Black Forest Village Stories Part 39

When Florian came out he was compelled to obey the cruel behest. With an indescribable mixture of wrath and humiliation he stood before the looking-gla.s.s, compressing his naked lips and gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth. A dreadful vow was formed in his heart. Nothing was talked of in the village but the loss of Florian's mustache; and, now that it was gone, all united in singing its praises. Florian felt as if his skin had been peeled off. Of course, when he appeared in the street, every pa.s.ser-by regaled him with an expression of condolence. But ambition had already perverted him to such an extent that he fairly enjoyed even this sort of notoriety. To be thought about was the first thing; _what_ people thought of him was only the second. He was never seen near the tailor's house in the daytime; and when he met Crescence in the evening, and she laughed at him, he swore to make the geometer pay him for every hair.

She tried to pacify him; and he was silent.

Very soon after, the geometer, in returning home from Horb one evening, was waylaid by three men, who dragged him into the woods, and, with the cry of "Wale him! he's from Ulm!" beat him so unmercifully that he could scarcely walk home. One of them cried after him, as he went away, "This was out of kindness; but if you show your face in the village a week after this we'll try the other persuasion." The geometer thought he recognised Florian's voice. He tried to inst.i.tute a prosecution; but the polities of the village were then in such a state of agitation that no business of public import was properly attended to.

The shaving of Florian was the last official act of the noncommissioned squire. The election came on, and Buchmaier received almost every vote.

Under his administration people were free from paltry vexations, and Florian's mustache regained its pristine beauty.

In spite of the exertions of the Red Tailor and mine host of the Eagle, the geometer transferred his head-quarters to Muehl.

Meantime Florian also had met with reverses. He appeared to have quarrelled with the Strasbourgers, for he no longer acted as their agent. The old butcher also was generally at home: he had found a new source of revenue, which was very productive. On his travels as a drover he had made the acquaintance of some smuggler in Baden, which at that time had not acceded to the Zollverein. He sold coffee and sugar free of duty, and made money by the operation. The Red Tailor found his grocery-business ruined by the interference of the secret compet.i.tor; and yet the quarrel existing between the parents on account of their children made it necessary to keep up a continental system and rigid prohibitory tariff. The tailor's wife, however, hit upon a fortunate expedient: the house of Corpse Kitty became the neutral ground for negotiations. Corpse Kitty bought the imported goods for the account of the legitimate trade. Thus intrigues are at work between the great powers even when to the uninitiated they appear to be at open war.

Almost every Sunday Crescence was compelled, with cruel maltreatment, to go with her father and meet the geometer in Muehl or at the half-way house in Eglesthal. She was then gay and sprightly against her will; and, after she had carried on this hypocrisy long enough, the wine would come to her aid and really elevate her spirits,--so that the geometer always ended with thinking that she was still really fond of him.

But in the evening she always contrived to meet Florian; and, when she returned home, new maltreatment awaited her. Thus poor Crescence led a wretched life,--though, fortunately for her, she was so much inured to deceit and untruth that she was not aware of the full extent of its depravity.

6.

FLORIAN IN CLOVER.

Florian tried to earn some money here and there, but rarely succeeded.

He would only work at his trade or at some other agreeable occupation.

Field-labor was beneath his dignity; and he would rather have starved than break stone on the highroad,--the usual resource of men without capital. Like many others, he would only work at what he liked,--a principle upon which very few men indeed ever manage to prosper. But a time came for him to obtain some funds and a plentiful supply of that glory which he so much craved. The bel-wether dance was approaching, and great preparations were being made for it. Mine host of the Eagle had made his peace with Florian and his friends; for he understood his position too well to keep up a feud with his neighbors in the quarrel of a customer who had left. Florian now slaughtered for Caspar a heifer and a hog. The latter ceremony was performed in the street, so that everybody stopped to watch the active functionary, whom it was indeed a pleasure to see in the labor of his trade. The muscles of his bare arms were so strong and smooth that the life and death of the poor beasts seemed indeed to lie in his hand. With three strokes upon the steel he whetted his knife so sharp that he could cut a hair loose at one end.

But the greatest crowd of idlers always a.s.sembled when he began to chop the sausage-meat. He handled his cleavers as lightly as a drummer his sticks, whistling a waltz the meanwhile to keep himself in time. A particular flourish consisted in throwing one of the cleavers into the air while he chopped on uninterruptedly with the other, snapping the fingers of the empty hand, catching the cleaver again, and chopping on without getting out of the time. At this achievement all lifted up their hands in astonishment.

The old butcher was present also, mainly to a.s.sist in consuming the kettle-meat, fresh from the fire; after which the renown of his son afforded an excellent dessert. He strolled to George the blacksmith's door, and found him in deep lamentation. "All my subjects refuse to obey me," he said. "They leave me sitting here all alone and run to watch Florian. I'd give three creutzers if he'd come and do his killing here."

"Yes," added the old butcher, rubbing his hands, "the court-butcher at Stuttgard can't come up to my Florian. He once made a bet with his friends in Strasbourg to get four calves and two hogs into marketing-order without bringing a speck on his clothes; and he did it, and his ap.r.o.n and his s.h.i.+rt were as white as the driven snow."

Florian now received so many orders that he found no rest by day or night, and when the day of the bel-wether dance came he overslept the morning service.

Crescence had promised the geometer an interview at Eglesthal; but Florian easily succeeded in inducing her to break her word.

The close of the afternoon service was the signal of rejoicings throughout the village. In the yard of the manor-house a number of stakes were put up in a ring, with a rope around them. In the middle stood a fine wether, decorated with a red ribbon, while a glittering bowl of pewter was on a little table beside him. The band of musicians headed the procession, followed by the boys and girls in couples, hand in hand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The boys and girls in couples, hand in hand.]

At the gate of the yard a clock had been fastened so that it could not be seen. At the stroke of two the "free dance" began. A march was played, and the couples walked around the rope in strict order. An old-fas.h.i.+oned sabre had been stuck into one of the stakes; and whenever a couple came up to it the man pulled it out and thrust it into the next stake to which they came. When Florian and Crescence reached the sword, the former balanced it on his teeth, and thus carried it in safety to the next station. A general "Look a' there!" was his reward.

Corpse Kitty prophesied that he would win the wether. Thus they all went round and round, laughing and talking. When Florian took the sword for the second time, the clock suddenly struck three. A hurrah resounded on all sides. The rope was torn away, and the wether, the ribbon, and the bowl were brought to Florian. The girls came up, wished Crescence joy, and wound the ribbon into her hair. "It's all right now," said Melchior's Lenore: "you're bound to have each other before the year's out." Crescence was weeping, however, for her father stood before her, clenching his fist.

They now followed the band to the inn, where Florian and Crescence opened the dance.

Buchmaier, the new squire, had revived an ancient custom. Instead of ordering the beadle or a _gens d'armes_ to keep order during the dance, he had summoned all the boys who had pa.s.sed their eighteenth year to meet on the preceding evening for the purpose of electing two "dance-boys." Constantine, and Valentine the carpenter's son Xavier, received the greatest number of votes: the winner of the wether was to be the third, the squire only stipulating the right of nominating him in case this good fortune should befall one of the two who had been elected. Florian now entered upon this office, and was marked, like his colleagues, with a white ribbon tied round his arm. These three were made responsible for any disturbances; but no disturbance occurred,--for people are always easily governed by rulers of their own selection.

Crescence was overflowing with happiness, and forgot all about the geometer. None--not even George--could dance like Florian: he clapped his feet together at every bar of the music, so that all eyes were directed to his glistening boots. Sometimes, in the middle of the dance, he would cry, "Sing out!" Not his feet, but all his body and soul, rose and sunk in accordance with the music: he was a dancer all over. He would not stand still for an instant; and, when the musicians stopped to rest a while, he said to the clarionet, "Make your old bones rattle." "Pour something in to make it swell," was the answer. Florian threw six creutzers on the table.

Late at night the "barber's dance" was executed, in which Florian appeared in all his glory. A man was brought in, looking as white as milk, with a hump before and behind, and bandaged from head to foot with white sheets and kerchiefs. You would hardly have recognised the College Chap. The band played the air of the song,--

"Oh, my! I feel so bad!

Bring me the barber's lad."

A chair was placed in the middle of the room, and the patient deposited upon it. The expected man of simples came, hung round about with knives, with a huge pinch nose, and a wig of tow. It was Florian who thus entered, amid roars of laughter.

With comical gestures, he skipped around the patient, opened the bandage on his arm, bled him, and finally stuck a knife into the hump and left it there. The sick man fell dead, and a funeral-march was played. The unlucky surgeon rushed around the room in an agony of despair, pulled his wig out by handfuls, and threw them into the faces of the company. The music died away. At last, laying his hand upon his forehead, he collected his scattered wits, and cried, "Music!" Notes of mourning responded. He knelt down beside the dead man, opened his mouth, and drew out yards on yards of white tape, but without producing any relief. Then, taking a quart-tumbler, he filled it to the brim with wine, placed it on his forehead, and lay down on his back beside the sick man, moving in time to the music. All held their breath in expectation of a crash; but the feat was successfully performed. The entire contents of the gla.s.s were now poured down the patient's throat.

He struck about him and threw off his disguise. Florian did the same: the band struck up a gallop: the old squire's Babbett ran up and danced with Constantine, Crescence and Florian followed suit, and all were once more in motion. The fict.i.tious misfortunes with which they had amused themselves gave an additional zest to the return of pleasure.

Some hours later, when they were all seated at table, drinking and singing, Florian favored the company with a new song which he had picked up on his travels:--

"In Strasbourg on the rampart, She loved me much indeed: She always brought my breakfast And a letter for to read.

"I always got the letter: The breakfast never came: And in it there was written, 'Winter has come again.'

"Winter has come, as usual; The bosses are feeling good: They say to the poor journeymen, 'Go out and split some wood.

"'And mind you make it small enough, And make it not too small; And you shall be my journeymen, As you have been this fall.'

"And winter is past and over; The jours are full of pluck: They come to the boss's table And tell him what's o'clock.

"'Come, boss; its time to settle: Bring out your little bill: You gave us beans this winter, And we have had our fill.'

"'Oh, if the bread's not white enough, I'll get another kind, And if your bed's not soft enough----'"

At the lines which followed, sad to say, Crescence did not blush, nor did any of the other girls; but all received the production with unmingled merriment.

Who could doubt, after this, that Florian was the leading young man in the village?

But when Crescence came home she had to expiate her glory with bitter sufferings: her mother was sick, and her father, for the time-being, reigned supreme. But she bore all without a murmur, knowing that Florian would be hers; for hadn't they won the wether?

7.

DOWN HILL.

With the jollification the importance of Florian came to an end. He was pushed into a corner, like a ba.s.s-fiddle in working-time: people went about their business, and thought little of the fun-makers. Florian alone had no business to go about: he hung around the taverns until he ceased to be welcome even there.

In a village it is very difficult to keep up appearances on fict.i.tious capital. Baden had joined the "Zollverein," and the old butcher's occupation was gone likewise. Nevertheless, Florian continued to walk about, erect and proud, in the fine clothes he had purchased in his best days. He was always neatly brushed; and, though his boots were soleless, the upper leathers shone as heretofore.

"They can look at my clothes, but not into my stomach," was his motto.

The watch with the silver seals he wore on Sunday only, having received this privilege when he left it with old Gudel.

The fair at Horb brought another holiday for half the village. At daybreak the old butcher was seen standing at Jacob's Well, while all the farmers who pa.s.sed on the road with their cattle asked him what they weighed. He was delighted with this occupation, for it made him feel as if he could buy them all himself; and, besides, he hoped that one or the other would invite him to go to town. In this he was disappointed, however,--poor fellow! He had handled so much fine meat in his time, and for two weeks he had been compelled to put up with a vegetable diet! Finding all his trouble in vain, he sighed heavily, wiped the sweat from his forehead, went home to get his stick and walk over to the fair on speculation, to look out for something to turn up.

Florian ran distractedly up and down the village. He met Crescence, who was going to the fair with her father, but ran past them without stopping to talk: he had not a copper, in his pocket. Whenever he met a young man, he meditated asking him for a loan, but would stop himself with "Oh, he won't give me any thing," or, "He hasn't much to spare, and then I'd only have the shame of it." Thus he suffered one and another to pa.s.s by. "What should I go to market for? They're not selling me out there, and there's a great many not going besides myself; but then that is because they don't want to, and I don't go because I can't." It now seemed to him as if a joy never to be replaced would be lost if he remained at home: he must go: every thing depended upon it. With a flushed face and flas.h.i.+ng eyes, he walked along the village, constantly talking to himself. "There lives Jack the blacksmith. I treated him ever so often at the bel-wether dance; but he won't give me any thing, for all that. There's Koch the carpenter: he's been abroad like myself. I'll go to him: it's the first time I'm so familiar with him; but it can't be helped."

He found Koch the carpenter untying a heifer from the crib, complaining bitterly of hard times. He went away without mentioning the object of his visit. The College Chap had left home already, and Florian made up his mind to go to the Eagle and say that the College Chap had sent him to ask for a loan of six dollars: he scorned to ask for a trifle. Mine host of the Eagle answered, "I won't lend any thing to anybody: it only sets the best of friends by the ears." "Just what I said myself," said Florian, laughing bitterly, as he turned away.

With a feeling of utter desolation, he walked about, thinking, "Without money a man's a stranger in his own house." Suffused with perspiration, he ran up one street and down another: it seemed as if every minute wasted was a loss not to be retrieved. He now bethought himself of the aristocratic expedient of borrowing from a Jew. Like the n.o.ble lords and ladies who first invented this practice, he had no reason to fear the reproving looks of these people in his further extravagances and vain-glory. "Jews' claims are no disgrace," he said to himself, and applied to Mendle's son Meyer, who was going to market with a belt full of money, for the loan of some ducats at a high rate of interest. The offer was rejected.