Già trafitto ha il mesto seno,
chi soccorso, o ciel, mi da?
In the second Sonate à Programme of Kuhnau this phrase must impress one with the depth of Saul's melancholy:[91]
Purcell,[92] in the "Orpheus brittanicus" (London, 1706) gives us still further examples of this character. Among others, "O let me weep" (Book I, p. 171),
and "Here the Deities approve" (Book I, p. 206):
We repeat, it is undoubtedly in intentional recollection of the "Fiori musicali" that Bach here makes use of a mannerism which, moreover, was so familiar to him; it is through details of this sort that one is able to gain the mastery of a style which one desires to imitate. As for that, we must not forget that Bach wrote after nearly a century had elapsed. If you will, it is like an ancient painting copied by a modern master, who, although able to correct the perspective, would cause the picture to lose none of its archaic charm, while he would impart to it a certain quality of warmth. Thus, in the canzona, notice that progression of the soprano (beginning at the 48th measure) which ascends like the broad sweep of violins, then falls gracefully back upon a well-rounded line—a contrast expressing great tenderness, compared with the austere rigidity of the scholastic rhythm with which the countersubject at the same time pursues its heavy course, in an obsolete style of counterpoint.
Here is truly the cantable,[93] as Bach called it, never hesitating to coin French words; the second part of the Canzona which follows this species of march is written in 3/2 time, after the established rule; it is more abstract, and not without prolixity.
If all the grace, the melodic freedom of the Canzone of Frescobaldi are surpassed in this work, an Alla Breve[94] in D major reminds us more of the studied style, of the continuous movement of the Ricercare, with some reminiscence of a piece which Pachelbel wrote under the same title and in the same key.[95]
The Passacaglia[96] again exemplifies the discreet cleverness which Bach henceforth displays in his imitations; he realizes that he has risen above his models, and he now chooses his colors with a critical eye. In this instance he takes us back to Buxtehude.
Among the works of the latter are various pieces of this same order, Passacaglias or Chaconnes, written over an ostinato; which is not necessarily confined to the bass in its original form, but which modulates here and there into closely related keys, or appears in other parts.
The seriousness of the beginning of the Bach Passacaglia cannot cause us to forget that calm entrance, in its very reserve so sad, of the Passacaglio (sic) of Buxtehude (ed. Spitta, No. I, p. 1):
or the profound melancholy of the commencement of the Ciacona (ibid., No. II, p. 6):
The majority of the details of the Passacaglia, moreover, establish its relationship to the two works which we have just cited.
For example, the broken chords (beginning with the 113th measure), which remind us of the following (Ciacona, p. 10):
Also the rapid progressions accompanied by solid chords (Ciacona, p. 11):
finally the sixteenth-notes in triplets (Passacaglio, p. 4).
The idea of joining a fugue to the Passacaglias was also derived from Buxtehude, who united a chaconne and a fugue (ibid., No. V).
All this is only incidental, it is true; and we recognize Bach in the length of the work (293 measures) and especially in the skilful counterpoint of the fugue.
From our point of view, the Passacaglio and the Canzone express the whole philosophy of this second period. Bach attains, in these two works, the highest point which it was then possible for him to reach; he comes into his first maturity in treating, it is true, established forms, through which he acquires the necessary mastership for the exploration of new fields.
From this moment progress is manifest. Take the prelude and fugue in F minor;[97] no more superfluous ornaments in the prelude, and, what is especially noteworthy, it is founded entirely, not yet upon a clearly defined subject, but still upon a figure which affects the whole ensemble, imparting to it added coherency.
Up to this time Bach had not achieved such unity, such directness of meaning; and the rapid, stormy passage at the end is more than a mere brilliant cadence: it bears the musical distinction of adding to the dignity of the peroration by emphasizing the tonality, the threads of which are thus united.
In the two preludes in C minor which bear the title of Fantaisies[98] these characteristics are still more pronounced; it is from a veritable subject that they derive the somewhat elegiac character common to both, as well as certain details and even the general outlines; the one is, nevertheless, somewhat more individual because of the use of two themes. Less varied, the character of the other is more intimate, although more uniform.
To the three fugues which we have mentioned must undoubtedly be added two others, from a chronological point of view, belonging to preludes of a later date; they are the fugues of the Toccata in F major,[99] and of a prelude in C minor.[100] There is truly a remarkable analogy between these five fugues, both in the character of their themes—no longer agitated in movement, but approaching in a slight degree the melodious seriousness of the chorale—and in their treatment. In each of them the interest increases with the development, and the introduction of an accessory subject toward the middle portion (afterwards related to the principal theme), either as a countersubject or for the purpose of preparing the reëntrance of the principal theme, is common to them all.
The Toccata[101] in the Dorian mode and the accompanying fugue are perhaps contemporary; this imposing composition still partakes of that character of studied virtuosity which Bach was destined completely to abandon in his later years.
After resigning his post at the palace in Weimar, Bach never again occupied an official position as organist. Not that he renounced the instrument which he so loved to play, but he was no longer obliged to fulfil the requirements of regular service; his earlier compositions he could gather together and correct at his ease, and finally bring out no new ones that were not thoroughly in accordance with his ideals.
The number of these new organ compositions also diminished in an extraordinary degree; for from all the thirty-three years embraced in this last period, but about twenty works exist for our study.
Although Bach no longer bore the title of organist while at Cöthen, it must not be inferred that access to the organs of the town was denied him; for instance, to the instrument in the St. Agnuskirche, the pedal of which was unusually extended in compass. We learn, in fact, from a work of C.F. Hartmann's,[102] published at the beginning of this century, that the pedal of this organ was two and a half octaves in range, extending up to f'♯[103] inclusive, while the organs of that period usually possessed but two octaves in the pedal, from C to c', with sometimes c'♯ and d' in addition.
This instrument, although of modest dimensions, responded to the touch with remarkable precision and promptness. And we have good reason for believing that Bach had it in mind when he wrote the Toccata in F major;[104] this piece has always been played, traditionally, at a very rapid tempo; and one encounters at various points high f's and e's in the pedal part. If Bach, who was continually seeking new instruments or improvements hitherto ignored, had not had at his disposition a pedalier upon which he could play this pedal part, he undoubtedly would have so written it as to make it generally practicable for performance. It seems evident, on the contrary, that he composed this work only in order to take advantage of a resource which he had not encountered before; thus the date of this Toccata appears to be between the years 1717 and 1723, the period of Bach's residence in Cöthen.
While remarkably brilliant, this work bears the stamp of a certain dryness; it is somewhat too much of a "show-piece,"[105] perhaps the best one of this type which Bach wrote; quite different, in so far, from the fugue in A major joined to the prelude in the same key.[106]
This fugue (also from the Cöthen period, as well as the prelude, to judge them by the pedal, which extends to e') occupies an entirely individual position among the works of Bach—one which is shared by no other work. One would say that in writing this fugue he had relaxed from the severity which the grandeur of the instrument inspired in him, lending to the work the intimate charm of a somewhat effeminate grace of movement.
The elusive rhythm of the subject, and even the theme in its entirety (though a different way), bear a strange resemblance to this fugue subject:
given out by the oboe, repeated first by the flute, then by the viola d'amore, and finally by the viola da gamba, above the continuo in the cantata "Tritt auf die Glaubensbahn."[107]
Certain portions of the fugue in A major, further, produce the effect of concerted music, conceived for different tone-colors, rather than that of a polyphony of like sounds, especially where broken chords occur in the counterpoint. At other times, when the pedal is silent, a trio-sonata is suggested. This does not surprise us; Bach was still preoccupied with the forms of Italian chamber music. We have noted the transformation which his preludes underwent under this influence, they now being constructed upon distinct subjects; and we have seen in the Toccata in C how Bach sought to write a work in three movements, each one of a different character and tempo, in imitation of the concertos and sonatas. Here and there again, as in this instance, we find attempts at three-part writing clearly defined;[108] not merely because the pedal remains silent, but by reason of a plainly indicated design.
Bach aligned these endeavors in definite order, classified their essentials, and embodied them in the sonatas, or rather trios, for two manuals and pedal.[109]
Play these trios upon the organ, and you will divert them from their original destination. Bach composed them for the clavecin with two manuals and pedal, between the years 1722 and 1727,[110] for the purpose, Forkel tells us, of instructing his eldest son, Wilhelm Friedemann, in organ-playing, through their use in home practice.
The structure of these sonatas is analogous to that of the six violin sonatas of Bach with clavecin accompaniment; they still lack the definite form of the modern sonata;[111] they are more, as has been said, "lyric pieces."
If Bach wrote these trios to accustom his son to the technical difficulties of the organ, perchance considering them only a set of studies, and for himself an interesting occupation by which he might profit, his motives in writing the Fantasie and Fugue in G minor[112] were, apparently, very different, and may be definitely connected with the journey which he made to Hamburg in 1720. This is an hypothesis which is sustained by a whole chain of circumstances.
First of all, Mattheson, in his treatise upon thorough-bass,[113] furnishes the ground for our premise; he cites the following fugue subject as having been given to a candidate who was undergoing an examination for an organ position:
with this countersubject:
He adds that this theme was well known, and that it had been chosen to assist the candidate in his task, since he would already have had an opportunity of hearing it treated; he says, further, that its origin was not unknown, and that it was well known who had been the first to make use of it with success.
Mattheson, who wrote this about 1725, seems to be speaking of a theme unusually familiar. Was it not from Bach himself—the examination took place at Hamburg—that the candidate, who was from that city or a neighboring locality, would probably have heard a fugue composed upon this same subject?
Moreover, an examination of the prelude will confirm this opinion. Through his study of the works of Buxtehude and of Reinken, the venerable organist, Bach had possessed himself of all their secrets. The opportunity had come for him to demonstrate to the organists of Hamburg how, in imitating them, he could surpass them on their own ground.
For the characteristics of the prelude resemble those of the works of these men; recitatives, rapid passages which cover the entire compass of the manuals; chord progressions with bold, unforeseen modulations; subjects treated in imitation. But the recitatives are of an expressive, declamatory character which was then unheard of; the rapid passages are the forerunners of "those scales, those tremendous ascending and descending scales which rise and fall like the waves of the sea in a storm,"[114] which Mozart wrote in the overture to Don Giovanni; the chord progressions, with a daring which had never been exceeded, leading to that gigantic passage (measures 31 to 40), a veritable orchestral crescendo, where all resources of sonority deploy themselves in radiation, taking on new force with each strong beat; it serves also as an example of the crescendo which may be obtained upon the organ without recourse to modern appliances. Finally, the motive treated in imitation (measures 9 to 13) vouchsafes us a period of repose, corresponding to a point of temporary rest in the midst of chaotic agitation; it is the calm supplication of prayer which alternates with the power of the elements freed from their fetters.
The opposition of these varied means of expression imparts to this piece a value which the works of Buxtehude, despite their valuable qualities, will never possess. I refer to those designs, in the absence of which music stifles, giving the impression of a drawing without perspective; such qualities are essential, especially in music composed for the organ, whose manuals, of different intensity, so easily accomplish the display of the various phases, emphasizing one subject while leaving another in the background.
Pölchau, in the 18th century, declared that the fugue accompanying this prelude was the "best work with pedal ever written by Bach." It is rarely allowable to pronounce such absolute judgments, or even to subscribe to them; that it is one of the best, however, there can be no doubt; still greater through that unity of opposition, through the effect of continuity which it produces, like the uninterrupted course of a great river, contrasted with the boiling torrent which terrifies our imagination.
It now remains for us to speak only of the prelude and fugue in E flat major, and of the six preludes and fugues which have been surnamed "the great." These latter, which are found together in the manuscript, were, perhaps, assembled by Bach for publication; that was not, however, accomplished.
Of all the compositions which we have cited thus far, only the prelude and fugue in E flat were published during the composer's life.
The prelude stands at the head of the third part of the Clavierübung[115] and the fugue ends that volume. In any case, there is no doubt that these two pieces belong together. Griepenkerl, who in his edition[116] united them for the first time, declares that he did not do so arbitrarily, but that he was justified by Forkel, who in turn derived his authority from Bach's sons.
Moreover, a comparison of these two pieces will show their similarity; while the prelude is more grandiose, the character of the fugued portions is quite the same in the one as in the other; moreover, the polyphony, in each case in five parts, indicates an evident unity of composition.[117]
The publication of the Clavierübung may be fixed at about the year 1739. The prelude and fugue in E minor[118] are probably anterior to this work; a minute study of the autographs has given Ph. Spitta reason to place the composition between 1727 and 1736.
In the strict succession broadly established by a prelude developed at length (137 measures), follows the fugue, of still greater dimensions (231). It is the longest of all the Bach fugues, but, despite its proportions, the interest does not flag for a moment. Here again Bach constructed his subject upon that same chromatic progression to which he already owed so many expressive combinations; but the theme soon retires into the background of this fugue; it is but the excuse for a counter-theme of singular pathos, which assumes the importance of a symphonic subject, freely treated.
We should place by the side of this masterpiece the prelude and fugue in B minor.[119] The beauties of this composition are of a character quite as lofty, to which no analysis can do justice. It is a sort of soul-language, of which Hegel says, in his Aesthetik: "If we consider all intercourse of the soul with the beautiful as a deliverance, as a release from all trouble, it is in music that we must seek the completeness of that liberation."
Undoubtedly it is also "that internal harmony which lifts us for an instant out of the infinite depths of longing, which delivers the soul from the oppression of the will, which diverts our attention from all that is importunate, showing us things divested of all the influences of anticipation, of every personal interest, becoming objects of disinterested contemplation, and not of covetousness; thus this repose, vainly sought along the open paths of desire, but which has always eluded us, appears to us, as it were, of its own volition, and vouchsafes the realization of peace in plenty. This free condition of sadness Epicurus pronounced the chief of all good, the happiness of the gods."[120]
To the six greater preludes and fugues also belong the prelude in C major[121]—which, reproduced in an altered form by Bach himself upon another occasion, recalls in both its forms the beginning of the Concerto in C major for two clavecins—and the prelude in C minor,[122] the fugue of which (as we have already seen) must be earlier in date. Otherwise the great fugue in A minor,[123] the prelude of which, included with the fugue in this series, is still replete with souvenirs of Buxtehude, and would thus revert to the Weimar period.
Finally, we would mention the prelude in C major in 9-8 time[124]; it recalls in its movement a fantasia by Froberger.
It is curious to observe that the fugue which follows it played a part in the inspiration of Die Meistersinger, in its analogous figures, and in resuming the subject at the close, this time in augmentation, like a chorale melody.
Is it not of some interest to see brought together, in a work of Bach's, these extremes in music? Froberger, with all his inheritance of past centuries; Wagner, proclaiming the dawn of a new art?
We have seen to what an early period of Bach's life his first free compositions revert; perhaps of still earlier origin are the works which the Chorales inspired in him.
Liturgical in character, and thus all the more closely identified with the popular sources from which he sometimes drew his own inspirations in order to idealize them mystically in a sort of "procession en Dieu," the chorale is the soul of Lutheran religious music. Far more; this universal prayer, the spiritualized communion of the faithful (their sole participation, really, in a dogma freely interpreted), passed from the inner temple to the outer court, like the reading of Holy Writ; the Bible was the book of the family, the volume of chorales its musical breviary.
The very first arrangements of chorales made by Bach convey a little of that intimate charm, of that impression of "home" and its domestic circle, where in the evening the hymns are sung between the reading of two chapters from the Evangelists; it would seem as though the young man, an orphan, in imparting to them their expression of quiet sympathy, desired that they should take the place of those same intimate pleasures which had been denied him.
In fact, the "Partite," these two sets of variations upon "Christ, der Du bist der helle Tag" and "Gott, Du frommer Gott,"[125] lend themselves but poorly to the somewhat formal solemnity of a public service.
The influence of the style of G. Böhm, which betrays itself from one end to the other of these compositions, and their resemblance to clavecin pieces, would seem to indicate that they belong to the Lüneburg period, when Bach had but rarely, at best, an organ at his disposal. Here we find heavy, solid chords, undoubtedly intended to augment the tone of the weak instrument, as the profuse ornaments were to prolong it. They are written without pedal, or, at most, in one variation, for the pedal of a clavecin; for the pedal part of this last variation of Christ, der Du bist der helle Tag cannot be played upon the organ as it is written; the whole design of the sixteenth-notes in the left hand would be covered up. On the contrary, entrusted to the basses of the clavecin, which do not prolong the tone, they merely serve to accentuate the rhythm.
The chorale Christ lag in Todesbanden[126] is analogous in character, and doubtless belongs to the same period.[127]
Among the chorales of the earlier years should be included a prelude in G major upon Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern.[128] This work dates, perhaps, from Arnstadt; three other chorales, published by Commer,[129] and similar to those of Christopher Bach, are of still earlier origin.
Aside from these chorales, which are separate, and a few others equally isolated, of which we shall speak in their proper place, the greater part of the Bach chorales have been brought together in various collections, although some have been published separately.
In chronological order, the first of these collections is the Orgelbüchlein.[130]
Because this collection was made at Cöthen, it must not be supposed that the chorales which it comprises were composed only during the period of Bach's service to Prince Leopold of Anhalt; Bach rather made a practical arrangement of them, whereby they might serve as a useful work for his pupils.
It comprises forty-five chorales, of which a goodly portion undoubtedly belong to the years in Weimar—perhaps to a still earlier period.
These chorales are generally written after the models furnished by Pachelbel; but where Pachelbel is merely calmly devout, or placidly harmonious, Bach, with a more exalted piety and distinctly more poetic, lends to them whatever of mystic character he could derive from the text of the hymns; in addition, he imbues them with all the picturesqueness suggested by the sense of the words.
And what variety in the choice of means to be employed! Sometimes there are progressions which fairly chill us, simply the result of a note purposely prolonged, or a succession of chords strikingly disjointed, which seem to clash with incompatible harmonies, as at the close of Alle Menschen müssen sterben; or a false relation seems fraught with fatality, as well as with complete desolation, as in O Mensch, bewein' dein' Sünde gross. At other times will be found motives whose symbolic character is not the result of chance; for example, all the irreparability of the primeval fall of man[131] is symbolized by diminished sevenths, pitching obliquely downwards, as if in a veritable vertigo; or the gliding of scales in opposite directions depicts the balancing of a flying object hovering in space—skimming over the earth, and already out of range, while, in the repetitions, the flapping of wings emphasizes the rhythm.
Certain rhythms also assist Bach in his task; to express the fulness of joy in the chorale In Dir ist Freude, Bach constructed his prelude upon a chaconne movement, a carillon theme, repeated unceasingly by the bass; the sole subject perceptible, of which the other parts are but an indistinct reflection; even the melody of the chorale is lost sight of in the vibrations of the bass, but, nevertheless, it presents itself in the voices, which repeat it in fragments, sometimes with elaboration, like the hum of a great people celebrating a festival, who emerge in vast throngs from the church whence the final reverberations of the organ still voice its rhythm,[132] and who betake themselves, thenceforth busy with their pleasures, to the sunny square now invaded by the sound of the bells ringing their full peals.
Certain chorales are expressive enough to pass as paraphrases; Bach did not err in judgment, and reserved for them a discreet accompaniment, which is sustained very softly, asserting itself only to provide for the melody a "breathing space," as it were, after which it may reappear with increased breadth.
This is exemplified in Herzlich thut mich verlangen, a favorite chorale with Bach, with its gloomily suspensive ending, expressive of desire or of doubt in its employment of the Phrygian mode, which supports the harmonies, delicately ambiguous in the irresolution of a petition.
This mystical fervor, intensified by Bach, was foreign to the conception of the composer of this melody; Hans Leo Hassler, as he wrote it, saw in it nothing of a chorale, still less of a hymn, but designed it simply for the words of a five-part madrigal:[133] Mein G'müth ist mir verwirret, a poem dedicated to a certain "Maria," the initial letters of the five verses forming the acrostic of her name.
Meanwhile, the producers of religious songs soon laid hold of this one; to this secular music was adapted, in 1613, the translation made by Paul Gerhardt of the Salve caput cruentatum,[134] written by St. Bernard; it thus became the hymn of Holy Week. During the century, certain publishers (Rhamba-Görlitz) still further distorted its meaning; it was henceforth heard at funerals, expressing the longing to leave the earth, whereas formerly it had served to salute the bloodstained face of the Saviour, while, in the by-ways, amorous lute-players languished to its tones in "courtly diminutions."
But had not Luther said, "Why should the Devil have all the best tunes?"
The canon form inspired Bach to compose some curious arrangements of chorales. He commanded so many artifices, could devise such ingenious counterpoints with which to create interest, to overcome the rigidity of scholastic practices, and in addition could clothe the composition in so rich an "orchestration," that it becomes a pleasure to play something so erudite, so natural does it sound to the ear. This double interest offered to the mind and to the ear is exemplified in a canon upon Hilf Gott, dass mir gelinge, where, interlacing itself amid the imitations in the fifth, a sustained movement in triplets runs through the entire compass of the keyboard. In In Dulci Jubilo, similar triplets, liquidly intangible, imperceptibly disintegrate the rhythm, soften its somewhat harsh character. This chorale recalls Bach's stay in Cöthen by the unusual compass of its pedal part, which extends upward to F sharp; so, for the same reason, does the chorale Gottes Sohn ist kommen, also written in canon.
Of the other chorales in the Orgelbüchlein, a small number, it is true, recall chorales by the organists of the North German school; as examples of this style we would cite Wenn wir in höchsten Nöthen sein and Wer nur den lieben Gott lässt walten, both, in the ornamentation of their melodies, characteristic of the Reinkens and Buxtehudes.
Finally, we would call attention, in Ich ruf' zu Dir, Herr Jesu Christ, to a form of writing truly instrumental, at the same time as analogous to the style of the Adagio (in A minor) of the Toccata in C major, as the repetitions of notes are characteristic of G. Böhm.[135]
The chorales of the Orgelbüchlein were compiled by Bach for purposes of instruction, as we have seen. It is not known whether it was his intention to publish them, or the eighteen Choralvorspiele[136]—sixteen autographs and two copies in Altnikol's hand—the MSS. of which are preserved in Berlin. In any case, these latter would have been rather for personal use than to serve as exercises for his pupils.
In this collection a form of chorale arrangement is found which we did not encounter in the Orgelbüchlein, the trio.[137] From a subject taken from a chorale melody, Bach forms a figure, which he develops in three parts in the style of the sonatas for two manuals and pedal; fragments of the cantus firmus recur in these arabesques, sometimes repeated upon one after another of the manual keyboards, as an echo; or perhaps the pedal finally lays hold of them, entirely reconstructing the chorale—a stately cadence. What Bach calls a "Fantasia"[138] is of analogous character; the difference being, that the parts are more numerous, and no longer confined to a strictly continuous design.
A fusion of Pachelbel's style with that of the organists of the North, although modified, furnishes a new type: the melody is figured, it is true, but very discreetly; and the phrases of which it is composed are treated separately, each being preceded by a counterpoint derived from itself. The chorale An Wasserflüssen Babylons[139] (super flumina Babylonis), for example, is thus written. The cantus firmus is sustained by the tenor, almost without elaboration, supported by rich polyphonic imitations of these various motives.
In the same style of composition, born of a poetic imagination, is the chorale-prelude Schmücke dich, O liebe Seele.
"Schmücke dich, O liebe Seele!" Adorn thyself, O dear soul; be full of virtue, to please God; yet, however pure, may thy virtue be natural and effortless! Be full of grace, and may thy virtue be a very beautiful thing; doubtless thou hast never sinned, and thus there is no question of repentance ... that would evoke some feeling of sadness, and no sadness whatsoever can exist here; thou art already very noble, and thou must become still more noble; already very limpid, thou must become still more limpid; although far from the earth, arise now towards the heavens.... Sublime as thou art, thou must become divine. Let thy virtue be a very beautiful thing!
"Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele!" Adorn thyself, O dear soul! And Johann Sebastian treats a single line of the very calm and too austere chorale. Its robes of sackcloth being somewhat too severe, he bedecks it with simple and suave ornaments, like lilies which would live on a plain and naked altar. So might a learned and holy priest speak those words which at once charm and sanctify; and his hands do not remain crossed upon his breast, but his gesture mounts upwards towards God, scarcely saddened by a separation which soon will cease ... virtue is a joyful thing!
"Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele!" Adorn thyself, O dear soul. And now, suddenly, upon a distant manual, the calm and less severe chorale is heard. Do those voices mount towards God, or do they call from heaven? Is it a prayer which rises, or the dew of a grace which softly falls like the rain? And the suave ornaments of a simple melody thus live like lilies, and breathe no sadness. For virtue is beautiful and joyous.... "Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele!" Adorn thyself, O dear soul!
Bach wrote this chorale on a Sunday, as a pious man conceives in his heart a beautiful and childlike prayer, for the heavens are very pure on that day, and one's soul is wholly sincere.[140]
At the end of this volume are the variations in canon form upon the Christmas hymn Vom Himmel hoch da komm' ich her.[141] The combinations in which Bach involves this chorale melody, already often treated by him, might well dismay a contrapuntist; we wish to note here only that original melodic richness, often touching, under which is concealed such arduous labor leading to inconceivable results. Fatigued in following their intricacy, powerless to unravel the inextricable network, the mind clings to these threads, though still indefinite—music now superhuman in the swishing of invisible wings as they fold, or rustle like silk in their contact;—or gliding, rather, without conjuring up any special sound, but leaving to the fancy the whole halo of harmonies; or like an echo, as if fragments caught here and there repeated the song which spirit-voices pray—the white souls of the pure in heart—these voices in peaceful chords, strangely sustained, or so gently persistent that the saints must hear them, in ecstasies which one feels as in a dream; the song which the stars revealed, murmured to the Child, who was lulled by the incommensurable rhythm of the universal concert emanating from God.[142]
The Third Part of the Clavierübung contains twenty-one arrangements of chorales.[143] The "Hymns of the Catechism" and the Creed furnish twelve of them, each melody treated twice, with or without pedal. These chorales may be cited as examples of certain well-defined types; it is unnecessary to identify each one of them separately, rather will we leave to the reader the task of such a classification. Some of them, however, are deserving of special mention; the Vater unser im Himmelreich (treated in canon), for its extended proportions, for the fulness of its harmony; the Aus tiefer Noth (de Profundis) in six parts, with double pedal, noteworthy in that it appears to have been written for two pedal-keyboards of different intensity, the melody dominating by its power, crying out amidst the symbolical chaos of this gigantic polyphony.
We shall not again touch on that faculty which Bach possessed of translating into music the words of the chorales, whether in their most obscure meaning, or in their most obviously picturesque significance. Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott, "A mighty fortress is our God," sings Luther, and Bach emphasizes the suggestion of impregnability by supporting the melody upon the deepest basses of the organ; but this firmness reveals itself only after the repulse of an attack, after the warring of the counterpoints below the ramparts.
It is the same procedure as in the Reformation Cantata Und wenn die Welt voll Teufel wär', "And were the world of devils full," as Luther's song runs; "on a sudden, figures of infernal aspect, issuing from unknown depths, rush to the assault upon the noble melody of the chorale."[144]
But such agencies partake rather of an instrumental style, interesting in an organ prelude, where they are more in place; in the cantata these counterpoints are entrusted to a bass voice; while putting the singer out of breath, they impress upon the audience a sort of wearisome anxiety; "without doubt," says Hanslick, "Bach obeys a fine symbolic instinct in entrusting the calm and steadfast melody of the chorale to one voice, while the other, in elaborate design, creeps about it; but not everything of symbolic significance must, for that reason, be beautiful in itself."
It is known that the last work of Bach was a chorale-prelude upon the melody of Wenn wir in höchsten Nöthen sein, or Vor deinen Thron trete ich,[145] which he dictated upon his deathbed to his son-in-law, Altnikol. This composition was added to the plates of Die Kunst der Fuge (the Art of Fugue), unfortunately lost, which Bach had had prepared at the time.
"To replace the unfinished portion of the last fugue, the work has for a supplement a four-part chorale, Wenn wir in höchsten Nöthen sein, which Bach dedicated some days before his death to his son-in-law, Altnikol. I will not dwell on the art which he displays here, for the profound science of music had been so mastered by the author that he could exercise it even in illness; but the expression of pious resignation and devotion with which it overflows has touched me deeply every time I have played it; and I cannot say which I would rather do without, this chorale, or the ending of the fugue."[146]
The text of this chorale was, moreover, singularly appropriate to Bach's condition when he composed it, viewed as a lament amid the terrors of death, or as a declaration of readiness to appear before the throne of that God whose aid he invoked at the head of his compositions.[147]
This chorale has been called the "Swan-song."
In completing this study we must mention the chorale-accompaniments which Bach wrote to sustain the singing of the congregation, which are found in a manuscript of Kittel (P. v, Appendix, Nos. 1, 3, 6, 7, and last) and in a copy by Forkel (P. vi, 26).
They are quite different from those which he wrote in 1706, upon his return from Lübeck, and which so scandalized the parish, confusing the congregation by their ornamentation.
It is well known how important is the rôle played in the execution of organ music by the registration, and the skilful combination of the keyboards.
Bach left but few directions upon this subject; but with their aid, and the assistance of other hints derived from tradition or found in works of that period, and by placing before the reader the specifications of the principal organs which Bach may have had at his disposal during his long career, we will try to form an idea of what Forkel calls "the exquisite art with which he combined the various registers of the organ, and his manner of treating them."[148]
And our task is now the more delicate, because we cannot draw our conclusions from expressions which bore, at Bach's time, a significance quite different from that which we ascribe to them to-day. Furthermore, we would not lay down any absolute rules in the matter, which in truth is, above all, subjective, the artistic province of the executant. We shall simply point out what Bach indicated in certain definite instances; and, on the other hand, that which was customary at his time. In fact, in authoritative works of the centuries just past, veritable methods of registration exist; and without reverting to the documentary evidence (valuable, though too concise), inserted ad hoc by Scheidt at the end of his Tabulatura nova (Hamburg, 1624), we often find, at the head of pieces written at the end of the seventeenth, or during the eighteenth century, indications of the registration to be employed; given by composers less discreet than Bach. Among the number are not a few Frenchmen, and those men not to be despised; on the contrary, we shall prove how Bach frequently borrowed from their highly picturesque art of registration. No wonder if he provoked a renewed interest in their original "mélanges."
He copied a suite in A major by Nicolas de Grigny, organist at Rheims, and a suite in F minor by Dieupart,[149] and added to them a table of twenty-nine ornaments, with their interpretation. And he was acquainted with the works of Marchand, Nivers, d'Anglebert, and particularly of François Couperin. I doubt whether the intrinsic value of these compositions, despite their entertaining nature in some cases (for instance, Couperin's descriptive pieces), succeeded in holding his attention for any length of time; Bach could learn nothing from their technique, so often elementary; but he knew how to draw profit from their accessory qualities. Certain combinations of registers seem to us, in fact, to have been directly inspired by the study of their livres d'orgues, just as certain ornaments appear to have been borrowed from the "Agrémens" of their clavecin pieces.
We have said that one must not invariably interpret, by their present meaning, certain expressions whose significance is no longer the same as when Bach wrote.
First of all, the term Organo pleno, sometimes the sole indication given by Bach for preludes, fugues, or fantasies; one is often tempted to interpret it, on modern organs, by calling into requisition the uproar of all the registers combined, to whatever family they may belong.
Let us see what was understood in Bach's time by organo pleno, or volles Werk. "The volles Werk," says Mattheson,[150] "consists of principals, Sordunen (the bourdons of to-day), salicionals, octaves, quints, mixtures, Scharffen (small-scale mixtures of three ranks), of the quintadena, cymbale, nazard,[151] twelfth, sesquialtera,[152] and of super-octaves; with the Posaunen in the pedal, but not upon the manual; for the Posaunen are reeds, which are not drawn upon the manual with full organ, where, on account of the higher pitch, they would be too rasping; in the pedal, on the contrary, through the sonority of their tones, they produce a majestic effect, especially if the mouths of the pipes are covered, as is desirable."
In a former work, Mattheson had laid down the following rule for omitting the reeds from the ensemble of the registers:[153] "A reed-stop may not be drawn with the flutes upon the same keyboard, unless it be in the pedal." He makes an exception only in case the organ is not sufficiently powerful to keep a choir from wandering from the pitch and into chaos, when advantage must be taken of all resources.
The combination indicated above was, moreover, in accordance with general usage;[154] it corresponded to what the French called the plein-jeu. Nivers,[155] for instance, wrote: "The plein-jeu is composed of the Prestant, the Bourdon, the Doublette, the Cymbale, and the Fourniture; to those may be added the other sixteen- and eight-foot stops, if any there be; if there be no Prestant, the Flute may be drawn."
The same combinations are found in Le Bègue, Clairembault, André Raison. The last-named presents a curious example of the contrast of the plein-jeu to the reeds, in the "Kyrie in the first mode for the plein-jeu accompanied on the pedal by a Trompette en taille."[156]
This absence of the reeds from the volles Werk, to which other writers also bear witness, is, from a practical point of view, worthy of perpetuation, especially if we consider the very considerable place in certain modern organs occupied by this family, and the intensity of timbre due to their harmonic construction.
These registers were not numerous in organs of that time, at least in Germany, and, it must be added, badly voiced; they were often nothing but antiquated imitations of the thin and shrill Regal.
Andreas Werckmeister, known through his works upon the temperament of tones as applied to the organ, wrote (Orgelprobe, 1681):