Decline and Fall

which he had to march round the prison square, where between concentric paths of worn asphalt a few melancholy cabbages showed their heads. Some of the men during this period used to fall out under the pretence of tying a shoelace and take furtive bites at the leaves of the vegetables. If observed they were severely punished. Paul never felt any temptation to do this. After that the day was unbroken save for luncheon, supper and the Governor’s inspection. The heap of sacking which every day he was to turn into mailbags was supposed by law to keep him busy for nine hours. The prisoners in the cells on either side of him, who were not quite in their right minds, the warder told Paul, found some difficulty in finishing their task before lights out. Paul found that with the least exertion he had finished long before supper, and spent the evenings in meditation and in writing up on his slate the thoughts which had occurred to him during the day.

II

The Lucas-Dockery Experiments

Sir Wilfred Lucas-Dockery, as has already been suggested, combined ambition, scholarship and genuine optimism in a degree rarely found in his office. He looked forward to a time when the Lucas-Dockery experiments should be recognized as the beginning of a new epoch in penology, and he rehearsed in his mind sentences from the social histories of the future which would contain such verdicts as “One of the few important events of this Labour Government’s brief tenure of power was the appointment as Governor of Blackstone Gaol of Sir Wilfred Lucas-Dockery. The administration of this intrepid and farseeing official is justly regarded as the foundation of the present system of criminal treatment. In fact, it may safely be said that no single man occupies so high a place in the history of the social reform of his century, etc.” His eminent qualities, however, did not keep him from many severe differences of opinion with the Chief Warder. He was sitting in his study one day working at a memorandum for the Prison Commissioners⁠—one of the neglected series of memoranda whose publication after his retirement indicated Sir Wilfred’s claim to be the pioneer of artificial sunlight in prisons⁠—when the Chief Warder interrupted him.

“A bad report from the Bookbinding Shop, sir. The instructor says that a practice is growing among the men of eating the paste issued to them for their work. They say it is preferable to their porridge. We shall either have to put on another warder to supervise the bookbinding or introduce something into the paste which will make it unpalatable.”

“Has the paste any nutritive value?” asked Sir Wilfred.

“I couldn’t say, sir.”

“Weigh the men in the Bookbinding Shop, and then report to me any increase in weight. How many times must I ask you to ascertain all the facts before reporting on any case?”

“Very good, sir! And there’s a petition from D.4.12. He’s finished his four months’ solitary, and he wants to know if he can keep at it for another four.”

“I disapprove of cellular labour. It makes a man introvert. Who is D.4.12?”

“Long sentence, sir, waiting transference to Egdon.”

“I’ll see D.4.12 myself.”

“Very good, sir!”

Paul was led in.

“I understand you wish to continue cellular labour instead of availing yourself of the privilege of working in association. Why is that?”

“I find it so much more interesting, sir,” said Paul.

“It’s a most irregular suggestion,” said the Chief Warder. “Privileges can only be forfeited by a breach of the regulations witnessed and attested by two officers. Standing Orders are most emphatic on the subject.”

“I wonder whether you have narcissistic tendencies?” said the Governor. “The Home Office has not as yet come to any decision about my application for a staff psychoanalyst.”

“Put him in the observation cell,” said the Chief Warder. “That brings out any insanity. I’ve known several cases of men you could hardly have told were mad⁠—just eccentric, you know⁠—who’ve been put on observation, and after a few days they’ve been raving lunatics. Colonel MacAdder was a great believer in the observation cells.”

“Did you lead a very lonely life before conviction? Perhaps you were a shepherd or a lighthouse-keeper, or something of the kind?”

“No, sir.”

“Most curious. Well, I will consider your case and give you my answer later.”

Paul was led back to his cell, and next day was again summoned before the Governor.

“I have considered your application,” said Sir Wilfred, “with the most minute care. In fact, I have decided to include it in my forthcoming work on the criminal mind. Perhaps you would like to hear what I have written about you?”

“Case R.,” he read:

“A young man of respectable family and some education. No previous criminal record. Committed to seven years’ penal servitude for traffic in prostitution. Upon completing his first four months R. petitioned for extension of cellular labour. Treatment as prescribed by Standing Orders: either (a) detention in observation cell for the Medical Officer to satisfy himself about the state of prisoner’s mind or (b) compulsory work in association with other prisoners unless privilege forfeited by misdemeanour.

“Treatment by Sir Wilfred Lucas-Dockery⁠—I decided that R. was suffering from misanthropic tendencies induced by a sense of his own inferiority in the presence of others. R.’s crime was the result of an attempt to assert individuality at the expense of community. (Cp. Cases D, G and I.) Accordingly I attempted to break down his social inhibitions by a series of progressive steps. In the first stage he exercised daily for half an hour in the company of one other prisoner. Conversation was allowed during this period upon approved topics, history, philosophy, public events, etc., the prisoners being chosen among those whose crimes would tend as little as possible to aggravate and encourage R.’s.”

“I have not yet thought of the other stages of your treatment,” said Sir Wilfred, “but you can see that individual attention is being paid to your reclamation. It may cause you some gratification to realize that, thanks to my report, you may