“Do you fear the last?” asked Sebastian, quickly, and alarmed.
“No, M. Cantor; I trust Friedemann’s strength to rise again.”
“To rise again? Monsieur, tell me, in few words—what of my son?”
“Well, then! you have brought up your son as a man of honor; but you yourself, sir, are too little acquainted with the present ways of the world, to be able to shield him against the dangers that beset the path of youth, when, without a guide or counseller, he enters the great arena of life. Your son, till then, had known nothing of the world, beyond his paternal dwelling and your church of Saint Thomas. He was called to Dresden. He was received as the son—as the first disciple of the famous Sebastian Bach; and it was soon found that he was himself a master in his art. Esteem, admiration, were his; the great treated him with favor, his inferiors flattered him as the favorite of the great. Is it surprising that his head was somewhat turned, and that he forgot his place? Yet all would soon have been right again, when he learned to separate appearances from realities; but as ill luck would have it, the young Countess de Bruhl employed him as her music-master. In a word, your son loves her!”
“Is the boy mad?” cried Bach, angrily, and rising from his chair.
“Gently, papa!” interrupted the page; “if you knew the young Countess, you would confess, that for a young man like your son, it would be impossible not to love her; particularly as she was resolved to be loved; and in truth, she has excellently well managed it!”
Sebastian sank again on his seat, and his brow became clouded. The page continued—
“Friedemann struggled bravely against his passion, but the little Countess would not allow resistance—”
“Poor Friedemann!” sighed the father.
“When the first violence of his passion was over, he thought upon his father. He would have torn himself from his beloved—but could he? ought he? Everything was against their union. Was he to discover all to you, who had no misgiving? Disturb your peace, and that of your family? He resolved to bear all the anguish alone. The resolution was a noble one, but it made him so much the more wretched, since he, who so reverenced truth, had to dissemble with his father.”