One day in the late autumn of Knecht’s first year in office, while his friend was still deep in his initial studies of China, the Magister paused as he was skimming through the entries in his secretariat’s daily calendar. He had come upon a note that caught his interest: “Student Petrus, arrived from Monteport, recommended by Magister Musicae, brings special greetings from former Music Master, requests lodgings and admission to Archives. Has been put up in student guesthouse.” Knecht could be easy in his mind about leaving the student and his request to the Archive staff; that was routine. But “special greetings from the former Music Master” was directed only to himself. He sent for the student — who turned out to be a quiet young man, at once contemplative and intense. Evidently he belonged to the Monteport elite; at any rate he seemed accustomed to audiences with a Magister. Knecht asked what message the former Music Master had given him.
“Greetings,” the student said, “very cordial and respectful greetings for you, reverend sir, along with an invitation.”
Knecht asked him to sit down. Carefully choosing his words, the young man continued: “As I have said, the venerable former Magister requested me to give you his warmest regards. He also hinted that he hoped to see you in the near future, in fact as soon as possible. He invites you, or urges you, to visit him before too long a time has passed, assuming, of course, that the visit can be fitted into an official journey and will not excessively discommode you. That is the burden of the message.”
Knecht studied the young man, convinced that he was one of the old Master’s protégés. Cautiously, he queried: “How long do you linger in our Archives,
“Until I see that you are setting out for Monteport, reverend sir,” was the reply.
Knecht considered a moment. “Very well,” he said. “And why have you not repeated the exact wording of the ex-Master’s message, as you should have done?”
Petrus unflinchingly met Knecht’s eyes, and answered slowly, still circumspectly choosing his words, as if he were speaking a foreign language. “There is no message, reverend sir,” he said, “and there is no exact wording. You know my reverend Master and know that he has always been an extraordinarily modest man. In Monteport it is said that in his youth, while he was still a tutor but already recognized by the entire elite as predestined to be the Music Master, they nicknamed him ‘the great would-be-small.’ Well, this modesty, and his piety no less, his helpfulness, thoughtfulness, and tolerance have actually increased ever since he grew old, and more so since he resigned his office. Undoubtedly you know that better than I. This modesty of his would forbid him to do anything like asking your Reverence for a visit, no matter how much he desired it. That is why,
Knecht smiled faintly. “And what about your work in the Game Archives, my good fellow? Was that mere pretext?”
“Oh no. I have to obtain the ciphers for a number of clefs, so that I would in any case have had to cast myself upon your hospitality in the near future. But I thought it advisable to speed this little journey somewhat.”
“Very good,” the Magister said, nodding, his expression once again grave. “Is it permissible to ask into the reason for this haste?”
The young man closed his eyes for a moment. His forehead was deeply furrowed, as though the question pained him. Then he looked once more into the Magister’s face with his searching, youthfully incisive gaze.
“The question cannot be answered unless you would be so good as to frame it more precisely.”
“Very well then,” Knecht said. “Is the former Master’s health bad? Does it give reason for anxiety?”
Although the Magister had spoken with the greatest calm, the student perceived his affectionate concern for the old man. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation a gleam of good will appeared in his rather fierce eyes, and as he at last prepared to state candidly the real object of his visit, his voice sounded a trace friendlier and less distant.
