As years went on M—tski became more and more sombre and melancholy; he became a prey to despair. During the earliest part of my imprisonment he was communicative enough, and let us see what was going on in him. When I arrived at the prison he had just finished his second year. At first he took a lively interest in the news I brought, for he knew nothing of what had been going on in the outer world; he put questions to me, listened eagerly, showed emotion, but, bit by bit, his reserve grew on him and there was no getting at his thoughts. The glowing coals were all covered up with ashes. Yet it was plain that his temper grew sourer and sourer. “Je hais ces brigands,”[10] he would say, speaking of convicts I had got to know something of; I never could make him see any good in them. He really did not seem to fully enter into the meaning of anything I said on their behalf, though he would sometimes seem to agree in a listless sort of way. Next day it was just as before: “je hais ces brigands.” (We used often to speak French with him; so one of the overseers of the works, the soldier, Dranichnikof, used always to call us aides chirurgiens, God knows why!) M—tski never seemed to shake off his usual apathy except when he spoke of his mother.
“She is old and infirm,” he said; “she loves me better than anything in the world, and I don’t even know if she’s still living. If she learns that I’ve been whipped——”
M—tski was not a noble, and had been whipped before he was transported. When the recollection of this came up in his mind he gnashed his teeth, and could not look anybody in the face. In the latest days of his imprisonment he used to walk to and fro, quite alone for the most part. One day, at noon, he was summoned to the Governor, who received him with a smile on his lips.
“Well, M—tski, what were your dreams last night?” asked the Governor.
Said M—tski to me later, “When he said that to me a shudder ran through me; I felt struck at the heart.”
His answer was, “I dreamed that I had a letter from my mother.”
“Better than that, better!” replied the Governor. “You are free; your mother has petitioned the Emperor, and he has granted her prayer. Here, here’s her letter, and the order for your dismissal. You are to leave the jail without delay.”
He came to us pale, scarcely able to believe in his good fortune.
We congratulated him. He pressed our hands with his own, which were quite cold, and trembled violently. Many of the convicts wished him joy; they were really glad to see his happiness.
He settled in Siberia, establishing himself in our town, where a little after that they gave him a place. He used often to come to the jail to bring us news, and tell us all that was going on, as often as he could talk with us. It was political news that interested him chiefly.