When the elder Bach asked what he had done lately in music, Friedemann replied that what he had done did not satisfy him. His father put aside his plea that the highest and best could alone avail in art.
"We have not reached that," he said; "yet we can rejoice in the success granted us. There is much that I like in your Fughetten."
From music he passed to other questions; and asked, smiling, how long the court-organist meant to remain unmarried.
"Dear father, I need not be in haste."
"'Early wooed has naught rued.'"
"It is a serious step, father."
"Surely, and not to be taken precipitately; but, dear son, let it not be long. If my first grandchild is a boy, I will teach him music. Ay, marriage is a serious matter! I have toiled hard to give bread to my boys and girls, and brought you all up—have I not?—to be good men and skilful artists. From my great-grandfather, all the Bachs have had musical talent. I was once ambitious, my boy, to write something that might win enduring fame. Now, I have but one wish. It is—that all the Bachs may meet in the kingdom of heaven, and join in singing to the glory of God, among the hallelujahs of the angels! Friedemann, child of my heart, let me not miss you there!"
With a sob of anguish, Friedemann sank at his father's feet. Sebastian laid both hands on his head, saying devoutly,
"God's peace be with you, my son, now and for ever!"
Unable to control his agitation—which his pious father thought a burst of filial emotion—Friedemann left the room. Closing the door softly, he rushed through the hall, out of the house, and through the streets to the open country, where he flung himself on the frozen earth and wept aloud.