THE RIGHT WRONGED.
It is often asserted that on meeting any one for the first time a voice
within will warn us of the good or evil to be the outcome of such
meeting. Now Taras had no such foreboding. The new mandatar had
impressed him rather favourably; but apart from this, his sense of
justice would oppose Judge Stephen's disparagement of the new bailiff.
"Our Count," he would say, "has come into his possessions by
inheritance, just as the Emperor has got his crown: and it is God who
gave them power, for there must be rulers upon earth. It is hard that
we should have to yield forced labour, but such is our lot, and it were
wrong of us to hate the mandatar because he looks after his master's
interest in claiming that portion of our work. He is but doing his
duty; let us do ours." The peasants did not gainsay him, especially as
Hajek on the coming round of the harvest expected neither more nor less
of them than his predecessor, Gonta, had done. The judge had gone to
him misgivingly, fully determined to fight his exactions; but there was
no need, and to his own surprise matters were arranged in a moment.
Not till the autumn, six months after Hajek's arrival, did a cause of
conflict present itself, when the tribute of the live stock fell due,
the arrangement being that on the day of St. Mary the Virgin each
peasant, according to his wealth, had to bring a foal, or a calf, or a
goose. Now the former steward had never exacted this tax to the day,
but was willing to receive it when the cattle had increase. The judge
and the elders would go to him and state when each villager might hope
to bring his due, and therewith the mandatar was satisfied. In
accordance with this, old Stephen, with Taras, and Simeon Pomenko, his
fellow elder, repaired to the manor house, the judge making his
statement.
Mr. Hajek listened quietly and blandly, and then he said, "On St.
Mary's day the tribute is due; if there were any arrears I should be
constrained to levy them forcibly."
"Mandatar," cried Stephen, flushing, "have a care how you interfere
with old usage!"
"It is an ill-usage."
"Ill-usage to go by the times of nature?"
"You should see that you are prepared."
"I see _you_ are prepared to give good advice," retorted the judge with
wrathful sarcasm; "perhaps you speak from experience! In your country
the cows may calve at a mandatar's pleasure, they don't do so here!"
Hajek changed colour, but not his mind. "It behoves me to watch over
the Count's interests," he said, slipping away to the safety of his
inner chamber.
The men went home in a state of excitement, the ill news spreading
rapidly through the village. Before long all the community had gathered
beneath the linden, angry speeches flying while old Stephen delivered
his report. "We must stand up for the time-honoured usage," he cried;
"and as to any forcible interference, let him try it! We have guns, and
bullets too, thank God!"
"Urrahah!" cried the men, brandishing their weapons. One only remained
quiet, one of the elders--Taras. He allowed the commotion to subside,
and then he begged for the word. "It comes hard upon us I own," he
said, "for it finds us unprepared! The old usage was reasonable and
fair, no doubt; but whatever of hardship any change may involve, we
must consider which way the right inclines--the written right I mean,
and I fear in this case it will speak for the Count."
"And who has settled that right," cried Stephen, hotly, "but the
Emperor's law-makers. What do they understand about cattle!"
"Little enough, no doubt," owned Taras, "but these same law-makers have
also made it a matter of writ that serfdom with us is abolished, and
that we peasants have rights which the Count shall not touch. If we
would enjoy the law's benefits, we must put up with its hardships."
"But where shall we get foals and calves all of a sudden?"
"Well, that we must see. I can provide some, and perhaps others of the
larger farmers are willing to do the same. Or I will lend the money to
any respectable man of ours that may need it if he can buy his foal or
calf elsewhere. This can be managed. The chief point is the right, and
that must be upheld for our own sakes, even where it goes against us."
He spoke quietly, firmly, and failed not to make an impression. The men
began to weigh the question more soberly, Taras's offer of assistance
going a long way with the less wealthy. There was none but Judge
Stephen holding out in the end. "You are sheep, all of you," he cried,
"following this great lamb, and you will be shorn, I tell you!" But
since the majority outvoted him even the judge had to yield.
And thus the tribute was delivered on the very day, at a heavy tax to
Taras's generosity; for while many could not have made it possible
without his proffered help, there were others who improved the
opportunity gratuitously, since he was so willing to step into the
breach. It was simply his doing, then, that by St. Mary's Day not a man
was in arrears.
Mr. Hajek was prepared to own this when Taras appeared with a foal on
his own behalf. "That was good of you, Podolian; I see it is you who
brought them to reason," said the mandatar, adding approvingly, "I
liked the look of you on our first meeting. I am glad I was not
mistaken!" Whereupon Taras bowed, but his answer was anything but a
humble acknowledgment of praise. "The right must be upheld," he said,
solemnly.
That was in September. About a month later Hajek sent for the judge and
elders, receiving them with his blandest smile. "After All Souls', and
throughout the winter, you owe me eight labourers a day for forest
work, do you not?" he said. "Well, then, make your arrangements and let
me have a list of the men I am to expect. On the morning after All
Souls' I shall look for the first eight to make their appearance."
"The forest labour certainly is due," replied the judge, "that is to
say, it was; but since all the timber has been cut, the obligation
dropped. Or are we expected to make new plantations now that winter is
upon us?"
"Certainly not," said Hajek, "but if the men are due to me, I may
employ them as I think fit. I have sold their labour to the forester of
Prinkowce."
"That is unjust!" exclaimed Stephen. "We owe forest labour to our own
count, and in his own forests only!"
Mr. Wenceslas pretended not to hear, picking up his papers and
preparing to retire. "So I shall look for the men on the morning after
All Souls'," he said and vanished.
"There will be bloodshed if you insist," cried Stephen after him, but
the mandatar was gone.
The men went their way perturbed.
"Well, Judge," said Taras, as they walked along, "this is hard. We must
try and advise the people justly, but to do so we must first examine
the documents in your keeping--I dare say his reverence will help us."
"Podolian!" cried Stephen, angrily, "leave us alone with your
suggestions! We want no documents to be looked into. It is a glaring
wrong, and if proof be needed"--he snatched at his pistol--"here it
is!"
Taras mused sadly. "Will you take any bloodshed upon your conscience?"
he asked quietly.
"Will your conscience answer for the wrong?" retorted the judge.
"Certainly not!" exclaimed Taras. "But in the first place there is but
one just means of redress if we suffer--the authority of the appointed
magistrates; and in the second place we must make sure which way the
right lies--we shall find out by examining the papers."
Stephen resisted to his utmost, but as Simeon also agreed with Taras he
was obliged to yield; he fetched the deeds, and the men called upon
their parish priest.
Now Father Martin was an amiable man, glad to leave things alone in
life--his favourite schnaps always excepted, with which he meddled
freely. And he was always ready to express his views, but his opinion
was apt to be that of his latest interlocutor. For both these reasons
he could after all throw no great light upon the matter, which was the
more to be regretted as the question left room for doubt, the
information contained in the documents amounting to this only: "The men
of Zulawce owe forest labour to their count."
"There you see!" cried Stephen, triumphantly, "to their count. What
could be plainer--and not to the forester of Prinkowce!"
"Of course not," assented his reverence, "how could the mandatar think
of selling your labour?--ridiculous!"
"Owe forest labour to their count," said Taras, meditatively. "If there
is no clause to limit the place, the Count _may_ be within the law if
he says: 'Having no forest at Zulawce of my own now, I sell the labour
which is due to me.'"
"Of course," cried the pope, "he has lost his forest, poor man, shall
he lose his profit besides?--ridiculous!"
"If he has no forest, he cannot expect us to work in it," objected
Stephen, doggedly.
"Naturally not," affirmed his reverence; "even a child can see that!
Where is the forest you are to work in?--ridiculous!"
"There is no lack of forest at Prinkowce," said Taras.
"No, no, plenty of it," declared the pope; "why, the place is covered
with woods, partly beech, partly pine. And, after all, I suppose it may
be pretty equal to you whether you do the work here or----"
"All honour to your reverence," broke in the judge, angrily; "but this
is just nonsense; your judgment, I fear, is awry with your schnaps."
And the amiable man adopted even this opinion, owning humbly "it was
Avrumko, that miserable Jew, with his tempting supply ..."
But the men went their way none the wiser for their shepherd's
willingness to solve their difficulty. Simeon upon this attempted to
reason with the judge, suggesting their applying to the magistrates for
decision. It was not without a real struggle with himself that old
Stephen at last gave in.
"To stand up for his right, and knock down the man who wrongs him, this
is the true Huzul way," he cried, passionately, "but if you will try
the law, like a coward, see what you get by it."
But here Taras held out. "No man can appeal to the law," he said, "but
he who is sure of his right. I am not! I cannot tell whether the right
in this case is on our side or not. And, therefore--God forgive me if
it is wrong, but I cannot otherwise--I shall propose to the people to
yield the forest labour at Prinkowce."
"You shall not, brother!" cried Simeon, urgently. "You shall not!
Remember that you are no longer a man of the lowlands. We men of
Zulawce love not to bend our necks."
Taras flushed. "Your taunt is not altogether just," he said, gently,
yet firmly. "True, we of Podolia are more peace-loving, even more
humble than you. It is because we have borne the yoke. But the feeling
of right and wrong is as strong with us as with most men, perhaps all
the stronger for the wrong we have suffered. You determine between
right and wrong with your reason only, we feel it with the heart. And
the right is very sacred to us."
"Then why not stand up for it now?"
"I would if I saw it. But my understanding is at a loss, and the voice
of my heart is silent. Therefore I cannot appeal to a decision by law,
but must counsel a giving in."
And so he did on the following Sunday, when the community assembled
beneath the linden. The men listened to him in silence, none dissenting
nor assenting. After him Simeon arose to propound his views; but when
the word "magistrate" had fallen from his lips their scornful shouting
interrupted him. "No lawsuit for us!" cried the men of Zulawce. At this
point the judge made up his mind to come forward with his opinion,
battling down his resentment at having been defeated before. Some
applauded, but most shook their heads. "Taras," they cried, "tell us
yet again _why_ you would have us give in." He repeated his reasons
slowly and distinctly. Again there was silence. It appeared uncertain
what decision the men would arrive at.
The judge prepared to put the question to the vote. "Men of Zulawce,"
he said, "it is your first duty to reject anything that must be to the
disadvantage of the community. Whoever of you agrees with Taras, let
him lift his hand." The majority did so. The judge did not believe his
eyes. This result was indeed surprising; not only had these men voted
against their own interest, but they denied the very character they
bore. The fact was that Taras's opinion had come to be gospel truth to
the village ever since his stepping so generously into the breach on
St. Mary's Day.
The old judge positively shed tears of vexation when he had to pass the
resolution arrived at, and at once declared his intention to retire
from office. It was the men's united entreaty only that prevailed with
him not to do so; but as for that rascally mandatar, he would not cross
his threshold again, he swore.
For this reason it fell to Taras to arrange with Mr. Wenceslas, and
give him a list of the men. Hajek made it an opportunity of patting
Taras on the back, saying approvingly, "Once again you have shown
yourself a capital subject." But this time Taras forbore bowing. He
retreated a step, fixing the mandatar with a look, and said, slowly,
"We are keeping our conscience clean; I hope you can say as much for
yourself, sir."
Winter wore on, and the forest labour at Prinkowce was yielded quietly
day after day; but the good understanding between old Stephen and Taras
seemed at an end. Their relations had steadily improved in those eight
years, since Taras had lived in the village as the husband of Anusia.
The old man by degrees had conquered his offended pride and the
disappointment of his dearest wishes. He had even learned to entertain
as warm a regard for the stranger as did most of the villagers. But his
friendship yielded to a renewed feeling of coldness after that public
voting. He never spoke to him now except on matters of business, and
then in the most cutting way he could command; it seemed hopeless to
attempt a reconciliation. "Taras is a good man," he would say, "and I
myself am answerable for his being among us. But he is wrong if he
expects us, bears as we are, to be as lamb-like as he is--very wrong,
for it is against our nature."
And the old man stuck to his opinion. Taras actually was not invited
when, about the middle of December, the men of Zulawce, headed by their
old judge, went hunting the bear in order to procure their Christmas
dinners. "Either he or I," Stephen had said, and Taras was excluded.
That hunting expedition is a regular high day and festival with the
Huzuls, in spite of, or rather on account of the danger it involves. It
generally spreads over three days, but on the present occasion the men
returned on the second day, sad and silent. They brought two giant
bears with them, it is true, but also a dying man. Judge Stephen, with
his wonted impetuosity, had pushed ahead too recklessly, his gun had
missed fire, and an infuriated brute had grappled with him. The bear
was shot, but not till the brave old man had received his death wound
in the bear's embrace, and it was a question whether he would reach the
village alive. "Make haste," he was heard moaning, as they carried him
home; "I must hot die on the road; I have yet a duty to perform in the
village."
They knew not what he meant, but understood when he begged them to stop
before the house of Taras, who came rushing from his door, and sank to
his knees, sobbing.
"Weep not," whispered the dying man; "but listen to me. You once saved
my life, you are the most upright man in the village, you have been the
best of husbands to my brother's child, and yet I have been wroth with
you. Not because you supplanted my hopes, I swear it; but because I
have at heart the welfare of this village. In this sacred cause I now
would speak to you. You will be made judge when I am gone--I cannot
hinder it, or indeed I would! Not because I hate you, but for love of
the village, and, ay, for your own sake, Taras! For it must end ill if
the judge, the leader of all, is of another caste than the men he
rules. It cannot be helped now. They will choose you, and you will
accept. But let me tell you one thing--be sure that among men in this
world it is exactly the same as with the beasts of the forest. The
stronger will eat up the weaker, the evil one will destroy him that is
good, the only question being that of strength. Whoever cannot fight
for himself is lost.... But you--you _will_ not understand--you cannot
believe it! I must be satisfied with that which you can understand, and
one thing you can promise. Hold fast by our rights; guard them against
the oppressor, and suffer not that the necks of free men be bowed to
the yoke. Give me your word that you will yield up peace rather than
the right, if it must be fought for."
He lifted his hand with a great effort, and Taras clasped it in his
own.
"It is well," said the dying man. "You will keep your word."
With a burst of wailing they earned the dead judge into his house. On
his face rested an expression of great assurance, born of the good
faith in which he had died. For never has promise been kept more truly
than that which was pledged to him as the shadows fell.