Oliver Twist
The parish boy's progress from a workhouse to a home
Page 1
The world knew Oliver Twist only as an orphan, born in a parish workhouse where no one knew his mother or his name. He and the other boys were kept thin and hungry, fed only a small bowl of watery gruel each day in a great stone hall. They were so hungry that one boy, who was tall for his age, declared he was afraid he might some night happen to eat the boy who slept next to him. A council was held; Oliver was chosen to ask for more. After the evening meal, he rose from the table and advanced to the master, basin in hand. He spoke, his voice trembling. "Please, sir, I want some more." The master, a fat, healthy man, turned pale. He stared in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel. "What?" he asked at last, in a faint voice. "Please, sir," repeated Oliver, "I want some more."
Page 2
Oliver was apprenticed to Mr. Sowerberry, an undertaker. He slept among the coffins in the dark, dusty shop and was treated with cruelty. The undertaker’s other apprentice, Noah Claypole, a loutish boy, took special delight in tormenting him. One day at dinner, Noah's insults went too far. "How's your mother?" he sneered. Oliver, who had never known his mother, answered with a quiet sadness. Noah persisted, mocking her memory with cruel words. In a flash of grief and rage, the small boy attacked. He seized Noah by the throat, shook him, and then felled him to the ground. "He'll be murdered!" shrieked the maid. Mrs. Sowerberry screamed. That night, after being beaten and locked in the cellar, Oliver slipped out of the silent house. He looked back once before taking the great road to London. He would not stay to be broken.
Page 3
After seven days, Oliver arrived in London, exhausted and starving. There he met a boy called the Artful Dodger, who offered him a place to stay. He led Oliver through a maze of filthy streets to a squalid den where a villainous-looking old man named Fagin was cooking sausages over a fire. A gang of lively boys surrounded him, and they all stopped to inspect the newcomer. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very," said Fagin, bowing with a mocking sort of humility. "Ah, you're a-staring at the pocket-handkerchiefs, eh, my dear? There are a good many of them, ain't there? We've just hung 'em out to wash." The Dodger introduced Oliver. "Fagin, this is my new friend, Oliver Twist." Fagin grinned, showing his broken teeth, and handed Oliver a hot sausage. For a boy who had known nothing but hunger and coldness, the warmth of the fire and the offer of food felt like a strange, unsettling kindness.
Page 4
Believing it was all a game, Oliver went out to "work" with the Artful Dodger and Charley Bates. He did not understand until he saw it himself. They spotted an old gentleman absorbed in a book at an outdoor stall. Oliver watched in horror as the Dodger stole the gentleman's handkerchief. At that moment, the gentleman, Mr. Brownlow, turned. His eyes fell on Oliver's terrified face. "Stop thief!" Mr. Brownlow cried. The Dodger and Charley immediately raised the same cry. "Stop thief!" yelled the Dodger. Charley echoed him: "Stop thief!" Then they vanished into the crowd. Oliver, understanding his danger, ran as fast as he could. The whole street joined the chase, a mob of strangers shouting and running after a small, innocent boy who did not know what he had done wrong.
Page 5
Oliver was caught, but the bookstall owner cleared his name. Mr. Brownlow, the kind gentleman, felt a great pity for the feverish boy and took him home. For the first time, Oliver knew tenderness. When he was strong enough, he was brought down to Mr. Brownlow’s book-lined study. It was there he saw it: a portrait of a beautiful young woman. Oliver felt a strange connection. Mr. Brownlow was startled. "Good heavens, what's this?" he exclaimed, looking from the painting to Oliver. "There is something in your face, my dear boy, that is so like her! It is an extraordinary resemblance." He questioned Oliver gently. "What is your name?" "Oliver Twist, sir," the boy replied, wondering why the kind man was staring so intently.
Page 6
Fagin’s gang recaptured Oliver and forced him to join Bill Sikes on a robbery. Forced through a window, Oliver was shot. Sikes fled, leaving him in a ditch. When morning came, Oliver struggled back to the same house and collapsed. The owners, Mrs. Maylie and her niece Rose, found him. Seeing he was just a child, they chose compassion. "He is so young, Aunt," Rose pleaded. "Think of this, if we turn him away, he may grow up to be a hardened criminal. But if we save him, he may be reclaimed." So they nursed him. When he awoke, it was to the gentle face of Rose Maylie. "You must be very quiet," she said with a kind smile. "You have been very ill." For the second time, Oliver was saved by the kindness of strangers.
Page 7
The secret of Oliver’s past began to unravel thanks to Nancy. Though loyal to the monstrous Bill Sikes, her conscience was moved. She learned of a plot by a mysterious man named Monks, who had paid Fagin to ruin the boy. Risking her life, she arranged a secret meeting. On a dark, wet night, she met Rose Maylie and Mr. Brownlow on the steps leading down to the river, under the massive arches of London Bridge. "I am the girl you saw," Nancy whispered, her voice tight with fear. "I have stolen away to tell you what I know. But if I am seen by any of my lot, my life is not worth a moment's purchase." Hidden in the deep shadows, she revealed everything about Monks and his obsessive hunt for Oliver. She refused their offers of protection. "I cannot leave him," she said of Sikes. "It is my fate."
Page 8
When Fagin told Bill Sikes of Nancy's betrayal, Sikes's rage was terrible. He murdered her and fled, but could not escape his guilt. The memory of Nancy’s eyes haunted him. He was driven back to London, to a slum called Jacob’s Island, where an enraged mob cornered him. He scrambled onto the roof of a warehouse, rope in hand, intending to escape. The crowd roared below. As he prepared to throw the rope, he recoiled. "The eyes again!" he cried, shielding his face, seeing a phantom of Nancy before him. "Keep back!" Staggering backward in terror from the vision only he could see, he lost his footing on the slippery, wet tiles. With a final, desperate shout that was lost in the noise of the mob, he fell from the rooftop into the darkness below.
Page 9
With Sikes dead and the gang broken, the police captured Fagin. His cunning was gone, his wickedness laid bare. He was locked in a stone cell for the condemned at Newgate Prison. He paced back and forth, wringing his hands, a cornered animal. The boys he had corrupted were gone, his stolen treasures were lost, and his dark empire had crumbled. Crowds gathered outside, shouting his name, but inside the cell, Fagin was utterly alone. On his last night, two visitors were admitted. "I have come to ask you to tell us where the papers are that Monks gave you," said Mr. Brownlow. "It is the only way you can make some small amends for a life of crime." Fagin, lost in his own terror, could barely understand. "It is a good boy," he muttered, his mind wandering. "Where is the boy? I want to speak to him." But there was no one left to help him. He was a broken man, left with nothing but his own wicked thoughts and the terror of his fast-approaching end.
Page 10
In Mr. Brownlow’s study, the final truths were revealed. Monks was brought before them. "He is your brother," Mr. Brownlow said to him sternly. "Acknowledge it." Monks, defeated, muttered, "He is." He confessed he was Oliver's half-brother, Edward Leeford, and had tried to destroy him for an inheritance. The portrait was of Oliver’s mother, Agnes. Now, the plot was undone. Oliver’s name and history were restored. "You have a new life before you, Oliver," said Mr. Brownlow, his hand on the boy's shoulder, "one filled with friends who love you." He was adopted by Mr. Brownlow. And in that warm, book-lined room, surrounded by all who had shown him kindness, the parish boy who had once asked for more found he had been given everything.
About this story
- Audience: general readers
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