A Musical Tournament
Sebastian entered upon the duties of his position at Mühlhausen with
great enthusiasm, and the friendly assurances of the wardens as well as
of the congregation seemed to promise a long and successful tenure of
his position. This, however, could not be certain if anything stood in
the way of the elevation and improvement of church music, which was the
very end and aim of his life. It was impossible for him to adhere to the
musty traditions and stereotyped usages of musical craftsmen in small
towns. It was not only his purpose, but it was a necessity for him to
produce new creations, exhibiting a richer abundance of ideas in
enlarged form, and compositions which would spiritually uplift his
hearers and inspire them with fresh religious exaltation. If this could
not be done in Mühlhausen—and he found only too soon that it could
not—then his stay there must be short. His effort to reform church music
was at first obstructed, then openly opposed. The families of the early
organists and their friends, who regarded the policy of the young man,
“the very young man,” as an insult to his predecessors, were grieved.
Malevolent townspeople criticised him, and gossiped among themselves to
this effect: “The organist is a freethinker and a subverter. He has no
respect for old and honored things. He devises innovations, and plays a
frivolous, ornamental music instead of the plain, devout music which
simple people can understand. Herr Ahle and his predecessors were a
different kind of men. Perhaps they did not know as much as Herr Bach,
but they were more pleasing organists in the sight of God.” It was a
pitiable condition of things for Sebastian.
Sebastian resolved he would endure this misunderstanding and malice no
longer. With an impatient shrug of his shoulders he announced to his
devoted young wife, “We must take up the staff anew, darling. We cannot
grow in this atmosphere. I cannot live where I cannot work for my
highest purpose; I must look around for another position.”
“Do so, dearest,” said Maria Barbara, smoothing his wrinkled brow with
loving hand. “The world is large, and a musician of your ability will be
everywhere welcome.”
In like manner his decision was approved by his two gifted scholars in
Mühlhausen, Johann Martin Schubart and Johann Kaspar Vogler, and by his
real friends who had sympathized with his work during his short stay,
and this confirmed him in making his decision final.
“I am going to Weimar in the morning,” he said with the utmost
composure. “The new Duke is a warm friend of music and loves the higher
church style. Perhaps he will hear me and invite me to enter his
service.”
“If he hears you, he cannot help inviting you,” said Maria Barbara,
confidently. “God go with you.”
He went—and behold Maria Barbara once more proved herself a true
prophet. The musical circles of Weimar were delighted not only with his
splendid playing upon the organ of the castle church, but also with his
fine piano-playing. The impression produced by his performances was so
convincing that the Duke at once offered him the position of court
organist with a handsome salary, contingent upon his securing release
from his post at Mühlhausen. Sebastian returned home delighted with his
prospects, and great was the joy of all when he told them of the
pleasant outcome of his Weimar visit.
“If I can get my release from here, we will settle down in Weimar this
summer. What do you think of that, dearest?”
“Of course we will,” replied Maria Barbara, most emphatically. “The
blind fools here, who do not understand you, will let you go very
willingly.”
“And we will go with you,” exclaimed his two scholars, Schubart and
Vogler. “Need we stay here without you, master?”
“Of course not,” said Sebastian, much pleased, and Maria Barbara added,
“We will all stay together until you become masters.”
“Which will take a long time,” muttered Vogler.
The Mühlhausen Council, as was expected, found little difficulty in
releasing the organist from his duties, and the happy pair and his two
faithful scholars packed their little possessions in readiness for
settling down in the Ilm city.[26]
“It is time for me to have rest and peace for a few years,” said
Sebastian, as he sat down to his desk after the change, “for here I
expect, if God so wills it, to remain and take such firm root that at
last I may produce the perfect fruit. Hitherto I have been only a little
tree in a nursery, which the gardener has set out among others, or stuck
into the ground for a week or so to save it, if possible, from dying.
Here there is good soil. I shall grow strong and deep and do good work.”
His expectations were gratified. Nine beautiful and profitable years
were spent in his favorite Weimar—nine years of perfect domestic
happiness, and of satisfactory musical activity and production and
universally honorable recognition. It was there Sebastian laid the firm
foundation of his later world-fame. It was there that he wrote those
first compositions which revealed him as the creator of a new style,
destined to elevate music from a time-serving, mechanical craft to the
position of an independent art. It was there that a large family of
children blessed his home and eventually became accomplished musicians
under his faithful guidance and instruction, his two scholars, Schubart
and Vogler, succeeding him in the same position.
Some of the cantatas composed by him at Weimar are of incomparable
majesty and beauty; for instance, the inspiring one in G minor, “Aus der
Tiefe rufe ich, Herr, zu Dir” (“Out of the Depths have I cried to Thee,
O Lord”); the wonderful one in E flat major, “Gottes Zeit is die
allerbeste Zeit” (“God’s own Time is the best Time of all”)—well known
under the name of “Actus Tragicus”; and the heart-stirring one, “Ich
hatte viel Bekummerniss” (“My Spirit was in Heaviness”). These, with the
one beginning with the symphony in C minor and closing with a
wonderfully charming chorus in C major, comprise a brilliant group.
These and similar compositions, the like of which had not been known
before, his unequalled organ and piano playing, and his extraordinary
facility in developing variations or fugues from a given theme, made
him, though hardly thirty years of age, a musical authority far and
near. People came long distances to hear him play on Sundays. Young and
old musicians studied the revelations of genius in his compositions; and
his Prince, proud of his distinguished castle organist, appointed him
ducal concert and chapelmaster.[27]
Bach’s rising fame as a composer, as well as pianist and organist, a few
years later was the occasion of a significant and extremely interesting
event. Among his celebrated foreign contemporaries was the French
musician, Jean Louis Marchand, who was considered by his own countrymen
an unrivalled organ and piano player. In reality he was a vain,
pretentious person, and much more conceited about himself than his
uncritical and enthusiastic worshippers. The foolish fellow indeed was
so arrogant in his manners that he offended the King of France, whose
court organist he was, and was banished.
The supercilious musician was in no wise humbled by this bitter lesson,
and his experiences during his travels in Italy and Germany were not
calculated to make him less conceited. He was so successful in dazzling
the music-loving public with the brilliancy of his compositions, as well
as with the fascination and elegance of his playing, that he was
everywhere hailed as a distinguished virtuoso and overwhelmed with
applause.
Marchand at last arrived in Dresden, and appeared in a concert given at
the Court of Friedrich August I, where the French taste prevailed at
that time. The distinguished audience was so captivated by him that its
applause was almost unlimited, and the King offered the arrogant
Frenchman the position of chapelmaster with a very handsome salary.
To prevent the consummation of the King’s offer, and at the same time to
establish the superiority of German over French art, Volumier, the
director of the royal orchestra at Dresden, who was well acquainted with
Sebastian’s great skill and knowledge, invited him to go to Dresden
without delay, that he might expose the pretensions of this Frenchman
and settle the superiority of German art, as well as the superior
honesty of German character.
Bach, fully aware of the corrupting influence of French taste at that
period, lost no time in accepting the invitation, and went at once to
Dresden. Volumier, in the meantime, had commended him to the King and
Queen as a musician of equal rank with Marchand, and he had barely
arrived when a messenger from Court brought him an invitation to a royal
concert, in which “the highly renowned French concert-master and
unrivalled virtuoso, M. Jean Louis Marchand, will appear,” containing
also an intimation that the King would be glad to hear him play. He
cheerfully accepted, and as he entered the hall in his plain black coat,
accompanied by Volumier, whose face was glowing with anticipation,
offered a striking contrast to the richly clad and decorated Court
attendants. All eyes were fixed upon the simple Weimar organist,
especially those of the Frenchman, who, dressed in silk, velvet, and
point-lace, and blazing with gold and jewels, stared contemptuously at
his simple but deeply earnest German rival.
The concert at last began. Marchand with a haughty smile, as if assured
of victory, rose and went to the piano. He played the melody of a French
song in a neat and spirited manner, varied it with many little artifices
and refinements, and then, coming back to the melody, closed in spirited
and effective style. A storm of applause greeted him as he rose. He
looked around him with an air of triumph.
“Very artistic work,” said Sebastian, as the courtiers and musicians
crowded round Marchand, “and very elegantly and charmingly played.”
“That is true,” replied some of Marchand’s friends, with much
satisfaction. “Surely he is the leading piano virtuoso of our time.”
Sebastian was silent, and appeared to be thinking of the music he had
just heard, when a page brought him an invitation from the King to play
something.
“If Your Majesty will deign to lend a gracious ear to my humble
playing,” said Bach, modestly, “I am ready.” He seated himself at the
piano, and after extemporizing a little in his own masterful way, played
Marchand’s song through in most graceful style, and then varied it
twelve times, each variation displaying originality and constantly
increasing skill and musical scholarship. His auditors, even the
connoisseurs, listened almost breathlessly. At last he brought his
performance to a close with a bold and brilliant passage, rose from the
instrument, and after a gracious bow to the sovereign went back quietly
to his seat.
The silent astonishment of the assemblage now gave way to a veritable
jubilee of applause, and the King, Queen, and Crown Prince were as
enthusiastic as the rest. The arrogant but now thoroughly humiliated
Frenchman, with rage and hatred in his heart, retired among the crowd
and quietly disappeared.
On the morning following the exciting event Marchand received a very
courteous letter from Bach, in which, after complimenting him upon his
charming and elegant playing, he invited him to select any theme he
pleased for variation by the former upon the piano in public, and
expressed the hope that Marchand would likewise take one selected by
him. The latter replied, accepting the challenge to this musical
tournament.
Great preparations were made for the event, under the patronage of the
Court. Friedrich August, who anticipated an interesting evening, owing
to the rivalry of the two brilliant musicians, after receiving
Marchand’s acceptance, selected the great salon of his cabinet minister,
Field Marshal Count von Flemming, as the scene of the tournament. The
entire Court assembled at the appointed hour. All the leading musicians
of Dresden were there. Volumier, cheerful in his confidence of victory,
and Bach, quiet and serious as was his wont, came in after the audience
was assembled. At nine o’clock the royal pair entered, preceded by Court
officials and accompanied by the Count and Countess Flemming. There was
one person absent—Jean Louis Marchand!
It was unheard-of rudeness to keep the King and Queen waiting. The
guests sat in painful suspense, watching the door for the entrance of
the Frenchman; but they watched in vain. He did not come. Count Flemming
was in despair at the ruin of the evening’s pleasure. With the King’s
consent a courier was despatched to Marchand’s residence, who returned
with the disagreeable intelligence that the Frenchman had left Dresden,
post-haste, early in the morning. The news fell like a bombshell in
their midst. The King was angry, the Court excited, the German musicians
quietly satisfied. Bach alone appeared unmoved and uninterested in the
intelligence. It was a matter of course to him that whenever a contest
between French music and German music was proposed, French music would
run away.
One of the King’s pages again approached Bach and said: “His Majesty
desires to speak with you.”
Sebastian quietly followed the boy. Standing before the royal pair, he
bowed low to the King and lower still to the gentle Queen Ebahardine,
and modestly awaited their pleasure. The King scanned the calm, earnest
face of the young master, which had not a trace of the embarrassment
usually shown by persons summoned before his Majesty, and with flashing
eyes and much excitement said, “Your rival, Monsieur Marchand, has not
come to measure his skill against yours. What do you think of his
conduct?”
“I can only think there must have been very strong reasons for his
non-appearance before Your Majesty.”
“You do not think that he is afraid to enter the contest with you?”
“It would not be becoming for me to think so,” replied Bach, with some
hesitation. “Monsieur Marchand is a very accomplished musician and
excellent player. I would not assume that he is unable to improvise on a
given theme. He may have refused my challenge.”
“You think and talk like an honorable man,” replied the King. “But as
Marchand, whatever may be his reasons, is not here, may we not have the
pleasure of hearing the other contestant? Will you not give us a
specimen of your skill in variations on some theme to be given you?”
“I shall be very glad to do so, Your Majesty.”
“Well, then,” said Friedrich August, addressing the Queen, “will Your
Majesty give Bach a theme?”
The noble Princess, not accustomed to have attention shown her by her
usually indifferent consort, blushed slightly, but after a little
reflection, said: “The year in which we live revives gracious memories
of our venerated Doctor Martin Luther and his majestic hymn, ‘Ein feste
Burg ist unser Gott’ (‘A Strong Castle is our God’). Will you take that
chorale for your theme?”
“With all my heart, Your Majesty,” said Bach, with much emotion. “It is
not very easy to follow in the steps of that great man, but I will try
with God’s help.”
With deep feeling in his heart he went to the piano. As he rested his
fingers upon the keyboard, they moved with the skill and inspiration of
a higher world, and the great Reformation hymn rang through the _salon_
with a fervor that uplifted and inspired the souls of all. A devout
silence rested upon the assemblage. All eyes were fixed upon the plain,
simple man, whose eyes looked upward in a spiritual ecstasy. All
listened as if enchanted with the wonderful tones which the gifted
master evoked from his instrument. Grander and more majestic still was
the effect when he built a fugue upon the Luther hymn. It revealed the
lowest depths of the tone-world. The wonderful structure of word and
tone rose to the loftiest heights of religious faith; and when at last
his hands rested and the last sound had died away, it seemed to the
deeply-moved hearers that they had come back from a purer sphere into
the atmosphere of this life, with ardent longings for the one they had
left.
The King, who was worldly minded and long a stranger to religious faith,
was nevertheless greatly moved. The Queen, who was devout of soul, was
moved to tears. It was a moment in which all present were lifted above
the emptiness of court and everyday life as they had never been before.
Rich with praise and fame, Bach returned to Weimar from the Royal Court,
with its exciting life, its splendors and luxury, to the organist’s
little house, full of simple happiness, soul-rest, and heart-peace; and
with him went the enduring recollection of the tears of the pious Queen
and the warm words of gratitude she spoke to him, with pale cheeks and
with the deepest emotion, from trembling lips. It was an event never to
be forgotten.