“The hatred of Freemasons for Jesuits is very natural,” said he. “The grandmaster is right: it will never be possible to plant the banner of infidelity upon the ruins of the altar as long as the bravest soldiers of the church militant exist. This forcible expulsion of the society is a political blunder. The case merits attention; I must take a look at the theatre of action.”
He put on his overcoat and hat, and went forth into the twilight. Well-freighted wagons were returning home from the fields. Those who met saluted one another, or spoke a few words together. Children carried small bundles upon their heads, grown persons dragged their burdens after them. It was a scene of animated activity. No swearing or angry word was heard, but the day’s work ended in the most peaceful manner. The same thing was repeated every evening during the sojourn of the count in Weselheim, but, having never felt any interest in rural life, he was astonished at all that he saw.
In the middle of the road, a heavily-laden wagon came to a stand-still; the horses refused to proceed, notwithstanding the efforts of the driver. The count could not but admire the patience of a man who did not swear at or ill-treat his horses. Several peasants came to offer assistance. They pushed the wheels, but in vain, for the animals would not move.
“I do not know what is the matter with the horses to-day,” exclaimed the driver. “I have not overloaded them.”
“Just a little too much, Jacob!” said a voice.
At once all hats and caps are raised. A tall, thin form now approached.
“May Jesus Christ be praised, your reverence!” was the respectful salutation of all the men.
“Now and for ever!” answered the good priest. “Well, Prantner, what has happened?”
“Your reverence, the horses will not stir!”
“Because they want to rest a little,” replied the Jesuit. “We do the same when we are tired; and it is a heavy, a very heavy load,” said he, with a glance at the towering height of the wagon.