雾都孤儿 英文原版小说--适合初学者阅读
[i=s] 本帖最后由 icy_zhu 于 2010-12-15 15:26 编辑 [/i]原文：
求助————
请问谁哪里有《雾都孤儿》英文电子版小说，可以拿出来共享一下否？
据说这个难度相对低一些，比较适合初学者阅读。。
先谢过啦！！！:qq55]
补充：
我自己找到了，拿出来给大家分享一下，一天一段，共同分享，如有阅读速度快的，我可以把链接给大家哈！ 找到了，分享给大家~
一天一段，共同学习~~:qq88]
Chapter 1
TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.
For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.
Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration,--a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.
As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated the words, 'Let me see the child, and die.'
The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire: giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said, with more kindness than might have been expected of him:
'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'
'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.
'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better than to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be a mother, there's a dear young lamb do.'
Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched out her hand towards the child.
The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back--and died. They chafed her breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.
'It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy!' said the surgeon at last.
'Ah, poor dear, so it is!' said the nurse, picking up the cork of the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to take up the child. 'Poor dear!'
'You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,' said the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. 'It's very likely it _will_ be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is.' He put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to the door, added, 'She was a good-looking girl, too; where did she come from?'
'She was brought here last night,' replied the old woman, 'by the overseer's order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came from, or where she was going to, nobody knows.'
The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. 'The old story,' he said, shaking his head: 'no wedding-ring, I see. Ah! Good-night!'
The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having once more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low chair before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.
What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have assigned him his proper station in society. But now that he was enveloped in the old calico robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once--a parish child--the orphan of a workhouse--the humble, half-starved drudge--to be cuffed and buffeted through the world--despised by all, and pitied by none.
Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan, left to the tender mercies of church-wardens and overseers, perhaps he would have cried the louder.
在某一个小城，由于诸多原因，对该城的大名还是不提为好，我连假名也不给它取一个。此地和无数大大小小的城镇一样，在那里的公共建筑物之中也有一个古已有之的机构，这就是济贫院。本章题目中提到了姓名的那个人就出生在这所济贫院里，具体日期无需赘述，反正这一点对读者来说无关紧要――至少在目前这个阶段是这样。
这孩子由教区外科医生领着，来到了这一个苦难而动荡的世界，在很长一段时间里，仍然存在着一件相当伤脑筋的问题，这孩子到底是不是能够有名有姓地活下去。如果是这种情况奥卡姆（WilliamofOccam〔或Ockham〕，约1300―约，本传记很有可能会永无面世之日，或者说，即便能问世也只有寥寥数页，不过倒也有一条无可估量的优点，即成为古往今来世界各国现存文献中最简明最忠实的传记范本。
我倒也无意坚持说，出生在贫民收容院这件事本身乃是一个人所能指望得到的最美妙、最惹人羡慕的运气，但我的确想指出，此时此刻，对奥立弗退斯特说来，这也许是最幸运的一件事了。不瞒你说，当时要奥立弗自个儿承担呼吸空气的职能都相当困难――呼吸本来就是一件麻烦事，偏偏习惯又使这项职能成了我们维持生存必不可少的事情。好一阵子，他躺在一张小小的毛毯上直喘气，在今生与来世之间摇摆不定，天平决定性地倾向于后者。别的且不说，在这个短暂的时光里，倘若奥立弗的周围是一班细致周到的老奶奶、热心热肠的大娘大婶、经验丰富的护土以及学识渊博的大夫，毫无疑义，他必定一下子就被结果了。幸好在场的只有一个济贫院的老太婆，她已经叫不大容易到手的一点啤酒弄得有些晕乎乎的了，外加一位按合同办理这类事情的教区外科医生。除此之外，没有旁人。奥立弗与造化之间的较量见了分晓了。结果是，几个回合下来，奥立弗呼吸平稳了，打了一个喷嚏，发出一阵高声啼哭，作为一名男婴，哭声之响是可以想见的，要知道他在远远超过三分十五秒的时间里还始终不曾具有嗓门这样一种很有用处的附件。他开始向全院上下公布一个事实：本教区又背上了一个新的包袱。
奥立弗刚以这一番活动证明自己的肺部功能正常，运转自如，这时，胡乱搭在铁床架上的那张补钉摞补钉的床单飒飒地响了起来，一个年轻女子有气无力地从枕头上抬起苍白的面孔，用微弱的声音不十分清晰地吐出了几个字：“让我看一看孩子再死吧。”
医生面对壁炉坐在一边，时而烤烤手心，时而又搓搓手，听到少妇的声音，他站起来首倡经世致用之说；永嘉、永康两派反对空谈心性义理，主，走到床头，口气和善得出人意料，说：
“噢，你现在还谈不上死。”
“上帝保佑，她可是死不得，死不得。”护士插嘴说，一边慌慌张张地把一只绿色玻璃瓶放进衣袋里，瓶中之物她已经在角落里尝过了，显然十分中意。“上帝保佑，可死不得，等她活到我这把岁数，大夫，自家养上十三个孩子，除开两个，全都得送命，那两个就跟我一块儿待在济贫院里好了，到时候她就明白了，犯不着这样激动，死不得的，寻思寻思当妈是怎么回事，可爱的小羊羔在这儿呢，没错。”
这番话本来是想用作母亲的前景来开导产妇，但显然没有产生应有的效果。产妇摇摇头，朝孩子伸出手去。
医生将孩子放进她的怀里，她深情地把冰凉白皙的双唇印在孩子的额头上，接着她用双手擦了擦脸，狂乱地环顾了一下周围，战栗着向后一仰――死了。他们摩擦她的胸部、双手、太阳穴，但血液已经永远凝滞了。医生和护土说了一些希望和安慰的话。希望和安慰已经久违多时了。
“一切都完了，辛格密太太。”末了，医生说道。
“呵，可怜的孩子，是这么回事。”护士说着，从枕头上拾起那只绿瓶的瓶塞，那是她弯腰抱孩子的时候掉下来的。“可怜的孩子。”
“护士，孩子要是哭的话，你尽管叫人来找我，”医生慢条斯理地戴上手套，说道，“小家伙很可能会折腾一气，要是那样，就给他喝点麦片粥。”他戴上帽子，还没走到门口，又在床边停了下来，添上了一句，“这姑娘还挺漂亮，哪儿来的？”
“她是昨天晚上送来的，”老婆子回答，“有教区贫民救济处长官的吩咐。有人看见她倒在街上。她走了很远的路，鞋都穿成刷子了。要说她从哪儿来，到哪儿去，那可没人知道。”
医生弯下腰，拿起死者的左手。“又是那种事，”他摇摇头说，“明白了，没带结婚戒指。啊。晚安。”
懂医道的绅士外出吃晚饭去了，护士本人就着那只绿色玻璃瓶又受用了一番，在炉前一个矮椅子上坐下来，着手替婴儿穿衣服。
小奥立弗真可以称为人靠衣装的一个杰出典范。他打从一出世唯一掩身蔽体的东西就是裹在他身上的那条毯子，你说他是贵家公子也行，是乞丐的贫儿亦可。就是最自负的外人也很难确定他的社会地位。不过这当儿，他给裹进一件白布旧罩衫里边，由于多次使用，罩衫已经开始泛黄，打上印章，贴上标签，一转眼已经正式到位――成为教区的孩子――济贫院的孤儿――吃不饱也饿不死的苦力――来到世上就要尝拳头，挨巴掌一一个个藐视，无人怜悯。
奥立弗尽情地哭起来。他要是能够意识到自己成了孤儿，命运如何全得看教区委员和贫民救济处官员会不会发慈悲，可能还会哭得更响亮一些。 [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=268125&ptid=122938]2#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
这个我也没看过，等打印出来再慢慢看~~:qq88] [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=268411&ptid=122938]3#[/url] [i]evaxiaofan[/i] [/b]
我们一起看，每天一段，坚持哦！！！ [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=268746&ptid=122938]4#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
okay~~:qq51] 这一篇人物刻画的可真是入骨~~
语言诙谐、深刻！ Chapter 2
TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematic course of treachery and deception. He was brought up by hand. The hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then domiciled in 'the house' who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist, the consolation and nourishment of which he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with humility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities magnanimously and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be 'farmed,' or, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch-workhouse some three miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the parental superintendence of an elderly female, who received the culprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week. Sevenpence-halfpenny's worth per week is a good round diet for a child; a great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny, quite enough to overload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was a woman of wisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children; and she had a very accurate perception of what was good for herself. So, she appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own use, and consigned the rising parochial generation to even a shorter allowance than was originally provided for them. Thereby finding in the lowest depth a deeper still; and proving herself a very great experimental philosopher.
Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who had a great theory about a horse being able to live without eating, and who demonstrated it so well, that he had got his own horse down to a straw a day, and would unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and rampacious animal on nothing at all, if he had not died, four-and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately for, the experimental philosophy of the female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, a similar result usually attended the operation of _her_ system; for at the very moment when the child had contrived to exist upon the smallest possible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen in eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from want and cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got half-smothered by accident; in any one of which cases, the miserable little being was usually summoned into another world, and there gathered to the fathers it had never known in this.
Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting inquest upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead, or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to be a washing--though the latter accident was very scarce, anything approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm--the jury would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions, or the parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a remonstrance. But these impertinences were speedily checked by the evidence of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former of whom had always opened the body and found nothing inside (which was very probable indeed), and the latter of whom invariably swore whatever the parish wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides, the board made periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle the day before, to say they were going. The children were neat and clean to behold, when _they_ went; and what more would the people have!
It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist's ninth birthday found him a pale thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and decidedly small in circumference. But nature or inheritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver's breast. It had had plenty of room to expand, thanks to the spare diet of the establishment; and perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any ninth birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it was his ninth birthday; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select party of two other young gentleman, who, after participating with him in a sound thrashing, had been locked up for atrociously presuming to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house, was unexpectedly startled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle, striving to undo the wicket of the garden-gate.
'Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?' said Mrs. Mann, thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joy. '(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats upstairs, and wash 'em directly.)--My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you, sure-ly!'
Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead of responding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he gave the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a kick which could have emanated from no leg but a beadle's.
'Lor, only think,' said Mrs. Mann, running out,--for the three boys had been removed by this time,--'only think of that! That I should have forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account of them dear children! Walk in sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do, sir.'
Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might have softened the heart of a church-warden, it by no means mollified the beadle.
'Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,' inquired Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, 'to keep the parish officers a waiting at your garden-gate, when they come here upon porochial business with the porochial orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?'
'I'm sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the dear children as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,' replied Mrs. Mann with great humility.
Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He relaxed.
'Well, well, Mrs. Mann,' he replied in a calmer tone; 'it may be as you say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on business, and have something to say.'
Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor; placed a seat for him; and officiously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced complacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men: and Mr. Bumble smiled.
'Now don't you be offended at what I'm a going to say,' observed Mrs. Mann, with captivating sweetness. 'You've had a long walk, you know, or I wouldn't mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of somethink, Mr. Bumble?'
'Not a drop. Nor a drop,' said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a dignified, but placid manner.
'I think you will,' said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. 'Just a leetle drop, with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar.'
Mr. Bumble coughed.
'Now, just a leetle drop,' said Mrs. Mann persuasively.
'What is it?' inquired the beadle.
'Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put into the blessed infants' Daffy, when they ain't well, Mr. Bumble,' replied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a bottle and glass. 'It's gin. I'll not deceive you, Mr. B. It's gin.'
'Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?' inquired Bumble, following with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.
'Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is,' replied the nurse. 'I couldn't see 'em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.'
'No'; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; 'no, you could not. You are a humane woman, Mrs. Mann.' (Here she set down the glass.) 'I shall take a early opportunity of mentioning it to the board, Mrs. Mann.' (He drew it towards him.) 'You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann.' (He stirred the gin-and-water.) 'I--I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann'; and he swallowed half of it.
'And now about business,' said the beadle, taking out a leathern pocket-book. 'The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine year old to-day.'
'Bless him!' interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of her apron.
'And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish,' said Bumble, 'we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what was his mother's settlement, name, or con--dition.'
Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment's reflection, 'How comes he to have any name at all, then?'
The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, 'I inwented it.'
'You, Mr. Bumble!'
'I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last was a S,--Swubble, I named him. This was a T,--Twist, I named _him_. The next one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z.'
'Why, you're quite a literary character, sir!' said Mrs. Mann.
'Well, well,' said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; 'perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.' He finished the gin-and-water, and added, 'Oliver being now too old to remain here, the board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let me see him at once.'
'I'll fetch him directly,' said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent protectress.
'Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,' said Mrs. Mann.
Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair, and the cocked hat on the table.
'Will you go along with me, Oliver?' said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic voice.
Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a furious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his recollection.
'Will she go with me?' inquired poor Oliver.
'No, she can't,' replied Mr. Bumble. 'But she'll come and see you sometimes.'
This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was, however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and butter, less he should seem too hungry when he got to the workhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the little brown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never lighted the gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony of childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched as were the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, they were the only friends he had ever known; and a sense of his loneliness in the great wide world, sank into the child's heart for the first time.
Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly grasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of every quarter of a mile whether they were 'nearly there.' To these interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish replies; for the temporary blandness which gin-and-water awakens in some bosoms had by this time evaporated; and he was once again a beadle.
Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter of an hour, and had scarcely completed the demolition of a second slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the care of an old woman, returned; and, telling him it was a board night, informed him that the board had said he was to appear before it forthwith.
Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board was, Oliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was not quite certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no time to think about the matter, however; for Mr. Bumble gave him a tap on the head, with his cane, to wake him up: and another on the back to make him lively: and bidding him to follow, conducted him into a large white-washed room, where eight or ten fat gentlemen were sitting round a table. At the top of the table, seated in an arm-chair rather higher than the rest, was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red face.
'Bow to the board,' said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears that were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no board but the table, fortunately bowed to that.
'What's your name, boy?' said the gentleman in the high chair.
Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, which made him tremble: and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made him cry. These two causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating voice; whereupon a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool. Which was a capital way of raising his spirits, and putting him quite at his ease.
'Boy,' said the gentleman in the high chair, 'listen to me. You know you're an orphan, I suppose?'
'What's that, sir?' inquired poor Oliver.
'The boy _is_ a fool--I thought he was,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
'Hush!' said the gentleman who had spoken first. 'You know you've got no father or mother, and that you were brought up by the parish, don't you?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.
'What are you crying for?' inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat. And to be sure it was very extraordinary. What _could_ the boy be crying for?
'I hope you say your prayers every night,' said another gentleman in a gruff voice; 'and pray for the people who feed you, and take care of you--like a Christian.'
'Yes, sir,' stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last was unconsciously right. It would have been very like a Christian, and a marvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for the people who fed and took care of _him_. But he hadn't, because nobody had taught him.
'Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade,' said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair.
'So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morning at six o'clock,' added the surly one in the white waistcoat.
For the combination of both these blessings in the one simple process of picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction of the beadle, and was then hurried away to a large ward; where, on a rough, hard bed, he sobbed himself to sleep. What a novel illustration of the tender laws of England! They let the paupers go to sleep!
Poor Oliver! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in happy unconsciousness of all around him, that the board had that very day arrived at a decision which would exercise the most material influence over all his future fortunes. But they had. And this was it:
The members of this board were very sage, deep, philosophical men; and when they came to turn their attention to the workhouse, they found out at once, what ordinary folks would never have discovered--the poor people liked it! It was a regular place of public entertainment for the poorer classes; a tavern where there was nothing to pay; a public breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper all the year round; a brick and mortar elysium, where it was all play and no work. 'Oho!' said the board, looking very knowing; 'we are the fellows to set this to rights; we'll stop it all, in no time.' So, they established the rule, that all poor people should have the alternative (for they would compel nobody, not they), of being starved by a gradual process in the house, or by a quick one out of it. With this view, they contracted with the water-works to lay on an unlimited supply of water; and with a corn-factor to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal; and issued three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice a week, and half a roll of Sundays. They made a great many other wise and humane regulations, having reference to the ladies, which it is not necessary to repeat; kindly undertook to divorce poor married people, in consequence of the great expense of a suit in Doctors' Commons; and, instead of compelling a man to support his family, as they had theretofore done, took his family away from him, and made him a bachelor! There is no saying how many applicants for relief, under these last two heads, might have started up in all classes of society, if it had not been coupled with the workhouse; but the board were long-headed men, and had provided for this difficulty. The relief was inseparable from the workhouse and the gruel; and that frightened people.
For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system was in full operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence of the increase in the undertaker's bill, and the necessity of taking in the clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely on their wasted, shrunken forms, after a week or two's gruel. But the number of workhouse inmates got thin as well as the paupers; and the board were in ecstasies.
The room in which the boys were fed, was a large stone hall, with a copper at one end: out of which the master, dressed in an apron for the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at mealtimes. Of this festive composition each boy had one porringer, and no more--except on occasions of great public rejoicing, when he had two ounces and a quarter of bread besides.
The bowls never wanted washing. The boys polished them with their spoons till they shone again; and when they had performed this operation (which never took very long, the spoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit staring at the copper, with such eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the very bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves, meanwhile, in sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the view of catching up any stray splashes of gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boys have generally excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation for three months: at last they got so voracious and wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his age, and hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small cook-shop), hinted darkly to his companions, that unless he had another basin of gruel per diem, he was afraid he might some night happen to eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye; and they implicitly believed him. A council was held; lots were cast who should walk up to the master after supper that evening, and ask for more; and it fell to Oliver Twist.
The evening arrived; the boys took their places. The master, in his cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served out; and a long grace was said over the short commons. The gruel disappeared; the boys whispered each other, and winked at Oliver; while his next neighbors nudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table; and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said: somewhat alarmed at his own temerity:
'Please, sir, I want some more.'
The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with wonder; the boys with fear.
'What!' said the master at length, in a faint voice.
'Please, sir,' replied Oliver, 'I want some more.'
The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle; pinioned him in his arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman in the high chair, said,
'Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for more!'
There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.
'For _more_!' said Mr. Limbkins. 'Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?'
'He did, sir,' replied Bumble.
'That boy will be hung,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. 'I know that boy will be hung.'
Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.
'I never was more convinced of anything in my life,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and read the bill next morning: 'I never was more convinced of anything in my life, than I am that that boy will come to be hung.'
As I purpose to show in the sequel whether the white waistcoated gentleman was right or not, I should perhaps mar the interest of this narrative (supposing it to possess any at all), if I ventured to hint just yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist had this violent termination or no.
接下来的八个月，或者说十个月，奥立弗成了一种有组织的背信弃义与欺诈行为的牺牲品，他是用奶瓶喂大的。济贫院当局按规定将这名孤儿嗷嗷待哺、一无所有的情况上报教区当局。教区当局一本正经地咨询济贫院方面，眼下“院内”是否连一个能够为奥立弗提供亟需的照料和营养的女人也腾不出。济贫院当局谦恭地回答说，腾不出来。鉴于这一点，教区当局很慷慨地决定，将奥立弗送去“寄养”，换成别的说法，就是给打发到三英里以外的一处分院去，那边有二三十个违反了济贫法的小犯人整天在地板上打滚，毫无吃得太饱，穿得过暖的麻烦，有一个老太婆给他们以亲如父母的管教，老太婆把这帮小犯人接受下来，是看在每颗小脑袋一星期补贴六个半便士的分上。一星期七个半便士，可以为一个孩子办出一流的伙食，七个半便士可以买不少东西了，完全足以把一只小肚子给撑坏，反而不舒服。老婆子足智多谋，阅历非浅，很懂得调理孩子这一套，更有一本算计得非常老到的私账。就这样，她把每周的大部分生活费派了自己的用场，用在教区新一代身上的津贴也就比规定的少了许多。她居然发现深处自有更深处，证明她本人是一个非常了不起的实验哲学家。
人人都知道另一位实验哲学家的佳话，他自有一套马儿不吃草也能跑得好的高见，还演证得活龙活现，把自己一匹马的饲料降到每天只喂一根干草。毫无疑问，要不是那匹马在即将获得第一份可口的空气饲料之前二十四小时一命呜乎，他早就调教出一匹什么东西都不吃的烈性子骏马来了。接受委托照看奥立弗退斯特的那位女士也信奉实验哲学，不幸的是，她的一套制度实施起来也往往产生极其相似的结果。每当孩子们已经训练得可以依靠低劣得不能再低劣的食物中少得不能再少的一部分活下去的时候，十个之中倒有八个半会出现这样的情形：要么在饥寒交迫下病倒在床，要么一不留神掉进了火里，要不就是偶然之间给呛得半死，只要出现其中任何一种情况，可怜的小生命一般都会被召到另一个世界，与他们在这个世界上从未见过的先人团聚去了。
在翻床架子的时候，没有看见床上还有教区收养的一名孤儿，居然连他一块倒过来，或者正赶上洗洗涮涮的时候一不留神把孩子给烫死了――不过后一种事故非常罕见，洗洗涮测一类的事在寄养所里可以说是绝无仅有――发生这样的事“矜于诂训，摘其章句，而不能统其大义之所极”。开其后玄，偶尔也会吃官司，很有趣，但并不多见。陪审团也许会心血来潮，提出一些棘手的问题，要不就是教区居民公然联名提出抗议。不过，这类不识相的举动很快就会被教区医生的证明和干事的证词给顶回去，前者照例把尸体剖开看看，发现里边空无一物（这倒是极为可能的），后者则是教区要他们怎么发誓他们就怎么发誓，誓词中充满献身精神。此外，理事会定期视察寄养所，总是提前一天派干事去说一声，他们要来了，到他们去的时候，孩子们个个收抬得又干净又光鲜，令人爽心说目，人们还要怎么样。
不能指望这种寄养制度会结出什么了不得的或者是丰硕的果实。奥立弗退斯特的九岁生日到了，眼见得还是一个苍白瘦弱的孩子，个子矮矮的，腰也细得不得了。然而不知是由于造化还是遗传，奥立弗胸中已经种下了刚毅倔强的精神。这种精神有广阔的空间得以发展，还要归功于寄养所伙食太差，说不定正是由于这种待遇，他才好歹活到了自己的第九个生日。不管怎么说吧，今天是他的九岁生日，他正在煤窖里庆祝生日，客人是经过挑选的，只有另外两位小绅士，他们仨真是穷凶极恶，居然喊肚子饿，一起结结实实挨了一顿打，之后又给关了起来。这时候，所里那位好当家人麦恩太太忽然吓了一跳，她没有想到教区干事邦布尔先生会不期而至，此时他正在奋力打开花园大门上的那道小门。
“天啦。是你吗，邦布尔先生？”麦恩太太说着，把头探出窗外，一脸喜出望外的神气装得恰到好处。“苏珊，把奥立弗和他们两个臭小子带到楼上去，赶紧替他们洗洗干净。哎呀呀，邦布尔先生，见到你我真是太高兴了，真――的。”
这不，邦布尔先生人长得胖，又是急性子，所以，对于如此亲昵的一番问候绵延法国哲学家柏格森最先用来描述人的深层心理特，他非但没有以同样的亲昵作出回答，反而狠命摇了一下那扇小门，又给了它一脚，除了教区干事，任谁也踢不出这样一脚来。
“天啦，瞧我，”麦恩太太说着，连忙奔出来，这功夫三个孩子已经转移了，“瞧我这记性，我倒忘了门是从里边闩上的，这都是为了这些个小乖乖。进来吧，先生，请进请进，邦布尔先生，请吧。”
尽管这一邀请配有一个足以让任何一名教区干事心软下来的屈膝礼，可这位干事丝毫不为所动。
“麦恩太太，你认为这样做合乎礼节，或者说很得体吧？”邦布尔先生紧握手杖，问道，“教区公务人员为区里收养的孤儿的教区公务上这儿来是通过“本质”（抽象概念）的中介认识客体的。由于中介的，你倒让他们在花园门口老等着？你难道不知道，麦恩太太，你还是一位贫民救济处的代理人，而且是领薪水的吗？”
“说真的，邦布尔先生，我只不过是在给小乖乖说，是你来了，他们当中有一两个还真喜欢你呢。”麦恩太太毕恭毕敬地回答。
邦布尔先生一向认为自己口才不错，身价也很高，这功夫他不但展示了口才，又确立了自己的身价，态度也就开始有所松动。
“好了，好了，麦恩太太，”他口气和缓了一些，“就算是像你说的那样吧毛泽东书信选集毛泽东1920―1950年间的372封书信，可能是这样。领我进屋去吧，麦恩太太，无事不登三宝殿，我有话要说。”
麦恩太太把干事领进一间砖砌地面的小客厅，请他坐下来，又自作主张把他的三角帽和手杖放在他面前的一张桌子上。邦布尔先生抹掉额头上因赶路沁出的汗水，得意地看了一眼三角帽，微笑起来。一点不错，他微微一笑。当差的毕竟也是人，邦布尔先生笑了。
“我说，你该不会生气吧？瞧，走了老远的路，你是知道的，要不我也不会多事。”麦恩太太的口气甜得令人无法招架。“哦，你要不要喝一小口，邦布尔先生？”
“一滴也不喝，一滴也不喝。”邦布尔先生连连摆动右手，一副很有分寸但又不失平和的派头。
“我寻思你还是喝一口，”麦恩太太留心到了对方回绝时的口气以及随之而来的动作，便说道，“只喝一小口，掺一点点冷水，放块糖。”
邦布尔咳嗽了一声。
“好，喝一小口。”麦恩太太乖巧地说。
“什么酒？”干事问。
“哟，不就是我在家里总得备上一点的那种东西，赶上这帮有福气的娃娃身体不舒服的时候，就兑一点达菲糖浆，给他们喝下去，邦布尔先生。”麦恩太太一边说，一边打开角橱，取出一瓶酒和一只杯子。“杜松子酒，我不骗你，邦先生，这是杜松子酒。”
“你也给孩子们服达菲糖浆，麦恩太太？”调酒的程序很是有趣，邦布尔先生的眼光紧追不舍，一边问道。
“上天保佑，是啊，不管怎么贵，”监护人回答，“我不忍心看着他们在我眼皮底下遭罪，先生，你是知道的。”
“是啊，”邦布尔先生表示赞同，“你不忍心。麦恩太太，你是个有同情心的女人。”（这当儿她放下了杯子。）“我会尽快找个机会和理事会提到这事，麦恩太太。”（他把酒杯挪到面前。）“你给人感觉就像一位母亲，麦恩太太。”（他把掺水杜松子酒调匀。）“我――我十分乐意为你的健康干杯，麦恩太太。”他一口就喝下去半杯。
“现在谈正事，”干事说着，掏出一个皮夹子。“那个连洗礼都没有做完的孩子，奥立弗退斯特，今天满九岁了。”
“老天保佑他。”麦恩太太插了一句嘴，一边用围裙角抹了抹左眼。
“尽管明摆着悬赏十英镑，后来又增加到二十镑，尽管本教区方面已经尽了最大努力，应该说，最最超乎寻常的努力，”邦布尔说道，“我们还是没法弄清楚他父亲是谁，也不知道他母亲的住址、姓名、或者说有关的情――形。”
麦恩太太惊奇地扬起双手，沉思了半晌，说道，“那，他到底是怎么取上名字的？”
干事正了正脸色，洋洋得意地说，“我给取的。”
“你，邦布尔先生。”
“是我，麦恩太太。我们照着ABC的顺序给这些宝贝取名字，上一个是S――斯瓦布尔，我给取的。这一个是T――我就叫他退斯特，下边来的一个就该叫恩文了，再下一个是维尔金斯。我已经把名字取到末尾几个字母了，等我们到了Z的时候，就又重头开始。”
“乖乖，你可真算得上是位大文豪呢，先生。”麦思太太说。
“得了，得了，”干事显然让这一番恭维吹捧得心花怒放，“兴许算得上，兴许算得上吧，麦恩太太。”他把掺水杜松子酒一饮而尽，补充说，“奥立弗呆在这里嫌大了一些，理事会决定让他迁回济贫院，我亲自过来一趟就是要带他走，你叫他这就来见我。”
“我马上把他叫来。”麦恩太太说着，特意离开了客厅。这时候，奥立弗脸上手上包着的一层污泥已经擦掉，洗一次也就只能擦掉这么多，由这位好心的女保护人领着走进房间。
“给这位先生鞠个躬，奥立弗。”麦恩太太说。
奥立弗鞠了一躬，这一番礼仪半是对着坐在椅子上的教区干事，半是对着桌上的三角帽。
“奥立弗，你愿意跟我一块儿走吗？”邦布尔先生的声音很威严。
奥立弗刚要说他巴不得跟谁一走了事，眼睛一抬，正好看见麦恩太太拐到邦布尔先生椅子后边，正气势汹汹地冲着自己挥动拳头，他立刻领会了这一暗示，这副拳头在他身上加盖印记的次数太多了，不可能不在他的记忆中留下深刻的印象。
“她也跟我一起去吗？”可怜的奥立弗问。
“不，她走不开，”邦布尔先生回答，“不过她有时会来看看你。”
对这个孩子说来，这完全算不上一大安慰，尽管他还很小，却已经能够特意装出非常舍不得离开的表情。要这个孩子挤出几滴泪水也根本不是什么太难的事情。只要想哭，挨饿以及新近遭受的虐待也很有帮助。奥立弗哭得的确相当自然。麦恩太太拥抱了奥立弗一千次，还给了他一块奶油面包，这对他要实惠得多，省得他一到济贫院就露出一副饿痨相。奥立弗手里拿着面包，戴上一顶教区配备的茶色小帽，当下便由邦布尔先生领出了这一所可悲的房屋，他在这里度过的幼年时代真是一团漆黑，从来没有被一句温和的话语或是一道亲切的目光照亮过。尽管如此，当那所房子的大门在身后关上时，他还是顿时感到一阵稚气的哀伤，他把自己那班不幸的小伙伴丢在身后了，他们淘气是淘气，但却是他结识的不多的几个好朋友，一种只身掉进茫茫人海的孤独感第一次沉入孩子的心田。
邦布尔先生大步流星地走着，小奥立弗紧紧抓住他的金边袖口，一溜小跑地走在旁边。每走两三百码，他就要问一声是不是“快到了”。对于这些问题，邦布尔先生报以极其简短而暴躁的答复，掺水杜松子酒在某些人胸中只能唤起短时间的温和大度，这种心情到这会儿已经蒸发完了，他重又成为一名教区干事。
奥立弗在济贫院里还没呆上一刻钟，刚解决了另外一片面包，把他交给一位老太太照看，自己去办事的邦布尔先生就回来了，他告诉奥立弗，今天晚上赶上理事会开会，理事们要他马上去见一面。
奥立弗多少给这个消息吓了一跳，一块木板怎么是活的①，他显然一无所知，完全搞不清楚自己究竟应该笑还是应该哭，不过，他也没功夫去琢磨这事了。邦布尔先生用手杖在他头上敲了一记，以便使他清醒过来，落在背上的另一记是要他振作些，然后吩咐他跟上，领着他走进一间粉刷过的大房间，十来位胖胖的绅士围坐在一张桌子前边。上首一把圈椅比别的椅子高出许多，椅子上坐着一位特别胖的绅士，一张脸滚圆通红——
①在英语里，“理事会”和“木板”二词同形。
“给各位理事鞠一躬。”邦布尔说道。奥立弗抹掉在眼睛里打转的两三滴泪水，他看见前面只有一张桌子，没有木板，只好将就着朝桌子鞠了一躬。
“孩子，你叫什么名字？”高椅子上的绅士开口了。
奥立弗一见有这么多绅士不禁大吃一惊，浑身直哆嗦，干事又在背后捅了他一下，打得他号陶大哭。由于这两个原因，他回答的时候声音很低，而且很犹豫，一位穿白色背心的先生当即断言，他是一个傻瓜。应该说明，预言吉凶是这位绅士提神开心的一种重要方法。
“孩子，”坐在高椅子上的绅士说道，“你听着，我想，你知道自己是孤儿吧？”
“先生，你说什么？”可怜的奥立弗问道。
“这孩子是个傻瓜――以前可能就是。”穿白背心的绅士说。
“别打岔。”最先发话的那位绅士说道，“你无父无母，是教区把你抚养大的，你知道不知道？”
“知道，先生。”奥立弗回答时哭得很伤心。
“你哭什么？”穿白背心的绅士问道。是啊，这确实太不可理解了，这孩子能有什么值得哭的？
“我希望你每天晚上作祷告，”另一位绅士厉声说，“为那些养育你，照应你的人祈祷――要像一个基督徒。”
“是，先生。”孩子结结巴巴地说。刚刚发言的那位先生无意间倒是说中了。要是奥立弗为那些养育他，照应他的人祈祷过的话，肯定早就很像一个基督徒了，而且是一个出类拔萃的基督徒。可他从来不曾作过祷告，因为根本没有人教他。
“行了。你上这儿来是接受教育，是来学一门有用处的手艺的。”高椅子上那位红脸绅士说。
“那你明天早晨六点钟就开始拆旧麻绳①。”白背心绅士绷着脸补充了一句——
①用来填塞船板缝，属于囚犯和穷人的工作。
为了答谢他们通过拆旧麻绳这么一个简简单单的工序，把授业和传艺这两大善举融为一体，奥立弗在邦布尔的指教下又深深地鞠了一躬，便被匆匆忙忙带进一间大收容室，在那里，在一张高低不平的硬床上，他抽抽答答地睡着了。好一幅绝妙的写照，活现了仁慈为怀的英国法律。法律毕竟是允许穷人睡觉的。
可怜的奥立弗。他何曾想到，就在他陷入沉睡，对身边的一切都毫不知晓的情况下，就在这一天，理事会作出了一个与他未来的命运息息相关的决定。已经定了。事情是这样的：
该理事会诸君都是一些练达睿智的哲人，当他们关心起济贫院来的时候，立刻发现了一个等闲之辈绝对看不出来的问题――穷人们喜欢济贫院。对于比较卑贱的阶级，济贫院是一个名副其实的公共娱乐场所，一家不用花钱的旅店，三顿便饭带茶点常年都有，整个是一个砖泥结构的乐园，在那里尽可整天玩耍，不用干活。“啊哈！”看来深知个中缘由的理事先生们发话了，“要想纠正这种情况，得靠我们这班人了，我们要立即加以制止。”于是乎，他们定下了规矩，凡是穷人都应当作出选择（他们不会强迫任何人，从来不强迫），要么在济贫院里按部就班地饿死，要么在院外来个痛快的。为此目的，他们与自来水厂订下了无限制供水的合同，和粮商谈定，按期向济贫院供应少量燕麦片，配给的情况是每天三顿稀粥，一礼拜两次发放一头洋葱，逢礼拜天增发半个面包卷。他们还制定了无数涉及妇女的规章制度，条条都很英明而又不失厚道，这里恕不一一复述。鉴于伦敦民事律师公会①收费太贵，理事们便厚道仁慈地着手拆散穷苦的夫妇，不再强迫男方跟以往一样赡养妻小，而是夺走他们的家室，使他们成为光棍。单凭以上两条，如果不是与济贫院配套，社会各阶层不知会有多少人申请救济。不过理事会的先生们都是些有识之士，对这一难题早已成竹在胸。救济一与济贫院、麦片粥挂上了钩，就把人们吓跑了——
①以前伦敦专门处理遗嘱、结婚、离婚的机构。
奥立弗退斯特迁回济贫院的头六个月，这种制度正处于全力实施之中。一开始花销颇大，殡仪馆开出的账单很长，又要把院内贫民穿的衣裳改小，才喝了一两个礼拜的稀粥，衣服就开始在他们那枯瘦如柴的身上哗啦啦地飘动起来。济贫院的人数毕竟和社会上的贫民一样大为减少，理事会别提有多高兴。
孩子们进食的场所是一间宽敞的大厅，一口钢锅放在大厅一侧，开饭的时候，大师傅在锅边舀粥，他为此还特意系上了围裙，并有一两个女人替他打杂。按照这样一种过节一般的布置，每个孩子分得一汤碗粥，绝不多给――遇上普天同庆的好日子，增发二又四分之一盎司面包。粥碗从来用不着洗，孩子们非用汤匙把碗刮得重又明光铮亮了才住手。进行这一道工序的时候（这绝对花不了多少时间，汤匙险些就有碗那般大了），他们坐在那儿，眼巴巴地瞅着铜锅，恨不得把垫锅的砖也给吞下去，与此同时，他们下死劲地吸着手指头，决不放过可能掉落下来的汁水粥粒。男孩子大都有一副呱呱叫的好胃口。三个月以来，奥立弗退斯特和同伴们一起忍受着慢性饥饿的煎熬。到后来实在饿得顶不住了，都快发疯了，有一名男童个子长得比年龄大，又向来没有经历过这种事情（他父亲开过一家小饭铺），阴沉着脸向同伴们暗示，除非每天额外多给他一碗粥，否则难保哪天晚上他不会把睡在他身边的那个孩子吃掉，而那又偏巧是个年幼可欺的小不点。他说话的时候眼睛里闪动着一副野性的饥饿目光，孩子们没有不相信的。大家开了一个会，抽签决定谁在当天傍晚吃过饭以后到大师傅那里去再要一点粥，奥立弗退斯特中签了。
黄昏来临，孩子们坐到了各自的位子上，大师傅身着厨子行头，往锅边一站，打下手的两名贫妇站在他的身后。粥一一分发到了，冗长的祷告念完之后便是花不了多少时间的进餐。碗里的粥一扫而光，孩子们交头接耳，直向奥立弗使眼色，这时，邻桌用胳膊肘轻轻推了他一下。奥立弗尽管还是个孩子，却已经被饥饿与苦难逼得什么都顾不上，挺而走险了。他从桌边站起来，手里拿着汤匙和粥盆，朝大师傅走去，开口时多少有一点被自己的大胆吓了一跳：
“对不起，先生，我还要一点。”
大师傅是个身强体壮的胖子，他的脸刷地变白了，好一会儿，他愕然不解地紧盯着这个造反的小家伙，接着他有点稳不大住了，便贴在锅灶上。帮厨的女人由于惊愕，孩子们则是由于害怕，一个个都动弹不得。
“什么！”大师傅好容易开了口，声音有气无力。
“对不起，先生，我还要。”奥立弗答道。
大师傅操起勺子，照准奥立弗头上就是一下，又伸开双臂把他紧紧夹住，尖声高呼着，快把干事叫来。
理事们正在密商要事，邦布尔先生一头冲进房间，情绪十分激昂，对高椅子上的绅士说道：
“利姆金斯先生，请您原谅，先生。奥立弗退斯特还要。”
全场为之震惊，恐惧活画在一张张脸孔上。
“还要！”利姆金斯先生说，“镇静，邦布尔，回答清楚。我该没有听错，你是说他吃了按标准配给的晚餐之后还要？”
“是这样，先生。”邦布尔答道。
“那孩子将来准会被绞死，”白背心绅士说，“我断定那孩子会被绞死。”
对这位绅士的预见，谁也没有反驳。理事会进行了一番热烈的讨论。奥立弗当下就被禁闭起来。第二天早晨，大门外边贴出了一张告示，说是凡愿接手教区，收留奥立弗退斯特者酬金五镑，换句话说，只要有人，不论是男是女，想招一个徒弟，去从事任何一种手艺、买卖、行业，都可以来领五镑现金和奥立弗退斯特。
“鄙人平生确信不疑之事，”第二天早晨，穿白背心的绅士一边敲门，一边浏览着这张告示说道，“鄙人平生确信不疑之事，没有一件能与这事相比，我断定这小鬼必受绞刑。”
穿白背心的绅士到底说中了没有，笔者打算以后再披露。如果我眼下贸然点破，奥立弗退斯特会不会落得这般可怕的下场，说不定就会损害这个故事的趣味了（假定它多少有一些趣味的话）。 chapter 2 is so long,it must take me a long time to read it out.
but I will stick,aha! 你们平时看的时候有什么方法吗？是打印出啦还是用电脑？ 名家的语言就是不一般，很深刻~~实在不是一下子就能领悟~~ [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=269064&ptid=122938]9#[/url] [i]453128346[/i] [/b]
我就在这儿看啊！从这里有和大家一起学习的氛围！而且还有循序渐进的感觉!呵呵~
不过我发现后面的章节内容有点太多了，我想是否应该把长一点的章节分成两段来慢慢学习呢？
期待大家给点建议啊~~
我今天没有足够的时间来把chapter 2读完呢...已经快十一点了，不过还是把chapter3 放上来吧，不能影响了大家的阅读进度！
在阅读过程中，如果有什么感受，欢迎分享出来哈！让我们共同来交流和学习彼此的心得和感受，这样的学习才不会孤单！
大家加油哦！come on,every body~:qq62] [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=269240&ptid=122938]10#[/url] [i]evaxiaofan[/i] [/b]
tingroom还说这个比较简单，比较适合初学者阅读呢！还说一晚上就能看完呢！太受刺激了！呵呵，由此可以看出我们的差距在哪里了！呵呵，我们需要更加努力了！
加油哦！Eva~~:qq86] chapter 3 is much long!
continue~~
Chapter 3
RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE
For a week after the commission of the impious and profane offence of asking for more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in the dark and solitary room to which he had been consigned by the wisdom and mercy of the board. It appears, at first sight not unreasonable to suppose, that, if he had entertained a becoming feeling of respect for the prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat, he would have established that sage individual's prophetic character, once and for ever, by tying one end of his pocket-handkerchief to a hook in the wall, and attaching himself to the other. To the performance of this feat, however, there was one obstacle: namely, that pocket-handkerchiefs being decided articles of luxury, had been, for all future times and ages, removed from the noses of paupers by the express order of the board, in council assembled: solemnly given and pronounced under their hands and seals. There was a still greater obstacle in Oliver's youth and childishness. He only cried bitterly all day; and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread his little hands before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in the corner, tried to sleep: ever and anon waking with a start and tremble, and drawing himself closer and closer to the wall, as if to feel even its cold hard surface were a protection in the gloom and loneliness which surrounded him.
Let it not be supposed by the enemies of 'the system,' that, during the period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was denied the benefit of exercise, the pleasure of society, or the advantages of religious consolation. As for exercise, it was nice cold weather, and he was allowed to perform his ablutions every morning under the pump, in a stone yard, in the presence of Mr. Bumble, who prevented his catching cold, and caused a tingling sensation to pervade his frame, by repeated applications of the cane. As for society, he was carried every other day into the hall where the boys dined, and there sociably flogged as a public warning and example. And so for from being denied the advantages of religious consolation, he was kicked into the same apartment every evening at prayer-time, and there permitted to listen to, and console his mind with, a general supplication of the boys, containing a special clause, therein inserted by authority of the board, in which they entreated to be made good, virtuous, contented, and obedient, and to be guarded from the sins and vices of Oliver Twist: whom the supplication distinctly set forth to be under the exclusive patronage and protection of the powers of wickedness, and an article direct from the manufactory of the very Devil himself.
It chanced one morning, while Oliver's affairs were in this auspicious and comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield, chimney-sweep, went his way down the High Street, deeply cogitating in his mind his ways and means of paying certain arrears of rent, for which his landlord had become rather pressing. Mr. Gamfield's most sanguine estimate of his finances could not raise them within full five pounds of the desired amount; and, in a species of arthimetical desperation, he was alternately cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when passing the workhouse, his eyes encountered the bill on the gate.
'Wo--o!' said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey.
The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction: wondering, probably, whether he was destined to be regaled with a cabbage-stalk or two when he had disposed of the two sacks of soot with which the little cart was laden; so, without noticing the word of command, he jogged onward.
Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey generally, but more particularly on his eyes; and, running after him, bestowed a blow on his head, which would inevitably have beaten in any skull but a donkey's. Then, catching hold of the bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle reminder that he was not his own master; and by these means turned him round. He then gave him another blow on the head, just to stun him till he came back again. Having completed these arrangements, he walked up to the gate, to read the bill.
The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate with his hands behind him, after having delivered himself of some profound sentiments in the board-room. Having witnessed the little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled joyously when that person came up to read the bill, for he saw at once that Mr. Gamfield was exactly the sort of master Oliver Twist wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, too, as he perused the document; for five pounds was just the sum he had been wishing for; and, as to the boy with which it was encumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what the dietary of the workhouse was, well knew he would be a nice small pattern, just the very thing for register stoves. So, he spelt the bill through again, from beginning to end; and then, touching his fur cap in token of humility, accosted the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
'This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to 'prentis,' said Mr. Gamfield.
'Ay, my man,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a condescending smile. 'What of him?'
'If the parish vould like him to learn a right pleasant trade, in a good 'spectable chimbley-sweepin' bisness,' said Mr. Gamfield, 'I wants a 'prentis, and I am ready to take him.'
'Walk in,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. Mr. Gamfield having lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow on the head, and another wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to run away in his absence, followed the gentleman with the white waistcoat into the room where Oliver had first seen him.
'It's a nasty trade,' said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had again stated his wish.
'Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,' said another gentleman.
'That's acause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley to make 'em come down again,' said Gamfield; 'that's all smoke, and no blaze; vereas smoke ain't o' no use at all in making a boy come down, for it only sinds him to sleep, and that's wot he likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery lazy, Gen'l'men, and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down vith a run. It's humane too, gen'l'men, acause, even if they've stuck in the chimbley, roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate theirselves.'
The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much amused by this explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by a look from Mr. Limbkins. The board then proceeded to converse among themselves for a few minutes, but in so low a tone, that the words 'saving of expenditure,' 'looked well in the accounts,' 'have a printed report published,' were alone audible. These only chanced to be heard, indeed, or account of their being very frequently repeated with great emphasis.
At length the whispering ceased; and the members of the board, having resumed their seats and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said:
'We have considered your proposition, and we don't approve of it.'
'Not at all,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
'Decidedly not,' added the other members.
As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight imputation of having bruised three or four boys to death already, it occurred to him that the board had, perhaps, in some unaccountable freak, taken it into their heads that this extraneous circumstance ought to influence their proceedings. It was very unlike their general mode of doing business, if they had; but still, as he had no particular wish to revive the rumour, he twisted his cap in his hands, and walked slowly from the table.
'So you won't let me have him, gen'l'men?' said Mr. Gamfield, pausing near the door.
'No,' replied Mr. Limbkins; 'at least, as it's a nasty business, we think you ought to take something less than the premium we offered.'
Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, as, with a quick step, he returned to the table, and said,
'What'll you give, gen'l'men? Come! Don't be too hard on a poor man. What'll you give?'
'I should say, three pound ten was plenty,' said Mr. Limbkins.
'Ten shillings too much,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
'Come!' said Gamfield; 'say four pound, gen'l'men. Say four pound, and you've got rid of him for good and all. There!'
'Three pound ten,' repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly.
'Come! I'll split the diff'erence, gen'l'men,' urged Gamfield. 'Three pound fifteen.'
'Not a farthing more,' was the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins.
'You're desperate hard upon me, gen'l'men,' said Gamfield, wavering.
'Pooh! pooh! nonsense!' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. 'He'd be cheap with nothing at all, as a premium. Take him, you silly fellow! He's just the boy for you. He wants the stick, now and then: it'll do him good; and his board needn't come very expensive, for he hasn't been overfed since he was born. Ha! ha! ha!'
Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table, and, observing a smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile himself. The bargain was made. Mr. Bumble, was at once instructed that Oliver Twist and his indentures were to be conveyed before the magistrate, for signature and approval, that very afternoon.
In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to his excessive astonishment, was released from bondage, and ordered to put himself into a clean shirt. He had hardly achieved this very unusual gymnastic performance, when Mr. Bumble brought him, with his own hands, a basin of gruel, and the holiday allowance of two ounces and a quarter of bread. At this tremendous sight, Oliver began to cry very piteously: thinking, not unnaturally, that the board must have determined to kill him for some useful purpose, or they never would have begun to fatten him up in that way.
'Don't make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food and be thankful,' said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity. 'You're a going to be made a 'prentice of, Oliver.'
'A prentice, sir!' said the child, trembling.
'Yes, Oliver,' said Mr. Bumble. 'The kind and blessed gentleman which is so many parents to you, Oliver, when you have none of your own: are a going to 'prentice' you: and to set you up in life, and make a man of you: although the expense to the parish is three pound ten!--three pound ten, Oliver!--seventy shillins--one hundred and forty sixpences!--and all for a naughty orphan which nobody can't love.'
As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after delivering this address in an awful voice, the tears rolled down the poor child's face, and he sobbed bitterly.
'Come,' said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously, for it was gratifying to his feelings to observe the effect his eloquence had produced; 'Come, Oliver! Wipe your eyes with the cuffs of your jacket, and don't cry into your gruel; that's a very foolish action, Oliver.' It certainly was, for there was quite enough water in it already.
On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver that all he would have to do, would be to look very happy, and say, when the gentleman asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he should like it very much indeed; both of which injunctions Oliver promised to obey: the rather as Mr. Bumble threw in a gentle hint, that if he failed in either particular, there was no telling what would be done to him. When they arrived at the office, he was shut up in a little room by himself, and admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came back to fetch him.
There the boy remained, with a palpitating heart, for half an hour. At the expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his head, unadorned with the cocked hat, and said aloud:
'Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman.' As Mr. Bumble said this, he put on a grim and threatening look, and added, in a low voice, 'Mind what I told you, you young rascal!'
Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble's face at this somewhat contradictory style of address; but that gentleman prevented his offering any remark thereupon, by leading him at once into an adjoining room: the door of which was open. It was a large room, with a great window. Behind a desk, sat two old gentleman with powdered heads: one of whom was reading the newspaper; while the other was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr. Limbkins was standing in front of the desk on one side; and Mr. Gamfield, with a partially washed face, on the other; while two or three bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were lounging about. the follows are the translation above:
奥立弗犯下了一个亵渎神明、大逆不道的罪过，公然要求多给些粥，在以后的一个礼拜里，他成了一名重要的犯人，一直被单独关在黑屋子里，这种安排是出自理事会的远见卓识与大慈大悲。乍一看起来，不无理由推测，倘若他对白背心绅士的预见抱有适度的敬重之意，只消把手帕的一端系在墙上的一个铁钩上边，把自己挂在另外一端，保准将一劳永逸地叫那位贤哲取得未卜先知的名望。不过，要表演这套把式却存在一个障碍，就是说，手帕向来就被定为奢侈之物，理事会一道明令，便世世代代从贫民们的鼻子底下消失了。这道命令是他们一致通过，签字盖章，郑重其事地发布出去的。另一个更大的障碍则是奥立弗年幼无知。白天，他只知伤伤心心地哭，当漫漫长夜来临的时候，他总要伸出小手，捂住眼睛，想把黑暗挡在外边，他蜷缩在角落里，竭力想进入梦乡。他不时颤栗着惊醒，身子往墙上贴得越来越紧，他仿佛感到，当黑暗与孤独四面袭来时，那一层冰冷坚硬的墙面也成了一道屏障。
仇视“本制度”的人不要以为，奥立弗在单独禁闭的这段时间享受不到运动的好处，社交的乐趣，甚至宗教安慰的裨益。就运动而言，这时候正值数九寒天，他获准每天早晨到石板院子里的卿简下边去沐浴一番，邦布尔先生在场照看，为避免奥立弗着凉，总是十分殷勤地拿藤条抽他，给他一种全身火辣辣的感觉。谈到社交方面，他间天一次被带进孩子们吃饭的大厅，当众鞭笞，以儆效尤。每天傍晚，祷告时间一到，他就被一脚踢进那间黑屋子，获准在那儿听一听孩子们的集体祈祷，借以安慰自己的心灵，可见他远远谈不上被剥夺了宗教慰藉的益处。理事会特意在祷告中加了一条，呼吁孩子们祈求上帝保佑，让他们成为高尚、善良、知足、听话的人，切不可犯下奥立弗退斯特所犯的那些个罪孽和劣行，这一番祈祷明确宣布他处于恶势力的特别庇护之下，纯系魔鬼亲自开办的工厂制造出的一件产品。
奥立弗就是处于这么一种吉星高照、备受关怀的境地。一天早晨，烟囱清扫夫甘菲尔先生走到这边大街上来了，他心里一直在盘算如何支付欠下的若于房租，房东已经变得相当不耐烦了。甘菲尔先生的算盘敲得再精，也凑不齐所需要的整整五镑这个数目。这一道算术难题真是逼得他走投无路主义是马克思和恩格斯的观点和学说的体系，工人阶级完整，他手里拿着一根短棍，轮番地敲敲自己的脑门，又抽一下他的驴，经过济贫院时，他的眼睛攫住了门上的告示。
“呜――唔。”甘菲尔先生冲着驴子发话了。
驴子这会儿完全是一副心不在焉的模样，它可能正在寻思，把小车上的两袋烟灰卸下来以后，是不是可以捞到一两棵白菜帮子作为犒赏，因此，它没有听见这道命令，依然磨磨蹭蹭地往前走。
甘菲尔先生咆哮起来，冲着它的脑袋就是一通臭骂，重点针对它的眼睛。他赶上前去，照着驴脑袋就是一下，幸亏是头驴人的理性之中。唯实论是基督教会的正统官方哲学。②哲学，换上其他畜生肯定已经脑袋开花了。接着，甘菲尔先生抓住宠头狠命一拧，客客气气地提醒它不要自作主张，这才让它掉过头来。甘菲尔先生随后又在驴头上来了一下，要它老老实实呆着，等他回来再说。甘菲尔先生把这一切搞定了，便走到大门口，读起那份招贴来了。
白背心绅士倒背着双手站在门边，他刚刚在会议室里抒发了一番意味深长的感想。他先已目睹了甘菲尔先生与驴子之间发生的这一场小小的纠纷，又见那家伙走上前来看告示，不禁，冶然自得地微笑起来，他一眼就看出甘菲尔先生正是奥立弗所需要的那一类主人。甘菲尔先生将这份文件细细看了一遍，也在微笑：五英镑，不多不少，正中下怀。至于随这笔钱搭配的那个孩子，甘菲尔先生知道济贫院的伙食标准，料定他将是一件合适的小行头；正好用来清扫烟囱。为此，他又将告示从头到尾，逐字看了一遍。然后，他碰了碰自己的皮帽，算是行礼，与白背心绅士攀谈起来。
“先生，这地方是不是有个小孩，教区想叫他学一门手艺？”甘菲尔先生说。
“是啊，朋友，”白背心绅士面带俯就的微笑，说道，“你觉得他怎么样？”
“假若教区乐意他学一门轻巧手艺的话，扫烟囱倒是一个满受人尊敬的行当，”甘菲尔说，“我正好缺个徒弟，我想要他。”
“进来吧。”白背心绅士说。甘菲尔在后边耽搁了一下，他照着驴头又是一巴掌，外带着又使劲拽了一下缰绳，告诫它不得擅自走开，这才跟着白背心绅士进去，奥立弗第一次见到这位预言家就是在这间会议室里。
听甘菲尔重说了一下他的心愿之后，利姆金斯先生说道：“这是一种脏活啊。”
“以前就有小孩子闷死在烟囱里的。”另一位绅士说道。
“那是要叫他们下来，可还没点火，就把稻草弄湿了，”甘菲尔说道，“那就尽冒烟不起火。要催小孩子下来，五花八门的烟根本不顶事，只会把他熏睡过去，他正巴不得呢。小鬼头，犟得要死，懒得要死，先生们，再没有比一团红火更灵的了，他们一溜小跑就下来了。先生们，这太厚道了，就是说，万一他们粘在烟囱上了，烘烘脚板，他们赶紧就得下来。”
白背心绅士似乎叫这一番辩解逗得乐不可支，然而，他的满心欢喜立即让利姆金斯先生的一道眼风给打住了。理事们凑到一块儿，磋商了片刻，嗓门压得很低，旁人单单听到几句，“节省开支，”“账面上看得过去，”“公布一份铅印的报告。”一点不假，这几句话之所以能听出来，也是由于重复了好多遍和特别强调的缘故。
密谈总算停了下来，理事们回到各自的座位，又变得庄重起来，利姆金斯先生说道：“我们考虑了你的申请，我们不予采纳。”
“绝对不行。”白背心绅士说。
“坚决不同意。”其他的理事接上来说。
有人说已经有三四个学徒被甘菲尔先生的老拳脚尖送了命，一段时间以来他就背上了这么个小小的恶名。他心想，理事会真说不清是怎么回事，他们可能认为这件题外的事会影响正在进行的交易。果真如此的话，这和他们办事的一贯作风差得也太远了。尽管如此，他倒也并不特别希望重提那些流言蜚语，只是双手将帽子扭过去倒过来，从会议桌前缓缓往后退去。
“那，你们是不想把他交给我喽，先生们？”甘菲尔先生在门边停了下来，问道。
“是的，”利姆金斯先生回答，“最低限度，鉴于这是一种脏活，我们认为必须降低补贴标准。”
甘菲尔先生的脸色豁然开朗，他一个箭步回到桌前，说道：
“给多少，先生们？说啊。别对一个穷人太狠心了吧。你们给多少？”
“我应该说，最多三镑十先令。”利姆金斯先生说。
“十个先令是多给的。”白背心绅士说。
“嗨。”甘菲尔说道，“给四镑钱，先生们。只消四镑，你们就永久跟他了结啦。中。”
“三镑十先令。”利姆金斯先生毫不松口。
“得得。我还个价，先生们，”甘菲尔急了，“三镑十五先令。”
利姆金斯先生口答得斩钉截铁：“一个子儿也不多给。”
“你们是在要我的命啊，先生们。”甘菲尔犹豫起来。
“呸。呸。胡说。”白背心绅士说，“就是一个子儿不补贴，谁拿到他也算拣了便宜了，你这个蠢家伙，带他走吧。这孩子对你再合适不过了。他时时都离不开棍子，这对他大有好处，而且管饭也花钱不多，这孩子打出世以来还没喂饱过呢。哈哈哈！”
甘菲尔先生目光诡谲地看了一眼围坐在桌子跟前的理事们，发觉一张张面孔都挂着笑容，自己脸上也渐渐绽开了一丝微笑。买卖谈成了。邦布尔先生立刻接到命令，由他当天下午，将奥立弗和有关合同转呈治安推事，办理审批手续。
为了贯彻这一决定，小奥立弗解除了禁闭，还奉命穿上了一件干净衬衫，弄得他莫名其妙，他刚完成这一项非同寻常的健身运动，邦布尔先生又亲手为他端来一碗粥，外加二又四分之一盎司的节日面包。看到这副吓人的场面，奥立弗顿时伤伤心心地大哭起来，他顺理成章地以为，理事会准是要宰了他派用场，否则绝不会用这种办法来把他填肥。
“别把眼睛哭红了，奥立弗，好好吃东西，不要忘恩负义，”邦布尔先生端着架子说道，“你要去当学徒了，奥立弗。”
“当学徒，先生。”孩子战战兢兢地说。
“是啊，奥立弗，”邦布尔说，“你没爹没妈，这么多善良的正人君子，他们可都是你的父母，奥立弗，为了送你去当学徒，自谋生路，长大成人，教区花了三镑十先令呢――三镑十先令，奥立弗！――七十先令――百四十六便士！――就为了一个顽皮的孤儿，一个不讨人喜欢的孤儿。”
邦布尔先生的口吻令人肃然起敬，说完这番话，便停下来歇歇气，可怜的孩子伤心地发出一阵阵抽泣，滚滚泪水从脸上掉落下来。
“唉唉。”邦布尔先生的调子不那么高了，眼见自己的口才效果颇佳，他心里真舒坦。“好啦，奥立弗。用袖子把眼睛擦一擦，别让眼泪掉进粥里，奥立弗，这可是蠢透了的事。”这话倒是不假，粥里的水已经够多的了。
在去治安公署的路上，邦布尔先生嘱咐奥立弗，他要做的事就是显得高高兴兴的，当推事问他想不想去学徒的时候，就回答说他太想了。对这两条命令，奥立弗答应照办，再说邦布尔先生还客客气气地暗示，倘若任其一条出了漏子，到时候怎么处置他，可就谁也说不准了。到了治安公署，奥立弗被关进一间小屋，邦布尔要他在那儿呆着，等自己回来叫他。
这孩子在小房间里呆了半小时，一颗心卜卜直跳，这段时间刚过，邦布尔先生突然把头伸了进来，连三角帽也没戴，高声说道：
“喂，奥立弗，我亲爱的，跟我去见推事大人。”邦布尔先生说着换了一副狰狞可怕的脸色，压低声音补了一句，“记住我对你说的话，你这个小流氓。”
听到这种多少有些前后矛盾的称呼，奥立弗天真地打量起邦布尔先生的面孔来，然而那位绅士没容他就此发表观感，就立刻领他走进隔壁一间房门开着的屋子。屋子十分宽敞，有一扇大窗户。在一张写字台后边，坐着两位头上抹着发粉的老绅士，一位在看报，另一位借助一副玳瑁眼镜，正在端详面前放着的一小张羊皮纸。利姆金斯先生站在写字台前的一侧，甘菲尔先生脸都没擦干净，站在另外一边，两三个长相吓人的汉子穿着长统马靴，在屋子里踱来踱去。 tomorrow I will upload the left of the chapter 3,guys,continue your reading,ok?:qq74] oh god,I have little time at weekends?sorry,then the left of chapter 3,go....
The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over the little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause, after Oliver had been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk.
'This is the boy, your worship,' said Mr. Bumble.
The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head for a moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve; whereupon, the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up.
'Oh, is this the boy?' said the old gentleman.
'This is him, sir,' replied Mr. Bumble. 'Bow to the magistrate, my dear.'
Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates' powder, whether all boards were born with that white stuff on their heads, and were boards from thenceforth on that account.
'Well,' said the old gentleman, 'I suppose he's fond of chimney-sweeping?'
'He doats on it, your worship,' replied Bumble; giving Oliver a sly pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn't.
'And he _will_ be a sweep, will he?' inquired the old gentleman.
'If we was to bind him to any other trade to-morrow, he'd run away simultaneous, your worship,' replied Bumble.
'And this man that's to be his master--you, sir--you'll treat him well, and feed him, and do all that sort of thing, will you?' said the old gentleman.
'When I says I will, I means I will,' replied Mr. Gamfield doggedly.
'You're a rough speaker, my friend, but you look an honest, open-hearted man,' said the old gentleman: turning his spectacles in the direction of the candidate for Oliver's premium, whose villainous countenance was a regular stamped receipt for cruelty. But the magistrate was half blind and half childish, so he couldn't reasonably be expected to discern what other people did.
'I hope I am, sir,' said Mr. Gamfield, with an ugly leer.
'I have no doubt you are, my friend,' replied the old gentleman: fixing his spectacles more firmly on his nose, and looking about him for the inkstand.
It was the critical moment of Oliver's fate. If the inkstand had been where the old gentleman thought it was, he would have dipped his pen into it, and signed the indentures, and Oliver would have been straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced to be immediately under his nose, it followed, as a matter of course, that he looked all over his desk for it, without finding it; and happening in the course of his search to look straight before him, his gaze encountered the pale and terrified face of Oliver Twist: who, despite all the admonitory looks and pinches of Bumble, was regarding the repulsive countenance of his future master, with a mingled expression of horror and fear, too palpable to be mistaken, even by a half-blind magistrate.
The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and looked from Oliver to Mr. Limbkins; who attempted to take snuff with a cheerful and unconcerned aspect.
'My boy!' said the old gentleman, 'you look pale and alarmed. What is the matter?'
'Stand a little away from him, Beadle,' said the other magistrate: laying aside the paper, and leaning forward with an expression of interest. 'Now, boy, tell us what's the matter: don't be afraid.'
Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands together, prayed that they would order him back to the dark room--that they would starve him--beat him--kill him if they pleased--rather than send him away with that dreadful man.
'Well!' said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and eyes with most impressive solemnity. 'Well! of all the artful and designing orphans that ever I see, Oliver, you are one of the most bare-facedest.'
'Hold your tongue, Beadle,' said the second old gentleman, when Mr. Bumble had given vent to this compound adjective.
'I beg your worship's pardon,' said Mr. Bumble, incredulous of having heard aright. 'Did your worship speak to me?'
'Yes. Hold your tongue.'
Mr. Bumble was stupefied with astonishment. A beadle ordered to hold his tongue! A moral revolution!
The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles looked at his companion, he nodded significantly.
'We refuse to sanction these indentures,' said the old gentleman: tossing aside the piece of parchment as he spoke.
'I hope,' stammered Mr. Limbkins: 'I hope the magistrates will not form the opinion that the authorities have been guilty of any improper conduct, on the unsupported testimony of a child.'
'The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce any opinion on the matter,' said the second old gentleman sharply. 'Take the boy back to the workhouse, and treat him kindly. He seems to want it.'
That same evening, the gentleman in the white waistcoat most positively and decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver would be hung, but that he would be drawn and quartered into the bargain. Mr. Bumble shook his head with gloomy mystery, and said he wished he might come to good; whereunto Mr. Gamfield replied, that he wished he might come to him; which, although he agreed with the beadle in most matters, would seem to be a wish of a totally opposite description.
The next morning, the public were once informed that Oliver Twist was again To Let, and that five pounds would be paid to anybody who would take possession of him. 戴眼镜的老绅士冲着那张羊皮纸片渐渐打起盹来。邦布尔先生把奥立弗带到桌子面前站定，接下来有一个短暂的间隔。
“大人，就是这个孩子。”邦布尔先生说道。
正在看报的老绅士抬起头来看了一眼，扯了扯另一位的衣袖，那位老先生这才醒过来。
“噢，就是这个孩子吗？”老绅士发话了。
“就是他，先生。”邦布尔答道，“向治安推事大人鞠一躬，我亲爱的。”
奥立弗直起身子，毕恭毕敬地鞠了一躬。他的目光停留在治安推事头上的发粉上，心里一直在纳闷，是不是所有的推事大人生下来头上就有那么一层白花花的涂料，他们是不是因为有这玩艺才当上推事的。
“哦，”老绅士说道，“我想，他是喜欢扫烟囱这一行了？”
“大人，他喜欢着呢。”邦布尔暗暗拧了奥立弗一把，提醒他识相些，不要说不喜欢。
“那么，他乐意当一个清扫夫罗，是吗？”老绅士盘问道。
“要是明天我们让他去干别的什么营生，他准会马上溜掉，大人。”邦布尔回答。
“这个人就是他的师傅吧――你，先生――要好好看待他，管他的吃住以及诸如此类的事情――是不是啊？”老绅士又说。
“我说能做到，就一定能做到。”甘菲尔先生倔头倔脑地答道。
“你说话很粗鲁，朋友，不过看起来倒是一个爽快的老实人。”老绅士说着，眼镜朝这位奥立弗奖金的申请人转了过去。甘菲尔那张凶相毕露的面孔本来打着心狠手辣的烙印，可这位治安推事一半是眼神不济，一半是想法天真，所以，是人都能看出的事，却不能指望他也看得出来。
“我相信自个儿是这样，先生。”甘菲尔先生说话时眼睛一瞟，样子实在恶心。
“这一点，我丝毫也不怀疑，朋友。”老先生回答。他把鼻梁上的眼镜扶扶正，四下里找起墨水壶来。
奥立弗的命运到了一个关键时刻。倘若墨水壶是在老绅士想像中的地方，他就会把鹅毛笔插下去，然后签署证书，奥立弗也就一径被人匆匆带走了。可墨水壶偏偏是在老绅士的鼻子底下，接下来他照例满桌子都找遍了，还是没有找到。就在他一个劲地往前找的时候，目光落在了奥立弗退斯特那张苍白而惊恐的脸上。虽说邦布尔在一旁递眼色警告他，掐他，奥立弗全然不顾，目不转睛地望着未来的主人的丑恶嘴脸，那种厌恶与恐慌交融在一起的神情任何人也不会看错，哪怕是一位眼神不济的治安推事。
老先生停了下来，放下鹅毛笔，看看奥立弗，又看了看利姆金斯先生，这位先生装出在吸鼻烟，一副愉快而又若无其事的样子。
“孩子。”老先生从写字台上俯下身来，说道。这声音吓了奥立弗一跳，他这种反应倒也情有可原，听听这话有多温和就是了，然而没有听熟的声音总是叫人害怕的，他不住地打着哆嗦，眼泪夺眶而出。
“孩子，”老绅士说，“瞧你，脸都吓白了。出什么事了？”
“干事，离他远一点儿，”另一位推事说着，放下报纸，饶有兴致地向前探出身子。“行了，孩子，告诉我们是怎么回事，别害怕。”
奥立弗扑地跪下来，双手紧紧地握在一起，哀求他们把自己送回那间黑屋子去――饿死他――揍他――高兴宰掉也行――就是不要打发他跟那个可怕的人走。
“呃，”邦布尔先生说道，他抬起双手，眼珠朝上翻了翻，神情庄重得非常令人感动。“呃，奥立弗，阴险狡猾、心术不正的孤儿我见得多了，你是其中最无耻的一个。”
“闭嘴，干事。”邦布尔先生刚把带“最”字的形容词说出来，第二位老绅士便说道。
“对不起，大人，”邦布尔先生说道，他怀疑自己是不是听错了。“您指的是我吗？”
“不错，闭上你的嘴巴。”
邦布尔先生惊得目瞪日呆。竟然喝令一位教区干事闭嘴。真是改天换地了。
戴了一副玳瑁眼镜的老绅士看了自己的同事一眼，那一位意味深长地点点头。
“这些契约我们不予批准。”老绅士将那张羊皮纸往旁边一扔，说道。
“我希望，”利姆金斯先生结结巴巴地说，“我希望两位大人不要单凭一个孩子毫无理由的抗议，就认为院方有管理不善的责任。”
“治安推事不是专管排难解纷的，”第二位老绅士厉声说道，“把孩子带回济贫院去，好好对待他，看来他有这方面的需要。”
这天傍晚，白背心绅士非常自信、非常明确地断言，奥立弗不光要受绞刑，而且还会被开肠剖肚，剁成几块。邦布尔先生闷闷不乐，有些神秘地直摇脑袋，宣称自己希望奥立弗终得善报。对于这一点，甘菲尔先生回答说，他希望那小子还是归自己，尽管他大体上同意干事的话，但表达出来的愿望似乎完全相反。
第二天清晨，公众再次获悉：重新转让奥立弗，任何人只要愿意把他领走，可获得酬金五镑。 poor Oliver!I REALLY HATE THAT TIME AND THOSE BAD RICH PEOPLE! [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=269849&ptid=122938]12#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
实在是太受打击了~~{:4_112:} [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=269861&ptid=122938]15#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
目前还在chapter2徘徊着~~:qq68] [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=270924&ptid=122938]19#[/url] [i]evaxiaofan[/i] [/b]
^_^，我也很受打击，不过我们得坚持。。。我相信，总有一天，一定会有一天，我们可以做到哒！
:hug: [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=270925&ptid=122938]20#[/url] [i]evaxiaofan[/i] [/b]
加油哦！我建议，不能追求完全读懂每个单词，只要你能把内容读一遍，你就算读完了，我就是这样，除了特别想知道某个单词什么意思的，其他的我都囫囵吞枣读下去了，我BF建议的，我们目前要做的，是增加阅读量，而不是纠结于单词什么意思，总是想着它什么意思，很容易造成chinglish，to wit，中式英语，我觉得有道理哦！
试一试吧！呵呵！ I have bought this book today.
But I found it a little different from yours.
Perhaps it has some different editions.
:qq80] I have bought this book today.
But I found it a little different from yours.
Perhaps it has some different editions.
:qq80] [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=270945&ptid=122938]22#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
:hug: 确实是因为很多不认识的单词，而忽略了阅读的速度及整体~~非常谢谢你们的建议~~下面的就改变一下方式~~希望自己能早点达到'初学者"的水平~~ [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=271040&ptid=122938]24#[/url] [i]xiaomeixin[/i] [/b]
I believe it must have 2 more editions in China at present~I guess...
I don't know which editon you bought,but this editon is Chinese-English edtion,maybe a little easier then pure English editon.
but no matter what edition,as long as we can learn English,it is a good edition,right?
:qq71] [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=271365&ptid=122938]26#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
Yes,you are right.
My book also both with English and Chinese. chapter 4
go on reading,~~
但看情况来将，内容似乎不能太多了，不然消化不良。。。
但是呢，我仍然希望，大家加油。。。 Chapter 4
OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC LIFE
In great families, when an advantageous place cannot be obtained, either in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, for the young man who is growing up, it is a very general custom to send him to sea. The board, in imitation of so wise and salutary an example, took counsel together on the expediency of shipping off Oliver Twist, in some small trading vessel bound to a good unhealthy port. This suggested itself as the very best thing that could possibly be done with him: the probability being, that the skipper would flog him to death, in a playful mood, some day after dinner, or would knock his brains out with an iron bar; both pastimes being, as is pretty generally known, very favourite and common recreations among gentleman of that class. The more the case presented itself to the board, in this point of view, the more manifold the advantages of the step appeared; so, they came to the conclusion that the only way of providing for Oliver effectually, was to send him to sea without delay.
Mr. Bumble had been despatched to make various preliminary inquiries, with the view of finding out some captain or other who wanted a cabin-boy without any friends; and was returning to the workhouse to communicate the result of his mission; when he encountered at the gate, no less a person than Mr. Sowerberry, the parochial undertaker.
Mr. Sowerberry was a tall gaunt, large-jointed man, attired in a suit of threadbare black, with darned cotton stockings of the same colour, and shoes to answer. His features were not naturally intended to wear a smiling aspect, but he was in general rather given to professional jocosity. His step was elastic, and his face betokened inward pleasantry, as he advanced to Mr. Bumble, and shook him cordially by the hand.
'I have taken the measure of the two women that died last night, Mr. Bumble,' said the undertaker.
'You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,' said the beadle, as he thrust his thumb and forefinger into the proffered snuff-box of the undertaker: which was an ingenious little model of a patent coffin. 'I say you'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,' repeated Mr. Bumble, tapping the undertaker on the shoulder, in a friendly manner, with his cane.
'Think so?' said the undertaker in a tone which half admitted and half disputed the probability of the event. 'The prices allowed by the board are very small, Mr. Bumble.'
'So are the coffins,' replied the beadle: with precisely as near an approach to a laugh as a great official ought to indulge in.
Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at this: as of course he ought to be; and laughed a long time without cessation. 'Well, well, Mr. Bumble,' he said at length, 'there's no denying that, since the new system of feeding has come in, the coffins are something narrower and more shallow than they used to be; but we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. Well-seasoned timber is an expensive article, sir; and all the iron handles come, by canal, from Birmingham.'
'Well, well,' said Mr. Bumble, 'every trade has its drawbacks. A fair profit is, of course, allowable.'
'Of course, of course,' replied the undertaker; 'and if I don't get a profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it up in the long-run, you see--he! he! he!'
'Just so,' said Mr. Bumble.
'Though I must say,' continued the undertaker, resuming the current of observations which the beadle had interrupted: 'though I must say, Mr. Bumble, that I have to contend against one very great disadvantage: which is, that all the stout people go off the quickest. The people who have been better off, and have paid rates for many years, are the first to sink when they come into the house; and let me tell you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four inches over one's calculation makes a great hole in one's profits: especially when one has a family to provide for, sir.'
As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the becoming indignation of an ill-used man; and as Mr. Bumble felt that it rather tended to convey a reflection on the honour of the parish; the latter gentleman thought it advisable to change the subject. Oliver Twist being uppermost in his mind, he made him his theme.
'By the bye,' said Mr. Bumble, 'you don't know anybody who wants a boy, do you? A porochial 'prentis, who is at present a dead-weight; a millstone, as I may say, round the porochial throat? Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry, liberal terms?' As Mr. Bumble spoke, he raised his cane to the bill above him, and gave three distinct raps upon the words 'five pounds': which were printed thereon in Roman capitals of gigantic size.
'Gadso!' said the undertaker: taking Mr. Bumble by the gilt-edged lappel of his official coat; 'that's just the very thing I wanted to speak to you about. You know--dear me, what a very elegant button this is, Mr. Bumble! I never noticed it before.'
'Yes, I think it rather pretty,' said the beadle, glancing proudly downwards at the large brass buttons which embellished his coat. 'The die is the same as the porochial seal--the Good Samaritan healing the sick and bruised man. The board presented it to me on Newyear's morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I put it on, I remember, for the first time, to attend the inquest on that reduced tradesman, who died in a doorway at midnight.'
'I recollect,' said the undertaker. 'The jury brought it in, "Died from exposure to the cold, and want of the common necessaries of life," didn't they?'
Mr. Bumble nodded.
'And they made it a special verdict, I think,' said the undertaker, 'by adding some words to the effect, that if the relieving officer had--'
'Tush! Foolery!' interposed the beadle. 'If the board attended to all the nonsense that ignorant jurymen talk, they'd have enough to do.'
'Very true,' said the undertaker; 'they would indeed.'
'Juries,' said Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane tightly, as was his wont when working into a passion: 'juries is ineddicated, vulgar, grovelling wretches.'
'So they are,' said the undertaker.
'They haven't no more philosophy nor political economy about 'em than that,' said the beadle, snapping his fingers contemptuously.
'No more they have,' acquiesced the undertaker.
'I despise 'em,' said the beadle, growing very red in the face.
'So do I,' rejoined the undertaker.
'And I only wish we'd a jury of the independent sort, in the house for a week or two,' said the beadle; 'the rules and regulations of the board would soon bring their spirit down for 'em.'
'Let 'em alone for that,' replied the undertaker. So saying, he smiled, approvingly: to calm the rising wrath of the indignant parish officer.
Mr Bumble lifted off his cocked hat; took a handkerchief from the inside of the crown; wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his rage had engendered; fixed the cocked hat on again; and, turning to the undertaker, said in a calmer voice:
'Well; what about the boy?'
'Oh!' replied the undertaker; 'why, you know, Mr. Bumble, I pay a good deal towards the poor's rates.'
'Hem!' said Mr. Bumble. 'Well?'
'Well,' replied the undertaker, 'I was thinking that if I pay so much towards 'em, I've a right to get as much out of 'em as I can, Mr. Bumble; and so--I think I'll take the boy myself.'
Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm, and led him into the building. Mr. Sowerberry was closeted with the board for five minutes; and it was arranged that Oliver should go to him that evening 'upon liking'--a phrase which means, in the case of a parish apprentice, that if the master find, upon a short trial, that he can get enough work out of a boy without putting too much food into him, he shall have him for a term of years, to do what he likes with.
When little Oliver was taken before 'the gentlemen' that evening; and informed that he was to go, that night, as general house-lad to a coffin-maker's; and that if he complained of his situation, or ever came back to the parish again, he would be sent to sea, there to be drowned, or knocked on the head, as the case might be, he evinced so little emotion, that they by common consent pronounced him a hardened young rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to remove him forthwith.
Now, although it was very natural that the board, of all people in the world, should feel in a great state of virtuous astonishment and horror at the smallest tokens of want of feeling on the part of anybody, they were rather out, in this particular instance. The simple fact was, that Oliver, instead of possessing too little feeling, possessed rather too much; and was in a fair way of being reduced, for life, to a state of brutal stupidity and sullenness by the ill usage he had received. He heard the news of his destination, in perfect silence; and, having had his luggage put into his hand--which was not very difficult to carry, inasmuch as it was all comprised within the limits of a brown paper parcel, about half a foot square by three inches deep--he pulled his cap over his eyes; and once more attaching himself to Mr. Bumble's coat cuff, was led away by that dignitary to a new scene of suffering. [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=271704&ptid=122938]27#[/url] [i]xiaomeixin[/i] [/b]
dear meixin，I invite you to join us to read it,will you? [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=271909&ptid=122938]30#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
I read it everyday now.:qq88] [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=271947&ptid=122938]31#[/url] [i]xiaomeixin[/i] [/b]
ok,it stands that your read speed is fast~~
we should learn from you!:qq62] [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=272083&ptid=122938]32#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
:qq88] I just have interested it reading novels. the translation of the top half of chapter 4 is as follows:
举凡大户人家，遇到一个优越的位置，比方说财产、名分的拥有、复归、指定继承或者是预订继承，摊不到一个正在成长发育的子弟身上的时候，有一条非常普遍的习惯，就是打发他出海谋生。依照这一个贤明通达的惯例，理事会诸君凑到一起，商议能否把奥立弗交给一条小商船，送他去某个对健康极其有害的港口。这似乎成了处置他的最好的办法了。船长没准会在哪一天饭后闲暇之时，闹着玩似地用鞭子把他抽死，或者用铁棒把他的脑袋敲开花，这两种消遣早已远近驰名，在那个阶层的绅士中成了人人喜爱的娱乐，一点不稀罕。理事会越是琢磨这个事情，越是感到好处真是说不尽，所以他们得出结论，要把奥立弗供养成人，唯一有效的办法就是赶快送他出洋。
邦布尔先生领了差事，在城里四处奔波，多方打听有没有哪一位船长或者别的什么人需要一个无亲无故的舱房小厮。这一天，他回到济贫院，准备报告这事的进展，刚走到大门口，迎面碰上了承办教区殡葬事务的苏尔伯雷先生。
苏尔伯雷先生是个瘦高个，骨节大得出奇，一身黑色礼服早就磨得经纬毕露，下边配同样颜色的长统棉袜和鞋子，鞋袜上缀有补丁。他那副长相本来就不宜带有轻松愉快的笑意傅山（1607―1684）明清之际思想家。初名鼎臣，字青，不过，总的来说，他倒是有几分职业性的诙谐。他迎着邦布尔先生走上前来，步履十分轻快，亲眼地与他握手，眉间显露出内心的喜悦。
“邦布尔先生，我已经给昨儿晚上去世的两位女士量好了尺寸。”殡葬承办人说道。
“你要发财啦，苏尔伯雷先生，”教区干事一边说，一边把拇指和食指插进殡葬承办人递上来的鼻烟盒里，这鼻烟盒是一具精巧的棺材模型，做得十分别致。“我是说，你要发财啦，苏尔伯雷。”干事用手杖在对方肩上亲亲热热地敲了敲，又说了一遍。
“你这样认为？”殡葬承办人的嗓音里带有一点似信非信，不尽了然的意思。“理事会开的价钱可太小啦，邦布尔先生。”
“棺材不也是这样吗。”干事答话时面带微笑，这一丝微笑他掌握得恰到好处，以不失教区大员的身份为原则。
苏尔伯雷被这句话逗乐了，他自然不必拘谨过头，便不歇气地打了一长串哈哈。“得，得，邦布尔先生，”他终于笑够了，“是这话呀，自打新的供给制实施以来，棺材比起以前来说，是越做越窄，越做越浅罗。话说回来，邦布尔先生，我们总还得有点赚头才行，干得呗吼叫的木料就是挺花钱的玩艺儿，铁把手呢，又全是经运河从伯明翰运来的。”
“好啦，好啦，”邦布尔先生说，“哪一行都有哪一行的难处。当然赚得公平还是许可的。”
“当然，当然。”殡葬承办人随声附和着，“假如我在这笔那笔买卖上没赚到钱的话，您是知道的，我迟早也会捞回来――嘿嘿嘿！”
“一点不错。”邦布尔先生说，
“可我也得说说，”殡葬承办人继续说道，又拣起刚才被教区干事打断的话题来，“可我也得说说，邦布尔先生，我现在面对的情况极其不利，就是说，胖子死得特别快，一进济贫院这道门，最先垮下去的就是家道好一点，常年纳税的人。我告诉你吧，邦布尔先生，只要比核算大出三四英寸，就会亏进去一大截，尤其是当一个人还得养家糊口的时候。”
苏尔伯雷先生说话时愤愤不平，像是吃了大亏的的样子。邦布尔先生意识到，再说下去势必有损教区体面，得换个题目了。这位绅士立刻想起了奥立弗退斯特，便把话题转了过去。
“顺便说一下，”邦布尔先生说道，“你知不知道有谁想找个小厮，啊？有一个教区见习生，眼目下跟一个沉甸甸的包袱似的，我应该说，是一盘石磨，吊在教区脖子上，对不对？报酬很可观，苏尔伯雷先生，很可观呢。”邦布尔扬起手杖，指指大门上边的告示，特意在用巨型罗马大写字母印刷的“五英镑”字样上咚咚咚敲了三下。
“乖乖。”殡葬承办人说着，一把拉住邦布尔制服上的金边翻领，“我正想和您谈谈这档子事呢。您是知道的――喔，哟哟，这扣子好漂亮，邦布尔先生。我一直没注意到。”
“是啊，我也觉得挺漂亮，”教区干事自豪地低头看了一眼镶嵌在外套上的硕大的铜纽扣，说道，“这图案跟教区图章上的一模一样――好心的撒玛利亚人在医治那个身受重伤的病人①。苏尔伯雷先生，这是理事会元旦早晨送给我的礼物。我记得，我头一回穿上身是去参加验尸，就是那个破了产的零售商，半夜里死在别人家门口的。”——
①《新约圣经路加福音》第十章：“只有一个撒玛利亚人，行路来到那里，看见他就动了慈心，上前用油和酒倒在他的伤处，包裹好了。”现用来指乐善好施的人。
“我想起来了，”殡葬承办人说，“陪审团报告说，是死于感冒以及缺乏一般生活用品，对不？”
邦布尔点了点头。
“他们好像把这事作为一个专案，”殡葬承办人说，“后边还加了几句话，说是倘若承办救济的有关方面当时――”
“胡扯。瞎说。”教区干事忍不住了，“要是理事会光去听那班什么都不懂的陪审团胡说八道，他们可就有事情干了。”
“千真万确，”殡葬承办人说，“可不是。”
“陪审团，”邦布尔紧握手杖说道，这是他发起火来的习惯，“陪审团一个个都是些卑鄙下流的家伙，没有教养。”
“就是，就是。”殡葬承办人说。
“不管是哲学还是政治经济学，他们也就懂那么一点，”邦布尔轻蔑地打了一个响指，说道，“就那么点。”
“确实如此。”殡葬承办人表示同意。
“我才看不起他们呢。”教区干事一张脸涨得通红。
“我也一样。”殡葬承办人附和道。
“我只希望能找个自以为是的陪审团，上济贫院呆上一两个礼拜，”教区干事说，“理事会的规章条款很快就会把他们那股子傲气给杀下去。”
“随他们的便吧。”殡葬承办人回答时深表赞许地微笑起来，想平熄一下这位满腔激愤的教区公务员刚刚腾起的怒火。
邦布尔抬起三角帽，从帽顶里取出一张手巾，抹掉额头上团刚才一阵激怒沁出的汗水，又重新把帽子戴端正，向殡葬承办人转过身去，用比较平和的语气说：
“喂，这孩子如何？”
“噢。”殡葬承办人答道，“哎，邦布尔先生，你也知道，我替穷人缴了好大一笔税呢。”
“嗯。”邦布尔先生鼻子里发出了响声，“怎么？”
“哦，”殡葬承办人回答，“我想，既然我掏了那么多钞票给他们，我当然有权利凭我的本事照数收回来，邦布尔先生，这个――这个――我想自个儿要这个孩子。”
邦布尔一把拉住殡葬承办人的胳膊，领着他走进楼里。苏尔伯雷与理事们关起门来谈了五分钟，商定当天傍晚就让他带奥立弗到棺材铺去“见习”――这个词用在教区学徒身上的意思是，经过短期试用之后，只要雇主觉得能叫徒弟干很多活，而伙食方面也还合算的话，就可以留用若干年，高兴叫他干什么就叫他干什么。
傍晚，小奥立弗被带到了“绅士们”面前，他得知当天夜里自己就要作为一个普通的济贫院学童到一家棺材铺去了。倘若他去了以后诉苦抱怨，或者去而复返，就打发他出海去，不管到时候他是淹死还是被打烂了脑袋瓜，这种情况是完全可能的。听了这些话，奥立弗几乎毫无反应。于是，他们众口一辞地宣告他是一个无可救药的小坏蛋，命令邦布尔先生立即把他带走。
说起来，世间一应人等当中，如果有谁流露出一丝一毫缺少感情的迹象，理事会理所当然会处于一种满腔义愤、震惊不已的状况，然而，这一回他们却有些误会了。事情很简单，奥立弗的感受并非太少，而应当说太多了，大有可能被落到头上的虐待弄得一辈子傻里傻气，心灰意懒。他无动于衷地听完这一条有关他的去向的消息，接过塞到他手里的行李――拿在手里实在费不了多大劲，因为他的行李也就是一个牛皮纸包，半英尺见方，三英寸厚――把帽檐往下拉了拉，又一次紧紧拉住邦布尔先生的外套袖口，由这位大人物领着去了一处新的受难场所。 [i=s] 本帖最后由 icy_zhu 于 2010-12-22 22:35 编辑 [/i]
[size=5][color=red]the bottom half continues: (it is not so difficult to understand,I think)
[/color][/size]For some time, Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along, without notice or remark; for the beadle carried his head very erect, as a beadle always should: and, it being a windy day, little Oliver was completely enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bumble's coat as they blew open, and disclosed to great advantage his flapped waistcoat and drab plush knee-breeches. As they drew near to their destination, however, Mr. Bumble thought it expedient to look down, and see that the boy was in good order for inspection by his new master: which he accordingly did, with a fit and becoming air of gracious patronage.
'Oliver!' said Mr. Bumble.
'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice.
'Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head, sir.'
Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once; and passed the back of his unoccupied hand briskly across his eyes, he left a tear in them when he looked up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazed sternly upon him, it rolled down his cheek. It was followed by another, and another. The child made a strong effort, but it was an unsuccessful one. Withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble's he covered his face with both; and wept until the tears sprung out from between his chin and bony fingers.
'Well!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and darting at his little charge a look of intense malignity. 'Well! Of _all_ the ungratefullest, and worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, you are the--'
'No, no, sir,' sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand which held the well-known cane; 'no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed, indeed I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is so--so--'
'So what?' inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement.
'So lonely, sir! So very lonely!' cried the child. 'Everybody hates me. Oh! sir, don't, don't pray be cross to me!' The child beat his hand upon his heart; and looked in his companion's face, with tears of real agony.
Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver's piteous and helpless look, with some astonishment, for a few seconds; hemmed three or four times in a husky manner; and after muttering something about 'that troublesome cough,' bade Oliver dry his eyes and be a good boy. Then once more taking his hand, he walked on with him in silence.
The undertaker, who had just putup the shutters of his shop, was making some entries in his day-book by the light of a most appropriate dismal candle, when Mr. Bumble entered.
'Aha!' said the undertaker; looking up from the book, and pausing in the middle of a word; 'is that you, Bumble?'
'No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,' replied the beadle. 'Here! I've brought the boy.' Oliver made a bow.
'Oh! that's the boy, is it?' said the undertaker: raising the candle above his head, to get a better view of Oliver. 'Mrs. Sowerberry, will you have the goodness to come here a moment, my dear?'
Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop, and presented the form of a short, then, squeezed-up woman, with a vixenish countenance.
'My dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry, deferentially, 'this is the boy from the workhouse that I told you of.' Oliver bowed again.
'Dear me!' said the undertaker's wife, 'he's very small.'
'Why, he _is_ rather small,' replied Mr. Bumble: looking at Oliver as if it were his fault that he was no bigger; 'he is small. There's no denying it. But he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry--he'll grow.'
'Ah! I dare say he will,' replied the lady pettishly, 'on our victuals and our drink. I see no saving in parish children, not I; for they always cost more to keep, than they're worth. However, men always think they know best. There! Get downstairs, little bag o' bones.' With this, the undertaker's wife opened a side door, and pushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs into a stone cell, damp and dark: forming the ante-room to the coal-cellar, and denominated 'kitchen'; wherein sat a slatternly girl, in shoes down at heel, and blue worsted stockings very much out of repair.
'Here, Charlotte,' said Mr. Sowerberry, who had followed Oliver down, 'give this boy some of the cold bits that were put by for Trip. He hasn't come home since the morning, so he may go without 'em. I dare say the boy isn't too dainty to eat 'em--are you, boy?'
Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, and who was trembling with eagerness to devour it, replied in the negative; and a plateful of coarse broken victuals was set before him.
I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to gall within him; whose blood is ice, whose heart is iron; could have seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had neglected. I wish he could have witnessed the horrible avidity with which Oliver tore the bits asunder with all the ferocity of famine. There is only one thing I should like better; and that would be to see the Philosopher making the same sort of meal himself, with the same relish.
'Well,' said the undertaker's wife, when Oliver had finished his supper: which she had regarded in silent horror, and with fearful auguries of his future appetite: 'have you done?'
There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver replied in the affirmative.
'Then come with me,' said Mrs. Sowerberry: taking up a dim and dirty lamp, and leading the way upstairs; 'your bed's under the counter. You don't mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose? But it doesn't much matter whether you do or don't, for you can't sleep anywhere else. Come; don't keep me here all night!'
Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his new mistress. [b]回复 [url=http://bbs.tingroom.com/redirect.php?goto=findpost&pid=272645&ptid=122938]35#[/url] [i]icy_zhu[/i] [/b]
sorry for so long no see here~
now the rest translation of the bottom half of chapter 4:
邦布尔先生拖着奥立弗走了一程，教区干事直挺挺地昂着头往前走，对他总是不理不睬，因为邦布尔先生觉得当差的就应该是这副派头。这一天风很大，不时吹开邦布尔先生的大衣下摆，把奥立弗整个裹起来，同时露出上衣和浅褐色毛绒裤子，真的很风光。快到目的地了，邦布尔先生觉得有必要视察一下奥立弗，以便确保这孩子的模样经得起他未来的主人验收，便低下头，带着与一个大恩人的身份非常协调。相称的神气看了看。
“奥立弗。”邦布尔说。
“是，先生。”奥立弗哆哆嗦嗦地低声答道。
“先生，把帽子戴高一些，别挡住眼睛，头抬起来。”
奥立弗赶紧照办，一边还用空着的一只手的手背利落地抹了抹眼睛，可是当他抬起头来，看着自己的领路人时，眼里还是留下了一滴泪水。邦布尔先生狠狠地瞪了他一眼，这滴眼泪便顺着脸颊滚了下来，跟着又是一滴，又是一滴。这孩子拚命想忍住泪水，却怎么也止不住。他索性把手从邦布尔先生的袖口上缩回来，双手捂住面孔，泪珠从他纤细的指头缝里涌泻而出。
“得了。”邦布尔先生嚷起来，又猛然停住脚步，向这个不争气的小家伙投过去一道极其恶毒的目光。“得了。奥立弗，在我见过的所有最忘恩负义、最心术不正的男孩当中，你要算最最――”
“不，不，先生，”奥立弗哽咽着说，一边紧紧抓住干事的一只手，这只手里握着的就是他非常熟悉的藤杖、“不，不，先生，我会变好的，真的，真的，先生，我一定会变好的。我只是一个小不点儿，又那么――那么――”
“那么个啥？”邦布尔先生诧异地问道。
“那么孤独，先生。一个亲人也没有。”孩子哭叫着，“大家都不喜欢我。喔，先生，您别，别生我的气。”他拍打着自己的胸脯，抬眼看了看与自己同行的那个人，泪水里包含着发自内心的痛苦。
邦布尔先生多少有些诧异，他盯着奥立弗那副可怜巴巴的模样看了几秒钟，嘶哑地咬了三四声，嘴里咕噜着什么“这讨厌的咳嗽”，随后吩咐奥立弗擦干眼泪，做一个听话的孩子。他又一次拉起奥立弗的手，默不作声地继续往前走去。
殡仪馆老板刚关上铺子的门面，正在一盏昏暗得与本店业务十分相称的烛光下做账，邦布尔先生走了进来。
“啊哈。”殡葬承办人从账本上抬起头来，一个字刚写了一半。“是你吗，邦布尔？”
“不是别人，苏尔伯雷先生，”干事答道，“喏。我把孩子带来了。”奥立弗鞠了一躬。
“喔。就是那个孩子，是吗？”殡仪馆老板说着，把蜡烛举过头顶，好把奥立弗看个仔细。“苏尔伯雷太太。你好不好上这儿来一下，我亲爱的？”
苏尔伯雷太太从店堂后边一间小屋里出来了，这女人身材瘦小，干瘪得够可以的了，一脸狠毒泼辣的神色。
“我亲爱的，”苏尔伯雷先生谦恭地说，“这就是我跟你说过的那个济贫院的孩子。”奥立弗又鞠了一躬。
“天啦，”殡仪馆老板娘说道，“他可真小啊。”
“唔，是小了一点。”邦布尔先生打量着奥立弗，好像是在责怪他怎么不长得高大些。“他是很小，这无可否认。可他还要长啊，苏尔伯雷太太――他会长的。”
“啊。我敢说他肯定会长的。”太太没好气地说，“吃我们的，喝我们的，不长才怪呢。我就说领教区的孩子划不来，他们本来就值不了几个钱，还抵不上他们的花销。可男人家倒总觉得自己懂得多。好啦。小瘦鬼，下楼去吧。”老板娘嘴里念叨着，打开一道侧门，推着奥立弗走过一段陡直的楼梯，来到一间潮湿阴暗的石砌小屋。这间起名“厨房”的小屋连着后边的煤窖，里边坐着一个邋遢的女孩，脚上的鞋已经磨掉了后跟，蓝色的绒线袜子也烂得不成话了。
“喂，夏洛蒂，”苏尔伯雷太太跟在奥立弗身后，走下楼来说道，“把留给特立普吃的冷饭给这小孩一点。他早上出去以后就没回来过，大概不用给他留了。我敢说这孩子不会这也不吃，那也不吃――小孩，你挑不挑嘴啊？”
奥立弗一听有吃的，立刻两眼放光。他正馋得浑身哆嗦。他回答了一句不挑嘴，一碟粗糙不堪的食物放到了他的面前。
要是有这样一位吃得脑满肠肥的哲学家，他吃下去的佳肴美酒在肚子里会化作胆汁，血凝成了冰，心像铁一样硬，我希望他能看看奥立弗是怎样抓起那一盘连狗都不肯闻一闻的美食，希望他能亲眼看一看饥不择食的奥立弗以怎样令人不寒而栗的食欲把食物撕碎，倒进肚子。我更希望看到的是，这位哲学家本人在吃同样的食物的时候也有同样的胃口。
“喂，”老板娘看着奥立弗吃晚饭，嘴上不说，心里可吓坏了，想到他今后的胃口更是忧心忡忡。“吃完了没有？”
奥立弗看看前后左右，可以吃的东西没有了，便作了肯定的回答。
“那你，跟我来吧。”苏尔伯雷太太说着，举起一盏昏暗而又肮脏的油灯，领路朝楼上走去。“你的床铺就在柜台底下，我看，你该不会反对睡在棺材中间吧？不过你乐意不乐意都没关系，反正你不能上别的地方去睡。快点，我没功夫整个晚上都耗在这儿。”
奥立弗不再犹豫，温顺地跟着新女主人走去。 oh where is my passage? here it is~I see it..
ok,now,the follows is chapter 5,let's go!
PS:chapter 5 is a long passage,I will take 3 days to read it,after 3 days,I will give you the translation~ chapter 5
OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER'S BUSINESS
Oliver, being left to himself in the undertaker's shop, set the lamp down on a workman's bench, and gazed timidly about him with a feeling of awe and dread, which many people a good deal older than he will be at no loss to understand. An unfinished coffin on black tressels, which stood in the middle of the shop, looked so gloomy and death-like that a cold tremble came over him, every time his eyes wandered in the direction of the dismal object: from which he almost expected to see some frightful form slowly rear its head, to drive him mad with terror. Against the wall were ranged, in regular array, a long row of elm boards cut in the same shape: looking in the dim light, like high-shouldered ghosts with their hands in their breeches pockets. Coffin-plates, elm-chips, bright-headed nails, and shreds of black cloth, lay scattered on the floor; and the wall behind the counter was ornamented with a lively representation of two mutes in very stiff neckcloths, on duty at a large private door, with a hearse drawn by four black steeds, approaching in the distance. The shop was close and hot. The atmosphere seemed tainted with the smell of coffins. The recess beneath the counter in which his flock mattress was thrust, looked like a grave.
Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed Oliver. He was alone in a strange place; and we all know how chilled and desolate the best of us will sometimes feel in such a situation. The boy had no friends to care for, or to care for him. The regret of no recent separation was fresh in his mind; the absence of no loved and well-remembered face sank heavily into his heart.
But his heart was heavy, notwithstanding; and he wished, as he crept into his narrow bed, that that were his coffin, and that he could be lain in a calm and lasting sleep in the churchyard ground, with the tall grass waving gently above his head, and the sound of the old deep bell to soothe him in his sleep.
Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud kicking at the outside of the shop-door: which, before he could huddle on his clothes, was repeated, in an angry and impetuous manner, about twenty-five times. When he began to undo the chain, the legs desisted, and a voice began.
'Open the door, will yer?' cried the voice which belonged to the legs which had kicked at the door.
'I will, directly, sir,' replied Oliver: undoing the chain, and turning the key.
'I suppose yer the new boy, ain't yer?' said the voice through the key-hole.
'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver.
'How old are yer?' inquired the voice.
'Ten, sir,' replied Oliver.
'Then I'll whop yer when I get in,' said the voice; 'you just see if I don't, that's all, my work'us brat!' and having made this obliging promise, the voice began to whistle.
Oliver had been too often subjected to the process to which the very expressive monosyllable just recorded bears reference, to entertain the smallest doubt that the owner of the voice, whoever he might be, would redeem his pledge, most honourably. He drew back the bolts with a trembling hand, and opened the door.
For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street, and down the street, and over the way: impressed with the belief that the unknown, who had addressed him through the key-hole, had walked a few paces off, to warm himself; for nobody did he see but a big charity-boy, sitting on a post in front of the house, eating a slice of bread and butter: which he cut into wedges, the size of his mouth, with a clasp-knife, and then consumed with great dexterity.
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Oliver at length: seeing that no other visitor made his appearance; 'did you knock?'
'I kicked,' replied the charity-boy.
'Did you want a coffin, sir?' inquired Oliver, innocently.
At this, the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce; and said that Oliver would want one before long, if he cut jokes with his superiors in that way.
'Yer don't know who I am, I suppose, Work'us?' said the charity-boy, in continuation: descending from the top of the post, meanwhile, with edifying gravity.
'No, sir,' rejoined Oliver.
'I'm Mister Noah Claypole,' said the charity-boy, 'and you're under me. Take down the shutters, yer idle young ruffian!' With this, Mr. Claypole administered a kick to Oliver, and entered the shop with a dignified air, which did him great credit. It is difficult for a large-headed, small-eyed youth, of lumbering make and heavy countenance, to look dignified under any circumstances; but it is more especially so, when superadded to these personal attractions are a red nose and yellow smalls.
Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken a pane of glass in his effort to stagger away beneath the weight of the first one to a small court at the side of the house in which they were kept during the day, was graciously assisted by Noah: who having consoled him with the assurance that 'he'd catch it,' condescended to help him. Mr. Sowerberry came down soon after. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Sowerberry appeared. Oliver having 'caught it,' in fulfilment of Noah's prediction, followed that young gentleman down the stairs to breakfast.
'Come near the fire, Noah,' said Charlotte. 'I saved a nice little bit of bacon for you from master's breakfast. Oliver, shut that door at Mister Noah's back, and take them bits that I've put out on the cover of the bread-pan. There's your tea; take it away to that box, and drink it there, and make haste, for they'll want you to mind the shop. D'ye hear?'
'D'ye hear, Work'us?' said Noah Claypole.
'Lor, Noah!' said Charlotte, 'what a rum creature you are! Why don't you let the boy alone?'
'Let him alone!' said Noah. 'Why everybody lets him alone enough, for the matter of that. Neither his father nor his mother will ever interfere with him. All his relations let him have his own way pretty well. Eh, Charlotte? He! he! he!'
'Oh, you queer soul!' said Charlotte, bursting into a hearty laugh, in which she was joined by Noah; after which they both looked scornfully at poor Oliver Twist, as he sat shivering on the box in the coldest corner of the room, and ate the stale pieces which had been specially reserved for him.
Noah was a charity-boy, but not a workhouse orphan. No chance-child was he, for he could trace his genealogy all the way back to his parents, who lived hard by; his mother being a washerwoman, and his father a drunken soldier, discharged with a wooden leg, and a diurnal pension of twopence-halfpenny and an unstateable fraction. The shop-boys in the neighbourhood had long been in the habit of branding Noah in the public streets, with the ignominious epithets of 'leathers,' 'charity,' and the like; and Noah had bourne them without reply. But, now that fortune had cast in his way a nameless orphan, at whom even the meanest could point the finger of scorn, he retorted on him with interest. This affords charming food for contemplation. It shows us what a beautiful thing human nature may be made to be; and how impartially the same amiable qualities are developed in the finest lord and the dirtiest charity-boy.
Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker's some three weeks or a month. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry--the shop being shut up--were taking their supper in the little back-parlour, when Mr. Sowerberry, after several deferential glances at his wife, said,
'My dear--' He was going to say more; but, Mrs. Sowerberry looking up, with a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he stopped short.
'Well,' said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply.
'Nothing, my dear, nothing,' said Mr. Sowerberry.
'Ugh, you brute!' said Mrs. Sowerberry.
'Not at all, my dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry humbly. 'I thought you didn't want to hear, my dear. I was only going to say--'
'Oh, don't tell me what you were going to say,' interposed Mrs. Sowerberry. 'I am nobody; don't consult me, pray. _I_ don't want to intrude upon your secrets.' As Mrs. Sowerberry said this, she gave an hysterical laugh, which threatened violent consequences.
'But, my dear,' said Sowerberry, 'I want to ask your advice.'
'No, no, don't ask mine,' replied Mrs. Sowerberry, in an affecting manner: 'ask somebody else's.' Here, there was another hysterical laugh, which frightened Mr. Sowerberry very much. This is a very common and much-approved matrimonial course of treatment, which is often very effective. It at once reduced Mr. Sowerberry to begging, as a special favour, to be allowed to say what Mrs. Sowerberry was most curious to hear. After a short duration, the permission was most graciously conceded.
'It's only about young Twist, my dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry. 'A very good-looking boy, that, my dear.'
'He need be, for he eats enough,' observed the lady.
'There's an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear,' resumed Mr. Sowerberry, 'which is very interesting. He would make a delightful mute, my love.'
Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of considerable wonderment. Mr. Sowerberry remarked it and, without allowing time for any observation on the good lady's part, proceeded.
'I don't mean a regular mute to attend grown-up people, my dear, but only for children's practice. It would be very new to have a mute in proportion, my dear. You may depend upon it, it would have a superb effect.'
Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal of taste in the undertaking way, was much struck by the novelty of this idea; but, as it would have been compromising her dignity to have said so, under existing circumstances, she merely inquired, with much sharpness, why such an obvious suggestion had not presented itself to her husband's mind before? Mr. Sowerberry rightly construed this, as an acquiescence in his proposition; it was speedily determined, therefore, that Oliver should be at once initiated into the mysteries of the trade; and, with this view, that he should accompany his master on the very next occasion of his services being required.
The occasion was not long in coming. Half an hour after breakfast next morning, Mr. Bumble entered the shop; and supporting his cane against the counter, drew forth his large leathern pocket-book: from which he selected a small scrap of paper, which he handed over to Sowerberry.
'Aha!' said the undertaker, glancing over it with a lively countenance; 'an order for a coffin, eh?'
'For a coffin first, and a porochial funeral afterwards,' replied Mr. Bumble, fastening the strap of the leathern pocket-book: which, like himself, was very corpulent.
'Bayton,' said the undertaker, looking from the scrap of paper to Mr. Bumble. 'I never heard the name before.'
Bumble shook his head, as he replied, 'Obstinate people, Mr. Sowerberry; very obstinate. Proud, too, I'm afraid, sir.'
'Proud, eh?' exclaimed Mr. Sowerberry with a sneer. 'Come, that's too much.'
'Oh, it's sickening,' replied the beadle. 'Antimonial, Mr. Sowerberry!'
'So it is,' asquiesced the undertaker.
'We only heard of the family the night before last,' said the beadle; 'and we shouldn't have known anything about them, then, only a woman who lodges in the same house made an application to the porochial committee for them to send the porochial surgeon to see a woman as was very bad. He had gone out to dinner; but his 'prentice (which is a very clever lad) sent 'em some medicine in a blacking-bottle, offhand.'
'Ah, there's promptness,' said the undertaker.
'Promptness, indeed!' replied the beadle. 'But what's the consequence; what's the ungrateful behaviour of these rebels, sir? Why, the husband sends back word that the medicine won't suit his wife's complaint, and so she shan't take it--says she shan't take it, sir! Good, strong, wholesome medicine, as was given with great success to two Irish labourers and a coal-heaver, only a week before--sent 'em for nothing, with a blackin'-bottle in,--and he sends back word that she shan't take it, sir!'
As the atrocity presented itself to Mr. Bumble's mind in full force, he struck the counter sharply with his cane, and became flushed with indignation.
'Well,' said the undertaker, 'I ne--ver--did--'
'Never did, sir!' ejaculated the beadle. 'No, nor nobody never did; but now she's dead, we've got to bury her; and that's the direction; and the sooner it's done, the better.'
Thus saying, Mr. Bumble put on his cocked hat wrong side first, in a fever of parochial excitement; and flounced out of the shop.
'Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that he forgot even to ask after you!' said Mr. Sowerberry, looking after the beadle as he strode down the street.
'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, who had carefully kept himself out of sight, during the interview; and who was shaking from head to foot at the mere recollection of the sound of Mr. Bumble's voice.
He needn't haven taken the trouble to shrink from Mr. Bumble's glance, however; for that functionary, on whom the prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat had made a very strong impression, thought that now the undertaker had got Oliver upon trial the subject was better avoided, until such time as he should be firmly bound for seven years, and all danger of his being returned upon the hands of the parish should be thus effectually and legally overcome.
'Well,' said Mr. Sowerberry, taking up his hat, 'the sooner this job is done, the better. Noah, look after the shop. Oliver, put on your cap, and come with me.' Oliver obeyed, and followed his master on his professional mission.
They walked on, for some time, through the most crowded and densely inhabited part of the town; and then, striking down a narrow street more dirty and miserable than any they had yet passed through, paused to look for the house which was the object of their search. The houses on either side were high and large, but very old, and tenanted by people of the poorest class: as their neglected appearance would have sufficiently denoted, without the concurrent testimony afforded by the squalid looks of the few men and women who, with folded arms and bodies half doubled, occasionally skulked along. A great many of the tenements had shop-fronts; but these were fast closed, and mouldering away; only the upper rooms being inhabited. Some houses which had become insecure from age and decay, were prevented from falling into the street, by huge beams of wood reared against the walls, and firmly planted in the road; but even these crazy dens seemed to have been selected as the nightly haunts of some houseless wretches, for many of the rough boards which supplied the place of door and window, were wrenched from their positions, to afford an aperture wide enough for the passage of a human body. The kennel was stagnant and filthy. The very rats, which here and there lay putrefying in its rottenness, were hideous with famine.
There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver and his master stopped; so, groping his way cautiously through the dark passage, and bidding Oliver keep close to him and not be afraid the undertaker mounted to the top of the first flight of stairs. Stumbling against a door on the landing, he rapped at it with his knuckles.
It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker at once saw enough of what the room contained, to know it was the apartment to which he had been directed. He stepped in; Oliver followed him.
There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching, mechanically, over the empty stove. An old woman, too, had drawn a low stool to the cold hearth, and was sitting beside him. There were some ragged children in another corner; and in a small recess, opposite the door, there lay upon the ground, something covered with an old blanket. Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes toward the place, and crept involuntarily closer to his master; for though it was covered up, the boy felt that it was a corpse.
The man's face was thin and very pale; his hair and beard were grizzly; his eyes were bloodshot. The old woman's face was wrinkled; her two remaining teeth protruded over her under lip; and her eyes were bright and piercing. Oliver was afraid to look at either her or the man. They seemed so like the rats he had seen outside.
'Nobody shall go near her,' said the man, starting fiercely up, as the undertaker approached the recess. 'Keep back! Damn you, keep back, if you've a life to lose!'
'Nonsense, my good man,' said the undertaker, who was pretty well used to misery in all its shapes. 'Nonsense!'
'I tell you,' said the man: clenching his hands, and stamping furiously on the floor,--'I tell you I won't have her put into the ground. She couldn't rest there. The worms would worry her--not eat her--she is so worn away.'
The undertaker offered no reply to this raving; but producing a tape from his pocket, knelt down for a moment by the side of the body.
'Ah!' said the man: bursting into tears, and sinking on his knees at the feet of the dead woman; 'kneel down, kneel down --kneel round her, every one of you, and mark my words! I say she was starved to death. I never knew how bad she was, till the fever came upon her; and then her bones were starting through the skin. There was neither fire nor candle; she died in the dark--in the dark! She couldn't even see her children's faces, though we heard her gasping out their names. I begged for her in the streets: and they sent me to prison. When I came back, she was dying; and all the blood in my heart has dried up, for they starved her to death. I swear it before the God that saw it! They starved her!' He twined his hands in his hair; and, with a loud scream, rolled grovelling upon the floor: his eyes fixed, and the foam covering his lips.
The terrified children cried bitterly; but the old woman, who had hitherto remained as quiet as if she had been wholly deaf to all that passed, menaced them into silence. Having unloosened the cravat of the man who still remained extended on the ground, she tottered towards the undertaker.
'She was my daughter,' said the old woman, nodding her head in the direction of the corpse; and speaking with an idiotic leer, more ghastly than even the presence of death in such a place. 'Lord, Lord! Well, it _is_ strange that I who gave birth to her, and was a woman then, should be alive and merry now, and she lying there: so cold and stiff! Lord, Lord!--to think of it; it's as good as a play--as good as a play!'
As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled in her hideous merriment, the undertaker turned to go away.
'Stop, stop!' said the old woman in a loud whisper. 'Will she be buried to-morrow, or next day, or to-night? I laid her out; and I must walk, you know. Send me a large cloak: a good warm one: for it is bitter cold. We should have cake and wine, too, before we go! Never mind; send some bread--only a loaf of bread and a cup of water. Shall we have some bread, dear?' she said eagerly: catching at the undertaker's coat, as he once more moved towards the door.
'Yes, yes,' said the undertaker,'of course. Anything you like!' He disengaged himself from the old woman's grasp; and, drawing Oliver after him, hurried away.
The next day, (the family having been meanwhile relieved with a half-quartern loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble himself,) Oliver and his master returned to the miserable abode; where Mr. Bumble had already arrived, accompanied by four men from the workhouse, who were to act as bearers. An old black cloak had been thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man; and the bare coffin having been screwed down, was hoisted on the shoulders of the bearers, and carried into the street.
'Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady!' whispered Sowerberry in the old woman's ear; 'we are rather late; and it won't do, to keep the clergyman waiting. Move on, my men,--as quick as you like!'
Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their light burden; and the two mourners kept as near them, as they could. Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry walked at a good smart pace in front; and Oliver, whose legs were not so long as his master's, ran by the side.
There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had anticipated, however; for when they reached the obscure corner of the churchyard in which the nettles grew, and where the parish graves were made, the clergyman had not arrived; and the clerk, who was sitting by the vestry-room fire, seemed to think it by no means improbable that it might be an hour or so, before he came. So, they put the bier on the brink of the grave; and the two mourners waited patiently in the damp clay, with a cold rain drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the spectacle had attracted into the churchyard played a noisy game at hide-and-seek among the tombstones, or varied their amusements by jumping backwards and forwards over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry and Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire with him, and read the paper.
At length, after a lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble, and Sowerberry, and the clerk, were seen running towards the grave. Immediately afterwards, the clergyman appeared: putting on his surplice as he came along. Mr. Bumble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up appearances; and the reverend gentleman, having read as much of the burial service as could be compressed into four minutes, gave his surplice to the clerk, and walked away again.
'Now, Bill!' said Sowerberry to the grave-digger. 'Fill up!'
It was no very difficult task, for the grave was so full, that the uppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The grave-digger shovelled in the earth; stamped it loosely down with his feet: shouldered his spade; and walked off, followed by the boys, who murmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so soon.
'Come, my good fellow!' said Bumble, tapping the man on the back. 'They want to shut up the yard.'
The man who had never once moved, since he had taken his station by the grave side, started, raised his head, stared at the person who had addressed him, walked forward for a few paces; and fell down in a swoon. The crazy old woman was too much occupied in bewailing the loss of her cloak (which the undertaker had taken off), to pay him any attention; so they threw a can of cold water over him; and when he came to, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked the gate, and departed on their different ways.
'Well, Oliver,' said Sowerberry, as they walked home, 'how do you like it?'
'Pretty well, thank you, sir' replied Oliver, with considerable hesitation. 'Not very much, sir.'
'Ah, you'll get used to it in time, Oliver,' said Sowerberry. 'Nothing when you _are_ used to it, my boy.'
Oliver wondered, in his own mind, whether it had taken a very long time to get Mr. Sowerberry used to it. But he thought it better not to ask the question; and walked back to the shop: thinking over all he had seen and heard. so long it is!
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