Johann Sebastian Bach

by Christoph Wolff

  The Sanctus and the movements that follow it date from the time the score of the Mass was completed in 1748–49. All of them, however, derive from earlier works. The Sanctus was originally written for Christmas 1724, though in a slightly different scoring for three sopranos, alto, tenor, and bass. The “Osanna” derives from a secular cantata movement dating from 1732, and the Benedictus from an unknown original. Even the Agnus Dei is a parody of a 1725 cantata movement; however, not only does it evince substantive changes, it also contains newly composed passages, such as the entrance of the alto in canon with the unison strings, a genuine tour de force in enhancing a parody with new material.43 This case strikingly documents Bach’s intention to improve where necessary, the contrapuntal structure of the work. Finally, the “Dona nobis pacem,” being a musical reprise of the “Gratias agimus tibi,” shows evidence both of Bach’s understanding of this final section of the Ordinary of the Mass—a song of thanksgiving—and of his artistic intention to round off a work that originated over decades, but whose separate sections were now put together to form a whole. Even so, the paper dividers—that is, the numbered autograph title pages inserted for all four Mass sections (Table 12.3, boldface subheadings)—and the noticeable differences in the scoring of the various sections preserve traces of the work’s genesis.

  In the completed score, which embraces a wide spectrum of vocal-instrumental polyphony, Bach was able to underline what he perceived as the timeless validity of the liturgical and musical meaning of the ancient Mass. Hence, the multiple compositional styles that constitute the B-minor Mass cannot be reduced to a mere historical anthology of exemplary settings. True, where Bach borrowed from existing music, he selected from among the best he had. To some extent, he may also have been guided by the aspect of preservation, for he could see very well the difference between the short-lived fashions of the German cantatas on the one hand and the longevity of the Latin Mass on the other—not to mention the parochial qualities of the cantatas visà-vis the universality of the Mass. So he chose this most historical of all vocal genres to embody the summa summarum of his artistry, that of the capellmeister-cantor.

  We know of no occasion for which Bach could have written the B-minor Mass, nor any patron who might have commissioned it, nor any performance of the complete work before 1750. Thus, Bach’s last choral composition is in many respects the vocal counterpart to The Art of Fugue, the other side of the composer’s musical legacy. Like no other work of Bach’s, the B-minor Mass represents a summary of his writing for voice, not only in its variety of styles, compositional devices, and range of sonorities, but also in its high level of technical polish. The Mass offers a full panoply of the art of musical composition, with a breadth and depth betraying not only theoretical perspicacity but also a comprehensive grasp of music history, particularly in its use of old and new styles. Just as theological doctrine survived over the centuries in the words of the Mass, so Bach’s mighty setting preserved the musical and artistic creed of its creator for posterity.

  THE END

  As far as we know, Bach suffered no serious illness at any point in his life, with the striking exception of the final year. A fever he ran in the summer of 1729 that prevented him from meeting Handel in Halle remains a minor isolated incident not linked to any continuing health pattern.44 Indeed, the Obituary expressly emphasizes Bach’s “thoroughly healthy” disposition.45 Therefore, it comes as a total surprise when a letter of June 2, 1749, from the Saxon prime minister Heinrich von Brühl to the Leipzig burgomaster Jacob Born anticipates Bach’s death—if not imminent, then eventual. Count Brühl did not mince words in requesting that the director of his private capelle, Gottlob Harrer, be considered for filling the post of Capell-Director in Leipzig, “upon the eventual…decease of Mr. Bach.”46 The bearer of the letter was none other than Harrer himself, who, as Brühl wrote, was “the candidate I recommended to Your Honor when I was in Leipzig.” Clearly, Bach’s succession had already been discussed, so the Leipzig city council could swiftly respond to the mighty Dresden minister. Paying no attention to issues of propriety (mixing private and government business) or of tact and taste (bypassing the ill incumbent), the council quickly obliged and arranged for an almost immediate audition. Harrer had brought along an audition piece whose reception was more or less pre-programmed, as Brühl, in a postscript, expressed no doubt that “the trial music to be performed…will meet with approbation.” An irony of history seems to have been at work here: the city council, which had taken the clergy by surprise in putting through its own candidate as Kuhnau’s successor, now found itself being steamrolled by the Saxon prime minister.

  By order of the council, Harrer’s pro forma audition took place on Wednesday, June 8, at the Three Swans, a concert hall on the avenue Am Brühl generally used by the Grand Concert organization. Most council members attended what was billed as a “trial performance for the future appointment as Cantor of St. Thomas’s, in case the Capellmeister and Cantor Mr. Sebastian Bach should die.”47 The candidate presented his cantata “Der Reiche starb und ward begraben” (The rich man died and was buried),48 a work that to no one’s surprise met “with the greatest applause.” Harrer returned to Dresden with a certificate assuring him that “in the said eventuality” he would “not be passed over”49—which indeed he would not, although the said eventuality occurred a full thirteen months later. The premature audition was extraordinary in every respect. The cantata performance had to take place on a weekday and outside the church because the incumbent cantor was still in charge of the regular church music program, and if he himself was unable to conduct, his first prefect would step in for him. Moreover, it is unlikely that Harrer had access to the first choir of the St. Thomas School for his audition, and the availability of Bach’s best instrumentalists was questionable too, as the cooperation of Bach loyalists in general and the cantor in particular—no matter how ill and weak he may have been—could hardly have been expected. Bach had little choice but to perceive the whole affair as a humiliating gesture by the city council. He may not have been aware that the council had acted under direct pressure from Dresden; had he learned about it early on, he might have been all the more disgusted with the council’s spineless action. He eventually realized what had happened, or was told about Count Brühl’s role, a fact that did not encourage him to develop a forgiving attitude toward the council.

  Bach’s health must have quickly reached a crisis in the late spring of 1749. For the city of Leipzig, the matter was so important that Burgomaster Born reported it to the Saxon prime minister; and even if the city council clearly over-reacted, we have no reason to believe that they were misled by an exaggerated assessment of Bach’s illness, whose exact nature still lies in the dark. The Obituary writers are of little help in relating that “his naturally somewhat weak eyesight, further weakened by his unheard-of zeal in studying, which made him, particularly in his youth, sit at work the whole night through, led in his last years, to an eye disease.”50 Forkel reports that the weakness of his eyes “continually increased in his later years till at length it brought on a very painful disorder in the eyes.”51 But although overstressing the eyes over a long period of time may indeed cause serious damage, it would hardly bring on a life-threatening illness. No reliable medical diagnosis can be made in retrospect on the basis of such scanty information, but the most convincing hypothesis suggests an old-age-related diabetic condition as the origin of Bach’s final illness.52 Untreated diabetes may result in neuropathy, encephalosis, eye pains, vision problems, inflammation of the optic nerves, glaucoma, cataracts, or blindness. Intermittent hypoglycemia, which characteristically leads to an alternating intensifying and subsiding of the various symptoms, would account for temporary improvements reported in Bach’s deteriorating eyesight and the observable changes in his handwriting.

  Whatever condition it was that afflicted Bach does not appear to have reduced his capacity for work before 1749. A letter of November 2, 1748, to his cousin Elias seems
to have been written in a relaxed mood. Besides bringing up the mishap with the wine shipment from Franconia (see Chapter 11), he regrets the great distance between Leipzig and Schweinfurt,53 writing that “otherwise I should take the liberty of humbly inviting my honored Cousin to the marriage of my daughter Lieschen, which will take place in the coming month of January 1749, to the new organist in Naumburg, Mr. Altnickol.”54 Bach also mentions the fact that recently “Magister Birnbaum was buried,” but says not a word about eye pains or any other health troubles that might cast in doubt his enjoyment of the forthcoming wedding—the first one for any of his daughters. But the letter clearly shows a sudden worsening of his handwriting style, with irregular lettering, frequently slurred abbreviations, and a noticeable stiffness.55 On the other hand, we have no evidence that any developing health problem affected his official duties and private business through much of the spring of 1749. The letter of April 2, 1749, written by Franz Ernst von Wallis, whose lieutenant had contacted Bach on behalf of Count Questenberg, reports nothing about his being ill.56 Two days later, Bach performed his St. John Passion with an increased ensemble. In the same month, he also held a conference at his house with the organ builder Heinrich Andreas Cuntzius,57 and on May 6 he issued a receipt to a Polish nobleman for the sale of a fortepiano.58 However, that Bach put only his signature on this document, which was otherwise written by his son Friederich, indicates that he was avoiding an unnecessary task. We can conclude, then, that Bach’s work capacity became truly diminished in April 1749 and that toward the middle of May his health deteriorated so rapidly and alarmingly that city officials considered making provisions in case he should die.

  But Bach pulled through this first serious health crisis, and did so soon after the ill-conceived audition of Harrer for the cantorate. For only twelve days later, on June 19, the second Sunday after Trinity, he partook of the Lord’s Supper at St. Thomas’s together with his sons Friederich and Christian.59 Then on August 25, for the annual city council election service, he performed one of his most ambitious works ever written for this purpose, the cantata “Wir danken dir, Gott, wir danken dir,” BWV 29, a piece involving not only a large orchestra with trumpets and timpani but also, in the opening sinfonia, concertato organ. Bach conceivably played the ambitious solo part himself, if only to show the assembled town officials and representatives from Dresden that he was not only still around but fully capable of demonstrating the unmatched quality of his art. In preparing the performance material for this cantata, he wrote out—in what was by now his clumsy hand—a new set of figures for the continuo part of the sinfonia (indicating that he himself certainly did not play that part) and had his youngest son Christian write out a second continuo part (suggesting that the fourteen-year-old was also to be involved in the performance). In selecting this work, Bach would unquestionably have related the opening words of the cantata text, “We give thee thanks, God, and proclaim to the world thy wonders” (Psalm 72:2)60 to his own recovery from serious illness and to God Almighty’s being above any worldly authority.

  The late summer or fall of 1749 saw Bach involved in another musical demonstration, apparently in direct response to the Biedermann affair and at the same time to the audition of Count Brühl’s protégé Harrer. Considering the circumstances, Bach’s re-performance of “The Contest between Phoebus and Pan,” BWV 201—a work exposing both high and low musical art and good and poor artistic judgment—was most fitting, and the composer, at his feisty best, took the opportunity to provide a scarcely hidden autobiographical undertone. Bach must have been able to mobilize what was now the “Gerlachische” Collegium Musicum, the ensemble of his associate and former student Carl Gotthelf Gerlach. Gerlach also functioned as first violinist of the Grand Concerts—the concert series usually held at the Three Swans—and it would indeed have been an ironic turn of events had Bach performed his Phoebus-and-Pan cantata in the same hall that had witnessed the presentation by Harrer.

  The whole performance appears to have been deliberately planned down to the smallest detail by the deeply hurt Bach together with his family, students, and friends. The cantata’s autograph score and a manuscript copy of Picander’s libretto, written by the two youngest Bach sons, both contain a significant text variant in the concluding lines of the final recitative, in which Phoebus, the winner of the contest, is encouraged to embark on further efforts. The text change, made by Bach himself, shows his polemic bent (when called for) and his poetic vein, and even more his intimate familiarity with classical Latin literature. He invokes two infamous if rather obscure figures: Quintus Hortensius Hortalus (a Roman orator known for his overly profuse style and defeated by Cicero in the trial against Verres) and Lucius Orbilius Pupillus (Horace’s teacher, known for beating up his students).61

  Picander’s original:

  Ergreiffe Phoebus nun die Leyer wieder,

  Now, Phoebus, take up your lyre again;

  Es ist nichts lieblicher als deine Lieder.

  There is nothing lovelier than your songs.

  Changed by Bach to:

  Verdopple, Phöbus nun Musik und Lieder

  Now, Phoebus, redouble music and songs,

  Tobt gleich Hortensius und ein Orbil darwider.

  Despite Hortens and Orbil raging against it.

  Here Bach introduces two truly historical figures as antagonists of the endangered species of music that Phoebus stands for. But the composer could not resist sharpening the punch line further just before the concluding chorus: he changed the last line once more to read “Tobt gleich Birolius und ein Hortens darwider.” Just as he had played linguistically with the word “rector” in the Biedermann affair, he now manipulated the name Orbil(ius) into an anagram, Birolius—sounding awfully close to a dog-Latin version of the Saxon prime minister’s name, Brühl.62 There must have been enough people in the audience to get the wittily disguised innuendo so that Bach once again had the last laugh, this time in a double sense.

  In a further response to the Harrer audition, probably considered by many in Leipzig to be an inappropriate if not illegitimate move, Bach seems to have organized a sort of counteroffensive by inviting his two older sons to present their own church compositions at St. Thomas’s and St. Nicholas’s on prominent feast days. Friedemann, by now established as organist and music director at Our Lady’s in nearby Halle, performed his cantata “Lasset uns ablegen die Werke der Finsternis,” Fk 80, on the first Sunday in Advent 1749.63 Carl, harpsichordist of the Prussian court capelle in Berlin, composed—possibly at the request of his father for an anticipated Leipzig audition—his first sacred work, the Magnificat in D major, Wq 215. A St. Thomas pupil and participant in the performance, Johann Friedrich Sonnenkalb, recalled that it took place “at a Marian feast” and “still during his late father’s lifetime.”64 Since Friedemann likely preceded his younger brother in performing his cantata, Carl’s presentation would have occurred on either the Feast of Purification, February 2, or the Feast of the Annunciation, March 25, 1750.65

  Apart from the politics, the two performances by Friedemann and Carl also helped unburden their ailing father from his regular duties, although Carl Gotthelf Gerlach, organist at the New Church, was available to support or substitute for the cantor, as was the erstwhile first prefect, Johann Nathanael Bammler, now a theology student at Leipzig University, who continued to serve as a copyist for Bach.66 Beginning in 1747, Bach had entrusted Bammler with the cantor’s duties whenever he was unable to conduct, as, for example, during his 1747 trip to Potsdam and Berlin. On April 12, 1749, Bach wrote him a good reference—the last extant document written entirely in Bach’s hand67—in which he stated that “as a prefect he applied himself well both vocaliter and instrumentaliter.” Eight months later, Bach testified that he “could fully entrust him [Bammler] with the prefect’s office for the choirs, as he directed the church music of the second choir for three years and, for his last year in school, likewise served as prefect of the first choir, too, and conducted not only the motets but
also, in my absence, the entire church music.”68

  This letter, dated December 11, bears Bach’s last known signature and as such represents the last dated bit from his pen; the document itself was not written by Bach but dictated by him. On the next (and last) known document dictated by Bach, dated December 27—a letter of thanks to Count Wilhelm of Schaumburg-Lippe for having accepted his son Johann Christoph Friedrich into his service—the signature was supplied by a scribal hand.69 The signature on the December 11 letter in Bach’s now stiff and clumsy handwriting indicates that writing gave him considerable trouble, raising the question of whether Bach was capable of composing and writing for much longer after that date.70 We may then surmise that the last musical scores to stem from Bach’s hand—parts II–IV of the B-minor Mass and the unfinished quadruple fugue from The Art of Fugue—were written no later than the first weeks of 1750. Only some of the earlier work on the Mass and The Art of Fugue, dating mainly from 1748–49, involved new composition, the rest consisting of parody and revision. Apart from inserted canonic sections of the Agnus Dei, the “Et incarnatus est” movement of the B-minor Mass is the last newly composed vocal setting by Bach. Its irregular, daringly innovative, and unique treatment of polyphonic imitation (Ex. 12.3) demonstrates Bach’s unbroken creative ingenuity, contrapuntal command, and technical control in uncharted musical territory. Only one parallel case exists: Contrapunctus 4 of The Art of Fugue, with its similarly irregular but less pointed thematic treatment (see Example 12.3). Contrapunctus 4 together with the unfinished fugue and “Et incarnatus est,” representing the final layer of original composition in Bach’s creative life, probably date from the fall of 1749 to the turn of the year. But considering the apparent ups and downs in Bach’s condition, some limited and unstressful work may have continued until about Easter 1750. In any case, the last traces of performances in which Bach had a hand appear in the form of minor changes entered by the composer in the original performance materials for the New Year’s cantata BWV 16 and the Easter Oratorio, BWV 249, both of which may belong to either 1749 or 1750.