CHAPTER 56 Great Expectations

Q: What happens in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Chapter 56 chronicles Abel Magwitch's trial, sentencing, and death in prison. Too ill from injuries sustained during his failed Thames escape to stand, Magwitch is tried while seated in a chair. The court acknowledges his reformed life abroad but finds him guilty of returning from exile, a capital offense. He is sentenced to death alongside thirty-one other prisoners. Pip desperately writes petitions to the Home Secretary and the Crown seeking a reprieve, but Magwitch dies peacefully ten days after sentencing, with Pip at his bedside. In their final moments together, Pip reveals that Magwitch's lost daughter is alive and beautiful—and that Pip loves her.

Q: How is Magwitch sentenced in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Magwitch is sentenced to death as part of a mass sentencing of thirty-two prisoners on the final day of the Sessions. The Judge singles him out in his address, recounting how Magwitch had been "almost from his infancy" an offender, was eventually exiled for life, and then illegally returned to England—causing the death of his denouncer, Compeyson, during his attempted flight. When the sentence is pronounced, Magwitch rises briefly and delivers a dignified reply: "My Lord, I have received my sentence of Death from the Almighty, but I bow to yours." He is the last prisoner removed from the dock, needing help from his chair.

Q: What themes are explored in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Chapter 56 explores several interconnected themes. Redemption and forgiveness are central: Magwitch dies peacefully, forgiven by Pip and commended to God's mercy through a biblical prayer. The chapter mounts a critique of the Victorian justice system, which reduces a reformed man's life to a criminal record and sentences thirty-two people to death in a single theatrical proceeding. Loyalty and love transcending social class is dramatized through Pip's tireless devotion to a convicted felon—a stark reversal of his earlier snobbery. Finally, the theme of moral worth versus social status reaches its peak as Pip recognizes that Magwitch, the despised convict, has shown him more genuine love than the "respectable" world ever did.

Q: What is the significance of the light imagery in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Dickens uses light and rain imagery to powerful symbolic effect in the sentencing scene. A "broad shaft of light" streams through the court windows, connecting the thirty-two condemned prisoners with the Judge, suggesting that both parties are "passing on, with absolute equality, to the greater Judgment that knoweth all things and cannot err." This divine light equalizes judge and judged, undermining the court's authority with a reminder of mortality and higher justice. The "drops of April rain" glittering in sunlight combine beauty and sorrow—April rain traditionally symbolizes both renewal and tears, fitting a chapter about death that also contains moments of profound emotional connection.

Q: How does Pip change in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Chapter 56 completes Pip's moral transformation. The young man who once recoiled from Magwitch's coarseness now holds his hand at trial, writes petitions through sleepless nights, and roams London's streets in anguished hope. Pip's growth is underscored by a moment of painful self-awareness: when Magwitch says "You've never deserted me, dear boy," Pip silently reflects that he had once meant to desert him. Pip has learned to value people for their character rather than their class, and his devotion to the dying convict mirrors the loyalty that Joe always showed him—the very loyalty Pip once took for granted. His closing prayer, drawn from the parable of the Pharisee and the publican, signals his embrace of humility over pride.

Q: Why does Dickens describe thirty-two prisoners being sentenced together in Chapter 56?

The mass sentencing of thirty-two prisoners serves as a devastating piece of social criticism. Dickens describes the scene as a "finishing effect"—a theatrical spectacle designed for dramatic impact rather than individual justice. The audience watches as if attending church or a performance, "putting their dresses right" and pointing at the condemned. By placing Magwitch among thirty-one other human beings receiving death sentences in a single session, Dickens exposes the dehumanizing efficiency of the Victorian criminal justice system. The variety of reactions—"some defiant, some stricken with terror, some sobbing"—insists on the individuality that the law erases. The scene challenges readers to see the condemned not as abstractions but as people.

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He lay in prison very ill, during the whole interval between his committal for trial, and the coming round of the Sessions. He had broken two ribs, they had wounded one of his lungs, and he breathed with great pain and difficulty, which increased daily. It was a consequence of his hurt, that he spoke so low as to be scarcely audible; therefore, he spoke very little. But, he was ever ready to listen to me, and it became the first duty of my life to say to him, and read to him, what I knew he ought to hear.

Being fur too ill to remain in the common prison, he was re- moved, after the first day or so, into the infirmary. This gave me opportunities of being with him that I could not otherwise have had. And but for his illness he would have been put in irons, for he was regarded as a determined prison-breaker, and I know not what else.

Although I saw him every day, it was for only a short time; hence, the regularly recurring spaces of our separation were long enough to record on his face any alight changes that occurred in his physical state. I do not recollect that I once saw any change in it for the better; he wasted, and became slowly weaker and worse, day by day, from the day when the prison door closed upon him.

The kind of submission or resignation that he showed, was that of a man who was tired out. I sometimes derived an impression, from his manner or from a whispered word or two which escaped him, that he pondered over the question whether he might have been a better man under better circumstances. But, he never justi- fied himself by a hint tending that way, or tried to bend the past out of its eternal shape.

It happened on two or three occasions in my presence, that his desperate reputation was alluded to by one or other of the people in attendance on him. A smile crossed his face then, and he turned his eyes on me with a trustful look, as if he were confident that I had seen some small redeeming touch in him, even so long ago as when I was a little child. As to all the rest, he was humble and contrite, and I never knew him complain.

When the Sessions came round, Mr Jaggers caused an applica- tion to be made for the postponement of his trial until the following Sessions. It was obviously made with the assurance that he could not live so long, and was refused. The trial came on at once, and, when he was put to the bar, he was seated in a chair. No objection was made to my getting close to the dock, on the outside of it, and holding the hand that he stretched forth to me.

The trial was very shod and very clear. Such things as could be said for him, were said -- how he had taken to industrious habits, and had thriven lawfully and reputably. But, nothing could unsay the fact that he had returned, and was there in presence of the Judge and Jury. It was impossible to try him for that, and do otherwise than find him guilty.

At that time, it was the custom (as I learnt from my terrible ex- perience of that Sessions) to devote a concluding day to the passing of Sentences, and to make a finishing effect with the Sentence of Death. But for the indelible picture that my remembrance now holds before me, I could scarcely believe, even as I write these words, that I saw two-and-thirty men and women put before the Judge to receive that sentence together. Foremost among the two- and-thirty, was he; seated, that he might get breath enough to keep life in him.

The whole scene starts out again in the vivid colours of the moment, down to the drops of April rain on the windows of the court, glittering in the rays of April sun. Penned in the dock, as I again stood outside it at the corner with his hand in mine, were the two-and-thirty men and women; some defiant, some stricken with terror, some sobbing and weeping, some covering their faces, some staring gloomily about. There had been shrieks from among the women convicts, but they had been stilled, and a hush had suc- ceeded. The sheriffs with their great chains and nosegays, other civic gewgaws and monsters, criers, ushers, a great gallery full of people -- a large theatrical audience -- looked on, as the two-and- thirty and the Judge were solemnly confronted. Then, the Judge addressed them. Among the wretched creatures before him whom he must single out for special address, was one who almost from his infancy had been an offender against the laws; who, after re- peated imprisonments and punishments, had been at length sen- tenced to exile for a term of years; and who, under circumstances of great violence and daring had made his escape and been re-sen- tenced to exile for life. That miserable man would seem for a time to have become convinced of his errors, when far removed from the scenes of his old offences, and to have lived a peaceable and honest life. But in a fatal moment, yielding to those propensities and passions, the indulgence of which had so long rendered him a scourge to society, he had quitted his haven of rest and repentance, and had come back to the country where he was proscribed. Being here presently denounced, he had for a time succeeded in evading the officers of Justice, but being at length seized while in the act of flight, he had resisted them, and had -- he best knew whether by express design, or in the blindness of his hardihood -- caused the death of his denouncer, to whom his whole career was known. The appointed punishment for his retum to the land that had cast him out, being Death, and his case being this aggravated case, he must prepare himself to Die.

The sun was striking in at the great windows of the court, through the glittering drops of rain upon the glass, and it made a broad shaft of light between the two-and-thirty and the Judge, linking both together, and perhaps reminding some among the audience, how both were passing on, with absolute equality, to the greater Judgment that knoweth all things and cannot err. Rising for a moment, a distinct speck of face in this way of light, the prisoner said, `My Lord, I have received my sentence of Death from the Almighty, but I bow to yours,' and sat down again. There was some hushing, and the Judge went on with what he had to say to the rest. Then, they were all formally doomed, and some of them were supported out, and some of them sauntered out with a hag- gard look of bravery, and a few nodded to the gallery, and two or three shook hands, and others went out chewing the fragments of herb they had taken from the sweet herbs lying about. He went last of all, because of having to be helped from his chair and to go very slowly; and he held my hand while all the others were removed, and while the audience got up (putting their dresses right, as they might at church or elsewhere) and pointed down at this criminal or at that, and most of all at him and me.

I earnestly hoped and prayed that he might die before the Re- corder's Report was made, but, in the dread of his lingering on, I began that night to write out a petition to the Home Secretary of State, setting forth my knowledge of him, and how it was that he had come back for my sake. I wrote it as fervently and pathetically as I could, and when I had finished it and sent it in, I wrote out other petitions to such men in authority as I hoped were the most merciful, and drew up one to the Crown itself. For several days and nights after he was sentenced I took no rest except when I fell asleep in my chair, but was wholly absorbed in these appeals. And after I had sent them in, I could not keep away from the places where they were, but felt as if they were more hopeful and less desperate when I was near them. In this unreasonable restlessness and pain of mind, I would roam the streets of an evening, wander- ing by those offices and houses where I had left the petitions. To the present hour, the weary western streets of London on a cold dusty spring night, with their ranges of stern shut-up mansions and their long rows of lamps, are melancholy to me from this asso- ciation.

The daily visits I could make him were shortened now, and he was more strictly kept. Seeing, or fancying, that I was suspected of an intention of carrying poison to him, I asked to be searched before I sat down at his bedside, and told the officer who was always there, that I was willing to do anything that would assure him of the singleness of my designs. Nobody was hard with him, or with me. There was duty to be done, and it was done, but not harshly. The officer always gave me the assurance that he was worse, and some other sick prisoners in the room, and some other prisoners who attended on them as sick nurses (malefactors, but not incapable of kindness, GOD be thanked!), always joined in the same report.

As the days went on, I noticed more and more that he would lie placidly looking at the white ceiling, with an absence of light in his face, until some word of mine brightened it for an instant, and then it would subside again. Sometimes he was almost, or quite, unable to speak; then, he would answer me with slight pressures on my hand, and I grew to understand his meaning very well.

The number of the days had risen to ten, when I saw a greater change in him than I had seen yet. His eyes were turned towards the door, and lighted up as I entered.

`Dear boy,' he said, as I sat down by his bed: `I thought you was late. But I knowed you couldn't be that.'

`It is just the time,' said I. `I waited for it at the gate.'

`You always waits at the gate; don't you, dear boy?'

`Yes. Not to lose a moment of the time.'

`Thank'ee dear boy, thank'ee. God bless you! You've never deserted me, dear boy.'

I pressed his hand in silence, for I could not forget that I had once meant to desert him.

`And what's the best of all,' he said, `you've been more comfort- able alonger me, since I was under a dark cloud, than when the sun shone. That's best of all.'

He lay on his back, breathing with great difficulty. Do what he would, and love me though he did, the light left his face ever and again, and a film came over the placid look at the white ceiling.

`Are you in much pain to-day?'

`I don't complain of none, dear boy.'

`You never do complain.'

He had spoken his last words. He smiled, and I understood his touch to mean that he wished to lift my hand, and lay it on his breast. I laid it there, and he smiled again, and put both his hands upon it.

The allotted time ran out, while we were thus; but, looking round, I found the governor of the prison standing near me, and he whispered, `You needn't go yet.' I thanked him gratefully, and asked, `Might I speak to him, if he can hear me?'

The governor stepped aside, and beckoned the officer away. The change, though it was made without noise, drew back the film from the placid look at the white ceiling, and he looked most affec- tionately at me.

`Dear Magwitch, I must tell you, now at last. You understand what I say ?'

A gentle pressure on my hand.

`You had a child once, whom you loved and lost.'

A stronger pressure on my hand.

`She lived and found powerful friends. She is living now. She is a lady and very beautiful. And I love her!'

With a last faint effort, which would have been powerless but for my yielding to it and assisting it, he raised my hand to his lips. Then, he gently let it sink upon his breast again, with his own hands lying on it. The placid look at the white ceiling came back, and passed away, and his head dropped quietly on his breast.

Mindful, then, of what we had read together, I thought of the two men who went up into the Temple to pray, and I knew there were no better words that I could say beside his bed, than `O Lord, be merciful to him, a sinner!'

Frequently Asked Questions about CHAPTER 56 from Great Expectations

What happens in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Chapter 56 chronicles Abel Magwitch's trial, sentencing, and death in prison. Too ill from injuries sustained during his failed Thames escape to stand, Magwitch is tried while seated in a chair. The court acknowledges his reformed life abroad but finds him guilty of returning from exile, a capital offense. He is sentenced to death alongside thirty-one other prisoners. Pip desperately writes petitions to the Home Secretary and the Crown seeking a reprieve, but Magwitch dies peacefully ten days after sentencing, with Pip at his bedside. In their final moments together, Pip reveals that Magwitch's lost daughter is alive and beautiful—and that Pip loves her.

What does Pip tell Magwitch before he dies in Great Expectations?

In their final exchange, Pip tells Magwitch three things: that his lost daughter is alive, that she has found powerful friends and is now "a lady and very beautiful," and that Pip loves her. This revelation is deeply significant because the daughter is Estella, though Magwitch dies without knowing her name. Magwitch responds with a last faint effort, raising Pip's hand to his lips before dying peacefully. The scene represents the emotional culmination of the novel's threads—convict, gentleman, and the woman they both love are united in a single moment of grace.

How is Magwitch sentenced in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Magwitch is sentenced to death as part of a mass sentencing of thirty-two prisoners on the final day of the Sessions. The Judge singles him out in his address, recounting how Magwitch had been "almost from his infancy" an offender, was eventually exiled for life, and then illegally returned to England—causing the death of his denouncer, Compeyson, during his attempted flight. When the sentence is pronounced, Magwitch rises briefly and delivers a dignified reply: "My Lord, I have received my sentence of Death from the Almighty, but I bow to yours." He is the last prisoner removed from the dock, needing help from his chair.

What themes are explored in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Chapter 56 explores several interconnected themes. Redemption and forgiveness are central: Magwitch dies peacefully, forgiven by Pip and commended to God's mercy through a biblical prayer. The chapter mounts a critique of the Victorian justice system, which reduces a reformed man's life to a criminal record and sentences thirty-two people to death in a single theatrical proceeding. Loyalty and love transcending social class is dramatized through Pip's tireless devotion to a convicted felon—a stark reversal of his earlier snobbery. Finally, the theme of moral worth versus social status reaches its peak as Pip recognizes that Magwitch, the despised convict, has shown him more genuine love than the "respectable" world ever did.

What is the significance of the light imagery in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Dickens uses light and rain imagery to powerful symbolic effect in the sentencing scene. A "broad shaft of light" streams through the court windows, connecting the thirty-two condemned prisoners with the Judge, suggesting that both parties are "passing on, with absolute equality, to the greater Judgment that knoweth all things and cannot err." This divine light equalizes judge and judged, undermining the court's authority with a reminder of mortality and higher justice. The "drops of April rain" glittering in sunlight combine beauty and sorrow—April rain traditionally symbolizes both renewal and tears, fitting a chapter about death that also contains moments of profound emotional connection.

How does Pip change in Chapter 56 of Great Expectations?

Chapter 56 completes Pip's moral transformation. The young man who once recoiled from Magwitch's coarseness now holds his hand at trial, writes petitions through sleepless nights, and roams London's streets in anguished hope. Pip's growth is underscored by a moment of painful self-awareness: when Magwitch says "You've never deserted me, dear boy," Pip silently reflects that he had once meant to desert him. Pip has learned to value people for their character rather than their class, and his devotion to the dying convict mirrors the loyalty that Joe always showed him—the very loyalty Pip once took for granted. His closing prayer, drawn from the parable of the Pharisee and the publican, signals his embrace of humility over pride.

What biblical allusion does Pip make at the end of Chapter 56?

The chapter closes with Pip praying beside Magwitch's body: "O Lord, be merciful to him, a sinner!" This is a direct allusion to the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector from Luke 18:9-14. In that parable, a self-righteous Pharisee boasts of his virtue while a humble tax collector simply asks God for mercy—and Jesus declares the tax collector justified. By invoking this prayer, Pip places Magwitch in the role of the humble sinner who deserves God's grace, while implicitly critiquing the "respectable" society that condemned him. The allusion also reflects Pip's own journey from pride to humility, echoing the novel's broader argument that true moral worth has nothing to do with social position.

Why does Dickens describe thirty-two prisoners being sentenced together in Chapter 56?

The mass sentencing of thirty-two prisoners serves as a devastating piece of social criticism. Dickens describes the scene as a "finishing effect"—a theatrical spectacle designed for dramatic impact rather than individual justice. The audience watches as if attending church or a performance, "putting their dresses right" and pointing at the condemned. By placing Magwitch among thirty-one other human beings receiving death sentences in a single session, Dickens exposes the dehumanizing efficiency of the Victorian criminal justice system. The variety of reactions—"some defiant, some stricken with terror, some sobbing"—insists on the individuality that the law erases. The scene challenges readers to see the condemned not as abstractions but as people.