CHAPTER 61 - I AM SHOWN TWO INTERESTING PENITENTS

For a time - at all events until my book should be completed, which

would be the work of several months - I took up my abode in my

aunt's house at Dover; and there, sitting in the window from which

I had looked out at the moon upon the sea, when that roof first

gave me shelter, I quietly pursued my task.

In pursuance of my intention of referring to my own fictions only

when their course should incidentally connect itself with the

progress of my story, I do not enter on the aspirations, the

delights, anxieties, and triumphs of my art. That I truly devoted

myself to it with my strongest earnestness, and bestowed upon it

every energy of my soul, I have already said. If the books I have

written be of any worth, they will supply the rest. I shall

otherwise have written to poor purpose, and the rest will be of

interest to no one.

Occasionally, I went to London; to lose myself in the swarm of life

there, or to consult with Traddles on some business point. He had

managed for me, in my absence, with the soundest judgement; and my

worldly affairs were prospering. As my notoriety began to bring

upon me an enormous quantity of letters from people of whom I had

no knowledge - chiefly about nothing, and extremely difficult to

answer - I agreed with Traddles to have my name painted up on his

door. There, the devoted postman on that beat delivered bushels of

letters for me; and there, at intervals, I laboured through them,

like a Home Secretary of State without the salary.

Among this correspondence, there dropped in, every now and then, an

obliging proposal from one of the numerous outsiders always lurking

about the Commons, to practise under cover of my name (if I would

take the necessary steps remaining to make a proctor of myself),

and pay me a percentage on the profits. But I declined these

offers; being already aware that there were plenty of such covert

practitioners in existence, and considering the Commons quite bad

enough, without my doing anything to make it worse.

The girls had gone home, when my name burst into bloom on

Traddles's door; and the sharp boy looked, all day, as if he had

never heard of Sophy, shut up in a back room, glancing down from

her work into a sooty little strip of garden with a pump in it.

But there I always found her, the same bright housewife; often

humming her Devonshire ballads when no strange foot was coming up

the stairs, and blunting the sharp boy in his official closet with

melody.

I wondered, at first, why I so often found Sophy writing in a

copy-book; and why she always shut it up when I appeared, and

hurried it into the table-drawer. But the secret soon came out.

One day, Traddles (who had just come home through the drizzling

sleet from Court) took a paper out of his desk, and asked me what

I thought of that handwriting?

'Oh, DON'T, Tom!' cried Sophy, who was warming his slippers before

the fire.

'My dear,' returned Tom, in a delighted state, 'why not? What do

you say to that writing, Copperfield?'

'It's extraordinarily legal and formal,' said I. 'I don't think I

ever saw such a stiff hand.'

'Not like a lady's hand, is it?' said Traddles.

'A lady's!' I repeated. 'Bricks and mortar are more like a lady's

hand!'

Traddles broke into a rapturous laugh, and informed me that it was

Sophy's writing; that Sophy had vowed and declared he would need a

copying-clerk soon, and she would be that clerk; that she had

acquired this hand from a pattern; and that she could throw off -

I forget how many folios an hour. Sophy was very much confused by

my being told all this, and said that when 'Tom' was made a judge

he wouldn't be so ready to proclaim it. Which 'Tom' denied;

averring that he should always be equally proud of it, under all

circumstances.

'What a thoroughly good and charming wife she is, my dear

Traddles!' said I, when she had gone away, laughing.

'My dear Copperfield,' returned Traddles, 'she is, without any

exception, the dearest girl! The way she manages this place; her

punctuality, domestic knowledge, economy, and order; her

cheerfulness, Copperfield!'

'Indeed, you have reason to commend her!' I returned. 'You are a

happy fellow. I believe you make yourselves, and each other, two

of the happiest people in the world.'

'I am sure we ARE two of the happiest people,' returned Traddles.

'I admit that, at all events. Bless my soul, when I see her

getting up by candle-light on these dark mornings, busying herself

in the day's arrangements, going out to market before the clerks

come into the Inn, caring for no weather, devising the most capital

little dinners out of the plainest materials, making puddings and

pies, keeping everything in its right place, always so neat and

ornamental herself, sitting up at night with me if it's ever so

late, sweet-tempered and encouraging always, and all for me, I

positively sometimes can't believe it, Copperfield!'

He was tender of the very slippers she had been warming, as he put

them on, and stretched his feet enjoyingly upon the fender.

'I positively sometimes can't believe it,' said Traddles. 'Then

our pleasures! Dear me, they are inexpensive, but they are quite

wonderful! When we are at home here, of an evening, and shut the

outer door, and draw those curtains - which she made - where could

we be more snug? When it's fine, and we go out for a walk in the

evening, the streets abound in enjoyment for us. We look into the

glittering windows of the jewellers' shops; and I show Sophy which

of the diamond-eyed serpents, coiled up on white satin rising

grounds, I would give her if I could afford it; and Sophy shows me

which of the gold watches that are capped and jewelled and

engine-turned, and possessed of the horizontal lever-

escape-movement, and all sorts of things, she would buy for me if

she could afford it; and we pick out the spoons and forks,

fish-slices, butter-knives, and sugar-tongs, we should both prefer

if we could both afford it; and really we go away as if we had got

them! Then, when we stroll into the squares, and great streets, and

see a house to let, sometimes we look up at it, and say, how would

THAT do, if I was made a judge? And we parcel it out - such a room

for us, such rooms for the girls, and so forth; until we settle to

our satisfaction that it would do, or it wouldn't do, as the case

may be. Sometimes, we go at half-price to the pit of the theatre

- the very smell of which is cheap, in my opinion, at the money -

and there we thoroughly enjoy the play: which Sophy believes every

word of, and so do I. In walking home, perhaps we buy a little bit

of something at a cook's-shop, or a little lobster at the

fishmongers, and bring it here, and make a splendid supper,

chatting about what we have seen. Now, you know, Copperfield, if

I was Lord Chancellor, we couldn't do this!'

'You would do something, whatever you were, my dear Traddles,'

thought I, 'that would be pleasant and amiable. And by the way,'

I said aloud, 'I suppose you never draw any skeletons now?'

'Really,' replied Traddles, laughing, and reddening, 'I can't

wholly deny that I do, my dear Copperfield. For being in one of

the back rows of the King's Bench the other day, with a pen in my

hand, the fancy came into my head to try how I had preserved that

accomplishment. And I am afraid there's a skeleton - in a wig - on

the ledge of the desk.'

After we had both laughed heartily, Traddles wound up by looking

with a smile at the fire, and saying, in his forgiving way, 'Old

Creakle!'

'I have a letter from that old - Rascal here,' said I. For I never

was less disposed to forgive him the way he used to batter

Traddles, than when I saw Traddles so ready to forgive him himself.

'From Creakle the schoolmaster?' exclaimed Traddles. 'No!'

'Among the persons who are attracted to me in my rising fame and

fortune,' said I, looking over my letters, 'and who discover that

they were always much attached to me, is the self-same Creakle. He

is not a schoolmaster now, Traddles. He is retired. He is a

Middlesex Magistrate.'

I thought Traddles might be surprised to hear it, but he was not so

at all.

'How do you suppose he comes to be a Middlesex Magistrate?' said I.

'Oh dear me!' replied Traddles, 'it would be very difficult to

answer that question. Perhaps he voted for somebody, or lent money

to somebody, or bought something of somebody, or otherwise obliged

somebody, or jobbed for somebody, who knew somebody who got the

lieutenant of the county to nominate him for the commission.'

'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?'

'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.'

'I thank you, sir,' said Mr. Littimer. 'Gentlemen, I wish you a

good day, and hoping you and your families will also see your

wickedness, and amend!'

With this, Number Twenty Eight retired, after a glance between him

and Uriah; as if they were not altogether unknown to each other,

through some medium of communication; and a murmur went round the

group, as his door shut upon him, that he was a most respectable

man, and a beautiful case.

'Now, Twenty Seven,' said Mr. Creakle, entering on a clear stage

with his man, 'is there anything that anyone can do for you? If

so, mention it.'

'I would umbly ask, sir,' returned Uriah, with a jerk of his

malevolent head, 'for leave to write again to mother.'

'It shall certainly be granted,' said Mr. Creakle.

'Thank you, sir! I am anxious about mother. I am afraid she ain't

safe.'

Somebody incautiously asked, what from? But there was a

scandalized whisper of 'Hush!'

'Immortally safe, sir,' returned Uriah, writhing in the direction

of the voice. 'I should wish mother to be got into my state. I

never should have been got into my present state if I hadn't come

here. I wish mother had come here. It would be better for

everybody, if they got took up, and was brought here.'

This sentiment gave unbounded satisfaction - greater satisfaction,

I think, than anything that had passed yet.

'Before I come here,' said Uriah, stealing a look at us, as if he

would have blighted the outer world to which we belonged, if he

could, 'I was given to follies; but now I am sensible of my

follies. There's a deal of sin outside. There's a deal of sin in

mother. There's nothing but sin everywhere - except here.'

'You are quite changed?' said Mr. Creakle.

'Oh dear, yes, sir!' cried this hopeful penitent.

'You wouldn't relapse, if you were going out?' asked somebody else.

'Oh de-ar no, sir!'

'Well!' said Mr. Creakle, 'this is very gratifying. You have

addressed Mr. Copperfield, Twenty Seven. Do you wish to say

anything further to him?'

'You knew me, a long time before I came here and was changed, Mr.

Copperfield,' said Uriah, looking at me; and a more villainous look

I never saw, even on his visage. 'You knew me when, in spite of my

follies, I was umble among them that was proud, and meek among them

that was violent - you was violent to me yourself, Mr. Copperfield.

Once, you struck me a blow in the face, you know.'

General commiseration. Several indignant glances directed at me.

'But I forgive you, Mr. Copperfield,' said Uriah, making his

forgiving nature the subject of a most impious and awful parallel,

which I shall not record. 'I forgive everybody. It would ill

become me to bear malice. I freely forgive you, and I hope you'll

curb your passions in future. I hope Mr. W. will repent, and Miss

W., and all of that sinful lot. You've been visited with

affliction, and I hope it may do you good; but you'd better have

come here. Mr. W. had better have come here, and Miss W. too. The

best wish I could give you, Mr. Copperfield, and give all of you

gentlemen, is, that you could be took up and brought here. When I

think of my past follies, and my present state, I am sure it would

be best for you. I pity all who ain't brought here!'

He sneaked back into his cell, amidst a little chorus of

approbation; and both Traddles and I experienced a great relief

when he was locked in.

It was a characteristic feature in this repentance, that I was fain

to ask what these two men had done, to be there at all. That

appeared to be the last thing about which they had anything to say.

I addressed myself to one of the two warders, who, I suspected from

certain latent indications in their faces, knew pretty well what

all this stir was worth.

'Do you know,' said I, as we walked along the passage, 'what felony

was Number Twenty Seven's last "folly"?'

The answer was that it was a Bank case.

'A fraud on the Bank of England?' I asked.

'Yes, sir. Fraud, forgery, and conspiracy. He and some others.

He set the others on. It was a deep plot for a large sum.

Sentence, transportation for life. Twenty Seven was the knowingest

bird of the lot, and had very nearly kept himself safe; but not

quite. The Bank was just able to put salt upon his tail - and only

just.'

'Do you know Twenty Eight's offence?'

'Twenty Eight,' returned my informant, speaking throughout in a low

tone, and looking over his shoulder as we walked along the passage,

to guard himself from being overheard, in such an unlawful

reference to these Immaculates, by Creakle and the rest; 'Twenty

Eight (also transportation) got a place, and robbed a young master

of a matter of two hundred and fifty pounds in money and valuables,

the night before they were going abroad. I particularly recollect

his case, from his being took by a dwarf.'

'A what?'

'A little woman. I have forgot her name?'

'Not Mowcher?'

'That's it! He had eluded pursuit, and was going to America in a

flaxen wig, and whiskers, and such a complete disguise as never you

see in all your born days; when the little woman, being in

Southampton, met him walking along the street - picked him out with

her sharp eye in a moment - ran betwixt his legs to upset him - and

held on to him like grim Death.'

'Excellent Miss Mowcher!' cried I.

'You'd have said so, if you had seen her, standing on a chair in

the witness-box at the trial, as I did,' said my friend. 'He cut

her face right open, and pounded her in the most brutal manner,

when she took him; but she never loosed her hold till he was locked

up. She held so tight to him, in fact, that the officers were

obliged to take 'em both together. She gave her evidence in the

gamest way, and was highly complimented by the Bench, and cheered

right home to her lodgings. She said in Court that she'd have took

him single-handed (on account of what she knew concerning him), if

he had been Samson. And it's my belief she would!'

It was mine too, and I highly respected Miss Mowcher for it.

We had now seen all there was to see. It would have been in vain

to represent to such a man as the Worshipful Mr. Creakle, that

Twenty Seven and Twenty Eight were perfectly consistent and

unchanged; that exactly what they were then, they had always been;

that the hypocritical knaves were just the subjects to make that

sort of profession in such a place; that they knew its market-value

at least as well as we did, in the immediate service it would do

them when they were expatriated; in a word, that it was a rotten,

hollow, painfully suggestive piece of business altogether. We left

them to their system and themselves, and went home wondering.

'Perhaps it's a good thing, Traddles,' said I, 'to have an unsound

Hobby ridden hard; for it's the sooner ridden to death.'

'I hope so,' replied Traddles.

Read next: CHAPTER 62 - A LIGHT SHINES ON MY WAY

Read previous: CHAPTER 60 - AGNES

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