关于狄更斯和他的小说艺术，心里早有一些想法，趁写这篇前言之便，说出来， 就正于广大狄更斯爱好者。
《雾都孤儿》是狄更斯第二部长篇小说。这位年仅二十五岁的小说家决心学习 英国现实主义画家威廉·荷加斯（William Hogarth,1697一1764）的榜样，勇敢地 直面人生，真实地表现当时伦敦贫民窟的悲惨生活。他抱着一个崇高的道德意图： 社会的不公，并唤起社会，推行改革，使处于水深火热中的贫民得到救助。 正因为如此，狄更斯历来被我国及前苏联学者界定为“英国文学上批判现实主义的 创始人和最伟大的代表”。对此，我有一些不同的见解：文学艺术是一种特殊的社 会意识形态，它必然是社会存在的反映。但是，我们决不能把反映现实的文学都说 成是现实主义文学，把“现实主义”的外延无限扩展。事实上，作家运用的创作方 法多种多样，因人而异，这和作家的特殊气质和性格特点密切相关。狄更斯的创作， 想像力极为丰富，充满诗的，他着意渲染自己的道德理想，处处突破自然的忠 实临摹，借用一句歌德的话：它比自然高了一层。这和萨克雷、特洛罗普等坚持的 客观。冷静、严格写实的方法有显著的区别。
试以《雾都孤儿》为例，（一）个性化的语言是狄更斯在人物塑造上运用得十 分出色的一种手段。书中的流氓、盗贼、妓女的语言都切合其身份，甚至还用了行 业的黑话。然而，狄更斯决不作自然主义的再现，而是进行加工、提炼和选择，避 免使用污秽、下流的话语。主人公奥立弗语言规范、谈吐文雅，他甚至不知偷窃为 何物。他是在济贫院长大的孤儿，从未受到良好的教育，所接触的都是罪恶累累、 堕落不堪之辈，他怎么会讲这么好的英文呢？这用“人是一切社会关系总和”的历 史唯物主义观点是无法解释的。可见，狄更斯着力表现的是自己的道德理想，而不 是追求完全的逼真。（二）在优秀的现实主义小说中，故事情节往往是在环境作用 下的人物性格发展史，即高尔基所说的“某种性格、典型的成长和构成的历史”。 然而，狄更斯不拘任何格套，想要多少巧合就安排多少巧合。奥立弗第一次跟小偷 上街，被掏兜的第一人恰巧就是他亡父的好友布朗罗。第二次，他在匪徒赛克斯的 劫持下入室行窃，被偷的恰好是他亲姨妈露丝·梅莱家。这在情理上无论如何是说 不过去的。但狄更斯自有天大的本领，在具体的细节描写中充满生活气息和， 使你读时紧张得喘不过气来，对这种本来是牵强的、不自然的情节也不得不信以为 真。这就是狄更斯的艺术世界的魅力。（三）狄更斯写作时，始终有一种“感同身 受的想象力”（Sympathetic imagination），即使对十恶不赦的人物也一样。书中 贼首、老犹太费金受审的一场始终从费金的心理视角出发。他从天花板看到地板， 只见重重叠叠的眼睛都在注视着自己。他听到对他罪行的陈述报告，他把恳求的目 光转向律师，希望能为他辩护几句。人群中有人在吃东西，有人用手绢扇风，还有 一名青年画家在画他的素描，他心想：不知道像不像，真想伸过脖子去看一看…… 一位绅士出去又进来，他想：准是吃饭去了，不知吃的什么饭？看到铁栏杆上有尖 刺，他琢磨着：这很容易折断。从此又想到绞刑架，这时，他听到自己被处绞刑。 他只是喃喃地说，自己岁数大了，大了，接着就什么声音也发不出来了。在这里， 狄更斯精心选择了一系列细节，不但描绘了客观事物，而且切入了人物的内心世界， 表现了他极其丰富的想像力。他运用的艺术方法，不是“批判现实主义”所能概括 的。我倒是赞赏英国作家、狄更斯专家乔治·吉辛（George Giss－ing，1857—19 03）的表述，他把狄更斯的创作方法称为“浪漫的现实主义”（romantic realism）。 我认为这一表述才够准确，才符合狄更斯小说艺术的实际。
最后还要讨论一下E．M．福斯特在他的名著《小说面面观》中对狄更斯人物塑 造的贬低。据他说，狄更斯只会塑造“扁形人物”，而不会塑造“浑圆人物”，在 小说艺术上属于“较低层次”。事实真是这样吗？试以《雾都孤儿》中的南希为例， 作一番研究分析。我认为，南希这个人物有无比丰富、复杂的内心世界，远比E.M. 福斯特所称羡的一切“浑圆人物”更富于立体感和活跃的生命力。南希是个不幸的 姑娘，自幼沦落贼窟，并已成为第二号贼首赛克斯的情妇。除了绞架，她看不到任 何别的前景。但是，她天良未泯，在天真纯洁的奥立弗，看到往日清白的自己，同 情之心油然而生。她连奉贼首之命，冒称是奥立弗的姐姐，硬把他绑架回贼窟时， 内心充满矛盾。归途中，她和赛克斯谈起监狱绞死犯人的事，奥立弗感觉到南希紧 攥着他的那只手在发抖，抬眼一看，她的脸色变得煞白。后来，她冒着生命的危险 偷偷地给梅莱小姐和布朗罗通风报信，终于把奥立弗救了出来。梅莱和布朗罗力劝 南希挣脱过去的生活，走上新生之路，但南希不忍心把情人赛克斯撇下。赛克斯在 得知南希所作所为后，他只能持盗匪的道德标准，把南希视为不可饶恕的叛徒，亲 手把她残酷地杀害。狄更斯在给这两个人物取名时是有很深的用意的，南希（Nanc y）和赛克斯（Sikes）英文缩写是N和S，正是磁针的两极。他俩构成一对矛盾，既 对立又统一，既相反又相成，永远不可分离。南希离不开赛克斯，宁愿被他杀害也 不肯抛弃他；而赛克斯也离不开南希，一旦失去她，他就丧魂失魄，终于在房顶跌 落，脖子被自己的一条绳子的活扣套住而气绝身死。南希的形象复杂、丰富又深刻， 不但不是“扁平”的，而且达到极高的艺术成就。
狄更斯的小说经得起各种现代批评理论的发掘和阐释，不断产生发人深省的新 意，将永久保持读者的鉴赏兴趣和专家们的研究兴趣。
薛鸿时
一九九八年五月于
中国社会科学院外国文学研究所
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.
《雾都孤儿》是狄更斯第二部长篇小说。这位年仅二十五岁的小说家决心学习 英国现实主义画家威廉·荷加斯（William Hogarth,1697一1764）的榜样，勇敢地 直面人生，真实地表现当时伦敦贫民窟的悲惨生活。他抱着一个崇高的道德意图： 社会的不公，并唤起社会，推行改革，使处于水深火热中的贫民得到救助。 正因为如此，狄更斯历来被我国及前苏联学者界定为“英国文学上批判现实主义的 创始人和最伟大的代表”。对此，我有一些不同的见解：文学艺术是一种特殊的社 会意识形态，它必然是社会存在的反映。但是，我们决不能把反映现实的文学都说 成是现实主义文学，把“现实主义”的外延无限扩展。事实上，作家运用的创作方 法多种多样，因人而异，这和作家的特殊气质和性格特点密切相关。狄更斯的创作， 想像力极为丰富，充满诗的，他着意渲染自己的道德理想，处处突破自然的忠 实临摹，借用一句歌德的话：它比自然高了一层。这和萨克雷、特洛罗普等坚持的 客观。冷静、严格写实的方法有显著的区别。
试以《雾都孤儿》为例，（一）个性化的语言是狄更斯在人物塑造上运用得十 分出色的一种手段。书中的流氓、盗贼、妓女的语言都切合其身份，甚至还用了行 业的黑话。然而，狄更斯决不作自然主义的再现，而是进行加工、提炼和选择，避 免使用污秽、下流的话语。主人公奥立弗语言规范、谈吐文雅，他甚至不知偷窃为 何物。他是在济贫院长大的孤儿，从未受到良好的教育，所接触的都是罪恶累累、 堕落不堪之辈，他怎么会讲这么好的英文呢？这用“人是一切社会关系总和”的历 史唯物主义观点是无法解释的。可见，狄更斯着力表现的是自己的道德理想，而不 是追求完全的逼真。（二）在优秀的现实主义小说中，故事情节往往是在环境作用 下的人物性格发展史，即高尔基所说的“某种性格、典型的成长和构成的历史”。 然而，狄更斯不拘任何格套，想要多少巧合就安排多少巧合。奥立弗第一次跟小偷 上街，被掏兜的第一人恰巧就是他亡父的好友布朗罗。第二次，他在匪徒赛克斯的 劫持下入室行窃，被偷的恰好是他亲姨妈露丝·梅莱家。这在情理上无论如何是说 不过去的。但狄更斯自有天大的本领，在具体的细节描写中充满生活气息和， 使你读时紧张得喘不过气来，对这种本来是牵强的、不自然的情节也不得不信以为 真。这就是狄更斯的艺术世界的魅力。（三）狄更斯写作时，始终有一种“感同身 受的想象力”（Sympathetic imagination），即使对十恶不赦的人物也一样。书中 贼首、老犹太费金受审的一场始终从费金的心理视角出发。他从天花板看到地板， 只见重重叠叠的眼睛都在注视着自己。他听到对他罪行的陈述报告，他把恳求的目 光转向律师，希望能为他辩护几句。人群中有人在吃东西，有人用手绢扇风，还有 一名青年画家在画他的素描，他心想：不知道像不像，真想伸过脖子去看一看…… 一位绅士出去又进来，他想：准是吃饭去了，不知吃的什么饭？看到铁栏杆上有尖 刺，他琢磨着：这很容易折断。从此又想到绞刑架，这时，他听到自己被处绞刑。 他只是喃喃地说，自己岁数大了，大了，接着就什么声音也发不出来了。在这里， 狄更斯精心选择了一系列细节，不但描绘了客观事物，而且切入了人物的内心世界， 表现了他极其丰富的想像力。他运用的艺术方法，不是“批判现实主义”所能概括 的。我倒是赞赏英国作家、狄更斯专家乔治·吉辛（George Giss－ing，1857—19 03）的表述，他把狄更斯的创作方法称为“浪漫的现实主义”（romantic realism）。 我认为这一表述才够准确，才符合狄更斯小说艺术的实际。
最后还要讨论一下E．M．福斯特在他的名著《小说面面观》中对狄更斯人物塑 造的贬低。据他说，狄更斯只会塑造“扁形人物”，而不会塑造“浑圆人物”，在 小说艺术上属于“较低层次”。事实真是这样吗？试以《雾都孤儿》中的南希为例， 作一番研究分析。我认为，南希这个人物有无比丰富、复杂的内心世界，远比E.M. 福斯特所称羡的一切“浑圆人物”更富于立体感和活跃的生命力。南希是个不幸的 姑娘，自幼沦落贼窟，并已成为第二号贼首赛克斯的情妇。除了绞架，她看不到任 何别的前景。但是，她天良未泯，在天真纯洁的奥立弗，看到往日清白的自己，同 情之心油然而生。她连奉贼首之命，冒称是奥立弗的姐姐，硬把他绑架回贼窟时， 内心充满矛盾。归途中，她和赛克斯谈起监狱绞死犯人的事，奥立弗感觉到南希紧 攥着他的那只手在发抖，抬眼一看，她的脸色变得煞白。后来，她冒着生命的危险 偷偷地给梅莱小姐和布朗罗通风报信，终于把奥立弗救了出来。梅莱和布朗罗力劝 南希挣脱过去的生活，走上新生之路，但南希不忍心把情人赛克斯撇下。赛克斯在 得知南希所作所为后，他只能持盗匪的道德标准，把南希视为不可饶恕的叛徒，亲 手把她残酷地杀害。狄更斯在给这两个人物取名时是有很深的用意的，南希（Nanc y）和赛克斯（Sikes）英文缩写是N和S，正是磁针的两极。他俩构成一对矛盾，既 对立又统一，既相反又相成，永远不可分离。南希离不开赛克斯，宁愿被他杀害也 不肯抛弃他；而赛克斯也离不开南希，一旦失去她，他就丧魂失魄，终于在房顶跌 落，脖子被自己的一条绳子的活扣套住而气绝身死。南希的形象复杂、丰富又深刻， 不但不是“扁平”的，而且达到极高的艺术成就。
狄更斯的小说经得起各种现代批评理论的发掘和阐释，不断产生发人深省的新 意，将永久保持读者的鉴赏兴趣和专家们的研究兴趣。
薛鸿时
一九九八年五月于
中国社会科学院外国文学研究所
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.
讨论奥立弗·退斯特的出生地点，以及有关他出生 的种种情形。
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，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，听到的声音，他 站起来，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。
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.
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，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，听到的声音，他 站起来，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。
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.