Black Forest Village Stories Part 41

"Will you come to me to-morrow night?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm agreed."

Florian pa.s.sed on, and when Crescence asked him, "What does that wretch want of you?" he blushed like a fire-thief, and answered, "Nothing: he wanted me to sell him my knife."

"Don't let him have it: he'd murder somebody with it."

Florian shuddered; and it pained him to see the undoubting faith with which Crescence received his words.

9.

WHAT BECOMES OF A SCAPEGRACE AND OF A LOVING GIRL.

Half the world do not know how the other half lives. People could not imagine how Florian managed to get enough to eat. The truth was, he very often had not enough. In one of these emergencies he applied to the College Chap for a loan.

"Why, Florian," was the answer, "this sort of thing won't do: you must manage to get a living: you can't go on this way."

"That's neither here nor there," replied Florian: "you can tell me all that some other time when I'm not head over ears in trouble. Help me out now, and preach your sermons afterward."

The admonition was ill-timed, and therefore worse than useless: Florian pitied instead of blaming himself, and thought himself more sinned against than sinning. With a certain air of forgiveness, he repeated his request.

"It won't do," said the College Chap, "for a man to scatter his money about just when he's going to be married. You'll have to get along without me."

The College Chap was betrothed to the old squire's Babbett,--although, as the readers of Ivo's story may remember, he was not inordinately fond of her. He had asked for the hand of Buchmaier's Agnes, and had met with a refusal. This he told wherever he went, calculating that he must pa.s.s for a trump card if people knew he'd had the pluck to try for the first girl in the village: "they all knew that the richest would come in for their turn in no time." But they did not come in, and he contented himself with Babbett.

Like many other spendthrifts, the College Chap was no sooner thrown upon his own resources than he turned stingy and unfeeling.

It was Florian's misfortune that of all others the College Chap was his most intimate companion. He could not but say to himself, "He isn't a bit better than I am: why am I so much worse off?" He quarrelled with his fortunes more and more, lost his energy, and became morose and querulous.

Meanwhile Crescence was quite happy. Her father's ill-treatment of her, though unrelenting, afforded her at bottom more gratification than regret. She was restored to herself from the moment she had determined to be his alone whom her heart had chosen. Knowing Florian's circ.u.mstances, she did not scruple to relieve him by all the means in her power. She took tobacco and other creature-comforts out of the store, and forced them upon Florian's acceptance. Though at first ashamed to receive them, he soon came to devising plans with her for more extensive peculations, having found means of disposing of them through Schlunkel's intervention. Crescence obeyed in all things. To her mind Florian was lawfully the lord of the world and of all it contained, and ent.i.tled to regard all men as his subjects. For a while, she thought, he chose to live without the insignia of his power, but he would soon arise and show the world what was really in him. She hoped that the time was at hand when he would come forth in all his glory.

This hope was as clear and confident in her heart as her expectation of the coming day; and yet she knew not what she hoped. But a storm soon broke in rudely upon her daydreams. The tailor detected the embezzlements of his daughter, and drove her out of his house, threatening to hand her over to justice if she returned. Her mother was at the point of death and unable to protect her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Crescence knew not where to turn.]

Crescence knew not where to turn. She went to Florian's door; but he was not at home. When told the name of the nightly a.s.sociate with whom he had gone abroad, she wept aloud. Drawing her gown over her head to ward off the beating rain, she wandered up and down for hours in a state bordering on distraction. Could she but have crept away from herself! At length she took courage to seek out Melchior's Lenore, and was kindly received by her father.

Every effort at a reconciliation with her father failed. She now knitted stockings and worked by the day: sometimes Florian a.s.sisted her, for he had again found means to raise the wind. But she could not touch a single coin without a shudder: in looking at the portraitures of the august sovereigns which they bore, Schlunkel's features seemed to peer out of every one of them.

Lenore always found out when the tailor went to Horb with his wallet, and at such times Crescence would go home and supply herself with such things as she most needed.

Florian also was often on the watch to see whether he might go to see Schlunkel without impairing his reputation. A characteristic occurrence, however, soon put an end to this joyless companionship.

Schlunkel had stolen two wethers from the paper-miller of Eglesthal.

One day when Florian was with him he called upon the latter to slaughter and dress them. Florian's pride and glory up to that time had been his art and mystery: the request was therefore the greatest affront he could possibly have received. "Before I'd butcher stolen cattle in secret," said he, "I'd cut your throat and mine both."

[Ill.u.s.tration: She took her necklace of garnets, with the brooch, from her neck and handed them to him.]

"Oh, you soft-head," said Schlunkel, adroitly s.n.a.t.c.hing Florian's knife out of his pocket, "I'll never let you get out of this room alive unless you slaughter these wethers, or pay me my two dollars."

"I'll see you!" Florian had him by the throat, and dragged at the knife with all his might. They both struggled fiercely, without any success on either side; but, suddenly hearing a noise, Florian released his hold and jumped out of the window.

He went to Crescence sorrowfully and told her all.

Without saying a word, she took her necklace of garnets, with the brooch, from her neck, drew her silver ring from her finger, and handed them to him.

"What's that for?" asked Florian.

"To p.a.w.n or sell and pay the wretch with."

Florian embraced and kissed her, saying, "Do you do it; there's a good girl: you shall have 'em back, depend upon it."

Crescence did as requested, and brought him his knife. There was no blood upon it: he rejoiced greatly to know that his treasure had not been abused.

10.

FLORIAN DISDAINS THE HELP WHICH IS OFFERED HIM.

"Crescence," said Florian, one day, "this sort of thing must come to an end. I can't go abroad any more, because of you, and because it's a matter of honor for me to get through without it. What do you say to seeing the parson? If we can get a few hundred florins out of him we can get married."

"I thought you didn't want to have any thing to do with him."

"What must be must," replied Florian. "Will you give me a letter to him, and get your mother to sign it?"

"Just as you please: you know best. I'll do exactly as you wish me to."

Next day Florian was under way. His thoughts were gloomy when he reflected upon where he was going; but the exercise soon improved his spirits. For many weeks he had scarcely been outside of the village.

All his thoughts had been absorbed by paltry troubles and circ.u.mscribed efforts: now he once more found a larger standard to measure things by, and said to himself, "Why can't we live somewhere else? The Nordstetten gra.s.s can grow without us. I can be happy with my Crescence, even though George the blacksmith and the host of the Eagle know nothing about it: but they must respect me first, and then I'll go. Not a living soul must ever hear a word of this trip that I'm on now."

It was late in the afternoon when he reached his destination. At the parsonage he found no one but the housekeeper,--a well-fed, proud-looking personage. She made various efforts to fathom his purpose, but could obtain no other answer than that he must see the parson himself. At length he came, preceded by his brace of half-shorn Pomeranian poodles, who offered to attack the stranger, but were deterred by a single look. It was not without reason that people said Florian could charm dogs with magic: the most furious suddenly took fright when he eyed them sharply.

When Florian saw the parson, his own eyes fell. He was a powerful, thick-set man, with a white-and-black cravat. Crescence was his image, to the very freckles. The parson saw something suspicious in the shyness of his visitor, and asked him what he wanted.

"I wish to speak a word with you alone," said Florian.

The parson bade him follow to his study.

Florian delivered the letter, and the parson read it. Florian watched the play of his features narrowly.

"From whom is this letter?" asked the parson. "I don't know the person."

"You know the Red Tailor's wife, surely? Her name is below there, and the letter is from her oldest daughter. The tailor's wife is at the point of death, and won't get well again."

"Sorry to hear it. Give the people my good wishes, and if I can do any thing for them it shall be done."

"And you won't do something particular for Crescence now?"