The old man, still standing, answered, "I come to thank you, sir, for the pleasure of hearing your concert last evening. I was a listener, privately, and understood that your latest compositions were performed. I will not conceal my name from you. I am Friedemann Bach."
Naumann stood petrified with astonishment. "Friedemann Bach!" at length he repeated; "the great son of the great Sebastian. How strange, indeed! I saw your brother Philip at Hamburg, only last year. The excellent old man mourns you as dead."
"I would be dead to all who knew me in better days," was the melancholy reply. "It would grieve them to know how sad a failure my life has been. Even in Berlin none know that Friedemann Bach yet lives; not even Mendelssohn, the friend of Lessing. While he lived, I had no fear of starving."
Naumann was deeply affected. Philip had told him his brother's history; his sorrows, his disappointments, his terrible suffering for years. "What can I do for you?" he asked mournfully.
"Nothing," answered Bach. "You have done every thing in showing me what I could and should have done. You know how I failed; how my life was wasted; how I fell short in all my bold and burning schemes. I fainted, and did not reap. But you need not the warning of my history. You walk securely and cheerfully in the right path. I can only thank you for your magnificent works. The blessing of God be with you! I feel now that I have nothing more to do in this world."
He turned away, and was gone before Naumann could recover from the emotion his words called forth. He called the servant to ask where he could be found; but no one could tell him. The boy who had escorted the old man home had not been suffered to go to his door. At length he met with Moses Mendelssohn, and told him what had happened.
Mendelssohn was astonished to learn that Friedemann Bach yet lived, and in Berlin. The only clue he had was his knowledge of Lessing's old dwelling, where the old musician lived some time before.
The next morning the two went to the Friedrichstadt, and found Lessing's house. The housekeeper opened the door.
"Does M. Friedemann Bach live here yet?" asked Mendelssohn.
The woman shook her head, lifting the corner of her apron at the same time to wipe her eyes.