“Were in no way his friends—tout au contraire, mon ami! and on this account I wish to speak with you.”
“Speak, then, M. Scherbitz!”
Scherbitz seemed at a loss in what manner to communicate to Bach the information he could no longer keep from him. For the first time in his life, in the presence of that worthy old man, his bold levity deserted him. Sebastian sat opposite with folded hands, his clear and searching eyes fixed steadily upon him. Recollecting himself, at last he began—
“Your son, Friedemann, my good sir, has told me how different, even when a child, he always was from his brothers and sisters, in that, with an earnestness far beyond his years, he apprehended and retained whatever moved his fancy.”
“Yes, yes, it was so!” exclaimed Bach. “This peculiarity endeared the boy to me at first; but in later years it has made me anxious for him.”
“You have brought him up strictly, sir.”
“Very strictly, M. Scherbitz; in the fear of God, as is a parent’s duty! yet I have constrained him to nothing—and only when he was convinced, have I led him strictly to follow his conviction. He who discerns the truth and the right, and obeys it not, is either a fool or a knave; not a man!”
“Ah! my dear sir, may not an excess of strength lead a well meaning man out of the way; yea, even to his ruin?”
“That is possible; but he should reserve his strength to struggle, not weakly yield. He should either rouse himself, and atone for his faults, or perish like a man.”
“Heaven grant the first!” murmured the page.