File1, 2, & 3 for hpatel:



It was a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his study
and remembering how, fifteen years before, he had given a party one autumn
evening. There had been many clever men there, and there had been interestin
conversations. Among other things they had talked of capital punishment.
The majority of the guests, among whom were many journalists and intellectual
men, disapproved of the death penalty. They considered that form of punishment
out of date, immoral, and unsuitable for Christian States. In the opinion of
some of them the death penalty ought to be replaced everywhere by
imprisonment for life.

"I don't agree with you," said their host the banker. "I have not tried either
the death penalty or imprisonment for life, but if one may judge _a priori_,
the death penalty is more moral and more humane than imprisonment for life.
Capital punishment kills a man at once, but lifelong imprisonment kills him
slowly. Which executioner is the more humane, he who kills you in a few
minutes or he who drags the life out of you in the course of many years?"

"Both are equally immoral," observed one of the guests, "for they both have
the same object -- to take away life. The State is not God. It has not the
right to take away what it cannot restore when it wants to."

Among the guests was a young lawyer, a young man of five-and-twenty.
When he was asked his opinion, he said:

"The death sentence and the life sentence are equally immoral,
but if I had to choose between the death penalty and imprisonment for life,
I would certainly choose the second. To live anyhow is better than not at


A lively discussion arose. The banker, who was younger and more nervous in
those days, was suddenly carried away by excitement; he struck the table
with his fist and shouted at the young man:

"It's not true! I'll bet you two millions you wouldn't stay in solitary
confinement for five years."

"If you mean that in earnest," said the young man, "I'll take the bet,
but I would stay not five but fifteen years."

"Fifteen? Done!" cried the banker. "Gentlemen, I stake two millions!"

"Agreed! You stake your millions and I stake my freedom!" said the young man.

And this wild, senseless bet was carried out! The banker, spoilt and
frivolous, with millions beyond his reckoning, was delighted at the bet.
At supper he made fun of the young man, and said:

"Think better of it, young man, while there is still time. To me two millions
are a trifle, but you are losing three or four of the best years of your
life. I say three or four, because you won't stay longer.
Don't forget either, you unhappy man, that voluntary confinement is a great
deal harder to bear than compulsory. The thought that you have the right to
step out in liberty at any moment will poison your whole existence in prison.
I am sorry for you."

And now the banker, walking to and fro, remembered all this, and asked himself:
"What was the object of that bet? What is the good of that man's losing
fifteen years of his life and my throwing away two millions?
Can it prove that the death penalty is better or worse than imprisonment for
life? No, no. It was all nonsensical and meaningless. On my part it was the
caprice of a pampered man, and on his part simple greed for money. . . ."


Then he remembered what followed that evening. It was decided that the young
man should spend the years of his captivity under the strictest supervision
in one of the lodges in the banker's garden. It was agreed that for
fifteen years he should not be free to cross the threshold of the lodge,
to see human beings, to hear the human voice, or to receive letters and
newspapers. He was allowed to have a musical instrument and books, and was
allowed to write letters, to drink wine, and to smoke. By the terms of the
agreement, the only relations he could have with the outer world were by a
little window made purposely for that object. He might have anything he
wanted -- books, music, wine, and so on -- in any quantity he desired by
writing an order, but could only receive them through the window.
The agreement provided for every detail and every trifle that would make
his imprisonment strictly solitary, and bound the young man to stay
there _exactly_ fifteen years, beginning from
twelve o'clock of November 14, 1870, and ending at twelve o'clock of
November 14, 1885. The slightest attempt on his part to break the conditions,
if only two minutes before the end, released the banker from the obligation
to pay him two millions.

For the first year of his confinement, as far as one could judge from his brief
notes, the prisoner suffered severely from loneliness and depression.
The sounds of the piano could be heard continually day and night from his
lodge. He refused wine and tobacco. Wine, he wrote, excites the desires,
and desires are the worst foes of the prisoner; and besides, nothing could be
more dreary than drinking good wine and seeing no one. And tobacco spoilt
the air of his room. In the first year the books he sent for were
principally of a light character; novels with a complicated love plot,
sensational and fantastic stories, and so on.

In the second year the piano was silent in the lodge, and the prisoner asked
only for the classics. In the fifth year music was audible again,
and the prisoner asked for wine. Those who watched him through the window
said that all that year he spent doing nothing but eating and drinking and
lying on his bed, frequently yawning and angrily talking to himself. He did
not read books. Sometimes at night he would sit down to write; he would spend
hours writing, and in the morning tear up all that he had written.
More than once he could be heard crying.

In the second half of the sixth year the prisoner began zealously studying
languages, philosophy, and history. He threw himself eagerly into these
studies -- so much so that the banker had enough to do to get him the
books he ordered. In the course of four years some six hundred volumes
were procured at his request. It was during this period that the banker
received the following letter from his prisoner:

"My dear Jailer, I write you these lines in six languages. Show them to
people who know the languages. Let them read them. If they find not one
mistake I implore you to fire a shot in the garden. That shot will show me
that my efforts have not been thrown away. The geniuses of all ages and of
all lands speak different languages, but the same flame burns in them all.
Oh, if you only knew what unearthly happiness my soul feels now from being
able to understand them!" The prisoner's desire was fulfilled.
The banker ordered two shots to be fired in the garden.

Then after the tenth year, the prisoner sat immovably at the table and
read nothing but the Gospel. It seemed strange to the banker that a man
who in four years had mastered six hundred learned volumes should waste
nearly a year over one thin book easy of comprehension.
Theology and histories of religion followed the Gospels.

In the last two years of his confinement the prisoner read an immense
quantity of books quite indiscriminately. At one time he was busy with
the natural sciences, then he would ask for Byron or Shakespeare. There
were notes in which he demanded at the same time books on chemistry, and
a manual of medicine, and a novel, and some treatise on philosophy
or theology. His reading suggested a man swimming in the sea among the
wreckage of his ship, and trying to save his life by greedily clutching
first at one spar and then at another.

No lines are longer than 80 characters, TYVM. Other specified properties aren't being scored automatically at this time so this is not necessarily good news...