For the Right

by Karl Emil Franzos

"I could understand him," the pope would say, "if he were fourteen instead of nearly forty." And greater than his delight in the man was his surprise sometimes that he should understand so little of human nature and the way of the world. He took this for granted, but he was mistaken. Taras was not wanting in the power of seeing things as they are, but only in the capability of turning such perception to any use. He was one of those rare beings who must ever follow their own inward prompting, who cannot be bent in this or that direction by any outward compulsion; but who, for this very reason, are so easily broken and bowed to the dust. There is much sadness in life, though little of real tragedy; but what of it the world has known has ever had for its heroes such natures.

But neither did Taras fully understand his friend. He would have blessed the day which brought Father Leo to the village, even if the latter had remained a comparative stranger to him; for the late pope's unworthy conduct had touched him far more deeply than any one else in the village, because his instincts for everything good and holy were so much keener. He knew well enough that many a village pope was no better than Father Martin had been; but he had felt to the depth of his true soul that it was a terrible perversion of what ought to be, if a village judge out of reverence for the sanctity of the oath sees it laid upon him to oppose an exhortation of the people by their own priest. It was an unspeakable relief to him that things had changed in this respect, and that the man who had come to represent the spiritual interests in the parish was of good report and fit to be an example; his gratitude rising to boundless devotion on perceiving that in word and deed the honest pope was bent on sharing his burden--yet he could not always understand his friend.

The pope, to give an instance, might endeavour to correct some black sheep by saying: "You are not a bad man on the whole, it's just the drink which is ruining you; it were a great thing if you could overcome that failing!" At which Taras would think that this was an untruth, because the man was bad in other respects besides the drink; that the pope was quite aware of this, and how could it be right to depart from the full truth, even with a good object in view? Or, if Father Leo endeavoured to arbitrate between two quarrelling parishioners, he would tell them: "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God!" endeavouring to bring about a compromise even if the one, whether erroneously or feloniously, had been coveting the other's property; but can it be right, thought Taras, to connive even in part at a wrongful intention for the love of peace? And if the pope was anxious to obtain some benefit for the people, he would not only listen patiently to the richest self-praise of the miserable mandatar, but might even enhance it by some word of his own; yet, shall a man fawn on an evildoer for the sake of mercy? These questions occupied the judge seriously, and one day, when they had been at the mandatar's together, he could not but unburden his heart to his friend.

The pope smiled, saying: "It is written, Be ye therefore wise as serpents."

"Yes," cried Taras, "and harmless as doves!"

"Certainly," returned the pope. "It would be wrong to meet any one with the serpent's wisdom in order to overreach him. I never do that, and to the best of my knowledge I strive to advance the good and to fight what is evil. But since I have to do with sinful men and not with angels, I must be content very often to fight with human weapons."

Taras shook his head. "How could deception ever be right in order to further a good cause?" he exclaimed.

"Nor is it," returned the pope. "But if I can keep back the wicked man from further wickedness by speaking civilly to him, and not contemptuously, I am not wronging nor deceiving him, but on the contrary doing well by him."

The judge walked on in silence, saying at last, gently but firmly, "I cannot see this; deception can never be right. I do not understand you."

At which the pope might look up at the towering figure by his side, saying tenderly within himself, "He is simple as a child!" But what shadows even then were overlying Taras's soul not even Leo could know, though a strange fear at times stole over him that this soul, so childlike and so pure, was undergoing a conflict with the powers of evil, and was being worsted. There were outward signs of such battling: Taras hardly ever now smiled; he would sit for hours in moody silence, with a stony look in his eyes, and his healthy countenance was being marred by the furrows of anxious care. Anusia, too, would come to the manse with her trouble, saying sorrowfully, "He hardly sleeps now, for day and night this worry is upon him, making an old man of him before his time."