The people were running to and fro in the wildest confusion in the
streets of St. Petersburg; they cried and shouted vivas to their
empress who to-day accorded to them the splendid spectacle of the
knouting of some respectable ladies and gentlemen! Ah, that was a very
gracious and condescending empress to provide once more a delightful
spectacle for her serfs at the expense of the nobility! That was an
empress after their own hearts--real Russian blood!
Shrieking and shouting they rushed to the place of execution, pressing
against the barriers that separated the central point from the
spectators. There stood the bearded assistants of the executioner, there
lay the knouts and other instruments, and with eager glances the people
devoured all: they found all these preparations admirable, they rejoiced
with unrestrained delight in the prospect of seeing the handsomest woman
in the realm flayed with the knout. And not the common people alone, the
noblesse must also be present; the great magnates of the court
must also come, if they would avoid exciting a suspicion that they
commiserated the condemned and revolted at their punishment. They all
came, these slavish magnates, perhaps with tears in their hearts, but
with smiles upon their lips; perhaps murmuring secret curses, but aloud
applauding the just sentence of the empress.
Now the closed carriages of the condemned were seen approaching in a
long, lingering train; the train halted, the doors were opened, and
in the centre of the place of execution appeared Eleonore Lapuschkin,
radiant with the brilliancy of the purest beauty, her noble form
enveloped in a full, draping robe, which lent to her loveliness an
additional charm. She looked around with an astonished and interrogating
glance, as if awaking from a confused dream. Young, amiable, the
first and most celebrated lady of the court, of which she was the most
brilliant ornament, she now sees herself, instead of the admirers who
humbly paid their court to her, surrounded by these rough executioners,
who regard her with bold and insolent glances, eagerly stretching forth
their hands for their prey. One of them, approaching her, ventures to
rend from her bosom the kerchief that covers it. Eleonore, shuddering,
shrinks back, her cheeks are pale as marble, a stream of tears gushes
from her eyes. In vain she implores, in vain her lamentations, in vain
her trembling innocence, in vain her efforts to cover herself anew. Her
clothes are torn off, and in a few moments she stands there naked to the
girdle, with all the upper portion of her person exposed to the eager
glances of the masses, who in silence stare at this specimen of the
purest feminine beauty.
The proud lily is broken, shattered; she bows her head, the storm
has crushed her. Incapable of resistance, she is seized by one of the
executioners, who, by a sudden movement, throws her upon her back.
Another then approaches and places her in the most convenient position
for receiving the punishment. Soon, with rough brutality, he lays his
broad hand upon her head, and places it so that it may not be hit by
the knout, and then, like a butcher who is about to throttle a lamb,
he caresses that snow-white back, as if taking pleasure in the
contemplation of the wonderful fairness of his victim.