Oliver Twist
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 the 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
waterworks 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 on 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
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Oliver Twist
apron for the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled
the gruel at meal-times. 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;
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Oliver Twist
while his next neighbours 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 arms, 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
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Oliver Twist
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.
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
Oliver Twist
Chapter 3
Relates How Oliver Twist Was Very Near Getting A
Place, Which Would Not Have Been A Sinecure.
For a week after the commission of the impious and profane
offence of asking for more, Oliver remained a close
prisoner in the dark and solitary room to which he had
been consigned by the wisdom and mercy of the Board. It appears,
at first sight, not unreasonable to suppose, that, if he had
entertained a becoming feeling of respect for the prediction of the
gentle. man in the white waistcoat, he would have established that
sage individual’s prophetic character, once and for ever, by tying
one end of his pocket handkerchief to a hook in the wall, and
attaching himself to the other. To the performance of this feat,
however, there was one obstacle, namely, that pocket
handkerchiefs being decided articles of luxury, had been for all
future times and ages, removed from the noses of paupers by the
express order of the Board, in council assembled: solemnly given
and pronounced under their hands and seals. There was a still
greater obstacle in Oliver’s youth and childishness. He only cried
bitterly all day; and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread
his little hands before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and
crouching in the corner, tried to sleep: ever and anon waking with
a start and tremble, and drawing himself closer and closer to the
wall, as if to feel even its cold, hard surface were a protection in
the gloom and loneliness which surrounded him.
Let it not be supposed by the enemies of “the system,” that,
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Oliver Twist
during the period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was denied
the benefit of exercise, the pleasure of society, or the advantages of
religious consolation. As for exercise, it was nice cold weather, and
he was allowed to perform his ablutions every morning under the
pump, in a stone yard, in the presence of Mr. Bumble, who
prevented his catching cold, and caused a tingling sensation to
pervade his frame, by repeated applications of the cane. As for
society, he was carried every other day into the hall where the
boys dined, and there sociably flogged as a public warning and
example. And so far from being denied the advantages of religious
consolation, he was kicked into the same apartment every evening
at prayer-time, and there permitted to listen to, and console his
mind with, a general supplication of the boys, containing a special
clause, therein inserted by authority of the Board, in which they
entreated to be made good, virtuous, contented, and obedient, and
to be guarded from the sins and vices of Oliver Twist: whom the
supplication distinctly set forth to be under the exclusive
patronage and protection of the powers of wickedness, and an
article direct from the manufactory of the very devil himself.
It chanced one morning, while Oliver’s affairs were in this
auspicious and comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield, chimney-
sweep, was wending his way down the High Street, deeply
cogitating in his mind his ways and means of paying certain
arrears of rent, for which his landlord had become rather pressing.
Mr. Gamfield’s most sanguine estimate of his finances could not
raise them within full five pounds of the desired amount; and, in a
species of arithmetical desperation, he was alternately cudgelling
his brains and his donkey, when, passing the workhouse, his eyes
encountered the bill on the gate.
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Oliver Twist
“Wo-o!” said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey.
The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction: wondering,
probably, whether he was destined to be regaled with a cabbage-
stalk or two when he had disposed of the two sacks of soot with
which the little cart was laden; so, without noticing the word of
command, he jogged onward.
Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey
generally, but more particularly on his eyes; and, running after
him, bestowed a blow on his head, which would inevitably have
beaten in any skull but a donkey’s. Then, catching hold of the
bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle reminder
that he was not his own master; and by these means turned him
round. He then gave him another blow on the head, just to stun
him till he came back again. Having completed these
arrangements, he walked up to the gate, to read the bill The
gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate with
his hands behind him, after having delivered himself of some
profound sentiments in the board-room. Having witnessed the
little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled
joyously when that person came up to read the bill, for he saw at
once that Mr. Gamfield was exactly the sort of master Oliver Twist
wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, too, as he perused the document; for
five pounds was just the sum he had been wishing for; and, as the
boy with which it was encumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what
the dietary of the workhouse was, well knew he would be a nice
small pattern, just the very thing for register stoves. So, he spelt
the bill through again, from beginning to end; and then, touching
his fur cap in token of humility, accosted the gentleman in the
white waistcoat.
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Oliver Twist
“This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to ’prentis,” said Mr.
Gamfield.
“Ay, my man,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a
condescending smile. “What of him?”
“If the parish would like him to learn a right pleasant trade, in a
good ’spectable chimbley-sweepin’ bisness,” said Mr. Gamfield, “I
wants a ’prentis, and I am ready to take him.”
“Walk in,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. Mr.
Gamfield having lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow
on the head, and another wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to
run away in his absence, followed the gentleman with the white
waistcoat into the room where Oliver had first seen him.
“It’s a nasty trade,” said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had
again stated his wish.
“Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,”
said another gentleman.
“That’s ’cause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the
chimbley to make ’em come down agin,” said Gamfield; “that’s all
smoke, and no blaze; vereas smoke ain’t o’ no use at all in making
a boy come down, for it only sinds him to sleep, and that’s wot he
likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery lazy, gen’lmen, and there’s
nothink like a good hot blaze to make ’em come down vith a run.
It’s humane too, gen’lmen, acause, even if they’ve stuck in the
chimbley, roasting their feet makes ’em struggle to hextricate
theirselves.”
The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much
amused by this explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by
a look from Mr. Limbkins. The Board then proceeded to converse
among themselves for a few minutes, but in so low a tone, that the
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words “saving of expenditure,” “looked well in the accounts,”
“have a printed report published,” were alone audible. These only
chanced to be heard, indeed, on account of their being very
frequently repeated with great emphasis. At length the whispering
ceased; and the members of the Board having resumed their seats
and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said: “We have considered your
proposition, and we don’t approve of it.”
“Not at all,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
“Decidedly not,” added the other members.
As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight
imputation of having bruised three or four boys to death already, it
occurred to him that the Board had, perhaps, in some
unaccountable freak, taken it into their heads that this extraneous
circumstance ought to influence their proceedings. It was very
unlike their general mode of doing business, if they had; but still,
as he had no particular wish to revive the rumour, he twisted his
cap in his hands, and walked slowly from the table.
“So you won’t let me have him, gen’lmen?” said Mr. Gamfield,
pausing near the door.
“No,” replied Mr. Limbkins; “at least, as it’s a nasty business,
we think you ought to take something less than the premium we
offered.”
Mr. Gamfield’s countenance brightened, as, with a quick step,
he returned to the table, and said:
“What’ll you give, gen’lmen? Come! Don’t be too hard on a poor
man. What’ll you give?”
“I should say, three pounds ten was plenty,” said Mr. Limbkins.
“Ten shillings too much,” said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat.
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Oliver Twist
“Come!” said Gamfield; “say four pound, gen’lmen. Say four
pound, and you’ve got rid on him for good and all. There!
“Three pound ten,” repeated Mr. Limbkins firmly.
“Come! I’ll split the difference, gen’lmen,” urged Gamfield.
Three pound fifteen.”
“Not a farthing more,” said the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins.
“You’re desperate hard upon me, gen’lmen,” said Gamfield,
wavering.
“Pooh! pooh! nonsense!” said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat. “He’d be cheap with nothing at all, as a premium. Take
him, you silly fellow! He’s just the boy for you. He wants the stick,
now and then: it’ll do him good; and his board needn’t come very
expensive, for he hasn’t been overfed since he was born. Ha! ha!
ha!”
Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table,
and, observing a smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile
himself. The bargain was made. Mr. Bumble was at once
instructed that Oliver Twist and his indentures were to be
conveyed before the magistrate for signature and approval, that
very afternoon. In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to
his excessive astonishment, was released from bondage, and
ordered to put himself into a clean shirt. He had hardly achieved
this very unusual gymnastic performance, when Mr. Bumble
brought him, with his own hands, a basin of gruel, and the holiday
allowance of two ounces and a quarter of bread. At this
tremendous sight, Oliver began to cry very piteously: thinking, not
unnaturally, that the Board must have determined to kill him for
some useful purpose, or they never would have begun to fatten
him up in that way.
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Oliver Twist
“Don’t make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food and be
thankful,” said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity.
“You’re a-going to be made a ’prentice of, Oliver.”
“A ’prentice, sir!” said the child, trembling.
“Yes, Oliver,” said Mr. Bumble. “The kind and blessed
gentlemen which is so many parents to you, Oliver, when you have
none of your own, are a-going to ’prentice you, and to set you up in
life, and make a man of you; although the expense to the parish is
three pound ten!—three pound ten, Oliver!—seventy shillins one
hundred and forty sixpences!—and all for a naughty orphan which
nobody can’t love.”
As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after delivering this
address in an awful voice, the tears rolled down the poor child’s
face, and he sobbed bitterly.
“Come,” said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously, for It was
gratifying to his feelings to observe the effect his eloquence had
produced; “come, Oliver! Wipe your eyes with the cuffs of your
