“Where is Friedemann Bach?” repeated Faustina, with vehemence. “I will know!”
“Well, then; he is probably on his way to Konigstein.”
Faustina smiled scornfully, and asked—“For what?”
“To save him from yet severer punishment. The whole parish is disgusted at the scandalous life their court-organist leads, who, if he edifies the devotional with his organ-playing on Sunday morning, celebrates the wildest orgies with his fellow rioters, at Seconda’s, on Sunday night!”
“And what is done with his fellow rioters?”
The Count von Brühl shrugged his shoulders, and replied dejectedly—“They are of the first families.”
“And therefore pass unpunished? Very fair, my lord minister! But you are mistaken; Bach is not on the road to Konigstein; he is here, in my house, and has seen His Highness.”
“How, Signora!” cried the Count, really shocked—“what have you done?”
“Silence—I command you!” said Faustina, haughtily. The minister was silent, and she continued—“His Highness knows all; knows why you pursue the unhappy youth, and would bring unspeakable misery on the whole family—and such a family! Heartless courtier! You cannot comprehend the worth of such a man. Friedemann must leave this city, but he goes freely, and must not be unprovided for. Give him another place, one worthy of his genius. That is His Highness’s will!”
She left the apartment. The minister stepped in much embarrassment to a window, looked out into the darkness, and drummed with his fingers upon the pane. When he turned round, he saw Friedemann and the page, who had entered the room. There was a storm in his breast, but he suppressed all signs of agitation, and walking up to the young man, said in a gentle, though earnest tone, “Monsieur Bach, it grieves me much that you must leave us so suddenly; but since that cannot be helped, we must yield to what is unavoidable. You will go as soon as possible to Merseburg; the place of organist in that cathedral is vacant, and I have appointed you to it. Adieu!” And he retired.