Gregory returned with one of those letters that are written with a pen plucked from an angel’s wing; the old Countess called Louise her daughter, the girls addressed her as their sister. They asked as a favour that when the execution took place and the prisoners were starting on their journey, a courier should be despatched to them. I told Gregory to be ready to start at a moment’s notice. Such a journey was too much to his advantage for him to dream of refusing.

  Vaninkov’s mother had given him a thousand roubles. So from his first journey the poor beggar had made a small fortune, which he hoped to double by the second.

  We waited for the day of the execution, it was not announced beforehand, no one knew when it was to be, and every morning we woke up expecting to hear that the five poor wretches had expiated their crime. The notice that an execution was about to take place produced a profound impression, for no one had suffered the death penalty in St. Petersburg for sixty years.

  The days dragged on and the interval between the publication of the sentence and its execution astonished everyone. The time was required to send to Germany for two executioners.

  At length on the evening of the 23rd of July, I saw a young Frenchman enter my room; he was a former pupil and as I have already mentioned, attached to Marshal Marmont’s embassy. I had often begged him to let me have the latest news, which his position in the diplomatic service enabled him to obtain before I could. He had hurried round to tell me that the Marshal and his suite had just received an intimation from M. de la Ferronays to repair to-morrow at four in the morning to the French embassy, whose windows, as everyone knows, overlook the fortress. Undoubtedly it was to enable them to watch the execution.

  I hastened with the news to Louise, and at once all her apprehensions returned. Probably it was a mistake for Vaninkov’s name to have appeared on the list of exiles instead of among those condemned to death. This commutation of sentence was in all likelihood spread abroad so that the execution might produce less effect upon the inhabitants of the city, but to-morrow’s spectacle of thirty-six corpses instead of five would undeceive them. Like all unhappy people, it was plain that Louise went out of the way to make herself miserable. I had received authentic information that all would take place as announced in the official Gazette, and I had also been told that the interest, which Louise had inspired in the Emperor and Empress, on the day that she had gone down on her knees with her petition in the Prospect, had a good deal to do with the alteration in Vaninkov’s punishment.

  I left Louise for a while, but promised to return soon, and went for a stroll near the fortress, to see if any preparations were being made indicative of the terrible tragedy that would be performed amid this setting on the morrow. I only saw the members of the tribunal leaving the fortress; but that was enough. The recorders had just informed the prisoners of their fate. There could no longer be a doubt, the executions would take place tomorrow morning.

  We immediately despatched Gregory to Moscow with another letter from Louise to Vaninkov’s mother. In this case it was not a dozen hours in advance that we had heard the news, but twenty-four hours.

  About midnight Louise asked me to escort her to the vicinity of the fortress; since she could not see Vaninkov, she wished at least to see the walls which immured him, now that she was about to be separated from him.

  We found a guard on the Trinity bridge; no one could pass. It was another proof that the demands of justice were about to be carried into effect. Then turning to the other side of the Neva, we fixed our eyes on the fortress, which could be seen in the beautiful Northern night as clearly as if it had been twilight hi the West. Presently we could see lights moving about on the platform and dim figures passing to and fro, carrying curious loads, they were the executioners putting up the scaffold.

  We were the only loiterers on the quay; no one was in doubt or appeared to doubt what the preparations meant. Occasionally a belated vehicle would drive past rapidly, with its two lamps flashing like the eyes of a dragon. A few vessels floated past on the Neva and would gradually disappear, either into the canals or the branches of the river, some in silence, others noisily. One solitary boat remained motionless as if at anchor, not a sound proceeded from it, either of joy or sorrow. Perhaps its occupant was a mother, a sister or a wife, waiting as we were.

  We were ordered to move away by a patrol at two o’clock in the morning.

  We returned to Louise’s. There was not long to wait as the execution was fixed for four o’clock. I waited there for a hour and a half and then went out again.

  The streets of St. Petersburg were absolutely deserted except for a few mujiks, who seemed to be in complete ignorance of what was about to take place. As the first stroke of dawn made its appearance a light fog rising from the river passed like a veil of white crêpe between the two banks of the Neva. As I got to the corner of the French Embassy I saw Marshal Marmont entering, followed by ail the members of his suite; a moment later they appeared on the balcony.

  A few people had collected on the quay like myself, not because they were aware of the impending tragedy, but because the Trinity bridge was held by troops, and they could not get to their business on the islands.

  They were talking in undertones and it was clear that they were uneasy and undecided, for they were in doubt whether they ran any danger by remaining there. I had made up my mind to stay where I was until I was ordered to move.

  Shortly before four o’clock, a big fire blazed up and attracted my eyes towards a point in the fortress. At the same time the fog began to lift and I could see five gallows standing in relief against the sky like black silhouettes; these gallows were placed on a wooden scaffold of which, the floor, built in the English fashion, opened by means of a trap under the feet of the victims.

  As four was striking we saw the prisoners, who had been sentenced to exile, ascend the citadel platform and station themselves round the scaffold.

  They were in full uniform, with epaulettes and decorations, while their swords were carried by soldiers. I tried to recognize Yamnkov among his unfortunate companions; but at that distance it was impossible.

  At a few minutes past four, the five men who were condemned to death appeared on the scaffold; they were dressed in grey blouses, wearing on their heads a kind of white hood. No doubt they had been confined in separate cells; for as soon as they met, they were allowed to embrace each other.

  Just then a man came up and spoke to them. The next moment we heard a cheer; but did not at first understand the meaning of it. We have heard since, though I do not know if it is true, that this man offered the prisoners their lives, if they would agree to ask for pardon; but it is said that they answered this suggestion with cries of: — ” Long live Russia! Long live Liberty,” cries which were drowned by the shouts of the gaolers.

  The man left them and the executioners approached. The condemned men moved a few paces, cords were passed round their necks, and the caps were drawn over their eyes.

  At this moment the clock struck a quarter past four.

  The bell was still vibrating when the trap was released beneath the feet of the victims; at the same instant a great commotion arose; some soldiers rushed on to the scaffold; a shudder seemed to pass through the air, setting us shivering; indistinct cries reached us and I thought a mutiny had occurred.

  Two of the ropes had broken, and the two poor wretches, instead of being strangled, fell to the bottom of the scaffold, when the trap opened; one had broken his thigh and the other his shoulder. Hence arose the commotion and uproar. Meanwhile the others had ceased to breathe.

  Some ladders were procured and the wretched men were lifted on to the platform. They were laid down for they could not stand, Then one of them turned to the other and said: — ” See the result of an enslaved people, they do not know even how to hang a man.”

  While they were being raised, fresh ropes had been obtained, so that they had not to wait long. The executioners approached, and making what efforts they could, they crawled up to the fatal knot. As the rope was on the point of being passed around their necks, they once more shouted in a loud voice: “Long live Russia! Long live Liberty! May we be avenged! “This dirge died away without any response, from lack of sympathisers. They who uttered it were born out of time and lived a century too soon.

  When the Emperor was informed of the incident, he stamped his feet with impatience.

  “Why was not I told of it?” he cried. “Now I shall be regarded as more austere than God.”

  But no one had dared to take upon himself the responsibility of suspending the execution, and five minutes after uttering their last cry, the two poor wretches had joined their comrades in their last sleep.

  Then came the turn of the exiles; they listened to the delivery in a loud voice of their sentence depriving them of all earthly possessions, rank, decorations, property, family; then the executioners coming up to them, tore off one by one their epaulettes and decorations, throwing them into the fire with cries of: — ” So much for the epaulettes of a traitor! So much for the decorations of a traitor! “Then snatching each man’s sword from the hands of the soldiers who held them, they seized them by the hilt and the point, and broke them over their owner’s heads saying: — ” So much for a traitor’s sword.”

  When the execution was over the prisoners were stript of their uniforms and clothed themselves hap-hazard from a heap of grey cotton smocks like those worn by labourers; then they descended a flight of stairs and were taken back to their cells.

  The platform was now deserted, all that was left being a sentinel, the scaffold, the five gallows, and on the gallows the five corpses of the traitors.

  I returned to Louise’s and found her on her knees, weeping and praying, “Well?” she said.

  “Well! “I replied, “those who were to die are dead, and those who were to live are alive.”

  Louise continued to pray, with her eyes turned to Heaven, and a countenance expressive of infinite gratitude.

  Then when her prayer was finished, she asked me: “How far is it to Tobolsk?”

  “Nearly eight hundred leagues.”

  “It is less than I thought,” said she, “thank you.”

  I waited a moment, gazing at her in silence and beginning to divine her intention.

  “Why do you ask me that question,” said I.

  “What, cannot you guess?” she replied.

  “But it is impossible, Louise, that you can think of going in your present condition.”

  “My friend,” she said, “do not be alarmed, I know what a mother owes to a child as well as what she owes to its father. I will wait.”

  “I bowed in respect to such a woman, and I kissed her hand with as much reverence as if she had been a queen.

  During the night the exiles started, and the scaffold disappeared; so that when day arrived, not a trace remained of the tragedy, and all who were not specially concerned might have fancied it all a dream.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  IT was not without sufficient reason that Vaninkov’s mother and two sisters were anxious to know beforehand the date of the execution; the convicts on their journey from St. Petersburg to Tobolsk would have to pass through Iroslav, about sixty leagues from Moscow, and Vaninkov’s relatives hoped to see him there.

  As before, Gregory was eagerly greeted by the three ladies; since they had been expecting him for more than a fortnight and had got their passports. So only stopping to thank him for the precious news he brought, they got into a kabitka, without losing a moment and without mentioning it to a soul, started for Iroslav.

  Travelling in Russia is rapid; quitting Moscow in the morning mother and sisters got to Iroslav the same night, and were delighted to hear that the sleighs conveying the convicts had not yet passed. As a halt in the town might arouse suspicions and besides as it was very probable that the mere public the situation, the greater would be the difficulty in bribing the guards, the Countess and her daughters set off for Mologa, and stopped at a little village. Three versts from this place was a thatched cottage, at which the convicts would change horses, the sergeants who accompanied them having received positive orders never to halt in a town or village; so they placed at intervals some smart and active servants to warn them of the approach of the sleighs.

  Two days later, one of the Countess’s men hurried in to say that the first section of convicts, consisting of five sleighs, had just reached the cottage, and they believed that the sergeant-in-charge had sent two of his escort into the village to procure horses. The Countess immediately entered her carriage and set out at a gallop for the cottage. On arriving there she stopped the carriage in the middle of the road, and peered eagerly through the half-opened door; Vaninkov was not one of the first detachment.

  In a quarter of an hour’s time the horses made their appearance, the convicts re-entered the sleighs and started off at full speed.

  Half-an-hour later the second detachment came up and halted, like the first, at the cottage; two couriers went in search of horses, and returned with them as before in about a quarter of an hour. The horses were harnessed to the sleighs and the convoy galloped away; Vaninkov was not in this detachment.

  So great was the Countess’s anxiety to see her son once more, that she hoped he would be in the last detachment, for the later he was in arriving the greater would be the chance that horses would not be available for the next stage, as so many had been used by the earlier sections which had just passed through. Then it would be necessary to send to the town, and the halt would be longer, thus favouring the poor mother’s plans.

  Everything favoured the accomplishment of her desire; three more detachments went by without a sign of Vaninkov, and the last one remained for more than three quarters of an hour, so great vas the difficulty in obtaining a sufficient number of horses at Iroslav, The last detachment had no sooner driven off than the sixth convoy came on the scene. Mothers and sisters grasped hands instinctively; they really fancied that they felt some premonition in the air of the near approach of a son and a brother.

  The convoy appeared out of the darkness and an involuntary fit of trembling took possession of the unfortunate women, who threw themselves into each other’s arms weeping, the girls with their heads on their mother’s breast, and the mother with her head raised to heaven.

  Vaninkov descended from the third sleigh. In spite of the darkness, and in spite of the sordid costume he was wearing, the Countess and her daughters recognized him; as he approached the cottage one of the girls was on the point of calling him by name; but the mother stifled the cry by putting her hand before her daughter’s mouth. Vaninkov and his companions entered the cottage.

  The convicts in the other sleighs likewise got down and went in after him. The officer in charge at once ordered two soldiers to go and look for horses, but as he had been told by a peasant that the horses generally in use on this stage were all gone, he ordered all his men to spread themselves over the neighbourhood and seize in the Emperor’s name any horses they could find. The soldiers obeyed, and he remained alone with the convicts. To be left alone thus would have been madness in any other country but in Russia; for in Russia an exile is literally a prisoner; in the immense empire owned by the Czar he cannot escape; before going a hundred versts he would be arrested infallibly; before reaching the frontier he would have died of hunger a hundred times.

  The non-commissioned officer in charge, Sergeant Ivan, remained alone walking up and down in front of the cottage, flipping his leather breeches with his whip and stopping from tune to time to look at the carriage stranded in the middle of the high road.

  Presently the door opened, three women sallied out like three ghosts and approached him; the Sergeant pulled up short, not knowing what to make of the threefold apparition.

  The Countess approached him with clasped hands; her daughters standing slightly to the rear.

  “Sir,” said the Countess, “have you any pity in your heart?”

  “What does your Ladyship want?” asked the Brigadier, discerning that the speaker was well born from her voice and dress.

  “I want more than life, Sir; I want to see my son whom you are taking to Siberia.”

  “That is impossible, Madam,” replied the Sergeant; I have the most stringent orders not to allow the convicts to speak to a soul, and I should be punished with the knout if I failed in my duty.”

  “But who will ever know that you have failed, Sir?” cried the mother while the two sisters, who had remained standing behind her as motionless as statues, slowly and mechanically without being aware of it, joined their hands in supplication to the Sergeant.

  “Impossible! madam, impossible!” said the Sergeant.

  “Mother!” cried Alexis, opening the door of the cottage. “Mother! it must be you, I recognize your voice,” and he rushed into the arms of the Countess.

  The Sergeant made a movement to seize the Count, but at that moment with a sudden impulse the two girls rushed at him; one falling at his feet hugged his knees, while the other catching hold of him, pointed with her finger at mother and son locked in each other’s arms, and cried out: —

  “Look! look!”

  He was a fine fellow, was Sergeant Ivan. He uttered a sigh, and the girls knew that they had conquered.

  “Mother,” said one of them in a low voice, “we are longing to embrace our brother.”

  Then the Countess released her son from her arms and offering a purse of gold to the Sergeant, “Here, my friend,” said she, “if you are running any risk for our sake, you certainly ought to have some recompense.”

  The Sergeant looked at the purse for a moment while the Countess held it out; then shaking his head without even touching it, for fear that contact might make the temptation too strong, “No, your Ladyship, no,” said he, “If I am failing in my duty, here is my excuse,” and he pointed to the two girls in tears. “This is the excuse I shall plead before the judge, and if the judge will not accept it, well, I will offer it to God, and he will accept it.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35