would have grieved that he had ever brought him to that peaceful,
innocent spot. For Steerforth had changed since the old school-days when
David had been so fond of him. He had learned wickedness, and now, while
he was exerting himself in every way to make the Peggottys like and
admire him, in his heart he was trying to fascinate little Em'ly and to
steal her love that she had given to Ham, till she would leave her home
and run away with him to a foreign country. This, however, David could
not guess, nor could any of the others, who regretted when the two
friends' visit was over.
Now that his school-days were finished David's aunt had planned for him
to study law in an office in London, and accordingly David began his new
life there, very near the street where he had once toiled, a wretched,
friendless helper, in the dirty warehouse on the dock. He found Tommy
Traddles, who had stood his friend at Mr. Creakle's school, studying now
to be a lawyer also, and boarding, curiously enough, at the house of Mr.
Micawber, who had drifted back to London, still as poor and as hopeful
as ever and still "waiting for something to turn up."
In spite of these and all his new acquaintances, David was very lonely
at first and missed Agnes, who all through his life at Doctor Strong's
school had been his friend and adviser.
He saw her once when she was visiting in London, and then she had bad
news to tell him; her father had been steadily failing in health and
business, and little by little Uriah Heep, his red-headed clerk with the
clammy hands, had got him and his affairs into his power and made
himself a partner in the firm. David guessed that Heep had planned to
entrap her father so as to compel Agnes herself to marry him, and this
suspicion made David despise the clerk more and more. But he knew of no
way to help.
All this time he often saw Steerforth, but never guessed how often the
latter had been secretly to see little Em'ly or of the wicked part he
was playing. But one day David heard that Barkis, Peggotty's husband
(whose early courtship he himself had aided when he took her the message
"Barkis is willin'") had died, and David went at once to Yarmouth to try
to comfort his old nurse in her loss.
While he was there the blow came which caused such sorrow to all who
lived in the old house-boat. Little Em'ly, the pride and joy of Mr.
Peggotty's tender heart, ran away with Steerforth.
She left a letter, begging them to forgive her, especially her uncle,
Mr. Peggotty--and bidding them all good-by. It broke Mr. Peggotty's
heart, and Ham's, too. And David was scarcely less sorrowful. Because,
for what he had done, Steerforth, whose friendship had been so much to
him, could never be his friend again.
But nothing could change Mr. Peggotty's love for little Em'ly. He
determined to start out and search throughout the world for her; and,
meantime, Ham and Mrs. Gummidge were to stay there in the old home, to
keep it looking just the same, with a lighted candle in the window every
night, so that if little Em'ly by any chance came back it would be
bright and warm to welcome her. Mr. Peggotty's parting words to David
were:
"I'm a-going to seek her far and wide. If any hurt should come to me,
remember that the last word I left for her was, 'My unchanged love is
with my darling child, and I forgive her.'"
III
DAVID AND HIS CHILD-WIFE
Though Agnes always held a large place in his heart, David was very
impressionable. In the next few years he thought himself in love a good
many times, but when finally he met Dora Spenlow, the daughter of one of
the members of the law firm with which he was studying, he knew that all
his other love-affairs had been only fancies. Dora was blue-eyed, with
cheeks like a pink sea-shell, and looked like a fairy. David fell head
over ears in love with her the first time he ever saw her. He lost his
appetite, and took to wearing tight gloves and shoes too small for him,
and he used to put on his best clothes and walk around her house in the
moonlight and do other extravagant things.
They found a good deal of trouble in their love-making, for Dora was
under the care of none other than the terrible sister of Mr. Murdstone,
who had made David so miserable in his childhood, but he and Dora used
to meet sometimes, and they sent each other letters through one of
Dora's girl friends. David, perhaps, would not have done this if he had
thought he would have a fair chance to win Dora; but with his old enemy,
Miss Murdstone, against him, he was afraid to tell her father of his
love. But one day he told it to Dora, and she promised to marry him.
Good luck, however, never comes without a bit of bad luck. Soon after
this David came home to his rooms one night to find his aunt, Miss Betsy
Trotwood, there, with her trunk and Mr. Dick, kites and all. She told
David she had no other place to go; that she had lost all of her money
and was quite ruined.
This was misfortune indeed, for it seemed to put his hope of marrying
Dora a great deal further away; but David faced the situation bravely
and began at once to look for something to do outside of the law office
to earn money enough to support them all.
In this trouble Agnes was his true friend. He had written her already of
his love for Dora and she had advised him. Through her now he found
employment as secretary to his old schoolmaster, Doctor Strong, who had
given up the school at Dover and had moved to London. He told Dora, of
course, all about his changed prospects, but Dora was like a little
butterfly who knew only how to fly about among flowers; she hardly knew
what poverty meant, and thought he was scolding when he told her.
David worked hard in the morning at Doctor Strong's, in the afternoons
at the law office, and in the evenings he studied shorthand so he might
come to be a newspaper reporter. And all this while he wrote to Dora
every day.
It was one of these letters that at last betrayed their secret. Dora
dropped it from her pocket and Miss Murdstone picked it up. She showed
it to Dora's father and he sent at once for David and told him angrily
that he could never marry his child and that he must not see Dora any
more. And David went home disconsolate.
This might have ended their engagement for ever, but that same day
Dora's father dropped dead of heart-disease. Instead of being rich he
was found to have left no money at all, and Dora was taken to live with
two aunts on the outskirts of London. David did not know what was best
to do now, so he went to Dover to ask Agnes's advice.
He was shocked at the changes he found there. Her father looked ill and
scarcely seemed himself. Uriah Heep, his new partner, with his ugly,
fawning way and clammy hands, was living in their house and eating with
them at their table. He had obtained more and more power over Mr.
Wickfield and gloried in it. And the other seemed no longer to dare to
oppose Uriah in anything.
But in spite of all this, Agnes talked bravely and cheerfully with
David. Under her direction, he wrote a letter to Dora's aunts, declaring
his love and asking permission to call, and they, pleased with his
frankness, gave their permission. Before the year was out David began to
earn money with his shorthand, reporting speeches in Parliament for a
newspaper. He had discovered besides that he could write stories that
the magazines were glad to buy. So one day David married Dora and they
went to housekeeping in a tiny house of their own.
Life seemed very sweet to them both, though Dora, while she was the most
loving little wife in the world, knew no more about housekeeping than a
bird. The servants stole the silver spoons, and the storekeepers
overcharged them, and the house was never tidy or comfortable. For a
while David tried to make Dora learn these things, but when he chid her
the tears would come, and she would throw her arms around his neck and
sob that she was only his child-wife after all, and he would end by
kissing her and telling her not to mind. She was most like a beautiful
toy; and like a toy, she seemed made only to play with, just as she
played with her dog Jip, instead of helping and encouraging David in his
work.
But at length Dora fell ill--so ill that they knew she was too frail and
weak to get well and strong again. David carried her down stairs every
day, and every day the burden grew lighter. She never complained, but
called him her poor, dear boy, and one day she whispered that she was
only his child-wife and could never have been more, so that it was
better as it was!
Agnes came, and was there when Dora died. But for her comfort all the
world would have been blank for poor David as he sat alone, longing for
the child-wife who could never be his again!
IV
DAVID FINDS ALL WELL AT LAST
More than once during this life of David's with his child-wife he had
seen Mr. Peggotty. The brave old man had searched Europe for little
Em'ly in vain; then he had come back to London, feeling somehow that
some day she would stray there. He used to walk the streets by night,
looking at every face he passed. In the room where he lived he kept a
candle always lighted and one of her dresses hanging on a chair for her.
After Dora's death David joined in the search, and at length they did
find poor little Em'ly. Steerforth had treated her cruelly and finally
deserted her, and she had crept back to London heartbroken and
repentant, hoping for nothing but to die within sight of those who had
loved her so.
But nothing had dimmed Mr. Peggotty's love. Wretched as she was, he
caught her in his arms, held her to his breast as he had done so often
when she was a child, and told her she was still his own little Em'ly,
just as she had always been.
She was ill, but he nursed her back to health. Then he went to Yarmouth
to fetch Mrs. Gummidge, and they and the little Em'ly that had been
found took passage for Australia, where they might forget the dark past
and find happiness in a new life.
But before they sailed fate had brought to naught the villainous plot
that had been woven by Uriah Heep about Agnes and her father. And the
one whom they had most to thank for this was Mr. Micawber.
Heep had met Mr. Micawber once, when the latter, as usual, was in money
difficulties, and, thinking to make a tool of him, had hired him for his
clerk. Little by little Heep had then got the other into his debt, till
Mr. Micawber saw no prospect before him but the debtors' prison.
Threatening him with this, Heep tried to compel him to do various bits
of dirty and dishonest work, at which the other's soul revolted until at
length he made up his mind to expose his employer. So, pretending
obedience, Mr. Micawber wormed himself into all of the sneaking Heep's
affairs, found out the evidence of his guilt, and finally taking all the
books and papers from the office safe, sent for David and his friend
Tommy Traddles and told them all he had discovered. They found it was by
forgery that Heep had got Agnes's father into his power in the first
place, and that among others whom he had robbed was David's aunt, Miss
Betsy Trotwood, whose fortune he had stolen.
David and Tommy Traddles sent for Miss Betsy and for Agnes and her
father, and they faced Uriah all together. He tried to brazen it out,
but when he saw the empty safe he knew that all was known. They told
him the only way he could save himself from prison was by giving back
the business to Agnes's father, just as it had been years before, when
David had lived there, and by restoring to Miss Betsy Trotwood every
cent he had robbed her of. This he did with no very good grace and with
an especial curse for David, whom he seemed to blame for it all.
In reward for Mr. Micawber's good services, Miss Betsy and Agnes's
father paid off all his debts and gave him money enough to take him and
his family to Australia. They sailed in the same vessel that carried Mr.
Peggotty and little Em'ly.
Before it sailed little Em'ly had written a letter to Ham, whose
promised wife she had been before she ran away with Steerforth, begging
his forgiveness, and this letter she had asked David to give him after
they had gone. Accordingly one day he went to Yarmouth to do this.
That night a terrible storm arose. The wind was so strong that it
uprooted trees and threw down chimneys and rolled waves mountain high on
the sand where stood the old deserted house-boat of the Peggottys. Next
morning David was awakened with the news that a Spanish ship had gone
ashore and was fast going to pieces, and he ran to the beach, where all
the town was gathered.
He could see the doomed vessel plainly where the surf broke over her.
Her masts had snapped short off and at every wave she rolled and beat
the sand as if she would pound herself to fragments. Several figures
were clinging to the broken masts, and one by one the waves beat them
off, and they went down for ever.
At length but one was left, and he held on so long that a shout of
encouragement went up from the throng. At this Ham, the bravest and
strongest of all the hardy boatmen there, tied a rope about his waist
and plunged into the sea to try to save him. But it was not to be. The
same huge wave that dashed the vessel to pieces threw the rescuer back
on the sand, dead. The body of the man he had tried to save was washed
ashore, too, and it was that of James Steerforth, who had so wronged
little Em'ly!
So poor, great-souled Ham died, honest and faithful to the last, giving
his life for the man who had injured him. And so, too, James Steerforth
met his fate on the very spot where he had done such evil, for his
corpse was found among the fragments of the old Peggotty house-boat,
which the tempest tore down that night.
After this David went abroad and stayed three years. He lived in
Switzerland, and wrote novels that were printed in London and made him
famous there.
And now, alone, he had time to think of all that made up his past. He
thought of Dora, his child-wife, and sorrowed for her, and of the
Peggottys and little Em'ly; but most of all he found himself thinking
of Agnes, who, throughout his youth, had seemed like his guiding star.
So one day he went back to England and told her, and asked her if she
would marry him. And with her sweet face on his breast she whispered
that she had loved him all her life!
David and Agnes lived long and happily, and their children had three
guardians who loved them all--Miss Betsy Trotwood, David's old nurse,
Peggotty, and white-haired Mr. Dick, who taught them to fly kites and
thought them the greatest children in the world. Tommy Traddles, when he
had become a famous lawyer, often visited them, and once, too, Mr.
Peggotty, older, but still hale and strong, came back from Australia to
tell them how he had prospered and grown rich, and had always his little
Em'ly beside him, and how Mr. Micawber had ceased to owe everybody money
and had become a magistrate, and many other things.
David had one thing, however, to tell Mr. Peggotty, and that was of a
certain prisoner he had seen in one of the country's greatest prisons,
sentenced for life for an attempt to rob the Bank of England, and whose
name was--Uriah Heep.
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
Published 1860-1861
_Scene_: London, Neighboring Towns and the Country
_Time_: 1830 to 1860
CHARACTERS
Philip Pirrip An orphan boy
Known as "Pip"
Joe Gargery A blacksmith
"Mrs. Joe" His wife
Pip's sister
Uncle Pumblechook Joe's pompous uncle
Wopsle Clerk of the village church
Later, an actor
Orlick A workman of Joe's
Biddy A girl friend of Pip's and Mrs. Joe's nurse
Later, Joe's wife
Abel Magwitch A convict
Miss Havisham An eccentric woman once disappointed
in love
Estella Her ward
In reality, Magwitch's daughter
Compeyson Miss Havisham's former suitor and deceiver
A convict
Mr. Jaggers Lawyer for Miss Havisham and
for Magwitch
Wemmick His clerk
Mr. Pocket Pip's tutor
Mrs. Pocket His wife
Herbert Pocket His son. Pip's comrade in London
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
I
PIP AND THE CONVICT
In England, in a lonely village not far from London, there once lived a
little orphan boy named Philip Pirrip, whom everybody called, for short,
"Pip." His parents had died when he was a baby, and he had been brought
up by his older sister, the wife of Joe Gargery, a blacksmith whose
forge looked out across wide marshes and a river that flowed through
them.
Joe, the blacksmith, was a fair-faced man with flaxen whiskers and very
bright blue eyes. He was a mild, honest, good-natured, sweet-tempered,
easy-going, foolish, dear fellow, tender-hearted and kind to little Pip
and yet a Hercules for strength.
Very different, indeed, was "Mrs. Joe," as everybody spoke of her. She
was tall and bony and had black hair, a red skin and a continual habit
of scolding. She may have loved Pip in her way, but that way was a very
cross-grained one. She treated Joe, the big blacksmith, and Pip, the
little boy, just alike, and they were both equally in dread of her. This
made them quite like partners. Whenever Pip came into the house he used
to look at Joe's fingers; if Joe crossed them that was a sign Mrs. Joe
was cross and that Pip was to look out for himself.
Joe had an uncle named Pumblechook, who was a corn seller in the next
town and a pompous old hypocrite. He had a way of standing Pip before
him, rumpling up his hair and asking him hard questions out of the
multiplication table. And whenever he told a story of any one who was
ungrateful or wicked he would glower at Pip in a way that made him feel
very uncomfortable.
Another who came as often and was almost as dismal to see was Wopsle,
the clerk, who read the lesson in church every Sunday. He had an idea he
would make a great actor and used to recite whole pages from Shakespeare
when he could find any one to listen to him.
Worst of all was a workman of Joe's named Orlick. He was a loose-limbed,
swarthy, slouching giant with a hangdog look. He used to tell Pip that
the devil lived in a certain corner of the forge, and once in every
seven years the fire had to be rekindled with a live boy. Orlick at
heart disliked everybody--especially harmless little Pip--and often
quarreled with Mrs. Joe.
Beside the blacksmith, the only one who understood Pip was a little girl
named Biddy, about his own age and an orphan, too. She liked him and
used to help him with his lessons at school.
But in spite of Joe and Biddy, Pip was sometimes so lonely and miserable
that he would steal off alone to the village churchyard, where his
father and mother lay buried, to cry.
One afternoon--it was the day before Christmas--Pip was more wretched
than usual, and was sitting crying among the graves when suddenly a
rough voice spoke behind him. "Keep still, you little imp!" it said, "or
I'll cut your throat!" With the words a man rose up from behind a
tombstone and seized him.
He was a fearful-looking man, dressed all in gray clothes, with a great
iron band riveted on his leg. His shoes were torn, he had no hat and
wore a ragged, dirty handkerchief tied around his head. He was soaked
with water, caked with mud and limped and shivered as he walked. He set
Pip on a tombstone and tilted him so far back that the church steeple
seemed to turn a somersault, growling at him in a terrible voice.
Pip had never been so frightened in his life. With a trembling voice he
begged his captor to spare him. The man asked him his name and where he
lived, and told him he would let him go on one condition. He had to
promise to come next morning at daybreak to a certain spot in the
marshes and to bring a file and something to eat. And the man said if
Pip did not do so, or if he told any one what he was going to do, he
would catch him again and cut out his heart and eat it.
This terrible threat frightened poor little Pip more than ever. His
voice shook so that he could hardly promise, and when the man set him
down he ran home as fast as his legs would carry him.
The evening was a miserable one. Pip thought he would save his own
supper for the man in case he should not be able to get into his
sister's pantry, so instead of eating his bread and butter he slipped it
down his trouser-leg.
Before long a great gun began to boom, and he asked Joe what it was. The
blacksmith told him that in the river across the marshes were anchored
some big hulks of ships, like wicked Noah's arks, where convicts were
kept prisoners, and that the gun was a signal that some of these
convicts had escaped. Then Pip knew the man he had promised to help was
a criminal--perhaps a murderer--who had got away and was hiding from the
soldiers.
All night he did not sleep. He hated to steal the food, but he felt
certain he would be killed if he did not. So at dawn he slipped down
stairs, got a file from the forge, unlocked the pantry, took some bread
and cheese and a pork pie that Uncle Pumblechook had sent for Christmas
dinner, and ran out through the foggy morning to the marshes.
He had not got quite there when he came on a man in gray, sitting on the
ground, with an iron fetter on his leg. Pip thought he was the one he
was in search of, but as soon as the other turned his face he saw by a
bruise on the cheek that he was not. This second man in gray, as soon
as he saw him, sprang to his feet and ran away.
Greatly wondering, Pip went on, and at the right spot he found the man
who had frightened him in the graveyard. He seemed now to be almost
starved, for he snatched the food and ate it like a hungry dog. He asked
Pip if he had seen any one else on his way there, and Pip told him of
the other man in gray who also wore an iron on his leg.
He asked Pip to describe the other, and when Pip told of the bruised
cheek, the man he was feeding flew into a rage. He began to curse, and,
seizing the file, set to filing like mad at his fetter. Pip could see
that he hated the other convict, and was sorry he had escaped; but he
had fulfilled his promise now, so he turned and ran home again, and the
last thing he heard was the rasp of the file as the man worked madly at
the iron.
Very guilty Pip felt all that Christmas morning. He went to church with
Joe, and after service Uncle Pumblechook, Wopsle, the clerk, and other
company came to dinner. He could not enjoy the good things to eat, for
he knew now his sister must discover that the pork pie was gone. Just as
she went to get it he got up from the table to run away, but as he
opened the door he ran plump into a file of soldiers.
He was sure at first they had come to arrest him for helping the
convict, but he was soon relieved, when the officer at their head
explained that they were on their way to search the marshes for the
escaped men and wanted the blacksmith to mend a broken handcuff.
In the flurry of their arrival the pork pie was forgotten, while Joe
mended the handcuff in the forge. When the soldiers left, the blacksmith
set Pip on his broad shoulder, and he and Wopsle went striding with them
to see the result of the hunt.
It was sunset as the party entered the marshes, and the searchers opened
out into a wide line. On a sudden all stopped, for a confused shouting
had come from the distance. They ran toward it, cocking their guns, and
Wopsle and Joe, with Pip on his shoulder, followed. The shouts became
plainer and plainer. All at once they came to a ditch and in it the
convict Pip had fed and the one with the bruised cheek were struggling
fiercely together.
The soldiers seized and handcuffed them both, the man with the bruised
cheek pale and trembling, the other boasting that he had dragged the man
he hated back to captivity, even though it cost him his own freedom.
While the soldiers were preparing to take their prisoners back, Pip's
convict saw the boy standing there with Joe. Pip hoped he would not
think he had had anything to do with bringing the soldiers. He was
pretty sure the man did not, because he presently told the officer, in
every one's hearing, that the night before he had broken into a house
where a blacksmith lived, near a church, and had stolen a pork pie. Joe
heard this and so Pip knew that he himself would be clear of any blame.
The convicts were taken back to their cells and Joe and Pip went home to
tell the company of their adventure. But neither then nor ever afterward
did Pip find courage to tell Joe the part he had played; for Pip loved
the honest blacksmith and did not want him to think him worse than he
really was.
Time went on and Pip grew older and bigger, and though he never forgot
the adventure of the churchyard, yet the memory of it grew dimmer. In
the next few years only one thing happened to recall it to him.