Chapter 99: The Execution: III
Elegant masquerade costumes in blue and white satin were laid out on chairs.
"Since you left the costume choice to me," the count told his two friends, "I had these brought. They’ll be the most popular this year, and they’re practical for the confetti throwing, they won’t show the flour."
Franz barely heard the count’s words. He didn’t fully appreciate this thoughtful gesture because he was completely absorbed by the spectacle in the People’s Plaza and the terrible device at its center. This was Franz’s first time seeing a guillotine, though the Roman version was similar to the French instrument. The blade was shaped like a crescent moon, cutting with its curved edge and falling from a lower height. That was the only real difference.
Two men sat on the movable plank where victims were laid, eating their breakfast while waiting for the condemned man. Their meal apparently consisted of bread and sausages. One of them lifted the plank, pulled out a wine bottle, took a drink, then passed it to his companion. These two were the executioner’s assistants. Watching this, Franz felt sweat break out on his forehead.
The prisoners, transferred the previous evening from the New Prison to the small church of Santa Maria del Popolo, had spent the night in a grated chapel, each accompanied by two priests, with two guards who were periodically relieved. A double line of armed police officers stretched from the church door to the platform, forming a circle around it and leaving a path about ten feet wide, with nearly a hundred feet of space around the guillotine. The rest of the square was packed with people. Many women held their babies on their shoulders so the children could see better.
Pincio Hill looked like a massive amphitheater filled with spectators. The balconies of the two churches at the corner of Babuino and Ripetta Streets were crammed with people. Even the steps looked like a multi-colored sea flowing toward the entrance. Every niche in the walls held a living statue.
What the count had said was true, the most fascinating spectacle in life is death itself.
Yet instead of the silence and solemnity the occasion demanded, laughter and jokes rose from the crowd. Clearly, for these people, the execution was just the beginning of Carnival.
Suddenly the noise stopped as if by magic, and the church doors opened. A brotherhood of penitents, dressed head to toe in gray robes with eye holes, holding lit candles, appeared first. Their leader marched at the front.
Behind the penitents came a man of enormous size. He was naked except for cloth shorts on his left side, where a large knife hung in a sheath. On his right shoulder, he carried a heavy iron sledgehammer. This was the executioner. He wore sandals tied to his feet with cords.
Behind the executioner came the condemned men in order of execution, first Peppino, then Andrea. Each was accompanied by two priests. Neither had his eyes covered. Peppino walked firmly, clearly aware of what awaited him. Andrea was supported by two priests. Each man occasionally kissed the crucifix held out by a confessor.
Just watching this, Franz felt his legs tremble. He looked at Albert, who was as pale as his white shirt and had mechanically dropped his cigar, though he’d only smoked half of it. Only the count seemed unmoved, in fact, a slight flush seemed to rise in his pale cheeks. His nostrils flared like a wild animal scenting prey, and his half-open lips revealed small, sharp white teeth like a jackal’s. Yet his features wore an expression of tender kindness that Franz had never seen before. His black eyes especially were full of compassion and mercy.
Meanwhile, the two condemned men moved forward. As they got closer, their faces became visible. Peppino was a handsome young man of about twenty-four or twenty-five, tanned by the sun. He held his head high and seemed to be watching for where his rescuer would appear. Andrea was short and heavy, his face marked with brutal cruelty. It didn’t show his age clearly, he might have been thirty. In prison, he’d let his beard grow. His head hung on his shoulder, his legs bent beneath him, and his movements seemed automatic and unconscious.
"I thought," Franz said to the count, "you told me there would only be one execution."
"I told you the truth," the count replied coldly.
"But there are two condemned men."
"Yes, but only one of them will die. The other has many years left to live."
"If the pardon is coming, there’s no time to waste."
"Look, here it comes," the count said.
Just as Peppino reached the base of the guillotine platform, a priest arrived in a hurry, pushed through the soldiers, and approached the leader of the brotherhood, handing him a folded paper. Peppino’s sharp eyes noticed everything. The leader took the paper, unfolded it, and raised his hand.
"Heaven be praised, and his holiness too!" he announced loudly. "Here is a pardon for one of the prisoners!"
"A pardon!" the crowd cried with one voice. "A pardon!"
At this cry, Andrea raised his head. "A pardon for who?" he shouted.
Peppino stood breathless.
"A pardon for Peppino, called Rocca Priori," the leader announced. He passed the paper to the commanding officer, who read it and returned it.
"For Peppino!" Andrea cried, seeming to wake from his stupor. "Why him and not me? We were supposed to die together! They promised me he’d die with me! You have no right to execute me alone! I won’t die alone, I won’t!"
He broke away from the priests, struggling and raging like a wild animal, desperately trying to break the ropes binding his hands. The executioner made a signal, and his two assistants jumped from the platform and grabbed him.
"What’s happening?" Franz asked the count. Since everyone was speaking in the local dialect, he hadn’t understood perfectly.
"Don’t you see?" the count replied. "This human creature about to die is furious that his fellow prisoner won’t die with him. If he could, he’d tear him apart with his teeth and nails rather than let him enjoy the life he’s about to lose. Oh, humanity!" the count cried, extending his clenched fists toward the crowd. "How well I recognize you! You’re always true to your nature!"
Meanwhile, Andrea and the two executioners struggled on the ground as he kept shouting, "He should die! He will die! I won’t die alone!"
"Look, look!" the count said, gripping the young men’s hands. "Look, I swear this is fascinating. Here’s a man who had accepted his fate, who was going to the scaffold to die, like a coward, yes, but he was going to die without resistance. Do you know what gave him strength? Do you know what consoled him? It was knowing that another person would share his punishment, share his suffering, die before him.
Take two sheep to the butcher, two cattle to the slaughterhouse, and make one understand his companion won’t die, the sheep will bleat with joy, the ox will bellow with happiness. But humans, whom God created in his own image, humans to whom God gave his first and only commandment to love their neighbors, humans to whom God gave voices to express their thoughts, what’s their first cry when they hear a fellow human is saved? A curse! Honor to humanity, this masterpiece of nature, this king of creation!"
The count burst into laughter, a terrible laugh that showed he must have suffered horribly to be able to laugh like that.
Still, the struggle continued, and it was awful to watch. The two assistants carried Andrea up to the platform. The crowd turned against Andrea, and twenty thousand voices cried, "Kill him! Kill him!"
Franz jumped back, but the count grabbed his arm and held him at the window.
"What are you doing?" the count said. "Do you pity him? If you heard someone yell ’Rabid dog!’ you’d grab your gun and shoot the poor animal without hesitation, even though it was only guilty of being bitten by another dog. Yet you pity a man who, without being provoked by anyone, murdered his benefactor. Now, unable to kill anyone because his hands are bound, he wants to see his fellow prisoner die. No, no, look, look!"
The urging wasn’t necessary. Franz was mesmerized by the horrifying spectacle. The two assistants had dragged Andrea onto the platform, and despite his struggles, bites, and screams, they forced him to his knees. Meanwhile, the executioner had raised his hammer and signaled them to move away. The criminal tried to stand, but before he could, the hammer fell on his left temple. A dull, heavy sound echoed, and the man dropped like an ox onto his face, then rolled onto his back.
The executioner let his hammer fall, drew his knife, and with one stroke opened the man’s throat. Mounting on his stomach, he stamped violently on it with his feet. With every stamp, a jet of blood spurted from the wound.
This time Franz couldn’t contain himself and sank half-fainting into a seat. Albert stood with his eyes closed, gripping the window curtains. The count stood erect and triumphant, like an avenging angel.