Chapter XXIII

by Charles Dickens

　　Which Contains the Substance of a Pleasant Conversation Between Mr. Bumble anda Lady; and Shows That Even a Beadle May Be Susceptible on Some PointsThe night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the ground, frozeninto a hard thick crust, so that only the heaps that had driftedinto byways and corners were affected by the sharp wind thathowled abroad: which, as if expending increased fury on suchprey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and, whirlingit into a thousand misty eddies, scattered it in air. Bleak,dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed andfed to draw round the bright fire and thank God they were athome; and for the homeless, starving wretch to lay him down anddie. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our barestreets, at such times, who, let their crimes have been what theymay, can hardly open them in a more bitter world.Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs, when Mr. Corney, thematron of the workhouse to which our readers have been alreadyintroduced as the birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herself downbefore a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced, withno small degree of complacency, at a small round table: on whichstood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with all necessarymaterials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. Infact, Mrs. Corney was about to solace herself with a cup of tea.As she glanced from the table to the fireplace, where thesmallest of all possible kettles was singing a small song in asmall voice, her inward satisfaction evidently increased,--somuch so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney smiled.'Well!' said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, andlooking reflectively at the fire; 'I'm sure we have all on us agreat deal to be grateful for! A great deal, if we did but knowit. Ah!'Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring the mentalblindness of those paupers who did not know it; and thrusting asilver spoon (private property) into the inmost recesses of atwo-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea.How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frailminds! The black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ranover while Mrs. Corney was moralising; and the water slightlyscalded Mrs. Corney's hand.'Drat the pot!' said the worthy matron, setting it down veryhastily on the hob; 'a little stupid thing, that only holds acouple of cups! What use is it of, to anybody! Except,' saidMrs. Corney, pausing, 'except to a poor desolate creature likeme. Oh dear!'With these words, the matron dropped into her chair, and, oncemore resting her elbow on the table, thought of her solitaryfate. The small teapot, and the single cup, had awakened in hermind sad recollections of Mr. Corney (who had not been dead morethan five-and-twenty years); and she was overpowered.'I shall never get another!' said Mrs. Corney, pettishly; 'Ishall never get another--like him.'Whether this remark bore reference to the husband, or the teapot,is uncertain. It might have been the latter; for Mrs. Corneylooked at it as she spoke; and took it up afterwards. She hadjust tasted her first cup, when she was disturbed by a soft tapat the room-door.'Oh, come in with you!' said Mrs. Corney, sharply. 'Some of theold women dying, I suppose. They always die when I'm at meals.Don't stand there, letting the cold air in, don't. What's amissnow, eh?''Nothing, ma'am, nothing,' replied a man's voice.'Dear me!' exclaimed the matron, in a much sweeter tone, 'is thatMr. Bumble?''At your service, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble, who had been stoppingoutside to rub his shoes clean, and to shake the snow off hiscoat; and who now made his appearance, bearing the cocked hat inone hand and a bundle in the other. 'Shall I shut the door,ma'am?'The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be anyimpropriety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble, with closeddoors. Mr. Bumble taking advantage of the hesitation, and beingvery cold himself, shut it without permission.'Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,' said the matron.'Hard, indeed, ma'am,' replied the beadle. 'Anti-porochialweather this, ma'am. We have given away, Mrs. Corney, we havegiven away a matter of twenty quartern loaves and a cheese and ahalf, this very blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are notcontented.''Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble?' said thematron, sipping her tea.'When, indeed, ma'am!' rejoined Mr. Bumble. 'Why here's one manthat, in consideraton of his wife and large family, has aquartern loaf and a good pound of cheese, full weight. Is hegrateful, ma'am? Is he grateful? Not a copper farthing's worthof it! What does he do, ma'am, but ask for a few coals; if it'sonly a pocket handkerchief full, he says! Coals! What would hedo with coals? Toast his cheese with 'em and then come back formore. That's the way with these people, ma'am; give 'em a apronfull of coals to-day, and they'll come back for another, the dayafter to-morrow, as brazen as alabaster.'The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intelligiblesimile; and the beadle went on.'I never,' said Mr. Bumble, 'see anything like the pitch it's gotto. The day afore yesterday, a man--you have been a marriedwoman, ma'am, and I may mention it to you--a man, with hardly arag upon his back (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor), goes toour overseer's door when he has got company coming to dinner; andsays, he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn't go away,and shocked the company very much, our overseer sent him out apound of potatoes and half a pint of oatmeal. "My heart!" saysthe ungrateful villain, "what's the use of this to me? You mightas well give me a pair of iron spectacles!' "Very good," saysour overseer, taking 'em away again, "you won't get anything elsehere." "Then I'll die in the streets!" says the vagrant. "Ohno, you won't," says our overseer.''Ha! ha! That was very good! So like Mr. Grannett, wasn't it?'interposed the matron. 'Well, Mr. Bumble?''Well, ma'am,' rejoined the beadle, 'he went away; and he did diein the streets. There's a obstinate pauper for you!''It beats anything I could have believed,' observed the matronemphatically. 'But don't you think out-of-door relief a very badthing, any way, Mr. Bumble? You're a gentleman of experience,and ought to know. Come.''Mrs. Corney,' said the beadle, smiling as men smile who areconscious of superior information, 'out-of-door relief, properlymanaged, ma'am: is the porochial safeguard. The great principleof out-of-door relief is, to give the paupers exactly what theydon't want; and then they get tired of coming.''Dear me!' exclaimed Mrs. Corney. 'Well, that is a good one,too!''Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma'am,' returned Mr. Bumble, 'that'sthe great principle; and that's the reason why, if you look atany cases that get into them owdacious newspapers, you'll alwaysobserve that sick families have been relieved with slices ofcheese. That's the rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over the country.But, however,' said the beadle, stopping to unpack his bundle,'these are official secrets, ma'am; not to be spoken of; except,as I may say, among the porochial officers, such as ourselves.This is the port wine, ma'am, that the board ordered for theinfirmary; real, fresh, genuine port wine; only out of the caskthis forenoon; clear as a bell, and no sediment!'Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it wellto test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on top of achest of drawers; folded the handkerchief in which they had beenwrapped; put it carefully in his pocket; and took up his hat, asif to go.'You'll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,' said the matron.'It blows, ma'am,' replied Mr. Bumble, turning up hiscoat-collar, 'enough to cut one's ears off.'The matron looked, from the little kettle, to the beadle, who wasmoving towards the door; and as the beadle coughed, preparatoryto bidding her good-night, bashfully inquired whether--whether hewouldn't take a cup of tea?Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again; laid hishat and stick upon a chair; and drew another chair up to thetable. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady. Shefixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again,and slightly smiled.Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet.As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of thegallant beadle; she coloured, and applied herself to the task ofmaking his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed--louder this time thanhe had coughed yet.'Sweet? Mr. Bumble?' inquired the matron, taking up thesugar-basin.'Very sweet, indeed, ma'am,' replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed hiseyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this; and if ever a beadle lookedtender, Mr. Bumble was that beadle at that moment.The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, havingspread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs fromsullying the splendour of his shorts, began to eat and drink;varying these amusements, occasionally, by fetching a deep sigh;which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but,on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations inthe tea and toast department.'You have a cat, ma'am, I see,' said Mr. Bumble, glancing at onewho, in the centre of her family, was basking before the fire;'and kittens too, I declare!''I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble,you can't think,' replied thematron. 'They're so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, thatthey are quite companions for me.''Very nice animals, ma'am,' replied Mr. Bumble, approvingly; 'sovery domestic.''Oh, yes!' rejoined the matron with enthusiasm; 'so fond of theirhome too, that it's quite a pleasure, I'm sure.''Mrs. Corney, ma'am, said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking thetime with his teaspoon, 'I mean to say this, ma'am; that any cat,or kitten, that could live with you, ma'am, and not be fond ofits home, must be a ass, ma'am.''Oh, Mr. Bumble!' remonstrated Mrs. Corney.'It's of no use disguising facts, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble, slowlyflourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity whichmade him doubly impressive; 'I would drown it myself, withpleasure.''Then you're a cruel man,' said the matron vivaciously, as sheheld out her hand for the beadle's cup; 'and a very hard-heartedman besides.''Hard-hearted, ma'am?' said Mr. Bumble. 'Hard?' Mr. Bumbleresigned his cup without another word; squeezed Mrs. Corney'slittle finger as she took it; and inflicting two open-handedslaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and hitchedhis chair a very little morsel farther from the fire.It was a round table; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble had beensitting opposite each other, with no great space between them,and fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, inreceding from the fire, and still keeping at the table, increasedthe distance between himself and Mrs. Corney; which proceeding,some prudent readers will doubtless be disposed to admire, and toconsider an act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble's part: he beingin some sort tempted by time, place, and opportunity, to giveutterance to certain soft nothings, which however well they maybecome the lips of the light and thoughtless, do seemimmeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, membersof parliament, ministers of state, lord mayors, and other greatpublic functionaries, but more particularly beneath thestateliness and gravity of a beadle: who (as is well known)should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all.Whatever were Mr. Bumble's intentions, however (and no doubt theywere of the best): it unfortunately happened, as has been twicebefore remarked, that the table was a round one; consequently Mr.Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon began todiminish the distance between himself and the matron; and,continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, broughthis chair, in time, close to that in which the matron was seated.Indeed, the two chairs touched; and when they did so, Mr. Bumblestopped.Now, if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she wouldhave been scorched by the fire; and if to the left, she must havefallen into Mr. Bumble's arms; so (being a discreet matron, andno doubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance) she remainedwhere she was, and handed Mr. Bumble another cup of tea.'Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?' said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea,and looking up into the matron's face; 'are you hard-hearted,Mrs. Corney?''Dear me!' exclaimed the matron, 'what a very curious questionfrom a single man. What can you want to know for, Mr. Bumble?'The beadle drank his tea to the last drop; finished a piece oftoast; whisked the crumbs off his knees; wiped his lips; anddeliberately kissed the matron.'Mr. Bumble!' cried that discreet lady in a whisper; for thefright was so great, that she had quite lost her voice, 'Mr.Bumble, I shall scream!' Mr. Bumble made no reply; but in a slowand dignified manner, put his arm round the matron's waist.As the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of course shewould have screamed at this additional boldness, but that theexertion was rendered unnecessary by a hasty knocking at thedoor: which was no sooner heard, than Mr. Bumble darted, withmuch agility, to the wine bottles, and began dusting them withgreat violence: while the matron sharply demanded who was there.It is worthy of remark, as a curious physical instance of theefficacy of a sudden surprise in counteracting the effects ofextreme fear, that her voice had quite recovered all its officialasperity.'If you please, mistress,' said a withered old female pauper,hideously ugly: putting her head in at the door, 'Old Sally isa-going fast.''Well, what's that to me?' angrily demanded the matron. 'I can'tkeep her alive, can I?''No, no, mistress,' replied the old woman, 'nobody can; she's farbeyond the reach of help. I've seen a many people die; littlebabes and great strong men; and I know when death's a-coming,well enough. But she's troubled in her mind: and when the fitsare not on her,--and that's not often, for she is dying veryhard,--she says she has got something to tell, which you musthear. She'll never die quiet till you come, mistress.'At this intelligence, the worthy Mrs. Corney muttered a varietyof invectives against old women who couldn't even die withoutpurposely annoying their betters; and, muffling herself in athick shawl which she hastily caught up, briefly requested Mr.Bumble to stay till she came back, lest anything particularshould occur. Bidding the messenger walk fast, and not be allnight hobbling up the stairs, she followed her from the room witha very ill grace, scolding all the way.Mr. Bumble's conduct on being left to himself, was ratherinexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the teaspoons,weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspected a silver milk-pot toascertain that it was of the genuine metal, and, having satisfiedhis curiosity on these points, put on his cocked hat corner-wise,and danced with much gravity four distinct times round the table.Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he tookoff the cocked hat again, and, spreading himself before the firewith his back towards it, seemed to be mentally engaged in takingan exact inventory of the furniture.