Oliver Twist
OLIVER’S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION
It is the on the stage, in all good melodramas, to present the and the scenes, in as regular alternation, as the of red and white in a of bacon. The hero upon his bed, by and misfortunes; in the next scene, his but the audience with a song. We behold, with bosoms, the in the of a proud and baron: her and her life in danger, her to the one at the cost of the other; and just as our are up to the pitch, a is heard, and we are to the great of the castle; where a grey-headed a with a of vassals, who are free of all of places, from church to palaces, and about in company, perpetually.
Such appear absurd; but they are not so as they would at sight. The in life from well-spread to death-beds, and from mourning-weeds to garments, are not a less startling; only, there, we are actors, of lookers-on, which makes a difference. The actors in the life of the theatre, are to and of or feeling, which, presented the of spectators, are at once as and preposterous.
As of the scene, and of time and place, are not only in books by long usage, but are by many as the great art of authorship: an author’s skill in his being, by such critics, with relation to the in which he his at the end of every chapter: this to the present one may be unnecessary. If so, let it be a on the part of the that he is going to the town in which Oliver Twist was born; the reader taking it for that there are good and for making the journey, or he would not be to upon such an expedition.
Mr. Bumble at early from the workhouse-gate, and walked with and steps, up the High Street. He was in the full and of beadlehood; his and were in the sun; he his with the of health and power. Mr. Bumble always his high; but this it was higher than usual. There was an in his eye, an in his air, which might have an that were in the beadle’s mind, too great for utterance.
Mr. Bumble stopped not to with the small and others who spoke to him, deferentially, as he passed along. He returned their with a of his hand, and not in his pace, until he the farm where Mrs. Mann the with care.
“Drat that beadle!” said Mrs. Mann, the well-known at the garden-gate. “If it isn’t him at this time in the morning! Lauk, Mr. Bumble, only think of its being you! Well, dear me, it is a pleasure, this is! Come into the parlour, sir, please.”
The was to Susan; and the of were to Mr. Bumble: as the good lady the garden-gate: and him, with great attention and respect, into the house.
“Mrs. Mann,” said Mr. Bumble; not upon, or himself into a seat, as any common would: but himself and slowly into a chair; “Mrs. Mann, ma’am, good morning.”
“Well, and good to you, sir,” Mrs. Mann, with many smiles; “and you well, sir!”
“So-so, Mrs. Mann,” the beadle. “A life is not a of roses, Mrs. Mann.”
“Ah, that it isn’t indeed, Mr. Bumble,” the lady. And all the might have the with great propriety, if they had it.
“A life, ma’am,” Mr. Bumble, the table with his cane, “is a life of worrit, and vexation, and hardihood; but all public characters, as I may say, must prosecution.”
Mrs. Mann, not very well what the meant, her hands with a look of sympathy, and sighed.
“Ah! You may well sigh, Mrs. Mann!” said the beadle.
Finding she had done right, Mrs. Mann again: to the of the public character: who, a by looking at his hat, said,
“Mrs. Mann, I am going to London.”
“Lauk, Mr. Bumble!” Mrs. Mann, starting back.
“To London, ma’am,” the beadle, “by coach. I and two paupers, Mrs. Mann! A legal action is a on, about a settlement; and the has me—me, Mrs. Mann—to to the the quarter-sessions at Clerkinwell.
And I very much question,” added Mr. Bumble, himself up, “whether the Clerkinwell Sessions will not themselves in the box they have done with me.”
“Oh! you mustn’t be too hard upon them, sir,” said Mrs. Mann, coaxingly.
“The Clerkinwell Sessions have it upon themselves, ma’am,” Mr. Bumble; “and if the Clerkinwell Sessions that they come off than they expected, the Clerkinwell Sessions have only themselves to thank.”
There was so much and of purpose about the manner in which Mr. Bumble delivered himself of these words, that Mrs. Mann appeared by them. At length she said,
“You’re going by coach, sir? I it was always to send them in carts.”
“That’s when they’re ill, Mrs. Mann,” said the beadle. “We put the into open in the rainy weather, to prevent their taking cold.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Mann.
“The opposition coach for these two; and takes them cheap,” said Mr. Bumble. “They are in a very low state, and we it would come two to move ’em than to ’em—that is, if we can ’em upon another parish, which I think we shall be able to do, if they don’t die upon the road to us. Ha! ha! ha!”
When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little while, his again the hat; and he grave.
“We are business, ma’am,” said the beadle; “here is your for the month.”
Mr. Bumble produced some money rolled up in paper, from his pocket-book; and a receipt: which Mrs. Mann wrote.
“It’s very much blotted, sir,” said the farmer of infants; “but it’s enough, I say. Thank you, Mr. Bumble, sir, I am very much to you, I’m sure.”
Mr. Bumble nodded, blandly, in of Mrs. Mann’s curtsey; and how the children were.
“Bless their dear little hearts!” said Mrs. Mann with emotion, “they’re as well as can be, the dears! Of course, the two that died last week. And little Dick.”
“Isn’t that boy no better?” Mr. Bumble.
Mrs. Mann her head.
“He’s a ill-conditioned, wicious, bad-disposed child that,” said Mr. Bumble angrily. “Where is he?”
“I’ll him to you in one minute, sir,” Mrs. Mann. “Here, you Dick!”
After some calling, Dick was discovered. Having had his put under the pump, and upon Mrs. Mann’s gown, he was into the presence of Mr. Bumble, the beadle.
The child was and thin; his were sunken; and his large and bright. The dress, the of his misery, on his body; and his had away, like those of an old man.
Such was the little being who Mr. Bumble’s glance; not to his from the floor; and to the beadle’s voice.
“Can’t you look at the gentleman, you boy?” said Mrs. Mann.
The child his eyes, and those of Mr. Bumble.
“What’s the with you, Dick?” Mr. Bumble, with well-timed jocularity.
“Nothing, sir,” the child faintly.
“I should think not,” said Mrs. Mann, who had of laughed very much at Mr. Bumble’s humour.
“You want for nothing, I’m sure.”
“I should like—” the child.
“Hey-day!” Mrs. Mann, “I you’re going to say that you do want for something, now? Why, you little wretch—”
“Stop, Mrs. Mann, stop!” said the beadle, his hand with a of authority. “Like what, sir, eh?”
“I should like,” the child, “if somebody that can write, would put a for me on a piece of paper, and it up and seal it, and keep it for me, after I am in the ground.”
“Why, what the boy mean?” Mr. Bumble, on the manner and of the child had some impression: as he was to such things. “What do you mean, sir?”
“I should like,” said the child, “to my dear love to Oliver Twist; and to let him know how often I have sat by myself and to think of his about in the dark nights with nobody to help him. And I should like to tell him,” said the child pressing his small hands together, and speaking with great fervour, “that I was to die when I was very young; for, perhaps, if I had to be a man, and had old, my little sister who is in Heaven, might me, or be me; and it would be so much if we were children there together.”
Mr. Bumble the little speaker, from to foot, with astonishment; and, to his companion, said, “They’re all in one story, Mrs. Mann. That out-dacious Oliver had them all!”
“I couldn’t have it, sir” said Mrs Mann, up her hands, and looking at Dick. “I see such a little wretch!”
“Take him away, ma’am!” said Mr. Bumble imperiously. “This must be to the board, Mrs. Mann.”
“I the will that it isn’t my fault, sir?” said Mrs. Mann, pathetically.
“They shall that, ma’am; they shall be with the true of the case,” said Mr. Bumble. “There; take him away, I can’t the on him.”
Dick was taken away, and locked up in the coal-cellar. Mr. Bumble took himself off, to prepare for his journey.
At six o’clock next morning, Mr. Bumble: having his for a one, and his person in a great-coat with a to it: took his place on the of the coach, by the settlement was disputed; with whom, in of time, he in London.
He no other on the way, than those which in the of the two paupers, who in shivering, and of the cold, in a manner which, Mr. Bumble declared, his teeth to in his head, and him uncomfortable; although he had a great-coat on.
Having of these evil-minded for the night, Mr. Bumble sat himself in the house at which the coach stopped; and took a dinner of steaks, sauce, and porter. Putting a of gin-and-water on the chimney-piece, he his chair to the fire; and, with on the too-prevalent of and complaining, himself to read the paper.
The very paragraph upon which Mr. Bumble’s rested, was the advertisement.
“FIVE GUINEAS REWARD
“Whereas a boy, named Oliver Twist, absconded, or was enticed, on Thursday last, from his home, at Pentonville; and has not since been of. The above will be paid to any person who will give such as will lead to the of the said Oliver Twist, or to any light upon his previous history, in which the is, for many reasons, interested.”
And then a full of Oliver’s dress, person, appearance, and disappearance: with the name and address of Mr. Brownlow at full length.
Mr. Bumble opened his eyes; read the advertisement, slowly and carefully, three times; and in something more than five minutes was on his way to Pentonville: having actually, in his excitement, left the of gin-and-water, untasted.
“Is Mr. Brownlow at home?” Mr. Bumble of the girl who opened the door.
To this the girl returned the not uncommon, but reply of “I don’t know; where do you come from?”
Mr. Bumble no sooner Oliver’s name, in of his errand, than Mrs. Bedwin, who had been at the door, into the passage in a state.
“Come in, come in,” said the old lady: “I we should of him. Poor dear! I we should! I was of it. Bless his heart! I said so all along.”
Having this, the old lady into the again; and seating herself on a sofa, into tears. The girl, who was not so susceptible, had meanwhile; and now returned with a that Mr. Bumble would her immediately: which he did.
He was into the little study, where sat Mr. Brownlow and his friend Mr. Grimwig, with and them. The at once into the exclamation:
“A beadle. A beadle, or I’ll eat my head.”
“Pray don’t just now,” said Mr. Brownlow. “Take a seat, will you?”
Mr. Bumble sat himself down; by the of Mr. Grimwig’s manner. Mr. Brownlow moved the lamp, so as to obtain an view of the beadle’s countenance; and said, with a little impatience,
“Now, sir, you come in of having the advertisement?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bumble.
“And you ARE a beadle, are you not?” Mr. Grimwig.
“I am a beadle, gentlemen,” Mr. Bumble proudly.
“Of course,” Mr. Grimwig to his friend, “I he was. A all over!”
Mr. Brownlow his to on his friend, and resumed:
“Do you know where this boy is now?”
“No more than nobody,” Mr. Bumble.
“Well, what do you know of him?” the old gentleman. “Speak out, my friend, if you have anything to say. What do you know of him?”
“You don’t to know any good of him, do you?” said Mr. Grimwig, caustically; after an of Mr. Bumble’s features.
Mr. Bumble, at the very quickly, his with solemnity.
“You see?” said Mr. Grimwig, looking at Mr. Brownlow.
Mr. Brownlow looked at Mr. Bumble’s pursed-up countenance; and him to what he Oliver, in as as possible.
Mr. Bumble put his hat; his coat; his arms; his in a manner; and, after a moments’ reflection, his story.
It would be if in the beadle’s words: occupying, as it did, some twenty minutes in the telling; but the and of it was, that Oliver was a foundling, of low and parents. That he had, from his birth, no than treachery, ingratitude, and malice. That he had his career in the place of his birth, by making a and attack on an lad, and away in the night-time from his master’s house. In proof of his being the person he himself, Mr. Bumble upon the table the papers he had to town. Folding his arms again, he then Mr. Brownlow’s observations.
“I it is all too true,” said the old sorrowfully, after looking over the papers. “This is not much for your intelligence; but I would have you the money, if it had been to the boy.”
It is not that if Mr. Bumble had been of this at an period of the interview, he might have a very different to his little history. It was too late to do it now, however; so he his gravely, and, pocketing the five guineas, withdrew.
Mr. Brownlow the room to and for some minutes; so much by the beadle’s tale, that Mr. Grimwig to him further.
At length he stopped, and the violently.
“Mrs. Bedwin,” said Mr. Brownlow, when the appeared; “that boy, Oliver, is an imposter.”
“It can’t be, sir. It cannot be,” said the old lady energetically.
“I tell you he is,” the old gentleman. “What do you by can’t be? We have just a full account of him from his birth; and he has been a thorough-paced little villain, all his life.”
“I will it, sir,” the old lady, firmly. “Never!”
“You old anything but quack-doctors, and story-books,” Mr. Grimwig. “I it all along. Why didn’t you take my in the beginning; you would if he hadn’t had a fever, I suppose, eh? He was interesting, wasn’t he? Interesting! Bah!” And Mr. Grimwig the fire with a flourish.
“He was a dear, grateful, child, sir,” Mrs. Bedwin, indignantly. “I know what children are, sir; and have done these years; and people who can’t say the same, shouldn’t say anything about them. That’s my opinion!”
This was a hard at Mr. Grimwig, who was a bachelor. As it nothing from that but a smile, the old lady her head, and her to another speech, when she was stopped by Mr. Brownlow.
“Silence!” said the old gentleman, an anger he was from feeling. “Never let me the boy’s name again. I to tell you that. Never. Never, on any pretence, mind! You may the room, Mrs. Bedwin. Remember! I am in earnest.”
There were sad at Mr. Brownlow’s that night.
Oliver’s him, when he of his good friends; it was well for him that he not know what they had heard, or it might have outright.
