oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第94部分

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The　court　was　paved；　from　floor　to　roof；　with　human　faces。　
Inquisitive　and　eager　eyes　peered　from　every　inch　of　
space。　From　the　rail　before　the　dock；　away　into　the　
sharpest　angle　of　the　smallest　corner　in　the　galleries；　all　looks　
were　fixed　upon　one　man—Fagin。　Before　him　and　behind—above；　
below；　on　the　right　and　on　the　left—he　seemed　to　stand　
surrounded　by　a　firmament；　all　bright　with　gleaming　eyes。　

He　stood　there；　in　all　this　glare　of　living　light；　with　one　hand　
resting　on　the　wooden　slab　before　him；　the　other　held　to　his　ear；　
and　his　head　thrust　forward　to　enable　him　to　catch　with　greater　
distinctness　every　word　that　fell　from　the　presiding　judge；　who　
was　delivering　his　charge　to　the　jury。　At　times；　he　turned　his　eyes　
sharply　upon　them　to　observe　the　effect　of　the　slightest　
featherweight　in　his　favour；　and　when　the　points　against　him　were　
stated　with　terrible　distinctness；　looked　towards　his　counsel；　in　
mute　appeal　that　he　would；　even　then；　urge　something　in　his　
behalf。　Beyond　these　manifestations　of　anxiety；　he　stirred　not　
hand　or　foot。　He　had　scarcely　moved　since　the　trial　began；　and　
now　that　the　judge　ceased　to　speak；　he　still　remained　in　the　same　
strained　attitude　of　close　attention；　with　his　gaze　bent　on　him；　as　
though　he　listened　still。　

A　slight　bustle　in　the　court；　recalled　him　to　himself。　Looking　
round；　he　saw　that　the　jurymen　had　turned　together　to　consider　of　
their　verdict。　As　his　eyes　wandered　to　the　gallery；　he　could　see　the　

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people　rising　above　each　other　to　see　his　face—some　hastily　
applying　their　glasses　to　their　eyes—and　others　whispering　to　
their　neighbours　with　looks　expressive　of　abhorrence。　A　few　there　
were；　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　by　
one　of　all…absorbing　interest　that　he　should　be　condemned。　

As　he　saw　all　this　in　one　bewildered　glance；　the　death…like　
stillness　came　again；　and　looking　back；　he　saw　that　the　jurymen　
had　turned　towards　the　judge。　Hush！　

They　only　sought　permission　to　retire。　

He　looked　wistfully　into　their　faces；　one　by　one；　when　they　
passed　out；　as　though　to　see　which　way　the　greater　number　
leaned；　but　that　was　fruitless。　The　Jailer　touched　him　on　the　
shoulder。　He　followed　mechanically　to　the　end　of　the　dock；　and　sat　
down　on　a　chair。　The　man　pointed　it　out；　or　he　would　not　have　
seen　it。　

He　looked　up　into　the　gallery　again。　Some　of　the　people　were　
eating；　and　some　fanning　themselves　with　handkerchiefs；　for　the　
crowded　place　was　very　hot。　There　was　one　young　man　sketching　
his　face　in　a　little　note…book。　He　wondered　whether　it　was　like；　and　
looked　on　when　the　artist　broke　his　pencil…point；　and　made　
another　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；　and　
what　it　cost；　and　how　he　put　it　on。　There　was　an　old　fat　gentleman　
on　the　bench；　too；　who　had　gone　out；　some　half　an　hour　before；　
and　now　come　back。　He　wondered　within　himself　whether　this　

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Oliver　Twist　569　

man　had　been　to　get　his　dinner；　what　he　had　had；　and　where　he　
had　had　it；　and　pursued　this　train　of　careless　thought　until　some　
new　object　caught　his　eye　and　roused　another。　

Not　that；　all　this　time；　his　mind　was；　for　an　instant；　free　from　
one　oppressive　overwhelming　sense　of　the　grave　that　opened　at　his　
feet；　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　he　
trembled；　and　turned　burning　hot　at　the　idea　of　speedy　death；　he　
fell　to　counting　the　iron　spikes　before　him；　and　wondering　how　the　
head　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　the　
gallows　and　the　scaffold—and　stopped　to　watch　a　man　sprinkling　
the　floor　to　cool　it—and　then　went　on　to　think　again。　

At　length　there　was　a　cry　of　silence；　and　a　breathless　look　from　
all　towards　the　door。　The　jury　returned；　and　passed　him　close。　

He　could　glean　nothing　from　their　faces；　they　might　as　well　
have　been　of　stone。　Perfect　stillness　ensued—not　a　rustle—not　a　
breath—Guilty。　

The　building　rang　with　a　tremendous　shout；　and　another；　and　
another；　and　then　it　echoed　loud　groans；　that　gathered　strength　as　
they　swelled　out；　like　angry　thunder。　It　was　a　peal　of　joy　from　the　
populace　outside；　greeting　the　news　that　he　would　die　on　Monday。　

The　noise　subsided；　and　he　was　asked　if　he　had　anything　to　say　
why　sentence　of　death　should　not　be　passed　upon　him。　He　had　
resumed　his　listening　attitude；　and　looked　intently　at　his　
questioner　while　the　demand　was　made；　but　it　was　twice　repeated　
before　he　seemed　to　hear　it；　and　then　he　only　muttered　that　he　
was　an　old　man—an　old　man—an　old　man—and　so；　dropping　into　
a　whisper；　was　silent　again。　

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Oliver　Twist　570　

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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Oliver　Twist　572　

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