The Old Curiosity Club discussion

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"There's been most uncommon bad weather, there's no denyin', and they have drove and drove and been beat off, may be t'other side of the world. But the ship's a good ship and the [group's] a good [group]; and it ain't easy, thank the Lord, ... to break up hearts of oak ..."

Dombey and Son


Chapter 12

Pip's routine visits to Miss Havisham and Estella continue and while Pip can find no trace of the pale young gentleman on his next visit, he does find some "traces of his gore" which Pip buries beneath garden-mould. It seems that Pip is becoming accomplished at covering up his indiscretions. First, his theft of food and a file from the forge, then his comments to Mrs Joe about Miss Havisham and her home, and now the evidence of a fight.


Suggested Question:


How long do you think Pip will be able to control the guilt that these actions may engender? What could happen to a person who continually hides acts and thoughts that he/she has had or committed?

And so, once again in Satis House, Pip pushes Miss Havisham's wheeled chair, sometimes for "as long as three hours at a stretch." Estella always seems to be lurking about and Miss Havisham often asks Pip if he finds Estella growing "prettier and prettier." Pip also hears Miss Havisham telling Estella to "Break their hearts, my pride and hope, break their hearts and have no mercy!" In a moment of self-reflection Pip asks the reader " What could I become with these surroundings? How could my character fail to be influenced by them? Good questions to ask yourself Pip. Something tells me you might just find out.


Suggested Question: How would you respond to Pip's question? How might this environment be a formative event in Pip's life?


We also learn in this chapter that Pumblechook and Pip's sister often huddle and speculate about Miss Havisham, and that Biddy is the person Pip tells everything to. It seems that many people have some opinion on, some stake in, or some knowledge of Pip's thoughts and struggles to make sense of the world that surrounds him.

The final event of the chapter is the fact that Pip is to be apprenticed to Joe. This knowledge helps us place Pip's age at ~14. Generally, apprenticeships began at the age of 14 and lasted for seven years. Miss Havisham tells Pip she wants to meet Joe and have him bring Pip's indentures. Could this be Pip's expectations? One would think this event would please Mrs Joe, but that is not the case. Mrs Joe goes into a cleaning rampage and our chapter ends with a flurry of dust, a very clean house, and the knowledge that Joe is going to meet Miss Havisham.

Suggested Questions:

What might be a major significance in the fact that Pip is to be apprenticed to Joe to become a blacksmith?

Miss Havisham seems fond of whispering into the ears of both Pip and Estella. Can you offer some speculation as to what is going on?

Chapter 13

In this chapter we have the meeting of Joe and Miss Havisham. These two characters represent two worlds. Joe represents the world of hard physical work while Miss Havisham represents the more affluent world of business and commerce. There is also a very clear contrast between the work that Joe does and the obvious fact that Miss Havisham does not work, and clearly has not worked for some time. Perhaps in these two characters we see Dickens's own view of the class system to a certain extent. In any case, Joe is completely dumbfounded in Miss Havisham's presence and can only speak to her through the proxy of addressing all his comments through Pip.

During this quirky conversation Pip comments "I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good fellow - I know I was ashamed of him - when I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss Havisham's chair, and that her eyes laughed mischievously."


Suggested Question:


We have previously discussed the reliability of the narrative voice as well as what that voice reveals about Pip both as a child and an as an adult. How do you respond to Pip's attitude and comments at this point of the chapter?

Miss Havisham questions Joe as to whether he expected a premium for Pip. Joe is flummoxed by this question. Here we see that even if Miss Havisham has stopped the clock on the wall she has not lost her sense of business. Joe, on the other hand, sees in Pip only a person to love and to join in his trade. Miss Havisham gives Joe 25 guineas and briskly dismisses both Joe and Pip, telling Pip he is no longer to visit Satis House.

Naturally, at the forge Pumblechook and Mrs Joe discuss the events at length and then Pip is off to be officially bound to Joe. A party is held and everyone has a grand time except Pip, who, in the last line of the chapter, confesses that he may have liked the blacksmith's trade once " but once was not now."


Suggested Questions:


What has happened in Pip's mind to change his outlook on life?

What might the future hold for Pip who now claims he is now miserable?

I think Mrs. Joe was just put out because she wasn't included in the invitation to call on Miss Havisham. Joe smooths things over by telling her that Miss H. said the bequest was to be turned over to her. Is that smart of Joe, as a peacemaker, or is he just showing his lack of a backbone? Perhaps a bit of both.

Poor Joe and poor Pip! We could feel Pip's mortification at Joe's obsequiousness with Miss Havisham which was, indeed, just agonizing. Pip's behavior made Joe's worse, and vice versa - such a horrible cycle to be stuck in. I don't feel as if Joe was all that cowed by Miss Havisham specifically, but more because he felt she was so important to Pip and his future. I know I behave a lot more carefully when I'm meeting people who are important to my adult kids than I might if I were just to meet them independently.

We have a lot more violence - or hopes for it - in this chapter, with the boys on the street who see the group setting off for the courthouse and following along eagerly, assuming Pip is going to be publicly tortured for some infraction. Why did Dickens include these boys in the narrative? I think it helps to illustrate how much Pip worries about what others think, as well as reinforcing the almost innate sense of guilt that Pip carries with him wherever he goes. Is this because of what someone (Natalie, I think) mentioned in previous chapters, i.e. the continuous comments to and about Pip regarding his worth (or lack thereof)?

Peter wrote: "Pip, who, in the last line of the chapter, confesses that he may have liked the blacksmith's trade once " but once was not now."

Initially, I might have thought this was to do with Pip having tasted a different life, and wanting more than life on the marshes. But, really -- what has he experienced? A crazy old bat living in a boarded up house filled with bugs, vermin, cobwebs and mold. Ick. No. This is about Estella. But I'll be damned if I can understand why. Are men really so easily taken in by a pretty face?

Mary Lou wrote: "This is about Estella. But I'll be damned if I can understand why. Are men really so easily taken in by a pretty face? ."

It's a good thing they are, or the human race would have died out a long time ago. [g]

No, I think it's not just a pretty face. But she represents something superior, a life that he hadn't been aware existed before, people who wear nice clothes and shoes and have hands not roughened by work and call jacks knaves and all. A mysterious but desirable world he had no idea existed but now that he's seen it he's dissatisfied with the life that up until now suited him fine because it was all that he knew.

Will he find out that the grass really isn't greener over there? Will he find out that wherever you go, it's still the same you?

Chapter 12 observations:

Chapter 12 begins with the theme of guilt, which has haunted Pip for so long. He worries about the Law, jail, judges. When he returns to Satis House he is relieved that the myrmidons of Justice are not waiting to capture him. And Pip certainly has been made to feel guilty by his sister, Mr. Pumblechook, and by his experience with the convict. Finally beating a young man who may be of the upper-crust throws him into a frenzy of belief that he's about to be arrested. The novel is filled, thus far, with themes of incarceration and the fear of it.

The people who have hurt Pip the most are the ones who have the greatest capacity to induce his guilty feelings.

Pip is really feeling the conflict between the familiar tugs of Joe, his friend, his helpmeet (or is it helpmate)? It's time for him to be apprenticed to Joe. Yet Mr Pumblechook and Pip's sister are starting to hope and to plot that perhaps Pip will have a better future due to the good auspices of Miss Havisham. But she's too busy suggesting that Estella "Break their hearts...and have no mercy."

I noticed that Pip called Mr. Pumblechook "that ass" and "a miserable man". He's starting to develop some critical capacity at the same time as he still feels guilt.

Miss Havisham's question about Pip's indentures infuriates Mrs. Joe, who goes on one of her rampages.

These chapters are probably the first time in the novel that "Great Expectations" are entertained, and interestingly, the first people to do this are Mrs. Joe and Mr. Pumblechook when they stick their heads together and start imagining what Miss Havisham may not yet do for Pip. All of a sudden, the kind of future that was outlined for the little boy, there surely being no question that he would be Joe's apprentice one day, is no longer considered good enough.

Mr. Pumblechook intimates that Miss Havisham might have him apprenticed to a corn-chandler, i.e. himself, and this shows that he - and Mrs. Joe - regard his own profession as higher in the social scale than Joe's, although a smith is probably the most renowned and looked-up-to profession among craftsmen, and obviously the Gargeries, while not exactly wealthy, do not lack anything. In this context it might be mentioned that when Pip spent the first night at the Pumblechook household, where he had to breakfast on figures and sums mainly, he observes that all the tradesmen seem to spend their days looking into their neighbours' shopwindows and not doing any physical work. Later, we learn that when Pip comes home, the light of the forge where Joe is busy working is brightening the street. So, apparently, there is a difference between productivity (Joe) vs the apparent lack of it (Pumblechook and the other tradesmen). The same lack of activitiy can be traced in the brewery of Satis House, as well as in the whole house itself, which is falling into decay.

Does this imply that Dickens or the later Pip regards people like Joe as more productive and useful than people like Miss Havisham and Mr. Pumblechook, who seem to have their money work for them instead of working for their money?

The thought I developed above also seems to apply to Estella: Her hands are white and fine, and it is clear that she has never worked with them, unlike Pip, whose hands Estella ridicules as coarse.

Like Everyman, I think that this is why Estella is so attractive to Pip - she comes from another world, a world that seems unattainable and yet very alluring and superior to Pip. It remains to be seen, however, if the maturer Pip would still see things the way Pip the child does.

As Peter and others here have pointed out, Pip's childhood seems to be marked by events he feels guilty about - stealing the food and the file, helping the convict, and later beating up the pale young gentleman. In addition, he is constantly reminded how self-sacrificing his sister is and some people even imply that his very existence is an impertinence his sister bears with magnanimity.

I'd say that a child growing up in these circumstances would run a high risk of becoming some sort of Uriah Heep - crafty, secretive, spineless and maybe even hungry for power over those whom they consider even weaker than themselves. It is probably due to Joe and the good feelings he inspires in Pip - e.g. the bad conscience Pip feels when Joe buys into all the stuff Pip made up to his sister and Pumblechook - that Pip's ways have not become crooked.

There are only a few illustrations this week, at least I only found a few.



"Which I meantersay, Pip."

Chapter 13

John McLenan

1860

Dickens's Great Expectations

Harper's Weekly (12 January 1861)

Plate 11 in the T. B. Peterson single-volume edition of 1861

Text Illustrated:

"Estella told me we were both to go in, so I took Joe by the coat-cuff and conducted him into Miss Havisham’s presence. She was seated at her dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately.

“Oh!” said she to Joe. “You are the husband of the sister of this boy?”

I could hardly have imagined dear old Joe looking so unlike himself or so like some extraordinary bird; standing as he did speechless, with his tuft of feathers ruffled, and his mouth open as if he wanted a worm.

“You are the husband,” repeated Miss Havisham, “of the sister of this boy?”

It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview, Joe persisted in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham.

“Which I meantersay, Pip,” Joe now observed in a manner that was at once expressive of forcible argumentation, strict confidence, and great politeness, “as I hup and married your sister, and I were at the time what you might call (if you was anyways inclined) a single man.”

"Well, Pip, you know, . . . . you yourself see me put 'em in my 'at"

Chapter 13

F.A. Fraser

Text Illustrated:

"It was quite in vain for me to endeavor to make him sensible that he ought to speak to Miss Havisham. The more I made faces and gestures to him to do it, the more confidential, argumentative, and polite, he persisted in being to Me.

“Have you brought his indentures with you?” asked Miss Havisham.

“Well, Pip, you know,” replied Joe, as if that were a little unreasonable, “you yourself see me put ‘em in my ‘at, and therefore you know as they are here.” With which he took them out, and gave them, not to Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good fellow,—I know I was ashamed of him,—when I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss Havisham’s chair, and that her eyes laughed mischievously. I took the indentures out of his hand and gave them to Miss Havisham."

I present Joe to Miss Havisham

Chapter 13

F. W. Pailthorpe

1861

Tristram wrote: "As Peter and others here have pointed out, Pip's childhood seems to be marked by events he feels guilty about - stealing the food and the file, helping the convict, and later beating up the pale young gentleman. "

Hmmm. I didn't do exactly the same things growing up, but I certainly did things that I later felt guilty about. No, I'm not going into details, even though the statute of limitations has long since passed on the ones that might have attracted the attention of the myrmidons of the law, but at least when I was growing up and young people were much less restricted in their lives by constant parental attention, Pip's guilt-inducing behaviors wouldn't have seemed at all unusual to my friends and me.

I remember, for example, one time when ... but no, let's not go there. Let the dead past bury its dead.

Incarceration or imprisonment was a recurring motif in BH too. This time there are no birds in a cage, nonetheless there are plenty of characters who have imprisoned themselves in their own cages. As Natalie pointed out, Pip worries again and again about forced imprisonment, and though he escapes incarceration he does not escape his feelings of guilt. There are also the self-imprisonments of Miss Havisham and Pip's sister.

Miss Havisham has imprisoned herself in a dark room that she never leaves, likely caused by some trauma experienced in her past. But her real cage is the hate she won't let go of.

Mrs. Joe's imprisonment is a little trickier but perhaps it is caused by her playing the victim and martyr as exemplified by her responsibility for Pip, the chain restricting her freedom, a responsibility she did not ask for, but nevertheless must fulfill.

Xan Shadowflutter wrote: "Incarceration or imprisonment was a recurring motif in BH too. This time there are no birds in a cage, nonetheless there are plenty of characters who have imprisoned themselves in their own cages. ..."

Xan

I think you are definitely pointing out an important idea. There are many forms of incarceration and you have illustrated a variety to us. I believe it would be valuable to trace the various ways one can be incarcerated - psychologically, socially, emotionally, intellectually - as we move through the novel. It was interesting how Dickens gave us a taste of what happens to criminals and how they are incarcerated in the first chapters with handcuffs and prison hulks and the like. Our minds may well have initially set on how criminals are incarcerated. A rather effective stylistic device for Dickens to now evolve how physical incarceration is only a part of the entire scope of how people can be imprisoned, either by other agents or their own choice and their own mind.

Everyman wrote: "I remember, for example, one time when ... but no, let's not go there. Let the dead past bury its dead."

You do know you're whetting my curiosity, don't you? Especially as I have been a paragon of virtue all my life, sinning vicariously only.

Xan Shadowflutter wrote: "Mrs. Joe's imprisonment is a little trickier but perhaps it is caused by her playing the victim and martyr as exemplified by her responsibility for Pip, the chain restricting her freedom, a responsibility she did not ask for, but nevertheless must fulfill."

Peter, that's a very interesting thought and one that I'll spin on later when posting the recap for the next thread. There's one further similarity: As much as their roles do restrict Miss Havisham and Mrs. Joe, both seem to derive a lot of pleasure from the roles they have assumed - the vanity of the martyrs!

Tristram wrote: "Xan Shadowflutter wrote: "Mrs. Joe's imprisonment is a little trickier but perhaps it is caused by her playing the victim and martyr as exemplified by her responsibility for Pip, the chain restrict..."

Tristram

I really like your phrase "the vanity of the martyrs!" To what extent do you think Miss Havisham and Mrs Joe consciously cultivate this vanity?

Peter, let me quote captain Picard of the Star Ship Enterprise: "When one has been angry for a very long time, one gets used to it. And it becomes comfortable, like... like old leather. And finally... becomes so familiar that one can't ever remember feeling any other way."

Just replace angry with the vain . . . or not.

Peter, your first quotation puzzled me, I as have just read these two chapters and could not recollect ... then the relevance hit me and all became clear :) Indeed!

You mention Pip's sense of guilt. This often intrigues me. Where does it stem from? Is it something he is taught at church? (Does he go to church? He visits his parents' graves, so perhaps so). Is it beaten into him by his sister - and if so why does he give this credence - or has he been so downtrodden that he feels guilty for living at all? (This does seem to be a recurring theme in Dickens). Is it Joe's example he looks to? Or does he have a sense of "natural justice"?

I think these are all vague feelings we have about the "guilt" sensed by the young Pip, but I think overlaid with this is the older Pip's inaccurate memory perhaps - or unreliable telling - of what he actually experienced. It was probably more a fear of being found out than anything, I suspect. The older Pip perhaps thought it flattering to suggest that he was feeling guilty as a young boy.

The other thing I find difficult to square in Pip is his desire for self-improvement at such an early age. I think this is Charles Dickens writing himself into the part, much as he has done with several of his other heroes.

Tristram said of Estella, "she comes from another world, a world that seems unattainable and yet very alluring and superior to Pip" and it certainly seems to date from this point. She makes him feel small, coarse and dirty, and he then begins to notice that in Joe too - and yet feel ashamed of himself for doing so. It is just believable that this is the young Pip speaking, yet I still wonder. He could plainly see the ruin, filth and chaos around in Satis House. Estella is apparently a product of that. It's not much to admire, is it? OK he is smitten with Estella, despite her contempt for him, but his ideas of what is desirable are confused. He wants to learn to write - but we have not seen that she can do so. He wants to be a gentleman, but the person who invites him to confide in her (Miss Havisham) appears to be very odd, even to him. What is it about this household which makes him think it is better than the life he would have at the forge when he was older? And why is he ashamed of Joe's embarrassing behaviour - but not equally of Miss Havisham's extremely odd appearance and lifestyle? He went there every other day, so he probably feels a sort of loyalty there too.

Natalie said that "Pip called Mr. Pumblechook "that ass" and "a miserable man". I felt this was unlikely to be the young Pip. Again, I felt it was the older narrator, with his experience, passing judgement.

Tristram - whether people who did not have to work for their money would seem to be deserving of more respect, I would say yes, certainly at this time that was the "code"in British society. So if Pip thought something else, it would soon be drummed out of him. Gentlemen never worked for a living! Remember how scathing Steerforth was about that poor teacher, and we have many examples of people in "business" or "trade" being thought beneath contempt by the gentry, never mind the aristocrats.

Tristram - "the vanity of the martyrs!" such a descriptive phrase! And I can think of a fair few in my own family, I have known in this vein, although they were never as entertaining as Miss Havisham and Pip's sister.

All have been female! I wonder if there has been period of history when women, feeling trapped by their circumstances, developed this sort of behaviour or overlaid personality. Men's refuges would perhaps be the pub, which any decent woman would not step inside. Often their incarceration would be domestic, and perhaps they would not resort to solitary drinking with children to consider, hence the martyrdom.

Miss Havisham is an exception to this rule of course, but she has elected for self-incarceration, which has the same end result.

Jean wrote: "Peter, your first quotation puzzled me, I as have just read these two chapters and could not recollect ... then the relevance hit me and all became clear :) Indeed!

You mention Pip's sense of guil..."

Hi Jean

The quotation did seem appropriate. In the past couple weeks, we all ( and you, in the vanguard) demonstrated, in our own separate and heart-felt ways, our hearts of oak for one another.

Oh my. Pip and his guilt. It is a central issue, puzzle and problem. Where does it come from? Why does he have it? What life - force is guilt exerting on his young mind, psyche, and being?

To me, his young life has absorbed much. His parents and majority of siblings are dead and he has no memory of them. Imagine if a person's only images of their family reside in their grave markers. His remaining sister only provides humiliation, aggression, shame and pain. There is no love, no warmth, not even the occasional hug. Yes, Pip has Joe running some interference, and also providing care and compassion, but Joe does not model any amount of pride or push back to Mrs Joe. Where can Pip find any modelling of strength of character? Certainly not Pumblechook.

Pip is not unintelligent. While his schooling is mediocre at best, Pip is still forming an identity. Indeed, in the the opening sentences of the novel that is exactly what Dickens provides for his readers. In the graveyard, in those first sentences, Pip is looking for an identity. I think that Dickens further signals this when, after telling the readers that Pip has "an infant tongue" and that while Pip knows his full name is Philip Pirrip, he calls himself Pip. The name says it all, I believe. Pip is a shortened, incomplete version of his full name. Notice that both his first and last name, in full, both begin and end in a "P" as the word Pip also begins and ends in a "P." Thus, Pip is the shortened, incomplete version of his full name, symbolically his full self. The novel will take the short, incomplete Pip and, through the course of the story, evolve and round his character into a full name, hence, a full and complete person.

Pip learns that he has thick boots and course hands and calls playing cards by the wrong name in Satis House. The difference between the negative life lessons that he has been receiving at the forge from his sister and the negative self image he learns from Estella at Satis house is that Pip notices, in Estella, a figure, a person, who while is as demeaning to him as his sister, is also a very attractive figure. Both Satis House and Miss Havisham are decrepet, dark and foreboding; notice however, how Dickens always has a light accompanying Estella. Estella -Stella- star. By the end of Chapter 13 Pip has found a light to take him from the darkness. He has kissed that star. Where that star will lead him we still must wait to see.

Excellent analysis, Peter.

Yes, I particularly like the parallel between the shortened name of "Pip" and his stunted - or at least not yet developed - self.

(Edit 10th - Though I must point out that Everyman was in the vanguard, not I. He it was who held everything together so wonderfully :) )

Tristram wrote: "Especially as I have been a paragon of virtue all my life, sinning vicariously only. ."

Yeah. Right. And Robert Browning was a shy celibate.

Tristram wrote: "the vanity of the martyrs."

Nice phrase. And very apt. I do agree that they both seem to revel in being unhappy. Or at least claiming to be.

As to the vanity of martyrs, a very close relative of mine - luckily not my wife - falls into that category. It was probably her way of dealing with a rather headstrong, and not often very considerate brother (ahem), and nowadays she still uses these tactics on me. So much so that when we have a difference of opinion and I begin to make concessions, she says, "No, no, do as you wanted to do in the first place. It's all fine with me" - and I sometimes ask her what she values more - the sense of being insulted, or the chance to find a compromise.

I think that Mrs. Joe cultivates this attitude knowingly, and that it is one of her ways of keeping Joe under her thumb - especially against the background of the story of his parents, which she is most likely to know about, they all coming from a little village, where people just know each other.

Miss Havisham is clearly a case for a specialist on mental disorders, I'd say. When she was jilted, her shame and disappointment were probably so great that the only support she was able to get was clinging to the sense of being wronged, and like a broken flower, she finally became one with the crutch that supported her. Unfortunately, her sense of being wronged filled her with rancour and the desire for revenge on men in general.

Jean wrote: "Tristram - whether people who did not have to work for their money would seem to be deserving of more respect, I would say yes, certainly at this time that was the "code"in British society. So if Pip thought something else, it would soon be drummed out of him. Gentlemen never worked for a living! Remember how scathing Steerforth was about that poor teacher, and we have many examples of people in "business" or "trade" being thought beneath contempt by the gentry, never mind the aristocrats."

It's strange, in a way, that an attitude cultivating idleness predominated in a society that was one of the first to go through the Industrial Revolution and that was also inspired by Calvinist ideology. One of my favourite scenes in literature is from The Sea Wolf, where the protagonist is asked by Wolf Larsen what he is doing for a living, and then he lamely and with a sort of pathetic pride replies, "I am a gentleman". On board the Ghost, the futility and ridiculousness of such a pretension became absolutely clear. Maybe, it's my own Lutheran upbringing that makes me actually feel the same contempt for people who don't do an honest day's work and that makes me relish that scene so much ...

All your insightful and analytical posts have actually made me come to a thought, which might be far-fetched but still worth considering: What we have read up to now is actually the story of the Fall from Grace in a microcosm: Here is Pip, struggling for an identity, and suddenly meeting the Serpent Miss Havisham who hands him the Apple Stella, and lo! he sees that his boots are thick, his hands are coarse and his manners unrefined, and that his only friend and the person who loves him most, is exactly the same kind of person.

Imagine the inner strife of Pip: Feeling ashamed of Joe and himself, and at the same time feeling guilty and ashamed of this shame. That must be terrible for an adolescent.

One more idea about guilt: I think we have two different kinds of guilt experienced by Pip. On the one hand, there is the rather crude form of guilt that seems to be inspired by a fear of punishment and of being found out. These have mostly to do with situations when Pip steals things from his sister or when he tells lies to her and Uncle Pumblechook. Then there is the deeper form of guilt, deriving from a bad conscience - whenever Pip feels that he lacks in loyalty towards Joe. Just consider the following quotation from Chapter 6:

"I do not recall that I felt any tenderness of conscience in reference to Mrs. Joe, when the fear of being found out was lifted off me. But I loved Joe,—perhaps for no better reason in those early days than because the dear fellow let me love him,—and, as to him, my inner self was not so easily composed. It was much upon my mind (particularly when I first saw him looking about for his file) that I ought to tell Joe the whole truth."

As I said, I think it is this sense of deeper guilt and of a stricken consience that prevents Pip from becoming an underhanded sort of crook, like Uriah Heep.

Tristram wrote: "All your insightful and analytical posts have actually made me come to a thought, which might be far-fetched but still worth considering: What we have read up to now is actually the story of the Fa..."

Not far-fetched at all - I think you've hit on something. It will be interesting to see if this analogy continues to work as the story moves on. We must be on the lookout for a Christ figure, baptismal scene, etc. Having read the story before, I'm starting to pull some of this together already, but will have to get to those sections before seeing if there's validity to my suspicions. Nice observation, Tristram!

Tristram -I particularly like the idea of two forms of guilt - and one being deeper. This I feel, would be the one a child would take to adulthood, rather than the one imposed by the adults around.

I laughed at your saying you "feel the same contempt for people who don't do an honest day's work and that makes me relish that scene so much ..." and think that if I knew the novel l too would raise a cheer at the ridiculousness of it!

I'm now wondering who in Dickens's experience - if anyone - were the prototypes for Pip's sister and Miss Havisham.

Tristram wrote: "One more idea about guilt: I think we have two different kinds of guilt experienced by Pip. On the one hand, there is the rather crude form of guilt that seems to be inspired by a fear of punishmen..."

Yes. Guilt is a massive cloud that hovers over this novel. What lengths will Pip go to in order to assuage his guilt? Time will tell ...

Mary Lou wrote: "Tristram wrote: "All your insightful and analytical posts have actually made me come to a thought, which might be far-fetched but still worth considering: What we have read up to now is actually th..."

Mary Lou/Tristram

You have identified yet another trail to follow. GE is presenting us with many trails. Violence, eating, clocks/time, Fall from Grace, narrator and narrative point of view, and, I suspect, others yet to be uncovered. A very busy book indeed.

Tristram wrote: "It's strange, in a way, that an attitude cultivating idleness predominated in a society that was one of the first to go through the Industrial Revolution and that was also inspired by Calvinist ideology."

This is perhaps a bit off topic, but I don't see it as strange. I see it as a confirmation that a place called Heaven actually exists where life is ease and nobody has to labor any more simply to survive. Without the "idle rich," if everybody in society had to labor and there was no idea that a life outside of labor could exist, Heaven might feel like a fantasy. But if you can see that such a life actually exists, even if it not achievable by you on earth, you have some assurance that it might actually exist after life.

I've never looked at it like that. At the same time, the necessity to labour and the will to do it could be regarded as some kind of virtue from a Protestant's point of view.

I have never considered Miss Havisham may be based on a real person. Until I read this that is:


Eliza Emily Donnithorne (1827–1886) of Camperdown, Sydney, was jilted by her groom on her wedding day and spent the rest of her life in a darkened house, her rotting wedding cake left as it was on the table, and with her front door kept permanently ajar in case her groom ever returned. She was widely considered at the time to be Dickens' model for Miss Havisham, although this cannot be proven. Although Charles Dickens had a deep-seated interest in Australia, saw it as a place of opportunity and encouraged two of his sons to emigrate there, the writer never visited it himself, but it features in detail in many of his works, notably Great Expectations itself. He obtained his information on colonial life in New South Wales from two Sydney researchers. He also had numerous friends and acquaintances who settled in Australia who sent him letters detailing curious aspects of life in the colonies, knowing he could use it as source material for future novels. They could easily have conveyed the Donnithorne story to him.

Eliza Emily Donnithorne recluse and eccentric, was born at Cape of Good Hope, youngest daughter of James Donnithorne and his wife Sarah Elizabeth, née Bampton. Her father, descendant of an old Cornish family, joined the East India Co. as a writer in 1792 and became master of the Mint and then judge and senior merchant in Mysore. About 1836 he retired to Sydney where he joined many public movements and won renown for his 'unbounded hospitality'. He invested in real estate and twice visited Melbourne to buy land. He settled at Cambridge Hall, 36 King Street, Newtown, where he died on 25 May 1852. Predeceased by his wife, whom he had married in 1807, and by two daughters in 1832, he was survived by two sons who had joined the British army and later settled in England, and by Eliza who inherited most of his estate.

Eliza was to have married in 1856. On the morning of the wedding 'the bride and her maid were already dressed for the ceremony; the wedding-breakfast was laid in the long dining-room, a very fine apartment. The wedding guests assembled—the stage was set, but the chief actor did not turn up to keep his appointment'. From that time her 'habits became eccentric'. She never again left the house, finding solace in books and opening the door only to the clergyman, physician and solicitor. The wedding breakfast remained undisturbed on the dining table and 'gradually moldered away until nothing was left but dust and decay'. Eliza died in the house on 20 May 1886 and was buried in the same grave as her father at Camperdown cemetery where a headstone was later placed in his memory. Eliza's estate, including land and houses in Sydney, Melbourne and Britain, was valued at £12,000. The chief beneficiary was her housekeeper, Sarah Ann Bailey. She left her father's organ to her brother and her jewelry and books to his children, £200 each to the diocese of Sydney and the British and Foreign Bible Society, £50 to the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and 'an annuity of £5 for each of my six animals and £5 for all my birds'.

Charles Dickens is believed to have used the sad story of used this sad story of Eliza Emily Donnithorne, a 19th century recluse of the Sydney suburb of camperdown, as the inspiration for Miss Havisham of his classic novel, Great Expectations, which was published during the latter years of Eliza's life. It is speculated that Dickens heard the story of Eliza through his friendship with Caroline Chisholm, his personal friend who was a neighbor of the Donnithornes.

In I836 former East India Company Judge & Master of the Mint, James Donnithorne (1773-1852), retired to the Sydney township of Newtown with his ten year old daughter Eliza Emily. He purchased Camperdown Lodge, a georgian villa situated on King Street and named in honour of Lord Nelson's Napoleonic naval victory. Donnithorne was an industrious man, an empire builder who invested extensively in real estate in Victoria, South Australia and New South Wales with great success.

Eliza Emily was the sole surviving female of the Donnithorne family after an outbreak of cholera in Calcutta in 1832 first claimed the lives of her two teenage sisters and then her distraught mother, Sarah, whose epitaph in Kedgeree Cemetery noted her cause of death as "a broken heart". Between 1845 to 1848 Mr Donnithorne attempted to arrange marriages between his daughter and the sons of former East India Company colleagues in India, however Eliza showed the same stubbornness he was renowned for by rejecting any suggestion of an arranged marriage, proudly stating she would only marry someone she loved and no one else.

Her refusal to submit to the demands of her father led to intense friction between them, often going for days without speaking. She sought refuge at St Stephen's Anglican Church in Newtown and it was here Eliza met a young Englishman, George Cuthbertson, a shipping company clerk who pursued her and quickly captured her affections. The class divide forced their relationship to be carried out in secret, with clandestine meetings and stolen moments in the pastures of Camperdown Cemetery.

As Eliza continued spending more time away from home her father became concerned and on becoming aware of the relationship between the young couple irrupted, infuriated he forbade his daughter to ever see her unworthy suitor again. But his ultimatum fell upon deaf ears and whenever he departed on business Eliza would send one of the trusted servants with a message to Mr Cuthbertson, announcing their opportunity for a romantic rendezvous. George would then ride out on horseback to Camperdown Lodge, was seen riding into Newtown like an American cowboy, where the couple would spend as much time as possible together.

Mr Donnithorne was known in business circles for his quick temper, the fuse of which drew shorter with each passing year and declining health. One day when he was making his way from the stables to Camperdown Lodge he spotted George peering through a window looking for his daughter, and soon fled hotly pursued by the father in a violent rage. A direct result of this encounter was that more restrictions were placed on Eliza who had to resort to climbing out her bedroom window to exchange a kiss or two with George.

Perhaps realising his attempts to stop the pair from seeing each other were futile, or maybe with another more sinister notion in mind, Mr Donnithorne surprisingly gave his consent for them to court freely. He told friends that the elimination of romantic intrigue would make Eliza see how unsuited George was for her. It had the opposite effect and led to a proposal of marriage, an outcome he had not expected. Donnithorne demanded George resign his job and live off an allowance with Eliza at Camperdown Lodge after the wedding.

On the wedding day, a steady stream of onlookers crowded King Street, Newtown, eager to catch a glimpse of the wedding party in what was very much a high society wedding. The appointed hour of George's arrival came and went; time passed, but still no sign of the groom. The guests dispersed and Eliza remained in an emotional state for several weeks, demanding that the wedding finery be left untouched including the wedding feast on the table.

To make matters worse, she was found to be bearing George's child. The child, a daughter named Anna, was taken from her and placed with the family of a servant (Mrs Anna Kelly) to avoid the inevitable scandal illegitimacy would cause at Eliza's level of society. She was later told the child had died at birth, which would only have exacerbated her emotional distress after a particularly difficult pregnancy that had kept her bedridden. Eliza eventually regained her health but she never left the confines of Camperdown Lodge again and refused to see all callers and friends.

She insisted that the front door be left permanently ajar so that her husband-to-be could announce his presence when he returned to her, but kept a mastiff tied up by the door to deter would-be burglars. George was rumoured to have surfaced in India some years later before dying in Delhi in 1858 from wounds inflicted during the Sepoy rebellion.

Whether he way paid off by the Judge or met with a more sinister fate is not known.

Judge Donnithorne died and was laid to rest in Camperdown Cemetery on 25th May 1852, survived by two sons, who lived in England and India, and Eliza Emily, who inherited the bulk of his estate. Now 26 and alone, Eliza became an eccentric recluse. The curtains of Camperdown Lodge were drawn and shutters nailed shut. The garden was not tended and became overgrown with weeds. Her brother, Edward, begged her to sell up and take up residence with his family at Colne Lodge near London, but she refused all invitations.

Locals then and now were convinced Charles Dickens used this sad story as the inspiration for Miss Havisham of his classic novel, Great Expectations, which was published during the latter years of Eliza's life. It is believed that Dickens heard the story of Eliza through his friendship with Caroline Chisholm, his personal friend, who was a neighbour of the Donnithornes and spent much time with Eliza before the fateful wedding day.

Eliza died on 20th May l886 aged 60 of heart disease, many believing it more a case of a broken heart like her mother before her. She was laid to rest beside her father in Camperdown Cemetery, not far from where George probably stole his first kiss from her so many years earlier. A family gravestone marks her final resting place. Camperdown Lodge was placed on the market and what remained of the wedding feast in the dining room was finally removed, 30 years after it had been prepared and presented.

Kim wrote: "I have never considered Miss Havisham may be based on a real person. Until I read this that is:
Eliza Emily Donnithorne (1827–1886) of Camperdown, Sydney, was jilted by her groom on her wedding d..."

Yikes. Thanks for sharing this Kim. It reminded me of two things. First, the movie The Heiress with Olivia de Havilland, which is worth a few hours if you like old movies and haven't seen it.

Second, it reminded me a bit of Sarah Winchester, of the Winchester rifle family. If you aren't familiar with her, the legend is that after her husband and infant daughter died, she thought her family was cursed and the only way to avoid the spirits of those killed with Winchester arms was to continue construction on her house around the clock. It lasted for 38 years, until her death. The house, in San Jose, California, has doorways that open onto solid walls, steps that lead to nowhere, etc. I wonder what Dickens would have made of her!

Kim wrote: "I have never considered Miss Havisham may be based on a real person. Until I read this that is:


Eliza Emily Donnithorne (1827–1886) of Camperdown, Sydney, was jilted by her groom on her wedding d..."

What an incredible story. Thank you for bringing it to our attention, Kim. Whatever I find at the back of our fridge will never be as horrid again.

Life seems to be the most inventive story-writer at times.

"Old Clem"
It strikes me as deliciously odd that "Old Clem," a song Joe sings, imitates the "measure of beating upon iron".
Why do you think Miss H. likes this song so much? Isn't it an unusual song for her to favor?

"Thus, you were to hammer boys round—Old Clem! With a thump and a sound—Old Clem! Beat it out, beat it out—Old Clem! With a clink for the stout—Old Clem! Blow the fire, blow the fire—Old Clem! Roaring dryer, soaring higher—Old Clem! One day soon after the appearance of the chair, Miss Havisham suddenly saying to me, with the impatient movement of her fingers, “There, there, there! Sing!” I was surprised into crooning this ditty as I pushed her over the floor. It happened so to catch her fancy, that she took it up in a low brooding voice as if she were singing in her sleep. After that, it became customary with us to have it as we moved about, and Estella would often join in; though the whole strain was so subdued, even when there were three of us, that it made less noise in the grim old house than the lightest breath of wind."

I guess I wonder why such an unlikely song would appeal to Miss H? What a strange image of this trio singing about fire and eating and stout!

That's indeed a good question. My first impulse would be to say that Miss Havisham does not sing that song loud and merrily, as it is probably supposed to be sung, but "in a low brooding voice as if she were singing in her sleep". I'd say this song seems to address her subconscious or at least some recesses of her heart of hearts, and we know that in there the desire for revenge is rankling. Maybe, this is far-fetched but I can imagine that the beating of the hammer in that song reminds her in some way of the dark plot she is forging, untiringly, in order to avenge herself on men in general. You know, this "break their hearts" thing. By the way, the beating of a hammer, and the beating of a heart ... just another parallel.

I'm afraid that I've read only snippets of these comments, as I'm playing catch-up. I picked up little bits about stress that betrays itself through constant walking. I noticed a friend earlier today who on answering a phone-call began walking very determinedly and kept on going until the call was over. It was quite a long phone-call!

What a bizarre image of Pip and Miss Havisham on their 'constitutional' whilst breathing anything but fresh air, pushing and being pushed around and around the room. This repetition must have brought a certain solace to Miss H or she wouldn't have insisted on Pip's pushing the 'wheeled chair'. It's reminiscent of a child's being pushed in a pushchair or stroller. As with any self-respecting child, Miss Havisham does not want it to come to an end.

In order to give my eyes a rest I found a narrator on Librivox who is very much better than the usual. I'm usually disappointed with Librivox's offerings, though I know that I cannot get too irritated since it functions on a voluntary basis. Her name is Mil Nicholson and, if you haven't already heard her, she's well worth a listen.

The whole section where Miss Havisham asks Joe question after question and Joe insists on addressing himself to Pip is toe-curling. The tension rises while Pip becomes increasingly embarrassed by Joe. We become flies on the wall to poor Pip's inner turmoil. This was hilariously funny! I giggled and tittered and chuckled to myself at another of Dickens's ridiculously side-splitting scenes.

Hilary wrote: "This was hilariously funny! I giggled and tittered and chuckled to myself at another of Dickens's ridiculously side-splitting scenes. "

Interesting. I thought it was absolutely excruciating. I wonder what feeling Dickens was trying to evoke.

Sometimes I have to laugh in a situation that is actually excruciating or awkward and I guess it's not really a contradiction but just a way of dealing with the stress that is building up inside a person under pressure. It happened two weeks ago when my son came home with his head, esp. the eyelids and the nose, swollen like the Incredible Hulk's, without the fresh green colour and the increase in strength that normally goes with it, just because he - my son, not the Incredible Hulk - is very allergic to horses, and he forgot that when he visited the circus with friends.

I think I told that story already. But what I probably didn't tell was that after I had made sure that his breathing was unhampered and that he was basically alright, just inconvenienced, and after I had showered him and given him unhorseyfied clothes, my relief at his being safe and my awareness of his looking so strange made me burst into laughter - and at the same time hug my son and apologize for my reaction.

Tristram wrote: "Sometimes I have to laugh in a situation that is actually excruciating or awkward and I guess it's not really a contradiction but just a way of dealing with the stress that is building up inside a ..."

I didn't know he was allergic to horses. It sounds like he has a reaction if he is anywhere near them. My sister has a similar reaction to cats, but only if she is dumb enough to once again hold one. She's 66 so she should have learned by now not to pick one up, but she loves them so much she can't help herself.

Mary Lou wrote: "Second, it reminded me a bit of Sarah Winchester, of the Winchester rifle family. If you aren't familiar with her, the legend is that after her husband and infant daughter died, she thought her family was cursed and the only way to avoid the spirits of those killed with Winchester arms was to continue construction on her house around the clock. It lasted for 38 years, until her death."


I had to look this place up. Seeing it, I'm really, really glad I don't have to clean it.