Great Expectations Vol.1

Les Grandes Espérances Vol.1

(English)

Author: Charles Dickens 1861

Translator: Charles Bernard-Derosne 1896

Translator/Editor: Nik Marcel 2016

English translated from French.

A Bilingual (Dual-Language) Project

2Language Books

Great Expectations Vol.1

Chapter 1

My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my first name Philip, my childish tongue could never form anything longer than Pip from these two words.

That is why I called myself Pip, and why everyone called me Pip.

If I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, it is according to the authority of his gravestone, and the testimony of my sister, Mrs Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith.

Having never seen neither my father nor my mother, even in portrait, (for they lived well before photographs,) the first idea that I formed about their character was drawn — without much reason, moreover — from their gravestones.

The form of the letters on my father’s gave me the odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair.

From the characters of the inscription, ‘And also Georgiana, wife of the above’, I drew the childish conclusion that my mother had been weak and sickly.

The five little stone lozenges about a foot and a half long, which were neatly arranged beside their grave, and dedicated to the memory of five little brothers, created in me the thought that they came into this world lying on their backs, with their hands in the pockets of their trousers, and that they had never come out of this state of immobility.

Our marshy region is situated twenty kilometres from the sea, close to a river.

The first impression that I had of the existence of external things seems to have come to me on a memorable afternoon.

I figured out that this place was the cemetery; that Philip Pirrip and Georgiana, his wife, were buried there; that their sons, Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, were also buried there; that the great flat wasteland beyond the cemetery was the marshes; that the little line beyond was the river; that the vast expanse, further on still, and from where the wind came, was the sea; and that the little bundle of flesh, afraid of all this and beginning to cry, was Pip.

“Be quiet!” cried a terrible voice, just as a man appeared in the middle of the graves.

“Keep still, or I will cut your throat!”

It was a frightening man, dressed all in grey, with an iron ring on his leg; a man with no hat, worn shoes, and an old rag around his head; a man who limped and shivered, whose teeth chattered when he seized me by the chin.

“Oh, sir, don’t cut my throat!” I cried with terror.

“Please, sir... don’t hurt me!”

“Tell me your name!” said the man. “And quickly!”

“Pip, sir.”

“Once again,” said the man, staring at me. “Your name… your name?!”

“Pip… Pip, sir.”

“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Show us your house.”

I pointed to our village, which could be seen among the trees, a kilometre or two from the church.

The man, after examining me for several minutes, turned me upside down, (with my feet in the air,) and emptied my pockets.

They contained nothing but a piece of bread.

When I came to myself, I was seated on a large gravestone, where I trembled while he devoured my bread.

“My young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “you have very fat cheeks.”

I believe that my cheeks were indeed fat, though I was small for my age.

“I think that I could eat them,” said the man, making a threatening shake of his head.

I expressed the hope that he would not do that, and clung tighter to the stone on which he had placed me.

“Now look here!” said the man. “Where is your mother?”

“There, sir!” I responded.

He jumped and looked over his shoulder.

“There, sir!” I resumed timidly, indicating the grave. “Also Georgiana. That is my mother.”

“Oh!” he said. “And that is your father there, lying alongside your mother?”

“Yes, sir,” I said; “that is him.”

“Ah!” he muttered, reflecting. “Who do you live with — in supposing you are allowed to live somewhere, which I am not sure about?”

“With my sister, sir… Mrs Joe Gargery, the wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir.”

“The blacksmith, eh?” he said, regarding the bottom of his leg.

“Now, listen carefully to me. It is you who is going to decide if you can live. Do you know what a file is?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you also know what provisions are?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will find me a file…”

He shook me.

“And you will find me some provisions…”

He shook me again.

“You will bring me these two things…”

He shook me harder.

“Or I will have your heart and your liver...”

I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both hands, and said, “If you would be so kind as to not shake me so much, sir, perhaps I….

He held me by the arms, in an upright position on the stone block; then he continued in these fearful terms:

“You will bring me — tomorrow morning, at first light — that file and some provisions. You will find me at the old Battery over there.

You will take care not to say a word that might indicate that you have seen me, or that you have seen some other person. On these conditions, you shall be allowed to live.

If you fail to keep this promise, your heart and your liver will be torn out of you.

And I am not alone. There is a young man with me; compared to whom I am an Angel. That young man hears what I am saying to you.

It is impossible to flee from him, or to hide from him.

It is only with great difficulty that I am preventing that young man from hurting you. Well, what do you say to that?”

I told him that I would get him the file that he needed, as well as all the provisions that I could bring, and that I would come and find him the following day, at first light.

“Repeat after me: May God strike me dead if I do not do what you order me!” said the man.

I said what he wanted, and he put me down on the ground.

“Now,” he continued, “remember what you have promised, remember that young man, and get home!”

“Good… good night, sir,” I murmured, while trembling.

“Whatever!” he said, casting his eyes over the damp ground. “I would like to be a frog!”

Then he limped away.

He reached the wall that bordered the cemetery, and climbed over it like a man whose legs are stiff and numb. Then he turned around to see what I was doing.

I turned around and made the best possible use of my legs.

But shortly afterwards, looking back, I saw him advancing towards the river.

The marshes formed a long black horizontal line, the river formed another horizontal line, though less broad and not so black; and the sky formed long red and black lines.

On the edge of the river, I just made out the only two objects that stood out against this expanse.

One was the beacon intended to guide the sailors — resembling a helmet placed on a pole, and which was very ugly see up close; the other, a gibbet, to which had once hung a pirate.

The man was limping on towards this latter object.

I looked all around to see if I could pick out the horrible young man. I did not see the slightest trace of him; but the fear returned with such intensity that I ran home without stopping.

Chapter 2

My sister, Mrs Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, and had established a certain reputation with the neighbours by raising me, as she used to say, ‘by hand’.

She was not a good-looking woman; and I had always held the impression that she had forced Joe Gargery to marry her.

Joe was a good-natured man. He was muscular and had long blond hair.

My sister, Mrs Joe, was a tall and bony woman.

She almost always wore an apron, fastened from behind with the aid of two cords. I could never work out why she wore it.

Joe’s forge adjoined our house.

When I returned from the cemetery, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen.

Joe and I, we were fellow sufferers, and as such we shared confidences; so, I had hardly raised the latch of the door and saw him in the chimney corner when he said to me:

“Mrs Joe has gone out a dozen times, looking for you, my little Pip. And she is now out for the thirteenth time, to complete a baker’s dozen.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my little Pip,” said Joe; “and what is worse for you is that she has taken Tickler with her.”

At this terrible news, I began to twirl the only button on my waistcoat, and, with a disheartened air, looked at the fire.

Tickler was a flexible cane, worn smooth at the end by frequent collisions with my poor body.

“She sat down,” said Joe, “and she got up. Then she rushed outside like a madwoman.

Yes, like a raving lunatic,” added Joe, poking the fire between the bars of the grille with the poker.

“Has she been out long, Joe?” I said, for I always treated him like a child, and considered him my equal.

“Hem,” said Joe, looking at the clock, “she left in a rage five minutes ago, my little Pip… She is coming! Hide yourself behind the door.”

I followed this advice.

My sister, Mrs Joe, entered, pushing the door wide open; and finding a certain resistance, she immediately determined the cause.

She concluded by throwing me at Joe, who protected me with his long legs.

“Where are you coming from, little monkey?” said Mrs Joe, striking the floor with her foot. “Tell me promptly what you have been doing.”

“I only went to the cemetery,” I said, from the back of my hiding place, crying and scratching myself.

“To the cemetery?!” repeated my sister. “Without me, you would have gone there a long time ago, and you would not have returned! Who has raised you, then?”

“It is you,” I said.

“And why did I do it? That is what I would like to know,” exclaimed my sister.

“I do not know,” I said in a low voice.

“I don’t know!” said my sister. “I would never do it again! I know that.

I have never removed this apron since you came into the world.

It is bad enough to be the wife of a blacksmith, without being your mother!”

My thoughts strayed from the matter at hand, for, looking at the fire with an inconsolable air, I saw the fugitive from the marshes, the mysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge that I had taken to commit a larceny under this hospitable roof.

“Hah!” said Mrs Joe, returning Tickler to his place. “To the cemetery, indeed! You can boast about it!

You will drive me there one of these days. Ah, what a fine pair you will make without me!”

As she occupied herself with preparing the tea, Joe turned towards me with questioning eyes, as if to ask if I foresaw what sort of couple we would make, should the predicted misfortune occur.

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Thursday 1 November 2018