Chapter II: Part 2

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:--

"DEAR FATHER,--It will please me very much to know that you are quite 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!"

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."

This speech made an unpleasant impression on the half-stupified 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!"