Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach 1498554954, 9781498554954

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Music Examples
List of Figures
List of Tables
Foreword
Preface
Paragram
Part I. BACH’S VOCAL MUSIC IN THEOLOGICAL CONTEXT
Chapter One. In Honor of God and the City: Strategies of Theological and Symbolic Communication in Bach’s Cantata Gott ist mein König (BWV 71)
Chapter Two. Two “Johannine” Cantatas: Darzu ist erschienen der Sohn Gottes (BWV 40) and Sehet, welch eine Liebe (BWV 64)
Chapter Three. Death to Life, Sorrow to Joy: Martin Luther’s Theology of the Cross and J. S. Bach’s Eastertide Cantata Ihr werdet weinen und heulen (BWV 103)
Chapter Four. Toward an Understanding of J. S. Bach’s Use of Red Ink in the Autograph Score of the Matthew Passion
Chapter Five. The Theological in Bach Research (2007)
Part II. ANALYTICAL PERSPECTIVES
Chapter Six. Formal and Motivic Design in the Opening Chorus of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat
Chapter Seven. The Tonally Open Ritornello in J. S. Bach’s Church Cantatas
Chapter Eight. The Christian Believer and the Sleep of Jesus: “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein” from J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion
Part III. BACH’S SELF-MODELING: Parody as Compositional Impetus
Chapter Nine. Parody and Text Quality in the Vocal Works of J. S. Bach
Chapter Ten. J. S. Bach’s Parodies of Vocal Music Conservation or Intensification?
Chapter Eleven. J. S. Bach’s Dresden Trip and His Earliest Serenatas for Köthen
Chapter Twelve. Bach’s Second Thoughts on the Christmas Oratorio: The Compositional Revisions to “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4
Chapter Thirteen. The Passions as a Source of Inspiration? A Hypothesis on the Origin and Musical Aim of Well-Tempered Clavier II
Part IV. THE RECEPTION OF BACH’S VOCAL WORKS
Chapter Fourteen. The Leipzig Audiences of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion to 1750
Chapter Fifteen. The Vocal Music of the Bach Family in Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works
Chapter Sixteen. The Need for a New Music: J. S. Bach in Contemporary Context (c. 1946)
Chapter Seventeen. Bach at the Boundaries of Music History: Preliminary Thoughts on the B-minor Mass and the Late Style Paradigm
General Index
Index of Bach’s Works (by BWV number)
About the Editors and Contributors

Citation preview

Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach

Contextual Bach Studies Series Editor: Robin A. Leaver Westminster Choir College, emeritus The music of Johann Sebastian Bach has been the object of intensive study and analysis, but in the past many of these studies have been somewhat narrow in focus. The received view of Bach’s music was to some degree incomplete because it was largely discussed on its own terms without being fully set within the contextual perspective of the musician’s predecessors, contemporaries, and successors. It is only in fairly recent times that the music of these other composers has become accessible, allowing us to appreciate the nature and stature of their accomplishments, and at the same time giving us new perspectives from which to view a more rounded picture of Bach’s genius. The monographs in this series explore such contextual areas. Since much of Bach’s music was composed for Lutheran worship, a primary concern of these monographs is the liturgical and theological contexts of the music. But Bach’s music was not exclusively confined to these specific religious concerns. German culture of the time had more general religious dimensions that permeated “secular” society. Therefore, in addition to specific studies of the liturgical and theological contexts of Bach’s music, this series also includes explorations of social, political, and cultural religious contexts in which his music was composed and first heard. Titles in the Series Peters, Mark A., and Reginald L. Sanders. Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach, 2018. Bartel, Dietrich. Andreas Werckmeister’s Muscalische Paradoxal-Discourse: A Well-Tempered Universe, 2017. Paczkowski, Syzmon. Polish Style in the Music of Johann Sebastian Bach, 2017. Irwin, Joyce. Foretastes of Heaven in Lutheran Church Music Tradition: Johann Mattheson and Christoph Raupach on Music in Time and Eternity, 2015. Goncz, Zoltan, translated by Peter Laki. Bach’s Testament: On the Philosophical and Theological Background of the Art of Fugue, 2013. Leahy, Anne, edited by Robin A. Leaver. J. S. Bach’s “Leipzig” Chorale Preludes: Music, Text, Theology, 2011. van Elferen, Isabella. Mystical Love in the German Baroque: Theology, Poetry, Music, 2009. Cameron, Jasmin Melissa. The Crucifixion in Music: An Analytical Survey of Settings of the Crucifixus between 1680 and 1800, 2006.

Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach Edited by Mark A. Peters and Reginald L. Sanders

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB Copyright © 2018 The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available ISBN 978-1-4985-5495-4 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-4985-5496-1 (electronic) The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America

For our friend and colleague Don O. Franklin Professor emeritus, University of Pittsburgh Past-president, American Bach Society

Contents

List of Music Examples

ix

List of Figures

xi

List of Tables

xiii

Foreword xv Robin A. Leaver Preface xvii Mark A. Peters and Reginald L. Sanders Paragram for Professor Dr. Don O. Franklin Ruth Tatlow

xxi

PART I:  BACH’S VOCAL MUSIC IN THEOLOGICAL CONTEXT 1  I n Honor of God and the City: Strategies of Theological and Symbolic Communication in Bach’s Cantata Gott ist mein König (BWV 71) Markus Rathey 2  T  wo “Johannine” Cantatas: Darzu ist erschienen der Sohn Gottes (BWV 40) and Sehet, welch eine Liebe (BWV 64) Eric Chafe 3  D  eath to Life, Sorrow to Joy: Martin Luther’s Theology of the Cross and J. S. Bach’s Eastertide Cantata Ihr werdet weinen und heulen (BWV 103) Mark A. Peters vii

3

23

51

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Contents

 4  T  oward an Understanding of J. S. Bach’s Use of Red Ink in the Autograph Score of the Matthew Passion Mary Greer  5  The Theological in Bach Research (2007) Martin Petzoldt

75 103

PART II:  ANALYTICAL PERSPECTIVES  6  F  ormal and Motivic Design in the Opening Chorus of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat Reginald L. Sanders  7  The Tonally Open Ritornello in J. S. Bach’s Church Cantatas Kayoung Lee  8  T  he Christian Believer and the Sleep of Jesus: “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein” from J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion Wye J. Allanbrook

121 139

153

PART III:  BACH’S SELF-MODELING: PARODY AS COMPOSITIONAL IMPETUS  9  Parody and Text Quality in the Vocal Works of J. S. Bach Hans-Joachim Schulze 10  J . S. Bach’s Parodies of Vocal Music: Conservation or Intensification? Robin A. Leaver 11  J. S. Bach’s Dresden Trip and His Earliest Serenatas for Köthen Gregory Butler

167

177 205

12  B  ach’s Second Thoughts on the Christmas Oratorio: The Compositional Revisions to “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4 Steven Saunders

215

13  T  he Passions as a Source of Inspiration? A Hypothesis on the Origin and Musical Aim of Well-Tempered Clavier II Yo Tomita

225

PART IV:  THE RECEPTION OF BACH’S VOCAL WORKS 14  The Leipzig Audiences of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion to 1750 Tanya Kevorkian

245



Contents ix

15  T  he Vocal Music of the Bach Family in Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works 261 Jason B. Grant 16  T  he Need for a New Music: J. S. Bach in Contemporary Context (c. 1946) William H. Scheide

281

17  B  ach at the Boundaries of Music History: Preliminary Thoughts on the B-minor Mass and the Late Style Paradigm Robert L. Marshall

297

General Index

305

Index of Bach’s Works (by BWV number)

315

About the Editors and Contributors

321

List of Music Examples

 2.1  BWV 40/1, tenor, mm. 29–31

28

 2.2  BWV 40/7, a. corno I, mm. 1–2; b. tenor, mm. 5–6

37

 6.1  Principal Motives of the Opening Chorus of BWV 243a

125

 9.1  ( a) BWV 134/3 (1724), with added text from BWV 134a, mm 1–9 (m. 10, partial); (b) 134/3 (1731) mm. 1–8 (m. 9, partial)

174

12.1  ( a) “Ich will dich nicht hören,” BWV 213/9, mm. 103–12; (b) “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4, mm. 103–14

219

12.2  V  oice-leading reduction of “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4, mm. 123–34

220

13.1  ( a) John Passion, BWV 245/21d, “Kreuzige, kreuzige,” mm. 26–28; (b) WTC II, Fugue 16 in G minor, BWV 885/2, mm.1–6; (c) John Passion, BWV 245/21d, “Kreuzige, kreuzige,” mm. 44–48; (d) WTC II, Fugue 16 in G minor, BWV 885/2, mm. 59–62

233

13.2  ( a) Matthew Passion, BWV 244/45b, “Laß ihn kreuzigen!,” mm. 35b–38; (b) WTC II, Fugue 20 in A minor, BWV 889/2, mm. 1–4; (c) Matthew Passion, BWV 244/61a, “Und von der sechsten Stunde,” mm. 7–9; (d) WTC II, Prelude 22 in B-flat minor, BWV 891/1, mm. 1–4

235

xi

List of Figures

4.1  E  ngraving from Lüneburgisches Gesangbuch, 1702. Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Signatur Liturg 491.

xiii

83

List of Tables

 3.1  T  he Easter Season in the Lutheran Church Year (with Bach’s Eastertide Cantatas)

54

 6.1  Design of the Opening Chorus according to Ulrich Meyer

126

 6.2  Expanded Depiction of the Design of the Opening Chorus

127

10.1  C  omparison of the Structures of the Setting of the Gloria in the Missae BWV 232I–236 179

xv

Foreword

In the past, each of the volumes published in this series has been a monograph by an individual author. This volume is different, being comprised of contributions by various authors. It is also different in that the Contextual Bach Studies explored here are focused on Bach studies in the context of America. Together these essays celebrate Don O. Franklin, who for most of the past half-century has been a prominent leader in American Bach studies—in public by his teaching, writing, and performing, and in private by his encouragement, guidance, and insight—all of it communicated with skill, knowledge, experience, and grace. In large measure, Don Franklin has played a major part in shaping the network of interest in the music of Johann Sebastian Bach here in America. He was in at the beginning of the creation of the American Chapter of the Neue Bachgesellschaft in the mid-1970s, and then in 1988 was part of the small group that was responsible for the transformation of the American Chapter of the NBG into the American Bach Society as an independent, non-profit organization. He served on the first advisory board of the ABS and became its second president. Therefore, it should not come as a surprise that no fewer than four of the authors in this volume have followed Don Franklin by serving as successive presidents of the ABS, and that other authors have also served as officers of the society. All the contributors to this volume have many reasons to be grateful to Don Franklin. It is a sincere thank-offering from some of the many doctoral students, academic colleagues, co-workers, and friends whose lives and careers have been enlightened by his influence. Robin A. Leaver Series Editor xvii

Preface

“Yes, it is beautiful, but what does it mean?” Perhaps one of the most significant results of developments in musicology over the past four decades has been the realization of the importance of musical meaning, whether textual or contextual. As scholars of music, we clearly recognize that it is not sufficient only to describe a piece of music or to analyze its compositional features or even its sources. While analysis and source study continue to serve as important tools and approaches within historical musicology, it is through newer approaches— social and cultural histories, race and gender studies, studies of performance practice and reception, cross-disciplinary dialogues, to name just a few—that the question of meaning has become so integral to the discipline. The wonderfully expanded musicological realm demands that we search for meanings, for causes, for the significance of a piece of music both as an artwork and as an act of human communication, a conveyor of meaning. We are compelled to ask questions such as: What does it mean that we as humans make music? What does music making mean within a cultural context? A social context? An individual context? What does a piece of music mean for its patron? For its composer? For its performers? For its hearers? For later composers? For later generations of listeners? Analysis should address these issues in the context of larger patterns of music composition—whether by the composer, by her predecessors, by her contemporaries, by later composers, or a combination thereof. And while source study may be motivated simply by the desire for the best critical edition of a work, we may also seek to find meaning from such sources for compositional method, analytical details of the work, or performance implications. For individual composers, we seek meaning in how they related to their culture, to their social context, to their race and ethnicity, to their gender, to other xix

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Preface

composers (including predecessors, contemporaries, and successors), to their own works, to performers, to patrons, to audiences. We seek further meaning also by displacing the composer from musicology’s pedestal: what does music in a particular time and place mean from the perspective of an audience? A publisher? A philosopher? A poet? An entrepreneur? What were the dominant systems of thought and practice within which the music was originally created and received? From this far from exhaustive list, we believe it is clear that the search for meaning may be seen as one of the underlying themes in musicology today. Bach studies, however, has been late to the party. For a number of reasons—among them the focus on source study required for the creation of the Neue Bach-Ausgabe (1950–2007), the conflicting ideologies across a divided Germany (1945–1989), and the lingering of Romanticized conceptions of Bach as isolated genius—Bach studies was slower to incorporate new methodologies and continued its primary focus on source study and music analysis. While individual scholars have taken up Bach’s life and music using new methodological perspectives (perhaps most famously Susan McClary’s iconic article, “The Blasphemy of Talking Politics during Bach Year”1), Bach studies as a whole has only shifted toward such methodologies more recently. The fruits of that shift, however, are evident in a wealth of new publications in recent decades that reflect much more diverse approaches to Bach and his works in their many contexts.2 To offer just one immediate example, we are grateful that such a series as Contextual Bach Studies (Robin A. Leaver, series editor) has been developed and that we are able to contribute to it. The present collection of essays reflects aspects of newer musicological methodologies, particularly as they have been adopted and adapted within the field of Bach studies.3 The various authors of Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach each address in some way such questions of meaning in J. S. Bach’s vocal compositions, with particular attention to how such meaning arises out of the intentionality of Bach’s own compositional choices or (in Part IV in particular) how meaning is discovered, and created, through the reception of Bach’s vocal works. And the authors do not consider such compositional choices in a vacuum, but rather discuss Bach’s artistic intentions within the framework of broader cultural trends—social, historical, theological, musical, etc. Such questions of compositional choice and meaning frame the four primary approaches to Bach’s vocal music taken by the authors in this volume, as seen across the book’s four parts: • Part I: How might the study of historical theology inform our understanding of Bach’s compositional choices in his music for the church (cantatas, Passions, masses)?



Preface xxi

• Part II: How can we apply traditional analytical tools to understand better how Bach’s compositions were created and how they might have been heard by his contemporaries? • Part III: What can we understand anew through the study of Bach’s selfborrowing (i.e., parody), which always changed the earlier meaning of a composition through changes in textual content, compositional characteristics, the work’s context within a larger composition, and often the performance context (from court to church, for example)? • Part IV: What can the study of reception teach us about a work’s meaning(s) in Bach’s time, during the time of his immediate successors, and at various points since then (including our present)? The chapters in this volume thus reflect the breadth of current Bach research in its attention not only to source study and analysis, but also to meanings and contexts for understanding Bach’s compositions. In light of these perspectives, it is only fitting that Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach is offered in honor of Don O. Franklin, professor emeritus of the University of Pittsburgh and pastpresident of the American Bach Society. Franklin has for decades been one of the leading scholars focusing on Bach’s compositional choices in light of understanding meaning, particularly in exploring ways that the study of historical theology can inform our understanding not only of the texts Bach set, but also of Bach’s other compositional choices. Franklin has likewise done significant research into Bach’s understanding of temporal relationships in his compositions, while also exploring the implications of such research for the performance of Bach’s music today. Finally, Franklin has been an important practitioner of historical performance, practice, modeling and promoting the close tie between research and performance, particularly through the Bach and the Baroque concert series he directed at the University of Pittsburgh from 1991 to 2007. We offer this book in thanks to Don Franklin for his important contributions to Bach studies, but, more importantly, for the collegiality, support, and friendship he has offered to each of the book’s authors. Of the many other persons who helped to bring this book to fruition, we would like to particularly thank the book’s authors; our series editor, Robin A. Leaver; and our editors at Lexington, Lindsey Falk, Nick Johns, and Paula Williamson. Mark A. Peters Trinity Christian College Reginald L. Sanders Kenyon College

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Preface

NOTES 1. In Music and Society, ed. Richard Leppert and Susan McClary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 13–62. 2.  For the most recent and most comprehensive introduction to the current state of Bach studies, see Robin A. Leaver, ed., The Routledge Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach (New York: Routledge, 2017). 3.  For an introduction to the state of research on Bach’s vocal music, see Mark A. Peters, “Vocal Music,” in The Routledge Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach, ed. Robin A. Leaver, 267–94.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Leaver, Robin A., ed. The Routledge Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach. New York: Routledge, 2017. McClary, Susan. “The Blasphemy of Talking Politics during Bach Year.” Music and Society, ed. Richard Leppert and Susan McClary, 13–62. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Peters, Mark A. “Vocal Music.” In The Routledge Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach. Edited by Robin A. Leaver, 267–94. New York: Routledge, 2017.

Paragram

For Professor Dr. Don O. Franklin, With gratitude for many years of encouragement and friendship. By Ruth Tatlow, On behalf of all your many friends, students, and colleagues, and especially the authors of this volume.

xxiii

Paragram

xxiv

Paragramma Cabbalisticum trigonale*

Ex Lib. Danielis Cap. XII: 3

Professor Don O. Franklin, Teacher, Conductor, and Scholar; Encourager of students especially those working on music by Joh. Sebast. BBaach

Those who are Wise will shine Brilliantly, and Those who put others on the Right Path to Life will radiate like Stars forever

1014 206 105 523 416 876 102 538 777 126 1048 781 517 708 196 510 279 186 551 50

9509

517 372 169 462 408 358 1002 102 517 372 520 670 196 241 452 347 295 147 408 415 181 686 672 9509

Alphabetum trigonale:* A=1 G = 28 N = 91 T = 190

B=3 H = 36 O = 105 U,V = 210

C=6 I.J = 45 P = 120 W = 231

D = 10 K = 55 Q = 136 X = 253

E = 15 L = 66 R = 153 Y = 276

F = 21 M = 78 S = 171 Z = 300



Paragram xxv

Sebastian Bach’s was the music Don chose To teach and research, with canons that wove To form unified sounds of harmony and peace, With structures and themes that never will cease. He conducted and played and sang all year round With joy so infectious, so great and profound. Don inspired all his students to listen and see what marvel the music by Bach is and can be beyond score, ink, and paper, with sounds to express the height and the depth of the joy and distress of each woman and man in their days here on earth, and the thrill of eternity’s call through new birth. Anapestic tetram’ter I chose for this rhyme Although Bach and his friends would choose Alexandrine. It was normal for them at a wedding or party To honour the hero with odes that were hearty. Recounting fine deeds, they used a technique, Changing letters for numbers in words, some antique, That made the same total, give or take two, Symmetrically showing how apt and how true Was the biblical text for their hero. Our Don, Whose wisdom has helped to guide many along New paths that have proved to be just the right way, Is the subject today; so with one voice let’s say: “Like a star may Don shine,” as Daniel describes, “Ever radiating the wisdom that first blessed our lives.”

Part I

BACH’S VOCAL MUSIC IN THEOLOGICAL CONTEXT

Chapter One

In Honor of God and the City Strategies of Theological and Symbolic Communication in Bach’s Cantata Gott ist mein König (BWV 71) Markus Rathey When Johann Sebastian Bach became organist in the Thuringian free imperial city of Mühlhausen in 1707, he inherited a position that had been shaped for more than fifty years by members of the Ahle family. Johann Rudolph Ahle (1625–1673) had been organist at the Divi Blasii church from 1654,1 and his son Johann Georg Ahle (1651–1706) followed him and held the position until his death in 1706.2 Both organists had been prolific composers, and in addition to other sacred works, they both had written pieces for the introduction of the town council (the Ratsstück) annually. The tradition of honoring the town council with a newly written work had started shortly after the end of the Thirty Years’ War, when in 1651 the young Johann Rudolph Ahle had been commissioned to provide a piece for this occasion.3 As organist at Divi Blasii, Johann Sebastian Bach was responsible for composing the introductory music for 1708. His cantata Gott ist mein König (BWV 71) is an important work. Not only is it the only cantata that exists in a print from Bach’s lifetime, but it is also the largest-scale work by the young composer.4 This essay will explore the historical background of Bach’s cantata in two steps. The first part will be a study of the sermons that were preached during the introduction of the town council in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. The second part will be an overview of the compositions by Bach’s predecessor J. G. Ahle. The analysis of the theological and musical sources will show to what degree Bach’s cantata is based on the tradition of the Ratsstück he encountered when he began his tenure in 1707. The conventions during Ahle’s time will also provide new insights that may lead to a reevaluation of some other early Bach cantatas. We know that Bach composed another Ratsstück in 1709 and possibly another one in 1710, both of which are lost; however, some of Bach’s early cantatas fit the profile of what had been common in Ahle’s time, and it is 3

4

Markus Rathey

possible that Bach’s other cantatas for the town council are not lost at all, but are instead hidden in plain sight. THE SERMONS Johann Georg Ahle’s music theoretical treatise Musicalisches Sommergespräch (1697) is prefaced by a letter by Johann Georg Blumrodt, rector of the school in Echzell, a small town about twenty miles from Frankfurt am Main: “When I saw some days ago at the house of our superintendent Hagenbruch not only the sermon for the introduction of the town council by Doctor Frohne but also the beautiful town council song, which my honorable godfather had composed for the most recent introduction of the council. . . .”5 Blumrodt’s remark suggests that both the sermons and the music for the introduction of the town council were sent to other cities and towns. Both were printed at the expense of the town council and served as a symbolic token of the cultural and economic wealth of the city. The printed music was not intended for actual performance, but served as a commemorative and symbolic object. The sermons for the services for which Bach composed his cantatas are not extant. It is likely that they were printed, but the prints seem to be lost, as are most of the compositions for the introduction of the new town council in Mühlhausen. However, several sermons from previous years exist, which can help illuminate the religious and theological background of compositions by Bach and the members of the Ahle family. The existing sermons suggest that the preacher in the ceremonies was commonly the superintendent as the highest minister in the city. In Bach’s (and his predecessor Ahle’s) case, this would have been Johann Adolph Frohne (1652–1713). Four sermons by Frohne have survived: • Der Erleuchtete und in seiner Amts-Last Erleichterte Regent bey Auffuehrung Eines . . . Neuen Rahts der . . . Stadt Muehlhausen im Jahr Christi 1697. den 4. Febr. in der vierdten Raths-Predigt. . . . Muehlhausen: Christian Pauli, 1697. • Der unpartheyische Regent bey der 1698 in . . . Mühlhausen in Thür. nach Wunsch vorgegangenen Raths- und Regiments-Abwechslung aus dem 1. Cap. des 5. Buchs Mosis v. 16/17 in der inaugural-Predigt d. 4. Febr. gehalten worden. Mühlhausen: Brückner, 1698. • Der von Gott gewafnete Regent unter dem Bilde Gideons aus dem Buch der Richter c. 7. v. 20. bey glücklich gehaltenem Raths-Wechsel Anno



In Honor of God and the City 5

1700. den 5. Febr. . . . in einer RegentenPredigt vorgestellet. Mühlhausen: Brückner, 1700. • Der Regent nach Gottes Hertzen unter dem Bilde des von Gott geliebten und gesegneten Davids: aus 2. Sam. 5/1–10. in einer Regenten-Predigt bey solenner Raths-Abwechselung, Anno 1703, den 5. Febr. . . . vorgestellet, Mühlhausen: Tobias David Brückner, 1703. The four sermons were preached while J. G. Ahle was organist at Divi Blasii. Sadly, the compositions for the same days have not survived, and it is impossible to say whether the music and the sermon were based on the same biblical text or whether they were independent from each other. The texts for the sermons were primarily taken from the Old Testament. Both the main text for the sermon and most of the texts to which the sermons allude for reference or confirmation were taken from the Hebrew Bible. The most important exception is Romans 13, the standard text for the Lutheran concept of government, stating that every government received its authority from God. But as Romans 13 only provides the theological foundation but no examples of what a good government (and a good ruler) should look like, Frohne (and other theologians of his time) refers frequently to the narratives from the Old Testament, and especially to the pre-royal period of Israel’s history and to King David.6 The choice of texts from the early period of Israel’s history reflects the fact that Mühlhausen was a free city of the Holy Roman Empire, lacking an actual “king.” While the city answered to the Emperor directly, the local authorities had a much more direct impact on everyday life. Only the sermon from 1703 (II Samuel 5:1–10) focuses on a king, but even here, the preacher emphasizes the covenant between David and the tribes of Israel and the conquest of Jerusalem as David’s city. David appears as an elected ruler who is anointed by God, not a ruler who has his position by inheritance. In his sermon from 1697, Frohne explains: Just as Joshua here is being elected as ruler by God directly, and then introduced by Moses (on God’s command) into his office of government, in the same way does God still today elect those persons directly who shall rule his people. He governs the hearts of those who vote so that they elevate to the chair of government those who God has chosen and not other people.7

While elected officials appear quite frequently in Frohne’s sermons, the Emperor (who was de facto the lord of the city) is not mentioned very often. His name is referenced from time to time, but he is not an integral part of the concept of government Frohne develops in his sermons. This is similar in a collection of sermons by Johann Schmidt, pastor and theologian in

6

Markus Rathey

Straßburg.8 Schmidt was in a similar situation as Frohne, as Straßburg was a free imperial city as well. Frohne was familiar with Schmidt’s collection of sermons, which was published in 1666, and he quotes it frequently. Both Frohne’s and Schmidt’s sermons not only emphasize the power of the government and the need of the people to follow their rulers, but both theologians also point out the obligations toward God and the people that come with being part of the town council: The valued fathers of the country will diligently do the same, namely honoring God with true love, serving the fatherland bravely and faithfully, doing good to everybody and not doing harm to anybody without a [good] reason and against the law; then their fame will be immortal and their reward in heaven will be large. God may give them courage and reason, power and ability.9

Frohne’s sermons shed light on several aspects of Bach’s cantata Gott ist mein König. The first has to do with “age,” which is referenced in Frohne’s sermon from 1697. When the members of the town council in Mühlhausen were elected for the first time, they were normally in their thirties; however, once a member, they became part of a three-year rotation for life, so that the average age of the members (and of the burgomaster in particular) was rather high. Adolph Strecker (1624–1708), for instance, was 83 years old when he was elected burgomaster in 1708. Frohne realized that the high average age in the town council could be a problem and suggested that the reason for electing a member or burgomaster should not be age alone, but rather maturity and intelligence, which can go along with the numerical age, but which can also be found in younger people. He rather recommends electing the virtuous and wise: God allows Moses to choose his co-rulers; however, he reminds him to select intelligent, wise, and diligent people, who are equal to the elders, if not in age but in knowledge and wisdom. By this, God wanted to give a model to all those who are trusted with electing the rulers and to show them to what they should pay attention when electing people for an office, namely primarily to their wisdom- and virtue-age.10

And if an older person was elected, it should be someone who still was physically capable of fulfilling his duties: “The elders should not be misunderstood as the spent and lifeless people, but rather those who have reached an age in which they can make use of their civic wisdom and mature judgment in deliberations [of the council].”11 Frohne’s remarks might reflect an ongoing discussion about the age of the members of the town council in Mühlhausen. In any case, Frohne’s criticism resonates with the text for BWV 71 when the tenor sings in the second movement, “I am now eighty years old.” Strecker



In Honor of God and the City 7

was doubtlessly a wise and virtuous person. However, he was also of declining health and died a few months after his election.12 A second topic where the sermons and the libretto for BWV 71 converge is the concept of the “king.” The first movement of the cantata begins with the phrase “Gott ist mein König” (God is my king, Psalm 74:12). Mühlhausen as a free city did not have a king, and I have already mentioned that both Frohne and Schmidt favored the concept of the elected ruler over hereditary monarchy. However, the Old Testament mentions kings very frequently, and free cities like Mühlhausen or Schmidt’s hometown of Straßburg had to find a way to apply these texts to their own situation by interpreting “king” in a metaphorical way. Schmidt gives an example in a sermon on Psalm 61:7 (“May he [the king] be enthroned forever before God; appoint steadfast love and faithfulness to watch over him!”). Schmidt points out that the word “king” referred to any form of government: “Today, kings are not only the Roman Emperor, the kings of Spain and France, etc., but every elector, count, and lord, yes, every noble man, who rules over certain villages and subjects. In smaller and larger cities, such as here in this city, [this includes] the whole council and all its members.”13 All “kings” received their power from God, as Schmidt emphasizes a few moments later in the same sermon: “How does a king receive all this [power], and where does every rightful ruler, authority, and city council [receive this]? God, you give it.”14 In other words, the “kings” only have their authority because it is given to them by God. God gives the power, and he is free to take it away: “So God remains the only one who does everything and who puts the rulers in their place. . . . This has been said by the inspired prophet Daniel in his song of praise in chapter 2: Praised be the name of God from eternity to eternity; he deposes kings, and he elevates kings.”15 This brings us back to Frohne’s remarks that the town council received its power from God alone. The town council, like every other “king,” depends on the grace of God. Frohne points out that the town council not only receives power, but it also requires the support of the Holy Spirit who inspires them to act as good rulers: “And so God gives the rulers, who love him, in time his Holy Spirit so that they may become men in which the spirit dwells.”16 However, there is an important difference between the town council and an actual king. A king is a single person, whereas the council is a group of elected citizens, headed by the burgomaster. Schmidt points out that the entire council could be called “king,” but not the individual member, not even the first burgomaster.17 As a consequence, the members of the town council are not different from other citizens, except in those cases in which they act as members of this council and with the support of

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the council. Metaphorically speaking, the members of the town council are “kings” when they speak and act “ex cathedra.” The opening phrase from Bach’s cantata resonates with this complex understanding of “king” in contemporary sermons. “King” was synonymous with government in general, and the town council in Mühlhausen acted in place of a king in the city; however, the council received its authority from God, who was to be seen as the actual ruler, delegating his power to the Emperor and the town councils. The phrase “Gott ist mein König” does not diminish the power of the town council in the sense that God was the king but not the council, but it is the foundation of the authority of the council.18 In the concluding prayer to his sermon for 1697, Frohne summarizes this concept of government and links it back to its theological foundation in Romans 13: “O God, lord of lords, and king of kings, ruler of the whole earth, who has instituted all authorities and who has said through his venerable apostle: There is no authority that has not been instituted by God, and who resists the authority resists God’s order.”19 Another metaphor that is used frequently both by Schmidt and Frohne is the word “father.” The members of the town council are identified as fathers of the city. Frohne writes: “[The members of the town council] must carry the burden of fatherhood. Not without good reason does the Holy Spirit in the Holy Scripture give the rulers the name of a father; but he also reminds them of the burden to care for their subjects, just as fathers care for their children.”20 The metaphor of the caring father emphasizes the picture Frohne painted of the good government, as being selected by God and invested with his authority, but also as being responsible for the well-being of the subjects. Frohne’s and Schmidt’s views of government are based on Romans 13 as the biblical foundation of any Christian government; however, both rely heavily on the Old Testament for the narratives about a good government, and both theologians use the metaphors that are provided by the Hebrew Bible (king, father) to describe the obligations and rights of the government in their free imperial cities. In light of these conventions, it is not surprising that BWV 71 was also primarily based on a text from the Old Testament (Psalm 74), as are the other biblical texts the libretto references. COMPOSITIONS BY BACH’S PREDECESSOR, JOHANN GEORG AHLE Bach’s immediate predecessor, Johann Georg Ahle, composed his first piece for the introduction of the town council while his father, Johann Ru-



In Honor of God and the City 9

dolph, was still alive. Although enrolled as student of law at the University of Jena, the young Ahle substituted for his father as organist and also began writing his own compositions. J. G. Ahle composed the pieces for the introduction of the new town council in 1672 and 1673 before he officially took over the position from his late father in 1673. The first pieces for the town council are, like his father’s works for this occasion, lost. The earliest reference to the title of a piece dates from 1675. This composition is lost as well, but the title contains some information about the occasion and the musical forces required for the performance: “Johann Georg Ahle gives this concert piece, consisting of 4 vocal, 5 instrumental, and 7 capella voices, including basso continuo, with his congratulations to the burgomasters P. A. Rothschier and Ch. Bellstett as well as the other honorable members of the new town council. Mühlhausen 1675.”21 The text for the piece, “Nun danket alle Gott” (“Now thank ye all our God”), was probably based on Sirach 50:22–24. It could be that Ahle used the hymn text by Martin Rinckart and the melody by Johann Crüger, which were well known at this time. However, considering that Ahle was a poet and had already published a collection of songs in 1671 (partly based on his own poetry),22 it is likely that he wrote the text and the melody himself. The title suggests that the piece was set for 4 voices (probably SATB), 5 instruments, and 7 ripieno voices. The 5 instruments were probably 2 violins and 3 violas, as he uses them in his later composition from 1679. The 7 ripieno voices were probably doubling the 4 vocalists and instruments in the tutti sections. The earliest composition by Ahle for the introduction of the town council that is preserved was written for the ceremony in 1679 and printed in the same year. The piece is set for four vocal parts (SATB, soli and tutti), two violins, three viola da bracchio, violone, and basso continuo. The structure of the large, single-movement work is as follows: Ritornello – Ripieno – S+A solo – T solo – Ritornello – Ripieno – S+A solo – T solo – Ritornello – Ripieno – B solo (5 stanzas, with instr. ritornelli) – Ritornello – Ripieno – Ritornello – Ripieno – Ritornello – Ripieno – Amen (tutti)

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The entire composition is based on a bass-ostinato, first stated in the opening 4 measures, which is repeated 39 times. Corresponding with the bass-pattern, the structure and musical material of the upper voices is divided into sections of 4 measures. The first 8 measures of the composition are an instrumental ritornello, followed by a ripieno section of 4 measures performed by all voices and instruments. The texture of this section is strictly homophonic, with the lower strings doubling the vocalists and the violins playing a vivid, figurative upper voice in unison. The initial twelve measures return throughout the composition five more times (sometimes with changing texts), interrupted by solo sections which are based on the same bass pattern. The center of the composition is an extensive bass solo, which alternates with a short instrumental ritornello (four measures each). The bass sings five stanzas of a strophic, song-like aria, before eventually the ritornello-ripieno section from mm. 1–12 returns. The final “Amen” section is laid out as a contrast to the preceding sections of the piece. Ahle abandons the strict homophonic texture and engages the solo voices and violins in small imitations, from time to time interrupted by the tutti. The change of texture goes along with a change of rhythm; instead of the regular eighth-note declamation of the previous sections, Ahle now uses flowing triplets, giving the listener the impression of a change into triple meter. Ahle combines elements of the contemporary concerto-aria cantata (with its characteristic alternation of soli-sections and tutti-ritornellos) with a through-composed passacaglia. At the same time, Ahle’s roots in the strophic aria of the late seventeenth century are obvious. The ripieno sections combine the unaltered music with a strophic text, and the center of the composition is a song-like aria. Ahle expands a small amount of musical material provided by a song-like aria into a large-scale composition.23 The text for Ahle’s composition reflects the political situation in 1679. It is a request for peace (“Oh! when will there be quietness in our lands/ oh! when will peace come down from heaven?”) imploring God to restore “fortune, welfare, and well-being” in the city of Mühlhausen. The historical background for the text is the war between France and the Netherlands (and their allies), which ended later in 1679. Mühlhausen suffered from the war, as foreign soldiers from Hanover were stationed in the city and left only on November 22, 1679.24 Although the text was written for the introduction of the new town council, neither the council nor the ceremonies are mentioned. Instead, the author, who was probably Ahle himself, focuses on the request for peace. Three other compositions, one by Ahle and two by Johann Ludwig Gräfe (cantor at St. Mary’s in Mühlhausen), stand in close proximity to this request for peace and can help illuminate the historical background. In early 1679,



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when the introduction of the town council was being celebrated, the negotiations about the peace were still under way. The treatise of Nijmegen between Sweden and the Netherlands was signed on October 2, 1679, and Mühlhausen celebrated the peace in a service on November 30, 1679, the first Sunday of Advent.25 Gräfe wrote and printed for this occasion two small pieces, and Ahle composed a small aria, which was, like Gräfe’s print, dedicated to the burgomasters and the town council of Mühlhausen. Ahle’s composition praises the arrival of the peace and thanks God for his mercy. He also adds homage to Emperor Leopold, something that had been missing in the Ratsstück for the same year. The simple melody for soprano is framed by a short ritornello for two trumpets and three trombones. Ahle’s piece was probably printed in an individual print, which is now lost. It was then reprinted as part of the collection Unstruhtischer Apollo begreiffend X. sonderbahre Fest- Lob- Dank- und Freudenlieder (Mühlhausen, 1681). Another composition that was also printed in Ahle’s Apollo from 1681 is his Neujahrslied from 1680. The title suggests that it was written for the introduction of the new town council in 1680: New Year’s Song when on January 8 of this year, 1680 the then new council had its usual worship service, sung with congratulations26 The piece is a simple strophic aria for soprano and basso continuo; the individual stanzas are framed by a ritornello for two violins and continuo. The text encourages people to thank God and implores him for peace, health, and welfare in the following year. The text is typical for New Year’s cantatas and songs, and since the introduction of the new town council took place on January 8, it combines good wishes for the new secular year and for the new “political” year. Could this small piece have been the Ratsstück for 1680? Compared to the composition for the previous year and to the piece Ahle would write for 1682, the aria is rather small and the instrumentation less than impressive. It is possible that Ahle composed the song for another occasion that day and that the Ratsstück was another piece, one that is now lost. But there is another explanation. We have noticed in the piece for 1679 that the entire composition was mostly based on song-like sections with a strophic text. It is possible that the song published in Ahle’s Apollo represents a reduced version of the actual composition, which was performed during the ceremonies in 1680. It

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would not have been possible to print the entire piece in this collection. If Ahle wanted to preserve the Neujahrslied beyond its actual purpose, the reduction to the underlying song-like aria was the best way.27 While the Ratsstück for 1681 is lost, the piece for 1682 is again preserved in a print. The concerto-aria-cantata Wer gnädig wird beschützet is a poetic paraphrase of Psalm 91. The text emphasizes God’s protection against enemies, the plague, and misfortune in general. The new town council or the ceremonies for which it was written are again not mentioned. One would not identify the piece as a Ratsstück if the title page did not state its original purpose. Ahle does not compose a passacaglia as he did three years before, but he uses again a strophic structure with ritornellos and solo-sections: A

A

B

stanza 1 stanza 2 ritornello stanza 3 ritornello stanza 4 stanza 5 stanza 6 ritornello stanza 7 ritornello stanza 8 stanza 9

tutti A strings T, vl.br flutes B, flutes tutti A strings T, vl.br flutes B, flutes soloists, vocal ripieni, strings

The outline of the piece resembles a large-scale bar-form. The setting of stanzas 1–4 is repeated for stanzas 5–8. Stanza 1 (=5) serves as a ritornello featuring the whole ensemble, while stanzas 2–4 and 6–8 are sung by the soloists. The first 8 stanzas of the poem are set in a song-like manner, with a dominant melodic voice (mostly the upper voice) and accompanying voices and/or instruments. The last stanza is set as a concerto for vocal soloists, vocal ripienists, and instruments. The mainly homophonic texture of the first stanzas gives way to a series of short imitations, engaging the vocalists and instruments. In its climactic function, the movement resembles the final “Amen” section of the piece from 1679. The 1682 print is the last that exists of Ahle’s compositions for the town council. This does not mean that the compositions for these occasions were not printed after that year. The records of the city, as well as the remark in Ahle’s Sommergespräch from 1697, suggest the contrary, but all the other prints seem to be lost. The two compositions from 1679 and 1682 are the larg-



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est pieces Johann Georg Ahle published in print. All his other printed compositions are smaller, song-like arias like the compositions in Apollo from 1681. When the music collections of the central German towns Großfahner and Eschenbergen (both close to Gotha) were cataloged,28 two hitherto unknown concerto-aria-cantatas by J. G. Ahle came to light: Hüter! ist die Nacht schier dahin and Lobet den Herren, denn er ist sehr freundlich. While the first piece is only a fragment, the second is preserved in parts and a score. The parts of both compositions were copied by Christian Starckloff (1655– 1722); the score is signed with “B.Z.” The texture of both pieces is more complex than in the previously described compositions. In Lobet den Herren, Ahle uses an imitative texture right from the beginning. The instruments start with an imitative ritornello (labeled “Intrada” in the manuscript); when the chorus enters, the vocalists sing a homophonic, song-like setting, while the instruments continue their imitative dialogue. During the following solo sections, the voices proceed mainly in parallel motion, while the instruments (except the basso continuo) drop out entirely. The composition ends with an extensive “Alleluia” section, featuring the instruments and soloists in an imitative dialogue and interjections by the vocal ripienists. The structure of the piece is as follows: Intrada Ripieno Solo Solo Intrada Ripieno Solo Solo Solo Solo Intrada Ripieno Solo Solo Intrada Ripieno Alleluia

instr. tutti T+B S+A instr. tutti B A+T S SATB instr. tutti S+A T+B instr. tutti tutti

Lobet den Herren resembles the compositions from 1679 and 1682, but the texture is more complex, which suggests that the piece was composed later than those works. This is corroborated by the fact that the copyist Starckloff

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became cantor in Eschenbergen only in 1681. The text for the composition is slightly different from earlier examples, as well. While the texts in 1679 and 1682 were strophic and probably written by Ahle himself, he now uses a preexisting hymn text (“Lobet den Herren,” Nuremberg, c. 1575) in the ripieno sections, while the soloists sing free poetry (probably written by Ahle). Could the cantata be a composition for the introduction of the new town council? We know almost nothing about Johann Georg Ahle’s other largescale compositions. They were not printed, and most of the manuscripts were lost in two fires in 1698 and 1707. However, the composition fits very well the formal and stylistic characteristics of the two pieces discussed earlier: the soli-tutti juxtaposition, the extended final section, the text based on a Psalm, and the length of the piece. Even the fact that the town council is not mentioned does not speak against it, since Ahle did not refer to the council in his other pieces for the introduction of the town council. The second piece by Ahle in the Eschenbergen collection is the cantata Hüter! ist die Nacht schier dahin. Although the parts are not fully readable, it is possible to reconstruct the text and the structure of the composition. The text is a combination of hymn stanzas, verses from the Old Testament (especially Isaiah), and short poetic verses, which might be by Ahle himself: Sonata A T S29 B Capella B S Sonata A B T Capella

instr. Hüter ist die Nacht schier dahin? [Isaiah 21:11] Wenn der Morgen schon kömmet [Isaiah 21:12] O großer Gott, von Macht [hymn]30 Die Frommen sind weg in diesem Landte [Micah 7:2] Da ist keiner der Gutes thue [Psalm 14:3] Erbarm dich deiner bösen Knecht [hymn]31 Euer Ungehorsam ist zu groß [Jeremiah 14:7] Doch weil nunmehr uns reuen sehr instr. O großer Gott von Treu [hymn]32 So laß nun ab vom Bösen [Isaiah 1:16–17] So will ich bey euch seyn [after John 14:17] Daß ihr sollt in Friede leben [after Jeremiah 30:10] Ja Herr steh deinem Häuflein bey [hymn]33 Leit uns mit etc. deiner rechten Handt [hymn]34

While the overall mood of the previous cantata was joyful praise, this one has a distinctly darker character. The tone is set by the initial quotations from Is. 21:11–12 (sung by alto and tenor), and the following texts ask for forgiveness and God’s assistance in fear and distress. Both could suggest that the piece



In Honor of God and the City 15

was written either for a funeral or for a service of repentance. The text from Is. 21:11–12 was occasionally used for funeral sermons. However, two details point in another direction. First, the text does not focus on death in particular or on individual distress; it rather focuses on a community that is suffering. Furthermore, the last stanza asks for God’s guidance in “city and country.” The text better befits a public occasion (like an official day of repentance) than the funeral of an individual. Second, while the Isaiah text was occasionally used as a funeral text, it was also employed for a sermon preached during the introduction of a town council. Johann Schmidt, whose collection of sermons was well known in Mühlhausen, uses Isaiah 21:11–12 as the basis for his sixteenth sermon, preached in Straßburg in 1648.35 Schmidt’s sermon could have inspired Frohne to choose the text for his sermon in times of distress, and Ahle could have used the same words in his composition. There would be several occasions in the second half of the seventeenth century when the text would have been appropriate. Possible occasions include the time of the plague in 1682–83 or the devastating fire in 1689. Given these circumstances, it is possible that Hüter! ist die Nacht schier dahin and Lobet den Herren, denn er ist sehr freundlich were both originally composed for the introduction of the town council. The larger scale of both works and the nature of the texts would fit well with the traditions in Mühlhausen. Not all compositions in honor of members of the town council were written for the introduction at the beginning of the year. When Conrad Meckbach became burgomaster for the first time in 1679, Johann Arnold Vockerodt (a student of Johann Rudolph Ahle and a contemporary of Johann Georg) composed two songs in honor of the mayor, which were performed, as the title page of the print states, in an evening music. It is not clear whether this was a separate occasion in a private setting or if the pieces were performed during the feast in the city hall that followed the ceremonies in the church. Three years later, when Meckbach became burgomaster another time, J. G. Ahle himself composed a song in his honor, the Anakreontisches Freudenlied, which was also printed.36 Meckbach is the only burgomaster for whom we have homage-compositions like these. This could be an accident, since other pieces might be lost. However, considering that it was Meckbach who was involved in hiring Bach as organist at Divi Blasii and who was obviously interested in music, it seems to be possible that it was a special affection between Meckbach and the musicians of the city that led to these compositions. This assumption is supported by Hans-Joachim Schulze’s recent discovery that Bach’s cantata Nach dir, Herr, verlanget mich, BWV 150, features an acrostic honoring Meckbach.37 While the purpose of Bach’s

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composition is not known, it clearly belongs to a whole group of compositions in honor of this particular burgomaster. BACH’S “LOST” MÜHLHAUSEN CANTATAS The analysis of the theological and musical traditions of the Ratsstück in Mühl­hausen sheds new light on Bach’s cantata BWV 71. J. G. Ahle’s compositions for this occasion are concerto-aria-cantatas, juxtaposing soloists and tutti and culminating in a large-scale concerto section. We find a similar division of solo and tutti forces in BWV 71, with clear marks about the division in the autograph score. A second similarity, which connects Bach’s libretto with the sermons analyzed earlier, is the fact that both favor the Old Testament, and particularly the Psalms. However, Bach’s cantata is significantly different when it comes to the forces that are needed (large orchestra in Bach vs. strings, or strings and flutes, in Ahle’s works). This is partly due to the stylistic developments between the 1680s and the early eighteenth century, but it might also have to do with a difference in the aesthetic preferences of Ahle and Bach. Ahle’s musical ideal was the simple song; he emphasized easy comprehension of the text and favored clear structures and a homophonic texture. Bach, on the other hand, composed a large-scale concerto, favored polyphony, and composed long melismatic arias which oppose Ahle’s ideal of a song-like aria.38 Another difference is that Bach’s libretto pays homage to the Emperor and burgomaster Strecker. The homage to the Emperor was not common in the compositions and sermons from the late seventeenth century. We do not know why the librettist included it, but the texts from before the turn of the century show that the homage was not an integral part of the Ratsstück. This is slightly different with the homage Bach’s text pays to Strecker. Several compositions from the late seventeenth century honor the burgomaster, such as Vockerodt’s print from 1679 and Ahle’s song from 1682. But these “personal” references were never part of the composition for the inauguration service. The text Bach used for BWV 71 combines these two traditions into one text, as the homage to the burgomaster now becomes part of the liturgical celebration itself. While BWV 71, for 1708, has been preserved in both print and manuscript, the cantata Bach composed for the celebration in 1709 (and maybe another one for 1710) is lost. However, several compositions by Bach that date from the time around 1709/10 have to be considered to be one of the lost cantatas. The most likely candidate is the cantata Lobe den Herren, meine Seele, BWV 143. The earliest manuscript for BWV 143 dates from 1762 (D-CEp B 1a, Nr. 1); however, it is probably a transcription of the original piece. The use of



In Honor of God and the City 17

three corni da caccia in Bb and timpani is quite unusual, and it is more likely that the original version featured the timpani in combination with a typical three trumpets. In his revised edition for the Neue Bach Ausgabe, Andreas Glöckner has reconstructed what could be the original version, for three trumpets in C.39 The instrumentation and style of the piece not only resembles BWV 71, but a number of features also correlate with the traditions of the Ratsstück in Mühlhausen: the use of a Psalm text; the final “Alleluia” movement, which resembles similar endings in Ahle’s concerto-aria-cantatas; and even the lack of a reference to the ceremonies for which it might have been composed is not a problem, since this is in keeping with Ahle’s practices, as well. If the piece is an authentic composition by Bach (something that has been occasionally doubted40), it could have been composed for the introduction of the town council in 1709 or possibly 1710. Another piece that has to be reconsidered in light of the Mühlhausen traditions is Der Herr denket an uns, BWV 196. The piece was identified by Philipp Spitta as a wedding cantata, probably composed for the wedding of Johann Lorenz Stauber and Regina Wedemann on June 5, 1708.41 But there is no strong evidence that Bach composed the piece for this or any other wedding. It is a conventional Psalm cantata (setting Psalm 115:12–15) for choir, soloists, and strings. The text for the cantata consists primarily of words of praise and blessing, themes that would have been appropriate for the greeting of the new town council, as well. The only phrase in the text that might support the assumption that it was composed for a wedding is the fourth movement: “Der Herr segne auch je mehr und mehr, euch und eure Kinder” (The lord may bless you more and more, you and your children), which, for Spitta, alluded to the fact that Stauber already had children from an earlier marriage. But we have seen that the “father”-metaphor was frequently used for the members of the town council, so that the text could also be understood as a blessing of the council and the people of Mühlhausen. The instrumentation is much smaller than BWV 71 or BWV 143; however, Ahle’s cantatas likewise used a smaller instrumentation. The instrumentation in BWV 71 could have been an exception and the smaller forces of Ahle’s pieces the standard. If BWV 196 was, as Dürr suggests,42 composed between the Mühlhausen cantatas BWV 106 and 71 and before the earliest Weimar cantatas (BWV 18 and 182), BWV 196 could be one of the “lost” cantatas from 1709/10. This must remain a speculation. While BWV 143, especially in Glöckner’s recent reconstruction, is a strong candidate for being one of Bach’s cantatas for the Mühlhausen town council, my suggestions about the function of BWV 196 are merely one possibility among others. Nevertheless, it is clear that Johann Georg Ahle’s pieces shed light on the traditions of large-scale compositions in the years before Bach. We see that

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psalm compositions were popular and that we already find the tradition of combining free poetry, biblical texts, and hymns in one piece. Most of Bach’s compositions for Mühlhausen follow this tradition: most are based on Psalms or other texts from the Old Testament and combine hymn stanzas with free poetry. Bach’s cantatas for Mühlhausen are exceptional, but they nevertheless fit into a tradition of composition in Mühlhausen that had long been established by his predecessors. NOTES 1. See Markus Rathey, Johann Rudolph Ahle (1625–1673). Lebensweg und Schaffen (Eisenach: Wagner, 1999), 129–38. 2.  See the biographical overview in Johann Georg Ahle, Schriften zur Musik, 2nd ed., ed. Markus Rathey (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2008), 2*–6*. 3.  See Rathey, Johann Rudolph Ahle, 129. 4.  For the chronology of the Mühlhausen cantatas, see Markus Rathey, “Printing, Politics and a ‘Well-regulated Church Music’: A New Perspective on J. S. Bach’s Mühlhausen Cantatas,” Early Music 44 (2016), 449–51. 5.  “Als ich vor etlichen Tagen bey unserm Herrn Metropolitano Hagenbruchen nicht allein die Rahts=Predigt des Herrn D. Frohnen; sondern auch das schöne Rahts=Lied/ welchen mein Hochgeehrter H. Pate bey letzt aufgegangenem neuen Rahte componiert [gesehen habe].” Johann Georg Ahle, Musikalisches Sommer-Gespräche / darinnen fürnehmlich vom grund- und kunstmäßigen Komponiren gehandelt wird (Mühlhausen, 1697), A5 (in Rathey, ed., Johann Georg Ahle, Schriften zur Musik). All English translations in this chapter are by the author. 6.  Cf. Johann Schmidt, Regenten-Spiegel, darinnen, so wol christlicher Obrigkeit, als Unterthanen, ihre Ampts-pflicht und schuldige gebühr, auß Gottes heiligem Wort, in 26 Raths-Prediten, einfältig gezeiget . . . wird (Straßburg: Dolhopff & Zetzner, 1666), 642. 7. “Gleichwie Josua alhir unmittelbar von GOtt zum Regenten erwehlet/ und von Mose auf seinen Befehl in den Obrigkeits-Stand gesetzt wurde: Also wehlet noch heute zu Tage GOtt mittelbar diejenigen Personen/ die seinem Volck sollen vorstehen. Er regiret die Hertzen derer/ die die Wahl haben/ daß sie die von GOTT ersehenen/ und keine andere Personen zum Regenten-Stuhl ziehen und erheben.” Frohne, 1697, 136. 8.  See Johannes Wallmann, “Schmidt, Johann,” in Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 4th ed., vol. 7 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), col. 933–34. 9.  “Werden Sie/ hochgeschätzte Landes-Väter/ sich eifrigst bemühen dergleichen zu thun/ nemlich GOtt mit aufrichtiger Liebe zu verehren/ dem Vaterlande tapfer und treulich zu dienen/ jederman gutes/ und niemand ohn Ursach und wider Recht Leid zu thun/ so wird füwahr ihr Ruhm unsterblich/ und ihr Lohn groß im Himmel seyn. GOtt gebe ihnen Muth und Sinn/ Krafft und Vermögen darzu.” Frohne, 1697, 139.



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10.  “Stellet also GOtt dem Mosi die Wahl der Mitregenten in seine Hand: Doch gibt Er ihm dabey diese Erinnerung/ daß er kluge/ weise und tüchtige Leute außlesen soll/ die es den Alten/ wo nicht an jahren/ doch an Verstand und Weißheit gleich thun. Hierdurch hat GOTT zugleich allen denen/ welchen die Wahl der Regenten anvertrauet wird/ ein Modell zeigen wollen/ worauf sie bey Erwehlung solcher AmtsPersonen sehen sollen/ nemlich vornehmlich aufs Weisheit- und Tugend-Alter.” Frohne, 1697, 145. 11.  “Doch werden durch die Alten nicht verlebte und krafftlose Leute verstanden/ sondern die in solchen Jahren stehen/ darinne sie sich der bürgerlichen Klugheit und eines reiffen Vrtheils in vorfallenden Berahtschlagungen bedienen und gebrauchen können. . . .” Frohne, 1697, 149. 12.  Daniel R. Melamed, “Der Text der Kantate ‘Gott ist mein König’ (BWV 71),” in Über Leben, Kunst und Kunstwerke: Aspekte musikalischer Biographie. Johann Sebastian Bach im Zentrum, ed. Christoph Wolff (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1999), 160–72. 13.  “Und also sind auch heutiges tages Könige/ nicht nur der Römische Kaiser/ Könige in Hispanien und Franckreich/ etc. sondern auch ein jeder Chur=Fürst/ Graf und Herr/ ja ein jeder Edelmann/ der seine gewisse dörffer und Unterthanen hat: in kleinen und grossen Städten/ und also auch allhie in dieser Stadt/ der gantze Magistrat/ und alle desselben Glieder.” Schmidt, 661. 14.  “Woher hat aber der König dieses alles/ oder woher hat dieses ein jeder rechtmässige Regent/ Obrigkeit und Rath . . . Gott/ du gibest es.” Schmidt, 662–63. 15. “So bleibet doch der HErr allein der/ welcher alles thut/ und die Regenten einsetzt . . . Hierauf sihet der geistreiche Prophet Daniel in seinem lobgesang cap. 2. da er saget; gelobet sey der name Gottes von ewigkeit zu ewigkeit/ er setzet Könige ab/ und setzet Könige ein.” Schmidt, 664. 16.  “Also theilet auch noch zur Zeit GOtt denen Regenten/ die Ihn lieb haben/ seinen Heiligen Geist mit daß sie Männer werden/ in denen der Geist ist.” Frohne, 1697, 140. 17.  Schmidt, 546–47. 18.  This sheds some doubt on Sara Botwinick’s reading of BWV 71 which suggested that Bach might have understood the text (and “Gott ist mein König” in particular) as an expression of his own disappointment about his position in Mühlhausen: “Looking up to God as his ultimate ‘patron,’ the sole protector of his creative potential, Bach then devoted all of his efforts to perfecting himself by refining his creative abilities for the glory of God.” Sara Botwinick, “From Ohrdruf to Mühlhausen: A Subversive Reading of Bach’s Relationship to Authority,” Bach 35 (2004): 59. 19.  “Ach GOTT/ du HERR aller Herren/ und König aller Könige/ du Herrscher über den gantzen Erdenkreiß/ der du alle Obrigkeit hast eingesetzt/ und gesagt durch deinen wehrten Apostel: Es ist keine Obrigkeit/ sie ist nicht von Gott geordnet/ und wer der Obrigleit widerstrebet/ der widerstrebet GOttes Ordnung.” Frohne, 1697, 303. 20.  “[Die Ratsherren müssen] Vaters-Last trahen; Nicht ohne Vrsach gibt der Heil. Geist in der H. Schrift denen Regenten den Vaters Namen/ sondern erinnert sie zugleich dadurch der last/ vor ihre Vnterthanen zu sorgen/ wie die Väter vor die Kinder

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sorgen.” Frohne, 1697, 287. A similar use of this metaphor can be found in Frohne, 1679, 23; Frohne, 1703, 8 and 77; and Schmidt, 66–68 and 84. 21.  “Denen Herrn Bürgermeistern P. A. Rothschiern und Ch. Bellstetten wie auch denen andern des neuen Raths wollöblichen Mitgliedern wolte dieses Concertstükke bestehend in 4 Vocal- 5 Instrumental- und 7 Capellstimmen samt dem Bc. glükkwünschend überreichen Johann Georg Ahle, Mühlhausen 1675.” Qtd. in Zay V. David Sevier, The Theoretical Works and Music of Johann Georg Ahle (1651–1706) (Ph.D. diss., University of North Carolina, 1974), 187. 22.  Johann Georg Ahle, Neues Zehn geistlicher Andachten mit I und II Vocal- und I. II. III und IV Instrumental-Stimmen zu dem Basso continuo gesetzet und durch den Druck wohlmeinend herausgegeben (Mühlhausen: Verlag des Autors, Druck Johann Hüter, 1671). 23.  This reflects the usual performance practice of sacred arias in the second half of the seventheenth century, as it was described, for instance, by the composer’s father, Johann Rudolph. See Rathey, Johann Rudolph Ahle, 486–88. 24.  See Markus Rathey, “Symbolische Kommunikation und musikalische Repräsentation: Der Friede von Nijmegen (1679) im Spiegel zeitgenössischer Kompositionen,” Schütz-Jahrbuch 32 (2010): 107–26; cf. Reinhard Jordan, Chronik der Stadt Mühlhausen in Thüringen, Band III, 1600–1770 (Mühlhausen: Danner, 1906), 127. 25. Similar feasts were celebrated in other central German cities, as well. See, for example, regarding the celebrations in Dresden: Eberhard Möller, “Zur Dresdner Hofmusik unter Vincenzo Albrici: Das ‘Danck- und Freuden-Fest’ vom 2. November 1679 und ‘wie es mit dem Gottesdienst selbigen Tages in der Churfl. Schlosskirchen zu Dresden gehalten worden,’” in Ständige Konferenz Mitteldeutsche Barockmusik, Jahrbuch 1999, ed. Wilhelm Seidel (Eisenach: Wagner, 2000), 51–58. 26. “Neujahrslied/ als den 8. Jenners verlauffenen 1680 Jahres/ der damahlige neue Raht den gewöhnlichen Kirchgang hielt/ glückwünschend angestimmet.” See edition of this piece in Rathey, “Printing, Politics,” 456–57. 27.  He even added an alternative text (based on “Nun danket alle Gott”), which made the small composition more versatile. 28.  See Hans Rudolf Jung, Die Musikaliensammlung Großfahner/Eschenbergen in Thüringen. Thematischer Katalog (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2001). 29.  Or capella. 30.  Johann Matthäus Mayfart (1633), stanza 1 of O großer Gott von Macht. 31.  Martin Moller (1584), stanza 2 of Nimm von uns, Herr, du treuer Gott. 32.  Johann Matthäus Mayfart (1633), stanza 9 of O großer Gott von Macht. 33. After Johann Heermann, Rett, o Herr Jesu, rett dein Ehr, fragments from stanza 4 and 5. 34.  Martin Moller (1584), stanza 7 of Nimm von uns, Herr, du treuer Gott. 35.  Schmidt, 428–57. 36.  Cf. Sevier, The Theoretical Works, 204. 37.  Hans-Joachim Schulze, “Rätselhafte Auftragswerke Johann Sebastian Bachs: Anmerkungen zu einigen Kantatentexten,” Bach-Jahrbuch 96 (2010): 69–93.



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38.  For further comparison of Ahle’s and Bach’s aesthetics, see Markus Rathey, “Textsyntax und Prosodie in der Aufklärung und bei Johann Sebastian Bach,” Musik und Ästhetik 8 (2004): 24–39. 39.  Johann Sebastian Bach, Neue Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke, revidierte Edition, Vol. II: Weimarer Kantaten, ed. Andreas Glöckner (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2012). 40.  Martin Geck, “Zur Datierung, Verwendung und Aufführungspraxis von Bachs Motetten,” in Bach-Studien 5, ed. Rudolf Eller and Hans-Joachim Schulze, 63–71 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1975), 70. 41.  See Alfred Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in GermanEnglish Parallel Text, rev. and trans. Richard D. P. Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 779. 42. Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, 779.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Ahle, Johann Georg. Neues Zehn geistlicher Andachten mit I und II Vocal- und I. II. III und IV Instrumental-Stimmen zu dem Basso continuo gesetzet und durch den Druck wohlmeinend herausgegeben. Mühlhausen: Verlag des Autors, Druck Johann Hüter, 1671. Botwinick, Sara. “From Ohrdruf to Mühlhausen: A Subversive Reading of Bach’s Relationship to Authority,” Bach 35 (2004): 1–59. Dürr, Alfred. The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text. Revised and translated by Richard D. P. Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Geck, Martin. “Zur Datierung, Verwendung und Aufführungspraxis von Bachs Motetten.” In Bach-Studien 5. Edited by Rudolf Eller and Hans-Joachim Schulze, 63–71. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1975. Jordan, Reinhard. Chronik der Stadt Mühlhausen in Thüringen, Band III, 1600–1770. Mühlhausen: Danner, 1906. Jung, Hans Rudolf. Die Musikaliensammlung Großfahner/Eschenbergen in Thüringen. Thematischer Katalog. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2001. Melamed, Daniel R. “Der Text der Kantate ‘Gott ist mein König’ (BWV 71).” In Über Leben, Kunst und Kunstwerke: Aspekte musikalischer Biographie. Johann Sebastian Bach im Zentrum. Edited by Christoph Wolff, 160–72. Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1999. Möller, Eberhard. “Zur Dresdner Hofmusik unter Vincenzo Albrici: Das ‘Danck- und Freuden-Fest’ vom 2. November 1679 und ‘wie es mit dem Gottesdienst selbigen Tages in der Churfl. Schlosskirchen zu Dresden gehalten worden.’” In Ständige Konferenz Mitteldeutsche Barockmusik, Jahrbuch 1999. Edited by Wilhelm Seidel, 51–58. Eisenach: Wagner, 2000. Rathey, Markus. Johann Rudolph Ahle (1625–1673). Lebensweg und Schaffen. Eisenach: Wagner, 1999.

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———. “Textsyntax und Prosodie in der Aufklärung und bei Johann Sebastian Bach.” Musik und Ästhetik 8 (2004): 24–39. ———. “Symbolische Kommunikation und musikalische Repräsentation: Der Friede von Nijmegen (1679) im Spiegel zeitgenössischer Kompositionen.” Schütz-Jahrbuch 32 (2010): 107–26. ———. “Printing, Politics and a ‘Well-regulated Church Music’: A New Perspective on J. S. Bach’s Mühlhausen Cantatas.” Early Music 44 (2016), 449–51. Rathey, Markus, ed. Johann Georg Ahle, Schriften zur Musik, 2nd ed. Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2008. Schmidt, Johann. Regenten-Spiegel, darinnen, so wol christlicher Obrigkeit, als Unterthanen, ihre Ampts-pflicht und schuldige gebühr, auß Gottes heiligem Wort, in 26 Raths-Prediten, einfältig gezeiget . . . wird. Straßburg: Dolhopff & Zetzner, 1666. Schulze, Hans-Joachim. “Rätselhafte Auftragswerke Johann Sebastian Bachs: Anmerkungen zu einigen Kantatentexten.” Bach-Jahrbuch 96 (2010): 69–93. Sevier, Zay V. David. The Theoretical Works and Music of Johann Georg Ahle (1651–1706). Ph.D. diss., University of North Carolina, 1974. Wallmann, Johannes. “Schmidt, Johann.” In Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 4th ed., Vol. 7, col. 933–34. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004.

Chapter Two

Two “Johannine” Cantatas Darzu ist erschienen der Sohn Gottes (BWV 40) and Sehet, welch eine Liebe (BWV 64) Eric Chafe

In Christus Victor, Gustav Aulén states regarding the association of John’s Gospel to the view of Jesus that forms the subject of his book: The dualistic outlook is particularly prominent in the Johannine writings, with their constant antitheses, such as light and darkness, life and death. The “world” stands over against God as a dark, hostile power: “the whole world lieth in the power of the evil one” (1 John v. 19). Into this world Christ comes, to thrust back the evil power, to dethrone the devil: “Now is the judgment of this world; now shall the prince of this world be cast out” (John xii. 31). The way that leads Him to death leads also to glory; “the hour is come that the Son of Man should be glorified” (John xii. 23). The promised Paraclete shall convict the world, bring home to its conscience the truth about Christ’s righteousness—his heavenly glory—and about judgment, “because the prince of this world hath been judged” (John xvi. 8 ff.); . . . The purpose of Christ’s coming is thus summed up in 1 John iii. 8: “To this end was the Son of God manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil.”1

What Aulén points out was well understood in eighteenth-century Leipzig; on the second day of Christmas 1723, J. S. Bach performed for the first time a cantata whose opening chorus is a setting of the text cited by Aulén at the end of the foregoing excerpt, I John 3:8, and whose subsequent movements explore and develop its meaning along similar lines. Furthermore, this cantata, Darzu ist erschienen der Sohn Gottes (BWV 40), completely bypasses the Gospel reading for the day (Luke 2:15–20), drawing from I John for the opening chorus and the celebrated prologue of John’s Gospel (John 1:1–14) for the subsequent recitative. In Leipzig, as in many other German cities, Christmas (like Easter and Pentecost) was celebrated for three days as a high feast, with cantata performances each day. The second and third of the Christmas feast days, however, 23

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might instead be celebrated as the feasts of St. Stephen (Dec. 26) and John the apostle and evangelist (Dec. 27). John’s prologue was, in fact, the prescribed gospel reading for the third day of Christmas, whereas I John 1:1–10 and John 21: 21–24 were prescribed when that day was celebrated as the feast of John. In 1723, due to the shifting of the emphasis on John, especially the prologue, ahead by one day, the text for the third day of Christmas also deviates from the prescribed Gospel readings. The cantata for that day, Sehet, welch eine Liebe (BWV 64), draws on passages from John’s first epistle for both its opening motto (I John 3:1) and its principal theme: the opposition between love of God and love of the world (the subject of I John 2:15–17). It appears, therefore, that the unknown librettist(s) of Cantatas 40 and 64 intended that the two cantatas would form a thematic pair based on Johannine themes. This view is supported by the fact that the second (and final) recitative of Cantata 64, after a pronounced expression of John’s realized eschatology, concludes with a reminder of the purpose of the incarnation, thus echoing the dictum of the opening movement of Cantata 40. The focus has shifted, however, from the majestic and universal tone of the beginning of Cantata 40 to a more personal frame of reference: instead of “darzu ist erschienen der Sohn Gottes, daβ er die Werke des Teufels zerstöre” (to this end was the Son of God manifested, that He might destroy the works of the devil), we hear “und darzu hat er mich erkoren, deswegen ist er Mensch geboren” (and therefore he has chosen me, on that account he was born a human).2 BACH’S CANTATAS FOR ADVENT AND CHRISTMAS, 1723 In keeping with regular Leipzig practice, Bach in 1723 led the performance of a cantata for the First Sunday of Advent (and not the Second, Third, or Fourth) and for each of the three principal days of Christmas (December 25, 26, 27): • First Sunday of Advent (November 28): Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (BWV 61) • First Day of Christmas (December 25): Christen, ätzet diesen Tag (BWV 63) • Second Day of Christmas (December 26): Darzu ist erschienen der Sohn Gottes (BWV 40) • Third Day of Christmas (December 27): Sehet, welch eine Liebe (BWV 64) The first two of these were reperformances of cantatas Bach had composed in Weimar, while the latter two were newly composed for Leipzig. Over the course of Bach’s cantatas for the three days of Christmas 1723 (BWV 63, 40, and 64), the focus shifts from Jesus as the promised redeemer



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of Israel, the subject matter of the Weimar cantata Christen, ätzet diesen Tag (BWV 63), to the meaning of the incarnation as told in John and I John in Cantatas 40 and 64. The texts outline a progression that is both chronological (from the time of Israel to the contemporary Christian believer) and increasingly personal in tone. The librettist of Cantata 63 created a design that Alfred Dürr has described as “remarkably symmetrical”: the outer movements (1 and 7) are tutti choruses with identical instrumentation, mvts. 2 and 6 accompanied recitatives, and mvts. 3 and 5 duets, with a secco recitative in mvt. 4.3 In this arrangement, the central recitative (mvt. 4) provides the fundamental message of the cantata: with his “bow” and “sword,” Jesus, the “lion from the stem of David,” turns the sorrow that had burdened Israel into salvation and grace. Already, the mvt. 2 recitative sets forth this theme in terms of God’s promise in paradise of the “Shiloh” (Messiah), who has now appeared: O selger Tag! O ungemeines Heute, An dem das Heil der Welt, Der Schilo, den Gott schon im Paradies Dem menschlichen Geschlecht verhieß, Nunmehro sich vollkommen dargestellt Und suchet Israel von der Gefangenschaft und Sklavenketten Des Satans zu erretten.

O blessed day! O extraordinary day, On which the savior of the world, The Shiloh, which God already in paradise Promised to the human race, Now presents himself completely And seeks to rescue Israel from Satan’s captivity And chains of slavery.

This recitative refers to the so-called “proto Gospel” (Genesis 3:15), in which God announces that the seed of woman shall bruise the head of the serpent, a passage that was traditionally understood as prefiguring the coming of Christ to defeat Satan. Luther and many others linked it to the words of John that most closely express the “Christus Victor” view of the atonement, as cited earlier from Aulén.4 As Helene Werthemann observed, Cantata 63, whose central recitative narrates that the “lion of the stem of David” has appeared, “his bow drawn, his sword whetted,” links up with Cantata 40, which depicts Jesus’s combat with and defeat of the serpent (Satan).5 The tone, which derives from John’s portrayal of Jesus as Christus Victor, links both cantatas to the message of Easter. Thus, as Alfred Dürr writes, Cantata 63, although festive in character, lacks the particular musical attributes usually associated with Christmas: “shepherds’ music, cradle song, the ‘Glory to God in the highest,’ the angels, Christmas songs, even featuring no chorale at all.”6 In contrast, Cantata 40 contains a superabundance of chorales (three) among

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which the second is not associated with Christmas but appears to have been included to highlight the theme of Jesus’s defeat of the devil. In fact, Bach’s three cantatas for Christmas 1723 interpret the meaning of the incarnation in broader terms than those usually associated with the tropes of Christmas. Lutheran writers often associated the three principal feasts of Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost with the three persons of the Trinity, according to which Christmas was the feast of God the Father, rather than Jesus, with Easter being the feast of Jesus, and Pentecost, of course, of the Holy Spirit.7 In this view, Christmas was linked with God’s plan for the salvation of humanity, the implementation of which began with the incarnation at Christmas, but whose fulfillment was Jesus’s defeat of the devil and the powers of death at Easter. Fifty days later, on Pentecost, the coming of the Holy Spirit provided the means by which humanity might reap the benefits of God’s plan. When we consider the three Christmas cantatas of 1723 in that light, it is entirely understandable that Cantata 63 centers on the theme of Jesus’s defeat of the devil as promised by God in Genesis, that this theme is further developed in Cantata 40, and that Cantata 64 articulates its benefits for humanity in the present life. Cantata 40 describes the impulse for God’s plan of salvation: his love for humanity and his desire to restore it to its former (i.e., pre-fall) condition. In this light, Cantata 63 is not at all anomalous, but fits with a full exploration of the meaning of the incarnation over the three days of Christmas 1723. In fact, limiting the meaning of Christmas to the nativity story runs contrary to the way that feast was understood in Lutheran thought; and even the Christmas Oratorio, which does include the various nativity tropes, exhibits parallels to the 1723 Christmas cantatas in this respect. In the 1723 cantatas, the nativity story is played down in favor of a more “theological” view of the incarnation, one that draws upon John for its full presentation in Cantatas 40 and 64. It is possible that this treatment of Christmas was worked out in conjunction with Cantatas 61 and 63, originally composed in Weimar in 1714 for the First Sunday of Advent and Christmas Day, respectively. That is, the deviation from the standard Gospel readings in Cantatas 40 and 64 and their unusual emphasis on John’s view of the incarnation, might have been conceived as a means of creating a sense of continuity with the two Weimar cantatas. Cantata 61, Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland, begins the 1723–24 liturgical year (as it did in Weimar in 1714) by outlining the meaning of the incarnation according to the traditional four senses of scripture, which embody four “stages,” moving from historical to spiritual interpretation, and also corresponding to four eras of salvation history.8 The first sense is that of Jesus’s coming to the world as fulfillment of the Messianic prophesies of Israel, now extended to the gentiles: “Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland”



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(mvt. 1); the second is his coming to the church (corresponding to the shift of era from Israel to the Christian church (that is, the Christological sense): “Komm, Jesu, komm zu deiner Kirche” (mvt. 3); the third is his coming to the individual believer, symbolized by the human heart (the tropological sense): “Öffne dich, mein ganzes Herze, Jesus kömmt und ziehet ein” (mvt. 5); and the fourth is his coming at the end of time (the eschatological sense): “Komm, du schöne Freudenkrone, deiner wart’ ich mit verlangen” (mvt. 6). The three Christmas cantatas of 1723 also articulate a shift from the literalhistorical to the spiritual sense of the incarnation. That is, whereas Cantata 61, on the first Sunday of Advent, delineates the meaning of the incarnation in terms of the four senses (or stages) of traditional hermeneutics—according to which Jesus comes to the world (the Heiden—gentiles), the church, the individual believer, and at the end of time—Cantatas 63, 40 and 64 expand on those “stages,” beginning with references to the Messiah of Israel and continuing with increasing emphasis on John, widely viewed as the “spiritual” gospel. Cantata 63 centers on Jesus as the promised redeemer of Israel, the historical sense, not only looking back to Genesis (the proto-gospel and the promised Shiloh), but also placing great emphasis on the point in time at which the implementation of God’s plan of salvation began. That theme is symbolized in its various references to “diesen Tag,” “heute,” “itzo,” “anheut,” all of which identify the incarnation as the beginning of a new era in which the restoration of humanity to its condition before the fall is associated with Jesus’s defeat of the devil. Cantata 40 then turns to the incarnation of Jesus as the first of the three “spiritual” senses, announcing the incarnation as the fulfillment of God’s promises, then depicting the defeat of the devil and its benefit for humanity (associated with Easter). Cantata 64 then explores that benefit in terms of humanity’s participation in its inheritance as God’s “children” in the present. The three Christmas cantatas, therefore, progressively interpret the meaning of the incarnation in a spiritual light, one whose fourth or eschatological sense, set forth in Cantata 64, is particularly indebted to John and is therefore colored by the idea of “realized eschatology.”9 Within this framework, I will explore in the remainder of this chapter how such Johannine themes are presented in Bach’s newly composed works for Christmas 1723, Cantata 40 and Cantata 64. CANTATA 40, DARZU IST ERSCHIENEN DER SOHN GOTTES BWV 40/1–3: The Incarnation Cantata 40 projects a striking sense of the bond between John’s Gospel and the Christus Victor theory of the atonement, beginning with a magnificent

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choral version of the purpose of the incarnation as given by John (in I John 3:8). The listener’s overwhelming impression on hearing the triadic horn motives with which the cantata begins is of a great event. Whether or not she makes an association with other majestic Bach beginnings (such as that of Cantata 71, Gott ist mein König), this gesture alone makes the point of Jesus’s divinity immediately clear. And other, less apparent details make the same point. One of Bach’s many subtle emphases in this movement emerges in the fact that throughout the opening chorus he always places “Gottes” on a strong beat and “Sohn” on a weak (usually an upbeat to the downbeat on “Gottes”), even though this requires emphasizing the article “der” more than “Sohn,” as well (see Example 2.1). This detail is so consistent as to leave no doubt that the majestic character of the opening chorus projects the divinity of Jesus; it is God himself who, through the incarnation of his Son, Jesus, undertakes the defeat of the work of the devil.10

Example 2.1.  BWV 40/1, tenor, mm. 29–31

This does not in any way lessen the message of the incarnation; just the reverse: Jesus’s destruction of the work of the devil is bound up with the fact that in him God took on human form. In a sermon dealing with Jesus’s “Erniedrigung” and “Erhöhung” from his Betrachtungen über den Rath Gottes von der Seeligkeit der Menschen, Johann Jacob Rambach makes clear the distinction between the form (“Gestalt”) that God took on in the incarnation (described by Rambach as by most Lutheran theologians of the time as “Knecht-Gestalt,” as in BWV 40/2, “Der Herr erscheinet als ein Knecht”) and his being (“Wesen”) or nature (“Natur”).11 Bach makes this clear in the motives and modulatory design of the opening chorus. The initial motives are rooted in the major triad, which is sometimes presented in rising configurations, such as the motto form of its initial presentation in the horns, but more often in falling ones, such as the oboe continuation. Bach introduces a dialogue aspect to the largely homophonic initial segment of the movement (mm. 1–29) that immediately suggests the relationship between God and his Son, especially in the many passages in which “Darzu ist erschienen” outlines the descent and “der Sohn Gottes,” the ascent (see, for example, mm. 13–15). The descent part of the phrase mirrors the incarnation, while the ascent, which represents primarily Jesus’s divinity and his return to the Father, also points to the raising of humanity to the status of



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God’s children, as the closing movements of the cantata make clear. Against such themes, Bach sets another, associated with “daß er die Werke des Teufels zerstöre”: a reiterated single tone of militant rhythmic character that spreads through the four choral voices as the first section closes. The initial segment, which introduces the entire text of the movement, has an arresting declamatory and anticipatory character that prepares for the central section of the movement (mm. 29–62). In this central section, Bach forms the descent/ ascent idea into the theme of a fugue, against which the “Werke des Teufels” motive serves as countertheme (Example 2.1). The two themes suggest two aspects of Jesus’s incarnation: the redemption of humanity and the destruction of the devil’s work (as the means by which that redemption was carried out). In later years, Bach parodied this chorus as the “Cum sancto spiritu” of the Missa Brevis in F major (BWV 233), beginning with the initial two measures of the cantata chorus, then skipping over the remainder of the introduction to pick up with the fugue. In the Mass, the theme associated with Jesus’s destruction of the work of the devil sets the words “in gloria Dei Patris,” a connection that suggests that the work of redemption was that of Jesus’s divinity, as in the Christus Victor theory. In both works, that theme does not enter until all four voices of the choir have presented the main theme. When it does, however, its impact is very telling, since it immediately introduces the flat seventh degree into the F major harmony, a device suggesting in BWV 40/1 both the undermining nature of the devil’s work in the world and the focus on Jesus’s destruction of that work. As a result, the tonality shifts in the flat direction, introducing A-flats and D-flats along with suggestions of the keys of E-flat major, G minor, and F minor (a Phrygian cadence to C in m. 52). The outcome is that the fugal middle section of the movement closes in the subdominant, B-flat major (m. 62), the flat side of the key serving, like the descent element in the fugue theme, as a symbol of the world into which Jesus was born and in which his victory over the devil took place. Bach’s changes to the main section on its truncated return in mm. 62–63 confirm this interpretation. Beginning the return in the subdominant, he now creates a threefold variant of the initial dialogue theme that rises through the tones of the B-flat major triad. As it reaches the fifth, f’’, for “der Sohn Gottes,” Bach returns to F major, bringing back the music of mm. 12–15 (now 67–70), and following it by the music of “daβ er die Werke des Teufels zerstöre,” which passes through a descending sequence, from c’ in the soprano, through f’ (alto) and d’ (tenor) to b-flat’ (bass), before returning to F major for the close. At the analogous point in the “Cum Sancto Spiritu” of the Missa Brevis, Bach brings back the instrumental beginning of the reprise (slightly altered), in B-flat moving to F. In the Missa, he assigns to the chorus the in-

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strumental ritornello material rather than the original “Darzu ist erschienen” material, and moves into the fugue theme soon after that. He also amplifies the flat (subdominant) character it had on its earlier appearance by passing the theme through C minor and F minor, then B-flat major and E-flat major, even beginning an entry as if in A-flat major. The outcome is a Phrygian cadence to F that sounds like the dominant of B-flat, so that the sense of return to the final F from the “weaker” subdominant region is greater than in the cantata chorus. The reason for this change is that in all four Missae Breves, Bach deals extensively with the pattern of descent followed by ascent, especially in the “Gloria,” which traces the pattern of descent from God in glory (“Gloria in excelsis Deo”) to Jesus’s redemption of the sinful world (“Qui tollis peccata mundi”) and back. In this conception, the “Cum Sancto Spiritu” marks the final return to the glory of God (“in Gloria Dei Patris, Amen”). As in the opening chorus of Cantata 40, the primary meaning of the descent/ascent that is embodied in the modulation to the subdominant and back is that of the incarnation more than the return ascent. But, as we will see, the remainder of the cantata explores the opposition of above/below and ascent/descent with expansion of the modulatory character of the opening chorus to the level of major/minor juxtapositions at the tonic, dominant, and subdominant levels. Bach thus molds his opening chorus to suggest themes of distinctly Johannine character. As the cantata continues, the purpose of the incarnation remains squarely in the foreground as the work of God, taking its point of departure in the first half of the mvt. 2 recitative from the above/below, word/ flesh, light/darkness, divine/human antitheses of John’s prologue: Das Wort ward Fleisch und wohnet in der Welt, das Licht der Welt bestrahlt den Kreis der Erden, der große Gottessohn verläßt des Himmels Thron, und seiner Majestät gefällt ein kleines Menschenkind zu werden.

The word became flesh and dwelt in the world, the light of the world cast its rays throughout the earth, the majestic Son of God abandoned the throne of heaven, and his majestic nature was pleased to become a tiny human child.

The key idea here is contained in the progression from Jesus as “großer Gottessohn” to “kleines Menschenkind,” for, as the mvt. 5 recitative explains, the children of man, “alle Adamskinder,” had inherited “poison of the soul” from the snake (i.e., the devil) in Eden; Jesus became “flesh” in order to take on humanity’s “poison” and fulfill God’s design that humankind, “des Weibes Samen,” would tread the serpent underfoot. This “exchange” (Tausch), as described in mvt. 2, meant that Jesus’s becoming a “Menschenkind” made it possible for the faithful among humankind to become



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“Christenkinder” (mvt. 7), “members” and “brothers” of Christ (mvt. 8), or, as the cantata for the following day puts it, “Gottes Kinder.” All such ideas display an enormous indebtedness to John. Interestingly, although one of Bach’s most common devices for depicting the distinction between God and humankind throughout the cantatas is to turn from major to minor, this does not happen in BWV 40/2 for the cadential phrase “ein kleines Menschenkind zu werden.” Instead, although the vocal line, having reached its highest tone, a', on “großer Gottessohn,” descends through an octave plus a major sixth to c for “ein kleines Menschenkind zu werden” (while the harmony simultaneously outlines a circle-of-fifths descent from A to F: A6–d–G6–C6–F), Bach moves to and remains in C major, making a decisive cadence in that key, an emphatic gesture that is not at all suggestive of human weakness. Bach unmistakably asserts the Johannine idea that Jesus, in taking on human form, does not abandon his divinity. With the next phrase of the mvt. 2 recitative, however, the focus shifts to the human understanding of the incarnation. It was to emphasize this shift of perspective that Bach reserved the turn to minor: Bedenkt doch diesen Tausch, wer nur gedenken kann: der König wird ein Untertan, der Herr scheinet als ein Knecht und wird dem menschlichen Geschlecht, — o süßes Wort in aller Ohren! — zu Trost und Heil geboren.

Consider, however, this transformation, whoever only can think: the king becomes an underling, the Lord appears as a servant and is born into the human race — O sweet word for all ears! — for its consolation and salvation.

Instantly, on “Bedenkt,” Bach brings in the pitch e-flat’, and the passage shifts from C major toward C minor, which it reaches on “Knecht,” continuing until, with “und Heil geboren,” it closes with a sudden turn to B-flat major. Even the upward rising line on “o süßes Wort in aller Ohren,” which attains the pitch a-flat’, is completely within the C minor framework, in keeping with the reference to the human ears that hear the message of “Trost” (consolation) and “Heil” (salvation). Marking the shift from the high a’ on “Gottessohn,” the a-flat’ immediately drops an octave on “zu Trost,” the C minor harmony then giving way to the move to B-flat major. The shift to B-flat major on “Heil” rather than “Trost” (re-introducing the pitch a’ in juxtaposition with the earlier a-flat’) makes clear that while “Trost” is a quality given by Jesus to humanity in the present life, “Heil” is directed upwards. In short, the very careful attention to detail in this recitative is indicative of a very particular theological perspective on the text of Cantata 40. For elsewhere Bach does modulate to flat-minor keys—often “deep” flats—to

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emphasize the humanity of Jesus.12 In such places, Jesus’s humanity is the central focus, often in conjunction with his suffering, whereas in BWV 40/2 Bach introduces the shift to minor only after Jesus’s divinity has been firmly established, associating it not with Jesus, but with the human perspective. The ensuing chorale (mvt. 3), in G minor, affirms Jesus’s gift to the faithful, “Trost” in this world through the presence of God himself: Die Sünd’ macht Leid, Christus bringt Freud’, weil er zu Trost in dieser Welt gekommen. Mit uns ist Gott Nun in der Not: wer ist, der uns als Christen kann verdammen?

Sin creates suffering, Christ brings joy, because he came for the consolation of this world. God is with us now in our need: who is there who can condemn us as Christians?

This chorale, it may be added, does not demand the believer’s recognition of her sinful nature, as we find, for example, throughout the Matthew Passion, but states emphatically that Jesus brings joy and that through him God is present. The message, in other words, is very close to that of the John Passion. Set above a chromatic bass line, its final rhetorical question, “wer ist, der uns als Christen kann verdammen?”, hinges on the word “verdammen” (condemn). As understood in passages such as Romans 8:1—“Es ist nicht Verdammliches an denen, die in Christo Jesu sind” (There is then no condemnation for those who abide in Jesus Christ)—“verdammen” refers to the inner contamination by sin that was the result of the fall—that is, to human nature itself under sway of the devil. As we read in the text of Bach’s 1725 Pentecost cantata, Wer mich liebet, der wird mein Wort halten (BWV 74, also based primarily on John, but also including Romans 8:1), the removal of that “condemnation” came about through Jesus’s suffering and death. In that work, the setting of Romans 8:1 is followed by the aria “Nichts kann mich erretten von höllischen Ketten als, Jesu, dein Blut” (Nothing can rescue me from the chains of hell but, Jesus, your blood), which represents struggle with the forces of evil, affirming with its reference to Jesus’s “blood” and its highly dramatic antithesis/resolution gestures on “Sterben”/“Erben” the crucial point that the redemptive power of Jesus’s victory over evil—that is, its meaning for humanity—was inseparable from his incarnation. The chorale that follows, ending Cantata 74, emphasizes that no “Menschenkind” is worthy of or can in any way “earn” Jesus’s “gift”; nothing but God’s love and grace, which Jesus alone earns for us, brings about human salvation. In Cantata 40 the sequence of movements that follows the mvt. 3 chorale articulates the same message.



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BWV 40/4–6: Christus Victor Cantata 40 features chorales as the third, sixth, and last of its eight movements; and each chorale summarizes the “stage” that precedes it before leading on to the next. The cantata divides logically into three segments, each culminating with a chorale. The first segment (mvts. 1–3) centers on the incarnation itself, the second (mvts. 4–6) depicts the defeat of the “höllische Schlange” (Satan), and the third (mvts. 7–8) affirms Jesus’s protection of the faithful and his bestowing peace, joy, and blessedness on them. The sequence addresses themes usually associated with the principal feast days of the year, Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost. Through these stages, the traditional “enemies” described in the “classic” theory—sin, death, and the devil—are overcome. Thus the mvt. 3 chorale, “Die Sünd’ macht Leid,” announces the opposition between Jesus and human sin, affirming “Trost” and God’s protection in times of need as the immediate outcomes of the incarnation, while the rhetorical question with which it ends—“wer ist, der uns als Christen kann verdammen?”—leads over into the central grouping of movements and its primary subject matter, Jesus’s defeat of the devil. The bass aria, “Höllische Schlange, wird dir nicht bange” (mvt. 4), accompanied by oboes, strings, and basso continuo, depicts struggle with the contamination of human nature (i.e., sin) by the devil (metaphorically the serpent of Eden) in terms that are easily recognized. The restlessness and struggle of the snake emerge graphically in the continuous undulation of the first violin part, the shifting harmonies, and the principal motto of the winds and lower strings, which suggests the rearing up of the snake’s head, while the punctuating periodic nature of that motive and its continual reiterations invite interpretation as treading on the serpent’s head. Bach introduces the latter idea graphically when the text takes up its second (and final) set of images, “Der dir den Kopf als ein Sieger zerknickt, ist nun geboren, und die verloren werden mit ewigem Frieden beglückt” (He who, like a conqueror, crushes the head [of the serpent] for you, is now born, and those who were lost are blessed with eternal peace). Here the winding “snake” motive drops into the basso continuo line, beneath the bass voice and the punctuating upper parts. And the vocal line takes on a quality that Handel, for example, associated with loathing in the aria “They loathed to drink of the river” from Israel in Egypt: wide intervals whose tones seem to avoid each other. The line is basically a circle-of-fifths pattern in which tritones appear on “Kopf” and “zerknickt.” Although Bach allows the change of tone toward the end of the text to emerge in a florid ascent/descent pattern of sixteenth notes for “werden mit ewigem Frieden beglückt” and “ist nun geboren,” the aria is, in fact, dominated by the depiction of struggle and victory.13 The next two movements, an accompanied recitative, beginning “Die Schlange, so im Paradies auf alle Adamskinder das Gift der Seelen fallen ließ”

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(The serpent who caused the poison of the soul to fall on all the children of Adam in paradise, mvt. 5), and a chorale, “Schüttle deinen Kopf und sprich: fleuch, du alte Schlange!” (Shake your head and say: “Flee, you ancient serpent,” mvt. 6), continue the theme of the “snake.” The recitative depicts the incarnation as the source of “Trost” for the “betrübter Sünder,” whereas the chorale refers back, in its key (D minor) and reiterations of “Schlange,” “bange,” and “Kopf zerknickt,” to the D minor aria. At the same time, its ending—“und ich bin durch Leiden meines Heilands dir entrückt in den Saal der Freuden” (and I am, through the suffering of my Savior, carried from you into the hall of joys)—leads over into the next movement, the tenor aria, “Christenkinder, freuet euch” (Children of Christ, rejoice), which proclaims not merely “Trost” but rather joy as the outcome of Jesus’s victory over death in the Passion. After that, the third and final chorale, “Jesu, nimm dich deiner Glieder ferner in Genaden an” (Jesus, take your members unto you in grace), with its “Glieder” / “Brüder” / “Christenschar” succession and its extraordinarily joyful ending—“Freude, Freude über Freude! Christus wehret allem Leide. Wonne, Wonne über Wonne! Er ist die Genadensonne” (Joy, joy upon joy! Christ wards off all suffering. Bliss, bliss upon bliss! He is the sun of grace)—affirms the benefit of Jesus’s victory for humankind. Such an affirmation takes us directly into the sphere of Johannine theology and its association with the Christus Victor theory of the atonement. For while the incarnation is central to both Aulén’s “classic” (Johannine) and “Latin” (late medieval) theories, its significance and its relationship to Jesus’s work are considered different from one to the other. As Aulén explains, the idea behind both the classic theory and the Johannine proclamation that the “word” (Logos) became flesh is the absolute identity of Jesus and God, the assertion that Jesus remains God even as he becomes one of humankind. We have seen that in BWV 40/2 Bach makes this clear by completing the narration of the incarnation with a C major cadence, then turning toward C minor as it urges human contemplation of this exchange (“Tausch”) and its two-sided meaning for humanity: “Trost,” which concerns the present life, and “Heil,” which leads to the next life. The movement shifts suddenly from C minor to B-flat major on “Heil,” closing the recitative, and then turns to G minor for the chorale’s emphatic pronouncement contrasting future “Trost” with present “Not” (need). The chorale’s final reference to condemnation leads on to the aria “Höllische Schlange,” which depicts Jesus’s work in a militant, aggressive, but not joyful manner, indicating its benefit for the believer, “eternal peace,” not with the usual triumphant turn to major, but in a highly dramatic D minor in which all secondary keys and cadences are minor. The mvt. 5 recitative is illuminating in this regard. Beginning and ending on the identically-scored B-flat major harmony, which also appears



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at the close of the first phrase (mm. 1, 4, 11), it introduces some striking flat-minor coloration—above all, a strong tendency towards B-flat minor before the close of the recitative—in conjunction with the theme of the contamination of human nature by sin and the devil. Bach accompanies the voice with close-position arpeggiated harmonies in the strings, thereby ensuring that the changing harmonies and “keys” involve as little motion as possible in the voice leading of the instrumental parts. And at the beginning he leaves out the basso continuo, creating a high bass (“bassetchen”) texture, presumably because the narrative at that point refers to what happened in paradise: “Die Schlange, so im Paradies auf alle Adamskinder das Gift der Seelen fallen ließ” (The serpent, who in paradise caused the poison of the soul to fall on all children of Adam). With the word “Gift” (poison), Bach introduces the pitch g-flat’ into the vocal line, the merest hint of the minor key. But with the ending of the phrase—the voice dropping a seventh for “fallen ließ”—the basso continuo returns, and the music continues in B-flat major, cadencing in F major for “bringt uns nicht mehr Gefahr” (brings us no more danger). From here the recitative narrates that Jesus’s incarnation enabled the “seed of woman” to triumph over the serpent (“des Weibes Samen stellt sich dar, der Heiland ist im Fleisch gekommen und hat ihr allen Gift benommen”). Moving to G minor for “der Heiland ist im Fleisch gekommen,” and cadencing in C minor for “und hat ihr allen Gift benommen” (resolving the upward tritone leap on “Gift” into C minor for “benommen”), Bach now brings in a continuously moving bass line for the final phrase, “Drum sei getrost! betrübter Sünder” (Therefore be consoled, tormented sinners), and shifts to extensive B-flat minor coloration, including the Neapolitan harmony of that key, after prolonging the pitch d-flat’’ in the voice on “betrübter.” The final chord, however, is the same B-flat major harmony, with identical instrumental spacing, as the initial chord of the recitative and that on “ließ,” thereby suggesting Jesus’s work as restoration of the faithful to the pre-fall status. In sum, the motion of the recitative is from “high” to “low” in the instrumental sonority, with B-flat major providing its tonal frame of reference. Nevertheless, the B-flat minor coloring directly before the final cadence represents the sphere of human tribulation into which comes “Trost” from above. In the mvt. 2 recitative, Bach, as we saw, cadenced in C major for the narrative of Jesus’s incarnation, then to C minor for the human perspective on that event; at the end, he turned suddenly from C minor to B-flat major for the “Heil” that constituted its ultimate meaning. Now in mvt. 5, B-flat major is the framework for the “story” of the purpose of the incarnation, colored by its minor mode for the impact of the “snake” on humanity. The modulations to G minor and C minor here depict Jesus’s taking on the

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poison of sin, after which it closes in B-flat major for the turn to “Trost” (although briefly tormented by the minor mode). The major third in the final chord of mvt. 5 not only recalls the beginning of the recitative, but also anticipates the D minor of the mvt. 6 chorale. This chorale makes much out of Phrygian harmonies and chromatic voice-leading, especially in the bass, for its second, third, and fourth phrase cadences, on “Schlange,” “Stich,” and “bange.” Then, for the antepenultimate and final phrases, which are melodically identical, Bach juxtaposes the words “Leiden” and “Freuden” by means of a deceptive cadence to B-flat major for “Leiden” and full close to D minor for “Freuden.” The meaning of the text is clear: Jesus’s defeat of the devil, the key to the believer’s salvation, is accomplished through his passion: “Ist dir doch der Kopf zerknickt, und ich bin durchs Leiden meines Heilands dir entrückt in den Saal der Freuden.” Although in minor, Jesus’s defeat of the devil is linked to expressions of victory, a quality that we find in the opening chorus of the John Passion, in which the G minor tonality, throbbing pedal tones, and chromatic writing accompany affirmations of Jesus’s “Herrlichkeit” in “Erniedrigung,” a reminder that in John Jesus’s passion marks the climax of the “book of glory.” Jesus’s victory over sin, death, and the devil is ultimately proclaimed in the aria “Es ist vollbracht.”14 BWV 40/7–8: The Benefits of Jesus’s Passion for the Christian Believer With the aria that follows, “Christenkinder, freuet euch” (mvt. 7), Bach gives us much more of an indication of what “Trost” and “Freude,” the benefits of Jesus’s passion, really mean (see Example 2.2). The reappearance of F major along with the horns and oboes of the opening movement, after the flat-side modulations of the intervening movements, invites interpretation as a “restoration”—that is, that Jesus’s defeat of the devil restores humanity to its pre-fall status, described now in the terms of I John as God’s “children.” As the middle section of the aria proclaims, Jesus is the protector of the faithful: “Wütet schon das Höllenreich, will euch Satans Grimm erschrecken: Jesus, der erretten kann, nimmt sich seiner Küchlein an und will sie mit Flügeln decken” (Even though the kingdom of hell rages, and Satan’s fury terrifies you, Jesus, who can rescue you, takes his little chicks unto him and will cover them with his wings). The aria is, therefore, also a counterpart to “Höllische Schlange.” The earlier aria deals with Jesus’s work, whereas “Christenkinder, freuet euch” luxuriates in its benefit for the faithful. Although the rate of eighth-note motion is about the same for the two arias, their time signatures—12/8 for “Christenkinder” and three-eight for



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Example 2.2.  BWV 40/7, a. corno I, mm. 1–2; b. tenor, mm. 5–6

“Höllische Schlange”—emphasize very different accentual patterns.15 In contrast to the punctuated character of “Höllische Schlange” and the drop in pitch that always follows the rising arpeggio of the principal motive, the main theme of “Christenkinder, freuet euch” unfolds much more broadly, ascending an octave and a fifth, quickening its pace as it passes through the tones of the major triad (Example 2.2a). And when the voice enters, it is with a variant of a theme that has pronounced eschatological associations throughout Bach’s music (Example 2.2b).16 In “Christenkinder, freuet euch,” it suggests joy in the certainty of salvation as the outcome of Jesus’s victory. Overall, the aria prolongs the sense of victory throughout the main section, in which both the instrumental and vocal phrases end in roulades of sixteenth notes, the voice sounding long melismas on “freuet.” As the middle section takes up Jesus’s protection of the faithful from the serpent again, Bach drops the sixteenth notes into the basso continuo, as he had for the treading on the serpent’s head in “Höllische Schlange.”17 The return of the principal section, however, and the fact that “Christenkinder, freuet euch” is approximately twice as long as “Höllische Schlange,” provide a sense that the mvt. 7 aria overcomes all the emphasis on minor keys in the preceding movements, restoring the F major of “Darzu ist erschienen.” Had Bach ended the cantata with an F major chorale, it would have finalized the positive message. And, indeed, the text of the concluding chorale is unequivocally positive in tone: Jesu, nimm dich deiner Glieder ferner in Genaden an; schenke, was man bitten kann, zu erquicken deine Brüder; gib der ganzen Christenschar Frieden und ein sel’ges Jahr!

Jesu, accept your members henceforth in grace with you; bestow what one may ask to revive your brothers; give the whole of Christianity peace and a blessed year!

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Freude, Freude über Freude! Christus wehret allem Leide. Wonne, Wonne über Wonne! Er ist die Genadensonne.

Eric Chafe

Joy, joy upon joy! Christ deflects all sorrow. Bliss, bliss upon bliss! He is the sun of grace.

In his setting, however, Bach ends the cantata in F minor, that is, the “tonic” minor, a stark juxtaposition that seems to offset the tone of rejoicing, especially since there is no intervening recitative to mediate it. This gesture, unique in all Bach’s cantatas, leaves the listener in need of understanding; for whether she knows the extent to which F minor is the quintessential key of lamentation in Bach’s work, she surely hears the shift to minor as a darkening of, if not a turning away from, the joyful character of the preceding movement. The minor key chorale melody was probably a given, but Bach could very easily have set the final chorale in the relative D minor, representing much less of a juxtaposition with F major. Had he done so, the ending would have linked up with the D minor aria and chorale in mvts. 5 and 6 and would have tied together Jesus’s victory over the serpent and the rejoicing of the “Christenkinder.” But the chorale’s final affirmation of joy would have sounded weak after the F major of the preceding movement. The opening chorus and the two arias articulate an imposing F major–D minor–F major structural “core” that would be undermined by return to D minor for the final movement. Hence Bach’s striking choice of F minor for the final chorale. I suggest that Bach carefully made this choice to assert a particular theological meaning that involves our understanding the F major/F minor juxtaposition as simultaneously projecting both an opposition (the major/minor “modal” shift) and a potential unity (the keynote F). As we have seen, the two recitatives of Cantata 40 make conspicuous modulations to flat-minor keys in connection with the human condition (from C major to C minor in mvt. 2; and the B-flat minor coloring of B-flat major in mvt. 5). In this light, it is significant that the F minor of the final chorale represents the third and most conspicuous major/minor juxtaposition in the work. The first and second bear unmistakable associations of the divine and the human spheres, in Johannine terms, of the worlds above and below. Since all three chorales bring out the theme of sorrow turned to joy in minor-key contexts, we may conclude that the F minor ending depicts the reality of the human condition, or the sphere of the “flesh” and darkness into which Jesus was incarnated: although tormented and sinful, the faithful nevertheless live in the benefits of Jesus’s victory and the hope of eternity, a classic Johannine viewpoint. The word “ferner” adds a dimension of future expectations to what is otherwise grounded securely in the present. Since its final lines (lines 7–10) articulate the message of sorrow



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turned to joy in the most emphatic terms (emphasized in the melody through its striking final series of rising sequences), Bach introduces a bass ascent for the final line and ends the setting, as usual, with a Picardy third. At its close, the chorale is, in fact, very positive sounding. That quality is offset, however, by the stark juxtaposition of the tonic major and minor modes and the ending of the chorale on an unaccented syllable (hence a weak beat). Instead of a weak connection to the D minor and F major of the preceding movements, what we have in the final chorale is a far greater sense of the dualism between the believer’s joy and the world. In Cantata 40, the Johannine antitheses dominate from beginning to end. SEHET, WELCH EINE LIEBE (BWV 64) In Cantata 40, Bach develops the meaning of the two aspects of Jesus that he distinguishes, then joins, in the mvt. 3 recitative of Cantata 64: the Christus Victor and the child. Its ending with what I would describe as a sense of dualism surrounding the joy of the faithful and the world of darkness in which they dwell was perhaps part of a design in which that subject would be treated more fully on the following day in Cantata 64. The idea of humanity as God’s children continues in Cantata 64 with its opening motto: “Sehet, welch eine Liebe hat uns der Vater erzeiget, daß wir Gottes Kinder heißen” (Behold, what a love the Father has shown unto us, so that we are called the children of God), which further expands on the meaning of the incarnation and its ultimate implications for humanity. This entails one of John’s most characteristic themes, the division of existence into worlds “above” and “below,” the former comprising a complex of ideas such as truth, goodness, eternal life, light, God, and the Spirit, and the latter their opposites. This theme links up to another famous Johannine theme, God’s love for humanity as the motive behind the incarnation, thereby providing the necessary perspective on the emphasis on the defeat of the devil in Cantata 40. In Cantata 64, the Christian believer’s recognition of God’s love as manifested in the incarnation and the elevation of humankind to the status of God’s children results in their rejection of “the world.” In this cantata, viewing the incarnation in terms of God’s love for humankind means that Jesus’s coming into the world brings about the possibility of new life for “God’s children.” The opening motto of Cantata 64, I John 3:1, is drawn from a passage that resembles one from the prologue of John’s Gospel (the Gospel reading for the third day of Christmas); the difference between the two consists in the emphasis on God’s love in I John, for they both bring out the theme of humanity becoming “children of God,” and they both emphasize the fact that

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the filial relationship to God sets the faithful apart from “the world,” which does not recognize God.18 The verse from which the opening motto of Cantata 64 was drawn continues with the line “Darum kennt uns die Welt nicht; denn sie kennt ihn nicht” (“therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not,” King James Version), introducing a characteristically Johannine antithesis of the faithful and the world. Although not included by Bach’s librettist, its meaning is carried over into the cantata text. In completing the implications of the incarnation, the librettist of Cantata 64 set forth God’s motive for the incarnation at the outset, then used the remainder of the cantata to deal with its fulfillment, the believer’s rejection of the world and anticipation of eternity in the present life—John’s “realized” eschatology. Johann Jacob Rambach and Johannine Theology In his treatise, Seeligkeit der Gläubigen in der Zeit und in der Ewigkeit, Johann Jacob Rambach addresses issues surrounding what we would call “present” versus “future” eschatology, basing his discussions on I John 3:2 and John 10:12–16.19 Rambach begins his discussion of I John 3:2 (“Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him: for we shall see him as he is.” KJV) by addressing I John 3:1, the verse that opens Cantata 64. I John 3:1 makes the all-important proclamation of God’s eternal love as the source of all blessedness, foreordained by him according to his will, while I John 3:2 confronts the question of present and future blessedness and makes clear that Christian believers are not only called the children of God but are children of God now in the present “kingdom of grace”: Now [i.e., after verse 1] John’s pronouncement, “Beloved, we are now God’s children,” can be made. Previously he had proclaimed as a special grace that we are called God’s children. Now, so that no one might come to the conclusion that this is a mere title, he explains himself more clearly with these words, and says, “We are now God’s children.” We are not only called that, but we also have and own all the reality and truth that may be expressed through this honorable name. And, to be sure, we have this now, in our present humble and imperfect state, now, in the kingdom of grace, from this time on, since we have accepted the only begotten Son of God through faith, and have given ourselves into his community and succession.20

Rambach divides his first sermon into two parts, analyzing first the present and then the future blessedness of the faithful, both of which are rooted in the fact that out of love God takes all who believe as his children. As we might expect, the process of faith that Rambach describes follows the traditional



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Lutheran stages of recognition of our sinful nature according to the law, followed by God’s mercy and blessings granted through the Gospel of grace.21 The inheritance of eternal blessedness follows, enabling the sinner to raise his eyes to Christ, through which he is enlightened by love, altering his heart and mind. But that future blessedness is “hidden” in the present. On this point, Rambach continues: However, the future blessedness of the faithful is no less certain on that account; in that John, in the name of all the inheritors of blessedness, speaks, “We know, however, when it takes place, that we will be like him,” etc. The origin of this knowledge is the annointing which the faithful have received from him who is holy. For just as they all know the power of this annointing (I John 2:20), thus they also know that there is an eternal life, and that they will be participants of it.22

In Rambach’s view, the believer’s true knowledge and security in that future blessedness, and therefore of blessedness in the present life, is God’s word: When the children of God consider the promises of their heavenly Father, which he has incorporated into these his words, and which are certain and worthy of all adoption, when they weigh the power of all that Jesus has accomplished, which on account of his infinite worth can earn not a limited but an infinite glory, when they feel within themselves the witness of the Holy Spirit, who as the pledge of the future inheritance is communicated to them, who even causes their spirit to rejoice in the meantime through a foretaste of the eternal life—then there arises not only a knowledge, but also a certainty and assurance that great things are in store for them in eternity. And this knowledge is no mere matter of their [intellectual] understanding, but is bound up at the same time with the innermost movements of a sanctified will, and through this they are awakened to a secure hope, to a burning longing for heaven, to a willing denial of the world, to patience in all the sufferings of this time, to the innermost joy and to the glorification of God.23

In such passages, we see how John’s emphasis on what we now call “realized eschatology” was understood in Bach’s time. The balance between present and future blessings, as Rambach sets them forth, is very similar to that of Cantata 64. The crucial point remains that the incarnation was the outcome of God’s love, which was the origin of the plan of salvation formed by God before the creation. Rambach does not go into this question in his relatively brief sermon; but it clearly underlies his introductory words: What firstly concerns the blessedness that the faithful enjoy in this life, consists in the high nobility of divine childhood. . . . On this John had already cried out in the first verse of this chapter, full of holy astonishment, “See, what a love the

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Father has shown to us, that we are called the children of God!” In which words he uncovers the divine origin of this blessedness, which is the infinite love of the heavenly Father, since he has ordained us to childhood according to the pleasure of his will (Ephesians 1:5).24

Realized Eschatology in Bach’s Cantata 64 Both the text of Cantata 64 and Bach’s compositional choices in setting it mirror the Johannine themes evident in Rambach’s sermon. Bach sets the opening motto (I John 3:1) as a motet-like chorus in E minor, doubled by strings plus the somewhat archaic sound of a choir of cornetto plus three trombones, a scoring shared by the mvt. 2 Christmas hymn, “Gelobet seist du, Jesu Christ” (by Martin Luther). After the festive orchestration with trumpets that characterized Cantata 63 and the majestic horns and oboes of Cantata 40, the scoring of the choral movements of Cantata 64 paints another picture altogether. The chorus has a gently hortatory character that arises from the gradual shortening of the note values in its fugal theme from half notes (“Sehet”) to quarters (“welch eine Liebe hat Gott der Vater”) and running eighths (“erzeiget”). Reiterations of “Sehet, sehet” and combinations of the florid “erzeiget” line with the gestural “Sehet, welch eine Liebe” in the interludes convey a sense that the motet-like style matches the security of building on the fundamental, time-honored truth of God’s love. Luther’s chorale verse (mvt. 2) further suggests that quality in both its text—“Das hat er alles uns getan, sein groß Lieb zu zeigen an. Des freu sich alle Christenheit und dank ihm des in Ewigkeit. Kyrieleis!” (All this has he done for us to show his great love. For which let all Christendom rejoice and thank him in eternity. Kyrie eleison)—and its G mixolydian setting. The simple homophony of the first two chorale lines adds to an atmosphere whose gently archaizing qualities lend the verse a tone not of overt rejoicing but of something akin to “Trost.” The shift of tonal center from E minor to G major is significant, for Cantata 64 is one of the subtlest of the cantatas of the type that I have described elsewhere as featuring an ascent/descent tonal plan— that is, one that modulates in the sharp direction and back—a shape that often aligns with the dualism of worlds “above” and “below.” In such cases, the world “below” is generally viewed in pejorative terms, except insofar as it draws on attributes of the one “above.”25 In Cantata 64, with the security of God’s love established in the chorus and chorale, the mvt. 3 recitative turns immediately to the believer’s rejection of the world: “Geh, Welt! behalte nur das Deine, ich will und mag nichts von dir haben” (Go, world! Keep what is yours; I want to have nothing of you). Bach utilizes continual ascending and descending scales in the basso continuo to represent the dualism of the world and God’s alternative, the certainty of



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heaven in the present life: “Der Himmel ist nun meine, an diesem soll sich meine Seele laben” (Heaven is now mine, on which my soul shall refresh itself). And Bach retains the scalar patterns throughout the next two movements, their associations becoming ever clearer. At the end of the recitative, the longest of the ascending scales leads directly into the beginning of a second chorale, “Was frag’ ich nach der Welt” (What do I need of the world, mvt. 4), whose solidly tonal D major, enhanced by the long ascending lines of eighth notes in the basso continuo, sets a very positive tone for the believer’s rejection of the world, the theme of the ensuing soprano aria.26 This aria, “Was die Welt in sich hält” (mvt. 5), takes a dance type (the Gavotte) as its stylistic model, thereby contrasting John’s and Luther’s eternal truths regarding God’s love in the first two movements (the archaic styles) with a viewpoint of more modern, “worldly” character in the fifth (the dance style). The strings carry forward the ascending sixteenth-note scales of the recitative, and the voice the eighth-note ascending lines of the chorale bass line, emphasizing the depiction of the dissipation of the world like smoke: Was die Welt in sich hält, muß als wie ein Rauch vergehen.

What the world holds onto must dissolve like smoke.

The middle section of the aria, however, sharply juxtaposes the intrinsic nature of the world and the gifts that the believer receives from Jesus. To project this opposition, Bach takes up the rising eighth-note pattern in unison strings, but now without basso continuo, as the voice introduces the alternative to the world: Aber was mir Jesus gibt, und was meine Seele liebt, bleibet fest und ewig stehet.

But what Jesus gives me, and what my soul loves, remains firm and stands for ever.

The device Bach invokes here is one that appears relatively infrequently in his music, but for that reason with generally unmistakable associations. Identified by baroque theorists with the term “bassetto,” “petit basse,” or “bassetchen” (sometimes “bassetgen”), all meaning “little bass,” the texture is characterized not only by the absence of basso continuo realization, but also by the placing of the bass line in the upper register.27 Its basic association in Bach’s music arises from its juxtaposition to music with the normal basso continuo (as we have seen in BWV 40/5). A clear instance is provided by the choruses of angels and shepherds in the Christmas Oratorio, as the angels are without basso continuo and the shepherds with. The meaning given in purely pictorial terms is of the juxtaposition of high and low pitch spheres or, in theological terms, worlds above and below. And this meaning

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underlies nearly all other usages, even when the text or underlying pictorialism is not so clearly evident. In BWV 64/5 the meaning is that what Jesus offers the believer through faith is something not belonging to the world itself, but comes, by faith, through the believer’s participation in the world “above.” The basso continuo scales of mvts. 3 and 4, associated with the believer’s longing to escape the physical world, now move into the upper register in a brief anticipation of the world above. Bach continues the passage for fourteen measures without basso continuo, while the music moves very decisively to the key of A major, completing a cadence to that key with the most purposeful of all the ascending lines to this point. Then, upon completion of the A major cadence, the music of the ritornello enters, now with basso continuo, emphatically confirming the A major, as if affirming that the values of the world above are transferred to that below. This passage marks a turning point in the work. For while the B minor tonality of the aria perhaps represents a turning “downward” after “Was frag’ ich nach der Welt,” to characterize the world in itself, the A major of the bassetchen passage and its ritornello confirmation unmistakably continue “upward” from the D major of the chorale, interpreting its eighth-note basso continuo line in the context of Jesus’s gift to the soul. As in the aria “Jesu, deine Gnadenblicke” from the Ascension Oratorio (BWV 11) of 1735, Bach uses the bassetchen texture to represent the believer’s looking toward heaven.28 In the oratorio, although Jesus has ascended to heaven, his love remains for the believer who lives “hier in der Zeit,” enabling her to anticipate eternity “in the Spirit,” exactly the meaning that underlies the middle section of “Was die Welt in sich hält,” as well as Rambach’s sermon.29 The bassetchen texture in BWV 64/5 holds only for the abovementioned passage; after the entrance of the ritornello and the cadence to A major, the remainder of the B section takes up the same text, now with the basso continuo and now in F-sharp minor. Bach’s point, articulated by means of traditional figural representations of “bleibet fest und ewig stehet” (reiterated held tones), is that owing to Jesus’s “gift” of love—a gift from the world “above”—the world “below” is divested of its wholly pejorative character. From here the sequence of principal keys returns from A major, through the F-sharp minor and B minor of the remainder of the aria. The ensuing recitative (mvt. 6) then begins in G major and ends in that key after recalling the B minor, A major, and F-sharp minor of the aria, the last of these keys marking a caesura as the bass proclaims the certainty of heaven, “possessed” already through faith: Der Himmel bleibet mir gewiß, Und den besitz ich schon im Glauben.

Heaven remains certain for me, And I possess it already through faith.



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Der Tod, die Welt und Sünde, Ja selbst das ganze Höllenheer Kann mir, als einem Gotteskinde, Denselben nun und nimmermehr Aus meiner Seele rauben. Nur dies, nur einzig dies Macht mir noch Kümmernis, Daß ich noch länger soll auf dieser Welt verweilen; Denn Jesus will den Himmel mit mir teilen, Und darzu hat er mich erkoren, Deswegen ist er Mensch geboren.

Death, the world, and sin, Yes, even the whole company of hell Can neither now nor evermore steal it From my soul Since I am a child of God. Only this, and this alone, Still gives me trouble, That I must linger in this world still longer; For Jesus means to share heaven with me, And therefore he chose me, For that purpose he was born a human.

As it was for Rambach, the concept of the certainty of salvation is central to Cantata 64. The opening line “Der Himmel bleibet mir gewiß, und den besitz’ ich schon im Glauben” echoes “Der Himmel ist nun meine” in mvt. 3, equating it with Jesus’s “gift” to the soul in the middle section of “Was die Welt in sich hält,” and affirming that, since the believer is a child of God, that possession is safe from “death, the world, and sin, yes, even the whole company of hell,” the forces defeated by Jesus in the Christus Victor theory. Following the believer’s confessing that “the only thing that causes anguish: that I must remain still longer in this world,” the tonality settles on G major and the bass soloist places the gift of heaven within the context of the incarnation in the recitative’s last three lines. This recitative thus echoes themes from the cantata of the preceding day, especially the purpose of the incarnation, now viewed in wholly personal terms, making clear the relationship of Jesus and the world for the believer. This is followed by the G major aria, “Von der Welt verlang’ ich nichts, wenn ich nur den Himmel erbe” (Of the world I desire nothing if I can only inherit heaven), in which the alto soloist lays claim to the “inheritance” of God’s children. The straightforward fifth descent of the first and last phrases of the ensuing chorale, “Gute Nacht, o Wesen” (Good night, O existence [or “O flesh”]: the fifth verse of “Jesu, meine Freude,” one of the best-known expressions of Jesus-love from seventeenth-century Lutheranism) seems to mirror the tonal descent from the A major in “Was die Welt in sich hält” to the E minor of the cantata’s ending. In returning to the starting key, E minor, it completes the message of the preceding recitative and aria, that the believer—living physically in the world, but rejecting it in the certainty provided by God’s love—participates in the present, through faith and as a child of God, in the world “above,” whose full manifestation lies in the future.

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In Cantata 64, the succession of principal keys—E minor, G major, D major, B minor, A major, B minor, G major, E minor—outlines an ascent/ descent “shape,” that is, a tonal motion from keys of one to three sharps and back, that depicts Jesus’s gifts to the soul, principally love, as the certainty of heaven for the believer in the present life. Whereas in Cantata 40 the F major/F minor juxtaposition in the keys of the last two movements emphasizes the dualism of worlds above and below, Cantata 64 moves beyond it to describe a continuity between these two worlds. That quality derives from John’s emphasis on realized eschatology, the certainty of the possessions of faith in the present life as the attributes of the world above, given by Jesus. By faith, the believer draws from the world above while living physically in that below. This dualism is a key to the structure and theological meaning of the John Passion, produced just a few months later. NOTES 1.  Gustav Aulén, Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of the Idea of the Atonement, trans. A. G. Hebert (New York: Macmillan, 1969), 74–75. 2.  All translations in this chapter by the author unless otherwise noted. 3.  Alfred Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text, rev. and trans. Richard D. P. Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 93. 4.  See Martin Luther, Luther’s Works, Vol. 1, Lectures on Genesis, Chapters 1–5, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan (St. Louis: Concordia, 1958), 188. 5.  See Helene Werthemann, Die Bedeutung der alttestamentlichen Historien in Johann Sebastian Bachs Kantaten (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1960), 16–18. 6. Dürr, The Cantatas, 93. 7.  See, for example, Martin Möller, Praxis Evangeliorum: Einfeltige erklerung und nützliche betrachtung der Evangelien / so auff alle Sontage und vornemesten Fest Jährlich zu predigen verordnet sind (Görlitz, 1614), 3:293–294; and August Pfeiffer, Evangelisches Schatz-Kammer (Nürnberg, 1697), 38. 8.  The foundational study of the four senses of scripture is Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture, 2 vols., trans. Marc Sebanc and E. M. Macierowski (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1998–2000). 9.  A similar pattern is built into the liturgy of the post-Easter season (the weeks between Easter and Pentecost, known from ancient times as the “great fifty days”), a time when the majority of the gospel readings come from John, the only span within the year when this is so. Bach’s cantatas for that time period (especially those of 1725) reflect the shift in numerous ways. See Eric Chafe, J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the Cantatas for Spring 1725 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 44–47. 10.  See Aulén, Christus Victor, 4ff.



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11.  Johann Jacob Rambach, Betrachtungen über den Rath Gottes von der Seeligkeit der Menschen (Giessen, 1737), 548–556: “Dasjenige aber, daran der Sohn Gottes ist erniedriget worden, ist die Gestalt Gottes, durch welche aber hier nicht das göttliche Wesen und die göttliche Natur, sondern die göttliche Herrlichkeit und Eigenschaften, verstanden werden” (541). In later years, Bach owned a copy of Rambach’s book. The basic statement of doctrine on this question is Martin Chemnitz, The Two Natures in Christ (1578), trans. J. A. O. Preus (St. Louis: Concordia, 1971). 12.  Bach’s choice of key of E-flat minor for “Mein Gott, mein Gott, warum hast du mich verlassen?” (My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?) in the Matthew Passion is, perhaps, the best known of a large number of such instances. 13.  Alfred Dürr (The Cantatas, 110) links the “triumphant character” of “Höllische Schlange” to the “accentuated three-eight rhythm and the clear periodic design which approaches the dance.” I would suggest, rather, that the movement does not have a triumphant character. I would say it projects a dualistic character, offsetting its militant gestures by its restless harmonies and minor key. As in several movements of the John Passion, including the opening chorus, the aria depicts Jesus’s majesty, identity, and victory in minor, reserving overt triumph for very select points, such as “Es ist vollbracht” (“Der Held aus Juda siegt mit Macht”). In Cantata 40, something closer to that kind of triumph is reserved for the next aria, “Christenkinder freuet euch.” 14.  Raymond Brown, The Gospel According to John XIII–XXI. The Anchor Bible, vol. 29A (New York: Doubleday, 1970), 548ff. 15.  See Renate Steiger, “‘Die Welt ist euch ein Himmelreich’: zu J. S. Bachs Deutung des Pastoralen,” Musik und Kirche 41 (1971): 1–8, 69–79, 107. 16.  This theme was a well-known trumpet Intrada fanfare, used by many composers before Bach. Bach uses it either exactly or with some variation in Cantatas 70, 21, 127, 130, 147, and others; it is the theme of the middle section of the aria “Es ist vollbracht” from the John Passion, setting the words of Jesus’s victory, “Der Held aus Juda siegt mit Macht.” This theme appears in a considerable number of cantatas, and even in instrumental music (the first Brandenburg Concerto in particular), where it always suggests an extramusical intention. In Cantata 70, it is associated with God’s judgment, in Cantata 127 with the “Posaune” of the last judgment, in Cantata 130 with the envy of Satan for God’s omnipotence (“Der alte Drache brennt vor Neid”). 17.  This reference to Jesus’s protection of the faithful in the imagery of a hen gathering its chickens under its wing makes the only reference in Cantata 40 to the Gospel for the day (in Matthew 23:37, Jesus, having condemned Jerusalem, cries, “How often have I longed to gather your children, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings; but you would not let me”). 18.  The first epistle of John has been called “a tract, occasioned by the denial of the reality of the incarnation” (The New English Bible, New York: Oxford University Press, 1976, 302), its “style and themes” recalling those of John’s Gospel, beginning with the “centrality of the incarnation, the mission of the only Son, the Word.” 19.  Johann Jacob Rambach, Die Seligkeit Der Gläubigen In der Zeit und in der Ewigkeit, Nach Anleitung der Worte Johannis I Epist. 3, 2 . . . und nebst einer Predigt Von Der seligen Bekantschaft der Schafe JESU Christi / mit ihrem guten Hirten (Halle, 1729), 5ff.

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20.  “Nun kan der Ausspruch Johannis statt finden: Ihr Lieben, wir sind nun Gottes Kinder. Er hatte es vorher als eine besondre Gnade gerühmet, daß wir GOttes Kinder heissen sollen. Damit nun nicht etwa jemand auf die Gedancken kommen möchte, daß solches ein leerer Titul sey, so erklärt er sich in diesen Worten deutlicher, und spricht: Wir sind nun GOttes Kinder. Wir werden nicht nur so genennet, sondern wir haben und besitzen auch alle die Realität und Wahrheit, die durch diesen ehrwürdigen Namen ausgedruckt werden mag. Und zwar haben wir diese schon itzo, in dem gegenwärtigen Stande unsrer Niedrigkeit und Unvollkommenheit, itzo in dem Reich der Gnaden, von der Zeit an, da wir den eingebornen Sohn Gottes im Glauben angenommen, und uns in seine Gemeinschaft und Nachfolge begeben haben.” Rambach, Die Seligkeit der Gläubigen, 5–6. 21. Rambach, Seligkeit der Gläubigen, 12–13. 22.  “Nichts desto weniger aber ist die künftige Seligkeit der Gläubigen II. etwas gewisses; indem Johannes im Namen aller Erben der Seligkeit spricht: Wir wissen aber, wenn es erscheinen wird, daß wir ihm gleich seyn werden, u. Der Ursprung dieser Wissenschaft ist die Salbung, welche die Gläubigen von dem, der heilig ist, empfangen haben. Denn gleichwie sie Kraft dieser Salbung alles wissen, I Joh. 2, Vers 20. also wissen sie auch, daß ein ewiges Leben sey, und daß sie desselben theil­ haftig werden sollen.” Rambach, Seligkeit der Gläubigen, 23–24. 23. “Wenn Kinder Gottes die gewissen und aller Annehmung würdigen Ver­ heissungen ihres himmlischen Vaters, die er diesem seinem Worte einverleibet hat, betrachten; wenn sie die Kraft des Verdienstes Jesu Christi erwegen, welches wegen seines unendlichen Werthes keine geringere, als eine unendliche Herrlichkeit, erwerben können; wenn sie das Zeugniß des heiligen Geistes, der als das Pfand des künftigen Erbes ihnen mitgetheilet ist, ja der zuweilen ihren Geist durch einen Vorschmack des ewigen Lebens erfreuet, in sich empfinden: So entstehet daher nicht nur eine Wissenschaft, sondern auch eine Gewißheit und Versicherung, daß ihnen noch grosse Dinge in der Ewigkeit bevorstehen. Und diese Wissenschaft ist keine blosse Beschäftigung, ihres Verstandes, sondern sie ist zugleich mit den innigsten Bewegungen eines geheiligten Willens verbunden, und sie werden dadurch zu einer vesten Hofnung, zu einem brennenden Verlangen nach dem Himmel, zu einer willigen Verleugnung der Welt, zur Geduld in allen Leiden dieser Zeit, zur innigsten Freude, und zur Verherr­ lichung Gottes erwecket.” Rambach, Seligkeit der Gläubigen, 25–26. 24.  “Was denn erstlich die Seligkeit betrift, deren die Gläubigen in der Zeit geniessen, so bestehet dieselbe in dem hohen Adel der göttlichen Kindschaft. . . . Davon hatte Johannes schon im ersten Vers dieses Capitels voll heiliger Verwunderung ausgerufen: Sehet, welch eine Liebe hat uns der Vater erwiesen, daß wir GOttes Kinder heissen sollen! In welchen Worten er den göttlichen Ursprung dieser Seligkeit entdecket, welcher ist die ewige Liebe des himmlischen Vaters, da er uns verordnet hat zur Kindschaft nach dem Wohlgefallen seines Willens, Ephes. 1, 5.” Rambach, Seligkeit der Gläubigen, 2. 25.  Eric Chafe, Tonal Allegory in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 209–15.



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26.  That the scoring is the same for the opening chorus and both chorales suggests that they form an ascending sequence articulating the keys of E minor, G mixolydian, and D major. 27.  In the seventeenth century the basso continuo realization moved into the upper register, whereas in the eighteenth it was more usual to omit it altogether. See Frank T. Arnold, The Art of Accompaniment from a Thorough-Bass, 2 vols. (London: Oxford University Press, 1931), I/373–81. 28. See Eric Chafe, “Bach’s Ascension Oratorio: God’s Kingdoms and Their Representation,” in Bach Perspectives 8: J. S. Bach and the Oratorio Tradition, ed. Daniel R. Melamed, 112–45 (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2011), 134–37. 29.  Love is a recurrent theme in many of Bach’s bassetchen arias, such as “Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben” from the Matthew Passion and “Doch Jesus will” from Cantata 46.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Arnold, Frank T. The Art of Accompaniment from a Thorough-Bass. 2 vols. London: Oxford University Press, 1931. Aulén, Gustav. Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of the Idea of the Atonement. Translated by A. G. Hebert. New York: Macmillan, 1969. Brown, Raymond. The Gospel According to John XIII–XXI. The Anchor Bible, vol. 29A. New York: Doubleday, 1970. Chafe, Eric. Tonal Allegory in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. ———. “Bach’s Ascension Oratorio: God’s Kingdoms and Their Representation.” In Bach Perspectives 8: J. S. Bach and the Oratorio Tradition. Edited by Daniel R. Melamed, 112–45. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2011. ———. J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the Cantatas for Spring 1725. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Chemnitz, Martin. The Two Natures in Christ (1578). Translated by J. A. O. Preus. St. Louis: Concordia, 1971. de Lubac, Henri. Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture. 2 vols. Translated by Marc Sebanc and E. M. Macierowski. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1998–2000. Dürr, Alfred. The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text. Revised and translated by Richard D. P. Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Luther, Martin. Luther’s Works, Vol. 1, Lectures on Genesis, Chapters 1–5. Edited by Jaroslav Pelikan. St. Louis: Concordia, 1958. Möller, Martin. Praxis Evangeliorum: Einfeltige erklerung und nützliche betrachtung der Evangelien / so auff alle Sontage und vornemesten Fest Jährlich zu predigen verordnet sind. Görlitz, 1614.

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Pfeiffer, August. Evangelisches Schatz-Kammer. Nürnberg, 1697. Rambach, Johann Jacob. Die Seligkeit Der Gläubigen In der Zeit und in der Ewigkeit, Nach Anleitung der Worte Johannis I Epist. 3, 2 . . . und nebst einer Predigt Von Der seligen Bekantschaft der Schafe JESU Christi / mit ihrem guten Hirten. Halle, 1729. ———. Betrachtungen über den Rath Gottes von der Seeligkeit der Menschen. Giessen, 1737. Steiger, Renate. “‘Die Welt ist euch ein Himmelreich’: zu J. S. Bachs Deutung des Pastoralen.” Musik und Kirche 41 (1971): 1–8, 69–79, 107. Werthemann, Helene. Die Bedeutung der alttestamentlichen Historien in Johann Sebastian Bachs Kantaten. Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1960.

Chapter Three

Death to Life, Sorrow to Joy Martin Luther’s Theology of the Cross and J. S. Bach’s Eastertide Cantata Ihr werdet weinen und heulen (BWV 103) Mark A. Peters In his Heidelberg Disputation of 1518, Martin Luther first elucidated what would later come to be known as his “theology of the cross.” Luther argued that Jesus’s cross defined a new reality for sinners, that through the cross the Christian believer was buried with Jesus in his death and raised to new life through his resurrection. Luther presented the cross as the defining event of human history, that moment in which the Christian believer’s redemption was accomplished through Jesus’s death and resurrection. For Luther, then, any consideration of Jesus’s death was inseparable from the affirmation of Jesus’s resurrection.1 If we consider the sacred vocal works of J. S. Bach in relation to Luther’s theology of the cross and the long tradition of its explication within Lutheran theology, we are naturally drawn to the John and Matthew Passions, those monumental works centered on Jesus’s crucifixion and composed and performed for Good Friday Vespers in Leipzig. But in considering the full scope of Luther’s theology of the cross as embracing both Jesus’s death and resurrection, where do we look in Bach’s compositions for a focus on resurrection? There is certainly no single Easter work that parallels Bach’s two magisterial Passions. Indeed, the only composition to bear the name of the feast, the Easter Oratorio (BWV 249), must be seen as somewhat disappointing if compared with the John or Matthew Passion: it is a parody composition of only eleven movements with no biblical narrative. But such a comparison is fair neither to Bach nor to the Lutheran liturgical year. For in Bach’s Leipzig, the celebration of Easter was not limited to a single Sunday or even to the three-day feast, but rather spanned the fifty days from Easter Sunday to Pentecost. Considering in this light Bach’s musical contributions to the Lutheran liturgy in general, and to the resurrection themes inherent in Luther’s theology of the cross in particular, gives us quite a different 51

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perspective. We can now see the John and Matthew Passions in relation to the twenty-six extant church cantatas Bach composed for the Easter season. The goal of this chapter is to explore the ways a consideration of Luther’s theology of the cross—as elucidated especially in his Heidelberg Disputation and his sermons for Jubilate, the Third Sunday after Easter—can provide a framework for interpreting Bach’s Eastertide cantatas. It demonstrates not only the ways Bach and his librettists identified with the Lutheran tradition of the theology of the cross, but also how they reinterpreted this tradition within the bounds of the cantata genre and the Leipzig liturgy. The chapter focuses, as a case study, on Bach’s cantata for Jubilate 1725, Ihr werdet weinen und heulen (BWV 103), to a text by Leipzig poet Christiane Mariane von Ziegler. In keeping with the Gospel reading for the day (John 16:16–23) and Luther’s interpretation of it in his sermons for Jubilate, von Ziegler’s libretto presents Luther’s theology of the cross by way of dichotomous theological themes: death/resurrection, Jesus’s absence/Jesus’s presence, sorrow/joy, suffering/comfort. And in his musical setting of von Ziegler’s text, Bach emphasized, and even intensified, these theological themes. Furthermore, both through his inventive contrasting and juxtaposing of themes and through thematic transformation, Bach highlighted the foundational meaning of Luther’s theology of the cross (inherent already in von Ziegler’s libretto), that sorrow and joy, death and resurrection, are inextricably linked—that without the sorrow of the cross, the Christian believer would never experience the joy of resurrection. J. S. BACH’S CANTATAS FOR THE EASTER SEASON My approach in this chapter is indebted to two recent studies that have highlighted the link between the Passion season and the Easter season in eighteenth-century Lutheran theology, liturgy, and music, with particular attention to the link between Bach’s Passions and his cantatas. First, Eric Chafe’s J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the Cantatas for Spring 1725 presents a detailed study, grounded in both historical theology and close musical analysis, of the 1724 version of Bach’s John Passion and of the thirteen church cantatas performed from Easter Sunday to Trinity Sunday in 1725 (that is, including not only the cantatas for the Easter season, but also those for the three days of Pentecost and for Trinity Sunday).2 Chafe argues convincingly for the unified, Johannine nature of the Easter season in the Lutheran church year, as well as for the particularly Johannine character of Bach’s works in spring 1725. Chafe states: “In the 1725 Bach cantatas for this season [Easter through Trinity Sunday] we have a unique opportunity of con-



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sidering how the most fundamental tenets of Lutheranism and its inheritance from the ancient church were mirrored in a sequence of musical art works.”3 In the present chapter, I am essentially narrowing this scope to consider how one particular tenet of Lutheranism, the theology of the cross, was mirrored in a single musical art work, Bach’s Cantata 103. A second significant recent study that puts Bach’s Passions and cantatas in dialogue with each other within a broader cultural and contextual framework is Jennifer Dieffenbach’s Ph.D. dissertation, “Passion Meditation in Early Eighteenth Century Lutheranism: J. S. Bach’s Cantata Texts in Dialogue with Theology.”4 Dieffenbach expands the conversation on a selection of Bach’s cantatas focused on Jesus’s death and resurrection by reading them in dialogue with Bach’s Passions and with various streams of what she calls “Passion meditations,” including sermons, devotional works, and liturgical and confessional handbooks.5 Dieffenbach argues that a consideration of such sources is necessary for a fuller understanding of the theology and compositional choices in Bach’s church cantatas, a claim with which I fully agree. Unlike Chafe or Dieffenbach, I am not attempting in this chapter to put Bach’s cantatas and Passions in dialogue with each other. I am, however, arguing that a fuller recognition of themes of Jesus’s death and resurrection in Bach’s twenty-six cantatas for the Easter season provides an important complement to the focus on Jesus’s death in his John and Matthew Passions. As Chafe observes, the Easter season was considered a unified whole within the Lutheran church year, and one that focused particularly on the Gospel of John (see table 3.1).6 While the Gospel readings for Easter Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday are drawn from Mark and Luke, the remainder of the Eastertide season is focused on readings from John’s Gospel, with the exception of Ascension (the story of Jesus’s Ascension is not told in John). The nature of the Johannine Gospel readings is also noteworthy, as they focus not on Jesus’s actions, but on his words.7 After the account of Jesus appearing a second time to his disciples, with Thomas present, on Quasimodogeniti, the remaining five Johannine liturgical occasions (that is, the next five Sundays) consist entirely of Jesus’s words, with a brief reply from the disciples in the Gospel reading for Jubilate. Furthermore, four of these five are drawn from Jesus’s “Farewell Discourse” (as recorded in John 14–17), his words to his disciples on the night of the Last Supper just before his arrest and subsequent crucifixion. Given the context of Jesus speaking to his disciples right before his death, the focus on a theology of the cross, on Jesus’s death and resurrection, is clearly evident and even expected. But this arrangement is somewhat of an anomaly in the church year. In general, the Gospel readings for the festal half of the church year (that is, from the First Sunday of Advent to Pentecost) line up with the events of

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Table 3.1.  The Easter Season in the Lutheran Church Year (with Bach’s Eastertide Cantatas) Liturgical Occasion

Gospel

Gospel summary

BWV

Easter Sunday

Mark 16:1–8

4, 31, 249

Easter Monday

Luke 24:13–35

Easter Tuesday

Luke 24:36–47

Quasimodogeniti (First Sunday after Easter) Misericordias Domini (Second Sunday after Easter) Jubilate (Third Sunday after Easter) Cantate (Fourth Sunday after Easter) Rogate (Fifth Sunday after Easter) Ascension

John 20:19–31

Angels proclaim Jesus’s resurrection to the women at the tomb The resurrected Jesus and two disciples on road to Emmaus Jesus appears to the disciples, explains death and resurrection Jesus appears to the disciples and to Thomas

Exaudi (Sunday after Ascension)

66, 6

134, 145, 158

67, 42

John 10:12–16

Jesus is the Good Shepherd who lays down life for sheep

104, 85, 112

John 16:16–23

Jesus explains his death and resurrection: “a little while” Jesus’s promise that after he goes away, the Helper will come Jesus speaks plainly: “I am leaving the world and going to the Father” Jesus sends his disciples into the world, is taken up to heaven Jesus explains the coming persecution and the coming of the Spirit

12, 103, 146

John 16:5–15

John 16:23–30

Mark 16:14–20

John 15:26–16:4

166, 108

86, 87

37, 128, 43, 11

44, 183

Jesus’s life being celebrated: the anticipation of Jesus’s coming in Advent, Jesus’s birth in the Christmas season, Jesus’s earthly ministry in the Epiphany season, Jesus’s preparation for his death during Lent, the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday, Jesus’s crucifixion on Good Friday, his resurrection on Easter, his Ascension forty days later, and the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. Jesus’s “Farewell Discourse” is thus out of place if we consider it from a purely liturgical standpoint: for the final four Sundays of Eastertide (Jubilate through Exaudi)—that is, of course, after Jesus’s resurrection—the Gospel readings recount the words of Jesus to his disciples before his death.



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On the last four Sundays of Eastertide then, the Christian church hears Jesus speaking about his death, but the words are heard within the context of Jesus’s resurrection. This observation further emphasizes the need to consider Bach’s Eastertide cantatas in relation to his Passions, and vice versa. It also confirms the importance of these four Sundays for an understanding of Luther’s theology of the cross, a theology in which Jesus’s death and resurrection—and, by extension, the Christian believer’s death and resurrection—are inextricably linked. The assignment of these readings to these four Sundays in the church year is not distinctive to Lutheranism, as Luther did not create a new lectionary as part of his reforms. However, what Luther did bring was a renewed attention to the Gospel readings, including the regular practice of basing the sermon in the main service of the day on that day’s Gospel.8 For the Eastertide season, this naturally led to a focus on Jesus’s death and resurrection each Sunday. This further leads to my consideration of just one of Bach’s cantatas in relation to this season and to Luther’s theology of the cross: Cantata 103, Ihr werdet weinen und heulen, composed for the first of these four Sundays, Jubilate. As is well known, the nature and placement of the sacred cantata in Leipzig’s Sunday and feast day liturgy required its close connection with the Gospel reading specified for the day. The rubrics for the order of service in the Leipziger Kirchen-Staat of 1710 show that the two assigned readings, of the Epistle and the Gospel, continued to be central to the Lutheran liturgy, with the sermon then offering an exposition of the Gospel text. Immediately following the chanting of the Gospel text but preceding the sermon was performed a piece of concerted music or a chorale “in keeping with the nature of the Gospel.”9 So through his Eastertide cantatas, including Ihr werdet weinen und heulen, Bach provided music for an Easter season focusing on the realities of the Christian believer’s redemption as effected by the death and resurrection of Jesus, that is, on the theology of the cross. I turn now to the particular example of Ihr werdet weinen und heulen and Jubilate Sunday within the context of Luther’s theology of the cross. THE THEOLOGY OF THE CROSS AND JUBILATE SUNDAY A focus on Jesus’s suffering on the cross, and on the Christian believer’s sharing in that suffering, defined what came to be known as Martin Luther’s theology of the cross. Luther famously explicated this theology early in the Reformation movement in his Heidelberg Disputation of 1518. Here Luther advocates for true theology as a theology that sees God through suffering and the cross, as opposed to a “theology of glory” that sees God through the glory

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of creation and through good works: “God can be found only in suffering and the cross.”10 Dennis Bielfeldt summarizes Luther’s categorization of a theology of the cross and a theology of glory in the Heidelberg Disputation thus: In discerning their true standing before God, believers realize that they cannot see God’s naked glory but can glimpse only the “backside” of God in Christ’s suffering and death. Because the eternal, impassible God is incarnate in “ungodly” suffering and death, one glimpses God in that which is seemingly not of God. The theology of the cross recognizes that human beings cannot approach God through their own rational and moral resources. . . . While a theology of glory falsely claims to know God from God’s works in creation, a theology of the cross actually knows God from the sufferings of the cross of Christ.11

Robert Kolb explains Luther’s theology of the cross in similar terms, while expanding the themes to include Luther’s emphasis on the Christian believer’s identification with Jesus’s death and resurrection: God at his most glorious, in his display of the extent of his mercy and love for his human creatures, appears, Luther believed, in the depth of the shame of the cross. There he is to be seen as he really is, in his true righteousness, which is mercy and love. There human beings are to be seen as those who deserve to die eternally but who now through baptismal death have the life Christ gives through his resurrection.12

Kolb further elucidates Luther’s teaching that God’s true righteousness, essence, and nature are revealed in the cross: that God is love, that God is mercy.13 For Luther then, the reality of the life of the Christian believer is that it is defined by the death and resurrection of Jesus. A theology of the cross is, therefore, a theology of paradox: that only in the suffering of the cross can God truly be seen.14 Martin Luther’s Sermons for Jubilate Of all the Gospel readings in the Easter season, the Gospel for Jubilate most explicitly communicates Luther’s theology of the cross: Über ein kleines, so werdet ihr mich nicht sehen; und aber über ein kleines, so werdet ihr mich sehen, denn ich gehe zum Vater. 17Da sprachen etliche unter seinen Jüngern untereinander: Was ist das, was er sagt zu uns: Über ein kleines, so werdet ihr mich nicht sehen; und aber über ein kleines, so werdet ihr mich sehen, und: Ich gehe zum Vater? 18Da sprachen sie: Was ist das, was er sagt: Über ein kleines? Wir wissen nicht, was er redet. 19Da merkte Jesus, daß sie ihn fragen wollten, und sprach zu ihnen: Davon fragt ihr untereinander, daß ich gesagt habe: Über ein kleines, so werdet ihr mich nicht sehen; und aber über 16

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ein kleines, so werdet ihr mich sehen. 20Wahrlich, wahrlich ich sage euch: Ihr werdet weinen und heulen, aber die Welt wird sich freuen; ihr werdet traurig sein; doch eure Traurigkeit soll in Freude verkehrt werden. 21Ein Weib, wenn sie gebiert, so hat sie Traurigkeit; denn ihre Stunde ist gekommen. Wenn sie aber das Kind geboren hat, denkt sie nicht mehr an die Angst um der Freude willen, daß der Mensch zur Welt geboren ist. 22Und ihr habt auch nun Traurigkeit; aber ich will euch wiedersehen, und euer Herz soll sich freuen, und eure Freude soll niemand von euch nehmen. 23Und an dem Tage werdet ihr mich nichts fragen. Wahrlich, wahrlich ich sage euch: So ihr den Vater etwas bitten werdet in meinem Namen, so wird er’s euch geben. (John 16:16–23, Luther-Bibel, 1545) “A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me, for I am going to the Father.” 17Then some of his disciples said to one another, “What does he mean by saying to us, ‘A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me’; and ‘Because I am going to the Father’?” 18They said, “What does he mean by this ‘a little while’? We do not know what he is talking about.” 19Jesus knew that they wanted to ask him, so he said to them, “Are you discussing among yourselves what I meant when I said, ‘A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me’? 20Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy. 21When a woman is in labour, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world. 22So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you. 23On that day you will ask nothing of me. Very truly, I tell you, if you ask anything of the Father in my name, he will give it to you.” (John 16:16–23, New Revised Standard Version) 16

In his sermons for Jubilate, Luther essentially presents this Gospel text as a sum of the theology of the cross, in his Haus-Postille even going so far as to state: “This Gospel also belongs among the great articles of our Christian faith which we confess.”15 In the third sermon for Jubilate in his KirchenPostille, Luther further states: “This Gospel contains, and likewise pictures before us, the high and excellent work God accomplished when Christ, his only Son, died and rose again from the dead for us.”16 Luther focuses not only on explaining the connections between Christ’s death and resurrection inherent in the Gospel text, but also “how the suffering and resurrection of Christ are to become effective in us.”17 The Gospel reading begins with Jesus’s brief, enigmatic statement: “A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me.”18 As Luther observes, the context here is important; Jesus was speaking to his disciples after the Last Supper, shortly before he was to be betrayed and then crucified. And Jesus explained to his disciples what was

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about to happen: that he would be taken prisoner and put to death, that they would be sorrowful as they would not see him for a little while (that is, during his three days in the grave), that during this time the world would rejoice as though it had won a victory, but that on the third day he would rise again, after which they would rejoice eternally.19 The disciples, however, did not understand these great mysteries; instead, Luther states that in their worldlyminded thoughts they still expected Christ to establish an earthly kingdom. And Luther goes on to explain that the same is true of Christians today, who also do not comprehend the truths of Jesus’s death and resurrection, but are rather hindered by their sinful selves.20 Throughout his sermons, Luther focuses on the contrasts of the two “little whiles” and on the results of these “little whiles” for the disciples (and, by extension, for Christian believers in the present): a short time of sorrow followed by eternal joy. He also focuses on the comfort which Jesus’s words provide for the believer in suffering, that the Christian should not despair when it seems that Jesus has gone away but should rather by faith believe that the time of suffering will last only a little while. Luther’s conclusion to his 1537 sermon on John 16 summarizes clearly his understanding of the Gospel text, the connections he drew between Jesus’s death and resurrection, and the application of Jesus’s death and resurrection in the life of the Christian: Christ says: “I will not stay away from you, though I must leave you for a short time. But I will return to see you, and to see you in such a way so that your hearts will be glad; and the time of mourning, which seemed eternal and unbearable to you, will have been but a little and brief hour. And your mourning will be replaced by joy, which will be eternal and which no one will take from you. For after my departure I will return, never to die again and never to be away from you again; but I will live eternally at the right hand of the Father, and I will be and reign in you.”21

Abraham Calov and Johann Olearius on John 16:16–23 Such an understanding of the theology of the cross in relation to Jubilate came down to Bach and his contemporaries not only through Luther’s own sermons (and especially the Haus-Postille), but also through Lutheran theologians of the seventeenth century, including Abraham Calov and Johann Olearius. Bach’s own theological library included writings by both Calov and Olearius,22 and Martin Petzoldt and Don O. Franklin have demonstrated the significance of Olearius’s writings in an understanding of Bach’s sacred vocal works.23 Abraham Calov’s approach in his Deutsche Bibel is very straightforward, as he presents the complete biblical text with interwoven commentary drawn



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primarily from Luther’s writings.24 In his commentary on John 16:16–21, Calov pinpoints an understanding of the theology of the cross in the juxtaposition of death and life, sorrow and joy, particularly in v. 16 and v. 22: v. 16. A little while (in a few hours), and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me (after my resurrection from the dead, on the third day after my death), for I go to the Father (through my suffering I go from you, through my resurrection, I come back to you, but through my ascension I go back to the Father, so that I will go away from you in a visible way) . . . v. 22. And thus you have pain now (you will yet receive righteous sorrow and suffering, since I must be imprisoned, and handed over, also condemned, crucified, killed, and buried), but I will (in a little while, that is, on the third day) see you again, and your heart will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.25

Johann Olearius’s Biblische Erklärung likewise includes the entire biblical text, but treats it in more complex fashion and with more attention to individual words and phrases than does Calov. His understanding of the theology of the cross in John 16:16–23 is very similar to what Calov’s commentary presents in such a straightforward way, but Olearius provides more nuance and detail. In his commentary on John 16:16, Olearius explains that Jesus’s first “little while” (“A little while, and you will no longer see me”) referred to the few hours between when Jesus was speaking to his disciples at the Last Supper and when he would be arrested that night before his crucifixion the next day. And the next “a little while” (“and again a little while, and you will see me”) referred to Jesus’s resurrection on the third day, that is, Easter.26 It is in this context of Jesus’s death and resurrection that Olearius highlights the contrast of the disciples’ sorrow and then joy: “Thus your sorrow is banished (v. 20) by the joy of Easter: the suffering of Good Friday is followed by the celebratory Easter day.”27 In his commentary on John 16:20, Olearius poetically summarizes the contrasts of death and life, sorrow and joy, that are presented in Jesus’s words in this Gospel: I. Deß Creuzes Beschwerung (the burden of the cross) II. Die beschwerliche Vermehrung (the trying increase in affliction [as result of the world’s joy]) III. Die fröliche Verkehrung (the happy reversal in joy)28 Olearius picks up this language of reversal in his Evangelischer GlaubensSieg of 1672, in which he provides commentary on each Sunday and feast day Gospel in the Lutheran church year.29 Olearius opens his commentary on Jubilate with this summary of John 16:16–23’s teaching:

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This Gospel is the comforting refreshment of the disciples of the Lord (and by extension all of his faithful members) through the glad exchange of sorrow and joy, in which all sorrow will ultimately be reversed into resounding joy. It is true that for a little while, they would not see their Lord and Master, during the time of his suffering and death, but in a little while they would gladly see him again, after his victorious resurrection, and ultimately live with him eternally in heavenly glory and joy.30

Olearius further emphasizes such reversal by commenting on Jesus’s analogy of a woman in the labor of childbirth, highlighting the “exchange of sorrow and joy” (“Wechsel deß Leides und der Freude”) a mother experiences in giving birth.31 In the Evangelischer Glaubens-Sieg, Olearius examines in more detail the implications of the link between Jesus’s suffering and death and the Christian believer’s suffering and death, particularly by offering comfort in the face of death based on Jesus’s equation of his suffering and death with his going to the Father:32 “Such a going away is not only regarding the entire ministry, suffering, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ, but also likewise reminds us that the Christian’s death is a blessed going away into our true native land (Philippians 3[:20]), which the Son of God identifies as breaking through from death to life (John 5[:24]).”33 CHRISTIANE MARIANE VON ZIEGLER’S LIBRETTO FOR CANTATA 103 Like Luther’s sermons and the writings of Calov and Olearius, Christiane Mariane von Ziegler’s libretto for Cantata 103, Ihr werdet weinen und heulen, is firmly rooted in the Gospel reading for Jubilate, John 16:16–23.34 As a result, von Ziegler’s cantata demonstrates a similarity of content, and sometimes expression, with Luther’s sermons for the same liturgical occasion. This does not mean that von Ziegler used Luther’s writings as sources for her own work (although they would have been readily available in Leipzig), but rather that she shared with him an approach to biblical interpretation founded upon the Gospel text. While it was expected that a cantata text would be appropriate for, and even grow out of, the Gospel reading assigned for the day, the extent to which von Ziegler incorporated the Gospel is significant.35 Von Ziegler not only included biblical quotation from the Gospel for the day in her cantata texts more frequently than any other of Bach’s librettists, but she also modeled her newly written movements—that is, the arias and recitatives—closely on the content, and even the specific words, of the Gospel reading. In doing so, she conformed to the orthodox Lutheran practice, dating back to Martin Luther



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himself, of placing great emphasis on the words of the Bible, and particularly on the words of Jesus in biblical quotation, that is, the Vox Christi. In Cantata 103, therefore, von Ziegler’s cantata text, like Luther’s sermons for Jubilate, presents a personal application of what the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ mean to the individual believer in light of Jesus’s words in John 16:16–23. Like most of von Ziegler’s cantatas, Cantata 103 opens with a Bible verse from the Gospel for the day, and it is this verse that both introduces the theme of the cantata and provides a framework for our understanding of the text: Ihr werdet weinen und heulen, aber die Welt wird sich freuen. Ihr aber werdet traurig sein. Doch eure Traurigkeit soll verkehret werden.

You shall weep and lament, but the world shall rejoice. Now you shall be sorrowful. Yet your sorrow shall be turned into joy.36

The focus of the cantata is on this key verse that highlights the truths of Jesus’s death and resurrection and the ways they affect the believer. Here we have the “little whiles” of the Gospel reading summarized in a single verse. Like Luther, von Ziegler focuses on the reaction of the Christian believer to Jesus going away and coming again. In predicting his death and resurrection, Jesus provides comfort for his followers: yes, I am going away, he says, but only for a little while; yes, you will be sorrowful, but that sorrow will soon be replaced by eternal joy. As Luther states, “The greatest of all sorrows is to lose Christ. . . . When he has departed, all salvation and comfort are gone. . . . On the other hand, the highest of all joys is that which the heart has in Christ, our Savior.”37 In her arias and recitatives (see texts below), von Ziegler focuses on the sorrow of Jesus’s departure and on the Christian’s faith in believing Jesus’s promise that this sorrow will last only a short time. Over the course of the cantata, the promise is not fulfilled; Jesus does not return. The change is in the believer’s heart, as she is transformed from a state of doubt and sorrow to one of faith and joy. The turning point is lines 3–5 of the mvt. 4 recitative: “I trust your promised Word / That my sorrow / Shall be turned into joy.” As Luther writes in his Haus-Postille, this Gospel provides the Christian with a right perspective in times of affliction and temptation: Jesus not only predicted that such times would occur, but also that they would only last a little while. Furthermore, von Ziegler shares with Luther the focus on faith. Luther writes: “The believer clings to the Word, comforting himself with the promise that sadness lasts only ‘a little while’ and then changes into gladness. . . . It is finally faith alone that can bring us the comfort, the patience, and the hope we need for all of life’s great trials and tribulations.”38 Von Ziegler characterizes

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these themes in a recitative–aria pair focused on sorrow followed by another recitative–aria pair focused on joy: [2] Recitativo Wer sollte nicht in Klagen untergehn, Wen nuns der Liebste wird entrissen? Der Seelen Heil, die Zuflucht kranker Herzen Acht nicht auf unsre Schmerzen. [3] Aria Kein Arzt ist außer der zu finden, Ich suche durch ganz Gilead; Wer heilt die Wunden meiner Sünden? Weil man hier keinen Balsam hat. Verbirgst du dich, so muß ich sterben. Erbarme dich, ach! höre doch! Du suchest ja nicht mein Verderben, Wohlan, so hofft mein Herze noch. [4] Recitativo Du wirst mich nach der Angst auch wiederum erquicken; So will ich mich zu deiner Ankunft schicken, Ich traue dem Verheißungswort, Daß meine Traurigkeit In Freude soll verkehret werden. [5] Aria Erholet euch, betrübte Sinnen, Ihr tut euch selber allzu Weh. Laßt von dem traurigen Beginnen, Eh ich in Tränen untergeh, Mein Jesus läßt sich wieder sehen, O Freude, der nichts gleichen kann! Wie wohl ist mir dadurch geschehen! Nimm, nimm mein Herz zum Opfer an.

Who would not sink into lamentation When our Beloved is snatched away from us? Our souls’ Salvation, refuge of sick hearts, Pays no heed to our sorrows. No physician is to be found other than You, Though I search through all Gilead; Who will heal the wounds of my sins? For they have no balsam here. If you hide Yourself, I must die. Have mercy, ah! do listen! You do not indeed seek my ruin: Well then, my heart still trusts in you. You will revive me again after my trouble; Then I will make myself fit for Your coming; I trust your promised Word That my sorrow Shall be turned into joy. Recover, distressed minds: You cause yourselves too much woe. Leave off your sorrowful beginnings; Before I collapse into tears, My Jesus lets Himself be seen again: O joy, to which nothing can compare! What good has thereby come upon me! Accept, accept my heart as a sacrifice.



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Von Ziegler concludes her cantata libretto by returning to the words of Jesus; not the literal words of Jesus from the Gospel such as those with which she began, but rather a hymn stanza in which Jesus is clearly the speaker, the ninth stanza of Paul Gerhardt’s hymn Barmherzger Vater, höchster Gott: Ich hab dich einen Augenblick, O liebes Kind, verlassen; Sieh aber, sieh, mit großem Glück Und Trost ohn alle Maßen Will ich dir schon die Freudenkron Aufsetzen und verehren; Dein kurzes Leid soll sich in Freud Und ewig Wohl verkehren.

I have for a moment, O dear child, forsaken you; But see, see, with great good fortune And comfort beyond all measure, I will set the crown of joy Upon you and honour you; Your brief suffering shall be turned into joy And everlasting welfare.

In response to the Christian believer’s faith in mvts. 4 and 5, these words of Jesus renew the promise that her brief suffering will indeed be replaced by eternal joy. BACH’S COMPOSITIONAL TREATMENT OF VON ZIEGLER’S LIBRETTO In treating von Ziegler’s cantata text, Bach emphasized and even intensified the inherent themes of sorrow and joy. Indeed, we can understand Cantata 103 both textually and musically from the perspective of Luther’s statement that on earth the Christian experiences “an ever-recurring alternation of a little while and again a little while.”39 The opening chorus of Cantata 103 is one of the most engaging in Bach’s cantata output, and it dramatically portrays the contrast, as well as the connection, between sorrow and joy. The movement is in three sections, A–B– A'. The first presents the disciples’ sorrow and the world’s joy, “Ihr werdet weinen und heulen, aber die Welt wird sich freuen,” in an imitative chorus framed by vigorous instrumental accompaniment (A, mm. 1–100). Bach then interrupts this chorus movement with a solo bass in recitative style that reinforces the idea of the disciples’ sorrow: “Ihr aber werdet traurig sein” (B, mm. 101–08). He concludes the movement with a return to the choral texture with transformed music representing the transformation from sorrow to joy to conclude the movement (A', mm. 109–55). Initially striking in the movement is the fact that the first vocal statement (mm. 27–43) presents a theme in stark contrast to that of the opening ritornello (mm. 1–26). This is opposed to Bach’s normal process, in which

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a movement is based throughout on the musical material stated in the ritornello and the first vocal statement emerges from the instrumental opening. In BWV 103/1, the music from the ritornello does not re-appear until the second vocal statement (mm. 43–54), thus allowing Bach to contrast the disciples’ sorrow (“Ihr werdet weinen und heulen”) with the world’s joy (“aber die Welt wird sich freuen”). Bach seems to overemphasize the disciples’ sorrow in the A section (perhaps thereby pointing to the self-pity it entailed) through the strings of descending tetrachords, both minor and chromatic, characteristic of the lament affect (see, for example, m. 2 [tenor], m. 3 [tenor], m. 4 [flauto piccolo, oboe d’amore I], m. 5 [tenor], etc.).40 Bach likewise interprets the nature of the world’s joy (mm. 43–55, based on mm. 1–26): his setting includes such representations of a joyful affect as the constant sixteenth-note motion of the flauto piccolo, an often prevailingly rising motion, and the quarter-sixteenthsixteenth patterns in the voice. But the joy is not convincing: the movement is still in a minor key, the flauto piccolo falls static on a single held note for regular two-measure intervals, and we soon hear again the mournful music of the first vocal entrance. For the remainder of the A section (mm. 55–100), Bach both juxtaposes and interweaves the musical gestures representing the disciples’ sorrow (mm. 27–43) and the world’s joy (mm. 1–26, 43–55). After concluding the A section with a compact, but vigorous, statement of the world’s joy (mm. 98–100), Bach suddenly interrupts this chorus movement with a section for bass in recitative style, in which the solo voice states five times in succession: “Ihr aber werdet traurig sein” (Now you shall be sorrowful). The voice is accompanied by a rich harmonic tapestry of sustained chords in the oboes d’amore and strings punctuated by plaintive, chromatically inflected figures in the flauto piccolo. Bach again seems to intentionally overemphasize the disciples’ sorrow with these mournful musical gestures. In the final section of the movement (mm. 109–55), Bach represents the text’s transformation from sorrow to joy by employing a type of thematic transformation. He presents a parallel musical structure to mm. 55–91, but with the themes in altered form as a result of a new line of text, an octave displacement in the middle of the line, and a new tonal center (ct., for example, the tenor entries in mm. 27–31 and 113–17). Instead of creating a strict da-capo form by bringing back the earlier music as it was or following motet-like procedures by introducing new music for the final section of text, Bach transforms the earlier themes. He then combines them through a fugal texture in which the sorrow theme acts as subject (see bass, mm. 109–12) and the joy theme as answer (see bass, mm. 113–16). In so doing, Bach’s compositional setting reflects the textual progression from sorrow to joy, while also demonstrating that the sorrow and the joy are inextricably



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linked: without the sorrow of the cross, the Christian believer would never experience the joy of the resurrection.41 As has been described above, the middle movements of Cantata 103 continue this juxtaposition of sorrow and joy in two successive recitative–aria pairings, the first portraying sorrow (mvts. 2­–3) and the second joy (mvts. 4–5). Bach not only masterfully conveys these affects (particularly in the arias, as one would expect), but intensifies the contrast of sorrow and joy through their direct juxtaposition and through compositional choices that present the musical representation of joy in mvts. 4–5 as doing away with the sorrow portrayed in mvts. 2–3. Bach’s choice of voice parts in these four solo movements is a fascinating mirror progression: 2. tenor, 3. alto, 4. alto, 5. tenor. By employing only two voice parts, Bach can emphasize both the universal and the personal nature of the Christian transformation of sorrow to joy. The single voice of the tenor begins in sorrow in the mvt. 2 recitative, but ends in joy in the mvt. 5 aria, and the single voice of the alto begins in sorrow in the mvt. 3 aria, but ends in joy in the mvt. 4 recitative. Bach’s portrayal of sorrow in mvts. 2–3, beautiful as it is, is fairly straightforward. It begins with Bach’s highlighting of key words in the mvt. 2 secco recitative: the descending minor thirds on “untergehn” (sink into) (m. 2), the descending perfect fifth followed by an ascending minor sixth on “wird entrissen” (is snatched away) (m. 3), and the intense 7­–6 suspension on “kranker” (sick) (m. 4). The movement concludes with Bach’s pointed compositional realization of the word “Schmerzen” (sorrow), represented by tortuous, chromatically inflected melodies in the tenor voice and basso continuo alike that finally cadence in C-sharp minor (mm. 6–7). Bach sets von Ziegler’s mvt. 3 aria text (see above) as an extended mournful tableau employing a number of characteristic lament features. The movement opens with a lengthy ritornello in 6/8 in F-sharp minor for flauto piccolo and basso continuo (mm. 1–12). The sixty-fourth notes of the virtuosic flauto piccolo line necessitate a slow tempo, and the continuo line further emphasizes the sorrowful affect through its opening arpeggiated descent across a major tenth (m. 1) and its subsequent descending passagework (see, for example, the descent over an eleventh in mm. 10–11), as well as its descending minor tetrachord (mm. 3) which returns at later points in the movement (e.g., m. 28). Bach further emphasizes the sorrowful nature of the text by the generally static feel of the musical setting. One element of this is Bach’s use of repetition in the vocal melody. For example, Bach echoes the opening motto, “Kein Arzt ist außer dir zu finden” (No physician is to be found other than You, mm. 13–14), exactly for the line 3 text, “Wer heilt die Wunden meiner Sünden?” (Who will heal the wounds of my sins?, mm. 23–24). Similarly,

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the B section opens with a melody on “Verbirgst du dich, so muß ich sterben” (If you hide Yourself, I must die, mm. 36–37) that Bach uses as the model for the line 7 text, “Du suchest ja nicht mein Verderben” (You do not indeed seek my ruin, mm. 47–48).42 The aria is also fairly static harmonically. The extended opening ritornello ends with a conclusive perfect authentic cadence in the F-sharp minor tonic (m. 12). After this, the movement does not move away from F-sharp minor until the final vocal cadence in the A section on the minor dominant, C-sharp minor (m. 29), the key of the ritornello statement between the aria’s two parts (mm. 30–35). Bach than shifts to an unstable B minor for the beginning of the B section (established in mm. 36–37), but returns already in m. 47 to the tonic F-sharp minor, where the movement remains until its conclusion in m. 69. Although the aria is in a two-part form, the tonal feel is more like a dacapo aria, with the tonic key dominating the first (mm. 1–29) and last (mm. 47–69) sections and a fairly brief foray into different, though closely related, minor keys in the middle section (mm. 30–46). Through his compositional choices in this aria, Bach beautifully plumbs the depths of sorrow to better juxtapose it with the joy to come. The shift comes in the ensuing alto recitative (mvt. 4). And Bach clearly notes compositionally the cantata’s poetic and theological turning point in the recitative’s second half: “Daß meine Traurigkeit / In Freude soll verkehret werden” (That my sorrow / Shall be turned into joy) (mm. 6–9). Bach gives one final indication of the sorrow that has dominated the first half of the cantata in m. 6 through an ascending tritone (E–B-flat) in the bass line on the word “Traurigkeit” (sorrow). But this sorrow has clearly lost its affect on the Christian believer. Bach seems to hurry the voice through the words “meine Traurigkeit” through the use of sixteenth notes, which appear here for the first time in the movement (with the exception of the dottedeighth–sixteenth pair in m. 2). After thus indicating the believer’s haste away from sorrow, Bach has the solo voice not just turn to joy, but burst forth in it through a 25-note melisma on the first syllable of “Freude” (joy) over a bass line that moves now by eighth notes as opposed to the primarily whole or half notes of the recitative’s first six measures (mm. 7–8). And this is only the beginning of the exuberant joy, which overflows in the mvt. 5 aria, “Erholet euch, betrübte Sinnen.” The affect of the movement is undoubtedly one of joy, signaled by the D-Major tonality, the first appearance of the trumpet in the cantata, the arpeggiations and wide ambitus not only of the trumpet, but of all the instruments in the ritornello. Bach includes now and then indications of a slight hesitancy, as if the Christian believer cannot quite accept such unmitigated joy. In particular, Bach musically represents the “betrübte Sinnen” (distressed minds) through the chromatic inflection of



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a G-sharp diminished seventh chord (viiº/V) for two beats that only resolves to the dominant chord of A Major by way of a double suspension (4–3 in the tenor, 6–5 in the oboe d’amore I/II/violin I) (m. 10, see comparable passage in the ritornello, m. 3). Furthermore, Bach vividly represents Jesus’s going away through a sequence of three rising arpeggios presented in Brechnung between the oboe d’amore I/II/violin I and trumpet over the words “von dem traurigen Beginnen” (your sorrowful beginnings) (mm. 24–25). The fact that, with these small exceptions, the tone of the movement is so joyful is somewhat surprising when considering the four lines of text being set (see mvt. 5 text above): there is nothing particularly joyful about it. Just reading the text, one could imagine a musical setting that was more uncertain, as the Christian believer essentially tries to convince herself that she believes (perhaps with a more martial trumpet as the believer combats doubt). But the joy is evident already, as if Bach is indicating from the beginning the positive outcome (Jesus’s return) that is not actually mentioned until the B section and lines 5–8 of the text, which begins: “Mein Jesus läßt sich wieder sehen, / O Freude, der nichts gleichen kann!” (My Jesus lets Himself be seen again: / O joy, to which nothing can compare!) (beg. m. 37). Bach artfully transitions to the fully exuberant joy in the B section by framing this joy with a 5-measure ritornello in F-sharp minor (mm. 32–36), which then cadences into the vocal entry over B minor, thus implying that the B section will be in this relative minor key to the tonic D Major. But the abundant joy of the text will not allow for this, as Bach simply continues the circle of fifths to E Major (m. 37) and then A Major (m. 38), and then composes the bulk of the B section in this dominant key area. By choosing to introduce the possibility of the minor key, Bach thus portrays a more convincing and confident turn from doubt to faith, from sorrow to joy. In addition to the major key and the use of trumpet, Bach intensifies the representations of joy in the aria’s B section through a number of clearly intentional compositional choices. First, he begins the B section with a use of Brechnung that parallels that in mm. 24–25 discussed above. As in mm. 24–25, we hear a melodic figure in the oboe d’amore I/II/violin I that is completed by the trumpet and that is outlined three times in sequence. But there are notable differences and, I believe, intentional word painting in both instances. Bach replaces the wholly ascending five-note pattern of mm. 24–25 (representing Jesus’s going away) with a six-note pattern that first ascends and then descends, specifically reflecting the libretto’s statement: “Mein Jesus läßt sich wieder sehen” (My Jesus lets Himself be seen again) (mm. 37–38) and the theological truth of Jesus’s words in the Gospel reading, “A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me” (John 16:16).

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The second, and most obvious, way Bach intensifies the affect of joy in the B section of the aria is through the repetitions of “O Freude” (O joy) and the ever more florid melismatic setting of the word “Freude” in the solo voice. This culminates in one of the most striking melismas in all of Bach’s vocal music, one that lasts a full six measures (m. 46, beat 4–m. 52, beat 3). In fact, Bach represents the Christian believer’s joy as so uncontainable that it cannot even be silenced by the return of the ritornello in the tonic key: such a return seems to be asserted by the instruments in mm. 51–53, but the tenor continues to sing right through it. The instruments return to simple accompaniment figures (mm. 54–57), then all but the basso continuo drop out while the voice concludes its proclamation (mm. 58–59). It is only then that we hear the full ritornello in the tonic to close the movement (mm. 60–66). The cantata concludes with Bach’s simple setting of the ninth stanza of Gerhardt’s Barmherzger Vater, höchster Gott set to the melody Was mein Gott will, das g’scheh allzeit.43 One musical choice by Bach in this movement is particularly noteworthy, that is, the presence of the trumpet—and not the flauto piccolo—on the chorale’s melody. Looking back, we can see that throughout the cantata Bach employed a prominent and virtuosic flauto piccolo line for those movements that emphasized the Christian believer’s sorrow at Jesus’s departure (mvts. 1 and 3) and a prominent and virtuosic trumpet line for the turn to exuberant joy in mvt. 5. He thus retains the trumpet for the concluding chorale, while the flauto piccolo, with its associations with sorrow in Cantata 103, remains silent.44 Throughout Cantata 103 then, Bach, on the basis of von Ziegler’s text, highlights the contrast between sorrow and joy explained thus by Luther: “Notice, now, how Christ alternates sorrow and joy, weeping and laughter. . . . Always there comes a blessed exchange, your sorrow becoming joy, and the world’s joy becoming sorrow. . . . Sorrow will finally be transmuted into eternal joy—a joy which no one can ever take from you!”45 As I have argued through this chapter, I believe that the Gospel text for Jubilate, the interpretation of it by Luther and later theologians, von Ziegler’s poetic rendering based on it, and Bach’s musical setting thereof are consistent in conveying Luther’s theology of the cross and the ways in which Jesus’s death and resurrection are inextricably linked with each other and with the life of the Christian believer. As Luther states in the conclusion to his Third Sermon for Jubilate in the Kirchen-Postille: Notice that the articles of our faith, both on the death and the resurrection of Christ, are thus set before us in this Gospel, and how the same must be put to practice by us, learned, and exercised in our deeds and our experiences, and not only heard with the ears and spoken with the mouth. Also, that we thus feel it, and such power works in us that the body and soul thereby become



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changed; that is, Christ dies in us and we also die in him. That is a great change, from life to death. However, then I must cleave firmly by faith to the words Christ says, “A little while,” and not only hear, but also take to heart the truth that trial will not last forever, but there will be a change from death to life when Christ again rises and lives in me and I become alive in him. Then the words shall come true, “I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no one taketh from you.”46

In his 2005 article “The Meaning of the Great Three Days as Context for the Passions of Bach,” Mark Bangert begins with the question, “Would the Passions of Bach take on a new light were we to probe their context for evidence of an operating understanding of a close theological, homiletical, spiritual and practical unity between Jesus’ death and resurrection?”47 I propose that the same question can be asked, and likewise answered in the affirmative, of Bach’s cantatas for the Easter season in general and of Cantata 103 in particular, and that such a reading can likewise help us better understand Bach’s cantatas in relation to the Lutheran tradition of the theology of the cross. NOTES 1. See Gerhard O. Forde, On Being a Theologian of the Cross: Reflections on Luther’s Heidelberg Disputation, 1518 (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1997), 1. 2. Eric Chafe, J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the Cantatas for Spring 1725 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). See also, Mark A. Peters, review of J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the Cantatas for Spring 1725 by Eric Chafe, Bach 45 (2014): 94–105. 3. Chafe, J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology, 13. 4.  Jennifer Dieffenbach, “Passion Meditation in Early Eighteenth Century Lutheranism: J. S. Bach’s Cantata Texts in Dialogue with Theology” (Ph.D. diss., Queens University Belfast, 2017). 5.  The cantatas on which Dieffenbach focuses include works for the Sunday before Lent (Estomihi), for certain Sundays in Lent (Oculi and Palm Sunday), and for the Easter Season (Easter Sunday, Easter Monday, Quasimodogeniti, and Jubilate). She draws upon cantatas Bach originally composed from 1714 in Weimar to 1725 in Leipzig. See table 1.1, Cantatas Examined in the Current Study, in Dieffenbach, “Passion Meditation,” 32. 6. Chafe, J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology, 11–12, 95–115. 7.  See Mark A. Peters, A Woman’s Voice in Baroque Music: Mariane von Ziegler and J. S. Bach (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 83–86. 8.  Thank you to Robin Leaver for this observation. For an introduction to the assigned readings in relation to Bach’s cantatas, see Robin A. Leaver, “Bach’s Understanding and Use of the Epistles and Gospels of the Church Year,” Bach 6 (1975): 4–13. On Luther’s perspective on the importance of the four Gospels, see “A Brief In-

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struction on What to Look for and Expect in the Gospels” (1521), in Luther’s Works, Vol. 35, Word and Sacrament I, ed. and trans. E. Theodore Bachmann (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1960), 115–24. 9.  “Ferner wird entweder musiciret oder ein Lied nach Beschaffenheit des Evangelii, . . .” Leipziger Kirchen-Staat (Leizpig: Friedrich Groschuff, 1710), 6. 10.  Martin Luther, Heidelberg Disputation, in The Annotated Luther, Vol. 1, The Roots of Reform, ed. Timothy J. Wengert (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015), 100. 11.  Dennis Bielfeldt, Introduction to the Heidelberg Disputation, in The Annotated Luther, Vol. 1, 73. On Luther’s theology of the cross as expressed in the Heidelberg Disputation, see also Forde, On Being a Theologian of the Cross, esp. 69–102; Michael Korthaus, Kreuzestheologie: Geschichte und Gehalt eines Programmbegriffs in der evangelischen Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 344–62; and Walther von Loewenich’s classic study, Luther’s Theology of the Cross, trans. Herbert J. A. Bouman (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1976). 12.  Robert Kolb, “Luther on the Theology of the Cross,” Lutheran Quarterly 16 (2002): 452. See also Robert Kolb, “Luther’s Theology of the Cross Fifteen Years after Heidelberg: Lectures on the Psalms of Ascent,” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 61 (2010): 69–85. 13.  Kolb, “Luther on the Theology of the Cross,” 451. 14.  See also, Alister E. McGrath, Luther’s Theology of the Cross: Martin Luther’s Theological Breakthrough (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), esp. 149–50; and Stephen G. Myers, “‘The Sufferings Are Better’: Martin Luther and the Theology of the Cross,” Puritan Reformed Journal 1 (2017): 84–100. 15.  Martin Luther, The Complete Sermons of Martin Luther, vol. 6, The House Postils, trans. Eugene F. A. Klug et al. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2000), 85. 16.  Martin Luther, The Complete Sermons of Martin Luther, vol. 2, The Church Postils, trans. John Nicholas Lenker et al. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2000), 97–98. 17. Luther, The Complete Sermons, vol. 2, 74. 18.  A veritable divine peek-a-boo. 19.  See, for example, Luther, The Complete Sermons, vol. 2, 74–75. 20. Luther, The Complete Sermons, vol. 6, 86–87. 21.  Martin Luther, Sermons on the Gospel of St. John Chapters 14–16, in Luther’s Works, vol. 24, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan, trans. Martin H. Bertram (St. Louis: Concordia, 1961), 381–82. 22.  See Robin A. Leaver, Bachs Theologische Bibliothek: Eine kritische Bibliographie / Bach’s Theological Library: A Critical Bibliography (Stuttgart: Hännsler, 1983). 23.  See, for example, Don O. Franklin, “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion,” in Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver, ed. Daniel Zager (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007), 121–39; Don O. Franklin, “‘Recht Glauben, Christlig Leben, Seelig Sterben’: Johann Olearius and the Libretto of Cantata 67,” Bach 46 (2015): 2–28; and Martin Petzoldt, BachKommentar: Theologisch-Musikwissenschaftliche Kommentierung der Geistlichen Vokalwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs, vols. 1 and 2 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2004, 2007). 24. Abraham Calov, ed., Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . (Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82). See also Robin A. Leaver, Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary



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(St. Louis: Concordia, 1985); and Howard H. Cox, ed., The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985). The English translations of Calov and Olearius in this section are my own. 25.  “v. 16. Über ein kleines / (nach wenig Stunden) so werdet ihr mich nicht sehen / und aber über ein kleines / so werdet ihr mich sehen / (nach meiner Aufferstehung von den Todten / am dritten Tag nach meinem Tod) den ich geh zum Vater. (durch mein Leiden gehe ich von euch / durch meine Aufferstehung komm ich wider zu euch / durch meine Himmelfahrt aber kehre ich mich zum Vater / daß ich euch sichtbarlicher Weise gar entzogen werde). . . . v. 22. Und ihr habt auch nun Traurigkeit / (jetzt werdet ihr rechtschaffene Traurigkeit und Schmerzen bekommen / den ich alsobald muß gefangen / und überantwortet / auch verdammet / gecreutziget / getödtet / und begraben werden) aber ich will euch (über ein kleines / das ist / am dritten Tage) widersehen / und euer Herz soll sich freuen / und euer Freude soll niemand von euch nehmen.” Calov, Bibel, 902, 903. 26. Johann Olearius, Biblische Erklärung: Darinnen, nechst dem allgemeinen Haupt-Schlüssel der gantzen heiligen Schrifft, 5 vols. (Leipzig: Johann Christoph Tarnoven, 1678­–1671), V/756. 27. “So vertreibt euer Leid. v. 20. die Oster-Freude / auf den betrübten CharFreitag folgeder fröhliche Oster-Tag.” Olearius, Biblische Erklärung, V/756. 28. Olearius, Biblische Erklärung, V/757. 29.  Johann Olearius, Evangelischer Glaubens-Sieg der Kinder Gottes Wider ihre Hauptfeinde Welt / Sünde / Tod / Teufel u. Hölle / auß den ordentlichen Sonn- und Fest-tags Evangelien. . . . (Leipzig: Georg Heinrich Frommann, 1672). 30. “Dieses Evangelii ist die tröstliche Erquickung der Jünger deß HErrn (und hiernechst aller seiner gläubigen Gliedmassen) durch den erfreuliche Wechsel deß Traurens und der Freude / indem alles Trauren endlich in lauter Freude verkehret wird. Über ein kleines sollten sie ihren HErrn und Meister zwar nicht sehen / zur Zeit seines Leidens und Sterbens / aber über ein kleines solten sie Ihn frölich wieder sehen nach seiner siegreichen Aufferstehung / und endlich in himmlischer Ehre und Freude bei Ihm ewig leben.” Olearius, Evangelischer Glaubens-Sieg, 599. 31. Olearius, Evangelischer Glaubens-Sieg, 599. 32. “Nennet Er sein Leiden und Sterben einen Hingagng zum Vater.” Olearius, Evangelischer Glauben-Sieg, 608. Olearius notes that this quotation of Jesus’s words is found in the Gospel reading for Cantate, the Fourth Sunday after Easter, John 16:5–15. 33.  “. . . solches Hingehe nicht allein das ganze Verdienst / Leiden / Sterben / Aufferstehen und Himmelfahrt Jesu Christi angehe / sondern auch uns zugleich erinnere / daß der Christen Tod sei ein seeliger Hingang in das rechte Vaterland / Philip. 3 / welches der Sohn Gottes nennet vom Tode zum Leben hinduruch dringen.” Olearius, Evangelischer Glauben-Sieg, 608. 34.  On Christiane Mariane von Ziegler, her cantata libretti, and their musical settings by J. S. Bach, see Peters, A Woman’s Voice in Baroque Music. 35.  See Peters, A Woman’s Voice in Baroque Music, 64–72. 36.  Text and English translation of Cantata 103 from Alfred Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text, rev. and trans. Richard D. P. Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 309–10.

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37. Luther, The Complete Sermons, vol. 2, 101. 38. Luther, The Complete Sermons, vol. 6, 93–95. 39.  Luther’s Works, vol. 24, 382. 40.  See Ellen Rosand, “The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament,” The Musical Quarterly 65 (1979): 346–59. 41.  For a reading of BWV 103/1 in relation to the Vox Christi tradition, see Peters, A Woman’s Voice in Baroque Music, 96–99. 42.  Although the tonal center and precise intervals are different for these two statements, the melodic contour is similar. 43. Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, 310–11. 44.  For an alternate, though (I believe) not incompatible reading of Cantata 103, see Chafe, J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology, 438–50. 45. Luther, The Complete Sermons, vol. 6, 89–90. 46. Luther, The Complete Sermons, vol. 2, 108–09. 47.  Mark P. Bangert, “The Meaning of the Great Three Days as Context for the Passions of Bach,” in Passion, Affekt und Leidenschaft in der frühen Neuzeit, vol. 2, ed. Johann Anselm Steiger, 591–605 (Wolfenbüttel: Herzog August Bibliothek, 2005), 591.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bangert, Mark P. “The Meaning of the Great Three Days as Context for the Passions of Bach,” in Passion, Affekt und Leidenschaft in der frühen Neuzeit, vol. 2. Edited by Johann Anselm Steiger, 591–605. Wolfenbüttel: Herzog August Bibliothek, 2005. Bielfeldt, Dennis. Introduction to the Heidelberg Disputation. In The Annotated Luther, Vol. 1, The Roots of Reform. Edited by Timothy J. Wengert, 67–80. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015. Calov, Abraham, ed., Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82. Chafe, Eric. J. S. Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the Cantatas for Spring 1725. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Cox, Howard H., ed. The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985. Dieffenbach, Jennifer. “Passion Meditation in Early Eighteenth Century Lutheranism: J. S. Bach’s Cantata Texts in Dialogue with Theology.” Ph.D. diss., Queens University Belfast, 2017. Dürr, Alfred. The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text. Revised and translated by Richard D. P. Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Forde, Gerhard O. On Being a Theologian of the Cross: Reflections on Luther’s Heidelberg Disputation, 1518. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1997. Franklin, Don O. “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion.” In Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver. Edited by Daniel Zager, 121–39. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 2007.



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———. “‘Recht Glauben, Christlig Leben, Seelig Sterben’: Johann Olearius and the Libretto of Cantata 67.” Bach 46 (2015): 2–28. Kolb, Robert. “Luther on the Theology of the Cross.” Lutheran Quarterly 16 (2002): 443–66. ———. “Luther’s Theology of the Cross Fifteen Years after Heidelberg: Lectures on the Psalms of Ascent.” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 61 (2010): 69–85. Korthaus, Michael. Kreuzestheologie: Geschichte und Gehalt eines Programmbegriffs in der evangelischen Theologie. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007. Leaver, Robin A. “Bach’s Understanding and Use of the Epistles and Gospels of the Church Year,” Bach 6 (1975): 4–13. ———. Bachs Theologische Bibliothek: Eine kritische Bibliographie / Bach’s Theological Library: A Critical Bibliography. Stuttgart: Hännsler, 1983. ———. J. S. Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary. St. Louis: Concordia, 1985. Leipziger Kirchen-Staat. Leizpig: Friedrich Groschuff, 1710. Luther, Martin. “A Brief Instruction on What to Look for and Expect in the Gospels” (1521). In Luther’s Works, Vol. 35, Word and Sacrament I. Edited and translated by E. Theodore Bachmann, 115–24. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1960. ———. Sermons on the Gospel of St. John Chapters 14–16. In Luther’s Works, vol. 24. Edited by Jaroslav Pelikan, translated by Martin H. Bertram. St. Louis: Concordia, 1961. ———. The Complete Sermons of Martin Luther. 7 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2000. ———. Heidelberg Disputation. In The Annotated Luther, Vol. 1, The Roots of Reform. Edited by Timothy J. Wengert. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015. McGrath, Alister E. Luther’s Theology of the Cross: Martin Luther’s Theological Breakthrough. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985. Myers, Stephen G. “‘The Sufferings Are Better’: Martin Luther and the Theology of the Cross.” Puritan Reformed Journal 1 (2017): 84–100. Olearius, Johann. Biblische Erklärung: Darinnen, nechst dem allgemeinen HauptSchlüssel der gantzen heiligen Schrifft. 5 vols. Leipzig: Johann Christoph Tarnoven, 1678­–1671. ———. Evangelischer Glaubens-Sieg der Kinder Gottes Wider ihre Hauptfeinde Welt / Sünde / Tod / Teufel u. Hölle / auß den ordentlichen Sonn- und Fest-tags Evangelien. . . . Leipzig: Georg Heinrich Frommann, 1672. Peters, Mark A. A Woman’s Voice in Baroque Music: Mariane von Ziegler and J. S. Bach. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008. Petzoldt, Martin. Bach-Kommentar: Theologisch-Musikwissenschaftliche Kommentierung der Geistlichen Vokalwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs. 2 vols. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2004, 2007. Rosand, Ellen. “The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament.” The Musical Quarterly 65 (1979): 346–59. von Loewenich, Walther. Luther’s Theology of the Cross. Translated by Herbert J. A. Bouman. Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1976.

Chapter Four

Toward an Understanding of J. S. Bach’s Use of Red Ink in the Autograph Score of the Matthew Passion Mary Greer

The fair copy of the Matthew Passion which J. S. Bach prepared in 1736 is an exceptionally beautiful musical manuscript. Bach meticulously laid out each page, and when the first thirteen folios were somehow damaged, he painstakingly repaired them. As Christoph Wolff has written, “It could not be more evident that in 1736 Bach considered this score as his most significant work.”1 Wolff also highlights the inherent significance of an autograph score: A corollary to the degree of musical perfection is their preservation in print or fair copy. . . . The making of copies was a matter of particular concern for Bach—especially with major works like the St. Matthew Passion or the B Minor Mass . . . . “To view the work as it has been set down in notes”—these words, quite possibly emanating from Bach himself, stress the intrinsic value of the musical score beyond its practical purpose in performance.2

It is important to bear in mind, however, that, although Bach wrote out the fair copy of the Matthew Passion with great care, it was not a presentation copy. Apart from the brief time when it would have been seen by the copyists who wrote out a new set of performance parts,3 Bach himself was the only person who would have actually viewed the score as he led rehearsals and performances of the Passion. The one feature that distinguishes this autograph score from all others that have come down to us is that it is the only one in which Bach employs two different colors of ink. He uses the usual black for most of the words and notes, and red ink for three elements: 1) the melody of the chorale, “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig” in the opening movement; 2) all of the Gospel text (Matthew 26 and 27) throughout the Passion, with the exception of chorus movements; and 3) two chorale stanza incipits, “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter” (mvt. 15) and “Es dient zu meinen Freuden” (originally intended for mvt. 17). 75

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The unique nature of the score is surely attributable, at least in part, to the fact that the Matthew Passion was intended for Good Friday, the most important day in the Lutheran church year. However, the very fact that in no other surviving manuscript does Bach employ red ink in such a deliberate way suggests that other factors must have come into play. In this chapter, I propose that, by using red ink for these specific elements in the score, Bach was consciously invoking a number of salutary properties associated with the blood of Jesus: that it “speaks” and intercedes with the Father on our behalf, that we are metaphorically “sprinkled” with it when we hear the Gospel, and that we are figuratively “marked” with it and identified as believers who will have eternal life. Since these concepts are largely unfamiliar to modern listeners (though they would have been familiar to Lutherans of Bach’s day), we must turn to the writings of Lutheran theologians, chorales, and markings in Bach’s copy of the Calov Bibel to gain an understanding of their connection to the elements Bach wrote in red. My chapter comprises four main sections. The first three correspond to the three elements Bach wrote in red: the cantus firmus in the opening movement, the Gospel text, and the two chorale incipits. In the final section, I suggest that it may have been comparisons of Jesus’s blood to red ink (Latin: “rubrica”) found in the writings of numerous Lutheran theologians that inspired Bach to employ this medium for certain elements in the score of the Matthew Passion. “O LAMM GOTTES UNSCHULDIG”: JESUS’S BLOOD CRIES OUT TO THE FATHER, INTERCEDING ON OUR BEHALF From a visual standpoint, the most striking feature of the opening movement in the autograph score is the successive phrases of the cantus firmus melody, “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig,” which Bach wrote in red ink in the right-hand parts of both organs (Chorus I and Chorus II), running parallel to each other across the page.4 The fact that, of the hundreds of Bach’s works that feature a cantus firmus, this is the sole instance in which he highlights the melody by writing it in red raises the possibility that the doubling of the cantus firmus was a key feature Bach wished to emphasize. This possibility is increased when we take into consideration two additional unusual features Bach introduces in connection with the cantus firmus. First, rather than have the soprani in ripieno sing the final phrase of the chorale, “Erbarm dich unser, o Jesu” (Have mercy on us, O Jesus), in the customary fashion with a single iteration of “o Jesu,” in measures 77–79, Bach alters the text underlay so that the final two words, “o Jesu,” are repeated—in effect, creating an echo.5 Second, in the performance of the work that took place on Good Friday 1736 in the Thomaskirche, Bach specified that the soprani in rip-



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ieno were to stand in the small “Swallows’ Nest” organ loft which was located at the east end of the church. In the diary which Johann Christoph Rost, sexton of the church, kept during the first fifteen years of Bach’s tenure in Leipzig, the only year in which he notes, “St. Thomas’s, with both organs,” was 1736, the year Bach wrote out the fair copy of the Matthew Passion.6 This attests to how unusual the use of both the large organ in the west end of the church and the small one in the “Swallows’ Nest” was. Since the Thomaskirche is roughly 250 feet long, there was undoubtedly an audible lag between the time the congregation heard the cantus firmus played by each organ. Like the small-scale echo brought about by the repetition of “o Jesu,” this would have created an “echo” effect throughout most of the first movement. The confluence of these three exceptional aspects of the cantus firmus in the opening movement, only two of which, the repetition of “o Jesu” in the final phrase and the “echo” created by having the two organs at opposite ends of the church play it, would have been audible, suggests that these two elements and Bach’s writing the cantus firmus in red in the score were prompted by a common extra-musical consideration, which I speculate was perhaps a theological one. A passage that Bach underlined in his copy of the Calov Bibel provides a valuable clue.7 It appears in the context of Calov’s comment on John 19:34 (“but one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and immediately blood and water came out”8), where he cites the following from Martin Luther: That blood that flows from the side of Jesus Christ is the treasure of our salvation, the compensation and reparation for our sin. For through his innocent suffering and death and through his dear sacred blood spilled on the cross did our dear Lord Jesus Christ pay for all our guilt, eternal death, and damnation in which we had been mired through sin. The same blood of Christ represents us before God and cries out for us without pause unto God: Grace! Grace! Forgive! Forgive! Indulgence! Indulgence! Father! Father! and gains for us God’s grace, forgiveness of sin, righteousness, and blessedness. Thus cries out the blood of Jesus Christ, our only mediator and supplicant, without end, forever and ever, that God the Father attends to such pleas of his dear Son on our behalf and is merciful to us poor miserable sinners.9

The italicized words in the quotation are the eight words Bach underlined in this excerpt, the words ascribed to the blood of Jesus that cries out to God on our behalf. The most striking aspect of this passage is that each of the four words is repeated. The same words appear in a lengthy passage which Bach highlights in Calov’s comment on 1 John 1:7 (discussed below). The fact that Bach highlighted two comments in the Calov Bibel which are nearly identical is highly unusual and underscores the particular significance of these words to him.

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The concept of Jesus’s blood having a “voice” is derived from Hebrews 12:24: “and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling that speaks better than Abel’s.”10 This verse refers back to Genesis 4:10 where Abel’s blood “cries out” to the Lord for vengeance after his brother Cain has murdered him: “And he said, ‘What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.’” In his comment on Hebrews 12:24, Martin Luther explains that Jesus’s blood speaks better than Abel’s because, rather than calling out for revenge, it implores the Lord to be merciful to sinful mankind. Of the three concepts considered in this chapter—the blood of Jesus having a “voice,” being metaphorically “sprinkled” when we hear the Gospel, and being figuratively “marked”—Jesus’s blood crying out to the Father is the most difficult to convey visually. However, one aspect of the words attributed to Jesus’s blood—the fact that each one is repeated—can be readily reproduced. There is an obvious visual analog, a copy; and an aural analog, a repetition or echo. The fact that the word “Gnade” (grace), the first of the four words Luther ascribes to the blood of Jesus, is so close in meaning to “Erbarm dich unser” (have mercy on us), the final supplication of the German Agnus Dei, increases the likelihood that Bach employed red ink for the melody of “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig” as a means of invoking the concept of Jesus’s blood “crying out” to the Lord. Indeed, it is difficult to account for the three unusual features associated with the cantus firmus on purely musical grounds.11 Since there was a crucifix in the east end of the church in the same general vicinity as the “Swallows’ Nest” organ loft where the soprani in ripieno stood, perhaps members of the congregation would have even associated the supplication for mercy which they were hearing with the visual image of the crucified Christ on the cross. Surely the “echo” effect Bach built into the disposition of the musical forces would have made an impression on the members of the congregation, just as it did on the sexton. I believe the possibility that Bach employed red ink for the doubled cantus firmus in the opening movement to associate the text’s cry for mercy with the metaphorical crying out of Jesus’s blood on the Christian believer’s behalf is not as far-fetched as it might seem. Such imagery was not limited to biblical quotation or commentary, but found its way into other Lutheran writings of the time, including writings on the Passion story. For example, Catharina Regina von Greiffenberg’s devotional writing Des Allerheiligst= und Allerheilsamsten Leidens und Sterbens Jesu Christi similarly represents the “speaking” of Jesus’s blood in visual form: So I say: if one could see the invisible, one would see written on each droplet of Christ’s blood, “forgive,” “forgive” “O Father!” This blood cries to the Father with an insistent plea; it storms God’s heaven and his heart with the sweetest



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force. . . . Jesus cries out with the many hundreds of thousands of tongues of his holy droplets of blood this holy plea for forgiveness: to which, out of all the heavens, the echo of forgiveness resounds. All is reconciled, all forgiven. O grace! O wonder! The most innocent Lamb pardons those who are guilty of his death.12

Although we have no reason to assume that Bach would have been familiar with this passage, it does reveal that someone born just fifty years before Bach conceived of the difficulty of translating the concept of the crying of Jesus’s blood into a visual image. Furthermore, von Greiffenberg even references the “echo of forgiveness” in this context, which I see as connected with Bach’s treatment of the opening movement of the Matthew Passion. THE GOSPEL TEXT (MATTHEW 26–27): BEING METAPHORICALLY “SPRINKLED” WITH THE BLOOD OF JESUS In this section I suggest that by employing red ink for the Gospel text throughout the autograph score of the Matthew Passion, Bach was invoking the metaphorical “sprinkling” with Jesus’s blood that occurs when a Christian hears and believes the Gospel. This concept would have been familiar to Lutherans in Bach’s day, as the preponderance of references to it in various sources demonstrates.13 Nearly all Levitical expiation, cleansing, and consecration rituals involved “sprinkling.” Instructions for the priests were transmitted to Moses and recorded in Exodus (ch. 24 and 29), Leviticus (ch. 1, 3–9, 14, 16–17), and Numbers (ch. 8, 18, 19, and 31). While there were variations among the rituals, most included the sacrifice of an animal and the collection of its blood in a basin. The priest would dip his finger in the blood and sprinkle it—on the altar, on the vessels on the altar, on an individual, or on a group of people—to consecrate or cleanse them. A different ritual, described in Numbers 19, involved the “Water of Expiation” (“Sprengwasser”), in which a red heifer was slaughtered and burned, and its ashes mixed into specially designated water. The priest then sprinkled the water containing the ashes using a device made out of cedar wood and a sprig of hyssop (“Spreng-Wedel”). On the basis of many markings in Bach’s Calov Bibel, it is evident that Bach was familiar not only with the rituals themselves, but also with Luther’s interpretation of them prefiguring the shedding of Jesus’s blood on the cross. In his gloss on Leviticus 16:19, for instance, Calov explicitly links the blood of the sacrificed goat with the blood of Jesus: “And he [Aaron] shall sprinkle some of the blood on it [the altar] with his finger seven times, and cleanse it,

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and consecrate it from the uncleanness of the children of Israel. (completely: . . . and cleansed the people through the blood of Christ, that alone cleanses us of sins, I John 1:7, Heb. 9:14, which is foreshadowed here and must be received through faith in Christ’s blood.).”14 It is also noteworthy that in his gloss on Leviticus 16:19, Calov cites I John 1:7, “the blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanses us from all sin” (“das Blut Jesu Christi / seines Sohnes / machet uns rein von aller Sünde”). In his copy of the Calov Bibel, Bach highlighted seventeen lines from the extended quotation from Luther which Calov includes in his explanation of I John1:7. This passage mentions being “sprinkled” with the blood of Jesus three times: As he shed his blood according to the Will of God his Father for us and our sins, and thereby procured God’s grace and communion for us, Heb. 9:14, Rev. 1:5, that we become free from sins, holy and righteous, through the blood of Christ our Savior, through sprinkling with the blood of Christ in the Word, I Peter 1:2 and through the cleansing with Christ’s blood in Holy Baptism, Acts 22:16, not only for original—but also our actual sins, as Herr Luther teaches in vol. VI of the Altenburg edition, from I John 1:7, 2:2. . . . For he cannot see any sin on us, even if we are covered in sin, indeed being nothing but sin, inside and out, in body and soul from head to toe, for he [God the Father] sees alone the dear precious blood of his dear Son our Lord Jesus Christ with which we are sprinkled. For this same blood is the golden cloak of grace with which we are clothed and come before God that he cannot, nor will not, see us any other way but as if we were the dear Son himself, full of righteousness, holiness, and innocence. On the other hand, the innocent blood of Christ also has such virtue and power that it absolves, frees, washes, and purifies us from all sin and misdeed; therefore, whoever is sprinkled and clothed with this blood may come before God securely and joyfully, call unto him and hope confidently and without doubt that he will be heard, as Saint Paul says in Ephesians 3.15

Connections to the Matthew Passion Three symbols and events mentioned near the beginning of the Passion—the Lamb of God, Passover, and the blood of the New Covenant—provide clues to understanding why Bach wrote the Gospel text in red ink in his score. In the opening movement, Bach impresses the image of the Lamb of God upon the listener in two ways. As noted above, the soprani in ripieno sing the German Agnus Dei, “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig,” in unison over the fuller texture of the two four-part choruses, and the movement closes with a resounding statement of the phrase “Als wie ein Lamm” (as a lamb). The Gospel text in Part One of the Passion contains several references to events that involve the shedding of blood: the observance of Passover, and the blood of the New Covenant in the Last Supper scene. In mvt. 9b, the



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disciples ask Jesus, “Wo willst du, daß wir dir bereiten das Osterlamm zu essen?” (Where do you want us to prepare to eat the Passover lamb? [Matthew 26:17]), referring to the lamb that was slaughtered and eaten on Passover. The Jewish festival commemorated the first Passover, when the Jews were in bondage in Egypt and were instructed by the Lord, through Moses, to sacrifice a lamb and smear its blood on their doorways (Exodus 12). The blood of the lamb was a sign that the Jews were not to be harmed—it literally saved the life of the first-born son in the house. In the subsequent Passover festivals that commemorated this event, the priest sprinkled the blood of the lamb on the altar, a practice Bach was undoubtedly aware of.16 In the course of the Last Supper scene (mvt. 11), Jesus tells his disciples, “Trinket alle daraus; das ist mein Blut des neuen Testaments, welches vergossen wird für viele zur Vergebung der Sünden” (Drink from this, all of you; this is my blood of the new covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins). The new covenant Jesus refers to replaces the first covenant which God made with Moses on behalf of the people of Israel. The first covenant was confirmed in the following way: oxen were sacrificed, and Moses then took their blood and sprinkled it on the altar and the people (Exodus 24:8). Jesus tells his disciples that in the New Testament, the covenant between God and mankind is sealed with his own blood. The Festival of Passover, the confirmation of the first covenant between God and Moses, and the various Jewish purification rituals, had two elements in common: an animal was sacrificed, and the priest sprinkled its blood on the altar or on the people. While there are connections between the Gospel text in the Matthew Passion and the practice of “sprinkling the blood” of a sacrificial animal, this does not provide a clear link to Bach’s use of red ink when writing the Gospel text in the fair copy. It is Luther’s interpretation of a new, figurative kind of sprinkling with the blood of Jesus that sheds more light on Bach’s choice. Luther’s Comment on I Peter 1:2 Luther lays out his interpretation of the new, metaphorical sprinkling in several places, including his comments on I Peter 1:2 and Psalm 51:7.17 I Peter 1:2 states: “Elect according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, in sanctification of the Spirit, for obedience and sprinkling of the blood of Jesus Christ: Grace to you and peace be multiplied.”18 In his commentary on this verse, Luther explains that when Peter employs the term “sprinkling” in this verse, he is referring to a spiritual rather than a physical “sprinkling.” Christians are metaphorically “sprinkled” with the blood of Jesus Christ by hearing the Gospel and believing that he died to atone for our sins:

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With these words St. Peter says that we become holy if we obey and believe the Word of Christ and are sprinkled with his blood. He expresses himself differently from St. Paul. But the purport is identical with Paul’s declaration that we are saved through faith in Christ. For faith makes us obedient and subject to Christ and his Word. Therefore to be submissive to the Word of God and Christ and to be sprinkled with his blood is the same as believing. . . . To sprinkle means to preach that Christ shed his blood, intercedes for us before his Father, and says: “Dear Father, here Thou seest my blood, which I shed for this sinner.” If you believe this, you are sprinkled.19

Luther’s Comment on Psalm 51 In his comment on I Peter 1:2, Luther also refers to Psalm 51:7, which states: “Remove my sins with hyssop, that I may become clean, wash me, that I may become as white as snow.”20 According to Luther, David is saying that the sprinklings of Moses did not sanctify the people, but that a far more precious sprinkling and purifying was necessary.21 Luther points out that the Law of Moses had various sprinklings, which took place with hyssop and wool. He also notes that the sprinkling by the priests took place not only with the blood of a sacrificed animal, but also with water mixed with the ashes of a red heifer, the so-called “Water of Expiation” (“Sprengwasser”), as described in the Book of Numbers 19:2 and 9. Since “Sprengwasser” is hardly a subject we would normally associate with an eighteenth-century church musician, it is noteworthy that Numbers 19, the very chapter Luther cites, contains two markings in Bach’s Calov Bibel.22 In Calov’s gloss on Num. 19:9, he refers the reader to Heb. 9:13; in his comment on this verse, citing Luther, Calov explains that, in the context of the New Testament, Jesus is the High Priest who, through his own sacrifice, has taken away the sins of mankind. Calov specifically links the sprinkling with the Water of Expiation with the purification with the blood of Jesus.23 In a later section of his commentary on Psalm 51:9, Luther explains that David rejects the sprinklings of the Law and asks for another sprinkling, not administered by the Priest, but directly from the Lord. As Luther interprets David’s words, purity of heart and a good conscience—the holiness of spirit which is holiness in the sight of God—another sprinkling is necessary, which takes place, not with the blood of a heifer or the water of expiation, but with the blood of Jesus and faith in him: “When we hear and believe the Gospel, we are being metaphorically ‘sprinkled’ with Jesus’s blood. We should seek the sprinkling of the Spirit and the inward washing which Peter (in I Peter 1:2) calls ‘a sprinkling with Christ’s blood,’ by which all who hear and believe the Gospel of Jesus are cleansed.”24 Luther likens the mouth of the man who teaches and preaches the Gospel to the hyssop and ritual sprinkler by which the teaching of the Gospel, which



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has been dipped in the blood of Jesus, is “sprinkled” in the Christian church. When we hear the Gospel which proclaims that Jesus has atoned for the sins of the world, he tells us, we should firmly believe, and we should strengthen our hearts and consciences with trust in this sprinkling.25 In the context of Luther’s perspective on Psalm 51, an engraving, with caption, that appears in a hymnal published in 1702 in Lüneburg (where Bach studied from 1700 to 1702) may provide further insight into why Bach chose to employ red ink when writing the Gospel text throughout the score of the Matthew Passion. The engraving is found at the beginning of a long section of hymns included under the heading “On Jesus Christ’s Passion and Death” (“Vom Leiden und Sterben Jesu Christi”).26 The caption under the image reads as follows: “Sprinkle me with thy blood, / O Lamb, that bears God’s wrath and rod / For the world! May your death be / Life and the door to heaven for me.”

Figure 4.1.  Engraving from Lüneburgisches Gesangbuch, 1702. Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Signatur Liturg 491.

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Bach would also have been familiar with at least one other visual representation of the blood of Christ “sprinkling” the believer. The altarpiece in the Stadtkirche in Weimar, a triptych by Lucas Cranach the Elder and the Younger completed in 1555, depicts Christ on the cross. From the side of Jesus on the cross spurts an arc of blood onto the head of the middle of three persons—a self-portrait of the artist Lucas Cranach. The person on the left is John the Baptist, who with one hand points to Jesus on the cross, and with the other to a depiction of a lamb at the foot of the cross, conveying the message of John 1:29, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” The third person is Luther in a black gown holding an open Bible in his hand—upside-down from his point of view but the right way for the viewer to read—and pointing to the verse “Das Blut Jesu Christi . . . machet uns rein von aller Sünde” (I John 1:7). Bach would have seen the striking image frequently during the course of his nine-year tenure in Weimar (1708–1717).27 In Lutheran theology of Bach’s time, then, the (metaphorical) sprinkling of the Christian believer with Jesus’s blood, shed on the cross on Good Friday, was at the heart of the Gospel proclamation. I John 1:7, the very passage Bach highlighted at length in his copy of the Calov Bibel reads: “But if we walk in the light as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanses us from all sin.”28 In his explanation of the word “sins,” Olearius writes, “This is the main purpose of the entire Holy Scriptures which, so to speak, was written with Christ’s blood.”29 In addition, Luther himself strongly associates hearing the Gospel with being figuratively “sprinkled” with the blood of Jesus. Since chapters 26–27 of the Gospel according to Matthew recount the very event that, according to Christian dogma, has brought about our salvation, perhaps Bach’s decision to employ red ink for the Gospel text was motivated by a heartfelt desire to strengthen his faith, ease his conscience, and, confident that his sins have been forgiven, gain a more joyful spirit. “ERKENNE MICH, MEIN HÜTER”: BEING MARKED WITH THE BLOOD OF CHRIST The third instance of Bach’s use of red ink in his fair copy of the Matthew Passion is the incipit of the chorale text, “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter” (mvt. 15). Bach also writes the incipit for the stanza he had originally intended for the next chorale (mvt. 17), “Es dient zu meinen Freüden,” in red and subsequently crossed it out with black ink, substituting for it “Ich will hier bei dir stehen.” Two aspects of the syntax of “Erkenne mich” are noteworthy:



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it is the only chorale in the Passion that begins with a direct plea to Christ (“Recognize me, my guardian”), and it contains seven first person personal pronouns (“mich,” mein,” and “mir”), more than any of the others: Erkenne mich, mein Hüter, Mein Hirte, nimm mich an! Von dir, Quell aller Güter, Ist mir viel Guts getan. Dein Mund hat mich gelabet Mit Milch und süßer Kost, Dein Geist hat mich begabet Mit mancher Himmelslust.

Recognize me, my guardian, my shepherd; accept me! From you, source of all good things, much good has come to me. Your mouth has refreshed me with milk and sweet fare; your spirit has endowed me with many a heavenly delight.30

Understanding Bach’s use of red ink for “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter” and “Es dient zu meinen Freüden” involves examining a nexus of Bible passages and commentaries that relate to being “known” or recognized by the Lord, being written in the “Book of Life,” the application of an identifying mark, and the metaphorical use of Jesus’s blood to make this mark.31 All are distinct, but interrelated, ways of identifying the Elect: those who are to have eternal life. Being Known or Acknowledged John 10 articulates three key themes that have a bearing on Bach’s use of red ink for the incipit of “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter”: 1) Jesus is the Good Shepherd, 2) the shepherd lays down his life for his sheep, and 3) believers will have eternal life. The chapter contains numerous references to Jesus as the Good Shepherd, one of the prominent themes in the Passion and, in particular, in this chorale and the recitative that precedes it.32 John 10:14 and 27 both refer to the Lord knowing his own: “I am the good shepherd and know my own, and am known by my own” (v. 14) and “For my sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (v. 27).33 And there are striking parallels between Olearius’s explication of John 10, in which he cites Martin Luther, and the first two lines of the mvt. 15 chorale “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter, Mein Hirte, nimm mich an!”: “The comforting words of St. Jerome (Misericord. Dom., p. 529) belong here for he says: Whether it goes well or ill with you, whether you are dead or living, still he knows you and takes you in, whether you stand or fall, that is a comfort above all comfort.”34 In John 10:15, Jesus tells his followers that he will sacrifice himself for his sheep, a central theme of the entire Passion: “As my father knows me, and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep.”35 And in John 10:28, Jesus assures his followers (i.e., his sheep) of eternal life—the central message of Christianity—and that no one can snatch them out of his hands:

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“And I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; neither shall anyone snatch them out of my hand.”36 In II Timothy 2:19, a verse that is frequently mentioned in commentaries on John 10, Paul also assures Timothy that the Lord knows his own: “Nevertheless the solid foundation of God stands and has this seal: The Lord knows those who are his.”37 The concept of the Lord “knowing” or acknowledging his own is just one of many ways in which the Elect are described in the Bible. Additional ways in which they are characterized and that are relevant to the present discussion include: (1) their names are (figuratively) written in the Book of Life or in heaven, or, conversely, their names will never be crossed out of the Book of Life; and (2) the foreheads of those who are to be spared by the destroying angel—the Elect—are marked with an identifying sign. While the concepts of being “recognized” by Jesus, and having one’s name written in the Book of Life or in Heaven do not seem similar on the face of it, all connote that the believer has been saved: his name is written in the Book of Life, and Jesus will acknowledge him before his Father and before the angels. The Names of the Elect Are Written in the Book of Life First, the Bible refers to the Elect—those who will have eternal life—as those whose names are written in—and not excluded from—the Book of Life or the Record of the House of Israel. In Philippians 4:3, Paul writes that the names of those who have helped him and Timothy are in the Book of Life: “Yes, I urge you also, my true companion, help these women who labored with me for the Gospel, with Clement also, and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the Book of Life.”38 Similarly, in Luke 10:20, Jesus enjoins his disciples to rejoice that their names are written in heaven, which likewise connotes that they will have eternal life: “Nevertheless do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rather rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”39 Perhaps it is this rejoicing—a rejoicing “that your names are written in heaven,” i.e., that the Christian believer will have eternal life—that Bach intended to emphasize by employing red ink for the incipit of “Es dient zu meinen Freüden,” the chorale he originally intended for mvt. 17.40 Several sources bring together these two ideas: being “known” or “acknowledged” by the Lord and having one’s name written in the Book of Life. In Revelation 3:5, the believer is assured that his name will not be removed from the Book of Life (i.e., that he will have eternal life) and that Jesus will acknowledge him—the entreaty expressed in the first line of the chorale “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter:” “He who overcomes shall be clothed in white garments, and I will not blot out his name from the Book of Life, and I will acknowledge his name before my father and before his angels.”41



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Similarly, Calov’s comment on John 10:14 attests to the close connection between the concepts of the Elect being known by the Lord and their names being written in the Book of Life. In his comment on John 10:14, Calov cites II Timothy 2:19, and explains that the names of the Elect are recorded in heaven and in the Book of Life: “I am the good shepherd, and know my own (I love them dearly and ardently . . . 2 Tim 2:19, and have inscribed their names in heaven, Luke 10:20, and in the Book of Life, Phil. 4:3, Rev. 13:8), and am known to my own.”42 And in the section on being chosen for eternal life in his Geistliches Hand=Buch, Olearius also connects the concept of being written in the Book of Life or in heaven with that of the Lord knowing his own: “The names of my helpers are written in the Book of Life (Phil. 4:3). Rejoice that your names are written in heaven (Luke 10:20). . . . I. The Book of Life signifies the infallible knowledge of the omniscient God, for the Lord knows his own (II Tim 2:19; John 10).”43 Olearius goes on to explain, “Being inscribed in the Book of Life signifies being selected for eternal life.”44 And Olearius’s comment on Revelation 3:5 contains a reference to the joy the believer will experience on the last day and in the hour of death, once again emphasizing the link between joy and eternal salvation that Bach perhaps sought to emphasize by employing red ink for “Es dient zu meinen Freüden”: Not crossing out . . . see Col. 2:14 the not crossing or blotting out of the Book of Life that is promised here (see Ez. 13:9, Phil. 4:3) indicates no change, but the highest assurance of the inscribing and election through grace that will be recognized with joy on the last day and here in one’s final hour of death . . . about the not crossing out see Ez. 13:9, Ps. 69:29. . . . Name, that he shall be . . . my little lamb John 10.45

Olearius also refers the reader to Psalm 69:28–29, which contains a reference to the “Book of the Living”: “Let them be blotted out of the Book of the Living, that they not be written with the righteous. But I am poor and sorrowful. God, let your help protect me!”46 There is a correction to Psalm 69:30 in Bach’s Calov Bibel (= Psalm 69:29 in Olearius), which at the very least demonstrates that Bach was familiar with the concept of not being blotted out of the Book of the Living (the Book of Life), which amounted to not being chosen for eternal life. These citations suffice to demonstrate how closely Lutheran theologians associated the concepts of the Lord knowing his own and their names being written in the Book of Life or, for even greater certainty, not being crossed out of the Book of Life.

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Making a Mark on the Forehead A second way the Bible frequently elucidates the concept of the Lord “knowing” his own is in conjunction with an identifying mark being made on their forehead. Revelation 7:3 and Ezekiel 9:4 are among the passages that refer to a seal or mark being placed on the forehead of those who are to be spared from the destroying angel. Revelation 7:2–3 refer to the “servants of our God” (i.e., the Elect) being sealed on their foreheads so that they will not be harmed by the destroying angels: “Then I saw another angel ascending from the East, having the seal of the living God, and he cried with a loud voice to the four angels to whom it was granted to harm the earth and the sea, And he said, Do not harm the earth, the sea, or the trees until we seal the servants of our God on their foreheads.”47 Revelation 14:1 and 22:4 also refer to believers having the Lord’s name written on their foreheads, and Calov’s comment on Revelation 14:1 attests to the close connection between being “known” and having an identifying mark on their forehead: “And I saw a Lamb standing on Mount Zion, (that is, in the Christian Church; see Is. 2:3, Mic. 4:2, Heb. 12:22) and with him one hundred and forty-four thousand, (a certain number stands for an innumerable one, Rev. 7:4) who had his Father’s name written on their forehead (for they were known to Christ Jesus’s Father and to Christ our Savior).”48 The Blood of the Pascal Lamb (Exodus 12) The Bible passages cited thus far in connection to the Lord “knowing” or recognizing his own and having an identifying seal or mark made on their forehead differ from those cited above in connection with Bach’s use of red ink for the cantus firmus in the opening movement and for the Gospel text throughout the Passion in one key respect: none contains any reference to blood. Since blood is integral to the Judeo-Christian concepts of the expiation of sins and salvation, Luther and other theologians associate the identifying seal or mark being placed on the forehead of those who are to be spared described in Revelation 7:3 and Ezekiel 9:4 with the marks the ancient Hebrews were instructed to make with the blood of the Pascal Lamb on their doorways (Exodus 12) so that their firstborn would not be harmed as the destroying angel made his way throughout Egypt. The blood of the Pascal Lamb is reinterpreted as a model for the blood of Jesus, the Lamb of God in Christian terms. In all three instances, the marking or sealing identified the individual or household to be spared. The key difference is that, in the case of Ezekiel 9:4 and Revelation 7:3, the medium of “sealing” or “marking” is not given, whereas in Exodus 12 the identifying mark is made with the blood of the lamb. The Lord instructs Moses and Aaron that the Israelites



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are to slaughter an unblemished lamb, dip a sprig of hyssop in its blood, and apply it to both doorposts and the lintel of their houses as an identifying mark so that the destroying angel will know to spare them. The fact that Bach corrected a key word (“bestreichen”) in Exodus 12:7 in his copy of the Calov Bibel indicates that he carefully read this passage.49 The following citations exemplify how the concepts of the Lord “knowing” his own, being written in the Book of Life (or the record of the house of Israel), and the Elect being marked on their foreheads are closely associated with the marking with the blood of the Pascal Lamb described in Exodus 12. Particularly relevant in the present context is how Olearius—following Luther’s lead—conflates the marking on the forehead of those who are to be spared in passages such as Ezekiel 9:4 and Revelation 7:3 and the marking of the doorways with the Pascal blood described in Exodus 12. When explaining what is meant by the “Mark of Salvation” (Zeichen deß Heyls) in his comment on Ezekiel 9:4, the only two verses Olearius cites are Exodus 12:13 and Revelation 7:3. In both instances, the mark is an indication that the individual or household is to be spared, but Olearius conflates aspects of Exodus 12 and Revelation 7:3, writing that those who are “marked” are marked with the blood of the Pascal Lamb. Olearius mentions Jesus “knowing” his own (II Tim. 2:19) in direct connection with the mark that is placed on the foreheads of those who are to be spared. In Olearius’s commentary on Ezekiel 9:4, the concepts of an identifying mark on the forehead and the Lord “knowing his own” are closely linked. Olearius also refers the reader to Revelation 7:3 and mentions the Elect being marked on their foreheads with the blood of the Lamb: Ezekiel 9:4. And the Lord said to him, Go through the midst of the city, through the midst of Jerusalem, and put a mark on the foreheads of the men who sigh and cry over all the abominations that are done within it. . . . Mark of Salvation. Exodus 12:13. See Rev. Ch. 7:3 Though, to be sure, no one can actually determine what type of sign this actually was, it is nonetheless comforting that the Lord knows his own (II Tim. 2:19), and has them in his . . . register (Ezekiel 13. Malachi 4.). Whom he has marked on their foreheads with the precious blood of the Pascal Lamb, and against the hand of the avenging angel (Exodus 12:13), he will powerfully protect (see Psalm 91). . . . The angel of great counsel (Isaiah 9[:6]) marks us in his hands with his blood (Isaiah 49[:16]), out of which no one can snatch us (John 10).50 I. The Principal Teaching / God knows his own. . . . Whether the Lord has placed a mark in the hands or on the forehead. . . . [S]ee especially Rev. 7:3.51

In his comment on Hebrews 11:28, Calov explains that the Pascal Lamb of the Israelites prefigured Jesus, and that the spilling of the blood of the Pascal

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Lamb was a model for the spilling of Jesus’s blood on our behalf. Calov emphasizes the role of faith and likens the Israelites’ actual smearing the blood of the Pascal Lamb on their doorways to the hearts of the believers being figuratively marked and “sprinkled” (I Pet. 1:2) with Jesus’s blood so that the destroying angel cannot harm them: By faith (in Christ) he kept the Passover and the spilling of the blood, so that he who destroyed the firstborn would not touch them. (Ex. 12:3 ff. and v. 21 ff., for the Pascal Lamb was a beautiful role model for Christ the Lamb of God, John 1:29. For we also have a Pascal Lamb who was slaughtered for us, that is Christ, 1 Cor. 5:7, and the spilling of the blood of the slaughtered Pascal Lamb was a model for the spilling of Christ’s blood, who was to be slaughtered for us: the doorways of the Israelites also had to be marked with the blood of the Pascal Lamb, so that the avenging angel would pass over them without harming them in order to prefigure how the destroying angel cannot touch us if our hearts are marked and sprinkled with Christ’s blood and, in true faith, we are assured of this, 1 Pet. 1:2, Heb. 10:22, 23.)52

Bach and his Lutheran contemporaries would also have been familiar with the concept of the blood of the Pascal Lamb being used to figuratively mark the heart of the believer through Martin Luther’s well-known hymn, “Christ lag in Todesbanden.” Stanza 5 of the hymn reads: “Here is the true Easter lamb, that God has offered, which high on the trunk of the cross is roasted in burning love, whose blood marks our doors, which faith holds in front of death, the destroyer can harm us no more. Alleluia.”53 Salvation through Jesus’s Blood Numerous Lutheran theologians not only address these various concepts, but also do so in conjunction with each other. Furthermore, three of these concepts—being marked on the forehead, marked on Jesus’s hands, or written in the Book of Life—imply the use of a medium with which to write. And as we have just seen, although none of the Bible verses explicitly refers to Jesus’s blood, numerous commentators add that Jesus’s blood was employed to make these marks or to write the names of the Elect. Commentators such as Calov and Olearius thus equate the saving blood of the Pascal lamb in Exodus with the saving blood of Jesus in the Gospels. For example, explaining the word “erkenne” (to acknowledge or know, the first word of the mvt. 15 chorale in the Matthew Passion) in his commentary on John 10:14, Olearius writes that Jesus loves his own with inexpressible love, and also marks them with his blood. By writing that the sheep that belong to Jesus’s, the Good Shepherd’s, flock have been counted



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and marked cannot be consumed by a wolf implies that they will have eternal life: “He also marks them with his precious blood (1 John 1[:7]; see Exodus 12:23), and no wolf can devour the counted and marked sheep (see John 10:28).”54 It is particularly significant that Olearius not only mentions that the sheep of Jesus’s flock are marked (there is no mention of “marking” in the actual Bible passage) and that he explicitly mentions that they are marked with Jesus’s own blood. In their comments on John 10, both Christoph Vischer and Johann Jacob Rambach explain that Jesus’s blood is used to mark the sheep of his flock, to identify them and protect them. It is notable that Vischer, like Olearius and Calov, cites in this context the marking of the Israelites’ doorways with the blood of the Pascal Lamb so that they will not be harmed. Vischer writes: Our dear Lord Christ marks us, not with a red marker, but with his precious rosy-colored blood, whereby he recognizes us . . . and protects us so that, at the Last Day . . . we shall be led to the promised land of eternal blessedness. And just as the avenging angel had to leave the Israelites unharmed because their door posts and lintels were marked with the blood of the little Pascal Lamb: so the soul’s murderer, the vexing devil must leave us unharmed because we are marked with the blood of Christ, our dear little Pascal Lamb, sprinkled with it in Holy Baptism, imbibed in Holy Communion.55

Similarly, in his commentary on John 10:27–30, Johann Jacob Rambach explains: “By sheep our Savior means those souls who have come to his name in a true conversion to faith, justified by his blood, and sanctified by means of his Spirit . . . in that they have had the stains of conscience washed away by the blood of the lamb and have been sprinkled with pure water.”56 Several pages later, Rambach tells us that the believer is washed and marked as a sheep of his herd with the blood of the Lamb: It is true that, in Holy Baptism these inborn bad qualities of corrupt nature have been forgiven through grace. He is washed in the blood of the pure unspotted little Lamb of God and marked with the same as a sheep of his herd. In this state he is pleasing and lovely in the eyes of the Creator. . . . Inclusion amongst the number of Jesus Christ’s sheep results, when one is marked anew with the blood of the Lamb, which assures forgiveness of all of his previous transgressions, sealed with the Spirit of Grace.57

Thus far we have observed the close connections Lutheran theologians draw between the trope of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, being “known” or acknowledged by Jesus, having one’s name written in—or not crossed out of—the Book of Life, being “sealed” or “marked” with the blood of Jesus, and Exodus 12. In and of themselves, however, these close associations do

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not account for why Bach employed red ink for “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter.” As I show in the final section, Bach’s use of red ink for the Gospel text and the chorale incipits was by no means his own invention. He was undoubtedly familiar with the centuries-old tradition of likening Jesus’s blood to red ink. JESUS’S BLOOD LIKENED TO RED INK As noted above, numerous Lutheran commentators refer to “writing” or identifying the Elect with a mark by using Jesus’s blood in a way one would normally employ ink. Christoph Vischer, Valerius Herberger, Georg Albrecht, Martin Behm, and Philipp Ehrenreich Wider are among the many sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Lutheran theologians who go a step further, however, and explicitly liken Jesus’s blood to red ink, employing either the Latin term “rubrica,” the German “rote Tinte,” or both. In works published or reprinted between 1596 and 1735, commentators write that Jesus’s blood is the red ink that is employed to enter the names of the Elect into the Book of Life in heaven. In his commentary on Jesus’s naming of Peter (John 1:42) in the Harmonia Evangelistarum, Christoph Vischer writes that Jesus calling Simon by his true name (Peter) demonstrates that the Lord knows his own, and he cites II Tim. 2:19. He explains that our names are written in the Book of Life with the red ink of Jesus’s blood, and we are also marked so that we will not be harmed by the destroying angel. Vischer also invokes the trope of the good shepherd, citing John 10: Thus Christ knows his own, the firm foundation endures and has this sign, God knows his own (II Tim. 2). . . . Thus Christ calls Peter by his right name. Those whose names are inscribed in the Book of the Living with the lovely red ink of Christ’s precious blood. He even includes us in his order, he does not forget us, we are inscribed in God’s notebook (Mal. 3). He also marks us so that we won’t perish (Ez. 9). And the Lord Christ says, [John 10 is meant] I am a good shepherd and know my own and am known to my own. He calls us by name.58

In his comment on Psalm 22 in De Jesu Scripturæ nucleo & medulla, Magnalia Dei, Valerius Herberger explains that, at the time of his Passion, through the shedding of his blood, Jesus gives “the good red ink” so that the believer may have eternal life. The Psalm is particularly relevant to a discussion of a work Bach composed for Good Friday because Luther regarded Psalm 22 as one of the Passion Psalms (Psalms 2, 16, 22, 45, 72, and 110), and in the main churches in Leipzig, one Good Friday reading alternated



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between Isaiah 53 and Psalm 22. Furthermore, Matthew 27:46 records Jesus quoting the opening verse of Psalm 22 from the cross (set by Bach in the Matthew Passion in mvt. 61a). Herberger writes: In Psalm 22:7, the Lord Jesus says: “I am a worm and not a man.” . . . My LORD Jesus, you are the innocent little blood worm, you give the good red ink . . . that our names may be inscribed in the Book of Life and in heaven. Just as the names of the major saints are written in a calendar with red ink, our names are entered in the Book of Life and the Register of the chosen Children of God with your blood. You speak of this in Luke 10:20: “Rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”59

In his comment on Ezekiel 9, Georg Albrecht likens the ink contained in the writer’s inkhorn at the side of the man Ezekiel saw in a vision to the “red ink of the rosy-colored blood” that flowed out of Jesus’s side at the time of his Passion (John 19:34). He goes on to say that, with this red ink, Jesus marks his believers and writes their names in heaven and in the Book of Life. Albrecht likewise incorporates many of the associated images and Bible verses I have already explored throughout this chapter: [He] has at his side a writer’s inkhorn containing the rubric of his rosy-colored blood that flowed out his his side (John 19:34) with which he marks all of his believers (Is. 49:16). He writes their names in heaven (Luke 10:20) in the Book of Life (Phil. 4:3), so that they are always before God, like a reminder (Mal. 3:16) and will not be touched by the hellish destroying angel, as was done to the Israelites when the destroying angel struck all the first-born in Egypt, but had to pass over wherever the houses were marked with the blood of the lamb (Ex. 12:23), so that we rightly should not fear death, but hold on to this man, commend our souls to him and pray that, just as he once marked us with his blood, he will likewise hold us fast in his hand so that no one can wrest us out of his hand (John 10:28).60

Throughout this chapter, I have pointed out correlations between the elements Bach chose to write in red in the fair copy of the Matthew Passion and allegorical attributes ascribed to Jesus’s blood: its power to cry out to the Father on behalf of the Christian believer; the strengthening of the believer’s faith when he hears the Gospel account of Jesus’s Passion, death, and resurrection; and the making of a figurative mark on his forehead with the blood of Jesus, assuring him that he will be among the Elect, i.e., have eternal life. Each instance in which Bach employs red ink appears to be in the service of the same end: to increase his faith that—penitent and assured that, by virtue of the grace of God, his sins have been forgiven through Jesus’s blood—he can be confident and joyful that he is among the Elect and will have eternal life.

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NOTES 1.  Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: W. W. Norton, 2000), 298. 2. Christoph Wolff, “‘The Extraordinary Perfections of the Hon. Court Composer’: An Inquiry into the Individuality of Bach’s Music,” in Bach: Essays on His Life and Music (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 397. 3.  The copyists included Samuel Gottlieb Heder (1713–1740s), Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750), Anna Magdalena Bach (1701–1760), Friedrich Christian Mohrheim (1718–1780), Bernhard Dietrich Ludewig (1707–1740), Gottfried Theodor Krauß (1714–1753), Anon. L 114, Anon. L 115, and Georg Heinrich Noah (1716–1762). 4.  In addition to the chorale cantus firmus in the two organs, the chorale verse was sung by the soprano in ripieno. However, Bach does not include a separate staff for soprano in ripieno in the fair copy score; their participation is indicated only in two performing parts, one copied by himself and one by G. H. Noah. 5.  Since Bach includes only the melody of “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig” and not the words in the autograph score, the reiteration of “o Jesu” is apparent only in the two soprano in ripieno parts. 6. Hans T. David, Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds., The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998), 114–15. 7.  Abraham Calov, ed., Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . (Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82), III/1, 950. See Robin A. Leaver, J. S. Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1985), 129–36; and Howard H. Cox, ed., The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985), 449. 8. “Sondern der Kriegsknechte einer öffnete seine Seite mit einem Speer, und alsbald ging Blut und Wasser heraus.”All translations of Bible verses in this chapter are my own. The translations are based on the New King James Version, but adapted to better reflect Luther’s German translation. 9.  “Das Blut / so aus des Herrn Jesu Seiten fleußt / ist der Schatz unser Erlösung / die Bezahlung und Gnugthuung für unsere Sünde. Denn durch sein unschuldig Leiden und Sterben / und durch sein heiliges theures Blut / am Creutze vergossen / hat unser lieber Herr Jesus Christus bezahlet alle unser Schuld / ewigen Tod und Verdamniß / darin wir unser Sünde halben stecken. Dasselb Blut Christi vertrit uns bey Gott / und ruffet für uns ohn unterlaß zu Gott: Gnade! Gnade! Vergib! Vergib! Ablaß! Ablaß! Vater! Vater! und erwirbt uns Gottes Gnade / Vergebung der Sünde / Gerechtigkeit und Seligkeit. So ruft das Blut JEesu CHristi / unsers einigen Mittlers und Fürsprechers / ohne Auffhören / und für und für / also / daß Gott der Vater solches seines geliebten Sohns Ruffen / und Fürbitt für uns ansiehet / und uns armen elenden Sündern gnädig ist.” Italicized text in quoted passages throughout this chapter is my own. Italicized text is used to emphasize key wording related to my argument, unless otherwise noted.



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10.  See also, Kristlieb Adloff’s “Die Sprache des Blutes Jesu in den Paulinischen Briefen und im Hebräerbrief,” in Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs, ed. Albert A. Clement, 3–13 (Amsterdam: Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1995). 11.  On Bach’s Agnus Dei compositions, see Robin A. Leaver, “Agnus Dei Compositions of J. S. Bach: Some Liturgical and Theological Perspectives,” in Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs, ed. Albert A. Clement (Amsterdam: Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1995), 233–49. 12.  “Also sage ich: wann man das unsichtbare sehen könte / so würde man auf einem jeden Bluts=tröpflein Christi / vergib / vergib / O Vater! geschrieben sehen. Dieses Blut schreiet zum Vater / mit einer unabschlägigen Anhaltung; Es stürmet GOtt den Himmel und das Herz / mit der allersüssesten Zwing=gewalt. . . . JEsus schreiet / mit vielmahl huntert tausend Zungen seiner heiligen Bluts=tröpflein / diese heilige vergib=bitte aus: auf welche / aus allen Himmeln / der Echo des Vergebens wiederhallet. Es ist alles versöhnet / alles vergeben. O Gnade! O wunder! . . . Das unschuldigste Lamm entschuldiget die / so an seinem tode schuldig sind.” Catharina Regina von Greiffenberg, Des Allerheiligst= und Allerheilsamsten Leidens und Sterbens Jesu Christi / Zwölf andächtige Betrachtungen . . . (Nürnberg: Johann Hofmann, 1683), 637–38. Von Greiffenberg (1633–1694) lived in Austria, which was predominantly Roman Catholic, but she herself was Lutheran. 13.  At least three chorales that appear in hymnals Bach used over the course of his lifetime refer to being “sprinkled” with the blood of Christ: Johann Rist’s Jesu, der du meine Seele (esp. st. 10); Paul Gerhard’s Siehe mein getreuer Knecht (st. 2); and the anonymous Wie seh ich dich / Jesu! bluten (st. 7). 14.  “Und sol mit seinem Finger vom Blut darauf sprengen siebenmahl / und ihn reinigen und heiligen von der Unreinigkeit der Kinder Israel. (vollkömlich: / . . . und das Volck verunreiniget hatten / durch das Blut CHristi / das uns allein rein machet von Sünden / I. Joh. I, 7. Ebr. IX. 14. welches hier fürgebildet / und im Glauben an Christi Blut . . . muste angenommen werden.).” Calov, Bibel, vol. I/1, col. 693. In Bach’s copy of the Calov Bibel, a missing word was inserted by hand in verse 24, which appears on the same page as verse 19, indicating that Bach read this chapter with care. 15. “Wie er sein Blut nach dem Wolgefallen Gottes seines Vaters für uns und unsere Sünde vergossen / und damit uns Gottes Gnade und Gemeinschafft erworben hat / Ebr. IX. 14. Offenbar I. 5. also werden wir durch sein Wort derselben würcklich theilhafftig / daß wir von Sünden rein / fromm und gerecht werden / durch das Blut Christi unsers Heylandes / durch Besprengung des Blutes Christi im Wort / I. Pet. I. 2. und durch die Abwaschung mit Christi Blut in der H. Tauffe / Gesch. XXII. 16. nicht allein für die Erb= sondern auch für die würckliche Sünde / wie Herr Lutherus Tom. VI. Alt. aus I. Joh. I. 7. c. II. 2. lehret. . . . Denn er kan an uns keine Sünde sehen / ob wir schon voller Sünde stecken / ja eitel Sünde sind / inwendig und außwendig / an Leib und Seel / von Schedel an / bis auff die Fersen / sondern siehet allein das theuer köstliche Blut seines lieben Sohnes unsers HErrn Jesu Christi / damit wir besprenget sind. Denn dasselb Blut ist der gülden Gnaden=Rock / damit wir angezogen sind / und darin wir für Gott treten / daß er uns nicht anders ansehen kan noch wil / denn als

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wären wir der liebe Sohn selbst / voll Gerechtigkeit / Heiligkeit / Unschuld. Dagegen hat auch das unschuldige Blut Christi solche Tugend und Krafft / daß es von aller Sünde und Missethat uns absolviret / loß spricht / wäschet und reiniget / also / daß wer mit diesem Blut besprenget und bekleidet ist / sicher und freudig für GOtt treten darff / ihn anruffen / gewiß und ungezweifelt hoffen / daß er erhöret werde / wie St. Paulus spricht. Eph. III.” Calov, Bibel, III/2, 1092–93. Cox, fac. 266, trans. 453. 16.  See also, Calov, Bibel, III/1, col. 386. 17. Luther also explains the term “sprinkling” in his exegesis of Isaiah 52:15 (= 53:3). See D. Martin Luthers sowol in Deutscher als Lateinischer Sprache verfertigte und aus der letztern in die erstere übersetzte Sämtliche Schriften. Sechster Theil, welcher die Auslegungen derer grossen und kleinen Propheten enthält, ed. Johann Georg Walch (Halle: Johann Justinus Gebauer, 1741), cols. 990 and 1065–66. 18. “Nach der Vorsehung Gottes, des Vaters, durch die Heiligung des Geistes, zum Gehorsam und zur Besprengung mit dem Blut Jesu Christi: Gott gebe euch viel Gnade und Frieden!” 19. “Damit, spricht er, wird man heilig, wenn wir unterthänig sein und gläuben dem Wort Christi, und werden gesprengt mit seinem Blut. Und hie führet S. Peter ein wenig ein ander Weis zu reden, denn S. Paulus; ist aber eben als viel, als wenn Paulus spricht, daß wir selig werden durch den Glauben in Christum. Denn der Glaub machet, daß wir Christo und seim Wort gehorsam und unterthänig sind. Darum ists gleich als viel, unter dem Wort Gottes, und unter Christo sein, und gesprengt werden durch sein Blut, als gläuben. . . . Besprengen aber heißt predigen, daß Christus sein Blut hab vergossen, und für uns tritt zu seinem Vater, und spricht: Lieber Vater, da siehist du mein Blut, das ich für diesen Sünder vergossen hab; gläubst du das, so bist du besprenget.” Luther’s Works, vol. 30, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan, vol. 30 (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1967), 7–8. D. Martin Luthers Werke: kritische Gesamtausgabe, vol. XII (Weimar: Hermann Böhlau, 1891), 263–64. Calov cites Luther’s comment on 1 Pet 1:2 at length in his comment on this verse (Calov, Bibel, III/2, 963), and a brief excerpt from Luther’s comment on 1 Pet 1:2 in his comment on Heb 9:14 (Calov, Bibel, III/2, 1217.) 20. “Entsündige mich mit Ysopen, daß ich rein werde, wasche mich, daß ich schneeweis werde.” 21.  “[Der Prophet David sagt, daß] Moses mit seinem Besprengen die Leute nicht heilig mache; sondern daß darzu viel ein köstlicher Besprengen und Waschen vonnöthen sey.” Martin Luther, Gründliche und erbauliche Auslegung des Psalters . . ., vol. 2 (Halle, 1741), cols. 804–24. Translations of Luther’s comment on Psalm 51 based on Luther’s Works, vol. 12. Selected Psalms I, trans. and ed. Jaroslav Pelikan (St. Louis: Concordia, 1955), 359–63. 22.  See Calov, Bibel, I/1, cols. 869–70. 23.  See Calov, Bibel, vol. III/2, col. 1216–17. 24. “Darum wollen wir eine Besprengung des Geistes, und ein innwendig Waschen suchen, welches St. Petrus I Petr. I, 2. eine Besprengung des Blutes JEsu Christi nennet, mit welchem wir alle besprenget werden, so wir sein Wort hören und an ihn gläuben.” 25.  Johann Olearius includes part of Luther’s comment on Ps. 51:7 in his gloss on “Entsündige mich mit Ysopen.” Johann Olearius, Biblische Erklärung (Leipzig:



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Johann Christoph Tarnoven, 1678–81), vol. III, 299. On Johann Olearius’s Biblische Erklärung and its importance in Bach studies, see Don O. Franklin, “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion,” in Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver, ed. Daniel Zager (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007), 121–39; Don O. Franklin, “‘Recht Glauben, Christlig Leben, Seelig Sterben’: Johann Olearius and the Libretto of Cantata 67,” Bach 46 (2015): 2–28; and Martin Petzoldt, Bach-Kommentar: Theologisch-Musikwissenschaftliche Kommentierung der Geistlichen Vokalwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs, vols. 1 and 2 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2004, 2007). 26. Caspar Herrmann Sandhagen, ed., Lüneburgisches Gesangbuch: Darinnen 2100. so wol alte als neue Geistreiche Lieder . . . und mit Kupffern gezieret: . . . (Lüneburg: Johann Stern, 1702), 210b. A mirror image of the same engraving appears in the 1686 edition of the Lüneburgisches Gesangbuch, Caspar Herrmann Sandhagen, ed. (Lüneburg: Johann Stern, 1686), 198a. 27. A black-and-white image of the center section of the altarpiece appears in Helene Werthemann, “Jesus Christus, vorgestellt zu einem Gnadenstuhl durch den Glauben in seinem Blut,” in Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs, ed. Albert A. Clement, 63–78 (Amsterdam: Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1995), 70. 28.  “So wir aber im Licht wandeln, wie er im Licht ist, so haben wir Gemeinschaft untereinander, und das Blut Jesu Christi, seines Sohnes, macht uns rein von aller Sünde.” 29.  “Hier ist der Haupt=Zweck der gantzen H. Schrifft / welche gleichsam mit Christi Blut geschrieben ist.” In light of the connection I posit between Bach’s use of red ink for “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig” in the opening movement and Christ’s blood “speaking” better than Abel’s, it is noteworthy that Olearius refers to Genesis 4 in his comment on 1 John 1:7. Olearius, Biblische Erklärung V, 1700. 30.  English translation from Michael Marissen, Bach’s Oratorios: The Parallel German-English Texts with Annotations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 38. 31. I shall point out commentaries that are especially relevant to “Es dient zu meinen Freüden” in the course of my discussion of “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter.” 32.  Mvt. 14. Jesus: “In this night all of you will be made to stumble because of me. For it is written: ‘I will strike the Shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’” Jesus: “In dieser Nacht werdet ihr euch alle ärgern an mir. Denn es stehet geschrieben: ‘Ich werde den Hirten schlagen, und die Schafe der Herde werden sich zerstreuen.’” (Matthew 26:31) 33.  “Ich bin der gute Hirte und erkenne die Meinen und bin bekannt den Meinen” (v. 14). “Denn meine Schafe hören meine Stimme, und ich kenne sie; und sie folgen mir” (v. 27). 34.  “Hieher gehören die denckwürdigen Trost=Wort D. Hieronymi Welleri Dom. Misericord. Dom. p. 529. da Er saget: Es gehe dir wol oder übel / du seyst todt oder lebendig / so kennet Er dich / und nimmt sich deiner an / du stehest oder fällest / das ist denn ein Trost über allen Trost.” Olearius, Biblische Erklärung, V/702. 35.  “Wie mich mein Vater kennt und ich kenne den Vater. Und ich lasse mein Leben für die Schafe.”

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36.  “Und ich gebe ihnen das ewige Leben; und sie werden nimmermehr umkommen, und niemand wird sie mir aus meiner Hand reißen.” 37.  “Aber der feste Grund Gottes besteht und hat dieses Siegel: Der Herr kennt die seinen.” See also Olearius, Biblische Erklärung V, 1932, a comment on Revelation 6:1. 38.  “Ja ich bitte auch dich, mein treuer Geselle, stehe ihnen bei, die samt mir für das Evangelium gekämpft haben, mit Klemens und meinen andern Gehilfen, welcher Namen sind in dem Buch des Lebens.” 39.  “Doch darin freuet euch nicht, daß euch die Geister untertan sind. Freuet euch aber, daß eure Namen im Himmel geschrieben sind.” In addition, seven verses in the Book of Revelation (3:5, 13:8, 17:8, 20:12, 20:15, 21:27, and 22:19) refer to the Book of Life or a related concept. 40.  Alfred Dürr and Max Schneider, eds., Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie II, Band 5: Matthäus-Passion, Fassung 1736, Kritischer Bericht (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1974), 29. 41. “Wer überwindet soll mit weißen Kleidern angetan werden, und ich werde seinen Namen nicht austilgen aus dem Buch des Lebens, und ich will seinen Namen bekennen vor meinem Vater und vor seinen Engeln.” 42.  “Ich bin dein guter Hirte / und erkenne die meinen (ich liebe sie hertzlich und inbrünstig / . . . 2. Tim. II.19. und haben ihre Namen im Himmel aufgezeichnet / Luc. X.20. ins Buch des Lebens / Phil.IV.3. Offenb. XIII.8) und bin bekand den meinen.” Calov, Bibel, III/1, 828. See also Calov III/2, 906; and Olearius, Biblische Erklärung V, 1932. 43.  “Meiner Mitgehülffen Namen sind geschrieben in dem Buch deß Lebens / Phil. IV,3. Freuet euch / daß eure Namen im Himmel geschrieben sind / Luc. X, 20. . . . I. Das Buch deß Lebens bedeutet die unfehlbare Erkäntnis deß allwissenden Gottes / denn der HErr kennet die seinen / 2. Tim.II,19. Joh. X.” Johann Olearius, Geistliches Hand=Buch . . . (Halle: Christoph Myly, 1668), 1588. 44.  “Die Einschreibung in das Lebens=Buch ist eben so viel / als die Erwehlung zum ewigen Leben / droben Art.” Olearius, Geistliches Hand=Buch, 1590. 45.  “Nicht austilgen . . . davon NB. Col. 2/14. das allhier verheissene nicht austilgen oder nicht ausleschen aus dem Buch deß Lebens / davon NB. Ez. 13/9. Phil. 4/3. zeiget keine Verenderung an / sondern die höchste Versicherung deß gnadenreichen Einschreibens und Erwehlung / so am jüngsten Tage und hier in der letzten Todes Stunde mit Freuden erkant wird . . . von dem austilgen ist Nachricht NB. Ez. 13/9. Psal. 69/29. NB. . . . Nahmen / daß Er sey . . . mein Schäflein Joh. 10.” Olearius, Biblische Erklärung V/1917. 46.  “Tilge sie aus dem Buch der Lebendigen, daß sie mit den Gerechten nicht angeschrieben werden. Ich aber bin elend, und mir ist wehe. Gott, deine Hilfe schütze mich!” 47.  “Und ich sah einen anderen Engel aufsteigen von der Sonne Aufgang, der hatte das Siegel des lebendigen Gottes und schrie mit großer Stimme zu den vier Engeln, welchen gegeben war zu beschädigen die Erde und das Meer; Und er sprach: Beschädiget die Erde nicht noch das Meer noch die Bäume, bis wir versiegeln die Knechte unsers Gottes an ihren Stirnen.” 48.  “Und ich sahe ein Lamm stehen auf dem Berge Zion / (das ist / in der Christlichen Kirchen / Siehe Es. II. 3. Mich. IV. 2. Ebr. XII. 22.) und mit ihm hundert und



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vier und viertzig tausend / (da eine gewisse Zahl gesetzet ist für eine unzehlbare / Offenb. VII. 4) die hatten den Namen seines Vaters geschrieben an ihrer Stirn. (weil sie sich zu dem Vater Christi Jesu / und zu Christo unsern Heyland bekandten / 1. Cor. VIII.6. Joh. XVII.3.).” Calov, Bibel, III/2, 1431. 49. Calov, Bibel, I/1, 457. This correction is not included in Cox’s facsimile edition. 50.  “Zeichen deß Heyls. 2. B. Mos. Cap. 12/13. Confer Offenbar. Cap. 7/3. . . . Ob nun zwar niemand sich unterstehen kan zu sagen determinare, was dieses eingentlich vor ein Zeichen gewesen / so ist uns doch tröstlich / daß der HErr die Seinen kennet / 2. Tim. 2/19. und hat sie in seinen Denck=Zeddel und Register / Ezech. 13. Malach. 4. Welche Er an ihren Stirnen gezeichnet hat mit dem theuren Blut deß Osterlamms / und wieder deß Würg=Engels Hand 2. Mos. C. 12/13. mächtig beschützen will / NB. Psalm 91 . . . Der Engel deß grossen Raths Esa. 9[:6] zeichnet uns mit seinem Blut in seine Hände / Esa. 49[:16], daraus uns niemand reissen kan Johan. 10.” Olearius, Biblische Erklärung, IV, 639–40. 51.  “I. Die Haupt=Lehre / Gott kennet die seinen. . . . Ob aber der HErr allen Leuten habe ein Zeichen in die Hand gemacht / davon ist Nachricht Job. c. 37/7. NB. oder an die Stirn / davon ist gründlicher Bericht zu finden Offenbar. 7/3. NB.” Olearius, Biblische Erklärung, IV, 641. 52.  “Durch den Glauben (an CHristum) hielt er die Ostern / und das Blutgießen / auf daß / der die Erstengeburten würgete / sie nicht treffe. (2. Mos. XII.3. folg. und v. 21. folg. da das Osterlamm ein schönes Fürbild des Lammes GOttes CHristi war / Joh. I. 29. Denn wir haben auch ein Osterlamm / welches ist CHristus für uns geschlachtet / I. Cor. V.7. und das Blutvergießen des geschlachteten Osterlamms war eine Figur der Vergießung des Blutes CHristi / der für uns geschlachtet werden solte: Es musten auch mit dem Blut des Osterlammes die Thüren der Israeliter bestrichen werden / daß der Würg=Engel ohn Schaden für ihnen fürüber gehen möchte / fürzustellen / wie uns der höllische Würg=Engel nicht anrühren könne / wenn mit dem Blut CHristi unsere Hertzen bestrichen und besprengen seyn / und wir uns in warem Glauben darob versichern / I. Petr. I. 2. Ebr. X. 22. 23.).” Calov, Bibel, III/2, 1245–46. 53.  “Christ lag in Todesbanden” is found in virtually all of the hymnals Bach used over the course of his lifetime. 54.  “Er bezeichnet sie auch mit seinem theuren Blut / I. Joh. I [:7]. NB. 2. Mos. 12/23. und die gezehleten und bezeichneten Schaafe kan kein Wolff fressen. NB. hier v. 28.” Oleanus, Biblische Erklärung, V, 697. 55. “Zum dritten / zeichnet uns unser lieber Herr Christus nicht mit rötelstein / sondern mit seinem thewren rosinfarben Blute / dabey kennet er uns / . . . und bewaret uns / das wir am Jüngsten tage / . . . ins gelobte Land der ewigen seligkeit gefüret werden. Und gleich wie der Würgengel die Israeliten unbeschediget lassen muste / weil ihre pfosten und uberschwellen mit dem Blute deß Osterlembleins bestriechen waren: Also muß uns der Seelmörder / der leidige Teuffel / wol ungewürget lassen / weil wir mit dem Blute Christi unsers lieben Osterlembleins gezeichnet / damit in der heiligen Tauffe besprenget / im heiligen Abendmal getrenckt worden sind.” Christoff Vischer, Außlegung der Euangelien so man auff die Sontage in der Christlichen Kirchen zu handeln pfleget Von Ostern biss auffs Advent : Darinn ein jedes Euangelium in drey bißweilen auch in vier Predigten verfasset ist (Leipzig: Steinman, 1577), 115.

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56.  “Durch Schafe verstehet unser Heyland solche Seelen, die in der Ordnung einer wahren Bekehrung zum Glauben an seinen Namen gekommen, durch sein Blut gerechtfertiget, und durch seinen Geist geheiliget worden . . . nachdem sie einmal im Blute des Lammes von den Befleckungen des Gewissens abgewaschen, und mit reinem Wasser besprenget sind.” Johann Jacob Rambach, Betrachtungen über auserlesene Heÿlsame Worte Des HErrn JEsu (Jena: Johann Bernhard Hartung, 1733), 105. 57.  “Nun werden zwar dem Menschen in der heiligen Taufe diese angebohrne Unarten der verderbten Natur aus Gnaden vergeben. Er wird abgewaschen in dem Blute des reinen und unbefleckten Lämmleins GOttes, und mit demselben, als ein Schaf seiner Herde, bezeichnet. . . . Die erwünschte Aufnahme unter die Zahl der Schafe JEsu Christi erfolget, da man mit dem Blut des Lammes aufs neue bezeichnet, der Vergebung aller seiner vorigen Abweichungen versichert, mit dem Geiste der Gnaden versiegelt.” Rambach, Betrachtungen, 108–9. 58.  “Also kennet Christus die seinen / der feste grund Gottes bestehet / und hat diesen Siegel / Gott kennet die seinen / 2. Tim. 2. . . . Also nennet Christus Petrum mit seinem rechten namen. Der seinen namen sind in das Buch der lebendigen mit der schönen Prefilgen oder Rubricken des thewren Blutes Christi angeschrieben / So gar fasset er uns in seinen befehl / Er vergisset unser nicht / Wir sind in Gottes memorial und gedenckzettel geschrieben / Malach. 3. Er zeichnet uns auch / das wir nicht umbkommen / Ezech. 9. Und der Herr Christus saget / Joh. [10] Ich bin ein guter Hirt / und erkenne die meinen / und bin bekandt den meinen. Er ruffet uns mit namen.” Christoff Vischer, Harmonia Evangelistarum, das ist die gantze Evangelische Historien (Vissen: Michael Kröner, 1575), II/338b. 59. “Im 22 Psalm, vers. 7, sagt der HErr JEsus: Ich bin ein Wurm und kein Mensch. . . . Mein HERR JEsu, du bist das unschuldige Blut=Würmlein, du giebest die gute rothe Dinten, . . . daß unsere Namen ins Buch des Lebens, und im Himmel angeschrieben werden. Gleichwie der fürnehmsten Heiligen Namen mit rother Dinten im Calender angezeichnet werden; also werden unsere Namen mit deinem Blut ins Buch des Lebens, und in das Register der auserwehlten Kinder GOttes gesetzet. Davon sprichst du, Luc. 10, v. 20: Freuet euch, daß eure Namen im Himmel angeschrieben sind.” Valerius Herberger, De Jesu Scripturæ nucleo & medulla, Magnalia Dei. Das ist: Die grossen Thaten Gottes, von Jesu, Der gantzen Schrifft Kern und Stern, Nebst beygefügtem Psalter=Paradise (Leipzig: Johann Friedrich Gleditsch Sohn, 1728), 34. Originally printed in 1601, it was reprinted many times, including the 1728 Leipzig printing cited here. 60.  “[Er] hat an seiner Seiten einen Schreibzeug / darinnen ist verfasset die Rubric seines Rosinfarben Blutes / welches auß seiner Seiten geflossen / Iohann 19.v.34. damit bezeichnet Er alle seine Glaubige / Es. 49. v.16. Er schreibt ihre Namen in den Himmel / Luc.10.v.20. in das Buch des Lebens / Phil.4.v.3. daß sie vor Gott stets seyn / als ein Denckzettul / Malach. 3. v. 16. und von dem höllischen Würg Engel nicht sollen angerühret werden / wie solches an den Israeliten dargethan worden / da der Würg=Engel alle Erstegeburt in Ægypten geschlagen / muste der doch fürübergehen / wo die Häuser mit dem Blut deß Lambs besprenget waren / Ex. 12. v. 23. darumb wir billich ob dem Tod nicht erschrecken / sondern uns allein an diesen Mann halten / ihme unsere Seele befehlen / und bitten / daß / wie er uns einmal mit seinem Blut



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bezeichnet / also er uns in seiner Hand fest halten wolle / damit uns niemand auß seiner Hand reisse / Ioh. 10.v. 28.” Georg Albrecht, Meletē thanatu / Das ist / Seelige Sterb=Kunst (Nürnberg: Wolffgang Endter, 1649), 199–200.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adloff, Kristlieb. “Die Sprache des Blutes Jesu in den Paulinischen Briefen und im Hebräerbrief.” In Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs. Edited by Albert A. Clement, 3–13. Amsterdam: Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1995. Albrecht, Georg. Meletē thanatu / Das ist / Seelige Sterb=Kunst. Nürnberg: Wolffgang Endter, 1649. Calov, Abraham, ed., Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82. Cox, Howard H., ed. The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985. David, Hans T., Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds. The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents. Revised edition. New York: W. W. Norton, 1998. Dürr, Alfred, and Max Schneider, eds. Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie II, Band 5: Matthäus-Passion, Fassung 1736. Kritischer Bericht. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1974. Franklin, Don O. “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion.” In Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver. Edited by Daniel Zager, 121–39. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 2007. ———. “‘Recht Glauben, Christlig Leben, Seelig Sterben’: Johann Olearius and the Libretto of Cantata 67.” Bach 46 (2015): 2–28. Herberger, Valerius. De Jesu Scripturæ nucleo & medulla, Magnalia Dei. Das ist: Die grossen Thaten Gottes, von Jesu, Der gantzen Schrifft Kern und Stern, Nebst beygefügtem Psalter=Paradise. Leipzig: Johann Friedrich Gleditsch Sohn, 1728. Leaver, Robin A. J. S. Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary. St. Louis: Concordia, 1985. ———. “Agnus Dei Compositions of J. S. Bach: Some Liturgical and Theological Perspectives.” In Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs. Edited by Albert A. Clement, 233–49. Amsterdam: Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1995. Luther, Martin. D. Martin Luthers sowol in Deutscher als Lateinischer Sprache verfertigte und aus der letztern in die erstere übersetzte Sämtliche Schriften. Sechster Theil, welcher die Auslegungen derer grossen und kleinen Propheten enthält. Edited by Johann Georg Walch. Halle: Johann Justinus Gebauer, 1741. ———. Luther’s Works, vol. 12. Selected Psalms I. Translated and edited by Jaroslav Pelikan. St. Louis: Concordia, 1955. Marissen, Michael. Bach’s Oratorios: The Parallel German-English Texts with Annotations. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.

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Olearius, Johann. Geistliches Hand=Buch. . . . Halle: Christoph Myly, 1668. ———. Biblische Erklärung: Darinnen, nechst dem allgemeinen Haupt-Schlüssel der gantzen heiligen Schrifft. 5 vols. Leipzig: Johann Christoph Tarnoven, 1678­–1671. Petzoldt, Martin. Bach-Kommentar: Theologisch-Musikwissenschaftliche Kommentierung der Geistlichen Vokalwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs. 2 vols. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2004, 2007. Rambach, Johann Jacob. Betrachtungen über auserlense Heÿlsame Worte Des HErrn JEsu. Jena: Johann Bernhard Hartung, 1733. Sandhagen, Caspar Herrmann, ed. Lüneburgisches Gesangbuch: Darinnen 2100. so wol alte als neue Geistreiche Lieder . . . und mit Kupffern gezieret: . . . Lüneburg: Johann Stern, 1702. Vischer, Christoff. Außlegung der Euangelien so man auff die Sontage in der Christlichen Kirchen zu handeln pfleget Von Ostern biss auffs Advent : Darinn ein jedes Euangelium in drey bißweilen auch in vier Predigten verfasset ist (Leipzig: Steinman, 1577), 115. ———. Harmonia Evangelistarum, das ist die gantze Evangelische Historien. Vissen: Michael Kröner, 1575. von Greiffenberg, Catharina Regina. Des Allerheiligst= und Allerheilsamsten Leidens und Sterbens Jesu Christi/ Zwölf andächtige Betrachtungen. . . . Nürnberg: Johann Hofmann, 1683. Werthemann, Helene. “Jesus Christus, vorgestellt zu einem Gnadenstuhl durch den Glauben in seinem Blut.” In Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs. Edited by Albert A. Clement, 63–78. Amsterdam: Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1995. Wolff, Christoph. Bach: Essays on His Life and Music. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991. ———. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician. New York: W. W. Norton, 2000.

Chapter Five

The Theological in Bach Research (2007) Martin Petzoldt

BACH RESEARCH TODAY Fourteen days ago in Leipzig, on the occasion of the Leipzig Bachfest (June 7–17, 2007), the NBA, the “Neue Bach-Ausgabe,” came to a celebratory conclusion. Anyone who wishes to know what “Bach research today” is and what constitutes its representative achievements may initially be referred to several numbers which were communicated there. Appearing in the NBA are: • • • • • •

103 volumes of scores (Notenbände) 101 volumes of critical reports (Kritische Berichte) 5 volumes of addenda 1 supplemental volume 1 index volume 8 volumes of documents

But numbers alone say too little. On the basis of any one selected Notenband with its corresponding Kritische Bericht, one can trace how this edition was conceived and carried out. Yet this is also not our only task. It has now been made evident that the publication of the NBA, which was begun in the year 1954 with the edition of the first cantata volume (edited by Alfred Dürr and Werner Neumann), was completed in just a little more than fifty years. The timeline is similar, in fact, to that of its great predecessor, the BGA (“BachGesamt-Ausgabe,” vols. 1–46, 1851–1900). Furthermore, the circumstances of the time during which the publication of the NBA was executed are in no way insignificant: for almost forty years, the two institutions which were bound to complete the work of the edition were separated through the division of Germany into East and West, and they still 103

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continued to collaborate! The Johann-Sebastian-Bach-Institut in Göttingen (beginning in 1950) and the Bach-Archiv in Leipzig (beginning in 1953) dedicated themselves to this task. And yet it is also impossible to fully comprehend what this situation entailed, and what these institutions accomplished, if one fails to consider the common scope of such a massive undertaking: such decades-long undertakings may naturally suffer an unforeseen minimization or curtailment even without such extreme political circumstances. One thing is clear: that only by way of determined scholarly efforts and an accompanying self-denial of any attempt at possible interpretation within the edition, and subsequently its publication, could the project continue to be shared between East and West. This likewise required a reflection upon this particular historical understanding of research (that is, interpretation), which had been held to be valid in the past. For the denial of all attempts at interpretation was guaranteed by the ever more challenging political situation for the duration of the collaboration. One finds that the case was the same with the publication the Bach-Jahrbuch, edited under the direction of the Neue Bachgesellschaft and, like the NBA, through an equally shared work of editorship between East and West. But reflection upon Bach research cannot remain focused only on functional and politically drastic circumstances. Who were the leading personalities who accomplished these activities, who offered their academic and “diplomatic” competence, and—as has come to be known over and over again—developed an exemplary methodology which at the same time established the guidelines for other editions to this day? METHODS OF BACH RESEARCH AND THE CHRONOLOGY OF BACH’S WORKS Exactly two hundred years after Bach’s death, one hundred years after the beginning of the old BGA, and fifty years after its completion—in the midst of the earliest experiences of World War II and the postwar time—the then thirty-two-year-old Alfred Dürr appeared on the scene with a dissertation entitled “Studien über die frühen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs.”1 This comprehensive study destined Dürr to join directly in the work of the newly established Johann-Sebastian-Bach-Institut in Göttingen, where he found himself surrounded by like-minded colleagues.2 Since a critical review of Bach’s autograph scores had surprisingly not been undertaken in the years between the two world wars, Dürr dedicated himself to a detailed and systematic photographic collection of all available sources in order to provide a “geeignete Basis für ausgedehnte Arbeiten” (suitable basis



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for extensive work) for the examination and comparison of these sources. Unfortunately, the source materials were now “unter Einschränkung durch verschiedene Kriegsverluste” (under restriction through various losses of war).3 Out of this work, Dürr successively developed a methodology which took into consideration all the discoveries of modern research into paper (paper types, watermarks), of new discoveries about handwriting (the various forms of Bach’s own handwriting, the writing styles and forms of handwriting of his copyists, the timeframes of the copyists’ activities, differences among copyists), and for critical comparison among sources, particularly Bach’s autograph scores. Dürr catalogued the available performance materials (parts, wrappers, texts and text booklets, understandings of performance contexts, etc.) in relation to each other and thus produced a chronology of the composition and performance of Bach’s extant church cantatas and secular vocal works during his Leipzig years (1723–1750). The aim of his endeavors was not only to scrutinize the established dates for Bach’s works on an individual basis, but also to outline a chronological order which reflected these newly discovered understandings. For these works still stood under the ever-repeated chronology published in Philipp Spitta’s monumental Bach biography of 1873/1880,4 although in the meantime the fundamental arguments for these chronological determinations had become out of date or disappeared. Dürr was therefore among those who were, and continued to be, convinced of the achievement of Spitta’s Bach biography, while recognizing that a critical relationship with it may not agree entirely with all its interpretations. In 1957, Alfred Dürr published in Bach-Jahrbuch a revolutionary contribution to this journal, whose guarded title, “Zur Chronologie der Leipziger Vokalwerke J. S. Bachs,” really only hinted at what the article actually was: for it was concerned with nothing less than a complete rearrangement and redefinition of the previous conception of the chronology of Bach’s Leipzig vocal works, established with the help of the new methodological possibilities discussed above. This has been called a “landslide” in Bach research, a discovery that turned the field on its head. While Spitta believed that Bach’s production of sacred cantatas was continuous throughout his twenty-seven years in Leipzig, Dürr established without a doubt that Bach composed nearly all of his sacred cantatas for the Sundays and feast days of the church year immediately within his first three to five years there. This singular discovery led directly to a number of distinctive conclusions. It is true that such conclusions did not come from the editors of the NBA, but rather spread into a truly immense biographical discussion and unleashed, as was soon evident in a divided Germany, ideological camps around Johann Sebastian Bach. While the editors of the NBA continued their rigorous work on

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the edition on the basis of the sources and continued to restrict themselves to descriptive reports on their collected observations—accompanied by the previously mentioned denial of all interpretation (not to allow themselves, as they saw it, to be distracted by other interests that stood along the path)—events ensued, along with very pointed deliberations, that could not be held back. IDEOLOGICAL CAMPS AROUND BACH, SILENCE FROM THEOLOGY AND THE CHURCH Already in 1950, upon the occasion of the Musikwissenschaftlichen Bachtagung of the Gesellschaft für Musikforschung, in connection with the Deutschen Bach-Feier in Leipzig for the two-hundredth anniversary of Bach’s death, did the president of the Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR), Wilhelm Pieck, set forth a thesis which was prepared for him by Ernst Hermann Meyer, the leading musicologist and chairman of the composers’ union of the DDR: Johann Sebastian Bach and his work must be inserted into the history of German progress, which in relation to the time of Bach’s life only appeared to be characterized by the “Enlightenment.” That the appropriation of this characterization of the German Enlightenment of Bach’s time could be unsuitable was deliberately overlooked, and a connection between it and the French, Dutch, and English philosophical Enlightenment was audaciously presented as a self-evident truth. Needless to say, for a long time no one would venture to state officially that the brash appropriation, by which the DDR into its late years readily utilized Immanuel Kant’s 1784 essay “Was ist Aufklärung?” (made more widely known through their own publications5) in relation to Bach, was clearly anachronistic. The characterization of Bach as an Encyclopedist or his potential for presenting lectures on the writings or teaching methods of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz was the price that had to be paid in exchange for one key element: that the jurisdiction of interpretation and the claim upon these unique artistic works would not fall into any other hands than those of the ruling national party and their ideologies. What is striking about this philosophical horizon in light of reception history is the fact that the Enlightenment ideal, so far as it was brought to philosophical utilization in the DDR, was in opposition to the philosophical self-conception of the Marxism of its time and, therefore, had to be stripped of almost all its content in order to be presented only as a “code for all human positivity, musical superiority, and a path to the future.”6 It is also significant that the choice of this conception of the Baroque as an aesthetic category—and one that would later come to be discredited as a bourgeois



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aesthetic—stood in opposition to the roots of this philosophy as Karl Marx had written about them. At the beginning of the 1960s, a “gift” fell into the lap of this then only latent endeavor in spectacular fashion: the famous musicologist and author of the multi-volume history of church music, Friedrich Blume, presented a lecture at the Bachfest of the Internationale Bachgesellschaft Schaffhausen (Mainz, 1962) on the theme “Umrisse eines neuen Bach-Bildes” (Outlines of a New Picture of Bach).7 Blume’s sensational conclusions—in which he massively and unilaterally interpreted Dürr’s new understanding of the chronology of Bach’s works—read as follows: “Did Bach have a special liking for church work? Was it a spiritual necessity for him? Hardly. There is at any rate no evidence that it was. Bach the supreme cantor, the creative servant of the Word of God, the staunch Lutheran, is a legend. It will have to be buried along with all the other traditional and beloved romantic illusions.”8 No one to this day would wish to, or could, dispute the scholarly credentials of the author or the scholarly underpinnings of his thesis (grounded, as they were, in Dürr’s new chronology of Bach’s Leipzig vocal works). But that such a thesis, lying all too near to ideological abuse, would not have been argued like this before the time of the East-West divide would be more difficult to contest. For Blume also knew that in Bach’s time, and for Bach himself, there were no categories to distinguish between the dichotomies of spiritual and worldly, sacred and secular, Christian and atheist. But Blume’s thesis was precisely misused and endorsed in such a way in subsequent years, up until the Bach year 1985, that it allowed scholars in East Germany to formulate the theory of the connection between Bach and the Enlightenment. Blume’s interpretation of the new chronology as critical of Christianity and the church spread also to the consideration of earlier Christian interpretations of Bach, which supplied the anti-church and anti-Christian polemic of the DDR ideology with even more material. Such interpretations owed their existence to the aesthetic of genius of the nineteenth century and a hagiographic estimation of Bach and his works (which were allowed to stand as scientific judgments). To these belonged the representations of Bach as “church musician,” as “arch-cantor”—as he was presented in the biographies of C. H. Bitter and Philipp Spitta—and, even more so, the veneration of Bach as the “fifth Evangelist,” which owed its existence to the popular variation of a remark by Nathan Söderblom. Söderblom had, in his Gustav-Adolf address of November 6, 1920, in the Uppsala Cathedral, formulated a “debt of thanks for the intellectual treasures of the German nation,” and had thereby spoken among other things about “the Passion music of Johann Sebastian Bach, and of others who I would call a fifth Evangelist, as a revelation of the mysteries of God and of the Passion.”9

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Alfred Dürr could have made similar arguments on the basis of his voluminous scholarship, yet it is significant that he did not do so. At no point in his scholarly work would he thrust such an opinion upon the reader. And that was a good thing, for although on the one hand he knew—through his regular contact with colleagues from East Germany through their shared editorship of the NBA—about the rise of the ideological misappropriation of Bach based on the thesis of Bach’s identification with the (atheist) Enlightenment, on the other hand he likewise was not persuaded by the lamentably still prevailing deficiency caused by the theological refurbishing of Bach’s works. And thus appears even more relevant the activity of a scholarly organization through which Dürr, in West Berlin in 1976 (exactly at the same point in time that the theme “Bach and the Enlightenment” was being made the subject of official cultural policy in the DDR with a view toward preparations for the Bach year 1985), became one of the co-founders of the Internationalen Arbeitsgemeinschaft für theologische Bachforschung (International Working Group for Theological Bach Research).10 The “mission” the Arbeitsgemeinschaft took upon itself was to conduct “research into the theological backgrounds of Johann Sebastian Bach’s works, such as they existed within the context of the ecclesiastical and devotional history of his time and place.”11 (The fact that Dürr unfortunately came to leave the Arbeitsgemeinschaft under protest just one year later had to do with forces within the working group, becoming increasingly more prominent, that sought to undertake this theological Bach research upon methodologically uncertain foundations, and against which the integrity of his understanding of scholarship stood diametrically opposed.) Such interests in the church and in theology had been restricted for nearly a century, as it was musicians, musicologists, and publishers who dedicated themselves to bringing Bach’s works to publication and performance, not the church or theologians. Günther Stiller, however, was one exception to this rule. In 1966, Stiller defended his doctoral thesis before the Leipzig theological faculty on Johann Sebastian Bach from the perspective of church history and practical theology: “Johann Sebastian Bach und das Leipziger gottesdienstliche Leben seiner Zeit.”12 Stiller’s work served in the subsequent period of theological and ecclesiastical Bach research as a welcome source for information regarding the church service and the church year in Bach’s Leipzig. The claim implicitly formulated in this work, that Bach’s sacred compositions should be re-evaluated in light of these church contexts, was not made explicit at the time. Stiller strove to complete further research which promised to examine Bach’s cantatas in liturgical perspective, but it unfortunately was not completed. It was only the preparations for the Bach year 1985 that led to the church’s greater engagement with Bach’s works in the DDR. A specially established



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“Ecclesiastical Committee for Johann Sebastian Bach 1985” prepared a church-based Bach festival, published a collection of essays entitled Bach als Ausleger der Bibel,13 and created exhibitions for the Bach year. The ideological camp that would side with a Marxist Bach research was tacitly led in another direction: and by the time of the preparations for Bach year 1985, the maxim of the connection between Bach and the Enlightenment was set aside. ON THE PHENOMENON OF THE THEOLOGICAL IN BACH RESEARCH The two sides of this debate—the one that sought to present Bach as representative of the Enlightenment and the other that sought to spiritualize him as “arch-cantor”—in fact shared a single characteristic: they both shifted to the center of their engagement with Bach’s person and work a distortion resulting from the ideological abuse of history. But whereas both sides declared they were presenting an understanding of Johann Sebastian Bach’s works and their meaning overwhelmingly founded on his compositions themselves, at the same time both underplayed the meanings of the sacred texts Bach set. As a matter of fact, these appeared through an intense ideological effort around Bach’s works in the forty years of the DDR—as residue of ideas already existing in other ways under National Socialism—even as it ignored the fact that a balance between the consideration of text and of music could hardly be avoided by listeners. The idea of “balance” was coined by Ludwig Finscher, who had spoken, concerning Bach, about a “‘balance’ of musical form with text.”14 Such “balance” requires not just gathering information, but even more so the interpretation of the connections between the musical-aesthetic sphere of theology and text content. Both go together in Bach’s sacred works and reveal that he was not just a composer who brought together high-quality music with a particular text. Much more, it is revealed to the listener and observer that Bach’s musical realizations of his texts are his attempts to engage in the specific method of contemporary critical biblical interpretation that Bach knew, and best mastered, as it were, by reconstructing it musically. By this is not just meant a musical handling of text that served the means of contemporary musical rhetoric and thereby strove to reproduce a particular textual affect with identifiable musical codes (though Bach mastered this also!), but, even more so, that Bach likewise exegetically interpreted the text with musical means. But what does such interpretation look like? The texts Bach chose to set, together with his decisions about text structure and musical realization, give information about which theological

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qualities he valued and how he sought to capture and express such qualities musically. By this we can see that he apparently developed a theoretical conception of texts and their distinct functions in relation to music which he maintained in each situation. Texts—especially sacred texts—were truly employed by Bach in their function as bearers of meaning, as they had developed in contemporary Lutheran theology, and he always sought to set them in their theologically defined sense. That his musical themes and their development owed their creation in extremely high measure to textual invention consequently finds its expression in the handling of the text through a proper manner of musical representation.15 At the same time, Bach allows the music, in its unfolding of compositional wealth, to resist the inherent tendency of text to want to hold definitive, often circumscribed, meaning. The music, as an interpretive script, should suggest spiritually-associated thoughts to the hearers in its own sense and should open up and broaden the available realm of meaning. Bach was able to achieve more theologically through this musical practice than was achieved in the interpretive biblical commentaries of the time, which were constantly concerned about possible charges of heresy related to over-interpretation or to lack of interpretation. Not that Bach consciously wished to be heretical, but rather that he was compelled with his practice of music as given by God to push toward a fullness of understanding. As a result, this form of dialogical music-making was extraordinarily typical for Bach: whether it occurred through the realization of a given text, or through the incorporation of an untexted chorale melody (which for its part “sings along” to imply a particular text and a particular perspective), or through yet other means, it demonstrates the attempt to open up a variety of such interpretive effects. There follow brief descriptions of eight of the most important kinds of approaches to Bach’s sacred vocal works—in the realms of both text and the connections between text and music—that have received distinct emphasis or have opened up interpretive realms in relation to the theological in Bach research. First, we may see the “textual play”16 of Bach’s method of treating texts or of varying the language thereof as documenting Bach’s intention, through musical compositions, with relation to his treatment of the existing text itself. Bach effects this, for example, by altering the order of movements within a text, but also by changing the order of words within a movement. Furthermore, Bach likewise achieves new emphases and valuations through the syntactic interpretation of movements, through which his composition provides an explanation of the Bible in a particular way. That Bach must have understood his musical execution of text in this way is evidenced through the well-known marginal note which he wrote in relation to II Chronicles 5:13



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in his Calov Bibel: “NB. Bey einer andächtig Musique ist allezeit Gott mit seiner Gnaden Gegenwart” (Where there is devout music God with his grace is always present).17 Second, the adoption in the cantata texts of particularly conceived word combinations (such as “Kreuzstab,” “Sündern-Wassersucht,” “Sellenkur,” etc.) is also noteworthy, since these singularly characteristic terms come from Johann Olearius’s Biblische Erlklärung, a biblical commentary which Bach himself owned.18 These wordings demonstrate a high regard for this particular kind of biblical interpretation and point to Bach’s endeavors to engage them musically through particular compositional approaches. (See, for example, BWV 179/3, BWV 25/1 and 3, and BWV 56/1.) This observation sets clearly before us the reality that Bach’s sacred texts—whoever it was that authored them—arose on the basis of this extensive commentary on the whole Bible. Through careful investigation of the texts Bach set, one can discover an obvious proximity to Olearius’s particular approach to biblical interpretation. Third, the attentive observer will detect that Olearius’s Biblische Erklärung contains widespread references to the German portion of the Wittenberg Luther edition, especially from the third volume, which includes the interpretation of the Psalms (Wittenberg, 1550). This observation brings to mind the fact that Bach himself owned the eight-volume Jena Luther edition (1555–1558) and the ten-volume Alternburg Luther edition (ten parts in seven volumes: 1661–1664), and just the third volume of the Wittenberg edition. Fourth, evident throughout the texts Bach set to music that are known to have been edited and reworked by him (that is, published texts which appear in Bach’s compositions in edited and altered form,19 or chorale cantata texts in variance from the original hymn on which they are based) are efforts to return the texts to their biblical roots, while meanwhile clearly altering them in order to liberate them from merely devotional usage. Fifth, a strong interest in major theological doctrines is also evident, doctrines which even yet today can be seen as the most significant ones in Christian theology: the Trinity, Christology, the Bible as God’s Word, Ecclesiology, Sin, the Sacraments (and particularly the Eucharist), the intersections of an understanding of Creation with an understanding of Christology, the “Dialogue between Jesus and the Believing Soul” as a dominant form of the account of the origin and structure of faith, the preference in doxological texts for eschatological formulations rather than ethical ones, and the confronting of a realistic conception of death and the contrast of the fear of death with the consolation of a blessed death. Sixth, biblical imagery was used with the goal of aiding the listener in identifying with the biblical content, for example, through the detailed metaphorical and existential interpretation of biblical references and stories. Such

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interpretations are revealed especially in the richly detailed musical treatment of the so often underrated recitatives. Seventh, contemporary themes which were at the time seen to be challenging theologically were occasionally addressed in cantata texts: for example, the relationship between Christianity and rationalism (see BWV 2 and 178) or the debate between Orthodoxy and Pietism within Lutheranism (see BWV 178). Finally, the choice of hymn stanzas for the final chorales essentially fulfills a catechetical function, and should not be seen—as is so often stated—simply as answering the need to represent the congregation by means of a congregational hymn stanza.20 The choice of hymn stanza, rather, takes into account the suitability—both in the musical and in the theological sense (in relation to the Gospel reading)—of such a choice, both in the hymns used as the basis of the chorale cantatas and in the consideration of the catechetical appropriateness of closing chorale stanzas (see, for example, BWV 138/7). With our question about the phenomenon of the theological in Bach research, we unexpectedly come upon a reflection on the nature of musical accomplishments, as well as upon inquiry into Bach’s compositional intentions and procedures. It is clear that this method did not need to be newly created, but that it was evident in the distinctive method of biblical interpretation in Bach’s time and that the reception of this task of biblical interpretation led to the results of a musical-theological working method, and further led to a longterm influence (even amidst increasingly secular conditions). This notable long-term influence was manifestly needed in a critical time for Christianity and the church—when many contradictory ideologies were brought to bear on the content of Bach’s works—in order to be able to grasp Bach’s compositions completely and even interpret them. THE PARTICULAR THEOLOGICAL CONTRIBUTIONS OF ALFRED DÜRR Alfred Dürr was aware that he could not rely solely on critical description when he set himself to the study of an autograph score, an early copy, or performing materials for Bach’s works with the goal of producing an exemplary edition for the NBA. He rather realized that he was, by way of such study, opening up the possibility of a wide scope of meaning. Dürr, therefore, through his work of editorship, often reached conclusions as a result of closely studying, side by side, textual content and Bach’s musical realization thereof. The reading of Dürr’s The Cantatas of J. S. Bach reveals frequent instances in which a musical theme or a particular passage of an aria or a recitative is generated by the particular text being set.21



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Dürr held fast to the conviction that Bach, more than any of his contemporaries, never failed to achieve an elevated meaning through his inventiveness in bringing the musical setting of an existing text to expression. This does not necessarily address the poetic qualities of the text being set, but in particular their biblical content. Dürr pointed out the consistent dependence of the texts Bach set on the biblical passages assigned for the day. How accurate Dürr was with his observations, often made only through an initial cursory impression, has in many cases been verified through the careful examination over the past thirty years of the texts whose models we know and which Bach set to music in their theologically and biblically corrected versions. Dürr understood that such research could not depend solely on the study of cantata texts, of which there are countless examples from Bach’s time. In the foreword to the first edition of The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, Dürr wrote: Owing to its specific relevance to its own time, the Bach cantata is, of course, more tied to its period than the “timeless” instrumental works. Yet the author takes the view that Bach’s cantatas lay claim to our attention as a testimony to supreme art, Christian faith and Western cultural history, and therefore demand that we come to terms with them. This involves not only a sensitive response to their cultural context but also conscientious grappling with the question of their relevance for our time. Whoever follows the music of today with sympathy will surely be unable to deny the same sympathy to Bach’s endeavor to give topical immediacy to the church music of his time. It is this attitude that the present commentaries try to instill.22

Dürr felt it was his duty to honor these dual claims of original cultural context and contemporary relevance, just as much as it was to gather all possible historical discoveries about a work. For Dürr, such discoveries included an understanding of the original theological and liturgical contexts of a work. This led Dürr, therefore, to incorporate the renewed study of the Epistle and Gospel readings for each Sunday and feast day in the church year as a source of information. He, therefore, sought to identify references to relevant theological themes in a cantata, as well as connections between the Gospel reading and the cantata text, particularly as it was interpreted through Bach’s own musical setting. This, in fact, led Dürr to pursue each particular hermeneutical endeavor in interpreting the content of a cantata for today’s listeners, and further led him to prioritize the discussion of theological and hermeneutical understandings of texts in Bach’s time. This is remarkable for a musicologist such as Dürr, who was so concerned with establishing an accurate historical account through source study and the examination of historical data. It is noteworthy, therefore, that Dürr concerned himself so much with commentary on the relationship between text and music in Bach’s works.

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For Dürr, this interpretive work also included clarifying musical characteristics and forms and describing their theological application. This involved the processing of many details which appear only in the autograph materials. One aspect of this is the distinctiveness of particular instruments, which can epitomize certain referential characteristics—regarding, for example, Bach’s choice of brass instruments or the realization of the basso continuo. Another example is the employment of particular movement types—Bach’s choice, for example, to set the first movement of a cantata in a French Overture style. Note the contrast between the most absolutely elevated ceremonial music for the entry of the king and his entourage and the coming of the “lowly” king Jesus in the Weimar cantatas for the First Sunday of Advent, Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (BWV 61), and Palm Sunday, Himmelskönig, sei Willkommen (BWV 182). Bach likewise composed movements in French Overture style in order to mark the inaugural character of the cantatas that begin each of his first two Leipzig Jahrgänge (BWV 75/1 and 20/1). To this group also belongs the opening movement of Höchsterwünschtes Freudenfest (BWV 194), which Bach composed for the dedication of the Störmthal church and organ, to a libretto based on the account of, and the prayer by King Solomon at, the dedication of the Jerusalem temple (II Chronicles 5–7). But Dürr also explains further encoded messages in Bach’s works, such as allegorical (though Dürr does not use this word) messages that one can only begin to speak about if they know the key to their underlying meaning, and yet are no less important than those that are more clearly heard. In closing, Alfred Dürr, in his much used book on Bach’s cantatas, posed the challenge of the theological in Bach research. He did this in his own individual way, in that he prioritized the challenge of how today’s listeners perceive Bach’s sacred works. Dürr not only provides in many places connections between the biblical texts and the effects that are engendered through their musical realization, but he also constantly endeavors to open up for the contemporary listener aspects of the Christian faith that are revealed in Bach’s works.23 In this sense, particular thanks goes to Alfred Dürr for helping to bring theological Bach research to its present state, even at a time when theology and the church were for far too long silent on this topic. English translation by Mark A. Peters Editors’ note: Martin Petzoldt’s “The Theological in Bach Research” crystallizes an approach to Bach’s vocal music based on increased research into historical theology and its relation to Bach’s compositions. It summarizes a philosophy of such an approach, as presented by one of the leading scholars engaging Bach’s vocal music within theological contexts. Petzoldt originally



The Theological in Bach Research (2007) 115

presented this chapter (in its German original, “Das Theologische der Bachforschung”) on June 26, 2007, in honor of Alfred Dürr upon the occasion of Dürr’s reception of an honorary doctorate in theology from the HumboldtUniversität zu Berlin.24 The chapter concludes with a perspective on Dürr’s own contributions to the study of theology in relation to Bach research. This chapter is offered in honor of Don O. Franklin, as Prof. Petzoldt intended in submitting it for this volume. It likewise honors Alfred Dürr, in keeping with Prof. Petzoldt’s original presentation of the text. Finally, it is offered in honor of Martin Petzoldt himself, who died on March 13, 2015, while the book was still in its planning stages. We are grateful to his wife, Frau Renate Petzoldt, for permission to publish this chapter. MP & RS NOTES 1. Alfred Dürr, “Studien über die frühen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs” (Ph.D. diss., Georg-August-Universität Göttingen, 1950; published Göttingen: Rudolf Gerber, 1950, then as Bach-Studien 4, Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1951). 2.  And in speaking of Dürr, one should not fail to remember the recently deceased Georg von Dadelsen (1918–2007), who served as director of the Johann-SebastianBach-Institut in Göttingen from 1961 to 1993. 3.  Alfred Dürr, “Zur Chronologie der Leipziger Vokalwerke J. S. Bachs,” BachJahrbuch 44 (1957): 7–8. 4.  Philipp Spitta, Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany 1685–1750, 3 vols., trans. Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland (London: Novello, 1885–1889). 5.  Walther Siegmund Schultze, ed., Johann Sebastian Bach und Georg Friedrich Händel—zwei führende musikalische Repräsentanten der Aufklärungsepoche. Bericht über das wissenschaftliche Kolloquium der 24. Händelfestspiele der DDR. Halle (Saale)—9./10. Juni 1975 (Halle: Georg-Friedrich-Händel-Gesellschaft, 1976); and Reinhard Szeskus, ed., Johann Sebastian Bach und die Aufklärung, Bach-Studien 7 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1982). See Meinrad Walter, “J. S. Bach und die Aufklärung? Kritische Bemerkungen zum Bachverständnis der DDR-Musikwissenschaft,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 42 (1985): 229–40. 6.  Walter, “J. S. Bach und die Aufklärung?,” 231. 7. Published under the same title in Musica 16 (1962): 169–76. Published in English as “Outlines of a New Picture of Bach,” trans. Stanley Godman, Music & Letters 44 (1963): 214–27. 8.  Blume, “Outlines of a New Picture of Bach,” trans. Godman, 218. 9.  Nathan Söderblom, “Gustav-Adolf-Rede in der Domkirche zu Uppsala vom 6. November 1920,” Die Eiche: Vierteljahrsschrift für soziale und internationale Arbeitsgemeinschaft 9 (1920): 15–20. 10.  Even the naming of this group goes back to a suggestion by Dürr. See Renate Steiger, ed., Theologische Bachforschung heute: Dokumentation und Bibliographie

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der Internationalen Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Theologische Bachforschung, 1976– 1996 (Glienicke: Galda & Leuchter, 1998), 13. 11. Steiger, Theologische Bachforschung heute, 3. 12.  Günther Stiller, Johann Sebastian Bach und das Leipziger gottesdienstliche Leben seiner Zeit (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1970). Later published in English as Johann Sebastian Bach and Liturgical Life in Leipzig, ed. Robin A. Leaver, trans. Herbert J. A. Bouman, Daniel F. Poellot, and Hilton C. Oswald (St. Louis: Concordia, 1984). 13.  Martin Petzoldt, ed., Bach als Ausleger der Bibel: theologische und musikwissenschaftliche Studien zum Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1985). 14. See Alfred Dürr, Im Mittelpunkt Bach: ausgewählte Aufsätze und Vorträge (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1988), 258. 15.  Here also lies the grounds for rejecting the alteration, or modernization, of the texts of Bach’s vocal music. Alfred Dürr speaks of “text-begotten music” in Bach’s sacred vocal works in The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text, rev. and trans. Richard D. P. Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). See also Ulrich Meyer, “Zur Einheit gebrachtes Leben: Theologische Aspekte im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs,” Lutherische Monatshefte 24 (1985): 253–55. 16.  See Konrad Küster, ed., Bach-Handbuch (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1999), 369, in reference to BWV 100/4. 17. Abraham Calov, ed., Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . (Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82), I, col. 2088. See Robin A. Leaver, J. S. Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary (St. Louis: Concordia, 1985); and Howard H. Cox, ed., The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985). See also, Martin Petzoldt and Joachim Petri, Johann Sebastian Bach, Ehre sei dir Gott gesungen: Bilder und Texte zu Bachs Leben als Christ und seinem Wirken für die Kirche (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 7–15. 18. Johann Olearius, Biblische Erklärung: Darinnen, nechst dem allgemeinen Haupt-Schlüssel der gantzen heiligen Schrifft, 5 vols. (Leipzig: Johann Christoph Tarnoven, 1678­–1671). For more on Olearius’s Biblische Erklärung and its significance for understanding Bach’s sacred vocal works, see Martin Petzoldt, BachKommentar: Theologisch-Musikwissenschaftliche Kommentierung der Geistlichen Vokalwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs, vols. 1 and 2 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2004, 2007); Don O. Franklin, “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion,” in Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver, ed. Daniel Zager (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007), 121–39; and Don O. Franklin, “‘Recht Glauben, Christlig Leben, Seelig Sterben’: Johann Olearius and the Libretto of Cantata 67,” Bach 46 (2015): 2–28. 19.  Editors’ note: For a different perspective on Bach’s role as text editor in the church cantatas, see Mark A. Peters, “A Reconsideration of Bach’s Role as Text Redactor in the Ziegler Cantatas,” Bach 36 (2005): 25–66. 20.  This belief appears to originate from Martin Dibelius, “Individualismus und Gemeindebewußtsein in Joh. Seb. Bachs Passionen,” Archiv für Reformationsge-



The Theological in Bach Research (2007) 117

schichte 41 (1948): 132–54. Dibelius considers that the cantata requires that the congregation participate by way of the choir in the Proper music for the given Sunday or feast day. This participation was for Luther a critical criteria of his liturgical reform: liturgy as dialogue between God and man. 21.  This volume was originally published as Alfred Dürr, Die Kantaten von Johann Sebastian Bach (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1971), and appeared in German in nine editions between 1971 and 2005. The first English edition was published in 2005 as The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, trans. Jones. 22.  English translation from Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, trans. Jones, v. 23.  That he did this on the basis of a twentieth-century understanding of faith and without the resources of biblical interpretation from Bach’s time should be seen as a credit to Dürr’s explicit determination to continue to pursue these questions. 24. See Martin Petzoldt, “Ehrenpromotion für Alfred Dürr,” Mitteilungsblatt / Neue Bachgesellschaft 60 (2007): 18–19.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Blume, Friedrich. “Umrisse eines neuen Bach-Bildes.” Musica 16 (1962): 169–76. Published in English as “Outlines of a New Picture of Bach.” Translated by Stanley Godman. Music & Letters 44 (1963): 214–27. Calov, Abraham, ed., Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82. Cox, Howard H., ed. The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985. Dibelius, Martin. “Individualismus und Gemeindebewußtsein in Joh. Seb. Bachs Passionen.” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 41 (1948): 132–54. Dürr, Alfred. “Studien über die frühen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs.” Ph.D. diss., Georg-August-Universität Göttingen, 1950; published Göttingen: Rudolf Gerber, 1950, then as Bach-Studien 4, Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1951. ———. “Zur Chronologie der Leipziger Vokalwerke J. S. Bachs.” Bach-Jahrbuch 44 (1957): 5–162. ———. Die Kantaten von Johann Sebastian Bach. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1971. Published in English as The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in GermanEnglish Parallel Text. Revised and translated by Richard D. P. Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. ———. Im Mittelpunkt Bach: ausgewählte Aufsätze und Vorträge. Kassel: Bären­ reiter, 1988. Franklin, Don O. “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion.” In Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver. Edited by Daniel Zager, 121–39. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 2007. ———. “‘Recht Glauben, Christlig Leben, Seelig Sterben’: Johann Olearius and the Libretto of Cantata 67.” Bach 46 (2015): 2–28. Küster, Konrad, ed. Bach-Handbuch. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1999.

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Leaver, Robin A. J. S. Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary. St. Louis: Concordia, 1985. Olearius, Johann. Biblische Erklärung: Darinnen, nechst dem allgemeinen HauptSchlüssel der gantzen heiligen Schrifft. 5 vols. Leipzig: Johann Christoph Tarnoven, 1678­–1671. Petzoldt, Martin, ed. Bach als Ausleger der Bibel: theologische und musikwissenschaftliche Studien zum Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs. Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1985. Petzoldt, Martin, and Joachim Petri. Johann Sebastian Bach, Ehre sei dir Gott gesungen: Bilder und Texte zu Bachs Leben als Christ und seinem Wirken für die Kirche. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988. Petzoldt, Martin. Bach-Kommentar: Theologisch-Musikwissenschaftliche Kommentierung der Geistlichen Vokalwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs. 2 vols. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2004, 2007. ———. “Ehrenpromotion für Alfred Dürr.” Mitteilungsblatt / Neue Bachgesellschaft 60 (2007): 18–19. Schultze, Walther Siegmund, ed. Johann Sebastian Bach und Georg Friedrich Händel—zwei führende musikalische Repräsentanten der Aufklärungsepoche. Bericht über das wissenschaftliche Kolloquium der 24. Händelfestspiele der DDR. Halle (Saale)—9./10. Juni 1975. Halle: Georg-Friedrich-Händel-Gesellschaft, 1976. Söderblom, Nathan. “Gustav-Adolf-Rede in der Domkirche zu Uppsala vom 6. November 1920.” Die Eiche: Vierteljahrsschrift für soziale und internationale Arbeitsgemeinschaft 9 (1920): 15–20. Spitta, Philipp. Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany 1685–1750. 3 vols. Translated by Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland. London: Novello, 1885–1889. Steiger, Renate, ed., Theologische Bachforschung heute: Dokumentation und Bibliographie der Internationalen Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Theologische Bachforschung, 1976–1996. Glienicke: Galda & Leuchter, 1998. Stiller, Günther. Johann Sebastian Bach und das Leipziger gottesdienstliche Leben seiner Zeit. Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1970. Published in English as Johann Sebastian Bach and Liturgical Life in Leipzig. Edited by Robin A. Leaver. Translated by Herbert J. A. Bouman, Daniel F. Poellot, and Hilton C. Oswald. St. Louis: Concordia, 1984. Szeskus, Reinhard, ed. Johann Sebastian Bach und die Aufklärung. Bach-Studien 7. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1982. Walter, Meinrad. “J. S. Bach und die Aufklärung? Kritische Bemerkungen zum Bachverständnis der DDR-Musikwissenschaft.” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 42 (1985): 229–40.

Part II

ANALYTICAL PERSPECTIVES

Chapter Six

Formal and Motivic Design in the Opening Chorus of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat Reginald L. Sanders

Whenever I encounter one of the many beautiful pieces composed by J. S. Bach, such as the opening chorus of the Magnificat, BWV 243a/243, I often wonder how he arrived at such a gem. How, compositionally, did he create a piece that so beautifully moves the affections of his listeners—achieving that most noble goal of Baroque composers.1 In the simplest terms, the creation of such a work requires imaginative invention of themes and motives and their skillful placement and manipulation in larger structures. In Bach’s obituary, his son Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach and student Johann Friedrich Agricola wrote that “no one ever showed so many ingenious and unusual ideas as he in elaborate pieces such as ordinarily seem dry exercises in craftsmanship.”2 Composer and theorist Johann Mattheson, a contemporary of Bach, wrote that melodic invention “depends mostly upon an innate quality of the mind and the fortuitous disposition of the cells in the brain. It also depends not a little on the time and on a good mood, if one is to invent something proper.”3 We cannot be certain of the favorable disposition of cells in Bach’s brain— though the evidence seems compelling—or that his mood was always “good” (in fact, we might hesitate to say that Bach was a man of good humor). But there is little doubt that his inventions are rich and endlessly varied. Mattheson’s comments occur within the larger context of the application of rhetorical theories to music composition. He wrote further: Many a person supposes, if he has perhaps a small supply of inventions then he is well off as a composer. This is however by no means correct, and nothing is achieved by invention alone; although it certainly comprises about half the matter: since the start must be made with invention. The work is half done which begins well. However it is also said: all is well that ends well. Disposition, elaboration, and ornamention . . . pertain here.4 121

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With regard to Bach and such approaches, we know he “was trained to have basic knowledge of the principles of classical rhetoric,”5 which may have influenced his approach to composition. He was, at any rate, enormously successful at disposing, elaborating, and ornamenting his melodic inventions in ways that fit the demands of each piece. His success is clearly evident in the opening chorus of the Magnificat, a movement founded upon affective motives and their variations situated within a clear, rational, and balanced form that may be related to rhetorical approaches little explored in the realm of music composition. The Magnificat, the first major vocal work Bach composed after assuming the position of Leipzig cantor in May 1723, “represented the fullest and most elaborate compositional effort of his then-young career.”6 This work was first heard in the Thomaskirche on July 2, 1723, during Vespers on the Feast of the Visitation of Mary,7 one of the feast days on which the Latin concerted setting of the Song of Mary was required.8 With respect to Mattheson’s comment that invention “also depends not a little on the time,” Bach had roughly five weeks to compose this work, but during that time he also had to prepare cantatas for regular Sunday performance. Some of the cantatas he performed were existing works from the pre-Leipzig period, which saved him some time.9 The text, from Luke 1:46–55, was exclaimed by the pregnant Virgin while visiting her older cousin Elizabeth, who was already pregnant with John the Baptist. When Mary greeted her cousin, Elizabeth’s unborn child leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth said, “And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Mary responded: Magnificat anima mea Dominum, et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo, quia respexit humilitatem anceillae suae. Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes; Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est, et sanctum nomen eius. Et misericordia a progenie in progenies timentibus eum. Fecit potentiam in brachio suo, dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.



Formal and Motivic Design in the Opening Chorus of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat 123

Deposuit potentes de sede et exaltavit humiles; esurientes implevit bonis et divites dimisit inanes. Suscepit Israel puerum suum recordatus misericordiae suae. Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros, Abraham et semini eius in saecula.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.10

The text, as set by Bach and others, concludes with the Lesser Doxology: Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto! Sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper et in saecula saeculorum. Amen

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. Amen.

The first movement sets only the first verse, yet in spirit and affect sets the stage, with great ceremony, for the entire canticle. In the words of Martin Luther, “This word ‘magnifies’ is used by Mary to indicate what her hymn of praise is to be about, namely, the great works and deeds of God, for the strengthening of our faith, for the comforting of all those of low degree, and for the terrifying of all the mighty ones of earth.”11 Bach appropriately “uses instruments that most clearly express the powerful domination of the ‘Lord:’ the trumpets and the timpani. These were considered royal instruments in Bach’s time and the contemporary listeners would have been aware of these regal connotations.”12 Few of Bach’s sketches survive, so it comes as little surprise that none survive for this movement. The two surviving original sources are the autograph score to the first version in E-flat major, BWV 243a (the version considered here), and the autograph score to the later version in D major, BWV 243.13 Robert Marshall writes that the autograph score to the E-flat major version “represents a relatively advanced stage in the composition’s genesis,” that by this point “Bach had reached his basic decisions concerning style, scoring, and form with respect to the individual movements during the precompositional stage.”14 This autograph nevertheless reveals some of Bach’s original thoughts on the movement. When first drafting the opening page, Bach envisioned the

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movement for SATB and wrote “4 Voci,” which he later changed to “5 Voci.” Even after deciding on an appropriately richer five-voice texture, however, Bach first thought in terms of two alto parts—as revealed by his verbal indications and choice of clefs—before ultimately settling on two soprano parts.15 Andreas Glöckner plausibly suggests that Bach’s move from a four-voice texture to a five-voice texture, and with two sopranos rather than two altos, reflects his growing familiarity with the local performance tradition. Magnificat settings by Bach’s two immediate Leipzig predecessors, Johann Schelle, who served from 1677 to 1701, and Johann Kuhnau, who served from 1701 to 1722, are scored in this way.16 Through study of surviving drafts and sketches of similar movements (arias and choruses), Marshall has drawn general conclusions about Bach’s compositional process in works of this type: The surviving single-voiced sketches for the beginnings of movements indicate that Bach began composition by first writing down a fully formed melodic idea: a motif, . . . a phrase, . . . or a complete ritornello theme. These sketches often reveal traces of Bach’s initial understanding of the prosody and affect of the text, so that the sketches and drafts of at least the text-engendered themes (as opposed to those clearly instrumentally conceived) can be regarded as first, rough translations of the text into musical terms which had then to be refined into more idiomatic, convincing musical statements.17

In 1929, Charles Sanford Terry observed that two principal motives pervade the movement. He points to the figuration seen in soprano I in mm. 31 and 32 and in the tenor in mm. 35 and 36.18 Some years later, in 1973, Ulrich Meyer worked more extensively with these and other motivic ideas.19 He calls attention to the material in oboe I in m. 1, which I have labeled X in example 6.1, and diagrams how this motive is the basis for the motive heard at the soprano I entrance in m. 31, which I have labeled X'. As suggested by Meyer, in creating the variation, Bach switched the figuration on beats 1 and 2 and replaced the first two notes of the figuration now on beat one with an eighth rest. Meyer relates the variation to the motive heard in trumpet I, which I have labeled Y, by noting the common metric position and emphasis on the notes of the tonic triad, arpeggiated G–B-flat–E-flat. Meyer also observes that the Y motive serves as the basis of further variations, two of which I have labeled Y1, in which the descent from the climax is filled in, and Y2, which is seen in the voices and discussed further below. To the motives discussed by Meyer, I have added X1, seen in oboe II in m. 1, from which Bach derives X1', seen in soprano II in m. 31. Similar to the derivation of X', Bach arrives at X1' by switching the figuration on beats 1 and 2 and replacing the first two notes of the figuration now on beat one with an eighth rest.



Formal and Motivic Design in the Opening Chorus of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat 125

Example 6.1.  Principal Motives of the Opening Chorus of BWV 243a

The opening ritornello, which, as we will see, is the basis for the entire movement, is built throughout upon these motives and their variations, giving the chorus a great sense of coherence. These motives and their variations were developed with an “understanding of the prosody and affect of the text,”20 a topic taken up in more detail below. This opening movement greets the listener boldly, and Wendy Heller vividly captures the experience: The joyful entrance of the strings on the downbeat of the first bar, with the emphasis of the timpani on beat 1, creates a kind of springboard for the ritornello, setting an impetuous process into motion, almost as if the canticle had already begun some moments previously and we are only now permitted to hear the heavenly music. . . . The affect is one of energy and unrestrained joy, an announcement that something extraordinary is about to occur.21

After listening to the entire movement, even before analyzing it in detail, one has the sense of motivic and formal coherence and balanced proportions. Meyer commented on the admirable economy of Bach’s use of musical material and diagramed the three sections of the movement as seen in table 6.1.22 I have expanded and elaborated on Meyer’s design, as seen in table 6.2. The sense of balance and proportion is, in fact, quantifiable. As seen in table 6.2, the movement is built upon segments whose lengths in measures are multiples of 15. The opening ritornello, A (mm. 1–31, roughly 30 measures), is followed by its elaboration, A' (mm. 31–75, 45 measures—involving three vocal statements of approximately fifteen measures each), and the movement is rounded out by the concluding measures of A (mm. 17–31, 15 measures).23

A

1–4

Section

mm.

5–12

B

13–16

A

17–30

C 31–32

D 33–36

A 37–44

B

Table 6.1.  Design of the Opening Chorus according to Ulrich Meyer

45–46

D 47–50

A 51–56

E

57–60

A

61–66

F

67–74

B

75

G

76–90

C



Formal and Motivic Design in the Opening Chorus of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat 127

Table 6.2.  Expanded Depiction of the Design of the Opening Chorus Section (mm.)

Subsections (mm.)

A (1–31)

Total Measures

Further Subdivisions by Measure Numbers

31 (~30)

IàVàI IàV VàI

a1' (31–45)

45 15

IàXàI IàV

a2' (45–61)

17 (~15)

a1 (1–13) a2 (13–31) A' (31–75)

a3' (61–75)

A (76–90)

Tonal Centers

a2 (abbrev.)

31–32 added measures 33–45

Comparable Measures

1–13

45–46 added measures 47–51 51–56 episode featuring motive Y3 57–61

V

61–65 episode featuring motive Y3 66–75

IàX

V VàXàI I

13–17

1–5

15

15

XàI

4–13

I

17–31

Section A is in binary form,24 modulating to the dominant at m. 13 and back to the tonic, creating a tonally closed ritornello that ends on the downbeat of m. 31. As frequently seen in binary form, the material of the second half, mm. 13–17, is derived from the opening material, mm. 1–5, but transposed to the dominant, B-flat major, and the counterpoint is inverted. The A' section is a systematic expansion of A consisting of three vocal statements. Each vocal statement involves a technique frequently seen in Bach’s compositions known as Vokaleinbau (vocal insertion), in which the vocal parts are incorporated into material heard in the ritornello.25 The first vocal statement, a1', is essentially the first thirteen measures of A into which the vocal parts have been embedded. These thirteen measures are preceded by two “added” measures, mm. 31 and 32, extending the length of the section to the fundamental fifteen-measure length—roughly half that of the opening ritornello. The awaited exclamation, “Magnificat,” is set in the added measures to variations X' and X1' in sopranos I and II, who enter as a pair, in thirds, in m. 31, followed by the alto and tenor in a similar configuration in m. 32. Both measures are accompanied only sparsely by the basso continuo.26 It was noted

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above that the initial eighth rest in motives X and X' connect them metrically to motive Y. The rest in X' and X1' in this first vocal statement also allows for completion of the cadential motion that concludes the A section before the entrance of the voices. An elision occurs in the continuo, however, as the tonic functions as both the completion of the cadential motion and the beginning of the octave descent that signals the return—after a two-measure delay—of the opening material. After the rest, the voices enter on the second half of the first beat, with the lower octave in the continuo, benefiting from the energy generated by the octave descent. The eighth rest also establishes a rhythmic motive associated with the opening word of the canticle. “Magnificat” frequently begins off the beat, giving the listener the sense, as before, of joining a celebration that has already begun. Bach’s purposeful design of X' accentuates the ascent to the tonic, E-flat, in the soprano I, and his design of X1' enables the soprano II to begin on the tonic.27 In both voices, the initial ascending motion followed by the trill figure captures the joyous affect of “Magnificat” and leads to the placement of the accented syllable (“gni”) on the accented first beat of m. 32, where it is emphasized through its placement on a dotted eighth note followed by a sixteenth note on the next syllable “fi.” This figuration on the syllables “gnifi” is continued throughout the movement.28 Vokaleinbau is clearly seen in mm. 33–45, which are essentially a restatement of mm. 1–13 enriched by the inclusion of the vocal parts. In mm. 33 and 34, the two highest voices assume a figuration, Y2 (derived from Y), which itself is heard at the same time in the trumpets. The opening ascending motion of this motive, as originally conceived for the trumpets and as adapted for the voices, fits the exalted meaning of the text, and in the variation, the highest pitch is maintained (no descent follows), as if to sustain the jubilation now that the meaning has been made explicit through the text. In soprano I, the opening leap is from the dominant to the tonic on the accented second syllable, which, characteristically for the movement, is given a note value of relatively longer duration. When the Y2 motive is repeated in m. 34, up a fourth in soprano I and up a third in soprano II, the lower voice now carries the dominant to tonic motion. In m. 35, variations on the Y motive are heard in the alto and tenor and in the sopranos in m. 36. Numerous other variations on the Y motives are heard in the voices throughout this section, which comes to an end on the downbeat of m. 45 in the dominant, as that was the harmonic goal of mm. 1–13, upon which this section is based. The nature of the X and Y motives and their variations—embodying rapid sixteenth-note motion, trills, and ascending arpeggiation leading to sustained pitches at their climax—seem to reflect, and were perhaps inspired by, aspects of Luther’s commentary on this text. Heller writes, “Bach’s setting



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provides a sonic analogue to Luther’s description of Mary’s own sensation in this verse,” and she goes on to quote Luther: “It is as if she said: ‘My life and all my senses float in the love and praise of God and in lofty pleasures, so that I am no longer mistress of myself; I am exalted, more than I exalt myself, to praise the Lord.’”29 The second vocal statement, a2', like the first, begins with two added measures, mm. 45–46, in which the four upper voices again enter in pairs and in thirds, but the alto/tenor pair enters first, followed by the sopranos. Thereafter, the second vocal statement picks up where the first left off in its restatement of measures from section A—that is, with a restatement with embedded voices of the passage from m. 13 through the downbeat of m. 17 in m. 47 through the downbeat of m. 51. The passage that follows, mm. 51–56, is connected thematically to the rest of the movement yet provides contrast in a number of ways, such as the avoidance of measures that are direct analogs to those of the opening ritornello. The tension is heightened in this section by limiting the text to the fundamental first word of the canticle, “Magnificat,” reserving the completion of the verse for the final, climactic vocal statement. The texture is also thinner, as the trumpets and timpani are silent for the longest period in the entire movement, and, for the only time in the piece, all five voices enter individually, evenly spaced, in an imitative manner. This passage is also mildly adventurous harmonically in its inclusion of brief tonicizations of C minor and G minor, which make the eventual return to E-flat major more gratifying. The motivic connection with the rest of the movement is maintained through a variation of the Y motive, designated Y3, that is repeated in the first violins in mm. 52–59. Motive Y3, first heard in the second violins in mm. 7–8, is noteworthy for the metric shift that places the repetition of the highest note of the arpeggiation across the bar line on the accented first syllable of the following measure. The first occurrences of this motive (mm. 7–11) are reinforced by an accompanying figuration, designated motive Z, in the first violins. Motive Z involves a short descending run of sixteenth notes followed by a large leap to a note that is tied across the bar line in the same metric position as the repeated notes of Y3. In mm. 52–56, Y3 in the first violins is also supported by notes tied over the bar line alternately in the oboes. This contrasting passage is followed in mm. 57–61 by the return of the material from mm. 1–5, similar to the way a solo episode of a concerto might be followed by the Vordersatz, the most recognizable part of the ritornello. The first few bars of the third vocal statement, mm. 61–65, offer contrast akin to that offered by mm. 51–56 in that there is no clear analog to the measures of the opening ritornello and the tonal centers bend, ever so briefly, toward A-flat major and F minor. The texture is again thinner, as the oboes

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alternate with trumpets I and II in variations of Y1, and the strings, trumpet III, and timpani are silent. Familiar territory is regained in mm. 66–75, which are analogous to mm. 4–13. In this case, however, the cadence in m. 75 is on the tonic rather than the dominant (as in m. 13) since this is the end of the third vocal statement. Note that in using mm. 4–13, Bach more or less picks up where he left off in the use of mm. 1–5 to conclude the second vocal statement. The concluding ritornello ensues in m. 76 with a repetition of the material from mm. 17–31. In this concluding section, appropriately in the tonic, Bach has no use for mm. 13–17, which tonicize the dominant, B-flat. The architecture and balanced proportions of the movement as a whole are clear and satisfying, and the structure of the A' section is pleasing in that it offers contrast and harmonic color, preparing the listener for the straightforward return of familiar material to conclude the movement. But the design of A' is also intriguing. Is there perhaps a compositional approach that guided Bach’s efforts in this section? Because composers, theorists, and writers on music from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—such as Joachim Burmeister (1564–1629), Christoph Bernhard (1628–1692), and, of course, Johann Mattheson—concerned themselves with rhetorical concepts and their application to composition, some modern critics have looked for the influence of rhetoric in the works of Bach (not always successfully, and sometimes drawing criticism).30 But perhaps there are aspects of rhetorical theory—beyond inventio, dispositio (and its six parts), and elaboratio—that have not been adequately explored in relation to Bach’s music. In a recent article on this subject, Bettina Varwig suggests a connection between rhetorical methods and Bach’s compositional language that is in many ways more oblique than any immediate analogy, but perhaps more potent as a result. Instead of mapping specific rhetorical terminology onto the musical domain, I will consider certain fundamental procedures of creation and argumentation at the time as a way to open up a fresh perspective on Bach’s music, one that looks at it from the standpoint of sixteenth- and seventeenthcentury rhetorical traditions and their altered yet continued presence in the early eighteenth century. . . . In pursuing such a historically nuanced understanding of rhetorical thought, it is necessary to modify the assumption of a timeless, monolithic system of rhetoric that often underlies standard introductions to the art of oratory today, derived primarily from Cicero and Quintilian.31

Varwig goes on to emphasize the importance of a treatise by Desiderius Erasmus (1469–1536) titled De duplici copia verborum ac rerum (Copia:



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Foundations of the Abundant Style), which influenced the work of other writers on rhetoric: First published in Paris in 1512, the De copia must be counted as one of the most famous and lastingly influential rhetoric treatises of the humanist era, and stands as the most likely source of inspiration for the particular rhetorical tradition scrutinized here [in the works of Bach]. Its main pedagogical aim, to encourage the ‘abundance of words and ideas,’ is proclaimed in the title itself, and is pursued by offering the reader a catalogue of compositional methods for varying and amplifying phrases and sentences in order to create a well argued statement out of any proposition. . . . The wide distribution of these rhetorical methods [those influenced by Erasmus] through large numbers of publications, reprints and educational programmes ensured that Erasmian . . . patterns of argumentation were gradually diffused into a kind of general knowledge which, without necessarily being linked back to its original formulation, could function as a powerful and ubiquitous source of creative stimulation in a variety of disciplines.32

Erasmus wrote in De Copia about the “advantages of studying this subject,” advantages realized as easily in music composition as in oratory: It often happens that we have to say the same thing several times. If in these circumstances we find ourselves destitute of verbal riches and hesitate and . . . are unable to clothe our thought in other colours or other forms . . . we shall . . . bore our wretched audience to death. . . . Variety is so powerful in every sphere that there is absolutely nothing, however brilliant, which is not dimmed if not commended by variety. . . . Just as the eyes fasten themselves on some new spectacle, so the mind is always looking round for some fresh object of interest. If it is offered a monotonous succession of similarities, it very soon wearies and turns its attention elsewhere, and so everything gained by the speech is lost all at once. This disaster can easily be avoided by someone who has it at his fingertips to turn one idea into more shapes than Proeteus himself is supposed to have turned into.33

Many of the exercises and strategies put forward by Erasmus to achieve “Abundance of Expression” also have a natural and intuitive application to composition. For example, under “Variety of Expression,” Erasmus offers guidance on such topics as “use of synonyms,” “the employment of related forms of words which differ only slightly,” “metaphor,” “allegory,” “onomatopoeia,” “paired expressions,” “interchange of correlated expression,” “hyperbole,” and “syntax or construction.”34 So where does all this leave us with respect to considering Bach’s compositional process in the context of rhetoric? According to Dreyfus, “For a

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composer like Bach, what remained . . . from the actual musical annexation of rhetorical territory was a far less analogical but far more metaphorical notion of musical invention, a notion, to be sure, with its own rules and practices.”35 He writes specifically about musical invention, though his assessment seems applicable to rhetorical theory in general. Returning to the Magnificat with this formulation in mind, we can consider that Bach’s goal in the A' section is to continue moving the listener to the affective state embodied in the text, “My soul magnifies the Lord,” through the variation and amplification of musical material already heard in the opening ritornello. The first mode of variation and amplification is simply the addition of the voices themselves, the Vokaleinbau. The voices enrich the texture, and the text makes the meaning explicit. Once the voices enter, Bach allows himself three vocal statements in which to present his argument, in different guises, to the listener. We have seen that the first vocal statement, a1', varies and amplifies the material heard in mm. 1–13 through “added measures,” the introduction of motives X', X1', and Y2 and their variations in the voices, and the introduction of the dotted-eighth-note-sixteenth-note figure on the syllables “gni-fi.” Bach’s aim in the second vocal statement, a2', is to offer a reading of Mary’s exclamation from a different vantage point, one that renders “Magnificat” without the conclusion of the verse. Coherence is supplied by the inclusion of added measures, which also appeared in the first vocal statement, but variety emerges in the subsequent passage from mm. 51 to 56, which, as we have seen, is somewhat episodic in its avoidance of direct quotation from the opening ritornello, thinner texture, harmonic coloration, and use of the Y3 motive in a new setting. Bach’s final rendering of the text—now heard complete—does not begin with material from the opening ritornello but with another episode (mm. 61–65), with a thinner and varied texture and different harmonic coloration, allowing the reader to experience this text from yet another vantage point. Having presented the text in three different ways, all connected to the opening ritornello, Bach returns to familiar material with which to conclude the movement. The listener, now a full participant in Mary’s exaltation, is prepared to continue the musical and spiritual journey that is the rest of Bach’s setting of this text. NOTES 1.  Robert L. Marshall has some very interesting thoughts on how we “cope with masterpieces,” the compositional process, and what we hope to achieve through



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analysis. He also discusses the compositional process associated with the creation of the Magnificat. See Marshall, “On the Origin of the Magnificat: A Lutheran Composer’s Challenge,” in The Music of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Sources, the Style, the Significance (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989), 161–73. 2. Hans David, Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds., The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998), 305. On this subject, see also, Christoph Wolff, “‘The Extraordinary Perfections of the Hon. Court Composer’: An Inquiry into the Individuality of Bach’s Music,” in Bach: Essays on His Life and Music (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 391–97. 3.  Qtd. in Ernest C. Harriss, Johann Mattheson’s Der vollkommene Capellmeister: A Revised Translation with Critical Commentary (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1981), 281. 4. Mattheson, Der vollkommene Capellmeister, trans. Harriss, 469. 5.  Markus Rathey, “Schools,” in The Routledge Research Companion to J. S. Bach, ed. Robin A. Leaver, 116–41 (London: Routledge, 2017), 133. 6.  Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: W.W. Norton, 2000), 289. 7. Andreas Glöckner, “Bachs Es-Dur-Magnificat BWV 243a—eine genuine Weihnachtsmusik?” Bach-Jahrbuch 89 (2003): 37–45. 8.  See Mark A. Peters, “J. S. Bach’s Meine Seel’ erhebt den Herren (BWV 10) as Chorale Cantata and Magnificat Paraphrase,” Bach 43/1 (2012): 31–36. 9.  For the works performed between Bach’s arrival in Leipzig and the performance of the Magnificat, see Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, 270. 10.  The English translation of the Magnificat is from the New Revised Standard Version. 11.  Martin Luther, Luther’s Works, vol. 21, Sermon on the Mount and the Magnificat, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1956), 306. Bach owned two sets of Luther’s writings—the Altenburg and Jena editions. See Robin A. Leaver, Bachs Theologische Bibliothek: eine kritische Bibliographie (NeuhausenStuttgart: Hänssler, 1983), 25 and 52–58. Wendy Heller suggests Bach had likely acquired the Jena edition by the time of the composition of the Magnificat. See Heller, “‘Aus eigener Erfahrung redet’: Bach, Luther, and Mary’s Voice in the Magnficat, BWV 243,” Understanding Bach 10 (2015): 50n27. 12. Markus Rathey, Bach’s Major Vocal Works: Music, Drama, Liturgy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016), 16. 13.  The autograph score to the E-flat version is D-B Mus. ms. Bach P 38 and to the D-major version, D-B Mus. ms. Bach P 39. The D major version, which notably includes flutes, was created between 1728 and 1731. See Rathey, Bach’s Major Vocal Works, 12. 14.  Marshall, “On the Origin of the Magnificat,” 165, 167, 169. 15.  Robert Lewis Marshall, The Compositional Process of J. S. Bach: A Study of the Autograph Scores of the Vocal Works (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 1: 246. A facsimile of the first page of the autograph score is given on page 48. 16.  Glöckner, “Bachs Es-Dur-Magnificat,” 37–38, 42.

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17. Marshall, Compositional Process, 1: 118–19. For more on the conception of ritornello themes, see Kayoung Lee’s essay in the present volume. 18.  Charles Sanford Terry identified and commented briefly on the significance of motivic structures related to X and Y. See Terry, Bach: The Magnificat, Lutheran Masses and Motets (London: Humphrey Milford; Oxford University Press, 1929), 13. 19.  Ulrich Meyer, “Musikalisch-rhetorische Figuren in J. S. Bachs Magnificat,” Musik und Kirche 43 (1973): 172–74. For related discussions of the principal motives, see also Konrad Klek, “Magnificat: Werkbetrachtung,” in Bachs lateinische Kirchenmusik, eds. Reinmar Emans and Sven Hiemke, vol. 2, Das Bach-Handbuch (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 2007), 110–11; and Martin Kobelt, “J. S. Bachs ‘grosses Magnificat in D-dur’ und die für die Anlage der Composition massgebenden, günstigen und ungünstigen Factoren” (Ph.D. diss., Friedrich-Alexanders-Universität Erlangen, 1902), 11–12, Appendix (untitled, no page numbers), “Tabelle II,” nos. 1–7. 20. In this regard, Bach seems to be following his earlier practice. Daniel R. Melamed writes: “One . . . gets the sense in many of the early choruses that material first presented by instruments was conceived with text and singers in mind, in contrast to the situation in many of Bach’s later vocal movements.” See, Melamed, “Cantata Choruses and Chorales,” in The World of the Bach Cantatas, vol. 1, ed. Christoph Wolff, 155–69 (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997), 159. 21.  Heller, “Bach, Luther, and Mary’s Voice,” 54–55. 22.  Meyer, “Musikalisch-rhetorische Figuren,” 172. Meyer also notes some connections between the lettered sections. 23.  Though described slightly differently, this structure was observed by Konrad Klek. See Klek, “Magnificat,” 110. 24.  Richard D. P. Jones, The Creative Development of Johann Sebastian Bach, vol. 2: 1717–1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 135. 25. Rathey, Bach’s Major Vocal Works, 15. For more on Vokaleinbau, see Alfred Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, trans. Richard D. P. Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 19–20; and Eric Reimer, “Die Technik des Vokaleinbaus in den Arien der Weimarer Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs (1714–1716),” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 61 (2004): 163–89. 26.  Stephen Rose points out that Bach’s pairing of the voices and thematic construction in these measures are similar to treatments seen in Schelle’s Magnificat. When taken together with other similarities between the two settings, Rose finds that “Schelle’s work allows Bach’s Magnificat to be viewed not in isolation but in the context of Leipzig conventions for setting the canticle.” Stephen Rose, ed., Leipzig Church Music from the Sherard Collection: Eight Works by Sebstian Knüpfer, Johann Schelle, and Johann Kuhnau (Middleton, WI: A-R Editions, 2014), xviii. 27.  As noted above, the melodic contours of the soprano I and II lines are also likely indebted to Schelle. 28. This figuration involving a longer dotted note followed by a shorter note seems to have been a common way of setting the text because it follows the natural accent pattern of the word. See, for example, Vivaldi’s Magnificat, RV 610, Johann Schelle’s Magnificat, and Johann Kuhnau’s Magnificat in C. Many thanks to Markus Rathey for bringing this to my attention.



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29.  Heller, “Bach, Luther, and Mary’s Voice,” 56. 30. Joachim Burmeister, Musical Poetics, trans. Benito V. Rivera (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). Although the emphasis is on musical-rhetorical figures, an informative overview may be found in Dietrich Bartel, Musica Poetics: MusicalRhetorical Figures in German Baroque Music (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1997). Concerning opposing views, see Ursula Kirkendale, “The Source for Bach’s Musical Offering: The Institutio oratoria of Quintilian,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 33 (1980): 88–141; response by Paul Walker, “Rhetoric, the Ricercar, and Bach’s Musical Offering,” in Bach Studies 2, ed. Daniel Melamed (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 175–91; and Kirkendale’s rejoinder, “On the Rhetorical Interpretation of the Ricercar and Bach’s Musical Offering,” Studi musicali 26 (1997): 331–76. An engaging and compelling application of rhetorical theory to a composition by Bach is found in Laurence Dreyfus, “What Is an Invention?” in Bach and the Patterns of Invention (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 1–32. 31.  Bettina Varwig, “One More Time: J. S. Bach and Seventeenth-Century Traditions of Rhetoric,” Eighteenth-Century Music 5 (2008): 180–81. 32.  Varwig, “One More Time,” 182–83. 33.  Desiderius Erasmus, De copia, trans. Betty Knott, in Collected Works of Erasmus: Literary and Educational Writings 2, vol. 24, ed. Craig Thompson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1978), 302. 
 34. Erasmus, De copia, 307–46. 35. Dreyfus, Bach and the Patterns of Invention, 9. For more on Bach’s relationship with rhetorical theory, see Arno Forchert, “Bach und die Tradition der Rhetorik,” in Alte Musik als ästhetische Gegenwart: Bach, Händel, Schütz. Bericht über den internationalen musikwissenschaftlichen Kongreß Stuttgart 1985, eds. Dietrich Berke and Dorothee Hanemann (Kassel: Barenreiter, 1987), 169–78.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bartel, Dietrich. Musica Poetics: Musical-Rhetorical Figures in German Baroque Music. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1997. Burmeister, Joachim. Musical Poetics. Translated by Benito V. Rivera. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. David, Hans T., Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds. The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents. Revised edition. New York: W. W. Norton, 1998. Dreyfus, Laurence. Bach and the Patterns of Invention. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996. Dürr, Alfred. The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text. Revised and translated by Richard D. P. Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Erasmus, Desiderius. De copia. Translated by Betty Knott. In Collected Works of Erasmus: Literary and Educational Writings 2. Vol. 24. Edited by Craig Thompson. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1978.

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Forchert, Arno. “Bach und die Tradition der Rhetorik.” In Alte Musik als ästhetische Gegenwart: Bach, Händel, Schütz. Bericht über den internationalen musikwissenschaftlichen Kongreß Stuttgart 1985. Edited by Dietrich Berke and Dorothee Hanemann, 169–78. Kassel: Barenreiter, 1987. Glöckner, Andreas. “Bachs Es-Dur-Magnificat BWV 243a—eine genuine Weihnachtsmusik?” Bach-Jahrbuch 89 (2003): 37–45. Harriss, Ernest C. Johann Mattheson’s Der vollkommene Capellmeister: A Revised Translation with Critical Commentary. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1981. Heller, Wendy. “‘Aus eigener Erfahrung redet’: Bach, Luther, and Mary’s Voice in the Magnficat, BWV 243.” Understanding Bach 10 (2015): 31–69. Jones, Richard D. P. The Creative Development of Johann Sebastian Bach, vol. 2: 1717–1750. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Kirkendale, Ursula. “The Source for Bach’s Musical Offering: The Institutio oratoria of Quintilian.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 33 (1980): 88–141. ———. “On the Rhetorical Interpretation of the Ricercar and Bach’s Musical Offering.” Studi musicali 26 (1997): 331–76. Klek, Konrad. “Magnificat: Werkbetrachtung.” In Bachs lateinische Kirchenmusik. Edited by Reinmar Emans and Sven Hiemke, 103–22. Vol. 2 of Das BachHandbuch, edited by Reinmar Emans, Sven Hiemke, and Klaus Hofmann. Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 2007. Kobelt, Martin. “J. S. Bachs ‘grosses Magnificat in D-dur’ und die für die Anlage der Composition massgebenden, günstigen und ungünstigen Factoren.” Ph.D. diss., Friedrich-Alexanders-Universität Erlangen, 1902. Leaver, Robin A. Bachs Theologische Bibliothek: eine kritische Bibliographie. Neuhausen-Stuttgart: Hänssler, 1983. Luther, Martin. Luther’s Works, vol. 21, Sermon on the Mount and the Magnificat, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan. St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1956. Marshall, Robert L. The Compositional Process of J. S. Bach: A Study of the Autograph Scores of the Vocal Works. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972. ———. “On the Origin of the Magnificat: A Lutheran Composer’s Challenge.” In The Music of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Sources, the Style, the Significance, 161–73. New York: Schirmer Books, 1989. Melamed, Daniel R. “Cantata Choruses and Chorales.” In The World of the Bach Cantatas, vol. 1. Edited by Christoph Wolff, 155–69. New York: W. W. Norton, 1997. Meyer, Ulrich. “Musikalisch-rhetorische Figuren in J. S. Bachs Magnificat.” Musik und Kirche 43 (1973): 172–81. Peters, Mark A. “J. S. Bach’s Meine Seel’ erhebt den Herren (BWV 10) as Chorale Cantata and Magnificat Paraphrase.” Bach 43/1 (2012): 29–64. Rathey, Markus. Bach’s Major Vocal Works: Music, Drama, Liturgy. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016. ———. “Schools.” In The Routledge Research Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach. Edited by Robin A. Leaver, 116–41. London, Routledge, 2017.



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Reimer, Eric. “Die Technik des Vokaleinbaus in den Arien der Weimarer Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs (1714–1716).” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 61 (2004): 163–89. Rose, Stephen, ed. Leipzig Church Music from the Sherard Collection: Eight Works by Sebstian Knüpfer, Johann Schelle, and Johann Kuhnau. Middleton, WI: A-R Editions, 2014. Terry, Charles Sanford. Bach: The Magnificat, Lutheran Masses and Motets (London: Humphrey Milford; Oxford University Press, 1929. Walker, Paul. “Rhetoric, the Ricercar, and Bach’s Musical Offering.” In Bach Studies 2. Edited by Daniel R. Melamed, 175–91. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Varwig, Bettina. “One More Time: J. S. Bach and Seventeenth-Century Traditions of Rhetoric.” Eighteenth-Century Music 5 (2008): 179–208. Wolff, Christoph. “‘The Extraordinary Perfections of the Hon. Court Composer’: An Inquiry into the Individuality of Bach’s Music.” In Bach: Essays on His Life and Music, 391–97. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991. ———. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician. New York: W. W. Norton, 2000.

Chapter Seven

The Tonally Open Ritornello in J. S. Bach’s Church Cantatas Kayoung Lee

RECENT RESEARCH ON BACH’S RITORNELLOS Critical studies over the past couple of decades have revealed that one of Bach’s most significant compositional procedures concerns his ritornellos.1 Bach’s ritornello principle is known to have been adapted from the contemporary Italian concerto around 1714. Christoph Wolff writes, “Bach . . . recognized in Vivaldi’s concertos a concrete compositional system based on musical thinking in terms of order, coherence, and proportion—an illuminating though abstract historical definition of Vivaldi’s art as exemplified in his concertos.” He adds that “concerto composition provided an ideal vehicle for exploring and developing ways of ‘musical thinking,’ and those ways quickly penetrated other instrumental and vocal genres.”2 Bach’s ritornellos have been examined extensively by Laurence Dreyfus, whose influential monograph Bach and the Patterns of Invention (1996) marks a critical moment in our understanding of Bach’s ritornello.3 In his study, the notion of invention takes on new significance. In Dreyfus’s perspective, invention has to do with the creation of the opening ritornello and the manipulation of the material it contains. In other words, Dreyfus sees the opening ritornello as a microcosm from which the remainder of the music is generated. Within this framework, Dreyfus, similar to Wolff, approaches Bach’s creation of a ritornello not as a straightforward compositional process, but as a rigorous compositional system that leads Bach to create works of unprecedented depth and complexity, distinguishing him from his predecessors and contemporaries.4 At the same time, in order for the opening ritornello to function as one of the most important compositional devices through which Bach constructs his works, it must, as explained by Dreyfus, consist of meaningful individual 139

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segments—the Vordersatz, Fortspinnung, and Epilog—each of which has its own musical profile and harmonic function. These segments must function well all together, as pairs, or alone, in their original form or varied.5 With respect to musical profile and harmonic function, Dreyfus explains that the Vordersatz defines the tonic while presenting a brief motivic idea. The Fortspinnung “spins out” by way of harmonic sequences. Its harmonic function is characterized by the absence of an authentic cadence resolving to the tonic or of any emphasis on the tonic. Finally, the role of the last segment, the Epilog, is to provide a formal cadence in the tonic. Dreyfus emphasizes the importance of the function served by the Epilog: “What many commentators tend to slight is that Bach’s concerto ritornellos are, nearly without exception, tonally closed. . . . Tonal closure . . . articulates the identity of the ritornello more succinctly than any other feature.”6 Since most of Bach’s ritornellos possess these features, of interest to me are those that do not, and particularly those whose cadence in the Epilog does not coincide with an arrival on the tonic, leaving the section tonally open. This type of ritornello provides a very different aural experience and raises questions of how and why Bach chose to create them.7 John Butt examined Bach’s tonally open ritornellos in his 2010 monograph Bach’s Dialogue with Modernity: Perspectives on the Passions.8 Butt’s monograph, however, focuses only on the John and Matthew Passions and does not consider tonally open ritornellos in Bach’s church cantatas. Furthermore, despite the detailed and insightful analysis provided by Butt, the purpose of his study is to place Bach at the crossroads of pre-modern and modern attitudes and mindsets. He argues that Bach was an independent, modern subject who was able to envision the forthcoming modern age and engage in dialogue with it in his Passions.9 In arguing that this is Bach’s rightful place in Western music history, Butt considers a number of pieces with tonally open ritornellos, including the soprano aria, “Ich will dir mein Herze schenken,” from the Matthew Passion.10 While pointing out that the Epilog in this aria’s ritornello is not written in the tonic but the dominant, Butt proposes that Bach, in the course of the aria, is searching for the matching ritornello phrase whose tonal function fulfills the tonic closure. Butt successfully shows how Bach secures tonal closure by drawing upon and developing the musical material in the voice part in mm. 13–24.11 Butt’s analysis of the movements in the Matthew Passion with tonally open ritornellos is the first study of its kind to adequately point out the various ways Bach utilized such ritornellos. If movements from Bach’s Passions with tonally open ritornellos can be seen as manifestations of Bach’s modernity, how might we read such movements in Bach’s cantatas? Is Bach’s modern musical mind only working in his Passions?



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The present study was conceived as an expansion of the work of Dreyfus and Butt through examination of the movements with tonally open ritornellos in Bach’s church cantatas. I will first consider these movements as a group, including their chronological significance, and relate them to Bach’s other repertories, including his Passions and instrumental works. I will then turn my attention to two individual movements, analyzing how Bach approaches tonally open ritornellos and how they figure into the construction of the formal design of each movement. TONALLY OPEN RITORNELLOS IN BACH’S CHURCH CANTATAS Bach composed eight movements with tonally open ritornellos in his church cantatas, all during his time in Leipzig: • The alto aria BWV 20/6, “O Mensch, errette deine Seele,” composed for the First Sunday after Trinity, 11 June 1724, in through-composed or modified da capo form. • The bass aria BWV 108/1, “Es ist euch gut, daß ich hingehe,” composed for the Fourth Sunday after Easter, 29 April 1725, in through-composed form. • The soprano aria BWV 43/5, “Mein Jesus hat nunmehr,” composed for Ascension, 30 May 1726, in two-part form. • The alto aria BWV 102/3, “Weh der Seele, die den Schaden,” composed for the Tenth Sunday after Trinity, 25 August 1726, in modified da capo form. • The soprano aria BWV 47/2, “Wer ein wahrer Christ will heißen,” composed for the Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity, 13 October 1726, in da capo form. • The tenor aria with soprano chorale BWV 156/2, “Ich steh mit einem Fuß im Grabe,” composed for the Third Sunday after Epiphany, 23 January 1729 (?), which follows the form of the chorale. • The soprano aria BWV 29/5, “Gedenk an uns mit deiner Liebe,” composed for the Installation of the Leipzig Town Council, 27 August 1731, in da capo form. • The bass aria BWV 30/3, “Gelobet sei Gott, gelobet sein Name,” composed for John the Baptist, 1738 (?), in modified da capo form. As is clearly evident here, Bach’s uses tonally open ritornellos in his church cantatas exclusively in arias, not in any chorus movements. And although Bach’s instrumental compositions are not the focus of this study, it is also striking that Bach employed a tonally open ritornello in only one instrumental movement, the first movement of the Violin Concerto in A minor, BWV 1041.

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The fact that Bach utilizes the tonally open ritornello predominantly in his arias suggests that our understanding of Bach’s ritornello procedure needs to be considered in association with the formal features of each aria. As is well known, the formal features of chorus movements—because of their more varied, and often prose, texts—are more flexible and less conventional. In contrast, form matters more in arias, and the ritornello procedures are highly significant in Bach’s formal design of an aria. The significance of form implies the aria movements might have provided Bach with ideal opportunities for experimentation with ritornello procedures. The musical forms of the eight movements listed above require some comment. Of the eight movements, six employ madrigalian texts, while the bass aria of BWV 108 and the soprano aria of BWV 156 utilize biblical and chorale verses, respectively. The six movements with madrigalian texts are set in through-composed form (including two-part form), traditional da capo form, and modified da capo form. Bach’s use of various forms for these movements leads us to ask what role the ritornello plays in terms of anchoring and highlighting the formal design, a point that I will address in the discussion of individual movements. With regard to chronology, four of the eight arias were composed between 1725 and 1726. Moreover, three of the arias were written in the limited time period between May and October of 1726. This might suggest that these three movements functioned as a platform on and through which Bach most actively experimented with the tonally open ritornello, eventually leading him to the next stage of employing it in the Matthew Passion in 1727. Put differently, in these three arias, Bach may have reached toward the high point of ritornello experimentation, and the culmination of his compositional experimentation in general, as he created the Passion.12 The fact that these arias were composed in the second half of the 1720s and later could aid in establishing the date of composition of another work that begins with a tonally open ritornello, the Violin Concerto in A minor, BWV 1041. No composing or fair copy of this work survives. The principal sources of transmission are six original parts—violin concertino, violin I, violin II, viola, and two unfigured continuo parts—written around 1730.13 Because of the less technically demanding melodic line in the solo violin, Malcolm Boyd suggests it may have been composed for the amateur musicians of Bach’s Collegium Musicum in Leipzig around 1729 rather than in Cöthen.14 Christoph Wolff likewise argues for a later origin because of “the thoroughly contrapuntal design and extent of the ritornello structure.”15 In that Bach experimented with and employed tonally open ritornellos mainly after 1725, it would follow that the Violin Concerto also dates from this period. It is at least less likely that the Violin Concerto was composed



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during the Cöthen period or earlier. If, however, the concerto was written around 1729—that is, after the cantata movements—then Bach’s practice of employing the tonally open ritornello began in his vocal compositions. Such a determination would challenge the current assumption that the ritornello procedure found in Bach’s vocal music has its roots in Bach’s instrumental concertos. Within the framework of this brief overview of Bach’s church cantata movements that employ a tonally open ritornello, I turn now to a closer reading of two of these movements, BWV 20/6 and BWV 47/2. BWV 20/6, “O MENSCH, ERRETTE DEINE SEELE” The first of the two movements I will analyze in detail is the alto aria “O Mensch, errette deine Seele,” mvt. 6 of O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort, BWV 20, composed for the First Sunday after Trinity, June 11, 1724. BWV 20 is the first cantata in Bach’s second Leipzig Jahrgang, and is therefore a chorale cantata, based on a hymn text by Johann Rist. The text of the alto aria, a paraphrase of the tenth verse of the chorale, urges the soul to free itself from sin so as to escape eternal death: O Mensch, errette deine Seele, Entfliehe Satans Sklaverei Und mache dich von Sünden frei, Damit in jener Schwefelhöhle Der Tod, so die Verdammten plagt Nicht deine Seele ewig nagt, O Mensch, errette deine Seele!

O man, deliver your soul, Flee Satan’s slavery And make yourself of sins free, So that in yonder cavern-ofbrimstone, Death, which torments those who are damned Will not eternally gnaw at your soul O man, deliver your soul!16

The D minor aria begins with a nine-measure opening ritornello that refuses to be divided into the three traditional segments discussed above. Rather, it fits an antecedent and consequent phrase structure better, with the former being the Vordersatz and the latter the Epilog. Within this phrase structure, the antecedent or Vordersatz extends from mm. 1 to 3, while the consequent, the Epilog, appears in mm. 3 to 9, cadencing on the dominant, A major. Following the cadence in m. 9, Bach initiates the vocal part by embedding it in a repetition of the entire ritornello, a concept known as Vokaleinbau (vocal insertion) that occurs frequently in Bach’s works.17 The form of this aria can be seen as either through-composed or modified da capo. A non-repeating, through-composed form may be represented AA'BB', in

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which A refers to the opening ritornello, followed by its varied repetition, A'. The two A sections extend from mm. 1 to 18, and both conclude in A major, the dominant key. The A' section sets the text of lines 1, 2, and 3. The B section (mm. 18–41), which maintains the rhythmic elements of the ritornello, sets lines 4 through 7 of the text and achieves tonal closure in the tonic, D minor. Bach inserts a portion of the Vordersatz within this section. The musical material from the final beat of m. 32 through m. 34 corresponds with mm. 1–2, giving the impression we are returning to the very opening of the aria, as though the form were rounded binary. But after measure 35, Bach moves quickly to a cadential gesture that does not resemble the initial Epilog or, for that matter, any of the musical material we have heard thus far. Following the tonic closure in D minor in measure 41, we expect the final instrumental ritornello. Instead, in mm. 41–64, Bach offers B', a repetition of the music from mm. 18–41, underscoring the D minor tonic closure. In short, the A and A' sections are tonally open in A major, the dominant, whereas the B and B' sections are tonally closed in D minor, the tonic key. In this aria, Bach achieves a well-balanced harmonic structure with dominant and tonic equally reinforced within a two-part form. The tonally open ritornello plays a particularly important role in achieving the overall harmonic, as well as formal, design of the aria. Reading the form of the aria as modified da capo, however, illuminates a different path that might reflect the composer’s thinking. The aria consists of seven lines of text. But the last line of the text is a repetition of the first line, functioning as a refrain. Because the first and the last lines are the same, we see the latter as though the former “returns” at the end.18 In other words, the text of the aria in and of itself offers the composer an opportunity to play with da capo form. And instead of choosing strict da capo form, Bach appears to allude to a modified da capo form, as follows. The A section sets the first three lines of the text, extending from mm. 1 to 18. In these measures, the ritornello is given twice, both times cadencing in the dominant (mm. 9 and 18). The former signals the tonally open ritornello and the latter the completion of the A section. Here, it seems that by repeating and reinforcing the dominant chords at the structurally important moments of the aria, Bach was able to add more tension and forward motion to the music. Of course, the dominant chords in mm. 9 and 18 need to be resolved at some point in the movement. Following m. 18, the music moves into the B section of the aria with the text in lines 4–7. The B section ends in m. 32 with the return of the first line of text, signaling the A' section of modified da capo, where the final cadence is on the tonic, D minor, as expected. Moreover, at the point of the textual da capo in m. 32, Bach inserts the initial Vordersatz of the ritornello for a brief moment, thereby providing an impression that we have a da capo return both textually and musically.



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The moment of the musical da capo is very brief, however, less than three measures, and then the aria, from m. 35, moves into new music that does not reflect the music originally given to the first line of text at all. This raises the question, to what extent do we consider the moment a proper, musical da capo return. Additionally, if we read the aria as being in modified da capo form, the absence of ritornellos between both the A and B sections and the B and A' sections also seems puzzling.19 The appearance of the Vordersatz in m. 32, however, is in fact prominent enough for us to hear the musical return, which is underscored by the simultaneous textual return. Yet, perhaps the musical return is not strong enough for us to firmly define the form of the aria as da capo. In fact, the identification of the form of the aria is not as important as recognizing that Bach’s compositional strategy, involving the tonally open ritornello, generates the manipulation of both the ritornello and the formal procedures at the same time and even allows the kind of formal ambiguity that we have seen in this aria. “WER EIN WAHRER CHRIST WILL HEISSEN,” BWV 47/2 The next example that I will analyze is the soprano aria, “Wer ein wahrer Christ will heißen,” mvt. 2 of Wer sich selbst erhöhet, BWV 47, composed for the Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity, October 13, 1726. The aria text exhorts Christians to humility, reflecting the Gospel reading of the day (Luke 14:1–11), which contrasts humility and pride: Wer ein wahrer Christ will heiβen, Muβ der Demut sich befleiβen; Demut stammt aus Jesu Reich Hoffart ist den Teufel gleich; Gott pflegt alle die zu hassen, So den Stolz nicht fahren lassen.

Whoever would be called a true Christian, Must (to) meekness himself devote; Meekness originates (with) Jesus’ kingdom. Arrogance is of the devil; God nurtures hatred for those, Who do not let go of their pride.

This is a relatively long D minor aria of 163 measures plus a da capo return. The A section extends from mm. 1–126, while the B section extends from mm. 127–163. The two statements of the A section total 163 measures, the B section only 34 measures, creating a rather unbalanced and disproportionate movement. The imbalance is exacerbated by an unusually, and seemingly unnecessarily, long ritornello at the end of the A section (mm. 93–126). Also somewhat unusual is the opening ritornello, which ends on the relative major, F, creating a sense of incompleteness or even remoteness.

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This eighteen-measure opening ritornello, in contrast to the ritornello of BWV 20/6, can easily be divided into the three usual segments (with Fortspinnung segments): the Vordersatz (mm. 1–4), the first Fortspinnung (mm. 5–8), the second Fortspinnung (mm. 9–14), and the Epilog (mm. 15–18). Similar to BWV 20/6, this aria appears to present the opening ritornello twice, from mm. 1–18, then from m. 19 to the first beat of m. 31. Rather than simply repeating the opening ritornello, however, Bach takes a different path. For example, the melody of the opening Vordersatz is not given to the instrumental ensemble but only to the soprano (mm. 19–22). The second Fortspinnung, starting in m. 23, follows the soprano, who is silent for mm. 23–30. In order to complete the second Fortspinnung, Bach brings back the music of the Epilog in m. 28. Bach could have completed the Epilog with a cadence in F major, the relative major, as in m. 18. It was his intention at this point in the structure, however, to complete the Epilog in a “proper” way, thereby modifying it appropriately. As a result, this second ritornello, extending from m. 23 to the first beat of m. 31, ends not on F major but on D minor, the tonic. Interestingly, any listener who is first exposed to the second ritornello will not be able to realize that it is, indeed, the “proper” ritornello that Bach is going to reuse as he completes the A section (and for that matter, the A' section, as well). As my analysis will illustrate, we will retrospectively learn that the second ritornello, which cadences in the tonic key of D minor, is a critical addition to the A section in determining the overall structure of the aria. After presenting the “proper” ritornello in mm. 23–31, Bach does not restate it again until the last measures of the A section (mm. 119–126). He intentionally avoids restating the entire ritornello, presenting instead segments of the Vordersatz, Fortspinnung, and Epilog in a rather fragmented way. The final ritornello of the A section is anticipated in m. 93, where we begin to hear the opening ritornello intact. Bach, however, was well aware of the fact that he could not leave the section with the Epilog cadencing on F major, as in m. 18. His solution was to extend the variation of the Vordersatz and the Fortspinnung in mm. 110–118. These measures work very nicely in linking the restatement of the opening ritornello, mm. 93–110, to mm. 119–126, where Bach brings back the music of mm. 23–31, the “proper” ritornello. As we experience this final section of the ritornello of the A section, we begin to realize that we have already been exposed to this music in mm. 23–31, now functioning to adequately complete the aria. Because Bach had to end the aria in the tonic, not in the relative major, the final ritornello is unusually long. It is as if having introduced the cadence on the relative major, Bach owed it to his audience to reinforce the presence of the tonic more fully and emphatically in the first beat of both mm. 31 and 126, the two moments we experience the proper ritornello of the aria.



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After this long ritornello, the music of the aria moves to the B section, where there are no ritornello segments, but only a series of chords in the violins. The absence of ritornello segments here appears to create a structural, formal, and even musical imbalance with the A section, in which the ritornello dominates throughout. In this chapter, through the analysis of two movements from Bach’s church cantatas with tonally open ritornellos, I have attempted to take the music apart to reveal the compositional choices made by Bach. As my analysis illustrates, Bach engages with the ritornello in deep and complex ways, allowing him to open up new compositional possibilities. In particular, I emphasized that the tonally open ritornello is closely interwoven with the formal features of the movement in question, providing a crucial vehicle for Bach to create music with various types of stylistic and formal nuances. For example, as seen in the alto aria BWV 20/6, the tonally open ritornello divides the aria into a well-balanced two-part form with the former cadencing on the dominant and the latter on the tonic. Similarly, in the soprano aria BWV 47/2, the presence of the relative major in the opening ritornello’s Epilog explains the presence of the unnecessarily long ritornello at the end of the A section, which leaves the aria with its own idiosyncratic musical character. Although not a primary consideration in this chapter, my study also lays the groundwork for discussing the extent to which the text plays a role in Bach’s creation of a tonally open ritornello. Dreyfus states that “the concentrated density of the ritornello processes” often overshadows the meaning of the text in Bach’s vocal music.20 Although it is certain that the text inspired Bach to write a particular type of music, it seems evident that Bach’s use of tonally open ritornellos is more likely a musical (or even technical) choice than a textual or theological one. This compositional choice seems to be motivated by the nature of the musical materials rather than the text, signifying that, in the movements in question, the compositional concerns take precedence.21 Bach utilized his formidable skills to create stylistically and formally balanced, efficient, and experimental works. If the opening ritornello is tonally open, Bach, in one way or another and without exception, provides us with a tonally satisfying ritornello in the course of the movement. The point of closure cannot always be anticipated, but Bach always, at some point, fulfills the listener’s expectation, often in an unexpected way or at an unexpected moment. And it is all the more intriguing that the nature of the unexpected moment results from Bach’s meticulous and technical compositional planning. I would like to express my appreciation to Mark Peters and Reggie Sanders, who read my manuscript and provided invaluable suggestions and comments.

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NOTES 1. Recent literature that concentrates on Bach’s ritornellos includes Stephen A. Crist, “Aria Forms in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach, 1714–1724” (Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 1988), 111–14; Paul Brainard, “The Regulative and Generative Roles of Verse in Bach’s ‘Thematic’ Invention,” in Bach Studies, ed. Don O. Franklin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 54–74; Robert L. Marshall, “The Genesis of an Aria Ritornello: Observations on the Autograph Score of ‘Wie zittern und wanken’ BWV 105/3,” in The Music of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Sources, the Style, the Significance (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989), 143–160; Paul Brainard, “The ‘Non-Quoting’ Ritornello in Bach’s Arias,” in A Bach Tribute: Essays in Honor of William H. Scheide, ed. Paul Brainard and Ray Robinson (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1993), 27–44; Jeanne Swack, “Modular Structure and the Recognition of Ritornello in Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos,” in Bach Perspectives 4: Analysis and Interpretation, ed. David Schulenberg (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1999), 33–53. The nature of these studies is mostly analytical except for Crist’s dissertation, which surveys various types of aria forms in Bach’s cantatas, organizing them according to the scoring, textual types, and aria forms. Although his discussion of Bach’s ritornellos can be defined as descriptive, his dissertation provides valuable information about the overall picture of Bach’s aria movements. My list here does not include the studies by Laurence Dreyfus and John Butt, which will be addressed in the body of the text. 2.  Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: W. W. Norton, 2000), 171. 3.  See Laurence Dreyfus, Bach and the Patterns of Invention (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 59–102; an earlier discussion of Bach’s ritornello procedure is found in Laurence Dreyfus, “J. S. Bach’s Concerto Ritornellos and the Question of Invention,” The Musical Quarterly 71 (1985): 327–51. 4. Dreyfus, Bach and the Patterns of Invention, 2. 5. Dreyfus, Bach and the Patterns of Invention, 60–69. 6. Dreyfus, Bach and the Patterns of Invention, 60. 7.  Dreyfus acknowledges that there are a few examples in which opening ritornellos are not tonally closed. However, he does not pay much attention to them, only suggesting that because they encapsulate the tonally closed ritornello that will play an important role in the later part of the music in question, the way it functions is not very dissimilar from the tonally closed ritornello. See Dreyfus, Bach and the Patterns of Invention, 60. 8.  See John Butt, Bach’s Dialogue with Modernity: Perspectives on the Passions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 269–80; Butt uses the term “tonally open ritornello,” which I have adopted for my study. 9. Butt’s research was a response to Karol Berger’s Bach’s Cycle, Mozart’s Arrow: An Essay on the Origins of Musical Modernity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), in which Berger discusses in detail the opening chorus of the Matthew Passion, “Kommt, ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen,” in order to show circular stasis that represents Bach’s pre-modern orientation. Karol Berger also published



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the article “Time’s Arrow and the Advent of Musical Modernity,” in Music and the Aesthetics of Modernity, ed. Karol Berger and Anthony Newcomb (Cambridge: Isham Library Papers 6, 2005), 3–22, in which he examines the notion of modernity in relation to the way a composer perceives time. He argues that in contrast to the linear, goal-oriented music written by composers in the later part of the eighteenth century, the temporal order of musical substance is not important for the composers working prior to this period. By quoting Dreyfus, who devises (or revives) the notion of invention, not disposition, Berger claims that Bach’s music can also be seen in the same vein. In response to Berger’s study, Butt also published an article, “Bach’s Passion and the Textures of Time,” in The Century of Bach & Mozart: Perspectives on Historiography, Composition, Theory & Performance, ed. Sean Gallagher & Thomas Forrest Kelly (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), 111–20. In this article, Butt claims that the Matthew Passion was a more linearly conceived work, demonstrating both the cyclic and progressive sense of time. Meanwhile, reading Bach’s music in direct relation to the notion of modernity was reviewed in a recent article by Bettina Varwig, “Metaphors of Time and Modernity in Bach,” Journal of Musicology 29 (2010): 154–90. 10. See Butt, Bach’s Dialogue with Modernity, 269–80. Interestingly, only the Matthew Passion, not the John, includes movements with tonally open ritornellos. These include mvt. 13, the soprano aria “Ich will dir mein Herz schenken,” mvt. 23, the bass aria “Gerne will ich mich bequemen,” and mvt. 30, the alto aria with chorus “Ach, nun ist mein Jesus hin.” The fact that only the Matthew Passion presents movements with tonally open ritornello whereas none found in the John Passion provides further inspiration for Butt to argue that the way Bach conceives time is different from one Passion to another. 11. Butt, Bach’s Dialogue with Modernity, 271. 12.  This hypothesis can be reinforced by the fact that only the Matthew Passion, not the John Passion, includes movements with a tonally open ritornello. 13.  D-B Mus. ms. Bach St 145. See the parts through the Bach Digital website, https://www.bach-digital.de. 14.  Malcolm Boyd, Bach, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 83. 15.  Christoph Wolff, Bach: Essays on His Life and Music (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991), 234–237. What is striking here is that Wolff sees the first movement of BWV 1041 as a work representative of Bach’s mature contrapuntal technique, whereas Boyd reads it as a technically straightforward piece. One way of reconciling the discrepancy is to see the movement as featuring a seemingly simple melodic and rhythmic gesture conveyed by a rather complicated contrapuntal technique in a sophisticated formal design. In this context, Wolff indicates that Bach’s concerto chronology needs to be cast in a new perspective that reflects a sophisticated analytical methodology. See Wolff, Bach: Essays on His Life and Music, 237. 16.  The cantata text translations in this chapter are taken from Melvin P. Unger, Handbook to Bach’s Sacred Cantata Texts: An Interlinear Translation with Reference Guide to Biblical Quotations and Allusions (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1996). 17.  Vokaleinbau is also discussed in chapter 6 of this volume. See Sanders: “Formal and Motivic Design in the Opening Chorus of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat.”

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18.  Since no printed text booklet survives for Cantata 20, we cannot know whether the choice to repeat the first line as the final line originated with Bach or with the cantata’s librettist. 19.  The absence of the ritornello between the B and A' sections in Bach’s cantata is not without precedent. See, for example, “Mein Jesus soll mein alles sein” from BWV 75. The aria, similar to this alto aria of BWV 20, is a modified da capo form, but without an instrumental ritornello between the B and A' sections. Furthermore, Bach does not repeat the music of A in the A' section, but writes new melodic material for the repeated text. 20. Dreyfus’s analysis of Bach’s vocal music is included in the article “The Triumph of ‘Instrumental Melody’: Aspects of Musical Poetics in Bach’s St. John Passion,” in Bach Perspectives 8: J. S. Bach and the Oratorio Tradition, ed. Daniel R. Melamed, 96–121 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2011). In this chapter, Dreyfus demonstrates that Bach’s ritornello principle in the vocal repertories also functions as a rigorous compositional system that plays a dominant role in the construction of Bach’s vocal music. Dreyfus argues that it is Bach’s ritornello procedure that crystalizes Bach’s poetics, not textual or theological considerations. Interestingly, at the conclusion of the article, Dreyfus brings back Philipp Spitta’s critical voice against Bach’s vocal setting. See Philipp Spitta, Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany, 1685–1750, vol. 2, trans. Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland (London: Novello, 1889), 530–35. Dreyfus’s stance poses a great contrast to that of, for example, Michael Marissen, who published a monograph with a provocative title of Bach & God. In this book, Marissen primarily, though not exclusively, reads Bach’s vocal music in theological terms related to traditional Lutheranism. See Michael Marissen, Bach & God (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). 21.  In order to draw upon textual and theological implications that might run through the eight movements that I listed in this study with tonally open ritornello, I have closely examined the texts of these movements. However, the texts do not provide conclusive evidence for the pairing of the tonally open ritornello with particular text types or themes. This further leads me to underscore the fact that Bach seems to have paid more attention to the musical or rather technical concerns for these tightly-built movements.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Berger, Karol. “Time’s Arrow and the Advent of Musical Modernity.” In Music and the Aesthetics of Modernity. Edited by Karol Berger and Anthony Newcomb, 3–22. Cambridge: Isham Library Papers 6, 2005. ———. Bach’s Cycle, Mozart’s Arrow: An Essay on the Origins of Musical Modernity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007. Boyd, Malcolm. Bach. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Brainard, Paul. “The Regulative and Generative Roles of Verse in Bach’s ‘Thematic’ Invention.” In Bach Studies. Edited by Don O. Franklin, 54–74. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.



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———. “The ‘Non-Quoting’ Ritornello in Bach’s Arias.” In A Bach Tribute: Essays in Honor of William H. Scheide. Edited by Paul Brainard and Ray Robinson, 27–44. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1993. Butt, John. “Bach’s Passion and the Textures of Time.” In The Century of Bach & Mozart: Perspectives on Historiography, Composition, Theory & Performance. Edited by Sean Gallagher & Thomas Forrest Kelly, 111–20. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. ———. Bach’s Dialogue with Modernity: Perspectives on the Passions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Crist, Stephen A. “Aria Forms in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach, 1714–1724.” Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 1988. Dreyfus, Laurence. “J. S. Bach’s Concerto Ritornellos and the Question of Invention.” The Musical Quarterly 71 (1985): 327–51. ———. Bach and the Patterns of Invention. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996. ———. “The Triumph of ‘Instrumental Melody’: Aspects of Musical Poetics in Bach’s St. John Passion.” In Bach Perspectives 8: J. S. Bach and the Oratorio Tradition. Edited by Daniel R. Melamed, 96–121. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2011. Dürr, Alfred. The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text. Revised and translated by Richard D. P. Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Marissen, Michael. Bach & God. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Marshall, Robert L. “The Genesis of an Aria Ritornello: Observations on the Autograph Score of ‘Wie zittern und wanken’ BWV 105/3.” In The Music of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Sources, the Style, the Significance, 143–160. New York: Schirmer Books, 1989. Spitta, Philipp. Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany, 1685–1750. 3 vols. Translated by Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland. London: Novello, 1885–1889. Swack, Jeanne. “Modular Structure and the Recognition of Ritornello in Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos.” In Bach Perspectives 4: Analysis and Interpretation. Edited by David Schulenberg, 33–53. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1999. Unger, Melvin P. Handbook to Bach’s Sacred Cantata Texts: An Interlinear Translation with Reference Guide to Biblical Quotations and Allusions. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1996. Varwig, Bettina. “Metaphors of Time and Modernity in Bach.” Journal of Musicology 29 (2010): 154–90. Wolff, Christoph. Bach: Essays on His Life and Music. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991. ———. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician. New York: W. W. Norton, 2000.

Chapter Eight

The Christian Believer and the Sleep of Jesus “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein” from J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion Wye J. Allanbrook In Bach’s time, there existed a venerable tradition, soon to be superseded, that the most serious music must begin with the word. “Alles muss gehörig singen”—“Everything must sing properly”—was the motto and byword of Johann Mattheson’s massive and influential music treatise, Der vollkommene Capellmeister,1 and elsewhere in that work he states: All playing is only an imitation and accompaniment of singing, [sic] indeed, an instrumentalist . . . must observe that which is required for good melody and harmony even more assiduously than a singer . . . since one has the aid of quite clear words with singing; whereas instruments are always lacking these.2

This precept went hand in hand with the conviction that music, in moving its audience, should also edify it; how else except with the aid of words, which could make specific the images aroused by the inarticulate tones? In composing a piece of texted music one was first to single out the word or phrase that seemed to fix best the meaning of the text, and then invent a musical figure that could appropriately complement that word or phrase. In sum, compositional choices and musical meanings were expected to emerge from text. This text could be interpreted with varying degrees of literalness. Sometimes the word chosen would translate readily into a musical picture, a piece of “tone painting.” Among such directly mimetic examples from Bach’s Matthew Passion are the pizzicato strings that evoke teardrops (“die Tropfen”) in the B section of No. 6, “Buß und Reu” (mm. 69–73 and 86–88). This representation carries on the aqueous metaphor from the preceding recitative, No. 5, “Du lieber Heiland, du,” which gets its own flowing melodic descent in the alto voice on the words “Tränenflüssen / Ein Wasser auf dein Haupt” (“Rivers of tears / a [stream of precious] water,” mm. 8–9).3 A similarly 153

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direct example is found in No. 27a, the soprano and alto duet with chorus, “So ist mein Jesus nun gefangen.” Throughout this movement, Bach employs chains of suspensions—invoking the “gebundener Stil” (“bound style”)—as a musical play on the texts “So ist mein Jesus nun gefangen” (“My Jesus is now captured, then”) and later “Sie führen ihn, er ist gebunden” (“They lead him away; he is bound”). A play on words like this must be pointed out to a modern listener, and even with such explanation may seem to skate close to the edge of aesthetic propriety. But the “gebundener Stil” was one of the hallmarks of the most exalted ecclesiastical music, and its straitly controlled dissonances, moving in themselves, had other, sometimes seemingly arbitrary associations, that Bach nonetheless raised here to musical symbols of the events of the Passion narrative. Examples involving a more extended musical metaphor include the descending chromatic bass line, a traditional emblem of lament,4 that accompanies the text opening No. 6, “Buß und Reu knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei” (“Penitence and remorse grinds my sinful heart into pieces,” heard first in mm. 13–20). Another is the arduously negotiated dotted rhythms of the “walking” bass for viola da gamba accompanying the aria No. 35, “Geduld” (“Patience,” heard first in mm. 2–4). In all these examples, the text-music relation is mediated by some sort of musical trope or figure that intimates, either by convention or more graphically, the text’s dominant affect and even its specific words. Then, of course, there are the extraordinary recitatives that set the actual biblical narrative, in which the music is even more clearly subservient to the text, spinning out harmonic commas, semicolons, and periods to support the sentences of the Evangelist and the participants in the drama, and occasionally exploding into a breathtaking moment of text painting to mark a particularly significant word or phrase. See, for example, the melisma on “gekreuziget” (“crucified”) at the end of the recitative No. 2 (m. 7), and the imitative spinning out of the melismatic “kreuzigen” (“crucify”) in Nos. 45b and 50b. Some other well-known instances include the chords in contrary motion that accompany the scattering of the flocks in No. 14 (mm. 8–10) and the heartwrenching melisma in No. 38c to set the text “und weinete bitterlich” (“and wept bitterly”), which perhaps suggested the near-rhapsodic string tracery that stylizes weeping in the following alto aria, No. 39, “Erbarme dich.”5 In all these examples, the relationship of text to music is not opaque or mysterious: we can recognize and articulate the composer’s twin impulses, to grace the text and edify the listener by the use of the appropriate musical figures. There is at least one aria, however, that seems to resist this kind of analysis, an aria in which one is hard put to make out the ruling musical reference that guided the composer’s hand. This state of affairs is especially frustrating



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because the aria in question is one of the most beautiful in the Matthew Passion, and the culminating one, No. 65, “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein.” Most particularly here would one like to try to identify and articulate the meaning Bach saw fit to convey through his compositional choices for this moment in the narrative. The aria occurs just after the crucifixion, following the moment when Joseph of Arimathea claims Jesus’s body from Pontius Pilate. The scene is developed musically in the same way as others in the Passion: a passage from the Gospel of Matthew narrating the scriptural event is set in simple recitative (No. 63) and then commented on by an observer who stands outside the time of the narrative (Nos. 64 and 65). The interpolated texts are verses written by Picander (Christian Friedrich Heinrici), the poet who was also responsible for the text of the Mark Passion (for which only the text survives) and of several of Bach’s cantatas. The commentary itself, as is true of most other such occasions in the Matthew Passion, has two parts: first a discursive passage in a free declamatory style, set musically to a form of recitative with orchestral accompaniment and a more pronounced melos than the simple recitative (that is, an accompanied recitative), and then a summary, epigrammatic statement in the aria, in which musical motifs are more fully developed. This succession of types—simple recitative to accompanied recitative to aria—represents a progression from the music most resembling speech to a closed musical form.6 This particular scene takes place in the evening, and the accompanied recitative text (No. 64) ponders the theological meaning of eventide: Am Abend, da es kühle war, Ward Adams Fallen offenbar; Am Abend drücket ihn der Heiland nieder. Am Abend kam die Taube wieder Und trug ein Ölblatt in dem Munde. O schöne Zeit! O Abendstunde! Der Friedensschluß ist nun mit Gott gemacht, Denn Jesus hat sein Kreuz vollbracht. Sein Leichnam kömmt zur Ruh, Ach! liebe Seele, bitte du, Geh, lasse dir den toten Jesum schenken, O heilsames, o köstlichs Angedenken!

In the evening, when it was cool, Adam’s Fall became manifest; in the evening the Savior demolishes him. In the evening the dove came back, bearing an olive leaf in its mouth. O lovely time! O evening hour! The peace treaty is now made with God, for Jesus has accomplished his [Godly aims in dying on the] cross. His corpse comes to rest; oh! dear soul, ask for the favor: go, let the death-stricken Jesus be given to you; o wholesome, o precious remembrance!

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In Picander’s poetry, the peace of the evening and the covenant of peace become one: Adam and Noah are fulfilled in Jesus, who has paid the ultimate price for the sins of all. Eventide becomes a symbol for the peace with God that Jesus accomplished through his death on the cross. At the end of the accompanied recitative, the bass singer addresses his own soul, telling it to go receive the dead Jesus, and then, in perhaps the most tender and moving aria in the Passion (No. 65), enjoins his heart to prepare itself for the coming of Christ: Mache dich, mein Herze, rein, Ich will Jesum selbst begraben.

Make yourself pure, my heart; I wish to bury Jesus himself [inside my heart].

The poetry of the aria’s second section makes specific what is merely implied in the preceding texts, the mysterious truth that the self is the actual locus of the entombment: Denn er soll nunmehr in mir Für und für Seine süße Ruhe haben. Welt, geh aus, laß Jesum ein!

For within me shall he now, ever and ever, have his sweet rest. World, get out [of my heart]; let Jesus in!

After the second section, the first is repeated in Bach’s modified da capo setting. One of the difficulties with setting the text of the first section of this aria is that it is not a text particularly fertile in musical ideas, one that would conduce to the kind of musical treatment that distinguishes the other aria texts cited above (Nos. 6, 27a, and 35). How do you draw a musical picture of a heart purifying itself? of a believer burying Jesus in himself? The task seems preposterous, perhaps even blasphemous. No simple mimetic solution immediately suggests itself. And yet this crowning aria demands a most significant setting, one that will reflect in its summation all that has gone before, and will move the listener to faith at the darkest and most difficult moment in the narrative of Jesus’s life on earth. Bach found, I think, a solution that, although paradoxical from the point of view of the prevailing aesthetic of the word, was nonetheless brilliantly consummatory. For in projecting this culminating moment, he decided on a setting that would, as it were, override the word—suspend meaning and syntax—in order to bring the believer to a pre-verbal, nonarticulable state that nevertheless carried its own burden of theological meaning. It could not exist without the word, for it is supported by, and embroiders on, the musical figures and



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metaphors introduced in previous recitatives and arias. Yet in its appeal to wordlessness, it also manages to transcend these more articulate tropes. To understand the appropriateness of the text setting in “Mache dich,” we must first look back briefly at some other arias in the Matthew Passion. In part I, the aria for tenor and chorus, No. 20, “Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen” (“I will stay alert beside my Jesus”), introduces musical figures critical to the work’s structure of metaphor. The believer is aroused to a state of wakefulness to watch by his Jesus and hence put his sins to sleep. The agent of the waking is the ever-articulate oboe, with its sharply dissonant appoggiaturas sounding a clarion call that resembles a trumpet fanfare. Following the fanfare is a passage of astonishing dissonances (appoggiaturas and cross relations), which seem the pricks and goads to this eternal wakefulness. Later the text states that because it causes our sins to slumber, Jesus’s Passion must be to the believer not only bitter but also sweet (mm. 47–59): Drum muß uns sein verdienstlich Leiden Recht bitter und doch süße sein.

That is why to us his meritorious suffering must be downright bitter, and yet sweet.

This pairing of bitter and sweet, like that of sleep and wakefulness, is conveyed by the piercing sweetness of the oboe. In “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,” one member each from these two pairs of opposites is selected, and the two themselves paired, in the notion of “sweet rest” (“süße Ruhe”) introduced in the second part of the aria. The task of the aria is to make the notion of “sweet rest” convincing at the moment when profound grief and fear would seem to be the most appropriate human emotions; the believer must be soothed to a state of eternal rest in Jesus. Bach’s device for achieving this is quite simple: he turns the aria into a cradle song, a lullaby. “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein” is set in 12/8, a meter it shares with two other central pieces in the Matthew Passion: the opening chorus, “Kommt, ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen,” and No. 39, “Erbarme dich,” the alto aria that follows Peter’s denial of Jesus. The twelve-beat measure— four sets of threes grouped into pairs—is in each case used to strikingly different effect. In the opening chorus the 12/8 suggests the slow progress of Jesus into Jerusalem riding on a donkey (Matthew 21), or, proleptically, the agonizing limp of his walk to Calvary. The text of the chorus contains the end of the Passion at its beginning: Sehet ihn aus Lieb und Huld Holz zum Kreuze selber tragen!

Look at him out of love and favor, bearing [the] wood of the cross himself!

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The steady repeated eighth notes of the bass line in No. 39, “Erbarme dich,” summon up the throbbing pulse of the grief-stricken sinner, whose attitude of swooning remorse is suggested by the vertiginous descent of that bass line from the tonic (in B Minor) to the fourth scale degree by way of flatted seventh (mm. 1–2). In “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,” however, the triple pulse is used to mime the rock of the cradle. Cradle songs from time immemorial have used these rhythmic threes in groups of two: each three follows one swing, with the odd beat catching the pause of the cradle at the extreme of its trajectory, poised for return. These threes are then grouped in twos: the pendulum swings as the cradle rocks back and forth, back and forth. This can be heard in the aria’s instrumental introduction (mm. 1–8), in which the basso continuo sets up the rhythm briefly before the melodic voices join in (oboe da caccia 1/ violin 1, oboe da caccia 2/violin 2, viola). The rocking motion has an eternality about it that the singer merely shares.7 The cradle song is a hypnotic gesture, as the continuous motion of its rhythmic rocking serves to suspend time.8 To heighten this hypnosis of the eternal, Bach suspends both musical syntax and the prosody of the text, elements that suggest human meanings in human time. After the announcement of the head motive (mm. 1, 9, 12, etc.), the tonic B-flat is suspended above the beat-to-beat harmonic action, and a scale descends against it with each rock of the cradle. See, for example, mm. 2–3, with its prominent B-flats in the two upper melodic voices over a bass line that descends by stepwise motion from B-flat to E-flat (the parallel of this passage with the bass voice is found in mm. 13–14). This upper limit (in theoretical terms, an “upper tonic pedal”) provides a higher tonal and temporal level against which the rocking measures itself, but without the static effect that such a sustained note would have if it were held in the more conventional position, in the bass. The goal of the scale is the fourth degree, E-flat, where it will complete the syntax of the standard harmonic “sentence,” but it takes nearly one-and-three-quarters measures to get to its destination, a period in which harmonic syntax is essentially suspended. Nonetheless, in these measures (mm. 2–4, 13–15, etc.), Bach teases out a complex polyphonic tissue in three voices—the B-flat upper tonic pedal (in oboe da caccia 1/violin 1 and oboe da caccia II/violin II), the descending scale (in the basso continuo), and an inner voice (viola) that fills in the chordal combinations that these two outer voices chance to form between themselves. However, the tones belonging to these combinations in the upper two parts are decorated with appoggiaturas and syncopations that displace the chord tones from the strong beat on which one might normally expect to find them. In fact, the chords formed by the motion of the scale against the pedal



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are no more than versions of the goal of the motion, the triad on the fourth degree or the subdominant: IV6 over the G in the bass, m. 2; a I 6/4 formed in passing over the F, m. 3, beats 1 and 2; and finally IV in root position for the remainder of the third measure. Furthermore, Bach makes the vocal line responsible for both the “upper” pedal and the middle voice, a disposition that entails certain striking consequences for this main “melody” of the aria. Mattheson, in keeping with his teaching that “all must be singable,” states of vocal and instrumental melody that “the former [vocal melody] is the mother, but the latter [instrumental melody] is her daughter.” He instructs the daughter “to adjust herself after her motherly precepts as best possible, to make everything beautifully singable and flowing, so that one might hear whose child she is,” and advises that some melodies may be “produced as though outside of wedlock . . . according to how they take after the mother, or again are different.”9 We usually think of singable melodies as distinguished by conjunct motion, a musical rhythm that bends to the shape of the measure, and a prosody that tries to bring out the natural rhythms of the words. On these grounds, the theme as we first meet it, in m. 2 of the instrumental ritornello, is clearly one of those illegitimate daughters of whom Mattheson speaks. Instead of a smooth conjunct line, it alternates motion by half or whole step (the appoggiaturas) with motion by much larger intervals—augmented fourth, perfect fifth, minor and major sixth, and minor seventh. Hence the shape of the melodic line calls three times for a small and a large interval (half step and augmented fourth in the first case; see m. 2: D, E-flat, A, B-flat) to line up in ascending direction without a compensatory motion in the opposite direction. In short, the solo line employs a characteristic Baroque technique of instrumental writing called “Brechnung” (literally, “breaking”), in which one instrument simulates the parts of several; here the oboe da caccia 1/violin 1 both sustain the B-flat pedal and imply an inner voice. The vocal line alternates between the high and the low registers to do its work, with the upper plane focused on the notes A and B-flat and the lower plane (crossing below the oboe da caccia 2/violin 2 part) an E-flat, C, D figure that descends in sequence by stepwise motion. The B-flat pedal is not sustained throughout, but dotted in pointillistically; the melodic contortion caused by this regular but off-beat return to the pedal gives it enormous power. The theme when taken up by the voice (mm. 12–15) cannot help being unvocal: an imitation of an imitation, simulating an instrument that is already simulating several instruments deployed in a complex polyphonic texture, it is, in Mattheson’s terms, thoroughly “illegitimate.” This awkward leading voice (one is hard put to call it a melody), with its syncopations and other forms of displacement, causes a further distortion of

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the singable in the actual prosody of the text. The line “Ich will Jesum selbst begraben” must accommodate itself to the odd strings of intervals and the syncopations and other forms of rhythmic displacement; the accommodation is not particularly graceful (see, for example, the first vocal entry, mm. 9–15). The singer must stretch the syllables “Je-” and “gra-” uncomfortably in the move to a melodic peak on an offbeat, and then leap downward to a disproportionate stress on the ordinarily unstressed syllables “-sum” and “-ben.” The words are nearly dismantled into their separate syllables here—nearly divested of their semantic content—uttered as they are to the hypnotically repeated pattern of the lulling cradle song. The B section of the aria, by contrast, is set with more conventional pictorial and rhythmic attention to the text: the word “Rühe” (“rest”) is pictured by a note held for thirteen eighth notes (mm. 42–43), and the setting of the peremptory command “Welt, geh aus, laß Jesum ein!” stands at the opposite end of the spectrum from that of “Mache dich”: the rhythms of speech sound out with complete clarity. But in the A section, singer, song, and syntax are dissolved in the cosmic lullaby that is the rocking of Jesus in the sleep of death. All human history focuses on the descent from the cross. That moment of time must stand for eternity. When syntax must reassert itself, at the end of this musical section, we are wholly prepared for the vocal awkwardness of the last cadence—the deep leap down from the octave to the prime, one syllable too soon, as it were, to pick out the final “begraben” (“bury”; see mm. 28–29). This kind of tone painting might seem comically graphic in another context. But we have become habituated in this aria to accept musical awkwardness as a convincing theological symbol. I have spoken thus far of the physical effects of the cradle song—how its rhythmic rocking, intensified by its non-vocal melody and a prosody stretched to meaning’s breaking point, soothes the believer to a primal, pre-verbal state. But this inarticulate music can also be seen as an articulate symbol of an important teaching here at the end of the Matthew Passion. For the Passion, as it must, has concentrated on the suffering of Jesus, his “Angst und Pein” (“fear and pain,” the words that end the verse of the chorale that occurs just after the crucifixion, No. 62). And the stances urged on the believer in many of the previous commentary texts seem primarily to be the arduous ones of vigilance and remorse. This aria, however, seems to suggest the possibility of a more peaceful consummation, in which the Christian believer becomes one with Jesus by making of himself a sepulcher for the Savior’s body. For the accompanied recitative text (No. 64) translated death into sleep, an image that has already been made significant earlier in the Passion, particularly in the tenor aria with chorus No. 20, “Ich



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will bei meinem Jesu wachen” (discussed above), in which the Daughter Zion’s alertness is contrasted by the Chorus of Believers singing “So schlafen unsre Sünden ein” (“Our sins will fall asleep, then”). And a familiar icon from painting and sculpture may provide a further clue: the pietà, the figure of Mary the weeping mother holding Jesus in her arms after the descent from the cross. But before returning to this idea, a few words on Bach’s choice of voice range for the arias are in order.10 Sometimes the composer assigned Picander’s commentary texts to a singer whose voice range was different from that of the character who sings in the particular Matthew text, thereby universalizing the incident and making clear the relevance of its teaching to all believers. A case in point is the scene of Peter’s denial of Jesus (Nos. 38–40), in which the singer who asks for mercy in the aria (No. 39, “Erbarme dich”) is not, like Peter, a bass, but an alto: Bach substitutes a different voice range in order to emphasize that no human beings should be able to think themselves immune to such weakness. In “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,” the Christian believer holds the blessedly resting Jesus in his arms. In one sense, the bass voice is an obvious choice here, for two reasons, both of which have to do with similarity of voice range. The narrative context for the recitative and aria is Joseph of Arimathea requesting the body of Jesus from Pilate, and the bass singing the aria can be seen as an extension of Joseph.11 Furthermore, the part of Jesus is assigned to a bass voice, and in other arias like this one, where the believer desires to be one with Jesus in some way, the bass voice is used to underline this identification. Bach employs such an approach, for example, in the bass aria No. 23, “Gerne will ich mich bequemen,” when Jesus prays that the cup may pass from him, and the believer declares, “Happily will I be so kind as to accept the cross and cup”; and in the bass recitative No. 56, “Ja freilich will in uns das Fleisch und Blut,” and aria, No. 57, “Komm, süßes Kreuz,” in which the believer offers himself to carry the cross in imitation of Simon of Cyrene. But the image of Mary at the foot of the cross cradling the body of her son cannot be far from the mind of the Christian believer at this moment. Is it fanciful to suggest that on another level the bass voice is being used here to universalize the icon of the pietà? While Mary held a full-grown son who was beyond the solace of rocking, the symbolic believer stands out of time and the narrative, and hence is allowed what Mary could not have, the full satisfaction of a maternal lullaby. It is thus, the aria argues, that believers should receive Jesus. For the aria is an injunction to the believer to accept the final agony of Jesus in full serenity, an attitude that may in truth be harder to attain than the remorse and repentance that are more instinctive human reactions to the Passion narrative. Hard as it may be to accept, to bury Jesus is to rock him to sleep with a mother’s lullaby.12

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In the final chorus of the Matthew Passion, “Wir setzen uns mit Tränen nieder” (No. 68), the watchers enact the three-day vigil by Jesus’s tomb. Again sweet sleep is evoked: the chorus calls out to Jesus to “rest in peace, in peace rest!” (“ruhe sanfte, sanfte ruh!”). It is deeply stirring music, but in a certain sense impersonal, with its sedate and precise four-measure periods that are more like a chorale than they are in any of the previous choruses, and its formal, almost mechanical alternation between the minor and the relative major. On the downbeat of the last measure, the piercing dissonance of the leading-tone appoggiatura in the oboe reminds the watchers of the injunction to wakefulness that was first put forth in No. 20, “Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen.” It also suggests a cry of pain as the inevitable accompaniment to that of faithful wakefulness. The final chorus is thus a communal farewell, which remains within the bounds of time and puts the actual narrative period to the drama of the Passion. It is left to “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,” making its appeal on a more fundamental level, to offer both instruction and solace to the soul of the individual believer. In his setting of this seemingly unsuggestive piece of text, Bach manages to explode it into a deeper meaning. By means of a primal musical gesture that is also a significant theological symbol, he attempts to move the believer both physically and cognitively to a deeper Christian faith. Editors’ note: This chapter was originally published as Wye J. Allanbrook, “The Sleep of Sin: A Note on an Aria from Bach’s Matthew Passion,” in Essays in Honor of Robert Bart, ed. Cary Stickney, 16–23 (Annapolis, MD: St. John’s College, 1993). We are grateful to Cary Stickney for permission to publish a revised and expanded version of the essay in the present volume. Shortly before her death in July 2010, when Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach was just initially being conceived, Professor Allanbrook submitted this essay for inclusion in the volume, with the indication that she would revise and expand it for publication. In light of Professor Allanbrook’s indications of how she intended to update the essay, we have edited the manuscript and added some references to more recent scholarship on Bach’s Matthew Passion. We are grateful to Stephanie W. Jamison, Professor Allanbrook’s sister, for permission to publish this chapter. MP & RS NOTES 1.  Johann Mattheson, Der vollkommene Capellmeister (Hamburg: Christian Herold, 1739), I:1, 6.



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2. Johann Mattheson, Der vollkommene Capellmeister, trans. Ernest Harriss (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1981), I:10, 65. 3. All English translations of Matthew Passion texts in this chapter are taken from Michael Marissen, Bach’s Oratorios: The Parallel German-English Texts with Annotations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 29–73. 4.  See Ellen Rosand, “The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament,” The Musical Quarterly 65 (1979): 346–59. 5.  For an elegant brief essay on an instance of word-painting in a recitative of the Matthew Passion, see Elliott Zuckerman, “Willing But Weak: A Note on the Matthew Passion,” Energeia (1983): 43. 6.  For more on the grouping and progression of such movements and their role in the Matthew Passion, see Don O. Franklin, “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion,” in Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver, ed. Daniel Zager (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007), 121–39; and Don O. Franklin, “Viewing the Poetic Texts in Bach’s Matthew Passion from a New Perspective,” Bach 46 (2015): 29–48. 7.  I interpret this differently, therefore, than Markus Rathey, who describes this rhythmic pattern not as the rocking of a cradle, but rather as participating in the pastoral mood of the aria. See Markus Rathey, Bach’s Major Vocal Works: Music, Drama, Liturgy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2016), 122. 8.  On time and eternity in Bach’s Matthew Passion, see Chapters 1–3 of Karol Berger, Bach’s Cycle, Mozart’s Arrow: An Essay on the Origins of Musical Modernity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007) and Chapter 2 of John Butt, Bach’s Dialogue with Modernity: Perspectives on the Passions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 9. Mattheson, Der vollkommene Capellmeister, trans. Harriss, II:12, 4, 5. 10.  For more on Bach’s employment of voices in the Passions, see Chapter 2 of Daniel R. Melamed, Hearing Bach’s Passions, updated ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016 [2005]). 11.  See Rathey, Bach’s Major Vocal Works, 120–22. 12.  On the mystical union of the Christian believer with Jesus in Bach’s Matthew Passion, see Isabella van Elferen, Mystical Love in the German Baroque: Theology, Poetry, Music, Contextual Bach Studies 2, edited by Robin A. Leaver (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 2009), especially 287–94, and Rathey, Bach’s Major Vocal Works, 107–37.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Allanbrook, Wye J. “The Sleep of Sin: A Note on an Aria from Bach’s Matthew Passion.” In Essays in Honor of Robert Bart. Edited by Cary Stickney, 16–23. Annapolis, MD: St. John’s College, 1993. Berger, Karol. Bach’s Cycle, Mozart’s Arrow: An Essay on the Origins of Musical Modernity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007.

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Butt, John Bach’s Dialogue with Modernity: Perspectives on the Passions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Franklin, Don O. “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion.” In Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver. Edited by Daniel Zager, 121–39. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007. ———. “Viewing the Poetic Texts in Bach’s Matthew Passion from a New Perspective.” Bach 46 (2015): 29–48. Marissen, Michael. Bach’s Oratorios: The Parallel German-English Texts with Annotations. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Mattheson, Johann. Der vollkommene Capellmeister. Hamburg: Christian Herold, 1739. ———. Der vollkommene Capellmeister. Translated by Ernest Harriss. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1981. Melamed, Daniel R. Hearing Bach’s Passions. Updated edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016 (2005). Rathey, Markus. Bach’s Major Vocal Works: Music, Drama, Liturgy. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2016. Rosand, Ellen. “The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament.” The Musical Quarterly 65 (1979): 346–59. van Elferen, Isabella. Mystical Love in the German Baroque: Theology, Poetry, Music. Contextual Bach Studies 2. Edited by Robin A. Leaver. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 2009. Zuckerman, Elliott. “Willing But Weak: A Note on the Matthew Passion.” Energeia (1983): 43.

Part III

BACH’S SELF-MODELING Parody as Compositional Impetus

Chapter Nine

Parody and Text Quality in the Vocal Works of J. S. Bach Hans-Joachim Schulze

The works resulting from Johann Sebastian Bach’s application of parody procedures raise questions about the nature of the content and grammatical structure of their texts.1 These questions concern various aspects of the relationship between words and music, especially the quality demanded by the composer in the new text, as well as the capabilities of the author charged with writing the text and his familiarity with the process. Some axioms of older research will be touched on here, which, for a long time—chiefly in the decades from Adolph Bernhard Marx (1828) to Albert Schweitzer (1908)—held sway in the field and even today continue to exert influence in a weakened form: 1.  The extensive application of the parody procedure is characteristic of Johann Sebastian Bach. 2.  This extensive application proves to be a problem because the relationship between text and music is often significantly damaged. 3.  This problem is exacerbated by the unparalleled inferiority of the texts, which is widely observed, and by the degree of incompetence of Bach’s librettists. 4.  Future generations should not be burdened with these “heinous German sacred texts” (in the words of Carl Friedrich Zelter), and certainly not with such texts that resulted from the parody procedure. A few years ago, I explained in a short essay that the sacred cantata texts set to music by Johann Sebastian Bach usually involve a well-balanced interplay of “theological content, linguistic quality, and suitability for musical setting.”2 Furthermore, it has been shown that many of these texts reflect “extensive knowledge of the Bible and hymnal, as well as the tradition of exegesis.” Martin Petzoldt wrote expressly of “re-biblification.”3 There is 167

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also the conclusion to be drawn from this that from today’s perspective the occasionally disconcerting qualities of the seemingly “free” poetry—that is, the recitative and aria texts—originate in part from the Baroque desire to be expressive. More frequently, however, it is indebted to comprehension and paraphrasing of the vocabulary of Luther’s Bible translation and the hymns of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. This attachment to tradition reduces considerably the true contribution of the librettists, but nevertheless leaves enough room for recognition of individual poetic styles. The verbal ostentation of a Georg Christian Lehms, derived from the Second Silesian Poetry School, stands in contrast to Salomo Franck’s emotional catchiness. The orthodox straightforwardness of Erdmann Neumeister stands in contrast to the savvy lightness of the “Picander Jahrgang.” Concerning the question of quality, in an earlier essay I undertook the reevaluation of the role of the librettist in preparing parody texts, and acknowledged his participation, at least around the edges, based on his knowledge of the compositions to receive new texts.4 In order for the hasty verdict of mere “template texts” to be laid aside, a fundamental distinction should not be made between original texts and those that were created in the course of the parody process, especially those prepared for purposes of church music, so that the latter are not automatically seen as subordinate. On the contrary, it is necessary to examine on a case-by-case basis what requirements must have been imposed on the author of a parody text, how much license he took, and to what extent he was able to cope with his task as a whole. To this day, Christian Friedrich Henrici deserves the highest respect for preparing the new aria texts for the Matthew Passion—likely first performed on April 15, 1729—to be set to movements from the funeral music for Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Köthen, performed only weeks before on March 23 and 24, 1729.5 It remains difficult to settle the question of priority with regard to the unearthly “Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben” or its counterpart “Mit Freuden sei die Welt verlassen.” Bach’s bassetto setting is perfectly well suited to both texts. If the evidence suggesting the Matthew Passion was composed in 1727 could be confirmed, the parody direction, while unusual, would be clear. On the other hand, the more common assumption could be validated, that the two works, and therefore both texts, were written in close succession, at the beginning of 1729 at the latest—essentially, at the same time. The complicated discussion of this difficult problem cannot be continued, and certainly not resolved, here.6 But the situation surrounding the genesis of the Matthew Passion should only make it clear that the question of the quality of parody texts is not merely of peripheral significance. In order to limit the scope of our undertaking, a special problem of the re-texting of existing music is taken up below, namely the so-called en-bloc parody,



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which is repeatedly encountered in the oeuvre of Johann Sebastian Bach. This concept concerns the reuse of a vocal work with all or almost all of its movements, a re-texting challenge requiring appropriate treatment of syllables and rhymes—and not only with the arias, which are usually manageable—but also with recitatives of complex structure. The relevant examples focus on the last months of Bach’s first year in Leipzig: the cantatas for the second and third days of Easter and Pentecost of 1724 (BWV 66, 134, 173, and 184). Each has five or six movements and is based on dedicatory cantatas from the Köthen period. In two of these four cases, secular models (BWV 134a, 173a) and sacred reworkings are clearly evident. For the others, the transmission is fragmentary. For BWV 66a, only the presumptive source text survives; for BWV 184a, the vocal parts are notably missing, and with them the text. For the parody of the Köthen birthday serenade, Durchlauchtster Leopold (BWV 173a), the unknown librettist of the Pentecost cantata Erhöhtes Fleisch und Blut (BWV 173) had a difficult task in overcoming the obstacles of some tricky strophic forms. Moreover, he was not inspired sufficiently to present a unified, goal-specific approach for the creation of church cantata texts with a conclusive “dramaturgy.” While the first and last movements of the Pentecost version are completely reformulated (not a glimmer of the model shines through), elsewhere the poet has eased his burden by taking over individual verses or practically complete stanzas from the model, fitting the text to the new purpose only through the exchange of definitive terms. The concluding lines of the first aria, meant for Prince Leopold in BWV 173a: Rühmet, singet, stimmt die Saiten, seinen Nachruhm auszubreiten

Praise, sing, tune the strings to spread his fame7

in BWV 173 are changed to Rühmet, singet, stimmt die Saiten, Gottes Treue auszubreiten.

Praise, sing, tune the strings to spread God’s devotion.

At the beginning of movement 5, Durchlauchtigster, den Anhalt Vater nennt

Most serene, whom Anhalt calls Father

becomes Unendlichster, den man doch Vater nennt.

the most infinite, whom one calls Father.

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This line from movement three, which seems weak to begin with: Leopolds Vortrefflichkeiten machen uns itzt viel zu tun

Leopold’s many excellences now give us much to do

becomes hardly more inspired: Gott will, o ihr Menschenkinder, an euch große Dinge tun

God wants, oh you children of men, to do great things for you.

Despite the references to the Gospel of the day found here and there in the Pentecost text, one cannot attach a more profound theological meaning to the reworking of the text. The findings are similar concerning the pair of works Die Zeit, die Tag und Jahre macht (BWV 134a, text by Christian Friedrich Hunold, 1719) and Ein Herz, das (seinen) Jesum lebend weiß (BWV 134). Here, the precise, meticulously accurate re-texting enabled the Thomaskantor to render the first performance of the Easter cantata in Leipzig with virtually no changes to the score. Seven years later, however, while preparing the music for Easter Monday 1731, he must have had concerns about the agreement between text and music in the three recitatives and therefore replaced these movements in the first Köthen-Leipzig version with newly composed settings. A comparison of the opening of movement 3 in both versions illustrates the issues that motivated the revisions, as seen in Example 9.1. Bach eliminated a number of defects, such as the less fitting melodic climaxes on “dich” (m. 2), “Eigentum” (m. 3), and “Hölle” (mm. 7–8); the hasty sixteenth notes on “zu deinem Heil” (m. 5) and “der Heiland dir zu gut” (mm. 9–10); the absence of harmonic change on “Satan” (m. 6) or dissonance on “Hölle” (mm. 7–8); as well as the melody that is too pale on “Gott” (m. 1), “Heiland” (m. 4), and “siegt” and “Macht” (mm. 4–5). Although the author of the parody text certainly did his best, the inadequacy of the 1724 version is evident from the improvements made in 1731. While these revisions document the high quality Bach demanded in a recitative, the earlier version, on account of its blatant weaknesses, could have attracted the odium of illegitimacy, had it not been preserved in an autograph source. It is worth noting that Bach, in the later performance, did not replace the parody text worked out earlier with new poetry. Instead, he merely removed the compositional discrepancy that existed between the text and music. With regard to the Pentecost cantata Erwünschtes Freudenlicht (BWV 184) and its counterpart from the Köthen period, BWV 184a (which survives without text), it seems reasonable to suppose that here too the parody text— especially in movements 2, 4, and 6—preserves all sorts of formulations from the secular original. Although it is conceivable to think of “Leopold,”



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or rather “Fürstenhaus” (“Pricely House”) together with a suitable epithet in the introductory movement instead of “Freudenlicht,” a formulation including the word “Freudenlicht” that continues in the sense “das mit dem neuen Jahr anbricht” (“which dawns with the new year”) is also possible given the dating of the work to January 1, 1721. The task of the librettist was by no means easy. He had to provide proper formulations for three arias/duets and two very extensive recitatives (42 and 28 measures). He was spared only the recasting of a third recitative (another 38 measures), which, like its sister movements, would have included broadly executed eulogies on the ruling house of Köthen. Nevertheless, it was difficult to obtain a progression for the Pentecost cantata that was formally comparable with the word-rich model. The librettist often had to resort to vague formulations and wordy reflections. Something similar is observed in church cantatas that are not literally attributable to en-bloc parodies. In these, entire arias are appropriated from a secular original, but the recitatives involve a newly written movement— textually and musically. Works of this type include Höchsterwünschtes Freudenfest (BWV 194, November 1723; the text for the source, BWV 194a, does not survive), as well as Kommt, eilet und laufet, ihr flüchtigen Füße (BWV 249, Easter 1725; the source is the Tafel-Music for the birthday of the Duke of Weißenfels, BWV 249a, February 23, 1725). The occasion for the performance of Höchsterwünschtes Freudenfest was the inauguration of the organ built by Zacharias Hildebrandt in the church in Störmthal near Leipzig. Oddly, the unknown librettist supplied a libretto to be set to music for the consecration of a church building, in which there is often talk of “Haus” (“house”), “Wohnung” (“dwelling”), and “erbautem Heiligtum” (“built sanctuary”), but nowhere of music or even a musical instrument. All expressions of joy refer to the “heilige Wohnung” (“holy dwelling”). The text praises strong faith and the power of the word and asks for mercy, help, and blessings. The fact that the text is not of equal quality throughout has to do with the fact that the introductory chorus and all four arias are derived from a lost Köthen cantata and these movements—as in the examples above—occasionally give rise to the supposition that formulations from the secular model pervade their mostly rather general texts. On the other hand, the newly created recitative texts reveal themselves to be more linguistically exact and content rich, the first of which, addressing the re-inauguration of the Störmthal church building, begins with a versified biblical passage taken from the prayer of Solomon at the dedication of the temple (II Chronicles 6). In Bach’s experience, en-bloc parodies and related procedures proved to be too complicated, and he seems to have again set them aside as soon as possible. Of particular interest is the unusual later parody for the Feast of John the Baptist in 1738, Freue dich, erlöste Schar (BWV 30). Like the examples

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discussed above, this libretto retains a conspicuous vagueness, but unlike most of the cantata texts Bach set to music, a clear and purposeful outline of the process is not readily apparent. The causes of these deficiencies have to do with the prehistory of the cantata, mostly with the contractual arrangements of the librettist. With the exception of the recitatives and the chorale, the cantata goes back to the dedicatory cantata Angenehmes Wiederau, freue dich in deinen Auen (BWV 30a), which was performed in September 1737 in honor of Johann Christian Hennicke. Of the six recitatives, five arias, and ensemble movement that begins and ends the piece but with different texts, Bach intended to incorporate four arias, as well as the opening and closing movements, into the church cantata. As usual, the recitatives were excluded, as well as the last aria, whose unmistakable mazurka rhythms would have hindered the attempted adaptation of the sacred style too much. Curiously, however, the librettist of the parody did not let the matter rest with the arrangement of the closed forms, the arias and tutti movements, which was typical of Bach’s later years. The dedicatory cantata and the cantata for the Feast of John the Baptist are also almost equivalent with respect to the structure and versification of the recitatives. The exception, however, is the penultimate movement. In the secular version, all the soloists reappear one more time to bring the allegorical plot to a happy ending. In a cantata for the Feast of John the Baptist, a comparable ending would hardly be fitting. Nevertheless, even here the number of lines and syllables in both versions is largely the same. Even more striking is the dependence of the church cantata on the secular archetype in the soprano recitative, the penultimate recitative of Cantata 30. In the Wiederau dedication cantata, the poet—probably Christian Friedrich Henrici— put the following into the mouth of the allegorical figure of “Zeit” (“time”): Und obwohl sonst der Unbestand mit mir verschwistert und verwandt, so sei hiermit doch zugesagt: sooft die Morgenröte tagt, solang ein Tag den andern folgen läßt, so lange will ich steif und fest, mein Hennicke, dein Wohl auf meine Flügel ferner bauen. Dich soll die Ewigkeit zuletzt, wenn sie mir selbst die Schranken setzt, nach mir noch übrig schauen.

And although otherwise inconstancy with me is sibling and relative, so it is hereby pledged: as often as the dawn breaks, as long as one day follows another, I want to be stiff and firm, my Hennicke, your well-being on my wings further built. In the end, eternity, if it endorses me, after me will watch over you.



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In the church cantata, the first six lines were taken over almost unchanged and the following lines were re-composed with exact retention of the syllable count. Only at the end is there a slight deviation from this principle: Und obwohl sonst der Unbestand den schwachen Menschen ist verwandt, so sei hiermit doch zugesagt: sooft die Morgenröte tagt, solang ein Tag den andern folgen läßt, so lange will ich steif und fest, mein Gott, durch deinen Geist dir ganz und gar zu Ehren leben. Dich soll sowohl mein Herz als Mund nach dem mit dir gemachten Bund mit wohlverdientem Lob erheben.

And although otherwise inconstancy is kin to the weak man, so it is hereby pledged: as often as the dawn breaks, as long as one day follows another, I want to be stiff and firm, my God, through your Spirit living fully to honor you. You, my heart as well as my mouth, after the covenant made with you, will exalt with well-deserved praise.

The question is whether Bach, atypically, could have planned to put the majority of the recitatives from the secular model into the church cantata, or whether the librettist of the new version on his own became ambitious and therefore, without being asked, created congruent recitatives. In any case, a relatively large amount of attention has been paid to, and also wasted on, the accuracy of the fit. The message of the new text cannot always keep pace with the original. The problematic new poetry, however, did not prevent the Thomascantor from taking the opening and closing movements as well as four of the five arias from the dedication cantata, recomposing the recitatives, and inserting a chorale midway so that the parody could be performed as a two-part festival cantata. The realization that the unknown librettists of the years 1724 and 1738 were visibly overburdened—contractually or of their own accord—by the production of en-bloc parodies should not fundamentally bring into question either Bach’s handling of the parody process or his quality requirements for his texts. The enormous artistry that went into the reworking of a formally given text can easily distract from what is essential. The borderline cases considered here show rather that the occasional practice of merely exchanging some keywords while keeping the text essentially intact questionably smooths out the distinction between secular and sacred music, approaching the postulates of, say, Gottfried Ephraim Scheibel (1721)8 and thereby paying too much tribute to the Zeitgeist. Johann Sebastian Bach may have

Figure 9.1.  (a) BWV 134/3 (1724), with added text from BWV 134a, mm 1–9 (m. 10, partial); (b) 134/3 (1731) mm. 1–8 (m. 9, partial)



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become aware of this danger and therefore immediately abandoned the carelessly entered terrain of the en-bloc parodies. With other approaches, higher-quality standards could be realized. English translation by Reginald L. Sanders. NOTES 1. This chapter was originally published in German as Hans-Joachim Schulze, “Parodie und Textqualität in Werken Johann Sebastian Bachs,” in Messe und Parodie bei Johann Sebastian Bach, Greifswalder Beiträge zur Musikwissenschaft 12, ed. Peter Tenhaef and Walter Werbeck (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2004), 49–57. 2.  Hans-Joachim Schulze, “Bachs Kantatentexte: Fragen nach theologischem Gehalt, sprachlicher Qualität und musikalischer Brauchbarkeit,” in Die Quellen Johann Sebastian Bachs. Bachs Musik im Gottesdienst. Bericht über das Symposium 4.–8. Oktober 1995 in der Internationalen Bachakademie Stuttgart, ed. Renate Steiger (Heidelberg: Manutius, 1998), 339–42. 3.  Martin Petzoldt, “Theologische Aspekte der Leipziger Kantaten Bachs,” in Die Welt der Bach-Kantaten, vol. 3, ed. Christoph Wolff (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1999), 133. 4.  Hans-Joachim Schulze, “Bachs Parodieverfahren,” in Die Welt der Bach-Kantaten, vol. 2, ed. Christoph Wolff (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1997), 167–87; Schulze, “The Parody Process in Bach’s Music: An Old Problem Reconsidered,” Bach 20/1 (1989): 7–21; reprinted in Bach, ed. Yo Tomita (Farnham, England: Ashgate, 2011), 369–83. 5.  Detlef Gojowy, “Zur Frage der Köthener Trauermusik und der Matthäuspassion,” Bach-Jahrbuch 51 (1965): 86–134. 6.  See Hans Grüß, “Eine neue Hypothese zur Entstehung der Matthäus-Passion und weitere quellenkundliche Anmerkungen zu den Trauermusiken BWV 198 und BWV 244a,” in Bach in Leipzig, Bach und Leipzig, Leipziger Beiträger zur BachForschung 5, ed. Ulrich Leisinger (Hildesheim: Olms, 2002), 59–67. 7.  Text translations in this chapter are by Reginald L. Sanders. 8. Arnol Schering, “Über Bachs Parodieverfahren,” Bach-Hohrbuch 18 (1921): 53–55. For a critical evaluation of Schering’s conclusions, see the sources identified in note 3.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Gojowy, Detlef. “Zur Frage der Köthener Trauermusik und der Matthäuspassion.” Bach-Jahrbuch 51 (1965): 86–134. Grüß, Hans. “Eine neue Hypothese zur Entstehung der Matthäus-Passion und weitere quellenkundliche Anmerkungen zu den Trauermusiken BWV 198 und BWV

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244a.” In Bach in Leipzig, Bach und Leipzig. Leipziger Beiträger zur Bach-Forschung 5. Edited by Ulrich Leisinger, 59–67. Hildesheim: Olms, 2002. Petzoldt, Martin. “Theologische Aspekte der Leipziger Kantaten Bachs.” In Die Welt der Bach-Kantaten. Vol. 3. Edited by Christoph Wolff, 127–41. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1999. Schulze, Hans-Joachim. “The Parody Process in Bach’s Music: An Old Problem Reconsidered.” Bach 20/1 (1989): 7–21. Reprinted in Bach, ed. Yo Tomita, 369–83 Farnham, England: Ashgate, 2011. ———. “Bachs Parodieverfahren.” In Die Welt der Bach-Kantaten. Vol. 2. Edited by Christoph Wolff, 167–87. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1997. ———. “Bachs Kantatentexte: Fragen nach theologischem Gehalt, sprachlicher Qualität und musikalischer Brauchbarkeit.” In Die Quellen Johann Sebastian Bachs. Bachs Musik im Gottesdienst. Bericht über das Symposium 4.–8. Oktober 1995 in der Internationalen Bachakademie Stuttgart. Edited by Renate Steiger, 339–42. Heidelberg: Manutius, 1998. ———. “Parodie und Textqualität in Werken Johann Sebastian Bachs.” In Messe und Parodie bei Johann Sebastian Bach. Greifswalder Beiträge zur Musikwissenschaft 12. Edited by Peter Tenhaef and Walter Werbeck, 49–57. Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2004.

Chapter Ten

J. S. Bach’s Parodies of Vocal Music Conservation or Intensification? Robin A. Leaver

Lutheran Missae, comprising just the “Kyrie eleison” and “Gloria in excelsis Deo,” have their origins in Martin Luther’s Reformation of the sixteenth century.1 On many Sundays in the church year, traditional Gregorian chant melodies continued to be sung (together with their congregational hymnic counterparts, “Kyrie Gott Vater in Ewigkeit” and “Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr”), but on major festivals and celebrations throughout the church year, the sixteenth-century monophonic settings of the ordinary gave way to throughcomposed Missae, especially in the polychoral concertato style of Hans Leo Haßler, Bartholomäus Gesius, and Michael Prætorius, that eventually led to the Baroque concerted style of J. S. Bach and his contemporaries.2 Earlier opinion was somewhat dismissive of Bach’s four Lutheran Missae (BWV 233–236), largely on the grounds that they mostly comprise parodied movements rather than being completely original compositions.3 More recent studies have re-evaluated them in a more positive light, though the tendency has been to characterize them as exercises in conservation.4 The aim of this chapter is to re-examine these Missae and review some documentary sources in order to propose that, while such parodies of his vocal music did conserve music originally composed for earlier works, Bach’s primary concern was with an intensification of music prepared for liturgical worship in Leipzig. Part of the problem has been that the four Missae have generally been isolated from the Missa of the B-minor Mass (BWV 232I). But the incorporation of this Missa into the B-minor Mass did not occur until the last years of Bach’s life, whereas it originated as a separate work (composed by 1733), Bach’s earliest and most complex example of the genre. Over the following six years or so, Bach composed a further four Missae.5 Structurally, these four Missae are very similar, which seems to suggest that they were composed in close chronological proximity to each other. But the 1733 Missa, written 177

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some years earlier, also has a similar structure, though composed on a somewhat larger scale. The “Gloria” of the 1733 Missa is divided logically into two main parts: the biblical hymn, beginning “Gloria in excelsis Deo” (mvts. 4 and 5), and the liturgical hymn of the early church, beginning “Laudamus te” (mvts. 6–12), which is a chiastic structure centered on mvt. 9 (see table 10.1, first column). The “Gloria” settings of the other four Missae share a simpler chiastic structure of five-movements: a central aria framed by two arias and two choruses (see table 10.1). The central “Gloria” movements of two of the Missae, are, respectively, settings of the words “Domine Deus, Agnus Dei” (O Lord God, Lamb of God) (BWV 236/4) and “Domini Fili unigeniti” (O Lord, the only begotten Son) (BWV 235/4); the central “Gloria” movements of the other two (BWV 234/4 and BWV 233/4), as well as that of the second part of the 1733 Gloria (BWV 232I/9), are settings of “Qui tollis peccata mundi” (who takes away the sins of the world), the relative clause of “Domine Deus, Agnus Dei.” In two of the Missae, the focus is on Christ, “the Lord God,” the “only-begotten Son,” who is the “Agnus Dei,” the Lamb of God; in the other three, the turning-point, the literal crux, is the work of Christ, “who takes away the sins of the world.” The five Missae, therefore, share a similar overall structure and are equally and theologically centered on the person and work of Christ. BACH’S MISSA BWV 232I The first Missa that Bach composed was the monumental “Kyrie” and “Gloria” pair, BWV 232I, the instrumental and vocal parts of which were presented to Frederick Augustus II, who had recently succeeded as Elector of Saxony upon the death of his father. The parts were presented with a covering letter, dated July 27, 1733, requesting an honorary title of court composer or Kapellmeister.6 Missa BWV 232I was therefore composed sometime before this date. Movement 7, “Gratias agimus,” is a parody of the second movement of BWV 29, composed in 1731, suggesting a period of composition between 1731 and 1733. But Joshua Rifkin has observed, “Since the autograph of BWV 29 already presents the movement as a virtually perfect fair copy, it must go back to an earlier time,”7 and similarly, Christine Fröde, editor of the second NBA volume of Ratswahlkantaten, has concluded: “The [B minor] Mass movement does not go back to the second movement of Cantata BWV 29, but rather both movements [BWV 29/2 and BWV 232I/9] are based on a common source.”8 In an earlier study, I noted that the melodic contour of the theme on which the second movement of BWV 29 is built is closely related to the “Gratias agimus” section of the plainchant “Gloria de angelis,” and

5. Quoniam tu solus B 6. Cum Sancto Spiritu SATB

5. Quoniam tu solus B

6. Cum Sancto Spiritu SATB

10. Qui sedes ad dextram A 11. Quoniam tu solus B 12. Cum Sancto Spiritu SATB

3. Gratias agimus B

3. Domine Deus B 4. Domine Deus SA

2. Gloria in excelsis SATB

2. Gloria in excelsis SATB

BWV 236

4. Qui tollis peccata S

Gloria in excelsis SATB Et in terra pax SATB Laudamus te S Gratias agimus SATB Domine Deus S T

BWV 234

9. Qui tollis peccata SATB

4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

BWV 232I

6. Cum Sancto Spiritu SATB

5. Qui tollis peccata S

4. Domine Fili A

3. Gratias agimus B

2. Gloria in excelsis SATB

BWV 235

Table 10.1.  Comparison of the Structures of the Setting of the Gloria in the Missae BWV 232I–236 The Missae are listed according to the probable chronology of composition

6. Cum Sancto Spiritu SATB

5. Quoniam tu solus A

4. Qui tollis peccata S

3. Domine Deus B

2. Gloria in excelsis SATB

BWV 233

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that the meaning of the libretto of this movement, “Wir danken dir,” is the German equivalent of the Latin “Gratias agimus.” I therefore tentatively suggested that the second movement of BWV 29 may well be a parody of an earlier setting of the Latin “Gratias agimus” section of the liturgical text “Gloria in excelsis Deo.”9 If so, then it is possible that the original text was Latin, BWV 29/2 was its parody, and that the Missa had been begun before 1731. There are a number of factors bearing on why Bach should have sent this work to the Dresden court at this time. After the death of Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cöthen in 1728, Bach had lost the honorary title of Kapellmeister, and even though he subsequently received a similar title from the Duke of Saxe-Weißenfels, it was a title that was not as prestigious as one awarded from Dresden, a position that would carry royal significance, since the Elector of Saxony was also the King of Poland (King Augustus III). At the time, there was no Kapellmeister resident at the Dresden court: Johann David Heinichen had died in 1729, and during the interregnum Jan Dismas Zelenka effectively directed the Kapelle until 1734 when Johann Adolf Hasse was named as Heinichen’s successor. So 1733 was an opportune time to apply for an honorary position.10 Bach explained that the reason for his petition was to enable him to function in Leipzig without undue interference: For some years and up to the present moment, I have had the Directorium of the Music in the two principal churches in Leipzig, but have innocently had to suffer one injury after another, and on occasion also a diminution of fees accruing to me in this office; but these injuries would disappear altogether if Your Royal Highness would grant me the favor of conferring upon me a title of Your Highness’s Court Capelle.11

This may well be a reference to the cultural-political struggle that Ulrich Siegele has explored in various studies. There were apparently two primary factions in Leipzig, the absolutist royal court party and the estates’ city party, that were in opposition concerning Bach’s appointment in 1723, a dispute that continued to impact Bach’s professional activities in the city in the years that followed.12 When it was necessary to secure a successor to Johann Kuhnau in 1722–23, the two parties had very different ideas of the kind of musician that should fill the vacancy. The estates’ city party was especially concerned with education, its preference being for someone who would be a teacher of music in school and church, that is, a Kantor. In contrast, the absolutist court party was looking to appoint a musician-composer who would oversee all the music of the city, civic and ecclesiastical, that is, a Kapellmeister. Bach eventually emerged as the candidate of the absolutist court party and, after



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his appointment, it was the estates’ city party that sought to undermine his attempts to further the progressive musical ideals of the other political party. But it is possible that the situation was not so much a two-party rivalry, but more an example of the traditional tension between the dual functions that the Leipzig Kantor was expected to fulfill. On the one hand, he was a teacher in the Thomasschule, next in authority after the Rector and Conrector; on the other hand, he was also the director of music for both ecclesiastical and civic music in Leipzig. This tension is evident in the minutes of the Leipzig council, January 31, 1677, when Johann Schelle was elected as the successor to Sebastian Knüpfer. As one of the councilors observed: “The church needs a good musician, the school a good educator, which must not be overlooked.”13 Leipzig was an established university city, and by the early decades of the eighteenth century had grown in importance to become a successful and affluent commercial center, which made its choice of Kantor (who was also Director Musices for the city) all the more important. What is clear is that in 1723 Burgomaster Lange and others wanted the new Kantor to be a consummate modern musician—in contrast to the previous Kantor, Johann Kuhnau, who was considered by some to be a somewhat old-fashioned musician14—who would enhance the reputation of the city by his music-making in general but especially during the three annual trade fairs (New Year, Easter, and Michaelmas), which at that time were unrivaled elsewhere in Germany, even Frankfurt-am-Main.15 Significantly, the only candidates the city fathers seriously considered were either court or civic directors of music, rather than Kantors, and they eventually appointed Bach, who was at that time Kapellmeister to the court of Anhalt-Cöthen. Whatever the exact political situation that surrounded Bach’s appointment in 1723, the motives behind his petition to the new Elector of Saxony ten years later were as much political as personal. The virtuosic nature of the Missa he sent to the royal court at Dresden was second to none: it equaled or even out-classed the music of the Dresden court, which had national and international significance,16 clearly the product of an eminent Kapellmeister rather than a provincial Kantor. From the sixteenth to almost the end of the seventeenth century, the Saxon Electors shared the Lutheran faith of their subjects. But that changed in 1697 when Friedrich Augustus I converted to Catholicism in order to succeed to the Polish throne. Until this time the music of the Dresden court chapel had been noted for its elaborate nature, the model for other Lutheran courts in and beyond Saxony. But some years after the Elector’s conversion, a Catholic chapel was established at the Dresden court, and most of the appointed court musicians thereafter served Catholic worship. The music of the Lutheran court chapel was significantly diminished.17

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Some of the musical settings of the mass in the repertory of the Catholic court chapel were full masses, that is, of all five parts of the Ordinary. But there were also settings of two or three parts of the Ordinary, including fairly large-scale “Kyrie–Gloria” pairs, like those of Francesco Mancini (1672–1737), Antonio Lotti (ca. 1667–1740), Domenico Sarri (1679–1744), Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679–1745), and Niccolò Jommeli (1714–1774).18 Such settings were either by Neopolitan composers or written in imitation of their style.19 “Kyrie–Gloria” pairs like these heard in the Dresden Catholic court chapel were paralleled by Lutheran Missae heard in city churches, such as those in Leipzig. Thus the “Kyrie” and “Gloria” Bach presented to the royal Elector in 1733, while representing the pinnacle of the Lutheran genre of Missa compositions, also emulated the Neopolitan tradition of such compositions and therefore could also have been sung within a Catholic Mass. Although a Lutheran working in a staunchly Lutheran environment, Bach nevertheless was aware of the compositional styles prevalent in the royal Catholic chapel in Dresden, as is demonstrated in the content of the Missa he presented to the Elector. This raises the question whether Bach’s request that accompanied the Missa was a thinly-veiled attempt to become Heinichen’s successor in Dresden. After Heinichen’s death, Zelenka was the interim director and may have expected to succeed him. Hans-Joachim Schulze has identified the scribe of the dedicatory letter and the wrapper enclosing the parts of the 1733 Missa that Bach sent to the Elector as Gottfried Rausch, a copyist at the court who worked for Zelenka, among others. Schulze therefore suggests that Bach’s approach to the Elector was made with Zelenka’s knowledge and active cooperation.20 It would hardly seem likely that Zelenka would have assisted Bach in this way if he thought that the Leipzig Kantor was making a bid for the position to which he aspired. Thus it would seem more likely that Bach was looking for an endorsement of his activities in Leipzig rather than making a bid to become Heinichen’s successor. His request for a title from the Dresden court was part of his agenda of making the music of Lutheran Leipzig, under his direction and with the support of at least some of the Leipzig city fathers, to be on a par with Catholic Dresden. The appeal to the Elector for an honorary title by sending the 1733 Missa was in a sense the continuation of a process that was epitomized by the solemn memorial service for Christiane Eberhardine, Electress of Saxony, composed a few years earlier. After her husband became the Catholic King of Poland, Christiane Eberhardine retained her Lutheranism and lived the rest of her life in exile, for which she earned the deep affection of Saxon Lutherans. After her death, she was thus memorialized with the Trauer Ode, performed in the uni-



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versity church in Leipzig on October 17, 1727, with the libretto written by University of Leipzig professor Johann Christoph Gottsched, and music composed by the “director chori musices Lipsiensis,” Johann Sebastian Bach (BWV 198). The music for the occasion was described as having been composed by “Kapellmeister Johann Sebastian Bach . . . in the Italian style.”21 The music is in fact more French than Italian, but the term “Italian” was almost certainly used in order to evoke a favorable comparison with music associated with the Dresden court that had long been known for its Italianate style and its Italian (or Italian-influenced) musicians. The contemporary report therefore reflects the aspirations of some of the leaders in Leipzig who wanted to secure through Bach’s music that it was at least comparable to that of the Dresden court. BACH’S ENTWURFF EINER WOHLBESTELLTEN KIRCHEN MUSIK Another document that leads to a similar conclusion is the Entwurff einer wohlbestellten Kirchen Musik (Draft of a Well-appointed Church Music) that Bach presented to the Leipzig city council on August 23, 1730.22 Much controversial ink in recent decades has been spilled over what exactly the Entwurff means with regard to Bach’s vocal and instrumental resources, but not enough attention has been given to other aspects of the document. It has been usual to assess the Entwurff as an exercise in conservation, that it was Bach’s attempt to prevent further deterioration of the performance of church music in Leipzig: if nothing was done, disaster was imminent. Certainly this is what Bach appears to be saying, but, given what he actually says, especially toward the end of the document, he seems to be more concerned with the intensification of church music than merely with its preservation. That the document is couched in the language of conservation is understandable because it was addressed to the city council, a body that acted according to precedent. By referring to his predecessors Schelle and Kuhnau, Bach appears to be making an appeal for the conservation of the tradition of the past. But on closer reading, it becomes clear that his concern is more than conservation and his intent is for an intensification of church music, a call for innovation rather than simple preservation: But as the current state of music is now quite different in nature from before, [and as] artistry has progressed very much [and] taste [gusto] [has] changed astonishingly – such that music of the former kind no longer sounds [good] to our ears and [such that] one is all the more in need of considerable assistance, so that subjecta [musicians] can be chosen and appointed who can assimilate

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current musical taste, get to grips with the new kinds of music, [and] thus be in a position to satisfy the composer and do justice to his work. . . . German musicians are expected to be capable of immediately performing at sight music of all kinds, whether from Italy or France, England or Poland, just as, perhaps, can those virtuosi for whom it is written and who have studied it long beforehand, [who] indeed know it almost from memory, [and] who moreover, it should be noted, are also in receipt of solid wages. . . . To illustrate this point one only has to go to Dresden and see what sort of salaries the musicians there receive from His Royal Majesty. It cannot fail, since moreover each person also has to master only a single instrument; it must be exquisite and excellent to hear.23

In the Entwurff, as Ulrich Siegele has argued,Bach was in fact advocating the end of the long-standing practice of the town musicians,24 the Stadtpfeifer and Stadtgeiger, who each played an assortment of instruments. They were instead to be replaced by virtuosi, each of whom was the master of one instrument.25 The model of such virtuosic music-making for Bach was the Dresden Hofkapelle, specifically mentioned toward the end of the section cited above, but strongly hinted at earlier with references to the musical styles of Italy and Poland. Instead of a document advocating the conservation of the inherited tradition of artisan-musicians, the Entwurff was a radical manifesto calling for an intensification of church music in Leipzig by the use of new musical styles and performance practices that required a new kind of professionalism. Bach thus required a demanding level of virtuosity on the part of the musicians who performed his music, a concern he brought to the attention of the city council again some years later, and a phenomenon that aroused criticism from others. The controversy that rumbled on from 1736 concerning who should appoint prefects,26 Bach or the Rector of the Thomasschule, Johann August Ernesti, was perhaps another example of the conflicting cultural-political parties in Leipzig.27 In his memorandum to the city council, dated August 15, 1736, Bach declared that the Rector’s choice of prefect, Gottfried Theodor Krause, not only usurped his prerogative, but was also musically disastrous. Krause could not fulfill the required function of leading the First Choir because he was deficient in the necessary musical abilities, “especially,” Bach added, “since the concerted church pieces that are performed by the First Choir, which are mostly of my own composition, are incomparably harder and more intricate [ohngleichen schwerer und intricater sind] than those sung by the Second Choir.”28 It was exactly these “harder and more intricate” demands on performers that Johann Adolph Scheibe objected to in his Critische Musicus, dated May 14, 1737, under the pseudonym of “An Able Musikant Abroad.” Although Scheibe did not name Bach, he gave enough information so that the reader could identify the subject of the criticism.



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After describing Bach’s virtuosity at the organ and harpsichord, the “Able Musikant” accuses him of composing in “a turgid and confused style” in which there is “an excess of art.” Scheibe continued: Since he judges by his own fingers, his pieces are extremely difficult to play; for he demands that singers and instrumentalists should be able to do with their throats and instruments whatever he can play on the clavier. . . . All the voices must work with each other and be of equal difficulty, and none of them can be recognized as the principal voice.29

PROFESSIONALISM AND PARODY IN BACH’S MISSAE In the Entwurff, Bach specifically drew the attention of the city councilors to the virtuosic demands his music made on instrumentalists and singers alike. His appeal to them (the councilors) for adequate support for the worship music he directed in the principal churches of the city was not so much a call for the restoration of the status quo that existed in the eras of his predecessors Schelle and Kuhnau, but rather a request for their commitment to the church music that he had been providing since his appointment in 1723. This was required so that he could intensify what he had been doing and reach a new level of professionalism. The model he had in mind, which he conveyed to the city council, was the Hofkapelle in Dresden. It was to this court, three years after writing the Entwurff, that Bach sent the instrumental and vocal parts of his Missa BWV 232I, a work that he may well have been in the process of composing when he penned his memorandum to the city council in 1730. Whether or not that was the case, the Missa made the kind of virtuosic demands that were implied in the Entwurff, and it was sent to Dresden, the very Hofkapelle that he had told the city councilors was the model he wished to emulate. The Missa, however, was not exactly a “new” composition: two of its movements, “Gratias agimus” and “Qui tollis,” were parodies of earlier models, and the suspicion is that other movements are also parodies of no longer extant music. The impression is that Bach chose to bring together some of the finest music he had previously composed to create this glittering expression of music for worship that employs an astonishing variety of musical styles: archaic and modern forms are juxtaposed from movement to movement in a dazzling mosaic of sound. But much the same can be said of the other four Missae, which, though not as complex in structure, are nevertheless no less virtuosic than the Missa BWV 232I. Most of the movements of these four other Missae are parodied from various cantata movements; of their 24 movements, 19 (20 if one includes the early version of the Kyrie BWV 233a) are

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known parodies, and the remaining 4 (Missa 234/1 & 3, and Missa 233/2 & 3) may also be parodies of earlier, now unknown, compositions. The following list presents the sources of the parodied movements of the Missae BWV 232I–236 listed chronologically: Kyrie BWV 233a: probably Weimar between 1708 and 1717 = Mvt. 1 (Kyrie) of Missa BWV 233 Cantata 136: 18 July 1723. Trinity 8 (Jahrgang I). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 6 (Cum Sancto Spiritu) of Missa BWV 234 Cantata 46: 1 August 1723. Trinity 10. (Jahrgang I). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 9 (Qui tollis) of Missa BWV 232 Cantata 179: 8 August 1723. Trinity 11 (Jahrgang I). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 2 (Gloria in Excelsis Deo) of Missa BWV 236 Mvt. 3 = Mvt. 5 (Quoniam) of Missa BWV 236 Mvt. 5 = Mvt. 5 (Qui tollis) of Missa BWV 234 Cantata 138: 5 September 1723. Trinity 15 (Jahrgang I). Mvt. 4 = Mvt. 4 (Gratias) of Missa BWV 234 Cantata 40: 26 December 1723. Second Day of Christmas (Jahrgang I). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 6 (Cum Sancto Spiritu) of Missa BWV 233 Cantata 67: 16 April 1724. Quasimodogeniti [Easter 1] (Jahrgang I). Mvt. 6 = Mvt. 2 (Gloria in excelsis Deo) of Missa BWV 234 Cantata 79: 31 October 1725. Reformation. (Jahrgang III). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 2 (Gloria in excelsis Deo) of Missa BWV 236 Mvt. 2 = Mvt. 5 (Quoniam) of Missa BWV 234 Mvt. 5 = Mvt. 4 (Domine Deus) of Missa BWV 236 Cantata 72: 27 January 1726. Epiphany 3. (Jahrgang III). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 2 (Gloria in excelsis Deo) of Missa BWV 235 Cantata 187: 4 August 1726. Trinity 7. (Jahrgang III). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 6 (Cum Sancto Spiritu) of Missa BWV 235 Mvt. 3 = Mvt. 4 (Domini Fili) of Missa BWV 235 Mvt. 4 = Mvt. 3 (Gratias) of Missa BWV 235 Mvt. 5 = Mvt. 5 (Qui tollis) of Missa BWV 235 Cantata 102: 25 August 1726. Trinity 10. (Jahrgang III). Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 1 (Kyrie) of Missa BWV 235 Mvt. 3 = Mvt. 4 (Qui tollis) of Missa BWV 233 Mvt. 5 = Mvt. 5 (Quoniam) of Missa BWV 233



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Cantata 17: 22 September 1726. Trinity 14 (Jahrgang III) Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 6 (Cum Sancto Spiritu) of Missa BWV 236 Unknown work: pre-1731 Mvt. ? = Mvt. 2, Cantata 29: 27 August 1731. Ratswahl. Mvt. ? = Mvt. 7 (Gratias agimus) of Missa BWV 232 When the known parodies of all five Missae are examined, several factors emerge. First, Bach was apparently very careful in his choice of pre-existing movements, especially for the four shorter settings which are based on material from ten cantatas. Four of these cantatas (BWV 79, 102, 179, and 187) supplied the music for no fewer than 13 Missa movements. Second, six of the parodied cantatas were from Bach’s Jahrgang I, composed in 1723–24; none from Jahrgang II; and five from Jahrgang III, composed in 1725–26. It appears that Bach was concerned to draw a balanced selection of movements from his first and third Leipzig cantata cycle. That he used none from Jahrgang II is hardly surprising, since most of them were based on chorales which would make them a difficult proposition for being reworked into Missa movements. Third, by adapting cantata movements into settings of the Lutheran Missa, Bach changed their liturgical function from proprium to ordinarium. The cantatas were effectively part of the propria, along with collects, epistles, gospels, etc., for a given day or celebration, and thus many could only be heard on one particular day in the church year. But if they were reworked into ordinarium settings of “Kyrie” and “Gloria,” the music could be heard more frequently, for any Sunday or feast day in the church year. Taken as a whole, these five Missa settings form a remarkable collection of movements, varied in musical style and structure, that display an extraordinary range of compositional techniques that are challenging to singers and instrumentalists alike. In the Entwurff of 1730, Bach made his case for the intensification of church music in Leipzig by calling for a new professionalism among his musicians, who should be virtuosi on single instruments, like the musicians of the Dresden Hofkapelle. He put the substance of the Entwurff into musical terms in the Missa BWV 232I, perhaps originally composed for the Leipzig churches, but that was more than good enough to be sent to Dresden when the opportunity arose in 1733.30 This first virtuoso Missa was followed by four others in subsequent years which are equally demanding examples of liturgical music. BACH AND THE MEANING OF “ANDÄCHTIGE MUSIQUE” Around the time he sent the parts of the Missa BWV 232I to Dresden in 1733, Bach apparently pursued some focused Bible study. This may well have oc-

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curred during the five-month period of mourning that lasted from February to June that year following the death of Friedrich Augustus I, when all public performances of concerted music, both civic and ecclesiastical, were prohibited. The title pages of the three volumes of the Deutsche Bibel, the Bible commentary edited by Abraham Calov, that Bach once owned and are now housed in the library of Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, Missouri, bears Bach’s handwritten monogram together with the year “1733,” indicating the year that they came into his possession. The volumes are particularly important because they contain the composer’s underlinings and marginal comments, in both red and black ink, which may well date from the same year. Among the marginalia, there are four that concern music: they appear alongside Exodus 15:20, I Chronicles 26, I Chronicles 29:21,31 and II Chronicles 5:13.32 The three passages from I and II Chronicles deal with the foundation of the music of worship under David and the consecration of the temple under Solomon. Two have particular relevance for this discussion. I Chronicles 26 (25), presents in detail the three divisions of musicians who led the worship of Israel. They constitute the families of Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun, and each member of these families, according to verse 7, was well-versed (“gelehret”) in the song of the Lord and the master (“Meister”) of his voice and instrument.33 Here is the biblical principle that supports Bach’s contention in his Entwurff that the music he was writing for the worship of the Leipzig churches called for well-prepared and skilled singers and instrumentalists. Thus he wrote in the margin alongside the chapter: “Dieses Capitel ist das wahre Fundament aller gottfälliger Kirchen Musik” (This chapter is the true foundation of God-pleasing church music). II Chronicles 5 deals with the consecration of the Jerusalem Temple under the leadership of Solomon. Calov divides the chapter into three sections. The third section, verses 11–14, is given the heading: “Wie auff die schöne Music die Herrligkeit des HErrn erschienen sey” (How the glory of the Lord appeared after beautiful music). Verse 13 appears thus, with two parenthetical additions, in Calov’s Deutsche Bibel: v. 13. And it was the duty of the trumpeters and singers to make themselves heard in unison in praise and thanksgiving to the Lord, and when the song was raised, with trumpets and cymbals and other musical instruments, in (genuine) praise to the Lord, For he is good, and his mercy endures for ever (Psalm 136.1ff.), the house of the Lord was filled with a cloud.34

In the margin alongside this verse, Bach wrote: “NB. Bey einer andächtig Musique ist allezeit Gott mit seiner Gnaden Gegenwart” (Where there is devout music God with his grace is always present). Here is another biblical



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endorsement of the use of a variety of instruments to accompany the singers in the music of worship, but with the additional concept that in such music the presence of God’s grace will be experienced. In discussions of Bach’s marginal comments in the Calov Deutsche Bibel, the phrase “andächtig Musique” usually has been interpreted as meaning “devotional” or “spiritual” music, a general term without specific content.35 But there is reason to believe that the concept of “andächtig Musique,” if not the actual phrase, had particular meaning for Lutheran theologians and musicians. It was argued by numerous theologians and musicians that while devotion was theoretically possible without music, it was particularly intensified when accompanied by significant music. But such writers were equally at pains to point out that church music, however good in itself, was totally unacceptable if offered without appropriate devotion. Christoph Frick, superintendent in Burgdorf, in organ-dedication sermons of 1615 and 1630, stated: “It is an abuse when singing is without faith and devotion [Andacht]”;36 and “It is not enough to sing with a well-sounding voice, but it must be done with devotion [Andacht].”37 Gottfried Albert Pauli, pastor and inspector of school and church in Saalfeld at the beginning of the eighteenth century, wrote a treatise on church music, 38 in which he states: It is certainly wrong and especially offensive when in the teaching of their pupils and other subordinates, senior cantors, Capell-Directores, etc., of Christian schools assert that in major musical compositions, that is, when the notes are entwined with devotion [Andacht], that it is of no consequence and no error not to fully understand, or be committed to it, since [they say] church music has no devotion and is but the product and invention of the composer; such absurdity must be avoided.39

Similarly, Bach’s contemporary in Hamburg, Johann Mattheson, wrote in his Musikalische Patriot (1728): The praise of God is but so meager without devotion [Andacht], that, when a thousand loudly sing or play hymns of gravity, honor and emphasis, and do not think about it, what is done (as alas almost all our singers laugh over a point in a sermon they are obliged to hear), so praise to the true God is without its uniqueness: many cantors and composers [as well as singers]. But he who only thinks about the hymn of praise honors his God by such remembrance [Andencken], by such devotion [Andacht], whether he neither sings nor plays. Yet he is edified more when he can sing or play, and does so. God the Lord is enough for this: this enlivens others to similar devotion [Andacht]. Thus there is no devotion [Andacht] without praise, and no praise without devotion [Andacht], by devout souls and Christians-of-the-heart.40

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It is clear from such statements that in public worship music was understood as an expression of devotion, that is, “andächtig Musique,” or, in the words of Pauli cited above, “notes entwined with devotion.” Other writers, while endorsing the general connection between music and devotion, were concerned to be more explicit with regard to the content of such “andächtig Musique.” Nikolaus Selnecker, a theologian who played a leading role in drafting the Formula of Concord (1577), the confessional document that defined the nature of Lutheranism at the end of the sixteenth century, was an organist before he became a pastor; over the years, he composed a number of melodies and texts that became part of the Lutheran chorale tradition. As the superintendent and pastor of the Thomaskirche in Leipzig (where he was also professor of theology), he was instrumental in establishing the musical reputation of the Thomanerchor, along with Kantor Valentin Otto. Selnecker wrote a commentary on the Psalms in three books, each one covering 50 Psalms, under the title Der Gantze Psalter des Königlichen Propheten Dauids, außgelegt, vnd in drey Bücher getheylt (Nuremberg: Heußler, 1565).41 Selnecker’s commentary on Psalm 73 begins with a discussion of the music of biblical psalmody and its contemporary significance.42 It begins with references to the leadership of Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun and then paraphrases II Chronicles 5 (the reference is cited), the passage that Bach annotated in his copy of the Deutsche Bibel. Selnecker then continues with an exposition of I Chronicles 26 (25), another passage annotated by Bach. Here the group of singers and instrumentalists is called “a splendid Kantorei” (ein herrliche Cantorey) that is directed by “leading singers or Kapellmeistern” (oberste Senger oder Capellenmeistern). Having reflected on the biblical model, Selnecker then turns to the worship of his own day and does so by employing the concept of “andächtig Musique”: “It is fine, devout [andechtig] and lovely, when there is fine music, polyphony and chant [Figural vnd Choral], organs and other instruments in the churches, to enliven and delight the heart, so that one is encouraged to attend and meditate with pure joy.” Selnecker further indicates that a wide variety of instruments is to be used, with the aim of worshipers being moved by good Christian music, when they hear a beautiful melody, a comforting text, that is gaily applied and set, [so that they] understand the words and meaning that is sung with a pleasing harmony, for David often speaks of this in his Psalms: Praise the Lord with trumpets [Posaunen], psalteries and harps, drums, strings and pipes, with organs and cymbals, [and] sing to him a new song.43

So in this context, “andächtig Musique” means more than simply “devout” or “pious” music, but implies a rich variety of liturgical music from chant to concerted music of the fullest kind. We cannot be sure that Bach knew this



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passage from Selnecker’s Psalm commentary, though the conjunction of the concept of “andächtig Musique” with two biblical passages that Bach annotated in his Bible commentary at least raises the possibility. What it does mean, however, is that Bach was aware of the general Lutheran understanding of the concept, which Selnecker, among others, espoused and expounded. There is another exposition of the concept of “andächtig Musique,” that includes the phrase itself and that Bach certainly knew. It is to be found in the contract that was drawn up for him to sign, if he was to accept the position of organist of the Frauenkirche in Halle, in December 1713.44 Bach never signed the document, but the contract with its detailed contents, with only the names changed, was reused again some thirty years later when his son Wilhelm Friedemann became the organist in Halle, signing the document on April 16, 1746.45 It is an itemized contract that begins with a general statement about the duties of the organist and then continues with the following paragraph. It is the function of the organist, ordinarily on high and other feasts, as well as on every third Sunday, to present with the Kantor and the choir students, as well as with the town musicians and other instrumentalists, a moving and well-sounding devout music [andächtige Musique]; and on extraordinary occasions on second and third days [such as Christmas, Easter, etc.] to perform short concerted pieces [Figural-Stücke] with the Kantor and students, and also at times with some violins and other instruments; and to direct everything in such a way that the members of the congregation shall be enlivened and refreshed in devotion [Andacht] and love to hear the divine Word.46

Here the term “andächtige Musique” does not mean “sacred music”47 in general, but has a specific content that parallels Selnecker’s exposition of the concept: it embraces a fully worked-out agenda of liturgical music for the principal feasts and celebrations of the church year, as well as on Sundays, that includes a variety of compositions for voices and instruments. That the term “andächtig Musique” implies a comprehensive program of liturgical music throughout the church year is confirmed by the use of “Andacht” in the titles of church-year cycles of cantatas by a variety of composers. They include: Johann Erasmus Kindermann, Gottliche Liebes­ flamme, das ist Christliche Andachten, Gebet und Seufftzer (Nuremberg, 1640–1651); Andreas Hammerschmidt’s six cantata cycles, Musicalische Andachten (Freiburg, 1639–1653) and Fest- und Zeit Andachten (Dresden, 1671); Johann Rudolf Ahle’s three cycles, Neue geistliche auf die hohen Festtage durchs gantze Jahr gerichtet Andachten (Mühlhausen, 1662 and 1664), Neue geistliche Communion und Haupt Fest-Andachten (Mühlhausen, 1668); Constantin Christian Dedekind, Singende Sonn- und Festtages . . . Andachten

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(Dresden, 1683); Johann Wolfgang Franck, Musicalischer Andachten (Hamburg, 1687); the texts of several cycles of cantatas by Johann Philipp Käfer (music lost), including two that have Musicalische Andachten in their titles (Durlach, 1718 and 1719) and a third entitled Verschiedene Geistreiche Andachten (Durlach, 1719); and two cycles of cantatas by Johann Friedrich Fasch, Geistliche Andachten (1727–28), and the double cycle, Evangelische Kirchen-Andachten (libretti by Neumeister, 1730–31). Similarly, a number of the published annual cycles of cantata libretti that Bach utilized from time to time also make use of the term: Salomo Franck, Evangelisches AndachtsOpffer . . .in geistlichen Cantaten (Weimar, 1715), and Evangelische Sonnund Fest-Tages-Andachten (Weimar & Jena, 1717); Johann Friedrich Helbig, Auffmunterung zur Andacht (Eisenach, 1720); and the anonymous Sonn- und Fest-Tags-Andachten über die ordentlichen Evangelia (Rudolstadt, 1726). Then there is the devotional handbook that not only outlines the details of liturgical observance in Leipzig, but also makes significant reference to the variety of liturgical music employed throughout the church year, the Leipziger Kirchen-Andachten (Leipzig, 1694). In light of this, Bach’s marginal comment alongside II Chronicles 5:13—“NB. Bey einer andächtig Musique ist allezeit Gott mit seiner Gnaden Gegenwart” (Where there is devout music God with his grace is always present)—becomes more significant. Instead of being a comment about church music in general, it is a particular reference to a fully worked-out agenda for the liturgical music required to be heard throughout the church year. The marginal comment, apparently penned around 1733, puts the Entwurff of 1730, together with the covering letter Bach sent with the Missa parts in 1733, in a different perspective. It suggests that the call for virtuoso performers of 1730, and his demonstration of what that meant in compositional terms, first in the Missa of 1733 and then in the four following Missae, was a primary concern in his aim of assembling appropriate “andächtig Musique,” that is, a systematic collection of suitable music to be heard in the Leipzig churches. BACH’S PARODIES AS INTENSIFICATION In the 1730s, Bach was consolidating his compositional output: three parts of the Clavierübung had been published, and fair copies of the John and Matthew Passions were begun. But he also brought together several groups of compositions that were made up of a high proportion of parodied movements: the five Missae, the Mark Passion, and the Christmas Oratorio, as well as the Schübler Chorales, which though not published until the late 1740s may well have originated in the earlier 1730s.



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Two of these composite works have strong connections with Dresden, in that the parodied movements were from compositions for the Dresden royal family. The Mark Passion, performed on Good Friday 1731 (BWV 247) and for which only the libretto is extant, was almost certainly made up of many parodied movements, notably from the Trauer Ode (BWV 198), the memorial music written in 1727 for the deceased Electress of Saxony. The Christmas Oratorio (BWV 248), first performed over the Christmas–Epiphany season 1734–35, made use of movements from four cantatas composed between 1733 and 1734, three of which (and possibly the fourth) were originally written to honor the Elector or his immediate family. The sources of the parodied movements in the Christmas Oratorio, BWV 248, are as follows, listed chronologically: Cantata 213: 5 September 1733. Drama per Musica. Birthday of Friedrich Christian, Prince of Saxony Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 36 (Cantata IV) Mvt. 3 = Mvt. 19 (Cantata II) Mvt. 5 = Mvt. 39 (Cantata IV) Mvt. 7 = Mvt. 41 (Cantata IV) Mvt. 9 = Mvt. 4 (Cantata I) Mvt. 11 = Mvt. 29 (Cantata III) Cantata 214: 7 December 1733. Drama per Musica. Birthday of Maria Josepha, Electress of Saxony (mother of Prince Friedrich Christian) Mvt. 1 = Mvt. 1 (Cantata I) Mvt. 5 = Mvt. 15 (Cantata II) Mvt. 7 = Mvt. 8 (Cantata I) Mvt. 9 = Mvt. 24 (Cantata III) Cantata 215: 5 October 1734. Drama per Musica. Anniversary of Election of August III (father of Friedrich Christian, and husband of Maria Josepha) as King of Poland. Mvt. 7 = Mvt. 47 (Cantata V) Mvt. [7] = Mvt. 31 (Cantata III) Cantata 248a. Unknown date and occasion. Mvt. 1? = Mvt. 54 (Cantata VI) Mvt. 2? = Mvt. 56 (Cantata VI) Mvt. 3? = Mvt. 57 (Cantata VI) Mvt. 4? = Mvt. 61 (Cantata VI) Mvt. 5? = Mvt. 62 (Cantata VI) Mvt. 6? = Mvt. 63 (Cantata VI) Mvt. 7? = Mvt. 64 (Cantata VI)

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Bach’s model of virtuosity that he drew attention to in the Entwurff, that is, the Dresden Hofkapelle, is thus implicitly confirmed by his practice in these two parodied works. The Schübler Chorales (BWV 645–650) are similar to the five Missae in that they too are parodies of cantata movements.48 Five (BWV 645, 647–650) can be positively identified with cantata movements, four of them from Jahrgang II, the annual cycle of chorale cantatas. The sources of the original cantata movements on which the Schübler Chorales are based are as follows, listed chronologically: Cantata 10: 2 July 1724. Visitation of Mary (Jahrgang II) Mvt. 5 = BWV 648 Cantata 93: 9 July 1724. Trinity 5 (Jahrgang II) Mvt. 4 = BWV 647 Unknown Cantata; perhaps a chorale cantata on Wo soll ich fliehen hin for Trinity 6, 16 July 1724 (Jahrgang II)? Mvt.? = BWV 646? Cantata 6: 2 April 1725. Easter Monday (Jahrgang II) Mvt. 3 = BWV 649 Cantata 137: 19 August 1725. Trinity 12 (Jahrgang II) Mvt. 2 = BWV 650 Cantata 140: 25 November 1731. Trinity 27. Mvt. 4 = BWV 645 The fifth chorale, Wachet auf, was an arrangement of a movement from the cantata composed in 1731, but was likewise a chorale cantata that Bach likely considered as belonging to Jahrgang II. Wo soll ich fliehen hin (BWV 646) may also have been parodied from a no-longer-extant cantata from Jahrgang II. The Sundays of Jahrgang II for which no cantata is known are Trinity 6 and Trinity 12. Although the chorale Wo soll ich fliehen hin is not specified in the primary sources of the period for either of these Sundays,49 it nevertheless appears appropriate for Trinity 6. Thus the Schübler Chorale (BWV 646) may have come from a chorale cantata based on Wo soll ich fliehen hin that Bach originally composed for Trinity 6, July 16, 1724, but which has been subsequently lost. Whatever the origin of this particular organ chorale prelude, what is significant is that when the sources of the Schübler Chorales are compared with those of the five Missae above, an interesting phenomenon presents itself: the



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five Missae are essentially based on cantata movements from Jahrgang I and Jahrgang III; the Schübler Chorales at least primarily on cantata movements from Jahrgang II. It is clear that Bach’s parody process was no haphazard affair, but that he made careful choices of varied movements from his earlier works. The suggestion is that he was compiling a systematic supply of “andächtig Musique,” different collections of superlative church music for use in worship throughout the liturgical year. In other words, he was pursuing the goal, the Endzweck, he had set himself many years earlier when he left Mühlhausen in 1708, that of “eine regulirte kirchen musick zu Gottes Ehren” (a well-regulated church music to the glory of God).50 Just a few months before Bach sent this resignation to the Mühlhausen town council, his cousin, Johann Gottfried Walther, with whom he developed a close relationship in the ensuing months and years in Weimar, completed a manuscript on the art of composition, Praecepta der Musicalischer Composition.51 At the beginning of the second part, Walther offers the following definition: Musica poetica, or musical composition, is the mathematical science by which one is able to compose and commit to paper a pleasing and pure harmony of sounds that thereafter can be sung or played, so that people thereby may be moved to ardent devotion of God [eifriger Andacht gegen Gott], and also to delight and gratify both ear and soul.52

It would seem that Walther was thinking of Musica poetica as a synonym for “andächtig Musique,” carefully composed music to honor God and inspire devotion among the hearers. As Walther states a little later, after referring to Books 9 and 10 of Augustine’s Confessions, in which the author speaks of the effect of church music, “It cannot be otherwise, than that the human soul should be governed and moved by a well-ordered music.”53 Both Bach and Walther understood that the provision of music for worship required a careful and systematic compositional process. Thus more than twenty years later Bach’s goal remained the same, “a well-regulated church music to the glory of God.” But there was an important difference. As he indicated in the Entwurff, it was church music that required a level of virtuosity that hitherto had not been called for. It was “andächtig Musique,” movements originally composed for other works that were reworked not simply as an exercise of conservation or preservation of some of his finest music, but rather as the intensification of liturgical music for the worship of the Leipzig churches that demanded a significant level of virtuosity on the part of the performers in order to inspire the devotion of the gathered congregation.

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NOTES 1.  The basis of this chapter was a paper, originally titled “Conservation or Intensification? The Lutheran Masses (BWV 232–236),” given at the Bach 2000 conference sponsored by the Music Department of Utrecht University in September 2000; it is here revised and expanded. On Lutheran Missae, see Hans-Christian Drömann, “Kyrie und Gloria in den lutherischen Kirchenordnungen des sechzehnten Jahrhunderts,” Kerygma und Melos: Christhard Mahrenholz 70 Jahre, ed. Walter Blankenburg et al., 57–66 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1970). 2.  See Robin A. Leaver, “Missa,” in Oxford Composer Companions: J. S. Bach, ed. Malcolm Boyd (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 297–99. 3. Older literature includes: H. C. Colles, “The Short Masses of Bach,” Musical Times 53 (1912): 158–60; Charles Sanford Terry, Bach: The Magnificat, Lutheran Masses and Motets (London: Oxford University Press, 1929); and Paul Steinitz, “Bach’s Lutheran Masses,” Musical Times 109 (1968): 231–33. Another factor in the neglect of the Missae was the perception that they were composed for “Catholic” rather than “Lutheran” worship, either commissioned by a Catholic count or composed for the Catholic Court Chapel in Dresden in a bid for the title of Saxon “Hofcompositeur” Bach had sought by sending the parts of his B-minor Missa (BWV 232I) in 1733; see Chester L. Alwes, “J. S. Bach’s ‘Lutheran’ Masses: Aspects of Chronology,” Choral Journal 29 (1989): 5–11, and the literature cited there. In fact, the texts of all five Missae follow Lutheran usage, and the first movement of the Missa in F Major (BWV 233) incorporates two Lutheran melodies (the “Kyrie” from Luther’s 1529 Litany, and the Reformer’s German version of the “Agnus Dei” of 1528), thus indicating a Lutheran provenance. See also Robin A. Leaver, “Bach’s Mass: ‘Catholic’ or ‘Lutheran’?” in Exploring Bach’s B-minor Mass, eds. Yo Tomita, Robin A. Leaver, and Jan Smaczny (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 21–38. 4.  More recent writing on the four masses includes: Emil Platen and Marianne Helms, Johann Sebastian Bach Neue Ausgabe sämtliche Werke. Serie II, Band 2. Lutherischen Messen und einzelne Messensätze. Kritische Bericht (Kassel: Bärenrei­ ter, 1982); Alfred Mann, “Missa Brevis and Historia: Bach’s A Major Mass,” Bach 16 (1985): 6–11; Robin A. Leaver, “Parody and Theological Consistency: Notes on Bach’s A-Major Mass,” Bach 21 (1990): 30–43; and Ignace Bossuyt, De Missae breves (BWV 233–236) van Johann Sebastian Bach (Peer: Alamire, 2000). The first complete stereo recording of what were described as the “4 neglected but affecting works” was not issued until 1969; see J. Kipnis, “J. S. Bach’s Minor Masses,” Stereo Revue (23 December 1969): 93–94. 5.  On the dating of the Lutheran Missae, see Platen and Helms, Kritischer Bericht II/2, 14–19; and Hans-Joachim Schulze and Christoph Wolff, eds., Bach Compendium, Vocal Works, Part IV (Leipzig: C. F. Peters, 1989), 1186–1217, [E2–E6]. 6. In Werner Neumann and Hans-Joachim Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 1. Schriftstücke von der Hand Sebastian Bachs (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1963), No. 27 (hereafter BD 1). English translation in Hans T. David, Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds., The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998), 162 (hereafter NBR).



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7. Joshua Rifkin, CD booklet accompanying the Nonesuch recording (79036) Johann Sebastian Bach Mass in B Minor BWV 232 (New York, 1982), no pagination. 8.  “Jedoch geht der Messensatz nicht auf den zweiten Satz der Kantate BWV 29 zurück, vielmehr fußen beiden Sätze auf einer gemeinsamen Vorlage.” Christine Fröde, Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie I, Band 32.2: Ratswahlkantaten II. Kritischer Bericht (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1994), 41. All translations in this chapter are by the author unless otherwise noted. 9.  Robin A. Leaver, “Liturgical Chant Forms in Bach’s Compositions for Lutheran Worship: A Preliminary Survey,” in Die Quellen Johann Sebastian Bachs: Bachs Musik im Gottesdienst, ed. Renate Steiger, 417–28 (Heidelberg: Manutius, 1998), 421–22. 10.  See Janice B. Stockigt, Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679–1745): A Bohemian Musician at the Court of Dresden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 197–209; Janice B. Stockigt, “Bach’s Missa BWV 232I in the Context of Catholic Mass Settings in Dresden, 1729–1733,” in Exploring Bach’s B-minor Mass, eds. Yo Tomita, Robin A. Leaver, and Jan Smaczny (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 39–53; and Szymon Paczkowski, Polish Style in the Music of Johann Sebastian Bach, trans. Piotr Szymczak (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), 171–77. 11.  “Praedicat von Dero Hoff-Capelle.” BD 1, No. 27; NBR No. 162. 12.  See the various articles by Ulrich Siegele, especially: “Bachs Stellung in der Leipziger Kulturpolitik seiner Zeit,” Bach-Jahrbuch 69 (1983): 7–50; 70 (1984): 7–43; and 72 (1986): 33–67; “Bach and the Domestic Politics of Electoral Saxony,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bach, ed. John Butt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 17–34; and “Bach’s Situation in the Cultural Politics of Contemporary Leipzig,” in Bach’s Changing World: Voices in the Community, ed. Carol K. Baron (Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2006), 127–73. 13. “Die Kirche erforderte einem guten musicum, die Schule einem gute informatorem,welches nicht aus den Augen zu verlieren.” Qtd. in St. Thomas zu Leipzig Schule und Chor: Stätte des Wirkens von Johann Sebastian Bach, ed. Bernhard Knick (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1963), 118. See also, Hans-Joachim Schulze, “‘. . . da man die besten nicht bekommen können . . .’: Kontroversen und Kompromise vor Bachs Leipziger Amtstritt,” in Bericht über die Wissenschaftliche Konferez zum III. Internationalen Bach-Fest der DDR Leipzig, 18./19. September 1975, ed. Werner Felix, Winfried Hoffmann, et al. (Leipzig: VEB Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1977), 71–77, esp. 71–72. 14.  In the early 1700s, Kuhnau was eclipsed by the rising star of a student at the university, who was director of music at the Neue Kirche: Georg Philipp Telemann. It was therefore not surprising that on Kuhnau’s death some 20 years later the city fathers first sought to appoint Telemann, then the music director in Hamburg, as his successor. 15.  See Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician, updated edition (New York: W. W. Norton, 2013), 237–40. 16.  See Wolfgang Horn, Die Dresdner Hofkirchenmusik 1720–1745: Studien zu ihren Voraussetzungen und ihrem Repertoire (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1987); and Stockigt, Jan Dismas Zelenka.

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17.  Much of the music of the Lutheran court chapel in the seventeenth century was not only Italianate in style, but it was also performed by Italian musicians, some of whom converted but others remained Catholic; see Mary E. Frandsen, Crossing Confessional Boundaries: The Patronage of Italian Sacred Music in SeventeenthCentury Dresden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). With the establishment of the Catholic chapel at the Dresden court, the Italianate style and musicians continued, but the liturgical context was now Catholic rather than Lutheran. 18. See Horn, Die Dresdner Hofkirchenmusik 1720–1745, 127–28, 174, 176, 190–94. 19.  See George Stauffer, Bach: The Mass in B Minor (The Great Catholic Mass) (New York: Schirmer, 1997), 51–53. 20. Hans-Joachim Schulze, Faksimile nach dem Originalstimmensatz ser Sächsischen Landesbibliothek Dresden (Neuhausen-Stuttgart: Hännsler, 1983), 5–6. 21.  In Werner Neumann and Hans-Joachim Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 2. Fremdschriftliche und gedruckte Dokumente zur Lebensgeschichte Johann Sebastian Bachs 1685–1750 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1969), No. 232 (hereafter BD 2); NBR, No. 136. 22.  BD 1, No. 22; NBR, No. 151. 23.  Translation in Andrew Parrott, The Essential Bach Choir (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2000), 169. 24.  Siegele, “Bachs politisches Profil,” 24. 25. There is the possibility that Bach was aware of the long-standing tensions between town and court musicians in which the Leipzig council supported the Stadtpfeifer as against the intrusion of court musicians, such as their report to the Elector in Dresden as to why their Kantor Johann Heinrich Schein had used (presumably court) trumpeters in the Thomaskirche and the directive that in future he should use cornetti (played by the Stadtpfeifer), or when during Sebastian Knüpfer’s Kantorate the Stadtpfeifer asserted their rights to perform without interference from court musicians. See Timothy A. Collins, “‘Of the Differences Between Trumpeters and City Tower Musicians’: The Relationship of Stadtpfeifer and Kammeradschaft Trumpeters,” The Galpin Society Journal 53 (2000): 51–59, and the literature cited there. 26.  For the relevant documents, see, BD 1, Nos. 32–35, 39–41, 99, 383; BD 2, Nos. 382, 406; BD 3, No. 820: respectively NBR, Nos. 181–183, 185, 193–195, 192, 186, 184, 196, and 180. The recently discovered letter by former Thomaner, Gottfried Benjamin Fleckeisen, dated 27 February 1751, in which he claimed to have replaced Bach for two years in the direction of the music of the two principal churches in Leipzig, suggest that the prefect controversy was more devastating and continued longer than has been thought hitherto. See Robin A. Leaver, “Churches,” in The Routledge Research Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach, ed. Robin A. Leaver, 142–90 (London: Routledge, 2017), 185–88. 27.  See Siegele, “Bachs politisches Profil,” 24–25. 28.  BD 1, No. 34; NBR, No. 183. 29.  BD 1, No. 400; NBR, No. 343. 30.  BD 1, No. 27; NBR, No. 162.



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31.  In Luther’s German Bible the numbering of chapters of I Chronicles is different from that in English Bibles. Thus chapters 26 and 29 in German are 25 and 28, respectively, in English Bibles. 32.  BD 3, No.183a (pp. 636–637); NBR, No. 165. See also Robin A. Leaver, Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary (St. Louis: Concordia, 1985), 71–72, 93–98; and The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach, ed. Howard H. Cox (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985), 40, 110–12. 33.  “die im Gesang des HErrn gelehret waren/ allesamt Meister.” Abraham Calov, ed., Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . (Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82), I, col. 2049. 34.  “V. 13. Und es war/ als wäre es einer/ der drommetet/ und singe/ als höret man eine Stimme zu loben und zu dancken dem HErrn. Und da die Stimme sich erhub von den Drommeten/ Cymbaln und anderern Seitenspielen/ und von dem (würcklichen) loben des HErrn/ daß er gütig ist/ und seine Barmhertzigkeit ewig wäret/ (Psalm CXXXVI. 1. folg.) da ward das Hauß des HErrn erfüllet mit einem Nebel.” Leaver, Bach and Scripture, 97; Cox, The Calov Bible, 112. 35.  See, for example, Martin Petzoldt and Joachim Petri, Johann Sebastian Bach, Ehre sei dir Gott gesungen: Bilder und Texte zu Bachs Leben als Christ und seinem Wirken für die Kirche (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 7–15. 36. “Ein Mißbrauch ist es/ wenn ohne Glauben und Andacht gesungen wird.” Christoph Frick, Music-Büchlein Oder Nützlicher Bericht Von dem Ursprung, Gebrauche und Erhaltung Christlicher Music Und also Von dem Lobe Gottes (Lüneburg: Stern, 1631), 44. 37. “Mit wollautender Stimm singen ist nicht genug/ sondern es muß Andacht dabey seyn.” Frick, Music-Büchlein, 254. 38. Gottfried Albert Pauli, Tractatus de Choris Prophetarum Symphoniacis in ecclesia Dei (von der prophetischen Cantorey) (Rostock, 1719); see Johann Nikolaus Forkel, Allgemeine Literatur der Musik oder Anleitung zur Kenntnis musikalischer Bücher (Leipzig, 1792), 143. 39.  “Es versündigen sich vornehmlich, und zwar gemeiniglich, alle den Christlichen Schulen vorgesetzte Cantores, Capell-Directores etc. in dem sie von dem principalesten Stücke der Music, nehmlich von der mit Noten verbundenen Andacht, nicht das geringste jemahls in ihren Unterrichtungen anführen, noch ihren Schülern und Untergebenen die Sünde recht vorstellen, die dadurch begangen wird, wenn man bey der Kirchen-Music keine Andacht hat, vielweniger aber Mittel und Wege an die Hand gegen, wie dergleichen unvernünfftiger GOttedienst vermieden werden möge.” Qtd. by Johann Mattheson, Der Musicalishce Patriot, Welcher seine gründliche Betrachtungen, über Geist- und Weltl. Harmonien . . . Daß GOttes Ehre, das gemeine Beste, und eines jeden Lesers besondere Erbauung dadurch befördert werde (Hamburg, 1728), 26. 40.  “Es versündigen sich vornehmlich, und zwar gemeiniglich, alle den Christlichen Schulen vorgesetzte Cantores, Capell-Directores etc. in dem sie von dem principalesten Stücke der Music, nehmlich von der mit Noten verbundenen Andacht, nicht das geringste jemahls in ihren Unterrichtungen anführen, noch ihren Schülern

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und Untergebenen die Sünde recht vorstellen, die dadurch begangen wird, wenn man bey der Kirchen-Music keine Andacht hat, vielweniger aber Mittel und Wege an die Hand gegen, wie dergleichen unvernünfftiger GOttedienst vermieden werden möge.” Mattheson, Der Musicalische Patriot, 221–22. 41.  Reprinted in Nuremberg in 1569, and reissued in Leipzig in 1571, 1581, 1582 (Bärwald), and 1593–94 (Lautzenberger). 42. Selnecker, Der Gantze Psalter, II: fol. cixr–cxr; reprinted in Philipp Wackernagel, Bibliographie zur Geschichte des deutschen Kirchenliedes im XVI. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt, 1855), 637–38. 43.  “Zwar es ist noch fein, andechtig vnd lieblich/ wenn man in den Kirchen eine feine Musicam helt/ Figural vnd Choral/ Orgeln vnnd andere Instrument/ vnd damit das herz ermuntert vnd erfrewet/ desto lieber mit rechtem lust ein auffmercken vnd nachdencken zuhaben. Vnd müssen ja grobe Stroici, trunci & lapides sein/ die durch ein gute Christliche Musicam nicht beweget werden/ wenn sie hören ein schöne Melodey/ ein tröstlicher Text/ der darunter lustig appliciert vnd gesetzt ist/ vnd verstehen die wort vnd meinung, die mit einer lieblichen harmonien gesungen wird/ wie denn offt David in seinem Psalmen dauon redet/ lobet den HErrn mit Posaunen/ Psalter vnd Harpffen/ Paucken, Seytenspieln vnd Pfeifen/ mit Orgeln vnd Cymbeln/ singen jhm ein newes Lied.” Selnecker, Der Gantze Psalter, II: fol. cixr–cixv; Wackernagel, Bibliographie, 637. 44.  BD 2, No. 63; NBR, No. 48. 45. See Friedrich Chrysander, “Johann Sebastian Bach und seine Sohn Friedemann Bach in Halle 1713–1768,” Jahrbücher für Musikalische Wissenschaft, ed. Friedrich Chrysander (Leipzig, 1863–67), 2: 235–248; W. F. Bach’s contract appears on 242–44. 46.  Translation based on NBR, No. 67. 47.  NBR translates “andächtige Musique” as “sacred work.” 48.  See, for example, Martin Taesler, “Vom Zusammenhang in einigen zyklischen Orgelwerken Johann Sebastian Bachs, Beobachtung eines Orgelspielers,” Musik und Kirche 39 (1969): 185–86; Randolph N. Currie, “Cyclic Unity in Bach’s Sechs Choräle: A New Look at the Schüblers,” Bach 4/1 (1973): 26–38 and 4/2 (1973): 25–39; Mark Bighley, “The Schübler Chorales as Cycle: A Liturgical and Theological Perspective,” Organ Yearbook 22 (1991): 97–118; and Albert C. Clement, “Zum inneren Zusammenhang der Sechs Choräle BWV 645–650 von J. S. Bach und dessen Bedeuting,” in Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs, ed. Albert C. Clement (Amsterdam: Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, 1995), 285–304. 49.  See Detlef Gojowy, “Kirchenlieder im Umkreis von J. S. Bach,” Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie 22 (1978): 79–123. 50.  BD 1, No. 1; NBR, No. 32. 51.  Landesbibliothek, Weimar, Hs. Q 341c. 52. “Musica Poëtica oder die musicalische Composition ist einer mathematischer Wißenschaft, vermöge welcher man eine liebl. und reine Zusammenstimmung der Sonorum aufsetzet und zu Papier bringet, daß solche nachmahls kann gesungen oder



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gespielet werden, den Menschen fürnemlich zu eifriger Andacht gegen Gott dadurch zubewegen, und dann auch das Gehör und Gemüth deßelben zu ergetzen und zu vergnügen.” Johann Gottfried Walther, Praecepta der Musicalischer Composition, ed. Peter Benary (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1955), 75. 53.  “Und es kann auch nicht anders seyn, als daß das Gemüth des Menschen durch eine wohlgesetzte Music muß regieret und beweget werden.” Walther, Praecepta, 75.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Alwes, Chester L. “J. S. Bach’s ‘Lutheran’ Masses: Aspects of Chronology.” Choral Journal 29 (1989): 5–11. Bighley, Mark. “The Schübler Chorales as Cycle: A Liturgical and Theological Perspective.” Organ Yearbook 22 (1991): 97–118. Bossuyt, Ignace. De Missae breves (BWV 233–236) van Johann Sebastian Bach. Peer: Alamire, 2000. Calov, Abraham, ed. Die Heilige Bibel nach S. Herren D. Martini Lutheri Deutscher Dolmetschung und Erklärung. . . . Wittenberg: Schrödter, 1681–82. Chrysander, Friedrich. “Johann Sebastian Bach und seine Sohn Friedemann Bach in Halle 1713–1768.” Jahrbücher für Musikalische wissenschaft, ed. Friedrich Chrysander. Leipzig, 1863–67. Clement, Albert C. “Zum inneren Zusammenhang der Sechs Choräle BWV 645–650 von J. S. Bach und dessen Bedeuting.” In Das Blut Jesu und die Lehre von der Versöhnung im Werk Johann Sebastian Bachs. Edited by Albert C. Clement, 285– 304. Amsterdam: Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, 1995. Colles, H. C. “The Short Masses of Bach.” Musical Times 53 (1912): 158–60. Collins, Timothy A. “‘Of the Differences Between Trumpeters and City Tower Musicians’: The Relationship of Stadtpfeifer and Kammeradschaft Trumpeters.” The Galpin Society Journal 53 (2000): 51–59. Cox, Howard H., ed. The Calov Bible of J. S. Bach. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1985. Currie, Randolph N. “Cyclic Unity in Bach’s Sechs Choräle: A New Look at the Schüblers.” Bach 4/1 (1973): 26–38 and 4/2 (1973): 25–39. David, Hans T., Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds. The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents. Revised edition. New York: W. W. Norton, 1998. Drömann, Hans-Christian. “Kyrie und Gloria in den lutherischen Kirchenordnungen des sechzehnten Jahrhunderts.” Kerygma und Melos: Christhard Mahrenholz 70 Jahre. Edited by Walter Blankenburg, et al., 57–66. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1970. Forkel, Johann Nikolaus. Allgemeine Literatur der Musik oder Anleitung zur Kenntnis musikalischer Bücher. Leipzig, 1792. Frandsen, Mary E. Crossing Confessional Boundaries: The Patronage of Italian Sacred Music in Seventeenth-Century Dresden. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006.

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Frick, Christoph. Music-Büchlein Oder Nützlicher Bericht Von dem Ursprung, Gebrauche und Erhaltung Christlicher Music Und also Von dem Lobe Gottes. Lüneburg: Stern, 1631. Frode, Christine. Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie 1, Band 32.2: Ratswahlkantaten II. Kritischer Bericht. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1994. Gojowy, Detlef. “Kirchenlieder im Umkreis von J. S. Bach.” Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie 22 (1978): 79–123. Horn, Wolfgang. Die Dresdner Hofkirchenmusik 1720–1745: Studien zu ihren Voraussetzungen und ihrem Repertoire. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1987. Kipnis, J. “J. S. Bach’s Minor Masses.” Stereo Revue (23 December 1969): 93–94. Knick, Bernhard, ed. St. Thomas zu Leipzig Schule und Chor: Stätte des Wirkens von Johann Sebastian Bach. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1963. Leaver, Robin A. Bach and Scripture: Glosses from the Calov Bible Commentary. St. Louis: Concordia, 1985. ———. “Parody and Theological Consistency: Notes on Bach’s A-Major Mass.” Bach 21 (1990): 30–43. ———. “Liturgical Chant Forms in Bach’s Compositions for Lutheran Worship: A Preliminary Survey.” In Die Quellen Johann Sebastian Bachs: Bachs Musik im Gottesdienst, ed. Renate Steiger, 417–28. Heidelberg: Manutius, 1998. ———. “Missa,” in Oxford Composer Companions: J. S. Bach. Edited by Malcolm Boyd, 297–99. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. ———. “Bach’s Mass: ‘Catholic’ or ‘Lutheran’?” In Exploring Bach’s B-minor Mass. Edited by Yo Tomita, Robin A. Leaver, and Jan Smaczny, 21–38. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. ———. “Churches.” In The Routledge Research Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach. Edited by Robin A. Leaver, 142–90. London, Routledge, 2017. Mann, Alfred. “Missa Brevis and Historia: Bach’s A Major Mass.” Bach 16 (1985): 6–11. Mattheson, Johann. Der Musicalishce Patriot, Welcher seine gründliche Betrachtungen, über Geist- und Weltl. Harmonien . . . Daß GOttes Ehre, das gemeine Beste, und eines jeden Lesers besondere Erbauung dadurch befördert werde. Hamburg, 1728. Neumann, Werner, and Hans-Jocahim Schulze, eds. Bach-Dokumente 1. Schriftstücke von der Hand Sebastian Bachs. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1963. ———. Bach-Dokumente 2. Fremdschriftliche und gedruckte Dokumente zur Lebensgeschichte Johann Sebastian Bachs 1685–1750. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1969. Paczkowski, Szymon. Polish Style in the Music of Johann Sebastian Bach. Translated by Piotr Szymczak. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017. Parrott, Andrew. The Essential Bach Choir. Woodbridge: Boydell, 2000. Pauli, Gottfried Albert. Tractatus de Choris Prophetarum Symphoniacis in ecclesia Dei (von der prophetischen Cantorey). Rostock, 1719. Petzoldt, Martin, and Joachim Petri. Johann Sebastian Bach, Ehre sei dir Gott gesungen: Bilder und Texte zu Bachs Leben als Christ und seinem Wirken für die Kirche. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988.



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Platen, Emil, and Marianne Helms. Johann Sebastian Bach Neue Ausgabe sämtliche Werke. Serie II, Band 2. Lutherischen Messen und einzelne Messensätze. Kritische Bericht. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1982. Schulze, Hans-Joachim. “‘. . . da man die besten nicht bekommen können . . .’: Kontroversen und Kompromise vor Bachs Leipziger Amtstritt.” In Bericht über die Wissenschaftliche Konferez zum III. Internationalen Bach-Fest der DDR Leipzig, 18./19. September 1975. Edited by Werner Felix, Winfried Hoffmann, et al., 71–77. Leipzig: VEB Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1977. ———. Faksimile nach dem Originalstimmensatz ser Sächsischen Landesbibliothek Dresden. Neuhausen-Stuttgart: Hännsler, 1983. Schulze, Hans-Joachim, and Christoph Wolff, eds. Bach Compendium, Vocal Works, Part IV. Leipzig: C. F. Peters, 1989. Selnecker, Nikolaus. Der Gantze Psalter des Königlichen Propheten Dauids, außgelegt, vnd in drey Bücher getheylt. Nuremberg: Heußler, 1565. Siegele, Ulrich. “Bachs Stellung in der Leipziger Kulturpolitik seiner Zeit,” BachJahrbuch 69 (1983): 7–50; 70 (1984): 7–43; and 72 (1986): 33–67. ———. “Bach and the Domestic Politics of Electoral Saxony.” In The Cambridge Companion to Bach. Edited by John Butt, 17–34. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. ———. “Bach’s Situation in the Cultural Politics of Contemporary Leipzig.” In Bach’s Changing World: Voices in the Community. Edited by Carol K. Baron, 127–73. Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2006. Stauffer, George. Bach: The Mass in B Minor (The Great Catholic Mass). New York: Schirmer, 1997. Steinitz, Paul. “Bach’s Lutheran Masses.” Musical Times 109 (1968): 231–33. Stockigt, Janice B. Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679–1745): A Bohemian Musician at the Court of Dresden. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. ———. “Bach’s Missa BWV 232I in the Context of Catholic Mass Settings in Dresden, 1729–1733.” In Exploring Bach’s B-minor Mass. Edited by Yo Tomita, Robin A. Leaver, and Jan Smaczny, 39–53. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Taesler, Martin. “Vom Zusammenhang in einigen zyklischen Orgelwerken Johann Sebastian Bachs, Beobachtung eines Orgelspielers.” Musik und Kirche 39 (1969): 185–86. Terry, Charles Sanford. Bach: The Magnificat, Lutheran Masses and Motets. London: Oxford University Press, 1929. Wackernagel, Philipp. Bibliographie zur Geschichte des deutschen Kirchenliedes im XVI. Jahrhundert. Frankfurt, 1855. Walther, Johann Gottfried. Praecepta der Musicalischer Composition. Edited by Peter Benary. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1955. Wolff, Christoph. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician, updated edition. New York: W. W. Norton, 2013.

Chapter Eleven

J. S. Bach’s Dresden Trip and His Earliest Serenatas for Köthen Gregory Butler

The period in December 1717 between J. S. Bach’s dismissal from his post as organist and concertmaster at the ducal court in Weimar and his arrival in Köthen to take up his new position as Kapellmeister has been a source of speculation for Bach scholars for some time. It is clear from documentary evidence that Bach was released on December 2 after having been held for four weeks under house arrest in the Landrichter Stube in Weimar.1 We next find him in Leipzig on December 17 when he signed his report after examining the newly completed Scheibe organ in the Paulinerkirche2 and on December 18 when he received his honorarium from the university “wegen Übernahme und Probirung der Orgel in der Pauliner Kirche.”3 We know that Bach had arrived in Köthen by December 29, on which date “der neu angenommene Capellmeister” received his pay for the month of January 1718 along with his back pay from August 1 to December 31, 1717, and a bonus for the conclusion of negotiations surrounding his hiring on August 7, 1717.4 The documentary evidence raises a number of questions. When exactly did Bach leave Weimar after his release? Did he go directly to Köthen and, if so, exactly when did he arrive? These questions are important in that they bear on the music performed for Prince Leopold’s birthday on December 10, 1717. One piece of documentary evidence suggests that Bach did arrive in Köthen in advance of the prince’s birthday. This is the record of a rent payment by the court to Bach for the use of his house “vor das Collegium Musicum.” The twelve thalers “Hauszinß” covered the period of a year from December 10, 1717 to December 10, 1718.5 A payment made by the court on December 12, 1717, for “Musicalische Sachen zum Gebuhrts Tage zu Binden”6 is surely an indication that music was performed by the Kapelle for the prince’s birthday, but that music may not have been composed by Bach. Not surprisingly, the 205

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entry in the accounts gives no indication either of the composer or of the nature of the music performed on this occasion. Köthen was reachable from Weimar in two days by coach, so if Bach had left immediately after his release the move could have been completed by December 5 at the earliest. But if Bach was involved in preparations for the move after his release and was travelling with his family, as Christoph Wolff has suggested,7 the transition to Köthen may have been more protracted. In addition, having music copied immediately upon his arrival in Köthen and rehearsing a work on the day of its performance at court, a scenario hinted at by the rent payment by the court to Bach, could have been a problem. If Bach had arrived in Köthen during the first week of December, he would no doubt have wanted to, and would even have been expected to, direct a performance of his music for the prince’s birthday. But given the time constraints, how ambitious could the music performed have been when, with birthday festivities only a few days away, the composer would have had so little time to prepare? Alfred Dürr has suggested that Bach may have resorted to presenting a less ambitious work needing less rehearsal time on this occasion. He has singled out as a candidate the birthday serenata Durchlautster Leopold, BWV 173a, for which there is no indication of the year of performance.8 The problem of severe time constraint also comes into play regarding the composition and performance of a New Year’s serenata three weeks later on January 1, 1718. Before Christmas, Bach travelled to Leipzig at the invitation of the university to examine the new organ in the Paulinerkirche recently completed by Johann Scheibe on November 4. We know from a letter written to the university on January 28, 1718, by the organist at the Nikolaikirche in Leipzig and overseer of the building of the Scheibe organ, Daniel Vetter, that Bach “das werck . . . am 16. Decembr. 1717. examiniren müßen.”9 Bach thus would have arrived in Leipzig no later than December 15, and if he left Leipzig immediately after having received his honorarium on December 18 could have arrived back in Köthen a day or two later, less than a week before Christmas. Could Bach, then, have composed and rehearsed a new serenata for New Year’s in ten days? He certainly maintained this sort of schedule later in Leipzig, so such a scenario is not out of the question. On the other hand, he may not have left Leipzig immediately upon receiving his honorarium for the examination of the organ, but may have remained there afterward for a short time. If so, he would have had to have a previously composed work in reserve for the approaching New Year’s performance. Certainly, thus far, no work by Bach can be documented as having been performed on January 1, 1718. Going back to BWV 173a and its possible performance on December 10, 1717, one movement, the bass aria “Leopolds Votrefflichkeiten,” is of particular interest. One uses the term “aria” here advisedly, for the movement is



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headed simply “Vivace” and, as Dürr notes, it is “auffallend kurz” and “formal offen” (peculiarly short and formally open).10 His reference to its “freie Dacapowiederholung” (free da-capo repeat) is somewhat misleading, in that any sign of wholesale repetition of a tonally stable, tonic-centered A section at the conclusion is absent; furthermore, at twenty-nine measures in length, the movement is far too short for such a designation. In fact, the movement is tonally open throughout and reminds one of nothing more than the B section to a da capo aria in which the A section is in D major. Besides the express exclusion of the two flutes made clear by Bach’s notation “Baßo è Stromenti. senza gli Traversieri,” the scoring is unique in another, more important, respect. In passing, Dürr notes “die fast stets Unisono geführte Violinen” (the almost invariable unisons of the prominent violins). Except for three brief ritornello segments (mm. 10–12, 22–23, 28–29) with their normal four-voice ripieno string scoring, violin 1 and 2 are doubled at the unison in a highly characteristic three-part ripieno string scoring. This same scoring is very much in evidence in another birthday serenata from Bach’s first year in Köthen, Der Himmel dacht auf Anhalts Ruhm und Glück, BWV 66a. Given that its text was published by the Halle poet Christian Friedrich Hunold in 1719, the date of its performance has routinely been given as December 10, 1718. Neither autograph score nor parts for BWV 66a have survived, but a parody of the work has. This is the cantata Erfreut euch, ihr Herzen, BWV 66, first performed on the second day of Easter, April 10, 1724. Movement one, for chorus, and movement three, the bass aria, both include ripieno strings, and in both, three-voice ripieno string scoring in which violin 1 and 2 double each other at the unison is dominant. In the bass aria, it is only during pedal passages (mm. 50–56, 128–30, 138–44, 150–52, 167–74) that the ripieno strings adopt the normal four-voice ripieno string scoring. Otherwise, first and second violins double one another at the unison. In the chorus, three-voice ripieno string scoring is only one of a number of scoring options adopted by Bach in a kaleidoscopic array of scoring possibilities. There is one aria from BWV 66a missing in BWV 66: movement six, the aria “Beglücktes Land von süßer Ruh und Stille.” Joshua Rifkin has argued convincingly that a parody of this omitted number has survived as the alto aria, “Wo zwei und drei versammlet sind,” movement three of the cantata Am Abend aber desselbigen Sabbats, BWV 42, first performed on the Second Sunday after Easter, April 8, 1725.11 As he demonstrates, both the scansion and affect of the two texts are virtually a perfect match. Further, the scoring of BWV 42 for ripieno strings, two oboes, bassoon, and basso continuo fits with that of BWV 66a. More important for this study, however, is the “Sinfonia” which opens BWV 42. Like the alto aria, it is clear from Bach’s autograph score that it was copied from a Vorlage, and Rifkin maintains that this sinfo-

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nia originally opened the serenata. In this movement, when the bass is silent, violin 1, 2, and viola triple each other at the unison. In passages in which the two oboes double each other at the unison, in pedal passages, and in the approaches to cadences, the upper strings are independent, appearing in normal four-voice ripieno string scoring. But for most of the movement, violin 1 and 2 double one another at the unison. In short, one encounters the same treatment of the ripieno strings in this sinfonia as one does in the two movements from BWV 66a discussed above. Since ripieno strings are included in its scoring, one might expect to find three-voice ripieno string scoring in the alto aria, but this is not the case. In a slow aria full of pedal passages in which the strings must sustain to accompany the continuous cantilena for the two oboes, such a scoring would not have been viable. To summarize, except for the recitatives, we now have later parodies of all the musical movements from BWV 66a. The New Year’s serenata Die Zeit, die Tag und Jahre macht, BWV 134a, performed on January 1, 1719, provides an interesting comparison. Three movements in the later Leipzig parody of this work, the Easter cantata Ein Herz, das seinen Jesum lebend weiß, BWV 134 (April 11, 1724), are scored for ripieno strings: movement two, the tenor aria “Auf, Glaubige, singet die lieblichen Lieder”; movement four, the duet for alto and tenor “Wir danken und preisen dein brünstiges Lieben”; and movement six, the closing chorus “Erfreue dich, Erde, lobsinge dem Höchsten.” The ripieno strings in all three movements adhere to four-voice ripieno string scoring throughout.12 Given the performance of this work just three weeks after Der Himmel dacht auf Anhalts Ruhm und Glück, in which three-voice ripieno string scoring is dominant, one is hard-pressed to reconcile the disparate approach to ripieno string scoring in the two works. It forces us to accept Bach’s having adopted three-voice ripieno string scoring for a period of over a year between October 1717 and December 1718 and then suddenly during the Christmas season in 1718 to have taken up the more normal four-voice ripieno string scoring he employed later in Köthen, a scenario which I find highly implausible. I would submit that Bach adhered to three-voice scoring practice during a much shorter time immediately after encountering it during his stay in Dresden, a period extending from at least October 1717 to the end of the year. If this is so, then BWV 66a must have been written during this fairly narrow window. Let us now turn our attention to a concerted vocal work for which neither music nor text has survived, Ihr wallenden Wolken, BWV Anh.197, listed as “Neujahrs Cantate” under Number 94 in the Forkel Nachlasskatalog of 1819. Although its authorship until recently has been in doubt, it was included in the critical notes to the Neue Bach-Ausgabe along with the five church cantatas known to have been composed by Bach for New Year’s



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Day.13 Werner Neumann did not rule out the possibility that the work originated as “eine höfische Huldigungsmusik (Köthen?) zum Neuhahrsfest,” and in his table “Vokalkompositionen für Köthen,” Christoph Wolff has listed it along with other works for New Year’s Day without date.14 Who acquired the manuscript of Ihr wallenden Wolken at the auction of Forkel’s estate remained, until recently, unknown. Now Peter Wollny has discovered a reference to the missing manuscript in a catalogue of the music holdings of Friedrich Konrad Griepenkerl.15 The entry, “Neujahrs Kantate. An Sr. Hochfürstl. Durchl. zu Anhalt-Köthen etc. a Voce sola (di Basso) II Trav. II Violini, Viola, Violoncello, Cembalo obligato e Continuo di J. S. Bach,” confirms most importantly that Bach was the composer of the work and that it was written for Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Köthen as part of the annual New Year’s celebrations at court. Wollny gives January 1, 1718, as the most likely date for the first performance of the work. Most arresting, though, is the inclusion in the work’s scoring of obbligato harpsichord, as obbligato harpsichord appears in only one other of Bach’s concerted vocal works, the alto aria “Willkommen! Will ich sagen,” from the cantata Wer weiß, wie nahe mir mein Ende, BWV 27. Given the inclusion of obbligato harpsichord along with traverso and violin in the scoring of this serenata, is it possible that one or more movements of the revised version of BWV 1050a, which became the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto BWV 1050, may have served as sinfonia to Ihr wallenden Wolken?16 Alfred Dürr’s identification of source C,17 a set of parts copied by Bach’s student Johann Christoph Altnickol and three other scribes, in all likelihood from the original composing score of BWV 1050a (Dürr’s source X), has, according to Pieter Dirksen, undermined the prevalent theory that the original version of the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto was composed in Köthen. For him, this indicates that the early version predates the final version by a longer period of time, and he goes on to argue that BWV 1050a was composed in the fall of 1717 in connection with Bach’s Dresden visit.18 New evidence supports Dirksen’s dating of the composition of BWV 1050a to Bach’s sojourn in Dresden in the fall of 1717. While in Venice between February 1716 and July 1717, the prince elector of Saxony, Friedrich August, hired the Venetian opera composer Antonio Lotti, asking him to assemble an opera troupe and bring it to Dresden.19 Lotti set out for the Saxon capital with his singers in early September 1717, and on his arrival began work on a new opera, Giove in Argo, which premiered in the Redoutensaal on October 25.20 Given that Bach was in Dresden during October at the same time that Lotti was involved in the composition of his first opera for the Saxon court, it is not out of the question to suggest that Bach kept abreast of progress on the opera. He may even have attended rehearsals

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of the work and been in the audience at the premiere. Whatever the case, during his sojourn in the Saxon capitol, Bach can be expected to have met Lotti and been exposed to his music. An examination of the scores of Alessandro Severo (December 26, 1716, Teatro Grimani, Venice),21 the last of Lotti’s operas performed in Venice before his departure for Dresden, and Giove in Argo22 is revealing. In Alessandro Severo, the vast majority of the arias feature three-voice ripieno string scoring. As a general rule, in ritornello segments, passages marked forte, and fast movements, first and second violins are doubled at the unison, while in solo segments, passages marked piano, and slow movements, four-voice ripieno scoring prevails.23 In the opening sinfonia, violin 1 and 2 double each other at the unison throughout the finale, with four-voice ripieno string scoring only in thinly scored sections marked piano in the opening movement. The slow middle movement is scored for four-voice ripieno strings throughout. The same holds true for the arias in Giove in Argo as for those in Alessandro Severo. In many cases, when there is a single staff for violins, the composer adds the indicator “Violini Unisoni” at the beginning of the movement. In some cases, violin 2 doubles viola in a variant of three-voice ripieno string scoring. In at least one case, there are interjections by one or both oboes notated in the score, but they are entered on a single treble staff above the viola staff, an indication that in certain cases the oboes are meant to double the violins throughout. The scoring of movements 2 and 3 of the opening sinfonia in Giove in Argo follows that in Alessandro Severo, but because of the inclusion of two horns in the instrumentation, the first movement features an even more varied scoring than the parallel movement in the earlier opera. Pairs of oboes and violins disposed in parallel thirds are involved in an opening dialogue, after which the violins take up their habitual doubling at the unison leading to the entry of the two horns to complete the tutti scoring which invariably includes unison violins. The treatment of two oboes in dialogue, with unison violins and viola and the variety in the scoring in this movement resembles Bach’s scoring in the presumptive opening sinfonia and in the closing chorus of BWV 66a, respectively.24 What is clear is that three-voice string scoring involving two ripieno violins doubled at the unison was, at least during this period, the basis for Lotti’s ripieno string scoring in both his concerted instrumental works and arias. Surely, it was precisely during his sojourn in the Saxon capital during the fall of 1717 that Bach first encountered in Lotti’s music this quite particular doubling of first and second violins at the unison and subsequently adopted the variant of it for a single ripieno violin in the outer movements of BWV 1050a.25 This link to scoring practices current in the music of a Venetian



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composer resident in Dresden during Bach’s visit lends strong support to Dirksen’s contention that the early version of the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto, BWV 1050a, was composed in Dresden during Bach’s sojourn in the Saxon capital during the fall of 1717. If the first performance of Ihr wallenden Volken did take place on January 1, 1718 (with a version of the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto serving as the entrée to the work or not), the inclusion of obbligato harpsichord in the scoring would indicate that Bach was keen to put himself forward as a virtuoso cembalist of the first order from the outset of his tenure as Kapellmeister in Köthen. If BWV 1050a had already been composed earlier during Bach’s stay in Dresden, it is possible that it was the revised version, BWV 1050, as sinfonia to Ihr wallenden Wolken, which served as a virtuoso vehicle for his formal musical introduction at court in Köthen. Given the time restraints posed by the organ examination in Leipzig during the third week in December 1717, it is hard to imagine that Bach could have composed a demanding vocal work such as Ihr wallenden Wolken and then rehearsed it during the last two weeks in December, let alone offered a sinfonia of the utmost complexity as a companion piece. And yet, the dating proposed by Wollny is compelling. I would argue that such a performance is imaginable only if both the serenata and its sinfonia had been composed earlier, before Bach arrived in Köthen in December to take up his duties there. In fact, there was a likely, in fact an obvious, opportunity for the composition of the birthday serenata just prior to Bach’s move to Köthen, and that is the four-week period of his detention in Weimar during November 1717 following his return from Dresden. In anticipation of his release, he would surely have wanted to be prepared for the festivities surrounding the prince’s birthday on December 10 and the annual New Year’s celebration on January 1. I would submit that the most logical time for the composition of Ihr wallenden Wolken was during the period Bach was under house arrest in November 1717. Given the prevalence of three-voice ripieno string scoring in Der Himmel dacht auf Anhalts Ruhm und Glück, could it, like Ihr wallenden Wolken, also have been composed during Bach’s month-long incarceration in November 1717 as part of Bach’s preparation for the birthday festivities in Köthen early the next month? The work’s not having been performed until December 10 of the following year might suggest that, although he had composed a serenata to celebrate it, Bach was not able to be present in Köthen for the prince’s birthday on December 10, 1717. Consequently, the first performance of Der Himmel dacht auf Anhalts Ruhm und Glück had to be put off until the following year. This scenario would similarly rule out a performance of Durchlauchster Leopold, BWV 173a, on December 10, 1717, since apart from the bass aria, all

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movements including ripieno strings feature four-voice ripieno string scoring with independent violin 1 and 2 parts. This work must then have been composed sometime later during the Köthen years.26 The inclusion of three-voice ripieno string scoring in the bass aria, given its identification as a parody, suggests the inclusion of a movement composed earlier in Dresden or shortly after Bach’s stay there, which Bach incorporated into a later birthday serenata. In this study, I have sought to establish links between Bach’s sojourn at the Dresden court during the fall of 1717 and the vocal music he composed as he was about to take up his duties as Kapellmeister to prince Leopold of Anhalt-Köthen. At the same time, in revisiting the Bach biography for the last months of 1717, I hope to have shed light on the chronology of Bach’s earliest performances of gratulatory serenatas in Köthen. NOTES 1. Werner Neumann and Hans-Joachim Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 2. Fremdschriftliche und gedruckte Dokumente zur Lebensgeschichte Johann Sebastian Bachs 1685–1750 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1969), 65–66. 2. Werner Neumann and Hans-Joachim-Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 1. Schriftstücke von der Hand Sebastian Bachs (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1963), 163–65. 3.  Neumann and Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 1, 189. 4.  Neumann and Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 2, 67–68. 5.  Neumann and Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 2, 70. 6.  Alfred Dürr, Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie I, Band 35: Festmusiken für die Fürstenhäuser von Weimar, Weißenfels und Köthen. Kritischer Bericht (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1964), 8. 7.  Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: W. W. Norton, 2000), 202–3. 8. Dürr, Kritischer Bericht I/35, 892–93. 9.  Neumann and Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 1, 166. 10. Dürr, Kritischer Bericht I/35, 893–94. 11.  Joshua Rifkin, “Verlorene Quellen, verlorene Werke: Miszellen zu Bachs Instrumentalkomposition,” in Bachs Orchesterwerke. Bericht über das 1. Dortmunder Bach-Symposion, 1996, ed. Martin Geck and Werner Breig, 59–75 (Witten: Klangfarben Musikverlag, 1997), 65–69. 12.  In one of these movements, in the B section of movement 2 (mm. 165–68), violin 1 and 2 double one another at the unison but the viola is silent, an instance of two-voice ripieno string scoring. 13.  Werner Neumann, Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie I, Band 4: Kantaten zu Neujahr und zum Sonntag nach Neujahr. Kritischer Bericht (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1964), 118. 14. Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, 216.



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15. See Peter Wollny, “Überlegungen zu einigen Kantaten aus J. S. Bachs Köthener Zeit,” presented at a colloquium celebrating the eightieth birthday of HansJoachim Schulze at the Bach Archiv, Leipzig, on Dec. 3, 2014. I would like to thank Dr. Wollny for discussing his findings with me and for his generosity in providing me with the text of the Griepenkerl catalogue entry for citation in my study. 16.  It has always been assumed that the early version of the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto was conceived from the beginning as a concerto, but there are sinfonias in the Dresden Cammer Musique repertoire which may have inspired this work. 17.  This is a set of parts copied largely by Altnikol during the period 1744–1759. See Alfred Dürr, ed., Fünftes Brandenburgisches Konzert in D-dur. Frühfassung BWV 1050a (Nachtrag zu NBA VII/2) (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1975), Vorbemerkung. 18.  See Pieter Dirksen, “The Background to Bach’s Fifth Brandenburg Concerto,” in The Harpsichord and its Repertoire: Proceedings of the International Harpsichord Symposium, ed. Pieter Dirksen (Utrecht: STIMU Foundation for Historical Performance Practice, 1990), 157–85. Dirksen’s argument for the Dresden provenance of Bach’s Fifth Brandenburg Concerto is summed up in the closing section of his study. Siegbert Rampe subsequently issued a lengthy rebuttal of Dirksen’s dating of BWV 1050a, claiming that the original version of the work could not have been composed before Bach’s arrival in Köthen at the end of 1717 or early in 1718. See Siegbert Rampe and Dominik Sackmann, Bachs Orchestermusik: Entstehung, Klangwelt, Interpretation (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2000), 97–100. 19.  See Janice B. Stockigt, Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679–1745): A Musician at the Court of Dresden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 39. 20.  For details on Lotti’s opera productions in Venice, see Janice B. Stockigt, “The Court of Saxony Dresden” in Music at German Courts 1715–1760: Changing Artistic Priorities, eds. Samantha Owens, Barbara M. Reul, and Janice B. Stockigt, 17–50 (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2011), 23–24. 21.  D-Dl: Mus. 2159-F-2. See imslp.org/wiki/Alessandro_Severo_(Lotti,_Antonio). 22.  D-Dl: Mus. 2159-F-3. See imslp.org/wiki/Giove_in_Argo_(Lotti,_Antonio). 23.  At the beginning of the first solo segment in the second-act aria “La mia Augusta e mi tiranna,” the notation “Piano I primi violini solé” is an indication that Lotti called for at least two first violins and, therefore, at least two seconds. 24.  One wonders whether the scoring for two oboes, bassoon, and strings in such works as the sinfonia BWV 42/1 and the ouverture BWV 1066/1 in both his vocal and instrumental concerted music from this period mirrors the direct influence of current Dresden scoring practices on Bach. 25. Dirksen explains Bach’s limiting of the ripieno string scoring in the outer movements to a single “Violino in ripieno” in terms of Bach’s concern for balance. As part of his strategy “to leave the harpsichord fully audible . . . he decided to restrict the number of participating instruments to the barest minimum.” See Dirksen, The Harpsichord and its Repertoire, 159–60. 26.  The fact that no print of the text for this work survives may be an indication that it was performed on January 1, 1722, after the librettist Hunold’s death the previous summer.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Dirksen, Pieter. “The Background to Bach’s Fifth Brandenburg Concerto.” In The Harpsichord and its Repertoire: Proceedings of the International Harpsichord Symposium. Edited by Pieter Dirksen, 157–85. Utrecht: STIMU Foundation for Historical Performance Practice, 1990. Dürr, Alfred. Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie I, Band 35: Festmusiken für die Fürstenhäuser von Weimar, Weißenfels und Köthen. Kritischer Bericht. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1964. Dürr, Alfred, ed. Fünftes Brandenburgisches Konzert in D-dur. Frühfassung BWV 1050a (Nachtrag zu NBA VII/2). Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1975. Neumann, Werner. Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie I, Band 4: Kantaten zu Neujahr und zum Sonntag nach Neujahr. Kritischer Bericht. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1964. Neumann, Werner, and Hans-Joachim Schulze, eds. Bach-Dokumente 1. Schriftstücke von der Hand Sebastian Bachs. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1963. ———. Bach-Dokumente 2. Fremdschriftliche und gedruckte Dokumente zur Lebensgeschichte Johann Sebastian Bachs 1685–1750. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1969. Rampe, Siegbert, and Dominik Sackmann. Bachs Orchestermusik: Entstehung, Klangwelt, Interpretation. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2000. Rifkin, Joshua. “Verlorene Quellen, verlorene Werke: Miszellen zu Bachs Instrumentalkomposition.” In Bachs Orchesterwerke. Bericht über das 1. Dortmunder Bach-Symposion, 1996. Edited by Martin Geck and Werner Breig, 59–75. Witten: Klangfarben Musikverlag, 1997. Stockigt, Janice B. Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679–1745): A Musician at the Court of Dresden. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. ———. “The Court of Saxony Dresden.” In Music at German Courts 1715–1760: Changing Artistic Priorities. Edited by Samantha Owens, Barbara M. Reul, and Janice B. Stockigt, 17–50. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2011. Wolff, Christoph. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician. New York: W. W. Norton, 2000.

Chapter Twelve

Bach’s Second Thoughts on the Christmas Oratorio The Compositional Revisions to “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4 Steven Saunders The parody aria “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4, from Part I of the Christmas Oratorio—which J. S. Bach modeled on “Ich will dich nich hören,” BWV 213/9, from his so-called “Hercules Cantata,” Laßt uns sorgen, laßt uns wachen—has received considerable, if somewhat narrow, scholarly attention.1 In fact, Hans-Joachim Schulze’s masterly overview of the literature on Bach’s parody procedures cannot quite mask mild exasperation at the frequent and largely homogeneous treatment of the most striking aspect of the piece, Bach’s oft-observed reversal of the model work’s affect via little more than the adoption of a new text, the elimination of a single performance indication (unisoni e staccato), and the doubling of the violin line by an oboe d’amore.2 Although the compositional changes motivated by the radically different texts have received the most scholarly attention, they were hardly the composer’s most noteworthy compositional revisions. “Bereite dich, Zion” is one of only two parody movements of the sprawling Christmas Oratorio to which Bach made substantial compositional changes, and his revisions illuminate a number of significant issues, including his compositional priorities, his grappling with the emerging galant style, and the construction of musical meaning. The genesis of the Christmas Oratorio (in Bach’s wording, the Oratorium Tempore Nativitatis Christi) is well known. The “oratorio” consists of six cantatas that, despite their seeming independence, project large-scale structural symmetries of key and instrumentation, as well as an overarching narrative relating the story of Jesus’s birth from the journey to Bethlehem to the adoration of the Magi.3 The cantatas were performed as the principal music for the main feast days between Christmas and Epiphany, from December 25, 1734, to January 6, 1735, in the Nikolaikirche and Thomaskirche.4 Nearly all of the arias and choruses of the Christmas Oratorio are Bach’s parodies of his own recent works, while most of the recitatives and chorale harmonizations 215

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are believed to be newly composed.5 Bach used several sources as models for the parody movements: a cantata for which only instrumental parts survive, BWV 248a, and a group of three secular cantatas from 1733–34: Laßt uns sorgen, laßt uns wache, BWV 213 (1733); Tönet, ihr Pauken! Erschallet, Trompeten!, BWV 214 (1733); and Preise dein Glücke, gesegnetes Sachsen, BWV 215 (1734). The oratorio’s parody movements are of the type that Werner Neumann called “poetic parodies,” for which the composer’s working method proceeded in three stages: 1) Bach selected a model composition for reuse; 2) a poet provided a fresh text, typically using the previous text as a structural model; and 3) Bach adapted the existing music to the new words.6 Bach’s selection of models and the poetic reworkings of the Christmas Oratorio have been justly admired for their aptness and ingenuity. The poetic texts are artful enough that they have raised suspicions, dating as far back as Spitta, that the poet may have been Picander (Christian Friedrich Henrici), who had provided the libretti for the two secular cantatas on which Bach drew most extensively as sources for the parodied movements, BWV 213 and 214.7 Robert Marshall has noted that Bach was virtually incapable of copying any vocal work without tinkering with details,8 and many scholars have seen this tendency as symptomatic of a deeper quality, one that Schulze captured in a pithy appraisal of Bach’s view of parody composition as “the improvement of existing material.”9 Alfred Mann describes the aesthetics of Bach’s parodies in a slightly different way, observing that “existing works generate new works, and the composer reaches again and again into the wealth of material he himself has created.”10 Nevertheless, much of the compositional recasting in the Christmas Oratorio is merely workmanlike, restricted largely to providing fuller figuring for the continuo, more detailed indications of articulation and ornamentation, small modifications of rhythm or figuration to accommodate textual changes, alterations of instrumentation, and, at times, transposition. The changes to “Bereite dich, Zion,” however, are more compositionally significant.11 In considering “Bereite dich, Zion,” it is impossible not to begin with the self-evident: the affect of the aria is—contrary to Bach’s usual practice—diametrically opposed to that of its model: “Ich will dich nicht hören,” BWV 213/9 Ich will [mag] dich nicht hören, ich will dich nicht wissen, Verworfene Wollust, ich kenne dich nicht. Denn die Schlangen So mich wollten wiegend fangen, Hab ich schon lange zermalmet, zerrissen.



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I will hear you not; I will recognize you not, Vile lasciviousness, I know you not. For the serpents That wanted to ensnare me in the cradle, I have long ago crushed, ripped apart. “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/412 Bereite dich, Zion, mit zärtlichen Trieben, Den Schönsten, den Liebsten bald bei dir zu sehn! Deine Wangen Müssen heut viel schöner prangen, Eile, den Bräutigam sehnlichst zu lieben! Make ready, Zion, with tender desire To see the fairest, the dearest with you soon! Your cheeks Must today appear much lovelier; Hasten to love the Bridegroom most longingly.

In its original context in the Dramma per musica Laßt uns sorgen, laßt uns wachen, the aria “Ich will dich nicht hören” expresses Hercules’s steely rejection of excessive worldly pleasure, and by implication serves as a musical Fürstenspiegel for the work’s eleven-year-old dedicatee, Prince Friedrich Christian of Saxony. Nothing could be further from this aria’s stern pronouncements (“Ich will nicht, Ich mag nicht”) and its images of the crushed bodies of snakes than the “tender desire” and longing of the Christmas Oratorio’s “Bereite dich, Zion,” which allegorically portrays the church (Zion) preparing for the arrival of Jesus (the bridegroom). The most frequently observed compositional changes, as I have already noted, are the seemingly transformational removal of the “staccato” marking and the doubling of the original violin accompaniment by oboe d’amore, with its connotations of love, mildness, and tenderness.13 However, Bach made other significant changes to the aria, particularly in its B section, perhaps because, as Ludwig Finscher has observed, the second part of the model aria contained more overt text painting.14 Hans-Jürgen Möller, taking his cue from Finscher on many points, has also discussed the revisions to “Bereite dich, Zion,” concentrating again on those motivated by differences between the poetic imagery of the two poems. He notes, in particular, three changes to the aria’s B section, explicating them using the terminology of the Figurenlehre. According to Möller, Bach’s most significant reversions include: 1.  breaking a long tied note originally used to set the word “lange” (mm. 103– 5) into rests and shorter notes (cf. “Ich will dich nicht hören,” mm. 107–9);

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2.  eliminating the rhetorical figures saltus duriusculus (large leaps, particulary diminished or augmented intervals) and hypobole (a note below the normal range or ambitus of a part) that had been associated with the phrase “zermalmet, zerrissen” (m. 110ff.); and 3.  rewriting the final four bars to eliminate a katabasis (a descending melodic line) and a tirata (here, a descent through a complete octave) in the continuo, also associated with the text “zermalmet, zerrissen” (mm. 134–39).15 Möller’s observations about word-tone relationships are convincing; indeed, his list of the minor adjustments that Bach made to smooth out particularly angular passages in the model aria’s melody to adapt it to a more benevolent text might easily be expanded. For example, the stark cadential leap of an octave and a sixth that closes the opening ritornello is smoothed over in “Bereite dich, Zion” (m. 15), and Bach adds passing tones to fill in leaps in the vocal line at a number of places (e.g., mm. 30, 34, 101). Yet such observations tell only part of the story. Bach expanded a section of “Ich will dich nicht hören” (mm. 102–12 = “Bereite dich, Zion,” mm. 102– 14) in ways that suggest that his concerns went beyond touching up the text painting by way of a few deft, yet surface, brushstrokes (see Example 12.1). The revised version of this passage adds two bars, replacing the abrupt 4+4+2 phrase structure of the original with a more regular 4+4+4 pattern (compare Example 12.1a to Example 12.1b). This seemingly small change in phrase length has profound consequences for the aria’s large-scale structure, for it creates an extended section comprised of periodic four-bar units (mm. 91–122). And Bach made another revision that extends such symmetries forward through the remaining sixteen measures of the B section (see below). Bach’s revision also projects the overall linear descent from b' to e' in the alto line much more clearly, creates a predictable acceleration in the underlying harmonic rhythm (mm. 103–14 = 2 + 2 + 2 + 2 + 1 + 1 + 2-bar cadential progression), and forges an elegant motivic parallelism in the continuo by composing out the cadential progression E minor–A minor–B major–E minor twice in succession (i–iv–V–i in the local key area; see the brackets in example 12.1b). As he had done throughout “Bereite dich, Zion,” Bach fills in chordal skips with passing tones (alto, mm. 106 and 110). He also lightens the texture at the end of the revised passage by having the violin and oboe rest for nearly four bars. The more symmetrical structure, clearer projection of the background voice-leading, filling of melodic gaps, and temporary thinning of the texture might be seen as simply rounding off rough edges, a regularization that might be written off as the type of response to the new text than Bach had undertaken elsewhere. However, revisions to the closing bars of the B section suggest that more is at stake.



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Example 12.1.  (a) “Ich will dich nicht hören,” BWV 213/9, mm. 103–12; (b) “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4, mm. 103–14

The final sixteen bars include substantial revisions to the vocal line in mm. 121–28 along with a lightening of the continuo, which Bach achieved by eliminating downbeats and avoiding the original version’s stern emphasis on root position triads. The final eight bars, mm. 129–36, are almost entirely new. Again, most of the critical attention concerning these revisions has focused on the changes needed to accommodate the new text. Finscher noted that Bach’s new, florid vocal figuration provides a fitting setting for the word “prangen” (to be resplendent).16 And Rathey, similarly, sees in the revisions to the final section an emphasis on “the sensuality of the relationship between the believer and Jesus, the radiant beauty of the bridegroom” redolent of the language and imagery of the unio mystica.17 This luxuriant quality may owe

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Example 12.2.  Voice-leading reduction of “Bereite dich, Zion,” BWV 248/4, mm. 123–34

something to compositional changes that recall those that Bach made to the first half of the B section. He imposes an elegant long-range symmetry in this passage that borders on the obsessive. Measures 123–34, for example, outline a relentless falling fifth pattern (E–a–D–G–C–f♯–B–e–A–d–[G]–C). The penultimate chord appears in inversion, yet the underlying sequential construction remains aurally unmistakable (see example 12.2). The fifth pattern in the bass accompanies an equally unremitting linear descent through a sixth from a” to c” in the instrumental line, a descent that remains audible despite the surface arpeggio figuration. And the vocal part unfolds as an ornamentation of the instruments’ linear descent at the sixth below. Equally important, Bach eliminates the model aria’s repetition of the final line of the poem, which created an uneven, even choppy phrase structure (2 + 4 + 4 + 6). The analogous sixteen bars of “Bereite dich, Zion”—despite the vocal line’s artful use of suspensions and its rhythmic emphases on weak beats—project a single span of twelve measures, subdivided into regular twobar units (mm. 123–34) plus a four-measure closing tag (mm. 135–38). Bach’s revisions also eliminate two of the starkest dissonances of the model aria, a harsh root position diminished triad in m. 126 (= “Bereite dich, Zion,” m. 128) and the equally pungent ninth “suspended” into m. 127, a bar otherwise consisting of tones of a B dominant-seventh sonority (= “Bereite dich, Zion,” m. 129). Finally, the revision eliminates the model’s jarring juxtaposition of sharp and flat harmonic areas (“Ich will dich nicht hören,” mm. 127–30). These compositional revisions to “Bereite dich, Zion” can be summed up as follows: in revising the aria to set a new text expressing affetti amorosi or “gentle affections” (these terms come from Robert Marshall’s classic essay on Bach’s use of the galant style), Bach made phrase structures more symmetrical, made stepwise background voice leading more audible, eliminated jagged melodic leaps and the harshest harmonies, and thinned the texture.18 These, of course, are some of the musical gestures and compositional moves associated with the burgeoning galant style. No one would be tempted to describe “Bereite dich, Zion” as a galant work, yet it projects a number of galant qualities, particularly compared to its earlier incarnation as “Ich will



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dich nicht hören.” As if to signal these qualities at the outset, Bach makes minor, yet telling changes to the opening ritornello theme, adding not only additional slurs, but, more significantly, several written-out ornaments: a trill and elegant port de voix coulée in m. 4, another trill in m. 6, and a final appoggiatura at the cadence in m. 8. Bach’s parody compositions do not square well with our usual habits of thought regarding the composer’s painstaking construction of musical meaning; the discomfort in the literature on “Bereite dich, Zion” is especially palpable. The idea that seemingly minor musical changes can support a complete inversion of a work’s affect demands explication. Eric Chafe’s ingenious reading of the transformation of Hercules’s aria of scornful rebuke into one of tender longing in the Christmas Oratorio finds a way off the horns of this dilemma, suggesting that Hercules’s renunciation of pleasure in “Ich will dich nicht hören” represents an artificial rejection that masks the real affect. In his reading, both arias project “a deeper, latent quality of acceptance.”19 Similarly, Ludwig Finscher finds shared qualities in the texts that are set to the aria’s opening motive: emphatic denial (“Ich will dich nicht hören”) versus emphatic invitation (“Bereite dich, Zion).”20 These interpretations, for all their artfulness, lay bare assumptions that undergird most readings of Bach’s parody compositions, assumptions built into modern notions of the work-concept itself: that musical works convey fixed affects, projected principally by musical structures such as pitch, rhythm, harmony, motive, etc. (or conventions attached to them), and buttressed, of course, by the verbal text in vocal compositions. Part of the uneasiness surrounding the transformation of “Ich will dich nicht hören” into “Bereite dich, Zion” is surely because so much of their contrasting effects—and affects—seems to hinge on features that are usually seen as peripheral and as transparent to analysis. In “Bereite dich, Zion,” ornamentation and articulation are not ancillary features, but elements essential to Bach’s concept of the aria. To borrow Charles Rosen’s useful distinction, articulation and ornamentation belong to the work’s “conception” rather than to its “realization.”21 Yet the aria’s meaning is even more thickly constructed, influenced by long-range symmetries that have little to do with localized features of the verbal text. It is shaped by listeners’ overall perception of style, particularly the presence of regularizing and galant elements. And those elements, in turn, surely also influence performers’ renderings of the aria; the ornaments in the first phrase of “Bereite dich, Zion,” for example, discourage too quick a tempo. The sonic qualities of the text—note, for instance, the contrast between the brusque single-syllable-word-dominated opening of “Ich will dich nicht hören” and the more liquid qualities of “Bereite dich,

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Zion”—also contribute to the contrasting effects. “Bereite dich, Zion” provides an instructive example of Bach’s compositional approach in parody works, but also a cautionary lesson that, as Chafe reminds us, “affect can be more complex than we are accustomed to thinking.”22 NOTES 1.  In offering this chapter in honor of Don O. Franklin, it seemed fitting not only to address the Christmas Oratorio, but also the particular topic of musical parody. The culmination of Franklin’s long tenure as director of the University of Pittsburgh’s “Bach and Baroque” concert series was a set of holiday performances of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio in 2007, performances recognized by the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette as one of the year’s outstanding classical music events. See Andrew Druckenbrod, “Best Classical,” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, December 27, 2007, http://www.post -gazette.com/pg/07361/844585-388.stm#ixzz0vSWPb1vA. Furthermore, Franklin has recently addressed the topic of musical parody in his own scholarship. See Don O. Franklin, “Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s 1789 Matthew Passion as Pasticcio and Parody,” in Passion, Affekt und Leidenschaft in der frühen Neuzeit, Wolfenbütteler Arbeiten zu Barockforschung, Bd. 43, ed. Johann Anselm Steiger et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 637–54. 2. “By way of example let us take the Christmas Oratorio—but not simply to preach that . . . the tender ‘Bereite dich, Zion’ is based on the strongly defensive ‘Ich will dich nicht hören’.” Hans-Joachim Schulze, “The Parody Process in Bach’s Music: An Old Problem Reconsidered,” trans. Daniel R. Melamed, Bach 20 (1989): 14. 3.  See, for example, Walter Blankenburg, Das Weihnachts-Oratorium von Johann Sebastian Bach (Kassel: Bärenreiter Verlag, 1982), 38–41; Eric Chafe, Tonal Allegory in the Vocal Muisc of J. S. Bach (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 268–73; Robin A. Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works and Their Theological and Liturgical Context,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bach, ed. John Butt, 86–122 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 95–98; and Christoph Wolff, “Bach’s Christmas Oratorio,” CD liner notes for Bach: Christmas Oratorio, Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra and Choir, conducted by Ton Koopman, Erato 0630–14635–2, pp. 13–14. 4.  See the facsimile of the libretto in Werner Neuman, Sämtliche von Johann Sebastian Bach vertonte Texte (Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1974), 448–55. The schedule of performances is summarized in Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works,” 92–93. 5.  Useful tabular synopses of the sources of Bach’s parody borrowings, each with slightly different emphases, are found in: Blankenburg, Das Weihnachts-Oratorium, 22–23; Werner Breig, “Bach’s Christmas Oratorio,” CD liner notes to J. S. Bach: Christmas Oratorio, The Monteverdi Choir and English Baroque Soloists, John Eliot Gardiner, conductor, Archiv 423 232–2, p. 15; Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works,” 94–95; Werner Neumann, “Über Ausmaß und Wesen des Bachschen Parodieverfahrens,” Bach Jahrbuch 51 (1965): 68; and Markus Rathey, Johann Sebastian



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Bach’s Christmas Oratorio: Music, Theology, Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 119. See also Robin A. Leaver, “J. S. Bach’s Parodies of Vocal Music: Conservation or Intensification?” in the present volume. 6.  Neumann, “Über Ausmaß und Wesen,” 72–73. 7.  Philipp Spitta, Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Gemany, 1685–1750, vol. 2, trans. Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland (London: Novello, 1889), 574. On the arguments for and against Picander’s authorship see Rathey, Christmas Oratorio, 112–13. 8.  Robert Lewis Marshall, The Compositional Process of J. S. Bach: A Study of the Autograph Scores of the Vocal Works, 2 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 1:15. 9.  Schulze, “The Parody Process,” 20. 10.  Alfred Mann, “Bach’s Parody Technique and Its Frontiers,” in Bach Studies, ed. Don O. Franklin, 115–24 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 123–24. 11. Werner Neuman has described the changes as a moderate compositional intervention (“Eingriffe in die Satzstruktur mittleren Grades”); see Neuman, “Über Ausmaß und Wesen,” 66. 12.  Translation after Alfred Dürr, The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text, rev. and trans. Richard D. P. Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 102–3. 13.  Ludwig Finscher, “Zum Parodieproblem bei Bach,” in Bach-Interpertationen, ed. Martin Geck, 94–105 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969), 103. 14.  Finscher, “Zum Parodieproblem bei Bach,” 100–4. 15.  Hans-Jürgen Möller, “Das Wort-Ton-Verhältnis im Weihnachtsoratorium Johann Sebastian Bachs,” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 113 (1972): 686–91. 16.  Finscher, “Zum Parodieproblem bei Bach,” 103. 17. Rathey, Christmas Oratorio, 168. He notes, however, that “the additional work Bach invested in the final measures of the B section is not exclusively due to the new text.” 18.  Robert Marshall, “Bach the Progressive: Observations on His Later Works,” in The Music of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Sources, the Style, the Significance (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989), 23–58; see esp. 33–34 and 41. 19. Chafe, Tonal Allegory, 264–5. 20.  Finscher, “Zum Parodieproblem bei Bach,” 103. 21.  Rosen maintains that Baroque composers’ concept of work was largely limited to devising a conception, which Rosen describes as “an abstract structure of pitch and rhythm that was to be filled out later.” This conception is “a structure that will support, and even inspire, a wide range of realizations.” For Rosen, the category of “realization” consists mainly of improvised ornamentation, performing forces, the texture and spacing of continuo realizations, and so on, but one assumes he would have also allowed the concept to embrace other performative aspects that we usually consider the provenance of performer rather than composer, for example, tempo, rubato, and, most relevant to “Bereite dich, Zion,” phrasing and articulation. See Charles Rosen, The Romantic Generation (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 27–29. 22. Chafe, Tonal Allegory, 265.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Blankenburg, Walter. Das Weihnachts-Oratorium von Johann Sebastian Bach. Kassel: Bärenreiter Verlag, 1982. Breig, Werner. “Bach’s Christmas Oratorio.” CD liner notes to J. S. Bach: Christmas Oratorio, The Monteverdi Choir and English Baroque Soloists, John Eliot Gardiner, conductor, Archiv 423 232–2. Chafe, Eric. Tonal Allegory in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. Dürr, Alfred. The Cantatas of J. S. Bach with their Librettos in German-English Parallel Text. Revised and translated by Richard D. P. Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Finscher, Ludwig. “Zum Parodieproblem bei Bach.” In Bach-Interpertationen. Edited by Martin Geck, 94–105. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969. Franklin, Don O. “Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s 1789 Matthew Passion as Pasticcio and Parody.” In Passion, Affekt und Leidenschaft in der frühen Neuzeit, Wolfenbütteler Arbeiten zu Barockforschung, Bd. 43. Edited by Johann Anselm Steiger et al., 637–54. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005. Leaver, Robin A. “The Mature Vocal Works and Their Theological and Liturgical Context.” In The Cambridge Companion to Bach. Edited by John Butt, 86–122. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Mann, Alfred. “Bach’s Parody Technique and Its Frontiers.” In Bach Studies. Edited by Don. O. Franklin, 115–24. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Marshall, Robert Lewis. The Compositional Process of J. S. Bach: A Study of the Autograph Scores of the Vocal Works. 2 vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972. ———. The Music of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Sources, the Style, the Significance. New York: Schirmer Books, 1989. Möller, Hans-Jürgen. “Das Wort-Ton-Verhältnis im Weihnachtsoratorium Johann Sebastian Bachs.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 113 (1972): 686–91. Neumann, Werner. “Über Ausmaß und Wesen des Bachschen Parodieverfahrens,” Bach Jahrbuch 51 (1965): 63–85. ———. Sämtliche von Johann Sebastian Bach vertonte Texte. Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1974. Rathey, Markus. Johann Sebastian Bach’s Christmas Oratorio: Music, Theology, Culture. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Rosen, Charles. The Romantic Generation. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995. Schulze, Hans-Joachim. “The Parody Process in Bach’s Music: An Old Problem Reconsidered.” Translated by Daniel R. Melamed. Bach 20 (1989): 7–21. Spitta, Philipp. Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany 1685–1750. 3 vols. Translated by Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland. London: Novello, 1885. Wolff, Christoph. “Bach’s Christmas Oratorio,” CD liner notes for Bach: Christmas Oratorio, Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra and Choir, conducted by Ton Koopman. Erato 0630–14635–2.

Chapter Thirteen

The Passions as a Source of Inspiration? A Hypothesis on the Origin and Musical Aim of Well-Tempered Clavier II Yo Tomita At some stage of studying a composition that interests us, and in our case the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, we become curious about its origin and wish to know why it was composed, how and under what circumstances it was created, and if the composer embedded any meanings in his works that have hitherto been hidden from our view. 1 Even though we may never find full and complete answers, our investigations usually teach us something relevant and useful that helps us better understand various issues surrounding the works. This process demonstrates the fascination and complexity of a great work of art, and maybe goes partway to explaining why those of us drawn into the world of Bach research find it to be so rewarding. SEEKING INFORMATION FROM WITHIN THE PRIMARY SOURCES For Bach’s liturgical works, such as his cantatas, Passions, Lutheran Masses, and Magnificat, we are reasonably well informed about the occasions on which they were performed. The dates of composition and performances are often ascertained successfully through the study of the surviving source material, that is, the original scores and performance parts, along with the holistic and systematic investigation of diplomatic, notational, and musical evidence collected from all the related sources, including archival documents from the churches and schools where Bach and his copyists worked.2 Although the latter process has recently been revisited by researchers at the Bach-Archiv Leipzig, scholars working in source studies have successfully established a sufficiently solid foundation for other scholars to examine the circumstances that conditioned the composer to engage with his works, including, at times, 225

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where he obtained the ideas or inspirations for the pieces. More fundamentally, in texted music one can also learn a great deal about the composer’s intended expression from studying the words and their musical setting. By comparison, we have a far more limited range of primary source material for Bach’s keyboard works, with just the composer’s autograph scores, the original prints (where such exist), and a small number of contemporary copies by his students, the majority of which are rarely associated with specific occasions for which the work was produced.3 Perhaps the most informative set of primary sources is The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I (hereafter WTC I): the extant autograph score (D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 415) is a bound fair copy with an elaborate title-page that records the year of making, “1722”; at the end of the last fugue we also find “ao 1732,” hinting at the year the musical text was updated. We can also learn some details concerning the circumstances of the work’s origin by studying the related manuscripts. First, the Clavierbüchlein vor Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, which contains eleven preludes from WTC I in an early form, tells us abundantly about the origin of WTC as a pedagogical tool. Second, studying WTC I alongside two other contemporary keyboard manuscripts that are also bound with elaborate titlepages, namely Orgelbüchlein (D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 283) and Aufrichtige Anleitung (i.e., Inventions and Sinfonias, D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 610), may help us discern Bach’s wider purpose for the volume. As Christoph Wolff observes, it is plausible that Bach brought these manuscripts to the job interview for the post of Thomascantor in Leipzig on February 7, 1723 “to demonstrate his didactic skills and pedagogical qualifications.”4 The second volume of Well-Tempered Clavier (hereafter WTC II), which Bach began compiling in his early fifties, presents us with a totally different source situation. No complete fair copy of the collection has survived in the composer’s own hand. Instead, the following two extant manuscripts are presently considered as the primary sources for the two complete sets of scores Bach once owned: 1.  GB-Lbl, Add. MS 35021: the so-called “London autograph” is a partial autograph, which Kobayashi dates c.1739/42.5 It consists of 21 prelude-fugue pairs, mostly in Auflagebogen. The three missing pairs of preludes and fugues are those in C-sharp minor, D major, and F minor, though the copies derived from it (e.g., D-Hs, M B/1974 and D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 416) show that these movements were once present. There is no separate title-page. Anna Magdalena Bach contributed to the making of fair copies of the pairs in C minor, D minor, E major (except the last two bars of the prelude in the bottom margin), F major (only the first page of the prelude), and G major, all in an early stage of compilation, while Bach wrote out the rest; and



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2.  D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 430: a bound fair copy with title-page in the hand of Johann Christoph Altnickol (1719–59) which has a date inscribed at the end of the last fugue, “1744,” the year Altnickol arrived to read Law at the University of Leipzig while at the same time becoming Bach’s private pupil. Its model was another set of Bach’s autographs, now lost, consisting partly of movements that served for making the London autograph set and partly of a small number of updated movements after 1742. Before Altnickol began to make this copy, Bach instructed him to alter some notational features in the model as this (Bach’s lost manuscript) had not been updated when Bach used it to create the London autograph set, in which he worked out various improvements. Altnickol’s copy contains numerous traces of subsequent revision, some in Bach’s hand. There is another autograph of the A-flat major fugue, BWV 886/2 (D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 274, Faszikel 4),6 which Kobayashi dates between c.1743 and c.1746.7 Neatly copied on both sides of a single sheet, it is evident that this was made independently from any complete copy of WTC II. Its musical text is very close to that of the London autograph, the earlier version of the two primary sources. It looks as if this copy was made independently from the model, perhaps still in F major (i.e., a revision score based on BWV 901/2), which Bach had used to write out the London autograph. The source study of WTC II owes much to Don O. Franklin, who published in 1989 an epoch-making article entitled “Reconstructing the Urpartitur for WTC II.”8 Recognized as the “most important essay in the collection,”9 Franklin’s chapter not only demonstrated how Bach compiled the London autograph through a painstaking analysis of diplomatic, notational, and style-critical evidence, but also proposed a detailed chronology for WTC II itself. Franklin’s discussion also included the copies made by some of Bach’s most talented private pupils—Johann Friedrich Agricola, Johann Philipp Kirnberger, and Johann Christoph Altnickol—at the time of its compilation. Their presence hints at how this new collection may have become desirable as a pedagogical tool. To gain new insights into the origin of WTC II from a teacher-pupil perspective, a thorough and systematic study of Bach’s pupils and their copies is necessary.10 Since the publication of Franklin’s article, several notable studies have appeared to refine and update some of his findings.11 Moreover, a dozen new manuscript sources of WTC II have resurfaced since, including the Hering copy that had been missing since 1924.12 While a thorough and systematic assessment of all these new sources is yet to be completed, the interim result allows me to make several inferences that may be crucial for comprehending what Bach did and did not do: 1) Bach gave the London autograph to

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Wilhelm Friedemann Bach before 1744; 2) Bach retained Altnickol’s 1744 copy as his reference copy; and 3) Bach did not produce another fair copy set, or a reference copy manifesting the final version of the work that could be called the “Fassung letzter Hand.” In these three points, one may detect a hint of apathy in Bach’s management of his musical library, especially when compared to his production of WTC I. This was noticed already in the 1920s and 1930s, when various commentators expressed somewhat negative views when assessing the integrity of the work as a collection.13 It would be interesting if these observations are somehow connected to the alleged neglect of his cantor’s duties that have recently resurfaced through the case of Gottfried Benjamin Fleckeisen (1719–1789) who deputized Bach from c. 1744 to 1746.14 One must remain cautious, however, as the evaluation of a motivation or attitude is a complex process. There are reasons for compromises, and Bach had priorities, too. As Spitta reminds us, behind the apparent lack of the unified structure of WTC II we find a significant advance of formative power and rich imagination in the individual pieces: “In the second part, as compared with the first, are revealed imagination more richly saturated with music, a greater grasp and more developed formative power, and the endeavor to give the fugue-form more sharply cut outlines and more characteristic features.”15 More recently, I have also argued that in WTC II Bach was actively exploring new contrapuntal techniques and procedures in response to Johann Mattheson’s challenge.16 A similar case of Bach being influenced by an external factor is also found in the Goldberg Variations, published in 1741, in which the idea to explore the interval canons in the collection most likely came from Jan Dismas Zelenka.17 Outside the exploration of new contrapuntal techniques, we also find examples of Bach borrowing the fugue subjects from C. F. Fischer’s Ariadne Musica, viz. the F major in WTC I (BWV 856/2) and E major in WTC II (BWV 878/2). For the former, Bach modified Fischer’s subject substantially in terms of both melodic and rhythmic profiles; but in the latter he basically retained Fischer’s fugue subject, seeking his originality elsewhere in the fugal discourse.18 These examples serve to show that one of Bach’s priorities was to respond to ideas emanating from his colleagues. Turning to Bach’s (perhaps) apathetic management of his manuscripts, it can also be appreciated in a more positive light if one adopts a nuanced understanding of both his circumstances at the time and his approaches to composition and revision. First, this phenomenon is not unique to WTC II: there are a few other known instances of Bach lending material from his musical library to his friends, some of which were never returned.19 Thus it is not out of character for Bach to have given the London autograph to his eldest son,



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even though the latter would be inheriting it anyway. Second, by the time of compiling WTC II, Bach may no longer have had the same level of motivation as he had twenty years earlier to write out a new fair copy. The firsthand experiences he had in those years with the production of printed editions of Clavierübungen must have contributed to his shifting notion of what a fair copy meant to him. As Dadelsen observes, Bach continued to revise his works, and although his artistic tendency is identifiable at times, Bach’s “Fassung letzter Hand”—especially the sources of his keyboard works—is unlikely to exhibit the clarity manifested toward the final goal seen in Beethoven’s compositional process.20 Bach’s revisions appear varied, as they are introduced and conditioned by specific occasions and opportunities. More recent scholarship tends to question the validity of such a notion. As Gregory Butler argues, the “Fassung letzter Hand” is not a helpful concept when discussing the Canonic Variations on “Vom Himmel hoch” that survives in two versions, one in autograph fair copy and another in the original print, because they represented different stages in the work’s source history.21 What one may learn from this is that every new copy Bach made was not merely to create a duplicate or to make a clean, fair copy; it was rather motivated by fresh aims and purposes responding to circumstances—just like any performance that is conditioned by numerous external factors such as available venues, instruments, and performers—and by enjoying a fresh creative experience and interaction with his previously composed work. While the WTC II manuscripts themselves can tell us some unique stories about the work’s origin, its usage, and its afterlife under new ownership, we must acknowledge the limitations of the range and quality of this information. We need to gather more information to be able to infer with greater confidence the origin and musical aim of WTC II, what motivated Bach, and where he drew his inspiration to work out the collection. SEEKING INFORMATION FROM OUTSIDE THE PRIMARY SOURCES For a long time, I have been wondering if it could ever be possible to gain a reasonably comprehensive understanding of why Bach compiled the two volumes of WTC, and, if so, how such an investigation can be conducted successfully. It is not as if there are too few clues. Even just comparing the two volumes of WTC, one notices some curious features that spark ideas for further investigation. Taking Bach’s choice of keys for example, A-flat major is represented by the concerto ritornello style in both volumes. This may lead to the hypothesis of Bach’s concept of key characteristics for this particular

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key, a topic which must have been common by the time he compiled WTC I, as Mattheson discussed it in print in 1713.22 But there are numerous other instances of contrasting choices of mood and character for the same keys between the two volumes, which makes us ask why Bach changed his mind. Did Bach develop a different image for specific keys between 1722 and 1739/42, and, if so, what contributed to such a process? Is it also possible that it had nothing to do with the key characteristics, but was concerned rather with the construction of the set of 24 individual pairs of preludes and fugues? Such a hypothesis comes more sharply into focus when one considers that the two most prominent fugues in the collections—F minor and B minor—share specific compositional features and are placed at the end of the first half and at the very end: that is, while those in WTC I make abundant use of chromatic notes and are written in strict counterpoint to create serious and pensive moods, those of WTC II use modern compositional idioms of the day, namely dance rhythm and a longbreathing diatonic subject that unfolds into free counterpoint and creates a lively and sensitive style. Pursuing the search for further similarities and differences in the two volumes of WTC may be a viable topic for investigation, but, if so, would it be reasonable to limit our search to the two volumes of WTC? Ultimately, should it not be that such a study must encompass everything that Bach experienced in his living environment and that impacted his creative development, such as the pieces he composed, performed, or heard performed? It could be the chorale tune that he heard since childhood or even a passage from the Bible or symbolism that he cherished. As we learn from how Bach compiled his opus ultima, the B-minor Mass (BWV 232), the work he completed in the last two years of his life by sourcing ideas for nearly all the movements from his earlier compositions, it is plausible that Bach also sought ideas for the new set of 24 preludes and fugues in all the keys from all kinds of potential sources of inspiration. Based on this broad premise, I shall now explore some possibilities. Let us begin with the A major fugue of WTC II (BWV 888/2), the subject of which I consider is based on the opening phrase of the chorale melody “Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr,” that is, a–b–c♯'–d '–e'–d '–c♯'–b–c♯', and embellished with melisma (see BWV 888/2, mm. 1–3). Comparing this with the chorale prelude in the same key from the “Great Eighteen” collection (BWV 664) one notices a great similarity between the two compositions, not only the manner of embellishing the chorale tune but also the chosen key of A major and the general Affekt of the pieces (see BWV 664, mm. 1–3). The fact that Bach was making a fair copy of this collection (D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 271,



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Faszikel 2) around the same time as making the fair copy of this fugue for WTC II lends some weight to this suggested relationship.23 The year 1739 was also when Bach began to make a fair copy score of his John Passion (D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 28), a process which he stopped after neatly writing out the first twenty pages.24 Hearing the opening chorus, “Herr, unser Herrscher” (see BWV 245/1, mm. 1–3), I realized something in the movement that is strikingly common with the prelude of the same key, G minor, of WTC II (see BWV 885/1, mm. 1–2), and began to wonder if Bach drew inspiration from his Passion to write this prelude. Besides the identical key of G minor, both movements use broadly the same set of harmonic and textural devices, including the tonic pedal, harmonic progression, suspensions, and the occasional use of a falling tritone (c–f ♯), all of which contribute to its serious and pensive mood, or even pain and agony. The WTC II prelude, on the one hand, makes prominent use of a “cross motif”25 in pairs: the initial g'–d '–f '–e♭' is promptly echoed in a lower voice b♭–a–c'–f ♯ that is strongly colored by the last interval, the falling tritone. These two lines play the role of a main tune in the texture, while the tonic pedal provides harmonic support in the background. To me, the prelude seems to depict a reflection on the scene of the crucifixion, perhaps each cross representing two contrasting emotional reactions to the event, for instance, an acceptance of inevitability and a reflection on suffering and pain. Turning to the opening instrumental introduction of the John Passion, the music has a much richer setting, creating a greater sense of urgency and emotional impact. But essentially, the topic it deals with appears to be the same as in the WTC II prelude, the crucifixion: here we can also hear four notes in the two oboe + flute parts, d ''–e♭''–g'–c'', also forming in cross shape as melody, even though they are played by two separate lines, and by splitting the four-note line, a crushing dissonance of a semitone is tactfully generated. The tune actually continues a little longer, and the next cross motif appears in m. 4 in rising sequence, g''–a♭''–c''–f '', which contributes to the building up of the tension even further. The intervallic contour of the crosses is also different from the WTC II prelude. When trying to associate these two movements as if they are indeed sharing the same or similar musical messages, we must first address the following questions: 1.  Is it permissible to assume that Bach accepted these constellations of notes as “cross motifs” even when the melodic line was split and played by two parts? 2.  How can we relate the two cross motifs that are made up by different sets of intervals? How can we draw meanings or emotional references from them?

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3.  Is it possible to consider that the two movements share the same musical messages when their instrumentation, meter, speed, harmonic rhythm, and texture are not very close? 4.  Ultimately, what is the most fundamental compositional tool Bach used when he wished to create a specific musical reference? For WTC, the choice of key must be one of the tools, and the use of motifs such as cross motif, various harmonic, rhythmic, textural devices, and proportional parallelism may be some of them. But in what order did Bach consider these?26 We will return to these fundamental methodological issues in due course. For the moment, let us continue to look at another example from the same Passion. Example 13.1a shows the turba chorus “Kreuzige, kreuzige,” mvt. 21d from the John Passion, in which I find some musical messages shared with the G minor fugue of WTC II. This confronts us with a similar set of methodological issues. The G minor fugue of WTC II (example 13.1b) opens boldly and powerfully with the dominant note followed by a rhetorical rest; with the three leaping notes that follow, one can see a cross motif, d '–b♭–e♭'–c', though one may disagree with such an interpretation, because it would be more natural to hear this tune as one plus three, and not a four-note motif. Still, it seems justifiable since the accompanying prelude features a pair of cross motifs, the theme of which appears to be passed on to its fugue with the two cross motifs staggered in the first half of the fugue subject, namely d '–b♭–e♭'–c'|c'–a–d '–b♭ sharing c' as both the end of the first motif and the beginning of the second.27 Turning to the John Passion, as shown in example 13.1a, the word “Kreuzige” sung in long notes by the soprano and alto is heard very clearly as a cross motif, g''–a♭'–f ''– g', especially since the four notes are set at the melodic interval of a seventh and a sixth in the space of quarter note. Upon a closer hearing, it quickly emerges that the movement is written in fugal style, but is not a proper fugue; underneath the large cross motif we first recognized are two subjects: a falling tetrachord, g''–f ''–e♭''–d '', in the soprano, and a cross motif, a♭'–g'–c''–b♭', in the alto. Thus there are two cross motifs here in two textural levels. The most striking aural effect is the first two notes of the vocal entries in the upper two parts (g''–a♭'), which are set at a major seventh apart, a crushing dissonance in the harmonic context of suspension, perhaps depicting the ugliness of the mob fiercely demanding the crucifixion of Christ. This example may answer the first query, as it shows Bach using the concept of a cross motif that is split into two vocal parts.28 This symbolic pronouncement of crucifixion is set against the fast-moving accompaniment depicting the turbulent and chaotic scene as represented by a busy texture

Example 13.1.  (a) John Passion, BWV 245/21d, “Kreuzige, kreuzige,” mm. 26–28; (b) WTC II, Fugue 16 in G minor, BWV 885/2, mm.1–6; (c) John Passion, BWV 245/21d, “Kreuzige, kreuzige,” mm. 44–48; (d) WTC II, Fugue 16 in G minor, BWV 885/2, mm. 59–62

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made up of a continuous eighth-sixteenth-sixteenth-note figure in the tenor and bass. Note that the same eighth-sixteenth-sixteenth-note rhythm used for the word “kreuzige” is also found at the very end of the fugue subject of the G minor fugue in WTC II with exactly the same melodic contour, the motion of which is passed on to the countersubject to develop a similar style of double counterpoint to the John Passion example. Throughout the Passion movement, the “kreuzige” statement recurs by interchanging the roles between the parts, and from bar 46,29 the “kreuzige” statements are doubled in 3rds and 6ths, though only the first two notes of the lines are doubled strictly (example 13.1c). This is extremely interesting because the same emphatic technique is also used in the G minor fugue of WTC II from bar 59 (example 13.1d), whereas Bach did not use this technique in WTC I.30 This fugue is one of the rare examples of Bach using the technique of an interchange at the tenth,31 which allowed Bach to work out logically the doubled entries in 3rds and 6ths of both the subject and the countersubject. Earlier, I speculated that the initial impulse behind the composition of this powerful fugue was a compositional challenge set by Mattheson.32 However, as the comparative study has shown, it appears that Bach also gained fundamental inspiration for writing the G minor pair in WTC II from the John Passion.33 Extending our discussion to the Matthew Passion, the work best known to us perhaps through the composer’s autograph fair copy penned in 1736 (D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 25), we also find some distinct similarities with at least two movements of WTC II that warrant a closer inspection. Shown in example 13.2a is mvt. 45b of the Matthew Passion, “Laß ihn kreuzigen!” In this choral fughetta in A minor, Bach supplies a distinct subject containing two staggered cross motifs, a–g♯–c'–b|b–d♯–a–g. Each motif has a tritone at its core, namely g♯–c' and d♯–a, one of the clearest examples of Bach’s word-painting in this crucifixion scene. When comparing it with the fugue in the same key in WTC II (example 13.2b), we find an unmistakable presence of cross motifs in the fugue subject, first in quarter notes (mm. 1–2), then in eighths (mm. 2–3), followed by another one in the codetta (m. 3); the first countersubject Bach chose was scalar figures in surging 32nd notes, but for the second countersubject, Bach returned to the cross motif in eighth notes (m. 7). In this triple fugue, a general theme of crucifixion is evident, which is colored by both the dramatic and rhetorical rests in the fugue subject entering on the dominant note, and the temporarily halting after the initial announcement of the cross motif with a diminished seventh descent, f '–g♯ (mm. 1–2). The dramatic contrast between the symbolic statement of the cross and the torrential passaggio in 32nd notes creates such moods as anguish and restlessness, as if one is witnessing the extraordinary scene of Jesus being crucified. In terms of the types of intervals used in the cross motifs and their arrangement, the two

Example 13.2.  (a) Matthew Passion, BWV 244/45b, “Laß ihn kreuzigen!,” mm. 35b–38; (b) WTC II, Fugue 20 in A minor, BWV 889/2, mm. 1–4; (c) Matthew Passion, BWV 244/61a, “Und von der sechsten Stunde,” mm. 7–9; (d) WTC II, Prelude 22 in B-flat minor, BWV 891/1, mm. 1–4

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movements do not share much melodic quality besides the four notes being arranged in the shape of a cross. Does this suggest that the precise intervals to create the cross motifs was not important?34 From these limited samples, one may be tempted to conclude that the choice of key was Bach’s priority, and as long as the cross motif was recognizable as such, the degrees of intervals within were not his prime concern. Looking elsewhere in the Matthew Passion, we find another example, this time of quite unmistakable identity, between the main tune of the B-flat minor prelude of WTC II and movement 61a of the Matthew Passion, in which the evangelist sings the words of Jesus from the cross: “Eli, Eli, lama asabthani?,” also in B-flat minor (example 13.2c).35 Starting on d♭, the third degree of the minor scale, the melodic line descends an octave over the harmonic progression i–vii°–i, then rises again to c, which is the fifth of the dominant chord, the half cadence, which fits well with the interrogative sentence. In the WTC II prelude, the end of the melody for “asabthani?” is tactfully interwoven in three-part counterpoint to intensify the moment of statement while absorbing the aftermath to continue with the prelude (example 13.2d). To conclude, in this chapter I have examined six selected movements from WTC II that can be considered as having been inspired from specific movements from Bach’s surviving Passions and from his “Great Eighteen” chorales, with specific reference to the choice of key, thematic material, and general musical Affekt, and all closely connected chronologically to Bach’s life in the late 1730s.36 Still, Spitta’s remark on the nature of WTC II (quoted above) can now be appreciated more fully. The experience Bach had gained by 1739 as a church musician constantly engaged with the composition and performance of all the excellent pieces, is, as we know today, an unimaginably powerful resource that would have influenced Bach to compose music that was not bound by a specific text. When he began compiling the new set of WTC, Bach had all the freedom to explore and to choose topics within self-imposed limits. He had his compositional databank that was so vast and packed with ideas that it is a formidable task to try to identify the origins of every musical idea Bach had access to or reused. We do not even know at present if the similarities identified and discussed above were the result of Bach consciously seeking inspiration from his compositions or simply genuine coincidence. However, we do have a tantalizing anecdote from Theodor Leberecht Pitschel, telling how Bach, in 1741, needed to find ideas first before his imagination would kick in to enable him to compose something superior: “You know [Bach] does not get into condition . . . until he has played something from the printed or written page, and has [thus] set his powers of imagination in motion. [He] usually has to play some-



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thing from the page that is inferior to his own ideas. And yet his superior ideas are the consequences of those inferior ones.”37 Perhaps some of Bach’s superior ideas in WTC II are in fact the result of some of his own earlier such ideas. NOTES 1.  I wish to thank Ruth Tatlow for her invaluable comments on an early draft of this chapter. 2.  For the brief overview of such research and its methodology, see Yo Tomita, “Manuscripts,” in The Routledge Research Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach, ed. Robin A. Leaver (London: Routledge, 2017), 47–88. 3.  Perhaps the only exception is Clavier–Übung III, the so–called “German Organ Mass,” published in 1739, the bicentenary year for both Luther’s historic sermon given at the Thomaskirche (25 May 1739) and the Augsburg Confession (12 August 1739). 4. Christoph Wolff, “Invention, Composition and the Improvement of Nature: Apropos Bach the Teacher and Practical Philosopher,” in The Keyboard in Baroque Europe, ed. Christopher Hogwood, 133–39 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 134. 5. Yoshitake Kobayashi, “Zur Chronologie der Spätwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs: Kompositions- und Aufführungstätigkeit von 1736 bis 1750,” Bach-Jahrbuch 74 (1988): 45. 6.  The German term “Faszikel” is used in this article as the term is used in Bach Digital (www.bach-digital.de), but is different conceptually from the English term “fascicle.” For details, see Tomita, “Manuscripts,” 61 n. 44. 7.  Kobayashi, “Zur Chronologie der Spätwerke,” 52. 8.  Don O. Franklin, “Reconstructing the Urpartitur for WTC II: A Study of the ‘London Autograph’ (BL Add. MS 35021),” in Bach Studies, ed. Don O. Franklin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 240–78. 9.  Richard D. P. Jones, review of Bach Studies, ed. Don O. Franklin, Music and Letters 71 (1990): 390. 10.  An earlier study by Alfred Dürr, “Zur Chronologie der Handschrift Johann Christoph Altnickols und Johann Friedrich Agricolas,” Bach-Jarbuch 56 (1970): 44–65, needs much updating, especially since some of the manuscripts then considered to have been in Altnickol’s hand are now thought to be in the hand of his one-time student, Johann Christoph Farlau (ca.1735–after 1770). See Peter Wollny, “Tennstädt, Leipzig, Naumburg, Halle: Neuerkenntnisse zur Bach-Überlieferung in Mitteldeutschland,” Bach-Jahrbuch 88 (2002): 29–60. 11.  See Yo Tomita, “J. S. Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II: A Study of its Aim, Historical Significance and Compiling Process” (Ph.D. diss., Leeds University, 1990); Richard D. P. Jones, “Stages in the Development of Bach’s ‘The Well–Tempered Clavier II,’” The Musical Times 132 (1991): 441–46, 560; Richard D. P. Jones, “Further Observations on the Development of ‘The Well-Tempered Clavier II,’” The Musical Times 132 (1991): 607–9; Alfred Dürr, Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue

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Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie V, Band 6.2: Das Wohltemperierte Klavier II. BWV 870–893, und Fünf Praeludien und Fughetten, BWV 870a, 899–902. Kritischer Bericht (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1996). 12. The rediscovery was made in 2016 by Michael Maul who first reported in “Roundtable: Current Sources Studies in Bach Research: Sources, Scribes and Beyond” at the 20th Congress of the International Musicological Society in Tokyo on March 23, 2017. On a brief inspection of its musical text, we can see that this source derived from D-B, Am.B.57/2 (the so-called Kirnberger’s Handexemplar, in the hand of Anon. 402), possibly copied directly from it. Cf. Franklin, “Reconstructing the Urpartitur for WTC II,” 245, and Dürr, NBA Kritischer Bericht V/6.2, 124–26. 13. See, for example, John Alexander Fuller-Maitland, The “48”: Bach’s Wohltemperirtes Clavier (London: Oxford University Press, 1925), 3; Alan Edgar Frederic Dickinson, The Art of J. S. Bach (London: Duckworth, 1935), 42; and Cecil Gray, The Forty-eight Preludes and Fugues of J. S. Bach (London: Oxford University Press, 1938), 5. 14. Michael Maul, “‘Zwey ganzer Jahr die Music an Statt des Capellmeisters aufführen, und dirigiren müssen’: Überlegungen zu Bachs Amtsverständnis in den 1740er Jahren,” Bach-Jahrbuch 101 (2015): 75–97; English trans., “‘Having to perform and direct the music in the Capellmeister’s stead for two whole years’: Observations on How Bach Understood His Post during the 1740s,” trans. Barbara M. Reul, Understanding Bach 12 (2017): 37–58. 15.  Philipp Spitta, Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany 1685–1750, trans. Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland (London: Novello, 1889), vol. 3, 185. 16.  There appear to be three separate issues raised in Mattheson’s Der vollkommene Capellmeister of 1739: (1) rhetorical principles in composition; 2) the technical difficulty of working out counterpoint at the tenth; and (3) the use of specific rhythms. Johann Mattheson, Der vollkommene Capellmeister, Das ist Gründliche Anzeige aller derjenigen Sachen, die einer wissen, können, und vollkommen inne haben muß, der einer Capelle mit Ehren und Nutzen vorstehen will (Hamburg: Christian Herold, 1739), 236, 424, and 166. See Yo Tomita, “The Implications of Bach’s Introduction of New Fugal Techniques and Procedures in The Well-Tempered Clavier Book Two,” Understanding Bach 6 (2011): 35–50. 17.  See Yo Tomita, “Bach and Dresden: A New Hypothesis on the Origin of the Goldberg Variations (BWV 988),” in Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver, ed. Daniel Zager (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007), 169–91. 18.  It may be worth noting that the same tune is used again a few years later in the puzzle canon, BWV 1076, possibly to commemorate the composer who died that year. This theory is put forward by Yoshitake Kobayashi in Bach: Densho no nazo o ou (Tokyo: Shunju sha, 1995), 259–60. 19.  See, for example, a letter from Johann Elias Bach to Johann Wilhelm Koch dated January 28, 1741, as reproduced in Werner Neumann and Hans-Joachim Schulze, eds., Bach-Dokumente 2. Fremdschriftliche und gedruckte Dokumente zur Lebensgeschichte Johann Sebastian Bachs 1685–1750 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1969), no. 484, 388; English trans. in Hans T. David, Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff,



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eds., The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998), no. 219, 210. See also Michael Maul, “Zur zeitgenössischen Verbreitung von Bachs Vokalwerken in Mitteldeutschland,” Bach-Jahrbuch 91 (2005): 95–107. 20.  Georg von Dadelsen, “Die ‘Fassung letzter Hand’ in der Musik,” Acta Musicologica 33 (1961): 1–14. 21.  Gregory G. Butler, “J. S. Bachs Kanonische Veränderungen über ‘Vom Himmel hoch’ (BWV 769): Ein Schlußstrich unter die Debatte um die Frage der ‘Fassung letzter Hand,’” Bach-Jahrbuch 86 (2000): 9–34. 22.  Johann Mattheson, Das neu-eröffnete Orchestre, oder universelle und gründliche Anleitung, wie ein galant homme einen vollkommenen Begriff von der Hoheit und Würde der edlen Music erlangen . . . möge (Hamburg, 1713). 23.  While dating the bulk of the collection to 1739/42, Kobayashi, “Zur Chronologie der Spätwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs,” 45, 56–57, dates BWV 664 and 665 as c.1746/47. This does not mean that Bach was unaware of this prelude at the time of writing BWV 888/2, because Bach presumably saw its early version BWV 664a, which he composed in his Weimar years when copying out and improving the musical details of the first thirteen preludes, BWV 651–663. 24.  The rest of the manuscript was completed by one of Bach’s copyists, Johann Nathanael Bammler (1722–84) in 1749, apparently using the draft score of 1724 that contained revisions made before 1739. See Peter Wollny, ed., Johannes Passion: Passion secundum Joannem, Fassung IV (1749), BWV 245 (Stuttgart: Carus, 2002), vii and ix. 25.  Since the work of Spitta (Johann Sebastian Bach, vol. 2, 549, n. 630), who recognized the subject of the A minor fughetta in the Matthew Passion as “the sign of the cross when the first and last notes are joined by a line and the two middle ones by another,” Bach studies has referred to this device by various terms such as “cross motif,” “cross figure,” “cross shape,” or “chiasmus” (from the Greek letter chi [χ]). This is nowhere mentioned in theory books of Bach’s time, but the recurrence of these angular shapes in combination with Bach’s settings of texts about the cross is such that the technique has been widely accepted in Bach studies. Note that Bach’s name, B–A–C–H (pitch names in German), is a variant form of it. In a more recent study on this topic in the John Passion, Elena Kholodova attempts to define what Bach’s “Kreuzigungsfigure” is from the musico-rhetorical point of view. See Elena Kholodova, “Die Kraft der Metapher in der Musik: Bachs Figuralsprache und moderne Metapher–Forschung,” International Journal of Musicology 3 (1994): 119–20. 26. The term “proportional parallelism” is a methodology recently put forward by Ruth Tatlow in her monograph Bach’s Numbers: Compositional Proportion and Significance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). 27.  Note that the second half of the subject, with its characteristic repeated notes, is also a cross motif in elongated form. 28.  Kholodova takes the same view in “Die Kraft der Metapher in der Musik,” 131. 29.  The bar numbers follow NBA II/4 (1973), ed. Arthur Mendel. This movement begins at bar 29 and ends at bar 52. 30.  Tomita, “Implications,” 36ff.

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31.  Richard Stöhr, Musikalische Formenlehre, 4th ed. (Leipzig: Siegel, 1921), 46. 32.  Tomita, “Implications,” 48–50. 33.  Although the movement 21d is not among the first 20 pages of the 1739 fair copy of the John Passion, it does not mean that Bach did not revisit the whole score of the Passion that year. 34.  It is worth considering the subject of the C-sharp minor fugue from WTC I (BWV 849/2) as the constellation of four notes, in terms of their intervallic relationship, which is identical with that of “Laß ihn kreuzigen!” But here, in the C-sharp minor fugue, the musical atmosphere is one of pensive moods, and nothing like the aggression perceived in our examples in A minor. Tim Smith considers these two examples from a different perspective, observing that the diminished fourth “interval’s very distress that demands its hearing and creative address . . . that draws us to the fugue in the fervor of inquiry and hope of clarification.” Tim Smith, “Fugues without Words: A Hearing of Four Fugues from the Well-Tempered Clavier as Passion Music,” Bach 40 (2009): 46. 35.  There are further examples that are not clearly related to either the time-frame of the compilation of WTC II or the theme of Passion. I have made this point previously in Yo Tomita, “Psalm and the Well-Tempered Clavier II: Revisiting the Old Question of Bach’s Source of Inspiration,” Bach 32 (2001): 28. 36.  See Tomita, “Psalm and the Well-Tempered Clavier II,” for additional examples. 37. Qtd. in Bach-Dokumente II (1969), no. 449; English trans. in New Bach Reader, no. 336, 333–34.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Butler, Gregory G. “J. S. Bachs Kanonische Veränderungen über ‘Vom Himmel hoch’ (BWV 769): Ein Schlußstrich unter die Debatte um die Frage der ‘Fassung letzter Hand.’” Bach-Jahrbuch 86 (2000): 9–34. Dadelsen, Georg von. “Die ‘Fassung letzter Hand’ in der Musik.” Acta Musicologica 33 (1961): 1–14. David, Hans T., Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds. The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents. Revised edition. New York: W. W. Norton, 1998. Dickinson, Alan Edgar Frederic. The Art of J. S. Bach. London: Duckworth, 1935. Dürr, Alfred. “Zur Chronologie der Handschrift Johann Christoph Altnickols und Johann Friedrich Agricolas.” Bach-Jarbuch 56 (1970): 44–65. ———. Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke, Serie V, Band 6.2: Das Wohltemperierte Klavier II. BWV 870–893, und Fünf Praeludien und Fughetten, BWV 870a, 899–902. Kritischer Bericht. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1996. Franklin, Don O. “Reconstructing the Urpartitur for WTC II: A Study of the ‘London Autograph’ (BL Add. MS 35021).” In Bach Studies. Edited by Don O. Franklin, 240–78. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Fuller-Maitland, John Alexander. The “48”: Bach’s Wohltemperirtes Clavier. London: Oxford University Press, 1925.



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Gray, Cecil. The Forty-eight Preludes and Fugues of J. S. Bach. London: Oxford University Press, 1938. Jones, Richard D. P. Review of Bach Studies, edited by Don O. Franklin. Music and Letters 71 (1990): 387–91. ———. “Stages in the Development of Bach’s ‘The Well–Tempered Clavier II.’” The Musical Times 132 (1991): 441–46; 560. ———. “Further Observations on the Development of ‘The Well-Tempered Clavier II.’” The Musical Times 132 (1991): 607–9. Kholodova, Elena. “Die Kraft der Metapher in der Musik: Bachs Figuralsprache und moderne Metapher–Forschung.” International Journal of Musicology 3 (1994): 119–20. Kobayashi, Yoshitake. “Zur Chronologie der Spätwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs: Kompositions- und Aufführungstätigkeit von 1736 bis 1750.” Bach-Jahrbuch 74 (1988): 7–72. ———. Bach: Densho no nazo o ou. Tokyo: Shunju sha, 1995. Mattheson, Johann. Das neu-eröffnete Orchestre, oder universelle und gründliche Anleitung, wie ein galant homme einen vollkommenen Begriff von der Hoheit und Würde der edlen Music erlangen . . . möge. Hamburg, 1713. ———. Der vollkommene Capellmeister, Das ist Gründliche Anzeige aller derjenigen Sachen, die einer wissen, können, und vollkommen inne haben muß, der einer Capelle mit Ehren und Nutzen vorstehen will. Hamburg: Christian Herold, 1739. Maul, Michael. “Zur zeitgenössischen Verbreitung von Bachs Vokalwerken in Mitteldeutschland.” Bach-Jahrbuch 91 (2005): 95–107. ———. “‘zwey ganzer Jahr die Music an Statt des Capellmeisters aufführen, und dirigiren müssen’: Überlegungen zu Bachs Amtsverständnis in den 1740er Jahren,” Bach-Jahrbuch 101 (2015): 75–97. English translation, “‘Having to perform and direct the music in the Capellmeister’s stead for two whole years’: Observations on How Bach Understood His Post during the 1740s.” Translated by Barbara M. Reul. Understanding Bach 12 (2017): 37–58. Neumann, Werner, and Hans-Joachim Schulze, eds. Bach-Dokumente 2. Fremdschriftliche und gedruckte Dokumente zur Lebensgeschichte Johann Sebastian Bachs 1685–1750. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1969. Smith, Tim. “Fugues without Words: A Hearing of Four Fugues from the Well–Tempered Clavier as Passion Music.” Bach 40 (2009): 45–66. Spitta, Philipp. Johann Sebastian Bach: His Work and Influence on the Music of Germany 1685–1750. 3 vols. Translated by Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland. London: Novello, 1885. Stöhr, Richard. Musikalische Formenlehre, 4th ed. Leipzig: Siegel, 1921. Tatlow, Ruth. Bach’s Numbers: Compositional Proportion and Significance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Tomita, Yo. “J. S. Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II: A Study of its Aim, Historical Significance and Compiling Process.” Ph.D. diss., Leeds University, 1990. ———. “Psalm and the Well-Tempered Clavier II: Revisiting the Old Question of Bach’s Source of Inspiration,” Bach 32 (2001): 17–43.

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———. “Bach and Dresden: A New Hypothesis on the Origin of the Goldberg Variations (BWV 988).” In Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver. Edited by Daniel Zager, 169–91. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007. ———. “The Implications of Bach’s Introduction of New Fugal Techniques and Procedures in The Well–Tempered Clavier, Book Two.” Understanding Bach 6 (2011): 35–50. ———. “Manuscripts.” In The Routledge Research Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach. Edited by Robin A. Leaver, 47–88. London: Routledge, 2017. Wolff, Christoph. “Invention, Composition and the Improvement of Nature: Apropos Bach the Teacher and Practical Philosopher.” In The Keyboard in Baroque Europe. Edited by Christopher Hogwood, 133–39. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Wollny, Peter. “Tennstädt, Leipzig, Naumburg, Halle: Neuerkenntnisse zur BachÜberlieferung in Mitteldeutschland.” Bach-Jahrbuch 88 (2002): 29–60. Wollny, Peter, ed. Johannes Passion: Passion secundum Joannem, Fassung IV (1749), BWV 245. Stuttgart: Carus, 2002.

Part IV

THE RECEPTION OF BACH’S VOCAL WORKS

Chapter Fourteen

The Leipzig Audiences of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion to 1750 Tanya Kevorkian

Musicologists and theologians have gained much insight into the compositional process, structural and other qualities, and performances of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion (BWV 244).1 While they have also reflected on the Passion’s eighteenth-century audiences, there has been no thorough consideration of the topic. In reconstructing these first audiences, this chapter briefly discusses liturgical context. It then explores the makeup of the audiences, the listeners’ horizon of expectations, and their behavior during the service. Finally, it examines the Passion itself, especially the chorales, for clues as to how congregants related to it. The performance context of Good Friday Vespers, which has been reconstructed by Günther Stiller, Robin A. Leaver, and others, is essential to understanding the Passion’s audiences and their reception of the work.2 There were important structural similarities between the main Sunday and feast day morning services (that is, Hauptgottesdienst, the other liturgy for which Bach regularly directed concerted music) and Vespers services.3 While differences outweighed these similarities, the latter are important for understanding congregants’ habits and expectations. In particular, both types of services were divided into three main blocks. The first included hymn singing and the performance of the cantata or part 1 of the Passion. Next, the sermon was about one hour long at both Hauptgottesdienst and Good Friday Vespers. Third came a celebration of the Eucharist at Hauptgottesdienst or part 2 of the Passion in Good Friday Vespers. Beyond the different times of day (7:00 a.m. for Hauptgottesdienst, 1:45 p.m. for Vespers), there were many other differences between the services. Roughly forty minutes of hymns, collects, and Bible readings preceded the Sunday morning cantata, which was often around twenty minutes in length. By contrast, Good Friday Vespers was liturgically much simpler, though 245

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figural music played a larger role. Just one hymn preceded part 1 of a figural Passion, and the Passion included the actual scriptural content of the service (though it still framed an hour-long sermon).4 The Good Friday Vespers liturgy in Leipzig during Bach’s time was as follows: Hymn: Da Jesus an dem Kreuze stund Passion (part 1) Sermon (on a harmony of the Passion story by Johann Bugenhagen) Passion (part 2) Motet: Ecce, quomodo moritur Justus (by Jacob Handl) Prayer of the day Bible verse: Isaiah 53:5. Hymn: Nun danket alle Gott5 The post-sermon portion of Hauptgottesdienst included hymns, prayers, announcements, the benediction, and sometimes part 2 of the cantata, but its primary focus was on celebration of the Eucharist. It could run for one to one and a half hours, depending on the number of communicants and the length of the prayers. The post-sermon portion of Good Friday Vespers could actually be longer than this, if Bach’s own Passions are any indication: most recent performances of the second part of the Matthew Passion take a bit over ninety minutes; those of the John Passion a bit over seventy minutes. After the Passion concluded, a Latin motet was sung by the choir, followed by a verse and collect, the benediction, and a final congregational hymn. CONGREGATIONS AND PASSIONS Many of those present at regular Sunday Vespers services were the servants and children of pew holders, although some pew holders themselves also attended. Since Good Friday was an important holiday, though, regular pew holders likely claimed their pews. Almost all of them belonged to the wealthier strata of Leipzig society: burghers (that is, people who owned property in the city) and their family members.6 Members of the elites, who represented less than 10 percent of the city’s population, held more than 40 percent of the pews. Members of intermediate groups, including shopkeepers, scribes, and notaries, made up no more than 5 percent of the population, but held about 15 percent of the pews. Artisans held about 40 percent of the pews, which was roughly in proportion to their percentage of the population. Although one person’s name was on a pew certificate, family and household members of the same sex could also use the pew.



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There were separate blocks of pews for men and women. Women slightly outnumbered men in each of the main churches, and they occupied most of the ground floor. Men sat around the rear and edges of the ground floor and in the balconies. Members of the high elites sat in enclosed groups of pews known as Capellen, which were built in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries and ranged around the perimeter of the churches, two and three on top of each other. The Capellen were spatially and socially equivalent to opera boxes. Given the popularity of Good Friday Vespers, it is likely that even more than the five hundred people who usually stood toward the rear and in the aisles of the church were present. This made for a total audience of over three thousand persons in each of the main churches. Virtually everyone in the audience was literate. Historians long underestimated the literacy rates for early modern Europeans, but recent studies have shown that most urbanites in northern and central Europe could read by the early eighteenth century. This was especially true for Saxon towns, where there was almost universal literacy among men and women alike.7 Many elite men and some notaries and scribes, who together made up about a quarter of the audience, had some university education; a good number had a doctorate. Ownership and use of hymnals was a given. But were these people even present for the entire service? In the case of Hauptgottesdienst in St. Thomas and St. Nicholas, people’s goal was to arrive by the beginning of the sermon, which followed the performance of the cantata.8 Many people then left after the sermon, when the second part of a two-part cantata was performed and the Eucharist was celebrated. While there are numerous references to congregant behavior during the Sunday morning service, there are few that specifically address ordinary Vespers or that on Good Friday. Therefore, a variety of indirect evidence must be consulted in order to build a probable picture of audience behavior. Good Friday was among the highest of all church holidays. As we will see, several contemporaries indicated that people arrived in a more timely fashion than for other services and were more attentive than usual. Since it was an official holiday, people were actually not allowed to work (as was the case for Sundays, as well), and were therefore free to attend. Contemporaries commented extensively on the introduction of Passion performances in the major north and central German trading centers, especially Frankfurt, Hamburg, and Leipzig. These were unusual performances for people of the time in several ways, and they made a strong impression. Good Friday, of course, came at the end of Lent, a time when—in many cities—organs were shuttered and cantatas not performed; most secular music was forbidden, as well. Audiences were thus at the end of a long musical dry spell. The Passions were much longer than cantatas, and often

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featured an instrumental ensemble larger than that of a typical cantata. Contemporaries offered vivid descriptions. In his 1740 autobiography, Telemann described the context of the first performance of his Brockes Passion in Frankfurt in more detail than all but two other performances of his works.9 The Pietist Christian Gerber claimed in an often-quoted passage in his Historie der Kirchen-Ceremonien in Sachsen that when “in a prominent city, this [recently introduced style of] Passion music was performed for the first time with twelve violins, many oboes, bassoons and other instruments, many people were astounded, and did not know what to make of it.” In particular, “in one noble Capelle there were many high officials and noblewomen, who sang the first Passion hymn with great devotion from their books,” only to be dismayed by an onslaught of “theatrical music” by large numbers of instruments immediately afterward. Gerber continued, “These people all fell into the greatest astonishment, looked at each other and said, ‘What will become of this?’ An old noble widow said, ‘May God protect you children! It is as if one were in an opera or comedy.’ All were heartily displeased by it, and rightfully complained.”10 Gerber’s strong Pietist bias should be taken into account here. While the congregants in the Capelle, whom he knew, were dismayed by the operatic music, he himself stated in this passage that other people “take pleasure” (“einen Wohlgefallen haben”) in this type of Passion music. Most interesting here, in any event, is that Gerber documented the deep impression that the occasion made, as well as the promptness and attentiveness of the congregants in their Capelle. Another reference is by Gottfried Ephraim Scheibel, who had studied theology in Leipzig and heard Telemann’s compositions at the Leipzig Opera. In 1721—incidentally, the year Bach’s predecessor Johann Kuhnau introduced Passion performances into Leipzig’s main churches—Scheibel wrote of a modern, figural Passion performance for a town he does not identify. Opposite in perspective from Gerber regarding the value of the music, Scheibel wrote: The people surely did not arrive so promptly or in such large numbers because of the pastor, but rather because of the music. . . . I was amazed at how attentively people listened and how devoutly they sang along. The moving music contributed the most to this. Although the service lasted over four hours, everyone stayed until it was finished.11

Scheibel’s text predates Bach’s Leipzig Passion performances by a few years. It does not necessarily discuss the performance of an oratorio Passion, since it could be describing another type of Passion performance. It also carries the bias of an author whose tract was devoted to supporting church music. But



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it does indicate that congregants were capable of sitting through a very long service and listening to the music carefully. Other evidence also points to the popularity of figural Passion performances. In Leipzig, these were expanded from the New Church to the main churches, St. Thomas in 1721 and St. Nicholas in 1724, because of the large audiences at the New Church. None other than city councilor and consistory assessor Gottfried Lange, soon to become Bach’s most important supporter on the council, penned the request to expand, which was subsequently approved by the Upper Consistory in Dresden. Lange wrote, “The cantor of St. Thomas here, Johann Kuhnau, would like to direct a figural performance of the Passion history in St. Thomas this coming Good Friday, because this has been done for several years in the New Church, which however cannot handle the large numbers of people and listeners.”12 The New Church seated roughly 1,600 people by the 1720s, including places in the Capellen, and had further standing room. Passion performances were well attended in other towns, as well. In a striking combination of music, venue, and purpose, Frankfurt councilors and Hamburg senators organized performances of these tales of sin and suffering—often in small churches linked to care of the poor—to raise money for the poor. The first performance of Telemann’s Brockes Passion in Frankfurt in 1716 was actually a benefit for the Frankfurt combined poorhouse, orphanage, and workhouse. Councilors required congregants to carry the textbook for the Passion into the church; proceeds from textbook sales went to the house.13 No similar performances are known for Leipzig. Also, in contrast to Leipzig, the performances in Frankfurt were not in a liturgical context. THE CONGREGATIONS FOR BACH’S MATTHEW PASSION Bach arrived in Leipzig in 1723 and performed his first Passion—version 1 of the John Passion—in 1724. He was responsible for the performance of a Passion each year, up until his death in 1750. Leipzig congregants’ reception of Bach’s Matthew Passion likely shifted over the years, between Bach’s first performance of it in 1727 and the last in the 1740s.14 In 1727, Leipzig inhabitants had known Bach for four years. Bach was nearing the end of his initial burst of activity in the city, when he composed the bulk of his Leipzig church pieces. Congregants were thus familiar with his compositional style. Many congregants would also have heard the John Passion when it was performed in 1724 and 1725. In the 1720s, various features of Bach’s Passions would have resonated with some audience members who had memories of the Leipzig Opera,

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which, from 1693 to 1720, staged performances three times a year during the trade fairs. Some elite pew holders would have been in attendance at the Opera, making for an overlap in the audiences. The story of the Passion was highly dramatic by nature, and its musical setting by high Baroque composers, including Bach, was operatic in a number of ways. Beyond the use of recitative and aria, which were drawn from opera, Bach employed specific dramatic devices, as well. For example, Daniel R. Melamed has noted that the bass aria from the Matthew Passion, no. 42, “Gebt mir meinen Jesum wieder” (Give me back my Jesus), was typical of “a rage aria of a kind often given to bass singers in operas whose characters were particularly upset.”15 Gerber’s lady in the Capelle specifically compared the modern Passion to opera, as Pietists often compared high-Baroque church music in general to opera. There were further connections among Bach, Passions, and operatic music. Bach was associated with the “New Church” Collegium Musicum, which had long-standing connections to the Leipzig Opera and to modern Passion performances. In 1729, the likely year of the second performance of the Matthew Passion, Bach became the leader of this group, whose makeup overlapped considerably with that of the ensemble that performed in the New Church. Bach had also known and worked with New Church musicians previously. The first figural Passion in Leipzig had been performed in the New Church in 1717. Further, New Church instrumentalists had been prominent in the Opera’s ensemble. The leaders at the New Church, beginning with its first music director, Telemann (1704–1705), actually doubled as the Opera’s music directors until the Opera closed in 1720.16 By 1727, some congregants, especially wealthy pacesetters, could have heard figural Passions for ten years. This is because many people, especially members of the elites, held pews in more than one church, often in all three where the Passions were performed: the New Church, St. Thomas, and St. Nicholas. They could thus have attended the first figural Passion performances in the New Church from 1717 to 1720, and then chosen between performances in the New Church and one of the main churches from 1721 onward. That fact, combined with people’s general familiarity with the Gospel narrative (see below), might have meant they expected something new. Congregants’ attitude can tentatively be compared to that of listeners of the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s hearing a jazz standard such as George Gershwin’s “Summertime” being covered by a new arranger, vocalist, instrumentalist, or band. There were obvious differences, such as the fact that Bach composed all of the music of the Passion except the chorale melodies. A basic similarity, however, is that in both cases the composer or arranger, performers, and audiences shared a knowledge of the text and the musical language underlying the composition and had previously heard the text



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performed in different musical settings. The challenge for musicians was to address listeners’ expectations within the conventions of the genre, while also placing their own stamp on the material. By the time of the Matthew Passion performances of 1736 and the 1740s, the reception context of the Passion had shifted. Connections to the Opera were more distant, and rather than being newly instituted, performances had been running for years. People seem to have grown accustomed to the style, and some, notably Bach’s former student, Johann Adolph Scheibe, even began to criticize Bach’s style as out-of-date.17 The lively debate of the 1720s and earlier 1730s between Pietist critics of modern church music such as Gerber and Orthodox defenders such as Scheibel had also subsided by the later 1730s. While Pietists were just a small minority of the congregation, and it is possible that many avoided Passion performances, they had been vocal. In addition to criticizing operatic style, they had advocated for accessibility and for active congregant participation in the service. Supposedly hard-tounderstand texts of arias and choruses, and the replacement of congregational singing of multi-verse hymns with figural music, were new phenomena in the 1720s, but not by the 1740s.18 HEARING THE MATTHEW PASSION Within this context, one might wonder how well people were able to follow the related textual and musical meanings of a Passion. The Passion story itself in its various Gospel versions was intimately familiar to everyone in the audience. The story of Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem, his anointing by the woman in Bethany, the Last Supper, his betrayal by Judas and abandonment by Peter and the other disciples, his trial by Pilate, his treatment by the crowd, and his crucifixion were central to Lutheran and other Christian theologies. During main services on Palm Sunday, five days before Good Friday Vespers performances, clerics and students chanted sixteenth-century settings of the Passion narratives from the Gospel of John in St. Nicholas and the Gospel of Matthew in St. Thomas. While most of these Passions were chanted in unison, the characters of Christ, Peter, the maid, etc., were assigned to specific participants, who had some solo passages. In some sections, the text was arranged for four parts.19 Interestingly, in 1766 this setting was replaced because it was “too theatrical.”20 The libretto itself was also accessible. Text booklets, which were purchased by many listeners before the performance, helped people follow the libretto. No original text booklets of the Matthew Passion performances survive, but the Passion’s librettist, Christian Friedrich Henrici (Picander),

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published a version of the libretto in 1729.21 It is likely that this was identical or very close to the original printing. As Don O. Franklin has shown, Picander and Bach organized the libretto into six “acts” following the clear structure of theologian Johannes Olearius.22 Furthermore, Picander interspersed fourteen shorthand phrases in his 1729 version of the libretto to note places in the Passion narrative, such as: “After the woman had anointed Jesus,” “As Peter cried,” and “After the words of Pilate: What evil has he done?” This suggests that people were able to understand what point the narrative was at without much context. Interpretations of the Passion narrative were not static, and people likely heard the theology of the Passion differently depending on their age, the year of performance, and individual church background. Elke Axmacher has shown that between the 1670s and the early eighteenth century, theologians’ emphasis shifted from a vengeful God to Jesus’s agency and the individual’s close relationship with Jesus.23 She also argues persuasively that the libretto was a complex amalgam of traditional structure and more modern, much simpler theological thinking. In addition, of course, Matthew’s account itself differs in important ways from the accounts of the other evangelists. And what of the musical setting? Many nuances and structural details would not have been obvious to ordinary listeners. These include the progression of key signatures in the five chorales on the melody “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden,”24 and the symmetrical structure of movements 36b to 58d, which frame the key soprano aria no. 49, “Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben.”25 However, countless features of Bach’s setting were accessible to listeners. The audience would have had no trouble understanding some striking word-painting, such as the evocation of the rooster’s crow in the Evangelist/Peter recitative no. 38c, when Peter mournfully recalls Christ’s prophecy that Peter will deny him three times before the cock’s crow (m. 29). Listeners would also have responded to the evocation of thunder on the simultaneously sung words “Wolken” and “Donner” (“clouds” and “thunder”) in the double chorus no. 26b, “Sind Blitze, sind Donner” (m. 101). Chorale movements further helped congregants connect to the Passion. In addition to the chorale “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig” that appears in the opening double chorus, there are fourteen chorale settings in the Matthew Passion, based on seven different chorales. These fourteen settings are distributed evenly between the two parts of the work, seven in each. As he generally did in his cantatas, Bach—on the basis of librettist’s indication—set well-known hymns in the Passion. Two date from the sixteenth century, and the other five from the time between 1630 and 1658.26 Congregants would likely have known many of these older hymn texts and tunes by heart, three of which are Passion hymns. These are the first three to appear, and they are each set more



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than once, each time to a different verse. “Herzliebster Jesus, was hast Du verbrochen?” is set three times (mvts. 3, 19, and 46), Paul Gerhardt’s “O Welt, sieh hier dein Leben” twice (mvts. 10 and 37), and Gerhardt’s “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden” is set five times (mvts. 15, 17, 44, 54, and 62).27 In addition, four non-Passion hymns are set once each. These chorales underline the general applicability of the Passion story throughout the year. Congregants were familiar with these chorales from various thematic sections of their hymnals. For example, “Werde munter mein Gemüte” appears in the “Evening hymns” section of several hymnals that were in common usage in Leipzig during Bach’s time (mvt. 40).28 Most of the stanzas of this hymn focus on a person preparing for night and sleep. The one included in the Matthew Passion focuses on the power of Jesus’s death to redeem individuals who have sinned but repented, by implication at the end of the day. This chorale follows an alto aria requesting Christ’s mercy. While some hymns occurred in the same section of most hymnals, the names of sections varied from one hymnal to the next, and so did the placement of hymns in a particular section. The thematic context of a hymn was thus not static. The hymn from which mvt. 25 is drawn, “Was mein Gott will,” appears in different sections in four hymnals. The first stanza of the hymn, which is used in the Passion, is almost always associated with Jesus’s prayer in Gethsemane in eighteenth-century Passion settings.29 In the 1730 edition of the Neu eingerichtetes geistreiches Gesang-Buch, it appears in the section “On the relinquishing of the heart to God, and Christian contentment (Gelassenheit).” In George Christian Schemelli’s 1736 hymnal, to which Bach contributed, it is under “On patience and contentment”; in Vopelius’s 1682 hymnal, it is under “On death and dying,” and in the Dresden hymnal it is under “On Christian life and conduct.” Another hymn, “In dich hab ich gehoffet, Herr,” from which mvt. 32 is drawn, is included in the section “In common need” in the Neu eingerichtes geistreiches Gesang-Buch; under “On temporal affliction and suffering” in Schemelli’s hymnal; under “Psalm hymns” in Vopelius’s hymnal (the text is based on Psalm 31); and under “In affliction and attack” in the Dresden hymnal. The text of the hymn addresses all of these themes. The chorales not only helped congregants connect to the Passion, but also played other roles. One is structural: as Don O. Franklin has noted, a chorale or chorus concludes each of the six “acts” of the Passion libretto that Bach and his librettist Picander compiled.30 Another is to introduce the action of the Passion narrative into the listener’s frame of reference. Most of the chorales reflect on the Gospel events of the previous movements, often bringing a train of thought to culmination. Specifically, Axmacher shows that the chorales function as an exegesis on preceding scriptural narrative, much as exegetical

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sections of sermons did.31 Most chorales also emphasize listeners’ spiritual obligations. For example, mvt. 10, “Ich bins, ich sollte büssen,” immediately follows the brief chorus no. 9e, “Herr, bin ichs?,” in which the disciples ask Jesus who among them will betray him. This linking of the Gospel account of Jesus’s suffering to the individual believer’s spiritual journey to Christ might seem confusing to the modern listener, but it made sense to eighteenthcentury congregants. Thus, preachers always drew a connection between Bible readings for a particular day and their parishioners. Hymns drew such a connection, as well. The transition from the chorus mvt. 9e to the chorale mvt. 10 is one example of the textual seamlessness and word repetition noted by various scholars that appears several times in the Passion, connecting one movement to another.32 This seamlessness underlines the applicability of the narrative and its messages to the individual. At the same time, the chorales, either as cantional settings or more elaborate arrangements, always leap out in strong contrast to the movements that precede them. This contrast serves to emphasize the “dramatic tension” between God and man, good and evil, life and death that many scholars have identified for other musical aspects of the Passion.33 There are further subtleties. In part 1, recitatives precede six of the chorales; a chorus precedes mvt. 10, as noted. In part 2, by contrast, choruses and arias precede five of the chorales, while recitatives precede the other two. This probably results from the difference in theological role which Petzoldt has noted for the chorales: in part 1, they respond to Christ’s predictions or prophecies, while in part 2, they follow denials and ridicule “and have the function of bringing the lost commonality with Jesus back into view.”34 This placement in turn, Petzoldt argues, emphasizes the theological message of part 1 that Jesus is the agent of God’s word, and of part 2 that people capable of creating a new community are the agents. It is hard to tell whether this shift from part 1 to part 2 would have been apparent to ordinary congregants. This brings us to one more question: did congregants sing the chorales of the Passion? While it is possible that they sang perhaps the chorales of regular Sunday and feast day cantatas,35 it is unlikely they sang those of the Matthew Passion. First, while the vast majority of cantata chorales appear in a predictable place at the very end of the cantata, or at the end of part 1 of a two-part cantata, they are scattered throughout parts one and two of the Passion. It is of interest in this connection to note Bach’s replacement of the simple harmonization of the chorale no. 29a, “Jesum lass ich nicht von mir,” at the end of part 1 in the 1727 version with the chorus no. 29, “O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde gross.” Scholars have generally attributed this change to Bach’s goal of composing a more elaborate “pillar” to conclude part 1, but it is possible that at least one consideration was to avoid congregational singing.



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Second, almost all of J. S. Bach’s regular Sunday and feast day cantata chorales are simple four-part harmonizations. While eleven of the fourteen chorales in the Passion are set to straightforward four-part harmony, three are set more elaborately. Each of these three is a concerted or dialogue movement in which Bach assigns the chorale to one or both choirs. Mvt. 19 intersperses individual lines of the verse within a recitative, mvt. 29 is a chorus, and mvt. 62, the final chorale and the fifth and final appearance of the “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden” melody, is harmonically striking. Third, the version of the libretto printed by Picander in 1729 includes only the poet’s verse, and neither chorales nor the biblical text. In contrast, most surviving cantata textbooks include at least the incipit of chorales.36 More than on regular Sunday mornings, congregants seem to have arrived on time for Good Friday Vespers, sat attentively, and debated the value of the figural setting of Bach’s Passions. Especially in the 1720s, Passion performances were institutionally new and musically controversial. Bach’s audiences were familiar with the different types of movements in the Matthew Passion from various contexts. The arias and recitatives resonated for them with opera and, more broadly, the latest fashions in music. By contrast, the chorales were based on a highly traditional musical genre, and congregants knew them by heart. Listeners were also familiar with the style of the Passion from hearing cantatas and earlier figural Passion performances. They could follow many of the musical and theological features of the setting, complex as it was, because these were made accessible to them by librettist and composer alike. NOTES 1.  Thanks to Don O. Franklin and Daniel R. Melamed for their many helpful comments on this chapter. 2. Günther Stiller, Johann Sebastian Bach and Liturgical Life in Leipzig (St. Louis: Concordia, 1984); Robin A. Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works and Their Theological and Liturgical Context,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bach, ed. John Butt (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 86–122. On Vespers and the Passions, see esp. 99–108. 3.  Good Friday Vespers was just one of about 100 Vespers services each year in Leipzig. While Good Friday Vespers had its own distinctive liturgy, centered around the figural Passion, the other Vespers services of the year shared similar liturgical structure and content with each other. See Mark A. Peters, “J. S. Bach’s Meine Seel’ erhebt den Herren (BWV 10) as Chorale Cantata and Magnificat Paraphrase,” Bach 43/1 (2012): 31–36. 4.  See Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works,” 99.

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5.  Daniel R. Melamed, Hearing Bach’s Passions, updated edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 135. 6.  See Tanya Kevorkian, Baroque Piety: Religion, Society, and Music in Leipzig, 1650–1750 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 53–74, esp. 59. 7. Kevorkian, Baroque Piety, esp. 172–77. 8.  See Kevorkian, Baroque Piety, 1–34. 9.  Carsten Lange, “Zur Aufführung von Telemanns Brockes-Passionsoratorium in Frankfurt am Main,” in Telemann in Frankfurt. Bericht über das Symposium Frankfurt am Main, 26./27. April 1996, ed. Peter Cahn, 142–62 (New York: Schott, 2000), 146ff. 10.  “Als in einer vornehmen Stadt diese Passions-Music mit 12. violinen, vielen Hautbois, Fagots und andern Instrumenten mehr, zum ersten mal gemacht ward, erstaunten viele Leute darüber, und wussten nicht was sie daraus machen sollten. Auf einer Adelichen Kirch-Stube waren viele hohe Ministri und Adeliche Damen beysmammen, die das 1. Passions-Lied aus ihren Büchern mit grosser Devotion sungen: Als nun diese theatralische Music angieng, so geriethen alle diese Personen in die grösste Verwunderung, sahen einander an und sagten: Was soll daraus werden? Eine alte adeliche Wittwe sagte: Behüte Gott ihr Kinder! Ist es doch, als ob man in einer Oper oder Comödie wäre: Alle aber hatten ein herzliches Missfallen daran, und führeten gerechte Klagen darüber.” Christian Gerber, Historie der KirchenCeremonien in Sachsen (Dresden & Jena: Saueressig, 1732), 283–84. All translations are by the author unless otherwise noted. 11.  Gottfried Ephraim Scheibel, Zufällige Gedancken von der Kirchen-Music, Wie Sie heutiges Tages beschaffen ist (Frankfurt & Leipzig: self-published, 1721), 30. 12. “Wasmassen der Cantor zu St. Thomas alhier, Joh. Kuhnau, auf künftigen Charfreytag die Passions-Historie gerne figuraliter in der Thomas Kirche alhier musiciren möchte, weil doch solches etliche Jahre her in der Neu-Kirche geschehen, diese Kirche aber die grosse Frequentz derer Leute und Zuhörer nicht gestatte.” Qtd. in Arnold Schering, Musikgeschichte Leipzigs, Vol. II, 1650–1723 (Leipzig: Kisner & Siegel, 1926), 24. Ulrich Siegele established Lange’s support of modern music through his patronage of Bach. See “Bach and the Domestic Politics of Electoral Saxony,” in Butt, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Bach, 17–34; and “Bachs Stellung in der Leipziger Kulturpolitik seiner Zeit,” Bach Jahrbuch 69 (1983): 7–50; 70 (1984): 7–43; and 72 (1986): 33–67. 13.  Lange, “Zur Aufführung von Telemanns Brockes-Passionsoratorium,” 147. 14.  See Melamed, Hearing Bach’s Passions, 136, for a list of Bach’s known passion performances in Leipzig. 15. Melamed, Hearing Bach’s Passions, 13–14. The movement numbers are from Alfred Dürr, ed., St. Matthew Passion; J. S. Bach, Neue Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke, Series 2, Vol. 5 (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1972). 16.  See Andreas Glöckner, Die Musikpflege an der Leipziger Neukirche zur Zeit Johann Sebastian Bachs, Beiträge zur Bachforschung 8 (Leipzig: Nationale Forschungs- und Gedenkstätten Johann Sebastian Bach, 1990), 18ff. 17. Hans T. David, Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds., The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998), 338.



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18.  See Kevorkian, Baroque Piety, esp. 40 and 136–42. 19.  Gottfried Vopelius, Neu Leipziger Gesangbuch, von den schönsten und besten Liedern verfasset . . . mit 4.5. bis 6. Stimmen (Leipzig: Klinger, 1682), 179–227; Stiller, Liturgical Life in Leipzig, 60. 20. Stiller, Liturgical Life in Leipzig, 157–58. 21.  Facsimile published in Werner Neumann, ed., Sämtliche von Johann Sebastian Bach vertonte Texte (Leipzig: VEB Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1974), 321–24. 22.  Don O. Franklin, “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion,” in Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver, ed. Daniel Zager (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 2007), 121–39. 23.  Elke Axmacher, “Aus Liebe will mein Heyland sterbe”: Untersuchungen zum Wandel des Passionsverständnisses im frühen 18. Jahrhundert (Neuhausen/Stuttgart: Hänssler, 1984), esp. 166–203. 24.  Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York: W. W. Norton, 2000), 301. 25.  Leaver, “The Mature Vocal Works,” 108. 26.  Hans-Joachim Schulze and Christoph Wolff, eds., Bach Compendium, vol. 3, Vocal Works, Part III (Leipzig: C. F. Peters, 1988), 1025. 27.  The text of mvt. 44 comes from a verse of a non-Passion hymn by Gerhardt with the same metric structure, “Befiehl du Deine Wege.” 28.  Neu eingerichtetes geistreiches Gesang-Buch, worinnen 860. auserlesene alte und neue erbauliche Kern-Lieder . . . enthalten (Leipzig: Hospital St. Georgen & Zucht- und Waysenhaus, 1730); Georg Christian Schemelli, ed., Musicalisches Gesang-Buch (Leipzig: Breitkopf, 1736); Vopelius, Neu Leipziger Gesangbuch (1682); Priviligirtes Ordentliches und Vermehrtes Dresdenische Gesang-Buch (Dresden & Leipzig: Hekel, 1734). 29.  Thank you to Don O. Franklin for this reference. 30.  Franklin, “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure,’” 125–29. 31. Axmacher, “Aus Liebe will mein Heyland sterben,” esp. 197–203. 32. See Martin Petzoldt, “Die theologische Bedeutung der Choräle in Bachs Matthäus-Passion,” Musik und Kirche, 53 (1983): 59, note 38; and Ulrich Leisinger, “Forms and Functions of the Choral Movements in J. S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion,” in Bach Studies 2, ed. Daniel R. Melamed, 70–84 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 74, note 16. 33. Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach, 302. 34.  Petzoldt, “Die theologische Bedeutung,” 60. 35.  See Kevorkian, Baroque Piety, 43–46. 36.  See Neumann, ed., Sämtliche von Johann Sebastian Bach vertonte Texte.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Axmacher, Elke. “Aus Liebe will mein Heyland sterbe”: Untersuchungen zum Wandel des Passionsverständnisses im frühen 18. Jahrhundert. Neuhausen/Stuttgart: Hänssler, 1984.

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David, Hans T., Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds. The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents. Revised edition. New York: W. W. Norton, 1998. Franklin, Don O. “The Role of the ‘Actus Structure’ in the Libretto of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion.” In Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver. Edited by Daniel Zager, 121–39. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 2007. Gerber, Christian. Historie der Kirchen-Ceremonien in Sachsen. Dresden & Jena: Saueressig, 1732. Glöckner, Andreas. Die Musikpflege an der Leipziger Neukirche zur Zeit Johann Sebastian Bachs. Beiträge zur Bachforschung 8. Leipzig: Nationale Forschungs- und Gedenkstätten Johann Sebastian Bach, 1990. Kevorkian, Tanya. Baroque Piety: Religion, Society, and Music in Leipzig, 1650– 1750. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007. Lange, Carsten. “Zur Aufführung von Telemanns Brockes-Passionsoratorium in Frankfurt am Main.” In Telemann in Frankfurt. Bericht über das Symposium Frankfurt am Main, 26./27. April 1996. Edited by Peter Cahn, 142–62. New York: Schott, 2000. Leaver, Robin A. “The Mature Vocal Works and Their Theological and Liturgical Context.” In The Cambridge Companion to Bach. Edited by John Butt, 86–122. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Leisinger, Ulrich. “Forms and Functions of the Choral Movements in J. S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion.” In Bach Studies 2. Edited by Daniel R. Melamed, 70–84. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Melamed, Daniel R. Hearing Bach’s Passions. Updated edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Neu eingerichtetes geistreiches Gesang-Buch, worinnen 860. auserlesene alte und neue erbauliche Kern-Lieder . . . enthalten. Leipzig: Hospital St. Georgen & Zuchtund Waysenhaus, 1730. Neumann, Werner, ed. Sämtliche von Johann Sebastian Bach vertonte Texte. Leipzig: VEB Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1974. Peters, Mark A. “J. S. Bach’s Meine Seel’ erhebt den Herren (BWV 10) as Chorale Cantata and Magnificat Paraphrase.” Bach 43/1 (2012): 29–64. Petzoldt, Martin. “Die theologische Bedeutung der Choräle in Bachs MatthäusPassion.” Musik und Kirche, 53 (1983): 53–63. Priviligirtes Ordentliches und Vermehrtes Dresdenische Gesang-Buch. Dresden & Leipzig: Hekel, 1734. Scheibel, Gottfried Ephraim. Zufällige Gedancken von der Kirchen-Music, Wie Sie heutiges Tages beschaffen ist. Frankfurt & Leipzig: self-published, 1721. Schemelli, Georg Christian, ed. Musicalisches Gesang-Buch. Leipzig: Breitkopf, 1736. Schering, Arnold. Musikgeschichte Leipzigs, Vol. II, 1650–1723. Leipzig: Kisner & Siegel, 1926. Schulze, Hans-Joachim, and Christoph Wolff, eds. Bach Compendium, vol. 3. Vocal Works, Part III. Leipzig: C. F. Peters, 1988.



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Siegele, Ulrich. “Bachs Stellung in der Leipziger Kulturpolitik seiner Zeit.” Bach Jahrbuch 69 (1983): 7–50; 70 (1984): 7–43; and 72 (1986): 33–67. ———. “Bach and the Domestic Politics of Electoral Saxony.” In The Cambridge Companion to Bach. Edited by John Butt, 17–34. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Stiller, Günther. Johann Sebastian Bach and Liturgical Life in Leipzig. St. Louis: Concordia, 1984. Vopelius, Gottfried. Neu Leipziger Gesangbuch, von den schönsten und besten Liedern verfasset . . . mit 4.5. bis 6. Stimmen. Leipzig: Klinger, 1682. Wolff, Christoph. Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician. New York: W. W. Norton, 2000.

Chapter Fifteen

The Vocal Music of the Bach Family in Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works Jason B. Grant

Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works (hereafter CPEB:CW) is an editorial and publishing project of the Packard Humanities Institute in Los Altos, California (see www.cpebach.org). As of this writing, the work is still ongoing, with approximately 80 volumes published out of a projected 120. As stated in the general preface in each volume, the edition contains primarily “all authentic works by C. P. E. Bach that are known to survive.”1 The authentic works include not only Bach’s wholly original works, but also his arrangements of existing music that he put to new purposes. The general preface continues: “Movements originally written for solo keyboard, for example, served as the basis for some of his sonatinas for keyboard and orchestra. Bach arranged much of his chamber music for different scorings, and he wrote alternate solo parts for several of his concertos.” Even though such arrangement procedures pose certain editorial challenges in individual cases, determining the composer’s authentic works is a relatively straightforward exercise in terms of his keyboard, chamber, and orchestral music (respectively, series I, II, and III in CPEB:CW). The same holds true for his oratorios (in series IV), as well as his songs and vocal chamber music (series VI). The situation is more complicated, however, for the Passions (also in series IV) and choral music (series V), as noted in the continuation of the same passage in the general preface: “In the Hamburg vocal music, he [Bach] frequently borrowed movements from himself and other composers to produce new works.” The presence of music by other composers in the vocal music of C. P. E. Bach has proved to be one of the greatest problems faced by CPEB:CW, both for the overall organization of the edition, and for the editing of individual works. Bach borrowed music most often from his contemporaries, especially Gottfried August Homilius, Georg Benda, and both Graun brothers (Carl Heinrich and Johann Gottlieb). He also drew from works by older composers 261

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such as Gottfried Heinrich Stölzel and Christoph Förster. On a much more limited basis, Bach borrowed from his predecessor as the Hamburg music director, Georg Philipp Telemann.2 C. P. E. Bach also borrowed music from members of his family: his father, Johann Sebastian; his older brother Wilhelm Friedemann; his younger half-brother Johann Christoph Friedrich; and even his distant cousin Johann Christoph. Although he borrowed from family members less frequently than he did from the other composers mentioned above, C. P. E. Bach seems to have placed special emphasis on this music in his performance repertoire, which was apparently related to the prominent status of Bach-family works in C. P. E. Bach’s music library. The borrowings from the Bach family in CPEB:CW are the focus of the present chapter, which is divided into the following main sections: first, an overview of the major vocal genres and the types of borrowings represented in CPEB:CW; second, a consideration of the composers represented in C. P. E. Bach’s music library, especially members of the Bach family; third, a detailed discussion of Bach-family music published in CPEB:CW; and fourth, by way of a conclusion, reflections on the significance of borrowed music for the complete edition of a single composer’s output, and CPEB:CW vis-à-vis the reception of the vocal works of the Bach family, especially those of J. S. Bach. THE PRINCIPAL VOCAL GENRES IN CPEB:CW The principal guide to determining the authentic works by C. P. E. Bach is the Verzeichniß des musikalischen Nachlasses des verstorbenen Capellmeisters Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, published in 1790 by the Hamburg printer Gottlieb Friedrich Schniebes. This “Nachlaß-Verzeichnis” (hereafter NV 1790), or catalogue of Bach’s estate,3 gives a detailed account of Bach’s compositional output, his music library, and his collections of keyboard instruments and portraits. The contents of NV 1790 largely define what is included in and what is omitted from CPEB:CW. Again, this is relatively straightforward for the instrumental music. But the vocal music poses peculiar challenges, determined in large part by the organizational principles of NV 1790 itself. In that catalogue, the vocal music is found in the section “Sing-Compositionen,” which distinguishes between published and unpublished works. Peter Wollny writes: Apart from some occasional pieces the unpublished vocal works consist of the sacred music that Bach had to provide in his function as music director of the five Hamburg main churches. The highly complex (and at times problematic) pasticcio practice that Bach employed in these works is far from being ade-



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quately documented. It is apparent that the extensive borrowing of material from other composers—found, for example, in the installation cantatas or Passions— completely escaped the awareness of the compilers of NV 1790. Unfortunately, we do not know how Bach himself would have selected and grouped his collated contributions to these genres of sacred vocal music.4

Since the list of vocal works in NV 1790 does not reveal the extent to which Bach used borrowed music, we must turn to the surviving sources themselves, which represent only a small portion of Bach’s performance repertoire. These sources show that Bach employed a variety of procedures, which are summarized by Ulrich Leisinger, general editor, in the “Choral Music” preface in each volume of CPEB:CW, series V: “These [procedures] include presenting minimally altered works by other composers; mixing borrowed movements by various composers—occasionally with movements by Bach himself—to form pasticcios; and composing completely new works. This presents an uncommon situation for the complete edition of a composer’s creative output and requires case-by-case solutions.”5 The large-scale vocal works in CPEB:CW are organized principally by genre—consistent with the listings in NV 1790—and not by the amount of borrowed music they contain. As noted by Leisinger, the procedures employed by Bach are discussed in each volume on a case-by-case basis. The twenty-one Passions (listed chronologically in NV 1790, 59–61; organized by Evangelist in CPEB:CW, series IV, volumes 4–7) are all pasticcios with varying amounts of Bach’s own music or creative input. The three oratorios, on the other hand (Die Israeliten in der Wüste, Wq 238; Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu, Wq 240; and the Passions-Cantate, Wq 233; listed in NV 1790, 54–56; published in CPEB:CW, series IV, volumes 1–3, respectively), are entirely by C. P. E. Bach, although some self-borrowings have been identified.6 The Einführungsmusiken, which are bipartite church cantatas for the installations of pastors and deacons (listed chronologically in NV 1790, 57–58; published in the same order in CPEB:CW, series V, volume 3), contain varying amounts of newly composed music, depending largely on how much the churches or individual clergymen were willing to pay Bach.7 The cantatas for the church year have been the subject of several years of discussion by the Editorial Board of CPEB:CW. The ongoing challenge has been establishing satisfactory criteria to determine which works to publish and which to omit. One option that received serious consideration was to publish only those works that contained a certain percentage of compositional activity by C. P. E. Bach. But settling on that percentage proved elusive, and was compounded by the uncertainty surrounding the origin of many of the movements in the cantatas. Finally the Board reached the decision to publish all known and probable Quartalstücke (the quarterly cantatas

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for the four principal feasts of the liturgical year: Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, and Michaelmas; listed by feast day in NV 1790, 61–62; published in CPEB:CW, series V, volume 2), no matter how much or little of the music was by C. P. E. Bach, to represent his principal working repertory of festival cantatas in Hamburg. The remaining cantatas for lesser feast days and ordinary Sundays are still under discussion by CPEB:CW as of this writing. A selection of these works (to be published in CPEB:CW, series V, volume 6, part 3) corresponds mostly to the works listed in NV 1790 as “vermischte Stücke” (mixed works; details below). Music of the Bach family is represented in all of the genres discussed above, at times mixed with music by C .P. E. Bach and other composers. The next step in exploring the issue of the status of Bach-family music in C. P. E. Bach’s working repertoire is a consideration of C. P. E. Bach’s music library as listed in NV 1790. MUSIC BY THE BACH FAMILY AND OTHERS IN NV 1790 The portion of NV 1790 devoted to C. P. E. Bach’s music library illustrates his importance in the reception history of music by his father, as well as that by other members of the Bach family. C. P. E. Bach was heir to a large portion of his father’s musical estate, which included a substantial amount of music by Johann Sebastian Bach himself and by Sebastian’s second cousin Johann Bernhard (1676–1749), as well as a collection of works from the Altbachisches Archiv, that is, works by members of the Bach family in the generations that preceded J. S. Bach. C. P. E. Bach also owned a much smaller number of works by his brother W. F. Bach and his half-brothers J. C. F. Bach and J. C. Bach. First and foremost is the section devoted to J. S. Bach (heading: “Von Johann Sebastian Bach”; 66–81), which is divided into “Instrumental-Sachen” (instrumental works; 66–69) and “Singstücke” (vocal works; 69–81). The instrumental works consist of thirty-seven items (many of which include multiple works) encompassing solo keyboard works (preludes and fugues, inventions, sinfonias), concertos, suites, trios, sonatas, ouvertures, and canons. The vocal works consist of oratorios, Passions, Masses, the Magnificat, and cantatas. It is significant that the estate catalogue of C. P. E. Bach is simultaneously the first extensive (though by no means complete) catalogue of the works of J. S. Bach. The sections in NV 1790 devoted to works by Bach’s brothers are much shorter. The one for W. F. Bach (heading: “Von Wilhelm Friedemann Bach”; 81–82) includes only four works: three short works for one or two keyboards,



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and a Pentecost cantata, Lasset uns ablegen, to which we will return below. The section devoted to J. C. F. Bach (heading: “Von Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach”; 82) contains sixteen works: two concertos, two trios, one secular cantata, two Michaelmas cantatas (more on these below), and nine songs. The section devoted to J. C. Bach (heading: “Von Johann Christian [dem Londner] Bach”; 82–83) includes one concerto, one sinfonia, one ouverture, and a packet of compositions completed in Berlin before J. C. left for Italy (five keyboard concertos, one violoncello concerto, two trios, and three arias). The final section devoted to an individual Bach relative is the one for J. S. Bach’s second cousin Johann Bernhard (heading: “Von Johann Bern­ hard Bach”; 83), which contains five ouvertures.8 All of these works are listed in NV 1790 as being available in parts (“In Stimmen”), which were probably inherited as a set from J. S. Bach, who had performed these orchestral works in Leipzig. The Bach-family portion of NV 1790 closes with the section entitled “AltBachisches Archiv” (83–85). This section, consisting entirely of vocal works (multi-movement pieces as well as choruses and motets), contains works primarily by Johann Christoph Bach, Johann Michael Bach, and Georg Christoph Bach, as well as other older members of the Bach family.9 A single section encompasses all other composers outside of the Bach family (heading: “Von verschiedenen Meistern”; 85–92, less than half the length of the section devoted to J. S. Bach). These composers include Georg Philipp Telemann, Johann Friedrich Fasch and his son Carl Friedrich Christian, Franz Benda and his younger brother Georg, Homilius, the brothers J. G. and C. H. Graun, Christoph Förster, Johann Adolph Hasse, and many others. It is important to note that NV 1790 represents the residue of C. P. E. Bach’s estate still in the hands of his widow, Johanna Maria, and their daughter, Anna Carolina Philippina. The remainder of his estate (the books and music by other composers owned by Bach, not his own works) is represented in the catalogue of the “Bachsche Auction” of 1789.10 NV 1790 was, furthermore, a means to let people know what works—as well as instruments, portraits, and other items in the estate—were available for sale. Collectors who were interested in obtaining particular works were asked to contact Bach’s widow in Hamburg for copies.11 Even a casual survey of NV 1790 makes obvious the importance of the music of the Bach family in general and of J. S. Bach in particular for C. P. E. Bach. A more careful examination reveals that C. P. E. Bach’s engagement with Bach-family music was not limited to his interest as a collector, but extended to his day-to-day work as a practical musician. This practical interest will be explored further in the next section, which focuses on C. P. E. Bach’s adaptations of Bach-family music that are published in CPEB:CW.

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MUSIC OF THE BACH FAMILY IN CPEB:CW As noted above, borrowed music poses many interesting, sometimes perplexing, problems for a complete-works edition of an individual composer. If CPEB:CW were to publish only those vocal works known to be entirely by C. P. E. Bach, there would be very few works indeed: the double-choir Heilig, the three oratorios (Die Israeliten, Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu, and the Passions-Cantate), a few of the cantatas for the church year (such as the Christmas cantata Auf, schicke dich and the Easter cantata Gott hat den Herrn auferwecket), and perhaps one or two of the Einführungsmusiken.12 But CPEB:CW’s approach to the vocal works is broader and more inclusive. For the Passions, Einführungsmusiken, and Quartalstücke, the title pages and part titles explicitly acknowledge the presence of music by another composer in a given work by means of a subtitle, for example, “Incorporating music by Johann Sebastian Bach.” Details about the incorporated music are discussed in the introductions and critical reports. C. P. E. Bach used the vocal music of the Bach family in several ways, all of which are represented within CPEB:CW. Procedures include selecting and in some cases arranging individual movements for use within pasticcios, extracting a group of movements from a single work as part of a pasticcio, arranging a single multi-movement work, and extracting a single movement from a multi-movement work and arranging it as a new single-movement work. What follows is an overview of Bach-family music published or forthcoming in CPEB:CW. The overview is organized first by composer, following the order of the Bach-family section in NV 1790, then by series and volume within CPEB:CW. Listings from NV 1790 for C. P. E. Bach’s as well as borrowed works are quoted as necessary, especially for problematic cases. There are many references below to the recently published Bach-Repertorium thematic catalogues of the works of C. P. E., J. C. F., and W. F. Bach (hereafter BR-CPEB, BR-WFB, and BR-JCFB).13 Also frequently cited are the catalogues of works by Alfred Wotquenne (given as “Wq” numbers) and E. Eugene Helm (given as “H” numbers).14 Johann Sebastian Bach Series IV, Volume 4.1, Passion according to St. Matthew (1769) Most of the turba choruses and all of the chorales are based on J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion, BWV 244.15 The biblical narrative is by C. P. E. Bach, though it depends greatly on his father’s setting.16 All other movements based on poetic texts are evidently by C. P. E. Bach. So even this, the most



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original of C. P. E. Bach’s Passions, is still a pasticcio of movements by him, his father, Homilius (one short turba chorus), and possibly other composers. C. P. E. Bach’s subsequent Matthew Passions (1773, 1777, 1781, 1785, and 1789) retain the biblical narrative and chorales used in the 1769 Passion, but the poetic movements consist mostly of borrowed material, often adapted by C. P. E. Bach in various ways, usually with new text underlay. The presence of borrowed music in this volume is signaled by the subtitle (“Incorporating music by Johann Sebastian Bach”). The short turba chorus by Homilius was apparently not sufficient to warrant including that composer’s name in the subtitle when the volume was published (2008); the subtitles of more recent volumes are more inclusive. The introduction indicates the model for each borrowed movement, if known. The chorales, all of which are by J. S. Bach and arranged, often transposed, by C. P. E. Bach, are discussed separately in the introduction (as they are in other volumes of CPEB:CW, series IV and V). In the commentary, the origin of each movement is discussed sequentially. But in the main musical text, the work is presented as C. P. E. Bach’s, without any indication of the original composer of a given movement. This reflects the treatment of this Passion and many other works with borrowings within NV 1790. Though individual movements stemmed from a number of composers—C. P. E. Bach, J. S. Bach, Homilius, and possibly others—it was C. P. E. Bach who arranged the music and wove the several strands together to form a new work that really was his own. Even music that C. P. E. Bach eventually cut from the Passion is given in the edition: one chorale, BWV 248/59 (with a different text), is presented in the appendix. Other volumes of CPEB:CW follow the pattern set by vol. IV/4.1 in the treatment and discussion of borrowed music. Series IV, Volume 7.1, Passion according to St. John (1772) Besides the 1769 Passion, this is the only Passion by C. P. E. Bach with a Bach-family borrowing. The closing chorus is borrowed, with a different text underlay, from J. S. Bach’s John Passion, BWV 245.17 The 1772 Passion is a pasticcio of movements, based on the biblical narrative and chorales from Telemann’s 1745 John Passion, with other movements by Stölzel and Homilius, with no known substantial contributions by C. P. E. Bach. Series V, Volume 2.1, Quartalstücke I The Easter cantata Gott hat den Herrn auferwecket (Wq 244; BR-CPEB F 5) was composed in Berlin in 1756. It may have been performed that year as

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the Easter Quartalstück in Hamburg under Telemann’s direction. The first documented public performance of the work was in 1757 at the Petrikirche in Berlin under the direction of that church’s cantor, Rudolf Dietrich Buchholtz. For this version of the work, C. P. E. Bach added a concluding chorale, “O süßer Herre Jesus Christ,” in a harmonization by J. S. Bach, BWV 342. C. P. E. Bach performed the cantata with BWV 342 as the Easter Quartalstück in Hamburg in 1769; in the two subsequent performances, 1776 and 1787, C. P. E. Bach may have replaced BWV 342 with a different chorale.18 The cantata Jauchzet, frohlocket (Wq 242; BR-CPEB F 9) is a pasticcio that C. P. E. Bach first performed as the Easter Quartalstück in Hamburg in 1778; he repeated the work during the Easter season in 1786. The opening movement of Wq 242 is the chorus “Jauchzet, frohlocket,” the opening chorus of part I of J. S. Bach’s Weihnachtsoratorium, BWV 248.19 The scoring of this chorus, which calls for pairs of flutes and oboes, posed a problem for C. P. E. Bach. The musicians available to him in Hamburg included two oboists who also played flute when needed. Given this performance restriction in Hamburg, whereby he could not use flutes and oboes simultaneously, C. P. E. Bach adjusted the scoring of the chorus by reassigning the flute parts to two concertante violins, a technique that he used in other works that posed similar scoring problems. Aside from the different instrumentation, C. P. E. Bach made only a few minor changes to his father’s music. Series V, Volume 2.5, Quartalstücke V The Michaelmas cantata Es erhub sich ein Streit, BR-CPEB F 18, is a pasticcio, first performed in 1770 (and again in 1776 and 1781), compiled by C. P. E. Bach primarily from movements from his father’s Michaelmas cantata Es erhub sich ein Streit, BWV 19 (opening chorus, recitatives, and chorale), with arias from two different cantatas by Benda, with a minimal amount of music by C. P. E. Bach. This pasticcio is not listed in NV 1790, although the model work by J. S. Bach is listed (score and parts) in the section dedicated to works by him.20 In fact, only the 1776 version of BR-CPEB F 18 has an entire movement by C. P. E. Bach, an early version of the double-choir Heilig, Wq 217.21 But the 1781 performance of BR-CPEB F 18 reverted to the version without the double-choir Heilig. Series V, Volume 3.1, Einführungsmusiken I Movement 8 of the Einführungsmusik Palm, H 821a, C. P. E. Bach’s very first newly composed installation cantata, is J. S. Bach’s chorale BWV 311,



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“Es wolle Gött uns gnädig sein,” transposed down a whole step to accommodate the key plan of the new work. C. P. E. Bach reused this chorale, with added trumpets and timpani and a different text underlay, as movement 11 of the Einführungsmusik Friderici, H 821g, published in CPEB:CW, series V, volume 3.3. Series V, Volume 5.2, Works for Special Occasions II Another type of problematic work is the “Credo in unum Deum” from J. S. Bach’s B-minor Mass, BWV 232, which C.P.E. Bach arranged for performance in 1786 by adding continuo figures and an instrumental introduction (Einleitung) and making other minor adjustments.22 CPEB:CW will publish just the Einleitung, and that only as an online addendum.23 Publishing the introduction without the rest of the Credo might be seen as odd, but publishing the entire Credo might be seen as repeating the work already done by the Neue Bach-Ausgabe. Series V, Volume 6.1, Miscellaneous Sacred Music I The first section of this volume consists of individually transmitted choruses, almost all of which are accompanied by instruments. Music by J. S. Bach is incorporated into the single-choir Heilig (Wq 218; BR-CPEB E 3), which originated during C. P. E. Bach’s Hamburg period, probably between 1768 and 1773. This work is in two parts: the first is a newly composed fifteenmeasure Adagio; the second (Alla breve) is a reworking of the fugal chorus “Sicut locutus est” from J. S. Bach’s Magnificat (BWV 243 or 243a; the scores of both versions were in C. P. E. Bach’s possession).24 C. P. E. Bach not only transposed the original (from D major [BWV 243] or E-flat major [BWV 243a] to C major), but he also added a new text underlay, expanded the scoring (by adding independent parts for two oboes, trumpets, and timpani), and lengthened the music by repeating sixteen measures. The complex adaptation procedures found in this work suggest that C. P. E. Bach’s decision to use the music of his father in a new context was motivated by something other than a need to save time. Nevertheless, C. P. E. Bach later composed a wholly original Heilig, the famous double-choir Heilig (Wq 217), which Bach inserted into many pasticcio compositions and eventually published in 1779. But the new Heilig may not have displaced the older one from C. P. E. Bach’s performance repertoire. That he continued to use the single-choir Heilig is suggested by an additional set of performance parts in the hand of Johann Heinrich Michel, C. P. E. Bach’s principal copyist in the later Hamburg years.25 And the work

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continued to be performed in the early nineteenth century, as is evidenced by yet more performance parts in the hand of Georg Poelchau.26 Series V, Volume 6.2, Miscellaneous Sacred Music II Two individually transmitted chorales are published in vol. V/6.2 as incerta: “Helft mir Gotts Güte preisen” (BR-CPEB H 60; cf. BWV 419) and “Befiehl du deine Wege” (BR-CPEB H-Inc 2; cf. BWV 272). The first is an arrangement (by C. P. E. Bach) of the concluding chorale of the cantata Herr Gott, dich loben wir, BWV 16. This chorale is listed in BR-CPEB largely because of its attribution to both J. S. and C. P. E. Bach in C. F. C. Fasch’s chorale collection in D-B, SA 818. The second chorale is not found in any extant work by J. S. Bach. It is attributed only to C. P. E. Bach in Fasch’s manuscript, but was included by C. P. E. Bach in his collection of his father’s chorales (not in the 1765 Birnstiel edition, but only in part 4 of the 1784 Breitkopf edition), whereby it became known as a work by J. S. Bach. The attribution to J. S. Bach seems secure enough, but it is published as an incertum in CPEB:CW because of its inclusion among the incerta in BR-CPEB.27 Series V, Volume 6.3, Miscellaneous Sacred Music III This volume of CPEB:CW contains four large-scale works that are not Quartalstücke and are not wholly by C. P. E. Bach. Three of the works are listed in NV 1790 under the rubric “Einige vermischte Stücke,” that is, works with prominent compositional involvement by C. P. E. Bach mixed with movements by other composers, some of whom are mentioned explicitly in the catalogue. Two of these works contain music by members of the Bach family. One of these works is the cantata Herr, deine Augen sehen nach dem Glauben (BR-CPEB F 28), which is an arrangement of J. S. Bach’s cantata of the same name, BWV 102. It is one of the few works by his father that C. P. E. Bach incorporated more or less intact into his church repertoire. C. P. E. Bach compiled this work for the 10th Sunday after Trinity 1776 for performance at the Jacobikirche in Hamburg. C. P. E. Bach’s arrangement procedures for this cantata included the omission of one aria, the repetition of the chorale in a different place with new text underlay, adding strings and altering the vocal line in the second recitative, and other minor adjustments. C. P. E. Bach later reused Herr, deine Augen in a version that incorporated a chorus known from an annotation in C. P. E. Bach’s hand only as “Mein Heiland.” No independent musical source for this version (listed as BR-CPEB F 28.2) is extant, but it is probable that the interpolated chorus was C. P. E. Bach’s own “Mein Heiland, meine Zuversicht,” Wq 221.28



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Wilhelm Friedemann Bach Series V, Volume 2.3, Quartalstücke III The Pentecost cantata Lasset uns ablegen die Werke der Finsternis, BRCPEB F 14, is C. P. E. Bach’s arrangement of the Advent cantata of the same name by W. F. Bach (BR-WFB F 1). The original work was probably first performed on the First Sunday of Advent 1749 in Leipzig. C. P. E. Bach later arranged it for performance as a Pentecost work, and he performed it in 1772 and again in 1779.29 This work is a good example of how C. P. E. Bach arranged a work by another composer to adapt it for the Hamburg liturgy. C. P. E. Bach made some alterations and additions to his brother’s cantata, including the following:30 1.  Changes to text underlay to transform an Advent work to one for Pentecost, primarily by making references to the Holy Spirit. C. P. E. Bach made the changes in his own hand in his set of performance parts for Hamburg. 2.  The text of chorale no. 3 was retained (“Steh auf vom Sündenschlaf”), but the harmonization was replaced with the one for chorale no. 8. 3.  The vocal parts for the two arias were reassigned: aria no. 5 from tenor to soprano, and no. 7 from alto to bass. 4.  In the choral movements, C. P. E. added parts for the two oboes to double the soprano and alto parts. 5.  Solo instrumental lines in the two arias (flute in no. 5, oboe in no. 7) were replaced with tutti violins, doubled by oboes. 6.  C. P. E. composed a part for third trumpet to conform to Hamburg scoring for Quartalstücke (three trumpets and timpani; originally scored for only two trumpets and timpani). Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach Series V, Volume 2.5, Quartalstücke V Vol. V/2.5 contains two of C. P. E. Bach’s Michaelmas Quartalstücke that are based on a single model composition by J. C. F. Bach. The first is Wie wird uns werden, C. P. E. Bach’s arrangement of J. C. F. Bach’s Michaelmas cantata BR-JCFB F 4 (subtitle: “Michaels Sieg”), written in the summer of 1771. Unfortunately, neither J. C. F. Bach’s autograph score nor his original performance parts survive. The only surviving musical source is C. P. E. Bach’s complete set of performance parts for his arrangement of his half-brother’s cantata, which he performed as his Michaelmas Quartalstück in 1771. This work is not given its own catalogue number in BR-CPEB because C. P. E. Bach apparently did

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not make any significant changes to the model composition aside from a few text changes in aria no. 4 (perhaps revisions received from J. C. F. Bach, but the precise reasons for the alterations are unclear).31 The work will be listed in part 3 of BR-CPEB under the rubric “N” (Notenbibliothek). But in CPEB:CW, which is publishing all of C. P. E. Bach’s Quartalstücke, the cantata Wie wird uns werden is listed as an arrangement of BR-JCFB F 4. One of the distinguishing features of BR-JCFB F 4 is the use of recurring chorales. Nos. 1a, 1c, and 1e are settings, all to the same harmonization, of parody texts based on the chorale “Es ist gewisslich an der Zeit.” No. 5a is a setting of Martin Luther’s “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott” (melody and stanza 1), and nos. 5c and 5e repeat the harmonization but to parody texts. According to Leisinger, the chorale harmonizations may not be by J. C. F. Bach, but may instead be otherwise unattested harmonizations by J. S. Bach.32 A later work by C. P. E. Bach that is based on BR-JCFB F 4 is the pasticcio cantata Wenn Christus seine Kirche schützt, BR-CPEB F 21, also for Michaelmas. This work was performed in Hamburg as the Michaelmas Quartalstück in 1778 and 1784. It relies heavily on BR-JCFB F 4 and also incorporates music by C. P. E. Bach and Benda. The outer movements (nos. 1 and 8) are both chorales: no. 1 is an arrangement of BR-JCFB F 4, no. 5a (melody “Ein Feste Burg ist unser Gott”), transposed from E-flat major to C major, with added trumpets and timpani (presumably composed by C. P. E. Bach), and with a new text, by Christian Fürchtegott Gellert. No. 8 is a setting of stanza 3 of “Nun danket alle Gott” in a harmonization possibly by C. P. E. Bach. Chorus no. 2 is an arrangement (transposed from A-flat major to C major, with added trumpets and timpani) of BR-JCFB F 4, no. 5b. The accompanied recitative no. 3 is a new composition by C. P. E. Bach that is modeled on BR-JCFB F 4, no. 2. The aria no. 4 is borrowed directly from BR-JCFB F 4, no. 4, without any apparent alterations. The secco recitative no. 5 appears to be an original composition by C. P. E. Bach. The aria no. 6 is borrowed from a cantata by Benda and was used by C. P. E. Bach in several pasticcio works. It functions as an introduction to the following movement, C. P. E. Bach’s double-choir Heilig, Wq 217, which was also used in many other pasticcios (as an insertion, indicated by a cue in the sources).33 The opening chorale, recitative no. 5, and the double-choir Heilig were also used by C. P. E. Bach as nos. 1, 5, and 6b in his 1785 Michaelmas cantata Der Frevler mag die Wahrheit schmähn (Wq 246; BR-CPEB F 22; see CPEB:CW, V/2.4).34 From the Altbachisches Archiv: Johann Christoph Bach Series V, Volume 6.3, Miscellaneous Sacred Music III As noted above, three of the four cantatas in this volume are listed in NV 1790 among the mixed works (“vermischte Stücke”); of these three, two con-



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tain music by members of the Bach family. The first is Der Gerechte (H 818; BR-CPEB F 24.1), a pasticcio assigned by NV 1790 (66) to the Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity 1774, although it was performed on other occasions, and the actual year of origin is unclear. The first documented performance was on the First Sunday of Advent in 1774, which C. P. E. Bach indicated in the detailed list of performances on the title page of the original set of parts. The opening chorus is an arrangement of the five-voice motet “Der Gerechte, ob er gleich zu zeitlich stirbt,” composed in Eisenach in 1676 by Johann Christoph Bach (1642–1703), J. S. Bach’s first cousin once removed (son of his great-uncle Heinrich Bach). This motet is the only work from the Altbachisches Archiv (see NV 1790, 83–85) known to have been used by C. P. E. Bach in his Hamburg church music. The only notable change that C. P. E. Bach made to the original was to add colla parte instruments to support the voices (two violins, viola, bassoon, and basso continuo). The other movements of the pasticcio include two recitatives and an aria by C. P. E. Bach, a chorale borrowed from Telemann, and an aria borrowed from Benda.35 C. P. E. Bach used the motet again in other pasticcio cantatas, but not as the opening chorus, in 1784 and 1787 (BR-CPEB F 24.2 and F 24.3, respectively). THE SIGNIFICANCE OF BORROWED MUSIC IN A COMPLETE-WORKS EDITION Taking stock of the vocal music discussed in this chapter as a whole, we see that across all genres that have been published so far in series IV and V of CPEB:CW (Passions, Einführungsmusiken, and Quartalstücke; the volume of mixed works is still in preparation), most of the works are not “original” in the sense of being newly composed. Rather, they represent a mixture of new and borrowed music, subjected to a variety of procedures. The choice to publish representative repertoires in CPEB:CW, rather than only the few works that can confidently be attributed wholly to C. P. E. Bach, has proven beneficial, at least in the present author’s opinion. Rather than focusing on the amount of compositional input as the primary criterion of a work’s authenticity, and therefore its inclusion in CPEB:CW, the current editorial approach takes multiple factors into consideration and classifies composition as merely one procedure among many—not necessarily the primary one— that C. P. E. Bach used to build his Hamburg repertoire. Leisinger’s assessment of the Quartalstücke in the “Choral Music” preface of CPEB:CW, series V, can be applied to other genres as well: A number of these works prove to be pasticcio compositions, containing, for instance, individual movements by Bach’s father and brothers. It seems justified to

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include these pasticcios with Bach’s performance repertoire of Quartalstücke, as they represent considerable efforts of Bach’s own, be it through the inclusion of substantial movements of his own composition—arias or choral movements—or through the compilation from various sources, whereby a new work is created that goes markedly beyond the simple reworking and adaptation of another’s work.36

As for the music of the Bach family, it has been established that C. P. E. Bach did not borrow their music nearly as often as he did that of contemporaries such as Homilius and Benda. Nevertheless, the music of the Bach family seems to have had a special status, not only in C. P. E. Bach’s library, where it clearly held pride of place, but also in his performance repertoire. One work each by his brothers W. F. and J. C. F. Bach became staples of the Pentecost and Michaelmas repertoires, respectively. One motet from the Altbachisches Archiv was used multiple times for Trinitytide performances. Not surprisingly, C. P. E. turned to the music of J. S. Bach more often than to that of any other member of the family. In part, this is due to the sheer amount of his father’s music that C. P. E. Bach had at his disposal. But it also seems that, while he evidently did not regularly perform whole works by his father, C. P. E. Bach managed to select, for several of the genres that he performed regularly, a few representative masterworks as sources from which he could adapt large sections and perform in differing configurations as circumstances permitted. For the Passions, he selected the Matthew Passion; for the Quartalstücke, he chose Es erhub sich ein Streit; and for the Sunday cantatas, he chose Herr, deine Augen. These demanding works have been integrated into CPEB:CW and—to borrow a remark by Richard Kramer—will provide, it is to be hoped, a “solid textual foundation that will inspire a newly focused view of this extraordinary repertory.”37 NOTES 1.  See http://cpebach.org/prefaces/general_preface.html. 2.  Studies of C. P. E. Bach’s borrowings from individual composers include two by Uwe Wolf: “Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach und der ‘Münter-Jahrgang’ von Georg Anton Benda,” Bach-Jahrbuch 92 (2006): 205–28; and “Der Anteil Telemanns an den Hamburger Passionen Carl Philipp Emanuel Bachs,” in Telemann, der musikalische Maler. Telemann-Kompositionen im Notenarchiv der Sing-Akademie zu Berlin. Bericht über die internationale wissenschaftliche Konferenz Magdeburg, 10. bis 12. März 2004, anlässlich der 17. Magdeburger Telemann-Festtage, ed. Carsten Lange and Brit Reipsch (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2010), 412–22. 3.  Several facsimile editions of NV 1790 have been published. The most recent is Nachlaß-Verzeichnis (1790): Facsimile Edition from the Collections of the Music Division, Library of Congress (CPEB:CW, Series VIII supplement), with an introduc-



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tion by Peter Wollny (Los Altos, CA: The Packard Humanities Institute, 2014). A critical edition of NV 1790 will be published in CPEB:CW, VIII/5. 4.  Nachlaß-Verzeichnis (1790), xvi. 5.  See http://cpebach.org/prefaces/choralmusic-preface.html. 6.  For example, two movements from Wq 240 are borrowed from cantatas for pastoral installations. See CPEB:CW, IV/2; and Jason B. Grant, “Die Herkunft des Chors ‘Triumph! Triumph! Des Herrn Gesalbter sieget’ aus dem Oratorium ‘Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu’ von C.P.E. Bach,” Bach-Jahrbuch 97 (2011): 273–86; revised and expanded as “The Origins of the Aria ‘Ich folge dir, verklärter Held’ and the Recurring Chorus ‘Triumph!’ from the Oratorio Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach,” Bach 44/2 (2013): 6–24. 7.  The principal study of the Einführungsmusiken is Wolfram Enßlin and Uwe Wolf, “Die Prediger-Einführungsmusiken von C. P. E. Bach. Materialien und Überlegungen zu Werkbestand, Entstehungsgeschichte und Aufführungspraxis,” Bach-Jahr­ buch 93 (2007): 139–78. The only Einführungsmusiken published in CPEB:CW are the extant works listed in NV 1790. Bach performed many other such works during his Hamburg career, often adaptations of Einführungsmusiken by Georg Philipp Telemann; see “Einführungsmusiken” section of “Choral Music” preface in CPEB:CW, V/3.5, xii–xx, esp. table 1, xvi–xviii. 8.  C. P. E. Bach’s working repertoire of vocal music evidently contained no works by J. C. or J. B. Bach, making them the only members of the Bach family with individual sections in NV 1790 who are not represented in the published volumes of CPEB:CW. 9.  The full heading in NV 1790 reads: “Alt-Bachisches Archiv, bestehend In folgenden Singstücken, Chören und Motetten von Johann Christoph Bach, Organisten in Eisenach bis 1703, Johann Michael Bach, Joh. Christophs Bruder und Joh. Sebastians Schwiegervater, Organist im Amte Gehren, Georg Christoph Bach, Cantor in Schweinfurt, 1689, und andern; in verschiedenen Stimmen vortrefflich gearbeitet.” 10.  See Ulrich Leisinger, “Die ‘Bachsche Auction’ von 1789,” Bach-Jahrbuch 77 (1991): 97–126. 11.  The announcement on the title page of NV 1790 reads: “Liebhaber, welche von diesem Nachlasse etwas zu kaufen wünschen, können sich an die verwittwete Frau Capellmeisterin Bach in Hamburg wenden.” 12.  But even some of these cantatas are not completely by C. P. E. Bach because they contain chorales derived from other composers, including Benda and Telemann. 13.  BR = Bach-Repertorium. Analytisch-bibliographisches Verzeichnis der Werke der Bach-Familie. BR-CPEB = Wolfram Enßlin, Uwe Wolf, and Christine Blanken, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke, pt. 2, Vokalwerke (Stuttgart: Carus, 2014). BR-JCFB = Ulrich Lei­ singer, Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach. Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke (Stuttgart: Carus, 2013). BR-WFB = Peter Wollny, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach. Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke (Stuttgart: Carus, 2012).

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14.  See Alfred Wotquenne, Thematisches Verzeichnis der Werke von Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1905) and E. Eugene Helm, Thematic Catalogue of the Works of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). 15.  NV 1790, 71: “Zweychörige Paßion nach dem Matthäus. Mit Flöten, Hoboen und 1 Gambe. Eigenhändige Partitur, und auch in Stimmen.” 16.  See Ulrich Leisinger’s introduction and critical report in CPEB:CW, IV/4.1, xiii and 210–13. See also two earlier studies that predate the publication of any volumes of CPEB:CW: Ulrich Leisinger’s overview of C. P. E. Bach’s pasticcio procedures in “Neues über Carl Philipp Emanuel Bachs Passionen nach ‘Historischer und alter Art,’” Jahrbuch des staatlichen Instituts für Musikforschung Preußischer Kulturbesitz (2002): 107–19; and Don O. Franklin’s comparison of J. S. Bach’s Matthew Passion with C. P. E. Bach’s 1769 and 1789 Matthew Passions in “Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s 1789 Matthew Passion as Pasticcio and Parody,” in Passion, Affekt und Leidenschaft in der frühen Neuzeit, 2 vols., ed. Johann Anselm Steiger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 655–72, esp. 662–63. 17.  NV 1790, 70: “Eine Paßion nach dem Evangelisten Johannes. Mit Flöten und Hoboen. Eigenhändige Partitur, und auch in Stimmen.” 18.  On the possible replacement of BWV 342 with a different chorale, see Mark W. Knoll’s introduction and critical report in CPEB:CW, V/2.1, xix and 241. On the possibility that Wq 244 was performed in Hamburg by Telemann in 1756, see Peter Wollny, “C. P. E. Bach, Georg Philipp Telemann und die Osterkantate ‘Gott hat den Herrn auferwecket’ Wq 244,” in Er ist der Vater, wir sind die Bub’n: Essays in Honor of Christoph Wolff, ed. Paul Corneilson and Peter Wollny (Ann Arbor, MI: Steglein, 2010), 78–94. 19. NV 1790, 69: “Oratorium Tempore Nativitatis Christi, Pars I. Jauchzet, frohlocket etc. Mit Trompeten, Pauken, Flöten Hoboen und Fagott. In eigenhändiger Partitur, und auch in Stimmen.” 20.  NV 1790, 81: “Am Michaelisfeste: Es erhub sich ein Streit etc. Mit Trompeten, Pauken und Hoboen. In Partitur.” 21.  This early version was shorter, and lacked C. P. E. Bach’s arietta found in the published version of 1779. Instead, he used a shortened form of a Benda aria that he had used in the original version of BR-CPEB F 18. 22.  NV 1790, 72: “Die große catholische Messe, bestehend in . . . N. 2. Symbolum Nicænum (Credo.) Mit Trompeten, Pauken, Flöten, Hoboen und Basson. Eigenhändige Partitur, und auch in reichlich ausgeschriebenen Stimmen. Zu diesem Credo ist eine Einleitung von C. P. E. B.” The Einleitung is listed separately in NV 1790 as one of the “vermischte Stücke” on p. 66: “Einleitung zu Joh. Sebast. Bachs Credo. H[amburg].” 23.  At first the Einleitung was to be published in CPEB:CW, VIII/1, then titled Miscellanea Musica, but was then reassigned to the works for special occasions. By that time, however, both of those volumes (CPEB:CW, V/5.1 and 5.2) had already been published, resulting in the Einleitung’s being published as an online addendum. 24.  The two versions of J. S. Bach’s Magnificat are listed separately in NV 1790, on 70 (“Magnificat. Mit Trompeten, Pauken, Flöten und Hoboen. Eigenhändige Par-



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titur, und auch in Stimmen.”) and 72 (“Magnificat und einige ausgeführte Choräle. Eigenhändige Partitur.”). 25.  It is possible that this set of parts was not used by C. P. E. Bach at all, but was rather copied by Michel and sent to somebody else; see BR-CPEB, 2:366. 26.  Poelchau, an avid collector of music of the Bach family, was aware of the borrowing in the single-choir Heilig. He added the following note to the title page of the composite manuscript that contains the work (D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 3): “Einchöriges Heilig (Mit einer Fuge von J. Sebast. Bach aus dem Magnificat) von C. P. Emanuel Bach in eigenhänd. Partitur.” 27.  The rationale given for including BWV 272 in BR-CPEB, 2:1048 (“Unklar, ob es ein Versehen CPEBs war, diesen Satz in die Sammlung seines Vaters aufzuneh­ men.”) is somewhat dubious, given the care that C. P. E. Bach evidently took to present only genuine chorales by his father, judging from C. P. E. Bach’s preface in the Breitkopf edition. 28.  Herr, deine Augen is listed twice in NV 1790: as the model work by J. S. Bach on 80 (“Am 10 Sonnt. nach Trinit. Herr, deine Augen sehen etc. Mit Hoboen und 1 Flöte. In eigenhändiger Partitur, und auch in Stimmen.”) and as one of the “vermischte Stücke” on 65 (“Am 10 Sonntage nach Trinitatis: Herr, deine Augen sehen nach dem Glauben etc. Zum Theil von Joh. Sebastian Bach. Mit Hoboen.”). The second listing evidently refers to the version with the interpolated chorus “Mein Heiland” by C. P. E. Bach. There is no separate listing for C. P. E. Bach’s original arrangement of BWV 102, presumably because his alterations were not immediately apparent to the compilers of NV 1790. 29.  Lasset uns ablegen is listed only once in NV 1790, 82, under the works of W. F. Bach: “Pfingst-Musik: Lasset uns ablegen etc. Mit Trompeten, Pauken und Hoboen. Partitur und reichlich ausgeschriebene Stimmen.” This entry probably refers to C. P. E. Bach’s arrangement for Pentecost; the compilers of NV 1790 were probably unaware of the Advent origin of the model work. 30.  The summary of changes is based on BR-CPEB, 2:464–65. See also the discussion of C. P. E. Bach’s arrangement of W. F. Bach’s cantata in Peter Wollny, “Studies in the Music of Wilhelm Friedemann Bach: Sources and Style” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1993), 317–20. 31.  C. P. E. Bach’s adaptation of BR-JCFB F 4 is listed in NV 1790 only among the works of J. C. F. Bach, 82: “Michaelis-Musik: Wie wird uns werden? Schauer etc. Mit Trompeten, Pauken, Hoboen und Flöten. In Stimmen.” 32.  See BR-JCFB, 281. J. C. F. Bach is known to have used chorale harmonizations by his father in other works, such as BWV 36/4 and BWV 248/12, as movements 2 and 6 of the Ascension cantata BR-JCFB F 3. But if the chorale harmonizations in BR-JCFB F 4 are in fact by J. S. Bach, they may not have been known to C. P. E. Bach; they are not found in the latter’s collection of his father’s chorales, as published by Birnstiel in 1765 or by Breitkopf in 1784. 33.  Despite the complex arrangement procedures found in BR-CPEB F 21, it is listed in NV 1790, 82, as a work of J. C. F. Bach, with one added movement by C. P. E. Bach (corresponding to the annotation on the title wrapper of the performance parts): “Michaelis-Musik: Wenn Christus seine Kirche etc. Mit Trompeten,

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Pauken, Flöten und Hoboen. In Stimmen. Bey dieser Musik ist ein Accompagnement von C. P. E. Bach.” 34.  Listed in NV 1790, 62, as a work by C. P. E. Bach: “Michaelis-Musik: Der Frevler mag die Wahrheit etc. H. 1785. Mit Trompeten, Pauken und Hoboen.” 35.  C. P. E. Bach’s adaptation of Johann Christoph Bach’s motet is listed in NV 1790, 66: “Am 16 Sonntage nach Trinitatis: Der Gerechte, ob er gleich etc. H. 1774. Zum Theil von Johann Christoph Bach aus Eisenach. Mit Hoboen und 1 Fagott.” The compilers of NV 1790 evidently classified Der Gerechte as a mixed work based on C. P. E. Bach’s annotation on the autograph score (in D-B, Mus. ms. Bach P 3): “Sing-Chor von Joh. Christoph Bach: Hof u. Stadt Organisten in Eisenach, componiert im Jahr 1676. Die Instrumente zu diesem Chore hat C. P. E. Bach ausgezogen.” The original motet is listed in NV 1790, 84, as one of the works in the Altbachisches Archiv: “Der Gerechte, ob er gleich etc. Motetto. Mit 5 Singstimmen und Fundament, von [Johann Christoph Bach].” 36.  See http://cpebach.org/prefaces/general_preface.html. 37. See Richard Kramer, Unfinished Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 41, n. 29. Kramer’s appreciative remark about the first half-dozen published volumes of CPEB:CW referred primarily to solo keyboard and symphonic works, but seems appropriate to the present context of liturgical repertoires that mix new and borrowed music in surprising ways.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Enßlin, Wolfram, and Uwe Wolf. “Die Prediger-Einführungsmusiken von C. P. E. Bach. Materialien und Überlegungen zu Werkbestand, Entstehungsgeschichte und Aufführungspraxis.” Bach-Jahrbuch 93 (2007): 139–78. Enßlin, Wolfram, Uwe Wolf, and Christine Blanken. Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke, pt. 2, Vokalwerke. Stuttgart: Carus, 2014. Franklin, Don O. “Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s 1789 Matthew Passion as Pasticcio and Parody.” In Passion, Affekt und Leidenschaft in der frühen Neuzeit, Wolfenbütteler Arbeiten zu Barockforschung, Bd. 43. Edited by Johann Anselm Steiger et al., 637–54 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005). Grant, Jason B. “Die Herkunft des Chors ‘Triumph! Triumph! Des Herrn Gesalbter sieget’ aus dem Oratorium ‘Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu’ von C. P. E. Bach.” Bach-Jahrbuch 97 (2011): 273–86. Revised and expanded as “The Origins of the Aria ‘Ich folge dir, verklärter Held’ and the Recurring Chorus ‘Triumph!’ from the Oratorio Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach.” Bach 44/2 (2013): 6–24. Helm, E. Eugene. Thematic Catalogue of the Works of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. Kramer, Richard. Unfinished Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Leisinger, Ulrich. “Die ‘Bachsche Auction’ von 1789.” Bach-Jahrbuch 77 (1991): 97–126.



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———. “Neues über Carl Philipp Emanuel Bachs Passionen nach ‘Historischer und alter Art.’” Jahrbuch des staatlichen Instituts für Musikforschung Preußischer Kulturbesitz (2002): 107–19. ———. Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach. Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke. Stuttgart: Carus, 2013. Wolf, Uwe. “Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach und der ‘Münter-Jahrgang’ von Georg Anton Benda.” Bach-Jahrbuch 92 (2006): 205–28. ———. “Der Anteil Telemanns an den Hamburger Passionen Carl Philipp Emanuel Bachs.” In Telemann, der musikalische Maler. Telemann-Kompositionen im Notenarchiv der Sing-Akademie zu Berlin. Bericht über die internationale wissenschaftliche Konferenz Magdeburg, 10. bis 12. März 2004, anlässlich der 17. Magdeburger Telemann-Festtage. Edited by Carsten Lange and Brit Reipsch, 412–22. Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2010. Wollny, Peter. “Studies in the Music of Wilhelm Friedemann Bach: Sources and Style.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1993. ———. “C. P. E. Bach, Georg Philipp Telemann und die Osterkantate ‘Gott hat den Herrn auferwecket’ Wq 244.” In Er ist der Vater, wir sind die Bub’n: Essays in Honor of Christoph Wolff. Edited by Paul Corneilson and Peter Wollny, 78–94. Ann Arbor, MI: Steglein, 2010. ———. Wilhelm Friedemann Bach. Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke. Stuttgart: Carus, 2012. Wotquenne, Alfred. Thematisches Verzeichnis der Werke von Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1905.

Chapter Sixteen

The Need for a New Music J. S. Bach in Contemporary Context (c. 1946) William H. Scheide

THE NEED FOR A NEW MUSIC The twentieth century is now nearly half gone. In the last fifty years, more people have heard the art music of European civilization than in any other such period. There are record numbers of music lovers, of professional musical performers (“artists,” as they call themselves), and probably even of composers, or at least composition students. In many ways, the accomplishments of the musical world in the past five decades have been astonishing. Commercially, music has become one of the most lucrative of professions. But as the mid-point of the century approaches, it is surely appropriate to make an estimate from an artistic and stylistic point of view. What is it that is being propagated in this immense and variegated musical world? Where does it come from? Is it in time with the times? What, if anything, should or could be done about it? I believe it would be a revealing study to compute the average date of composition of all the numbers of a typical year’s concert program. What that average date would be is, of course, now only a guess, but I would estimate the date at not later than 1850 and possibly twenty or thirty years earlier. And since this is only an average, it means that a substantial part of our contemporary concert music comes from around the year 1800 (principally Ludwig van Beethoven and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart), 150 years ago. It is hard for a student of music history to imagine an audience of 1750 listening to Giovanni Gabrieli or Claudio Monteverdi, or even a popular concert of 1850 featuring Alessandro Scarlatti or Arcangelo Corelli. In former times, the music-lover’s taste ran first and foremost to the contemporary composer, while the present day has lost that appetite. We feed ourselves on the music of the past. And this is truer even than a hypothetical composition date would show. Among 281

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the best-known composers who lived after my suspected “average date” are Johannes Brahms, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Jean Sibelius, and Richard Strauss. Yet these composers have no real new message. They are already living on the capital of the past. They either resign themselves to this fate or attempt to hide it behind exhibitionistic displays and posturings. The twentieth century has received spiritual shocks that make the tranquil experience of the nineteenth seem ridiculous. No more cataclysmic shattering of a world could be imagined. And yet the protagonists of music, that small minority for whom music has presumably become the serious matter of their lives, continue to propagate this shattered world as though it still existed unimpaired. What are the reasons for this situation, and what might be done about it? Has the age, after all, made anything that might be termed musical “progress”? The last question, I believe, may be answered in the affirmative. But it does so by recognizing a new element in the musical world. During the last century and a half, musicians, along with many other time-honored professions, have been pushed from their pedestals by the scientist-engineertechnician. It is the achievements of these that constitute the most significant musical advances in recent years. The innovations have been of two kinds: of producing music, and of reproducing music. Of these, what is incomparably the most important is the second. It in turn divides into two types: radio broadcasting and phonographic recording. All musical life has been profoundly affected by these developments. The musical world is made up of classes of people: composers, performers, and listeners. Since composers as a class may be considered numerically negligible, I focus here on performers and listeners. There is no doubt that in recent times the ratio of performers to the general public has greatly decreased, while the number of pure listeners has grown enormously. Music as a pastime can be pursued in a group (through attending a concert) or in comparative solitude (through listening to a recording). In former times, the soundest musical cultures were those based on large numbers of small domestic ensembles of amateur performers. The confusions and distractions of modern life have reduced this nucleus to an almost negligible size. But we are not without substitutes of a sort. Both the radio and the phonograph bring musical experience to the solitary individual. By and large, the radio proceeds on the assumption that it is enlarging an original concert (or studio) audience. Something of the concert atmosphere is imparted to the radio program. On so-called “popular” programs, this becomes an all-important ingredient. A sense of “living participation” is conjured up to make the listener forget his loneliness. The phonograph, on the other hand, presents music for the most part devoid of association with any particular occasion. The record-owner will have a certain interpretation at hand whenever he feels like listening to it.



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Music can thus be fitted to mood to perhaps a greater extent than ever before, and the pure art of listening (a thoroughly legitimate pastime) is also given greater opportunity to develop. This environment of the reflective listener playing the same recording again and again, immersing himself more deeply in the music every time, is an ideal soil to foster the appreciation of the most significant types of music. Great musical spirits may now speak through the phonograph to a vaster and more receptive musical public than they ever dreamed existed. The phonograph thus presents music as a source of spiritual nourishment with unprecedented opportunities for good. Is the standard musical literature the best qualified to take advantage of it? Ever since the early nineteenth century, European music has been maladjusted to society. This has come about because the population has so increased as to submerge the artist by weight of numbers. In earlier days, artists were always the members, or the hangers-on, of the world of the aristocracy, living in the semi-sheltered surroundings of royalty and privilege. Aristocracy as a principle of life became ever more deeply engrained in art and reached its climax in the work of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, as consummate an artistic aristocrat as the world has ever known. His art, however great and true it may be, is an art of the elite, by and for that elite to the very last note. He has no understanding of human beings as such, but only as enveloped in the advanced refinements of a particular culture. Within his world he is effortless and infallible, but its boundaries are sharply drawn. It is not without significance that he died just before the waves of the French Revolution began to roll over Europe. I venture the statement that no composer since Mozart has been so in tune with his environment. Beethoven saw the rift widening between the rising bourgeois society and the artist; he fought it all his life and only thus maintained a precarious balance. Franz Schubert, drawing nourishment from the rich field of popular music and working primarily in more modest forms, effected a different kind of compromise and held the line for a short time. But upon the passing of those two men the situation became hopeless. Beethoven, with extravagant and desperate gestures, reached across the gulf in the melisma on “ganzen” in the phrase “diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt” at the very end of the Ninth Symphony. After him, such attempts degenerated into cheap theater. The cult of the eccentric artist sprang up, the man who sold his art not because it reflected life but because it was different from life. His appeal was no longer his normality but his abnormality. Nineteenth-century art is the history of this tragic situation, the tragedy of the isolated artist, no longer under the comfortable shelter of understanding princes and aristocrats, but in the merciless glare of blank, uncomprehending, bourgeois publicity yelling, “more, and stranger.” Thus the truth of art was vitiated at its core.

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It is true that new aids did spring to the assistance of music. The piano was perfected, and the modern concert orchestra became standardized. The tremendous power of both attracted the multitude through what might be called an appeal to the monstrous. Size, as an end in itself, became increasingly important in nineteenth-century music. Choruses swelled to hundreds of voices, organs to fantastic dimensions. Thunderous sounds beat on the ears of the multitudes, forcing a certain awed attention through sheer loudness. All these forces were manipulated by individuals who conformed to the eccentric tradition demanded of the artist: conductors, pianists, violinists, singers. They were conscious virtuosi, and often their most popular appeal was in their exhibitionism, in the deliberate exploitation of their presumed eccentricities. Monstrosity and exhibitionism: these elements endangered the life of music in the nineteenth century. The result was paradoxically that as music made progress with the public, it lost contact with life. The institution of the formal concert gave music a quasi-festive atmosphere, but it was enveloped in a kind of awed hush-hush, the whole forming what might be called a holy circus. The keen minds that composed the music of the nineteenth century were aware of this situation and in general did one of three things about it. The boldest course was that taken by the most powerful mind of all, Richard Wagner. Aware of the tremendous obstacles, he resolutely set himself against the current to restore music to what he considered its rightful place as a mediator of religious faith. With his German religious sense, Wagner knew that humanity “strives for nothing so incessantly and so painfully as to find someone to worship” (Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov). With keen perception, he saw the Christian truths slipping beyond his grasp and that of his age. Therefore, he unflinchingly created his own religions and, exhibitionist par excellence, molded them into the massive whole of the Gesamtkunstwerk. This was the most formidable music of the time because it expressed a dynamic and genuine religion of the nineteenth century, and, as it turned out, also of the twentieth century. Wagner, whatever his religious ideas may have been, was an optimist as a composer. He refused to admit defeat. It was otherwise with his contemporaries. Brahms saw the true artist’s isolation deepening, saw his spiritual house crumbling about his ears. And for him, there was no other house. In him, the tragedy of the nineteenth-century artist is shown at its keenest, because he had the most integrity. His inspiration could come only from the past; he made heroic efforts to resuscitate it, and his achievements command the respect of every musician. But his most genuine moments are those of serene resignation or blank despair. It is significant that he cultivated chamber music. In this realm, he could most completely escape the exhibitionistic. He



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remained an idealist, devoted to the truth, but it proved to be hard to find. Any hope that he might mold the spirit of his day was excluded by such a course. He remains a noble ivory tower. To Wagner, he was a defeatist. The majority of nineteenth-century composers, lacking the stature of Wagner or Brahms, had fewer qualms about their lot and swam more or less easily with the times. “Nationalistic” music furnished a convenient synthetic solution to the vexing problem of musical content, and the composer could then abandon himself to orchestral coloration. It is true that Romantic exhibitionism itself became a principle of musical content in the works of Tchaikowsky (when they are not purely bombastic), but these cozy melodies did not arrest the triumph of the massive orchestra in the almost timeless Impressionism of Debussy. In this style, the art of orchestration and tone color is elevated to the first principle of composition, and the traditional elements of music are presented in an inverted order; rhythm and melody become almost extinct. Since rhythm and melody (separately or together) predominate in all folk music styles, the unnaturalness of this arrangement is evident. Music has reached the top of the ivory tower. Long since lacking in spiritual inspiration, now even its powers of external exhibitionism are exhausted. And this occurred just as wars began which have devastated our century physically, morally, and spiritually to an extent beyond description. Those who take music seriously must do so because they derive a spiritual satisfaction from it. There is no other reason for music. But it is pertinent to ask in this day, when spiritual hunger is at starvation intensity, what relief the shattered world of the last two generations might give. It is true that men’s jittery nerves can always be further stimulated and exacerbated by the gushings of Wagner or Tchaikowsky, but this means debasing music to a drug, to a habit-forming opiate which kills its victim while seeming to bring temporary relief. No person for whom music is a serious matter can honestly advocate such a course. There is a lesson to be learned from Wagner, who had a passionate and consuming faith in the power of music to inflame the souls of men. He was eternally right in this faith, as events have proved in so frightful a fashion. And now the human soul cries out for another music to heal and restore it, a music that countless individuals can take to their heart in the quiet of their homes and feed on all their lives. It must be a music which will impart a spiritual balance to every act of life, no matter how common or how exalted. There are only two possible sources from which such a music might come. There is first the contemporary composer. It is specifically his business to produce a new music to fill the needs of these times. But seldom have creative artists struggled under such spiritual handicaps as now beset them. The greatest art is always the product of a fully matured style. Today every style is in complete flux. Composers cannot be expected to express themselves confidently

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or significantly until their mode of utterance is more perfected. Nearly every composer recognizes this by becoming a self-conscious theorist. This is fatal for living art, which moves by creative inspiration and intuitive reflection rather than formulated logic and rules. There is no theoretical shortcut to the new music; it must be hacked out by the labors of unfettered, creative musicians. Only when its direction has been unmistakably revealed will there be crystallized in music the spirit of the twentieth century. It seems evident then, during this period when modern music is experimenting with itself, that the great new musical public must look to other sources for the music it requires. The only place that this can possibly be found is in the more distant past, the past all but untouched by the standard nineteenth-century concert literature. This musical past has now been opened up by modern research to an extent heretofore unknown. Library shelves are bursting with unheard compositions. The literature of two thousand years lies at our disposal. The question is merely choosing what seems most appropriate to our needs and requirements. What then should be our standards of selection? It is probable that the featuring of any excessively unfamiliar or strange style would be doomed to failure. Exoticism may have appeal as a fad, as has been proven, but the taste for a particular example wanes quickly. The music to be introduced from the past must therefore reflect contemporary tastes to be lasting. What are these qualities of the modern musical ear which we must hope to satisfy? In the first place, I think we appreciate an obvious rhythm. This is surely a healthy condition as regards an art whose medium is time. Among all musical elements, rhythm is usually the first to appear. The popularity of jazz, in which rhythm reduces all other elements to secondary roles, reveals the American public’s partiality to this aspect of music. Any new music, therefore, must have a powerful rhythmic drive. Secondly, the melodic content must be obvious. The popular musical ear is deaf to polyphony, but loves a broad and easily-remembered tune that it can whistle. As soon as the element of musical tone is introduced, melody is born. It predominates in every musical style. It will inescapably occupy a ruling place in any new music. But not every melody is fit to enter there. The vast literature of the past is largely melody, but most of it is excluded from modern ears. What is required today is melody answering certain harmonic requirements. For us every melody derives its logic from its implicit harmonic relationships in terms of our own traditional patterns. Any other type of melody is exotic. We may admire it as strange, but will never make it our own.



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Thirdly, the musical culture of our day is predominantly instrumental and virtuosic. We cannot hope to popularize a style which relies mainly on a chorus or a solo singer. Our day-to-day music is largely instruments, and instruments it must be again in any new music we take to heart. A further criterion is that selection should be limited to fully matured styles. Only in them is music of maximum expression to be found. The “greatest” composers always arise in the wake of pioneers who create their styles. And it is only from them that medicine for the spirit of this age may be expected. It will be seen at a glance that the above qualifications exclude most of “pre-classical” music from consideration. The instrumental and harmonic criteria eliminate the periods before 1600. The field is thus immediately narrowed to a matured style arising after 1600 and which is largely outside the regular concert literature. We are thus left with the Baroque era, which, while perhaps partially known to music students, is essentially a stranger to most of the musical public. The full flowering of the Baroque style is generally considered to be found in the work of two composers, George Frideric Handel and Johann Sebastian Bach. Handel, through his Italian opera training, leans in the direction of the theatre, while Bach, through his devotion to the organ, remains in the church. These attitudes affect the position of the two men in history. Handel was concerned to sell himself to his age with theatrical gestures. His whole genius was poured into compositions which would arouse admiration in the hearts of the eighteenth century. Such a purpose, realized so successfully, inevitably stamps his works as dated, as strongest in those values which are soonest superseded. By this is not meant the obsolete form of his operas, but the character of the music that infuses them, great and heroic as it is. Handel’s interest in instrumental color is less than what is required today, and his harmonic vocabulary is quite limited. The latter is a more serious defect and makes it all too easy to caricature his music. The frequent vocalizations in his arias are all too often largely virtuosity with insufficient musical justification. The Baroque is Handel’s empire, in every part of which he is supreme and which he never tries to transcend. Accordingly, his fate must be the fate of his age. We cannot recreate the Baroque age even if we would. Like Mozart’s later era, it rested on a magnificent aristocracy. This we can no longer supply. Handel’s work is a vast and grandiose monument of a triumphant epoch, but to us it remains only a monument, a relic of a past that is never to return. One contemporary account of music history states: “All important innovations, from the early seventeenth century to our day, can be attributed to operatic influences.”1 Seen against the rise of the bourgeois, that sentence explains the present state of music. For the artistic form which most fully

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embodied the aristocratic elements of the Baroque and Classic periods was the opera. The one important figure who stood aside from operatic development was Johann Sebastian Bach. He did not try commercially to be even a successful church composer. What held him to the church was simply that it was the institution which most shared his interest in things eternal. He did not write for display, he was not interested in theatre or effect. In his music, all marks of society are stripped away. What is left is the drama of a soul and the cosmos with occasional references to elemental human relations. This is the special property of no period. It remains to be seen how pertinent it may be to our own particular time and needs. BACH AND THE TWENTIETH CENTURY Johann Sebastian Bach is a familiar name to the twentieth-century musical world. He was one of the discoveries of the early nineteenth century, and we have inherited him as a part of the legacy of that age. At present, his supporters fall roughly into three classes. First may be mentioned the musical theorists whose preoccupation with composition problems brings them face to face with the marvel of his counterpoint. They are the preachers of Bach, the composer of fugues, whom the masses cannot understand. If the alliterative slogan “Back to Bach” can be attributed to any group, it is probably applicable here. Its influence is considerable, reaching through the academic world to the humblest piano teacher. In these circles, it is customary to speak of Bach with reverence. The pupil never discovers the reason for this attitude and does not feel it himself. It is debatable how much good is done to Bach through popularizing his two- and three-part inventions among young piano students. The admiration that the mature musician feels for the faultless craftsmanship of Bach’s music cannot be reproduced in musical neophytes. It is through the work of this group that most people hear of Bach. But if they later become Bach-lovers, they usually have to overcome their first impression. The second group are the romantic transcribers and popularizers. One hundred years ago, Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann discovered the monumental and the pathetic in Bach. These are the elements emphasized in modern transcriptions, often to the sheer destruction of the essential style. But this group has created a public for Bach fugues which could have been done in no other way. They have shown that it is possible for a devotee of Tchaikowsky or Wagner to derive aesthetic satisfaction from Bach. To do this, it is true, they have made him all but unrecognizable. Nevertheless, his name and, to an elementary extent, his music have been brought into circles otherwise closed. The music scholars are often fatalists. They want the “true”



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Bach or none at all. The transcribers are optimists; they have a program. No doubt they think they have won great victories for the master. In this they are largely deluded, but their efforts by no means represent total defeat. A third group favorable to Bach is sprinkled through the vast public of jazz devotees. They recognize superficial affinities between Bach and jazz styles and so admit him, to an extent, to their world. It is not that they actively propagate his art, but that they possess a certain predisposition in his favor. In view of the size of the jazz public, this is a factor of importance. That substantial numbers of Bach-lovers could be found in three such different environments is a genuine tribute to his genius when one considers the handicaps under which his music is heard. For hardly any of his compositions can be played as he wrote them. When a performer on any present-day instrument undertakes to play his music, the question of adaptation confronts him to greater or lesser extent. Our instruments will play his notes, often with greater power and expressiveness than those he heard, but they are designed with an eye for different emphases and effects than their predecessors of two centuries ago. Consider, for example, what is still our most typical instrument, the piano. If the Italian Concerto or the Chromatic Fantasy are played as written, the vast sonorities of the modern concert grand remain virtually untapped; if they are “arranged,” they sound unnatural, as any comparison with the pianistic ease and utter euphony of Frédéric Chopin will instantly reveal. It is true we now have harpsichords and clavichords again. But to the multitude these instruments are artificial resuscitations of a bygone era, and moreover they are acoustically impossible for concert work. However “correct” their reproduction of Bach may be, they make him all the more fundamentally strange to the twentieth century. It is too much to ask an average musical neophyte to take a clavichord seriously. The violinist also has his problem. Whatever may be the answer to the question of how Bach performed the Chaconne, the polyphonic passages played by rolling the chords and sustaining only the top two notes sound forced to a modern listener. It is no doubt such devices which prompt concertgoers to remark on Bach’s “mistake” in entrusting so enormous a composition to so small an instrument. The organist who plays Bach finds his problem principally in trying to be heard. For the organ is not regarded as a recital instrument. Organ recitals draw small audiences. In the church service itself, there are three possibilities: prelude, offertory, and postlude. To the first and last nobody listens. I have never heard any of Bach’s supreme creations (such as the Prelude in E-flat Major, the Toccata in F Major, the Prelude and Fugue in E Minor [“Wedge”], or such chorale-preludes as the six-part Aus tiefer Noth or the five-part Kyrie,

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Gott Heiliger Geist) played when a full congregation had no choice but to hear them. Along with the music it usually plays, the organ has drifted outside the main current of modern musical life. It has lost contact with the living music of our day, and indescribable harm is done to Bach thereby. The case for the orchestra is similar to the piano. Almost all the instruments of Bach’s orchestra have undergone revision, and many have become totally obsolete. And all those instruments introduced in the nineteenth century which give the modern orchestra its characteristic power and breadth must lie unused. How can Bach’s simply orchestrated counterpoint (thick as the melodic web in itself may be) stand beside the splendor of the Meistersinger Overture?! The principal remaining type of musical organization which may occasionally look at Bach is the amateur chorus. The main trouble here is that Bach never wrote any a capella music, as his matter-of-course orchestrations of Palestrina show. Modern choruses usually operate as more or less of a unit (showing their descent from the Romantic a capella revival) and thus overlook the fact that in a Bach cantata chorus the orchestra is as important as the voices. The result can be bathos of the most extreme type. The writer recalls the cosmic flood of choral sound in the “Et Resurrexit” of the B-minor Mass at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, which suddenly vanished leaving merely a squeaky flute or two. Solo singers rarely give Bach much of a place on their programs. This is due to the long-established tradition of singing teachers (English/Italian = Handel and opera; German = Lieder and Wagner), who do not make room for Bach in their musical world. Moreover, the singer is a solitary virtuoso. While a chorus may hire a small orchestral group, the soloist who sings Bach thinks nothing of eliminating it. The piano transcription of what the singer thinks of as the “accompaniment” hardly does justice to the original. Yet in spite of all, there is the encouraging spectacle of many performers and a large public devoting themselves to the art of Bach, often under greater handicaps than they understand. It is therefore worthwhile asking: how true a picture is being given of this composer’s work? Is it being revealed in its full breadth and perspective? If so, any hope that Bach might be the source for a “new music” would vanish. But this is not the case. There are perhaps a half-dozen Bach compositions at most that have achieved a weak popularity with audiences. There are possibly twenty more that performing musicians may have in their repertoires. Almost any Bach selection performed at an ordinary concert is likely to be one of some two dozen examples, all that ever reach the ordinary public out of the forty-seven folio volumes of works that have been published. However familiar Bach’s name may be, it is absurd to claim that his music is widely known. The fact of the matter is that he is still largely unknown even to musicians themselves.



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The reasons are external ones, as detailed above. Bach’s instruments do not match our instruments, his musical ensembles have no modern counterpart. The organ, which expresses his greatest instrumental ideas, has lost both its character and its audience. The works for voices and instruments lie unheard because no organization exists to revive them. Two questions thus arise: is this music worth reviving and, if so, to what extent can it be made intelligible to modern ears? To answer the first question, it is necessary to look briefly at the character of the music of the last century. It has expressed a mighty longing, a search for a lost faith. By and large, it has been a vain search whose failure is found either in the blank despair of composers or in their frantic efforts to hide their frustration behind cheap display and exhibitionism. The only faith anyone discovered was the nihilism of the superman. Bach shows the universe as fundamentally an affirmation, even if, as he often finds it, a tragic one. He cannot discuss faith or doubt, since all he knows is certitude. It has been said that he has no problems. And yet no one feels their absence. This introspective nature comprehends all problems and reveals them in their ultimate balance. His music is ominous with problems; it often carries an infinity of sorrow. Yet underneath all the pathos throbs the unfailing rhythm of eternal vitality undeterred by any mundane considerations. Through his efforts to unite eternity with time, Bach uncovers the raw material of the human spirit. If it be admitted that what Bach has to say would be of benefit to twentiethcentury spirits, there remains the question of how congenial his music is to modern ears. A number of criteria for this have already been suggested. They are rhythm, melody, and harmony conforming to modern tastes, and a certain instrumental and virtuoso emphasis. In applying these standards to Bach, it is useful to divide his music into four stylistic groups: fugue, chorale, recitative, and concerto. It is not contended that every piece he wrote fits neatly into one or more of these headings, but it is believed that they are sufficiently broad to cover the main features of his art. They may be considered in two ways: as musical textures and as musical forms. In general, the element of texture may be said to predominate in the fugue, chorale, and recitative styles, while form is controlling in the concerto. Polyphony may be present in every style, but homophony is excluded from the fugue, though preponderant in recitative and concerto. Under the heading of “fugue” is grouped all polyphonic and contrapuntal styles, especially those in which some form of imitation is evident. Canons, fugues, inventions, motets, French overture allegros, and their many variants all come under this heading. This is the style for which Bach is perhaps best known. But it is easily the most complex of his textures. Once again, it must be emphasized that neophytes cannot be expected to listen to many simultaneous melodies. This style demands a listener who is a virtuoso, a listener capable of absorbing the ultra-high density packed in every bar. This music

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of Bach has to be striven for, and appreciated only after due apprenticeship. It is emphatically not the music to start on. The term “chorale” is used to denote any cantus firmus, whenever detected, which is not treated imitatively or in a contrapuntal manner. By altering the chorale melody itself and by mixing it with the fugue, recitative, or concerto styles, it can be almost lost. The chorale is to Bach what the Leitmotiv is to Wagner; they are tone-symbols of religious ideas. Their greatest contemporary weakness is that they have lost their familiarity; they no longer conjure up the intended associations. For this reason, elaborately concealed chorales go unheard. Like fugues, they require a specially trained listener. However, a broad, unwavering chorale tune superimposed upon a brisk concerto movement will impress any neophyte. In the last analysis, the appropriateness for today of the chorale style will depend on how it is used. Recitative style includes not only vocal recitative, but also instrumental passagework, especially in the keyboard compositions. A piece such as the Chromatic Fantasy is largely instrumental recitative. The opening of the Fantasia in G Minor for organ shows the style at its grandest. The trouble with recitative is that it is all eloquence; there is no formal element. It has no principle of musical construction. The vocal recitatives exist solely to declaim their texts. Since these texts are often of indescribably poor quality, the recitatives as a whole are significant of the vocal compositions. Accordingly, vocal recitative may largely be neglected, while instrumental recitative ranges from the mightiest grandiloquence (Fantasia in G Minor for organ) to brilliant display (Toccata in C Major for organ) where it becomes purely auxiliary; the main freight is carried on other shoulders. This is the moral of the recitative; it is not self-sufficient. It remains to consider the style denominated “concerto.” Here again a number of subspecies are involved. The two most important are the instrumental concerto and the vocal aria and aria chorus. But there are a multitude of shorter compositions, such as binary dance forms and other homophonic pieces of all lengths which belong in this group, if only by default. The Baroque concerto itself is founded on an instrumental conception: the antithesis of two bodies of sound of different intensities. Each tone level has its own particular theme, usually a forthright homophonic melody. The louder body of sound, the “tutti,” delivers its theme first, which thus becomes the principal melody of the composition. The opposing body of sound, the “concertino,” handles the modulations and transitions, introducing subsidiary themes and ideas, while the tutti theme rings out triumphantly in each new key as it is established and concludes the piece with a final repetition in the home key. The Baroque concerto form is perhaps the most important large musical form of its age. But it must not be thought of in the same way as the more famous sonata form. For the sonata form is really only a special case of the



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concerto form. The concerto may go in any direction at any time, and in terms of the sonata form may be mostly development. It may thus be more complicated or more simple than a sonata-form movement. No two examples of the Baroque concerto form are alike. But the formal elements in the concerto style are only half the story. For this music is constructed out of broad, homophonic melodies, and, although the contrapuntal tendencies of the composer are evident, this is clearly the easiest Baroque style for the modern listener. Bach’s short pieces in this style are nearly all for the keyboard. When they are played on the piano, they sound thin. (The difficulties of adaptation in this field have already been mentioned.) They therefore fail to satisfy the desire for instrumental color and sonority characteristic of modern taste. Bach is supposed to have written very seldom for the orchestra. His six Brandenburg Concertos are known, and some are played occasionally. A discerning concertgoer would probably also have heard of his four Orchestral Suites and even listened to a performance of one of them. About a dozen concertos for violins and pianos, some of doubtful authenticity, complete the list. But so slim a repertoire is incapable of bringing Bach before a larger public. And already it has been exploited. What else then remains? The truth is that the Bach literature in the concerto style has hardly been tapped. I refer to the hundreds of arias and choruses in the cantatas and other vocal works. The only reason these compositions are not performed is that no organization of singers and players exists to perform them. But since they are vocal, there may be doubts as to their propriety in an instrumentally minded age. This is a fair question deserving a fair answer. In the first place, the voices are treated as instrumental parts and often of no greater significance than the orchestra. What interests Bach is the obbligato part; it does not matter whether it is vocal or instrumental. It is true that in the vocal solos the singer is often consciously featured. But this singing is of a distinctly virtuoso type. It is bound rigidly to the instrumental line that the composer prescribes for it, with little opportunity to show itself off. It requires a different technique than modern audiences expect from singers. The singer must concentrate on a melody; instead of planning his tone for one note, he must think of a whole phrase. The listener’s attention is thus distracted from the singing voice itself to the melody it is imparting. And if there is one thing that commends these arias and choruses to public attention, it is the melodies they contain. Bach is well enough known for his difficult fugues. His wondrous melodies are unknown. The astonished comment they invariably evoke is that it does not sound like him. Yet upon inspection they prove to be the product of the same profound soul, more simply and more lucidly expressed. The harmonies are rich and often unexpected. And perhaps most important of all, adaptation of instruments is reduced to a minimum. The question of the instrument to play the figured bass part gives

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room for discussion, but the solution should not be hard if the purpose is to avoid ostentation in the accompaniment. Of the numerous obsolete instruments, an effort should at least be made to secure two oboes d’amore. Aside from these two considerations, there are hundreds of compositions with no other adaptation problems whatsoever. Bach has often been called insensitive to orchestral color, and reference is made to the many unisons in his scores. There are grounds for believing, however, that many of these unisons were caused by shortage of forces and the necessity of using every instrument in order to be heard. And on the other side can be mentioned the dozens and hundreds of delicate and sensitive scores of great instrumental beauty, as well as many other humble combinations showing a keen sense of instrumental fitness. The number of musicians required to perform most of this music is not large. Over two-thirds of all Bach’s vocal music is for solo singers, and most of that requires only small combinations: a violin, a flute, an oboe, or a small string group, besides hundreds for only figured bass accompaniment. The repertoire for any group is of great size and quality. The character of the music considered may be defined as follows: In great part, it makes a very favorable impression on first hearing, arousing at the same time a strong desire for further acquaintance. This is surely the ideal for any kind of music to be recorded. The prospective purchaser is pleased with his initial impression, buys the record, but, in the intimacy of his home, discovers new beauty in it with every playing. No more ideal soil could be imagined for the propagation of Bach’s spirit. “Only to people like these will he truly reveal himself,” said Albert Schweitzer, his biographer.2 Is this, then, the new music which our age so greatly needs? Only actual experiments will answer that question, but it seems clear that no other style meets the requirements so fully. There is much to commend it, and it is surely worthy of some effort. Editors’ note: William H. Scheide (1914–2014), Bach scholar, philanthropist, founder and director of the Bach Aria Group, and owner of the Scheide Library at Princeton University, was for more than six decades one of the primary advocates in the United States for scholarship on, and performance of, the works of J. S. Bach. Scheide not only worked to promote Bach’s music in the United States, but was also actively involved with this music as both scholar and performer. Such activities came together, among other places, in the Bach Aria Group, which Scheide founded in 1946 in New York City for the purpose of performing arias from Bach’s vocal works. Scheide directed the Bach Aria Group from its founding in 1946 until 1980. The current essay, dating from the late 1940s (and possibly 1946, the year Scheide established the Bach Aria Group), presents the philosophical



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foundations of the Bach Aria Group and serves as a vital source for understanding the beginnings of the early music movement in the United States. Although Scheide’s ideas in it served as significant impetus toward renewed performance of Bach’s vocal music in the 1950s and 1960s, the essay itself was never published, and we are pleased to be able to offer this significant document here in print for the first time. The essay essentially reads as an apologetic for a return of Baroque music to the concert repertory, with Scheide presenting arguments that are not only musical but also societal and even spiritual. The fact that Scheide felt the need to make such an argument is striking when reading this more than seventy years later, in light of the abundant, even ubiquitous, performances of music by Bach and other Baroque composers on the North American concert stage in the twenty-first century. But as with any primary source, the reader must consider the original time of writing (the late 1940s) and aim of the work (to argue for inclusion of Baroque music in the concert repertory at a time when it was not regularly there). Considering this context, we must work to understand the essay on its own terms as we read it now so many years later. The effort is well worthwhile, as the chapter opens up new perspectives on the beginnings of the modern Bach revival in the United States. It is because of Scheide and others like him that Bach now occupies such a prominent place in today’s concert repertory. We do well to listen in, through this chapter, on some of the rationale that got us to this point. William H. Scheide contributed this essay to Compositional Choices and Meaning in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach before his death in 2014. We are grateful to his wife, Mrs. Judy Scheide, for allowing us publish it here. MP & RS NOTES 1.  Paul Henry Lang, Music in Western Civilization (New York: W. W. Norton, 1941), 442. 2.  Albert Schweitzer, J. S. Bach, vol. 1, trans. Ernest Newmann (London: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1911), 265.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Lang, Paul Henry. Music in Western Civilization. New York: W. W. Norton, 1941. Schweitzer, Albert. J. S. Bach. Vol. 1. Translated by Ernest Newmann. London: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1911.

Chapter Seventeen

Bach at the Boundaries of Music History Preliminary Thoughts on the B-minor Mass and the Late Style Paradigm Robert L. Marshall Beethoven famously declared that Bach’s name (meaning brook) was a misnomer. His name should have been “Meer” (ocean). Who would disagree?! It is no surprise that the oceanic qualitative immensity of Bach’s achievement is matched by a comparably oceanic, if quantitative, immensity of the literature devoted to it, and to the composer himself. The indispensable database, Bach Bibliography, compiled by Yo Tomita (Queen’s University, Belfast) and maintained now under the auspices of the Bach-Archiv Leipzig, records some 68,000 publications devoted to the composer and his works. The bibliography reveals that the B-minor Mass is easily Bach’s most written-about work. So much has already been said about it that it is hard to imagine that there is still more to add. Over 150 publications devoted to the Mass have appeared in just the past twenty years, easily outpacing the number devoted to the John Passion and Matthew Passion in the same time span (110 and 106 publications, respectively). As for Bach’s instrumental works, there have been an even one hundred publications dedicated to the Well-Tempered Clavier, and a mere twenty-one to the Brandenburg Concertos in that period. These statistics, incidentally, do not include all the discussions of these works in general treatments of Bach’s music. The extensive scholarly attention to the Mass reflects its immense, longstanding popularity with the musical public. Such popularity is readily explained: the B-minor Mass is in Latin rather than German, and sets a universally familiar, effectively supra-denominational (if undeniably religious) text. The composition, moreover, taken as a whole (and in contrast to the Passions, for example), is colorful, lively, and—measured against the composer’s own standards—much of the time remarkably euphonious. None of this, of course, denies its pervasive seriousness and—once again, measured against the composer’s own standards—extraordinary compositional complexity. 297

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The B-minor Mass’s immediacy of appeal is an anomaly among late works by great composers. Thanks to Theodor Adorno, the concept of “late style” in music has largely come to be equated with that of Beethoven. Indeed, the very term “late style” (Spätstil) was coined by Adorno—in his 1937 essay, “Spätstil Beethovens”—and pursued by him further in his “Verfremdetes Hauptwerk: Zur Missa Solemnis” (1959).1 Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, according to Adorno, was the exemplar of the “alienated masterpiece.” Edward Said, in his posthumous volume On Late Style (2006), observes that Beethoven’s late works, in Adorno’s view, are “bristling, difficult, unyielding,” indeed, “constitutively alienated and alienating: difficult, forbidding works like the Missa Solemnis and the Hammerklavier Sonata are repellent to audiences and performers alike.”2 Elsewhere Said hastens to point out, however, that there are other, quite different, manifestations of a late style in the works of other masters—not only composers, but artists and writers as well: “a new spirit of reconciliation and serenity,” or perhaps a spirit “not so much . . . of wise resignation as a renewed almost youthful energy that attests to an apotheosis of artistic creativity and power.”3 Late style could be either reactionary and retrospective—as in Heinrich Schütz’s late Passion settings—or experimental. Wagner moved in both directions in his late works: the retrospective Meistersinger (1867), with its reintroduction of closed forms and rediscovery of diatonicism along with academic counterpoint, on the one hand, and the futuristic Parsifal (1882), on the other, in which a medieval tale is wrapped in an experimental post-romantic, arguably post-tonal, musical vocabulary. The late works of J. S. Bach, while they of course have been the objects of serious study for as long as musicians and scholars have been interested in the life and music of J. S. Bach, have not—as far as I can tell—played much of a role in more general discussions of the “Late Style Phenomenon” per se, perhaps because so much of it fails to fit comfortably into any one of the prevailing paradigms. Like Wagner, Bach, too, moves in both directions in his late works—usually within the same works: in the “Goldberg” Variations, the Musical Offering, and, most dramatically, in the B-minor Mass. Part of the mundane explanation for this, perhaps, is that his two great patrons in his last period were the Catholic elector in Dresden and the atheist king in Berlin. Their sudden importance in the composer’s affairs attests to the fact that, after 1736, Bach increasingly lived in a form of interior exile in Leipzig. Alienated by the recently imposed academic reforms at the Thomasschule that significantly reduced the role of music in the curriculum, he effectively abandoned the composition of German Lutheran church music. In relation to this context, Said informs us that lateness is, among other things, “a kind of self-imposed exile.” He invokes Adorno’s claim that it results in a music that is “episodic,



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fragmentary, riven with . . . absences and silences.” Said emphasizes “the sense of apartness and exile and anachronism, which late style expresses.”4 Bach’s B-minor Mass is, of course, not only a late work: it is probably Bach’s very last work, completed in the last months—or even weeks—of his life. But no one would describe it in the way Adorno and Said describe Beethoven’s Missa solemnis. The B-minor Mass shows no signs of fragmentation and disintegration. It is, if anything, a miracle of integration. Its compelling sense of unity is particularly miraculous in light of the fact that its component sections were famously written over the course of some thirty-five years, beginning in Bach’s Weimar period, and are almost all reworkings of material that originated in different contexts. Unquestionably, though, the kaleidoscope of styles in the Mass is symptomatic of late style insofar as it represents a distanced overview, a recapitulation. Ernest May suggests that the Mass is “arguably the greatest work by the greatest classical composer of all time,” invoking, among other authorities, the Swiss publisher Hans Nägeli’s famous subscription announcement in 1818 for the first edition of the Mass as “the Greatest Musical Work of Art of All Times and Nations.”5 The claim has been challenged. The late conductor and Bach venerator nonpareil Craig Smith insisted (and was willing to defend the proposition) that the Matthew Passion was not only J. S. Bach’s greatest work but indeed the greatest human accomplishment of all time, eclipsing all others.6 The biologist Lewis Thomas, author of Lives of a Cell, for his part, maintained that the best way to inform other civilizations in space would be “to send music. . . . I would vote for Bach, all of Bach, streamed out into space, over and over again. We would be bragging of course.”7 (In fact, the Voyager spacecraft, launched in 1977 to outer space, carried a musical disc. The first human music placed on it is Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2, BWV 1047. Two other works by Bach are included: the Gavotte en Rondeau from the solo violin Partita in E Major, BWV 1006/3, and the C-major Prelude and Fugue from the Well-Tempered Clavier II, BWV 870. Bach is the only composer on the disc honored with three compositions.) It seems that almost anything one wishes to claim about the B-minor Mass is true—just as virtually anything one wishes to claim about J. S. Bach is true: that he was a reactionary, a conservative, a progressive, a modernist, an anti-modernist, a radical, a bigot, a pragmatist, an amoral opportunist. While not everyone will be able to agree on any one of these characterizations of the composer, everyone, surely, will agree on the encyclopedic scope of the B-minor Mass and acknowledge that it contains multitudes. It displays, after all—in exemplary form—just about every style, genre, and national tradition of musical composition found in Mass settings during the composer’s lifetime.

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Bach’s interest in and fascination with Latin church music and the stile antico in his last decades—a topic increasingly investigated nowadays8—is a bit analogous to Richard Strauss’s obsession with the eighteenth century, an obsession he carried throughout his life but increasingly so in his last years.9 Both cases can be understood, among other things, as symptomatic of a withdrawal from, an escape from, the realities of the contemporary scene into the past: Strauss’s attempt—along with purely aesthetic considerations (his rejection, for example, of the direction of the Second Viennese School)—to ignore the Nazi barbarism that had enveloped his world, Bach’s rejection of the encroaching attitude of the Enlightenment threatening to topple the pillars of his world: namely, the centrality of music and religion. Much like Strauss, Bach, too, after 1736 (as mentioned earlier), increasingly lived in a form of self-imposed interior exile in Leipzig. To some extent, then, Bach’s late-period Latin works might also attest—like Beethoven perhaps, after all—to an attitude of defiance. Unlike Strauss’s infatuation with the eighteenth century, however, Bach’s engagement with Latin church music and the stile antico was not just—or perhaps even primarily—an escapist retreat into the past. In contrast to his earlier German cantata and Passion settings, which are personal and dramatic—focused on the subjective believer and his god—his late Latin settings are supra-personal. It is one thing, as in the Passions, to dramatically depict the suffering on the cross—along with the events leading up to it—and to empathize with the reaction of the witnesses to it. It is another thing, as in the Mass, to declare that you believe—as a matter of doctrine—in the incarnation, the crucifixion, and the resurrection. The affirmative character of the Mass, then, proclaims a confident serenity, which suggests in turn that its composer has moved beyond the personal, subjective ego struggle. As Robin Leaver puts it, “For Bach, the shift in emphasis from German to Latin was momentous. . . . [H]is perspective changed from the homiletical to the liturgical. Cantatas . . . originally conceived as sermons . . . were reworked to become liturgical prayers and praises directed to God.”10 There is another way to regard the Mass: namely, as part of the encyclopedic project that increasingly occupied Bach in his last decades—an enterprise revealed of course not only in the Mass but also in the “Great Eighteen Chorale Preludes,” the Well-Tempered Clavier, the “Goldberg” Variations, the Musical Offering, and the Art of Fugue. But is this encyclopedic project, paradoxically, not, at least to some degree, a precocious manifestation of something quite modern—namely, the spirit of the Enlightenment as it is demonstrated in Denis Diderot’s Encyclopédie—a work, after all, that began to appear in 1751, i.e., shortly after Bach’s death? One is tempted, however—and not simply in order to be contrarian—to advocate for the “de-contextualizing” of the Mass in B-minor. Bach’s opus



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ultimum extends the historical frame of reference he first systematically explored in the 1730s both forward and backward: now embracing Gregorian chant on the one end and, on the other, a post-modern, speculative harmonic vocabulary beyond the known limits of his time. This futuristic thrust becomes manifest in the final measures of the “Confiteor”—along with the “Et incarnatus,” the only sections of the Mass almost certain to have been newly composed at the end of his life. Whereas the “Et incarnatus,” in the words of Christoph Wolff, is “highly modern . . . with its Pergolesi-esque leanings and its harmonic and contrapuntal audacities,”11 in the transition to the “et expecto resurrectionem,” Bach ventures into a disorienting, hitherto unexplored musical world—not explored, that is, since the “harmonic audacities” of Carlo Gesualdo. The passage explores and exploits ambiguous chromatic and enharmonic progressions that verge on the post-tonal. This is Bach the Futurist, the Visionary: the unmoored harmonic groping, the “triadic atonality” (to borrow a term employed by Edward Lowinsky to describe the wilder music of Gesualdo12) seeking clarity and light. The notoriously heavily corrected autograph score—virtually indecipherable at times—reveals that the passage, even at a quite late stage in its genesis, posed unprecedented difficulties to the composer.13 The harmonic language here leapfrogs decades, even generations, into the future of music history, bypassing the modern, i.e., contemporary, language and conventions of his own time and even those of his sons’ generation. It has moved beyond Progressive, or even Radical. Yet at the same time such visionary speculation—musica speculativa—reveals, paradoxically, a medieval mindset, at least as much as a radical/revolutionary one. Perhaps we should just call it “timeless.” NOTES 1.  Theodor W. Adorno, Gesammelte Schriften, 17: Musikalische Schriften 4: Moments musicaux. Neugedruckte Aufsätze 1928–1962 (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1982), 13–17, 145–61. Translated into English as “Late Style in Beethoven” and “Alienated Masterpiece: The Missa Solemnis,” in Theodor W. Adorno, Essays on Music: Selected, with Introduction, Commentary, and Notes by Richard Leppert, New Translations by Susan H. Gillespie (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 564–68, 569–83. 2.  Edward W. Said, On Late Style: Music and Literature Against the Grain (New York: Random House, 2006), 12, 91. 3. Said, On Late Style, 6, 7. 4. Said, On Late Style, 16, 17. 5.  Ernest D. May, “Bach’s Mass in B minor in the Age of Globalization,” essay published in the program booklet, UMass Amherst Bach Festival & Symposium April

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2017, 14–19. The Nägeli announcement appears in Hans T. David, Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds., The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998), 506–7. May’s essay contains a cogent overview of the known and presumed models for the individual movements of the Mass. 6.  In a private communication, the broadcaster Christopher Lydon informed me that Smith maintained during an interview in the late 1990s on the Boston-area radio program “The Connection” (WBUR), that the Matthew Passion “was the greatest of all human accomplishments, individual or collective—in effect ‘greater than the pyramids, greater than The Brothers Karamazov, greater than baseball or the US Constitution” and that he “invited callers to argue the point. The only close second we seemed to agree on—second on the list of all time human peaks, was the Mass in B minor.” 7.  Lewis Thomas, The Lives of a Cell (New York: Viking, 1974), 45. 8.  See Robin A. Leaver, “Bach’s Mass: ‘Catholic’ or ‘Lutheran’?” in Exploring Bach’s B-minor Mass, eds. Yo Tomita, Robin A. Leaver, and Jan Smaczny (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 21–38; Robin A. Leaver, “Churches,” in The Routledge Research Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach, ed. Robin A. Leaver, 142–90 (London: Routledge, 2017), 189–90; Jeffrey S. Sposato, “Bach, die Messe und der Lutherische Gottesdienst in Leipzig,” in Geistliche Musik und Chortradition im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert—Institutionen, Klangideale und Repertoires im Umbruch, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Bach-Rezeption 6, eds. Anselm Hartinger, Peter Wollny, and Christoph Wolff, 99–119 (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2017); and Jeffrey S. Sposato, Leipzig After Bach: Church and Concert Life in a German City (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). 9.  Strauss’s late works dominate the discussion in the chapter entitled “Return to the Eighteenth Century” in Said’s On Late Style, the author declaring that “the centrality of Strauss to my investigation of late style is especially acute,” 25. 10.  Leaver, “Churches,” 190. 11.  See Christoph Wolff’s commentary to his facsimile edition, Johann Sebastian Bach Messe in H-Moll, BWV 232 . . . Autograph (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2011), viii. 12. Edward E. Lowinsky, Tonality and Atonality in Sixteenth-Century Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1961), 39. 13.  See Joshua Rifkin, “Eine schwierige Stelle in der h-Moll-Messe,” in Bach in Leipzig–Bach und Leipzig: Konferenzbericht Leipzig 2000, Leipziger Beiträge zur Bach-Forschung 5, ed. Ulrich Leisinger, 321–31 (Hilsdesheim: Olms-Verlag, 2002).

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adorno, Theodor W. Gesammelte Schriften, 17: Musikalische Schriften 4: Moments musicaux. Niugedruckte Aufsätze 1928–1962. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1982. ———. Essays on Music: Selected, with Introduction, Commentary, and Notes by Richard Leppert, New Translations by Susan H. Gillespie. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002.



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David, Hans T., Arthur Mendel, and Christoph Wolff, eds. The New Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents. Revised edition. New York: W. W. Norton, 1998. Leaver, Robin A. “Bach’s Mass: ‘Catholic’ or ‘Lutheran’?” In Exploring Bach’s B-minor Mass. Edited by Yo Tomita, Robin A. Leaver, and Jan Smaczny, 21–38. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. ———. “Churches.” In The Routledge Research Companion to Johann Sebastian Bach. Edited by Robin A. Leaver, 142–90. London: Routledge, 2017. Lowinsky, Edward E. Tonality and Atonality in Sixteenth-Century Music. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1961. May, Ernest D. “Bach’s Mass in B minor in the Age of Globalization.” In UMass Amherst Bach Festival & Symposium April 2017 (program book), 14–19. Rifkin, Joshua. “Eine schwierige Stelle in der h-Moll-Messe.” In Bach in Leipzig–Bach und Leipzig: Konferenzbericht Leipzig 2000. Leipziger Beiträge zur Bach-Forschung 5. Edited by Ulrich Leisinger, 321–31. Hilsdesheim: Olms-Verlag, 2002. Said, Edward W. On Late Style: Music and Literature Against the Grain. New York: Random House, 2006. Sposato, Jeffrey S. “Bach, die Messe und der Lutherische Gottesdienst in Leipzig.” In Geistliche Musik und Chortradition im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert—Institutionen, Klangideale und Repertoires im Umbruch. Beiträge zur Geschichte der BachRezeption 6. Edited by Anselm Hartinger, Peter Wollny, and Christoph Wolff, 99–119. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2017. ———. Leipzig After Bach: Church and Concert Life in a German City. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. Thomas, Lewis. The Lives of a Cell. New York: Viking, 1974. Wolff, Christoph. Johann Sebastian Bach Messe in H-Moll, BWV 232 . . . Autograph. Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2011.

General Index

Adorno, Theodor W., 298–99 Agricola, Johann Friedrich, 121, 227 Ahle, Johann Georg, 3–5, 8–17, 21n38 Ahle, Johann Rudolph, 3, 8–9, 15, 20n23, 191 Albrecht, Georg, 92, 93 Allanbrook, Wye J., 162 Altbachisches Archiv, 264, 272–74, 275n9, 278n35 Altnickol, Johann Christoph, 209, 227– 28, 236n10 American Bach Society, xvii, xxi andächtige Musique, 111, 187–92, 195, 200n47 Aufrichtige Anleitung (Inventions and Sinfonias). See BWV 772–86 and BWV 787–801 Augsburg Confession, 237n3 Augustine, Confessions, 195 Aulén, Gustav, 23, 25, 34 Axmacher, Elke, 252, 253

marriage), 121, 261–74, 274n2, 275n8, 275n12, 276n21, 277n25, 277n27–35; BR-CPEB F 14, Lasset uns ablegen die Werke der Finsternis, 265, 271, 277n29; BR-CPEB F 18, Es erhub sich ein Streit, 268, 276n21; BR-CPEB F 21, Wenn Christus seine Kirche schützt, 272, 277n33; BR-CPEB F 24.2, 273; BR-CPEB F 24.3, 273; BR-CPEB F 28, Herr, deine Augen sehen nach dem Glauben, 270, 277n28; BR-CPEB H 60, “Helft mir Gotts Güte preisen,” 270; BR-CPEB H-Inc 2, “Befiehl du deine Wege,” 270, 277n27; H 782 Matthew Passion (1769), 266; H 785 John Passion (1772), 267; H 818 (BR-CPEB F 24.1), Der Gerechte, 273, 278n35; H 821a, Einführungsmusik Palm, 268; H 821g, Einführungsmusik Friderici, 269; Wq 217, Double-choir Heilig, 268–69, 272, 276n21; Wq 218 (BR-CPEB E 3), Single-choir Heilig, 269, 277n25–26; Wq 221, “Mein Heiland, meine Zuversicht,” 270; Wq 233, Passions-Cantate, 263, 266; Wq 238, Die Israeliten in der Wüste, 263, 266; Wq 240, Die Auferstehung

Bach, Anna Carolina Philippina (1747– 1804; daughter of C. P. E. Bach), 265 Bach, Anna Magdalena (second wife of J. S. Bach), 226 Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel (1714–88; son of J. S. Bach from his first 305

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und Himmelfahrt Jesu, 263, 266, 275n6; Wq 242 (BR-CPEB F 9), Jauchzet, frohlocket, 268; Wq 244 (BR-CPEB F 5), Gott hat den Herrn auferwecket, 266, 276n18; Wq 246 (BR-CPEB F 22), Der Frevler mag die Wahrheit schmähn, 272, 278n34; Wq. 249, Auf, schicke dich, 266; Bach, Georg Christoph (1642–97; uncle of J. S. Bach), 265 Bach, Heinrich (1615–92; father of Johann Christoph Bach; great uncle of J. S. Bach), 273 Bach, Johann Bernhard (1676–1749; second cousin of J. S. Bach), 264– 65, 275n8 Bach, Johann Christian (1735–82; son of J. S. Bach from his second marriage), 264–65, 275n8 Bach, Johann Christoph (1642–1703; son of Heinrich Bach; first cousin of J. S. Bach once removed), 262, 265, 272–73, 278n35 Bach, Johann Christoph Friedrich (1732–95; son of J. S. Bach from his second marriage), 262, 264–66, 271–74, 277n31–33 Bach, Johann Elias, 238n19 Bach, Johann Michael (1648–94; son of Heinrich Bach; brother of Johann Christoph Bach; first cousin once removed and father-in-law of J. S. Bach from his first marriage), 265 Bach, Johann Sebastian. See Index of Bach’s Works Bach, Johanna Maria (1724–95; wife of C. P. E. Bach), 265 Bach, Wilhelm Friedemann (1710–84; son of J. S. Bach from his first marriage), 191, 226, 228, 262, 264, 266, 271, 274, 277n29–30 Bach Aria Group, 294–95 Bach-Archiv (Leipzig), 104, 225, 297 Bach-Gesamt-Ausgabe, 103, 104

Bach-Jahrbuch, 104, 105 Bach-Repertorium thematic catalogue of works of C. P. E. Bach (BR-CPEB), 266 Bach-Repertorium thematic catalogue of works of J. C. F. Bach (BR-JCFB), 266 Bach-Repertorium thematic catalogue of works of W. F. Bach (BR-WFB), 266 Bachsche Auction, 265 Bangert, Mark, 69 baptism, 56, 80, 91 bassetchen, 35, 40, 43–44, 49n29, 168 bassetto. See bassetchen Beethoven, Ludwig van, 229, 281, 283, 297–98, 300; Hammerklavier Sonata, Op. 106, 298; Missa Solemnis, Op. 123, 298–99; Symphony No. 9, Op. 125, 283 Behm, Martin, 92 Benda, Franz, 265 Benda, Georg, 261, 265, 268, 272–74, 275n12, 276n21 Berlin, 108, 115, 265, 267–68, 298 Bernhard, Christoph, 130 Bethlehem Bach Festival, 290 Bible: Genesis 3, 25–27; Genesis 4, 78, 97n29; Exodus 12, 81, 88–90, 91, 93; Exodus 15, 188; Exodus 24, 79, 81; Exodus 29, 79; Leviticus, 79; Leviticus 16, 79–80, 95n14; Numbers, 79; Numbers 19, 79, 82; Deuteronomy 1, 4; Judges 7, 4–5; II Samuel 5, 5; I Chronicles 5, 110–11; I Chronicles 26, 188, 190; I Chronicles 29, 188; II Chronicles 5, 110–11, 188, 190; II Chronicles 5–7, 114; II Chronicles 6, 171; Psalms, 14, 16, 17, 18, 111, 190–91; Psalm 2, 92; Psalm 14, 14; Psalm 16, 92; Psalm 22, 92–93; Psalm 31, 253; Psalm 45, 92; Psalm 51, 81, 82–84; Psalm 61, 7; Psalm 69,



General Index 307

87; Psalm 72, 92; Psalm 73, 190; Psalm 74, 7–8; Psalm 91, 12, 89; Psalm 110, 92; Psalm 115, 17; Psalm 136, 188; Isaiah 1, 14; Isaiah 9, 89; Isaiah 21, 14–15; Isaiah 49, 89, 93; Isaiah 53, 93, 96n18, 246; Jeremiah 14, 14; Jeremiah 30, 14; Ezekiel 9, 88–89, 93; Ezekiel 13, 87; Daniel 2, 7; Daniel 12, xxiv–xxv; Micah 7, 14; Malachi 3, 92, 93; Sirach 50, 9; Matthew, 251, 252; Matthew 21, 157; Matthew 23, 47; Matthew 26–27, 75, 79–80, 84, 245–55; Matthew 26, 81, 97n32, 161; Matthew 27, 93, 155; Mark, 53; Mark 14, 96n17; Mark 16, 54; Luke, 53; Luke 1, 122–23; Luke 2, 23; Luke 10, 86, 87, 93, 98n40; Luke 14, 145; Luke 24, 54; John, 23, 25, 26, 27, 31, 32, 34, 36, 38, 39–46, 46n9, 47n18, 52–53, 251; John 1, 23–24, 30–31, 39–40, 84, 90, 92; John 5, 60; John 10, 40, 54, 85–87, 89, 90, 91, 93; John 12, 23; John 14–17, 53; John 14, 14; John 15, 54; John 16, 23, 52, 54, 56–63, 67, 71n32; John 19, 77, 93; John 20, 54; John 21, 24; Romans 8, 32; Romans 13, 5, 8; Philippians 3, 60; Philippians 4, 86, 87, 93; Colossians 2, 87; Hebrews 9, 80, 82; Hebrews 10, 90; Hebrews 11, 89–90; Hebrews 12, 78, 88; I Peter 1, 80, 81–82, 90, 96n19; I John, 25, 36, 47n18; I John 1, 24, 77, 80, 84, 16, 91, 97n29; I John 2, 24, 41, 80; I John 3, 23, 24, 28–30, 39–42; I John 5, 23; Revelation 3, 86, 87; Revelation 7, 88, 89; Revelation 14, 88; Revelation 22, 88 Bielfeldt, Dennis, 56 Bitter, C. H., 107 blood of Jesus. See Jesus; blood of Blume, Friedrich, 107 Blumrodt, Johann Georg, 4 Botwinick, Sara, 19n18

BR-CPEB. See Bach-Repertorium thematic catalogue of works by C. P. E. Bach BR-JCFB. See Bach-Repertorium thematic catalogue of works by J. C. F. Bach BR-WFB. See Bach-Repertorium thematic catalogue of works by W. F. Bach Brahms, Johannes, 282, 284–85 Brechnung, 67, 159 Brockes Passion, 248, 249 Buchholtz, Rudolf Dietrich, 268 Burmeister, Joachim, 130 Butler, Gregory, 229 Butt, John 140–41, 148n8–9, 149n10 Calov, Abraham, 58–59, 60, 188–89; Deutsche Bibel, 58–59, 76, 77, 79–80, 82, 84, 87–90, 91, 95n14, 96n20, 110–11, 188–89 cantata, 3–69, 103, 105, 108, 111, 112, 113, 114, 117n20, 122, 139–47, 155, 167, 169–73, 178, 185, 186–87, 191–92, 193, 194, 195, 207, 208, 209, 215, 216, 225, 245–46, 247–48, 254–55, 263–66, 268, 270, 272–74, 290, 293, 300 canon, xxv, 228, 238n18, 264, 291 Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works (CPEB:CW), 261–67, 269–74, 275n7–8, 278n37; Chafe, Eric, 52–53, 221–22 chant, 178, 177, 190, 251, 301 Chemnitz, Martin, 47n11 chorale, 9, 14, 18, 25–26, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37–39, 42–45, 55, 63, 68, 75, 76, 84–85, 86, 90, 92, 94n4, 95n13, 110, 111, 112, 141, 142, 143, 160, 162, 168, 172, 173, 177, 187, 189, 190, 194, 215, 230, 236, 245–46, 248, 250, 251, 252–55, 266–73, 275n12, 276n18, 277n27, 277n32, 289, 291, 292 chorale cantata, 111, 143, 194

308

General Index

Christiane Eberhardine, Electress of Saxony, 182, 193 Christmas. See church year, Christmas Christus Victor, 23, 25, 27–28, 29, 33–36, 38, 39, 45 church pews, 246–47, 249, 250 church year, 52, 53, 54, 55, 59, 75, 105, 108, 113, 177, 187, 191, 192, 245, 263, 266; Advent, 24–27, 53, 54, 271, 273, 277n29; First Sunday of Advent, 11, 24, 26–27, 53, 114, 273; Christmas, 23–27, 33, 42, 54, 191, 193, 206, 208, 215, 264, 266; First Day of Christmas, 24–27; Second Day of Christmas, 23–27, 186, 191; Third Day of Christmas, 23–27, 39, 191; New Year’s Day, 11–12, 171, 181, 206, 208–9, 211; Epiphany, 54, 193, 215; Third Sunday after Epiphany, 141, 186; Sunday before Lent (Estomihi), 69n5; Lent, 54, 69n5, 247; Oculi, 69n5; Palm Sunday, 69n5, 114, 251; Maundy Thursday (Last Supper), 53–54, 57, 59, 81, 251, 253; Good Friday, 51, 54, 59, 75, 76, 84, 92, 193, 245–55; Easter season (Eastertide), 46n9, 51–55, 56, 69, 69n5; Easter, 23, 25, 26, 27, 33, 46n9, 52, 53, 54, 59, 69n5, 170, 171, 181, 208, 264, 266, 268; Easter Monday, 53, 54, 69n5, 169, 191, 194, 207; Easter Tuesday, 53, 54, 169, 191; First Sunday after Easter (Quasimodogeniti), 53, 54, 69n5, 186; Second Sunday after Easter (Misericordias Domini), 54, 207; Third Sunday after Easter (Jubilate), 53, 54, 55, 56–63, 68–69, 69n5; Fourth Sunday after Easter (Cantate), 54, 71n32, 141; Fifth Sunday after Easter (Rogate), 54; Ascension, 53, 54, 59, 60, 141, 277n32; Sunday after Ascension (Exaudi), 54; Pentecost, 23, 26, 32, 33, 46n9, 51, 52, 53, 54,

169, 170–71, 264, 265, 271, 274, 277n29; Trinity Sunday, 52; First Sunday after Trinity, 141, 143; Fifth Sunday after Trinity, 194; Sixth Sunday after Trinity, 194; Seventh Sunday after Trinity, 186; Eighth Sunday after Trinity, 186; Tenth Sunday after Trinity, 141, 186, 270; Eleventh Sunday after Trinity, 186; Twelfth Sunday after Trinity, 194; Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity, 187; Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity, 186; Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity, 273; Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity, 141, 145; Twenty-Seventh Sunday after Trinity, 194; John the Baptist, 141, 171–73; Visitation of Mary, 122, 194; Michaelmas, 181, 264, 265, 268, 271–72, 274 Clavierbüchlein for Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, 226 Clavierübung, 236n3, 229 concerto, 129, 139, 140, 143, 149n15, 229, 261, 264–65, 291, 292–93 Concerto-aria cantata, 10, 12, 13, 16, 17 copyists, 13, 75, 94n3, 105, 182, 209, 225, 238n24, 269 Corelli, Arcangelo, 281 Cöthen. See Köthen CPEB:CW. See Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works Cranach, Lucas, Elder and Younger, 84; Weimar Stadtkirche triptych, 84, 97n28 cross motif, 231–35, 238n25, 238n27 Crüger, Johann, 9 da capo aria, 64, 141–45, 150n19, 207, 207 Dadelsen, Georg von, 115n2, 229 Debussy, Claude, 285 Dedekind, Constantin Christian, 191 Dibelius, Martin 116–17n20 Diderot, Denis, 300 Dieffenbach, Jennifer, 53



General Index 309

Dirksen, Pieter, 209, 211, 213n18, 213n25 Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, 284 Dresden, 20n25, 180–185, 187, 191, 193, 194, 196n3, 198n17, 198n25, 205, 208, 209–12, 213n16, 213n18, 213n24, 249, 253, 298 Dreyfus, Laurence, 131, 135n30, 139– 41, 147, 148n7, 148–49n9, 150n20 Dürr, Alfred, 17, 25, 47n13, 103–15, 115n10, 116n15, 117n23, 206, 207, 209; The Cantatas of J. S. Bach, 112–13, 117n21 Easter. See church year, Easter Einführungsmusik (installation cantata), 141, 263, 266, 273, 275n6–7 en-bloc parody, 168–71, 173–74 Enlightenment, 106–9, 300 Entwurff, 183–85, 187, 188, 192, 194–5 Erasmus, Desiderius, 130–32 Ernesti, Johann August, 184 eschatology, 27, 37, 38–46, 111 Eschenbergen, 13, 14 Eucharist, 91, 111, 245, 246, 247 Farlau, Johann Christoph, 237n10 Fasch, Carl Friedrich Christian, 265, 270 Fasch, Johann Friedrich, 192, 265 Figurenlehre. See rhetoric, musical figures Finscher, Ludwig, 109, 217, 219, 221 Fischer, Johann Caspar Ferdinand, 228 flauto piccolo, 64, 65, 68 Fleckeisen, Gottfried Benjamin, 198n26, 228 Förster, Christoph, 262, 265 Forkel, Johann Nikolaus, 208–9 Franck, Johann Wolfgang, 192 Franck, Salomo, 168, 192 Frankfurt, 4, 181, 247–49 Franklin, Don O., xvii, xxi, xxiii–xxv, 58, 115, 116n18, 222n1, 227, 252, 253

French Overture, 114, 291 French Revolution, 283 Frick, Christoph, 189 Friedrich Augustus I, Elector of Saxony [August II of Poland], 178, 180, 181, 188 Friedrich Augustus II, Elector of Saxony [August III of Poland], 178, 180, 209 Friedrich Christian, Prince of Saxony, 217 Frohne, Johann Adolph, 4–8, 15 fugue/fugal, 29–30, 42, 64, 226–27, 228, 230–31, 232–35, 240n34, 264, 269, 289, 291, 292, 293, 299 Gabrieli, Giovanni, 281 galant style, 220–22 gebundener Stil (bound style), 154 Gellert, Christian Fürchtegott, 272 Gerber, Christian, 248, 250, 251 Gerhardt, Paul, 63, 68, 253, 257n27; chorale, “Barmherzger Vater, höchster Gott,” 63, 68; chorale, “Befiehl du Deine Wege,” 257n27; chorale, “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden,” 252–53, 255; chorale, “O Welt, sieh hier dein Leben,” 252–53 Gershwin, George, 250 Gesellschaft für Musikforschung (Leipzig), 106 Gesius, Bartholomäus, 177 Gesualdo, Carlo, 301 Glöckner, Andreas, 17, 124 Good Friday. See church year, Good Friday; Vespers, Good Friday Gospel reading (in liturgy), 23, 24, 26, 39, 46n9, 47n17, 52–61, 63, 67, 68, 69n8, 71n32, 113, 145, 170, 187, 251 Gotha, 13 Göttingen, 104, 115n2 Gottsched, Johann Christoph, 183 Gräfe, Johann Ludwig, 10, 11 Graun, Carl Heinrich, 261, 265 Graun, Johann Gottlieb, 261, 265

310

General Index

Griepenkerl, Friedrich Konrad, 209 Großfahner, 13 Halle, 191, 207 Hamburg, 189, 197n14, 247, 249, 261– 62, 264, 265, 268–73, 275n7, 276n18 Hammerschmidt, Andreas, 191 Handel, George Frideric, 33, 287, 290 Hasse, Johann Adolph, 180, 265 Haßler, Hans Leo, 177 Hauptgottesdienst, 245–46, 247 Heinichen, Johann David, 180, 182 Helbig, Johann Friedrich, 192 Heller, Wendy, 125, 128–29, 133n11 Helm, E. Eugene, 266 Henrici, Christian Friedrich. See Picander Herberger, Valerius, 92–93, 100n60 “Herzliebster Jesu” (chorale), 252–53 Hildebrandt, Zacharias, 171 Homilius, Gottfried August, 261, 265, 267, 274 Hunold, Christian Friedrich, 170, 207, 213n26 hymn. See chorale hymnal, 83, 95n13, 99n53, 167, 247, 253 Impressionism, 285 installation cantata. See Einführungsmusik and Ratsstück Internationale Bachgesellschaft Schaffhausen, 107 Internationalen Arbeitsgemeinschaft für theologische Bachforschung, 108 invention, musical, 121–22, 132, 139, 149n9, 189 jazz, 250, 289 Jena, 9 Jesus: birth of, 54. See also church year, Christmas; blood of, 32, 76–85, 88–93, 95n10; cross/crucifixion/ death/passion of, 23, 32, 34, 36, 51–60, 64–65, 68–69, 77, 78,

79, 83, 84, 90, 93, 107, 154–57, 159–62, 231, 233, 234–36, 245–55, 300. See also church year, Good Friday; divinity of, 28, 31–32; Good Shepherd, 54, 85, 87, 90, 91, 92, 100n59; incarnation of, 24–36, 39, 40, 41, 45, 47n18, 300; Lamb of God, 80, 84, 88, 90, 81, 178; Last Supper, 53–54, 57, 59, 81, 251, 253. See also church year, Maundy Thursday; resurrection of, 51–60, 61, 64–65, 68–69, 93, 300. See also church year, Easter. Johann-Sebastian-Bach-Institut (Göttingen), 104, 115n2 Jommeli, Niccolò, 182 Käfer, Johann Philipp, 192 Kant, Immanuel, 106 Kindermann, Johann Erasmus, 191 Kirnberger, Johann Philipp, 227, 238n12 Knüpfer, Sebastian, 181, 198n25 Kobayashi, Yoshitake, 226–27, 238n18 Koch, Johann Wilhelm, 238n19 Kolb, Robert, 56 Köthen, 142–43, 168, 169, 170, 171, 180, 181, 205–12, 213n18 Kramer, Richard, 274 Krause, Gottfried Theodor, 184 Kuhnau, Johann, 124, 134n26, 134n28, 180, 181, 183, 185, 197n14, 248, 249 lament bass, 65, 154 Lange, Gottfried, 181, 249 Leaver, Robin A., 245, 300 Lehms, Georg Christian, 168 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 106 Leipzig, 23, 24, 51, 52, 55, 60, 77, 92, 103–08, 114, 122, 124, 133n9, 134n26, 141–43, 169–71, 177, 180–84, 187–88, 190, 192, 195, 198n25, 205–6, 208, 211, 226, 227, 245–51, 265, 271, 298, 300;



General Index 311

Bachfest, 103; Collegium Musicum, 250; New Church, 249, 250; Nicolaikirche, 247, 249, 250, 251; opera, 248–51; Thomasschule, 181, 184; Thomaskirche, 76, 77, 78, 79, 190, 198n25, 237n3, 247, 249, 250, 251; town council, 141, 181, 183–85, 198n25–26, 249 Leipziger Kirchen-Staat, 55 Leisinger, Ulrich, 263, 272, 273 Leopold, Emperor, 11 Leopold, prince of Anhalt-Cöthen, 168– 70, 180, 205–06, 209, 211–12 liturgical year. See church year Lotti, Antonio, 182, 209–10, 213n23 Lowinsky, Edward E., 301 Luther, Martin, 25, 42, 43, 51–52, 55–58, 59, 60–61, 63, 68, 69n8, 77, 78–84, 88, 89, 92, 111, 117n20, 133n11, 177, 236n3; Bible translation, 168; chorale, “Christ lag in Todesbanden,” 90, 99n53; chorale, “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott,” 272; chorale, “Gelobet seist du, Jesu Christ,” 42; Haus-Postille, 57, 58, 61; Heidelberg Disputation, 51–52, 55–56; Kirchen-Postille, 57, 68–69; on the Magnificat, 123, 128–29; on the “theology of the cross, 51–52, 53, 55–58, 68–69 Lutheran/Lutheranism, 5, 26, 28, 41, 45, 51–53, 55, 60–61, 69, 75, 76, 78, 79, 84, 87, 90–91, 92, 95n12, 107, 110–12, 150, 181, 182, 189, 190, 191, 251, 298 Lydon, Christopher, 302n6 Magnificat (genre), 122–24, 134n26, 134n28, 225, 264 Mancini, Francesco, 182 Mann, Alfred, 216 Marshall, Robert, 123–24, 216, 220–21 Marx, Adolph Bernhard, 167 Marxism, 106–7, 109 Mass, 182, 225, 264

Mattheson, Johann, 121–22, 130, 153, 159, 189, 228, 230, 234 Maul, Michael, 237n12 May, Ernest D., 299 McClary, Susan, xviii Meckbach, Conrad, 15 Melamed, Daniel R., 134n20, 250 Mendelssohn, Felix, 288 Meyer, Ernst Hermann, 106 Meyer, Ulrich, 124–25, 126 Michel, Johann Heinrich, 269, 277n25 Michaelmas. See church year, Michaelmas “Michaels Sieg,” see BR-JCFB F 4 mixed works. See vermischte Stücke Möller, Hans-Jürgen, 217–18 Monteverdi, Claudio, 281 motet, 42, 64, 246, 265, 273, 274, 278n35, 291 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 281, 283, 287 Mühlhausen, 3–11, 15, 16–18, 195 Nachlaß-Verzeichiß. See Verzeichniß des musikalischen Nachlasses des verstorbenen Capellmeisters Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach Nägeli, Hans, 299, 302n5 Nationalism, 285 Neue Bach-Ausgabe, xx, 103, 104, 105, 108, 112, 178, 208, 240, 269 Neue Bachgesellschaft, xvii, 104 Neumann, Werner, 103, 209, 216 Neumeister, Erdmann, 168, 192 Nijmegen, treatise of, 11 NV 1790. See Verzeichniß des musikalischen Nachlasses des verstorbenen Capellmeisters Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach obbligato, 209, 211, 293 “O Lamm Gottes unschuldig” (chorale), 75, 76–79, 80, 94n5, 252 Olearius, Johann, 58, 59–60, 84, 85, 87, 89, 90, 91, 97n25, 97n29, 252;

312

General Index

Biblische Erklärung, 59–60, 111; Evangelischer Glaubens-Sieg, 59–60 opera, 209–10, 247, 248–51, 255, 287, 288, 290 oratorio, 44, 215, 216, 261, 263, 264, 266 ouverture, 213n24, 264–65 Packard Humanities Institute, 261 Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da, 290 parody, 167–241; en-bloc, 168–71, 173– 74; technique, 216–17, 221–22 passion (genre), viii, 51–52, 53, 55, 69, 107, 140, 141, 192, 245–55, 255n3, 256n14, 261, 263, 264, 266, 267, 273–74, 297, 298, 300 pasticcio, 262–63, 266, 267, 268, 269, 272, 273 Pentecost. See church year, Pentecost Petzoldt, Martin, 58, 114–15, 167, 254 Pauli, Gottfried Albert, 189–90 Pergolesi, Giovanni Battista, 301 Picander (Christian Friedrich Henrici), 155–56, 161, 168, 172, 216, 251–52, 253, 255 Pieck, Wilhelm, 106 pietà, 161 Pietism (Lutheran), 112, 248, 250–51 Pitschel, Theodor Leberecht, 235 Poelchau, Georg, 270, 277n26 Praetorius, Michael, 177 prelude, 194, 226, 230, 231, 232, 236, 239n23, 264, 289 printing (music), 3, 4, 9, 11–13, 14, 15, 16, 75, 226, 229, 236 Quartalstück (quarterly cantata), 263, 266, 267–68, 270, 271–74 Rambach, Johann Jacob: Betrachtungen über den Rath Gottes von der Seeligkeit der Menschen, 28, 47n11; Seligkeit der Gläubigen in der Zeit und in der Ewigkeit, 40–42, 44–45 Ratsstück, 3, 11–12, 16–17, 141

Rausch, Gottfried, 182 rhetoric, 109, 121–22, 130–32, 135n30, 135n35, 218, 232, 234, 238n16, 239n25; Figurenlehre, 217–18; musical figures, 153–54, 156–57 Rifkin, Joshua, 178, 207 Rinckart, Martin, 9 ripieno, 9–10, 13–14, 76, 78, 80, 94n4, 207, 208, 210–11, 212n12, 213n25 Rist, Johann, 143 ritornello, 9–13, 30, 44, 63–64, 65, 66–68, 123–27, 130, 139, 142–47, 148n7, 150n20, 207; Epilog, 140, 143–44, 146–47; Fortspinnung, 140, 146; Vordersatz, 140, 143–46 Romanticism, xx, 107, 283–85, 288, 290, 298 Rosen, Charles, 221 Rost, Johann Christoph, 77 Said, Edward, 298–99 Sarri, Domenico, 182 Scarlatti, Alessandro, 281 Schaffhausen, 107 Scheibe, Johann, 205, 206 Scheibe, Johann Adolph, 184–85, 251 Scheibel, Gottfried Ephraim, 173, 248–49 Scheide Library (Princeton University), 294 Schein, Johann Heinrich, 198n25 Schelle, Johann, 124, 134n26–28, 181, 183, 185 Schemelli, George Christian, 253 Schmidt, Johann, 5–8, 15 Schniebes, Gottlieb Friedrich, 262 Schubert, Franz, 283 Schumann, Robert, 288 Schütz, Heinrich, 298 Schulze, Hans-Joachim, 15, 182, 213n15, 215, 216 Schweitzer, Albert, 167, 294 Selnecker, Nikolaus, 190–91 serenata, 206–9, 211–12



General Index 313

sermon, 3, 4–8, 15, 16, 28, 40–42, 44, 52, 53, 55, 56–58, 60, 61, 68, 189, 245–46, 247, 254, 300 Sibelius, Jean, 282 sinfonia, 207–8, 209–11, 213n16, 264–65 Smith, Craig, 299 Smith, Tim, 239n34 Söderblom, Nathan, 107 sonata, 14, 264 Spitta, Philipp, 17, 105, 107, 150n20, 216, 228, 236, 239n25 Stadtpfeifer, Stadtgeiger, 184, 198n25 Starckloff, Christian, 13 Stauber, Johann Lorenz, 17 stile antico, 300 Stiller, Günther, 108, 245 Stölzel, Gottfried Heinrich, 262, 267 Störmthal, 114, 171 Strauss, Richard, 282, 300, 302n9 Straßburg, 5–6, 7, 15 Strecker, Adolph, 6–7, 16 suite, 264, 293 Tchaikovsky, Pyotr Ilyich, 282, 285, 288 Telemann, Georg Philipp, 197n14, 248, 249–50, 262, 265, 268, 273, 275n12, 276n18; Brockes Passion, 248, 249; John Passion (1745), 267; Einführungsmusiken by, 275n7 Terry, Charles Sanford, 124 text booklet (printed), 249, 251–52, 255 theology of the cross. See Luther, Martin; on the theology of the cross Thomas, Lewis, 299 Tomita, Yo, 297 trio, 264–65 trumpet, 11, 17, 42, 47n16, 66–67, 68, 123, 124, 128–30, 157, 188, 190, 198n25, 269, 271, 272 unio mystica, 163n12, 219 Uppsala Cathedral, 107

Varwig, Bettina, 130–31, 149n9 vermischte Stücke, 264, 270, 272 Verzeichniß des musikalischen Nachlasses des verstorbenen Capellmeisters Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (Nachlaß-Verzeichnis; NV 1790), 262–68, 270, 272–73, 274n3, 275n7, 275n9, 275n11, 276n22, 276n24, 277n28–29, 277n31, 277n33, 278n34–35 Vespers, 122, 245–46, 255n3; Good Friday Vespers, 51, 245–55, 255n3 Vetter, Daniel, 206 Vischer, Christoph, 91, 92 Visitation of Mary. See church year, Visitation of Mary Vivaldi, Antonio, 134n38, 139 Vockerodt, Johann Arnold, 15, 16 Vokaleinbau, 127–28, 132, 143 von Greiffenberg, Catharina Regina, 78–79, 95n12 von Ziegler, Christiane Mariane, 52, 60–63, 65, 68 Vopelius, Gottfried, 253 Vox Christi, 61 Wagner, Richard, 284–85, 288, 290, 292, 298, 308; Gesamtkunstwerk, 284; Die Meistersinger von Nünberg, 290, 298; Parsifal, 298 Walther, Johann Gottfried, 195 Wedemann, Regina, 17 Weimar, 17, 24, 25, 26, 69n5, 84, 97n27, 114, 186, 195, 205–6, 239n23, 299 Werthemann, Helene, 25 Wider, Philipp Ehrenreich, 92 Wolff, Christoph, 75, 139, 142, 149n15, 206, 209, 226, 301 Wollny, Peter, 209, 211, 213n15, 262 Wotquenne, Alfred, 266 Zelenka, Johann Adolf, 180, 182, 228 Zelter, Carl Friedrich, 167

Index of Bach’s Works (by BWV number)

BWV 2, Ach Gott, vom Himmel sieh darein, 112 BWV 4, Christ lag in Todesbanden, 54 BWV 6, Bleib bei uns, denn es will Abend werden, 54, 194 BWV 10, Meine Seel’ erhebt den Herren, 194 BWV 11, Lobet Gott in seinen Reichen (Ascension Oratorio), 44, 54 BWV 12, Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen, 54 BWV 16, Herr Gott, dich loben wir, 270 BWV 17, Wer Dank opfert, der preiset mich,187 BWV 18, Gleichwie der Regen und Schnee vom Himmel fällt, 17 BWV 19, Es erhub sich ein Streit, 268, 274, 276n20 BWV 20, O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort, 114, 141, 143–45, 146–47 BWV 21, Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis, 47n16 BWV 25, Es ist nichts Gesundes an meinem Leibe, 111 BWV 27, Wer weiß, wie nahe mir mein Ende, 209 BWV 29, Wir danken dir, Gott, wir danken dir, 141, 180, 187

BWV 30, Freue dich, erlöste Schar, 141, 171–73 BWV 30a, Angenehmes Wiederau, freue dich in deinen Auen, 172–73 BWV 31, Der Himmel lacht, die Erde jubilieret, 54 BWV 36, Schwingt freudig euch empor, 277n32 BWV 37, Wer da gläubet und getauft wird, 54 BWV 40, Dazu ist erschienen der sohn Gottes, 23–39, 186 BWV 42, Am Abend aber desselbigen Sabbats, 54, 207 BWV 43, Gott fähret auf mit Jauchzen, 54 BWV 44, Sie werden euch in den Bann tun, 54 BWV 46, Schauet doch und sehet, ob irgend ein Schmerz sei, 49n29, 186 BWV 47, Wer sich selbst erhöhet, 141, 143, 145–47 BWV 56, Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen, 111 BWV 61, Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland, 24, 26–27, 114 BWV 63, Christen ätzet diesen Tag, 24–27 315

316

Index of Bach’s Works (by BWV number)

BWV 64, Sehet, welch eine Liebe, 24–27, 39–46 BWV 66a, Der Himmel dacht auf Anhalts Ruhm und Glück, 169, 207, 208, 211 BWV 66, Erfreut euch, ihr Herzen, 54, 169, 207 BWV 67, Halt im Gedächtnis Jesum Christ, 54, 186 BWV 70, Wachet! Betet! Betet! Wachet!, 47n16 BWV 71, Gott ist mein König, 3, 6–8, 16, 17, 28 BWV 72, Alles nur nach Gottes Willen, 186 BWV 74, Wer mich liebet, der wird mein Wort halten, 32 BWV 75, Die Elenden sollen essen, 114 BWV 79, Gott, der Herr, ist Sonn und Schild, 186–87 BWV 85, Ich bin ein guter Hirt, 54 BWV 86, Wahrlich, wahrlich, ich sage euch, 54 BWV 87, Bisher habt ihr nichts gebeten in meinem Namen, 54 BWV 93, Wer nur den lieben Gott läßt walten, 194 BWV 102, Herr, deine Augen sehen nach dem Glauben, 141, 186–87, 270, 274, 277n28 BWV 103, Ihr werdet weinen und heulen, 52, 53, 54, 55, 60–69 BWV 104, Du Hirte Israel, höre, 54 BWV 106, Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit (“Actus Tragicus”), 17 BWV 108, Es ist euch gut, dass ich hingehe, 54, 141 BWV 112, Der Herr ist mein getreuer Hirt, 54 BWV 127, Herr Jesu Christ, wahr’ Mensch und Gott, 47n16 BWV 128, Auf Christi Himmelfahrt allein, 54

BWV 130, Herr Gott, dich loben alle wir, 47n16 BWV 134a, Die Zeit, die Tag und Jahre macht, 169, 170, 208 BWV 134, Ein Herz, das seinen Jesum lebend weiß, 54, 169, 170, 208 BWV 136, Erforsche mich, Gott, und erfahre mein Herz, 186 BWV 137, Lobe den Herren, den mächtigen König der Ehren, 194 BWV 138, Warum betrübt du dich, mein Herz, 112, 186 BWV 140, Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme, 194 BWV 143, Lobe den Herrn, meine Seele, 16, 17 BWV 145, Ich lebe, mein Herze, zu deinem Ergötzen, 54 BWV 146, Wir müssen durch viel Trübsal, 54 BWV 147, Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben, 47n16 BWV 150, Nach dir, Herr, verlanget mich, 15 BWV 156, Ich steh mit einem Fuß im Grabe, 141 BWV 158, Der Friede sei mit dir, 54 BWV 166, Wo gehest du hin?, 54 BWV 173, Erhöhtes Fleisch und Blut, 169–70 BWV 173a, Durchlauchster Leopold, 169–70, 206, 211–12 BWV 178, Wo Gott der Herr nicht bei uns hält, 112 BWV 179, Siehe zu, daß deine Gottesfurcht nicht Heuchelei sei, 186–87 BWV 182, Himmelskönig, sei Willkommen, 17, 114 BWV 183, Sie werden euch in den Bann tun, 54 BWV 184, Erwünschtes Freudenlicht, 169, 170–71 BWV 184a, text lost, 170–71



Index of Bach’s Works (by BWV number) 317

BWV 187, Es wartet alles auf dich, 186–87 BWV 194, Höchsterwünschtes Freudenfest, 114, 171 BWV 194a, text lost, 171 BWV 196, Der Herr denket an uns, 17 BWV Anh. 197, Ihr wallenden Wolken, 208–09, 211 BWV 198, Laß, Fürstin, laß noch einen Strahl, 182–3, 193 BWV 213, Laßt uns sorgen, laßt uns wachen, 193, 215–17 no. 9, “Ich will dich nicht hören,” 215–22 BWV 214, Tönet, ihr Pauken! Erschallet, Trompeten!, 193, 216 BWV 215, Preise dein Glücke, gesegnetes Sachsen, 193, 216 BWV 232I, Missa, 177–79, 180, 182, 185–87, 192, 194–95 BWV 232, B-minor Mass, 177, 230, 269, 276n22, 290, 297–301; “Confiteor,” 301 “Et incarnatus,” 301 “Et resurrexit,” 290 BWV 233, Missa in F major, 29–30, 177–8, 179, 185–87, 192, 194–95 BWV 233a, Kyrie, 186 BWV 234, Missa in A major, 30, 177– 78, 179, 185–87, 192, 194–95 BWV 235, Missa in G minor, 30, 177– 78, 179, 185–87, 192, 194–95 BWV 236, Missa in G major, 30, 177– 78, 179, 185–87, 192, 194–95 BWV 243, Magnificat (D-major version), 121, 123, 133n13, 276n24; “Sicut locutus est,” 269 BWV 243a, Magnificat (E-flat-major version), 133n13, 276n24; “Magnificat,” 121–37 “Sicut locutus est,” 269 BWV 244, Matthew Passion, 32, 51–52, 53, 140, 142, 148–49n9, 149n10,



168, 245–55, 266, 274, 276n15, 297, 300; autograph score, 75 chorales, 252–55 no. 1, “Kommt, ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen,” 75, 76, 77, 78, 80, 88, 94n4, 94n5, 95n11, 157, 252 no. 2, “Da Jesus diese Rede vollendet hatte,” 154 no. 5, “Du lieber Heiland, du,” 153 no. 6, “Buß und Reu,” 153, 154, 156 no. 9b, “Wo willst du, daß wir dir bereiten, das Osterlamm zu essen?,” 81 no. 9e, “Herr, bin ichs?”, 254 no. 10, “Ich bins, ich sollte büssen,” 254 no. 11, “ Er antwortete und sprach,” 81 no. 14, “Und da sie den Lobgesang gesprochen hatten,” 97n32, 154 no. 15, “Erkenne mich, mein Hüter,” 75, 84–85, 86, 90, 92 no. 17, “Ich will hier bei dir stehen,” 75, 84, 85, 86, 87, 97n31 No. 19, “O Schmerz! Hier zittert das gequälte Herz,” 255 no. 20, “Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen,” 157, 160–61, 162 no. 23, “Gerne will ich mich bequemen,” 161 No. 25, “Was mein Gott will, das g’scheh allzeit,” 253 no. 26b, “Sind Blitze, sind Donner,” 252 no. 27a, “So ist mein Jesus nun gefangen,” 154, 156 no. 29a, “Jesum lass ich nicht von mir,” 254 no. 29, “O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde gross,” 254, 255 no. 35, “Geduld,” 154, 156 no. 38c, “Da hub er an,” 154, 161, 252

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no. 39, “Erbarme dich,” 154, 157, 158, 161 no. 40, “Bin ich gleich von dir gewichen,” 161 no. 42, “Gebt mir meinen Jesum wieder” 250 no. 45b, “Laß ihn kreuzigen,” 154, 234 no. 49, “Aus liebe will mein Heiland sterben,” 49n29, 168, 252 no. 50b, “Laß ihn kreuzigen,” 154 no. 56, “Ja freilich will in uns das Fleisch und Blut,” 161 no. 57, “Komm, süßes Kreuz,” 161 no. 61a, “Und von der sechsten Stunde an,” 93, 234–35 no. 62, “Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden,” 255 no. 63a–c, “Und siehe da, der Vorhang im Tempel zerriß in zwei Stück,” 155 no. 64, “Am Abend, da es kühle war,” 155–56, 160 no. 65, “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,” 155 no. 68, “Wir setzen un smit Tränen nieder,” 162 BWV 244a, “Klagt, Kinder, klagt es aller Welt,” 168 BWV 245, John Passion, 32, 36, 46, 47n16, 51–52, 53, 140, 149n10, 267, 276n17, 297, 300 no. 1, “Herr, unser Herrscher,” 231 no. 21d, “Kreuzige, kreuzige!” 232– 34 n. 30, “Es ist vollbracht,” 36 BWV 247, Mark Passion, 155, 192–93 BWV 248, Christmas Oratorio, 26, 43, 192–93, 215–17, 268, 276n19 no. 4, “Bereite dich, Zion,” 215–22 no. 12, “Brich an, o schönes Morgenlicht,” 277n32 no. 59, “Ich steh an deiner Krippen hier,” 267

BWV 248a, lost church cantata (text unknown), 193 BWV 249, Easter Oratorio, 51, 54, 171 BWV 249a, “Entfliehet, verschwindet, entweichet, ihr Sorgen,” 171 BWV 272, “Befiehl du deine Wege,” 270, 277n28 BWV 311, “Es wolle Gott uns gnädig sein,” 268–69 BWV 342, “O süßer Herre Jesus Christ,” 268, 276n18 BWV 419, “Helft mir Gotts Güte preisen,” 270 BWV 540, Toccata and Fugue in F Major, 289 BWV 542, Fantasia and Fugue in G minor, 292 BWV 548, Prelude and Fugue in E minor (“Wedge”), 289 BWV 552, Prelude and Fugue in E-flat Major, 289 BWV 564, Toccata, Adagio, and Fugue in C Major, 292 BWV 599–644, Orgelbüchlein, 226 BWV 645–650, Schübler Chorales, 192, 194 BWV 651–68, Eighteen “Great” Organ Chorales, 300 BWV 664, “Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr,” 230–31 BWV 671, Kyrie, Gott Heiliger Geist (chorale prelude), 289–90 BWV 686, Aus tiefer Noth (chorale prelude), 289 BWV 769, Canonic Variation on “Vom Himmel hoch,” 229 BWV 772–86, Inventions, 226 BW 787–801, Sinfonias, 226 BWV 846–69, Well-Tempered Clavier, Part 1, 226, 297, 300 BWV 849/2, Fugue in C-sharp minor, 240n34 BWV 857/2, Fugue in F minor, 230 BWV 862/1, Prelude in A-flat major, 229



Index of Bach’s Works (by BWV number) 319

BWV 869/2, Fugue in B minor, 230 BWV 870–93, Well-Tempered Clavier, Part 2, 226–37, 297, 300 BWV 870, Prelude and Fugue in C major, 299 BWV 881/2, Fugue in F minor, 230 BWV 885/1, Prelude in G minor, 231 BWV 885/2, Fugue in G minor, 232–33 BWV 886/1, Prelude in A-flat major, 229 BWV 886/2, Fugue in A-flat major, 227 BWV 888/2, Fugue in A major, 230–31 BWV 889/2, Fugue in A minor, 234 BWV 891/1, Prelude in B-flat minor, 234–36 BWV 893/2, Fugue in B minor, 230 BWV 903, Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D minor, 289, 292 BWV 971, Italian Concerto, 289

BWV 988, “Goldberg” Variations, 298, 300 BWV 1004, Partita for Solo Violin in D minor, Chaconne, 289 BWV 1006, Partita in E major for Unaccompanied Violin, 299 BWV 1041, Violin Concerto in A minor, 141–42, 149n15 BWV 1046–1051, Brandenburg Concertos, 293, 297 BWV 1046, Brandenburg Concerto No. 1, 47n16 BWV 1047, Brandenburg Concerto No. 2, 299 BWV 1050a, Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, 209, 210, 211 BWV 1066–1069, Orchestral Suites, 293 BWV 1079, Musical Offering, 298, 300 BWV 1080, Art of Fugue, 300

About the Editors and Contributors

Wye Jamison Allanbrook served on the faculty of St. John’s College, Annapolis, MD, from 1969 to 1995 and of the University of California, Berkeley, from 1995 until her death in 2010. She was elected president of the American Musicological Society in 2003, but had to resign during her first year in office because of the onset of cancer. As a scholar, she is best known for her book Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart: Le Nozze de Figaro and Don Giovanni (University of Chicago Press, 1983), based on her Ph.D. dissertation at Stanford University. At her death, she was writing The Secular Commedia: Comic Mimesis in Late Eighteenth-Century Music, based on her Ernest Bloch Lectures at Berkeley. The monograph, completed by her colleagues, was published in 2014 by the University of California Press. Dr. Allanbrook was recipient of the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship in 1996. Gregory Butler is senior professor of music emeritus at the School of Music, University of British Columbia in Vancouver and past president of the American Bach Society. He is the author of J. S. Bach’s Clavier-Übung III: The Making of a Print and numerous articles on the first editions of Bach’s works. He has also written extensively on Bach’s concertos and a book-length study on the concerted works is presently nearing completion. He is collaborating with his wife, Lynn Edwards Butler, on a study of the Leipzig organs and organ works of Bach. Butler is editor of Bach Perspectives 6: J. S. Bach’s Concerted Ensemble Music, The Ouverture and Bach Perspectives 7: J. S. Bach’s Concerted Ensemble Music, The Concerto and is co-editor of About Bach. Eric Chafe is the Victor and Gwendolyn Beinfield Professor of Music at Brandeis University and specializes in analytical and contextual approaches 321

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About the Editors and Contributors

to works of a wide range of composers, from Claudio Monteverdi to J. S. Bach to Richard Wagner. His 1993 volume Monteverdi’s Tonal Language was winner of the ASCAP Deems Taylor Award and of the American Musicological Society’s Otto Kinkeldey Award. He has published extensively on the sacred vocal works of J. S. Bach, including his two monographs, Tonal Allegory in the Vocal Music of J. S. Bach (1990) and Analyzing Bach Cantatas (2001, winner of the ASCAP Deems Taylor Award). He has received grants from the American Musicological Society and the National Endowment for the Humanities and was also recipient of a National Endowment for the Humanities Fellowship. Chafe has published two recent books on Bach, Bach’s Johannine Theology: The St. John Passion and the Cantatas for Spring 1725 (2014) and Tears into Wine: J. S. Bach’s Cantata 21 in its Musical and Theological Contexts (2015). Jason B. Grant earned his B.A. at Bates College in 1994 with concentrations in organ and music history. From 1994 to 1995 he studied with Harald Vogel at the North German Organ Academy in Bunderhee with a J. William Fulbright scholarship. He did his graduate work in musicology at the University of Pittsburgh, earning his M.A. in 1998 and his Ph.D. in 2005. His dissertation was entitled “The Rise of Lyricism and the Decline of Biblical Narration in the Late Liturgical Passions of Georg Philipp Telemann.” From 2005 to 2006 he was Visiting Assistant Professor at the University of Pittsburgh. In 2006 he joined the Editorial Office of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works (Cambridge, Massachusetts), an editing and publishing project of the Packard Humanities Institute in Los Altos, California. He has served as a contributing editor for several volumes of the edition, including Keyboard Concertos from Manuscript Sources XI, Quartalstücke VI, and Einführungsmusiken II. From 2011 to 2014 he served as the editor of the Newsletter of the Society for Eighteenth-Century Music. In 2012 he received the William H. Scheide prize from the American Bach Society for “Die Herkunft des Chors ‘Triumph! Triumph! Des Herrn Gesalbter sieget’ aus dem Oratorium ‘Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu’ von C. P. E. Bach,” which appeared in Bach-Jahrbuch. His other articles and reviews have appeared in Bach: Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute, Eighteenth-Century Music, and Magdeburger Telemann-Studien. Mary Greer, a musicologist and conductor, specializes in the music of J. S. Bach and his family. Her publications include “The Secret Subscribers to C. P. E. Bach’s Oratorio Die Israeliten in der Wüste: The Masonic Connection,” “‘Denn er ist unser Friede’ [‘For He is our peace’]: The Significance of the Marking ‘Due Chori in unisono’ in the Autograph Score of J. S. Bach’s



About the Editors and Contributors 323

St. Matthew Passion,” “Masonic Allusions in the Dedications of Two Canons by J. S. Bach: BWV 1078 and 1075,” “From the House of Aaron to the House of Johann Sebastian: Old Testament Roots for the Bach Family Tree,” and “Embracing Faith: The Duet as Metaphor in Selected Sacred Cantatas by J. S. Bach.” Her current research centers on the relevance of Bach’s annotations in his personal copy of the Calov Bible Commentary to his sacred vocal works. Greer has launched two Bach cantata series: “Cantatas in Context” (New York City) and “The Bach Experience” (Cambridge, MA). She edited Bach: The Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute in 2012–2013 and 2015–2017. She is a past president of the American Bach Society and currently serves on its Advisory Board. Tanya Kevorkian is an associate professor of history at Millersville University. Her areas of interest include Baroque music history and colonial Pennsylvania. Her first book, Baroque Piety: Religion, Society, and Music in Leipzig, 1650–1750 (Ashgate 2007; Routledge 2017), was awarded the American Bach Society’s 2008 William Scheide prize. Other awards include a National Endowment for the Humanities Fellowship for 2012–2013 and a Summer Faculty Fellowship at the McNeil Center for Early American Studies at the University of Pennsylvania in 2010. Her second book, Weddings, Rumbles, and Tower Guards: Music and Urban Life in Baroque Germany, a broadly comparative, interdisciplinary study of musical life in Augsburg, Erfurt, Gotha, Leipzig, and Munich, is forthcoming with the University of Virginia Press. Among other topics, the book discusses music and timekeeping, town musicians and musical tower guards, and music at wedding banquets. She serves on the Advisory Board of the American Bach Society. Robin A. Leaver is Emeritus Professor of Sacred Music at Westminster Choir College, where he taught for almost twenty-five years. He is currently Visiting Professor at the Juilliard School in New York City, Yale University, and Queen’s University, Belfast, Northern Ireland. He is a past president of both the Internationale Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Hymnologie and the American Bach Society. An internationally recognized hymnologist, musicologist, liturgiologist, Bach scholar, and Reformation specialist, Leaver has written numerous books and articles in the cross-disciplinary areas of liturgy, church music, theology, and hymnology, published in four continents. He has made significant contributions to Luther, Schütz, and Bach studies, and authored articles for many reference works. Leaver has written the program notes for the Bach choir of Bethlehem for the past twenty-five years, has authored or edited four books on Bach, and contributed chapters to such collected studies as The Cambridge Bach Companion (Cambridge University Press, 1998), Die

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About the Editors and Contributors

Quellen Johann Sebastian Bachs: Bachs Musik in Gottesdienst (Manutius Verlag, 1998), Oxford Composer Companions: J. S. Bach (Oxford University Press, 1999), and The Worlds of Johann Sebastian Bach (Amadeus Press, 2009). His awards include Honorary Member of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute of Baldwin Wallace University and Fellow of the Royal School of Church Music. A Festschrift in his honor, edited by Daniel Zager, was issued in 2007: Music and Theology: Essays in Honor of Robin A. Leaver (Scarecrow). Leaver is the editor of this series, Contextual Bach Studies. Kayoung Lee is assistant professor at Sungshin Women’s University in Seoul, Korea. After completing her Ph.D. at the University of Pittsburgh under the direction of Don O. Franklin, she settled in Seoul and has been presenting and publishing on Bach’s vocal works in analytical and critical terms. Her research interests lie with the various aspects of Bach’s sacred vocal music, including his compositional procedures, theological implications found in his vocal works, and Bach reception in Korea. As a recipient of research grants from the Korean National Research Foundation, Lee published the article “The Reception of Bach’s Music in Korea, 1900 to 1945” in Bach: Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute, surveying various ways Bach’s music was first introduced and has become one of the most fundamental repertories of Korea’s performing art music tradition. In March 2017, Lee presented “Bach Tercentenary in Korea (1985): Commemoration, Recollection, and Reflection” at the conference Transcultural Music Traditions: A Global View on Bach, hosted by the International Balzan Prize Foundation and Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. Robert L. Marshall, Sachar Professor Emeritus of Music at Brandeis University, has published extensively on Bach and Mozart. Among his books, The Compositional Process of J. S. Bach (Princeton University Press, 1972) received the Otto Kinkeldey Prize of the American Musicological Society in 1974, while The Music of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Sources, the Style, the Significance (Schirmer Books, 1989) received the 1990 ASCAP-Deems Taylor award for excellence. His Mozart Speaks: Views on Music, Musicians, and the World (Schirmer Books, 1991) was described by a reviewer as “one of the few useful contributions to the Mozart bicentenary.” In 2016 he published, with Traute M. Marshall,  Exploring the World of J. S. Bach (Urbana: University of Illinois). Marshall’s most recent essay, “Father and Sons: Confronting a Uniquely Daunting Paternal Legacy,” appears as the opening chapter of Bach Perspectives 11: J. S. Bach and His Sons (University of Ilinois Press, 2017). Marshall was the second chairman of the American Bach Society (1974–77), known at the time as the “New Bach Society, American Chapter.”



About the Editors and Contributors 325

Mark A. Peters is professor of music at Trinity Christian College in Palos Heights, IL. Peters completed his Ph.D. in historical musicology at the University of Pittsburgh under the direction of Don O. Franklin. He is author of A Woman’s Voice in Baroque Music: Mariane von Ziegler and J. S. Bach (Ashgate, 2008) and an edition of Christiane Mariane von Ziegler’s writings on music, poetry, and women’s rights (forthcoming in the series The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe). His other publications include articles in Bach: Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute and the Yale Journal of Music & Religion and the monograph Claude Debussy As I Knew Him and Other Writings of Arthur Hartmann (University of Rochester Press, 2003), with Samuel Hsu and Sidney Grolnic. Peters was awarded the American Bach’s Society’s William H. Scheide Prize for his 2006 article, “A Reconsideration of Bach’s Role as Text Redactor in the Ziegler Cantatas,” published in Bach 36 (2005). Peters has presented his research at meetings of the American Musicological Society, American Bach Society, Bach Colloquium, and the Society for Christian Scholarship in Music. He has served as secretary-treasurer of the American Bach Society and is vice-president of the Society for Christian Scholarship in Music. In 2018, Peters was visiting professor at Seminari Alkitab Asia Tenggara in Malang, Java, Indonesia. Martin Petzoldt was professor of systematic theology emeritus at the University of Leipzig, where he served on faculty from 1986 until his retirement in 2011. His research focused on theological contexts for understanding the life and works of J. S. Bach, an area he pursued already in his Ph.D. dissertation, “Theologie im Rahmen der Lebensgeschichte Johann Sebastian Bachs” (University of Leipzig, 1985). His publications include Bach als Ausleger der Bibel (1985), Johann Sebastian Bach, Ehre sei dir Gott gesungen (1988), and Bachs Leipziger Kinder: Dokumente von Johann Sebastian Bachs eigener Hand (2008). In the years before his death, Petzoldt was at work on the monumental Bach-Kommentar: Theologisch-musikwissenschaftliche Kommentierung der geistlichen Vokalwerke Johann Sebastian Bachs (vol. 1, 2004; vol. 2, 2007), volumes 3 and 4 of which are being completed by colleagues and will be issued in due course. Professor Petzoldt served as president of the Neue Bachgesellschaft from 1990 until his death in 2015. Markus Rathey is the Robert S. Tangeman Professor of Music History at Yale University, with appointments in the Institute of Sacred Music, the School of Music, the Music Department, and the Divinity School. Before coming to Yale in 2003, he taught at the Universities of Mainz and Leipzig and was a research fellow at the Bach-Archiv, Leipzig. His research interests are music of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Johann Sebastian

326

About the Editors and Contributors

Bach, and the relationship among music, religion, and politics during the Enlightenment. His most recent books are Johann Sebastian Bach’s Christmas Oratorio: Music, Theology, Culture (Oxford University Press, 2016) and Bach’s Major Vocal Works (Yale University Press, 2016), which also appeared in a Japanese translation in 2017. Earlier books by Rathey include a study of the Baroque composer Johann Rudolph Ahle, Johann Rudolph Ahle (1625–1673). Lebensweg und Schaffen (Eisenach, 1999), and a study of C. P. E. Bach’s compositions for the Militia in Hamburg, Kommunikation und Diskurs: Die Bürgerkapitänsmusiken Carl Philipp Emanuel Bachs (Hildesheim, 2009). His articles have appeared in journals such as Eighteenth-Century Music, Early Music History, Bach-Jahrbuch, and SchützJahrbuch. He is president of the American Bach Society and past president of the Society for Christian Scholarship in Music. He currently serves on the editorial boards of Bach: Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute and the Yale Journal for Music and Religion. Reginald L. Sanders, professor of music at Kenyon College, earned his Ph.D. at Yale University, where his dissertation on Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach and liturgical music in Hamburg was supported by a Fulbright Fellowship. In 2000, he was awarded the William H. Scheide Prize of the American Bach Society for “Zum Text und Kontext der ‘Keiser’ Markuspassion,” co-authored with Daniel R. Melamed, which appeared in BachJahrbuch. His scholarship has also appeared in such publications as Göttinger Händel-Beiträge, Hamburger Jahrbuch für Musikwissenschaft, and Oxford Composer Companion: J. S. Bach. For Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works, he has edited Die Israeliten in der Wüste (2008) and Einführungsmusiken IV (Installation Cantatas, 2013), and he is currently at work on Miscellaneous Sacred Works III. Since 2012, he has served as the secretary-treasurer of the American Bach Society. Steven Saunders is James M. Gillespie Professor of Music at Colby College. He has written numerous articles on sacred music of the early seventeenth century and on nineteenth-century popular song. His complete critical edition of the works of Stephen Foster was published by Smithsonian Institution Press, and his books on music in Vienna have been issued by Oxford University Press and A-R Editions. He is currently editing volumes of the complete works of Alessandro Grandi. He has received fellowships and awards for his teaching and research, including grants from the Fulbright Commission, American Musicological Society, National Endowment for the Humanities, and American Council of Learned Societies. Saunders serves as series editor of A-R Editions’ Recent Researches in Music of the Baroque Era.



About the Editors and Contributors 327

William H. Scheide was one of the most prominent figures in American Bach research and performance from the 1940s until his death in 2014. As a performer, scholar, collector, and philanthropist, Scheide was instrumental in reviving interest in the United States in Bach’s sacred vocal works, particularly the church cantatas. In order to introduce Bach’s music to American audiences, Scheide founded the Bach Aria Group in 1946 and served as its director until 1980. Today the Bach Aria Group is one of the longest-running chamber ensembles in the country. Scheide likewise made many contributions as a Bach scholar, publishing articles in Bach-Jahrbuch, The Musical Quarterly, and Die Musikforschung. Among his most important publications is a three-part article in Bach-Jahrbuch entitled “Johann Sebastian Bachs Sammlung von Kantaten seines Vetters Johann Ludwig Bach” (1959–1962). Scheide also expanded greatly the rare book and manuscript collection begun by his grandfather and enlarged by his father; the Scheide Library is now housed within the Firestone Library at Princeton University. Hans-Joachim Schulze has worked as a researcher at the Bach-Archiv Leipzig since 1957, serving as deputy director of the archive from 1974 to 1979 and as director from 1992 to 2000. With Christoph Wolff, he was co-editor of the Bach-Jahrbuch from 1975 to 2000. Schulze earned his Ph.D. from the University of Rostock with the dissertation “Studien zur Bach-Überlieferung im 18. Jahrhundert.” In addition to his numerous articles in Bach-Jahrbuch and other books and journals, Schulze was editor of Bach-Dokumente, vols. 1–3, 5 (vols. 1–3 with Werner Neumann) and co-editor with Christoph Wolff of the Bach-Compendium (7 vols.). His monographs include Ey! Wie schmeckt der Coffee süße: Johann Sebastian Bachs Kaffee-Kantate (2005) and Die Bach-Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs (2006). His edited volumes include Das Frühwerk Johann Sebastian Bachs (1995) and Passionsmusiken im Umfeld Johann Sebastian Bachs—Bach unter den Diktaturen 1933–1945 und 1945–1989 (1995). Ruth Tatlow is an independent scholar based in Stockholm, Sweden. She completed a B.Mus. (Purcell Prize, 1983) and a Ph.D. (British Academy, DAAD, 1987) in music analysis and theory at King’s College, London, where her interest in musical structure was first awakened. Her rediscovery of the history of the paragram form and its relation to Bach studies can be read in her classic monograph Bach and the Riddle of the Number Alphabet (Cambridge University Press, 1991). Her groundbreaking theory of Bach’s use of proportional parallelism can be read in numerous articles and in Bach’s Numbers: Compositional Proportion and Significance  (Cambridge University Press, 2015), awarded Choice “Outstanding Academic Title 2016.” She

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About the Editors and Contributors

co-founded Bach Network UK in 2004 and in 2006 designed its open-access, peer-reviewed journal Understanding Bach, for which she served as co-editor until 2017. She currently serves as chair of the Bach Network Council and is a member of the editorial board of the American Bach Society. Yo Tomita is professor of musicology at Queen’s University Belfast, a scholar known internationally for his work on the manuscript sources of the works of Johann Sebastian Bach (especially Well-Tempered Clavier II) and for the Bach Bibliography. Since 2000, he has served as member of the organizing committee of the Biennial International Conference on Baroque Music, and chaired the Fourteenth Conference in 2010 held at Queen’s. In 2007, he organized the international symposium “Understanding Bach’s B-minor Mass” at Queens. From 2005 to 2009, he served on the editorial board of the Journal of Musicological Research. From 2006 to 2009, he served as trustee of the Bach Network UK, and from 2010 became a member of both its advisory council and the editorial team of its journal, Understanding Bach. In September 2011, he was appointed Senior Fellow at the Bach-Archiv Leipzig. In autumn 2012, he was invited by the University of Louisville, Kentucky, USA, to become the third Gerhard Herz Visiting Bach Professor. Having published the critical edition of WTC II with G. Henle (2007), Tomita is currently working on a two-volume monograph for Routledge (with Richard Rastall) on the surviving manuscript sources of WTC II and also on the Cambridge Bach Encyclopedia. With Robin A. Leaver and Jan Smaczny, he recently published Exploring Bach’s B-minor Mass (Cambridge University Press, 2013).