us believe that a runaway boy, who had escaped from his tutor, played
the trick, and not you, you young rascal, but your ghost
(_doppelgaenger_)! A likely story, forsooth! Will you still deny that
you broke and destroyed all my nets?--that you let twelve thrushes,
eighteen finches, nine-and-twenty other birds, not to speak of the very
small ones, escape? Such a number I never caught at once in my life;
and while I ran full of joy into the house, to get my old wife and
Malchen to come and help me, the rascal falls upon the whole, tears my
snares to pieces, sets all the birds at liberty, and then laughs at me
scornfully from behind a bush, when I try to catch him."
"I never did such a thing," maintained Christlieb, shocked.
"What!" cried Butter, in a greater passion than ever; "will you give me
the lie to my face? Have I become so blind that I no longer know you
when I see you? Besides, was not Malchen, who thinks so much of you,
there as a witness? And do we not know, likewise, that, in your folly,
you wish there was not a bird-catcher in all the world, and that all the
birds were free?"
"Acknowledge your fault, my son," said Kummas mildly, "and we may be
able to make all right again."
"But I have not done what Butter says," answered Christlieb, weeping.
"Friend," said Kummas, "I really know not what to think of all this. It
is true that Christlieb has never once deceived me, and----"
"You are an old blockhead, with your Christlieb!" passionately broke out
Butter, interrupting him. "It will be worse for him in the end; for, as
you give me no satisfaction, I am determined to have him punished; and,
as sure as my name is Butter, the boy shall have a few days in the
dungeon."
*CHAPTER VI.*
*THE UNDESERVED PUNISHMENT.*
The bird-catcher put his threat into execution, and our Christlieb was
really taken to the dungeon in the prison. The poor boy had been a long
day, and a still longer night, in the damp dismal place, when, early on
the second morning, he heard a well-known voice calling to him through
the bars of the narrow window. Christlieb left his miserable straw
pallet, and quickly approaching the window, said in a cheerful voice,
"Is that you, father?"
"How are you, my boy?" asked Kummas in a pitying tone. "I fear bread
and water will not taste well here?"
"Oh! that is the least of it," answered Christlieb. "I would not mind
that, were it not so dismally cold; and I weary, having nothing to do."
"Have you nothing else to plague you?--No evil conscience?" said the old
man, somewhat sadly.
The boy burst into a flood of tears, and said, amidst sobs, "Father, do
not make me more unhappy in my trouble! Indeed, I am not guilty."
"I believe you, my son," said Kummas with a lighter heart, "although
appearances are certainly very much against you. But if we are
innocent, we may be happy even in a dungeon. Think of the good Joseph,
who was in prison for many years, while you are to be only three days in
this black hole."
"That is nothing, father; but I cannot bear to think of the shame, and
of being pointed at by all the villagers.
"Let them point at you as they like," said Kummas, comforting him; "so
long as you are not guilty, it does not matter. And who knows why God
has sent you this cross? For a wise purpose, be assured. Look here! I
have brought you a drop of warm beer, if I only knew how to get it down
to you without spilling it." He fastened a piece of string to the small
can, and the vessel, with its smoking contents, reached Christlieb in
safety.
"Does it taste well?" asked Kummas when he saw its arrival safely below.
"I cooked it myself."
"Yes!" answered Christlieb, thanking him; "but you have put in such a
quantity of pepper, that it has almost burnt my throat."
"Aye!" replied the pleased warm-beer-brewer, "I did that purposely, to
keep out the cold. Now, would you like anything else?"
"I should like to play on the violin," said Christlieb eagerly.
"Perhaps that would not be permitted," answered Kummas, "even if we
could get the violin through the bars. The jailor might be angry if he
heard a noise in the prison, so you would need to play quite pianissimo.
We shall see about it; and in the meantime, good bye."
"Do not forget to feed the starling," cried Christlieb, as Kummas went
away.
Scarcely was the old man gone, when Christlieb, who had lain down again
in his corner, heard some one else call out softly, "Christlieb,
Christlieb! Hear me, and don't be angry at me."
"I will not speak to you," said Christlieb. "You are a serpent!"
"Ah! dear Christlieb, do hear me!" said Malchen, for it was she who had
come to comfort her playmate. But Christlieb would not move from his
place in the corner of the dingy prison.
"Christlieb!" continued the young girl, weeping, "can you deny that I
saw you when you pulled the nets in pieces?"
"I tell you I will not speak to you," reiterated Christlieb in an angry
tone.
"Could I help confessing the truth to my grandfather when he called me
as a witness? I have not slept all night thinking of you, and have ran
here at the risk of being scolded. Forgive me, Christlieb, for having
seen you destroy the nets the day before yesterday, and for being the
means of bringing you into this place."
"So you still maintain that you really saw me, and that I was the person
who did the mischief! Have I not always bought the birds, and honestly
paid for them? Have I ever all my life let even a sparrow escape from
you?"
Malchen could not make any answer to this reproach; but only entreated
the more earnestly to be forgiven, saying, "Do let us be friends again,
Christlieb!"
"Whenever I come out of this place," answered Christlieb proudly, "I
will go far away from you all, to Turin, or to some other distant town;
and there become a Paganini, and earn eight hundred dollars every night
by playing on my violin; then, when I am rich, I will come back with a
carriage and four horses, and take my foster-father, who believes that I
did not destroy the nets, away with me. But you and your grandfather, I
will neither look at nor speak to."
"You will do no such thing," answered Malchen confidently.
"But I will!" maintained Christlieb resolutely.
"No, no!" answered his little companion; "I know you better than to
believe it. And now, since you have spoken to me, I am sure you are no
longer angry with me."
"You are mistaken," said Christlieb; but in rather a smoother voice.
"Shall I come again to see you here?" asked Malchen.
Christlieb made no reply; and the kind-hearted little maiden again asked
the question.
"Shall I come back again? If you do not answer me when I have counted
three, then I will remain away. Once, twice, thrice. Shall I, or shall
I not come?"
"Yes, you may come," cried Christlieb, as he saw Malchen leaving the
window. A piece of paper with something wrapped in it, was thrown down
to him, which he quickly opened, and found a nice little cake, brought
by Malchen, who was now out of sight. This mark of sympathy cheered
him; and his imprisonment became less unbearable.
The accident which had brought him into disgrace was not without weighty
consequences. Butter was irreconcileable, and prohibited his little
granddaughter from speaking to our hero. The children of the village
teased him, and the elder persons looked at him with suspicion. These
circumstances induced Kummas to try and find some other quarters for his
foster-son, as soon as the latter was confirmed. In this the old
musician succeeded, by means of a friend in a neighbouring small town,
from whom Christlieb had received some lessons. This person procured
for him the situation of a pupil with the principal bandmaster of a
large town at a considerable distance from the village where he now was.
"Trust in God, do what is right, and fear no man," said Kummas to his
weeping Christlieb, as, laden like a camel, the poor boy stood ready for
his journey; "'and then the sky will be full of music,' as we are
accustomed to say. You must become a clever fellow. I do not say this
for your sake alone, but also for my own; as I must, in your absence,
live very sparingly; but this I will gladly do, believing that a time of
plenty will follow, which I hope through you to see. Remember, that as
long as God gives you sound limbs, it is in your own power to keep
sorrow from yourself, cares from me, and to drive away wrinkles from my
brow; therefore, beat the drum, sound the trumpet, blow the horn, and
play on the violin, with all your heart; for music is a lady, and, you
know, all ladies wish to be admired. Should death, with his bony hand
and ruthless scythe mow me down before you come back as a master in your
art, then the villagers, as they walk over my grave, will not scornfully
say, 'Here lies a poor fiddler;' but they will add, 'he, at least, did
one good action when he----'" Here the old man stopped, not able, from
emotion, to proceed; and, ashamed of his tears, he hid his face on
Christlieb's shoulder, upon whose head the pet starling had perched
itself.
Lifting down the bird, Christlieb said, "Perhaps you would not like to
keep the bird, father?"
"No, my son," answered the latter; "I might, perhaps, forget to feed it,
and it might die of hunger, or of thirst."
"Then farewell, father." They embraced each other, and Christlieb went
away. Shunning the houses of the villagers, of whom he had already
taken leave, Christlieb took the road to the wood. When he reached his
favourite spot, taking the starling from his shoulder, he said to it,
"Go now, my little bird, to your companions among the trees!" He threw
it up into the air; but after a short flight it came back, and again
alighted on the shoulder of its master. "What! wilt thou not go?" he
said, much affected. "Poor bird, I cannot keep thee." He threw it
again from him, and again the little creature came back. Upon this he
went straight to the house of the bird-catcher, and luckily saw Malchen
standing at the door cleaning some utensils. She became pale at the
sight of Christlieb, and said quickly, "What do you want here? My
grandfather is sitting at the window."
"Malchen," said Christlieb hastily, "you must do me a favour. Here is
my starling, who will not leave me. You must keep it, or afterwards set
it at liberty."
The young girl took the bird, and went into the house with it.
Christlieb went close to the window where the old man sat reading.
"Father Butter," he began firmly, "you have ordered me never to come
within your door. Give me your hand, then, out at the window, and say,
at parting, that you will not any longer be angry with me."
Butter looked up, and shook his head at the boy.
"Father!" repeated Christlieb entreatingly, "you have let many suns set
on your wrath; give me your hand."
"If you will confess your fault," said the old man, relenting a little.
"Let us say no more about that," answered Christlieb. "I may or I may
not have done it. You know we are all sinners."
At length the bird-catcher yielded, put his hand out at the window, and
said, "I forgive you! Go in peace."
"A thousand thanks, father," answered Christlieb, well pleased.
"Farewell!" and he was speedily out of sight; while Malchen, with tears
in her eyes, looked after her playmate.
*CHAPTER VII.*
*THE TOWN MUSICIAN.*
After six days' walking, Christlieb reached the place of his
destination. The town musician (_stadt-musikus_), as is the case in
many places, had his dwelling in the tower of the Cathedral, which was
glittering under the rays of the setting sun as Christlieb turned his
steps towards the direction in which it lay. In order to gain strength
to ascend its long winding stair, he seated himself on a stone bench,
which he saw before one of the houses in the market-place, and here
waited to cool himself before he ventured to take a draught of the
sparkling water, which was emptying itself in silver streams from many
jets into the basin of the large fountain which stood in the centre of
the square. Like a bunch of roots which a boy dipped into it,
Christlieb would have liked a bath too in the pure element. "So this is
the evening of a feast day!" cried the boy to a companion, who was
passing near the fountain; "look, there is the trumpeter with his brass
thing at his mouth."
Christlieb also looked up to where the boy was pointing, and on the
railed gallery which ran round a part of the tower, he saw the performer
with his brazen trumpet glancing in the bright golden sunlight, from
which, in sublime full tones, was poured forth the beautiful church
melody, beginning, "Who lets the Lord direct his way."
In a more cheering manner the town musician could not have greeted his
new pupil, nor in a way which went more to the heart of the solitary
child. Full of confidence, and rid of the anxiety which it was natural
at such a time to feel, Christlieb approached the tower.
When he had reached it and knocked, a maid-servant made her appearance,
whose countenance was not very pleasant looking. "What do you want?"
she asked in a sharp voice.
"I wish to see the town musician," said Christlieb diffidently.
"Mr. Dilling," she cried to a person within, "here is a country boy who
wants to see you."
Mr. Dilling, a thin little man of about fifty, appeared, took the letter
of recommendation out of Christlieb's hand, read it hastily, and told
the boy to put down his bundle. The wife of the master musician, a
portly dame, then took him in, and acquainted him with the various
duties he would have to perform, which Christlieb thought equal to those
of a second servant. As it was supposed the youth would be tired after
his long journey, he was given something to eat, and the servant showed
him where he was to sleep. His bed was in a corner of the church tower,
and was no worse than the one he had left at home. Being very wearied,
he soon fell into a sound sleep. After the lapse of a few hours, he was
awakened by a dull whirring sort of sound, followed by the ringing of a
bell, which seemed to be right above his head. He looked up, and saw
five or six figures ascending a wooden stair, which was close to his
bed. These were doubtless his new companions; and as they returned, one
of them said to the others, "There lies my successor; I have long enough
been the drudge! Now that country clown may see how he likes it."
The person who was carrying the light turned quickly round, and said to
the other who had spoken, "What! are you better than the rest, I wonder?
Hold that idle tongue of yours, else I will shut your mouth in a way you
don't like."
All again was quiet, except the regular movement of the pendulum of the
church clock, which kept Christlieb awake for a short time longer.
Before five o'clock had struck, the shrill voice of the maid called to
him to get up and go to the baker's for the bread for breakfast.
"I will likewise," she added, "lower down the cask for the water in the
basket, and before you come up again you must fill it with fresh water
from the fountain."
Christlieb quickly dressed himself to obey his orders, and with the
money in his hand to pay for the bread, he groped his way down the dark
narrow winding stair. When he came back from the baker's, he saw coming
down in a basket, by means of a strong rope, the cask for the water.
This mode of descending and ascending pleased him very much; and if he
had dared, he would liked to have been pulled up himself in this way.
When the watchful maid saw that all was right, she again drew up the
basket with its contents. Before Christlieb followed, he enjoyed the
luxury of bathing his face and breast in the sparkling water of the
fountain, which refreshed him exceedingly. There awaited him a
formidable battery of boots and shoes to clean, which new sort of work
cost him no small exertion. Before he began he got a cup of coffee, and
ate a roll while brushing and polishing. During his absence his
companions must have risen; for he heard the voice of his master saying,
"Rupel, blow the morning greeting, and take the melody, 'Awake, awake,
the voice of morning calls.' This will do for the sluggards in the
town."
The young man thus addressed came out with the trumpet in his hand.
Christlieb politely wished him "Good morning," which the other
courteously answered, and stepped out on to the small gallery, scarcely
two paces distant from the busy shoe-black. The trumpet now began to
sound in the deep bass, then ascended to a second and a third, rested
for a time at the fifth, repeating the melody to the sleeping
inhabitants beneath. At the second strophe, it seemed to Christlieb as
if an angel were calling the world to judgment, so sublime and powerful
were the sounds brought forth by the skilful player. The very tower
seemed to shake; and Christlieb, enraptured, folded his hands across his
breast, while his eyes filled with tears. The returning artiste saw the
effect which his playing produced, and felt flattered, in no small
degree, by the mute praise of the peasant boy.
The sublime hymn was followed by an ear-splitting concert in the room of
the _stadt-musikus_.
"Beautiful Minka, I must leave thee," lamented, in sorrowful tones, the
clarionet.
"Let us be merry all," played briskly the cheerful violin, with many
beautiful variations.
"I am not lonely nor alone," breathed forth the flute in a delicious
fantasia.
"I fear not death," muttered the basson.
The oboe, in an imperfect croaking tone, exercised itself in a difficult
passage, which it repeated a hundred times over, resembling a ladder
which wanted some of its steps.
Of all the instruments the bugle had the preference, which was now
tortured by one of the youngest pupils. Certainly had Bishop Hatto
fallen on this method of frightening away the rats, he would not have
found it necessary to build the well-known tower in the middle of the
Rhine. Whoever is no friend to rat powder, or table flattery, has only
to get such a player into his house, in order to free himself from all
sorts of vermin. Even the crows, who are not peculiarly fastidious in
their musical taste, fled affrighted from the top of the steeple,--their
chosen resting-place.
Into this assembly Christlieb was ushered when he had finished his work.
At his entrance, the grumbling, muttering, lively, and sad tones ceased,
while the youthful players all looked, with eyes wide open, at the new
comer. Mr. Dilling placed Christlieb before a music-stand, put a violin
and a bow into his hands, and desired to hear a proof of his skill,
choosing for that purpose one of Pleyel's sonatas. Christlieb obeyed;
but played very badly. The boys laughed maliciously; the master
frowned; and only Rupel, the assistant, said at once, "Mr. Dilling, how
can you expect the boy to play when his hands are still shaking from the
effects of brushing the boots and shoes?"
The master acknowledged he was right, and therefore sent Christlieb away
to rest himself; who gladly went out on the gallery to look around him.
How beautiful was the view from this place! The houses, with their
smoking chimneys, the streets, with their busy passengers, all lay at
his feet. Beyond were the blue mountains, with a river winding itself
at their base; and behind them arose the bright morning sun; while
beautiful gardens, with trees, flowers, and shrubs, were scattered
around the town in every direction. An hour flew away, Christlieb knew
not how.
"Are your hands steady now?" called out his master to him from the
window. Christlieb went in, and this trial was more successful than his
former one had been. The master nodded his satisfaction; the pupils
stared; and Rupel said to them, "You see the country clown plays you all
to sticks; therefore you must show him respect."
"Can you play on any other instrument except the violin?" asked Mr.
Dilling.
"I can play a little on the violincello," answered Christlieb.
"That is nothing," continued the master; "a _stadt-musikus_ must have
every instrument in his power, although he may excel in one more than
the rest."
Under the guidance of Mr. Dilling, the whole of the pupils were now to
play an overture; and to each was duly assigned his part. Besides the
favourite and current names which the fiery gentleman bestowed on his
pupils, such as ox, ass, blockhead, dunse, &c., he likewise dealt out to
them sundry knocks on the head and pinches of the ears; and as for the
unfortunate player of the bugle, the time was taught him by blows on his
back. Christlieb was very much terrified, but escaped this time with
the mere fright. The same day he learnt the triangle, the cymbals, and
how to beat the large drum, as well as to make a trial with the
kettle-drums. This instruction was given him by Rupel the assistant,
who had entirely won the affection of Christlieb, and who was indeed
liked much better by all the pupils than the master himself.
The dinner, with which the others in secret all found fault, tasted
extremely good to Christlieb, who had never eaten anything so nice.
When, with twilight, the lessons and exercises were ended, the master
and his assistant went into the town to amuse themselves, while the
scholars were left behind to copy music and rule paper. There devolved
on Christlieb, as the last comer, the duty of attending to the clock,
and of ringing the evening bells. After all this was done, he had still
time to eat, to dress, and to sleep.
*CHAPTER VIII.*
*THE CORRESPONDENCE.*
Summer had nearly passed away, when the solitary Kummas received, quite
unexpectedly, a letter from his foster-son. It was the first, and
therefore a source of great joy to the old man. The letter began as
follows:--