Who was responsible for the Original Edition? Who planned it, outlined its final form and brought it to print? Clearly, the first planning was Johann Sebastian’s. Bach scholars are practically unanimous in agreeing that the sequence of pieces until Cp12 is the composer’s own and that Philipp Emanuel followed his father’s wishes at least to that point of the work. The rest of the cycle, however, does not provide a clear picture of its internal ordering, and there are still no absolute conclusions of this matter in the existing literature.
Several people partook in the process of publication besides Carl Philipp Emanuel. It is agreed that, to a larger or lesser extent, these were Johann Friedrich Agricola, and perhaps also Johann Christoph Altnickol, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach and even Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach, bearing in mind that he could consult Emanuel, in one way or another, concerning the composition of the cycle. However, although scholars mention these names in this context, there is no factual trace of their working with the musical texts of The Art of Fugue or participating in the publishing process during 1750–1751.1 Moreover, even if their influence affected the process to some extent, it was Emanuel who had to make the final decisions.
Knowing the degree to which the Original Edition reflects the composer’s design is cardinal, but also very difficult to assert. While Bach scholars disagree concerning the design itself, it is also unclear how Emanuel saw that his father’s intentions were met, how their realisation matched with his own purposes and which operative steps he considered legitimate (or less so) in achieving his goals.
Former chapters described a hypothetical process in which The Art of Fugue was created, comprising four versions of the cycle. According to this hypothesis, there were four versions of this work, the first three prepared for publication and revised by Johann Sebastian. The only change required for the Fourth Version was the replacement of the mirror fugue for two claviers with the new quadruple mirror fugue.
Finding out whether, and to what extent, Philipp Emanuel understood his father’s plan (and diverted from it) requires a clarifying appraisal of his views, motivations and attitudes, since these undoubtedly affected his decisions and actions.
Contemporary Bach scholars quite unanimously agree that the reason the Original Edition does not correspond with what most assume was the composer’s plan for The Art of Fugue, is quite simple: Emanuel did not understand. This means that he published Johann Sebastian’s great opus with obvious errors that are clear to anyone acquainted with the work. It is almost two centuries since serious shortcomings of this edition were first criticised, starting a debate that continues to this day.
Among the first critics was Robert Schumann who published in 1841 an eloquently titled article, where he pointed at the exact spots in The Art of Fugue that he deemed ‘corrupted’.2 He noticed that Contrap: a 4. and the Fuga a 2. Clav: (with the Alio modo, Fuga a 2. Clav.) which are incorporated in the cycle, repeat, to a certain degree, other fugues in the collection (for example, Contrapunctus 10. a. 4. alla Decima and Contrapunctus [13] a. 3). In the same year and following Schumann, Maurice Hauptmann stated that the Canon in Augmentation is misplaced in the edition and that the group of canons should start at the Canon in Octave.3
The number of scholars criticising the Original Edition grew with each new work dedicated to The Art of Fugue. Among them can be counted Siegfrid Dehn (1845), Wilhelm Rust (1878), Philipp Spitta (1880), Gustav Nottebohm (1880–1881), Wolfgang Graeser (1924), Hans Theodor David (1927) and others.4 Later works render similar conclusions.5 The reasons indicated for the errors are various, but the one that appears in most cases is Bach’s conception being misunderstood by his son. Another assumption is that a misunderstanding emerged in the process of printing between Emanuel and the engraver.6 Bottom line, the responsibility for the Original Edition’s structure is down to Emanuel, and any mistake in it happened under his aegis.
The hierarchy of composers, copyists and engravers in the mid-eighteenth century was strictly kept, engravers and copyists being subservient to the composer. The engraver’s initiative and independence were limited, and some kind of control system, such as preparation of proofs and their revision by the author, was always applied. Nothing would be done without the explicit approval of the author or commissioner.
However, it is rather bizarre that all the critics, from Robert Schumann up to the most recent authors, understood Johann Sebastian’s ideas about The Art of Fugue’s composition, while the one and only person who did not understand his father’s intentions was Philipp Emanuel. Seemingly, he did not understand the simplest things; for example, he missed the fact that Contrap: a 4. uses entire sections from Cp10; he did not notice that the Fuga a 2. Clav: (together with Alio modo, Fuga a 2. Clav.) is just an ‘arrangement’, as scholars brand it, of the second mirror fugue Cp[13]. Further, he did not even understand why the fugues in this composition are called ‘contrapuncti’ rather than ‘fugues’, since in his own avertissement and even in his preface to the work he relates to ‘fugues and contrapuncti’ without paying attention to his father’s specific nomenclature.
How could that be possible? Who could declare, like Philipp Emanuel, that ‘he had no other teacher’ than J.S. Bach—when speaking about his keyboard studies and composition? Who would better understand the variants of The Art of Fugue, which he knew first hand? Did any of the critics who studied The Art of Fugue and fugue composition watch Johann Sebastian in the process of composition? And who among present-day Bach scholars—more than a quarter of a millennium after his death—dare claim knowledge of the peculiarities of Bach’s musical style and subtleties more accurately than Philipp Emanuel, who was at Bach’s side all his formative years? How could it be that all these musicians and scholars understood Bach’s intentions, while only Philipp Emanuel remained so incredibly oblivious?
To answer this question, one needs to contextualise the state of affairs at the time of the publication of The Art of Fugue, to look at facts concerning not only the specifics of Bach’s compositional process, but also details about his other publications, the relations within the Bach family, particularities of his lifestyle, the Potsdam court and the circle of Emanuel’s friends and acquaintances. All these need to be carefully considered, weighed and analysed.
Wilhelm Friedemann, the oldest son of the great composer, was his favourite. As far as Johann Sebastian was concerned, Friedemann was the most gifted among his sons. The composer invested time and effort developing the child’s talent, creating for him a special collection of pieces, which he named the Clavier-Büchlein vor Wilhelm Friedemann Bach,7 where he included not only pieces of his own and of other composers, but also of Friedemann himself, who was only nine years old at the time.8 The father’s approach was more balanced toward Philipp Emanuel, who was more than three years younger than Friedemann9 and was not spoiled by similar attention.
Bach’s sons differed in their attitude toward their father, too. It is known, for example, that neither of the two older sons, nor Christoph Friedrich, his fifth son, was present at Bach’s deathbed or even attended the funeral. As for Emanuel, it is absolutely clear that his court service as the king’s personal accompanist did not enable him to get away even for a short period. Christoph Friedrich was in Bückeburg, which is quite far from Leipzig, and although he was almost a week late to the funeral, he nevertheless did arrive in Leipzig. On the other hand, Halle, where Friedemann resided, is situated just 40 km from Leipzig, and the regime of his service did allow him to get a short vacation in case of bereavement. Nevertheless, Friedemann would arrive only six weeks later, for the inventory and division of property.10
The brothers’ stance toward their father’s legacy was different, too. Emanuel literally cherished every piece of Bach’s writing, recording his works in a special catalogue. Having concerns about Johann Sebastian’s works, he decided to give or sell his compositions only to those he trusted to safe keep them. Further, he did his best to distribute only printed copies or manuscript copies. He allowed copies to be made of original manuscripts but made sure that the originals would be treated carefully and returned to him.11
Friedemann, on the other hand, cannot be suspected of a similar reverence for his father’s legacy. Not only did he not record the precious manuscripts: he simply squandered them. It is due to his negligence that a vast number of J.S. Bach’s autographs disappeared without a trace. He even claimed authorship of several of his father’s compositions while in other instances offered his own manuscripts to interested parties claiming they were his father’s.12
Emanuel venerated his father. For him, Johann Sebastian was the greatest authority in many respects, but his utmost admiration was reserved for his professional knowledge and mastery. In his autobiography, Emanuel wrote: ‘In der Komposition und im Clavierspielen habe ich nie einen andern Lehrmeister gehabt, als meinen Vater’.13 One might think, however, that there was more to it than Emanuel’s own personal relation or opinion. He did realise the greatness of his father’s public reputation. This can be confirmed by his additional comments in the autobiography:
Die Grösse dieses meines Vaters in der Komposition, im Orgel und Clavierspielen, welche ihm eigen war, war viel zu bekannt, als daß ein Musikus vom Ansehen, die Gelegenheit, wenn es nur möglich war, hätte vorbey lasse sollen, diesen grossen Mann näher kenne zu lernen.14
[The greatness that was my father’s in composition, in organ and clavier playing, was so far too well known for a musician of reputation to let the opportunity slip of making the closer acquaintance of this great man if it was at all possible].
Emanuel indeed understood that his father was the great master and valued him more highly than all the contemporary composers of which he knew. The evidence of this can be found in Emanuel’s letter to the writer and philologist Johann Joachim Eschenburg, who translated Charles Burney’s essay about the performance of Handel’s music in Westminster Abbey.15 Despite being in quite friendly relations with Burney, who visited him and was an active subscriber to his compositions, Emanuel did not let this essay go unchallenged. Reacting to the Englishman’s comparison between the organ playing of Handel and that of Bach, Emanuel criticises Burney’s writing, English organs and Handel himself:
But to write with regard to organ-playing: that he had surpassed my father; this should not be said by a man who lives in England, where organs are of slight value, N.B. all without pedals, and who, consequently, has no insight into what constitutes the excellence of organ-playing; who perhaps never saw nor heard any things [works] for the organ; and who, finally, does certainly not know my [father’s] works for the keyboard and especially for the organ, and in these the obbligato use of the pedal to which now the chief melody, now the Alto or the Tenor is given, always in fugues where a voice is never abandoned and the most difficult passages occur while the feet are occupied with the greatest fire and brilliance, en fin, innumerable things about which Burney knows nothing.16
As if this rebuke was not sufficient, Emanuel published his own essay in the Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek, where he wrote about his father in a similar superlative tone, making it publicly available.17
Clearly, unlike Friedemann’s position, anything written in his father’s hand was perceived by Emanuel as coming from the unquestionable high authority and status of its author’s will. Changing anything in his father’s text would have been unthinkable for Emanuel, let alone appropriating anything that came from his pen. In some cases, when it was unavoidable (for example on occasions of new performances of Bach’s works), Emanuel took care to clearly mark his father’s text and differentiate it from his own. In this respect, his approach, which followed working principles of a professional restorer, was rooted in the environment in which he lived and worked: the Prussian court of King Frederick II (‘Frederick the Great’), where he served as the King’s harpsichordist.18
Between 1740, the year in which Frederick became King of Prussia, and 1750, when Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach began the publication process of The Art of Fugue, Frederick also constructed his court as a main European cultural centre. The petites soupers—dinners in which the king engaged in scholarly conversations with eighteenth-century intellectual luminaries who were invited to and often even resided in his palace19—were a hub of new ideas about philosophy, government, history, literature and the arts: painting, architecture and music. Frederick, who was an avid art collector, personally planned and supervised the building of his favourite residence, the Sanssouci Palace, discussing (and arguing for) its details with the chief architect of the project, Georg Wenzeslaus von Knobelsdorff, and with the court painter Antoine Pesne, as well as with other builders, designers and constructors that were involved in this project.
Knobelsdorff was a loyal follower of the fashionable Palladian style in architecture, which copied Renaissance interpretations of Classical structures and buildings. Indeed, Sanssouci is imbued with characteristics of this style, such as the Marble Hall and the vestibule of the palace with its Corinthian pillars. This approach, however, was markedly revitalised by the 1738 discovery and excavations of Herculaneum. The uncovering of this whole city, which for many centuries was buried under the Vesuvius’ ashes, constituted a major event in Europe’s intellectual life. Throughout the following decades, the site became a main attraction for an international host of visitors and scholars.
An important figure among these was the French writer, traveller and scholar Charles de Brosses (1709–1777), who spent several months in Italy during the fall of 1739, devoting a considerable part of his sojourn to visiting the Vesuvius and the excavations at Herculaneum. While his Lettres sur l’état actuel de la ville souterraine d’Herculée et sur les causes de son ensevelissement sous les ruines du Vésuve were published only in 1750, he presented his findings a year earlier to the Académie des inscriptions et belles lettres, of which he became a member in 1746. Several of the Académie’s members were in contact with the intellectual circle of Frederick the Great. Moreover, the large collections of letters that De Brosses wrote to friends and family during his 1739 travels must have become a subject of further social elitist discussions.20 These letters, describing the Herculaneum findings and conditions in detail, were addressed, among others, to nobility, intellectuals and scholars, such as Jean Bouhier (1673–1746), the French jurist, historian, translator, bibliophile and scholar, as well as the Count De Buffon (1707–1808), the naturalist and scholar who was in friendly contact with several members of Frederick’s circle. For example, the letter of De Brosses to Bouhier, from November 28, 1739, expresses his admiration for the beauty of the findings, his sorrow for their dilapidated state and sensitivity not only to their historical signification but also to possible interpretations of their style:
Quant aux peintures à fresque trouvées à Ercolano, elles sont d’autant plus précieuses qu’il ne nous restoit presque rien d’antique en ce genre. (…) Ceux d’Ercolano sont en grand nombre; mais la plupart en pièces, ou du moins fort gâtés. (…) J’ai ouï parler de plusieurs autres (…) d’autres, enfin, où l’on remarque des choses si semblables à nos modes actuelles les plus bizarres, qu’on est prêt à les soupçonner d’y avoir été ajoutées après coup.21
[As for the fresco paintings found at Herculaneum, they are all even more precious because almost nothing [else] remained for us from the ancient type. … Those from Herculaneum are many, but most of them are in pieces, or at least very decayed. … I have heard of several others … as of the others, effectively, in which we see things so similar to our present bizarre manners, that one is willing to suspect them of having been added at a later stage.]
Interest in Classical art—architecture, sculptures and even painting—was the cultural norm since the Renaissance. Now, however, it was rekindled, gaining a new point of view: that of authenticity. While Frederick was far from being unique in this interest, he manifested it in avid purchase of ancient artefacts and sculptures, although most were still heavily restored by contemporary artists.22
Indeed, since the Herculanean—and excavated sculptures from other places—artefacts were often found damaged, art restoration became popular: assumed attires, additional objects held in marble broken hands, limbs—and sometimes even heads—that were deemed as missing were added to excavated sculptures that were found in derelict conditions. Such interpretations, in their turn, gradually became a subject of lively discussion in European academies. Aesthetic criteria, historical authenticity and art interpretation, which were only implied in the 1739 letter of De Brosses became, during the 1740s, a fashionable subject of both professional and social conversations, and the vocation of art criticism began to form. In this context, the person of Count Francesco Algarotti, a close friend of Frederick and a constant and influential presence at the court’s social dinners, is of major importance.
Algarotti (1712–1764) was a philosopher, poet, essayist, art critic and art collector. A member of Frederick’s intellectual circle since 1736, that is, from before the crown prince became King, he acted during the 1740s as the King’s Chamberlain and emissary to many tasks. Algarotti was also friend of most of the leading authors of his times: Voltaire, Marquis d’Argens, Pierre-Louis de Maupertuis and the Comte de Buffon. After Knobelsdorff fell from his King’s grace, in 1746, Algarotti took over some of the architectural responsibilities of Sanssouci and other buildings. While there is no record of the discussions he might have had with Knobelsdorff or Frederick on the subject of art restoration, his Saggio sopra l’Architettura (Essay on Architecture), published in 1756, gives an impression of his opinions about art conservation. It is very likely that these were different from those of other artists in Frederick’s court, where heavily restored sculptures were the norm rather than the exception. It is to these courtly ideas, so it seems, that the writer is elliptically referring in the opening lines of his Essay, written after he had left Frederick’s court:
Molti, e vari sono gli abusi, che per una o per altra via entrarono d’ogni tempo in qualunque sia generazione di arti, e di scienze. E benchè per essi ne venga oltremodo disformata la faccia di quelle; pur nondimeno ad avvertir gli non bastano le viste volgari, ma necessario è l’acume di coloro, che penetrano più addentro nella sostanza delle cose. Conviene perciò risalire quasi in spirito sino a principi primi, vedere quello che legittimamente da essi deriva, non riputare virtù ciò che ha in se del maraviglioso, ciò che è protetto da un qualche nome che abbia il grido, e dall’autorità sopra tutto, che danno alle cose l’abitudine e il tempo, la quale ha forza appresso gran parte degli uomini di sovrana ragione.23
[Many and various are the mishandlings, which in one way or another, throughout time, penetrated into several genres of art and sciences. And although, because of them, their appearance is rendered deformed, while not yet sufficiently to recognise them in a vulgar view, still visible enough for the insight of those who penetrate deeper into the essence of things. It is worthy, therefore, to turn one’s thoughts toward the first principles, to see what can legitimately be derived from them, and not count upon a virtue of being stunning in itself, or upon whatever is protected by a ‘sweetly sounding’ name, and above all, upon an authority relying on habit and time, and which exerts power over most people, even those blessed by supreme reason.]
Thus, during the 1740s, basic principles of restoration were discussed and developed. Archaeology and restoration had to join forces to admire, interpret and analyse artistic findings. This approach had further repercussions, affecting historicism: the very sight of a broken, effaced sculpture rescued from the soil acquired its own value, as an irreplaceable constituent of reality, witness to the passing of time. Of no less significance was the emerging concept of authenticity. Authorial materials needed to be clearly marked as different from a restorer’s work, while, at the same time, the most important criterion of a restorer’s work was now his success to come as close as possible to the authorial intention and work.
The extent to which Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach was aware of these discussions can be deduced not only from his commitment to conserve his father’s work, but moreover from his connections in Frederick’s court and, more generally, in Berlin’s mid-eighteenth-century cultural milieu. Philipp Emanuel was hired as keyboard player in 1738, while Frederick was still the crown prince. In spite of his experience at the court, he did not enjoy any special position in the palace, and was not particularly favoured by the King, who preferred the music of Johann Joachim Quantz (1697–1773), his flute teacher and composer of hundreds of flute concertos written especially for the King, and Carl Heinrich Graun (1704–1759), who composed operas that were mainly performed in the newly built Berlin Opera House.24 As performers, the King admired the Benda brothers as well as several of his opera singers. In fact, Frederick thought that Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach was ‘irksome’.25 The composer is mentioned in the literature about (and by) Frederick II only in lists of court musicians, while his father’s 1747 famous visit to Sanssouci, which instigated the composition of the Musical Offering, is described to a far larger extent.
Regardless of courtly rank, however, Carl Philipp Emanuel was a man of letters, whose interest in art and literature combined well with his congeniality, leading to a network of connections among the main court’s artists and entourage. It is not hard to imagine him conversing with Knobelsdorff, Pesne and even with Algarotti, none of whom belonged to the nobility by birth. Some of Knobelsdorff’s bitterness and frustration of 1746, the year he was released from his Sanssouci duties by the King, were possibly shared with Emanuel. Thus, although the composer might not have directly read it, Algarotti’s words were probably based on discussion subjects of which he was informed, becoming well aware of the authenticity question and the importance of the research of original facts.
Sometime after 1748, Philipp Emanuel became active in Berlin’s musical life, too, making acquaintance with the city’s wider intellectual circles. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729–1781), for example, to whom the composer was introduced in 1748, became a life-long influence. Indeed, during the late 1740s Lessing wrote only dramas (his famous Laocoon essay is of a much later date),26 but since early in his life he was avidly interested in art, art criticism and art history, an interest that surely would be expressed during educated discussions. The Berlin Musikalische Assemblés that started in 1749, and in which Bach had an active role, were another venue in which to air ideas and thoughts about literature, art, and ongoing cultural issues.27 This background may corroborate the assumption that the inclusion of a composition’s several versions in The Art of Fugue is rooted in Carl Philipp Emanuel’s increased sensitivity to the importance of authenticity and, probably, also in his wish to avoid controversies and misinterpretations of the work by supplying in the Original Edition at least several of his father’s available drafts and versions.
To understand Philipp Emanuel’s contribution to the ordering of pieces in The Art of Fugue, the sources of his knowledge about this cycle need to be revealed and clarified: how did he learn about the cycle’s composition process, and how did he use and apply this information in the publication of the work. Both direct and indirect data about materials concerning The Art of Fugue, which he saw and/or possessed, may serve as clues leading to a sharper image of his decisions and actions toward the final product: the Original Edition.
An analysis of the Edition’s oddities, then, should shed some light on their operative source. A first cardinal step in such analysis would be the separation between Johann Sebastian’s requirements and the results as they are presented in Philipp Emanuel’s work. This means that a careful comparison between the two is called for, focusing on their differences, which could appear in any of the following four elements:
• In the pieces’ order of appearance
• In the pieces’ titles
• In metre and rhythm
• In the music texts themselves
During the months in which Philipp Emanuel prepared The Art of Fugue for publication—from autumn 1750 to spring 1751—he could gather information about the cycle’s structure from several sources. First, his father. In May 1747, when the composition of this large-scale and fascinating work was in full swing, Johann Sebastian visited Sanssouci and demonstrated his artistry to Frederick II. During this visit, Bach stayed at his son’s home. It is highly unlikely that he would neglect telling his son about the new work, perhaps even playing for him what probably was, at that time, the Second Version of The Art of Fugue. At this early date, neither the Third nor, surely, the Fourth Version would have been part of such session.
Another possible source could be Johann Christoph Friedrich, who assisted his father as copyist and proofreader until the very last days of December 1749, when the 17 years old left the family home to serve as harpsichordist at the court of Wilhelm, Count of Schaumburg-Lippe in Bückeburg. Besides the composer himself, Johann Christoph was probably the only person who had an accurate image of The Art of Fugue final version: it was he who wrote on the autograph of the quadruple fugue the comment related to the cycle’s last version: einen andern Grund Plan.
However, as the study of Bach’s interfamilial contacts shows, the brothers did not meet until June–July of 1751, when Emanuel, as part of the king’s entourage, visited Bückeburg. By that time, however, the preparation of the Original Edition was completed, and the score had been sent to the print shop. It means, therefore, that the brothers did not see each other during Emanuel’s editorial work or prior to the moment of its being sent to print, so Christoph Friedrich could not inform Emanuel concerning the composition of The Art of Fugue.
The third source of information regarding the structure of the cycle must have been the music materials that were available to Emanuel. Which materials could these be? In his article on the history of the creation and publication of The Art of Fugue, Christoph Wolff describes the presumed set of materials that should have come out from J.S. Bach’s pen before he would send his work to print.28 In Wolff’s opinion, the following documents must have been included:
• Materials preceding P 200: compositional manuscripts of pieces I–XIV: lost
• Fair copies. P 200, pieces I–XIV
• Arrangements: P 200/1–2, Fuga a 2 Clav: (fair copy)
• Compositional manuscript of the Canon in Augmentation: P 200, XV
• Compositional manuscripts of Contrapuncti 4 and 10, as well as the Canons in Decima and Duodecima: lost
• The engraver copy of the Canon in Augmentation (P 200/1–1)
• The engraver copies of Contrapuncti (according to Wolff’s numeration) I–XIV, as well as copies of the Canons in Octave, Decima and Duodecima: lost
It should be noted that Wolff did not count the Canon in Augmentation and Inversion among the lost engraver copies, presuming that it had been preserved in P 200/1–1. In reality, however, this canon, as it appears in the Original Edition, was printed from another engraver copy (which, also, was originally prepared by Johann Sebastian).29 It could be, therefore, that Wolff’s list is missing some materials, first and foremost the pieces that Bach revised in relation to the Autograph, P 200.
Further, and even more essential: after the music materials listed by Wolff were completed, Bach received proof sheets (that is, of the Third Version), which he carefully revised, most likely just shortly before Christoph Friedrich left for Bückeburg.30
It is quite difficult to establish which part of the listed set of music materials could have reached Emanuel. It is true that compositional manuscripts carry priceless information not only concerning traits of the compositional process in the creation of the specific work but also about composition processes of an entire period. However, in the mid-eighteenth century there was no norm of keeping what might have been perceived as dispensable materials, which offered little interest, even to people in Bach’s circle.31 Such documentation acquired value only in later centuries. In any case, even if the compositional manuscripts had been preserved, and were in Emanuel’s possession, they would hardly have served as a source of information about the general structure of the cycle and the order of pieces, since in most cases they would have been written on loose manuscript paper.
Several of the fair and revision copies did arrive in Emanuel’s hands.32 A closer examination of the type of information concerning the composition of the cycle, which may have been found on the pages of P 200 and P 200/1, is nevertheless due. By consensus, these are considered fair copies or at least revision ones. It should be noted that Bach’s pagination is absent from the main corpus, P 200.33 The only extant numeration is that of the pieces and only the first nine pieces (including the Canon in Octave).
The supplements of P 200 render a similar picture. The Canon in Augmentation (P 200/1–1) has two secondary paginations (26–27–28, and also 33–[34]–35) related to the cycle’s second part and carries no indication of the piece’s serial position. The autograph of the fugue for two claviers (P 200/1–2) and the unfinished copy of the quadruple fugue (P 200/1–3) have neither page numbers marked by the composer nor any other indication of their serial position in the work; in fact, they don’t even have a title. Judging by the described manuscript design of The Art of Fugue, the copies that Emanuel saw, (most probably proof copies), did not carry full information about the cycle’s structure and its ordering of pieces.
The absence of such information is of no real surprise. Bach changed the order of pieces in his work several times throughout the composition process. This led to several changes in pagination, in serial numeration of the pieces and even in their titles.34 It is possible that he did not consider any of these versions as final, anticipating further changes, some of which indeed took place.
The final pagination, piece numeration and titles appear only in the final stage of the engraving process, sometimes even on the already engraved copper plates.35
What could, then, provide any indication, for both Emanuel and the engraver, to a correct order of pieces? After all, the correct reproduction of a composition in print depended on the accuracy of the engraver’s actions. Butler suggests that there were ‘clear instructions concerning the pagination scheme’ that accompanied this process.36 Bach research studies provide no instances of such instructions. However, several engraver plates of works by Bach carry certain minuscule marks made with some very fine instrument. Those are reminders concerning the order of pages and pieces, transferred by the engraver from the stacks of music sheets to the copper plates. Butler mentions one such case.37
One phenomenon deserves special attention: the order, in which the sheets of a manuscript (of any composition) are stacked. In the eighteenth century the sheets-stacking order was important no less than the pagination or the serial numeration of pieces, although the only thing that held them together was a bifolio—a double sheet that served as a filing folder.38 Sometimes, however, they were not bound at all and just left as a stack of folded sheets of paper.
In this respect, some information concerning The Art of Fugue’s structure could be derived from the fair and revision copies of the work. Still, and regardless of whether these copies were or were not marked with page or title numbers, they most probably were stacked in a certain order. Unfortunately, the fate of these copies is unknown.
A study of the Original Edition shows that Schübler engraved copper plates of almost all The Art of Fugue from engraver copies prepared while J.S. Bach was still alive, and that the composer did review the proof copies. While it is possible that the engraver copies remained with Schübler, it is unlikely. Usually, engravers discarded these copies, since the engraving needle damaged them and they could not be reused. Moreover, they were covered with a layer of varnish, resulting in a product that would hardly be enjoyable.39
The proof copies, on the other hand, were used in practice, at least by J.S. Bach. As Butler established, in his meticulous study of the engraving process of the Clavierübung III, the first stage of the work, preceding the print of the run, was the creation of two sets of proof sheets that Bach received for revision. Bach kept them. One set was used for the preparation of a preliminary model of the final product.40 For this purpose the proof sheets were folded and stacked in the proper order, and then secured with special glue.41 This set was intensively used. It contains numerous handwritten corrections, and its general appearance is telling: the printouts are made on a paper of low quality, porous and thin; the folding marks show that several sheets were folded in two, others in four, and so on. A second set of the Clavierübung III proof copies is tidier.42 Its function in the process of publication remains unclear; Butler suggests that it might have been intended for sale.
The publication process of Clavierübung III may shed some light on the printing history of The Art of Fugue, since it is possible that in similar situations Bach took similar steps. And if Johann Christoph Friedrich stated, before leaving for Bückeburg, that Bach tackled the proof sheet of the Canon in Augmentation (apparently the last piece of the cycle), one can safely assume that by that moment, not only the printouts of this canon, but the whole Art of Fugue cycle had already existed in print sheets.43
It is probable that the set of proofs of The Art of Fugue engraved materials received by Bach was similar to the proofs of the Clavierübung III. If he had them, it is unlikely that they were stacked in random order. Rather, it is most likely probable that the proper order of the sheets was observed and perhaps they were even fastened together by glue. Indeed, such a final touch could be applied only to the first half of the cycle (until Cp12), where, by that time, the sequence of pieces was not subject to any further changes. The remaining pieces underwent several permutations: in all likelihood Bach did not finalise their order.
Emanuel could be guided by the numeration of contrapuncti, reflected in the original edition, which was kept intact until Cp12. The sequencing of the remaining pieces, however, depended on the conception of the whole cycle and on Emanuel’s thoughts. It is clear that he had a view of the order of the pieces after Cp12, too (regardless of its coincidence with the composer’s intention). Thus, when advertising subscriptions for The Art of Fugue he wrote:
Die Letzten Stück sind zwey Fugen für zwey unterschiedene Claviere oder Flügel, und eine Fuge mit drey Sätzen, wo der Verfasser bey Unbringung des dritten Satzes seinen Namen Bach ausgeführet hat.
[The last pieces are two fugues for two keyboard instruments and a fugue with three themes, in which the author, writing the third theme, has displayed his name Bach.]44
Note that Emanuel lists the two last pieces in the order in which they are placed in the Original Edition. He refers to this sequence as the author’s, without any caveat: ‘The last pieces are …’. On the other hand, he deliberately informs the reader that the chorale, although composed by Johann Sebastian, is included in the cycle by the editor, and then explains the reason for his intervention:
Den Beschluß macht ein Anhang von einem vierstimmig ausgearbeiteten Kirchen-Choral, den der seelige Verfasser in seinen letzten Tagen, da er schon des Gesichtes beraubet war, einem seiner Freunde in die Feder dictiret hat.
[The conclusion is provided by an appendix of a church-chorale, elaborated in four parts, which the late composer, during his last days and already deprived of eyesight, had dictated to one of his friends.]45
Emanuel refers to the mentioned ‘last pieces’ (which are not numbered in the manuscript) in the announcement of the subscription without expressing any doubt concerning their being part of The Art of Fugue or their position in the cycle. How could he be so sure, given the lack of numeration on these pieces in the Autograph? Our assumption is that Emanuel relied on the order in which the pieces had been stacked, relating to this order as a fact that informed him of the composer’s will.
There are grounds to believe, therefore, that The Art of Fugue reached Emanuel as a set of proofs corrected and properly stacked by his father in an order on which the son relied in his decisions. This stack was probably the Third Version of The Art of Fugue. That set of proofs was supplemented by three pieces: the fugue for two claviers, the quadruple fugue and the engraver copy of the Canon in Augmentation.
Several peculiarities should be noted regarding these music materials as they reached Emanuel. First, as already noted, the set of proofs was the Third Version of The Art of Fugue, and therefore the presence of the Contrap: a 4. in place of the fugue for two claviers is inconceivable.46 It is unlikely that Emanuel, who was so careful to follow his father’s intention, would have distorted the composer’s idea with a personal whim. Only Johann Sebastian himself could take such an extreme step. But why would he place this piece here, against the internal logic of The Art of Fugue?
A second peculiarity is that the fugue for two claviers is placed not within the set of proofs, but as a supplement. This means that Johann Sebastian himself had placed it together with the supplements; in other words, it was extracted from the cycle. It is important to note that this fugue exists not as a proof copy but as an autograph, which had been engraved for the Original Edition only after Bach’s death. It had never appeared as a proof copy during Bach’s lifetime. It is not by coincidence that Emanuel had to commission for the Original Edition both the engraver copy and the engraving itself. This confirms the proposition that Bach himself extracted this piece from the cycle’s Third Version. This happened, most probably, during the engraving process of the Third Version, when Bach decided to replace the fugue for two claviers with the new quadruple fugue, thus creating the Fourth Version of The Art of Fugue.47 Had the fugue been engraved earlier, Emanuel would have used its plates for printing in the Original Edition. He would then have placed it on the 14th position, where Contrap: a 4. had been—before the four canons and before the Fuga a 3 Soggetti.
The set of music materials that Emanuel received had been closed, thus, with the autograph of the mirror fugue for two claviers (to which Emanuel refers, in his announcement, as two fugues) and with the unfinished copy of the quadruple fugue, stacked—according to the same announcement—precisely in this order. The set also contained a copy of Contrap: a 4., which seems quite strange. This peculiarity, however, will serve as an index for Johann Sebastian’s actions in the composition process and for those of his son in the publication process: Emanuel, as it was noted before, interpreted the sequence of pieces in the set of proofs as his father’s direct instruction.
1 There are two documents containing information on this subject. The first is Carl Philipp Emanuel’s advertisement, offering subscriptions to The Art of Fugue in the Critische Nachrichten aus dem Reiche der Gelehrsamkeit (Berlin, May 7, 1751; NBR, no. 281, pp. 256–8). Here ‘the heirs of the great composer’ [Die Erben des großen Componisten], as well as other ‘gentlemen entrepreneurs’ [Herren Unternehmer], are mentioned as those who decided to publish the composition that Johann Sebastian left in manuscript. The second source is Emanuel’s other announcement offering the same kind of subscriptions in the Leipzig newspaper (Leipzig, June 1, 1751; BD III/639, pp. 8–9). Here are mentioned the ‘Widow of Bach in Leipzig’ [in Leipzig bey der Frau Wittbe Bachin], the ‘Music director Bach in Halle’ [in Halle bey dem Hrn. Music-Director Bach], the ‘Royal chamber-musician Bach in Berlin’ [in Berlin bey dem Königl. Cammer-Musicus Bach] and the ‘organist Altnickol in Naumburg’ [in Naumburg bey dem Organist Altnicol]. These four individuals—Anna Magdalena, Wilhelm Friedemann, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach and Johann Christoph Altnickol—are here referred not as publishers or contributors to the editorial process, but as individuals whom one can address for a subscription rather than subscribing in one of ‘the distinguished bookstores’ (in den vornehmsten Buchhandlungen]. Agricola’s name does not appear in any of these documents.
2 Robert Schumann, ‘Ueber einige muthmaßlich corrumpirte Stellen in Bach’schen, Mozart’schen und Beethoven’schen Werken’, Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, 38 (1841): pp. 149–51.
3 Maurice Hauptmann, Erläuterungen zu Joh. Sebastian Bach’s Kunst der Fuge (Leipzig, 1841).
4 Hofmann, NBA KB VIII/2, p. 94.
5 Christoph Wolff, for example, notes that Contrap: a 4. ‘is erroneously included,’ and that ‘the Augmentation Canon is erroneously placed at the beginning of the canon group.’ Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician, p. 434. However, he does not consider the fugue for two claviers as mistakenly incorporated into the cycle. In this case the culprit for the alleged mistakes (whether the engraver or Emanuel) is not named. By default, however, it is understood that it was not Johann Sebastian.
6 David Schulenberg, The Keyboard Music of J.S. Bach (New York, 2nd edition, 2006), p. 399.
7 [J.S. Bach] Clavier-Büchlein / vor / Wilhelm Friedemann Bach. / angefangen in / Cöthen den / 22. Januarij / A[nn]o 1720.
8 Friedemann was born on November 22, 1710.
9 Emanuel was born on March 8, 1714.
10 He returned to Halle almost half a year later, receiving a penalty for such a long absence. This fact shows that in any case he had the possibility to be present at the father’s funeral, even more so than his brothers.
11 Thus, sending to Forkel the manuscript of the organ sonatas, Emanuel requests: ‘Da sie sehr zerlästert sind, so belieben Sie solche gut in acht zu nehmen’. [Since they are very worn out, please be careful in handling them] (letter from October 7, 1774; BD III/795, p. 279). However, presenting Forkel with a copy of the Clavierübung III, he explains that he can give it for copying or even offer it for sale, because the Autograph stays in his possession (BD III/792, p. 277).
12 While serving in Halle, in the Marienkirche, he was required to write music for a university ceremony. For that he took one of his father’s cantatas, set to it a new text and presented it as his own composition. A scandal ensued, and Friedemann was deprived of the 100 thalers honorarium. In another opportunity he used Bach’s autograph of the organ arrangement of Vivaldi’s concerto in D minor (BWV 596) and marked it ‘my composition, copied by my father’s hand’. The deceit was revealed: Max Schneider, ‘Das sogenannte Orgelkonzert d-moll von Wilhelm Friedemann Bach’ BJ 8 (1911): p. 23.
13 BD III/779, p 255. [In composition and keyboard playing I never had any other teacher than my father]. Translated in William S. Newman, ‘Emanuel Bach’s Autobiography’ The Musical Quarterly, vol. 51/2 (1965): p. 366.
14 Ibid. Translated in NBR, no. 359, p. 366.
15 Burney, K. (sic) Nachricht von Georg Friedrich Handel’s Lebensumstan den und der ihm zu London im Mai und Juni 1784 angestellten Gedächtnißfeyer (Berlin, 1785).
16 Dragan Plamenac, ‘New Light on the Last Years of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’, The Musical Quarterly, 35/4, (1949): pp. 583–4.
17 BD III/927, pp. 437–45.
18 Emanuel was hired as harpsichordist in Frederick’s court two years earlier, in 1738, when Frederick still was the crown prince.
19 Voltaire, Euler and Maupertuis are the most renowned persons in this group, which included philosophers, historians, mathematicians and other men of letters.
20 Le Président De Brosses en Italie: Lettres Familières écrites d’Italie en 1739 et 1740 par Charles de Brosses. Quatrième édition authentique d’après les manuscrits annotée et précédée d’une étude biographique par R. Colomb (Paris, 1885).
21 Ibid. Letter to Jean Bouhier, pp. 373–84; quotation from p. 379.
22 Most famous among these were the Lykomedes Family group of statues, purchased in 1742, and the Praying Boy statue, purchased in 1747.
23 Saggio sopra l’Architettura del Co. Algarotti, Cavaliere dell’Ordine del Merito e Ciambellano di S. M. Il Re di Prussia (Venice, 1784), p. 7 (originally published in Bologna, 1756).
24 The famous painting by Adolph von Menzel, which shows Frederick playing the flute at Sanssouci Palace, while C.P.E. is sitting by the keyboard and accompanying him, is from 1852, and relies rather on a later mythology of the Bach family than on eye witnessing. In fact, it was mostly Quantz who accompanied the King’s flute playing.
25 Giles MacDonogh, Frederick the Great: a Life in Deed and Letters (New York, 2000), p. 187.
26 Laokoon oder Über die Grenzen der Malerei und Poesie (1766).
27 Hans-Günter Ottenberg, C.P.E. Bach (Leipzig, 1982), translated by Philip J. Whitmore (Oxford, 1987), pp. 62–5.
28 Wolff, ‘The Compositional History of the Art of Fugue’ in Bach: Essays on his Life and Music, pp. 268–9.
29 Issues concerning the engraver copies of this canon are discussed in Chapter 17.
30 As a reminder, the evidence of this is Christoph Friederich’s inscription on the engraver copy of the Canon in Augmentation (P 200/1–1).
31 Autographs of this kind were usually kept only under exceptional cases, for example, if they were written by royalty or their family members. In this regard, the archive of the Prussian Princess Amalia, Frederick II’s younger sister, at the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin (Musikabteilung), is of interest. Thanks to her preserved composition drafts scholars attained priceless information concerning the pedagogical principles of Bach’s school. Amalia studied with Johann Philipp Kirnberger who was one of J.S. Bach’s students and who often stated that he was following the methodical principles of his teacher. (See Alla Irmenovna Yankus, ‘Predvaritel’naya rabota nad fugoy v rukopisyakh Anny Amalii Prusskoy: sistema I.F. Kirnbergera’ [Preliminary work over fugues in manuscripts by the Princess Anna Amalia of Prussia: the method of J.P. Kirnberger], in Anatoly P. Milka and Kira I. Yuzhak (eds), Rabota nad fugoy: metod i shkola I.S. Bakha: Materialy Vos’mykh Bakhovskikh chteniy 20–27 aprelya 2006 goda [Working on fugues: the Method and School of J.S. Bach: Materials from the Eighth Bach Reading, April 20–27, 2006] (St Petersburg, 2008). English Abstract on p. 286.
34 A piece of evidence of Bach’s careful attention to the titles of the pieces is the inscription of Johann Christoph Friedrich on the first page of the Canon in Augmentation (P 200/1–1). According to this inscription, Bach changed this canon’s title for the third time, each time with a new variant and did that at the latest stage of the work’s engraving.
35 Several scholars raised this possibility. A detailed discussion on this subject is found in Gregory Butler’s publications. While studying the process of the engraving and printing of Clavierübung III Butler established that Bach could change both pagination and even the structure of the cycle when it had already been at the engraver’s desk. Butler, Bach’s Clavier-Übung III, pp. 39–71.
36 Butler, ‘Ordering Problems’, p. 58.
37 Butler, ibid. pp. 51–2.
38 The handwritten legacy of Johann Sebastian and his sons includes numerous bifolios that function as folders.
39 As an exception, the engraver copy of the Canon in Augmentation was returned to Bach, although not for practical use but for revision, since its size appeared larger that the copper plate allowed (see Table 17.1 and the following discussion of this copy in Chapter 17). The traces of varnish show that Schübler handled it and that he even attempted to transfer it to a copper plate. However, the engraver had to cut short the process because of the discrepancy in size between the manuscript copy and the copper plate. This is probably why it reached J.S. Bach undamaged and was preserved.
40 This copy is kept in the British Library in London (shelfmark Hirsch III. 39). In Manfred Tessmer’s study the part of edition that was engraved in Leipzig, is marked by an ‘L’, while the set of the proofs under discussion is marked by an ‘A7’ (Tessmer, NBA KB IV/4 (Kassel, 1974), p. 26).
41 Butler, Bach’s Clavier-Übung III, pp. 65–71.
42 This copy is deposited in the Austrian National Library in Vienna, shelfmark Hoboken. 1.5.Bach.33. In Tessmer’s study it is branded ‘A15’.
43 Christoph Wolff, too, thinks that Bach did receive the full cycle from the engraver, but deems that it was not in proof copies but engraver copies. Wolff, Bach: Essays, pp. 269–70 and 212.
44 Critische Nachrichten aus dem Reiche der Gelehrsamkeit (May 7, 1751): p. 146. Translated in NBR, no. 281, p. 256.
45 Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg, ‘Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’, in Historisch-Kritische Beyträge zur Aufnahme der Musik, vol. 2, (Berlin, 1756), p. 576. In all the documents Philipp Emanuel—and thereafter Marpurg—highlight this circumstance, using the words supplement (Anhang), appended (beygefügten) [sic, in his preface to the Original Edition of 1751] and added (zugefügte; in Marpurg’s introduction to the 1752 edition of The Art of Fugue).
46 The Contrap: a 4. is discussed in Chapter 13.
47 As already mentioned, this process is akin to Bach’s composition of Clavierübung III, when, after the composition had already been completed and sent to the engraving, he decided to change its structure, adding new pieces to the existing version. There, too, the addition is not reflected in the title page.