CHAPTER XVII.
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.