He could not enough admire its broad crispy head, like the stump of an old oak, its short and shining horns, like iron wedges; its soft and supple dewlap, extending from the lower lip to the knees.
“O noble and sublime animal,” he said to himself in a tone of emotion, “you cannot imagine what profound and admirable thoughts the sight of you inspires me with! No, you have not yet attained the intellectual and moral development that can raise you to the height of a psychologico-anthropo-zoological sentiment; but your forms are not the less marvellous; they attest, by their harmonious completeness, the grandeur of nature; for whatever may be said on the subject by materialists—beings possessed neither of sound logic nor of reasoning powers—that has not all been made in a day, but has taken thousands of ages to bring to this degree of æsthetic perfection. Yes, the passage from the mineral to the vegetable form, from the vegetable to the animal form, is immeasurable, without speaking of intermediaries; for, from the thistle state to that of the oak, and from the oyster state to that of the bull, the distance is prodigious. Therefore, Frantz Mathéus, admire within yourself that interior force, called God, soul, life, or by any other name, and which ceaselessly works towards the perfection of types and the development of individuality in matter.”
He paused, plunged in mute ecstasy.
Now, while Mathéus was addressing these reflections aloud to himself, the boards of the vent-hole through which forage was thrown down to the cattle slid quietly in its groove, and the chubby-faced head of Coucou Peter was passed through the aperture. The fiddler’s surprise may easily be imagined when he discovered his illustrious master haranguing a bull.
“My eye!”—he said to himself, “I do believe he wants to convert him!”
At the same time a singular idea flashed on his mind.
“Ha! ha! ha! it would be a good joke,” he cried; “wait a bit, the bull’s going to answer you!”
He joined his hands before his mouth, and roared—
“Oh! oh! oh! great Doctor Mathéus—I am very—very unhappy!”
At these words the illustrious philosopher fell back in alarm.