So far as could be judged from the prisoner's brief notes, he sufiered greatly from lonelineu and depression in his first year of incarceration. The sound ofhis piano could be heard continually, day and night, from the lodge. He refused strong drink and tobacco. Wine stimulates desires, wrote he, and desires are a prisoner's worst enemy. Besides, is there anything drearier than drinking good wine and seeing nobody? And tobacco spoilt the air of his room. The books that he had sent during the first year were mostly light reading—novels with a complex love plot, thrillers, fantasies, comedies and so on.
In the second year there was no more music from the lodge, and the prisoner's notes demanded only literary classics. In the fifth year music was heard again, and the captive asked for wine. Those who watched him through the window said that he spent all that year just eating, drinking and lying on his bed, often yawnwnmg and talking angrily to himself. He read no books. Sometimes he would sit and write at night. He would spend hoars writing, but would tear up everything he had written by dawnwn. More than once he was heard weeping.
In the second half of the sixth year the captive eagerly embraced the study of languages, philosophy and history. So zealously did he tackle these subjects that the banker could hardly keep up with his book orders-—in four years some six hundred vol^nes were procured at his demand. During the period of this obsession the banker incidentally received the following letter from the prisoner.
'My dearest Gaoler,
'I write these lines in six languages. Show them to those who know about these things. Let them read them. If they can't fmd any mis- takes I beg you to have a shot fired in the garden—it will show me that my efforts have not been wasted. The geniuses of all ages and countries speak different languages, but the same flame bums in them all. Oh, did youbut know what a transcendental happiness my soul now experiences from my ability to understand them!'
The captive's wish was granted—the banker had two shots f red in the garden.
After the tenth year the lawyer sat stock-stili at the table, rcading only the Gospels. The banker marvelled that one who had mastered six hundred obscure tomes in four years should spend some twelve months reading a single slim, easily comprehensible volume. Theology and histories of religion followed the Gospels.
In the last two years of his imprisonment the captive read an enormous amount quite indiscriminately. Now it was the natural sciences, now he wanted Byron or Shakespeare. There were notes in which he would simultaneously demand a work on chemistry, a medi- cal textbook, a novel and a philosophical or theological treatise. His reading suggested somcone swimming in the sea surrounded by the wreckage ofhis ship, and trying to save his life by eagerly grasping first one spar and then another.
II
'He regains his freedom at twelve o'clock tomorrow,' thought the old banker as he remembered all this. 'And I should pay him two million by agreement. But ifl do pay up I'm done for—1'11 be utterly ruined.'
Fifteen years earlier he had had more millions than he could count, but now he feared to ask which were greater, his assets or his debts. Gambling on the stock exchange, wild speculation, the impetuosity that he had never managed to curb, even in old age—these things had gradually brought his fortunes low, and the proud, fearless, self- confident millionaire had become just another ^m-of-the-mill banker trembling at every rise and fall in his holdings.
'Da^ this bet!' muttered the old man, clutching his head in despair. 'Why couldn't the fellow die? He's only forty now. He'll take my last penny, he'll marry, he'll enjoy life, he'll gamble on the Exchange, while I look on enviously, like a pauper, and hear him saying the same thing day in day out: "I owe you all my happiness in life, so let me help you." No, it's too much! My only refuge from ba^^ptcy and disgrace is that man's death.'
Three o'clock struck and the banker cocked an ear. Everyone in the house was asleep, and nothing was heard but the wind rustling the frozcn trees outside. Trying not to make a noise, he took from his fireproof safe the key of the door that had not been opened for ffteen years, put his overcoat on, and went out.
It was dark and cold outside, and rain was falling. A keen, damp wind swooped howling round the whole garden, giving the trees no rest. Straining his eyes, the banker could not see the ground, the white statues, the lodge or the trees. He approached the area of the lodge, and twice called his watchman, but there was no answer. The ^^ was obviously sheltering from the weather, and was asleep somewhere in the kitchen or the greenhouse.
'If I have the courage to carry out my intention the main suspicion will fall on the watchman,' the old man thought.
He found the steps to the lodge and the door by feeling in the dark, entered the hall, groped his way into a small pauage, and lit a match. There was no onc thcre—just a bedstead without bedding on it, and the dark hulk of a cast-iron stove in the corner. The seals on the door leading to the captive's room were intact. When the match went out the old man peered through the small window, trembling with excitement.
In the prisoner's room a candle dimly b^ed. He was sitting near the table, and all that could be seen of him were his back, the hair on his head and his hands. On the table, on two armchairs, and on the carpet near the table, lay open books.
Five minutes passed without the prisoner once stirring—fifteen years ofconfinement had taught him to sit still. The banker tapped the window with a finger, but the captive made no answering movement. Then the banker cautiously broke the seals on the door, and put the key in the keyhole. The rusty lock grated and the door creaked. The banker expected to hear an i^rnediate shout of surprise and footsteps, but three minutes passed and it was as quiet as ever in there. He decided to enter.
At the table a man unlike ordinary men sat motionle». He was all skin and bones, he had long treues like a woman's, and a shaggy beard. The complexion was sallow with an earthy tinge, the cheeks were hollow, the back was long and narrow, and the hand propping the shaggy head was so thin and emaciated that it was painful to look at. His hair was already streaked with silver, and no one looking at his worn, old-man's face would have believed that he was only forty. He was asleep, and on the table in front of his bowed head lay a sheet of paper with something written on it in small letters.
'How pathetic!' thought the banker. 'He's asleep, and is probably drea^mg of his millions. All I have to do is to take this semi-<:orpse, throw it on the bed, smother it a bit with a pillow, and the keenest investigation will fmd no signs of death by violence. But let us first read what he has written.' Taking the page from the table, the banker read as follows.
'At twelve o'clock tomorrow I regain my freedom and the right to associate with others. But I think fit, before I leave this room for the sunlight, to address a few words to you. With a clear con- science, and as God is my wimess, I declare that I despise freedom, life, health and all that your books call the blessings of this world.
'I have spent fifteen years intently studying life on earth. True, I have not set eyes on the earth or its peoples, but in your books I have drunk fragrant wine, sung songs, hunted stags and wild boars in the forests, loved women. Created by the magic of your inspired poets, beautiful girls, ethereal as clouds, have visited me at night, and whispered in my ears magical tales that have made my head reel. In your books I have climbed the peaks of Elbrus and Mont Blanc, whence I have watched the sun rising in the morning, and flooding the sky, the ocean and the mountain peaks with crimson gold in the evening. From there I have watched lightnings flash and cleave the storm-clouds above me. I have sen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, cities. I have heard the singing of the sirens and the strains of shepherds' pipes. I have touched the wings of beautiful devils who flew to me to converse of God. In your books I have plunged into the bottomles pit, performed miracles, murdered, b^nt wwns, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms.