For the Right. Karl Emil Franzos
He will lessen the burden we now have to bear. Besides, a verdict must reach us before long, and there cannot be any doubt but that the court will see that the village has been wronged."
The verdict, however, was still delayed. Week after week passed amid suffering and dejection, and Christmas to the villagers brought nothing of its own good cheer. For the grim snowstorms continued, and if at intervals the skies would brighten, it was only to usher in still sharper frosts.
It was on the Epiphany of 1837 that the rigorous cold unexpectedly came to an end. Quite early on that day the people had been waked from their sleep by strange noises in the air, and rushing from their houses, were met by an unwonted warmth. It was the south wind so ardently longed for. It did not blow long enough to bring about any melting of the snow, folding its merciful wings all too soon; but the terrible cold nevertheless appeared to have received its death blow, the temperature not again sinking much below freezing point.
And in happy mood old and young that morning went to church; men even who had been sworn enemies for years would look at each other pleasantly at the welcome change. Taras also beheld brighter faces, and heard kinder words than had fallen on his ear since the sorrowful springtime. Indeed, so strong and general was the feeling of relief and of gratitude due to the Almighty, that even the pope was seized by the wave and carried to a shore of contrition he had not reached for many a year. Mass had been read, and the people were about to depart, quite accustomed to the fact that Father Martin, on account of his own sad failing, would excuse the sermon; but they were startled by his request to resume their seats, and he actually mounted his pulpit. Poor man, he could not give them much of a discourse, but such as it was it lent expression to their own feelings, and could not fail to touch their hearts.
The people, who were in a good frame of mind, after church gathered in groups outside. There was the weather to be talked about, and the sermon, and the lawsuit; concerning the latter, some of those even who bore Taras the deepest grudge were heard to say, "Who can tell but that it may end well after all."
And the most cheerful was Taras himself. He moved about from group to group, kindly words passing to and fro. "Let us trust God," he kept saying; "He has dispelled the fearful cold; at His touch the wrong, too, will vanish. My heart tells me so! The verdict cannot be delayed much longer, we may even hear of it before the day is out."
These words had scarcely fallen from his lips, when that happened which, however frequent in fiction, is rare enough in actual life--his expectation was realised there and then. Up the road from the river a sledge was seen advancing, driven by a peasant and carrying, it appeared, a large bundle of fur-rugs. No human occupant was visible when the vehicle stopped amid the staring peasantry, but the rug-bundle began to move, throwing off its outer covering, a bear-skin; a good-sized sheep-skin peeling off next, revealing as its kernel a funny little hunchbacked figure, an elderly townsman rather shabbily clad. He rose to his feet, inquiring, with a great deal of condescension: "My good people, is the judge of this village anywhere among you?"
The stalwart peasants laughed at the puny creature, and even Taras, moving up to the sledge, could not repress a smile. "And what do you want with him?"
The stranger pursed his mouth; his hand dived into his pocket and produced an alarming pair of spectacles, which he put upon his shrivelled nose, plainly desirous of adding dignity to that feature, and then he said slowly, almost solemnly, "A man like you should say 'your worship' to me! I am Mr. Michael Stupka, head clerk of Dr. Eugene Starkowski."
Taras shook from head to foot, and clutching the man, he stammered, "You have come to tell as the verdict! you have got a letter for me!"
And all the peasants pressed round them. "Ah!" they cried, "we have got the field back, no doubt! … Long live Taras, the judge; he was right after all. … But do read us your letter."
The terrified clerk all this time endeavoured to free himself from the iron grasp that held him as in a vice. "Stand off!" he groaned. "I have brought you the verdict--yes; but … " He faltered.
Taras grew white. Hardly knowing what he did, he, with his strong arm, lifted the little man right out of the sledge, putting him down on the ground before him. "No," he said hoarsely, "it cannot be! The verdict surely is in our favour?"
"Why, dear me, can I help it?" wailed the dwarfish creature. "Are you savages here, or what! Ah, you are strangling me … it is not my fault, I am only a clerk and of no consequence whatever … I assure you! And Dr. Starkowski tried his best. Moreover, the matter need not rest here; don't you know that there is such a thing as an appeal?"
But Taras evidently did not take in this hint any more than he had understood the preceding words. One thought only had laid hold of him, and he reeled like a stricken man. "Lost!" he groaned hoarsely, the ominous syllable being taken up more shrilly by the peasants, who pressed closer still.
The clerk, meanwhile, had produced the documents of which he was the bearer, the one being a writ of the court, the other a letter of Dr. Starkowski's. "There!" he cried, thrusting them under Taras's nose.
Taras was striving to regain his composure. "We are usable to read writing," he said, gasping. "You must tell us what the lawyers have got to say. To whom have they adjudged the field?"
But Mr. Stupka did not feel it prudent to answer this question right out. He broke the official seal, putting on a look of the greatest importance. "With pleasure, good people," he said condescendingly, "with pleasure! I'll read it to you, and translate it presently into plain language. The legal style, you know … "
But Taras interrupted him. "To whom?" he repeated, more emphatically.
"Well, I should say," stammered the luckless clerk, "I should say … to the lord of the manor, so to speak."
"It is a lie," shrieked Taras; "it cannot be!" But the peasantry veering round, cried scornfully: "Did we not tell you that going to law is a folly? You have done it now!"
Utterly beside himself with the passion of his disappointment, the judge clenched his fists and set his teeth in the face of the mocking crowd, but the two elders laid their hands on him gently. "Do not give way," begged the faithful Simeon, "try and bear the blow; let us hear the verdict first, and then we will consider what next can be done."
The clerk spread out the document. "In the name of the Emperor!" he began, translating the somewhat lengthy preamble. The villagers loyally had pulled off their caps; Taras only thought not of baring his head. Simeon endeavoured to remind him, but the judge shook him off. The honest man looked at him doubtfully, and receded a step. The others did not notice it, too intent upon the verdict.
It was a long piece of legal rhetoric, substantiating every statement with a flourish of evidential reasoning, in the German language, which in those days was the medium for judicial transactions throughout that conglomerate of Babel-tongued countries going by the name of Austria. It was no easy undertaking to translate the strangely intricate periods of official verbosity into the simple vernacular of the listeners; but Mr. Stupka, being as clever as he was small, contrived to make himself understood. The verdict amounted to a dismissal of the case, because the plaintiffs could not bring forward sufficient proof to uphold their claim. The description of the field in the title deeds, it said, was in favour of the party in present possession, and if a number of witnesses upon their oath had given contrary evidence, their testimony was invalidated by counter-evidence upon oath likewise. It was not the court's business in civil cases to start an inquiry whether false witness possibly had been tendered; it was rather the duty of the court to decide which evidence weighed heavier in the scale, and the balance had inclined in favour of manorial rights. It seemed strange, also, that the village judge, as had been reported, should have opposed the exhortation of the witnesses by means of the pope. …
Up to this point Taras had listened in silence and motionless, but now a shudder ran through his body, and he clenched his fists. "Ye adders," he panted; "ye deceitful adders!"
"Bear it," whispered Simeon, entreatingly, putting his arm round his reeling friend. But Taras scarcely needed the admonition as far as keeping silence was concerned, for his eyes closed; he seemed on the point of swooning.