REMAINS20 OF THE MARSHALSEA: N.E. VIEW. A, CHAPEL21; B, PALACE COURT REMAINS OF THE MARSHALSEA: N.E. VIEW. A, CHAPEL; B, PALACE COURT
(From 'The Gentleman's Magazine,' September 1803)
The barbarity of the system, its futility22, because the debtor was deprived of the means of making money to pay his debts, withal, were exposed over and over again: prisoners wrote accounts of their prisons: commissions held inquiry23 into the management of the prisons: regulations were laid down: Acts were passed to release debtors by hundreds at one time: the system of allowing prisoners to live in 'Rules' was tolerated: but the real evil remained untouched so long as a creditor had the power of imprisoning a debtor. The power was abused in the most monstrous24 manner: a man owed a few shillings: he could not pay: he was put into prison: the next day he discovered that he was in debt to an attorney for as many pounds. If he owed as much as 10l., the bill against him for his arrest amounted to 11l. 15s. 8d. of what we should now call 'taxed costs.' In the year 1759 there were 20,000 prisoners for debt in Great Britain and Ireland. Think what that means: all those were in enforced idleness. Why, their work at 2s. a day means 600,000l. a year: all that wealth{274} lost to the State: nay25 more, because they were mostly married men with families: their families had to be maintained, so that not only did the country lose 600,000l. a year by the idleness of the debtors, it also lost that much again for the maintenance of their families. Put it in another way. A poor man knowing one trade which one cannot practise in a prison owed, say, 15s. He was arrested and put into prison. He lived there for thirty years. He lived on doles26 and the proceeds of the begging box, and what his friends could give him: he lived, say, on five shillings a week. He cost some one therefore; the charitable people who dropped money into the box; the community; for his maintenance in the prison, and for thirty years of it, the sum total of 400l. This is rather an expensive tax on the State: but the tradesman to whom he owed the money considered no more than his own 15s. In addition there were his wife and children to keep until the latter were self-supporting. This charge represented perhaps another 400l. But there were 20,000 debtors in prison. If they were all in like evil case, the State was taxed on their behalf in the sum of sixteen millions spread over thirty years, or half a million a year, because these luckless creatures could not pay an insignificant27 debt of a few shillings or a few pounds.
The King's Bench was the largest of all the Debtors' Prisons. It formerly28 stood on the east side of the High Street, on the site of what is now the second street north of St. George's Church. This prison was taken down in 1758, and the Debtors were removed to a larger and much more commodious29 place on the other side of the street south of Lant Street—the site is now marked by a number of new and very ugly houses and mean streets. When it was built it looked out at the back of St. George's Fields and across Lambeth Marsh4, then an open space, and by this time drained. But the good air without was fully30 balanced by the bad air within.{275}
The place was surrounded by a very high wall, the area covered was extensive, and the buildings were more commodious than had ever before been attempted in a prison. But they were not large enough. In the year 1776 the prisoners had to lie two in a bed, and even for those who could pay there were not beds enough, and many slept on the floor of the chapel. There were 395 prisoners: in addition to the prisoners many of them had wives and children with them. There were 279 wives and 725 children: a total of 1,399 sleeping every night in the prison. There was a good water supply, but there was no infirmary, no resident surgeon, and no bath. Imagine a place containing 1,399 persons, and no bath and no infirmary!
KING'S BENCH PRISON KING'S BENCH PRISON
Among these prisoners, about a hundred years ago, was a certain Colonel Hanger31, who has left his memoirs32 behind him for the edification of posterity33. According to him, the prison 'rivalled the purlieus of Wapping, St. Giles, and St. James's in vice34, debauchery, and drunkenness.' The general immorality35 was so great that it was only possible, he says, to escape contagion36 by living separate or by consorting{276} only with the few gentlemen of honour who might be found there: 'otherwise a man will quickly sink into dissipation: he will lose every sense of honour and dignity: every moral principle and virtuous37 disposition38.' Among the prisoners in Hanger's time, there were seldom fifty who had any regular means of sustenance39. They were always underfed. At that time a detaining creditor had to find sixpence a day for the prisoner's support. But in 1798 a pound of bread cost 4?d., a pint40 of porter 2d.: therefore a man who had to live on 6d. a day could not get more than a pound of bread and a half pint of porter. And then the 6d. a day was constantly withheld41 on some pretence42 or another, and the poor prisoner had not the wherewithal to engage an attorney to secure his rights. And as for attorneys their name stank43 in the prison: more than half of the prisoners, Hanger avers44, were kept there solely45 because they could not pay the attorneys' costs.
Those prisoners who knew any trade which could be carried on in the King's Bench were fortunate. The cobbler, the tailor, the barber, the fiddler, the carpenter, could get employment and were able to maintain themselves: some of them kept shops, and the principal building in the place, about 360 feet long, had its ground floor, looking out upon an open court, occupied by shops where everything could be bought except spirits, which were forbidden. They were brought in, however, secretly by the visitors. The open court was the common Recreation Ground: there was the Parade, a Walk along the front of the building: three pumps where were benches: these were three separate centres of conversation: there were racket and fives courts: a ground for the play called 'bumble puppy.' And in fine weather there were tables set out here and there, with chairs and benches, where the collegians drank beer and smoked tobacco.
THE KING'S BENCH PRISON The King's Bench Prison
Anybody might enter the Prison to visit an inmate46 or to look round: every day the place was thronged47 with visitors,{277} chiefly to see the new comers: the time came when the newcomer was an old resident, who had worn out the kindness of his friends or had outlived them, and now lingered on, poor and friendless, in this living grave. All day long the children played in the court, shouting and running: they saw things that they ought not to have seen: they heard things which they ought not to have heard: they learned habits which they ought not to have learned. Can one conceive a worse school for a boy than the King's Bench Prison? Look at the Court on a fine and sunny afternoon. The whole College is out and in the open: some stroll up and down: in the Prison nobody ever walks: they all stroll: even, it may be said without{278} unkindness, they slouch. The men wear coats which are mostly in holes at the elbows, with other garments that equally show signs of decay: they wear slippers48 because it is absurd to wear boots in a prison: the slippers are down at heel—never mind: no one cares here whether one is shabby or not: it is better to go ragged49 than to go hungry. If the men are ragged the women are slatternly: they have lost even the feminine desire to please: they please nobody, and certainly not their husbands: they are shrewish as to tongue and vicious as to temper. Look at their faces: there is this face and that face, but there is not a single happy face among them all. The average face is resentful, painted with strong drink, stamped with the seal of vice and self-indulgence. A vile50 place, which has imprinted51 its own vileness52 on the face of everyone who lives within its walls.
A worse place than the King's Bench was a wretched little Prison called the Borough Compter. It was used both for debtors and for criminals. Now you shall hear what marvellous thing in the way of cruelty can be brought about when the execution of the law is entrusted53 to such men as prison warders and turnkeys.
The place consisted of a women's ward14, a debtors' ward, a felons54' ward, and a yard for exercise. The yard was nineteen feet square: this was the only exercising ground for all the prisoners. When Buxton visited the place in the year 1817, there were then thirty-eight debtors, thirty women, and twenty children—all had to exercise themselves in this little yard: he does not say how many felons there were. The debtors' ward consisted of two rooms, each of which was twenty feet long and about nine feet broad. Each room was furnished with eight straw beds, sixteen rugs, and a piece of timber for a pillow. Twenty prisoners slept side by side on these beds! That gives a breadth of twelve inches for each. No one therefore could move in bed. The place was shut up: in the morning the heat and stench were so awful that when the{279} door was opened all rushed together, undressed as they were, into the yard for fresh air. Now and then a man would be brought in with an infectious disease or covered with vermin: they had to endure his company as best they could. There was no infirmary: no surgeon: no conveniences whatever in case of sickness. And the place was so crowded that those who might have carried on their trade could not for want of space. As for the women's ward, I forbear to speak. Think, however, of the noisome, horrible, stinking55 place, narrow and confined, with its felons' ward of innocent and guilty, tried and untried: the past masters in villainy with the innocent country boy: the honest working man with his wife and children slowly starving and slowly poisoned by the brutal56 law which permitted a creditor to send him there for life for a paltry57 debt of a few shillings. Think of the simple-minded country girl thrust into the women's ward, where wickedness was authorised, where nothing was disguised! I sometimes ask whether in the year 1998 the historian of manners will call attention to the lamentable58 brutality59 of this the end of the nineteenth century. There are some points as to which I am doubtful. But I cannot believe that there will be anything alleged60 against us compared with the sleek61 complacency with which the City Fathers and the Legislators regarded the condition of the Debtors' Prisons.
I have not forgotten the Marshalsea. The position of the Marshalsea Prison was changed from its first site south of King Street in the year 1810, when it was removed to the site which it occupied down to the end, overlooking St. George's Churchyard. The choice of that site is a good illustration of English conservatism. Why was the Marshalsea brought there? Because there had been a prison on the spot before. From time immemorial the Surrey Prison had stood there. They called the place the White Lyon. It still stood when the Marshalsea was brought there: it was still standing62 when the Marshalsea was pulled down.{280}
I think it was in the year 1877 or 1878 or thereabouts that I walked over to see the Marshalsea before it was pulled down. I found a long narrow terrace of mean houses—they are still standing: there was a narrow courtyard in front for exercise and air: a high wall separated the prison from the Churchyard: the rooms in the terrace were filled with deep cupboards on either side of the fireplace: these cupboards contained the coals, the cooking utensils63, the stores, and the clothes of the occupants. My guide, a working man employed on the demolition64 of another part of the Prison, pointed65 to certain marks on the floor as, he said, the place where they fastened the staples66 when they tied down the poor prisoners. Such was his historic information: he also pointed out Mr. Dorrit's room—so real was the novelist's creation. At the east end of the terrace there were certain rooms which I believe to have been the tap-room and the coffee-room. Then we came to the White Lyon, which at the time I did not know to have been the White Lyon. It was a very ancient building. It consisted of two rooms, one above the other: the staircase and the floors were of most solid work: the windows were barred: bars crossed the chimney a few feet up: large square nails were driven into the oaken pillars and into the doors. The lower room had evidently been kitchen, day room, sleeping room and all. Outside was a tiny yard for exercise: this was the old Surrey Prison. I have seen another prison exactly like it, and, if my memory does not play tricks, it was at the little country town of Ilminster. This was a Clink, and on this pattern, I believe, all the old Prisons were constructed. Beyond the Clink was the chapel, a modern structure. So far as I know, Mr. Dickens père, and Mr. Dorrit, were the only persons of eminence67 confined in this modern Marshalsea. In the older Marshalsea all kinds of distinguished68 people were kept captive, notably69 Bishop70 Bonner, who died there. They say that it was necessary to bury him at midnight for fear of the people, who would have rent his dead{281} body in pieces if they could. Perhaps. But it was not at any time usual for a mob of Englishmen to pull a dead body, even of a martyr-making Marian Bishop, to pieces. Later on, in the last century, it was the rule to bury at night. The darkness, the flicker71 of the torches, increased the solemnity of the ceremony. So that after all Bishop Bonner may have been buried at night in the usual fashion. He lies buried somewhere in St. George's Churchyard. It is now a pretty garden, whose benches in fine weather are filled with people resting and sunning themselves: in spring the garden is full of pleasant greenery: the dead parishioners to whom headstones have been consecrated72, if they ever visit the spot, may amuse themselves by picking out their own tombstones among the illegible73 ones which line the wall. But I hardly think, wherever they may now be quartered, they would care to revisit this place. The owners of the headstones were in their day accounted as the more fortunate sons of men: they were vestrymen and guardians74 and churchwardens: they owned shops: they kept the inns and ran the stage coaches and the waggons75 and the caravans76: their tills were heavy with guineas: their faces were smug and smiling: their chins were double: they talked benevolent77 commonplace: they exchanged the most beautiful sentiments: and they crammed78 their debtors into these prisons.
There are other tenants79 of this small area: they belonged to the great army—how great! how vast! how rapidly increasing!—of the 'Not-quite-so-fortunate.' They were brought here from the King's Bench and the Marshalsea: they came from the Master's side and from the Common side. They came here from the mean streets and lanes of the Borough: they were the porters and the fishermen and the rogues80 and the grooms81 and the 'service' generally. This churchyard represents all that can be imagined of human patience, human work, human suffering, human degradation82. Everything is here beneath our feet, and we sit among these memories unmoved and enjoy the sunshine and forget the sorrows of the past.
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imprisoning
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| v.下狱，监禁( imprison的现在分词 ) | |
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creditor
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| n.债仅人，债主，贷方 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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doles
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| 救济物( dole的名词复数 )； 失业救济金 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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hanger
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| n.吊架，吊轴承；挂钩 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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avers
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| v.断言( aver的第三人称单数 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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felons
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| n.重罪犯( felon的名词复数 )；瘭疽；甲沟炎；指头脓炎 | |
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stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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61
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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staples
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| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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75
waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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76
caravans
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| （可供居住的）拖车（通常由机动车拖行）( caravan的名词复数 )； 篷车； （穿过沙漠地带的）旅行队（如商队） | |
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77
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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78
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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79
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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80
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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81
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
参考例句： |
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82
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
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