Creative Continuo: or

Maxim Serebrennikov

But the basis for all improvisation must be preparation. If I haven’t prepared, I can’t improvise. If I’ve made careful preparations I can always improvise. 

—Ingmar Bergman, 1968

 

The question of fugal improvisation in the Baroque era has been raised in the pages of musicology literature more than once.² It still remains topical today; yet in the practice of Baroque improvisation, the improvisation of fugue has rarely become an object of independent study. Besides William Renwick’s book, The Langloz Manuscript: Fugal Improvisation through Figured Bass (2001), it is difficult to name any widely known work that is specifically dedicated to the art of fugal improvisation in the Baroque era.³ Much valuable and interesting information about this performance practice of baroque musicians is scattered throughout various books and articles, whose subject matter is not even directly related to improvisation.

The present article therefore aims: 

1) to summarize the existing research on partimento practice;

2) to describe all the stages of fugal improvisation, beginning with the mastery of separate elements and finishing with an organization of the whole, as recorded in German sources of the first half of the 18th century.

 

Introduction 

Today the ability of an academically trained musician to create “on-the-fly” is thought of as exceptional—for the gifted only. Yet it is well known that in the Baroque era every professional musician was expected to possess this “gift.” Within the rich diversity of improvisational genres and forms that made up the standard set for which a Baroque improviser was to be prepared, fugue held the greatest place of honor.

At that time it was not just the great musicians who were skilled at improvisation; every church organist had to be able to improvise a fugue on a given theme. . . . The ability to improvise fugue was considered a requirement for every serious musician to such a degree then that the lack of that skill could serve as reason for ridicule. . . . And, although the testing of organists did not always include fugue improvisation, both Mattheson and Adlung think that no one should be taken as an organist who has not proved his right to such a post through the improvisation of fugue.⁴

In the 18th century if you couldn’t improvise you couldn’t call yourself a keyboard player. Worse than that, you couldn’t get a job, since all organist auditions required extemporaneous performance of a fugue on a given subject.⁵

Truly, the ability to improvise fugue was a necessary skill for organists, because a fugal statement of musical material was stipulated by the very program of the liturgical service. Beginning in the second half of the 17th century, the role of the organist, on whose shoulders rested the burden of the musical life of the church, grew remarkably.⁶ The organ, which had at one time humbly accompanied church ritual, became a most important attribute of the church service—almost its main participant. This was especially true in the northern regions of Germany, where the organ gained such acoustic strength and richness of register that it became like “a second minister,” and the musical compositions that it “delivered” were self-contained “texts” addressed to the congregants. Mattheson emphasized that fugal presentation of the chorale subject on the organ helped “to arouse reverence within the listeners.”⁷

For musicians in the secular sphere, fugal improvisation as a skill was not as necessary as it was for church organists, but the ability, nevertheless, was always appreciated. In the circle of experts and enlightened amateurs, fugal improvisation on a subject proposed by someone among those present could become one of the most intriguing and entertaining elements of a musical program. Success in such improvisation provided the performer with the established reputation of master of the highest order (a reputation that could help in a further promotion).

Although fugal improvisation was a widespread practice among Baroque musicians, we are forced to gather information on its technique literally in bits and pieces. As early as 1702, Andreas Werckmeister, in his treatise Harmonologia musica, points out the reason: “many musicians are secretive and reticent with their knowledge.”⁸ Possibly, musicians divulged their knowledge about improvisation very unwillingly because they considered it a unique commodity, providing a constant supply of students. Perhaps they did not wish to destroy the myth of the divine origin of the gift of improvisation. In any case, even in treatises that are dedicated specifically to improvisation and fantasieren, there are no concrete instructions that would allow us today to understand how fugue was improvised.⁹

Nonetheless, some secrets of Baroque fugal improvisation have already been revealed by scholars. David Ledbetter writes about one of them:

By the early eighteenth century, instruction in fugue in Bach’s tradition grew out of the figured bass, rather than contrapuntal treatises, and so was approached as an improvised genre. The technique of this was practised by using fugato movements expressed as figured basses, called in Italian partimento fugues.¹⁰

To the uninitiated musician such a statement may seem paradoxical, since according to our notion fugue and figured bass represent distinct types of musical thinking and observe a different tradition of notation. However, the discovery during the last decade of a large number of examples of so-called partimento fugue or thoroughbass fugue shows that improvisation of fugue during the Baroque epoch—just like the improvisation of homophonic forms—actually had its foundation in the practice of figured bass.¹¹ The detailed study and comparison of these examples, strengthened by the testimony of contemporary treatises, allow us to take another step forward on the path to understanding the Baroque technique of fugue ex tempore.

That the overwhelming majority of improvised fugues during the Baroque epoch were thoroughbass fugues can be explained from the point of view of psychology. The texture of a “contrapuntal fugue” (i.e., polyphonic texture) is formed by combining individualized melodic lines, each vying for our attention. In contrast, the texture of thoroughbass fugue is predominantly two-dimensional—that is, it can be clearly divided into the leading voice and a complex of accompanying voices. Consequently, improvisation of a multi-part “contrapuntal fugue” necessitates the division of attention into three or more channels, whereas performance of a multi-part thoroughbass fugue demands division into just two. Experience shows that the attention of even a well-prepared musician is capable of maintaining control over only two (a maximum of three) simultaneously proceeding streams of information.¹² As such, for objective (psycho-physiological) reasons, improvisation of thoroughbass fugue is attainable for a broad mass of musicians, whereas improvisation of a multi-part “contrapuntal fugue” is negotiable to a rare few.¹³ 

Having touched on the issue of the limits of human attention, which is so relevant to musical improvisation, it would be remiss to ignore the opportunity to quote Sergey Prokofiev, in an interview published by the New York Times in 1930:

Three melodies remain about the limit that the average ear can grasp and follow at one time. This can be done when the melodies are clearly sounded and contrasted in pitch and tone color. For a short time the ear may perceive and assimilate the effect of four different parts, but this will not be long continued, if the four parts, or melodies, are of equal importance. Listening to a four or five or even six-part fugue, the ear is conscious, possibly, of the presence of all the voices, but it only perceives and follows precisely the most important of the melodies being sounded. The other parts fill in, enrich the musical background and harmony, but they become as blurred lines of the picture. They are not clearly recorded in the listener’s consciousness as separate melodic strands in the tonal fabric. This being true, it behooves the composer to realize that in the polyphonic as well as in the structural sense he must keep within certain bounds.¹⁴

Such is the point of view of a professional musician who possessed extraordinary musical faculties. As for specialists in the fields of psychology and physiology, they have yet to come to a single opinion concerning the volume and capabilities of human attention.

Analysis

The modern theory of improvisation is based on these principles: 1) “improvisation is based on memory” and “the improviser does not create the material, but builds it from prepared blocks, from long-memorized musical segments”;¹⁵ and 2) the improviser always works from a given model.¹⁶ 

What were the building blocks that Baroque performers utilized in the process of fugue improvisation? In what sequence could they combine them? To answer these questions, let us turn to concrete musical material.¹⁷

The overwhelming majority of German samples of thoroughbass fugue follow strophic form in their composition.¹⁸ In addition, organization of the musical material inside the strophes is very often based on the typical Baroque-era structure of “head and tail,” where the role of the “head” is played by a group of statements (more rarely by a single statement) of the subject and the role of the “tail” by sequence based on standard harmonic formulae of thoroughbass. The conclusion of each strophe is marked by a cadence. Such is the method used by Kirchhoff, for example, in his C-major fugue from L’A.B.C. Musical (c. 1734), which clearly presents three strophes (Example 1):

Strophe 1 includes five statements of the subject (bars 1–9), a 2–6 sequence (bars 9–11), and a 7–6 cadence (bar 12);

Strophe 2 includes two statements of the subject in the upper part in immediate succession (bars 12–15), a statement in the bass (bars 16–17) and the 2–6 sequence already used in strophe I (bars 18–20), and a 7–6 cadence (bars 20–21);

Strophe 3 contains a statement of the subject in the bass (bars 21–22), a 2–6 sequence that shifts to 7–7 (bars 22–25), and the more explicit 5–6/4–5/3 cadence (bars 25–26).

The structural similarity among the strophes is evidence of the improvisatory nature of thoroughbass fugue, the result of work that uses a single model. It was specifically the strophe that served as the universal compositional unit, by which through duplication the improviser assembled his fugue. The number of strophes was varied, according to how long the improvisation should last. The structure of the strophe, though, did not vary. In this way the improviser’s task was to quickly and neatly fill out this preassembled structure with concrete musical material.

Obviously, the improvisation of a fugue had as its starting point the harmonization of the chosen or suggested subject. A harmony, as a rule, was kept for all multi-part statements of the subject, becoming, might we say, a retained “counter-harmony” (Gegenharmonie).¹⁹ Changes to the harmonization were made only in cases where a tonal answer was necessary. Frequently, even the counterpoint to the answer (the first countersubject) was drawn out of this same “counter-harmony.” This is easily affirmed by noting the numeral for the harmonic intervals between the answer and countersubject and then comparing the result to the author’s own figures for analogous multi-part statements (Example 2).²⁰ 

In many samples of thoroughbass fugue, all entries of the subject are concentrated at the beginning of a strophe. Following one after another without dividing episodes, the statements form a compact thematic group that serves as an entire syntactic unit larger than just a single statement. The tendency toward an increase in the hierarchical degree of unit complexity is another specific quality of improvisatory technique. The combination of smaller syntactic units into larger ones helps to expand the general volume of information accessible within short-term memory.²¹

The similarity among the strophes of thoroughbass fugue is also increased by the uniformity of the order of entries. In all strophes, a descending order of entries of the parts predominates as the most convenient and intrinsic with respect to technical considerations and notation of thoroughbass.²²

The next syntactic unit of the strophe, following the group of statements, is the episode. This section of the fugue was the most comfortable for the improviser, since here he could use patterns that he had learned. Judging from extant samples of thoroughbass fugue, episodes most often consisted of sequential repetition of one, more rarely two, harmonic formulae stereotypical to thoroughbass. This observation is supported by the theoretical works of that time. As such, to attain success in the improvisation of fugue, Philipp Christoph Hartung, in Musicus Theoretico-Practicus (1749), recommends learning entire musical progressions, which one should be able to freely and confidently play from memory, and not just read from sheet-music.²³ Many of the fragments he suggests are nothing more than textural elaborations of standard thoroughbass sequences. The thoroughbass nature of Hartung’s sequences appears especially clear if we extract their harmonic scheme and supply it by figures (Example 3).

Playing sequences had to become an automatic skill, something that was simply “in the hands” of the performer. The automation of playing skills allowed the improviser to free his attention considerably so as to be directed instead to solving upcoming tasks. In other words, while the hands played out the episode, the mind could be planning out the next set of operations. Given this, the hands had to be able to play for as long as was necessary for thinking out. For this reason, the inert nature of sequential development was not a detriment to fugue played ex tempore. The existing unspoken rule in musical practice that the number of segments in a sequence (in the case of exact repetition) should not exceed three was not observed too strictly during the fugue improvisation. Theoretically, there could be any number of segments in a sequence, as it was defined less by artistic needs than by technical ones. In practice, episodes, composed of sequences made of four to five segments, were the norm for thoroughbass fugue.

The unity of thematic material was not also a problem for thoroughbass fugue. The episode could smoothly continue the subject, but could also introduce  new musical material. In any case, the primary task of the improviser in moving from one syntactic unit to another was to transition as naturally as possible. It follows then that the greater the active memory capacity of the performer and the more formulae he could recall and have “in his hands,” then the higher the likelihood of attaining agreement of intonation between the suggested subject and episodes selected from among those prepared during the process of his musical training. The ability to competently use these preparations from “homework assignments” was very likely a basic craft known to the improviser.

The degree to which the improviser relied upon such materials prepared in advance can be judged by examining, for example, the B-flat-major fugue from Johann Caspar Simon’s collection Leichte Præludia und Fugen (1746). Of its total 37 bars, 20.5 bars (i.e., more than half) are based on material connected neither with the fugue subject, nor with its countersubject. The especially obvious “home preparations” reveal themselves in the second half of the fugue, which is made up of four autonomous sections resembling, in their function, additions in the tonic key (Example 4). At first, Simon builds a sequence on the harmonic formula 7–7, embellishing the bass line with melodic figuration. He then builds a second sequence on the harmonic formula 2–6 in strict chordal texture. Further, he inserts a toccata-like fragment pulled from the fugue’s preceding prelude, a fragment that is also in its nature a sequence. Finally, he concludes the piece with a decisive cadence in solid chordal presentation (Grave). Comparing the “specific gravity” of thematic and non-thematic material in Simon’s fugue, the conclusion suggests itself. Essentially, if the improviser were not restricted by concrete devices of thematic work, then the entire fugue, excepting statements within the exposition, could be designed from elements prepared in advance.

Judging by some samples of thoroughbass fugue, the “stock” material could penetrate straight into the group of statements, replacing separate statements or pulling them out. For example, in Fugue no. 21 (F major) from the Langlo(t)z Manuscript, the second strophe begins not with the restatement of the subject, but with non-thematic counterpoint, and only the bass part enters with the theme (Example 5).

In the D-minor Fantasy from the Mylau Tabulaturbuch, a straightforward “home preparation” in the form of a typical sequence 6/5–5/3 appears in the first strophe between the fourth and fifth statements (Example 6a). Viewed separately, this fragment appears optional—since the other statements work successfully without it (Example 6b).

The energy expended by a performer for fugue improvisation could be conserved by using the same episode for various strophes. This repetition could be identical, but it could also be modified by means of various textural clichés. For example, the second and third episodes of the anonymous G-major Prelude (which is in fugue form) from the Mylau Tabulaturbuch are based on a single harmonic formula, the 7–7 progression, though the shapes of their texture are distinct. In the first case, the lower voice is diminished; in the second, the pair of upper voices (in regular imitative counterpoint). Incidentally, this prelude demonstrates direct application of Hartung’s aforementioned recommendations: the prelude’s second episode (Example 7a) differs from his sequence shown in Example 3a only by key.

The existence of a single stockpile of thoroughbass harmonic formulae inevitably led to the appearance of universal sequences that traverse the pages of thoroughbass literature from one composition to the next, regardless of authorship. Comparison of the episode sections of numerous thoroughbass fugues makes clear that of the great variety of harmonic formulae offered in contemporary thoroughbass treatises and manuals, a precious few sequential patterns predominate: 7–7, 6/5–5, 6–6, 4/2–6.

The manner of sequential motion also deserves special comment. In many samples of thoroughbass fugue, the episodes are based on diatonic sequences that descend stepwise down the scale. On one hand, descending motion step-by-step possesses a certain inertness, which under the conditions of improvisation (i.e., mental and psychological tension and temporal deficit) just plays into performer’s hands. On the other hand, diatonic motion step-by-step provides the sequence freedom in the selection of the target tonality. In reality, the great tonal mobility is hidden in diatonic sequence; a trajectory of such a sequence could be easily and organically turned at any moment into one of closely related keys. Here is a small experiment: the test of the key possibilities of a 2–6 sequence from the second strophe of the C-major fugue from Kirchhoff’s L’A.B.C. Musical (Example 8).

As these examples demonstrate, it is possible to conclude the sequence in any closely related key without applying much effort. Understandably, the target key will influence the length of the sequence. Here it is very important not to lose a sense of balance and good measure. Although the versions represented in Examples 8e and 8f are technically no different than the remaining ones, these two are much less suited to actual artistic use due to their extended monotony. Should Kirchhoff have needed, in the process of improvisation, to expand the fugue by adding another strophe, he likely would have followed version c) or d) in place of the cadence on the C-major tonic.²⁴

Once the fugue’s continuation took a concrete shape in the mind of the improviser, he could stop the potentially endless development of a sequence via the most convenient cadential formula. The playing of cadences (as well as sequences) in any key of the instrument—literally, with closed eyes—was also a necessary skill for every professional keyboardist of the Baroque era. In the opinion of many 18th-century musicians, cadential formulae are the basis, the foundation of thoroughbass; it is specifically this skill that forms the starting point for practical study of the trade. The number and types of cadential formulae varies with each source. The Precepts and Principals (1738) attributed to Johann Sebastian Bach, for example, count seventeen patterns among the most frequently used (Example 9).

Immediately following the cadence, occasionally commencing upon its final tones, the new strophe begins and all events of the described process are repeated. The similarity of the strophes imparts to the unfolding of the fugue’s form a character of repeated expositions. The formal approach to realization of the strophic scheme inevitably aroused the feeling of monotony, which, naturally, stirred up criticism from contemporaries. Mattheson, who regularly attended testing of organists, wrote:

One should restrict oneself even less to the practice of some organists, who first quite respectably, without the slightest embellishment, perform the theme four times through on the entire keyboard in nothing but consonances and pastoral thirds; then begin again just as circumspectly with the consequent from its beginning; always producing the same tune; interposing nothing imitative or syncopating; but constantly only playing the naked chord, as if it were a thoroughbass.³⁰

Here are the impressions produced on Marpurg by a certain organist who attempted to play fugue ex tempore:

Someone often has the good intention to make it better. But what does he do? He slams out the figured bass, and this is terrible to hear. There are no suspensions which make the harmony pleasant, fluent and coherent. It is a jolting harmony. One hears no stretto, no motivic development of the theme. There is no order, and the number of voices one can only surmise at the end, when as, per forma, it ought to be clear directly after the first exposition of the theme through different voices of the fugue. The theme is will never be wisely advised in the middle voices. You only ever hear it above or below—as one hand accompanies another as in an aria. One never hears the theme as comfortable, nor at the appropriate time, expressively and sensitively for the mind and the ear in a sustained and affecting way. It is but a senseless din and tumult—not to mention the discord within the harmony.³¹

The picture described by Mattheson and Marpurg was characteristic of improvisations by mediocre organists. The more talented and gifted performers avoided precise repetition of strophes and brought to each new strophe a certain degree of newness, to which extant samples of thoroughbass fugue eloquently testify. In addition to the aforementioned tonal reinvention of strophes, one can quite often find such methods of refashioning as introducing a new counterpoint to the subject, “register leap” (i.e., a skipping of two or more register pitches where the subject can enter), and the use of stretto in the final strophe.

Although the opinion does exist that “the part of the fugue related to statements of the subject was created during improvisation,”²⁵ there is reason to suggest that even during these sections the performer could sometimes refer to prepared material. Judging from extant samples of thoroughbass fugue, the study of fugal improvisation included not just the regular practice of sequential progressions and cadences, but the development of a definite set of concrete approaches to working with the most common types of subjects. Describing the demands placed on candidates for the vacancy of organist at the Hamburg cathedral, Mattheson noted: 

I don’t consider it art to concern people [organists] with unknown themes; rather, it is better to take something well-known and flowing in order to work it out even better. That is what matters, and the listener will like it better than some chromatic piddling about.²⁶

If one allows for the possibility that Mattheson was not alone in this opinion, then the chances of being tested on a subject built of familiar melodic patterns, or even on a known subject, were not so small, and thus the entire improvisation could come down to a combination of prepared materials.

Let us recall, for example, the subject that King Frederick the Great suggested to J. S. Bach for an improvised fugue in Potsdam (Example 10). It is not known with certainty whether Frederick himself composed this subject or borrowed it, but judging by its melodic profile, the monarch had chosen to demonstrate to Bach his knowledge in the “learned style” (gelehrter Stil).²⁷ It must be noted that the subject contains four thematic elements, and all of them are conventional within Baroque style: a) movement in the tonic triad, b) a jump of a seventh (saltus duriusculus), c) descending chromatic movement (passus duriusculus), and d) melodic cadence. Any Baroque musician would certainly know these melodic patterns, along with the methods of their elaboration within a fugue. The elements listed here are well represented both in didactic and artistic samples of thoroughbass fugues, and what is especially important is that their musical realization (counterpoint, harmonization) often coincides.

Depending on the conditions of improvisation, “home preparations” could have various degrees of concretization. In those cases where a fugue was improvised on the occasion of a public challenge or competitive auditions, the performer had to hold his prepared materials in his memory. In everyday practice, however, it was acceptable to use the preparations written out on paper. We find examples of such preparations in a Daniel Magnus Gronau manuscript, which is held today in the Library of Polish Academy of the Sciences (Gdansk) as MS. Akc. 4125.²⁸ This manuscript contains 517 (!) sets of preparatory sketches for fugue improvisation in all twenty-four keys. Each set holds three thematic records, written one below the next on individual staves (Example 11). On the upper staff in soprano clef, the subject with figures is written out, and the beginning of the answer with countersubject is outlined in small notes.²⁹ On the second staff in bass clef, the counterpoint to the subject with figures is recorded. On the third staff, also in bass clef, the answer with figures is fixed. In this way, every set encompasses all necessary material for planning any statement of the subject, whether alone or with multiple voices, whether in the tonic or in the dominant.

Thanks to such preparations, the process of fugue improvisation is considerably simplified, since the need to search for a harmonization of the subject, a counterpoint to it, and a suitable answer is taken care of. Essentially, the performer must only care for the episode material, and the fugue, necessary for the church service, is ready.

In summary, the improvisation of fugue during the Baroque epoch was not necessarily the spontaneous nor extemporaneous fruit of inspired fancy. Much more often it was soundly prepared and planned on all levels: from the syntactic to the compositional. Even before the start of improvisation, the performer could clearly imagine the compositional structure that he must fill out using his musical material, the bulk of which could be prepared during “home” practice. One of the most widespread compositional models was strophic form, where the structure of each strophe had identical organization and included three syntactic units: the group of statements, the sequential unfolding, and the cadence. As a result, the entire improvisation could be boiled down to finding the right harmonization for the given subject and thinking up a tonal structure for the strophes; all the rest—textural formulae, cadences, sequences—the performer took from his memory practically in ready form.

 

Postscript

It stands to reason that the strophic form described in this article was not the only compositional model used for fugal improvisation during the Baroque. The discovery of this model, though, in other improvisatory genres of the Baroque era gives reason to consider it as universal within the improvisation practice of that time.

There is reliable evidence that the strophic form was purposefully worked out in the process of musical training. For example, Precepts and Principles contains a set of fourteen keyboard exercises for mastering the harmonic formulae most common to thoroughbass. Surprisingly, all these exercises are precisely identical in form—all are strophic (Example 12).

The outer strophes are in the tonic, while the central ones are in the closely related keys (in dominant and parallel). It is not difficult to imagine how many distinct figuration preludes could be created on the basis of only one model, varying merely harmonic content and textural formulae.³² If one involves methods of structural transformation (extension or compression of strophe), then the number of variants is multiplied.

Examples of such preludes can be found among the sources discussed in this article. Thus, in analyzing some pieces from the Langlo(t)z Manuscript or Kirchhoff’s L’A.B.C. Musical, one gets the impression that the authors had the structure of Bach’s exercises specifically in mind while they composed, so strong are the similarities. The C-minor Prelude from the Langlo(t)z Manuscript, for example, differs from Bach’s exercises due only to one additional strophe and short melodic links between the strophes (Example 13). The F-major Prelude from Kirchhoff’s L’A.B.C. Musical also contains an additional strophe, but the development within the third and fourth strophes is dynamicized thanks to structural transformations: the sequential development is truncated in the third, and the “head” motive is withdrawn in the fourth (Example 14).

The list of works of an improvisatory character that have strophic form with variations of its solutions can be further extended, but this would be a topic for a separate article. ν

 

The list of German sources, containing samples of thoroughbass fugue

“39. PRAELUDIA et FUGEN del Signor Johann Sebastian Bach” (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin—Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Musikabteilung; shelf mark: Mus. ms. Bach P 296). Published in The Langloz Manuscript: Fugal Improvisation through Figured Bass, With Introductionary Essay and Performance Notes by William Renwick. (New York: 2001), pp. 35–187.

“Des König[lichen] Hoff-Compositeurs und Capellmeisters ingleichen Directoris Musices wie auch Cantoris der Thomas-Schule Herrn Johann Sebastian Bach zu Leipzig Vorschriften und Grundsätze zum vierstimmigen spielen des General-Bass oder Accompagnement. für seine Scholaren in der Music. 1738” (Brussels: Bibliothèque du Conservatoire royal; shelf mark: mr. FRW 27.244). Published in J. S. Bach’s Precepts and Principles for Playing the Thorough-Bass or Accompanying in Four Parts, Leipzig, 1738, translation with facsimile, introduction, and explanatory notes by Pamela L. Poulin. (Oxford, 1994), pp. 41–45.

Händel, Georg Friedrich. Aufzeichnungen zur Kompositionslehre: aus den Handschriften im Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge (Composition Lessons: from the Autograph Collection in the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge), Hrsg. von Alfred Mann. Leipzig: Veb Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1978. S. 53–70 (Hallische Händel-Ausgabe: Kritische Gesamtausgabe. Suppl. Bd. 1). Republished in Continuo Playing According to Handel: His Figured Bass Exercises, With a Commentary by David Ledbetter (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), pp. 44–61.

Heinichen, Johann David. Der General-Bass in der Composition. Dresden, 1728, S. 516–520.

Kellner, Johann Christoph. Grundriss des Generalbasses. Op. XVI. Erster Theil. Cassel, [1783], S. 41–45.

Kirchhoff, Gottfried. L’A.B.C. Musical (Amsterdam [c. 1734]), 34 S. Republished as Kirchhoff, Gottfried, L’A.B.C. Musical, Hrsg., kommentiert und Generalbaß realiziert von Anatoly Milka (St. Petersburg: Musikverlag “Compozitor,” 2004), XXVIII, 104 S.

Niedt, Friedrich Erhardt. Musicalische Handleitung. Erster Theil. Handelt vom General-Bass, denselben schlecht weg zu spielen (Hamburg, 1700), Cap. X. Republished as Niedt, Friedrich Erhardt, The Musical Guide, Parts 1 (1700/10), 2 (1721), and 3 (1717), translated by Pamela L. Poulin and Irmgard C. Taylor; introduction and explanatory notes by Pamela L. Poulin (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), pp. 48–49.

“Pral: Kirchhoff” (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin—Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Musikabteilung, Mus. ms. 11605), published in Kirchhoff, Gottfried, Prelude and fugue for organ from the manuscript Mus. ms. 11605: first edition, edited and with a preface and commentaries by Maxim Serebrennikov (St. Petersburg: Polytechnical University Publishing House, 2009), 16 p.

Simon, Johann Caspar. Leichte Praeludia und Fugen durch die Tone: C. D. E. F. G. A. B. dur (Augsburg [1746]), 14 S.

Simon, Johann Caspar. Leichte und wohlklingende Praeludia und Fugen durch die Tone: C. D. E. F. G. A. H. moll (Augsburg [1747]), 14 S.

Simon, Johann Caspar. Musicalisches A. B. C. in kleinen und leichten Fugetten (Augsburg, 1749), 24 S.

“TABULATUR Buch 1750” (Mylau, Archiv der Evangelisch-lutherischen Kirchgemeinde; shelf mark: MS H 3a). Transcribed in Shannon, John R., The Mylauer Tabulaturbuch: a Study of the Preludial and Fugal Forms in the Hands of Bach’s Middle-German Precursors. Ph.D., Music, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1961. Vol. 2, iii, 184 p.

 

Notes

1. I wish to express my deep gratitude to Prof. David Ledbetter (Royal Northern College of Music), who read the final draft of this article and kindly provided me with helpful comments and constructive suggestions.

2. The topic has been actively discussed especially in the last two decades in connection with awakened interest in the Italian improvisational practice of partimento, which spread throughout Europe in the 18th century. Currently the study of partimento is gaining incredible momentum. The most comprehensive study of this field at the moment is Giorgio Sanguinetti’s book The Art of Partimento: History, Theory, and Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012).

3. Although Renwick’s book contains a special subheading, Fugal Improvisation through Figured Bass, he does not treat the actual process of improvisation. His work is not a theoretical study about fugal improvisation, but an anthology of authentic musical samples for practical mastery of this skill. In fairness, the article “On the fugue improvisation” by the Russian musicologist Sergey Maltsev also should be mentioned: Sergey Maltsev, “Ob improvizacii i improvizacionnosti fugi,” in Teoriya fugi: sbornik nauchnish trudov, otv. red. A.P. Milka (Leningrad: Izd-vo LOLGR, 1986), pp. 59–60. Unfortunately, this work containing many valuable observations about the process of fugal improvisation, because of a language barrier, did not gain wide circulation.

4. Maltsev, “Ob improvizacii i improvizacionnosti fugi,” pp. 59–60.

5. David Yearsley, “Spontaneous fugue,” in Early Music, 2001, Vol. XXIX (3), p. 452.

6. See Marina Nasonova, “Prakticheskaya deyatelnost severonemetskogo organista XVII veka,” in Starinnaya muzyka: praktika, aranzhirovka, rekonstrukciya: Materialy nauchno-prakticheskoy konferencii (Moscow: Prest. 1999), pp. 117–128.

7. Johann Mattheson, Grundlage einer Ehren-Pforte (Hamburg, 1740), S. XXXIII, § 48. Based on the study of ecclesiastical protocols, Reinhard Schäfertöns concluded that the free prelude and the organ chorale prelude and fugue were central points of organ playing at the time of worship (Reinhard Schäfertöns, “Die Organistenprobe— Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Orgelmusik im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert,” in Die Musikforschung, 1996, 49, Jg. Hf. 2, S. 143).

8. “Denn viel Musici sind heimlich und rahr mit ihren Wissenschaften,” Andreas Werckmeister, Harmonologia musica (Franckfurth und Leipzig, 1702), S. 95.

9. In Part I of his Musicalische Handleitung (1700), F. E. Niedt promises to give a “proper instruction on how Fugues are to be improvised” in the next parts (Cap. X). Unfortunately, his death prevented him from fulfilling his intention.

10. David Ledbetter, Bach’s Well-tempered Clavier: The 48 Preludes and Fugues (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002), p. 99.

11. For more details about the difference between the terms partimento fugue and thoroughbass fugue, see Maxim Serebrennikov, “From Partimento Fugue to Thoroughbass Fugue: New Perspectives,” in BACH: Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute, vol. XL, no. 2 (2009), pp. 22–44.

12. It is also important to realize that there is a notable difference between the resources demanded for perception of information as opposed to its creation (which is precisely what improvisation requires). The latter takes much more energy, and therefore, resources for attention are more quickly expended.

13. One musician alive today who possesses a phenomenal gift for improvising in any style and genre is Richard Grayson. Some of his improvisations (including fugue) on a subject proposed by an audience can be viewed on YouTube.

14. From an interview with Olin Downes, in New York Times, February 2, 1930, Arts & Leisure, p. 112.

15. Mikhail Saponov, Iskusstvo improvizatsii: Improvizatsionnye vidy tvorchestva v zapadnoevropejskoj muzyke srednikh vekov i Vozrozhdeniya (Moscow, 1982), p. 57 [in Russian]. Similar statements can be found also in Maltsev, “Ob improvizacii i improvizacionnosti fugi,” p. 6; David Schulenberg, “Composition and Improvisation in the School of J. S. Bach,” in Bach Perspectives I, 1995, p. 5; William Renwick, Analyzing Fugue: A Schenkerian Approach (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1995), p. 17; Pamela Ruiter-Feenstra, “J. S. Bach and Improvisation Pedagogy: Extemporaneous Composition,” in Keyboard Perspectives II (2009), ed. by Annette Richards, p. 43; Michael Richard Callahan, Techniques of Keyboard Improvisation in the German Baroque and their Implications for Today’s Pedagogy (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Rochester, Eastman School of Music, 2010), p. 10.

16. “The improviser, let us hypothesize, always has something given to work from—certain things that are at the base of the performance, that he uses as the ground on which he builds. We may call it his model.” Bruno Nettl, “Thoughts on Improvisation: A Comparative Approach,” in The Musical Quarterly, 1974, Vol. LX, No. 1, p. 11.

17. A list of German sources, containing samples of thoroughbass fugue, appears at the end of the article.

18. The strophic form of the thoroughbass fugue has roots in the verset fugues tradition and to the sectional structure of motets and ricercar. What we say about strophes of thoroughbass fugue is closely related to Joel Lester’s “parallel sections” and David Ledbetter’s “series of expositions.” See Joel Lester, “Heightening levels of activity in J. S. Bach’s parallel-section constructions,” in Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 54, No. 1 (Spring 2001), p. 49–96; and Ledbetter, Bach’s Well-tempered Clavier, p. 100.

19. The term “Gegenharmonie” first appeared in Abhandlung von der Fuge by Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg, where it is given the following definition: “Counterharmony. Thus is named the material in the remaining parts which is set against the subject.” (“Die Gegenharmonie. So heißt diejenige Komposition, die dem Fugensatze in den übrigen Stimmen entgegengesetzt wird.”) Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg, Abhandlung von der Fuge (Berlin, 1753), S. 18.

20. Since all standard harmonic structures in thoroughbass are noted in shorthand, we have added to the original figuring (where necessary) those signatures within brackets, which were implied by default.

21. By way of numerous experiments, it has been shown that the capacity of short-term (active) memory, without which the process of improvisation is simply impossible, is limited to 7 ± 2 units of information (the so-called Miller’s number). This can be increased only by uniting disparate elements into groups. We refer to a very illustrative example from Maltsev’s article in order to demonstrate the activity of this mechanism: “For example, short-term memory can retain around seven different letters (perhaps, X, J, D, B, G, U, S), but the number of letters drastically increases if we try to remember seven words, and will increase even more drastically if we try to remember seven sentences.” (Maltsev, “Ob improvizacii,” p. 69.) As Michael Callahan emphasizes: “Experts recognize relevant patterns, and therefore perceive stimuli in larger and more meaningful units than novices do; expert improvisers notice patterns in music and conceive of musical units in large spans (e.g., entire voice-leading structures and phrases, rather than individual notes).” (Callahan, Techniques of Keyboard Improvisation, p. 22.)

22. We remind the reader that the harmonic vertical in thoroughbass is constructed upwards from a given note, therefore the part entering with the subject must always be the lowest one.

23. “Alle in bissherigen Numern muessen nicht nur vom Papier, sondern auch auswendig auf das fertigste und deutlichste gelernt werden,” in Philipp Christoph Hartung, Musicus Theoretico-Practicus, Zweyter Theil (Nuremberg, 1749), S. 12, § 42).

24. Sometimes the tasks that were given to organists for the purpose of testing were limited by a time-frame. For example, the testing of organists for the post at the Hamburg Cathedral (24 October 1725) included the presentation of an entire fugue “created for four minutes,” a prelude of “about two minutes,” a chaconne of “about six minutes,” etc. See Johann Mattheson, Grosse General-Baß-Schule (Hamburg, 1731), S. 33. It is very difficult to improvise a piece with continuous development and at the same time fit everything within a given time-frame. It is much easier to fill the established time limits with standard-size strophes, adding a necessary number.

25. Anatoliy Milka, Muzikalnoye prinosheniye I. S. Basha: k rekonstrukzii I interpretazii (Moscow, 1999), p. 151 [in Russian].

26. “Denn mit fremden Sätzen die Leute zu scheeren, halte ich für keine Kunst; lieber was bekanntes und fliessendes genommen, damit es desto besser bearbeitet werden möge. Darauf kommt es an, und es gefällt dem Zuhörer besser, als ein chromatisches Gezerre” in Mattheson, Grosse General-Baß-Schule, S. 34–35.

27. For more details on the authorship of Thema Regium see Milka, Muzikalnoye prinosheniye I. S. Basha, pp. 153–167.

28. For more details about the manuscript MS. Akc. 4125 see Andrzej Szadejko, “Daniel Magnus Gronau (1700–1747)—didaktische Aspekte in Orgelwerken am Beispiel der Signatur MS. Akc. 4125 aus der Danziger Bibliothek der Polnischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,” in Musica Baltica (Gdansk, 2010), S. 351–361. It is interesting that Szadejko views the given source solely from a didactic perspective: as exercises in counterpoint. In my opinion, considering its intended purpose, MS. Akc. 4125 has more in common with such collections as the Langlo(t)z Manuscript and the Mylau Tabulaturbuch; it is also an anthology containing musical material necessary for the church organist’s everyday activity.

29. Indeed, the written-out figures concern themselves not with the single-part statement at the beginning of a fugue, but to the latter (multi-part) statements.

30. “Vielweniger darff man sich an den Gebrauch einiger Organisten binden, die das Thema erst, ohne die geringste Verblümung, fein ehrbar und viermahl durchs gantze Clavier in lauter Consonantzien und Lämmer-Tertzien hören lassen; hernach wieder mit dem Gefährten eben so bescheidentlich von oben anfangen; immer einerley Leier treiben; nichts nachahmendes oder rückendes dazwischen bringen; sondern nur stets den blossen Accord, als ob es ein General-Baß wäre, dazu greiffen” in Johann Mattheson, Der Vollkommene Capellmeister (Hamburg, 1739), S. 388, § 97.

31. “Ein anderer hat öfters den guten Willen, es besser zu machen. Aber was thun er? Er dreschet den Generalbaß, und dieses ist sehr erbaulich anzuhören. Da sind keine Bindungen, die die Harmonie angenehm, fliessend und zusammenhängend machen. Es ist eine holperichte Harmonie. Da höret man keine enge Nachahmung, keine Zergliederung des Satzes. Da ist keine Ordnung, und die Anzahl der Stimmen erfähret man zur Noth am Ende, da man solche gleich nach der ersten Durchführung des Satzes durch die verschiedenen Stimmen hätte empfinden sollen. Dieser Satz wird niemahls in den Mittelstimmen klüglich angebracht. Man höret ihn nur immer oben oder unten wozu beständig die eine Hand die andere, so wie eine Arie, accompagnirt. Man hört das Thema niemahls bequem und zur rechten Zeit auf eine den Verstand und das Ohr nachdrücklich rührende Art eintreten. Es ist ein hanbüchenes Gelärme und Gepolter; der unharmonischen Gänge nicht zu gedenken” in Marpurg, Abhandlung von der Fuge, Theil II (Berlin, 1754), S. XXIII–XXIV).

32. About the use of ars combinatoria techniques in the 18th-century, see Leonard G. Ratner, “Ars Combinatoria: Chance and Choice in Eighteenth-Century music,” in Studies in Eighteenth-Century Music: A Tribute to Karl Geiringer on his Seventieth Birthday, ed. by H. C. Robbins Landon and Roger E. Chapman (New York: Da Capo Press), pp. 343–363.

by Gregory Crowell

Gregory Crowell is university organist of Grand Valley State University in Allendale, Michigan, where he also teaches harpsichord, music theory, and music history. He also serves as director of music at Trinity United Methodist Church in Grand Rapids and is secretary of the Midwestern Historical Keyboard Society. Crowell holds degrees from the New England Conservatory and the University of Cincinnati, and has studied with Yuko Hayashi, Bernard Lagacé, Mireille Lagacé, Harald Vogel, and Roberta Gary. He has performed as organist, harpsichordist and clavichordist in Europe, Japan, Canada, and the United States. In 1994 he was invited to speak on the music of Bach for the AGO national convention in Dallas, and in 2000 he was the only non-Japanese invited to lecture and perform at St. Luke’s Bach Week in Tokyo.

One defining characteristic of late twentieth- and early twenty-first century musical culture has certainly been a devotion to the reconstruction of the performance traditions of the past.1 Defunct instruments like the viola pomposa have been eagerly researched, and their historical playing technique scrupulously recreated.2 Everything from the proportions of Bach's fingers3 to the cost of his candles4 has been examined in an attempt to understand the atmosphere and circumstances in which his music was made. While many such pursuits have taught us much about the music's genesis and relevance, sometimes the result has been an enthusiasm-induced myopia that has kept us from seeing the true possibilities. For example, a generation of harpsichordists played Bach on their copies of late eighteenth-century French harpsichords before recognizing that the eighteenth-century German harpsichord was a different animal altogether--indeed, one that has yet to be fully revived. And it has only been in very recent years that the not unimportant role played by the early German piano in Bach's late life has come to be appreciated and explored. This state has largely been caused by a simple deflection: the mere recognition of a larger truth (e.g., Bach played the harpsichord and not the modern piano) has sometimes been sufficient distraction to urge us down a side-winding path toward the most convenient solutions.

 

The same can be said of the situation with Bach's keyboard continuo instruments. Early on in the revival of historical performance practices, it was recognized that a keyboard instrument was needed to reinforce the bass and fill out the harmony in Bach's music. Yet the full extent to which the chosen keyboard instrument can influence the total sonority of a work was given little attention. In fact the debate quickly degenerated into the essentially unimportant and uninteresting argument of whether to use organ or harpsichord in Bach's vocal works.5 Once the dust settled over this question however, few musicians felt compelled to look much further into the matter. Among the groups that are currently recording Bach under the umbrella of historically informed performance, not one can claim to be truly faithful to the total body of historical literature on the sonority of Bach's keyboard continuo.

The first question to ask, then, is: what instruments were being used for continuo playing in Bach's time? It might surprise many to learn that there is very little evidence of box-shaped portable organs6 resembling our continuo organs in use in Central Germany in the eighteenth century. Bach certainly knew very small organs. There was a four-stop organ as well as a regal at St. Michael's in Lüneburg, where Bach went to study in 1700.7 In Leipzig there was a harpsichord and a small organ in an auditorium adjacent to the Cantor's office in the Thomasschule,8 and Bach used a small organ built in 1628 and tuned to choir pitch at St. Paul's in Leipzig when he accompanied the eight-part motet Der Geist hilft unsre Schwachheit auf (BWV 226) in 1729.9

None of these organs still exists, but we do have some idea of what was considered an average small organ at the time.  Positiv organs were sometimes found in a private house or a palace chamber, but also in churches and church rehearsal rooms. Standing anywhere from seven to ten feet tall, and containing anywhere from four to eleven stops, these instruments were distinguished from larger organs by two outstanding features: they had only one manual, and they lacked a Pedal division. Such organs may or may not have had an 8' Principal.

A few organs of this size by Bach's friend Gottfried Silbermann still exist. The organ presently in the undercroft of the Cathedral in Bremen, Germany,  was originally conceived for a small church in Etzdorf bei Roßwein in 1745. (See Illustration page 20; the Pedal in the photograph is a later addition.) The instrument contains eight stops and numerous registration possibilities:

                  8'             Rohrflöte

                  4'             Principal

                  4'             Flöte

                  3'             Nasat (treble only)

                  2'             Octava

                  11/2'      Quinta

                  1'             Sifflöt

                                    Sesquialtera (treble only)

A positiv organ by Silbermann from 1728 still survives in Tiefenau. It contains nine stops, including an 8' Principal.

                  8'             Principal

                  8'             Gedackt

                  4'             Octav

                  4'             Rohrflöte

                  3'             Nasat

                  2'             Octav

                  11/3'      Quinte 

                  1'             Sifflöte

                                    Zimbel II

There is still one small organ in existence definitely used by Bach for continuo: the small Zacharias Hildebrandt organ in the village church of Störmthal.  On November 2, 1723 Bach dedicated this organ with a performance of his cantata Höchsterwünschtes Freudenfest (BWV 194). The original specification was:10

Manual

                  8'             Principal

                  8'             Gedackt

                  8'             Quintadena

                  4'             Praestant

                  4'             Rohrflöte

                  3'             Nasat

                  2'             Octave

                  13/5'      Terz 

                  11/2'      Quinte

                  1'             Sifflöte

                                    Mixtur III

                                    Cornet IV

Pedal

                  16'          Subbaß

                  16'          Posaune

For the most part, however, organ continuo accompaniments would have been played on a large instrument. During his time in Weimar, Bach had at his disposal an organ of twenty-four stops in a gallery high above the altar in the castle chapel. When desired, a sliding unit could be engaged to close off the gallery's opening into the main body of the chapel, thus creating a separate music rehearsal chamber containing (besides the organ) a harpsichord, a spinet, and other musical instruments. In St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, the organ Bach used would have been most likely the three-manual, thirty-six stop organ in the rear gallery, or, for special effects (such as in the St. Matthew Passion), the two-manual, twenty-one stop swallow's nest organ that was situated high above the crossing.

With all of these resources at the continuo player's fingertips"organs small, medium, and large"it is no surprise that continuo players were creative in their continuo realizations. Before delving into some of the more impressive registrations, it is would be worthwhile to consider the stop most commonly heard in continuo realizations today, the Gedackt 8'. It is true that the Gedackt 8' was often regarded as the basic continuo stop. Indeed, Bach's colleague in Leipzig, Johann Adolph Scheibe, specified that one should use a Gedackt 8' in soft arias and recitatives,11 and Bach himself asked for a Stillgedackt 8' for his organ in Mühlhausen for playing concerted music.12 Nevertheless, an 8' Gedackt on Bach's instruments in Weimar or Leipzig would have had a substantially more supportive voice than the very small-scaled stops found on the average trunk organ.

With all of this in mind"the size of the instruments used by Bach and the presence their larger-scaled stops must have made"it is surprising that virtually no modern conductors have ventured beyond the now-traditional use of the four-to-six-stop trunk organ. One Dutch musician who is currently traversing the Bach cantatas in the recording studio acknowledges that the effect of the trunk organ used in his performances is remarkably different than that of the organs used by Bach.13 Yet he justifies his decision by explaining that the trunk organ offers greater convenience in tuning and logistics"advantages, he says, that must outweigh the loss in sonority. What is bothersome about this argument is that it admits to purchasing convenience at the cost of musical effect. Indeed, where else does an historically conscientious approach to performance begin than with an attempt to use the right instrument?

The present preference for the trunk organ may be no more than a symptom of a lingering neo-baroque reticence to trust the evidence that has come down to us. A simple example will explain. In his proposal for the rebuilding of the organ in Mühlhausen in 1708 Bach proposed a manual Fagotto (Bassoon) 16' "that sounds delicate in concerted music."14 Ton Koopman confessed that he has tried using a 16-foot reed as a continuo support, but that it so seriously compromised the dynamic flexibility of the continuo group that he found it impractical. The truth is, however, that evidence of the use of a Bassoon 16' in continuo among Bach and his contemporaries is simply too great to ignore, no matter how puzzling it may seem, at least initially. For example, the organ builder Heinrich Gottfried Trost, whose organ in Altenburg Bach played and admired in 1739, stated that the Bassoon 16' "can be well used in concerted music."15 As with all historical registrations, however, the effectiveness of the use of a Bassoon 16' as a continuo stop will largely depend on the texture and character of the music in which it is used. Bach gives us no clue as to his intentions, but his contemporary Johann Friedrich Walther stipulated that the Bassoon 16' in a 1732 Joachim Wagner organ in Berlin was useful specifically for playing running basses in continuo.16 The experience of using such a stop in faster-moving basses might teach us a great deal about what sort of instrumental playing and ensemble that continuo stop supported. The result could well be revelatory, prompting a reevaluation of how we expect Bach's music to sound. This sort of evidence confronts us once again with the chicken-and-egg question that has been part of the performance practice argument from the very beginning: Were the tools at Bach's disposal an inspiration or a limitation?  A deeper look at the evidence will convince us to view these tools as not only an inspiration, but an invitation as well.

Let us examine some alternatives to the trunk organ's small-scaled 8-foot Gedackt. Jacob Adlung recommends accompanying a soft voice with a single flute, such as a Gedackt 8' or a Quintatön 8'. According to Adlung, one can also use a Principal 8' or a Gemshorn 8' for difficult recitatives, or if the singer is insecure. Running passages on the manuals, however, can be played with Violdigamba 8' with or without a Principal. Ideally, the organist should have one or two flute stops drawn on one manual, and a Principal on another manual, in order to facilitate quick dynamic changes.17 Unlike the trunk organ, which relies on upperwork for color, sources such as Adlung clearly called for great color flexibility at the eight-foot level.

Adlung then adds that the organ must play out in chorales, especially since chorales usually involve full choir and congregation. For chorales he recommends Principal 8', Oktave [4'?], or Quinte 3'.

The Principal 8' seems to have been a valued continuo stop altogether. Among other sources close to Bach that mention the importance of the Principal 8' as a continuo stop are Walther,18 Gottfried Heinrich Stölzel,19 Christoph Gottlieb Schröter,20 and Johann Samuel Petri.21 Supported by a fuller-sounding continuo, even small ensembles will be encouraged to play with the sort of full-throated, forceful sound that we know so well from German Baroque organs like those of Arp Schnitger and Gottfried Silbermann.

With only a handful of stops, the skilled organist at an organ of some size then had the resources to play a wide variety of dynamics, at the same time making a substantial contribution to the overall color of the ensemble. For example, in 1738 Gottfried Heinrich Stölzel required the following stops for concerted music at the large two-manual Trost organ in Altenberg:

Principal choir with mixtures

Quintaden 16' and 8'

Bordun and Gedackt 8'

Gemshorn 4'

Nasat 22/3'

Subbaß, Violonbaß22

While Stölzel used a Principal chorus, the use of higher and more powerful Principal stops is not always sanctioned. Adlung notes the habit in village churches of accompanying the choir at the end of pieces with full organ, adding that one does not hear the singers or instrumentalists well.23 Petri warned against using reeds, mixtures, or mutations in continuo.24

Gottfried Heinrich Stölzel named the stops Subbaß and Violonbaß among his continuo stops, and this fact reminds us of an important function of the continuo, and one that is completely unfulfilled by the use of a trunk organ. The continuo player is not just to fill out the harmony, but should make a substantial contribution to the overall sonority of the bass line itself. A number of sources mention the use of 16-foot manual stops to strengthen the bass. These include:

1. Jacob Adlung, who recommends Quintatön 16' or Bordun 16', even strengthened by an Oktav and a quiet 8-foot, especially if one is playing staccato.25

2. Heinrich Gottfried Trost, who recommended Flute traverse 16' und Spitzflöte 8' (as found on the organ at Altenburg).26

3. Daniel Gottlob Türk, who stipulated that "one can still lend to the bass the needed depth and emphasis by means of one or two [!] 16-foot registers in the Hauptwerk. . . ."27

4. Johann Gottfried Walther, who stated that Gedackt 16, 8, 4 "are the most accommodating for the general bass."28

While many of these sixteen-foot stops are manual stops, clearly organists were called upon to double the bass line in the Pedal as well, another practice virtually ignored in modern performances. The number of contemporary sources that describe playing the bass line on the Pedal is simply overwhelming. Petri writes:

. . .Im Pedale ein 16füßiges [ziehen], oder wenn sie nicht stark sind, zwey: und höchstens noch ein 8füßiges Principal zum forte, und zum äußersten forte noch ein 4füßiges Principal, welches jedoch besser wegbleibt, es wäre denn, daß gar keine Violons, Violoncelli und Fagotts mitspielten, und der Organist den Baß allein machen müßte, wie auf dem Lande. . . .

. . .In the Pedal, [draw] a 16', or, if the [Pedal stops] are not strong, two, and at least an 8-foot Principal for the forte, and for extreme forte a 4-foot Principal as well, which is better left out if there are no violones, cellos, and bassoons playing along, and the organist must play the bass alone, as is done in the country. . . 29

Türk states the case clearly:

Daß aber die ganz tiefen Register, z. B. Posaune 32 und 16 Fuß im Pedale nicht einmal geschwind ansprechen, und noch überdies mehr ein Getöse machen, als einen deutlichen Ton angeben, lehrt die Erfahrung. Außerdem muß man freylich, ohne einen hinlänglichen Grund, das Pedal nicht weglassen. . .

Experience teaches that the very low stops such as Posaune 32' and 16' in the Pedal do not speak quickly, and furthermore [they] produce more of a racket than a clear tone. Otherwise one must certainly not leave the Pedal out without sufficient reason. . . . 30

Sufficient reasons to leave the Pedal out are explained in a footnote: when the violone (i.e., an instrument playing at sixteen-foot pitch) drops out, when there is a senza basso indication in the score, when a short passage is repeated an octave higher, and when the bass pauses in fugues. In these cases the bass should be played only on the manuals without a 16-foot stop.

Sources closer to Bach include Johann Friedrich Walther (Pedal Principal 16 "gravitaetisch," used in large ensembles; Pedal Violon 16 "sehr tief und kräftig"),31 Gottfried Heinrich Stölzel32, and Friedrich Eberhardt Niedt (who recommends Pedal 16', even a reed 16', to make the Pedal clearer).33

Indeed, many sources state that Pedal stops need not be restricted to Principals and Flutes. In 1719 E. Lindner ordered a reworking of the Pedal Posaune at the famous Silbermann organ in Freiberg to make it more suitable for use in concerted music.34 Just how such a stop could be used in continuo is difficult to imagine, at least until one considers a work like Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott (BWV 80). The manuscript of the Leipzig version (a copy by J. C. Altnickol from 1744) specifies a double continuo: Violoncello e cembalo for the first bass (i.e., 8-foot), and organ and violone for the cantus firmus bass (i.e., 16-foot).35 The manuscript specifies "Pedal Posaune 16 Fuß." What performers today would seek to find an instrumental, choral, and acoustical solution to justify such an overwhelming registration?

Perhaps all that has been discussed here can be summed up and amplified best by a remarkable source of information on continuo practice that is very little known in the English literature on the subject. That it is so little known is lamentable especially because it may well be the most telling witness to the continuo registrations practiced by Bach and his associates in Leipzig.

The registrations by Christoph Gottlieb Schröter (1699-1782)36 summarized at the end of this article provide a glimpse of the sort of continuo registrations used on Saxon organs in Bach's immediate circle. Schröter and Bach knew each other well. Like Bach, Schröter was a member of Lorenz Christoph Mizler's Society of Musical Science in Leipzig. When Bach's music came under attack 1749 by the critic Scheibe, Bach turned to Schröter, a friend of some thirty years,37 to muster a counterattack in the musical press. Undoubtedly, Schröter was intimately familiar with Bach's music as well as with Bach's performance style. Though these registrations were not published until the 1770s, they were recorded in the early 1750s, at which time Schröter was organist in Nordhausen,38 a city about halfway between Leipzig and Göttingen, where he played a sizable organ built in 1729 by Johann Georg Papenius.39

There are several extraordinary things to note about these registrations, including:

1. The frequent use of more than one 8-foot stop together.

2. The tendency to avoid stops higher than 4-foot for chordal, i.e., non-solo accompaniments.

3. The practice of combining quick-speaking stops (such as a Flute) with slow-speaking stops (such as a String).

4. Dynamic flexibility, largely achiev-ed by manual changes.

5. The general size of the registrations, including those suggested for recitatives and ariosi (with the left hand on the Hauptwerk).

6. Color extended even to recitatives, where four-foot stops are included.

7. Varied registrational color according to the obbligato instrument used (oboe, flutes, muted strings).

8. The simply fantastic registrations for organ obbligato.

There is still a lot to investigate in the matter of continuo sonority in Bach's music. For example, there is the question of pitch. While many organs were tuned to choir pitch (Chorton A = 460-490), many had certain stops tuned to the lower chamber pitch Kammerton A = 390-415)40, giving them a handful of stops suitable for accompanying instruments tuned to chamber pitch.41 Some organs even had entire keyboards tuned to different pitches, or a manual division that was playable at either Chor- or Kammerton.42 And then there is the entire question of harpsichord sonority, including the use of a 16-foot register in continuo accompaniment. And then there are fortepianos, Lautenwerke, Geigen-Claviere, keyed pantaleons, and any number of other instruments awaiting a willing and wondering ear to explore how rich and how varied the sonority of Bach's continuo realizations must have been.43

It has not been the intention of this article to vilify completely the use of trunk organs today; indeed, their usefulness and often their beauty are undeniable. Nor is there any desire to throw verbal cold water on the vital music making of great musicians like Ton Koopman, Philippe Herreweghe, Masaaki Suzuki, Nikolaus Harnoncourt, or Gustav Leonhardt. It is not the trunk organ's existence, but its pervasiveness that is so limiting, serving as an ever-present reminder of our anti-baroque insistence that the continuo must somehow live in the shadow of the real music. Perhaps it is time for us as continuo players to step forward from behind the little box and become a full voice in the total sonority of Bach's music.

After playing a prelude, the organist takes off all stops except the following:

Hauptwerk: Principal 8', Gemshorn 8', Viola di Gamba 8', Octava 4'

Rückpositiv: Quintadena 8', Gedackt 8', Flöte 4', Rohrflöte 4'

Brustpositiv: Gedackt 8', Gedackt 4', Violetto 4'

Pedal: Principal 16', Principal 8', Violon 16'

Couple Hauptwerk to Pedal

Accompany full chorus and orchestra on the Hauptwerk. For passages with orchestra alone, play with the right hand on the Rückpositiv.

For echo passages, leave out the Pedal and play with the right hand on the Rückpositiv.

For various kinds of recitatives:

1. Use the same registration above, removing the Pedal coupler and the Hauptwerk Octava 4'.

2. Use the registration above, playing on the Hauptwerk with the left hand, and on the Rückpositiv with the right hand.

Aria with oboe obbligato accompanied by violins:

Hauptwerk (left hand): Principal 8', Gemshorn 8', Viola di Gamba 8'

Rückpositiv (right hand): Quintadena 8', Gedackt 8', Rohrflöte 4'

Pedal: Principal 16', Violon 16', Hauptwerk to Pedal

Aria with one or two flutes and muted strings:

Hauptwerk (right hand): Flauto traverso [8'], Gemshorn 8'

Rückpositiv (left hand): Quintadena 8', Gedackt 8'

Pedal, uncoupled: Violon 16', Principal 8'

 

Mournful aria with a single solo instrument (e.g., oboe) and organo concertato, without other accompanying instruments:

Hauptwerk (left hand): Viola di Gamba 8', Gemshorn 8'

Rückpositiv (right hand): Vox humana 8', Quintadena 8'

Pedal, uncoupled: Violon 16', Principal 8'

Aria with more than one solo instrument, organo concertato, and other accompanying instruments:

Hauptwerk (left hand): Principal 8', Gemshorn 8', Viola di Gamba 8'

Rückpositiv (right hand): Quintadena 8', Gedackt 8', Rohrflöte 4', Principal 4', Octava 2'

Pedal, coupled: Principal 16', Violon 16', Principal 8'

Notes

                  1.              This article began as a lecture delivered at the Improvisation Symposium held at Eastern Michigan University in November 2000, and was sponsored by the Ann Arbor Chapter of the American Guild of Organists. I am grateful to Dr. Pamela Ruiter-Feenstra, Professor of Organ at EMU, and the Ann Arbor Chapter of the AGO for affording me the opportunity to delve into these matters.

                  2.              Ulrich Drüner, "Violoncello piccolo und Viola pomposa bei Johann Sebastian Bach: Zu Fragen von Identität und Spielweise dieser Instrumente" Bach Jahrbuch (1987), pp. 85-112.

                  3.              Quentin Faulkner, J. S. Bach's Keyboard Technique: A Historical Approach (St. Louis: Concordia, 1984), p. 18.

                  4.              Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: Norton, 2000), p. 540.

                  5.              These arguments were finally given a rest by Lawrence Dreyfus, Bach's Continuo Group: Players and Practices in His Vocal Works (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987).

                  6.              Also referred to as trunk organs, positive organs, continuo organs, Kastenorgeln, or Truhenorgeln.

                  7.              Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, p. 477.

                  8.              Ibid, p. 250.

                  9.              Ibid, p. 316.

                  10.           As the organ survives today, only the specification of the Pedal has been slightly altered.

                  11.           " . . .da man hingegen bey schwachen Arien und bey Recitativen allein des Gedackt acht Fuß gebrauchen darf." See J. A. Scheibe, Critischer Musicus (Leipzig: 1745), p. 415.

                  12.           "Stillgedockt 8f., so da vollkommen zur Music accordieret". See Frans Brouwer, Reinoud Egberts, Hans Jansen, Paul Peeters, Maurice Pirenne, editors, Bach's Orgelbüchlein in nieuw perspectief (Utrecht: Hogeschool voor de Kunsten, 1988), p. 172ff. The term Music as used in this context most certainly refers to concert music. Gott-fried Silbermann, in his proposal for the organ in Freiberg, described his Gedackt 8 as being gently voiced for concerted music ("Gedacktes 8 Fuß zur music liebl. intoniert"). See Frank Harald Greß, Die Klanggestalt der Orgeln Gottfried Silbermanns (Frankfurt and Wiesbaden: Bochinsky and Breitkopf und Härtel, 1989), p. 132.

                  13.           Ton Koopman, "Aspekte der Aufführungspraxis" in Christoph Wolff and Ton Koopman, Die Welt der Bach Kantaten (Stuttgart and Weimar: Bärenreiter and Metzler, 1996), vol. 1, p. 222.

                  14.           ". . .in der music delicat klinget." See Brouwer, et. al., Bach's Orgelbüchlein, p. 172ff.

                  15.           Quoted in Ewald Kooiman, Gerhard Weinberger, and Hermann J. Busch, Zur Interpretation der Orgelmusik Johann Sebastian Bachs (Kassel: Merseburger, 1995), p. 163.

                 16.           See Brouwer, et. al., Bach's Orgelbüchlein, p. 181. The organ was in the Garnisonskirche. Jacob Adlung also mentions the Bassoon's usefulness as a continuo stop. See J. Adlung, Anleitung zur musikalischen Gelahrtheit, Erfurt, 1758, p. 386.

                  17.           Adlung, Gelahrtheit, p. 386ff.

                  18.           Principal 8 "unter dem Tutti einer Music." See Brouwer, et. al., Bach's Orgelbüchlein, pp. 181-82.

                  19.           Specifically on the Trost organ in Altenburg. See Greß, Klanggestalt, p. 132.

                  20.           Christoph Gottlieb Schröter, Deutliche Anweisung zum General-Baß, Halberstadt 1772, pp. 187-90.

                  21.           Johann Samuel Petri, Anleitung zur praktischen Musik, 2. Auflage (Leipzig, 1782), p. 169ff.

                  22.           Greß, Klanggestalt, pp. 132-33.

                  23.           Adlung, Musica mechanica organoedi (Berlin, 1768), p. 171ff.

                  24.           Petri, Anleitung, p. 169.

                  25.           Adlung, Anleitung, p. 386. Elsewhere Adlung even suggests using a Principal 16'. See Musica mechanica organoedi, p. 171ff. One assumes the staccato reference is because 16-foot stops alone generally do not speak quickly enough to perform staccato notes successfully.

                  26.           Kooiman et. al., Interpretation der Orgelmusik, p. 163.

                  27.           Daniel Gottlob Türk, Von den wichtigsten Pflichten, (Halle, 1787), p. 156.

                  28.           ". . .so zum G[eneral B[aß] am bequehmsten ist." See Johann Gottfried Walther Musikalisches Lexicon (Leipzig, 1732), p. 275.

                  29.           See Petri, Anleitung, p. 169ff.

                  30.           Türk, Pflichten, pp. 156-57.

                  31.           Brouwer, et. al., Orgelbüchlein, p. 183.

                  32.           Greß, Klanggestalt, pp. 132-33.

                  33.           Friedrich Eberhardt Niedt, Musikalische Handleitung (Hamburg: 1710-12).

                  34.           Greß, Klanggestalt, p. 132.

                  35.           Dreyfus, Bach's Contiuo Group, pp. 15-16.

                  36.           Christoph Gottlieb Schröter, Deutliche Anweisung zum General-Baß, Halberstadt 1772, pp. 187-90.

                  37.           Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, p. 423.

                  38.           Julie Ann Sadie, Companion to Baroque Music, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990, p. 192.

                  39.           See Johannes Schäfer, Nordhäuser Orgelchronik (Berlin: Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1939), pp. 54-56.

                  40.           See Daniel R. Melamed and Michael Marissen, An Introduction to Bach Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 142-45, for an introduction to this thorny issue.

                  41.           Adlung stipulates just which stops are to be tuned to Kammerton: In the Pedal at least the Subbaß and in large churches an 8-foot and a 16-foot flute as well.  In the Positiv the Musikgedackt, in the Hauptmanuale "as much as is needed for an obligato bass" ("so viel, als ein obligater Baß nöthig hat"). He then goes on to say that the castle organ in Merseburg has the following stops in Kammerton: Gedackt 4', Principal 4', Grobgedackt 8', Pedal Subbaß 16' and Octav 8'. See Adlung, Gelahrtheit, p. 386. The Wagner organ in the Cathedral in Brandenburg had a Gedecktes 8 Fuß Cammer Thon in the Obermanual. See Andreas Kitschke, Die historische Wagner-Orgel im Dom zu Brandenburg/ Havel (Passau: Kunstverlag-Peda, 1998), p. 15.

                  42.           The Johann Michael Röder organ built 1722-1725 for St. Magdalena in Breslau had a Pedal Kammerbass 16' and Kammerbass 8' (tuned to Kammerton), and Chorbass 16', tuned to Chorton. The entire Unterclavier could be played in either Chorton or Kammerton.

                  43.           See John Koster, "The Quest for Bach's Clavier: An Historiographical Interpretation," Early Keyboard Journal 14 (1996), pp. 65-84.

Evidence of Baroque Practices

by Johannes Geffert

The pedagogy of organ performance must deal with the tension between playing technique and musical interpretation. On the one hand, all physical possibilities of playing ought to be developed, trained, and educated in a most intensive and versatile manner. On the other hand, musical interpretation demands a specially and carefully selected playing technique.

 

Since organ lessons usually follow several years of thorough piano study, playing on the manuals does not pose many problems at first, even when historical fingering (early fingering) is used. However it is a completely different matter when learning to play the pedal clavier. In wide sections of the organ world the opinion is generally accepted that in the organ music of the baroque and classical periods the pedals are to be played only with the toe of the shoe. A beginner whose repertory consists primarily of works from these early periods fails to develop a versatile technique that adequately serves pedal playing for subsequent periods which require both heels and toes.

I have observed that in my classes in improvisation, the most common limitation that impedes artistic abilities is a lack of a fluent pedal technique. This ubiquitous problem has led me to search for historical sources and to read most carefully and critically such writings in order to examine the arguments which furnish the reasons for toe-playing of music from the baroque era.  The very first sources mentioned in specialized literature which deal with questions of pedal application in detail are:

Johann Samuel Petri (1738-1808): Anleitung zur praktischen Musik (Guide to Musical Practice), Leipzig 1767/1; 1782/2, facsimile, Verlag Katzbichler, Giebing 1969.

Daniel Gottlob Türk (1750-1813): Beytrag von den wichtigsten Pflichten eines Organisten (On the Most Important Duties of an Organist), Halle 1787, facsimile Frits Knufs, Hilversum 1966.

Justin Heinrich Knecht (1752-1817): Vollständige Orgelschule (Complete Organ School), Leipzig 1795, facsimile, Breitkopf und Härtel, Wiesbaden 1989.

Johann Christian Kittel (1732-1809): Der angehende praktische Organist (The Beginning Practical Organist), Erfurt 1801, facsimile, Frits Knufs, Buren 1981.

J. C. Kittel: Choralbuch für Schleswig Holstein (Choral-Book of Schleswig-Holstein), Altona 1803.

Johann Samuel Petri

Petri sees himself for all practical purposes as a self-taught organist. Although he was brought up in musical surroundings--his father had first been a cantor, and his uncle had applied for the position of cantor of St. Thomas, Leipzig in 1755--he was not allowed to begin keyboard lessons until the age of sixteen. Such a late start on the clavichord had to be a hindrance to his technical facility. After only nine months' instruction Petri took over his teacher's post as organist following his mentor's death. Thus he became an organist without a thorough grounding in organ technique. Such laxness in making appointments appears to have been a common practice of the times, underscored by comments found in the writings of Türk, Knecht, and Kittel. The young Petri was not only an organist but also played the flute and stringed instruments, and even tried his hand at composing.  In 1762 he was appointed music teacher in Halle where he met Wilhelm Friedemann Bach. He wrote in his Anleitungen: "Mr. Bach from Halle, whose friendship and teaching I myself have had the benefit of in 1762 and 1763, is the most powerful organ player I have ever heard."1

So we safely assume that in Petri's Anleitungen the considerable number of eighteen pages which concern the playing of the pedals and which surpass many times over the comparatively poor directions given by Türk and Kittel was influenced by his contact with W. F. Bach. Petri's examples given in the Anleitungen are extensive and virtuosic, and they exhibit a freer and more artistic shaping than those of Knecht whose exercises are more schematic. At the beginning of his book Petri writes: " . . . so the organist should be allowed to display all of his artistic skill at a wedding ceremony, after the service or before the Te Deum and should be heard playing fiery and animated preludes, fugues and pedal solos with the full organ . . ."2 As do his later colleagues in their organ methods, Petri begins his instructions with pedal scales. In his preliminary remarks dealing with pedalling he quite naturally refers to using the heel according to his rule: " . . . depending on the position of the keys one foot may be used successively several times." (See Example 1)

Following that, he goes on to describe the under-and-over placing of the feet and also a so-called "footshoving." The latter is used when it is not possible to place one foot underneath the other one. (See Example 2)

Petri's demands concerning fluent pedal playing are stringent: " . . . pedal application for runs therefore have to be learned first."3 He also demands versatility: "But does one always know beforehand on which key or the other one will end up? Thus to be on the safe side you should be prepared for all cases."4 He favors using different pedal formulae: " . . . so that the beginner does not get used to only one alone."5

Petri's extremely different pedallings which he applies to scales fortify the impression of a talented, practical, and efficient self-taught organist rather than that of a methodically trained professional pedagogue. In cases in which his pedallings (with the heel!) do not please he advises: " . . . use the feet alternately although in some cases . . . it is a little troublesome."6 Obviously Petri reckons toe-playing to be a mere simplification of a fully differentiated and elaborate pedal technique!

On the whole Petri makes high de-mands upon pedal-playing: " . . . runs like rolls or barrels and semicircles," " . . . leaps in which the feet must climb about each other in a crosswise manner several times," " . . . polyphonic and mixed pedallings." In this connection Petri refers to possible difficulties when playing intervals with one foot owing to a "too short shoe."

Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart also comments upon special shoes for organ-playing and heel-playing in his book Ideen zu einer Aesthetik der Tonkunst (1784) (Ideas on the Aesthetics of Music).

Playing the pedals poses great difficulties, owing to both its immense power as well as its varying nature. You may seldom use the right foot as you do the left, because the one really belongs to the sphere of the violoncello obbligato and the other borders the nature of the violon and the bass trombone. One has to have one's own shoes made for playing the pedals, making the heels very high so that one can play thirds and even fourths by leaping. Otherwise, the theory of playing the pedals is the same as the basso continuo.7

Schubart also describes W. Fr. Bach: 

. . . doubtless the greatest organist in the world! . . . his organ playing matches or even surpasses that of his father's . . . Besides his great father no one else has ever reigned over the pedals with such an omnipotence as he has. He takes up a fugue subject with his feet, makes mordents and trills with his feet and is able to dazzle even the largest audience by his ability to play the pedals.8

Does not Petri in his versatile and practical approach to pedal-playing, and the fact that he was a student of the brilliant W. Fr. Bach place him in the same "Bach tradition" attributed to Kittel? Burney even calls Schubart "scholar of the Bach school . . . He was an organist in Ulm for some time."

Daniel Gottlob Türk

Turning to Türk, one finds little information about his training on the organ. Records show that he was taught music at the Kreuzschule in Dresden by Homilius, a Bach scholar, and he had piano lessons for three months with Johann Wilhelm Hässler. In chronicles written by Scherder of Altenbruch it is revealed that Türk took up music late in life--in fact only after he completed his apprenticeship to a draper and served for years as a journeyman in that business.9 Nevertheless, he was appointed organist of the well-known Frauenkirche in Halle in 1787. In his Beytrag von den wichtigsten Pflichten eines Organisten (On the Most Important Duties of an Organist), Türk relegated pedal instruction to a mere three pages, and he describes ways of playing a few scales, but advises organists who are beyond that low level to skip them.10 On the whole, the bulk of his writing was aimed at "improving the musical liturgy" and is meant for schoolmasters, preachers, church committees, and persons who choose to become liturgical organists. The intention of teaching a person to become a competent artistic or virtuosic musician was evidently not in his thinking! Türk gives an example to show "where both parts of each foot are needed" and refers to Petri. (See Example 311)

Türk writes:

It does not suffice to play the low registers with the left, and the higher ones with the right foot, because this would cause an incoherence and leave many gaps, even at a moderate pace. [This can be interpreted as being in favor of playing cantabile tending towards a true legato.] . . . In fact each foot acts as two fingers; because you play with the toe (front part) and with the heel [!]. Training continuously in this manner one may reach a quite high level of dexterity.12

It would be difficult to discern exactly what Türk classified as real pedal dexterity. However, as exemplified by Türk himself, organ-playing was at a very low level both in rural and in urban regions: "Many a person has the silly custom of resting his foot on the pedal throughout his most tasteless runs. This results in most hideous dissonances and everything ends up as a motley jumble."13 His advice for accompanying instrumental music is also highly significant: "It is better not to play with the pedal those passages which are very rapid, especially the runs, and which you cannot shape in a clearly distinct and 'round' manner; instead, these should preferably be played with the left hand."14 Türk writes in his introduction what he demands from a good organist: good choral (hymn) playing, a thorough knowledge of the basso continuo, and the ability to play good and appropriate preludes.

Justin Heinrich Knecht

Knecht denounces the technique of touching the pedals lightly for single notes, a performance practice that Petri did not condone: " . . . therefore an organist must be careful to express everything by the pedals in order to avoid a gap here and a gap there."15 The first volume of Knecht's organ method, which is of interest here, was published in 1795. For the first time a formally trained organist with a technique based upon virtuosic expectations comes up with a didactic work. Naturally it stresses basic playing techniques. As a student of Vogler, Knecht already belongs stylistically to a different musical world, a fact which promptly arouses Türk's criticism. Knecht devotes his attention to proper development of pedal technique and related matters for eleven pages, and he addresses his teaching not only to beginners but also to the more advanced players.

It is curious to note that he attacks problems of pedalling from two perspectives: one for the organist who is required to play upon a pedalboard of only an octave or a little more, and one for the fortunate person who had a full pedalboard of twenty-five or more notes. For the former, he advises a rigorous toe-playing approach. It was easier on a small pedal clavier to use toes, alternating feet as much as possible. On such a limited span of pedal keys either foot could play any note. For the latter, the pedalboard of at least two octaves, it was physically difficult for the right foot to reach the low end and vice versa.16, 17

Knecht himself did not consider pedalling with "toes only" a sensible practice on a full length pedalboard as is now the case in many quarters today. He therefore describes a second kind:

According to this [second kind] when playing an ascending scale passage one places the toe on a pedal key and turns the heel towards the next key in order to press it down with the heel. Then one turns the toe towards the third key and thus continues using alternately heel and toe . . . depending on the position of the upper keys of the pedals one has to use the heel more often . . . One should train oneself to use this pedalling which is to be preferred to the first [toes only] in every respect, and which the great organist Vogler mostly used.18

In addition, Knecht makes it a rule: "Except in cases of urgency, beware of pressing the upper note with the heel or hopping from one key to the other with the toe."19

As exceptions Knecht then brings forth examples of scales in which two consecutive upper keys are played by the toe of the same foot and even a scale in which an upper key is played with heel.20 Note the high G-sharp in the example below, a possibility which even the most ardent advocate of heel-playing might find questionable and uncomfortable. (See Example 4)

Knecht summarizes: "If one combines both pedallings a third one emerges which is the most convenient and which also has practical advantages."21 In his final exercises for polyphonic pedal-playing he gives additional instructions as to the choice of heel or toe to generate a strict legato.

Considering all of the aforementioned, it is safe to assume that Knecht was a highly skilled organist. His musical sensibilities evidently prompted him to pay attention to the danger of allowing the pedal to interfere with the overall musical fabric when dealing with contrapuntal music. "Using the pedal too much, especially when holding deep and low sounds fills the ear too much and becomes monotonous."22 According to Knecht it usually suffices "when one touches the pedals lightly to stress the main notes in order not to darken a melody or an outstanding delicate accompaniment by a continuous droning of the pedal."23 This was not a new idea, having already been mentioned in 1710 by Friedrich Erhard Niedt in his book Musicalischen Handleitung.24

Johann Christian Kittel

Turning to Kittel, we learn that his writings are considered to have special importance since he is known to have had lessons with J. S. Bach for two years when he was sixteen years old. Kittel does not favor us with any information about pedal playing technique passed on to him by the great master himself. He mentions only that he received instructions for composing music and for playing the 'Clavier'.25 Assuming that all keyboard instruments were covered by the term 'Clavier' his organ studies were not touched upon as being special. This is why Forkel writes about him later: "He is a thorough (although not a very dextrous) organ player."26

It is very interesting that in his instruction book Der angehende praktische Organist (The Beginning Practical Organist), Kittel does not give any practical explanation for performing nor does he supply any exercises for the novice. His book rather elaborates upon the theological, artistic, and aesthetic values necessary for playing the organ effectively in church. In this context he explains numerous rules dealing with figured bass and the theory of composition which underlie the matter of accompanying the German chorals. This is the only context which Kittel touches when he mentions a "method which is completely formed along the principles of Bach."27 Also, his account of having 'lessons' (Unterricht) with Bach28 refers solely to this context.

Yet, his own compositions reveal that he wrote in a simpler, sensitive and galant style, especially from an aesthetic point of view; Bach's former student had moved quite a distance away from his teacher. Kittel describes music as a language of sensitivity:

Happy is he who was given by nature and science the power of the Almighty to move, to heighten and to lead the hearts of thousands closer towards the Supreme Being by his playing . . . Lo, these tears of affection which are the most holy ones to be shed, these hearts so moved all wave up to God and you are the one who made flow these tears and moved these hearts . . . Reflect diligently upon the purpose of your playing, and always try to improve your moral behavior . . .  the character of organ playing is strength, cordiality, dignity, solemn earnestness, majesty.29

Even though these objectives are disdained in many circles today, in my opinion they are not evidence of a decay in church music. (Every kind of theology forms its own corresponding music.) However, concerning Kittel's ideas here, there is nothing much left of the school and tradition of J. S. Bach.

There was a good and practical reason for Kittel to write his book for beginners: the level of organ playing in Germany was extremely bad in all but the largest metropolitan centers. Proof of this can be found in another writing of Kittel: the Choralbuch für Schleswig Holstein, Altona 1803. Kittel describes the same applications for the pedals as Knecht does: the exclusive toe-playing with alternating feet, here called the "first and superior" kind, and the second kind which is to play with toe and heel of the same foot, here called the "older way." He warns of using the latter, however, "because one may easily destroy the pedal keyboard by clumsy usage. This second way may be used with the first (toe) method, but the first is to be preferred in all respects."30 One can estimate the quality of his fellow organists when it can be seen that he has to explain the distribution of the four parts of the choral for the two hands!

Summary and analysis

Surveying the teaching literature chronologically, I am convinced that it was deemed necessary and of great importance to provide help for organists who had no means of serious organ study and who depended largely upon self-help method books for private study. We cannot draw valid conclusions about the playing proficiency of all four writers dealt with so far. We know that Knecht and Petri held respectable positions and wrote studies that would have been helpful to even advanced players. Türk and Kittel, on the other hand, were concerned primarily with the liturgical aspect of organ playing. They act not as experienced organists drawing upon a rich vein of professional training as performers upon the organ, but as high clerical officials with that as their primary station in life--not first and foremost performers.

The first author, Petri, still deals quite naturally with heel playing, and his demands upon pedal dexterity are the most extensive of all. Kittel, the last author of the four, favors and demands the playing of the pedals with toes only, but we must not forget that his words were directed at the beginner and the untrained.

In my opinion the reasons are less to be found in a historical tradition than in pedagogic aims. At the end of the 18th century the duties of appointed teachers and organists were being merged. "The union of school and church offices hopelessly overburdened the musician-educators, and the situation corresponded to the union of throne and altar."31 The education of teachers thus implied obligatory organ study, whether the future teacher was talented and willing or not. "In many cases this was not in the least appropriate for creating qualified organists."32 "Someone who could already accompany the chorals regularly with the organ, without pedals, was considered in some rural districts to be an advanced organist."33

At the end of his book, Der angehende praktische Organist, Kittel writes:

Many organists do not have any knowledge of music theory. Their art on the whole is limited to making scanty work of a choral and to playing an easy and studied prelude or postlude without faltering or stumbling. To be fair, one cannot demand much more from any single man who should at the same time be an organist, a teacher, and maybe a verger, and who never has had the benefit of a scholarly education . . . and who is troubled by poor domestic circumstances.34

Seen from this angle, Kittel's pedalling directions can be understood in a completely different light: using the toes for the pedals is undoubtedly the easiest and most natural way for beginners. Kittel's strong emphasis on toe playing and his warning about damaging the pedalboard when using the heel is aimed at those poor students who were totally without talent or the time to develop a genuine technique. Regular pedal exercises would undoubtedly have brought forth a different and more musical pedalling.

Unfortunately, it is impossible to obtain any knowledge about J. S. Bach's pedal playing from these available sources with which we have been dealing. Forkel describes Bach's pedal technique from the viewpoint of a later generation:

Bach . . . used . . . the pedal obbligato in a way known to very few organists. He did not only pedal the ground tones (bass notes) or the lowest notes ordinarily played by the fifth finger of the left hand, but played a complete melody with his feet which was of such a nature that others would scarcely have been able to play it with their five fingers.35

A contemporary of Bach by the name of Mitzler praises him: "With his two feet he was able to execute passages of a kind that would have given many a skillful player of the keyboard great pains to negotiate with his five fingers."36 Gerber writes: "His feet had to imitate every subject and every passage which the hands had played beforehand. No appoggiatura, no mordent, no tied trill was allowed to be missed or to sound less nice and round."37 A certain Bruggaier recorded: "J. S. Bach is singularly outstanding concerning his most skillful usage of the organ pedals."38 In another instance he continues: "Bach's double pedal playing originates from the same disposition as do fugues for solo violin. Both are an expression of an instinct for virtuoso performance which sometimes ignores technical limits."39

The only instructions for using toe pedalling ascribed to J. S. Bach himself come from his student Tobias Krebs.40 Krebs' comments, however, I am compelled to analyze in the same context as those of Kittel's pedal instructions: as a guide for neophyte organists, often forced to teach themselves. Albrecht writes about a toe-heel technique learned from Johann Caspar Vogler who was also a student of Bach.41

In all likelihood, those organists who were able to play the organ, including pedals, in true virtuosic style during the baroque era numbered only a few. Among the organists from Tunder to Krebs (1630-1780) one can find only a handful with a pedal technique that well-trained organists today take for granted. Because of this fact it is impossible to point to any scheme or course of study of that time that could have brought about widespread technical proficiency in pedal playing. Those who excelled were gifted and were persons of vision. A survey of the organ music of the period in question reveals that the bulk of it does not require a facile pedal technique and can be played most easily using only toes. It is the monumental and demanding masterpieces of the few that prompt us to doubt the efficacy of following the "toes only" plan for all baroque pieces.

Historical research uncovers other good reasons for widespread pedalling using only toes. Many of the old organs had pedalboards of such varying dimensions that a universal technique was out of the question. Many historic organs are indeed impossible to play using heels for the simple reason that the pedal dimensions preclude it. The pedals are too short, front to back, for anything but toes, and often the console layout made the player sit in a rather unbalanced position that would have prevented using heels. In spite of these drawbacks, in some situations it is possible for the expertly trained organist to use heels occasionally. So much de-pends upon such things as size of the foot, height of the player, as well as the training. In all of the writings to be found, only one person, Eduard Bruggaier, gives specific details about pedalboards and their dimensions.42 According to the results of his measuring the long keys of the Compenius organ in Frederiksborg (43 cm) or those of Gottfried Silbermann (55 cm) it would be possible to play with the heels, even with the size of our feet nowadays. In any case, I am confident that if there is enough space to pass one foot over or under the other for toe-playing, there is also space enough for using the heel on the keys.

Many sources document that even when historic organs were being built, undersized pedalboards provoked anger and criticism by the true virtuoso players. Of course, such organists were the tiny minority. Arnolt Schlick wrote in Spiegel der Orgelmacher und Organisten in 1511: "So do not make the pedal keys too slim or too broad, but take a reasonable common measurement for the usage of everyone so that he may strike two parts with one foot . . . the sharp key of the pedals should not stand upwards at the end, but be even."43

Jacob Adlung from Erfurt, a predecessor of Kittel, wrote about the keys:

The keys should not be too short, because the feet are otherwise not able to be placed one after the other comfortably. The width of the keyboard has to be the same in every other organ, because it would be annoying having to change the accustomed way of playing for each organ. It should be possible to reach the outer keys without trouble when sitting in the middle, and furthermore having enough room for the feet.44

Again:

The whole pedalboard should be in-stalled a little inwards, because if one wanted to play something special, it would otherwise not be possible to move. The reason for this is that feet sometimes have to follow each other and there must be enough room for them. If you want to gain space by setting the bench farther away, the manual would be too far away to play . . . Such players who do not make much fuss about the pedals do not need such de-vices: however, one has to build in such a manner that it is convenient for a wide range of players . . . Also the lightness of touch is to be praised . . . times change; nowadays one wants to play two or three tailed notes [sixteenth or thirty-second notes] which one also should be able to slur.45

In the organ method book of Johann Gottlob Werner it is printed: "It is preferred to make the pedal keys out of oak wood and to adjust the length in such a manner that it is convenient to place one foot after the other . . . It should also be considered that proceeding with the toe and heel of one foot should be possible in a most convenient way."46

Johann Christian Wolfram writes:

In cases in which the organist is obliged to stretch far out to reach the manual and consequently is in constant danger of falling off the bench or if the manual is too close, too low, or too high . . . in all these cases the manuals have been installed wrongly, because it hinders good and convenient playing. It is incredible how unconcerned our good ancestors were in this respect[!]. One finds old organs at which the poor organists must have made a quite comical figure!47

When writing his book, Wolfram "had in mind the organists and rural school teachers who in most places performed the duties of the church organist."48

People everywhere were lamenting the poor organ playing in the churches and also were criticizing bad organ construction. From the point of view of the poor organ builders, it was quite probable that they had to build the minimum instrument for the situation, considering that the church would not spend more money than was necessary and their instruments were to be played by organists quite pedestrian in capabilities. Pedalboards did not have to be complete and versatile divisions for the run-of-the-mill usage.

In the end, perhaps one should even be allowed to point out that 200 years ago people generally were of smaller stature. According to a study by Professor George Kenntner49 the average height has increased by 20 cm (7 7⁄8 inches) from 1750 to today. Therefore, what we consider too-small pedalboards today might not have been such a problem then.

Always of great interest are the questions as to whether musicians and musical aesthetics helped to develop the art of organ building or whether the latter brought on styles of playing, or whether compositions helped develop technical improvements in the instrument or vice versa. How extremely different are the historic instruments from each other in cases in which we can be certain the old organ has not been altered. Just a few examples: Some actions are quite easy to play while others on the contrary are almost impossible because of the hard action; wind may be steady, even under full organ, whereas a neighboring organ has wind so shaky that it is truly an abomination; organs are tuned to different intonations, so a piece of music that sounds right on one will sound ugly on another; organs with short octaves allow the hand to span a tenth with ease, while on a standard keyboard that is not possible for many players; the compass of the keyboards vary in range as much as an octave. In short, organ playing is always a new experience and depends completely upon the individual instrument and its location.

Thus, a true historical interpretation, applying the most detailed knowledge possible, about practical performing conditions would be nothing more than a mere attempt to find the 'best' solution for the individual instrument, and let us admit that after all is said and done, the musical outcome is in the hands and feet of the organist interpreting the music.

When I teach pedal playing I sympathize with Petri: One has to be 'armed' to encounter all kinds of pedalboards, all shapes and styles. I believe that a pure application of toe-playing must be understood and practiced, but not to cling to it rigorously. To understand it is necessary to employ it to make musical sense: " . . . a secure and effortless technique will free the player to concentrate on playing more musically and communicating with the listener . . . "50 This in fact is the whole point: to let the music speak, and not be overly compelled to adhere to narrow views on toe or heel.

Prepared for publication in English by Emmet G. Smith, Fort Worth, Texas.

Notes

                  1.              Petri, Anleitungen sur praktischen Musik, p. 101.

                  2.              Petri, loc. cit., p. 298.

                  3.              Petri, loc. cit., p. 315.

                  4.              Petri, loc. cit., p. 317–318.

                  5.              Petri, loc. cit., p. 321.

                  6.              Petri, loc. cit., p. 321.

                  7.              Ch. F. D. Schubart, Ideen zu einer Aesthetik der Tonkunst, Verlag Reclam, Leipzig 1784/1, p. 220.

                  8.              Ch. F. D. Schubart, loc. cit., p. 96.

                  9.              According to G. Fock, Zur Biographie J. Kittels, in Bachjahrbuch 1962.

                  10.           Türk, Von den wichtigsten Pflichten eines Organisten, loc. cit., p. 158.

                  11.           Türk, loc. cit., p. 159.

                  12.           Türk, loc. cit., p. 158.

                  13.           Türk, loc. cit., p. 158.

                  14.           Türk, loc. cit., p. 107.

                  15.           Türk, loc. cit., p. 314.

                  16.           See Knecht, Vollstandige Orgelschule, loc. cit., vol. l, p. 45.

                  17.           See Christian Namberger, Untersuchungen zu ergonomischen Optimirung von Orgelspielanlagen, Verlags-GmbH Kleinbittersdorf, 1999.

                  18.           Knecht, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 47.

                  19.           Knecht, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 48.

                  20.           Ibid.

                  21.           Knecht, loc. cit., vol. 1, p. 51.

                  22.           Knecht, loc. cit., vol. 1, p. 85.

                  23.           Knecht, loc. cit., vol. 1, p. 81.

                  24.           Friedrich Erhard Niedt, Musicalische Handleitung, Hamburg, 1710, facsimile, Frits Knuf, Buren, 1976, Chap. IV, p. 43.

                  25.           Letter to the 'Consistorium' in Zeitz in 1756.

                  26.           Johann Nikolaus Forkel, J. S. Bach, facsimile edition, Frankfurt, 1950, p. 43.

                  27.           Kittel, Der angehende praktische Organist, Preface.

                  28.           Kittel, loc. cit., 3. part.

                  29.           Kittel, loc. cit., Introduction, p. 4ff.

                  30.           Cited by Knufs facsimile, p. 65.

                  31.           Arnfried Edler, Typen des protestantischen Kantors im 19. Jahrhundert und ihre Musik, in Zur Orgelmusik im 19. Jahrhundert, Verlag Helbling, Innsbruck, 1983, p. 17.

                  32.           Ibid.

                  33.           Arnfried Edler, loc. cit., p. 17.

                  34.           Kittel, Der angehende praktische Organist, loc. cit., 2. part, p. 95.

                  35.           Johann Nikolaus Forkel, J. S. Bach, loc. cit., p. 37.

                  36.           Musicalische Bibliothek, IV, l, p. 172. Cited by Peter Krams, Wechselwirkungen zwischen Orgelkomposition und Pedalspieltechnik, Wiesbaden, 1974, p. 67.

                  37.           Ernst-Ludwig Gerber, Historisch-Biographisches Lexikon der Tonkünstler, Leipzig, 1812/14, vol. I, p. 90; cited by Peter Krams, ibid.

                  38.           Eduard Bruggaier, Studien zur Geschichte des Orgelspiels in Deutschland bis zur Zeit Johann Sebastian Bach, dissertation, Frankfurt, 1959, p. 137.

                  39.           Bruggaier, loc. cit., p. 149.

                  40.           See Klotz, Orgelspiel, in MGG, vol. 10, col. 389.

                  41.           Christoph Albrecht, Zur Artikulation Bachscher Orgelwerk, in Der Kirchenmusiker, 1988, p. 3.

                  42.           See Bruggaier, loc. cit.

                  43.           Cited by Peter Krams, Wechselwirkungen, loc. cit.

                  44.           Jacob Adlung, Anleitung zu der musicalischen Gelahrtheit, Erfurt, 1758, facsimile, Bärenreiter, 1953, p. 359.

                  45.           Musica mechanica II, p. 26, cited by E. Bruggaier, loc. cit.

                  46.           Johann Gottlob Werner, Orgelschule, Penig, 1807, p. 31.

                  47.           Johann Christian Wolfram, Anleitung zur Kenntniss, Beurtheilung und Erhaltung der Orgeln, Gotha, 1815, facsimile, Frits Knuf, Amsterdam, 1962, p. 117.

                  48.           J. Ch. Wolfram, loc. cit., Prologue VI.

                  49.           George Kenntner, article in Friedericiana, Zeitschrift der Universität Karlsruhe, part 46.

                  50.           Gerard Brooks, Your Feets Too Big, in Organists' Review, August, 1997.   

by Larry Palmer

Larry Palmer is a contributing editor of THE DIAPASON.

A Harpsichordist's Magazine Rack

Recent issues of Early Music, the sumptuously-produced quarterly journal from Oxford University Press, have had little of specific interest to harpsichordists. In the issue for August 1998 (XXVI/3) Simon McVeigh reviewed recent recordings of works by the Bach boys--C.P.E., W. F., and J. C. plus a disc devoted to Johannes Schobert. In the November 1998 issue (XXVI/4) Warwick Cole reviews the publication Keyboard Music of Georg Benda (edited by Christopher Hogwood), and reports by Howard Schott (Domenico Scarlatti Festival in Boston) and Virginia Pleasants (Bruges Keyboard Competitions) were included.

Of special note is Pleasants' report of Davitt Maroney's recital of hitherto-unknown harpsichord works from a manuscript attributed to Marc Roger Normand (1663-1734), son of Louis Couperin's sister Elizabeth! Discovered in Italy (where the composer had been employed in Turin), the Normand manuscript, containing 60 keyboard pieces, has been published recently in facsimile by Minkoff of Geneva. One tantalizing page is included as an illustration.

For the same issue Charles Mould wrote an obituary of John Barnes, the British maker of harpsichords and clavichords and Curator since 1968 of the Russell Collection at the University of Edinburgh (Scotland), who died in March 1998.

Early Music for February 1999 (XXVII/1) contains David Ledbetter's insightful review of the New Bach Reader, revised and considerably enlarged by Christoph Wolff, published by Norton in 1998.

Full color photographs of handsomely-decorated instruments from the workshop of D. Jacques Way and Marc Ducornet make for visual delights on the inside front covers of these magazines, while French harpsichordist Christophe Rousset graces the inside back covers.

Compact Discs to Delight

A souvenir from the past, Variations for Harpsichord played by Isolde Ahlgrimm, has been reissued as a compact disc (Berlin Classics Eterna 0031682BC). The program, recorded on an unidentified German harpsichord (Ammer?), was first issued in 1972. This cherished Viennese harpsichordist (whose 85th birthday would have been July 31) includes wo4rks by Cabezon (Diferencias sobre el canto llano del Caballero), Byrd (John come kisse me now), Frescobaldi (Romanesca Variations), Poglietti (Aria Allemagna), François Couperin (Les Folies françoises, ou les Dominos), Handel (Chaconne in G), and C. P. E. Bach (Les Folies d'Espagne).

For those who knew Ahlgrimm this recital serves as a wonderful reminder of her luminous artistry at the keyboard. For those who are not aware of the sterling gifts of this harpsichordist, the stylistically apt and musically rewarding qualities of her playing will serve to document that she was one of the leading artists of the harpsichord revival. Celebrate Ahlgrimm's birthday by listening to her infectious rhythm and musical good humor in the Poglietti and the perfect coupling of beautiful ornaments and forward-driving momentum in her reading of the Handel!

The best keyboard players try to imitate that most perfect of musical instruments, the human voice. Teachers repeatedly instruct students to "sing the phrase" or "imitate the articulation of a good singer." One of the best examples for emulation now on records is countertenor David Daniels, whose debut disc for Virgin Veritas (CDC 7243 5 45326 2 7) presents a ravishing program of Handel operatic arias. I have not been so moved by a new singer since first hearing Joan Sutherland's trills in the early 1960s. In less than the four minutes of the first track (Recitative "Frondi tenere," Aria "Ombra mai fu"--the celebrated "Largo" from Serse [Xerxes]) I was totally captivated by Daniels, who has everything--a powerful, beautiful and compelling voice; projection and sensitive understanding of the text; seemingly inexhaustible breath support; and an overall ability to program and perform music with style and musicality. Daniels is ably supported by the period instrument Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, conducted by Sir Roger Norrington. The fine harpsichord continuo is provided by John Toll.

Daniels made his debut this spring at the Metropolitan Opera in Handel's Giulio Cesare. An interesting and instructive dialogue between Daniels and the legendary countertenor Russell Oberlin appeared in Opera News for April 1999.

Harpsichordist Edward Parmentier traverses Seventeenth Century German Harpsichord Music (The Stylus Phantasticus) in his new CD for Wildboar (WLBR 9202). Playing Keith Hill's fine-sounding copy of a 1640 two-manual Hans Ruckers harpsichord, Parmentier offers superb readings of this exciting repertoire. Works by Kerll, Schildt, Scheidemann, Weckmann, Krieger, and the better-known Buxtehude and Böhm fill this fascinating disc.

Parmentier will offer his insights into this same repertoire during the first of his 1999 harpsichord workshops at the University of Michigan (Ann Arbor): German harpsichord music before Bach is his topic (July 5-9), while all four parts of Bach's Clavierübung may well fill July 12-16. For a brochure or further information, contact Professor Parmentier ([email protected]; or 734/ 665-2217 [home] or 734/ 764-2506 [studio]).

From the Harpsichord Editor

A letter from reader Thomas Orr of Columbus, GA, lamenting the lack of harpsichord news for a substantial period was a welcome indication that we have been missed! Excuses are probably not needed; suffice it to say that I have been exceedingly occupied with new career duties at SMU, and mentally exhausted by program chair responsiblities for last year's Texas gathering of SEHKS and MHKS.

It is gratifying, however, to be reminded that The Diapason has served, and should continue to be a national sounding board for harpsichord news and articles of interest to harpsichord aficianados. To that end, I hope readers will contact me with suggestions and ideas for topics to be included. We will do our utmost to publish something at least in alternate months. Communication is easier than ever: utilize my university e-mail: [email protected], or the traditional route for written documents: Dr. Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Meadows School of the Arts, Southern Methodist University, Dallas TX 75275.

John Collins

John Collins has been playing and researching early keyboard music for over 35 years, with special interests in the English, Italian, and Iberian repertoires. He has contributed many articles and reviews to several American and European journals, including The Diapason, and has been organist at St. George’s, Worthing, West Sussex, England for almost 26 years.

This year we commemorate the 300th anniversary of the death of Bernardo Pasquini. Although much attention has been given in the past few decades to Pasquini’s dramatic and vocal music, of which the scores for twelve operas and seven oratorios in addition to many cantatas and motets are known to survive, his extensive corpus of keyboard music has only comparatively recently received the attention it deserves. Considered one of the major Italian composers for keyboard between Frescobaldi (d. 1643) and Domenico Scarlatti (b. 1685), Bernardo Pasquini, teacher of Francesco Gasparini (author of the influential L’Armonico Pratico al Cimbalo, Venice 1708), left well over 200 pieces for keyboard.

Sources and early editions
The great majority of Pasquini’s works are preserved in four autograph manuscripts, including 121 in the autograph MS of Landsberg 215. A further partial autograph section is included in British Library MS 31501, I–III; to be found in part I are the 14 sonatas for two bassi continui, 14 sonatas for basso solo, and in parts II and III no fewer than 314 short versi, also in figured-bass format. More substantial works in MS 31501, part I, include a long Tastata, a Passagagli with 24 variations, a set of variations on the Follia and, at the end of the section, numerous short arie, more of which are to be found in part II. A few toccatas are also to be found in British Library MS 36661, which almost certainly predates the autographs by some years.
Very few of his works were published during his lifetime; three pieces entitled Sonata, ascribed to N.N. of Roma, were published in 1697 in a collection by Arresti, two of which were included in an English “abridged” edition, and other pieces were included in a collection of toccatas and suites published in 1698 by Roger of Amsterdam, which also appeared in England in 1719 and 1731. Others were included in assorted manuscripts; see bibliography for further details. In the preface to his edition of MS 964 at Braga, Portugal, Gerhard Doderer has speculated that some of the over 30 Italian (mainly Roman) compositions included therein (on folios 218–230 and 253–259) may well have been composed by the school of Pasquini, if not by Pasquini himself; certainly some of his compositions seem to have been known throughout Europe.
Pasquini’s compositions for keyboard cover all the main genres of his time, embracing some seventeen dance suites (although the term suite is not used in the manuscripts) as well as single movements, fourteen variations on both self-composed arias and stock basses, four passacaglias, sonatas including the 28 figured bass pieces mentioned above, over 30 toccatas and tastatas, about a dozen contrapuntal works, and a large number of versets. His numerous pupils in Rome included Casini, Zipoli, and possibly Durante and Domenico Scarlatti, in addition to J. P. Krieger and Georg Muffat, as well as Della Ciaja, who published a set of mercurial four-movement toccatas and retrospective ricercars and versets. It is highly probable that Handel met Pasquini in Rome in the early 1700s.

Modern editions
In addition to the facsimile edition of the Landsberg MS, there are two modern editions of his pieces. An edition by Maurice Brooks Haynes for the Corpus of Early Keyboard Music (American Institute of Musicology) was issued in seven volumes in 1964; this had the advantage of grouping pieces by genres rather than following the somewhat haphazard order in the manuscripts, but contained many printing errors and a somewhat sketchy approach to sources and evaluation. A new seven-volume edition, under the general editorship of Armando Carideo and Edoardo Bellotti, was issued in 2002; the first volume contains 60 versets and a pastorale from a recently discovered manuscript in Bologna, edited by Francesco Cera. The pieces from the Landsberg manuscript are included in volumes 2–5, with the pieces from MS 31501 in volumes 6 and 7. A further volume containing pieces from other sources, including as yet unpublished fugues in three and four voices as well as pieces of uncertain attribution, is in preparation. This edition is far more accurate but unfortunately much harder to obtain; see the bibliography at the end of this article for full details of these editions.
Below I shall summarize Pasquini’s extant keyboard music by genre; despite its shortcomings, I have used the AIM edition, and all numbers and titles cited are from this edition. Because of their extremely limited interest to the average player, I have not included the fascinating figured-bass sonatas for one and for two players, or the figured-bass versos, in this discussion.

Contrapuntal works
Pasquini is known to have made copies of the works of Palestrina and Frescobaldi, the influence of the latter being identifiable in both the toccatas and the contrapuntal works. Only eleven pieces that fall into this category seem to have survived, and two of these are incomplete. Those that survive are variable in quality, but several of them demonstrate the continuation of the variation technique so prevalent in Frescobaldi—they are included in book 1 of the Haynes edition. The first piece, in D minor, is entitled Capriccio by Haynes (although in the manuscript it is entitled Fantasia); its first section closes in the dominant and second section in the tonic. Both sections move mainly in quarter and eighth notes. In the third section the subject is introduced in 16th notes, followed by a triple-time section in 3/2. The piece concludes with a return to C time, the subject in its original time being accompanied by florid 16th-note writing (see Figures 1a–1d).

The second piece, entitled Capriccio, opens with a ricercar-like subject in 4/2, followed by a triple-time section in 3/2 that moves into 6/4, and a closing section of six bars consisting of half-note chords against 16th-note figures derived from the opening subject. The following short binary form piece is headed “Sigue al capriccio antecedente.” The third piece, regrettably incomplete in the MS, is entitled Fantasia and is another slower-moving, backward-looking work in quarter and eighth notes. The fourth piece, a ricercar in 4/2, is also slow-moving, on an archaic subject that proceeds through its 100 bars in half and quarter notes, with further subjects appearing during the piece.
By far the longest piece at some 345 bars is the Ricercare con fuga in più modi. This piece is in many sections, including the subject in diminution to half and quarter notes from bar 69, a return to original values from bar 123, a section in 6/4 from bar 209 to 246, which includes 16th-note writing, a section in C time that closes in bar 265 followed by a further section in 6/4 to bar 311, after which 12/8 takes over to the close of the piece. There is scope for shortening this piece, which makes considerable demands upon the performer.
Of the three pieces entitled Canzone Francese, the first in C major runs to only 32 bars, the second in F opens with the typical canzona rhythm of quarter note followed by two eighth notes and has a second section in 6/4, and the third piece in A minor opens with six repeated eighth-note Es (the repeated note fugal subject was very common in Germany as well as Italy, with examples by Reincken, Pachelbel, Kerll, and Buttstedt, among others) and soon becomes a moto perpetuo in 16th notes, which slows to eighth and quarter notes briefly in bar 56, the 16th notes taking over again in bar 66. A deceleration achieved via a cadence leads to a section barred in 3/4 (although headed 6/8), which starts in bar 106 and runs to bar 157. Of the next section entitled Alio modo la tripla, only seven bars survive, a great pity since this piece is of a high standard (see Figure 2a–2b). The ninth piece, of 24 bars, entitled Fuga, is an example of very loose imitative writing; the subject in the RH has LH passagework beneath it immediately.
Of the two pieces entitled Sonata, the first is also a loosely fugal work with a subject that opens with an ascending run of six 16th notes followed by an eighth note, another eighth note an octave below, and then returning to the note—now a quarter—before falling a tone, where the sequence is repeated a third below the original opening note. The second sonata opens with a short toccata-like flourish over a pedalpoint, followed by quarter-note chords modulating to the dominant; the second section is imitative, the subject rising a fifth in eighth and 16th notes, and has similarities to a Corellian fugue. Both were included under the name of “N. N. di Roma” in a collection of 18 sonatas for organ by various authors printed in Bologna ca. 1697, of which twelve pieces, including no. 10 here, were included in a London reprint by Walsh & Randall ca. 1710.
The two ricercars, nos. 139 and 140 in volume 7 of the Haynes edition, are both in G minor, the first opening with a canzona rhythm (half note followed by two quarter notes, all at the same pitch, in this case D) and proceeding in mainly quarter-note movement with a few eighth-note runs and two RH runs of 16th notes, bar 25 being repeated an octave higher at bar 34. There is tonal ambiguity at the close of the subject, which covers the minor scale descent from E-flat to G via B-natural followed by B-flat, which lends the piece charm. No. 140 is a longer piece at 83 bars that also proceeds mainly in quarter notes, with a further example of tonal ambiguity in the subject (also between B-flat and B-natural). Of interest are the written-out trill in the treble commencing on the upper note in bar 19 and the written-out alto trill in the penultimate bar with its Lombardic rhythm in the first two beats.

Suites, individual dances, and arias/bizzarrias
Pasquini’s seventeen “suites” for keyboard that are included in volume two of the Haynes edition are probably the first such examples in the Italian keyboard literature that contain several dances grouped together in the same key—the term “suite” is not used in the manuscript. They include Alemanda, Corrente and Giga, based, however, not on the examples of Froberger and the French school, but rather on Italian ensemble music. Several movements are untitled, others carry such terms as Bizzarria; but since the movements are grouped by key, they may well have been intended to form unified groups as presented in this volume. These “suites” comprise two to four movements in various combinations. Also included in this volume are several short pieces in binary form, including four entitled Bizzarria and no fewer than twenty-eight entitled Aria, all of which are attractively tuneful. By their nature the dances, bizzarrias, and arias are more suited to stringed keyboard instruments, although performance on a chamber organ would have been quite probable; for this reason a more detailed account has been omitted here.

Variations
These pieces are to be found in volumes three and four of the Brooks Haynes edition. The twenty-two sets of variations include four based on dance movements with just one or two variations, two sets on the Follia, two on the Bergamasca, with a further one on its Saltarello, and four sets entitled Variationi based on aria/dance-like themes that may well have been by Pasquini himself. Further sets are entitled Capricciose a Inventione (perhaps implying an original theme), Partite diverse sopra Alemanda, and Fioritas, with another set being entitled simply Variationi. Four passagaglie complete this genre.
A Bizzarria has just one variation in which the RH has the 16th-note figuration in the first half, the LH in the second; an untitled piece that is almost certainly an Alemanda has two variations in flowing 16th notes; a Corrente mainly in quarter notes has one variation in eighth notes; and a Sarabanda also mainly in quarter notes, some dotted, has one variation in 16th notes in which parts appear and drop out at will.
The set of variations on Fioritas has only six variations, but the manuscript contains the heading 7th, which clearly implies that Pasquini intended to write more. The Variationi Capricciose, on another tuneful theme that may have been original, is in seven partite. The theme is the first, the second in 3/4 is headed “in corrente”, the fourth is a sarabanda, the fifth in 6/4 is in quarter-note motion, and the sixth in C time makes great demands on the player, with an extended trill in the alto in each half as well as occasional simultaneous trills in the tenor. The final variation is in 3/4, with LH 16th notes against a mainly chordal RH in the first half and at the conclusion of the second half.
Of much greater substance are the remaining three sets: the Variationi a Inventione contains eleven partite; again the theme is considered to be the first variation (its first half has mainly chords in the RH over a moving eighth-note bass; the second half sees more 16th-note movement in the RH over quarter-note chords or moving eighth notes). The third set in 6/4 is in quarter-note movement in one part against dotted half-note chords throughout; the fourth, although headed 12/8, is barred in 3/4 and 6/4, this time with 16th-note passagework formed from a sequential figure against chords. The fifth to seventh sets are headed Corrente and are distinctly backward-looking, being similar to Frescobaldi’s Corrente in his two books of Toccate. Broken chord figures feature in the sixth, and insistent eighth-note movement appears in the seventh. In the eighth and ninth sets there is a further reminder of Frescobaldi in the time signatures: in the eighth the RH is in C time against 6/4 in the LH (see Figures 3a and 3b).
In both hands, eighth notes are grouped in duple as well as triple rhythms, and the figure of dotted quarter followed by two 16ths is passed between the hands. In the ninth partita, the RH is in 12/8 against a LH of 8/12, with the insistent pattern of dotted eighth followed by 16th. The tenth partita is headed 3/4 but barred as 6/4, again a corrente in form, with more broken-chord writing, sometimes in contrary motion between the hands. The final partita is headed Gagliarda and is unusually in C time (examples in C time are also to be found in Pasquini’s Spanish contemporary Juan Batista Cabanilles). Further broken chord figures and figures of ascending or descending thirds with the first note held on occur throughout, and neat syncopations in thirds in the RH appear towards the end of the second part.
The theme of the Partite diverse sopra Alemanda moves in quarter notes, but each half is followed by a written-out repeat in eighth notes, with imitation between the parts, broken chords, and contrary motion. The theme is followed by seven partitas, the first of which is in 16th-note movement, with the by-now usual figuration. The second, in binary form, is another rhythmic conundrum, with the RH in C12/6, and the LH in C6/12; this can be played most successfully as 12/8, much of it being in two parts only. The third, fifth, sixth, and seventh partitas are all headed 3/4 but barred in 6/4, the fourth actually being headed 6/4. In the third, flowing eighth notes soon give way to treble and bass quarter notes, with an alto eighth note after a rest, a figure that becomes wearing when used so relentlessly as here. The fourth partita moves in quarter notes, the second half opening with one bar of eighth-note imitation before a figure of rest followed by two quarter notes is passed between the hands.
The fifth partita has broken-chord writing in the RH over a quarter-note bass, with the LH also having broken chords in the repeats; in most of the piece, the top and bottom notes in figures are held on to produce a tonal build-up, but this is relieved in the middle of the piece by only the bass notes being held, which has the effect of acceleration. The sixth partita is based around a five-note eighth-note figure passed between the hands, while other parts have held half notes or dotted half notes; occasionally a third part in quarter notes is used as well. The final partita has continuous, mainly conjunct eighth-note motion against either full chords or just one other voice, concluding with a veritable virtuoso flourish of eighth notes in contrary motion.
The work entitled Variationi occupies some twenty pages in the Haynes edition, and consists of a theme in C time in mainly two-part texture in quarter and eighth notes followed by thirteen partite. The first is mainly RH eighth notes against LH 16th notes, the second is in 3/4 and, although not headed as such, is a corrente with a preponderance of two-part writing. The third partita is headed altro modo and has far more arpeggiated eighth-note motion. The fourth is headed 3/4, but only two bars are in this rhythm, the rest being in 6/8, again with much arpeggiated figuration beginning on the second eighth note. The fifth is in 16th notes, with frequent rhythmic imitation; the sixth is in 3/4 with eighth notes, sometimes in broken-chord format, against quarter notes; the seventh has mainly conjunct eighth notes against quarter notes in the first section, the second section with eighth notes in arpeggiated figures.
The eighth variation is another Frescobaldian corrente, with mainly quarter-note movement in the RH, against either quarter notes, dotted half notes, or half notes in the LH. The ninth has an oscillating 16th-note figure in the LH, with RH eighth notes. The tenth is constructed entirely around an eighth note in the RH followed by two 16ths in the LH, frequently in octaves. The eleventh is another movement with extended trills—in the first section placed in the alto lasting throughout the section, in the second in the tenor for just the first six beats after which imitative passagework against half notes progresses (see Figure 4).
Although the twelfth partita is headed Sarabanda, it has more in common with a corrente as it progresses in quarter-note motion with several instances in the RH of the figure of dotted quarter bearing a t (for trill) followed by two 16th notes and a quarter. The final partita is in 3/4; after the first bar it is in two parts with eighth-note figuration throughout, sometimes in contrary, sometimes in parallel motion, but also with one hand moving quite differently from the other; this virtuosic movement brings the work to a fine close. It may have been intended as a compendium of compositional techniques for students. There is a precedent in Bernardo Storace’s Passo e Mezzi in his Selva of 1664 for including variations headed corrente and gagliarda.
Together with Buxtehude’s roughly contemporary arias, the four sets of variations based on aria/dance-like themes are some of the earliest examples of keyboard variations on original subjects after Frescobaldi’s Aria detta La Frescobalda; they almost certainly pre-date Pachelbel’s set of six arias with variations published in 1699 as Hexachordum Apollinis; they have six, five, eight, and ten variations respectively (although in the latter there seems to be an error in the Haynes edition: what looks like the second half of the binary form theme is headed variation 1; this would mean that there are actually only nine variations). The first three are in the rhythm of a gavotte. All of the themes are in C time, but the first set contains variations in 3/4 and 6/8; the second has two in 6/8 including the final one; the third has two in 6/8 (one headed as 3/4, which may just be a remnant of the tempo theory mentioned by Frescobaldi in his books that related tempi to time signatures); and the final one has variations in 3/4, 6/8, 3/8 and one that is in 3/8 in the manuscript, although barred as 6/8. Again there is much variety of texture including pseudo-polyphony, violin-like figuration in the RH, and sequential figuration, with several variations requiring an advanced technical ability.
The two sets based on La Follia are very different in character. The first has fourteen variations after the initial statement and displays Pasquini’s mastery in transferring the string idiom to the keyboard in a wide variety of rhythms. Noteworthy are the continuous triplet eighth notes in the RH in variations 5 and 9, and the LH in variation 6, the figure of three quarter notes followed by a burst of 16th notes in the RH of variation 7 (see Figure 5), the virtuoso passagework for both hands in variation 10, the highly chromatic RH in the thirteenth, and the written-out trills and eighth-note figures in the final variation.
The second set has only three variations, which move in eighth notes, with thematic imitation prevalent in the first and second, and rhythmic imitation (quarter note or rest followed by two eighths and a quarter) in the final variation. The Bergamasca sets are similarly varied, with eight and twenty-four in the C time sets, and seventeen in the Saltarello, which is in 3/8 as would be expected. Although in the longer works some of the movements do not rise above the formulaic, there are many variations that carry the melodic freshness and tunefulness of an accomplished composer.
The four passagaglias are in B-flat, with twenty variations on the theme, C with seventeen (with probably more either not transmitted or never completed), D minor with twelve (again almost certainly incomplete), and G minor with twenty-four. All stress the second beat and apart from the C major, which is chordal and in 3/2 and is closer to a ciacona, they are melodic and in 3/4 (see Figures 6a and 6b). The writing in the B-flat and G minor pieces becomes increasingly virtuosic as they develop.

Toccatas and Tastatas
In volumes five and six of the Haynes edition, thirty-four pieces are entitled either Toccata (twenty-five) or Tastata (nine), there is one piece entitled Preludio, one Sonata–Elevazione; one Sonata in two sections, the second headed Pensiero; two further toccatas are included in volume 7. The choice of keys is still very conservative, not exceeding two flats, which is used for no. 83 in C minor, and two sharps used for no. 81 in A major. Space does not permit a detailed discussion of this substantial contribution to the repertoire, therefore comments have been limited to generalizations and to those pieces that are of greater interest.
Most of Pasquini’s pieces are in one movement, but at least five (70, 98–101) are in several sections, of which nos. 98–101 are included in the earlier British Library MS 36661. No. 70 is one of the most ambitious, the sections being in C time, 3/4, C time, concluding with a binary-form corrente-like movement with a variation. No. 71 opens with two bars of chords suitable for arpeggiations (indeed, in no. 94 the instruction “arpeggio” is included, relating to the first two chords) before motives are passed from hand to hand over long-held pedal notes; also featured are passages in parallel tenths (see Figure 7).
There are several toccatas that either open with chords or contain chordal passages within the piece; in some the instruction to arpeggiate is included, in others it is implicit (see Figure 7a). Pedals are also required in no. 101 throughout the first section, which is markedly similar to Frescobaldi’s Toccata Quinta from his second book; the second section is imitative, starting in C time followed by a variation in 3/2 before a short closing section in C time in which 16th-note passagework against quarter-note chords is passed from hand to hand, the final four bars again requiring the pedals for the long-held notes.
Several pieces include the old Frescobaldian written-out accelerating trill commencing on the upper note (two 16th notes followed by four 32nds) (see Figure 7b); in others it is implied via the letter t placed over the first note, normally a dotted eighth followed by a 16th one degree below. Although quite a few of Pasquini’s toccatas do contain passages that remind the player of Frescobaldi’s writing, there is not the same degree of nervous discontinuity and far more reliance on sequential writing.
It would seem unlikely that most of the suggestions on playing toccatas contained in Frescobaldi’s prefaces to his two books are applicable to these examples, although there is scope for shortening those pieces that are presented in sections, and some of Pasquini’s pieces do indeed carry the indication to arpeggiate half-note chords. Certainly there does not seem to be any reason to adopt Frescobaldi’s suggestion of dotting 16th notes in those passages in which eighth notes in one hand are set against 16ths in the other. However, his injunctions to treat the beat freely can be applied cautiously here, as can the eminently sensible comments on pausing before beginning passages in 16th notes in both hands and retarding the tempo at cadences. In the longer sequential passages, there can be a judicious slackening and taking up again of the tempo to allow the music to breathe and not degenerate into mechanistic exercises. Almost certainly, all trills should commence on the main note, this being appropriate also for every compositional genre.
One of the most popular and virtuosic pieces is no. 81, the Toccata con lo scherzo del cucco, which is based on the descending minor third. The cuckoo call is heard in eighth notes against 16th-note passagework, punctuated by sections in half notes marked arpeggio or by the nervous rhythms and modulations by chords of the seventh. At bar 47 the RH breaks briefly into triplets (although printed as 32nd notes they are actually 16th notes), and from bar 79 onwards a long-held A, first in the tenor and then in the alto, is marked trillo continuo, which will pose a most severe test to the player to maintain it against the other part to be played by the same hand. This piece is not too dissimilar to Kerll’s own toccata on the same theme (see Figure 7c).
The Elevazione-Adagio (no. 105) is also included in the Arresti publication, where it is entitled Sonata; after a slow introduction the writing continues in 16th-note figuration based effectively on sequences. The second piece entitled Sonata (no. 106) is in two sections: seventeen bars of 16th-note figures passed from hand to hand are followed by a short chordal link marked arpeggio that leads to further sequential passages. The second section, headed Pensiero—itself in two sections—is nothing like the intricate contrapuntal pieces of that name published in 1714 by Giovanni Casini, but opens with imitative passages based on a rhythmic motive, before its second section opens with passages derived from a further rhythmic motive that leads into passages based on the rhythmic motive of the first section and its inversion.
The one piece entitled Preludio, no. 95, is also in two sections, the first alternating long-held chords with 16th-note passagework against chords passed from hand to hand. The second section is again based on passagework passed between the hands, varying between conjunct movement and from bar 64 arpeggiated figures (see Figure 7d).
The two toccatas included in volume seven (nos. 141 and 142) are each in three sections, an opening and closing one in C time enclosing central sections in 12/8 and 3/2 respectively. In no. 141 much is made of sequential figures and trills, both indicated and implied; the 12/8 section is homophonic and leads to a final section in C time, which makes much of seventh chords, before a brief coda based on two 16th notes followed by an eighth note passed from right hand to left hand; a written-out trill in the left hand against this figure is reminiscent of Frescobaldi. In no. 142 the opening consists of four bars of 16th notes covering from treble G to tenor C, before a passage over a held tenor G moves into a section that includes a further example of a chromatic progression on the third of the scale, prefiguring the imitative triple-time section; the closing C time consists of only two bars—in the penultimate bar the LH consists of a written-out trill, with closing notes on tenor B, the opening two beats being a C–B in reversed dotted rhythms.

Versetti, Pastorale and other works
Francesco Cera has recently published a group of pieces that he discovered in a manuscript in Bologna. Included are an Introduzione e Pastorale, and 60 Versetti. The 27-bar Introduzione leads into a Pastorale of almost 90 bars. Both are in triple time and make much use of a dotted rhythm. Long-held notes in soprano, alto, and bass imitate the droning of bagpipes, and particularly noteworthy is the use of the Neapolitan sixth as well as the false relation (see Figure 8).
The Versetti are mainly short imitative pieces, many not exceeding five bars (they are similar to the short versetti in the 1689 collection from Augsburg known as Wegweiser), but five of them (nos. 33, 34, 42, 43, and 45) are miniature toccatas, with 16th notes against held chords. The first four of these are built on passagework against held chords, but there is some imitative writing in no. 45 (see Figures 9a–9c).
The grouping by keys in the manuscripts implies use as a series (see table). The subjects of the versetti range from archaic subjects in longer note values (nos. 1, 2, 9, and 46, for example) to more lively subjects using eighth and 16th notes (such as nos. 4, 6, 8, 13, and 14, etc,). A canzona-like dactylic rhythm of eighth note followed by two 16ths and two eighths is common, as is the figure of two 16th notes followed by two eighths and a quarter. Also notable is the insistent giga-like rhythm of dotted quarter followed by an eighth and quarter in almost every bar of no. 54. The most lively is no. 49, with its subject in 16th notes treated in inversion at the end.
There is one example in 3/8 and three in 6/8 in equal eighth notes, two in 3/2, and 10 in 3/4, with the majority in C or cut C. The part writing is relatively loose but effective. Keys used cover up to A major and C minor, with the old key signatures of one less accidental than present usage retained (i.e., two sharps and flats respectively).
Also included in Haynes’s volume seven are ten short pieces (from four to fifteen bars) without title, which are tentatively entitled Versi by Armando Carideo in volume seven of the Italian edition. Four of these are in 3/4 and have mainly continuous eighth-note motion in one hand against long chords, while the others in C time are close to the miniature toccata style noted in the versetti above. There are ten Accadenze (or cadences), which again are very short, with either toccata-like figures or based on short rhythmic figures. A different Pastorale opens with a repeated multi-section movement in 3/2 leading to a movement in C time full of dactyl rhythms, which includes the traditional drone bass that disappears and reappears at will.

Performance practice
A few general notes on performance practice relating to 17th-century Italian organ music may be helpful in determining answers to some frequently asked questions.
Ornaments: The only ornament sign found in Pasquini’s pieces is the letter t, which occurs on note values down to a 16th note. It is found frequently over the first note of a dotted eighth-16th pair (and by extension should probably be played in this figure even when not specifically indicated) and indicates a trill, probably better commencing on the main note, especially in the more retrospective pieces. It is worth mentioning, however, that Lorenzo Penna does describe the trill beginning on the upper auxiliary in his Li Primi Albori Musicali of 1656, reprinted in 1672, 1684 and 1696. On short notes only three notes (i.e., C-D-C) can be played; on longer values there can be more repercussions, possibly even pausing on the main note before trilling. It is also possible that an ornament equivalent to the mordent or pincé, with the lower auxiliary (i.e., C-B-C), could be used in ascending passages, particularly in pieces in the French style. In two pieces (Variazioni 11 and Toccata con lo scherzo del cuccu) the comment “Trillo continuo” is found. The instruction “Arpeggio” is found in some of the toccatas. Naturally there are possibilities for adding further ornaments when not expressly marked, although care should be taken not to use anachronisms such as the turn.
Fingering: This was still based on the concept of “good” and “bad” fingers for strong and weak beats, which was described in great detail by Diruta in Il Transilvano in 1593 and 1609, when he proposed using 2 and 4 as strong fingers, in direct contrast to other European treatises of the period; but during the 17th century, more theorists (including Penna, and Bismantova in his Compendio musicale of 1677) were following Ban-
chieri’s use in L’organo suonarino of 1605 of 3-4 in the RH for ascending and 3-2 for descending when beginning on strong beats, and beginning off-the-beat passages with 2 or 4 in the RH for ascending and 4 for descending.
For the LH, 3-2 is recommended for ascending when beginning on strong beats, and beginning off-the-beat passages with 2 or 4 on weak beats, and 3-4 for descending when beginning on strong beats, and beginning off-the-beat passages with 2 or 4 on weak beats. Also used were 1-2-3-4, then either repeated or followed by 3-4 for RH ascending and 4-3-2-1 repeated descending, and in the LH 4-3-2-1 for ascending, then either repeated or followed by 2-1 and 1-2-3-4 descending, then either repeated or followed by 3-4 in LH descending.
Articulation: While non-legato was still the main touch, apart from rapid divisions and passagework, the gaps between notes should be noticeably less on the organ than on the harpsichord, as described by Diruta. Not until well into the eighteenth century did a predominantly legato touch become the norm.
Registration: The Italian organ of the seventeenth century generally showed little advance on the Renaissance model, consisting primarily of a Principale chorus on one manual, from 8′ right up to the 33rd, in separate ranks that could be combined to form a Ripieno. Flute ranks were present at 4′, 22⁄3′ and 2′, but very rarely at 8′, and were not recommended for combining with the Ripieno, and reeds were also rare in most of the country, although the trumpet was very common in Rome. In addition, during the seventeenth century a Flemish influence made an impact on native development, including provision of a second manual allowing dialogues and echo effects. The manual compass was extended from a3 to f3. The Principale, and sometimes the Ottava, flute, and reed stops were divided, usually between middle e and f or f and f-sharp.
There is no evidence that Pasquini adhered to Diruta’s system of registration by mode included in the 1609 volume of Il Transilvano, but the legacy of Antegnati in offering registrations based on the type of piece and its function in his 1608 volume were still followed well into the seventeenth century (e.g., for Canzone alla Francese, the Ottava plus Flauto in ottava [4′ Flute], Principale plus either Ottava or Flauto in ottava plus Flauto in duodecima [Twelfth Flute], or even Principale plus Flauto in duodecima were suggested).
There is plenty of scope for varied and contrasting registration in many of Pasquini’s works in sections or multiple movements, but performers on modern organs need to ensure clarity and to avoid heavy reeds and fat Open Diapasons. It should be noted that pedals, if present, consisted in the main until well into the 18th century and later of pulldowns from the short octave bass in the manual, and covered an octave from C to B, with the only black note being a B-flat; some added the tenor C, and occasionally eleven notes were found, including an E-flat and A-flat. Playable in most cases by toes only, their function was primarily for long-held bass notes or to reinforce cadences. Very few instruments had a 16′ Contrabassi.
Tempi—Proportional notation: There is an interesting description of how to play triple-time (including 6/4 but not 12/8) sections in Frescobaldi’s prefaces to his books of toccatas and capricci, which, contrary to other theorists’ work, are NOT based on exact proportional interpretation but on speed by time signatures, ranging from adagio for 3/1 to allegro in 6/4, but there is no evidence from later theorists as to how proportions were treated. A mathematical rhythmic proportion can be applied successfully in Pasquini’s contrapuntal pieces far more readily than in his toccatas.
The great majority of Pasquini’s works can be performed successfully on harpsichord, organ or clavichord, although the suites and dance movements are clearly better suited to the stringed instruments. Many are not overly difficult, and their melodic charm will provide many hours of pleasure to players, from informed amateurs to professionals. In this anniversary year of his death, the best possible commemoration would be for his pieces to take their place in concerts.

 

by James B. Hartman

 

Anyone familiar with the biographies of distinguished composers and performers throughout music history can never fail to be amazed at the impressive stories of children exhibiting exceptional talent. Musical ability often manifests itself early in life, and many of these early bloomers go on to significant and sustained achievements in later years. The accounts of their creative childhoods are a source of interest not only to music lovers generally, but also to psychologists who have studied the progress of such individuals in an attempt to understand and explain these extraordinary phenomena. The following survey will chronicle the highlights of the emergence and development of musical talent in a selected group of musical prodigies from the 16th to the 19th centuries whose abilities were later realized in the fields of organ music composition and performance.1 Some concluding generalizations, derived from the writings of psychologists who have studied this fascinating topic, will end the presentation.

 

Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583-1643), the son of a musician in Ferrara, Italy, became one of the greatest organists and keyboard composers of his time. As a boy he possessed a remarkable voice and went from town to town singing, followed by crowds of admirers. Although little is known of his early life, he studied organ with a court organist and occupied his first position as organist at the age of 14. At the age of 25 he went to St. Peters in Rome where he also spent his final years. This prolific composer was later described as "father of the organ style" that prevailed in England and other countries for over a century. His compositions were central to keyboard study as well. Froberger studied with him for several years and J. S. Bach copied out his Fiori musicale (1635), a publication of liturgical organ music.

William Crotch (1775-1847), born in Norwich, England, was a remarkable child prodigy who was able to play at the age of 2 the tune to "God Save Great George Our King" on an organ made by his father, a carpenter. He gave his first concert at the age of 3, played before the royal family at 4, and was exhibited by his mother on tours of England and Scotland until the age of 9. At the age of 10 he played his own harpsichord concerto in London and began composing an oratorio. At the age of 11 he went to Cambridge University where he assisted the professor of music and was organist at two colleges. He transferred to Oxford University at the age of 13 and was appointed organist at Christ Church within two years. He took his D.Mus. at Oxford at the age of 24. Some of his Oxford lectures were published in 1831. While at Oxford he composed the "Westminster Chimes" for a church clock in Cambridge; this tune was used in the Houses of Parliament following 1860. His later years were mainly academic, including various professorships in music as well as a ten-year term as Principal of the Royal College of Music from its founding in 1822. His compositions include organ works, piano pieces, songs, and choral works. He was also a watercolorist of considerable ability.

George Washburne Morgan (1823-1892), whose name is largely unknown today, was believed to be the first famous organist heard in the United States in the late 19th century. Born in Gloucester, England, he exhibited remarkable musical gifts at a very early age, playing his first church service when only 8 years old, later becoming assistant organist at Gloucester Cathedral. Following his arrival in the United States in 1853 his remarkable playing generated much enthusiasm, particularly due to his phenomenal pedal technique. He served as organist in various New York churches and gave many concerts both in New York and throughout the country. His performances of "concert music"--an unknown factor in organ music prior to his arrival--placed him at the head of his profession.

William T. Best (1826-1897) became one of the world's most prominent organ recitalists of the 19th century. The son of a solicitor in Carlisle, England, he studied organ in his home town where he was assistant organist at the local cathedral, followed by a post at Pembroke Chapel at the age of 14. While still in his twenties he occupied a number of prestigious positions in London, moving to Liverpool at the age of 29 to preside at the organ in St. George's Hall. Following several appointments elsewhere he returned to Liverpool where he remained until his resignation in 1895. He performed extensively beyond England, including the inaugural recital on the new Town Hall organ in Sydney, Australia, in 1890 (both the Hall and the Hill & Son's organ were the largest in the world at the time). Best's orchestral use of the organ included many of his own transcriptions along with other original organ works and he edited editions of the works of Bach, Handel, and Mendelssohn. During his own time he was described as the "Prince of Organists."

Alexandre Guilmant (1837-1887) was born into a family of French organists and organbuilders in Boulogne. Although largely self-taught, his first lessons were from his father, substituting for him at the organ of St. Joseph's in Boulogne at the age of 12. There he exhausted several organ blowers during his daily practice sessions, sometimes as long as ten hours. He succeeded his father as organist at the age of 22. Following study with Lemmens in Brussels he began giving recitals in Paris at the age of 25. His later career included European and North American tours, inaugural recitals at many large organ installations, and appointments at the major cathedrals of Paris: St. Sulpice, Notre Dame, and La Trinité. He was one of the founders of the Schola Cantorum and succeeded Widor as professor at the Paris Conservatory where several of his pupils (Bonnet, Boulanger, Jacob, Dupré) achieved fame in their own right. Perhaps the most prolific composer of organ music since Bach, he also published collections of pieces and edited much older organ music. In 1893 the President of the French Republic nominated him a Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur in recognition of his achievements.

Joseph Rheinberger (1839-1901), born in Vaduz, Lichtenstein, began music lessons at the age of 4. At the age of 7 he played the organ at a local church where a special set of extended pedals were installed to accommodate his short legs. Soon afterwards he composed a three-part mass with organ accompaniment. At the age of 12 he was sent to the Munich Conservatory where he studied until he was 19. Later, at the same institution, he became a noted teacher of organ and composition, becoming one of the most sought-after composition teachers of his time. He was appointed director of the Conservatory at the age of 28 and was also director of church music to the court. During his lifetime he composed in many different genres--operas, masses, symphonies, chamber music--but is most remembered for his organ music, especially two concertos and twenty sonatas.

Auguste Wiegand (1849-1904), born in Liège, Belgium, developed his musical abilities so rapidly that he was appointed organist at a local church by the early age of 7. He entered the Liège Conservatory at the age of 10, winning several prizes and medals for his accomplishments before the age of 20. As professor at that institution he also served as organist in several other cities, travelled to England many times to inaugurate organs there, and performed throughout Europe. He later studied organ at the Royal Conservatory in Brussels. His major success was that of the first city organist at the Town Hall, Sydney, Australia, 1891-1900, where he played over 1,000 recitals during that period. His broad-based recital programs on the huge Hill & Son organ included many arrangements and transcriptions; his concerts were received with great enthusiasm by large and appreciative audiences. Following his departure from Sydney he again toured Europe and spent his final years as organist of Oswego, New York. His compositions include a "Storm Idyll," a popular form of organ entertainment at the time.

Clarence Eddy (1851-1937), born in Greenfield, Massachusetts, showed marked musical ability at the age of 5. He held his first church position at the age of 14, then went to Hartford, Connecticut, to study with Dudley Buck at the age of 16. At the age of 20 he studied in Germany with Professor Augustus Haupt, the most prominent teacher in that country, who gave him a written recommendation as "undoubtedly a peer of the greatest living organists." Following a successful European recital tour he settled in Chicago and developed a reputation as a leading American organist. He played more dedicatory recitals than any other organist of his day. While director of the Hershey School of Musical Art he gave a remarkable series of one hundred weekly recitals without repeating a number; he was 25 years old at the time. His many concert tours included playing at various expositions in the United States and abroad. He published two multi-volume organ methods to supplement his teaching activities, in addition to a number of original works. As a founder of the American Guild of Organists, Eddy became affectionately known as the "Dean of American Organists."

Edwin H. Lemare (1865-1934) was born on the Isle of Wight where his father, the organist of a local church, was his first teacher. He won a scholarship to the Royal Academy of Music in London at the age of 13 and was awarded an Associateship at the end of his studies there. Following graduation he occupied church positions in Sheffield and London. After the death of W. T. Best in 1897 Lemare was acclaimed Best's successor as the greatest living English organist. Following his American tour in 1900 he served as a very highly paid municipal organist in several cities in the United States over a period of thirty years. He had considerable influence on organ playing in America on account of his legendary registration of orchestral compositions and transcriptions of Romantic composers, especially Wagner. His own 126 original compositions ranged from the simple and sentimental to complex concert pieces; the best known of the former type is his "Andantino in D-flat," later arranged as the popular song, "Moonlight and Roses." He had a remarkable musical memory and was a gifted improviser.

Alfred Hollins (1865-1942), born in Hull, Scotland, became blind when still in infancy. Nevertheless, he exhibited exceptional musical abilities, including absolute pitch, from an early age. At the age of 2 he could play tunes on the piano and identify notes or chords played by others; by the age of 6 he could improvise. Following lessons from a family member and at an institute in York, at age 13 he entered the Royal Normal College for the Blind where he developed into a brilliant pianist. He played for Queen Victoria when he was 16 and gave his first public organ recital shortly afterwards. Later he studied piano with Hans von Bülow in Berlin and toured Germany with a repertoire of piano concertos; on one occasion he played three piano concertos in a single concert. He learned his music by listening to his wife play each part through, which he then rapidly committed to memory. His longest church appointment was at St. George's in Edinburgh, which he held for forty-five years. As an active organ recitalist he toured widely throughout the world. In addition to composing fifty-five organ works Hollins also published church music, songs, and piano music. His book, A Blind Organist Looks Back (1936), contains many insights into the life of a touring concert organist in the early 19th century.

Marcel Dupré (1886-1971), was born in Rouen, France, into an intensely musical family; his father and both grandfathers were organists and his mother was a cellist and pianist. Family connections included friendships with the organbuilder Aristide Cavaillé-Coll and organists Charles-Marie Widor and Alexandre Guilmant. He studied with both Widor and Guilmant at the Paris Conservatory where he received many prizes. At the age of 11 he was appointed organist at a church in his home town. At the age of 20 he became Widor's assistant at St. Sulpice in Paris. At the age of 28 he won the Premier Grand Prix de Rome, the greatest distinction a French musician could attain. In 1920, at the age of 34, Dupré startled the musical world by playing from memory the entire organ works of J. S. Bach in a series of ten concerts. This celebrated performer and improviser performed in various countries over the years. He published a quantity of solo and ensemble music for organ along with works for other instruments. He also wrote several books on organ playing and published editions of Bach, Franck, and others.

 

  *     *     *

Psychologists who have studied the phenomenon of exceptional musical talent2 have noted a number of distinguishing factors that are exemplified in many of the preceding biographies. The musical abilities referred to may include a variety and range of acoustic and musical capacities: perfect pitch, identifying intervals and chords, reading at sight, playing from memory, playing from a full score, transposing, improvising, and composing (although not to the level of form and harmonization of more mature artists).

Musical prodigies are distinguished by the following childhood characteristics:

* The most obvious feature is that musical ability emerges early in life, usually in the first decade; this, of course, is the definition of a child prodigy. Interpretative talent, including instrumental technique and playing in public, appears first, often before the age of 8, followed by compositional talent somewhat later, except in very rare cases, earlier. As much as ten years of composition experience may be needed for the production of excellent musical works. Musical capacity continues to expand during the third decade of life.

* Heredity above average: parents often make significant contributions to the extraordinary success of their children. The importance of an early home and educational environment, including inspiring social contacts, is prominent in such cases. In fact, ability may be less important than interest, devotion, encouragement, and appropriate educational opportunities. Heredity sets limits, but within these limits and with adequate training, gifted individuals may rise to the stature of outstanding members of the musical profession.

* Unusually high intelligence.3

* Persistence of motive and effort, confidence in their abilities, and great strength or force of character.

* The manifestation of exceptional abilities in infancy is more consistently found among musicians than in other fields. The reason for this lies in the nature of music itself. Music, due to its abstract, formal nature, creates its own material independent of words. It is not fed from the outer world and interaction with others or from external experience and practice. Rather, the subject matter of music is from within, an embodiment of uniquely musical feelings and emotions that are quite independent of other mental qualities.

 

*     *     *

There are no grounds for judging whether organists, as a group, exhibited more or less musical ability in their early years than other musicians in the period just surveyed; comparative evidence is lacking. However, mature organists were probably more prominent in the public eye due to the central place the organ played in musical culture at the time. As for prominent organists of recent years, their early musical talents and abilities are not generally publicized. However, musical talent is not just a thing of the past. It is a common characteristic of today's children that must be fostered by constant encouragement, proper atmosphere, and by a combination of expert tuition and appropriate education facilities if they are to become important artists in the future. n

 

Notes

                  1.              Some explanation should be made for the omission of several major musical figures from the following list. The lifelong career of Johann Sebastian Bach is so well known that it does not need repeating here. The significant fact is that the Bach family was perhaps the most remarkable and important of all time, and the young Bach received a thorough grounding in music from his father and brothers. Although Bach's family life was permeated with music, specific biographical information is lacking on his very early abilities or achievements that would classify him as a "prodigy" as the term is applied to other figures throughout this article.

Biographies of George Frideric Handel reveal that although as a child he had a strong propensity to music, his doctor father opposed his son's inclinations, considering music a lowly occupation, and intended him for the study of law. However, when Handel was 7 an aristocrat heard him play and persuaded the father to allow his son to follow a musical career, which began with lessons in composition from the age of 9 years.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was an outstanding example of a musical prodigy, according to tests in sight reading and extemporization administered to him at the age of 8 by Daines Barrington, a scientifically inclined man who reported his findings to the Royal Society in 1779. Mozart's musical memory was most remarkable; at the age of 14, upon hearing in the Sistine Chapel one performance (perhaps more) of a complex choral work, Allegri's Miserere, he wrote it down from memory with only a few errors (Mendelssohn accomplished a similar feat). Although Mozart became an accomplished organist, apart from a few short pieces and seventeen "Church Sonatas" his "organ" works are three pieces written for mechanical clock.

                  2.              Important studies include:

Carl Emil Seashore, The Psychology of Musical Talent (New York: Silver, Burdett, 1919). His discussion of the musical mind covers various dimensions: pitch, intensity, time, rhythm, timbre, consonance, auditory space, voluntary motor control, musical action, musical imagery and imagination, musical memory, musical intellect, and musical feeling. Even so, he asserted that these do not operate in isolation; the musical mind is a unity that works as an integrated whole.

G. Révész, The Psychology of a Musical Prodigy (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1925). This work, the first of its kind, attempts to portray the early development of a richly endowed pianist, Erwin Nyiregyházi (1903-1987). It covers such topics as the early appearance of musical talent in general, diagnostic tests, elementary acoustic and musical faculties, specific forms of musical ability, compositions, and the progress of the pianist's development as shown in his works. Although some aspects of Erwin's childhood progress resembled Mozart's, his musical career failed to proceed and eventually he worked for film studios in Los Angeles.

Lewis M. Terman, ed., Genetic Studies of Genius (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1926), 5 vols. The volumes in the series deal with the mental and physical traits of gifted children (vol. 1), the early mental traits of three hundred geniuses (vol. 2), follow-up studies of a thousand gifted children (vol. 3), twenty-five years' follow-up of a superior group (vol. 4), and thirty-five years' follow-up of the gifted group at midlife: thirty-five years' follow-up of the superior child (vol. 5). The fields surveyed are extensive; musical ability receives only minor consideration. Perhaps the most relevant volume to this present discussion is Catherine Morris Cox, The Early Mental Traits of Three Hundred Geniuses, which mentions musical prodigies and musicians as a group. In the preface Terman observes: "We are justified in believing that geniuses, so called, are not only characterized in childhood by a superior IQ, but also by traits of interest, energy, will, and character that foreshadow later performance" (ix).

Articles include:

R. A. Henson, "Neurological Aspects of Musical Experience," in Music and the Brain: Studies in the Neurology of Music, ed. Macdonald Critchley and R. A. Henson (Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas, 1977), 3-21.

Tedd Judd, "The Varieties of Musical Talent," in The Exceptional Brain, ed. Loraine K. Obler and Deborah Fein (New York: The Guilford Press, 1988), 127-155. The technical discussion covers the psychology and neuropsychology of musical abilities, relation to other skills, musical memory, and relationships among musical skills.

Donald Scott and Adrienne Moffett, "The Development of Early Musical Talent in Famous Composers: a Biographical Review," in Music and the Brain: Studies in the Neurology of Music, ed. Macdonald Critchley and R. A. Henson (Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas, 1977), 174-201. The focus is on Mozart, Beethoven, Handel, and Bach, along with several other prodigies studied by Daines Barrington, reported in 1781: Charles and Samuel Wesley, William Crotch, and Lord Mornington.

The following summary draws upon some of these sources.

                  3.              For example, Catherine Morris Cox, The Early Mental Traits of Three Hundred Geniuses, vol. 3 of Genetic Studies of Genius, estimated the childhood/young manhood IQs of several eminent composers: Bach, 140/165; Handel, 160/170 Mozart, 160/165, and others.

 

James B. Hartman specialized in philosophy, psychology, and the aesthetics of music in his doctoral studies at Northwestern University. He is Associate Professor, Continuing Education Division, The University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Canada, where he is Senior Academic Editor for publications of the Distance Education Program. He is a frequent contributor of book reviews to The Diapason.