The brief history of the day: The bet

“What was the object of that bet? What is the use of that man having lost fifteen years of his life and that I have wasted two million? Can you prove that the death penalty is better or worse than life imprisonment? "

IT WAS a dark autumn night. The old banker paced up and down the study and remembered how, fifteen years ago, he had thrown a party one autumn evening. There had been many intelligent men and there had been interesting conversations. Among other things, they had talked about capital punishment. Most of the guests, including many journalists and intellectuals, disapproved of the death penalty. They considered that form of punishment old-fashioned, immoral and unsuitable for Christian states. In the opinion of some of them, the death penalty should be replaced everywhere by life imprisonment.

“I disagree with you,” said their host, the banker. “I have not tried either the death penalty or life imprisonment, but if one can judge a priori, the death penalty is more moral and more humane than life imprisonment. Capital punishment kills a man immediately, but permanent prison kills him slowly. What is the most human executioner, the one who kills you in a few minutes or the one who snatches your life in many years? "

“Both are equally immoral,” observed one of the guests, “because they both have the same goal: to take life. The state is not God. It has no right to take away what it cannot restore when it wants. "

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

“The death sentence and life imprisonment are equally immoral, but if I had to choose between the death penalty and life imprisonment, I would certainly choose the latter. However, living is better than nothing ”.

A lively discussion arises. The banker, who was younger and more nervous in those days, was suddenly seized with excitement; hit the table with his fist and shouted to the young man:

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

"If you mean it," said the young man, "I accept the bet, but I would stay not five but fifteen years".

"Fifteen? Done!" shouted the banker. "Gentlemen, I bet two million!"

"Agree! You bet your millions and I bet my freedom! " the young man said.

And this crazy and senseless bet was made! The spoiled and frivolous banker, with millions beyond his calculations, was happy with the bet. At dinner he made fun of the young man and said:

“Think better, young man, while there is still time. To me two million is nonsense, but you're missing out on three or four of the best years of your life. I say three or four, because you will not stay. Don't forget either, unhappy man, that voluntary imprisonment is much more difficult to bear than obligatory. The thought of having the right to go free at any time will poison your entire existence in prison. I'm sorry for you."

And now the banker, pacing back and forth, remembered all this and asked himself, “What was the object of that bet? What is the use of that man having lost fifteen years of his life and that I have wasted two million? that the death penalty is better or worse than life imprisonment? No, no. It was all nonsense and nonsense. For my part it was the whim of a spoiled man, and for his part simply greed for money… “.

Then he remembered what followed that evening. It was decided that the young man would 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 would 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 he was allowed to write letters, drink wine and smoke. Under the terms of the agreement, the only relationship he could have with the outside world was through a window created specifically for that object. He could have whatever he wanted - books, music, wine and so on - in any quantity he wanted by writing an order, but he could only get them through the window.

For the first year of imprisonment, as far as could be judged from his brief notes, the prisoner suffered severely from loneliness and depression. The sounds of the piano could be heard continuously day and night from its loggia. He refused wine and tobacco. Wine, he wrote, excites desires, and desires are the prisoner's worst enemies; besides, nothing could be sadder than drinking good wine and not seeing anyone. And the tobacco spoiled the air in his room. In the first year the books he sent for were mainly light in character; novels with a complicated love plot, sensational and fantastic stories and so on.

In the second year the piano was silent in the loggia and the prisoner asked only for the classics. In the fifth year the music was heard again and the prisoner asked for wine. Those who watched him from the window said that all year long he did nothing but eat and drink and lay on the bed, often yawning and talking in anger. He didn't read books. Sometimes at night he sat down to write; he spent hours writing and in the morning tore up everything he had written. More than once he has heard himself cry.

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

“My dear jailer, I am writing these lines to you in six languages. Show them to people who know languages. Let them read them. If they don't find a mistake I beg you to fire a shot in the garden. That blow will show me that my efforts have not been thrown away. Geniuses of all ages and countries speak different languages, but the same flame burns in everyone. Oh, if I only knew what otherworldly happiness my soul feels now from being able to understand them! “The prisoner's wish has been granted. The banker ordered two shots to be fired in the garden.

Then, after the tenth year, the prisoner sat motionless 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 on a thin, easy-to-understand book. Theology and the histories of religion followed the Gospels.

In the last two years of imprisonment, the prisoner has read an immense amount of books in a completely indiscriminate way. He was once engaged in the natural sciences, then asked about Byron or Shakespeare. There were notes in which he requested chemistry books, a medical textbook, a novel, and some treatise on philosophy or theology at the same time. His reading suggested that a man was swimming in the sea among the wrecks of his ship and trying to save his life by eagerly clinging to one rod and then another.

II

The old banker remembered all this and thought:

“Tomorrow at noon he will regain his freedom. According to our agreement, I should pay him two million. If I pay him, it's all over for me: I'll be completely ruined. "

Fifteen years ago, his millions had been beyond his limits; now he was afraid to ask himself what his major debts or assets were. Desperate gambling on the stock market, wild speculation and excitability that he could not overcome even in the advancing years had gradually led to the decline of his fortune and the proud, fearless and self-confident millionaire had become a banker of middle rank, trembling with every increase and decrease in his investments. "Damn bet!" the old man murmured, clutching his head in despair “Why isn't the man dead? He is now only forty. He will take away my last penny, he will marry, enjoy his life, bet he will look at him with envy like a beggar and hear the same sentence from him every day: “I owe you for the happiness of my life, let me help you! ' No, that's too much! The only way to be saved from bankruptcy and misfortune is the death of that man! "

Three o'clock struck, the banker listened; everyone slept in the house and outside there was nothing but the rustle of frozen trees. Trying not to make any noise, he took the key from a fireproof safe to the door that hadn't been opened for fifteen years, put on his coat and left the house.

It was dark and cold in the garden. The rain was falling. A wet, cutting wind ran through the garden, howling and giving no rest to the trees. The banker strained his eyes, but could see neither the earth nor the white statues, nor the loggia, nor the trees. Going to the spot where the lodge was, he called the keeper twice. No response followed. Evidently the keeper had sought shelter from the elements and was now sleeping somewhere in the kitchen or greenhouse.

"If I had the courage to carry out my intention," thought the old man, "the suspicions would fall on the sentry first."

He searched the steps and the door in the darkness and entered the entrance to the loggia. Then he groped his way through a small passage and struck a match. There wasn't a soul there. There was a bed without blankets and in one corner was a dark cast iron stove. The seals on the door leading to the prisoner's rooms were intact.

When the match went out the old man, trembling with emotion, peeped out of the window. A candle burned faintly in the prisoner's room. He was sitting at the table. All you could see was his back, the hair on his head and his hands. The open books lay on the table, on the two armchairs and on the carpet next to the table.

Five minutes passed and the prisoner did not move even once. Fifteen years in prison had taught him to sit still. The banker tapped on the window with his finger and the prisoner made no movement in response. Then the banker cautiously broke the seals on the door and put the key in the keyhole. The rusted lock made a grinding sound and the door creaked. The banker expected to hear footsteps and a cry of amazement right away, but three minutes passed and the room was quieter than ever. He decided to enter.

At the table a man different from the common people sat motionless. He was a skeleton with skin pulled over his bones, with long curls like a woman's and a stiff beard. Her face was yellow with an earthy tint, her cheeks were sunken, her back long and narrow, and the hand on which her shaggy head was resting was so thin and delicate it was terrible to look at her. Her hair was already streaked with silver and, seeing her thin, aged face, no one would have believed she was only forty. He was sleeping. . . . In front of his bowed head lay a sheet of paper on the table with something written in beautiful handwriting on it.

"Poor creature!" thought the banker, “he sleeps and most likely dreams millions. And I just have to take this half-dead man, throw him on the bed, choke him a little with the pillow, and the most conscientious expert would find no sign of a violent death. But let's first read what he wrote here… “.

The banker took the page from the table and read the following:

“Tomorrow at midnight I regain my freedom and the right to associate with other men, but before I leave this room and see the sun, I think I need to say a few words to you. With a clear conscience to tell you, as before God, who looks at me, that I despise freedom, life and health, and all that in your books is called the good things of the world.

and the strings of the shepherds' pipes; I touched the wings of comely devils who flew down to converse with me about God. . . In your books I have thrown myself into the bottomless pit, performed miracles, killed, burned cities, preached new religions, conquered entire kingdoms. . . .

“Your books have given me wisdom. Everything that man's restless thinking has created over the centuries is compressed into a small compass in my brain. I know I'm wiser than all of you.

“And I despise your books, I despise the wisdom and blessings of this world. It is all useless, fleeting, illusory and deceptive, like a mirage. You may be proud, wise and fine, but death will sweep you off the face of the earth as if you are nothing but rats digging under the floor, and your posterity, your history, your immortal genes will burn or freeze together. to the globe.

“You lost your mind and took the wrong path. You traded lies for truth and horror for beauty. You would be surprised if, due to strange events of some kind, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit. , or if the roses started to smell like a sweaty horse, then I am amazed at you trading heaven for earth.

“To show you in action how much I despise everything you live on, I give up the two million paradise that I once dreamed of and now despise. To deprive myself of the right to money, I will leave here five hours before the scheduled time, and thus you break the pact ... "

When the banker had read this, he put the page down on the table, kissed the stranger on the head, and left the loggia crying. At no other time, even when he had lost heavily on the stock market, had he felt such great contempt for himself. When he got home he lay on the bed, but tears and emotion prevented him from sleeping for hours.

The next morning the sentries came running with pale faces and told him that they saw the man who lived in the loggia come out of the window into the garden, go to the gate and disappear. The banker immediately went with the servants to the lodge and made sure of the escape of his prisoner. To avoid arousing unnecessary talk, he took the sign giving up millions from the table and locked it in the fireproof safe when he returned home.