The prison food was beneath criticism; even the most robust at their hungriest could scarcely swallow a spoonful of the repulsive malodorous broth in wooden bowls brought to our cells at midday. This is explained by the fact that the sum originally provided by Government for our maintenance was extremely small; and on its way through to us a great part of it found its way into the bottomless pockets of officials great and small, among whom there is an organised system of general peculation. The big cauldrons used for cooking the food of several thousand prisoners were filled up with the worst materials that were procurable; and we “politicals,” after a very few specimens of it, decided to feed at our own expense. So we founded a commissariat union, and elected as chief, to whose care our domestic economy should be entrusted, Làzarev, the peasant-lawyer, whom Tolstoi had visited. All the money that we had at command—either what had been given in keeping to the prison authorities on our arrival or what was sent us by friends and relations—was handed over to our chief of commissariat, and he had to arrange our dietary so that all should share alike. In the morning we had tea, milk, and bread _ad libitum_. For dinner at midday we had a meal—generally of two courses—prepared from the provisions in our larder by one of the ordinary criminals hired by us as cook. In the evening there was tea and bread again. Nobody could say that our table was exactly luxurious; but then our means were extremely limited. Our poor housekeeper had often to rack his brains over the problem of making both ends meet; and he at last hit on the expedient of buying horse-flesh for us. Beef was cheap enough—ten kopecks (about 2½_d._) a pound, if I remember rightly; but horseflesh came to only about half that price, and we agreed to try it. It proved quite eatable, if somewhat tough and tasteless; but two or three among us were dainty, and declared that the meat gave them indigestion, and they could not stand it. As the rest of us believed this to be pure imagination, and simply the result of prejudice, our “chief” determined to use a little art. He suggested that he might buy beef for these “invalids”; but he really just had some of the horse-flesh cooked up a little differently from the rest, and set it before them. The result was excellent; our epicures much relished their “beefsteak,” and declared it made them feel sick to see us eating horse; while we had some trouble in keeping our faces straight! This lasted the whole time of our stay in Moscow, and not one of our gourmands ever once complained of indigestion again! When afterwards we let out that for months they had eaten and enjoyed horse-flesh, of course they were furious, and asserted—to the common amusement of the others—that they had always thought the meat had a queer taste. * * * * *