THE AXE IS PUT TO THE ROOT OF LIFE, AND
TEARS ARE SHED.
It had been a sultry day, and was still a close, sultry evening, when
the Landlord of the Lion, who had driven to the town in an open caleche
with his pair of chesnuts, returned home. When he was driving through
the village, he looked round in a strange manner to the right and to
the left, and greeted every one with unusual politeness. Gregor, who
had driven him, was in his postilion's dress, but had no horn, got down
and unharnessed the horses, and yet the Landlord still sat motionless
in the caleche. He was gazing thoughtfully at his Inn, and then again
at the carriage and horses. When, at last, he alighted and stood on the
ground, he sighed deeply, for he knew it was the last time he should
ever drive in an equipage of his own. All seems just as usual, and only
one single man, besides himself, knows what will soon be. He went
upstairs with a heavy step; his wife was on the landingplace above, and
whispered to him:--
"How is it settled?"
"All will be arranged," answered the Landlord, pushing quickly past his
wife to the public room, and not going first into the back parlour, as
he usually did when he came home. He gave the maid his hat and stick,
and joined the guests present. His dinner was brought to him at the
guests' table by his own desire, but he did not seem to relish it.
The guests stayed till late at night, and he stayed with them; he spoke
little, but even his sitting with them was considered a great attention
and pleasure.
The wife had gone to bed, and after she had been long asleep, the
Landlord also retired to rest--but rest he found none, for an invisible
power drew away the pillow from under his head: this bed, this house,
all here will be no longer yours tomorrow! His thoughts chiefly turned
on the caleche and the chesnut horses. He hastily rubbed his eyes, for
he suddenly thought that the two horses were in his room, stretching
out their heads over his bed, breathing hard, and staring at him with
their great eyes. He tried to compose his nerves, especially dwelling
on the fact, that he had borne his sorrows like a man. He had said
nothing to his wife, she should sleep soundly this night at least; it
will be time enough for her to hear the bad news in the morning, and
then not till after breakfast. When we have had a good night's rest,
and are thus strengthened and refreshed, and bright day is shining on
us, we can bear even the worst tidings with more fortitude.
Day dawned at last, and the landlord, who was quite worn out, begged
his wife, for once, to breakfast alone. At last he came downstairs, ate
a good breakfast, and, as his wife urged him to tell her what
arrangements had been made, he said:--
"Wife, I let you enjoy a peaceful night and morning, so now show some
strength of mind, and hear my tidings with composure and resignation.
At this very hour, my lawyer is announcing my bankruptcy in the next
town."
The Landlady sat for a time dumb and motionless; at last she said:--
"And pray why did you not tell me this last night?"
"From the wish to spare you, and to let you pass the night in peace and
quiet."
"Spare me? You? A greater simpleton does not live! If you had told me
all this last night, I might have contrived to put out of the way a
vast deal of property, that would have stood us in good stead for years
to come, but now the thing is impossible. Help! Help! Oh Heavens!"
screamed the landlady, suddenly, in the midst of their calm
conversation, sinking back into a chair, apparently fainting.
The maids from the kitchen, and Gregor the postilion, rushed into the
room. The Landlady started up and said, sobbing and turning to her
husband:--
"You hid it from me, you never told me a word about it, or that you are
now a bankrupt. All the shame, and all the disgrace rest on you; I am
innocent, wretched creature that I am!"
It would now have been the Landlord's turn to faint away, if his
determined will had not supported him; his spectacles fell down from
his forehead over his eyes of their own accord, to let him see plainly
if what was passing here was really true: this woman, who had never
rested till he, the experienced baker and brewer, went into partnership
with her brother in a large concern for selling clocks, and when his
brother-in-law died, almost forced him to continue the business alone,
although he understood very little of such a traffic;--this woman, who
had always urged him on to fresh speculations, and knew his
involvements even better than he did himself;--this woman had now
summoned the rabble as witnesses, in order to devolve the whole shame
and blame on him.
It was not till this minute that the Landlord of the Lion fully
realized the extent of his misery; they had lived together thirty-five
years, on looking back,--and on looking forwards, who knows how many
more were to come?--and in order to save herself, and expose him to all
the blame, his wife could carry her hypocrisy to such an extent as
this.
His spectacles were dimmed, so that he could no longer see through
them; he first quietly wiped his glasses with his handkerchief, and
then his eyes.
At this moment he felt a degree of resentment and rancour that was
never afterwards effaced; but the proud Landlady soon resumed her
wonted calmness and composure.
When the maids and the postilion had left the room, the Landlord
said:--
"You know best why you have done this; I have no idea what good it can
do, but I shall not say one word more on the subject."
He persisted in this resolution and maintained entire silence, and let
his wife lament and complain as she thought fit. It had always rather
amused him to see how placid and amiable his wife affected to be in the
world. He almost became now, in reality, the wise man he had hitherto
been considered, for during all the violent speeches of his wife, he
thought--
"It is marvellous what people can arrive at! practice makes
perfection."
The unwise world, however, did not take the sudden downfall of the
Landlord of the Lion so coolly. It rolled like a thunderclap over hill
and valley--the Landlord of the Lion is bankrupt!
It cannot be! it is impossible! who can be sure to stand fast, if the
Landlord of the Lion falls? Even the very Golden Lion itself, on the
sign, seemed to fight against such an idea, and the hooks, by which the
painting was suspended, creaked loudly; but the commissioners of
bankruptcy tame even lions, and do not, in the least, pay respect to
them because they are golden ones. The sign was taken down. The lion
looked very melancholy, one eye being hid by the wall, and the other
seemed dim and sad, as if it wished to be also closed for ever, from
feelings of grief and shame.
There was a great commotion in the village, and a great commotion in
the Morgenhalde also.
Lenz ran down into the village, and then up the hill again to the Lion.
The Landlord was still pacing the public room, looking very grave, and
saying, with an air of dignity:--
"I must bear it like a man."
He very nearly said--"like a man of honour."
The Landlady bewailed and lamented; she had known nothing of it, and
vowed that she would put an end to herself.
"Father-in-law," said Lenz, "may I ask if my money is all lost too?"
"In such a vast heap of money, it is not easy to distinguish to whom
such or such a sum belongs," answered the Landlord, in a sententious
voice. "I intend to arrange my affairs presently. If my creditors grant
me three years, I will pay fifty per cent. Sit down, it's no use
brandishing your hands in that way. Lisabeth," called he into the
kitchen, "my dinner."
The cook brought in a capital dinner, the Landlord quickly pulled off
his cap, said grace, and sinking comfortably into his easy chair, he
helped himself plentifully, and ate with the calm of a true sage. When
the second dish arrived, he looked up at his wife, and said:--
"You should also sit down; the best pair of horses to help you up a
steep hill, is a slice of good solid meat. Have they sealed up all our
wine, or can you get me some?"
"It is all sealed up."
"Then make me presently some good coffee, to refresh me."
Lenz seized his hair with his hands. Is he insane? How is it possible
that the man, owing to whom hundreds are at this minute in despair as
to how they are to live, can be comfortably enjoying his dinner? The
landlord was condescending and talkative, and praised Annele for not
also rushing into the house, and adding to all these useless
lamentations:--
"You have, indeed, a clever, industrious wife, the most sensible of all
my children. It is a pity she is not a man, for she has an enterprising
spirit; all would have been very different had she been a man. It is
much to be regretted that Annele is not at the head of some extensive
business; a large hotel would suit her exactly."
Lenz was indignant at his boasting, and his whole demeanour, at such an
hour as this; but he strove to suppress this feeling, and, after an
inward struggle, he said in a timid, almost humble tone:--
"Father-in-law, be sure above all things to take care that the wood
behind my house is not cut down. I have heard people felling trees
there all this morning,--this must not be."
The more mildly Lenz said this, the more vociferously the Landlord
exclaimed:--
"Why not? he who has bought the wood can do as he pleases with it."
"Father-in-law, you promised me that wood."
"But you did not accept it. The wood is sold to a wood merchant at
Trenzlingen."
"But I say you have no power to sell it; that wood is the sole shelter
of my roof. Some of the single trees may be cut down, but the whole
wood must not be levelled. This is the same state in which it has been
preserved for hundreds of years. My grandfather himself told me so."
"That is nothing to me. I have other things to think about just now."
"Oh Heavens!" cried Lenz, with emotion, "what have you done? You have
deprived me of what I value most on earth."
"Really! is money everything? I did not before know that even your
heart, too, was buried in money bags."
"Oh no! you have caused me to seek afresh for parents."
"You are old enough to live as an orphan; but I know you are one of
those, who, even when they are grandfathers themselves, go whining
about, and saying, 'Mother! mother! your precious child is injured!'"
Thus spoke the Landlord, and no one could have believed that he could
be so spiteful. Lenz chanced to be the only one of his creditors who
came within his reach, so he vented the whole burden of his wrath on
his head.
Lenz was alternately pale and flushed, his lips trembled, and he
said:--
"You are the grandfather of my children, and you know what you have
robbed them of. I would not have your conscience for the world. But the
wood shall not be cut down. I will try the question at law."
"Very well; do just as you please about it," said the Landlord, pouring
out his coffee.
Lenz could no longer bear to stay in the room.
On the stone bench before the Lion sat a careworn figure; it was
Proebler. He told every one who passed by, that he was waiting here for
the commissioners to arrive, for he had pawned his best work to the
Landlord upstairs, and it was one in which he had combined all his
discoveries; it must on no account be included in the inventory of
sale, that other people might see it and imitate it, and thus he would
have no profit after all his trouble. The commission of bankruptcy must
first secure him a patent from government, which would make him both
rich and famous. Lenz took a great deal of trouble to soothe the old
man, but he clung fast to his idea, and would not be persuaded to move
from the spot.
Lenz went on his way, for he had enough to do for himself. He hurried
to his uncle Petrowitsch, who said with an air of great triumph:--
"There now! did I not say so? in this very room on the day when you
wished me to go with you to propose for Annele, did I not distinctly
tell you that the Landlord of the Lion had not paid for the velvet cap
on his head, or the boots on his feet? and even his portly person he
acquired from devouring the substance of others."
"Yes, yes, uncle, you were right. You are a sensible man, but help me
now."
"You don't require to be helped."
Lenz related the circumstance about the wood.
"Perhaps we may manage to do some good there," said Petrowitsch.
"Heaven be praised! If I could only get the wood!"
"Not the most remote chance of such a thing; the wood is already sold;
but they have only a right to cut down one half of it. The wood is the
only safeguard for your house, no one living has a right to cut it down
altogether. We will soon show this famous wood merchant from
Trenzlingen that we are the masters on that point."
"But my house! my home!" exclaimed Lenz; he felt as if it was about to
fall down, and he must rush home to save it.
"Your home! you certainly are not very much at home in this matter,"
said Petrowitsch, laughing at his own wit. "Go to the mayor and put in
your claim. Only one thing more, Lenz; I never will again place faith
in any man living; I told you on a former occasion, that your wife was
the only good one of the family. You see I was not deceived about the
two others. I now tell you that your wife knew it long ago, ay, for
years past she knew beyond a doubt how her father's affairs stood, and
you were the cat's paw, because the doctor's son-in-law, the Techniker,
would have nothing to do with her, and he was quite right too."
"Uncle, why do you tell me that just now?"
"Why? because it is true. I can bring forward witnesses to prove it."
"But why now?"
"Is there any time when we ought not to tell the truth? I always
thought that you and your Pilgrim had been two such heroic persons. I
will tell you what you are. No man could be poorer than you, even
before you lost your money, for you were always fretting and grumbling,
and nothing can be more despicable than such a man; his sack must
always have a hole in it. Yes, you are a regular grumbler, always
regretting what you did the day before, and thinking, 'Oh! how
unfortunate I am, and yet I meant well!'"
"You are very hard on me, uncle."
"Because you are too soft and yielding in your ways. Pray be firm and
manly for once, and don't let your wife suffer; treat her kindly, for
she is now far more miserable than you."
"You think so?"
"Yes. Annele of the Lion, once so proud, will feel it a sad blow, when
she can no longer think that every one is proud of her saying good
morning to them."
"She is no longer Annele of the Lion, she is my wife."
"Yes, before God and man; she was your own free choice; I did my best
to dissuade you!"
Lenz hurried to the doctor, who was also the chief magistrate, but did
not find him at home; his way seemed to lie through thorns that tore
and lacerated him; good friends were not at home, and malicious people
now freely uttered the malevolence they had secretly felt, and jeered
at him and tormented him, now that he was helpless. He went homewards,
but ran past his house to the wood, and ordered the woodcutters
instantly to desist, saying: "You have no right to cut trees here."
"Will you pay us our day's work?"
"Yes."
"Very well," They took their axes and went home.
In his own house Lenz found Annele pressing her children to her heart,
and crying out: "Oh! my poor children, you must beg! my poor infants!"
"Not so long as I have life and health," said Lenz; "remember I am your
husband, only be calm and good-tempered."
"Good-tempered! I never in my life did harm to any one; and you are
mistaken if you think now that you can make me your slave, and that I
shall creep at your feet, on account of my poor father's misfortunes.
Just the reverse! I won't give way in the smallest thing. It is now
your turn to show some of that benevolence you are so proud of. Show me
how you can stand by your wife."
"I will do so, undoubtedly; but unless a hand is opened, how can
anything be placed in it?"
"Had you only followed my advice, and bought the Lion, we should have
been provided for, and the house would not have been transferred to
strangers; above all, don't say one word to me about your money! On the
very spot where you are now sitting, you sat on that day; and here I
stood, and here your glass stood so close to the edge of the table,
that I pushed it farther on the table; do you remember? then and there,
I told you plainly and fairly--a prudent man does not part with his
money, not even to my father, nor to any one."
"Did you know of his difficulties at that time?"
"I knew nothing, absolutely nothing; but I did know what prudence
meant, and so leave me in peace."
"Will you not go to your mother? she is in such bitter grief."
"What good could I do? to set her off again in floods of tears at sight
of me? Why should I go down to be stared at, and pitied by all the
people? Am I to hear the Doctor's fine daughters strumming at their
music, and laughing as I pass by? I am quite contented to stay up here
by myself; I don't wish to see anybody."
"No doubt it is all for the best," said Lenz, kindly; "perhaps you will
in future be both better and happier here alone with me. The time may
return, indeed it must surely return, to what it once was, when you
said: 'Up here we are in Paradise, and we will let the world below
drive and rush about here and there, as they please; we can be happy
without that.' We once were happy, and we shall be so again; if you are
only kind to me, I can do as much work as three men, and you need have
no regret on my account, for I did not marry you for your money."
"Nor did I marry you for yours; indeed, I don't think it would have
been worth while; if I had wanted to be rich, I might have got many a
wealthy husband."
"We have been too long together to talk of the marriages we might have
made," said Lenz, interrupting her; "let us go to dinner."
After dinner, Lenz mentioned the affair about the wood, and Annele
said, "Do you know what will be the result?"
"What?"
"Nothing, but that you will be obliged to pay the woodcutters for their
day's work."
"We shall see about that," said Lenz, and went again in the afternoon
to the Doctor's, whom he had not found at home in the morning. On his
way there, he was joined by a very sorrowful companion. Faller came up
to him as pale as death, and exclaiming: "Oh! it is dreadful, too
dreadful! a flash of forked lightning in a calm bright sky!"
Lenz tried to cheer him, saying: "That certainly between three and
four hundred gulden were a heavy loss, but he had no doubt of being
able to bear up against it," and thanked his faithful comrade for his
sympathy. All at once Faller stood still, as if rooted to the spot.
"What! has he involved you too? He owes me thirty-one gulden for
clocks, by which I made very little profit, but I let him keep them as
if they had been in a savings' bank, to pay for a paling to go round my
house; now I am thrown back at least two years."
Lenz wrung his hands, but said he could not stay another moment, as he
must go to the magistrate instantly.
Faller looked after him sadly, and almost forgot his own misery in that
of his friend.
The Doctor was much depressed by the stroke that had ruined the
Landlord of the Lion. The sum that he lost himself was not great, but
the bankruptcy was a misfortune not only to the village, but to the
whole adjacent country.
When Lenz related that he had also suffered, the Doctor exclaimed, in
horror: "So he has involved you too! nothing can surprise me now. How
could he be so wicked? How had he the heart to do it?" but after a time
he said: "How does your wife bear it?"
"She does not bear it at all, she places it all on my shoulders."
Lenz detailed the history of the wood, and urged instant help, that his
house might not be exposed to all the violence of the weather and snow
storms, and to prevent the hill crumbling down on his head. The Doctor
in his magisterial capacity declared: "To level the wood to the ground,
would be a disgrace to the whole country, and would probably destroy
the best well; the one beside the church, which is fed by the wood. At
all events, they must be obliged to leave sufficient timber on the side
of the hill, to be a protection to your dwelling, but we have no power
over them. It is a shame and an iniquity, that the owners of woods may
cut them all down as they please. There is a law against it in
progress, but I fear that if it ever passes, it will be, as it too
often is, a case of shutting the stable door when the steed is stolen."
"But Herr Doctor, this iniquity will affect me first of all; can
nothing be done?"
"I scarcely think so. When the burdens were taken off land, I was not a
magistrate, your father-in-law was then the man. It was omitted to
guard the rights of the community, yours included. To be sure, at that
period no one would have built a house where yours now stands, if it
had been supposed that the wood might be entirely felled some day, but
you have no legal right to protection from the wood; make an
application, however, to the commissioners; I will give you a letter to
them, perhaps they may be able to assist you."
Lenz felt sadly dejected; he could scarcely stir from the spot, but he
dared not make any delay, or think of the law expenses. He took a
carriage, and drove to the next town.
In the meanwhile an almost forgotten person appeared at the
Morgenhalde, and in the gayest attire too. It was cousin Ernestine, the
grocer's wife, from the next town, who had so excited Annele's spite
the first time she drove out with Lenz. She came to visit Annele in a
new silk dress, and a handsome gold watch hanging at her side. She said
she had been in the village, having some money to place in the savings'
bank; they were, thank God! doing well; her husband carried on a
flourishing business, as a house and land agent, and also a pretty
brisk trade in rags; he was also agent for a Fire and Hail Insurance
Office, and on the lives of men and animals, the finely printed cards
of which, were hanging in every shop; that brought a considerable sum,
without incurring any risk, and having come in this direction to
collect arrears, she could not be so near without calling to see
Annele.
Annele thanked her politely, and apologized for not offering her
dinner; Ernestine assured her that she did not come on that account.
"I believe you did not," said Annele; "but these words have a double
interpretation." Annele felt convinced that Ernestine had come on
purpose to have her revenge, in order that Annele, who had always
looked down on her, should now be filled with spite and envy; but
Annele had too long played the part of a landlord's daughter, not to be
able to receive her visitor with the most polite and cordial speeches;
in this manner she did not sacrifice her pride--for she was, after all,
the daughter of the Landlord of the Golden Lion, and the other only a
poor cousin, who had once been a maid in their service; and she hinted
to Ernestine, that the various branches of industry she mentioned,
though very suitable for people of a certain class, would be wholly
unsuitable to those of a higher order.
Ernestine, in truth, was not totally devoid of malice when she went to
the Morgenhalde, although she had brought in the bag on her arm, a
pound of roasted coffee and some white sugar, as an offering to Annele.
When, however, she saw her, these spiteful feelings were changed into
sincere pity, and when Annele treated her so haughtily, she quickly
subsided into her usual meek submissiveness, and totally forgot her new
silk gown and her gold watch. The present she had intended for Annele,
she now converted into a mere sample of her goods, which, she said, she
offered to her, in the hope of getting her custom, and she shed very
heartfelt tears, when she said:--"That if all the persons who had
received benefits from the Golden Lion, would now repay them in kind,
Annele's parents would have wherewithal to live on for a hundred years
to come; and she added, in all sincerity, that if Annele had only
remained in the Lion after her marriage, the inn would now have been as
flourishing as in good old times."
This tempting bait made Annele forget old discord, and all the odious
new finery of her cousin. Now there began an exchange of reminiscences
of old days, intermingled with lamentations over the present, and false
ungrateful people; and they agreed so perfectly, that Annele and
Ernestine parted as if they had been the dearest friends from time
immemorial, and had always lived together like sisters. Annele escorted
Ernestine part of the way, and commissioned her to tell her husband to
look out for a respectable inn, which might be bought and made
profitable, especially where there was a brisk traffic in changing
horses, and then she and Lenz would sell their house on the
Morgenhalde.
Ernestine promised every attention to her wishes, and repeatedly begged
Annele not to send to any one but her for groceries.
When Annele returned home, many were the thoughts that passed through
her head: "Our inn provided for so many people in its day, and ensured
their success in life, and now we are to sink into nothing! Even the
simple Ernestine had her wits sharpened up with us, so that she can now
actually conduct a shop, and has made a man of her shabby, ruined
tailor. Once on a time, she was only too glad to wear my old clothes,
and now, how she is dressed out!--like a steward's wife, rustling in
silk, and rattling the gold in her purse: and I am not to get on in
life, but to remain vegetating and fading away here, and even accepting
benefits from Ernestine! for her heart failed her to offer me the
coffee and sugar as a gift, so she pretended they were merely samples
of her wares.--No, no, my good clockmaker! I intend to wind you up, and
set you going in a strain of music you never heard before!"
She was very much satisfied at having given Ernestine orders, to find
out a profitable inn for them. When any step is once taken, a line of
conduct is quickly settled accordingly.
In the mean time she tried to be calm and quiet. Not till late at
night, did Lenz return from the town with an adverse decision. There
was no legal right on this property to the shelter of the wood; and
when Lenz awoke in the morning, and heard the strokes of the axe on the
hill behind his house, every stroke seemed to cut into his flesh.
"I might as well die at once," said he to himself, despondingly, as he
went to his work. The whole day he never said a word, and not till
night, when he put out the light in his room, did he say aloud:--"I
wish I could extinguish my life like this."
Annele pretended not to hear him.
Annele had as yet shed no tear, either for her own misfortunes, or the
misery of her parents. With the exception of bewailing the fate of her
children, when she first heard what had occurred, she was calm and
composed. When, however, morning after morning, no more newly baked
white bread came from the village, when she placed the loaf on the
table beside the coffee, bitter tears rolled down her cheeks and
dropped on the bread: she cut it off before Lenz saw it, and swallowed
the bread steeped in her tears.