and died at Husum in 1697; he was organist there, and had formerly
occupied for some time a similar position in Copenhagen.]
It is true that Bruhns was one of Buxtehude's best pupils, but he was
nothing more; it would seem as if Bach, appreciating the value of the
master, did not gauge with sufficient accuracy the capabilities of
the pupils.
We find the same spirit, the same cheerfulness as in Bruhns's
compositions; but the piece is less abrupt, and, by way of contrast,
is interrupted by moments of sadness. In the expression of joy, was
it Bach's intention to remind us that happiness is never complete,
that it is always accompanied by mourning?
These few measures, in a minor and not even the relative tonality,
in syncopated rhythm, come suddenly upon us in the midst of all this
joyfulness, like a _memento mori_; and they suffice to alter the
effect of the second part of this work, to the benefit of a more
lofty ideal. When the joyous motive reappears, it is no longer with
the same worldly bearing; restricted to a series of imitations which
only render it indefinite, moderating the swiftness of movement in
favor of breadth of tone, it seems rather to be proclaiming a peace
which will know no end.
This prelude is already of much importance from an artistic
standpoint; but we cannot say as much of the prelude and fugue in A
minor which we mentioned at the same time. There is no doubt that
it also dates back further than the journey in 1705; Bach must have
sadly misconstrued the true significance of Buxtehude's works to have
indulged in plagiarism so unskilfully.
He reproduced only the faults of his model; he followed him only
into the by-ways, augmenting his mistakes by the awkwardness with
which he set about his task. In fact, the work is little more than an
_omnium-gatherum_ of ideas picked up at random and strung together
upon the mere excuse of a tonality. After a short prelude devoid of
interest, we find the theme of the fugue to be of peculiar dryness,
supported by equally barren counterpoint. The interlude which follows
is a succession of incorrect harmonic progressions, peculiarly
disagreeable in effect;--even as he thought to imitate Buxtehude's
freedom of movement[60] in the restlessness of the prelude and
fugue, so Bach hoped to acquire the expressiveness of his harmonic
progressions, so audacious for their time[61]--and introduces a new
treatment of the fugue, monotonous, but finally coming to a close in
a more interesting fashion.
[Footnote 60: It will be interesting to compare this piece with the
prelude in F sharp minor by Buxtehude, particularly with this excerpt
from it (ed. Spitta, xii, p. 68):
[Music]]
[Footnote 61: For instance, in the Chaconne (iii, p. 15, from the 8th
measure), which we have already analyzed:
[Music]]
More happily inspired in his emulations, or better served by his
talents, we behold Bach in a composition in three movements, little
known up to this time: a "Fantasie" in G major.[62]
[Footnote 62: P. ix, 6. In this edition, this work bears the title of
_concerto_, undoubtedly because of its form in several movements; at
least, it was so designated in Griepenkerl's collection. A manuscript
which has come down from the organist Westphal, in Hamburg, gives it
this title: "_Fantasia, clamat in G[natural], di J.S. Bach_."]
The first two movements are still rather weak, perhaps influenced by
the Italian music heard and played during the few months preceding,
when Bach was a violinist in the orchestra of Prince Ernest of Weimar.
The third movement is remarkable, at least with regard to its depth
of thought, and to its adoption of all that was most to be desired
in Buxtehude's style. The upper parts cross each other upon the
scale given out by the bass, as in a Chaconne; it is the resistance
of surging waves to the slow rising of the stream, expressed by the
implacable repose of the fundamental theme, whose intensity, with its
own imperturbable repetitions, overcomes all resistance.
In many of Bach's works we encounter these ascending and descending
scales, but they are of varying significance. We find them again
in a piece closely allied to the foregoing: a Fantasia,[63] also
in G major, where the diatonic scale serves as the foundation of
harmonies, whose interest, cleverly held in check, is augmented by
the uninterrupted progression of five real parts.
[Footnote 63: P. iv, 11.]
These works are no longer mere plagiarisms; a glimmer of
individuality discloses itself. For example, let us look at the
prelude and fugue in E minor.[64] If Buxtehude is here brought in
mind, it is because of that quality of his which is most neutral, and
no longer through his peculiar originality, his personal resources;
in trying to avoid which a mere imitator must always come to grief.
Many a detail in construction is derived from the Lübeck organist;
for instance, those detached chords, which so successfully set off
that plaintive syncopated progression, the sobbing of whose notes is
thereby rendered always more intense; the last sections repeating the
first, now broken into two still more earnest entreaties.
[Footnote 64: P. iii, 10. _Bach-Gesellschaft-Ausgabe_ (W. Rust), year
XV, p. 100.]
And of this fugal theme, beginning in two separate fragments upon
the dominant, we have seen examples in Buxtehude; but there this
repetition of the subject expressed in its intensity a joyous
declaration.[65]
[Footnote 65: For example, this theme:
[Music]]
It is here a tremulous, hesitating interrogation, which seems to
dread its answer; the prelude is full of lonely sadness, as deep as
it is despairing; in the fugue it converses in dialogue with itself,
one might say in accents which proclaim a public misfortune.
But if one may not seek "in a musical work the expression of
any condition of the soul, or the narration of any story of the
heart,"[66] one can hardly deny that music expresses "the being, even
the personal will"[67] of psychological phenomena, at least in the
sense that the interest of certain works of art, aside from every
æsthetic consideration, is correlative to the mental condition in
which one receives them. This may explain the position occupied among
the works of Bach by this piece, whose many weaknesses are revealed
to us by a technical analysis.
[Footnote 66: Hanslick: _Vom Musikalisch-Schönen_.]
[Footnote 67: Schopenhauer: _Lichtstrahlen aus seinen Werken_ (J.
Frauenstädt, Leipzig, 1874, p. 128).]
This intimate nature finds an antithesis in the Toccata and Fugue in
D minor,[68] which belongs chronologically to the same period; it
is still Buxtehude, but it is conceived throughout in a picturesque
style. It lacks only an argument to establish by every right its
character as "program music." The two rapid and dazzling flashes, a
peal of thunder, rumbling heavily in the reverberations of a chord
slowly broken, and above the vibration of the deep pedal, augmented
in intensity by its duration; wind, then hail;--we are in the midst
of the classic tempest. Entirely a thing of virtuosity, appreciated
even by those who take account of nothing in the arts but the
illusion gained, the Toccata earned brilliant success for Bach upon
his journey to the smaller German courts, and contributed in large
measure toward the extension of his fame.
[Footnote 68: P. iv, 4; B.-G. xv.]
This composition belongs to a whole series of virtuosic works, as
well as the prelude and fugue,[69] in E major in the edition of W.
Rust (_Bach-Gesellschaft_), and in C in Griepenkerl's (Peters); and,
above all, the celebrated fugue in D major.[70]
[Footnote 69: P. iii, 7; B.-G. xv, p. 276. This work also bears the
title of Toccata. It presents the peculiarity of being divided into
four movements, whence, possibly, this designation, _concertato_,
which accompanies it in one of the MSS. It is essentially an
imitation of Buxtehude's compositions in several movements.]
[Footnote 70: P. iv, 3; B.-G. xv, p. 88.]
Despite the advance in technique, this prelude and fugue are still
in the earlier manner; certain characteristics, such as the division
into several movements, indicate that the early influences which
governed Bach are still potent. Nevertheless, there is in the stately
prelude something of the dignity of the French overture; in the _Alla
Breve_[71] a recollection of the Italian compositions of the same
name is natural. Thus later studies betray themselves more in certain
details than in the work as a whole; the subject of the fugue reveals
its similarity to Buxtehude in its general style, and in its movement
(see the theme in F quoted previously).
[Footnote 71: "It is not necessary," says Mattheson, "to indicate
the degree of rapidity of an _alla breve_; these words suffice to
animate the most sluggish brain, to make supple the heaviest of
hands. For example, it is like 'clucking' to a horse."--_Grosse
Generalbass-Schule_, Hamburg, 1732.]
Another inheritance from Buxtehude is the prelude and fugue in G
minor;[72] especially the prelude, with its wealth of harmonies
suddenly broken off, hardly to be employed again; the fugue, with
the repeated notes in its subject. An advance over all the fugues of
which we have thus far spoken, this one is notable for its strict
maintenance of four-part polyphony; the facility and the spirit which
we observe in the counterpoint, especially at the entrances of the
subject, and the flexibility of the imitations, indicate the presence
of a new wealth of resource, and a surety of technique which is
master of itself.
[Footnote 72: P. iii, 5; B.-G. xv, p. 112.]
We must also include in the product of this period a set of eight
preludes and fugues,[73] which, although very simple, are already the
work of a fine hand. They are undoubtedly compositions which Bach
destined for his pupils.
[Footnote 73: P. viii, 5. These works are part of the collection of
G. Pölchau, a well-known musician of Hamburg in the last century.]
Bach is now about to cast himself free from the restrictions placed
about him by the study of his first masters; finally in possession
of all their resources, he will acquire those of others, enlarging
his field of vision, already marvelously well-prepared by his earlier
labors to make room for the results of his search after new conquests.
II
During Bach's first years in Weimar a new factor enters into his
evolution, or rather forces itself upon it, quite without seeking on
his part; it is simply the result of the experience gained in the
fulfilment of his new duties.
Ever since this epoch Weimar has been distinguished among the German
courts by a more refined culture, a taste for art which up to the
present time has never diminished.
In this instance the impetus did not emanate from the reigning
prince. Wilhelm Ernst was a man of education, it is true, and in his
service were good artists; but, absorbed in a solitary life[74] of
exceeding piety, and occupied with good works, the duke entrusted to
his nephew, Johann Ernst,[75] the duty of encouraging his musicians.
Johann Ernst was skilled in music, playing the harpsichord and
the violin; he had even studied the elements of composition with
Walther;[76] music was made to cater to his sickly constitution,
especially the Italian chamber music, for solo instruments and
orchestra, whose subtle charm was well suited to this invalid; for he
himself could take part in its performance.
[Footnote 74: Born in 1663, Duke Wilhelm Ernst reigned from 1683.
Early becoming a widower, and left without children, he adopted
a somewhat retired mode of life, as we may judge. At the palace,
"Wilhelmsburg," everyone had to retire at nine o'clock in summer
and eight in winter. He evinced a marked taste for theological
studies and discussions; in 1710 he brought together in a synod one
hundred pastors, and he built or repaired a number of churches and
seminaries. He was also interested in numismatics. This austerity was
in some degree tempered by concerts, whose programs were performed
(J.O. Köhler tells us, _Historische Münzbelustigung_, Nuremberg,
1730) by sixteen picked musicians, dressed in Hungarian costume
(Bach _en tzigane_!). Further, the duke built a theatre in 1696; the
patronage accorded to the troupe of Gabriel Möller, "Hofcomödiant"
(court comedian), was not of long duration; it had already ceased in
1709.]
[Footnote 75: Prince Johann Ernst was of a weak constitution; he died
in 1715, at the age of nineteen years, and the only way he could
make his insomnia bearable was to keep with him in his room during
entire nights Walther, his music teacher, who would play for him his
favorite pieces.]
[Footnote 76: Johann Gottfried Walther was born in 1684, and
from 1707 held the position of town organist in Weimar. Not only
was he a good musician, but he was also a theoretician of merit;
while he learned from his friend Bach the principles of the old
school of Sweelinck, the traditions of which had descended through
the teachings of Reinken and Buxtehude (see _J.G. Walther als
Theoretiker_.--Study by Gehrmann in the _Vierteljahrschrift für
Musikwissenschaft_, 1891), Bach, on the other hand, was able to
obtain other advantages from this interchange; Walther was remarkably
well-schooled in harmony, and from his thorough knowledge, of long
standing, of Italian chamber music, he undoubtedly was not indirectly
connected with these new studies of Bach's.]
Bach's temperament, so entirely different, was certain to draw its
lesson from association with such works; the precise moment has now
arrived when, by his own determination, he shall profit by it; he
is master of his own virtuosity; and both his manual dexterity and
his present position make it possible for him to choose what he
will retain of the ideas which crowd upon his imagination in such
profusion. To succeed in such a choice were already to produce a work
of art; but to bring these ideas into their proper relative order,
the selection once made, is the achievement of a great artist.
The Italians had for a long time possessed precisely this sense of
correct succession; this architectural aspect of the art could not
fail to attract, by its harmony of proportions, those who had always
displayed so much taste in works of sculpture.
It is particularly to be noted that what the Germans were able
to acquire from these composers, they derived from the concerted
music for stringed instruments. In fact, it may be said without
exaggeration that, while the Germans were well-informed, not only
upon organ composition, but upon vocal writing as well, still they
possessed no violinists,[77] in the sense that among them there was
no one who wrote for that instrument with the clearness or sentiment
which it demanded. The Italians brought them something more, if
not something essentially different: the interesting and varied
movements, the perfect balance between the musical phrases, the
elaboration and refinement of design for which they always strove;
for it was with them that monody first dawned, and was afterwards
developed. It is easy to conceive that with instruments the
conditions are varied; although that is not saying that a manner of
writing suited to one instrument may not also be fitted to another;
in writing for strings the same style recommended itself to the
Italians as that which had enriched the school of organ composition.
We refer particularly to the sonatas and concertos.
[Footnote 77: I am not speaking of virtuosos. We know with what
astonishment Corelli, the great Italian violinist, listened to the
playing of Nikolaus Strungk of Celle: "I call myself _arcangelo_,"
said he to the latter, "but you deserve the title of _arcidiavolo_."
And we must not forget the old musician, J. Franz Biber, who was born
in 1638 and died at Salzburg in 1698, and who exerted a perceptible
influence upon the creation of the violin sonata.
But what the Germans sought was not, let me repeat, within the domain
of that expressive instrument; they could not be content with simple
melody, they must have complete harmony. And so we learn that Bruhns
(the remarkable organ-pupil of Buxtehude, and an exceptionally
talented violinist) would seat himself before the pedal of an organ,
violin in hand, and would play in four parts--the bass with his feet,
the other parts upon his violin.]
While the sonata still lacked that unity resulting from the
development and ingenious combination of two themes of necessary
co-relationship, which P.E. Bach was to impart to it later, it
already possessed three well-defined divisions at least, as is
indicated by the variety of the movements: the first one rapid in
tempo, assertive; the second slow, full of sentiment; while the third
finished gaily, often recalling the rhythms of popular dances.
As to the concerto, it was on the whole nothing more than a sonata
for one, sometimes for more than one solo instrument, accompanied
by the orchestra, whose interludes produced new effects through the
contrast between the _soli_ and the _tutti_.
The facilities offered by the organ, with its several keyboards,
for the delineation of these designs, rendered it particularly
appropriate that they should be transcribed for that instrument.
This Bach did. In addition to sixteen transcriptions for the
harpsichord, he left us arrangements for the organ of three of
Vivaldi's[78] concertos, and the first movement of a fourth.[79] They
are arrangements, rather than integral reproductions; and if we take
a certain interest in this transcription for the organ, by special
methods, of works not originally intended for that instrument, it is
an interest like that inspired by a well-made translation.
[Footnote 78: P. viii, 1-4. Vivaldi was born toward the end of the
seventeenth century; in 1713 he was appointed _maestro di cappella_
at _l'Ospitale della Pietà_, at Venice; later he was for some time in
the service of the Landgrave of Hesse-Darmstadt. He died in 1743.]
[Footnote 79: The title of this last transcription gives us a clue to
its date; it reads as follows: "_Concerto dell'illustrissimo Principe
Giovanni Ernesto Duca di Sassonia appropriato all'Organo a 2 clav. e
pedale da Giovanni Sebastiano Bach_." So it must have been written
before 1715, the date of the Duke's death. Bach was not the only one
to make these transcriptions; Mattheson tells us (_Das beschützte
Orchester_): "Compositions of this order (_concerti grossi_,
_sinfonie in specie_, overtures) may also be played upon a polyphonic
instrument, for instance upon the organ or harpsichord; a few years
ago the celebrated S. de Graue, the blind organist of the new Dunes
Church in Amsterdam, played from memory and with remarkable clearness
in my presence, upon the excellent organ in his church, the latest
Italian sonatas and concertos in three and four parts."]
Possibly Bach regarded it in another light; for him it may have been
a means of penetrating to the core of such compositions, of analyzing
their inherent qualities.
We now see him quite preoccupied with this three-movement form; take,
for instance, the Toccata in _C_ major.[80]
[Footnote 80: P. iii, 8. B.-G. xv, p. 253.]
The Prelude itself is subdivided. First we find an introduction,[81]
free in style; then an Allegro, built, as is very important to
notice, upon two different and well-defined themes.[82]
[Footnote 81: This work, perhaps, dates from the journey which
Bach made to Cassel in 1714 to examine a recently restored organ.
At least the pedal passage in the prelude reminds us of that pedal
solo executed during this tour before the Hereditary Prince of Hesse
with such virtuosity that the latter drew from his finger a valuable
ring and presented it to Bach. "One might have believed," says
Adlung (_Anleitung an der Musikgelahrtheit_), "that his feet were
winged, with such agility did they move over the keys which caused
the powerful basses to resound. If the dexterity of his feet drew
from the Prince so rich a present, what should he have given him in
recognition of the genius of his hands?"]
[Footnote 82: It will be interesting to compare one of these themes
with the following from the counterpoint of a fugue in A major by
Albinoni:
[Music]
especially if we remember this first transformation which it
underwent at the hands of Bach in a fugue for harpsichord:
[Music]]
An Adagio follows; a sort of instrumental solo sustained by a
homophonic accompaniment, examples of which are comparatively rare
in Bach; and accentuated by a _continuo_, like the _pizzicato_ of
the orchestra. A short succession of chords _à la_ Buxtehude and
_quasi-recitativo_[83] separates this Adagio from the fugue; the
rapid tempo of this latter is still of the earlier period, and
recalls, in its progressions in thirds, various subjects of Buxtehude.
[Footnote 83: Here are noticeable the pauses Bach contrives to
introduce for one of the hands, that it might effect the changes in
registration necessary to play the fugue _coll'organo pleno_.]
Bach was not content with writing in the Italian forms. In the fugue
in _B_ minor[84] he borrowed themes from the Corelli[85] sonatas, and
in the one in _C_ minor[86] he levied tribute upon works of Legrenzi;
upon which one of the latter is not definitely known.
[Footnote 84: P. iv, 8.]
[Footnote 85: Corelli was born in 1653, and died in 1713. The
theme mentioned is found in Joachim's edition of Corelli's works
(_Denkmäler der Tonkunst_, vol. iii. Bergedorf, near Hamburg, 1871).
It is the theme of a fugue, the second part of a "church sonata,"
opus 3; the fugue is marked _vivace_, and is but thirty-nine measures
in length.]
[Footnote 86: The manuscript of this fugue, coming down from Andreas
Bach, bears the following qualification: "_Thema Legrenzianum
elaboratum cum subjecto pedaliter_."]
In this connection we see what further profit Bach derived from
his study of Italian chamber music, not only in the _logic_
of composition in general, but in certain species of writing,
particularly in that in three parts.
But all this did not satisfy him; he wished to know the organ works
of Italian composers. We have seen that he copied with his own hand
the _Fiori musicali_ of Frescobaldi.
This copy is dated 1714; it thus belongs to the Weimar period. The
_canzona_ in _D_ minor[87] must have been written shortly after the
completion of this task; at any rate, it is interesting to trace the
characteristics of this piece to that source.
[Footnote 87: P. iv, 10.]
Notice first of all the theme; it is found in the _Canzon Dopo la
Pistola_ (sic), on page 77 of the _Fiori musicali_ (edition of 1635),
where it appears as the answer to the principal subject. Frescobaldi
presents it in this form:
[Music]
The chromatic countersubject is also found in the _Fiori musicali_,
in the fifth verse of the _Kyrie delli Apostoli_ (Christe, p. 38).
[Music]
Further, in comparing the sixth measure of this _Christe_ with the
tenth part of the _Canzona_ of Bach, we see why these two themes,
although quite in the style of Bach, still are obviously the
result of his study of Frescobaldi; in fact, this measure contains
a fragment of the theme just quoted, with the very alteration
afterwards made by Bach.
In this present case of the employment of a chromatic countersubject
Bach evidently had Frescobaldi in mind; considering, and rightly,
the frequent use of motives of this kind to be characteristic of the
latter. But while Bach believed himself in so far indebted to an
Italian master, he was in reality only following the traditions of
Sweelinck,[88] who had already furnished him noteworthy examples of
this style.
[Footnote 88: Sweelinck, who was born at Deventer about 1560, studied
with Zarlino at Venice, and upon his return home in 1580 occupied
(until his death in 1620) the position of organist to the old
Protestant Church in Amsterdam (see Max Seiffert: _J. Peter Sweelinck
und seine directen deutschen Schüler_).]