Chapter 3 Chapter two

(Introduce Oliver Twist's growth education and basic necessities of life.) For the next eight, or ten months, Oliver was bottle-fed the victim of an organized practice of treachery and fraud.The workhouse authorities were required to report the poor and destitute orphan to the parish authorities.The parish authorities gravely inquired of the workhouse as to whether there were not at present enough room "in the house" for a woman who could provide Oliver with much-needed care and nourishment.The workhouse authorities humbly replied that there was no room for it.In view of this, the parish authorities generously resolved to send Oliver to "foster care," or, in other words, to a branch house three miles away, where there were twenty or thirty violators of the poor work. The little French criminals roll around on the floor all day without any trouble of overeating or overclothing. An old woman disciplines them like a parent. Six and a halfpenny cents a week for a little head.Sevenpence-and-a-halfpence a week can provide a first-class meal for a child, and sevenpence-halfpence can buy a lot of things, which is quite enough to make a little stomach full and uncomfortable.The old woman is resourceful and experienced, she knows how to take care of children, and she has a very sophisticated private account.In this way she employed the greater part of the weekly subsistence for herself, and the stipend for the new generation of the parish was much less than prescribed.She actually found that the depths were deeper, proving that she herself is a very remarkable experimental philosopher.

Everyone knows the story of another experimental philosopher. He had a great idea that a horse could run without eating grass. a piece of hay.Doubtless he would have made a steed that would eat nothing if the horse hadn't died twenty-four hours before its first good air feed.The lady who was entrusted with Oliver Twist's care also embraced the philosophy of experimentation, and unfortunately her system was often put into practice with very similar results.Whenever the children have been trained to live on a meager portion of the most inferior food, eight and a half out of ten it will happen that they will either fall sick from hunger or cold. In either case, the poor little beings are usually called to another world to be with them in this world. Ancestors that the world has never seen are reunited.

When turning over the bed frame, I didn't see an orphan adopted by the parish on the bed, and even turned him upside down, or inadvertently scalded the child to death when I was washing it—but the latter This kind of accident is very rare, and things like cleaning and testing are unique in foster care-such things happen, and occasionally there are lawsuits, which is interesting, but not often.The jury might ask some tough questions on a whim, or the parishioners might openly join in the protest.Such ignorance, however, is quickly contradicted by the certificate of the parish doctor, who routinely opened the body and found it empty (which is quite probable), and the testimony of the clerk. And they swear what the parish asks them to, and the oath is full of devotion.In addition, the board of directors inspects the foster care regularly, and always sends an officer to tell them that they are coming one day in advance. what to do.

Nothing great or great fruit can be expected from this foster care system.Oliver Twist's ninth birthday came, and he was still a pale and thin child, short in stature and extremely thin in waist.However, I don't know whether it is due to good fortune or heredity, a fortitude and tenacity have been planted in Oliver's chest.This kind of spirit has a wide space to develop, and it is also due to the poor food in the foster care. Maybe it is because of this treatment that he managed to live until his ninth birthday.Anyway, it's his ninth birthday, and he's celebrating it in the coal cellar, the guests are chosen, only two other young gentlemen, and they're all three of them, they're so vile, they're hungry, and they're all together. After a beating, he was locked up again.At this moment Mrs. Mann, the good housekeeper of the house, was startled, not expecting the unexpected arrival of Mr. Bumble, the rector, who was struggling to open the little gate at the garden gate.

"Dear me. Is that you, Mr. Bumble?" said Mrs. Mann, leaning her head out of the window with a well-acted look of delight. "Susan, take Oliver and those two brats upstairs, and wash them up quickly. Why, Mr. Bumble, I'm so glad to see you, I'm—" Well, Mr. Bumble was fat and short-tempered, so instead of responding with equal intimacy to such an intimacy, he shook the little door violently, and gave it a second. A kick that no one but the parish steward could have kicked. "Dear me, look at me," said Mrs. Mann, rushing out, while the three children had moved away, "look at my memory, I forgot that the door was bolted from the inside, and it's all for these Little boy. Come in, sir, come in, come in, Mr. Bumble, please."

Although the invitation was accompanied by a curtsey enough to soften the heart of any parish clerk, the clerk was unmoved. "Do you think that, Mrs. Mann, it is decency, or propriety?" asked Mr. Bumble, gripping his cane, "and you let them come here on parish business for orphans adopted in the parish?" Waiting at the garden gate? Don't you know, Mrs. Mann, that you're also a poor-house agent, and on a salary?" "To be honest, Mr. Bumble, I'm just telling my little darlings that you're here, and one or two of them really like you." Mrs. Mann replied respectfully.

Mr. Bumble has always thought that he has good eloquence and a high social status. Now that he has not only demonstrated his eloquence, but also established his social status, his attitude has begun to loosen. "Okay, okay, Mrs. Mann," he said in a more relaxed tone, "even if it's like what you said, it may be so. Take me into the house, Mrs. Mann, if you don't have anything to go to the Three Jewels Hall, I have something to say." Mrs. Mann ushered the clerk into a small brick-floored drawing room, invited him to sit down, and took it upon herself to place his cocked hat and walking stick on a table in front of him.Mr. Bumble wiped the sweat from his brow, glanced triumphantly at his three-cornered hat, and smiled.Exactly, he smiled.Errands are human after all, Mr. Bumble smiled.

"I said, you shouldn't be angry, right? Look, you know that you have traveled a long way, otherwise I wouldn't be troublesome." Mrs. Mann's tone was so sweet that it was unbearable. "Oh, would you like a sip, Mr. Bumble?" "Not a drop, not a drop." Mr. Bumble waved his right hand again and again, with a well-proportioned but peaceful air. "I thought you'd better take a sip," Mrs. Mann said, noticing the tone of the other party's refusal and the subsequent gestures, "just take a sip, mix it with a little cold water, and put some sugar in it."

Bumble coughed. "Okay, take a sip." Mrs. Mann said obediently. "What wine?" asked the steward. "Hey, isn't it the kind of thing that I always have to prepare at home, and when these blessed dolls are not feeling well, I mix some Duffy syrup and give them to drink, Mr. Bumble." As the lady spoke, she opened the corner cupboard and took out a bottle of wine and a glass. "Gin, I kid you not, Mr Bon, it's gin." "You serve Duffy syrup to the children too, Mrs. Mann?" Mr. Bumble asked, following the interesting procedure of bartending.

"Bless God, yes, no matter how expensive it is," replied the guardian, "I cannot bear to see them suffer under my watch, sir, as you know." "Yes," agreed Mr. Bumble, "you can't bear it. You're a sympathetic woman, Mrs. Mann." (She put down her glass at this point.) "I'll make an offer to the council as soon as I can. Come on, Mrs. Mann." (He moves the glass to his face.) "You look like a mother, Mrs. Mann." (He mixes the gin and water.) "I—I Very happy to drink to your health, Mrs. Mann." He drank half of the glass in one gulp.

"Now let's get down to business," said the secretary, taking out a wallet. "The child who didn't even finish his baptism, Oliver Twist, is nine years old today." "God bless him," interposed Mrs. Mann, wiping her left eye with the corner of her apron. "Despite the apparent reward of ten pounds, which was later increased to twenty, and despite the best and, I should say, most extraordinary efforts on the part of the parish," said Bumble, "we have not been able to find out what his father Whoever it is, I don’t know his mother’s address, name, or related circumstances.” Mrs. Mann raised her hands in surprise, thought for a while, and said, "Then, how did he get his name?" The officer straightened his face and said triumphantly, "I took it for you." "You, Mr. Bumble." "It's me, Mrs. Mann. We name these babies in the order of ABC. The last one is S--Swable, I gave it. This one is T--I will call him Twist, the next The one that came was supposed to be called Unwin, and the next was Wilkins. I've got the last few letters down, and when we get to Z, we'll start all over again." "My dear, you're a great writer, sir," said Mrs. Max. "Come on, come on," said the clerk, evidently enthused by the compliment, "maybe, maybe, Mrs. Mann." He drank his gin and water, and added, "Ollie It’s too big for Fowler to stay here, the council decided to let him move back to the workhouse, and I’ll come here personally to take him away, and you tell him to come see me now.” "I'll call him right away." Mrs. Mann said, deliberately leaving the living room.By this time Oliver, having wiped off as much as one wash could remove from his face and hands, was led into the room by the kind lady protector. "Bows to the gentleman, Oliver," said Mrs. Mann. Oliver made a bow, half to the rector in his chair, and half to the three-cornered hat on the table. "Would you like to come with me, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble, in a commanding voice. Oliver, just as he was about to say that he wished to be away with someone, raised his eyes, and saw Mrs. Mann turning behind Mr. Bumble's chair, and shaking her fists menacingly at him; The vice fist had stamped him too many times to not leave a deep impression on his memory. "Will she come with me too?" asked poor Oliver. "No, she can't go away," replied Mr. Bumble, "but she will come and see you sometimes." This was hardly a consolation to the child, who, despite his very young age, was able to put on a deliberate look of being very reluctant to leave.It's not too difficult at all for the child to cry a few tears.Crying whenever you want, starvation, and recent abuse helps, too.Oliver wept quite naturally indeed.Mrs. Mann embraced Oliver a thousand times, and gave him a piece of bread and butter, which was much better for him, and saved him from looking hungry when he got to the workhouse.Bread in hand, Oliver put on a little parish hat, and Mr. Bumble was led out of this miserable house, where his boyhood was so dark, and where he was never uttered a word. A gentle word or a kind look illuminated.Still, when the door of the house closed behind him, he felt a sudden pang of childish sadness at leaving behind his unfortunate companions, naughty as they were, but with whom he had not known much. For the first time, a sense of loneliness that fell into the vast sea of ​​people sank into the child's heart for the first time. Mr. Bumble was striding along, and little Oliver, clutching his gold cuffs, trot beside him.Every two or three hundred yards he would ask if he was "coming soon."To these questions Mr. Bumble gave very curt and short-tempered replies, for the tenderness and generosity which gin and water can only elicit for a moment in some men had by this time evaporated, and he resumed Become a parish officer. Before Oliver had been in the workhouse for a quarter of an hour, he had just disposed of another loaf of bread, and had left him in the care of an old lady, when Mr. Bumble, who had gone to his own errands, returned, and told Oliver that tonight Catch up with the council meeting, the directors asked him to meet immediately. Oliver was somewhat taken aback by this news; he was evidently ignorant of how a plank could be alive, and was quite confused whether he should laugh or cry, but he had no time to think about it. .Mr. Bumble gave him a blow on the head with his cane to wake him up, another on the back to cheer him up, and bade him follow, leading him into a whitewashed room. In a large room, a dozen stout gentlemen sat around a table.The upper armchair was much higher than the others, and in it sat a very fat gentleman with a round, red face. ①In English, the words "council" and "board" have the same shape. "A bow to the trustees," said Bumble.Oliver wiped away two or three tears that rolled from his eyes, and, seeing that there was only a table before him, without boards, he made a consolation and bowed to it. "Son, what's your name?" said the gentleman on the high chair. Oliver was startled at seeing so many gentlemen, and trembling all over, the steward gave him another stab in the back, which left him howling and crying.For these two reasons he answered in a low voice and hesitantly, and a gentleman in a white waistcoat immediately declared that he was a fool.It should be explained that predicting good or bad luck is an important way for this gentleman to refresh himself. "Son," said the gentleman in the high chair, "listen, I reckon, you know you're an orphan, don't you?" "What do you say, sir?" asked poor Oliver. "The boy is a fool--and he may have been," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "Don't interrupt," said the gentleman who spoke first. "You were brought up by the parish without father or mother, do you know that?" "Yes, sir," replied Oliver, weeping bitterly. "Why are you crying?" asked the gentleman in the white waistcoat.Yes, this is indeed too incomprehensible. What can this child have to cry about? "I want you to say your prayers every night," snapped another gentleman, "for those who have raised you and looked after you—be like a Christian." "Yes, sir," stammered the child.The gentleman who spoke just now hit the nail on the head.If Oliver had prayed for those who had brought him up and looked after him, he would have looked very much like a Christian, and a very good Christian at that.But he never prayed because no one taught him. "All right. You've come here to be educated, to learn a useful trade," said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair. "Then you start to dismantle the old hemp rope at six o'clock tomorrow morning." The gentleman in the white vest added sullenly. ①It is used to fill the seams of ship planks, which belongs to the work of prisoners and poor people. In order to thank them for combining the two good deeds of teaching and passing on skills through such a simple process as removing the old hemp rope, Oliver bowed deeply again under Bumble's instruction, and was hurriedly Hastily led into a large containment room, where, on a bumpy hard bed, he fell asleep twitching.A marvelous portrait of benevolent English law.After all, the law allows the poor to sleep. Poor Oliver.He never thought that when he fell into a deep sleep and didn't know everything around him, on this day, the council made a decision that was closely related to his future fate.Already set.Here's the thing: The members of the council are all sophisticated and wise philosophers. When they became concerned about the workhouse, they immediately discovered a problem that the idler would never see—the poor love the workhouse.For the humbler classes, the workhouse was a veritable place of public amusement, a free hotel, three light meals and refreshments were available all year round, a brick and mortar paradise in which to play all day without work. "Aha!" The directors, who seemed to know the reason, said, "It is up to us to correct this situation, and we must stop it immediately." So they made a rule Well, all poor people have a choice (they don't force anyone, they never force anyone), between starving to death in the workhouse, or having a good time outside.For this purpose, they signed an unlimited water supply contract with the waterworks, and negotiated with the food merchants to supply a small amount of oatmeal to the poorhouse on a regular basis. Add half a roll on Sundays.They have also formulated countless regulations and regulations concerning women, all of which are wise and kind, and I will not repeat them here.In view of the exorbitant fees of the London Civil Lawyers' Society, the directors graciously set about breaking up poor couples, and instead of forcing the husbands to maintain their wives and children as before, they took away their homes and made them bachelors.Based on the above two items alone, if it were not matched with workhouses, how many people from all walks of life would apply for relief.But the gentlemen of the council are well-informed men who have long been aware of the difficulty.As soon as alms was linked to workhouses and porridge, it scared people away. ①In the past, it was an institution specializing in wills, marriages and divorces in London. During the first six months of Oliver Twister's return to the workhouse, the system was in full swing.In the beginning, it cost a lot, the funeral home issued a very long bill, and the clothes worn by the poor in the hospital had to be changed to a smaller size. After drinking gruel for a week or two, the clothes began to rattle on their skinny bodies. float up.After all, the number of workhouses has been reduced as much as the poor in society, and the council is not to say how happy it is. The place where the children eat is a spacious hall. A steel pot is placed on one side of the hall. When the meal is served, the master cooks the porridge by the pot. Do odd jobs.According to such a festive arrangement, each child was given a soup and bowl of porridge, and no more was given--two and a quarter ounces of bread were added on a good day to celebrate the whole world.The porridge bowls never had to be washed, and the children didn't stop until they were scraped down with spoons until they were clean and shiny.While this operation was being carried out (it took absolutely no time, the spoon was almost as big as a bowl), they sat looking longingly at the copper pot, wishing they could swallow the bricks that stood in it, and at the same time At the same time, they sucked their fingers vigorously, never letting go of the juice porridge that might fall.Most boys have a good appetite.For three months, Oliver Twist and his companions suffered from chronic hunger.In the end, I was so hungry that I couldn't bear it anymore, and I was about to go crazy. A boy who was taller than his age and had never experienced such a thing (his father owned a small restaurant) turned sullenly to his companions. It hinted that unless he was given an extra bowl of porridge every day, there was no guarantee that he would not eat the child sleeping next to him one night, and that happened to be a young and deceitful little one.There was a wild, hungry look in his eyes as he spoke, and the children couldn't believe it.A meeting was held, and lots were drawn to decide who would go to the master chef for another porridge after dinner that evening, and Oliver Twist won the lottery. As dusk came, the children sat in their respective seats, the master chef stood by the pot in a cook's outfit, and the two poor women who helped him stood behind him.The porridge was distributed one by one, and after the long prayers, it didn't take much time to eat.The bowls of porridge had been cleared away, and the children were whispering and winking at Oliver, when a neighbor at the table nudged him.Although Oliver is still a child, he has been forced by hunger and suffering to ignore everything and take risks.He stood up from the table, holding a spoon and a porridge bowl in his hand, and walked towards the master chef. When he spoke, he was somewhat taken aback by his own boldness: "I'm sorry, sir, but I need a little more." The master is a strong and fat man, his face turned pale. For a while, he stared at the rebellious little guy in astonishment, and then he became a little unsteady, so he stuck to the pot and stove. superior.The woman who helped the kitchen was in shock, and the children were unable to move because of fear. "What!" The master finally opened his mouth, his voice was weak. "Excuse me, sir, but I have more," replied Oliver. The master master took the spoon, gave Oliver a blow on the head, and stretched out his arms to clamp him tightly, screaming, "Come for the steward." The directors were discussing important matters in secret. Mr. Bumble rushed into the room, very emotional, and said to the gentleman on the high chair: "Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir. Oliver Twister wants more." The audience was shocked, and fear was vividly painted on every face. "More!" said Mr. Limbkins. "Calm down, Bumble, and answer clearly. I must have heard you right. You mean he wants more after his standard ration supper?" "Yes, sir," replied Bumble. "The boy will be hanged," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "I'm sure the boy will be hanged." No one refuted the gentleman's foresight.The council had a lively discussion.Oliver was immediately confined.The next morning there was a notice posted outside the gate, offering five pounds to anyone who would take over the parish and take in Oliver Twist; Apprentice, if you engage in any kind of craft, business, or industry, you can come and receive five pounds in cash and Oliver Twist. "There is nothing in my life that I am sure of," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, knocking on the door the next morning, scanning the notice, "and there is nothing in my life that I am sure of that compares with this one." , I judge the imp to be hanged." Whether the gentleman in the white vest is right or not, the author intends to disclose it later.It would probably spoil the taste of the story (supposing it has any taste at all) if I were to point out now whether Oliver Twist came to such a dire end.