The determined, steadfast Landolin had become a coward. He despised
himself for it, but that did not mend matters. His lips were always
tightly compressed, and their bitter expression became habitual. Often
he would stop suddenly while walking along. He felt that he must draw
his breath: he was almost smothered by the thoughts that lay so heavy
upon him. Then he looked around beseechingly, and went on his way. How
rich he had been before! He had had an outstanding capital of honor
with every one; and now, when he wanted to draw upon it, it was no
longer there. Strictly speaking, he had thought neither well nor ill of
other people, he was indifferent to them; but now things had changed.
His power of thought had lain fallow; and now upon this fallow land all
manner of weeds, whose seeds had lain unsuspected in the ground, made
their appearance. He had lived and had had an acute mind, especially
when an advantage for himself was to be gained. But now, it seemed as
though he were half asleep. Stop! What are men to you? What do you care
for this one and that one? What does one gain in life, after all?
Plowing, sowing, and reaping. The forest trees grow, long after the man
who planted them has become a clod of earth. Is it for this that a man
gives himself so much trouble and thought? Yes--gives thought. That is
what is hard for a man who, until now, has not had it to do.
When the soul comes to a spot where harshness, and selfishness pass
step by step before its eyes, then it is difficult for it to turn back
and take another path. It seems as if irresistible forces drive it
along the path of grief and bitterness, and yet all the while a longing
to meet with friendship and responsive love grows stronger and warmer
within it.
Landolin felt something of this emotion, although he probably could not
have given it utterance. But in the soul there is much that is
unutterable, even for a far more thoughtful and meditative nature than
Landolin's.
The man who was formerly strong as iron, had become unnerved, and one
could conceive of nothing which could happen to renew his strength.
Perhaps Thoma's love could have accomplished it. Perhaps! Certainly, he
said to himself. There were even times when he not only mourned that
this love was denied him, but was yet more deeply grieved to see his
child, his proud, beautiful child, bent with sorrow, and her life left
waste and bleak. He had nurtured a pride and severity in her, which now
threatened her destruction. In his distress he groaned aloud, and
submitted to Peter's dominion as if to a penance; indeed, though
Peter's boldness was so serious an offense, it often extorted his
admiration.
"He will some day be the man to trample the whole world under foot, and
laugh as he does it. He will be more powerful than Titus himself."
Landolin resolved to dissemble and play the hypocrite; to act as if he
mistook people's malice for good will, and to retaliate secretly. But
his pride was incompatible with success in hypocrisy. He was annoyed at
his own lack of courage, he very candidly called it cowardice, but
still that did not help him to regain the old fearlessness--the old
pride. Yes, he had become over-sensitive.
His walk had now brought him to the forest, with its overhanging
branches. In other times how little he had cared for the noxious
insects of the woods. He had not grown up with gloved hands, but now he
shuddered at the caterpillars that hung in the air by their slender
threads, as though they were waiting to drop down upon him. These
caterpillars can be shaken off, but the world's malicious thoughts,
that like caterpillars hang everywhere by invisible threads, cannot.
Landolin was sitting on an old tree-stump, when the game-keeper
approached, and addressed him in a friendly manner, expressing his
sorrow that Landolin had had to undergo so much trouble. Landolin
complained that in the short time, he had grown twenty years older, and
suffered with a constant palpitation of the heart.
Suddenly he paused, for he became aware that he was begging for
sympathy. And from whom? But the game-keeper responded,
"I know myself how a man feels the half hour that the jury are out, and
he is waiting for the verdict of life or death."
"How do you know about it?"
"Have you forgotten my shooting the poacher? He had his piece leveled
at me from behind a tree. Crack--crack. It is self-defense! There you
lie," said the game-keeper, with a crafty smile.
Landolin went home fortified. "It was self-defense. The court has
acknowledged that it was, and it was so. I must learn to keep that in
mind. I must."