“Yes, but now let us go in. The driver is taking his morning beer in the kitchen and we must make arrangements for our transportation.”
The two friends hastened in, and introduced themselves to the honest Jehu, who received them with a grunt of recognition. Then the young passengers climbed into the wagon, a somewhat primitive style of vehicle with a canvas cover stretched over hoops, fixed a convenient place for themselves and their luggage among some sacks of hay in the back, and a few minutes later were rattling down the quiet street with happy hearts, thence out through the low, dark town-gate into the level country, which was most attractive in the early morning light. On every side the early-awakened birds were holding jubilant matin service in the bushes and trees.
It was a delightful journey, notwithstanding the rough country roads and the jolting wagon, for the young travellers were in excellent spirits. They rolled up the canvas cover and keenly enjoyed the fresh beauty of the summer morning. Every village they passed was a source of wonder, every cornfield a delight to their eyes, every wood an unsurpassed pleasure; with quick eyes they followed the flight of every bird, and with attentive ears they listened to every sound, nigh and far. They drank in the perfume of the clover with zest. They even enjoyed the bitter crab-apples, which they plucked as they passed, as if they had been sweet dainties.
But now and then more serious feelings rose in the hearts of the lads. As they were riding through a country village a funeral procession crossed their way, the mourners singing a chorale. Their joyous chatter ceased. Erdmann sorrowfully regarded the sad spectacle, but Sebastian took his violin from his case and played a beautiful accompaniment to the chorale.
They talked almost ceaselessly of their past and of the future, but the city of Lüneburg, the end of their journey, was the principal theme of conversation. Erdmann, who had previously been in the old Hanse city, had to describe the place over and over before his young companion’s questions were satisfied. Sebastian pictured it to himself as the greatest and most imposing city he had ever known, with ancient and beautifully decorated gabled buildings, great shops and warehouses, majestic churches and cloisters. As he listened to Erdmann’s description he fancied himself sailing up and down the river, climbing the high Kalkberg to the St. Michael’s School, wandering through the halls of the old Rathaus, going down into the gypsum quarries near by, and wandering among the leafy recesses of the Göhrde.[10] In return for Erdmann’s delightful story, Sebastian related the events of his early life at home and told of his father’s masterly skill in organ and violin playing. The good-natured Erdmann listened to him with deep or at least apparently deep interest, and volunteered questions to bring out new information.
“It is certainly most extraordinary,” said he, when an opportunity offered itself, “that a talent for the same art should have appeared without a break in one and the same family and in all its numerous branches. It has already come to this, that they call all skilful organists in Thuringia ‘Bach,’ without regard to their names, for all Bachs are skilful organists.”
“That is so,” replied Sebastian, “and my blessed father, Johann Ambrosius, was one of the most skilful of them all. He inherited this gift from his great-grandfather, Veit Bach[11], who left Hungary for Germany two centuries ago to enjoy religious liberty, for he was a faithful adherent of the Lutheran Church. He found this liberty in Thuringia, settled down in the village of Wechmar, near Gotha, where he opened its first bakery and practised music for his own pleasure. He had learned it from the gypsies, and played skilfully on the zither, a kind of lute.”
“And this Veit Bach,” said Erdmann, smiling, “has transmitted his talent through his numerous posterity to you?”
“That he has,” said Sebastian, with emphasis. “His son Hans gave up the bakery and was apprenticed to the town-piper of Gotha. He lived at that time in the tall tower of the old guildhall and there Hans fiddled and piped in the jolliest way. It is said he was a ‘hail-fellow-well-met,’ and welcome everywhere. My father had a picture of him playing the violin, with a large bell on his left shoulder. Under it is written:
“Here you see, fiddling, stands Hans Bach,