Chapter 29

Next morning I was thinking about my patroness, and painting brilliant pictures of her plans for me.

She had adopted Estella, I can say that she had adopted me. The truth is, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. I loved her none the less because I knew it.

I arrived at the gate at my old time. I had come to the house, where I found his room to be one just within the side-door, with a little window in it looking on the courtyard. In its small proportions, it was not unlike the kind of place usually assigned to a gate-porter in Paris. Certain keys were hanging on the wall.

I turned down the long passage. At the end of the passage I found Sarah Pocket.

“Oh!” said she. “You, is it, Mr. Pip?”

“It is, Miss Pocket. I am glad to tell you that Mr. Pocket and family are all well.”

“Are they any wiser?” said Sarah, with a dismal shake of the head; “they had better be wiser, than well. Ah, Matthew, Matthew! You know your way, sir?”

I ascended to the door of Miss Havisham’s room. “Pip,” I heard her say, immediately; “come in, Pip.”

She was in her chair near the old table, in the old dress, with her two hands crossed on her stick, her chin resting on them, and her eyes on the fire. Sitting near her, with the white shoe, that had never been worn, in her hand, and her head bent as she looked at it, was an elegant lady whom I had never seen.

“Come in, Pip,” Miss Havisham continued to mutter; “come in, Pip, how do you do, Pip? so you kiss my hand as if I were a queen, eh? – Well?”

She looked up at me suddenly, only moving her eyes, and repeated in a grimly manner —

“Well?”

“I heard, Miss Havisham,” said I, rather at a loss, “that you were so kind as to wish me to come and see you, and I came directly.”

“Well?”

The lady whom I had never seen before, lifted up her eyes and looked archly at me, and then I saw that the eyes were Estella’s eyes. But she was so much changed, was so much more beautiful, so much more womanly! I felt, as I looked at her, that I slipped back into the coarse and common boy again.

She gave me her hand. I stammered something about the pleasure I felt in seeing her again, and about my having looked forward to it, for a long, long time.

“Do you find her much changed, Pip?” asked Miss Havisham, with her greedy look.

“When I came in, Miss Havisham, I thought there was nothing of Estella in the face or figure; but now it all settles down so curiously into the old – ”

“What? You are not going to say into the old Estella?” Miss Havisham interrupted. “She was proud and insulting, and you wanted to go away from her. Don’t you remember?”

I said that that was long ago, and that I knew no better then, and the like. Estella smiled with perfect composure, and said she had been very disagreeable.

“Is he changed?” Miss Havisham asked her.

“Very much,” said Estella, looking at me.

“Less coarse and common?” said Miss Havisham, playing with Estella’s hair.

Estella laughed, and looked at the shoe in her hand, and laughed again, and looked at me, and put the shoe down. She treated me as a boy still, but she lured me on.

We sat in the dreamy room, and I learnt that she had just come home from France, and that she was going to London.

It was settled that I should stay there all the rest of the day, and return to the hotel at night, and to London tomorrow. So, Estella and I went out into the garden by the gate through which I had strayed to my encounter with the pale young gentleman, now Herbert. As we drew near to the place of encounter, she stopped and said —

“I decided to hide and see that fight that day; and I enjoyed it very much.”

“You rewarded me very much.”

“Did I?” she replied.

“He and I are great friends now.”

“Are you? I think I recollect though, that you are his father’s student?”

“Yes.”

“Since your change of fortune and prospects, you have changed your companions,” said Estella.

“Naturally,” said I.

“What was fit company for you once,” she added, in a haughty tone; “would be quite unfit company for you now.”

The garden was very big, and after we had made the round of it twice or thrice, we came out again into the yard. I showed her where I had seen her walking on the casks, that first old day, and she said, with a cold and careless look in that direction, “Did I?” I reminded her where she had come out of the house and given me my meat and drink, and she said, “I don’t remember.” “Not remember that you made me cry?” said I. “No,” said she, and shook her head and looked about her.

“You must know,” said Estella, condescending to me as a brilliant and beautiful woman might, “that I have no heart – maybe I have no memory as well. You know what I mean. I have no softness there, no – sympathy-sentiment – nonsense. I am serious, you had better believe it at once. I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere. I have never had any such thing. What is the matter? Are you scared again?”

“I should be, if I believed what you said just now,” I replied.

“Then you don’t? Very well. It is said, at any rate. Let us make one more round of the garden, and then go in. Come! You will not shed tears for my cruelty today; you will be my Page, and give me your shoulder.”

We walked round the ruined garden twice or thrice more, and it was all in bloom for me.

There was no discrepancy of years between us to remove her far from me; we were of nearly the same age; but the air of inaccessibility which her beauty and her manner gave her, tormented me in the midst of my delight.

At last we went back into the house, and there I heard, with surprise, that my guardian had come down to see Miss Havisham on business, and would come back to dinner.

When Estella had gone and we two left alone, Miss Havisham turned to me, and said in a whisper —

“Is she beautiful, graceful, well-grown? Do you admire her?”

“Everybody must who sees her, Miss Havisham.”

She drew an arm round my neck, and drew my head close down to hers as she sat in the chair. “Love her, love her, love her! How does she use you?”

Before I could answer (if I could have answered so difficult a question at all) she repeated, “Love her, love her, love her! If she favours you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces – and as it gets older and stronger it will tear deeper – love her, love her, love her!”

I could feel the muscles of the thin arm round my neck that possessed her.

“Hear me, Pip! I adopted her, to be loved. I bred her and educated her, to be loved. I developed her into what she is, that she might be loved. Love her!”

She said the word often enough, and there could be no doubt that she meant to say it.

“I’ll tell you,” said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper, “what real love is. It is blind devotion, self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter – as I did!”

When she came to that, and to a wild cry that followed that, I caught her round the waist. For she rose up in the chair, in her dress, and struck at the air.

All this passed in a few seconds. As I drew her down into her chair, I saw my guardian in the room.

Miss Havisham had seen him as soon as I, and was (like everybody else) afraid of him. She made a strong attempt to compose herself, and stammered that he was as punctual as ever.

“As punctual as ever,” he repeated, coming up to us. “(How do you do, Pip? Shall I give you a ride, Miss Havisham? Once round?) And so you are here, Pip?”

I told him when I had arrived, and how Miss Havisham had wished me to come and see Estella. To which he replied, “Ah! Very fine young lady!” Then he pushed Miss Havisham in her chair before him, with one of his large hands, and put the other in his trousers-pocket.

“Well, Pip! How often have you seen Miss Estella before?” said he, when he came to a stop.

“How often?”

“Ah! How many times? Ten thousand times?”

“Oh! Certainly not so many.”

“Twice?”

“Jaggers,” interposed Miss Havisham, much to my relief, “leave my Pip alone, and go with him to your dinner.”

We groped our way down the dark stairs together.

“Pray, sir,” said I, “may I ask you a question?”

“You may,” said he, “and I may decline to answer it. Put your question.”

“Estella’s name. Is it Havisham or —?” I had nothing to add.

“Or what?” said he.

“Is it Havisham?”

“It is Havisham.”

We played until nine o’clock, and then it was arranged that when Estella came to London I should be forewarned of her coming and should meet her at the coach; and then I took leave of her, and touched her and left her.

My guardian lay at the Boar in the next room to mine. Far into the night, Miss Havisham’s words, “Love her, love her, love her!” sounded in my ears. I adapted them for my own repetition, and said to my pillow, “I love her, I love her, I love her!” hundreds of times.

Ah me! I thought those were high and great emotions. But I never thought there was anything low and small in my keeping away from Joe, because I knew she would be contemptuous of him. Joe had brought the tears into my eyes; they had soon dried, God forgive me! soon dried.