APPEALING UNTO CAESAR.
Autumn had come; again the season was cold and gloomy. Taras had waited
patiently, but he had not the courage to face the long, dull twilight
of winter if he must pass it nursing the one desperate thought. So he
went to the pope and begged him to indite an inquiry to the lawyer.
Father Leo looked him in the face anxiously. The man appeared calm.
"You are thinking too much of the law-suit!" he said, nevertheless.
"Not more than need be," replied Taras. "I have long settled in my mind
all concerning that question."
The pope wrote the desired letter. The reply came at the end of a week.
He had done what he could, said the lawyer, to urge the case forward,
praying especially for a re-examination of the witnesses; but he had
received no answer so far.
Taras heaved a sigh when the pope had communicated this letter to him.
"It will go hard with me in the winter," he said sadly.
But the pope could not know the full import of these words. "You have
done your duty," he said, "and that will comfort you."
"There is no comfort in that," said Taras, "though it may help one to
be strong. A man who has laid his hand on the plough of any duty must
go on till the work is done."
The winter proved hard, indeed, for the waiting man, but the heavier
the burden weighed on his soul the more anxious he seemed to hide it.
"He has ceased groaning as he used to do," Anusia said to her friend,
the warm-hearted, fat little popadja; "and he seems to take pleasure in
a pastime, rather unusual with him; he has become a hunter for
hunting's sake."
Taras, in that winter, would be absent for weeks at a time, pursuing
the bear. But his three companions, who were devotedly attached to
him--Hritzko and Giorgi Pomenko, the two sons of his friend Simeon, and
the young man, Wassilj Soklewicz, whose brother had been shot on the
contested field--could tell little of the judge's cheer. "He is even
more silent in the forest than at home," they said; "and if he takes
any delight in the hunt it is only because he is such a good shot. He
cares nothing for the happy freedom of life up yonder, nothing for the
excitement of driving the bear; but his face will always light up when
he has well-lodged his bullet."
The winter was not yet over, and Taras was again absent hunting, when
one day--it was in March, 1838--the pope received a large letter from
the district town. The lawyer had addressed the decision of the upper
court to him, giving as his reason that he had understood from Father
Leo's inquiry in the autumn, that he also sympathised with the judge,
Barabola. "I pray you, reverend sir," wrote the lawyer, "to make known
to him the enclosed verdict as best you can; for I am afraid the poor
man will be crushed and not easily lift up his head again. The legal
means are exhausted, the lawyer can do nothing more; let the pastor,
then, come in and heal the wound."
The good pope was troubled, his apprehension nowise lessening on
hearing how the first verdict had overpowered his friend. "Poor man,"
he said; "poor dear child! how will he take it?"
With not a little trepidation, therefore, he went to see Taras upon his
return from the mountains, endeavouring to prepare him for the bad news
by a rather lengthy and well-considered speech. Taras however, behaved
otherwise than the pope had anticipated. He grew white, and the deep
furrow between his brows appeared more threatening, but his voice was
firm as he asked, "Then the upper court has upheld the first verdict?"
"Yes," said Father Leo, gently. "But you must not take it too much to
heart, you have tried honestly."
"Let me know what they say," interrupted Taras, as calm as before, but
it might have been noticed that he leant heavily on the table beside
which he was standing.
The pope produced the writ, reading and explaining. The court dismissed
the appeal, seeing no reason why the trial should be repeated, it being
fully evident that the former examination had satisfied the demands of
justice. The lower court's verdict, therefore, must be upheld.
Taras had listened to the end with the same rigid mien. "Thank you," he
said, when Father Leo had done. "But now leave me alone. You too,
Anusia; I must think it over."
"What use in farther troubling?" demurred the pope. "Dr. Starkowski
says especially that the legal means are exhausted; which means that
there is nothing further to be done. You must submit to the will of
God."
"We will come back to that presently," said Taras, with a ghastly
smile, which quite frightened the pope. "You shall not be cheated out
of your sermon, but not now ... not now!" He repeated the words almost
passionately.
Father Leo still hesitated; but Anusia interfered. She had been sitting
in a corner, weeping; but now she rose. "Stay, pope," she entreated,
taking hold of Taras's hand. "Husband," she cried, shrilly, "fly into
whatever rage you like, thrash the rascal at the manor house till he
cannot move a limb, if it will ease you; but do not hide your wrath
within yourself. Do not look so stony; it kills me, husband. I am
maddened with fear! I know why you would have us leave you--you are
going to lay hands on yourself!"
"No!" cried Taras, solemnly. "God knows, I have no such thought." But
again the smile played about his mouth. "Be at peace, wife," he added;
"I have never stood in more grievous need of health and life than now.
Leave me."
They saw they must obey, but they remained standing outside the closed
door, listening anxiously. They hoped the terrible tension of his heart
might be lessened now by the pouring forth of his sorrow, but they
heard nothing save his measured step. It ceased at length, and all was
still.
"Come!" said the poor wife, dragging the pope to a small window which
gave them a peep into the room. They saw Taras, sitting still, resting
his elbows on his knees, and his face buried in his hands. He sat
motionless.
"We had better leave him to fight it out," said Father Leo, "his is a
strong heart, and he will get over it."
But Anusia could not conquer her fears. "I must watch him," she moaned,
the hot tears trickling down her face. "It is more than you think! Why,
he is like a child at other times, never hiding the thoughts that move
him; and now he cannot even speak to me or you!"
The pope endeavoured to comfort her, but it was ill trying when he was
anxious enough himself. He left her presently to visit a sick
parishioner who was waiting for him, returning in about an hour.
Anusia had not stirred from the little window. "He only moved once,"
she whispered, hoarsely, "and it was awful to behold. I watched him,
hardly daring to breathe, and saw him rise slowly and lift the fingers
of his right hand to heaven. His face was stony, never a muscle he
moved, but his eyes could not hold back the tears, and they ran heavily
down his death-like cheeks--ah, Father Leo, it must have been an awful
oath he swore to himself--and now he sits rigid as before, staring
hopelessly."
"That won't do," murmured the pope, opening the door rather noisily and
entering. He was resolved not to leave the room again, even if Taras
should dismiss him peremptorily. But there was no fear of that.
The judge rose, and met him quietly, almost serenely. "You are right,
Father Leo," he said, "it is no use to keep on troubling! I have
well-nigh worn out my brains, and am not a bit further than before!...
There is just one thing though I want to know: you told me the lawyer
had written that all the legal means were now exhausted--are you sure?
are these his very words?"
"Yes; it is quite plain."
"But I am not certain. For I remember that our own judge, at Ridowa,
when I was a boy, had a protracted law-suit with a cousin of his about
some will that was questioned. The district court decided in his
favour; but the cousin appealed, and the court at Lemberg was on his
side. The judge thereupon took the case to a supreme court at Vienna,
and there he obtained his right. So you see there must be judges at
Vienna, who are over the court at Lemberg."
"Taras," cried Anusia, "surely you are not thinking of going to law at
Vienna? Whoever could pay the costs?"
"Wife," he said solemnly, "if you knew what is at stake, you would ask
me on your knees to plead the cause at Vienna if we were beggars ever
after. However, I must first find out about it. Not that I doubt Dr.
Starkowski, for he is honest, and will have written nothing but the
truth; but I must have it from his own lips."
He was not able to set out for Colomea on the spot, having to arrange
with the mandatar first concerning the spring labour due by the
peasantry. And matters were not so easily settled as in the autumn, for
Mr. Hajek was relieved of his fears as to a possible re-examination of
witnesses, and showed his true colours. He would no longer heed Father
Leo's suggestions, but set him aside as a meddling priest who had
better not poke into mundane concerns. It was, therefore, not without
much yielding to unfair demands that Taras could come to an
understanding with the rapacious steward, after which he was free to
depart on his journey, carrying with him in a leather belt all the
ready money in his possession--the silver thalers and golden ducats he
had inherited of old Iwan, or gained by his own industry.
On his entering the lawyer's office, the enlightened Stupka no longer
took alarm; but all the more frightened was the kind-hearted attorney
himself.
"Why, man!" he cried, aghast, "you look ten years older than when last
I saw you. Is it the lawsuit which so worries you? You must not give
way like that. Remember that you have a wife and children, and not only
a parish, to live for."
"It was an evil year," said Taras; "but I have not come to make
complaints to you, sir, but only to settle two points. Firstly, what is
it I owe you?"
The lawyer brought down his ledger and named the sum--close upon two
hundred and fifty florins. "We have to bear the costs, you see," he
said in excuse.
"Never mind," said Taras, undoing his belt and counting out the money.
"Now for the second point. You have written to our Father Leo that
nothing more can be done. But are there not higher judges at Vienna?"
"Not for this matter," returned Starkowski; "there certainly is a high
court of justice at Vienna, but cases can only be taken thither when
the district court and the provincial court of appeal have differed in
their verdicts!"
"That is bad," said Taras. "But you spoke to me of another way last
year--a prosecution for perjury."
"Yes, but I did not advise it, and would not advise it now," cried the
lawyer, eagerly. "Can you not see that none of these witnesses will own
to being perjured, and you will hardly succeed in bringing the crime
home to them--for where is your evidence? And even if you had evidence,
in the case of some who may have betrayed themselves by their own
foolish talk, and could get them convicted, you will hardly escape
going to prison with them. For those whom you failed to convict would
be all the more spiteful, and would have you up for libel. And for what
good in the end?--the field would remain Count Borecki's after all!"
"It is not that I am thinking of now," replied Taras. "I do not seek
restitution, but simply the right." It was evident that he strove hard
to speak calmly. But when he opened his mouth again the words fell
stammeringly from his lips: "You tell me, then--there is--no help
left--none?"
"None whatever," said the lawyer, "unless the Emperor----"
"The Emperor!" interrupted the peasant, almost with a shriek. And
exultation broke from his eyes; he stood erect, transformed in every
feature as by magic. So sudden was the change, from dire despair to
uplifting hope, that he staggered and reeled as under a blow. "The
Emperor!" he repeated, exultingly.
"Well, yes--but in fact--you see, the Emperor----" said the lawyer,
taken aback.
But Taras paid no attention. "Oh, sir," he cried, and was not ashamed
of the tears that flowed down his face, "what a fool I have been!
People looking to me, and calling me their judge, and I never thinking
of this! And how I racked my poor brain, and suffered, and strove with
the awful future, and all for nothing! Why, of course, there is the
Emperor; but I only thought of him while there was happiness; and when
trouble came and the clouds hid the light of heaven, I forgot that the
sun is behind them. I was even angry not to see it shining, and was
wroth with the Emperor, because the men of the law, who are but his
servants, could not help me! But I know better now. I know the Emperor
will make it all right, let him but hear of it--why, it is his very
duty, laid upon him by God himself! His servants may go wrong, but he
will see the truth; they may judge ill, but he will be righteous, being
above them all.... Ah, sir, forgive my being thus beside myself and
weeping like a child! But if you knew what thoughts went through me but
a moment ago, when you told me there was no farther help!... But, thank
God, you have remembered the Emperor, while yet it was time--while yet
it was time! For even a week hence, if I had gone away in my
hopelessness, it might have been too late!"
"Too late!" repeated the lawyer, astonished. "What do you mean?"
"Ah! do not ask me, sir," cried Taras, brushing the tears from his
face. "I would rather forget all about it; it was a nightmare, an evil
dream. How foolish of me! The very darkest plans I could think of, but
never of this simple help, as simple as prayer itself. For who are our
helpers in this life but God and the Emperor? God paramount and hearing
our cry, but not reaching down with His own arm from heaven in every
instance, because He has appointed the crowned one in His stead, who is
to judge men and rule them in His name. But the Emperor is not
omniscient, like God. One must go to him and tell him one's trouble,
which I shall do now. And for his understanding me the better, I will
ask you, sir, to put it into writing, that he may have it all down on
paper what I have to tell him."
Thus sobbed and talked the peasant, running on, positively beside
himself, as though heaven had opened with a great vision of help; and,
fall of gratitude, he seized the lawyer's hand, bowing low to kiss it.
But Starkowski drew back hastily, stepping to the window. He was
startled, and almost dismayed. His mentioning the Emperor had been
rather accidental, and he could never have dreamt of thus rousing the
man. He felt morally certain that it would be quite useless to petition
the Emperor, not that _he_ doubted that the peasants really had been
wronged in the suit. But how was the Emperor to see this, in the face
of two verdicts? Every groat the judge would spend on that errand,
every effort and particle of time, would be just thrown away. "It must
not be," he said to himself. "I must get him to see it." But then the
thought would rise whether it were not a wicked thing to destroy the
poor man's hope--his last hope, to which he clung so pitifully. He
remembered the words Taras had spoken a year ago, and these were
strange hints which had fallen from his lips just now. Yet the lawyer
had not an idea what awful resolve had ripened in the despairing soul
of this man; he only perceived that he would leave no means untried, no
violence even, to get back the field the parish had been robbed of--and
this was bad enough to be prevented, if possible.
He believed he saw a way out of the difficulty. "Well, then, Taras," he
said, "we will try the Emperor. I will draw up a memorial for you, and
we can send it to Vienna. You, meanwhile, go quietly back to your
people. There is no need to leave your family and your farm and your
public duties on that account. The Emperor will see what it is all
about from the document; there is no need to plead in person." At any
rate, we shall thus gain time, the good man was hoping; he will calm
down meanwhile, and will be able to bear his disappointment when it
does come, perhaps a year hence.
But in laying this pretty plan, he had not considered the man he had to
do with.
"No," replied Taras, with his own inflexible firmness. "I will gladly
take your advice, but not on this point. My whole future is at stake,
and the welfare of my wife and children. How could I trust to a happy
chance? I shall go to Vienna myself, to see the Emperor and present the
petition."
"Do stop to consider!" urged the lawyer. "And what chance is it you are
talking of? I shall forward the memorial by post safely, and shall get
it presented by a trustworthy man--a friend of mine----"
"Why, this is a whole string of chances," interrupted Taras. "The
letter may be lost, or tampered with--one has heard of postbags being
robbed. And your friend may fall ill, or die, before he can do what you
request. But even if he were able to do it, and had the best of
intentions, how should he speak for me, as I would myself? He would say
a pleasant word, perhaps, thinking of you, his friend, or because he is
in the presence of the Emperor; but he cannot possibly be anxious about
_my_ case. I must speak for myself!"
"But how should the Emperor understand you, not knowing a word of the
Ruthenese?" inquired the lawyer, a little exasperated.
"Now, that can never be true!" cried Taras. "That is, I beg your
pardon, some one must have told you a tale. It stands to reason that
the Emperor can speak our language. Is he not the father of all his
subjects, and are not we of them? And you would have me believe a
father will not understand his children? No, no; that can never be! It
is settled, then, that I shall go to Vienna, and I beg you to write out
the petition for me; I will call for it this day week. I shall hardly
get away before that, for I must set things in order before I leave."
There was no dissuading him. He returned to Zulawce, and neither his
wife's entreaties nor the pope's remonstrance made the slightest
impression on him. They both felt grateful on perceiving that a change
had taken place in him; but both were equally set against his
intention, though for different reasons. Anusia, for her part, did not
doubt the likelihood of the Emperor's effective interference; but a
journey to the far-off capital appeared to her as dangerous and
venturesome as an expedition to the moon.
"Who can tell what might not happen on the road?" she said to the
popadja, into whose sympathetic ear she poured her fears. "He may fall
among thieves; or he may starve in some wilderness; or sorcerers may
catch him with their wicked spells, and I shall never see him again.
And even if he were likely to get through all these dangers, how is a
man to find his way on _such_ a journey and not be lost?"
Father Leo's apprehensions were not quite so desperate, although even
he considered the journey a venture; but his chief fear was this--that
it would be useless.
"The Emperor cannot possibly come back with you in person," he argued
with his friend; "and how is he to know, without personal inspection,
where the black cross stood these years ago? He can only inquire of the
local authorities, our friends at Colomea; and how should they tell him
anything different from what they have already decided? They must stick
to the verdict to escape censure, if for no other reason."
But Taras had an answer to every objection. To his wife he said, "It is
not the sorcerers you fear, but the sorceresses." And to Father Leo he
said, "You know most things better than we do, no doubt; but even you
have had no experience with emperors." It was plain he was bent on
going.
The following Sunday he called a meeting of the men. "My own farm," he
said, "I have entrusted to the care of my friend Simeon. He has offered
to act as my representative also in parish affairs. But I cannot accept
that; the parish must not be without a judge for so many weeks, perhaps
months. I therefore resign my office, but I advise you to choose him in
my place."
His friends opposed him, none more eagerly than Simeon himself. But
Taras was not to be moved, and since his enemies failed not to second
him, the resolution was carried, Simeon being chosen by a majority of
votes. He accepted the office, declaring that he would hold it until
his friend returned.
A few days later Taras again stood in Starkowski's chambers. The lawyer
gave him the memorial to the Emperor, and a private letter addressed to
a friend of his. "Go by this man's advice in everything," he said; "he
is a man of high standing at Vienna, and will counsel you well, being
himself of this country."
"Very well," said Taras; "I will do as you wish me; otherwise I should
have gone straight to the Emperor's. No doubt every child at Vienna
could show me his house."
"But you don't expect the children at Vienna to understand your
Ruthenese!" cried the lawyer; adding, with a sigh, "God knows what will
become of you!"
"I have no fear," said Taras, solemnly. "How should a man fail to gain
his end who tries to do what is right?"