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Updated: June 3, 2025
He felt like saying something especially kind and caressing to this little, sleepy man, and he already loved him as he had never loved anyone in his life. "You don't seem to sit comfortably, my dear man. Move over here, to me." Yanson was silent for awhile, then he replied: "Well, thank you. I'm sitting all right. Are they going to hang you too?"
To help the effect, the warden on duty, the same old man, administered medicine to Yanson in the form of several blows upon the head. And this sensation of life returning to him really drove the fear of death away. Yanson opened his eyes, and then, his mind utterly confused, he slept soundly for the remainder of the night.
Well, we've talked enough." But Yanson had become silent again. He was again placed in the cell in which he had already sat for a month and to which he had grown accustomed, just as he had become accustomed to everything: to blows, to vodka, to the dismal, snow-covered fields, with their snow-heaps resembling graves.
But the rope is still more horrible when it forms the noose around the necks of weak and ignorant people. And however strange it may appear, I look with a lesser grief and suffering upon the execution of the revolutionists, such as Werner and Musya, than upon the strangling of ignorant murderers, miserable in mind and heart, like Yanson and Tsiganok." Spoken like Dostoevski!
Take your places in pairs as you wish, but I ask you to hurry up." Werner pointed to Yanson, who was now standing, supported by two gendarmes. "I will go with him. And you, Seryozha, take Vasily. Go ahead." "Very well." "You and I go together, Musechka, shall we not?" asked Tanya Kovalchuk. "Come, let us kiss each other good-by." They kissed one another quickly.
Then the master on the floor turned, the cook thundered upon the door with the oven-fork, breaking it open, and Yanson ran away into the fields. He was caught an hour later, kneeling down behind the corner of the barn, striking one match after another, which would not ignite, in an attempt to set the place on fire.
As in a dream, Yanson resisted bluntly, powerlessly, and was dragged out of the car silently. They descended the steps of the station. "Are we to walk?" asked some one almost cheerily. "It isn't far now," answered another, also cheerily. Then they walked in a large, black, silent crowd amid the forest, along a rough, wet and soft spring road.
They were riding thus in order to appear two hours later face to face before the inexplicable great mystery, in order to pass from Life to Death and they were introducing each other. Life and Death moved simultaneously, and until the very end Life remained life, to the most ridiculous and insipid trifles. "What have you done, Yanson?" "I killed my master with a knife. I stole money."
Some vagabonds had plundered a rich farm, had killed the master and his wife, and had set fire to the house. And on their farm, too, they lived in fear; the dogs were loose, not only at night, but also during the day, and the master slept with a gun by his side. He wished to give such a gun to Yanson, only it was an old one with one barrel.
Tsiganok kissed firmly, so that they felt his teeth; Yanson softly, drowsily, with his mouth half open and it seemed that he did not understand what he was doing. When Sergey Golovin and Kashirin had gone a few steps, Kashirin suddenly stopped and said loudly and distinctly: "Good-by, comrades." "Good-by, comrade," they shouted in answer. They went off. It grew quiet.
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