Brandywine Baroque

Christ Church Cathedral, Victoria, British Columbia, Canada

Herbert L. Huestis is a graduate of the Eastman School of Music, where he studied organ with David Craighead 40 years ago. After a stint as a full-time church organist, he studied psychology and education at the University of Idaho, where be obtained his Ph.D. in 1971. He spent time as a school psychologist, and was subsequently lured back into the organ world and took up pipe organ maintenance with his wife Marianne and son Warren. Now retired, he spends more time tuning pianos and reconditioning harpsichords.

Christ Church Cathedral, Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, and the Westfield Center, Orcas, Washington, presented an international conference entitled “Central/Southern European influences on Bach,” June 7–10, 2006. The conference celebrated the new cathedral organ by Hellmuth Wolff, Laval, Quebec, Canada, and honored organ virtuoso, historian and teacher, Harald Vogel, Osterholz-Scharmbeck, Germany.

The Westfield Center

The Westfield Center is a national resource for the advancement of keyboard music, serving professionals and the public since 1979. In pursuit of this goal, they host symposia to celebrate major instruments of our day, and have sponsored more than 30 conferences. This year they met in Victoria to honor the career of Harald Vogel, noted organist and scholar, and a new organ built by Hellmuth Wolff for Christ Church Cathedral, Victoria, British Columbia.

The new Wolff organ

I have dubbed this organ of 60 stops a “singing organ” because it stands nearly alone in its ability to bring to life the vocal effects and Italianate characteristics that infused the music of Bach and his predecessors. For Hellmuth Wolff, the creation of this organ was no small accomplishment. In fact, this masterpiece caps a career that is filled with instruments of artistic merit.
Delicate and well-balanced voicing is a hallmark of Wolff organs, and in this case the organ matches the room perfectly. Wolff has a reverence for historical organs and is able to build in various styles for his clients and the contemporary buildings they offer. The musical requirements of Christ Church, Victoria, and inclinations of the builder came together when a design was chosen that followed the work of builders such as Holzhey and Riepp, who were linked to French, German, and Italian organ building practices in the 18th century.
Hellmuth Wolff established his firm in 1968, after serving his apprenticeship in Switzerland with Metzler and continuing as a journeyman with Otto Hoffman in Texas and Charles Fisk in Massachusetts. In Canada, Wolff worked with Casavant Frères in the development of their mechanical-action workshop and subsequently worked in collaboration with Karl Wilhelm until he started his own workshop in Laval, Quebec. There, he heads an elite group of organbuilders who participated in the design and construction of this organ over a period of several years.
The organ comprises 61 stops, located in five divisions, including the pedal. Three manual divisions begin with 16' sub octaves, while the pedal has two stops at 32' pitch. There is an abundance of unison tone on every level, and the harmonics of the pipework are enhanced by both third- and fifth-sounding mixtures spread over four keyboards. Wolff was able to integrate character and variety into an extremely broad ensemble while at the same time emulating vibrant examples of organ style from times past. This sense of integration is perhaps the strongest aspect of Wolff’s art.
Spatial variety is a very strong characteristic of this organ. The wide case with Hauptwerk split on either side and Oberwerk in the center provided unique opportunities for registration at many volume levels by combining these two divisions into a large ensemble or playing them separately. The Rückpositiv lies well forward of the rest of the instrument and speaks directly to the listener, creating a clear, three-dimensional sound.
The variety of stops is compelling, both in flues and reeds. All are voiced with a sense of just the right volume so that interplay between stops is remarkably well balanced. Trumpets of all national styles are available on each keyboard and pedal, providing a tonal palette seen in few organs. Wolff has an intuitive sense of proportion in the placement of these reeds, so that volume and stylistic variation work very musically. He has taken great care in the selection of pipework to amplify his concept of the Holzhey organ style found in southern Germany in the late 18th century.

The conference

The conference topic, “South/Central Influences on J. S. Bach,” grew out of advances in musical scholarship and organology that have increased the understanding of influences of Pachelbel, Frescobaldi, Kerll and others on the music of Bach. The celebration of the work of Harald Vogel reaches to the beginnings of the Westfield Center, founded by two of his early students, Lynn Edwards Butler and Edward Pepe. This all culminates in the largest publication of the Westfield Center to date: Orphei Organi Antiqui: Essays in Honor of Harald Vogel. This Festschrift brings together 21 articles and essays that delineate the Vogel personality as well as performance practice, improvisation, congregational singing, organ restoration and organ culture. This work was edited by Cleveland Johnson, professor of music history and dean of the School of Music at DePauw University. Harald Vogel’s legacy as a teacher was outlined by Elizabeth Harrison, assistant professor of music at Westminster College in New Wilmington, Pennsylvania. She gave an inside look at the North German Organ Academy, the founding of which she described as his most pivotal accomplishment.

Recitals

One should note that there are two audiences who have interest in an event such as this, “those who were seen and those who were unseen.” For those who heard this amazing instrument and the recitalists who presented this organ literature in a vital way, this report may serve to crystallize the event itself. For those who were not able to attend, it is hoped that some idea of the freshness and originality of these players will be communicated.
It is invigorating to see how a group of players could present varied aspects of this unusual organ in such a concerted way. Harald Vogel praised the instrument as one of the finest of its type in the world, and each artist contributed a unique vision to the celebration of this organ. One had the feeling that all recitalists read from a similar script, with great attention paid to Southern influences on German music.
William Porter, professor of organ and harpsichord at the Eastman School of Music, presented the inaugural concert with a fresh idea that served the symposium very well. He designed his concert after the style that Bach himself used when he played, as described by Forkel, his biographer. This showcases the instrument rather than the repertoire. Porter has a strong reputation as an improviser, which led him in this direction for the concert. He maintained that “since the repertoire of the 17th and 18th centuries has its roots in improvisational practice,” he could take the opportunity to show off all the colors of the organ. Italian influences were immediately apparent, and Porter, like all of the recitalists, concentrated on variation and ciacona forms.
Michael Gormley, Christ Church Cathedral organist, and Erica Johnson, a student of Hans Davidsson, Eastman School of Music, continued the concert series with an exploration of the breadth of the instrument and a further presentation of Italianate aspects of the music and instrument. Johnson explored the concerto style and played with a lightness and delicacy that characterized subsequent recitals. Her theme for the recital was the dance—both in her playing style and aspects of the musical styles of Italy and Germany. She characterized this as a “pas de deux” where Italy led and Germany followed. Indeed, Italian influences on German music were the order of the day.
Harald Vogel continued these ideas with toccatas, canzonas, a spectacular battaglia and the famous Capriccio Cucu of Johann Kerll. His program reached a zenith with intense colors found in his interpretation of the second Biblical Sonata of Johann Kuhnau. In this organ he found a tonal palette with which to characterize the depression and madness of Saul as Kuhnau envisioned it. Beauty was everywhere, but more than that, the organ could communicate real emotion, passion and feeling, even fear and anxiety.
Edoardo Bellotti, who teaches organ, harpsichord, and continuo playing in Trossingen, Germany, and Bergamo, Italy, brought these recitals to a climax with a presentation of Frescobaldi, Pachelbel and Bach. By limiting his repertoire to three composers, he was able to explore the styles of variation, toccata and ciacona, building in the listener an expectation of both floridity and drive culminating in a rendition of Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue full tilt, with no resorting to the usual registrational variation in the Passacaglia. His performance was so musically varied, and the organ so clear and delicate in its ensemble that he could play the whole piece in a continuous, driving plenum. He was so convincing in this performance that he gave immediate credence to statements that Harald Vogel had made, that organists are often the victims of “bad traditions,” which they must rethink in order to fully appreciate this music.
The final concert was a mix of vocal and organ works in which Michael Gormley, director of the CapriCCio Vocal Ensemble (of Christ Church Cathedral, Victoria) and Carole Terry, professor of organ at University of Washington, Seattle, stood the conference topic on its head and presented a concert entitled “Bach influences on Central/South Europe.” These included vocal works of Mozart, Bruckner, and Reger, among others. Dr. Terry made a final and climactic statement of what the organ could do with masterful renditions of the works of Max Reger. Reger’s music gave a final contrapuntal and harmonic lushness to the sound of this organ, whose 60 stops exhibited a monumental heroism. Again, it seemed that all of the recitalists had similar goals: to show the full effect of this magnificent new organ and to trace the beauty of the musical styles that made their way from Italy to Germany in the 17th and 18th centuries and beyond.
These musical influences were further elaborated in noontime recitals by Colin Tilney, harpsichordist, and Ulrika Davidsson, fortepianist. Tilney explored the Italianate forms and Davidsson followed J. S. Bach’s influence through C. P. E. Bach to Joseph Haydn.

Keynote addresses

The academic side of the symposium centered on the presentation of a Festschrift, Orphei Organi Antiqui by Cleveland Johnson, to Harald Vogel on the occasion of his 65th birthday. The publication (“Orpheus of the Historic Organ”) is a collection of 21 articles and essays. It features writings about Vogel as teacher, performer and scholar, and deals with keyboard literature, performance practice, improvisation, congregational singing, organ restoration and organ culture.
Harald Vogel took the opportunity in his keynote address to open up some very interesting concepts regarding organ culture. He examined “organ tradition” and outlined some rather subjective but important considerations. The most notable of these seemed to be the idea that somehow “traditions” were carried from Bach through the 19th and 20th centuries unbroken, when in fact, they are deeply flawed in terms of playing style, registration and type of instrument. He appealed to his listeners to look toward historical evidence to make decisions regarding playing style, rather than rely on old traditions that have been passed through many teachers and students, with all the attendant changes in organ culture, of each period of time and style of instrument.
Lynn Edwards Butler also presented a keynote address on the general topic of organ examinations, which harkened back to the celebration of the Paul Fritts organ at Arizona State University and the topic of “The Historical Organ” presented in 1993.
In a third keynote address, Keith Hill, the noted harpsichord maker, took a look at the psychological aspects of artistic performance in a topic called “The Craft of Musical Communication.” This is a difficult subject, and he was able to create the imagery to help his audience grasp important concepts involved in music making. He outlined various building blocks of artistic performance so that some analysis could be made of performers and their art. A certain objectivity was welcome in an area that is almost always purely subjective!
Masterclasses were provided by the artists, and of course there was the joy of discovering all the various aspects of the organ and its construction. Michael Gormley and the cathedral staff were most gracious, and the setting in the provincial capital of British Columbia was magnificent. From a meeting in the parliament buildings on the first day to high tea on the last, there was the constant infusion of Canadian culture and magnificent weather, found only on this enchanted isle on the west coast of North America. I suppose the only thing that can be said is “You should have been there!--Herbert L. Huestis

Improvisation jam session

For many of us the culmination of the symposium was the jam-session of the three improvisers by name of Vogel, Porter and Bellotti. The demonstration was divided into three parts, first the reeds, second the solo possibilities and then the different organo pleno possibilities.
Harold Vogel demonstrated the many different reed stops—there are six trumpets at 8' pitch, four reed stops at 16', and one 32' Posaune, besides softer reed stops, such as Hautbois, Krummhorn, Schalmey and Vox humana. The sound of the latter, a Voix Humaine after Dom Bédos, can easily be coloured by adding flutes at different pitches. Mr. Vogel’s improvisation was haute voltige—flying high, through all kinds of places unheard of—and concluded his flight with the glorious roar of the trumpets!
A good number of the organ’s solo possibilities where shown through William Porter’s delightful and poetic improvisations. The various flutes and strings—typical for organs of Southern Germany and Austria—and the mutations (there is a jeux de tierce in every keyboard division, except for the Swell) were shown in a single piece, wonderfully constructed by a great player.
One could have thought that demonstrating the mixtures might be a much more arduous task, but Edoardo Bellotti brought us to new heights with his magnificent demonstration.
Each organist was an inspired Orpheus, playing with great power and imagination—and each of them should have received an Olympic trophy!
—Hellmuth Wolff

On August 15, Sante Fe harpsichordist Virginia Mackie joins the very exclusive club of centenarian harpsichordists; indeed, the only other one known to me is retired Paris Conservatoire Professor Marcelle de Lacour, who turned one hundred on November 6, 1996, celebrating the event by playing a recital for the residents of her retirement home!

After earning her BA at Wellesley College (Phi Beta Kappa), Mrs. Mackie did her Master's work at Columbia University, and spent several summers in France studying with Nadia Boulanger. Her teaching career in music theory and performance took her to Kansas City Junior College (as head of the music department), Yale University, and to the University of Missouri at Kansas City (where she served as Haag Distinguished Professor of Music). When UMKC later conferred on her its first honorary doctorate given to a woman, in lieu of an acceptance speech Mrs. Mackie gave an acceptance harpsichord recital, as well as a series of master classes.

Following a stint at the University of Arizona, Mrs. Mackie moved to Sante Fe, where she has been designated a "Santa Fe Living Treasure." Here she continues to share her keen analytical skills and love of music with a small number of students. She is especially devoted to the music of Haydn, and, of course, to the masterworks of J.S. Bach, who, I am certain, is happy to share the kudos of his own high-profile year with such a distinguished colleague.

Thanks to Dr. Charles Mize for providing information used in this report.

Women, Men, and Harpsichords in Colorado

More than fifty registrants assembled in Boulder, Colorado, for the Midwestern Historical Keyboard Society's 16th annual meeting, May 18-20. Subtitled "A Conference in Early Music," program chair Theresa Bogard's agenda was much more than that, for it included Elaine Funaro's fascinating program of 20th-century harpsichord music by women (ranging from Wanda Landowska, 1951, through Sondra Clark, 1999), Susanne Skyrm's premiere of composer Sarah Dawson's new work for fortepiano, Dumuzi's Dream, and my own illustrated talk on Swiss patroness Antoinette Vischer's many avant garde harpsichord commissions. Denver resident Hal Haney, venerable editor of The Harpsichord, spoke about some of his experiences while interviewing major and minor figures of the harpsichord revival during the journal's years of publication, 1968-1976.

The conference theme was well served by two evening recitals: supremely communicative soprano Julianne Baird presented a concert of music from author Jane Austen's music collection, elegantly partnered by fortepianist Theresa Bogard, the program heightened by readings from Austen's novels presented by Baird's husband and the highly expressive Marion Paton. The closing concert, presented by Cecilia's Circle (Janet Youngdahl, soprano; Julie Andrijeski, baroque violin; Vivian Montgomery, harpsichord; and Julie Elhard, viola da gamba), consisted of a series of lovely excerpts from the music of Barbara Strozzi and Elizabeth Jacquet de la Guerre.

The conference opened with Elizabeth Farr playing all six of J.S. Bach's Trio Sonatas on her Keith Hill pedal harpsichord. Fleet fingered and footed, she dealt ably with a sticking pedal note, but as a program, this seemed to me rather like reading an encyclopedia; I lasted only through volumes A-L, the first three.

Novel scholarly presentations were given by Arthur Haas (suggesting that François Couperin's second Ordre for harpsichord might be a tribute to Elizabeth Jacquet de la Guerre); Catherine Gordon-Seifert (similarities between some melodic models in Louis Couperin's allemandes and those in the mid-17th-century French serious air); and Martha Novak Clinkscale (Women's Role in the Piano Business of the late 18th and early 19th centuries). Edward Kottick paid a sly tribute to John Barnes' tongue-in-cheek take on Italian harpsichords, in his paper "The ‘Specious Uniformity' of 18th-Century German Harpsichords."

Instruments by Thomas Bailey, Dana Ciul, Thomas Ciul, Douglas Maple, Peter O'Donnell, and Ted Robertson were demonstrated by Nanette Lunde and Max Yount, former presidents of MHKS. At the group's annual business meeting, Lilian Pruett, retiring editor of The Early Keyboard Journal (jointly published by SEHKS and MHKS) was honored for her twenty years of service; Carol Henry Bates was welcomed as the new editor.

Cool, sunny, and springlike, Boulder's weather was ideal, allowing inspiring views of snow-capped mountains. Social events, especially the evening receptions, provided good food and the all-important times to share talk with friends and colleagues.

Renate McLaughlin has had a lifelong interest in organ music. She retired from a career as mathematics professor and university administrator in order to study music. She is now a senior, majoring in organ performance, and is looking forward to graduate school next fall.

Introduction

Religious conflicts brought about the Thirty Years War (1618–1648), which devastated Germany. Reconstruction took at least one hundred years,1 encompassing the entire lifetime of J. S. Bach. The Treaty of Westphalia (1648), which ended the war, gave each sovereign of the over 300 principalities, which make up modern Germany, the right to determine the religion of the area under his (yes, they were all male) control. This resulted in a cultural competition among the numerous sovereigns, and it also led to the importing of French culture and its imitation (recall that Louis XIV, the “Sun King,” reigned from 1643 to 1715). Bach encountered French language, music, dance, and theater throughout his formative years. In the cities where Bach lived, he would have heard frequent performances of minuets, gavottes, courantes, sarabandes, etc.2
Christoph Wolff has provided additional evidence for Bach’s acquaintance with French music and French customs. In connection with the famous competition between J. S. Bach and Louis Marchand, scheduled to take place in Dresden in 1717, Wolff wrote that Bach would most likely have won the contest.3 Bach knew thoroughly the stylistic idioms of the French keyboard repertoire; and his own keyboard suites integrated genuine French elements from the very beginning. He consistently applied French terminology, but he also blended in Italian concerto elements (example: the prelude to BWV 808). Further, he incorporated polyphonic writing and fugal textures, especially for the concluding gigues. As we know, this highly anticipated contest with Marchand never took place, since Marchand unexpectedly and secretly left Dresden.

J. S. Bach’s life—a short version4

The towns where Johann Sebastian Bach lived and his key roles there can be summarized as follows. The context provided by this list is important, because Bach wrote the English and French suites fairly early in his career.
Eisenach: born March 21, 1685
Ohrdruf: 1695–1700, stayed with older brother
Lüneburg: 1700–1702, Choral Scholar
Arnstadt: 1703–1707, Organist (New Church)
Mühlhausen: 1707–1708, Organist and Town Musician (St. Blasius)
Weimar: 1708–1717, Ducal Court Organist and chamber musician, then Concertmaster
Cöthen: 1717–1723, Capellmeister for Prince Leopold
Leipzig: 1723–1750, Cantor and Director Musices (the dual title reflects the split in the town council of Leipzig)
Leipzig: died July 28, 1750

The keyboard music (other than organ music) by J. S. Bach

Bach wrote most of his music for keyboard (clavichord and harpsichord) during his years in Cöthen (1717–1723).5 He served the court as Capellmeister and director of chamber music (the highest social standing during his entire career!). An elite group of professional musicians stood at his disposal,6 and his duties focused on secular chamber music. Since the court belonged to the reformed church, Bach’s employer expected neither liturgical music nor organ music. It is clear from the prefaces that Bach wrote his keyboard works for didactic purposes—for members of his family and for his students. Additional evidence for this is that the Clavierbüchlein for Friedemann (1720) and the Clavierbüchlein for Anna Magdalena (1722) include material from the suites, but in rudimentary form and not in a systematic order.7
Howard Schott also noted that the French Suites (BWV 812–817) and the English Suites (BWV 806–811) belonged to the domestic musical repertoire of the Bach family.8 He continued with the assertion that the English suites are more Gallic in style and feeling than their French brethren. To mix things up a bit more, the preludes in the English suites are in Italian concerto-grosso style.9
On December 3, 1721, shortly after her wedding as Bach’s second wife, Anna Magdalena Bach started a notebook of keyboard compositions.10 She recorded the title page and a few headings, but Bach himself wrote the musical entries. They included five short but sophisticated harpsichord suites, which would later become the French Suites, BWV 812–816.
The undisputed surviving harpsichord and clavichord works written during the Cöthen years are:11
Clavier Book for Wilhelm Friedemann
Clavier Book for Anna Magdalena
The Well-Tempered Clavier
15 Inventions
15 Sinfonias.
Further evidence that J. S. Bach wrote the keyboard pieces listed above, as well as the French and English suites, as pedagogical pieces for his family and his students (and not to gain favor with particular members of the royalty) was provided by one of Bach’s students, H. N. Gerber. Gerber studied with Bach in Leipzig and left an account of Bach as a keyboard teacher. According to Gerber, keyboard students started with the Inventions and the French and English suites, and they concluded with the 48 preludes and fugues in the Well-Tempered Clavier.12
Current scholarship indicates that the English Suites were composed in Bach’s Weimar years (1708–1717), and the French Suites were composed later, during his years in Cöthen.13

French Suites and English Suites

In the Baroque era, a suite consisted of a collection of dance tunes linked by the same key and often with some common thematic material. Concerning the origin of the suite, Bach scholar Albert Schweitzer believed that the dance suite was created by wandering musicians in the early 17th century who strung together music from different countries. Town pipers adopted this music and played sets with at least four movements: the allemande (German origin), courante (French origin), sarabande (Spanish origin), and gigue (English origin). Keyboard players adopted these dance suites from the pipers and developed the suites further.14
Bach brought the suite to its peak by giving each movement a musical identity and personality.15 Each of the six English suites and six French suites includes the expected allemande, courante, sarabande, and gigue. (Details on the courante are discussed later in this article.) Each English suite begins with a prelude, which is followed by an allemande. Each French suite begins with an allemande. Each suite, English and French, ends with a gigue. Some movements in some of the English suites have doubles written out—these are the ornamented versions that a Baroque performer would have played on the repeats.
It is interesting to observe how our knowledge about J. S. Bach’s suites has increased in recent years by comparing what has been written about them at different times. The following comments, listed in chronological order, start with wild guesses and uncertainty and end with reasonable certainty about what we must currently regard as the truth.
(1) Writing in 1950, Alfred Kreutz, the editor of the English Suites for C. F. Peters Corporation, followed Forkel in asserting that the English Suites were written for a noble Englishman. But he also conceded that if the English Suites had been commissioned, we should be able to find some trace of this. He then mused that the English Suites might vaguely follow some musical work published in England, and he listed works by Purcell, Händel, and Dieupart as candidates.16
(2) Writing in 1954, Bach scholar Albert Schweitzer stated that both the English and the French suites were composed during Bach’s years in Cöthen.17
(3) In 1957, Rudolf Steglich, in his preface to the Henle edition of the English Suites, wrote that Bach referred to these suites as “suites avec préludes.”18 The notation, “faites pour les Anglois,” first appeared in a copy of these suites belonging to Johann Christian Bach, the “London Bach.”19 In the same preface, Steglich stated that the English Suites are more in the style of the young Bach than the “more elegant” French Suites.20 No autographs have survived.
(4) In 1972, the same Rudolf Steglich claimed in his preface to the Henle edition of the French Suites that these suites were written in Cöthen,21 and that the name “French Suites” was attached later. Many copies of the suites (but no autograph) have survived, attesting to the importance of these suites in students’ progress from the Inventions to the Well-Tempered Clavier.
(5) Writing in 2000, Christoph Wolff stated as a fact that the “so-called” English Suites originated in Bach’s later Weimar years,22 and that Bach himself used the perhaps more accurate name “suites avec préludes.” Wolff also asserts that the French Suites were written during Bach’s years in Cöthen.23
So by the 1970s, we appear to have figured out the background of Bach’s English and French suites, in spite of Fuller’s comment that discussion about why twelve of Bach’s suites are called English and French suites will continue for as long as these suites themselves are discussed.24
In total, Bach composed about 45 suites.25 Neither the six French Suites nor the six English Suites were published during Bach’s lifetime, but they were copied by hand by students and music lovers. Generally, only compositions likely to increase Bach’s stature as a virtuoso were published,26 due to the high cost of publication. Handwritten copies of both the French Suites and the English Suites go back to Bach’s early years in Leipzig.27
Manfred Bukofzer devoted an entire chapter in his book, Music in the Baroque Era, to develop the thesis that Bach fused national styles.28 He noted that the titles “English” suites and “French” suites are misleading (as well as not authentic):29 the suites were no longer tied to dance music, and only a skeleton of rhythmic patterns had survived. They had become abstract art music. (By the way, Bukofzer claimed that both sets of suites belong to the Cöthen period, and that on stylistic grounds, the English Suites were composed first.30)
Bukofzer stated that “in the French suites Italian, French, and German styles no longer stand side by side but wholly merge with Bach’s personal style.”31 He also observed that the melodic character of the dances in the French Suites leans toward the Italian style.

A surprise about the courante

Anthony Newman’s book on Bach and the Baroque includes a chapter entitled Dance Music, which incorporates a section on the courante.32 He explains that there are two types of courante in Baroque instrumental music: the corrente of Italian origin and the courante of French origin. The corrente is a quick dance in triple meter, usually 3/8; the courante is a slower dance, described as solemn and majestic, often in 3/2 meter. As a ballroom dance, the minuet replaced the courante by 1660.33 But because of its “rhythmic grace and complexity,” the courante remained popular in instrumental music throughout the Baroque period. Newman considered the courante as the most subtle and complex member of the dance suite. He also pointed out that both the courante and the corrente are often labeled as courante. [See Figures 1 and 2.]
Philipp Spitta also commented on the two styles of courante. He counted Bach’s French Suites and English Suites among Bach’s most important works.34 According to Spitta, the Italian form of the courante (i.e., the corrente) would normally have been replaced by the French form, except that it was too firmly settled to be driven out—“thus there existed side by side two utterly different types [of courante]. It would be well to distinguish once and for all between the corrente and the courante.”35
Webster’s New World Dictionary of Music defines the courante as a stately and courtly old French dance in triple meter, of moderate tempo and with much melodic ornamentation.36 The corrente is defined as an Italian variant of the French courante, with a faster tempo and less florid ornamentation.37 Typically, a courante is notated in 3/2 meter with a tendency to hemiolas that combine 6/4 and 3/2 accent patterns. It also tends toward polyphony. In contrast, a corrente uses a fast triple meter (3/4 or 3/8) and is generally homophonic.38
Four of Bach’s French Suites include correntes (labeled as courantes). They are small masterpieces with more balance and a more obvious sense of continuity than the correntes in the suites for solo violin or solo cello.39 Most have a slow harmonic movement, implying a fast tempo. All of Bach’s English Suites include French courantes.40 All of Bach’s French courantes possess a time signature of 3/2, except for the one in BWV 814 (French Suite III), where the time signature is 6/4.41
In Grove, Little and Cusick state flatly that “many of Bach’s ‘courante’ movements are actually correntes.”42 The mix-up between courantes and correntes may have been caused by early editors. It is interesting that Bach did not use the courante as a basis for works outside the realm of suites: we know of no courante arias or choruses in his other compositions.43
How much our knowledge of performance practices and the history of our music has increased in recent years is made evident in Frederick Dorian’s section on the courante.44 His book was published in 1942 and includes a preface by Eugene Ormandy. In the book, Dorian cited the conflicting descriptions for the courante. For example, Shakespeare called it “swift” and Quantz called it “pompous.” But Dorian ascribed the different descriptions to the development of the courante over time. He gave no hint that there might have been two national styles (Italian and French) that co-existed. Instead, he merely attributed the two different time signatures for courantes/correntes to lighter or heavier accents and considered 80 beats per minute as an appropriate tempo for both types.

Performance considerations

Anthony Newman wrote45 that with only notes on a page, it is almost impossible for a performer to “give the proper energy to the music.” Performers who played under composers who insisted that their music should be played exactly as written report that in actuality the composers did not follow their own instructions (Newman cites Stravinsky as an example).
In the space of less than half a page and without a comment, Fritz Rothschild quoted conflicting sources, which stated that the courante should be played quickly and that it should be played “seriously” [Der Couranten-Tact ist der allerernsthaffsteste [sic] den man finden kann].46 In addition, he gave several musical examples where he marked the locations of the beats in the score47 and clearly did not distinguish a corrente from a courante, indicating a slow tempo for the corrente!
Robert Donington48 observed that while normally in suites the title of a piece is a good indication of how the music should be played, this is not the case with the courante, since the Italian form (quick and “running” character) often is found with the French (solemn character) name.
Little concrete information is available about the tempo at which a courante should be played. All we know for sure is that some courantes are faster than others:49 François Couperin wrote courantes with the tempo notations “noblement,” “un peu plus viste,” “un peu plus gayement;” Nicholas-Antoine Lebègue wrote a “courante grave” followed by a “courante gaye”—all in the French style.
In the courante, notes inégales, when appropriate, are on the 8th-note level.50 According to Little and Jenne, notes inégales may be appropriate in Courante I in the English Suite in A Major (BWV 806).51 [However, I have never heard anyone perform a courante using notes inégales.]
Concerning performance of the courante, Rudolf Steglich, the editor of the Henle edition of the French Suites, paraphrased Mattheson (Bach’s contemporary in Hamburg) and J. G. Walther (Bach’s cousin and author of a musical encyclopedia). Steglich stated that the courante was originally a French ballroom dance “but now (under Italian influence) is a dance tune either in graceful, lightly flowing 3/4 time, or in an equally lilting yet ‘extremely serious’ rhythm. . . .
There is always something pleasing and delightful about it.” He did not mention the fact that the French Suites include both courantes and correntes, which require rather different interpretation!
Questions about ornamentation impact the interpretation of music. Unfortunately, there is no consistency in the surviving copies of the French and English suites, since at Bach’s time the notation for ornaments was not systematized in detail.52
Rudolf Steglich wrote about the courantes in the last three English Suites that they are to be played in flowing movements of three half-notes (not six quarter-notes), and that the change of rhythm to two-part time at the close of the sections is to be observed.53
Alfred Kreutz, editor of the English Suites for Peters Verlag, wrote that he deliberately gave no indications of tempo or dynamics, since this could only be done subjectively due to a lack of sources.54
It appears that the best we can do is to learn as much as we can about Bach’s suites, and the courantes in particular, but then rely on our musical taste, the particular instrument, and the acoustics of the room to do justice to the compositions.

Conclusion

We can accept as a fact that Baroque movements labeled as courante fall into two different categories: the swift corrente of Italian origin with running figuration and slow harmonic motion, and the complex and slower courante of French origin. Exactly how each is performed depends on the knowledge and good taste of the performer. 

Other articles of interest:

Registration and Sonority in J. S. Bach's Continuo Practice

Dear Harpsichordists: Why Don't We Play from Memory

Bach's English Suites in score

Noack Organ Co., Inc.

Georgetown, Massachusetts

Hertz Hall, University of California,

Berkeley, California

From the builder

On November 23, 2013, the Department of Music at the University of California, Berkeley (UCB) welcomed the Noack organ originally built for a cathedral in Delaware with a day including lectures, roundtables, and a recital by the French organist Michel Bouvard. The day was the first in a series of events that concluded with a triple concert by the young and dynamic UCB Symphony Orchestra and the University Organist, Davitt Moroney.

The celebrations were the culmination of a long history, which began some thirty years ago on the other side of the country.

At the end of 1977, the Cathedral Church of St. John in Wilmington, Delaware, began to consider options for the overhaul or replacement of their existing organ. Several months of investigation convinced the committee that a new instrument would better answer the cathedral’s needs and that Fritz Noack should be its builder. The first step of the design process was to understand the building, so that the final product would fit seamlessly into its home. 

The Cathedral Church of St. John was a beautifully crafted building, which combined wood vaulting and high Gothic carvings with the intimacy of a parish church. Its acoustic was not generous, but the atmosphere felt very welcoming. Details of the instrument for this lovely setting took shape slowly because there was no obvious location for an organ. Ultimately the committee chose to construct a purpose-built loft at the west end of the cathedral. The contract, signed in early 1980 for an organ of 30 stops, was finalized to 34 stops during the early stages of construction. The organ was a gift to the memory of Irene Sophie du Pont, who was a member of a long-standing family in the parish. The dedication of the instrument occurred on January 23, 1983 and included “The Enigma Syncopation,” a piece for organ, flute, percussion, and string bass, commissioned for the occasion by the builder and the church from composer William Albright.

By the 1980s, Fritz Noack had already established a personal tonal language: though the overall physical layout of this organ shows his northern European background (with its clearly visually defined divisions), the tonal architecture is resolutely modern. Like good fusion cuisine, the instrument successfully melds several traditions—in this case, some nineteenth-century Anglo-American influences with his continental European roots. Music of the Baroque era is obviously at home there, but the organ shows a flexibility that enables it to venture successfully into the modern repertoire.

Similarly, the solid white oak case adorned with intricate pipeshades and James Lohmann’s hand-carved cresting captures the spirit of time-honored organ design while remaining original in its execution. The whole instrument is mechanical with a suspended key action and a mechanical drawstop action (assisted by a simple mechanical combination action.) The lively voicing combined with the light and precise key action yields an instrument with a vivacious personality. 

For more than thirty years the organ faithfully served the demanding music program of the Episcopal Cathedral. Unfortunately, as time went by the parish fell victim to forces that have dogged so many city churches: suburban flight, the aging of mainline denominations, and a diaspora to newer Christian churches. In July 2012, the cathedral had to close its doors and the organ was in need of a new home.

In Delaware, Karen Flint, having been intimately involved in the building of the organ, was anxious to see a future for the Noack instrument. She teaches harpsichord at the University of Delaware and regularly invites guest artists to give concerts on her exquisite collection of antique harpsichords. Amongst them was Davitt Moroney, professor of music at UCB, who was quick to realize what a good fortune the orphan organ was for the University of California, Berkeley. Moroney is also the official University Organist and, as such, is responsible for administering a rare resource: the O’Neill fund. This fund is a unique financial source that was endowed in 1933 by Edmond O’Neill, a chemistry professor at UCB and a music lover. The fund is exclusively dedicated to the pipe organ at UCB, and in particular to the acquisition of fine organs. Because of the lack of an appropriate recital hall on campus at the time, it actually took many years before a concert hall was built on university ground and a first organ by Walter Holtkamp Sr. was purchased in 1958. Through careful management, the O’Neill fund continued to grow and enabled the acquisition of many more pipe organs around the campus. Berkeley’s collection of pipe organs now numbers seventeen; apart from the Noack, which is now the main recital instrument, there are three eighteenth-century antiques, one nineteenth-century American house organ, two small Holtkamp practice instruments, six small instruments by Jurgen Ahrend, three by Greg Harrold, and a continuo organ by Gerrit Klop.

The main concert organ in the recital hall was now seen as less appropriate for the music of Bach and the Baroque era, and the acquisition of the Noack organ from Wilmington presented a unique opportunity to address that issue. Relocating organs, however, is always a tricky operation. Spaces do not physically match, acoustics are different, and case designs do not always fit the architectural surroundings. One could also expect that moving an instrument clothed in Gothic garb for a high-Anglican environment into the secular world of the Berkeley campus might raise a few eyebrows. 

Hertz Hall is a classic 1950s building with a grand, airy foyer lighted by large stained-glass windows. The auditorium is a sober room with a capacity of 700 seats. The orchestra stage lies in front of a wide elevated organ loft, which can be closed with large wooden doors. The geometry and the wall treatment of the room yield a moderately live acoustic, which serves the orchestra well. On the other hand, the sound from the loft does not project as cohesively and does not produce a sufficient bass response. To address this issue, the addition of a solid open wood 16′ was proposed on the Pedal. 

Most of the auditorium is clad with simple wood battens while the surrounding walls of the organ loft appear gilded. Many expressed concerns that the high Gothic organ would feel ill-at-ease in a post-war architecture. Prior to the organ’s arrival, the faded loft walls were completely refinished in “Dutch metal,” recapturing their past luster. The placement of the Noack oak case front and center of a gilded setting gives to the auditorium a focus point that it somehow lacked previously. The elaborate case found its natural place in the hall.

Physically, the instrument needed to be altered to fit its new space as the organ loft of Hertz Hall is only 12′ 6′′ deep, requiring narrowing the space between the main case and the Positive by three feet. The situation was made more complex by the impossibility of altering the concrete handrail of the loft. Large doors rolling on top of this hand-railing can be brought together to shutter the organ from the hall. The Positive therefore had to be placed above, and slightly recessed from, the railing. That meant that the whole key action, drawstop action, and winding had to be redrawn. In order to minimize the distortion of proportion between the main case and the newly placed Positive, the entire instrument is now standing on a new three-foot-high platform with stairs on either side of the console. The new 16′ wooden Contrabass stop proved to be tricky to position. Various unsatisfactory locations for the thirty pipes were proposed, from the wings on either side of the loft to the side of the Pedal cases. Careful inspection of the original architectural drawings revealed that a few inches of recess could be gained behind the main case, enough to provide a snug fit for the generously scaled white oak Contrabass, which sympathetically disappeared in the background.

The original instrument was drawn well before computer and CAD were available. The Noack Organ Co. preserves those hand-made drawings with great care. Reading these documents is to travel through time, and one can only be impressed by the creativity of the designer and the neatness of the draftsman. This is particularly true for a 35-stop organ whose main case is only 3′ 8′′ deep! Trackers, drawstop trundles and runs, and windlines weave a rather dense web. Modifying (for the Positive) or adding (for the Contrabass) elements through this jungle of mechanical parts was a tricky operation as sometimes an overlooked obstacle appeared on the way . . .

Furthermore, the instrument’s new home is set on the famous Hayward fault, a major branch of the larger San Andreas fault system, which crosses the eastern side of campus. The 1982 instrument was not conceived to be in such an active earthquake area and some anti-seismic bracing had to be retro-fitted. This entailed some extra attachment for all the pipes longer than 4′, and some serious anchoring through the concrete floor (see photo of the seismic anchor). 

The organ was dismantled from the cathedral in Wilmington in November 2012 and was transported to the Noack workshop in Georgetown, Massachusetts. It was thoroughly overhauled, modified, and rebuilt in our assembly room. The case was entirely cleaned and re-oiled. As we traditionally do, we hosted a shop recital just before shipping to site. Sigurd Øgaard, a Norwegian organist currently settled in Houston, gave a passionate and dynamic concert on June 22 that kept the audience sitting on the edges of their seats.

The installation on site had to happen during the university’s summer recess. The music department at UCB is very busy, and Hertz Hall is solidly booked from dawn to late night during the academic year. There was not much opportunity to check out the Pacific beaches for this group of New Englanders, but there was enough time to appreciate the regional beer and the well-known fine local fare.

The organ installation was achieved at the end of August with a careful tonal rebalancing completed by David Rooney and Mary Beth DiGenova. The organ, previously tuned on Vallotti, was adjusted at the suggestion of Davitt Moroney to Sorge 1744, a beautiful mid-eighteenth-century temperament well-suited to the baroque repertoire. It also brings a distinct advantage for this university instrument that is called to play with orchestra, chorus, and in particular with the very dedicated University Baroque Ensemble.

Eric Kenney, one of the longest standing members of the Noack team, had the rare opportunity to work for the second time on that instrument, having assisted in its installation in Delaware some thirty-one years earlier! The other crew members included Mary Beth DiGenova, Didier Grassin, Fritz Noack, David Rooney, Dean Smith and Aaron Tellers, helped by our summer intern, Brandon Burns. We also were very grateful for the wonderful help from many corners of the university, from administration to the architect’s office.

While nobody would have imagined that the Cathedral Church of St. John in Wilmington would ever close, it is some solace to realize that the move of that instrument not only will preserve the endeavor of a team of craftsmen, but also will help continue a musical tradition rooted in centuries of history, bringing it to new generations of students for many years to come.

—Didier Grassin

The Noack Organ Co

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON.

A Harpsichord Christmas

Deck your music rack with a Christmas carol or two from A
Baroque Christmas—-Carols and
Counterpoint for Keyboard (traditional carols arranged for piano,
organ, or harpsichord by Edwin McLean),
published by FJH Music Company, 2525 Davie Rd., Suite 360, Fort Lauderdale, FL
33317-7424; e-mail

<[email protected]>.

Harpsichord-savvy composer McLean has provided interesting
and texturally-pleasing settings for eleven Yuletide favorites, among them a
rousing Adeste Fideles, a gently-moving Silent
Night (with pungent added-note final
chord), a theme and two variations on Good King Wenceslas
style='font-style:normal'>, a longer variation set for We Three Kings
style='font-style:normal'>, fugue on God Rest Ye Merry
style='font-style:normal'>, and a most attractive setting of Greensleeves
(What Child Is This?).

These settings are all playable on a single-manual
instrument, although McLean provides suggestions for more colorful
registrations for the organ, or when playing on a two-manual harpsichord. The
arrangements work well on piano, too.

FJH Music also publishes McLean’s two well-conceived and
attractive Sonatas for Harpsichord. Both
have been recorded by harpsichordist Elaine Funaro: the first is the opening
selection of Gasparo GSCD-331, Into the Millennium
style='font-style:normal'> (The Harpsichord in the 20th Century); the second
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> appears on Overture to Orpheus
style='font-style:normal'> (Music Written for the Women Who Gave Wing to the
Muse), Centaur CRC 2517. Either disc, or both, would make fine stocking
stuffers for discriminating musical friends.

Intended for Christmas Eve music making are various baroque
pieces titled “Pastoral,” a type of pictorial shepherd music (as in the Pastoral
Symphony from Handel’s Messiah
style='font-style:normal'>). One of these specifically intended for performance
by solo keyboardist is the Sonata (Pastorale) in C Major
style='font-style:normal'>, K. 513 by Domenico Scarlatti. Here we
find the traditional siciliano rhythm
suggesting sheep (baroque ones usually move in 12/8); a drone bass (molto
allegro) evoking “shepherds’ pipe” music;
and a concluding 3/8 presto that
could be either a representation of their joyful return “wondering at what they
had seen and heard,” or, possibly, some dramatic exit music for those angels
returning to the heights. This charming work may be found in any of the several
complete editions of Scarlatti’s keyboard sonatas, or, specifically, in volume
two of Sixty Sonatas, edited by Ralph Kirkpatrick, published by G. Schirmer.

Music for the New Year

Christoph Graupner (1683–1760) composed a keyboard
suite for each month of the year (Monatliche Clavir
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Früchte, Darmstadt 1722). January, in the pristine key of C,
comprises a Praeludium and twelve
additional short dance movements; February (in G major), ten individual pieces;
and March (G minor), eight. These are now available in a handsome volume edited
(with no unfamiliar clefs) by Jörg Jacobi for Edition Baroque
(www.edition-baroque.de). The other three-quarters are expected to follow.

Another volume of great interest from Edition Baroque is
titled Labyrinthe,
comprising harmonically adventurous works for keyboard: Benedetto Marcello’s Laberinto
musicale sopra il Clavicembalo, Gottfried
Heinrich Stölzel’s Enharmonische Claviersonate
style='font-style:normal'>, and Georg Andreas Sorge’s Toccata per
omnem Circulum 24 modorum fürs Clavier.
Fasten your aural seatbelts and try the challenges hidden in these unusual
musical traversals.

Early Instruments: Some Random Citings

The New Yorker, June 13 & 20, 2005: from Edmund White’s personal
history My Women (Learning How to Love Them
style='font-style:normal'>): “The art-academy students across the street, who
were usually graduate students, had beards and long hair or, if they were
women, sandals and no makeup and unshaved legs hidden under peasant skirts.
They listened to records of Wanda Landowska playing Bach on the harpsichord
(God’s seamstress, as we called her) . . . [page 126].

The New Yorker, October 10, 2005: Jeffrey Eugenides’ eight-page short
story Early Music tells the sad
story of a clavichordist, replete with many composer references (only
noticeable error, a transposed “ei” in Scheidemann) and an evocative print by
Richard McGuire [pages 72–79].

Dieter Gutknecht presents a reasoned, musical example-filled
overview of conflicting styles in his major article “Performance practice of recitativo
secco in the first half of the 18th
century,” Early Music XXXIII/3 (August 2005), pp. 473–493.

Correspondent Robert Tifft reports:
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> 

No lack of live harpsichord music in Budapest . . .

Since fall 2004 the Hungarian Radio has sponsored a cycle of
Bach’s solo harpsichord music with monthly recitals broadcast live from the
Radio’s Marble Hall. The recitals have occurred with even greater frequency
this fall, with performances by Zsolt Balog on September 26, Miklós Spányi on
October 10, Dalma Cseh on October 24 and Csilla Alfödy-Boruss on November 21.
Each concert features a different soloist, all of them Hungarian, all of them
one-time students at the Liszt Academy where János Sebestyén founded the
harpsichord class in 1970. Soloists last season were Anikó Horváth, Borbála
Dobozy, Ágnes Várallyay, Angelika Csizmadia, Ágnes Ratkó, Rita Papp, Péter
Ella, Szilvia Elek, Anikó Soltesz and Judit Péteri.

In celebration of her 25 years as a harpsichordist, Borbála
Dobozy performed a tour de force concert on October 13 as soloist in four
concertos. The program included Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 5
style='font-style:normal'> (BWV 1050), C.P.E. Bach’s Concerto in G
minor (Wq. 6), Haydn’s Concerto
in F major (Hob. XVIII: 3) and Martinu’s Concerto
for Harpsichord and Small Orchestra. The
sold-out concert was broadcast live over the Hungarian Radio and Internet.
Together with Anikó Horváth, Dobozy established a Hungarian harpsichord
foundation, Clavicembalo Alapítvány, in 2004. The foundation’s goal is to
provide master classes and instruments of the highest quality for students of
the Liszt Academy and to promote appreciation of the harpsichord through
recitals and competitions. There is a website at
<www.clavicembalo.fw.hu&gt;.

Looking Ahead

Make plans to attend an early keyboard meeting: the Southeastern
Historical Keyboard Society meets March
9–11, 2006 at Shorter College, Rome, Georgia, with the dual purpose of celebrating
Mozart and honoring the first 25 years of the Society’s history. (More
information is available on their website <www.sehks.org&gt;).

The Midwestern Historical Keyboard Society
style='font-weight:normal'> will gather in Notre Dame, Indiana, June
15–18, 2006, presenting a program featuring the music of Diderik
Buxtehude. (Website: <www.mhks.org&gt;).

Send news items or comments about Harpsichord News to Dr.
Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, TX
75275;

<[email protected]>.

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.