CHAPTER VII.
NEW HOSTILITIES
Whilst a bright womanly form rose on the horizon between the Professor and the Doctor, fate decreed that a new feud should break out betwixt the two neighboring houses in the city. It happened thus.
Mr. Hahn had availed himself of the absence of his son to beautify his grounds. His garden ran in a point to the park, and he had bethought him much how this corner might be turned to good account; for the little mound which he had thrown up there, and planted with roses, seemed unsatisfactory. He determined, therefore, to erect a weather-proof summerhouse for such visitors as were not inclined in bad weather to retire to the residence. Everything had been wisely considered before the departure of his son. The following day he caused a slender wooden structure to be erected, with small windows toward the street, and above, instead of a roof, a platform with airy benches, the laths of which projected boldly over the wooden walls and garden palings out into the street. Everything seemed favorable. But when Mr. Hahn, with hearty satisfaction, led his wife up the small side steps on to the platform, and the plump lady, not anticipating anything wrong, sat down on the airy bench, and from thence looked with admiration on the world beneath her, it was soon discovered that the passers-by in the street had to go directly under her, and the sky above was darkened to whoever passed along the fence by the plumage of the great bird that, perched on her high nest, sat with her back turned to the street. Before a quarter of an hour had passed, accordingly, such sharp remarks were heard that the inoffensive Mrs. Hahn was on the point of weeping, and declared to her lord, with unwonted energy, that she would never again allow herself to be treated as a hen, or ascend the platform any more. The family frame of mind was not improved either by the part that Mr. Hummel had taken, for he had stood by the fence of his neighbor's garden during this exhibition of Mrs. Hahn, and had laughed at the vile speeches of the passers-by.
Mr. Hahn, however, after a short struggle between pride and discretion, listened to the voice of his better self, removed the benches and the platform, and erected over the summer-house a beautiful Chinese roof; and on the projections of this roof he hung small bells, which sounded softly when the wind rose. This idea would have been a decided improvement; but, alas! the wickedness of man gave no rest to this work of art for the urchins in the street diverted themselves by continually keeping the bells in movement by means of long switches. On the first night, therefore, the neighborhood was awakened from its slumbers by a concert of many bells. That night Mr. Hahn dreamed that winter was come, and that a merry party of sleighs were passing round his house; he listened, and indignantly discovered that his own bells had been set in motion. He hastened into the garden in his nightdress, and called out, angrily:
"Who is there?"
In an instant the ringing ceased, deep silence and peaceful quiet reigned around. He went up to the garden-house, and looked at his bells, which might be seen swinging under the darkened sky; but roundabout no one was to be discovered. He went back to his bed, but scarcely had he laid himself down when the noise began again, quick and loud, as if pealing for a Christmas party. Again he rushed out of the house, and again the noise ceased; but when he raised himself above the railing and looked around, he saw in the garden opposite the broad figure of Mr. Hummel standing by the hedge, and heard a threatening voice call out:
"What crazy conduct is this?"
"It is inexplicable, Mr. Hummel," exclaimed Mr. Hahn, across the street, in a conciliatory tone.
"Nothing is inexplicable," cried out Mr. Hummel, "but the mischievous insanity of hanging bells in the open air over a public street."
"I resent your attack," called out Mr. Hahn deeply wounded. "I have a right to hang up what I like on my own property."
Then there began a conflict of views across the street, weird and frightful. There Hummel's bass, here Hahn's sharp voice, which gradually rose into a counter-tenor; both figures in long night-dresses, divided by the street and railings, but like two heroes of antiquity belaboring one another with strong language. If one failed to perceive the wild effect given to Mr. Hahn by the red color of his night-dress, he yet might be seen towering upon the height near his Chinese temple, raising his arm imposingly across the horizon; but Mr. Hummel stood in the darkness, overshadowed by the wild vine.
"I will have you before the police court, for disturbing the public peace," cried Mr. Hummel at last, but felt the small hand of his wife at his back, who seized him by his night-dress, turned him round, and gently entreated him not to make a scene.
"And I will inquire before the court who gave you a right to heap abuse upon me from across the street," called out Mr. Hahn, likewise in the act of retiring, for amidst the noise of the fight he had now and then heard the soft words, "Come back, Hahn," and seen his wife behind him wringing her hands. But he was not in a disposition to abandon the field of battle.
"A light and ladder here," he exclaimed, "I will unearth this shameful trick."
The ladder and lanterns speedily made their appearance, brought by the frightened maid-servant. Mr. Hahn mounted up to his bells, and sought long in vain; at last he discovered that some one had contrived to unite the separate bells by a plait of horse-hair and thus had rung them from the outside by a string.
This wild night was followed by a gloomy morn.
"Go to the fellow across the street, Gabriel," said Mr. Hummel, "and ask if, for the sake of peace, he is willing to take down his bells at once. I require my sleep, and I will not suffer that a rabble of thieves shall be allured to my house, make inroads upon the fence, steal my plums, and break into my factory. This man, by his ringing, calls together all the rogues of the neighborhood."
Gabriel replied: "I will go over there for the sake of peace; but only if I may say with civility what I think fit."
"With civility?" repeated Hummel, winking slyly at his confidant. "You do not understand your own interest. So fine an opportunity of making yourself important will not occur soon again, and it would be a pity to let it escape you. But I foresee, Gabriel, that, civil or not, we shall be unable to deal with the man. He's malicious and obstinate and bitter. He is a bulldog, Gabriel. There, you have his character."
Gabriel proceeded to the house of poor Mr. Hahn, who sat, still suffering, before his untasted breakfast, and looked suspiciously at the inmate of the hostile house.
"I come only to inquire," began Gabriel, adroitly, "whether, perhaps, you may have received intelligence through your son of my master?"
"None," answered Mr. Hahn, sorrowfully; "there are times when everything goes wrong, dear Gabriel."
"Yes, what a roguish trick that was, last night," said Gabriel, pityingly.
Mr. Hahn sprang up.
"He called me insane and said I was a coxcomb. Am I to put up with that? I, a man of business, and in my own garden! As for the plaything, you may be right enough; one must not put too much confidence in men. But now my honor is touched, and I tell you the bells shall remain, and I shall place a watchman there every night."
In vain did Gabriel speak rationally to him. Mr. Hahn was inexorable, and called out after him as he was leaving:
"Tell him we shall meet again in court."
Accordingly he went to his attorney, and insisted upon bringing a suit for the abusive language of the previous night.
"Good," said Mr. Hummel, when Gabriel returned from his fruitless mission. "These people compel me to adopt measures of security for myself. I will take care that no strange horse-hair shall be attached to my house. When the rogues sound the bells over there, the dogs shall bark here. Measure for measure, Gabriel."
He went gloomily to his factory, and paced about wildly. His bookkeeper, who appeared to be a much-oppressed man, because he never could obtain his rights from Mr. Hummel, thought it was his duty and a fitting time to speak.
"The ideas of this man Hahn are absurd; all the world finds fault with them."
But the speech did him no good.
"What do this man's ideas signify to you?" cried Hummel. "Are you the householder, and are you or I head of this business? If I choose to be angry it is my affair and not yours. His new clerk, Knips, wears his hair in frizzy curls, and perfumes himself with Eau de Cologne; you may make fun of him about that; that is your right. As to what concerns the rest of the world, your blame of this man's devices is worth about as much as the twittering of the sparrow on the house-top; and if he should every day hang a peal of bells on his shoulders and go in that attire into the counting-house, he would still remain a respectable citizen so far as this street rabble is concerned. Only, as regards myself, it is another thing. I am his neighbor day and night, and if he gets into trouble I also have to suffer. For the rest, I object to all calumnies on my fellow-men. What must be said is my business alone, without associates; remember that."
A few evenings later, Gabriel was standing before the house-door, looking up to the heavens and watching whether a small black cloud, which was slowly floating past, would cover the face of the moon. Just as this took place, and the street and both houses lay in darkness a carriage drove up to the house, and the voice of the master called out: "Is all well?"
"All well," answered Gabriel, and unbuttoned the apron.
Mr. Hummel descended heavily, and behind him was heard an angry growl.
"What have you got in there?" asked Gabriel, with much curiosity, putting his hands into the carriage, but he quickly withdrew them. "The beast bites!" he ejaculated.
"I hope it does," replied Mr. Hummel. "I meant it to bite. I have brought a pair of watch-dogs as a guard against the bell ringers."
He pulled out by a rope two indistinct figures, which rushed about yelping hoarsely, and, circling round Gabriel's legs, viciously drew the cord round him like a noose.
Gabriel extricated himself. The clouds had passed away, and in the bright moon light both dogs were plainly visible.
"They are strange beasts, Mr. Hummel. A curious race. Evidently mongrels," he continued, in a deprecatory tone; "hardly medium size, thick in the chest, and with shaggy hair; the bristles hang over their muzzles like mustachios. The mother must have been a poodle, the father a spitz; I think I also detect some relationship with the pug, and the great-grandfather must have been a terrier. A remarkable product, Mr. Hummel, and somewhat rare. How did you come by the animals?"
"By accident. I could not obtain a dog in the village to-day; but as I was returning through the wood the horses suddenly shied and would not move on. While the coachman was handling them, I all at once perceived near the carriage a large dark man, standing as if he had sprung out of the ground. He was holding the two dogs by a rope, and laughed jeeringly at the abuse of the coachman. 'What is the matter?' I called out to him; 'where are you taking the dogs to?' 'To whosoever wishes to have them,' said the black fellow. 'Lift them into the carriage,' said I. 'I shall do nothing of the sort,' growled the stranger; 'you must fetch them yourself.' I descended and asked him what he wanted for them. He replied 'Nothing.' The matter looked suspicious, but I thought it would be no harm to try them. I lifted the beasts into the carriage; and found them as quiet as lambs. 'What are their names?' I cried out from the carriage. 'Bräuhahn and Goslar,' said the man, laughing fiendishly."
"But they are no dogs' names, Mr. Hummel," interposed Gabriel, shaking his head.
"That was what I told the man, but he replied, 'they never suffered babtism.' 'But the rope is yours,' I said; and only think, Gabriel, this black fellow answered me: 'Keep it; and hang yourself with it.' I wanted to throw the dogs out of the carriage again, but the man had vanished into the wood like a will-o'-the-wisp."
"That is a dreadful story," said Gabriel, much troubled; "these dogs have been raised in no Christian household. And do you really intend to keep the ill-omened creatures?"
"I shall make the attempt," said Mr. Hummel. "After all, a dog is a dog."
"Be on your guard, Mr. Hummel, there is something mysterious in these beasts."
"Nonsense!"
"They are monsters," continued Gabriel, counting on his fingers; "first, they have not the names of earthly dogs; secondly, they were offered without money; thirdly, no man knows what food they eat."
"As to their appetite, you will not have to wait long to discover what that is," replied the master of the house.
Gabriel drew a bit of bread out of his pocket, and the dogs snapped at it. "In that regard they are of the right species," he said, a little tranquillized; "but what are they to be called in the house?"
"Bräuhahn I shall call Fighthahn," replied Mr. Hummel; "and in my family no dogs shall be called Goslar. I cannot bear the beastly drink." He cast a hostile look at the neighboring house. "Other people have such stuff fetched every day across the street, but that is no reason why I should suffer such a word in my household. The black shall from this day forth be called Fighthahn and the red Spitehahn-that is settled.
"But, Mr. Hummel, these names are clearly offensive," exclaimed Gabriel; "that will make the matter worse."
"That is my affair," said Mr. Hummel, decidedly. "At night they shall remain in the yard; they must guard the house."
"So long as they do but preserve their bodies," said Gabriel, warningly; "but this kind come and vanish as they please-not as we wish."
"Yet they are not of the devil," rejoined Mr. Hummel, laughing.
"Who speaks of the devil?" replied Gabriel, quickly. "There is no devil-that the Professor will never allow; but of dogs we have various kinds."
So saying, Gabriel took the animals into the hall. Mr. Hummel called out into the room: "Good evening, Philippine. Here, I have brought you a present."
Mrs. Hummel came to the door with a light, and looked astonished at the present, which whined at her feet. This humility disposed the lady to regard them with benevolence.
"But they are frightful," she said, dubiously, as the red and the black sat down on each side of her, wagging their tails land looking up at her from under their shaggy eyebrows. "And why did you bring two?"
"They are not intended for exhibition," returned Mr. Hummel in a pacifying tone; "they are country ware-one is a substitute for the other."
After this presentation they were carried off to a shed. Gabriel once more tried their capacity of eating and drinking; they showed themselves thoroughly satisfactory in this respect, though as regards personal beauty they were not distinguished dogs; and Gabriel went to his room free from anxiety.
When the clock struck ten, and the gate which separated the court-yard from the street was closed, Mr. Hummel went down himself to the dogs' shed to initiate these new watchers into their calling. He was much astonished, on opening the door, to find that they did not require any encouraging words from him-both rushed out between his legs into the yard. As if driven by an invisible whip, they dashed at a headlong pace round the house and factory-always together, and never silent. Hitherto they had been depressed and quiet; now, either as the result of the good food they had devoured or because their night watch had come, they became so noisy that even Mr. Hummel drew back in astonishment. Their hoarse short bark deafened the horn of the night watchman and the call of their master, who wished to recommend moderation. They chased wildly and incessantly around the court, and a continuous yelping accompanied their stormy career. The windows of the house were thrown open.
"This will be a horrible night, Mr. Hummel," said Gabriel.
"Henry," cried out his wife from her bedroom "this is insupportable."
"It is their first outburst of joy," nothing more, said Mr. Hummel, consolingly, and withdrawing into the house.
But this view of the matter turned out to be erroneous. Throughout the whole night the barking of the dogs sounded from the court-yard. In the houses of the neighborhood, shutters were thrown open, and loud words of reproach addressed to Mr. Hummel. The following morning he arose in a state of great uncertainty. Even his own sound sleep had been disturbed by the reproaches of his wife, who now sat at breakfast angry and depressed with headache. When he entered the court-yard, and gathered from his men the complaints they had heard from the neighbors, even he hesitated for a moment whether he should keep the dogs.
Ill luck would have it that just at this moment Mr. Hahn's porter entered the court-yard, and with defiant mien announced that Mr. Hahn insisted upon Mr. Hummel putting a stop to this outrageous barking, or he should be obliged to seek redress before a justice of the peace.
This attitude of his opponent at once decided the inward struggle of Mr. Hummel.
"If I can bear the barking of my dogs, other people can do so too. The bells play on your side of the way and the dogs sing on mine, and if any one wishes to hear my views before a magistrate he shall hear enough to satisfy him."
He returned to the house and with dignity approached his suffering wife.
"Are two dogs to come between you and me, Henry?" asked the wife, with faltering voice.
"Never," replied Mr. Hummel; "the domestic peace must be preserved. I am sorry that you have a headache, and to please you I would remove the beasts. But I have collided again with that coxcomb across the way. For the second time he threatens me with a suit and the magistrate. My honor is at stake, and I can no longer give in. Be a good wife, Philippine, and try to bear it a few nights longer. Put cotton in your ears, till the dogs have gotten accustomed to their work."
"Henry," replied the wife, wearily, "I have never doubted your heart; but your character is rough, and the voices of the dogs are too horrible. Can you, in order to enforce your will, see your wife suffer, and become seriously ill, from sleeplessness? Will you, in order to maintain your position, sacrifice peace with the neighborhood?"
"I do not want you to be ill, but I will not send away the dogs," replied Mr. Hummel, seizing his felt hat, and going to the factory with heavy step.
If Mr. Hummel indulged in the hope that he had ended the domestic struggle as conqueror, he was greatly in error. There was still another power in his home, who opened the campaign in a different manner. When Mr. Hummel approached his desk in his little counting-house, he saw near the inkstand a nosegay of flowers. Attached to the pink ribbon hung a note which was sealed with a forget-me-not, and addressed-"To my dear Father."
"That is my bright-eyed girl," he murmured, and opening the note read the following lines:
"My dear pa, good morrow!
The dogs cause great sorrow,
They are not delightful;
Their bark is just frightful;
Their ardor and sanguinity
Disturb the vicinity.
For the sake of our neighborhood,
Be noble, generous and good."
Hummel laughed so heartily that the work in the factory stopped, and every one was amazed at his good humor. Then he marked the note with the date of its reception, put it in his pocket-book, and after examining the letters that had arrived, he betook himself into the garden. He saw his little daughter sprinkling the beds with her watering-pot, and his heart swelled with a father's pride. With what grace she turned and bent, and how her dark locks hung round the blooming face, and how actively she raised and swung the watering-pot; and, on perceiving him, when she put it down and held her finger threateningly at him, he was quite enchanted.
"Verses again," he called out to her, "I have received Number Nine."
"And you will be my good papa," cried Laura, hastening toward him and stroking his chin; "do send them away."
"But, my child," said the father, composedly. "I have already spoken to your mother about it, and I have already explained to her why I cannot dispose of them. Now, I cannot do to please you, what I have refused your mother; that would be contrary to all family regulations. Respect your mother, little girl."
"You are a hard-hearted father," replied the daughter, pouting; "and more than that, you are unjust in this affair."
"Oh, oh!" cried the father, "is that the way you approach me?"
"What harm does the ringing of bells over there do to us? The little summer-house is pretty, and when we sit in the garden in the evening, and there is a breeze, and the bells tinkle gently, it sounds just lovely-it is like Mozart's Magic Flute."
"Our street is not an opera-house," the father retorted sharply, "but a public thoroughfare; and when my pet dogs bark you can equally well pursue your theatrical ideas, and imagine that you are in the Wolf's Den, in the Freischütz."
"No, my father," answered the daughter, eagerly, "you are unjust towards these people; for you wish to spite them, and that vexes me to my heart's core. It is not worthy of my father."
"Yet you must bear it," he replied, doggedly, "for this is a quarrel between men. Police regulations settle such affairs, and your verses are altogether out of place. As regards the names, it is possible that other words like Adolar, Ingomar, and Marquis Posa, might sound better to you women-folk. But this is no reason for me; my names are practical. In the matter of flowers and books, I will do much to please you but in the matter of dogs I cannot take poetry into consideration." So saying, he turned his back upon his daughter, to avoid protracting the dispute.
Laura, however, hastened to her mother's room, and the ladies took counsel together.
"The noise was bad enough," complained Laura, "but the names are terrible. I cannot say those words for my life, and you ought not to allow our servant to do so, either."
"Dear child," answered the experienced mother, "one has to pass through much in this world which is unpleasant, but what grieves me most is the wanton attacks upon the dignity of women in their own houses. I shall say no more on the subject. I agree with you, that both the names by which the dogs are called are an insult to our neighbor. But if your father were to discover that behind his back we called them Phœbus and Azor, it would make matters worse."
"No one at least must utter those other names who cares for my friendship," said Laura, decidedly, and entered into the court-yard.
Gabriel was employing his leisure in making observations on the new comers. He was frequently attracted to the dogs' kennel in order to establish the certainty of the earthly nature of the strangers.
"What is your opinion?" asked Laura, approaching him.
"I have my opinion," answered the servant, peering into the interior of the shed, "namely, that there is something mysterious about them. Did you remark the song of those ravens the other night? No real dog barks like that; they whine and moan and occasionally groan and speak like little children. They eat like other dogs, but their mode of life is unusual. See, how they cower down, as if they had been struck on the mouth, because the sun shines on them. And then, dear young lady, the names!"
Laura looked with curiosity at the beasts.
"We will alter the names secretly, Gabriel; this one shall be called Ruddy."
"That would certainly be better; it would at least not be an insult to Mr. Hahn, but only to the tenant of the basement."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The porter who lives over there is called Ruddy."
"Then," decided Laura, "the red monster shall from henceforth be named The Other; our people shall call him Andres.2 Tell this to the workmen in the factory."
"Andres!" replied Gabriel. "The name will just suit him. The neighbors would dignify him with the name of Andreas if it were not too much honor to him."
Thus were kind hearts occupied in thwarting the bad signification of the name. But in vain, for, as Laura had correctly noted in her diary, when the ball of mischief has been thrown amongst men, it mercilessly hits the good as well as the bad. The dog was supplied with the most inoffensive name that ever was given; but through a wonderful complication of circumstances, which bid defiance to all human sagacity, it happened that Mr. Hahn himself bore the name of Andreas. Thus the double name of the animal became a double affront to the neighboring house, and bad and good intentions mingled together in a thick, black soup of hatred.
Early in the morning Mr. Hummel appeared at the door, and defiantly, like Ajax, called the two dogs by their hostile names. The porter, Ruddy, heard the call in the cellar, hastened to his master's room, and informed him of this horrible affront. Mrs. Hahn endeavored not to believe it, and maintained that they should, at least, wait for some confirmation. This confirmation did not fail to come; for at noonday Gabriel opened the door of the place where the dogs were confined, and made the creatures come out for a quarter of an hour's sunning in the garden. Laura, who was sitting among her flowers, and was just looking out for her secret ideal-a famous singer, who, with his glossy black hair and military gait was just passing by-determined, like a courageous maiden, not to peer after her favorite through the foliage of the vine arbor, and turned toward the dogs. In order to accustom the red one to his new name, she enticed him with a bit of cake, and called him several times by the unfortunate name, "Andres." At the same moment, Dorchen rushed to Mrs. Hahn, saying: "It is true; now even Miss Laura calls the dog by the Christian name of our master."
Mrs. Hahn stepped to the window much shocked, and herself heard the name of her dear husband. She retreated quickly, for this insult from her neighbors brought tears into her eyes, and she sought for her pocket-handkerchief to wipe them away unperceived by her maid. Mrs. Hahn was a good woman, calm and agreeable, with a tendency to plumpness and an inclination quietly to do anything for the sake of peace. But this heartlessness of the daughter roused her anger. She instantly fetched her cloak from the closet, and went with the utmost determination across the street to the garden of the hostile neighbors.
Laura looked up astonished from the hideous dogs to the unexpected visitor, who came toward her with dignified steps.
"I come to complain, young lady!" began Mrs. Hahn, without further greeting. "The insults that have been heaped upon my husband from this house are insupportable. For your father's conduct you are not responsible; but I think it shocking that a young girl like you should also join in these outrages!"
"What do you mean, Mrs. Hahn?" asked Laura, excitedly.
"I mean the affront of giving a man's name to dogs. You call your dogs by all my husband's names."
"That I have never done," replied Laura.
"Do not deny it," cried out Mrs. Hahn.
"I never speak an untruth," said the girl proudly.
"My husband's name is Andreas Hahn, and what you call this beast is heard by the whole neighborhood."
Laura's pride was roused. "This is a misunderstanding, and the dog is not so called. What you say is unjust."
"How is it unjust?" returned Mrs. Hahn. "In the morning the father, and in the afternoon the daughter call him so."
A heavy weight fell on Laura's heart; she felt herself dragged down into an abyss of injustice and injury. Her father's conduct paralyzed her energies, and tears burst from her eyes.
"I see that you at least feel the wrong you are committing," continued Mrs. Hahn, more calmly. "Do not do it again. Believe me, it is easy to pain others, but it is a sorry business, and my poor husband and I have not deserved it from you. We have seen you grow up before our eyes; and even though we have had no intercourse with your parents, we have always been pleased with you, and no-one in our house has ever wished you ill. You do not know what a good man Mr. Hahn is, but still you ought not to have behaved so. Since we have dwelt here we have experienced many vexations from this house; but that you should share your father's views pains me most."
Laura endeavored in vain to dry her tears. "I repeat to you that you do me injustice; more I cannot say in self-justification, nor will I. You have grieved me more than you know, and I am satisfied that I have a clear conscience."
With these words she hastened into the house, and Mrs. Hahn returned home, uncertain as to the result of her visit.
Laura paced up and down her little room wringing her hands. Innocent and yet guilty in spite of her good will, wounded to the quick, dragged into a family feud, the unhappy results of which could not be foreseen, she reviewed the events of the past day in her excited mind. At last she seated herself at her little writing-table, took out her journal, and confided her sorrows to this silent friend bound in violet leather. She sought comfort from the souls of others who had borne up nobly under similar griefs, and at last found the confirmation of her experience in the expressive well-known passage of Goethe's Faust:
"Reason doth folly, good doth evil grow;
The child must reap the mischief that the fathers sow."
Had she not wished to do what was reasonable and kind, and had not folly and evil arisen from it? And had not misfortune befallen her without her fault merely because she was a child of the house? With this sentence she closed a passionate effusion. But in order not to appear to her conscience devoid of affection, the poor child wrote immediately underneath these words: "My dear, good father." Then she closed the book, feeling more comforted.
But the severest humiliation to her was the feeling that she should be judged unjustly by the people over the way; and she folded her arms and thought how she could justify herself. She, indeed, could do nothing; but there was a worthy man who was the confidant of every one in the house, who had cured her canary bird when ill, and removed a stain from the nose of her little bust of Schiller. She resolved, therefore, to tell only the faithful Gabriel what Mrs. Hahn had said, and not a word to her mother unless obliged to do so.