For the Right

by Karl Emil Franzos

CHAPTER XI.

[OUTLAWED.]

THE "good judge!" ... the "great avenger!" ...

It was not only after his death, not in commemorating song only, that Taras was first so designated. These appellations dated from the spring-time of 1839. When Palm Sunday had come and gone they were echoed from mouth to mouth, while the strange declaration of war that had been uttered beneath the linden of Zulawce was fresh in the minds of all. His mission was believed in, though as yet unaccredited by deed. As on the wings of a mighty wind the news sped from village to village, from district to district. Not a week passed before all the people had heard it--in Pokutia, in the Marmaros, in Podolia, and in the Bukowina; and gathering in groups after the morning service on Easter Sunday, it was the one topic with them everywhere: "To-day Taras will be unfurling his banner.... Could there be a surer proof of our misery? He, a Christ-like man, and yet driven to turn hajdamak!... But it is well for us--Taras has ever been a good judge, and he will prove a mighty avenger!"

This opinion had formed rapidly. A whole people stirred to its depth is almost always a righteous judge, a true prophet. Every man and woman understood that unheard-of things were passing. True, it was within the experience of most of them that some one or other had taken to the mountains; but such volunteers to the desperate trade had been young fellows without home ties, or men of a turbulent character breaking away from the restraints of the law. But how different with this peace-loving peasant, who had everything to make his home attractive, this man who once pointed a pistol at his own forehead to prevent violence from being met with violence! That phrase of Mr. Broza's which Taras himself had repeated reluctantly, and only because he was a "dying man," had taken hold of the people's imagination--a Christ-like man. And truly there was a breath of the Divine sweeping the senses of the oppressed peasantry as they strove to understand his motives. It could not be the love of revenge with him, for he had not been wronged personally; it could not be that he sought to defend his own property, for it had not been touched. He must be doing it, then, simply because "in this unhappy country justice was not to be found," and "because the people had sore need of one to avenge them." And if there is anything that will move the heart of man to its inmost depth, filling it with holy reverence, it is the unselfish deed done for love of a cause which is sacred to all and believed in by each.

With similar enthusiasm Taras was greeted in the mountains. The rude men who dwell there had been gained so thoroughly during his former sojourn, that one and all they welcomed the news of his returning to be among them for good. Was he not a victim of the oppression they hated? its sworn enemy, who henceforth would live to oppose it? Every glen on either side of the Black Water was alive with sympathy, and Taras had a staunch ally in every man far and wide in the forest.

In his own village, too, opinion had rallied round him entirely, though it would have been difficult to say whether this was due chiefly to the impression he had made upon his hearers on that Sunday, or to the selfish vanity of the people. The hearts of some had certainly been touched, and a natural pity for his forsaken wife roused others; while others, again, were merely glad that Taras had come to see the folly of trusting in the law, and it flattered their pride that from among themselves an avenger should rise who would make the country ring with his valour. A man of Zulawce in those days was welcome wherever he went, because he could tell of the hero of the hour. The people round about seemed to be insatiable of news concerning this Taras, and were ready to stand any amount of drink to him who could gratify them, for which reason the men of Zulawce, nothing loth, invented story upon story to glorify the pure-hearted man whose life they had embittered all along. Yes, the outlaw once more had risen to be the great favourite of his adopted village.

Yet there were few, even in his own village, who felt for him truly or mourned his loss, and the one man whose sorrow was most deeply sincere carefully avoided the very mention of his name. The good pope had not breathed a word concerning Taras since that saddest of partings beneath the linden. His wife only guessed how he suffered, but even she was mistaken in believing that his heart ached for the loss of his friend alone. He was battling with another sorrow, a deeper trouble overshadowing his pious mind. And the moment came when the popadja understood it.

It was on the evening of Good Friday. Not till nine o'clock, and weary with the many services of the day, had the priest returned home, eating a mouthful of supper, and retiring to his study. Thither his wife followed him presently, establishing herself with her needlework in silence. He was pacing the room, murmuring to himself, as was his wont in preparing his sermon, and she refrained from speaking, but gave a furtive glance at him now and then. She had often thus watched him occupied in holy meditation, and the inward peace radiating from his countenance at such times would sink into her own heart with a loving content. Not so now, for an unspeakable grief was reflected in the face she gazed upon, and the bitterness seemed overflowing till she trembled and took courage to interrupt him.

"Husband," she said, with a beating heart, "are you now busy with the sermon for Easter Day?"