War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [629]
Pierre could no longer make himself turn away and close his eyes. His own and the whole crowd’s curiosity and agitation at this fifth murder had reached the highest pitch. Like the others, this fifth man seemed calm; he wrapped himself into his smock and scratched his leg with his bare foot.
When they set about blindfolding him, he himself straightened the knot at the back of his head, which hurt him; then, when he was put up against the bloody post, he leaned back, and, feeling uncomfortable in that position, straightened up, placed his feet level, and leaned back comfortably. Pierre did not take his eyes off him, not missing the slightest movement.
It must have been that the command was given, it must have been that after the command the shots of eight muskets rang out. But Pierre, much as he tried to recall later, did not hear the slightest sound of the shots. He only saw how the factory worker suddenly slumped down in the ropes for some reason, how blood appeared in two places, and how the ropes became loose under the weight of the sagging body, and the factory worker sat down, lowering his head and tucking his legs under unnaturally. Pierre ran to the post. No one held him back. Frightened, pale people were doing something around the factory worker. The lower jaw of one old, mustached Frenchman was trembling as he untied the ropes. The body sank down. The soldiers carried it clumsily and hastily behind the post and began to push it down into the pit.
They all obviously knew without question that they were criminals, who had to quickly conceal the traces of their crime.
Pierre glanced into the pit and saw the factory worker lying there, his knees up close to his head, one shoulder higher than the other. And that shoulder was rising and falling convulsively and regularly. But shovelfuls of earth were already being strewn over the whole body. One of the soldiers angrily, spitefully, and morbidly shouted at Pierre to get back. But Pierre did not understand him and stood by the post, and nobody drove him away.
When the pit was all filled, a command was heard. Pierre was taken to his place, and the French troops standing in line on both sides of the post made a half turn and started marching past it at a measured pace. The twenty-four riflemen with discharged muskets, who stood in the center of the circle, ran to take their places as their companies marched past them.
Pierre now looked with senseless eyes at these riflemen who ran out from the circle in pairs. All except one joined their companies. A young soldier with a deathly pale face, his shako pushed back, his musket lowered, went on standing across from the pit in the place from which he had fired. He was reeling like a drunk man, taking a few steps forward, then back, to support his falling body. An old sergeant ran out from the ranks and, seizing the young soldier’s arm, pulled him into the company. The crowd of Russians and Frenchmen began to disperse. They all walked silently, with lowered heads.
“Ça leur apprendra à incendier,”*682 someone among the Frenchmen said. Pierre glanced around at the speaker and saw that it was a soldier who wanted to comfort himself at least somehow for what had been done, but could not. Without finishing what he was saying, he waved his arm and walked away.
XII
After the execution, Pierre was separated from the other accused and left alone in a small, devastated and befouled church.
Before evening, a sergeant of the guards came into the church with two soldiers and announced to Pierre that he was pardoned and would now go to the barracks of the prisoners of war. Not understanding what was being said to him, Pierre got up and went with the soldiers. He was brought to some sheds built at the top of the field out of charred boards, beams, and rafters and led into one of them. In the darkness some twenty different people surrounded him. Pierre looked at them, not