That same evening six of Daniel's pupils came in. They had heard that he
had been removed from his position at the conservatory.
It was not a mere rumour. Andreas Doederlein had had him discharged. He
was also relieved of his post as organist at St. AEgydius's. The scandal
with which he had been associated, and which was by this time known to
the entire city, had turned the church authorities against him.
The six pupils came into his room where he was playing with his
children. One of them, who had been chosen as their spokesman, told him
that they had made up their minds not to leave him; they were anxious to
have him continue the instruction he had been giving them.
They were clever, vivacious young chaps. In their eyes was an enthusiasm
that had not yet been dimmed either by cowardice or conceit.
"I am not going to remain in the city," said Daniel. "I am planning to
return to my native Eschenbach."
The pupils looked at each other. Thereupon the speaker remarked: "We
want to go with you." They all nodded.
Daniel got up and shook hands with each one of them.
Two days later, Daniel's furniture and household belongings had all been
packed. Benda came to say good-bye: his work, his great duty was calling
him.
At first Benda could hardly realise that Daniel was yet to live an
active life; that there was still a whole life in him; that his life was
not merely the debris of human existence, the ruins of a heart. But it
was true.
There was about Daniel the expression, the bearing of a man who had been
liberated, unchained. No one could help but notice it. Though more
reticent and laconic than in former days, his eyes had taken on a new
splendour, a renewed brilliancy and clarity; they were at once serious
and cheerful. His mood had become milder, his face more peaceful.
The friends shook hands. Benda then left the room slowly, went down the
steps slowly, and once out on the street he walked along slowly: he felt
so small, so strangely unimportant.