Landolin strove to think of something else than that which, against his
will, forced itself upon him; and asked his wife after they had got to
their room:
"Is there nothing new? Hasn't anything happened all this long time?"
"No; at least not much. The old Dobel-Farmer was so badly hurt,
unloading a wagon-load of wood, that he died. Perhaps you heard of it.
The government has bought the Dieslinger farm for a forest. The owner
of the Syringa farm is married again. In Heidlingen they have a new
minister. The former one tried to make his church Old-Catholic, as they
call it; and the Improvement Society, as they call it, has laid out a
new road near our forest. The superintendent, the good old General, has
often been here, and asked after you."
Thus his wife went on.
"Who came to see you oftenest while I was away?"
"My brother. But there were a good many other people who came to
condole with me. I wouldn't listen to their pity, so after awhile they
stopped coming."
"Didn't the miller ever come to see you?"
"No; not once."
"That's just like a Dutchman. He won't go unless he's pushed. To-morrow
I'll straighten matters between Anton and Thoma. I'll go and see the
miller."
"Don't do that. Don't try to hitch up so fast. You understand what I
mean. You know when a man wants to turn a wagon round, or back his
horses, he can't do it on a gallop."
"Aha!" thought Landolin, "she's trying to be smart. Everybody thinks
they're smarter than I am."
As Landolin was silent, his wife continued: "Now, you go to sleep. I'm
sleepy."
The quiet did not last long, for Landolin tossed back and forth on his
bed, and sighed and groaned.
"What is the matter? Aren't you tired?"
"Oh, wife, I can't make it real that I am not alone; and that the
sword no longer hangs over my head. I see the counselor's glittering
eye-glass on its black ribbon all the time. Indeed, you haven't your
old husband any more. You have another--and I can't abide the fellow,
he's so soft-hearted. I wish you would often remind me not to care for
what other people think. They have forgotten me, and I'll do what I can
to forget them. Only you must be very patient with me; but don't give
up to me, and don't let me be so soft-hearted."
The strong man wept bitter tears in the depth of the night, and called
out, almost with a curse:
"May my eyes run out if I ever weep again, as long as we two live
together! I make this promise to you, and to myself. Others cannot
embitter my life, if I do not embitter it myself. Yes, yes!
Self-defense! Self-defense!"
His wife lighted a candle, and tried to comfort the self-tormented man.
He said, at length:
"One thing more. Cushion-Kate called after me, that I must make away
with myself--I won't do that, for your sake."
His wife stroked his hand, wet with freshly-fallen tears.
"I won't give people the satisfaction of thinking we need sympathy.
Leave the candle burning; and then, if I wake up again, I shall know I
am no longer in prison. Good-night, we'll go to sleep now."
He slept until late in the day. His wife rose gently and went about her
work, carefully avoiding the least noise that might wake her husband.
She blessed every moment that brought him sleep and exhilarating
strength and health.