For the Right

by Karl Emil Franzos

The captain waited for twenty minutes, and then, sorely against his will, drew his sword, and heading his men, gave the word to advance. The drums beat, the men started at the double, with bayonets fixed.

The peasants, in accordance with the orders received, allowed them to approach without firing. The soldiers had reached Wilko's cottage, when Hritzko lifted the whistle to his mouth. But before he could give the sign, a hand was laid on his arm, pressing it down with a good deal of force. "You shall not fire!" a loud voice was heard to say peremptorily; "I will not have it!"

The young man started amazed. Before him, tall and commanding, stood the wife of Taras, with little Tereska on her arm; an old woman-servant followed with the little boys, sobbing piteously. The children, too, were crying. But Anusia, though pale, was calm as death; she stood erect, and her face bore that expression of stony composure which, ever since that terrible Palm Sunday, appeared to have taken the place of her naturally passionate disposition. "I will not have a shot fired," she said; "I shall go with the soldiers."

"Anusia!" exclaimed Simeon, "will you deliver up yourself and your poor children to certain death?"

"We are all in God's hand," she said. "For my sake no wife shall be made a widow, no child fatherless." ... And, turning to the servant, she added, "Come!"

But Captain Stanczuk had understood the strange scene, and ordered his men to halt. The peasants, too, were standing motionless with surprise. Anusia deliberately went up to the officer. "Here I am," she said, "and here are my children."

But the gallant soldier, on looking into the tearless, grief-bound face of that poor peasant woman, was filled with a sensation of awe the like of which he had never known before. He felt as though he must bend the knee as to a queen or empress. "Come," he said, reverently, "we brought a carriage for you."

She nodded, and forthwith would have moved towards the vehicle, which followed in the rear; but the villagers had recovered themselves, and were pressing round her. The officer nowise interfered, for he could see in their faces that they intended no further enmity. They surrounded her, deeply moved, some even sobbing when she lifted her children into the carriage as it drew up, and others kissed her garment, crying, "Farewell, Anusia! we shall never forget it!" Father Leo breaking out passionately, "You are a brave woman; no saint ever did a greater thing for her people--it shall not be forgotten, indeed.... And your farm shall be cared for, we shall be proud to do it!"

"Thank you," she said, gently, and could no longer forbid her tears, the big drops running down her face: but soon the rigid calm returned. "I am quite ready," she said to the officer.

The drums beat, and the procession started, down to the river and across the bridge, towards the distant town.