WILKENS.

Well!  But this is not a question of your trees.

FORESTER.

So that the wind can rush in and break down everything.  Hang it! 
Nonsense!  He does not mean it at all.  If he only comes to his senses—­

WILKENS.

That’s just what I say.  Until it comes to the actual cutting down, one has time to think a hundred times.  And don’t you see that it is not at all the cutting down that Mr. Stein is concerned about?  He is only concerned about maintaining his authority.  If he is the master he necessarily must be right.

FORESTER.

But he is wrong, and I shall not give my consent to anything that is wrong.  For forty years I have disregarded my own interest for the sake of what was intrusted to my care; I have—­

WILKENS.

Well.  My opinion is, that if for forty years you have had such tender regard for your trees, you might now, for once, have a similar regard for your wife and children and yourself.

FORESTER.

Do you know that to Stein there may result from this a loss of six thousand dollars?  Do you?  Of that sum I should deprive him if I consented.  And would you have some one come along and say:  “Ulrich gave his consent to that?  In fifteen years there might have been such a forest of timber, that a forester’s heart would have swelled with pride, and—­”

WILKENS.

Well.  That might still—­

FORESTER.

After the cursed wind from the direction of Hersbruck once has made havoc in it?  You talk as you understand it.

SOPHY (anxiously).

But what is to become of us?

FORESTER.

We are honest people, and such we shall remain.  WILKENS.  Well!  As if honesty entered even remotely into this question!

FORESTER.

But, gracious heavens!  What else does enter?  Hey?  Am I to play the sycophant?  Just try to kick me!  You’ll soon learn better.  And laugh in my sleeve?  Only no honest, fearless word!  That is your peasant’s philosophy.  As long as they don’t touch your pocket-book, you put up with anything.  If you are not compelled—­

WILKENS (self-satisfied).

Well, yes.  If the peasant is not compelled, he moves neither hand nor foot.  There he is quite right.  That is the peasant’s philosophy.  And, I tell you, this peasant’s philosophy is not so foolish.  Had you practised this philosophy, you would have done your duty, and not a penny’s worth more; you would have spent your money on yourself, your wife and your children, and not to increase somebody else’s wealth.  In that case, it would not concern you now what becomes of it.—­Whose bread I eat, his praise I sing.  You are paid to be servant, not master.  When, therefore, your master says:  The forest shall be cleared—­

FORESTER.

Then I must see to it that it is not done.  The honest man comes before the servant.