Růžena Svobodová

“ He accosted Martin and said spitefully: ‘Sir, Novák’s old woman from Zbozi has bought six kreutzers’ worth of yeast. The old fellow must be in a bad way. Else paupers like that would never buy so much yeast.’
‘What has happened to him?’ asked the forester.
‘Don’t ask me; how should I know? But what does a poacher use yeast for, except his wounds?’ concluded the red-haired beater.
Martin went to see his friend.
‘The man I have wounded is dying. It is old Novák from Zbozi. ”

“ Words, curses, laughter, and song fell upon his soul, overlaying all that there was in it of sweetness and justice. He longed for solitude, regretted every moment which was stolen from his silent self-examination and sacrificed to other people. ”

“ Novák did not answer. Martin went up to him with his gun in his hand. Novák gave him a scornful glance.
‘You owe me a debt,’ said Martin, ‘and you have the right to pay it in my own coin. Look here, there is no one within earshot, no one will see or hear us. You have no gun, take mine and shoot.’
He put his gun down at the poacher’s feet, stepped back a few paces, leant his back against a tree and waited.
Novák stood motionless, he grew paler still, his eyes glowed with a dull, smouldering fire. He stooped slowly and picked up the gun ”

“ Where is the difference between shooting a stag or a poacher? I could sooner be sorry for a stag, for he is a king, but what is a poacher? Vermin, common vermin! There was a whole tribe of poachers in my district. They were living in lonely cottages, and no one could lay their hands on them. The magistrate had more respect for them than he had for the beaters. He would say: “Sit down, Jansky, the beater may stand.” ”

“ Then we shall hear what is the matter with Novák; no one will dream of fastening the guilt on to you, when they see that you are not afraid of coming down to the village.’
They went. On the way Martin was talking continually under his breath
‘Can you explain this passionate desire that I felt to shoot Flandara? I seemed to be adding to it bit by bit, like a man who piles up coin upon coin of a hoard. I simply had to shoot. I did not keep this passion in check, and now it hurts. I wish I could understand it.’
Ernest the forester said: ‘I think you have gone crazy! ”

“ Martin had no feeling of relief.
‘Faugh!’ he ejaculated, and shook himself as he passed the poacher. He went into the inn. His friend, the black forester, was sitting alone at a table in the parlour. Not even the innkeeper was there. Martin threw himself on the seat beside the forester Ernest.
‘I have killed a man,’ he said and let his head drop heavily forward on his arms. ***** The two friends searched the woods all that afternoon for the dead poacher. They found no one. ”