战争与和平(上)-第219章

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tand　that　while　the　ocean　of　history　is　calm；　the　governing　official　holding　on　from　his　crazy　little　skiff　by　a　pole　to　the　ship　of　the　people；　and　moving　with　it；　must　fancy　that　it　is　his　efforts　that　move　the　ship　on　to　which　he　is　clinging。　But　a　storm　has　but　to　arise　to　set　the　sea　heaving　and　the　ship　tossing　upon　it；　and　such　error　becomes　at　once　impossible。　The　ship　goes　on　its　vast　course　unchecked；　the　pole　fails　to　reach　the　moving　vessel；　and　the　pilot；　from　being　the　master；　the　source　of　power；　finds　himself　a　helpless；　weak；　and　useless　person。
Rastoptchin　felt　this；　and　it　drove　him　to　frenzy。　The　head　of　the　police；　who　had　got　away　from　the　crowd；　went　in　to　see　him　at　the　same　time　as　an　adjutant；　who　came　to　announce　that　his　horses　were　ready。　Both　were　pale；　and　the　head　of　the　police；　after　reporting　that　he　had　discharged　the　commission　given　to　him；　informed　Count　Rastoptchin　that　there　was　an　immense　crowd　of　people　in　his　courtyard　wanting　to　see　him。
Without　a　word　in　reply；　Count　Rastoptchin　got　up　and　walked　with　rapid　steps　to　his　light；　sumptuously　furnished　drawing…room。　He　went　up　to　the　balcony　door；　took　hold　of　the　door…handle；　let　go　of　it；　and　moved　away　to　the　window；　from　which　the　whole　crowd　could　be　better　seen。　The　tall　young　fellow　was　standing　in　the　front；　and　with　a　severe　face；　waving　his　arms　and　saying　something。　The　blood…bespattered　smith　stood　beside　him　with　a　gloomy　air。　Through　the　closed　windows　could　be　heard　the　roar　of　voices。
“Is　the　carriage　ready？”　said　Rastoptchin；　moving　back　from　the　window。
“Yes；　your　excellency；”　said　the　adjutant。
Rastoptchin　went　again　to　the　balcony　door。
“Why；　what　is　it　they　want？”　he　asked　the　head　of　the　police。
“Your　excellency；　they　say　they　have　come　together　to　go　to　fight　the　French；　by　your　orders；　they　were　shouting　something　about　treachery。　But　it　is　an　angry　crowd；　your　excellency。　I　had　much　ado　to　get　away。　If　I　may　venture　to　suggest；　your　excellency　…”
“Kindly　leave　me；　I　know　what　to　do　without　your　assistance；”　cried　Rastoptchin　angrily。　He　stood　at　the　door　of　the　balcony　looking　at　the　crowd。　“This　is　what　they　have　done　with　Russia！　This　is　what　they　have　done　with　me！”　thought　Rastoptchin；　feeling　a　rush　of　irrepressible　rage　against　the　undefined　some　one　to　whose　fault　what　was　happening　could　be　set　down。　As　is　often　the　case　with　excitable　persons；　he　was　possessed　by　fury；　while　still　seeking　an　object　for　it。　“Here　is　the　populace；　the　dregs　of　the　people；”　he　thought；　looking　at　the　crowd；　“that　they　have　stirred　up　by　their　folly。　They　want　a　victim；”　came　into　his　mind；　as　he　watched　the　waving　arm　of　the　tall　fellow　in　front。　And　the　thought　struck　him　precisely　because　he　too　wanted　a　victim；　an　object　for　his　wrath。
“Is　the　carriage　ready？”　he　asked　again。
“Yes；　your　excellency。　What　orders　in　regard　to　Vereshtchagin？　He　is　waiting　at　the　steps；”　answered　the　adjutant。
“Ah！”　cried　Rastoptchin；　as　though　struck　by　some　sudden　recollection。
And　rapidly　opening　the　door；　he　walked　resolutely　out　on　the　balcony。　The　hum　of　talk　instantly　died　down；　caps　and　hats　were　lifted；　and　all　eyes　were　raised　upon　the　governor。
“Good…day；　lads！”　said　the　count；　speaking　loudly　and　quickly。　“Thanks　for　coming。　I’ll　come　out　to　you　in　a　moment；　but　we　have　first　to　deal　with　a　criminal。　We　have　to　punish　the　wretch　by　whose　doing　Moscow　is　ruined。　Wait　for　me！”　And　as　rapidly　he　returned　to　the　apartment；　slamming　the　door　violently。
An　approving　murmur　of　satisfaction　ran　through　the　crowd。　“He’ll　have　all　the　traitors　cut　down；　of　course。　And　you　talk　of　the　French　…　he’ll　show　us　the　rights　and　the　wrongs　of　it　all！”　said　the　people；　as　it　were　reproaching　one　another　for　lack　of　faith。
A　few　minutes　later　an　officer　came　hurriedly　out　of　the　main　entrance；　and　gave　some　order；　and　the　dragoons　drew　themselves　up　stiffly。　The　crowd　moved　greedily　up　from　the　balcony　to　the　front　steps。　Coming　out　there　with　hasty　and　angry　steps；　Rastoptchin　looked　about　him　hurriedly；　as　though　seeking　some　one。
“Where　is　he？”　he　said；　and　at　the　moment　he　said　it；　he　caught　sight　of　a　young　man　with　a　long；　thin　neck；　and　half　of　his　head　shaven　and　covered　with　short　hair；　coming　round　the　corner　of　the　house　between　two　dragoons。　This　young　man　was　clothed　in　a　fox…lined　blue　cloth　coat；　that　had　once　been　foppish　but　was　now　shabby；　and　in　filthy　convict’s　trousers　of　fustian；　thrust　into　uncleaned　and　battered　thin　boots。　His　uncertain　gait　was　clogged　by　the　heavy　manacles　hanging　about　his　thin；　weak　legs。
“Ah！”　said　Rastoptchin；　hurriedly　turning　his　eyes　away　from　the　young　man　in　the　fox…lined　coat　and　pointing　to　the　bottom　steps。　“Put　him　here！”
With　a　clank　of　manacles　the　young　man　stepped　with　effort　on　to　the　step　indicated　to　him；　putting　his　finger　into　the　tight　collar　of　his　coat；　he　turned　his　long　neck　twice；　and　sighing；　folded　his　thin；　unworkmanlike　hands　before　him　with　a　resigned　gesture。
For　several　seconds；　while　the　young　man　was　taking　up　his　position　on　the　step；　there　was　complete　silence。　Only　at　the　back　of　the　mass　of　people；　all　pressing　in　one　direction；　could　be　heard　sighs　and　groans　and　sounds　of　pushing　and　the　shuffling　of　feet。
Rastoptchin；　waiting　for　him　to　be　on　the　spot　he　had　directed；　scowled；　and　passed　his　hand　over　his　face。
“Lads！”　he　said；　with　a　metallic　ring　in　his　voice；　“this　man；　Vereshtchagin；　is　the　wretch　by　whose　doing　Moscow　is　lost。”
The　young　man　in　the　fox…lined　coat　stood　in　a　resigned　pose；　clasping　his　hands　together　in　front　of　his　body；　and　bending　a　little　forward。　His　wasted　young　face；　with　its　look　of　hopelessness　and　the　hideous　disfigurement　of　the　half…shaven　head；　was　turned　downwards。　At　the　count’s　first　words　he　slowly　lifted　his　head　and　looked　up　from　below　at　the　count；　as　though　he　wanted　to　say　something　to　him；　or　at　least　to　catch　his　eye。　But　Rastoptchin　did　not　look　at　him。　The　blue　vein　behind　the　young　man’s　ear　stood　out　like　a　cord　on　his　long；　thin　neck；　and　all　at　once　his　face　flushed　crimson。
All　eyes　were　fixed　upon　him。　He　gazed　at　the　crowd；　and；　as　though　made　hopeful　by　the　expression　he　read　on　the　faces　there；　he　smiled　a　timid；　mournful　smile；　and　dropping　his　head　again；　shifted　his　feet　on　the　step。
“He　is　a　traitor　to　his　Tsar　and　his　country；　he　deserted　to　Bonaparte；　he　alone　of　all　the　Russians　has　disgraced　the　name　of　Russia；　and　through　him　Moscow　is　lost；”　said　Rastoptchin　in　a　harsh；　monotonous　voice；　but　all　at　once　he　glanced　down　rapidly　at　Vereshtchagin；　who　still　stood　in　the　same　submissive　attitude。　As　though　that　glance　had　driven　him　to　frenzy；　flinging　up　his　arms；　he　almost　yelled　to　the　crowd：
“You　shall　deal　with　him　as　you　think　fit！　I　hand　him　over　to　you！”
The　people　were　silent；　and　only　pressed　closer　and　closer　on　one　another。　To　bear　each　other’s　weight；　to　breathe　in　that　tainted　foulness；　to　be　unable　to　stir；　and　to　be　expecting　something　vague；　uncomprehended　and　awful；　was　becoming　unbearable。　The　men　in　the　front　of　the　crowd；　who　saw　and　heard　all　that　was　passing　before　them；　all　stood　with　wide…open；　horror…struck　eyes　and　gaping　mouths；　straining　all　their　strength　to　support　the　pressure　from　behind　on　their　backs。
“Beat　him！　…　Let　the　traitor　perish　and　not　shame　the　name　of　Russia！”　screamed　Rastoptchin。　“Cut　him　down！　I　give　the　command！”　Hearing　not　the　words；　but　only　the　wrathful　tones　of　Rastoptchin’s　voice；　the　mob　moaned　and　heaved　forward；　but　stopped　again。
“Count！”　…　the　timid　and　yet　theatrical　voice　of　Vereshtchagin　broke　in　upon　the　momentary　stillness　that　followed。　“Count；　one　God　is　above　us　…”　said　Vereshtchagin；　lifting　his　head；　and　again　the　thick　vein　swelled　on　his　thin　neck　and　the　colour　swiftly　came　and　faded　again　from　his　face。　He　did　not　finish　what　he　was　trying　to　say。
“Cut　him　down！　I　command　it！　…”　cried　Rastoptchin；　suddenly　turning　as　white　as　Vereshtchagin　himself。
“Draw　sabres！”　shouted　the　officer　to　the　dragoons；　himself　drawing　his　sabre。
Another　still　more　violent　wave　passed　over　the　crowd；　and　reaching　the　front　rows；　pushed　them　forward；　and　threw　them　staggering　right　up　to　the　steps。　The　tall　young　man；　with　a　stony　expression　of　face　and　his　lifted　arm　rigid　in　the　air；　stood　close　beside　Vereshtchagin。　“Strike　at　him！”　the　officer　said　almost　in　a　whisper　to　the　dragoons；　and　one　of　the　soldiers；　his　face　suddenly　convulsed　by　fury；　struck　Vereshtchagin　on　the　head　with　the　flat　of　his　sword。
Vereshtchagin　uttered　a　brief　“Ah！”　of　surprise；　looking　about　him　in　alarm；　as　though　he　did　not　know　what　this　was　done　to　him　for。　A　similar　moan　of　surprise　and　horror　ran　through　the　crowd。
“O　Lord！”　some　one　was　heard　to　utter　mournfully。　After　the　exclamation　of　surprise　that　broke　from　Vereshtchagin　he　uttered　a　piteous　cry　of　pain；　and　that　cry　was　his　undoing。　The　barrier　of　human　feeling　that　still　held　the　mob　back　was　strained　to　the　utmost　limit；　and　it　snapped　instantaneously。　The　crime　had　been　begun；　its　completion　was　inevitable。　The　piteous　moan　of　reproach　was　drowned　in　the　angry　and　menacing　roar　of　the　mob。　Like　the　great　seventh　wave　that　shatters　a　ship；　that　last；　irresistible　wave　surged　up　at　the　back　of　the　crowd；　passed　on　to　the　foremost　ranks；　carried　them　off　their　feet　and　engulfed　all　together。　The　dragoon　who　had　struck　the　victim　would　have　repeated　his　blow。　Vereshtchagin；　with　a　scream　of　terror；　putting　his　hands　up　before　him；　dashed　into　the　crowd。　The　tall　young　man；　against　whom　he　stumbled；　gripped　Vereshtchagin’s　slender　neck　in　his　hands；　and　with　a　savage　shriek　fell　with　him　under　the　feet　of　the　trampling；　roaring　mob。　Some　beat　and　tore　at　Vereshtchagin；　others　at　the　tall　young　man。　And　the　screams　of　persons　crushed　in　the　crowd　and　of　those　who　tried　to　rescue　the　tall　young　man　only　increased　the　frenzy　of　the　mob。　For　a　long　while　the　dragoons　were　unable　to　get　the　bleeding；　half…murdered　factory　workman　away。　And　in　spite　of　all　the　feverish　haste　with　which　the　mob　strove　to　make　an　end　of　what　had　once　been　begun；　the　men　who　beat　and　strangled　Vereshtchagin　and　tore　him　to　pieces　could　not　kill　him。　The　crowd　pressed　on　them　on　all　sides；　heaved　from　side　to　side　like　one　man　with　them　in　the　middle；　and　would　not　let　them　kill　him　outright　or　let　him　go。
“Hit　him　with　an　axe；　eh？　…　they　have　crushed　him　…　Traitor；　he　sold　Christ！　…　living　…　alive　…　serve　the　thief　right。　With　a　bar！　…　Is　he　alive？　…”
Only　when　the　victim　ceased　to　struggle；　and　his　shrieks　had　passed　into　a　long…drawn；　rhythmic　death…rattle；　the　mob　began　hurriedly　to　change　places　about　the　bleeding　corpse　on　the　ground。　Every　one　went　up　to　it；　gazed　at　what　had　been　done；　and　pressed　back　horror…stricken；　surprised；　and　reproachful。
“O　Lord；　the　people’s　like　a　wild　beast；　how　could　he　be　alive！”　was　heard　in　the　crowd。　“And　a　young　fellow　too　…　must　have　been　a　merchant’s　son；　to　be　sure；　the　people　…　they　do　say　it’s　not　the　right　man　…　not　the　right　man！　…　O　Lord！　…　They　have　nearly　murdered　another　man；　they　say　he’s　almost　dead　…　Ah；　the　people　…　who　wouldn’t　be　afraid　of　sin　…”　were　saying　now