For the Right

by Karl Emil Franzos

"Do not hate me; for never man loved you more truly than I did when binding myself with that oath. You know what it would have cost me to do the deed! But you are the noblest soul, the best and most lovable man that ever lived, and such a one shall not be tortured to death on the gallows...."

Taras, quite unable to speak, had fallen on his knees by the side of the bed, and was hiding his face in the rough bearskin which covered the limbs of the dying man.

Jemilian continued: "The Almighty is calling me hence, and I am not able to show you that love! But I cannot die in peace without endeavouring to save you from so horrible a death, for your own sake and for the sake of your little ones whom I have helped you to rear. Promise me, therefore, Taras--I entreat you promise me--that you will do yourself what I had intended."

"I cannot," groaned the unhappy man.

"Why not? Poor, dear master! Ah! I know how you dread the gallows!--not the dying, but the rope! The mere thought of it fills you with horror and loathing unspeakable. I know it, for who knows you better than I do? For this and no other reason you have granted the bullet to even the blackest rascal we ever brought to his doom. And to yourself you refuse it--why should you?"

"Because it were cowardly and a sin against God!"

"Nay, surely the Almighty will judge your soul with the same justice and mercy whether you appear before His judgment-seat a month sooner or later. I cannot doubt that!... And cowardly? I do not understand you...."

"Yes, cowardly!" cried Taras, passionately, and rising to his feet. "It is my appointed lot to be a guardian of the Right, and to strive to carry out the will of God concerning it, as far as may be possible to mortal man. I must not, I dare not renounce that sacred duty. If ever I fall into their hands I shall hope and endeavour to make good my escape, and continue fulfilling the duty which is laid upon me. Yes! in the very sight of the gallows I shall cling to the hope that the Judge above will set me free, though it be by a miracle, to carry on His work."

The dying man was silent; he fell back on his bed and closed his eyes. Taras bent over him. And once again those faithful eyes opened on him fully, and the old servant whispered, scarcely audibly: "Farewell, dear master, and may God in His mercy be with you in death." A deep breath, and Jemilian was gone.

They laid him out in the morning after their way in the mountains, with a crucifix at his head, but with a jug of water at his right hand, bread and salt at his left, and the skin of a newly-killed kid at his feet, "for the other gods." And after that they buried him beneath a mighty fir-tree in the Dembronia Forest. No priest prayed over the dead, the aged Hilarion only whispered his ancient spells handed down from generation to generation, believed in by all, and understood by none. They filled up the grave, discharging their muskets over it, and finally cut a cross into the bark of the tree, not forgetting some mysterious signs by the side of it "for the other gods."