"The house is changed when the husband's hat no longer hangs on its
accustomed nail," the farmer's wife often said. Her thoughts were not
many, but those she had she liked to repeat like a pater noster.
When, on the morning after her husband's arrest she said this for the
first time, and was about handing Thoma the keys, Peter called out:
"Mother, give me the keys; I am the son of the house, and I must take
the reins now."
If the stove had spoken they could not have been more astonished.
Peter, whom they had all looked upon as a dull, idle fellow, who did
only what he was told, and never undertook anything of himself--Peter
of a sudden gave notice of what he was and what he wanted, and even his
voice, generally heavy and drawling, became somewhat commanding and
energetic. In reality a transformation had begun in Peter. He ceased to
be taciturn and became almost talkative. His natural effort to aid his
father had called forth a latent energy, which no one, least of all
himself, had ever suspected, and which once aroused, continually grew
in strength. Other awakenings assisted in changing his trouble into a
joyous sense of courage; yes, almost of presumption. It was not only at
home, but in the whole neighborhood that people saw with astonishment
how his father's absence had changed him. The head-servant, Tobias,
smiled as he went about his work at the thought that he had had a hand
in helping Peter into the saddle. And, indeed, Peter was, literally,
much on horseback, riding everywhere on the bay mare, to tell the
people who were at the house congratulating Thoma at the time of the
accident, what they had seen. Some of them thought they knew all about
it; and some, on the other hand, declared they had seen nothing; for
they did not want the trouble of testifying in court.
Wherever Peter went the people said, "No one knew that you were such a
smart fellow. Thoma used to be the only one talked about, just as
though there were no such person as you." Peter smiled craftily when he
heard this; he put on a grieved, troubled look, and shook his head, but
was nevertheless pleased to hear people add, "Your father rather put
you down."
Peter was not unassuming; quite the reverse, for he looked upon all men
as his debtors. They had allowed him to grow up in simplicity and
honesty for three and twenty years without revealing to him how sweet
knavery tastes. But now, he was finding out for himself.
"Look! Look! There comes Peter of Reutershoefen!" was heard up and down
the mountain side.
"What Peter?"
"Landolin's Peter."
"Yes, people did not know what kind of a fellow he was; they thought he
couldn't count three; and now he turns out to be one of the sharpest
fellows possible."
It was true; he had not been exactly a blockhead; but dull and
unsympathetic. And what had he now become?
It may, perhaps, seem unnatural, but nevertheless it was a thoroughly
logical development; he had become an accomplished hypocrite.
Once, at a fair, when Peter had taken an electric shock, a strange
something ran through his frame. He had very much the same feeling the
first time that Tobias said to him, "We must act as though we had seen
everything so, and seem thoroughly honest about it, and then we shall
be able to make other people think so."
Peter discovered that hypocrisy was sweet to the taste; and that it was
no new thing for the world to feast on it.
Wherever he went people condoled with him over his misfortune, even
when he was quite sure they were glad of it.
However, he paid them in the same coin by pretending to be excessively
amiable. This helped to make him energetic; for the secret pleasure and
delight of making a laughing stock of others, animated him anew every
morning. He and Tobias made themselves merry over the trick they were
playing on the people, and on having succeeded in persuading a few
simple-minded persons, as well as some rascals, to testify as they
wished. Tobias gave his pupil this advice:
"Now, you see, sharp people get along best in this world. They are
never cheated nor plagued. If you want anything of them, and knock at
their door, they pretend not to be at home. 'There is no one at home;
and I'm asleep,' as the old peasant woman called out to the beggar that
knocked at her door on a Sunday afternoon."
Only once was Peter worsted. He went to see Anton, and told him he
thought he had been very wise in breaking off with Thoma so promptly;
for now, as he was no longer related to them, he could be a witness for
his father.
Peter was not a little astonished to hear Anton answer that it was
Thoma who had broken off the match, and that it was hardly possible for
them to make it up again.
What? Will Anton refuse to tell him the truth? Is he so sly as to try
to keep up a false show before his brother even?
Anton's bright face darkened when he heard Peter's words. He saw
clearly through his scheme, and astonished him by replying that he
would tell no one how he would testify; that he had taken counsel with
his conscience, and would do as he thought right.
Notwithstanding this, Peter, with honest mien, confided to many
persons, under strict injunction of secrecy, the testimony that Anton
would give; and in this way persuaded some of them, for they thought:
"Whatever Anton Armbruster says is certainly true."
It was with dismay that Thoma heard--for Peter made no secret of his
preparations--what corruption he was spreading over the whole
neighborhood; but she could do nothing to prevent it, and had to keep
silent when her mother praised the good, kind people.
So the time drew near for Landolin to appear before the court for which
he had been selected as juryman.