AS I was getting too big for Mr Wopsle's great-aunt's room, my education under that preposterous female terminated. Not, however, until Biddy had imparted to me everything she knew, from the little catalogue of prices, to a comic song she had once bought for a halfpenny. Although the only coherent part of the latter piece of literature were the opening lines,
When I went to Lunnon town sirs,
Too rul loo rul
Too rul loo rul
Wasn't I done very brown sirs?
Too rul loo rul
Too rul loo rul
- still, in my desire to be wiser, I got this composition by heart with the utmost gravity; nor do I recollect that I questioned its merit, except that I thought (as I still do) the amount of Too rul somewhat in excess of the poetry. In my hunger for information, I made proposals to Mr Wopsle to bestow some intellectual crumbs upon me; with which he kindly complied. As it turned out, however, that he only wanted me for a dramatic lay-figure, to be contradicted and embraced and wept over and bullied and clutched and stabbed and knocked about in a variety of ways, I soon declined that course of instruction; though not until Mr Wopsle in his poetic fury had severely mauled me.
Whatever I acquired, I tried to impart to Joe. This statement sounds so well, that I cannot in my conscience let it pass unexplained. I wanted to make Joe less ignorant and common, that he might be worthier of my society and less open to Estella's reproach.
The old Battery out on the marshes was our place of study, and a broken slate and a short piece of slate pencil were our educational implements: to which Joe always added a pipe of tobacco. I never knew Joe to remember anything from one Sunday to another, or to acquire, under my tuition, any piece of information whatever. Yet he would smoke his pipe at the Battery with a far more sagacious air than anywhere else - even with a learned air - as if he considered himself to be advancing immensely. Dear fellow, I hope he did.
It was pleasant and quiet, out there with the sails on the river passing beyond the earthwork, and sometimes, when the tide was low, looking as if they belonged to sunken ships that were still sailing on at the bottom of the water. Whenever I watched the vessels standing out to sea with their white sails spread, I somehow thought of Miss Havisham and Estella; and whenever the light struck aslant, afar off, upon a cloud or sail or green hill-side or water-line, it was just the same. - Miss Havisham and Estella and the strange house and the strange life appeared to have something to do with everything that was picturesque.
One Sunday when Joe, greatly enjoying his pipe, had so plumed himself on being `most awful dull,' that I had given him up for the day, I lay on the earthwork for some time with my chin on my hand, descrying traces of Miss Havisham and Estella all over the prospect, in the sky and in the water, until at last I resolved to mention a thought concerning them that had been much in my head.
`Joe,' said I; `don't you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?'
`Well, Pip,' returned Joe, slowly considering. `What for?'
`What for, Joe? What is any visit made for?'
`There is some wisits, p'r'aps,' said Joe, `as for ever remains open to the question, Pip. But in regard to wisiting Miss Havisham. She might think you wanted something - expected something of her.'
`Don't you think I might say that I did not, Joe?'
`You might, old chap,' said Joe. `And she might credit it. Similarly she mightn't.'
Joe felt, as I did, that he had made a point there, and he pulled hard at his pipe to keep himself from weakening it by repetition.
`You see, Pip,' Joe pursued, as soon as he was past that danger, `Miss Havisham done the handsome thing by you. When Miss Havisham done the handsome thing by you, she called me back to say to me as that were all.'
`Yes, Joe. I heard her.'
`ALL,' Joe repeated, very emphatically.
`Yes, Joe. I tell you, I heard her.'
`Which I meantersay, Pip, it might be that her meaning were - Make a end on it! - As you was! - Me to the North, and you to the South! - Keep in sunders!'
I had thought of that too, and it was very far from comforting to me to find that he had thought of it; for it seemed to render it more probable.
`But, Joe.'
`Yes, old chap.'
`Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her.'
`That's true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes all four round - and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four round might not act acceptable as a present, in a total wacancy of hoofs--'
`I don't mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don't mean a present.'
But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it. `Or even,' said he, `if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain for the front door - or say a gross or two of sharkheadedscrews for general use - or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork when she took her muffins - or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such like--'
`I don't mean any present at all, Joe,' I interposed.
`Well,' said Joe, still harping on it as though I had particularly pressed it, `if I was yourself, Pip, I wouldn't. No, I would not. For what's a door-chain when she's got one always up? And sharkheaders is open to misrepresentations. And if it was a toasting-fork, you'd go into brass and do yourself no credit. And the oncommonest workman can't show himself oncommon in a gridiron - for a gridiron IS a gridiron,' said Joe, steadfastly impressing it upon me, as if he were endeavouring to rouse me from a fixed delusion, `and you may haim at what you like, but a gridiron it will come out, either by your leave or again your leave, and you can't help yourself--'
`My dear Joe,' I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, `don't go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present.'
`No, Pip,' Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all along; `and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip.'
`Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I would go up-town and make a call on Miss Est - Havisham.'
`Which her name,' said Joe, gravely, `ain't Estavisham, Pip, unless she have been rechris'ened.'
`I know, Joe, I know. It was slip of mine. What do you think of it, Joe?'
In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for a favour received, then this experimental trip should have no successor. By these conditions I promised to abide.
Now, Joe kept a journeyman at weekly wages whose name was Orlick. He pretended that his christian name was Dolge - a clear impossibility - but he was a fellow of that obstinate disposition that I believe him to have been the prey of no delusion in this particular, but wilfully to have imposed that name upon the village as an affront to its understanding. He was a broadshouldered loose-limbed swarthy fellow of great strength, never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even seemed to come to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by mere accident; and when he went to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his dinner, or went away at night, he would slouch out, like Cain or the Wandering Jew, as if he had no idea where he was going and no intention of ever coming back. He lodged at a sluice-keeper's out on the marshes, and on working days would come slouching from his hermitage, with his hands in his pockets and his dinner loosely tied in a bundle round his neck and dangling on his back. On Sundays he mostly lay all day on sluice-gates, or stood against ricks and barns. He always slouched, locomotively, with his eyes on the ground; and, when accosted or otherwise required to raise them, he looked up in a half resentful, half puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever had, was, that it was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should never be thinking.
This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and timid, he gave me to understand that the Devil lived in a black corner of the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was necessary to make up the fire, once in seven years, with a live boy, and that I might consider myself fuel. When I became Joe's 'prentice, Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat his sparks in my direction, and that whenever I sang Old Clem, he came in out of time.
Dolge Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by-and-by he said, leaning on his hammer:
`Now, master! Sure you're not a going to favour only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick.' I suppose he was about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient person.
`Why, what'll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?' said Joe.
`What'll I do with it! What'll he do with it? I'll do as much with it as him,' said Orlick.
`As to Pip, he's going up-town,' said Joe.
`Well then, as to Old Orlick, he's a going up-town,' retorted that worthy. `Two can go up-town. Tan't only one wot can go up-town.
`Don't lose your temper,' said Joe.
`Shall if I like,' growled Orlick. `Some and their up-towning!Now, master! Come. No favouring in this shop. Be a man!'
The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out - as if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spirting blood - and finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he again leaned on his hammer:
`Now, master!'
`Are you all right now?' demanded Joe.
`Ah! I am all right,' said gruff Old Orlick.
`Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men,' said Joe, `let it be a half-holiday for all.'
My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing - she was a most unscrupulous spy and listener - and she instantly looked in at one of the windows.
`Like you, you fool!' said she to Joe, `giving holidays to great idle hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in that way. I wish I was his master!'
`You'd be everybody's master, if you durst,' retorted Orlick, with an ill-favoured grin.
(`Let her alone,' said Joe.)
`I'd be a match for all noodles and all rogues,' returned my sister, beginning to work herself into a mighty rage. `And I couldn't be a match for the noodles, without being a match for your master, who's the dunder-headed king of the noodles. And I couldn't be a match for the rogues, without being a match for you, who are the blackest-looking and the worst rogue between this and France. Now!'
`You're a foul shrew, Mother Gargery, growled the journeyman. `If that makes a judge of rogues, you ought to be a good'un.'
(`Let her alone, will you?' said Joe.)
`What did you say?' cried my sister, beginning to scream. `What did you say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me, with my husband standing by? O! O! O!' Each of these exclamations was a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of all the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; `what was the name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? O! Hold me! O!'
`Ah-h-h!' growled the journeyman, between his teeth, `I'd hold you, if you was my wife. I'd hold you under the pump, and choke it out of you.'
(`I tell you, let her alone,' said Joe.)
`Oh! To hear him!' cried my sister, with a clap of her hands and a scream together - which was her next stage. `To hear the names he's giving me! That Orlick! In my own house! Me, a married woman! With my husband standing by! O! O!' Here my sister, after a fit of clappings and screamings, beat her hands upon her bosom and upon her knees, and threw her cap off, and pulled her hair down - which were the last stages on her road to frenzy. Being by this time a perfect Fury and a complete success, she made a dash at the door, which I had fortunately locked.
What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical interruptions, but stand up to his journeyman, and ask him what he meant by interfering betwixt himself and Mrs Joe; and further whether hè was man enough to come on? Old Orlick felt that the situation admitted of nothing less than coming on, and was on his defence straightway; so, without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt aprons, they went at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in that neighbourhood could stand up long against Joe, I never saw the man. Orlick, as if he had been of no more account than the pale young gentleman, was very soon among the coal-dust, and in no hurry to come out of it. Then, Joe unlocked the door and picked up my sister, who had dropped insensible at the window (but who had seen the fight first, I think), and who was carried into the house and laid down, and who was recommended to revive, and would do nothing but struggle and clench her hands in Joe's hair. Then, came that singular calm and silence which succeed all uproars; and then, with the vague sensation which I have always connected with such a lull - namely, that it was Sunday, and somebody was dead - I went up-stairs to dress myself.
When I came down again, I found Joe and Orlick sweeping up, without any other traces of discomposure than a slit in one of Orlick's nostrils, which was neither expressive nor ornamental. A pot of beer had appeared from the Jolly Bargemen, and they were sharing it by turns in a peaceable manner. The lull had a sedative and philosophical influence on Joe, who followed me out into the road to say, as a parting observation that might do me good, `On the Rampage, Pip, and off the Rampage, Pip - such is Life!'
With what absurd emotions (for, we think the feelings that are very serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to Miss Havisham's, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how I debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back.
Miss Sarah Pocket came to the gate. No Estella.
`How, then? You here again?' said Miss Pocket. `What do you want?'
When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my business. But, unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to `come up.'
Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.
`Well?' said she, fixing her eyes upon me. `I hope you want nothing? You'll get nothing.'
`No, indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you.'
`There, there!' with the old restless fingers. `Come now and then; come on your birthday. - Ay!' she cried suddenly, turning herself and her chair towards me, `You are looking round for Estella? Hey?'
I had been looking round - in fact, for Estella - and I stammered that I hoped she was well.
`Abroad,' said Miss Havisham; `educating for a lady; far out of reach; prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?'
There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by dismissing me. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the walnut-shell countenance, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with everything; and that was all I took by that motion.
As I was loitering along the High-street, looking in disconsolately at the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman, who should come out of the bookshop but Mr Wopsle. Mr Wopsle had in his hand the affecting tragedy of George Barnwell, in which he had that moment invested sixpence, with the view of heaping every word of it on the head of Pumblechook, with whom he was going to drink tea. No sooner did he see me, than he appeared to consider that a special Providence had put a 'prentice in his way to be read at; and he laid hold of me, and insisted on my accompanying him to the Pumblechookian parlour. As I knew it would be miserable at home, and as the nights were dark and the way was dreary, and almost any companionship on the road was better than none, I made no great resistance; consequently, we turned into Pumblechook's just as the street and the shops were lighting up.
As I never assisted at any other representation of George Barnwell, I don't know how long it may usually take; but I know very well that it took until half-past nine o' clock that night, and that when Mr Wopsle got into Newgate, I thought he never would go to the scaffold, he became so much slower than at any former period of his disgraceful career. I thought it a little too much that he should complain of being cut short in his flower after all, as if he had not been running to seed, leaf after leaf, ever since his course began. This, however, was a mere question of length and wearisomeness. What stung me, was the identification of the whole affair with my unoffending self. When Barnwell began to go wrong, I declare that I felt positively apologetic, Pumblechook's indignant stare so taxed me with it. Wopsle, too, took pains to present me in the worst light. At once ferocious and maudlin, I was made to murder my uncle with no extenuating circumstances whatever; Millwood put me down in argument, on every occasion; it became sheer monomania in my master's daughter to care a button for me; and all I can say for my gasping and procrastinating conduct on the fatal morning, is, that it was worthy of the general feebleness of my character. Even after I was happily hanged and Wopsle had closed the book, Pumblechook sat staring at me, and shaking his head, and saying, `Take warning, boy, take warning!' as if it were a well-known fact that I contemplated murdering a near relation, provided I could only induce one to have the weakness to become my benefactor.
It was a very dark night when it was all over, and when I set out with Mr. Wopsle on the walk home. Beyond town, we found a heavy mist out, and it fell wet and thick. The turnpike lamp was a blur, quite out of the lamp's usual place apparently, and its rays looked solid substance on the fog. We were noticing this, and saying how that the mist rose with a change of wind from a certain quarter of our marshes, when we came upon a man, slouching under the lee of the turnpike house.
`Halloa!' we said, stopping. `Orlick, there?'
`Ah!' he answered, slouching out. `I was standing by, a minute, on the chance of company.'
`You are late,' I remarked.
Orlick not unnaturally answered, `Well? And you're late.'
`We have been,' said Mr Wopsle, exalted with his late performance, `we have been indulging, Mr Orlick, in an intellectual evening.'
Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we all went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spending his half-holiday up and down town?
`Yes,' said he, `all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn't see you, but I must have been pretty close behind you. By-the-bye, the guns is going again.'
`At the Hulks?' said I.
`Ay! There's some of the birds flown from the cages. The guns have been going since dark, about. You'll hear one presently.'
In effect, we had not walked many yards further, when the wellremembered boom came towards us, deadened by the mist, and heavily rolled away along the low grounds by the river, as if it were pursuing and threatening the fugitives.
`A good night for cutting off in,' said Orlick. `We'd be puzzled how to bring down a jail-bird on the wing, to-night.'
The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in silence. Mr Wopsle, as the ill-requited uncle of the evening's tragedy, fell to meditating aloud in his garden at Camberwell. Orlick, with his hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was very dark, very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along. Now and then, the sound of the signal cannon broke upon us again, and again rolled sulkily along the course of the river. I kept myself to myself and my thoughts. Mr Wopsle died amiably at Camberwell, and exceedingly game on Bosworth Field, and in the greatest agonies at Glastonbury. Orlick sometimes growled, `Beat it out, beat it out - Old Clem! With a clink for the stout - Old Clem!' I thought he had been drinking, but he was not drunk.
Thus, we came to the village. The way by which we approached it, took us past the Three Jolly Bargemen, which we were surprised to find - it being eleven o'clock - in a state of commotion, with the door wide open, and unwonted lights that had been hastily caught up and put down, scattered about. Mr Wopsle dropped in to ask what was the matter (surmising that a convict had been taken), but came running out in a great hurry.
`There's something wrong,' said he, without stopping, `up at your place, Pip. Run all!'
`What is it?' I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side.
`I can't quite understand. The house seems to have been violently entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by convicts. Somebody has been attacked and hurt.'
We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there was Joe, and there was a group of women, all on the floor in the midst of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me, and so I became aware of my sister - lying without sense or movement on the bare boards where she had been knocked down by a tremendous blow on the back of the head, dealt by some unknown hand when her face was turned towards the fire - destined never to be on the Rampage again, while she was the wife of Joe.
慢慢地我人长大了，所以再不能到沃甫赛先生的姑婆办的学校中去读书，于是我在这位愚蠢女人指导下的学习便告一段落。不过，真正结束我的学业还要等毕蒂把她知道的学问全部传授给我为止。她传授给我的有她的小价目表，还有她用半个便士买来的滑稽可笑的小曲。其实这小曲中也只有开头的几行还有些连贯性：
我前次去到伦敦镇，吐－路－噜－路吐－路－噜－路我被人家欺骗一顿。吐－路－噜－路吐－路－噜－路
当然，从我个人希望变得聪明的愿望出发，我非常认真地把这篇诗作背熟。回想起来，我也并未对这篇诗作的成就产生疑问，不过有一点，我过去和现在都认为其中的“吐－路”太多了，这对诗总有些影响。那时我渴求获得知识，所以请求沃甫赛先生能够赐一些精神食粮给我充饥，他也乐意接受我的请求。结果，他把我当成舞台上的傀儡处理。我被用来供他骂、供他抱、供他相对落泪、供他威胁、供他捏、供他刺、供他全身乱打，所以我不得不赶忙谢绝了他的教导。即使这样，我已经被沃甫赛先生在诗兴的激愤中弄得伤痕累累。
凡我知道的东西，我都要想尽办法让乔学会。我这话听起来挺好听的，所以我不能说一遍就算了，应当表白一番。其实我是想使乔不那么无知无识，不那么粗俗平常，使他在日常社会中有身价，而且少挨埃斯苔娜的羞辱。
沼泽地上的那座古炮台就是我们读书写字的地方，我们的文房宝贝是一块破了的石板、一支半截头的石笔，不过乔还要再添加一支烟斗。我深深了解，在我的教导下乔根本没有学到什么东西，因为这个星期学的东西，下个星期他又忘掉了。不过，他坐在炮台旁抽起烟来的那种神情比在任何其他的地方抽烟更显聪明智慧，颇有一种学者的气度，仿佛他觉得自己在学问方面已有大幅度的长进。我多么希望我亲爱的老伙计真的如此啊！
坐在古炮台那里不仅心旷神信而且顿感静穆。那边河中的点点风帆高耸过河堤，移动而去；落潮时分，行舟又仿佛都沉入了水底，行走在河谷之中。只要我一眼看到水上的船只张满白帆缓缓而行，我的脑际便浮现了郝维仙小姐及埃斯苔娜的身影；只要那夕阳开始西斜，映照着云朵、船帆、苍翠青山或是船边吃水线，她们的身影也会浮现在我的脑际。郝维仙小姐、埃斯苔娜、那奇怪的宅邸、那古怪的生活仿佛和每一件美丽的自然景物都有千丝万缕的联系。
有一个星期天，乔高兴地享受着他的烟斗，特别夸大地说他“实在笨得可怕”，所以我不得不让他停学一天。我在炮台的土堆上躺了一会儿，用手托着下巴，想从高高云天和远远河水中寻找郝维仙小姐及埃斯苔娜的痕迹。我眺望着一片景致，最后下定决心把那一直萦绕在心头的有关她们的念头讲出来。
“乔，”我说道，“你不认为我该去看看郝维仙小姐吗？”
“嗯，皮普，”乔缓慢地思考着问道，“去看她干啥？”
“乔，去看她干啥？难道不可以去看看她吗？”
“你自然是可以去看她的，”乔说道，“不过这里有些问题要考虑。你去看望郝维仙小姐，这一点不错，但是她会想到你去是为了想要东西，期望从她那里得到什么。”
“乔，你不认为我会告诉她我不是去要东西的吗？”
“我的老弟，你可以这么说，”乔说道，“不过，她可以相信你，同样也可以不相信你。”
乔感到自己说得十分中肯，我也是这么想的。他用力地抽着烟斗，不再重复，以免重复反而减弱他语言的作用。
“皮普，你应该明白，”乔停了一会儿，感到他的话对我已起了作用，便又说道，“郝维仙小姐对你可算是慷慨的了。郝维仙小姐那么慷慨地给了你钱以后，特地又把我叫回去叮嘱我说一共就那么多。”
“是的，乔，我听到了她的话。”
乔非常着重地又重复了一遍：“一共就那么多。”
“是的，乔，我已经告诉你我听到了她说的话。”
“皮普，我是想告诉你，她的意思也许是从此一切都结束了！你在她家的事也了结了！我走我的阳关道，你走你的独木桥！从此不管天南地北，一刀两断！”
我本来也想到这个问题，现在发现他也这么想，这的确使我感到很难过，因为这就是说事情完全可能是那样的。
“不过，乔。”
“什么，我的老弟？”
“自从和你签定师徒合同后，已差不多快有一年的时间了，我还没有感谢过郝维仙小姐，也没有向她问过安，也没有对她表示过怀念之情。”
“你说的这倒是事实，皮普。我看你还是打一副马蹄铁送给她，这是我的意思。不过，你即使为她打了一副马蹄铁，她又没有马，接受这份礼物也没有用——”
“乔，我所说的怀念之情不是这个，我不是指要送她礼物。”
但在乔的头脑里装的却是不同的念头，都和礼物有关，使他唠唠叨叨地反复讲下去。他说道：“要么我来帮你为她敲出一条新链条，给她锁大门，或者为她打一两打鲨鱼头形状的螺丝钉，以便日常之用，或者打一些轻巧新奇的小玩意儿，比如烤面包叉，她可以用来叉松饼，还可以打一个铁格子烤架，她可以用来烤西鲱鱼或者其他什么——”
“乔，我根本不想送她什么礼物。”我插言道。
“是啊，”乔说道，仍然翻来覆去讲他的那一套，好像是我一再逼他讲的一样，“皮普，如果我是你的话，我不会送礼。不会，我不会送礼。因为她那大门上永远锁着一副链子，何必再为她打一副呢？鲨鱼头形的螺丝钉又怕引起误解，烤面包叉又少不了铜匠师父的活儿，你是打不好的。如果送铁格子烤架，即使是最好的打铁师父打烤架时也表现不出他最好的手艺，因为铁格子烤架就是铁格子烤架，没有什么特别的地方。”乔有条不紊地想打动我的心，仿佛要尽最大的努力把我从固执的谬误中唤醒。“不管你用什么方法去打，打出的只是一个铁格子烤架，随你高兴还是不高兴也无济于事——”
我无法可想，只有大声叫道：“我亲爱的乔，你不要再这样说下去了。我压根儿就没有想过要送郝维仙小姐什么礼物。”
“皮普，你不想送礼，我所说的也是不要送礼，皮普，你是正确的。”乔这才同意道，仿佛他争论了半天也正是为了这个结论。
“对，乔，但是我所说的意思是现在我们的打铁活儿不算多，说不定明天上午你能放我半天的假，那么我就想到镇上去一趟，去看看埃斯——郝维仙小姐。”
“她的名字可不是埃斯郝维仙啊，皮普，除非她改了名字。”
“我知道，乔，我知道，这是我一时的口误。乔，你看我的计划怎么样？”
简而言之，乔的想法是，只要我认为是行之有效的，他也就认为行之有效，但是他特别要我注意的是：如果她们不是诚心诚意接待我，或者她们并不表示要我再去，即使我去看她们没有抱什么别的目的，仅仅为了感恩而已，那么这次试探性的拜访就说明不能再去第二次。他说的这些条件我都答应了。
当时乔还雇了一名伙计，叫做奥立克，每周付给他工资。他自己称他的教名是陶尔基，这显而易见是不可能的。这个家伙性格顽固，所以我认为他用这个名字不是由于一时的妄想，而是故意地把这个名字强加给村子里的人，利用这名字中的含意来侮辱村民。他是一个肩膀宽大、四肢懒散的黑脸汉，力气挺大，可干事从来都不慌不忙，永远是拖拖拉拉的。他上工从来都不是为了上工而来的，倒好像是路过此地，慢慢地信步走进来似的。无论他是到三个快乐的船夫酒店去吃午饭或是晚上回家，也总是那么拖拖拉拉，倒有些像《圣经》中的该隐以及那位漂泊的犹太人，仿佛不知道上哪儿去，也根本没有回家的想法。他寄住在沼泽地那边的一个管水闸的家中，在该上工的日子里，他从他隐居的所在拖拖拉拉地走来，两只手放在口袋里，中饭装在一只袋子中，袋子套在脖子上，在背后晃晃荡荡的。每逢星期天，他多半躺在水闸堤上，要么站在那里把身子靠在草堆上或堆草房旁。他走路总是懒懒散散的，两只眼睛盯在地上。如果有人和他打招呼或有其他什么事需要他抬起眼睛，他便显露出一半愠怒一半不知所措的样子，仿佛他唯一的想法是别人从来不让他思想，这简直是一件怪事，也是对他的侮辱。
这个脾气难弄的伙计很不喜欢我。在我很小而且又十分胆小的时候，他对我说魔鬼就住在铁匠铺里的一个黑暗角落，说他和魔鬼很熟悉。他还说，要保持炉火旺，每隔七年就必须把一个活男孩丢进炉子，使我觉得我一定是要被丢进炉子里的男孩了。在我成了乔的学徒之后，奥立克便确定了某种怀疑，认为我总有一天要把他取而代之，自然对我就更加不喜欢了。当然这不是说他在言语上或行为上对我表现出了什么公开的敌视，只不过我注意到他打铁时总是让火星在我身前乱溅，只要我一唱起老克莱门的曲子，他便拉着嗓子把调门打乱。
第二天我提醒乔给我半天假时，在场的陶尔基·奥立克正在干活，也听见了。他先是没有言语，因为当时他正和乔合力打一块火红的热铁，而我在拉风箱。不一会，他处理好热铁，便撑在大铁锤上说：
“老板！你对待我们两个人总不该偏爱一个，慢怠另一个吧。既然小皮普得准半天假，那么老奥立克也该准半天假。”我猜他不过才二十五岁，可他总把自己说成是七老八十的人。
“怎么，你也要半天假？你这半天要干什么事？”乔说道。
“问我这半天假要干什么？那么他要半天假又干什么？我要干的事就是他要干的事。”奥立克说道。
“问皮普么，他要到镇上去。”乔说道。
“好，老奥立克嘛，也要到镇上去。”真是棋逢对手，来一句驳一句。“两个人都可以到镇上去，不能只许一人去镇上。”
“用不着发火。”乔说道。
“我喜欢发火就发火，”奥立克咆哮起来，“有人就可以到镇上去！有人就不可以！得了，老板！一个铺子里不能两种待遇。你可得做一个堂堂正正的男子汉！”
老板根本不理他这个茬儿，除非这位伙计先把火气消了。这时，奥立克突然奔向了熔铁炉，钳出了一块烧得通红的铁条直向我捅过来，简直想捅穿我的身体。就在一霎间，他把它在我头上一转便落到了铁砧上，然后便锤打起来。他锤打着铁条，好像那铁条就是我一样，溅出的火星就像我身上溅出的血。打到最后他混身发热，而铁条已变冷，于是他又撑在他的铁锤上，说道：
“老板！”
“你现在气消了吗？”乔问道。
“噢！都消了。”老奥立克粗声粗气地说道。
“那么，看你工作的样子和别人一样还是勤勤恳恳的，就让你们都放半天假吧。”乔说道。
这时，我姐姐一直悄悄地站在院子里偷听。她总是什么也不顾地想尽办法打探偷听。听到这里，她便从一个窗口探进头来。
“真亏你这个蠢货！”她对着乔骂道，“给这么个懒惰的家伙放假。难道你是个百万富翁，就这样白白浪费了工资？我要是他的老板就绝不会这样！”
“只要你敢，你自然会做所有人的老板。”奥立克不怀善意地嘻笑着反驳道。
（“随她去。”乔说道。）
“所有的笨蛋和坏蛋我都敢碰，”我姐姐的火气开始越来越旺，说道，“我既然能够碰一切笨蛋，当然就能碰你的老板，他是所有笨蛋中的大笨蛋。我既然能碰一切的坏蛋，当然就能碰你这个坏蛋，你是这里和法兰西最黑心肠的最坏的坏蛋。哼！”
“你是个臭泼妇，葛奇里老太婆，”这个伙计咆哮道，“坏蛋才识坏蛋，你也不过是个大坏蛋。”
（“随她去好不好？”乔说道。）
“你说什么？”我姐姐大喊大嚷，音调尖利。“你说的是什么话？皮普，奥立克这个家伙在对我说什么？他称呼我什么？竟敢当着我丈夫的面这样骂我？好啊！好啊！好啊！”我姐姐声声哭号、声声尖厉。在我看来是我姐姐的不是，她和我所见过的一切暴怒无常的妇女都一样，她的这种脾气是不该原宥的。因为她的脾气不是正常发的，而明明白白是有意识的，是几经盘算的，是强使自己发的脾气，最后越发越厉害，以致不可收拾。“他骂我什么？居然在我丈夫面前骂我，我这个无用的丈夫，亏他还发过誓要保护我的。啊！快来抱住我！啊！”
“嗳，嗳——！”这个伙计咆哮着，咬牙切齿地说道，“你要是我的老婆，我会来抱你，我会把你抱到水泵下面，用水把你浇死。”
（“我告诉你随她去。”乔说道。）
“好啊！你们听！”我姐姐哭闹着，一面拍手一面尖叫。这时她的脾气进入到了第二个阶段。“你们听他骂我骂得那么难听！这个奥立克！竟然在我自己家中！竟然敢骂一个已成了家的女人！竟然还当着我丈夫的面！好，好！”我姐姐拍手尖叫了一阵之后，又捶胸口，又捶膝盖，然后把帽子摔掉，又乱扯自己的头发。这时她的脾气已发展到了最后一个阶段，完全达到了疯狂的程度。这时，她扮演的一个十足的狂乱形象已登峰造极了，于是朝门作最后的冲刺，所幸我已把门锁上了。
可怜的乔，刚才的一些插话什么作用也没起，别人也不理他，现在他该怎么办呢？他只有勇敢地面对他的伙计，责问奥立克干涉他自己和乔夫人的事有什么用意，还说如果奥立克是个男子汉，敢不敢和他比试一下，看看谁高谁低。老奥立克感到情况不妙，除了动武之外别无他法，于是便摆开了防卫的架势。他们连那烤焦了的破烂围裙都没有脱掉，就像两个巨人一样地扭打起来。在附近一带，我还没有见过有谁能经得起和乔交手。奥立克就好像上次和我比试的那位苍白面孔的少年绅士一样，根本不是乔的对手，没有几下就被打翻在煤灰之中，甚至都爬不起来了。乔这才打开门，出去把我姐姐扶起来。她早昏倒在窗口那儿了（我想，她一定看到了动武的场面）。乔把她扶进屋中，让她平躺下来。她在劝慰下恢复了精神，于是挣扎着用两手使劲地扯住乔的头发。接下去是一片安静，一场吵闹场面终于结束。这时，我脑海中有一种模糊的感觉，这种感觉每逢极度喧闹之后的宁静时刻便会出现，觉得多像是星期天，又像是有什么人死去。于是我上楼去换衣服。
从楼上下来时，我看见乔和奥立克正在打扫。一场不平静的风波已然消逝。除掉奥立克鼻孔上的一个裂口外，什么痕迹也没有留下。当然，鼻孔上的裂口既无深刻的意义，又无光彩。他们从三个快乐的船夫酒店买来了一大壶啤酒，正在平静地轮流把盏，共同分享。这一平静时刻对乔的影响不仅是使他显得心平气和，而且也具有某种哲人风范。乔跟着我走出来，在路上好像临别赠言般地对我说：“一会儿是大吵大闹，一会又不大吵大闹，皮普，人生也就是如此！”
我又一次向郝维仙小姐的家中走去，所怀之情绪是如何荒唐在此无须细言。反正这种情感对于一个成年人来讲本是很严肃的，而换成一个孩子便显得滑稽可笑。至于在我下定决心按铃之前在她家门口来来回回走了多少次也无须细言。至于我是如何斗争再三，是否不按铃即离去，以及如果我能够支配自己的时间，无疑我一定会立刻回家，等等，也都无须在此细言。
莎娜·鄱凯特小姐来到了门口。埃斯苔娜却没有出现。
“是你？你怎么又来了？”鄱凯特小姐说道，“你来有什么事吗？”
我说我来只是为了看望郝维仙小姐。显然她听了我说的话后考虑了一会儿是否应该打发我走，但是她也不愿意冒着担责任的危险这样做，最后还是放我进去了。没有多久便传出简短的口讯，叫我“上来”。
房中的一切仍原封未动，郝维仙小姐一个人在那儿。
“你来了！”她把目光盯住我说道，“我想你不是来要什么的吧？我可没有什么给你。”
“郝维仙小姐，我不是来要东西的。我只是想告诉您我当学徒了，干得很好，而且非常感谢您。”
“得了，得了！”她还是老样子，不耐烦地挥动着手指。“有空就来玩吧，在你生日那天来。——哎呀！”她突然叫喊了一声，连人带椅一齐都转向了我，说，“你东张西望，是不是在找埃斯苔娜？是吗？”
我是在东张西望，确实是在找埃斯苔娜，于是只得结结巴巴地说我希望她身体健康。
“出国啦，”郝维仙小姐说道，“去接受上流社会的小姐所必需的教育去了，很远很远；现在可比过去更漂亮了，凡是看到她的人都仰慕她。你是不是感到看不见她有些失落感？”
她最后一句话里暗含着一种幸灾乐祸的情绪，说后还发出一阵令人不愉快的笑声，使我慌乱得不知该怎样回答，幸亏她马上叫我回去，免除了我的尴尬。那位胡桃壳般面孔的莎娜关上大门后，我所感到的是对我的家、对我所学的行业、对一切的一切都比以往更加不满意，而这些便是我此次造访的全部收获。
我正沿着大街闲逛，郁郁不乐地浏览着店铺的橱窗，想着如果我是个上流社会的绅士，我会买些什么呢？就在这时，从书店里走出一个人，正是沃甫赛先生。沃甫赛先生的手中拿着一本情浓意深的悲剧，描写了学徒出身的乔治·巴恩威尔的身世。这是他刚才花了六个便士的价钱买来的，正准备去彭波契克那里和他一起饮茶，并且把这个悲剧中的每一个词都原封不动地读进彭波契克的大脑中去。他一看到我便立刻想到这简直是天赐良机，正好对着一个学徒的来读一读一个学徒的悲剧，于是他一把逮住了我，坚持要我陪他一起到彭波契克的客厅去。我想，家中也是挺凄凉的，夜晚黑暗，路上又沉闷，现在有个同行的伙伴总比没有好，所以我没有拒绝。我们来到彭波契克家中，正是街道和店铺开始上灯时分。
我从来没有欣赏过《乔治·巴恩威尔》这出悲剧的演出，也不知道演出要花多少时间。但是这一天晚上我非常清楚，朗诵直到九点半才结束。当沃甫赛先生读到巴恩威尔进入新门*时，我想他是永远上不了绞刑架了。他一人*之后，描写便大肆铺开，比他可耻一生的前一阶段要细致人微得多。他报怨自己正当风华正茂时刻，却被摧残得毫无生气。我认为这些都太过分了，仿佛他花苞刚放，尚未结果，便叶落飘零，也即是在人生道路刚开始便向衰败过渡了。不过，这些只是使人感到冗长和令人厌倦，而刺痛了我的却是他们把剧中的情节和无辜的我联系起来。巴恩威尔刚开始走上歧途时，彭波契克就用愤怒的目光盯住我，仿佛是在谴责我，令我不得不感到十分的委屈。沃甫赛也卖力地想把我说成是最大的坏蛋。在他们眼中，我立刻变成了惨无人性又常流泪的人，成为杀不可赦的谋害伯父的人；似乎那个叫密尔伍德的妓女每一次都用她的花言巧语打动了我；那位老板女儿的偏爱狂又倾注在我的身上，对我一切的错事都毫不介意；在那个致命的早晨，我气喘喘地不敢动手，一直迟疑了好久，对此我所能说的就是这表现出我性格中存在着人性普遍的软弱面。终于，沃甫赛读完了这个悲剧，我也在他们眼中被处了绞刑。我当然对此感到幸运，不过，彭波契克还是坐在那里用眼睛瞪着我，摇着头，说道：“引以为戒啊，孩子，要引以为戒啊！”好像大家都知道，只要我掌握了一个至亲的弱点，使他信任我而成为我的恩主，我就会想方设法谋害他一样。
整个朗诵表演结束后，我和沃甫赛先生出发返家，这时天已完全漆黑一片。一出镇便只见大雾迷漫，很湿很浓，关口上射出的灯光昏暗模糊，看上去灯已经不在原来的地方，所射出的光也好像是雾气上实实在在的东西。我们注意到这点，谈论着风向一转变，雾气就从我们那边沼泽地的某个地方弥漫开来了。正在谈话时，我们遇到一个躲在关卡所背风面懒洋洋站着的人。
“喂！”我们停下来问道，“那边走的是奥立克吗？”
“嗳！”他答着，慢吞吞地走出来，“我刚才站在那儿，只一会儿，想等个同路人。”
“你这也太晚了。”我说道。
奥立克不当一回事地说：“是吗？你不是也太晚了吗？”
“我们刚才，”沃甫赛先生因为自己的杰出表演而非常高兴，说道，“奥立克先生，我们刚才沉溺在高尚的文化娱乐之中。”
老奥立克像狗一样地嘟嘟哝哝了几声，好像对沃甫赛说的事没有评论的必要。我们三人一同走着。过了一会儿，我问奥立克是不是这半天假都在镇上消磨掉了。
“是啊，”他答道，“整个半天假都在镇上度过。你前脚走，我后脚便跟了来。我虽没有看到你，说不定一直离你不远。你听，又在响炮了。”
“是*船上放炮吗？”我问道。
“嗯！又有几个鸟儿从牢笼中逃走了。天黑以来，炮声就连续不断。待会儿你就又会听到开炮的。”
所说不假，我们还没有走出几码远，一声熟悉的炮响就轰鸣着迎面传来，在浓雾中显得略为嘶哑，并且沿着河边的低地沉闷地滚动而去，仿佛正在追赶着逃犯，并且在恐吓着他们。
“多么美好的黑夜被炮声破坏了，”奥立克说道，“我真怀疑今天晚上他们怎么样把从笼中逃出的飞鸟射下来。”
这一话题触动了我的心，于是我默默地想起心思来。而沃甫赛先生，这时俨然是今天晚上那出悲剧中的伯父，由于出自真心，但没有得到好报，好像正在坎布威尔他自己的花园中大声地冥思默想。至于奥立克，他双手放在插袋里，拖着沉重的脚步在我身边慢慢地走着。这时，天色非常黑暗，非常潮湿，地上又非常泥泞，我们一面走，一面在泥地上溅出哗啦哗啦的水声。不时地，在我们前方又发出了信号炮弹的声音，又沿着河边低地沉闷地滚动而去。我只顾自己行走并想着心事。沃甫赛先生在他那大声的冥思默想中已死过三次，和蔼地死于坎布威尔，拼命争战地死于波斯华斯田野，历尽痛苦地死于格拉斯伯利。奥立克有时嘟哝着：“加劲打啊，加劲打啊，老克莱门！举起有力的臂膀，用力打啊，老克莱门！”我想他一定喝了酒，但是没有喝醉。
我们就这样回到村子。沿路经过三个快乐的船夫酒店时，已经是十一点钟了，可是店里十分忙乱，使我们大为吃惊。酒店的门大开着，亮着和平常不同的烛光，看来都是在匆忙之中点着也在匆忙之中放在那儿的，而且散放在四处。沃甫赛先生一头钻了进去，想打探一下究竟发生了什么事，以为一定是抓住了逃犯。他进去后只一眨眼的功夫就出来了，而且是慌忙跑出来的。
他脚步没停，对我说道：“皮普，你家里出了事，快跑回去吧！”
“出了什么事？”我紧跟上他问道。奥立克也紧跟在我的旁边。
“我也不很清楚，好像是乔·葛奇里不在家的时候有人进去干了坏事，看来是逃犯干的。你们家有人被打伤了。”
我们只顾拼命地跑，也就没有心思再谈什么了。我们匆匆忙忙没有停留地一口气跑进了厨房。这时，厨房里挤满了人，全村的人都来了，还有些人站在院子里。厨房里有一个外科医生，乔也在那里，还有不少妇女。他们都站着。这些不请自到的人们一看到我便退向两侧让我进去。这时，我才知道我姐姐出了事情。她现在躺在光光的地板上，全无意识，一动不动。原来，在她面对着炉火时，不知道什么人在她后脑上狠狠地打了一记，把她打昏在地。她作为乔的妻子，现在已经命中注定，再也不能对他胡乱指责、暴跳如雷了。
