Once upon a time there was a poor tanner called Hans who lived with his
wife Martha in a town in which there were two hundred churches, a
hundred chapels, and a huge cathedral.
Hans lived in a wooden house opposite the gates of the cathedral. They
had only one son and he was so delicate that they did not know what
trade he could learn when he grew bigger. In the meantime they taught
him how to read and write. The boy was christened Johan; for he was born
on St. John's Day. When Johan was quite a tiny little boy he liked
listening to the sound of the organ in the big cathedral, and in the
evenings he would sit for hours in the darkness, listening to the
organist at his practice.
The organist was an old man called Doctor Sebastian, and he wore a
powdered wig and large tortoise-shell spectacles. When he played the
organ, which was an immense instrument and had five keyboards, the
windows trembled in all the houses which nestled round the cathedral.
Doctor Sebastian soon noticed the little Johan and allowed him to come
up into the organ-loft while he was playing, and Johan used to sit as
still as a mouse, and watch him pull out the stops, and play with his
feet as skilfully as he did with his hands. Doctor Sebastian had a pupil
called Frantz, a lad with curly brown hair and large brown eyes. Frantz
used to practise on the organ every day; but Doctor Sebastian was severe
with him, and Frantz was not allowed to play the organ at High Mass on
Sundays. One day Johan asked Doctor Sebastian whether this was because
Frantz played badly, and Doctor Sebastian said:
"Frantz has much to learn and he must be trained, but one day, when he
has learnt all that I can teach him, he will be able to teach me what I
shall not be able to learn."
Johan did not understand what this meant, but he guessed that Doctor
Sebastian thought well of Frantz, in spite of his being so severe with
him. Johan thought that Frantz was the most wonderful player in the
world, and whereas Doctor Sebastian only made the organ speak in deep
single tones, and only used the open stops and the booming pedal
bass-notes, Frantz--when Doctor Sebastian was not there to listen--used
to make the organ sigh and speak like a castle full of spirits, and
Johan thought this was wonderful.
One day, it was in winter just before Christmas, and Johan was eight
years old, Doctor Sebastian was laid up in bed with a bad cold, and he
sent for Frantz and said to him:
"I shall never rise from my bed again. I am going thither where I shall
hear the music which we only guess at here on earth. You must play the
organ on Christmas Day. I have taught you all I know. I have been severe
and gruff with you; but being a musician, you know that if I had not
thought you worthy of it, I should not have taken any trouble with you
at all. I have been spared until you were ready to take my place, and
now I can go in peace, for I know that I leave behind me a worthy
successor. I have scolded you and pulled your ears, rapped your fingers
and blamed your playing, but you have got that which I should never
learn if I lived for two hundred years. You have the divine gift, and as
a musician I am not worthy to unlatch the shoes of what you will be; for
you will play on earth the music that I am now going to hear in Heaven!"
After that Doctor Sebastian squeezed Frantz's hand and said no more. The
next day he died.
Frantz was very sad, and he spent the whole day that the Doctor died in
the cathedral composing a requiem in memory of his dead master. Little
Johan, in a corner of the aisle, listened to the music: he had never
heard anything so beautiful; some new power seemed to have come to
Frantz, and when he touched the keys the pipes spoke in a way they had
never spoken before.
Frantz went on playing until late into the night, and Johan had been
carried so far away into dreamland by the music that he did not notice
when Frantz stopped, but all at once he became aware that he was alone
in the cathedral and that the organ-loft was dark and no sound came from
it.
Johan ran up the winding stair into the organ-loft, but Frantz had gone,
and Johan knew that he was locked in the cathedral for the night. He
made up his mind to sleep there where he was, and he was just taking one
of Frantz's missals to use as a pillow when he became aware that he was
no longer alone. Sitting on the bench in front of the keys was a strange
figure. It was an old man with a grey beard, twinkling eyes, and a deep
voice like the buzzing of a hornet. He wore a brown coat and grey
stockings, and a black three-cornered hat.
"Who are you?" asked Johan.
"My name is Quint," said the little old man, "and I live in one of the
big wooden pipes of the organ."
"Do you always live there?" asked Johan.
"No, not always," said Quint. "We don't live here as a rule, but some of
them oblige us to come here and sing----"
"I don't understand," said Johan.
"Well, I will explain it to you," answered Quint. "It's like this: Every
one of the stops of the organ has some one who belongs to it and to whom
it belongs--but these people do not live in the stops; they live in
their own country, which is called Musicland, and they only come to the
organs when they are obliged to."
"But who obliges them?" asked Johan.