CHAPTER XII.
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.