EMANUEL BACH AND SOME OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES
Carl Phillip Emanuel, third son of J.S. Bach, was born at Weimar, 8th or 14th March, 1714, and died at Hamburg, 14th December, 1788. He studied composition and clavier-playing with his father. His brother, Wilhelm Friedemann, his senior by four years, went through a similar course, but learnt, in addition, the violin under J.G. Graun. Emanuel's attention, however, was concentrated on the one instrument; and to this we probably owe the numerous clavier sonatas which he wrote, and which paved the way for those of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. In his twenty-first year (1735) Emanuel left his father's house in order to study jurisprudence at Frankfort-on-the-Oder; three years later, however, he went to Berlin, and as cembalist entered the service of Frederick the Great (1740).[56] Already in his father's house, the young student saw and heard many distinguished musicians; he himself has told us that no musician of any note passed through Leipzig without seeking an opportunity to meet his father, so famed as composer and as performer on the organ and clavier. And again, afterwards, at the Court of Prussia, he came into contact with the most notable composers and performers of his day. From among these may be singled out C.H. Graun (composer of the "Tod Jesu") and Georg Benda.[57] Graun was already in the service of Frederick when the latter was only Crown Prince.[58] It would be interesting to learn the special influences acting upon Emanuel before he published his first set of sonatas in 1742, but this is scarcely possible. The collection of symphonies[59] or sonatas published at Leipzig in 1762, mentioned in our [introductory chapter], gives, however, some idea of the music of that period; and it is possible that many of the numbers were written before Emanuel Bach published his first works. The "Sammlung Vermischte Clavierstücke für geübte und ungeübte Spieler," by Georg Benda, may also be mentioned; it is of great interest, especially the Sonata in C minor. The character of the music and style of writing for the instrument constantly remind one of Emanuel Bach. Benda, born in 1721, joined the King of Prussia's Band in 1742, and soon became known as an experienced performer on the harpsichord. Unfortunately it is impossible to ascertain the dates of composition of the various pieces of this collection, and thus to find out whether Benda was an imitator of Bach or vice versâ; the collection itself was only published at Gotha in 1780.
The Italian taste in music which prevailed at the Prussian Court[60] had undoubtedly a marked influence on Bach, and one for good. The severe counterpoint of the North German school and the suave melody of the Sunny South blended together with happy results.
It is customary to speak en bloc of Emanuel Bach's sonatas; if, however, the earlier be compared with some of the later ones, interesting differences may be detected, and developments traced. But the composer's artistic career, unfortunately, does not show a steady, regular advance such as we find in J.S. Bach or Beethoven. C.H. Bitter, his biographer and enthusiastic admirer, has to confess that he was a practical man, and that he wrote at times to please pupils and amateurs; while, occasionally, his aim may have been pecuniary gain.
Of his early period, we shall notice the "Sei Sonate per Cembalo," dedicated to Frederick II. of Prussia (1742), and the Würtemberg Sonatas, published in 1745. Of his middle period, the "Sechs Sonaten fürs Clavier mit veränderten Reprisen," Berlin, 1760, and the "Sechs leichte Sonaten," Leipzig, 1766. And of his latter period, the six collections of "Sonaten für Kenner u. Liebhaber," published at Leipzig between 1779 and 1787. With regard, however, to the last-named, it must be remembered that some are of a comparatively early date. Thus the 3rd Sonata of the 3rd Collection, one of the finest of Bach's works, was composed in 1763, while the collection itself only appeared in 1781. But a table of dates will be given further on.
If some of the best sonatas written after 1760 be compared with those of 1742, there will be found in the later works more character in the subject-matter, also movements of greater length. Practice, too, had improved the composer's style of writing. The later Bach did not return to the principal theme in such a crude, nay, lawless, fashion as the following:—
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In these "Frederick" Sonatas there is as yet no tendency to enharmonic and other surprise modulation such as Bach afterwards displayed. Then as to technique, we find here octaves and large chords comparatively rare,[61] while scale passages are more restricted. Like Beethoven, Emanuel Bach seized hold of additional notes to the keyboard. In 1742 his highest and lowest notes, apparently, were—
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but afterwards—
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In the [introductory chapter] we noted the change with regard to the number of movements of a sonata which took place between 1683, when Corelli published his first sonatas, and 1740, when E. Bach composed his first set. Instances were given of sonatas in three movements by Corelli, but with that composer four was the normal number; with E. Bach, three. This change came about in great measure through the concerto. From E. Bach, we are able to show the links in the chain of development: Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven; but though between Kuhnau, the first writer of sonatas for the clavier, and Bach, B. Pasquini wrote, as mentioned in the [last chapter], sonatas in three movements, yet we have no knowledge that Bach was acquainted with them. Kuhnau, in fact, however interesting a phenomenon in the musical firmament, is not necessary to explain the appearance of Bach. Joh. Sebastian Bach was undoubtedly acquainted with the "Bible" Sonatas. He must have admired them, but he may have been afraid of the freedom of form which they displayed, and of their tendency to programme-music; and perhaps he did not speak of them to his sons, lest they should be led astray. For, as we have already mentioned, Sebastian Bach seems to have yielded for a moment to the Kuhnau influence, but, if we may judge from his subsequent art-work, he did not feel satisfied that it was a good one.
In 1742, E. Bach dedicated the six sonatas (composed in 1740) to Frederick the Great. The title-page runs thus:—
Sei Sonate
per Cembalo
che all' Augusta Maestà
di
Frederico II.
Rè di Prussia
D.D.D.
l'Autore
Carlo Filippo Emanuele Bach
Musico di Camera di S.M.
Alle spese di Balth. Schmid
in Norimberga.
And in the obsequious dedication, the composer describes them as works "debolissimo Talento mio." As Bach's earliest published sonatas, they are, for our purpose, of special interest. Their order is as follows:—
| Sonata | 1 | in | F | Poco Allegro, Andante, Vivace. |
| " | 2 | " | B flat | Vivace, Adagio, Allegro assai. |
| " | 3 | " | E | Poco Allegro, Adagio, Presto. |
| " | 4 | " | C minor | Allegro, Adagio, Presto. |
| " | 5 | " | C | Poco Allegro, Andante, Allegro assai. |
| " | 6 | " | A | Allegro, Adagio, Allegro. |
The first and last movements of all six are in binary form. In the five major sonatas, the first sections close in the key of the dominant, and in the one minor sonata (No. 4), in the relative major. The opening movement of each sonata is in early sonata-form: the second section starts with the principal theme, or a brief allusion to it; but then, after a short development with modulation, there is a return to the principal key and to the principal theme.[62] The final movements, on the other hand, are of the usual suite order. Of interest and, indeed, of importance in our history of development are the contents of the first section of the opening movements. In some of the Scarlatti sonatas (see No. 56) there is to be found a fairly definite second subject in the dominant key, or, in the case of a minor piece, in the dominant minor or relative major. Here the process of differentiation is continued; in the 2nd Sonata the contrast between the two subjects is specially marked. We give the opening bar of each—
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In most of the developments the composer steers clear of the principal key, so that at the return of the principal theme it may appear fresh. To such a method, since Beethoven, we are quite accustomed; but it is curious how little attention—even with the example of E. Bach before him—Haydn paid to such an effective means of contrast in some of his early sonatas. In Bach's No. 6, in A, the development assumes unusual magnitude; it is even longer than the first section. And it is not only long, but interesting. One passage, of which we quote a portion, has rather a modern appearance:[63]—
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The return of the principal theme is preceded by an unexpected entry of the opening bars in B minor,—a first sign of that humour which afterwards formed so prominent a feature in Bach's music. And the theme itself, after the opening notes, is dealt with in original fashion.
The middle movements of Nos. 2, 3, 5, and 6 are in the key of the relative minor; that of No. 1 is in the tonic minor, and that of No. 4 (C minor), in the relative major. No. 1, twice interrupted by a recitative (upper part and figured bass),[64] is dignified, yet tender, and, in form, original. The Adagio, in C sharp minor, of No. 3 is a movement of singular charm; it is based on imitation, but, though old in style, it breathes something of the new spirit, or rather—for there is nothing new under the sun—of the old Florentine spirit which freed music for a time from the fetters of polyphony. The genius of Johann Sebastian Bach gained the victory over form, and, in fact, exhausted fugue-form. It is in the clever, but dry fugues of some of his contemporaries and, especially, successors, that one can feel the absolute necessity for a new departure. This Adagio is, as it were, a delicate remembrance, and one not unmixed with sadness, of the composer's immortal parent.
The light, lively final movements need no description. All the music of these sonatas is written in two or three parts or voices; occasionally there are chord passages in which for the moment the number is increased. We have dwelt somewhat in detail on this work, as it appears to be little known.
There is a sonata in the key of D major, published in the 3rd Collection (1763) of Marpurg's Clavierstücke (p. 10), by E. Bach, which was written in the same year (1740), but earlier than the "Frederick" Sonatas. C.H. Bitter remarks that if the year of composition were not known, it would certainly pass as a much later work. The first movement reminds one of Beethoven's terse, bold style. Bitter refers to the freedom with which the thoughts are expressed, to the melodious character of the Andante, and to the humour of the Finale. He might also have referred to the style of writing for the instrument, which suggests a later date.
In 1745 (?) appeared the Würtemberg Sonatas (so called because they were dedicated to Bach's pupil, the Duca di Wirtemberg e Teckh, as he is named on the title-page of the original edition). These sonatas are marked as Opera seconda. They were offered by the composer to the Duke in recognition of the many favours shown to him "at the time when I had the honour of giving you lessons in music at Berlin."[65] Of these sonatas we have only been able to have access to the two preserved in the British Museum; the others are probably of similar character.
No. 1, in E flat, opens with an Adagio, followed by an Allegro assai (E flat), and then by a Menuet alternato and Trio, both in E flat, and with the former da capo. The first and second movements are in old binary form; the Allegro shows the influence of D. Scarlatti. The Minuet is fresh and pleasing. It is evident, taking E. Bach himself as standard, that this is a suite rather than a sonata.
No. 2, in B flat, is of similar character and construction. Both sonatas are old in form, but more modern in their subject-material and style of writing than those dedicated to the King of Prussia. In the latter there is a solidity not to be found here; in its place we have lightness, almost merriment; they were written, one would almost think, expressly for the amusement of the Duke. The rapid semi-quaver passages (as in No. 1) and the crossing of hands (as in No. 2) tell in no undecided manner of the influence of Scarlatti. The exceedingly light and graceful Minuets remind one of the kinship between the composer and Haydn.
In a letter to Forkel, dated 10th February 1775, Bach writes as follows:—
"Die 2 Sonaten, welche Ihren Beyfall vorzüglich haben, sind die einzigen von dieser Art, die ich je gemacht habe. Sie gehören zu der, aus dem H-moll, die ich Ihnen mitschickte, zu der aus dem B, die Sie nun auch haben, u. zu 2en aus der Hafner-Würtembergischen Sammlung, u. sind alle 6 anno 1743, im Töplitzer Bade von mir, der ich damahls sehr gicht-brüchig war, auf einem Claviacord mit der kurzen Octav verfertiget."[66]
It would be interesting to know the two sonatas belonging to this period, "the only ones of the kind that I have ever written." In the catalogue of musical remains of E. Bach, published two years after his death, the opening bars are given of a Sonata in B minor (see above letter) written at Töplitz in 1743—
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This, surely, must be the one mentioned in the above letter.
In 1760, Bach published six sonatas with varied repeats (mit veränderten Reprisen), dedicated to Princess Amelia of Prussia. In the preface the composer remarks that "nowadays change or repetition is indispensable." He complains that some players will not play the notes as written, even the first time; and again, that players, if the changing on repetition is left to them, make alterations unsuitable to the character of the music. These sonatas are of great historic interest. This preface, also the evident necessity for additional (inner part) notes at times, especially in the slow movements of E. Bach and other composers of that day, make one feel that, as it now stands, much of Bach's music is a dead letter. Here we are face to face with a question which in a kindred matter has given rise to much controversy. If the music is to produce its proper effect, something must be done. To that (in the case of Emanuel Bach's sonatas) all reasonable musicians must agree. Yet not, perhaps, as to what that something should be. According to certain authorities, only additions should be made which are strictly in keeping with the spirit of the age in which the music was written. Some, on the other hand, would bring the music up to date; they think it better to clothe eighteenth-century music in nineteenth-century dress, than to ask musicians with nineteenth-century ears to listen to patched-up eighteenth-century music. The second plan would not be approved by musicians who hold the classical masters in veneration; with a little modification, the first one, however, ought to meet with general acceptance. We may write in keeping with the spirit of a past age, but the music must now be played on an instrument of different character, compass, and quality of tone; so surely in making additions (and, so far as certain ornaments are concerned, alterations) these things ought to be taken into consideration. A certain latitude should, therefore, be allowed to the transcriber; hard-and-fast rules in such a delicate task are impossible. The late Dr. Bülow edited six of Emanuel Bach's sonatas,[67] and though he was well acquainted with the composer's style of writing, his anxious desire to present the music in the most favourable light sometimes led him to make changes of which even lenient judges would not approve. The matter is an interesting one, and we may therefore venture to refer somewhat in detail to one passage. In the 3rd Sonata (F minor) of the 3rd Collection, the passage—
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has been changed by Bülow: he has altered the C flat in the second half of the first bar into a C natural, thus smoothing down the hard progression to the key of B flat minor. Now this very passage had already, nearly a hundred years previously, attracted the notice of Forkel, who admitted that, apart from the context, it jarred against his musical feeling. But he had thought over the composer's intention in writing that sonata, and had come to the conclusion that, in the opening Allegro, Bach wished to express indignation.[68] He therefore asks: "Are the hard, rough, passionate expressions of an angry and indignant man beautiful?" In this case, Forkel was of opinion that the hard modulation was a faithful record of what the composer wished to express.[69] The natural order of history seems inverted here. One would have expected Forkel to look upon the music from an abstract, but Bülow from a poetical point of view. C.H. Bitter—also on purely musical grounds—condemns Bülow's alterations. He says:—"Even weaknesses of great masters, among which the passages in question are not to be counted, still more so, special peculiarities, should be left untouched. What would become of Beethoven, if each generation of musicians, according to individual judgment, arrogated to itself the right, here and there, of expunging hardnesses, smoothing down peculiarities, and softening even sharp points with which, from time to time, we come into unpleasant contact? Works of art must be accepted as they are."
The first part of Bitter's argument is sound; but, unfortunately for the last, the writer in his life of Emanuel Bach and his brothers insists on the necessity of not accepting Emanuel's clavier works as they are.
He quotes a passage from the Andante of the 4th Sonata of the second set of the "Reprisen Sonaten," and comes to the natural conclusion that it was only an outline requiring filling up.
With all his faults, one cannot but admire the spirit in which Bülow worked. He felt the greatness of the old masters, regretted the limited means which they had at their command, also the stenographic system in which they were accustomed to express their thoughts; and he sought, therefore, to make use of modern means, and thereby was naturally tempted to introduce modern effects. The restoration of the old masters is a difficult and delicate task, and in most cases, one may add, a thankless one. In the matter of transcription, however, it is important to distinguish between a Bülow and a Tausig: the one displayed the intelligence of an artist; the other, the thoughtlessness of a virtuoso.
But what, it may be asked, is the character of the changes made by Bach? The matter is of interest; by examining these sonatas, we get some idea of the difference between letter and spirit. However, from what we have said above, a mere imitation of these changes, in playing Bach's music, would, in its turn, be letter rather than spirit.
As a rule the bass remains the same, though plain crotchets may become quavers, as in extract from Sonata 1 given below, or notes turned into broken octaves—
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or, at times, some very slight alteration may occur, such as—
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In the upper parts the changes are similar to those found in the variations of Haydn and Mozart. An illustration will be better than any explanation, and we accordingly give a brief extract from the 1st Sonata: first the five bars of the Allegretto, as at the opening, then as they are changed—
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The publication of the set of six Leipzig collections of sonatas, etc., commenced in 1779; but thirteen years previously, the composer had published a set of "Sechs Leichte Clavier Sonaten," and these, in one or two respects, are curious. The opening movement of No. 6 has no double bars, and, therefore, no repeat of the first section. And again, it has a coda pausing on the dominant chord and followed by an Andantino. This second movement, peculiar in form and modulation, ends on the dominant of F, leading directly to the Presto.
The opening of the Larghetto of No. 2—
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was probably the prototype of many a theme of the classical masters.
The works by which Emanuel Bach is best known are the six collections of sonatas, rondos, and fantasias published at Leipzig between 1779-1787. The composer died in 1788. The 1st Collection (1779) bears the title "Sechs Claviersonaten für Kenner und Liebhaber," and, in fact, contains six sonatas. But "nebst einigen Rondos" (together with some Rondos) was already added to the title-page of the 2nd and 3rd Collections; and to the remaining ones, the still further addition of "Freye Fantasien."
For the sake of reference, the list of sonatas is subjoined—
Without copious musical examples, an analysis of these eighteen sonatas would prove heavy reading. It will, therefore, be easier for the writer, and certainly pleasanter for his readers, to give a somewhat "freye Fantasia" description of them, laying emphasis naturally on points connected with the special purpose in view.[70]
In the matter of tonality there are some curiosities. When Beethoven's 1st Symphony appeared, the opening bars of the introduction became stumbling-stones to the pedagogues of that day. The work was, without doubt, in the key of C major; yet, instead of opening with the tonic chord of that key, the composer led up to it through the keys of the subdominant, relative minor, and dominant. No wonder that such a proceeding surprised conventional minds, and that the critics warned Beethoven of the danger of "going his own way." But his predecessor, Emanuel Bach, had also strayed from the pedagogic path, a narrow one, yet, in the end, leading to destruction. In the first book (1779), the 5th Sonata (as shown by the whole of the movement, with exception of the two opening bars) is in the key of F major, yet the first bar is in C minor (minor key of the dominant) and the second, in D minor (relative minor of the principal key).
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There were, no doubt, respecters of tonality also in Emanuel Bach's day, to whom such free measures must have seemed foolhardy. While composing this sonata Bach was, apparently, in daring mood. The slow middle movement in D minor opens with an inversion of the dominant ninth, and the Finale in F thus—
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Of the character of the first section of movements in binary form we have already spoken in the [introductory chapter].
In the matter of development, the Bach sonatas are in one respect particularly striking; the composer seems to have resolutely turned away from the fugal style, and in so doing probably found himself somewhat hampered. Like the early Florentine reformers, Bach was breaking with the past, and with a mightier past than the one on which the Florentines turned their back; like them, he, too, was occupied with a new form. Not the music itself of the first operas, but the spirit which prompted them, is what we now admire; in E. Bach, too,—especially when viewed in the light of subsequent history,—we at times take the will for the deed.
We meet with much the same kinds of development as in Scarlatti: phrases or passages taken bodily from the first section and repeated on different degrees of the scale, extensions of phrases, and passage-writing based on some figure from the exposition, etc. The short development section of the Sonata in G (Collection No. 6) offers examples of the three methods of development just mentioned. Bach, like Scarlatti, was a master of his instrument, and even when—as was said of Mendelssohn—he had nothing particular to say, he always managed to say that little well. E. Bach has already much to suffer in the inevitable comparison with Beethoven; and the fact that we have the full message of the one, but not of the other, no doubt accentuates the difference.
In many ways Bach reminds one of Beethoven. There are unexpected fortes and pianos, unexpected crescendos and diminuendos. Of such, the noble Larghetto in F minor of the Sonata in F (Collection 1779, No. 2) offers, indeed, several fine examples. Particularly would we notice the passage just before the return of the opening theme; it begins ff, but there is a gradual decrease to pp; the latter seems somewhat before its time, and therefore surprises. Then, again, we meet with out-of-the-way modulations. Bach was extremely fond of enharmonic transitions,[71] and the same can be said of Beethoven in both his early and his late works. The means employed by the two composers may be the same, but the effect is, of course, always more striking in Beethoven, whose thoughts were deeper, and whose means of expressing them were in every way more extended. And once again, in some of the forms of melody, in figures and passages, traces can be found of connection between the two masters. To our thinking the bond of union between E. Bach and Beethoven is stronger than the oft-mentioned one between the early master and Haydn: Haydn was practically Bach's pupil; Beethoven, his spiritual heir. This it is which gives interest to any outward resemblances which may be detected, not the resemblances themselves.
In Bach's six sonatas of 1742 the movements are detached. But the opening movement (an Andante in sonata form) of the 2nd Sonata of the Leipzig Collection of 1779 ends with a few bars in canonic form (and with quaint Bebung effect), leading without break to the following Larghetto. The next sonata also connects the second with the third movement. In the above case the change was merely from the key of tonic major to that of minor; but here the movement is in G minor, and an enharmonic modulation leads to the dominant of B minor, key of the final movement. The sonata begins in B minor, and the choice of the remote key of G minor for the middle movement is somewhat curious. Sonata No. 4 connects first and second movements; and the third is evidently meant to follow without pause. It must, however be remembered that the majority of the Leipzig sonatas do not have the various movements thus connected. It therefore seems to have been an experiment rather than a settled plan. Examples of the connection of movements are also to be found in Nichelmann and J.C.F. Bach. The same thing may be seen in some of Haydn's sonatas (Nos. 18, 22, etc.), while Beethoven offers a remarkable instance in his sonata, Op. 57.
The 1st Sonata of the 2nd Collection passes from the first to the second movement (Allegretto, G minor; Larghetto, F sharp minor) in a curious manner, by enharmonic means. The last bar has—
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The quotation is in abbreviated form. The second chord would, of course, be taken at first as dominant minor ninth on G. The 1st Sonata of the 4th Collection is not striking as music, and certainly not of sufficient importance to justify serious inquiry into the peculiar order of keys for the three movements (G, G minor, and E major).
With regard to the number of movements, all except two of the eighteen sonatas have three; the second and third of the 2nd Collection have only two.
John Christian Bach, or the "London" Bach, as he was called, dedicated his fifth work, consisting of six sonatas "Pour le clavecin ou pianoforte," to Ernst, Duke of Mecklenburg. This cannot have been before 1759, as that was the year in which the composer came to London. He describes himself on the title-page as—"Maître de Musique de S.M. la Reine d'Angleterre." These sonatas, as we learn from the dedication, were written for the "amusement" of the Duke. The first, third, and fourth have each only two movements. They remind us less of E. Bach than of Haydn's early style. There is some very fresh, pleasing writing in them. No. 5 has some excellent practising passages, and perhaps the following—
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may have suggested to Cramer his first study. The middle movement of No. 6 is a vigorous double Fugue; the whole sonata is, indeed, one of the finest of the set.
A Sonata in D, by Wilhelm Friedmann Bach, is commented on by Dr. Parry in his "Sonata" dictionary article. There is another one in C major, a fresh and vigorous example of a musician whose powers were never fully developed.
The sonatas of Pietro Domenico Paradies (b. 1710), a contemporary of E. Bach, are of interest. They were published in London by John Johnson, and bear the title, "Sonate di gravicembalo dedicate a sua altezza reale la principessa da Pier Domenico Paradies Napolitano." The edition bears no date; but the right of printing and selling granted by George II. bears the date November 28, 1754. A second edition was published at Amsterdam in 1770. The sonatas are twelve in number, and consist of only two movements of various character: some have an Allegro or Presto, followed by a Presto, Allegro, or Gigue; and sometimes (as in Nos. 9 and 11) the second movement is an Andante. In other sonatas the first movement is in slow time. These two-movement sonatas would seem to form an intermediate stage between Scarlatti and Emanuel Bach. As a matter of fact, however, the latter, as we have seen, had published clavier sonatas in three movements long before the appearance of those of Paradies. In some of the movements in binary form Paradies shows an advance on Scarlatti (see Nos. 1 and 10), for in the second section there is a return, after modulation, to the principal theme. Some have the theme in the dominant key at the commencement of that section, others not. Thus we see various stages represented in these sonatas. The music is delightfully fresh, and, from a technical point of view, interesting. The influence of Scarlatti both in letter and spirit is strongly felt. In some of the movements (cf. first movement of No. 8 and of No. 12) there is a feature which Paradies did not inherit from Scarlatti, i.e. the so-called Alberti bass. Of such a bass Scarlatti gives only slight hints. Alberti, said to have been its inventor, was a contemporary of Paradies, and the latter may have learnt the trick from him: there are many examples of its use. In Alberti, "VIII Sonate Opera Prima,"[72] the opening Allegro of No. 2 has it in forty-four of the forty-six bars of which it consists, and, besides, each section is repeated. That convenient form of accompaniment soon came into vogue. It occurs frequently in the sonatas and concertos of J.C. Bach and Haydn, but it is in the works of second-rate composers that one sees the full use, or rather abuse, made of it. No. 8 of the Paradies sonatas is particularly attractive, and the second movement forms a not unpleasant reminiscence of Handel's so-called "Harmonious Blacksmith" variations.