wine-bibbers. Their faces became at once grave, and, in a most sober
voice, one of them said, "Why did you not tell us this before? Had we
known that the money of which you bragged so much was such a paltry sum,
we would have thought twice about it before we became the companions of
your expedition, and brought ourselves into disgrace with our guardians
and tutors."
"Who incited me more to act as I have done than yourself, Nicholas?"
asked the other in an angry voice. "It was you who advised me to borrow
the money in the name of my father, and told us how to obtain false
passports for our journey."
"Do not scold," drawled out a third; "but rather fight at once. When
the money is done, then the comedy is ended! But you, Balduin, you must
bear the blame. Crawl back to your parents, give them a few good words,
and be our scape-goat; then the affair is finished, which, after all, is
only a caprice of genius."
"Let us drink to our scape-goat Balduin," they all laughingly cried,
raising at the same time their glasses to their lips. Balduin, to
escape their mirth and scornful jests, thrust his head out of the
window, while the others took good care that not one morsel of the
breakfast should be left.
At this moment an aged man and a young girl entered the room in the
dress of peasants. After a polite greeting, which was, however, only
returned by the person who waited, the two travellers seated themselves
on a bench near the door, and laid down their bundles.
"Bring us some bread and cheese," said the old man to the waiter, who
immediately supplied him with what he asked. "There, Malchen, take and
eat something; you will be much the better of it after our long journey
this morning." Before the maiden complied with this request, she broke
a small piece of the bread into crumbs, and then put her hand into a
little bag, from which she drew forth a starling, who, delighted to
escape from its prison, hopped about, and picked up the bread from the
table. The young peasant, stroking the bird with her hands, said,
"To-day you will see your old master. How pleased he will be to see you
again!"
"And, it is to be hoped, still better pleased to see us," said the old
man, "when he hears that we have come to live near him. I am not
anxious about you, for you have learnt to work and to be useful;
besides, town people generally prefer a servant-girl from the country.
As to myself, I am sure God will not let me want; and when I have
Christlieb again near me, I will fast gladly."
The young gentleman named Balduin now drew in his head from the window,
and sat down at the table beside the others. He was seated with his
back to the two strangers, yet in a moment they both recognised him, and
almost screamed for joy. Our friend Kummas motioned with his hand to
his companion to be quiet; and wishing to give, as he thought, his dear
Christlieb a pleasant surprise, he advanced on tiptoe towards the table,
giving the others a hint to say nothing, and suddenly placed his hard
hands over the eyes of the sullen Balduin, saying in a feigned voice,
"Who am I?"
"No nonsense!" cried Balduin, seeking to free his face from its
unwelcome covering. But Kummas held his hands firm as a vice, repeating
in tones trembling with pleasure, "Who is it?" The supposed Christlieb,
in a passion, tore away the hands of the old man from his face, and
sprang from his seat. "What do you mean by this impertinence?" asked
Balduin enraged, while Kummas took hold of him and said, "It is your
foster-father, dear Christlieb; and here is Malchen,"----
"And your starling, too!" continued the young girl, weeping with joy.
The three young idlers at this broke out into a loud scornful laugh.
"Brother dear, we congratulate you on your new relations, not forgetting
the starling. Ha! ha! ha!"
Balduin drove the old man from him with violence, and paid no heed to
Malchen. "You vagabonds," he cried, "you will pay dearly for your
insolent jest!"
Kummas stood petrified; he raised his arms, and then let them fall down
powerless. At length he found strength to say, "Christlieb! are we
really so much changed that you do not know us? I am Kummas, this is
Malchen, whose grandfather is dead, and we are going to the town in
which you live."
"Now I hope you understand!" again shouted Balduin's rude companions.
"Such a father is not found every day on the street, neither such a
smart young peasant girl."
Balduin trembled with passion. "You must have escaped from Bedlam!" he
cried; "away with you! You will get nothing from me!"
The old man could scarcely believe his ears. "No, it is impossible," he
said to himself, "that within the short space of one year an angel could
be thus changed into a demon. Christlieb!" he continued, "dissemble no
longer; you are breaking my heart with your jokes. I have not deserved
this treatment; but I need not speak of what I have done for you, as you
have always gratefully acknowledged it."
Instead of answering, Balduin paid the reckoning, and left the inn with
his noisy companions, leaving Kummas and Malchen behind, who both stood
as if rooted to the spot.
A long pause ensued. "Is he really gone?" asked Kummas, scarcely able
to speak.
"Quite gone!" Malchen was only able to answer by a sorrowful shake of
the head.
"He has denied us, Malchen!" said the old man. "He is in prosperity, as
you may see by his dress and well-filled purse. He has been ashamed of
us before the other scholars. Alas! alas! I was not ashamed, for his
sake, to become like an old nurse." Kummas laid down his head and wept
bitterly. "See," he continued after a time, "how soon our soap bubbles
have burst! Now we may return the way we came to our old home in the
village. You will be able to get something to do; perhaps to herd the
cows or the geese; and I---- will find a grave. The ingratitude of my
child will be my winding-sheet! What could I now do with a violin?
Never again shall I handle the bow, and I will burn the instrument as I
did the violincello in which---- Christlieb was cradled." He again
laid his grey head on the table, which became wet with his burning
tears.
Malchen sprang up in haste. "Father! father!" she cried, "look at the
starling." The poor bird lay with its breast bruised flat, close to the
table where the young men had been drinking. His supposed master had
accidentally put his foot on it when he had jumped up in rage at the old
man.
"Father!" said Malchen, weeping, and holding the poor little thing by
its legs, "the starling is dead!"
Kummas looked up. "It has been treated like me," he said with
indifference. "The starling is only a senseless bird; but me has my
child killed. Oh! that I, too, were dead!"
*CHAPTER XII.*
*THE UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY.*
Some time elapsed before Kummas found himself able to resume his
journey. The bread and cheese remained untouched, which, however,
Malchen put into her basket; and the starling, yet warm, she again
placed in her bag. They went a long way without speaking; at length
Kummas broke the silence--"I now believe," said he, "that it was
Christlieb who destroyed your grandfather's nets! Who could have
thought him such a liar, unless to-day we had had the most convincing
proof of it! So it would appear there is no knowing people; not even if
we do eat a bushel of salt with them! Who is to be trusted?"
"Trust me," said Malchen confidently.
"You!" replied Kummas, smiling in bitterness of feeling. "Why, I would
have built houses on Christlieb,"----
"And on me too, father, and bridges into the bargain," continued
Malchen. "You must not take it amiss if I say that perhaps you have
been too hasty in turning back. The wine may have affected Christlieb;
and if he had been alone he might have spoken differently."
"'Drunken words, true words,' says the proverb," answered Kummas; "and
had I been a king, and Christlieb only a cowherd, would I have been
ashamed of him? His comrades, the young players, are no better than we
are! Am I not a musician as well as they? If Christlieb is already so
proud, what will he be when he becomes a Paganini? It would have been
my greatest joy if I could have taken my place behind him and
said,--See, I took this Paganini out of a manger, and brought him up in
a violincello!"
"He will come to his senses again," whispered Malchen, "when he has had
his own way for a time."
"No, no; he must be a demon to have acted as he has done," replied the
much injured Kummas.
"Don't speak in this wicked way, father!" rejoined the young girl; "have
you no longer a spark of love for your Christlieb?"
The old man stood still, strove with his feelings for a few minutes, and
then said more mildly, "God forgive me! I am too severe; and yet I mean
it not in earnest. Yes, Malchen, I would joyfully give up my life, if
by so doing I could make Christlieb what he was, although he has broken
my heart."
They soon came to the town where they had rested the previous night, and
which was now all bustle and confusion,--it being the day of the yearly
fair. With difficulty the wanderers pressed through the moving crowd.
As they turned the corner of a street close to the market-place, they
met a man and his wife, the former blind, and playing on a pipe; the
latter, whose countenance was the colour of copper and much swollen, was
playing on a barrel organ, accompanying it with her screeching voice.
Kummas started at the sight of them. "Look!" he said to Malchen, "that
miserable pair might have been sitting comfortably in a warm house had
they acted properly. The blind man was the landlord of a small inn in
the village of Toumern, where I often used to play. His wife drank up
everything, and brought herself and her husband to begging. They are
called Hicup."
While Malchen was looking at the man and woman a scene occurred, not at
all unusual in such places and at such times. A rather aged woman,
carrying on her bent back a small raree-show, pushed her way into the
midst of the throng, where the two wretched musicians had taken up their
quarters; and here, by the assistance of a companion who was along with
her, the show was lifted from her back, and arranged for the benefit of
the idle and curious passers by. This attracted the notice of dame
Hicup, who, seeing her domain invaded, began most furiously to abuse the
woman, when a serious quarrel took place. In the progress of the
squabble our former hostess of the nether inn was somehow or the other
enlightened in a way about her rival, which quite changed the character
of her abusive epithets. In order to be the more able for her work,
dame Hicup left her tambourine on the top of the organ, and advanced to
the show-woman with arms a-kimbo. "So you have given up the crockery and
stoneware trade!" she shouted to her antagonist in the fine arts. "Have
you not another pair of brats to give me? I can tell you where one of
the two is which you left with me fifteen years since. He is now a
beer-fiddler, and may help you to earn your bread. He can play while
you exhibit your trumpery pictures. Bless me! is that you, Kummas? I
will now confess that I put your Christlieb in the manger at the door of
the inn, from which you took him out and carried him home. If I had
known that you were so fond of children, I would have given you the
other young one too, his brother. They were as like as two drops of
water. You may thank this woman for your foundling, and ask her where
she got them. It was easy to be seen they were not her own, the thief
that she is! Oh, you child-stealer!" she shouted to the woman with the
show, who turned pale, and quickly disappeared, leaving the field to her
victorious enemy. Seeing this, dame Hicup redoubled her abuse and her
scolding; and her shouting soon collected a mob, from the midst of which
Kummas and Malchen could scarcely make their way out, as they thought
they had heard enough to enable them to regulate their future movements.
When Kummas had recovered from the surprise which the conversation of
the woman had caused, he turned to Malchen and said, "Did you hear,
Malchen, that Christlieb had a brother who was his very counterpart?
Might the gay-looking youngster we saw this morning not have been he,
while the real Christlieb is still in the tower? My Christlieb had no
mole on his left temple, and I think that jackanapes had."
"Now," replied Malchen, "there can be no doubt as to the person who let
the birds of my grandfather escape, and destroyed the nets."
"Come, then, let us retrace our steps," said Kummas, in a more cheerful
voice. "It is fortunate we were no further away. I would not have
missed the hearing of this quarrel for all the treasures in the world."
In spite of weariness, Kummas stepped briskly on, while Malchen skipped
merrily after him. Even the dead starling was for the moment forgotten.
The quarrel of the two women had not been without important results.
The magistrates had thought it incumbent on them to interfere, and both
vagrants were taken to prison. In the course of evidence the truth was
not, however, altogether brought out, as the old woman stoutly
maintained the children to be those of her daughter, who had been long
dead; but confessed that she had left them in the house of dame Hicup.
The further examination of the prisoners was therefore deferred until
various inquiries had been instituted, and notices of the case put into
all the public papers. Meanwhile Christlieb lay ill in the house of the
director of the police at the capital, whose owner, in company with his
son's tutor, Mr. Werter, was searching for the runaway Balduin. Kummas,
followed by Malchen, was making the best of his way towards the small
town in which dwelt the leader of the town-band, where Christlieb was
expected to be found.
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*THE BAD RECEPTION.*
Balduin and his companions had reached the same town. This happened the
very day after Christlieb had been taken to the capital, towards which
he had been driven by the memorable event of the breaking up of the ice.
The river was still here and there covered with huge pieces of ice,
while it had far overflowed its banks. The young adventurers, with many
others, stood on the edge of the stream looking at its singular
appearance.
"There must be a beautiful view from the tower up there," thought
Balduin, as he pointed to poor Christlieb's late abode. "Who will come
with me up the long staircase, and see what is to be seen?"
"As we have nothing better to do, we may as well all accompany you,"
said one of his companions; and they quickly walked in the direction of
the cathedral. They passed a baker's shop on their way, which another
of them perceiving, exclaimed, "I am sure the view will be seen to much
more advantage if we are provided with some cakes or biscuits. Give me
the rest of your money, Balduin; and if you will go up and find the best
place for us to have a view from, we will follow directly with something
nice to eat, and a small bottle of cordial." He gave the other two
youths a most significant wink, which they were at no loss to
comprehend. Balduin completely emptied his now scanty purse, gave all he
had to his faithless friends, and began to ascend the steps of the
tower.
"Now, my good fellows, it is high time for us to beat a retreat!"
shouted the false friend to whom Balduin had given the money. "We must
go back to our tutors and make them believe that we have repented of our
doings, and left our leader Balduin, in order not to be corrupted by his
wicked society. As I said to-day already, Balduin shall be our
scape-goat; we have had a merry life this last fortnight at his
expense."
The others agreed; purchased some cakes to eat on the road, and at once
began their homeward journey.
Almost breathless, Balduin reached the top of the steps, and rung the
bell at the shut door of the _stadt-musikus_, which was opened to him by
the servant girl. "Bless me!" she exclaimed in joyful surprise, "is
that you, Master Christlieb? Where have you come from? And where have
you got the fine clothes? I scarce would have known you, you are so
changed. What will the master and mistress say, who have been in such a
way about their kettledrums? We were afraid that, last night, you had
been on the ice when it broke up so suddenly, and that you were
drowned."
Balduin looked very stupid at this unexpected harangue. "I am surely
bewitched!" he muttered to himself. He turned round to descend the
steps, not in the best humour, when he was prevented by the appearance
of Mr. Dilling, Mrs. Dilling, and all the scholars, who had heard the
exclamation of the servant, and came out to see Christlieb, and to hear
what happened to him.
"Where have you the kettledrums?" asked the town musician in a voice of
thunder, looking very suspiciously at Balduin's fine dress. "Sold,
pawned, made away with, I have no doubt!" seizing as he said this, the
petrified Balduin by the neck.
"Where are the drums?" screamed the angry lady, shaking her clenched
hand in his face.
"Where are the drums?" echoed the malicious boys, delighted at the
embarrassment and distress of their companion.
"The drums!" stammered out Balduin, his lips quivering with
passion.--"What do I----?"
"Yes, the drums! the drums!" bellowed out Mr. Dilling, accompanying his
words with blows and pinches of the ear. "I will have my drums, which
cost thirty-six dollars, and twenty groschens. I say, where are they?
Where have you got these fine clothes? Are not my drums pawned for
them?"
"Let the boy speak, Mr. Dilling," said Rupel, gently.--"He may be quite
innocent. In consequence of the breaking up of the ice, he perhaps was
prevented crossing the river last night, and had to walk all the way to
the capital to cross the bridge; then to come here; and how could he
carry the heavy drums all that long way? Most likely he has left them at
the inn where the concert was."
"But where has he got the fine clothes?" said Mr. Dilling in a less
angry tone.
"That I know not," answered Rupel; "Christlieb himself will be able to
explain it all, I am sure; only let him speak."
"Where are my drums?" asked now Mr. Dilling in a composed
voice.--"Speak, and tell me where you got these fine clothes!"
"These clothes are my own property," replied Balduin haughtily; "and as
for your drums, I know nothing about them."
Scarcely were these words uttered, when the _stadt-musikus_, more
enraged than ever, flew at the unfortunate speaker, and began to beat
him without mercy. In vain poor Balduin attempted to speak, in vain he
tried to defend himself. Even Rupel's remonstrances were not listened to
in the midst of the uproar.
Such treatment had the over-indulged Balduin never before received. He
was stunned, stupified, and, for the first time in his life, afraid.
Whenever he opened his lips to offer some explanation, he was stopped by
Mr. Dilling thundering out, "Silence, sir!" and raising his hand to give
him another blow. Balduin anxiously awaited the arrival of his three
companions, in the hope that they would extricate him from his
unpleasant situation; but poor Balduin waited in vain. He seated
himself in a corner of the room, weeping bitterly from pain and anger,
while the enraged master gave vent to the remainder of his wrath in
scolding words.--"I would have the rascal arrested," he continued, after
a volley of abusive epithets; "did I not need him to-day; indeed I
cannot do without him at the concert which is to take place in the town,
and at which he is to play the oboe. Come along, we have no time to
lose; evening will soon be here, and as yet we have no rehearsal; all on
account of that worthless fellow. Make haste!"
The music-stands were immediately set up, the instruments in the hands
of the pupils, and the miserable Balduin shown where he was to take his
place. When the oboe was thrust into his hand by one of the boys, he
exclaimed, "But, indeed, I cannot----"
"Is he again daring to speak?" cried Mr. Dilling, taking hold of a
stick, and threatening to strike him.--"You are there, sir, to blow, and
not to reason."
In despair, Balduin took the instrument, and, after a few unsuccessful
attempts, raised the mouthpiece of the oboe to his lips, and placed
himself before the music-stand. The overture began, and Balduin blew as
if his cheeks would crack; when suddenly an evil spirit seemed to have
taken possession of the town musician. Purple with rage, he sprung from
his place and struck the unfortunate player a dreadful blow on the head,
saying, "What wretched playing is that?--do you mean to make a fool of
me?"
A stream of blood from Balduin's mouth was the only answer; and the
concert speedily came to an end; for Balduin fell senseless into the
arms of Rupel, who came to his aid. From the violence of the blow the
under end of the oboe had struck against the music-stand, while the
sharp point had pierced Balduin's throat.
"That is all pretence," stammered the now pale-faced master.--"Wife,
give the lad something to gargle his throat with. There is very little
the matter with him."
Balduin, however, soon showed that something serious was the matter. He
gasped for breath as if in agony, and fresh streams of blood gushed from
his mouth. His companions now all looked very grave, and there was an
end of their jests. Rupel assisted the unhappy youth to his bed, and
then went away without saying where he was going. When Mr. Dilling (who
was rather alarmed at what had happened) missed him, he cried out,
"Where has Rupel gone to?--Does he mean to make a noise about the
matter? Is he no better than an idle chatterbox? I tell you what it
is," turning to the others, "if any of you dare to say one word of this
in the town, I will knock your heads off. I am tormented enough to-day
by the loss of an _oboist_. The good-for-nothing scoundrel;--he is the
cause of the whole disturbance."
The door-bell now rang. "Who is there?" asked Dilling, half out of his
wits, as he pushed aside the servant and went to open the door himself.
"What do you want?" he asked, in no gentle voice, the two strangers who
presented themselves. "My tower is no dove-cot, and there is nothing to
be had here."
"We do not want anything, sir," answered the honest Kummas; "we only
come to visit my Christlieb Fundus, the little Paganini."
"Your Christlieb?" asked Dilling in a shaking voice. "And who are you,
may I ask?"
"Christlieb is my foster-son; and, with your permission, I am the
musician Kummas, from Gelenau. This is Malchen, the child of an old
neighbour of mine who is dead; she sings like a lark. We have come a
long way to see our Christlieb; so have the kindness to tell us where he
is."
During this speech the unhappy Mr. Dilling stood as if on red-hot coals.
Collecting all his strength he then muttered, "Truly, you sent me a fine
specimen of a youth! The rascal has run away, pawned, or sold my
kettledrums, to buy himself gay clothes. But I will bring him to the
house of correction for this."
Kummas was as if struck by a second thunderbolt. He reeled backwards,
and would have fallen, had not Malchen supported him. "Can this be
true?" he said in a low voice to himself.--"Heaven have pity on me! is
he really lost?--lost beyond hope!" His head sank on Malchen's
shoulder, and he stood mute as a statue.
Warring with his feelings, Mr. Dilling looked at the old man and his
companion. He hemmed and coughed, but could not utter a word. At
length Kummas said, in a voice of sadness, "And where is my former
Christlieb, who now, it seems, neither regards God nor me?"
"How do I know?" replied the embarrassed town musician.--"I tell you he
has ran away."
"Come, then, Malchen," said the old broken-hearted man; "I have now
nothing to seek but a grave. There, in its stillness, I will rest my
weary head; for I am desolate." With these words Kummas turned to go
away, and Malchen, weeping, led him carefully and slowly down the steps
from the tower. Dilling looked long after them irresolute; but the fear
of blame shut his mouth, and he went back into the house, where, in his
room, his wife and servant were busy washing away the marks of the
blood. Half-way down the steps, Kummas paused to take breath near an
open window. "Let me rest here a few minutes, Malchen; the fresh air
may revive me." Both stood in silence; but without eyes for the beauty
of the scene around them. After a short time they heard the voices and
footsteps of persons ascending the staircase.
"I pray you, doctor, do all in your power for the youth," said one of
the persons.--"He is the best player of us all."
"Which of them is it?" asked the other.