oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第86章

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was　an　old　man—an　old　man—an　old　man—and　so；　dropping　into　
a　whisper；　was　silent　again。　

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The　judge　assumed　the　black　cap；　and　the　prisoner　still　stood　
with　the　same　air　and　gesture。　A　woman　in　the　gallery　uttered　
some　exclamation；　called　forth　by　this　dread　solemnity；　he　looked　
hastily　up　as　if　angry　at　the　interruption；　and　bent　forward　yet　
more　attentively。　The　address　was　solemn　and　impressive；　the　
sentence　fearful　to　hear。　But　he　stood；　like　a　marble　figure；　
without　the　motion　of　a　nerve。　His　haggard　face　was　still　thrust　
forward；　his　underjaw　hanging　down；　and　his　eyes　staring　out　
before　him；　when　the　jailer　put　his　hand　upon　his　arm；　and　
beckoned　him　away。　He　gazed　stupidly　about　him　for　an　instant；　
and　obeyed。　

They　led　him　through　a　paved　room　under　the　court；　where　
some　prisoners　were　waiting　till　their　turns　came；　and　others　were　
talking　to　their　friends；　who　crowded　round　a　grate　which　looked　
into　the　open　yard。　There　was　nobody　there　to　speak　to　him；　but；　
as　he　passed；　the　prisoners　fell　back　to　render　him　more　visible　to　
the　people　who　were　clinging　to　the　bars；　and　they　assailed　him　
with　opprobrious　names；　and　screeched　and　hissed。　He　shook　his　
fist；　and　would　have　spat　upon　them；　but　his　conductors　hurried　
him　on；　through　a　gloomy　passage　lighted　by　a　few　dim　lamps；　into　
the　interior　of　the　prison。　

Here　he　was　searched；　that　he　might　not　have　about　him　the　
means　of　anticipating　the　law；　this　ceremony　performed；　they　led　
him　to　one　of　the　condemned　cells；　and　left　him　there—alone。　

He　sat　down　on　a　stone　bench　opposite　the　door；　which　served　
for　seat　and　bedstead；　and　casting　his　bloodshot　eyes　upon　the　
ground；　tried　to　collect　his　thoughts。　After　a　while；　he　began　to　
remember　a　few　disjointed　fragments　of　what　the　judge　had　said；　
though　it　had　seemed　to　him；　at　the　time；　that　he　could　not　hear　a　

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word。　These　gradually　fell　into　their　proper　places；　and　by　degrees　
suggested　more；　so　that　in　a　little　time　he　had　the　whole；　almost　as　
it　was　delivered。　To　be　hanged　by　the　neck；　till　he　was　dead—that　
was　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　had　
known　who　had　died　upon　the　scaffold；　some　of　them　through　his　
means。　They　rose　up；　in　such　quick　succession；　that　he　could　
hardly　count　them。　He　had　seen　some　of　them　die—and　had　joked　
too；　because　they　died　with　prayers　upon　their　lips。　With　what　a　
rattling　noise；　the　drop　went　down；　and　how　suddenly　they　
changed；　from　strong　vigorous　men　to　dangling　heaps　of　clothes！　

Some　of　them　might　have　inhabited　that　very　cell—sat　upon　
that　very　spot。　It　was　very　dark；　why　didn’t　they　bring　a　light？　The　
cell　had　been　built　for　many　years。　Scores　of　men　must　have　
passed　their　last　hours　there。　It　was　like　sitting　in　a　vault　strewn　
with　dead　bodies—the　cap；　the　noose；　the　pinioned　arms；　the　faces　
that　he　knew；　even　beneath　that　hideous　veil。—Light；　light！　

At　length；　when　his　hands　were　raw　with　beating　against　the　
heavy　door　and　walls；　two　men　appeared；　one　bearing　a　candle；　
which　he　thrust　into　an　iron　candlestick　fixed　against　the　wall；　the　
other　dragging　in　a　mattress　on　which　to　pass　the　night；　for　the　
prisoner　was　to　be　left　alone　no　more。　

Then　came　night—dark；　dismal；　silent　night。　Other　watchers　
are　glad　to　hear　this　church　clock　strike；　for　they　tell　of　life　and　
coming　day。　To　him　they　brought　despair。　The　boom　of　every　iron　
bell　came　laden　with　the　one；　deep；　hollow　sound—Death。　What　
availed　the　noise　and　bustle　of　cheerful　morning；　which　
penetrated　even　there；　to　him？　It　was　another　form　of　knell；　with　
mockery　added　to　the　warning。　

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The　day　passed　off—day！　There　was　no　day；　it　was　gone　as　soon　
as　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　one　
time　he　raved　and　blasphemed；　and　at　another　howled　and　tore　
his　hair。　Venerable　men　of　his　own　persuasion　had　come　to　pray　
beside　him；　but　he　had　driven　them　away　with　curses。　They　
renewed　their　charitable　efforts　and　he　beat　them　o￡　Saturday　
night。　He　had　only　one　night　more　to　live。　And　as　he　thought　of　
this；　the　day　broke—Sunday。　

It　was　not　until　the　night　of　this　last　awful　day；　that　a　withering　
sense　of　his　helpless；　desperate　state　came　in　its　full　intensity　upon　
his　blighted　soul；　not　that　he　had　ever　held　any　defined　or　positive　
hope　of　mercy；　but　that　he　had　never　been　able　to　consider　more　
than　the　dim　probability　of　dying　so　soon。　He　had　spoken　little　to　
either　of　the　two　men；　who　relieved　each　other　in　their　attendance　
upon　him；　and　they；　for　their　parts；　made　no　effort　to　rouse　his　
attention。　He　had　sat　there；　awake；　but　dreaming。　Now；　he　started　
up；　every　minute；　and　with　gasping　mouth　and　burning　skin；　
hurried　to　and　fro；　in　such　a　paroxysm　of　fear　and　wrath　that　even　
they—used　to　such　sights—recoiled　from　him　with　horror。　He　
grew　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　so　
the　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　the　
day　of　his　capture；　and　his　head　was　bandaged　with　a　linen　cloth。　
His　red　hair　hung　down　upon　his　bloodless　face；　his　beard　was　
torn；　and　twisted　into　knots；　his　eyes　shone　with　a　terrible　light；　
his　unwashed　flesh　crackled　with　the　fever　that　burned　him　up。　

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Eight—nine—ten。　If　it　was　not　a　trick　to　frighten　him；　and　those　
were　the　real　hours　treading　on　each　other’s　heels；　where　would　
he　be；　when　they　came　round　again！　Eleven。　Another　struck；　
before　the　voice　of　the　previous　hour　had　ceased　to　vibrate。　At　
eight；　he　would　be　the　only　mourner　in　his　own　funeral　train；　at　
eleven—　

Those　dreadful　walls　of　Newgate；　which　have　hidden　so　much　
misery　and　such　unspeakable　anguish；　not　only　from　the　eyes；　but；　
too　often；　and　too　long；　from　the　thoughts；　of　men；　never　held　so　
dread　a　spectacle　as　that。　The　few　who　lingered　as　they　passed；　
and　wondered　what　the　man　was　doing　who　was　to　be　hanged　
tomorrow；　would　have　slept　but　ill　that　night；　if　they　could　have　
seen　him。　

From　early　in　the　evening　until　nearly　midnight；　little　groups　of　
two　and　three　presented　themselves　at　the　lodge　gate；　and　
inquired；　with　anxious　faces；　whether　any　reprieve　had　been　
received。　These　being　answered　in　the　negative；　communicated　
the　welcome　intelligence　to　clusters　in　the　street　who　pointed　out　
to　one　another　the　door　from　which　he　must　come　out；　and　
showed　where　the　scaffold　would　be　built；　and　walking　with　
unwilling　steps　away；　turned　back　to　conjure　up　the　scene。　By　
degrees　they　fell　off；　one　by　one；　and；　for　an　hour；　in　the　dead　of　
night；　the　street　was　left　to　solitude　and　darkness。　

The　space　before　the　prison　was　cleared；　and　a　few　strong　
barriers；　painted　black；　had　been　already　thrown　across　the　road　
to　break　the　pressure　of　the　expected　crowd；　when　Mr。　Brownlow　
and　Oliver　appeared　at　the　wicket；　and　presented　an　order　of　
admission　to　the　prisoner；　signed　by　one　of　the　sheriffs。　They　were　
immediately　admitted　to　the　lodge。　

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“Is　the　young　gentleman　to　come　too；　sir？”　said　the　man　whose　
duty　it　was　to　conduct　them。　“It’s　not　a　sight　for　children；　sir。”　

“It　is　not　indeed；　my　friend；”　rejoined　Mr。　Brownlow；　“but　my　
business　with　this　man　is　intimately　connected　with　him；　and　as　
the　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　he　
should　see　him　now。”　

These　few　words　had　been　said　apart；　so　as　to　be　inaudible　to　
Oliver。　The　man　touched　his　hat；　and；　glancing　at　Oliver　with　
some　curiosity；　opened　another　gate；　opposite　to　that　by　which　
they　had　entered；　and　led　them　on；　through　dark　and　winding　
ways；　towards　the　cells。　

“This；”　said　the　man；　stopping　in　a　gloomy　passage　where　a　
couple　of　workmen　were　making　some　preparations　in　profound　
silence—“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　for　
dressing　the　prison　food；　and　pointed　to　a　door。　There　was　an　open　
grating　above　it；　through　which　came　the　sound　of　men’s　voices；　
mingled　with　the　noise　of　hammering；　and　the　throwing　down　of　
boards。　They　were　putting　up　the　scaffold。　

From　this　place；　they　passed　through　several　strong　gates；　
opened　by　other　turnkeys—from　the　inner　side；　and；　having　
entered　an　open　yard；　ascended　a　flight　of　narrow　steps；　and　came　
into　a　passage　with　a　row　of　strong　doors　on　the　left　hand。　
Motioning　them　to　remain　where　they　were；　the　turnkey　knocked　
at　one　of　these　with　his　bunch　of　keys。　The　two　attendants；　after　a　
little　whispering；　came　out　into　the　passage；　stretching　themselves　
as　if　glad　of　the　temporary　relief；　and　motioned　the　visitors　to　

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follow　the　jailer　into　the　cell。　They　did　so。　

The　condemned　criminal　was　seated　on　his　bed；　rocking　
himself　from　side　to　side；　with　a　countenance　more　like　that　of　a　
snared　beast　than　the　face　of　a　man。　His　mind　was　evidently　
wandering　to　his　old　life；　for　he　continued　to　mutter；　without　
appearing　conscious　of　their　presence　otherwise　than　as　a　part　of　
his　vision。　

“Good　boy；　Charley—well　done；”　he　mumbled。　“Oliver；　too；　ha！　
ha！　ha！　Oliver　too—quite　the　gentleman　now—quite　the—Take　the　
boy　away　to　bed！”　

The　jailer　took　the　disengaged　hand　of　Oliver；　and；　whispering　
to　him　not　to　be　alarmed；　looked　on　without　speaking。　

“Take　him　away　to　bed！”　cried　Fagin。　“Do　you　hear　me；　some　of　
you？　He　has　been　the—the—somehow　the　cause　of　all　this。　It’s　
worth　the　money　to　bring　him　up　to　it—Bolter’s　throat；　Bill；　never　
mind　the　girl—Bolter’s　throat　as　deep　as　you　can　cut。　Saw　his　
head　off！”　

“Fagin；”　said　the　jailer。　

“That’s　me！”　cried　Fagin；　falling　instantly　into　the　attitude　of　
listening　he　had　assumed　upon　his　trial。　“An　old　man；　my　Lord；　a　
very　old；　old　man！”　

“Here；”　said　the　turnkey；　laying　his　hand　upon　his　breast　to　
keep　him　down。　“Here’s　somebody　wants　to　see　you；　to　ask　you　
some　questions；　I　suppose。　Fagin；　Fagin！　Are　you　a　man？”　

“I　shan’t　be　one　long；”　he　replied；　looking　up　with　a　face　
retaining　no　human　expression　but　rage　and　terror。　“Strike　them　
all　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　

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what　they　wanted　there。　

“Steady；”　said　the　turnkey；　still　holding　him　down。　“Now；　sir；