When Coucou Peter led Schimel to the stable, Mathéus, fatigued with
walking about in the fair, entered the public-house. The illustrious
philosopher was far from expecting the magnificent picture that met his
view: from one end to the other of the principal room stretched a table
covered with a cloth of white linen with a red border; more than forty
covers were laid, and each cover had its clean stiff finger-napkin,
folded in the shape of a boat or of a mitre; they all looked almost new,
and as if they had just been taken from the linen-press. Besides these,
each cover had its bottle of sound Alsace wine; and at regular intervals
large water-bottles, transparent as crystal, reflected the windows, the
sky, and the surrounding objects.
Add to this, that the floor, washed overnight, was sprinkled with fine
sand; that the air freely circulated through the half-open windows; that
the smell of roast meat came in puffs from a small window opening into
the kitchen; that the clinking of plates and dishes, the “tic-tac” of the
roasting-jack, the crackling of the fire on the hearth, all combined to
announce a great feast at thirty sous a head; and you may imagine with
what pleasure Maître Frantz seated himself by one of the small tables,
wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and awaited the hour of dinner.
Not a soul disturbed the quiet of the dining-room, for it was well known
that the Three Roses would have a great crowd of guests on that solemn
day, and that nobody would receive any attention who went there merely
for a mug or two of wine.
For some time the illustrious philosopher gave himself up to the
enjoyment of this delightful repose; he then drew from his coat-pocket
the Synopsis of his _Anthropo-Zoology_, and began to search for a text
worthy of the occasion.
Now, Mother Jacob, who had heard the door open, looked through the
little window from the kitchen, and seeing a grave-looking man reading a
book, remained for a moment contemplating him; she then made a sign to
her fat servant Orchel to come to her, and pointing to the illustrious
philosopher, seated with his elbow on the window-ledge in a meditative
posture, asked her if he didn’t resemble the old curé Zacharias, who had
died five years before.
Orchel declared it was himself. Little Katel, who was at the moment
attending to the dripping-pan, flew to see what was going on; she could
hardly repress a cry of surprise. There was a great flutter in the
kitchen; each by turn peered through the little window, and murmured:
“It’s him!”—“It’s not him!” At length Mother Jacob, having looked at
him very attentively, told Katel to go and mind her dripping-pan, and,
smoothing her grey hair under her cap, went into the dining-room.
The illustrious philosopher was so absorbed that he did not hear the door
open, and Mother Jacob was obliged to ask him what he desired, to attract
his attention.
“What I desire, my good woman,” said Mathéus, gravely—“what I desire
you cannot give me. He alone who sees and governs us from the high
heavens, He whose immutable will is the law of the universe, can alone
accord to me, in this supreme moment, the inspiration which I ask of
Him. I tell you truly—truly, great events are preparing. Let those who
feel themselves guilty, either through weakness or ignorance, humiliate
themselves!—let them see their faults, and they shall be forgiven them!
But let sophists, people full of pride, profane and incapable of noble
and generous feelings, and, I say, even of any sort of justice—let
sophists and sensualists, who, plunging deeper and deeper in materialism,
go so far even as to deny the immortal soul, the principle of human
morality and of human society—let them tremble: there is for ever a deep
gulf between us!”
Mother Jacob, who reproached herself for not having joined the procession
for the last three years, thought that Maître Frantz was reading her
heart.
“Good gracious!” she cried in alarm, “I see my faults; I know well I
ought to have gone in the procession, but our house can’t be left to
itself. I’m obliged to see to it myself, and particularly to look after
the kitchen.”
“The kitchen!” cried Mathéus. “Is it for the kitchen you neglect the
great question of the transformation of bodies and the peregrination of
souls? Oh! my good woman, you are much to be pitied! Why do you amass
vain riches at the price of your immortal soul? For your children?—you
have none. For yourself, then?—Alas! life endures but an instant, and you
can scarcely enjoy it. For your heirs?—Is there any need for developing
in them a love of the worthless goods of the earth, from which spring
cupidity, avarice, and covetousness, which too often draw us to wish for
the death of those nearest to us?”
“This man knows everything,” thought Mother Jacob. “He knows that I
have no children; he knows that my rascal of a nephew, who has left the
Carabineers, only waits till I am dead to inherit all that I possess; and
he knows that for three years I have not attended the procession. He’s a
prophet!”
Thus was Mother Jacob reasoning when the procession commenced. A great
clamour rose amidst the universal silence; then the sounds of the
church-organ and singing were heard. Then, suddenly, the singing entered
the market-place: the shrine of St. Florent, borne by young girls dressed
in white, the cross, the banner floating in the air, the curés of the
neighbourhood in full-dress, the choristers in red caps appearing in the
distance, then the noisy procession. But, instead of taking the Rue du
Tonnelet Rouge, it made the tour of Haslach, according to the ancient
custom directed by St. Florent himself; and the valley was filled with
that low murmurous sound which the illustrious philosopher had admired on
the mountain: “Pray for us!—pray for us!” It was like a great burst of
wind in the woods mingled with the resounding peals of the bells; it was
something immense.
“Oh, grand and splendid sight, truly worthy of man!” cried Mathéus.
“Admirable meeting of people mingling their various thoughts in one sole
thought, their souls in the universal soul! Oh, noble and affecting image
of the future!—What then will it be when the entire truth shall have
resounded through the world; when, rising on the wings of transcendental
logic, and soaring towards the heavens, humanity will see, face to face,
the Being of Beings, the Great Demiourgos! To what a boundless height of
enthusiasm will not men rise, since they are even now carried so far by a
mere presentiment of the truth!”
Speaking thus, the illustrious philosopher grew more and more animated.
But Mother Jacob had for a long time quitted the dining-room, and was
going from door to door among her neighbours, saying that a prophet had
arrived at her house, that this prophet knew everything, that he had told
her all about herself—that she had no children, that her nephew, Yeri
Hans, coveted her property, and that the time was near!—that he knew our
most secret thoughts, and worked miracles!
Orchel and Katel had also deserted their posts and followed at Mother
Jacob’s heels, supporting, confirming, and embellishing all she said.
They would have left everything to burn, if Coucou Peter, by an
inspiration from above, had not gone into the kitchen and seen the
forsaken boilers. In holy horror he had basted the roast-meats, looked
to saucepans, skimmed the stew, stirred the sauces, re-wound the
roasting-jack, put bread into the soup, took the _küchlen_ out of the
oven and arranged all the dishes in proper order, calling, shouting, and
exerting himself. But nobody answered him. At last, at the end of half an
hour, not being able to do any more, he went down into the yard to wash
his hands and face, for he did not wish to appear in such a state before
little Thérèse.
At the same moment, Mother Jacob and her neighbours arrived; and finding
everything cooked to a turn and arranged in perfect order, ready to be
served up, the good women raised their hands to heaven and cried—“A
miracle!”
Hearing the tumult in the kitchen, Coucou Peter immediately returned;
and what was his surprise when Mother Jacob, leading him to the little
window, pointed out Mathéus to him, and related the miracle which the
good man had worked!
He was on the point of bursting into a boisterous fit of laughter; but
suddenly he pressed his sides and drew in his cheeks.
“Ah!” he cried, “is it possible? That’s what I saw, then!”
The neighbours all pressed about him and inquired what he had seen. Then
Coucou Peter gravely related that, having passed by the kitchen-door, he
had seen a white form—a sort of angel—turning a spit.
“I saw it as plainly as I see you,” he said to Mother Jacob.
And the good women all looked at one another in mute astonishment. Not
one of them had courage to answer a word; they stole out on tiptoe
without making the least noise, and news of the miracle quickly spread
throughout Haslach.
When the time arrived for serving up the dinner, Mother Jacob hardly
thought herself worthy to touch the lid of one of the saucepans; every
moment she turned her head, fancying the angel was behind her, and her
two servants were equally flurried.
In this manner Coucou Peter, for the sake of insuring the triumph of
the doctrine, deceived the whole town of Haslach, and precipitated the
illustrious Doctor Frantz Mathéus, his master, into a new series of
extraordinary and marvellous adventures.