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From Prince Shcherbatov'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.
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