‘On the commission he is, at any rate,’ said I.‘And he writes to me here,that he will be glad to show me, in operation,the only true system of prison discipline;the only unchallengeable way of making sincere and lasting converts and penitents--which, you know, is by solitary confinement. What do you say?’
‘To the system?’ inquired Traddles, looking grave.
‘No. To my accepting the offer, and your going with me?’
‘I don’t object,’ said Traddles.
‘Then I’ll write to say so.You remember (to say nothing of our treatment) this same Creakle turning his son out of doors, I suppose, and the life he used to lead his wife and daughter?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Traddles.
‘Yet, if you’ll read his letter,you’ll find he is the tenderest of men to prisoners convicted of the whole calendar of felonies,’ said I; ‘though I can’t find that his tenderness extends to any other class of created beings.’
Traddles shrugged his shoulders,and was not at all surprised.I had not expected him to be,and was not surprised myself;or my observation of similar practical satires would have been but scanty.We arranged the time of our visit,and I wrote accordingly to Mr. Creakle that evening.
On the appointed day--I think it was the next day,but no matter--Traddles and I repaired to the prison where Mr.Creakle was powerful.It was an immense and solid building,erected at a vast expense. I could not help thinking,as we approached the gate,what an uproar would have been made in the country,if any deluded man had proposed to spend one half the money it had cost,on the erection of an industrial school for the young,or a house of refuge for the deserving old.
In an office that might have been on the ground-floor of the Tower of Babel,it was so massively constructed,we were presented to our old schoolmaster;who was one of a group,composed of two or three of the busier sort of magistrates,and some visitors they had brought. He received me,like a man who had formed my mind in bygone years,and had always loved me tenderly.On my introducing Traddles, Mr. Creakle expressed,in like manner, but in an inferior degree,that he had always been Traddles’s guide, philosopher,and friend. Our venerable instructor was a great deal older,and not improved in appearance.His face was as fiery as ever; his eyes were as small,and rather deeper set. The scanty,wet-looking grey hair, by which I remembered him,was almost gone; and the thick veins in his bald head were none the more agreeable to look at.
After some conversation among these gentlemen,from which I might have supposed that there was nothing in the world to be legitimately taken into account but the supreme comfort of prisoners, at any expense, and nothing on the wide earth to be done outside prison-doors, we began our inspection. It being then just dinner-time, we went, first into the great kitchen, where every prisoner’s dinner was in course of being set out separately (to be handed to him in his cell), with the regularity and precision of clock-work. I said aside, to Traddles, that I wondered whether it occurred to anybody, that there was a striking contrast between these plentiful repasts of choice quality, and the dinners, not to say of paupers, but of soldiers, sailors, labourers, the great bulk of the honest, working community; of whom not one man in five hundred ever dined half so well. But I learned that the ‘system’ required high living; and, in short, to dispose of the system, once for all, I found that on that head and on all others, ‘the system’ put an end to all doubts, and disposed of all anomalies. Nobody appeared to have the least idea that there was any other system, but THE system, to be considered.
As we were going through some of the magnificent passages,I inquired of Mr. Creakle and his friends what were supposed to be the main advantages of this all-governing and universally over-riding system?I found them to be the perfect isolation of prisoners--so that no one man in confinement there, knew anything about another; and the reduction of prisoners to a wholesome state of mind, leading to sincere contrition and repentance.
Now, it struck me, when we began to visit individuals in their cells,and to traverse the passages in which those cells were,and to have the manner of the going to chapel and so forth,explained to us, that there was a strong probability of the prisoners knowing a good deal about each other, and of their carrying on a pretty complete system of intercourse. This, at the time I write, has been proved, I believe, to be the case; but, as it would have been flat blasphemy against the system to have hinted such a doubt then, I looked out for the penitence as diligently as I could.
And here again, I had great misgivings.I found as prevalent a fashion in the form of the penitence,as I had left outside in the forms of the coats and waistcoats in the windows of the tailors’ shops. I found a vast amount of profession, varying very little in character: varying very little (which I thought exceedingly suspicious), even in words. I found a great many foxes, disparaging whole vineyards of inaccessible grapes; but I found very few foxes whom I would have trusted within reach of a bunch. Above all, I found that the most professing men were the greatest objects of interest; and that their conceit, their vanity, their want of excitement, and their love of deception (which many of them possessed to an almost incredible extent, as their histories showed), all prompted to these professions, and were all gratified by them.
However, I heard so repeatedly,in the course of our goings to and fro,of a certain Number Twenty Seven,who was the Favourite,and who really appeared to be a Model Prisoner,that I resolved to suspend my judgement until I should see Twenty Seven.Twenty Eight, I understood,was also a bright particular star;but it was his misfortune to have his glory a little dimmed by the extraordinary lustre of Twenty Seven. I heard so much of Twenty Seven, of his pious admonitions to everybody around him, and of the beautiful letters he constantly wrote to his mother (whom he seemed to consider in a very bad way), that I became quite impatient to see him.
I had to restrain my impatience for some time,on account of Twenty Seven being reserved for a concluding effect.But, at last, we came to the door of his cell; and Mr.Creakle, looking through a little hole in it,reported to us, in a state of the greatest admiration,that he was reading a Hymn Book.
There was such a rush of heads immediately,to see Number Twenty Seven reading his Hymn Book,that the little hole was blocked up,six or seven heads deep. To remedy this inconvenience,and give us an opportunity of conversing with Twenty Seven in all his purity,Mr. Creakle directed the door of the cell to be unlocked,and Twenty Seven to be invited out into the passage.This was done; and whom should Traddles and I then behold,to our amazement, in this converted Number Twenty Seven, but Uriah Heep!
He knew us directly; and said,as he came out--with the old writhe,--
‘How do you do, Mr. Copperfield?How do you do, Mr. Traddles?’
This recognition caused a general admiration in the party.I rather thought that everyone was struck by his not being proud,and taking notice of us.
‘Well, Twenty Seven,’ said Mr. Creakle,mournfully admiring him.‘How do you find yourself today?’
‘I am very umble, sir!’ replied Uriah Heep.
‘You are always so, Twenty Seven,’ said Mr. Creakle.
Here, another gentleman asked, with extreme anxiety:‘Are you quite comfortable?’
‘Yes, I thank you, sir!’ said Uriah Heep, looking in that direction.‘Far more comfortable here, than ever I was outside.I see my follies, now, sir.That’s what makes me comfortable.’
Several gentlemen were much affected;and a third questioner, forcing himself to the front,inquired with extreme feeling:‘How do you find the beef?’