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- Федор Достоевский
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Your
great
philosophical
idea
of
a
grand
life
in
a
prison
and
your
four
happy
years
in
that
Swiss
village
are
like
this
,
rather
,
"
said
Aglaya
.
"
As
to
life
in
a
prison
,
of
course
there
may
be
two
opinions
,
"
said
the
prince
.
"
I
once
heard
the
story
of
a
man
who
lived
twelve
years
in
a
prison
--
I
heard
it
from
the
man
himself
.
He
was
one
of
the
persons
under
treatment
with
my
professor
;
he
had
fits
,
and
attacks
of
melancholy
,
then
he
would
weep
,
and
once
he
tried
to
commit
suicide
.
His
life
in
prison
was
sad
enough
;
his
only
acquaintances
were
spiders
and
a
tree
that
grew
outside
his
grating
--
but
I
think
I
had
better
tell
you
of
another
man
I
met
last
year
.
There
was
a
very
strange
feature
in
this
case
,
strange
because
of
its
extremely
rare
occurrence
.
This
man
had
once
been
brought
to
the
scaffold
in
company
with
several
others
,
and
had
had
the
sentence
of
death
by
shooting
passed
upon
him
for
some
political
crime
.
Twenty
minutes
later
he
had
been
reprieved
and
some
other
punishment
substituted
;
but
the
interval
between
the
two
sentences
,
twenty
minutes
,
or
at
least
a
quarter
of
an
hour
,
had
been
passed
in
the
certainty
that
within
a
few
minutes
he
must
die
.
I
was
very
anxious
to
hear
him
speak
of
his
impressions
during
that
dreadful
time
,
and
I
several
times
inquired
of
him
as
to
what
he
thought
and
felt
.
He
remembered
everything
with
the
most
accurate
and
extraordinary
distinctness
,
and
declared
that
he
would
never
forget
a
single
iota
of
the
experience
.
"
About
twenty
paces
from
the
scaffold
,
where
he
had
stood
to
hear
the
sentence
,
were
three
posts
,
fixed
in
the
ground
,
to
which
to
fasten
the
criminals
(
of
whom
there
were
several
)
.
The
first
three
criminals
were
taken
to
the
posts
,
dressed
in
long
white
tunics
,
with
white
caps
drawn
over
their
faces
,
so
that
they
could
not
see
the
rifles
pointed
at
them
.
Then
a
group
of
soldiers
took
their
stand
opposite
to
each
post
.
My
friend
was
the
eighth
on
the
list
,
and
therefore
he
would
have
been
among
the
third
lot
to
go
up
.
A
priest
went
about
among
them
with
a
cross
:
and
there
was
about
five
minutes
of
time
left
for
him
to
live
.
"
He
said
that
those
five
minutes
seemed
to
him
to
be
a
most
interminable
period
,
an
enormous
wealth
of
time
;
he
seemed
to
be
living
,
in
these
minutes
,
so
many
lives
that
there
was
no
need
as
yet
to
think
of
that
last
moment
,
so
that
he
made
several
arrangements
,
dividing
up
the
time
into
portions
--
one
for
saying
farewell
to
his
companions
,
two
minutes
for
that
;
then
a
couple
more
for
thinking
over
his
own
life
and
career
and
all
about
himself
;
and
another
minute
for
a
last
look
around
.
He
remembered
having
divided
his
time
like
this
quite
well
.
While
saying
good-bye
to
his
friends
he
recollected
asking
one
of
them
some
very
usual
everyday
question
,
and
being
much
interested
in
the
answer
.
Then
having
bade
farewell
,
he
embarked
upon
those
two
minutes
which
he
had
allotted
to
looking
into
himself
;
he
knew
beforehand
what
he
was
going
to
think
about
.
He
wished
to
put
it
to
himself
as
quickly
and
clearly
as
possible
,
that
here
was
he
,
a
living
,
thinking
man
,
and
that
in
three
minutes
he
would
be
nobody
;
or
if
somebody
or
something
,
then
what
and
where
?
He
thought
he
would
decide
this
question
once
for
all
in
these
last
three
minutes
.
A
little
way
off
there
stood
a
church
,
and
its
gilded
spire
glittered
in
the
sun
.
He
remembered
staring
stubbornly
at
this
spire
,
and
at
the
rays
of
light
sparkling
from
it
.
He
could
not
tear
his
eyes
from
these
rays
of
light
;
he
got
the
idea
that
these
rays
were
his
new
nature
,
and
that
in
three
minutes
he
would
become
one
of
them
,
amalgamated
somehow
with
them
.
"
The
repugnance
to
what
must
ensue
almost
immediately
,
and
the
uncertainty
,
were
dreadful
,
he
said
;
but
worst
of
all
was
the
idea
,
'
What
should
I
do
if
I
were
not
to
die
now
?
What
if
I
were
to
return
to
life
again
?
What
an
eternity
of
days
,
and
all
mine
!
How
I
should
grudge
and
count
up
every
minute
of
it
,
so
as
to
waste
not
a
single
instant
!
'
He
said
that
this
thought
weighed
so
upon
him
and
became
such
a
terrible
burden
upon
his
brain
that
he
could
not
bear
it
,
and
wished
they
would
shoot
him
quickly
and
have
done
with
it
.
"
The
prince
paused
and
all
waited
,
expecting
him
to
go
on
again
and
finish
the
story
.
"
Is
that
all
?
"
asked
Aglaya
.
"
All
?
Yes
,
"
said
the
prince
,
emerging
from
a
momentary
reverie
.
"
And
why
did
you
tell
us
this
?
"
