按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
tions arose between these two men。 Both of them in that one instant were vaguely aware of an immense number of different things； and knew that they were both children of humanity； that they were brothers。
At the first glance when Davoust raised his head from his memorandum； where men’s lives and doings were marked off by numbers； Pierre was only a circumstance； and Davoust could have shot him with no sense of an evil deed on his conscience； but now he saw in him a man。 He pondered an instant。
“How will you prove to me the truth of what you say？” said Davoust coldly。
Pierre thought of Ramballe； and mentioned his name and regiment and the street and house where he could be found。
“You are not what you say；” Davoust said again。
In a trembling； breaking voice； Pierre began to bring forward proofs of the truth of his testimony。
But at that moment an adjutant came in and said something to Davoust。
Davoust beamed at the news the adjutant brought him； and began buttoning up his uniform。 Apparently he had completely forgotten about Pierre。 When an adjutant reminded him of the prisoner； he nodded in Pierre’s direction with a frown； and told them to take him away。 But where were they to take him—Pierre did not know： whether back to the shed or the place prepared for their execution which his companions had pointed out to him as they passed through the Virgin’s Meadow。
He turned his head and saw that the adjutant was repeating some question。
“Yes； of course！” said Davoust。 But what that “yes” meant； Pierre could not tell。
Pierre did not remember how or where he went； and how long he was going。 In a condition of complete stupefaction and bewilderment； seeing nothing around him； he moved his legs in company with the others till they all stopped； and he stopped。
There was one idea all this time in Pierre’s head。 It was the question： Who； who was it really that was condemning him to death？ It was not the men who had questioned him at the first examination； of them not one would or obviously could do so。 It was not Davoust； who had looked at him in such a human fashion。 In another minute Davoust would have understood that they were doing wrong； but the adjutant who had come in at that moment had prevented it。 And that adjutant had obviously had no evil intent； but he might have stayed away。 Who was it； after all； who was punishing him； killing him； taking his life—his； Pierre’s； with all his memories； his strivings； his hopes； and his ideas？ Who was doing it？ And Pierre felt that it was no one’s doing。 It was discipline； and the concatenation of circumstances。 Some sort of discipline was killing him； Pierre； robbing him of life； of all； annihilating him。
Chapter 11
FROM PRINCE SHTCHERBATOV’S HOUSE the prisoners were taken straight downhill across the Virgin’s Meadow to the left of the monastery of the Virgin； and led to a kitchen garden； in which there stood a post。 A big pit had been dug out near the post； and the freshly turned…up earth was heaped up by it。 A great crowd of people formed a semicircle about the pit and the post。 The crowd consisted of a small number of Russians and a great number of Napoleon’s soldiers not on duty： there were Germans； Italians； and Frenchmen in various uniforms。 To the right and left of the post stood rows of French soldiers； in blue uniforms； with red epaulettes； in Hessians and shako。 The prisoners were stood in a certain order； in accordance with a written list （Pierre was sixth） and led up to the post。 Several drums suddenly began beating on both sides of them； and Pierre felt as though a part of his soul was being torn away from him by that sound。 He lost all power of thought and reflection。 He could only see and hear。 And there was only one desire left in him； the desire that the terrible thing that was to be done should be done more quickly。 Pierre looked round at his companions and scrutinised them。
The two men at the end were shaven convicts； one tall and thin； the other a swarthy； hirsute； muscular fellow with a flattened nose。 The third was a house…serf； a man of five…and…forty； with grey hair and a plump； well…fed figure。 The fourth was a peasant； a very handsome fellow with a full； flaxen beard and black eyes。 The fifth was a factory hand； a thin； sallow lad of eighteen； in a dressing…gown。
Pierre heard the Frenchmen deliberating how they were to be shot； singly； or two at a time。 “Two at a time；” a senior officer answered coldly。 There was a stir in the ranks of the soldiers； and it was evident that every one was in haste and not making haste； not as people do when they are getting through some job every one can understand； but as men hasten to get something done that is inevitable； but is disagreeable and incomprehensible。
A French official wearing a scarf came up to the right side of the file of prisoners； and read aloud the sentence in Russian and in French。
Then two couples of French soldiers came up to the prisoners by the instruction of an officer； and took the two convicts who stood at the head。 The convicts went up to the post； stopped there； and while the sacks were being brought； they looked dumbly about them； as a wild beast at bay looks at the approaching hunter。 One of them kept on crossing himself； the other scratched his back and worked his lips into the semblance of a smile。 The soldiers with hurrying fingers bandaged their eyes； put the sacks over their heads and bound them to the post。
A dozen sharpshooters； with muskets； stepped out of the ranks with a fine； regular tread； and halted eight paces from the post。 Pierre turned away not to see what was coming。 There was a sudden bang and rattle that seemed to Pierre louder than the most terrific clap of thunder； and he looked round。 There was a cloud of smoke； and the French soldiers； with trembling hands and pale faces； were doing something in it by the pit。 The next two were led up。 Those two； too； looked at every one in the same way； with the same eyes； dumbly； and in vain； with their eyes only begging for protection； and plainly unable to understand or believe in what was coming。 They could not believe in it； because they only knew what their life was to them； and so could not understand； and could not believe； that it could be taken from them。
Pierre tried not to look； and again turned away； but again a sort of awful crash smote his hearing； and with the sound he saw smoke； blood； and the pale and frightened faces of the Frenchmen； again doing something at the post； and balking each other with their trembling hands。 Pierre； breathing hard； looked about him as though asking； “What does it mean？” The same question was written in all the eyes that met Pierre’s eyes。 On all the faces of the Russians； on the faces of the French soldiers and officers； all without exception； he read the same dismay； horror； and conflict as he felt in his own heart。 “But who is it doing it there really？ They are all suffering as I am！ Who is it？ who？” flashed for one second through Pierre’s mind。 “Sharpshooters of the eighty…sixth； forward！” some one shouted。 The fifth prisoner standing beside Pierre was led forward—alone。 Pierre did not understand that he was saved； that he and all the rest had been b