The Seven Who Were Hanged

ed and grieved painfully, but only for her comrades. She pictured death, only as awaiting them, as some

hout the strong tea to which he was accustomed, in addition to the fact that they were to die, caused her no less pain than the idea of the execution itself. Death was something inevitable and even unimportant, of which it was not worth while to think; but for a man in prison

g good and bright for both of them. When she had been free, Musya had worn a silver ring, on which was the design of a skull, bones, and a crown of thorn

sent of it," s

to you. But perhaps you will soon

hese half-jesting conversations with Musya, and the fact that now Musya was actually condemned to death, she choked with tears in her maternal pity. And ea

sya wa

cell evenly and tirelessly. The sleeves of the coat were too long for her, and she turned them up, and her thin, almost childish, emaciated hands peeped out of the wide holes like a beautiful flower out of a coa

d who was not at all a heroine, was yet to undergo the same honorable and beautiful death by which real heroes and martyrs had died before her. With unshakable faith in human kindness, in their compassion, in their love, she pic

What if he and the others, she thought, should consider that she was doing it merely to become conspicuous, or out of

isn't ne

ne, that it was not terrible to die, that they should not feel sorry for her, nor trouble themselves about her. She wished to be able to explain to them that she wa

cation. She endeavored to find something that would at least make her

and could have lived

her life seemed dull and dark compared to that great and resplendent radi

ntempt for herself-was a justification in itself. She felt that she was really not to blame that she was hindered from doing the thing

for what he has done, but also for what he had intended t

worthy of it? That I deserve that people should weep for me, should

noble people who always ascend to heaven through fires, tortures and executions. Bright peace and tranquillity and endless, calmly radiant happine

hat is not Death!" th

er that Death existed, that a human being dies and is killed, that there is no immortality, they would only surprise her. How could there be no deathlessness, since she was alre

o her cell with her own decompos

That

look and w

t is n

g her by the ominous sight of her own decomposed body,

isn't. I am the one you are speaki

die and beco

will no

xecuted. Here

ll not die. How can I die, wh

ophers and hangmen would retr

through the execution together with them, and of those near by who were to mount the scaffold with her. She was surprised at Vasily-that he should have been so disturbed-he, who had always been so brave, and who had jested with Death. Thus, only on Tuesday morning, when all together they had attach

be too familia

erate desire to see Seryozha Golovin, to laugh with him. She meditated a little while, and then an even more desperate desire came over her to see Werner and to convince him

understand? What do those people think? That there is nothing more terrible than death. They themselves have invented Death, they are themselves afraid of it, and they try to frighten us with it. I should like to do this-I should like to go out alone before a whole regiment of soldiers and fi

is harmonious, remote, beautiful sound the thoughts of the people flowed, and also began to ring for her; and the smoothly gliding images turned into music. It was just as if, on a quiet, dark night, Musya was riding along a broad, even road, while the easy springs of the carriage rocked her and the little bells tinkled. All alarm and agitation had passed, the fatigued body had dissolved in the darkness, and her joyou

ued to dream with slightly closed eyes. The clock-bell rang unceasingly, stirring t

How beautiful it is! Or is it Life? I do not

reality, the footsteps of the guards in the corridors, the ringing of the clock, the rustling of the wind on the iron roof, the creaking of the lantern-it created complete musical pictures. At first Musya was afraid of them

music resounded anew. She could hear distinctly how the soldiers, a whole regiment, were coming from behind the corner of the fortress, on the right, and now they were passing her window. Their feet beat time with measured steps upon the frozen ground: One-two! One-two! She could even h

d sounds. One large brass trumpet brayed harshly out of tune, now too late, now comically running ahead-Musya

beautiful and cheerful. The trumpet resounded now and then with its merry, loud brass voice, out of tune,-and th

erful and so comical. She was even sorry for the departed little soldiers, because those busy soldiers, with their brass trumpet

d their wide wings and the darkness supported them, even as the light had supported them. And on their convex breasts, cleaving the air asunder, the city far below reflected a blue light. Musya's heart beat ever more evenly, her breathing grew ever more calm and quiet. She was falling asleep. Her face looked fatigued and pale. Beneath her eyes were d

fell a

m itself. Somewhere people were walking. Somewhere people were whispering. A gun clanked. It seeme

ched face appeared in the black hole. For a long time it stared at Musya

a high mountain toward midnight, and that it was becoming ever harder and harder to ascend. They fall,

ere whispering. And they were already harnessing