Домашнее чтение приключения оливера твиста перевод. Онлайн чтение книги Приключения Оливера Твиста The Adventures of Oliver Twist Глава I

"Wolves tear your throats!" muttered Sikes, grinding his teeth. "I wish I was among some of you; you"d howl the hoarser for it."

As Sikes growled forth this imprecation, with the most desperate ferocity that his desperate nature was capable of, he rested the body of the wounded boy across his bended knee; and turned his head, for an instant, to look back at his pursuers.

There was little to be made out, in the mist and darkness; but the loud shouting of men vibrated through the air, and the barking of the neighbouring dogs, roused by the sound of the alarm bell, resounded in every direction.

"Stop, you white-livered hound!" cried the robber, shouting after Toby Crackit, who, making the best use of his long legs, was already ahead. "Stop!"

The repetition of the word, brought Toby to a dead stand-still. For he was not quite satisfied that he was beyond the range of pistol-shot; and Sikes was in no mood to be played with.

"Bear a hand with the boy," cried Sikes, beckoning furiously to his confederate. "Come back!"

Toby made a show of returning; but ventured, in a low voice, broken for want of breath, to intimate considerable reluctance as he came slowly along.

"Quicker!" cried Sikes, laying the boy in a dry ditch at his feet, and drawing a pistol from his pocket. "Don"t play booty with me."

At this moment the noise grew louder. Sikes, again looking round, could discern that the men who had given chase were already climbing the gate of the field in which he stood; and that a couple of dogs were some paces in advance of them.

"It"s all up, Bill!" cried Toby; "drop the kid, and show "em your heels." With this parting advice, Mr. Crackit, preferring the chance of being shot by his friend, to the certainty of being taken by his enemies, fairly turned tail, and darted off at full speed. Sikes clenched his teeth; took one look around; threw over the prostrate form of Oliver, the cape in which he had been hurriedly muffled; ran along the front of the hedge, as if to distract the attention of those behind, from the spot where the boy lay; paused, for a second, before another hedge which met it at right angles; and whirling his pistol high into the air, cleared it at a bound, and was gone.

"Ho, ho, there!" cried a tremulous voice in the rear. "Pincher! Neptune! Come here, come here!"

The dogs, who, in common with their masters, seemed to have no particular relish for the sport in which they were engaged, readily answered to the command. Three men, who had by this time advanced some distance into the field, stopped to take counsel together.

"My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my _orders_, is," said the fattest man of the party, "that we "mediately go home again."

"I am agreeable to anything which is agreeable to Mr. Giles," said a shorter man; who was by no means of a slim figure, and who was very pale in the face, and very polite: as frightened men frequently are.

"I shouldn"t wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen," said the third, who had called the dogs back, "Mr. Giles ought to know."

"Certainly," replied the shorter man; "and whatever Mr. Giles says, it isn"t our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my sitiwation! Thank my stars, I know my sitiwation." To tell the truth, the little man _did_ seem to know his situation, and to know perfectly well that it was by no means a desirable one; for his teeth chattered in his head as he spoke.

"You are afraid, Brittles," said Mr. Giles.

"I an"t," said Brittles.

"You are," said Giles.

"You"re a falsehood, Mr. Giles," said Brittles.

"You"re a lie, Brittles," said Mr. Giles.

Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles"s taunt; and Mr. Giles"s taunt had arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of going home again, imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The third man brought the dispute to a close, most philosophically.

"I"ll tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he, "we"re all afraid."

"Speak for yourself, sir," said Mr. Giles, who was the palest of the party.

"So I do," replied the man. "It"s natural and proper to be afraid, under such circumstances. I am."

"So am I," said Brittles; "only there"s no call to tell a man he is, so bounceably."

These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that _he_ was afraid; upon which, they all three faced about, and ran back again with the completest unanimity, until Mr. Giles (who had the shortest wind of the party, as was encumbered with a pitchfork) most handsomely insisted on stopping, to make an apology for his hastiness of speech.

"But it"s wonderful," said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, "what a man will do, when his blood is up. I should have committed murder--I know I should--if we"d caught one of them rascals."

As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment; and as their blood, like his, had all gone down again; some speculation ensued upon the cause of this sudden change in their temperament.

"I know what it was," said Mr. Giles; "it was the gate."

"I shouldn"t wonder if it was," exclaimed Brittles, catching at the idea.

"You may depend upon it," said Giles, "that that gate stopped the flow of the excitement. I felt all mine suddenly going away, as I was climbing over it."

By a remarkable coincidence, the other two had been visited with the same unpleasant sensation at that precise moment. It was quite obvious, therefore, that it was the gate; especially as there was no doubt regarding the time at which the change had taken place, because all three remembered that they had come in sight of the robbers at the instant of its occurance.

This dialogue was held between the two men who had surprised the burglars, and a travelling tinker who had been sleeping in an outhouse, and who had been roused, together with his two mongrel curs, to join in the pursuit. Mr. Giles acted in the double capacity of butler and steward to the old lady of the mansion; Brittles was a lad of all-work: who, having entered her service a mere child, was treated as a promising young boy still, though he was something past thirty.

Encouraging each other with such converse as this; but, keeping very close together, notwithstanding, and looking apprehensively round, whenever a fresh gust rattled through the boughs; the three men hurried back to a tree, behind which they had left their lantern, lest its light should inform the thieves in what direction to fire. Catching up the light, they made the best of their way home, at a good round trot; and long after their dusky forms had ceased to be discernible, the light might have been seen twinkling and dancing in the distance, like some exhalation of the damp and gloomy atmosphere through which it was swiftly borne.

The air grew colder, as day came slowly on; and the mist rolled along the ground like a dense cloud of smoke. The grass was wet; the pathways, and low places, were all mire and water; the damp breath of an unwholesome wind went languidly by, with a hollow moaning. Still, Oliver lay motionless and insensible on the spot where Sikes had left him.

Morning drew on apace. The air become more sharp and piercing, as its first dull hue--the death of night, rather than the birth of day--glimmered faintly in the sky. The objects which had looked dim and terrible in the darkness, grew more and more defined, and gradually resolved into their familiar shapes. The rain came down, thick and fast, and pattered noisily among the leafless bushes. But, Oliver felt it not, as it beat against him; for he still lay stretched, helpless and unconscious, on his bed of clay.

At length, a low cry of pain broke the stillness that prevailed; and uttering it, the boy awoke. His left arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy and useless at his side; the bandage was saturated with blood. He was so weak, that he could scarcely raise himself into a sitting posture; when he had done so, he looked feebly round for help, and groaned with pain. Trembling in every joint, from cold and exhaustion, he made an effort to stand upright; but, shuddering from head to foot, fell prostrate on the ground.

After a short return of the stupor in which he had been so long plunged, Oliver: urged by a creeping sickness at his heart, which seemed to warn him that if he lay there, he must surely die: got upon his feet, and essayed to walk. His head was dizzy, and he staggered to and fro like a drunken man. But he kept up, nevertheless, and, with his head drooping languidly on his breast, went stumbling onward, he knew not whither.

And now, hosts of bewildering and confused ideas came crowding on his mind. He seemed to be still walking between Sikes and Crackit, who were angrily disputing--for the very words they said, sounded in his ears; and when he caught his own attention, as it were, by making some violent effort to save himself from falling, he found that he was talking to them. Then, he was alone with Sikes, plodding on as on the previous day; and as shadowy people passed them, he felt the robber"s grasp upon his wrist. Suddenly, he started back at the report of firearms; there rose into the air, loud cries and shouts; lights gleamed before his eyes; all was noise and tumult, as some unseen hand bore him hurriedly away. Through all these rapid visions, there ran an undefined, uneasy consciousness of pain, which wearied and tormented him incessantly.

Thus he staggered on, creeping, almost mechanically, between the bars of gates, or through hedge-gaps as they came in his way, until he reached a road. Here the rain began to fall so heavily, that it roused him.

He looked about, and saw that at no great distance there was a house, which perhaps he could reach. Pitying his condition, they might have compassion on him; and if they did not, it would be better, he thought, to die near human beings, than in the lonely open fields. He summoned up all his strength for one last trial, and bent his faltering steps towards it.

As he drew nearer to this house, a feeling come over him that he had seen it before. He remembered nothing of its details; but the shape and aspect of the building seemed familiar to him.

That garden wall! On the grass inside, he had fallen on his knees last night, and prayed the two men"s mercy. It was the very house they had attempted to rob.

Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognised the place, that, for the instant, he forgot the agony of his wound, and thought only of flight. Flight! He could scarcely stand: and if he were in full possession of all the best powers of his slight and youthful frame, whither could he fly? He pushed against the garden-gate; it was unlocked, and swung open on its hinges. He tottered across the lawn; climbed the steps; knocked faintly at the door; and, his whole strength failing him, sunk down against one of the pillars of the little portico.

It happened that about this time, Mr. Giles, Brittles, and the tinker, were recruiting themselves, after the fatigues and terrors of the night, with tea and sundries, in the kitchen. Not that it was Mr. Giles"s habit to admit to too great familiarity the humbler servants: towards whom it was rather his wont to deport himself with a lofty affability, which, while it gratified, could not fail to remind them of his superior position in society. But, death, fires, and burglary, make all men equals; so Mr. Giles sat with his legs stretched out before the kitchen fender, leaning his left arm on the table, while, with his right, he illustrated a circumstantial and minute account of the robbery, to which his bearers (but especially the cook and housemaid, who were of the party) listened with breathless interest.

"It was about half-past two," said Mr. Giles, "or I wouldn"t swear that it mightn"t have been a little nearer three, when I woke up, and, turning round in my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles turned round in his chair, and pulled the corner of the table-cloth over him to imitate bed-clothes,) I fancied I heerd a noise."

At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale, and asked the housemaid to shut the door: who asked Brittles, who asked the tinker, who pretended not to hear.

"--Heerd a noise," continued Mr. Giles. "I says, at first, "This is illusion"; and was composing myself off to sleep, when I heerd the noise again, distinct."

"What sort of a noise?" asked the cook.

"A kind of a busting noise," replied Mr. Giles, looking round him.

"More like the noise of powdering a iron bar on a nutmeg-grater," suggested Brittles.

"It was, when _you_ heerd it, sir," rejoined Mr. Giles; "but, at this time, it had a busting sound. I turned down the clothes"; continued Giles, rolling back the table-cloth, "sat up in bed; and listened."

The cook and housemaid simultaneously ejaculated "Lor!" and drew their chairs closer together.

"I heerd it now, quite apparent," resumed Mr. Giles. ""Somebody," I says, "is forcing of a door, or window; what"s to be done? I"ll call up that poor lad, Brittles, and save him from being murdered in his bed; or his throat," I says, "may be cut from his right ear to his left, without his ever knowing it.""

Here, all eyes were turned upon Brittles, who fixed his upon the speaker, and stared at him, with his mouth wide open, and his face expressive of the most unmitigated horror.

"I tossed off the clothes," said Giles, throwing away the table-cloth, and looking very hard at the cook and housemaid, "got softly out of bed; drew on a pair of--"

"Ladies present, Mr. Giles," murmured the tinker.

"--Of _shoes_, sir," said Giles, turning upon him, and laying great emphasis on the word; "seized the loaded pistol that always goes upstairs with the plate-basket; and walked on tiptoes to his room. "Brittles," I says, when I had woke him, "don"t be frightened!""

"So you did," observed Brittles, in a low voice.

""We"re dead men, I think, Brittles," I says," continued Giles; ""but don"t be frightened.""

"_Was_ he frightened?" asked the cook.

"Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Giles. "He was as firm--ah! pretty near as firm as I was."

"I should have died at once, I"m sure, if it had been me," observed the housemaid.

"You"re a woman," retorted Brittles, plucking up a little.

"Brittles is right," said Mr. Giles, nodding his head, approvingly; "from a woman, nothing else was to be expected. We, being men, took a dark lantern that was standing on Brittle"s hob, and groped our way downstairs in the pitch dark,--as it might be so."

Mr. Giles had risen from his seat, and taken two steps with his eyes shut, to accompany his description with appropriate action, when he started violently, in common with the rest of the company, and hurried back to his chair. The cook and housemaid screamed.

"It was a knock," said Mr. Giles, assuming perfect serenity. "Open the door, somebody."

"It seems a strange sort of a thing, a knock coming at such a time in the morning," said Mr. Giles, surveying the pale faces which surrounded him, and looking very blank himself; "but the door must be opened. Do you hear, somebody?"

Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Brittles; but that young man, being naturally modest, probably considered himself nobody, and so held that the inquiry could not have any application to him; at all events, he tendered no reply. Mr. Giles directed an appealing glance at the tinker; but he had suddenly fallen asleep. The women were out of the question.

"If Brittles would rather open the door, in the presence of witnesses," said Mr. Giles, after a short silence, "I am ready to make one."

"So am I," said the tinker, waking up, as suddenly as he had fallen asleep.

Brittles capitulated on these terms; and the party being somewhat re-assured by the discovery (made on throwing open the shutters) that it was now broad day, took their way upstairs; with the dogs in front. The two women, who were afraid to stay below, brought up the rear. By the advice of Mr. Giles, they all talked very loud, to warn any evil-disposed person outside, that they were strong in numbers; and by a master-stoke of policy, originating in the brain of the same ingenious gentleman, the dogs" tails were well pinched, in the hall, to make them bark savagely.

These precautions having been taken, Mr. Giles held on fast by the tinker"s arm (to prevent his running away, as he pleasantly said), and gave the word of command to open the door. Brittles obeyed; the group, peeping timorously over each other"s shoulders, beheld no more formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted, who raised his heavy eyes, and mutely solicited their compassion.

"A boy!" exclaimed Mr. Giles, valiantly, pushing the tinker into the background. "What"s the matter with the--eh?--Why--Brittles--look here--don"t you know?"

Brittles, who had got behind the door to open it, no sooner saw Oliver, than he uttered a loud cry. Mr. Giles, seizing the boy by one leg and one arm (fortunately not the broken limb) lugged him straight into the hall, and deposited him at full length on the floor thereof.

"Here he is!" bawled Giles, calling in a state of great excitement, up the staircase; "here"s one of the thieves, ma"am! Here"s a thief, miss! Wounded, miss! I shot him, miss; and Brittles held the light."

"--In a lantern, miss," cried Brittles, applying one hand to the side of his mouth, so that his voice might travel the better.

The two women-servants ran upstairs to carry the intelligence that Mr. Giles had captured a robber; and the tinker busied himself in endeavouring to restore Oliver, lest he should die before he could be hanged. In the midst of all this noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet female voice, which quelled it in an instant.

"Giles!" whispered the voice from the stair-head.

"I"m here, miss," replied Mr. Giles. "Don"t be frightened, miss; I ain"t much injured. He didn"t make a very desperate resistance, miss! I was soon too many for him."

"Hush!" replied the young lady; "you frighten my aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?"

"Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles, with indescribable complacency.

"He looks as if he was a-going, miss," bawled Brittles, in the same manner as before. "Wouldn"t you like to come and look at him, miss, in case he should?"

"Hush, pray; there"s a good man!" rejoined the lady. "Wait quietly only one instant, while I speak to aunt."

With a footstep as soft and gentle as the voice, the speaker tripped away. She soon returned, with the direction that the wounded person was to be carried, carefully, upstairs to Mr. Giles"s room; and that Brittles was to saddle the pony and betake himself instantly to Chertsey: from which place, he was to despatch, with all speed, a constable and doctor.

"But won"t you take one look at him, first, miss?" asked Mr. Giles, with as much pride as if Oliver were some bird of rare plumage, that he had skilfully brought down. "Not one little peep, miss?"

"Not now, for the world," replied the young lady. "Poor fellow! Oh! treat him kindly, Giles for my sake!"

The old servant looked up at the speaker, as she turned away, with a glance as proud and admiring as if she had been his own child. Then, bending over Oliver, he helped to carry him upstairs, with the care and solicitude of a woman.

Chapter 11
The Burglary
It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street. The wind was blowing, and it was raining hard. As they approached the City, the noise and traffic gradually increased. Bill Sikes was dragging Oliver after him. ‘Come, don’t lag behind!’ Sikes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his little companion’s wrist. Oliver quickened his pace into a kind of trot between a fast walk and a run. When they passed Hyde Park corner, an empty cart came up. Sikes asked the driver if he would give them a lift.
‘Jump up,’ said the man. ‘Is that your boy?’
‘Yes; he’s my boy,’ replied Sikes, looking hard at Oliver and putting his hand into the pocket where the pistol was.
‘Your father walks rather too quick for you, doesn’t he, my man?’ inquired the driver, seeing that Oliver was out of breath.
‘Not a bit of it,’ replied Sikes. ‘He’s used to it.’
‘Here, take hold of my hand, Ned.’ Thus addressing Oliver, Sikes helped him into the cart; and the driver, pointing to a heap of sacks, told him lie down there, and rest himself.
Oliver wondered, more and more, where his companion meant to take him. Kensington, Chiswick, Kew Bridge, Brendford were all passed; and yet they went on. At length, they came to a public-house called “The Coach and Horses”, and here the cart stopped.
Sikes dismounted, holding Oliver by the hand all the while.
‘Good-bye,’ said the man and drove away. Sikes waited and then once again led Oliver onward. They turned round to the left, a short way past the public-house; and then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a long time, passing many large gardens and houses on both sides of the way. At length they came into the town; and, turning into an old public-house, ordered some dinner by the kitchen fire.
The kitchen was an old low-roofed room.
There were benches with high backs to them by the fire. Several rough men were drinking and smoking. Sikes and the boy had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after it that Oliver began to feel quite certain they were not going any further.
He was very tired with the walk. First he dozed a little and then fell asleep.
It was quite dark when he was awaked by a push from Sikes. Oliver sat up and looked about him. There was a man, sitting near Bill Sikes, with whom he was communicating over a pint of ale.
‘Could you give my boy and me a lift?’ asked Sikes, pushing the ale towards his new friend.
‘If you’re going directly, I can,’ replied the man. ‘Is all paid, Becky?’
‘Yes, the other gentleman’s paid,’ replied the girl.
The stranger seized Sikes by the hand and declared he was a real good fellow.
The night was very dark. A damp mist rose from the river. It was cold. Not a word was spoken. The driver grew sleepy, and Sikes was in no mood to lead him into conversation.
They came again into lonely road. Two or three miles more, and the cart stopped. Sikes took Oliver by the hand, and they once again walked on in mud and darkness until they came within sight of the lights of a town at no great distance. Oliver saw that they were coming to the foot of a bridge.
Sikes kept straight on, until they were close upon the bridge; then turned suddenly down a bank upon the left.
‘The water!’ thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. ‘He has brought me to this lonely place to murder me!’
He was about to throw himself on the ground and make one struggle for his young life when he saw that they stood before a house: all ruinous and decayed. No light was visible. The house was dark and looked uninhabited.
Sikes, with Oliver’s hand still in his, softly approached the low porch. He opened the door, and they passed in together.
‘Hallo!’ cried a loud, hoarse voice, as soon as they set foot in the passage.
‘Don’t make so much noise, Toby.’
‘Aha! My pal!’ cried the same voice.
Sikes pushed Oliver before him; and they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire, two or three broken chairs, a table, and a very old couch. On the coach a man was sitting.
‘Bill, my boy!’ said Mr.Crackit, turning his head towards the door. ‘I’m glad to see you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come!’
Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise, as his eyes rested on Oliver, Mr.Toby Crackit brought himself into a sitting posture, and demanded who that was.
‘The boy. Only the boy! Fagin’s boy,’ replied Sikes, drawing a chair towards the fire.
‘Now,’ said Sikes, as he resumed his seat, ‘give us something to eat and drink. Sit down by the fire, Oliver, and rest yourself; for you’ll have to go out with us again to-night, though not very far off.’
Oliver looked at Sikes in mute wonder and drew a stool to the fire.
‘Here,’ said Toby, placing some food and a bottle upon the table. He filled three glasses. ‘To our success!’ said Toby and drank off the contents. Sikes did the same.
‘Indeed,’ said Oliver, looking piteously up into the man’s face; ‘indeed, sir, I …’
‘Drink it!’ said Toby. ‘Do you think I don’t know what’s good for you? Tell him to drink it, Bill.’
‘Drink it!’ said Sikes, clapping his hand upon his pocket.
Oliver hastily swallowed the contents of the glass, and immediately fell into a violent fit of coughing: which delighted Toby Crackit and even Bill Sikes.
Oliver could eat nothing but a small crust of bread which they made him swallow. The two men laid themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver sat on his stool by the fire. Soon he fell into a heavy doze. He was roused by Toby Crackit who said it was half-past one. In an instant, they were on their legs. All were actively engaged in busy preparation. Sikes and his companion enveloped their necks and chins in large dark shawls.
‘Nothing forgotten?’ inquired Sikes, fastening a small crowbar to a loop under his coat.
‘Here they are,’ replied Toby, producing a pair of pistols. ‘I loaded them myself.’
The two robbers went out with Oliver between them. It was now very dark. The fog was much heavier. ‘Let’s go through the town,’ whispered Sikes; ‘there’ll be nobody in the way to-night.’
The hoarse barking of dogs occasionally broke the silence of the night.
After walking about a quarter of a mile, they top of which Toby Crackit climbed in a moment.
Sikes caught Oliver under the arms, and in three or four seconds he and Toby were lying on the grass on the other side. Sikes followed directly. And they stole cautiously towards the house.
And now, for the first time, Oliver, mad with grief and terror, saw that housebreaking and robbery, if not murder, were the objects of the expedition. He clasped his hands together and involuntarily uttered an exclamation of horror. A mist came before his eyes; the cold sweat stood upon his face; his legs failed him; and he sank upon his knees.
‘Get up!’ murmured Sikes, trembling with rage, and drawing the pistol from his pocket. ‘Get up, or I’ll kill you.’
‘Oh! For God’s sake let me go!’ cried Oliver; ‘let me run away and die in the fields. I will never come near London; never, never! Oh! Have mercy me, and do not make me steal. For the love of all the bright Angels that rest in Heaven, have mercy upon me!’
Bill Sikes swore a dreadful oath and cocked the pistol, when Toby placed his hand upon the boy’s mouth.
‘Hush!’ cried the man; ‘If he says another word, I’ll do your business myself with a crack on the head. That makes no noise, and is quite as certain. Here, Bill, open the shutter.’
With the help of his crowbar and some assistance from Toby Sikes opened the shutter. It was a little window, about five feet and half above the ground. It was so small that the inmates didn’t think it worth while to defend it well; but it was large enough to admit a boy of Oliver’s size, nevertheless.
‘Now listen, you young dog,’ whispered Sikes, drawing a dark lantern from his pocket, ‘I’m going to put you through there. Take this light; go softly straight to the street-door, open it and let us in.’
Toby stood firmly with his head against the wall beneath the window, and his hands upon his knees, so as to make a step of his back. This was no sooner done, than Sikes, mounting upon him, put Oliver gently through the window with his feet first; and, without leaving hold of his collar, planted him safely on the floor inside.
‘You see the street-door?’
Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, ‘Yes.’ Sikes, pointing to the street-door with the pistol-barrel, briefly advised him to take notice that he was within shot all the way; and that if he did anything wrong, he would fall dead that very instant.
‘Now, do your work quickly!’ said Sikes, in the same low whisper.
In the short time Oliver collected his senses. The boy decided that, whether he could die in the attempt or not, he would make an effort to run upstairs from the hall, and alarm the family. Filled with this idea, he advanced at once.
‘Come back,’ suddenly cried Sikes aloud. ‘Back, back!’
Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place, and by a loud cry which followed it, Oliver didn’t know whether to advance or run back.
The cry was repeated – a light appeared – a vision of two terrified half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes - a flash – a loud noise – a smoke – a crash somewhere, - and he staggered back.
Sikes had him by the collar before the smoke cleared away. He fired his own pistol after the men, who were already retreating; and dragged the boy up.
‘Give me a shawl,’ said Sikes, as he drew him through the window. ‘They’ve him. Quick! How the boy bleeds!’
Then came the loud ringing of a bell, the noise of fire-arms. The shouts of men. And the sensation that somebody carried him over uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then, the noises grew confused in the distance; and a cold deadly feeling crept over the boy’s heart; and he saw or heard no more.

Среди общественных зданий в некоем городе, который по многим причинам благоразумнее будет не называть и которому я не дам никакого вымышленного наименования, находится здание, издавна встречающееся почти во всех городах, больших и малых, именно - работный дом. Работный дом - дом призрения (приют) для бедняков в Англии. Нарисованная Диккенсом в романе картина реалистически воспроизводит организацию и порядки английских работных домов с их тюремным режимом. И в этом работном доме родился, - я могу себя не утруждать указанием дня и числа, так как это не имеет никакого значения для читателя, во всяком случае на данной стадии повествования, - родился смертный, чье имя предшествует началу этой главы.

Когда приходский врач Приходский врач - врач, состоящий на службе в «приходе». В Англии раньше приходом назывался район, во главе которого церковные власти ставили священника с правом взимать с населения налоги в пользу государственной англиканской церкви. Но с течением времени приходом стал называться небольшой район в городах и сельской местности, хозяйственная жизнь которого была подчинена выборному совету граждан. В эпоху Диккенса в Англии было пятнадцать с половиной тысяч приходов. К управлению делами прихода рабочие и крестьяне не допускались, ибо правом голоса обладали только жители с высоким имущественным цензом. В круг ведения приходских властей входила также организация так называемой «помощи бедным», то есть работный дом, куда решались вступать только те жители прихода, которые потеряли всякую надежду на улучшение своих жизненных условий. ввел его в сей мир печали и скорбей, долгое время казалось весьма сомнительным, выживет ли ребенок, чтобы получить какое бы то ни было имя; по всей вероятности, эти мемуары никогда не вышли бы в свет, а если бы вышли, то заняли бы не более двух-трех страниц и благодаря этому бесценному качеству являли бы собою самый краткий и правдивый образец биографии из всех сохранившихся в литературе любого века или любой страны.

Хотя я не склонен утверждать, что рождение в работном доме само по себе самая счастливая и завидная участь, какая может выпасть на долю человека, тем не менее я полагаю, что при данных условиях это было наилучшим для Оливера Твиста. Потому что весьма трудно было добиться, чтобы Оливер Твист взял на себя заботу о своем дыхании, а это занятие хлопотливое, хотя обычай сделал его необходимым для нашего безболезненного существования. В течение некоторого времени он лежал, задыхающийся, на шерстяном матрасике, находясь в неустойчивом равновесии между этим миром и грядущим и решительно склоняясь в пользу последнего. Если бы на протяжении этого короткого промежутка времени Оливер был окружен заботливыми бабушками, встревоженными тетками, опытными сиделками и премудрыми докторами, он неизбежно и, несомненно был бы загублен. Но так как никого поблизости не было, кроме нищей старухи, у которой голова затуманилась от непривычной порции пива, и приходского врача, исполнявшего свои обязанности по договору, Оливер и Природа вдвоем выиграли битву. В результате Оливер после недолгой борьбы вздохнул, чихнул и возвестил обитателям работного дома о новом бремени, ложившемся на приход, испустив такой громкий вопль, какой только можно было ожидать от младенца мужского пола, который три с четвертью минуты назад получил сей весьма полезный дар - голос.

Как только Оливер обнаружил это первое доказательство надлежащей и свободной деятельности своих легких, лоскутное одеяло, небрежно брошенное на железную кровать, зашевелилось, бледное лицо молодой женщины приподнялось с подушки и слабый голос невнятно произнес:

Дайте мне посмотреть на ребенка - и умереть.

Врач сидел у камина, согревая и потирая ладони. Когда заговорила молодая женщина, он встал и, подойдя к изголовью, сказал ласковее, чем можно было от него ждать:

Ну, вам еще рано говорить о смерти!

Конечно, боже избавь! - вмешалась сиделка, торопливо засовывая в карман зеленую бутылку, содержимое которой она с явным удовольствием смаковала в углу комнаты. - Боже избавь! Вот когда она проживет столько, сколько прожила я, сэр, да произведет на свет тринадцать ребят, и из них останутся в живых двое, да и те будут с нею в работном доме, вот тогда она образумится и не будет принимать все близко к сердцу!.. Подумайте, милая, о том, что значит быть матерью! Какой у вас милый ребеночек!

По-видимому, эта утешительная перспектива материнства не произвела надлежащего впечатления. Больная покачала головой и протянула руку к ребенку.

Доктор передал его в ее объятия. Она страстно прижалась холодными, бледными губами к его лбу, провела рукой по лицу, дико осмотрелась вокруг, вздрогнула, откинулась назад… и умерла. Ей растирали грудь, руки и виски, но сердце остановилось навеки. Что-то говорили о надежде и успокоении. Но этого она давно уже не ведала.

Все кончено, миссис Тингами! - сказал, наконец, врач.

Да, все кончено. Ах, бедняжка! - подтвердила сиделка, подхватывая пробку от зеленой бутылки, упавшую на подушку, когда она наклонилась, чтобы взять ребенка. - Бедняжка!

Ее принесли сюда вчера вечером, - ответила старуха, - по распоряжению надзирателя. Ее нашли лежащей на улице. Она пришла издалека, башмаки у нее совсем истоптаны, но откуда и куда она шла - никто не знает.

Врач наклонился к покойнице и поднял ее левую руку.

Старая история, - сказал он, покачивая головой. - Нет обручального кольца… Ну, спокойной ночи!

Достойный медик отправился обедать, а сиделка, еще раз приложившись к зеленой бутылке, уселась на низкий стул у камина и принялась облачать младенца.

Каким превосходным доказательством могущества одеяния явился юный Оливер Твист! Закутанный в одеяло, которое было доселе единственным его покровом, он мог быть сыном дворянина и сыном нищего; самый родовитый человек едва ли смог бы определить подобающее ему место в обществе. Но теперь, когда его облачили в старую коленкоровую рубашонку, пожелтевшую от времени, он был отмечен и снабжен ярлыком и сразу занял свое место - приходского ребенка, сироты из работного дома, смиренного колодного бедняка, проходящего свой жизненный путь под градом ударов и пощечин, презираемого всеми и нигде не встречающего жалости.

Оливер громко кричал. Если бы мог он знать, что он сирота, оставленный на милосердное попечение церковных старост и надзирателей, быть может, он кричал бы еще громче.

на английском языке

Яковлева Марина Сергеевна

Вступление

Представленный сценарий основан на адаптированной версии Дж. Дули по роману Чарльза Диккенса «Оливер Твист».

Театрализованное представление является заключительным этапом проектной деятельности по теме «Выдающиеся английские писатели: Чарльз Диккенс».

Работа над проектом велась на уроках английского языка (домашнее чтение) в течение нескольких месяцев. При чтении произведения особое внимание уделялось произношению и интонации. Учащиеся еще до выступления разыгрывали диалоги и отдельные сцены из книги. В дальнейшем участники проекта сами отбирали будущих исполнителей ролей.

Подготовка к спектаклю и само театрализованное представление в рамках настоящего проекта создает максимальные условия для проявления и становления творческих артистических возможностей учащихся.

Работа над проектом развивает воображение, фантазию, коллективную ответственность за результат совместной деятельности и приносит удовлетворение ученикам, видящим продукт своего собственного труда.

Такие формы презентации как театрализованное представление являются также частью речевой практики и интегративного развития коммуникативных умений иноязычного речевого общения как вид работы по поддержанию достигнутого уровня, совершенствованию и углублению подготовки учащихся.

Представленный сценарий может быть использован в рамках внеклассной работы по предмету.

Introduction

	Hi, Jane! I haven’t seen you for ages!
	Hello Mike, glad to meet you.
	Are you in a hurry? I’m going to have a snack. Will you join me ? We can chat a little.
	With great pleasure but not today. I`m to learn my part for our school play “Oliver Twist” by Charles Dickens.
	Really! It’s great! I’m sure it’s a kind of a tearful love story.
	Nothing of the kind! It’s about a small boy, whose mother had died in a workhouse giving him birth. His life was very hard and full of mystery.
	Аnd what is “workhouse”?
	“Many years ago in England there were special places called workhouses, where poor people went to live when they had no money or work, no families. Most of them had nowhere else to go. They worked for food and shelter”.
	Oh, how interesting! I like history. Charles Dickens is buried in Westminster Abbey isn’t he?
	You’re right he is.
	I was in London last year and I saw his grave. But I haven’t read any of his books.
	I’ve got only one at home. And it’s “Oliver Twist”.
	Call me tomorrow.
	Done. Good - bye, Jane.

Mr. Brown, a doctor (or Mrs. Brown)

A room in a workhouse. Sally is sitting with the doctor at the table, drinking tea.

	What awful weather it is today!
	It’s a real storm Sally
	Some more tea doctor?
	Oh, no, thanks. How long have you been living here Sally.
	For fifty years, Mr. Brown, for fifty years. And it wasn’t an easy life, believe me. The knock at the door
	Don’t you hear?
	Somebody has knocked at the door.
	Who is there I wonder? They open the door and help the young woman in.
	Come in dear. Feel at home. It’s a very bad idea to go out of the house in such bad weather The woman faints.
	Oh, my God, she is pregnant! The woman comes to herself
	Don’t be afraid, dear. Your child will be born soon, don’t worry! Boil some water Sally. I’ll prepare everything. Doctor goes out.
	I’ve had thirteen children and I’ve often helped the doctor when a child was born. Close your eyes now and try to rest.
	My good woman, help me, please The woman takes off the gold chain with a locket Take these things… please, keep them safe for my child… I’m very sick! I don’t think I’ll live to see the baby. Sally puts the chain into her pocket
	Don’t talk like that. You’ll need all your strength for the birth!
	Come with me dear, you mustn’t think about dying.
	Doctor takes the woman to another room. After some time the baby`s cry is heard. Doctor comes out with the baby in his hands. He gives the baby to Sally
	“Well Sally, I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do here. She died. She was too weak. Where did she come from?
	I don’t know, but she walked a long way to get here. Her shoes were worn out”.
	And the baby’s father?
	We don’t know anything about him. May be he’s dead. She arrived here alone.
	Poor girl! I have to prepare everything for the burial. Till tomorrow Sally.
	Good bye, doctor. Sally looks at the child and puts him in a cradle. She sits down and takes the chain and a locket out of her pocket. What have we got here? Oh, two locks of hair … two portraits and a wedding ring… “A very sad story. Poor baby… I’m sorry, but I’m going to keep these things and sell them myself. Then I can have a bit of money now that I’m old”.

Scene II

a manager of the

workhouse Mr. Sowerberry, a coffin maker

Oliver Twist Clara, his wife.

Master (or mistress) Noah the boy who works with the coffin maker.

Nine years passed. Mr. Bumble brings Oliver to the men’s workhouse

	Now Oliver you begin a new life. I’m Mr. Bumble the manager of the workhouse. Your surname will be … Twist. Oliver Twist. Well, a nice name, isn’t it?
	Yes, sir. I like it.
	You must know that I’m very, very strict. If anyone in the workhouse does anything wrong, I hit them with this stick He shows Oliver a stick
	What, I don’t hear!
	Yes, sir, I see it.
	Well… Every day you’ll get a bowl of soup and a piece of bread on Sundays. Be a good boy.
	What, I don’t hear!
	I’ll be a good boy, sir.
	Go, then, this young man will show you your place. Oliver is brought to the dining room
	Hi, Oliver. Welcome to our hell. Have you got anything to eat?
	No, I’m hungry myself. We never had enough to eat in another house and never heard a kind word there. I hoped that it wouldbe better here.
	Better? The soup they serve is mostly water. We eat bread only once a week and it is so dry that we can break our teeth.
	We are so hungry that we decided that someone had to ask for more food.
	If one boy gets more soup we can all get more. Let’s draw lots. The boys pull sticks Well, you are to do it Oliver appears Master of the workhouse Dinner! You, young bastards, dinner! Master serves the soup, the children swallow the soup at once
	Go on then Oliver, ask for some more! Oliver holds out his bowl
	Please, sir. I want some more
	Please, sir, I’m hungry I want some more. Master hits Oliver with his soup spoon.
	Mr. Bumble, Mr. Bumble!
	What’s the matter Master?
	Oliver Twist wants more soup!
	“What ?! I can’t believe my ears! No one has ever asked for more! Oliver Twist, you are a bad, ungrateful boy! I’ll lock you in a dark cellar with rats!” Mr. Bumble takes Oliver away shaking him. He puts a notice on the door of the workhouse “Do you want a boy to learn a useful job? We will give 5 pounds to anyone who takes him”. On his way back Mr. Bumble meets Mr. Sowerberry, the coffin maker.
	Oh, good evening Mr. Sowerberry, do you know anyone who wants a boy - and five pounds?
	I think I’ll take him. I need a boy to work in my shop. But I would like to look at him.
	Mr. Bumble brings Oliver to the room
	Oh, he is small but very nice looking. What is your name boy?
	Oliver Twist, sir.
	Well you’ll come with me boy (he smiles)
	Very well sir. Let’s make the arrangements. Mr. Sowwerberry`s house.
	Clara, will you come here for a moment, my dear (Oliver bows)
	Hmm … he’s so small.
	“Yes, he is small, but he`ll grow, ma’am.
	Oh, yes, he’ll grow all right … on our food and drink! Get downstairs, you little bag of bones! Charlotte, give this boy those bits of meat the dog didn’t eat. Your bed’s under the shop counter. There’s nowhere else, so enjoy sleeping in there - with the coffins (she laughs)”. Morning in the house of Mr. Sowerberry. Oliver is making a wreath. Noah Claypole appears and kicks Oliver.
	Hey, you, dirty beggar! Stand up! I’m Mister Noah Claypole and you must do what I tell you. Why is Mr. Sowerberry so kind to you, I wonder? Is it because of your pretty face?
	I don’t know, sir. Noah kicks Oliver again.
	And where is your mother?
	Oliver is about to cry
	I heard your mother was a bad woman Oliver jumps to his feet and hits Noah Mrs. Sowerberry! Help! Oliver’s murdering me!
	You, bloody beast! She drags Oliver away You `ll not get any food for the whole day. Go and sit with the coffins in your cellar till Mr. Sowerberry comes. Oliver is sitting on the floor. He begins to pack his things.
	I can’t stay here any longer. Mr. Sowerberry is a kind man. But he won’t believe me. I’ll run away to London and look for work there. Oliver puts his things in a big handkerchief and leaves the house.

Scene III

Jack Dawkins (Artful Dodger)

Boy 1 An old gentleman

Boy 2 A man from a bookshop

Street in London. Oliver is sitting on a doorstep. A boy wearing a man’s coat and a top hat comes up to him

	Hello, there. What’s the matter?
	I’m very hungry and tired. I’ve been on the road for seven days,
	Stay here and I’ll buy you something to eat Jack brings bread and cold meat My name is Jack Dawkins, but they call me the Artful Dodger. Have you got any money?
	I suppose you want somewhere to sleep tonight, don’t you?
	I know an old man who can help you. Come with me.
	Thank you, very much! The boys come to a big room. An old man with long greasy red hair is cooking something. A few boys are sitting around the table, playing cards. A lot of silk handkerchiefs are hanging across the room.
	Mr. Fagin, meet my friend, Oliver Twist!
	Glad to meet you. Feel yourself at home, young man. You, naughty boys! Fagin laughs and playfully hit the boys with a fork They like jokes! Oliver stares at the handkerchief’s We’ve just washed them up my dear!
	You all are so cheerful and friendly! I’m happy to meet you. Charley Bates and Jack give Fagin well-made wallets and handkerchiefs.
	Look Oliver, what clever boys they are. They worked so hard. Would you like to learn to come home every day with wallets and handkerchiefs like these, hmm?
	Oh, yes, sir if you teach me! Fagin and the boys laugh.
	Now we’ll play a game. I’ll put some things into my pocket and you try to take them out secretly. If I feel a hand in my pocket I’m the winner. If I don’t feel your hand, then you win. They begin to play. Do you want to play Oliver?
	Oliver learns quickly.
	Very well my boy.
	Jack, Charley you may take him with you. Charley, Jack and Oliver slowly walk along the street. Charley points towards an old gentleman standing with a book outside a bookshop.
	Do you see that gentleman with a book ? He `ll do. He doesn’t seem to notice anything around.
	Perfect! The book is very interesting isn`t it? They laugh, then slowly come up to the man. Jack pulls the handkerchief out of his pocket. He turns to Oliver Oliver is shocked. He doesn`t move.
	You are thieves! My God! You are thieves!
	Oliver tries to run, but an old gentleman catches hold of him.
An old gentleman:	Shame on you! You’ve stolen my handkerchief. I`ll take you to the police station!
A man from the bookshop:	This is not a thief. I saw everything from my shop. Two other boys had stolen the handkerchief!
An old gentleman:	The boy is ill. Get a carriage! I’m taking him to my home. My name is Mr. Brownlow. I’ll take care of him.

Scene IV

Mr. Brownlow, an old gentleman

Mrs. Bedwin, the housekeeper

Mr. Grimwig (or Mrs. Grimwig)

A sitting room in Mr. Brownlow`s house. Oliver is looking at the portrait of a young lady on the wall. Mrs. Bedwin comes in.

	Do you like that picture, dear?
	Yes. The lady’s face is so beautiful, but her eyes look sad.
	If the picture makes you sad, you mustn’t look at it. I’ll move your chair so that you can’t see it. She moves the chair. Mr. Brownlow comes in
	How are you, my dear?
	Very well now, thank you, sir. Mr. Brownlow stares at the picture above Oliver’s chair.
	Mrs. Bedwin, what’s this? Look at the boy’s face! Look at the picture!
	Oliver’s face is exactly like the face in the picture! This portrait makes him sad. I’d better take it away.
	You are right. He suffered so much in his short life! Oliver, I want to talk to you.
	Oh please, sir. Don’t tell me you are going to send me away!
	No, my dear child. I’ll never send you away! A knock at the door. Mr. Grimwig comes.
	Hello! What’s that?
	This is Oliver Twist, the boy I told you about.
	Don’t trust that boy. He has told you a pack of lies, or I’ll eat my hat.
	Mrs. Bedwin comes in with some books.
	I want to send some books back there.
	Why don`t you let Oliver take them back to the shop.
	Oh, yes, let me go, sir.
	Very well. I trust you, Oliver. Take these books and this money and bring me ten shillings change.
	Yes, sir, thank you! I’ll run all the way. Oliver runs out. Mr. Brownlow looks at the clock.
	He’ll be back in … twenty minutes!
	“Do you really think he’ll come back? The boy has new clothes, five pounds and some books. He’ll go straight back to his friends, the thieves and laugh at you. If that boy comes back here tonight, I’ll eat my hat”. Mr. Bedwin brings tea. From time to time they look at the watch. It is rather late I’ll go. Good bye Mr. Brownlow. I have never liked boys, you know … He leaves the house.

Fagin’s room. Fagin is very angry.

	How could you leave Oliver alone, you, stupid beasts! Where is he now I wonder.
	We told him to run away but he could hardly move.
	I’ll teach you a good lesson and you `ll never move at all. He takes his stick. A man and a woman come in.
	What’s all this noise? What’s going on in here?
	“These stupid boys have lost Oliver and I’m afraid he will tell the police we’re thieves. We must find him before he talks!
	Nancy can help us. The police doesn`t know she works with us”.
	“Yes, Nancy, my dear, you can go to the police station. Tell them you’ve lost your little brother Oliver and find out where he is”.
	An old gentlemen took him home. The old boy likes to read books.
	Bill and Nancy! Watch the bookshop. Sooner or later we’ll find Oliver. On his way to the bookshop Oliver meets Bill and Nancy. Nancy embraces him.
	With tears in her voiceOliver, you bad boy! Where have you been? Our mother is so worried!
	You young devil! Aren’t you ashamed? Oh, and what have you got there? Stolen books, eh? And money! That’s mine. Bill snatches the money out of the boy’s hand and puts it in his pocket. Oliver tries to escape. They come to Fagin`s house.
	Oliver, my dear! You’re looking very well … what have you got for us - books?
	“I don’t care what you do to me, but please send the books back to Mr. Brownlow! He’s waiting for me and he’ll think I`ve stolen them”.
	That’s, right! He’ll think you’re a thief! Excellent! Oliver rushes towards the door. Fagin grabbed Oliver.
	So, you want to run away again … you want to go to the police, eh? I’ll teach you not to do that! He takes his stick. Nancy snatches it out of his hand and throws it away.
	You’ve got the boy back, but I won’t let you hurt him!
	Go to bed boy. You’ll have to work a little soon. Nancy takes Oliver away
	I saw the house, Fagin! There’s only one window without bars. It is too small for a man to get through!
	Hmm … can a boy get in?
	Yes … if he is very small and thin.
	Well … Oliver’s very small and thin, Bill. Fagin and Nancy enter the room where Oliver sleeps. Fagin wakes Oliver up. Oliver, you`ll go with Bill. He is a dangerous man. Don’t do anything to make him angry. He’s not afraid of blood! Nancy, dear, get the boy.
	(speaking in a whisper) Listen to me Oliver. Do what Bill tells you. Don’t shout or cry or try to escape. If you do, he’ll kill both of us. She takes the boy’s hand and they go away.

Oliver Twist. Charles Dickens retoldby Jenny Dooley. Express Publishing, 2003

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

Цитата по версии Дж. Дули «Оливер Твист»

ПРЕДИСЛОВИЕ

В свое время считалось, что я допустил большой неприличия, выведя на страницах этого произведения некоторых самых отвратительных представителей лондонского преступного мира.

Поскольку, работая над этой книгой, я не видел никакой причины, почему подонки общества не могут послужить нашему нравственному совершенствованию (когда не позволять того, чтобы их язык поражала наш слух) так же, как и его пена и сливки, я осмелился поверить, что этот самый «свое время», возможно, не означает «всегда» или даже «длительное время». У меня были веские причины идти именно этим путем. Я прочитал десятки книг о ворах: лихие ребята (в основном приятные в обращении), безупречно одеты, денег полные карманы, разбираются в лошадях, держатся так, будто им сам черт не брат, сердцееды, умеют и спеть, и рюмку выпить, и в карты или кости поиграть,- словом, общество, достойное настоящих мужчин. Но я никогда не встречался (кроме как в Хо-гарта) с жалкой действительностью. Мне казалось, что изобразить группу таких преступников во всей неприкрашенной реальности, показать уродство их морального облика, низость и ничтожность их образа жизни, изобразить их такими, какие они есть на самом деле,- крысами, которые прячутся в самых грязных закоулках жизни, и куда они обратят свой взгляд, везде перед ними висит большая черная виселица,- мне казалось, что показать это необходимо и что я сделаю пользу обществу. И я это выполнил, гаскільки мне стало умение.

Во всех известных мне книгах, где выведены такие люди, их изображен в украшенном и соблазнительном виде. Даже в «Опере нищих» жизнь воров показано так, то им можно позавидовать, а их предводитель Макхит, выступая в знадливому блеске своей власти и завоевал сердце самой красивой девушки, единой чеснотливої героини пьесы, вызывает у простодушных зрителей такое же восхищение и желание ему подражать, как и каждый джентльмен в красном мундире, который, по словам Воль-тера, купил себе право командовать двумя-тремя тысячами людей и повести их на смерть. Вопрос Джонсона, станет ли кто-нибудь вором за то, что смертный приговор Макхіту был отменен, кажется мне неуместным. Я спрашиваю себя, помешает кому-либо стать вором тот факт, что Макхіту был вынесен смертный приговор и что существуют Пичем и Локіт; и, вспоминая бурную жизнь капитана, его привлекательную внешность, его блестящие успехи и преимущества его сильной натуры, я готов заверить, что ни одному человеку с подобными наклонностями его судьба не станет предостережением и такой человек не увидит в этой пьесе ничего, кроме уквітчаної приятной дороги, - ах да! - рано или поздно приводит уважаемого честолюбця к виселице.

По сути, Гей намеревался высмеять своей остроумной сатирой все общество, и, ставя перед собой широкую цель, он не думал о том, какой пример могут подать его герои. То же самое можно сказать о великолепный сильный роман сэра Эдварда Бульвера «Пол Клиффорд», который никак нельзя считать произведением, что имеет какое-то отношение к этой теме, и вряд ли автор имел такое на уме.

Какое же оно, изображенное на этих страницах жизнь, ежедневное житье-бытье Вора? В чем его волшебство для людей молодых и с порочными наклонностями, которая его приманка для найтупоголовіших недолітків? Здесь никто не скачет галопом по озаренных луной вересковых просторах, никто не пирует в уютной пещере, нет ни роскошных нарядов, ни вышитых золотом камзолов, ни кружев, ни ботфортов, ни малиновых курток с гофрированными манжетами, нет никакого блеска, никакой прелести раздольного приволья, которым издревле наделяли разбой. Холодные мокрые ночные лондонские улицы, по которым блуждают, не находя приюта, воры; грязные, вонючие притон, доверху наполненные всеми возможными пороками; вертепы голода и болезней; рваный одежда, который едва держится на плечах,- что тут соблазнительного?

Однако некоторые люди имеют такую изящную и хрупкую натуру, что не могут спокойно созерцать подобные ужасы. Нет, преступление сам по себе им не мешает, но преступника, чтобы удовлетворить их вкус, надо представить, как дорогое блюдо, с деликатной приправой. Маккарони в зеленом бархате - это замечательный парень, а Сайкс в бумазейній рубашке - невыносимый. Миссис Маккарони,- дамочка в коротенькой юбочке и причудливом наряде,- стоит того, чтобы ее изображали в живи* картинах и на літографіях с тек-

стами популярных песен; а Нэнси,- простолюдинка в хлопковом платье и дешевой тали,- недопустима. Удивительно, как Добродетель отворачивается от грязных чулок и как Порок, сочетаясь с лентами и красочными одеждами, меняет, как замужняя женщина, свое имя и становится Романтикой.

Но я ставил в этой книге цель показать правдиво все, что касается этих прославленных (в романах) людей, даже их внешность, поэтому и не скрыл от своих читателей ни одной дырки в сюртуці Пройди, никакой папильотка в розкуйовдженому волосах Нэнси. Я не верил в искренность тех, кто уверял, что лицезреть этих людей им не позволяет их утонченная натура. Я не стремился привлечь их на свою сторону. Я не учитывал их мнение, одобрительную или неодобрительную, не добивался их благосклонности и не имел намерения их развлечь.

О Нэнси говорили, что ее преданность брутальному грабителю кажется неестественной. И одновременно возражали против Сайкса - довольно непоследовательно, как я осмеливаюсь думать,- мол, он слишком шаржований, потому что в нем нет и следа тех добродетелей, против которых возражали, считая их неестественными у его любовницы. Что касается последнего возражения скажу одно: боюсь, что на свете есть такие черствые, бездушные люди, испорченность которых окончательная и неизлечимая. Или да, или нет, я уверен друга: такие люди, как Сайкс, существуют, и если за ними следить в течение того же промежутка времени и при тех же обстоятельствах, которые изображены в романе, они ни в чем не обнаружат ни малейших признаков добрых наклонностей. То ли в их души погибли все лучшие человеческие чувства, будь то струна, которую следовало бы затронуть и которую трудно найти, взялась ржавчиной,- этого я не знаю, но уверен, что ничем не согрешил против истины.

Нет смысла спорить о том, естественные или неестественные поведение и нрав девушки, вероятные или невероятные, правильные или неправильные. Они правдивы. Каждый, кто наблюдал эти печальные тени жизни, должен это знать. Начиная с первой минуты появления этой несчастной девушки и заканчивая тем, как она кладет свою окровавленную голову на грудь грабителя, здесь нет никакого преувеличения ни выдумки. Это святая правда, ибо эту правду бог оставляет в сердце беспорядочных и несчастных; у них еще теплится надежда - последняя чистая капля воды на дне заиленного колодца. В ней лучшие и худшие стороны нашей натуры, в ней много самых отвратительных черт, но и самые благородные; это - противоречие, аномалия, сообщение, которое кажется невозможным, но это - правда. Я рад, что ее поставили под сомнение, потому что если бы я не имел твердой уверенности в том, что эту правду надо сказать, последнее обстоятельство лишило бы меня каких-либо колебаний.

Тысяча восемьсот пятидесятого года один слабоумный олдермен публично объявил в Лондоне, что острова Джекоба нет и никогда не было. Однако и тысяча восемьсот шестьдесят седьмого года остров Джекоба (место и по сей день довольно неприятное) существует, хоть и значительно преобразился.

1.	Чарльз Диккенс Приключения Оливера Твиста Перевод М.Пінчевського и др.
2.	Глава i повествует о месте, где родился...
3.	Глава II повествует о том, как Оливер Твист рос,...
4.	Раздел III повествует о том, как Оливеру Твисту...
5.	Раздел IV Оливеру предлагают другое место,...
6.	Раздел V Оливер знакомится с товарищами по...
7.	Раздел VI Разгневанный Носвими насмешками. Оливер...
8.	Раздел VII Оливер бунтует дальше Ной Клейпол...
9.	Раздел VIII Оливер идет в Лондон. Дорогой...
10.	Раздел IX содержит дополнительные сведения о...
11.	Раздел X Оливер ближе знакомится с...
12.	Раздел XI повествует о полицейского судью мистера...
13.	Глава XII, в которой об Оливере заботятся лучше,...
14.	Раздел XIII Смышленый читатель знакомится с новыми участниками...
15.
16.	Раздел XV, показывает, как искренне любила Оливера Твиста...
17.	Раздел XVI повествует о том, что произошло с...
18.	Раздел XVII Судьба обнаруживает и дальше немилость к...
19.	Глава XVIII Как Оливер проводил время в спасенному...
20.
21.	Глава XX, в котором Оливер переходит в распоряжение...
22.	Раздел XXI Экспедиция на Улице был виден серый мрачный...
23.	Раздел XXII Грабеж - Эй! - послышался...
24.	Раздел XXIII, который пересказывает содержание приятной...
25.	Глава XXIV, в котором говорится о вещи почти не стражу...
26.	Глава XXV, в котором снова возвращаемся к мистеру...
27.	Глава XXVI, в котором на сцене появляется новая...
28.	Раздел XXVII искупает вину одного из предыдущих...
29.	Глава XXVIII, в котором говорится о Оливера Твиста и...
30.	Раздел XXIX знакомит с обитателями дома, к которому...
31.	Раздел XXX повествует о том, какое впечатление...
32.	Раздел XXXI повествует о критическом положении...
33.	Глава XXXII о счастливой жизни, что началось для Оливера...
34.