Before placing the condemned people in coaches, all five were brought
together in a large cold room with a vaulted ceiling, which resembled
an office, where people worked no longer, or a deserted waiting-room.
They were now permitted to speak to one another.
Only Tanya Kovalchuk availed herself at once of the permission. The
others firmly and silently shook each other’s hands, which were as cold
as ice and as hot as fire,—and silently, trying not to look at each
other, they crowded together in an awkward, absent-minded group. Now
that they were together, they felt somewhat ashamed of what each of
them had experienced when alone; and they were afraid to look, so as
not to notice or to show that new, peculiar, somewhat shameful
sensation that each of them felt or suspected the others of feeling.
But after a short silence they glanced at each other, smiled and
immediately began to feel at ease and unrestrained, as before. No
change seemed to have occurred, and if it had occurred, it had come so
gently over all of them that it could not be discerned in any one
separately. All spoke and moved about strangely: abruptly, by jolts,
either too fast or too slowly. Sometimes they seemed to choke with
their words and repeated them a number of times; sometimes they did not
finish a phrase they had started, or thought they had finished—they did
not notice it. They all blinked their eyes and examined ordinary
objects curiously, not recognizing them, like people who had worn
eye-glasses and had suddenly taken them off; and all of them frequently
turned around abruptly, as though some one behind them was calling them
all the time and showing them something. But they did not notice this,
either. Musya’s and Tanya Kovalchuk’s cheeks and ears were burning;
Sergey was at first somewhat pale, but he soon recovered and looked as
he always did.
Only Vasily attracted everybody’s attention. Even among them, he looked
strange and terrible. Werner became agitated and said to Musya in a low
voice, with tender anxiety:
“What does this mean, Musyechka? Is it possible that he—— What? I must
go to him.”
Vasily looked at Werner from the distance, as though not recognizing
him, and he lowered his eyes.
“Vasya, what have you done with your hair? What is the matter with you?
Never mind, my dear, never mind, it will soon be over. We must keep up,
we must, we must.”
Vasily was silent. But when it seemed that he would no longer say
anything, a dull, belated, terribly remote answer came—like an answer
from the grave:
“I’m all right. I hold my own.”
Then he repeated:
“I hold my own.”
Werner was delighted.
“That’s the way, that’s the way. Good boy. That’s the way.”
But his eyes met Vasily’s dark, wearied glance fixed upon him from the
distance and he thought with instant sorrow: “From where is he looking?
From where is he speaking?” and with profound tenderness, with which
people address a grave, he said:
“Vasya, do you hear? I love you very much.”
“So do I love you very much,” answered the tongue, moving with
difficulty.
Suddenly Musya took Werner by the hand and with an expression of
surprise, she said like an actress on the stage, with measured
emphasis:
“Werner, what is this? You said, ‘I love’? You never before said ‘I
love’ to anybody. And why are you all so—tender and serene? Why?”
“Why?”
And like an actor, also accentuating what he felt, Werner pressed
Musya’s hand firmly:
“Yes, now I love very much. Don’t tell it to the others,—it isn’t
necessary, I feel somewhat ashamed, but I love deeply.”
Their eyes met and flashed up brightly, and everything about them
seemed to have plunged in darkness. It is thus that in the flash of
lightning all other lights are instantly darkened and the heavy yellow
flame casts a shadow upon earth.
“Yes,” said Musya, “yes, Werner.”
“Yes,” he answered, “yes, Musya, yes.”
They understood each other and something was firmly settled between
them at this moment. And his eyes glistening, Werner again became
agitated and quickly stepped over to Sergey.
“Seryozha!”
But Tanya Kovalchuk answered. Almost crying with maternal pride, she
tugged Sergey frantically by the sleeve.
“Listen, Werner! I am crying here for him, I am wearing myself to
death, and he is occupying himself with gymnastics!”
“According to the Müller system?” smiled Werner.
Sergey knit his brow confusedly.
“You needn’t laugh, Werner. I have convinced myself conclusively—”
All began to laugh. Drawing strength and courage from one another, they
gradually regained their poise—became the same as they used to be. They
did not notice this, however, and thought that they had never changed
at all. Suddenly Werner interrupted their laughter and said to Sergey
very earnestly:
“You are right, Seryozha. You are perfectly right.”
“No, but you must understand,” said Golovin gladly. “Of course, we—”
But at this point they were asked to start. And their jailers were so
kind as to permit them to ride in pairs, as they pleased. Altogether
the jailers were extremely kind; even too kind. It was as if they tried
partly to show themselves humane and partly to show that they were not
there at all, but that everything was being done as by machinery. But
they were all pale.
“Musya, you go with him.” Werner pointed at Vasily, who stood
motionless.
“I understand,” Musya nodded. “And you?”
“I? Tanya will go with Sergey, you go with Vasya.... I will go alone.
That doesn’t matter, I can do it, you know.”
When they went out in the yard, the moist, soft darkness rushed warmly
and strongly against their faces, their eyes, taking their breath away,
then suddenly it penetrated their bodies tenderly and refreshingly. It
was hard to believe that this wonderful effect was produced simply by
the spring wind, the warm, moist wind. And the really wonderful spring
night was filled with the odor of melting snow, and through the
boundless space the noise of drops resounded. Hastily and frequently,
as though trying to overtake one another, little drops were falling,
striking in unison a ringing tune. Suddenly one of them would strike
out of tune and all was mingled in a merry splash in hasty confusion.
Then a large, heavy drop would strike firmly and again the fast, spring
melody resounded distinctly. And over the city, above the roofs of the
fortress, hung a pale redness in the sky reflected by the electric
lights.
“U-ach!” Sergey Golovin heaved a deep sigh and held his breath, as
though he regretted to exhale from his lungs the fine, fresh air.
“How long have you had such weather?” inquired Werner. “It’s real
spring.”
“It’s only the second day,” was the polite answer. “Before that we had
mostly frosty weather.”
The dark carriages rolled over noiselessly one after another, took them
in by twos, started off into the darkness—there where the lantern was
shaking at the gate. The convoys like gray silhouettes surrounded each
carriage; the horseshoes struck noisily against the ground, or plashed
upon the melting snow.
When Werner bent down, about to climb into the carriage, the gendarme
whispered to him:
“There is somebody else going along with you.”
Werner was surprised.
“Where? Where is he going? Oh, yes! Another one? Who is he?”
The gendarme was silent. Indeed, in a dark corner a small, motionless
but living figure pressed close to the side of the carriage. By the
reflection of the lantern Werner noticed the flash of an open eye.
Seating himself, Werner pushed his foot against the other man’s knee.
“Excuse me, comrade.”
The man made no reply. It was only when the carriage started, that he
suddenly asked in broken Russian, speaking with difficulty:
“Who are you?”
“I am Werner, condemned to hanging for the attempt upon N—. And you?”
“I am Yanson. They must not hang me.”
They were riding thus in order to appear two hours later face to face
before the inexplicable great mystery, in order to pass from Life to
Death—and they were introducing each other. Life and Death moved
simultaneously, and until the very end Life remained life, to the most
ridiculous and insipid trifles.
“What have you done, Yanson?”
“I killed my master with a knife. I stole money.”
It seemed from the tone of his voice that Yanson was falling asleep.
Werner found his flabby hand in the darkness and pressed it. Yanson
withdrew it drowsily.
“Are you afraid?” asked Werner.
“I don’t want to be hanged.”
They became silent. Werner again found the Esthonian’s hand and pressed
it firmly between his dry, burning palms. Yanson’s hand lay motionless,
like a board, but he made no longer any effort to withdraw it.
It was close and suffocating in the carriage. The air was filled with
the smell of soldiers’ clothes, mustiness, and the leather of wet
boots. The young gendarme who sat opposite Werner breathed warmly upon
him, and in his breath there was the odor of onions and cheap tobacco.
But some brisk, fresh air came in through certain clefts, and because
of this, spring was felt even more intensely in this small, stifling,
moving box, than outside. The carriage kept turning now to the right,
now to the left, now it seemed to turn back. At times it seemed as
though they had been turning around on one and the same spot for hours
for some reason or other. At first a bluish electric light penetrated
through the lowered, heavy window shades; then suddenly, after a
certain turn it grew dark, and only by this could they guess that they
had turned into deserted streets in the outskirts of the city and that
they were nearing the S. railroad station. Sometimes during sharp
turns, Werner’s live, bent knee would strike against the live, bent
knee of the gendarme, and it was hard to believe that the execution was
approaching.
“Where are we going?” Yanson asked suddenly. He was somewhat dizzy from
the continuous turning of the dark box and he felt slightly sick at his
stomach.
Werner answered and pressed the Esthonian’s hand more firmly. He felt
like saying something especially kind and caressing to this little,
sleepy man, and he already loved him as he had never loved anyone in
his life.
“You don’t seem to sit comfortably, my dear man. Move over here, to
me.”
Yanson was silent for awhile, then he replied:
“Well, thank you. I’m sitting all right. Are they going to hang you
too?”
“Yes,” answered Werner, almost laughing with unexpected jollity, and he
waved his hand easily and freely, as though he were speaking of some
absurd and trifling joke which kind but terribly comical people wanted
to play on him.
“Have you a wife?” asked Yanson.
“No. I have no wife. I am single.”
“I am also alone. Alone,” said Yanson.
Werner’s head also began to feel dizzy. And at times it seemed that
they were going to some festival; strange to say, almost all those who
went to the scaffold experienced the same sensation and mingled with
sorrow and fear there was a vague joy as they anticipated the
extraordinary thing that was soon to befall them. Reality was
intoxicated with madness and Death, united with Life, brought forth
apparitions. It seemed very possible that flags were waving over the
houses.
“We have arrived!” said Werner gayly when the carriage stopped, and he
jumped out easily. But with Yanson it was a rather slow affair:
silently and very drowsily he resisted and would not come out. He
seized the knob. The gendarme opened the weak fingers and pulled his
hand away. Then Yanson seized the corner of the carriage, the door, the
high wheel, but immediately let it go upon the slightest effort on the
part of the gendarme. He did not exactly seize these things; he rather
cleaved to each object sleepily and silently, and was torn away easily,
without any effort. Finally he got up.
There were no flags. The railroad station was dark, deserted and
lifeless; the passenger trains were not running any longer, and the
train which was silently waiting for these passengers on the way needed
no bright light, no commotion. Suddenly Werner began to feel weary. It
was not fear, nor anguish, but a feeling of enormous, painful,
tormenting weariness which makes one feel like going off somewhere,
lying down and closing one’s eyes very tightly. Werner stretched
himself and yawned slowly. Yanson also stretched himself and quickly
yawned several times.
“I wish they’d be quicker about it,” said Werner wearily. Yanson was
silent, shrinking together.
When the condemned moved along the deserted platform which was
surrounded by soldiers, to the dimly lighted cars, Werner found himself
near Sergey Golovin; Sergey, pointing with his hand somewhere aside,
began to say something, but only the word “lantern” was heard
distinctly, and the rest was drowned in slow and weary yawning.
“What did you say?” asked Werner, also yawning.
“The lantern. The lamp in the lantern is smoking,” said Sergey. Werner
looked around. Indeed, the lamp in the lantern was smoking very much,
and the glass had already turned black on top.
“Yes, it is smoking.”
Suddenly he thought: “What have I to do with the smoking of the lamp,
since——”
Sergey apparently thought the same, as he glanced quickly at Werner and
turned away. But both stopped yawning.
They all went to the cars themselves, only Yanson had to be led by the
arms. At first he stamped his feet and his boots seemed to stick to the
boards of the platform. Then he bent his knees and fell into the arms
of the gendarmes, his feet dangled like those of a very intoxicated
man, and the tips of the boots scraped against the wood. It took a long
time until he was silently pushed through the door.
Vasily Kashirin also moved himself, unconsciously imitating the
movements of his comrades—he did everything as they did. But on
boarding the platform of the car, he stumbled, and a gendarme took him
by the elbow to support him. Vasily shuddered and screamed shrilly,
drawing back his arm:
“Ai!”
“What is it, Vasya?” Werner rushed over to him. Vasily was silent,
trembling in every limb. The confused and even offended gendarme
explained:
“I wanted to keep him from falling, and he—”
“Come, Vasya, let me hold you,” said Werner, about to take him by the
arm. But Vasily drew back his arm again and cried more loudly than
before:
“Ai!”
“Vasya, it is I, Werner.”
“I know. Don’t touch me. I’ll go myself.”
And continuing to tremble he entered the car himself and seated himself
in a corner. Bending over to Musya, Werner asked her softly, pointing
with his eyes at Vasily:
“How about him?”
“Bad,” answered Musya, also in a soft voice. “He is dead already.
Werner, tell me, is there such a thing as death?”
“I don’t know, Musya, but I think that there is no such thing,” replied
Werner seriously and thoughtfully.
“That’s what I have thought. But he? I was tortured with him in the
carriage—it was like riding with a corpse.”
“I don’t know, Musya. Perhaps there is such a thing as death for some
people. Meanwhile, perhaps, but later there will be no death. For me
death also existed before, but now it exists no longer.”
Musya’s somewhat paled cheeks flushed as she asked:
“It did exist, Werner? It did?”
“It did. But not now any longer. Just the same as with you.”
A noise was heard in the doorway of the car. Mishka Tsiganok entered,
stamping noisily with his heels, breathing loudly and spitting. He cast
a swift glance and stopped obdurately.
“No room here, gendarme!” he shouted to the tired gendarme who looked
at him angrily. “You make it so that I am comfortable here, otherwise I
won’t go—hang me here on the lamp-post. What a carriage they gave me,
dogs! Is that a carriage? It’s the devil’s belly, not a carriage!”
But suddenly he bent down his head, stretched out his neck and thus
went forward to the others. Out of the disheveled frame of hair and
beard his black eyes looked wildly and sharply with an almost insane
expression.
“Ah, gentlemen!” he drawled out. “So that’s what it is. Hello, master!”
He thrust his hand to Werner and sat down opposite him. And bending
closely over to him, he winked one eye and quickly passed his hand over
his throat.
“You, too? What?”
“Yes!” smiled Werner.
“Are all of us to be hanged?”
“All.”
“Oho!” Tsiganok grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly felt everybody
with his eyes, stopping for an instant longer on Musya and Yanson. Then
he winked again to Werner.
“The Minister?”
“Yes, the Minister. And you?”
“I am here for something else, master. People like me don’t deal with
ministers. I am a murderer, master, that’s what I am. An ordinary
murderer. Never mind, master, move away a little, I haven’t come into
your company of my own will. There will be room enough for all of us in
the other world.”
He surveyed them all with one swift, suspicious, wild glance from under
his disheveled hair. But all looked at him silently and seriously, even
with apparent interest. He grinned, showing his teeth, and quickly
clapped Werner on the knee several times.
“That’s the way, master! How does the song run? ‘Don’t rustle, O green
little mother forest....’”
“Why do you call me ‘master,’ since we are all going—”
“Correct,” Tsiganok agreed with satisfaction. “What kind of master are
you, if you are going to hang right beside me? There is a master for
you”; and he pointed with his finger at the silent gendarme. “Eh, that
fellow there is not worse than our kind”; he pointed with his eyes at
Vasily. “Master! Eh there, master! You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“No,” answered the heavy tongue.
“Never mind that ‘No.’ Don’t be ashamed; there’s nothing to be ashamed
of. Only a dog wags his tail and snarls when he is taken to be hanged,
but you are a man. Who is that dope? He isn’t one of you, is he?”
He darted his glance rapidly about, and hissing, kept spitting
continuously. Yanson, curled up into a motionless bundle, pressed
closely into the corner. The flaps of his outworn fur cap stirred, but
he maintained silence. Werner answered for him:
“He killed his employer.”
“O Lord!” wondered Tsiganok. “Why are such people allowed to kill?”
For some time Tsiganok had been looking sideways at Musya; now turning
quickly, he stared at her sharply, straight into her face.
“Young lady, young lady! What about you? Her cheeks are rosy and she is
laughing. Look, she is really laughing,” he said, clasping Werner’s
knee with his clutching, iron-like fingers. “Look, look!”
Reddening, smiling confusedly, Musya also gazed straight into his sharp
and wildly searching eyes.
The wheels rattled fast and noisily. The small cars kept hopping along
the narrow rails. Now at a curve or at a crossing the small engine
whistled shrilly and carefully—the engineer was afraid lest he might
run over somebody. It was strange to think that so much humane
painstaking care and exertion was being introduced into the business of
hanging people; that the most insane deed on earth was being committed
with such an air of simplicity and reasonableness. The cars were
running, and human beings sat in them as people always do, and they
rode as people usually ride; and then there would be a halt, as usual.
“The train will stop for five minutes.”
And there death would be waiting—eternity—the great mystery.