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11.
FLORIAN HELPS HIMSELF

Autumn had come: the Feast of Tabernacles was over, and Betsy's wedding once more brought back the spirit of fun and frolic to the village. According to the Hebrew ritual, the marriage was performed on the highroad, under a spreading baldachin. The fanners-always glad of an excuse to be idle-gathered around with open mouths: Florian and Schlunkel were both among them. The latter pulled his former comrade by the sleeve, whispering that he had something important to tell him; and when the ceremony was over he stole round the rear of the manor-house into the vaulted springhouse. Florian followed after some time, he knew not why.

Schlunkel came to meet him, saying, "Shake hands: we'll both be rich to-morrow." Without understanding him, Florian took his hand, saying, "How so?"

"Just this way," said Schlunkel, with a skip and a jump. "This morning Mendle's Meyer came home from the horse-market, where he sold all his horses. He must have brought at least seven or eight hundred florins home with him. I saw the belt: it looked like a liver-pudding. You know how to handle a liver-pudding, don't you? We'll slice this up tonight. A week ago the fire-committee had Meyer's bake-oven pulled down, because it was in the corner there. He had the hole walled up with brick. I helped to do it; and I laid one of the bricks so that you can just take it out with your hand. So to-night, when they're all at the wedding, we'll slip in and fetch the Jew's sausage."

"Not I," said Florian.

"Just as you please: you can get the money the commune offered you, if you like that better, and see how far it'll go."

"How do you know that?"

"I've got a little bird that told me: you fool, all the swallows in the chimneys are talking of it."

Florian stamped and bit his mustache. If he could have set fire to the village at that moment he would gladly have done so. He saw them all laughing at him, pitying him: the goal of his ambition-the veneration of the community-had fallen to ashes. At last he was ready for any thing. The enormity of the crime proposed never occurred to him for a moment. As honor was lost, he would go away laden with booty. Like one awaking from sleep, he said, -

"I'm in for it. What time?"

"About eight o'clock, I guess."

After another shake of the hand, Florian left his accomplice. As he emerged from the dark house to the sunlight, he staggered like a drunken man, and was obliged to stand still for a time and steady himself by the wall. Then he went all through the village, whistling and singing: Crescence alone he avoided with a sort of terror.

It seemed as if the crime were already perpetrated. He looked at people's faces, to see whether their features showed any marks of suspicion; and then, again, "What's the odds?" he said to himself: "they don't think much of me, anyhow." Still, he was glad to remember that the thing was not yet really accomplished. Once, on seeing Buchmaier, he felt a desire to run away; but, ashamed of his weakness, he renewed his vow not to falter in his purpose.

After dark, the boys and girls came to the dance, some of them bringing wedding-presents. According to custom, they had three dances each.

Florian was among these arrivals. The bride came to welcome him, saying, "Are you here too? Where's Crescence? I suppose she don't feel much like dancing. Be sure you do the fair thing by her, Florian. Come; let's have our last dance together."

The best dancer in the village was for once soon compelled to stop. His knees shook: with such thoughts in his heart as he had, and with no soles to his boots, it was not easy to waltz well.

"What's the matter with you? Why, you always danced like a humming-top," said the bride. "Well, never mind. You don't know how sorry I am not to see Crescence any more. We were always the best of friends; but we're going off very early to-morrow morning. Come: I'll give you a piece of wedding-cake for her: bring it to her, and say 'Good-bye' from me."

Florian followed her into the back room, where he received the cake and a glass of warm wine, which he swallowed at a draught. He found new vigor coursing through his veins. As soon as he could, he stole away, – soon returned, however, and then left again.

Schlunkel was already waiting behind Meyer's house with a little ladder. There was no light: the whole family had gone to the wedding. The breach was soon effected, and they slipped in. Having forced the kitchen and the room door and the press, they found the money and pocketed it, as well as some silver spoons and cups.

Florian was in the yard again, while Schlunkel tugged at a piece of bedding which would not pass through the narrow aperture. Just at this moment the owner of the house, who was coming up the stairs and had seen the doors open, entered the kitchen and saw the pillow in motion: he seized it on the inside and shouted lustily for help. Schlunkel released his hold, fell upon the ground, and broke his leg. Florian tried to help him; but, hearing the sound of footsteps, he only whispered, "Don't betray me: you shall have the half," and made his escape.

Schlunkel persisted in saying that he had had no accomplices. In regard to a piece of wedding-cake which, was found in the yard, his declarations varied: at first he pretended to know nothing about it, but subsequently he remembered it was one of the articles stolen. Florian had been seen at the dance about that time, and no one dared to suppose he was in any manner connected with the crime.

12.
NEW BOOTS, AND HOW THEY PINCHED

Florian intended to run away with the money and to send for Crescence to follow him; but his boots would not consent to the plan. So he went to town and bought a pair of new ones. What a comfort it was! For months he had walked with downcast eyes, carefully avoiding every little puddle; and at last he could tread the slippery road without fear or favor. To enjoy the change fully, he even extended his walk a little farther than was necessary.

But soon his walks came to a sudden close. He had accidentally paid out a perforated dollar, of a description exactly answering to that of one designated by the man who had been robbed. That same evening the squire came, with a beadle and a gens d'armes, to arrest him.

At his earnest request, Buchmaier consented to have him led through the gardens instead of along the street.

As he walked along he complained bitterly of his misfortune, and protested his innocence. This is usual when persons are arrested, whether guilty or innocent. It is so natural to appeal to the humanity of those who surround the prisoner like moving walls, ere he has reached the heartless stones of the jail. When the Jeremiad is finished, the answer is, invariably, "We shall see that at the proper time: it's none of our business now." Then the unfortunate one comes to understand that he has been asking the stone hurled by a force outside of itself, "Why smitest thou me?" – that he has been begging the net in which he is ensnared to pity him and set him free.

Florian had spoken without any ulterior design at first; but presently it occurred to him that it might be well to talk in the same strain before the judge. He therefore spoke at great length, – for lies are easier when you have practised them than when they appear as first efforts.

Not more than fifty florins had been found in Florian's possession; and these, he said, he had won at play at the Horb fair. Besides the perforated dollar, an important circumstance going to show his guilt was the wedding-cake found in the yard: several of the girls had seen the bride give him the present. Florian denied every thing. He had heard somewhere that "denial was lawful in Wurtemberg;" and this maxim comprised his entire knowledge of jurisprudence.

Many of the villagers, who previously would never have allowed themselves to suspect any evil of Florian, now boasted loudly that they had said ten years ago that Florian would come to no good, and revived the memory of all the forgotten, pranks of his boyhood.

Florian meditated a flight. One night he pulled down the tile stove which stood at the wall of his cell and formed a part of it, and escaped by the hole thus made in the wall. His escape was just like the crime. This brought him to the corridor, but no farther. It was locked; and to jump out of the window was as much as his life was worth. His eye fell on a broom which stood in a corner. Without hesitation, he opened the window, pressed the end of the broom into the corner formed by the junction of the tower with the side-building, balanced himself on the handle, and slid down to the ground.

The watchman had seen him; but he crossed himself three times and ran up the nearest alley, – for he had beheld the devil himself riding through the air on a broomstick.

Thus Florian was free, Running up the street, he crept into a covered sewer, tore up the earth with his hands, found the money, and ran off through the woods.

During his imprisonment, Crescence's mother had died, and the Red Tailor, forced to yield to one of those general bursts of neighborly feeling which are the relieving features of village life, had allowed his daughter to return to his house.

In the night of Florian's escape she awoke from her sleep in terror. She had dreamed that Florian had called her out to dance, and, do what she would, she could not get her stocking on her foot. Weeping, she sat up in her bed and spoke the prayer for the poor souls in purgatory. Hearing the clock strike four, she arose and did all the housework. Before daybreak she went into the wood to get kindling. Indeed, ever since her misfortune her activity was morbid: she seemed anxious to compensate for the idle life of Florian. Though no thanks rewarded her industry, she had scarcely left a nook or corner of the house not garnered with dry sticks and fir-cones.

At the edge of the wood she found a white button, which she recognised as belonging to Florian's jacket and secreted in her bosom. Looking over the landscape, she said to herself, "My cross is great; and if I were to climb to the top of the highest hill I couldn't look beyond it."

She returned without having gathered any thing. On hearing of Florian's flight, she wept and rejoiced: she wept because she could no longer doubt he was a criminal, and rejoiced to know that he was free.

13.
THE GAUNTLET

At night Florian built himself a hut of some sheaves in a harvest-field and slept in it.

In a tavern he had stolen a knife, having at the same time concealed twelve creutzers in the salt-cellar: with this implement he now scraped off his mustache.

Nevertheless, he had no sooner crossed the frontier than he was arrested. This time he did not stop to enlist the pity of the gens d'armes, but defended himself with all his might and made desperate efforts to get free: he was thrown down, however, and manacled.

He was now forwarded from circuit to circuit by the hands of the gens d'armes. In silence he walked along, his right hand chained to his right foot: he looked upon himself as upon an animal driven to the slaughter.

But when, coming from Sulz, he issued from the Empfingen copse and found that he was to be dragged in chains through his native village, he fell on his knees before the gens d'armes and begged him with tears to be so merciful as to take him around outside of the village.

But the voice of authority answered "No," and Florian struck his left hand into his eyes to blind himself to his own degradation: his right hand rattled helplessly in the chain. Florian-the cynosure of neighboring eyes, he who had known no keener joy than to be the object of universal attention-was now to be exposed in these shameful trappings and in such disgraceful company. For the first time in his life he could have prayed that people might not have eyes to cast upon him. As he passed the Red Tailor's house, Crescence was chopping wood at the pile. The hatchet dropped from her hand, and for a moment she stood paralyzed: the next instant she rushed upon Florian with open arms and fell upon his neck. The gens d'armes disengaged her gently. "I'll go with you through the village," said Crescence, without weeping. "You sha'n't bear your shame alone. Does the iron hurt you? Don't fret too much, for my sake."

Florian, unable to speak, motioned to her with his left hand to turn back; but she walked by his side, as if riveted to him by an invisible chain. The news spread through the village like wildfire. Caspar and Babbett were standing before the Eagle: the former had a mug of beer in his hand, and brought it to Florian to drink. The gens d'armes would not permit it. Florian begged them not to let Crescence go any farther, and Babbett at last persuaded her to remain. All were weeping.

He went alone through the rest of the familiar streets.

George the blacksmith, prevented by the cold from sitting in front of his door, saw him from behind his window and touched his cap from sheer embarrassment. At the manor-house farmer's he met the French simpleton, who pointed to his upper lip, saying, "Mus a loni ringo." In spite of himself, a painful smile passed over Florian's features.

When at last he had left the last hut behind him, he vowed never to return to his old home again.

His incarceration was now more severe than it had been: though in the same tower as formerly, he was kept in the most secure apartment. He often looked through the grating; but when a Nordstetter passed he started back as if he had been shot.

As the anguish of his mind became more subdued, he tried many devices to pass away the time. He walked about with a blade of straw standing on his forehead: when this became easy, he added others, until at last he could build a whole house and take it to pieces again. With much exertion, he learned to stand out horizontally from the iron bars, and even acquired the art of placing his knees behind his head.

One day, in looking through the grating, he saw Crescence coming to town. Hot tears fell on the iron bars: he could not speak to her, – scarcely give her a sign.

At night he heard a cough beneath the window, which was repeated several times. Recognising Crescence, he returned the signal. Crescence unwound the red ribbon which had adorned her hair since the bel-wether dance, tied it round a letter and a stone, and flung it up to Florian, who caught it adroitly. She went briskly away; but in the distance Florian caught the last words of the song, -

 
"The fire may be extinguish'd,
Love cannot be diminish'd;
Fire burns to scathe and kill,
But love burns hotter still."
 

Florian never dosed an eye that night: he had a letter from Crescence, and yet he could not read it. At the first ray of morning, he was at the window, and read: -

"I don't know whether this letter will get into your hands or not; and so I won't sign my name. I have been to town to get my certificate of settlement. Betsy has got a place for me in Alsace: I'm going off the day after to-morrow. I have had a long dress made, too. My mother is dead, and my father is going to marry Walpurgia the seamstress. I need not tell you that I can never forget you, even if you had done I don't know what. If you have been bad once, you're not bad now. I know that. Be good and patient, and bear your fate. Our Lord is my witness, I'd gladly take it on myself. I got your father to give me your knife, which you always liked so much; I hope, with God's blessing, to see you work honestly with it, someday. Only don't give up hope; for then you would be quite lost. Don't reproach yourself about what's past and gone: that won't do any good: but be good now. With the first money I earn I'm going to redeem your ring and my garnets. Oh, I have so much to tell you! ten clerks couldn't write it down. I will close, and be yours till death."

The letter was bathed in a flood of happy tears. Never till now did Florian know the treasure he possessed in Crescence. And he had not a little joy left, besides, for the thought that his precious knife was safe.

14.
MISERY AND FUN

Florian was sent to the penitentiary for six years. He was almost pleased to lay aside his velvet roundabout and put on in place of it the gray coat of the convict; for his favorite was thus saved for those happy days in which he hoped to see Crescence again. Indeed, the six years seemed a mere week to his imagination. His heart was so full of hope again that he skipped over the interval of time as if it had been but a span.

Monarchical governments have their advantages, and in some respects put those of republics to shame. Here every man is fortunate as long as he is free; but, once immured in the walls of a prison, his rights and his comforts become every man's business, and therefore nobody's, and society neither knows nor cares whether he is properly fed, clothed, and watched, or whether his jailors enrich themselves on the sale of the food he should eat, or make his ordinary comforts contingent upon the alacrity he displays in doing their menial services. In Europe it is otherwise. There the government, and its hirelings the office-holders, consider every individual their natural enemy so long as he lives on his own exertions, and withholds a fragment of his existence from the surveillance of the high and mighty. With unrelenting taxation, and interminable regulations, prohibitions, and prescriptions, they waste his substance and goad him into prison; but, once there, their wishes are accomplished, and they treat him henceforth with paternal kindness. Favors shown to prisoners can never be regarded as concessions to civil liberty, and therefore they are freely extended. Whoever finds his way there may calculate upon friendly treatment. Perhaps, instead of opposing the government, it would be better for the citizens to bring about a general measure of criminal incarceration as the surest road to the good-will of their sovereigns.

Still, the time passed but slowly. He learned the art of making brushes. When at length and at last the day of delivery came, he hastened to Crescence. He was received with open arms. With a little money, which she had saved out of her earnings, they both travelled from village to village as brush-makers. But soon Florian renounced this trade for one more satisfactory to his peculiar desire for admiration. He attended the fairs, markets, and harvest homes as rope-dancer and juggler. His great exploit was the sword-trick, which consisted in throwing three swords around in a circle and always catching them by the handle: he had mastered the principle when engaged in chopping sausage-meat. Crescence clung to him faithfully through all this; and once, when he fell from the rope and broke his leg, she nursed him with the most tender care.

After this he purchased a gambling-table and frequented the markets and harvest-homes of the adjoining countries of Germany, – the game of dice having been, in the mean time, prohibited in Wurtemberg. It is the peculiar good fortune of Germany that every one may cultivate his besetting sin there to his heart's content, if he can only find the proper principality. What would have become of Florian had he not been a son of that favored country? He could not have made a living out of that which had first led to his ruin. Whenever this occurred to him, he raised his voice, as if to encourage himself: his morsel of French stood him in good stead, – for it is the most respectable dress for immorality that was ever fashioned.

"Messieurs, faites votre jeu!" he would say. "Step up, step up: play here, gentlemen. Messieurs, eight creutzers for one creutzer: one creutzer has eight young ones. La fortune, la fortune, la fortune! A creutzer is nothing: out of nothing God made the world: out of no money money will come. Step up, Messieurs: faites votre jeu!"

Often, when his tricks began to pall on the taste of the crowd, and he found time to observe the young fellows dancing and making merry, a two-edged sword would pierce his heart: he had been like them once, and like the finest among them; and now he was a despised joker for the amusement of others. To banish such thoughts, he would grow, more and more extravagant in his sallies, and endeavor to persuade himself that he was doing it all for his own edification.

Of four children, only two survived, – the oldest boy and a little girl. Never would Florian suffer them to look at him when he drove his trade. They were kept in a barn or a farmer's room, with the household goods of the family.

Once only Crescence took courage to suggest that it might be for the advantage of their children if they were to go home and try to support themselves there by their daily labor.

"Don't talk of it," said Florian, gnashing his teeth: "ten horses wouldn't drag me up the Horb steep again. I lost my honor there; and never, never will I look at the Nordstetten steeple again!"