CHAPTER XLIV.
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."