Andrea was short and fat; his visage, marked with brutal cruelty, did not indicate age; he might be thirty.In prison he had suffered his beard to grow; his head fell on his shoulder, his legs bent beneath him, and his movements were apparently automatic and unconscious.
* Dr.Guillotin got the idea of his famous machine from witnessing an execution in Italy.
"I thought," said Franz to the count, "that you told me there would be but one execution.""I told you true," replied he coldly.
"And yet here are two culprits."
"Yes; but only one of these two is about to die; the other has many years to live.""If the pardon is to come, there is no time to lose.""And see, here it is," said the count.At the moment when Peppino reached the foot of the mandaia, a priest arrived in some haste, forced his way through the soldiers, and, advancing to the chief of the brotherhood, gave him a folded paper.The piercing eye of Peppino had noticed all.The chief took the paper, unfolded it, and, raising his hand, "Heaven be praised, and his holiness also," said he in a loud voice; "here is a pardon for one of the prisoners!""A pardon!" cried the people with one voice -- "a pardon!"At this cry Andrea raised his head."Pardon for whom?" cried he.
Peppino remained breathless."A pardon for Peppino, called Rocca Priori," said the principal friar.And he passed the paper to the officer commanding the carbineers, who read and returned it to him.
"For Peppino!" cried Andrea, who seemed roused from the torpor in which he had been plunged."Why for him and not for me? We ought to die together.I was promised he should die with me.You have no right to put me to death alone.Iwill not die alone -- I will not!" And he broke from the priests struggling and raving like a wild beast, and striving desperately to break the cords that bound his hands.The executioner made a sign, and his two assistants leaped from the scaffold and seized him."What is going on?"asked Franz of the count; for, as all the talk was in the Roman dialect, he had not perfectly understood it."Do you not see?" returned the count, "that this human creature who is about to die is furious that his fellow-sufferer does not perish with him? and, were he able, he would rather tear him to pieces with his teeth and nails than let him enjoy the life he himself is about to be deprived of.Oh, man, man --race of crocodiles," cried the count, extending his clinched hands towards the crowd, "how well do I recognize you there, and that at all times you are worthy of yourselves!"Meanwhile Andrea and the two executioners were struggling on the ground, and he kept exclaiming, "He ought to die! -- he shall die! -- I will not die alone!""Look, look," cried the count.seizing the young men's hands -- "look, for on my soul it is curious.Here is a man who had resigned himself to his fate, who was going to the scaffold to die -- like a coward, it is true, but he was about to die without resistance.Do you know what gave him strength? -- do you know what consoled him? It was, that another partook of his punishment -- that another partook of his anguish -- that another was to die before him.Lead two sheep to the butcher's, two oxen to the slaughterhouse, and make one of them understand that his companion will not die;the sheep will bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow with joy.But man -- man, whom God created in his own image --man, upon whom God has laid his first, his sole commandment, to love his neighbor -- man, to whom God has given a voice to express his thoughts -- what is his first cry when he hears his fellow-man is saved? A blasphemy.Honor to man, this masterpiece of nature, this king of the creation!" And the count burst into a laugh; a terrible laugh, that showed he must have suffered horribly to be able thus to laugh.
However, the struggle still continued, and it was dreadful to witness.The people all took part against Andrea, and twenty thousand voices cried, "Put him to death! put him to death!" Franz sprang back, but the count seized his arm, and held him before the window."What are you doing?" said he.
"Do you pity him? If you heard the cry of `Mad dog!' you would take your gun -- you would unhesitatingly shoot the poor beast, who, after all, was only guilty of having been bitten by another dog.And yet you pity a man who, without being bitten by one of his race, has yet murdered his benefactor; and who, now unable to kill any one, because his hands are bound, wishes to see his companion in captivity perish.No, no -- look, look!"The command was needless.Franz was fascinated by the horribly spectacle.The two assistants had borne Andrea to the scaffold, and there, in spite of his struggles, his bites, and his cries, had forced him to his knees.During this time the executioner had raised his mace, and signed to them to get out of the way; the criminal strove to rise, but, ere he had time, the mace fell on his left temple.Adull and heavy sound was heard, and the man dropped like an ox on his face, and then turned over on his back.The executioner let fall his mace, drew his knife, and with one stroke opened his throat, and mounting on his stomach, stamped violently on it with his feet.At every stroke a jet of blood sprang from the wound.
This time Franz could contain himself no longer, but sank, half fainting, into a seat.Albert, with his eyes closed, was standing grasping the window-curtains.The count was erect and triumphant, like the Avenging Angel!
