“I ask pardon, your lordship,” said Keller; “only those who do not know the Jesuits will ever insult them. We know them. Our Jesuit father is a very pious man; he has no fault—or at least one only.”
“Well, what fault has he?” inquired Count von Scharfenstein.
“He gives away everything to the poor, your honor,” replied the burgomaster. “He keeps nothing of what we give him; the lay brother who lives with him carries it away to others. A man must eat and drink well if he expects to work well.”
“Very true!” said Von Scharfenstein, hardly able to restrain a laugh. “And because your pastor does not eat and drink well, he therefore does not work well either.”
“Oh! yes, your honor, oh! yes. I did not mean to say that. What I wanted to say was that our pastor works very hard, but that he does not eat enough, and therefore looks pale and thin. We cannot make him grow fat.” And the burgomaster cast a satisfied glance at his own well nourished body. “If we give him the very best we have, he will not eat it, but gives it away, and that provokes us.”
“Console yourselves!” answered Von Scharfenstein. “The poor to whom your pastor gives the best he has will not be displeased with him for it. And for the very reason that he is such an incorrigible friend of the poor, I shall speak to the king in his behalf.”
The interview now came to an end.
“God reward your honor!” said each one of the delegation, as they bowed and took their departure.
Von Scharfenstein, whose thoughts were generally in the clouds, and who paid very little attention to the course of things in the world around him, walked thoughtfully up and down his room. The touching fidelity, love, and reverence of the villagers for their priest, at a time when authority was mocked at unless supported by brute force, excited in him great admiration.