Chapter 58

Great Expectations

by Charles Dickens

The tidings of my high fortunes having had a heavy fall, had got
down to my native place and its neighbourhood, 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 shaycart.
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 it, 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 honoured me with very
unfavourable 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
country-side 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 parlour 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 honoured 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 parlour 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.