Great Expectations - Charles Dickens (i want to read a book .txt) 📗
- Author: Charles Dickens
- Performer: 0141439564
Book online «Great Expectations - Charles Dickens (i want to read a book .txt) 📗». Author Charles Dickens
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.
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
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