WALTER AN ARTIST.
WALTER AN ARTIST.
"In diligent toil, thy master is the bee;In craft mechanical, the worm, that creepsThrough earth its dexterous way, may tutor thee;In knowledge (couldst thou fathom all the deeps),All to the seraph are already known;But thine, O man, is Art,—thine wholly and alone!"
"In diligent toil, thy master is the bee;In craft mechanical, the worm, that creepsThrough earth its dexterous way, may tutor thee;In knowledge (couldst thou fathom all the deeps),All to the seraph are already known;But thine, O man, is Art,—thine wholly and alone!"
"In diligent toil, thy master is the bee;
In craft mechanical, the worm, that creeps
Through earth its dexterous way, may tutor thee;
In knowledge (couldst thou fathom all the deeps),
All to the seraph are already known;
But thine, O man, is Art,—thine wholly and alone!"
Christinasat in her full Sunday attire upon her cushioned chair; she looked very much excited, and a restlessness, quite unwonted in her usually calm face, exhibited itself in her whole demeanor. Her small hands were folded together, and the tears which trembled upon her eyelashes, and found their way down her sweet face, showed that, though her prayers were offered up in silence, they came notwithstanding from the very depths of her heart. A tall boy, with a joyousface, now broke suddenly into her room: it was the twelve-year-old Walter.
"My darling mother, have I dressed myself as you would like me to do?" he asked, as he placed himself immediately before Christina, whom he had already outgrown.
"Kneel down here upon my footstool, my son," said Christina to him, "that I may see if your shirt-collar fits neatly."
Walter, humming a song, instantly obeyed. Christina arranged his dark and shining locks, pulled the fine, dazzlingly white shirt-collar quite straight, and shook off a little dust which had just settled upon his new suit of fine cloth. She then gazed lovingly at him, threw her arms round his neck, kissed his brow tenderly, and, in a tone quivering with emotion, said,—
"May God be with you, my dear boy! May his blessing rest upon the events of this evening!"
Burg now entered the room with his hat in his hand, and announced that the carriage was at the door. He too gazed upon his adopted son with tender emotion; he embracedhim in silence, then, helping his sister to put on her cloak, he led them both to the carriage, which stood at the gate of the pretty garden.
That the secluded brother and sister should have driven to the town in a carriage, and in full dress, would have excited the astonishment of all their neighbors, had it not been generally known that Walter was to make his first appearance before the public, that he was to play at a concert which was to take place that very evening. How willingly would all the good people of the neighborhood have crowded into the brilliantly lighted hall, to have heard the boy whom they all loved show his skill in his beloved art! That, however, could not be; but they thought it very natural that Christina, who never left the house except to go to church, should in this case make an exception to the general rule.
The concert-room was crowded to overflowing. After the last notes of the overture had died away, Walter stepped forward, and bowed calmly and gracefully to the throng. Struck with the agreeable expression andbearing of the boy, a light murmur of approbation pervaded the whole assembly. He played one of the concertos of Beethoven. His tone was pure and sweet, his execution full of power and energy. Overcoming every difficulty with apparent ease, he stormed through the allegro, exciting a feeling of astonishment in his countless hearers; while in the adagio his melting tones pressed into the depths of every heart, appealing to the feelings as music only can. Such repeated acclamations, such noisy applauses, broke from the dense mass before him when he had finished, that the boy was actually frightened, and, without making the usual bows and acknowledgments, sprang back and hid himself among the musicians of the orchestra. But the cries did not cease, for the audience were determined to greet again the little artist. Then the chapel-master took the blushing boy by the hand, led him again in front of the orchestra, and showed with proud joy to the excited public his favorite and cherished pupil. Again rang the clamor of applauses loud and long; repeated and enthusiastic cries ofEncore! encore! Bravo! bravo! seemed to rend the very air.
Happy,—yet abashed and half-frightened Walter!
The tears ceased not to flow from the streaming eyes of Christina. When she heard the darling of her soul play, as she had never heard him play before, he seemed to her almost strange and wonderful, and her heart trembled within her; while her breast heaved anxiously and almost shudderingly at the loud, stormy, and never-ending applauses which were offered to the child of her love. She scarcely understood their full import, for she had never attended a concert before; she looked anxiously into the face of her brother, who was standing near her seat. He was deeply moved; he grasped and pressed her hand, tears trembled in his large, protruding eyes, the corners of his mouth were twitching with excitement, and the strange contortions of face which he made to try to conceal his emotion, had an almost comic effect. This was remarked by some of the young people in his neighborhood; they whispered to eachother, pointed him out to others who were near, and lorgnettes and opera-glasses were instantly directed upon the strange appearance of the deformed clock-maker. As soon as he observed this, he immediately withdrew himself from observation. He left his place, pressed towards the door, escaped from the concert-hall, and the sea of tones whose waves were now rising, now falling, in their stormful play. He felt that he must be alone with God, under the holy arch of the starlit heavens, in order to pour out unobserved the thronging emotions of his excited heart.
The concert was over. Burg returned to the hall to seek Christina and Walter. He was detained sometime in the door-way by the press of the hurrying throng. At last, however, he reached his sister, who told him that the chapel-master had taken Walter away to introduce him to a noble family, who loved and patronized art, who gave a party this evening particularly to the artists and the friends of music; and as Walter had been particularly invited by the cultivated CountessW——, whose patronage might be of the greatest service to him, it would not be advisable or courteous to refuse the kind invitation.
"It is really painful to my heart to be obliged to give up Walter, upon this evening particularly!" said Christina. "But I did not know what to do; I could not see you anywhere, and the chapel-master was so pressing, and in such a hurry! I strongly recommended to our dear son, however, to be very prudent, and not to suffer himself to be made vain, or to be spoiled!"
"I am very sorry!" said Burg. "But it cannot be helped. Come, Christina!"
He led his sister to the carriage, and was silent and serious during the whole drive home, as he was in the habit of being when immersed in thought. A few words of deep and highly excited feeling were exchanged by the brother and sister upon the subject of Walter's brilliant success on his first appearance before the public, and hopes and fears alternated in their loving, simple hearts. Wearied by the unwonted excitement of the day, Christina went early to rest; while Burgopened a large book, and lighted another lamp, to await the arrival of Walter home.
Twelve strokes slowly sounded upon the various clocks in the house, telling Burg it was already midnight. He rose, as he shut the book of Chronicles in which he had been reading, opened his window, and looked anxiously out into the dark night. After a considerable time had elapsed, he thought he heard the distant rolling of a carriage; it drew nearer,—it stopped before the garden gate. "At last!" said Burg, heaving a deep sigh, as he closed the window. Almost immediately after, the door opened, and Walter entered.
"Good evening, my dear son! At last, at last I see you again," said Burg, as he rapidly advanced to meet him.
"O my father!" cried Walter, as he threw himself into his arms, "what an evening I have spent! how happy I am!"
Burg gazed inquiringly into the glowing face of the boy; it shone with intense excitement and proud joy.
"You are still very much excited, my child. You will find it quite impossible to go to sleepin such a state. Come, then, sit down beside me, and tell me all that has happened."
"O father, if you had only seen how much they have all honored me! I was dreadfully frightened, at first, with the terrible noise they made in the concert-room; but the chapel-master says that was very stupid in me, and that one soon grows accustomed to all that. The Count laughed at me for running away, very much, at first, and said I must learn to bear still higher marks of honor; that I must learn to wear the immortal crown of laurels, for that, young as I am, I could already take my place with the true artists; that in a few years I would surpass them all, and that my name would be sounded with honor through the whole civilized world. Father! my father! is not that glorious? Everything was beautiful in the Count's house; such immense rooms I never saw before. We were soon seated round a table covered with the most exquisite food. They drank a kind of wine that banged when they took the corks out, as if a pistol had been shot off, close to your ears. It foams and foams; it is quite sweet, and tastes excellently."
"Have you taken more than one glass of it, my son?" said Burg, as he anxiously laid his hand on the glowing brow of the excited boy.
"No, father, I have not. The beautiful Countess ordered me to take the seat next to her own. Only think, father: the chapel-master says that was the seat of honor! But the Countess would not let them refill my glass. She said it was possible I was not accustomed to it; that my good mother, Christina, would not be pleased if I should be spoiled by drinking too much of it. But only think,—just try to guess what happened next!—No, that is not it. Ah! father, you would never, never guess it! Only think of it! they all drank my health, making their glasses rattle as they did so; and then they all congratulated the chapel-master upon having found such a pupil as I am. They drank his health, too. Ah! there can be no greater happiness in this life than to be an artist! And I am certainly one already, for they all declared I was. When I look at the other scholars of my own age in the institution, I cannot help pitying them; for they are really stupid in comparison with me,and I do not believe that they will ever receive such honors as have been rendered to me to-night."
"And whom have you to thank for this distinction?" asked Burg.
"Myself and you!" answered Walter, rashly. "You sent me to a most skilful teacher; but he has many pupils who have been studying a great deal longer, yet play much worse than I do."
"Then you have no one but yourself to thank for your talent for art?" asked Burg.
"Yes, I owe it to my own industry. The chapel-master himself says so."
"Procure me still another joy, my dear Walter! Write me a finished poem!"
"But, father, how can I do it?" said Walter, quite astonished.
"I will give you plenty of time to do it," said Burg. "I will take you to-morrow to a most skilful master in the art of poetry; to please me, you will again be very studious and industrious, and thus you will be a great poet!"
"My dear father, I am sorry for it, but Ithink it would be impossible!" answered Walter. "You know that at school I never wrote with any ease; indeed, I always found it very difficult, for I have no talent at all for it!"
"But through your own industry you will certainly learn to compose as well in words as you have done in tones."
"O that is entirely different!" said the boy, quickly. "I have a great deal of talent for music, and none at all for poetry."
"Ah, indeed!" answered the father, earnestly. "I thought, because you had attributed all the honor of the day toyourself alone, that you would be able to make as rapid progress in any other art. But if that is not the case, it seems to me that you cannot claim all the honor for yourself alone, for you have just admitted that success in any art requires, in the first place, talent. Now how have you been able to create this internal talent, which you confess to be the first requisite?"
Walter blushed crimson; he looked confusedly upon the floor; then he murmured: "No man on earth can create that,—that is a gift of the good God!"
"Then," said Burg, very seriously, "without any merit, any assistance, on your part, out of pure love, God has endowed you with the beautiful and glorious gift of a genius for music. You are only fulfilling a duty, when you cultivate to the utmost of your power the high talent which you have received from God. Would you not be guilty of the blackest ingratitude if you would suffer the capabilities with which he has gifted you to remain uncultured in your soul? And yet you think that you have done something very extraordinary, and that the honor and praise which thoughtless men have so freely lavished upon you belong of right to you alone; whereas all the distinction which has been offered to you is justly and solely due to God. Because you have done in music only what it was your duty to do, would you wish to claim merit for a thing so simple, and would you, in the excess of an idle vanity, forget your Maker, from whose bountiful hand you have received all?
"The sweet and foaming wine which you drank to-night is called Champagne. Its tasteis very pleasant, yet it is sometimes a poison. One or two glasses, however, is not injurious. But it is often forgotten that a bad spirit lies concealed in the pearly drops which foam and dance upon its surface. He who drinks too much of it loses his force and his senses, and in his drunkenness resembles the madman who forgets his God. Such excess often leads to the commission of great crimes. The applauses of the crowd, the reverence paid to genius, the sweet flattery always offered to the artist in the most intoxicating manner, resemble champagne. The bad spirit which is concealed in the froth of popular applause, to ruin and destroy the artist, is Vanity. Woe to him if he does more than simply taste the sweet draught! If he eagerly gulps it down, he draws in Vanity at the same time, which must lead him to certain destruction; for it entices him away from God, to whom alone all the fame, all the honor, which men so lavishly expend upon the artist is justly due. Vanity is constantly hovering over the robe of light in which all Art is clothed; she skilfully throws her own spottedveil over the glittering raiment, drawing Art gradually down to the service of hell. True, divine Art, however, soon discovers the toils of vanity, and, throwing them off for ever, passes on to that heaven from which she springs. A demon of darkness unfortunately too often borrows her form of light, and assists the work of Vanity in the soul of the artist, which she has subjected to her power. All that he creates gives evidence of the demoniac source from which his works spring, and that love and faith no longer make their home in his spirit. He grows gradually dizzy; he falls from sin to sin, and dies in wretchedness. An early grave, and the speedy forgetfulness of the masses who once caressed and flattered him, is sure to be the fate of the unhappy artist who, in the indulgence of his own vanity, forgets his God. My dear son, pray that you may be protected from demoniac pride, from artistic vanity!"
Walter, who had listened to his father with ever increasing emotion, while his handsome face grew pale with varying feelings, now threw himself weeping into his arms, whilehe cried: "Father, forgive me! I also have been both proud and vain. O, aid me to contend with these wicked spirits! Suffer me not to be conquered by them!"
"Pray! pray constantly, my son! In the midst of the intoxicating flatteries which will be offered to you, never forget that it is God alone who has gifted you with a genius for art; that you are nothing more than a miserable worm in his hands, and that it behooves you to bow low before his power, and give to him alone all honor! Never forget that it is your duty to cultivate the talents he has condescended to give you to the utmost extent, that you must one day give an account of the use you have made of them; and when they try to make you believe that you have reached the highest possible point, remember that it is impossible to stand still; that you must go on, or fall backward, and that only in the most constant and unremitted efforts to progress can your duty be fulfilled! Go now to bed, to sleep, my dear, dear son! May God be ever with you!"
The preceding conversation, held by Walter with Burg after the intoxication of his first exciting and brilliant success, made a deep impression upon his young soul, and exercised a decisive influence upon the whole course of his life. The growth of vanity was for ever stifled in its first germ. He struggled restlessly forward upon the path of Art, but he gave at the same time the rare example of a young, handsome, and brilliant artist, in the possession of true modesty. He soon grew accustomed to the applauses of the masses; they reached his ear, but the poisoned arrows pressed not into his soul.
When Walter had attained his seventeenth year, his master, whom he had long since surpassed, wished that he should make his name known through the civilized world, by extensive travels as an artist. Burg determined to accompany his beloved son, upon his first entrance into the great world. The parting from Christina was very painful; her tears flowed long and fast; she believed she would never see her darling again. Only reiteratedpromises to write to her constantly, could in any degree calm her distressed heart.
The young artist had already earned fame and gold in many of the larger towns, and had made the name of Walter Burg widely and honorably known, when he came into the neighborhood of the scenes of his sad and deserted childhood. Certainly no one there would recognize the poor foundling in the brilliant artist, and he felt the most vivid wish to give a concert in the immediate vicinity of the tailor musician Bopp, and to see him and Maggie again. Burg willingly acceded to his natural request, and the news soon pervaded Geremberg, that the celebrated young artist, Burg, on his journey to Hamburg, would give a concert in the town-hall.
The musicians of the town tuned their instruments, and looked at the music placed before them on their desks. No rehearsal had been given, because Walter Burg had only arrived the very evening upon which the concert was to take place. The town musicians determined to play as well as they could, and if the notes came too thick and fast, youngBurg might himself provide for getting on as well as possible without them. No person divined that the celebrated artist whom they were momentarily expecting, and little Walter, whose early efforts they had often admired, were one and the same person.
Father Bopp sat bent almost double, and held his instrument loosely in his hand; he had grown much thinner, and looked very sad; for with increasing age and poverty his termagant wife burdened him every day more deeply.
The hall was soon full; many people were even standing in the open door, who had no money to take seats within, among whom was Maggie. Walter entered, and the concert began. The good people of Geremberg, even the mayor himself not excepted, had never heard such music before. The enchantment and delight was universally felt; yet we must confess that no slight degree of the enthusiasm manifested was to be attributed as much to the exceeding beauty of the young artist, as to his complete mastery of art.
Walter played a long time alone; the musicianshad all quietly put down their own instruments, and listened attentively to him. Father Bopp wept in the excess of his musical excitement.
The concert at last ended. The mayor hastened to congratulate the young man, to tell him of his astonishment and delight, to ask him to stay as long in Geremberg as he possibly could, and also to try to learn something of his life and connections, for it is always esteemed very interesting to know everything about the destiny of a young artist. To his great astonishment, he found the young man standing beside Father Bopp, and putting into his shabby hat the whole sum taken in at the doors, to which he added a small roll of gold.
"That is too much, sir!" said Bopp; "the expenses for the whole of us together do not amount to as much as that; besides, the truth is, we have scarcely played at all."
"But that is all for yourself, alone," answered the young man. "Father Bopp! can it be possible that you do not recognize me? Yet you yourself gave me my first lessonsupon the violin! Open your eyes a little wider, and look at me full in the face. I am your own little Walter!"
Father Bopp continued to gaze at him, without being able to articulate a single word; his mouth was wide open, his hat fell from his limber hands, while his trembling arms, deprived of all power to move, anxiously sought to stretch themselves towards the noble form of the young artist.
"Indeed, it is true! I am really Walter!" cried Burg, as he threw his arms round the astonished tailor. "Dear, good, kind old Father Bopp! I remember all the pieces which we used to play together, and have become what you always said I would be,—an artist!"
The bewildered astonishment of the old man gave place to the strangest manifestations of the wildest joy. He danced about, he stood on one leg, he laughed, he cried, he threw his arms round Walter, then bounded off to gaze in his face, and again returned to embrace him. Burg was standing in the neighborhood, and witnessed the comic manifestationsof the excited tailor's joy with heartfelt sympathy.
The news that the accomplished young artist was no other than the poor little foundling, who had lived so many years among them, ran through the hall like lightning; it soon reached the outer steps, and the throng who were making their way down them. They all turned back; they crowded round Walter; they renewed their acquaintance with him, and declared they had always known he would make an extraordinary man.
At last Walter was free from their noisy demonstrations. He hastened into his own room, where he found Burg and Father Bopp with Maggie, whom Walter really longed to see. She was quite grown up, looked fresh and healthy, and was delighted to meet her early and loved playmate once more.
While the two old men talked together, the confidence of their childish years was soon re-established between the young people. Walter gently asked Maggie how all went on now at home; to which she answered, sighing, "Just as it used to do in old times."
Conrad was no student, but had become a lazy, useless, worthless fellow, who gave them all a great deal of trouble; but he was still the mother's favorite. Poverty had very much increased upon them; with all her labor, she could scarcely earn enough to support herself; if she could only gain a little spare money to pay the necessary expenses, she would like to be married to their neighbor Peter, whom Walter must remember. Walter consoled her with the hope that he would be able to send her sufficient money to carry out her matrimonial views, as soon as he had earned some more. He was able afterwards to do so; he established Maggie and Peter in a comfortable house, and always supported old Father Bopp. When Bopp and Maggie used to speak of the famous artist, and recounted all the benefits he had showered upon them, then would Mother Bopp cry: "You and he have only me to thank for all these great things; for if I had never driven the boy out of the house, he never could have become what he now is. So you have all a great deal to be grateful to me about!"
standing young woman gazing at a seated young manMAGGIE AND PETER.The first dawning of Love.
MAGGIE AND PETER.The first dawning of Love.
MAGGIE AND PETER.
The first dawning of Love.
After Burg had received from the mayor the clothes which Walter had on when he was first taken from the basket, as well as the clasped locket which had been carefully preserved by the squire, he and Walter sat out on their way to Hamburg. But the interesting events which occurred there will be best learned from a letter which the clock-maker wrote to his affectionate sister Christina.
The Clock-maker Burg to his Sister Christina.Hamburg.My dear Christina:—You write to me that you have awaited the arrival of each of our letters with anxiety and impatience, but that after their reception you have always been happy and joyous. I fully believe you, my true-hearted sister; for all the details I have given you of the development of Walter's character have shown him to be kind and good. His own letters have expressed to you the childlike love which he feels for you, and he has written to you inwhat manner he has been everywhere received, what applause has been showered upon him; and yet you must have seen, from the simple language of his trusting heart, that he has not fallen a prey to vanity, but that he is still the modest and unspoiled youth he was when he parted from you. He has only a proper sense of his own worth; he loves his art, and practises it because he loves it; but his great talents have not made him haughty, presumptuous, or vain; he does not worship himself because he possesses marvellous faculties, the free gifts of his gracious Creator. Yes, my dear Christina! I can truly say, with a joyful heart, that the general and enthusiastic wonder and admiration of applauding throngs have not puffed up our Walter in a vain conceit of himself, but that he gives to God alone the glory!The letters of recommendation and introduction, which were given to us by the Count, Countess, and the chapel-master, have procured for us everywhere a good reception. Especially do we find this to be the case here in Hamburg. But I have already written about this to you, for I now remember that I askedyou, in my last letter, to present our grateful thanks to the Count, particularly for his introduction to the Russian Minister, Count Arnoldi. He is a most accomplished person, and we have been received in his house as if we had been his own relatives. Walter feels himself strangely attracted to this lovely family. The minister is an excellent man, and knows perfectly how to make the best use of his great wealth. Weighty matters of necessary business keep him closely chained to his writing-desk during the greater part of the day; but at his late dinner, and during the evening hours, he is an intellectual and cheerful host. His wife was born in Livonia, and is a refined, cultivated, and lovely lady. As a lover and protector of Art, she not only collects together in her house the most distinguished artists, but has also dedicated it to the encouragement and preservation of their most masterly works. The central point of all her love and care is her daughter, the beautiful Sophie, now twelve years old. The little girl has a remarkable talent for music, and much pains has already been taken with its cultivation. Our Walter,still an innocent child in his pure soul, soon won the sympathy of the beautiful girl, and they are truly attached to each other. When she plays upon the piano, he often accompanies her upon the violin; and, in spite of the little time which he has at his own command after the fulfilment of his various duties, he has already composed several pieces for his little friend. Her parents are so attracted by the elegant manners and unblemished character of our dear son, so much won by his marvellous genius and his youthful beauty, that they willingly encourage the friendship of the two innocent children for each other.We visit every day the house of the Russian Minister, and the ties between the old and the young become hourly stronger. The son and heir of the house—about the same age with our son, and also called "Walter"—makes a remarkable exception to the friendship and love which his parents and his sister have evinced to Walter. Indeed, he seems actually to hate him; and as his manners are exceedingly rough and rude, he has made him feel his dislike in the most wounding manner,upon more than one occasion. His step-mother (for he is a son of the first marriage of the Minister) made the remark, one day, that Walter, our son, and their daughter Sophie, resembled each other very much. The young man laughed, and maliciously remarked: "The love which my mother cherishes for music could alone induce her to see such a likeness; for how is it possible that the only daughter of the rich Minister should resemble a travelling artist, who is only the son of a common clock-maker?""Why not?" answered the lady, quickly. "Beauty and refinement resemble each other, in whomsoever they may be found, as well as coarseness and vulgarity; therefore, I would not be at all astonished if some one should remark a strong resemblance between the only son of the Minister and the boy of one of his peasants!"The young man blushed crimson; and, looking most maliciously at his step-mother and Walter, left the apartment, with a threatening gesture at our darling, who had heard nothingof all this, as he was talking quite unconcernedly with Sophie in the deep embrasure of one of the large windows.The lady of the house made the most graceful apologies to me about what had just occurred, and, with tears in her large eyes, said: "The invincible roughness and vulgar pride of this unendurable boy embitter my whole life, and are preparing a coffin for the noble form of my excellent husband. They seem to be an ineradicable consequence of his early education. How happy are you in the possession of such a son! Let us be candid: we envy you the possession of such a treasure!"You will probably think, my dear sister, that it would be far better for me to relate all this to you, if I were quietly seated by your side, in our own sweet home; and that it would be far more agreeable if I were to write to you only of our own dear Walter, and of his brilliant musical triumphs, than of the malicious and unpolished son of the Minister. You would be right in this decision, and I would not have written all this to you, if I did not think it was all necessary as an introductionto the weighty events which I am forced to impart to you. Yes, my dear, my true-hearted sister! your tender heart will be filled with joy, and yet your soft blue eyes may shed many tears. Hear, then, my pure-hearted one, all that has occurred. May God himself stand by you with his precious grace, and enable you to bear the heavy hours in which all selfishness, even of the highest and noblest kind, must be subjected to a fearful proof! May your self-sacrificing love for Walter enable you to endure all!I had appointed the next day for our departure. Walter did not object to it, although he confessed to me that the separation from the Arnoldi family would be very painful to him, because he loved them—he knew not why—from the very bottom of his heart. I pointed him to the brilliancy of his prospects in the future. He acknowledged that his career was full of hope; yet but slightly consoled he accompanied me, towards evening, to the house of the Minister, who had invited all the friends of the young artist together, to spend the last evening with him ata parting festival in his own house. I hoped that the younger Arnoldi, who greatly prefers card-playing to the most excellent music, would be, as usual, not at home. But it was not so. He was there upon our arrival, and seemed to me to be in a worse humor than ever with our innocent son. He took his place in the deep recess of one of the windows, and I soon remarked that, from behind the half-veiling curtain, he watched every movement made by Walter with a malicious and suspicious air. We were received with the greatest cordiality and affection by all the invited guests, and the different members of the family of the Minister. When the Minister himself asked his daughter to open the piano, and play for the last time with the young artist, tears rushed to the bright eyes and rolled down the rosy cheeks of the beautiful child. At the very moment that Walter and she commenced their duet, a violent and stormy verbal discussion began at the door of the music-room. The loud and shrill tones of a woman's voice were heard far above the instruments, fiercely demanding entrance. Aftera moment's delay, the door was thrown open; and, in spite of the servants, who were struggling to hold her back, a tall and powerful woman forced herself into the parlor. The Minister moved forward to meet her, and said sternly: "What is the meaning of this strange insolence? If you have really urgent business with me,—if it is necessary that you should yourself have an interview with me,—come to me early to-morrow morning, at a more suitable time. If your business, however, is very pressing, you may follow me now into another apartment."The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment, and looked half-confused round the room; but, rapidly regaining her self-possession, she said, defiantly: "They will no more admit me to your presence to-morrow than they did yesterday and the day before! The command of the young lord, as the people call him, that your servants should set the dogs upon me to drive me away,—should beat me from your door,—has made me raging mad. He needn't think that I am so much afraid of their blows! He had betternot threaten me too far! Now I am determined to speak out the whole truth! Have you quite forgotten me, Minister Arnoldi? I am Martha Meyer. I am the daughter of the Meyer to whose care you intrusted your son, nearly eighteen years ago.""Very well! very well, my good woman!" said the Minister, considerably mollified; "it is very natural and very kind in you to come sometimes to visit your old charge. To-morrow morning I will be disengaged, and I will then see what I can do to help you. Go down now into the servant's hall. I will give orders that you shall be well taken care of. Walter, lead the foster-sister of your childhood out, and see that she is supplied with all she needs!"The young man looked very much agitated, and, as he stepped from behind his sheltering curtain, he seized the woman by the arm, and was about to hurry her out. But she loosened her arm from his rough grasp, and screamed out with her whole force: "This is not your own son, Minister Arnoldi, but my brother, Peter Meyer, whohas been thrust upon you! He knows it himself well enough, but he has no compassion upon us at all; he leaves us in want and poverty, and when I came just now to beg him for assistance, he pretended not to recognize me, threatened to complain of me to the police, and have me driven from the city. He ordered the servants to set the dogs upon me, and to lash me out of the house if I ever suffered myself to be seen here again!""Cursed liar!" cried the young man, who had in vain tried to hold his hands before the mouth of the angry woman, and thus arrest the stormy flow of her injurious words.She succeeded, however, in holding him at arm's length from her person, while she continued to shriek: "So, so; I am a liar, am I? Now that you have openly defied me, I will tell the whole story. Minister Arnoldi, my own blessed mother, may God forgive her! imposed this beggar upon you as your child! He is, however, her own son! Your boy Walter she exposed at night to be taken care of as a foundling! I can bring certainproof of all I assert!—Set the dogs upon me, indeed! My own brother, too!"These words fell like a stroke of thunder upon all who were present. The astonished guests gathered together in the background; Madame Arnoldi clasped her daughter anxiously in her arms, as if she feared some one would tear her away from her; and the Minister exclaimed, in a tone stifled by emotion: "Proofs! proofs! I must have full and certain proofs of this horrible story."My dear, dearest sister! I know your tender heart is beating fast; that your eyes are too full of tears to see clearly, and that, trembling with fear and excitement, you are striving to read on! I, too, suffered intensely. I grasped my Walter's hand as if I was determined never to give him up. Alas! My throbbing heart rapidly divined the truth, but it was no time for me to speak, for the angry woman rapidly proceeded in her strange narration."My mother, seduced by your wealth, determined that her darling little Peter should be your heir. In order to carry out thisscheme, she commanded me one day, shortly after the death of my father, to get little Walter ready, for that she intended to take him to another town at a considerable distance, and place him with her aunt as her own Peter, while she intended to make the real Peter pass as your Walter. She concluded, however, afterwards to alter her plan. She made me write a letter, recommending the child to the compassion of all men. As I saw her sew this paper tight upon the dress of the little boy, I thought it more than probable that she would not take him as far as her aunt's. I pitied the beautiful child sorely, for I could not help loving him; but I was dreadfully afraid of my mother, and I did not dare to refuse to do as she told me. I fastened securely and secretly around Walter the locket which you had hung on his neck when you parted from him; and when my mother asked for it, I told her that Peter had had it to play with, and had thrown it into the well. Every word I have spoken is true. I can tell you where your own son is,—for I soon found out what my mother haddone with him, and have always, without exciting any suspicion, kept myself fully informed about the fate of your forsaken boy. The well-known clock-maker Burg, now residing in D——, has adopted him as his own son!"You must have already divined, my poor Christina, that this announcement was coming: imagine what an impression these words must have made on all the by-standers! "Burg! Walter Burg!" was echoed and reechoed from every quarter of the room."Walter Burg is here!" cried Madame Arnoldi, suddenly, as she seized the cold hand of our almost benumbed darling. "Father, here,—here is indeed your son!""If he is," cried the woman, "he must produce the locket."Walter trembled from head to foot as he produced that dear possession, which you know he has worn upon his heart ever since he left Geremberg.Arnoldi recognized it instantly!"It is a false imitation, only made to ruin me!" said the unhappy young man, whomthe events of the last five minutes had transformed to a beggar.The Minister touched the spring, which was only known to himself, the locket sprang open, and suffered the picture of a beautiful woman to be seen. It was Walter's mother! Doubt was no longer possible."My son! my forsaken son!" cried the Minister."Our son! our artist son!" said his wife."My brother! my own dear brother!" exclaimed Sophie.Six loving arms embraced the bewildered, happy, rich, and noble Walter!And I? Ah, Christina! my dear sister! I drew back into a quiet corner, buried my face in my hands, while the hot tears coursed their rapid way down my cheeks, and tried to reprove my weak, selfish, foolish heart, which whispered ever to me: "Poor, poor father! you have no longer a son! For the rich son of the Minister you can do nothing more! He is yours no longer!"I must confess, my heart, that this was very selfish! It was human, indeed, but notChristian. Did we bring up Walter so carefully only for ourselves? Have we loved him solely because he made us happy, and not for his own sweet sake? Who should rejoice over his present good fortune more than we? For although we love him so very dearly, yet nothing in this world can possibly replace the love of tender parents, the affection of brothers and sisters! Therefore, Christina, we will rejoice with our dear Walter from the very depths of our hearts! We will humbly thank the Merciful One that he chose us to shelter his early life, to keep him pure from evil, and to turn his young and grateful soul to the worship of his God! This happiness we have enjoyed in its purity; it will accompany us to our latest hour; its memory will never cease to refresh and console us.My good, my pious, my beloved sister! I call upon you in this hour to make with me this heavy yet righteous sacrifice; for it is our duty to give back the blessed names, which make the heart happy, of father and mother, into the hands of those who claim them by the divine right of nature.After the first intense excitement had subsided, after Walter, in the arms of his parents and amid the tender caresses of his lovely sister, had somewhat regained his bewildered consciousness, the first thought of his true heart was for me! He tore himself free from their clasping arms; he hastened to me, threw himself upon my heart, and said, as he wept: "Father Burg! O, say you will still be my father! O, what would have become of me if you had not taken pity upon me? Happy, happy man that I am! I have now two fathers and two mothers!""Yes, and a sister that loves you too!" said little Sophie.Now you see, my dear Christina, that Walter will still remain our son!I am very much tired, for these scenes have been full of excitement for my heart. This long letter has also wearied me, and the fear of distressing you, my dear, true sister, has so exhausted me, that I do not feel able to write to you a description of the never-ending joy-festivals of the family of Arnoldi. I will relate all this better to you by word of mouth,for I will follow this letter almost immediately, and I will bring you as many guests as your little house can well hold,—the Minister, his wife, his daughter, and his and our son.Yes, my Christina! you shall soon again clasp the happy Walter to your true heart; you shall soon learn to know the dear ones to whom he now justly belongs; you shall receive the earnest thanks of his grateful father for your holy care of the forsaken orphan; while the beings with whom it has been the pleasure of God to place us in such relations shall learn to esteem and honor your gentle virtues!Will you not, after a few natural tears, my Christina, rejoice with us all in Walter's good fortune?I will come the day before the arrival of our guests, so that I soon hope to hold you to my heart!God be ever with you, my beloved sister!Your loving brother,Christian Burg.
The Clock-maker Burg to his Sister Christina.
Hamburg.
My dear Christina:—
You write to me that you have awaited the arrival of each of our letters with anxiety and impatience, but that after their reception you have always been happy and joyous. I fully believe you, my true-hearted sister; for all the details I have given you of the development of Walter's character have shown him to be kind and good. His own letters have expressed to you the childlike love which he feels for you, and he has written to you inwhat manner he has been everywhere received, what applause has been showered upon him; and yet you must have seen, from the simple language of his trusting heart, that he has not fallen a prey to vanity, but that he is still the modest and unspoiled youth he was when he parted from you. He has only a proper sense of his own worth; he loves his art, and practises it because he loves it; but his great talents have not made him haughty, presumptuous, or vain; he does not worship himself because he possesses marvellous faculties, the free gifts of his gracious Creator. Yes, my dear Christina! I can truly say, with a joyful heart, that the general and enthusiastic wonder and admiration of applauding throngs have not puffed up our Walter in a vain conceit of himself, but that he gives to God alone the glory!
The letters of recommendation and introduction, which were given to us by the Count, Countess, and the chapel-master, have procured for us everywhere a good reception. Especially do we find this to be the case here in Hamburg. But I have already written about this to you, for I now remember that I askedyou, in my last letter, to present our grateful thanks to the Count, particularly for his introduction to the Russian Minister, Count Arnoldi. He is a most accomplished person, and we have been received in his house as if we had been his own relatives. Walter feels himself strangely attracted to this lovely family. The minister is an excellent man, and knows perfectly how to make the best use of his great wealth. Weighty matters of necessary business keep him closely chained to his writing-desk during the greater part of the day; but at his late dinner, and during the evening hours, he is an intellectual and cheerful host. His wife was born in Livonia, and is a refined, cultivated, and lovely lady. As a lover and protector of Art, she not only collects together in her house the most distinguished artists, but has also dedicated it to the encouragement and preservation of their most masterly works. The central point of all her love and care is her daughter, the beautiful Sophie, now twelve years old. The little girl has a remarkable talent for music, and much pains has already been taken with its cultivation. Our Walter,still an innocent child in his pure soul, soon won the sympathy of the beautiful girl, and they are truly attached to each other. When she plays upon the piano, he often accompanies her upon the violin; and, in spite of the little time which he has at his own command after the fulfilment of his various duties, he has already composed several pieces for his little friend. Her parents are so attracted by the elegant manners and unblemished character of our dear son, so much won by his marvellous genius and his youthful beauty, that they willingly encourage the friendship of the two innocent children for each other.
We visit every day the house of the Russian Minister, and the ties between the old and the young become hourly stronger. The son and heir of the house—about the same age with our son, and also called "Walter"—makes a remarkable exception to the friendship and love which his parents and his sister have evinced to Walter. Indeed, he seems actually to hate him; and as his manners are exceedingly rough and rude, he has made him feel his dislike in the most wounding manner,upon more than one occasion. His step-mother (for he is a son of the first marriage of the Minister) made the remark, one day, that Walter, our son, and their daughter Sophie, resembled each other very much. The young man laughed, and maliciously remarked: "The love which my mother cherishes for music could alone induce her to see such a likeness; for how is it possible that the only daughter of the rich Minister should resemble a travelling artist, who is only the son of a common clock-maker?"
"Why not?" answered the lady, quickly. "Beauty and refinement resemble each other, in whomsoever they may be found, as well as coarseness and vulgarity; therefore, I would not be at all astonished if some one should remark a strong resemblance between the only son of the Minister and the boy of one of his peasants!"
The young man blushed crimson; and, looking most maliciously at his step-mother and Walter, left the apartment, with a threatening gesture at our darling, who had heard nothingof all this, as he was talking quite unconcernedly with Sophie in the deep embrasure of one of the large windows.
The lady of the house made the most graceful apologies to me about what had just occurred, and, with tears in her large eyes, said: "The invincible roughness and vulgar pride of this unendurable boy embitter my whole life, and are preparing a coffin for the noble form of my excellent husband. They seem to be an ineradicable consequence of his early education. How happy are you in the possession of such a son! Let us be candid: we envy you the possession of such a treasure!"
You will probably think, my dear sister, that it would be far better for me to relate all this to you, if I were quietly seated by your side, in our own sweet home; and that it would be far more agreeable if I were to write to you only of our own dear Walter, and of his brilliant musical triumphs, than of the malicious and unpolished son of the Minister. You would be right in this decision, and I would not have written all this to you, if I did not think it was all necessary as an introductionto the weighty events which I am forced to impart to you. Yes, my dear, my true-hearted sister! your tender heart will be filled with joy, and yet your soft blue eyes may shed many tears. Hear, then, my pure-hearted one, all that has occurred. May God himself stand by you with his precious grace, and enable you to bear the heavy hours in which all selfishness, even of the highest and noblest kind, must be subjected to a fearful proof! May your self-sacrificing love for Walter enable you to endure all!
I had appointed the next day for our departure. Walter did not object to it, although he confessed to me that the separation from the Arnoldi family would be very painful to him, because he loved them—he knew not why—from the very bottom of his heart. I pointed him to the brilliancy of his prospects in the future. He acknowledged that his career was full of hope; yet but slightly consoled he accompanied me, towards evening, to the house of the Minister, who had invited all the friends of the young artist together, to spend the last evening with him ata parting festival in his own house. I hoped that the younger Arnoldi, who greatly prefers card-playing to the most excellent music, would be, as usual, not at home. But it was not so. He was there upon our arrival, and seemed to me to be in a worse humor than ever with our innocent son. He took his place in the deep recess of one of the windows, and I soon remarked that, from behind the half-veiling curtain, he watched every movement made by Walter with a malicious and suspicious air. We were received with the greatest cordiality and affection by all the invited guests, and the different members of the family of the Minister. When the Minister himself asked his daughter to open the piano, and play for the last time with the young artist, tears rushed to the bright eyes and rolled down the rosy cheeks of the beautiful child. At the very moment that Walter and she commenced their duet, a violent and stormy verbal discussion began at the door of the music-room. The loud and shrill tones of a woman's voice were heard far above the instruments, fiercely demanding entrance. Aftera moment's delay, the door was thrown open; and, in spite of the servants, who were struggling to hold her back, a tall and powerful woman forced herself into the parlor. The Minister moved forward to meet her, and said sternly: "What is the meaning of this strange insolence? If you have really urgent business with me,—if it is necessary that you should yourself have an interview with me,—come to me early to-morrow morning, at a more suitable time. If your business, however, is very pressing, you may follow me now into another apartment."
The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment, and looked half-confused round the room; but, rapidly regaining her self-possession, she said, defiantly: "They will no more admit me to your presence to-morrow than they did yesterday and the day before! The command of the young lord, as the people call him, that your servants should set the dogs upon me to drive me away,—should beat me from your door,—has made me raging mad. He needn't think that I am so much afraid of their blows! He had betternot threaten me too far! Now I am determined to speak out the whole truth! Have you quite forgotten me, Minister Arnoldi? I am Martha Meyer. I am the daughter of the Meyer to whose care you intrusted your son, nearly eighteen years ago."
"Very well! very well, my good woman!" said the Minister, considerably mollified; "it is very natural and very kind in you to come sometimes to visit your old charge. To-morrow morning I will be disengaged, and I will then see what I can do to help you. Go down now into the servant's hall. I will give orders that you shall be well taken care of. Walter, lead the foster-sister of your childhood out, and see that she is supplied with all she needs!"
The young man looked very much agitated, and, as he stepped from behind his sheltering curtain, he seized the woman by the arm, and was about to hurry her out. But she loosened her arm from his rough grasp, and screamed out with her whole force: "This is not your own son, Minister Arnoldi, but my brother, Peter Meyer, whohas been thrust upon you! He knows it himself well enough, but he has no compassion upon us at all; he leaves us in want and poverty, and when I came just now to beg him for assistance, he pretended not to recognize me, threatened to complain of me to the police, and have me driven from the city. He ordered the servants to set the dogs upon me, and to lash me out of the house if I ever suffered myself to be seen here again!"
"Cursed liar!" cried the young man, who had in vain tried to hold his hands before the mouth of the angry woman, and thus arrest the stormy flow of her injurious words.
She succeeded, however, in holding him at arm's length from her person, while she continued to shriek: "So, so; I am a liar, am I? Now that you have openly defied me, I will tell the whole story. Minister Arnoldi, my own blessed mother, may God forgive her! imposed this beggar upon you as your child! He is, however, her own son! Your boy Walter she exposed at night to be taken care of as a foundling! I can bring certainproof of all I assert!—Set the dogs upon me, indeed! My own brother, too!"
These words fell like a stroke of thunder upon all who were present. The astonished guests gathered together in the background; Madame Arnoldi clasped her daughter anxiously in her arms, as if she feared some one would tear her away from her; and the Minister exclaimed, in a tone stifled by emotion: "Proofs! proofs! I must have full and certain proofs of this horrible story."
My dear, dearest sister! I know your tender heart is beating fast; that your eyes are too full of tears to see clearly, and that, trembling with fear and excitement, you are striving to read on! I, too, suffered intensely. I grasped my Walter's hand as if I was determined never to give him up. Alas! My throbbing heart rapidly divined the truth, but it was no time for me to speak, for the angry woman rapidly proceeded in her strange narration.
"My mother, seduced by your wealth, determined that her darling little Peter should be your heir. In order to carry out thisscheme, she commanded me one day, shortly after the death of my father, to get little Walter ready, for that she intended to take him to another town at a considerable distance, and place him with her aunt as her own Peter, while she intended to make the real Peter pass as your Walter. She concluded, however, afterwards to alter her plan. She made me write a letter, recommending the child to the compassion of all men. As I saw her sew this paper tight upon the dress of the little boy, I thought it more than probable that she would not take him as far as her aunt's. I pitied the beautiful child sorely, for I could not help loving him; but I was dreadfully afraid of my mother, and I did not dare to refuse to do as she told me. I fastened securely and secretly around Walter the locket which you had hung on his neck when you parted from him; and when my mother asked for it, I told her that Peter had had it to play with, and had thrown it into the well. Every word I have spoken is true. I can tell you where your own son is,—for I soon found out what my mother haddone with him, and have always, without exciting any suspicion, kept myself fully informed about the fate of your forsaken boy. The well-known clock-maker Burg, now residing in D——, has adopted him as his own son!"
You must have already divined, my poor Christina, that this announcement was coming: imagine what an impression these words must have made on all the by-standers! "Burg! Walter Burg!" was echoed and reechoed from every quarter of the room.
"Walter Burg is here!" cried Madame Arnoldi, suddenly, as she seized the cold hand of our almost benumbed darling. "Father, here,—here is indeed your son!"
"If he is," cried the woman, "he must produce the locket."
Walter trembled from head to foot as he produced that dear possession, which you know he has worn upon his heart ever since he left Geremberg.
Arnoldi recognized it instantly!
"It is a false imitation, only made to ruin me!" said the unhappy young man, whomthe events of the last five minutes had transformed to a beggar.
The Minister touched the spring, which was only known to himself, the locket sprang open, and suffered the picture of a beautiful woman to be seen. It was Walter's mother! Doubt was no longer possible.
"My son! my forsaken son!" cried the Minister.
"Our son! our artist son!" said his wife.
"My brother! my own dear brother!" exclaimed Sophie.
Six loving arms embraced the bewildered, happy, rich, and noble Walter!
And I? Ah, Christina! my dear sister! I drew back into a quiet corner, buried my face in my hands, while the hot tears coursed their rapid way down my cheeks, and tried to reprove my weak, selfish, foolish heart, which whispered ever to me: "Poor, poor father! you have no longer a son! For the rich son of the Minister you can do nothing more! He is yours no longer!"
I must confess, my heart, that this was very selfish! It was human, indeed, but notChristian. Did we bring up Walter so carefully only for ourselves? Have we loved him solely because he made us happy, and not for his own sweet sake? Who should rejoice over his present good fortune more than we? For although we love him so very dearly, yet nothing in this world can possibly replace the love of tender parents, the affection of brothers and sisters! Therefore, Christina, we will rejoice with our dear Walter from the very depths of our hearts! We will humbly thank the Merciful One that he chose us to shelter his early life, to keep him pure from evil, and to turn his young and grateful soul to the worship of his God! This happiness we have enjoyed in its purity; it will accompany us to our latest hour; its memory will never cease to refresh and console us.
My good, my pious, my beloved sister! I call upon you in this hour to make with me this heavy yet righteous sacrifice; for it is our duty to give back the blessed names, which make the heart happy, of father and mother, into the hands of those who claim them by the divine right of nature.
After the first intense excitement had subsided, after Walter, in the arms of his parents and amid the tender caresses of his lovely sister, had somewhat regained his bewildered consciousness, the first thought of his true heart was for me! He tore himself free from their clasping arms; he hastened to me, threw himself upon my heart, and said, as he wept: "Father Burg! O, say you will still be my father! O, what would have become of me if you had not taken pity upon me? Happy, happy man that I am! I have now two fathers and two mothers!"
"Yes, and a sister that loves you too!" said little Sophie.
Now you see, my dear Christina, that Walter will still remain our son!
I am very much tired, for these scenes have been full of excitement for my heart. This long letter has also wearied me, and the fear of distressing you, my dear, true sister, has so exhausted me, that I do not feel able to write to you a description of the never-ending joy-festivals of the family of Arnoldi. I will relate all this better to you by word of mouth,for I will follow this letter almost immediately, and I will bring you as many guests as your little house can well hold,—the Minister, his wife, his daughter, and his and our son.
Yes, my Christina! you shall soon again clasp the happy Walter to your true heart; you shall soon learn to know the dear ones to whom he now justly belongs; you shall receive the earnest thanks of his grateful father for your holy care of the forsaken orphan; while the beings with whom it has been the pleasure of God to place us in such relations shall learn to esteem and honor your gentle virtues!
Will you not, after a few natural tears, my Christina, rejoice with us all in Walter's good fortune?
I will come the day before the arrival of our guests, so that I soon hope to hold you to my heart!
God be ever with you, my beloved sister!
Your loving brother,
Christian Burg.
The Minister Arnoldi lived in St. Petersburg, where he had inherited a handsome property. As his young wife became quite sickly there, by the advice of her physician he took her to Germany. But it was only for a short time that he was allowed to cherish a hope of her ultimate recovery there. The young wife was seized with a most depressing attack of home-sickness; he was forced to yield to her wishes, and, notwithstanding the advanced season of the year, to commence with the poor sufferer their trying journey home. When they had arrived at one of the little towns in the North of Germany, her situation became so critical that it was found impossible to continue their homeward route, and soon after he wept beside the coffin of his young spouse. After she had presented him with a son, she slumbered softly on, until her sleep became the long and dreamless one of death. The poor widower, with his helpless orphan in his arms, stood, without counsel or friends, by the early grave of his wife. It was late in the autumn; the weather was cold and stormy; how could he ventureto undertake such an unpleasant journey with his new-born and delicate infant. No choice remained to him but to adopt the means often taken in large cities for the nursing and bringing up of little children; he trusted his greatest treasure, his only and darling son, to the wife of a peasant. She was to be his wet-nurse, and to assume the whole charge of the infant. The pastor of the parish promised to keep an attentive eye upon the child, and the woman was to receive through him a rich reward for her trouble. Before Arnoldi parted from his little Walter, he hung a locket containing a picture of his mother round his neck, and, oppressed with anxiety and pain, he set out on his lonely journey home.
The deception and cruel desertion of the woman are already known to the reader. If it had not been for the sudden death of the worthy pastor, it would have been impossible for her to have carried such a wicked scheme into execution. She passed off Peter as Walter Arnoldi, and told the neighbors that she had taken her own child to her sister, because the boys disliked each other, and were constantly quarrelling.
Years passed on. Arnoldi was constantly occupied in the most important business, and, as he feared the effect of a change of climate upon the constitution of his son, he thought it best for the boy to be permitted to remain with his nurse, who constantly gave the most encouraging accounts of his increasing strength and of his unbroken good health. Besides, Arnoldi had married again, and was very happy in his second union, while the birth of a daughter placed the memory of the son whom he had never known still more in the background. After he had taken a house and settled himself finally in Hamburg, he sent a faithful servant to bring home his only son. He was almost frightened when the ugly, awkward, rough, little boy was presented to him as his child. He reproached himself bitterly with having left him so long in such rough hands, and sought through redoubled love and attention to compensate for the time he had permitted him to be with entire strangers. But all his care and trouble availed but little; his son assumed, indeed, the outward form of refined society, but his mind continuedrough and unformed. Lazy and idle for all mental effort, he was very cunning and skilful in reaching his own low aims. His sister had told him on his departure who he really was, and that it was his duty to send her plenty of money as a reward for keeping his secret. He thought it proper to do this at first, but he soon gave it up. Thereupon, she threatened him to disclose all, and he again sent her money. At last, she received nothing but the advice to trouble him no more. This seemed to awaken Martha's long slumbering conscience. Being once on a visit at D——, she heard accidentally that the clock-maker Burg had adopted a child who had been exposed and deserted at Geremburg. She now knew where the little boy, whom she had left in possession of the locket, was to be found. She visited Hamburg with the intention of getting money from her brother, by constantly threatening to betray his secret to the Minister. She did not know that Walter was then in Hamburg. The harsh reception given her by her brother irritated her almost to madness, so that she betrayed more than she had any intentionof doing. But that beneficent God, from whom no secrets are hidden, had arranged it in such a manner that all who were concerned were to meet at the proper time and place.
The Minister was so overjoyed at the turn things had taken, that he never thought of inflicting any punishment. He rewarded Martha liberally for her late confession, and promised to Peter Meyer (who devoutly persisted in saying that he had not believed a single word of Martha's story, and that, until he saw the miniature inclosed in the locket, he thought that he was truly Walter Arnoldi) a considerable capital, which was to be paid out to him as soon as he should have mastered any available business, or was willing to commence any reputable occupation.
Peter, who now plainly saw that he was forced to relinquish all his hopes as heir, promised to be more industrious; and as he evinced an inclination to go to sea, he was intrusted with a situation on a trading-vessel which had once belonged to the Minister.
Walter became, as was to be expected, anartist of the highest fame, and many celebrated performers were formed in his school. He preserved his childlike love and reverence for his adopted parents to the hour of their death; he passed a certain portion of every year in the neat little house in which he had spent the happiest days of his childhood. The pious brother and sister gave their property at their death to the poor; but Walter had purchased, during their lifetime, the house and garden, with all the clocks and pieces of exquisite mechanism, and founded an institution, of which it was one of the conditions that everything within the beloved inclosure of Christina's garden, everything within the walls of her quiet home, should remain for ever undisturbed,—consecrated to the honor and sacred to the memory of Christina and Christian Burg!