Dickens, Charles - Great Expectations

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Great Expectations

Charles Dickens

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Great Expectations

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Chapter 1

My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian

name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names

nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called

myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the

authority of his tombstone and my sister - Mrs. Joe

Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my

father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either

of them (for their days were long before the days of

photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were

like, were unreasonably derived from their tombstones.

The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd

idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly

black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription,

‘Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,’ I drew a childish

conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To

five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long,

which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and

were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine -

who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in

that universal struggle - I am indebted for a belief I

religiously entertained that they had all been born on their

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backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had

never taken them out in this state of existence.

Ours was the marsh country, down by the river,

within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My

first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of

things, seems to me to have been gained on a memorable

raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found

out for certain, that this bleak place overgrown with

nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of

this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were

dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew,

Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the

aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat

wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dykes

and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it,

was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond, was

the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the

wind was rushing, was the sea; and that the small bundle

of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was

Pip.

‘Hold your noise!’ cried a terrible voice, as a man

started up from among the graves at the side of the church

porch. ‘Keep still, you little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!’

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A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on

his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and

with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been

soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by

stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by

briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared and growled;

and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by

the chin.

‘O! Don’t cut my throat, sir,’ I pleaded in terror. ‘Pray

don’t do it, sir.’

‘Tell us your name!’ said the man. ‘Quick!’

‘Pip, sir.’

‘Once more,’ said the man, staring at me. ‘Give it

mouth!’

‘Pip. Pip, sir.’

‘Show us where you live,’ said the man. ‘Pint out the

place!’

I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore

among the alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from

the church.

The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me

upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing

in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to

itself - for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go

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head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my

feet - when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated

on a high tombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread

ravenously.

‘You young dog,’ said the man, licking his lips, ‘what

fat cheeks you ha’ got.’

I believe they were fat, though I was at that time

undersized for my years, and not strong.

‘Darn me if I couldn’t eat em,’ said the man, with a

threatening shake of his head, ‘and if I han’t half a mind

to’t!’

I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and

held tighter to the tombstone on which he had put me;

partly, to keep myself upon it; partly, to keep myself from

crying.

‘Now lookee here!’ said the man. ‘Where’s your

mother?’

‘There, sir!’ said I.

He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked

over his shoulder.

‘There, sir!’ I timidly explained. ‘Also Georgiana.

That’s my mother.’

‘Oh!’ said he, coming back. ‘And is that your father

alonger your mother?’

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‘Yes, sir,’ said I; ‘him too; late of this parish.’

‘Ha!’ he muttered then, considering. ‘Who d’ye live

with - supposin’ you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t

made up my mind about?’

‘My sister, sir - Mrs. Joe Gargery - wife of Joe Gargery,

the blacksmith, sir.’

‘Blacksmith, eh?’ said he. And looked down at his leg.

After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he

came closer to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and

tilted me back as far as he could hold me; so that his eyes

looked most powerfully down into mine, and mine

looked most helplessly up into his.

‘Now lookee here,’ he said, ‘the question being

whether you’re to be let to live. You know what a file is?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you know what wittles is?’

‘Yes, sir.’

After each question he tilted me over a little more, so

as to give me a greater sense of helplessness and danger.

‘You get me a file.’ He tilted me again. ‘And you get

me wittles.’ He tilted me again. ‘You bring ‘em both to

me.’ He tilted me again. ‘Or I’ll have your heart and liver

out.’ He tilted me again.

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I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to

him with both hands, and said, ‘If you would kindly please

to let me keep upright, sir, perhaps I shouldn’t be sick, and

perhaps I could attend more.’

He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the

church jumped over its own weather-cock. Then, he held

me by the arms, in an upright position on the top of the

stone, and went on in these fearful terms:

‘You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and

them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery

over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word

or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a

person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let

to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any

partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and

your liver shall be tore out, roasted and ate. Now, I ain’t

alone, as you may think I am. There’s a young man hid

with me, in comparison with which young man I am a

Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That

young man has a secret way pecooliar to himself, of

getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in

wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young

man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may

tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may

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think himself comfortable and safe, but that young man

will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him

open. I am a-keeping that young man from harming of

you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I find it

wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside.

Now, what do you say?’

I said that I would get him the file, and I would get

him what broken bits of food I could, and I would come

to him at the Battery, early in the morning.

‘Say Lord strike you dead if you don’t!’ said the man.

I said so, and he took me down.

‘Now,’ he pursued, ‘you remember what you’ve

undertook, and you remember that young man, and you

get home!’

‘Goo-good night, sir,’ I faltered.

‘Much of that!’ said he, glancing about him over the

cold wet flat. ‘I wish I was a frog. Or a eel!’

At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in

both his arms - clasping himself, as if to hold himself

together - and limped towards the low church wall. As I

saw him go, picking his way among the nettles, and

among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he

looked in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands

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of the dead people, stretching up cautiously out of their

graves, to get a twist upon his ankle and pull him in.

When he came to the low church wall, he got over it,

like a man whose legs were numbed and stiff, and then

turned round to look for me. When I saw him turning, I

set my face towards home, and made the best use of my

legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw

him going on again towards the river, still hugging himself

in both arms, and picking his way with his sore feet

among the great stones dropped into the marshes here and

there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy, or

the tide was in.

The marshes were just a long black horizontal line

then, as I stopped to look after him; and the river was just

another horizontal line, not nearly so broad nor yet so

black; and the sky was just a row of long angry red lines

and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the river

I could faintly make out the only two black things in all

the prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of

these was the beacon by which the sailors steered - like an

unhooped cask upon a pole - an ugly thing when you

were near it; the other a gibbet, with some chains hanging

to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping

on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life,

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and come down, and going back to hook himself up

again. It gave me a terrible turn when I thought so; and as

I saw the cattle lifting their heads to gaze after him, I

wondered whether they thought so too. I looked all round

for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of him.

But, now I was frightened again, and ran home without

stopping.

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Dickens, Charles - Great Expectations

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