BACH.
Johann Sebastian Bach, the most eminent of the world’s organ-players and contrapuntists, was born at Eisenach, March 21, 1685, and was the most illustrious member of a long line of musicians, the Bach family having been famous almost from time immemorial for its skill in music. He first studied the piano with his brother, Johann Christoph, and the organ with Reinecke in Hamburg, and Buxtehude in Lübeck. In 1703 he was court musician in Weimar, and afterwards was engaged as organist in Arnstadt and Mühlhausen. In 1708 he was court organist, and in 1714 concert-master in Weimar. In 1718 he was chapel-master to the Prince von Köthen, and in 1723 was appointed music-director and cantor at the St. Thomas School in Leipsic,—a position which he held during the remainder of his life. He has left for the admiration of posterity an almost endless list of vocal and instrumental works, including cantatas, chorales, motets, magnificats, masses, fugues, sonatas, and fantasies, the “Christmas Oratorio,” and several settings of the Passion, of which the most famous are the “St. John” and “St. Matthew,” the latter of which Mendelssohn re-introduced to the world in 1829, after it had slumbered an entire century. His most famous instrumental work is the “Well-tempered Clavichord,”—a collection of forty-eight fugues and preludes, which was written for his second wife, Anna Magdalena Bach, to whom he also dedicated a large number of piano pieces and songs. His first wife was his cousin, Maria Barbara Bach, the youngest daughter of Johann Michael Bach, a composer of no common ability. By these two wives he had twenty-one children, of whom the most celebrated were Carl Phillipp Emanuel, born in 1714, known as the “Berlin Bach;” Johann Christoph Friedrich, born in 1732, the “Bücheburger Bach;” and Johann Christian, born in 1735, who became famous as the “London Bach.” Large as the family was, it is now extinct. Bach was industrious, simple, honest, and God-fearing, like all his family. He was an incessant and laborious writer from necessity, as his compensation was hardly sufficient to maintain his large family, and nearly all his music was prepared for the service of the church by contract. The prominent characteristics of his work are profound knowledge, the clearest statements of form, strength of logical sequences, imposing breadth, and deep religious sentiment. The latter quality was the outcome of his intense religious nature. Upon everyone of his principal compositions he inscribed “S. D. G.,” “to the glory of God alone.” He died July 28, 1750, and was buried at Leipsic; but no cross or stone marks the spot where he lies. His last composition was the beautiful chorale, “Wenn wir in höchsten Nöthen sein,” freely translated, “When my last hour is close at hand,” as it was written in his last illness. The only record of his death is contained in the official register: “A man, aged sixty-seven, M. Johann Sebastian Bach, musical director and singing-master at the St. Thomas School, was carried to his grave in the hearse, July 30, 1750.”
Ich hatte viel Bekümmerniss.
The cantata with the above title, best known in English as “My Heart was full of Heaviness,” was the first sacred piece in this form which Bach wrote. Its date is 1714, in which year he was living at Weimar, and its composition grew out of a difficulty which he had with the elders of the Liebfrauenkirche at Halle, touching his application for the position of organist. It occasioned him great sorrow, and it was while in this sad plight that he wrote the cantata. It was composed for the third Sunday after Trinity, June 17, and consists of eleven numbers,—an instrumental prelude, four choruses, three arias, a duet, and two recitatives.
The prelude, which is brief and quiet in character, introduces the opening chorus (“Deep within my Heart was Sorrowing and great Affliction”), which in turn leads to the first aria (“Sighing, Mourning, Sorrow, Tears waste away my troubled Heart”), a tender and beautiful number for soprano, with oboe and string accompaniment. It is followed by the tenor recitative and aria, “Why hast Thou, O my God, in my sore Need so turned Thy Face from me?” in which the feeling of sorrow is intensified in utterance. The chorus, “Why, my Soul, art thou vexed?” a very pathetic number, closes the mournful but beautiful first part of the cantata.
The second part is more tranquil and hopeful. It opens with a duet for soprano and bass, the two parts representing the soul and Christ, and sustaining a most expressive dialogue, leading up to a richly harmonized chorus (“O my Soul, be content and be thou peaceful”) in which a chorale is introduced with consummate skill. A graceful tenor aria with a delightful and smoothly flowing accompaniment (“Rejoice, O my Soul, change Weeping to Smiling”) follows and leads to the final number, which is based on the same subject as that of the “Hallelujah” in Handel’s “Messiah.” All the voices give out the words, “The Lamb that for us is slain, to Him will we render Power and Glory,” with majestic effect; after which the solo bass utters the theme, “Power and Glory and Praise be unto Him forevermore,” introducing the “Hallelujah,” which closes the work in a burst of tremendous power, by voices and instruments.
Gottes Zeit.
During the first half of the period in which Bach resided at Weimar, occupying the position of court and chamber musician to Duke Wilhelm Ernst, he wrote three cantatas in the old church form which are notable as being the last he composed before adopting the newer style, and as the most perfect of that kind extant. The first of these, “Nach dir, Herr, verlanget mich,” is based upon the first two verses of the Twenty-fifth Psalm. The second, “Aus der Tiefe rufe ich,” includes the whole of the One hundred and thirtieth Psalm and two verses of the hymn “Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut.” The third and most famous of the trio, “Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit” (“God’s time is the best of all”), is generally known as the “Actus Tragicus,” and sometimes as the “Mourning Cantata.” Of its origin Spitta says:—
“Judging by its contents it was designed for the mourning for some man, probably of advanced age, to whom the song of Simeon could be suitably applied. No such death took place in the ducal house at this time, for Prince Johann Ernst died when a youth, and also when Bach’s style of composition had reached a different stage. Possibly the cantata has reference to Magister Philipp Grossgebauer, the rector of the Weimar school before its reorganization, who died in 1711; at least, I can find no other suitable occasion. The contrast between the spirit of the Old and New Testaments,—between the wrath of an avenging God and the atoning love of Christ,—which had already appeared in the One hundred and thirtieth Psalm, is the germ and root of this cantata to such a degree that it is evident that Bach had fully realized by this time how fertile a subject for treatment it was. It contains no chorus of such depth and force as those of the One hundred and thirtieth Psalm. Its character is much more entirely individual and personal, and so it has a depth and intensity of expression which reach the extreme limits of possibility of representation by music. The arrangement of the poetic material is most excellent; it does not wholly consist of Scripture texts and verses of hymns; and in several fit and expressive thoughts, which are freely interspersed, we can almost recognize Bach’s own hand. If such be the case, the whole arrangement of the poetry may with reason be ascribed to him.”
The introduction to the work is a quiet, tender movement in sonata form, written for two flutes, two viol-da-gambas and figured bass, which gives out some of the themes in the middle of the cantata. The opening chorus (“God’s own Time is the best, ever best of all. In Him we live, move, and have our Being, as long as He wills. And in Him we die at His good Time”) is very descriptive in character, opening with a slow and solemn movement, then passing to a quick fugue, and closing with phrases of mournful beauty to suit the last sentence of the text. A tenor solo follows, set to the words, “O Lord, incline us to consider that our Days are numbered; make us apply our Hearts unto Wisdom,” and accompanied by the flutes, leading into a mournful aria for the bass, which forms the second part of the tenor solo (“Set in order thine House, for thou shalt die and not live”). The choir resumes with a new theme (“It is the old Decree, Man, thou art mortal”), in which the lower voices carry a double fugue, the soprano sings alone (“Yea, come, Lord Jesus”), and the instruments have the melody of the old hymn:—
“I have cast all my care on God,
E’en let Him do what seems Him good;
Whether I die, or whether live,
No more I’ll strive.
But all my will to Him will give.”
Of this effective movement and its successor Spitta says:—
“The design is clear. The curse of death has been changed into blessing by the coming of Christ, and that which mankind dreaded before, they now stretch out entreating hands to; the bliss of the new condition of things shines out in supernatural glory against the dark background of a dispensation that has been done away. This is the idea of the concerted vocal parts; and the fact that thousands upon thousands have agreed in the joy of this faith is shown by the chorale tune now introduced; for to the understanding listener its worldless sounds convey the whole import of the hymn which speaks so sweetly of comfort in the hour of death, sounds which must recall to every pious heart all the feelings they had stirred when, among the chances and changes of life, this hymn had been heard,—feelings of sympathy with another’s grief or of balm to the heart’s own anxiety.”
The alto voice follows with the words spoken on the cross (“Into Thy Hands my Spirit I commend”), to which the bass replies in an arioso (“Thou shalt be with Me to-day in Paradise”). The next number is a chorale (“In Joy and Peace I pass away whenever God willeth”) sung by the alto, the bass continuing its solo at the same time through a portion of the chorale. The final chorus is the so-called fifth Gloria:—
“All glory, praise, and majesty
To Father, Son, and Spirit be,
The holy, blessed Trinity;
Whose power to us
Gives victory
Through Jesus Christ. Amen.”
The “Actus Tragicus” was one of the youthful compositions of Bach, but it has always attracted the notice of the best musical critics. It was a great favorite with Mendelssohn. Spitta says:—
“It is a work of art well rounded off and firm in its formation, and warmed by the deepest intensity of feeling even in the smallest details.”
Hauptmann writes to Jahn:—
“Yesterday, at the Euterpe concert, Bach’s ‘Gottes Zeit’ was given. What a marvellous intensity pervades it, without a bar of conventionality! Of the cantatas known to me, I know none in which such design and regard are had to the musical import and its expression.”
Festa Ascensionis Christi.
The cantata beginning with the words, “Wer da glaubet und getauft wird” (“Whoso believeth and is baptized”), commonly known as the Ascension cantata, was written for four voices, with accompaniment of two oboes, two violins, viola, and “continuo,”—the latter word implying a bass part, the harmonies indicated by figures from which the organist built up his own accompaniment. The original score has been lost; but it has been reconstructed from the parts, which are preserved in the Royal Library at Berlin.
The cantata is in five numbers. A short prelude of a quiet and cheerful character introduces the stately opening chorus (“Who believeth and obeyeth will be blest forever”). Another brief prelude prepares the way for the brilliant tenor aria (“Of Love, Faith is the Pledge and Token”), which leads up to the chorale, “Lord God, my Father, holy One,” based upon the old chorale, “Wie schön leucht uns der Morgenstern” (“How brightly shines the Morning Star”), which has always been a favorite in the church service, and which more than one composer has chosen for the embellishment of his themes. The chorale is not employed in its original form, but is elaborated with all the contrapuntal skill for which Bach was so famous. The next number is a short recitative for the bass voice (“Ye Mortals, hear, all ye who would behold the Face of God”), and leads to a stately bass aria (“Through Faith the Soul has Eagle’s Pinions”). The cantata closes, after the customary manner of Bach, with a strong, earnest chorale (“Oh, give me Faith, my Father!”), in plain, solid harmony, for the use of the congregation, thus forming an effective devotional climax to the work.
Ein’ Feste Burg.
“A safe stronghold our God is still,
A trusty shield and weapon;
He’ll help us clear from all the ill
That hath us now o’ertaken.
The ancient Prince of Hell
Hath risen with purpose fell;
Strong mail of craft and power
He weareth in this hour.
On Earth is not his fellow.
* * * * *
“And were this world all devils o’er,
And watching to devour us,
We lay it not to heart so sore,
Not they can overpower us.
And let the Prince of Ill
Look grim as e’er he will,
He harms us not a whit;
For why? His doom is writ,
A word shall quickly slay him.”
There is now but little question that Martin Luther not only wrote the words but the music of the grand old hymn, the first and third stanzas of which, taken from Carlyle’s free and rugged translation, are given above. Sleidan, a contemporary historian, indeed says that “Luther made a tune for it singularly suited to the words and adapted to stir the heart.” The date of its composition is a matter of controversy; but it is clear that it must have been either in 1529 or 1530, and most writers agree that it was just before the Diet at Augsburg, where it was sung. Niederer, in a work published at Nuremberg, 1759, fixes the date as 1530, and finds it in Preussen’s psalm-book, printed in 1537. Winterfeld observes it for the first time in the “Gesangbuch” of the composer Walther, a friend of Luther. Its usual title is, “Der XLVI. Psalm: Deus noster Refugium et virtus, pp. D., Martin Luther.” It matters little, however, the exact year in which the sturdy old Reformer wrote the hymn which has stirred the human heart more than any other. It is indissolubly connected with his name, and every line of it is a reflex of his indomitable and God-fearing nature. Heine and Carlyle have paid it noble tributes. The German poet says:—
“The hymn which he composed on his way to Worms,[8] and which he and his companions chanted as they entered that city, is a regular war-song. The old cathedral trembled when it heard these novel sounds. The very rooks flew from their nests in the towers. That hymn, the Marseillaise of the Reformation, has preserved to this day its potent spell over German hearts.”
Carlyle still more forcibly says:—
“With words he had now learned to make music; it was by deeds of love or heroic valor that he spoke freely. Nevertheless, though in imperfect articulation, the same voice, if we listen well, is to be heard also in his writings, in his poems. The one entitled ‘Ein’ feste Burg,’ universally regarded as the best, jars upon our ears; yet there is something in it like the sound of Alpine avalanches, or the first murmur of earthquakes, in the very vastness of which dissonance a higher unison is revealed to us. Luther wrote this song in times of blackest threatenings, which, however, could in no sense become a time of despair. In these tones, rugged and broken as they are, do we hear the accents of that summoned man, who answered his friends’ warning not to enter Worms, in this wise: ‘Were there as many devils in Worms as these tile roofs, I would on.’”
It was the battle-song of the Reformation, stirring men to valiant deeds; and it did equal service in sustaining and consoling the Reformers in their darkest hours. “Come, Philip, let us sing the Forty-sixth Psalm,” was Luther’s customary greeting to Melanchthon, when the gentler spirit quailed before approaching danger, or success seemed doubtful. In music it has frequently served an important purpose. Not only Bach, but other composers of his time arranged it. Mendelssohn uses it with powerful effect in his Reformation symphony. Nicolai employs it in his Fest overture. Meyerbeer more than once puts it in the mouth of Marcel the Huguenot, when dangers gather about his master, though the Huguenots were not Lutherans but Calvinists; and Wagner introduces it with overwhelming power in his triumphal Kaiser March.
Bitter, in his Life of Bach, says:—
“The bicentenary Reformation Festival was celebrated in October and November, 1717, and at Weimar especially it was, as an old chronicle tells us, a great jubilee. Bach composed his cantata, ‘Ein’ feste Burg,’ for the occasion. In this piece it is clear that he had passed through his first phase of development and reached a higher stage of perfection.”
Winterfeld is inclined to the same belief; but Spitta, in his exhaustive biography of Bach, argues that it must have been written either for the Reformation Festival of 1730, or for the two hundredth anniversary of Protestantism in Saxony, May 17, 1739. The former date would bring its composition a year after the completion of his great Passions music, and four years before his still more famous “Christmas Oratorio,”—a period when he was at the height of his productive power; which favors the argument of Spitta, that in 1717 a chorus like the opening one in the cantata was beyond his capacity.[9] In the year 1730 Bach wrote three Jubilee cantatas, rearranged from earlier works, and Spitta claims that it was only about this period that he resorted to this practice. Further, he adds that “the Chorale Chorus [the opening number], in its grand proportions and vigorous flow, is the natural and highest outcome of Bach’s progressive development, and he never wrote anything more stupendous.”
The cantata has eight numbers, three choruses and five solos. The solo numbers are rearranged from an earlier cantata, “Alles was von Gott geboren” (“All that is of God’s creation”), written for the third Sunday in Lent, March 15, 1716. The opening number is a colossal fugue based upon a variation on the old melody and set to the first verse of the Luther hymn. It is followed by a duet for soprano and bass, including the second verse of the hymn and an interpolated verse by Franck,[10] who prepared the text. The third and fourth numbers are a bass recitative and soprano aria, the words also by Franck, leading up to the second great chorale chorus set to the words of the third stanza of the hymn,
“And were the world all devils o’er,”
of which Spitta says:—
“The whole chorus sings the Cantus firmus in unison, while the orchestra plays a whirl of grotesque and wildly leaping figures, through which the chorus makes its way undistracted and never misled, an illustration of the third verse, as grandiose and characteristic as it is possible to conceive.”
The sixth number is a recitative for tenor followed by a duet for alto and tenor (“How blessed then are they who still on God are calling”). The work closes with a repetition of the chorale, set to the last verse of the hymn, sung without accompaniment. The cantata is colossal in its proportions, and is characterized throughout by the stirring spirit and bold vigorous feeling of the Reformation days whose memories it celebrated.
[8] This assumption, repeated by others, grows out of the similarity of sentiment in the third stanza to that of Luther’s famous reply when he was urged not to attend the Diet of Worms.
[9] There is yet a fourth rearrangement, which we may assign to 1730. The assertion is no doubt well founded that in this year the celebration of the Reformation Festival was considered of special importance, and kept accordingly; and it is evident that the cantata “Ein’ feste Burg” must have been intended for some such extraordinary solemnity.—Spitta, vol. ii. p. 470.
The Reformation Festival had no doubt a very distinct poetical sentiment of its own; and when any special occasion took the precedence, as in 1730 and 1739, the years of Jubilee, it would be misleading to seek for any close connection between the sermon and the cantata. Thus the cantata, “Ein’ feste Burg,” may very well have been connected with the sermon in 1730; still, it is possible that it was not written till 1739.—Ibid., vol. iii. p. 283.
[10] Salomo Franck, a poet of more than ordinary ability, was born at Weimar, March 6, 1759. He published several volumes of sacred lyrics.
