s white； and he could not check the feverish twitching of his lower jaw。
“Your excellency； this way … where are you going？ … this way；” said a trembling； frightened voice behind him。 Count Rastoptchin was incapable of making any reply。 Obediently turning； he went in the direction indicated。 At the back entrance stood a carriage。 The distant roar of the howling mob could be heard even there。 Count Rastoptchin hurriedly got into the carriage； and bade them drive him to his house at Sokolniky beyond the town。 As he drove out into Myasnitsky Street and lost the sound of the shouts of the mob； the count began to repent。 He thought with dissatisfaction now of the excitement and terror he had betrayed before his subordinates。 “The populace is terrible； it is hideous。 They are like wolves that can only be appeased with flesh；” he thought。 “Count！ there is one God over us！” Vereshtchagin’s words suddenly recurred to him； and a disagreeable chill ran down his back。 But that feeling was momentary； and Count Rastoptchin smiled contemptuously at himself。 “I had other duties。 The people had to be appeased。 Many other victims have perished and are perishing for the public good；” he thought； and he began to reflect on the social duties he had towards his family and towards the city intrusted to his care； and on himself—not as Fyodor Vassilyevitch Rastoptchin （he assumed that Fyodor Vassilyevitch Rastoptchin was sacrificing himself for le bien publique）—but as governor of Moscow； as the representative of authority intrusted with full powers by the Tsar。 “If I had been simply Fyodor Vassilyevitch； my course of action might have been quite different； but I was bound to preserve both the life and the dignity of the governor。”
Lightly swayed on the soft springs of the carriage； and hearing no more of the fearful sounds of the mob； Rastoptchin was physically soothed； and as is always the case simultaneously with physical relief； his intellect supplied him with grounds for moral comfort。 The thought that reassured Rastoptchin was not a new one。 Ever since the world has existed and men have killed one another； a man has never committed such a crime against his fellow without consoling himself with the same idea。 That idea is le bien publique； the supposed public good of others。
To a man not swayed by passion this good never seems certain； but a man who has committed such a crime always knows positively where that public good lies。 And Rastoptchin now knew this。
Far from reproaching himself in his meditations on the act he had just committed； he found grounds for self…complacency in having so successfully made use of an occasion so à propos for executing a criminal； and at the same time satisfying the crowd。 “Vereshtchagin had been tried and condemned to the death penalty；” Rastoptchin reflected （though Vereshtchagin had only been condemned by the senate to hard labour）。 “He was a spy and a traitor； I could not let him go unpunished； and so I hit two birds with one stone。 I appeased the mob by giving them a victim； and I punished a miscreant。”
Reaching his house in the suburbs； the count completely regained his composure in arranging his domestic affairs。
Within half an hour the count was driving with rapid horses across the Sokolniky plain； thinking no more now of the past； but absorbed in thought and plans for what was to come。 He was approaching now the Yauzsky bridge； where he had been told that Kutuzov was。 In his own mind he was preparing the biting and angry speeches he would make； upbraiding Kutuzov for his deception。 He would make that old court fox feel that the responsibility for all the disasters bound to follow the abandonment of Moscow； and the ruin of Russia （as Rastoptchin considered it）； lay upon his old； doting head。 Going over in anticipation what he would say to him； Rastoptchin wrathfully turned from side to side in the carriage； and angrily looked about him。
The Sokolniky plain was deserted。 Only at one end of it； by the alms…house and lunatic asylum； there were groups of people in white garments； and similar persons were wandering about the plain； shouting and gesticulating。
One of them was running right across in front of Count Rastoptchin’s carriage。 And Count Rastoptchin himself and his coachman； and the dragoons； all gazed with a vague feeling of horror and curiosity at these released lunatics； and especially at the one who was running towards them。
Tottering on his long； thin legs in his fluttering dressing…gown； this madman ran at headlong speed； with his eyes fixed on Rastoptchin； shouting something to him in a husky voice； and making signs to him to stop。 The gloomy and triumphant face of the madman was thin and yellow； with irregular tufts of beard growing on it。 The black； agate…like pupils of his eyes moved restlessly； showing the saffron…yellow whites above。 “Stay！ stop； I tell you！” he shouted shrilly； and again breathlessly fell to shouting something with emphatic gestures and intonations。
He reached the carriage and ran alongside it。
“Three times they slew me； three times I rose again from the dead。 They stoned me； they crucified me … I shall rise again … I shall rise again … I shall rise again。 My body they tore to pieces。 The kingdom of heaven will be overthrown … Three times I will overthrow it； and three times I will set it up again；” he screamed； his voice growing shriller and shriller。 Count Rastoptchin suddenly turned white； as he had turned white when the crowd fell upon Vereshtchagin。 He turned away。 “G … go on； faster！” he cried in a trembling voice to his coachman。
The carriage dashed on at the horses’ topmost speed。 But for a long while yet Count Rastoptchin heard behind him the frantic； desperate scream getting further away； while before his eyes he saw nothing but the wondering； frightened； bleeding face of the traitor in the fur…lined coat。 Fresh as that image was； Rastoptchin felt now that it was deeply for ever imprinted on his heart。 He felt clearly now that the bloody print of that memory would never leave him； that the further he went the more cruelly； the more vindictively； would that fearful memory rankle in his heart to the end of his life。 He seemed to be hearing now the sound of his own words： “Tear him to pieces； you shall answer for it to me！— Why did I say these words？ I said it somehow without meaning to … I might not have said them；” he thought； “and then nothing would have happened。” He saw the terror…stricken； and then suddenly frenzied face of the dragoon who had struck the first blow； and the glance of silent； timid reproach cast on him by that lad in the fox…lined coat。 “But I didn’t do it on my own account。 I was bound to act in that way。 La plèbe … le tra？tre … le bien publique； …” he mused。
The bridge over the Yauza was still crowded with troops。 It was hot。 Kutuzov； looking careworn and weary； was sitting on a bench near the bridge； and playing with a whip on the sand； when a carriage rattled noisily up to him。 A man in the uniform of a general； wearing a hat with plumes； came up to Kutuzov。 He began addressing him in French； his eyes shifting uneasily； with a look between anger and terror in them。 It was Count Rastoptchin。 He told Kutuzov that he had come here； for since Moscow was no more； the army was all that was left。 “It might have been very different if your highness had not told me you would not abandon Moscow without a battle； all this would not have been！” said he。
Kutuzov stared at Rastoptchin； and； as though not understanding the meaning of the words addressed to him； he strove earnestly to decipher the special meaning betrayed at that minute on the face of the man addressing him。 Rastoptchin ceased speaking in discomfiture。 Kutuzov slightly shook his head； and； still keeping his searching eyes on Rastoptchin’s face； he murmured softly：
“Yes； I won’t give up Moscow without a battle。”
Whether Kutuzov was thinking of something different when he uttered those words； or said them purposely； knowing them to be meaningless； Count Rastoptchin made him no reply； and hastily left him。 And—strange to tell！ the governor of Moscow； the proud Count Rastoptchin； picking up a horse whip； went to the bridge； and fell to shouting and driving on the crowded carts。
Chapter 26
AT FOUR O’CLOCK in the afternoon； Murat’s troops entered Moscow。 In front rode a detachment of Würtemberg hussars； behind； with an immense suite； rode the King of Naples himself。
Near the middle of Arbaty； close to Nikola Yavlenny； Murat halted to await information from the detachment in advance as to the condition in which the citadel of the city； “le Kremlin；” had been found。
A small group of inhabitants of Moscow had gathered about Murat。 All stared with timid astonishment at the strange figure of the long…haired commander； decked in gold and feathers。
“Why； is this their Tsar himself？ Nought amiss with him；” voices were heard saying softly。
An interpreter approached the group of gazers。
“Caps … caps off；” they muttered； turning to each other in the little crowd。 The interpreter accosted one old porter； and asked him if it were far to the Kremlin。 The porter； listening with surprise to the unfamiliar Polish accent； and not recognising the interpreter’s words for Russian； had no notion what was being said to him； and took refuge behind the others。
Murat approached the interpreter； and told him to ask where were the Russian troops。 One of the Russians understood this question； and several voices began answering the interpreter simultaneously。 A French officer from the detachment in advance rode up to Murat and reported that the gates into the citadel were blocked up； and that probably there was an ambush there。
“Good；” said Murat； and turning to one of the gentlemen of his suite； he commanded four light cannons to be moved forward； and the gates to be shelled upon。
The artillery came trotting out from the column following Murat； and advanced along Arbaty。 When they reached the end of Vosdvizhenka the artillery halted and drew up in the square。 Several French officers superintended the placing of the cannon some distance apart； and looked at the Kremlin through a field…glass。 A bell was ringing in the Kremlin for evening service； an