Florian And Crescence
by
Translator: Charles Goepp
1.
THE GIRLS AT THE WELL.
On Saturday afternoon the house of the Red Tailor was alive with singing. Doors were opened and closed with a bang, windows thrown up, chairs and tables moved here and there, and the broom rattled among the lifeless bones; but over all was heard a rich, full, female voice, travelling up and down stairs, into rooms and out of passages. Song followed hard upon song, grave and gay meeting with equal favor. At last the singer was forthcoming,–a girl of stout proportions but the utmost symmetry of form. A jacket of knitted gray yarn set off the swelling outlines to the best advantage: one corner of the apron was tucked up and left the other hanging jauntily. With the milking-pail in her hand, she went to the stable. The words of the songs were now more distinctly audible. One of them ran thus:–
“I climb’d up the cherry-tree;
For cherries I don’t care.
I thought I might my true love see:
My true love wasn’t there.
“It isn’t long since the rain came down,
And all the trees are wet;
I had a true love all my own:
I wish I had him yet.
“But he has gone abroad, abroad,
To see what luck would do;
And I have found another love:
He’s a good fellow, too.”
With a water-bucket under her arm, she made her appearance again, locked the door of the house, and concealed the key under a stack of kindling-wood. The well before the town-hall was empty and locked up; the upper well, also under lock and key, was only opened by Soges every morning and evening, and water distributed to each family in proportion to the number of its inmates. This scarcity of water is a great evil, particularly in the heat of summer. On the way our heroine was stopped by Anselm the Jew’s Betsy, who cried,–
“Wait, Crescence: I’ll go with you.”
“Hurry up, then. When is your intended coming back?” returned Crescence.
“At our Pentecost,–this day fortnight.”
“When is it to be?”
“Some time after the Feast of Tabernacles. You must dance with us all day, mind. We’ll have one more good time of it: we’ve always been good friends, haven’t we?”
“Betsy, you ought to have married Seligmann and stayed here. A bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush. Going all the way to Alsace! How do you know what’s to become of you after you get there?”
“Why, how you talk!” replied Betsy. “With my four hundred florins, how am I to choose? And over there it counts for almost a thousand francs; and that’s more like. Are you going to live in the village always? When your geometer gets an appointment, won’t you have to go with him? Oh, did I tell you?–my intended went with Florian to the Schramberg market the other day from Strasbourg. Florian had I don’t know how many–at least three hundred–ducats in his girdle, to buy beeves with. He carries himself like a prince, and his master trusts him with all his property. And they do say he’s going to give him his daughter.”
“I wish him much happiness.”
“Now, you needn’t make believe you didn’t like Florian’s little finger better than the whole geometer.”
“What if I did? He’s got nothing, and I’ve got nothing; and ‘twice nothing is nothing at all,’ says George the blacksmith.”
The two girls had reached the well, where many of their companions were already awaiting the arrival of the officer of Government.
“Have you heard, Crescence?” cried Christian’s Dolly–“Florian’s come back an hour ago: you’ve got a full team to drive now.”
“You preach to your grandmother,” retorted Crescence: “such a beanpole as you may open every shutter of her windows and ’11 never catch a gudgeon.”
“That’s it,” said a girl with forward air and manners, who bore the ominous designation of “Corpse Kitty,” because she fitted the shrouds. Passing her hand over her mouth, she went on:–“Give her her change, Crescence: we know it’s all cash-down where you come from.” She accompanied the words with a significant gesture.