The New Life
An unexpected opportunity being offered to hear the famous organist
again after Sunday, Sebastian had no scruples against remaining a few
days longer in Hamburg. He returned to Lüneburg on Wednesday in such a
musical exaltation that he gave no thought to the possible consequences
of his violation of duty. No reproaches, no penalties, however, could
disturb him. He had secured treasures that forevermore elevated him
above the petty, common things of life.
Though he had lived very economically during his prolonged stay in
Hamburg, he had so far exhausted his little means that he began the
return journey with only a few _pfennigs_ in his pocket. Notwithstanding
his youthful strength and endurance, he was soon well-nigh exhausted.
Unable longer to endure the pangs of hunger, he stopped at an inn on the
highway to ask for such food as his small means would purchase. A
travelling carriage with four beautiful black horses was standing before
the door. Inside there was lively commotion, for they were preparing
breakfast for the distinguished travelling party. Sebastian stole
quietly into the house and asked the inn-keeper, who was bustling about
the coffee-room in a state of great excitement, for a herring (the
favorite food of the poor in Thuringia) and a piece of bread, but no
attention was paid to him. Puffed up with pride at serving such
distinguished guests, he contemptuously ignored the young traveller, and
when the request was repeated, refused it and turned him away hungry
from the door.
Sebastian was so deeply grieved and hurt by this treatment he could
hardly muster up courage to resume his tramp upon an empty stomach. His
strength was well-nigh exhausted. He sat down on the turf before the
door, half determined not to leave until the inn-keeper gave him food.
He was sick at heart and discouraged. Suddenly a window was opened above
him, and upon looking up he espied a kind-faced old gentleman, who threw
a little parcel into the grass in front of him, accompanying the act
with a cordial and significant nod of his head.
Sebastian was at first somewhat embarrassed. Then he picked up the
little parcel, undid the fine white-paper wrapper, and two herrings and
two nice little rolls dropped out. Deeply moved by the gift thus sent to
him and casting a thankful glance at the window, he took out his
pocket-knife and began to cut up one of the herrings. To his extreme
surprise he found a Holland ducat in the fish. He took the second
herring, and his surprise was increased when he found another. Perplexed
and greatly agitated, he again gratefully gazed up at the window, where
his kind benefactor significantly shook his powdered head and then
disappeared behind the curtains. Strengthened afresh by the herrings and
rolls and encouraged by this pleasant incident on the last day of his
long march, the happy boy set out again; but he saved his ducats for the
next repetition of his musical pilgrimage to Hamburg.
His offence was expiated by a slight restriction of his privileges, but
it in no way affected the good-will or respect of his teachers. They
regarded the liberty he had taken as a concession which was due to his
genius, and continued to allow him the free school privileges in
consideration of his industry and scholarly gifts. They realized already
his great future.
[Illustration: _Sebastian’s unknown benefactor_]
During his three years’ stay in Lüneburg, Sebastian by resistless
determination and tireless industry rose step by step in all his studies
as well as in his musical education, secured the requisite certificate
for the University, and the highest recognition as violinist, organist,
cembalist,[16] and contrapuntist,[17] and as a youth of exemplary
character. Hence there was no question of his fitness for the position
which was now offered him through the influence of some of his
Thuringian friends, that of violinist in the ducal chapel at Weimar.[18]
It was not without deep emotion that he left the old school, the good
Rector, the leader of the choir, and his classmates and friends. He bade
Erdmann’s kindly uncle a cordial farewell and left an affectionate
letter for Erdmann himself, who had quit Lüneburg and gone into business
with his father, urging him to correspond with him. On a cloudy spring
morning of 1703 the seventeen-year-old lad, head and heart full of
highest resolutions and aspirations, passed through the gates of
Lüneburg on his way to his new duties.
It seemed to Sebastian, who had never concealed nor lost his love for
the Thuringian land, that in going to Weimar he was going home, and it
was with a genuine home feeling that he regarded his modest little room
with its outlook over garden and field to the far mountain lines of the
Thuringian forest. He made himself at home there at once with his violin
and music, and entered upon the duties of his position without delay.
They were simple enough for one who had gained perfect facility by three
years of tireless practice, but they were far from satisfying his
ambition; for the Court had no higher ambition than to keep up a certain
musical state with which he had no sympathy. He compensated himself for
his part in this superficial “kling-klang” by arranging with the old
cathedral organist to play for a pittance. On such occasions he gave
full expression to his feelings and conceptions upon the powerful
instrument, after the manner of Böhm and Reinken, and lifted the souls
of those who listened breathlessly to his wonderful playing above all
earthly things. It seemed as if the Reformation spirit inspired those
tones, so full of religious exaltation, and stirred the dingy portraits
of Luther, Melancthon, and Johann Friedrich.
The recognition of Sebastian’s success was not confined to Weimar and
its people. It spread throughout Thuringia, and the “Duke’s young
violinist” had scarcely been in service six months before he was invited
by the Schwartzburg Consistory to take the position of organist at the
“New Church” at Arnstadt, formerly known as St. Boniface Church. He was
greatly moved by the invitation. The old city of Arnstadt had been the
home of Bachs for many generations. There his great-uncle Heinrich had
lived and labored, as well as his father’s twin-brother Johann
Christoph, who so strikingly resembled him that it seemed to Sebastian
he was now following in his dear father’s steps. How could such an
invitation help making him happy?
There was another thing that induced him to accept this invitation. The
“New Church” was built upon the site of the St. Boniface Church, which
was destroyed by fire in 1581, and was dedicated to divine service in
1683. The beautiful church had been without an organ twenty years, but
one had now been secured by contributions. The well-known organ-builder,
Johann Friedrich Wender, of Mühlhausen, had constructed an excellent
instrument, and this was to be placed in charge of Johann Sebastian.[19]
Joyously he exulted at the prospect of releasing its magical tones for
the first time. He accepted the position with a thousand thanks,
notwithstanding the small salary.
To add to his delight, several of his dear relatives lived in Arnstadt.
The situation and environs of the place also were beautiful, and
especially charming to one of Sebastian’s cheerful disposition. As this
was ample equivalent for the smallness of his income, he accepted the
annual salary of eighty thalers, and went to Arnstadt.
The slight demands which his position made upon his time, left him
leisure for the study of the German and Old French contrapuntists. He
labored over their works most assiduously, to gain a more thorough
knowledge of the comprehensive rules of the higher organ style. The
better to express his own conceptions, he also arranged some new violin
concertos of Vivaldi[20] for the piano, by which he gained a clearer
understanding of the relations of musical ideas to each other and of the
sequence of modulations. What he wrote down during the day without an
instrument, he played over upon his piano in the evening and sometimes
late into the night, until he had completely mastered the technic.
Beside all this, he assisted in the compilation of the Freilighausen
hymn-book, and for the purpose of making the chorales more effective, he
undertook the arduous work of rearranging three hundred of them and
composing many new ones himself. His organ-playing was so rich and
fanciful in his own conceptions that the congregation, accustomed as it
was to exceedingly simple hymn-accompaniments, could not follow him, and
this led to repeated complaints from the Consistory. Sebastian, however,
striving only for the highest in his art, paid little attention to them.
He only labored all the harder to perfect himself, ignored all practical
matters, and gave heed to no authority above him when it interfered with
the lofty purpose he had in view.
He found recreation after the fatigue of studies, composition, and
practice upon the violin, piano, and organ, in the enjoyment of nature
and in the society of relatives and friends. Among the former those most
dear to him were the family of Johann Michael, Heinrich’s son, a quiet,
music-loving circle, the central attraction of which was the lovely,
blooming daughter, Maria Barbara, Sebastian’s studious and gifted pupil.
Among his friends those nearest to him were Christoph Uthe, the minister
of the “New Church,” and Johannes Laurentius Stauber, assistant
minister, both well-grounded in the higher church music and entertaining
the utmost respect for Johann Sebastian’s courageous struggle and
energetic will. In this circle the young artist was particularly happy.
There all the real worth of his unpretentious life was displayed. There
he found warm appreciation for the highest and best, and never failing
help and sympathy.
One evening he rushed into the Bach home, where both friends were
visiting, and as if in utter despair flung himself down into a chair
without a word of greeting. All looked at him with great concern. “Dear
Bach,” said Laurentius Stauber, solicitously, “why do you come rushing
in in this unceremonious manner? Has anything unfortunate happened?”
“I am the unfortunate myself,” exclaimed Sebastian, passionately. “I am
a bungler, and I shall always be a bungler if I stay here. I am going
away.”
“Away from here!” they all exclaimed. “Where are you going?”
“Where there is something to be learned. I am going backward here. Soon
I shall know nothing.”
“But, Sebastian—” said Johann Michael, reproachfully.
“But it is true,” he replied, gloomily. “My organ-playing is going
backward. It has no depth, no vigor, no progressiveness—”
“But, dear Bach—”
“I tell you it is true, I feel it. My compositions also have no ideas.
They show no charm of fancy, no mastery of materials. This cannot go on
any longer.”
“But you greatly underestimate yourself, cousin,” said Johann Ernst, son
of the twin brother of Sebastian’s father. “Would to God I could play as
well as you do already at twenty! Everyone here is astonished at your
work.”
“But what do they know about music here?” replied Sebastian,
contemptuously.
“But we are astonished also,” interposed Herr Uthe, “and we think we
know a little something about sacred music.”
“To be sure you do,” said Sebastian, “but your friendship for me makes
you blind. You do not see my failings. No, no, I must be off. I must
hear once more the great masters of the art and find out from them how
to get on the right road again. I am going away at once.”
“Where will you go? Where will you find what you are longing for?”
“Where? Yes, that is the question,” said Sebastian, with a sad look in
his eyes. “Really there are only two places where I expect to find what
I need—in Nuremberg with Pachelbel,[21] or in Lübeck with
Buxtehude.[22]”
“Both are certainly far enough away from here,” said Herr Uthe,
dolefully.
“What matters distance?” answered Sebastian, with some warmth. “I would
go to the ends of the earth if I could hear the great organists there.
But, to cut matters short, I shall go to Lübeck in the morning.”
“Without permission?” asked Johann Ernst, very seriously.
“I am going to see the Superintendent this evening.”
“And at this unpleasant season of the year? Think of that,” said Johann
Michael.
“A journey of at least sixty miles,” added Herr Stauber.
“Let him go,” suddenly said the soft, gentle voice of the one who alone
of all the circle favored his plan. “He must do what his genius bids him
do.”
Surprised and greatly excited, Sebastian turned to the speaker, his
young cousin Maria Barbara,[23] and thankfully offered his hand. “You
understand me,” he said with emotion; “now nothing more can restrain
me.” With this closing word he left the house.
Week after week passed. He had far exceeded his one month’s leave of
absence and nothing had been seen or heard of him. His friends were
solicitous, his superiors indignant, the congregation angry. How could
he so thoughtlessly violate his duties? What could he be doing? Where
could he be? His conduct was simply incomprehensible to everyone. Maria
Barbara smilingly shook her knowing little head when she heard the
reproaches of relatives and friends, the slurs of neighbors, and the
threats of the Superintendent, and said: “You are wasting your words.
Sebastian would not care if you should even say them to his face. He is
living and working for higher things than those which are deemed of so
much importance in Arnstadt.”
And so it turned out. Two, three months passed, and the indignation of
the church-wardens was at its height, when one fine day Sebastian
suddenly appeared at Johann Michael’s and cheerfully greeted his
astonished relatives. He replied coolly and unconcernedly to the storm
of exclamations, reproaches, and questions, tenderly greeted his pretty
little cousin, Maria Barbara, and at last, when questions and complaints
had ceased, said briefly, “I am accountable for all that I have done or
may do. My journey to Lübeck was made solely in the interests of the art
which I practise for the honor of God and for the edification of the
Christian congregation. All other considerations must be subordinate to
this higher purpose. Will the Consistory and Council of Arnstadt
complain because in striving to rise higher and higher in my art I have
exceeded the time allowed me? Possibly they may discharge me from my
position. What does that matter? Arnstadt is not the world. At all times
and in all places the world’s door stands open for the skilful artist.
Offers have already been made to me in Lübeck. So do not be troubled
about me; I do what I must do and others may do what they please—so
enough of this.”
“I told you so,” exultantly declared Maria Barbara, looking round the
circle. “He cares not a whit for your anxiety about him. He will excel
you all.”
“Ah! you rogue,” said Sebastian, smiling, “I did not know you were a
prophet.” The girl blushed to the tips of her ears as he bent over her
and tenderly whispered, “Can you also prophesy the name of Sebastian’s
wife a year from to-day?”
“Oh! yes,” replied Maria Barbara, “Frau Bach. She certainly will have
that name.”
“Oh, you cunning one! But the Christian name, the Christian name—that is
the question. Well?”
“I cannot prophesy so much in one day,” replied the blushing girl; “I
will tell you that some other time.”
“I will tell you to-day,” whispered Sebastian. “She will be called Maria
Barbara Bach. She is a dear, fair-haired maiden, and the only person who
knows Sebastian through and through.”
“Do not be too sure,” replied Maria Barbara, in some confusion.
“Sometimes my prophecies do not come true.” The next instant she had
slipped away and disappeared in an adjacent room.
“A year from now,” the young artist said to himself, with all the
solemnity of a vow, as his eyes followed her.
The apprehensions of his friends that measures would be taken by his
superiors to call him to account were confirmed. He was summoned before
the Consistory and sharply reproved for his audacious violation of his
duties. His reply shows clearly his real purpose: “He had prolonged his
visit to Lübeck solely in the interests of his art and for his own
improvement, so that he might come back enriched with experience and
many new ideas, which would better fit him for his position; and
likewise he thought it would be better for his pupils. Beside this, he
had provided a substitute for the organ.”
This brief explanation of his conduct did not satisfy the old
stiff-necked superiors, who did not at all understand him. Beside this,
the simple members of the congregation, who did not appreciate his
efforts to elevate church music, complained that he introduced strange
variations in the chorales which they could not follow. This called for
further explanation; rather than make which, Sebastian decided to resign
his Arnstadt position and look for another.
Just at this time, Johann George Ahle, the highly esteemed organist at
St. Blasius’s Church in the old Thuringian imperial city of Mühlhausen,
died, and the position was offered to Sebastian. He was ready at once,
attended the organ examination, and so highly impressed the wardens with
his playing, that they gave him the place. He expressed his satisfaction
with the salary, requested and obtained his release from the Council at
Arnstadt, and to his great delight found that his place would be filled
by his cousin, Johann Ernst. To make the latter’s position easy at the
outset, for he was very poor, and beside had an old mother and sick
sister to support, Sebastian gave up a considerable part of his back
salary for Johann’s benefit. Then he asked for the hand of his loving
cousin, received her joyful consent as well as that of her family, and
on a wonderfully beautiful, quiet, sunny Autumn morning went to
Dornheim, where his faithful friend, Johannes Laurentius Stauber, was
settled as minister. In the modest little village church, before the
altar hung with festive garlands, the young pair exchanged rings and
vows of love, and then, after a quiet, happy day spent in the parsonage,
returned to Sebastian’s own simple abode.[24] A few weeks later the
happy couple settled in Mühlhausen and joyfully took possession of the
organist’s old house. The simple furniture, which they had jointly
contributed, was soon cosily and comfortably arranged, and when
everything was in its place and evening had come, the young bridegroom
seated himself at the little piano, and with a heart overflowing with
happiness sang and played the beautiful chorale:
[Illustration: The evening chorale in the new home]
“I come, O Lord, before Thy throne
This happy evening tide,
And pray Thee, thro’ Thy precious Son,
Thou wilt with us abide.
Accept this offering of the heart
Which now I humbly bring,
And of Thy grace to us impart
While I Thy praises sing.”[25]
At the very first tones of the chorale, Maria Barbara stepped behind his
seat and with clear and lovely alto voice joined in his sacred song. It
was the consecration of the day, a beautiful beginning of the new life
which God had prepared for them.