He had been independent.  He had never sought the favor of any man, but, trusting solely to himself, had always relied on his own strength.  And now mankind wished to make him feel that he had mortified them by his self-sufficiency—­for small natures never forgive one who dares to be independent of others, and finds his source of honor in himself.  And this crime Gotzkowsky had been guilty of.  What he was, he had made himself.  He had owed nothing to protection, nothing to hypocrisy or flattery, eye-service, or cringing.  Only by the strength and power of his own genius had he elevated himself above the world which he ruled.

And now that he was down, it was but natural that the world should fall upon him, tear him to pieces with its venomous fangs, to enjoy his torture, and joyfully to witness the lowering of pride and independence.  Gotzkowsky arrived at the town-hall and slowly ascended the steps.  How often had he gone this same road in answer to the pressing cry for help which the magistrate would utter in his distress!  How often had he mounted those steps to give his advice, to lend his energy, his money, and his credit to these gentlemen of the Council!

This day the doors were not thrown open to him the beadle did not bow down to the earth before him, but proudly and with erect head stepped up to him and bade him wait in the antechamber until he had announced him to the assembled Council.  He had to wait long, but finally the doors opened and he was admitted.  There sat the aldermen and councillors, and the burgomaster, just as they had when, in their need and distress, they had appealed to Gotzkowsky for advice and assistance—­just as they had when, in solemn session, they determined to present him with a silver laurel-wreath as an honorable testimonial.

Only the chief burgomaster was absent.  Herr von Kircheisen was at home, enjoying the sight of the money he had won from Gotzkowsky.  This day they did not receive him as a counsellor or friend, but more like a delinquent.  No one rose to greet him—­no one offered him a seat!  They knew that he came to ask for something.  Why, then, should they be polite to him, as he was only a petitioner like all other poor people?  In the mean time Gotzkowsky did not seem to be aware of the alteration.  Smiling, and with a firm, proud step he walked to a chair and sat down.

After a pause the burgomaster asked him churlishly what his business was.  He drew out a parcel of papers, and laying them on the table, said, “I have brought my accounts.”

A panic seized the worshipful gentlemen of the Council, and they sat petrified in their seats.