Chapter V The Singular Meeting
Two years had now passed away, and harvest, with its rejoicings and feasts, was at hand. The evening preceding one of the festivals, our Fundus, now twelve years of age, was standing before a rather roughly constructed music-stand, on which was placed a sheet of written notes for the violin. He was again rehearsing what, on the succeeding day, he had to perform, and played and sung his appointed parts alternately. Kummas, whose hair had now become white, sat listening in his arm-chair, congratulating himself on having made such a fine player of the child. He nodded time with his head, and his eyes sparkled with delight, as the youthful scholar succeeded in mastering a difficult passage far beyond the expectation of the old musician. The very starling, who had been long asleep in its accustomed place (the back of the old man’s chair), awoke and became quite merry, screaming an accompaniment to its young master.
At length the rehearsal was ended, and Christlieb packed up his music, awaiting the judgment of his preceptor.
The old man, hiding his delight, said, “Well, I hope you will get on to-morrow, only be sure and keep the time. Remember there is a great difference playing before four eyes, and playing in the church before four hundred. However, don’t let this remark make you afraid.”
Kummas had not received much education; but he was of opinion that a child might be spoiled through too much praise, and therefore he was very sparing in his commendation. However, when Christlieb was fast asleep, he gave vent to his joy while, as usual, smoking his pipe before he went to bed. With a grateful heart he thanked God that in the foundling there was given to him a support and a pleasure for his old age. All his privations and cares were richly repaid by the admirable behaviour of the boy, with whom he would not part for any worldly consideration whatever.
The church festival, with music, singing, prayers, and sermon, was now over, and the churchyard filled with people returning to their various homes. In the midst of them were the pastor and the schoolmaster, with the happy Kummas at their side; while Christlieb, with his violin under his arm, followed at a respectful distance.
“That foster-son of yours is a fine youth,” began the pastor.
“He is like a pearl in a dirty oyster-shell,” responded the schoolmaster.
“Your simile is rather a lame one,” said the priest; “for neither is our village nor the house of Kummas like a dirty oyster-shell, as the owner of the latter has now become an honest Christian; yet it is true that Christlieb is not in his proper place here. He should be sent where he can have more advantage than with us.”
“He far excels all my pupils,” continued the teacher; “and even in Latin he is well advanced. He ought to study.”
“Aye, aye,” said Kummas, smiling with pleasure; “but to study, I am told, costs a deal of money, and I have none. If I could do as I wished, I would like to make the boy a fine musician,—one who would bring my art to honour. I had an idea of sending him to some band-master in a town, in order that he might have more teaching; yet it will be very hard for me to part with him, as he now plays more than I do, and brings more bread into the house. To be sure that would be made up for were he to become a little Paganini.”
“Certainly,” said the pastor, laughing. “We shall see what time will do. Meanwhile, take care that Christlieb remains as modest and gentle as he is now; as that makes him well-pleasing in the sight of God, as well as of men.”
When the pastor and the schoolmaster had left, Kummas went and spoke to Butter, whom he saw standing near him.
“Your Fundus played and sang to-day like a lark. My Malchen was all ear and eye. There they go like brother and sister. But tell me, what does the boy do with all the birds he buys from me? I thought by this time that your room would be quite full of them; but I only see the starling marching about at its ease. Besides, he has a shocking taste; for he buys almost only those which are good for nothing, except to twist off their heads, and lay them in the frying-pan.”
“Indeed! I know nothing about the matter,” answered Kummas, “and never ask him; for, as I am sure he does not waste the little money he gets, I let him do whatever he likes with his few halfpence.”
“I suppose you think, at the same time, I have no cause to complain of his spending his money in this way?” Saying these words, the old men separated.
On the same Sunday, Christlieb, accompanied by Malchen, came out of the bird-catcher’s house. “Stop a minute,” said he to the young girl, taking out of her hand a finch, round whose right leg he fastened a small piece of red thread, but not very tightly.
“Why do you do that?” asked Malchen.
“Oh! it is a fancy of mine,” said Christlieb, taking hold of the bird, and bidding the girl good-bye; who looked after him with curiosity before she again went into the house.
Christlieb went a considerable way into the wood. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly to the little bird, whose heart he felt beating as he held the terrified creature in his hand; “from me you have nothing to fear. Perhaps your young ones are dying with hunger, for want of you, in their solitary nest; or your father and mother are seeking you everywhere, calling to you to come back to them. Now take care, little stupid thing, and don’t let wicked boys catch you by mock whistles, mock pipes, or mock food; and there, now, fly away!” With these words he opened his hand, and the finch, not needing to be told twice, flew quickly away. Christlieb looked after it until it disappeared in the blue distance. He then took a piece of paper out of his pocket, on which he made a small mark with a pencil. “Twenty-six finches,” he repeated to himself, “nineteen larks, five thrushes, nine lapwings, two goldfinches, three blackbirds,—four-and-sixty birds I have saved from death or imprisonment.—Hurrah! hurrah!”
The same evening, Christlieb was again playing; and in the same room of that inn in which his foster-father had played twelve years before,—at the door of which he had found him. Waltzes, country dances, galops, quadrilles, and all manner of tunes dropped from his hand like water. He played unweariedly, although sleep every now and then shut his eyes, and the player of the violincello had to give him a gentle push with the point of his bow at the end of the hundredth-time-played pieces. Meanwhile, Kummas enjoyed rest at home. The grateful foundling now supplied his place, which he felt it neither difficult nor unpleasant to do. Obedient to the command of his father, he steadfastly refused to taste either beer or brandy, and contented himself with pure water,—an abstinence not at all disagreeable to the other musicians, as by that means their portions were the larger. About three o’clock in the morning, the dance ended, and dancers and musicians left the inn; all except Christlieb, who laid himself down on a bench, near the stove in the lower room, and slept for three hours the pleasant sleep of youth and weariedness. When he awoke, the landlady gave him a cup of delicious coffee, and a piece of fine cake, after partaking which he prepared for his walk home.
With his violin under his arm, and twelve groschens in his pocket, Christlieb descended the steps which led from the inn door to the road. His eye fell upon the manger, which always stood ready for horses passing with travellers. He looked at it much affected, as he thought, Who knows but that may be the very one in which I was found twelve years since! What would have become of me had not Kummas taken me with him? Feelings of gratitude to his foster-father filled his heart. Ah! why had his parents deserted him? How had the poor infant offended them, thus to be driven from them? How often have I watched the care which geese, hens, dogs, cats, little birds, and all animals take care of their young ones,—defending them at the risk of their own lives! Even the defenceless insect, the ant, when a ruthless hand destroys its nest, first tries to save its eggs,—and yet, has a heartless mother forsaken me? Or may I not have been taken from her by force, or stealth?—in which case she will be more unhappy than I am. But the sadness of youth resembles a soap-bubble, which, when broken, leaves no trace behind; and with the rising of the golden sun, Christlieb’s sorrow vanished. Although it was November, the weather was fine, and there still were some vestiges of verdure to be seen. With a merry heart, and a quiet conscience, Christlieb pursued his journey homewards, while he gave outward expression to his gladness by playing a beautiful church melody on his violin.
An echo in the neighbouring wood gave back the clear notes, accompanied by those of all the birds who had not fled with summer. This singing allured him to his favourite spot, where the rustling of the leaves of the trees greeted him like the voices of old acquaintances. He slung his instrument over his shoulder, and, like a squirrel, sprung up a tall pine tree, where, among its green branches, he comfortably seated himself. From this leafy height there was soon heard the cheerful note of the cuckoo, the melancholy song of the yellow thrush, the melting call of the nightingale, the monotonous cry of the crow; in short, all the feathered tribe seemed to have met in this one spot, in order to let each other hear their different music. And Christlieb, the sole artist and imitator of the various notes, rejoiced beyond measure, when the whole flock of the still remaining birds, allured by the sounds, came and flew around him. Still more zealously did he copy on his obedient violin the language of the feathered tribe, when the whole concert was destroyed and quickly ended, by the rattling of carriage wheels. In a moment, Christlieb was down the tree, and, led by curiosity to take a peep at the supposed travellers, he speedily made up to the carriage. It was a handsome equipage, whose driver no sooner saw Christlieb, than he called out, seemingly very ill pleased, “What are you about, young sir? Does the young gentleman think I have nothing else to do but keep my mouth open, shouting after him, instead of swallowing the good soup of the postmaster? Come, make haste and get in!” Saying these words, the man leapt from the driving box, and opened the door of the carriage. “And now,” continued he, muttering to himself in a bad humour, “we have to wait for the tutor, who, full of anxiety, is seeking up and down for his idle pupil.”
When the driver, after letting down the steps, looked round for the object of his wrath, the astonished Christlieb was no longer to be seen, which gave rise to a fresh burst of angry words and oaths. The puzzled violin player had run away as fast as he could, and was now again within the wood, when his flying steps were arrested by another person, who came up to him, looking very exhausted and tired, and likewise very angry. “Balduin! Balduin!” he exclaimed, in a tone of vexation and displeasure, “will this thoughtlessness never end, which annoys and torments every one connected with you? Where have you been? Since you left the carriage under a pretext of only remaining away a few minutes, you have remained almost an hour! But how is this?” he continued in surprise. “Where have you exchanged your dress? and how did you get this instrument?”
The stranger stretched out his hand to take hold of the violin, whose possessor, however, firmly retained it, and took to his heels, flying through the wood as if winged.
He still, at a considerable distance, heard the voice of his pursuer entreating him to remain.
He arrived at home out of breath, and had scarcely time to put away his violin, when the bell rang for school; so that for some hours, he had to keep his adventure to himself.
“Only think, father!”—With these words, he entered the small room, in which, besides Kummas, he found the old bird-catcher, who looked at him with an angry countenance, and his father, too, seemed unusually disconcerted.
“There comes the young good-for-nothing,” said Butter. “Bird-thief, and not Christlieb, should he be called.”
Christlieb’s words stuck in his throat at this salutation; and, much amazed and perplexed, he looked at the old man, to see whether he were speaking in jest or in earnest. But his father ended his doubt by saying, in a serious tone of voice, “What have you done, Christlieb? Confess the truth.”
A deep red suffused Christlieb’s face, as, with the greatest faithfulness, he related what had happened to him.
When he had finished, Butter said with bitterness, “So you wish to make us believe that a runaway boy, who had escaped from his tutor, played the trick, and not you, you young rascal, but your ghost (doppelgänger)! A likely story, forsooth! Will you still deny that you broke and destroyed all my nets?—that you let twelve thrushes, eighteen finches, nine-and-twenty other birds, not to speak of the very small ones, escape? Such a number I never caught at once in my life; and while I ran full of joy into the house, to get my old wife and Malchen to come and help me, the rascal falls upon the whole, tears my snares to pieces, sets all the birds at liberty, and then laughs at me scornfully from behind a bush, when I try to catch him.”
“I never did such a thing,” maintained Christlieb, shocked.
“What!” cried Butter, in a greater passion than ever; “will you give me the lie to my face? Have I become so blind that I no longer know you when I see you? Besides, was not Malchen, who thinks so much of you, there as a witness? And do we not know, likewise, that, in your folly, you wish there was not a bird-catcher in all the world, and that all the birds were free?”
“Acknowledge your fault, my son,” said Kummas mildly, “and we may be able to make all right again.”
“But I have not done what Butter says,” answered Christlieb, weeping.
“Friend,” said Kummas, “I really know not what to think of all this. It is true that Christlieb has never once deceived me, and——”
“You are an old blockhead, with your Christlieb!” passionately broke out Butter, interrupting him. “It will be worse for him in the end; for, as you give me no satisfaction, I am determined to have him punished; and, as sure as my name is Butter, the boy shall have a few days in the dungeon.”