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.