Chapter VII

by Charles Dickens

　　Oliver Continues RefractoryNoah Claypole ran along the streets at his swiftest pace, andpaused not once for breath, until he reached the workhouse-gate.Having rested here, for a minute or so, to collect a good burstof sobs and an imposing show of tears and terror, he knockedloudly at the wicket; and presented such a rueful face to theaged pauper who opened it, that even he, who saw nothing butrueful faces about him at the best of times, started back inastonishment.'Why, what's the matter with the boy!' said the old pauper.'Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!' cried Noah, wit well-affected dismay:and in tones so loud and agitated, that they not only caught theear of Mr. Bumble himself, who happened to be hard by, butalarmed him so much that he rushed into the yard without hiscocked hat, --which is a very curious and remarkablecircumstance: as showing that even a beadle, acted upon a suddenand powerful impulse, may be afflicted with a momentaryvisitation of loss of self-possession, and forgetfulness ofpersonal dignity.'Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!' said Noah: 'Oliver, sir, --Oliver has--''What? What?' interposed Mr. Bumble: with a gleam of pleasurein his metallic eyes. 'Not run away; he hasn't run away, has he,Noah?''No, sir, no. Not run away, sir, but he's turned wicious,'replied Noah. 'He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried tomurder Charlotte; and then missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is!Such agony, please, sir!' And here, Noah writhed and twisted hisbody into an extensive variety of eel-like positions; therebygiving Mr. Bumble to understand that, from the violent andsanguinary onset of Oliver Twist, he had sustained severeinternal injury and damage, from which he was at that momentsuffering the acutest torture.When Noah saw that the intelligence he communicated perfectlyparalysed Mr. Bumble, he imparted additional effect thereunto, bybewailing his dreadful wounds ten times louder than before; andwhen he observed a gentleman in a white waistcoat crossing theyard, he was more tragic in his lamentations than ever: rightlyconceiving it highly expedient to attract the notice, and rousethe indignation, of the gentleman aforesaid.The gentleman's notice was very soon attracted; for he had notwalked three paces, when he turned angrily round, and inquiredwhat that young cur was howling for, and why Mr. Bumble did notfavour him with something which would render the series ofvocular exclamations so designated, an involuntary process?'It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir,' replied Mr. Bumble,'who has been nearly murdered--all but murdered, sir, --by youngTwist.''By Jove!' exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat,stopping short. 'I knew it! I felt a strange presentiment fromthe very first, that that audacious young savage would come to behung!''He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant,'said Mr. Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness.'And his missis,' interposed Mr. Claypole.'And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?' added Mr. Bumble.'No! he's out, or he would have murdered him,' replied Noah. 'Hesaid he wanted to.''Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?' inquired the gentlemanin the white waistcoat.'Yes, sir,' replied Noah. 'And please, sir, missis wants to knowwhether Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, andflog him-- 'cause master's out.''Certainly, my boy; certainly,' said the gentleman in the whitewaistcoat: smiling benignly, and patting Noah's head, which wasabout three inches higher than his own. 'You're a good boy--avery good boy. Here's a penny for you. Bumble, just step up toSowerberry's with your cane, and seed what's best to be done.Don't spare him, Bumble.''No, I will not, sir,' replied the beadle. And the cocked hatand cane having been, by this time, adjusted to their owner'ssatisfaction, Mr. Bumble and Noah Claypole betook themselves withall speed to the undertaker's shop.Here the position of affairs had not at all improved. Sowerberryhad not yet returned, and Oliver continued to kick, withundiminished vigour, at the cellar-door. The accounts of hisferocity as related by Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of sostartling a nature, that Mr. Bumble judged it prudent to parley,before opening the door. With this view he gave a kick at theoutside, by way of prelude; and, then, applying his mouth to thekeyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone:'Oliver!''Come; you let me out!' replied Oliver, from the inside.'Do you know this here voice, Oliver?' said Mr. Bumble.'Yes,' replied Oliver.'Ain't you afraid of it, sir? Ain't you a-trembling while Ispeak, sir?' said Mr. Bumble.'No!' replied Oliver, boldly.An answer so different from the one he had expected to elicit,and was in the habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not alittle. He stepped back from the keyhole; drew himself up to hisfull height; and looked from one to another of the threebystanders, in mute astonishment.'Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad,' said Mrs. Sowerberry.'No boy in half his senses could venture to speak so to you.''It's not Madness, ma'am,' replied Mr. Bumble, after a fewmoments of deep meditation. 'It's Meat.''What?' exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry.'Meat, ma'am, meat,' replied Bumble, with stern emphasis.'You've over-fed him, ma'am. You've raised a artificial soul andspirit in him, ma'am unbecoming a person of his condition: as theboard, Mrs. Sowerberry, who are practical philosophers, will tellyou. What have paupers to do with soul or spirit? It's quiteenough that we let 'em have live bodies. If you had kept the boyon gruel, ma'am, this would never have happened.''Dear, dear!' ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously raising hereyes to the kitchen ceiling: 'this comes of being liberal!'The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver, had consisted of aprofuse bestowal upon him of all the dirty odds and ends whichnobody else would eat; so there was a great deal of meekness andself-devotion in her voluntarily remaining under Mr. Bumble'sheavy accusation. Of which, to do her justice, she was whollyinnocent, in thought, word, or deed.'Ah!' said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought her eyes down toearth again; 'the only thing that can be done now, that I knowof, is to leave him in the cellar for a day or so, till he's alittle starved down; and then to take him out, and keep him ongruel all through the apprenticeship. He comes of a bad family.Excitable natures, Mrs. Sowerberry! Both the nurse and doctorsaid, that that mother of his made her way here, againstdifficulties and pain that would have killed any well-disposedwoman, weeks before.'At this point of Mr. Bumble's discourse, Oliver, just hearingenough to know that some allusion was being made to his mother,recommenced kicking, with a violence that rendered every othersound inaudible. Sowerberry returned at this juncture. Oliver'soffence having been explained to him, with such exaggerations asthe ladies thought best calculated to rouse his ire, he unlockedthe cellar-door in a twinkling, and dragged his rebelliousapprentice out, by the collar.Oliver's clothes had been torn in the beating he had received;his face was bruised and scratched; and his hair scattered overhis forehead. The angry flush had not disappeared, however; andwhen he was pulled out of his prison, he scowled boldly on Noah,and looked quite undismayed.'Now, you are a nice young fellow, ain't you?' said Sowerberry;giving Oliver a shake, and a box on the ear.'He called my mother names,' replied Oliver.'Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful wretch?' saidMrs. Sowerberry. 'She deserved what he said, and worse.''She didn't' said Oliver.'She did,' said Mrs. Sowerberry.'It's a lie!' said Oliver.Mrs. Sowerberry burst into a flood of tears.This flood of tears left Mr. Sowerberry no alternative. If hehad hesitated for one instant to punish Oliver most severely, itmust be quite clear to every experienced reader that he wouldhave been, according to all precedents in disputes of matrimonyestablished, a brute, an unnatural husband, an insultingcreature, a base imitation of a man, and various other agreeablecharacters too numerous for recital within the limits of thischapter. To do him justice, he was, as far as his power went--itwas not very extensive--kindly disposed towards the boy; perhaps,because it was his interest to be so; perhaps, because his wifedisliked him. The flood of tears, however, left him no resource;so he at once gave him a drubbing, which satisfied even Mrs.Sowerberry herself, and rendered Mr. Bumble's subsequentapplication of the parochial cane, rather unnecessary. For therest of the day, he was shut up in the back kitchen, in companywith a pump and a slice of bread; and at night, Mrs. Sowerberry,after making various remarks outside the door, by no meanscomplimentary to the memory of his mother, looked into the room,and, amidst the jeers and pointings of Noah and Charlotte,ordered him upstairs to his dismal bed.It was not until he was left alone in the silence and stillnessof the gloomy workshop of the undertaker, that Oliver gave way tothe feelings which the day's treatment may be supposed likely tohave awakened in a mere child. He had listened to their tauntswith a look of contempt; he had borne the lash without a cry:for he felt that pride swelling in his heart which would havekept down a shriek to the last, though they had roasted himalive. But now, when there were none to see or hear him, he fellupon his knees on the floor; and, hiding his face in his hands,wept such tears as, God send for the credit of our nature, few soyoung may ever have cause to pour out before him!For a long time, Oliver remained motionless in this attitude. Thecandle was burning low in the socket when he rose to his feet.Having gazed cautiously round him, and listened intently, hegently undid the fastenings of the door, and looked abroad.It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed, to the boy's eyes,farther from the earth than he had ever seen them before; therewas no wind; and the sombre shadows thrown by the trees upon theground, looked sepulchral and death-like, from being so still.He softly reclosed the door. Having availed himself of theexpiring light of the candle to tie up in a handkerchief the fewarticles of wearing apparel he had, sat himself down upon abench, to wait for morning.With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevicesin the shutters, Oliver arose, and again unbarred the door. Onetimid look around--one moment's pause of hesitation--he hadclosed it behind him, and was in the open street.He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain whither to fly.He remembered to have seen the waggons, as they went out, toilingup the hill. He took the same route; and arriving at a footpathacross the fields: which he knew, after some distance, led outagain into the road; struck into it, and walked quickly on.Along this same footpath, Oliver well-remembered he had trottedbeside Mr. Bumble, when he first carried him to the workhousefrom the farm. His way lay directly in front of the cottage.His heart beat quickly when he bethought himself of this; and hehalf resolved to turn back. He had come a long way though, andshould lose a great deal of time by doing so. Besides, it was soearly that there was very little fear of his being seen; so hewalked on.He reached the house. There was no appearance of its inmatesstirring at that early hour. Oliver stopped, and peeped into thegarden. A child was weeding one of the little beds; as hestopped, he raised his pale face and disclosed the features ofone of his former companions. Oliver felt glad to see him,before he went; for, though younger than himself, he had been hislittle friend and playmate. They had been beaten, and starved,and shut up together, many and many a time.'Hush, Dick!' said Oliver, as the boy ran to the gate, and thrusthis thin arm between the rails to greet him. 'Is any one up?''Nobody but me,' replied the child.'You musn't say you saw me, Dick,' said Oliver. 'I am runningaway. They beat and ill-use me, Dick; and I am going to seek myfortune, some long way off. I don't know where. How pale youare!''I heard the doctor tell them I was dying,' replied the childwith a faint smile. 'I am very glad to see you, dear; but don'tstop, don't stop!''Yes, yes, I will, to say good-b'ye to you,' replied Oliver. 'Ishall see you again, Dick. I know I shall! You will be well andhappy!''I hope so,' replied the child. 'After I am dead, but notbefore. I know the doctor must be right, Oliver, because I dreamso much of Heaven, and Angels, and kind faces that I never seewhen I am awake. Kiss me,' said the child, climbing up the lowgate, and flinging his little arms round Oliver's neck.'Good-b'ye, dear! God bless you!'The blessing was from a young child's lips, but it was the firstthat Oliver had ever heard invoked upon his head; and through thestruggles and sufferings, and troubles and changes, of his afterlife, he never once forgot it.