At Home With the Bachs

(Weimar, Germany: 1716)

There you are! Johann, for heaven's sake, what are you up to now?"

"Quiet, Maria. I'm sketching a most ingenious prelude and fugue. Perhaps my finest. I need concentration."

"Another one? You haven't sold the first dozen. I wish I had a mark for every ingenious thing you've sketched."

"One of these days I'll strike it rich, you wait and see. Then we'll get ourselves a nice, cozy castle in the countryside where we can raise a big family."

"Big family! That's all I ever hear from you. Anyway, I came down because poor Carl Philipp Emanuel is crying his eyes out. I think you should sing him to sleep. And no arias this time. You know he likes those hunting songs. Hurry up. You're wasting your time, as usual."

"This one's going to be different, Maria, I can feel it in my heart. I've never tried anything in D-Sharp Minor before. Maybe that's my problem. I've always stuck with conventional keys — your C Majors, your F Majors, your G Minors. Not once have I really let loose. What do you think?"

"I think you should march up those stairs and sing C.P.E. to sleep, that's what I think."

"My dear, you never give me any encouragement. You think I enjoy playing for the duke and living entirely on his wages?"

"I won't give you any encouragement until you take my advice and see Franz Meisterberger, the image-maker, in Leipzig. You've got to take a little initiative if you want to get ahead in this world. Now, please come upstairs before your son wakes up the whole neighborhood."

* * *

"Well, well. What an honor to meet Herr Bach. Surely one of the finest organists in all of Germany. His Most Excellent Duke is most fortunate to have you in his service."

"You are too kind, Herr Meisterberger. But it is I who've come in search of your talents."

"The frau twisted your arm, eh?"

"Well, frankly, sir..."

"I understand. Artists are quite reluctant to compromise for the sake of success. I see it all the time. Just last week an Italian sculptor walked out on me. I'm trying to establish a reputation for him in this country, right? And he refuses to have his works displayed behind the celebrated organ grinder, Emilio DiMartino. They come from kilometers to see his act. It doesn't add up."

"No, I guess it doesn't. Tell me, have you any ideas about helping me sell some of my compositions? They're contrapuntal and very tightly structured, but at the same time they're rather melodic little ditties, if I may say so myself."

"Exactly what do you have to offer, Johann? Can I call you Johann?"

"By all means. I can see J.S. as a stage name, but Johann will do for now. Anyway, my specialty is the organ and harpsichord. An occasional chamber piece or choral work, but I feel most at home with the keyboards."

"I'll be honest with you, there's not a big market for that kind of music. Sure, a fugue has its charm, but if you want to make any money in this business you ought to check into opera. It's extravagant. It's full-blown. The kings and queens eat it up. You can't lose."

"I don't know, Herr Meisterberger. It's not really..."

"Come now, Johann. You can do anything you put your mind to. I don't suppose you brought a cantata I could take a peek at?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. But I have a rough draft of my very latest prelude and fugue. This one's in D-Sharp Minor."

"D-Sharp Minor, eh? Interesting. I still think operas are your best bet. Handel makes a pretty good living at it. And what about Scarlatti? His new one is packing houses all over Europe. There's a guy who knows how to read the public, Johann."

"I can't argue with that. Still, there must be a market somewhere for my compositions. As I've said, they're compact little gems just gushing with melody. Plenty of good harmony, too, if you're into that sort of thing."

"I suppose we could try a Battle of the Organists. But the focus would be on your performance and not on your creations, am I right?"

"You've got a..."

"Of course I'm right. On your way out, make an appointment with my secretary for a meeting the week of the twenty-fourth. Come back with a librettist and we'll get cracking on that opera."

* * *

"Johann, what on earth are you doing? It sounds like a World War the way you're banging. If you break that harpsichord, we're not getting another one."

"I'm angry, Maria. Angry, angry, angry! I deserve better than this. Besides, there's no ventilation down here."

"Oh, stop your pouting. I can see you haven't fully recovered from your meeting with Herr Meisterberger. Look at your hand. It's bleeding. Come here and I'll wrap it. Why couldn't you take the man's advice? You'd be no worse off than you are now."

"Did you ever try writing an opera?"

"Don't raise your voice to me! You know, it's not easy being married to a man who spends more time with dotted eighth notes than he does with his family. Why can't you get a normal job like the other fellows in town?"

"I'm afraid there's no turning back now, Maria. I'm in this thing too deep. And how many times have I told you I don't even write these pieces? They come from above. Through my hands, The Almighty communicates with mankind. Or would communicate, if they ever got published."

"Here we go again with the Divine Composition Theory. Sometimes I wonder about you. I know a doctor in Weissenfels who may be of some help."

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"Well, I must confess I was surprised when you crushed Herr Meisterberger's homburg and smeared ink all over his appointments calendar."

"Few things get me upset, Maria, and when I can't readily express them in my music I have to improvise."

"I wish you'd confine your bursts of energy to your own home."

"You should have seen me this afternoon. I wrote three toccatas and got a good start on a partita while you were mowing the lawn."

"And that's another thing..."