well. I am thankful to say, that since I left you, I have been in
perfect health, and I have grown much taller, which is shown by the
sleeves of my jacket, as they are now almost up to my elbows. I would
not even yet have been able to write to you (as I had no money to pay
the postage, and did not wish to put you to the expense of it) had not a
stranger, who was up the _tower_ to see the fine view, offered to take
my letter free. I live here very comfortably; and when I ring the
evening bells, I always turn my eyes in your direction. I often wish I
had wings to fly to you, and give you a surprise. I have plenty to do;
you know already that I have to ring the bells every night; but besides
this, when there is a funeral of any distinguished person, or when it is
a feast-day, we have to ring all the bells; and that takes the whole of
us to do. You see, dear father, it is a kind of music, and therefore
the business of the town musician. Then I have all the boots and shoes
to clean; to carry the bread from the baker's, and the water from the
well; all the instruments to look after, and the church clock to keep
right, and, on market days, I carry home the basket of provisions,
walking behind my mistress, and run messages to the town when anything
is wanted. When I am very heavily laden, I pack all into the basket,
and Hannel the cook draws them up in it. Indeed, we sometimes draw up
each other, which is good fun. However, I had a trick played on me
lately, which was not very pleasant. We had been at a concert until
late in the night, and my companions were this time obliged to help to
carry home the instruments. Contrary to custom, they were very kind to
me; packed the instruments carefully in the basket, and urged me to go
likewise into it, faithfully promising to draw me up as soon as they
reached the landing-place. They drew me up quickly enough until I was
about half way; then the basket stood still, and I could not move it in
the least. A loud laugh from the gallery soon informed me what the
rogues had done. Only think, father, of my swinging up there in the
middle of the night! and there they meant me to swing until morning. My
seat was a very bad one; for I now found that they had so placed the
instruments that I could not move. I sat on the sharp edges of the
violin-cases, while the kettledrums lay on my stretched-out legs, and
the mouths of the bugles and horns pierced into my sides. I could
scarcely keep my eyes open, I was so sleepy; and, to make matters worse,
it began to rain. I then became frightened lest the instruments should
get injured, and cried out for help; but no answer came. It was all
dark and silent above me. In my despair, I seized the drum-sticks, and
began at first to play gently; but as this was of no avail, I thundered
out on them in C, and then in G. This worked like a charm; and,
continuing to rattle on the drum, I was drawn up as quick as lightning,
when my comrades began to abuse me for the dreadful noise I was making.
I, however, was not to blame, and threatened to tell the master what
they had done; so, in the end, they were glad to get me, by smooth
speeches, to say nothing.
"But they played me many wicked tricks; sometimes calling out 'Fire!
fire!' and awakening me to give the alarm from the tower-bell to the
people in the town; sometimes putting dead mice in my bed. But the
worst thing they did was at a concert about a week ago, where I was to
play on the violin, when they rubbed the bow over with grease. The
master had expected to receive great applause by my playing; and you may
fancy his and my consternation, when not a single note could I bring
forth. For this piece of mischief, however, they were soundly thrashed;
and now, I think they will leave me in peace. How much I wish you could
hear the beautiful variations I have learnt, which the great Rhode of
Paris composed. They are as beautiful as the voice of Malchen when she
sings. What does Malchen do now, father? Is she still with her
grandfather? and is my starling yet alive? Remember me to her, as well
as to old Butter, the pastor, and the schoolmaster. My master's best
violin cost forty dollars; and, would you believe it! there are violins
which cost four and six hundred dollars! A single small violin of wood
to cost as much as three or four small houses in our village! I can
play on eight different instruments; but I detest the oboe, with its
croaking voice. My master is very passionate; but I do not get so many
cuffs as the others, although they always push me into the breach when
they have done anything wrong. The mistress likes very much to scold;
therefore I go out of her way as much as possible. The assistant Rupel
is very kind to me; and when we are alone, we play beautiful duets
together. Dear father, I would like to send you a little present, or
some money; but I have not one farthing, although I spend nothing, and
write music half the night. Perhaps afterwards I shall become only the
richer for being now so poor. But I must finish, for my lamp is almost
out, and my eyes will scarcely keep open. So excuse all the blots, and
believe me, your affectionate and dutiful son,
"CHRISTLIEB FUNDUS."
About a fortnight after this letter had been despatched, a loud rapping
was heard at the door at the foot of the tower. Christlieb looked out,
and saw a countryman standing, who had a small basket in his hand, and
who beckoned to Christlieb to come and speak to him. The latter
immediately ran down.
"Are you Master Christlieb Fundus from Gelenau, the pupil of the town
musician?" asked the man.
"Yes!" answered Christlieb; upon which the man handed him a letter, and
the small basket, saying, "I have many greetings to you,--you will know
from whom,--from old Butter and his little granddaughter; and from the
old man the fiddler of Gelenau. If the berries in the basket are all
gone to juice, it's not my fault; you will only be saved the trouble of
eating them." The countryman laughed; and after receiving Christlieb's
thanks, went away. Christlieb hastily opened the letter, which was from
Malchen, and read:--
"DEAR CHRISTLIEB,--Your long, long letter we have all read; and it made
us very happy to hear of your welfare. I have nothing to entertain you
with in return; for there is no news here, everything goes on in the old
jog-trot fashion. But how learned you have become! I could not
understand parts of your letter, until father Kummas explained them. I
knew not what an oboe was, nor anything of Rhode, or of his variations.
If I were you, I would have the idle fellows who are so mischievous put
into the dungeon, until they learnt to behave better. The schoolmaster
has got a new velvet cap, and the church clock a new pointer. Your
starling is still alive, and almost eats me up,--that is, my few
half-pence. But for your sake I keep it, although my grandfather is
always scolding about it.
"With this you will receive a small basket, containing some bramble and
whortleberries, of which you used to be so fond. When you become a
Paganini, and can get, as Kummas says, ever so many dollars for one
night's playing, then send me a stylish cap back in the basket, or
something very fine from the town. Above all things, don't become
proud, or I shall vex myself to death. Don't let your companions see
the basket for fear they steal the berries from you; and be sure and
wash the blue stains from your lips, so that they may know nothing about
them. Now, good-bye, says your friend,
"MALCHEN."
Christlieb put his letter in the most private corner of his abode, and
ate the fruit as soon as possible,--though he had to use a spoon for the
purpose, as in consequence of their long carriage they were sadly
bruised. As to the wish of the kind giver for a stylish cap from the
town, that, alas! he would be unable to send, until he indeed became a
Paganini.
*CHAPTER IX.*
*THE JOURNEY ON THE ICE.*
The winter with its frost and snow had passed away, the cold of which
had been severely felt by the dwellers in the house of the town
musician, as from its high and exposed situation no storm passed without
their experiencing its chilling effects. Christlieb had the prospect of
soon being relieved from his duties as youngest, for a new pupil was
expected at Easter. He was much pleased at this, as he hoped then to be
able to earn a few pence, which now was entirely out of his power, never
having one moment at his own disposal.
During the carnival there was a grand entertainment at a much-frequented
place of amusement, a few miles distant from the town, and lying on the
opposite side of the river. As usual, Christlieb was the last to leave,
and, laden with the kettle-drums, was following his companions home,
who, having less to carry, were already across the river before
Christlieb had reached it. The stream was still covered with strong
ice, although it had been thawing for several days, and the water was
standing some inches above the ice. The air was very warm, indeed
almost sultry. The water bubbled up as if boiling wherever an opening
in the frozen surface was seen, and every now and then a loud cracking
of the ice was heard. At a distance guns were fired to announce its
breaking up to the inhabitants on the banks of the river. Christlieb
saw, heard, and trembled; he hesitated for an instant before venturing
on the ice, but, soon regaining courage, boldly stept on it. His
comrades had just gone over before him; there was no bridge near, nor
any means of getting to the other side; he saw the twinkling small light
in the tower inviting him to proceed! With one drum on his back, and
the other hanging before his breast, he had gained his way half across
in safety, when suddenly the treacherous ice gave way just a few steps
from him. It broke, raised itself up, and then yielding to the flood of
water, moved on, and finally sank beneath the overwhelming power of the
watery element, which spread itself again over the glassy surface.
Christlieb stood petrified, then with trembling limbs ran to look for
some safer place where he might be able still to get to the opposite
bank. Wherever he looked, he saw the same comfortless prospect. He now
tried to return to the side he had left; but he had scarcely proceeded
twenty steps, when the whole body of ice broke from the banks, and he
was slowly borne away with it. In the houses of the town which lay
nearest to the rising waters lights were glancing backwards and
forwards, and on every side was heard the cry, "The ice is breaking up!"
[Illustration: "He had fallen upon his knees on the ice."]
Christlieb also shouted, in the hope of finding help; but no answer
came. All the bells were set a-ringing, whose tones, mingling with the
crashing of the ice and the gushing of the water, were the only sounds
which reached the ears of the unfortunate Christlieb, who seemed to hear
in the bells his death-knell, as his destruction was apparently
inevitable. He had fallen upon his knees on the ice, which every moment
became more the prey of the water as it rushed on. The town, his second
home, and the place of many hopes, swam before his eyes; fainter became
the sound of the bells, and darker appeared to him every object, while
he heard the most dreadful noises in his ears. As often as the piece of
ice on which he knelt shook beneath him from some fresh concussion, he
thought his last moment had come. He pictured to himself the grief of
his foster-father, the sorrow of Malchen, and the pity which Rupel would
feel for his untimely end, and in this dreadful way. At length his
senses became dulled, and he was unconscious of the cold of the ice
water, in which he was covered up to his knees. He felt a drowsiness
creep over him, and he shut his eyes, no longer looking at the
desolation around him, until again awakened from his torpor by a new
crashing of the ice. Slowly he opened his weary eyes, and saw by the dim
morning light, which was now struggling with the darkness of night, some
dark arches suspended over the river. It was the bridge of the city,
against whose stone pillars the huge blocks of ice were dashed, and
driven back with a fearful noise. Lights were seen glimmering, and
again reflected in the rushing waters. But Christlieb saw not that nets
were placed between the pillars, in order to save any unhappy persons
who might be driven down on the ice. The sight of the lights, however,
recalled Christlieb to a sort of consciousness; for where lights are men
are not generally far distant, and some one might perhaps yet save him.
At all events, the bridge would decide his fate as soon as the piece of
ice dashed against the pillars; and most likely it will be death,
thought Christlieb The drums still were hanging on him; and they might
now be the means of saving him. He was yet at a short distance from the
bridge, and the mass of ice was floating slowly down, so that he was
enabled to take off the drums from his person and beat an alarm, though
with benumbed fingers. He likewise exerted all his remaining strength
to utter a cry, but to no purpose, as far as he could see; for he now
drove right against one of the stone pillars; the ice broke in two, and
the larger half sunk beneath the water; the drums disappeared, and
Christlieb, whose cry of agony was unheard, followed after them. He
felt the rush of the water over his face, and a sharp pain in his side;
after which his senses forsook him, and he was unconscious of what
happened.
*CHAPTER X.*
*THE SICK-BED.*
How long Christlieb had remained unconscious, he knew not; neither could
he very well tell whether he were in this world or in another. It seemed
to him as if he were floating in mist, where huge shadows of men were
flying past him. Then his head turned round and round, and he shut his
eyes not to see anything more. Afterwards he became, as he thought, a
receiver of the dead,--a post which certainly imagination alone could
create. A large churchyard spread itself out before him, covered with
snow, above which were seen the black crosses and stone monuments of the
dead. At the entrance of the churchyard stood the house for the
reception of the dead, where, however, Christlieb did not dwell, but
hovered over it in the air, and saw the funeral processions of those of
whom he was to take care move on to a distance. He likewise fancied
that he had received a message from his late master, begging him to
return to the tower, at the folly of which he smiled, as he knew that he
was now no longer an inhabitant of earth. He felt himself quite happy,
and had no desire to return to it again. The scene then changed, and he
fancied himself standing up to the neck amidst the chilling ice, and
making desperate efforts to reach the shore. These efforts, however,
were always rendered unavailing by the united strength of two men and a
lady, who kept him back, and pressed him seemingly deeper into the icy
water. At length, after repeated struggles to get free, but all in
vain, the blocks of ice changed themselves into bed-posts and bedding,
under the latter of which he was covered, almost to suffocation. At
another time he felt himself sitting upright in bed, and obliged to
swallow a spoonful of something tasting like camphor or musk. Then,
again, after long unconsciousness, he awoke and looked around him with
open eyes. He saw a figure lying on a sofa at a short distance from
him, with its head resting as if asleep. A small lamp was burning
behind an open book, whose dim light was scarcely sufficient to light up
the room, so as to render the objects distinctly visible. In another
corner crackled a fire, which was blazing in a stove. Christlieb quietly
left his bed, and with difficulty reached the door of the room, from the
opening of which a cool air met him. At this moment the sleeping figure
started up with a cry of horror, seized the weak and fainting boy, and
brought him back again to his bed. When he next awoke a subdued
daylight filled the apartment. A tall man stood beside him, holding his
hand; and a beautiful, though pale, lady sat on the edge of his bed, to
whom the doctor said, in a consoling tone of voice, "Madam, he is now
out of danger. The fever has abated, and there only remains a debility
and weakness quite natural after so severe an illness. Great care,
however, is still necessary, with strict attention to all I have
prescribed; for his nervous system is much shaken, and any relapse might
be serious." Observing that the patient was awake, he said to him,
"Dear Balduin, how do you find yourself?"
Not having heard the changed name, Christlieb replied cordially, "Thank
you, I am very well."
At these words the countenance of the lady brightened up. "Do you know
me again, my dear son?" she hastily asked Christlieb, bending over him,
and looking at him with the greatest tenderness.
Christlieb gazed steadily at the unknown lady, and then shook his head
as much as to say, No; which threw the lady into a state of great
distress.
"Do not mind this," said the doctor; "it will be all right by and by.
In nervous fevers, the memory, generally speaking, suffers most."
The lady was again comforted, and paid the greatest attention to the
various orders which the doctor gave her, previous to his leaving,
regarding the future treatment of the invalid. Meanwhile Christlieb took
a survey of the apartment, which was like a palace compared to his
former domicile. The walls were richly papered. The curtains of the
windows were of silk; and the floor was covered with thick and elegant
carpet. The furniture, tables, chairs, bed, and other articles, were of
a brown, shining wood,--the tea-cups of painted china,--the spoons of
pure silver. A beautiful embroidered bell-rope, with a handsome gilt
handle, hung close to his bed;--the latter being somewhat softer and
more elastic than his straw pallet in the tower. When he turned his
look upon himself, he perceived that his night-dress was of the finest
materials, his linen of the most expensive kind. Of his former dress,
not a remnant was to be seen, while a splendid dressing-gown hung on the
wall, and a pair of handsome worked slippers stood near his bed,--all
evidently intended for him. Most gladly would he have asked where he
was but his courage failed him.
After the lady had returned from taking leave of the doctor, she again
sat down near the bed of the invalid, and began to knit, regarding him,
every now and then, with an expression of the greatest affection.
Christlieb felt much embarrassed. He wished exceedingly for a glass of
water, yet did not like to ask the grand-looking lady for it. At length
the latter, of her own accord, asked him if he would not like something
to drink.
With profound respect, he answered, "If you will have the goodness,
madam."
The lady immediately brought him a most refreshing drink, which
Christlieb drank up, without leaving a single drop.
"I thank you very much," said he gratefully, which brought tears into
the beautiful eyes of the lady. Afterwards she gave him a spoonful of
medicine, which he patiently swallowed, though it was not much to his
taste. He was far better pleased with the delicious apples, which,
nicely roasted, and sprinkled with sugar, and along with a small
biscuit, he was given at ten o'clock for his breakfast.
With great delight the lady saw him eat them, and never left the room
until he had fallen into a gentle sleep, from which he did not awake
until after noon. His watchful attendant was again there, and brought
him a strengthening soup, placed him right in his bed, pushing pillows
behind his back to keep him from falling, and from getting cold. When
the lady saw her charge, with a steady hand, hold and use the spoon, and
able to take the nourishing food, she exclaimed, in joyful accents, "Oh!
how much your father will be delighted when he returns and finds you so
well!"
"My father! my father!" said Christlieb, in evident confusion, and
rubbing his forehead. In a moment the remembrance of the lost drums
flashed on his memory, and he cried out, "Ah me! unfortunate one that I
am; what will my master say about the drums?" Saying these words, as if
in great distress, he let the spoon fall out of his hand.
The lady trembled with fear, dreading, from his confused words, that her
patient was going to have a relapse. She was scarcely able to stammer
out, "My dear Balduin, compose yourself. Throw all your cares and fears
away. No one will be permitted to reproach you. Everything is already
arranged."
But poor Christlieb could not be so easily comforted; and on this
account, the sleep which he fell into towards evening was so light, that
he heard all that passed between the doctor and his supposed mother.
"Ah!" she sighed, "my heart is torn between hope and fear, joy and
sorrow! Since his illness, Balduin seems quite changed. He is no
longer imperious, obstinate, disobedient, and discontented. He takes his
medicine without one word of complaint; and for every morsel of bread,
or draught of water, expresses thanks. Then, again, it makes me
wretched when I think that, perhaps, his mind is affected, and that a
settled form of insanity, or---- I cannot give utterance to such horrid
fears. Yet the same idea which has possession of him when delirious
from fever, seems to follow him when he is awake and tranquil."
Christlieb did not hear what answer the doctor made, as his sleep became
deeper.
Next morning he had tea and cakes to breakfast; and he was so hungry,
that he felt as if he could eat he knew not how many rolls. A servant
helped him to put on the fine dressing-gown and slippers; and he was
supported by her to the large easy chair, in which he rested, and
enjoyed the mild rays of the sun, which likewise tempted the little
birds to chirp and sing. Beside him stood his supposed mother, who said
to him, as the servant was arranging his bed, "Do you not then love me,
Balduin?"
"Oh! very much," replied Christlieb, blushing. "You are so kind to me,
and I know not why I am thus treated."
"Do not speak to me in this way," said the lady; "but as you used to do.
You are still my son, and my only joy."
"Ah! me," replied Christlieb humbly. "I am only a poor lad, and not
worthy to be called your son."
"Speak not thus, my son," answered the lady. "It is true that by your
former conduct you have caused both your father and myself much sorrow.
When you left us, taking with you a considerable sum of money to riot
with evil companions, then, it is true, we despaired of you. Still our
affection made us hope that you might yet return to the right path;
therefore your father, accompanied by your kind master, set off in
search of you to bring you back if they found you. How will he be
surprised when he finds his lost and erring son here, a changed and
amended person! You are still our son, and now worthy of the name.
Affliction, and the nearness of a fearful death have changed you, and
given you back to yourself a new being. From the poverty of your dress,
and from what escaped you when delirious, we have learnt how miserable
you were when the money was all spent, and when your false friends
forsook you. Now you will be able to appreciate the difference between
your father's house, and wandering about with strangers. Twice have you
been taken from us in a fearful way. Twice have you been miraculously
restored to us."
Christlieb supposed that he must be again under the influence of the
fever, and again delirious, when he heard these incomprehensible words
of the lady. He looked strangely at her, and she seemed to regret what
she had said, for she immediately changed the subject, asking
Christlieb, with the greatest solicitude, if there was anything he would
like to have, or any person he would like to see.
Christlieb was at no loss as to what he wished for, and the persons he
most earnestly desired to behold; but this, perhaps, would be
impossible, and was too much to expect. He fell into a reverie, and
said nothing.
"Speak to me," repeated the lady kindly.
"I should like to have a violin," at length stammered out her patient.
"A violin!" said the lady in great amazement. "Very well, you shall have
one when you are a little stronger; but at present you would hardly be
able to hold it, or to draw the bow; besides, I fear that its harsh
tones might be injurious to your nerves. Therefore you had better wait
a short time before you get it."
The lady now assisted him back to his bed; but in doing so, he made a
gesture as if in great pain.
"Is there anything the matter with you?" asked his affectionate nurse
anxiously.
"I feel a pain in my side," replied Christlieb.
"Ah! I must have touched the part which was wounded by the fisherman
when he drew you out of the water with his hook," said the lady.
Several days passed away, and with them Christlieb regained strength and
health, to the delight of his affectionate nurse, who requested that he
would call her mother as formerly. Christlieb promised to do so, but
often forgot his part. As the lady most carefully abstained from all
reference to past events, she had now no longer any misgivings about her
patient's state of mind; but, in order to see whether he still
remembered his lately expressed wish, she surprised him one day by the
gift of a beautiful violin.
Christlieb's eyes sparkled at the sight of it, and the lady could not
refrain from smiling when she saw the supposed Balduin take it in his
hand. She, however, looked rather more serious when she perceived how
well he seemed to know how to tune the instrument, how master-like he
used the bow, and touched the strings. Her surprise increased every
moment; and when he had played softly and with wonderful execution the
thema of Rhode's variations, it had reached its zenith. When he had
played one or two of the variations, his fingers and his bow becoming
animated and full of fire, the amazed lady exclaimed, almost out of her
senses, "Stop! you are not my Balduin; and yet you are my son! Had I not
twins, and were they not both stolen, while only _one_ was miraculously
restored to me? You are my Reinhold, my gentler, dearer child!" She
threw her arms around Christlieb, while the violin fell sounding from
his hands on the floor.
*CHAPTER XI.*
*THE MISTAKE.*
In the public-house of a small town, situated at the foot of a hill,
there sat four young men one sunny morning round a table, on which were
placed wine bottles, rolls of wheaten bread, and Swiss cheese. They
talked loudly and merrily, every few minutes emptying their glasses,
which were plentifully supplied with golden wine. Their jests and
laughter showed that they had rather swallowed too much of the exciting
liquid. Except the person who waited on them, there was no one else in
the room. The two principal speakers soon observed that their fourth
companion sat leaning his head on his hand, and was lost in thought.
One of them immediately bawled out, "Is the pet of his mother dying with
home-sickness, that he sits there so miserable and whining?"
The youth who was thus addressed changed his posture, looked up and
said, with a forced smile, "I am not troubled with home-sickness; but my
purse is, in which there are now only four dollars. When these are
finished, you will be good enough to open _your_ treasures."