The pale rays of dawn were dimly lighting the little town of Graufthal
when Frantz Mathéus opened his eyes; the red cock of his neighbour
Christina Bauer awoke him with its matutinal crow at the moment when
Socrates and Pythagoras were placing crowns of imperishable flowers upon
his head.
This happy omen put him immediately into a good humour. He pulled on his
breeches, and opened his window to breathe the free air. But judge of
his surprise when he discovered, a few steps from the door, Jean-Claude
Wachtmann, the schoolmaster, pacing to and fro, a paper in his hand, and
making truly extraordinary gestures.
What increased the Doctor’s astonishment was to see that Jean-Claude had
on his large Sunday coat, and that he wore his immense three-cornered hat
and silver-buckled shoes.
“What are you doing here so early in the morning, Maître Claude?” he
asked.
“I am reading,” replied the schoolmaster gravely, without disturbing
himself; “I am reading a piece of eloquence composed by myself—something
to soften the heart of a rock!”
The gesture, the attitude, and the imposing look of Jean-Claude
portended trouble to the soul of Frantz Mathéus; he began to conceive
vague uneasiness.
“Maître Claude,” he said in a faltering voice, “I am not unaware of your
talents and remarkable learning; will you have the kindness to let me
look at this discourse?”
“You shall hear it, Doctor—you shall hear it, when the others are
assembled,” replied Claude Wachtmann, putting his paper into the large
pocket of his black coat; “it is before everybody I wish to read this
remarkable work, the fruit of my studies and of my profound sorrow.”
The schoolmaster’s look was august as he pronounced these words, and
Frantz Mathéus felt himself turn pale.
“Martha! Martha!” he murmured to himself, “what have you done? Not
content with shaking my courage by your tears, you still further take
advantage of my being asleep to raise the village against me!”
Alas! the illustrious Doctor had not deceived himself; his perfidious
servant had given the note of warning, and the report of his departure
had spread far and wide.
Georges Brenner, the woodman, soon made his appearance. He cast a savage
look towards the Doctor’s house, and clapped himself down on the stone
bench by the door; then came Christian, the thresher, every feature
expressing dejection; then Katel Schmidt, the miller’s sister; then all
the village, women, children, old folks, as if to a funeral.
Mathéus, hidden behind his windows, shuddered on seeing the gathering
storm. His first idea was to confront this ignorant crowd, entirely
destitute of the simplest notions on the subject of the three
kingdoms of nature—to make them blush for their narrow selfishness, by
demonstrating in the most evident manner that Frantz Mathéus owed himself
to the universe, and that his sublime genius could not bury itself at
Graufthal without committing a terrible crime towards humankind; but
afterwards his natural prudence suggested to his mind a less imposing
project, though one that was quite legitimate, and requiring tact for its
execution: he resolved to go softly into the kitchen, from the kitchen
into the barn, then to saddle Bruno and escape by the back-door.
This ingenious design made the good man smile; he pictured to himself
Maître Claude’s stupefaction in thinking to catch the hare in its form
when it was already trotting far away over the mountain.
Hastily he put on a pair of new woollen stockings, his big brown
overcoat, and his heavy riding-boots, furnished with spurs like
clock-wheels; then he put on his wide-brimmed hat, which gave him a
venerable appearance, and opened his door with infinite caution. But, in
crossing the kitchen, he fortunately recollected the _Anthropo-Zoology_,
and returned in haste to put the synopsis in his pocket.
The illustrious Doctor regretted not being able to take with him the
sixteen quarto volumes, but he carried in his head all the developments
of that great work, as well as the notes, corollaries, references, and a
mass of unpublished and curious observations, the results of his later
studies.
At last, after a farewell look at his cherished library, he stole, all
in a tremble, into the stable, like a captive escaping from the hands of
infidels.
Broad daylight already made its way in through the dull panes of a
skylight, and the sight of Bruno revived his courage.
Bruno was a vigorous horse, with massive neck and shoulders, wide chest;
short, solid, thick-set, with firm hocks; in a word, the worthy and
robust bearer of the country Doctor.
On seeing Maître Mathéus go by on Bruno, every one might have said—
“There go the very best beast and the greatest philosopher in the
country.”
Frantz Mathéus saw, by his shining and well-rounded paunch, that he had
eaten his double feed of oats; therefore, without dissertation of any
sort, he put on his large leathern saddle, in one of the holsters of
which he placed the copy of his synopsis; then, with a precipitation
which proved his great desire to escape Claude Wachtmann’s eloquence, he
led his horse into the barn, raised the bar, and opened the folding-door.
But the anger and exasperation of the Doctor are not to be imagined when
he saw the whole village gathered about the door, Jean-Claude Wachtmann
at the head, Hubert the blacksmith on his right, and Christian Bauer on
his left. His venerable face turned suddenly red, and his habitually calm
and meditative eyes shot forth the lightnings of a noble indignation.
He mounted abruptly into the saddle, crying—
“Make way!”
But the crowd did not stir, and Maître Frantz even thought he could
perceive a mocking smile on all their lips, as if defying him to go.
“Come, my friends, make way for me,” he said, in a less decided tone; “I
am going to see my patients in the mountain.”
This falsehood, so contrary to his system, pained him; yet the peasants,
who knew his goodness, took no heed of it.
“We know all,” cried fat Catherine, pretending to shed tears in her
apron, “we know all! Martha has told us all—you want to leave the
village.”
Mathéus was going to reply, when Jean-Claude Wachtmann, with a single
wave of his hand, imposed silence on everybody; he then planted himself
in front of the Doctor to overpower him by his looks, majestically
drew forth his spectacles from their case, pressed them down upon his
big nose, smoothed out his paper with a grave air, once more looked
around him to command the attention of the crowd, and began to read
the following masterpiece in a solemn tone, pausing at the commas and
full-stops, and gesticulating like a very preacher:—
“When the great Antiochus, Emperor of Nineveh and Babylon, formed the
ambitious design of departing from his kingdom to make the conquest
of the five quarters of the world, with the guilty view of covering
himself with laurels, his friend Cineas said to him: ‘Great Antiochus,
worthy scion of so many kings, Emperor of Babylon, of Nineveh,
and of Mesopotamia, a country situate between the Tigris and the
Euphrates—magnanimous and invincible warrior! deign to lend an ear to
the touching words of your friend Cineas, a man of intelligence, who
prostrates himself before you, and who can give you none but the best
advice. What is glory, Antiochus?—what is glory? An empty smoke, like
a dense shadow that has not the least body to support it. Glory!—the
scourge of humanity, bearing with it plague, war, famine, shame and
desolation! What! illustrious Antiochus, would you abandon your wife,
an august queen full of virtues, and your poor children, who wring
their hands and cover themselves with ashes? What! can you have a soul
so hardened and perverse as to plunge into an abyss of desolation this
people that adores you, these nubile women, these mature men, these
infants at the breast, and these old men with locks white as the snow
of Mount Ida, of whom you are as it were the father! You hear their
cries—their tears—their——’”
He could not proceed any further; the crowd, as with one assent, suddenly
burst into tears; the women sobbed, the men sighed, the children
squalled, and the whole house was filled with lamentations.
At that moment Claude Wachtmann raised himself upon the point of his
toes, and moved his big nose from right to left to assure himself that
each one was doing his duty. He caught sight of Jacques Burrus’s little
incorrigible, who, having climbed upon the barn-ladder, was holding old
Mathéus’ grey cat by the tail and making the poor brute squall dolefully.
He made a sign with his finger to the young rascal, who, recollecting his
instructions, set to crying with all his might.
Claude Wachtmann then enjoyed his triumph, for never had the like been
heard before.
The face of Frantz Mathéus expressed consternation; however, when he
heard Cineas speak to the great Antiochus, an imperceptible smile spread
over his lips; he moved forward a step, so as to bring the head of Bruno
outside of the circle.
Jean-Claude raised his hand, and everybody became silent as if by
enchantment.
“Illustrious Doctor Mathéus,” he continued, “in like manner with the
inhabitants of Babylon——”
But at the same instant Frantz Mathéus, without waiting for the end,
drove both spurs into Bruno, who bounded off like a storm, through
hedges, over gardens, crops, bushes; crushing the cabbages of one, the
turnips of another, the barley of this one, the oats of that—in short, as
if the deuce were in him.
The cries of the crowd pursued him; but the Doctor did not even turn his
head, and was soon across the large communal meadow.
Jean-Claude’s face was as lank and yellow as a wax candle. He raised his
long arms and cried—
“I have not finished! I have not yet read the passage of Nebuchadnezzar
changed into an ox with the plumes of an eagle for his pride! Listen,
Jacques—Herbert—Christian!”
But nobody would listen; the whole village was on the track of Mathéus,
shouting, hissing, the dogs barking, as if the end of the world had come.
Very soon they saw the Doctor mount the Falberg at a gallop; he had
crossed the Zinsel swimming, and was holding on to Bruno’s neck, the
tails of his coat flying in the air from the speed at which he was going.
At length he disappeared in the woods, and the peasants looked at one
another aghast.
Jean-Claude greatly wanted to return to the continuation of his beautiful
discourse, but everybody turned their backs upon him, saying—
“What’s the use of your discourse since we have lost our Doctor? Ah! if
we had only thought of it, some one might have held him by the bridle!”
It was thus that the illustrious Doctor Frantz Mathéus, thanks to his
heroic resolution, to his presence of mind, and to the vigorous legs of
Bruno, succeeded in recovering his independence.