What has been said regarding Bach's admirable Clavier playing applies generally to his skill as an organist. The Clavier and Organ have points in common, but in style and touch are as different as their respective uses. What sounds well on the Clavier is ineffective on the Organ, and vice versa. The most accomplished Clavier player may be, and usually is, a bad organist unless he realises the differing natures of the two instruments and the uses they serve. I have come across only two men who can be regarded as exceptions to this general rule—Bach and his eldest son, Wilhelm Friedemann. Both were finished Clavier performers, but no trace of the Clavier style was apparent when they played the Organ. Melody, harmony, and pace were carefully selected with due regard to the nature and distinctive use of each instrument. When Wilhelm Friedemann played the Clavier his touch was elegant, delicate, agreeable. When he played the Organ he inspired a feeling of reverent awe. On the one he was [pg 62] charming. On the other he was solemn, impressive. So also was his father, and to an even greater degree. Wilhelm Friedemann was a mere child to him as an organist, and frankly admitted the fact.131 The music that extraordinary man wrote for the Organ is full of dignity, awe-inspiring, saturated with the atmosphere of devotion. His improvisation was even more inspired, dignified, and impressive: for then his imagination was untrammelled by the irksomeness of expressing himself on paper. What is the essence of this art? Let me, though imperfectly, attempt an answer.

When we compare Bach's Clavier compositions with those written for the Organ it is at once apparent that they differ essentially in melodic and harmonic structure. Hence we conclude that a good organist must select fitting themes for his instrument, and let himself be guided by its character and that of the place in which it stands and by the objects of its use. Its great body of tone renders the Organ ill-adapted to light and jaunty music. Its echoes must have liberty to rise and fall in the dim spaces of the church, otherwise the sound becomes confused, blurred, and unintelligible. What is played upon it [pg 63] must be suited to the place and the instrument, in other words, must be congruous to a solemn and majestic fabric. Occasionally and exceptionally a solo stop may be used in a Trio, etc. But the proper function of the Organ is to support church singing and to stimulate devotional feeling. The composer therefore must not write music for it which is congruous to secular surroundings. What is commonplace and trite can neither impress the hearer nor excite devotional feeling. It must therefore be banished from the Organ-loft. How clearly Bach grasped that fact! Even his secular music disdained trivialities. Much more so his Organ music, in which he seems to soar as a spirit above this mortal planet.

Of the means by which Bach attained to such an altitude as a composer for the Organ we may notice his harmonic treatment of the old Church modes, his use of the obbligato pedal, and his original registration. The remoteness of the ecclesiastical modes from our twenty-four major and minor keys renders them particularly appropriate to the service of religion. Any one who looks at Bach's simple four-part Hymn tunes ( with these:

To these qualities must be added the exquisite art Bach displayed in combining the stops of the Organ. His registration frequently astonished organists and Organ builders, who ridiculed it at first, but were obliged in the end to admit its [pg 65] admirable results and to confess that the Organ gained in richness and sonority.132

Bach's peculiar registration was based on his intimate knowledge of Organ building and of the properties of each individual stop. Very early in his career he made a point of giving to each part of the Organ the utterance best suited to its qualities, and this led him to seek unusual combinations of stops which otherwise would not have occurred to him. Nothing escaped his notice which had the slightest bearing on his art or promised to advance it. For instance, he made a point of observing the effect of large musical compositions in different surroundings. The practised ear, which enabled him to detect the slightest error in music even of the fullest and richest texture, and the art and rapidity with which he tuned his instrument, alike attest his intuitive skill and many-sidedness. When he was at Berlin in 1747 he was shown the new Opera House. He took in its good and bad qualities at a glance, whereas others had done so only after experience. He was shown the large adjoining Saloon and went up into the gallery that runs round it. Merely glancing at the roof he remarked, “The architect has secured a novel effect which, probably, neither himself nor any one else suspected.” The Saloon, in fact, is a parallelogram. If a [pg 66] person puts his face to the wall in one corner of it and whispers a few words, another person at the corner diagonally opposite can hear them distinctly, though to others between them the words are inaudible. The effect arises from the span of the arches in the roof, as Bach saw at a glance. These and similar observations suggested to him striking and unusual combinations of Organ stops.

Bach brought the methods I have indicated to bear upon Church music, and they help to explain his extraordinarily dignified and inspired playing, which was at once so appropriate and filled the listener with deep awe and admiration. His profound knowledge of harmony, unfailing originality, freedom from a secular style, his complete command of the instrument, both manuals and pedals, whence flowed a generous stream of the richest and most abundant fancy, the infallible and swift judgment which allowed him always to select from the treasury of his mind precisely the musical ideas best suited to the occasion immediately before him, his intuitive grasp of every detail, and his power to make it serve his artistic ends—in a word, his transcendent genius brought the art of Organ playing to a degree of perfection which, till then, it had never attained and hardly will attain again. Quantz133 has expressed the [pg 67] same opinion. “The admirable Johann Sebastian Bach,” he writes, “brought the art of Organ playing to its highest perfection. It is to be hoped that when he dies it will not be suffered to decline or be lost, as is to be feared from the small number of people who nowadays bestow pains upon it.”134

Strangers often asked Bach to play to them between the hours of divine service. On those occasions he was wont to select and treat a theme in various ways, making it the subject of each extemporisation even if he continued playing for two hours. As a beginning he played a Prelude and Fugue on the Great Organ. Then he developed it with solo stops in a Trio or Quartet. A Hymn-tune followed, whose melody he interrupted in the subtlest fashion with fragments of the theme in three or four parts. Last came a Fugue, with full Organ, in which he treated the subject alone or in association with one or more accessory themes. Here we have the art which old Reinken of Hamburg considered to be lost, but which, as he afterwards found, not only survived but attained its greatest perfection in Bach.

Bach's pre-eminent position and his high reputation often caused him to be invited to examine candidates for vacant organistships, and to report on new Organs. In both cases he acted so conscientiously and impartially that he generally made [pg 68] enemies. Scheibe, late Director of Music at the Danish Court, who as a young man was examined by Bach on such an occasion, was so incensed by Bach's unfavourable verdict that he afterwards avenged himself in his “Critical Musician” by violently attacking his examiner.135 In his examination of Organs Bach equally exposed himself to trouble. He could as little prevail on himself to praise a bad instrument as to recommend a bad organist. He was, therefore, severe, though always fair, in the tests he applied, and as he was thoroughly acquainted with the construction of the instrument it was hopeless to attempt to deceive him. First of all he drew out all the stops, to hear the Full Organ. He used to say jokingly, that he wanted to find out whether the instrument had good lungs! Then he gave every part of it a most searching test. But his sense of fairness was so strong that, if he found the work really well done, and the builder's remuneration [pg 69] too small, so that he was likely to be a loser, Bach endeavoured, and often successfully, to procure for him an adequate addition to the purchase price.

When the examination was over, especially if the instrument pleased him, Bach liked to exhibit his splendid talent, both for his own pleasure and the gratification of those who were present. Such demonstrations of his powers invariably invited the verdict, that he was conclusively “the prince of Clavier and Organ players,” a title which Sorge, the late highly-esteemed organist at Lobenstein,136 once gave him in a dedicatory Preface.

Bach's first attempts at composition, like all early efforts, were unsatisfactory. Lacking special instruction to direct him towards his goal, he was compelled to do what he could in his own way, like others who have set out upon a career without a guide. Most youthful composers let their fingers run riot up and down the keyboard, snatching handfuls of notes, assaulting the instrument in wild frenzy, in hope that something may result from it. Such people are merely Finger Composers—in his riper years Bach used to call them Harpsichord Knights—that is to say, their fingers tell them what to write instead of being instructed by the brain what to play.137 Bach abandoned that method of composition when he observed that [pg 71] brilliant flourishes lead nowhere. He realised that musical ideas need to be subordinated to a plan and that the young composer's first need is a model to instruct his efforts. Opportunely Vivaldi's Concertos for the Violin,138 then recently published, gave him the guidance he needed. He had often heard them praised as admirable works of art, and conceived the happy idea of arranging them for the Clavier.139 Hence he was led to study their structure, the musical ideas on which they are built, the variety of their modulations, and other characteristics. Moreover, in adapting to the Clavier ideas and phrases originally written for the Violin Bach was compelled to put his brain to work, and so freed his inspiration from dependence on his fingers. Henceforth he was able to draw ideas out of his own storehouse, and having placed himself on the right road, needed only perseverance and hard work to succeed. And how persevering he was! He even robbed [pg 72] himself of sleep to practise in the night what he had written during the day! But the diligence he bestowed upon his own compositions did not hinder him from studying the works of Frescobaldi,140 Froberger, Kerl, Pachelbel, Fischer, Strungk,141 Buxtehude, Reinken, Bruhns, BÖhm, and certain French organists who were famed in those days as masters of harmony and fugue.142

The models he selected—Church musicians for the most part—and his own disposition inclined him to serious and exalted subjects. But in that kind of music little can be accomplished with inadequate technique. Bach's first object, therefore, was to develop his power of expressing himself before he attempted to realise the ideal that beckoned him. Music to him was a language, and the composer a poet who, whatever the idiom he affects, must first of all have at his disposal the means of making himself intelligible to others. But the technique of his period Bach found limited in variety and insufficiently pliable. Therefore he set himself at the outset to refashion the accepted harmonic system. He did so in a manner characteristically individual and bearing the impress of his personality.

If the language of music is merely the utterance of a melodic line, a simple sequence of musical notes, it can justly be accused of poverty. The addition of a Bass puts it upon a harmonic foundation and clarifies it, but defines rather than gives it added richness. A melody so accompanied—even though all the notes are not those of the true Bass—or treated with simple embellishments in the upper parts, or with simple chords, used to be called “homophony.” But it is a very different thing when two melodies are so interwoven that they converse together like two persons upon a footing of pleasant equality. In the first case the accompaniment is subordinate, and serves merely to support the first or principal part. In the second case the two parts are not similarly related. New melodic combinations spring from their interweaving, out of which new forms of musical expression emerge. If more parts are interwoven in the same free and independent manner, the apparatus of language is correspondingly enlarged, and becomes practically inexhaustible if, in addition, varieties of form and rhythm are introduced. Hence harmony becomes no longer a mere accompaniment of melody, but rather a potent agency for augmenting the richness and expressiveness of musical conversation. To serve that end a simple accompaniment will not suffice. True harmony is the interweaving of several melodies, which [pg 74] emerge now in the upper, now in the middle, and now in the lower parts.

From about the year 1720, when he was thirty-five, until his death in 1750, Bach's harmony consists in this melodic interweaving of independent melodies, so perfect in their union that each part seems to constitute the true melody. Herein Bach excels all the composers in the world.143 At least, I have found no one to equal him in music known to me. Even in his four-part writing we can, not infrequently, leave out the upper and lower parts and still find the middle parts melodious and agreeable.

But in harmony of this kind each part must be highly plastic; otherwise it cannot play its role as an actual melody and at the same time combine with the other parts. To produce it Bach followed a course of his own, upon which the textbooks of his day were silent, but which his genius suggested to him. Its originality consists in the freedom of his part writing, in which he transgresses, seemingly, at any rate, rules long established and to his contemporaries almost sacred. Bach, however, realised their object, which was simply to facilitate the flow of pure melody on a sound harmonic basis, in other words, successive and coexistent euphony, and he succeeded with singular success though by [pg 75] unfamiliar means. Let me explain my meaning more closely.

Between simple intervals there is little difficulty in deciding whether the second note must rise or fall. And in regard to phrases, or sections of a phrase, if we analyse their structure and follow out their harmonic tendency, their resolution is equally clear. But this sense of destination may be provoked in each part by different intervals. As we have observed already, every one of the four parts must flow melodically and freely. But to secure that result it will be necessary to introduce between the notes which begin a phrase and establish its general atmosphere other notes which often are not consonant with those employed in the other parts and whose incidence is governed by the accent. This is what we call a But, to speak in detail of Bach's transgression of recognised rules. To begin with, he admitted octaves and fifths provided they sounded well; that is, when the cause of their being forbidden did not arise.145 Everybody knows that there are positions in which they sound well, and others when they should be avoided, owing to the harsh effect or thin harmony they produce. Bach's octaves and fifths never produce bad or thin harmony, and he was very definite as to when they could and could not be used. In certain circumstances he would not permit hidden fifths and octaves even between the middle parts, though we exclude them only between the outer parts. Yet, on occasion he used them in such a barefaced manner as to puzzle the beginner in composition. But their use very soon commends itself. Even in the last revision of his early compositions we find him altering passages, which at first sight appear impeccable, with the object of enriching their harmony and without scrupling to use hidden octaves. A remarkable instance occurs [pg 77] in the first part of the Well-tempered Clavier, in the E major Fugue, between the fifth and fourth bars from the end.146 I regret to this hour that, on looking over the later text, from which Hoffmeister and KÜhnel's edition of that work is printed,147 I was so foolish as to reject Bach's amended reading there, merely because the harmony is unorthodox though more pleasing. I stupidly preferred the older, more correct, and harsher reading, though in the later text the three parts run easily and smoothly. And what more can one demand?

Again, there is a rule that every note raised by an accidental cannot be doubled in the chord, because the raised note must, from its nature, resolve on the note above. If it is doubled, it must rise doubled in both parts and, consequently, form consecutive octaves. Such is the rule. But Bach frequently doubles not only notes accidentally raised elsewhere in the scale but actually the Again, Bach's statement that “over a pedal point all intervals are permissible that occur in the three scales”148 should be regarded rather [pg 78] an expansion than a violation of the recognised rule. In general what is called an Organ point is merely a retarded close. Bach, however, did not hesitate to employ it in the middle of a piece; a striking example occurs in the last Gigue of the English Suites.149 On a first hearing this Gigue, imperfectly rendered, may not sound well. But it grows more beautiful as it becomes more familiar, and what seemed harsh is found to be smooth and agreeable, until one never tires of playing and hearing it.

Bach's modulation was as original and characteristic as his harmony, and as closely related to it. But the two things, though closely associated, are not the same. By harmony we mean the concordance of several parts; by modulation, their progression through keys. Modulation can take place in a single part. Harmony requires more than one. I will endeavour to make my meaning clearer.

Most composers stick closely to their tonic key and modulate out of it with deliberation. In music that requires a large number of performers, and in a building, for instance a church, where the large volume of sound dies away slowly, such a habit shows good sense in the composer who wishes his work to produce the best possible effect. But in chamber or instrumental music it is not always a proof of wisdom, but rather of mental poverty. Bach saw clearly that the two [pg 79] styles demand different treatment. In his large choral compositions he bridles his exuberant fancy. In his instrumental works he lets himself go. As he never courted popularity, but always pursued his ideal, Bach had no reason to suppress the nobility of his inspirations, or to lower their standard for public consumption. Nor did he ever do so. Therefore every modulation in his instrumental work is a new thought, a constantly progressive creation in the plane of the chosen keys and those related to them. He holds fast to the essentials of harmony, but with every modulation introduces a new suggestion and glides so smoothly to the end of a piece that no creaking of machinery is perceptible; yet no single bar—I might almost say no part of a bar—is like another. Every modulation bears a strict relationship to the key from which it proceeds, and springs naturally from it. Bach ignored, or rather despised, the sudden sallies by which many composers seek to surprise their hearers. Even in his chromatic passages his progressions are so smooth and easy that we are hardly conscious of them, however extreme they may be. He makes us feel that he has not stepped outside the diatonic scale, so quick is he to seize upon the consonances common to dissonant systems and combine them to his sure purpose.

The combination of several melodic lines obliges the composer to use devices which are unnecessary in homophonic music. A single melody can develop as it pleases. But when two or more are combined each must be so delicately and cleverly fashioned that it can be interwoven with the others in this direction and in that. And here we detect one at least of the reasons why Bach's melodies are so strangely original, and his tunes so clearly distinguishable from those of other [pg 81] composers. Provided that novelty does not degenerate into eccentricity or extravagance, and that clearness and facility of expression march with agreeableness, a composer's meritoriousness is proclaimed in his originality.150 The one drawback is that the ordinary hearer cannot appreciate melodic beauties which are patent only to the expert.

But Bach's melodies are not invariably so handicapped. They are always original, it is true. But in his free compositions the melodies are so natural and spontaneous that, while they sound differently from those of other composers, their naturalness, and the sincerity of feeling that inspires them, make them intelligible to every listener. Most of the Preludes in the Well-tempered Clavier as well as a number of movements in the Suites are of this character.

Bach's melody, then, bears the unmistakable stamp of originality. And so does his passage work, as it is called. Such novelty, originality, and brilliancy are not found in any other composer. Examples are to be found in all Bach's Clavier works. But the most striking and original are in [pg 82] the Great Variations,151 in the first Part of the ClavierÜbung,152 in the English Suites,153 and the Chromatic Fantasia.154 In the last particularly Bach's fertility impresses us. The greater part of its passage work is in the form of harmonic arpeggios whose richness and originality match the chords they represent.

In order to realise the care and skill Bach expended on his melody and harmony, and how he put the very best of his genius into his work, I need only instance his efforts to construct a composition incapable of being harmonised with another melodic part. In his day it was regarded as imperative to perfect the harmonic structure of part-writing. Consequently the composer was careful to complete his chords and leave no door open for another part. So far the rule had been followed more or less closely in music for two, three, and four parts, and Bach observed it in such cases. But he applied it also to compositions consisting of a single part, and to a deliberate experiment in this form we owe the six Violin and the six Violoncello Solo Suites,155 [pg 83] which have no accompaniment and do not require one. So remarkable is Bach's skill that the solo instrument actually produces all the notes required for complete harmony, rendering a second part unnecessary and even impossible.

Bach's melody never palls on us, because of the presence in it of those qualities to which I have referred. It remains “ever fair and young,” like Nature herself. In his earlier works, in which we find him still in bondage to the prevailing mode, there is a good deal that to-day seems antiquated. But when, as in his later works, he draws his melody from the living wells of inspiration and cuts himself adrift from convention, all is as fresh and new as if it had been written yesterday. Of how many compositions of that period can the same be said? Even the works of ingenious composers like Reinhard Keiser156 and Handel have become old-fashioned sooner than we or their composers might have supposed. Like other caterers for the public, they were obliged to pander to its taste, and such music endures no longer than the standard which produced it. Nothing is more inconstant and fickle than popular caprice and, in general, what is called fashion. It must be admitted, however, that Handel's Fugues are not yet out of date, [pg 84] though there are probably few of his Arias that we now find agreeable.157

Bach's melody and harmony are rendered still more distinctive by their inexhaustible rhythmic variety. Hitherto we have discussed his music merely subjectively as harmony and melody. But to display vivacity and variety music needs to be uttered with rhythmic point and vigour. More than those of any other period composers of Bach's time found no difficulty in this, for they acquired facility in the management of rhythm in the “Suite,” which held the place of our “Sonata.” Between the initial Prelude and closing Gigue the Suite includes a number of characteristic French dance measures, whose rhythm is their distinguishing characteristic. Composers of Bach's day, therefore, were familiar with measures and rhythms which are now obsolete. Moreover skilful treatment was necessary in order that each dance might exhibit its own distinctive character and swing. Herein Bach exceeded his predecessors and contemporaries. He experimented with every kind of key and rhythm in order to give variety and colour to each movement. Out of his experience he acquired such facility that, even in [pg 85] Fugue, with its complex interweaving of several parts, he was able to employ a rhythm as easy as it was striking, as characteristic as it was sustained from beginning to end, as natural as a simple Minuet.

The source of Bach's astonishing pre-eminence is to be sought in his facile and constant application of the methods we have discussed. In whatever form he chose to express himself, easy or difficult, he was successful and seemingly effortless.158 There is not a note in his music that does not suggest consummate ease of workmanship. What he sets out to do he concludes triumphantly. The result is complete and perfect; no one could wish for a single note to be other than it is. Some illustrations will make my point clearer.

Carl Philipp Emmanuel, in the preface to his father's Vierstimmige ChoralgesÄnge (“Four-part Hymn-tunes”), which he edited,159 says that [pg 86] the world was accustomed to look for nothing but masterpieces from Bach. Some reviewers thought this praise exaggerated. But if the term “masterpiece” is restricted to works written during the years of Bach's maturity160 it is nothing less than the truth. Others have produced masterpieces in various forms which may be placed honourably by the side of his. For instance, certain Allemandes, Courantes, etc., by Handel and others are not less beautiful, though less richly wrought, than Bach's. But in Fugue, Counterpoint, and Canon he stands alone, in a grandeur so isolated that all around him seems desert and void. No one ever wrote Fugues to compare with his; indeed, persons unacquainted with them cannot imagine what a Fugue is and ought to be. The ordinary Fugue follows a rule of thumb development. It takes a theme, puts another beside it, passes them into related keys, and writes other parts round them over a Continuo. Certainly this is Fugue: but of what merit? Persons who know no other not unnaturally hold the whole species in little esteem, and the player who hopes to make such commonplace material convincing will need all his skill and imagination.

Bach's Fugue is of quite another kind. It presents all the characteristics we are accustomed to [pg 87] in freer musical forms: a flowing and distinctive melody, ease, clarity, and facility in the progression of the parts, inexhaustible variety of modulation, purest harmony, the exclusion of every jarring or unnecessary note, unity of form and variety of style, rhythm, and measure, and such superabundant animation that the hearer may well ask himself whether every note is not actually alive. Such are the properties of Bach's Fugues, properties which excite the admiration and astonishment of all who can appreciate the intellectual calibre their composition demands. How great a tribute of homage is due to work of this kind, which exhibits all the qualities which lend distinction to compositions in other musical forms! Moreover, while all Bach's Fugues of his mature period have the foregoing properties in common, each is endowed with peculiar excellencies of its own, has its own distinctive individuality, and displays a melodic and harmonic scheme in keeping with it. The man who can play one of Bach's Fugues is familiar with, and can play, one only; whereas knowing one, we can perform portfolios of Fugues by other performers of Bach's period.

To what a height was the art of Counterpoint carried by Bach's genius! It enabled him to develop out of a given subject a whole family of related and contrasted themes, of every form and design. It taught him to develop an idea logically [pg 88] from the beginning to the end. It gave him such a command of harmony and its infinite combinations that he could invert whole themes, note by note, in every part, without impairing in the least the flow of melody or purity of his harmony. It taught him to write in canon at all intervals and in movements of all kinds so easily and naturally that the workmanship is not perceptible and the composition sounds as smoothly as though it were in the free style. Lastly, it has given to posterity a legacy of works immensely various, which are, and will remain, models of contrapuntal form as long as music endures.161

I have written exclusively so far of Bach's Clavier and Organ work. But in its expression music has two branches, instrumental and vocal, and as Bach excels in both of them, the reader will desire to hear somewhat respecting his vocal writings.

It was at Weimar that Bach first had occasion to write for the voice,162 upon his appointment to [pg 89] the Kapelle, which imposed on him the provision of music for the ducal chapel. His church music, like his Organ works, is devout and serious, and in every respect what church music ought to be. He makes a point also of not elaborating individual words, which leads to mere trifling, but interprets the text as a whole.163 His choruses invariably are magnificent and impressive, and he frequently introduces Chorals into them,164 making the other parts accompany their Among the works composed at Leipzig I single out two Cantatas, one of which was performed at CÖthen at the funeral of Bach's beloved Prince Leopold, and the other in St. Paul's Church, Leipzig, on the occasion of the funeral sermon in honour of Christiana Eberhardine, Queen of Poland and Electress of Saxony.167 The first contains double choruses of uncommon magnificence and most affecting sentiment.168 The second has only four-part choruses, but they are so delightful and fresh that he who begins the work will not pause till he has reached the end of it. It was written in October 1727.

Bach also composed a great number of Cantatas, chiefly for the choir of St. Thomas' School, Leipzig.169 [pg 91] The choir ordinarily numbered fifty singers, and sometimes more, over whose musical training Bach presided like a father. He practised them so hard in Cantatas for single and double chorus that they became excellent singers. Among these works are some which, in profundity of conception, magnificence, richness of harmony and melody, and animation, surpass everything of their kind. But, like all Bach's works, and in common with other masterpieces, they are difficult to perform and need a numerous orchestra to produce their full effect.

Such are Bach's most important vocal compositions. 170 In minor forms of the art, It not infrequently happens that talented composers and players are incapable of imparting their skill to others. Either they have never troubled to probe the mechanism of their own facility, or, through the excellence of their instructors, have taken the short cut to proficiency and allowed their teacher and not their own judgment to decide how a thing should be done. Such people are useless to instruct beginners. True, they may succeed in teaching the rudiments of technique, assuming that they have been properly taught themselves. But they are certainly unqualified to teach in the full sense of the word. There is, in fact, only one way to become a good teacher, and that is to have gone through the discipline of self-instruction, a path along which the beginner may go astray a thousand times before attaining to perfection. For it is just this stumbling effort that reveals the dimensions of the art. The man who has adventured it learns the obstacles that obstruct his path, and how to surmount them. To be sure, it is a lengthy method. But if a man [pg 93] has patience to persevere he will reap a sure reward after an alluring pilgrimage. No musician ever founded a school of his own who has not followed such a course, and to his experience his teaching has owed its distinctive character.

This is so with Bach, who, only gradually discovering his full stature, was thirty years old before unremitting application raised him above the difficulties of his art. But he reaped his reward. Self-discipline set him on the fairest and most alluring path that it has ever been given to a musician to tread.

To teach well a man needs to have a full mind. He must have discovered how to meet and have overcome the obstacles in his own path before he can be successful in teaching others how to avoid them. Bach united both qualities. Hence, as a teacher he was the most instructive, clear, and definite that has ever been. In every branch of his art he produced a band of pupils who followed in his footsteps, without, however, equalling his achievement.

First of all let me show how he taught the Clavier.173 To begin with, his pupils were made to acquire the special touch of which I have already spoken.174 To that end for months together he made them practise nothing but simple exercises [pg 94] for the fingers of both hands, at the same time emphasising the need for clearness and distinctness. He kept them at these exercises for from six to twelve months, unless he found his pupils losing heart, in which case he so far met them as to write short studies which incorporated a particular exercise. Of this kind are the Six Little Preludes for Beginners,175 and the Fifteen Two-part Inventions,176 both of which Bach wrote during the lesson for a particular pupil and afterwards improved into beautiful and expressive compositions. Besides this finger practice, either in regular exercises or in pieces composed for the purpose, Bach introduced his pupils to the use of the various ornaments in both hands.

Not until this stage was reached did Bach allow his pupils to practise his own larger works, so admirably calculated, as he knew, to develop their powers. In order to lessen their difficulty, it was his excellent habit to play over to them the pieces they were to study, with the remark, “That's how it ought to sound.”177 It would be difficult to exaggerate the helpfulness of this method. The pupil's interest was roused by hearing the piece properly played. But that was not [pg 95] the sole result. Without the help thus given the pupil could only hope to overcome the difficulties of the piece after considerable effort, and would find it much less easy to realise a proper rendering of it. As it was, he received at once an ideal to aim at and was taught how to surmount the difficulties the piece presented. Many a young performer, still imperfect after a year's practice, probably would master his music in a month if he once had it played over to him.

Bach's method of teaching composition was equally sure and effective.178 He did not begin with the dry details of counterpoint, as was the custom of other teachers in his day. Still less did he burden his pupils with the physical properties of sound, which he held to be matter for the theorist and instrument-maker rather than the composer. He started them off at once on four-part harmony over a figured Bass, making his pupils write each part on a separate stave in order to impress on them the need for accurate harmonic progression. Then he passed to Hymn tunes, setting the Bass himself and making his pupils write the Tenor and Alto parts. In time he let them write the Bass also. He insisted on correct harmony and on each part having a real melodic line. Every musician knows what models [pg 96] Bach has left us in this form. The inner parts of his four-part Hymn-tunes are so smooth and melodious that often they might be taken for the melody. He made his pupils aim at similar tunefulness, and until they showed a high standard of merit did not permit them to write compositions of their own. Meanwhile he aimed at cultivating their feeling for pure harmony and for the order and connection of ideas and parts by familiarising them with the compositions of others. Until they had acquired facility in those qualities he neither permitted them nor held them competent to put pen to paper.

Bach required his pupils in composition to work out their musical ideas mentally. If any of them lacked this faculty he admonished him not to compose and discountenanced even his sons from attempting to write until they had first given evidence of genuine musical gifts. Having completed their elementary study of harmony, Bach took his pupils on to the theory of Fugue, beginning with two-part writing. In these and other exercises he insisted on the pupil composing away from the Clavier.179 Those who did otherwise he ridiculed as “Harpsichord Knights.” In the second place he required rigorous attention to each part and its relation to the concurrent parts, permitting none, not even an inner one, to break off before it had finished what it had to say. He insisted upon a correct relation between each note and its predecessor. If he came upon one whose derivation or destination was not perfectly clear he struck it out as faulty. It is, indeed, a meticulous exactitude in each individual part that makes [pg 98] Bach's harmony really multiple melody. Confused part-writing, where a note that belongs to the Tenor is given to the Alto, or Notwithstanding his strictness on this point, Bach allowed his pupils considerable licence in other respects. In their use of certain intervals, as in their treatment of harmony and melody, he let them experiment within the limits of their ability, taking care to discountenance ugliness and to insist on their giving appropriate expression to the character of the composition. Beauty of expression, he postulated, was only attainable on a foundation of pure and accurate harmony. Having experimented in every form himself, he liked to see his pupils equally adventurous. Earlier teachers of composition, for instance, Berardi,180 [pg 99] Buononcini,181 and Fux,182 did not allow such liberty. They were afraid to trust their pupils to encounter difficulties, and short-sightedly prevented them from learning how to overcome them. Bach's system was wiser, for it took his pupils farther, since he did not limit their attention, as his predecessors did, to the harmonic structure, but extended it to the qualities that constitute good writing, namely, consistency of expression, variety of style, rhythm, and melody. Those who would acquaint themselves with Bach's method of teaching composition will find it fully set forth in Kirnberger's Correct Art of Composition.183

As long as his pupils were under his instruction Bach did not allow them to study any but his own works and the classics. The critical sense, which permits a man to distinguish good from bad, develops later than the aesthetic faculty and may be blunted and even destroyed by frequent contact with bad music. The best way to instruct youth is to accustom it early to consort with the best models. Time brings experience and an instructed judgment to confirm the pupil's early attraction to works of true art.

Under this admirable method of teaching all Bach's pupils became distinguished musicians, some more so than others, according as they came early or late under his influence, and had opportunity and encouragement to perfect and apply the instruction they received from him. His two eldest sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emmanuel, were his most distinguished pupils, not because he gave them better instruction than the rest, but because from their earliest youth they were brought up amid good music at home. Even before they began their lessons they knew what was good. On the other hand, others, before they became Bach's pupils, either had heard no good music or their taste had been already vitiated by contact with bad. It at least attests the excellence of Bach's method that even his pupils thus handicapped took high rank in their profession and distinguished themselves in one or other of its branches.184

Bach's first pupil was JOHANN CASPAR VOGLER, who received instruction from him in his early days at Amstadt and Weimar and, on Bach's testimony, was an exceedingly able player. He became organist, and later burgomaster, at Weimar, retaining his professional position. Some Choral [pg 101] Preludes by him for a two-manualed Organ with pedals were engraved about 1737.185

Other pupils of Bach who became famous were:

I have said already that Bach's sons were his most distinguished pupils. The eldest, WILHELM FRIEDEMANN BACH, came nearest to his father in the originality of his genius. His melodies have quite a different character from those of other composers. They are exceedingly clever, elegant, and spontaneous. When performed with delicacy, as he played them, they cannot fail to charm every hearer. It is greatly to be regretted that he preferred to follow his fancy in extemporisation and to expend his genius on fugitive thoughts rather than to work them out on paper. The number of his compositions therefore is small, but all are beautiful.

CARL PHILIPP EMMANUEL BACH, who comes next, went out into the world sufficiently early to discover that it is a good thing for a composer to have a large public behind him. Hence, in the clearness and easy intelligibility of his compositions, he approaches the popular style, though he scrupulously avoids the commonplace.201 Both he and his elder brother admitted that they were [pg 105] driven to adopt a style of their own by the wish to avoid comparison with their incomparable father.

JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH BACH, Concertmeister at the Court of BÜckeburg, imitated Carl Philipp's style, but was not his equal. According to Wilhelm Friedemann, he was the best player among the brothers, and the most effective performer of their father's Clavier compositions.

JOHANN CHRISTIAN BACH, called “Bach of Milan,” and afterwards “Bach of London,” was the youngest son of Bach's second marriage and of too tender an age when his father died ever to have had lessons from him. Hence, perhaps, the absence of Bach's style in his music. He was, in fact, a popular composer universally admired in his day.202

As an artist Bach was exceptionally modest. Notwithstanding his pre-eminence in his profession, a superiority of which he could not but be conscious, and in spite of the admiration and respect daily shown him, he never gave himself airs. If he was asked the secret of his mastership he would answer, “I was made to work; if you are equally industrious you will be equally successful,”203 a [pg 107] remark which made no allowance for his own exceptional genius. His opinion of other composers and their work was invariably fair and generous. Naturally, much of their work struck him as somewhat trivial, viewed from his own altitude. But he never uttered a harsh criticism, unless it were to a pupil, to whom he held himself bound to say what he thought. Still less did he presume on his acknowledged superiority to indulge in braggadocio, as often happens with performers brought into touch with those whom they regard as their inferiors. Herein Bach's modesty went so far that he never spoke voluntarily of his frustrated contest with Marchand, though the latter was the challenger.204 Many absurd stories are told of Bach; for instance that, dressed up as a village schoolmaster, he liked to enter a church and ask the organist to let him play a Choral, in order to enjoy the astonishment excited by his playing, or to hear the Organist declare, “This must be Bach or the Devil.”205 He always ridiculed such stories, and indeed had too much respect for his art to make it cloak his vanity.

At musical parties where Quartet or other instrumental music was performed, Bach liked to play the Viola, an instrument which put him, as it were, in the middle of the harmony in a position from which he could hear and enjoy it on both sides. On those occasions he would sometimes join in a Trio or other piece on the Harpsichord. If he was in the mood and the composer was agreeable, he would, as has been told already, extemporise a new Trio from the Continuo part, or, adding a new part, convert the Trio into a Quartet. But these were the only occasions on which he was ready to display his great powers before others. One Hurlebusch, of Brunswick,206 a conceited and arrogant Clavier player, once visited Bach at Leipzig, not to hear him play, but to play to him. Bach received him politely and listened patiently to his very indifferent performance. On taking leave Hurlebusch made Bach's eldest sons a present of his published Sonatas, exhorting them to study them diligently. Bach, knowing the kind of music his sons were wont to play, smiled at Hurlebusch's naÏvetÉ but did not permit him to suspect his amusement.207

Bach was fond of listening to the music of other composers. If he and one of his elder sons [pg 109] happened to be in church when a Fugue was played, directly the subject had been stated he always pointed out how it ought to be developed. If the composer knew his business and fulfilled Bach's anticipations, he was pleased and nudged his son to draw his attention to the fact. Is this not evidence of his impartial interest in other people's compositions?

I have mentioned already the composers whom in his youth Bach esteemed, loved, and studied. Later, when experience ripened his critical faculty, he had other favourites, among them Imperial Kapellmeister Fux, Handel, Caldara,208 Reinhard Keiser, Hasse,209 the two Grauns,210 Telemann,211 Zelenka,212 Benda,213 etc., and, in general, the distinguished musicians at Dresden and Berlin. He was acquainted with all except the first four of those I mention. In his youth Bach was intimate with Telemann.214 He also had a very warm regard [pg 110] for Handel and often expressed a desire to know him. As Handel, like himself, was a famous performer on the Organ and Clavier, many in Leipzig and its neighbourhood wished to bring the two great men together. But Handel, then living in London, never found time for a meeting during the visits he paid to Halle, his native town. On his first visit in 1719, Bach was at CÖthen, only some twenty miles distant. As soon as he was informed of Handel's arrival he lost not a moment in setting out to visit him, but on his arrival found that Handel had returned to England. At the time of Handel's second visit, between 1730 and 1740,215 Bach was prevented from leaving Leipzig by indisposition. But no sooner was he advised of Handel's arrival at Halle than he sent his eldest son, Wilhelm Friedemann, to beg him to visit Leipzig, an invitation which Handel was unable to accept. In 1752 or 1753, when Handel paid his third visit to Germany,216 Bach was dead. He had always expressed the strongest desire to know Handel, and the Leipzig people were disappointed in their wish to hear the two great men together.

While Hasse was Kapellmeister at Dresden both the Opera and Kapelle flourished. Bach [pg 111] had many friends at Dresden, who held him in high regard. Among them may be mentioned Hasse and his wife, the celebrated Faustina.217 They often visited Leipzig and were admirers of the Cantor's rare talents. Hence, at Dresden he was always received in the most respectful manner and often visited the Opera, generally accompanied by his eldest son. When the time for their journey approached Bach would say in fun, “Well, Friedemann, shall we go to Dresden to hear the pretty tunes218 again?” Innocent as the jest was, I am sure Bach would not have uttered it to any but his son, who already could distinguish between great music and agreeable trifles.

Bach was never in a position to make what is called a brilliant fortune.219 He held a fairly lucrative office, but his income had to maintain and educate a large family. He neither possessed nor sought other means of livelihood, and was too absorbed in his art and work to think of accepting engagements which, in those days, and to a man of his genius, certainly would have brought riches. Had he possessed a taste for travel he would, as even one of his detractors admits, have “drawn [pg 112] upon himself the admiration of the whole world.” But he preferred a quiet domestic life, constant occupation in his work, with contentment and a moderate competence, like his forbears. His modesty, however, did hot prevent him from receiving manifold proofs of regard and affection and marks of honourable distinction. Prince Leopold of CÖthen, Duke Ernst August of Weimar,220 and Duke Christian of Weissenfels, all showed sincere regard for him, which must have been the more agreeable to him seeing that they were all sound judges of music. At Berlin, as at Dresden, he was universally honoured and respected. If we add to these testimonies the fact that he captured the admiration of all who heard him play or were acquainted with his music, then we may be sure that Bach, “singing for himself and the Muses,” received at the hands of Fame the recognition he valued most, and cherished it far more than the trivial honour of a ribbon or gold chain.

I add that, in 1747, Bach became a member of the “Society of the Musical Sciences,” founded by Mizler, only because we owe to the circumstance his admirable Choral Variations on Vom Himmel hoch.221 He presented them to the [pg 113] Society on his admission and they were engraved subsequently.222

It is not difficult to distinguish with exactitude those of Bach's early compositions which are of the first excellence; for he has been at pains to give us the clue. As he did not publish his first work until he was about forty years [pg 115] old 223 we are justified in assuming the merit of what, at so mature an age, he thought worthy to put into print, and in concluding generally that all his engraved works are of first-rate merit.224

With respect to his unpublished compositions, and they are by far the most numerous, we must in order to distinguish their merit rely partly on a critical examination of their texts, partly on Bach's own judgment. Like all great composers, he was continually working on his compositions with a view to making them still more finished. Indeed, he actually attempted to improve some of them that were already perfect. Any that were susceptible of improvement he improved, even those already engraved. Such is the origin of the variant readings of his works found in older and more recent texts. By constantly retouching his compositions Bach aimed at making them indisputable masterpieces. In this category I place most of what he wrote before the year 1725, as I show in detail in the following catalogue. A great [pg 116] many compositions subsequent to 1725, which for reasons easily understood are still in MS., bear too evidently the stamp of perfection to leave us in doubt whether to class them as early essays or as the finished work of an accomplished master.

The following are those of Bach's works which have been engraved: