It required the genius of Dickens to make such a clear picture of an unloving father.
Even before Nicholas Nickleby was written Dickens had revealed his sympathetic nature. Oliver Twist’s story was written to stir the hearts of his readers in favour of unfortunate children. What a contrast is made between the hardening effects of his treatment by Bumble and the “gentleman in the white waistcoat,” and the humanizing influence of Rose Maylie’s tear dropped on his cheek.
Surely no sensitive little boy ever submitted to more unsympathetic treatment than poor Oliver.
When little Oliver was taken before “the gentlemen” that evening, and informed that he was to go that night as general house lad to a coffin maker’s, and that if he complained of his situation, or ever came back to the parish again, he would be sent to sea, there to be drowned or knocked on the head, as the case might be, he evinced so little emotion that they by common consent pronounced him a hardened young rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to remove him forthwith.
For some time Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along, without notice or remark; for the beadle carried his head very erect, as a beadle always should; and, it being a windy day, little Oliver was completely enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bumble’s coat as they blew open and disclosed to great advantage his flapped waistcoat and drab plush knee breeches. As they drew near to their destination, however, Mr. Bumble thought it expedient to look down and see that the boy was in good order for inspection by his new master: which he accordingly did, with a fit and becoming air of gracious patronage.
“Oliver!” said Mr. Bumble.
“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver in a low, tremulous voice.
“Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head, sir.”
Although Oliver did as he was desired at once, and passed the back of his unoccupied hand briskly across his eyes, he left a tear in them when he looked up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazed sternly upon him, it rolled down his cheek. It was followed by another, and another. The child made a strong effort, but it was an unsuccessful one. Withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble’s, he covered his face with both, and wept until the tears sprung out from between his chin and bony fingers.
“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and darting at his little charge a look of intense malignity. “Well! Of all the ungratefullest and worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, you are the——”