Ode to Johann Sebastian Bach (eBook)

The Bellicose Bassoonist

I shall never forget that night. I was waiting in the square for Sebastian. We had agreed to go to the Mermaid tavern after he had finished performing for the local nobility. He emerged jauntily from the ornate archway of Neideck Castle dressed in his finest pink satin trimmed with French lace. An ornate silver sword swung by his side. He paused to look up at the stars then began absentmindedly filling his pipe. I greeted him and we bowed to one another in our special, elaborately contrived way then turned and walked slowly through the chattering pedestrians. Sebastian lit his pipe. The cobblestones were moist from a cold fog that had hung over Arnstadt all day long. Sebastian shivered; he was not as well protected from the chill as I was in my English greatcoat. The square was sporadically illuminated by carriages clattering by with dangling lamps and a few torchbearers accompanying companies of bewigged gentlemen. The windows of the tall stone houses looming around the square glowed faintly. We were about to head up the side street that led to the tavern, when Sebastian was suddenly accosted by a group of taunting young men, obviously drunk, led by Anselm Geyersbach, the hulking bassoonist from the student orchestra.

A few days prior Sebastian was attempting to rehearse a few preliminary sketches he had been working on for a possible Sacred Cantata. The students, unskilled and exceedingly frustrating were being difficult as usual. Geyersbach, the bassoonist, was belligerently inept, and the passages the ensemble had been called upon to play included several prominent bassoon parts. After numerous blatantly unsuccessful attempts to play the parts, Sebastian had soundly berated Geyersbach in front of the rest of the orchestra members, calling him a prick of a bassoonist.

Now Sebastian confronted a drunk and furious Geyersbach. For many days now the bassoonist had been stewing over the insult. Geyersbach and his companions, stealthily clutching cudgels menacingly began hurling jeers at Sebastian, mocking his feminine finery, his fancy pipe, his proud manner. Sebastian stopped, looked them up and down with contempt, and continued puffing calmly away. Geyersbach lurched forward, and in loud slurred tones demanded an apology.

I quietly stepped back, put my hand into my greatcoat and gripped the butt of my French musket. Sebastian continued puffing unconcernedly as the snarling ruffians slowly surrounded him. Suddenly Geyersbach reared back and swung hard. Sebastian ducked just in time, managing to evade a direct blow, but the sideswipe raised a bruise that drew blood. Bewildered, he put away his pipe and pulled out his handkerchief and began dabbing dazedly at his wound. Geyersbach then reared back and swung again, this time striking Sebastian’s head directly with a sickening crack, barely missing his ear. Sebastian’s wig went flying into a puddle of horse piss. Sebastian stepped back, drew his sword and began brandishing it unconvincingly. The drunken ruffians roared with laughter then with cudgels raised closed in for the kill.

I instantly stepped out of the shadows, grabbed Sebastian by the arm and placed myself in front of him. I glared at the club wielding louts then opened my greatcoat to reveal my other hand holding the cocked musket. Geyersbach’s accomplices fled at once. Geyersbach stood his ground a few seconds then followed suit.

Sebastian was quite angry and shaken up. He wiped at his injuries until his handkerchief became crimson. I offered him mine which was much more substantial. He held it to his face until the bleeding stopped. I offered him a sip from my flask and we proceeded to the tavern.

The atmosphere in the Mermaid was cheery and convivial. Through the merry din and smoke, we went in search of a table. We finally found one near the fireplace. We ordered dark ale and filled our pipes. We discussed the incident at length. I told Sebastian that there might be repercussions if Geyersbach filed a complaint against him for drawing his weapon.

As we drank, Sebastian said he was damn well going to finish the Cantata he had begun. And he would make sure it required the performing skills of a highly competent bassoonist. And, though he was not going to try practicing it or performing it in Arnstadt, he would leave it with the Consistory when he departed. And, when his successor tried practicing it with the student orchestra, Geyersbach would be humiliated.

I encouraged him. Now that he had successfully mastered the art of composing for the organ, he owed it to his musical gift to start composing Cantatas. This would be a good time and place to begin. Sebastian agreed and said he would begin work on it the next day.

His bruise had been swelling and it began to seem worrying so I suggested we leave the noise and commotion of the Mermaid, and make our way to my abode; I had medical supplies. He agreed, and we left the clanking tavern, and stepped out into an utterly clear night blazing with stars.

After treating his wounds, I offered him a glass of brandy. He accepted it, and after filling his pipe, stood by the window looking out. I lit a large candelabrum and positioned it beside the harpsichord. He polished off the brandy and puffing away on his pipe, remarked that though he had experienced many overpowering emotions in his life, this night’s episode had awakened an emotion he had never experienced before. “I really feared for my life.” He thanked me for being there for him adding that the whole episode had left him strangely euphoric. “My dear Edmund,” he said, “A soaring melody is dancing right now in my soul; a soprano aria which I think I shall make the centerpiece of my first Cantata.”

He sat down at the harpsichord and began playing. The melody, so concise, so potent, so free flowing, so heart wrenching, brought tears to my eyes. After playing it several times, he began improvising, and I was swept into a musical universe of light – a flowing world of endless sparkle fluidly gliding over a riverbed of precious stones. I sat in bliss until he came to a concisely stated variation of the original melody, and ended.

I sighed and told him a Cantata built on that theme would be the greatest of masterpieces. He smiled at me – a knowing smile that seemed to say he knew he would create such a masterpiece, and that far from being flattered by my praise, he very much appreciated it. I then offered to accompany him to his residence in case Geyersbach and his cronies were still on the prowl. He replied that he was far too fired up to sleep. I said I was too, and that he was welcome to stay in my spare room. He thanked me and said he might take me up on my offer.

I then rang for my servant Felix and when he appeared asked him to build a fire and bring out my finest brandy and some food. Felix appeared to be in bliss as he busied himself. “As I have always observed Master Edmund, Sebastian plays like the angels in heaven!” I wholeheartedly agreed. The fire was lit and we dined. Afterward we sat, pipes lit, and began sipping brandy.

As the room flickered in the firelight, Sebastian stood, went back to the window and looked out. He gestured at the stars and said he wished his music to be as brilliant and as mysterious as they. I launched into yet another of my tedious meandering expositions about the ideas of Galileo and Newton. I reiterated that thanks to their calculations and discoveries, the objects in the heavens had been shown to be much further away and much more mysterious than anyone had ever previously imagined.

He pondered this for awhile. He finally said he fully agreed; “Actually, I find all of life much more mysterious than anyone ever previously imagined. My desire is to distill the utterly mysteriousness of this into music.”

He took another sip of brandy and refilled his pipe. “Edmund,” he said thoughtfully, “I wish to share with you a secret about my true view of the world, a view that came to me during my first years living with Christoph. What makes tonight so very unusual for me is that I have always studiously avoided violence - of any kind. But tonight, I drew my sword without hesitation. And I’m not sure why. Maybe it was that unexpected emotion of fear.

“This pertains to the story I wish to tell you, because when I was but a wee lad, a scrawny little pupil at the Latin School in Eisenach, violence was a way of life among my fellow classmates as well as in the cruel delight the headmasters and teachers took in meting out discipline. I have, since earliest memory found violence supremely horrid and ugly, nothing but ignorance and total insensibility. And violence always whirled around me, everywhere, at school, I seemed to be always in the thick of it, and it repelled me, made me physically ill.

“And so, I skipped school all the time to avoid it, and fled to the forest. There I found beauty and mystery abounding. There I wandered far and wide. Not long after my first all-day excursion, I had what can only be described as a mystical experience. I felt the life of the trees! They were throbbing with significance and spirit; their glow seemed somehow connected everywhere, and alive, flowing not just among the themselves, but flowing among the wildflowers, the shrubs, the sky, the clouds, all flowing, connecting one with the other. All I could do in response was sing. And I sang as I never had before. It was not singing from memory. It was composing, I was improvising. I had had enough rudimentary musical training to realize what I was singing was original and significant. The music I was singing was flowing through me from the trees – from everything in the forest.

“Afterwards I...