He thought of those gone before him. They too must have known this. They too must have kept it concealed. How many secrets there must be between succeeding generations! And each generation takes its own secrets with it to the grave, so that the following may live.
These were Christopher Ulwing’s hardest days. He built ruined houses up anew. He built himself up anew too. And while he seemed more powerful than ever, business men around him failed and complained.
“Building land will have to be sold; one can’t stick to things in these times,” said the contractors and looked enquiringly at Christopher Ulwing. “What was the great carpenter’s opinion?” But his expression remained cold and immovable. Christopher Ulwing never opened the conversation except when he had to give orders; otherwise he waited and observed.
In the evening the window of the green room remained long alight. John Hubert and Augustus Füger sat there in the cosy armchairs in the corner and now young Otto Füger was present too, always respectful, always inquisitive.
“These are bad times,” sighed the little book-keeper, “one hears of nothing but bankruptcy.”
“One goes down, the other up,” growled the builder, “never say die.”
“During the revolution it was possible to expect better times,” said John Hubert, “but at present....”
His father interrupted him.
“These things too will come to an end.”
“The question is, won’t these things end us first?”