Organ Music by Bulgarian Composers: A New Music Series Now in Print, Part II

A New Music Series Now in Print

Sabin Levi, DMA, FAGO, is a Bulgarian composer and organist. He has written three musical books and released five CDs, and is also active as a performer, composer and teacher.

While quite substantial in quantity, Bulgarian music for organ has been largely unknown, due mainly to lack of access. It had not been published until recently, when a new series, Organ Music by Bulgarian Composers, became available. Thus, music previously known to only a few organists is now ready to enrich the repertories of organists worldwide. This music consists of contemporary works only because Bulgarian organ traditions are quite young, and because the country has only a handful of instruments.1
The Union of Bulgarian Composers released the first volume in March 2009. It consists of four works: Victimae Paschali Laudes by Neva Krysteva; Triptych by Sabin Levi (who is also the series’ music editor); Fantasia by Velislav Zaimov; and Four Spiritual Chants on Themes by Nerses Shnorhali (1101–1173) by Artin Poturlian. Also discussed in this article is Krassimir Kiurkchiysky’s Aria, presently not included in the series, but available from the Union of Bulgarian Composers.
The second volume, released in May, included: Stefan Ikonomov’s Prelude, Choral and Fuga; Mystical Evening by Atanas Atanasov (for mezzo-soprano and organ); Modulations by Simo Lazarov (for organ and tape); and Evgeny Cheshmedjiev’s Two Frescoes. The third volume is currently in progress, and, hopefully, there will be more to come.
Although not included in the series, Krassimir Kiurkchiysky’s Aria is worth mentioning. Kiurkchiysky belongs to the older, “national school” generation, specializing in a style based mainly on Bulgarian folklore. Written in a traditional harmonic language, this piece is a real 20th-century intabulation with a later composed contrasting section that appears at the beginning and the end. The original musical piece written for choir is an arrangement of the Bulgarian folk song Kalimanku. The song appears for the first time in the sixth measure (right hand uppermost voice) representing the middle of the piece. (Example 1)
From the sixth measure on, the music is almost exactly the same as in the choir version. The complex ornaments, characteristic of the vocal folklore of the Bulgarian Rodopi mountains, are simplified in this variant for organ. The song is repeated again until the reappearance of the beginning section.
With some sonata elements present, Velislav Zaimov’s Fantasia is an example of a piece written on a large scale, characteristic of this composer’s numerous symphonic works. After the opening motive, appearing many times through the piece, there is a Shostakovich-like rhythmic-motivic development, then we arrive at the first soggetto cavato section. The name “S. (Stefan) Dalchev2” is musically spelled [e]S, D, A[l], C, E, F, using the German note-spelling system, where Es is E-flat. The Latin letters appear in the original hand-written manuscript. (Examples 2 and 3)
The composer develops further the primary music material, arriving at the fortissimo section in the middle, where the speed is “increased” artificially, using smaller and smaller rhythmic values—starting with eighth-note pulsation and through triads arriving at sixteenth-note motion, where the name subject “S. Dalcef” appears again in a long pedal cantus firmus.
Having passed the climax, the motion slows down—through eighths and quarters we arrive at a half-note/whole-note section, meditative and sorrowful, followed by the piece’s ending. The Bulgarian organist’s name appears two more times in the music texture, and the last time each letter is stated in a different voice. Tritones are favored musical material, more in the vertical. The music is tragic and chromatic, while having some tonal reference points.
Artin Poturlian, a Bulgarian Armenian composer, explores the songs of the Medieval Armenian composer Nerses Shnorhali, in his Four Spiritual Chants on themes by Nerses Shnorhali (1101–1173). Organ is often used in the Armenian liturgy; there is an organ in Etchmiadzin, the seat of the Armenian church, and in many other locations in Armenia, including the Music Academy in Yerevan. Nerses Shnorhali was a famous poet and composer, Catholicos (head bishop) of the Armenian church, theologian and writer.3
While using diatonic music language, in accordance with the songs, Poturlian does not employ traditional harmony, relying instead on pandiatonicism. All pieces are strictly linear, involving the original chants’ intricate rhythmic signature into complex complementary structures. (Example 4) This technique is used mainly in the first and last pieces.
In this cycle, there are plenty of “old style” compositional techniques: hocketing (in the second piece), cantus firmus-like choral elements, straight and time-shifted canons, and complex ornaments in the spirit of florid organum. Keeping the songs’ vocal characteristics alive, the composer often uses quasi-vocal fiorituras, in rubato. (Example 5) Also present are augmentations, diminutions, even elements of ostinato, derived from the imitational treatment of the songs’ phrases.
Neva Krysteva, the “matriarch” of the Bulgarian organ school, is represented in this volume with her Victimae Paschali Laudes, based on the Gregorian chant. It is given in a free, improvisatory fashion, with plenty of motivic figuration, derived from the chant. Ostinati are important part of this fantasy, with shifting accent figurations. There are also chant citations with added “mistaken” fictas, and growing motives, repeating with more and more added notes. One can see percussion instruments’ stylization, in the manuals and pedal alike, written out clusters and vibrati. (Example 6) This virtuosic piece is written with extensive knowledge about the organ, and is often performed by its author.
Sabin Levi uses sonoric effects in the first part of his Triptych (Reflecting Pool), together with some symmetry. Utilizing different manuals, the two hands play in the same region of the keyboard, while in the middle of the piece there is a symmetry between the six voices: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4. (Example 7) The second part of the cycle (Come!) is contemplative, with figurations reminiscent of bird chant, while in the third, called Echo, there are parallelisms in the voices. For example, this appears between the uppermost voices of each hand, followed by echo effects between the manuals. (Example 8) While not tonal by definition, this piece has a noticeable tonal hierarchy of sorts, perhaps distantly related to quartal harmony.
In the second volume, Stefan Ikonomov’s Prelude, Choral and Fuga is an impressive achievement, written with a good idiomatic knowledge of the organ and its possibilities. Ikonomov’s traditional tonal language has some interesting additional coloristic features: cross relations, ellipsis, elements of modality. The serene Choral captures the listener with its calm, dignified cantus firmus. (Example 9) The development of the chromatic Fuga theme, with its fixed countersubject, is somehow reminiscent of Reger. This piece is dedicated to Stefan Dalchev.
Evgeny Cheshmedjiev’s Two Frescoes demonstrate this composer’s intellectually novel approach toward form building. The motive in the soprano in measures 4–5, 9–10, 15–17 etc., is basically the same; harmonization is subtly different. The motive appears again and again, being the spinal column of both pieces. (Example 10) The two pieces appear to be quite different, yet their complex, tonal melodic-harmonic language is shared, as is most of the thematic material. There are some pedal designations suggested in the manuscript; the editor also provides some additional, alternative pedal realizations. Those two miniatures have a somewhat minimalistic, laconic quality about them.
The last two pieces in the second volume employ voice and tape in addition to the organ. Atanas Atanasov’s Mystical Evening, for mezzo-soprano and organ, employs a poem by well-known Bulgarian poet Atanas Dalchev, related to the organist Stefan Dalchev. The text of the poem (translated, but not rhythmicized) reads as follows:

From [the] grayish chapels of the twilight,
the bell of sun keeps tolling
and men’s and women’s shadows,
set out to the sundown, are now crawling.

Repentant, full of grief and sorrow,
with heart bloomed in meekness
and hands being crossed by weakness
I seem to be the last one, who will follow.

My soul, remorseful, praying deeper,
and passionate devotions burn the lips,
the lips of a ragged and haggard worshipper
who walks the path of evening mist.

But in the grayish chapels of the twilight
lost men and women come with fuss
and fallen down the grayish wall
they bow and cry, and cross.
And I’m advancing, full of tears and sorrow,
I see the black door swinging shut,
my way through the gate of night is cut.
And I am now alone in darkness,
alone, not knowing what will follow.
The vocal part is set to both Bulgarian and English versions of the poem. The musical language has some tonal elements and quasi-Bartókian intervallic orientation, while maintaining a more conventional metric-rhythmic scheme. (Example 11)
A Bartókian intervallic movement, together with some ever-present syncopation is also the trend in Simo Lazarov’s Modulations for Organ and Waves, actually written for organ and tape (CD). This 15-minute piece uses the tape in its first and third movements; the middle one, Scherzo, is performed solo (all are performed segue). Here, traditional harmonic functions are not present, while the composer’s attention seems to be more oriented towards sound mass. At times, the organ part thins out to a single line; other times massive chordal structures are present. (Example 12) In two cases there are quite long tacet sections in the organ part, and the tape is left solo. The CD is included in the second volume.
Almost all pieces in the two volumes have been performed in concert in various locations in Europe, and some of them are also commercially released as recordings. The publication of these pieces represents a rich addition to the repertoire of organ music and a welcome access to the exciting contemporary organ works of Bulgarian composers.

Markus Rathey, Ph.D. is Associate Professor of Music History at the Yale Institute of Sacred Music and the Yale School of Music. His research focuses on Johann Sebastian Bach and the relationship of music, religion and society in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Buxtehude’s chorale variations
The number of chorale variations in Dietrich Buxtehude’s organ works is considerably smaller than in the oeuvre of other northern and central German composers like Samuel Scheidt, Georg Böhm, and Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck. Among Buxtehude’s organ works the chorale variations form a rather small group of six sets:1

BuxWV 177, Ach Gott und Herr, 2 variations
BuxWV 179, Auf meinen lieben Gott, 5 variations
BuxWV 181, Danket dem Herren, 3 variations
BuxWV 205, Meine Seele erhebt den Herren, 2 variations
BuxWV 207, Nimm von uns Herr, du treuer Gott, 4 variations
BuxWV 213, Nun lob, mein Seel, den Herren, 3 variations

An overview of Buxtehude’s chorale variations would, however, be incomplete without considering the use of chorale-based variation in other genres. Among his organ works, we find traditional techniques of the chorale variation in his chorale fantasies. Here, each phrase of the melody is treated “separately and in different voices,”2 whereas in the chorale partita (or chorale variation) the technique of variation changes with each stanza of the hymn.3 Yet another type of “chorale variation” in Buxtehude’s oeuvre is the variation of chorale melodies in his numerous chorale cantatas. The chorale cantatas are based on the texts and melodies of Protestant hymns, in which each movement (or larger section) treats a single stanza employing a different technique.4 Buxtehude’s chorale cantatas range from rather simple settings like In dulci jubilo, BuxWV 52, to complex compositions that transform the traditional melody into an expressive vocal concerto, like Jesu, meine Freude, BuxWV 60.5
While there is no doubt that Buxtehude’s chorale cantatas and chorale fantasies are significant contributions to their respective genres, his chorale variations stand, as far as their reception goes, in the shadow of these more elaborate compositions. Kerala Snyder, in her seminal biography of Buxtehude, gives a rather negative assessment:

Chorale variations play the least important role in Buxtehude’s keyboard music. Not only are they few in number, but the style in which most of them are composed is not distinctive. [...] With one significant exception [BuxWV 179] these variation sets do not form convincing cycles, and they appear to have been composed either for alternatim performance or for teaching purposes.6

Similarly, Kathryn Welter states that Buxtehude’s chorale variations have a “non-distinctive style.”7
Arnfried Edler, on the other hand, in his recent history of keyboard music, finds more positive words for Buxtehude’s chorale variations:

The principle of a unifying climax in sound and tension can be seen [in Buxtehude’s chorale variations] to different degrees; it is most obvious in Nun lob mein Seel den Herren (BuxWV 213), where the variations begin with a bicinium; then follows a tricinium with cantus firmus in the upper voice until the set is closed by a tricinium with bass cantus firmus.8

For other chorale variations, however, the unifying elements are less obvious and often nonexistent.
While the chorale partitas seem to lack the compelling structural coherence and the depth in text interpretation exhibited by the fantasies and the cantatas, they are more than simple Gebrauchsmusik, compositions that fulfill a merely utilitarian purpose. The following essay will focus on Buxtehude’s chorale variations on the hymn Nimm von uns Herr, du treuer Gott, BuxWV 207, examining its musical structure, its function, and its contexts in contemporary piety.

Nimm von uns Herr, BuxWV 207
The variations are based on a Protestant chorale from the second half of the 16th century. The text has seven stanzas and was published in 1584 by the 16th-century poet and theologian Martin Moller (1547–1606); the words were traditionally combined with Martin Luther’s melody for the hymn Vater unser, im Himmelreich. (See Example 1: Melody, “Nimm von uns Herr.”)

First movement
Buxtehude’s set of variations consists of four verses. The first verse is a three-part setting, with the cantus firmus in mostly unembellished fashion in the upper voice. The occasional embellishments of the melody (mm. 8, 11, and 27) occur only at the beginning or the middle of a phrase, never at the end. This movement is basically a figuratively embellished chorale harmonization. The harmonic backdrop is dissolved into a continuous sixteenth-note motion. The lower voices serve primarily as accompaniment. Only occasionally (in the interludes between the lines of the chorale or later in mm. 21–24) does the alto voice develop a certain degree of independence and engage into a motivic dialogue with the bass.
The texture of the movement resembles the type we find in the chorale variations of Buxtehude’s contemporary Johann Pachelbel, and even in the works of Johann Gottfried Walther, who was of a later generation. Buxtehude himself used this type only rarely. The single chorale setting Jesus Christus, unser Heiland, BuxWV 198, is very similar to the first verse of BuxWV 207. In both pieces Buxtehude employs an analogous “running” sixteenth figuration in the lower voices, while the chorale melody is played in the upper voice. Like BuxWV 207/1, the piece is not a strict trio but rather a figuratively embellished chorale harmonization. The same is true for the first verse of the chorale variations on Danket dem Herren, BuxWV 181, and the second verse of the chorale partita Nun lob, mein Seel, den Herren, BuxWV 213. Even though he used it only rarely, Buxtehude seems to have preferred this type of chorale setting mostly in his chorale variations rather than in independent chorale preludes. Only one such individual setting (BuxWV 198) has come down to us; however, it cannot be ruled out that other, similar compositions by Buxtehude have been lost.

Second (and fourth) movement(s)
The second movement of Nimm von uns Herr is a traditional bicinium, standing in the tradition of similar pieces by Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck and Samuel Scheidt. The melody in the upper voice, even less embellished than in the first movement, is accompanied by a lower voice of extraordinarily wide tessitura, spanning the range from alto (mm. 7–9) to a low bass voice (m. 28). (See Example 2.) A comparison with similar settings by Sweelinck (Example 3) and Scheidt (Example 4) exhibits Buxtehude’s roots in these traditions. All three examples begin with the first note of the cantus firmus; the accompanying voice enters later (here a quarter note) in unison, before it reaches the third of the chorale melody through passing notes.
The few embellishments of the melody (mainly simple passing notes) in Buxtehude’s bicinium are encountered at the same places as they were in the first movement: in the middle of the second and the beginning of the third phrase. Only the short melismatic embellishment of the last phrase in the first movement finds no correspondence in the second movement.
We pass over the third movement for a moment and come to the last section of Buxtehude’s chorale partita. It is another bicinium with the cantus firmus in the upper voice and a vivid, motivically independent lower voice of wide tessitura. The embellishments of the melodic line (again mainly passing notes) are at the same places as in the first bicinium—a feature that ensures a certain degree of motivic consistency between the two bicinia.
Monody and expression: the third movement of BuxWV 207
The third movement is exceptional. It conforms to the type of chorale setting that is traditionally labeled as “organ chorale” (Orgelchoral) or “monodic organ chorale” (monodischer Orgelchoral).9 The melody in the upper voice is highly embellished, while the lower three voices serve as an accompaniment and bridge the gaps between the chorale lines with short, imitative interludes. It is the type of chorale setting Buxtehude uses in most of his single-movement chorale preludes.10 The structure is the same as in the chorale preludes: the upper voice begins (here with a vivid embellishment of the first note of the hymn) before the three lower voices enter with a mostly homophonic accompaniment.11 (See Examples 5 and 6.)
While the majority of Buxtehude’s settings of this type begin with a simple long note in the upper voice,12 this one is opened by an extensive, octave-encompassing embellishment of the first note of the cantus firmus, establishing the d-minor tonality, which is later confirmed by the entrance of the lower voices. Example 6, Buxtehude’s setting of the hymn Komm, Heiliger Geist, shows that the composer occasionally employs a similar opening in other monodic chorale settings as well.
While the movement stays within the margins of Buxtehude’s style, it is unusual to find a setting of this type in the context of an otherwise rather simple chorale partita, breaking up the frame established by the other movements. It is also the only movement in the partita that requires pedal. The unusual structure of the set of variations requires explanation.
One explanation could be that the chorale partita, in its current form, is not the partita Buxtehude composed. A reduction of the work to verses 1, 2 and 4 would turn the composition into a more coherent set of three variations for manual only, with a three-part setting at the beginning and two bicinia following. In that way, the composition would somewhat resemble the chorale variations on Nun lob, mein Seel, den Herren, BuxWV 213 (Bicinium–Trio–Trio). However, the sources for the partita do not justify the exclusion of the third movement. Not a single source (even those with that are incomplete) preserves the chorale partita without the third movement.13 One manuscript (the now lost Königsberg manuscript, Sammlung Gotthold Ms 15.839, copied by Johann Gottfried Walther) contains only the third movement, but it is more likely that Walther (or the source he used) took the piece out of its original context than that the movement was inserted into the already existing set of the variations 1, 2, and 4.
The combination of unembellished and highly embellished verses in a chorale variation was not entirely unusual in the 17th century. We find similar combinations in the chorale variations by Heinrich Scheidemann (~1596–1663), who, as Kerala Snyder suggests, could have been Buxtehude’s teacher in Hamburg.14 But even if Buxtehude did not directly study with Scheidemann, the latter’s pieces were widely disseminated in manuscripts, and Buxtehude surely had access to compositions by the Hamburg organ master. In other words, Buxtehude’s chorale variations on Nimm von uns Herr—even though they seem to be incoherent—stay within the margins of both the composer’s style and the style of northern German organ music in the second half of the 17th century in general.

Form and function
How was Buxtehude’s chorale partita used? We know from Lübeck sources from the 17th and early 18th centuries that chorales were sung “alternatim,” which means that the congregation and the organ alternated in the performance of the hymns.15 One verse was sung by the congregation, which in Lübeck at this time still normally sang without the accompaniment of the organ. The next verse was then played by the organist while the congregation “sang” the text of the stanza, which they knew by heart, in their minds. Then another verse was sung by the congregation, and so forth. Furthermore, the hymns were preceded by an organ prelude.
We can assume that the chorale variations on Nimm von uns Herr were also used in alternation with the singing of the congregation. They were probably performed in the following way:

BuxWV 207/1 Organ prelude
Congregation Verse 1
BuxWV 207/2 Verse 2
Congregation Verse 3
BuxWV 207/3 Verse 4
Congregation Verse 5
BuxWV 207/4 Verse 6
Congregation Verse 7
The four movements fit perfectly into the seven-verse structure of the hymn. The first movement served as a prelude; the remaining movements replaced the even numbered verses, while the congregation sang the odd numbered.
A comparison between the hymn stanzas the organ replaced and Buxtehude’s compositional realization suggests a correspondence between musical form and lyrical content. The first bicinium in the set of variations (movement 2) replaced the following stanza:

Erbarm dich deiner bösen Knecht.
Wir bitten Gnad und nicht das Recht;
Denn so du, Herr, den rechten Lohn
Uns geben wolltst nach unserm Thun,
So müßt die ganze Welt vergehn
Und könnt kein Mensch vor dir bestehn.

Have mercy upon your evil servants.
We ask for mercy and not for justice;
For if you, Lord, wanted to give
The earned reward to us for our deeds,
The whole world would have to perish
And no man could stand before thee.

It would be too much to expect a set of chorale variations of this time to give a musical exegesis of the text; however, the movement clearly transfers the affect of the stanza into music. The restrained sonority of the two-part texture, the chromaticism and hushed thirty-second notes accompanying the third phrase of the melody (“for if you, Lord, wanted to give the earned reward,” mm. 12–14), and the restless sixteenth-note motion towards the end of the setting (“and no man could stand before thee”) capture the mood of the text, a feeling of trepidation and hope.
The second bicinium, replacing the sixth stanza, reflects the general affect of the words in a similar fashion:

Gedenk an deins Sohns bittern Tod,
Sieh an sein heilig Wunden rot,
Die sind ja für die ganze Welt
Die Zahlung und das Lösegeld,
Des trösten wir uns allezeit
Und hoffen auf Barmherzigkeit.

Remember your son’s bitter death,
Look upon His holy red wounds,
That are indeed for the entire world
The settlement and ransom,
From this we gain consolation always
And hope in your compassion.
The restrained sonority of the two-part texture underlines the meditative character of the text. An interesting melismatic embellishment appears in the second phrase, emphasizing the words “look upon His holy red wounds.” Furthermore, the textural similarity between the two settings (both are bicinia with the melody in the upper voice) underlines the theological correspondence of stanzas 2 and 6. Both focus on the juxtaposition of grace and justice, using monetary images (“reward” in verse 2 and “ransom” in verse 6). In other words, the musical structure reflects the theological structure of the hymn text.
Stanza four of the chorale was replaced with the extraordinarily embellished third verse of the partita.

Warum willt du doch zornig sein
Über uns arme Würmelein?
Weißt du doch wohl, du großer Gott,
Daß wir nichts sind als Erd und Kot;
Es ist ja vor deim Angesicht
Unser Schwachheit verborgen nicht.

Why would you be so angry
Against us poor little worms?
For you know well, great God,
That we are nothing but dirt and dung;
Indeed before your face
our weakness is not hidden.

Between wrath and melancholy
Even though is it possible to find correspondences between single words of the text and Buxtehude’s way of embellishing the chorale melody (the wrathful God, mentioned in the initial line, could be the reason for the rhythmically agitated embellishment of the first note of the melody), it is more important to see how the movement captures the mood of the entire stanza. The most agitated and graphic verse of the text finds its equivalent in the most agitated and expressive verse of the partita. That this correspondence between text and instrumental realization is more than a coincidence is revealed through a comparison with a vocal setting of the same hymn by Johann Sebastian Bach. While Buxtehude himself in his chorale cantata Nimm von uns Herr, BuxWV 78, leaves out verses 4–6 of the hymn and only sets 1–3 and 7, Bach in his chorale cantata BWV 101 (composed in 1724) employs all seven verses (even though some appear in free paraphrase). Bach writes a similarly agitated aria when he sets the fourth verse of the hymn.16 He even features an agitated broken minor chord at the very beginning, just as Buxtehude does. The paraphrase of the fourth stanza in Bach’s cantata can be read as a theological commentary on the chorale text, enforcing the dramatic affect of the hymn text:

Warum willst du so zornig sein?
Es schlagen deines Eifers Flammen
Schon über unserm Haupt zusammen.
Ach, stelle doch die Strafen ein
Und trag aus väterlicher Huld
Mit unserm schwachen Fleisch Geduld.

Why would You be so angry?
The flames of Your zeal already
Strike together over our heads.
Ah, leave off Your punishments
And out of paternal favor deal
Patiently with our weak flesh.17

The similarities between Bach and Buxtehude are rooted in a similar type of religiosity. In the fourth verse, the hymn talks about the remembrance of mortality, an aspect of central importance to the piety of the 17th and early 18th centuries. The recognition of one’s own fallibility and transience was a precondition for salvation. Only one who recognized one’s sinfulness was also able to embrace God’s grace. The Lübeck Superintendent August Pfeiffer, at this time serving at the same church as Buxtehude, in his Anti-melancholicus, oder Melancholey-Vertreiber (1691), gives a very graphic description of the final hours:

I take fright as well whenever I think that my limbs, which I so carefully nourished and clothed and so tenderly cared for in my lifetime and which did me such steadfast service, should moulder and rot in the earth, and become a stinking carcass, dung, and filth, and perhaps be carried off by a thousand worms or maggots.18

Pfeiffer’s text uses metaphors similar to the fourth stanza of the hymn. The memento mori, the remembrance (and awareness) of death, was a cornerstone of contemporary piety. Again, if one verse deserved an embellished treatment in the course of the chorale partita, it was the fourth one. Even if we mistrust a literal identification of single embellishments with individual words of the chorale text, we must concede that the emotional quality of the fourth stanza, a quality that found its equivalent in the contemporary religiosity, lends itself to a more emotional treatment in the set of chorale variations.

Conclusions
The initial question remains: What is a convincing cycle? The structure of the set of variations was obviously determined by the text of the chorale. It also reacts to the necessities of its intended performance practice (alternatim). The partita was not intended for performance in a recital, but was planned as a composition that needed the integration of congregational singing. In this context, the set of variations appeared as a prelude and an embellished organ chorale that was framed by two bicinia, with the congregation adding another layer of structure to the performance. One could label the resulting form a ritornello-structure—only that the “ritornello” was not provided by the composer because it was sung by the congregation.
In this way, BuxWV 207 is different from Buxtehude’s partita Auf meinen lieben Gott, BuxWV 179, where the five stanzas of the hymn are transfigured into five dances, forming the movements of a conventional dance suite. That piece was composed for use at home, specifically for individual religious edification in the realm of domestic piety. Each of the five instrumental movements replaces the singing of the five stanzas of the chorale, and Buxtehude chose the form of a suite as the external idea to connect the movements.19 In our example, the circumstances of the performance already provided a “convincing” cyclic concept, in which the composer only had to insert the movements of the chorale partita. This granted him the liberty to react to the individual texts of the chorale melody. The chorale variation is characterized not so much by a lack of structure, but by the freedom given the composer through the existent structure in the alternatim practice.
When we perform Buxtehude’s chorale variations today, we mostly do so in a concert setting and not in the context of the liturgy. However, a modern performance that simply strings together the four movements of BuxWV 207 neglects an important aspect of historical performance practice. Even if we do not ask our concert audience to sing the verses of the hymn (but why should we not?), we could insert hymn settings of the chorale between the single movements. This would also enable the listeners, most of whom are probably unaware of the actual melody, to recognize the hymn tune in the variations. This could be especially helpful for the highly embellished third movement of the chorale partita.

William Osborne holds three degrees from the University of Michigan, where he studied with both Robert Noehren and Marilyn Mason. He served on the faculty of Denison University for 42 years as Distinguished Professor of Fine Arts, University Organist, and Director of Choral Organizations. He retired from that position in August 2003 to become music director of the Piedmont Chamber Singers in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. He has played recitals across this country, as well as in Europe and Australia and made three commercial recordings. He is author of numerous articles, as well as of two books: Clarence Eddy: Dean of American Organists (Organ Historical Society) and Music in Ohio (Kent State University Press).

Charles Edward Horsley (1822–76), Mendelssohn’s composition student in Leipzig for two years beginning in 1841 and later a family friend of the composer, first met Mendelssohn in London in 1832 during the second of this well-traveled cosmopolitan’s ten visits to England. Through Horsley, Mendelssohn was introduced to George Maxwell, a student of the then-famed Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778–1837) and organist of St. John’s, Hyde Park, whose modest two-manual instrument built by J. C. Bishop Mendelssohn had expressed an interest in playing.

Such were the small means placed at Mendelssohn’s disposal, but he made the most of them, and many happy afternoons were spent in hearing his interpretation of Bach’s Fugues, his wonderful extemporizing, and the performance of his own Sonatas, and other Organ pieces, then only existing in his memory. As the reports of these meetings became spread through the town, other and larger organs were placed at his disposal, and at St. Paul’s Cathedral, Christ Church, Newgate St., St. Sepulchre’s, and many other London churches he played on several occasions, giving the greatest delight to all who had the good fortune to hear him. I have heard most of the greatest organists of my time, both [sic] English, German and French, but in no respect have I ever known Mendelssohn excelled either in creative or executive ability, and it is hard to say which was the most extraordinary, his manipulation or his pedipulation—for his feet were quite as active as his hands, and the independence of the former, being totally distinct from the latter, produced a result which at that time was quite unknown in England, and undoubtedly laid the foundation of a school of organ playing in Great Britain which has placed English organists on the highest point attainable in their profession.1

Horsley’s memoir can serve to remind us that Felix Mendelssohn (1809–47), a child prodigy (Robert Schumann was to call the man whose first compositions date from 1820 the “Mozart of the nineteenth century”), prolific composer in virtually every medium available to him, conductor of a vast repertory (for example, for two years as city music director of Düsseldorf, where he mounted performances of at least five Handel oratorios in his own arrangements, and later for a decade at the helm of the famed Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig), keyboardist, teacher (particularly as founding director of the Leipzig Conservatory in 1843), impresario, visual artist and poet was, unlike most of the German giants of the 19th century, very much involved with the organ as a means of musical communication.

Mendelssohn the Keyboardist
Mendelssohn began formal piano study with noted Berlin pedagogue Ludwig Berger (1777–1839) in 1815, and made his recital debut three years later at the age of nine. He then studied the organ with August Wilhelm Bach (1796–1869) (who had no direct familial connection to the earlier Bach dynasty, although he was a staunch advocate of the music of its most famous citizen), perhaps from 1820 into 1823, and wrote his first pieces for the instrument during that period. Bach, then the organist of St. Mary’s Church and later director of the Institute for Church Music, published four volumes of organ works between 1820 and 1824 and surely had a significant influence on his teenaged student.
Although Mendelssohn probably considered the piano his principal instrument, he was obviously fascinated by the organ, was intent on developing a significant organ technique, and seldom missed an opportunity at least to try the instruments he encountered on his extensive travels.2 For example, he wrote from Sargans, Switzerland on September 3, 1831 that “happily an organ is always to be found in this country; they are certainly small, and the lower octave, both in the keyboard and the pedal, imperfect, or as I call it, crippled; but still they are organs, and this is enough for me.” He mentioned turning the D-major fugue subject of the first book of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier into a pedal exercise:

I instantly attempted it, and I at least see that it is far from being impossible, and that I shall accomplish it. The subject went pretty well, so I practiced passages from the D major fugue, for the organ, from the F major toccata, and the G minor fugue, all of which I knew by heart. If I find a tolerable organ in Munich, and not an imperfect one, I will certainly conquer these, and feel childish delight at the idea of playing such pieces on the organ. The F major toccata, with the modulation at the close, sounded as if the church were about to tumble down: what a giant that Cantor was!3

Alas, the organ on which he practiced in Munich was also “crippled,” as he mentioned in a letter to sister Fanny on October 6, 1831:

I also play on the organ every day for an hour, but unfortunately I cannot practice properly, as the pedal is short of five upper notes, so that I cannot play any of Sebastian Bach’s passages on it; but the stops are wonderfully beautiful, by the aid of which you can vary choral[e]s; so I dwell with delight on the celestial, liquid tone of the instrument.4

He wrote his parents from Düsseldorf on August 4, 1834 about an outing to “Werden, a charming retired spot, where I wished to inquire about an organ; the whole party drove with me there; cherry tarts were handed to me on horseback out of the carriages. We dined in the open air at Werden; I played fantasias and Sebastian Bachs [sic] on the organ to my heart’s content; then I bathed in the Ruhr, so cool in the evening breeze that it was quite a luxury, and rode quietly back to Saarn.” In that same letter he talked of another

handsome new organ [that] has just been put up at considerable expense in a large choir room, and there is no way to reach it but by narrow dark steps, without windows, like those in a poultry-yard, and where you may break your neck in seventeen different places; and on my asking why this was, the clergyman said it had been left so purposely, in order to prevent any one who chose, running up from the church to see the organ. Yet, with all their cunning, they forget both locks and keys: such traits are always painful to me.5

English Organs
His contact with various English organs has been well documented. On his second visit to Britain he often played the closing voluntary or extemporized at St. Paul’s Cathedral, at that point the only organ in the country with a pedalboard sufficient to accommodate the works of Bach without what one observer called “destructive changes.”
On September 8, 1837 he played several Bach fugues on a two-manual instrument in St. John’s, Paddington. Two days later Mendelssohn was the focus of a particularly memorable event following Evensong at St. Paul’s, described in delicious detail by Henry John Gauntlett (1805–76), himself an organist of considerable accomplishment:

[Mendelssohn] had played extemporaneously for some time, and had commenced the noble fugue in A minor, the first of the six grand pedal fugues of Sebastian Bach, when the gentlemen who walk about in bombazeen [sic] gowns and plated sticks, became annoyed at the want of respect displayed by the audience to their energetic injunctions. “Service is over,” had been universally announced, followed by the command “you must go out, Sir.” The party addressed moved away, but the crowd got no less; the star of Sebastian was in the ascendant. The vergers of St. Paul’s are not without guile, and they possessed sufficient knowledge of organ performance to know that the bellows-blower was not the least important personage engaged in that interesting ceremony. Their blandishments conquered, and just as Mendelssohn had executed a storm of pedal passages with transcendent skill and energy, the blower was seduced from his post and a farther supply of wind forbidden, and the composer was left to exhibit the glorious ideas of Bach in all the dignity of dumb action. The entreaties of friends, the reproofs of minor canons, the outraged dignity of the organists, were of no avail; the vergers conquered and all retired in dismay and disappointment. We had never previously heard Bach executed with such fire and energy—never witnessed a composition listened to with greater interest and gratification . . .6

Two days later Mendelssohn improvised and managed to navigate the entire piece on a three-manual instrument in Christ Church, Newgate (built by Renatus Harris in 1690, enlarged by William Hill in 1834 and considerably altered by that builder in 1838).7 Gauntlett, the “evening organist” of the church, was again present:

Many who were probably present on the Tuesday morning at Christchurch [sic], were probably attracted there more by the desire to see the lion of the town, than from an earnest attachment to classical music: but all were charmed into the most unbroken silence, and at the conclusion only a sense of the sacred character of the building prevented a simultaneous burst of the most genuine applause.

M. Mendelssohn performed six extempore fantasias, and the pedal fugue he was not allowed to go through with at St. Paul’s. Those who know the wide range of passages for the pedals with which this fugue abounds, may conceive how perfectly cool and collected must have been the organist who could on a sudden emergency transpose them to suit the scale of an ordinary English pedal board. His mind has become so assimilated to Bach’s compositions, that at one point in the prelude, either by accident or design, he amplified and extended the idea of the author, in a manner so in keeping and natural that those unacquainted with its details could not by any possibility have discovered the departure from the text . . .

His extempore playing is very diversified—the soft movements full of tenderness and expression, exquisitely beautiful and impassioned—yet so regular and methodical, that they appear the productions of long thought and meditation, from the lovely and continued streams of melody which so uninterruptedly glide onwards in one calm and peaceful flow . . .

Mr. Samuel Wesley [(1766–1837) Gauntlett’s teacher, who was to die on October 5], the father of English organists, was present and remained not the least gratified auditor, and expressed his delight in terms of unmeasured approbation. At the expressed desire of M. Mendelssohn, who wished that he could hereafter say he had heard Wesley play, the veteran took his seat at the instrument and extemporized with a purity and originality of thought for which he has rendered his name ever illustrious. The touch of the instrument, however, requires a strong and vigorous finger, and Mr. Wesley who is at present an invalid was unable to satisfy himself although he could gratify those around him.8

On September 19, as part of the triennial music festival in Birmingham, Mendelssohn first tried the 1834 four-manual instrument by William Hill in the Town Hall, and then improvised on themes from Handel’s Solomon and a Mozart symphony, both part of the same program.9
On July 9, 1842 Mendelssohn paid a visit to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in Buckingham Palace and then described the encounter in a charming letter to his mother written in Frankfurt on July 19:

Prince Albert had asked me to go to him Saturday at two o’clock, so that I might try his organ before I left England. I found him alone; and as we were talking away, the Queen came in, also quite alone, in a house dress. She said she was obliged to leave for Claremont in an hour; “But, goodness! How it looks here,” she added, when she saw that the wind had littered the whole room, and even the pedals of the organ (which, by the way, made a very pretty feature in the room), with leaves of music from a large portfolio that lay open. As she spoke, she knelt down and began picking up the music; Prince Albert helped, and I too was not idle. Then Prince Albert proceeded to explain the stops to me, and while he was doing it, she said that she would put things straight alone.

But I begged that the Prince would first play me something, so that, as I said, I might boast about it in Germany; and thereupon he played me a chorale by heart, with pedals, so charmingly and clearly and correctly that many an organist could have learned something; and the queen, having finished her work, sat beside him and listened, very pleased. Then I had to play, and I began my chorus from “St Paul”: “How lovely are the Messengers!” Before I got to the end of the first verse, they both began to sing the chorus very well, and all the time Prince Albert managed the stops for me so expertly—first a flute, then full at the forte, the whole register at the D major part, then he made such an excellent diminuendo with the stops, and so on to the end of the piece, and all by heart—that I was heartily pleased.10

In early 1845 Mendelssohn was living in Frankfurt, where he was visited by W[illiam] S[mith] Rockstro (1823–95), later a composition student of the master. They met at St. Catherine’s, where Mendelssohn played through all six of his sonatas, soon to be published. Rockstro was later to recall the “wonderfully delicate staccato of the pedal part in the [Andante con moto] of the 2nd [published as the fifth] sonata played with all the crispness of Dragonetti’s mostly highly finished pizzicato.”11

Mendelssohn the Romantic?
Mendelssohn lived his tragically short life during that century that we somewhat glibly define as the Romantic Era. Romanticism in the realm of music conjures up imagery of unbridled, passionate expression, particularly through the use of luxuriant chromatic harmonies (with Wagner as the ultimate exponent of such an approach), as well as attempts at musical pictorialism at a time when purely instrumental music was being touted as the ultimate means of expressing the otherwise inexpressible. Mendelssohn surely had a gift for the pictorial; as witness, the “Italian” and “Scottish” Symphonies, his Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage (an “Overture after Goethe”), or The Hebrides (or “Fingal’s Cave”), another orchestral overture, this one generated by a visit to the west coast of Scotland.
However, scholars agree that much of his work was inspired by an obvious admiration of the idioms of Bach, Handel and Mozart, music of balanced formal structures and elegant clarity. This is particularly evident in what he wrote for the organ, as well as what he played on the instrument. He learned his reverence for Bach through his studies in theory and composition with Carl Friedrich Zelter (1758–1832), director of the Berlin Singakademie, who inculcated those contrapuntal principles we find employed so fruitfully in the organ works. Father Abraham Mendelssohn acknowledged the impact of Zelter’s tutelage in a letter of March 10, 1835:

I felt more strongly than ever what a great merit it was on Zelter’s part to restore Bach to the Germans; for, between [Johann Nikolaus] Forkel’s day [1749–1818] and his, very little was ever said about Bach . . . [I]t is an undoubted fact, that without Zelter, your own musical tendencies would have been of a totally different nature.12

It was with Zelter’s Singakademie that the 20-year-old Mendelssohn conducted his famed “revival” of Bach’s Passion According to St. Matthew on March 11 and 21, 1829.
A prime symbol of Mendelssohn’s adulation of Bach is the recital he played on August 6, 1840 in the St. Thomas Church in Leipzig as a means of raising funds to build a memorial to Bach, a goal finally achieved with its unveiling on April 23, 1843. The substantial repertory consisted entirely of works by the honoree:

Fugue in E-flat major (“St. Anne”), BWV 552
Prelude on “Schmücke dich,” BWV 654
Prelude and Fugue in A minor, BWV 543
Passacaglia in C minor, BWV 582
Pastorale in F major, BWV 590
Toccata in F major, BWV 565
The formal recital was framed with improvisations. The first served as a prelude to the “St. Anne” fugue. According to Schumann, the other was based on the Lutheran chorale O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden (the language by Paul Gerhardt commonly translated as “O sacred head, now wounded”) and ended with a fugal passage that included the BACH motto (H equaling B-natural), “rounded to such a clear and masterly whole, that if printed, it would have appeared a finished work of art.”13 Mendelssohn’s adoration of the Leipzig master is also reflected in the fact that, other than improvising and his own works committed to paper, Mendelssohn as an organist, with passing exceptions, otherwise played only Bach.

As a Composer of Works for the Organ
Until recently, most were aware of only two sets of published pieces by Mendelssohn for the organ: the Three Preludes and Fugues, opus 37, issued in 1837 and dedicated to Thomas Attwood (1765–1838), a student of Mozart and organist of both St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Chapel Royal; and the Six Sonatas, opus 65, issued in 1845. However, due to the splendid and meticulous scholarship of Wm. A. Little, since 1989 we have been offered access to a larger corpus of work. Dr. Little studied manuscripts found in libraries in Berlin and Kraków, Poland, and has made available through a five-volume collection published by Novello a considerable number of preludes, fugues, duets, sets of variations and individual movements simply defined by their tempo markings. Many of these are preliminary versions of what was later published by Mendelssohn, and some are inconsequential juvenilia (including Mendels-sohn’s earliest work for the organ, a Praeludium in D minor dated November 28, 1820, written at a time when he was studying with A. W. Bach), but a handful of the truly independent movements warrant performance, and Dr. Little’s work allows the possibility of a better understanding of Mendelssohn’s evolution as a composer by comparing preliminary with more mature versions of familiar movements from the published pieces.
“[Mendelssohn’s] compositions were reflections of his celebrated improvisations, which had as a foundation the polyphonic traditions of the Baroque. The mature organ compositions went beyond a single style of music, however, and exhibited a skillful combination of Baroque and Romantic characteristics, masterfully integrated by his distinctive musical personality.”14 Although finally and distinctly “Mendelssohnian,” one can delineate a handful of distinct idioms in his works for organ: fughettas and fully developed fugues (obviously based on an understanding of the Bachian model, but not slavishly dependent on it); employment of Lutheran chorale melodies as a cantus firmus or as the basis of variation sets; the virtuosic toccata; improvisatory moments, almost approximating instrumental recitative; an awareness of the English voluntary tradition of the preceding century (a slow introductory section followed by a faster, sometimes fugal section); and the lyric, one-movement character piece, the sort of expression that was to flower fully in, for example, Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words for the piano. Idioms that seem more natural at the piano do appear; Mendelssohn’s virtuosity on the pedals results in demands on the feet that equal those made of the hands.

The Published Works
Three Preludes and Fugues, opus 37
Little, volume I
Published in 1837 simultaneously in London by Novello and in Leipzig by Breitkopf & Härtel
The Novello edition was dedicated to “Thomas Attwood Esqre / Composer to Her Majesty’s Chapel Royal.” The Breitkopf & Härtel edition was dedicated to [in translation] “Mr. Thomas Attwood / Organist of the Chapel Royal / in London / with Respect and Gratitude.”
Prelude and Fugue in C minor
Prelude and Fugue in G major
Prelude and Fugue in D minor
Initial versions of the three fugues had apparently been written earlier (although only that in C minor appears in the Little edition) and were simply mated with preludes written during Mendelssohn’s honeymoon of early April 1837. Organists should be aware of and perhaps consult for stylistic comparisons Mendelssohn’s Six Preludes and Fugues, opus 35, for the piano, which had been written over a period of years prior to their publication, also in 1837.

Six Sonatas, opus 65
Little, volume IV
Published in 1845 simultaneously by Coventry & Hollier in London (Six Grand Sonatas for the Organ), Breitkopf & Härtel in Leipzig (Sechs Sonaten für die Orgel) and Giovanni Ricordi in Milan (Sei Sonate per Organo); 6 Sonates pour l’Orgue ou pour Piano à 3 mains was issued by Maurice Schlesinger of Paris in 1846.
Sonata I in F minor: Allegro moderato e serioso—Adagio—Andante recitativo—Allegro assai vivace
Sonata II in C minor: Grave—Adagio—Allegro maestoso e vivace—Fuga, Allegro moderato
Sonata III in A major: Con moto maestoso—Andante tranquillo
Sonata IV in B-flat major: Allegro con brio—Andante religioso—Allegretto—Allegro maestoso e vivace
Sonata V in D major: Andante—Andante con moto—Allegro maestoso
Sonata VI in D minor: Choral—Andante sostenuto—Allegro molto—Fuga—Finale, Andante
In July 1844 the English publisher Charles Coventry initiated what became opus 65 by commissioning Mendelssohn to write a set of three voluntaries for the organ. On August 29 Mendelssohn wrote Coventry, asking that the label “sonata” replace “voluntary,” saying that he didn’t quite understand the precise meaning of the latter term. He continued to assemble individual movements, some reworked from earlier efforts, some new for the occasion, and finally committed himself to what was published in April 1845. At one point there was discussion about titling the collection “Mendelssohn’s School of Organ-Playing,” suggesting that the pieces could serve a didactic function, but that label was abandoned prior to publication. Given their evolution, it should come as no surprise that these assemblages do not meet textbook definitions of what a typical four-movement sonata ought to be, although No. 1 hints at the conventional (its opening loose sonata-form movement finds a double in the first movement of No. 4). Chorales appear in four of the sonatas. Fugal writing appears in all but No. 5, and No. 3 contains a brilliant double fugue. Even the minimal suggestions of registration and terraced dynamics suggest a retrospective viewpoint.

The Previously Unpublished Works
Little, volume I
Fugue in C minor [Düsseldorf, July 30, 1834]
Fughetta in D major [July 1834?]
Two [Duet] Fugues for the Organ in C minor and D major [Düsseldorf, January 11, 1835]
Fugue in E minor [Frankfurt, July 13, 1839]
Fugue in C major [Frankfurt, July 14, 1839]
Fugue in F minor [Frankfurt, July 18, 1839]
Fughetta in A major
Prelude in C minor [Leipzig, July 9, 1841]
The first two pieces became the basis for the third, inscribed as “Two fugues for the Organ / to Mr. Attwood with the author’s best and sincere wishes.” An accompanying letter informed Attwood that “I take the liberty of sending to you two fugues for the Organ which I composed lately, and arranged them as a duet for two performers, as I think you told me once that you wanted something in that way.” The idea for the duets perhaps arose from an experience of June 23, 1833, when Attwood and Mendelssohn performed a four-hand version of one of the former’s coronation anthems on the instrument in St. Paul’s. The Fugue in C minor later became the second movement of Opus 35, No. 1. The Fugue in C major later became the final movement of Opus 65, No. 2.

Little, volume II
Andante in F major [July 21, 1844]
Allegretto in D minor [July 22, 1844]
Andante [with Variations] in D major [July 23, 1844]
Allegro [Chorale and Fugue in D minor/major] [July 25, 1844]
Con moto maestoso in A major [August 9, 1844]
Andante/Con moto in A major [August 17, 1844]
Allegro Vivace in F major [August 18, 1844]
Allegro in D major [September 9, 1844]
Andante in B minor [September 9, 1844]
[Chorale] in A-flat major [September 10, 1844]
Adagio in A-flat major [Frankfurt, December 19, 1844]
[Chorale] in D major
Allegro in B-flat major [Frankfurt, December 31, 1844]
With its “pizzicato” pedal line, the Allegretto in D minor seems a premonition of the second movement of Opus 65, No. 5 (see Examples 1a and 1b). The Con moto maestoso and following Andante became the two movements of Opus 65, No. 3. The Allegro Vivace became the final movement of Opus 65, No. 1. The Allegro in D major and Andante in B minor became the third and second movements of Opus 65, No. 5. The Adagio in A-flat major became the second movement of Opus 65, No. 1.

Little, volume III
Allegro moderato e grave in F minor [Frankfurt, December 28, 1844]
Allegro con brio in B-flat major [Frankfurt, January 2, 1845]
Andante alla Marcia in B-flat major [Frankfurt, January 2, 1845]
Moderato in C major
Fugue in C major
Grave and Andante con moto in C minor [Frankfurt, December 21, 1844]
Allegro moderato maestoso in C major
Fugue in B-flat major [Frankfurt, April 1, 1845]
Choral [& Variations] in D minor [Frankfurt, January 26, 1845]
Fugue in D minor [Frankfurt, January 27, 1845
Finale—Andante sostenuto in D major [Frankfurt, January 26, 1845]
The Allegro moderato e grave in F minor became the first movement of Opus 65, No. 1. The opening of the Allegro con brio in B-flat major generated the first movement of Opus 65, No. 4 (see Examples 2a and 2b). The following Moderato and Fugue in C major provided the genesis of the third and fourth movements of Opus 65, No. 2, while the Grave and Andante con moto are the obvious parents of the opening movements of that same sonata. The Chorale, Variations and Fugue in D minor, with some reworking became the bulk of the Sonata in D minor, Opus 65, No. 6. The Finale—Andante sostenuto in D major in 3/4 meter was transformed with substantial alterations into the final movement of that same sonata as an Andante in 6/8 (see Examples 3a and 3b).

Little, volume V
Praeludium in D minor [November 28, 1820]
Fugue in D minor [December 3, 1820]
Fugue in G minor [December 1820]
Fugue in D minor [January 6, 1821]
Andante—sanft in D major [May 9, 1823]
Volles Werk [Passacaglia] in C minor [May 10, 1823]
Chorale Variations on “Wie groß ist des Allmächt’gen Güte” [July and August 1823]
Nachspiel in D major [Rome, March 8, 1831]
Fuga pro Organo pleno in D minor [Berlin, March 29, 1833]
Andante con moto in G minor [London, July 11, 1833]
In this volume of early works (including Mendelssohn’s first essays for the instrument), only a single piece seems to have inspired a mature work: The Nachspiel [Postlude] in D major provided the basic material of the Allegro maestoso e vivace of the Sonata in C, Opus 65, No. 2, which blossoms into a quite different fugue from that of the sonata.
For organists Mendelssohn’s works for their instrument admirably fill the void that had developed after the death of Bach, a period virtually devoid of significant writing for the instrument. They have maintained currency to the present and inspired an interest in the instrument on the part not only of Mendelssohn’s contemporaries (as witness, Schumann’s Six Fugues on BACH, opus 60, written in 1845 and published a year later), but several of his successors as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This article will be continued.

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.

Godwin Sadoh is a Nigerian organist-composer, pianist, choral conductor, and ethnomusicologist. His latest book, Intercultural Dimensions in Ayo Bankole’s Music, will be published by Wayne Leupold Editions. Sadoh is presently Assistant Professor of Music and Coordinator of the Sacred Music program at LeMoyne-Owen College, Memphis, Tennessee.

Musical practice in 21st-century Nigeria can be broadly divided into four major genres: 1) traditional music, 2) popular dance music, 3) church music, and 4) modern African art music. Traditional music can be traced back to the historical roots of the society. It is the music that defines and identifies the people of Nigeria and their culture. The whole gamut of Nigerian culture is embedded in the traditional music, be it cultural, social, political, or religious, historiography, as well as world-view. The music permeates every aspect of Nigerian life. However, the middle of the 19th century witnessed events that transformed the entire cultural landscape of Nigeria. These events were manifested in the form of political governance through the British colonial administration, and through the efforts of Christian missionaries from America and England.
These two domineering forces introduced Western classical music to the main stream of Nigerian socio/cultural life around 1840s.1 Through the colonial and mission schools, as well as churches established by the missionaries, talented Nigerians were introduced to Western music notation, European songs, and musical instruments. It was at these institutions that Nigerians first learned to sing Western songs such as nursery rhymes, folk songs and selected excerpts from major classical works such as Handel’s Messiah and Mendelssohn’s Elijah. In addition, talented Nigerians received private lessons in piano, harmonium, and organ at these schools and churches. All these endeavors consequently led to the emergence of art music composers in Nigeria.

The Golden Age of Church Music (1900–1950)

The first generation of Nigerian composers comprised mainly church organists and choirmasters. They concentrated on writing sacred music for worship in the newly founded churches. Compositions include church hymns, canticles (responsorial prayer songs for soloist and congregation),2 chants for singing Psalms, choral anthems, and cantatas. Their works represent the first attempts by indigenous Nigerians in writing Western classical music. Hence, most of these compositions are very simple, short, and tonal. The harmonization is severely functional following baroque and classical conventions. The music was written for Western musical instruments such as piano, harmonium or organ, and the form, harmony, and style follow European standards.
Nigerian traditional musical instruments were not incorporated into these compositions during this era because they were blatantly prohibited from being used for worship by the early foreign missionaries. In other words, the only instruments that early Nigerian composers could write for were European. However, in spite of the embargo on traditional instruments, it was in this period that we began to witness musical synthesis of European and African idioms. The experiment of conjoining Western elements with traditional African music actually began in the early church. This took the form of employing indigenous languages for texts and using indigenous songs as melodic themes for compositions. Notable composers from the first generation include Rev. Canon J. J. Ransome-Kuti, Rev. T. A. Olude, Akin George, Ikoli Harcourt-Whyte, Emmanuel Sowande (Fela Sowande’s father), Okechukwu Ndubuisi, and Thomas Ekundayo Phillips (Organist and Master of the Music, Cathedral Church of Christ, Lagos, 1914–1962). Thomas Ekundayo Phillips was the first Nigerian to receive professional training in music at Trinity College of Music, London, from 1911 to 1914.

The Age of Concert Music (1950–1960)

This era was represented by the most celebrated Nigerian musician, Fela Sowande (1905–1987). Sowande continued to compose sacred music for divine services in the church, yet he transformed art music in Nigeria from a sacred entity and elevated it to the concert platform in public auditoriums, institutions of higher learning, and radio stations. He introduced solo art songs with piano or organ accompaniment, organ solo pieces, chamber music, and orchestral works to the Nigerian art music repertoire. Although Thomas Ekundayo Phillips wrote two short pieces for organ solo, it was Sowande who composed several large works for organ employing traditional folk songs and indigenous church hymn tunes. No other Nigerian composer has written such a large body of solo pieces for organ as Sowande.
Prior to this era, musical activities were confined to the churches during festive occasions such as Christmas and Easter seasons. With the introduction of vocal solos, chamber music and orchestral works, the venue of musical activities shifted from the church to public auditoriums where secular works could be performed without any inhibitions. In terms of tonality, Sowande introduced chromaticism into the musical vocabulary of Nigerian compositions. He refused to align himself with the atonal school of composers, then in vogue in Europe and America. He chose to move his Nigerian audience gradually from the tonal convention of the baroque/classical era to romantic chromaticism. Sowande must have felt that jumping from the traditional tonal system to atonality would have been too wide a leap and too radical for the Nigerian audience to appreciate. Although chromatic passages are prevalent in his organ works, Sowande left the idea of atonality for the next generation of Nigerian composers.
The second generation of Nigerian musical experience also ushered in a new form of musical integration known as pan-Africanism. Sowande, unlike his predecessors, went beyond employing Nigerian folk songs in his works; rather, he included popular tunes from other African countries into his compositions. Hence, one would hear indigenous songs from Nigeria and other African societies in his works. For instance, he borrowed a Ghanaian folk song in his African Suite for String Orchestra.3 In addition, this era introduced the concept of global interculturalism into Nigerian music language. We must give credit to Sowande for being the first Nigerian composer to go so far as to borrow spiritual tunes from the African-American culture. He uses spirituals in his solo art songs and choral anthems, as well as organ pieces.

The Age of Atonality (1960 to present)

The third generation of modern Nigerian composers consists of highly talented musicians, both composers and scholars, who received intensive training in the European tradition in several British Royal Schools of Music, as well as training in ethnomusicology in American universities. Thus, it would be correct to refer to these musicians as composer-ethnomusicologists. From the 1960s, foreign-trained Nigerian composers embarked on intensive research into the traditional music of their society to enhance a better understanding of its component materials, structure, stylistic principles, tonality, function and meaning in the society, the instrumental resources, organization of ensembles, rhythmic basis of instrumental music, organization and techniques of vocal music, melody and polyphony in vocal as well as instrumental ensemble, speech and melody, theoretical framework, and interrelatedness of music and dance. The focal point has been cultural renaissance and the search for nationalistic identity, that is, how to combine the new art music with the African roots.
It is from this period that we witness for the first time compositions involving both traditional African and Western musical instruments. Prior to this era, music notation specified only Western instruments. African instruments were not included in the scores of the early composers but rather used for supportive purposes and to create spontaneous improvised rhythmic background for vocal songs. Such instrumental rhythmic patterns were never notated until the era of the composer-ethnomusicologists. In fact, there are works from this period composed exclusively for traditional instruments such as Akin Euba’s Abiku No. 1 for Nigerian Instruments (1965). This work was composed for a dance drama, Iya Abiku, choreographed by Segun Olusola and videotaped by the Nigerian Television Authority for presentation at the International Music Center Congress on “Dance, Ballet and Pantomime in Film and Television,” in Salzburg, Austria, 1965.4 The third generation composers aim to make the music more appealing to their local audience. In other words, the Africanisms in the music are meant to captivate and draw the larger society to the works.
In terms of tonal organization, this group of Nigerian composers was tutored in the theoretical principles of the early 20th century such as the twelve-tone system, atonality, and octatonic scales. Pioneers of atonal compositions in Nigeria employed these methods in two ways. First, some of the compositions are written strictly in Western idiom following the styles of Arnold Schoenberg, Alban Berg, and Anton Webern. Works in this category are practically European without any interjection of African traditional music. Their form, texture, instrumentation, rhythmic organization, and tonality are Western. The second category of 20th-century compositions in Nigeria incorporated some Africanisms. These compositions are partly Western and partly African. They are best described as syncretic or intercultural compositions—the amalgamation of European and African musical resources. Prominent composers of atonal music in Nigeria are Akin Euba (1935–), Ayo Bankole (1935–1976), Joshua Uzoigwe (1946–2005), and Godwin Sadoh (1965–).

Akin Euba

Akin Euba is a Yoruba composer. He studied piano performance and composition at the Trinity College of Music, London, in the 1950s. In 1966, he received a master’s degree in ethnomusicology from the University of California, Los Angeles, and the Ph.D. in ethnomusicology from the University of Ghana in 1974. Most of his piano compositions were written in the 1960s. Interestingly, these piano pieces are all based on Western atonality and twelve-tone row. Examples of these works include Impressions from an Akwete Cloth (1964), Saturday Night at Caban Bamboo (1964), Tortoise and the Speaking Cloth (1964), Four Pieces from Oyo Calabashes (1964), and Scenes from Traditional Life (1970).5
Euba’s compositional technique in his piano pieces is on two levels: 1) He first creates traditional rhythmic patterns on the score, and then 2) assigns melodies, which are atonal or twelve-tone, over the rhythms. In this way, the clashing dissonances are not easily perceived by Nigerian audiences. The listeners are more immersed in the irresistible rhythms emanating from the pieces, which move them to dance and easily eradicate the contemplative aspect of the musical performance. In terms of rhythmic drive, Euba’s piano works imitate dundun drum music, one of the most popular traditional ensembles among the Yoruba of southwest Nigeria.6 Another way that Euba deploys atonality in his compositions is through the use of ostinati. His approach directly imitates the traditional African technique in which the ostinato accompaniment harmonically is not in consonance with the melodic line, but rather, the ostinato is merely supplying a melo-rhythmic accompaniment. Euba uses the atonal texture to create dissonant percussive sounds as found in traditional drumming among the Yoruba. The dissonant lines help to simulate and reinforce the indigenous sonority in the music and make the piano sound like African traditional drums.

Joshua Uzoigwe

Joshua Uzoigwe belongs to the Igbo ethnic group in Eastern Nigeria. He studied piano and composition at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama, London, from 1973 to 1977. He later studied ethnomusicology under John Blacking at Queen’s University, Belfast, Ireland, from 1977, and subsequently received the Ph.D. degree in 1981. Uzoigwe uses various types of pitch collections in his compositions, ranging from tetratonic, pentatonic, hexatonic, heptatonic, octatonic, diatonic scales, atonality, and the twelve-tone method. He uses these scale systems to evoke melodic and harmonic nuances of Igbo music7 in his compositions. For instance, he uses the twelve-tone row in Oja for wind quartet. Uzoigwe began to use dodecaphony while studying at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama. Often, he breaks the row into minute ‘cells’ and then shuffles them around to create a very interesting work. The pitch collections are organized into basic sets to create musical form through permutation, repetition, variation, and improvisation. In addition, Uzoigwe uses twelve-tone technique and atonality in a unique way by combining melo-rhythmic patterns drawn from Nigerian musical culture with specific tone colors. Meki Nzewi defines melo-rhythm, his own term, as “a rhythmic organization that is melodically conceived and melodically born.”8
Uzoigwe’s conception of the twelve-tone method differs from Arnold Schoenberg’s. Uzoigwe defines a tone row as an “ordered set of tones which is derived from an ordered set of drums and musically deployed in certain specific procedures and its basic root is in Igbo musical system.”9 Indeed, tonal organization in Uzoigwe’s music is deeply embedded in his traditional musical practice, and his works are based on its theoretical framework. This ‘cultural-tone row’10 method is exemplified in his Ritual Procession for European and African orchestra and the Talking Drum for piano. One of the movements of the Talking Drum is based on a row of ten tones, which is associated with ukom music.11

Ayo Bankole

Ayo Bankole was born on May 17, 1935, at Jos, in Plateau State of Nigeria. He belongs to the Yoruba ethnic group. In August 1957, Bankole left Nigeria on a Federal Government Scholarship to study music at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama, London. He concentrated on piano, composition, organ, harmony, and counterpoint studies. While at Guildhall, Bankole experimented12 with simple works and compositions based on 20th-century tonality. After four years of intense studies at Guildhall, Bankole proceeded to Claire College, University of Cambridge, London, where he obtained his first degree, the Bachelor of Arts in Music, 1964. While at Cambridge as an Organ Scholar (1961–64), Bankole earned the prestigious Fellowship of the Royal College of Organists (FRCO), making him the second and last Nigerian to receive the highest diploma in organ playing given in Great Britain. At the end of his studies at Cambridge University in 1964, Bankole received a Rockefeller Foundation Fellowship to study ethnomusicology at the University of California, Los Angeles. In 1969, he was appointed Lecturer in Music at the University of Lagos, Nigeria, where he embarked on an in-depth research on Nigerian traditional music and presented scholarly papers at conferences. At the University of Lagos, he combined the role of music educator, composer, performer, and musicologist.13 In addition to his academic pursuits, Bankole founded several choral groups in Lagos and was very active as an organist in several churches, including the Cathedral Church of Christ, Lagos (the headquarters of the Anglican Communion Nigeria, and the seat of the Anglican Archbishop) and St. Peter’s Anglican Church, Lagos.

Bankole: Toccata and Fugue

Nigerian composers began experimenting with new tonal resources in their works from the 1960s. This era can be regarded as radical and avant-garde in the history of musical composition in the country. The then young composers, fired up by the new 20th-century compositional devices they were exposed to at the schools of music in London, partially abandoned the tonal system of the preceding era. I am very careful to choose the word ‘partially’ because some of the compositions in this period are also tonal. In 1960, Bankole wrote his first composition for organ entitled Toccata and Fugue.14 In his notes to the music, Bankole informs us that this work represents one of his first attempts in the world of atonality. Being his first product in this musical language, the work is more of a blending of several musical styles of the European epochs. At this early stage, while trying to break away from the ‘old order’ of tonality, the Toccata and Fugue is more of a transitional musical work between the 19th and 20th centuries. The young composer had not yet arrived in the world of atonal writing. According to him, this piece maintains structural allegiance to the king of baroque, J. S. Bach. However, while the overall structure and the process of thematic development are in strict accord with the baroque tradition, the melodic style is not. This is because, although there is no serial line to dictate melodic progression, freedom of tonality has been achieved through the preponderant use of severe neo-impressionistic chromaticism. Apart from these points, the music belongs to several ages of musical experience, absorbing Beethoven’s surprise build-up and “power-cut,” Brahms’ dark orchestration, Bach’s virtuosity (especially his powerful cadenzas) and chord clusters suggesting certain moments of Max Reger.
The composer emphatically states that, “no conscious effort is made to inject African traditional styles (or for that matter any of the styles mentioned above) into the work, and if these are felt, their roles should not be exaggerated.”15 Hence, a discussion of this piece will strictly be in Western theoretical style.
The Toccata is built on several short chromatic figures, which are later employed as themes for the Fugue. Generally, the chromatic figures consist of ascending and descending melodic cells as well as ‘jumping’ intervals. The melodic cells appear in various forms: simple eighth notes, rapid-moving sixteenth notes, and triplets. Structurally, the toccata is in three-part form. The A section introduces the main melodic cells in the manuals and the pedal. Following the introduction are various manipulations of the thematic materials (measures 1 to 35). Example 1 shows the A section of the toccata. The B section commences from measure 36 and ends in measure 47. Here the left and right hands are filled with massive chords, while the pedal is occupied with descending sequential passages. The pedal part comprises virtuosic fast-moving intervals of 4ths, 5ths, diminished 5ths, and inversion of wide leap intervals from the A section. The A section returns in measures 48 to 69. In the final section, the pedal is occupied with sequential repetition of the descending chromatic figure. Example 2 shows the B section of the Toccata.
Bankole’s choice of chords in this toccata includes open 4ths, 5ths, 6ths, octaves, diminished 5ths, minor 7ths, and tone clusters. He deliberately avoids functional harmony and conventional cadential resolutions. Some of his cadential resolution techniques include 1) octave descent in the pedal (mm. 16–17); 2) ostinato in the pedal to distillate tonal resolution; 3) sequential repetition in pedal; and 4) pedal point. With these four methods, Bankole was able to confine this composition within a contemporary milieu. Although it is not easy to pinpoint the exact key of the toccata, the piece opens with a pedal point on E and it closes with the third inversion of F-sharp chord resolving finally on E (mm. 68–69).
The Fugue has two main themes; hence, it is a double fugue. The fugal themes are derived from the ascending and descending chromatic figures (m. 9 R.H. and mm. 11–12 L.H.) as well as “jumping” intervals (m. 9 in the pedal) from the Toccata. It opens with the first theme in the left hand (mm. 1–4) and a real answer in the right hand (mm. 5–8). Following is an introduction of the second theme group in m. 11. The first and second theme groups are supported by counter subjects. The exposition closes with a reappearance of the first theme group in the pedal while the manual accompanies with the counter subject. Example 3 shows the two theme groups in the exposition.
The episode (mm. 17–75) presents the two ideas in diverse varied forms: diminution (m. 32 R.H.), augmentation (mm. 33–40 pedal), short fragments (mm. 26–27 L.H.), pedal sequence (mm. 45–49), and an alternation of modified versions of first theme and second theme groups in the pedal, while the manual accompanies with thick chords, diminished 5ths, and tone clusters (mm. 64–75). The final entry of the first and second themes appear in the pedal from measures 76 to 87. Example 4 shows an episode of the Fugue. Bankole closes the fugue with a virtuosic pedal cadenza derived from the two theme groups (mm. 88 to the end). This wonderful piece ends with an unusual dominant seventh chord resolving on C in m. 97. Bankole did his best to avoid functional harmony in this masterpiece; however, he found it very difficult to evade the sonorous nuance of dominant seventh resolution.16 Example 5 shows the pedal cadenza in the finale of the fugue.

Conclusion

Modern Nigerian composers have produced a large repertoire of art music from their introduction to European classical music in their home country and abroad. A critical study of these compositions reveals dynamic growth of musical language from the established tonality of the baroque/classical era and the romanticism of the 19th century, to the early 20th-century atonality and twelve-tone method. Indeed, the musical language of contemporary composition in Nigeria has been dynamic. At this point, it is important to stress that the third generation of Nigerian composers did not rely exclusively on atonal writing; some of their solo songs, choral anthems, piano and organ pieces, chamber music, and orchestra works are based on other types of pitch collections such as diatonic, octatonic, and pentatonic scales. Nigerian audiences appreciate the interjection of well-known songs in classical pieces, and these songs are mostly in tetratonic and pentatonic modes. Furthermore, Ayo Bankole’s Toccata and Fugue (for Organ) is one of the few exceptions in terms of thematic usages. Pan-Africanism and global interculturalism became more pronounced in the works of the third generation of Nigerian composers. Popular folk tunes, traditional songs, indigenous Christian hymn tunes, and dance band themes from different ethnic groups within Nigeria and other parts of the African continent are incorporated into art music compositions. Some of the composers even went as far as the Middle East, India, and America to incorporate musical resources into their works. Prominent features of African-American music in Nigerian art compositions include spirituals, gospel, and jazz idiom. Musical creativity in Nigeria today is nationalistic, Pan-African, and globally intercultural.