Great Expectations

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
recognised 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 parlour. 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 parlour 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 parlour, 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 neighbours
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 neighbourhood, 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 honour, 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 parlour, 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 neighbours, 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 colour 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.”

[Illustration]

“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.