Bach and The Tuning of the World. Jens Johler

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СКАЧАТЬ now,’ said Bach. ‘I have to study.’

      ‘Yes, now,’ insisted Erdmann.

      ‘Where to?’

      Erdmann said he’d like to see the castle. He could that on his own, said Bach.

      ‘Oh, just come,’ said Erdmann. ‘Allez!’

      They left the school building, walked past the Church of Our Lady and came to the castle. The Prince had just had it built as a secondary residence. Erdmann made a few comments on the architecture, which he thought was too clunky and not very elegant. Then he walked on.

      Alongside him, Bach was deeply lost in thought. In his mind, he just had come up with the question as to whether it would be possible to play a fugue for six voices. And, if so, whether you could play one for seven voices as well, or for eight voices? Where was the limit?

      They came into the Wasserviertel, where the boatmen lived and made such a racket in their taverns. It smelled of fish and sour pickles. Erdmann asked whether Bach had heard that Russia had made peace with the Ottoman Empire.

      Yes, Bach said, he’d heard the news.

      And could he imagine what that meant?

      ‘Peace is peace,’ said Bach. ‘It means the absence of war.’

      ‘Wrong,’ said Erdmann. ‘It means preparation for the next war. The Tsar has made peace with the Ottomans only in order to start another war against the Swedes.’ Incidentally, he added, he was a great admirer of the Tsar, who would transform Russia into a modern empire.

      Bach stopped in his tracks and looked at Erdmann with suspicion.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ said Erdmann. ‘Come on.’

      No, said Bach. If Erdmann was planning what he suspected, he wouldn’t take another step. Not for anything in the world.

      He shouldn’t make such a fuss, said Erdmann. They had an appointment.

      An appointment? An entire swarm of bumblebees suddenly buzzed around in Bach’s stomach. An appointment! And it was obvious with whom! Erdmann had lured him into a trap, but it hadn’t snapped shut yet. Not yet!

      Would he kindly stir himself, said Erdmann.

      No, said Bach, under no circumstance. His heart was beating like mad. His knees turned to jelly. Reluctantly, he allowed Erdmann to pull him forward, step by step, towards St John’s Church. When, shortly afterwards, they stood in front of the master, he couldn’t utter a single word.

      Georg Böhm had a wide face with full lips, something of a pug nose, and kindly eyes, which now gazed on Bach expectantly. His full grey hair fell way over his ears. ‘So you’re from Ohrdruf?’ he asked.

      Bach nodded.

      ‘Well, then we’re compatriots,’ said Böhm. He was from Hohenkirchen, near Ohrdruf, he said, and actually knew Bach’s brother, Johann Christoph, even if only by name. But enough talk for now. The bellows treader was at his post. They could start right away.

      ‘What shall I play?’ asked Bach.

      Whatever he liked, said Böhm. Perhaps one of his own compositions? Or something by Pachelbel? His brother had studied with Pachelbel, hadn’t he?

      Knees trembling, Bach climbed up the stairs to the gallery and sat down on the seat. He pulled the necessary stops, took a deep breath and began with a capriccio by Pachelbel. He added a few harmonious variations, had the organ swell up and then become soft again, very soft, before he filled it with life once more.

      ‘Hmm,’ said Böhm, as the last note was fading away.

      I knew it, thought Bach. I’m not good enough for him.

      ‘Do you also have a composition of your own?’ Böhm asked. ‘Maybe a chorale or a sonata?’

      ‘I composed a toccata some time ago,’ suggested Bach. ‘I could play that.’

      He began with three ringing notes, an octave apart, followed by a diminished seventh chord, playing after that fast, virtuoso musical figures across the manuals with both hands. He was still not satisfied with the toccata, not by a long shot; he would play it again and again, and continue perfecting it, but what he was playing now was what he was able to play now – more was simply not possible at the moment.

      ‘This should be followed by a fugue,’ said Böhm.

      ‘I could play one by Pachelbel,’ Bach replied.

      ‘No, no,’ said Böhm. ‘A fugue on the theme of the toccata. For three voices, perhaps?’

      ‘I’d have to improvise that,’ said Bach.

      ‘Well, go on then.’

      Bach chose a short sequence of notes from the toccata that seemed suitable for the fugue and began with the improvisation. He was uncertain, hesitating to venture into the ocean of possibilities that opened up, and instead remaining within a narrow harmonic framework. Suddenly he sensed that Böhm was standing behind him. A little later, Böhm pushed in some stops, which changed the sound, so that everything Bach played now sounded more delicate, more tender, almost a whisper. After a while, Böhm pulled the stops out again, and the sound of the organ became fuller again. Bach’s fingers remembered the quick runs they had played with the toccata, and transferred them to the fugue.

      ‘Just go on,’ he heard Böhm’s deep voice behind him say. ‘Everything will be fine.’

      Suddenly Bach’s heart was beating so violently that his hands and feet almost refused to obey him. As uncertain as he had felt just a moment ago, there was no longer any doubt that the great Georg Böhm would accept him as his pupil.

       6. The Three Musics

      Everything would be fine, Böhm had said, and to start with, it was.

      Bach studied, and played together with Böhm, everything the large organ in St John’s Church was good for. Time after time, he astonished his master for the quickness of his mind. After hearing them only once, he was able to play even quite demanding pieces from memory; he improvised with an unerring instinct for harmony; there was no doubt of his great virtuosity. But as time passed, and the more often they played music together, the quieter Böhm became, and the more cautious became his praise. Often he merely looked askance at Bach, and said, ‘All right, all right, another thing that you can do standing on your head,’ or, ‘There’s certainly nothing wrong with it,’ or, ‘What am I still supposed to teach you? You already know everything!’ And although Bach ought to have rejoiced over this, he was anything but glad. ‘What is it?’ he finally asked. ‘What am I doing wrong?’

      ‘Nothing,’ said Böhm. ‘Everything is correct, everything is perfect.’

      ‘But?’

      ‘I’ve never had a student who was so quick and eager to learn.’

      ‘But?’

      ‘Well СКАЧАТЬ