PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES.
This had happened early in April. Taras had taken leave of his wife
with the promise of letting her hear as often as possible, and he kept
his word faithfully during the first stages of his absence. As early as
the third week a letter arrived, dated from Lemberg, and written for
Taras by a fellow-villager, a certain Constantino Turenko, who, as a
soldier, had had the rare luck, in the estimation of the Zulawce folk,
of rising to the dignity of a corporal. "Since my friend Taras is
unable to send you a letter of his own contriving," this military
genius wrote, "and since I am as clever at it as the colonel of the
regiment himself, I send you word that he hopes you are well, as this
leaves him at present. I have shown him all over the place; he never
saw such a town in his life. You had better tell my people and Kasia,
who used to be sweet on me, that they may expect me home in the summer
on furlough. I shall bring my regimentals--won't they just be proud of
me! Everybody says I am a fine soldier." Poor Anusia was thankful for
even that much of news of her husband. In May another letter arrived
from Cracow, indited by a musical hero of some church choir, also
stating that Taras was well, but adding he was running short of money,
and that he desired a remittance under his, the singer's, address.
Father Leo, however, knew better than to carry out this injunction. It
was the last news of the absent traveller which reached the village.
They waited, but the summer came and not a word of Taras. "It is a long
day's journey to Vienna," the pope would say to Anusia, "and he might
not easily come across a man there who understands the Ruthenese, and
is not too grand to write a letter for him, so we must not be anxious."
But when even the harvest was over without bringing a sign of life,
Father Leo himself grew uneasy, and was less confident in calming
Anusia. And the poor thing, besides her waking fears, was harassed by
nightly dreams of the most vivid apprehension, the least appalling of
her visions being those in which she beheld her Taras captivated by
some pretty Hungarian, but alive at least; but more often she would see
him dragging along the weary roads utterly starving, and sometimes her
dreams showed him dead in a ditch. With these tales of woe she came to
the manse almost daily, and Father Leo did his best to console her. The
pretty Hungarian he found it easiest to dispose of, assuring the
distracted wife that Taras's way did not lead him through Hungary at
all; and, as for the starving, he believed it unlikely, considering the
two hundred florins the traveller had taken with him, but death
certainly was a contingency against which no hapless mortal was proof.
And when this latter vision mournfully overbore the previous ones, the
poor woman lost all her youthful energy, fading away with her grief,
and Father Leo, for very pity of her, wrote to Dr. Starkowski,
imploring him to procure some news. The good-natured man readily
promised to make inquiries at Vienna, but week after week passed and
nothing was heard, nor did the lost one himself return.
It was autumn, the first frost was felt, and it was Saint Simon and
Saint Jude's. Everywhere within sight of the stern mountains the people
look upon this day as the herald of winter; the women see to their
larders, and the men assemble to fix each household's share of firewood
from the common forest. This being done, Simeon, the new judge, had
gone to the manse to arrange with Father Leo concerning the pope's due.
That was soon settled, but the two men continued in mournful
conversation, and Father Leo scarcely had the heart to dissent from the
judge's doleful remark that the miserable field had cost the village
not only one of its stalwart youths, but another and more precious life
as well, inasmuch as it seemed beyond a doubt that poor Taras had
perished. Sympathy with his fate thus kept them talking, the dusk of
evening descending with its own stillness, broken at times by the
wailings of Anusia, who once again had come with her troubles to the
kind-hearted popadja.
There was a knock at the outer door, and almost simultaneously they
heard the poor wife's shriek--: "Taras!" They flew from the room.
It was a mystery how Anusia had recognised her husband without seeing
him or hearing his voice, or even his footfall; but it was himself.
"Are you quite well?" he cried, as he caught her to his heart. "I have
seen the children already!"
The friends fell back reverently to leave the husband and wife to each
other; but then they also pressed round him to shake hands joyfully,
and the popadja hastened to light her lamp. But when Taras entered the
lighted apartment a heartrending shriek broke from Anusia, and the
friends also stood horrified. Poor Taras looked sadly worn--old and
grey, and life's hope, as it were, crashed out of him. His powerful
frame was emaciated; the sunny hair showed colourless streaks; the
furrow between the brows had grown deeper still, and the eyes looked
hollow in the haggard face.
"You bring ill news, brother!" cried Simeon, aghast.
"Ill news!" repeated Taras. He endeavoured to smile, but failed sadly;
and when the tears sprang to every eye about him, he, too, sat down and
let his own trouble flow unhindered.
"My poor, dear darling!" sobbed Anusia, covering his head with her
kisses and her tears--"come back to us a grey-haired man!"
But her grief helped Taras to recover himself, and now he did smile. He
drew down his wife beside him, stroking her own brown hair gently. "Is
not that like a woman," he said, striving to appear light-hearted, "to
make a fuss because the man she wedded must turn grey in his time! The
glory of youth is treacherous, my dear!... But tell me about yourselves
now, and about the village."
"Tell us about _yourself_," they cried. "We have died with anxiety
these months past. Where have you been all this time?"
"It was not possible to come back sooner," said he. "It is a long
journey to Vienna, and I had to wait many a day before I could see
him----"
"The Emperor! Did you actually speak to him?"
"Well--yes--after a fashion! They call it having an audience," said he,
with a strangely gloomy smile. "And I would not come away without an
answer...."
"Have you got it then? The Emperor's own answer?"
"No; but I know what it is going to be.... However, let us wait and
see. I want to know how you have been getting on--and what about friend
Hajek?"
"He is not over-anxious to show himself," said Simeon, making haste to
add: "I am sure you will see that your farm meanwhile has done well.
Your live stock is in the best condition, and the harvest was most
plentiful. Your granaries are well filled, and I have eighty florins to
give you for corn sold, and thirty for oats. But do tell us; did not
the Emperor promise to see to the matter?"
"Promise!" said Taras bitterly, "to be sure he did!... But excuse me,"
he added, turning to the popadja, "I am quite faint with hunger. I was
so anxious to reach home, that I put up nowhere today."
The little woman blushed, and ran to produce an enormous ham, with no
end of excuses for her negligence; and, trotting to and fro, she set on
the table whatever of hidden treasures her larder contained. But her
hospitable intent was ill-requited; Taras swallowed a few mouthfuls,
drank a glass of the pope's Moldavian, and then pushed from him the
plate which the kind hostess had filled for him in her zeal.
"Why, you have not eaten enough for a sparrow," expostulated the
popadja. "Do eat, judge--" correcting herself--"Taras!" But, again
blushing, she added: "Why should I not call you 'judge,' for I daresay
you will resume office pretty soon."
"No!" he said sharply. "I shall not, and never will"
"Of course you will," interrupted Simeon, eagerly. "You know I only
accepted during your absence. I could never be to the village what you
have been, and no one else could!"
"I shall _not_!" repeated Taras solemnly, lifting his right hand; "God
knows I cannot!"
They looked at him surprised; there was something in his tone which
startled his friends. But Anusia cried joyfully: "I am glad of it,
husband. We will live for ourselves now, and be happy again. You must
make haste to get back your own bright looks. You shall go hunting this
winter as often as you like, it will do you good!"
"Yes," he said; "it will be well," adding, after a while, "and most
necessary--most necessary!"
"How so?" inquired the pope; "there cannot be many bears this winter,
considering how you hunted them down last season."
Taras had opened his lips, but closed them again sharply, as though he
must keep in the word that might have escaped him. And there was one of
those sudden pauses of silence, burdened with unspoken thought.
The popadja broke it. "Now tell us all about the journey," she said. "I
am sure we are all curious as to your adventures. Tell us about the
Emperor--does he really live in a house made of gold?"
"I am afraid I shall have to disappoint you," replied Taras, with a
smile. "His house is of brick and stone, and he himself a poor, sickly
creature. And, indeed, I had no very wonderful adventures--I did not
even fall in with a single sorceress, Anusia, but that may have been
because I did not look for any, having eyes and ears for nothing beyond
the one aim of my journey. I had no peace or rest anywhere, and would
have liked to take post-horses, but could not afford it. So I looked
out for coaches and waggons going that way, and took to my own feet
when opportunity was wanting. It is slow travelling, either way, but I
fell in with other travellers, who told me their troubles, as I told
them mine. It is passing strange: the earth seems fair enough, but I
have not met a single being who told me he was happy. Men seem to carry
their burden everywhere, some more of it, some less, but there is none
without sorrow; one finds that out if one goes a-travelling, folks
talking to you as to a brother. And I must say, most of those I fell in
with approved of my journey, one man only endeavouring to dissuade me.
I had better go home again, he said. He was a Jewish wine trader from
Czernowitz, who gave me a lift as far as Lemberg. He was most friendly,
and would not hear of my paying him; he listened to my story, full of
sympathy, but he thought going to Vienna was quite useless. 'There
might be some hope,' he said, 'if these were the days of the good
Emperor Joseph.' I, however, was not to be frightened from my purpose.
'It is not as though I wanted to petition for a favour,' I said; 'if I
did I could understand that much depended on the kind of emperor we
have. But I am not going to plead for anything save our right, and that
he surely will grant, because it is his duty. A man must see his own
duty, be he emperor or peasant.' He was silent after that, and we
reached Lemberg."
"There, anyhow, you fell in with a happy individual," said the pope,
interrupting him. "You met Constantino Turenko! I, at least, never knew
a man to equal him in self-satisfaction."
Taras could not help laughing. "And yet he was not quite happy," he
said, "since I found him sorely distressed for money. I had to lend him
a florin. Is he here?"
"To be sure!" cried Anusia; "what a braggart he is! Why, he assured me
how handsomely he stood treat for you at all the best inns of Lemberg.
Of course I did not believe him, but the villagers somehow take his
every word for gospel truth. He is quite a hero here, basking in his
own glory. You should hear him--'I, a corporal of the Imperial army!
Bassama!'"--she endeavoured to imitate the man. "He is a braggart!"
"Yes, his tongue wagged plentifully in my hearing also," said Taras,
"especially after he had borrowed my florin! But I was glad,
nevertheless, to come across him. It was the first large town I had
seen, and I felt lost. You have no idea of such a town, and yet Lemberg
is nothing compared to Vienna! He would have liked to detain me; but
having rested a day, I proceeded towards Cracow. It was cheerless
travelling now, for I could not understand the people any longer--at
least not freely; the folk there have a queer way of talking, a kind of
lisping it seemed to me, which does not come from the heart at all. I
was silent and grew sad, feeling doubly pleased, therefore, in coming
across a fellow-countryman, a 'diak'[3] from somewhere near Czortkow,
who had run away from his wife because she boxed his ears rather too
freely. That is what he told me. He was a mite of a fellow, and
informed me he would like to seek his fortune in Russia, if only he
could get a little money; but I found presently he was telling me
stories, and would do no more than frank him as far as Cracow. That
city is not Austrian at all, the Poles there having a little free state
of their own. It was a marvel to me how a number of men could live
together owning no emperor as the head of all justice; but I have come
to see now----" He interrupted himself, again pressing together his
lips to keep in the word he would have spoken, and continuing after a
pause:--"I was going to say, it is sad to be in a strange country; and
hungering for a companion I could understand, I took the little
story-teller with me as far as Cracow where I dismissed him."
"How clever of you to see through him," cried Anusia, proud of her
husband's penetration. And she told him of the man's letter.
"The little rascal!" said Taras. "But, indeed, my two hundred florins
were not such a fortune as you would have believed. Things grew
enormously expensive, and there was other trouble besides. I was
thankful at seeing again the black and yellow posts by the road--the
Austrian colours. It was a poor enough country, on the Polish frontier;
but if the people there were to work their hands as they work their
talkative jaws, I have no doubt it might be better. I got to richer
districts presently; but matters did not therefore improve. I was among
the Moravians now, and to hear them speak sounded like a continuous
quarrelling, till I perceived that their language still had some words
like our own, especially such as bread, meat, and wine, things
referring to eating, and the figures also--which was well. It was when
I came among the Germans that my heart failed me. A fine people, no
doubt, with villages more flourishing than our towns, and fields and
farms to rejoice a man's soul; but what a language! Understanding was
hopeless. I was driven to signs, moving my jaws when I was hungry and
lapping with my tongue when I wanted to drink. But when I would have
liked bread they brought me salad, and when I longed for a glass of
water they offered me wine. However, I bore it all, anxious only to get
along. Towards the end of my journey I fell in with a good-natured
waggoner, who was carrying woollen cloths to Vienna, and he gave me a
seat. He was a most kindly old man, to judge from his pleasant face;
and I think he took a fancy to me, for he kept smiling and nodding as
he walked by the side of his horses, I nodding back to him from my seat
between the bales. By and by he climbed up beside me; but then we
thought it a poor business to be nodding only, and began to talk, he in
his language and I in mine, exchanging some of our tobacco between
whiles in token of mutual regard. I wished sorely I could understand
what he was saying. It seems hard that God should have made men with
different tongues, to add to their troubles, when their life on earth
is sad enough without it!"
"Why, it is the Tower of Babel which brought it on, don't you know?"
broke in the popadja, blushing violently at her presumption.
Taras continued: "I was taken along by this good man for two days--slow
travelling, for the waggon was heavily loaded. On the third morning he
resumed his smiling and nodding more vigorously than ever, pointing
with his whip in front of him, and saying, 'Vienna, Vienna!' I
understood, of course, and my heart leapt within me! but I could see
nothing as yet except a thick grey haze in the distance, and behind it
a ridge of clouds, with domes and peaks sharply defined. I thought
it strange, for the air was clear and cool, there having been a
thunder-storm in the night. But as we went on, hour after hour, and the
cloudy picture continued unaltered, I perceived my error. It was not
clouds, but a range of mountains on the horizon. And that haze, as I
discovered by and by, was nothing but the dust and vapour for ever
rising heavenward from a gigantic city, like the hot breath of a
monstrous dragon."
The women gasped and crossed themselves.
"The waggoner hurried on his horses a bit, and kept repeating 'Vienna!
Vienna!' getting me to understand by all sorts of dumb show that he had
his wife and children there--happy man! I thought of you all, and my
heart sank within me at the sight of the great city where no one would
understand me. But I repressed these feelings and began to look about.
We were crossing a splendid stone bridge, long and wide, beneath which
the river was rolling its yellow waves--that was the Danube. Beyond the
bridge rose the first houses. They were cheerful to look at, not larger
than what we can see at Colomea, with pleasant gardens round about; but
I knew we were in the suburbs only. 'I shall soon see the real town,' I
thought, 'with the market place: and on it, I daresay, the Emperor's
house.' But minutes passed, and an hour had gone, and we were still
driving along an interminable street with little gardens on either
side, one like the other, though getting fewer, I observed, as we
proceeded, while the number of human beings and of vehicles increased
steadily. It was a crowd as at Lemberg on market days, and there was a
roar in the distance which rather puzzled me, growing louder and louder
as we advanced. There were no more gardens now, and the houses were
larger, some towering three, even four storeys high, with windows
innumerable. I was utterly bewildered to think of all the human beings
that must dwell there; and the street appeared endless, men and women
jostling each other between the vehicles. And I saw that other streets
opened out of this main thoroughfare, with horses and men and
conveyances past counting. I clutched the bales between which I was
sitting, utterly overpowered with the sight...."
"Ah," said Anusia, sympathetically.
"That street must be miles long; but we were through it at last, and
there the city seemed at an end, and, not a little surprised, I saw
large tracts of grass all around. At some distance I beheld a rampart,
and behind it another city of houses, shining steeples, and a gigantic
cupola. The crowd about us increased astonishingly, heaving in and out
of the gates. It was a riddle to me, for had we not been driving
through the city all along? I looked at my companion and he pointed
ahead, saying 'Vienna!' 'Dear me,' I thought, 'then I have only come
through a suburb as yet; what, then, will the town be like?' By that
rampart they levy custom, and even victuals are taxed! I could not
think what those green-coats were after in diving into my wallet, but
they found only a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese, which they put
back, laughing.
"I felt more and more bewildered, and do not know how to describe to
you my sensation on entering that city; it was like venturing into a
bee-hive. Yet this will scarcely give you an idea. Imagine how it would
be if all the needles in the fir-wood up yonder were suddenly changed
into human beings, whirling about madly like flakes in a snowstorm!
Fancy if all the trees and shrubs were towering houses, closely packed,
so that a ray of sunlight could scarcely get through! or how it would
be if a thunder-storm were fixed for ever in the heavens above us, the
booming commotion never ceasing, day and night!... But I am a fool for
trying to show you by word of mouth what Vienna is like; how should you
conceive it who have never been there! And I cannot tell you how
utterly forlorn I felt. It must have been written on my face, for the
honest waggoner took hold of my hand, asking me a question. From his
kindly look I seemed to understand that he inquired whether I felt ill,
so I shook my head and smiled. But evidently this was not the answer he
wanted; he kept repeating his question, and pointed to the houses, and
at last he rested his head on my shoulder, closing his eyes and drawing
his breath slowly. Then I perceived that he wanted to find out where I
intended to put up for the night. The thought had actually escaped me
in my great bewilderment. Before I knew what Vienna was, I had believed
the matter to be quite simple, intending to look for that Mr. Broza,
Dr. Starkowski's friend, to whom I had an introduction, and no doubt he
would take charge of me. But somehow I understood now that I could not
well be carried all over the city in a great waggon full of bales; and
as for setting out to seek the gentleman on foot by myself, I did not
think that I should ever have the courage. So I shrugged my shoulders,
making eyes of entreaty at my companion. He appeared to understand that
I was friendless, and, having recourse to a dumb show of working his
jaws, he brought home the question to me whether I desired to be taken
to an eating-house. I assented, and, turning from the main
thoroughfare, he drove up some quieter streets, stopping at last before
an unpretentious building, which had a signboard, and on it a tree with
bright green leaves. He cracked his whip, and a man appeared--a servant
by the look of him, to whom my good friend explained my need. The man
grinned, and, turning to me, inquired in Polish whether I wished for a
room. Now, as for the Poles, no one could love them or their language
either, but I could have cried for joy on hearing the man, although he
spoke but brokenly. He had been to Galicia as a soldier, being himself
a Czech."
"A fellow-countryman of our respected mandatar!" cried Simeon.
"Yes; but with this difference, that Frantisek proved himself to be
honest. And when I had explained to him who I was and why I had come to
Vienna, he assisted me as much as he could, his first good office
consisting in this, that he prevailed with his master to board and
lodge me for a florin daily. Why, Anusia, there is no occasion to make
such eyes, for it was cheap, considering I was in Vienna. And he
offered to show me the way to Mr. Broza's the following morning. 'It is
too late to-day,' he said, having looked at the letter, 'for the
gentleman, I see, lives in the city, and that is a long way off.' 'In
the city!' I cried, aghast; 'why, what is this?' 'This is Leopoldstadt,
one of the suburbs,' he explained, calmly; and then I learned that the
place with the interminable street we had passed before was
Floridsdorf. Would you believe it, there are six such places forming
the outer precincts of Vienna, and nine regular suburbs--that is
fifteen cities enclosing a city! And their inhabitants are almost
beyond counting--as many, they told me, as in all the Bukowina and
Pokutia together."
"That, no doubt, was a story," interposed Simeon, who was not going to
be taken in. But the pope confirmed the remarkable tale. "I have read
it in books," he said.
"Well, I leave you to conjecture what the real town was like to which
Frantisek took me the following morning. It is worse there at all times
than on a market day at Colomea or the most crowded fair; and what
seemed to me most horrible, men and beasts--I mean vehicles--go
jostling one another in a gloomy twilight, for the streets are so
narrow and the houses so high that you have need almost to lie flat on
the ground, face upward, before you can see a bit of sky or the dear
light of the sun; but no one could lie down, or stand still suddenly,
without being run over. Even as it was, I was knocked hither and
thither constantly, till Frantisek took me by the arm and helped me
along as though I had been a child. Through numberless streets, and
past St. Stephen's--a church about twenty times as large as our own--he
brought me to a place called the Jew's Square; for what reason I could
not make out, for not a single caftan or curl did I see. Mr. Victor
Broza lived there in a stately house; but, dear me, the stairs I had to
climb till I reached his flat! No beggar with us would thank you for
rooms so toilsome of access! Mr. Broza's servant at first treated me
superciliously; but when I had sent in my letter I was admitted at
once. The man I had come to see was a fine-looking old gentleman, with
silvery hair, and wearing gold spectacles. Very noble he looked, but he
was not at all proud. And what a comfort to me to speak in my own
tongue again without being stared at as a curiosity! But when he began,
though all he said was kind and reasonable and well-meaning, my joy was
gone. He warned me not to rest too great hopes on the Emperor. 'He is a
good man, to be sure,' he said, 'and if your object were to obtain some
money-help for your parish, either to build you a church or to
alleviate some special distress, he no doubt would listen to you
graciously. But he cannot enter into legal questions with his
infirmity, poor man. His crown is a heavy burden to him as it is!' 'I
do not understand that,' said I; 'if he can be gracious, how should he
refuse to be just?' 'Well,' said Mr. Broza, 'matters of law are seen to
by his lawyers. That is what they are for.' 'But if they pervert the
right?' 'Then it is not his fault.' 'But, surely he will interfere!'
'The Emperor?' 'Yes; who else?' 'Indeed, who else? you may well ask!'
he said. 'Your tale is a sad one, I grant, and if ever a case should be
looked into I should say it is yours! Ah, if his uncle Joseph were
reigning still, or even his father Francis ... the more you tell me,
the more I fancy yours is a case for imperial interference; but----' He
stopped embarrassed. 'Tell me,' I said; 'is he not able to do it?' I
could hardly frame the words, and the blood ran cold at my heart. But
Mr. Broza appeared to consider his answer, looking from the window, and
saying presently: 'He is troubled with headaches; he is fond of working
at his lathe, and he makes little boxes of cardboard.' I stared,
open-mouthed, Mr. Broza adding: 'Why should he not, poor man; it is an
innocent pastime, and helps him to get through his days....' After that
I could not well disbelieve it."
"But he is the Emperor! how is it possible?" cried Simeon and the
women.
Taras smiled bitterly. "How is it possible?" he repeated. "I also asked
this question, and many another besides, till good Mr. Broza looked
aghast at me, and spoke soothingly. 'I understand your feelings,' he
said, passing his hand over my hair as though he were trying to calm an
excited child. 'You are a fine fellow, Taras, but I daresay the world
looks different to you at Zulawce from what it really is.' 'May be,
much honoured sir,' I said; 'but I am sure of this, that human beings
should act differently to one another than the wild beasts of the
Welyki Lys, of which the stronger will always devour the weaker. Every
man must see this, be he a poor peasant of Zulawce only, or the Emperor
at Vienna.' 'He does see it, no doubt,' cried Mr. Broza, 'and he is
always kind. But he can hardly know about every case of individual
trouble, can he?' 'No, but that is the very reason why I want to tell
him my own sorrow myself.' 'But he would not understand you, you only
speak the Ruthenese!' That was a blow! I had refused to believe Dr.
Starkowski, and here was Mr. Broza telling me the same thing! 'A father
unable to understand his children,' I said; 'it does seem strange; but
I daresay he knows Polish?' 'I am sorry to say he does not; he was
weakly from a child, and his studies had to be curtailed.' 'Then, does
he understand Czechish?' 'Yes, that he knows.' 'That will do, then,' I
said joyfully, 'I managed to get along with Frantisek, so I daresay I
shall with the Emperor.' But that was not by any means the end of
difficulties. 'I must warn you,' said Mr. Broza, 'he gives audience but
rarely, the petitions mostly are received by one of his cousins or
generals.' That was another blow, but I recovered it quickly, saying:
'Well, then, I shall just keep calling at his house till I _can_ see
him.' Mr. Broza at this broke into a smile. 'Do you think you can go to
the Castle as you would to the house of your parish priest? There is a
time set apart for audience once a week, though they are not very
regular about it, and in order to be received at all you must first
apply for admission in writing!' 'And I could come every week then,
till I saw the Emperor in person?' 'Dear me, what obstinacy! What is
the use of your spending your time and money here on such a chance?
Give me your memorial, and I will take care to have it presented.'
'Sir,' I cried, 'I thank you; I see you mean well by me, but you cannot
possibly know how much there is at stake. I must see the Emperor
myself.' And this I maintained in spite of all his reasoning. But he,
good man, took no offence; on the contrary, he promised to obtain
admission for me at the very next audience. He wanted to know my
address, but I did not even know it myself, so Frantisek had to be
called to give the name of the inn. Mr. Broza wrote it in a little
book, promising I should hear. But I wanted to have some idea how soon
I might hope to see the Emperor. 'I cannot tell,' he said; 'it may be
some days, it may be weeks hence.' I left him sadly...."
"Well, I should not have waited like that," cried Anusia, hotly;
"surely the Emperor goes for an airing once a day like any other
Christian! I should have waited outside his house till I caught sight
of him, and, going up to him, I should have asked his leave politely to
walk beside him a bit, and then I would have told him the whole story.
That would have been my plan!"
"And a very stupid one," said Taras, smiling grimly, "though you are my
wife. Nor should I blame you, since that same stupidity was mine till I
knew better. My heart quaked at the long prospect of waiting, and I
knew from sad experience that it was no use to look for much in answer
to writing. I said to Frantisek, therefore, 'Do show me the house of
the Emperor,' and he went out with me the following afternoon. Once
more we went far into the town, past the great church, and through
endless noisy streets, till at last we stood before a large building.
'This is it,' he said. 'Nonsense!' I cried; 'why there is not a bit of
gold about it anywhere that I can see!' He, however, insisted it was
the Emperor's house. When I saw he was in earnest, I looked at the
place closely; it was large, but not otherwise imposing, and quite
blackened with smoke. 'I'd go in for some house-painting, at any rate,
if I were the Emperor; surely he can afford it,' I said to myself,
adding aloud to Frantisek, 'Well, then, show me where the Emperor
lives!' Whereupon he took me round a square surrounded with tall
buildings, and through a gateway into another square, also overlooked
by high houses, with sentries on duty at every corner. 'All this is the
Emperor's,' he said; 'here he lives with his relations and a great many
attendants.' Imagine my surprise. But then I said, 'I cannot but think
that he sleeps in one room and feeds in another--so please point out to
me where _he_ lives.' Frantisek now appeared to understand, and took me
to an open place, in the centre of which rose an equestrian statue in
cast-iron; and he showed me a row of windows. 'Very well,' I said; 'now
let us take our stand by that entrance door.' 'What for?' said he. 'To
watch for the Emperor when he goes abroad.' 'You innocent!' he cried,
laughing; 'don't you know that the Emperor never walks out? You may see
his carriage, if you are lucky, bursting from the inner court, and
dashing through the town as far as a copse on the banks of the river,
returning thence at the same quick pace.' He had hardly done speaking
when there was a deafening roar, quite startling me. It was the sentry
calling out the guard frantically. 'Look! look!' cried Frantisek, 'they
are presenting--it's the Emperor returning from his drive!' And while
he yet spoke a closed carriage with six horses swept past us and
disappeared in the inner court. But for all their fast driving I could
see who sat inside--two officers, the elder of them in a plain grey
coat, and the younger wearing a whole array of stars and ribands on his
breast. 'That will be him!' I thought, but I heard Frantisek say: 'Poor
Emperor, to think of his wrapping up in his cloak at this season like
an old man in the depth of winter--they say he is always shivering with
cold!'"
"I could not doubt that he knew, having lived at Vienna these five
years, and I went home sadder still; for he who was wrapt in his cloak
looked weary and worn."
"And was that really the Emperor?" inquired the popadja.
"It was; but it was long before I could see him close. For a whole week
I waited for a message from Mr. Broza, but nothing reached me. Ah,
friends, those were grievous days! I sat for hours in the dull little
damp room they had assigned to me, staring at the wall. I had composed
such a beautiful speech on my journey, and had learnt it by heart, to
address the Emperor, but all that was useless now since he knew not the
Ruthenese; so I put together a few words which might serve my purpose.
But perhaps he could not even understand that much, and all would be
useless and things must go as they would!... Frantisek, I saw, pitied
me, for he would give me every spare moment of his time, hoping to
cheer me; but how should he have succeeded? although he did his best,
taking me all about the great city to divert my thoughts. It was but
little pleasure to me, for the noise and bustle was dreadful, and the
people stared because of my dress; there was quite a crowd sometimes
following me, full of laughter and ill-disguised wonder, as though I
were some monstrosity of a bullock. I soon grew tired of sight-seeing,
and preferred my own little room, where at least I was unmolested."
"Did Mr. Broza forget his promise?" cried Simeon.
"By no means; he was doing his very best. He told me so when, at the
end of a week, I ventured to call again, and I am sure he spoke the
truth. 'Your name is down,' he said, 'you will be admitted to the next
audience, but the day is not yet fixed. Next week, let us hope!' I
continued waiting, growing more heavy-hearted day after day. And then I
had even money cares to face! A hundred florins I had spent on my
journey, and there was a florin a day of present expenses; how, then,
should I return home if I must use up my little hoard waiting and
waiting? I began to blame myself for not having followed your advice,
and Dr. Starkowski's; and yet, God knows, I had not come to Vienna to
please myself. I could not have acted differently. Was it not for the
sake of all that is most sacred--my honour, and the good of my soul?
Was it not----"
He stopped short, having caught a look from the pope's eye, searching
his face intently.
"Well then," he continued, "I went on waiting ten weary days, when at
last Mr. Broza sent his servant, announcing that the next audience
stood fixed for the following Tuesday week; that was yet twelve days,
but I breathed more freely, knowing the day now when the uncertainty
must end. Thus humble a man becomes who is being taught by
disappointment. I counted the days and hours, and on the Sunday
previous to the longed-for audience I went to Mr. Broza, begging him to
tell me how I was to behave. 'You mean in the Emperor's presence?' said
he. 'Why, yes,' said I. 'But did I not tell you that although there be
an audience you must not count on seeing the Emperor himself? The
petitions, most likely, will be received in his name by one of the
princes.' I had to sit down, for the room went round with me, and it
was some time before I could answer. 'You did tell me, sir,' I said,
when I was able to speak; 'but I fully trusted the Emperor would be
receiving in person this once at any rate; why but for this should I
have been kept waiting so long?' But Mr. Broza shrugged his shoulders.
'Let us hope so,' he said; 'but if you do not see him, be sure and hand
your petition to the Archduke--he probably will hold the audience.
Your conscience may be at ease, for you have done your duty to the
utmost--better, I daresay, than any other village judge in Austria.'
'Thank you,' I said; 'but I can do no such thing. I shall give my
petition into no hand but the Emperor's own. And if he does not appear
this Tuesday, I must wait for another audience, and another, till I see
him.' 'But, man, will you not listen to reason? Who is to procure you a
standing admission? Such a thing was never heard of!' 'If it is really
impossible,' I replied--'and of course I believe you, for you have
acted honestly by me--if it is impossible, I shall know what to do.'
'And what may that be?' 'I shall throw myself into the way of his
carriage when he drives out. If his coachman is able to pull up in
time, I shall then present my petition; if the horses go over me, then
it will have been my fate.' He looked at me aghast. 'And you would do
that?' 'Certainly.' 'Well,' he said, 'there is no saying what one of
you peasants is capable of in fighting for his right.' Presently he
added, 'I shall have you conveyed to the Castle on Tuesday, and
fetched away again. You must come to me directly after the audience,
directly--do you hear?' I promised; but my mind was made up."
"Taras," cried Anusia, "how could you have such thoughts!"
His eyes burned darkly, and he shook the grief-streaked hair from off
his forehead. "I may have had worse thoughts," he murmured; but the
others hardly understood him. He paused, and went on quietly: "Well,
then, the audience. I dressed for it quite early, as a bridegroom on
his wedding day, putting on my top boots, and the long brown tunic with
the leather belt, and over it my best sheepskin--all white, the one
with the broidered facings, you know, Anusia. It was rather hot for
fur, suggested Frantisek, who had made my boots shine like a mirror,
anxious to do his part; but I knew what was due to the Emperor, and
took my fur cap of lambskin as well. The people stared worse than ever
when, thus arrayed, I walked from the house to the open carriage kind
Mr. Broza had sent for me, and as I drove along folk everywhere stood
open-mouthed. I did not much care, for I knew by this time that the
Viennese, whatever they may be besides, are the most curious people
under the sun. We reached the Castle, and stopped by the entrance
opposite the iron statue. A lackey helped me to dismount, bowing to the
ground. I knew that the rascal meant it for mockery, and took no
notice. At the top of the stair two red-coated halberdiers pretended to
start at the sight of me; but I showed my order for admittance,
whereupon they directed me to a door opposite. I opened it, and came
upon some more lackeys, who affected the same amazement. One of them
tried to take from me my stick of carved oak; but I did not part with
it. They laughed and pointed me to another door.
"I had reached the audience chamber at last: a long, spacious hall, all
white and gold, and full of looking-glasses as tall as a man. I should
never have believed such splendour possible--it was dazzling. Some
fifty petitioners were assembled there already--old and young, men and
women, soldiers and civilians, priests and laymen--some looking anxious
and some hopeful. One thing we had in common--we all carried memorials
in our hands; but for the rest of it every age was represented, every
station of life, and, perhaps, every people of this great Austria.
There was a poor tattered gipsy, and beside him a comfortable-looking
lady in a silk dress; an old gentleman in threadbare garments, and a
young handsome officer wearing the Emperor's uniform; a Jew in his
black caftan, a sleek Catholic priest, and many others. They moved
about whispering, and behind them stood motionless some of the
red-coated halberdiers. I could not but groan at the sight of so
many seeking redress. 'Alas!' I sighed, 'it would take the Emperor
half-a-day to listen to them all; and of course he cannot do that, weak
and sickly as he is,' Yet there was some comfort, too, in there being
so many. Some of these people, no doubt, had come a long way, as I had,
spending their money for the hope that brought them; and surely, I
thought, they would not do it if the Emperor were not known to help
readily. And it comforted my weary heart that rich and poor stood there
side by side, all waiting for redress. 'We are all alike in the sight
of God,' I thought, 'and so we are in the Emperor's, who is His viceroy
upon earth--how, then, should he not uphold the right?' This cheered
me; I looked up boldly, gazing at the people as they gazed at me.
"We were directed to stand in a half-circle, a man in a green
dress-coat assigning to each his place; and I perceived that there were
degrees of dignity. I stood at the lower end, furthest from the
entrance we were facing, together with two other peasants, by the look
of them, also wearing their national costume. The one was rather stout,
his dress consisting of light blue breeches, a tight-fitting jerkin,
and a cloth cap with a plume; the other, tall and gaunt, wore baggy red
trousers, and a long yellowish jacket, holding in his hands a felt hat
with a high pointed crown. We had to wait a long time, and I did as the
others did, endeavouring to draw my neighbours into conversation. They
answered civilly, each in his own tongue, neither of us understanding
the other. That was disappointing; but I thought I would at least find
out their nationality, and that by the only means I could think of. You
know that our soldiers, if they bring home nothing else, return to us
with a sad habit of swearing, picking up the country's oaths wherever
they go. 'Psie sobaczy!' I said; but there was no response. So my
friends could not be of the Slavonic race. 'Kreuzelement Donnerwetter!'
they never moved; so they were not German. 'Bassama teremtete!' upon
this my stout neighbour in the tight breeches gave a jump, jabbering
away at me delightedly; that settled it, he was a Hungarian! But now
for the other one in the yellow jacket. 'Merge le Dracul!' no response;
he could not be a Roumanian then. I was nearly exhausted, but luckily
remembered one more chance. 'Corpo di bacco!' I cried, at which he also
flew at me, embracing me wildly--an Italian! But I wished I had been
less curious; for they went on talking at me eagerly, to the great
amusement of all the company, and I could only nod my head, keeping on
with 'Corpo di bacco!' and 'Bassama teremtete!' But why tell you all
this nonsense?--There was a hush of silence suddenly, for the great
entrance door had opened."
Taras paused, evidently not in order to impress his hearers, but
because he was himself overcome with the recollection of that moment.
"The Emperor!" cried Anusia, with a gasp.
He shook his head. "There appeared in the doorway," he continued
quietly, but with a tremor in his voice, "a man in the uniform of a
general, rather short and white-haired, and some officers of different
regiments behind him. My heart all but stood still and sight failed
me--I think I should have fallen but for the steadying arm of the
Hungarian. It was _not_ the Emperor; for although I had had but a
passing glimpse of him, I knew his features from a portrait of his at
the inn where I was lodging. That little white-haired general with the
pouting under-lip--though he looked right pleasant otherwise--was a
relation of his no doubt, being like him in feature; but it was not the
Emperor! Ah, beloved! I cannot tell you what disappointment surged up
within me, I could not put it in words if I tried for ever! I looked
on, half stunned, watching him as he received the memorials. With most
of the petitioners he could speak in their own tongue, and if there was
one he was unable to understand, one or other of the officers acted as
interpreter; but with no individual case was he occupied longer than
about a minute, passing on with a gracious word. Some looked relieved,
some rather woebegone, as they made their exit, a lackey directing them
to a side door. I watched it all through a haze as it were, and
perceived that at that rate my turn would be in about an hour's time,
counting from his beginning at the other end of the half-circle. I
tried to collect my thoughts, but think as I would nothing could alter
the resolution with which I had come--to plead with the Emperor and not
with his representative. And with a beating heart, but firm of purpose,
I watched the prince's approach."
"Ye saints!" gasped the popadja, and Anusia crossed herself.
"At last he stood before me! I bowed low, he nodded and put out his
hand for my petition. But I bowed lower still, saying: 'All powerful
and gracious Mr. Prince! I know who you are, and that you are here for
the Emperor; but to him only can I make my request.' He looked at me
surprised, and turned for an interpreter. One of the officers, a
captain, with ash-coloured facings, being of the Duke of Parma's
regiment, which I knew was drawn from Podolia, stepped up, translating
what I said. 'Peasant,' added the officer thereupon, turning to me with
a kindly face, 'the Emperor is not to be seen, but it will be all right
if you hand your petition to this gentleman, who is the Emperor's
uncle, His Most Serene Highness the Archduke Ludwig.' Again I bowed,
saying, 'Have the goodness to translate this to the prince. He who
stands before you is Taras Barabola, peasant and landowner, lately
judge of Zulawce, sometime a happy man, but now despairing. He may be
nobody in the eyes of the great ones, but he is a human being in the
sight of God, and therefore of His viceroy, the Emperor. He is here
praying for his right, thirsting for it as the hart panteth after the
waterbrooks. You, sir, are a fellow-countryman of ours, have pity on me
and tell him this, word for word.' And the officer turned to the
prince, interpreting my speech; whereupon the latter looked at me
searchingly, putting a question. 'What is your trouble?' translated the
officer. 'Robbery of the parish field,' I replied, adding, 'Tell him it
is not merely a question of earthly justice, but that the future
welfare of a soul is at stake. He is an old man I see, and will soon
himself stand at the judgment bar of God; beg him, as he would desire
the Almighty to be merciful to him, to obtain for me an audience with
the Emperor.' 'My good man,' replied the captain, 'I am a Podolian
myself and have grown up among peasants, being the son of a village
priest, so you may believe that I wish you well; but I am not going to
translate this speech of yours literally, or this is not the way to
address a prince!' 'But you must!' I urged. 'It were taking an awful
responsibility on your soul if you refused me; and see, the prince
appears to expect it!' So he had to translate it, and never a feature
changed in the Archduke's face, but his eyes were fixed on me
piercingly. I did not quake--why should I?--but gazed at him
fearlessly, my conscience not reproaching me any way. Turning to the
captain presently, he spoke a single word. 'Wait!' translated the
officer. And the Archduke went on, taking the rest of the petitions and
passing from the hall; whereupon the captain came up to me, saying,
'Follow me; the Archduke wishes to hear your story.'"
"What rare good fortune!" cried Father Leo.
"Yes; I suppose so," assented Taras. "We went along a corridor, and up
and down some stairs, till we reached the Archduke's room. It was a
simple apartment, full of books, and not in any way more princely than
Mr. Broza's. He was sitting at a table covered with papers. We were
ushered into his presence, I telling my tale and the captain
translating. The Archduke's countenance remained as immovable as
before; no matter what I was saying his eyes only showed his interest.
He put a question or two: how we lived in the village, whether we
reared cattle and such like. By and by he addressed a few words to the
officer, who then led me away. 'Well?' I said, trembling with hope and
fear, when the door had closed behind us. 'Your wish is granted,'
replied he. 'Be by the iron statue yonder at four to-morrow afternoon,
where I shall join you to act as your interpreter with the Emperor.
"Why the man is of another planet," the Archduke said to me, "his
confidence must not be shamed!" And he thinks the Emperor will like to
see you, and that your Podolian garb will amuse him. He wishes you,
therefore, to come in these same clothes to-morrow, and if you have
anything in the way of weapons belonging to your dress to add it
likewise.' 'For God's sake, captain,' I cried; 'I am coming to plead
for the right, and not to show my clothes!' 'Yes, yes,' he said; 'but
do as you are told,' adding kindly, 'you may thank your stars for this
chance; and even if to-morrow's audience will avail you nothing, you
may find it useful to have obtained the Archduke's interest.' 'I cannot
understand that!' I cried. 'Well, and I could scarcely explain it to
you,' said he, with a smile; 'but it _is_ so.' And so said Mr. Broza,
to whom I now went as I had promised; so also said the innkeeper, to
whom, with the aid of Frantisek, I had to give a minute account. They
all agreed that I was fortunate."
"Why, a child could understand that," interposed Simeon. "The Emperor,
no doubt, values his old uncle's opinion."
"May be," said Taras, with a painful smile; "but they did not take it
in that way, as I came to understand the following afternoon. You may
imagine that I arrived by the iron statue a good while before the
appointed time--it is a figure of the good Emperor Joseph. The officer
walked up to me by the stroke of four, conducting me through the inner
court to a splendid marble staircase, and through many passages to a
door blazing with gold and guarded by some of the redcoated
halberdiers. We passed a large ante-room, and entered a smaller one,
where we were told to wait. The chamberlain in attendance, who looked
vastly stupid, kept watching me with furtive sneers, but I did not
care; my heart felt more solemnly uplifted than if I had been in a
church. There was the sound of a little bell presently; the chamberlain
glided in, and returning, he beckoned us to enter." Taras paused and
drew a breath. "I think," he continued, slowly, "the look of that room,
and of the two gentlemen in it, will be present with me to my dying
hour: it was a large, splendid apartment, darkened with curtains, which
left a half-light only, shutting out the sun; and at the table sat
two officers--generals by their uniform. The one was that same old
Ludwig, and in the other I recognised, when he rose, the Emperor! A
feeble-bodied man of middle height, slightly stooping, with a
good-natured face and blue eyes. He motioned me to come nearer, but I
took a few steps only, and fell on my knees, holding up my petition.
Oh! I did not kneel merely because it might be the custom, but urged by
my own deepest need. For at that moment all the trouble I had battled
with for months past surged up within me, and, do what I would, the
tears rose from my heart...."
"And he?" cried Anusia.
"He came close to me, seemingly concerned at my emotion. Taking the
petition I held out to him, he gave it to the Archduke, and then he
addressed a few hasty words to me. 'He tells you to rise and dry your
tears,' the captain whispered to me. But I remained on my knees, not to
move his feelings, but simply because it was the natural position for
mine. 'Thou Emperor,' I cried, 'have pity on me!' He plainly did not
know what to say, and putting his hand into his pocket, drew forth a
ducat, which he offered to me. 'I want no money; I want justice,' I
cried. The Archduke stepped up now, whispering a few words to the
Emperor, and then told the captain I was to rise, and that the Emperor
would be sure to examine into my case carefully. I obeyed with an
effort, but then I begged the captain to say that I would not hold
myself assured till I had the Emperor's promise from his own lips. 'I
cannot say that,' whispered the captain, alarmed; 'it would be most
rude to the Archduke.' Whereupon I repeated the words myself, looking
intently in the Emperor's face. Now the captain was obliged to
translate, and thereupon the Emperor nodded to me, but burst out
laughing at the same time, as though it were quite a joke. I am sure he
did not mean to hurt me, for he looked kindness itself, and would not
kill a fly if it annoyed him, but his laughter cut me to the heart; I
keep hearing it still in my dreams.... No doubt the anguish of my soul
was written in my face, but he took no notice. He walked round me,
examining me curiously, and putting several questions--who had
embroidered this fur of mine? whether I had many furs like that? and
several pairs of these boots? did I polish them myself? and so forth. I
answered his inquiries, but good God! they stunned my heart.... I think
I would have given my life for his asking me a single question which
did not refer to my clothes. But not he! And I daresay my fur and my
boots would have interested him awhile yet, had not the Archduke again
whispered some words to him. He left off questioning, and smiled at me
once more with his good-natured smile, again offering me his ducat--not
as a charity, as the captain had to tell me, but in memory of having
seen him. Thereupon, I took it--this is it, bearing his likeness."
He drew the coin from his belt. They all were anxious to see it, and
agreed that the Emperor had a pleasant, good-natured face. "And now you
were ready to start for home?" they said.
"Oh, no," said Taras, with a sigh; "for though my object was
accomplished, my heart was no wise at ease. I wanted to wait for the
Emperor's answer. My petition prayed for a re-examination of the
witnesses, and thus much the Emperor might command on the spot, I
thought. Mr. Broza tried to dissuade me--it might be months before I
should hear, he said, and it would be a waste of time and money. But I
clung to my desire, entreating him till he pitied my distress and
promised to inquire at the Imperial Chancery whether the Emperor's
decision had been received. It was a week after the private audience.
The reply was hopeless--not even the petition itself had as yet been
filed. 'I must look up that Uncle Ludwig,' I cried in my despair, and
had some trouble in finding the captain who had acted as my
interpreter--his name is Eugene Stanczuk, and his home is at Kossow, a
few miles from Ridowa. I wanted him to take me once more to the
Emperor's uncle. 'That is quite impossible,' he said, 'and moreover the
Archduke has departed for his residence in Styria; he will not return
here for months.' When I heard this I knew that further waiting was
vain. I strapped my bundle--honest Frantisek brushing my boots for the
last time sadly, and I went to Mr. Broza to thank him for all his
kindness and--should he trust me--to borrow some money of him, for I
had only ten florins left. 'That shall not trouble you,' he said,
counting out a hundred florins to me without even a witness, as though
I were his brother. 'Let us hope for a favourable answer in time,' he
added, 'but if I have any claim on your gratitude, as you say, promise
me one thing--do not let it break your heart if it turns out a denial!'
Much as I owed him, this was more than I could promise; I had gone to
Vienna with a hopeful mind, and was coming away now broken-hearted."
He ceased, the sadness gathering in his face.
"I do not see that!" cried Father Leo, "there is every room for hope
since you have the Emperor's own promise!"
"Have _you_ seen him?" said Taras, rising. "Have you been to Vienna?
You have heard my tale, but you have not been there to see!... It is
getting late--it must be near midnight. Kind thanks to you, friends.
Come, wife, let us be gone!"