For the Right. Karl Emil Franzos
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Sustenkowicz. Nor did the shepherd of Zulawce at this moment look like the happy peacemaker between his belligerent parishioners, being too plainly of a divided mind, and dolefully unsettled.
"Why, your reverence," cried the under-steward, "what are you about! Did you not swear to me yesterday that the mandatar was in the right?"
"Ah--hm--yes--yesterday!" stammered the pope, with a dazed look at the peasants, and taking an uncertain step to the other side.
"Stop! not this way, little father!" broke in Alexa, seizing him by his caftan; "did not you tell me this very morning: 'The field is yours most certainly, for with my own hands I consecrated the new cross fifteen years ago'?"
"Hm--ah--yes--consecrated!" groaned the poor man helplessly, a distracted figure in their midst. The mandatar took pity on him.
"Move this way," he said, with wicked sarcasm, "there is room behind the table right away from the contending parties. We have no candles to solemnise the scene, let the light of your countenance make up for it, illumining this crowd of witnesses."
The commissioner meanwhile had partly recovered, and had found his voice, though a husky one. "I must administer the oath," he said, "for you have given evidence by taking your position either on this side or on that. Let any one who cannot swear to his deposition show it by lifting his hand."
Not a finger moved.
Kapronski gasped. He was anxious to get over the business, but this state of things seemed to force from him some kind of exhortation. "My good people," he cried, "why, perjury is no joke! There's a Judge in heaven you know, and--hm--I mean--we punish any one convicted of swearing falsely. And--it seems plain--only one of the parties can take their oath honestly. So do consider, I entreat you! Now then--which of you cannot--hm--ought not, to swear?"
But his well-meant speech fell flat. The only witness whose hand seemed to make an upward movement, Harasim Woronka, let drop his arm when the overpowering Boleslaw whispered in his ear: "Wretched coward, shall Taras rejoice after all?"
The commissioner wiped his brow--this was more than he dared report to his superiors. "Unheard of case!" he groaned, turning to the mandatar. "Hadn't we better get the priest to speak to the people?"
"By all means," replied Mr. Hajek, with his most pious mien; "I have no doubt he will vastly influence the sleeping conscience."
But Taras shook his head. "Mr. Kapronski," he said, "it is a sad thing for people to be shepherded as we are. You see with your own eyes what manner of man he is. But we poor peasants have no voice in the matter, we can only strive to reverence the holy things, if we cannot reverence him who dispenses them. Therefore we try to avoid anything that must lower him in our eyes, for it is not well when the people are given cause of mockery. Nay, it is not well, God knows! Judge for yourself, sir, would it be fit to let him speak to the people at this solemn moment? For is not an oath an awful thing, terribly awful?"
Kapronski breathed, relieved. Were not the peasants the accusers in this matter? If they, then, were satisfied to have no further exhortation, he was not accountable for any consequences. He stepped forward. "I put you all upon your oath," he said, baring his head, and every one present followed his example. And having once again stated the matter to be sworn, the peasants, one after another, passed in front of the crucifix, giving their names and lifting three fingers of their right hand, saying: "I swear." But the mandatar's party after them, to a man, took the oath likewise. It was done quietly and quickly.
The commissioner pulled out his watch. "An hour and forty minutes," he said, triumphantly. His vehicle had stood by in readiness. He mounted at once, and quitted the village with all possible speed.
CHAPTER V.
THE WRONG VICTORIOUS.
Autumn, as a rule, is by far the most pleasant season in the Galician highlands. The winter there is long, dreary, and trying; the spring cool, and all too short; the summer exceedingly hot, and liable to thunderstorms almost daily. But in the autumn Nature wears a genial face in the uplands, with a delicious continuance of sunshine, when the airy dome is scarcely ruffled by the breeze, and wondrously clear; day succeeding day of this gentle splendour till late in November sometimes. Not so, however, in the year we are speaking of. In that season the birds had left early for their southern haunts, the earth looking bare and cheerless all of a sudden; the sun had hidden within heavy clouds, and the whirling snowflakes were at their chill play before September was well out. Brighter days once more supervened, but they were bitterly cold, ushering in a fresh fall of snow and a dismal twilight of the heavens, which seemed determined to last.
The people sat gloomily by their firesides, growing the more alarmed at this early show of winter as they listened to the tales of the old folk among them, who remembered a similar season in their youth--the winter of 1792--which was a terrible visitation in that country, beginning as early as the present one. In that year the cold grew so intense that men scarcely ventured outside their cottages, because every breath they drew went like daggers to their lungs, and their limbs were benumbed in the space of a few minutes, so that even in trying to get from one end of the village to the other some had been frozen to death. And the snow drifted in such masses that the dwellers in the glens were hopelessly shut up, some actually dying of starvation. Thus ran the terrible tale; but the old folk at Zulawce were like old people everywhere, and the dread experience of their youth grew in horror with the receding years. The spectres of fear roused by these memories kept glaring at men and women within the lowly cottages.
Distress and suffering seemed at hand; and the poor were the poorer for the loss of the common field, the produce of which would have yielded them a welcome share. But more than this, the harvest had failed in part, and the cold overtaking the land so early threatened to destroy the winter crop. Thus the future was as clouded as the present, and want might be looked for. Had such trouble befallen the men of the lowlands they would have borne it sadly and meekly, bowing their heads before the Lord of the seasons. But not so the defiant natures at Zulawce, questioning their fate indignantly, and looking about for one who might bear the brunt of their anger; for, with the strong, affliction is apt to blaze forth in wrath. Their scapegoat was easily found; for who else should be to blame for the loss of that field if not Taras, their long-suffering judge!
Grievous days had come to him, and he would not have known how to bear his burden, but for the conviction upholding him that the decision of the court could not long be delayed now. This alone gave him the strength to continue his sorrowful duty day after day. The mandatar pitilessly went on grasping at every pound of flesh he might claim; the community either could or would not yield it. If Taras tried to reason with them to submit to the forest labour, which again had been sold, they retorted it was not their duty, and even he might know now what came of being too docile towards a rascally land-steward! Besides they had not the strength for it now, they said, half-starving as they were; and but for him the produce of that field by the river might now be safely stored in their granaries. And on his replying that, in that case, he must discontinue his office, they said scornfully their little father Stephen had been a judge for fair days as well as foul; it was a pity that he was gone, since his successor evidently was not like him in this. And Taras felt this taunt far more deeply than even the passionate appeals of his wife. He resolved to see the matter to its end; and, since there seemed no other means, he had the required forest labour done by his own men, or by others willing to work for his pay.
"We can afford it," he consoled his more prudent wife, "and if I thus step into the breach for the parish it is not as though I took it from the property which you have brought to me, since I have added to it honestly by my own diligence. And I shall have a right to expect indemnification when better days shall have come round. God surely will see to our being