Diapason Review: <i>The Registration of J. S. Bach’s Organ Works</i>, by Quentin Faulkner

Maxim Serebrennikov

Maxim Serebrennikov is a doctoral student at the St. Petersburg State Conservatory, where he is currently completing his thesis, “Solo Keyboard Thoroughbass Fugue of the Baroque Era.” His research interests lie in the history and theory of Baroque music, in particular discovering, studying, and publishing unknown sources of keyboard and organ music. His recent articles in Musicus, The Organ, and Harpsichord & Fortepiano focus on rarities of harpsichord and organ music of the 18th century. He is also active as a professional music typesetter and score and book designer, working with various publishing houses.

Introduction
In 2010 J. S. Bach, G. F. Handel, and D. Scarlatti, who were born 325 years ago, once again were the main figures of the musical calendar. Once again thousands of performers and scholars strove to express their reverence for the genius of these artists. Once again millions of listeners and readers were eager to enjoy their great works.
How often, though, in celebrating these masters, we forget their contemporaries, possibly having no less sacrificially served their art. Alas, the names of these other musicians are frequently lost among the pages of history or altogether disappear without a trace. But it is precisely their activity that laid the solid foundation on which the masters constructed their monuments.
Until recent times, the name of Gott-fried Kirchhoff (1685–1746) was known only to a small circle of specialists. Meanwhile his contemporaries highly valued his output and enthusiastically praised his skill on the clavier and organ. German organist and theoretician Martin Heinrich Fuhrmann (1669–1745), recalling Kirchhoff’s playing, wrote: “I later heard the well-known Mr. Kirchhof play the organ in Halle, and his fingers so mastered the charms of music that I cried out, ‘What a shame that the hands of these two keyboard players in Leipzig and Halle must some day turn to dust!’”2 And further: “In my time, when in 1692 I was studying in Halle, Zachow was flourishing there, whom I heard on Sundays with a true hunger and thirst; and if I had to travel there again, and there were no bridge over the [river] Saale, and I could not reach the city, then truly I would swim across the river like Leander for his Hero, even to hear renowned pupils of his such as Mr. Kirchhoff.”3
The unexpected discovery of L’A.B.C. Musical in 2002 served as a new impulse for studying Kirchhoff’s life and works.4 The first monograph on Kirchhoff was published in 2004, along with the new edition of L’A.B.C. Musical.5 In 2005 and 2006, L’A.B.C. Musical became the subject of two master’s theses, which were defended at the St. Petersburg Conservatory and at the Kiev Conservatory, respectively.6 In 2008 one more unknown prelude and fugue by Kirchhoff was discovered in the manuscript Mus. Ms. 11605, which is housed in the music department of the State Library in Berlin (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Musikabteilung).7 Additionally, in 2009 the composer was honored through the naming of a music school in Bitterfeld, not far from his birthplace.
This is not to say that researchers have answered all regarding the life and work of Kirchhoff; quite the opposite—many questions remain. The greatest mystery at present is the fate of the composer’s oeuvre. Kirchhoff dedicated his entire life to music: from 1693 to 1709, he studied organ and composition in Halle under Friedrich Wilhelm Zachow (1663–1712); from 1709 to 1711, he was Kapellmeister at the court of the Duke of Holstein-Glücksburg; from 1711 to 1714, he served as organist at the church of St. Benedict in Quedlinburg; and, from 1714 to his death, Kirchhoff held the position of Director Musices and organist at Our Lady’s Church in Halle. Even if Kirchhoff was not remarkable for the rate at which he produced works (such as, for example, Georg Philipp Telemann), his long period of professional activity must have produced an imposing quantity of works. Despite this, all Kirchhoff’s compositions known at present can be counted on the fingers of one hand. What has happened to all the rest?
Possibly, the passage of time did not spare Kirchhoff’s manuscripts, and a large portion was lost to natural calamities (fire, flooding, etc.). Possibly, the composer had little regard for his own creations and did not attempt to save them for later generations. Possibly, the fault for the loss of certain of these compositions falls on Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, who succeeded Kirchhoff as Director Musices and organist at Our Lady’s Church in Halle.8
Nevertheless, hope remains for the restoration of at least some portion of Kirchhoff’s oeuvre. This is confirmed by unexpected discoveries of recent years, one of which we shall discuss here.

The Mylau Tablature Book
In 1910, Georg Schünemann (1884–1945), German musicologist and member of the commission for the revelation and studying of Monuments of German Musical Art (Denkmäler deutscher Tonkunst), uncovered in the Mylau church archives a rich collection of organ works composed by the old German masters. The value of this find was difficult to overestimate: the manuscript contained not only works of composers to that time unknown, but also unknown works by well-known composers.9
Today this collection is still housed in the Mylau church archives, listed as MS H 3a. The manuscript is a book of considerable thickness (101 leaves) in upright format (c. 21 × 33 cm) and hard cardboard binding, covered with colored paper. The front cover of the binding carries the inscription “TABLATURE | Book | 1750” (“TABULATUR | Buch | 1750”), which is at the very least a misleading identifier. In fact, the Mylau Tablature Book does not contain a single example of tablature notation. The date “1750” also does not correspond to the real time of the manuscript’s creation.
In 1984 the Mylau Tablature Book was sent for expert appraisal to the German Book and Writing Museum (Deutsches Buch- und Schriftmuseum, Leipzig), where museum staff member Gertraude Spoer determined that in the eighteenth century the manuscript had undergone restoration, during which the original binding was replaced by the current one. Subsequently, the inscription “TABULATUR | Buch | 1750” belongs to a later time than the manuscript itself. More than likely, this misleading title was added shortly following the change of binding. Furthermore, based on study of the paper’s watermarks, Spoer concluded that manuscript MS H 3a was made around the year 1725.10 Unfortunately, the copyist has never been identified.
The contents of the Mylau Tablature Book are truly impressive with respect to volume: the manuscript contains 176 pieces, dominated by preludes and fugues. The composers include such names as Johann Pachelbel (1653–1706), Johann Krieger (1652–1735), Johann Kuhnau (1660–1722), Andreas Kniller (1649–1724), Nikolaus Vetter (1666–1734), Andreas Werckmeister (1645–1706), Christian Friedrich Witt (1660–1717), and Gottfried Pestel (1654–1732). It is, however, these names alone that are noted in the manuscript. Many pieces were written anonymously, and the majority of these remain unattributed.11 Furthermore, those attributions that are given in the manuscript are not always credible.

Praelud: ex. C. dis â Monsieur Bach.
As has been mentioned, the Mylau Tablature Book was a valuable contribution to Baroque literature for organ. To date, this manuscript remains the single known source for many of the pieces that it contains. Among these is the Prelude and Fugue in C Minor, recorded on pages 40–41. (See Example 1.)
According to the Mylau Tablature Book, Johann Pachelbel (1653–1706) is the author of this work. The name of the composer is indicated in the heading of the composition: “Praelud: ex. C. dis â Monsieur Bach.”12 At that time, “Bach.” and “J. Bach.” were common abbreviations for Pachelbel’s name, which was said and written in some South German dialects as “Bachelbel”. The period at the end of “Bach.” is a sign of abbreviation, enabling us to distinguish Pachelbel’s name from the names of members of Bach family.
The Prelude and Fugue in C Minor was first published in 1977 in the 39th volume of Corpus of Early Keyboard Music—the series founded by the American Institute of Musicology.13 Since then the pieces have been reproduced multiple times in other editions.14 Thanks to these publications, the cycle became accessible not only to musicians worldwide, but also strengthened its position as being a work by Pachelbel.
Recently, however, Pachelbel’s authorship of this polyphonic cycle has come under growing suspicion, given how strongly the style of writing in the pieces differs from that of other preludes and fugues by the composer. Thus, in the 2004 publication of The Thematic Catalogue of the Musical Works of Johann Pachelbel, these two pieces received the cautionary note “Ascription Questioned,” and in the new edition of the composer’s Complete Works for Keyboard Instruments they are shifted to the appendix as “dubious.”15
As it turns out, the doubts of the researchers were not without basis. In March 2008 we discovered a forcible argument in F. W. Marpurg’s Treatise on Fugue (1753–1754), which disclaims Pachelbel’s authorship of the Prelude and Fugue in C Minor located in MS H 3a.

F. W. Marpurg’s Treatise on Fugue as a key to ascription
F. W. Marpurg’s two-part Treatise on Fugue was, in its time, truly an extraordinary theoretical work. It was the first paper to be dedicated entirely to fugue. At the same time, it was the most fundamental work on fugue, which generalized and summed up all the knowledge of fugue acquired by musical theory and practice to the middle of the eighteenth century. Lastly, it was the richest treatise with respect to the amount and breadth of musical material ever collected into one resource. The quantity of music examples used by Marpurg to illustrate his theses is so great that they constituted the whole two-volume appendices for each part of the treatise. Marpurg’s erudition defies imagination even today: the appended musical examples include, beyond those samples composed by Marpurg himself, close to 500 excerpts from the works of more than 50 composers.16
In the score appendix for the second part of the treatise (Tab. III, Fig. 1), Marpurg several times quotes a theme, which is surprisingly similar to the theme of the C-minor fugue from the Mylau manuscript. The ascription here, however, is not to Pachelbel, but to his younger contemporary, Kirchhoff. The name of this once-celebrated German organist and composer, fellow student of G. F. Handel and a good acquaintance of J. S. Bach, is indicated at the beginning of the example: “1st theme of Kirchhoff” (“1. th[ema] Kirchoffii.”).17 (See Example 2.)
One cannot, of course, fully rule out the possibility that Pachelbel and Kirchhoff, each independently of the other, composed practically identical subjects. Formularity was one of the most characteristic features of Baroque music. The study of fugue assumed, in part, the mastery of an entire series of stereotypical, standard subjects and possible devices for their treatment. For this reason, correspondences were unavoidable (especially when one considers how in church practice, fugue subjects were often based on the initial phrases of plainchant melodies). Yet, despite a single intonational vocabulary, exact correspondence was rare, even for music of that time. Working from one and the same intonation formula, each musician materialized it in his own way. By way of example, we offer a fugue subject from the 2nd mode of Prototypon longo-breve organicum (1703) by Franz Xaver Murschhauser. (See Example 3.)
In comparing the three subjects, it is clear that they share a single intonational impulse: a descending minor triad, intensified by a leap to the leading tone. Although in Murschhauser’s subject this formula holds to a different rhythmic pattern and melodic continuation, it, most importantly, does not stand apart as an independent syntactic unit.
In light of this example, the similarity of the “Pachelbel” and “Kirchhoff” subjects to each other is made all the more clear. It is undoubtedly worth considering them variants of a single idea thought up by a single author. Indeed, there is undeniable correspondence between those elements and parameters of the subject that secure its individuality, specifically: motivic head, syntactic structure, melodic skeleton, rhythmic pattern, and harmonic plan. The primary divergences, excluding tonality, come down to figuration of the harmonies and to cadencing of the theme.
It is difficult to say today with certainty from whom these differences have arisen. Possibly, Marpurg himself made the changes in order to make the sample more relevant to his didactic intentions. It is more than likely, however, that he simply had a different version of the fugue at his disposal, one that today remains unknown or has been lost.
In any case, this question remains: who is the true author of the Prelude and Fugue in C Minor found in the Mylau manuscript—Pachelbel or Kirchhoff? We believe that testimony from the treatise of an authoritative theorist and well-informed musician deserves more confidence than testimony from a manuscript completed by an unknown copyist using unknown sources. Furthermore, the stylistic attributes of the music do much on their own to confirm that this work conforms to Kirchhoff’s creative signature.

L’A.B.C. Musical as one more
argument in favor of Kirchhoff’s
authorship
Kirchhoff’s name appears not only in the score appendix, but also in the body of the text of Marpurg’s treatise:

If the late Musikdirektor Kirchhof of Halle denoted the counterparts of his well-known fugues in all twenty-four keys with figures alone, he did this because he wanted to instruct his students in the various possibilities of thematic entrances and in the technique of figured bass at the same time.18
Marpurg quotes six various Kirchhoff themes in total. Although he never gives the title of those pieces that he quotes as musical examples (rather noting only the author of each piece!), it is natural to suggest that those themes he indicates as Kirchhoff’s come from those very same fugues he refers to in the text.
Earlier we stated the hypothesis that by “well-known fugues in all twenty-four keys” Marpurg meant the unpublished version of L’A.B.C. Musical (c. 1734) by Kirchhoff.19 First, this is the only known composition by Kirchhoff to contain, as the title page asserts, “preludes and fugues in all keys.” Second, one of the themes cited by Marpurg in the treatise’s appendix is identical to the theme of the A-minor fugue from L’A.B.C. Musical (Examples 4a, 4b). Third, the texture of every piece in the collection, including the fugues, is notated as thoroughbass, i.e., on one staff using various clefs and thoroughbass signatures.
Within a comment in his own edition of the Prelude and Fugue in C Minor from the Mylau Tablature Book, Michael Belotti rightly notes that the texture of the pieces is nothing other than a realized thoroughbass.20 Indeed, for the style of Pachelbel, who was trained in the contrapuntal tradition, this type of texture is atypical. However, for the style of Kirchhoff, whose emergence as a professional coincides with the blossoming of thoroughbass technique in Germany, this manner of writing is completely natural and consistent. All the known clavier and organ fugues by Kirchhoff can be included in the genre of the so-called thoroughbass fugue.21 It is highly likely that the original version of the C-minor Prelude and Fugue from MS H 3a was also recorded in codified form, and the variant that has reached us is someone’s realization. In any case, the texture of both pieces can be easily expressed in thoroughbass notation with no damage done to the musical material (see Appendix: Version 1).

Conclusion
These arguments clearly point to Kirchhoff’s authorship of the C-minor Prelude and Fugue from manuscript MS H 3a. In identifying the true author of these pieces, we not only restore historical justice, we also reveal one more previously lost page of Kirchhoff’s
oeuvre. It would be wonderful if this page were not the last to be revealed, if there were new finds ahead, which allow us to expand our understanding of the creative output of one of the forgotten composers from J. S. Bach’s circle and to objectively evaluate his role in the compositional style of his epoch. 

Maxim Serebrennikov

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

—Ingmar Bergman, 1968

 

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

The present article therefore aims: 

1) to summarize the existing research on partimento practice;

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

 

Introduction 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Analysis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Postscript

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

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

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

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

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

 

The list of German sources, containing samples of thoroughbass fugue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeffrey K. Chase

Jeffrey K. Chase is a practicing attorney in Ann Arbor, Michigan, with a concentration in the area of estate planning. He is a member of the bar of the United States Supreme Court. Prior to becoming an attorney, he earned a bachelor’s degree in music literature and a master’s degree in musicology. He has been a published feature writer and music critic for The Michigan Daily and The Detroit Free Press and has also written for High Fidelity magazine. Currently he also reviews classical music compact discs for All Music Guide, an online music reference source.

What a special trip the Marilyn Mason University of Michigan Historic Organ Tour 54 this past July 9–22 was, tracing the cities and churches limning the lives and careers of J. S. Bach and Buxtehude and, among others, the organ builders Silbermann, Schnitger, Trost and Marcussen! Entitled “In the Footsteps of Bach and Buxtehude,” it included visits to historic organs in Mühlhausen, Weimar, Eisenach, Arnstadt, Altenburg, Frauenstein, Freiberg, Dresden, Leipzig, Wittenberg, Hamburg, Lübeck, Århus, Odense and Copenhagen. Much was learned and experienced by its fortunate participants.
After arriving in Frankfurt at approximately 7:30 a.m. and after having collected all of the participants flying in from various locations, we boarded a beautiful, very modern bus to commence our journey of exploration.

Mühlhausen, Weimar, Eisenach, and Arnstadt
Our first stop was at St. Blasiuskirche in Mühlhausen, where Bach had worked from 1707–1708 (this year being the 300th anniversary of Bach’s arrival there from Arnstadt). While there, Bach submitted plans for rebuilding the organ.This organ, however, was replaced in the 19th century with a new instrument. But turnabout is fair play, and from 1956–1958 the 19th-century organ was removed; the Alexander Schuke company built a new organ based upon Bach’s plans, but with the addition of five new registers to support the performance of modern organ literature. The casework of this Schuke organ exemplifies the industrial style of the former East German regime and its banal aesthetic.
Then on to Weimar where Bach spent ten years as a musician to the Grand Duke; where Bach was imprisoned in 1716 for requesting to resign from his position to take another; and where, in 1717, Bach was first mentioned in print, being called “the famous Weimar organist.” After checking into the outstanding Elephant Hotel, next door to the building in which Bach lived from 1708–1717 and where his sons Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philip Emmanuel were born, we took a short stroll in the rain to visit the Parish Church of Sts. Peter and Paul, where, beginning in 1707, Bach’s relative and colleague Johann Gottfried Walther was organist.
Early the next morning we boarded the bus and departed for Eisenach, where J. S. Bach was born on March 21, 1685. He was baptized at St. George’s Church, where Luther had sung in the choir and had also preached. That baptismal font, which has a pedestal carved like a wooden basket, is still in use today. At that church, located on the Market Square (that day it was market day), we were treated to an organ recital (well attended by the public) performed by the young Denny Philipp Wilke, an organist from Nürnberg, who studied with Latry and van Oosten. Wilke performed Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in D, the Scherzo from Vierne’s Organ Symphony No. 2 and the Franck A-minor Choral on the 1982 Schuke of Potsdam organ. This fall Wilke was scheduled to record a recently discovered transcription by Dupré of Liszt’s Ad nos, ad salutarem undam.
After lunch we visited the Bach Museum (Bach’s birth house), where we heard a talk describing and demonstrating two small period organs, a spinet, a clavicembalo and a clavichord, and in which a crystal drinking cup, the only item remaining from the Bach household, is displayed. One of the rooms is set up as Bach’s composition room in Leipzig presumed to have looked.
Then back in the air-conditioned bus for a drive to Arnstadt to visit St. Boniface Church, containing a 1703 Wender organ (reconstructed by Hoffmann in 1999) on the fourth level. It was to test this organ that Bach came to Arnstadt in 1703. He was so appreciated that he was hired as organist and remained employed here until 1707, when he took his 200-mile walk to Lübeck to hear and learn from Buxtehude, a trip that resulted in his dismissal and move to Mühlhausen. Marilyn Mason’s friend Gottfried Praller demonstrated this Wender/Hoffmann instrument with performances of Buxtehude’s Ciaconne in d and Bach’s Fugue in d. On the third level of this church, now referred to as the Bachkirche, is a 1913 Steinmeyer organ, also reconstructed by Hoffmann in 1999.
Our last stop in Arnstadt was the nearby New Bach Museum containing, inter alia, the console Bach played upon in St. Boniface and some historic holographic music manuscripts.

Altenburg, Frauenstein, and Dresden
The next day, after breakfast, we departed for Dresden, but with two intermediary stops. The first was in Altenburg to view and play the 1735–1739 Tobias Heinrich Trost (1673–1759) organ in the castle church (“One of the great organs of the world,” says Marilyn Mason). Bach played this organ in September 1738 or 1739 and again in October 1739, when Bach’s pupil Krebs was the organist, as he was for the last 25 years of his life. This fine organ was also played by Weber, Liszt, Agricola and Schütz. Today Felix Friedrich, who has edited and published several volumes of Krebs’s work, is the organist. Altenburg is known as the playing card capital of the world, because playing cards are made here, and the castle museum contains an interesting collection of both old and new cards.
The second stop was in Frauenstein, the birth city of the revered organ builder Gottfried Silbermann (1683–1753) and the site where Werner Mueller established the Gottfried Silbermann Museum, which contains, among other things, a reproduction of a one-manual, no-pedal organ in Bremen, and upon which we each shared playing a theme and variations by Pachelbel on Was Gott thut, das ist wohlgetan. While there, we learned that the property has recently been sold to developers, so most likely the museum will be removed to another building.
Now in Dresden, we visited the Dom or Hofkirche (the Dom was the main church in a town) containing a 1755 Silbermann organ, his largest and last, with three manuals and 47 registers, and which was last restored by Jehmlich in 1971. Then we walked past the porcelain mural of the kings of Saxony on the street leading to the Frauenkirche, which, however, we could not visit due to the late time of day. So on to a fine dinner at one of the outside restaurants.

Freiberg, Leipzig, Rötha, and Stürmthal
The next day we traveled to Leipzig via Freiberg to visit Silbermann’s Opus 2 (1714) with three manuals and 44 registers and last restored by Jehmlich in 1983. We also visited the Jakobikirche, just outside the old city wall, where we played a two-manual Silbermann. This church is an old, very plain building but with an active congregation. The priest, rather than an organist, let us in and explained that the congregation can’t afford an organist. Can you imagine: a church with an historic Silbermann organ and no organist! Any volunteers?
In Leipzig we lunched on the Nikolaistraße before entering the Nikolaikirche, whose congregation was a leader in the democratic movement before the fall of the Berlin Wall. This church has a very ornate interior decorated with sharp pointed simulated foliage. We played an 1862 five-manual Ladegast organ reworked over the years by Sauer and by Eule. Currently part of its electronic stop action is by Porsche, whose name is prominently displayed on the beautiful wood of its art deco-like console. From the Nikolaikirche it was a short walk to the legendary Thomaskirche, originally part of a 13th-century monastery and the other main city church, and the one at which J. S. Bach was cantor from 1723 until his death in 1750 and with which he is most closely associated. Because this church is such a tourist attraction, all we could do was look around; the organ here is not a relic of the days of Bach’s tenure, but an 1889 Wilhelm Sauer instrument last restored in 1993. It is here that Bach is buried.
No University of Michigan organ tour to this area would be complete without a stop in Rötha to view the 1721 G. Silbermann organ in the Georgenkirche, because this instrument was chosen by Charles Fisk and Marilyn Mason as the model for what is now known as the “Marilyn Mason Organ” in the University of Michigan School of Music, Theatre and Dance—Fisk and Mason thought it, of all known G. Silbermann organs, best suited to the U-M space.
Next, an unscheduled visit to Stürmthal to tour a country church, where a funeral was in progress. Zacharias Hildebrandt (1688–1757), a protégé of G. Silbermann, built this organ, a one-manual with pedal, but got into trouble with Silbermann because of Silbermann’s perceived competition. Hildebrandt invited Bach to play this bright, high-pitched instrument and Bach wrote Cantata 194 for Hildebrandt.

Wittenberg, Lüneburg, Hamburg, and Neuenfelde
The next day, Saturday, began with a long drive to Hamburg with a first stop along the way in Wittenberg, birthplace of the Lutheran Reformation, to visit the revered Martin Luther sites. We did not play the organ in the castle church, another major tourist attraction and which now has Luther’s 95 statements immortalized in bronze on its doors (the doors upon which Luther nailed his 95 Theses on 31 October 1517 have long since been replaced).
The second stop on the Hamburg journey was in Lüneburg to visit the Michaeliskirche, where Bach had matriculated in the choir school. This triple-naved, Gothic, red-brick hall church with drastically leaning pillars contains an organ with a typical North German case and with pipes from many eras. This was originally the church for a Benedictine monastery, and thus the private church and sepulchral vaults for the reigning families of the Billungs and Guelphs. Tobias Gravenhorst is the current choirmaster. The organ here consists of an old case with new contents last reworked in 1999–2000 by Sauer, which used to be a large firm but now is only a small company. One might speculate whether Bach, as a young boy in the choir school gazing up at the organ case, got the idea of putting “Soli Deo Gloria” at the end of his compositions from the “Soli Deo Gloria” inscription at the top of the organ case. Sunday mornings are, of course, the time when churches are fulfilling their main function as houses of worship for their congregations, so for us Sunday morning is free time.
Sunday afternoon we visited the famous Jakobikirche in Hamburg, where we were hosted by a friendly female organist who knows English well. Reinken was on the city committee in 1693 when the organ was built by Arp Schnitger. Reinken didn’t want this church’s organ to have a 32′ stop because he wanted his church to be the only one in town to have a 32′ stop, but Schnitger foiled him by building two 32′s—a Principal and a Posaune. Bach applied for the organ post here in 1720, but he would have had to pay a fee to get the job. Instead a wealthy man with the money to pay (bribe!) was hired.
This was the organ whose pipes were removed to safe storage during WWII, thus saving this organ when the church and loft were subsequently destroyed. This Schnitger organ, which used to hang higher on the wall, was eventually restored by Jürgen Ahrend in 1950 and again in 1993. It was Schnitger’s habit to reuse pipes, so pipes from the 1500s were incorporated by Schnitger. (This in contrast to Silbermann, who used only new material.) Its temperament is between meantone and Werckmeister III (modified meantone). The faces of its donors are immortalized on the original stopknobs of the original console, which is displayed on a balcony but is not part of the currently functioning instrument. Albert Schweitzer has played this organ, and Marilyn Mason has proclaimed it one of the great organs of the world.
We also visited the Michaeliskirche in Hamburg, the main city church, a rococo room with curved balconies. The gallery organ was built from 1909–1912 by E. F. Walcker of Ludwigsburg. With its five manuals and 163 stops, for a time it was the largest organ in the world. We played music including French pieces that work well on it. The restored organ in the side gallery we did not play, nor did we play a small organ in the choir space. There were many visitors coming and going in this church.
St. Pankratius, a small church with a rural setting in Neuenfelde, is the burial place of Arp Schnitger (1648–1719) and was his home church for a number of years. He built this high baroque-style, two-manual, 34-stop organ for this church in 1688 and the bulletin board invites people to worship on Sunday to the accompaniment of the Schnitger organ.

Lübeck
On Monday, our last day in Germany, we journeyed to Lübeck, the first German city bombed in World War II (in response to the Germans’ bombing of Coventry, England), where we visited four important churches. The first was the Marienkirche, where Ernst-Erich Stender, organist, was our host. This is the church where Buxtehude had worked from 1668 to 1707. Its historic Schnitger organ and the Totentanz organ (named after a painting in the church) were destroyed by bombs in 1942.
The Domkirche, founded by Henry the Lion in 1173, today makes modern use of space. Its Romanesque towers survived the war, but its Gothic portions fell. Its contemporary (1960) stained glass window in the west end is especially beautiful. The 1699 Schnitger organ, originally built here but burned during the war, had been played by Handel, Mendelssohn and Mattheson. A 1970 Marcussen instrument now sits on the north wall. There are raised auditorium seats on the west end where the organ used to be and a small positiv organ is in the choir space. Here also is a charming Baggio di Rosa 1777 Italian one-manual portative organ with pull-down pedals and a bird stop, which has been restored by Ahrend in the Netherlands.
The design of the 13th-century Aegidiankirche is unusual because its pews face the preacher and not the altar. It has a choir screen from the Renaissance with eight panels depicting the life of Christ. Its original organ dated from 1629 and was built by Scherer of Hamburg. The case, not in baroque style, but with small, refined details suggestive of earlier times, was created by a famous Lübecker carver. This is one of the few organs built during the Thirty Years War, in which the independent northern German cities were not obliged to fight. Now, the old cabinetry with its intricate light and dark inlaid wood figures is more interesting than the 1992 Klais instrument it contains.
The Jakobikirche is where Hugo Distler—who had a good sense of history and resisted romantic modifications to the great organ, built by Joachim Richborn in 1673 and last restored by Schuke/Berlin in 1984—was the organist from 1931 to 1937. This organ contains pipes from a Blockwerk from the 1400s; Schuke added a Swell as part of his restoration in 1984. This organ is approximately 20% original and includes an 18th-century pedal division. Interestingly, there are two matching organ cases, north and west, both in swallow’s nest design. The main case is in Renaissance style and the Positiv case is in Baroque style.
The Jacobikirche three-manual, 31-register smaller organ by Stellwagen, built in 1637 and based upon an anonymous builder in 1515, was last restored by Brothers Hillebrand in 1978. With this organ being 70% original, today one hears what would have been the sounds of 1637 and of 1515. The Werckmeister temperament is tuned one step above A=440. Distler had this organ in mind when he composed Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland.

Ulkebøl, Sønderborg, and Aabendraa
The Ulkebøl Lutheran Church was our first stop in Denmark. Although this church has housed an organ continuously since the beginning of the 16th century, its current organ is a Marcussen & Søn dated 1888 set in a Jürgen Hinrichsen angel façade dated 1790. From 1864 to 1920 this part of Denmark had been part of Germany, and during World War II this church’s bells were removed to Hamburg to be melted down for munitions manufacture, but were fortunately rescued just at the end of the war before being melted. Danish churches have ships suspended from the ceiling to as a symbol recalling that human life is sustained by God; the nave is called the church ship. The patron of this church was the Duke of Augustinborg.
From there we bussed to the Sønderborg Castle; however, when we arrived the streets were blocked. We soon learned that this was for the security of the visiting Queen Margrethe, who had arrived in her royal yacht to visit this coastal castle. However she left promptly at 2 pm, and we were granted entrance to hear a recital on this reconstructed Renaissance organ by its organist. Originally there was a 1570 Rottenstein-Pock instrument, which was enlarged to two manuals with nine and five stops, respectively, in 1626; each manual has a slightly different compass. The present instrument is a 1996 Mads Kjersgaard reconstruction set in the original 1570 façade; D-sharp and E-flat are separate pitches because of the (probably) meantone tuning.
From there we were treated to a Marcussen factory tour. Founded in 1806, this firm celebrated its 200th anniversary last year. Still in the ownership of Marcussen’s descendants, it has been in this location in Aabendraa since 1829. Our tour was conducted by a Marcussen relative. We concluded this day in Århus.

Århus, Odense, and Copenhagen
The first stop the next morning was at the Århus Domkirke, the largest church in Denmark. Originally containing a Schnitger organ, the current instrument is a 1928 Frobenius, which has been placed behind the 1730 Kastens console and is the organ on which Gillian Weir recorded the complete works of Franck, Messiaen and Duruflé. Its 8′ Voix humaine is modeled after that in Ste. Clotilde in Paris (César Franck’s church).
After lunch we left for Odense, the birth city of Hans Christian Andersen, and visited St. Canute’s Cathedral, located next to a beautiful city park. This cathedral contains three organs: the smallest and oldest is the Jens Gregersen instrument built c. 1843; the second oldest is the main organ built by Marcussen & Søn in 1965 and using the façade of its 1756 predecessor; and the newest, in the east end of the cathedral, was built by Carsten Lund in 1999. Then on to Copenhagen for a visit to the Church of the Holy Ghost with its 1986 Marcussen & Søn organ; the opulent Jesuskirken, built by the Carlsberg brewing family and containing in front one of the last Cavaillé-Coll organs (dated 1890) built and, in the rear, a 1993–1994 Jensen & Thomsen instrument; and a city tour.

Roskilde
On the penultimate day we visited the impressive Roskilde Cathedral containing a 1991 Marcussen & Søn three-manual, 33-rank organ. We were granted special access to the upper gallery from which to view this magnificent edifice, which is the burial place of many Danish kings and queens and with its wonderful trompe l’oeil paintings of heroic exploits on various side chapel walls.
From there we visited the environmentally friendly chapel organ, an 1882 A. H. Busch & Sønner rebuild at Ledreborg Castle. The resident organist (from Tennessee!) gave a demonstration of this unusual single-manual instrument to which the pedal is always coupled, which has not been electrified and requires an assistant to work the bellows. We returned to Copenhagen to give a public recital at St. Andreas Church.
On Saturday, our last day together, many spent the day shopping and enjoying the city, while others visited the Trinity Church with its three-manual, 53-rank, 1956 Marcussen & Søn organ rebuilt by P. G. Andersen in 1977 and the Garnisonkirche. Our communal dinner, at an historic local restaurant, was a bittersweet gathering, knowing that the camaraderie created by this tour’s participants was a unique organism and never to be duplicated.
Unlike any other instrument, no two organs are the same and, to be fully understood and appreciated, should be personally touched and experienced. Thus, one of the primary values of these tours is to acquaint oneself with the famous historic organs of the world to experience what it is about each that makes it so revered. And on this two-week, multi-city tour of northern and eastern Germany and Denmark, the participants “experienced” approximately 43 organs dating from the 16th through the 20th centuries. But it’s not just about the organs. It’s about the camaraderie with organ aficionados, too.■

 

by Gregory Crowell

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

                  8'             Rohrflöte

                  4'             Principal

                  4'             Flöte

                  3'             Nasat (treble only)

                  2'             Octava

                  11/2'      Quinta

                  1'             Sifflöt

                                    Sesquialtera (treble only)

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

                  8'             Principal

                  8'             Gedackt

                  4'             Octav

                  4'             Rohrflöte

                  3'             Nasat

                  2'             Octav

                  11/3'      Quinte 

                  1'             Sifflöte

                                    Zimbel II

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

Manual

                  8'             Principal

                  8'             Gedackt

                  8'             Quintadena

                  4'             Praestant

                  4'             Rohrflöte

                  3'             Nasat

                  2'             Octave

                  13/5'      Terz 

                  11/2'      Quinte

                  1'             Sifflöte

                                    Mixtur III

                                    Cornet IV

Pedal

                  16'          Subbaß

                  16'          Posaune

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Principal choir with mixtures

Quintaden 16' and 8'

Bordun and Gedackt 8'

Gemshorn 4'

Nasat 22/3'

Subbaß, Violonbaß22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Türk states the case clearly:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8. The simply fantastic registrations for organ obbligato.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Couple Hauptwerk to Pedal

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

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

For various kinds of recitatives:

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

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

Aria with oboe obbligato accompanied by violins:

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

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

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

Aria with one or two flutes and muted strings:

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

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

Pedal, uncoupled: Violon 16', Principal 8'

 

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

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

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

Pedal, uncoupled: Violon 16', Principal 8'

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

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

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

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

Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  8.              Ibid, p. 250.

                  9.              Ibid, p. 316.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  17.           Adlung, Gelahrtheit, p. 386ff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  24.           Petri, Anleitung, p. 169.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                  34.           Greß, Klanggestalt, p. 132.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Myron B. Patterson

Myron Patterson is associate librarian and adjunct associate professor of organ at the University of Utah and organist and director of music at Holy Family Catholic Church, Ogden, Utah. He holds a doctorate in sacred music from the Graduate Theological Foundation and degrees in music and library science from the University of British Columbia, Northwestern University, and Trinity College of Music, London, England. Patterson has performed recitals in the United States, Canada, England, and Germany. He has served as an examiner for the American Guild of Organists and is a former dean of the Salt Lake City AGO chapter. He has served on the board of directors of the Association of Anglican Musicians and the Anglican Musicians Foundation. 

No doubt exists about the pedagogical value of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Das Orgelbüchlein. Perhaps the clearest statement of its importance can be found in George B. Stauffer’s notes in the preface to Russell Stinson’s Bach: The Orgelbüchlein (Monuments of Western Music) [New York: Schirmer Books, 1996; reprint, New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999], xi:

 

No other volume of music is so well known to organists as the Orgelbüchlein of Johann Sebastian Bach. For generations of players it has stood as the first resource for honing manual and pedal skills . . . It is central to the educational process, a pedagogical vade mecum that no student or instructor can be without. 

 

The purpose of the Orgelbüchlein can be viewed as a multifaceted fabric woven together from the following interconnected areas: compositional treatise, liturgical organ music, organ teaching method, and a theological statement.

Although the chronology of the Orgelbüchlein has been a point of question, as Ulrich Leisinger suggests, watermarks and handwriting on the original autograph show that the work was conceived at Weimar, where Bach was primarily court organist, and that these pieces were for the professional organist. This contradicts the title page indication of the collection’s pedagogical nature. Leisinger states that the handwriting on the title page is from about 1720 but that most of the musical content is from a later period. He suggests that Bach may have emphasized the pedagogical nature of the collection around the time of his application to St. Thomas, Leipzig. 

The pedagogical nature of the Orgelbüchlein is certainly substantiated by the number of copies made and used by Bach in his lifetime.¹ However, Russell Stinson gives a much fuller and comprehensive assessment of the chronology by citing multiple scholars who have attempted, with varying degrees of success, to authenticate the timeline of this work.² Stinson himself proposes and gives clear reasons for what may be the most plausible timeline: an early phase from about 1708–12, followed by a second or middle phase from 1712–13, and a late stage from 1715–16.³

 

Pedagogy

By the time he arrived in Weimar, Bach was established as a teacher and no doubt used the Orgelbüchlein as part of his teaching resources. Although the title was added later, it does state the following about the Orgelbüchlein: “guidance is given to a beginning organist . . . and become practiced in the study of pedaling. . . [and] for my neighbor, that he may instruct himself from it.”⁴ However, it should be noted that the work was not designed as a teaching tool in a graded sense, as most organ method books are today. It does ensure proficiency in the use of the pedals and the coordination connected with that skill, while the individual chorale settings serve as compositional models. The facsimiles of the Orgelbüchlein do not have the pedal line on a separate staff; all of the notation is on two staves. Further evidence for this work having been used as a pedagogical tool is shown by the number of copies made by Johann Tobias Krebs, Bach’s pupil in Weimar.

Because of its pedagogical value, clearly suggested by Bach himself in the title and through his use of it with his own pupils, it is not surprising that numerous teaching editions of the Orgelbüchlein have appeared in the twentieth century. The purpose of this article is to explore several twentieth-century editions of Das Orgelbüchlein as pedagogical and practical editions. The choice of editions is purely my own; the choices are drawn from my experience and perspective as a teacher and a performer. Omission of the Neue Bach Ausgabe volume of Das Orgelbüchlein is deliberate, since the Neue Bach Ausgabe is a scholarly edition and does not contain the added educational materials that are found in the editions I have included in this article. 

 

The Editions

The Liturgical Year: Forty-Five Organ Choral[e]s = Orgelbüchlein. Johann Sebastian Bach; edited by Albert Riemenschneider. Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania: Oliver Ditson, distributed by Theodore Presser, c. 1933. 1 score (xvi, 138 p.); 31 cm. Includes bibliographical references.

The title of this edition, which is based on the Bachgesellschaft edition as stated in the preface, is “The Liturgical Year.” While accurate, this differs from Bach’s original title, more accurately translated as “The Little Organ Book.” Riemenschneider explains his choice of title this way: “The whole was to cover the needs of the Church Year, and it is because of this that the set is known in America as ‘The Liturgical Year.’⁵ Riemenschneider goes on to explain the interpretation of the organ chorals [sic], which leads to his comments on performance tempo, phrasing, and dynamics coupled with expression. He gives a chart explaining how embellishments are to be interpreted, along with abbreviations and sources consulted. In “Some General Rules for Playing Bach,” Riemenscheider advocates fingering that allows for “perfect legato.” He states that “singing legato is the natural element of the organ. . . [and] remains paramount.”⁶ Precise attack and release of notes is essential. Repeated notes are addressed, as is the interpretation of voices being played on different keyboards. The organist is cautioned to avoid “buzz” by taking care when playing from white key to white key; black key to black key; white key to black key; and black key to white key. How to play octave leaps is also explained.

A clear outline of the whole plan of the Orgelbüchlein is given, along with an indication of which pieces were actually completed. Each individual chorale prelude is preceded by a four-part harmonization of the chorale melody along with German and English texts of one verse. There is one exception to this model and that is Vom Himmel kam der Engel Schaar, which lacks the usual four-part harmonization. Instead, a realization of the figured bass is given, along with a lengthy explanation regarding the difficulty finding a suitable choral harmonization. Alternate editions and references are also listed, along with “suggestions for interpretation.” 

Spacing and layout is clear and easy for the player to read at the organ console. Fingering and pedaling suggestions reflect the common practice of Riemenschneider’s time, which was based on a rather Romantic conception of Baroque performance practice. That this edition is still in print reflects the scholarship value of its contents and Riemenschneider’s stature within the organ teaching community, even though the points of view are now dated.

 

Orgelbüchlein: The Little Organ Book. The Organ Works of J. S. Bach, Book XV. Edited by Ivor Atkins, with an introduction by Ernest Newman; revised by Walter Emery. London: Novello, 1957. 

This edition of the Orgelbüchlein reflects numerous editorial hands, all of whom are respected twentieth-century scholars. Under Atkins’ editorship the edition is based on that of the Bachgesellschaft, while Emery’s revision is based on the Berlin autograph. Unlike the Riemenschneider edition, this edition’s educational or pedagogical value (aside from being extremely physically well laid-out, with chorale harmonizations designed for singing and ornamentation interpretations being included in the musical text) lies in the prefatory material dealing with stylistic observations regarding composition. 

Newman’s introduction is thorough. In it, he covers many aspects of the compositional style of the Orgelbüchlein—for example, stating that for “a great number of preludes [in the collection] polyphony is the life and soul; and this polyphony assumes various forms.”⁷ Newman points out other examples that are more harmonically intense and have some melodic decoration, such as Liebster Jesu wir sind hier, and Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ. A third style Newman refers to is arabesque treatment of the chorale melody. In the third part of the introduction, Newman discusses poeticism, pictorialism, and symbolism as found in the Orgelbüchlein chorales. 

As editor of the original edition, Ivor Atkins presents commentary regarding phrasing, registration, and classification of the preludes. One specification of a Bach organ at the Weimar Castle is given, but registration considerations are minimal and general. Walter Emery, as reviser of this edition, gives more up-to-date insights than Newman and Atkins. However, Emery’s notes are representative of scholarship in 1957. While valuable as a student edition, the Novello edition does not represent later twentieth-century scholarship; its value is in its layout, ease of use, and editorial comments with each of the preludes, including interpretation of ornaments and notes about the chorale. 

 

Orgelbüchlein, Johann Sebastian Bach. With introduction, figured–bass chorales, texts and commentary, edited and prepared by Robert Clark and John David Peterson. St. Louis: Concordia, 1984. 

In their prefatory material, Robert Clark and John David Peterson clearly state that their edition is based on the Berlin manuscript referred to in endnote 7. The educational value of the introduction in this edition is multifaceted. It contains a brief history of the chorale and states that the organ was used minimally in sixteenth-century Lutheran services. Because of the organ’s minimal use, there was a lack of organ chorale collections; these came at a later time, as did more elaborate organ settings of chorale melodies. The pedagogical use of the Orgelbüchlein is clearly explained, indicating that its goal is to teach how to work out a chorale and provide studies in pedaling, while its liturgical use within the Lutheran liturgy is unclear. The editors speculated upon where the organ chorales might have been placed within the liturgy, since Bach gave no indication of this.

The types of organ known to Bach are discussed in general terms, but the specifications of organs at Weimar, Erfurt, Mühlhausen, and Grosshartmannsdorf are given and can help students to understand how to register these chorale settings. Broad guidelines regarding the registration of the individual chorale settings are given. These guidelines include: 1) the expressive character of a piece, in other words, the use of Affekt; 2) historical possibilities for registering a piece based on Bach’s eclectic view of organs; 3) the purely musical possibilities of registration. Examples are provideddemonstrating these concepts.

Ornamentation common to Bach’s time is discussed, noting that the trill and mordent are the primary ornaments used in the Orgelbüchlein. Examples from the chorales are given to illustrate their execution.

Articulation is thoroughly, yet briefly explained. Rhetorical figures are explained in detail, with specific examples from the chorales provided. Discussion of rhetoric is unique to this collection and has great pedagogical value regarding interpretation and performance. Understanding rhetorical figures can prove useful in interpreting other Baroque organ works, especially, but not limited to, those of Bach. A complete list of the chorales in liturgical order, including those that were never composed, is given. Some rather poor facsimiles are included. While not stellar reproductions, they do have some teaching value.

Each of the chorale preludes within the collection is preceded by comments regarding compositional style, possible performance approaches, registration suggestions, and where each setting fits into the church year. A four-part harmonization of the chorale melody, including figured bass, is given. The layout of the music is clear, making the music easy to read. All of these characteristics make it an excellent teaching and learning edition. 

 

J. S. Bach, 1685–1750, Basic Organ Works: Orgelbüchlein, Three Free Works. Edited by Quentin Faulkner. Wayne Leupold Editions WL 500006, 1997.

In 1997 Wayne Leupold Editions published J. S. Bach, Basic Organ Works edited by Quentin Faulkner. Three freely composed works are included in the volume containing the Orgelbüchlein. This edition, which is based on the Berlin autograph and other sources, is an exemplary pedagogical tool in many ways. 

Quentin Faulkner discusses the Orgelbüchlein’s history and the “Bach Organ,” particularly those at Altenburg Court Chapel and St. Wenceslaus Church, Naumburg. Knowing something of the Bach Organ leads to a better understanding of how to register the Orgelbüchlein chorales. Faulkner’s discussion of organ registration includes reference to Agricola’s writings on this topic, since this is the most complete resource coming from the Baroque period. Reflecting on Agricola’s writing, “plenum” and “combinations of the flute stops” are explained, along with reed stops and Bach’s own registrational practices. Two observational statements are made by Faulkner regarding registration: 1) organ registration is a matter of taste as discerned by the ear of the performer; and 2) greater familiarity with the organs of Bach’s time results in more informed performances. 

Detailed discussion of articulation is given, particularly dealing with the areas of touch, musical phrases, and the doctrine of figures. Meter and tempo are considered and, unlike the Riemenschneider edition, which views meter and tempo in a subjective and emotional context, Faulkner refers to Johann Kirnberger’s theory of musical meter and tempo being comparable to speech. Only three tempo indications are found in the Orgelbüchlein: Largo, Adagio, and Adagio assai.

Posture, hand position and fingerings, pedaling, and ornamention are explained and a rationale for the fingerings used in this edition is given. The enigmatic corona (fermata) is addressed. Hymn tunes and their texts are explained. A very useful teaching and learning aid is the listing of the chorales in order of difficulty, along with the criteria used for creating this list. Also provided are a systematic learning guide and a bibliography of sources in English for further reading. All topics in this preface are illustrated clearly with musical examples, which give clarity to the written text. Black and white illustrations of places, organs, and music facsimiles appear throughout the edition.

The completeness, reference to historical documents, clarity of writing, comprehensiveness of written text illustrated by equally comprehensive musical examples, learning aids, historical fingerings in the musical text, and reference to additional sources make this perhaps the most valuable pedagogical edition of the Orgelbüchlein.

Both of these editions, first that by Clark and Peterson edition and then that by Faulkner, became popular teaching editions and both have much to offer. The Clark edition is clearly printed in oversize format with an excellent preface. As in the other editions covered in this article, a complete list of chorales as Bach planned them is given along with several black and white facsimiles of chorales. A bibliography of articles dealing with the Orgelbüchlein is given at the end of the edition. By contrast the Leupold-Faulkner edition has extensive prefatory material, and fingering representing what is believed to have been the performance practice of Bach’s time. Both of these editions have strengths and value as pedagogical volumes. 

 

An American Bach Edition

Johann Sebastian Bach, The Complete Organ Works. Edited by George B. Stauffer. Series 1A and 1B. Colfax, North Carolina: Wayne Leupold Editions WL 500020 and WL 500021, 2012.

Wayne Leupold has taken on an even more intense project, which Barbara Owen’s review refers to as “an American Bach Edition.” The editorial team used American evaluation techniques that include the testing of each volume by pedagogues and students. The Leupold Edition is in two parts: Series I comprises fifteen volumes that include the music and pedagogical works. Series II comprises monographs dealing with sources of Bach’s organ works; Bach’s organ chorales, that is, tunes, texts and translations; and performance issues. 

Within the first series the Orgelbüchlein appears as both a “Practical Urtext” and a “Standard Urtext.” In the commentary, Stauffer discusses the historical progression or development of the Orgelbüchlein, which he divides into early, middle, and late periods during Bach’s time in Weimar and later revisions linked to Bach’s students Krebs and Kittel in Leipzig. These musical variants are given within the musical text as ossias. Although not from Bach himself, the edition suggests eighteenth-century registrational possibilities based on Kirnberger’s Berlin Circle. New readings and performance suggestions along with detailed historical background are given, along with a generous inclusion of facsimiles, some of them in color. Problematic passages are discussed.

A unique feature of the Orgelbüchlein, in this edition, is its appearance in two urtext versions with the repertoire being almost the same in both. However, there are differences. The standard edition has nine variant readings while only one variant (BWV 634) is included in the practical edition. The chorales appear in both versions; the chorale melodies are harmonized in the practical version. The Orgelbüchlein content from Bach’s autograph is included in the standard edition only, while the practical edition contains two tables of ornaments. A detailed editorial report is given in both versions.

There is a rationale for having two versions of the Orgelbüchlein. In his review of the new Leupold Bach Edition, Lawrence Archbold suggests that with some modification, the standard edition could serve as an organ tutor while the practical edition may be more useful to students because of the explanation of ornaments and the inclusion of fully harmonized chorales. In fact, Archbold asserts that the practical edition most likely will be the choice of students because of the way it draws them to the music. 

Archbold’s final statement is: “one regrets the empty pages in J. S. Bach’s copy of the Orgelbüchlein.” This makes a wonderful segue to an innovative project currently underway and connected to the Orgelbüchlein.

 

The OrgelbЯchlein Project 

Noted British organist William Whitehead has set about a thrilling and imaginative project in which he plans the completion of the Orgelbüchlein. Bach wrote the titles of 164 chorales in the Orgelbüchlein and finished only 46, leaving 118 “ghost” compositions—gaps that Whitehead wants to fill with compositions that will bring to completion Bach’s initial vision. The rules for submission are simple. First, the chorale melody must be one of those inscribed by Bach but never started or finished. Second, the length of each composition should be between one and two-and-a-half minutes, but should not exceed five minutes. Third, any style is encouraged, but the pieces must be for organ solo and have a pedal obbligato as Bach indicated in the full title of the Orgelbüchlein. 

The project was launched in 2009 at the London Festival of Contemporary Church Music with six compositions being played by organ students from Trinity College of Music. The stylistic palette varied in style from jazzy to astringent. A second phase of the project took place in Cambridge, where the whole of Bach’s original Orgelbüchlein compositions and new pieces by British composers Thomas Neal, Jeremy Thurlow, Cecilia McDowall, Robin Holloway, Jeremy Coleman, and Iain Farrington were performed. A web page dedicated to this imaginative project can be accessed at www.orgelbuechlein.co.uk. Here can be found links to various aspects of this project including recordings, composition rules, commissioned chorales, and the Orgelbüchlein community.

 

Conclusion

Bach’s Orgelbüchlein continues to fascinate the creative mind and has proven to be a lasting source of pedagogical interest while serving as a foundational tool in developing the technique and skills of organ students. Because of this ongoing fascination and interest, there have been numerous editions edited by eminent scholars and equally eminent publishers. In this overview, I have shown the strengths of several of these editions and, hopefully, have introduced new insights regarding lesser-known or  infrequently used editions. ν

 

Acknowledgements

Images of pages from Bach’s autograph of the Orgelbüchlein, from the Bärenreiter Faksimile, are courtesy
Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin—Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Musikabteilung mit Mendelssohn-Archiv (Mus.ms. Bach P 283).

 

Notes

1. J. S. Bach, Orgelbüchlein (Little Organ Book), Ulrich Leisinger, editor, with notes on interpretation by Ewald Kooiman. Vienna: Universal Edition, ix.

2. Stinson, 12–17.

3. Stinson, 14–17.

4. Peter Williams, Playing the Organ Works of J. S. Bach (Cambridge Studies in Music). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Quoted in Stinson, 31.

5. Riemenschneider. p. v.

6. Ibid., x.

7. Atkins, v.

 

Bibliography

Archbold, Lawrence. “Johann Sebastian Bach: the Complete Organ Works,” The American Organist 45, no. 11 (November 2012): 53–54.

Bach, Johann Sebastian. Orgelbüchlein, BWV 599–644: Faksimile der autographen Partitur. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1981

Owen, Barbara. “An American Bach Edition At Last,” The Tracker 55, no. 3 (2011): 24–26.

Roberts, W. Peter. “The Orgelbüchlein Project—Blessing and Curse.” The Organ 91 (2012): 58.

Stauffer, George B. “The Complete Organ Works of J. S. Bach: The Leupold Edition,” The American Organist 44, no .9 (September 2010): 41–43. 

Stinson, Russell. Bach: The Orgelbüchlein. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996.

 

Robert August

Robert August is director of music/organist at First Presbyterian Church of Fort Worth, Texas. Previously he was assistant university organist and choirmaster at The Memorial Church at Harvard University, during doctoral studies at the New England Conservatory of Music. A native of the Netherlands, he has an extensive background in historical performance. August has served as carillonneur at Brigham Young University, and as organist and conductor at churches in the Netherlands and the United States. In addition to collaboration with artists such as Yo-Yo Ma, Christopher Hogwood, and Simon Carrington, he has performed in Europe and the United States as a solo artist and accompanist, including tours and CD recordings with the Harvard University Choir and the Harvard Baroque Chamber Orchestra. Robert and his wife, flutist Dolores August, often collaborate on modern and period instruments.

This is a work that has occupied
me for the whole of the previous year in an effort to make it worthy of the lofty name it bears. It is also a work which, I believe, is likely to outlive my other creations the longest.”1 This was Schumann’s description of the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH, op. 60, in a letter to his publisher, after completion of the final fugue. Schumann took great care and pride in the six fugues, but his prediction could not have been more off target as the fugues are rarely performed anymore. Rather, they have become the topic of ongoing discussions about Schumann’s mental state in relation to the quality of his output.
The notion that the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH are of lesser quality than the majority of Schumann’s oeuvre seems to be based on largely subjective analyses. Such subjectivism is not uncommon in art and music, as is evident in Albert Schweitzer’s discussion of J.S. Bach’s Passacaglia in C Minor, BWV 582: “He [Bach] saw clearly, however, that on the whole the incoherency of this kind of work was not suitable to the greatest organ music, and he ventures upon the experiment only with this colossal theme.”2 In Schweitzer’s opinion, the Passacaglia was a compositional failure that did not compare to Bach’s other organ works.
Robert Schumann was of a different opinion: “After a pause, these [organ compositions] were followed by the Passecaille in C Minor (with 21 variations, intertwined so ingeniously that one can never cease to be amazed) admirably handled in the choice of registers by Mendelssohn.”3 Schweitzer’s and Schumann’s remarks, published roughly sixty years apart, could not be more contradictory.
Why is it that the Passacaglia can render such opposing views, especially by two men known for their deep respect and understanding of Bach’s music?4 With regard to Schweitzer, we cannot be sure if his comments were the result of a somewhat subjective analysis, but he undoubtedly would not have published his findings unless he believed them to be correct.5 Schumann’s opposing remarks are fascinating as well. They not only provide us with his opinion of the Passacaglia but also unveil his often-overlooked understanding of the organ.
Tragically, Schumann’s organ works, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH, op. 60, have often been deemed ‘unworthy’ and are repeatedly criticized or, perhaps worse, omitted from Schumann biographies. Op. 60 is systematically neglected and misinterpreted, often as a result of careless research. It is undoubtedly the most disputed cycle Schumann ever composed. Despite a number of favorable articles, a flow of negative writings remains consistent.6 Numerous articles on the six fugues are based on flawed research and, in some cases, pre-existing articles. Biographers often use Schumann’s mental condition to explain the lack of quality in the six fugues, conveniently ignoring the fact that Schumann produced some of his best works during the same period, including the Symphony in C Major and the Piano Concerto in A Minor.7

A musical cure
A general misconception of Schumann’s organ works seems to have carried well into the 20th and 21st centuries, as several of even the most recent Schumann biographers merely reference the fugues rather than opening up a dialogue or deeper discussion. Schumann’s organ works are neglected in several “comprehensive” Schumann biographies. Alan Walker, e.g., speaks favorably of the 1845/46 compositions in general, but omits op. 60 altogether.8 George Dadelsen describes the six fugues as “appallingly monotonous” while trying to compete with Bach’s Art of Fugue.9 Other biographers carelessly mislabel op. 60; Marcel Brion describes the Four Fugues on the name of Bach, op. 72,10 while John Worthen writes: “In April he began writing his Six Fugues for Organ on B-A-C-H (op. 60), a sequence interrupted only by the arrival of a rented pedal-piano which allowed him to write works for keyboard and pedal which did not require an organ.”11 Schumann, in fact, did not interrupt his fugal writing. Instead, a pedal attachment for the piano was hired to practice organ.12 Eric Jensen makes a similar mistake: “Schumann rented a pedal piano—a piano fitted with pedals for the feet like an organ—in order to become familiar with the technique involved.”13
Although Schumann was by no means an accomplished organist like Mendelssohn, he did have a deep understanding of the instrument, as is evident in numerous sources.14 Robert Schauffler claims that the fugues were mere play: “To Schumann at the height of his career, such exercises [contrapuntal studies] were mere play. While diverting him, they used up so little of his true creative power that, with the approach of warm weather, he was able to throw himself into making two of his chief masterpieces: the Piano Concerto and the C Major Symphony.”15 Schauffler continues:

Schumann must have felt in his bones that fugal writing was not in his line; for not until 1839 did he compose his first published attempt, that unsuccessful experiment, the Fughette, op. 32, no. 4. He gave out nothing more of the sort until the nervous collapse of 1845, during which he wrote works that look passing strange in a catalogue of his music.16

After a short description of Schumann’s contrapuntal works of 1845, Schauffler writes:

The composer’s nervous collapse had been aggravated by the too intense labor and excitement of his years of song, symphony, and chamber music. One suspects that when, as he wrote Mendelssohn on July 17th, 1845, ‘an onslaught of terrifying thoughts’ had brought him to try his hand at fugal writing, very much as we of today would cajole a nervous invalid into doing crossword puzzles, to take his mind from his troubles. The very fact that Schumann’s intensely subjective nature made it almost impossible for him to give of his best in this formal, objective style allowed him to play with these contrapuntal forms without expending too much energy.17
Peter Ostwald too, believes that the contrapuntal works of 1845 were exercises to improve the composer’s mental condition:

Despite his physical and psychological complaints, Schumann was beginning to do some composing again, but it was mainly the sort of counterpoint exercises he had relied on, as a way of settling his mind, during earlier depressive episodes. He rented a special musical instrument, called a pedal piano, that “has an extra set of strings and hammers, making it easier to play fugues, and worked on Bach for a while.”18

While Ostwald does not stand alone in his opinion of Schumann’s mental state in relation to the compositions of the contrapuntal year of 1845, one cannot but wonder why they, in particular the organ works, have methodically been deemed inferior. Ostwald also writes:

Before the trip with Clara, in August 1845, Schumann had composed several fugues based on the name BACH, and he published an impressive amount of contrapuntal work later that year and the next. The six BACH Fugues in particular must have required enormous concentration, since not only are they based on a musical relationship between Bach’s name and the notes of each fugue subject, but they also incorporate an intricate mathematical system, the so-called Bach numbers, which Bach himself had used to provide cohesion in his contrapuntal work.19

With all due respect to Mr. Ostwald, his findings are based on pre-existing, flawed research. Though Schumann indeed incorporated certain Baroque principles in his organ works, Peterson’s attempt to attribute “Bach numbers” to the fugues holds no ground. Similar misguided assumptions have been applied to Bach’s music as well, claiming for example, that Bach had left clues in his music in regards to his own date of death.20 Despite his intrigue with Bach numbers, Peterson’s opinion of the fugues as a whole is less than favorable: “Schumann’s fugal writing seems, in spite of his studies, to have been a contrivance which he discarded when he felt hampered by it, even in a work entitled ‘fugue’.”21 Stephen Walsh provides us with a similar statement: “Even in the finest passages of op. 60 one is aware of a certain impersonal quality about the writing.”22
A recent biography by John Worthen reads: “This [study of counterpoint] was, after all, a musical cure; one that involved creating music on the page, after the enforced dry period of the autumn of 1844.”23 Worthen continues with some blatant assumptions:
Such music insisted on structure and pattern, rather than on the harnessing and expression of emotion and melody which had made the work on Faust so exhausting. The fugal music could be worked out logically and tunefully, within its own very narrow confines. Its very limitations offered freedom from excitement.24
What Worthen exactly means by ‘tunefully’ remains uncertain. As an analysis of the fugues will demonstrate, his claim that the fugues are confined or free from excitement could not be farther removed from the truth. Worthen’s next statement too, is completely false: “At any rate, the ‘quiet’ neo-Baroque music that engaged Schumann in the spring and early summer of 1845 may have been a rather narrowly focused sequence of works to occupy the composer of the Finale zu Faust, but it had served the purpose of getting him back into composing.”25 As we will see in the following discussion, the perception of Schumann’s contrapuntal studies as mere therapeutic tools has remained a common yet flawed assumption for over a century.

Schumann and Bach
An aversion to the organ works is routinely linked to Schumann’s mental illness, while some scholars maintain that Schumann simply was not a real contrapuntist, and that his knowledge of counterpoint was quite moderate. Though the number of unfavorable commentaries seems perhaps overwhelming, it is interesting to make the comparison with—at least as many—complimentary testimonials. Schumann’s studies in counterpoint commenced well before composing the six fugues. The numerous entries in the diaries and household books depict Schumann as a prodigious student of Bach works and contrapuntal techniques (see Appendix 1). Schumann seems to have taken a natural liking to Bach’s music, perhaps enhanced by the Bach revival of the early 19th century. Leon Plantinga writes:
He [Schumann] subscribed to a rather deterministic view of history in which a central tradition in music could be expected to develop in certain orderly and predictable ways. For him this tradition, for all practical purposes, had its beginning in Bach, the first in a series of monumental composers whose personal contributions comprised the locus of an inevitable line of progress leading to his own time. This line extended through Beethoven and Schubert to Schumann’s own contemporaries.26
This ‘extended line’ manifests itself in the organ fugues as Schumann reaches back to older forms while engaging in a new kind of fugal writing. Though Schumann was not the first composer to incorporate the famous BACH theme, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH comprise the first significant cycle of organ works of its kind, soon to be followed by Liszt, Reger, and many more. For Schumann, studies in the Art of Fugue were crucial in the genesis of the organ fugues. As Gerhard Weinberger writes:
The overall conception, the thematic material and the extremely high quality of the writing all derive from Bach; this fugue cycle represents the end of a developmental phase which culminated in Schumann’s study of Bach’s music (the six fugues may be viewed directly as modeled in the Art of Fugue) and of the fugue per se.27
Weinberger continues: “Nevertheless, the fugues are by no means derivative stylistic copies, but effective ‘character fugues’ in the romantic vein.”28 An interesting detail is the fact that Schumann, despite his admiration of Bach, deemed the Art of Fugue too intellectual. His view in this matter may be explained by his famous quote:
The best fugue will always be the one that the public takes for a Strauss waltz; in other words, a fugue where the structural underpinnings are no more visible than the roots that nourish the flower. Thus a reasonably knowledgeable music-lover once took a Bach fugue for a Chopin etude—to the credit of both! Thus, too, one could play for many a maiden the last part of one of the Mendelssohn fugues and call it one of the Lieder ohne Worte. The charm and tenderness of the figures are such that she would never be reminded of churches and fugues.29
This last comment is fascinating. “Never be reminded of churches” is a telling statement that says a lot about the Zeitgeist, since churches and fugues are so strongly connected here, and in such a harsh way.
Schumann’s interest in the organ was steeped in a deep admiration for Bach. In the April 1842 issue of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik he wrote: “ . . . At our next meeting, a volume of well-executed fugues would please us more than another one full of sketches. At this royal instrument, the composer must have learned the value of clearly defined artistic form, such as that given to us by Bach in the largest as well as smallest works.”30 Three years earlier Schumann wrote: “But it is only at his organ that he [Bach] appears to be at his most sublime, most audacious, in his own element. Here he knows neither limits nor goal and works for centuries to come.”31 Schumann’s organ fugues, thus, are not a byproduct of mental exercises. They are carefully crafted works, based on a long tradition.
Approaching fugal composition from a new (Romantic) perspective, Schumann felt that he had created works that were truly unique. Like Bach himself, Schumann united the old and new, resulting in six spectacular character pieces. After all, according to Schumann, “Most of Bach’s fugues are character pieces of the highest kind; in part truly poetic creations,”32 and Schumann’s fugues were no different. In the diaries Schumann refers to Bach’s compositions repeatedly. He seemed to be concerned with preserving and reviving Bach’s legacy, which, according to Hans T. David, “. . . by invoking the name of Bach again and again, helped gain for Bach’s work a secure place in the minds of educated musicians.”33 In addition to the Bach legacy, Schumann was concerned with preserving his own legacy. His preferred medium in this—the fugue—is easily explained by his lifelong admiration of Bach’s keyboard fugues. Charles Rosen gives a second reason for Schumann’s choice: “In the nineteenth century, the fugue had become a demonstration of conventional mastery, a proof of craftsmanship. Besides competing with Beethoven, Schumann conforms to the standard pattern of fugue laid down by Cherubini.”34
In addition to Bach’s keyboard fugues, at least two more sources play an important role in Schumann’s contrapuntal output: Marpurg’s Abhandlung von der Fuge (1753) and Cherubini’s Cours de Contrepoint et de Fugue (1835). Federhofer and Nauhaus write:

The composer’s concern with counterpoint began during his ‘apprenticeship’ with Heinrich Dorn (1804-1892) in the years 1831/32, and bore its first fruits in his exercise books. Schumann subsequently turned his attention to F.W. Marpurg’s Abhandlung von der Fuge [Treatise on Fugue], parts of which he studied again, albeit reluctantly, in the autumn of 1837, along with Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. This independent study is reflected, in an artistically transmuted form, in the book of Fugengeschichten [Fugal matters] (November 1837) which is at present held at the Robert Schumann Haus in Zwickau.35
According to the Haushaltbücher, the Schumanns’ studies of Cherubini’s treatise commenced April 6, 1845, the same month Robert finished the first two organ fugues. Cours de Contrepoint et de Fugue is largely based on Bach works and clearly serves as a point of departure for Schumann’s organ fugues. Two and a half weeks later, on April 24, Clara describes the rented pedal board for their piano: “. . . we obtained on hire a pedal to be attached below the pianoforte, and from this we received great pleasure. Our chief object was to practice organ playing.”36 Both Robert and Clara enjoyed the organ, but it seems that the intent was to study organ rather than becoming concert organists like Mendelssohn. Clara by then was a renowned concert pianist, while Robert had given up keyboard playing some fifteen years earlier, due to his numb finger.
A combination of counterpoint studies, a deep admiration for Bach, and a great appreciation for the organ finally resulted in the counterpoint episodes of 1845. In regards to Schumann’s organ compositions, Joachim Draheim writes, “The exceptional importance and originality of these fugues were long insufficiently appreciated, although they belong to the very few truly distinctive organ compositions from the first half of the 19th century, together with Mendelssohn’s Organ Sonatas, op. 65, to which they owe certain impulses.”37 Besides generating an artistic legacy, Schumann may have anticipated commercial success from his contrapuntal output; works for pedal piano were hardly available, and Schumann made sure he was among the first to write for the instrument, ensuring a ‘head start’ in any possible financial gain. The six fugues were, like Mendelssohn’s organ sonatas, among the very few serious organ compositions of their time, and the first large cycle of organ fugues on the name of BACH. And as Schumann himself points out, the organ fugues can also easily be performed on piano (four hands). Schumann cleverly published opp. 56, 58 and 60 as works for pedal piano or organ, most likely to enhance sales. However, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH lacked (financial) success, and remain Schumann’s only attempt at organ composition. Schumann, however, was very pleased with his contrapuntal endeavors. A letter of 8 February 1847 to his friend Carl Ferdinand Becker illustrates Schumann’s satisfaction with the six fugues: “I have never polished and worked so long on any composition of mine as on this one in order to make it worthy of the illustrious name which it bears.”38

Mendelssohn
Like Mendelssohn, Schumann favored a modern fugal type steeped in the Bach tradition, yet combined with a poetic flavor. As Plantinga points out: “It was the particular genius of Mendelssohn, Schumann said, to show that successful fugues could still be written in a style that was fresh and yet faithful to its Bachian and Handelian models; these fugues hold to the form of Bach, he felt, though their melody marks them as modern.”39 Already a famous conductor, composer and organist, Mendelssohn wrote his Three Preludes and Fugues, op. 37 in 1836–37. Later, in 1844–45, he wrote the Six Sonatas, op. 65. As Klaus-Peter Richter points out, the motivic resemblances between Mendelssohn’s and Schumann’s organ works are more than obvious.40 In reference to Mendelssohn’s fugues of the six sonatas,41 Schumann writes: “I do not wish to indulge in blind praise, and I know perfectly well that Bach made fugues of quite a different sort. But if he were to rise from the grave today, he would, I am sure—having delivered himself of some opinions about the state of music in general—rejoice to find at least flowers where he had planted giant-limbed oak forests.”42
Mendelssohn’s organ works were well received by critics43 and may have generated Schumann’s contrapuntal aspirations, though Schumann may have chosen a slightly different path to avoid comparison with Mendelssohn’s compositions; in addition to writing the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH he wrote a set of canons and sketches for the pedal piano.44 Schumann hoped to be among the first to publish works for this relatively new instrument, ensuring financial and artistic gain. Including the piano as an optional instrument for performance of the fugues, sketches, and canons aided Schumann in several ways; it bypassed the archaic reputation of the organ while marketing the music for the most widely used keyboard instrument of that time. An advertisement in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik states:

Some Studies and Sketches for the pianoforte with pedal will shortly be published from Robert Schumann. We would like to remind our readers that in our opinion, when once this combining of instruments finds general acceptance, performers will have the opportunity not only to return to the earlier art and bring classical organ works into private homes, but also discover many different uses for the pedal piano and accomplish new effects.45

Alas, the pedal piano never became the widely used instrument Schumann was hoping for, and none of the contrapuntal studies of 1845 were a financial success.

Schumann and the organ
The rise of the Enlightenment caused a great shift in the use of instruments in churches, the court, and at home. The new, galant style called for instruments capable of immediate and subtle changes in timbre and dynamics; hence, the piano became the new keyboard instrument of choice. The organ, as Schumann wrote, reminded people of “churches and fugues,” and was considered an archaic and static instrument. Despite its tainted status, Schumann proceeded to compose for the instrument, a decision that may be partially attributed to a long tradition; many post-Renaissance composers wrote larger works to preserve their name in history. Several of Bach’s sacred compositions, for example, were simply too long to be included in church services.46 Similarly, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Schumann were not employed by the church, yet their output includes a large quantity of sacred works.47
Scholars have often blamed Schumann’s limited knowledge of the organ for the so-called poor quality of the organ works. However, Schumann knew the organ well, and his understanding of the instrument was in fact greater than most of his contemporaries. Russell Stinson recently uncovered an important document in regards to Schumann’s perception of Bach, as well as the organ. The Clara Schumann Bach Book offers a detailed list of Bach keyboard works from Schumann’s library and contains numerous detailed markings (corrections, registrations, etc.) in Schumann’s hand (see Appendices 2 and 3 on page 26).
The source is very specific and provides us with a list of Bach’s keyboard works that Schumann owned before the contrapuntal year of 1845. In one particular example Stinson points out: “In the case of the Clavierübung setting of ‘Vater unser, im Himmelreich,’ Schumann bracketed every phrase of the canon on the chorale melody, similar to how he analyzed fugues from the Well-Tempered Clavier.”48 The Vater unser chorale prelude is a compositional tour de force and one of Bach’s most complex organ works. Based on the many markings, this work must have had a great impact on Schumann. Schumann also corrected typographical errors and gave detailed descriptions about the use of stops, manual changes, as well as pitch designation, all of which demonstrate more than basic knowledge of the organ.49 As Stinson points out:
Just consider how Schumann annotated, from Part 3 of the Clavierübung, the manualiter setting of “Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir,” a work in which Bach subjects each phrase of the chorale tune to a complex fugal exposition before stating the melody in augmentation in the soprano voice. Following Bach’s constant use of inversion and stretto, Schumann bracketed, in addition to each phrase of the chorale proper, every one of the roughly forty fugal statements.50

The Clara Schumann Bach Book is an invaluable source, and for once and for all does away with the general misconception of Schumann’s limited knowledge of the organ. The evidence in Schumann’s personal library discloses both his interest and knowledge of Bach, the organ and counterpoint.

A new approach
Schumann was known to compose rather fast, but it took him from April to November to write the fugues. In the Diaries, Schumann writes:

I used to write most, practically all of my shorter pieces in [the heat of] inspiration; many compositions [were completed] with unbelievable swiftness, for instance, my First Symphony in B-flat Major [was written] in four days, as was a Liederkreis of twenty pieces [Dichterliebe]; the Peri too was composed in a relatively short time. Only from the year 1845 on, when I began to invent and work out everything in my head, did a completely new manner of composing begin to develop.51

This new manner of composing resulted in works that were based on a thorough, perhaps more intellectual approach. Schumann’s keyboard compositions of 1845 are often said to be more objective than his earlier compositions.52 That in itself is a subjective statement, and should be taken with a grain of salt. Traits of the younger Schumann can be found in any of the collections written in 1845, but they also expose a maturing composer. These are indeed contrapuntal works based on models by Bach, Marpurg, and Cherubini, but Schumann remained true to himself as a person and artist by combining the new with the old. The fugues exhibit a blend of sentiment (third fugue), restriction (fifth fugue), and excitement (second and sixth fugues). Schumann, as Weinberger says, “demonstrates the highest skill in contrapuntal writing, using all sorts of complicated polyphony culminating in the concluding double fugue. But at the same time he produced expressive compositions which he himself termed character pieces, but in the strict style.”53 Charles Rosen was right when he wrote, “Throughout his short musical life, Schumann produced his most striking works not by developing and extending Classical procedures and forms, but by subverting them, sometimes undermining their functions and even making them momentarily unintelligible.”54
The six fugues remain among the most unique works in the organ repertoire, and Schumann was well aware that these compositions differed from his earlier output. Having given up his old habit of composing at the piano, Schumann felt liberated. Daverio sheds more light on Schumann’s new manner of composing: “. . . it is perhaps better understood as a logical outgrowth of his approach to large-scale instrumental composition in the earlier 1840s rather than as a radical break.”55 Scholars have maintained the notion that Schumann’s oeuvre reflects several distinctly different compositional periods. Daverio’s opposing view, however, “explains” the six fugues in a nutshell:

Perhaps Schumann intermingled ‘subjective’ and ‘objective’ qualities throughout his career, but with varying degrees of emphasis, a hypothesis implying that the passage from a ‘subjective’ to an ‘objective’ phase was hardly abrupt. To insist on a hard and fast demarcation of style-periods in time is to miss the point, namely, that Schumann’s oeuvre unfolds in a series of sometimes parallel and sometimes overlapping phases. The products of his imagination may thus be viewed as points where divergent or complementary trends intersect.56

Von Wasilewski agrees with this view, pointing out the combination of strict form and a Romantic, poetic spirit:
Of the two sets of fugues (ops. 72 and 60), the latter, consisting of six fugues on the name of Bach, is of extraordinary merit. The first five fugues especially display so firm and masterly a treatment of the most difficult forms of art, that Schumann might from these alone lay claim to the title of a profound contrapuntist. They show variety of plastic power with four notes only. The tone of feeling varies in all six pieces, and is always poetic, which, in connection with a command of form, is the main point in composition. These are serious character pieces.57
Though the Canons and Sketches display a more intimate, subjective side of Schumann, the six fugues demonstrate a stronger balance between head (Eusebius) and heart (Florestan). Daverio’s and Von Wasilewski’s points of view are supported by the great variety of character in Schumann’s mid-1840s compositions.

Six Fugues on the Name of BACH
Schumann’s Six Fugues on the Name of BACH are the product of a carefully planned blueprint. Modeled after Bach’s examples, one might expect various Baroque elements in these pieces. Indeed, the fugues were conceived as a set of six, similar to many of Bach’s cycles (including many of his organ works).58 Such systematic arrangement of cycles containing six pieces was common in the Baroque era and, as Piet Kee points out, is rooted in numerology that goes back as far as Pythagoras.59 The use of number symbolism in music diminished substantially after the rise of the age of the Enlightenment, and despite Schumann’s use of ciphers (on several occasions) there is no evidence that points to the composer’s knowledge or intentional use of number symbolism. Schumann’s fugues, however, do reveal a consistent observance of the Golden Ratio. This number (0.6180339887…) is found in nature, music and art.60 Schumann’s knowledge of the Golden Ratio is not recorded anywhere, but based on the many examples found in his and his contemporaries’ music, it seems plausible that he was familiar with the concept. The use of the Golden Ratio though, so closely related to nature, seems to have prevailed through the Romantic period into our time.61 A close examination of the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH unveils Golden Ratio (G.R.) proportions (often multiple times) in each of the six fugues. These examples are often found within a measure of the exact G.R. When applying the G.R. to the number of measures in each fugue we see the following outcome:
Fugue I. The first fugue totals 64 measures. When we apply the G.R. to these 64 measures, we come to 64 x 0.61 = 39, or measure 39. This measure contains two consecutive subject entries in the pedals. A ‘reversed’ G.R. (counting 39 measures from the end) is found in m. 25, located between two more subject entries (the second being a false entry) in the pedals. NB: this fugue only contains two such double-pedal entries, each clearly defined by the Golden Ratio. In addition, the apex (c3) is reached first in m. 40 (one measure after G.R measure 39).62
Fugue II. The second fugue is 174 measures long; 174 x 0.61 = 106. In m. 106 new material is presented (ascending octaves/scales). A reversed G.R. leads us to m. 68, where the subject appears in the pedals (in its entirety) for the first time. Like several Bach compositions, this fugue contains Golden Ratios within Golden Ratios. The second fugue can be separated into three separate divisions: At m. 74 we see a clear separation in the music; there is a sudden dynamic change (from forte to piano), while the texture changes from chordal homophony to strict polyphony with the BACH motive in stretto. An inverted G.R. within that section highlights m. 29, where the exposition is stirred up by a repeat of the subject in the alto voice. This entry starts on B-flat, similar to the very first entry (slightly modified for harmonic purposes), but then suddenly shifts from a dux to a comes entity; the first four notes of the subject appear in dux form, while the remainder of the entry is presented in comes fashion. It is the only fugue in the cycle where Schumann applied (uniform) dynamic markings to each voice entry in the exposition, as to point out the exposition’s irregularity. Federhofer and Nauhaus point out that “. . . Schumann probably regarded the treatment of the ‘comes’ (different in each case) as depending on the character of the subject.”63 Mm. 75–121 mark the second division of the fugue, totaling 47 measures; 47 x 0.61 = 29 = m. 102, which is marked marcato while presenting new material. The fugue’s third division comprises mm. 123–174, totaling 53 measures. This section contains a reversed G.R. (counting 32 backwards) at m. 143. The score reveals a significant change in m. 143 as the music changes from a thin, three-part polyphonic to a full, chordal and homophonic texture.
Fugue III. The third fugue is the shortest one of the cycle, counting only 59 measures; 59 x 0.61 = 36. The G.R. is found in m. 36, where the music moves to the sub-mediant, E-flat major. A reversed G.R. points to m. 23; the end of the exposition. This five-voice fugue does not combine all five voices until close to the end, after the third (and final) pedal entry. Schumann uses the pedals to single out the Golden Ratio.
Fugue IV. The fourth fugue is 116 measures long; 116 x 0.61 = 71. M. 72 is marked fortissimo, the loudest dynamic marking in the fugue. Here the music also has a strong sense of forward motion (see endnote 64). The drastic change at m. 72 divides the piece into two sections. The second division, totaling 45 measures, unveils one more reversed G.R. at m. 92, where the music changes from a homophonic to a polyphonic texture.
Fugue V. The fifth fugue in the cycle totals 124 measures; 124 x 0.61 = 76, the beginning of the pedal tone F. When looking at that first section separately (mm. 1–76), we find yet another striking place; 76 x 0.61 = 46; in m. 46 the subject appears in the middle voice, while the BACH theme (in sustained note values) are presented—in stretto—in the bass and soprano voices. NB: this is the only time the BACH theme is played in the pedals. The fugue’s second part (mm. 76–124) contains one more G.R.; 49 (number of remaining measures) x 0.61 = 30, which appears exactly at the pedal point in m. 104. Additionally, the original subject appears in retrograde.
Fugue VI. 155 x 0.61 = 95. Measure 95 presents a clear statement of the subject in the pedals. A reversed Golden Ratio (95 from the end, rather than the beginning) leads us to m. 60. Schumann writes a clear break in the music at measure 59, immediately before introducing the second subject of this double fugue; the fugue’s two sections are separated by a quarter note rest and a double bar line, as well as a dynamic increase (più f). In addition, Schumann writes lebhafter (livelier). When we apply the G.R. formula to the first part of the fugue (the first 58 measures) we come to 58 x 0.61 = 35. One measure earlier the subject is first introduced in the relative minor key (G minor). Similar Golden Ratio divisions are found in the second part of the fugue (97 measures long): 97 x 0.61 = 59 (m. 117). In m. 116, just one measure earlier, Schumann clearly defines the break in the music after two (!) four-measure pedal points, when the BACH motive is re-introduced—this time in block chords. A reversed G.R. is found at mm. 95/96. In m. 95, after a three-measure pedal point, the fugue’s first subject appears first in the second part of the (double) fugue. Other changes involve a dynamic increase and the introduction of both subjects simultaneously.
The number of Golden Ratios in Schumann’s fugues is overwhelming, yet the question remains if they were intentionally ‘placed’ or if they are a mere compositional byproduct. Schumann’s organ compositions are an unusual blend of styles, which could easily generate an over-analytical approach. Peterson’s and van Houten’s previously mentioned findings are prime examples of such “determined research,” and one needs to be careful not to attribute music’s every single detail to a genius mind. In regards to Golden Ratio, perhaps the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Regardless of Schumann’s intentions, the number of G.R.s is remarkable and cannot be denied.

Styles
Schumann’s organization of the cycle reveals a fascinating blend of Baroque and Romantic principles. Burkhard Meischein points out the cycle’s sonata-like layout:
Fugue 1: Slow introduction
Fugue 2: Faster section
Fugues 3 and 4: Cantabile, slower section
Fugue 5: Scherzo
Fugue 6: Exciting, intensely growing finale64

Interestingly, Schumann’s Classic outline is not unlike Bach’s symmetrical organization of larger collections.65 Notice, for example, the symmetry in time signature, tempo, dynamics and texture (see Appendix 4).
The six fugues are based on the famous BACH theme that Bach himself had used in the final (incomplete) fugue of The Art of Fugue. As Daverio points out, “Though all the fugues incorporate the BACH theme, some of them use this theme merely as a starting point for a larger subject (see the subject of the second and fifth fugues).”66 Stinson discusses the many motivic similarities between Schumann’s opp. 56 and 60 and Bach’s organ works. The second fugue on BACH, for example, has occasionally been ridiculed for its elongated subject, but is analogous to BWV 575, which was published by Schumann in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in February 1839.67 In Abhandlung von der Fuge, Marpurg discusses the proper treatment of fugue subjects:
I myself once heard him [Bach], when during my stay in Leipzig I was discussing with him certain matters concerning the fugue, pronounce the works of an old and hardworking contrapuntist dry and wooden, and certain fugues by a more modern and no less great contrapuntist—that is the form in which they are arranged for clavier—pedantic; the first because the composer stuck continuously to his principal subject, without any change; and the second because, at least in the fugues under discussion, he had not shown enough fire to reanimate the theme by interludes.68
While some of the subjects are indeed rather lengthy, Schumann seems to adhere to Bach’s examples, avoiding redundant (complete) repeats of fugue subjects. Similarly, rather than following conventional compositional techniques, Schumann used existing forms as a starting point for a more modern idiom. Thus, the amalgamation of old and new techniques generated compositions that were (and still are) anomalies in the organ repertoire, and may in part explain their unfortunate fate. A closer examination of the fugues reveals some very interesting patterns:
Fugue I. The first fugue initially follows the conventional exposition pattern, as each of the voices is introduced in the right order. However, when the fifth voice is introduced in m.12 (in the pedals), the alto part drops out, leaving a four-part texture before finishing the exposition. In fact, the five voices never appear together in contrapuntal passages. Schumann, undoubtedly aware of this atypical approach, applied the idiosyncrasy in five of the six fugues (the fifth being the exception). Throughout the cycle, both the core subject (the BACH motive) and the complete subjects appear in many different forms. Klaus Jürgen Sachs points out the repeatedly changing order of emphasized notes of the BACH motive.69 In the first fugue, for example, the motive appears straightforward in four half notes, with B-flat and C being the emphasized notes (B-flat and C appear on beats one and three in a 4/2 time signature). In m. 5 the same motive is presented in the alto voice, starting on the second beat rather than the first. This metrical displacement is typical of Schumann and is employed throughout the cycle.
Fugue II. In the second fugue we see a continuation of metrical shifts; starting in m. 3, the running sixteenth notes suggest a duple (2/4) rhythm in a 3/4 time signature. In m. 48 the first fugue’s subject is introduced in the pedals, combined with the second fugue’s main subject in the manuals. Schumann takes great liberty in the intervallic relationship between the first and second parts of the subject. The first part of the subject (BACH) starts on B-flat, while the second part (continuous sixteenth notes) follows at the sixth, on G.
This relationship remains consistent until m. 30, where Schumann separates the two motives by abandoning the intervallic connection. The two motives still appear together throughout the fugue, but the second part of the subject (its starting pitch) is modified for harmonic purposes.70
Fugue III. The third fugue appears to be a double fugue, but the second subject is never fully developed. Derived from the main subject, it might be conceived as a melodically and rhythmically weak countersubject. ‘Undermining’ the second subject may have been intentional, as Schumann’s focus seems to be mainly on the principal subject. Whereas the first two fugues were written in the key of B-flat major, the third is written in G minor. Bound by the initial BACH motive (centered around B-flat), Schumann may have used the countersubject as a means to establish the fugue’s tonality. This thought also explains the countersubject’s lack of development, as Schumann’s focus is on the principal subject. Of the six fugues, the third maintains the strictest counterpoint throughout, and never resorts to a homophonic texture.Fugue IV. In the fourth fugue Schumann for the first time deviates from the established BACH motive. Though still citing the same motive, the notes are ordered in a new manner, incorporating the interval of a sixth. There are a number of similarities between the fourth fugue and Schumann’s second symphony, which was written 1845–1846. The symphony’s Adagio exhibits chromatic elements similar to the BACH motive used in the six fugues,71 and even incorporates a (semi) exposition, starting at m. 62, using two subjects. The Adagio’s harmonic progression of m. 82 also appears in m. 100 of the fugue. Schumann must have been fond of the chord progression, repeating it several times (consecutively) in both pieces. Like the fugue, the Adagio reveals a striking G.R. (130 measures x 0.61 = 80) at m. 82, where the music—marked by a double bar line—suddenly shifts from C minor to C major.
Fugue V. The fifth fugue, the scherzo of the cycle, maintains a strictly polyphonic texture. The independent voice leading, combined with fast-moving eighth notes, makes for some daring harmonies. Similar writing is found in the second Duetto of Bach’s Clavierübung III, of which Schumann owned a copy. Schumann again takes some liberties in the exposition, as the fourth entry of the exposition starts on E-flat rather than F. In addition, the pedal entry consists of two short, repeated motives rather than the entire subject.
Fugue VI. Schumann ends the cycle with a majestic, five-part double fugue. Simultaneous use of duple and triple meter, combined with a gradual buildup of tension and grandeur, creates a strong sense of completion. Stinson claims that the fugue is based on Bach’s Fugue in E-flat Major, BWV 552, pointing out the similarities between the two fugues.72 Schumann, however, once again deviates from the Bach models and moves towards a thinner texture before the end of the exposition. In the second exposition (starting at m. 59), Schumann’s approach is unconventional too, but not without reason. As the second theme is introduced, Schumann holds off on the expected pedal entry of m. 67. Instead, he omits the pedals until much later, in m. 92, where a three-measure pedal point adds gradual tension, leading to the first pedal statement of the fugue’s first subject. As the pedals introduce the first subject, the second subject is played in the manuals, thus combining the fugue’s two themes. Towards the end of the fugue, starting at m. 116, the fugue shifts suddenly from a polyphonic to a homophonic texture. Daverio points out the motivic resemblance in Schumann’s second symphony: “Culminating in a chordal peroration on the B-A-C-H theme, the fugue’s coda at the same time prefigures a climactic passage in the Final (mm. 343ff.) of the second symphony.”73 Just like the first fugue, the final fugue concludes with a coda. In the first fugue, at m. 34, Schumann indicated: “gradually faster and louder.” In the final fugue he specified: “Moderate, gradually faster.” While a thinning in the texture of the first fugue’s coda seems to suggest a sudden quieting down of the music, the sixth fugue’s coda undoubtedly calls for full organ, ending the cycle in a grand, majestic manner.

Schumann and the pedal piano
As discussed earlier, Schumann’s main purpose for hiring a pedalboard was to practice playing the organ. He found, however, that the pedal piano had much potential and that it might develop as an independent instrument. It seems plausible, then, that Schumann’s output of 1845 was conceived for pedal piano, organ, or both. Though opp. 56 and 58 are clearly written for the pedal piano (Studies for the Pedal Piano and Sketches for the Pedal Piano, respectively), there seems to be a discrepancy in regards to op. 60, which is labeled Six Fugues on the Name of B-A-C-H without any further specification in regards to the instrument of choice. The cover of the 1986 Henle Urtext edition of opp. 56, 58 and 60 reads Works for Organ or Pedal Piano without any further specification. In its preface, Gerhard Weinberger explains that in the first publication op. 60 is referred to as an organ work.
Interestingly, in the 2006 Schott edition the three cycles are published as Schumann Organ Works. In the preface, the editor, internationally renowned organist Jean Guillou, writes: “Schumann composed these masterpieces as a pianist and he wrote them for the piano, allowing for the possibility that they might be performed on the organ, but not really envisaging the precise manner in which an organist might ‘translate’ them for the instrument.”74 Guillou’s edition provides the performer with registration and tempo markings that go well beyond the original. As useful as a performer’s edition may seem, one needs to keep in mind that such is the interpretation of one person, and one needs to be mindful of the composer’s intentions. Notwithstanding the usefulness of such an edition, Guillou seems to have overlooked a most important issue; unlike the Studies and Sketches, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH were written for the organ, not for the piano.
In the preface of the Henle edition Weinberger explains that the first edition refers to the six fugues as organ works.75 As we will see, the fugues are stylistically quite different than the other cycles. They lack, for example, the very pianistic approach, as found in the second and third canonic studies. Also, there is a drastic difference in the use of dynamics. Rather than the pianistic crescendos and decrescendos of opp. 56 and 58 (see the beginning of the fourth sketch), Schumann employs practical dynamic changes, easily realized through registration or manual changes.76 A compelling piece of evidence lies in the treatment of pedal points; Schumann frequently employs pedal points in both the piano and organ cycles. In the piano cycles Schumann repeats the pedal points every so often to ensure a continuous sounding of the bass note. Pedal points are never sustained longer than two measures.77 In the organ fugues Schumann writes pedal points for as long as twelve measures.78 Also, unlike opp. 56 and 58, op. 60 never exceeds the compass of the typical German Baroque organ, which may give us an idea of Schumann’s favored organ type. Hermann J. Busch points out that Mendelssohn preferred older organ types. For his first performance of the Six Sonatas for Organ, Mendelssohn chose an older instrument (Franz and Johann Michael II Stumm, 1779), while a modern instrument (a large Walcker organ) was available.79 Mendelssohn’s influence on Schumann as a composer and organist suggests that Schumann too may have favored older organ types, as is evidenced in Schumann’s comments in the diaries.80 Busch also points out that the majority of the organs known to Schumann were from the 18th century. These instruments were generally not equipped with a swell box. Crescendos therefore were realized by manual changes and/or adding stops.

Schumann the organist
It is obvious that Schumann took great pride in the six fugues. Rooted in a long tradition, stemming from his primary example, Bach, Schumann felt that he had contributed an important work that could stand the test of time. As Larry Todd points out: “Thus, Bach was memorialized in Schumann’s penchant for learned counterpoint, culminating in that erudite fugal compendium for organ, the Six Fugues on BACH, Op. 60 (1845).”81 How ironic then, that the cycle he had worked on for so long was received with such little approval. Perhaps Schumann would have been more successful if he, like Mendelssohn, had written organ sonatas rather than fugues. Rejcha perhaps explains the early 19th-century Zeitgeist best, saying “Since Handel and Corelli’s time, everything in music has changed two or three times, both in inner, as well as outer form. Only the fugue remains unaltered; and therefore—nobody wants to hear one.”82 Schumann, who “maintained with equal conviction that slavish imitation of older models was to be avoided,”83 must have thought that his organ works were indeed a breath of fresh air, as he expected them to outlive his other creations the longest.84 Notwithstanding their unfortunate fate, Schumann masterfully combined the old with the new. As Heinrich Reimann writes:

. . . the best proof of how deeply Schumann had penetrated, in thought and feeling, into the spirit of the Old Master. Everywhere the fundamental contrapuntal principles of Sebastian Bach are recognizable. They rise up like mighty pillars; but the luxuriant tendrils, leaves, and blossoms of a romantic spirit twine about them, partly concealing the mighty edifice, partly enlivening it by splendour of colour and varied contrast and bringing it nearer to modern taste. The most obvious proofs of this are:—The second fugue with the characteristic Schumann rhythmic displacement (2/4 time in triple rhythm); the fifth, with its subject on quite modern lines; and the last, with its romantically treated counter-subject.85

Though Schumann is perhaps remembered foremost as a composer of homophonic music, it is no coincidence that, as Nauhaus and Federhofer point out, Werner Krützfeld used two examples of Schumann’s Kreisleriana in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart as examples of counterpoint.86 The Six Fugues on the Name of BACH mark an artistic high point in Schumann’s career, and one can only hope that these erudite compositions will eventually become part of the standard repertoire. A deeper understanding will perhaps spark a renewed interest in these wonderful pieces.