Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty-Five

By nine o'clock in the morning, when the troops had passed through Moscow, no one came to ask the count any more.All who can go, they go; those who stay, they decide what to do. The count ordered the horses to be harnessed and prepared to go to Sokolnitz. He frowned, his face was sallow, and he sat silently in his office with his arms folded. When the world is in peace, every chief executive feels that only by relying on his diligence can the common people under his rule live comfortably and prosper. A major reward for one's toil and diligence.Therefore, I can understand that as long as the ocean of history is calm, the chief executive, as the ruler, sails forward on a big ship that catches the people with hooks and poles. of.But with the wind and waves, the sea was rough, and the big ship moved forward automatically.At this time, there will be no illusions.The great ship sailed automatically with unprecedented speed, and when the hook rod could not reach the advancing ship, the ruler suddenly changed from the position of the ruler, the source of strength, to a small, useless and weak person.

Rastoptchin felt this, and it was this that annoyed him. The police chief, who was stopped by the crowd, and the adjutant who came to report that the horse had been set, walked into the earl's office together.The faces of the two were pale. After the director talked about the execution of the mission, he reported that there was a large group of people in the yard who wanted to see the count. Without saying a word, Rastoptchin got up, walked quickly into the luxurious, bright living room, went to the balcony door, seized the handle, let go, and went to the window, from which the whole crowd could be seen more clearly .A tall guy stood in the middle of the first few rows, his face tense, and he was waving a hand and talking.The bloodstained blacksmith stood beside him sullenly.Loud noises can be heard through the closed windows.

"The carriage is ready?" asked Rastoptchin, moving away from the window. "Well, my lord," said the adjutant. Rastoptchin went again to the balcony door. "What do they want?" he asked the chief of police. "Jun Zuo, they said they were ordered by Jun Zuo to fight the French, and they were shouting about traitors. But this is a group of thugs, Jun Zuo. I managed to get away, Jun Zuo, the humble official dares to suggest..." "Go ahead, I know what to do without you," Rastoptchin cried angrily.He looked down at the crowd from the balcony door. "That's what they've done to Russia! That's what they've done to me!" thought Rastoptchin, feeling an uncontrollable rage within him, to blame someone to whom he was to blame. vent.As is often the case with irritable people, anger has taken hold of him but has yet to find an outlet. "Lavoila populace, laliedupeuple," he thought, looking at the crowd, "laplebequ'ilsontsouleveeparleursottise. Illeurfautunevictime." came to his mind when he saw the tall lad waving his arms.The reason why he had this idea was precisely because he himself needed this victim, this object for him to vent his anger.

-------- ① This group of untouchables, the scum of the common people.The common people, whose stupidity has stirred up these scum and pariahs, need a victim. "Is the carriage ready?" he asked again. "Well, my lord. What do you order to be done with Vereshchagin? He has been brought and is waiting by the porch," said the adjutant. "Oh!" exclaimed Rastoptchin, as if shocked by an unexpected memory. So, he quickly opened the door and walked onto the balcony with firm steps.There was a sudden stillness in speaking, top hats and caps were taken off their heads, and all eyes were raised to look at the count who came out.

"Good day, brothers!" said the Count quickly and loudly. "Thank you for coming. I will come down to see you at once, but first we have to deal with a bad man. We must punish a bad man who ruined Moscow. Please wait." Me!" The count also hurried back into the room, and slammed the door shut. There were murmurs of satisfaction and approval throughout the crowd. "So he's going to punish all the bad guys! And you say it's just a Frenchman... and he'll push the whole thing away!" the people said, as if accusing each other of not believing themselves.

A few minutes later an officer hurried out of the front door with some order, and the dragoons formed a long file.The crowd left the balcony and flocked eagerly to the porch.Rastoptchin hurried up the porch angrily, looking around hastily, as if looking for someone. "Where is he?" asked the count, and just as he had finished speaking, he saw a young man with a slender neck and a shaven head emerge from a corner of the room between two dragoons. Half of the head grew short hair again.He wore a rather handsome, now worn-out blue woolen fox-fur coat, and dirty linen prison trousers tucked into thin, unpolished, deformed boots.The shackles on the thin and weak legs made it even more difficult for the faltering young man to move.

"Oh!" said Rastoptchin, looking hastily away from the young man in the fox-skin jacket, and pointing to the bottom step of the porch. "Take him here," the young man dragged his shackles, walked to the designated steps with difficulty, poked open the tight collar with a finger, twisted the slender neck twice, and sighed , folded her thin, non-working hands on her belly, maintaining a docile posture. During the few seconds that the young man stood firm on the steps, still no one said a word.It's just in the back few rows, where people are crowded into one place, and the sound of grunting, pushing and footsteps can be heard.

While waiting for him to stand up, Rastoptchin mopped his face sullenly with his hands. "Brothers!" said Rastoptchin in a metallic voice, "this man, Vereshchagin, is the villain who ruined Moscow." The young man in the fox fur jacket stood meekly, with his palms folded on his belly, and he bent slightly.His hopelessly haggard, youthful face, disfigured by the incomplete shaven head, drooped downward.At the count's first words, he slowly raised his head to look up at the count, intending to address him or meet his eyes, but Rastoptchin did not look at him.On the young man's slender neck, behind his ears, a blue tendon bulged like a rope, and then his face suddenly turned red.

All eyes were on him.He looked at the crowd, and seemed to see hopeful expressions on their faces. He smiled miserably and quietly, then lowered his head again, and moved his feet on the steps. "He betrayed his Emperor and his country, he was loyal to Bonaparte, it was he who disgraced the Russians, and because of him Moscow was ruined," Rastoptchin recounted in a calm, high-pitched voice; But suddenly he glanced down quickly at Vereshchagin, who still had a docile appearance.As if irritated by the glance, he raised his hand and almost shouted to the group, "Judge him yourselves! I hand him over to you!"

The group was silent, but crowded closer and closer, leaning against each other, breathing this infected and suffocating air, unable to move their bodies, waiting for some unknowable, incomprehensible, terrible thing to happen. , is unbearable.The people in the front row could see and hear everything clearly, and they all opened their eyes and mouths wide in horror, and with all their strength, they straightened their backs to block the pushing of the people behind them. "Hit him! . . . Let the traitor die, and let him not discredit the Russians!" Rastoptchin shouted. "Slash with a knife! I order!" The crowd, who did not hear the words clearly, but heard the count's angry voice, started to commotion, pushed forward, and then stopped.

"Count! . . . " In another short silence, Vereshchagin's timid but sonorous voice resounded. "Count, we have a God on our heads..." said Vereshchagin, raising his head, and the thick blood vessel on his thin neck was once again congested and swollen, and a red tide soon flooded his face. Disappeared quickly again.He didn't finish what he had to say. "Cut off his head! I order . . . " Rastoptchin yelled, and suddenly turned pale, like Vereshchagin. "Knife out of its sheath!" the officer gave the command to the dragoons, and he drew his saber himself. Once again the crowd surged even more violently, and the surging wave reached the back of the front row and wobbled up the porch steps.Then the tall young man stood side by side with Verefukin, his expression was as stone as stone, and his raised hand was also frozen. "Cut!" the officer's voice was almost a whisper to the dragoons, and suddenly a soldier, twisting his face viciously, raised a blunt saber and slashed at Vereshchagin's head. "Ah!" Vereshchagin exclaimed in surprise, looking around in horror, as if he did not understand why this had happened to him.The crowd also let out an exclamation of horror. "Oh, God!" Someone sighed sadly. Immediately after Verefkin uttered that cry, he cried out pitifully in pain, and this cry killed him.The dykes of human emotion stretched to the limit, which had held the crowd a moment ago, crumbled in an instant.Since the crime has begun, it must be done to the end.The moans of reproach were drowned out by the thunderous roars of the crowd.This last irresistible wave, as violent as the last, ship-crushing seventh, surged from the rear rows to the front, and swept them down and engulfed everything.The dragoon who had been cut once wanted to cut again.Vereshchagin screamed in terror, and ran towards the crowd with his head in his arms.The tall young man was bumped by him, seized Vereshchagin's slender neck with his hands, screamed and fell with him at the feet of the huddled and roaring crowd. Some wrestled Vereshchagin, others wrestled the tall lad.The cries of those who were crushed below, and those who struggled to save the tall lad, only aroused the crowd to fury.For a long time, the dragoons were unable to rescue the bloodied worker who had been beaten half to death.For a long time those who thrashed Vereshchagin, trying to choke him and tear him apart, failed to kill him, despite the eagerness of the crowd to finish what had begun; Rolling toward them, centered on them, forming a mass of plates that dangled from side to side, neither giving them a chance to kill him nor letting them let him go. "Hit it with an axe, how? . . . Crushed... Traitor, betrayed Christ! . . . Alive . . . alive . . . ... not dead yet! " It was not until the victim stopped struggling and its cry became a long, rhythmic hoarse gasp that the crowd hurried away from the bloody corpse lying on the ground.Everyone who was able to get close to and witnessed this scene just now squeezed towards the back with expressions of terror, blame, and panic. "Oh, God, man is like a beast, there is no way out!" someone in the crowd said. "You are so young...I'm afraid they are the children of businessmen, such a group of people!...It is said that it is not that one...why not that one...Oh, God!...I heard that there is another one who was beaten , almost dying... Alas, these people... are not afraid of doing evil..." Those people said so again now, looking at the corpse with morbid pity, the bloody and blue face covered with dust, the slender neck was hacked. A conscientious constable, finding the corpse disgraceful and unsightly in the lord's courtyard, ordered the dragoons to drag it out into the street.Two dragoons grabbed the deformed leg and dragged the body away.Blood-stained and dusty, the half-shaved head on the dead thin neck was dragging on the ground.The crowd squeezed out of the way of the corpse. When Vereshchagin fell to the ground, and the screaming crowd crowded close to him, tossed and staggered, Rastoptchin suddenly turned pale, and walked towards the back porch where he was waiting for him to get into the carriage. , but lowered his head, and involuntarily walked quickly along the corridor leading to the room on the floor below.He himself did not know where he was going or why he was going in this way, the count was pale, and his chin trembled like he was suffering from malaria. "My lord, this way... where are you going?... this way, please," said a voice trembling with fear behind him. Rastoptchin was incapable of answering, but turned obediently and walked in the direction indicated.A buggy was parked under the back porch.The turbulent human voice that was far away can still be heard here.Rastoptchin hurried into the carriage and ordered to drive to his country house in Sokolnitz.Walking to Butcher Street, the earl began to feel regret after he could no longer hear the noise of the crowd.He recalled now with chagrin the agitation and trepidation he had displayed before the lower decks. "La populace est terrible, elleesthideuse," he thought in French. "Ilssontcommelesloupsqu'onnepeutapaiserqua'vecdela chair." "Count, we have a God on our heads!" He suddenly thought of Vereshchagin's words, and an unpleasant shiver ran down his spine.But only for a brief moment, Count Rastoptchin laughed at himself contemptuously. "J'avaisd'autresdevoirs," thought he, "Ilfallaitapaiserlepeuple. Responsibility to himself—not thinking of Fyodor Vasilyevich Rastopchin (who thought F. V. Rastopchin was sacrificing himself for the bienpublique), but of the Governor, representative of power and plenipotentiary of the Tsar of him. "If I were only Fyodor Vasilyevich, malignedsecondniteauraiteetetoutautrementtracee, but I should preserve my life and the dignity of the governor." -------- ①The crowds are terrible, really annoying.They are like wolves, and nothing can satisfy them but meat. ②I have another duty (that is, to stabilize the hearts of the people - the original editor's note).Many victims have perished and will still perish for the public good. ③ public interest. ④My path will be quite another. Rastoptchin swayed gently on the soft spring seat of the carriage, he could no longer hear the terrible shouts of the crowd, he had become physically calm, and as usual, with his physical calm, his reason And conceived for him reasons for calming the mind.The idea that gave Rastoptchin peace of mind was not new.Anyone who has committed a similar crime since the time the world existed and men have killed each other has always comforted himself with this thought.This thought is lebienpublique, the interest of others. This benefit is always unknown to a person who is not involved in lust; but it is always well known to a person who is committing a crime.Rastoptchin knew it all right now. Not only did he follow his own prejudices without condemning his own actions, but he found a reason for self-satisfaction and used this aproBpos with great success—both punishing the criminal and calming the people. "Vereshchagin was tried and sentenced to death," thought Rastopchin (though Vereshchagin was only sentenced to hard labor by the Privy Council). "He is a traitor and a traitor; I cannot exonerate him, and he is a jefaisais d'unepierre deux coups; and to preserve peace I have made the people a victim and punished the bad." -------- ①Public interest. ②The right time. ③ Kill two birds with one stone. After arriving at the villa in the suburbs and making some housework arrangements, the Earl was completely at peace. Half an hour later, when the count changed to a fast horse-drawn carriage and passed through the Sokolnitz field, he no longer recalled what had happened, but only thought and imagined what would happen.He was now going to the Javuz Bridge, and he was told that Kutuzov was there.Count Rastoptchin thought up some angry and bitter words with which to reproach Kutuzov for his deceit.He wants to let this old imperial fox know that he will abandon the old capital and destroy Russia (Rastopchin thinks so).The responsibility for all the misfortunes he caused lies with his old fool.Rastoptchin, having thought beforehand what he was going to say to him, turned angrily in the carriage and looked about him angrily. The Sokolnitz fields were deserted.Only at the far end of it, beside the nursing home and the asylum, were heaps of white-clothed men, some of whom were walking singly across the fields, yelling and waving their arms. One of these men ran across the road in which Count Rastoptchin's carriage drove.The count himself, as well as the coachman and the dragoons, looked at the released lunatics with a little horror and curiosity, especially the one who ran up to them.The man, with his slender legs swaying and his gown fluttering, ran after the carriage desperately, fixed his eyes on Rastoptchin, called to him in a hoarse voice, and motioned for him to stop.The madman had a bushy and ragged beard, and a sad, serious face that was thin and sallow.The black agate-like pupils swiveled in panic in the yellow and red whites of the eyes. "Stop! Don't move! I say!" he screamed, and then gasped and shouted something in a commanding tone and gesture. He caught up with the carriage and ran alongside it. "Three times they killed me and three times I rose from the dead. They stoned me and crucified me... I will rise... will rise... rise. They tore my body in pieces. Heaven will be destroyed... I destroyed it three times and rebuilt it three times," he cried, his voice rising.Count Rastoptchin suddenly turned pale, just as he had turned pale when the crowd rushed towards Vereshchagin.He turned away. "Go... hurry!" he called to the coachman in a trembling voice. The carriage sped forward at full speed; but for a long time the count heard the desperate cries of the madman fading away behind him, while before his eyes he saw the frightened, bloodstained face of the traitor in the fox fur coat. All this was still fresh in his memory, and Rastoptchin felt it now in his blood.He is now clearly aware that the bloodstains in this memory will never disappear, and on the contrary, the longer the time passes, the more tortured and uncomfortable this terrible memory will be in his heart.He seems to hear his own voice now: "Hack him, and you will pay me back by chopping off his head!" Nothing will happen." He saw the terrified and suddenly fierce face of the soldier who cut the man, and saw the timid and silent reproaching gaze of the young man in the fox fur coat. ... "But I didn't do it for myself. I had to. Laplebe, letraitre... lebienpublique."* he thought. -------- ①Civilian, traitor...public interest. At the head of the Yavuz bridge, the army is still very crowded.Hot weather.Sullen and melancholy Kutuzov was sitting on a bench by the bridge, playing with the sand with his whip, when a carriage rolled towards him.A man in a general's uniform and a feathered hat, whose eyes were twitching in anger or fear, walked up to Kutuzov and spoke to him in French.This is Count Rastoptchin.He told Kutuzov that the old capital of Moscow no longer existed and that only the army remained. "If Junzuo hadn't told me that you wouldn't have given up Moscow without a fight, none of this would have happened, and the outcome would have been different!" he said. Kutuzov looked at Rastoptchin, as if not understanding the meaning of what he was saying, and was trying to read the peculiar expression on the speaker's face at that moment.Rastoptchin was silent blushingly.Kutuzov shook his head slightly, his inquiring eyes still fixed on Rastoptchin's face, and whispered: "No, I will not surrender Moscow without a fight." Whether Kutuzov was thinking of something quite different when he said it, or was just saying it knowing it was meaningless, Count Rastopchin said nothing more, and hurried away from Kutuzov.What a strange thing!The Governor of Moscow, the proud Count Rastoptchin, took a short leather whip, went to the bridge, and began to yell at the huddled wagons.