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. (…)
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. (…)
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?’
‘Thank you, sir,’
replied Uriah, glancing in the new direction of this voice, ‘it was tougher
yesterday than I could wish; but it’s my duty to bear. I have committed
follies, gentlemen,’ said Uriah, looking round with a meek smile, ‘and I ought
to bear the consequences without repining.’
A murmur, partly of
gratification at Twenty Seven’s celestial state of mind, and partly of
indignation against the Contractor who had given him any cause of complaint (a
note of which was immediately made by Mr. Creakle), having subsided, Twenty
Seven stood in the midst of us, as if he felt himself the principal object of
merit in a highly meritorious museum. That we, the neophytes, might have an excess
of light shining upon us all at once, orders were given to let out Twenty
Eight.
I had been so much
astonished already, that I only felt a kind of resigned wonder when Mr.
Littimer walked forth, reading a good book!
‘Twenty Eight,’ said
a gentleman in spectacles, who had not yet spoken, ‘you complained last week,
my good fellow, of the cocoa. How has it been since?’
‘I thank you, sir,’
said Mr. Littimer, ‘it has been better made. If I might take the liberty of
saying so, sir, I don’t think the milk which is boiled with it is quite
genuine; but I am aware, sir, that there is a great adulteration of milk, in
London, and that the article in a pure state is difficult to be obtained.’
It appeared to me
that the gentleman in spectacles backed his Twenty Eight against Mr. Creakle’s
Twenty Seven, for each of them took his own man in hand.
‘What is your state
of mind, Twenty Eight?’ said the questioner in spectacles.
‘I thank you, sir,’
returned Mr. Littimer; ‘I see my follies now, sir. I am a good deal troubled when
I think of the sins of my former companions, sir; but I trust they may find
forgiveness.’
‘You are quite happy
yourself?’ said the questioner, nodding encouragement.
‘I am much obliged to
you, sir,’ returned Mr. Littimer. ‘Perfectly so.’
‘Is there anything at
all on your mind now?’ said the questioner. ‘If so, mention it, Twenty Eight.’
‘Sir,’
said Mr. Littimer, without looking up, ‘if my eyes have not deceived me, there
is a gentleman present who was acquainted with me in my former life. It may be
profitable to that gentleman to know, sir, that I attribute my past follies,
entirely to having lived a thoughtless life in the service of young men; and to
having allowed myself to be led by them into weaknesses, which I had not the
strength to resist. I hope that gentleman will take warning, sir, and will not
be offended at my freedom. It is for his good. I am conscious of my own past
follies. I hope he may repent of all the wickedness and sin to which he has
been a party.’
I observed that
several gentlemen were shading their eyes, each with one hand, as if they had
just come into church.
‘This does you
credit, Twenty Eight,’ returned the questioner. ‘I should have expected it of
you. Is there anything else?’
‘Sir,’ returned Mr.
Littimer, slightly lifting up his eyebrows, but not his eyes, ‘there was a
young woman who fell into dissolute courses, that I endeavoured to save, sir,
but could not rescue. I beg that gentleman, if he has it in his power, to
inform that young woman from me that I forgive her her bad conduct towards
myself, and that I call her to repentance – if he will be so good.’
‘I have no doubt, Twenty Eight,’
returned the questioner, ‘that the gentleman you refer to feels very strongly –
as we all must – what you have so properly said. We will not detain you.’