CHAPTER III.
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.