Bad Humor for a Friday
Posted: Fri Nov 21, 2008 3:35 pm
In a small town in Saxony in the middle of the 17th century, there lived a man named Horst. Horst was the town musician. Now you might think that this would be a sweet gig. While it was certainly less physically demanding than being a peasant farmer or miller, being the town musician was extremely stressful.
Almost every occasion in the town required specific music. Births, deaths, marriages, contract signings, blessings, council meetings all required Horst to be there. He could be called at any time and many of these calls were for emergencies. As a result, Horst needed to have an instrument close by at all times. He took to storing instruments in every room so he could grab one quickly and be out of the house and on his way at a moment’s notice.
One night the Mayor came running up to Horst’s house and began pounding on the door.
“Horst,” he said, “the Elector is riding toward town! He will be here in less than half an hour!” The Elector had never come to their small town before. Horst was in a panic.
“What instrument shall I bring?” he cried. “I do not know what is appropriate and I have no wish to embarrass the town.”
“Bring them all,” said the Mayor, “one of the Elector’s staff will let you know what to play.”
Horst dressed in a rush and ran from room to room gathering up the tools of his craft. He reached the town square quite out of breath just as the Elector and his entourage hit the outskirts of town. The Mayor looked at the pile of instruments Horst was holding.
“Did you bring them all?” asked the Mayor.
Replied Horst, “Almost all; I brought everything but the kitchen zink.”
Almost every occasion in the town required specific music. Births, deaths, marriages, contract signings, blessings, council meetings all required Horst to be there. He could be called at any time and many of these calls were for emergencies. As a result, Horst needed to have an instrument close by at all times. He took to storing instruments in every room so he could grab one quickly and be out of the house and on his way at a moment’s notice.
One night the Mayor came running up to Horst’s house and began pounding on the door.
“Horst,” he said, “the Elector is riding toward town! He will be here in less than half an hour!” The Elector had never come to their small town before. Horst was in a panic.
“What instrument shall I bring?” he cried. “I do not know what is appropriate and I have no wish to embarrass the town.”
“Bring them all,” said the Mayor, “one of the Elector’s staff will let you know what to play.”
Horst dressed in a rush and ran from room to room gathering up the tools of his craft. He reached the town square quite out of breath just as the Elector and his entourage hit the outskirts of town. The Mayor looked at the pile of instruments Horst was holding.
“Did you bring them all?” asked the Mayor.
Replied Horst, “Almost all; I brought everything but the kitchen zink.”
