Movement 01: Contrapunctus 1
Movement 02: Contrapunctus 2
Movement 03: Contrapunctus 3
Movement 04: Contrapunctus 4
Movement 05: Canon in hypodiapason 'Canon alla ottava'
Movement 06: Contrapunctus 5
Movement 07: Contrapunctus 6 'per diminutionem' in stylo Francese
Movement 08: Contrapunctus 7 per augmentationem et diminutionem
Movement 09: Canon alla duodecima in contrapunto alla quinta
Movement 10: Contrapunctus 8
Movement 11: Contrapunctus 9 alla duodecima
Movement 12: Contrapunctus 10 alla decima
Movement 13: Contrapunctus 11
Movement 14: Canon 'in hypodiatessaron' per augmentationem in contrario motu
Movement 15: Canon alla decima 'Contrapunto alla terza'
Movement 16: Contrapunctus 13 'Rectus'
Movement 17: Contrapunctus 13 'Inversus'
Movement 18: Contrapunctus 12 'Rectus'
Movement 19: Contrapunctus 12 'Inversus'
Movement 20: Contrapunctus 14
Part 01: Contrapunctus 1
Part 02: Contrapunctus 2
Part 03: Contrapunctus 3
Part 04: Contrapunctus 4
Part 05: Contrapunctus 5
Part 06: Contrapunctus 6 'in stylo Francese'
Part 07: Contrapunctus 7 'per augmentationem et diminutionem'
Part 08: Contrapunctus 8
Part 09: Contrapunctus 9 'alla duodecima'
Part 10: Contrapunctus 10 'alla decima'
Part 11: Contrapunctus 11
Part 12: Contrapunctus 12 Rectus
Part 13: Contrapunctus 12 Inversus
Part 14: Contrapunctus 13 Rectus
Part 15: Contrapunctus 13 Inversus
Part 16: Canon per augmentationem in contrario motu
Part 17: Canon alla ottava
Part 18: Canon alla decima in contrapunto alla terza
Part 19: Canon alla duodecima in contrapunto alla quinta
Part 20 (uncompleted): Contrapunctus 14 (Fuga a 3 soggetti)
Section 01: Contrapunctus I
Section 02: Contrapunctus II
Section 03: Contrapunctus III
Section 04: Contrapunctus IV
Section 05: Contrapunctus V
Section 06: Contrapunctus VI 'in stylo Francese'
Section 07: Contrapunctus VII 'per augmentationem et diminutionem'
Section 08: Contrapunctus VIII
Section 09: Contrapunctus IX 'alla duodecima'
Section 10: Contrapunctus X 'alla decima'
Section 11: Contrapunctus XI
Section 12: Contrapunctus XII Rectus
Section 13: Contrapunctus XII Inversus
Section 14: Contrapunctus XIII Rectus
Section 15: Contrapunctus XIII Inversus
Section 16: Contrapunctus XIV (Tovey completion)
completion of Contrapunctus XIV
Section 17: Contrapunctus XIV (uncompleted)
Standard dictionaries define counterpoint thus:
n. the art of combining melodies. adj. contrapunt'al [Fr. contrepoint and It. contrappunto—L. contra, against, punctum, a point. points or notes placed against those of the melody.
Etymology is well and good. But the form is only understood when its principles are fully realised as they are within this masterpiece. No-one understood the workings of counterpoint more fully than Bach and in his final years the composer, then Cantor at St Thomas’s, Leipzig, was more and more preoccupied with contrapuntal music. He completed the ‘Goldberg Variations’ (1742), the Musical Offering (1747, see above) and variations on ‘Vom Himmel hoch’ (1747).
By 1748 he was ready for a great, final summation; a work with every manner of contrapunct and canon based on one great theme. The following year work commenced and, despite the ravages of a fatal eye disease, this final profound undertaking was almost completed in the year of his death (1750). It proved a monumental revelation, an unfinished series of contrapuntal variations imbued with unfailing variety and limitless imagination.
While creating The Art of Fugue, the 65-year-old Bach embodied within the work unparalleled splendour and poetry. But his overriding aim was purely to exhibit the comprehensive possibilities of a single, simple ‘subject’ with various types of fugal and canonic writing. The debilitating final disease prevented its completion. But during his final months, work on publishing The Art of Fugue had already begun.
A complete version in Bach’s autograph predates the published one and the formal copper engraving was partially supervised by him. However, it could hardly be said to bear his imprimatur for at some point members of the family began passing pages to the ‘unknown’ engraver who continued working from the manuscript with no thought or understanding of the music or its true sequence. Bach’s son Carl Philipp Emanuel eventually took charge of the publication and it appeared posthumously in autumn 1751. The results were messy and bewildering and performers looked at the work in utter confusion. The Art of Fugue was regarded as a labyrinthine exercise; a drily academic tangle of uncommon severity.
This widely held view meant that Bach’s towering masterpiece suffered undeserved neglect and obscurity for much of its history. Carl Czerny and Philipp Spitta regarded it as a keyboard work. But difficulties arose from the incomplete form. Bach had not finished the final fugue, superscribed ‘Fuga a soggeti’ in the printed version. And aspects of the original printing were the subject of unending speculation.
The opening four fugues pose no problems. Indeed there is no great stumbling block up to Contrapunctus 11. Most academics detect Bach’s influence in the ordering of the pieces to this point though several ponder over the use of three (not four) ‘stretto’ counter fugues; Contrapuncti 5-7.
Still greater difficulties arise with the remaining unnumbered items, so quixotically arranged in the first print. Until the present century many would-be performers remained doubly flummoxed as the score bore no directions about the work’s instrumentation. Credit for its twentieth-century revival must go to the young Swiss student Wolfgang Graeser (1906–28). He painstakingly unravelled the tangle and in 1924 prepared a running order with the canons and fugues set for various groups of instruments. The Graeser version was first heard in 1927 at a concert in the Leipzig church of St Thomas. Karl Straube directed.
Interest was enormous. Musicians everywhere took note and the academic fraternity considered the event a watershed in our understanding of eighteenth-century music. Beyond the hub of Bach’s continent, The Art of Fugue was now reconsidered with equal zeal, thought of less as the last disordered, creative gasp of a dying man and more the comprehensive, consummate summation of Bach’s immeasurable genius.
News of this event spread through Europe like wildfire. It crossed the Atlantic and within two years Stokowski presented Graeser’s orchestral version at Mrs Coolidge’s Chamber Music Festival in the Library of Congress, Washington. By 1930 and 1931 New York audiences were witness to performances by the Juilliard Graduate School under director Albert Stoessel.
In fact Graeser had simply split the work into two parts, each one beginning with limited forces (string quartet or harpsichord). From this base the instrumentation was progressively enlarged, first to chamber ensemble proportions and then to full orchestral dimensions. In the first eleven fugues Graeser adopted the order of the original; his first half comprised the four simple fugues, the three inverted fugues and the four double/triple fugues. His second part had the canons, mirror fugues and the quadruple fugue.
Graeser’s arrangement was soon set aside in favour of more economical instrumentations. Weighty orchestral incarnations all but vanished. By this time the work was most usually heard with chamber orchestras or from string quartets. Bach’s four-part writing led to still more experimentation with a variety of groupings. Organists turned to The Art of Fugue and the work was re-examined yet again.
In 1932 Tovey endorsed the nineteenth-century belief that the work had been intended for the keyboard. He published an open-score edition as well as one for keyboard. Like other performers and academicians he also produced a ‘complete’ version of the final, four-part fugue which breaks off after measure 239. Whether Bach intended his variations for the organ or harpsichord, for chamber group or orchestra, remains unclear to this day.
Gustav Leonhardt contends that a mere glance at the compass of the alto voice in the first twelve fugues will reveal how none of Bach’s ensemble groups may properly be used in performing the work. ‘Every instrumentation must resort to a completely anachronistic group of instruments,’ he says. And he adds, ‘no single voice has a specific instrumental character. This … may account for the greater variety of instrumental attempts.’ The Dutch harpsichordist and scholar explains that Bach never used the soprano clef for flute, oboe or violin. But the clefs he does specify were widely accepted for classical polyphony and equally for keyboard instruments.
As we have seen, the nature of instrumentation is not documented. Moreover it appears to have been submitted as an abstract counterpoint, independent of any particular instrumental setting. Such observations have led to a paradoxical theory that Bach was wholly unconcerned about the eventual performance. Which raises the question—was The Art of Fugue merely set down as an elaborate intellectual exercise?
German scholar Friedrich Blume reasoned that Bach saw his work as an esoteric activity, a disinterested transmission of purely abstract theory: ‘Bach wanted to continue a tradition of consummate contrapuntal skill … inherited from the (Roman) school of Palestrina’s period by way of Sweelinck, Theile, Werckmeister and Vitali.’
C P E Bach himself thought the work’s greatest value was as a teaching aid. He declared, ‘Every student of the art … cannot fail to learn from it how to compose a good fugue and will therefore need no oral teacher, who often charges dearly enough.’ Schweitzer took a similar view in his J S Bach, le musicien-poète (1905).
By 1756 The Art of Fugue had sold only thirty copies and 120 years later it was similarly overlooked but for the sporadic publication of a few keyboard editions. After the attentions of Graeser and Tovey in the late ’20s and early ’30s, a number of keyboard artists revived the work. Each one argued persuasively that The Art of Fugue was most properly suited to his/her own instrument.
Leonhardt put the case for the harpsichord and Helmut Walcha claimed it as an organ work. Today’s music dictionaries usually espouse a diplomatic, less self-serving viewpoint, merely noting: ‘a keyboard performance would seem most obvious.’ The fact that it was published in score is immaterial. F W Marpurg’s added preface (1752) explains that this was to facilitate reading. Charles Rosen says eighteen of the most complex contrapuntal works do not fall by chance within the compass of two hands. He also comments, ‘The Art of Fugue was meant to be studied by playing it, to have its marvels seen, heard, and felt under one’s fingers—it must indeed, be played many times before its deceptive lucidity can be penetrated. There are almost no dramatic effects; the most fantastic modulations take place discreetly, and the sequences are continually varied with a delicacy unparalleled in Baroque music.’
Bach began his monumental task with four fugues, two presenting the theme, the others running in contrary motion. Added to this were counterfugues where the first statement is inverted and recombined with its original form. Then there were double and triple fugues, four canons and two pairs of mirror fugues. Karl Geiringer notes: ‘To make the mirror reflection doubly realistic, the treble of the first fugue becomes the bass of the second, the alto changes into a tenor, the tenor into an alto and the bass into a treble.’ The inversus appears like the rectus standing on its head.
In fact the order of pieces on the autograph differs from that established from the printed version. The autograph is demonstrably in Bach’s hand while details of the printed version are, even now, not finally authenticated. Numbering of the first (scrupulously engraved) pieces may be based on a second ‘lost’ autograph, changed from the original layout by Bach himself. Ordering of the mirror fugues remains the subject of prolonged and inconclusive debate.
from notes by Howard Smith © 1992