Only a strong, devout nature, like that of Bach’s, and the consolations of sacred music could have enabled the bereaved husband to endure such an affliction. The sorrowing Sebastian nevertheless passed sad days, weeks, and months, and even the warm sympathy of the Prince had but little consolation for him. Fortunately, two important duties fully occupied his time—the education of his children and the musical instruction of his three gifted sons, Wilhelm Friedemann, Carl Philipp Emanuel, and Johann Gottfried Bernhard, which kept him absorbed in his art. A journey which he made about this time to Hamburg was also of great help to him. He went there to see, and, if possible, to hear, Johann Adam Reinken, the greatest master of the perfect organ style and of counterpoint, and bring back still higher standards for his own work. He was welcomed by the musical circles of Hamburg as a famous and honored master; but the old Reinken, being frail and weak, was inaccessible, and Bach soon began to grow uneasy at the possibility that he might have to return without gratifying his desire, when suddenly and unexpectedly a happy chance relieved his suspense.
On one of the last days of his stay in Hamburg, Bach played before a large and very distinguished audience upon the fine organ in St. Katharine’s Church. When the applause had ceased and he was about to leave the organ, an earnest and unanimous request was sent to him to improvise upon a chorale, and he consented. He selected the chorale “By the Rivers of Babylon,” which Reinken, at the very outset of his career, had arranged in a similar manner, and improvised with marvellous skill in long and artistic variations upon the noble theme.
“I thought this art was dead; now that I see it lives I shall depart in peace.”—Reinken
His listeners were deeply moved by the breadth and power of his playing, but the player himself was still more deeply moved when the venerable Reinken, then in his ninety-ninth year, rose with effort from his seat in the front row, came forward and embraced him, saying with deep emotion: “I thought this art had died out; now that I see it still lives, I shall pass away in peace.” Bach was greatly affected by the occurrence and the master’s parting words. No worldly recognition, not even that of the King, could have made him so happy. Tears came to his eyes, and he returned the old man’s embrace with ardor and as if reluctant to let him go. Bach left Hamburg with a feeling of exaltation he had never experienced before. It seemed to him he was wearing an invisible crown.
The beautiful and powerful organs of Hamburg, as well as the many music-loving and musically intelligent circles of Handel’s city, which had welcomed him and recognized his ability, were precious memories to Sebastian long after his return. How insignificant little Cöthen appeared in comparison! How lonely he was there with no opportunities to utilize his great skill and knowledge! Had it not been for the Prince, who fully appreciated his high purpose and loved and understood music so well, and for the friendship he had bestowed upon him, Bach’s craving for a higher sphere of activity, and his longing for better musical advantages and a more intelligent and appreciative musical public, would have induced him to look about for another field of labor. But there came a time, at last, when the sole consideration that kept him in Cöthen was removed in a singular manner, and he could justify his leaving.
The Prince, who had long been on most cordial terms with the court of Anhalt-Bernburg, was betrothed to a princess there, and became so absorbed in his approaching nuptials that his interest in music began to wane and his friendship for Bach became perceptibly weaker. Sebastian was greatly troubled about it, but he decided it was only fair to make some allowances for the Prince, and tried to believe that the old love (for music) would at last assert itself and take its place next the new love, and that the old friendly relations would be completely restored. In this hope he waited, but he was doomed to disappointment. There was a complete change in his princely patron and friend. His interest in music lessened more and more, and when at last the young Princess came, it was apparent that she had no real love of music. As Bach expressed it, she was simply bent upon being entertained, and henceforth music at Court would only be an amusement. This rendered Bach’s position not only unprofitable, but absolutely useless, and thus the last tie that bound him to Cöthen was severed. He was now as eager to get away as formerly he had been eager to get there.
As if for the very purpose of providing him a place where he could find full scope for his ability, Kuhnau, the esteemed musical director of the St. Thomas School in Leipsic, died,[35] and Bach decided to apply for the position. The matter of filling the vacancy was deferred to the next year; but in the Summer of 1723 an invitation was sent to him and to two other fellow-workers in music to go to Leipsic and show proof of their skill. The decision of the judges was in Bach’s favor after they heard his performance of his beautiful cantata, “Jesus called the Twelve unto Him.” He entered upon his duties at once, and in this position he rose to the summit of his art. Death alone released him, a quarter of a century later.
The directorship of St. Thomas’s was not unworthy of Bach. The traditions of the school were dignified, and its standing was high. He was at the same time musical director of the St. Nicholas and St. Thomas churches, likewise of St. Peter’s and the “New Church.” He was also leader of the “Alumneum,” consisting of fifty or sixty “Alumni,”[36] who were obliged to assist in the church musical services. This school, which grew out of the convent of St. Thomas, had had many excellent teachers and had attained a high standard of excellence. Both patrons and teachers had striven earnestly to maintain this standard and also to keep the musical department up to the high rank of the classical. Bach therefore undertook the task of maintaining old and time-honored traditions and standards. He ranked third among his colleagues, after the Rector, a head-master, and the co-rector, or assistant-master, and alternated with them in school inspection.
This comprehensive scheme of duties, and his general surroundings in Leipsic, had a powerful influence upon the great musician. Famous as the city of Handel, and as a centre of life and movement, it was also a centre of great intellectual activity, and boasted among its educators men of European fame. Beside this, Leipsic enjoyed unusual freedom in the control of its municipal affairs, which gave the city a lively, flourishing aspect, all of which could not fail to make a deep and favorable impression upon a man of Bach’s active, resolute disposition. In this vigorous atmosphere he revelled in the spirit of republican independence, and his passion for musical creation grew stronger, and remained strong to the end.