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Updated: May 28, 2025
For a long time it stared at Musya in astonishment and then disappeared as noiselessly as it had appeared. The bells rang and sang, for a long time, painfully. It seemed as if the tired Hours were climbing up a high mountain toward midnight, and that it was becoming ever harder and harder to ascend.
Just as Tanya Kovalchuk had thought all her life only of others and never of herself, so now she suffered and grieved painfully, but only for her comrades. She pictured death, only as awaiting them, as something tormenting only to Sergey Golovin, to Musya, to the others as for herself, it did not concern her.
And into this 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.
At a distance the music sounded still more beautiful and cheerful. The trumpet resounded now and then with its merry, loud brass voice, out of tune, and then everything died away. And the clock on the tower struck again, slowly, mournfully, hardly stirring the silence. "They are gone!" thought Musya, with a feeling of slight sadness.
And their jailers were so kind as to permit them to ride in pairs, as they pleased. Altogether the jailers were extremely kind; even too kind. It was as if they tried partly to show themselves humane and partly to show that they were not there at all, but that everything was being done as by machinery. But they were all pale. "Musya, you go with him."
At Musya and Werner she gazed proudly and respectfully, and she assumed a serious and concentrated expression, and then tried to transfer her smile to Sergey Golovin. "The dear boy is looking at the sky. Look, look, my darling!" she thought about Golovin. "And Vasya! What is it? My God, my God! What am I to do with him? If I should speak to him I might make it still worse.
She felt particularly sorry for Musya. It had long seemed to her that Musya loved Werner, and although this was not a fact, she still dreamed of something 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 thorns about them.
Tanya Kovalchuk had often looked upon the ring as a symbol of doom, and she would ask Musya, now in jest, now in earnest, to remove the ring. "Make me a present of it," she had begged. "No, Tanechka, I will not give it to you. But perhaps you will soon have another ring upon your finger."
Under the same ringing of the clock, separated from Sergey and Musya by only a few empty cells, but yet so painfully desolate and alone in the whole world as though no other soul existed, poor Vasily Kashirin was passing the last hours of his life in terror and in anguish.
Werner pointed at Vasily, who stood motionless. "I understand," Musya nodded. "And you?" "I? Tanya will go with Sergey, you go with Vasya.... I will go alone. That doesn't matter, I can do it, you know."
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