That night Frantz Mathéus could not close an eye; he ceaselessly tossed
and turned with a noble enthusiasm in his feather-bed, and muttered
exclamations of triumph. His heroic flight from Graufthal, the miraculous
conversion of Coucou Peter, his hospitable reception by Mother Windling,
kept running in his head; he felt no desire to sleep; on the contrary,
never had his mind been more active, more lucid, more penetrating; but
the excessive warmth of his bed made him perspire outrageously; so,
towards morning, he dressed himself and quietly descended into the yard
to breathe.
All was silent; the sun hardly lit the topmost leaves of the poplars;
deep stillness reigned in the air; Mathéus, seated on the kerb of the
cellar steps, contemplated in speechless absorption the aspect of this
rustic dwelling and the repose of nature.
The large mossy roofs, the long beams crossed by man’s industry, the tall
gables, the dull skylights; in the background, the garden-gate opening
into the fields, where the darkness was already beginning to fade; the
vague and undistinguishable forms of the trees—all plunged the Doctor
into the most agreeable meditations.
Slowly the daylight descended from the roofs, and shadows grew larger
in the yard below; then afar off—very far—Mathéus heard a lark sing;
then a cock put his head out of the window of the fowl-house, made a
step forward, and expanded his shining wings to the fresh morning air;
a thrill of pleasure raised all his feathers; he inflated his chest
and sent forth a shrill, piercing, prolonged cry, that reached to the
surrounding woods. The chilly hens advanced timidly to the edge of the
ladder, calling to one another, springing from step to step, preening
themselves with their beaks, cackling and laughing in their manner; they
spread themselves along the walls, hastily snapping up the worms drinking
the morning dews. The pigeons very soon afterwards were flying in wide
circles round the yard. At length the bright rays of the sun penetrated
the stables; a sheep bleated softly; all the others answered it, and
Mathéus opened a shutter to give the poor animals air. A delightful
sight then expanded the good man’s heart; daylight streaming in amid
the trembling shadows in long streaks of gold lit up the dark beams,
the harness hanging against the wall, the cribs bristling with forage.
Nothing in the way of peacefulness could surpass this picture: big oxen
with half-closed eyelids, down-weighed heads, and knees bent under their
chests, were still sleeping; but the handsome white heifer was already
wide awake; she placed her bluish muzzle, glittering with moisture,
on the back of the milch cow, and looked at Mathéus out of her great
surprised eyes, as much as to say: “What does he want with us?—I’ve never
seen him before.”
There was also the draught-horse, looking very tired and broken-spirited;
but that did not prevent his every now and then taking a wisp of clover,
which he ate because he had nothing else to do. The little black kid
raised itself on to the rack to get at a handful of still fresh grass;
but that which more than all struck the doctor was the magnificent Glaan
bull, the pride and glory of Mother Windling.
He could not enough admire its broad crispy head, like the stump of an
old oak, its short and shining horns, like iron wedges; its soft and
supple dewlap, extending from the lower lip to the knees.
“O noble and sublime animal,” he said to himself in a tone of
emotion, “you cannot imagine what profound and admirable thoughts
the sight of you inspires me with! No, you have not yet attained the
intellectual and moral development that can raise you to the height of
a psychologico-anthropo-zoological sentiment; but your forms are not
the less marvellous; they attest, by their harmonious completeness,
the grandeur of nature; for whatever may be said on the subject by
materialists—beings possessed neither of sound logic nor of reasoning
powers—that has not all been made in a day, but has taken thousands of
ages to bring to this degree of æsthetic perfection. Yes, the passage
from the mineral to the vegetable form, from the vegetable to the animal
form, is immeasurable, without speaking of intermediaries; for, from the
thistle state to that of the oak, and from the oyster state to that of
the bull, the distance is prodigious. Therefore, Frantz Mathéus, admire
within yourself that interior force, called God, soul, life, or by any
other name, and which ceaselessly works towards the perfection of types
and the development of individuality in matter.”
He paused, plunged in mute ecstasy.
Now, while Mathéus was addressing these reflections aloud to himself,
the boards of the vent-hole through which forage was thrown down to the
cattle slid quietly in its groove, and the chubby-faced head of Coucou
Peter was passed through the aperture. The fiddler’s surprise may easily
be imagined when he discovered his illustrious master haranguing a bull.
“My eye!”—he said to himself, “I do believe he wants to convert him!”
At the same time a singular idea flashed on his mind.
“Ha! ha! ha! it would be a good joke,” he cried; “wait a bit, the bull’s
going to answer you!”
He joined his hands before his mouth, and roared—
“Oh! oh! oh! great Doctor Mathéus—I am very—very unhappy!”
At these words the illustrious philosopher fell back in alarm.
“What is this?” he stammered, looking around him with staring eyes.
“What—what do I hear?”
But he could see nothing; Coucou Peter’s head was hidden by a pile of
straw in the rack, and this excellent disciple laughed till his sides
were almost split. After awhile, he went on in bellowing tones—
“Oh! oh! oh! I am very unhappy! I was the great Nebuchadnezzar. I thought
of nothing but drinking and eating, and so I lost my place on the Ladder
of Beings! Oh! oh! oh! I’m very unhappy.”
But the Doctor, though at first dumfounded, recognised the fiddler’s
voice.
“Coucou Peter,” he cried, “how dare you profane the most sublime
philosophy? Do you imagine me so foolish as to give credence to vain
illusions?”
Coucou Peter came out of the barn, laughing with all his might.
“Ha! ha! ha! what a joke! what a joke, Doctor Frantz! When I saw you
talking to the bull, it came into my head to have a bit of fun.”
Mathéus himself could not help laughing, for he had, at first, been taken
in.
“I knew well,” he said, “that souls cannot retrograde in the order of
Nature; it is impossible—contrary to the system; therefore my surprise
was great, and it was that which made me discover your trick. The human
soul cannot exist in the body of an animal; it could not find sufficient
room for the brain.”
The good man amused himself over his surprise a long time, and Coucou
Peter did likewise, holding his sides.
They were still laughing, when Mother Windling, in a short woollen
petticoat, striped with red, her arms bare to her elbows, still
fresh-looking and full of grace, opened the yard-door and descended the
steps. She had come to feed her poultry, her apron filled with peas,
millet-seed, and all sorts of grain.
“Ah! good morning, Doctor,” she cried, on seeing Mathéus; “up so soon!
Have you had a good night?”
“Very good, my dear madam—very good,” replied Mathéus.
“Shall I go and light the kitchen fire, Dame Catherina?” interrupted the
fiddler.
“Yes, go, Coucou Peter; I shall be back presently. You shall see
some beautiful hens, Doctor. They’re a real blessing. Chick! chick!
chick! chick! Three of them lay every day, and such eggs! Chick-chick!
chick-chick!—eggs as big as your fists. Chick-chick! chick-chick-chick!”
The fowls darted forward, the ducks waddled, the geese hurried with
their wings spread, and all of them cackled, cried, and quacked. They
came from all sides; top-knotted, feather-legged, large and small,
blacks and whites, yellows and reds; all struggling, springing, flying
delightfully.
“How charming to see!” murmured the illustrious philosopher. “Oh, Nature,
Nature, fecund mother! rich-bosomed goddess! animation! breath divine!
Thy riches and variety are boundless!”
Mother Windling sidled, bridled, and smiled, attributing to herself the
best part of these eulogiums.
“Aren’t my hens plump and well kept?” she asked. “I give them the best of
everything. Look at that great white one; she has laid every day these
three weeks. And the grey one down there, with the yellow feathers about
her eyes, she’s a real household treasure! Only imagine! I’ve seen her
lay twice in a day, an egg in the morning and another in the evening,
besides those she hides. Look at that little black cock, a perfect little
demon! The day before yesterday he fought and beat the big one, on
account of the little red hen there, a regular little shrew to set them
by the ears! I’ll bet they’re going to set-to again. What did I say! You
little villains, will you leave off? Did one ever see the like!”
But all her calling out was of no avail; the two rivals were engaged,
beak to beak, with bristling neck-feathers, springing one above the
other, pecking viciously, turning, leaping, and pursuing one another with
incredible fury; fortunately a fresh handful of grain caused the two to
suspend the battle.
“Strange!” murmured Mathéus, “that these gallinaceous animals, usually
so timid, are sometimes animated by the most ferocious instincts! What
cannot the furious and sanguinary passion of jealousy do!”
Mother Windling, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, thought:
“Poor dear man, you are thinking of Tapihans! But you have nothing to
fear. No, no! the fellow is too much of a coward ever to come to the
house again.” At last, emptying her apron, and looking at Mathéus with a
tender smile, she asked—
“Are you fond of eggs, Doctor?”
“Very, my dear madam—most of all when boiled in the shell; they are then
a wholesome and delicate food.”
“Then we’ll go at once and pick them up; there are sure to be enough for
your breakfast.”
Without the least ceremony or hesitation she climbed up the ladder, and
though the illustrious philosopher had rapidly turned his head, he could
not avoid seeing the plump widow’s blue stockings, through which her
sturdy calves were very vigorously indicated.
Dame Catherina slipped into the fowl-loft through a door under the pent
roof, and reappeared radiant with satisfaction, bringing with her a dozen
eggs, which she displayed triumphantly.
“See here!” she cried, standing at the top of the ladder; “well, I’ve
every day as many. What eggs!—not a hen in the village lays such
beauties! Help me, Doctor—I daren’t come down alone.”
The good man was obliged to steady the foot of the ladder and lend his
hands to Dame Catherina, who laughed, pretended to be afraid, and all the
time seemed quite at her ease. Mathéus was as red as a raspberry.
“Thanks, Doctor,” she said. “I’m sure the white hen has laid behind the
woodstack. I could see, from up there, an egg lying on some bits of
straw. We must send Nickel to get it.”
She took the Doctor’s arm, and in this manner they entered the house.
When Dame Catherina and Mathéus appeared in the kitchen, Coucou Peter,
seated on a stool before the hearth, was blowing with all his might
through a long iron tube, to make the fire burn; the coals flamed, the
vine shoots crackled, water was bubbling in the boiler, a magnificent
cutlet was frizzling on the gridiron, and spreading around a most
agreeable odour.
Mother Windling paused on the threshold, and cried—
“You rascally Coucou Peter! I’d like to know where you got that cutlet
from?”
Without in the least disturbing himself, Coucou Peter indicated the large
oak cupboard.
“He’s like a cat, he sees everything! But I thought I’d put the key in my
pocket.”
“Who wants your key?” replied the fiddler, quite gravely. “I don’t; with
a bit of straw I can open all the locks in the world.”
“Ah, the rogue!” cried the good woman, laughing, “he’ll end with the
galleys!”
Mathéus would have remonstrated with his disciple, but Coucou Peter
interrupted him.
“Maître Frantz,” he said, “I’m fond of cutlets—it’s not contrary to the
system to be fond of cutlets; all that is not forbidden is permitted;
isn’t it so, Dame Catherina?”
“I suppose so; anyhow, you’ve always the last word! Now get out of the
way, and let me boil the eggs. If the Doctor will go into the best room,
I’ll soon be with him; time to say a Pater, and all will be ready. You,
Coucou Peter, go and water the Doctor’s horse: Nickel has gone this
morning to turn the water on to the large meadow.”
“With pleasure, mother; with pleasure.”
The fiddler went out, and the illustrious philosopher entered the best
room.
Never had Frantz Mathéus felt more calm, more happy, more content with
himself and nature. The open air had developed his appetite; he heard the
fire crackling on the hearth, the cat purring under the table, and Dame
Catherina sweeping the front of her door, while humming Karl Ritter’s old
refrain—
“Love me, and I’ll love you! I’ll love you! I’ll love you!”
Now he contemplated the ancient Nuremburg clock, all yellow and
worm-eaten, with its china face painted with brilliant flowers, and its
wooden cuckoo that chanted the hours, and the illustrious philosopher
never tired of admiring its ingenious mechanism; now he stopped before an
open window, and gazed tenderly out upon the little Place of Oberbronn.
There, about the green trough into which a stream of clear water flowed
from a moss-grown spout, were gathered the young girls of the village,
in short petticoats, and bare armed and legged. They were beating their
linen, bawling, calling to one another, and noisily chatting; and the
good man smiled at their unsophisticated manners and graceful attitudes.
Bruno was drinking at the trough, and every now and then turned his head
as if to salute Mathéus. Coucou Peter smacked his whip and said soft
nothings to the blooming laundresses, who made fun of his fine speeches;
but when—no doubt out of revenge—he wanted to kiss the prettiest of the
band, there arose an incredible tumult of screams and laughter; the whole
of them fell upon him and thumped him with their beetles and wet linen.
In spite of this violent attack, the impudent fellow did not let the girl
go: he kissed her on the throat, on the nape of her neck, on her cheeks,
crying joyously—
“Oh, how good it is! beat away! beat away! I laugh at it! I like it!”
Everybody came to the windows and laughed at what was going on; the old
women squalled, the dogs barked, and Coucou Peter—red, moist, and out of
breath—repeated—
“One more little kiss, for love of the peregrination of souls.”
“Ah, the rogue!” said Mathéus; “what an odd disciple I have there!”
At length, seeing the peasants with their sticks running towards the
place, Coucou Peter mounted Bruno in haste, leaped over the watertrough,
and rode into the stable, crying—
“How pretty the girls of Oberbronn are! They’re as sweet in the mouth as
cherries, and as crisp as filberts!”
Then he tried to fasten the door, for the peasant lads were furious.
Unluckily, Ludwig Spengler, the garde champêtre’s son, whose sweetheart
he had kissed, arrived almost as soon as he, and pushed his stick between
the wall and the door, and the whole of them rushed into the stable.
Coucou Peter, yelling like the deuce, and calling out—“Friends!—my dear
friends—it was all a joke—nothing but a joke!” was soundly thrashed.
They dragged him out, and blows with sticks were showered on him like
hail.
“Sweet as cherries!” shouted one.
“Crisp as filberts!” yelled another.
“I laugh at it!—I like it!” cried Ludwig Spengler, striking with the full
swing of his arm.
Mathéus, who was a witness of the whole affair, called from the window—
“Courage, courage, Coucou Peter! accept this anthropo-zoological trial
with philosophical resignation; even thank these young men for labouring
towards your moral perfection! For a long time I have remarked that you
belong to the family of bullfinches, a voluptuous race, feeding on the
buds of flowers, and the most delicate fruits. After a few such lessons
as this, I hope to see you renounce these sensual principles.”
Poor Coucou Peter writhed, and looked pitifully at his master, as much as
to say: “I wish you had been in my place, with your anthropo-zoological
principles.”
The Doctor’s short address, however, produced a happy diversion in Coucou
Peter’s favour; the honest countrymen, struck by the august physiognomy
and gestures of the illustrious philosopher, assembled under the window,
and the fiddler took advantage of this moment to make his escape, and
shut himself securely into the stable.
Half the village were collected under the Doctor’s eyes; they formed
a circle, and looked at him over each other’s heads and shoulders, all
being anxious to hear him.
Imagine the good man’s enthusiasm; he would have liked to embrace them
all; he could not contain his delight.
“Frantz,” he said to himself, “the hour for your preaching is come; it
is clear that the Being of Beings, the Great Demiourgos, has brought
together this numerous auditory for the purpose of their being converted
by you. You would be blind not to see in this the finger of Providence!”
Such was his emotion, that for some seconds he was unable to articulate
a word; he blew his nose, he opened his mouth; so great a number of
arguments presented themselves to his mind, that he knew not where to
commence: he wanted to say everything at once.
But at length his soul became calm, and, in a ringing voice, he cried—
“O, noble inhabitants of Oberbronn, privileged beings of nature, humble
and worthy country-people, you know not how deeply I am touched as I look
upon you; you know not the glory that awaits you, the treasures which I
bring to you!”
At the word “treasures,” there was a great stir amongst the crowd; they
expected to see him plunge his hand into a bag and throw money out of the
window. Those who were farthest off instantly struggled to get nearer,
and Katel the hunchback, who was in the front rank, began to scream; the
poor woman, seeing others forcing their way before her, thought they
would deprive her of her share.
This appearance of interest gave evident pleasure to the illustrious
philosopher.
“Yes, my friends,” he continued, in a pathetic tone, “I bring you
treasures of wisdom, treasures of philosophy and virtue!”
The crowd was undeceived.
“The devil fly away with you and your treasures of wisdom!” cried Ludwig
Spengler; “you look to me to stand a good deal more in need of some than
we do!”
Mathéus, moved with indignation, stopped short, with the view of
overwhelming this rude fellow with a grand apostrophe, but the little
miller, Tapihans, approaching the window, took off his cotton cap and
said—
“Good day, Abraham, what are you doing here? Do you want to make Jews of
us?”
“My name is not Abraham,” cried the illustrious philosopher. “I am Frantz
Mathéus, doctor of medicine of the faculty of Strasbourg, corresponding
member of——”
“Oh, I know you well,” interrupted the miller mockingly; “you call
yourself Abraham Speizer, and not more than a year ago you sold me a
blind horse, which I’ve never been able to get rid of. And, more than
that, if I’m not mistaken, you must be the rabbi of Marmoutier!”
Hardly had he uttered these words than a great commotion rose amidst the
crowd.
“Set upon the rabbi!—down with the rabbi!—on to the Jew!”
“My children, you are deceived!” cried the good man, “your animal
instincts blind you; listen to me!”
But nobody would hear a word he had to say. The old women raised their
broom-handles, the men their cudgels; some looked about for stones; and
Mathéus, pale, overcome with emotion, stammered unintelligibly. Suddenly
acting upon a luminous inspiration, he turned on his heels and fled into
the kitchen.
The shouts and tumult then redoubled outside the house. Dame Catherina
herself was terrified.
“Good heavens!” she cried, “what have you done, Doctor?”
“Nothing, dear madame, nothing,” gasped the good man; “it’s the miller,
it’s——”
“Tapihans?—ah, the wretch! the wretch! He wants to separate us; he’s
raised the village against us! But fly!” she cried, thrusting a large
black-pudding into his pocket. “Fly! we shall see each other again; you
will come some other time!”
The illustrious philosopher did not need this advice; he had already
hurried across the yard, stammering—
“Yes, yes! we shall meet again in the spheres above!”
He darted into the stable by the back door, and found his disciple
buckling the girths of his horse.
Coucou Peter had observed the scene from a window looking out on to the
street, and foreseeing the issue of the sermonising, had come to saddle
Bruno.
“Aha, Maître Frantz!” he said; “you’re just in time; I was off without
you. Our peregrination of souls doesn’t appear to take in this village.”
“Let us hasten away from this place,” cried Mathéus, not knowing which
way to turn.
“Yes, I think that’s the best thing to be done; these beggars of peasants
are not up to our level. Get up behind me, for there’s an end of our
business here.”
At the same time he mounted on horseback, and the illustrious doctor
clambered up behind him with marvellous dexterity.
Coucou Peter at once drew the bar, threw open the door, and dashed out
like one riding for his life.
A terrible clamour rose on all sides of them, and Mathéus immediately
received three painful cudgel-blows, Coucou-Peter calling out at each
blow—
“Ah! ah! another psychological lesson!”
But the illustrious philosopher said nothing; he closed his eyes and
clung to his disciple so tightly that the fiddler could hardly breathe.
Dame Catherina, standing on her doorstep, her eggs in a basin, uttered
plaintive cries as she watched these proceedings, despairing of her dear
doctor’s safety. But when she saw his horse going off at full gallop
through the midst of the hooting and yelling crowd, the good woman
pressed her hand upon her tender heart, dried her eyes with the border of
her apron, and returned to the kitchen heaving a deep sigh.
“Poor, dear man!” she murmured; “may Heaven conduct him!”