When we have known the genius through his works, those heart-resemblances, those mind-born counterparts of his inner self, we would contact the outer man, and discover in facial and bodily expression some token of that which flesh has clothed. Denied this, we turn to sculptured or painted likeness of such as Johann Sebastian Bach. In vain we search his pictured face for hint of the vacillating or the superficial. Every feature and every lineament is indicative of massive, self-centered power dependent only as man is dependent, being but mortal. In that face is much of clinging to the mind's self-imposed task; something too of downright obstinacy, as also in the sturdy form which, like post or pillar, would say, «I stand! turn and resist me not!» Behold him the progenitor of many children after the flesh, and many, many sprung from his teeming and tireless brain! Behold him, the musical athlete, challenging virtuosity to trial of skill and endurance, while he himself rejoices like the swift and strong runner sure of his lead in the race! Behold him deferential, but not obsequious, the admired and sought of a monarch and the chief comer to the palace of Potsdam! Behold him, unflattered by the attentions of royalty and court, wending back to Liepsic, and his humble cantorship with its meagre stipend! Behold his reverent return to the old Lutheran Church of Saint Thomas and the well-remembered organ where with praiseful notes he often had sought and found a greater than Frederic, or any earthly potentate!