The night before at the Bach Festival the Well-Tempered Clavier, Part 1, in the afternoon the Well-Tempered Clavier, Part 2, in between a high-tempered city, but in the morning it is still pleasantly cool in Leipzig's southern cemetery between the tall trees and faded rhododendrons.

Four cellists of the Gewandhaus Orchestra warm up with a serenade, behind them stand the open cello cases like burial chambers after the resurrection.

It's still the Bach Festival and the whole city center has woken up for ten days as if after a long sleep, shimmering with people and languages, a cosmopolitan feeling in the name of art that we had to do without here for two years in which the book fairs and music festivals were canceled.

Now the latter are back, and that for Bach, the greatest musician who died in Leipzig, is followed by one for Wagner, the greatest musician born in Leipzig, all his operas in two weeks.

But neither Bach nor Wagner can be heard in the cemetery.

They are not lying here for that, but four Gewandhaus conductors and many more Gewandhaus musicians.

In honor of one of these, Julius Klengel, the four cellists have gathered at the southern cemetery.

Klengel was her predecessor in the Gewandhaus Orchestra for almost half a century, until 1924, and as a teacher at the Conservatory he trained nearly a thousand students.

One could say that half the cello world of the 20th century consisted of Klengel's Eleven (and those of his daughter Eva), and he also composed the most famous ensemble piece for his instrument: the hymn for twelve cellos, which was played at his funeral in 1933.

The grave site, which was threatened by leveling three years ago, including the impressive stone with a bronze relief portrait, has now been restored and will henceforth be looked after by the cello group of the Gewandhaus.

Since 2006, it has also kept Klengel's instrument, which the musician had to sell during the inflationary period.

But the solo cellist, who now plays it in the orchestra, is missing from the cemetery.

And so does the cello, on which all the Klengel melodies played today at the grave - "Lied ohne Wort", "Lullaby" and "Serenade" - were composed.

That would not have happened with Bach or Wagner.

But attracting forty listeners to the Südfriedhof for Klengel alongside the festivals dedicated to these two giants is a testament to Leipzig's love for the city's musical tradition.

She will live on like this, even in the graveyard.