Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, Chapter
20
The journey from our town to the metropolis
was a journey of about five hours.
It was a little past midday when the four-horse
stage-coach by which I was a passenger, got
into the ravel of traffic frayed out about
the Cross Keys, Wood Street, Cheapside, London.
We Britons had at that time particularly settled
that it was treasonable to doubt our having
and our being the best of everything: otherwise,
while I was scared by the immensity of London,
I think I might have had some faint doubts
whether it was not rather ugly, crooked, narrow,
and dirty.
Mr. Jaggers had duly sent me his address;
it was, Little Britain, and he had written
after it on his card, "just out of Smithfield,
and close by the coach-office."
Nevertheless, a hackney-coachman, who seemed
to have as many capes to his greasy great-coat
as he was years old, packed me up in his coach
and hemmed me in with a folding and jingling
barrier of steps, as if he were going to take
me fifty miles.
His getting on his box, which I remember to
have been decorated with an old weather-stained
pea-green hammercloth moth-eaten into rags,
was quite a work of time.
It was a wonderful equipage, with six great
coronets outside, and ragged things behind
for I don't know how many footmen to hold
on by, and a harrow below them, to prevent
amateur footmen from yielding to the temptation.
I had scarcely had time to enjoy the coach
and to think how like a straw-yard it was,
and yet how like a rag-shop, and to wonder
why the horses' nose-bags were kept inside,
when I observed the coachman beginning to
get down, as if we were going to stop presently.
And stop we presently did, in a gloomy street,
at certain offices with an open door, whereon
was painted MR.
JAGGERS.
"How much?"
I asked the coachman.
The coachman answered, "A shilling—unless
you wish to make it more."
I naturally said I had no wish to make it
more.
"Then it must be a shilling," observed the
coachman.
"I don't want to get into trouble.
I know him!"
He darkly closed an eye at Mr. Jaggers's name,
and shook his head.
When he had got his shilling, and had in course
of time completed the ascent to his box, and
had got away (which appeared to relieve his
mind), I went into the front office with my
little portmanteau in my hand and asked, Was
Mr. Jaggers at home?
"He is not," returned the clerk.
"He is in Court at present.
Am I addressing Mr. Pip?"
I signified that he was addressing Mr. Pip.
"Mr. Jaggers left word, would you wait in
his room.
He couldn't say how long he might be, having
a case on.
But it stands to reason, his time being valuable,
that he won't be longer than he can help."
With those words, the clerk opened a door,
and ushered me into an inner chamber at the
back.
Here, we found a gentleman with one eye, in
a velveteen suit and knee-breeches, who wiped
his nose with his sleeve on being interrupted
in the perusal of the newspaper.
"Go and wait outside, Mike," said the clerk.
I began to say that I hoped I was not interrupting,
when the clerk shoved this gentleman out with
as little ceremony as I ever saw used, and
tossing his fur cap out after him, left me
alone.
Mr. Jaggers's room was lighted by a skylight
only, and was a most dismal place; the skylight,
eccentrically pitched like a broken head,
and the distorted adjoining houses looking
as if they had twisted themselves to peep
down at me through it.
There were not so many papers about, as I
should have expected to see; and there were
some odd objects about, that I should not
have expected to see,—such as an old rusty
pistol, a sword in a scabbard, several strange-looking
boxes and packages, and two dreadful casts
on a shelf, of faces peculiarly swollen, and
twitchy about the nose.
Mr. Jaggers's own high-backed chair was of
deadly black horsehair, with rows of brass
nails round it, like a coffin; and I fancied
I could see how he leaned back in it, and
bit his forefinger at the clients.
The room was but small, and the clients seemed
to have had a habit of backing up against
the wall; the wall, especially opposite to
Mr. Jaggers's chair, being greasy with shoulders.
I recalled, too, that the one-eyed gentleman
had shuffled forth against the wall when I
was the innocent cause of his being turned
out.
I sat down in the cliental chair placed over
against Mr. Jaggers's chair, and became fascinated
by the dismal atmosphere of the place.
I called to mind that the clerk had the same
air of knowing something to everybody else's
disadvantage, as his master had.
I wondered how many other clerks there were
upstairs, and whether they all claimed to
have the same detrimental mastery of their
fellow-creatures.
I wondered what was the history of all the
odd litter about the room, and how it came
there.
I wondered whether the two swollen faces were
of Mr. Jaggers's family, and, if he were so
unfortunate as to have had a pair of such
ill-looking relations, why he stuck them on
that dusty perch for the blacks and flies
to settle on, instead of giving them a place
at home.
Of course I had no experience of a London
summer day, and my spirits may have been oppressed
by the hot exhausted air, and by the dust
and grit that lay thick on everything.
But I sat wondering and waiting in Mr. Jaggers's
close room, until I really could not bear
the two casts on the shelf above Mr. Jaggers's
chair, and got up and went out.
When I told the clerk that I would take a
turn in the air while I waited, he advised
me to go round the corner and I should come
into Smithfield.
So I came into Smithfield; and the shameful
place, being all asmear with filth and fat
and blood and foam, seemed to stick to me.
So, I rubbed it off with all possible speed
by turning into a street where I saw the great
black dome of Saint Paul's bulging at me from
behind a grim stone building which a bystander
said was Newgate Prison.
Following the wall of the jail, I found the
roadway covered with straw to deaden the noise
of passing vehicles; and from this, and from
the quantity of people standing about smelling
strongly of spirits and beer, I inferred that
the trials were on.
While I looked about me here, an exceedingly
dirty and partially drunk minister of justice
asked me if I would like to step in and hear
a trial or so: informing me that he could
give me a front place for half a crown, whence
I should command a full view of the Lord Chief
Justice in his wig and robes,—mentioning
that awful personage like waxwork, and presently
offering him at the reduced price of eighteen-pence.
As I declined the proposal on the plea of
an appointment, he was so good as to take
me into a yard and show me where the gallows
was kept, and also where people were publicly
whipped, and then he showed me the Debtors'
Door, out of which culprits came to be hanged;
heightening the interest of that dreadful
portal by giving me to understand that "four
on 'em" would come out at that door the day
after to-morrow at eight in the morning, to
be killed in a row.
This was horrible, and gave me a sickening
idea of London; the more so as the Lord Chief
Justice's proprietor wore (from his hat down
to his boots and up again to his pocket-handkerchief
inclusive) mildewed clothes which had evidently
not belonged to him originally, and which
I took it into my head he had bought cheap
of the executioner.
Under these circumstances I thought myself
well rid of him for a shilling.
I dropped into the office to ask if Mr. Jaggers
had come in yet, and I found he had not, and
I strolled out again.
This time, I made the tour of Little Britain,
and turned into Bartholomew Close; and now
I became aware that other people were waiting
about for Mr. Jaggers, as well as I.
There were two men of secret appearance lounging
in Bartholomew Close, and thoughtfully fitting
their feet into the cracks of the pavement
as they talked together, one of whom said
to the other when they first passed me, that
"Jaggers would do it if it was to be done."
There was a knot of three men and two women
standing at a corner, and one of the women
was crying on her dirty shawl, and the other
comforted her by saying, as she pulled her
own shawl over her shoulders, "Jaggers is
for him, 'Melia, and what more could you have?"
There was a red-eyed little Jew who came into
the Close while I was loitering there, in
company with a second little Jew whom he sent
upon an errand; and while the messenger was
gone, I remarked this Jew, who was of a highly
excitable temperament, performing a jig of
anxiety under a lamp-post and accompanying
himself, in a kind of frenzy, with the words,
"O Jaggerth, Jaggerth, Jaggerth! all otherth
ith Cag-Maggerth, give me Jaggerth!"
These testimonies to the popularity of my
guardian made a deep impression on me, and
I admired and wondered more than ever.
At length, as I was looking out at the iron
gate of Bartholomew Close into Little Britain,
I saw Mr. Jaggers coming across the road towards
me.
All the others who were waiting saw him at
the same time, and there was quite a rush
at him.
Mr. Jaggers, putting a hand on my shoulder
and walking me on at his side without saying
anything to me, addressed himself to his followers.
First, he took the two secret men.
"Now, I have nothing to say to you," said
Mr. Jaggers, throwing his finger at them.
"I want to know no more than I know.
As to the result, it's a toss-up.
I told you from the first it was a toss-up.
Have you paid Wemmick?"
"We made the money up this morning, sir,"
said one of the men, submissively, while the
other perused Mr. Jaggers's face.
"I don't ask you when you made it up, or where,
or whether you made it up at all.
Has Wemmick got it?"
"Yes, sir," said both the men together.
"Very well; then you may go.
Now, I won't have it!" said Mr Jaggers, waving
his hand at them to put them behind him.
"If you say a word to me, I'll throw up the
case."
"We thought, Mr. Jaggers—" one of the men
began, pulling off his hat.
"That's what I told you not to do," said Mr.
Jaggers.
"You thought!
I think for you; that's enough for you.
If I want you, I know where to find you; I
don't want you to find me.
Now I won't have it.
I won't hear a word."
The two men looked at one another as Mr. Jaggers
waved them behind again, and humbly fell back
and were heard no more.
"And now you!" said Mr. Jaggers, suddenly
stopping, and turning on the two women with
the shawls, from whom the three men had meekly
separated,—"Oh!
Amelia, is it?"
"Yes, Mr. Jaggers."
"And do you remember," retorted Mr. Jaggers,
"that but for me you wouldn't be here and
couldn't be here?"
"O yes, sir!" exclaimed both women together.
"Lord bless you, sir, well we knows that!"
"Then why," said Mr. Jaggers, "do you come
here?"
"My Bill, sir!" the crying woman pleaded.
"Now, I tell you what!" said Mr. Jaggers.
"Once for all.
If you don't know that your Bill's in good
hands, I know it.
And if you come here bothering about your
Bill, I'll make an example of both your Bill
and you, and let him slip through my fingers.
Have you paid Wemmick?"
"O yes, sir!
Every farden."
"Very well.
Then you have done all you have got to do.
Say another word—one single word—and Wemmick
shall give you your money back."
This terrible threat caused the two women
to fall off immediately.
No one remained now but the excitable Jew,
who had already raised the skirts of Mr. Jaggers's
coat to his lips several times.
"I don't know this man!" said Mr. Jaggers,
in the same devastating strain: "What does
this fellow want?"
"Ma thear Mithter Jaggerth.
Hown brother to Habraham Latharuth?"
"Who's he?" said Mr. Jaggers.
"Let go of my coat."
The suitor, kissing the hem of the garment
again before relinquishing it, replied, "Habraham
Latharuth, on thuthpithion of plate."
"You're too late," said Mr. Jaggers.
"I am over the way."
"Holy father, Mithter Jaggerth!" cried my
excitable acquaintance, turning white, "don't
thay you're again Habraham Latharuth!"
"I am," said Mr. Jaggers, "and there's an
end of it.
Get out of the way."
"Mithter Jaggerth!
Half a moment!
My hown cuthen'th gone to Mithter Wemmick
at thith prethent minute, to hoffer him hany
termth.
Mithter Jaggerth!
Half a quarter of a moment!
If you'd have the condethenthun to be bought
off from the t'other thide—at hany thuperior
prithe!—money no object!—Mithter Jaggerth—Mithter—!"
My guardian threw his supplicant off with
supreme indifference, and left him dancing
on the pavement as if it were red hot.
Without further interruption, we reached the
front office, where we found the clerk and
the man in velveteen with the fur cap.
"Here's Mike," said the clerk, getting down
from his stool, and approaching Mr. Jaggers
confidentially.
"Oh!" said Mr. Jaggers, turning to the man,
who was pulling a lock of hair in the middle
of his forehead, like the Bull in Cock Robin
pulling at the bell-rope; "your man comes
on this afternoon.
Well?"
"Well, Mas'r Jaggers," returned Mike, in the
voice of a sufferer from a constitutional
cold; "arter a deal o' trouble, I've found
one, sir, as might do."
"What is he prepared to swear?"
"Well, Mas'r Jaggers," said Mike, wiping his
nose on his fur cap this time; "in a general
way, anythink."
Mr. Jaggers suddenly became most irate.
"Now, I warned you before," said he, throwing
his forefinger at the terrified client, "that
if you ever presumed to talk in that way here,
I'd make an example of you.
You infernal scoundrel, how dare you tell
ME that?"
The client looked scared, but bewildered too,
as if he were unconscious what he had done.
"Spooney!" said the clerk, in a low voice,
giving him a stir with his elbow.
"Soft Head!
Need you say it face to face?"
"Now, I ask you, you blundering booby," said
my guardian, very sternly, "once more and
for the last time, what the man you have brought
here is prepared to swear?"
Mike looked hard at my guardian, as if he
were trying to learn a lesson from his face,
and slowly replied, "Ayther to character,
or to having been in his company and never
left him all the night in question."
"Now, be careful.
In what station of life is this man?"
Mike looked at his cap, and looked at the
floor, and looked at the ceiling, and looked
at the clerk, and even looked at me, before
beginning to reply in a nervous manner, "We've
dressed him up like—" when my guardian blustered
out,—
"What?
You WILL, will you?"
("Spooney!" added the clerk again, with another
stir.)
After some helpless casting about, Mike brightened
and began again:—
"He is dressed like a 'spectable pieman.
A sort of a pastry-cook."
"Is he here?" asked my guardian.
"I left him," said Mike, "a setting on some
doorsteps round the corner."
"Take him past that window, and let me see
him."
The window indicated was the office window.
We all three went to it, behind the wire blind,
and presently saw the client go by in an accidental
manner, with a murderous-looking tall individual,
in a short suit of white linen and a paper
cap.
This guileless confectioner was not by any
means sober, and had a black eye in the green
stage of recovery, which was painted over.
"Tell him to take his witness away directly,"
said my guardian to the clerk, in extreme
disgust, "and ask him what he means by bringing
such a fellow as that."
My guardian then took me into his own room,
and while he lunched, standing, from a sandwich-box
and a pocket-flask of sherry (he seemed to
bully his very sandwich as he ate it), informed
me what arrangements he had made for me.
I was to go to "Barnard's Inn," to young Mr.
Pocket's rooms, where a bed had been sent
in for my accommodation; I was to remain with
young Mr. Pocket until Monday; on Monday I
was to go with him to his father's house on
a visit, that I might try how I liked it.
Also, I was told what my allowance was to
be,—it was a very liberal one,—and had
handed to me from one of my guardian's drawers,
the cards of certain tradesmen with whom I
was to deal for all kinds of clothes, and
such other things as I could in reason want.
"You will find your credit good, Mr. Pip,"
said my guardian, whose flask of sherry smelt
like a whole caskful, as he hastily refreshed
himself, "but I shall by this means be able
to check your bills, and to pull you up if
I find you outrunning the constable.
Of course you'll go wrong somehow, but that's
no fault of mine."
After I had pondered a little over this encouraging
sentiment, I asked Mr. Jaggers if I could
send for a coach?
He said it was not worth while, I was so near
my destination; Wemmick should walk round
with me, if I pleased.
I then found that Wemmick was the clerk in
the next room.
Another clerk was rung down from upstairs
to take his place while he was out, and I
accompanied him into the street, after shaking
hands with my guardian.
We found a new set of people lingering outside,
but Wemmick made a way among them by saying
coolly yet decisively, "I tell you it's no
use; he won't have a word to say to one of
you;" and we soon got clear of them, and went
on side by side.
End of chapter 20
