The next day Mathéus awoke at an early hour; a heavy dew was falling, and
slowly penetrating his brown greatcoat; the air was calm, and the valley
misty.
The gipsies, already stirring, were preparing to start on their way
before daylight; they were loading themselves with their cauldron, their
trombone, their French-horns, and their big drum; the women arranged
their bags on their shoulders; the children settled down on the backs of
their mothers. The vague murmur of the rain falling on the leaves of the
trees alone broke the silence of the forest.
Coucou Peter, moist as a duck, had not quitted his place by the fire; he
was stirring some potatoes in the ashes, and appeared melancholy.
“Well,” said Pfifer-Karl to him, “if you want to go with us make up your
mind.”
“No; I must go and preach at Saverne.”
“Good luck to you, then, comrade—good luck to you!”
The Nightingale also shook hands with him. The whole band then started on
its way. It moved away slowly through the tall woods; pale rays illumined
the horizon, rain streaked the air; the gipsies were not depressed by it,
but went on laughing and talking amongst themselves.
“Good journey to you,” cried Coucou Peter.
Several turned and waved their hats; and soon all of them had disappeared
in the wood.
Coucou Peter then noticed the illustrious philosopher, who was sheltering
himself under the turned-down brim of his wide hat.
“Hey, Maître Frantz!” he cried; “the blessing of the Being of Beings will
make us grow in strength, wisdom, and beauty.”
“Yes, my good fellow,” replied Mathéus, “every day adds new trials and
new merits to our glorious enterprise.”
He said this in a tone so gentle and resigned, that Coucou Peter felt
touched by it.
“Doctor,” he said, “come here and taste my potatoes; they are as floury
as chestnuts.”
“With pleasure—with pleasure,” replied the good man, seating himself
beside his disciple.
“Gipsies are worthy people,” he said, taking a potato; “they think not
of gathering together empty riches, but, living from day to day like the
birds of the air, prefer their independence to all the false gains of the
world. Have you not remarked, my good fellow, with what philosophical
gaiety they eat their carrot-soup? Truly their way of living is not so
disagreeable as it might be supposed to be.”
“You are right, Maître Frantz,” said Coucou Peter. “No longer ago than
last year I travelled for three months with this very band; we went about
playing dance-music at all the fairs in Alsace; we slept sometimes in a
barn, sometimes under a rock in the open air, and I promise you we didn’t
live on beech-mast and pine-cones, like squirrels; we had every day eggs,
sausages, and bacon in abundance!”
“And who gave you all those good things?”
“Oh!” cried Coucou Peter, laughing, “while we were playing our music at
one end of the village, and all the women of the place were away at the
dance, Nightingale, Black Magpie, and two or three more, slipped behind
the gardens and into the houses: if they found anybody at home, they told
their fortunes; but if there was nobody in sight, they nimbly whipped
off the flax from over the fireplace, the bacon from the chimney; they
laid hands on the butter, eggs, bread, and generally emptied all the
cupboards, with the contents of which they stuffed their big pockets—for
they always have pockets in their petticoats—and then made off to the
woods. Ha! ha! ha! Maître Frantz,” cried the worthy apostle gaily, “you
should have seen the peasants’ looks when they returned home! Ha! ha! ha!
what faces they pulled! what faces they pulled! and what bastings they
gave their wives! Ha! ha! ha!”
“How can you laugh?” cried Maître Frantz; “do you not know that you have
led a very criminal life?”
“Oh! I had nothing to do with all that, doctor. I did nothing but play
the fiddle. If the gipsies had been captured, who could have said
anything against me?”
“But you partook of the fruits of their robberies: can you not
distinguish between just and unjust?”
“Certainly I can—and the reason I parted from the band was because my
conscience reproached me; every time I eat any of those good things, a
voice within me cried, ‘Mind what you are about, Coucou Peter, mind what
you are about, or you may be seized for a thief, and thrown into prison!’
The repeated warning of this interior voice made me feel low-spirited,
and every moment I fancied the police were close at my heels. Fair-time
was over, winter was coming on. One day the snow was beginning to
fall, I put my violin under my arm, and in spite of the entreaties of
Nightingale, Pfifer-Karl, and the whole band, who wished me to remain
with them, I went back to Saverne.”
Mathéus said no more, but he withdrew his good opinion of the gipsies,
and even repented having eaten any of their potatoes.
The sun had risen, and threw a steady light between the mountains; it was
time to be going, and Mathéus remounted Bruno.
Coucou Peter took hold of the bridle, and ascended the road leading up
the hill, in order to escape from the mists which filled the valley.
The birds were warbling their joyous morning songs. The night faded away,
and the air became more fresh and penetrating; the path from Haslach
again became visible amongst the bushes, and Maître Frantz, now more at
his ease, congratulated his disciple on having parted company with the
gipsies.
As they advanced into the forest, the sun became warmer, and penetrated
beneath the foliage; and while Bruno, at a walking pace, followed the
narrow moss-bordered path, Coucou Peter gathered ripe blackberries, with
which the bushes were laden. His mouth was blackened with the fruit, and
he whistled gaily in answer to the birds. Jays passed in flights among
the underwood, and more than once the merry fiddler threw his stick at
them, so near did they approach.
Until nine o’clock all went well; but when the full heat of day came,
and the steep sides of the Dagsberg had to be ascended, an unconquerable
melancholy fell upon the heart of Mathéus. They met not a soul; nothing
but the murmur of the pines was around them. The vast pasturages of the
valleys, in which were heard the distant sound of the sheep-bell, and the
song of the young shepherds—now faint, now shrill—awaking the echoes:
everything reminded him of Graufthal, his old Martha, his absent friends;
and heavy sighs arose from his bosom. Coucou Peter himself, contrary to
his habit, was thoughtful, and Bruno hung his head, with a melancholy
air, as if thinking regretfully of happier times.
Many times they had to stop to take breath, and it was not until towards
five o’clock in the evening that they reached the Valley of the Zorn,
at the foot of the Haut-Bârr. Then the sky cleared; above them wound
the road from Lorraine; long lines of vehicles, peasant men and women,
with their large panniers on their backs filled with vegetables, were
passing along; cracking of whips and tinkling of harness-bells made the
prospect pleasant, and seemed to announce the proximity of Zabern, the
little town notable for its white bread, sausages, and foaming beer. They
perceived it, in fact, at the outlet of the valley, and Bruno, scenting a
resting-place, broke into a vigorous gallop. On reaching the first houses
Mathéus slackened his pace.
“At length,” he said, “we have come to the end of our fatigues—the
destinies are about to be accomplished!”
Thereupon Maître Frantz and his disciple proudly entered the ancient
Rue des Tanneurs, and, to tell the truth, an extraordinary animation
exhibited itself as they made their way along. Young and old faces showed
themselves at all the windows, in cornettes, in three-cornered hats, and
in cotton caps; everybody was curious to see them; the habitués of the
casino came out into the balcony, with billiard-cues or newspapers in
their hands; children returning from school, with their satchels at their
back, followed them; the geese themselves, walking about the streets and
chatting amongst themselves on indifferent subjects, suddenly set up a
cry of triumph, and flew right away to the Place de la Licorne.
“You see, Coucou Peter,” said the illustrious philosopher, “what a
sensation our arrival produces; everywhere we are received with fresh
enthusiasm! If the pastor will only lend us his temple for a day or two,
we are sure of converting the whole town. The simplest course will then
be to establish discussions, and invite all to make whatever objections
may occur to them. Then from the height of the pulpit I will rebuke them
in a voice of thunder, I will bemoan the aberrations of the age, I will
strike with salutary terror the unbelievers, the sophists, and most of
all the indifferents—those lepers of society, those worthless beings, who
think of nothing, believe in nothing, and doubt even their own existence!
Oh, impure race!—race of vipers, given up to sensual enjoyments, you
shall tremble! Yes, you shall tremble at the voice of Frantz Mathéus,
filled with real enthusiasm; you shall be cast down with wholesome
terror, and brought upon your knees before him! But Frantz Mathéus is not
cruel, and if you will only recognise the transformation of bodies and
the peregrination of souls, if you will only allow faith to penetrate to
the depths of your withered hearts, all shall be forgiven you!”
Notwithstanding his mental excitement, Maître Frantz saw clearly what
was going on around him; the sight of men of the law in black robes,
walking in front of the Courthouse, made him thoughtful; and when on the
Place de la Licorne, a kind of sergent-de-ville, in a large flap hat and
with a stick under his arm, looked after them, the hare-like nature of
the illustrious philosopher at once revealed itself, and he remembered
that he had no passport. Fortunately they had reached the Rue des
Capucins, and found themselves in front of the parsonage.
“Halt!” cried Coucou Peter; “here’s our inn!”
“Heaven be thanked!” said Mathéus; “we’ve had a long trot to-day.”
He alighted from the saddle, and Coucou Peter, without the least
hesitation, led the horse to the stable.
At that moment the voice of the Pastor Schweitzer was heard inside the
house, exclaiming—
“Twelve louis!—twelve louis! You have lost your senses, Salomon; a thin
cow, not even fresh in milk.”
“I’ve been offered as much for her, Monsieur Schweitzer.”
“Take it, then, take it, my boy—and thank you for giving me the
preference.”
“Does the pastor deal in cattle?” asked Mathéus.
“He deals a little in everything,” replied Coucou Peter, smiling; “he’s
so worthy a man—you’ll see.”
They crossed the hall, and the discussion between the pastor and the Jew
grew more animated.
“Let us split the difference,” said one.
“You’re making game of me,” cried the other; “ten louis, not a centime
more!”
Coucou Peter paused on the threshold, and Mathéus, looking over his
disciple’s shoulder, saw one of those lofty rooms of old times,
ornamented with oak furniture, oak panelling, vast cupboards, massive
tables, the sight of which rejoiced the heart. He instantly said: “Here
they eat well, drink well, and sleep well!—the blessing of the Lord rest
upon all good-natured people!”
A little fat man was seated on a leathern arm-chair, his stomach filling
the whole space between his chin and his legs, and good-humour showing in
his rosy face. Near him was standing a tall lout in a blouse, his nose
hooked, and his hair a fiery red.
“Good day, pastor!” cried the fiddler.
The little man turned and burst into loud laughter.
“Coucou Peter!” he cried. “Ha! ha! ha! where does he come from? I should
have said, ‘Where is he going?’—the rascal!”
And pushing back the arm-chair, he opened his arms and endeavoured to
draw Coucou Peter to his fat stomach. It was something touching to
see—something like two Easter-eggs trying to embrace one another; and it
brought tears into Mathéus’ eyes to witness their endeavours. At length
they gave up the attempt; and Coucou Peter, turning towards Mathéus,
cried—
“Pastor, I bring you the illustrious Doctor Mathéus, the best man in the
world and the greatest philosopher in the universe!”
“Welcome, welcome, monsieur!” said the Pastor Schweitzer, shaking Maître
Frantz’s hand. “Be seated. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
He then sent the Jew away, and hurried to the kitchen, crying—
“Gredel! Gredel! here’s Coucou Peter!”
Gredel, who was getting supper ready, flew to the door of the
sitting-room; three or four youngsters toddled after her, shouting,
chattering, and demanding slices of bread-and-jam.
“Good day, Gredel,” said Coucou Peter, kissing his wife on both cheeks;
“all goes well with you, my little Gredel?”
“Yes, good-for-nothing, I’m quite well,” she replied, half laughingly,
half seriously. “You’ve come back because you have not a sou left, I
suppose?”
“Come, come, Gredel, be reasonable; I’m only on my way through this town;
it’s not worth making my life wretched.”
The children hung on to the tail of the fiddler’s coat, and called him
“_Nonon_ Coucou Peter,” to get something out of him; and the pastor
rubbed his hands merrily.
When Coucou Peter had completely cajoled his little wife, who was, after
all, not so thin, and when he had kissed the children, one after the
other, and whispered to them that his travelling-trunk was filled with
nice things, Gredel returned to the kitchen; and Coucou Peter, as well as
the pastor and Mathéus, seated themselves before a bottle of old wolxheim.
The whole house wore a holiday aspect; the children sang, whistled,
and ran into the street to watch for the arrival of the promised
travelling-trunk; the fowls—the necks of which were wrung by
Gredel—uttered piercing cries; Coucou Peter gave an account of his
distant peregrinations, of his title of “Grand Rabbi,” and of his future
prospects; the illustrious philosopher admired himself in the course of
these marvellous tales; the glasses were filled and emptied, as if by
themselves; and the fat stomach of Pastor Schweitzer shook merrily at the
recital of the innumerable adventures of his old comrade.
“Ha! ha! ha!—a good, joke!” he cried; “you’ll never change, Coucou
Peter!—you’ll never change; nobody makes me laugh like you!”
Night had closed in, and the shadows of the neighbouring houses had
spread themselves in the large sitting-room, when Gredel brought in
lights. She was about to serve up the supper, and quickly spread a cloth
upon the table, arranged the covers, and distributed the plates in proper
order. Coucou Peter looked at her admiringly; never had he seen her
looking so fresh, plump, and attractive; he was astonished at himself for
not having before discovered all the merits of his wife, and, suddenly
rising, as if transported with enthusiasm, he passed his arm round her
waist, and began to waltz with her, crying—
“Hey, Gredel! hey!—off we go!”
“Don’t play the fool!—don’t play the fool!” she cried.
But he paid no attention to what she said, and went on twirling her round
and calling out—
“Hey, Gredel! off we go!” Finally, he gave her a sounding kiss on the
neck, and exclaimed—
“You are my little Gredel—always my good little Gredel—the prettiest
little Gredel I have ever met with in my life!”
He then returned to his seat, gravely crossed his legs, and appeared
greatly contented with himself for what he had done.
The children rushed in, crying—
“Nonon Coucou Peter; the trunk has not come!”
“Hasn’t it?” he said. “That’s very strange—very strange; but wait a bit
longer, it’s sure to come, quite sure to come!”
These fair promises did not satisfy them; but the sight of some
apple-fritters, tartlets, and hot galette, which Gredel was placing on
the table, restored them to good temper. Before Mathéus and Coucou Peter
had taken their places, they had seated themselves round the table, with
napkins under their chins; and when the party was arranged, and the
minister in a solemn tone returned thanks to God for the many excellent
things He had sent into the world for the use of His children, it was
delightful to hear them all cry at once—“Amen!”
The supper passed gaily. Everybody had a good appetite. Gredel helped
the children; Coucou Peter filled the glasses, and proposed, first,
the health of Maître Frantz—next, that of Pastor Schweitzer. The
illustrious philosopher celebrated the peregrination of souls, and
the pastor eulogised his progeny with tender benevolence. Fritz was
going to be a minister; he cared for nothing but the Bible; he was a
highly-intelligent child. Wilhelm promised to be admirably fitted for
commerce; and Ludwig could not fail to become a general, for he played
on the fife from morning till night. Mathéus would not contradict the
philosophical opinions of his host; but he thought they all belonged,
without exception, to the family of the penguins, remarkable for their
short wings, large stomachs, and insatiable appetites.
It was a very gentle satisfaction for the illustrious philosopher to see
his foresight confirmed on the arrival of the dessert; these little ones
then set to eating cream, cakes, and tarts with surprising avidity. Fritz
cracked filberts; Wilhelm crammed raisins into his pocket; and little
Ludwig drank Gredel’s wine every time she turned her head to smile at
Coucou Peter.
At the end of the meal the pastor had his meerschaum brought him, and,
while listening to the address of Maître Frantz, who was requesting the
use of the temple for the purpose of announcing his doctrine, lit it;
then, throwing himself back in his arm-chair, he blew a few puffs of
smoke into the air, and with the utmost quietude of manner replied—
“Illustrious philosopher! you are possessed by a truly affecting
philosophic ardour, and it would be a real pleasure to me to be of
service to you. But, as to the temple, it is not to be thought of; I
cannot raise up against myself the antagonism of such irresistible
eloquence as yours; that is too much to expect of human weakness. But,
thank Heaven, we have a casino at Saverne—that is to say, a place of
reunion for the élite of society: barristers, judges, procureurs, all
well-informed persons, who will like nothing better than to listen to you
and profit by your instruction. If you wish it——”
“It is the Being of Beings Himself who has inspired you with the idea of
conducting me to this place!” cried Mathéus, interrupting him. “There is
not a moment to be lost; the universe has too long trembled in doubt and
uncertainty.”
“Restrain your impatience, illustrious philosopher!” replied the pastor.
“In the first place, it will be as well to have your boots blacked. I
know well that a superior mind does not trouble itself with such details,
but polished boots can do no harm to your eloquence. Besides that, Gredel
will give your coat a brush, so that you may conform to the oratorical
decorum recommended by Cicero; by which time I hope to have finished my
pipe, and we will set off.”
These judicious considerations decided Mathéus to moderate his
impatience. Coucou Peter brought him the pastor’s dressing-gown and
slippers; Gredel blacked his boots and brushed his brown coat; Maître
Frantz shaved himself, as he was used to do at Graufthal; finally,
having put on a clean shirt in an adjoining room, and completed all his
preparations, the illustrious philosopher and the pastor took their way
together towards the casino.
Coucou Peter, who stayed with Gredel, followed them to the door, candle
in hand, and wished them all sorts of good-fortune.