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Charles Dickens > Great Expectations > Chapter 22

Great Expectations

Chapter 22

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 goodhumouredly,

"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


"No," said I.

"No," he acquiesced: "I heard it had happened very lately. I was

rather on the look-out for good-fortune then."


"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.


"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 connexion 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


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,


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 neighbourhood. 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 gipsy

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 armchair, the bread on the bookshelves, the cheese in

the coalscuttle, 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


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 councils, 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


"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


"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

waistcoat 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


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


"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

nursemaids 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 grey hair

disordered on his head, as if he didn't quite see his way to

putting anything straight.

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