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!”