It was not a mere rumour. Andreas Döderlein had had him discharged. He was also relieved of his post as organist at St. Ægydius’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.