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.