[37] This is a typical drop in the ocean of his extreme cruelty.--Among those who contributed to my "Symposium on Humanitarians," (see August 1908 issue of the Medico-Pharmaceutical Critic and Guide), was the distinguished ex-ambassador to Germany and Russia, Andrew D. White, Ph.D., L.H.D., LL.D. He mentioned as one of his favorites, Alexander II. Naturally I could not understand such a barbaric choice. A little later, this eminent former President and Professor of Cornell University published his "Autobiography," and I found he was the apologist, admirer and friend of Pobedonostzeff! He speaks as highly of this relentless persecutor as of Leo Tolstoy! I deserve to have my face slapped for expecting Truth and Right from an official personage! [38] He committed suicide by shooting himself. THE OPEN GATE The autumn night is dark as the crime of the traitor. But darker still, piercing the mist like a gloomy vision, stands--the prison. The sentinels are striding idly around, and in the deepness of the night is heard their groanlike melancholy "Lis-ten!" Tho the walls of the barrier are strong, tho the iron locks are unbreakable, tho the eyes of the gaolers are keen, and everywhere are shining bayonets, still the prison is not a morgue. Thou sentinel, be not negligent, trust not the darkness, be careful, Lis-ten!... MIKHAILOV. The plague of the prisons was upon Kropotkin--he was sick with scurvy[39] and dying from insufficient oxidation of the blood. The wretches who lifted the shutter of the Judas and spied upon him, believed he would soon change his silent casemate for a silent coffin. His relatives heard about his condition, and their alarm was great. His sister Helene tried to obtain his release on bail, but the procureur turned himself like a golden pheasant and said with a sinister smile, "If you bring me a doctor's certificate that he will die in ten days, I will release him." The girl fell in a chair and sobbed aloud. Shubin smiled again, for like Gorky's Tchizhik in _Orloff and his Wife_, he was fond of gratuitous entertainments. But a prince is not a peasant, and Kropotkin was examined by a thoroly competent physician who ordered his transfer to the military hospital (where politicals were sent when it was thought they would soon require an undertaker). Kropotkin improved at once. With a full chest he breathed the blest air which he had missed so long. The rays of the sun warmed him, and the scent of flowers gladdened his life. The immense window of his spacious room may have been grated, but it was never closed. He sat there all day gazing at the rows of trees. Later he was taken out for an hour's walk in the prison yard--large, and full of sweet growing grass. The first moment he entered it, he stopped on the doorstep unable to move. Before him was a gate, and it was open! He tried not to look at it, yet stared at it all the time.