In the World
The funeral of the organist and music master, Johann Christoph Bach, was
marked by all the ceremony becoming the burial of an excellent man, a
faithful servant of the church and school, and an accomplished musician.
The mourners returned from the churchyard, speaking with subdued voices.
They were plain, earnest men, clad in simple black coats, long-skirted
waistcoats over short knee-breeches and stockings, and buckled shoes.
They also wore the three-pointed hat over a small periwig.
Arrived at the house, those not belonging to the family took their
departure after a few words of condolence, but the relatives entered and
assembled in the sitting-room of the deceased around the old black
family-table, which had been made ready for such business as it might be
necessary for them to settle before they separated. This did not take
long. The joint bequest, very moderate in amount, fell to the five sons
of the deceased, to be divided at a fitting time. The principal
difficulty was to decide as to the further care and education of the
little Johann Sebastian; but they were spared any trouble on his
account, for they had hardly begun to consider the question when
Sebastian, who had been sitting in the window looking at the funeral
hymn, arose, and decorously advanced to the table.
“Dear cousins,” he boldly began, looking round the circle with large,
bright eyes, “do not trouble yourselves about me. I am in my fourteenth
year and am old enough to take care of myself hereafter. I thank my dead
brother for all the love and kindness which he bestowed upon me to the
very end, but I am not willing longer to be a burden to anyone; I shall
leave this good home as early as possible to-morrow to seek my fortunes
elsewhere. I beg you to give me the organ compositions which Johann
Christoph took away from me, likewise the old box with my
christening-money, together with your blessing, and let me go in peace.”
All present were greatly astonished at the boy’s bold little speech, and
there was silence in the room for a time. It was broken by the most
prominent one in the circle, Johann Valentin, eldest son of George
Christoph, cantor at Schweinfurt, who said: “Your statement greatly
astonishes us, dear Johann Sebastian; you are not yet of age nor able to
earn a living by the practice of our beloved music. Tell us what your
plans are and how you expect to support yourself. Your little
christening-money will not go far.”
“My first move will be to the city of Lüneburg,” said the boy, with
confidence, “where I hope to take lessons from the great organist, Böhm.
My friend Erdmann, who has a kind uncle living there, goes to him
to-morrow, and will take me with him and introduce me to him. I have a
good singing voice and an excellent method, so I expect I shall easily
secure a position as chorister and thus provide for the ordinary
expenses of life. In case of extreme need, my friend Erdmann has
promised me his uncle’s assistance.”
Johann Valentin replied: “Our family, honorably known as the Bachs, are
of a contented spirit by nature, and have always been so well satisfied
with their fatherland and their circumstances that, with the exception
of your brother, Johann Jakob, none of them until now has desired to
seek service and fortune outside of Thuringia. The Bachs until now have
considered the approbation of their superiors and of their native places
as more desirable than the quest for fame at great trouble and expense
among jealous strangers. Are you now to be an exception, dear Johann
Sebastian? Do you not believe one can become a good organist here, one
well pleasing to God and man, and live here contented with his position?
Your good father, Johann Ambrosius, I think, set you a commendable
example. How is it then that you alone have this restlessness and this
inordinate desire to associate with so-called ‘great musicians’? Oh, my
dear Johann Sebastian, music is not a mere matter of show and glory; it
is a solemn reality. It is of little consequence whether the world hears
of us, so that we strive with all our might that God may hear us and
recognize our simple art.”
“What you say, cousin,” replied Sebastian, with an earnestness not often
found in one so young, “is as true as gold, and yet I cannot longer
remain satisfied with what our family has thus far accomplished. What I
mean is, that the Bachs should not continuously learn only from the
Bachs. They must go out into the world. Every master craftsman lets his
son go among strangers so that he may learn some other master’s style
and ways, and thus improve, or, as it were, bring fresh blood into his
workmanship. Painters and sculptors go to Italy, where there are good
masters and teachers, and infuse new life into their artistic work at
home; while musicians alone sit immovable in their little organ-lofts
and hear no one but themselves. There is no progress in that. And it is
because I believe all this that I am determined to travel and try to
study in other places and among other people, to hear good musicians,
and to learn from them what I need to learn.”
The boy’s eyes glistened and his cheeks reddened as he spoke. He grew
more and more excited as he proceeded, until at last he was well-nigh
breathless. Finally, he ceased and looked around the circle, awaiting a
gracious answer. But the cousins were also silent, and looked at each
other as if paralyzed by the boy’s passionate utterances, until at last
Johann Ernst, Johann Christoph’s eldest son, expressed the sentiment of
the family, and said, in a tone of the deepest conviction, “It is only
pride and the craving for empty honors that have induced you to leave
here.”
“That is not so,” replied Sebastian, excitedly. “I am striving for the
same ends as you, only in my own way. If I master my art, I will elevate
and improve sacred music in a worthy and judicious manner; I will play
for the praise of the Lord. I will walk honestly, as did my blessed
father. If I seek other ends than these may someone shatter my
instrument, for I shall no longer be worthy to touch the consecrated
keys.”
It was no longer a boy who spoke, but a young man, who had seriously
considered his art and who was determined nothing should turn him from
the right way to the highest achievements.
As such a youth the Bachs at last recognized him. After a whispered
consultation the eldest voiced the final decision: “We have agreed, dear
Johann Sebastian, to let you go the way you have chosen, hoping and
praying it may end well; we have the utmost confidence in the sincerity
of your purpose, and as for the rest we leave you in the Almighty’s
hands. Forget not, among strangers, who you are and where you belong.
We, the elders, will remain here, and when you return to the dear
Thuringian land, come as a true Bach, as an able and pious musician, as
a worthy son of your brave, faithful father.”
“I promise you all solemnly to do so,” said Sebastian, with deep
emotion, as he extended his hand to each cousin, beginning with
Valentin. They shook it warmly and firmly, as a mark of conciliation,
and then Johann Valentin took a gulden from his little purse, as did all
the others, and handed the modest sum to the blushing boy as his
travel-money. They also gave him the tin savings-box with the
christening-money, and beside this his well-earned manuscript, an
autograph motet[9] of his dead brother’s (“Lord, if I have only Thee”)
for five voices, with the fundamental bass, and finally added to his
brother’s bequest a violin (not the supposed Amati), as well as the bow
and case, so that the little traveller “may have the opportunity further
to perfect himself on this instrument.”
Then they dismissed the boy, who was overcome with joy and gratitude, to
give him time to make his simple plans for the journey. He rushed out as
if beside himself with happiness, which was still further intensified by
the appearance of his true friend Erdmann at the door, whom he embraced
without any regard to the parcels in his arms.
“Erdmann, dearest Erdmann,” he shouted, scarcely lowering his voice, “I
am free! I am going with you, God be praised!”
“Have they really let you go, and with their free consent?” said the
astonished Erdmann.
“With their free consent,” replied Sebastian. “At first they hesitated.
They thought it improper for a Bach to go among strangers and to wish to
study with other masters, but I argued so stoutly against that view, and
defended my plans so earnestly, that at last they trusted me and gave
their consent with many good wishes. They also contributed an ample sum
of travel-money, and gave me this violin and a composition as a
remembrance of my dead brother,—but, oh, I could have remembered him
without that.” And the great spiritual eyes of the boy glistened with
rising emotion.
“Now all goes well,” said Erdmann. “Your cousins have taken the right
view of the case. You are free, and nothing can prevent you from
becoming a great musician—greater than all the Bachs, big and little,
before you.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Sebastian, trembling with joy; “but when shall we
start?”
“The first thing in the morning. We have a good conveyance to Gotha and
day after to-morrow to Mühlhausen. Bring your baggage this evening to
the Black Bear and be there yourself to-morrow morning at sunrise.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Sebastian, excitedly. His outcry rang so loudly
through the house that one of the Bach cousins opened the door and
reproved him: “Johann Sebastian, we are still in the house of death.”
“Forgive me,” said the really contrite lad, turning crimson, as he
started up to his little chamber, while Erdmann, taking some of the
reproof to himself, quietly withdrew.
Thus the memorable day came to an end crowning Sebastian’s dearest
wishes. His joy could hardly have been greater had he been vouchsafed a
glance into the future and realized he was taking the first step upon
the road leading him to the supreme heights of his art.
With eager hands he joyfully packed the little bag left him by his
devoted father with his scanty stock of clothes and the necessary books
and papers, and took it in the darkness of the evening to the Black
Bear, where the old and well-known house-servant took care of it. Then
he hastened back to the organist’s house, bade a cordial farewell to his
relatives, ate a little soup in the kitchen, made for him by the old
housemaid, took a big slice of bread, and hurried up to his chamber so
that he might have a good night’s rest and be ready for his early start.
There was not much sleep for him, however, that night. He lay upon his
bed with wide-open eyes looking out into the serene moonlight. Like the
light clouds which floated across the moon, memories and hopes swept
over his young soul. Gentle, beautiful melodies entranced him and made
his heart beat exultantly. Half waking, half dreaming, he raised his
hands as though they touched the keys of a celestial instrument and his
lips murmured disconnected words.
Thus the night hours passed between waking and sleeping. Toward morning
he sank into the deep, sound sleep of youth, and notwithstanding his
longings and his impatience for the journey would have slept beyond the
appointed hour had not his trusty friend, the old housemaid, awakened
him and reminded him of his purpose, at the first glow of dawn. It was a
joyful call. Thankfully he threw his arms about her neck and drew her
old head down to his. Then he dismissed her, arose and dressed, bathed
his flushed face in cold water, and repaired to the kitchen, where he
sat by the maidservant a few minutes while he ate his morning soup.
At last he was through. He bade farewell to his tearful friend and was
about to leave the house, when a room door opened and the plain, honest
face of Johann Valentin appeared.
“Johann Sebastian.”
“Dear cousin.”
“Come in.”
As the boy stood before him, he placed both hands upon his shoulders and
looked into his clear blue eyes.
“My dear Johann Sebastian,” he said with deep emotion, “my heart bids me
say a word to you before you leave your home. Some voice clearly tells
me that great achievements and fame are in store for you. But whatever
may be the outcome of the course you take this day, contrary to the
usages and habits of our family, the greatest human fame is as nothing
in God’s eyes if it is not humbly received by a pure and pious heart,
which ascribes the honor to Him. Remember this, dear Johann Sebastian,
and take from me, the eldest of the family, in place of your dear
father, my heartiest wishes and blessings.”
He placed his hand upon the boy’s head, whispered a prayer, kissed him
lightly upon the forehead, and softly said, “Now go in peace.”
“You shall not be disappointed in me, dear cousin,” said the boy with
emotion, as he reverently kissed the hand of his well-wisher. “I shall
never forget your words, never, and never shall I cease to be grateful
for your fatherly kindness. Farewell.”
“God’s angels guide and guard you.”
The next moment he had left the organist’s house and with weeping eyes
was hastening down the deserted street.