“Let us hope so. You may be sure I shall work hard for it.”
Thus chatting with each other and enjoying the journey with all the zest and enthusiasm of youth, the lads reached Gotha, and after a quiet night’s rest at a modest inn went on to Mühlhausen. Thence they continued their journey on foot, now and then getting a ride when anyone was kind enough to pick them up. Their luggage had been intrusted by the practical Erdmann to a business house which had relations with Lüneburg and undertook to forward it to his uncle’s well-known house.
After seven days’ travelling they reached Lüneburg fresh and happy, and were received by Erdmann’s uncle with that cordial and friendly hospitality which his nephew had anticipated.
Sebastian quickly made a good impression upon the old gentleman, especially by his precocity and the intelligence which shone in his attractive eyes. The impression changed to one of respectful admiration when, a few days after their arrival, he seated himself at the old gentleman’s fine Silbermann piano[12] and played his favorite chorale (“All is well, O Friend of my Soul”), which abounds in characteristic harmony, beautiful modulation, and rich melody. He promised to use his influence in getting him a position in the choir of the St. Michael’s School, and he kept his word. On the very next day the stately old gentleman waited upon the Rector of the school, and stated the purpose of his visit so enthusiastically that the latter smilingly gave his assent and arranged with the leader of the choir that Johann Sebastian should have a trial of his voice in his presence.
The boy stood the test so well that the old choir-leader declared he was a most valuable acquisition. His voice was sonorous and of fine quality, strong and of good range, and beside this he read everything at sight and displayed such a remarkable knowledge of counterpoint that the Rector and leader were alike astonished. The former assigned him a room near his own and he was given a position as soprano singer, or discantist, in the choir as well as a seat at the free table[13] of the school. Sebastian’s dearest wish was now gratified, and on the same day, after cordially thanking his benefactor, he settled down in the St. Michael’s School, occupying a modest little room in a wing, with three other pleasant discantist companions.
Thenceforth he had to be industrious, very industrious, for it was only by extraordinary effort that he could retain the advantage of the free position, and only by unusual industry that he could save time enough from school duties to gratify his musical inclinations. The St. Michael’s School at that time had an abundance of the richest material, which was accessible to him. In a chapel at the side of the school there was a fine little organ, upon which he was occasionally allowed to play after he had demonstrated his ability to do so. There was also a rich collection of old musical manuscripts, in which he could revel to his heart’s content whenever he had the time. Beside these, there were old and well-preserved instruments, violins, violas, violoncellos, lutes, etc. Had it only been permissible he would gladly have devoted his nights to the acquisition of the contents of these treasures, as he once had done in Ohrdruff; but nothing prevented his use of them in the daytime, and he was as happy as a king when he could lose himself in a flood of the old masters’ harmonies.
Only one thing troubled him. He could not often improve and strengthen his organ-playing by listening to the great players. Ordinarily it was only possible to hear Böhm, the famous organist, on Sundays, and at such times Sebastian was confined to the church of the school by his duties as discantist, and other opportunities to hear him were so rare that there was little prospect of his gratifying his desire to listen to the master’s richly flowing melodies, without making extra exertion. So he inquired of the sexton and organ-blower of St. John’s Church when the great artist played on week days in the always closed church. Then, with the gracious connivance of the organ-blower, to whom he paid many a shilling out of his small store, he would slip into the church, ascend the tower into the loft, and there, resting upon his knees near an opening, would listen with trembling, delighted heart to the now lovely, again powerful, but always devout playing of the master. He paid careful attention to every nuance, to every peculiar method of tone production, and to the style of performance, so as to fix them in his memory. When the playing was over he would rush back to his room, take out the compositions of Böhm, which he had once copied with such infinite care and trouble, and pore over them as if the pieces which he had just heard had been brought to him by Böhm himself for performance.
He also cultivated violin-playing to the best of his ability, and with the help of his extraordinary natural gifts entered so deeply into the real nature of this simple yet marvellously expressive instrument that even with his still imperfect technic he produced the finest quality of tone, and when he extemporized seemed to be holding a dialogue with his own genius.
Many a time in the evening, when his roommates had sought their beds and all was silent in the large halls, he would spend hours in the moonlight, walking up and down the little room, lightly using his bow, and softly singing the second part to the melody he was playing, greatly to the delight and astonishment of the boys, while he himself was as happy as if he were living in a higher and serener sphere.
About this time a peculiar change took place in his beautiful voice. As he was singing one day in the choir, he heard himself involuntarily singing as it were with a double voice—in soprano and in a lower octave—to the great surprise of the leader and not less to his own consternation. His consternation increased when he realized during the next few weeks that he could neither speak nor sing except in octaves, and bitter was his sorrow when he found that this condition, instead of disappearing, speedily grew worse, and that his beautiful voice was gone forever. He wept piteously and moaned: “Alas! now I can only be half a musician through life, for my highest and noblest instrument is ruined and can never be replaced.”