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Performing notes and errata for Cinq Méditations sur l’Apocalypse by Jean Langlais

Jonathan Hehn

Jonathan Hehn, OSL, is a musician and liturgist currently serving University of Notre Dame in Notre Dame, Indiana. He is a brother in the Order of Saint Luke, a religious order committed to sacramental renewal and liturgical scholarship, and holds degrees in music from Florida State University (Bachelor of Music, Doctor of Music), Tallahassee, Florida, and theology from University of Notre Dame (Master of Sacred Music, Master of Arts). A passionate practitioner, writer, and thinker, one can find him on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @JonathanHehn.

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Jean Langlais (1907–1991) was one of the best-known organist-composers of the twentieth century. He rightfully holds a place of prominence in the French school alongside his contemporary and friend, Olivier Messiaen. Langlais, who was blind from the age of two, studied organ first under André Marchal at the Institut National des Jeunes Aveugles (National Institute for Blind Children). Later, in the early 1930s, he studied organ with Marcel Dupré and composition with Paul Dukas at the Paris Conservatory.

By 1945 he had been appointed titular organist of the Basilica of Sainte Clotilde in Paris, where he stood in the line of Charles Tournemire and César Franck. Over the course of his lifetime, he performed more than three hundred concerts in the United States and became world renowned as a teacher, especially of the art of improvisation. His published works for organ are numerous, often based on Gregorian chants or hymn tunes.

The suite Cinq Méditations sur l’Apocalypse is an excellent example of the composer’s mature style. It was first published in 1974, and Langlais attested that it was conceived over a more than thirty-year period. Thus this suite represents compositional skills accumulated over a lifetime. It is far more esoteric than some of his other works, even those of the same period. Marie-Louise Jaquet-Langlais has pointed out that, because Cinq Méditations was not a commissioned work, the composer was able to compose it freely, without limits on style, length, or subject matter.1

Because of the immensity and density of Cinq Méditations, it took me several years to find an opportune time to perform the work in its entirety in a single sitting. I was fortunate to finally be able to do so on All Saints Day, November 1, 2020, in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on the campus of the University of Notre Dame. The preparation process was intentionally long and careful, and as I prepared each movement, I made note of many instances of errata in the published score, available from Alphonse Leduc/Editions Bornemann. With a work this size, there are bound to be editing errors, and indeed that is the case here. I present here a list of errata in a lightly annotated fashion, along with some simple program notes. My hope, as future organists continue to discover this masterpiece of organ literature, is that those who seek to learn Cinq Méditations can take advantage of that list in their preparations, in order to present the intentions of the composer as accurately as possible.

More than a little gratitude is due to my colleagues Dr. Beverly Howard, professor emerita of music at California Baptist University, and Dr. Marshall Jones, adjunct professor at Flathead Valley Community College and music director at Bethlehem Lutheran Church, Kalispell, Montana. Both are music theorists and organists who offered invaluable advice on some of the more ambiguous spots I address in the score, and who provided clarifying language in many instances.

Performing notes

The overall organizing principle for Cinq Méditations is textual more than it is musical. That is, the movements are each musical reflections on a verse or passage from the Book of Revelation, sometimes referred to in both French and English as the “Apocalypse of John.” Langlais reportedly read the Book of Revelation many times, and the profundity of this suite reflects both his deep understanding of and also deep respect for Saint John’s epistle. Langlais also had a timely reason for finishing the composition of a work pondering the end times; in 1973, just one year prior to the suite’s publication, he suffered a severe heart attack that almost killed him. As Mme. Langlais has also said, this may have proved the impetus for Jean finally completing this long-gestated work.

As with much of the organ music of Messiaen, works by Langlais are often meant to be heard in a church replete with visual splendor, intentional architecture, and a substantial acoustic. In the slower movements, Langlais’ music often moves at an incredibly slow pace, a tool that both he and other composers have used to evoke a sense of eternity. When performing this piece in concert, I often encourage listeners to let their eyes wander and peruse the visual offerings of the space in which they find themselves while listening. Gothic and Gothic revival architecture is particularly appropriate to this exercise, since the design of such spaces is meant to draw the eye upward throughout the room, as if transporting its observers into the eternity of heaven. Allowing one’s gaze to wander upward while listening to pieces such as Langlais’ Cinq Méditations can make clear the natural affinity between the form of this music and the form of the building.

At other times, in both slow and fast sections, Langlais inserts long moments of silence between musical phrases. In so doing, he exploits the acoustics of the room by allowing the sound to slowly dissipate into its far reaches, and the mind of the listener to absorb what has just been heard. Again, live performances given in an appropriate space make clear certain aspects of the work that are not fully graspable when listening to recordings or in a concert hall.

Errata and notes for individual movements

Because the published score does not contain measure numbers, the locations of each error will be noted as page (p.#), system (s.#), measure (m.#), and beat (b.#). Erratum 1 in the following list, for example, is listed as “p. 3, s. 1, m. 1, b. 4,” meaning page 3, system 1, measure 1 of that system, beat 4 of that measure. Where there is no fixed meter, the beat numbers are omitted.

I. Celui qui a des oreilles, qu’il Оcoute (He that has ears, let him hear)

A fugue with a wide-ranging subject, this introductory movement features a recurring statement of the fourth Gregorian psalm tone by the pedal. Each statement of the psalm tone presents a different number of syllables, suggesting that this movement was based on a particular chanted text, though Langlais gives no clue as to what that text might be.

Example 1: p. 3, s. 1, m. 1, b. 4: the stem is missing in the bass voice G-sharp. It should be a quarter note.

Example 2: p. 3, s. 2, m. 1, b. 1: there is a missing beam in the bass voice. There should be two eighth notes.

II. Il Оtait, Il est, et Il vient (He is, He was, and He is to come)

This movement is divided into five large sections. The first, third, and fifth sections each feature a constant high drone on the note F, perhaps symbolizing the unity and eternity of Christ, underneath which curling, syncopated motives explore various harmonic intervals against the drone. The second and fourth sections each present a different Gregorian chant related to the incarnation. First, there is “Vexilla Regis Prodeunt,” a hymn of triumph of the Cross: “The Banners of the King issue forth, the mystery of the Cross does gleam, where the Creator of flesh, in the flesh, from the cross-bar is hung.” Then, in the fourth section, there is “Lauda Sion,” the Sequence hymn for Feast of Corpus Christi: “Sion, lift up your voice and sing: Praise your Savior and your King, Praise with hymns your shepherd true.”

Example 3: p. 5, s. 3, m. 2: “Nazard” should read “ – Nazard,” to indicate taking that stop off. The Nazard has already been drawn in the Positif from the beginning of the movement.

Example 4: p. 5, s. 2, m. 2, b. 3: Pedal G-natural should be A-natural, since in all other places, the pedal doubles the left hand at the octave.

Example 5a: p. 6, s. 4, m. 2, b. 3: in the right hand, bottom voice, the second D should be D-flat. If a new edition were made, one might also change the C-sharps in system 3, measures 3–4 to D-flats for consistency and also for voice-leading considerations (Example 5b).

(p. 6, s. 4, m. 2, b. 3)

(p. 6, s. 3, m. 3)

Example 6: p. 6, s. 4, m. 3, b. 1: in the right hand, middle voice, A-flat should be A-natural to match preceding examples.

Example 7: p. 7, s. 3, m. 2, b. 2: the right hand is marked as a quarter note but should be an eighth note to accommodate the eighth rest immediately following. The flag is simply missing from the notehead.

Example 8: p. 10, s. 3, m. 5: the left-hand middle voice, G in the final quarter note should probably be A-flat, because of the presence of the tie and given what is happening in the measures around it.

Example 9: p. 10, s. 4, m. 1: ties are missing in the left hand at the beginning of the measure. They should have carried over from the previous system.

Example 10: p. 10, s. 4, m. 2: the last chord is missing staccato marks in both hands. Also, the staccato markings are inconsistently applied in the previous two measures.

Example 11: p. 10, s. 4, mm. 2–3: possible missing ties in the bottom two voices of the left hand between these two measures.

Example 12: p. 13, s. 3, m. 2: the last note of the right hand (D-flat) should tie to the pedal C-sharp in the next measure. (cf. all other analogous passages in pp. 14–15).

Example 13: p. 16, s. 1, m. 5: a slur is missing between the right-hand E-flat and pedal E-natural in the next measure. Even though it is not a common tone as in previous analogous spots, the dangling slur in the pedal makes it clear that it should connect from the right hand in the previous measure.

III. Visions prophetiques (Prophetic visions)

“Visions prophetiques” is the only movement of the suite whose title is not a direct quote from Revelation. It is a sort of bombastic scherzo; an initial section played on full organ registration is repeated later after each of several contrasting sections. Because of its clear form and the range of styles present in this single movement, I have often played it as a standalone piece.

Example 14: p. 17, s. 1, m. 2: the left-hand part is missing three quarter-note rests.

Example 15: p 19, s. 2, m. 5: top staff, top voice, last D-natural should be a D-flat. Voice leading suggests all parts should have moved down by a whole step (also cf. the first chord in that measure).

Example 16: p. 21, s. 1, mm. 1–2: no pedal registration has been indicated for this section, so the indication to add the 4′ flute does not make sense. The texture here and the previous instruction at m. 28 suggest that this section should begin with 16′ and 8′ flutes as well as the Positif to Pédale coupler, adding the 4′ flute as indicated at this transition point.

Example 17: p. 23, s. 2, m. 3: B in the first left-hand chord is erroneously marked as sharp. It should be A-sharp and B-natural as in preceding measure.

IV. Oh oui, viens, Seigneur Jésus (Even so, come, Lord Jesus)

It is odd that Langlais would choose to place this movement fourth in the suite rather than last, since “Oh oui, viens, Seigneur Jésus” is based on the final verse of the book of Revelation. Through his use of slow tempos, simple textures, and pensive melodies, he is here clearly exploring concepts of eternity, in a way reminiscent of Messiaen’s Le banquet céleste.

Example 18: p. 24, s. 2, mm. 2–3: there should be a breath mark between measures 2 and 3 (cf. the corresponding passage at the top of p. 26).

Example 19: p. 24, s. 4, m. 3: Sharps are missing from both pedal notes (cf. p. 26, s. 1, mm. 3–4).

Example 20: p. 25, s. 4, m. 3: registration indications refer to Positif, not Récit. Also, the indication about which manual to play on is missing. Both hands should be on the Récit as at the beginning.

Example 21: p. 26, s. 1, m. 3: middle C in the left hand should be C-sharp. The note to which it is tied in the next measure is sharp, and there is also an analogous spot with the C-sharp on p. 24, system 2.

Example 22: p. 26, s. 2, mm. 2–3: it is possible that a tie is missing between the two A-flats in measures 2 and 3 of this system. This could also just be assumed because of the practice of tying common notes in much of the French repertoire.

V. La cinquième trompette (The fifth trumpet)

The final movement of Cinq Méditations brings to bear the full range of Langlais’ compositional techniques. Besides that, it is the movement perhaps most visually evocative of the readings on which it is based. This movement was the one that initially sparked my interest in the Cinq Meditations. Listen for Langlais’ clear imitation of the fifth trumpet (mentioned in the reading) and the “song” of the locusts, presented similarly to Messiaen’s quotations of bird song. The movement, and the suite as a whole, ends in a glorious and yet also terrifying toccata.

Example 23: p. 27, s. 3, m. 6: a half rest is missing from the top staff.

Example 24: p. 29, s. 4, m. 1: the right-hand sextuplet marks are missing but can be inferred from left-hand underlay in m. 49 and from markings present at the top of p. 30. There are similar instances of missing sextuplet markings on systems 1 and 2 of p. 29, but these are less consequential since there is a one-voice texture at each of those points.

Example 25: p. 30, s. 3, m. 1: a tempo change is called for but is missing from the score. It should return to “Allegro” (100 beats per minute) as at p. 27, s. 2.

Example 26: p. 30 s. 4, m. 1: the right hand should be played on the Récit (cf. p. 28 and other places).

Example 27: p. 31, s. 1, m. 1 and following: “8va” marking is missing an end point. It would make the most sense if the bracket ended with the middle C-sharp in m. 71. It looks as if that may have been the intent but the registration instructions interfered with the layout in the engraving process.

Example 28: p. 34, s. 2, m. 3: the right-hand lower voice should be G-natural both times to be consistent with analogous spots. This also gives consistency to the parallel tritone movement, prevalent throughout this section.

Example 29: p. 34, s. 3, m. 3: the right hand is missing dots on the whole-note chord, which should match the left hand.

Example 30: p. 34, s. 4, m. 3: the metronome marking is incorrect. Quarter note = 104 is impossible to play, and should be eighth note = 104.

Example 31: p. 35, s. 1, m. 2: First five notes of the right hand should be beamed together as in the
following beats.

Example 32: p. 36, s. 1, m. 1: the left-hand bottom voice should be E-natural (see the tie in preceding bar and cf. p. 26, s. 4, m. 3).

Example 33: p. 37, s. 1, m. 1: the high F-sharp in the right hand should be D-sharp as in all other
surrounding measures.

Example 34: p. 41, s. 2, m. 2: the right-hand low A-natural is missing a courtesy accidental, since the A is already flat in the left hand, b.1.

Example 35: p. 41, s. 2, m. 3: there is a wrong number of beats in left-hand and pedal rests at beginning of the measure. There should be a sixteenth followed by a dotted sixteenth to match the right-hand rhythm.

Notes

1. Liner notes by Marie-Louise Langlais, translated by Roger Greaves, for the compact disc Suite Médiévale/Cinq Méditations sur l’Apocalypse, by Jean Langlais, Bruno Matthieu (organist), Naxos Records 8.553190, 1996, p. 3.

Cinq Méditations sur l’Apocalypse, by Jean-François Langlais. Copyright (c) 1974 by Alphonse Leduc Editions Musicales. International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted by permission of Hal Leonard, LLC.

Related Content

J. S. Bach’s Organ Music and Lutheran Theology

The Clavier-Übung Third Part

Michael Radulescu

Michael Radulescu, born in Bucharest, Romania, studied organ and conducting in Vienna at the Academy (now University) of Music and Performing Arts where he taught as professor of organ from 1968 to 2008. His career encompasses work as a composer, organist, and conductor. Since his debut in 1959 he has presented concerts throughout Europe, North America, Australia, South Korea, and Japan. He regularly gives guest lectures and masterclasses in Europe and overseas, focusing mainly on the interpretation and elucidation of Bach’s organ and major choral works.

As a composer, Radulescu has written sacred music, works for organ, voice and organ, choral and chamber music, and orchestral works. He is also in demand as a jury member in international organ and composition competitions and as an editor of early and ancient organ music. Radulescu conducts international vocal and instrumental ensembles in performances of major vocal works. As an organist, he has recorded among other things Bach’s complete works for organ, without any technical manipulation.

For his musical and pedagogical contributions Radulescu was awarded the Goldene Verdienstzeichen des Landes Wien in 2005. In 2007 he received Würdigungspreis für Musik from the Austrian Ministry of Education and Art. In December 2013 Michael Radulescu’s book on J. S. Bach’s spiritual musical language, Bey einer andächtig Musiq . . .,
focusing on the two Passions and the B Minor Mass was published.

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When approaching Baroque music in general and spiritual music in particular, it is of greatest importance to take into consideration the fundamental difference between the function and the aims of music in the Roman Catholic rite and the Lutheran conception of music. While Roman Catholic music mainly embellishes and adorns the liturgy, Lutheran music wants to preach, to impress, to move, to convince every single listener. Whereas the mystery of the Canon is at the center of the Roman Catholic Mass, the announcing and the elucidation of the Word of God, spoken by the minister and sung or performed by the church musician, stand at the core of the Lutheran Divine Service.

From this dichotomy results the overwhelming importance of rhetoric, of the musical speech (Klangrede) in Lutheran music. Both the ancient rules of rhetoric and the use of the rhetorical-musical figures determine respectively the overall formal concept of a work as well as the invention of characteristic “speaking motifs.”

In the case of J. S. Bach’s music, however, there also seems to be a more subtle, profound, and hidden means of communicating a message, an interpretation of a text. This happens through the ample use of symbols such as allegories, certain characteristic motifs and specific numerical ratios between different sections of the overall formal concept of a piece, and also, most controversial of all, as numerological entities. The latter aspect has been both heartily emphasized and strongly questioned and even ruled out by scholars and practical performers in recent decades. Nevertheless, a surprising hint at the possibility of Bach’s interest in the use of the “numeric alphabet” seems to be, among others, the theoretical work called Cabbalologia by Johannes Henningius (Johann Henning), published in Leipzig in 1683. This publication is said to have been found also in the famous private library of Bach’s neighbor and colleague Johann Heinrich Ernesti, former rector of Saint Thomas Church in Leipzig.

I

Bach published the Third Part of his Clavier-Übung for the feast of Saint Michael at the end of September 1739 on the occasion of the bicentenary of the Lutheran Reformation in Leipzig. This collection of keyboard compositions is generally known under the titles “The Organ Mass” or “The Dogma Chorales,” neither of which can suggest the complex meaning and the message of the entire opus.

It should be remembered that when Luther introduced his Reformation in Leipzig in 1539 he preached on Pentecost Monday in the Leipzig Pleissenburg Castle on two most crucial themes: the Mystery of the Trinity in the Lutheran Mass and the Lutheran Catechism. Most significantly, Bach takes both these theological categories into consideration and, obviously referring to Luther’s sermon of 1539, treats them consistently in his Third Part of the Clavier-Übung. Of the total of twenty-one chorale settings in the collection, the first nine deal with the Lutheran Missa brevis (which includes only the “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” and the “Gloria”), while the remaining twelve chorales follow exactly, chapter by chapter, Luther’s Catechism of 1529.

Seen as a whole, the entire Clavier-Übung III seems to suggest a most striking resemblance to Bach’s own organ improvisations as described by his first biographer, J. N. Forkel, in 1802:

a) a great prelude and fugue in Organo Pleno as an opening;

b) a long series of different kinds of chorale settings with a varying number of parts;

c) a great fugue in Organo Pleno at the end.

In Bach’s Clavier-Übung III, these correspond to the following sections:

a) the E-flat Preludium in Organo Pleno also containing the two fugal sections;

b) the 21 chorale settings in 3, 4, 5, or 6 parts, as well as four duettos;

c) the E-flat Fugue in Organo Pleno.

Two further allusions to the Trinity are most interesting in the overall plan of the entire collection. These are manifest already in the title, “Third Part of the Clavier-Übung,” and also in the use of the majestic key of E-flat major, with its three flats in the signature, for both the opening Prelude and the closing Fugue. Also striking is the fact that both the Prelude and the Fugue appear to be determined by the number 3 (three main musical ideas in the prelude and three themes in the triple fugue).

Another obvious hint at the Trinity is the fact that the first 9 chorales dealing with the Lutheran Mass are organized in 3 groups of 3 each: 3 “great” settings for Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie, 3 “small” alio modo settings for the same cantus firmi Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie, and 3 settings for the German Gloria, “Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr.”

The remaining 12 chorales, which follow Luther’s Catechism, are arranged by 3 + 3 groups of 2 each, the first group dealing with the 3 main chapters of the Catechism (The Law of the Lord = The Ten Commandments, The Creed, and The Prayer of the Lord = The “Our Father”), and the second with the 3 chapters concerning the Sacraments and the Penitence respectively (Baptism, Penitence as continual renewal of Baptism, and the Communion). Each of these cantus firmi is treated twice, in a “great” version with pedal and in a “small” version without pedal, mostly in another key.

It has often been suggested that these two contrasting versions may allude to Luther’s “Great Catechism” versus its reduced form, the “Small Catechism” for younger and “more modest people.” This double treatment of the “catechism settings,” however, seems also to allude to the double form of liturgy: as the great, official one “in churches,” versus its “small,” intimate, personal form “at home,” within each Christian family. Interestingly enough, this dualism appears also in the original subtitle of the Clavier-Übung III dedicated to both amateurs (Liebhaber) and connoisseurs (Kenner).

II

The opening Praeludium pro Organo pleno, Bach’s largest organ prelude, suggests, in spite of the original slurring of the dotted rhythms of its beginning, the pattern of a French overture:

a) majestic homophonic section with dotted rhythm, measures 1 to 70;

b) Fugato section, measures 71 to 97;

c) majestic homophonic section with dotted rhythm, measures 98 to 129;

d) Fugato section, measures 130 to 173;

e) majestic homophonic section with dotted rhythm, measures 174 to the end.

The three different musical ideas used by Bach seem to illustrate in a marvelous way the three Persons of the Trinity:

1. majestic five-part homophonic section for God the Father (Example 1);

2. transition passage with staccato notes suggesting drops of tears (as in the Passions and in several cantatas) and a plaintive theme in the right hand, full of suspensions and chromaticisms and going to the “extreme” keys B-flat minor and E-flat minor, respectively (musical-rhetorical figure of parrhesia), suggesting the human sufferings, the Passion and Death of God, the Son (Examples 2 and 3);

3. The fugal sections using the most spiritual writing, the fugue, and a theme which by its shape (musical-rhetorical figure of hypotyposis) suggests the movement and the shape of the flames, the fire of God, the Holy Spirit (Example 4).

III

Considering the 9 chorale settings of the Missa brevis, the great “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie,” the small “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie,” and the 3 “Allein Gott” settings, one notes the following characteristics:

• The first three settings of the great “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” are written in the ancient vocal, a cappella style, the stylus gravis, using the so called white notation (breves, whole notes, half notes, quarter and, more rarely, eighth notes as note values). According to Bach’s cousin
J. G. Walther the stylus gravis is “majestic, serious . . . and best appropriate to elevate the human soul to God.”

• The respective cantus firmus descends within this first triad from the soprano in Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit (highest part ~ God Father as the Highest) into the tenor in Christe aller Welt Trost (middle part ~ God the Son as the Mediator) and finally into the pedal-bass in Kyrie, Gott, heiliger Geist (bass part ~ God, the Holy Spirit as the universal Basis). This katabasis, i.e., “descending movement,” suggests the descending of God’s mercy upon us and depicts the “eleison” (“have mercy”).

• The tenor cantus firmus in Christe aller Welt Trost stresses the idea of Christ as the Mediator between God and Man, as strongly emphasized by Luther.

• The bass cantus firmus in Kyrie, Gott, heiliger Geist, on the other hand, represents the fundamental Lutheran idea of Justification through the power of Faith; the text of the chorale also prays for “the reinforcement of our Faith.” The final section of this setting, “eleison,” is excruciatingly dissonant, once again stressing human misery awaiting God’s mercy.

• The total number of measures of all three large chorale-settings is a primary, indivisible number:

Kyrie (42 measures) + Christe (61 measures) + Kyrie (60 measures) = 163 ~ indivisibility of the Holy Trinity!

• The three small settings of “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” strongly contrast with the preceding three works. The cantus firmus is only hinted at by quotation of its first phrase. Their writing is manualiter, without pedal, and in a soft “cantabile clavier style.” This might suggest love and the soft breath of the Holy Spirit by its “cantability.”

• All three small settings end modally on an E-major chord.

• The time signatures of all these 3 chorales also allude to the Trinity, being “progressions” of the number 3: 3/4; 6/8; 9/8 (= 1 x 3/4; 2 x 3/8; 3 x 3/8).

• The three Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr settings fulfill a wonderful anabasis (ascending movement) by the sequence of their keys: following the small “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” settings ending all on E major, they rise up to F major, G major, and finally to A major, thus obviously alluding to Gloria in excelsis (Allein Gott in der Höh’/“Glory to the Lord in the Highest”).

• All three settings are trios and written in an “instrumental keyboard style,” the first and the last in a brilliant, light style, the second à 2 Claviers et Pedale imitating violins or flutes accompanied by a basso continuo in the pedal.

• The G-major trio on “Allein Gott” seems to stress Jesus’s role as Lamb of God, alluding to the third stanza of the chorale, “Lamb of God, holy Lord and God, accept the prayer of our misery,” by citing these two verses in canon, a most simple symbol for “one part following another part:” first between the right hand and pedal in measures 78 to 83, and in measures 87 to 92 between the left hand and pedal, and thus alluding to the Gospel of John, 1:29–30: “The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. / This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred before me: for he was before me” (Example 5).

IV

The density and complexity of Bach’s dealing with the theological message through music is most impressively revealed in the settings of chorales treating the main chapters of Luther’s Catechism: the Ten Commandments, the Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer.

The large setting of Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot is written in five parts distributed on two manuals and pedal. The cantus firmus is carried out as a canon between the two tenor parts played by the left hand while the right hand plays the two free upper parts. Surprisingly, these free parts never imitate or cite the cantus firmus.

Most interesting is the fact that in Bach’s treatments of this cantus firmus (Orgelbüchlein, the cantata BWV 77 Du sollst Gott, deinen Herrn, lieben, and the two settings in the Clavier-Übung), he uses the same key, Mixolydian on G, the “pure” key without accidentals in its signature. Never does this cantus firmus appear transposed: this obviously suggests the “immutability of the Divine Law.” Most consistently, the treatment of the cantus firmus as a canon also evokes the “severity of God’s Law.”

A further symbolic meaning of the musical texture is the setting of the canonic cantus firmus in the two middle parts, which clearly refers to Luther’s commentary in his Catechism, regarding the way to keep the Divine Law through “Christ’s the Mediator’s Intercession.”

The beginning of the chorale is most serene, diatonic, and calm, and takes place over an organ point in the pedal. After four measures of “complete harmony” the character changes in the fifth measure: the alto plays a “harsh” descending chromatic figure (the figure of parrhaesia) while the soprano plays three times a “sighing figure” consisting of a sixteenth rest followed by three sixteenth notes, and followed by two groups of stepwise descending eighth notes (Example 6).

This seems to be a strong allusion to the Book of Genesis describing the Garden of Eden (= full harmony~4 measures) and Adam’s Fall in the fifth measure (Adam in Hebrew meaning man and being symbolized, according to Andreas Werckmeister, by the number 5 for man’s 5 senses, 5 fingers and toes, and also hinting at Jesus’s 5 wounds on the Cross).

Interestingly enough, this “sighing” figura suspirans is played by the two upper parts during the whole piece exactly 33 times, reminding of the 33 years of Jesus’s earthly life.

From measure 6 on this figure appears also “transformed” into another figure called kyklosis or circulatio and suggesting a “turning around,” an “insecurity” or, as in our case, a great joy.

This “transformation” of suffering (“sighing figure”) into joy (“turning around in joy”) perfectly matches Luther’s commentary about the Commandments, stressing that those who keep the Law apparently suffer in this earthly world, but that through Christ they shall live in joy.

Luther also considers the First Commandment as being the most important of the Decalogue. It is this very commandment that is cited in the second stanza of the cantus firmus, the stanza to which the great chorale setting seems to allude the most: “I alone am your God and Lord. Thou shalt not have other gods; thou shalt love me from the bottom of your heart. Kyrieleis.”

It is when the cantus firmus expounds the phrase “Thou shalt not have other gods” that the pedal plays a “huge” and “exaggerated” interval of two octaves,
C – c′ (the figure of hyperbole = exaggeration) and obviously referring to God’s immensity (Example 7).

Astonishing is the fact that the motif of measures 47 and 48 appears altered in measures 51 and 52, transformed insofar as it is now divided between the two upper parts: one part continuing the other, and thus suggesting the idea of “two parts becoming one” (the figure called heterolepsis = meaning this continuity, the unification of two parts, i.e., love, as described by J. G. Walther). It is striking to note how often Bach makes use of this figure when alluding to love, to unification in and through love. Not surprisingly, this figure appears in our chorale setting only two times, exactly where each of the two canonic cantus firmus parts play the notes for lieben mich (love me); as one can easily see in the “transformed” version, the motive is played by two “unified” parts according to the text line “Thou shall love me” (Example 8).

If we take a look at the pedal part we note that it is divided into several sections either by rests or by the recurring long organ point on A in measure 29. A most intriguing and striking speculation presents itself in this context when considering the number of notes of each of these sections:

a) measure 1 to 10 = 37 notes

b) measure 10 to 20 = 60 notes

c) measure 21 to 28 = 47 notes

d) measure 29 to 55 = 147 notes

e) measure 56 = 5 notes

f) measure 57 = 5 notes

g) measure 58 to 60 = 14 notes

 

a) Could 37 represent the monogram JCHR for Jesus Christ? (the number alphabet with the correspondence between the letters of the alphabet and the natural numerical order: A = 1, B = 2, C = 3, . . ., Z = 24, with I = J and U = V as in old Latin: J (9) + C (3) + H (8) + R (17) = 37);

b) Could 60 allude to the Old Testament, to the 6 Days of God’s Creation, and also to the 10 Commandments = 60?

NB! Bach occasionally uses the number 6 as allegory for the Creation, for the Entire World (also Orgelbüchlein: Christum wir sollen loben schon, measure 6, where the whole range of the organ is encompassed by the lowest C in the pedal and the highest C in the treble part).

NB! Luther always sees and treats the Old Testament considering the New Testament and vice versa.

c) Could 47 recall the 47th Psalm, mentioned by Luther in his Great Catechism: “O, clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph. / For the Lord most high is terrible; He is a great King over all the earth”?

NB! This third section of the pedal starts in measure 21 where the cantus firmus plays the phrase “Thou shalt not have other gods.” Also, it is here where the pedal plays the enormous, exaggerated interval of the double octave, which also perfectly matches the second verse of Psalm 47.

d) Could 147 recall the 11th verse of the 147th Psalm: “The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear Him, in those that hope in His mercy”?

NB! Luther himself quotes Ps. 147, 11 in his Catechism, in the chapter dedicated to the Ten Commandments. This could make the assumption mentioned above quite plausible!

e) & f) Could the number 5 possibly allude in this context to mankind (five senses; the five wounds on Jesus’s crucified body) as “the Old” vs. “the New Man”?

g) 14 might well suggest Bach’s own name (B [2] + A [1] + C [3] + H [8] = 14) as his personal commitment as a believer, as the pro me (= “for me”), a central point in Luther’s theology.

Another interesting symbolic connotation is suggested by the general form of the chorale setting. The total of 60 measures is clearly divided into two unequal sections considering the sort of “recapitulation” of the beginning, in measure 29:

28 measures (= 7 x 4) + 32 measures (= 8 x 4) = 60 measures, or 28 : 32 = 7 : 8.

Could 7 allude to the seven days of the week, of the 6 + 1 days of the Creation of the earthly world and 8 to the eighth day (the day of Messiah)? Could this overall form and its “articulation” transmit the message of Redemption?

The “small,” manualiter version of Dies sind die heiligen zehn Gebot seems to have a more obvious, more straightforward approach to the text. It is a fughetta using the theme in both normal and inverted position. The gigue-like theme is characterized by the strongly repeated notes at its beginning and by strong leaps followed by stepwise passages. It is most interesting to note some aspects of this piece:

1) the title in the original print from 1739 is Dies sind die heiligen zehen Gebot consisting of exactly 10 syllables (Ten Commandments?)

2) the repeated G in the theme appears 14 times (BACH’s commitment? See above).

3) the theme appears 4 times in normal, 4 times in inverted, and again 2 times in its normal forms, i.e., 4 + 4 + 2 = 10 times (see above).

4) there is quite a long interlude without the theme between measures 18 and 31, lasting 14 measures (see above).

V

The large chorale setting dealing with the Creed, Wir gläuben all’an einen Gott (Schöpfer) is striking because of its dynamism, abundant syncopations, “modern” 2/4 time signature, constant movement in sixteenth notes, and lack of organ points in the pedal, by the six times of the pedal ostinato, and the flamboyant movement of the manual parts. The theme treated in the manual is rooted in the first phrase of the cantus firmus, and it is this very phrase that appears literally quoted in the tenor in the last 12 measures of the piece. The overall flamboyant, dynamic character of this setting might be surprising, but it seems in perfect coherence with Luther’s idea of a willful, powerful, and passionate personal commitment of each believer aiming to attain personal justification.

Some characteristics of this composition might elucidate its possible further message:

a) the total of exactly 100 measures of the piece might suggest the idea of the totality of the Creation (Gott Schöpfer = God, the Creator);

b) the 6-fold appearance of the pedal ostinato might hint at the 6 “working” days of God’s Creation (see above);

c) the quotation of the first cantus firmus phrase in the tenor, starting in measure 89 might allude to Christ as the Mediator;

d) the last pedal entry is longer than its other entries and has exactly 43 notes; this may well mean: (C [3] + R [17] + E [5] + D [4] + O [14] = 43: CREDO) “I believe.”

NB! Interestingly enough, the score of the first Credo chorus in the B Minor Mass shows the word “Credo” written 43 times and heard 41 times, i.e., J-S-B-A-C-H’s creed.

The small version of the same chorale is written as a short manualiter fughetta in the style of a brilliant French overture. This surprising setting can be seen as an introduction to the large version of The Lord’s Prayer, Vater unser im Himmelreich, written in the same key of E Dorian. More likely, however, it also seems to have the function of dividing the whole set of 21 chorales into 12 + 9. One should remember that, on the other hand, the 21 chorales are also divided into 9, dealing with the Lutheran Mass, and 12, treating Luther’s Catechism and the Sacraments. A very beautiful parallel, indeed!

VI

The large version of Vater unser im Himmelreich is possibly Bach’s most difficult and intricate organ work. It is written in 5 parts distributed once again among the two manuals and the pedal, with the cantus firmus in canon. Unlike the Ten Commandments however, each hand here plays a free voice and a canonic cantus firmus part.

Some characteristics may help understand and elucidate the enormous complexity of this composition:

a) the slow, majestic tempo in the 3/4 time signature suggests the austere character of a slow sarabande;

b) the pedal is treated as a basso continuo without quoting the cantus firmus;

c) the cantus firmus is treated in canon suggesting our intimately repeating the prayer spoken by Jesus according to Saint Mark and Saint Matthew;

d) the alternating order of the canonic parts at each new entry seems to suggest a still dialogue between the believer and Jesus;

e) the free manual parts are based on a theme quoting the richly embellished first phrase of the cantus firmus (Example 9);

f) each hand expounds this theme 3 times, alluding probably once more to the Trinity;

g) the two free manual parts display an enormous rhythmical richness with frequent use of the “plaintive” Lombard rhythms and the staccato triplets (Example 10);

h) this “plaintive” Lombardian rhythm and the overall rhythmical complexity seem to depict Luther’s comment on The Lord’s Prayer expressing the “multitude of human miseries;”

i) the staccato triplets obviously describe Saint Matthew 7:7: “Ask and it shall be given to you; seek and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you.” As a matter of fact, this very verse appears quoted in practically all older Lutheran hymn books on the page where the chorale Vater unser im Himmelreich is printed. The staccato triplets may also allude to drops of tears;

j) there is only one spot where the pedal quotes the “plaintive” Lombardian rhythm and this happens in measure 41 (J [9] + S [18] + B [2] + A [1] + C [3] + H [8] = J. S. BACH), alluding to the composer’s personal commitment.

After this extraordinary piece, the alio modo manualiter version of the same cantus firmus is a simple, quiet meditation on the Prayer, devoid of all further speculative symbols.

VII

Following Luther’s Large Catechism exactly, Bach now treats the Sacraments of Baptism in Christ, unser Herr zum Jordan kam, Penitence in Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir, the latter considered by Luther as the continuation and constant renewal of baptism, and finally the Sacrament of Communion in Jesus Christus, unser Heiland.

The large version of Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam treats Jesus’s baptism as described in Saint John, Chapter 1. The piece is set for two manuals and pedal with the cantus firmus in the latter, the bass in the left hand and the two upper parts in the right hand. This setting is quite full of important symbolic meanings:

a) the tenor cantus firmus in the pedal suggests, as the middle part of the setting, Christ’s role as Mediator between God Father and mankind;

b) the almost constant movement in sixteenth notes in the left hand bass part seems to allude to the flow of the waters of the Jordan River;

c) the two upper parts of the right hand can be seen as a symbol for the Holy Spirit floating above the scene of Christ’s Baptism by Saint John the Baptist. The beginning four notes in each of the two upper parts seem to depict, as a hypotyposis, a cross motif. Also, the most intricate imitations between the small motives of the two upper parts can be seen as a hint to the Holy Spirit proceeding from the consubstantiality of God Father and God Son, as mentioned in the Nicene Creed (Example 11).

d) NB: the final note of the fifth chorale phrase in the pedal d° seems to generate a “wrong” 6/4-chord d° - g° - b′: This is to be seen as a hint to avoid the wrong harmony by the use of a 4′ reed in the pedal if the left hand were based on 8′, or a 16′ basis for the left hand, should the pedal be played only on an 8′ basis!

e) The total number of measures, 81, equals 3 x 3 x 3 x 3 as a most impressive symbol for the Trinity.

The small manualiter version of the same chorale is quite a short fughetta based on the first phrase of the chorale, combined with an “obbligato” counter-subject, both treated in normal and inverted position. Could the theme itself represent Christ and its inverted form Christ’s descent on Earth? Could the countersubject stand for Saint John the Baptist? Interesting enough is the fact that this fughetta consists of 27 measures (3 x 3 x 3) with exactly 81 quarter notes (see above).

The large version of Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir, the German version of Psalm 130, “De profundis,” is an exceptional work, as it is written in the old, solemn, majestic vocal stylus gravis or motet style, which, according to Johann Gottfried Walther’s Musicalisches Lexicon of 1732, is able to “elevate the soul to God.” This setting marks a pinnacle in Bach’s entire organ music insofar as it is written in six parts, four in the manual and two in the pedal, with the augmented cantus firmus of Luther’s chorale melody in the right foot’s part. This obviously seems to be an allusion to the significance of the upper bass part as the voice of the Old Testament psalmist. Most impressive is also the fact that at the beginning of the last verse of the chorale Wer kann, Herr, vor dir bleiben? (Who can, Lord, stand before Thee?) in the seventh to last measure, the upper bass part playing the cantus firmus is the highest part in the whole texture (Example 12).

• The registration should be the Organo pleno, i.e., an 8′ based Plenum  in the (coupled) manual(s) and 16′ Plenum in the pedal, without mixtures but with reeds 16′, 8′, and 4′.

• This setting is obviously inspired by the great pleno settings in five parts, with double pedal, in Matthias Weckmann’s great chorale settings with the cantus firmus in the upper pedal part.

NB! In one of the Lüneburg tablatures containing Weckmann’s majestic hymn on O lux, beata Trinitas the opening first movement in five parts with double pedal and the cantus firmus in the upper bass bears the indication that the cantus firmus of the upper bass could be played in the pedal by the right foot, or on the manual by the left hand, or also by both the pedal and the left hand together. This comment seems to confirm the registration mentioned above, with the result that the left foot bass is playing in the reeds-pleno, the manual parts in the mixture-pleno and the cantus firmus in both the reeds- and the mixture-pleno, and thus strengthening the cantus firmus.

The following alio modo manualiter version of the same chorale is written in four parts. Learned contrapuntal imitations in the three lower parts—in normal and inverted form—of each phrase of the chorale, anticipate each phrase of the augmented cantus firmus expounded each time by the treble part.

• Each section of the piece begins with five contrapuntal measures in intricate counterpoint between the three lower parts, followed by eight bars expounding the respective phrase of the chorale in the treble and one supplementary bar concluding each section.

• The overall organization of the piece is quite extraordinary:

Sections a), b), c) & d): 5 + 8 + 1 bars; section e): 5 + 8 + 5

• But 5 + 8 + 1 = 14  [= B-A-C-H = 2 + 1 + 3 + 8] and 8 : 5 stands for the golden ratio.

The large version of Jesus Christus, unser Heiland, der von uns den Zorn Gottes wandt is a trio for the two manuals and pedal with the cantus firmus in the latter. It seems quite interesting that the pedal oscillates between playing the tenor and bass parts. Could this hint at Jesus’s double nature, as God and Man?

• The two manual parts seem to actually symbolize the “Wrath of God” by their extremely virtuosic, agitated, and aggressive movements in sixteenth notes and eighth notes.

• The main theme in the manuals starting with big and then diminishing intervals (tenth-octave-sixth) could possibly hint at Man’s approach to God, whereas, on the other hand, these leaps sometimes occur also in the opposite direction, from smaller to larger (sixth-octave-tenth). The message of these patterns seems to be the “struggle” between God and sinful mankind expecting redemption through communion, Luther’s second sacrament.

The following alio modo version of the same chorale is a very complex fugue in F minor, using as a main theme the first phrase of the cantus firmus. The extremely rich counterpoint and the surprisingly daring new motives seem to recall the big, learned fugues of the Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II.

• The augmented entry of the main-theme in the tenor part in measure 57 might be another symbol for the praise of Christ the Lord, as the mediator between God and Man.

• NB! In order to emphasize this augmented theme in the tenor it should be helpful to use a registration of foundations (principals) 8′ and 4′ and a trumpet 8′.

VIII

Most intriguing and surprising part of the work are the following four duettos preceding the final Fugue in E-flat Major. Some speculations might help justify their presence:

a) Luther adds a “Short Admonition of Confession” after the chapter about Communion. In this short appendix he quotes the various ways of confessing: 1. to the priest/pastor; 2. as an open and common confession in front of the congregation; 3. to the neighbor; and 4. to God;

b) in the first part of his Large Catechism Luther quotes the four elements of the world: 1. Fire; 2. Air; 3. Water; 4. Earth;

c) in his Neu vermehrtes Hamburgisches Gesangbuch (New Hymn Book) from 1739, Vopelius inserts after the Catechism Hymns other hymns for: 1. the morning; 2. the evening; 3. before meals; 4. after meals;

d) taking into consideration the Baroque Theory of Affects one can easily imagine a certain parallel with the four temperaments: 1. choleric; 2. sanguine; 3. phlegmatic; and 4. melancholic temperament;

e) the duettos form a tight unity: their tonal progression ascending from E to F, to G, and finally to A corresponds strikingly to the sequence of keys in the “Trinity chorales” 4 to 9, and thus leading to the first note, B-flat, starting the following fugue;

f) two of the duettos are in a major (II and III) and two in a minor key (I and IV);

g) two are in a ternary (I: 3/8 and III: 12/8) and two in a binary (II: 2/4 and IV: 2/2) time signature.

h) two start with the right hand (I and II) and two with the left hand (II and IV).

It also seems quite remarkable how well the duettos match—by their astonishing variety and by their individual character—both the conception of the four elements (mentioned by Luther in his Great Catechism) and that of the four temperaments and even maybe of the four archangels (Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel) as well as the four Evangelists (?).

Duetto I: E-minor key; 3/8 time signature; right hand starts, left hand follows; 73 measures; perfectly symmetrical form based upon the golden ratio (28 measures + 17 measures + 28 measures = 73 measures // 28:17 = ~ 1.64; 45 (= 28 + 17) : 28 = ~ 1.7; 73 (= 28 + 17 + 28) : 45 = ~ 1.62); flamboyant themes and countersubjects suggesting flames of fire; Archangel Michael (with attributes: fire, sword, perfect balance); choleric temperament (?); element Fire (?).

Duetto II: F-major key; 2/4 time signature; right hand starts, left hand follows; 149 measures; perfectly symmetrical form of: 37 + 31 + 13 + 31 + 37 measures. NB! 37 could stand for Christ’s monogram in the Greek alphabet [ChRistos]: X ~ CH (= 20) + P ~ R (= 17); 31 may stand for the Latin “In Nomine Jesu” (In Jesus’s Name): [I (= 9) + N (= 13) + I (= 9) = 31]; 13 could allude to Jesus and his Twelve Apostles at the Last Supper. NB! This section of 13 measures from measures 69 to 78 is the center, the middle of the whole piece in which the measures 74 to 78 are the exact “inversion” of measures 69 to 73; could that maybe hint to Jesus’s death?; element Air (?) (Example 13).

The overall form of the piece is quite complex, insofar as the first section and its da capo recapitulation (both 37 measures) are in major and in a serene, joyous mood, whereas the second and penultimate sections (both 31 measures) are in minor and written as canons; might this “discrepancy” remind one of the sanguine temperament (?); Air; could the three references to Jesus Christ (see above) suggest a link to the Archangel Gabriel, Jesus’s messenger (with the attributes: lily and fish); could the perfect formal symmetry represent the symmetrical beauty of a lily?; could the inversion, the crossing of the parts in measures 69–78 hint at a symbol for Christ’s Cross and Death?

Duetto III: G-major key; 12/8 time signature; left hand starts, right hand follows; 39 measures:

15 + 8 + 15 + 1 = 39 measures; 15 (= 3 x 5) + 24 (= 3 x 8) = 39 (= 3 x 13) = golden ratio (cf. Fibonacci); melancholic temperament (?); could the very serene character of the piece remind of the Archangel Raphael (with attribute: fish)? element Water?

Duetto IV: A-minor key; 2/2 (Alla breve) time signature; left hand starts, right hand follows; two themes are used (a and b); 108 measures arranged as 8 (a) + 8 (a) + 16 (b) + 8 (a) + 8 (a) + 8 (b) + 13 (b) + 8 (a) + 8 (b) + 10 (b) + 13(a); NB! The grouping of measures and themes reveals the scheme of: 9 x 8 (= 72 measures) + 2 x 13 (= 26 measures) + 2 x 5 (= 10 measures), an order once more based upon the progression 5, 8, and 13 as quantities of the Fibonacci progression hinting at the “golden ratio;” the quite robust character of the music seems to allude to the strong phlegmatic temperament, while the very intricate formal scheme of the piece might possibly be a hint to the archangel Uriel (with attribute: fire); element Earth?

IX

The concluding Fuga à 5 Pro Organo pleno in E-flat major perfectly continues the ascending keys movement of the duettos (E-F-G-A) by its starting with a B-flat in the tenor.

The main theme suggests by its shape the form of a cross: connecting on paper the first note with the fourth and the second with the third, respectively the second with the fifth and the third with the fourth, respectively the third with the sixth and the fourth with the fifth, respectively the fourth with the seventh and the fifth with the sixth, one obtains three times (Trinity again!) the Greek letter X = Chi used as a symbol of the Cross, for crossing: cf. also Bach’s original title Da Jesus an dem X stund’ and the English No X-ing or Merry X-mas (Example 14).

This majestic theme dominates the whole first section of the fugue written in the ancient stylus gravis (see above, chorales 1 to 3). The second section of the fugue is in 6/4 meter and based on a strongly contrasting theme characterized by its constant movement representing a lengthy kyklosis (“turning around-figure”), with the main notes E-flat—F—G and thus quoting the first phrase of the first large chorale Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit (Example 15).

Exactly in the middle of this second section, the majestic first theme reappears, rhythmically strengthened by its syncopations, and dividing the whole fugue into two equal parts of 36 + 22½ : 22½ + 36 (Example 16).

Finally, the third and last section of the fugue written in 12/8 time signature, expounds a third theme that will later be combined with the first and with a varied form of the second theme. This third theme seems to use a bass cadence formula of C–F, and B-flat–E-flat (Example 17).

Most impressive is the perfect formal symmetry of the whole fugue organized in: (20 + 16 =) 36 measures + (22½ + 22½ =) 45 measures + (16 + 20 =) 36 measures.

Considering the fugue as a whole and the most natural tempo relationship of its three time signatures (half note = dotted half note = dotted quarter note), one can conclude the following:

a) the first and the third sections of the fugue are equal in length lasting 36 measures each, divided into 20 + 16, respectively, into 16 + 20;

b) applying the tempo relationship “half note = dotted half note = dotted quarter note” and taking as a common unity of measurement the smaller quantity, i.e., the measure length of the second fugue (which has only two beats per measure vs. the four beats of the first and the third sections respectively), one obtains the following measurements for the three sections:

72 (= 36 x 2) half-measures; 45 measures and again 72 (= 36 x 2) half-measures

c) all these numbers being multiples of 9, these ratios can be reduced to:

72 (= 8 x 9); 45 (= 5 x 9); 72 (= 8 x 9), or just 8 + 5 (= 13) + 8 = 21

d) this series of numbers 8, 5, 13, 21 belongs to the famous “Fibonacci progression” starting by 1:1:2:3:5:8:13:21 and reaching the golden ratio or divine proportion (= “proportio divina”) in the infinite.

e) NB! according to the Italian Renaissance mathematician Luca Pacioli the golden ratio might symbolize the Holy Trinity:

A (the greater quantity/God Father) : B (the smaller quantity/God the consubstantial Son) = (A + B) : A, or, theologically speaking:

A (God Father) engenders B (the consubstantial Son) and, out of these two, proceeds A + B (the Holy Spirit);

f) could this majestic, astonishingly built fugue thus represent once more the ultimate Symbol of the Holy Trinity?

g) its perfectly symmetrical construction is most impressive:

First section (40 half measures—cadence—32 half measures),

Second section (22½—22½ measures)

Third section (32 half measures—cadence—40 half measures), or, more simply:

40 – 32 – 22½ – 22½ – 32 – 40 measure lengths of the second section.

X

Taking a more attentive, new look at the Third Part of Bach’s Clavier-Übung, one discovers some interesting facts concerning the overall compositional plan, a plan corresponding also to Bach’s work, the B Minor Mass:

a) both cycles contain a total of 27 movements each.

b) these 27 movements are divided into two groups of: 6 “free” works without a cantus firmus (prelude in E-flat, the four Duettos, and the final fugue) and the 21 chorales; NB! the “Missa” and the “Symbolum Nicenum” in the
B Minor Mass have together 12 + 9 = 21 movements and the last section of the B Minor Mass (“Sanctus,” “Osanna,” “Benedictus,” “Osanna,” “Agnus Dei,” and “Dona nobis pacem”) also contains 6 movements.

c) the 21 chorales in the Clavier-Übung are divided twice into: 9 for the Lutheran Mass (“Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie – Gloria:” Trinity) and 12 dealing with Luther’s Catechism plus Sacraments.

d) The 21 chorales are also divided (“musically”) into 12 and 9 chorales by the 13th chorale written as a French overture and thus opening the rest of 9 chorales.

[NB! All these numbers are multiples of 3 (Trinity again!).]

e) could the total number of 27 pieces possibly recall in both the Clavier-Übung and the B Minor Mass the 27 books of the New Testament?

f) could the number of 21 pieces allude to the “Teaching Books” of the New Testament, the 21 Epistles, and the 6 “free works” to the four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, and the prophetic Apocalypse of John?

g) could one not consider the overall architecture of Bach’s most impressive cycles, Clavier-Übung III and the B Minor Mass, as huge symbols for the New Testament and thereby also for Martin Luther’s Theology?

Hugo Riemann, Karl Straube, and problems of structural coherence in the performance of Max Reger’s organ works

Ludger Lohmann

As one of the most renowned organ virtuosos and organ pedagogues Ludger Lohmann has exerted a lasting influence on organ culture. His career as a recitalist, which has brought him to many churches, cathedrals, and concert halls all over the world, started with awards at important international competitions, such as the competition of the German Broadcasting Corporation in Munich 1979 and the Grand Prix de Chartres 1982.

Born in Herne, Germany, in 1954 he studied organ with Wolfgang Stockmeier and harpsichord with Hugo Ruf at Cologne Musikhochschule. While writing a musicological doctoral thesis on “Articulation on Keyboard Instruments of the 16.–18. Centuries,” he received important artistic stimuli from Anton Heiller in Vienna and Marie-Claire Alain in Paris. The dedication to this artistic legacy motivated him to regard his own pedagogical work as equally important in his recitalist career. In more than forty years, first at Cologne Musikhochschule, and since 1983 as professor at Stuttgart Musikhochschule, he has educated numerous talented young organists from all over the world, many of whom are now doing remarkable artistic and pedagogical work themselves. A central concern was always striving for an interpretation of musical works according to the stylistic conventions of the times of their origin, departing from the insights gathered in his doctoral dissertation, which became standard reading, and later broadened by many publications concerning the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Musically they are documented in his numerous CD recordings.

His artistic and pedagogical impact has led Ludger Lohmann throughout the world as guest professor, teacher of masterclasses, and jury member of international competitions. He was part of the organ research project GOArt of Göteborg University as senior researcher. As organ consultant he has led organbuilding and restoration projects in several countries. To honor his manifold activities the British Royal College of Organists awarded him its first honors medal. In 2023 he received the prestigious German “Prize of European Church Music.”

Max Reger at the Sauer organ of the Leipzig Conservatory

Editor’s note: the scores to works mentioned in this article may be found online for free access.

Max Reger, Zwölf Stücke, opus 59

Reger, Introduction, Passacaglia, und Fugue in E Minor, opus 127

Reger, Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46

Reger, Organ Sonata No. 2, opus 60

Franz Liszt, Präludium und Fuge über B-A-C-H, S. 260

J. S. Bach, Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542

The sesquicentennial of the birth of Max Reger (1873–1916) has given new life to the reception of his enormous oeuvre. Among the many works of this astonishingly productive composer, only the organ pieces—the number and importance of which are rivaled only by Johann Sebastian Bach’s organ works—have enjoyed a constant presence in public concerts. This fact is not the least due to the efforts of Karl Straube (1873–1950), Reger’s closest friend and arguably his most important advocate during his short life. As the most influential German organ pedagogue of the first half of the twentieth century, Straube motivated generations of the most talented young German organists to become avid Reger performers. Their influence, in turn, can still be felt today particularly regarding certain parameters of Reger performance, since they tended to emulate Straube’s teaching method, which relied heavily on the principle of copying the master, usually starting to learn a new piece by literally copying all indications (fingering, articulation, and phrasing) from the teacher’s personal copy. Thus many details of Straube’s personal performance style, which sometimes are not consistent with Reger’s own indications, are still firmly entrenched in what might be called mainstream Reger performance practice. Straube’s students never, at least not in principle, questioned their validity but regarded them with a kind of Biblical faith, given the fact that Reger always heaped high praise on his friend’s performances of his music.

Straube’s ideas became a second layer of performance indications, sometimes overriding those given by the composer. As the authority that he was in German organ culture, Straube might even have contributed inadvertently or intentionally to the canonization of his ideas. We will never know whether Reger, in cases of conflicting indications, really preferred Straube’s ideas over his own. This must remain in doubt, particularly since Straube did not preserve Reger’s letters from the Weiden years, i.e., Reger’s most productive period regarding organ music, ostensibly because he did not want future generations to get an insight into an intimate exchange touching many aspects of the genesis of Reger’s music—possibly also not due to potential disagreements on matters not only of composition but also of performance practice.

In his monumental doctoral dissertation, “Reger, Straube, and the Leipzig school’s tradition of organ pedagogy: 1898–1948,”1 Christopher Anderson has described the Straube-Reger relationship with its many positive but also problematic aspects in detail. The new and definitive biography Max Reger: Werk Statt Leben2 by Susanne Popp touches this subject only briefly. Some basic problems of Straube’s style of Reger performance have been commented upon by Wolfgang Stockmeier in a volume, Max Reger 1873–1973—Ein Symposion,3 published on the occasion of Reger’s 100th birthday. Some of Stockmeier’s observations will be further developed in the present article, the aim of which is not in the first place to criticize Straube but to point out some very common clichés of present-day Reger performance, some—but certainly not all—of which might have originated in Straube’s practices. These practices can be learned from Straube’s editions of some Reger pieces published during the composer’s lifetime and also from listening to recordings made by some of Straube’s students.

When looking at the editions, some blatant contradictions, particularly regarding dynamics and agogics, can be noted. They expose some fundamental differences of opinion about how to deal with certain musical phenomena like the preparation of a culmination point. Here the name of Hugo Riemann (1849–1919), the most influential German music theorist of the late Romantic period and Reger’s composition teacher, comes into play.4 Reger very closely adheres to Riemann’s performance recipes, which can be found in his various treatises,5 whereas Straube, while generally being in agreement with Riemann’s theories, sometimes appears to come from a different school of thought. The fact that a performer would change a composer’s detailed performance indications in an edition of his own seems almost unthinkable today, but was all too common a century ago.

Certainly Straube’s aim in the first place was to make some of Reger’s best-known pieces more accessible; he might even have seen a justification for his interventions in Reger’s compositional process, or at least in his way of preparing a final fair copy of his works as the basis for an edition. Reger first wrote the musical text proper in black ink and later added all instructions pertaining to performance in red ink. Of course, it would be naive to assume that the genesis of a piece’s overall musical structure did not already include at least a rough concept of dynamics and movement, but details were probably determined only during this late “red ink stage,” thus easily leading to the impression that they were accessories rather than essential elements of the composition.

As a concert organist who has regularly played Reger’s works all over the world throughout a fifty-year career, I had many opportunities to observe typical problems of the reception of Reger’s music, problems that might have led a majority of colleagues mainly in English- and French-speaking countries to reject this music altogether. According to my experience the single biggest problem, apart from listeners’ difficulties of following Reger’s often over-complex musical textures, is what I would call a lack of coherence. This is first of all due to Reger’s tendency to compose free works like preludes or fantasias in a patchwork style: rather short musical phrases in certain textures are separated from each other by concluding chords. Even when the player goes from one passage to the next in an organic way by letting the listener feel a continuous metrical flow (albeit shaped by rubato twists and turns), the danger is that the piece falls apart, the all-too-frequent “stop and go” effect, tiring the listener and preventing an effective emotional buildup.

“Toccata in D Minor,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 5

Looking at “Toccata in D Minor,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 5, will illustrate this problem.6 The first part of this short tripartite composition consists of only twenty measures that contain, depending on how one counts, between four (in measures 4, 7, 15, and 20) and seven (the additional ones in measures 10, 11, and 12) such subdivisions. If the dynamic culminations in Organo Pleno reached at the end of all of the dynamic waves always starting at ff are any clue Reger would have regarded measure 12 as one of the important breaks in spite of the fact that the sixteenth-note triplet movement continues. Among the four clear breaks, all indicated by a large quarter-note chord, the one in measure 20 is marked by a fermata, the one in measure 4 by a fermata with the word kurz, or short. The other two breaks do not bear any indication. The common way of realizing these four transitions, experienced in dozens of performances by students and competition participants without exception, is holding the respective chords for about two beats instead of one as notated. While this is obviously acceptable for the chords marked by a fermata it is clearly not correct in the other two cases.

Apart from the resulting lack of stringency there is a consequence for the dynamic perception of harmonies, which prevents the buildup of tension as probably intended by Reger. The A-major seventh chord in measure 7 is followed by a D-minor harmony on the next beat, by the way a harmonic concept (a traditional dominant-tonic cadence) that Reger employs in a vast majority of formal transitions, even major ones (see measures 20–21: the B-major dominant seventh chord in measure 20 is followed by an E-minor harmony implied at the beginning of the soft middle section of the piece). Since the A-major seventh chord is in an accentuated metrical position (beat 3), holding it for a half note will inevitably give the ensuing D-minor harmony a metrical accent, particularly if the player gives it a strong dose of initially hesitating rubato, a gradual speeding up, with the aim of making his performance expressive.

Both player and listener are satisfied with an accent on the tonic, which might be the reason for this metrical misreading in the first place. If, however, the A-major chord is given its proper value, the D-minor harmony can be perceived as an upbeat to the much more interesting chord on the following beat 1, which consists of a double suspension (B sharp and D sharp) before an A-major sixth chord, thus keeping up the harmonic tension of the A-major seventh chord in measure 7 by preventing the succession of A major and D minor to be perceived as a definite cadence. It goes without saying that this is extremely consequential with regard to the perception of form, in other words to coherence or a lack thereof. The situation in measure 15 is different but comparable: the F-major 3-4 chord is continued chromatically by the implied bass line of the ensuing broken chords.

The question is why Reger notated fermatas in measures 4 and 20, but not in 7 and 15. The answer for measure 20 is clear: in measure 21 the middle section of the piece starts. In measure 4 the fermata marks an E-major chord that is followed by a new statement of the toccata’s opening passage in A minor, the dominant. This fact gives the E-major chord a higher formal relevance than the chords in measures 7 and 15, but not of the same degree as in measure 20, which is why Reger cautioned the player with kurz in measure 4. Since the opening passage starts on beat 4 (and should consequently be played with an upbeat feeling, not easy to achieve particularly when too much initial rubato is involved, as is very common) the “short” fermata should still allow the listener to perceive the value of the E-major chord as one (quarter note) beat in order to maintain the upbeat feeling for the new beginning. Even in measure 20 it is to be recommended to keep the B-major chord only for one beat (albeit somewhat longer than the E-major chord in measure 4, by means of a larger ritardando preparation) in order to clarify its upbeat metrical position.

This upbeat position, the first of its kind after so many seemingly comparable chords concluding phrases in downbeat positions, is undoubtedly a formal ploy to bridge the most incisive formal transition of the whole piece, another example of Reger striving for formal coherence.

“Benedictus,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 9

It should by now be clear that Reger’s notation of transitional places is by no means accidental but highly differentiated and precisely responding to the formal structure. The question is now whether the consequences for the dynamic or metrical perception of harmonies were also on his mind. This can be answered more easily by looking at the equally famous “Benedictus” from the same collection, opus 59, number 9.

This piece is based on two motives, both exposing the interval of a fourth, the second of which outlining the fugue subject (which could easily be sung to “Hosanna in excelsis”) with two ascending fourths, the first with two descending fourths, thus probably meant to be the inverted idea. In its first appearance with the notes D flat, A natural, B flat, F, it enters three times alla stretta, the entrances always coinciding with the fourth note of the preceding entrance. As a consequence the entrances occur on different beats of the first two measures: 1, 4, and 3. The listener might be misled into assuming that the piece is in 3/4 rather than in the 4/4 that Reger notated. Another misunderstanding—this will immediately show its relevance—is that the listener will understand the first two notes as C sharp and A, i.e., a falling major third in A major.

This strange opening has to be viewed in light of Riemann’s teachings. Riemann develops his ideas about the dynamics of phrases, so crucial for his theories, starting with motives of two or three notes.7 According to his principles static dynamics are unthinkable: a melodic line always moves either in crescendo or decrescendo. Accordingly a two-note motive can be crescendo or decrescendo.8 For a three-note motive there is a third possibility: first crescendo, then decrescendo9 (the fourth theoretically possible variant, decrescendo-crescendo, is not really considered). This is also his favorite dynamic shape for any musical phrase: starting with a crescendo, which leads to a dynamic climax, then relaxation in decrescendo. Though Riemann generally opposes the late Baroque system of metrically oriented accentuation he still maintains the primate of beat one, in his musical examples always placing the dynamic climax on beat one. Hence we may assume that Reger’s dynamic thinking also respects bar lines.

This explains the opening of the “Benedictus.” Reger’s intention probably is to present his central motive in various possible dynamic shapes: the first entrance is thought decrescendo throughout. This can easily be accepted by the listener who de facto hears a falling major third.

The problem here is that the player knows that this interval is supposed to be a diminished fourth, and that the second note is longer than the first, so he will intuitively intend these two notes rather to be felt as a crescendo. In fact a trained ear can identify the player’s respective intention. The motive’s second entrance places the first note in an upbeat position, leading to the second note in crescendo. The third entrance uses still another option: here the dynamic climax is meant to be on the tied-over part of the second note. Since this is not really communicable on the organ Reger employs the swellbox, ending the crescendo sign exactly at the bar line and thus underlining the harmonic tension of the chord on the following beat one, which converts the originally consonant A natural into a dissonant suspension.

According to general compositional principles the moment has come where the composer should change the motive at the very latest: the fourth entrance starts one note higher on E flat, and thus is the loudest entrance. (Note that in the final short part of the piece, in measure 51, the corresponding entrance on the high E flat arrives after the swellbox has been closed, another dynamic-motivic refinement!) Straube10 displaces the dynamic indications: his crescendo sign starts not on the first note of the third entrance (D flat), but on the second, and continues till the end of the following measure, resulting in a dynamic climax on the first beat of measure 4 on a totally consonant B-flat major chord. He obviously did not see the refinement of Reger’s dynamic strategy and probably also did not understand Reger’s intention to present the motive in three different dynamic versions, an intention very essential to late Romantic musical thinking.

The first appearance in this piece of a solo line on the second manual (measure 8, beat 3) reveals another misreading of Reger’s intentions: Reger continues a diminuendo throughout the first solo notes, which start in a tonality of D major, finishing it on the lowest note of the solo when the tonality has returned to the tonic of D flat (measure 9, beat 4). Straube, however, lets the solo line begin at the end of a diminuendo, which on the first glimpse seems to be more convincing, but Reger’s concept is clearly motivated by considerations both melodic and harmonic and thus certainly more logical from a composer’s perspective.

This excursion into the “Benedictus” was supposed to demonstrate Reger’s refined dynamic intentions and to underscore the importance of playing the transition in measure 7 of the “Toccata” in a metrically correct way. In his edition11 Straube does not add a fermata to the respective A-major chord, but his rallentando covering the first three beats of this measure and the sudden dynamic drop from forte to piano (including switching to another combination and moving back the Rollschweller device quite considerably), which he prescribes, clearly result in an interruption of the metric flow. The same can be said about the transition in measure 13: whereas Reger goes from Organo Pleno to a mere meno ff Straube goes from fff to p. Additionally already in measure 10 he prescribes Sostenuto, eighth note equals 84, and ritenuto in measure 12, thus probably resulting in a tempo only half of the initial eighth note equals 120, which he again suddenly prescribes in the middle of measure 12. This is obviously not the uninterrupted flow of sixteenth-note triplets, which is implied in Reger’s notation, but a clear break.

It might be said in defense of Straube’s apparent handling of these transitions that it separates sections and thus clarifies the structure of the piece very efficiently. However, the question is whether Reger’s way of writing is not structurally clear enough anyway, even considering possible acoustic issues with reverberation, which should be negligible in light of the limited dynamic contrasts, except for measures 20–21.

Looking into a piece by a different composer will show a similar problem. In Straube’s edition of some of the major organ works by Franz Liszt12 the diminished seventh chord at the end of measure 12 in Präludium und Fuge über B-A-C-H is enlarged from six to eight notes, followed by a manual change,13 implying a break between this seventh chord and the ensuing sixth chord of G-flat major. This is a crucial moment in the piece that may be interpreted as a reference to a strikingly similar harmonic adventure in measures 20–21 of Bach’s Fantasia in G Minor, BWV 542i. Since this harmonic progression is a correct but totally unexpected resolution of the seventh chord it is important for the player to present the seventh chord as leading to the following chord. Liszt’s notation of a fermata on the sixteenth-note rest on beat one probably intends to give the listener a moment to digest the surprise, and Bach’s soprano tie across the bar line clearly aims to connect the chords.

It thus appears that Straube’s style of performance had a tendency of accentuating formal incisions of a piece rather than bridging them for the sake of holding together larger sections or the piece as a whole. Whether the motivation for this is purely musical or the result of resignation in the face of technically difficult registration manipulations (some of these self-inflicted by his disrespect for the composer’s dynamic indications) is impossible to decide.

Returning to Reger’s “Toccata in D Minor,” looking at the final two pages will reveal another problem with respect to Straube’s treatment of the musical form, but even more with respect to what might be called the emotional curve. Reger marks the broken-chord passage starting in measure 29 stringendo. The latter continues up to the A-major 6/5 chord in measure 33, which is followed by a dynamic drop to meno ff and an ensuing diminuendo until measure 35. In the middle of measure 35, while the chordal sequence of measures 33–35 still continues for a half measure, Reger turns the diminuendo into a crescendo, thus dynamically bridging the transition to a totally different figurative pattern.

Straube’s concept of the same passages is drastically different. Instead of an accelerando he prescribes an allargando; instead of meno ff plus diminuendo in measure 33 he prescribes pp and then a sudden and quick crescendo starting in measure 36. While on the first glimpse his solution seems to be more convincing than Reger’s rather surprising, in fact counterintuitive one, a second look leads to the conclusion that Reger’s concept might actually be considered artistically superior, at least more interesting, since instead of underlining the formal incisions it rather blurs them, resulting in a far more stringent ending of the piece.

The arpeggiando passage is not majestic (Straube writes sostenuto plus ritenuto) but breathless, the A-major 6/5 chord does not become an opportunity for a satisfied rest (Straube gives it a fermata), but spills over its accumulated energy into the ensuing chordal passage, which because of its falling bass line should rather be diminuendo, during which this energy is gradually spent. Obviously this concept is much more dramatic than Straube’s; it also shows a clear intention to keep the whole third part of “Toccata” coherent.14

“Kyrie,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 7

In replacing Reger’s stringendo of measures 29–33 with sostenuto/ritenuto Straube shows an attitude toward preparing a dynamic climax that is fundamentally opposed to Reger’s own. In fact he seems to adhere to a different school of thought in this respect since he does exactly the same thing in measures 17–18 and 31–32 of “Kyrie,” opus 59, number 7, and in measures 41–46 of “Benedictus,” or in a totally different musical situation, in measures 35 and 98 of the first movement of Reger’s Second Organ Sonata, opus 60, where the crescendo and accelerando of the short transition between what might be called the second and third main thematic ideas is replaced by diminuendo and ritardando, separating the respective sections rather than connecting them as is clearly Reger’s aim.15 Reger follows his teacher Riemann’s recipe: a crescendo is naturally accompanied by an accelerando (correspondingly a diminuendo by a ritardando);16 a dynamic climax is reached with an accelerando, holding back the tempo briefly on the climax itself before the energy is released a tempo, the ensuing diminuendo eventually accompanied by a ritardando.17 Straube’s approach can be found in some late Romantic organ treatises, for example, Karl Matthaei, who states that an agogic dwelling causes an increase of intensity; when playing in forte registration it may even been extended to longer stretches.18

Perhaps this fundamentally different approach to presenting climactic moments of a composition reveals differences between the respective personalities: Reger’s radical, dramatic pushing forward versus Straube’s more civilized (if not to say more bourgeois), relaxed basking in a glowing Organo Pleno sound.

Passacaglia in E Minor, opus 127, and Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46

Different opinions about separation/contrast versus blending/overlapping may occasionally work the other way. In measure 64 of Passacaglia in E Minor, opus 127, Reger originally closed a variation in diminuendo and pp and abruptly began the new variation in f, as can be seen in his extant autograph manuscript. The first edition, which was already informed or influenced by Straube’s first performance of this work, commissioned for the inauguration of the world’s then largest organ, built by W. Sauer Orgelbau of Frankfurt/Oder, in the Breslau (Wrocław) Jahrhunderthalle on September 24, 1913, replaces this dynamic contrast by a more modest beginning of the new variation in p;19 again an example of Straube’s diplomatic mollifying of an emanation of his friend’s more radical personality?

The comparison of autograph manuscript and first edition of opus 127 sheds light on a possible practical explanation of some of the two men’s differing opinions. The original tempo indication for the fugue was quarter note equals 66–84. The first edition indicates eighth note equals 116–132. Though the two indications meet at 66/132 (actually a fairly realistic tempo), the edition’s indication is generally considerably slower. This, however, is not the main point. When listening to performances of the piece it can usually be recognized whether the player feels a quarter-note or an eighth-note pulse, in the latter case resulting in a loss of the dance-like character probably on Reger’s mind, even when there is not a large difference in metronomic tempo. Considering the fact that Straube had to learn this long and difficult piece on rather short notice it may very well be that his studies were in a phase when he was still thinking in an eighth-note pulse, as would be typical for a player facing such a daunting task. The player’s way of thinking will affect the listener’s reaction: thinking in a quarter-note pulse will point his perception toward the larger picture more easily and will consequently lead to a better formal coherence of the piece.20

A comparable problem of learning a difficult piece quickly may have led to two famous instructions Straube used to give his students concerning two short passages of Reger’s “Fantasie” from Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46: Straube recommended to play the chordal diminuendo passage from measure 19, beat 4, to measure 20, beat 2, twice as slow as notated, in spite of the fact that Reger, knowing that this would be difficult to achieve, prescribes Vivace assai, and to the contrary, the four final chords (measure 55, beat 4 onwards) twice as fast as notated, which means that the concluding chords of the fantasia, notated in eighth notes, are performed at the same speed as the chords preceding the eighth-note rest (measure 55, beat 3).

As I could observe numerous students (almost without any exception) doing the same at the end of the fantasia without having the slightest idea of a corresponding tradition, my suspicion has grown that Straube’s recommendation was the eventual result of an original miscounting that he codified, possibly as a face-saving ploy. Notwithstanding the possibility that the resulting performance of the fantasia’s end might be considered as more natural than the one indicated by the composer’s notation, a miscounting would be a very human error that can easily happen even to a distinguished musician like Straube.

A similar mistake might have occurred in measure 10 of the “Toccata in D Minor” where Straube suddenly reduces the tempo to almost only fifty percent. The same can be observed in most students’ performances of the second half of measure 14, there (unfortunately) also in an otherwise quite convincing performance by Straube’s famous contemporary Alfred Sittard (1878–1942), who by the way, makes fine distinctions concerning the transitions in measures 4, 7, 15, and 20. He does, however, keep the first fermata quite long so that the perceived note value becomes something like a half note, whereas his A-Major seventh chord in measure 7 can be perceived very well as a quarter note. Otherwise he generally respects Reger’s indications quite precisely; only his phrasing caesurae are rather too long, possibly a reaction either to the large acoustic of Saint Michael’s Church in Hamburg or to the difficulties of handling registration on its huge Walcker instrument.21

As can be seen from the example of Sittard’s performance of this ostensibly “small” piece, Reger’s refined dynamic and agogic indications, certainly at least partly conceived with the aim of guaranteeing formal coherence and a stringent emotional curve of the piece, presents the player with many technical and musical difficulties. The changes that Straube made in his edition eliminate some of these difficulties; additionally they are easily acceptable to a musical player or listener. In fact some of them seem to be more natural than Reger’s original indications. The question of whether they are musically superior may have to be answered individually by anybody experiencing the piece. For Reger his friend Straube was the ultimate authority concerning organ performance in general. His belief in his friend’s opinions went far enough to accept Straube’s suggestions regarding questions of composition proper, the most unfortunate example of this being Reger’s Requiem, which remained unfinished. It should not be forgotten, however, that at least during Reger’s lifetime Straube was active and renowned only as an organist, whereas Reger himself had an enormous reputation as an orchestral conductor and as a pianist, particularly in chamber music and Lied accompaniment. Thus we have to accept that his meticulous performance instructions were informed by vast experiences gained during a very busy and successful career as a performing musician, and that these instructions deserve to be taken seriously despite the inherent difficulties.

Reger’s oeuvre is the fruit of a short, busy, and stressful life taken anything but easily. As responsible performers we should honor his efforts with a matching respect for detail.

Notes

1. Ann Arbor (UMI), 1999.

2. Wiesbaden (Breitkopf & Härtel), 2015.

3. Ed. Klaus Röhring, Wiesbaden (Breitkopf & Härtel) 1974, pages 21–30.

4. See “Hugo Riemann and the Development of Musical Performance Practice,” Ludger Lohmann, in Proceedings of the Göteborg International Organ Academy 1994, edited by Hans Davidsson and Sverker Jullander, Skrifter fran Musikvetenskapliga avdelingen, Göteborgs universitet, Göteborg 1995, pages 251–284. Riemann’s ideas are also to be found in Orgelschule zur historischen Aufführungspraxis, Teil 2, Romantik, Jon Laukvik, Carus, Stuttgart, 2000. The respective passages seem to be quite dependent on my Göteborg article.

5. The two most important ones are: Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, Breitkopf & Härtel, Hamburg/Leipzig/St. Petersburg, 1884, and System der musikalischen Rhythmik und Metrik, Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzig, 1903.

6. Since the scores of Reger’s organ works are easily accessible and probably present in many organists’ libraries I have refrained from giving musical examples. The measure numbers refer to the Breitkopf edition, but other editions may as well be used since they differ only in small textual details not relevant here.

7. Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, pages 11ff.

8. According to his terminology “anbetont” or “abbetont.”

9. “inbetont.”

10. Zwölf Stücke für die Orgel von Max Reger. Op. 59. Hieraus in Einzel-Ausgabe: No. 9. Benedictus. Im Einverständnis mit dem Komponisten herausgegeben von Karl Straube. Leipzig: Peters 1913; London-Frankfurt-New York: Peters, 1949.

11. Präludien und Fugen für die Orgel von Max Reger, herausgegeben von Karl Straube, Leipzig: Peters 1912, Nr. 1. I thank Mrs. Ursula Wild of the library of the Hochschule für Musik Freiburg for providing me with a scan.

12. Orgelkompositionen von Franz Liszt, herausgegeben von Karl Straube. Band II, Leipzig: Peters 1917, pages 55–56.

13. In the first (1855) version of the piece Liszt also indicated a manual change, the right hand moving to the Oberwerk. This does not necessarily result in a dynamic break since the Oberwerk of the Merseburg organ for which the piece is intended is as powerful as the Hauptwerk. It is also interesting to see that the manual change was omitted in the second (1869) version. Additionally the fact that the lowest note of the right-hand chord has a shorter value than the rest of the chord, allowing the left-hand passage to interfere with it, implies that the manual change was not Liszt’s original intention anyway. Whether Straube knew the first version at all is doubtful, his edition concerns the second version, of course.

14. Reger seems to have liked the effect of overlapping musical passages, as can be seen on a smaller scale, e.g., on the last page of his Second Organ Sonata, opus 60. The numerous entrances alla stretta of at least the fugue subject’s opening motive are rarely marked by the beginning of new slurs. Reger once (measures 87–88) places a new slur on the two notes preceding the first thematic note, and more frequently on the second note of the subject, thus indicating respectively that the subject is prepared by a short upbeat, or that the initial note has the double function of ending the preceding phrase and starting the new phrase. In any case his clear intention is that there should be no break in the legato—as most players would do, reacting intuitively to the notation—in accordance with Riemann’s advice that phrasing does not necessarily have to be shown by articulation, but sometimes only by slight rubato nuances in order not to interrupt the longer legato line in the sense of a Wagnerian “infinite melody:” “Es ist etwas ganz bekanntes, dass die Schlusstöne der Phrasen oder wo die Verkettung loser ist, auch der Motive, zumeist abgesetzt, d.h. nicht in ununterbrochenem Tonflusse zu den Anfangstönen der folgenden Phrasen oder Motive fortgeführt, sondern von diesen durch kleine Pausen geschieden werden. Vielfach sind diese Pausen nicht anders, als durch das Ende eines Bogens oder auch gar nicht angedeutet und müssen also ad libitum, d.h. nach Massgabe des guten Geschmacks, durch Abzüge vom Werthe der letzten Note gewonnen werden; Gesichtspunkte, welche mangels einer Andeutung von Seiten des Komponisten dafür entscheidend werden können, ob man überhaupt die Phrasen- resp. Motivtrennung durch wirkliches Absetzen oder aber nur durch eine unbedeutende Verlängerung der letzten Note bewirkt, werden wir weiterhin kennen lernen.” (Riemann 1884, 145)

This way of indicating what Riemann would call “Phrasenverschränkung” (roughly to be translated as “joining of phrases”) or “Phrasenverkettung” is a bit unusual; Reger almost never uses the more conventional notation of letting two slurs meet on one note.

15. The described handling of this transition is not documented anywhere, but I clearly remember it from a radio recording of the piece by Michael Schneider, one of Straube’s most important students, to which I listened several times years ago.

16. See Reger’s footnote on page 8 (first edition, Aibl, later republished by UE) of the Choralfantasie über Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele, opus 30: “Die < > beziehen sich auf den Gebrauch des Jalousieschwellers; doch kann man auch im Tempo bei < etwas string. u. bei > etwas ritard. (Tempo rubato),” which is the practical implementation of a passage in Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, page 11: “Mit dem crescendo der metrischen Motive ist stets eine (selbstverständlich geringe) Steigerung der Geschwindigkeit der Tonfolge und mit dem diminuendo eine entsprechende Verlangsamung verbunden.” Reger’s remark even goes one step further, giving an important hint to situations where no Swell division is at hand: dynamic inflections may be replaced by agogic ones.

17. “Die merkliche agogische Schattirung der Werte, nämlich eine gelinde Beschleunigung im Hineinlaufen in die Schwerpunktsnote, merkliche Dehnung der auf den Schwerpunkt selbst fallenden kurzen Note und abnehmende Dehnung der weiter bis zu Ende folgenden Werte.” Hugo Riemann, System der musikalischen Rhythmik und Metrik, Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzig, 1903, page 17.

18. “Die agogische Stauung, eine bewußt herbeigeführte Verbreiterung des Grundtempos, bewirkt auf der Orgel, dem Instrument unendlichen Atems, eine Verdichtung der Intensität, welche bei stärker registriertem Spiel sich sogar auf längere Strecken auszudehnen vermag.” Vom Orgelspiel. Eine kurzgefaßte Würdigung der künstlerisch orgelgemäßen Interpretationsweise und ihrer klanglichen Ausdrucksmittel, Handbücher der Musiklehre XV, Karl Matthaei, Breitkopf & Härtel. Leipzig, 1936, page 52. Matthaei was a Straube student; his remarks on rubato otherwise follow Riemann’s teachings.

19. A similar contrast mp–f is to be found measure 80, which in the first edition is changed to the f being prepared by a crescendo ending of the preceding variation.

20. I do not want to address tempo questions in general, which in the case of “Benedictus” would be quite interesting. See my article in the Festschrift for Wolfgang Stockmeier.

21. The recording is accessible on YouTube. It has been described in detail by Hans Martin Balz in an article in Ars Organi 1/2017 (journal of Gesellschaft der Orgelfreunde), pages 50–52. I thank Dr. Balz for providing me with the link.

This article originally appeared in Ars et Usus Musicae Organicae: Juhlakirja Olli Porthanille (Essays in Honour of Olli Porthanille), edited by Jan Lehtola and Peter Peitsalo, Sibelius Academy, University of the Arts Helsinki, Finland, 2020, and is reprinted here with permission.

An Exercise in Modal Interplay: Louis Vierne’s Carillon de Westminster

Jonathan Bezdegian

Jonathan Bezdegian earned his Doctor of Musical Arts degree in organ performance from University of Washington, Seattle, in 2018. He is a lecturer in music and director of the organ scholar program at Assumption University, Worcester, Massachusetts. He also serves as director of liturgical music at Christ the King Parish in Worcester, Massachusetts, and is dean of the Worsceter Chapter of the American Guild of Organists.

Example 1a (used with kind permission of Bärenreiter-Verlag, Kassel)

Louis Vierne’s “Carillon de Westminster” from the Troisième Suite, opus 54, of his 24 Pièces de Fantaisie is a favorite of organists and audiences alike. While many play this piece, how many take the time to study the unique harmonies in this music? Organists view Vierne’s compositional style as highly chromatic. Yes, this is certainly true. However, how does one analyze Vierne’s music? There are very few studies providing a detailed harmonic analysis of this nature.1 Thus, the aim of this article is to foster interest in the analysis of Vierne’s organ music via the “Carillon de Westminster,” one of his most appreciated compositions. Before moving forward with analysis, learning the history and early reception of this piece is important. 

A seemingly obvious reason for the great popularity of this piece is due to the familiar “Big Ben” or “Grandfather Clock” theme.2 Interestingly, according to the research of Rollin Smith, a scholar of Vierne’s life and works, Vierne encountered this theme for the first time via a clock in the office of a clock shop owner in Le Locle, Switzerland, in 1916, and then, later, while on tour in England in 1924.3 These thematic encounters reached compositional fruition in the summer of 1927 in Luchon, France. 

The initial reception of the “Carillon de Westminster” was positive. Soon after publication, Vierne publicly performed this piece three times, the first as a sortie at the closing of the Forty Hours Devotion at the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, Paris, on November 29, 1927. “Vierne’s student, Henri Doyen recalled that it was ‘one of the rare times when I saw the clergy and faithful not sortie . . . [they] waited quietly until the end, and a number of people improvised a little ovation for the maître when he came down from the tribune.’”4

On December 8, 1927, Vierne performed this work in concert for the dedication of “the restored organ in the Parisian church of Saint-Nicolaus-du-Chardonnet.”5 The reaction of those in attendance was favorable: “The work, which unmistakably bears the master’s signature, will undoubtedly become known to the whole musical world, just like the name of the composer . . . . The famous carillon joins together with a rhythmic figure that captivates the listener with its adamant periodical recurrence.”6

Lastly, Vierne played the “Carillon de Westminster” in concert on May 3, 1928, at the Trocadéro Palace. Remarks were supportive, stating that the “Carillon de Westminster is certainly destined to enjoy great popularity among all organists.”7 Even after these initial performances, Vierne “played it constantly, including in 1932 for the inauguration of the restored Notre-Dame organ.”8 Clearly, this piece had a warm welcome,9 and these recounts foreshadowed current feelings, particularly the remarks after the Trocadéro concert. Now that the history is established, the harmonic analysis becomes the next area of focus. 

While Vierne’s harmonic language was developing by the genesis of “Carillon de Westminster” in the summer of 1927, the tonalities created are approachable. There is extensive use of the Gregorian modes: Ionian starting on D and B-flat; Aeolian starting on D and B; and Mixolydian starting on B-flat, D, F-sharp, and G. Then, the addition of the codified modes of limited transposition: Mode 3 (T1 and T3) and Mode 1 (T1) that gives this piece (and many other works) Vierne’s signature sound.10 While the Gregorian modes offer listeners a familiar set of harmonies throughout the “Carillon de Westminster,” the harmonies encountered are not functional in the traditional sense. Thus, using a traditional, analytic approach will not yield a positive result.

Through research and analysis, one discovers that Vierne uses common tone modulations. It is the only practical procedure for finding similarities between each mode. There is evidence of tonic and dominant functions, but they are simple and mostly found at cadential points.11 After studying the various modes used in “Carillon de Westminster,” one finds several common tones between them, thus allowing relatively free movement from one mode to another. This is not an unusual circumstance given Vierne’s approach to conventional composition practices (Vierne wrote about his early experiences at the Institut National des Jeunes Aveugles in his Mémoires): “After three years of instruction we wrote correctly, to be sure, but without the flexibility and freedom that make harmony an art. Later I had to work extremely hard to acquire a ‘pen’ in the modern sense of the word, and especially to enable me to teach in a really musical way.”12 These feelings continued during his studies with Franck, Widor, and Guilmant at the Paris Conservatoire. Fruition was attained when Vierne was given the opportunity to teach Guilmant’s organ class while he was away on tour in America in 1897. Vierne was elated: “I was a little uneasy about such a responsibility but, at the same time, delighted to be able to express unrestrained my own ideas on free improvisation. We would ‘whoop it up’ with modern harmonies.”13

Thus, one concludes that Vierne uses a free form of modal writing in the context of the 24 Pièces de Fantaisie. In “Carillon de Westminster” (and in many other works from this collection), Vierne uses the Gregorian modes as a foundation for his writing. The modes of limited transposition, while in their infancy,14 serve as harmonic enrichment and color to the various themes Vierne creates and develops throughout the composition. One encounters all of these attributes within the first pages of “Carillon de Westminster.”15

In “Carillon de Westminster,” the sonorities created are from the D Ionian mode. Initial analysis of the opening theme reveals that it is indeed D Ionian (Example 1a). It begins in the tenor in measure 3 and extends to the downbeat of measure 32.

The accompanying figuration in the treble gives an aural image of ringing bells. It begins as alternating fifths and fourths, also in D Ionian. This figuration changes to fifths and thirds on the downbeat of measure 6 (Example 1b).

In measure 11, there is a shift to M3, T1. This continues through measure 12, adding harmonic enrichment (Example 1c). This abrupt change actually occurs quite naturally due to the common tones of D, E, and F-sharp heard in the theme in measure 10.

Also, in measure 11, the theme comes to a temporary hold on D—a common tone of M3, T1, allowing the two modes (D Ionian and Mode 3, T1) to blend seamlessly (Example 2).

D Ionian returns in the upper voices in measure 13 and continues until measure 20, where M3, T1 repeats in a similar fashion to the opening pages. The A non-scale tone is from the dominant of D Ionian (Example 3a).

In measure 24, there is a move to a different transposition level of Mode 3: T3, made possible by the common tones of F-sharp and A found in measure 23 (Example 3b):

M3, T3 continues until measure 33, when an arpeggio in fourths forms a half-diminished vii chord from D Ionian (Example 3c). 

In measure 35, the theme moves to the soprano, and the accompaniment comprising fourths and fifths resumes in the left hand. The interplay of the theme and accompaniment is similar to the material found in the opening measures (Example 3d). 

However, things change in measure 44. The C-natural in the accompaniment and the pedal hints to M3, T1, which serves as enrichment to D Ionian (Example 3e). 

The merger of D Ionian and Mode 3, T1 is traced in both the pedal and accompaniment until the downbeat of measure 60. Here, the D Ionian mode returns with a tonic chord and pedal point. The soprano register is filled with tonic arpeggios spanning two measures, before leading to a transitional section in measure 62 (Example 4).

This transitional section comprises a six-note group that alternates between the left and right hands. The move from D Ionian to D Aeolian is made by the change of one note: F-natural in place of F-sharp (modal mixture) displayed in Example 5. 

This marks the arrival of the B section, where the previously heard six-note patterns are used simultaneously in contrary motion in the manuals, now in B-flat Ionian, the flat-VI of D Aeolian. This new section in B-flat Ionian includes the original theme in the pedal, transposed to the new tonic (Example 6).

Everything seems to move along normally until measure 70, when an augmented V chord suddenly disrupts the melismatic passage, shown in Example 7. This augmented chord actually hints back to M3, T3. This is possible by the B-flat common tone heard in the soprano passage of measure 69 (Example 6).17 The thematic material continues in an identical fashion from measures 71 to 74.

In measures 75 and 76, an E-flat is added to the six-note pattern, replacing the D. This change is short lived—the D returns in measure 77. However, this time a I7 chord is reached in B-flat Ionian, instead of the augmented V, witnessed in measure 74. This is an important moment, as the primary theme (in the bass) has concluded, and the first portion of the B section draws to a close. The second part of the B section becomes rich in modal sonorities with the addition of pitches found in the Mixolydian mode, Mode 3, and Mode 1 (Example 8).

In measure 79, the six-note pattern remains, but begins a harmonic transformation with the addition of a flat-seven scale degree from B-flat Ionian (Example 8). This addition pulls the ear towards an implied F minor sonority—the minor dominant of B-flat Ionian. At this point, the listener is accustomed to hearing B-flat Ionian. Thus, it is shocking when the music suddenly shifts to B-flat Mixolydian in measure 82 (Example 8).

In measures 87 to 90, Vierne uses Mode 1, T1. This is possible by the addition of G-flat and E-natural to the six-note pattern. One gathers that Vierne used the common tones of M3, T1: C, B-flat, and A-flat (encountered previously in measure 85) in order to implement this change, which creates a harmonic “lean” to Mode 1. The second half of the B section draws to a close with the return of an implied ii7 chord from B-flat Ionian on measure 91, thus leading back to the tonic of B-flat Ionian on measure 93 and concluding in full on measure 94 (Example 9).

After the cascading downward scales in measure 95, a new theme arrives in measure 96, this time in M3, T3, found in the tenor (reached via the common tone of B-flat). This new 13-note theme soon changes from M3, T3 to B Aeolian in measure 103, reached via the F-sharp common tone in measure 99. The driving accompaniment figuration propels this theme forward and will gradually gain intensity. In measure 104, the theme moves from the tenor register to the alto, now recomposed in D Mixolydian via the same F-sharp common tone. The B theme is accompanied by M3, T1 in the left hand. In measure 106, the theme moves to the soprano and changes to F-sharp Mixolydian (via the F-sharp common tone) in measure 110 (Example 10).

This modal interplay creates a sense of anticipation as the theme rises in pitch, register, and dynamic level. In measure 104, the various restatements of the B theme are no longer separated by long notes. Instead, the theme becomes a continuous rising line, which gives way to a bridge in measure 114, gradually leading to the recapitulation of the primary theme. 

The bridge consists of arpeggios and scales from the G and B-flat Mixolydian modes. The primary sources of this modal shift are the common tones of D, E, and B in measure 113. In measure 114, the two inner notes of the chord in the left hand, D and F, serve as a “common tone anchor,” allowing a rocking movement from G to B-flat Mixolydian and back again. The two Mixolydian scales link together seamlessly. The interplay concludes via a final upward rising B-flat Mixolydian scale in measure 119, reaching the tonic of D Ionian by step and by chromatic descent in the pedal (Example 11). 

This active form of writing, combined with the increasing dynamic levels, results in perhaps the most powerful, seamless, and natural recapitulations in the entire set of 24 Pièces de Fantaisie. In the recapitulation, the primary theme is heard in the soprano, accompanied by a supportive pedal and repeated arpeggios in the inner voices. M3, T1 also emerges in measure 124 in the inner voices, adding support and color to the theme. Measure 126 contains a series of alternating tonic and dominant substitute chords over the B theme from measure 96 in the bass, now transposed to D Ionian (Example 12a). 

The thematic material repeats after this four-measure chordal alternation on measure 130. Again, M3, T1 returns with the chromatic descent of the bass line starting in measure 137. The D Ionian alternating chords return in measure 141, this time being interrupted by a stark arrival of a rapid flourish of thirds, fourths, and sixths in the soprano, accompanied by a chromatic, rising bass line in octaves. This flourish is clearly in M3, T1, and the left hand uses the anchor points of D and F-sharp. These anchor notes allow two measures of chromatic rising followed by two measures of chromatic falling before the returning alternating chords resume in measure 149—this time with the “bell-like” interjections used in the soprano heard in the opening measures (Example 12b).

The chromatic ascending and descending patterns from M3, T1 return in measure 153, but end abruptly as the music halts on an extremely dissonant chord formed from M3, T3 in measure 157. The F-sharp heard continuously throughout is locked in place in the soprano (a common tone), allowing the full use of chords from this mode. The chord in measure 159 seems to function as a form of altered dominant, but it is remarkably unstable due to the chromatically altered G in the bass, which is not found in M3, T3 (but is found in D Ionian). It is not easy to identify this chord using functional harmony due to the added notes. Perhaps one could argue that it is, indeed, a iv7 chord (from D Ionian) with an added ninth (the C-natural could be viewed as a displaced, chromatic tone from measure 158, which moves to D in measure 160). Either way, this chord leads back to the tonic (D Ionian) with the B theme in the bass, now in double time (Example 13a). This massive sonority brings “Carillon de Westminster” to a grand conclusion with three, long “hammer stroke” chords shown in Example 13b.

The conclusion of “Carillon de Westminster” (both aurally and analytically) leaves little doubt that Vierne possessed a creative, free-form approach to theoretical practices. The statements from Rollin Smith’s book document the success of this piece soon after its genesis, and the success continues today. With an understanding of some of the basic principles of common tone modulations, one can discern the construction of the Gregorian modes and the modes of limited transposition vital to decoding Vierne’s harmonic language. It is an important study that performers and scholars of Vierne’s music should consider. Not only does the study of music theory assist in the formation of a comprehension of the art of musical composition, it also enhances an appreciation of Vierne’s life and musical thought process. 

 

Notes

1. So far, there are only two recent publications on the harmonic analysis of Vierne’s music, particularly, the 24 Pièces de Fantaisie. One is part of a dissertation by Woosung Kang: “Louis Vierne’s Pièces De Fantaisie Pour Grand Orgue: Its Significance in The History of Organ Music,” DMA diss., Indiana University: Bloomington, Indiana, 2017. Retrieved from: https://scholarworks.iu.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/2022/21344/Kang%2C%20Woosug%20%28DM%20Organ%29.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y. Here, Kang briefly discusses the octatonic scale (Mode 2) used for Vierne’s “Clair de Lune:” “Vierne begins the melody . . . with [an] octatonic scale combined with chromaticism throughout,” 22. The other is the author’s dissertation: Jonathan Bezdegian, “Louis Vierne and the Evolution of His Modal Consciousness” (Ann Arbor, Michigan: ProQuest LLC, 2018).

2. The actual genesis of this theme is allegedly from “William Crotch’s variations on the fifth and sixth measures of Handel’s ‘I know that my Redeemer Liveth,’ from Messiah, and was played by the chimes of the new Cambridge University clock in Great Saint Mary’s Church. It was played by a mechanism installed 1793–1794 and thus known as Cambridge Quarters.” In 1859–1860 the actual theme was copied (for the second time) for a clock tower at the end of the House of Parliament for a new and larger set of carillon bells. The “Big Ben” nickname was actually the name of the 13.5-ton bell, which was used to strike the hour. There are four smaller bells that chime the actual theme known as the “Westminster Quarters.” We can also note that this particular theme was adapted to clocks in 1886. This was actually the first time tubular chimes were introduced into clocks, and since this revelation, this theme has become a staple in clock manufacturing worldwide. Rollin Smith, Louis Vierne: Organist of Notre-Dame Cathedral (New York: Pendragon Press, 1999), 555–557.

3. Ibid., 557–559. 

4. Ibid., 559.

5. Vierne, Louis. Pièces de Fantaisie en quartre suites, Livre IV, op. 55, edited by Helga Schauerte-Maubouet (Kassel: Bärenreiter-Verlag, 2008), XXIII.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid., XXIV. 

8. Smith, Louis Vierne, 559.

9. Marcel Dupré, on the other hand, hated this composition (and was not fond of Vierne, either, due to irreconcilable differences). “There was an unspoken rule that students were not to bring Vierne’s music to [Dupré] for study.” If anyone was brave enough to, they were met with harshness. A student actually played the “Carillon” for Dupré at a lesson, the result was unpleasant: “he played the Carillon de Westminster of Vierne . . . When he finished, Dupré said only one word . . . , ‘Rubbish!’” Ibid., 343. 

10. See the Scale Chart for complete spellings.

11. This discovery is also relatable to the music of Olivier Messiaen. Robert Sherlaw Johnson mentions this in his book, Messiaen: “for most of the time constructional harmonic relationships play no part in Messiaen’s music, except at certain points in some works where simple dominant-tonic or subdominant-tonic relationships become evident.” Robert Sherlaw Johnson, Messiaen (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1975), 13.

12. Smith, Louis Vierne, 21.

13. Ibid., 125. 

14. The modes of limited transposition have a long history. We do not know where they all originated. However, we know that Olivier Messiaen is credited for codifying them. The first publication of the seven modes was in his La Nativité du Seigneur in 1936—one year prior to Vierne’s death in 1937. Also, in relation to the modes of limited transposition, music theorists currently use “T0” to indicate the first level of transposition (starting on C). However, Messiaen used “T1” or “first transposition” in his descriptions in La Nativité du Seigneur. So, to be consistent, I have retained Messiaen’s system. Thus, T1 indicates the first level. See Olivier Messiaen, La Nativité du Seigneur (Paris: Alphonse Leduc, 1936), “Note by the Composer.”

15. There were several accounts of this theme being written incorrectly by Vierne. The theme itself is quite long, since it comprises four quarters (one phrase for each quarter of the hour): one 2-bar phrase for the first 15 minutes of the hour, a second phrase of four measures for the 30-minute mark, a third phrase of six measures for 45 minutes, and the final phrase for the hour, comprising eight measures. It is the second quarter (copied in measure 2 of Example 1a) that was notated incorrectly by Vierne; why this occurred is not entirely known. However, due to Vierne’s musical ingenuity, it is not unwise to attribute this change to Vierne having “taken artistic license and altered the second quarter to suit his own purpose.” Smith, Louis Vierne, 559. 

16. All score excerpts are used with kind permission of Bärenreiter-Verlag, Kassel.

17. Notice that the notes of the augmented V chord are F, A, and C-sharp—all of these notes are common with M3, T3. Thus, the relationship between B-flat Ionian and M3, T3 is clear.

Photo caption: Example 1a (used with kind permission of Bärenreiter-Verlag, Kassel)

Exploring the unknown of BWV 565 Part 2

Michael Gailit

Michael Gailit graduated from the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna with both performance and pedagogy diplomas in organ as well as in piano. Teaching piano at this institute since 1980, he has also conducted the organ studio at the Musik und Kunst Universität in Vienna since 1995. As church organist he served at St. Augustine’s Church, 1979–2008; in 2011 he was appointed organist at the Jesuit Church (Old University Church).

Both in his performance and teaching repertoire, Gailit includes all style areas on the base of their individual performance practices. He toured with solo recitals on both instruments in Europe as well as in North America and appeared with leading orchestras and renowned conductors. Recordings, masterclasses, invitations to juries, musicological publications, editing sheet music, compositions, arrangements, supporting the piano-organ duo repertoire, commissioned works, first performances, and finally occasional trips into the theatre and silent movie repertoire should be noted.

Particular attention was received in 1989 for the first performance of the complete piano and organ works of Julius Reubke, the performance of the complete organ works of Franz Schmidt the same year, as well as in September 2005 a series of six recitals with the trio sonatas of Johann Sebastian Bach, the organ sonatas of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, and the organ symphonies of Louis Vierne. Currently Gailit is working on a book The Enigma BWV 565, a study elucidating new answers and new questions.

Ringk manuscript of Bach BWV 565

Editor’s note: Part 1 of this series appeared in the June 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 18–19.

The analysis of the first twelve measures revealed a compositional technique that can most aptly be described as metamorphosis. The list of the motives that appear in BWV 565, given in detail in the first part of this article, shows how one motive becomes the other (Example 15). In the last consequence, the mordent motive creates all others. This evolutionary style of composition appears on all levels. The mordent creates what we called a nucleus idea, which in turn creates the next two phrases. A part of the nucleus idea creates the ascending triplets, which in turn develop into the descending triplets. The closing section varies measures 1 and 2 and ends with the mordent motive.

From three to four

The second section, measures 12 through 30, continues this concept, only that the focus changes from three-note motives to four-note ones. In order to achieve a smooth transformation, the section starts with an upbeat to a trichord. The following tetrachords are rhythmically shifted in the same way, so that they appear as trichords with upbeats. The passage also prepares the fugue theme that shows a very similar structure of four consecutive tetrachords. Pitch notation of the opening phrase of the first part had assisted to discover the 3 x 3 form of the nucleus idea. Pitch notation of the current phrase now reveals a 4 x 4 structure (Examples 16 and 17). Both lines add another 4 x 4 notes as inserted repetitions of the dominant tone.

Simultaneous notation of the immanent two voices in measures 13 through 15 helps to understand the process. Edition Peters gives the original text of the earliest manuscript. Bärenreiter and Breitkopf & Härtel in their Urtext editions align measures 14 and 15 by substituting measure 14 with the octave transposition of measure 15. As we observe now, this contradicts the overall concept of continuous transformation. Measure 14 quotes the nucleus idea; measure 15 prepares the next section by changing the ending with the surprise of an eighth-note rest on beat one of measure 16 (Example 18).

In 1845–1846, the complete organ works by Johann Sebastian Bach appeared in print for the first time. This release by Edition Peters is considered a milestone, due in part to the editorial policy of Friedrich Conrad Griepenkerl (1782–1849), which abstained from any amendments. The eighth-note rest at the beginning of measure 16, however, obviously came as too great a surprise to the editor. He replaced it with a manual D31 without any reference to a manuscript source. In view of the preceding three-fold thundering D2 on the pedals, the eighth-note rest is only one of the many skillfully calculated effects in BWV 565.

The motivic substance of measures 16 through 20 consists of the tetrachord and the turn motive. Both textures, the figurations as well as the syncopated chords, follow a harmonic progression commonly known as the Phrygian cadence.2 This harmonic pattern is frequently inserted after a slow movement in order to prepare the listener for a finale. The transition from Adagio to Allegro in a voluntary by John Stanley (1712–1786)—with quite similar motives as BWV 565—demonstrates this function (Example 19).

The Phrygian cadence in BWV 565 comprises four chords consisting of four motives, two tetrachords and two turn motives (Example 20). The middle voice can count for two as the doubling of these notes in the thirty-second-note figurations suggests.

The syncopated chords appear four times, with a different pedal phrase each time (Example 21). The evolutionary concept of motive metamorphosis in BWV 565 requires abstention from the editorial practice of unification, in this case to replace phrase 2 by phrase 1. In measure 17, the bass and tenor notes are exchanged. The tenor varies the tetrachord E–D–C–B-flat in a new way by placing the first note at the end and an octave lower.

Whereas the Phrygian cadence aims to the last note in measures 16 through 18, its third and fourth appearances in measures 19 and 20 shifts the accented beat to the second note. This gives room for another chord on the last eighth-note beat in measure 20. On this beat, the new note of a G-sharp surprises; it gives the base for another diminished seventh chord. The G-sharp descends to the dissonance G-natural of the dominant seventh chord that spans over five more measures to be resolved only in measure 27.

Pitch notation shows that the run in measure 18 is a variation of measure 11, with some added notes (Example 22). It consists of a collection of the prime suspects—three tetrachords, a mordent, and a turn motive. Also, the arpeggio appears, this time following the tonic chord.

The passage ends in measure 19 with a scale comprising the complete tone material including the B-natural. This run is repeated in measure 21 without the passing notes (Example 23).

Four descending tetrachords run into a halt on the diminished seventh chord, before a prestissimo tremolo breaks loose. The toccata returns here to triplets and the mordent, whose intervals are stretched to thirds, with alternating upper and lower neighbor notes. The pedal surprisingly takes on a melodic role, worthy of the designation Recitativo. With the exception of the final cadence, the pedal lines up ten seconds, the last one repeating the first (Example 24).

Probably just a coincidence: we discover the first six notes of the pedal line in the Advent hymn, Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (Example 25). More striking is that the pedal line cites the nucleus idea in the form of the second phrase in measure 1 (Example 26). The manual parts, note repetitions, and voice doubling omitted, consist only of seconds, which in turn are condensed tetrachords (Example 27).

The purpose

On the second page of Ringk’s manuscript, the last four staves are left blank. The fugue begins on a new third page. Ringk wrote, “Verte. Fuga.” (in Latin: Turn! Fugue.) below the final cadence on page 2. So before we turn the page and continue with the fugue, let us look at what has happened so far. BWV 565 is a work that undoubtedly attracts attention. So what was the purpose of the composition; why was it created? We need to leave the objective path of note-by-note analysis here. The meaning of a text cannot be grasped comparatively by counting the letters or discussing grammar and spelling.

Measures 16–17 and 19–20 were the first to open a new perspective. As mentioned earlier, we often find the harmonic pattern of the Phrygian cadence by default as a bridge between a slow movement and the following finale, as a musical announcement, and to increase the tension that a finale or something similar is to be expected. In measures 16 and 17, the Phrygian cadence is repeated four times, but it remains without consequence. After an extended run, the cadence is repeated again, a full three times, and it again remains without consequence. Is this a joke? A prank?

The impression is reinforced by the inverted echos of the section. It is in the nature of an echo that the return sounds weaker. However, in the Phrygian cadential measures in BWV 565, the reverse is true. The harmonic pattern is introduced with a thin texture of broken chords, only to be answered with heavy chords above a pedal line, plus hammering syncopations. Is this a provocation?

Flawless part-writing includes avoidance of parallel octaves and fifths. Let us imagine a student, required to submit a clean four-part piece, presenting the strict teacher something hitherto unheard like BWV 565. Seated at the organ console, the teacher begins to play. On the first page parallel octaves as far as one can see. The first note isolated, nailed with a mordent and a fermata, immediately followed by a rest. Short phrases, constantly interrupted with more rests. Laughter in the background, when the teacher has to take note that his organ is missing the bottom C-sharp. Broken chords are based on parallel fifths. In the pedal, there are only three roaring Ds, above them long-held quadruple dissonances. Then one finds a run pointing to a D, but silence instead. The inverted echoes startle. The Phrygian cadence remains without consequence, sounding seven times in vain.

There is no evidence whatsoever that BWV 565 was intended as a joke or prank, just as a joke does not have the caption, “This is a joke.” The nature of a text can be discerned from its content and setting alone. The amazing thing about this theory is, however, that it can answer all hitherto raised questions, among them:

• Only one copy of the autograph survived, some of the notation is only sketched: BWV 565 was intended only for private use and not for publication.

• All compositional features described as problematic: deliberate violations of the rules to show a new style.

• Bach named as author on the title page, the work possibly not by Bach: the most plausible explanation for this contradiction.

• The wrong key signature on the title page “ex . d . # .:” one cannot seriously claim that someone copied a multi-page piece in D minor and the same person mistakenly writes D major on the title page. Furthermore, Ringk notated minor keys adding a flat to the key letter, major keys adding a natural, not a sharp. The sharp could be a hint pointing to the unusual content, which is so-to-speak not natural, but sharp. In German, the word for sharp is Kreuz, which conveys the saying, ein Kreuz haben, having problems with something or someone.

• The simple composition style: simplified overdrawing as a device of parody.

• The low C-sharp in measure 2 being a rare key on organs of the time: deliberately pointing to the deficiency of a missing key.

• The late Peter Williams’s theory of a lost piece for violin: an allusion to J. S. Bach’s skills as a string player.

Following this theory, somewhere at an early stage someone took the piece as serious. The consequences are outrageous and at the same time incredibly humorous. It is singular that BWV 565 beats any other organ work in popularity. Then there are also all the discussions about the deliberately composed “misbehaving” features, if they can be credited to Bach or not. It is a work brilliant on several levels: as a provocation, fun, or a prank with a highly skillful compositional technique not common in Baroque music, but pointing to the future.

This theory may or may not be the case, but the journey into the unknown of BWV 565 is far from over. We now turn the second page of the manuscript and explore not only the fugue, but also lift the anchors on some findings that are considered certain. Stay tuned.

To be continued.

Notes

1. Note designations in scientific orthography: C2-C3-C4-C5-C6 (= traditionally C-c°-c′-c′′-c′′′).

2. The Phrygian church mode has the half-tone step between the first and second and the fifth and sixth scale degrees. Church modes, however, are melodic, not harmonic entities.

Proportional relationships in Bach’s Die Kunst der Fuge and the intended duration of Contrapunctus XIV

Colin MacKnight

Colin MacKnight, called “a stunning player of exceptional ability” by composer and conductor Bob Chilcott, is director of music at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Little Rock, Arkansas. At Trinity, he oversees a music program that includes among its offerings weekly choral evensong, a concert series, and chorister and choral scholar programs. Prior to Trinity, Colin was associate organist at the Cathedral of the Incarnation, Garden City, Long Island, New York; assistant organist and music theory teacher at Saint Thomas Church, Fifth Avenue, New York City; and assistant organist at Church of the Resurrection, also in New York City.

MacKnight earned his bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees from The Juilliard School, studying organ performance with Paul Jacobs. For his doctoral dissertation, “Ex Uno Plures: A Proposed Completion of Bach’s Art of Fugue,” Colin received the Richard F. French Doctoral Prize.

A frequent competition prizewinner, MacKnight’s first prizes and scholarships include the 2019 Paris Music Competition, 2017 West Chester University International Organ Competition, 2016 Albert Schweitzer Organ Competition, 2016 Arthur Poister Scholarship Competition, M. Louise Miller Scholarship from the Greater Bridgeport Chapter of the American Guild of Organists (AGO), the 2013 Rodgers North American Classical Organ Competition, and the Ruth and Paul Manz Organ Scholarship. He also won the New York City AGO Competition and advanced to the Northeast Regional Competition, when he won first place, which led to a “Rising Star” recital at the 2016 AGO national convention in Houston. He was also a laureate in the 2016 and 2019 Longwood Gardens International Organ Competitions.

In December of 2016, Colin and composer Jon Cziner were selected for an AGO Student Commissioning Project grant, resulting in Cziner’s Fantasy Chorale, which MacKnight premiered in 2017. Colin has also earned the Fellow and Choirmaster Certifications from the AGO, receiving the prize for top Choirmaster score, and he is a member of The Diapason’s 20 under 30 Class of 2019.

Colin MacKnight is represented in North America by Karen McFarlane Artists, Inc. For more information, media, and a calendar of performances, visit colinmacknight.com.

Colin MacKnight

“The governing idea of the work . . . was an exploration in depth of the contrapuntal possibilities inherent in a single musical subject.”1 So says Bach scholar Christoph Wolff of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Die Kunst der Fuge, BWV 1080. Comprising fourteen fugues and four canons, we have inherited the work in an incomplete state; soon after Bach introduces his own musical signature as Contrapunctus XIV’s third subject and combines it with two previous themes, the music abruptly stops. There is no consensus on whether the ending was lost or simply never written; what is clear is that Contrapunctus XIV is notably missing Die Kunst der Fuge theme that unifies every other movement. In the 1870s, Gustav Nottebohm discovered that Die Kunst der Fuge theme could be combined with Contrapunctus XIV’s three preexisting themes to create a quadruple fugue.2 It would then seem that this was Bach’s plan.

Because of abundant structures and patterns that Bach establishes in the existing part of the work, many aspects of Bach’s plans for the conclusion of Contrapunctus XIV can be estimated with varying degrees of confidence. Indeed, it seems likely that Bach had such remarkable compositional facility that he chose to limit himself with certain external and artificial restraints, such as the use of numerology. This is especially likely in such an abstract work, which is not guided by a text or any other limitation except conservativeness of musical material. These patterns and designs mean that ascertaining Bach’s intentions concerning the conclusion of Contrapunctus XIV requires much less guesswork and subjectivity than one might think.

One of the areas that is elucidated by the study of patterns and precedent is the intended length of Contrapunctus XIV. As we will see, Bach meticulously plans the lengths, subdivisions, and proportions of the polythematic fugues in Die Kunst der Fuge. When considering whether any proportional relationships exist in the work that could indicate how much longer Contrapunctus XIV should be, it seems most logical to start by examining the two triple fugues, Contrapuncti VIII and XI. This is because the forms of the polythematic fugues are mainly governed by the introduction and combination of themes. Contrapuncti VIII and XI are especially significant because as triple fugues they have more themes and sections, and therefore more in common with Contrapunctus XIV.

First, it is necessary to establish a methodology. The lengths of sections can be quantified by beats alone as well as by measures. (When counting beats, I always count quarter notes even if the movement is in cut time.) It is important to accurately calculate the exact number of beats in a section, as opposed to rounding to the nearest whole measure. This is not to say that Bach never rounds, but merely that exactitude can yield important insights.3 The lengths of sections can often be significant in and of themselves, and furthermore, once they have been accurately calculated, there are numerous relationships that can exist between sections.

The tools that seem most likely to be revealing are those of division and subtraction: to divide the lengths of sections by each other (larger by smaller or smaller by larger), or to subtract a shorter section from a longer one. We will find that many of these relationships have numerological significance that indicate intentionality behind their proportional designs.

Numerology and gematria

According to Encyclopedia Britannica, gematria is “the substitution of numbers for letters of the Hebrew alphabet, a favourite method of exegesis used by medieval Kabbalists to derive mystical insights into sacred writings or obtain new interpretations of the texts.”4 This concept is naturally not limited to Hebrew, although it is more easily applied to other alphabetic languages (i.e., letters represent sounds) than those that use syllabic (i.e., characters represent syllables or moras, e.g., Japanese) or logographic (i.e., characters represent words, e.g., Chinese) writing systems. Gematria and numerology are closely related, but not synonymous. All gematria might be called a subset of numerology, but not all numerology constitutes gematria. Specifically, gematria is a compartment of numerology based on assigning numerical values to letters to encode meaning.

In Appendix 1 of her book Bach and the Riddle of the Number Alphabet, Ruth Tatlow lists 33 different number alphabets. For the purposes of Bach study, the most common number alphabet is what Tatlow calls “Latin natural-order: variant 1,” shown in Figure 1.5

The concept behind this number alphabet is simple, but there are two important details to note: the omission of the letters “J” and “V.” Consequently, this number alphabet goes up to 24, not 26. This is particularly significant when Bach’s gematric designs incorporate his first initial, which notably is missing from this alphabet. Up until the eighteenth century, the Roman letter “I” was used to represent both the vowel sound normally associated with that vowel as well as the sound associated with the consonant “J.” Likewise, “U” stood in for “W.”6

This avenue of exploration in Bach’s music came to prominence in 1947 with the publication of four volumes about Bach’s cantatas by Friedrich Smend. One of Smend’s primary observations is the prominence of the number 14, now commonly associated with Bach.7 This number’s significance is derived from its gematric value (Figure 2).

In her book Bach’s Numbers, Ruth Tatlow points out the astonishingly serendipitous detail that the numbers corresponding to B, A, C, and H (2, 1, 3, and 8) also correspond to Bach’s birthday, March 21, 1685. Bach would have numbered dates in the order day, month, year, so his birthday would have been numerically represented as 21-3-85, if one omits the first two digits of the year.8 (The concluding “5” is not a part of the numerical parallel between Bach’s name and birthday.) Another number of great importance to Bach is 41: the retrograde of 14 and the sum of the letters J, S, B, A, C, and H (Figure 3). The last gematric sum of significance in this study is 55: the sum of 14 and 41. The sum of the digits one and four is also five, so another conception is that 55 represents the sums of the constituent digits of 14 and 41, placed side by side.

These three numbers appear frequently in Bach’s oeuvre. While it is outside the scope of this disquisition to catalog such instances in Bach’s broader output,9 it is worth noting certain appearances of these numbers in Die Kunst der Fuge. The following is a non-comprehensive list, most of which are cited from Indra Hughes’s dissertation:

• There are 14 contrapuncti. Additionally, a preliminary version of Die Kunst der Fuge, dating from the early 1740s, had 14 total movements.

• Bach likely intended to submit the work to Lorenz Christoph Mizler’s Correspondierende Societät der musicalischen Wissenschaften, an epistolary forum for the advancement of music theory. Bach waited to be admitted into this society until he would be its 14th member and commissioned the famous Hausmann portrait to commemorate his admittance—a portrait in which Bach is holding the last of his 14 Goldberg canons.10

• The first two notes of Die Kunst der Fuge theme, D and A, gematrically correspond to the numbers 4 and 1.11 The same can also be said of the first two and last two notes of Contrapunctus XIV’s first subject.

• The gematric sum of the notes comprising the original twelve-note version of Die Kunst der Fuge theme is 55. (D + A + F + D + C + D + E + F + G + F + E + D = 4 + 1 + 6 + 4 + 3 + 4 + 5 + 6 + 7 + 6 + 5 + 4 = 55)

Contrapunctus II has 14 subject entries.12

• Starting in Contrapunctus V, the regular form of Die Kunst der Fuge subject has 14 notes, due to the addition of two passing tones.13

• The B-A-C-H motive appears in measures 40–41 of Contrapunctus V (Example 1).14

Contrapunctus VI has 14 inverted entries.15

• Between the two double fugues (Contrapuncti IX and X), there are 14 double combinations.

• The B-A-C-H motive occurs in the alto and soprano voices of measures 40–41 of Contrapunctus X (Example 2).

• Section 1 of Contrapunctus XIV is 114-1⁄4 measures long, a mixed number with numerous allusions to 14 and 41.

Contrapunctus XIV’s second subject has 41 notes.16

• The B-A-C-H motive is finally plainly revealed in the 14th fugue.17

• One additional gematric detail is worth consideration, although it does not use the numbers 14, 41, or 55. Bach titled the work Die Kunst der Fuga, somewhat peculiarly eschewing the German “fuge” in favor of the Italian “fuga.” Anatoly Milka has theorized a numerological explanation for this choice: the gematric sum of the letters in “Johann Sebastian Bach” is 158, which is equal to the gematric sum of the letters in “Die Kunst der Fuga.” If, however, Bach had retained the German “fuge,” the gematric sum of the work’s title would have been 162, and would therefore not have matched the gematric sum of his full name. Additionally, the sum of the numbers 1, 5, and 8 is 14.18

There are also those who cite certain gematric elements of the final measure as evidence that Bach intentionally left the work incomplete. First, the digits of the final measure—2, 3, and 9—add up to 14. Importantly, this is also the exact number of measures in the Canonic Variations on “Vom Himmel hoch da komm’ ich her,” BWV 769, for organ, another work dating from the late 1740s that Bach submitted to Mizler’s Correspondierende Societät der musicalischen Wissenschaften. Additionally, 2 + 39 = 41 and 23 – 9 = 14.

The remaining gematric details are more easily seen in the autograph, shown in Figure 4. (Note that the top staff is in soprano clef.)

• The final complete measure (measure 238) has 14 notes.

• The final two bass notes are A and D, whose gematric equivalents are 1 and 4.19 (These notes are enclosed in a black box.)

• The final harmony consists of two Ds and an F. When these pitches are converted into numbers, D is 4 and F is 6, making the gematric sum of this chord’s notes 14 (4 + 4 + 6 = 14). (These notes are enclosed in a red box.)

• In the final measure, seven of the tenor’s eight notes are on the top staff. Only the antepenultimate note, a lone A, is transferred to the bottom staff. The result is that the only two notes in the bottom staff of the last measure are D and A, whose gematric equivalents are 4 and 1.20 Bach’s decision to put the A on the lower staff seems fussy unless it was done to create a gematrically significant design. (These notes are enclosed in a blue box.)

Contrapunctus VIII

Returning to the subject of proportion, let us begin with Contrapunctus VIII—a three-voice triple fugue. In Die Kunst der Fuge’s polythematic movements (i.e., Contrapuncti VIII through XI), new sections are generally delineated through the introduction of new themes. Contrapunctus VIII, however, has one additional section because Bach delays combining all three themes. All three themes are in play in Section 3 but are not presented in triple combination until Section 4. Following that model, Section 1 begins with the introduction of Theme 1 in measure 1 (Example 3), a new theme to the work that gradually descends by one octave over the course of four measures. As previously mentioned, it is important to note that Contrapunctus VIII begins with a half rest, so Section 1 does not begin until the third quarter of measure 1.

Section 2 begins on beat three of measure 39 with the introduction of Theme 2, an inverted form of B-A-C-H utilizing a repeated-note motive, in immediate combination with Theme 1 (Example 4).

Finally, Section 3 begins on beat two of measure 94, where a new form of Die Kunst der Fuge theme, characterized by downbeat quarter rests and composed mainly of quarter notes, enters.21 Finally, Section 4 begins on beat three of measure 147 with the first of five triple combinations. Section 1 is 38 measures or 152 beats, Section 2 is 54.75 measures or 219 beats, Section 3 is 53.25 measures or 213 beats, and Section 4 is 41 measures or 164 beats. For ease of reference, Table 1 outlines Contrapunctus VIII’s four sections.

From the chart, one can see that there is a general arch form; the two inner sections are larger than the outer two, the inner sections are almost the same length, and the outer sections are also close in length.

Keeping in mind that the most significant numbers in Die Kunst der Fuge are 14 (the sum of the letters
B + A + C + H), 41 (the sum of the letters J + S + B + A + C + H and the retrograde of the number 14), and 55 (the sum of 14 and 41), these are the numbers that would most clearly indicate intentionality in Bach’s proportional scheme. For this reason, the first step is to look for those numbers (14, 41, and 55) in Table 1. Instantly, one can see that Section 4 is exactly 41 measures. Slightly less obvious is the fact that Section 2 is almost exactly 55 bars. Another potentially significant detail is that the first triple combination occurs in measure 147—a measure beginning with the number 14 and whose latter number is half of 14. Moreover, Section 2 is exactly 55 beats longer than Section 4, and Section 3 is 213 beats long, corresponding to the letters B - A - C.

Finally, and most importantly, sections 2 and 3 are both almost exactly 1.4 times longer than Section 1. Section 3 is slightly closer to this proportion (213 / 152 ≈ 1.4013 . . .) than Section 2 (219 / 152 ≈ 1.4407 . . .). Even more incredible, the proportion between sections 1 and 2 can be rounded to 1.441, thereby combining the numbers 14 and 41! While such a specific number may sound far-fetched, this will not be the last time we see this level of detail, or indeed this exact proportion.22

Contrapunctus XI

We now turn to Contrapunctus XI—the most adventurous and dramatic movement of the work. Contrapunctus XI is a four-voice triple fugue with an additional chromatic countersubject. It is the sister to Contrapunctus VIII in that they use the same three subjects, but Contrapunctus XI inverts them or, depending on how one looks at it, uninverts them, since Contrapunctus VIII uses the inverted forms of Die Kunst der Fuge and B-A-C-H themes and Contrapunctus XI uses the rectus forms. In the ilk of Charles Ives’s cumulative form technique, in which Ives reversed the standard model of exposition and development by beginning with fragments and motives from a theme that culminates in a plain statement of the entire theme near the end of the piece,23 it is not until Contrapunctus XI that one hears these themes turned right side up (rectus), enabling one to more easily recognize them for what they are (particularly the B-A-C-H theme, which is still masked by the addition of repeated notes in Contrapunctus XI).24

Contrapunctus XI is also, from a formal and proportional perspective, the most enigmatic movement because of the presence of multiple extra sections (i.e., there are more sections than there are themes). Section 1 begins on beat two of measure 1 and introduces Theme 1, the rectus form of the rhythmically altered Die Kunst der Fuge theme from Contrapunctus VIII. Section 2 uninverts Contrapunctus VIII’s first theme and introduces a prominent chromatic countersubject (Example 5).

Section 3 unexpectedly eschews all previously introduced material and simply exposes the inverted form of Theme 1 (i.e., Die Kunst der Fuge theme). Section 4 introduces the rectus form of the B-A-C-H theme in immediate combination with Theme 2. Finally, Section 5 uses all three themes and presents three triple combinations. Table 2 outlines these sections and their respective lengths.

From this table, one can make a number of crucial observations. First, Section 1 is exactly three fifths as long as Section 2 (175 x .6 = 105), a reference to the three themes and five sections, perhaps? Second, Section 3 is .417 times longer than Section 2.25 Third, Section 5 begins in measure 146 (which begins with the number 14). Fourth, Section 4 is 1.46 times longer than Section 5, meaning sections 2 and 3 have the same proportional relationship as sections 4 and 5. Finally, Section 1 is 1.438 times as long as Section 3.

At this point, all the musical evidence indicates that Bach not only meticulously controlled the proportional scheme of Contrapunctus XI but went to extraordinary lengths to use proportions and durations of numerological significance. Yet there are even more astonishing features of this movement’s proportions. First, it is worth noting the relative lengths of the different sections—specifically, that there are two overlapping arches. Sections 1 through 3 form an arch of smaller-larger-smaller, and sections 3 through 5 also form an arch of smaller-larger-smaller.

The most notable feature of this movement’s proportions reveals itself when one adds together the two smaller sections in each arch. Section 1’s 105 beats plus Section 3’s 73 beats add up to 178 beats, which is very close to Section 2’s 175 beats. This on its own may just be coincidence, but an examination of the second arch (sections 3, 4, and 5) demonstrates that it is almost certainly not, since the second arch has the same property; Section 3’s 73 beats plus Section 5’s 155 beats add up to 228 beats, which is even closer to Section 4’s 227 beats.

The numbers are even more exact if one adds measures instead of beats: Section 1’s 26.25 measures + Section 3’s 18.25 measures = 44.5, compared to Section 2’s 43.75 measures. And for sections 3 through 5, Section 3’s 18.25 bars + Section 5’s 38.75 bars = 57—extremely close to Section 4’s 56.75 measures. (This is part of the reason for measuring durations in both beats and measures; what may seem somewhat inexact when measured in beats can seem much more precise when measured in measures, particularly when rounding.)

To put this in simpler terms, Section 1 + Section 3 = Section 2, and Section 3 + Section 5 = Section 4! It is much like the Fibonacci Sequence (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, . . .),
which adds together the previous two numbers in the sequence to produce the next number, except these numbers are out of order. (In this case, one adds outer numbers to produce the inner number, so the first and third numbers add up to the second, the third and fifth numbers add up to the fourth, etc.)26

The enigma of Contrapunctus XI is Section 3. Why does Bach eschew all other themes and compose a section just for the inverted form of Theme I? After all, Theme I occurs in inversion only twice more, so it is not a particularly important thematic variant in this movement. Additionally, themes are typically treated cumulatively; Bach does not usually eschew a previously stated theme in favor of a different previously stated theme. (An example would be introducing Theme 2 and then reverting to using only Theme 1.) He will often temporarily abandon a previously established theme to introduce a new theme, but to do so for an old theme is regressive. (A typical example of the former is in Contrapunctus VIII, where Themes 1 and 2 drop out upon Theme 3’s entry but return later in combinations with Theme 3.) There are a couple exceptions in which Bach does backslide to a previous theme, but these are, without exception, because of permutational designs.

Furthermore, this section is rhythmically calmer than the surrounding sections; sections 2, 4, and 5 have fairly constant eighth-note motion, while Section 3 has more quarter-note motion. Bach has clearly assigned this section a special role. If Bach had a specific reason for doing so, one possibility is because Section 3 is the central section and links the two arches (sections 1 through 3 and sections 3 through 5). Additionally, he needed a way to clearly articulate five sections in this movement—two more than would be necessary in a triple fugue. Perhaps this was his way of accomplishing that.

So what do these analyses tell us about Bach’s intentions concerning Contrapunctus XIV? First, they demonstrate a high degree of care and intentionality in the proportional schemes of both triple fugues. For better or for worse, another key takeaway is that Bach’s proportional structures are inconsistent from movement to movement. Contrapunctus VIII is a three-voice triple fugue that has four sections that form an arch (shorter outer sections and longer inner sections), and Contrapunctus XI is a four-voice triple fugue that has five sections that can be organized into two arches.

The features that are consistent, and which will likely apply to Contrapunctus XIV, are a meticulously planned proportional design and the prevalence of the numbers 14, 41, and 55. Next, we will examine the extant part of Contrapunctus XIV to hopefully find the beginnings of a proportional structure that will shed light on the length of the movement and the sections it comprises.

Contrapunctus XIV

The challenge in an examination of the proportional relationships in Contrapunctus XIV is, of course, that the movement is incomplete. Sections 1 and 2 are complete, Section 3 is partially written, and Section 4 is missing completely. Since it takes three objects to establish a pattern (and we have only two objects in their entirety), any theories regarding Bach’s intended proportions cannot be positively proven; we do not have all the necessary information. The other complication is that if a study of the proportional relationships in Contrapuncti VIII through XI reveals anything, it is that Bach is not so simple-minded as to repeat proportional schemes between movements. This means that the principles we derived from previous proportional evolution can only broadly guide a completion of Contrapunctus XIV. What does seem likely to remain true, however, is that the numbers 14, 41, and 55 will guide the proportional schemes. Indeed, even the number of this contrapunctus appears to carry meaning.

Given that Contrapunctus XIV was clearly intended as a quadruple fugue (as proven by Gustav Nottebohm),27 the most obvious division of sections would be one section per theme. (This is the same model that Bach used in Contrapunctus IX, albeit on a much smaller scale.) This would mean that Section 1 is dedicated to Theme 1, Section 2 uses themes 1 and 2, Section 3 uses themes 1, 2, and 3, and finally, Section 4 uses all four subjects—a straightforward, cumulative design.

The extant part of Contrapunctus XIV provides support for this hypothesis. In Contrapunctus XIV, the themes are treated cumulatively. Section 2 introduces Theme 2 while retaining Theme 1, eventually combining them. Section 3 introduces Theme 3 while retaining themes 1 and 2, eventually combining all three (Example 6). This is not so in Contrapuncti VIII or XI. In Contrapunctus VIII, Bach introduces Theme 3 in Section 3 but starts a new section (Section 4) to present triple combinations. Contrapunctus XI is even less straightforward; Theme 1 disappears in Section 2, and then Theme 2 disappears in Section 3. Section 4 finally uses all three themes, but not in triple combination until Section 5. The extant part of Contrapunctus XIV clearly shows a more direct approach to the exposition and combination of themes.

Now that we have established the likelihood that Bach intended Contrapunctus XIV to have a one-to-one ratio of subjects to sections, let us examine the durations and proportions of the surviving parts. The gigantic first section begins on beat three of measure 1 and goes to the downbeat of measure 115, giving it a duration of 457 beats or 114.25 measures. It seems highly serendipitous that the number of measures in Section 1 can be conveyed as 114-1⁄4—a number with numerous allusions to 14 and 41 (yet another reason to measure durations in both beats and measures). Section 2 is in a Stile antico idiom and is composed largely of quarter-note motion. Theme 1 comprises seven notes and has the interesting quality of being a melodic palindrome. (See Example 7.)

Importantly, Section 2 overlaps with Section 1 by four beats because Theme 2 enters before the other voices have completed their cadence marking the end of Section 1. Theme 2 is composed mainly of eighth-note motion and is exactly 41 notes. The increased rhythmic activity of Section 2 breaks the retrospective style of Section 1. Theme 2 is also the only theme in Contrapunctus XIV that is not presented in inversion in the extant sections (excluding Theme 4, which has not yet occurred in any version). Section 2 begins with the introduction of Theme 2 in the alto on beat two of measure 114 (another reference to 14) and continues through beat two of measure 193, making Section 2 317 beats or 79.25 measures. (See Example 8.)

Section 3 begins on beat three of measure 193 and trails off in measure 239.28 This gives the extant part of Section 3 a length of 186 beats or 46.5 measures, although these numbers may not be particularly significant as they represent only part of a section. Stylistically, Section 3 brings about another shift; the counterpoint becomes rhythmically less active, and the harmony becomes markedly more chromatic and adventurous.29 (This is partially by virtue of Subject 3’s chromatic profile and longer note values.) This marks the end of the extant part of Contrapunctus XIV. (See Table 3.)

One of the challenges of deducing Bach’s intentions is that with only two complete sections, there is not enough information to establish a pattern per se. Nevertheless, it seems likely that the sections should get shorter. As previously stated, Section 1 is truly massive; it has more measures than every movement of the work except the four polythematic fugues and takes about four minutes to perform on its own. The movement would likely feel bloated and disbalanced if there were another section even longer than this one, and indeed, Section 2 is about 30 measures shorter. A final, more subjective reason to believe that the sections will continue getting shorter is that Section 3 is clearly intensifying in both rhythmic and harmonic activity. In just 46.5 bars, it is already clearly approaching a climactic point, at which time Theme 4 will likely enter.

Bach scholar Dr. Gregory Butler of the University of British Columbia at one point theorized that each section of Contrapunctus XIV is intended to be approximately two thirds the length of the preceding section.30 He explains:

As it appears in the print in its incomplete state, this work occupies five pages. It seems clear that the finished version would have fit nicely on six pages. If we examine the relative proportions of the three extant sections of this fugue, we notice a consistent diminution in the lengths of successive sections. Moreover, section 2 (78 measures) is almost exactly two-thirds the length of section 1 (115 measures), and section 3, not quite complete, occupies forty-six measures and conceivably in its complete state would have occupied approximately two-thirds the length of section 2 (52 measures). Adhering to the same proportions, section 4 may well have occupied approximately two-thirds the length of section 3, that is, approximately thirty-four measures. This would leave approximately forty-six measures for the concluding sixth page which is exactly the average number of measures per page for the first five pages as they appear presently in the print.31

This theory has a number of issues. The reader may notice Butler’s use of language to indicate approximation. He rounds the sections to the nearest whole measures, and his proportional theory also relies on rounding. Furthermore, he makes mathematical errors, claiming that two-thirds of 52 bars is 34 bars when it is actually closer to 35. He then says that Section 3 needs six more measures and that Section 4 should be 34 measures—a clear sum of 40 measures—but states that this fits “exactly” with one additional page of manuscript, equivalent to 46 measures.

If there is one conclusion to be made from our examination of the proportions in the triple fugues, it is that Bach’s proportional schemes are anything but approximate. Another reason to doubt Butler’s theory is that it does not leave enough time in Section 3 to include even one more triple combination, if there is to be any connecting episodic material. Indra Hughes, whose dissertation, “Accident or Design? New Theories on the Unfinished Contrapunctus 14 in J. S. Bach’s The Art of Fugue, BWV 1080,” is one of the major contributions to Die Kunst der Fuge research, agrees that Butler’s theory is not sufficiently precise and proposes a much more specific and convincing theory.32

While it seems likely that Bach intended each section to be shorter than the preceding one, this is not proof of a more detailed proportional relationship. Hughes, however, has discovered a feature in the autograph that indicates that the exact lengths of sections were of great importance to Bach. This detail arises from an edit that Bach made at the end of Section 1. Bach crossed out the original material in measures 111 and 112 and replaced them with three measures, thereby adding a bar. The edit can be seen in Bach’s hand in Figure 5; the two measures at the top right have been crossed out and replaced with three measures of tablature in the bottom margin. The two versions are presented in a more readable fashion in Examples 9 and 10.

Hughes argues that there is not a substantial musical difference between the first and second versions, so therefore it is likely that the reason for the edit was for Bach to correct a proportional error, an error that could be fixed by adding one bar to Section 1. In rejection of strong musical reasons for the replacement, Hughes writes the following:

It seems a curious and puzzling change for Bach to have made, and it does not seem easy to find a musical reason for the rejection of the original bars 111 and 112. If Bach had not made the change, but had left the score with those two bars unaltered, would scholars and analysts today point to them and identify them as a weak moment? Perhaps it might be argued that the new bar 111 strengthens the approach to the following cadence (bars 113–114) by the move to the subdominant that was not present in the original; and it might be argued that the new bar 113 is rhythmically very slightly more interesting than the old bar 112. But these are tiny points of argument and I am convinced that if the change had not been made, nobody would ever have criticized the old bars 111 and 112 as being weak.33

Hughes further refines Butler’s theory by more accurately calculating the lengths of sections. Butler calculated only whole measure numbers and did not account for overlapping sections, giving him durations of 115 measures and 78 measures for the first two sections, respectively.34 Hughes calculates sections 1 and 2 as being 114.25 and 79.25 measures, respectively. This means that Section 1 is approximately 1.44 times longer than Section 235—our first evidence that Contrapunctus XIV’s proportional scheme is deliberate and numerologically determined.

Hughes’s argument gains traction when one uses this proportion to calculate the length of Section 3. Section 2’s 79.25 measures divided by the hypothesized ratio of 1.44 gives a quotient of 55 measures for Section 3—the section that introduces Bach’s name as the third subject.36 Now there is very little doubt that these relationships are deliberate. This also conveniently leaves time for one more triple combination before Section 3 concludes.37

Hughes then calculates that Section 4 should be 38 measures (although this is a rounded figure), reaching the conclusion that the total number of missing measures is 47. While I agree loosely with most of what Hughes postulates, there are a few fallacies and inconsistencies in his calculations that must be addressed. First, Hughes concludes that the correct proportion between sections is 1.44 but provides no reason for the presence of an additional “4” in the hundredths decimal place. (The reasons for this specific number will be discussed in greater detail later.)

Second, Hughes does a fair amount of rounding while criticizing others for doing so. An example of this is his calculation that Section 4 should be “exactly 38 bars long.”38 In reality, this number is not so exact; it should actually be 38.194. Of course, some rounding is necessary, but rounding to 38.25 measures (38 measures and one beat) would be closer than rounding to 38 measures even. Rounding to the nearest beat instead of the nearest whole measure would dictate that the movement ends with a downbeat quarter note. (This is assuming that Section 4 cannot begin on beat three of a measure, since Die Kunst der Fuge theme would almost certainly enter on a downbeat.)

Of course, one could get around this by ending the work with a quarter-note—perhaps with a fermata. It is perhaps, however, not a stretch to suggest that Bach might have rounded this to 38 measures so that the work could end with a whole note. This is not a detail that should be taken lightly though; to round Section 4 to the nearest measure effectively excises a measure of music from the section and the entire movement. If Section 4 is rounded to 38 measures, then the final measure (measure 286) will most likely be a whole note. If, however, Section 4 is rounded to 38.25 measures, then the final measure (measure 287) would be a quarter note with a fermata (likely sounding the same as a whole note), thereby making measure 286 the penultimate measure and freeing it up for an additional measure of cadential material.

Finally, Hughes is generally quite meticulous about the lengths of sections—and this allows him to make important contributions to proportional theory—but he makes one significant error when he notes that Section 3 begins on beat three of a measure but forgets this detail when determining where Section 3 ends. In his calculations, he incorrectly starts Section 3 on the downbeat of measure 193 instead of beat three of measure 193. This leads him to believe that Section 3 needs an additional nine measures, instead of 8.5. Truthfully, at 55 measures, Section 3 must end on beat two of measure 248, a measure whose digits add up to 14.

This means that Section 4 must either start on beat three or overlap with Section 3 by two beats, but as previously stated, it seems unlikely that Die Kunst der Fuge theme would start on beat three, making the overlap the more likely choice. To account for this overlap, one must subtract two beats from the final calculation of the intended duration of Contrapunctus XIV. This puts Hughes’s calculation off by one whole measure: two beats off for starting Section 3 too early and two beats off for not overlapping sections 3 and 4. The question of whether one should round Section 4 to the nearest beat may also potentially push Hughes’s solution off by an additional beat. Table 4 compares Butler’s, Hughes’s, and my own theories and calculations.

As previously mentioned, the problem that Hughes faces is why the proportion is 1.44 instead of simply 1.4. He excuses this concern by pointing out that the proportional relationship is consistent, if not exact, and that there are other works by Bach with proportional relationships that are close to 1.4 but not exact.

Before exploring this issue further, it is vital to remember that Bach’s ways of solving mathematical problems would have been very different from our own. Doing these problems by hand, as Bach would have done, yields three very interesting (and I believe previously undiscovered) observations. The first and most obvious is that when 114.25 is converted into a mixed number, it is 114-1⁄4, a number with several allusions to 14 and 41.39 The second comes from the fact that Bach likely would have made these calculations in improper fractions (or beats) rather than decimals to facilitate division. To take the two complete extant sections as examples, Section 1’s 114.25 bars become 457/4, and Section 2’s 79.25 bars become 317/4. If one subtracts 317 from 457, the remainder is exactly 140, another evidently Bachian number. Since we are working with quarter measures in common time, Section 1 is exactly 140 beats longer than Section 2.

The final observation comes from dividing 457 by 317. The benefit to doing this division by hand is that the solution will not include a long string of decimals that a calculator displays. It is not surprising that the first three digits of the solution are 1.44, as Hughes claims. If, however, one solves to three decimals instead of two, then the third decimal is 1, producing a quotient of 1.441. At first glance, this new solution works much better than Hughes’s. While Hughes struggled to explain why his ratio is 1.44 instead of simply 1.4, this new proportion is both more specific and more numerologically significant, as it combines the numbers 14 and 41. Furthermore, it has precedent in the work; in Contrapunctus VIII, Section 2 is 1.441 times longer than Section 1.

To determine more certainly whether this proportion is more accurate, one must test whether the extra one thousandth consistently yields results that are closer to the actual number of measures present. To start, let us take 114.25 measures and divide it by Hughes’s 1.44. This gives us 79.340. (I will consistently round to the nearest thousandth.) If, however, we divide it by my 1.441, we get 79.285—a number that is not insubstantially closer to Section 2’s actual 79.25 measures. (See Table 5.) The extra one thousandth makes a surprisingly significant difference. If we take Section 2’s 79.25 bars and divide it by 1.44, we get 55.035. If we divide it by 1.441, though, we get 54.997. Once again, this solution is slightly closer to the hypothesized 55 bars in Section 2. (See Table 6.)

The final section, however, creates problems with either theory (1.44 or 1.441). When one divides Section 3’s 55 bars by 1.44, the solution is 38.194. When one divides it by 1.441, the quotient is 38.168. (See Table 7.)

Neither of these answers is very close to a round number of measures or beats, but the latter solution is slightly lower and therefore closer to a whole measure. This may tip the scale toward the argument that Bach intended for Section 4 to be 38 measures even—not, as previously considered, 38.25 measures (which would have required the last chord to be a quarter note with a fermata). Bach probably recognized that, at some point, some rounding would be necessary in his numerological games. Bach’s genius is, after all, still bound by the laws of mathematics.

When mapping out this movement, Bach may have begun with one of two conditions: that Section 2 would be 114-1⁄4 measures or, alternatively, that Section 3, the section in which he introduces his musical signature, would be 55 measures. These numbers are both, after all, significant to Bach. He must have been quite tickled to discover that 55 x 1.441 x 1.441 ≈ 114-1⁄4, but nevertheless, he must have started with one or the other—55 or 114-1⁄4. For this reason, it may be enlightening to compare Hughes’s and my proportional theories starting from both of those numbers. Table 8 compares the two theories starting with 114.25 measures in Section 1 as the reference point.40 Table 9 compares the proportions between Hughes’s theory and my own using 55 measures in Section 3 as the reference point.

These tables show that, regardless of which reference point one starts from, 1.441 is a consistently more accurate proportion than 1.44. Table 8 also demonstrates something else that indicates why 1.441 is the more likely solution. When one looks at the column for Hughes’s proportion, one can see that his ratio consistently gives an answer that is slightly too high. The solutions produced by a ratio of 1.441, however, are slightly too high in the cases of sections 2 and 4, and slightly too low for Section 3. This means that no other proportion can truly be said to be closer. If one uses a number any higher than 1.441, Section 3 will be less accurate, and if one uses a number any lower than 1.441, sections 2 and 4 will be less accurate. When all the answers are too high though, as in Hughes’s ratio, it is clear that the proportion can be refined.

The extra beat

The remaining issue concerning the length of Contrapunctus XIV is the length of Section 4 and whether it should be rounded to the nearest measure or nearest beat. There are a number of factors that should at least be considered. First is the purely musical issue of ending an hour-and-a-half-long work. It would be unusual to end such a work with a quarter note, but having a fermata on the note would alleviate that to a degree; the difference would then arguably be only visual. As previously mentioned, using the proportion 1.441 instead of 1.44 pushes the length of Section 4 down by a little over three hundredths (38.1679 versus 38.194), but this is an admittedly minor difference.

It may once again be revealing to consider how Bach would have done his calculations. If one uses long division to calculate the length of Section 4, as Bach must have done, then he would not have seen a long string of decimals. He could have merely solved for the nearest whole number, in which case he would have reached 38 as a final answer and been done with it. But even if he continued to solve for the first decimal, he would have seen only a “1” in the tenths place, which he still would have likely been content to round down to zero. It is not until one solves for the hundredths place and gets 38.16 that this issue arises at all. It seems likely that Bach would not have been particularly bothered by this discrepancy, if indeed he was even aware of it.

In summary, I conclude that Section 3 requires another 8.5 bars—plus filling in the remaining voices of measure 239—and that Section 4 should be 38 measures, keeping in mind that it will overlap with Section 3’s last half measure. This gives one enough time to include one more triple combination in Section 3’s remaining 8.5 bars, as well as multiple quadruple combinations and episodes in Section 4. It is not, however, so long that the drama that has been reached by measure 239 will become an anticlimax. According to this theory, the movement should be 285 measures. This is calculated by adding the lengths of the sections (114.25 + 79.25 + 55 + 38 = 286.5) and subtracting one measure for the overlap of sections 1 and 2 and another two beats for the overlap of sections 3 and 4 (286.5 – 1.5 = 285). The durations and overlaps of the four sections can be seen in Figure 6.

Large-scale numerology

Finally, let us consider the sum total of all the movements. If one counts the lengths of the mirror fugues and their mirrors, thereby doubling the lengths of the mirror fugues to 254 measures, then the entire length of Die Kunst der Fuge is 2,135 measures. The realization that my proportional theory put the entire work at 2,135 measures immediately gave me pause. This is, after all, three short of the numbers which gematrically correspond to Bach’s name: 2,138. This caused me to wonder whether Bach was also intentional about the length of the entire work, which in turn led me to test what would happen if I aimed for a sum total of 2,138 measures by increasing Contrapunctus XIV to 288 measures, rather than 285. Obviously, the durations of sections 1 and 2 are fixed and cannot be tailored. Bach left Section 3 incomplete, but my proportional theory is largely based on the numerological significance of Section 3 being 55 bars. This leaves Section 4, which according to my original theory was 38 bars. Amazingly though, adding three measures increases it to exactly 41 measures. Through the addition of just three bars, the length of Section 4 and the length of the entire work suddenly achieve great gematric meaning. The question, as always, is: was this Bach’s intention?

The real issue here is whether Bach would sacrifice the integrity of his proportional scheme to inject the entire design with greater personal numerological significance. To better judge this, we must determine the degree to which this change would affect the proportional scheme. Before doing so, however, it is worth remembering that Section 4 was already problematic. When one divides 55 (the conjectured duration of Section 3) by 1.441, the quotient is approximately 38.168, which we rounded down to 38 (after first considering whether to round to 38.25, or 38 measures and one beat). This is significantly less precise than the proportions of the previous sections (72.285 versus the actual 72.25 measures in Section 2, and 54.997 versus the conjectured 55 bars in Section 3).

When one takes Section 3’s hypothesized 55 bars and divides them by 41 bars for Section 4, the proportion is approximately 1.341. This is not terribly far off from the originally theorized proportion of 1.441. Additionally, it still ends with the numerologically significant digits “41.” It is actually quite intriguing that the two numbers only differ by one digit.

The question remains: if Bach had realized that adding three measures to Section 4 would give both the section and the entire work gematrically significant durations, would it have been worth the small concession of modifying a proportional scheme that, at this point, was already falling short?

I believe the answer is yes; Bach would have succumbed to such a temptation. In fact, it must have been the design all along. It would be quite a coincidence for Bach to see the original proportional scheme of 1.441 through to the end and only then realize that the work was three bars short of 2,138 measures. Far more likely, he began by assigning 288 measures to Contrapunctus XIV so that the sum of the work’s movements would be 2,138. Knowing that the sections would diminish in length, he then assigned 41 measures to Section 4 and 55 measures to Section 3. At this point, he switched to a more exact proportional scheme of 1.441, making Section 2 79-1⁄4 measures and Section 1 114-1⁄4 measures, the latter of which—he must have been pleased to learn—is a number with about as many references to 14 and 41 as a five-digit number can have. The length of each section can be seen in Table 10.

These sections add up to 289.5 measures, but because of a one-measure overlap between sections 1 and 2 and a half-measure overlap between sections 3 and 4, the total duration of Contrapunctus XIV will be 288 measures. Since Bach’s final bar is measure 239, Contrapunctus XIV requires 49 more measures: 8.5 more measures in Section 3 and 41 measures for Section 4, with these two sections overlapping by two beats. (See Figure 7.)

It is my hope that this document may have use outside of the narrow scope of determining the intended duration of Contrapunctus XIV; more broadly, I hope to shed a bit more light on Bach and his compositional tendencies. The topic of proportion in Bach’s oeuvre is ripe for further examination, and we have only begun to scratch the surface. By now, there is no question that Bach was an enthusiastic practitioner of Augenmusik and hid all sorts of elaborate structures in his music. The question is: will we seek them out?

 

Notes

1. Christoph Wolff, Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: W. W. Norton, 2000), 433.

2. Gustav Nottebohm, “J. S. Bach’s letzte Fuge,” Musik-Welt, nos. 20 and 21 (1881): 2, http://ks4.imslp.net/files/imglnks/usimg/f/fc/IMSLP348435-PMLP562864-No….

3. Counting beats in large sections can be more complicated than one might expect, particularly if the passage includes partial measures. The formula for doing so is as follows: (last complete measure – first complete measure + 1) x 4 beats + any beats from surrounding partial measures. For example, if one wanted to count the beats from beat 2 of measure 4 to beat 2 of measure 36, then one would start with 35 (the last full measure) and subtract five (the first full measure) for an answer of 30. Then add one for a sum of 31 and multiply that by four beats for a product of 124. Then add the extra three beats of measure 4 and the extra two beats of measure 36 for an answer of 129 (124 + 3 + 2 = 129).

4. Encyclopædia Britannica, s.v. “Gematria.”

5. Ruth Tatlow, Bach and the Riddle of the Number Alphabet (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 133.

6. Indra Hughes, “Accident or Design? New Theories on the Unfinished Contrapunctus 14 in J. S. Bach’s The Art of Fugue, BWV 1080” (D.M.A. diss., University of Auckland, 2006), 3–4.

7. Ibid., 4.

8. Ruth Tatlow, Bach’s Numbers (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 70.

9. For perhaps the preeminent study of this field, see Ruth Tatlow’s Bach’s Numbers. The trajectory of Tatlow’s opinion on this topic is intriguing. In her 1991 book Bach and the Riddle of the Number Alphabet, she argues against most numerological and gematric interpretations of Bach’s music. Now, after something of a Damascene conversion, she is its leading exponent.

10. Hughes, “Accident or Design?,” 18.

11. Ibid.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Ibid.

15. Ibid, 19.

16. Ibid.

17. Ibid.

18. Anatoly P. Milka, Rethinking J. S. Bach’s Art of Fugue, trans. Marina Ritzarev, ed. Esti Sheinberg (London: Routledge, 2017), 179.

19. Herbert Kellner, “Die Kunst der Fuga,” The Diapason 91, no. 5 (May 2000), 16.

20. Ibid.

21. In his article “Bach and Die Kunst der Fuge” (The Diapason, May 1998, pp. 15–17), Jan Overduin argues that downbeat quarter rests often symbolize death in Bach’s music.

22. As far as I am aware, the aforementioned observations were all previously undiscovered.

23. James Peter Burkholder, All Made of Tunes: Charles Ives and the Uses of Musical Borrowing (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 138.

24. The notion of gradual revelation applies most aptly to the B-A-C-H theme, which occurs in only three movements: Contrapunctus VIII, in which its default form is inverted with repeated notes (i.e., most hidden); Contrapunctus XI, in which its default form is in rectus form with repeated notes (i.e., less hidden), and Contrapunctus XIV, in which it is finally stated plainly in Section 3.

25. I rounded to the nearest thousandth (0.417) so that one can see the numerologically significant part of the proportion (i.e., 0.41). If I had rounded to the nearest hundredth (0.42), its significance would have been obscured. This is not, however, a problem that Bach would have necessarily confronted. He would have solved these equations by hand, meaning he would see only as many decimals as he solved for, not the string of decimals that I see on a calculator. If he solved for only two decimals, he would have seen only “0.41.” After all, one only knows to round this number up to 0.42 if one also knows what the thousandth decimal is.

26. To the best of my knowledge, these proportional relationships were also previously undiscovered.

27. Gustav Nottebohm, “J. S. Bach’s letzte Fuge,” Musik-Welt, nos. 20 and 21 (1881): 2, http://ks4.imslp.net/files/imglnks/usimg/f/fc/IMSLP348435-PMLP562864-No….

28. Indra Hughes takes the final measure number, whose digits add up to 14, as evidence that Bach intentionally left the work incomplete and left a number of clues as to how it should be finished. See “Accident or Design? New Theories on the Unfinished Contrapunctus 14 in J. S. Bach’s The Art of Fugue, BWV 1080” (D.M.A. diss., University of Auckland, 2006), 20–21.

29. Indeed, the only other part of the work that could be said to be as harmonically daring is Contrapunctus XI.

30. Butler has since reversed this position, and now believes that the Fuga a 3 Soggetti was never intended to include Die Kunst der Fuge subject.

31. Gregory Butler, “Ordering Problems in J. S. Bach’s ‘Art of Fugue’ Resolved,” The Musical Quarterly 69, no. 1 (Winter 1983): 55, http://www.jstor.org/stable/741800.

32. Hughes, “Accident or Design?,” 84.

33. Hughes, “Accident or Design?,” 93–94.

34. Butler, “Ordering Problems in J. S. Bach’s ‘Art of Fugue’ Resolved,” 5.

35. Hughes, “Accident or Design?,” 86.

36. Ibid., 87.

37. This is because any combination will take as long as its longest theme. At six bars long, Theme 2 is the longest subject, meaning another triple combination would take at least six measures.

38. Hughes, “Accident or Design?,” 88.

39. A skeptical reader who double-checks my calculations may notice that Section 1’s 114.25 measures include the opening two beats of rest, even though I have not counted beginning rests in other movements. The original reason for this was that the calculations are much more exact if one counts 114.25 measures instead of 113.75, but this reason alone struck me as intellectually indolent. The realization though that 114.25 converts to 1141⁄4, and that counting those two beats makes Section 1 exactly 140 beats longer than Section 2 gave me some measure of peace with this decision.

40. In these calculations, it is important to start with the actual number of measures. For example, if one is determining the length of Section 3 from Section 2, then one should start from 55, not 55.035 or 54.997.

Sources

Burkholder, James Peter. All Made of Tunes: Charles Ives and the Uses of Musical Borrowing. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974.

Butler, Gregory. “Ordering Problems in J. S. Bach’s ‘Art of Fugue’ Resolved.” The Musical Quarterly 69, no. 1 (Winter 1983): 55. http://www.jstor.org/stable/741800.

Hughes, Indra. “Accident or Design? New Theories on the Unfinished Contrapunctus 14 in J. S. Bach’s The Art of Fugue, BWV 1080.” D.M.A. diss., University of Auckland, 2006.

Kellner, Herbert Anton. “Die Kunst der Fuga.” The Diapason 91, no. 5 (May 2000): 15–17.

Milka, Anatoly P. Rethinking J. S. Bach’s Art of Fugue. Translated by Marina Ritzarev. Edited by Esti Sheinberg. London: Routledge, 2017.

Nottebohm, Gustav. “J. S. Bach’s letzte Fuge.” Musik-Welt, nos. 20 and 21 (1881): 2. http://ks4.imslp.net/files/imglnks/usimg/f/fc/IMSLP348435-PMLP562864-No….

Overduin, Jan. “Bach and Die Kunst der Fuge.” The Diapason (May 1998), pp. 15–17.

Wolff, Christoph. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001.

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