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In
the chief town of the province a great festival was being celebrated. The light
streamed forth from thousands of lamps, and the rockets shot upwards towards the
sky, filling the air with showers of colored fiery sparks. A record of this
bright display will live in the memory of man, for through it the pupil in the
military school was in tears and sorrow. He had dared to attempt to reach
foreign territories unnoticed, and must therefore give up fatherland, mother,
his dearest friends, all, or sink down into the stream of common
life.
The old church bell had still some comfort; it stood in the shelter
of the church wall in Marbach, once so elevated, now quite forgotten. The wind
roared around it, and could have readily related the story of its origin and of
its sweet chimes, and the wind could also tell of him to whom he had brought
fresh air when, in the woods of a neighboring country, he had sunk down
exhausted with fatigue, with no other worldly possessions than hope for the
future, and a written leaf from "Fiesco."
The wind could have told that
his only protector was an artist, who, by reading each leaf to him, made it
plain; and that they amused themselves by playing at nine-pins together. The
wind could also describe the pale fugitive, who, for weeks and months, lay in a
wretched little road-side inn, where the landlord got drunk and raved, and where
the merry-makers had it all their own way. And he, the pale fugitive, sang of
the ideal. For many heavy days and dark nights the heart must suffer to enable
it to endure trial and temptation; yet, amidst it all, would the minstrel
sing.
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