11 before the trial. I do not know how my experience would have ended, if strange and very sudden changes in my physical condition and in my state of health had not forced me to call in a doctor. First of all, I was struck by the very rapid growth of hair on my head and face, which necessitated having my hair cut once a week and shaving twice a day. Even so, by late in the evening my face looked as though it had not felt a razor for days. This phenomenon lasted for a month; then I began to fatten, or, more correctly speaking, to bloat terribly. My face became waxlike and yellow and almost round, my lips bloodless, while my hands and feet were always cold and, from time to time, my heart seemed to contract in my breast, setting up an indefinable terror in me.
"Something is wrong with me," I finally decided. "I must consult the doctor, for I do not want to die in prison."
The doctor came this same day, overhauled me thoroughly and asked about my way of living.
"Do not work for two weeks, eat more, walk and exercise as much as possible. Otherwise no one will be able to help you—and there can be only one result."
Accepting my new campaign orders, I put books and notes in my trunk, closed my inkstand and went into the yard. It was already summer, the advent of which I had almost failed to remark in the seclusion of my cell. The prison enclosure was dirty and unattractive, full of refuse building material, which had been left there after the place had been remodelled into a prison for us. Having no liking for aimless work, aimless walks and aimless movements, I decided to turn the doctor's prescription for exercise to the good of the prison life. Summoning some of the young prisoners to help me, I began to clean up the yard and, when this was accomplished, to make
