“He bites,” I thought to myself; and at once began building castles in the air. I knew from experience that the great thing was to establish communication with the outer world, and this we revolutionists had often effected by bribing warders to take letters into and out of prison. In Kiëv and the south we called such warders “carrier-pigeons.” When I saw how easily this one fell in with my proposal, I immediately began to plan out further steps.
“After a few days,” I said to myself, “we will try him with a letter for the post; and next I shall send him to someone I know with a commission. When once things are in train, who knows? something may come of it.”
It was in the morning that I had given the warder my money, and I was in great excitement all day. Several times he looked through the peephole in my door, smiled and nodded at me, and of course I replied in similar fashion. Towards evening he came into my cell again, and laid my notes down on the table. “Take them back,” he said; “I am afraid of getting into trouble. See here; a little while ago one of the others had two watches given him, and they were found on him, and he was dismissed. You see, I’ve a good place here, and get twenty-five roubles[[29]] a month. I shouldn’t get so much again in a hurry. No, I’m afraid; take it back!”
Of course I did not press him, for I knew that without courage he would never make a “carrier-pigeon.” I saw no chance now of changing the notes secretly, so I told him to take them to the governor, that they might be added to the rest of my money.
“Tell him you found them in searching my luggage.”
“No, no, that won’t do. There would be no end of a fuss because I hadn’t given them up directly. I’d rather tell the truth, and say you had just given them to me.”
Thus did my visions end in smoke. The money was taken charge of, and no further inquiry made.
Soon after this my books were brought to me, and I could also use the prison library. After being for so long prevented from reading, this was a great boon; and as writing materials were also allowed me, I was altogether far better off here than in the Fortress of Peter and Paul. Still, the little cell with its stone floor became a perfect oven in the heat of summer, most unpleasantly stuffy and dusty; and the food was inferior both in quantity and quality. But the walks were what was most disagreeable. Imagine a huge circle, divided into sections by partitions running from centre to circumference. In these cattle-pens we were allowed to disport ourselves singly, carefully watched all the while by warders stationed on a raised platform at the centre of the circle, commanding all the “cattle-pens”; so that the prisoners had no chance of communicating with each other. One could see nothing but the wooden partitions, the back of the prison buildings, and a narrow strip of sky; but every day we had to breathe the air here for three-quarters of an hour, which seemed an endless time for such “recreation.”
In comparison with the uncanny stillness of the fortress, things here seemed full of life and bustle. The windows of the corridor looked into the street, and its noises could be heard in the cells—the rumbling of carriages, the cries of street-hawkers, or the dulcet music of an organ-grinder. One felt so near freedom that the burden of prison life was the heavier.
One day I heard unusually lively sounds in the corridor—scrubbing, sweeping, and a general tidying-up. Some important visit seemed to be expected, and I soon learned that the Minister of Justice, Nabòkov, was coming to inspect the prison. Shortly after, he appeared in my cell, accompanied by a numerous suite; and when my name was pronounced, he greeted me and said—