A tedious day’s journey was coming to its close, and the Sunday vesper bells were ringing in the Potsdam turrets, when (May 4, 1747) our eagerly expectant travellers came to the gate, and announced their names and occupations to the gatekeeper, as was the custom. With anxious hearts they entered the city, and went to the quarter where Philipp Emanuel resided as court musician. Bach was received by his daughter-in-law most cordially, as was also Friedemann with sisterly kindness, and he embraced the grandchildren whom she brought to him at once, with much emotion.
“How delighted Emanuel will be,” said the pretty little woman over and over, and then added significantly, “and also his Majesty, our all-gracious King. Scarcely a day has passed for a month, in which his Majesty has not asked at the evening concert, ‘Is your father here yet?’ or, ‘When is your father coming?’”
“His Majesty is very kind,” replied Bach, with evident pleasure. “We must announce our arrival without delay.”
“The gatekeeper has done that already in his report, but it will also be well to send word to Emanuel before the evening concert begins. He has already been at the castle an hour, tuning a fine Silbermann piano.”
Thereupon the brisk little woman went out and sent a boy-pupil with the message, bidding him go to the castle as fast as he could. The two travellers in the meantime refreshed themselves, after the fatigue of their journey, with a hearty meal, and were chatting cosily with Frau Gertrude, when the housemaid appeared at the door and announced a court messenger, who wished to speak at once with Herr Music Director Bach, of Leipsic. He was bidden to enter, and Bach greeted him with a pleasant smile, as if aware of the nature of his message. The messenger made a courtly bow, and said: “His Majesty has heard of the arrival of Herr Bach, and graciously orders him to appear without delay at his castle. I am ordered to accompany him.”
“I will put on a more fitting dress,” replied Bach, somewhat excited, “so that I may make as suitable an appearance as possible.”
The messenger, however, promptly informed him that would be against his Majesty’s express command. “I am ordered to fetch you to the castle without any delay.”
“Well,” said Bach, smiling, as he somewhat ruefully surveyed his homely but well-fitting brown coat, “the command of his Majesty must be obeyed. Let us go.”
In the meantime there was a scene of exciting interest at the castle. At the hour appointed for the concert, the entire royal chapel was assembled in the music hall. It promised to be a notable evening, for the King was to play first flute in a concerto. The members of the chapel, among them Graun, Quantz, Agricola,[43] and Emanuel Bach, were engaged in earnest conversation about the piece, when a quick step was heard and the King entered.
The young sovereign carried a roll of music under his arm, and in his hand his favorite flute in its velvet case. With a genial smile and a hearty “Good-evening, gentlemen,” he went to the piano, laid down his flute-case and began to arrange the music upon the desks, smiling at his players and saying in a bantering manner: “Well, gentlemen, we are going to try something of importance this evening. It is Quantz’s latest work, and,” turning to Quantz, “he has not made it very easy for us.”