Clavierübung III of J. S. Bach: Theology in Notes and Numbers, Part 2

Part 1 was published in the October issue of The Diapason, pp. 22–25, and Part 2 in the November issue, pp. 26–29.

Prelude in E-flat Major (BWV 552/1)
The prelude surprises us with its élan. It is an example of a ceremonial introduction and is written in a style whose origins reach back to the works of the French composer Jean-Baptiste Lully. Many features of Bach’s prelude are reminiscent of the “Overture” of the Compositione musicale, Parte Seconda, I (Example 24), written by the virtuoso German harpsichord player, Konrad Friedrich Hurlebusch (c. 1696–1765),84 who visited Bach in Leipzig in 1734.
When one examines the motifs that form the basis of the three “characters” of Bach’s Prelude in E-flat Major with care, it is not difficult to see that they are in fact variations on one and the same motif—a fifth filled out with material from the diatonic scale. (Example 25) This motif appears in the dotted part as a tirata, in the sections with a reduced texture (bars 32–50 and 111–129) as a flowing melody, and finally in the “driven” parts as an energetic scale. Let us call these different structures A, B, and C.
The form of this composition is particularly interesting. It is constructed as a rondo, and is the only example of this form in the whole of Bach’s organ works. The dotted parts are given the function of the refrain, while the “reduced” and “driven” parts function as the episodes. These three main structures, taking up as they do the whole length of the work (205 bars), are distributed in very remarkable proportions. The ceremonial dotted music (A) lasts for 100 bars (naturally taking bars 50 and 129 into account), the B music lasts for 34 bars (17 + 17), and the C music 71 bars.
These numbers are at first glance astonishing. One could naturally regard them as coincidental, were they not attested to by the hidden meaning given them by the composer himself: the work opens with music A, and music C first occurs in bar 71. Understandably we must examine these numbers very carefully, and to this end we have created a small table that reflects the development of the musical form (Figure 3).
It appears from this table that the prelude is dominated by the monumental character (A) that represents a rich five-voiced texture of 100 bars. The symbolism of the number 100 underlines, as it did in the greater chorale prelude We believe, the idea of the One God. When one totals the number of bars in the first and second, the third and fourth, and finally the fifth and sixth appearances of A, one sees the following picture:

100 = 33 + 34 + 33
(32+1) (20+14) (1+32)

A better expression of the equality of the three Persons of the Holy Trinity could hardly be imagined. The effect is undoubtedly strengthened by the placing of A at the beginning, in the middle (bars 98–111), and at the end of the composition. The structures that surround the middle part are equal in amount, and the middle part itself consists of 14 bars (BACH).
The episodes B and C are given an altogether much more modest role in the prelude. Together they take up approximately one half of the work (17 + 17 (B) and 71 bars (C)).85 Additionally they are less prominent with regard to the number of voices compared to the main structure. The episodes B and the first and last appearances of C are in three voices. This alone is enough to make it difficult to equate them with the second and third Persons of the Holy Trinity.
Another facet is equally interesting. The theme of the fugato (episode C) is set in multiple counterpoint. The predestination motif occurs in a veiled form in the bass voice of this polyphonic texture, while the countersubject is based on the motif for understanding the Divine Will.86 And one further observation: The total number of bars in the work is 205, which is the multiple of 5 (the number for Mankind) and 41 (JSBACH).87

Fugue in E-flat Major (BWV 552/2)
The fugue that crowns the whole cycle is also worked out in three figurative spheres. It is often referred to as a triple fugue, which is incorrect since a triple fugue signifies the combining of all three themes—which does not happen in Bach’s Fugue in E-flat Major. The first part, with its 4/2 rhythm (the first fugue), is reminiscent of the linear compositional style of Palestrina. The fluent lines of the five-voiced texture flow majestically and gradually fill out the whole tonal space. This is the so-called stylus gravis or stylus ecclesiasticus, known to us from other works of Bach, especially from the Confiteor, Credo and Dona nobis pacem from the Mass in B minor. The theme of the Fugue in E-flat Major bears an evident resemblance to the theme of the fugal part of the E major prelude by Dietrich Buxtehude, BuxWV 141. (Example 26)
The second part of the composition (the second fugue) displays a lively character and contains elements derived from dance music. It is in fact based on the intervals of the melodic progression of the first fugue. Both themes are combined in the second half of the fugue (from bar 59 onwards). This part clearly quotes the final chorus Hilf deinem Volk [Help your people] from the cantata Gelobet sey der Herr, denn er hat erhöhet [Praise to the Lord, for he has heard], written by the South-German composer and native of Nuremberg, Johann Krieger (1652–1735).
And finally, from bar 82 onwards, the third theme, in 12/8 rhythm, enters into the flow of the music. It is based on a “falling” fifth filled out in a very lively manner. The final part of the composition (the third fugue) begins at this point. The unbroken flow of diatonic sextolen creates the illusion of accelerando. One is plunged into a general atmosphere of joyful expectancy and upon this wave of world-encompassing joy the main theme (the theme of the first fugue) appears as a great hymn symbolizing the greatness, the jubilation, and the glory of the Creator.
What does this short theme of just seven notes actually represent?
Bach’s genius enabled him to portray in it the central idea of Christianity: the Redemption through the suffering of God-made-Man upon the Cross. Three symbolic motives which together form the theme are, as it were, interlinked (notes 1–4, 3–5, and 4–7). (Example 27)
The first motif is a figura hypotyposis and represents the Greek letter χ (Chi) symbolizes the Cross. The second motif, which we have already met in the chorale Christe, aller Welt Trost [Christ, consolation of all the world] we could call the consolation motif, and finally the third motif, which we have already met more than once, is the predestination motif. Ignoring the inversion of the first two notes, the theme of the fugue corresponds completely to the melody of the first line of the chorale Was mein Gott will, das g’scheh’ allzeit.88
The main theme appears in all three fugues, albeit in different rhythms. This naturally begs the question for the performer: what is the correct metrical pulse that allows this symbolic-laden theme to appear naturally in the different parts of this composition?
Let us examine the special features of its construction more closely.
The first fugue consists of 36 bars (72 half-bars), the second of 45 bars, and the third once again of 36 bars (72 half-bars). Apart from the fact that these numbers impress on their own: (3 + 6) + (4 + 5) + (3 + 6) = 27, they indicate the symmetrical construction of the work as a whole. When choosing the tempi, one must probably take this feature into account. Thus the beat in the two outer parts should be the same, while the beat in the middle part should reflect the rule of proportio sesquialtera. This means that three pulses should take up the same time as two pulses in the surrounding parts. In other words, a half-note in the first fugue should correspond to a dotted half-note in the second part.
There is a cadence in B-flat major in the middle of the second fugue, just after the reappearance of the main theme. This divides the fugue into two exactly equal parts of 58.5 bars each.89 It is interesting to note that when we divide the sequence 72–45–72 by 9, we arrive at these same digits: 8–5–8, albeit in a different order. This sequence reflects the proportions of the three parts of the fugue. These proportions are, as we have already seen, very close to the proportio divina (8 + 5) : 8 = 1.625, whereas 8 : 5 = 1.6.
Does it not seem as if the composer is trying in a symbolic way to express the mystery of the Holy Trinity, its unity of substance, and its indivisibility?
Let us once again examine the main theme. Its exposition in the three parts of the fugue gives us the following proportions: 12–6–9.90 Already the first answer occurs with the notes E-flat, D, and G, which also form the basis of the second theme. This motive also dominates in the third part.
What is the significance of this sequence of notes?
This symbolic motive always seems to occur in Bach when he wishes to praise the unfathomable greatness of the Creator, and it symbolizes nothing less than Soli Deo Gloria.91

Clavierübung III as a cyclical form
We have now examined one by one all the sections of the Clavierübung III and analyzed their contents and structures. This has shown us that the work is a veritable compendium of artistic forms and embodies all the then-available techniques of organ playing, along with the achievements of the national schools of composition, both past and present.
Let us now examine how the various parts of the work relate to one another (see chart, Figure 4).
As we see, the 27 parts of the composition display the following most remarkable proportions: 21 chorale preludes, four duets, and the Prelude and Fugue in E-flat Major. These proportions reflect the structure of the New Testament, consisting as it does of 27 books: the four Gospels, the 21 Letters, the Acts of the Apostles, and the Revelation of St. John.
Clearly the Prelude and Fugue are intended to form an overreaching arch encompassing the whole cycle. The Prelude sets the general tone and the Fugue ties it all together and rounds it off. The “Chorale Block” is based on the ternary (number) system. The Kyrie and Gloria consist of three sections, each comprising three parts, giving a total of nine parts, while the first two sections form a sub-group of their own, comprising six compositions. The following twelve chorale preludes take up the theme of the Catechism and are likewise divided into two sub-groups which in turn comprise six compositions in three pairs:
1) The Ten Commandments–The Creed–The Lord’s Prayer
2) Baptism–Confession–Eucharist
The structure of each sub-group is similar. In the greater chorale preludes at the beginning and end of the first of these sub-groups, the cantus firmus appears in canon, whereas at the beginning and end of the second it appears in the pedal. In the center of each sub-group is a greater chorale fantasy in organo pleno.
The order of the “Chorale Block,” resting as it does on a mathematical framework based on the numbers 3, 6, and 9, undoubtedly serves a definite purpose. It is certainly no coincidence that the composer begins the second section at bar 369, or that the compositions within this section bear the time signatures 3/4, 6/8 and 9/8.
As we have mentioned, the combination of the three numbers 3, 6, and 9 is also present in the duets (as the sum total of their bars). The same is true of the fugue, where the main theme occurs 27 times in the three sections, giving the combination 12+6+9—another obvious reference to the numbers 3, 6, and 9.
What is the secret hidden in the connection of these three numbers 3, 6, and 9? Why did the composer constantly weave this combination into his work, as if to underline their steadfast cohesion over and over again?
Let us open our Bible at the fifteenth chapter of the Gospel according to St. Mark. There we read:

It was the third hour when they crucified him. . . . At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”—which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:25, 33–34)
These words from the Gospel probably contain the answer to our question.
The themes and the choice of keys for the pieces are important dramatic elements in the Clavierübung III. The keys of the chorale preludes are distributed as follows: eleven major keys and ten minor keys. The themes of the major chorale preludes display a stepwise progression, whereas those of the minor chorale preludes are dominated by a motif built on a fifth. The conception of the keys of the “greater” chorale preludes in the major keys rests upon the notes B-flat and G. Together with the Prelude in E-flat Major they build a major chord, whose outer notes (E-flat and B-flat) mark out a tonal space which is gradually filled out with the keys of the “lesser” preludes.
In contrast to the major chorale preludes, the arrangement of the chorale preludes in minor keys is based on a section of the scale. As such, the “greater” chorale preludes do not quit the tonal space of the major third C–E, while the framework for the “lesser” chorale preludes is extended to an augmented fourth (= diminished fifth) within the limits C–F-sharp.
And so the tonal plan for the “Chorale Block” of the composition is based on the fifth E-flat–B-flat and the major third C–E. Moreover, with the very first tirata (run) of the Prelude (B-flat–
A-flat–G–F–E-flat), Bach underlines the important role of the stepwise progression within a fifth in the Clavierübung III. The inversion of this motif in the first fugue is built into the nucleus of the countersubject, and in the penultimate bar of the composition it is quoted by the composer in the pedal, as if to remind us of its importance.
Characteristically, he used the same compositional method (even the same keys!) in another cycle of chorales in his later works, in the Sechs Chorälen von verschiedener Art (BWV 645–650).92

1st chorale – E-flat major
2nd chorale – E minor
3rd chorale – C minor
4th chorale – D minor
5th chorale – B-flat major
6th chorale – G major

The intervals of a fifth and a third can be mathematically expressed by the numbers 5 and 3. When we examine possible relationships between these numbers more closely, we see that they in fact express the proportio divina: 5 : 3 = 1.6, and (5 + 3) : 5 = 1.6.
The stepwise movement over the range of a major third in the major keys in the chorale preludes Kyrie – Gloria – Decalogue obviously symbolizes the divine glory and the beauty of heaven. This motif has major intellectual significance within the overall context. Allow me to boldly interpret it as a tonal symbol for the Holy Trinity. The interval of a perfect fifth,93 which is the basis of the tonal plan for the parts of the cycle in major keys, is clearly meant to portray the concord and fundamental purity of the heavenly Jerusalem.
The music of the chorales on Credo – Lord’s Prayer – Baptism – Confession – Eucharist, all of which are in minor keys, expresses the internal world of one who is aware of his own sinfulness. Characteristically, the space for the tonal development within this cycle is circumscribed by the augmented fourth, the musical symbol for evil.94 At the same time the interval of a perfect fifth in the themes of these chorales serves as a reminder of the essentially divine nature of the soul and of the inner harmony that forms the basis of its being. These aspects are also the foundation for the selection of keys for the greater chorale preludes—they are built on the keys of C-D-E, forming the motive of the Holy Trinity.
Typically enough, we have an indication that the suggested subdivision of the 21 chorale preludes is so appropriate since we meet up again with the proportio divina: 3 parts (Kyrie – Gloria – Decalogue) – 5 parts (Credo – Lord’s Prayer – Baptism – Confession – Eucharist).
Returning to the duets, we note that the fifth plays a major role in their expositions. Major and minor keys alternately fill out the range E–A, leading to the beginning of the theme of the fugue from B-flat. Such a tonal plan leaves no doubt that this is the justification for their presence in this part of the cycle.95
Looked at under this aspect, we can see that the work is conceived as a single composition with three centers of gravity, each of which is circumscribed by a fifth. In the first case it is the perfect fifth E-flat–B-flat in connection with major keys; in the second it is the augmented fourth C–F-sharp (which is harmonically also a diminished fifth) in connection with minor keys; while in the third, it is the diminished fifth E–B-flat in connection with both major and minor keys. This detailed and carefully planned tonal layout is a further witness to the compositional unity of the Clavierübung III. It is obvious that the individual parts of this work complement one another organically.
That is perhaps sufficient regarding the relationships between the various parts of the cycle. But what is the logic behind the development within each part? Was it the intention of the writer that the parts be played in toto, or, as is common today, only in excerpts? And finally, the most important question of all: Can one speak of a continual development within the whole cycle, and is it practical to play the whole work without any cuts, especially in view of its enormous size?
I consider this to be a valid question. We have thus far spoken of the tonal plan of the Gloria part, of the tonal and rhythmical connections between the lesser chorale on “Wir glauben” and the greater chorale on “Vater unser,” and of the related motifs of the lesser chorale on “Vater unser” and the greater chorale on “Die Taufe.” When one tries to ascertain the role of the lesser chorales within the overall dramatic structure, one is unavoidably drawn to a comparison with the art of rhetoric, and especially with that of the art of the sermon. And according to the testimony of Bach’s friend, the Master Johann Abraham Birnbaum, who taught rhetoric at the University of Leipzig, Bach was himself well acquainted with the rules of rhetoric.
In fact, one can imagine the whole composition as a sermon on the fundamentals of the Christian faith,96 a sermon in which the greater chorales—parallel to the parts of Luther’s Great Catechism—should reveal their essential nature. In this scheme, the laws of rhetoric would deem the lesser chorales to be essential. They represent the function of “digressions,” which allow the hearer now and again a necessary moment of reduced concentration, and thus allow the speaker to maintain the attention of his hearers for the substance of the sermon.
Think for example of Pictures at an Exhibition by Modest Mussorgsky. In this work the main parts of the composition are wonderfully bound together by the so-called “Promenade,” which always appears in a different guise: this time happy, then restrained, then mournful and yet again charming. Each time it appears, it prepares the way for the next main part of the work, it leads the listener to savor the atmosphere of the new picture. And is that not the purpose of Bach’s lesser chorales?
In questioning the significance of particular parts of the composition, we have more than once been helped by their numerological symbolism. We have seen the meaning of numerical symbols that have changed or deepened our appreciation of the figurative aspects of many of the works in this collection. We will now try to apply this method to the question at hand. To this end we have compiled a small table with the number of bars in each part of the composition (Appendix 1).
At first glance no obvious associations seem to appear. But when we add together the numbers that belong to the individual “sub-cycles,” that is to the parts Kyrie – Gloria, Decalogue – Credo – Lord’s Prayer and Baptism – Confession – Eucharist, we get a very different picture (Appendix 2).
Although we are as yet not able to understand the significance of these numbers, it is obvious that the result is not accidental. This symmetry with its round numbers is unlikely to be a matter of chance. And our amazement continues to grow: The number of bars from the beginning of the work to the end of the major keys part is 770, to the end of the Vater-unser part 1000, and to the end of the whole chorale part 1470. Obviously these round numbers come about through the inclusion of the lesser chorales (Appendix 3).
Given that there are several levels of meaning, it is likely that the secret of these numbers will never be fully exposed. One of these levels is undoubtedly theological, and another may have to do with important historical events. It is not impossible that a third level may reflect scientific developments, while finally there is the level that I take to be the main one—the metaphysical. It arises through the desire of the writer to delve deeper into the ultimate secret of existence. It is self-evident that all these meanings form an indivisible whole, just as do the numbers which reflect them. And obviously the music that lies behind these numbers should be bound up in the same manner into one indivisible whole.
Let us look at the connection of the parts Decalogue – Credo – Lord’s Prayer (see Appendix 2). They express the essence of the Christian life: the expression of faith through adherence to the Law and through prayer. This block has a total of 325 bars, and is to be found in the middle of our row of numbers. This solitary “uneven” number, which is flanked on both sides by the even number 470, attracts our attention like a magnet.
What is the cornerstone of the Christian life? The answer is clear: the Nicene Creed. It was adopted by the Church at the First Council of Nicaea in 325 AD.97 And if our hypothesis is correct and the fundamentals of the Creed are really present, we should be able to find in close proximity some reference to the pillars of the Reformation. And in fact, the numbers 95 + 115 + 115 = 325 do bear out our supposition. On the last day of October 1517, the young theology teacher at the University of Wittenberg, Martin Luther, nailed 95 propositions to the door of All Saints’ Church in Wittenberg and thereby laid the foundation of what would become the Reformation.
The sum 230 (115 + 115) establishes a connection to the Lesser Catechism, which contains an interpretation of each of the Commandments of the Decalogue, three texts on the symbols of faith, a commentary on the seven requests in the Lord’s Prayer, together with an explanation of the two Sacraments (Baptism and Eucharist), and to Confession (10 + 3 + 7 + 2 + 1 = 23).
The formal occasion for which the Clavierübung III was put to paper has already been mentioned. It was the 200th anniversary of Luther’s visit to Leipzig and his sermon in the Castle of Pleissenburg on the 24th of May 1539.
And what was the content of Doctor Martin Luther’s sermon in Leipzig?
In his commentary on the 14th chapter of the Gospel of St. John (verses 23–31), which deals with events surrounding the Last Supper, Martin Luther preaches about the true faith which consists of far more than simply following the letter of priestly regulations. The sign of this true faith is, for Luther, the acceptance of the Word of God, the realization of His Commandments, and a true love for the Creator.
And in just this chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus, in answering a question from Thomas, utters those key words (in verse 6) which are at the very heart of the Gospel: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” And as if it were a repeat of this divine statement, in the pages of Bach’s composition, wonderful numerological symbols appear that reveal the greatness of the Creator: 47(0) = DEUS (4 + 5 + 20 + 18), 77(0) = HALLELUJA (8 + 1 + 11 + 11 + 5 + 11 + 20 + 9 + 1) and 70(0) = JESUS (9 + 5 + 18 + 20 + 18).98
The number 1000, which rounds off the part Vater unser im Himmelreich [Our Father in Heaven], seems to symbolize the greatness of the One God and His heavenly Kingdom (“Himmelreich” in German). The number 1470 refers us to the hymnal Psalm 147, which we have already encountered in connection with the larger chorale Zehn Gebote [Decalogue]. The number can also be given a meaning in a theological context as 1 + 4 + 7 = 12 (the Church of Christ). It also contains a scientific undertone: 147 millions kilometres is the distance between the earth and the sun at the time of the winter solstice.
As has already been mentioned, the total number of bars of the four duets (369) can be associated with the events of Golgotha. At the same time it is reminiscent of the views of the Pythagoreans, who assumed that the basic elements (Fire, Air, Water, and Earth) are derived from the first four numbers: I, II, III, IV (369 : 3 = 123).
It may seem something of a paradox, but in the structure of the Clavierübung III one can find an allusion to Pythagoras himself. The total number of chorales and duets is 25. The structure of the work gives us grounds to see this as the sum of 9 (Kyrie – Gloria) and 16 (Decalogue – Credo – Lord’s Prayer – Baptism – Confession – Eucharist and the 4 duets). This leads us to the equation 9 + 16 = 25 (or 32 + 42 = 52), which is the simplest numerical expression of the theorem of Pythagoras (a2 + b2 = c2).
In the context of the 27 parts of the Clavierübung III, the numerological symbolism of the Prelude (205) and the Fugue (117) hardly needs any comment when one sees them written as 727 (2 + 5 = 7; 1 + 1 = 2; 7 = 7).99
Obviously the numerological symbolism of the Clavierübung III hides a deeper meaning. One of the most impressive numbers is 1956, the sum total of all bars in the work.
When we add the numerals together, we arrive at 3, the number which underlies this whole composition, and which Pythagoras considered to be the first “excellent” number, containing as it does within itself a beginning, a center and an end. There are of course other associations hidden in the number 1956. It is possible that it contains a reference to the work of Johannes Kepler, who published his first book, Prodromus dissertationum mathematicarum continens mysterium cosmographicum, in 1596. In it he attempted to establish a correlation between the elements of the planetary spheres.100 When we divide 1956 by 27 (the sum total of pieces in the Clavierübung III) we arrive at 72.444…—yet another mystical number which has further troubling connotations.101
Many years ago Philipp Spitta wrote that after finishing the Clavierübung III, “Bach considered his life’s work in the field of organ chorales to be essentially complete. After that he continued to collect and revise earlier works, but until his death he produced little original material.”102
That is a fair appraisal and those who have only an inkling of Bach’s methods and character can well imagine that once he had climbed to the summit, he never again trod the selfsame paths. This is perhaps the reason why he wrote only one passacaglia for organ and one chaconne for violin. Indeed, during the last ten years of his life, Bach seldom composed for the organ. This alone says much about the importance that he himself attached to the Clavierübung III.
How his contemporaries considered the Clavierübung III can probably best be seen from the following remark by Lorenz Christoph Mizler in 1740: “The author has here given proof that in this field of composition he is more skilled and more successful than many others. No one will surpass him in it and few will be able to imitate him.”103 ■

Alexander Fiseisky, born in Moscow, graduated with distinction from the Moscow Conservatoire as pianist and organist. He is an organ soloist of the Moscow State Philharmonic Society, head of the organ class at the Russian Gnessins’ Academy of Music in Moscow, and president of the Vladimir Odoyevsky Organ Center. He organized and served as artistic director for organ festivals in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Kiev, and Tallinn, among others. In 1997 he was honored by President Yeltsin with the title ‘Honored Artist of the Russian Federation’. Fiseisky has given concerts in more than 30 countries. In the Bach anniversary year of 2000 he played J. S. Bach’s entire organ works, twice in the context of EXPO 2000 in Hannover, and once in a single day in Düsseldorf as a Bach marathon. Sought after as a juror in international competitions, he has directed seminars and masterclasses in Europe and the USA. He is the dedicatee of numerous compositions, including works by Mikhail Kollontai, Vladimir Ryabov, Milena Aroutyunova, and Walther Erbacher. A musicologist, he has edited anthologies of organ music of Russia and of the Baltics (Bärenreiter-Verlag). He has many recordings to his credit, including the complete organ works of J. S. Bach.

It goes without saying that the primary
task of every performer who wishes to convey the meaning of any given musical work must first be to understand the original intention of the composer. And when the works in question are those of Johann Sebastian Bach, where the invisible thread that should link us to the era in which he lived seems to be irretrievably broken, the task takes on Herculean proportions. The aim of this analysis is to attempt a correct reading of the Clavierübung III—one of the most enigmatic works in the whole literature of the organ.
This work, which was composed at the high point of the composer’s creativity (1739), impresses us by its dimensions alone. It is part of a cycle of works, comprising the Six Partitas (Part 1, composed in 1731, BWV 825–830), the French Ouverture and the Italian Concerto (Part 2, composed in 1735, BWV 831, BWV 971), as well as the Goldberg Variations (Part 4, composed in 1742, BWV 988). And the Clavierübung III itself is also a cyclical work—it consists of 21 chorale preludes and four duets framed by a prelude and a fugue in E-flat major.
Bach certainly accorded the Clavierübung III particular importance. It is no coincidence that this was the first work for organ that he had published in Leipzig. What was Bach’s purpose in writing this work, and what means did he choose to fulfil it?

The history of the composition. The intentions and aims of the composer
The Clavierübung III was written to coincide with the 200th anniversary of Luther’s visit to Leipzig and the festal Whitsun service in St. Thomas Church on the 25th of May 1539, which effectively marked the official recognition of the Reformation in Leipzig. The Clavierübung III consists essentially of arrangements of chorales from the Protestant church service, and in its structure it is reminiscent of Luther’s Catechism, which consists of two parts: the Greater Catechism deals with the principles of faith, while the Lesser Catechism is directed more towards children and the less-educated part of the population. Correspondingly, each chorale melody—with the exception of Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr’ [Glory be to God alone on high]—is presented in two versions: a greater version which uses all the resources of the organ including the pedals, and a shorter manualiter version.
And indeed, because of its special structure, the Clavierübung III has often in the past been referred to as an “Organ Catechism,” and correspondingly it is usually referred to today as the “Organ Mass.” It is clear that neither of these two names do full justice to the structure of Bach’s composition. Nor do they explain the inclusion of the four duets.
The title of the work is as follows:

Dritter Theil / der / Clavier Übung / bestehend / in / verschiedenen Vorspielen / über die / Catechismus- und andere Gesaenge, / vor die Orgel: / Denen Liebhabern, und besonders denen Kennern / von dergleichen Arbeit, zur Gemüths Ergezung / verfertiget von / Johann Sebastian Bach, / Koenigl[ich] Pohlnischen, und Churfürstl[ich] Saechs[eschen] / Hoff-Compositeur, Capellmeister, und / Directore Chori Musici in Leipzig. / In Verlegung des Authoris.

[Third Part of the Clavierübung consisting of various preludes on the Catechism and other Hymns for the organ: for amateurs, and especially for connoisseurs of such work, for the refreshment of their souls, executed by Johann Sebastian Bach, Royal Polish and Electoral Saxon Court Composer, Capellmeister, and Directore Chori Musici in Leipzig. Published by the author.]

Bach here follows the example of his predecessor at St. Thomas Church, Johann Kuhnau (1660–1722), and modestly calls his work Clavierübung [Keyboard Exercise].2 He thereby encourages us, through diligent practice (Übung in German), to understanding his purpose in writing this work.
Let us accept this invitation.
The first question, even after a cursory look at Bach’s work, is probably “What does it represent in this compositional form? Are we to understand it as a unified dramatic whole or as a collection of diverse pieces for the keyboard?”
Characteristically, the usual concert practice suggests that the Clavierübung III is not seen as an integral work: virtually nobody plays the whole composition in its published form.3 But the question nevertheless remains: Is there really no suggestion of an overall dramatic structure within the work?
An analysis would help us to answer this question. But before we tackle it, we should—even very generally—look at some characteristics of the musical aesthetics and Bach’s particular compositional style during the period when he was working on the Clavierübung III.

The theological and philosophical basis of the work of J. S. Bach
Bach’s personal philosophy was heavily influenced by the philosophical ideas and the personality of Martin Luther (1483–1546). Books written by Luther accounted for a quarter of all the books in Bach’s private library. According to the personal inventory that was made after his death, Bach owned two complete editions of the works of Martin Luther in Latin and German, as well as works of his successors: Abraham Calov, Martin Chemnitz, Johannes Olearius, and others.4 The title page of an earlier version of the Clavier-Büchlein für Anna Magdalena Bach5 bears a note giving the title of the work as Anti-Calvinismus by August Pfeiffer, written in Bach’s own hand.
It is well known that Luther was a well-educated musician.6 In contrast to the majority of the reformers in the 16th century, Luther considered music to be a form of divine revelation. In the foreword to Georg Rhau’s anthology Symphoniae iucundae7 he wrote: “In summa: Die edle Musika ist nach Gottes Wort der höchste Schatz auf Erden.“8 [Summing up: Noble music is the greatest treasure on earth next to the Word of God.] He is quoted in the Encomion musices as giving a similar definition: “Musika ist eine schöne, liebliche Gabe Gottes, sie hat mich oft also erweckt und bewegt, daß ich Lust zu predigen gewonnen habe...”9 [One of the finest and noblest gifts of God is music. It has often aroused and moved me so that I have gained a desire to preach . . . ] And in a letter to Ludwig Senfl of 4 October 1530 we find the following lines in his handwriting:
Et plane judico, nec pudet asserere, post theologiam esse nullam artem, quae musicae possit aequari, cum ipsa sola post theologiam id praestet, quod alioqui sola theologia praestat, scilicet quietem et animum laetum…10
[I plainly judge, and do not hesitate to affirm, that except for theology there is no art that could be put on the same level with music, since except for theology, (music) alone produces what otherwise only theology can do, namely, a calm and joyful disposition.11]
Luther’s views were akin to those of Bach. Like the great reformer, Bach saw the world of music and the world of theology as very closely connected.12 A short handwritten treatise concerning figured bass, which Bach wrote while working on the Clavierübung III, is introduced with the following words:
Der Generalbaß ist das vollkommenste Fundament der Music welcher [auf einem Clavier] mit beyden Händen gespielt wird dergestalt das die lincke Hand die vorgeschriebenen Noten spielet die rechte aber Con- und Dissonantien darzu greift damit dieses eine wohlklingende Harmonie gebe zur Ehre Gottes und zulässiger Ergötzung des Gemüths und soll wie aller Music, also auch des General Basses Finis und End Uhrsache anders nicht, als nur zu Gottes Ehre und Recreation des Gemüths seyn. Wo dieses ists keine eigentliche Music sondern ein Teuflisches Geplerr und Geleyr.13
[The thorough-bass is the most perfect foundation of music. It is played with both hands on a keyboard instrument in such a way that the left hand plays the written notes, while the right hand strikes consonances and dissonances, so that this results in full-sounding Harmonie to the Honor of God and the permissible delight of the soul. The ultimate end or final goal of all music, including the thorough-bass, shall be nothing but for the Honor of God and the renewal of the soul. Where these factors are not taken in consideration, there is no true music, rather, devilish bawling and droning.14]

When Bach at the age of 23 left Mühl-hausen, he declared that the Endzweck [ultimate aim] of his creative work would be the regulirte kirchen music zu Gottes Ehren [regulated church music to the glory of God].15
One can further assess the musical and aesthetic views of the composer with the help of his annotations in the margins of a Bible that was published by Abraham Calov (1681–1682) in Wittenberg.16 These marginalia are quite valuable—they allow us to catch a glimpse of the personal views of their writer and open up his world for us.
Already in Exodus, Chapter 15, where the prophetess Miriam sings of the wonderful deeds of God, we can read in Bach’s own hand: “N.B. Erstes Vorspiel auf 2 Chören zur Ehre Gottes zu musiciren.” [N.B.: First prelude for two choirs to be sung to the glory of God.] As a comment on First Chronicles 29, v. 2117 we find the following statement by the composer:

Ein herrlicher Beweiß, daß neben andern Anstalten des Gottesdienstes, besonders auch die Musica von Gottes Geist durch David mit angeordnet worden.
[Splendid proof that, besides other arrangements for worship, music too was instituted through David by the Spirit of God.]18
First Chronicles 26 describes the choosing of musicians for the temple. Bach’s comment: “Dieses Capitel ist das wahre Fundament aller Gott gefälligen Kirchen Music.” [This chapter is the true foundation of all church music pleasing to God.]
And one final quote: Second Chronicles, chapter 5 contains the passage:

. . . it was the duty of the trumpeters and singers to make themselves heard in unison in praise and thanksgiving to the LORD, and when the song was raised, with trumpets and cymbals and other musical instruments, in praise to the LORD “For he is good; for his steadfast love endures for ever,” the house, the house of the LORD, was filled with a cloud, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the LORD filled the house of God. (2 Chronicles 5:13–14)19

Bach annotates this text with a remarkable comment that has programmatic significance and shows not only his relationship to the composing, performing, and hearing of music, but also to the activities of a church musician in general: “Bey einer andächtigen Musique ist allezeit Gott mit seiner Gnaden Gegenwart.“ [Where there is devotional music, God with His grace is always present.]
These examples suffice to clarify where we must start if we wish to analyze the works of Johann Sebastian Bach. Albert Schweitzer wrote in his masterful fashion: “Music is an act of worship with Bach… For him, art was religion...”20 The orthodox Lutheran Bach, who was born and raised in Eisenach, Luther’s own town, where the façade of the main church of St. George was decorated with the Protestant motto “A mighty fortress is our God,” transcended in his music the boundaries of confession and creed. “In the last resort, however, Bach’s real religion was not orthodox Lutheranism, but mysticism. In his innermost essence he belongs to the history of German mysticism.”21
This mystical sensitivity to the presence of God and the desire to give witness to Him through music, coupled with his dazzling talent, enabled Bach in his later works to develop an astonishing artistic fusion, the likes of which had not been seen in the world’s cultural history.
In 1747 Bach was admitted to the Societät der musikalischen Wissenschaften [Society of the Musical Sciences], which his one-time pupil, the philosopher and music author Lorenz Christoph Mizler von Koloff (1711–1778), had founded.22 Mizler, a friend of Bach’s, was strongly influenced by Pythagorism and the rational philosophy of both G. W. Leibnitz (1646–1716) and Christian Wolff (1679–1754). He saw music as a mathematical science.23
The very fact that Bach accepted Mizler’s invitation to join the Societät der musikalischen Wissenschaften is in itself significant. The composer obviously sympathized with Pythagoras’s ideas concerning the universe and its perfect harmony: a harmony that, according to the teachings of the ancient philosopher and mathematician, was expressed in numbers,24 and shared the convictions of his progenies.
J. S. Bach became the fourteenth member of the Society after G. F. Telemann (6) and G. F. Handel (11), together with other well-known scholars and philosophers. Following the established tradition, upon joining the Society he contributed a mite of his own. In addition to the Canonic variations on “Vom Himmel hoch, da komm’ ich her” (BWV 769), the composer also donated a portrait of himself to the Society, which had been painted in 1746 by Elias Gottlob Hausmann. A microanalysis of the music manuscript that appears in this painting has been made by Friedrich Smend. The results have thrown light on significant aspects of Bach’s compositional methods, which until the middle of the twentieth century had not attracted much attention by scholars.25
Smend’s publication gave new impetus to investigating numerology in the works of the Cantor of St. Thomas Church in Leipzig.26 It is not without interest that the researchers first found support in the writings of Christian theologians, but later more and more in the works of the ancient philosophers.27

Features of J. S. Bach’s compositional method
Albert Schweitzer defined Bach as a phenomenon in the history of music: “Bach is . . . a terminal point . . . everything merely leads up to him.”28 Indeed the works of the Cantor of St. Thomas make use not only of the fruits of earlier achievements in composition, but they are also the consummation of the most characteristic tendencies in the music of his own time. He makes use of a plethora of past and present expressive techniques and puts them at the disposal of one single goal: the creation of “devotional music.”
So what exactly were the artistic methods used by J. S. Bach as a composer?
Victor Hugo once described Gothic cathedrals as “symphonies in stone.” If we apply this quotation to the works of Bach, we could say that his larger compositions are “Gothic cathedrals” in music. And when one looks more closely at how Bach approached a new composition we can actually find quite close parallels to architecture. One could contrast, for example, Bach’s methods with the processes current in Viennese Classicism. Whereas in the latter period composition proceeded in a “linear” fashion, beginning from the melody in one of the voices, the methods of Bach’s time started from quite a different point. First of all, the composer laid down a concept of the entire work, or—to use the architectural analogy—he created a “ground-plan.” Then he proceeded to fill in the details. An example of this method is provided by the Orgelbüchlein [Little Organ Book] (BWV 599–644).
This working method gave free rein to the composer’s imagination. The proportions of the composition and its “saturation” with both obvious and more hidden details—factors that played an important role in determining the overall sense of the work—could easily be incorporated in the composition from its very beginning. Great importance was attached to Affektenlehre [Doctrine of the Affections], musical-rhetorical figures, and numerology.
Bach was without a doubt a brilliant “musical architect.” There is no room in his works for anything non-essential. He worked in a similar fashion to the architects of the Middle Ages: every detail has its origin in the concept governing the whole. And as with the medieval builders, much of this work remains, even today, shrouded in mystery. There are always new avenues opening up in these seemingly well-known works for new generations of interpreters to explore.
One can of course only penetrate more deeply into this musical architecture of most of Bach’s works if the connection to the words of the chorales used by the composer is taken into account. Johann Gotthilf Ziegler (1688–1747), a pupil of Bach, wrote in 1746: “Herr Capellmeister Bach, who is still living, instructed me when playing hymns, not to treat the melody as if it alone were important, but to play them taking into account the affect of the words.”29
Johann Mattheson (1681–1764) described music as sounding speech. Naturally this form of speech required its own lexicon in the shape of the definite progressions of musical notes bearing the semantic meaning—the motives, or musical-rhetorical figures, as they are called. These were quoted by Bach’s cousin, Johann Gottfried Walther (1684–1748), in his Musicalisches Lexicon [Music Encyclopaedia] (1732) and in the Praecepta der Musicalischen Composition [Principles of Musical Composition] (1708). Another important compositional aspect was the use of rhetorical laws in the construction of the musical structure, so that the composition began to resemble a religious sermon. As already mentioned, the Affektenlehre [Doctrine of the Affections], which depended upon the use of unequal temperament and the resulting different emotional character of the various keys, played an important role in composition,30 as did, surrounded as it was by an air of mystery, numerology with its different levels of meaning.
One of these levels is to be found in allegorical symbolism. Andreas Werckmeister (1645–1706) gave the following meanings to the first eight numbers in Musikalische Paradoxal-Discourse:31 1 – God, unity; 2 – The Word, God the Son; 3 – The Holy Spirit; 4 – The world of angels; 5 – Symbol of Mankind (“sensual Mankind” [Numerus sensualis]); 6 – Third Person of the Godhead (3×2);32 7 – Symbol of purity and peace; 8 – Symbol of wholeness and perfection.
Another level is that of semantic symbolism. For example, the number 7 symbolises the Seven Last Words on the Cross.
A third level is that of cabbalistic symbolism. Each letter of the alphabet stands for a particular number: a = 1, b = 2, c = 3 and so forth. The letters i and j share the number 9, while u and v are both attributed to the number 20. This means that particular combinations of letters each have a corresponding number. For example, the number 14 is the sum of the numerical values of the letters BACH. Thus the number 14 (or similar numbers, such as 140 or 1.4) would be associated with the composer Bach, whose name was assembled from these individual letters.
Numbers were also used as a constructive element, whereby the harmonic proportions of the ratios of simple numbers, which had been known since Pythagoras’s time, were incorporated into the composition. In addition, the proportio divina, the “Golden mean,” was also used. Naturally Bach was a consummate master of all these creative methods and he used them constantly in his compositions. The most obvious example is the Clavierübung III, which occupies a key position among all Bach’s works for the organ.
Let us examine the structure of this composition more closely.

The chorale preludes
The central part of the work under consideration, as Bach’s title-page suggests, is the collection of chorale preludes. This collection covers not only the essential elements of the Protestant liturgy but also of Luther’s Catechism.
Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit – Christe, aller Welt Trost – Kyrie, Gott heiliger Geist [Kyrie, God the Father, eternal – Christ, consolation of all the world – Kyrie, God the Holy Spirit] (BWV 669–674)
The triad of the first chorales creates a sense of unity. The models for these autonomous works were certain verses of the Gregorian chorale Kyrie fons bonitatis (10th century),33 which display the characteristic of a refrain. (Example 1) Such a compositional method is seldom found among Bach’s organ works. In the context of Kyrie – Christe – Kyrie it allowed the composer to establish by means of music the essence of the “one and indivisible” Holy Trinity.34
The first motif of the cantus firmus is characterized by a stepwise progression. In the final statement of the cantus firmus (which is the same in all three compositions), note the upwards leap over a fifth. It is perhaps of interest to note that both the stepwise movement on the one hand and the prominent role of the fifth on the other (elements that determine the mood of the first chorales of the Clavierübung III) play an important part in the dramatic construction of the whole work.
The unity of the initial Kyrie – Christe – Kyrie is underlined by the fact that they are written in a single compositional style—the stile antico. Hermann Keller described them as “Orgelmotetten kunst-vollster Art” [The most highly artistic motets for organ].35 The music suggests greatness and quiet strength. The movement of the accompanying voices working out the motifs of the cantus firmus is linear. The cantus firmus, which is kept in longer note values, appears successively in the soprano (Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit), in the tenor (Christe, aller Welt Trost), and in the bass (Kyrie, Gott heiliger Geist), and thus symbolizes in similar fashion the three Persons of the Trinity: God the Father, who is above all, who holds all in being; Jesus Christ, the mediator between God and humankind; and the life-giving Holy Spirit.
The epic element appears organically tied to the inner dynamics of the Kyrie – Christe – Kyrie. The contemplative character of the first chorale gives way to a feeling of emotional turbulence in the second chorale. The third chorale is energy-laden, an effect achieved by the introduction of a fifth voice, the acceleration of the musical structure, and the use of chromatics.
The end of the chorale Kyrie, Gott heiliger Geist is quite remarkable: against the backdrop of the final statement of the cantus firmus in the pedals, a tie overflowing with chromatic dissonances appears in the upper voices. These six-and-a-half bars differ quite markedly from all that has gone before. The sound as it were illustrates the text, which at this point contains a plea for mercy. The word eleison is accompanied by an ostinato, which climbs in seconds and by a chromatic figura parrhesia. The music suggests a certain personal involvement. It is significant that one finds the motif BACH in crab motion here (although it appears in other notes), and finally encounters the signature of the composer: CH-BA in the alto of the penultimate bar. (Example 2)
There are altogether 60 bars in the chorale prelude Kyrie, Gott heiliger Geist, which matches Werckmeister’s concept well.36 And there is of course the additional association with the creation of the world (the six days of God’s creative work).37 It is worth mentioning that in the first prelude of the Clavierübung III the numerical symbol for the name Bach already occurs more than once. The subsequent statement of the theme in the chorale Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit is not only emphasized by the use of parallel thirds, but also by its extension to 14 notes (the numerical value of the letters BACH).38 And the cantus firmus in the chorale prelude Kyrie, Gott heiliger Geist has a total of 41 notes (JSBACH).
The three manualiter Kyries, each in the form of a small fughetta, all elaborate the opening motif of the appropriate verse of the chorale. Each following chorale begins in the soprano with the last note of the preceding chorale, which serves to underline the inner unity of the three manualiter pieces Kyrie – Christe – Kyrie.
An interesting aspect, which is seldom found within Bach’s organ works, is how the keys of the six pieces we have looked at are related. Each of them has at least two tonal centers. We should not let the key signature with three flats of the greater chorale preludes Kyrie – Christe – Kyrie confuse us: the rules of musical notation would certainly have allowed these preludes to have been written with only two flats. It would appear that the composer intentionally adopted three flats in order to strengthen the association with the Holy Trinity.

Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr’
[Glory be to God alone on high] (BWV 675–677)
A special feature of the following section of the Clavierübung III is the fact that it has three different preludes on the chorale Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr’—the Protestant version of the Gloria in excelsis from the Gregorian Mass for Easter Sunday. An explanation for this phenomenon must be sought in the text of the chorale itself,39 as it sings the praises of the Holy Trinity. Correspondingly, Bach includes three preludes here, each of which is a very individually elaborated piece in three-part texture.
In the first prelude, elegant and rhythmical canon-like outer voices surround the cantus firmus in the alto. The next prelude is executed as a trio sonata with pedal obligato. The cantus firmus appears from time to time in one or other of the voices of this exquisite trio and blends with the natural flow of the music.40 The last chorale prelude is a small fugato in the manner of an Italian versetto, based on the first notes of the cantus firmus.41 All in all, these three versions of the angel’s praise Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr’ create a feeling of incorporality and immateriality, convincing us by their clarity and purity, and creating an impression of harmony and perfection.
In this section of the Clavierübung III there is a small, at first glance insignificant, compositional detail that is, however, very interesting when seen from the perspective of the dramatic construction of the whole. The keys of the chorale preludes—F major, G major, and A major—form an ascending motif that is the basis for all three preludes on Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr’. The composer must assuredly have chosen this sequence of keys with the aim of thus uniting the whole cycle. Numerology reveals another interesting aspect—the numerical values of F, G, and A (6 +7 + 1) comes to 14, the same value as BACH.

Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’ [These are the holy Ten Commandments] (BWV 678–679)
Following the lead of Luther’s Catechism, Bach now begins an extensive section of the Clavierübung III with arrangements of the Gregorian chorale on an Old Testament theme, Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’.42 This is the last pair of chorales in a major key for the remainder of the cycle and the only time that Bach uses the same key for two consecutive compositions—Mixolydian G major, which is one of the purest keys in unequal temperament. It is significant that in both the Orgelbüchlein and in Cantata 77, the chorale melody Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’ is also written in this key.
The greater chorale prelude is developed as a composition for five voices, with the cantus firmus appearing a total of five times as a canon in the tenor. Thus it appears ten times in all, symbolizing an obedient response to the Law.43
The beginning of the prelude is wonderful: over a pedalpoint we hear, emerging out of the stillness, the motif of three descending notes, which we encountered earlier in the piece, worked out as a canon in the upper voices. The measured diatonic motion, the prepared suspensions, the surrounding motifs, and the ascending triads—these are just some of the musical means the composer has used to create a world of unspoiled purity, order, and harmony, in which the unsullied inhabitants of Paradise were at home before the Fall. (Example 3)
A change in character occurs in the fifth bar44 with the introduction of a figura suspirans45 and a motif of ‘falling seconds’, supplemented by a descending chromatic figura parrhesia motif in the alto. (Example 4)
Now the music is dominated by grief, sorrow, and misfortune.46 A change occurs once more in the sixth bar with the introduction of a figura kyklosis or figura circulatio in the alto47 (Example 5), which enriches the fabric with its new nuances. Thus with the help of symbolic motifs that are organically woven into the very fabric of the music, the composer brings us closer to the meaning of the chorale.
The First Commandment, which Luther in his Great Catechism deems to be the most important, is interpreted in the second verse of the chorale:

Ich bin allein dein Gott, der Herr,
kein Götter sollst du haben mehr,
du sollst mir ganz vertrauen dich,
von Herzens Grund lieben mich,
Kyrieleis.

[I alone am your God, your Lord,
No other Gods shall you have,
You shall put your whole trust in me,
Love me from the depth of your heart.
Kyrieleis.]

There is much evidence that precisely these lines were the starting point for Bach’s plan for the whole composition.
It is interesting to note that where the text speaks of “the love of God that comes out of the depths of the heart,” Bach interrupts the cantus firmus (bars 48–50) and increases the number of repetitions from ten to twelve. The motivation for this change can best be seen as an attempt to create a connection between the Old and New Testaments, whose interpreters in the new Christian congregations were the twelve Apostles. And Bach will follow the same intention to connect, through the symbolic comparison of the numbers ten and twelve, the Mosaic Law and the teachings of Jesus again in the Eucharist part, the conclusion of the chorale prelude section of the Clavierübung III.
It is well known that in the New Testament the Commandment of Love takes on decisive significance: “Jesus answered . . . you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30). The composer underlines the importance of this commandment with the help of special methods that are introduced at key points. When the word Herz [Heart] appears in the chorale text, Bach highlights it (in bars 46-47) with two groups of 16th notes, and when the words lieben mich [love me] appear in bars 51–52, he uses the heterolepsis, a musical rhetorical figure that creates the effect of two being united in one.48 Thus the composer uses musical means to portray the tangible content of the text. (Example 6)
Numerology plays an especially important role in the chorale prelude Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’.49 The chorale prelude has 60 bars (corresponding to the six days of creation). A pause first appears in the pedal after 37 notes, which can be seen as the Labarum, or Chi-Ro Christogram.50 The next pause comes after 60 further notes (another apparent reference to the creation of the cosmos). The subsequent melodic structure of the pedal line up to the pedalpoint in bar 29, which creates the illusion of a reprise, contains 47 notes. In the first bar, after the pause (bar 21), we encounter a leap of two octaves in the pedal, covering the entire range of the pedal, which is very unusual. (Example 7)
It is well known that Bach often referred to the Psalter, as did Luther in his Catechism. Psalm 47:2 states: “For the LORD, the Most High, is awesome, a great king over all the earth.” The text of the cantus firmus quoted at the point of the two octave leap is: Kein Götter sollst du haben mehr [No other Gods shall you have]. Michael Radulescu suggests that we should see the leap as an original “musical comment” by the composer, which, though hidden behind the abstract numerological symbolism, is to be understood as a distinct statement: “I am larger than life, I am your King.”51
The subsequent phrase in the pedal contains 147 notes. When Luther in his Catechism explains the meaning of the Ten Commandments, he quotes Psalm 147:11: “But the LORD takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love.” By introducing the number 147 into his chorale prelude Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’, Bach is underlining the actuality of the psalmist’s words quoted by Luther for the theme of the Decalogue.
The final notes of the cantus firmus in the second tenor are accompanied by a descending counterpoint in the first tenor, beginning with a chromatic figura parrhesia, which contains 12 notes (bars 57–60). The last phrase in the pedal consists of 14 notes (BACH), which is preceded by two short phrases of five notes each.
After all the above we can concur with those experts who suggest that the basic idea behind this work is love for the Creator.52 Additional confirmation for the correctness of this view is the number 315, which is the sum of all notes in the pedal. Albrecht Clement considers this number to be the numerical expression of the phrase Du sollt Gott, deinen Herren, lieben. [Literally: “You should love God, your Lord” as a direct rendering of the Luther Bible’s translation of Mark 12:30.]53
Characteristically, Bach introduces this summons in the title of Cantata 77, whose opening chorus is built upon the theme of the chorale prelude Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’, viz.

Du sollt Gott deinen Herren lieben
24 + 73 + 59 + 49 + 65 + 45 = 315

The manual fughetta on the chorale Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’, written in the form of a gigue, is also dominated by the number 10, although it also contains other interesting numerical allusions.
First of all, it is a four-voice fughetta and the theme is presented ten times (4×10 = 40). The same relationship can be seen in the exposition of the fughetta: ten bars of four dotted eighth notes (10×4 = 40). The theme runs for ten beats. Thus we see the same relationship in the exposition: 10×4 = 40. The theme in the second exposition is presented in inversion and in a shortened form (six beats). The relationship is correspondingly 6×4 = 24. And finally, the last two stretti quotations of the theme (bars 32–35) give us the relationship 8×2 = 16, as the theme here is eight beats long. It is not difficult to see that the addition of 24 and 16 results in the key number 40, which is apparently a reference to the Jewish people’s forty years of wandering in the wilderness before being given the stone tablets with the Decalogue.
The theme has a most interesting structure. It consists of two parts: the main melody of the chorale emerging from a repeated ostinato note and its leaps (six beats), and stepwise motifs over a fifth (four beats). (Example 8) Christoph Albrecht described the theme figuratively as a musical picture of a “raised warning forefinger.”54 But numerology allows us to find deeper connotation in it. The second part of the theme contains 14 notes (BACH). One could consider this as a mere coincidence, were it not that we meet the melody with this numerical symbol again at other central formative points in this little piece.
This second part of the melody occurs as a theme in its own right in the 41st beat of the fughetta (JSBACH), where it fills out the eleventh bar at the junction between the two expositions. Again, this melody is consistently developed in the 14 bars that separate the two concluding quotations of the theme from the second exposition. And we would finally add that the number 14 is underlined by the sum total of all the beats in this chorale prelude: they all add up to 140.
Without a doubt it would be the very height of negligence for a performer who is looking for an authentic interpretation to ignore the manifold recurrence in the composition of the name of its creator. The composer of the manual version of Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’ obviously had definite reasons for weaving his name again and again into the musical fabric of the work.
Let us boldly assume that in this work Bach wishes to embody the idea of the divine Commandments as the cornerstone of his own life. The tenfold repeated theme of the chorale Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot’ and the numerical symbol 40 harbor the idea of the Commandments. Their importance for Bach personally is attested to by the composer’s repeated use of the symbol 14.

This article will be continued.

Jan Overduin is Professor of Music at Wilfrid Laurier University in Waterloo, Ontario, where he teaches organ and church music. He began studies in The Netherlands, where he was born, and continued in Canada at the University of Western Ontario, where he received the Masters degree in performance. The list of his teachers includes Marie-Claire Alain, Peter Hurford, and Jean Langlais. He has directed many choirs including the Wilfrid Laurier University Choir and Chapel Choir, the Niagara Chamber Choir (which he founded), the Menno Singers, the Mennonite Mass Choir. He has been actively involved in church music for over 40 years, most recently as director of music at St. Matthew's Lutheran Church in Kitchener, Ontario from 1985 to 1997. As organ soloist, he has recorded numerous broadcasts for radio and has played concerts in Europe, North America, and the Far East. His discography includes nine CDs with trumpeter Eric Schultz (on the German labels 'ebs' and 'Arte Nova Classics'), a solo album recorded at Ottobeuren, Germany (on 'ebs'), and a recent CD with recorder virtuoso Matthew Jones. Forthcoming is a book on improvisation for organists, published by Oxford University Press, and a new organ edition of the Art of Fugue. Jan Overduin may be contacted at [email protected] and welcomes visitors at his website http://info.wlu.ca/ ~wwwmusic/overduin/index.htm

The Kunst der Fuge, BWV 1080, a work consisting of 14 fugues and 4 canons all on one theme, is Bach's farewell, his testament. It is a very solemn and personal work, and ends with Bach's only fugue on his name, the notes B-flat, A, C, and B-natural (B, A, C, and H in German). Never before did he use this chromatic theme on such a grand scale or with such clarity as here at the end of Contrapunctus XIV. It is as if he puts his signature not only to the KdF, but also to his life's work. In fact it is uncanny, this very clear reference to his own name. The aural effect is almost dizzying, as is the visual appearance of the last page, with C.P.E. Bach's handwritten note about his father's death: "In this fugue, where the name BACH appears as a countersubject, the composer died." Like Shakespeare in the character of Prospero in The Tempest, Bach himself appears on stage, but it is to say "good-bye."

It is fitting that Bach reserved the 14th fugue for the use of the plain theme in clearest form, because of the relationship between the number 14 and his name. By allowing each letter of the alphabet a number (a=1, b=2, c=3, d=4 and so on), Bach's name adds up to 14 (2 + 1 + 3 + 8). Moreover, the name J.S. Bach adds up to its retrograde 41 (9 + 18 + 14). Though Bach's familiarity with numbers is not documented, the cabalistic numerical ideas were common knowledge.1 The work may have been intended as his third and final offering to the Mizler Society, which he had joined in June 1747, waiting until he was the 14th member to join. He also had his portrait painted for this society with 14 buttons on his jacket. Perhaps his aim was to finish the KdF by June 1749, as his third and final offering, since a condition of membership obliged him to submit a published "scientific" work every year until the age of 65.2

The more I play this work, the more aware I become of how saturated it is with personal references or "signatures." The B-A-C-H theme in the obvious four-note form or more subtly through the use of themes that contain 14 or 41 notes permeates the entire KdF. A casual listener or player is not likely to be conscious of some of these allusions, but the fact that they are there in such abundance imbues the work with a personal intensity and warmth that can easily be felt. While some or even many of the "B-A-C-H's" may occur spontaneously as a result of Bach's use of chromatic language, there are reasons to suspect that their incorporation is part of the overall design of the work and intention of the composer. Bach is not merely scribbling his name all over the score or playing numerological games. The chromatic language itself, the use of the key of D minor, the shape of theme and its inversion with its hymn-tunes analogies, the dramatic use of silence, various other motifs--it is all these and more, together with the "signatures," that give the work its deeply personal flavor.

The following examples include only appearances of the B-A-C-H theme that use the four actual notes B-flat, A, C, and B-natural. Excluded are all transpositions of the motif, e.g. E-flat, D, F, E etc., of which there are numerous examples. All examples have the four notes in the same octave.  Again, by relaxing this restriction, the list could be greatly expanded. Included however are those statements of the motif that are decorated with unessential notes, especially between the second and third notes; the unessential notes may serve to hide the visual but usually do not obscure the aural impact of the motif. These observations do not pretend to be profound, but are merely the result of a growing familiarity with and fondness for this stupendous work. If they have any validity, it is in underlining the deeply personal nature of the KdF.

Immediately in Contrapunctus I, in the most obvious voice, i.e. the soprano, in measures 10-12 Bach features the four-note name theme. Bach "hides" the eighth-note E by having it dip below the alto note G, so that even though the soprano part by itself really spells B-E-A-C-H (not a word in German), the ear perceives it as B-A-C-H. (Example 1)

The B-A-C-H motif is more hidden in Contrapunctus II, though increasing chromaticism causes it to occur more frequently. It appears twice in measures 35 to 37, both times in the dotted note motif that dominates this fugue. Though the first two notes are separated from the third and fourth by a complete measure, they occur in adjacent statements of the dotted note motif, and therefore appear related and connected. (Example 2)

Measures 22-23 of Contrapunctus III contain a very clear statement of B-A-C-H, shared between the upper two voices (B-A in the soprano, C-H in the alto).  While this sharing serves on the one hand to hide the motif, it also underlines it, since the effect is that of an ornamented version: the B-A-C-H motif beautified in a flowery way. (Example 3)

One of the most poignant of all references to the name of Bach occurs in Contrapunctus IV. The shape of the regular inverted theme is such that there is a noticeable high point on the notes B-flat and its "resolution" to the semitone below. There is also a marked similarity to the hymn-tune "Aus tiefer Noth schrei ich zu dir," a hymn paraphrase of Psalm 130 (De profundis). The resemblance in fact is too obvious to ignore.3 In Contrapunctus IV, and only here, Bach transposes the second half of the theme up a whole tone, so that the high point of the theme now is C-H (C and B-natural) instead of B-A (B-flat and A). This causes a sudden modulation to another key, the dominant of the dominant, a rather wrenching and quite dramatic shift of key. It happens first in bar 61, and thereafter four more times (in other words, not every time the theme is heard). The change from the expected high point B-A to C-H may not be exactly an obvious reference to Bach's name, but certainly for the player, the alteration of the climax of the theme is all the more dramatic and personal, especially when the personal nature of the hymn "Aus tiefer Noth schrei ich zu dir" is taken into consideration as well. Not only the personal pronoun is emphasized by this veiled reference to B-A-C-H, but also the idea of "calling" (schreien).   (Examples 4a and 4b) 

"Calling" is also happening constantly throughout this fugue through the use of the pervading "call-motif" of the descending minor third. Towards the end of Contrapunctus IV occurs another and much more traditional example of the use of the B-A-C-H motif: in bars 135-136 it is slipped in once into the tenor voice, like a hardly noticeable signature. (Example 4c)

In Contrapunctus V, the KdF theme appears consistently in 14-note form, as it will continue to do in much of the rest of the KdF, with the two descending thirds smoothed out with passing notes. Thus the theme itself is being identified with the name of Bach. Moreover, it is especially interesting that the B-A-C-H motif is heard quite plainly and in the most obvious voice (soprano) exactly in bar 41. (Examples 5a and 5b)

Contrapunctus VI states the B-A-C-H motif near the beginning, in measures 4 and 5 in the soprano. Again the first two notes are separated by a measure from the third and fourth, but they are perceived to be related to each other through their rhythmic emphasis. (Example 6)

Contrapunctus VII features the B-A-C-H motif in much the same way, for example in the tenor part of measures 17-19. Within the context of a statement of the KdF theme in 14-note form (and in diminution), the notes B-A are again separated from C-H by a measure, but each pair of notes comes at a similar point, i.e. the end of two parallel phrases. (Example 7)

With the introduction of a new theme that is rather chromatic, numerous instances of B-A-C-H occur in Contrapunctus VIII. In measure 11 a very clear statement of B-A-C-H is shared between the two lower voices (Example 8a). In measures 85-86, the motif is featured in the soprano and in measure 112 in the bass (Examples 8b and 8c). The main KdF theme (inverted), which occurs as theme III in this fugue (beginning in measure 95, in the alto), consists always of exactly 14 notes. More noticeably, each measure begins with a quarter rest (Example 8d). The use of silence on the downbeat is a technique often used by Bach to symbolize eternity and/or death.4 Thus the form of the theme in this fugue forms associations not only with the name "Bach" (14 notes), but also with "death" (silence on the downbeats). A convincing example of this technique to express longing for death is often encountered in Bach's chorales, such as at the end of Cantata #56 (Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen). (Example 8e)

In Contrapunctus IX, in bars 84-85, the B-A-C-H motif is shared between the soprano (B-flat, A) and alto (C, B-natural), but because the voices cross, the motif appears to remain in the same voice, the alto. (Example 9)

In Contrapunctus X, again exactly in bar 40-41, the B-A-C-H motif makes an appearance in the two upper voices. (Example 10)

The 14-note version of the main KdF theme, with rests on every downbeat, now  "rectus," boldly opens Contrapunctus XI (Example 11a). The inversion of the second theme of Contrapunctus VIII, which in this fugue appears as theme III, very clearly spells B-A-C-H. Donald Tovey rejects this allusion to the name of Bach, since strictly speaking the theme misspells his name as B-A-C-C-C-H, yet to a listener (as opposed to a mere score-reader) this is almost as obvious an allusion to the name of Bach as in the final fugue.  (Example 11b) The B-A-C-H motif occurs frequently, not only in connection with the third theme, but elsewhere as well. An example is found in measure 144, with the motif shared between the alto (B-flat, A) and the soprano (C, B-natural).  (Example 11c)     

Contrapunctus XII and XIII, the two completely invertible "mirror" fugues, leave the composer with very little room to maneuver.  The listener has no idea of the strict rules behind these wonderful pieces, especially the playful Contrapunctus XIII. Even here the B-A-C-H motif pervades everything, though not as overtly as elsewhere in the KdF. The descending semitones B-A and C-H permeate the texture, but the four notes never occur together, and seldom within the same octave. One reason that Bach chose D minor as the key for this work may well have been that it allowed him to "season" fugues like Contrapunctus XII and XIII with these notes.  For example, C-H (the more unusual of the two pairs of notes) is used six times in measures 25-26 of Contrapunctus XIIb, just after several highly exposed B-A's. Appearances of the motif within one voice and within the compass of a minor third also occur (though somewhat more separated than usual) in measures 14-16 of Contrapunctus XIIa (bass) and measures 46-47 of Contrapunctus XIIb (bass). Similar concentrations of B-A and C-H occur in Contrapunctus XIII, imbuing the whole with the flavor of the BACH motif (e.g. in Contrapunctus XIIIa: eight times B-A in measures 32-35, followed by eight times C-H in measures 37-41).

Theme II of Contrapunctus XIV consists of exactly 41 notes, as if in direct preparation for the next theme, that of B-A-C-H itself (Example 12). There are also numerous examples of the B-A-C-H motif in the earlier part(s) of this fugue, again as if to prepare us for the plain statement of Theme III in measure 183. To list just three examples: measures 16-17 (tenor), 59-60 (alto/soprano), and 133-134 (alto).  (Examples 13, 14, and 15)

The evolution of the B-A-C-H motif is but one of many marvels of the KdF.  A constant companion in the background, like a quietly-flowing underground stream,5 in Contrapunctus XIV it finally appears quite alone and "naked," like a new-born babe. It is a paradoxical moment of loneliness and pity, sadness and comfort, weakness and strength. Almost immediately it is used in stretto and inversion, and "with the boldest and most mysterious harmonies"6 that are wrenching in their effect on us. It is at this point that this great composer, for whom nothing seemed impossible, especially in this work, leaves us forever. But the unfinished ending in which the composer is "called by name" also contains the promise of what "eye has not seen, nor ear heard." (I Cor. 2:9)

Notes

                        1.                  William Wright, The Organ--The Instrument and Its Literature (University of Toronto: private publ., 1994) 96.

                        2.                  J.S. Bach, Die Kunst der Fuge, ed. Davitt Moroney (Muenchen: G. Henle, 1989) vii.

                        3.                  The main theme in "rectus" form vaguely hints at "Vater unser" (Lord's Prayer). The descending thirds in Contrapunctus IV are also striking characteristics in some chorales, e.g., "Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern" (How lovely shines the morning star) and "Wer weiss, wie nahe mir mein Ende" (Who knows how near is my life's end). The most ornamented of all versions of the theme, as found in the Canon per Augmentationem in contrario Motu shows a striking resemblance to the "Agnus Dei" from the Mass in B minor.

                        4.                  Many of the more ornate chorale settings such as those in Schemelli's Gesangbuch illustrate this, e.g., "Lasset uns mit Jesu ziehen," "Es ist vollbracht," and "Liebster Gott, wann werd ich sterben?"  Examples in Das Orgelbüchlein include "Alle Menschen müssen sterben," and "Wir danken dir, Herr Jesu Christ, dass du für uns gestorben bist" (BWV 623 and 643).

                        5.                  In other words, like a Bach (German: brook).

                        6.                  Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis: Chamber Music (first published in 1944; London: O.U.P., 1972) 88.

Margaret Sandresky is a graduate of Salem Academy and College with a major in organ performance. She earned a master’s degree in composition with a minor in organ at the Eastman School of Music, and later received a Fulbright Grant for the study of organ with Helmut Walcha at the Hochschule für Musik in Frankfurt am Main, Germany. She has held positions at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music, the University of Texas at Austin, the North Carolina School of the Arts, and at Salem College where she is Emeritus Professor of Music. Her articles have been published in The Journal of Music Theory, Music Theory Spectrum, The American Liszt Society Journal, Ars Organi, and The American Organist. Her seven volumes of organ music are published by Wayne Leupold Editions, and her anthems are published by Paraclete Press. In 2004, she received the Distinguished Composer award given at the AGO convention in Los Angeles, and in 2006 was honored by St. Andrews College with the Sam Ragan Award for distinguished service to the Arts in North Carolina.

In the summer of 1829, after an extended journey through the British Isles with his friend Klingemann, the twenty-year-old Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy completed his trip with a visit in Wales, where he made sketches, now lost, of the piece he intended to present to his “dear little sister,” Fanny, as a special gift for her wedding to William Hensel on October 3.1
Back in London, he met with an accident on September 17, seriously injuring his leg when he was hit by a light horse-drawn vehicle he called a “stupid little gig.”2 On September 25, he wrote his mother that he had “thought of a splendid idea” for Fanny’s wedding piece, but now he wouldn’t be able to present it until after the wedding.3 By November 6, he wrote his father that he had been laid up in bed for five weeks, was just going out for his first drive, and could almost walk without crutches.4
It was during this time that he completed the proposed piece for Fanny’s wedding. Since the final working manuscript is either lost or in private hands, the only available music is a sketch, now in the Bodleian Library. It is written on two staves, the bottom staff mostly blank, the top staff outlining the melody and briefly indicating the harmony.5 This is unmistakably the same material that appears as the opening and closing sections of Mendelssohn’s Sonata III. Many years later, when he was assembling material for the organ sonatas, he inserted between the sections two fugues with the chorale Aus tiefer Noth schrei ich zu dir (“In deep need I cry to thee”) as a cantus firmus.
The outer sections form two strong A-major homophonic pillars surrounding the two inner fugues in A minor, which, by means of their dark chromatics, jagged rhythms and tumbling 16th notes, seem contrastingly very dark and stormy. In each fugue, after the exposition for four voices in the manuals is completed, the chorale melody is introduced in the pedal as a fifth voice.
The second movement that closes the work is a simple song form. The two movements must have been conceived together, since they are dated August 9 and 17, 1844, probably while he was still vacationing in Bad Soden near Frankfurt, where his wife’s family lived. The use of this particular chorale, its stark contrast to the A-major sections, and why it is spread over the two fully developed fugues are questions that are discussed in the following paragraphs.
Mendelssohn was only seven years old when his wealthy and cultivated Jewish parents had their children baptized at the Neue Kirche in Berlin. In these early years, the music and worship of the Lutheran Church must have had a profound influence on him, for his use of Lutheran chorales as well as his interest in the organ and his dazzling performances on that instrument testify to an enduring love for this music throughout his life. By the time he was twelve, he was studying Bach fugues and writing one of his own as shown in the following charming note to his teacher, August Wilhelm Bach.

Berlin, the third day of the lovely month of May, 1821.
What does the sexton say, my dear Herr Bach? Can we play this afternoon? Or is there a wedding? or a confirmation . . . Greetings to the Prelude and Fugue in G Minor. I am presently sweating over an organ fugue, which will come forth into the world within the next few days. My heartfelt greetings to all the principal (sic) pipes, yours faithful (sic),
F. Mendelssohn6

Aus tiefer Noth
Mendelssohn showed an early interest in “Aus tiefer Noth” by composing a cantata on the chorale in 1830, a year after his English journey. Then on his travels in 1831, he must have been particularly interested when he found a copy of the Sebastian Bach organ chorale prelude on the same melody.
He wrote the following to his sister, Fanny, on her birthday, November 14, 1831, from Frankfurt am Main:

Oh my dear little sister and musician . . . I want to give you one of the unbelievingly [sic] moving Seb. Bach organ pieces which I just got to know here . . . Now play this chorale with Beckchen [another sister] . . . and think of me. . . . NB. The chorale is with double pedal.
Bach composed only one chorale prelude with double pedal, so Mendelssohn must be referring to Bach’s setting of “Aus tiefer Noth.”7
The chorale itself, composed by Martin Luther in 1523–4, was the first one for which Luther wrote both words and music. (Example 1) The previous year he had composed his first melody, to the poem “Ein neues Lied wir heben an,” after two young martyrs were immolated in Brussels, Belgium. “Aus tiefer Noth” stems from the same time.8 Luther’s poem is taken from Psalm 130, De Profundis, a psalm of redemption. Since metrical translations in English hymnals, by their very nature, cannot be specific, the following is my literal translation and, though awkward, may be helpful in grasping Luther’s meaning.

Verse I
Aus tiefer Noth schrei ich zu dir,
Herr Gott, erhör mein Rufen.
Dein gnädig Ohren kehr zu mir,
und meiner Bitt sie offen;
denn so du willst das sehen an
was Sünd und Unrecht ist getan,
wer kann, Herr, vor dir bleiben?

In deepest need I cry to thee,
Lord give ear to my cry.
Thy gracious ear incline to me,
And to my plea be open;
Then as you are sure to watch,
What sin and lawlessness is done,
Who can, Lord, stand before you?

Verse V
Ob bei uns ist der Sünden viel,
bei Gott ist viel mehr Gnade;
sein Hand zu helfen hat kein Ziel,
wie gross auch sei der Schade.
Er ist allein der gute Hirt
der Israel erlösen wird
aus seinen Sünden allen.9

Though by us there be many sins,
By God is much more grace.
His hand will help us without fail,
However great the peril.
He is alone the shepherd good,
Who will release Israel
From all her sins.

Bach’s chorale prelude is found in his Clavier Übung Part III in the section of Catechism chorales, and represents the sacrament of confession and forgiveness, known in the Lutheran Church as the Office of the Keys. It is the form for the confession and absolution of sin and derives its name from Matthew 16:19 and John 20:21–23.10
Mendelssohn’s early cantata on “Aus tiefer Noth,” op. 23, no. 1, published in 1832, takes its pattern and style from the cantatas of J. S. Bach. It is in five movements, one movement for each verse of the five verses of text. The first and last verses are set in a simple chorale harmonization, the second and fourth are a fugue and a chorale prelude with introduction, and the middle movement is for three solo voices with chorus and organ. Although “Aus tiefer Noth” is in the Phrygian mode, the cantata is firmly in F minor, and the cadences avoid any trace of the Phrygian in their strong tonality. The contrapuntal writing is a perfect model of 18th-century counterpoint.

The fugues of Sonata III
In the later Sonata III, the Phrygian character of the chorale is retained. (Example 2) Here Mendelssohn presents the chorale in the pedal transposed to A minor, inserting a B-flat before the A at the proper cadence points; and at the close of the second phrase (mm. 46–47), he uses a Phrygian cadence harmonizing the B-flat to A pedal as IV/6 to V in D minor. On the other hand, where this phrase is repeated in the second fugue, the B-flat to A is harmonized in the key of G minor as I/6 to VII/6 (mm. 69–70) and is not at a cadential point in the overall work. However, the final cadence (m. 92) is Phrygian, IV/6 to V/9, and introduces a long pedalpoint leading into the pedal cadenza.
The expositions of the two fugues illustrate two different aspects of Mendelssohn’s fugal writing. (Example 3) In the first fugue, the exposition (m. 24) follows traditional fugal procedure. Scale steps 5–6 at the beginning of the subject are answered by scale steps 1–3 (m. 28). The order of entry is bass, tenor, alto, soprano. After the exposition, the chorale enters in the pedal, overlapping the last measure of the answer. The chorale is split between the two fugues. Phrase one, phrase two, and the repetition of phrase one are presented in the first fugue, and the fugue closes with a half cadence in A minor, composed of a Neapolitan sixth chord going to a dominant ninth followed by a five-measure pedalpoint.
It is worth noting that because Mendelssohn decided to make his two fugue subjects compatible as invertible counterpoint and to bring them together near the end of the second fugue, he designed them both on the same vertical sonority, the V/vii7. (Example 4) Thus it was convenient to divide his cantus firmus between the fugues at a point where the dominant could function in both places, with the result that he did not follow the rhyme scheme of the text or the form of the chorale, which is abab-ccd, but split it after the repetition of the second phrase, aba-bccd. (See Example 2.)
In contrast to the scholarly correctness of the first fugue, Mendelssohn seems to have designed the second one with Romantic fervor, avoiding scholarly constraints and directing the performer to play with gradually more and more animation. The A-minor subject beginning on scale steps 5-6-5 (m. 58) and outlining a dominant/diminished area, tumbles down in 16th notes to C-sharp, throwing it into the subdominant key of D minor by means of this chromaticism. One remembers here that in the old modal system, D really would have been the dominant of the Phrygian on A. These events present two problems for the tonal system, solved traditionally by answering scale steps 5-6-5 with 1-3-2 and by returning the modulating subject to the proper key in the answer. Mendelssohn does neither.
Since the modulating pitch, C-sharp, is the very last note of the tenor subject, whose proper tonal answer, 1-3-2 in the alto, would force a cross relation between the C-sharp and a C-natural, the situation requires deft and imaginative treatment. (See Example 3.) Mendelssohn gives the alto a real answer (m. 60). However, in order to halt the continuous modulation of subject and answer and not stray too far from the main key, he ends his real answer by writing an F-natural instead of F-sharp, thus preparing for the third entry of the subject in the soprano and remaining in D minor. Here, one may be surprised to hear a tonal subject, scale steps 1-3-2 in D minor (m. 62); but the subject, placed now in the highest voice, sounds exciting, overarching, overreaching, and not like a misplaced answer. The fourth entry in the bass (m. 64) is then a real answer to a tonal subject; and this upside down arrangement ending in D minor effectively prepares the two measures of chromatic secondary dominant-seventh chords leading from the exposition to the entrance in the pedal of the fourth phrase of the chorale, where he is heading temporarily for F minor.

The outer sections of Sonata III
Under analysis, the principal thematic material in the opening and closing sections of the sonata seems drawn from the opening phrase of the chorale, whose first interval of a descending perfect fifth from E to A appears, now in the key of A major and filled in stepwise, as the opening gesture of the main theme. (Example 5) This “filled in” fifth dominates Mendelssohn’s thinking here, for it occurs some twenty times during the course of this section. The same pitches also appear in measure two of the second movement. Again, in the first phrase of the chorale, the ascending leap of a fifth moving up a half step to the sixth degree of the scale may be interpreted as the interval of a sixth appearing in several places throughout the sonata. First, it occurs between measures one and two of the opening theme; second, it appears twice at the recapitulation in the pedal from low C-sharp to A and then up to F-sharp. Finally, it appears as the first two pitches of the second movement. The chorale provides one other motive. Compare the scale steps 5-6-5 in the first two measures of the chorale to the subjects of each fugue.
Such an analysis, then, shows that the entire movement, and in a broader sense the entire work, can be viewed as evolving from one theme, that of the chorale, and not from separate ideas. This coincidence presents a conundrum: did Mendelssohn either consciously or unconsciously have the “Aus tiefer Noth” chorale in his head during the closing weeks of his English journey, and turn it into a joyful bridal piece by filling in the melodic skeleton and changing the mode? Then years later, did he decide to expand Fanny’s piece into the Sonata III? This would explain the juxtaposition of seemingly disparate parts, the wedding piece, the chorale, and the fugues. But why put them together?

Why “Aus tiefer Noth”?
One answer may lie in the important significance the music of Mendelssohn’s faith had in his life. For example, in the top right-hand corner of many pieces he wrote “Hilf du mir” or “H.d.m.” (“Help thou me”) before he began work. According to my Evangelisches Gesangbuch, “Aus tiefer Noth” is the chorale for the week of the eleventh Sunday after Trinity.11 Mendelssohn, in his letter of April 14, 1829 from Hamburg, where he made a visit before embarking on his first trip to England, wrote that he couldn’t comment on theatre and music in that city since everything was closed during Holy Week there.12 That would place the eleventh Sunday after Trinity near August 25, just the time when he was in Wales, where he wrote a long letter to his father that day from Llangollen, in which said he had “done a little composing.”13 These documents show how he could have decided to use the chorale for that week as the basis for a triumphant expression of joy celebrating Fanny’s marriage. Years later, as he assembled the sonatas, remembering the relation of the chorale to Fanny’s piece, he added two fugues over the same chorale.
Why two fugues rather than just one? Could it be that Mendelssohn was thinking of the two fugues as a memory of the two young martyrs who influenced Martin Luther’s first complete chorale, “Aus tiefer Noth”??

Jan-Piet Knijff has taught organ, harpsichord, fortepiano, chamber music, and performance practice at Queens College/CUNY for the past ten years. A Fellow of the AGO and a winner of the Grand Prix Bach de Lausanne, he holds the MM/Artist Diploma from the Conservatory of Amsterdam and the DMA from the CUNY Graduate Center; his organ teachers have included Christoph Wolff, Piet Kee, and Ewald Kooiman. Articles relating to performance practice of Bach’s music have been published in Bach Notes and the Dutch Journal of Music Theory; a series of articles on hymns in recent American Lutheran hymnals appeared in CrossAccent. In addition to music, he teaches community classes in Latin and Ancient Greek. He recently accepted a position as Lecturer in Music at the University of New England, Armidale, New South Wales.

Johann Sebastian Bach, Clavier-Übung III, ed. George B. Stauffer (The Complete Organ Works, Series I: Volume 8). Colfax, NC: Wayne
Leupold Editions, 2010, $58;
<A HREF="http://www.wayneleupold.com">www.wayneleupold.com</A&gt;.
Wayne Leupold Editions has embarked on what may be the publisher’s most ambitious project to date: a new edition of the organ works of J. S. Bach. The complete series will contain no fewer than fifteen volumes of music (Bärenreiter’s New Bach Edition managed with eleven) and three volumes of background information, in addition to introductions and commentaries in each music volume. The Wayne Leupold Bach edition clearly aspires to the highest level of present-day Bach scholarship; to make this possible, Leupold has enlisted the help of some of America’s (if not the world’s) most prominent Bach scholars: Christoph Wolff as consulting editor, George Stauffer as general editor, and Quentin Faulkner as performance issues editor. At the same time, the edition is to serve the very practical needs of the American organist. To meet this goal, every volume is extensively reviewed and “tested” by a large group of American organists and their students (p. vii of the present volume is filled with the names of all the reviewers). From one such survey Leupold learned, for example, “that having convenient page turns is one of the most desirable qualities of a Bach edition.”
My first impression is that the book doesn’t feel very pleasant in my hands. I personally like neither the quasi-calligraphic font nor the light-brownish color of the cover, but all this is, of course, a matter of taste. Inside the book, the margins seem remarkably small, both of the pages with text and of those with music. The music notation often looks quite dense to me. One might object that that is because I am used to the Bärenreiter edition, which Leupold, in the advertisement for the Bach edition, dismisses as “very widely spaced.” In fact, Leupold, with some 102 pages of music, is hardly 10% more concise than Bärenreiter (112 pages of music). By comparison, Bach’s own edition has less than 77 pages of music; and the Bach-Gesellschaft edition, much of which is now available in Dover reprints, 88. A very nice feature of the Leupold edition is the large number of facsimiles: no fewer than 22, with four of them in full color. (The color facsimiles are especially helpful, because in his personal copy, Bach made corrections in red ink.)
Aside from page turns, perhaps the biggest problem in editing Bach’s organ works is the notation of the pedal. Bach, after all, notated the vast majority of his organ works on two staves, with the pedal sharing the lower staff with the left hand. Of the works in this volume, Bach notated only the pedaliter settings of Dies sind die heilgen zehn Gebot, Vater unser im Himmelreich, and Aus tiefer Not on three staves. As convenient as three-staff notation may seem to the present-day organist, the process of assigning the correct notes to the pedal is not at all unproblematic in earlier music. I personally consider the notation on two staves the single most important advantage of Michael Belotti’s edition of Buxtehude’s organ works (Broude Brothers): it has clarified many passages that had puzzled me for a long time, and has helped me enormously to understand this repertoire better. Although the question of using pedal or not is, of course, much less of an issue in Bach’s organ works, problems do remain, and the best solution for these would be to offer the music on two staves, just as Bach did most of the time.
A well-known example of such a problematic passage is the echoes in the E-flat-major Prelude: it’s hard to believe that the bass note finishing off the echoes is to be played in the pedal (except if you quickly adjust the registration, which most people will find too cumbersome or else will dismiss as foreign to eighteenth-century performance practice). Yet, in Bach’s edition, the notation of that note with the stem down on the bottom of the staff, looks no different than the forte note two measures earlier—or, for that matter, the pedal part in the opening section of the piece (Example 1a). If one plays from two staves, the problem becomes a purely academic one: the obvious way of playing the passage is to use the pedal for the forte measures, and to play the piano bass note with the left hand on the echo manual. But for an editor having to decide which notes to put on the pedal staff, this passage can become something of a nightmare; in a way, no solution is fair to both Bach’s notation and the modern-day three-staff organist. The Leupold team has opted for a separate pedal staff; in the case of the echo passages in the Prelude, the bass part has been put in the left-hand staff; the pedal staff is empty apart from the barlines (no editorial rests have been supplied); with a symbol, the reader is referred to the Commentary, where the problem is explained in detail (Example 1b). On the other hand, both the Prelude and the E-flat-major Fugue are also printed on two staves in an appendix (Example 1c). (I personally greatly prefer this two-staff notation; not only does the pedal feel more like an integral part of the texture, the relationship with other keyboard pieces is much clearer this way.)
In the “great” Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam, too, assigning the pedal part to its own staff can cause misunderstandings. Stauffer addresses the problem in the editorial report, pointing out that the left-hand part is really “the bass voice of a four-part score. Thus one would have the option of registering it with a 16′ foundation.” On the other hand, the pedal part carrying the cantus firmus “is the tenor voice . . . of the four-part score. Thus it would appear to call for an 8′ solo stop.” I think the problem is in fact a bit more complicated. In my mind, a 4′ stop for the pedal cantus firmus is at very least a possibility (I personally prefer it that way); but if one decides to play the cantus firmus at 8′ pitch, the left hand must have a 16′ in it to avoid undesirable inversions (for example in mm. 18 and 43 of Leupold’s edition; Example 2).
In the “great” Jesus Christus unser Heiland, the cantus firmus is also played in the pedal. Like Christ unser Herr, this piece was printed on two staves in Bach’s original edition: the right hand occupies the upper staff (with an occasional note on the lower staff), the left hand moves between the lower and the upper staff (using three different clefs!), and the cantus firmus is written on the lower staff with the stems consistently down. While I agree with Stauffer that the cantus firmus is best played “with an 8′ solo stop,” I don’t understand how he knows that “the Pedal part is the tenor voice . . . of the three-part score” (emphasis mine). Bach’s notation of the cantus firmus with the stems down doesn’t seem to support this (Example 3); and in almost half the number of its measures, the cantus firmus (when played at 8′ pitch) is the actual sounding bass of the piece (assuming the left hand is also played at 8′ pitch, as one would expect it to be). It seems to me that labeling the parts as voices is simply not very helpful in this piece; it is probably best to simply refer to them as right hand, left hand, and pedal.
An important advantage of the
Leupold edition is that the division of the inner voices over the staves is in principle identical with Bach’s original edition. In the fugetta (that’s how Bach spelled that word, although fughetta is correct Italian) on Dies sind die heilgen zehn Gebot, it is clear that the three upper voices are often to be taken together in the right hand. In the Leupold edition, these right-hand chords are clear right away, in contrast to the Bärenreiter edition, which tried to emphasize the polyphonic nature of Bach’s music by writing the tenor in the left-hand staff as consistently as possible. The problem however is that, on the one hand, Leupold is not always consistent in this regard and, on the other, that the space between the staves is so much bigger in Leupold’s edition than in Bach’s; so that where Bach could conveniently be somewhat ambiguous, placing notes exactly “in-between” the two staves, Leupold was forced to make many tricky choices.
Towards the end of the manualiter version of Aus tiefer Not, some notes are obviously to be played in the right hand, and this is clear from Bach’s original edition; Leupold places some of these notes in the lower staff—the player’s loss, I think (see, for example, Leupold’s mm. 68 [last two notes in tenor]; 69 [last two notes in tenor]; 71 [first two notes in tenor]; 74 [last two notes in tenor]). In the fughetta on Dies sind, the Leupold edition keeps the tenor notes in m. 31 in the upper staff, even though they technically landed in the lower staff in Bach’s original; I agree with Leupold here, as these notes can only be played in the right hand. But a measure later, Leupold places the tenor in the lower staff, while—as is clear from Bach’s original—these notes are obviously to be played in the right hand. The last note in the left hand of m. 25 in the same piece is double-stemmed in Bach’s original, underlining that it and the following two notes are obviously to be played in the left hand. The Leupold edition obscures this by separating the alto from the tenor and placing it in the upper staff.
Although it is understandable that Bach’s original stemming is not necessarily followed in the Leupold edition, it is sometimes unclear why this is not done. The very beginning of the fughetta on Dies sind is stemmed down in Bach’s original but up in the Leupold edition (Example 4a/b). It is true that this is technically the tenor part, but it is also true that the listener (and in a way the player) doesn’t really know this until the bass enters in m. 8. (Moreover, Leupold stems the tenor down all the way from m. 23 to m. 27.) By stemming the tenor up, a serious problem occurs in mm. 6–7. At the end of m. 6, the alto joins the tenor on the lower staff (in fact, this is somewhat arbitrary as the C is right in the middle between the two staves, at the same height as the alto C earlier in the measure). Of course, the alto is now the higher of the two lower-staff parts and is therefore written with the stems up. Consequently, starting with the last note of m. 6, the tenor is stemmed down. As a result, the voice leading is completely obscured; in fact, one is inclined to think that the alto crosses the tenor at the last eighth of m. 6.
In m. 14, the C-sharp in the alto—right in the middle between the staves—is stemmed up by Bach, with the following G stemmed down. From Bach’s notation, it is immediately clear that the C-sharp is to be played in the left hand; the
Leupold edition, by placing the note in the upper staff, obscures this—a great loss, in my opinion.
Although Leupold, supported by his reviewers, greatly prioritizes convenient page turns, one is surprised to find a number of unnecessary, awkward turns in this volume. In the Bärenreiter edition, I found 28 inconvenient page turns; Leupold does a much better job, but I still counted thirteen “bad” page turns. In some pieces, perhaps most prominently the “great” Jesus Christus unser Heiland, this is obviously unavoidable, but not always. In the fughetta on Jesus Christus unser Heiland, the very unpractical page turn is at the end of m. 38. A few measures earlier, however, I can easily free up my left hand and I have almost a measure to turn the hypothetical page (Example 5). In the third Duetto, turning after m. 24 is hardly possible; six measures later, it would have been a breeze. It seems to me that Leupold should have been able to print those six measures on the previous page; it is true that this would have meant five two-staff systems on pp. 96 and 97, but elsewhere, Leupold has no difficulty with as many as twelve staves on a page (see pp. 30 and 31, for example). In the E-flat-major fugue, too, Leupold missed a chance: the turn at the end of m. 109 is, I think, not possible unless one possesses three hands; but turning in the middle of m. 111 would have been quite manageable. A different problem is posed in the second Duetto, where one has to turn back to play da capo. In my experience, this is asking for trouble; I don’t see why the da capo couldn’t have been written out. Alternatively, the whole piece could have been printed on two pages, as it was in the old Breitkopf edition (the one edited by Heinz Lohmann; it is about to be replaced by a new edition).
The history of the corrections in the known copies of Bach’s own edition is a bit complicated—so much so that some corrections in a copy in the British Library seem to have been overlooked until now. This copy appears to be a second personal copy of Bach’s; at least, the corrections (in black ink) are thought to be in his hand. The most spectacular of these is the additional trill on the penultimate chord of the E-flat-major fugue: the trill in the soprano is “mirrored” by one in the tenor (on the F). The Leupold edition is the first to include the additional trill, a remarkable world première, to be sure (Example 6)!
Despite the extensive editing process, this first volume does contain a number of fairly serious errors. In m. 21 of the F-major Allein Gott, the third beat is simply missing. In m. 47 of the “great” Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam, the prolongation dot is missing in the alto. In the second Duetto, it seems to me that a dashed barline is missing before the da capo. At the end of the “great” Jesus Christus unser Heiland, the two rests are missing in the soprano. In the introductory essay, Stauffer refers to variations 14 and 28 of the Goldberg Variations as a “Scarlatti-like Italian essercizo.” The word is indeed spelled with two s’s by Scarlatti himself, though standard Italian has only one; in any case, the singular of esercizi is esercizio. The list of known copies of the original edition includes one in “Gravenhage, Netherlands.” That village, home to the Dutch government as well as the International Court of Justice, is commonly called Den Haag in Dutch these days; the official alternative, ’s-Gravenhage, with its tricky beginning, is too cumbersome even for the Dutch. English on the other hand has long adopted the name The Hague for this fair city.
An interesting theoretical issue occurs in m. 61 of the fughetta on Aus tiefer Not (Leupold’s numbering; it is apparently unavoidable that three different Bach editions can count measures in as many different ways). The second half of the first beat has a B in the tenor, but Stauffer proposes in an “ossia” to play a C-sharp instead (Example 7). Although Stauffer suggests that the ledger line may be missing in the original, a simple glance at a facsimile edition proves that this is not the case: the note is written significantly lower than the two nearby C-sharps. The emendation may have a long history (it comes from the Bach-Gesellschaft edition), but I don’t agree with Stauffer that it “appears to produce a better harmonic effect”: I hear the C-sharp in the soprano and the A in the bass as passing tones over a held B-minor chord, which is indicated as minimally as it is beautifully by the B in the tenor.
It is perhaps fair enough that English translations of the titles of the chorales are included in this American Bach edition, yet I personally would have preferred these in a convenient table in the back of the book. And in addition to English, why not include the titles in French, Spanish, even Korean? Paradoxical as it sounds, that would make the edition even more American.
The Leupold Bach edition is an excellent initiative. With some improvements, this could well become the edition of choice for many American organists. 

Jan-Piet Knijff has taught organ, harpsichord, fortepiano, chamber music, and performance practice at Queens College/CUNY for the past ten years. A Fellow of the AGO and a winner of the Grand Prix Bach de Lausanne, he holds the MM/Artist Diploma from the Conservatory of Amsterdam and the DMA from the CUNY Graduate Center; his organ teachers have included Christoph Wolff, Piet Kee, and Ewald Kooiman. Articles relating to performance practice of Bach’s music have been published in Bach Notes and the Dutch Journal of Music Theory; a series of articles on hymns in recent American Lutheran hymnals appeared in CrossAccent. In addition to music, he teaches community classes in Latin and Ancient Greek. He recently accepted a position as Lecturer in Music at the University of New England, Armidale, New South Wales.

Johann Sebastian Bach, Clavier-Übung III, ed. George B. Stauffer (The Complete Organ Works, Series I: Volume 8). Colfax, NC: Wayne
Leupold Editions, 2010, $58;
<A HREF="http://www.wayneleupold.com">www.wayneleupold.com</A&gt;.
Wayne Leupold Editions has embarked on what may be the publisher’s most ambitious project to date: a new edition of the organ works of J. S. Bach. The complete series will contain no fewer than fifteen volumes of music (Bärenreiter’s New Bach Edition managed with eleven) and three volumes of background information, in addition to introductions and commentaries in each music volume. The Wayne Leupold Bach edition clearly aspires to the highest level of present-day Bach scholarship; to make this possible, Leupold has enlisted the help of some of America’s (if not the world’s) most prominent Bach scholars: Christoph Wolff as consulting editor, George Stauffer as general editor, and Quentin Faulkner as performance issues editor. At the same time, the edition is to serve the very practical needs of the American organist. To meet this goal, every volume is extensively reviewed and “tested” by a large group of American organists and their students (p. vii of the present volume is filled with the names of all the reviewers). From one such survey Leupold learned, for example, “that having convenient page turns is one of the most desirable qualities of a Bach edition.”
My first impression is that the book doesn’t feel very pleasant in my hands. I personally like neither the quasi-calligraphic font nor the light-brownish color of the cover, but all this is, of course, a matter of taste. Inside the book, the margins seem remarkably small, both of the pages with text and of those with music. The music notation often looks quite dense to me. One might object that that is because I am used to the Bärenreiter edition, which Leupold, in the advertisement for the Bach edition, dismisses as “very widely spaced.” In fact, Leupold, with some 102 pages of music, is hardly 10% more concise than Bärenreiter (112 pages of music). By comparison, Bach’s own edition has less than 77 pages of music; and the Bach-Gesellschaft edition, much of which is now available in Dover reprints, 88. A very nice feature of the Leupold edition is the large number of facsimiles: no fewer than 22, with four of them in full color. (The color facsimiles are especially helpful, because in his personal copy, Bach made corrections in red ink.)
Aside from page turns, perhaps the biggest problem in editing Bach’s organ works is the notation of the pedal. Bach, after all, notated the vast majority of his organ works on two staves, with the pedal sharing the lower staff with the left hand. Of the works in this volume, Bach notated only the pedaliter settings of Dies sind die heilgen zehn Gebot, Vater unser im Himmelreich, and Aus tiefer Not on three staves. As convenient as three-staff notation may seem to the present-day organist, the process of assigning the correct notes to the pedal is not at all unproblematic in earlier music. I personally consider the notation on two staves the single most important advantage of Michael Belotti’s edition of Buxtehude’s organ works (Broude Brothers): it has clarified many passages that had puzzled me for a long time, and has helped me enormously to understand this repertoire better. Although the question of using pedal or not is, of course, much less of an issue in Bach’s organ works, problems do remain, and the best solution for these would be to offer the music on two staves, just as Bach did most of the time.
A well-known example of such a problematic passage is the echoes in the E-flat-major Prelude: it’s hard to believe that the bass note finishing off the echoes is to be played in the pedal (except if you quickly adjust the registration, which most people will find too cumbersome or else will dismiss as foreign to eighteenth-century performance practice). Yet, in Bach’s edition, the notation of that note with the stem down on the bottom of the staff, looks no different than the forte note two measures earlier—or, for that matter, the pedal part in the opening section of the piece (Example 1a). If one plays from two staves, the problem becomes a purely academic one: the obvious way of playing the passage is to use the pedal for the forte measures, and to play the piano bass note with the left hand on the echo manual. But for an editor having to decide which notes to put on the pedal staff, this passage can become something of a nightmare; in a way, no solution is fair to both Bach’s notation and the modern-day three-staff organist. The Leupold team has opted for a separate pedal staff; in the case of the echo passages in the Prelude, the bass part has been put in the left-hand staff; the pedal staff is empty apart from the barlines (no editorial rests have been supplied); with a symbol, the reader is referred to the Commentary, where the problem is explained in detail (Example 1b). On the other hand, both the Prelude and the E-flat-major Fugue are also printed on two staves in an appendix (Example 1c). (I personally greatly prefer this two-staff notation; not only does the pedal feel more like an integral part of the texture, the relationship with other keyboard pieces is much clearer this way.)
In the “great” Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam, too, assigning the pedal part to its own staff can cause misunderstandings. Stauffer addresses the problem in the editorial report, pointing out that the left-hand part is really “the bass voice of a four-part score. Thus one would have the option of registering it with a 16′ foundation.” On the other hand, the pedal part carrying the cantus firmus “is the tenor voice . . . of the four-part score. Thus it would appear to call for an 8′ solo stop.” I think the problem is in fact a bit more complicated. In my mind, a 4′ stop for the pedal cantus firmus is at very least a possibility (I personally prefer it that way); but if one decides to play the cantus firmus at 8′ pitch, the left hand must have a 16′ in it to avoid undesirable inversions (for example in mm. 18 and 43 of Leupold’s edition; Example 2).
In the “great” Jesus Christus unser Heiland, the cantus firmus is also played in the pedal. Like Christ unser Herr, this piece was printed on two staves in Bach’s original edition: the right hand occupies the upper staff (with an occasional note on the lower staff), the left hand moves between the lower and the upper staff (using three different clefs!), and the cantus firmus is written on the lower staff with the stems consistently down. While I agree with Stauffer that the cantus firmus is best played “with an 8′ solo stop,” I don’t understand how he knows that “the Pedal part is the tenor voice . . . of the three-part score” (emphasis mine). Bach’s notation of the cantus firmus with the stems down doesn’t seem to support this (Example 3); and in almost half the number of its measures, the cantus firmus (when played at 8′ pitch) is the actual sounding bass of the piece (assuming the left hand is also played at 8′ pitch, as one would expect it to be). It seems to me that labeling the parts as voices is simply not very helpful in this piece; it is probably best to simply refer to them as right hand, left hand, and pedal.
An important advantage of the
Leupold edition is that the division of the inner voices over the staves is in principle identical with Bach’s original edition. In the fugetta (that’s how Bach spelled that word, although fughetta is correct Italian) on Dies sind die heilgen zehn Gebot, it is clear that the three upper voices are often to be taken together in the right hand. In the Leupold edition, these right-hand chords are clear right away, in contrast to the Bärenreiter edition, which tried to emphasize the polyphonic nature of Bach’s music by writing the tenor in the left-hand staff as consistently as possible. The problem however is that, on the one hand, Leupold is not always consistent in this regard and, on the other, that the space between the staves is so much bigger in Leupold’s edition than in Bach’s; so that where Bach could conveniently be somewhat ambiguous, placing notes exactly “in-between” the two staves, Leupold was forced to make many tricky choices.
Towards the end of the manualiter version of Aus tiefer Not, some notes are obviously to be played in the right hand, and this is clear from Bach’s original edition; Leupold places some of these notes in the lower staff—the player’s loss, I think (see, for example, Leupold’s mm. 68 [last two notes in tenor]; 69 [last two notes in tenor]; 71 [first two notes in tenor]; 74 [last two notes in tenor]). In the fughetta on Dies sind, the Leupold edition keeps the tenor notes in m. 31 in the upper staff, even though they technically landed in the lower staff in Bach’s original; I agree with Leupold here, as these notes can only be played in the right hand. But a measure later, Leupold places the tenor in the lower staff, while—as is clear from Bach’s original—these notes are obviously to be played in the right hand. The last note in the left hand of m. 25 in the same piece is double-stemmed in Bach’s original, underlining that it and the following two notes are obviously to be played in the left hand. The Leupold edition obscures this by separating the alto from the tenor and placing it in the upper staff.
Although it is understandable that Bach’s original stemming is not necessarily followed in the Leupold edition, it is sometimes unclear why this is not done. The very beginning of the fughetta on Dies sind is stemmed down in Bach’s original but up in the Leupold edition (Example 4a/b). It is true that this is technically the tenor part, but it is also true that the listener (and in a way the player) doesn’t really know this until the bass enters in m. 8. (Moreover, Leupold stems the tenor down all the way from m. 23 to m. 27.) By stemming the tenor up, a serious problem occurs in mm. 6–7. At the end of m. 6, the alto joins the tenor on the lower staff (in fact, this is somewhat arbitrary as the C is right in the middle between the two staves, at the same height as the alto C earlier in the measure). Of course, the alto is now the higher of the two lower-staff parts and is therefore written with the stems up. Consequently, starting with the last note of m. 6, the tenor is stemmed down. As a result, the voice leading is completely obscured; in fact, one is inclined to think that the alto crosses the tenor at the last eighth of m. 6.
In m. 14, the C-sharp in the alto—right in the middle between the staves—is stemmed up by Bach, with the following G stemmed down. From Bach’s notation, it is immediately clear that the C-sharp is to be played in the left hand; the
Leupold edition, by placing the note in the upper staff, obscures this—a great loss, in my opinion.
Although Leupold, supported by his reviewers, greatly prioritizes convenient page turns, one is surprised to find a number of unnecessary, awkward turns in this volume. In the Bärenreiter edition, I found 28 inconvenient page turns; Leupold does a much better job, but I still counted thirteen “bad” page turns. In some pieces, perhaps most prominently the “great” Jesus Christus unser Heiland, this is obviously unavoidable, but not always. In the fughetta on Jesus Christus unser Heiland, the very unpractical page turn is at the end of m. 38. A few measures earlier, however, I can easily free up my left hand and I have almost a measure to turn the hypothetical page (Example 5). In the third Duetto, turning after m. 24 is hardly possible; six measures later, it would have been a breeze. It seems to me that Leupold should have been able to print those six measures on the previous page; it is true that this would have meant five two-staff systems on pp. 96 and 97, but elsewhere, Leupold has no difficulty with as many as twelve staves on a page (see pp. 30 and 31, for example). In the E-flat-major fugue, too, Leupold missed a chance: the turn at the end of m. 109 is, I think, not possible unless one possesses three hands; but turning in the middle of m. 111 would have been quite manageable. A different problem is posed in the second Duetto, where one has to turn back to play da capo. In my experience, this is asking for trouble; I don’t see why the da capo couldn’t have been written out. Alternatively, the whole piece could have been printed on two pages, as it was in the old Breitkopf edition (the one edited by Heinz Lohmann; it is about to be replaced by a new edition).
The history of the corrections in the known copies of Bach’s own edition is a bit complicated—so much so that some corrections in a copy in the British Library seem to have been overlooked until now. This copy appears to be a second personal copy of Bach’s; at least, the corrections (in black ink) are thought to be in his hand. The most spectacular of these is the additional trill on the penultimate chord of the E-flat-major fugue: the trill in the soprano is “mirrored” by one in the tenor (on the F). The Leupold edition is the first to include the additional trill, a remarkable world première, to be sure (Example 6)!
Despite the extensive editing process, this first volume does contain a number of fairly serious errors. In m. 21 of the F-major Allein Gott, the third beat is simply missing. In m. 47 of the “great” Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam, the prolongation dot is missing in the alto. In the second Duetto, it seems to me that a dashed barline is missing before the da capo. At the end of the “great” Jesus Christus unser Heiland, the two rests are missing in the soprano. In the introductory essay, Stauffer refers to variations 14 and 28 of the Goldberg Variations as a “Scarlatti-like Italian essercizo.” The word is indeed spelled with two s’s by Scarlatti himself, though standard Italian has only one; in any case, the singular of esercizi is esercizio. The list of known copies of the original edition includes one in “Gravenhage, Netherlands.” That village, home to the Dutch government as well as the International Court of Justice, is commonly called Den Haag in Dutch these days; the official alternative, ’s-Gravenhage, with its tricky beginning, is too cumbersome even for the Dutch. English on the other hand has long adopted the name The Hague for this fair city.
An interesting theoretical issue occurs in m. 61 of the fughetta on Aus tiefer Not (Leupold’s numbering; it is apparently unavoidable that three different Bach editions can count measures in as many different ways). The second half of the first beat has a B in the tenor, but Stauffer proposes in an “ossia” to play a C-sharp instead (Example 7). Although Stauffer suggests that the ledger line may be missing in the original, a simple glance at a facsimile edition proves that this is not the case: the note is written significantly lower than the two nearby C-sharps. The emendation may have a long history (it comes from the Bach-Gesellschaft edition), but I don’t agree with Stauffer that it “appears to produce a better harmonic effect”: I hear the C-sharp in the soprano and the A in the bass as passing tones over a held B-minor chord, which is indicated as minimally as it is beautifully by the B in the tenor.
It is perhaps fair enough that English translations of the titles of the chorales are included in this American Bach edition, yet I personally would have preferred these in a convenient table in the back of the book. And in addition to English, why not include the titles in French, Spanish, even Korean? Paradoxical as it sounds, that would make the edition even more American.
The Leupold Bach edition is an excellent initiative. With some improvements, this could well become the edition of choice for many American organists.