There is a great commotion. The people are turning Grassteiger's house
upside down; then they race across the church square, perpetrating all
sorts of mischief.
In the parsonage lies a peasant lad whose chin they have shattered.
It is Carnival Sunday. The people think no longer of the epidemic.
They assemble in the tavern and drink brandy; they are hilarious, laugh,
and tease one another. Their faces redden, and each one is ready to
taunt and joke the others, but none are willing to be teased themselves.
An untimely word, a sidelong glance, or a dispute about some pretty girl
is enough to raise a quarrel. They strike at each other's cheeks with
the palms of their hands--that does not suffice; they hit one another
with their fists--nor does that satisfy them; they break the legs of
chairs, and, swinging them with both arms in their fury, hurl them down
upon the heads of their comrades. That is enough. One of them lies
stretched upon the floor. The fight is over.
"Be careful, people," I say to those assembled at Grassteiger's; "if you
are so hilarious on the days of rest, your work will yield no blessing,
and bad times will come to Winkelsteg again."
Here a master workman from Schneethal speaks: "It 's just because we are
such savage people that we remain nothing but poor devils! I verily
believe it, and the schoolmaster is right; there should be no more
fighting, and I tell you, landlord Grassteiger, if another quarrel takes
place in your house, then I will come with a fence-bar and split open
all your skulls!"
This spirit is in the people. But the fact that Lazarus never takes
part in such broils is a comfort to me. They try hard to urge him on,
but he makes his escape. Sometimes his blood rises, but he bravely
calms himself. He is a man through and through. And Juliana is his
guardian angel, faithfully helping him to control his fiery temper.
The forester has tried to persuade Lazarus to go out to the plains; when
one has shown so much ability as this young man, he thinks something
extraordinary might be made of him. But Lazarus will not leave the
forest. He is becoming a good man, and better than that he could not do
outside, though the emperor should place him upon his throne.
It is a favourable sign that he drinks no brandy. Brandy is like oil in
the fire, and thus the unfortunate fights arise.
We heads of the parish never touch a drop of it. But, if we do not,
there remains so much the more for the others.
The priest has many times sternly warned the people against this habit
of drinking. Finally in his indignation he has with a loud voice
denounced the brandy as a fountain of hell, a poison for body and soul,
and the brandy-distiller as a poisoner.
Old Grassteiger looks at the priest askance and not long afterwards lets
it be known that some fresh cider has arrived at the tavern.
But Kranabethannes does not allow the matter to drop so easily. With a
much larger stick than he ordinarily carries, he appears before the door
of the parsonage.
He raps, and even after the priest has twice distinctly called, "Come
in," he raps still a third time. He is not hard of hearing, but he
wishes to show that, although a "wood-devil," he knows how to behave in
the proper manner with a gentleman, and even with his enemy, whom he
to-day intends to annihilate.
Having finally entered the room, he remains standing close by the door,
crushing his hat brim in his fist and murmuring through his rough,
yellow beard: "I have a word to say to the priest."
The latter politely offers him a seat.
"I have a little affair," says the man, not stirring from the spot where
he is standing; "I am the brandy-distiller from Miesenbach forest, a
poor devil, who must earn my bread with the sweat of my brow. I am
willing to work as long as God gives life to a poor old man like me, no
matter how much the people may oppress me and deprive me of my
customers."
"Sit down," says the priest. "You are warm; have you been walking
fast?"
"Not at all, but I have come a good distance, and on the way I thought
to myself that there was no more justice in the world, or in any man--no
matter how saintly he may look. What kind of a priest is he who
deprives a poor father of a family in his parish of the last bit of
bread? When honest work yields no profit, then one must steal and rob;
and this, I suppose, is better than that a poor, worn-out man should
taste a drop of brandy;--for it is the 'fountain of hell!'"
The man breathes hard; the priest is silent; he knows that he must allow
the storm to pass if he wishes to sow in peaceful weather.
"And he who brews this 'fountain of hell' must indeed be the devil's
friend. The people look at me as if I were such a one. They are right
perhaps. But if I am bad, it is not I who made myself so. And he who has
destroyed my business had better look out for me. Priest, I am not here
for nothing!"
The brandy-distiller entirely forgets his customary suavity and assumes
a threatening attitude.
"If you are the brandy-distiller from Miesenbach forest," says the
priest composedly, "then I am glad to see you. As you so seldom come
over to Winkelsteg, I have wanted to go to you. We must talk with one
another. You are giving the Winkelstegers brandy no longer, and you are
a man of honour, a great benefactor to the parish. I thank you, friend!
And your forethought is very praiseworthy. It is true, is it not, that
you are now going into the business of herbs and resin? I hope so, and
I am entirely of your opinion, that you will earn more if you prepare
medicines, oils, and costly balsams from them and then seek a market in
the outside country. I will give you all the assistance in my power.
Yes indeed, that is a good turn which you have made, and in a few years
you will be a well-to-do man."
The brandy-distiller has no idea what is befalling him. He has made
_no_ turn, has never thought of producing oil and balsam; but it now
seems so sensible and feasible that he does not contradict the priest,
and with a smirk the prospective producer of oil bows his head.
"And should you temporarily need something for wife and child--_mein
Gott_, at first one manages as best one can--then I should be pleased to
assist with a trifle. I beg of you to regard me as entirely your
friend!"
Hannes grunts some incomprehensible reply and, stumbling out of the
house, throws his cudgel over the hedge.