"Those are the words of men," rang out the iron voice. "I know neither good nor evil…. Reason is no law to me—and what is justice?—I have given thee life,—I take it away and give it to others; whether worms or men … it makes no difference to me…. But in the meantime, do thou defend thyself, and hinder me not!"
I was about to answer … but the earth round about me uttered a dull groan and trembled—and I awoke.
August, 1879.
"HANG HIM!"
"It happened in the year 1803," began my old friend, "not long before
Austerlitz. The regiment of which I was an officer was quartered in
Moravia.
"We were strictly forbidden to harry and oppress the inhabitants; and they looked askance on us as it was, although we were regarded as allies.
"I had an orderly, a former serf of my mother's, Egór by name. He was an honest and peaceable fellow; I had known him from his childhood and treated him like a friend.
"One day, in the house where I dwelt, abusive shrieks and howls arose: the housewife had been robbed of two hens, and she accused my orderly of the theft. He denied it, and called upon me to bear witness whether 'he, Egór Avtamónoff, would steal!' I assured the housewife of Egór's honesty, but she would listen to nothing.
"Suddenly the energetic trampling of horses' hoofs resounded along the street: it was the Commander-in-Chief himself riding by with his staff. He was proceeding at a foot-pace,—a fat, pot-bellied man, with drooping head and epaulets dangling on his breast.
"The housewife caught sight of him, and flinging herself across his horse's path, she fell on her knees and, all distraught, with head uncovered, began loudly to complain of my orderly, pointing to him with her hand: