CHAPTER IV. BACH THE ORGANIST
What has been said regarding Bach's admirable Clavier playing applies generally to his skill as an organist. The Clavier and Organ have points in common, but in style and touch are as different as their respective uses. What sounds well on the Clavier is ineffective on the Organ, and vice versa. The most accomplished Clavier player may be, and usually is, a bad organist unless he realises the differing natures of the two instruments and the uses they serve. I have come across only two men who can be regarded as exceptions to this general rule—Bach and his eldest son, Wilhelm Friedemann. Both were finished Clavier performers, but no trace of the Clavier style was apparent when they played the Organ. Melody, harmony, and pace were carefully selected with due regard to the nature and distinctive use of each instrument. When Wilhelm Friedemann played the Clavier his touch was elegant, delicate, agreeable. When he played the Organ he inspired a feeling of reverent awe. On the one he was [pg 62] charming. On the other he was solemn, impressive. So also was his father, and to an even greater degree. Wilhelm Friedemann was a mere child to him as an organist, and frankly admitted the fact.[131] The music that extraordinary man wrote for the Organ is full of dignity, awe-inspiring, saturated with the atmosphere of devotion. His improvisation was even more inspired, dignified, and impressive: for then his imagination was untrammelled by the irksomeness of expressing himself on paper. What is the essence of this art? Let me, though imperfectly, attempt an answer.
When we compare Bach's Clavier compositions with those written for the Organ it is at once apparent that they differ essentially in melodic and harmonic structure. Hence we conclude that a good organist must select fitting themes for his instrument, and let himself be guided by its character and that of the place in which it stands and by the objects of its use. Its great body of tone renders the Organ ill-adapted to light and jaunty music. Its echoes must have liberty to rise and fall in the dim spaces of the church, otherwise the sound becomes confused, blurred, and unintelligible. What is played upon it [pg 63] must be suited to the place and the instrument, in other words, must be congruous to a solemn and majestic fabric. Occasionally and exceptionally a solo stop may be used in a Trio, etc. But the proper function of the Organ is to support church singing and to stimulate devotional feeling. The composer therefore must not write music for it which is congruous to secular surroundings. What is commonplace and trite can neither impress the hearer nor excite devotional feeling. It must therefore be banished from the Organ-loft. How clearly Bach grasped that fact! Even his secular music disdained trivialities. Much more so his Organ music, in which he seems to soar as a spirit above this mortal planet.
Of the means by which Bach attained to such an altitude as a composer for the Organ we may notice his harmonic treatment of the old Church modes, his use of the obbligato pedal, and his original registration. The remoteness of the ecclesiastical modes from our twenty-four major and minor keys renders them particularly appropriate to the service of religion. Any one who looks at Bach's simple four-part Hymn tunes (Choralgesänge) will at once convince himself of the fact. But no one can realise how the Organ sounds under a similar system of harmonic treatment unless he has heard it. It becomes a choir of four or five parts, each in its natural [pg 64] compass. Compare the following chords in divided harmony:
with these:
which is the more usual form organists employ. We realise instantly the effect when music in four or more parts is played in the same manner. Bach always played the Organ so, adding the obbligato pedal, which few organists know how to use properly. He employed it not only to sound the low notes which organists usually play with the left hand, but he gave it a regular part of its own, often so complicated that many organists would find it difficult to play with their five fingers.
To these qualities must be added the exquisite art Bach displayed in combining the stops of the Organ. His registration frequently astonished organists and Organ builders, who ridiculed it at first, but were obliged in the end to admit its [pg 65] admirable results and to confess that the Organ gained in richness and sonority.[132]
Bach's peculiar registration was based on his intimate knowledge of Organ building and of the properties of each individual stop. Very early in his career he made a point of giving to each part of the Organ the utterance best suited to its qualities, and this led him to seek unusual combinations of stops which otherwise would not have occurred to him. Nothing escaped his notice which had the slightest bearing on his art or promised to advance it. For instance, he made a point of observing the effect of large musical compositions in different surroundings. The practised ear, which enabled him to detect the slightest error in music even of the fullest and richest texture, and the art and rapidity with which he tuned his instrument, alike attest his intuitive skill and many-sidedness. When he was at Berlin in 1747 he was shown the new Opera House. He took in its good and bad qualities at a glance, whereas others had done so only after experience. He was shown the large adjoining Saloon and went up into the gallery that runs round it. Merely glancing at the roof he remarked, “The architect has secured a novel effect which, probably, neither himself nor any one else suspected.” The Saloon, in fact, is a parallelogram. If a [pg 66] person puts his face to the wall in one corner of it and whispers a few words, another person at the corner diagonally opposite can hear them distinctly, though to others between them the words are inaudible. The effect arises from the span of the arches in the roof, as Bach saw at a glance. These and similar observations suggested to him striking and unusual combinations of Organ stops.