Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 565from me because of this, have shrunk from you, and proved you sofar right. Such power and patronage, such relatives of influenceand rank, as smiled upon me then, look coldly now; but there aresmiling fields and waving trees in England’s richest county; and byone village church—mine, Rose, my own!—there stands a rusticdwelling which you can make me prouder of, than all the hopes Ihave renounced, measured a thousandfold. This is my rank andstation now, and here I lay it down!”*****“It’s a trying time waiting supper for lovers,” said Mr. Grimwig,waking up, and pulling his pocket-handkerchief from over hishead.Truth to tell, the supper had been waiting a most unreasonabletime. Neither Mrs. Maylie, nor Harry, nor Rose (who all came intogether), could offer a word in extenuation.“I had serious thoughts of eating my head tonight,” said Mr.Grimwig, “for I began to think I should get nothing else. I’ll takethe liberty, if you’ll allow me, of saluting the bride that is to be.”Mr. Grimwig lost no time in carrying this notice into effect uponthe blushing girl; and the example, being contagious, was followedboth by the doctor and Mr. Brownlow. Some people affirm thatHarry Maylie had been observed to set it, originally, in a darkroom adjoining; but the best authorities consider this downrightscandal, he being young and a clergyman.“Oliver, my child,” said Mrs. Maylie, “where have you been, andwhy do you look so sad? There are tears stealing down your face atthis moment. What is the matter?”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 566It is a world of disappointment—often to the hopes we mostcherish, and hopes that do our nature the greatest honour.Poor Dick was dead!Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 567Chapter 52Fagin’s Last Night AliveThe court was paved, from floor to roof, with human faces.Inquisitive and eager eyes peered from every inch ofspace. From the rail before the dock, away into thesharpest angle of the smallest corner in the galleries, all lookswere fixed upon one man—Fagin. Before him and behind—above,below, on the right and on the left—he seemed to standsurrounded by a firmament, all bright with gleaming eyes.He stood there, in all this glare of living light, with one handresting on the wooden slab before him, the other held to his ear,and his head thrust forward to enable him to catch with greaterdistinctness every word that fell from the presiding judge, whowas delivering his charge to the jury. At times, he turned his eyessharply upon them to observe the effect of the slightestfeatherweight in his favour; and when the points against him werestated with terrible distinctness, looked towards his counsel, inmute appeal that he would, even then, urge something in hisbehalf. Beyond these manifestations of anxiety, he stirred nothand or foot. He had scarcely moved since the trial began; andnow that the judge ceased to speak, he still remained in the samestrained attitude of close attention, with his gaze bent on him, asthough he listened still.A slight bustle in the court, recalled him to himself. Lookinground, he saw that the jurymen had turned together to consider oftheir verdict. As his eyes wandered to the gallery, he could see theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 568people rising above each other to see his face—some hastilyapplying their glasses to their eyes—and others whispering totheir neighbours with looks expressive of abhorrence. A few therewere, who seemed unmindful of him, and looked only to the jury,in impatient wonder how they could delay. But in no one face—not even among the women, of whom there were many there—could he read the faintest sympathy with himself, or any feeling byone of all-absorbing interest that he should be condemned.As he saw all this in one bewildered glance, the death-likestillness came again, and looking back, he saw that the jurymenhad turned towards the judge. Hush!They only sought permission to retire.He looked wistfully into their faces, one by one, when theypassed out, as though to see which way the greater numberleaned; but that was fruitless. The Jailer touched him on theshoulder. He followed mechanically to the end of the dock, and satdown on a chair. The man pointed it out, or he would not haveseen it.He looked up into the gallery again. Some of the people wereeating, and some fanning themselves with handkerchiefs; for thecrowded place was very hot. There was one young man sketchinghis face in a little note-book. He wondered whether it was like, andlooked on when the artist broke his pencil-point, and madeanother with his knife, as any idle spectator might have done.In the same way, when he turned his eyes towards the judge,his mind began to busy itself with the fashion of his dress, andwhat it cost, and how he put it on. There was an old fat gentlemanon the bench, too, who had gone out, some half an hour before,and now come back. He wondered within himself whether thisCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 569man had been to get his dinner, what he had had, and where hehad had it; and pursued this train of careless thought until somenew object caught his eye and roused another.Not that, all this time, his mind was, for an instant, free fromone oppressive overwhelming sense of the grave that opened at hisfeet; it was ever present to him, but in a vague and general way,and he could not fix his thoughts upon it. Thus, even while hetrembled, and turned burning hot at the idea of speedy death, hefell to counting the iron spikes before him, and wondering how thehead of one had been broken off and whether they would mend it,or leave it as it was. Then he thought of all the horrors of thegallows and the scaffold—and stopped to watch a man sprinklingthe floor to cool it—and then went on to think again.At length there was a cry of silence, and a breathless look fromall towards the door. The jury returned, and passed him close.He could glean nothing from their faces; they might as wellhave been of stone. Perfect stillness ensued—not a rustle—not abreath—Guilty.The building rang with a tremendous shout, and another, andanother, and then it echoed loud groans, that gathered strength asthey swelled out, like angry thunder. It was a peal of joy from thepopulace outside, greeting the news that he would die on Monday.The noise subsided, and he was asked if he had anything to saywhy sentence of death should not be passed upon him. He hadresumed his listening attitude, and looked intently at hisquestioner while the demand was made; but it was twice repeatedbefore he seemed to hear it, and then he only muttered that hewas an old man—an old man—an old man—and so, dropping intoa whisper, was silent again.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 570The judge assumed the black cap, and the prisoner still stoodwith the same air and gesture. A woman in the gallery utteredsome exclamation, called forth by this dread solemnity; he lookedhastily up as if angry at the interruption, and bent forward yetmore attentively. The address was solemn and impressive; thesentence fearful to hear. But he stood, like a marble figure,without the motion of a nerve. His haggard face was still thrustforward, his underjaw hanging down, and his eyes staring outbefore him, when the jailer put his hand upon his arm, andbeckoned him away. He gazed stupidly about him for an instant,and obeyed.They led him through a paved room under the court, wheresome prisoners were waiting till their turns came, and others weretalking to their friends, who crowded round a grate which lookedinto the open yard. There was nobody there to speak to him; but,as he passed, the prisoners fell back to render him more visible tothe people who were clinging to the bars; and they assailed himwith opprobrious names, and screeched and hissed. He shook hisfist, and would have spat upon them; but his conductors hurriedhim on, through a gloomy passage lighted by a few dim lamps, intothe interior of the prison.Here he was searched, that he might not have about him themeans of anticipating the law; this ceremony performed, they ledhim to one of the condemned cells, and left him there—alone.He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which servedfor seat and bedstead; and casting his bloodshot eyes upon theground, tried to collect his thoughts. After a while, he began toremember a few disjointed fragments of what the judge had said;though it had seemed to him, at the time, that he could not hear aCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 571word. These gradually fell into their proper places, and by degreessuggested more; so that in a little time he had the whole, almost asit was delivered. To be hanged by the neck, till he was dead—thatwas the end. To be hanged by the neck—till he was dead.As it came on very dark, he began to think of all the men he hadknown who had died upon the scaffold; some of them through hismeans. They rose up, in such quick succession, that he couldhardly count them. He had seen some of them die—and had jokedtoo, because they died with prayers upon their lips. With what arattling noise, the drop went down; and how suddenly theychanged, from strong vigorous men to dangling heaps of clothes!Some of them might have inhabited that very cell—sat uponthat very spot. It was very dark; why didn’t they bring a light? Thecell had been built for many years. Scores of men must havepassed their last hours there. It was like sitting in a vault strewnwith dead bodies—the cap, the noose, the pinioned arms, the facesthat he knew, even beneath that hideous veil.—Light, light!At length, when his hands were raw with beating against theheavy door and walls, two men appeared, one bearing a candle,which he thrust into an iron candlestick fixed against the wall, theother dragging in a mattress on which to pass the night; for theprisoner was to be left alone no more.Then came night—dark, dismal, silent night. Other watchersare glad to hear this church clock strike, for they tell of life andcoming day. To him they brought despair. The boom of every ironbell came laden with the one, deep, hollow sound—Death. Whatavailed the noise and bustle of cheerful morning, whichpenetrated even there, to him? It was another form of knell, withmockery added to the warning.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 572The day passed off—day! There was no day; it was gone as soonas come—and night came on again; night so long, and yet so short;long in its dreadful silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At onetime he raved and blasphemed; and at another howled and torehis hair. Venerable men of his own persuasion had come to praybeside him, but he had driven them away with curses. Theyrenewed their charitable efforts and he beat them o￡ Saturdaynight. He had only one night more to live. And as he thought ofthis, the day broke—Sunday.It was not until the night of this last awful day, that a witheringsense of his helpless, desperate state came in its full intensity uponhis blighted soul; not that he had ever held any defined or positivehope of mercy, but that he had never been able to consider morethan the dim probability of dying so soon. He had spoken little toeither of the two men, who relieved each other in their attendanceupon him; and they, for their parts, made no effort to rouse hisattention. He had sat there, awake, but dreaming. Now, he startedup, every minute, and with gasping mouth and burning skin,hurried to and fro, in such a paroxysm of fear and wrath that eventhey—used to such sights—recoiled from him with horror. Hegrew so terrible, at last, in all the tortures of his evil conscience,that one man could not bear to sit there, eyeing him alone; and sothe two kept watch together.He cowered down upon his stone bed, and thought of the past.He had been wounded with some missiles from the crowd on theday of his capture, and his head was bandaged with a linen cloth.His red hair hung down upon his bloodless face; his beard wastorn, and twisted into knots; his eyes shone with a terrible light;his unwashed flesh crackled with the fever that burned him up.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 573Eight—nine—ten. If it was not a trick to frighten him, and thosewere the real hours treading on each other’s heels, where wouldhe be, when they came round again! Eleven. Another struck,before the voice of the previous hour had ceased to vibrate. Ateight, he would be the only mourner in his own funeral train; ateleven—Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hidden so muchmisery and such unspeakable anguish, not only from the eyes, but,too often, and too long, from the thoughts, of men, never held sodread a spectacle as that. The few who lingered as they passed,and wondered what the man was doing who was to be hangedtomorrow, would have slept but ill that night, if they could haveseen him.From early in the evening until nearly midnight, little groups oftwo and three presented themselves at the lodge gate, andinquired, with anxious faces, whether any reprieve had beenreceived. These being answered in the negative, communicatedthe welcome intelligence to clusters in the street who pointed outto one another the door from which he must come out, andshowed where the scaffold would be built, and walking withunwilling steps away, turned back to conjure up the scene. Bydegrees they fell off, one by one; and, for an hour, in the dead ofnight, the street was left to solitude and darkness.The space before the prison was cleared, and a few strongbarriers, painted black, had been already thrown across the roadto break the pressure of the expected crowd, when Mr. Brownlowand Oliver appeared at the wicket, and presented an order ofadmission to the prisoner, signed by one of the sheriffs. They wereimmediately admitted to the lodge.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 574“Is the young gentleman to come too, sir?” said the man whoseduty it was to conduct them. “It’s not a sight for children, sir.”“It is not indeed, my friend,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but mybusiness with this man is intimately connected with him; and asthe child has seen him in the full career of his success and villainy,I think it as well—even at the cost of some pain and fear—that heshould see him now.”These few words had been said apart, so as to be inaudible toOliver. The man touched his hat; and, glancing at Oliver withsome curiosity, opened another gate, opposite to that by whichthey had entered, and led them on, through dark and windingways, towards the cells.“This,” said the man, stopping in a gloomy passage where acouple of workmen were making some preparations in profoundsilence—“this is the place he passes through. If you step this way,you can see the door he goes out at.”He led them into a stone kitchen, fitted with coppers fordressing the prison food, and pointed to a door. There was an opengrating above it, through which came the sound of men’s voices,mingled with the noise of hammering, and the throwing down ofboards. They were putting up the scaffold.From this place, they passed through several strong gates,opened by other turnkeys—from the inner side; and, havingentered an open yard, ascended a flight of narrow steps, and cameinto a passage with a row of strong doors on the left hand.Motioning them to remain where they were, the turnkey knockedat one of these with his bunch of keys. The two attendants, after alittle whispering, came out into the passage, stretching themselvesas if glad of the temporary relief, and motioned the visitors toCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 575follow the jailer into the cell. They did so.The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rockinghimself from side to side, with a countenance more like that of asnared beast than the face of a man. His mind was evidentlywandering to his old life, for he continued to mutter, withoutappearing conscious of their presence otherwise than as a part ofhis vision.“Good boy, Charley—well done,” he mumbled. “Oliver, too, ha!ha! ha! Oliver too—quite the gentleman now—quite the—Take theboy away to bed!”The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver; and, whisperingto him not to be alarmed, looked on without speaking.“Take him away to bed!” cried Fagin. “Do you hear me, some ofyou? He has been the—the—somehow the cause of all this. It’sworth the money to bring him up to it—Bolter’s throat, Bill; nevermind the girl—Bolter’s throat as deep as you can cut. Saw hishead off!”“Fagin,” said the jailer.“That’s me!” cried Fagin, falling instantly into the attitude oflistening he had assumed upon his trial. “An old man, my Lord; avery old, old man!”“Here,” said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast tokeep him down. “Here’s somebody wants to see you, to ask yousome questions, I suppose. Fagin, Fagin! Are you a man?”“I shan’t be one long,” he replied, looking up with a faceretaining no human expression but rage and terror. “Strike themall dead! What right have they to butcher me?”As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow.Shrinking to the farthest corner of the seat, he demanded to know