Evelyn Waugh - Decline and Fall

Before this happened, however, a conversation took place which deserves the attention of all interested in the confused series of events of which Paul had become a part. One day, while he was waiting for trial, he was visited in his cell by Peter Beste‑Chetwynde.

'Hullo! he said.

'Hullo, Paul! said Peter. 'Mamma asked me to come in to see you. She wants to know if you are getting the food all right she's ordered for you. I hope you like it, because I chose most of it myself. I thought you wouldn't want anything very heavy.

'It's splendid, said Paul. 'How's Margot?

'Well, that's rather what I've come to tell you, PauL Margot's gone away.

'Where to?

'She's gone off alone to Corfu. I made her, though she wanted to stay and see your trial. You can imagine what a time we've had with reporters and people. You don't think it awful of her, do you? And listen, there's something else. Can that policeman hear? It's this. You remember that awful old man Maltravers. Well, you've probably seen, he's Home Secretary now. He's been round to see Mamma in the most impossible Oppenheim kind of way, and said that if she'd marry him he could get you out. Of course, he's obviously been reading books. But Mamma thinks it's probably true, and she wants to know how you feel about it. She rather feels the whole thing's rather her fault, really, and, short of going to prison herself, she'll do anything to help. You can't imagine Mamma in prison, can you? Well, would you rather get out now and her marry Maltravers? or wait until you do get out and marry her yourself? She was rather definite about it.

Paul thought of Professor Silenus's 'In ten years she will be worn out, but he said:

'I'd rather she waited if you think she possibly can.

'I thought you'd say that, Paul. I'm so glad. Mamma said: "I won't say I don't know how I shall ever be able to make up to him for all this, because I think he knows I can." Those were her words. I don't suppose you will get more than a year or so, will you?

'Good Lord, I hope not, said Paul.

His sentence of seven years' penal servitude was rather a blow. 'In ten years she will be worn out, he thought as he drove in the prison van to Blackstone Gaol.

On his first day there Paul met quite a number of people, some of whom he knew already. The first person was a warder with a low brow and distinctly menacing manner. He wrote Paul's name in the 'Body Receipt Book' with some difficulty and then conducted him to a cell. He had evidently been reading the papers.

'Rather different from the Ritz Hotel, eh? he said. 'We don't like your kind 'ere, see? And we knows 'ow to treat 'em. You won't find nothing like the Ritz 'ere, you dirty White Slaver.

But there he was wrong, because the next person Paul met was Philbrick. His prison clothes were ill‑fitting, and his chin was unshaven, but he still wore an indefinable air of the grand manner.

'Thought I'd be seeing you soon, he said. 'They've put me on to reception bath cleaner, me being an old hand. I've been saving the best suit I could find for you. Not a louse on it, hardly. He threw a little pile of clothes, stamped with the broad arrow, on to the bench.

The warder returned with another, apparently his superior officer. Together they made a careful inventory of all Paul's possessions.

'Shoes, brown, one pair; socks, fancy, one pair; suspenders, black silk, one pair, read out the warder in a sing‑song voice. 'Never saw a bloke with so much clothes.

There were several checks due to difficulties of spelling, and it was some time before the list was finished.

'Cigarette case, white metal, containing two cigarettes; watch, white metal; tie‑pin, fancy' ‑ it had cost Margot considerably more than the warder earned in a year, had he only known ‑ 'studs, bone, one pair; cufflinks, fancy, one pair. The officers looked doubtfully at Paul's gold cigar piercer, the gift of the best man. 'What's this 'ere?

'It's for cigars, said Paul.

'Not so much lip! said the warder, banging him on the top of his head with the pair of shoes he happened to be holding. 'Put it down as «instrument». That's the lot, he said, 'unless you've got false teeth. You're allowed to keep them, only we must make a note of it.

'No, said Paul.

'Truss or other surgical appliance?

'No, said Paul.

'All right! You can go to the bath.

Paul sat for the regulation ten minutes in the regulation nine inches of warm water ‑ which smelt reassuringly of disinfectant ‑ and then put on his prison dothes. The loss of his personal possessions gave him a curiously agreeable sense of irresponsibility.

'You look a treat, said Philbrick.

Next he saw the Medical Officer, who sat at a table covered with official forms.

'Name? said the Doctor.

'Pennyfeather.

'Have you at any time been detained in a mental home or similar institution? If so, give particulars.

'I was at Scone College, Oxford, for two years, said Paul.

The Doctor looked up for the first time. 'Don't you dare to make jokes here, my man, he said, 'or I'll soon have you in the straitjacket in less than no time.

'Sorry, said Paul.

'Don't speak to the Medical Officer unless to answer a question, said the warder at his elbow.

'Sorry, said Paul, unconsciously, and was banged on the head.

'Suffering from consumption or any contagious disease? asked the M.D.

'Not that I know of, said Paul.

'That's all, said the Doctor. 'I have certified you as capable of undergoing the usual descriptions of punishment as specified below, to wit, restraint of handcuffs, leg‑chains, cross‑irons, body‑belt, canvas dress, close confinement, No. 1 diet, No. 2 diet, birch‑rod, and cat‑o'-nine‑tails. Any complaint?

'But must I have all these at once? asked Paul, rather dismayed.

'You will if you ask impertinent questions. Look after that man, officer; he's obviously a troublesome character.

'Come 'ere, you, said the warder. They went up a passage and down two flights of iron steps. Long galleries with iron railings stretched out in each direction, giving access to innumerable doors. Wire‑netting was stretched between the landings. 'So don't you try no monkey-tricks. Suicide isn't allowed in this prison. See? said the warder. 'This is your cell. Keep it clean, or you'll know the reason why, and this is your number. He buttoned a yellow badge on to Paul's coat.

'Like a flag‑day, said Paul.

'Shut up, you- , remarked the warder, and locked the door.

'I suppose I shall learn to respect these people in time, thought Paul. 'They all seem so much less awe‑inspiring than anyone I ever met.

His next visit was from the Schoolmaster. The door was unlocked, and a seedy‑looking young man in a tweed suit came into the cell.

'Can you read and write, D.4.12? asked the newcomer.

'Yes, said Paul.

'Public or secondary education?

'Public, said Paul. His school had been rather sensitive on this subject.

'What was your standard when you left school?

'Well, I don't quite know. I don't think we had standards.

The Schoolmaster marked him down as 'Memory defective' on a form and went out. Presently he returned with a book.

'You must do your best with that for the next four weeks, he said. 'I'll try and get you into one of the morning classes. You won't find it difficult, if you can read fairly easily. You see, it begins there, he said helpfillly, showing Paul the first page.

It was an English Grammar published in 1872.

'A syllable is a single sound made by one simple effort of the voice, Paul read.

'Thank you, he said; 'I'm sure I shall find it useful.

'You can change it after four weeks if you can't get on with it, said the Schoolmaster. 'But I should stick to it, if you can.