Great Expectations Vol.3 (English)

Great Expectations Vol.3

Les Grandes Espérances Vol.3

(English)

Author: Charles Dickens 1861

Translator: Charles Bernard-Derosne 1896

Translator/Editor: Nik Marcel 2016

English translated from French.

Copyright © 2018 Nik Marcel

All rights reserved.

A Bilingual (Dual-Language) Project

2Language Books

Great Expectations Vol.3

Chapter 1

The journey from our village to the city lasted about five hours.

It was a little after midday when the bus arrived in London.

Mr Jaggers had sent me his address. It was in Little Britain, and he had written after it on his card, ‘on the way out of Smithfield, and close to the bus station.’

I had scarcely had time to enjoy the journey when I noticed the taxi prepare to stop.

True enough, we soon stopped in a gloomy looking street, in front of a certain office, the door of which was open, and on which it said, MR JAGGERS.

“How much?” I asked the taxi driver.

“Ten cents,” he replied, “unless you want to give more.”

Naturally, I did not want to give more, and I told him so.

“Then it is ten cents,” observed the taxi driver. “I do not want to get into trouble. I know him!”

He winked and shook his head while pronouncing Mr Jaggers’s name.

I went into the office, with my little portmanteau in my hand, and asked if Mr Jaggers was at home.

“He is not,” responded the clerk. “He is in court. Do I have the honour of speaking to Mr Pip?”

I nodded affirmatively.

“Mr Jaggers said for you to wait for him in his office. He could not say how long he would be out, having a case ongoing; but I suppose that with his time being extremely valuable, it will not be more than is strictly necessary.”

With those words, the clerk opened a door, and had me enter a side room.

There, I found a man with one eye, dressed all in velvet. This individual, having been interrupted in the reading of his newspaper, wiped his nose with his sleeve.

“Go and wait outside, Mike,” said the clerk.

I began to stammer that I was sorry for interrupting, when the clerk shoved this individual out with so little ceremony that I was completely astonished by it. Then, he left me alone.

Mr Jaggers’s office received light from above. It was a very sad place. The skylight was cracked, like a broken head, and the neighbouring houses seemed to lean over as if to look at me.

There was not as much paperwork as I expected to see; but there were some peculiar objects that I was not at all expecting to see.

For example, you could see an old rusty pistol, a sword in its scabbard, several strange-looking boxes and packages, and two dreadful plaster casts on a shelf, of faces particularly swollen and drawn about the nose.

Mr Jaggers’s armchair was covered in black leather, and had rows of nails all around it, like a coffin.

The room was small, and the clients seemed to have had a habit of leaning against the wall, for it was — especially opposite to Mr Jaggers’s chair — all greasy, no doubt from the continual rubbing of shoulders.

Indeed, I recalled that the one-eyed individual had slid against the wall when I was the innocent cause of his expulsion.

I sat down in the client’s chair, which was placed right next to Mr Jaggers’s chair, and was fascinated by the dark atmosphere of the place.

I was surprised to see so much old junk in the room, and I wondered how it had come to be there.

I was curious to know if the two swollen faces were from Mr Jaggers’s family.

I continued to sit and wait in Mr Jaggers’s cramped office, until it became impossible to stand the sight of the two casts. I then got up, and left.

When I told the clerk that I was going to take a walk while waiting for Mr Jaggers to return, he advised me to go to the end of the street and turn the corner, and informed me that I would find myself in the suburb of Smithfield.

Sure enough, I was soon there. That shameful place seemed to stick to my skin.

I left as quickly as possible, and turned into a street where I saw the great dome of Saint Paul’s.

It was behind a grim building. A passerby told me that it was Newgate Prison.

Following the wall of the prison, I found the roadway covered with straw to deaden the noise of the vehicles. I judged from this, and from the number of people who were hanging about, that court was in session.

While I was looking around, an exceedingly dirty and half-drunk justice employee asked me if I would like to come in and listen to a trial.

I declined his proposal under the pretext that I had an appointment.

I passed by the office to ask if Mr Jaggers had returned. There, I learnt that he was still out, and I strolled out again.

This time, I made a tour of Little Britain.

I learnt that people other than me were waiting for Mr Jaggers to return.

There were two men of mysterious appearance lounging about in Bartholomew Close. One was saying to the other, just as they passed by me, “Jaggers would do it if it was to be done.”

There was a gathering of two women and three men in a corner. One of the two women was crying, and the other comforted her by saying, “Jaggers is for him, Amelia. What more do you want?”

Then, a bald man appeared. He was accompanied by another bald man, whom he sent on an errand.

I remarked that this man, who was no doubt of a nervous temperament, started a jig under a street lamp, while repeating these words: “Oh Jaggers, Jaggers, Jaggers! All the others are not worth anything! Jaggers is the one that I need!”

These testimonies to the popularity of my guardian had a profound impression on me, and I admired him more than ever.

Eventually, as I was looking through the iron gate of Bartholomew Close into Little Britain, I saw Mr Jaggers. He was crossing the street and coming my way.

All those who were waiting saw him at the same time as me. It was a veritable assault!

Mr Jaggers put a hand on my shoulder and had me walk at his side, without saying a single word to me. Then, he addressed those who were following him.

He started with the two mysterious men.

“Now, I have nothing to say to you,” said Mr Jaggers. “I do not want to know more about it. As for the result, it is a toss-up. I have always told you that it was a toss-up. Have you paid Wemmick?”

“We got the money this morning, sir,” said one of the men, in a submissive tone, while the other studied Mr Jaggers’s face.

“I am not asking you neither when nor how you got it... Does Wemmick have it?”

“Yes, sir,” responded the two men at the same time.

“Very good! Then you may go. I do not want to hear any more!” said Mr Jaggers, waving his hand to dismiss them. “If you say a word more to me, I will abandon the case.”

“We thought, Mr Jaggers…” began one of the two men, while removing his hat.

“That is what I told you not to do,” said Mr Jaggers. “You thought… about what? And why do it?! I have to think for you. If I need you, I know where to find you. I do not need you to find me. Now, enough; not a word more!”

The two men looked at one another as Mr Jaggers waved his hand to send them away. Then, they humbly withdrew without uttering a word.

“And what about you?!” said Mr Jaggers, suddenly stopping in order to address the two women, from whom the three men had just separated. “Oh! Amelia, is it?”

“Yes, Mr Jaggers.”

“And you remember,” retorted Mr Jaggers, “that if not for me, you would not and could not be here?”

“Oh yes, sir!” exclaimed the women together. “May the Lord protect you, sir. We know it only too well!”

“Then,” said Mr Jaggers, “why do you come here?”

“My Bill, sir!” said the woman who was crying.

“What?!” said Mr Jaggers. “Once and for all, if you do not think that your Bill’s in good hands, I know it. And if you come here to bother me about your Bill, I will make an example of you and your Bill, and let him slip through my fingers. Have you paid Wemmick?”

“Oh yes, sir! Every last penny.”

“Very good. Then you have done all that you had to do. Say a word… a single word more… and Wemmick will give you your money back.”

This terrible threat immediately relieved us of the two women.

No one remained except for the bald man, who had already brought the tail of Mr Jaggers’s frock coat to his lips several times.

“I don’t know this man!” said Mr Jaggers. “What does this character want?”

“My dear Mister Jaggers I am the brother of Abraham Lazarus?”

“Who is he?” said Mr Jaggers. “Let go of my coat.”

The man replied, “Abraham Lazarus is suspected of stealing some silverware.”

“You are too late,” said Mr Jaggers; too late! I am for the party!”

“Holy father! Mister Jaggers… too late!” cried the nervous man, turning white. “Don’t say that you are against Abraham Lazarus!”

“Yes I am,” said Mr Jaggers, “and it is a done deal… Get out of here!”

“Mister Jaggers, only half a minute. My cousin is this very moment with Mister Wemmick, to offer him anything. Mister Jaggers, a quarter of a minute! If you have received a sum of money from the other party, whatever it may be, the money is nothing! I will offer you more, Mister Jaggers! Mister…!”

My guardian got rid of the uninvited guest with a gesture of supreme indifference, and left him dancing on the pavement as if it were red hot.

We reached the office without further interruption. There, we found the clerk and the man dressed in a velvet suit.

“Mike is here,” said the clerk, leaving his stool and approaching Mr Jaggers confidentially.

“Oh!” said Mr Jaggers, turning towards the man. “Your man is coming this afternoon, no?”

“Yes indeed, Mister Jaggers,” returned Mike, in the voice of man who has a chronic cold; “after a good deal of trouble, I have found one who will serve your purpose.”

“What is he prepared to swear?”

“Well, Mister Jaggers,” said Mike, wiping his nose with his fur cap; “in short, I believe that he will swear anything!”

Mr Jaggers suddenly became most irate.

“Now, I have warned you a number of times,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at the timid client, “that if you talked like that here, I would make an example of you. How dare you talk to me that way, you bungling scoundrel!”

The client seemed scared, and at the same time bewildered.

“Numbskull!” said the clerk, giving him an elbow. “Empty Head! Don’t say it to his face!”

“Now, answer me simply, you nasty rascal,” said my guardian, very sternly. “Once more, and for the last time, what is the man you have brought me prepared to swear?”

Mike looked my guardian square in the eye. Then he replied slowly, “He will provide a character reference, or else he will swear that he spent the whole night with the person in question.”

“Now, be very careful. What is the social standing of this man?”

Mike looked at his cap, and looked at the floor, and looked at the ceiling. Then he directed his gazes towards me, and towards the clerk. Eventually, he began his response: “We have dressed him like…”

My guardian suddenly blurted out: “What?! What did you do?”

“Numbskull!” added the clerk, elbowing him one more time.

After some further hesitation, Mike began again: “He looks respectable enough. He is dressed like a pastry chef.”

“Is he here?” demanded Mr Jaggers.

“I left him,” responded Mike, “sitting on a doorstep just around the corner.”

“Have him pass in front of that window, so that I can see him.”

The three of us went up to the window.

We saw the client pass, accompanied by a sinister-looking beanpole, dressed in white and wearing a paper cap. This clown was far from being sober, and he had a black eye.

“Tell him to get rid of the drunkard,” said my guardian to the clerk, in utter disgust, “and ask him what he wants me to do with that thug.”

My guardian then took me into his own flat, and, while lunching over some sandwiches and a bottle of sherry, he informed me of the arrangements he had made for me.

I was to make my way to Barnard’s Hotel, to Mr Pocket junior’s place, where a bed had been prepared for me. I was to remain with Mr Pocket junior until Monday; and on that day, I was to go with him to his father’s house, to see if I would like it there.

I also learned what my allowance would be. It was perfectly suitable. My guardian gave me the addresses of several merchants, whom I was to deal with for my clothes, and for any other things that I might need.

“You will be satisfied with the credit granted to you, Mr Pip,” said my guardian; “but I will still be quite capable of suspending your pension, if you get into trouble with the law. There is no doubt that you will go wrong in one way or another, but that is not my fault.”

After I had pondered over this encouraging opinion, I asked Mr Jaggers if I should take a taxi.

He said that it was not worth the hassle, that I was very close to my destination, and that Wemmick would accompany me if I liked.

I then learnt that Wemmick was the clerk that I had seen in the office. Another clerk was called for, to take Wemmick’s place.

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