In spite of himself, however, some few doubts still presented themselves to his mind; these pleasant hopes appeared to him hazardous; he foresaw impediments, and conceived vague apprehensions.
“I say, Maître Frantz,” he said, quickening his pace, “my tongue has been itching to speak for the last quarter of an hour; I want very much to ask you something.”
“Speak out, my good fellow,” replied the Doctor; “don’t stand on ceremony. Do you already feel your noble resolutions shaken by doubt?”
“Exactly—and that bothers me. Are you quite sure about your peregrination of souls, Maître Frantz? For, to tell you the truth, I’ve no recollection of having lived before coming into the world.”
“Am I quite sure!” cried Mathéus. “Do you imagine that I would deceive the world, cast desolation into the midst of families, agitation into cities, disorder into consciences?”
“I don’t say that, Doctor; on the contrary, I’m altogether for the doctrine. But, mind you, there are many others who won’t believe in it, and who will say, ‘What the devil does he mean by bothering us with stuff about his souls that go back into the bodies of animals?—does he take us for fools? Souls that travel about!—souls that go up and down the ladder of being!—souls on four feet, and souls that sprout with leaves! Ha! ha! ha! the man is mad! he’s mad!’ I don’t say that, Maître Frantz; it’s other people, you understand? I believe everything; but let’s see how you will answer the others.”
“What shall I reply to them?” cried Mathéus, pale with indignation.
“That’s it; what will you reply to these unbelievers—these good-for-nothings?”
The illustrious philosopher had stopped in the middle of the path; he raised himself in his stirrups and cried, in a ringing voice—
“Miserable sophists! disciples of error and false doctrines! your captious quibbles, your scholastic subtleties, will avail you nothing against me! In vain would you attempt to obscure the planet which shines in the skyey vault—that planet which gives you light and warmth, and to nature its fecundity! In spite of your blasphemies, in spite of your ingratitude, it ceases not to shed its bounties! What need have I to see the soul that inspires me with the noblest of thoughts? Is it not ever present in my being—is it not myself? Cut off these arms, these legs; will Frantz Mathéus by that means be diminished, from an intellectual and moral point of view? No; the body is but the outer case—the soul is eternal! Ah! Coucou Peter, place your hand upon your heart, see before you that immense vault, the image of grandeur and harmony, and then dare to deny the Being of beings, the First Cause of this magnificent creation!”