Bach and The Tuning of the World. Jens Johler
he began.
Bach raised his hands apologetically. Probably he had said something very stupid, and he wanted to …
‘No, no!’ the philosopher exclaimed. ‘That’s a fantastic idea! I’ll suggest it to Leibniz immediately—’ He coughed and cleared his throat, pulled a lace handkerchief from the wide sleeves of his jacket and held it in front of his mouth. ‘I, Leibniz, will suggest it immediately –’ he began the sentence again in a slightly different order – ‘to the Society of Science in Berlin as soon as we have established it. It will finally take place in July. Maybe we’ll even advertise a prize question: Proposals for the construction of a machine that calculates every possible counterpoint variation for any given theme! – Excellent! What was your name again?’
‘Bach.’
‘Excellent, Bach! Especially since it’s not for nothing that we call music the calculating of the soul. It fits! Upon my soul! It fits perfectly!’
Bach should have been happy but was ashamed of the praise. He made an apologetic gesture to Erdmann, who nodded to him approvingly.
Unfortunately, explained the Privy Counsellor of Justice with an regretful expression, pulling out an object from which he seemed to be able to tell the time, his time was limited. He would now accompany the two gentlemen to the exit and then: God be with you both.
As they stepped into the open air, they had to shield their eyes from the blinding light. Only once they had got used to it a little did they see, against the light, a gentleman dressed in gold brocade ascending the flight of stairs. Was it the Prince? Bach noticed that the philosopher turned away, alarmed, and made a move to steal away.
‘Reinerding!’ the Prince shouted after him. ‘Reinerding?’ The man so addressed stopped in his tracks.
He had dressed himself up so much like Leibniz, the Prince said with a laugh, that he’d almost been fooled into taking him for the great man.
The other man now suddenly blushed violently and stammered something incomprehensible about a mistake in the calendar, and that Leibniz did not want to disappoint the students and had asked him to represent him, and so forth; and while he was still stuttering his explanations, he disappeared, side by side with the Prince, into the depths of the library.
4. Latin School
‘Why are you always going on about Böhm?’ Erdmann asked, as they made their way from Bienenbüttel to Lüneburg.
‘You mean like you always going on about Leibniz,’ said Bach, ‘before he played that trick on us with his secretary?’
‘Are you trying to say he’s the greatest musician of our time?’
‘The greatest?’ said Bach, shaking his head in thought. ‘Who knows? My brother has some of his pieces in his cabinet. Dance suites in the French manner, preludes, overtures.’
‘Well? Are they so special?’
‘They have such an extraordinary …’
‘An extraordinary what?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps there’s no word for it. But look – that must be it.’
They beheld in the distance the town wall and three church spires, then quickened their pace, and were soon showing their papers at the town gate of Lüneburg.
They were already expected. Barely had they entered the cobbled yard of St Michael’s Monastery than a student took them under his wing – another scholarship student, as they correctly assumed. He had fiery red hair, freckles, a snub nose and protuberant lips. His name was Waldemar, he announced. And they, he took it, would be the new students from Thuringia?
Yes, that’s who they were.
In that case he would take them to meet the Rector. And if they allowed him to offer some advice, he would suggest they speak loudly and clearly, since Mr Büsche was already sixty and quite hard of hearing. ‘He doesn’t want to admit it, though,’ Waldemar said, ‘and always thinks you’re deliberately muttering when he can’t hear what you’re saying. Then he immediately starts slapping you.’
The Rector was sitting behind a huge desk; his face was red and somewhat bloated; his black coat had a greasy sheen, and his powdered wig looked as if it hadn’t been combed for many years. Where had they been all this time, he asked roughly.
‘It was a long trip!’ Erdmann bellowed.
‘Why are you shouting?’ asked the Rector. ‘It’s not as if I’m deaf.’
‘I do beg your pardon,’ Erdmann said in a more normal tone of voice.
‘What?’ the Rector said, rather threateningly.
Erdmann lowered his head.
‘We’ve been travelling, on foot, for the best part of two weeks,’ said Bach, at a volume he hoped was exactly right. They conveyed the respects, he added, of Elias Herda, their cantor in Ohrdruf.
‘Ah, yes, Elias,’ the said the Rector. ‘Thank you for telling me. And now, this young man here, namely our Waldemarius, will introduce you both to Cantor Braun, who, incidentally, is the Quartus of our school, both our number four and also the gentleman responsible for teaching the quarta. But this need not yet concern you, since you will both be attending the prima in accordance with your previous instruction.’ Waldemarius, whom he delegated to act as their cicerone forthwith, would show them the dormitories, refectory and classrooms. ‘And tomorrow, if it would please you, the town as well – Sandviertel, Sülzviertel, Marktviertel and Wasserviertel. I assume you have already seen the limestone cliff?’
‘Yes indeed,’ said Bach.
‘What’s that?’ the Rector asked, raising his arm as if to threaten them with blows. But he only put his hand behind his ear.
‘We have seen the limestone cliff,’ said Bach in a clear voice. ‘It was certainly very impressive.’
Cantor August Braun was a gaunt man of around fifty. His wig was on the table next to him when they entered; he didn’t bother putting it on. A crown of thin grey hair adorned his pointed head. He had Erdmann sing something, then Bach, and he was pleased, nodding after listening to Bach’s boy soprano. He asked them a couple of questions about their instruments and gave them the music score for the choir practice next day. He said they might do a little practising beforehand. Regrettably, they had missed Annunciation Day, he said reproachfully, but next Sunday was Judica, and they would be singing in the matins choir. And he had scheduled them for the Saturday before Palm Sunday to sing in the large choir, as well as for the Passion on Good Friday. Did they have any questions?
Bach and Erdmann shook their heads.
‘Well then, let’s get going. Our Waldemar here, whom you seem to have already made friends with, will show you the rest. By the way, he’s also a good singer, despite the fact he’s not from Thuringia.’
Waldemar winked at them conspiratorially in a way that seemed to say he couldn’t really sing and was just pretending. Before showing them the dormitories, he warned them in a hushed voice about the young gentlemen from the Collegium Illustre, who also had their dormitories in the inner courtyard. A bagarre with them would occur every once in a while.
‘What’s that?’ asked Bach.
‘A brawl.’
‘No, I mean the Collegium Illustre.’
‘Oh that,’ said Waldemar with a dismissive gesture.
‘Well?’
‘The Knights’ School. Some also call it the Knights’ Academy, but it’s a Latin school just like ours, only for the nobility, so the great lords can mingle among themselves. They learn all sorts of things there, things us mere mortals don’t need. Heraldry, courtly dances,