“No, no, boy, I can’t sing any more,” the grandfather remonstrated, “but I can tell you what the song was about and how the ending went. You see I was not always as happy as I am now. Of course when I was young like you I was happy, for I had a mother who watched over me as yours apparently does who teaches you such nice songs. My father was dead and I had comrades who wanted me to go out with them into the world to seek adventures. As I wanted to go so much, I had to do it against her will. We went and travelled far, sometimes as soldiers, sometimes as workmen. It was a wild life, but you couldn’t understand that yet. Finally, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I begged them to turn back and start a new existence. But they would not hear of it, so I returned alone. It had been a long time since I had written to my mother or heard from her. When I came home I found that she was dead. ‘She wouldn’t have gotten sick if you had stayed at home,’ our neighbor said to me. These words were deeply burnt into my soul. I wanted to begin a new life and redeem myself. But I could find no joy in anything. My conscience constantly reproached me and troubled me, and I realized I could never atone for her death. One night when I couldn’t sleep for remorse I cried aloud to Heaven: ‘Oh, mother, you were always ready to help me before! Please help me now, or don’t I deserve it?’ On awakening in the morning I clearly heard my mother’s voice saying, ‘Go to church, Klaus, the bells are ringing.’ She had always said this to me every Sunday morning during her life-time. I jumped out of bed and found that it was really Sunday. I hadn’t been to church for a long while, but that day I went again. At first I could not follow the pastor’s words. But suddenly I heard, ‘And our Lord came down from Heaven to bring us mercy and forgiveness and keep us from perishing in our misery. And He gave us back our joy!’ That was clearly meant for me and it went through me like a ray of sunshine. Then came the song I spoke of. I could understand every word of it because it told exactly how I felt at that moment. At the end of every verse came the following refrain:
‘For the blessed song of mercy
Thrills our hearts forevermore.’
“I have never forgotten it. From then on I went to church whenever the bells called me and I heard many comforting words there that made me glad again. Do you think you could play me the song now?”
Vinzi would gladly have done the grandfather’s bidding, but he did not know the song.
“Then play me one of your own, I love to hear them, too,” said the grandfather comfortingly, for he realized the boy was not able to fulfil his wish.
Vinzi did so willingly and kept playing one piece after the other until loud calls and cries from the distance showed him that the boys were starting to come home.
Quickly rising, Vinzi asked the grandfather’s leave to go. The latter agreed that it was high time. He could not comprehend, however, how quickly the afternoon had flown. “Can you come soon again?” he asked, and added, “Please tell your uncle Lorenz that I shall expect you soon again. Just let me say one more word. I wish you could teach our boys to play, too. That would give me something worth hearing when you are gone.”
Vinzi told the old man that he was already teaching them. Unfortunately they always failed to play the melodies smoothly. They were much better at singing and quickly learned to sing new songs.
“All right, teach them some of your songs then. I suppose that you know others beside the hymns?”