Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 -- Knowledge -- Prisons; Prisons; Prisons -- England -- London; Prisons in literature
It was into this familiar scene that Dickens introduced Mr. William
Dorrit, a very amiable and very helpless middle-aged gentleman, who was
"going out again directly. Necessarily he was going out again directly,
because the Marshalsea lock never turned upon a debtor who was not. He
brought in a portmanteau with him, which he doubted it worth while to
unpack, he was so perfectly clear--like all the rest of them, the
turnkey on the lock said--that he was going out again directly. He was a
shy, retiring man, well-looking, though in an effeminate style; with a
mild voice, curling hair, and irresolute hands--rings upon the fingers
those days, not one of which was left" upon them a little while
after--when the drunken doctor, fetched in haste, ushered Little Dorrit
into the world, with the assistance of Mrs. Bangham and the brandy
bottle. The doctor was a type of one class of tenants to be found in
every debtors' prison. He lived in a wretched, ill-smelling room under
the roof, with a puffy, red-faced chum, who helped to pass the time
playing all fours, with pipe and brandy trimmings. "The doctor's friend
was in the positive stage of hoarseness, puffiness, all fours, tobacco,
dirt and brandy; the doctor in the comparative--hoarser, puffier, more
red-faced, more all foury, tobaccoer, dirtier and brandier. The doctor
was amazingly shabby in a torn, darned, rough weather sea jacket, out at
the elbows, and eminently short of buttons (he had been in his time the
experienced surgeon carried by a passenger ship), the dirtiest white
trowsers conceivable by mortal man, carpet slippers and no visible
linen. 'Childbed?' said the doctor (to Mr. Dorrit, who had come to
summon him) 'I'm the boy!' With that the doctor took a comb from the
chimneypiece, and stuck his hair upright--which appeared to be his way
of washing himself--produced a professional case or chest, of the most
abject appearance, from the cupboard where his cup and saucer and coals
were, settled his chin in a frowsy wrapper round his neck, and became a
ghastly medical scarecrow."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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