In passing up the ancient Rue des Capucins, Maître Frantz felt a real
enjoyment from having changed his shirt and shaved himself; his mind was
filled with invincible arguments, and the moon in a manner went before
him to conduct him to the casino.
A confused murmur announced that the little Chapel of Saint Jean was full
of the faithful; no other sound was heard in the street; all the women
were at worship, and all the men at the public-house.
Maître Frantz and the pastor proceeded for some time in silence, inhaling
with pleasure the fresh evening air, so pleasant after a good meal;
watching the rapid light that escapes from a door quickly opened and
shut, a lantern moving in the midst of the darkness, a shadow appearing
behind well-lighted window-panes—in short, those vague experiences of
night so full of dreamy mystery and inexpressible charm; but, speedily
animated by his anthropo-zoological meditation, the illustrious
philosopher quickened his pace.
“Stay a moment, my dear monsieur—stay a moment,” said the pastor; “you
run like a hare. Give me a moment to take breath.”
“Will all the company be assembled?” inquired Mathéus.
“Not yet—not yet; there’s no cause for hurrying. What would be said
if judges, barristers, and procureurs were to go to drink and play
at midday? It wouldn’t be respectable; they must wait until the
public-houses are shut up, and set an example of good morals.”
Thus spoke the pastor, which did not prevent Maître Frantz Mathéus from
pressing forward with lengthened strides, under the impulsion of new
enthusiasm, murmuring to himself—“Courage, Frantz! Listen not to the
counsels of a false wisdom and of a cowardly love of repose; the captious
windings of sophistry shall neither bewilder your intelligence nor hinder
your triumphant march.”
The pastor laughed at his precipitation.
“Where are you rushing, my dear monsieur—where are you rushing?” he
cried, on the doorstep of the casino. “Don’t you see where we are?”
Looking about him, Maître Frantz observed tall windows shining in the
midst of the darkness, with the figures of dancers flitting across their
red curtains.
“It is here,” he thought, “that the regeneration of mankind is about to
be accomplished!”
He was greatly moved by this magnificent idea, but still greater was his
emotion when, the pastor having opened the door, he beheld a large room
illuminated by a great number of lights. A considerable number of persons
were already assembled. Some were reading the newspapers; Monsieur le
Notaire Creutzer was playing a game of piquet with Monsieur l’Avocat
Swibel; the noble Baron Pipelnaz, thrown back in a large arm-chair, was
gravely discussing the affairs of the country; and the young substitute
Papler was chatting and laughing with handsome Mademoiselle Olympia,
the young lady at the refreshment counter. It was a superb sight, such
as Maître Frantz could not remember to have seen for many years; and
when, passing by one of the gold-framed looking-glasses, he saw himself
standing in the middle of the room in his brown overcoat, short breeches,
and check waistcoat, he inwardly thanked the pastor for having caused his
boots to be polished and his coat brushed.
The members of the casino had turned their heads and smiled at sight of
the good man; they took him for a peasant of Upper Alsace, who had lost
his way amid superior spheres, and his air of admiration was pleasant
to them to see; but when the pastor handed him a seat, and ordered two
glasses of beer, they thought it must be some village clergyman, and each
returned to his former attitude.
The fair Olympia rang her bell, and the two glasses of beer were served
upon a brilliantly-painted lacquered tray.
How astonished Mathéus must have been by such magnificence may be
imagined; globes of crystal covered the lamps, and the chairs were
covered with velvet, soft as the fleece of young lambs. Thus it was that,
in spite of his resolute convictions, he could not help feeling a sort
of timidity, natural to those who find themselves in the presence of the
great ones of the earth.
“Well, illustrious philosopher, do you wish me to announce your
discourse?” asked the gay-hearted pastor.
“Not just yet,” replied Maître Frantz, almost in a whisper, while a blush
suffused his venerable cheeks—“not just yet. I have not quite prepared my
exordium.”
“The deuce! You’ll be some time about it. If you’ll allow me, I’ll look
through this newspaper, and, when you are ready, you’ll only have to tell
me.”
Mathéus nodded affirmatively, and drew from his pocket the Synopsis of
his _Anthropo-Zoology_.
The good man was not wanting in prudence: on the contrary, his timid
nature, in the course of its successive transformations, had accustomed
itself to prick up its ears, and it might be said that, under certain
circumstances, he slept with his eyes open. Therefore, all the while he
was looking over the Synopsis, he closely watched all that was passing in
the room, and even listened attentively to what was being said right and
left.
New faces appeared every moment: now Monsieur Stoffel, the tax-collector,
with his double gold chain and trinkets; now Hospos, the chemist, whose
loud voice was heard out in the entrance-hall; now Monsieur Seypel,
the Garde Général, all the seams of his coat embroidered with silver.
All these gentlemen stopped for a moment at the bar, and addressed a
few sprightly speeches to the fair Olympia, who tossed her head and
smiled with infinite grace. They then seated themselves and called for
newspapers.
The conversation grew more animated, and turned upon the ball to be given
by Madame la Sous-Préfète the names of persons who were to be present
being mentioned. It was to be a grand entertainment for the wind-up of
the season. A pâté de Strasbourg had been sent for. Monsieur le Garde
Général smiled significantly. When partridges and quails were mentioned
to him, he neither said “Yes” nor “No.” Then came confidences. Cards of
invitation were drawn from waistcoat-pockets!
“Ah! _you_ are going, my dear fellow! I’m delighted!”
“And you too!”
Congratulations were exchanged. But what completed the general
satisfaction was to learn from the noble Baron Pipelnaz the approaching
arrival of Monsieur le Préfet, of the Council of Revision. A thousand
secret connections between this journey and Madame la Sous-Préfète’s ball
were discovered. There was no doubt whatever that Monsieur le Préfet
intended to be at the ball. What an event! All those who were invited
looked at each other in a sort of ecstasy. To be at the same ball as
Monsieur le Préfet! To take supper at the same table as Monsieur le
Préfet!
Those who had not yet received their cards of invitation continued their
play, exclaiming, “Three kings! three aces!” very loudly, and as if they
had heard nothing of the conversation. The pastor himself appeared very
grave, and read his newspaper with sustained attention; but they could
not conceal their discomfiture, which was clearly to be read in their
faces. They were deeply mortified, and greatly to be commiserated.
Small parties of intimate friends were formed to drink punch and mulled
wine. Nothing was talked of on all sides but the grace of Madame la
Sous-Préfète and the incomparable elegance of her suppers. The noble
Baron Pipelnaz, mayor of the town, enlarged on the reception he intended
to give Monsieur le Préfet. For twenty years Monsieur le Baron had bowed
to him at the door of the Mairie; but, under circumstances so flattering,
he proposed to go and meet him in full official costume, and even desired
to present to him a short congratulatory address.
The arrival of the Procureur Kitzig interrupted this agreeable
conversation. He was one of Pastor Schweitzer’s old comrades of the
University of Strasbourg, and every day they played together a game of
“Youker.” Fashionable society laughed at the vulgar manners of Procureur
Kitzig, who did not know how properly to keep up his rank, and talked
familiarly with anybody he happened to meet. Nobody ventured to do this
to his face, however. Maître Kitzig occupied a high position at Saverne.
Besides, who could be sure that at some time or other he might not have
some little business or other with Monsieur le Procureur? Everybody,
therefore, smiled on Monsieur le Procureur, who replied by a nod or a few
significant words.
“You are very good, Monsieur le Procureur. You are too kind, Monsieur le
Procureur.”
“Ha! ha! ha! What a farce!” whispered the pastor in Mathéus’s ear; “what
a farce! Have you ever seen anything like it at Graufthal?”
But the illustrious philosopher made no answer. He had recognised in
Maître Kitzig an individual of the canine race, for whom hares feel a
very singular veneration.
At the end of a few moments Monsieur le Procureur joined his friend
Schweitzer, shook hands with him, and bowed to Mathéus.
“Well, Karl,” he said, seating himself, “shall we have our game of
‘Youker’ this evening? I shall be glad of it.”
“I’m ready, Michel.”
“Imagine,” Maître Kitzig went on—“I’ve done nothing since five o’clock
but listen to witnesses, and God knows if others may not be coming from
the fair!”
“From the fair at Haslach?” asked the pastor, looking at Mathéus.
“Yes; pretty things have been going on there. Two scoundrels have
been disturbing the population from top to bottom by their incendiary
preaching. They have attacked laws, morals, and religion—even performed
miracles! It’s a Court of Assize affair.”
“And if they fall into the hands of justice?”
“They won’t get out of my hands for less than twenty years at the
galleys,” replied Kitzig, absorbing a pinch of snuff with the utmost
indifference. “But we’ve nothing to do with that just now. Cards—and a
slate!”
Never had Frantz Mathéus found himself in so terrible a position. His
first impulse was to denounce himself, and to defend the doctrine in the
face of nations; but at this idea his hair rose on the nape of his neck.
He looked towards the door, and remained motionless.
On his side the pastor was not too much at ease. However, he had presence
of mind enough to say—
“Allow me to present to you Doctor Mathéus, of Graufthal, returning from
the Scientific Congress at Bâle.”
“Ah!” said the procureur, shuffling the cards. “On his way back to
Graufthal—he must have passed through Haslach, then?”
Maître Frantz thought he should have fallen backwards; but fortunately
his tongue, so to speak, rejoined of its own accord—
“Pardon me, Monsieur le Procureur,” he said—“I came by way of Molsheim.”
“Ah! that’s vexatious; we might have got some useful information from
you,” said Maître Kitzig.
He then dealt the cards, and the game began.
What a position for Maître Frantz! at the moment of gaining the most
magnificent oratorical triumph, and of proclaiming the system, to be
obliged to remain silent—of denying the doctrine—of concealing himself
like a criminal! For the more he thought of giving himself up, the more
his natural instincts opposed themselves to such a course, and in his
trouble he cried—
“O poor Mathéus!—poor Mathéus!—to what extremities are you reduced! To go
to the galleys at your time of life!—poor Mathéus! What fault of yours
can have merited so sad a fate? Have you not sacrificed your repose, your
dearest affections, for the happiness of humankind? Poor Mathéus!”
His heart wept, and his whole being trembled; but he had not strength
enough to give himself up: he was afraid.
When, after the first hand had been played, Maître Kitzig said to him,
absently, that he must necessarily have passed through Haslach, as the
road from Molsheim passed immediately behind that village, he denied it
afresh—denied it emphatically; saying that he had passed at the back
of Hirchland, and giving a false description of the route and of the
beauties of nature, describing an immense circuit around Oberbronn,
Eschenbach, and generally of all the places through which he had passed.
“You took a very long and roundabout road?” remarked the procureur; the
game then went on without interruption.
From time to time Maître Kitzig made some caustic reflection as to
the difficulty of mountain roads, as to the danger of preaching new
doctrines, and the illustrious philosopher trembled to the marrow of
his bones. Thus passed this evening, which was to have decided the
eternal glory of Frantz Mathéus, of the progress of civilisation,
and of the happiness of future races; it passed in the cruellest of
torments. While joy was all around the good man, while the noble Baron
de Pipelnaz was blooming in his pride, and all these vulgar beings
were lapping themselves in the most radiant hopes: he, so good, so
just, so benevolent, was thinking of nothing but of flight—of going and
enriching America with the treasures of his science! “There,” he thought,
“doctrines are free; no procureurs or gendarmes are to be feared;
everybody may perform miracles as they like!”
Midnight struck, and a goodly number of the habitués of the casino had
already retired, when the Procureur Kitzig rose, and, looking at the
illustrious philosopher, said—
“Surely, my dear monsieur, you have made a mistake; you _must_ have come
into the road at the back of Haslach, and passed through the village?”
Frantz Mathéus, as if carried away by anger, declared for the third time,
with an oath, that he did not know what was meant—that he had never been
that way!
His emotion would certainly have betrayed him if he had not had the most
honest face in the world. But how could it be supposed that this good
Daddy Mathéus, Doctor of Graufthal, was that terrible reformer, that
great offender, who had conceived the audacious design of shaking the
universe? Such an idea could not have come into any one’s head; so Maître
Kitzig contented himself with laughing at the worthy man’s singular
excitement, and wishing him “Good evening.”
The pastor and Maître Frantz were the last to leave, and when they were
in the street, the Doctor, feeling the full force of his weakness, burst
into tears. In vain did Monsieur Schweitzer seek to console him with kind
words—he could not forgive himself; and if his host had not supported
him, he would not have been able to move a step, so choked was he by
emotion, so much did he tremble in all his limbs.