Bab Bab 274 · 第274章

From Prince Shcherbátov’s house the prisoners were led straight down the

Virgin’s Field, to the left of the nunnery, as far as a kitchen garden

in which a post had been set up. Beyond that post a fresh pit had been

dug in the ground, and near the post and the pit a large crowd stood

in a semicircle. The crowd consisted of a few Russians and many

of Napoleon’s soldiers who were not on duty—Germans, Italians, and

Frenchmen, in a variety of uniforms. To the right and left of the post

stood rows of French troops in blue uniforms with red epaulets and high

boots and shakos.

The prisoners were placed in a certain order, according to the list

(Pierre was sixth), and were led to the post. Several drums suddenly

began to beat on both sides of them, and at that sound Pierre felt as

if part of his soul had been torn away. He lost the power of thinking or

understanding. He could only hear and see. And he had only one wish—that

the frightful thing that had to happen should happen quickly. Pierre

looked round at his fellow prisoners and scrutinized them.

The two first were convicts with shaven heads. One was tall and thin,

the other dark, shaggy, and sinewy, with a flat nose. The third was

a domestic serf, about forty-five years old, with grizzled hair and a

plump, well-nourished body. The fourth was a peasant, a very handsome

man with a broad, light-brown beard and black eyes. The fifth was a

factory hand, a thin, sallow-faced lad of eighteen in a loose coat.

Pierre heard the French consulting whether to shoot them separately or

two at a time. “In couples,” replied the officer in command in a calm

voice. There was a stir in the ranks of the soldiers and it was evident

that they were all hurrying—not as men hurry to do something they

understand, but as people hurry to finish a necessary but unpleasant and

incomprehensible task.

A French official wearing a scarf came up to the right of the row of

prisoners and read out the sentence in Russian and in French.

Then two pairs of Frenchmen approached the criminals and at the

officer’s command took the two convicts who stood first in the row. The

convicts stopped when they reached the post and, while sacks were being

brought, looked dumbly around as a wounded beast looks at an approaching

huntsman. One crossed himself continually, the other scratched his back

and made a movement of the lips resembling a smile. With hurried hands

the soldiers blindfolded them, drawing the sacks over their heads, and

bound them to the post.

Twelve sharpshooters with muskets stepped out of the ranks with a firm

regular tread and halted eight paces from the post. Pierre turned away

to avoid seeing what was going to happen. Suddenly a crackling, rolling

noise was heard which seemed to him louder than the most terrific

thunder, and he looked round. There was some smoke, and the Frenchmen

were doing something near the pit, with pale faces and trembling hands.

Two more prisoners were led up. In the same way and with similar looks,

these two glanced vainly at the onlookers with only a silent appeal for

protection in their eyes, evidently unable to understand or believe

what was going to happen to them. They could not believe it because they

alone knew what their life meant to them, and so they neither understood

nor believed that it could be taken from them.

Again Pierre did not wish to look and again turned away; but again the

sound as of a frightful explosion struck his ear, and at the same moment

he saw smoke, blood, and the pale, scared faces of the Frenchmen who

were again doing something by the post, their trembling hands impeding

one another. Pierre, breathing heavily, looked around as if asking what

it meant. The same question was expressed in all the looks that met his.

On the faces of all the Russians and of the French soldiers and officers

without exception, he read the same dismay, horror, and conflict that

were in his own heart. “But who, after all, is doing this? They are all

suffering as I am. Who then is it? Who?” flashed for an instant through

his mind.

“Sharpshooters of the 86th, forward!” shouted someone. The fifth

prisoner, the one next to Pierre, was led away—alone. Pierre did not

understand that he was saved, that he and the rest had been brought

there only to witness the execution. With ever-growing horror, and no

sense of joy or relief, he gazed at what was taking place. The fifth man

was the factory lad in the loose cloak. The moment they laid hands on

him he sprang aside in terror and clutched at Pierre. (Pierre shuddered

and shook himself free.) The lad was unable to walk. They dragged him

along, holding him up under the arms, and he screamed. When they got

him to the post he grew quiet, as if he suddenly understood something.

Whether he understood that screaming was useless or whether he thought

it incredible that men should kill him, at any rate he took his stand at

the post, waiting to be blindfolded like the others, and like a wounded

animal looked around him with glittering eyes.

Pierre was no longer able to turn away and close his eyes. His curiosity

and agitation, like that of the whole crowd, reached the highest pitch

at this fifth murder. Like the others this fifth man seemed calm; he

wrapped his loose cloak closer and rubbed one bare foot with the other.

When they began to blindfold him he himself adjusted the knot which

hurt the back of his head; then when they propped him against the

bloodstained post, he leaned back and, not being comfortable in that

position, straightened himself, adjusted his feet, and leaned back again

more comfortably. Pierre did not take his eyes from him and did not miss

his slightest movement.

Probably a word of command was given and was followed by the reports of

eight muskets; but try as he would Pierre could not afterwards remember

having heard the slightest sound of the shots. He only saw how the

workman suddenly sank down on the cords that held him, how blood showed

itself in two places, how the ropes slackened under the weight of the

hanging body, and how the workman sat down, his head hanging unnaturally

and one leg bent under him. Pierre ran up to the post. No one hindered

him. Pale, frightened people were doing something around the workman.

The lower jaw of an old Frenchman with a thick mustache trembled as he

untied the ropes. The body collapsed. The soldiers dragged it awkwardly

from the post and began pushing it into the pit.

They all plainly and certainly knew that they were criminals who must

hide the traces of their guilt as quickly as possible.

Pierre glanced into the pit and saw that the factory lad was lying with

his knees close up to his head and one shoulder higher than the other.

That shoulder rose and fell rhythmically and convulsively, but spadefuls

of earth were already being thrown over the whole body. One of the

soldiers, evidently suffering, shouted gruffly and angrily at Pierre to

go back. But Pierre did not understand him and remained near the post,

and no one drove him away.

When the pit had been filled up a command was given. Pierre was taken

back to his place, and the rows of troops on both sides of the post

made a half turn and went past it at a measured pace. The twenty-four

sharpshooters with discharged muskets, standing in the center of the

circle, ran back to their places as the companies passed by.

Pierre gazed now with dazed eyes at these sharpshooters who ran in

couples out of the circle. All but one rejoined their companies. This

one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, his shako pushed back, and

his musket resting on the ground, still stood near the pit at the spot

from which he had fired. He swayed like a drunken man, taking some steps

forward and back to save himself from falling. An old, noncommissioned

officer ran out of the ranks and taking him by the elbow dragged him to

his company. The crowd of Russians and Frenchmen began to disperse. They

all went away silently and with drooping heads.

“That will teach them to start fires,” said one of the Frenchmen.

Pierre glanced round at the speaker and saw that it was a soldier who

was trying to find some relief after what had been done, but was not

able to do so. Without finishing what he had begun to say he made a

hopeless movement with his arm and went away.