisa, tell me what is the matter.’
+
+She dropped into a chair before him, and put her cold hand on his arm.
+
+‘Father, you have trained me from my cradle?’
+
+‘Yes, Louisa.’
+
+‘I curse the hour in which I was born to such a destiny.’
+
+He looked at her in doubt and dread, vacantly repeating: ‘Curse the hour?
+Curse the hour?’
+
+‘How could you give me life, and take from me all the inappreciable
+things that raise it from the state of conscious death? Where are the
+graces of my soul? Where are the sentiments of my heart? What have you
+done, O father, what have you done, with the garden that should have
+bloomed once, in this great wilderness here!’
+
+She struck herself with both her hands upon her bosom.
+
+‘If it had ever been here, its ashes alone would save me from the void in
+which my whole life sinks. I did not mean to say this; but, father, you
+remember the last time we conversed in this room?’
+
+He had been so wholly unprepared for what he heard now, that it was with
+difficulty he answered, ‘Yes, Louisa.’
+
+‘What has risen to my lips now, would have risen to my lips then, if you
+had given me a moment’s help. I don’t reproach you, father. What you
+have never nurtured in me, you have never nurtured in yourself; but O! if
+you had only done so long ago, or if you had only neglected me, what a
+much better and much happier creature I should have been this day!’
+
+On hearing this, after all his care, he bowed his head upon his hand and
+groaned aloud.
+
+‘Father, if you had known, when we were last together here, what even I
+feared while I strove against it—as it has been my task from infancy to
+strive against every natural prompting that has arisen in my heart; if
+you had known that there lingered in my breast, sensibilities,
+affections, weaknesses capable of being cherished into strength, defying
+all the calculations ever made by man, and no more known to his
+arithmetic than his Creator is,—would you have given me to the husband
+whom I am now sure that I hate?’
+
+He said, ‘No. No, my poor child.’
+
+‘Would you have doomed me, at any time, to the frost and blight that have
+hardened and spoiled me? Would you have robbed me—for no one’s
+enrichment—only for the greater desolation of this world—of the
+immaterial part of my life, the spring and summer of my belief, my refuge
+from what is sordid and bad in the real things around me, my school in
+which I should have learned to be more humble and more trusting with
+them, and to hope in my little sphere to make them better?’
+
+‘O no, no. No, Louisa.’
+
+‘Yet, father, if I had been stone blind; if I had groped my way by my
+sense of touch, and had been free, while I knew the shapes and surfaces
+of things, to exercise my fancy somewhat, in regard to them; I should
+have been a million times wiser, happier, more loving, more contented,
+more innocent and human in all good respects, than I am with the eyes I
+have. Now, hear what I have come to say.’
+
+He moved, to support her with his arm. She rising as he did so, they
+stood close together: she, with a hand upon his shoulder, looking fixedly
+in his face.
+
+‘With a hunger and thirst upon me, father, which have never been for a
+moment appeased; with an ardent impulse towards some region where rules,
+and figures, and definitions were not quite absolute; I have grown up,
+battling every inch of my way.’
+
+‘I never knew you were unhappy, my child.’
+
+‘Father, I always knew it. In this strife I have almost repulsed and
+crushed my better angel into a demon. What I have learned has left me
+doubting, misbelieving, despising, regretting, what I have not learned;
+and my dismal resource has been to think that life would soon go by, and
+that nothing in it could be worth the pain and trouble of a contest.’
+
+‘And you so young, Louisa!’ he said with pity.
+
+‘And I so young. In this condition, father—for I show you now, without
+fear or favour, the ordinary deadened state of my mind as I know it—you
+proposed my husband to me. I took him. I never made a pretence to him
+or you that I loved him. I knew, and, father, you knew, and he knew,
+that I never did. I was not wholly indifferent, for I had a hope of
+being pleasant and useful to Tom. I made that wild escape into something
+visionary, and have slowly found out how wild it was. But Tom had been
+the subject of all the little tenderness of my life; perhaps he became so
+because I knew so well how to pity him. It matters little now, except as
+it may dispose you to think more leniently of his errors.’
+
+As her father held her in his arms, she put her other hand upon his other
+shoulder, and still looking fixedly in his face, went on.
+
+‘When I was irrevocably married, there rose up into rebellion against the
+tie, the old strife, made fiercer by all those causes of disparity which
+arise out of our two individual natures, and which no general laws shall
+ever rule or state for me, father, until they shall be able to direct the
+anatomist where to strike his knife into the secrets of my soul.’
+
+‘Louisa!’ he said, and said imploringly; for he well remembered what had
+passed between them in their former interview.
+
+‘I do not reproach you, father, I make no complaint. I am here with
+another object.’
+
+‘What can I do, child? Ask me what you will.’
+
+‘I am coming to it. Father, chance then threw into my way a new
+acquaintance; a man such as I had had no experience of; used to the
+world; light, polished, easy; making no pretences; avowing the low
+estimate of everything, that I was half afraid to form in secret;
+conveying to me almost immediately, though I don’t know how or by what
+degrees, that he understood me, and read my thoughts. I could not find
+that he was worse than I. There seemed to be a near affinity between us.
+I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for nothing else,
+to care so much for me.’
+
+‘For you, Louisa!’
+
+Her father might instinctively have loosened his hold, but that he felt
+her strength departing from her, and saw a wild dilating fire in the eyes
+steadfastly regarding him.
+
+‘I say nothing of his plea for claiming my confidence. It matters very
+little how he gained it. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the
+story of my marriage, he soon knew, just as well.’
+
+Her father’s face was ashy white, and he held her in both his arms.
+
+‘I have done no worse, I have not disgraced you. But if you ask me
+whether I have loved him, or do love him, I tell you plainly, father,
+that it may be so. I don’t know.’
+
+She took her hands suddenly from his shoulders, and pressed them both
+upon her side; while in her face, not like itself—and in her figure,
+drawn up, resolute to finish by a last effort what she had to say—the
+feelings long suppressed broke loose.
+
+‘This night, my husband being away, he has been with me, declaring
+himself my lover. This minute he expects me, for I could release myself
+of his presence by no other means. I do not know that I am sorry, I do
+not know that I am ashamed, I do not know that I am degraded in my own
+esteem. All that I know is, your philosophy and your teaching will not
+save me. Now, father, you have brought me to this. Save me by some
+other means!’
+
+He tightened his hold in time to prevent her sinking on the floor, but
+she cried out in a terrible voice, ‘I shall die if you hold me! Let me
+fall upon the ground!’ And he laid her down there, and saw the pride of
+his heart and the triumph of his system, lying, an insensible heap, at
+his feet.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ END OF THE SECOND BOOK
+
+
+
+
+BOOK THE THIRD
+_GARNERING_
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+ANOTHER THING NEEDFUL
+
+
+LOUISA awoke from a torpor, and her eyes languidly opened on her old bed
+at home, and her old room. It seemed, at first, as if all that had
+happened since the days when these objects were familiar to her were the
+shadows of a dream, but gradually, as the objects became more real to her
+sight, the events became more real to her mind.
+
+She could scarcely move her head for pain and heaviness, her eyes were
+strained and sore, and she was very weak. A curious passive inattention
+had such possession of her, that the presence of her little sister in the
+room did not attract her notice for some time. Even when their eyes had
+met, and her sister had approached the bed, Louisa lay for minutes
+looking at her in silence, and suffering her timidly to hold her passive
+hand, before she asked:
+
+‘When was I brought to this room?’
+
+‘Last night, Louisa.’
+
+‘Who brought me here?’
+
+‘Sissy, I believe.’
+
+‘Why do you believe so?’
+
+‘Because I found her here this morning. She didn’t come to my bedside to
+wake me, as she always does; and I went to look for her. She was not in
+her own room either; and I went looking for her all over the house, until
+I found her here taking care of you and cooling your head. Will you see
+father? Sissy said I was to tell him when you woke.’
+
+‘What a beaming face you have, Jane!’ said Louisa, as her young
+sister—timidly still—bent down to kiss her.
+
+‘Have I? I am very glad you think so. I am sure it must be Sissy’s
+doing.’
+
+The arm Louisa had begun to twine around her neck, unbent itself. ‘You
+can tell father if you will.’ Then, staying her for a moment, she said,
+‘It was you who made my room so cheerful, and gave it this look of
+welcome?’
+
+‘Oh no, Louisa, it was done before I came. It was—’
+
+Louisa turned upon her pillow, and heard no more. When her sister had
+withdrawn, she turned her head back again, and lay with her face towards
+the door, until it opened and her father entered.
+
+He had a jaded anxious look upon him, and his hand, usually steady,
+trembled in hers. He sat down at the side of the bed, tenderly asking
+how she was, and dwelling on the necessity of her keeping very quiet
+after her agitation and exposure to the weather last night. He spoke in
+a subdued and troubled voice, very different from his usual dictatorial
+manner; and was often at a loss for words.
+
+‘My dear Louisa. My poor daughter.’ He was so much at a loss at that
+place, that he stopped altogether. He tried again.
+
+‘My unfortunate child.’ The place was so difficult to get over, that he
+tried again.
+
+‘It would be hopeless for me, Louisa, to endeavour to tell you how
+overwhelmed I have been, and still am, by what broke upon me last night.
+The ground on which I stand has ceased to be solid under my feet. The
+only support on which I leaned, and the strength of which it seemed, and
+still does seem, impossible to question, has given way in an instant. I
+am stunned by these discoveries. I have no selfish meaning in what I
+say; but I find the shock of what broke upon me last night, to be very
+heavy indeed.’
+
+She could give him no comfort herein. She had suffered the wreck of her
+whole life upon the rock.
+
+‘I will not say, Louisa, that if you had by any happy chance undeceived
+me some time ago, it would have been better for us both; better for your
+peace, and better for mine. For I am sensible that it may not have been
+a part of my system to invite any confidence of that kind. I had proved
+my—my system to myself, and I have rigidly administered it; and I must
+bear the responsibility of its failures. I only entreat you to believe,
+my favourite child, that I have meant to do right.’
+
+He said it earnestly, and to do him justice he had. In gauging
+fathomless deeps with his little mean excise-rod, and in staggering over
+the universe with his rusty stiff-legged compasses, he had meant to do
+great things. Within the limits of his short tether he had tumbled
+about, annihilating the flowers of existence with greater singleness of
+purpose than many of the blatant personages whose company he kept.
+
+‘I am well assured of what you say, father. I know I have been your
+favourite child. I know you have intended to make me happy. I have
+never blamed you, and I never shall.’
+
+He took her outstretched hand, and retained it in his.
+
+‘My dear, I have remained all night at my table, pondering again and
+again on what has so painfully passed between us. When I consider your
+character; when I consider that what has been known to me for hours, has
+been concealed by you for years; when I consider under what immediate
+pressure it has been forced from you at last; I come to the conclusion
+that I cannot but mistrust myself.’
+
+He might have added more than all, when he saw the face now looking at
+him. He did add it in effect, perhaps, as he softly moved her scattered
+hair from her forehead with his hand. Such little actions, slight in
+another man, were very noticeable in him; and his daughter received them
+as if they had been words of contrition.
+
+‘But,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, slowly, and with hesitation, as well as with a
+wretched sense of happiness, ‘if I see reason to mistrust myself for the
+past, Louisa, I should also mistrust myself for the present and the
+future. To speak unreservedly to you, I do. I am far from feeling
+convinced now, however differently I might have felt only this time
+yesterday, that I am fit for the trust you repose in me; that I know how
+to respond to the appeal you have come home to make to me; that I have
+the right instinct—supposing it for the moment to be some quality of that
+nature—how to help you, and to set you right, my child.’
+
+She had turned upon her pillow, and lay with her face upon her arm, so
+that he could not see it. All her wildness and passion had subsided;
+but, though softened, she was not in tears. Her father was changed in
+nothing so much as in the respect that he would have been glad to see her
+in tears.
+
+‘Some persons hold,’ he pursued, still hesitating, ‘that there is a
+wisdom of the Head, and that there is a wisdom of the Heart. I have not
+supposed so; but, as I have said, I mistrust myself now. I have supposed
+the head to be all-sufficient. It may not be all-sufficient; how can I
+venture this morning to say it is! If that other kind of wisdom should
+be what I have neglected, and should be the instinct that is wanted,
+Louisa—’
+
+He suggested it very doubtfully, as if he were half unwilling to admit it
+even now. She made him no answer, lying before him on her bed, still
+half-dressed, much as he had seen her lying on the floor of his room last
+night.
+
+‘Louisa,’ and his hand rested on her hair again, ‘I have been absent from
+here, my dear, a good deal of late; and though your sister’s training has
+been pursued according to—the system,’ he appeared to come to that word
+with great reluctance always, ‘it has necessarily been modified by daily
+associations begun, in her case, at an early age. I ask you—ignorantly
+and humbly, my daughter—for the better, do you think?’
+
+‘Father,’ she replied, without stirring, ‘if any harmony has been
+awakened in her young breast that was mute in mine until it turned to
+discord, let her thank Heaven for it, and go upon her happier way, taking
+it as her greatest blessing that she has avoided my way.’
+
+‘O my child, my child!’ he said, in a forlorn manner, ‘I am an unhappy
+man to see you thus! What avails it to me that you do not reproach me,
+if I so bitterly reproach myself!’ He bent his head, and spoke low to
+her. ‘Louisa, I have a misgiving that some change may have been slowly
+working about me in this house, by mere love and gratitude: that what the
+Head had left undone and could not do, the Heart may have been doing
+silently. Can it be so?’
+
+She made him no reply.
+
+‘I am not too proud to believe it, Louisa. How could I be arrogant, and
+you before me! Can it be so? Is it so, my dear?’ He looked upon her
+once more, lying cast away there; and without another word went out of
+the room. He had not been long gone, when she heard a light tread near
+the door, and knew that some one stood beside her.
+
+She did not raise her head. A dull anger that she should be seen in her
+distress, and that the involuntary look she had so resented should come
+to this fulfilment, smouldered within her like an unwholesome fire. All
+closely imprisoned forces rend and destroy. The air that would be
+healthful to the earth, the water that would enrich it, the heat that
+would ripen it, tear it when caged up. So in her bosom even now; the
+strongest qualities she possessed, long turned upon themselves, became a
+heap of obduracy, that rose against a friend.
+
+It was well that soft touch came upon her neck, and that she understood
+herself to be supposed to have fallen asleep. The sympathetic hand did
+not claim her resentment. Let it lie there, let it lie.
+
+It lay there, warming into life a crowd of gentler thoughts; and she
+rested. As she softened with the quiet, and the consciousness of being
+so watched, some tears made their way into her eyes. The face touched
+hers, and she knew that there were tears upon it too, and she the cause
+of them.
+
+As Louisa feigned to rouse herself, and sat up, Sissy retired, so that
+she stood placidly near the bedside.
+
+‘I hope I have not disturbed you. I have come to ask if you would let me
+stay with you?’
+
+‘Why should you stay with me? My sister will miss you. You are
+everything to her.’
+
+‘Am I?’ returned Sissy, shaking her head. ‘I would be something to you,
+if I might.’
+
+‘What?’ said Louisa, almost sternly.
+
+‘Whatever you want most, if I could be that. At all events, I would like
+to try to be as near it as I can. And however far off that may be, I
+will never tire of trying. Will you let me?’
+
+‘My father sent you to ask me.’
+
+‘No indeed,’ replied Sissy. ‘He told me that I might come in now, but he
+sent me away from the room this morning—or at least—’
+
+She hesitated and stopped.
+
+‘At least, what?’ said Louisa, with her searching eyes upon her.
+
+‘I thought it best myself that I should be sent away, for I felt very
+uncertain whether you would like to find me here.’
+
+‘Have I always hated you so much?’
+
+‘I hope not, for I have always loved you, and have always wished that you
+should know it. But you changed to me a little, shortly before you left
+home. Not that I wondered at it. You knew so much, and I knew so
+little, and it was so natural in many ways, going as you were among other
+friends, that I had nothing to complain of, and was not at all hurt.’
+
+Her colour rose as she said it modestly and hurriedly. Louisa understood
+the loving pretence, and her heart smote her.
+
+‘May I try?’ said Sissy, emboldened to raise her hand to the neck that
+was insensibly drooping towards her.
+
+Louisa, taking down the hand that would have embraced her in another
+moment, held it in one of hers, and answered:
+
+‘First, Sissy, do you know what I am? I am so proud and so hardened, so
+confused and troubled, so resentful and unjust to every one and to
+myself, that everything is stormy, dark, and wicked to me. Does not that
+repel you?’
+
+‘No!’
+
+‘I am so unhappy, and all that should have made me otherwise is so laid
+waste, that if I had been bereft of sense to this hour, and instead of
+being as learned as you think me, had to begin to acquire the simplest
+truths, I could not want a guide to peace, contentment, honour, all the
+good of which I am quite devoid, more abjectly than I do. Does not that
+repel you?’
+
+‘No!’
+
+In the innocence of her brave affection, and the brimming up of her old
+devoted spirit, the once deserted girl shone like a beautiful light upon
+the darkness of the other.
+
+Louisa raised the hand that it might clasp her neck and join its fellow
+there. She fell upon her knees, and clinging to this stroller’s child
+looked up at her almost with veneration.
+
+‘Forgive me, pity me, help me! Have compassion on my great need, and let
+me lay this head of mine upon a loving heart!’
+
+‘O lay it here!’ cried Sissy. ‘Lay it here, my dear.’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+VERY RIDICULOUS
+
+
+MR. JAMES HARTHOUSE passed a whole night and a day in a state of so much
+hurry, that the World, with its best glass in his eye, would scarcely
+have recognized him during that insane interval, as the brother Jem of
+the honourable and jocular member. He was positively agitated. He
+several times spoke with an emphasis, similar to the vulgar manner. He
+went in and went out in an unaccountable way, like a man without an
+object. He rode like a highwayman. In a word, he was so horribly bored
+by existing circumstances, that he forgot to go in for boredom in the
+manner prescribed by the authorities.
+
+After putting his horse at Coketown through the storm, as if it were a
+leap, he waited up all night: from time to time ringing his bell with the
+greatest fury, charging the porter who kept watch with delinquency in
+withholding letters or messages that could not fail to have been
+entrusted to him, and demanding restitution on the spot. The dawn
+coming, the morning coming, and the day coming, and neither message nor
+letter coming with either, he went down to the country house. There, the
+report was, Mr. Bounderby away, and Mrs. Bounderby in town. Left for
+town suddenly last evening. Not even known to be gone until receipt of
+message, importing that her return was not to be expected for the
+present.
+
+In these circumstances he had nothing for it but to follow her to town.
+He went to the house in town. Mrs. Bounderby not there. He looked in at
+the Bank. Mr. Bounderby away and Mrs. Sparsit away. Mrs. Sparsit away?
+Who could have been reduced to sudden extremity for the company of that
+griffin!
+
+‘Well! I don’t know,’ said Tom, who had his own reasons for being uneasy
+about it. ‘She was off somewhere at daybreak this morning. She’s always
+full of mystery; I hate her. So I do that white chap; he’s always got
+his blinking eyes upon a fellow.’
+
+‘Where were you last night, Tom?’
+
+‘Where was I last night!’ said Tom. ‘Come! I like that. I was waiting
+for you, Mr. Harthouse, till it came down as _I_ never saw it come down
+before. Where was I too! Where were you, you mean.’
+
+‘I was prevented from coming—detained.’
+
+‘Detained!’ murmured Tom. ‘Two of us were detained. I was detained
+looking for you, till I lost every train but the mail. It would have
+been a pleasant job to go down by that on such a night, and have to walk
+home through a pond. I was obliged to sleep in town after all.’
+
+‘Where?’
+
+‘Where? Why, in my own bed at Bounderby’s.’
+
+‘Did you see your sister?’
+
+‘How the deuce,’ returned Tom, staring, ‘could I see my sister when she
+was fifteen miles off?’
+
+Cursing these quick retorts of the young gentleman to whom he was so true
+a friend, Mr. Harthouse disembarrassed himself of that interview with the
+smallest conceivable amount of ceremony, and debated for the hundredth
+time what all this could mean? He made only one thing clear. It was,
+that whether she was in town or out of town, whether he had been
+premature with her who was so hard to comprehend, or she had lost
+courage, or they were discovered, or some mischance or mistake, at
+present incomprehensible, had occurred, he must remain to confront his
+fortune, whatever it was. The hotel where he was known to live when
+condemned to that region of blackness, was the stake to which he was
+tied. As to all the rest—What will be, will be.
+
+‘So, whether I am waiting for a hostile message, or an assignation, or a
+penitent remonstrance, or an impromptu wrestle with my friend Bounderby
+in the Lancashire manner—which would seem as likely as anything else in
+the present state of affairs—I’ll dine,’ said Mr. James Harthouse.
+‘Bounderby has the advantage in point of weight; and if anything of a
+British nature is to come off between us, it may be as well to be in
+training.’
+
+Therefore he rang the bell, and tossing himself negligently on a sofa,
+ordered ‘Some dinner at six—with a beefsteak in it,’ and got through the
+intervening time as well as he could. That was not particularly well;
+for he remained in the greatest perplexity, and, as the hours went on,
+and no kind of explanation offered itself, his perplexity augmented at
+compound interest.
+
+However, he took affairs as coolly as it was in human nature to do, and
+entertained himself with the facetious idea of the training more than
+once. ‘It wouldn’t be bad,’ he yawned at one time, ‘to give the waiter
+five shillings, and throw him.’ At another time it occurred to him, ‘Or
+a fellow of about thirteen or fourteen stone might be hired by the hour.’
+But these jests did not tell materially on the afternoon, or his
+suspense; and, sooth to say, they both lagged fearfully.
+
+It was impossible, even before dinner, to avoid often walking about in
+the pattern of the carpet, looking out of the window, listening at the
+door for footsteps, and occasionally becoming rather hot when any steps
+approached that room. But, after dinner, when the day turned to
+twilight, and the twilight turned to night, and still no communication
+was made to him, it began to be as he expressed it, ‘like the Holy Office
+and slow torture.’ However, still true to his conviction that
+indifference was the genuine high-breeding (the only conviction he had),
+he seized this crisis as the opportunity for ordering candles and a
+newspaper.
+
+He had been trying in vain, for half an hour, to read this newspaper,
+when the waiter appeared and said, at once mysteriously and
+apologetically:
+
+‘Beg your pardon, sir. You’re wanted, sir, if you please.’
+
+A general recollection that this was the kind of thing the Police said to
+the swell mob, caused Mr. Harthouse to ask the waiter in return, with
+bristling indignation, what the Devil he meant by ‘wanted’?
+
+‘Beg your pardon, sir. Young lady outside, sir, wishes to see you.’
+
+‘Outside? Where?’
+
+‘Outside this door, sir.’
+
+Giving the waiter to the personage before mentioned, as a block-head duly
+qualified for that consignment, Mr. Harthouse hurried into the gallery.
+A young woman whom he had never seen stood there. Plainly dressed, very
+quiet, very pretty. As he conducted her into the room and placed a chair
+for her, he observed, by the light of the candles, that she was even
+prettier than he had at first believed. Her face was innocent and
+youthful, and its expression remarkably pleasant. She was not afraid of
+him, or in any way disconcerted; she seemed to have her mind entirely
+preoccupied with the occasion of her visit, and to have substituted that
+consideration for herself.
+
+‘I speak to Mr. Harthouse?’ she said, when they were alone.
+
+‘To Mr. Harthouse.’ He added in his mind, ‘And you speak to him with the
+most confiding eyes I ever saw, and the most earnest voice (though so
+quiet) I ever heard.’
+
+‘If I do not understand—and I do not, sir’—said Sissy, ‘what your honour
+as a gentleman binds you to, in other matters:’ the blood really rose in
+his face as she began in these words: ‘I am sure I may rely upon it to
+keep my visit secret, and to keep secret what I am going to say. I will
+rely upon it, if you will tell me I may so far trust—’
+
+‘You may, I assure you.’
+
+‘I am young, as you see; I am alone, as you see. In coming to you, sir,
+I have no advice or encouragement beyond my own hope.’ He thought, ‘But
+that is very strong,’ as he followed the momentary upward glance of her
+eyes. He thought besides, ‘This is a very odd beginning. I don’t see
+where we are going.’
+
+‘I think,’ said Sissy, ‘you have already guessed whom I left just now!’
+
+‘I have been in the greatest concern and uneasiness during the last
+four-and-twenty hours (which have appeared as many years),’ he returned,
+‘on a lady’s account. The hopes I have been encouraged to form that you
+come from that lady, do not deceive me, I trust.’
+
+‘I left her within an hour.’
+
+‘At—!’
+
+‘At her father’s.’
+
+Mr. Harthouse’s face lengthened in spite of his coolness, and his
+perplexity increased. ‘Then I certainly,’ he thought, ‘do _not_ see
+where we are going.’
+
+‘She hurried there last night. She arrived there in great agitation, and
+was insensible all through the night. I live at her father’s, and was
+with her. You may be sure, sir, you will never see her again as long as
+you live.’
+
+Mr. Harthouse drew a long breath; and, if ever man found himself in the
+position of not knowing what to say, made the discovery beyond all
+question that he was so circumstanced. The child-like ingenuousness with
+which his visitor spoke, her modest fearlessness, her truthfulness which
+put all artifice aside, her entire forgetfulness of herself in her
+earnest quiet holding to the object with which she had come; all this,
+together with her reliance on his easily given promise—which in itself
+shamed him—presented something in which he was so inexperienced, and
+against which he knew any of his usual weapons would fall so powerless;
+that not a word could he rally to his relief.
+
+At last he said:
+
+‘So startling an announcement, so confidently made, and by such lips, is
+really disconcerting in the last degree. May I be permitted to inquire,
+if you are charged to convey that information to me in those hopeless
+words, by the lady of whom we speak?’
+
+‘I have no charge from her.’
+
+‘The drowning man catches at the straw. With no disrespect for your
+judgment, and with no doubt of your sincerity, excuse my saying that I
+cling to the belief that there is yet hope that I am not condemned to
+perpetual exile from that lady’s presence.’
+
+‘There is not the least hope. The first object of my coming here, sir,
+is to assure you that you must believe that there is no more hope of your
+ever speaking with her again, than there would be if she had died when
+she came home last night.’
+
+‘Must believe? But if I can’t—or if I should, by infirmity of nature, be
+obstinate—and won’t—’
+
+‘It is still true. There is no hope.’
+
+James Harthouse looked at her with an incredulous smile upon his lips;
+but her mind looked over and beyond him, and the smile was quite thrown
+away.
+
+He bit his lip, and took a little time for consideration.
+
+‘Well! If it should unhappily appear,’ he said, ‘after due pains and
+duty on my part, that I am brought to a position so desolate as this
+banishment, I shall not become the lady’s persecutor. But you said you
+had no commission from her?’
+
+‘I have only the commission of my love for her, and her love for me. I
+have no other trust, than that I have been with her since she came home,
+and that she has given me her confidence. I have no further trust, than
+that I know something of her character and her marriage. O Mr.
+Harthouse, I think you had that trust too!’
+
+He was touched in the cavity where his heart should have been—in that
+nest of addled eggs, where the birds of heaven would have lived if they
+had not been whistled away—by the fervour of this reproach.
+
+‘I am not a moral sort of fellow,’ he said, ‘and I never make any
+pretensions to the character of a moral sort of fellow. I am as immoral
+as need be. At the same time, in bringing any distress upon the lady who
+is the subject of the present conversation, or in unfortunately
+compromising her in any way, or in committing myself by any expression of
+sentiments towards her, not perfectly reconcilable with—in fact with—the
+domestic hearth; or in taking any advantage of her father’s being a
+machine, or of her brother’s being a whelp, or of her husband’s being a
+bear; I beg to be allowed to assure you that I have had no particularly
+evil intentions, but have glided on from one step to another with a
+smoothness so perfectly diabolical, that I had not the slightest idea the
+catalogue was half so long until I began to turn it over. Whereas I
+find,’ said Mr. James Harthouse, in conclusion, ‘that it is really in
+several volumes.’
+
+Though he said all this in his frivolous way, the way seemed, for that
+once, a conscious polishing of but an ugly surface. He was silent for a
+moment; and then proceeded with a more self-possessed air, though with
+traces of vexation and disappointment that would not be polished out.
+
+‘After what has been just now represented to me, in a manner I find it
+impossible to doubt—I know of hardly any other source from which I could
+have accepted it so readily—I feel bound to say to you, in whom the
+confidence you have mentioned has been reposed, that I cannot refuse to
+contemplate the possibility (however unexpected) of my seeing the lady no
+more. I am solely to blame for the thing having come to this—and—and, I
+cannot say,’ he added, rather hard up for a general peroration, ‘that I
+have any sanguine expectation of ever becoming a moral sort of fellow, or
+that I have any belief in any moral sort of fellow whatever.’
+
+Sissy’s face sufficiently showed that her appeal to him was not finished.
+
+‘You spoke,’ he resumed, as she raised her eyes to him again, ‘of your
+first object. I may assume that there is a second to be mentioned?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Will you oblige me by confiding it?’
+
+‘Mr. Harthouse,’ returned Sissy, with a blending of gentleness and
+steadiness that quite defeated him, and with a simple confidence in his
+being bound to do what she required, that held him at a singular
+disadvantage, ‘the only reparation that remains with you, is to leave
+here immediately and finally. I am quite sure that you can mitigate in
+no other way the wrong and harm you have done. I am quite sure that it
+is the only compensation you have left it in your power to make. I do
+not say that it is much, or that it is enough; but it is something, and
+it is necessary. Therefore, though without any other authority than I
+have given you, and even without the knowledge of any other person than
+yourself and myself, I ask you to depart from this place to-night, under
+an obligation never to return to it.’
+
+If she had asserted any influence over him beyond her plain faith in the
+truth and right of what she said; if she had concealed the least doubt or
+irresolution, or had harboured for the best purpose any reserve or
+pretence; if she had shown, or felt, the lightest trace of any
+sensitiveness to his ridicule or his astonishment, or any remonstrance he
+might offer; he would have carried it against her at this point. But he
+could as easily have changed a clear sky by looking at it in surprise, as
+affect her.
+
+‘But do you know,’ he asked, quite at a loss, ‘the extent of what you
+ask? You probably are not aware that I am here on a public kind of
+business, preposterous enough in itself, but which I have gone in for,
+and sworn by, and am supposed to be devoted to in quite a desperate
+manner? You probably are not aware of that, but I assure you it’s the
+fact.’
+
+It had no effect on Sissy, fact or no fact.
+
+‘Besides which,’ said Mr. Harthouse, taking a turn or two across the
+room, dubiously, ‘it’s so alarmingly absurd. It would make a man so
+ridiculous, after going in for these fellows, to back out in such an
+incomprehensible way.’
+
+‘I am quite sure,’ repeated Sissy, ‘that it is the only reparation in
+your power, sir. I am quite sure, or I would not have come here.’
+
+He glanced at her face, and walked about again. ‘Upon my soul, I don’t
+know what to say. So immensely absurd!’
+
+It fell to his lot, now, to stipulate for secrecy.
+
+‘If I were to do such a very ridiculous thing,’ he said, stopping again
+presently, and leaning against the chimney-piece, ‘it could only be in
+the most inviolable confidence.’
+
+‘I will trust to you, sir,’ returned Sissy, ‘and you will trust to me.’
+
+His leaning against the chimney-piece reminded him of the night with the
+whelp. It was the self-same chimney-piece, and somehow he felt as if
+_he_ were the whelp to-night. He could make no way at all.
+
+‘I suppose a man never was placed in a more ridiculous position,’ he
+said, after looking down, and looking up, and laughing, and frowning, and
+walking off, and walking back again. ‘But I see no way out of it. What
+will be, will be. _This_ will be, I suppose. I must take off myself, I
+imagine—in short, I engage to do it.’
+
+Sissy rose. She was not surprised by the result, but she was happy in
+it, and her face beamed brightly.
+
+‘You will permit me to say,’ continued Mr. James Harthouse, ‘that I doubt
+if any other ambassador, or ambassadress, could have addressed me with
+the same success. I must not only regard myself as being in a very
+ridiculous position, but as being vanquished at all points. Will you
+allow me the privilege of remembering my enemy’s name?’
+
+‘_My_ name?’ said the ambassadress.
+
+‘The only name I could possibly care to know, to-night.’
+
+‘Sissy Jupe.’
+
+‘Pardon my curiosity at parting. Related to the family?’
+
+‘I am only a poor girl,’ returned Sissy. ‘I was separated from my
+father—he was only a stroller—and taken pity on by Mr. Gradgrind. I have
+lived in the house ever since.’
+
+She was gone.
+
+‘It wanted this to complete the defeat,’ said Mr. James Harthouse,
+sinking, with a resigned air, on the sofa, after standing transfixed a
+little while. ‘The defeat may now be considered perfectly accomplished.
+Only a poor girl—only a stroller—only James Harthouse made nothing
+of—only James Harthouse a Great Pyramid of failure.’
+
+The Great Pyramid put it into his head to go up the Nile. He took a pen
+upon the instant, and wrote the following note (in appropriate
+hieroglyphics) to his brother:
+
+ Dear Jack,—All up at Coketown. Bored out of the place, and going in
+ for camels.
+
+ Affectionately,
+ JEM.
+
+He rang the bell.
+
+‘Send my fellow here.’
+
+‘Gone to bed, sir.’
+
+‘Tell him to get up, and pack up.’
+
+He wrote two more notes. One, to Mr. Bounderby, announcing his
+retirement from that part of the country, and showing where he would be
+found for the next fortnight. The other, similar in effect, to Mr.
+Gradgrind. Almost as soon as the ink was dry upon their superscriptions,
+he had left the tall chimneys of Coketown behind, and was in a railway
+carriage, tearing and glaring over the dark landscape.
+
+The moral sort of fellows might suppose that Mr. James Harthouse derived
+some comfortable reflections afterwards, from this prompt retreat, as one
+of his few actions that made any amends for anything, and as a token to
+himself that he had escaped the climax of a very bad business. But it
+was not so, at all. A secret sense of having failed and been
+ridiculous—a dread of what other fellows who went in for similar sorts of
+things, would say at his expense if they knew it—so oppressed him, that
+what was about the very best passage in his life was the one of all
+others he would not have owned to on any account, and the only one that
+made him ashamed of himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+VERY DECIDED
+
+
+THE indefatigable Mrs. Sparsit, with a violent cold upon her, her voice
+reduced to a whisper, and her stately frame so racked by continual
+sneezes that it seemed in danger of dismemberment, gave chase to her
+patron until she found him in the metropolis; and there, majestically
+sweeping in upon him at his hotel in St. James’s Street, exploded the
+combustibles with which she was charged, and blew up. Having executed
+her mission with infinite relish, this high-minded woman then fainted
+away on Mr. Bounderby’s coat-collar.
+
+Mr. Bounderby’s first procedure was to shake Mrs. Sparsit off, and leave
+her to progress as she might through various stages of suffering on the
+floor. He next had recourse to the administration of potent
+restoratives, such as screwing the patient’s thumbs, smiting her hands,
+abundantly watering her face, and inserting salt in her mouth. When
+these attentions had recovered her (which they speedily did), he hustled
+her into a fast train without offering any other refreshment, and carried
+her back to Coketown more dead than alive.
+
+Regarded as a classical ruin, Mrs. Sparsit was an interesting spectacle
+on her arrival at her journey’s end; but considered in any other light,
+the amount of damage she had by that time sustained was excessive, and
+impaired her claims to admiration. Utterly heedless of the wear and tear
+of her clothes and constitution, and adamant to her pathetic sneezes, Mr.
+Bounderby immediately crammed her into a coach, and bore her off to Stone
+Lodge.
+
+‘Now, Tom Gradgrind,’ said Bounderby, bursting into his father-in-law’s
+room late at night; ‘here’s a lady here—Mrs. Sparsit—you know Mrs.
+Sparsit—who has something to say to you that will strike you dumb.’
+
+‘You have missed my letter!’ exclaimed Mr. Gradgrind, surprised by the
+apparition.
+
+‘Missed your letter, sir!’ bawled Bounderby. ‘The present time is no
+time for letters. No man shall talk to Josiah Bounderby of Coketown
+about letters, with his mind in the state it’s in now.’
+
+‘Bounderby,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, in a tone of temperate remonstrance, ‘I
+speak of a very special letter I have written to you, in reference to
+Louisa.’
+
+‘Tom Gradgrind,’ replied Bounderby, knocking the flat of his hand several
+times with great vehemence on the table, ‘I speak of a very special
+messenger that has come to me, in reference to Louisa. Mrs. Sparsit,
+ma’am, stand forward!’
+
+That unfortunate lady hereupon essaying to offer testimony, without any
+voice and with painful gestures expressive of an inflamed throat, became
+so aggravating and underwent so many facial contortions, that Mr.
+Bounderby, unable to bear it, seized her by the arm and shook her.
+
+‘If you can’t get it out, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, ‘leave _me_ to get it
+out. This is not a time for a lady, however highly connected, to be
+totally inaudible, and seemingly swallowing marbles. Tom Gradgrind, Mrs.
+Sparsit latterly found herself, by accident, in a situation to overhear a
+conversation out of doors between your daughter and your precious
+gentleman-friend, Mr. James Harthouse.’
+
+‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Gradgrind.
+
+‘Ah! Indeed!’ cried Bounderby. ‘And in that conversation—’
+
+‘It is not necessary to repeat its tenor, Bounderby. I know what
+passed.’
+
+‘You do? Perhaps,’ said Bounderby, staring with all his might at his so
+quiet and assuasive father-in-law, ‘you know where your daughter is at
+the present time!’
+
+‘Undoubtedly. She is here.’
+
+‘Here?’
+
+‘My dear Bounderby, let me beg you to restrain these loud out-breaks, on
+all accounts. Louisa is here. The moment she could detach herself from
+that interview with the person of whom you speak, and whom I deeply
+regret to have been the means of introducing to you, Louisa hurried here,
+for protection. I myself had not been at home many hours, when I
+received her—here, in this room. She hurried by the train to town, she
+ran from town to this house, through a raging storm, and presented
+herself before me in a state of distraction. Of course, she has remained
+here ever since. Let me entreat you, for your own sake and for hers, to
+be more quiet.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby silently gazed about him for some moments, in every
+direction except Mrs. Sparsit’s direction; and then, abruptly turning
+upon the niece of Lady Scadgers, said to that wretched woman:
+
+‘Now, ma’am! We shall be happy to hear any little apology you may think
+proper to offer, for going about the country at express pace, with no
+other luggage than a Cock-and-a-Bull, ma’am!’
+
+‘Sir,’ whispered Mrs. Sparsit, ‘my nerves are at present too much shaken,
+and my health is at present too much impaired, in your service, to admit
+of my doing more than taking refuge in tears.’ (Which she did.)
+
+‘Well, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, ‘without making any observation to you
+that may not be made with propriety to a woman of good family, what I
+have got to add to that, is that there is something else in which it
+appears to me you may take refuge, namely, a coach. And the coach in
+which we came here being at the door, you’ll allow me to hand you down to
+it, and pack you home to the Bank: where the best course for you to
+pursue, will be to put your feet into the hottest water you can bear, and
+take a glass of scalding rum and butter after you get into bed.’ With
+these words, Mr. Bounderby extended his right hand to the weeping lady,
+and escorted her to the conveyance in question, shedding many plaintive
+sneezes by the way. He soon returned alone.
+
+‘Now, as you showed me in your face, Tom Gradgrind, that you wanted to
+speak to me,’ he resumed, ‘here I am. But, I am not in a very agreeable
+state, I tell you plainly: not relishing this business, even as it is,
+and not considering that I am at any time as dutifully and submissively
+treated by your daughter, as Josiah Bounderby of Coketown ought to be
+treated by his wife. You have your opinion, I dare say; and I have mine,
+I know. If you mean to say anything to me to-night, that goes against
+this candid remark, you had better let it alone.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, it will be observed, being much softened, Mr. Bounderby
+took particular pains to harden himself at all points. It was his
+amiable nature.
+
+‘My dear Bounderby,’ Mr. Gradgrind began in reply.
+
+‘Now, you’ll excuse me,’ said Bounderby, ‘but I don’t want to be too
+dear. That, to start with. When I begin to be dear to a man, I
+generally find that his intention is to come over me. I am not speaking
+to you politely; but, as you are aware, I am _not_ polite. If you like
+politeness, you know where to get it. You have your gentleman-friends,
+you know, and they’ll serve you with as much of the article as you want.
+I don’t keep it myself.’
+
+‘Bounderby,’ urged Mr. Gradgrind, ‘we are all liable to mistakes—’
+
+‘I thought you couldn’t make ’em,’ interrupted Bounderby.
+
+‘Perhaps I thought so. But, I say we are all liable to mistakes and I
+should feel sensible of your delicacy, and grateful for it, if you would
+spare me these references to Harthouse. I shall not associate him in our
+conversation with your intimacy and encouragement; pray do not persist in
+connecting him with mine.’
+
+‘I never mentioned his name!’ said Bounderby.
+
+‘Well, well!’ returned Mr. Gradgrind, with a patient, even a submissive,
+air. And he sat for a little while pondering. ‘Bounderby, I see reason
+to doubt whether we have ever quite understood Louisa.’
+
+‘Who do you mean by We?’
+
+‘Let me say I, then,’ he returned, in answer to the coarsely blurted
+question; ‘I doubt whether I have understood Louisa. I doubt whether I
+have been quite right in the manner of her education.’
+
+‘There you hit it,’ returned Bounderby. ‘There I agree with you. You
+have found it out at last, have you? Education! I’ll tell you what
+education is—To be tumbled out of doors, neck and crop, and put upon the
+shortest allowance of everything except blows. That’s what _I_ call
+education.’
+
+‘I think your good sense will perceive,’ Mr. Gradgrind remonstrated in
+all humility, ‘that whatever the merits of such a system may be, it would
+be difficult of general application to girls.’
+
+‘I don’t see it at all, sir,’ returned the obstinate Bounderby.
+
+‘Well,’ sighed Mr. Gradgrind, ‘we will not enter into the question. I
+assure you I have no desire to be controversial. I seek to repair what
+is amiss, if I possibly can; and I hope you will assist me in a good
+spirit, Bounderby, for I have been very much distressed.’
+
+‘I don’t understand you, yet,’ said Bounderby, with determined obstinacy,
+‘and therefore I won’t make any promises.’
+
+‘In the course of a few hours, my dear Bounderby,’ Mr. Gradgrind
+proceeded, in the same depressed and propitiatory manner, ‘I appear to
+myself to have become better informed as to Louisa’s character, than in
+previous years. The enlightenment has been painfully forced upon me, and
+the discovery is not mine. I think there are—Bounderby, you will be
+surprised to hear me say this—I think there are qualities in Louisa,
+which—which have been harshly neglected, and—and a little perverted.
+And—and I would suggest to you, that—that if you would kindly meet me in
+a timely endeavour to leave her to her better nature for a while—and to
+encourage it to develop itself by tenderness and consideration—it—it
+would be the better for the happiness of all of us. Louisa,’ said Mr.
+Gradgrind, shading his face with his hand, ‘has always been my favourite
+child.’
+
+The blustrous Bounderby crimsoned and swelled to such an extent on
+hearing these words, that he seemed to be, and probably was, on the brink
+of a fit. With his very ears a bright purple shot with crimson, he pent
+up his indignation, however, and said:
+
+‘You’d like to keep her here for a time?’
+
+‘I—I had intended to recommend, my dear Bounderby, that you should allow
+Louisa to remain here on a visit, and be attended by Sissy (I mean of
+course Cecilia Jupe), who understands her, and in whom she trusts.’
+
+‘I gather from all this, Tom Gradgrind,’ said Bounderby, standing up with
+his hands in his pockets, ‘that you are of opinion that there’s what
+people call some incompatibility between Loo Bounderby and myself.’
+
+‘I fear there is at present a general incompatibility between Louisa,
+and—and—and almost all the relations in which I have placed her,’ was her
+father’s sorrowful reply.
+
+‘Now, look you here, Tom Gradgrind,’ said Bounderby the flushed,
+confronting him with his legs wide apart, his hands deeper in his
+pockets, and his hair like a hayfield wherein his windy anger was
+boisterous. ‘You have said your say; I am going to say mine. I am a
+Coketown man. I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown. I know the bricks of
+this town, and I know the works of this town, and I know the chimneys of
+this town, and I know the smoke of this town, and I know the Hands of
+this town. I know ’em all pretty well. They’re real. When a man tells
+me anything about imaginative qualities, I always tell that man, whoever
+he is, that I know what he means. He means turtle soup and venison, with
+a gold spoon, and that he wants to be set up with a coach and six.
+That’s what your daughter wants. Since you are of opinion that she ought
+to have what she wants, I recommend you to provide it for her. Because,
+Tom Gradgrind, she will never have it from me.’
+
+‘Bounderby,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘I hoped, after my entreaty, you would
+have taken a different tone.’
+
+‘Just wait a bit,’ retorted Bounderby; ‘you have said your say, I
+believe. I heard you out; hear me out, if you please. Don’t make
+yourself a spectacle of unfairness as well as inconsistency, because,
+although I am sorry to see Tom Gradgrind reduced to his present position,
+I should be doubly sorry to see him brought so low as that. Now, there’s
+an incompatibility of some sort or another, I am given to understand by
+you, between your daughter and me. I’ll give _you_ to understand, in
+reply to that, that there unquestionably is an incompatibility of the
+first magnitude—to be summed up in this—that your daughter don’t properly
+know her husband’s merits, and is not impressed with such a sense as
+would become her, by George! of the honour of his alliance. That’s plain
+speaking, I hope.’
+
+‘Bounderby,’ urged Mr. Gradgrind, ‘this is unreasonable.’
+
+‘Is it?’ said Bounderby. ‘I am glad to hear you say so. Because when
+Tom Gradgrind, with his new lights, tells me that what I say is
+unreasonable, I am convinced at once it must be devilish sensible. With
+your permission I am going on. You know my origin; and you know that for
+a good many years of my life I didn’t want a shoeing-horn, in consequence
+of not having a shoe. Yet you may believe or not, as you think proper,
+that there are ladies—born ladies—belonging to families—Families!—who
+next to worship the ground I walk on.’
+
+He discharged this like a Rocket, at his father-in-law’s head.
+
+‘Whereas your daughter,’ proceeded Bounderby, ‘is far from being a born
+lady. That you know, yourself. Not that I care a pinch of candle-snuff
+about such things, for you are very well aware I don’t; but that such is
+the fact, and you, Tom Gradgrind, can’t change it. Why do I say this?’
+
+‘Not, I fear,’ observed Mr. Gradgrind, in a low voice, ‘to spare me.’
+
+‘Hear me out,’ said Bounderby, ‘and refrain from cutting in till your
+turn comes round. I say this, because highly connected females have been
+astonished to see the way in which your daughter has conducted herself,
+and to witness her insensibility. They have wondered how I have suffered
+it. And I wonder myself now, and I won’t suffer it.’
+
+‘Bounderby,’ returned Mr. Gradgrind, rising, ‘the less we say to-night
+the better, I think.’
+
+‘On the contrary, Tom Gradgrind, the more we say to-night, the better, I
+think. That is,’ the consideration checked him, ‘till I have said all I
+mean to say, and then I don’t care how soon we stop. I come to a
+question that may shorten the business. What do you mean by the proposal
+you made just now?’
+
+‘What do I mean, Bounderby?’
+
+‘By your visiting proposition,’ said Bounderby, with an inflexible jerk
+of the hayfield.
+
+‘I mean that I hope you may be induced to arrange in a friendly manner,
+for allowing Louisa a period of repose and reflection here, which may
+tend to a gradual alteration for the better in many respects.’
+
+‘To a softening down of your ideas of the incompatibility?’ said
+Bounderby.
+
+‘If you put it in those terms.’
+
+‘What made you think of this?’ said Bounderby.
+
+‘I have already said, I fear Louisa has not been understood. Is it
+asking too much, Bounderby, that you, so far her elder, should aid in
+trying to set her right? You have accepted a great charge of her; for
+better for worse, for—’
+
+Mr. Bounderby may have been annoyed by the repetition of his own words to
+Stephen Blackpool, but he cut the quotation short with an angry start.
+
+‘Come!’ said he, ‘I don’t want to be told about that. I know what I took
+her for, as well as you do. Never you mind what I took her for; that’s
+my look out.’
+
+‘I was merely going on to remark, Bounderby, that we may all be more or
+less in the wrong, not even excepting you; and that some yielding on your
+part, remembering the trust you have accepted, may not only be an act of
+true kindness, but perhaps a debt incurred towards Louisa.’
+
+‘I think differently,’ blustered Bounderby. ‘I am going to finish this
+business according to my own opinions. Now, I don’t want to make a
+quarrel of it with you, Tom Gradgrind. To tell you the truth, I don’t
+think it would be worthy of my reputation to quarrel on such a subject.
+As to your gentleman-friend, he may take himself off, wherever he likes
+best. If he falls in my way, I shall tell him my mind; if he don’t fall
+in my way, I shan’t, for it won’t be worth my while to do it. As to your
+daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby, and might have done better by
+leaving Loo Gradgrind, if she don’t come home to-morrow, by twelve
+o’clock at noon, I shall understand that she prefers to stay away, and I
+shall send her wearing apparel and so forth over here, and you’ll take
+charge of her for the future. What I shall say to people in general, of
+the incompatibility that led to my so laying down the law, will be this.
+I am Josiah Bounderby, and I had my bringing-up; she’s the daughter of
+Tom Gradgrind, and she had her bringing-up; and the two horses wouldn’t
+pull together. I am pretty well known to be rather an uncommon man, I
+believe; and most people will understand fast enough that it must be a
+woman rather out of the common, also, who, in the long run, would come up
+to my mark.’
+
+‘Let me seriously entreat you to reconsider this, Bounderby,’ urged Mr.
+Gradgrind, ‘before you commit yourself to such a decision.’
+
+‘I always come to a decision,’ said Bounderby, tossing his hat on: ‘and
+whatever I do, I do at once. I should be surprised at Tom Gradgrind’s
+addressing such a remark to Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, knowing what he
+knows of him, if I could be surprised by anything Tom Gradgrind did,
+after his making himself a party to sentimental humbug. I have given you
+my decision, and I have got no more to say. Good night!’
+
+So Mr. Bounderby went home to his town house to bed. At five minutes
+past twelve o’clock next day, he directed Mrs. Bounderby’s property to be
+carefully packed up and sent to Tom Gradgrind’s; advertised his country
+retreat for sale by private contract; and resumed a bachelor life.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+LOST
+
+
+THE robbery at the Bank had not languished before, and did not cease to
+occupy a front place in the attention of the principal of that
+establishment now. In boastful proof of his promptitude and activity, as
+a remarkable man, and a self-made man, and a commercial wonder more
+admirable than Venus, who had risen out of the mud instead of the sea, he
+liked to show how little his domestic affairs abated his business ardour.
+Consequently, in the first few weeks of his resumed bachelorhood, he even
+advanced upon his usual display of bustle, and every day made such a rout
+in renewing his investigations into the robbery, that the officers who
+had it in hand almost wished it had never been committed.
+
+They were at fault too, and off the scent. Although they had been so
+quiet since the first outbreak of the matter, that most people really did
+suppose it to have been abandoned as hopeless, nothing new occurred. No
+implicated man or woman took untimely courage, or made a self-betraying
+step. More remarkable yet, Stephen Blackpool could not be heard of, and
+the mysterious old woman remained a mystery.
+
+Things having come to this pass, and showing no latent signs of stirring
+beyond it, the upshot of Mr. Bounderby’s investigations was, that he
+resolved to hazard a bold burst. He drew up a placard, offering Twenty
+Pounds reward for the apprehension of Stephen Blackpool, suspected of
+complicity in the robbery of Coketown Bank on such a night; he described
+the said Stephen Blackpool by dress, complexion, estimated height, and
+manner, as minutely as he could; he recited how he had left the town, and
+in what direction he had been last seen going; he had the whole printed
+in great black letters on a staring broadsheet; and he caused the walls
+to be posted with it in the dead of night, so that it should strike upon
+the sight of the whole population at one blow.
+
+The factory-bells had need to ring their loudest that morning to disperse
+the groups of workers who stood in the tardy daybreak, collected round
+the placards, devouring them with eager eyes. Not the least eager of the
+eyes assembled, were the eyes of those who could not read. These people,
+as they listened to the friendly voice that read aloud—there was always
+some such ready to help them—stared at the characters which meant so much
+with a vague awe and respect that would have been half ludicrous, if any
+aspect of public ignorance could ever be otherwise than threatening and
+full of evil. Many ears and eyes were busy with a vision of the matter
+of these placards, among turning spindles, rattling looms, and whirling
+wheels, for hours afterwards; and when the Hands cleared out again into
+the streets, there were still as many readers as before.
+
+Slackbridge, the delegate, had to address his audience too that night;
+and Slackbridge had obtained a clean bill from the printer, and had
+brought it in his pocket. Oh, my friends and fellow-countrymen, the
+down-trodden operatives of Coketown, oh, my fellow-brothers and
+fellow-workmen and fellow-citizens and fellow-men, what a to-do was
+there, when Slackbridge unfolded what he called ‘that damning document,’
+and held it up to the gaze, and for the execration of the working-man
+community! ‘Oh, my fellow-men, behold of what a traitor in the camp of
+those great spirits who are enrolled upon the holy scroll of Justice and
+of Union, is appropriately capable! Oh, my prostrate friends, with the
+galling yoke of tyrants on your necks and the iron foot of despotism
+treading down your fallen forms into the dust of the earth, upon which
+right glad would your oppressors be to see you creeping on your bellies
+all the days of your lives, like the serpent in the garden—oh, my
+brothers, and shall I as a man not add, my sisters too, what do you say,
+_now_, of Stephen Blackpool, with a slight stoop in his shoulders and
+about five foot seven in height, as set forth in this degrading and
+disgusting document, this blighting bill, this pernicious placard, this
+abominable advertisement; and with what majesty of denouncement will you
+crush the viper, who would bring this stain and shame upon the God-like
+race that happily has cast him out for ever! Yes, my compatriots,
+happily cast him out and sent him forth! For you remember how he stood
+here before you on this platform; you remember how, face to face and foot
+to foot, I pursued him through all his intricate windings; you remember
+how he sneaked and slunk, and sidled, and splitted of straws, until, with
+not an inch of ground to which to cling, I hurled him out from amongst
+us: an object for the undying finger of scorn to point at, and for the
+avenging fire of every free and thinking mind to scorch and scar! And
+now, my friends—my labouring friends, for I rejoice and triumph in that
+stigma—my friends whose hard but honest beds are made in toil, and whose
+scanty but independent pots are boiled in hardship; and now, I say, my
+friends, what appellation has that dastard craven taken to himself, when,
+with the mask torn from his features, he stands before us in all his
+native deformity, a What? A thief! A plunderer! A proscribed fugitive,
+with a price upon his head; a fester and a wound upon the noble character
+of the Coketown operative! Therefore, my band of brothers in a sacred
+bond, to which your children and your children’s children yet unborn have
+set their infant hands and seals, I propose to you on the part of the
+United Aggregate Tribunal, ever watchful for your welfare, ever zealous
+for your benefit, that this meeting does Resolve: That Stephen Blackpool,
+weaver, referred to in this placard, having been already solemnly
+disowned by the community of Coketown Hands, the same are free from the
+shame of his misdeeds, and cannot as a class be reproached with his
+dishonest actions!’
+
+Thus Slackbridge; gnashing and perspiring after a prodigious sort. A few
+stern voices called out ‘No!’ and a score or two hailed, with assenting
+cries of ‘Hear, hear!’ the caution from one man, ‘Slackbridge, y’or over
+hetter in’t; y’or a goen too fast!’ But these were pigmies against an
+army; the general assemblage subscribed to the gospel according to
+Slackbridge, and gave three cheers for him, as he sat demonstratively
+panting at them.
+
+These men and women were yet in the streets, passing quietly to their
+homes, when Sissy, who had been called away from Louisa some minutes
+before, returned.
+
+‘Who is it?’ asked Louisa.
+
+‘It is Mr. Bounderby,’ said Sissy, timid of the name, ‘and your brother
+Mr. Tom, and a young woman who says her name is Rachael, and that you
+know her.’
+
+‘What do they want, Sissy dear?’
+
+‘They want to see you. Rachael has been crying, and seems angry.’
+
+‘Father,’ said Louisa, for he was present, ‘I cannot refuse to see them,
+for a reason that will explain itself. Shall they come in here?’
+
+As he answered in the affirmative, Sissy went away to bring them. She
+reappeared with them directly. Tom was last; and remained standing in
+the obscurest part of the room, near the door.
+
+‘Mrs. Bounderby,’ said her husband, entering with a cool nod, ‘I don’t
+disturb you, I hope. This is an unseasonable hour, but here is a young
+woman who has been making statements which render my visit necessary.
+Tom Gradgrind, as your son, young Tom, refuses for some obstinate reason
+or other to say anything at all about those statements, good or bad, I am
+obliged to confront her with your daughter.’
+
+‘You have seen me once before, young lady,’ said Rachael, standing in
+front of Louisa.
+
+Tom coughed.
+
+‘You have seen me, young lady,’ repeated Rachael, as she did not answer,
+‘once before.’
+
+Tom coughed again.
+
+‘I have.’
+
+Rachael cast her eyes proudly towards Mr. Bounderby, and said, ‘Will you
+make it known, young lady, where, and who was there?’
+
+‘I went to the house where Stephen Blackpool lodged, on the night of his
+discharge from his work, and I saw you there. He was there too; and an
+old woman who did not speak, and whom I could scarcely see, stood in a
+dark corner. My brother was with me.’
+
+‘Why couldn’t you say so, young Tom?’ demanded Bounderby.
+
+‘I promised my sister I wouldn’t.’ Which Louisa hastily confirmed. ‘And
+besides,’ said the whelp bitterly, ‘she tells her own story so precious
+well—and so full—that what business had I to take it out of her mouth!’
+
+‘Say, young lady, if you please,’ pursued Rachael, ‘why, in an evil hour,
+you ever came to Stephen’s that night.’
+
+‘I felt compassion for him,’ said Louisa, her colour deepening, ‘and I
+wished to know what he was going to do, and wished to offer him
+assistance.’
+
+‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Bounderby. ‘Much flattered and obliged.’
+
+‘Did you offer him,’ asked Rachael, ‘a bank-note?’
+
+‘Yes; but he refused it, and would only take two pounds in gold.’
+
+Rachael cast her eyes towards Mr. Bounderby again.
+
+‘Oh, certainly!’ said Bounderby. ‘If you put the question whether your
+ridiculous and improbable account was true or not, I am bound to say it’s
+confirmed.’
+
+‘Young lady,’ said Rachael, ‘Stephen Blackpool is now named as a thief in
+public print all over this town, and where else! There have been a
+meeting to-night where he have been spoken of in the same shameful way.
+Stephen! The honestest lad, the truest lad, the best!’ Her indignation
+failed her, and she broke off sobbing.
+
+‘I am very, very sorry,’ said Louisa.
+
+‘Oh, young lady, young lady,’ returned Rachael, ‘I hope you may be, but I
+don’t know! I can’t say what you may ha’ done! The like of you don’t
+know us, don’t care for us, don’t belong to us. I am not sure why you
+may ha’ come that night. I can’t tell but what you may ha’ come wi’ some
+aim of your own, not mindin to what trouble you brought such as the poor
+lad. I said then, Bless you for coming; and I said it of my heart, you
+seemed to take so pitifully to him; but I don’t know now, I don’t know!’
+
+Louisa could not reproach her for her unjust suspicions; she was so
+faithful to her idea of the man, and so afflicted.
+
+‘And when I think,’ said Rachael through her sobs, ‘that the poor lad was
+so grateful, thinkin you so good to him—when I mind that he put his hand
+over his hard-worken face to hide the tears that you brought up there—Oh,
+I hope you may be sorry, and ha’ no bad cause to be it; but I don’t know,
+I don’t know!’
+
+‘You’re a pretty article,’ growled the whelp, moving uneasily in his dark
+corner, ‘to come here with these precious imputations! You ought to be
+bundled out for not knowing how to behave yourself, and you would be by
+rights.’
+
+She said nothing in reply; and her low weeping was the only sound that
+was heard, until Mr. Bounderby spoke.
+
+‘Come!’ said he, ‘you know what you have engaged to do. You had better
+give your mind to that; not this.’
+
+‘’Deed, I am loath,’ returned Rachael, drying her eyes, ‘that any here
+should see me like this; but I won’t be seen so again. Young lady, when
+I had read what’s put in print of Stephen—and what has just as much truth
+in it as if it had been put in print of you—I went straight to the Bank
+to say I knew where Stephen was, and to give a sure and certain promise
+that he should be here in two days. I couldn’t meet wi’ Mr. Bounderby
+then, and your brother sent me away, and I tried to find you, but you was
+not to be found, and I went back to work. Soon as I come out of the Mill
+to-night, I hastened to hear what was said of Stephen—for I know wi’
+pride he will come back to shame it!—and then I went again to seek Mr.
+Bounderby, and I found him, and I told him every word I knew; and he
+believed no word I said, and brought me here.’
+
+‘So far, that’s true enough,’ assented Mr. Bounderby, with his hands in
+his pockets and his hat on. ‘But I have known you people before to-day,
+you’ll observe, and I know you never die for want of talking. Now, I
+recommend you not so much to mind talking just now, as doing. You have
+undertaken to do something; all I remark upon that at present is, do it!’
+
+‘I have written to Stephen by the post that went out this afternoon, as I
+have written to him once before sin’ he went away,’ said Rachael; ‘and he
+will be here, at furthest, in two days.’
+
+‘Then, I’ll tell you something. You are not aware perhaps,’ retorted Mr.
+Bounderby, ‘that you yourself have been looked after now and then, not
+being considered quite free from suspicion in this business, on account
+of most people being judged according to the company they keep. The
+post-office hasn’t been forgotten either. What I’ll tell you is, that no
+letter to Stephen Blackpool has ever got into it. Therefore, what has
+become of yours, I leave you to guess. Perhaps you’re mistaken, and
+never wrote any.’
+
+‘He hadn’t been gone from here, young lady,’ said Rachael, turning
+appealingly to Louisa, ‘as much as a week, when he sent me the only
+letter I have had from him, saying that he was forced to seek work in
+another name.’
+
+‘Oh, by George!’ cried Bounderby, shaking his head, with a whistle, ‘he
+changes his name, does he! That’s rather unlucky, too, for such an
+immaculate chap. It’s considered a little suspicious in Courts of
+Justice, I believe, when an Innocent happens to have many names.’
+
+‘What,’ said Rachael, with the tears in her eyes again, ‘what, young
+lady, in the name of Mercy, was left the poor lad to do! The masters
+against him on one hand, the men against him on the other, he only wantin
+to work hard in peace, and do what he felt right. Can a man have no soul
+of his own, no mind of his own? Must he go wrong all through wi’ this
+side, or must he go wrong all through wi’ that, or else be hunted like a
+hare?’
+
+‘Indeed, indeed, I pity him from my heart,’ returned Louisa; ‘and I hope
+that he will clear himself.’
+
+‘You need have no fear of that, young lady. He is sure!’
+
+‘All the surer, I suppose,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘for your refusing to
+tell where he is? Eh?’
+
+‘He shall not, through any act of mine, come back wi’ the unmerited
+reproach of being brought back. He shall come back of his own accord to
+clear himself, and put all those that have injured his good character,
+and he not here for its defence, to shame. I have told him what has been
+done against him,’ said Rachael, throwing off all distrust as a rock
+throws of the sea, ‘and he will be here, at furthest, in two days.’
+
+‘Notwithstanding which,’ added Mr. Bounderby, ‘if he can be laid hold of
+any sooner, he shall have an earlier opportunity of clearing himself. As
+to you, I have nothing against you; what you came and told me turns out
+to be true, and I have given you the means of proving it to be true, and
+there’s an end of it. I wish you good night all! I must be off to look
+a little further into this.’
+
+Tom came out of his corner when Mr. Bounderby moved, moved with him, kept
+close to him, and went away with him. The only parting salutation of
+which he delivered himself was a sulky ‘Good night, father!’ With a
+brief speech, and a scowl at his sister, he left the house.
+
+Since his sheet-anchor had come home, Mr. Gradgrind had been sparing of
+speech. He still sat silent, when Louisa mildly said:
+
+‘Rachael, you will not distrust me one day, when you know me better.’
+
+‘It goes against me,’ Rachael answered, in a gentler manner, ‘to mistrust
+any one; but when I am so mistrusted—when we all are—I cannot keep such
+things quite out of my mind. I ask your pardon for having done you an
+injury. I don’t think what I said now. Yet I might come to think it
+again, wi’ the poor lad so wronged.’
+
+‘Did you tell him in your letter,’ inquired Sissy, ‘that suspicion seemed
+to have fallen upon him, because he had been seen about the Bank at
+night? He would then know what he would have to explain on coming back,
+and would be ready.’
+
+‘Yes, dear,’ she returned; ‘but I can’t guess what can have ever taken
+him there. He never used to go there. It was never in his way. His way
+was the same as mine, and not near it.’
+
+Sissy had already been at her side asking her where she lived, and
+whether she might come to-morrow night, to inquire if there were news of
+him.
+
+‘I doubt,’ said Rachael, ‘if he can be here till next day.’
+
+‘Then I will come next night too,’ said Sissy.
+
+When Rachael, assenting to this, was gone, Mr. Gradgrind lifted up his
+head, and said to his daughter:
+
+‘Louisa, my dear, I have never, that I know of, seen this man. Do you
+believe him to be implicated?’
+
+‘I think I have believed it, father, though with great difficulty. I do
+not believe it now.’
+
+‘That is to say, you once persuaded yourself to believe it, from knowing
+him to be suspected. His appearance and manner; are they so honest?’
+
+‘Very honest.’
+
+‘And her confidence not to be shaken! I ask myself,’ said Mr. Gradgrind,
+musing, ‘does the real culprit know of these accusations? Where is he?
+Who is he?’
+
+His hair had latterly began to change its colour. As he leaned upon his
+hand again, looking gray and old, Louisa, with a face of fear and pity,
+hurriedly went over to him, and sat close at his side. Her eyes by
+accident met Sissy’s at the moment. Sissy flushed and started, and
+Louisa put her finger on her lip.
+
+Next night, when Sissy returned home and told Louisa that Stephen was not
+come, she told it in a whisper. Next night again, when she came home
+with the same account, and added that he had not been heard of, she spoke
+in the same low frightened tone. From the moment of that interchange of
+looks, they never uttered his name, or any reference to him, aloud; nor
+ever pursued the subject of the robbery, when Mr. Gradgrind spoke of it.
+
+The two appointed days ran out, three days and nights ran out, and
+Stephen Blackpool was not come, and remained unheard of. On the fourth
+day, Rachael, with unabated confidence, but considering her despatch to
+have miscarried, went up to the Bank, and showed her letter from him with
+his address, at a working colony, one of many, not upon the main road,
+sixty miles away. Messengers were sent to that place, and the whole town
+looked for Stephen to be brought in next day.
+
+During this whole time the whelp moved about with Mr. Bounderby like his
+shadow, assisting in all the proceedings. He was greatly excited,
+horribly fevered, bit his nails down to the quick, spoke in a hard
+rattling voice, and with lips that were black and burnt up. At the hour
+when the suspected man was looked for, the whelp was at the station;
+offering to wager that he had made off before the arrival of those who
+were sent in quest of him, and that he would not appear.
+
+The whelp was right. The messengers returned alone. Rachael’s letter
+had gone, Rachael’s letter had been delivered. Stephen Blackpool had
+decamped in that same hour; and no soul knew more of him. The only doubt
+in Coketown was, whether Rachael had written in good faith, believing
+that he really would come back, or warning him to fly. On this point
+opinion was divided.
+
+Six days, seven days, far on into another week. The wretched whelp
+plucked up a ghastly courage, and began to grow defiant. ‘_Was_ the
+suspected fellow the thief? A pretty question! If not, where was the
+man, and why did he not come back?’
+
+Where was the man, and why did he not come back? In the dead of night
+the echoes of his own words, which had rolled Heaven knows how far away
+in the daytime, came back instead, and abided by him until morning.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+FOUND
+
+
+DAY and night again, day and night again. No Stephen Blackpool. Where
+was the man, and why did he not come back?
+
+Every night, Sissy went to Rachael’s lodging, and sat with her in her
+small neat room. All day, Rachael toiled as such people must toil,
+whatever their anxieties. The smoke-serpents were indifferent who was
+lost or found, who turned out bad or good; the melancholy mad elephants,
+like the Hard Fact men, abated nothing of their set routine, whatever
+happened. Day and night again, day and night again. The monotony was
+unbroken. Even Stephen Blackpool’s disappearance was falling into the
+general way, and becoming as monotonous a wonder as any piece of
+machinery in Coketown.
+
+‘I misdoubt,’ said Rachael, ‘if there is as many as twenty left in all
+this place, who have any trust in the poor dear lad now.’
+
+She said it to Sissy, as they sat in her lodging, lighted only by the
+lamp at the street corner. Sissy had come there when it was already
+dark, to await her return from work; and they had since sat at the window
+where Rachael had found her, wanting no brighter light to shine on their
+sorrowful talk.
+
+‘If it hadn’t been mercifully brought about, that I was to have you to
+speak to,’ pursued Rachael, ‘times are, when I think my mind would not
+have kept right. But I get hope and strength through you; and you
+believe that though appearances may rise against him, he will be proved
+clear?’
+
+‘I do believe so,’ returned Sissy, ‘with my whole heart. I feel so
+certain, Rachael, that the confidence you hold in yours against all
+discouragement, is not like to be wrong, that I have no more doubt of him
+than if I had known him through as many years of trial as you have.’
+
+‘And I, my dear,’ said Rachel, with a tremble in her voice, ‘have known
+him through them all, to be, according to his quiet ways, so faithful to
+everything honest and good, that if he was never to be heard of more, and
+I was to live to be a hundred years old, I could say with my last breath,
+God knows my heart. I have never once left trusting Stephen Blackpool!’
+
+‘We all believe, up at the Lodge, Rachael, that he will be freed from
+suspicion, sooner or later.’
+
+‘The better I know it to be so believed there, my dear,’ said Rachael,
+‘and the kinder I feel it that you come away from there, purposely to
+comfort me, and keep me company, and be seen wi’ me when I am not yet
+free from all suspicion myself, the more grieved I am that I should ever
+have spoken those mistrusting words to the young lady. And yet I—’
+
+‘You don’t mistrust her now, Rachael?’
+
+‘Now that you have brought us more together, no. But I can’t at all
+times keep out of my mind—’
+
+Her voice so sunk into a low and slow communing with herself, that Sissy,
+sitting by her side, was obliged to listen with attention.
+
+‘I can’t at all times keep out of my mind, mistrustings of some one. I
+can’t think who ’tis, I can’t think how or why it may be done, but I
+mistrust that some one has put Stephen out of the way. I mistrust that
+by his coming back of his own accord, and showing himself innocent before
+them all, some one would be confounded, who—to prevent that—has stopped
+him, and put him out of the way.’
+
+‘That is a dreadful thought,’ said Sissy, turning pale.
+
+‘It _is_ a dreadful thought to think he may be murdered.’
+
+Sissy shuddered, and turned paler yet.
+
+‘When it makes its way into my mind, dear,’ said Rachael, ‘and it will
+come sometimes, though I do all I can to keep it out, wi’ counting on to
+high numbers as I work, and saying over and over again pieces that I knew
+when I were a child—I fall into such a wild, hot hurry, that, however
+tired I am, I want to walk fast, miles and miles. I must get the better
+of this before bed-time. I’ll walk home wi’ you.’
+
+‘He might fall ill upon the journey back,’ said Sissy, faintly offering a
+worn-out scrap of hope; ‘and in such a case, there are many places on the
+road where he might stop.’
+
+‘But he is in none of them. He has been sought for in all, and he’s not
+there.’
+
+‘True,’ was Sissy’s reluctant admission.
+
+‘He’d walk the journey in two days. If he was footsore and couldn’t
+walk, I sent him, in the letter he got, the money to ride, lest he should
+have none of his own to spare.’
+
+‘Let us hope that to-morrow will bring something better, Rachael. Come
+into the air!’
+
+Her gentle hand adjusted Rachael’s shawl upon her shining black hair in
+the usual manner of her wearing it, and they went out. The night being
+fine, little knots of Hands were here and there lingering at street
+corners; but it was supper-time with the greater part of them, and there
+were but few people in the streets.
+
+‘You’re not so hurried now, Rachael, and your hand is cooler.’
+
+‘I get better, dear, if I can only walk, and breathe a little fresh.
+‘Times when I can’t, I turn weak and confused.’
+
+‘But you must not begin to fail, Rachael, for you may be wanted at any
+time to stand by Stephen. To-morrow is Saturday. If no news comes
+to-morrow, let us walk in the country on Sunday morning, and strengthen
+you for another week. Will you go?’
+
+‘Yes, dear.’
+
+They were by this time in the street where Mr. Bounderby’s house stood.
+The way to Sissy’s destination led them past the door, and they were
+going straight towards it. Some train had newly arrived in Coketown,
+which had put a number of vehicles in motion, and scattered a
+considerable bustle about the town. Several coaches were rattling before
+them and behind them as they approached Mr. Bounderby’s, and one of the
+latter drew up with such briskness as they were in the act of passing the
+house, that they looked round involuntarily. The bright gaslight over
+Mr. Bounderby’s steps showed them Mrs. Sparsit in the coach, in an
+ecstasy of excitement, struggling to open the door; Mrs. Sparsit seeing
+them at the same moment, called to them to stop.
+
+‘It’s a coincidence,’ exclaimed Mrs. Sparsit, as she was released by the
+coachman. ‘It’s a Providence! Come out, ma’am!’ then said Mrs. Sparsit,
+to some one inside, ‘come out, or we’ll have you dragged out!’
+
+Hereupon, no other than the mysterious old woman descended. Whom Mrs.
+Sparsit incontinently collared.
+
+‘Leave her alone, everybody!’ cried Mrs. Sparsit, with great energy.
+‘Let nobody touch her. She belongs to me. Come in, ma’am!’ then said
+Mrs. Sparsit, reversing her former word of command. ‘Come in, ma’am, or
+we’ll have you dragged in!’
+
+The spectacle of a matron of classical deportment, seizing an ancient
+woman by the throat, and hauling her into a dwelling-house, would have
+been under any circumstances, sufficient temptation to all true English
+stragglers so blest as to witness it, to force a way into that
+dwelling-house and see the matter out. But when the phenomenon was
+enhanced by the notoriety and mystery by this time associated all over
+the town with the Bank robbery, it would have lured the stragglers in,
+with an irresistible attraction, though the roof had been expected to
+fall upon their heads. Accordingly, the chance witnesses on the ground,
+consisting of the busiest of the neighbours to the number of some
+five-and-twenty, closed in after Sissy and Rachael, as they closed in
+after Mrs. Sparsit and her prize; and the whole body made a disorderly
+irruption into Mr. Bounderby’s dining-room, where the people behind lost
+not a moment’s time in mounting on the chairs, to get the better of the
+people in front.
+
+‘Fetch Mr. Bounderby down!’ cried Mrs. Sparsit. ‘Rachael, young woman;
+you know who this is?’
+
+‘It’s Mrs. Pegler,’ said Rachael.
+
+‘I should think it is!’ cried Mrs. Sparsit, exulting. ‘Fetch Mr.
+Bounderby. Stand away, everybody!’ Here old Mrs. Pegler, muffling
+herself up, and shrinking from observation, whispered a word of entreaty.
+‘Don’t tell me,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, aloud. ‘I have told you twenty
+times, coming along, that I will _not_ leave you till I have handed you
+over to him myself.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby now appeared, accompanied by Mr. Gradgrind and the whelp,
+with whom he had been holding conference up-stairs. Mr. Bounderby looked
+more astonished than hospitable, at sight of this uninvited party in his
+dining-room.
+
+‘Why, what’s the matter now!’ said he. ‘Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am?’
+
+‘Sir,’ explained that worthy woman, ‘I trust it is my good fortune to
+produce a person you have much desired to find. Stimulated by my wish to
+relieve your mind, sir, and connecting together such imperfect clues to
+the part of the country in which that person might be supposed to reside,
+as have been afforded by the young woman, Rachael, fortunately now
+present to identify, I have had the happiness to succeed, and to bring
+that person with me—I need not say most unwillingly on her part. It has
+not been, sir, without some trouble that I have effected this; but
+trouble in your service is to me a pleasure, and hunger, thirst, and cold
+a real gratification.’
+
+Here Mrs. Sparsit ceased; for Mr. Bounderby’s visage exhibited an
+extraordinary combination of all possible colours and expressions of
+discomfiture, as old Mrs. Pegler was disclosed to his view.
+
+‘Why, what do you mean by this?’ was his highly unexpected demand, in
+great warmth. ‘I ask you, what do you mean by this, Mrs. Sparsit,
+ma’am?’
+
+‘Sir!’ exclaimed Mrs. Sparsit, faintly.
+
+‘Why don’t you mind your own business, ma’am?’ roared Bounderby. ‘How
+dare you go and poke your officious nose into my family affairs?’
+
+This allusion to her favourite feature overpowered Mrs. Sparsit. She sat
+down stiffly in a chair, as if she were frozen; and with a fixed stare at
+Mr. Bounderby, slowly grated her mittens against one another, as if they
+were frozen too.
+
+‘My dear Josiah!’ cried Mrs. Pegler, trembling. ‘My darling boy! I am
+not to blame. It’s not my fault, Josiah. I told this lady over and over
+again, that I knew she was doing what would not be agreeable to you, but
+she would do it.’
+
+‘What did you let her bring you for? Couldn’t you knock her cap off, or
+her tooth out, or scratch her, or do something or other to her?’ asked
+Bounderby.
+
+‘My own boy! She threatened me that if I resisted her, I should be
+brought by constables, and it was better to come quietly than make that
+stir in such a’—Mrs. Pegler glanced timidly but proudly round the
+walls—‘such a fine house as this. Indeed, indeed, it is not my fault!
+My dear, noble, stately boy! I have always lived quiet, and secret,
+Josiah, my dear. I have never broken the condition once. I have never
+said I was your mother. I have admired you at a distance; and if I have
+come to town sometimes, with long times between, to take a proud peep at
+you, I have done it unbeknown, my love, and gone away again.’
+
+Mr. Bounderby, with his hands in his pockets, walked in impatient
+mortification up and down at the side of the long dining-table, while the
+spectators greedily took in every syllable of Mrs. Pegler’s appeal, and
+at each succeeding syllable became more and more round-eyed. Mr.
+Bounderby still walking up and down when Mrs. Pegler had done, Mr.
+Gradgrind addressed that maligned old lady:
+
+‘I am surprised, madam,’ he observed with severity, ‘that in your old age
+you have the face to claim Mr. Bounderby for your son, after your
+unnatural and inhuman treatment of him.’
+
+‘_Me_ unnatural!’ cried poor old Mrs. Pegler. ‘_Me_ inhuman! To my dear
+boy?’
+
+‘Dear!’ repeated Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Yes; dear in his self-made prosperity,
+madam, I dare say. Not very dear, however, when you deserted him in his
+infancy, and left him to the brutality of a drunken grandmother.’
+
+‘_I_ deserted my Josiah!’ cried Mrs. Pegler, clasping her hands. ‘Now,
+Lord forgive you, sir, for your wicked imaginations, and for your scandal
+against the memory of my poor mother, who died in my arms before Josiah
+was born. May you repent of it, sir, and live to know better!’
+
+She was so very earnest and injured, that Mr. Gradgrind, shocked by the
+possibility which dawned upon him, said in a gentler tone:
+
+‘Do you deny, then, madam, that you left your son to—to be brought up in
+the gutter?’
+
+‘Josiah in the gutter!’ exclaimed Mrs. Pegler. ‘No such a thing, sir.
+Never! For shame on you! My dear boy knows, and will give _you_ to
+know, that though he come of humble parents, he come of parents that
+loved him as dear as the best could, and never thought it hardship on
+themselves to pinch a bit that he might write and cipher beautiful, and
+I’ve his books at home to show it! Aye, have I!’ said Mrs. Pegler, with
+indignant pride. ‘And my dear boy knows, and will give _you_ to know,
+sir, that after his beloved father died, when he was eight years old, his
+mother, too, could pinch a bit, as it was her duty and her pleasure and
+her pride to do it, to help him out in life, and put him ’prentice. And
+a steady lad he was, and a kind master he had to lend him a hand, and
+well he worked his own way forward to be rich and thriving. And _I_’ll
+give you to know, sir—for this my dear boy won’t—that though his mother
+kept but a little village shop, he never forgot her, but pensioned me on
+thirty pound a year—more than I want, for I put by out of it—only making
+the condition that I was to keep down in my own part, and make no boasts
+about him, and not trouble him. And I never have, except with looking at
+him once a year, when he has never knowed it. And it’s right,’ said poor
+old Mrs. Pegler, in affectionate championship, ‘that I _should_ keep down
+in my own part, and I have no doubts that if I was here I should do a
+many unbefitting things, and I am well contented, and I can keep my pride
+in my Josiah to myself, and I can love for love’s own sake! And I am
+ashamed of you, sir,’ said Mrs. Pegler, lastly, ‘for your slanders and
+suspicions. And I never stood here before, nor never wanted to stand
+here when my dear son said no. And I shouldn’t be here now, if it hadn’t
+been for being brought here. And for shame upon you, Oh, for shame, to
+accuse me of being a bad mother to my son, with my son standing here to
+tell you so different!’
+
+The bystanders, on and off the dining-room chairs, raised a murmur of
+sympathy with Mrs. Pegler, and Mr. Gradgrind felt himself innocently
+placed in a very distressing predicament, when Mr. Bounderby, who had
+never ceased walking up and down, and had every moment swelled larger and
+larger, and grown redder and redder, stopped short.
+
+‘I don’t exactly know,’ said Mr. Bounderby, ‘how I come to be favoured
+with the attendance of the present company, but I don’t inquire. When
+they’re quite satisfied, perhaps they’ll be so good as to disperse;
+whether they’re satisfied or not, perhaps they’ll be so good as to
+disperse. I’m not bound to deliver a lecture on my family affairs, I
+have not undertaken to do it, and I’m not a going to do it. Therefore
+those who expect any explanation whatever upon that branch of the
+subject, will be disappointed—particularly Tom Gradgrind, and he can’t
+know it too soon. In reference to the Bank robbery, there has been a
+mistake made, concerning my mother. If there hadn’t been
+over-officiousness it wouldn’t have been made, and I hate
+over-officiousness at all times, whether or no. Good evening!’
+
+Although Mr. Bounderby carried it off in these terms, holding the door
+open for the company to depart, there was a blustering sheepishness upon
+him, at once extremely crestfallen and superlatively absurd. Detected as
+the Bully of humility, who had built his windy reputation upon lies, and
+in his boastfulness had put the honest truth as far away from him as if
+he had advanced the mean claim (there is no meaner) to tack himself on to
+a pedigree, he cut a most ridiculous figure. With the people filing off
+at the door he held, who he knew would carry what had passed to the whole
+town, to be given to the four winds, he could not have looked a Bully
+more shorn and forlorn, if he had had his ears cropped. Even that
+unlucky female, Mrs. Sparsit, fallen from her pinnacle of exultation into
+the Slough of Despond, was not in so bad a plight as that remarkable man
+and self-made Humbug, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown.
+
+Rachael and Sissy, leaving Mrs. Pegler to occupy a bed at her son’s for
+that night, walked together to the gate of Stone Lodge and there parted.
+Mr. Gradgrind joined them before they had gone very far, and spoke with
+much interest of Stephen Blackpool; for whom he thought this signal
+failure of the suspicions against Mrs. Pegler was likely to work well.
+
+As to the whelp; throughout this scene as on all other late occasions, he
+had stuck close to Bounderby. He seemed to feel that as long as
+Bounderby could make no discovery without his knowledge, he was so far
+safe. He never visited his sister, and had only seen her once since she
+went home: that is to say on the night when he still stuck close to
+Bounderby, as already related.
+
+There was one dim unformed fear lingering about his sister’s mind, to
+which she never gave utterance, which surrounded the graceless and
+ungrateful boy with a dreadful mystery. The same dark possibility had
+presented itself in the same shapeless guise, this very day, to Sissy,
+when Rachael spoke of some one who would be confounded by Stephen’s
+return, having put him out of the way. Louisa had never spoken of
+harbouring any suspicion of her brother in connexion with the robbery,
+she and Sissy had held no confidence on the subject, save in that one
+interchange of looks when the unconscious father rested his gray head on
+his hand; but it was understood between them, and they both knew it.
+This other fear was so awful, that it hovered about each of them like a
+ghostly shadow; neither daring to think of its being near herself, far
+less of its being near the other.
+
+And still the forced spirit which the whelp had plucked up, throve with
+him. If Stephen Blackpool was not the thief, let him show himself. Why
+didn’t he?
+
+Another night. Another day and night. No Stephen Blackpool. Where was
+the man, and why did he not come back?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+THE STARLIGHT
+
+
+THE Sunday was a bright Sunday in autumn, clear and cool, when early in
+the morning Sissy and Rachael met, to walk in the country.
+
+As Coketown cast ashes not only on its own head but on the
+neighbourhood’s too—after the manner of those pious persons who do
+penance for their own sins by putting other people into sackcloth—it was
+customary for those who now and then thirsted for a draught of pure air,
+which is not absolutely the most wicked among the vanities of life, to
+get a few miles away by the railroad, and then begin their walk, or their
+lounge in the fields. Sissy and Rachael helped themselves out of the
+smoke by the usual means, and were put down at a station about midway
+between the town and Mr. Bounderby’s retreat.
+
+Though the green landscape was blotted here and there with heaps of coal,
+it was green elsewhere, and there were trees to see, and there were larks
+singing (though it was Sunday), and there were pleasant scents in the
+air, and all was over-arched by a bright blue sky. In the distance one
+way, Coketown showed as a black mist; in another distance hills began to
+rise; in a third, there was a faint change in the light of the horizon
+where it shone upon the far-off sea. Under their feet, the grass was
+fresh; beautiful shadows of branches flickered upon it, and speckled it;
+hedgerows were luxuriant; everything was at peace. Engines at pits’
+mouths, and lean old horses that had worn the circle of their daily
+labour into the ground, were alike quiet; wheels had ceased for a short
+space to turn; and the great wheel of earth seemed to revolve without the
+shocks and noises of another time.
+
+They walked on across the fields and down the shady lanes, sometimes
+getting over a fragment of a fence so rotten that it dropped at a touch
+of the foot, sometimes passing near a wreck of bricks and beams overgrown
+with grass, marking the site of deserted works. They followed paths and
+tracks, however slight. Mounds where the grass was rank and high, and
+where brambles, dock-weed, and such-like vegetation, were confusedly
+heaped together, they always avoided; for dismal stories were told in
+that country of the old pits hidden beneath such indications.
+
+The sun was high when they sat down to rest. They had seen no one, near
+or distant, for a long time; and the solitude remained unbroken. ‘It is
+so still here, Rachael, and the way is so untrodden, that I think we must
+be the first who have been here all the summer.’
+
+As Sissy said it, her eyes were attracted by another of those rotten
+fragments of fence upon the ground. She got up to look at it. ‘And yet
+I don’t know. This has not been broken very long. The wood is quite
+fresh where it gave way. Here are footsteps too.—O Rachael!’
+
+She ran back, and caught her round the neck. Rachael had already started
+up.
+
+‘What is the matter?’
+
+‘I don’t know. There is a hat lying in the grass.’ They went forward
+together. Rachael took it up, shaking from head to foot. She broke into
+a passion of tears and lamentations: Stephen Blackpool was written in his
+own hand on the inside.
+
+‘O the poor lad, the poor lad! He has been made away with. He is lying
+murdered here!’
+
+‘Is there—has the hat any blood upon it?’ Sissy faltered.
+
+They were afraid to look; but they did examine it, and found no mark of
+violence, inside or out. It had been lying there some days, for rain and
+dew had stained it, and the mark of its shape was on the grass where it
+had fallen. They looked fearfully about them, without moving, but could
+see nothing more. ‘Rachael,’ Sissy whispered, ‘I will go on a little by
+myself.’
+
+She had unclasped her hand, and was in the act of stepping forward, when
+Rachael caught her in both arms with a scream that resounded over the
+wide landscape. Before them, at their very feet, was the brink of a
+black ragged chasm hidden by the thick grass. They sprang back, and fell
+upon their knees, each hiding her face upon the other’s neck.
+
+‘O, my good Lord! He’s down there! Down there!’ At first this, and her
+terrific screams, were all that could be got from Rachael, by any tears,
+by any prayers, by any representations, by any means. It was impossible
+to hush her; and it was deadly necessary to hold her, or she would have
+flung herself down the shaft.
+
+‘Rachael, dear Rachael, good Rachael, for the love of Heaven, not these
+dreadful cries! Think of Stephen, think of Stephen, think of Stephen!’
+
+By an earnest repetition of this entreaty, poured out in all the agony of
+such a moment, Sissy at last brought her to be silent, and to look at her
+with a tearless face of stone.
+
+‘Rachael, Stephen may be living. You wouldn’t leave him lying maimed at
+the bottom of this dreadful place, a moment, if you could bring help to
+him?’
+
+‘No, no, no!’
+
+‘Don’t stir from here, for his sake! Let me go and listen.’
+
+She shuddered to approach the pit; but she crept towards it on her hands
+and knees, and called to him as loud as she could call. She listened,
+but no sound replied. She called again and listened; still no answering
+sound. She did this, twenty, thirty times. She took a little clod of
+earth from the broken ground where he had stumbled, and threw it in. She
+could not hear it fall.
+
+The wide prospect, so beautiful in its stillness but a few minutes ago,
+almost carried despair to her brave heart, as she rose and looked all
+round her, seeing no help. ‘Rachael, we must lose not a moment. We must
+go in different directions, seeking aid. You shall go by the way we have
+come, and I will go forward by the path. Tell any one you see, and every
+one what has happened. Think of Stephen, think of Stephen!’
+
+She knew by Rachael’s face that she might trust her now. And after
+standing for a moment to see her running, wringing her hands as she ran,
+she turned and went upon her own search; she stopped at the hedge to tie
+her shawl there as a guide to the place, then threw her bonnet aside, and
+ran as she had never run before.
+
+Run, Sissy, run, in Heaven’s name! Don’t stop for breath. Run, run!
+Quickening herself by carrying such entreaties in her thoughts, she ran
+from field to field, and lane to lane, and place to place, as she had
+never run before; until she came to a shed by an engine-house, where two
+men lay in the shade, asleep on straw.
+
+First to wake them, and next to tell them, all so wild and breathless as
+she was, what had brought her there, were difficulties; but they no
+sooner understood her than their spirits were on fire like hers. One of
+the men was in a drunken slumber, but on his comrade’s shouting to him
+that a man had fallen down the Old Hell Shaft, he started out to a pool
+of dirty water, put his head in it, and came back sober.
+
+With these two men she ran to another half-a-mile further, and with that
+one to another, while they ran elsewhere. Then a horse was found; and
+she got another man to ride for life or death to the railroad, and send a
+message to Louisa, which she wrote and gave him. By this time a whole
+village was up: and windlasses, ropes, poles, candles, lanterns, all
+things necessary, were fast collecting and being brought into one place,
+to be carried to the Old Hell Shaft.
+
+It seemed now hours and hours since she had left the lost man lying in
+the grave where he had been buried alive. She could not bear to remain
+away from it any longer—it was like deserting him—and she hurried swiftly
+back, accompanied by half-a-dozen labourers, including the drunken man
+whom the news had sobered, and who was the best man of all. When they
+came to the Old Hell Shaft, they found it as lonely as she had left it.
+The men called and listened as she had done, and examined the edge of the
+chasm, and settled how it had happened, and then sat down to wait until
+the implements they wanted should come up.
+
+Every sound of insects in the air, every stirring of the leaves, every
+whisper among these men, made Sissy tremble, for she thought it was a cry
+at the bottom of the pit. But the wind blew idly over it, and no sound
+arose to the surface, and they sat upon the grass, waiting and waiting.
+After they had waited some time, straggling people who had heard of the
+accident began to come up; then the real help of implements began to
+arrive. In the midst of this, Rachael returned; and with her party there
+was a surgeon, who brought some wine and medicines. But, the expectation
+among the people that the man would be found alive was very slight
+indeed.
+
+There being now people enough present to impede the work, the sobered man
+put himself at the head of the rest, or was put there by the general
+consent, and made a large ring round the Old Hell Shaft, and appointed
+men to keep it. Besides such volunteers as were accepted to work, only
+Sissy and Rachael were at first permitted within this ring; but, later in
+the day, when the message brought an express from Coketown, Mr. Gradgrind
+and Louisa, and Mr. Bounderby, and the whelp, were also there.
+
+The sun was four hours lower than when Sissy and Rachael had first sat
+down upon the grass, before a means of enabling two men to descend
+securely was rigged with poles and ropes. Difficulties had arisen in the
+construction of this machine, simple as it was; requisites had been found
+wanting, and messages had had to go and return. It was five o’clock in
+the afternoon of the bright autumnal Sunday, before a candle was sent
+down to try the air, while three or four rough faces stood crowded close
+together, attentively watching it: the man at the windlass lowering as
+they were told. The candle was brought up again, feebly burning, and
+then some water was cast in. Then the bucket was hooked on; and the
+sobered man and another got in with lights, giving the word ‘Lower away!’
+
+As the rope went out, tight and strained, and the windlass creaked, there
+was not a breath among the one or two hundred men and women looking on,
+that came as it was wont to come. The signal was given and the windlass
+stopped, with abundant rope to spare. Apparently so long an interval
+ensued with the men at the windlass standing idle, that some women
+shrieked that another accident had happened! But the surgeon who held
+the watch, declared five minutes not to have elapsed yet, and sternly
+admonished them to keep silence. He had not well done speaking, when the
+windlass was reversed and worked again. Practised eyes knew that it did
+not go as heavily as it would if both workmen had been coming up, and
+that only one was returning.
+
+The rope came in tight and strained; and ring after ring was coiled upon
+the barrel of the windlass, and all eyes were fastened on the pit. The
+sobered man was brought up and leaped out briskly on the grass. There
+was an universal cry of ‘Alive or dead?’ and then a deep, profound hush.
+
+When he said ‘Alive!’ a great shout arose and many eyes had tears in
+them.
+
+‘But he’s hurt very bad,’ he added, as soon as he could make himself
+heard again. ‘Where’s doctor? He’s hurt so very bad, sir, that we donno
+how to get him up.’
+
+They all consulted together, and looked anxiously at the surgeon, as he
+asked some questions, and shook his head on receiving the replies. The
+sun was setting now; and the red light in the evening sky touched every
+face there, and caused it to be distinctly seen in all its rapt suspense.
+
+The consultation ended in the men returning to the windlass, and the
+pitman going down again, carrying the wine and some other small matters
+with him. Then the other man came up. In the meantime, under the
+surgeon’s directions, some men brought a hurdle, on which others made a
+thick bed of spare clothes covered with loose straw, while he himself
+contrived some bandages and slings from shawls and handkerchiefs. As
+these were made, they were hung upon an arm of the pitman who had last
+come up, with instructions how to use them: and as he stood, shown by the
+light he carried, leaning his powerful loose hand upon one of the poles,
+and sometimes glancing down the pit, and sometimes glancing round upon
+the people, he was not the least conspicuous figure in the scene. It was
+dark now, and torches were kindled.
+
+It appeared from the little this man said to those about him, which was
+quickly repeated all over the circle, that the lost man had fallen upon a
+mass of crumbled rubbish with which the pit was half choked up, and that
+his fall had been further broken by some jagged earth at the side. He
+lay upon his back with one arm doubled under him, and according to his
+own belief had hardly stirred since he fell, except that he had moved his
+free hand to a side pocket, in which he remembered to have some bread and
+meat (of which he had swallowed crumbs), and had likewise scooped up a
+little water in it now and then. He had come straight away from his
+work, on being written to, and had walked the whole journey; and was on
+his way to Mr. Bounderby’s country house after dark, when he fell. He
+was crossing that dangerous country at such a dangerous time, because he
+was innocent of what was laid to his charge, and couldn’t rest from
+coming the nearest way to deliver himself up. The Old Hell Shaft, the
+pitman said, with a curse upon it, was worthy of its bad name to the
+last; for though Stephen could speak now, he believed it would soon be
+found to have mangled the life out of him.
+
+When all was ready, this man, still taking his last hurried charges from
+his comrades and the surgeon after the windlass had begun to lower him,
+disappeared into the pit. The rope went out as before, the signal was
+made as before, and the windlass stopped. No man removed his hand from
+it now. Every one waited with his grasp set, and his body bent down to
+the work, ready to reverse and wind in. At length the signal was given,
+and all the ring leaned forward.
+
+For, now, the rope came in, tightened and strained to its utmost as it
+appeared, and the men turned heavily, and the windlass complained. It
+was scarcely endurable to look at the rope, and think of its giving way.
+But, ring after ring was coiled upon the barrel of the windlass safely,
+and the connecting chains appeared, and finally the bucket with the two
+men holding on at the sides—a sight to make the head swim, and oppress
+the heart—and tenderly supporting between them, slung and tied within,
+the figure of a poor, crushed, human creature.
+
+A low murmur of pity went round the throng, and the women wept aloud, as
+this form, almost without form, was moved very slowly from its iron
+deliverance, and laid upon the bed of straw. At first, none but the
+surgeon went close to it. He did what he could in its adjustment on the
+couch, but the best that he could do was to cover it. That gently done,
+he called to him Rachael and Sissy. And at that time the pale, worn,
+patient face was seen looking up at the sky, with the broken right hand
+lying bare on the outside of the covering garments, as if waiting to be
+taken by another hand.
+
+They gave him drink, moistened his face with water, and administered some
+drops of cordial and wine. Though he lay quite motionless looking up at
+the sky, he smiled and said, ‘Rachael.’ She stooped down on the grass at
+his side, and bent over him until her eyes were between his and the sky,
+for he could not so much as turn them to look at her.
+
+‘Rachael, my dear.’
+
+She took his hand. He smiled again and said, ‘Don’t let ’t go.’
+
+‘Thou’rt in great pain, my own dear Stephen?’
+
+‘I ha’ been, but not now. I ha’ been—dreadful, and dree, and long, my
+dear—but ’tis ower now. Ah, Rachael, aw a muddle! Fro’ first to last, a
+muddle!’
+
+The spectre of his old look seemed to pass as he said the word.
+
+‘I ha’ fell into th’ pit, my dear, as have cost wi’in the knowledge o’
+old fok now livin, hundreds and hundreds o’ men’s lives—fathers, sons,
+brothers, dear to thousands an’ thousands, an’ keeping ’em fro’ want and
+hunger. I ha’ fell into a pit that ha’ been wi’ th’ Firedamp crueller
+than battle. I ha’ read on ’t in the public petition, as onny one may
+read, fro’ the men that works in pits, in which they ha’ pray’n and
+pray’n the lawmakers for Christ’s sake not to let their work be murder to
+’em, but to spare ’em for th’ wives and children that they loves as well
+as gentlefok loves theirs. When it were in work, it killed wi’out need;
+when ’tis let alone, it kills wi’out need. See how we die an’ no need,
+one way an’ another—in a muddle—every day!’
+
+He faintly said it, without any anger against any one. Merely as the
+truth.
+
+‘Thy little sister, Rachael, thou hast not forgot her. Thou’rt not like
+to forget her now, and me so nigh her. Thou know’st—poor, patient,
+suff’rin, dear—how thou didst work for her, seet’n all day long in her
+little chair at thy winder, and how she died, young and misshapen, awlung
+o’ sickly air as had’n no need to be, an’ awlung o’ working people’s
+miserable homes. A muddle! Aw a muddle!’
+
+Louisa approached him; but he could not see her, lying with his face
+turned up to the night sky.
+
+‘If aw th’ things that tooches us, my dear, was not so muddled, I
+should’n ha’ had’n need to coom heer. If we was not in a muddle among
+ourseln, I should’n ha’ been, by my own fellow weavers and workin’
+brothers, so mistook. If Mr. Bounderby had ever know’d me right—if he’d
+ever know’d me at aw—he would’n ha’ took’n offence wi’ me. He would’n
+ha’ suspect’n me. But look up yonder, Rachael! Look aboove!’
+
+Following his eyes, she saw that he was gazing at a star.
+
+ [Picture: Stephen Blackpool recovered from the Old Hell Shaft]
+
+‘It ha’ shined upon me,’ he said reverently, ‘in my pain and trouble down
+below. It ha’ shined into my mind. I ha’ look’n at ’t and thowt o’
+thee, Rachael, till the muddle in my mind have cleared awa, above a bit,
+I hope. If soom ha’ been wantin’ in unnerstan’in me better, I, too, ha’
+been wantin’ in unnerstan’in them better. When I got thy letter, I
+easily believen that what the yoong ledy sen and done to me, and what her
+brother sen and done to me, was one, and that there were a wicked plot
+betwixt ’em. When I fell, I were in anger wi’ her, an’ hurryin on t’ be
+as onjust t’ her as oothers was t’ me. But in our judgments, like as in
+our doins, we mun bear and forbear. In my pain an’ trouble, lookin up
+yonder,—wi’ it shinin on me—I ha’ seen more clear, and ha’ made it my
+dyin prayer that aw th’ world may on’y coom toogether more, an’ get a
+better unnerstan’in o’ one another, than when I were in ’t my own weak
+seln.’
+
+Louisa hearing what he said, bent over him on the opposite side to
+Rachael, so that he could see her.
+
+‘You ha’ heard?’ he said, after a few moments’ silence. ‘I ha’ not
+forgot you, ledy.’
+
+‘Yes, Stephen, I have heard you. And your prayer is mine.’
+
+‘You ha’ a father. Will yo tak’ a message to him?’
+
+‘He is here,’ said Louisa, with dread. ‘Shall I bring him to you?’
+
+‘If yo please.’
+
+Louisa returned with her father. Standing hand-in-hand, they both looked
+down upon the solemn countenance.
+
+‘Sir, yo will clear me an’ mak my name good wi’ aw men. This I leave to
+yo.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind was troubled and asked how?
+
+‘Sir,’ was the reply: ‘yor son will tell yo how. Ask him. I mak no
+charges: I leave none ahint me: not a single word. I ha’ seen an’ spok’n
+wi’ yor son, one night. I ask no more o’ yo than that yo clear me—an’ I
+trust to yo to do ’t.’
+
+The bearers being now ready to carry him away, and the surgeon being
+anxious for his removal, those who had torches or lanterns, prepared to
+go in front of the litter. Before it was raised, and while they were
+arranging how to go, he said to Rachael, looking upward at the star:
+
+‘Often as I coom to myseln, and found it shinin’ on me down there in my
+trouble, I thowt it were the star as guided to Our Saviour’s home. I
+awmust think it be the very star!’
+
+They lifted him up, and he was overjoyed to find that they were about to
+take him in the direction whither the star seemed to him to lead.
+
+‘Rachael, beloved lass! Don’t let go my hand. We may walk toogether
+t’night, my dear!’
+
+‘I will hold thy hand, and keep beside thee, Stephen, all the way.’
+
+‘Bless thee! Will soombody be pleased to coover my face!’
+
+They carried him very gently along the fields, and down the lanes, and
+over the wide landscape; Rachael always holding the hand in hers. Very
+few whispers broke the mournful silence. It was soon a funeral
+procession. The star had shown him where to find the God of the poor;
+and through humility, and sorrow, and forgiveness, he had gone to his
+Redeemer’s rest.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+WHELP-HUNTING
+
+
+BEFORE the ring formed round the Old Hell Shaft was broken, one figure
+had disappeared from within it. Mr. Bounderby and his shadow had not
+stood near Louisa, who held her father’s arm, but in a retired place by
+themselves. When Mr. Gradgrind was summoned to the couch, Sissy,
+attentive to all that happened, slipped behind that wicked shadow—a sight
+in the horror of his face, if there had been eyes there for any sight but
+one—and whispered in his ear. Without turning his head, he conferred
+with her a few moments, and vanished. Thus the whelp had gone out of the
+circle before the people moved.
+
+When the father reached home, he sent a message to Mr. Bounderby’s,
+desiring his son to come to him directly. The reply was, that Mr.
+Bounderby having missed him in the crowd, and seeing nothing of him
+since, had supposed him to be at Stone Lodge.
+
+‘I believe, father,’ said Louisa, ‘he will not come back to town
+to-night.’ Mr. Gradgrind turned away, and said no more.
+
+In the morning, he went down to the Bank himself as soon as it was
+opened, and seeing his son’s place empty (he had not the courage to look
+in at first) went back along the street to meet Mr. Bounderby on his way
+there. To whom he said that, for reasons he would soon explain, but
+entreated not then to be asked for, he had found it necessary to employ
+his son at a distance for a little while. Also, that he was charged with
+the duty of vindicating Stephen Blackpool’s memory, and declaring the
+thief. Mr. Bounderby quite confounded, stood stock-still in the street
+after his father-in-law had left him, swelling like an immense
+soap-bubble, without its beauty.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind went home, locked himself in his room, and kept it all that
+day. When Sissy and Louisa tapped at his door, he said, without opening
+it, ‘Not now, my dears; in the evening.’ On their return in the evening,
+he said, ‘I am not able yet—to-morrow.’ He ate nothing all day, and had
+no candle after dark; and they heard him walking to and fro late at
+night.
+
+But, in the morning he appeared at breakfast at the usual hour, and took
+his usual place at the table. Aged and bent he looked, and quite bowed
+down; and yet he looked a wiser man, and a better man, than in the days
+when in this life he wanted nothing—but Facts. Before he left the room,
+he appointed a time for them to come to him; and so, with his gray head
+drooping, went away.
+
+‘Dear father,’ said Louisa, when they kept their appointment, ‘you have
+three young children left. They will be different, I will be different
+yet, with Heaven’s help.’
+
+She gave her hand to Sissy, as if she meant with her help too.
+
+‘Your wretched brother,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Do you think he had
+planned this robbery, when he went with you to the lodging?’
+
+‘I fear so, father. I know he had wanted money very much, and had spent
+a great deal.’
+
+‘The poor man being about to leave the town, it came into his evil brain
+to cast suspicion on him?’
+
+‘I think it must have flashed upon him while he sat there, father. For I
+asked him to go there with me. The visit did not originate with him.’
+
+‘He had some conversation with the poor man. Did he take him aside?’
+
+‘He took him out of the room. I asked him afterwards, why he had done
+so, and he made a plausible excuse; but since last night, father, and
+when I remember the circumstances by its light, I am afraid I can imagine
+too truly what passed between them.’
+
+‘Let me know,’ said her father, ‘if your thoughts present your guilty
+brother in the same dark view as mine.’
+
+‘I fear, father,’ hesitated Louisa, ‘that he must have made some
+representation to Stephen Blackpool—perhaps in my name, perhaps in his
+own—which induced him to do in good faith and honesty, what he had never
+done before, and to wait about the Bank those two or three nights before
+he left the town.’
+
+‘Too plain!’ returned the father. ‘Too plain!’
+
+He shaded his face, and remained silent for some moments. Recovering
+himself, he said:
+
+‘And now, how is he to be found? How is he to be saved from justice? In
+the few hours that I can possibly allow to elapse before I publish the
+truth, how is he to be found by us, and only by us? Ten thousand pounds
+could not effect it.’
+
+‘Sissy has effected it, father.’
+
+He raised his eyes to where she stood, like a good fairy in his house,
+and said in a tone of softened gratitude and grateful kindness, ‘It is
+always you, my child!’
+
+‘We had our fears,’ Sissy explained, glancing at Louisa, ‘before
+yesterday; and when I saw you brought to the side of the litter last
+night, and heard what passed (being close to Rachael all the time), I
+went to him when no one saw, and said to him, “Don’t look at me. See
+where your father is. Escape at once, for his sake and your own!” He
+was in a tremble before I whispered to him, and he started and trembled
+more then, and said, “Where can I go? I have very little money, and I
+don’t know who will hide me!” I thought of father’s old circus. I have
+not forgotten where Mr. Sleary goes at this time of year, and I read of
+him in a paper only the other day. I told him to hurry there, and tell
+his name, and ask Mr. Sleary to hide him till I came. “I’ll get to him
+before the morning,” he said. And I saw him shrink away among the
+people.’
+
+‘Thank Heaven!’ exclaimed his father. ‘He may be got abroad yet.’
+
+It was the more hopeful as the town to which Sissy had directed him was
+within three hours’ journey of Liverpool, whence he could be swiftly
+dispatched to any part of the world. But, caution being necessary in
+communicating with him—for there was a greater danger every moment of his
+being suspected now, and nobody could be sure at heart but that Mr.
+Bounderby himself, in a bullying vein of public zeal, might play a Roman
+part—it was consented that Sissy and Louisa should repair to the place in
+question, by a circuitous course, alone; and that the unhappy father,
+setting forth in an opposite direction, should get round to the same
+bourne by another and wider route. It was further agreed that he should
+not present himself to Mr. Sleary, lest his intentions should be
+mistrusted, or the intelligence of his arrival should cause his son to
+take flight anew; but, that the communication should be left to Sissy and
+Louisa to open; and that they should inform the cause of so much misery
+and disgrace, of his father’s being at hand and of the purpose for which
+they had come. When these arrangements had been well considered and were
+fully understood by all three, it was time to begin to carry them into
+execution. Early in the afternoon, Mr. Gradgrind walked direct from his
+own house into the country, to be taken up on the line by which he was to
+travel; and at night the remaining two set forth upon their different
+course, encouraged by not seeing any face they knew.
+
+The two travelled all night, except when they were left, for odd numbers
+of minutes, at branch-places, up illimitable flights of steps, or down
+wells—which was the only variety of those branches—and, early in the
+morning, were turned out on a swamp, a mile or two from the town they
+sought. From this dismal spot they were rescued by a savage old
+postilion, who happened to be up early, kicking a horse in a fly: and so
+were smuggled into the town by all the back lanes where the pigs lived:
+which, although not a magnificent or even savoury approach, was, as is
+usual in such cases, the legitimate highway.
+
+The first thing they saw on entering the town was the skeleton of
+Sleary’s Circus. The company had departed for another town more than
+twenty miles off, and had opened there last night. The connection
+between the two places was by a hilly turnpike-road, and the travelling
+on that road was very slow. Though they took but a hasty breakfast, and
+no rest (which it would have been in vain to seek under such anxious
+circumstances), it was noon before they began to find the bills of
+Sleary’s Horse-riding on barns and walls, and one o’clock when they
+stopped in the market-place.
+
+A Grand Morning Performance by the Riders, commencing at that very hour,
+was in course of announcement by the bellman as they set their feet upon
+the stones of the street. Sissy recommended that, to avoid making
+inquiries and attracting attention in the town, they should present
+themselves to pay at the door. If Mr. Sleary were taking the money, he
+would be sure to know her, and would proceed with discretion. If he were
+not, he would be sure to see them inside; and, knowing what he had done
+with the fugitive, would proceed with discretion still.
+
+Therefore, they repaired, with fluttering hearts, to the well-remembered
+booth. The flag with the inscription SLEARY’S HORSE-RIDING was there;
+and the Gothic niche was there; but Mr. Sleary was not there. Master
+Kidderminster, grown too maturely turfy to be received by the wildest
+credulity as Cupid any more, had yielded to the invincible force of
+circumstances (and his beard), and, in the capacity of a man who made
+himself generally useful, presided on this occasion over the
+exchequer—having also a drum in reserve, on which to expend his leisure
+moments and superfluous forces. In the extreme sharpness of his look out
+for base coin, Mr. Kidderminster, as at present situated, never saw
+anything but money; so Sissy passed him unrecognised, and they went in.
+
+The Emperor of Japan, on a steady old white horse stencilled with black
+spots, was twirling five wash-hand basins at once, as it is the favourite
+recreation of that monarch to do. Sissy, though well acquainted with his
+Royal line, had no personal knowledge of the present Emperor, and his
+reign was peaceful. Miss Josephine Sleary, in her celebrated graceful
+Equestrian Tyrolean Flower Act, was then announced by a new clown (who
+humorously said Cauliflower Act), and Mr. Sleary appeared, leading her
+in.
+
+Mr. Sleary had only made one cut at the Clown with his long whip-lash,
+and the Clown had only said, ‘If you do it again, I’ll throw the horse at
+you!’ when Sissy was recognised both by father and daughter. But they
+got through the Act with great self-possession; and Mr. Sleary, saving
+for the first instant, conveyed no more expression into his locomotive
+eye than into his fixed one. The performance seemed a little long to
+Sissy and Louisa, particularly when it stopped to afford the Clown an
+opportunity of telling Mr. Sleary (who said ‘Indeed, sir!’ to all his
+observations in the calmest way, and with his eye on the house) about two
+legs sitting on three legs looking at one leg, when in came four legs,
+and laid hold of one leg, and up got two legs, caught hold of three legs,
+and threw ’em at four legs, who ran away with one leg. For, although an
+ingenious Allegory relating to a butcher, a three-legged stool, a dog,
+and a leg of mutton, this narrative consumed time; and they were in great
+suspense. At last, however, little fair-haired Josephine made her
+curtsey amid great applause; and the Clown, left alone in the ring, had
+just warmed himself, and said, ‘Now _I_’ll have a turn!’ when Sissy was
+touched on the shoulder, and beckoned out.
+
+She took Louisa with her; and they were received by Mr. Sleary in a very
+little private apartment, with canvas sides, a grass floor, and a wooden
+ceiling all aslant, on which the box company stamped their approbation,
+as if they were coming through. ‘Thethilia,’ said Mr. Sleary, who had
+brandy and water at hand, ‘it doth me good to thee you. You wath alwayth
+a favourite with uth, and you’ve done uth credith thinth the old timeth
+I’m thure. You mutht thee our people, my dear, afore we thpeak of
+bithnith, or they’ll break their hearth—ethpethially the women. Here’th
+Jothphine hath been and got married to E. W. B. Childerth, and thee hath
+got a boy, and though he’th only three yearth old, he thtickth on to any
+pony you can bring againtht him. He’th named The Little Wonder of
+Thcolathtic Equitation; and if you don’t hear of that boy at Athley’th,
+you’ll hear of him at Parith. And you recollect Kidderminthter, that
+wath thought to be rather thweet upon yourthelf? Well. He’th married
+too. Married a widder. Old enough to be hith mother. Thee wath
+Tightrope, thee wath, and now thee’th nothing—on accounth of fat.
+They’ve got two children, tho we’re thtrong in the Fairy bithnith and the
+Nurthery dodge. If you wath to thee our Children in the Wood, with their
+father and mother both a dyin’ on a horthe—their uncle a retheiving of
+’em ath hith wardth, upon a horthe—themthelvth both a goin’ a
+black-berryin’ on a horthe—and the Robinth a coming in to cover ’em with
+leavth, upon a horthe—you’d thay it wath the completetht thing ath ever
+you thet your eyeth on! And you remember Emma Gordon, my dear, ath wath
+a’motht a mother to you? Of courthe you do; I needn’t athk. Well!
+Emma, thee lotht her huthband. He wath throw’d a heavy back-fall off a
+Elephant in a thort of a Pagoda thing ath the Thultan of the Indieth, and
+he never got the better of it; and thee married a thecond time—married a
+Cheethemonger ath fell in love with her from the front—and he’th a
+Overtheer and makin’ a fortun.’
+
+These various changes, Mr. Sleary, very short of breath now, related with
+great heartiness, and with a wonderful kind of innocence, considering
+what a bleary and brandy-and-watery old veteran he was. Afterwards he
+brought in Josephine, and E. W. B. Childers (rather deeply lined in the
+jaws by daylight), and the Little Wonder of Scholastic Equitation, and in
+a word, all the company. Amazing creatures they were in Louisa’s eyes,
+so white and pink of complexion, so scant of dress, and so demonstrative
+of leg; but it was very agreeable to see them crowding about Sissy, and
+very natural in Sissy to be unable to refrain from tears.
+
+‘There! Now Thethilia hath kithd all the children, and hugged all the
+women, and thaken handth all round with all the men, clear, every one of
+you, and ring in the band for the thecond part!’
+
+As soon as they were gone, he continued in a low tone. ‘Now, Thethilia,
+I don’t athk to know any thecreth, but I thuppothe I may conthider thith
+to be Mith Thquire.’
+
+‘This is his sister. Yes.’
+
+‘And t’other on’th daughter. That’h what I mean. Hope I thee you well,
+mith. And I hope the Thquire’th well?’
+
+‘My father will be here soon,’ said Louisa, anxious to bring him to the
+point. ‘Is my brother safe?’
+
+‘Thafe and thound!’ he replied. ‘I want you jutht to take a peep at the
+Ring, mith, through here. Thethilia, you know the dodgeth; find a
+thpy-hole for yourthelf.’
+
+They each looked through a chink in the boards.
+
+‘That’h Jack the Giant Killer—piethe of comic infant bithnith,’ said
+Sleary. ‘There’th a property-houthe, you thee, for Jack to hide in;
+there’th my Clown with a thauthepan-lid and a thpit, for Jack’th
+thervant; there’th little Jack himthelf in a thplendid thoot of armour;
+there’th two comic black thervanth twithe ath big ath the houthe, to
+thtand by it and to bring it in and clear it; and the Giant (a very
+ecthpenthive bathket one), he an’t on yet. Now, do you thee ’em all?’
+
+‘Yes,’ they both said.
+
+‘Look at ’em again,’ said Sleary, ‘look at ’em well. You thee em all?
+Very good. Now, mith;’ he put a form for them to sit on; ‘I have my
+opinionth, and the Thquire your father hath hith. I don’t want to know
+what your brother’th been up to; ith better for me not to know. All I
+thay ith, the Thquire hath thtood by Thethilia, and I’ll thtand by the
+Thquire. Your brother ith one them black thervanth.’
+
+Louisa uttered an exclamation, partly of distress, partly of
+satisfaction.
+
+‘Ith a fact,’ said Sleary, ‘and even knowin’ it, you couldn’t put your
+finger on him. Let the Thquire come. I thall keep your brother here
+after the performanth. I thant undreth him, nor yet wath hith paint off.
+Let the Thquire come here after the performanth, or come here yourthelf
+after the performanth, and you thall find your brother, and have the
+whole plathe to talk to him in. Never mind the lookth of him, ath long
+ath he’th well hid.’
+
+Louisa, with many thanks and with a lightened load, detained Mr. Sleary
+no longer then. She left her love for her brother, with her eyes full of
+tears; and she and Sissy went away until later in the afternoon.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind arrived within an hour afterwards. He too had encountered
+no one whom he knew; and was now sanguine with Sleary’s assistance, of
+getting his disgraced son to Liverpool in the night. As neither of the
+three could be his companion without almost identifying him under any
+disguise, he prepared a letter to a correspondent whom he could trust,
+beseeching him to ship the bearer off at any cost, to North or South
+America, or any distant part of the world to which he could be the most
+speedily and privately dispatched.
+
+This done, they walked about, waiting for the Circus to be quite vacated;
+not only by the audience, but by the company and by the horses. After
+watching it a long time, they saw Mr. Sleary bring out a chair and sit
+down by the side-door, smoking; as if that were his signal that they
+might approach.
+
+‘Your thervant, Thquire,’ was his cautious salutation as they passed in.
+‘If you want me you’ll find me here. You muthn’t mind your thon having a
+comic livery on.’
+
+They all three went in; and Mr. Gradgrind sat down forlorn, on the
+Clown’s performing chair in the middle of the ring. On one of the back
+benches, remote in the subdued light and the strangeness of the place,
+sat the villainous whelp, sulky to the last, whom he had the misery to
+call his son.
+
+In a preposterous coat, like a beadle’s, with cuffs and flaps exaggerated
+to an unspeakable extent; in an immense waistcoat, knee-breeches, buckled
+shoes, and a mad cocked hat; with nothing fitting him, and everything of
+coarse material, moth-eaten and full of holes; with seams in his black
+face, where fear and heat had started through the greasy composition
+daubed all over it; anything so grimly, detestably, ridiculously shameful
+as the whelp in his comic livery, Mr. Gradgrind never could by any other
+means have believed in, weighable and measurable fact though it was. And
+one of his model children had come to this!
+
+At first the whelp would not draw any nearer, but persisted in remaining
+up there by himself. Yielding at length, if any concession so sullenly
+made can be called yielding, to the entreaties of Sissy—for Louisa he
+disowned altogether—he came down, bench by bench, until he stood in the
+sawdust, on the verge of the circle, as far as possible, within its
+limits from where his father sat.
+
+‘How was this done?’ asked the father.
+
+‘How was what done?’ moodily answered the son.
+
+‘This robbery,’ said the father, raising his voice upon the word.
+
+‘I forced the safe myself over night, and shut it up ajar before I went
+away. I had had the key that was found, made long before. I dropped it
+that morning, that it might be supposed to have been used. I didn’t take
+the money all at once. I pretended to put my balance away every night,
+but I didn’t. Now you know all about it.’
+
+‘If a thunderbolt had fallen on me,’ said the father, ‘it would have
+shocked me less than this!’
+
+‘I don’t see why,’ grumbled the son. ‘So many people are employed in
+situations of trust; so many people, out of so many, will be dishonest.
+I have heard you talk, a hundred times, of its being a law. How can _I_
+help laws? You have comforted others with such things, father. Comfort
+yourself!’
+
+The father buried his face in his hands, and the son stood in his
+disgraceful grotesqueness, biting straw: his hands, with the black partly
+worn away inside, looking like the hands of a monkey. The evening was
+fast closing in; and from time to time, he turned the whites of his eyes
+restlessly and impatiently towards his father. They were the only parts
+of his face that showed any life or expression, the pigment upon it was
+so thick.
+
+‘You must be got to Liverpool, and sent abroad.’
+
+‘I suppose I must. I can’t be more miserable anywhere,’ whimpered the
+whelp, ‘than I have been here, ever since I can remember. That’s one
+thing.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind went to the door, and returned with Sleary, to whom he
+submitted the question, How to get this deplorable object away?
+
+‘Why, I’ve been thinking of it, Thquire. There’th not muth time to
+lothe, tho you muth thay yeth or no. Ith over twenty mileth to the rail.
+There’th a coath in half an hour, that goeth _to_ the rail, ‘purpothe to
+cath the mail train. That train will take him right to Liverpool.’
+
+‘But look at him,’ groaned Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Will any coach—’
+
+‘I don’t mean that he thould go in the comic livery,’ said Sleary. ‘Thay
+the word, and I’ll make a Jothkin of him, out of the wardrobe, in five
+minutes.’
+
+‘I don’t understand,’ said Mr. Gradgrind.
+
+‘A Jothkin—a Carter. Make up your mind quick, Thquire. There’ll be beer
+to feth. I’ve never met with nothing but beer ath’ll ever clean a comic
+blackamoor.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind rapidly assented; Mr. Sleary rapidly turned out from a box,
+a smock frock, a felt hat, and other essentials; the whelp rapidly
+changed clothes behind a screen of baize; Mr. Sleary rapidly brought
+beer, and washed him white again.
+
+‘Now,’ said Sleary, ‘come along to the coath, and jump up behind; I’ll go
+with you there, and they’ll thuppothe you one of my people. Thay
+farewell to your family, and tharp’th the word.’ With which he
+delicately retired.
+
+‘Here is your letter,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘All necessary means will be
+provided for you. Atone, by repentance and better conduct, for the
+shocking action you have committed, and the dreadful consequences to
+which it has led. Give me your hand, my poor boy, and may God forgive
+you as I do!’
+
+The culprit was moved to a few abject tears by these words and their
+pathetic tone. But, when Louisa opened her arms, he repulsed her afresh.
+
+‘Not you. I don’t want to have anything to say to you!’
+
+‘O Tom, Tom, do we end so, after all my love!’
+
+‘After all your love!’ he returned, obdurately. ‘Pretty love! Leaving
+old Bounderby to himself, and packing my best friend Mr. Harthouse off,
+and going home just when I was in the greatest danger. Pretty love that!
+Coming out with every word about our having gone to that place, when you
+saw the net was gathering round me. Pretty love that! You have
+regularly given me up. You never cared for me.’
+
+‘Tharp’th the word!’ said Sleary, at the door.
+
+They all confusedly went out: Louisa crying to him that she forgave him,
+and loved him still, and that he would one day be sorry to have left her
+so, and glad to think of these her last words, far away: when some one
+ran against them. Mr. Gradgrind and Sissy, who were both before him
+while his sister yet clung to his shoulder, stopped and recoiled.
+
+For, there was Bitzer, out of breath, his thin lips parted, his thin
+nostrils distended, his white eyelashes quivering, his colourless face
+more colourless than ever, as if he ran himself into a white heat, when
+other people ran themselves into a glow. There he stood, panting and
+heaving, as if he had never stopped since the night, now long ago, when
+he had run them down before.
+
+‘I’m sorry to interfere with your plans,’ said Bitzer, shaking his head,
+‘but I can’t allow myself to be done by horse-riders. I must have young
+Mr. Tom; he mustn’t be got away by horse-riders; here he is in a smock
+frock, and I must have him!’
+
+By the collar, too, it seemed. For, so he took possession of him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+PHILOSOPHICAL
+
+
+THEY went back into the booth, Sleary shutting the door to keep intruders
+out. Bitzer, still holding the paralysed culprit by the collar, stood in
+the Ring, blinking at his old patron through the darkness of the
+twilight.
+
+‘Bitzer,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, broken down, and miserably submissive to
+him, ‘have you a heart?’
+
+‘The circulation, sir,’ returned Bitzer, smiling at the oddity of the
+question, ‘couldn’t be carried on without one. No man, sir, acquainted
+with the facts established by Harvey relating to the circulation of the
+blood, can doubt that I have a heart.’
+
+‘Is it accessible,’ cried Mr. Gradgrind, ‘to any compassionate
+influence?’
+
+‘It is accessible to Reason, sir,’ returned the excellent young man.
+‘And to nothing else.’
+
+They stood looking at each other; Mr. Gradgrind’s face as white as the
+pursuer’s.
+
+‘What motive—even what motive in reason—can you have for preventing the
+escape of this wretched youth,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘and crushing his
+miserable father? See his sister here. Pity us!’
+
+‘Sir,’ returned Bitzer, in a very business-like and logical manner,
+‘since you ask me what motive I have in reason, for taking young Mr. Tom
+back to Coketown, it is only reasonable to let you know. I have
+suspected young Mr. Tom of this bank-robbery from the first. I had had
+my eye upon him before that time, for I knew his ways. I have kept my
+observations to myself, but I have made them; and I have got ample proofs
+against him now, besides his running away, and besides his own
+confession, which I was just in time to overhear. I had the pleasure of
+watching your house yesterday morning, and following you here. I am
+going to take young Mr. Tom back to Coketown, in order to deliver him
+over to Mr. Bounderby. Sir, I have no doubt whatever that Mr. Bounderby
+will then promote me to young Mr. Tom’s situation. And I wish to have
+his situation, sir, for it will be a rise to me, and will do me good.’
+
+‘If this is solely a question of self-interest with you—’ Mr. Gradgrind
+began.
+
+‘I beg your pardon for interrupting you, sir,’ returned Bitzer; ‘but I am
+sure you know that the whole social system is a question of
+self-interest. What you must always appeal to, is a person’s
+self-interest. It’s your only hold. We are so constituted. I was
+brought up in that catechism when I was very young, sir, as you are
+aware.’
+
+‘What sum of money,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘will you set against your
+expected promotion?’
+
+‘Thank you, sir,’ returned Bitzer, ‘for hinting at the proposal; but I
+will not set any sum against it. Knowing that your clear head would
+propose that alternative, I have gone over the calculations in my mind;
+and I find that to compound a felony, even on very high terms indeed,
+would not be as safe and good for me as my improved prospects in the
+Bank.’
+
+‘Bitzer,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, stretching out his hands as though he would
+have said, See how miserable I am! ‘Bitzer, I have but one chance left
+to soften you. You were many years at my school. If, in remembrance of
+the pains bestowed upon you there, you can persuade yourself in any
+degree to disregard your present interest and release my son, I entreat
+and pray you to give him the benefit of that remembrance.’
+
+‘I really wonder, sir,’ rejoined the old pupil in an argumentative
+manner, ‘to find you taking a position so untenable. My schooling was
+paid for; it was a bargain; and when I came away, the bargain ended.’
+
+It was a fundamental principle of the Gradgrind philosophy that
+everything was to be paid for. Nobody was ever on any account to give
+anybody anything, or render anybody help without purchase. Gratitude was
+to be abolished, and the virtues springing from it were not to be. Every
+inch of the existence of mankind, from birth to death, was to be a
+bargain across a counter. And if we didn’t get to Heaven that way, it
+was not a politico-economical place, and we had no business there.
+
+‘I don’t deny,’ added Bitzer, ‘that my schooling was cheap. But that
+comes right, sir. I was made in the cheapest market, and have to dispose
+of myself in the dearest.’
+
+He was a little troubled here, by Louisa and Sissy crying.
+
+‘Pray don’t do that,’ said he, ‘it’s of no use doing that: it only
+worries. You seem to think that I have some animosity against young Mr.
+Tom; whereas I have none at all. I am only going, on the reasonable
+grounds I have mentioned, to take him back to Coketown. If he was to
+resist, I should set up the cry of Stop thief! But, he won’t resist, you
+may depend upon it.’
+
+Mr. Sleary, who with his mouth open and his rolling eye as immovably
+jammed in his head as his fixed one, had listened to these doctrines with
+profound attention, here stepped forward.
+
+‘Thquire, you know perfectly well, and your daughter knowth perfectly
+well (better than you, becauthe I thed it to her), that I didn’t know
+what your thon had done, and that I didn’t want to know—I thed it wath
+better not, though I only thought, then, it wath thome thkylarking.
+However, thith young man having made it known to be a robbery of a bank,
+why, that’h a theriouth thing; muth too theriouth a thing for me to
+compound, ath thith young man hath very properly called it.
+Conthequently, Thquire, you muthn’t quarrel with me if I take thith young
+man’th thide, and thay he’th right and there’th no help for it. But I
+tell you what I’ll do, Thquire; I’ll drive your thon and thith young man
+over to the rail, and prevent expothure here. I can’t conthent to do
+more, but I’ll do that.’
+
+Fresh lamentations from Louisa, and deeper affliction on Mr. Gradgrind’s
+part, followed this desertion of them by their last friend. But, Sissy
+glanced at him with great attention; nor did she in her own breast
+misunderstand him. As they were all going out again, he favoured her
+with one slight roll of his movable eye, desiring her to linger behind.
+As he locked the door, he said excitedly:
+
+‘The Thquire thtood by you, Thethilia, and I’ll thtand by the Thquire.
+More than that: thith ith a prethiouth rathcal, and belongth to that
+bluthtering Cove that my people nearly pitht out o’ winder. It’ll be a
+dark night; I’ve got a horthe that’ll do anything but thpeak; I’ve got a
+pony that’ll go fifteen mile an hour with Childerth driving of him; I’ve
+got a dog that’ll keep a man to one plathe four-and-twenty hourth. Get a
+word with the young Thquire. Tell him, when he theeth our horthe begin
+to danthe, not to be afraid of being thpilt, but to look out for a
+pony-gig coming up. Tell him, when he theeth that gig clothe by, to jump
+down, and it’ll take him off at a rattling pathe. If my dog leth thith
+young man thtir a peg on foot, I give him leave to go. And if my horthe
+ever thtirth from that thpot where he beginth a danthing, till the
+morning—I don’t know him?—Tharp’th the word!’
+
+The word was so sharp, that in ten minutes Mr. Childers, sauntering about
+the market-place in a pair of slippers, had his cue, and Mr. Sleary’s
+equipage was ready. It was a fine sight, to behold the learned dog
+barking round it, and Mr. Sleary instructing him, with his one
+practicable eye, that Bitzer was the object of his particular attentions.
+Soon after dark they all three got in and started; the learned dog (a
+formidable creature) already pinning Bitzer with his eye, and sticking
+close to the wheel on his side, that he might be ready for him in the
+event of his showing the slightest disposition to alight.
+
+The other three sat up at the inn all night in great suspense. At eight
+o’clock in the morning Mr. Sleary and the dog reappeared: both in high
+spirits.
+
+‘All right, Thquire!’ said Mr. Sleary, ‘your thon may be aboard-a-thip by
+thith time. Childerth took him off, an hour and a half after we left
+there latht night. The horthe danthed the polka till he wath dead beat
+(he would have walthed if he hadn’t been in harneth), and then I gave him
+the word and he went to thleep comfortable. When that prethiouth young
+Rathcal thed he’d go for’ard afoot, the dog hung on to hith
+neck-hankercher with all four legth in the air and pulled him down and
+rolled him over. Tho he come back into the drag, and there he that,
+’till I turned the horthe’th head, at half-patht thixth thith morning.’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind overwhelmed him with thanks, of course; and hinted as
+delicately as he could, at a handsome remuneration in money.
+
+‘I don’t want money mythelf, Thquire; but Childerth ith a family man, and
+if you wath to like to offer him a five-pound note, it mightn’t be
+unactheptable. Likewithe if you wath to thtand a collar for the dog, or
+a thet of bellth for the horthe, I thould be very glad to take ’em.
+Brandy and water I alwayth take.’ He had already called for a glass, and
+now called for another. ‘If you wouldn’t think it going too far,
+Thquire, to make a little thpread for the company at about three and
+thixth ahead, not reckoning Luth, it would make ’em happy.’
+
+All these little tokens of his gratitude, Mr. Gradgrind very willingly
+undertook to render. Though he thought them far too slight, he said, for
+such a service.
+
+‘Very well, Thquire; then, if you’ll only give a Horthe-riding, a
+bethpeak, whenever you can, you’ll more than balanthe the account. Now,
+Thquire, if your daughter will ethcuthe me, I thould like one parting
+word with you.’
+
+Louisa and Sissy withdrew into an adjoining room; Mr. Sleary, stirring
+and drinking his brandy and water as he stood, went on:
+
+‘Thquire,—you don’t need to be told that dogth ith wonderful animalth.’
+
+‘Their instinct,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘is surprising.’
+
+‘Whatever you call it—and I’m bletht if _I_ know what to call it’—said
+Sleary, ‘it ith athtonithing. The way in whith a dog’ll find you—the
+dithtanthe he’ll come!’
+
+‘His scent,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, ‘being so fine.’
+
+‘I’m bletht if I know what to call it,’ repeated Sleary, shaking his
+head, ‘but I have had dogth find me, Thquire, in a way that made me think
+whether that dog hadn’t gone to another dog, and thed, “You don’t happen
+to know a perthon of the name of Thleary, do you? Perthon of the name of
+Thleary, in the Horthe-Riding way—thtout man—game eye?” And whether that
+dog mightn’t have thed, “Well, I can’t thay I know him mythelf, but I
+know a dog that I think would be likely to be acquainted with him.” And
+whether that dog mightn’t have thought it over, and thed, “Thleary,
+Thleary! O yeth, to be thure! A friend of mine menthioned him to me at
+one time. I can get you hith addreth directly.” In conthequenth of my
+being afore the public, and going about tho muth, you thee, there mutht
+be a number of dogth acquainted with me, Thquire, that _I_ don’t know!’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind seemed to be quite confounded by this speculation.
+
+‘Any way,’ said Sleary, after putting his lips to his brandy and water,
+‘ith fourteen month ago, Thquire, thinthe we wath at Chethter. We wath
+getting up our Children in the Wood one morning, when there cometh into
+our Ring, by the thtage door, a dog. He had travelled a long way, he
+wath in a very bad condithon, he wath lame, and pretty well blind. He
+went round to our children, one after another, as if he wath a theeking
+for a child he know’d; and then he come to me, and throwd hithelf up
+behind, and thtood on hith two forelegth, weak ath he wath, and then he
+wagged hith tail and died. Thquire, that dog wath Merrylegth.’
+
+‘Sissy’s father’s dog!’
+
+‘Thethilia’th father’th old dog. Now, Thquire, I can take my oath, from
+my knowledge of that dog, that that man wath dead—and buried—afore that
+dog come back to me. Joth’phine and Childerth and me talked it over a
+long time, whether I thould write or not. But we agreed, “No. There’th
+nothing comfortable to tell; why unthettle her mind, and make her
+unhappy?” Tho, whether her father bathely detherted her; or whether he
+broke hith own heart alone, rather than pull her down along with him;
+never will be known, now, Thquire, till—no, not till we know how the
+dogth findth uth out!’
+
+‘She keeps the bottle that he sent her for, to this hour; and she will
+believe in his affection to the last moment of her life,’ said Mr.
+Gradgrind.
+
+‘It theemth to prethent two thingth to a perthon, don’t it, Thquire?’
+said Mr. Sleary, musing as he looked down into the depths of his brandy
+and water: ‘one, that there ith a love in the world, not all
+Thelf-interetht after all, but thomething very different; t’other, that
+it bath a way of ith own of calculating or not calculating, whith
+thomehow or another ith at leatht ath hard to give a name to, ath the
+wayth of the dogth ith!’
+
+Mr. Gradgrind looked out of window, and made no reply. Mr. Sleary
+emptied his glass and recalled the ladies.
+
+‘Thethilia my dear, kith me and good-bye! Mith Thquire, to thee you
+treating of her like a thithter, and a thithter that you trutht and
+honour with all your heart and more, ith a very pretty thight to me. I
+hope your brother may live to be better detherving of you, and a greater
+comfort to you. Thquire, thake handth, firtht and latht! Don’t be croth
+with uth poor vagabondth. People mutht be amuthed. They can’t be
+alwayth a learning, nor yet they can’t be alwayth a working, they an’t
+made for it. You _mutht_ have uth, Thquire. Do the withe thing and the
+kind thing too, and make the betht of uth; not the wurtht!’
+
+‘And I never thought before,’ said Mr. Sleary, putting his head in at the
+door again to say it, ‘that I wath tho muth of a Cackler!’
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+FINAL
+
+
+IT is a dangerous thing to see anything in the sphere of a vain
+blusterer, before the vain blusterer sees it himself. Mr. Bounderby felt
+that Mrs. Sparsit had audaciously anticipated him, and presumed to be
+wiser than he. Inappeasably indignant with her for her triumphant
+discovery of Mrs. Pegler, he turned this presumption, on the part of a
+woman in her dependent position, over and over in his mind, until it
+accumulated with turning like a great snowball. At last he made the
+discovery that to discharge this highly connected female—to have it in
+his power to say, ‘She was a woman of family, and wanted to stick to me,
+but I wouldn’t have it, and got rid of her’—would be to get the utmost
+possible amount of crowning glory out of the connection, and at the same
+time to punish Mrs. Sparsit according to her deserts.
+
+Filled fuller than ever, with this great idea, Mr. Bounderby came in to
+lunch, and sat himself down in the dining-room of former days, where his
+portrait was. Mrs. Sparsit sat by the fire, with her foot in her cotton
+stirrup, little thinking whither she was posting.
+
+Since the Pegler affair, this gentlewoman had covered her pity for Mr.
+Bounderby with a veil of quiet melancholy and contrition. In virtue
+thereof, it had become her habit to assume a woful look, which woful look
+she now bestowed upon her patron.
+
+‘What’s the matter now, ma’am?’ said Mr. Bounderby, in a very short,
+rough way.
+
+‘Pray, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘do not bite my nose off.’
+
+‘Bite your nose off, ma’am?’ repeated Mr. Bounderby. ‘_Your_ nose!’
+meaning, as Mrs. Sparsit conceived, that it was too developed a nose for
+the purpose. After which offensive implication, he cut himself a crust
+of bread, and threw the knife down with a noise.
+
+Mrs. Sparsit took her foot out of her stirrup, and said, ‘Mr. Bounderby,
+sir!’
+
+‘Well, ma’am?’ retorted Mr. Bounderby. ‘What are you staring at?’
+
+‘May I ask, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, ‘have you been ruffled this
+morning?’
+
+‘Yes, ma’am.’
+
+‘May I inquire, sir,’ pursued the injured woman, ‘whether _I_ am the
+unfortunate cause of your having lost your temper?’
+
+‘Now, I’ll tell you what, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, ‘I am not come here to
+be bullied. A female may be highly connected, but she can’t be permitted
+to bother and badger a man in my position, and I am not going to put up
+with it.’ (Mr. Bounderby felt it necessary to get on: foreseeing that if
+he allowed of details, he would be beaten.)
+
+Mrs. Sparsit first elevated, then knitted, her Coriolanian eyebrows;
+gathered up her work into its proper basket; and rose.
+
+‘Sir,’ said she, majestically. ‘It is apparent to me that I am in your
+way at present. I will retire to my own apartment.’
+
+‘Allow me to open the door, ma’am.’
+
+‘Thank you, sir; I can do it for myself.’
+
+‘You had better allow me, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, passing her, and
+getting his hand upon the lock; ‘because I can take the opportunity of
+saying a word to you, before you go. Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am, I rather think
+you are cramped here, do you know? It appears to me, that, under my
+humble roof, there’s hardly opening enough for a lady of your genius in
+other people’s affairs.’
+
+Mrs. Sparsit gave him a look of the darkest scorn, and said with great
+politeness, ‘Really, sir?’
+
+‘I have been thinking it over, you see, since the late affairs have
+happened, ma’am,’ said Bounderby; ‘and it appears to my poor judgment—’
+
+‘Oh! Pray, sir,’ Mrs. Sparsit interposed, with sprightly cheerfulness,
+‘don’t disparage your judgment. Everybody knows how unerring Mr.
+Bounderby’s judgment is. Everybody has had proofs of it. It must be the
+theme of general conversation. Disparage anything in yourself but your
+judgment, sir,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, laughing.
+
+Mr. Bounderby, very red and uncomfortable, resumed:
+
+‘It appears to me, ma’am, I say, that a different sort of establishment
+altogether would bring out a lady of _your_ powers. Such an
+establishment as your relation, Lady Scadgers’s, now. Don’t you think
+you might find some affairs there, ma’am, to interfere with?’
+
+‘It never occurred to me before, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit; ‘but now
+you mention it, should think it highly probable.’
+
+‘Then suppose you try, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, laying an envelope with a
+cheque in it in her little basket. ‘You can take your own time for
+going, ma’am; but perhaps in the meanwhile, it will be more agreeable to
+a lady of your powers of mind, to eat her meals by herself, and not to be
+intruded upon. I really ought to apologise to you—being only Josiah
+Bounderby of Coketown—for having stood in your light so long.’
+
+‘Pray don’t name it, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit. ‘If that portrait
+could speak, sir—but it has the advantage over the original of not
+possessing the power of committing itself and disgusting others,—it would
+testify, that a long period has elapsed since I first habitually
+addressed it as the picture of a Noodle. Nothing that a Noodle does, can
+awaken surprise or indignation; the proceedings of a Noodle can only
+inspire contempt.’
+
+Thus saying, Mrs. Sparsit, with her Roman features like a medal struck to
+commemorate her scorn of Mr. Bounderby, surveyed him fixedly from head to
+foot, swept disdainfully past him, and ascended the staircase. Mr.
+Bounderby closed the door, and stood before the fire; projecting himself
+after his old explosive manner into his portrait—and into futurity.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Into how much of futurity? He saw Mrs. Sparsit fighting out a daily
+fight at the points of all the weapons in the female armoury, with the
+grudging, smarting, peevish, tormenting Lady Scadgers, still laid up in
+bed with her mysterious leg, and gobbling her insufficient income down by
+about the middle of every quarter, in a mean little airless lodging, a
+mere closet for one, a mere crib for two; but did he see more? Did he
+catch any glimpse of himself making a show of Bitzer to strangers, as the
+rising young man, so devoted to his master’s great merits, who had won
+young Tom’s place, and had almost captured young Tom himself, in the
+times when by various rascals he was spirited away? Did he see any faint
+reflection of his own image making a vain-glorious will, whereby
+five-and-twenty Humbugs, past five-and-fifty years of age, each taking
+upon himself the name, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, should for ever dine
+in Bounderby Hall, for ever lodge in Bounderby buildings, for ever attend
+a Bounderby chapel, for ever go to sleep under a Bounderby chaplain, for
+ever be supported out of a Bounderby estate, and for ever nauseate all
+healthy stomachs, with a vast amount of Bounderby balderdash and bluster?
+Had he any prescience of the day, five years to come, when Josiah
+Bounderby of Coketown was to die of a fit in the Coketown street, and
+this same precious will was to begin its long career of quibble, plunder,
+false pretences, vile example, little service and much law? Probably
+not. Yet the portrait was to see it all out.
+
+Here was Mr. Gradgrind on the same day, and in the same hour, sitting
+thoughtful in his own room. How much of futurity did _he_ see? Did he
+see himself, a white-haired decrepit man, bending his hitherto inflexible
+theories to appointed circumstances; making his facts and figures
+subservient to Faith, Hope, and Charity; and no longer trying to grind
+that Heavenly trio in his dusty little mills? Did he catch sight of
+himself, therefore much despised by his late political associates? Did
+he see them, in the era of its being quite settled that the national
+dustmen have only to do with one another, and owe no duty to an
+abstraction called a People, ‘taunting the honourable gentleman’ with
+this and with that and with what not, five nights a-week, until the small
+hours of the morning? Probably he had that much foreknowledge, knowing
+his men.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Here was Louisa on the night of the same day, watching the fire as in
+days of yore, though with a gentler and a humbler face. How much of the
+future might arise before _her_ vision? Broadsides in the streets,
+signed with her father’s name, exonerating the late Stephen Blackpool,
+weaver, from misplaced suspicion, and publishing the guilt of his own
+son, with such extenuation as his years and temptation (he could not
+bring himself to add, his education) might beseech; were of the Present.
+So, Stephen Blackpool’s tombstone, with her father’s record of his death,
+was almost of the Present, for she knew it was to be. These things she
+could plainly see. But, how much of the Future?
+
+A working woman, christened Rachael, after a long illness once again
+appearing at the ringing of the Factory bell, and passing to and fro at
+the set hours, among the Coketown Hands; a woman of pensive beauty,
+always dressed in black, but sweet-tempered and serene, and even
+cheerful; who, of all the people in the place, alone appeared to have
+compassion on a degraded, drunken wretch of her own sex, who was
+sometimes seen in the town secretly begging of her, and crying to her; a
+woman working, ever working, but content to do it, and preferring to do
+it as her natural lot, until she should be too old to labour any more?
+Did Louisa see this? Such a thing was to be.
+
+A lonely brother, many thousands of miles away, writing, on paper blotted
+with tears, that her words had too soon come true, and that all the
+treasures in the world would be cheaply bartered for a sight of her dear
+face? At length this brother coming nearer home, with hope of seeing
+her, and being delayed by illness; and then a letter, in a strange hand,
+saying ‘he died in hospital, of fever, such a day, and died in penitence
+and love of you: his last word being your name’? Did Louisa see these
+things? Such things were to be.
+
+Herself again a wife—a mother—lovingly watchful of her children, ever
+careful that they should have a childhood of the mind no less than a
+childhood of the body, as knowing it to be even a more beautiful thing,
+and a possession, any hoarded scrap of which, is a blessing and happiness
+to the wisest? Did Louisa see this? Such a thing was never to be.
+
+But, happy Sissy’s happy children loving her; all children loving her;
+she, grown learned in childish lore; thinking no innocent and pretty
+fancy ever to be despised; trying hard to know her humbler
+fellow-creatures, and to beautify their lives of machinery and reality
+with those imaginative graces and delights, without which the heart of
+infancy will wither up, the sturdiest physical manhood will be morally
+stark death, and the plainest national prosperity figures can show, will
+be the Writing on the Wall,—she holding this course as part of no
+fantastic vow, or bond, or brotherhood, or sisterhood, or pledge, or
+covenant, or fancy dress, or fancy fair; but simply as a duty to be
+done,—did Louisa see these things of herself? These things were to be.
+
+Dear reader! It rests with you and me, whether, in our two fields of
+action, similar things shall be or not. Let them be! We shall sit with
+lighter bosoms on the hearth, to see the ashes of our fires turn gray and
+cold.
+
+++ /dev/null
-{
- "cells": [
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "# Gender roles and pronouns in Austen's texts\n",
- "\n",
- "Following examples from post at [GENDER ROLES WITH TEXT MINING AND N-GRAMS](https://juliasilge.com/blog/gender-pronouns/).\n",
- "\n",
- "Books from [Project Gutenberg](http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/webbin/gutbook/author?name=Austen%2C%20Jane%2C%201775-1817)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 1,
- "metadata": {
- "collapsed": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "import re\n",
- "import collections\n",
- "import numpy as np\n",
- "import pandas as pd\n",
- "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n",
- "\n",
- "%matplotlib inline"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "## Read the books and get the bigrams\n",
- "\n",
- "First, define the books and the files they're in."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 2,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "austen_books_filenames = {\n",
- " 'Persuasion': '105.txt',\n",
- " 'Northanger Abbey': '121.txt',\n",
- " 'Pride and Prejudice': '1342.txt',\n",
- " 'Mansfield Park': '141.txt',\n",
- " 'Emma': '158-0.txt',\n",
- " 'Sense and Sensibility': '161.txt'\n",
- "}\n",
- "\n",
- "eliot_books_filenames = {\n",
- " 'Middlemarch': 'pg145.txt',\n",
- " 'Silas Marner': 'pg550.txt',\n",
- " 'The Mill on the Floss': '6688-0.txt'\n",
- "}\n",
- "\n",
- "bronte_books_filenames = {'Jane Eyre': 'pg1260.txt'}"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "Split a book into words, dropping punctuation and excessive whitespace."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 4,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "token_split_re = re.compile(r'\\W')\n",
- "\n",
- "def tokens(text):\n",
- " return [token.strip('_') # underscore is used to signify italic, but we don't want that in this analysis\n",
- " for token in re.split(token_split_re, text) \n",
- " if token]"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 5,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "austen_books = {title: open(austen_books_filenames[title], encoding='latin1').read().lower()\n",
- " for title in austen_books_filenames}"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 6,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "['emma',\n",
- " 'by',\n",
- " 'jane',\n",
- " 'austen',\n",
- " 'volume',\n",
- " 'i',\n",
- " 'chapter',\n",
- " 'i',\n",
- " 'emma',\n",
- " 'woodhouse',\n",
- " 'handsome',\n",
- " 'clever',\n",
- " 'and',\n",
- " 'rich',\n",
- " 'with',\n",
- " 'a',\n",
- " 'comfortable',\n",
- " 'home',\n",
- " 'and',\n",
- " 'happy',\n",
- " 'disposition',\n",
- " 'seemed',\n",
- " 'to',\n",
- " 'unite',\n",
- " 'some',\n",
- " 'of',\n",
- " 'the',\n",
- " 'best',\n",
- " 'blessings',\n",
- " 'of']"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 6,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "tokens(austen_books['Emma'])[:30]"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 7,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "733839"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 7,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "austen_books_all_tokens = [token for book in austen_books for token in tokens(austen_books[book])]\n",
- "len(austen_books_all_tokens)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "Now find all the bigrams (ordered pairs of words)."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 8,
- "metadata": {
- "collapsed": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "def bigrams(tokens):\n",
- " return [(tokens[i-1], tokens[i]) for i in range(1, len(tokens))]"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 9,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "[('emma', 'by'),\n",
- " ('by', 'jane'),\n",
- " ('jane', 'austen'),\n",
- " ('austen', 'volume'),\n",
- " ('volume', 'i'),\n",
- " ('i', 'chapter'),\n",
- " ('chapter', 'i'),\n",
- " ('i', 'emma'),\n",
- " ('emma', 'woodhouse'),\n",
- " ('woodhouse', 'handsome'),\n",
- " ('handsome', 'clever'),\n",
- " ('clever', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'rich'),\n",
- " ('rich', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'comfortable'),\n",
- " ('comfortable', 'home'),\n",
- " ('home', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'happy'),\n",
- " ('happy', 'disposition'),\n",
- " ('disposition', 'seemed'),\n",
- " ('seemed', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'unite'),\n",
- " ('unite', 'some'),\n",
- " ('some', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'best'),\n",
- " ('best', 'blessings'),\n",
- " ('blessings', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'existence'),\n",
- " ('existence', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'lived'),\n",
- " ('lived', 'nearly'),\n",
- " ('nearly', 'twenty'),\n",
- " ('twenty', 'one'),\n",
- " ('one', 'years'),\n",
- " ('years', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'world'),\n",
- " ('world', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'very'),\n",
- " ('very', 'little'),\n",
- " ('little', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'distress'),\n",
- " ('distress', 'or'),\n",
- " ('or', 'vex'),\n",
- " ('vex', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'youngest'),\n",
- " ('youngest', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'two'),\n",
- " ('two', 'daughters'),\n",
- " ('daughters', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'most'),\n",
- " ('most', 'affectionate'),\n",
- " ('affectionate', 'indulgent'),\n",
- " ('indulgent', 'father'),\n",
- " ('father', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'consequence'),\n",
- " ('consequence', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'sisterâ'),\n",
- " ('sisterâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'marriage'),\n",
- " ('marriage', 'been'),\n",
- " ('been', 'mistress'),\n",
- " ('mistress', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'house'),\n",
- " ('house', 'from'),\n",
- " ('from', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'very'),\n",
- " ('very', 'early'),\n",
- " ('early', 'period'),\n",
- " ('period', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'mother'),\n",
- " ('mother', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'died'),\n",
- " ('died', 'too'),\n",
- " ('too', 'long'),\n",
- " ('long', 'ago'),\n",
- " ('ago', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'have'),\n",
- " ('have', 'more'),\n",
- " ('more', 'than'),\n",
- " ('than', 'an'),\n",
- " ('an', 'indistinct'),\n",
- " ('indistinct', 'remembrance'),\n",
- " ('remembrance', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'caresses'),\n",
- " ('caresses', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'place'),\n",
- " ('place', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'been'),\n",
- " ('been', 'supplied'),\n",
- " ('supplied', 'by'),\n",
- " ('by', 'an'),\n",
- " ('an', 'excellent'),\n",
- " ('excellent', 'woman'),\n",
- " ('woman', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'governess'),\n",
- " ('governess', 'who'),\n",
- " ('who', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'fallen'),\n",
- " ('fallen', 'little'),\n",
- " ('little', 'short'),\n",
- " ('short', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'mother'),\n",
- " ('mother', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'affection'),\n",
- " ('affection', 'sixteen'),\n",
- " ('sixteen', 'years'),\n",
- " ('years', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylor'),\n",
- " ('taylor', 'been'),\n",
- " ('been', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'mr'),\n",
- " ('mr', 'woodhouseâ'),\n",
- " ('woodhouseâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'family'),\n",
- " ('family', 'less'),\n",
- " ('less', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'governess'),\n",
- " ('governess', 'than'),\n",
- " ('than', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'friend'),\n",
- " ('friend', 'very'),\n",
- " ('very', 'fond'),\n",
- " ('fond', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'both'),\n",
- " ('both', 'daughters'),\n",
- " ('daughters', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'particularly'),\n",
- " ('particularly', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'emma'),\n",
- " ('emma', 'between'),\n",
- " ('between', 'them'),\n",
- " ('them', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'more'),\n",
- " ('more', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'intimacy'),\n",
- " ('intimacy', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'sisters'),\n",
- " ('sisters', 'even'),\n",
- " ('even', 'before'),\n",
- " ('before', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylor'),\n",
- " ('taylor', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'ceased'),\n",
- " ('ceased', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'hold'),\n",
- " ('hold', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'nominal'),\n",
- " ('nominal', 'office'),\n",
- " ('office', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'governess'),\n",
- " ('governess', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'mildness'),\n",
- " ('mildness', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'temper'),\n",
- " ('temper', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'hardly'),\n",
- " ('hardly', 'allowed'),\n",
- " ('allowed', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'impose'),\n",
- " ('impose', 'any'),\n",
- " ('any', 'restraint'),\n",
- " ('restraint', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'shadow'),\n",
- " ('shadow', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'authority'),\n",
- " ('authority', 'being'),\n",
- " ('being', 'now'),\n",
- " ('now', 'long'),\n",
- " ('long', 'passed'),\n",
- " ('passed', 'away'),\n",
- " ('away', 'they'),\n",
- " ('they', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'been'),\n",
- " ('been', 'living'),\n",
- " ('living', 'together'),\n",
- " ('together', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'friend'),\n",
- " ('friend', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'friend'),\n",
- " ('friend', 'very'),\n",
- " ('very', 'mutually'),\n",
- " ('mutually', 'attached'),\n",
- " ('attached', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'emma'),\n",
- " ('emma', 'doing'),\n",
- " ('doing', 'just'),\n",
- " ('just', 'what'),\n",
- " ('what', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'liked'),\n",
- " ('liked', 'highly'),\n",
- " ('highly', 'esteeming'),\n",
- " ('esteeming', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylorâ'),\n",
- " ('taylorâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'judgment'),\n",
- " ('judgment', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'directed'),\n",
- " ('directed', 'chiefly'),\n",
- " ('chiefly', 'by'),\n",
- " ('by', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'own'),\n",
- " ('own', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'real'),\n",
- " ('real', 'evils'),\n",
- " ('evils', 'indeed'),\n",
- " ('indeed', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'emmaâ'),\n",
- " ('emmaâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'situation'),\n",
- " ('situation', 'were'),\n",
- " ('were', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'power'),\n",
- " ('power', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'having'),\n",
- " ('having', 'rather'),\n",
- " ('rather', 'too'),\n",
- " ('too', 'much'),\n",
- " ('much', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'own'),\n",
- " ('own', 'way'),\n",
- " ('way', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'disposition'),\n",
- " ('disposition', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'think'),\n",
- " ('think', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'little'),\n",
- " ('little', 'too'),\n",
- " ('too', 'well'),\n",
- " ('well', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'herself'),\n",
- " ('herself', 'these'),\n",
- " ('these', 'were'),\n",
- " ('were', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'disadvantages'),\n",
- " ('disadvantages', 'which'),\n",
- " ('which', 'threatened'),\n",
- " ('threatened', 'alloy'),\n",
- " ('alloy', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'many'),\n",
- " ('many', 'enjoyments'),\n",
- " ('enjoyments', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'danger'),\n",
- " ('danger', 'however'),\n",
- " ('however', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'at'),\n",
- " ('at', 'present'),\n",
- " ('present', 'so'),\n",
- " ('so', 'unperceived'),\n",
- " ('unperceived', 'that'),\n",
- " ('that', 'they'),\n",
- " ('they', 'did'),\n",
- " ('did', 'not'),\n",
- " ('not', 'by'),\n",
- " ('by', 'any'),\n",
- " ('any', 'means'),\n",
- " ('means', 'rank'),\n",
- " ('rank', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'misfortunes'),\n",
- " ('misfortunes', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'sorrow'),\n",
- " ('sorrow', 'came'),\n",
- " ('came', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'gentle'),\n",
- " ('gentle', 'sorrow'),\n",
- " ('sorrow', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'not'),\n",
- " ('not', 'at'),\n",
- " ('at', 'all'),\n",
- " ('all', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'shape'),\n",
- " ('shape', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'any'),\n",
- " ('any', 'disagreeable'),\n",
- " ('disagreeable', 'consciousness'),\n",
- " ('consciousness', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylor'),\n",
- " ('taylor', 'married'),\n",
- " ('married', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylorâ'),\n",
- " ('taylorâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'loss'),\n",
- " ('loss', 'which'),\n",
- " ('which', 'first'),\n",
- " ('first', 'brought'),\n",
- " ('brought', 'grief'),\n",
- " ('grief', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'on'),\n",
- " ('on', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'wedding'),\n",
- " ('wedding', 'day'),\n",
- " ('day', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'this'),\n",
- " ('this', 'beloved'),\n",
- " ('beloved', 'friend'),\n",
- " ('friend', 'that'),\n",
- " ('that', 'emma'),\n",
- " ('emma', 'first'),\n",
- " ('first', 'sat'),\n",
- " ('sat', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'mournful'),\n",
- " ('mournful', 'thought'),\n",
- " ('thought', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'any'),\n",
- " ('any', 'continuance'),\n",
- " ('continuance', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'wedding'),\n",
- " ('wedding', 'over'),\n",
- " ('over', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'bride'),\n",
- " ('bride', 'people'),\n",
- " ('people', 'gone'),\n",
- " ('gone', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'father'),\n",
- " ('father', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'herself'),\n",
- " ('herself', 'were'),\n",
- " ('were', 'left'),\n",
- " ('left', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'dine'),\n",
- " ('dine', 'together'),\n",
- " ('together', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'no'),\n",
- " ('no', 'prospect'),\n",
- " ('prospect', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'third'),\n",
- " ('third', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'cheer'),\n",
- " ('cheer', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'long'),\n",
- " ('long', 'evening'),\n",
- " ('evening', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'father'),\n",
- " ('father', 'composed'),\n",
- " ('composed', 'himself'),\n",
- " ('himself', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'sleep'),\n",
- " ('sleep', 'after'),\n",
- " ('after', 'dinner'),\n",
- " ('dinner', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'usual'),\n",
- " ('usual', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'then'),\n",
- " ('then', 'only'),\n",
- " ('only', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'sit'),\n",
- " ('sit', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'think'),\n",
- " ('think', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'what'),\n",
- " ('what', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'lost'),\n",
- " ('lost', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'event'),\n",
- " ('event', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'promise'),\n",
- " ('promise', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'happiness'),\n",
- " ('happiness', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'friend'),\n",
- " ('friend', 'mr'),\n",
- " ('mr', 'weston'),\n",
- " ('weston', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'man'),\n",
- " ('man', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'unexceptionable'),\n",
- " ('unexceptionable', 'character'),\n",
- " ('character', 'easy'),\n",
- " ('easy', 'fortune'),\n",
- " ('fortune', 'suitable'),\n",
- " ('suitable', 'age'),\n",
- " ('age', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'pleasant'),\n",
- " ('pleasant', 'manners'),\n",
- " ('manners', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'there'),\n",
- " ('there', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'some'),\n",
- " ('some', 'satisfaction'),\n",
- " ('satisfaction', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'considering'),\n",
- " ('considering', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'what'),\n",
- " ('what', 'self'),\n",
- " ('self', 'denying'),\n",
- " ('denying', 'generous'),\n",
- " ('generous', 'friendship'),\n",
- " ('friendship', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'always'),\n",
- " ('always', 'wished'),\n",
- " ('wished', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'promoted'),\n",
- " ('promoted', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'match'),\n",
- " ('match', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'black'),\n",
- " ('black', 'morningâ'),\n",
- " ('morningâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'work'),\n",
- " ('work', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'want'),\n",
- " ('want', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylor'),\n",
- " ('taylor', 'would'),\n",
- " ('would', 'be'),\n",
- " ('be', 'felt'),\n",
- " ('felt', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'hour'),\n",
- " ('hour', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'day'),\n",
- " ('day', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'recalled'),\n",
- " ('recalled', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'past'),\n",
- " ('past', 'kindness'),\n",
- " ('kindness', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'kindness'),\n",
- " ('kindness', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'affection'),\n",
- " ('affection', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'sixteen'),\n",
- " ('sixteen', 'years'),\n",
- " ('years', 'how'),\n",
- " ('how', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'taught'),\n",
- " ('taught', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'how'),\n",
- " ('how', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'played'),\n",
- " ('played', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'from'),\n",
- " ('from', 'five'),\n",
- " ('five', 'years'),\n",
- " ('years', 'old'),\n",
- " ('old', 'how'),\n",
- " ('how', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'devoted'),\n",
- " ('devoted', 'all'),\n",
- " ('all', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'powers'),\n",
- " ('powers', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'attach'),\n",
- " ('attach', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'amuse'),\n",
- " ('amuse', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'health'),\n",
- " ('health', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'how'),\n",
- " ('how', 'nursed'),\n",
- " ('nursed', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'through'),\n",
- " ('through', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'various'),\n",
- " ('various', 'illnesses'),\n",
- " ('illnesses', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'childhood'),\n",
- " ('childhood', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'large'),\n",
- " ('large', 'debt'),\n",
- " ('debt', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'gratitude'),\n",
- " ('gratitude', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'owing'),\n",
- " ('owing', 'here'),\n",
- " ('here', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'intercourse'),\n",
- " ('intercourse', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'last'),\n",
- " ('last', 'seven'),\n",
- " ('seven', 'years'),\n",
- " ('years', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'equal'),\n",
- " ('equal', 'footing'),\n",
- " ('footing', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'perfect'),\n",
- " ('perfect', 'unreserve'),\n",
- " ('unreserve', 'which'),\n",
- " ('which', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'soon'),\n",
- " ('soon', 'followed'),\n",
- " ('followed', 'isabellaâ'),\n",
- " ('isabellaâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'marriage'),\n",
- " ('marriage', 'on'),\n",
- " ('on', 'their'),\n",
- " ('their', 'being'),\n",
- " ('being', 'left'),\n",
- " ('left', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'each'),\n",
- " ('each', 'other'),\n",
- " ('other', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'yet'),\n",
- " ('yet', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'dearer'),\n",
- " ('dearer', 'tenderer'),\n",
- " ('tenderer', 'recollection'),\n",
- " ('recollection', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'been'),\n",
- " ('been', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'friend'),\n",
- " ('friend', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'companion'),\n",
- " ('companion', 'such'),\n",
- " ('such', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'few'),\n",
- " ('few', 'possessed'),\n",
- " ('possessed', 'intelligent'),\n",
- " ('intelligent', 'well'),\n",
- " ('well', 'informed'),\n",
- " ('informed', 'useful'),\n",
- " ('useful', 'gentle'),\n",
- " ('gentle', 'knowing'),\n",
- " ('knowing', 'all'),\n",
- " ('all', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'ways'),\n",
- " ('ways', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'family'),\n",
- " ('family', 'interested'),\n",
- " ('interested', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'all'),\n",
- " ('all', 'its'),\n",
- " ('its', 'concerns'),\n",
- " ('concerns', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'peculiarly'),\n",
- " ('peculiarly', 'interested'),\n",
- " ('interested', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'herself'),\n",
- " ('herself', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'pleasure'),\n",
- " ('pleasure', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'scheme'),\n",
- " ('scheme', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'hers'),\n",
- " ('hers', 'one'),\n",
- " ('one', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'whom'),\n",
- " ('whom', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'could'),\n",
- " ('could', 'speak'),\n",
- " ('speak', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'thought'),\n",
- " ('thought', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'arose'),\n",
- " ('arose', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'who'),\n",
- " ('who', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'such'),\n",
- " ('such', 'an'),\n",
- " ('an', 'affection'),\n",
- " ('affection', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'could'),\n",
- " ('could', 'never'),\n",
- " ('never', 'find'),\n",
- " ('find', 'fault'),\n",
- " ('fault', 'how'),\n",
- " ('how', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'bear'),\n",
- " ('bear', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'change'),\n",
- " ('change', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'true'),\n",
- " ('true', 'that'),\n",
- " ('that', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'friend'),\n",
- " ('friend', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'going'),\n",
- " ('going', 'only'),\n",
- " ('only', 'half'),\n",
- " ('half', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'mile'),\n",
- " ('mile', 'from'),\n",
- " ('from', 'them'),\n",
- " ('them', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'emma'),\n",
- " ('emma', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'aware'),\n",
- " ('aware', 'that'),\n",
- " ('that', 'great'),\n",
- " ('great', 'must'),\n",
- " ('must', 'be'),\n",
- " ('be', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'difference'),\n",
- " ('difference', 'between'),\n",
- " ('between', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'mrs'),\n",
- " ('mrs', 'weston'),\n",
- " ('weston', 'only'),\n",
- " ('only', 'half'),\n",
- " ('half', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'mile'),\n",
- " ('mile', 'from'),\n",
- " ('from', 'them'),\n",
- " ('them', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylor'),\n",
- " ('taylor', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'house'),\n",
- " ('house', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'all'),\n",
- " ('all', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'advantages'),\n",
- " ('advantages', 'natural'),\n",
- " ('natural', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'domestic'),\n",
- " ('domestic', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'now'),\n",
- " ('now', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'great'),\n",
- " ('great', 'danger'),\n",
- " ('danger', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'suffering'),\n",
- " ('suffering', 'from'),\n",
- " ('from', 'intellectual'),\n",
- " ('intellectual', 'solitude'),\n",
- " ('solitude', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'dearly'),\n",
- " ('dearly', 'loved'),\n",
- " ('loved', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'father'),\n",
- " ('father', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'he'),\n",
- " ('he', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'no'),\n",
- " ('no', 'companion'),\n",
- " ('companion', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'he'),\n",
- " ('he', 'could'),\n",
- " ('could', 'not'),\n",
- " ('not', 'meet'),\n",
- " ('meet', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'conversation'),\n",
- " ('conversation', 'rational'),\n",
- " ('rational', 'or'),\n",
- " ('or', 'playful'),\n",
- " ('playful', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'evil'),\n",
- " ('evil', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'actual'),\n",
- " ('actual', 'disparity'),\n",
- " ('disparity', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'their'),\n",
- " ('their', 'ages'),\n",
- " ('ages', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'mr'),\n",
- " ('mr', 'woodhouse'),\n",
- " ('woodhouse', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'not'),\n",
- " ('not', 'married'),\n",
- " ('married', 'early'),\n",
- " ('early', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'much'),\n",
- " ('much', 'increased'),\n",
- " ('increased', 'by'),\n",
- " ('by', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'constitution'),\n",
- " ('constitution', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'habits'),\n",
- " ('habits', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'having'),\n",
- " ('having', 'been'),\n",
- " ('been', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'valetudinarian'),\n",
- " ('valetudinarian', 'all'),\n",
- " ('all', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'life'),\n",
- " ('life', 'without'),\n",
- " ('without', 'activity'),\n",
- " ('activity', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'mind'),\n",
- " ('mind', 'or'),\n",
- " ('or', 'body'),\n",
- " ('body', 'he'),\n",
- " ('he', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'much'),\n",
- " ('much', 'older'),\n",
- " ('older', 'man'),\n",
- " ('man', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'ways'),\n",
- " ('ways', 'than'),\n",
- " ('than', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'years'),\n",
- " ('years', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'though'),\n",
- " ('though', 'everywhere'),\n",
- " ('everywhere', 'beloved'),\n",
- " ('beloved', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'friendliness'),\n",
- " ('friendliness', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'heart'),\n",
- " ('heart', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'amiable'),\n",
- " ('amiable', 'temper'),\n",
- " ('temper', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'talents'),\n",
- " ('talents', 'could'),\n",
- " ('could', 'not'),\n",
- " ('not', 'have'),\n",
- " ('have', 'recommended'),\n",
- " ('recommended', 'him'),\n",
- " ('him', 'at'),\n",
- " ('at', 'any'),\n",
- " ('any', 'time'),\n",
- " ('time', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'sister'),\n",
- " ('sister', 'though'),\n",
- " ('though', 'comparatively'),\n",
- " ('comparatively', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'little'),\n",
- " ('little', 'removed'),\n",
- " ('removed', 'by'),\n",
- " ('by', 'matrimony'),\n",
- " ('matrimony', 'being'),\n",
- " ('being', 'settled'),\n",
- " ('settled', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'london'),\n",
- " ('london', 'only'),\n",
- " ('only', 'sixteen'),\n",
- " ('sixteen', 'miles'),\n",
- " ('miles', 'off'),\n",
- " ('off', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'much'),\n",
- " ('much', 'beyond'),\n",
- " ('beyond', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'daily'),\n",
- " ('daily', 'reach'),\n",
- " ('reach', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'many'),\n",
- " ('many', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'long'),\n",
- " ('long', 'october'),\n",
- " ('october', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'november'),\n",
- " ('november', 'evening'),\n",
- " ('evening', 'must'),\n",
- " ('must', 'be'),\n",
- " ('be', 'struggled'),\n",
- " ('struggled', 'through'),\n",
- " ('through', 'at'),\n",
- " ('at', 'hartfield'),\n",
- " ('hartfield', 'before'),\n",
- " ('before', 'christmas'),\n",
- " ('christmas', 'brought'),\n",
- " ('brought', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'next'),\n",
- " ('next', 'visit'),\n",
- " ('visit', 'from'),\n",
- " ('from', 'isabella'),\n",
- " ('isabella', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'husband'),\n",
- " ('husband', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'their'),\n",
- " ('their', 'little'),\n",
- " ('little', 'children'),\n",
- " ('children', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'fill'),\n",
- " ('fill', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'house'),\n",
- " ('house', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'give'),\n",
- " ('give', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'pleasant'),\n",
- " ('pleasant', 'society'),\n",
- " ('society', 'again'),\n",
- " ('again', 'highbury'),\n",
- " ('highbury', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'large'),\n",
- " ('large', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'populous'),\n",
- " ('populous', 'village'),\n",
- " ('village', 'almost'),\n",
- " ('almost', 'amounting'),\n",
- " ('amounting', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'town'),\n",
- " ('town', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'which'),\n",
- " ('which', 'hartfield'),\n",
- " ('hartfield', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'spite'),\n",
- " ('spite', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'its'),\n",
- " ('its', 'separate'),\n",
- " ('separate', 'lawn'),\n",
- " ('lawn', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'shrubberies'),\n",
- " ('shrubberies', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'name'),\n",
- " ('name', 'did'),\n",
- " ('did', 'really'),\n",
- " ('really', 'belong'),\n",
- " ('belong', 'afforded'),\n",
- " ('afforded', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'no'),\n",
- " ('no', 'equals'),\n",
- " ('equals', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'woodhouses'),\n",
- " ('woodhouses', 'were'),\n",
- " ('were', 'first'),\n",
- " ('first', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'consequence'),\n",
- " ('consequence', 'there'),\n",
- " ('there', 'all'),\n",
- " ('all', 'looked'),\n",
- " ('looked', 'up'),\n",
- " ('up', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'them'),\n",
- " ('them', 'she'),\n",
- " ('she', 'had'),\n",
- " ('had', 'many'),\n",
- " ('many', 'acquaintance'),\n",
- " ('acquaintance', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'place'),\n",
- " ('place', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'father'),\n",
- " ('father', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'universally'),\n",
- " ('universally', 'civil'),\n",
- " ('civil', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'not'),\n",
- " ('not', 'one'),\n",
- " ('one', 'among'),\n",
- " ('among', 'them'),\n",
- " ('them', 'who'),\n",
- " ('who', 'could'),\n",
- " ('could', 'be'),\n",
- " ('be', 'accepted'),\n",
- " ('accepted', 'in'),\n",
- " ('in', 'lieu'),\n",
- " ('lieu', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'miss'),\n",
- " ('miss', 'taylor'),\n",
- " ('taylor', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'even'),\n",
- " ('even', 'half'),\n",
- " ('half', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'day'),\n",
- " ('day', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'melancholy'),\n",
- " ('melancholy', 'change'),\n",
- " ('change', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'emma'),\n",
- " ('emma', 'could'),\n",
- " ('could', 'not'),\n",
- " ('not', 'but'),\n",
- " ('but', 'sigh'),\n",
- " ('sigh', 'over'),\n",
- " ('over', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'wish'),\n",
- " ('wish', 'for'),\n",
- " ('for', 'impossible'),\n",
- " ('impossible', 'things'),\n",
- " ('things', 'till'),\n",
- " ('till', 'her'),\n",
- " ('her', 'father'),\n",
- " ('father', 'awoke'),\n",
- " ('awoke', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'made'),\n",
- " ('made', 'it'),\n",
- " ('it', 'necessary'),\n",
- " ('necessary', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'be'),\n",
- " ('be', 'cheerful'),\n",
- " ('cheerful', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'spirits'),\n",
- " ('spirits', 'required'),\n",
- " ('required', 'support'),\n",
- " ('support', 'he'),\n",
- " ('he', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'a'),\n",
- " ('a', 'nervous'),\n",
- " ('nervous', 'man'),\n",
- " ('man', 'easily'),\n",
- " ('easily', 'depressed'),\n",
- " ('depressed', 'fond'),\n",
- " ('fond', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'body'),\n",
- " ('body', 'that'),\n",
- " ('that', 'he'),\n",
- " ('he', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'used'),\n",
- " ('used', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'hating'),\n",
- " ('hating', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'part'),\n",
- " ('part', 'with'),\n",
- " ('with', 'them'),\n",
- " ('them', 'hating'),\n",
- " ('hating', 'change'),\n",
- " ('change', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'every'),\n",
- " ('every', 'kind'),\n",
- " ('kind', 'matrimony'),\n",
- " ('matrimony', 'as'),\n",
- " ('as', 'the'),\n",
- " ('the', 'origin'),\n",
- " ('origin', 'of'),\n",
- " ('of', 'change'),\n",
- " ('change', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'always'),\n",
- " ('always', 'disagreeable'),\n",
- " ('disagreeable', 'and'),\n",
- " ('and', 'he'),\n",
- " ('he', 'was'),\n",
- " ('was', 'by'),\n",
- " ('by', 'no'),\n",
- " ('no', 'means'),\n",
- " ('means', 'yet'),\n",
- " ('yet', 'reconciled'),\n",
- " ('reconciled', 'to'),\n",
- " ('to', 'his'),\n",
- " ('his', 'own'),\n",
- " ('own', 'daughterâ'),\n",
- " ('daughterâ', 's'),\n",
- " ('s', 'marrying'),\n",
- " ('marrying', 'nor'),\n",
- " ('nor', 'could'),\n",
- " ('could', 'ever'),\n",
- " ('ever', 'speak'),\n",
- " ('speak', 'of'),\n",
- " ...]"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 9,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "bigrams(tokens(austen_books['Emma']))"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "Gendered bigrams are those with 'he' or 'she' in the first position."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 10,
- "metadata": {
- "collapsed": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "gendered_bigrams = {book: \n",
- " collections.Counter(bigram \n",
- " for bigram in bigrams(tokens(austen_books[book]))\n",
- " if bigram[0] == 'he' or bigram[0] == 'she') \n",
- " for book in austen_books}"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 11,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "Counter({('he', 'a'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'acknowledged'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'added'): 4,\n",
- " ('he', 'admired'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'advances'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'affronted'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'after'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'agreeable'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'agreed'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'almost'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'always'): 4,\n",
- " ('he', 'and'): 8,\n",
- " ('he', 'answered'): 4,\n",
- " ('he', 'anticipated'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'appear'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'appeared'): 4,\n",
- " ('he', 'appears'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'argued'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'as'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'asked'): 6,\n",
- " ('he', 'asks'): 1,\n",
- " ('he', 'at'): 2,\n",
- " ('he', 'attended'): 1,\n",
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- " ('she', 'your'): 1,\n",
- " ('she', 'â'): 47})"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 11,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gendered_bigrams['Emma']"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 12,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "[(('she', 'had'), 334),\n",
- " (('she', 'was'), 331),\n",
- " (('he', 'had'), 242),\n",
- " (('he', 'was'), 222),\n",
- " (('she', 'could'), 172),\n",
- " (('she', 'is'), 124),\n",
- " (('he', 'is'), 99),\n",
- " (('she', 'would'), 96),\n",
- " (('he', 'could'), 96),\n",
- " (('he', 'would'), 85)]"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 12,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gendered_bigrams['Emma'].most_common(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 13,
- "metadata": {
- "collapsed": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "def gendered_bigrams(tokens):\n",
- " return collections.Counter(bigram\n",
- " for bigram in bigrams(tokens)\n",
- " if bigram[0] == 'he' or bigram[0] == 'she')"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 14,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "[(('she', 'had'), 1478),\n",
- " (('she', 'was'), 1391),\n",
- " (('he', 'had'), 1030),\n",
- " (('he', 'was'), 895),\n",
- " (('she', 'could'), 825),\n",
- " (('he', 'is'), 401),\n",
- " (('she', 'would'), 387),\n",
- " (('she', 'is'), 334),\n",
- " (('he', 'could'), 311),\n",
- " (('he', 'would'), 268)]"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 14,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gendered_bigrams_austen = gendered_bigrams(austen_books_all_tokens)\n",
- "\n",
- "gendered_bigrams_austen.most_common(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "Count the number of occurrences of each gendered bigram, separated by gender."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 15,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "def gender_counts(bigrams, lower_limit=0):\n",
- " gcounts = pd.DataFrame(\n",
- " {gender: {bigram[1]: bigrams[bigram] \n",
- " for bigram in bigrams \n",
- " if bigram[0] == gender}\n",
- " for gender in ['she', 'he']})\n",
- " gcounts.fillna(value=0, inplace=True)\n",
- " return gcounts[gcounts.sum(axis=1) > lower_limit]"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 16,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
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- "\n",
- "[1101 rows x 2 columns]"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 16,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_counts_austen = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_austen) \n",
- "gender_counts_austen"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 17,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
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- " <td>2.0</td>\n",
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- " <td>8.0</td>\n",
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- " <td>38.0</td>\n",
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- " <td>129.0</td>\n",
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- " <td>23.0</td>\n",
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- "text/plain": [
- " he she\n",
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- "\n",
- "[163 rows x 2 columns]"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 17,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "useful_gender_counts_austen = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_austen, lower_limit=10) \n",
- "useful_gender_counts_austen"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 18,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "326"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 18,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "useful_gender_counts_austen.size"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "Now find the odds ratio, which is the ratio of probabilities of each word being preceeded by 'she' vs the probabilty of it being preceeded by 'he'. \n",
- "\n",
- "To keep the numbers in a sensible range, take the log of the ratio.\n",
- "\n",
- "Because not every work appears for both genders, we apply some 'smoothing' to avoid things blowing up. The smoothing in the original blog post was to add one to the number of occurrences of each genered bigram, and add one to the total number of bigrams for that gender. A slightly less bad version is to assume we've seen each possible bigram some small number of times (e.g. 0.1) and adust all the scores accordingly."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 19,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "def find_ratios(gcounts, smoothing_add=0.1, smoothing_scale=None):\n",
- " if smoothing_scale is None:\n",
- " smoothing_scale = smoothing_add * gcounts.size\n",
- "\n",
- " gender_ratio = pd.DataFrame(\n",
- " {'she': (gcounts['she'] + smoothing_add) / (gcounts['she'].sum() + smoothing_scale),\n",
- " 'he': (gcounts['he'] + smoothing_add) / (gcounts['he'].sum() + smoothing_scale)}\n",
- " )\n",
- " gender_ratio['logratio'] = (gender_ratio.she / gender_ratio.he).apply(np.log2)\n",
- " gender_ratio['abslogratio'] = gender_ratio.logratio.abs()\n",
- " return gender_ratio"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 20,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
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- " <th>he</th>\n",
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- " <th>loves</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000938</td>\n",
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- " <td>0.058966</td>\n",
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- "text/plain": [
- " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
- "i 0.003128 0.003153 0.011423 0.011423\n",
- "have 0.003128 0.003153 0.011423 0.011423\n",
- "always 0.001877 0.001914 0.028497 0.028497\n",
- "acknowledged 0.001095 0.001126 0.040570 0.040570\n",
- "it 0.001095 0.001126 0.040570 0.040570\n",
- "remained 0.001095 0.001126 0.040570 0.040570\n",
- "had 0.161245 0.166535 0.046574 0.046574\n",
- "would 0.042071 0.043689 0.054447 0.054447\n",
- "paused 0.001408 0.001464 0.056511 0.056511\n",
- "loves 0.000938 0.000901 -0.058966 0.058966"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 20,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_ratio_austen = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_austen, smoothing_add=1, smoothing_scale=1)\n",
- "gender_ratio_austen.sort_values('abslogratio').head(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 21,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
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- " <td>0.041724</td>\n",
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- " <th>wrote</th>\n",
- " <td>0.002039</td>\n",
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- " <td>0.087586</td>\n",
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- "text/plain": [
- " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
- "a 0.000794 0.000797 0.005307 0.005307\n",
- "loves 0.000794 0.000797 0.005307 0.005307\n",
- "too 0.000794 0.000797 0.005307 0.005307\n",
- "have 0.002972 0.003041 0.032705 0.032705\n",
- "i 0.002972 0.003041 0.032705 0.032705\n",
- "had 0.160312 0.165844 0.048944 0.048944\n",
- "would 0.041724 0.043433 0.057920 0.057920\n",
- "always 0.001727 0.001806 0.064486 0.064486\n",
- "must 0.022115 0.020881 -0.082844 0.082844\n",
- "wrote 0.002039 0.001919 -0.087586 0.087586"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 21,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_ratio_austen = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_austen)\n",
- "gender_ratio_austen.sort_values('abslogratio').head(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "These are the words with the greatest gender skew."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 22,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
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- " <td>6.858902</td>\n",
- " <td>6.858902</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>read</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002592</td>\n",
- " <td>2.987416</td>\n",
- " <td>2.987416</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>resolved</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
- " <td>0.001582</td>\n",
- " <td>2.275219</td>\n",
- " <td>2.275219</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>longed</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
- " <td>0.001470</td>\n",
- " <td>2.169090</td>\n",
- " <td>2.169090</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>stopped</th>\n",
- " <td>0.002039</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
- " <td>-2.147886</td>\n",
- " <td>2.147886</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>takes</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001416</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000348</td>\n",
- " <td>-2.025614</td>\n",
- " <td>2.025614</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>felt</th>\n",
- " <td>0.005774</td>\n",
- " <td>0.021329</td>\n",
- " <td>1.885252</td>\n",
- " <td>1.885252</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>heard</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001572</td>\n",
- " <td>0.005509</td>\n",
- " <td>1.809353</td>\n",
- " <td>1.809353</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>replied</th>\n",
- " <td>0.009664</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002816</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.778921</td>\n",
- " <td>1.778921</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>married</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001572</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.772675</td>\n",
- " <td>1.772675</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </tbody>\n",
- "</table>\n",
- "</div>"
- ],
- "text/plain": [
- " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
- "remembered 0.000016 0.001806 6.858902 6.858902\n",
- "read 0.000327 0.002592 2.987416 2.987416\n",
- "resolved 0.000327 0.001582 2.275219 2.275219\n",
- "longed 0.000327 0.001470 2.169090 2.169090\n",
- "stopped 0.002039 0.000460 -2.147886 2.147886\n",
- "takes 0.001416 0.000348 -2.025614 2.025614\n",
- "felt 0.005774 0.021329 1.885252 1.885252\n",
- "heard 0.001572 0.005509 1.809353 1.809353\n",
- "replied 0.009664 0.002816 -1.778921 1.778921\n",
- "married 0.001572 0.000460 -1.772675 1.772675"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 22,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_ratio_austen.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "Extract the words with the greatest skew, put them in a new DataFrame, and give each one a number so we can get back to it in the plotting.\n",
- "\n",
- "The window says how many from each end of the list of gendered words, such as the 15 most female and the 15 most make.\n",
- "\n",
- "If we want to exclude words from plotting, pass in a list of stopwords."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 23,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "def extract_plot_items(gratios_in, window=15, stopwords=None):\n",
- " if stopwords:\n",
- " gratios = gratios_in.drop(stopwords)\n",
- " else:\n",
- " gratios = gratios_in\n",
- " plot_items = gratios.sort_values('logratio', ascending=False).head(window).append(\n",
- " gratios.sort_values('logratio').head(window)).sort_values('logratio', ascending=False)\n",
- " plot_items['index_pos'] = list(reversed(range(len(plot_items))))\n",
- " return plot_items"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 24,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "30"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 24,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "plot_items_austen = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_austen)\n",
- "len(plot_items_austen)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 25,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "<matplotlib.axes._subplots.AxesSubplot at 0x7f9023f92cf8>"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 25,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- },
- {
- "data": {
- "image/png": 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81wKi3EYIIdRGvTuogkeACyStbfu5HKywBmm9aDVJg22Pk9STNMU3CviBpHts\nfyxpXcqHmF9HKkq4ku2p+dgo4ChJR+XChRvbnsj8UPR7JfUDBnToE3dBsV4TQqhGvdegALA9AzgY\nuDZPrT0CrG/7I9Lo57yckfwu0pTcZcCTwOM5y/kfKN/Z3kiKxru+6NjJwFLAlHztyfn4RUAPSU8B\nvyZlqwghhFAnsjv3LJWkXYENbZ9axTXTgZZCNd5KWlpaPH78+CW8wxBC6FokTbDd6j7TRpni6xCS\nuuds5JGRvAF0xjDzYjGFGUL7avoOStKBwLGkAIcppDx9xaU2ppBGQ0dK6gVczPxs5j+2PTZX3V1k\nOY4QQgi11RBrUItLUl/Svqbt8z6pH+WPikttFDsHODvvgdqDtJYFbSvHUfjOyGYeQgg10OwjqO1J\nRQZnAth+M4eLF5faKLYjsGE+B2DFHBm4NSlHH7bvkLRQOY6CCDMPIYTaaPYOSpTfu1RaaqPgM8AQ\n2+8v0Egb90CFJRNrNCGEajT1FB9wN7B3XkNC0mdbOX80cGThjaSB+WVhDxStlOMIIYRQI009grI9\nTdIpwH2S5gETW7nkaNKG4CmkZ78fOIJUjuPaXI7jISqU4wghhFA7nX4fVLHWynpUK/ZBhRBC9WIf\nVFamrMdjkvqTymncaPukfN504CpgF1Kmib1sP12HW+60Ovs+qIJYawuhfTT7GlRbrQNcmMPIf5p7\n7gHANjmZbMHMXO7jItLeqoVEmHkIIdRGV+mg/mn7kfx6b0mPk9ar+pLKfBTcnP9OAPqUa8j2JbZb\nbLf06tWro+43hBC6vE4/xZe9B5CLGh4LDLb9lqQrSclnCz7Mf+fRdX6bmomprxBCNbrKCKpgRVJn\nNUvSF4Bv1Pl+QgghVNClRgm2J0uaSKoz1YsyYel5b9Tmtb63EEIIC+r0HZTt6UC/ovcHA0gaAxxn\ne3w+3icfHwqsa3vb2t5pCCGEYg3dQZXJVH49cCKwNPAGsL/t1yQNB2bbPjNf9wQw1PZ0Sf8NHADM\nAF4EJhTOA/aSdCGwMnAYKRT918BykrYEfmd7ZG2etvOLMPMQQjUatoMqylS+he2ZOY2Rgc1yqfbv\nkcq5/3QRbbSQspYPJD3r4yxYKbe77U0l7QycZHtHSb8kl+fomCcLIYTQFg3bQVE+U3l/YKSkVUmj\nqBdaaWNL4NZCclhJfy75vNWw8lKShgHDAHr3rliVI4QQwhJq5Ci+cpnKzwPOt90f+D7zQ8TnsuCz\nFI63VnjTys5BAAATiklEQVSw6rDy2AcVQgi10cgjqLuBWySdbfuNPMW3EvBy/vygonOnA0MBJG0C\nrJmPPwj8QdLvSM86lFzLaRHeBXq2yxOEBcTaTAihGg07grI9DShkKn8ZeB54B7hB0gRgZtHpNwGf\nzdnIjwSezW2MA24jBVj8BZgKzGrlq+8FtpI0Q9I+7fhIIYQQqtAU2cwlPQ3saPulxbi2h+3ZknoA\nY4Bhth9v5ZqDaUOgRGQzDyGE6nWabOaSLga+AvxF0nXAWkB/0r0Pt31rzlh+NbBCvuxI2w9J2ha4\nXtIypOzlJ5FKvl9MCrJ4FPih7XmSDgGOB94GJjN/fSq0kwgzDyFUo2Gn+ApsHwG8AmxH6oDusT04\nvz9D0grA68DXcibyfYBzi5pYARhoe2ng//LnW9geSAqO2D9HBf4K2IIU+VecQDaEEEIdNPwIqsRO\nwK6SCqUwlgV6kzqw83OaonnAukXXPGa7EI6+A6km1LhUu5DlSJ3bV4ExtmcASBpZ0sanIsw8hBBq\no9k6KAF72H5mgYMpk8RrwEakUeEHRR+/V3L9VbaPL7n+Wywc0l6W7UvIkYAtLS2Nv4AXQghNqtk6\nqFHAUZKOytkkNrY9kRR+/pLtTyQdBHSrcP3dwK05dP31HLrek7QWdY6kz5EiBfcirUOFdhRrMyGE\najT8GlSJk0nl2KfkfHsn5+MXAgdJmgysz4Kjpk/ZfpKUy2+0pCnAXcCqtl8FhgMPA2OBpzryIUII\nIbSuKcLMKylNEtuO7Y4Bji1kOq8kwsxDCKF6nSbMvL1I6m57br3voyvrKmHmBTGlGcKSabYpPiSd\nIOlZSQ8C6+Vjh0saJ2mypJskLZ+PXynpYkmPAqdLWkHS5fnciZJ2y+ctJ+k6SU9JuoUU3RdCCKGO\nmmoEJWkQsC8Ll8+42fal+ZzfkGo7nZcvWwPYPG/G/S1pH9WhklYGHpP0N1Li2Tm2N5A0ILdb6R4i\nzDyEEGqg2UZQWwG32J5j+x1Snj2AfpIekDQV2B/oW3TNDbbn5dc7AT+XNImU9qiwj2pr4BoA21NI\nufvKimzmIYRQG001gsrKRXVcCXzL9uScR2/bos9K90GV20dVqd3QjmJNJoRQjWYbQd0PfDuvGfUE\ndsnHewKvSlqKNIKqpLCPSgCSNi5qd/98rB8woCNuPoQQQts1VQeVs5CPJG2i/QswLn/036TNtmOB\np4su6UHKrVdQaR/VRUAPSU8BvwbeIlX0DSGEUCdNN8Vn+xRSnahSF5U5dj5QyNtHLv3+/TJtvk8K\nvgBS9B+p/lQIIYQ6qWkHJekA4Gjml7r4LfA3YAjwJnAfaVTzLPBXUoTeJsA04EDbc3Ik31mk0dFM\n4GDbr0paG7gY6EVKGLsXcCqwQQ6KuIqU5fxU0hrVMsAFtv+Qp/zOA74GvAh81LG/RNfU1fZBQay7\nhbAkajbFJ2kDFi51sQ1wGqlj+SnwpO3R+ZL1gAttb0DKj/fDvMZ0HrCn7UHA5cwfTY0gdTgbAZsD\nrwI/Bx6wPdD22aTw81m5XMdg4HBJawLfzt+3IXBgvr7ScwyTNF7S+BkzZrTLbxNCCGFhtRxBlS11\nYXu4pL2AI0j7mwpetD02v76GNPL6K9APuCu30Y0UHNETWN32LQC2P4BPo/OK7QQMkLRnfr8SsA4p\nzPzaHI7+iqR7Kj1EZDMPIYTaqGUHVanUxfKkzbSQpu3eza9L/+Pv3MY020NK2lixins4yvaokut3\nLvN9oZ3FdFcIoRq1jOK7G9hT0ucBJH1W0pdJU3wjgF8Clxad31tSoSPaD3gQeAboVTguaSlJffOm\n3ZdyXSckLZM7vndJIegFo4Af5KlCJK2bK/LeD+wrqVuurrtdR/wAIYQQ2q5mHVRJqYv3SKUu+pDW\ngk6zPQL4SNIh+ZJngP/Mod+fJUXp7QwcB5yWS2tMYv560XeBo3MZjYeAL5IyQszNOfp+kr8T4PEc\nZj4SuAm4Bfg78CTwR1LZjRBCCHVU0yg+2yNJnUKxzYo+3x1AUh9gru0Dik/MI6TbbW9dpu2/U37v\n0g5F128LdLfdv+j9sU41R46s+oFCCCF0mLrsg5I023aP3EEMJ4WL9yOFlRc6pS9IehKYC4wGbgZ2\nBbaRdCKwB6lDGkYKW38O+G4ORb+SFPnXQhpJHWf7RhYOO5+Y7+czpBHb5rZn5PfPApvZntmRv0VX\nEmHmIYRqNEImiY2BH5NCvL8CbEHqXN4E+toeAPzG9kOk5LA/y2Hj/yBlMR+cQ8ufIoWRF6xKyiIx\nlNQxwcJh5wDY/oQUKVhIk7QjMDk6pxBCqJ9G6KAes/1S7iQmkdal3gE+AC6TtDswp8K1i8pi/n+2\nP8lrX19ow31cTtoDBXAocEW5k2IfVAgh1EYjdFAfFr2eR1ojmgtsSgpgGEra/1TOlcCReU3pV6Ty\nGeXaXWhDVCnbLwKvSdoe+Cop11+586LcRggh1EBD5uKT1ANY3vadksYyPy9eadh4aRbzl1tpuvT6\nUpeRpvquLqohFdpJrMeEEKrRCCOocnoCt+eQ8QeBY/Lx64BfSHpf0lpUzmJeSWnYeanbSJuFr5A0\nRlLLkj5ICCGExaMUYd08cgj67bb7tWOb3W3PzR3S2ba3kjSGFII+vtJ1LS0tHj++4schhBDKkDTB\ndqsDgIac4muDbpIuJW3SfRnYDVgNuICUzXwOcLjtpyXtQtogvDTwBrC/7dckDQfWIkUO/kvSNOB4\nYIakW0i5AkM76oph5sViijOE6jTqFF9r1iFlLu8LvE3aE3UJKc/eIFINqAvzuQ+S9jNtTJoiPK6o\nnQ2BHW3vR+rURtruA5xESmwbQgihTpp1BPWC7Un59QRSaPrmwA1FGcyXyX/XAEbmHHtLAy8UtXNb\nLlYIKaP5uQC2p+T1r4VIGkbaHEzv3r3b5WFCCCEsrFlHUKWh6Z8F3s4bcAv/Nsifnwecn0PRv8+C\noejvlbTb6oJchJmHEEJtNOsIqtQ7wAuS9rJ9Q66QO8D2ZFLNp0L4+UGLaON+Uqj6vZL6AQM69I67\noFiDCSFUo1lHUOXsDxyWs5xPIwVOQMr1d4OkCaScf5VcBPTI2dN/TZo6DCGEUCdNN4KyPZ2UWLbw\n/syij79e5vxbc92pHwCr2d42Hx9eOKcoq/nQ/PqjnPsvhBBCnTRdB7WYfkiK1nupDeduC8wm1ZQK\n7airh5kXi+nOEFrXmab4ypJ0MWmv018knSDpcknjJE2UtFvJuX2AI4CfSJokaava33EIIQToAh2U\n7SOAV0hl3FcA7rE9OL8/I5d8L5w7HbiYlE1ioO0HStuLbOYhhFAbnb6DKrET8PNcsHAMKeS8qs1M\nEWYeQgi10VXWoAoE7GH7mQUOSm2pFxWWUKy7hBCq0dVGUKOAo/I+KSRtXOac1kpyhBBCqIGG7qAk\nzW7nJk8GlgKmSHoivy/1Z+DbkmZL+l47f38IIYQ26hJTfDkBbMH3y3w+hrQmhe1ngQG53Mak0nND\nCCHURlN0UHlK7nTgG6R8eb+xPTJvqh1OyhDRj5T94QDblrQzcBYp395Y4Ct5I+4KpPx8/UnPPzxv\n5l0OuALYiFT8MMpttLPYB1W9WLcLXVlTdFDA7sBAUuexCjBO0v35s42BvqRQ8rHAFpLGA38Atrb9\ngqRri9o6gRRqfqiklYHHJP2NNLKaY3sDSQOAx8vdSGQzDyGE2mjoNagiWwLX2p5n+zXgPmBw/uwx\n2y/Z/oQ0JdcHWB943nahtEZxB1Up1Hxr4BpI5TZI5eEXEmHmIYRQG80ygtIiPistvdG9lfMrhZpD\nG8pthMUX01UhhGo0ywjqfmAfSd0k9SKNdh5bxPlPA1/JqYsA9in6rFKoeaHcBlFuI4QQ6q9ZOqhb\nSFNuk4F7gONs/7vMeZsCX89Vcn8I/DWX2XgXmJXPqRRqXlxu40zgo456mBBCCK1riCm+PJpRXkf6\nlO0e+a+Bn+V/xZ+PIYeHZ3eSMpED3Gt7/dz2BcD4fM37lA81fx/YN99PH+B22+OX7MlCCCEsrrp1\nULkTGAU8CgwCTpd0BLAM8A/gENuzJZ0K7ArMBUbbPjbXd7oc6AXMyOf+q6jtDUijp7eApYFnga2A\nsyUNIoWf9yCFpx9s+9V8/PLcxOgOffguKsLMl0ys4YWupt5TfOsAFwLbAIeRajZtQhrtHCPps8C3\ngb62BwC/ydedD/wxHxsBnFvcqO2ngLeA3W1vCDwMjJS0FGkP1J62Cx3SKfmyK4CjbW/UYU8bQgih\nzerdQf3T9iPAZsCGwNgc/n0Q8GXgHeAD4DJJuwNz8nVDgD/l11eTwtBLXQ/snV/vA4wE1iNt6L0r\nf8+JwBqSVgJWtn1fUZtlRbmNEEKojXqvQb2X/wq4y/Z+pSdI2hTYAdgTOBLYvkw75cLDRwI3SLqZ\ntIz1d0n9gWm2h5R8x8oV2lj4i+xLgEsAWlpaIiy9CjFFFUKoRr1HUAWPkDJArA0gaXlJ60rqAaxk\n+07gJ6RMEpDKse+bX+8PPFjaoO1/kPZF/TepswJ4BuglaUj+nqUk9bX9NjBL0pZFbYYQQqijeo+g\nALA9Q9LBwLWSlsmHTySFh98qaVnSKOuY/NnRwOWSfkYOkqjQ9EjgDGDN/D0fSdoTODdP63UHfg9M\ny21cLsmkDnPt9n3KEEII1VCK4O5cKoWtV3F9H1KYeb9FndfS0uLx4yMSPYQQqiFpgu2W1s5riBFU\ne6gibP2XwC6kbOUPAd/P2c8jzLyDRZh5c4i1wtAoGmUNqr0sMmw9n3O+7cF5dLQcMDQfjzDzEEJo\nIJ2tg2otbB1gO0mPSppKigjsG2HmIYTQeDrNFF+2yLD1HGxxIdBi+0VJw0nlNkSEmYcQQkPpbB1U\nwSPABZLWtv2cpOWBNYDX8+czcwj7nsCNtt+WNEvSlrYfJMLMO0SsbYQQqtEpO6hKYeu2n5V0KfAE\n8G9gXNFlxWHmESQRQgh11lQdVJ6Sm237zNLPbE8npTEqvL+H+VV3i887kbTHqvT4BPJGYEnbktaw\nQggh1ElVHdSS7i+qp2a+984iwsxD6BxqNV3fahSfpD6SnpH0R9LU2HclPSzpcUk35LUcJE2X9DtJ\nk3KU2yaSRkn6R96PVGjvZ5LGSZoi6VdF3/G0pCslPStphKQdJY2V9Pecj69go/z9f5d0eBvaLb73\nL0naqcL9fz3fw+PA7kv+04YQQlgSbQ0zb8v+IoB/2R4IPABcSQpC2Az4NYCknXJbmwIDgUGSts7X\nrg38D7B+/vcdUpbyY4FfFH3HAFJ4+BDgl5JWa6XddYALbfclRfmdWHr/ObrvUtIG3kHAFyv9EBFm\nHkIItdHWKb5/2n5E0lDm7y+CVAzw4aLzbst/pwI9bL8LvCvpg5wxfKf8b2I+rwepA/kX8ILtqQCS\npgF35wwPU4E+Rd9xa65++76ke0md0paLaLewNwoW3B9VfP/r5+//e/7+a4Bh5X6ICDMPIYTaaGsH\n1WpZjOzD/PeToteF993z9b+z/Yfii3KaotLzPyy5tqC0U3Ar7b5XfKjc/UsaWKbd0M4izDyEUI1q\nM0mULYtRxfWjgEOL1n1Wl/T5Ku9hN0nLSvocsC0pVLyt7Va6/6eBNSWtlc+r1AGHEEKokaqi+BZR\nFuPZNl4/WtIGwMN5im02cACpblNbTQHuBVYBTrb9CvBKW9ptZX/UMOAOSXNIa2g9W7uRCRMmzJT0\nz5LDqwAzq3ieriR+m8ritykvfpfKmvm3+XLrp3TSchv1JGl8W9LId0Xx21QWv0158btU1hV+m86W\nLDaEEEInER1UCCGEhhQdVPu7pN430MDit6ksfpvy4neprNP/NrEGFUIIoSHFCCqEEEJDig6qA0g6\nI+f1myLplpxFo8vKeQ6fkfScpJ/X+34ahaQvSbpX0lOSpkn6Ub3vqdFI6iZpoqTb630vjUTSypJu\nzP+deUrSkHrfU0eIDqpj3AX0sz2AtEfs+DrfT91I6gZcAHyDlGZqP0lRyiSZC/zU9gakNFz/Gb/N\nQn4EPFXvm2hA5wB/tb0+qUxQp/yNooPqALZH256b3z5CqubbVW0KPGf7edsfAdcBu9X5nhqC7Vdt\nP55fv0v6j8zq9b2rxiFpDeCbwGX1vpdGImlFYGvgfwFsf2T77freVceIDqrjHQr8pd43UUerAy8W\nvX+J+I/wQnLeyI2BR+t7Jw3l98BxpHycYb6vADOAK/L052WSVqj3TXWE6KAWk6S/SXqizL/dis45\ngTSNM6J+d1p3KnMsQkeL5BySNwE/tv1Ove+nEeTKCa/nStdhQd2BTYCLbG9MSojdKdd2m6rkeyOx\nveOiPpd0EDAU2MFdO5b/JeBLRe/XAF6p0700HElLkTqnEbZvrvf9NJAtgF0l7QwsC6wo6RrbB9T5\nvhrBS8BLtguj7RvppB1UjKA6gKSvA/8F7Gp7Tr3vp87GAetIWlPS0sC+zK8b1qUpZTb+X+Ap22fV\n+34aie3jba9huw/pfzP3ROeU2P438KKk9fKhHYAn63hLHSZGUB3jfGAZ4K6cXf0R20cs+pLOyfZc\nSUeSSqJ0Ay63Pa3Ot9UotgC+C0yVNCkf+4XtO+t4T6E5HAWMyP+n73ngkDrfT4eITBIhhBAaUkzx\nhRBCaEjRQYUQQmhI0UGFEEJoSNFBhRBCaEjRQYUQQmhI0UGFEEJoSNFBhRBCaEjRQYUQQmhI/x/D\nygJqmnE6HwAAAABJRU5ErkJggg==\n",
- "text/plain": [
- "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0x7f904cc182e8>"
- ]
- },
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "display_data"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "plot_items_austen.logratio.plot.barh()"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "Plot the results, doing lots of matplotlib fiddling to make it look pretty."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 26,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "def gender_plot(plot_items, author):\n",
- " plt.figure(figsize=(10,10))\n",
- "\n",
- " plot_items['colour'] = plot_items.logratio.apply(lambda l: 'r' if l > 0 else 'b')\n",
- "\n",
- " plt.plot(plot_items[plot_items.logratio > 0].logratio, \n",
- " plot_items[plot_items.logratio > 0].index_pos, \n",
- " marker='o', linestyle='', markersize=15.0, color='r')\n",
- "\n",
- " plt.plot(plot_items[plot_items.logratio < 0].logratio, \n",
- " plot_items[plot_items.logratio < 0].index_pos, \n",
- " marker='o', linestyle='', markersize=15.0, color='b')\n",
- "\n",
- " for _, r in plot_items.iterrows():\n",
- " plt.plot([0, r.logratio], [r.index_pos, r.index_pos], color=r.colour, linestyle='-', linewidth=3)\n",
- "\n",
- "\n",
- " words = plot_items.sort_values('index_pos').index\n",
- " plt.yticks(np.arange(len(plot_items)), words)\n",
- " \n",
- " xts = list(range(int(min(plot_items.logratio)) - 1, int(max(plot_items.logratio)) + 2))\n",
- " plt.xticks(xts, ['×{}'.format(2**i) for i in xts])\n",
- "# plt.xticks([-2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6], ['×¼', '×½', 'same', '×2', '×4', '×8', '×16', '×32', '×64'])\n",
- "\n",
- " plt.tick_params(axis='y', which='major', labelsize=16)\n",
- " plt.tick_params(axis='x', which='major', labelsize=12)\n",
- "\n",
- " plt.xlabel(\"Relative appearance after 'she' compared to 'he'\", fontsize=16)\n",
- "\n",
- " plt.suptitle(\"Words paired with 'he' and 'she' in {}'s novels\".format(author), fontsize=20)\n",
- " plt.title((\"Women {}, {}, and {} \".format(words[-1], words[-2], words[-3]) + \n",
- " \"while men {}, {}, and {}\".format(words[0], words[1], words[2])) , fontsize=16)\n",
- "\n",
- " plt.grid()\n",
- "\n",
- " for spine in plt.gca().spines.values():\n",
- " spine.set_visible(False) \n",
- "\n",
- " plt.show()"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 27,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "image/png": 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GjMA3YJZ426O/szqapWgyBjO7GzggKXufwPcknAJcJ2memTVWIHKp7L80s9MrCF9TzGws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CU8s8Sf7UCzZ8O++0J9/eDK19fD5Mkwa9bwtsvMzMxGD09yzBMRf6LIEhERcUSRc48BJ2SvfCoo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\nYjZfDwAAAABJRU5ErkJggg==\n",
- "text/plain": [
- "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0x7f9023056b38>"
- ]
- },
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "display_data"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_plot(plot_items_austen, 'Jane Austen')"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "# George Eliot\n",
- "Do the same with George Eliot's books, reusing the functions defined above."
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 28,
- "metadata": {
- "collapsed": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "eliot_books = {title: open(eliot_books_filenames[title], encoding='latin1').read().lower()\n",
- " for title in eliot_books_filenames}"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 29,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "612202"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 29,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "eliot_books_all_tokens = [token for book in eliot_books for token in tokens(eliot_books[book])]\n",
- "len(eliot_books_all_tokens)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 30,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "[(('he', 'had'), 1424),\n",
- " (('he', 'was'), 1038),\n",
- " (('she', 'had'), 761),\n",
- " (('she', 'was'), 705),\n",
- " (('he', 'would'), 367),\n",
- " (('he', 'said'), 357),\n",
- " (('he', 'could'), 283),\n",
- " (('she', 'said'), 239),\n",
- " (('he', 'is'), 226),\n",
- " (('she', 'would'), 209)]"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 30,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gendered_bigrams_eliot = gendered_bigrams(eliot_books_all_tokens)\n",
- "gendered_bigrams_eliot.most_common(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 31,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/html": [
- "<div>\n",
- "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
- " <thead>\n",
- " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
- " <th></th>\n",
- " <th>he</th>\n",
- " <th>she</th>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </thead>\n",
- " <tbody>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>added</th>\n",
- " <td>65.0</td>\n",
- " <td>44.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>always</th>\n",
- " <td>31.0</td>\n",
- " <td>12.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>and</th>\n",
- " <td>20.0</td>\n",
- " <td>17.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>answered</th>\n",
- " <td>22.0</td>\n",
- " <td>15.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>asked</th>\n",
- " <td>12.0</td>\n",
- " <td>8.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </tbody>\n",
- "</table>\n",
- "</div>"
- ],
- "text/plain": [
- " he she\n",
- "added 65.0 44.0\n",
- "always 31.0 12.0\n",
- "and 20.0 17.0\n",
- "answered 22.0 15.0\n",
- "asked 12.0 8.0"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 31,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "useful_gender_counts_eliot = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_eliot, lower_limit=10) \n",
- "useful_gender_counts_eliot.head()"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 32,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/html": [
- "<div>\n",
- "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
- " <thead>\n",
- " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
- " <th></th>\n",
- " <th>he</th>\n",
- " <th>she</th>\n",
- " <th>logratio</th>\n",
- " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </thead>\n",
- " <tbody>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>herself</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000136</td>\n",
- " <td>0.005437</td>\n",
- " <td>5.326106</td>\n",
- " <td>5.326106</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>himself</th>\n",
- " <td>0.003931</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000227</td>\n",
- " <td>-4.116838</td>\n",
- " <td>4.116838</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>read</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000542</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002719</td>\n",
- " <td>2.326106</td>\n",
- " <td>2.326106</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>ran</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000542</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002266</td>\n",
- " <td>2.063071</td>\n",
- " <td>2.063071</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>left</th>\n",
- " <td>0.002982</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000906</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.718288</td>\n",
- " <td>1.718288</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>means</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001491</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000453</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.718288</td>\n",
- " <td>1.718288</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>shall</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001491</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000453</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.718288</td>\n",
- " <td>1.718288</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>needed</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000949</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002719</td>\n",
- " <td>1.518751</td>\n",
- " <td>1.518751</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>told</th>\n",
- " <td>0.003117</td>\n",
- " <td>0.001133</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.460491</td>\n",
- " <td>1.460491</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>married</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000678</td>\n",
- " <td>0.001812</td>\n",
- " <td>1.419215</td>\n",
- " <td>1.419215</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </tbody>\n",
- "</table>\n",
- "</div>"
- ],
- "text/plain": [
- " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
- "herself 0.000136 0.005437 5.326106 5.326106\n",
- "himself 0.003931 0.000227 -4.116838 4.116838\n",
- "read 0.000542 0.002719 2.326106 2.326106\n",
- "ran 0.000542 0.002266 2.063071 2.063071\n",
- "left 0.002982 0.000906 -1.718288 1.718288\n",
- "means 0.001491 0.000453 -1.718288 1.718288\n",
- "shall 0.001491 0.000453 -1.718288 1.718288\n",
- "needed 0.000949 0.002719 1.518751 1.518751\n",
- "told 0.003117 0.001133 -1.460491 1.460491\n",
- "married 0.000678 0.001812 1.419215 1.419215"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 32,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_ratio_eliot = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_eliot, smoothing_add=1, smoothing_scale=1)\n",
- "gender_ratio_eliot.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 33,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/html": [
- "<div>\n",
- "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
- " <thead>\n",
- " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
- " <th></th>\n",
- " <th>he</th>\n",
- " <th>she</th>\n",
- " <th>logratio</th>\n",
- " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </thead>\n",
- " <tbody>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>herself</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000014</td>\n",
- " <td>0.005202</td>\n",
- " <td>8.589442</td>\n",
- " <td>8.589442</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>himself</th>\n",
- " <td>0.003795</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000023</td>\n",
- " <td>-7.396733</td>\n",
- " <td>7.396733</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>read</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000419</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002500</td>\n",
- " <td>2.577913</td>\n",
- " <td>2.577913</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>shall</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001364</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000248</td>\n",
- " <td>-2.461087</td>\n",
- " <td>2.461087</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>means</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001364</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000248</td>\n",
- " <td>-2.461087</td>\n",
- " <td>2.461087</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>ran</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000419</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002049</td>\n",
- " <td>2.291292</td>\n",
- " <td>2.291292</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>left</th>\n",
- " <td>0.002850</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000698</td>\n",
- " <td>-2.029210</td>\n",
- " <td>2.029210</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>told</th>\n",
- " <td>0.002985</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000923</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.692657</td>\n",
- " <td>1.692657</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>dreaded</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001499</td>\n",
- " <td>0.000473</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.664405</td>\n",
- " <td>1.664405</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>needed</th>\n",
- " <td>0.000824</td>\n",
- " <td>0.002500</td>\n",
- " <td>1.601372</td>\n",
- " <td>1.601372</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </tbody>\n",
- "</table>\n",
- "</div>"
- ],
- "text/plain": [
- " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
- "herself 0.000014 0.005202 8.589442 8.589442\n",
- "himself 0.003795 0.000023 -7.396733 7.396733\n",
- "read 0.000419 0.002500 2.577913 2.577913\n",
- "shall 0.001364 0.000248 -2.461087 2.461087\n",
- "means 0.001364 0.000248 -2.461087 2.461087\n",
- "ran 0.000419 0.002049 2.291292 2.291292\n",
- "left 0.002850 0.000698 -2.029210 2.029210\n",
- "told 0.002985 0.000923 -1.692657 1.692657\n",
- "dreaded 0.001499 0.000473 -1.664405 1.664405\n",
- "needed 0.000824 0.002500 1.601372 1.601372"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 33,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_ratio_eliot = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_eliot)\n",
- "gender_ratio_eliot.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 34,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "30"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 34,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "plot_items_eliot = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_eliot, window=15, stopwords=['herself', 'himself'])\n",
- "len(plot_items_eliot)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 35,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": false
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
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p8E2Ii/BytY5HUH0bqjS8XX63/pzTGtLCfaSavi7br4hz3UeAX0raiajN/V1KqbjdlKab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\nJh7ucjtXayG3gS2QNFVSPS8o6HPeNV6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p8C+S9ii63luBX0TErQCSjgE6ge4s7V+AacCN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\nDkwtuJc2ANcCb8mu/3rgz8Aue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- "text/plain": [
- "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0x7f9020311c88>"
- ]
- },
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "display_data"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_plot(plot_items_eliot, 'George Eliot')"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "markdown",
- "metadata": {},
- "source": [
- "# Jane Eyre"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 36,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [],
- "source": [
- "bronte_books = {title: open(bronte_books_filenames[title], encoding='latin1').read().lower()\n",
- " for title in bronte_books_filenames}"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 37,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "189449"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 37,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "bronte_books_all_tokens = [token for book in bronte_books for token in tokens(bronte_books[book])]\n",
- "len(bronte_books_all_tokens)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 38,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "[(('he', 'was'), 155),\n",
- " (('she', 'was'), 154),\n",
- " (('he', 'had'), 132),\n",
- " (('she', 'had'), 122),\n",
- " (('he', 'said'), 96),\n",
- " (('he', 'is'), 88),\n",
- " (('he', 'would'), 83),\n",
- " (('she', 'is'), 79),\n",
- " (('she', 'said'), 57),\n",
- " (('he', 'has'), 44)]"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 38,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gendered_bigrams_bronte = gendered_bigrams(bronte_books_all_tokens)\n",
- "gendered_bigrams_bronte.most_common(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 39,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/html": [
- "<div>\n",
- "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
- " <thead>\n",
- " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
- " <th></th>\n",
- " <th>he</th>\n",
- " <th>she</th>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </thead>\n",
- " <tbody>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>added</th>\n",
- " <td>10.0</td>\n",
- " <td>6.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>again</th>\n",
- " <td>7.0</td>\n",
- " <td>9.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>and</th>\n",
- " <td>21.0</td>\n",
- " <td>11.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>answered</th>\n",
- " <td>14.0</td>\n",
- " <td>6.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>asked</th>\n",
- " <td>31.0</td>\n",
- " <td>12.0</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </tbody>\n",
- "</table>\n",
- "</div>"
- ],
- "text/plain": [
- " he she\n",
- "added 10.0 6.0\n",
- "again 7.0 9.0\n",
- "and 21.0 11.0\n",
- "answered 14.0 6.0\n",
- "asked 31.0 12.0"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 39,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "useful_gender_counts_bronte = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_bronte, lower_limit=10) \n",
- "useful_gender_counts_bronte.head()"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 40,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/html": [
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- " <thead>\n",
- " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
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- " <th>he</th>\n",
- " <th>she</th>\n",
- " <th>logratio</th>\n",
- " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </thead>\n",
- " <tbody>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>shall</th>\n",
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- " <th>made</th>\n",
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- " <td>1.284087</td>\n",
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- " <td>0.881123</td>\n",
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- " <th>can</th>\n",
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- " <td>0.825981</td>\n",
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- " <th>spoke</th>\n",
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- " <td>-0.803376</td>\n",
- " <td>0.803376</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>took</th>\n",
- " <td>0.017528</td>\n",
- " <td>0.010169</td>\n",
- " <td>-0.785454</td>\n",
- " <td>0.785454</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </tbody>\n",
- "</table>\n",
- "</div>"
- ],
- "text/plain": [
- " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
- "shall 0.002629 0.012429 2.241019 2.241019\n",
- "s 0.004382 0.018079 2.044621 2.044621\n",
- "paused 0.011394 0.004520 -1.333890 1.333890\n",
- "made 0.007888 0.019209 1.284087 1.284087\n",
- "stood 0.013146 0.005650 -1.218413 1.218413\n",
- "asked 0.028046 0.014689 -0.933011 0.933011\n",
- "were 0.006135 0.011299 0.881123 0.881123\n",
- "can 0.007011 0.012429 0.825981 0.825981\n",
- "spoke 0.007888 0.004520 -0.803376 0.803376\n",
- "took 0.017528 0.010169 -0.785454 0.785454"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 40,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_ratio_bronte = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_bronte, smoothing_add=1, smoothing_scale=1)\n",
- "gender_ratio_bronte.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 41,
- "metadata": {},
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/html": [
- "<div>\n",
- "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
- " <thead>\n",
- " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
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- " <th>he</th>\n",
- " <th>she</th>\n",
- " <th>logratio</th>\n",
- " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </thead>\n",
- " <tbody>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>shall</th>\n",
- " <td>0.001826</td>\n",
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- " <td>2.629181</td>\n",
- " <td>2.629181</td>\n",
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- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>s</th>\n",
- " <td>0.003565</td>\n",
- " <td>0.016890</td>\n",
- " <td>2.244140</td>\n",
- " <td>2.244140</td>\n",
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- " <td>1.601380</td>\n",
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- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>stood</th>\n",
- " <td>0.012261</td>\n",
- " <td>0.004586</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.418712</td>\n",
- " <td>1.418712</td>\n",
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- " <th>made</th>\n",
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- " <td>1.354354</td>\n",
- " <td>1.354354</td>\n",
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- " <th>spoke</th>\n",
- " <td>0.007043</td>\n",
- " <td>0.003468</td>\n",
- " <td>-1.022367</td>\n",
- " <td>1.022367</td>\n",
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- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>asked</th>\n",
- " <td>0.027043</td>\n",
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- " <td>-0.998620</td>\n",
- " <td>0.998620</td>\n",
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- " <th>were</th>\n",
- " <td>0.005304</td>\n",
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- " <td>0.940344</td>\n",
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- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>saw</th>\n",
- " <td>0.008783</td>\n",
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- " <td>-0.937372</td>\n",
- " <td>0.937372</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " <tr>\n",
- " <th>took</th>\n",
- " <td>0.016609</td>\n",
- " <td>0.009060</td>\n",
- " <td>-0.874292</td>\n",
- " <td>0.874292</td>\n",
- " </tr>\n",
- " </tbody>\n",
- "</table>\n",
- "</div>"
- ],
- "text/plain": [
- " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
- "shall 0.001826 0.011298 2.629181 2.629181\n",
- "s 0.003565 0.016890 2.244140 2.244140\n",
- "paused 0.010522 0.003468 -1.601380 1.601380\n",
- "stood 0.012261 0.004586 -1.418712 1.418712\n",
- "made 0.007043 0.018009 1.354354 1.354354\n",
- "spoke 0.007043 0.003468 -1.022367 1.022367\n",
- "asked 0.027043 0.013535 -0.998620 0.998620\n",
- "were 0.005304 0.010179 0.940344 0.940344\n",
- "saw 0.008783 0.004586 -0.937372 0.937372\n",
- "took 0.016609 0.009060 -0.874292 0.874292"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 41,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_ratio_bronte = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_bronte)\n",
- "gender_ratio_bronte.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 42,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": true
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
- "text/plain": [
- "30"
- ]
- },
- "execution_count": 42,
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "execute_result"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "plot_items_bronte = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_bronte, window=15, stopwords=['s'])\n",
- "len(plot_items_bronte)"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": 43,
- "metadata": {
- "scrolled": false
- },
- "outputs": [
- {
- "data": {
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A56S0M4G7gGOA9wH3Ao8BQzLjfwo4BZiclv8rwErgh7n5/B4Pjr4JHJjWw6P5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Fkwc2ZaWWnFCti4EcaMSaPuJ092H1EzMxtaHIyaDaKIFGS2tGwdZDY1bR1kSmm6Jk/ZZGZmQ52D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\nguMNkk6R1KrULaQ1e+96/L0q6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- "text/plain": [
- "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0x7f90204d66d8>"
- ]
- },
- "metadata": {},
- "output_type": "display_data"
- }
- ],
- "source": [
- "gender_plot(plot_items_bronte, 'Charlotte Brontë')"
- ]
- },
- {
- "cell_type": "code",
- "execution_count": null,
- "metadata": {
- "collapsed": true
- },
- "outputs": [],
- "source": []
- }
- ],
- "metadata": {
- "kernelspec": {
- "display_name": "Python 3",
- "language": "python",
- "name": "python3"
- },
- "language_info": {
- "codemirror_mode": {
- "name": "ipython",
- "version": 3
- },
- "file_extension": ".py",
- "mimetype": "text/x-python",
- "name": "python",
- "nbconvert_exporter": "python",
- "pygments_lexer": "ipython3",
- "version": "3.5.3"
- }
- },
- "nbformat": 4,
- "nbformat_minor": 2
-}
--- /dev/null
+{
+ "cells": [
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "# Gender roles and pronouns in some 19th century novels by women\n",
+ "\n",
+ "This is essentially a replication of the text analysis by Julia Silge on [Gender roles with text mining and _n_-grams](https://juliasilge.com/blog/gender-pronouns/), which in turn was an attempt at a similar study to that contained in [Understanding Gender and Character Agency in the 19th Century Novel](http://culturalanalytics.org/2016/12/understanding-gender-and-character-agency-in-the-19th-century-novel/) by Matthew Jockers and Gabi Kirilloff. \n",
+ "\n",
+ "The idea is to get an insight into gender roles and activity in novels by looking at the verbs which are associated with men and women. The Jockers and Kirilloff study used the Stanford CoreNLP engine for detailed parsing of the text; Silge used simple word bigram analysis to find words that follow from gendered pronouns.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "This notebook does the same analysis as Silge, but using the tools available to TM351 students.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "The books were downloaded from [Project Gutenberg](http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/webbin/gutbook/author?name=Austen%2C%20Jane%2C%201775-1817)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 1,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "import re\n",
+ "import numpy as np\n",
+ "import pandas as pd\n",
+ "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n",
+ "\n",
+ "%matplotlib inline"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "## Read the books and get the bigrams\n",
+ "\n",
+ "First, define the books and the files they're in. This assumes you've already downloaded the books and stored them in the same directory as this notebook.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "In the books I used, I removed the Gutenberg-specific introduction and licence text at the start and end of the files. "
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 87,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "austen_books_filenames = {\n",
+ " 'Persuasion': '105.txt',\n",
+ " 'Northanger Abbey': '121.txt',\n",
+ " 'Pride and Prejudice': '1342.txt',\n",
+ " 'Mansfield Park': '141.txt',\n",
+ " 'Emma': '158-0.txt',\n",
+ " 'Sense and Sensibility': '161.txt'\n",
+ "}\n",
+ "\n",
+ "eliot_books_filenames = {\n",
+ " 'Middlemarch': 'pg145.txt',\n",
+ " 'Silas Marner': 'pg550.txt',\n",
+ " 'The Mill on the Floss': '6688-0.txt'\n",
+ "}\n",
+ "\n",
+ "bronte_books_filenames = {'Jane Eyre': 'pg1260.txt'}\n",
+ "\n",
+ "wilde_books_filenames = {'The Picture of Dorian Grey': '174.txt'}\n",
+ "\n",
+ "dickens_books_filenames = {'David Copperfield': '766-0.txt',\n",
+ " 'Great Expectations': '1400-0.txt',\n",
+ " 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood': '564-0.txt',\n",
+ " 'Hard Times': '786-0.txt'}"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 3,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "austen_books = {title: open(austen_books_filenames[title], \n",
+ " encoding='utf-8', errors='replace').read().lower()\n",
+ " for title in austen_books_filenames}"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Split a book into words, dropping punctuation and excessive whitespace.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "The stopwords are words to be dropped from the text. We'll use that feature later."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 4,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "token_split_re = re.compile(r'\\W')\n",
+ "\n",
+ "def tokens(text, stopwords=None):\n",
+ " if stopwords is None: stopwords = []\n",
+ " return [token.strip('_') # underscore is used to signify italic, but we don't want that in this analysis\n",
+ " for token in re.split(token_split_re, text) \n",
+ " if token\n",
+ " if token not in stopwords]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 5,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "['emma',\n",
+ " 'by',\n",
+ " 'jane',\n",
+ " 'austen',\n",
+ " 'volume',\n",
+ " 'i',\n",
+ " 'chapter',\n",
+ " 'i',\n",
+ " 'emma',\n",
+ " 'woodhouse',\n",
+ " 'handsome',\n",
+ " 'clever',\n",
+ " 'and',\n",
+ " 'rich',\n",
+ " 'with',\n",
+ " 'a',\n",
+ " 'comfortable',\n",
+ " 'home',\n",
+ " 'and',\n",
+ " 'happy',\n",
+ " 'disposition',\n",
+ " 'seemed',\n",
+ " 'to',\n",
+ " 'unite',\n",
+ " 'some',\n",
+ " 'of',\n",
+ " 'the',\n",
+ " 'best',\n",
+ " 'blessings',\n",
+ " 'of']"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 5,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "tokens(austen_books['Emma'])[:30]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "How many words are there in Jane Austen's books?"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 6,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "729460"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 6,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "austen_books_all_tokens = [token \n",
+ " for book in austen_books \n",
+ " for token in tokens(austen_books[book])]\n",
+ "len(austen_books_all_tokens)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Now find all the bigrams (ordered pairs of words)."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 7,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "def bigrams(tokens):\n",
+ " return [(tokens[i-1], tokens[i]) for i in range(1, len(tokens))]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 8,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "[('emma', 'by'),\n",
+ " ('by', 'jane'),\n",
+ " ('jane', 'austen'),\n",
+ " ('austen', 'volume'),\n",
+ " ('volume', 'i'),\n",
+ " ('i', 'chapter'),\n",
+ " ('chapter', 'i'),\n",
+ " ('i', 'emma'),\n",
+ " ('emma', 'woodhouse'),\n",
+ " ('woodhouse', 'handsome'),\n",
+ " ('handsome', 'clever'),\n",
+ " ('clever', 'and'),\n",
+ " ('and', 'rich'),\n",
+ " ('rich', 'with'),\n",
+ " ('with', 'a'),\n",
+ " ('a', 'comfortable'),\n",
+ " ('comfortable', 'home'),\n",
+ " ('home', 'and'),\n",
+ " ('and', 'happy'),\n",
+ " ('happy', 'disposition'),\n",
+ " ('disposition', 'seemed'),\n",
+ " ('seemed', 'to'),\n",
+ " ('to', 'unite'),\n",
+ " ('unite', 'some'),\n",
+ " ('some', 'of'),\n",
+ " ('of', 'the'),\n",
+ " ('the', 'best'),\n",
+ " ('best', 'blessings'),\n",
+ " ('blessings', 'of'),\n",
+ " ('of', 'existence')]"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 8,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "bigrams(tokens(austen_books['Emma']))[:30]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "# Find the most skewed gendered bigrams\n",
+ "Gendered bigrams are those with 'he' or 'she' in the first position. I use a Pandas Series to store the gendered bigrams, then apply `value_counts()` to count how many of each there are."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 96,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "(she, had) 334\n",
+ "(she, was) 331\n",
+ "(he, had) 242\n",
+ "(he, was) 222\n",
+ "(she, could) 172\n",
+ "(she, is) 124\n",
+ "(he, is) 99\n",
+ "(she, would) 97\n",
+ "(he, could) 96\n",
+ "(he, would) 85\n",
+ "dtype: int64"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 96,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gendered_bigrams_books = {book: \n",
+ " pd.Series(bigram\n",
+ " for bigram in bigrams(tokens(austen_books[book]))\n",
+ " if bigram[0] == 'he' or bigram[0] == 'she').value_counts()\n",
+ " for book in austen_books}\n",
+ "gendered_bigrams_books['Emma'].head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Wrap that in a function for easy reuse later."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 11,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "def gendered_bigrams(tokens): \n",
+ " return pd.Series(bigram\n",
+ " for bigram in bigrams(tokens)\n",
+ " if bigram[0] == 'he' or bigram[0] == 'she').value_counts()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Austen's most common gendered bigrams, across all books."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 12,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "(she, had) 1478\n",
+ "(she, was) 1391\n",
+ "(he, had) 1030\n",
+ "(he, was) 895\n",
+ "(she, could) 825\n",
+ "dtype: int64"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 12,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gendered_bigrams_austen = gendered_bigrams(austen_books_all_tokens)\n",
+ "\n",
+ "gendered_bigrams_austen.head()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Count the number of occurrences of each gendered bigram, separated by gender. Store the results in a Pandas DataFrame. Again, wrap the processing in a function.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "I do this by converting the index of tuples into a multiindex, then using `unstack` to convert to a DataFrame.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "The `lower_limit` will limit the frame to only those rows with at least `lower_limit` bigrams, of either gender."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 13,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "def gender_counts(bigrams, lower_limit=0):\n",
+ " bigrams.index = pd.MultiIndex.from_tuples(bigrams.index)\n",
+ " bigrams.sort_index(inplace=True)\n",
+ " gcounts = bigrams.unstack(level=0)\n",
+ " gcounts.fillna(value=0, inplace=True)\n",
+ " return gcounts[gcounts.sum(axis=1) > lower_limit]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 14,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>a</th>\n",
+ " <td>5</td>\n",
+ " <td>7</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>able</th>\n",
+ " <td>0</td>\n",
+ " <td>1</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>abominates</th>\n",
+ " <td>1</td>\n",
+ " <td>0</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>absented</th>\n",
+ " <td>0</td>\n",
+ " <td>1</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>absolutely</th>\n",
+ " <td>3</td>\n",
+ " <td>1</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she\n",
+ "a 5 7\n",
+ "able 0 1\n",
+ "abominates 1 0\n",
+ "absented 0 1\n",
+ "absolutely 3 1"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 14,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_counts_austen = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_austen) \n",
+ "gender_counts_austen.head()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "These are the \"useful\" bigrams, those where the second word appears at least ten times."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 15,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>a</th>\n",
+ " <td>5</td>\n",
+ " <td>7</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>acknowledged</th>\n",
+ " <td>6</td>\n",
+ " <td>9</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>added</th>\n",
+ " <td>31</td>\n",
+ " <td>51</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>always</th>\n",
+ " <td>11</td>\n",
+ " <td>16</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>and</th>\n",
+ " <td>42</td>\n",
+ " <td>43</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she\n",
+ "a 5 7\n",
+ "acknowledged 6 9\n",
+ "added 31 51\n",
+ "always 11 16\n",
+ "and 42 43"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 15,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "useful_gender_counts_austen = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_austen, lower_limit=10) \n",
+ "useful_gender_counts_austen.head()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 16,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "328"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 16,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "useful_gender_counts_austen.size"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "## Odds ratio: a quantification of the skew\n",
+ "Now find the odds ratio, which is the ratio of probabilities of each word being preceeded by 'she' vs the probabilty of it being preceeded by 'he'. \n",
+ "\n",
+ "To keep the numbers in a sensible range, take the log of the ratio.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "Because not every work appears for both genders, we apply some 'smoothing' to avoid things blowing up. The smoothing in the original blog post was to add one to the number of occurrences of each genered bigram, and add one to the total number of bigrams for that gender. A slightly less bad version is to assume we've seen each possible bigram some small number of times (e.g. 0.1) and adust all the scores accordingly."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 17,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "def find_ratios(gcounts, smoothing_add=0.1, smoothing_scale=None):\n",
+ " if smoothing_scale is None:\n",
+ " smoothing_scale = smoothing_add * gcounts.size\n",
+ "\n",
+ " gender_ratio = pd.DataFrame(\n",
+ " {'she': (gcounts['she'] + smoothing_add) / (gcounts['she'].sum() + smoothing_scale),\n",
+ " 'he': (gcounts['he'] + smoothing_add) / (gcounts['he'].sum() + smoothing_scale)}\n",
+ " )\n",
+ " gender_ratio['logratio'] = (gender_ratio.she / gender_ratio.he).apply(np.log2)\n",
+ " gender_ratio['abslogratio'] = gender_ratio.logratio.abs()\n",
+ " return gender_ratio"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "This is Silge's method for finding the odds ratios. "
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 18,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>have</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003133</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003154</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.009427</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.009427</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>always</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001880</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001915</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.026500</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.026500</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>remained</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001097</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001126</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.038573</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.038573</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>acknowledged</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001097</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001126</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.038573</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.038573</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>had</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.161523</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.166592</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.044578</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.044578</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>paused</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001410</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001464</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.054515</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.054515</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>would</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.042143</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.043816</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.056164</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.056164</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>loves</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000940</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000901</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.060963</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.060963</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>a</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000940</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000901</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.060963</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.060963</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>too</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000940</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000901</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.060963</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.060963</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "have 0.003133 0.003154 0.009427 0.009427\n",
+ "always 0.001880 0.001915 0.026500 0.026500\n",
+ "remained 0.001097 0.001126 0.038573 0.038573\n",
+ "acknowledged 0.001097 0.001126 0.038573 0.038573\n",
+ "had 0.161523 0.166592 0.044578 0.044578\n",
+ "paused 0.001410 0.001464 0.054515 0.054515\n",
+ "would 0.042143 0.043816 0.056164 0.056164\n",
+ "loves 0.000940 0.000901 -0.060963 0.060963\n",
+ "a 0.000940 0.000901 -0.060963 0.060963\n",
+ "too 0.000940 0.000901 -0.060963 0.060963"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 18,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_austen = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_austen, smoothing_add=1, smoothing_scale=1)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_austen.sort_values('abslogratio').head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "This is using the smoothing method I prefer. Note that it gives slightly different results in some cases."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 19,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>a</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000797</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>when</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000797</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>too</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000797</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>loves</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000797</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003333</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>have</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002977</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003042</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.030731</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.030731</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>had</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.160582</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.165896</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.046971</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.046971</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>would</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.041794</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.043559</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.059668</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.059668</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>always</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001730</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001807</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.062512</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.062512</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>wrote</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002042</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001919</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.089559</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.089559</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>then</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003913</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004164</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.089743</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.089743</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "a 0.000795 0.000797 0.003333 0.003333\n",
+ "when 0.000795 0.000797 0.003333 0.003333\n",
+ "too 0.000795 0.000797 0.003333 0.003333\n",
+ "loves 0.000795 0.000797 0.003333 0.003333\n",
+ "have 0.002977 0.003042 0.030731 0.030731\n",
+ "had 0.160582 0.165896 0.046971 0.046971\n",
+ "would 0.041794 0.043559 0.059668 0.059668\n",
+ "always 0.001730 0.001807 0.062512 0.062512\n",
+ "wrote 0.002042 0.001919 -0.089559 0.089559\n",
+ "then 0.003913 0.004164 0.089743 0.089743"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 19,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_austen = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_austen)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_austen.sort_values('abslogratio').head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "These are the words with the greatest gender skew."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 20,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>remembered</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000016</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001807</td>\n",
+ " <td>6.856928</td>\n",
+ " <td>6.856928</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>read</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002593</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.985443</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.985443</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>resolved</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001583</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.273245</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.273245</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>longed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001470</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.167117</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.167117</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>stopped</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002042</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.149860</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.149860</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>takes</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001419</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000348</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.027587</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.027587</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>felt</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.005784</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.021336</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.883279</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.883279</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>heard</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001574</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.005511</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.807379</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.807379</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>replied</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.009681</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002817</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.780895</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.780895</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>married</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001574</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.774648</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.774648</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "remembered 0.000016 0.001807 6.856928 6.856928\n",
+ "read 0.000327 0.002593 2.985443 2.985443\n",
+ "resolved 0.000327 0.001583 2.273245 2.273245\n",
+ "longed 0.000327 0.001470 2.167117 2.167117\n",
+ "stopped 0.002042 0.000460 -2.149860 2.149860\n",
+ "takes 0.001419 0.000348 -2.027587 2.027587\n",
+ "felt 0.005784 0.021336 1.883279 1.883279\n",
+ "heard 0.001574 0.005511 1.807379 1.807379\n",
+ "replied 0.009681 0.002817 -1.780895 1.780895\n",
+ "married 0.001574 0.000460 -1.774648 1.774648"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 20,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_austen.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "# Plotting the most skewed words\n",
+ "\n",
+ "Extract the words with the greatest skew, put them in a new DataFrame, and give each one a number so we can get back to it in the plotting.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "The window says how many from each end of the list of gendered words, such as the 15 most female and the 15 most make.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "If we want to exclude words from plotting, pass in a list of stopwords."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 21,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "def extract_plot_items(gratios_in, window=15, stopwords=None):\n",
+ " if stopwords:\n",
+ " gratios = gratios_in.drop(stopwords)\n",
+ " else:\n",
+ " gratios = gratios_in\n",
+ " plot_items = gratios.sort_values('logratio', ascending=False).head(window).append(\n",
+ " gratios.sort_values('logratio').head(window)).sort_values('logratio', ascending=False)\n",
+ " plot_items['index_pos'] = list(reversed(range(len(plot_items))))\n",
+ " return plot_items"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 22,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "30"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 22,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "plot_items_austen = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_austen)\n",
+ "len(plot_items_austen)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 23,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>index_pos</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>remembered</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000016</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001807</td>\n",
+ " <td>6.856928</td>\n",
+ " <td>6.856928</td>\n",
+ " <td>29</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>read</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002593</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.985443</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.985443</td>\n",
+ " <td>28</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>resolved</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001583</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.273245</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.273245</td>\n",
+ " <td>27</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>longed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001470</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.167117</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.167117</td>\n",
+ " <td>26</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>felt</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.005784</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.021336</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.883279</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.883279</td>\n",
+ " <td>25</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>heard</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001574</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.005511</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.807379</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.807379</td>\n",
+ " <td>24</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>instantly</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000483</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001583</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.711366</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.711366</td>\n",
+ " <td>23</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>expected</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000483</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001583</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.711366</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.711366</td>\n",
+ " <td>22</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>dared</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002593</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.705335</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.705335</td>\n",
+ " <td>21</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>feared</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002480</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.641488</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.641488</td>\n",
+ " <td>20</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ran</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001021</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.641488</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.641488</td>\n",
+ " <td>19</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>caught</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000327</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001021</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.641488</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.641488</td>\n",
+ " <td>18</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>cried</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001730</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.005174</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.580218</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.580218</td>\n",
+ " <td>17</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>received</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002256</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.504638</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.504638</td>\n",
+ " <td>16</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>hardly</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002031</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.353432</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.353432</td>\n",
+ " <td>15</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>can</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.006251</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002705</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.208558</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.208558</td>\n",
+ " <td>14</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>scarcely</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001107</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.266184</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.266184</td>\n",
+ " <td>13</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>expressed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001419</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000572</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.309358</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.309358</td>\n",
+ " <td>12</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>wants</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001419</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000572</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.309358</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.309358</td>\n",
+ " <td>11</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>came</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.010928</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004388</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.316235</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.316235</td>\n",
+ " <td>10</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>certainly</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003757</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001470</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.353455</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.353455</td>\n",
+ " <td>9</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>shook</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001263</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.456287</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.456287</td>\n",
+ " <td>8</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>knows</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003757</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001246</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.592462</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.592462</td>\n",
+ " <td>7</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>stopt</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001419</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.624231</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.624231</td>\n",
+ " <td>6</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>seemed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.007654</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002480</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.625665</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.625665</td>\n",
+ " <td>5</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>comes</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003445</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001021</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.754097</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.754097</td>\n",
+ " <td>4</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>married</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001574</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.774648</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.774648</td>\n",
+ " <td>3</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>replied</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.009681</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002817</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.780895</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.780895</td>\n",
+ " <td>2</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>takes</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001419</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000348</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.027587</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.027587</td>\n",
+ " <td>1</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>stopped</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002042</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000460</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.149860</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.149860</td>\n",
+ " <td>0</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio index_pos\n",
+ "remembered 0.000016 0.001807 6.856928 6.856928 29\n",
+ "read 0.000327 0.002593 2.985443 2.985443 28\n",
+ "resolved 0.000327 0.001583 2.273245 2.273245 27\n",
+ "longed 0.000327 0.001470 2.167117 2.167117 26\n",
+ "felt 0.005784 0.021336 1.883279 1.883279 25\n",
+ "heard 0.001574 0.005511 1.807379 1.807379 24\n",
+ "instantly 0.000483 0.001583 1.711366 1.711366 23\n",
+ "expected 0.000483 0.001583 1.711366 1.711366 22\n",
+ "dared 0.000795 0.002593 1.705335 1.705335 21\n",
+ "feared 0.000795 0.002480 1.641488 1.641488 20\n",
+ "ran 0.000327 0.001021 1.641488 1.641488 19\n",
+ "caught 0.000327 0.001021 1.641488 1.641488 18\n",
+ "cried 0.001730 0.005174 1.580218 1.580218 17\n",
+ "received 0.000795 0.002256 1.504638 1.504638 16\n",
+ "hardly 0.000795 0.002031 1.353432 1.353432 15\n",
+ "can 0.006251 0.002705 -1.208558 1.208558 14\n",
+ "scarcely 0.001107 0.000460 -1.266184 1.266184 13\n",
+ "expressed 0.001419 0.000572 -1.309358 1.309358 12\n",
+ "wants 0.001419 0.000572 -1.309358 1.309358 11\n",
+ "came 0.010928 0.004388 -1.316235 1.316235 10\n",
+ "certainly 0.003757 0.001470 -1.353455 1.353455 9\n",
+ "shook 0.001263 0.000460 -1.456287 1.456287 8\n",
+ "knows 0.003757 0.001246 -1.592462 1.592462 7\n",
+ "stopt 0.001419 0.000460 -1.624231 1.624231 6\n",
+ "seemed 0.007654 0.002480 -1.625665 1.625665 5\n",
+ "comes 0.003445 0.001021 -1.754097 1.754097 4\n",
+ "married 0.001574 0.000460 -1.774648 1.774648 3\n",
+ "replied 0.009681 0.002817 -1.780895 1.780895 2\n",
+ "takes 0.001419 0.000348 -2.027587 2.027587 1\n",
+ "stopped 0.002042 0.000460 -2.149860 2.149860 0"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 23,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "plot_items_austen"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "A basic plot, just to see that we're doing something sensible."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 24,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "<matplotlib.axes._subplots.AxesSubplot at 0xadb4780c>"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 24,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ },
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "image/png": 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XSjHqhtk+Mte5BTgDWIvaMvALgVmkVdbPgENIfkvb2l4gaWVgJLAPMMD2yCpjiT2lTPFk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\nrkJggg==\n",
+ "text/plain": [
+ "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0xadb5518c>"
+ ]
+ },
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "display_data"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "plot_items_austen.logratio.plot.barh()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Plot the results, doing lots of matplotlib fiddling to make it look pretty."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 25,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "def gender_plot(plot_items, author):\n",
+ " plt.figure(figsize=(10,10))\n",
+ "\n",
+ " plot_items['colour'] = plot_items.logratio.apply(lambda l: 'r' if l > 0 else 'b')\n",
+ "\n",
+ " plt.plot(plot_items[plot_items.logratio > 0].logratio, \n",
+ " plot_items[plot_items.logratio > 0].index_pos, \n",
+ " marker='o', linestyle='', markersize=15.0, color='r')\n",
+ "\n",
+ " plt.plot(plot_items[plot_items.logratio < 0].logratio, \n",
+ " plot_items[plot_items.logratio < 0].index_pos, \n",
+ " marker='o', linestyle='', markersize=15.0, color='b')\n",
+ "\n",
+ " for _, r in plot_items.iterrows():\n",
+ " plt.plot([0, r.logratio], [r.index_pos, r.index_pos], color=r.colour, linestyle='-', linewidth=3)\n",
+ "\n",
+ "\n",
+ " words = plot_items.sort_values('index_pos').index\n",
+ " plt.yticks(np.arange(len(plot_items)), words)\n",
+ " plt.ylim([plot_items.index_pos.min() - 1, plot_items.index_pos.max() + 1])\n",
+ " \n",
+ " xts = list(range(int(min(plot_items.logratio)) - 1, int(max(plot_items.logratio)) + 2))\n",
+ " plt.xticks(xts, ['×{}'.format(2**i) for i in xts])\n",
+ "# plt.xticks([-2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6], ['×¼', '×½', 'same', '×2', '×4', '×8', '×16', '×32', '×64'])\n",
+ "\n",
+ " plt.tick_params(axis='y', which='major', labelsize=16)\n",
+ " plt.tick_params(axis='x', which='major', labelsize=12)\n",
+ "\n",
+ " plt.xlabel(\"Relative appearance after 'she' compared to 'he'\", fontsize=16)\n",
+ "\n",
+ " plt.suptitle(\"Words paired with 'he' and 'she' in {}'s novels\".format(author), fontsize=20)\n",
+ " plt.title((\"Women {}, {}, and {} \".format(words[-1], words[-2], words[-3]) + \n",
+ " \"while men {}, {}, and {}\".format(words[0], words[1], words[2])) , fontsize=16)\n",
+ "\n",
+ " plt.grid()\n",
+ "\n",
+ " for spine in plt.gca().spines.values():\n",
+ " spine.set_visible(False) \n",
+ "\n",
+ " plt.show()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 26,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "image/png": 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AcXgb+nwmjX1T2A3AZ4Gj0vk9B0xtZbtua13uBJwHHIS/nTkEeAB4AthoHWs/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\nLTru1N124+xZs+Kz5UHQ8dTNRRgj1a1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6EF3Kp3pdI2kY8CNgB9yofhL/yMv/rkcZUaFB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\nV8UVCjNj1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WaY2asyjn3AlHqSFhMNpl8L7ACWmdlQdQHhnFB3UBdc8BlaWxdxeFerx4aA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\n",
+ "text/plain": [
+ "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0xad79e70c>"
+ ]
+ },
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "display_data"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_plot(plot_items_austen, 'Jane Austen')"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "This shows a clear difference. Men take direct, physical action while women are more passive and have more emotions."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "# George Eliot\n",
+ "Do the same with the books of George Eliot, another 19th century female novelist, reusing the functions defined above."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 27,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "eliot_books = {title: open(eliot_books_filenames[title], \n",
+ " encoding='utf-8', errors='replace').read().lower()\n",
+ " for title in eliot_books_filenames}"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 28,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "612175"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 28,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "eliot_books_all_tokens = [token \n",
+ " for book in eliot_books \n",
+ " for token in tokens(eliot_books[book])]\n",
+ "len(eliot_books_all_tokens)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 29,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "(he, had) 1424\n",
+ "(he, was) 1038\n",
+ "(she, had) 761\n",
+ "(she, was) 705\n",
+ "(he, would) 367\n",
+ "(he, said) 357\n",
+ "(he, could) 283\n",
+ "(she, said) 239\n",
+ "(he, is) 226\n",
+ "(she, would) 209\n",
+ "dtype: int64"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 29,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gendered_bigrams_eliot = gendered_bigrams(eliot_books_all_tokens)\n",
+ "gendered_bigrams_eliot.head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 30,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>added</th>\n",
+ " <td>65</td>\n",
+ " <td>44</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>always</th>\n",
+ " <td>31</td>\n",
+ " <td>12</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>and</th>\n",
+ " <td>20</td>\n",
+ " <td>17</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>answered</th>\n",
+ " <td>22</td>\n",
+ " <td>15</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>asked</th>\n",
+ " <td>12</td>\n",
+ " <td>8</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she\n",
+ "added 65 44\n",
+ "always 31 12\n",
+ "and 20 17\n",
+ "answered 22 15\n",
+ "asked 12 8"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 30,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "useful_gender_counts_eliot = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_eliot, lower_limit=10) \n",
+ "useful_gender_counts_eliot.head()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Testing that we get the same results as with Silge's original post."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 31,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>herself</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000136</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.005437</td>\n",
+ " <td>5.326106</td>\n",
+ " <td>5.326106</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>himself</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003931</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000227</td>\n",
+ " <td>-4.116838</td>\n",
+ " <td>4.116838</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>read</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000542</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002719</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.326106</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.326106</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ran</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000542</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002266</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.063071</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.063071</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>left</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002982</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000906</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.718288</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.718288</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>means</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001491</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000453</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.718288</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.718288</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>shall</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001491</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000453</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.718288</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.718288</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>needed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000949</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002719</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.518751</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.518751</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>told</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003117</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001133</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.460491</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.460491</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>married</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000678</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.001812</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.419215</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.419215</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "herself 0.000136 0.005437 5.326106 5.326106\n",
+ "himself 0.003931 0.000227 -4.116838 4.116838\n",
+ "read 0.000542 0.002719 2.326106 2.326106\n",
+ "ran 0.000542 0.002266 2.063071 2.063071\n",
+ "left 0.002982 0.000906 -1.718288 1.718288\n",
+ "means 0.001491 0.000453 -1.718288 1.718288\n",
+ "shall 0.001491 0.000453 -1.718288 1.718288\n",
+ "needed 0.000949 0.002719 1.518751 1.518751\n",
+ "told 0.003117 0.001133 -1.460491 1.460491\n",
+ "married 0.000678 0.001812 1.419215 1.419215"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 31,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_eliot = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_eliot, smoothing_add=1, smoothing_scale=1)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_eliot.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 32,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>herself</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000014</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.005202</td>\n",
+ " <td>8.589442</td>\n",
+ " <td>8.589442</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>himself</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003795</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000023</td>\n",
+ " <td>-7.396733</td>\n",
+ " <td>7.396733</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>read</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000419</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002500</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.577913</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.577913</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>shall</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001364</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000248</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.461087</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.461087</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>means</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001364</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000248</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.461087</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.461087</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ran</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000419</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002049</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.291292</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.291292</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>left</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002850</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000698</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.029210</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.029210</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>told</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002985</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000923</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.692657</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.692657</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>dreaded</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001499</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000473</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.664405</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.664405</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>needed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000824</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002500</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.601372</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.601372</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "herself 0.000014 0.005202 8.589442 8.589442\n",
+ "himself 0.003795 0.000023 -7.396733 7.396733\n",
+ "read 0.000419 0.002500 2.577913 2.577913\n",
+ "shall 0.001364 0.000248 -2.461087 2.461087\n",
+ "means 0.001364 0.000248 -2.461087 2.461087\n",
+ "ran 0.000419 0.002049 2.291292 2.291292\n",
+ "left 0.002850 0.000698 -2.029210 2.029210\n",
+ "told 0.002985 0.000923 -1.692657 1.692657\n",
+ "dreaded 0.001499 0.000473 -1.664405 1.664405\n",
+ "needed 0.000824 0.002500 1.601372 1.601372"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 32,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_eliot = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_eliot)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_eliot.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "This is where the stopwords come in useful. Let's exclude the very common phrases 'he himself' and 'her herself', which means \"he himself dreaded\" is converted to \"he dreaded\"."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 45,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>read</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000418</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002502</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.580082</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.580082</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>shall</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001363</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000248</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.458917</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.458917</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>means</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001363</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000248</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.458917</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.458917</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ran</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000418</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002051</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.293461</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.293461</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>left</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002847</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000699</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.027040</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.027040</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>dreaded</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001633</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000473</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.786683</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.786683</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>told</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002982</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000924</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.690488</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.690488</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>called</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002173</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000699</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.636858</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.636858</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>needed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000823</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002502</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.603541</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.603541</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>knows</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002712</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000924</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.553637</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.553637</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "read 0.000418 0.002502 2.580082 2.580082\n",
+ "shall 0.001363 0.000248 -2.458917 2.458917\n",
+ "means 0.001363 0.000248 -2.458917 2.458917\n",
+ "ran 0.000418 0.002051 2.293461 2.293461\n",
+ "left 0.002847 0.000699 -2.027040 2.027040\n",
+ "dreaded 0.001633 0.000473 -1.786683 1.786683\n",
+ "told 0.002982 0.000924 -1.690488 1.690488\n",
+ "called 0.002173 0.000699 -1.636858 1.636858\n",
+ "needed 0.000823 0.002502 1.603541 1.603541\n",
+ "knows 0.002712 0.000924 -1.553637 1.553637"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 45,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "eliot_books_all_tokens = [token \n",
+ " for book in eliot_books \n",
+ " for token in tokens(eliot_books[book], stopwords=['himself', 'herself'])]\n",
+ "gendered_bigrams_eliot = gendered_bigrams(eliot_books_all_tokens)\n",
+ "useful_gender_counts_eliot = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_eliot, lower_limit=10) \n",
+ "gender_ratio_eliot = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_eliot)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_eliot.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 46,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "# eliot_books_all_tokens = [token \n",
+ "# for book in eliot_books \n",
+ "# for token in tokens(eliot_books[book], \n",
+ "# stopwords=['himself', 'herself',\n",
+ "# 'shall', 'should', 'may', 'might',\n",
+ "# 'will', 'would', 'can', 'could'])]\n",
+ "# gendered_bigrams_eliot = gendered_bigrams(eliot_books_all_tokens)\n",
+ "# useful_gender_counts_eliot = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_eliot, lower_limit=10) \n",
+ "# gender_ratio_eliot = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_eliot)\n",
+ "# gender_ratio_eliot.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 47,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "30"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 47,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "plot_items_eliot = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_eliot, window=15)\n",
+ "len(plot_items_eliot)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 48,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "image/png": 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px2bJnVF+SedHMARagE+m4p1FMAp2KLNOXh33t07EeRfhRvhQO8o9P+7vlIjT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GLe2trO+vWn099fPWre/v4rWL/+dDZubI+gZscqpJjnC4959Dzm0fOY55eca7RKeomk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\nhF3pG2dJku2B/w6Q9vnMFW8jSdsA3QgG6hVZZL6Io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+ "text/plain": [
+ "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0xaa9c59ac>"
+ ]
+ },
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "display_data"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_plot(plot_items_eliot, 'George Eliot')"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Again, women are associated passive verbs while men are associated with action and speaking."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "# Charlotte Brontë's book, _Jane Eyre_\n",
+ "This was called out in the original paper fitting the pattern less well, with women taking more active roles and men having more emotions. Does this pan out?"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 57,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "bronte_books = {title: open(bronte_books_filenames[title], \n",
+ " encoding='utf-8', errors='replace').read().lower()\n",
+ " for title in bronte_books_filenames}"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 62,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "189448"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 62,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "bronte_books_all_tokens = [token \n",
+ " for book in bronte_books \n",
+ " for token in tokens(bronte_books[book])]\n",
+ "len(bronte_books_all_tokens)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 63,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "(he, was) 155\n",
+ "(she, was) 154\n",
+ "(he, had) 132\n",
+ "(she, had) 122\n",
+ "(he, said) 96\n",
+ "(he, is) 88\n",
+ "(he, would) 83\n",
+ "(she, is) 79\n",
+ "(she, said) 57\n",
+ "(he, has) 44\n",
+ "dtype: int64"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 63,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gendered_bigrams_bronte = gendered_bigrams(bronte_books_all_tokens)\n",
+ "gendered_bigrams_bronte[:10]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 64,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>added</th>\n",
+ " <td>10</td>\n",
+ " <td>6</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>again</th>\n",
+ " <td>7</td>\n",
+ " <td>9</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>and</th>\n",
+ " <td>21</td>\n",
+ " <td>11</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>answered</th>\n",
+ " <td>14</td>\n",
+ " <td>6</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>asked</th>\n",
+ " <td>31</td>\n",
+ " <td>12</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she\n",
+ "added 10 6\n",
+ "again 7 9\n",
+ "and 21 11\n",
+ "answered 14 6\n",
+ "asked 31 12"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 64,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "useful_gender_counts_bronte = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_bronte, lower_limit=10) \n",
+ "useful_gender_counts_bronte.head()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 65,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>shall</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002629</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.012429</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.241019</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.241019</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>s</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.004382</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.018079</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.044621</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.044621</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>paused</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.011394</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004520</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.333890</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.333890</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>made</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.007888</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.019209</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.284087</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.284087</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>stood</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.013146</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.005650</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.218413</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.218413</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>asked</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.028046</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.014689</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.933011</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.933011</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>were</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.006135</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.011299</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.881123</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.881123</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>can</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.007011</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.012429</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.825981</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.825981</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>spoke</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.007888</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004520</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.803376</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.803376</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>took</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.017528</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.010169</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.785454</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.785454</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "shall 0.002629 0.012429 2.241019 2.241019\n",
+ "s 0.004382 0.018079 2.044621 2.044621\n",
+ "paused 0.011394 0.004520 -1.333890 1.333890\n",
+ "made 0.007888 0.019209 1.284087 1.284087\n",
+ "stood 0.013146 0.005650 -1.218413 1.218413\n",
+ "asked 0.028046 0.014689 -0.933011 0.933011\n",
+ "were 0.006135 0.011299 0.881123 0.881123\n",
+ "can 0.007011 0.012429 0.825981 0.825981\n",
+ "spoke 0.007888 0.004520 -0.803376 0.803376\n",
+ "took 0.017528 0.010169 -0.785454 0.785454"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 65,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_bronte = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_bronte, smoothing_add=1, smoothing_scale=1)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_bronte.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 66,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>shall</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001826</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.011298</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.629181</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.629181</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>s</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.003565</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.016890</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.244140</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.244140</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>paused</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.010522</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003468</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.601380</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.601380</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>stood</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.012261</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004586</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.418712</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.418712</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>made</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.007043</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.018009</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.354354</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.354354</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>spoke</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.007043</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003468</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.022367</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.022367</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>asked</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.027043</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.013535</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.998620</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.998620</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>were</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.005304</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.010179</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.940344</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.940344</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>saw</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.008783</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004586</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.937372</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.937372</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>took</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.016609</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.009060</td>\n",
+ " <td>-0.874292</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.874292</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "shall 0.001826 0.011298 2.629181 2.629181\n",
+ "s 0.003565 0.016890 2.244140 2.244140\n",
+ "paused 0.010522 0.003468 -1.601380 1.601380\n",
+ "stood 0.012261 0.004586 -1.418712 1.418712\n",
+ "made 0.007043 0.018009 1.354354 1.354354\n",
+ "spoke 0.007043 0.003468 -1.022367 1.022367\n",
+ "asked 0.027043 0.013535 -0.998620 0.998620\n",
+ "were 0.005304 0.010179 0.940344 0.940344\n",
+ "saw 0.008783 0.004586 -0.937372 0.937372\n",
+ "took 0.016609 0.009060 -0.874292 0.874292"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 66,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_bronte = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_bronte)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_bronte.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 67,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "30"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 67,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "plot_items_bronte = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_bronte, window=15)\n",
+ "len(plot_items_bronte)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 68,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
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o/+kNqMe/xTS+ABwOnAKMB/ZoQFwXAefF/B0dy/Id4JspfxuAp4A7geOAk6P5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\nr/M5Pm0a8xobmVNfX7DD7opdtCl+kZazPwpTvQ7oUUsu5yQ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jypX5qqaISE6V9FPweaCb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\nHcThHWD8cRxGAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC\n",
+ "text/plain": [
+ "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0xad852f4c>"
+ ]
+ },
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "display_data"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_plot(plot_items_bronte, 'Charlotte Brontë')"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true,
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "source": [
+ "Yes, many of the verbs after 'she' are not related to emotions, while men are more passive, standing and pausing.\n",
+ "\n",
+ "'s' is an interesting token. It appears in direct speech, as \"she's …\" and, rarely, \"he's …\", so is an abbreviation of \"is\", which isn't reported as having gendered usage. Quite why women are referred to in this way in speech is something for another investigation."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "# Now with Oscar Wilde's book, _The Picture of Dorian Grey_\n",
+ "\n",
+ "Not in Silge's article, but in the original paper, _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ was called out as another gender-swap, with women being active and men being emotional."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 75,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "wilde_books = {title: open(wilde_books_filenames[title], \n",
+ " encoding='utf-8', errors='replace').read().lower()\n",
+ " for title in wilde_books_filenames}"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 76,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "80416"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 76,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "wilde_books_all_tokens = [token \n",
+ " for book in wilde_books \n",
+ " for token in tokens(wilde_books[book])]\n",
+ "len(wilde_books_all_tokens)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 77,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "(he, had) 215\n",
+ "(he, was) 161\n",
+ "(he, is) 61\n",
+ "(he, would) 61\n",
+ "(he, said) 46\n",
+ "(he, felt) 44\n",
+ "(she, was) 41\n",
+ "(she, is) 40\n",
+ "(she, had) 39\n",
+ "(he, answered) 33\n",
+ "dtype: int64"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 77,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gendered_bigrams_wilde = gendered_bigrams(wilde_books_all_tokens)\n",
+ "gendered_bigrams_wilde[:10]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 78,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>answered</th>\n",
+ " <td>33</td>\n",
+ " <td>10</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>asked</th>\n",
+ " <td>16</td>\n",
+ " <td>4</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>could</th>\n",
+ " <td>31</td>\n",
+ " <td>5</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>cried</th>\n",
+ " <td>23</td>\n",
+ " <td>15</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>did</th>\n",
+ " <td>17</td>\n",
+ " <td>6</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she\n",
+ "answered 33 10\n",
+ "asked 16 4\n",
+ "could 31 5\n",
+ "cried 23 15\n",
+ "did 17 6"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 78,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "useful_gender_counts_wilde = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_wilde, lower_limit=10) \n",
+ "useful_gender_counts_wilde.head()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 81,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>laughed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.004331</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.027245</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.653113</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.653113</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>will</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.008557</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.046431</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.439931</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.439931</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>turned</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.022290</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004221</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.400750</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.400750</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>saw</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.017008</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004221</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.010567</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.010567</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>thought</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.014895</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004221</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.819202</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.819202</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>remembered</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.014895</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004221</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.819202</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.819202</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>got</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.013839</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.004221</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.713074</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.713074</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>went</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.022290</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.008058</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.467864</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.467864</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>is</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.064547</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.153876</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.253348</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.253348</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>cried</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.024403</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.057943</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.247574</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.247574</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "laughed 0.004331 0.027245 2.653113 2.653113\n",
+ "will 0.008557 0.046431 2.439931 2.439931\n",
+ "turned 0.022290 0.004221 -2.400750 2.400750\n",
+ "saw 0.017008 0.004221 -2.010567 2.010567\n",
+ "thought 0.014895 0.004221 -1.819202 1.819202\n",
+ "remembered 0.014895 0.004221 -1.819202 1.819202\n",
+ "got 0.013839 0.004221 -1.713074 1.713074\n",
+ "went 0.022290 0.008058 -1.467864 1.467864\n",
+ "is 0.064547 0.153876 1.253348 1.253348\n",
+ "cried 0.024403 0.057943 1.247574 1.247574"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 81,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_wilde = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_wilde)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_wilde.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 82,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "30"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 82,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "plot_items_wilde = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_wilde, window=15)\n",
+ "len(plot_items_wilde)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 84,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
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xF4FhwAvAo8DdwDhgEHBpzG9E4twewApgZcz/SOCqKOc5qWvZGNNeEtP9MKYb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2+b2T4zGzCz65IrzOwYM/uMmT0Qrv+tmd1lZq9L34mZLTazH5nZATN70MyuiPZliEiSu9PUtCPj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\nfwfGsm/Lcm2GQYSZrD+k2uQxwoP36DzXImmgpJmS3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+ "text/plain": [
+ "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0xaa3adeac>"
+ ]
+ },
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "display_data"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_plot(plot_items_wilde, 'Oscar Wilde')"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Yes, the men have the typically emotion-related verbs such as 'remember' and 'think', while women lauch and cry (which could be \"cry out\" so much as sob)."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "# Charles Dickens's books\n",
+ "A typically male 19th century author, with many books with male protagonists."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 88,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": [
+ "dickens_books = {title: open(dickens_books_filenames[title], \n",
+ " encoding='utf-8', errors='replace').read().lower()\n",
+ " for title in dickens_books_filenames}"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 90,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ }
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "756590"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 90,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "dickens_books_all_tokens = [token \n",
+ " for book in dickens_books \n",
+ " for token in tokens(dickens_books[book])]\n",
+ "len(dickens_books_all_tokens)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 91,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "(he, had) 937\n",
+ "(he, was) 895\n",
+ "(she, was) 619\n",
+ "(she, had) 490\n",
+ "(he, said) 376\n",
+ "(he, would) 296\n",
+ "(he, is) 291\n",
+ "(she, said) 188\n",
+ "(she, would) 182\n",
+ "(he, could) 165\n",
+ "dtype: int64"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 91,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gendered_bigrams_dickens = gendered_bigrams(dickens_books_all_tokens)\n",
+ "gendered_bigrams_dickens[:10]"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 92,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>added</th>\n",
+ " <td>33</td>\n",
+ " <td>12</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ain</th>\n",
+ " <td>4</td>\n",
+ " <td>8</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>always</th>\n",
+ " <td>25</td>\n",
+ " <td>23</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>and</th>\n",
+ " <td>45</td>\n",
+ " <td>29</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>answered</th>\n",
+ " <td>37</td>\n",
+ " <td>44</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she\n",
+ "added 33 12\n",
+ "ain 4 8\n",
+ "always 25 23\n",
+ "and 45 29\n",
+ "answered 37 44"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 92,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "useful_gender_counts_dickens = gender_counts(gendered_bigrams_dickens, lower_limit=10) \n",
+ "useful_gender_counts_dickens.head()"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 93,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/html": [
+ "<div>\n",
+ "<table border=\"1\" class=\"dataframe\">\n",
+ " <thead>\n",
+ " <tr style=\"text-align: right;\">\n",
+ " <th></th>\n",
+ " <th>he</th>\n",
+ " <th>she</th>\n",
+ " <th>logratio</th>\n",
+ " <th>abslogratio</th>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </thead>\n",
+ " <tbody>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>explained</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001803</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000276</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.709410</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.709410</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ate</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001505</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000276</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.448758</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.448758</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>certainly</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001505</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000276</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.448758</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.448758</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>cried</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001207</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.005538</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.198074</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.198074</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>rejoined</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002250</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000526</td>\n",
+ " <td>-2.096066</td>\n",
+ " <td>2.096066</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ran</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000909</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.003283</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.852707</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.852707</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>resumed</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.002697</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000777</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.795628</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.795628</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>carried</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.001803</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.000526</td>\n",
+ " <td>-1.776524</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.776524</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>be</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000760</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002531</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.735808</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.735808</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " <tr>\n",
+ " <th>ain</th>\n",
+ " <td>0.000611</td>\n",
+ " <td>0.002030</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.732320</td>\n",
+ " <td>1.732320</td>\n",
+ " </tr>\n",
+ " </tbody>\n",
+ "</table>\n",
+ "</div>"
+ ],
+ "text/plain": [
+ " he she logratio abslogratio\n",
+ "explained 0.001803 0.000276 -2.709410 2.709410\n",
+ "ate 0.001505 0.000276 -2.448758 2.448758\n",
+ "certainly 0.001505 0.000276 -2.448758 2.448758\n",
+ "cried 0.001207 0.005538 2.198074 2.198074\n",
+ "rejoined 0.002250 0.000526 -2.096066 2.096066\n",
+ "ran 0.000909 0.003283 1.852707 1.852707\n",
+ "resumed 0.002697 0.000777 -1.795628 1.795628\n",
+ "carried 0.001803 0.000526 -1.776524 1.776524\n",
+ "be 0.000760 0.002531 1.735808 1.735808\n",
+ "ain 0.000611 0.002030 1.732320 1.732320"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 93,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_ratio_dickens = find_ratios(useful_gender_counts_dickens)\n",
+ "gender_ratio_dickens.sort_values('abslogratio', ascending=False).head(10)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 94,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "text/plain": [
+ "30"
+ ]
+ },
+ "execution_count": 94,
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "execute_result"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "plot_items_dickens = extract_plot_items(gender_ratio_dickens, window=15)\n",
+ "len(plot_items_dickens)"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": 95,
+ "metadata": {
+ "run_control": {
+ "read_only": false
+ },
+ "scrolled": false
+ },
+ "outputs": [
+ {
+ "data": {
+ "image/png": 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KlzVGFN3PitTnDrFfLVfo39OAPYvRZSPX1zPW0YuxDT0p6eepNH0l3RflXy1p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wDdwO3AqcDbzGzAzP5CMBXTRqCBoIW0A3gH0Jdwnu8ALcCVwHbgvqi+ATc1SaK+fi7l5Z1p56mo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\nrkJggg==\n",
+ "text/plain": [
+ "<matplotlib.figure.Figure at 0xad7d190c>"
+ ]
+ },
+ "metadata": {},
+ "output_type": "display_data"
+ }
+ ],
+ "source": [
+ "gender_plot(plot_items_dickens, 'Charles Dickens')"
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "markdown",
+ "metadata": {},
+ "source": [
+ "Women cry and run, while men explain and are certain. Very stereotypical genered behaviour."
+ ]
+ },
+ {
+ "cell_type": "code",
+ "execution_count": null,
+ "metadata": {
+ "collapsed": true
+ },
+ "outputs": [],
+ "source": []
+ }
+ ],
+ "metadata": {
+ "kernelspec": {
+ "display_name": "Python 3",
+ "language": "python",
+ "name": "python3"
+ },
+ "language_info": {
+ "codemirror_mode": {
+ "name": "ipython",
+ "version": 3
+ },
+ "file_extension": ".py",
+ "mimetype": "text/x-python",
+ "name": "python",
+ "nbconvert_exporter": "python",
+ "pygments_lexer": "ipython3",
+ "version": "3.5.3"
+ }
+ },
+ "nbformat": 4,
+ "nbformat_minor": 2
+}
projects / gender-roles-text-analysis.git / commitdiff