The banker tapped on the window with his finger， but theprisoner made no movement in reply. Then the bankercautiously tore the seals from the door and put the key into thelock. The rusty lock gave a hoarse groan and the door creaked.
The banker expected instantly to hear a cry of surprise and thesound of steps. Three minutes passed and it was as quiet insideas it had been before. He made up his mind to enter.
Before the table sat a man， unlike an ordinary human being.
It was a skeleton， with tight-drawn skin， with long curly hairlike a woman’s， and a shaggy beard. The colour of his facewas yellow， of an earthy shade； the cheeks were sunken， theback long and narrow， and the hand upon which he leaned hishairy head was so lean and skinny that it was painful to lookupon. His hair was already silvering with grey， and no onewho glanced at the senile emaciation of the face would havebelieved that he was only forty years old. On the table， beforehis bended head， lay a sheet of paper on which something waswritten in a tiny hand.
“Poor devil，” thought the banker， “he’s asleep and probablyseeing millions in his dreams. I have only to take and throwthis half-dead thing on the bed， smother him a moment with thepillow， and the most careful examination will find no trace ofunnatural death. But， first， let us read what he has written here.”
The banker took the sheet from the table and read：
“Tomorrow at twelve o’clock midnight， I shall obtain myfreedom and the right to mix with people. But before I leavethis room and see the sun I think it necessary to say a fewwords to you. On my own clear conscience and before Godwho sees me I declare to you that I despise freedom， life，health， and all that your books call the blessings of the world.
“For fifteen years I have diligently studied earthly life. True，I saw neither the earth nor the people， but in your books Idrank fragrant wine， sang songs， hunted deer and wild boar inthe forests， loved women… And beautiful women， like cloudsethereal， created by the magic of your poets’ genius， visited meby night and whispered to me wonderful tales， which made myhead drunken. In your books I climbed the summits of Elbruzand Mont Blanc and saw from there how the sun rose in themorning， and in the evening suffused the sky， the ocean andlie mountain ridges with a purple gold. I saw from there howabove me lightnings glimmered cleaving the clouds； I sawgreen forests， fields， rivers， lakes， cities； I heard syrens singing，and the playing of the pipes of Pan； I touched the wings ofbeautiful devils who came flying to me to speak of God…In your books I cast myself into bottomless abysses， workedmiracles， burned cities to the ground， preached new religions，conquered whole countries…
“Your books gave me wisdom. All that unwearying humanthought created in the centuries is compressed to a little lumpin my skull. I know that I am cleverer than you all.
“And I despise your books， despise all worldly blessingsand wisdom. Everything is void， frail， visionary and delusiveas a mirage. Though you be proud and wise and beautiful，yet will death wipe you from the face of the earth like themice underground； and your posterity， your history， and theimmortality of your men of genius will be as frozen slag， burntdown together with the terrestrial globe.
“You are mad， and gone the wrong way. You take falsehoodfor truth and ugliness for beauty. You would marvel ifsuddenly apple and orange trees should bear frogs and lizardsinstead of fruit， and if roses should begin to breathe the odourof a sweating horse. So do I marvel at you， who have barteredheaven for earth. I do not want to understand you.
“That I may show you in deed my contempt for that bywhich you live， I waive the two millions of which I oncedreamed as of paradise， and which I now despise. That I maydeprive myself of my right to them， I shall come out from herefive minutes before the stipulated term， and thus shall violatethe agreement.”
When he had read， the banker put the sheet on the table，kissed the head of the strange man， and began to weep. Hewent out of the wing. Never at any other time， not even afterhis terrible losses on the Exchange， had he felt such contemptfor himself as now. Coming home， he lay down on his bed， butagitation and tears kept him a long time from sleeping…The next morning the poor watchman came running to himand told him that they had seen the man who lived in the wingclimb through the window into the garden. He had gone tothe gate and disappeared. The banker instantly went with hisservants to the wing and established the escape of his prisoner.
To avoid unnecessary rumours he took the paper with therenunciation from the table and， on his return， locked it in hissafe.