CHAPTER XXXVI
At the capital, the night following the trial was to be spent in revelry and carousal.
When Landolin entered the chamber prepared for him at the Ritter inn, he pulled off his coat, and hurling it across the room, exclaimed:
"There! I'm rid of it! I've felt the whole time as if I had an iron jacket on."
In the great dining-room, where the table was already spread, he walked up and down in his shirt sleeves. The host said smilingly that supper would soon be served.
"Are the twelve men all coming?" asked Landolin.
"They were all invited, but they seem to have slipped into the ground and vanished."
The first to arrive was Landolin's lawyer. He seemed far from being elated with his victory; and in Landolin's manner toward him there was by no means the same dependence and helplessness as before. Then Landolin had treated him as a very sick man does his physician; every word and every glance were welcomed as though fraught with healing. Now Landolin was an ungrateful convalescent, who has come to the conclusion that he has not been sick at all; or, at any rate, that not the physician, but his own good constitution has helped him through.
"You are right," said his counsel, "you should have been a lawyer. Your last words turned the scale. It was a master stroke."
Landolin accepted this praise as his due, and made no reply.
"Call Anton! Where is Anton?" said he, turning to his son.
"When I was sending the dispatch I met him at the depot. He went home on the freight train, which usually takes no passengers; but the conductor is an old comrade of his, and smuggled him on board."
Landolin whistled, and walked hastily around the table, on which they were just placing the wine-bottles.
"Landlord, bring in the supper. Herr Procurator, take this chair beside me. So, this is a different way of sitting down together. I invited all the jurymen, – all. I don't want to know who said guilty, or who said not guilty. I don't want to have an enemy in the world. If they don't come-all right. I've shown how I feel, and that's enough. Landlord, let the witnesses come in, and anybody else that's there. Be sure and call Tobias."
Tobias soon appeared. To be sure he had just eaten in the hostler's room; but he wiped his mouth, as though he would say, "If it's necessary I'll do it again." So he sat down next to Peter, and fell bravely to work.
The so-called common people who had testified now came in. This was, to be sure, no company for Landolin, but he could not do less than give the poor fellows a good bite and a good drink. He asked what the witness fee was, and when he heard how small it was, he said he would like to double it, but he dared not, lest it should be said that he had tried to bribe them. By this speech he sought to ingratiate himself with these people at no expense to himself.
Tobias nudged Peter with his elbow, and laughed and drank. Peter cast a look at him as though he would like to tear him to pieces, then quickly controlled himself and joined in the laugh. His face wore the expression of a young fox who has just caught his first hare, and is feasting upon it.
Among the guests were some who had been Landolin's companions when he was young; and they strove to divert him by reminding him of his wild, youthful pranks. Landolin laughed and drank immoderately. The lawyer did not find it congenial, so he slipped quietly away. Landolin's eyes often fell upon the empty chair at his side, but he looked quickly away. Suddenly he called out, "Take away that empty chair! Who the devil is going to sit there? Take it away! Away with it!" He jumped up and overturned it with such force that all the four legs were broken.
"You oughtn't to do that father. Be quiet!" whispered Peter, sternly, and roughly grasped his father's arm.
"Let go! I'm all right," said Landolin, quieting down. "Come, Tobias, come with me! Indeed I have not drunk too much to-day, but I have gone through so much that its almost upset me. Here, Tobias, let me lean a little on you. Good night to you all. I hope you will get home all right. I shall soon follow you."
He went up to his room with Tobias, and as soon as he got there he caught tight hold of Tobias' arms and cried:
"Be still! I won't hurt you. Not you! You haven't deserved it. Do you know what I long for? Do you know what I wish?"
"How can I know it?"
"I'd like to have one of 'em between my thumb and finger, like this, so-Hutadi! I'd like to snap and crack his arms and legs. I'd like best to get at Titus-or all of the six-they ought to have been unanimous-the cursed-"
"Let me go, master," begged Tobias, for the grip of his hand was far from gentle; "and I advise you to keep quieter. You can say anything you like to me. What we two have got through together, can't be undone."
The situation dawned upon Landolin. He, the farmer, was reproved by his own servant.
"All right, all right," he muttered and soon fell sound asleep.
CHAPTER XXXVII
It was almost noon when Landolin awoke. He prepared for his journey home, and paid his bill. It was very evident that the landlord had cheated him. He was greatly vexed at being taken in by this plausible fellow, but he did not want an open quarrel. The thought that, for some time to come, he must allow himself to be cheated without daring to say anything, worried him more than the loss of his money. He now wished to return home immediately, and enter the village in triumph; but Peter put off going until near evening; for he did not want his father to reach home until after dark; and when Landolin swore at the unnecessary delays, Peter said, coolly and meaningly:
"Father, you will have to give up fussing and spluttering so. I should think you would have learned, by this time, to keep quiet and be patient. Yes, you may well stare at me. I am no longer the simple Peter, over whose head you looked, as though he didn't exist. I am here, and you and I have no secrets from one another. Self-defense is a nice thing, but-well I guess you understand me. Of course I have great respect for you. You drove the cart well, and Tobias and I pushed at the hind-wheels. The cart is out of the rut, and now we'll wash our hands."
Landolin looked at his son as though another man were standing before him. Peter noticed it, and continued:
"Yes, father, I've found out what the mainspring of the world is; and I know that it's all one what a man does. He can do what he likes, if he only keeps other people from knowing it. Am I right, or not?"
Landolin was so astonished that he could not utter a word. Who dare speak to him in such a way? Can it be Peter! But something still worse followed; for Peter began again:
"Now, see here, father; before we go home we'd better have matters settled. You are the farmer; you are the master. And before the world you may appear as you always have; but at home, in house and field, only my word must be obeyed. You may be sure that you shall want for nothing."
"Where is Tobias?" asked Landolin, gnashing his teeth.
"You needn't halloo so; I'm not deaf. I sent Tobias home before us; and I might as well tell you at once, that I shall dismiss him soon. He knows too much, and puts on too many airs. Moreover, I intend to send away all of the servants. I'm going to lay a new foundation."
Landolin kept silent, but smiled. He was incensed at Peter's impertinence, yet he could not repress his delight that his son had become so fearless and resolute.
"I could almost be proud of you, you have changed so," he said, at length. And Peter cried exultingly:
"That's right. You shall see that I'll do everything right; and that I'll do the right thing by you. I find that we've been losing a big pile of money in speculation, but that's past and done with, and I'll say nothing more about it."
Landolin kept his wrath down, and thought: "Just wait till we get home, then I'll talk to you differently."
Father and son spoke not a word after this. A wagon was waiting at the depot in the city; and Landolin asked his wife, who with tears in her eyes came to meet him: "Where is Thoma?" He was told that she would not come.
Landolin thought to himself: "I am acquitted, but my children-. My son wants to depose me, and my daughter will not even come to meet me."
In the meadow near the station was an unfinished platform, and though it was twilight, the men were still hammering busily.
"What are they doing?" asked Landolin; and before an answer could be given, he continued: "I remember, when I was a child, that a scaffold was built there, and a man beheaded on it. Beheading is not the worst thing in the world."
"Oh! husband!" replied his wife. "What strange thoughts! Peter, don't you know what they are doing?"
"Certainly; certainly. Next Sunday the soldiers have their celebration."
As the wagon drove past the garden of the Sword inn, a number of ladies and gentlemen were looking down from the veranda. Landolin raised his hat and bowed, but no one returned the salutation; and, for the first time in his life, he tasted the bitter experience of stretching out his hand in greeting, and of finding no hand ready to take it.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
No one had returned Landolin's greeting from the veranda of the inn. To be sure the judge's wife, who sat near the railing, looked an acknowledgment, but that could not be seen at the distance. More she dared not do, for they were having a full meeting of the members of the "Casino," a society or association of the people of rank in the city, which met the first Wednesday after each full moon. Several members from a distance were there; the Catholic priest; and the only Protestant pastor of the district, with his wife.
The conversation naturally turned upon the monstrous verdict of the previous day. The corporation-attorney said that he was glad he had declined to defend the case. He could well imagine the surprise of Landolin's counsel when his client was acquitted. Of course, in such cases, a lawyer feels bound to make use of all possible dialectic arts and strategies, but still, when successful, he must feel the recoil of the gun.
The school-teacher, whom but few knew to be the editor of the weekly paper,
The Forest Messenger
, complained in a disheartened tone that this verdict of the overbearing farmers would necessarily intensify the hate existing between the different classes; for the poor man felt that he had no rights. It was high time that the choice of jurymen should no longer depend upon the length of a man's tax-list.
The attorney coincided with him, but went even farther, and asserted that it was an old prejudice of liberalism, that the ordinary mind could render a just verdict.
The judge nodded to him, and he continued, somewhat vehemently: "I now understand the legend of Medusa. The uneducated class is such a head. If a man should look into its face, he would turn into stone before its horrid visage, so wild, so malevolent, so false, so furious. Our much vaunted German nation is not yet ripe, either for universal suffrage, or for the right of sitting on a jury. Indeed, since we have obtained what we have so long and ardently desired, the German wave in the tide of morality is sinking away. Our German people are not so great as we believed and hoped."
The judge earnestly protested against this assertion, and insisted that although there were undoubtedly deplorable indications, still the wave was beginning to rise again.
The physician, who still clung to the old ideal of his student days-an ideal always mingled with a profound hatred of Metternich-came bravely to the judge's assistance, by declaring that the influence of the profligate times of Metternich is still felt; for our people persist in the belief that everything that our rulers propose to do is wrong and tyrannical; and applaud when the law is evaded, or a criminal slips through without punishment.
In conclusion the physician could not refrain from giving the lawyer, who, while he really had a contempt for the people, belonged to the so-called radical wing of the liberty party, to understand that his party was greatly to blame for the disorganization of the popular mind, by its carping depreciation of the great and good things which had actually been accomplished.
The clergyman agreed that the foundation of all the mischief lay in the weakening of religious belief; but the schoolmaster was bold enough to assert that in the boasted days of unshaken faith there was much more wickedness in the world than now.
The discussion was apparently about to be taken up with the subject of religion, which was strictly forbidden in the Casino. But the Protestant minister's timid, quiet wife, happily turned the conversation, by asking, during a slight pause:
"Are there not more offenders who are undetected than are ever brought to justice?"
No one seemed to care to answer this question, and the young lady blushed deeply at the silence that followed her words, but at length the schoolteacher took pity on her, and said, with a smile:
"It is quite impossible to give an exact answer to your question; but it is probably much as it is with the aërolites. Two-thirds of our planet is covered with water, consequently two-thirds of the aërolites fall into it unnoticed; and of the last third, which falls on dry land, not all are found."
This bright and skilfully devised figure led the company back into a more agreeable frame of mind.
The school-teacher, who liked to deal in generalities, continued:
"I would like to present another subject for consideration. It would be profitable to inquire in what different degrees, truthfulness, whether due to nature or education, is found to exist in different nations. This department of statistics would, I grant, be the most difficult."
The problem was not discussed; for the stationmaster entered, and said that Landolin's wife had come with the carriage, and that Landolin was expected by the evening train. Again the conversation turned upon Landolin. The old district forester, who, until now had not spoken, but had been steadily smoking his long pipe, said in his strong, grave voice:
"Nothing can be more pernicious than that the best and most universal belief, the belief in justice, should be shaken, or quite destroyed. Public opinion will and must rebel against the verdict in Landolin's case. The conscience of the people is still too strong and pure. But the very fact that the popular conscience condemns both him and the jury, undermines all stability."
The forester had scarcely finished speaking when the train arrived. Landolin soon drove past. The company had risen from the table, and the physician stood beside the judge's wife.
These two shared the noblest of vocations, and often met in their common work of aiding the unfortunate.
"Do you think," asked the lady, "that the innocent young people, Thoma and Anton, can now be happily united?"
The physician shrugged his shoulders, and she continued:
"I was going to Landolin's house, but our hostess advised me not. But now I think it is time to do something, and that I can be of benefit to them."
"You had better wait a few days, at least," counseled the physician. "You know a wound must bleed awhile, before it is allowed to heal. Besides, I am inclined to think that affairs have undergone a change. At first Landolin yielded an unwilling consent, now the miller will be obstinate. I should not be surprised if in the end the young people themselves-"
"I think I can prevent that."
With a polite bow the physician replied: "Faith is supposed to be able to remove mountains. I have great confidence in your faith. But hush!"
The piano struck up in the next room. A portly, merry Catholic priest sang with strong tenor voice; and presently the young wife of the Protestant clergyman was persuaded to sing a duet with him.
Joyous songs, sung by sweet voices, floated out into the moonlit summer evening, and all dissension and all misery seemed to be forgotten.
CHAPTER XXXIX
It was a source of vexation to Landolin that the people of rank of the Casino did not notice him; and as their wagon went slowly up the hill, he said to his wife, with unaccustomed tenderness:
"We'll not concern ourselves at all about the world, but be happy in having each other and being together again. Nobody cares for a man as his own family does."
His wife looked at him in astonishment, and her careworn face shone in the clear moonlight. She was not used to such affection from Landolin, and she had never known that he felt any need of sympathy.
"Is Thoma ill?" he asked, after a little while.
"No, only frightened, and angry about Anton. She goes around for days without speaking a word; but she works busily, and eats and drinks as usual. To be sure, she doesn't sleep as she should. I made her sleep with me; but she would not lie in your bed, and I had to give her mine."
"Everything will come around all right now," said Landolin. For his part, he thought it strange that his wife, contrary to her usual habit, had so much to say; but he wanted to hear more, so he asked:
"Has the prize cow a bull calf?"
"Yes; coal black, with a white star on its forehead, and stout hoofs. Didn't Peter tell you that we were going to raise it?"
As for Peter, who sat on the front seat driving, his sides shook. He was evidently laughing.
Landolin, who had striven against the temptation, at last yielded, and asked:
"How does Cushion-Kate get along?"
His wife did not answer, and Landolin repeated impatiently, "Don't you hear me? Didn't you hear what I said? I asked how Cushion-Kate was getting along."
"Don't scream so! You have changed very much."
"It's you, not I, that have changed. Why don't you give me an answer?"
"Because I have none to give. Last night Cushion-Kate was not at home. Early this morning she came back, and lit a fire for the first time in many days. She must have been at the grave yesterday, for the pastor found her red kerchief there, and sent it to her. Since then she has disappeared again; and her goat cries terribly, for it has had no fodder. The poor animal-"
"What do I care for the goat! I don't know how it is-either everybody is crazy or I am crazy myself. Is this my forest? Are those my fields? To whom do these horses and this wagon belong? Say, am I crazy?"
"If you go on in this way, you'll make both me and yourself so. For God's sake, don't torment us both! What do you want with Cushion-Kate just now?"
His wife had scarcely uttered these words, when Cushion-Kate rushed out of the forest, and grasped the horse's reins.
"Let go!" cried Peter. "Let go! or I'll drive over you."
"Hold still!" said Landolin. "Kate! I mean well by you."
"But I don't mean well by you. They didn't cut off your head. They didn't hang you. You shall hang yourself. There is your forest, with thousands and thousands of trees. They all wait for you to hang yourself on them."
"Oh, Kate! come here to me," besought his wife. But Kate continued to pour terrible execrations.
"Give her a cut with the whip," cried Landolin; "give it to me; I'll strike her."
"No, father, I'll fix it," said Peter; and springing down quickly, he pushed Kate to one side; then, mounting again, he drove rapidly up the hill.
Landolin's wife looked back, and drawing a long breath, said: "Thank God! she has sat down on those stones. Some one has come up the hill, and is speaking to her."
CHAPTER XL
When they reached home, Peter cracked his whip loudly, and drove through the open gate to the house. A strange servant brought a chair; Peter helped his mother out, then turned to assist his father, who said:
"Never mind! I'm still able-"
He stood again on his own ground. No sound of welcome was heard, save the barking of the chained dog.
The bright moon lit up the square yard, which was neatly paved, and entirely changed in appearance.
"Who made these changes?" asked Landolin.
"Thoma had them made," replied her mother.
Landolin understood it. She desired for her own sake, and perhaps for his, that the place where the murder was committed should be no longer recognizable.
"Again I say, God keep you, and I bid you most heartily welcome," said his wife, in a tone full of emotion. "May the years that are still granted to you pass in peace!"
"There, there, that will do," responded Landolin. He went to the dog and unfastened his chain. The dog leaped up against his old master, and ran round and round about him, wild with joy.
"That's a good dog," said Landolin. "Be quiet. You know me, don't you? They said my hands were covered with blood; but you don't smell anything wrong, do you? The only faithful thing in the world is a dog."
The tears on his wife's cheeks glittered in the moonlight, and he said, turning toward her,
"Go in first!"
"No, you go first, you are the master. It was just such a night as this when we came home for the first time after our marriage; then you went first into the house. It seems like a wedding again."
She held out her hand for him. He gave it to her, and hand in hand they went up the steps. As he entered the room, she sprinkled him with holy water from the basin that stood at the door.
There was no one in the room but an old servant.
"Where is Thoma?" asked Landolin.
"She is in her bedroom."
"Tell her to come here; that I have got home."
"I called to her through the closed door, but she did not answer."
Landolin seated himself in the great arm-chair, and his wife gave thanks to God that her husband sat there once more. She had often doubted that he ever would again. Landolin looked at her, and it seemed to him that she reeled to and fro, and that the room and furniture were all in motion. He straightened himself with an effort, went out on the porch, and knocked at Thoma's door. Nothing moved.
"Thoma, I am here, your father."
The door was unbolted and Thoma stood before him. In a constrained voice she said: "Welcome, father!"
"Have you nothing more to say to me?"
"You never liked people to talk much."
Landolin took his daughter's hand, which she had not offered him.
"My child, do you no longer love me?"
"I should never ask a child such a question."
"My child, I am a poor man; as poor as a beggar. Do you understand me?"
Thoma shook her head, and her father continued:
"I have sinned against you all, especially against you; but now I beg you to forgive me. Don't let me perish." His heart beat so fast that he could not speak another word. As Thoma still remained silent, he turned quickly away, and went with tottering steps to the living-room. He listened to hear if Thoma would not follow him; but he heard nothing.
He looked at the table in the living-room, and asked:
"Is that a new table?"
"No, but Thoma had it planed because the holes were there."
Landolin remembered having stuck the fork in the table.
Steps were now heard. It was not Thoma, but the pastor, who came. His words were kind and comforting, but Landolin stared at him blankly. True, he saw him, but he heard him not; his thoughts were with his daughter, who was so terribly changed. It was not until the pastor mentioned Cushion-Kate