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Florian And Crescence
by
Her voice was choked.
Florian’s manner suddenly changed. The languor so unusual in him was gone: their eyes met, and held each other beaming with joy.
“You see,” he began, “as I sat there waiting, I felt as if somebody had broken all my bones. I was thinking how unlucky we are, and again and again I was tempted to stab myself with this knife. If some one had come under my hands, I don’t know—- And I don’t want to go away, either; and I must stay here; and I must have you.”
“Yes; I wish you had; but we can’t live on the old Emperor’s exchequer. I know somebody who could help us, and I could make him.”
“Never tell me about him: he’s nothing to you, and shall be nothing. I won’t have it: you are your father’s child, and if anybody says any thing else I’ll stick him like an eight-day calf. My father has half emptied my pockets already, but I’ve got some money yet: I mean to stay here a while and work under my father’s right as a master-butcher. I want to show these Nordstetters what Florian can do: they shall have respect for me, they shall.”
“You’re a fine fellow,” said Crescence. “Haven’t you brought me any thing?”
“Yes, I have. Here.”
Taking from his pocket a broad ring of silver, and a flaming heart in colors, with a motto in it, he handed them to Crescence.
After the first expressions of delight, she offered to read the motto; but Florian stopped her, saying, “You can do that after I am gone: now let’s have a talk.”
“Yes; tell me something. Is it true that you are courting your master’s daughter in Strasbourg?”
“Not a bit of it. If I was, I wouldn’t stay here; and stay I shall. All the Nordstetters must say that the like of Florian’s not to be seen anywhere.”
They remained long together. When Crescence returned home, she found the geometer waiting for her, and was forced to receive him with smiles. With a heavy heart she reached her chamber at last, and read the motto on the flaming heart:–
“Better build my grave of stone
Than love and call you not my own.”
Weeping, she laid the picture into her hymn-book. It was the old story of what occurs in thousands of instances, in town and country, though often the colors are more blended and the contrasts not so harsh. Crescence loved Florian, and yet could not renounce the hope of a good establishment, such as she might expect to receive at the hands of the geometer: love drew her in one direction, interest in another. It would be strange if such discords did not lead to misery.
5.
FLORIAN DROPS A BUTTON OR TWO.
Florian remained in the village, and slaughtered first one heifer and then another. Though at first things looked prosperous, the run of good luck soon came to an end. The old butcher went around hawking out the meat which had not been sold at the shambles; but he generally spent not only the profit, but the cost besides. The competition of the Jewish butchers was not to be overcome even by Florian’s superior skill; for the Jews can undersell Christians in the hindquarters of beef, because an opportune provision of the Bible forbids them to eat any thing but the fore-quarters. Moreover, it is almost impossible in a German village to support a household on mechanical labor alone, without some resort to agriculture. Florian had no opportunity, and still less inclination, to till the soil. He preferred to go into partnership with a Jewish butcher for a time; but this was also of short duration.
His next resource was to assist the Strasbourg butchers in purchasing oxen. This helped him to some good commissions, and enabled him to make his father the happiest of men. The old gentleman was restored to his favorite occupation of guessing at the weight of oxen. It quite made him young again. Florian was the leading young man in the village. Unfortunately, he made the squire his enemy. The latter, wishing to sell his oxen to some dealers passing through the village, invited Florian to come to his house. “They weigh fourteen hundred, and over,” he asseverated. “What they weigh over eleven,” said Florian, “I’ll eat raw.” This was foolish; for from that day the squire hated him cordially.