“Smirnòv,” I said, “bring me a hammer and a nail.” “What do you want them for?” “You shall see directly.” He did as I told him; I stepped on to the iron landing, and in his presence broke the rivets of my fetters. “What are you doing?” cried Smirnòv. “I shall have to pay for that!” “Not a bit. Go at once and tell the governor I have broken my fetters.” “But I can’t go and denounce you!” “Don’t be silly,” said I; “do as I say.” He went, protesting and shaking his head, and soon after called me to go before the governor. I fastened up my chains with twine in place of the rivets, and followed him. “What’s all this?” cried the old man in great excitement. “You’ve broken your fetters? You are trying to make your escape?” And he raised his hands in horror at this shocking discovery. “On the contrary,” replied I. “If I were in your place I should feel reassured about that, if a prisoner broke his chains openly.” “I don’t know what you mean,” said the governor; “this is a serious business.” “If I were contemplating flight,” continued I, “I should not break my fetters in the presence of the inspector, but should carefully keep quiet about it. I merely wanted to get rid of a perfectly unnecessary inconvenience, that worries me day and night.” “That’s all very well,” observed the governor, “but you can’t expect me to give you permission to take them off as you please in this fashion!” “You needn’t give me permission,” I returned. “You need only behave as if you know nothing about the matter, and consider everything to be ‘in good order,’ as you say in your reports.” “That’s a nice suggestion!” said the old governor, amused and half relenting. “But what do you suppose my superiors would think of it?” “Unless you tell them, I don’t see that they will ever have cause to think about it,” I replied. “It will never occur to the Governor of Moscow to examine whether my chains are fastened with rivets or with string.” “Then if an inspection is made you will be wearing your fetters?” he asked, laughing. “Of course! You see, I’ve come to you in full dress,” and I pointed to my tied-up chains. We parted quite amicably; and I took it that informal permission not to wear our fetters had been conceded. It was not so easy to get dispensation from having our heads shaved; yet that we also achieved. According to rule, half the head should have been shaved every month; and there was no getting out of this save by a downright refusal to submit. This we accordingly made; and the barber reported it to the governor, who sent for us to come to him singly. “What do you want me to do now?” said the good-humoured old man to me. “Simply to report to the Governor of Moscow that such and such prisoners refuse to let their heads be shaved, and declare that they will offer determined resistance if forced. We have nothing against you,” I continued, “but this is our only way of appealing publicly against barbarous and humiliating usage.”