A memorial performance series reimagining Bach’s legacy through the prism of his final compositions and their spiritual architecture
The Occasion and the Conception
We begin with the announcement of the event itself: a series of organ concerts held to commemorate the death of Johann Sebastian Bach, who died on July 28, 1750, at nine in the evening. Schweitzer establishes the immediate context — these are not merely recitals but acts of remembrance, designed to honor Bach in a manner befitting the magnitude of his passing. The concerts are conceived as a coherent cycle, not a random selection of works, and they follow a specific liturgical and emotional arc that mirrors the progression from Bach’s final illness through death to eternal rest.
Schweitzer writes that the program is built around Bach’s last organ compositions, particularly those from the period of his waning eyesight and final months. The author explains that these works carry a special weight, as they represent Bach’s artistic testament, composed when he knew his earthly work was ending. The concerts are arranged chronologically in terms of Bach’s life, moving from the relatively early large-scale works to the final, spare chorale preludes dictated to his son-in-law Johann Christoph Altnickol when Bach was completely blind.
The opening concert features the Prelude and Fugue in E-flat major, BWV 552, which Schweitzer identifies as a work of triumphal character, appropriate for beginning a memorial cycle not with mourning but with affirmation. He notes that this piece, often called the “St. Anne” for its fugue subject, was published in Bach’s *Clavier-Übung III* and stands as a cathedral-like structure in its own right — the prelude built on the Dorian hymn “Vater unser im Himmelreich”, the fugue on the same theme transformed into a triple fugue that represents the Trinity. Schweitzer insists that the program must move from this public, architectural statement into the more intimate and personal works that follow.
“The organ works of Bach’s last years are not merely compositions; they are confessions. In them, the master speaks to us directly, without the mediation of virtuosity or display, from the depths of his experience of suffering and transcendence.”
The significance of this opening lies in the principle Schweitzer establishes: the memorial concerts are to be experienced as a unified narrative. The E-flat Prelude and Fugue is not placed first by chance — it represents the public face of Bach, the composer as master of the grand style, before the cycle turns inward toward the private meditations of a dying man. Schweitzer thus frames the entire series as a descent from the cathedral into the cell, from the congregation to the solitary soul.
The Structure of the Memorial Cycle
Schweitzer then lays out the complete architecture of the concert series. It consists of four evening concerts, each with a distinct theological and emotional theme. The first concert, as noted, opens with the E-flat major works and continues with chorale preludes from the Orgelbüchlein and the Leipzig Chorales, moving from the general to the particular — from the doctrine of the Trinity to the personal experience of faith in suffering.
The second concert centers on the Great Eighteen Chorales, those late reworkings of earlier chorale preludes that Bach revised in his final decade. Schweitzer explains that these pieces represent Bach’s mature reflection on his own earlier style, a kind of retrospective purification. The third concert is devoted entirely to the Canonic Variations on “Vom Himmel hoch, da komm’ ich her”, BWV 769, which Bach submitted for admission to the Mizler Society in 1747, and the Musical Offering — though Schweitzer notes that the latter is not primarily an organ work, he includes a transcription of the Ricercar a 6 for organ.
The fourth and final concert is the most somber. It presents the Six Chorales (Schübler Chorales) and the Eighteen Chorales that Bach could no longer write down himself, dictated to Altnickol. Schweitzer emphasizes that these chorale preludes, particularly the final one, “Vor deinen Thron tret’ ich hiermit” (Before Your throne I now appear), were composed when Bach could no longer see the page. The piece breaks off mid-phrase at the point where Altnickol could no longer bear to continue, and the last notes are written in another hand.
Schweitzer clarifies the purpose of this ordering: the cycle moves from life through death to resurrection, from the Trinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit to the individual believer’s entry into the presence of God. The audience is not merely listening to a series of pieces but participating in a liturgical drama that reenacts Bach’s own spiritual journey from his public ministry as a cantor to his private deathbed.
The Theological Foundations of Bach’s Late Style
Having established the concert structure, Schweitzer turns to the theological underpinnings that make these late works distinct from Bach’s earlier output. He argues that Bach’s final organ compositions are characterized by a radical simplification of texture and a intensification of harmonic chromaticism that serve not decorative but expressive purposes. The late Bach, Schweitzer writes, strips away the elaborate figuration of his youth and middle period in favor of a “naked” presentation of the chorale melody, often in long note values, with the accompanying voices weaving a dense network of chromatic harmony around it.
Schweitzer identifies the Chorale “Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten sein” (When we are in deepest need) and its companion piece, “Vor deinen Thron tret’ ich hiermit,” as the epitome of this late style. The melody, which in earlier settings might have been ornamented or broken into fragments, is presented in the pedal in whole notes, while the manuals spin out a five-voice counterpoint of extraordinary harmonic tension. The piece, Schweitzer notes, contains passages of such chromatic audacity that they anticipate the harmonic language of the 19th century, particularly Wagner and Franck.
“What Bach achieves in these final chorales is the translation of Lutheran theology into pure sound. The melody represents the Word of God — unchangeable, authoritative, clear. The surrounding voices represent the human soul’s response: troubled, questioning, but ultimately resolved in faith.”
Schweitzer insists that these works must be played slowly, with full use of the organ’s plenum (the full principal chorus) for the outer sections, and with carefully chosen solo stops for the inner verses. He criticizes the performance practice of his own time, which tended to play Bach’s chorale preludes too quickly and with insufficient attention to the text that underlies each chorale. For Schweitzer, each note is an interpretation of a specific word of the hymn, and the organist must know the text intimately to render the music faithfully.
The Role of the Organist as Liturgical Interpreter
In the next section, Schweitzer addresses the performer directly. He argues that the organist in these memorial concerts is not a concert artist but a liturgical interpreter — a mediator between Bach’s musical text and the congregation’s spiritual experience. The choice of registration, tempo, and phrasing must all be governed by the meaning of the chorale text, not by considerations of virtuosity or effect.
Schweitzer provides detailed instructions for the performance of the E-flat Prelude and Fugue. The prelude, he explains, must be played with a “full, broad, and solemn” registration, using the Principal 16′ in the pedal and the Principal 8′ and 4′ on the manuals, with the reeds used sparingly for climaxes. The fugue, a triple fugue on the same theme, requires a terraced dynamic scheme: the first exposition on a Rückpositiv registration (8′ and 4′ principals, no reeds), the second on a Hauptwerk registration (adding 16′ and mixtures), and the third on the full organ, with the pedal taking the subject in augmentation.
For the chorale preludes of the late period, Schweitzer recommends a different approach. Here the registration must be transparent — a solo stop for the melody (often a Gamba 8′ or Flute 4′ on a separate manual), with the accompanying voices on a quiet Bourdon 16′ and Principal 8′ , or even on the String stops alone. The tempo must be extremely slow — Schweitzer goes so far as to suggest a metronome marking of 40-50 beats per minute for the half-note in “Vor deinen Thron” — so that each chromatic inflection can be heard and meditated upon.
The organist’s role, Schweitzer concludes, is to make the congregation feel Bach’s own experience of suffering and faith. The performer must “lose himself in the music” , not as a display of emotion but as an act of theological concentration. The memorial concert is a form of preaching — not through words, but through the direct address of sound upon the soul.
The Program of the First Concert: The Art of Fugue and the Great Passacaglia
We are now at the threshold of the actual performance sequence, where Schweitzer opens the first of the three memorial concerts with two monumental works that together establish the theological and architectural foundation of the entire cycle.
The first concert begins with The Art of Fugue, BWV 1080, presented not as a dry pedagogical exercise but as Bach’s supreme testament to the unity of all musical knowledge under God. Schweitzer observes that Bach left this work unfinished at his death—the final fugue breaks off mid-measure at the point where the composer’s own name, B-A-C-H, is introduced as a subject. For Schweitzer, this is not merely a biographical curiosity but a theological statement: the work is “a cathedral left incomplete, whose blueprints are themselves an act of worship.” The performer must approach the Art of Fugue not as a collection of contrapuntal puzzles but as a prayer in sound, each fugue building upon the last until the music ascends into silence. Schweitzer instructs the organist to use a clear, transparent registration throughout—primarily Principal stops at 8′ and 4′ pitch, with minimal use of pedals except where the subject demands the full gravity of the bass line. The tempo must be deliberate and unwavering, allowing the listener to follow each voice as it enters and intertwines. The final, incomplete fugue is to be played as far as the manuscript goes, and then the organist should simply stop, letting the silence itself become the conclusion.
Following the Art of Fugue, the concert moves to the Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor, BWV 582, which Schweitzer describes as “the first great theological argument in musical form.” Here, he explains, the passacaglia theme functions as a ground bass that repeats twenty times, each repetition a new variation on the same spiritual proposition. The theme itself, Schweitzer notes, is derived from a French dance but transformed by Bach into a statement of cosmic order—the descending line suggesting the descent of Christ into the world, the ascending resolution suggesting the resurrection. The organist must register each variation with increasing intensity, building from a single Bourdon 16′ in the pedals alone to the full Plenum by the final variations. The fugue that follows, built on the same theme, is not a separate piece but the culmination and resolution of the passacaglia’s journey. Schweitzer emphasizes that the transition between the two sections must be seamless—the final variation should not end but rather open directly into the fugue subject, as if the theme itself has become the answer to its own question.
“In this work, Bach has written a sermon on the text of the cross. Each variation is a verse, and the fugue is the final doxology.”
The clarificatory point here is that Schweitzer sees the first concert as establishing the vertical dimension of Bach’s music—the relationship between earth and heaven, between human limitation and divine infinity. The Art of Fugue represents the intellectual aspect of this ascent (the mind reaching toward God through the perfection of form), while the Passacaglia represents the affective aspect (the heart undergoing the journey from suffering to glory). Together, they prepare the congregation for the more explicitly meditative works to follow.
The Program of the Second Concert: The Orgelbüchlein and the Chorale Preludes
The second concert shifts from the monumental to the intimate, presenting a selection from the Orgelbüchlein (the “Little Organ Book”) and a series of chorale preludes that trace the liturgical year from Advent to Easter.
Schweitzer introduces the Orgelbüchlein as Bach’s “catechism in music” —a collection of 46 chorale preludes (though Bach planned 164) intended to teach the congregation the meaning of each hymn through the organist’s commentary. Schweitzer selects a sequence that moves from “Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland” (Advent) through “Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her” (Christmas) to “Christ lag in Todesbanden” (Easter), creating a miniature liturgical year within a single concert. For each chorale, Schweitzer provides detailed registration instructions: the cantus firmus (the hymn melody itself) must always be played on a distinctive stop that stands out from the accompanying voices—a Trompete 8′ in the tenor for “Nun komm,” a Gemshorn 8′ in the soprano for “Vom Himmel hoch,” a Posaune 16′ in the pedals for “Christ lag.” The accompanying voices, by contrast, should be soft and legato, woven around the melody like a meditation on the text.
Schweitzer devotes particular attention to “O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde groß” , the chorale that Bach would later use to close Part I of the St. Matthew Passion. Here, the organist must play the melody in the soprano register on a Gamba 8′ , while the lower voices move in chromatic counterpoint that reflects the tears and grief of the text. The tempo must be slow enough that each dissonance is felt—Schweitzer recommends a metronome marking of 60 for the quarter-note—so that the congregation can “hear the weeping” within the harmony. The final phrase, where the chorale turns from grief to hope, should be marked by a crescendo through the addition of a Principal 4′ , leading into a full cadence that resolves the chromatic tension.
“The chorale prelude is not an ornament to the hymn; it is the hymn’s own soul, made audible through the organ.”
The second concert thus establishes the horizontal dimension of Bach’s music—the movement through time, through the liturgical year, through the life of Christ. Where the first concert reached upward, the second concert moves forward, tracing the narrative of redemption from promise to fulfillment. The congregation, Schweitzer writes, should experience this concert as a journey , each chorale a station along the way, until they arrive at the final Easter chorale with its triumphant Hallelujah in the pedals.
The Program of the Third Concert: The Great Preludes and Fugues
The third concert returns to large-scale forms, but with a different theological emphasis. Schweitzer presents a selection of the great preludes and fugues —the E-flat major, BWV 552 (called the “St. Anne” from its fugue subject’s resemblance to the English hymn tune); the A minor, BWV 543; and the G minor, BWV 542 (the “Great”)—as a cycle that moves from law to gospel, from the Old Testament to the New.
The Prelude and Fugue in E-flat major opens the concert with what Schweitzer calls “the sound of the Creator’s voice.” The prelude, with its majestic dotted rhythms and massive chords, represents the power and majesty of God the Father —the organist must use the full Plenum with Mixtures and Reeds , creating a sound that fills the entire church. The fugue, with its three subjects (each corresponding to a person of the Trinity, as Schweitzer notes following the tradition of Bach’s commentators), is a theological argument in three voices : the first subject is the Father, the second the Son, the third the Holy Spirit. The organist must bring out each subject clearly as it enters, registering the third subject with a Sesquialtera (a compound stop that adds a shimmering quality) to distinguish it from the others. The final statement, where all three subjects combine, is the doctrine of the Trinity made audible.
The Fugue in A minor follows as a contrast—where the E-flat major was light and majesty, this fugue is dark and searching. Schweitzer interprets it as “the cry of the soul in the wilderness” , the Old Testament longing for a savior. The subject, with its wide leaps and chromatic intervals, must be played with a pressing, urgent tempo (Schweitzer suggests allegro moderato at 72 for the quarter-note) on a Principal 8′ with the Swell box closed , creating a veiled, almost mournful sound. The fugue builds through a series of stretti (overlapping entries of the subject) to a climax that is suddenly broken off, leaving the listener in a moment of suspense—the longing unresolved.
The concert concludes with the Great G minor Fugue , which Schweitzer describes as “the victory of faith over doubt.” This fugue, with its giguelike rhythm and virtuosic pedal solos, is a statement of joy and confidence. The organist must approach it with energy and drive , using a bright registration ( Principal 8′ and 4′ with a Mixture ) and a tempo that is almost dance-like (Schweitzer recommends 80 for the quarter-note). The famous pedal solo in the middle of the fugue—a passage where the feet alone carry the subject through a series of rapid figurations—is the “dance of the redeemed” , a physical expression of spiritual freedom.
“The G minor Fugue is not a struggle; it is a triumph already won. The soul does not fight for victory—it dances in the certainty of it.”
The third concert thus completes the theological arc of the cycle. The congregation, having ascended through the Art of Fugue and the Passacaglia (the vertical dimension), having journeyed through the liturgical year in the chorale preludes (the horizontal dimension), now arrives at a synthesis : the law (the majesty of the E-flat major), the longing (the A minor), and the gospel (the G minor). The cycle is a complete statement of Christian faith, from creation to redemption.
The Practical Instructions for Registration and Tempo
Throughout the work, Schweitzer devotes extensive space to practical instructions that are as much theological as they are musical. Registration, he insists, is the “instrument of interpretation” —it is through the choice of stops that the organist reveals the meaning of the music.
Schweitzer divides organ stops into three categories based on their theological function. The Principals (including the Diapasons) represent the divine order —clear, pure, and unchanging. They are to be used for fugue subjects and chorale melodies where the musical idea itself is the focus. The Flutes (including the Bourdons and Gemshorns) represent human response —softer, more reflective, more intimate. They are used for accompanying voices and for meditative passages where the organist invites the congregation to listen inwardly. The Reeds (including the Trompettes and Posaunen) represent divine intervention —powerful, penetrating, often startling. They are reserved for climactic moments, for the entry of the cantus firmus in a chorale prelude, or for the final statement of a fugue subject.
“The organist who uses the Reeds carelessly is like a preacher who shouts every sentence. The Reeds must be saved for the Word that breaks into the world.”
Tempo, too, is a matter of theological significance. Schweitzer warns against the tendency to play Bach too fast, which he attributes to a misunderstanding of the music’s affective content. Bach’s fast movements, Schweitzer argues, are not fast in the sense of modern virtuosity; they are “fast with gravity” —the allegro of a fugue should still feel the weight of the pedal points and the dignity of the subject. For the slow movements, especially the chorale preludes and the contemplative sections of the Passacaglia, Schweitzer recommends tempos that are “as slow as possible while still maintaining the line” —the phrase must breathe, but it must never be rushed. The organist should practice each piece with the metronome, Schweitzer advises, not to achieve mechanical precision but to discover the “inner pulse” of the music, the heartbeat that connects the sound to the soul.
The Program of the Fourth Concert: The Canonic Variations and the Musical Offering
We are now in the fourth concert of the seven‑concert cycle, a point where Schweitzer turns from the more public and architectonic works of Bach to the most esoteric and intellectually concentrated compositions from the composer’s final decade. This section presents the fourth program and its rationale.
The fourth concert is built around two works that represent the “highest synthesis of contrapuntal art and spiritual expression” in Bach’s output: the Canonic Variations on “Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her” (BWV 769) and the Musical Offering (BWV 1079). Schweitzer explains that these are not works for casual listening; they demand from the congregation a “state of meditative readiness” and from the organist a complete mastery of the instrument’s registrational resources to make the intricate polyphony audible. The Canonic Variations are placed first, serving as a kind of “contrapuntal prelude” for the more expansive and varied Musical Offering.
Schweitzer presents the Canonic Variations in detail. The work consists of five variations on the Christmas chorale, each a canon at a different interval and in a different texture. Variation I is a canon at the octave for two manuals and pedal, with the chorale melody presented in the pedal as a cantus firmus in long notes. Variation II is a canon at the fifth, with the two upper voices imitating each other while the pedal provides a free bass. Variation III is a canon at the sixth, but here Schweitzer notes a remarkable feature: the canon is “inversus” —the second voice enters not only at a different pitch but with the melodic line turned upside down, creating a mirror image of the first voice. Variation IV is a canon at the seventh, again with the chorale in the pedal, but now the two manual voices are in “cancrizans” (retrograde) motion, one moving forward while the other moves backward. Variation V is the most complex: a canon at the ninth that combines all previous techniques—inversion, retrograde, and augmentation—with the chorale melody presented in the pedal in “double augmentation” (notes twice as long as the original). Schweitzer writes that this final variation is “a labyrinth of sound in which every line is a path leading to the same divine center.”
“In the Canonic Variations, Bach demonstrates that the strictest intellectual discipline is the servant of the deepest spiritual feeling. Each canon is a prayer, and the entire work is a cathedral built of pure counterpoint.”
Schweitzer clarifies that the organist must choose registrations that “clarify the canonic structure” rather than merely producing a beautiful sound. For Variation I, he recommends a Principal 8′ and Octave 4′ on one manual with a Flute 4′ on the other, and a Principal 16′ and 8′ in the pedal—the different tone colors make the canonic entries audible even when the voices cross. For the retrograde and inversion variations, Schweitzer advises using “slightly contrasting registrations” to help the listener distinguish the forward‑moving from the backward‑moving lines. The chorale melody in the pedal should always be played on a “clear and distinct” 8′ stop, never a 16′ reed, so that the congregation can recognize the familiar tune as the foundation of the entire structure. The tempo throughout should be “deliberate but flowing” —each variation should move at the same basic pulse, so that the listener experiences the variations as a single, unified meditation rather than five separate pieces.
The Program of the Fourth Concert: The Musical Offering
This subsection continues the coverage of the fourth concert, now turning to the second half of the program and the larger work that closes it.
The Musical Offering, composed in 1747 after Bach’s visit to the court of Frederick the Great, is presented by Schweitzer as a work of “encyclopedic contrapuntal learning” that nonetheless possesses a “unity of affect” —the affect of “royal majesty and divine order.” The work is built on a theme given to Bach by the King himself, and Schweitzer emphasizes that Bach treated this theme not merely as a musical exercise but as a “symbol of the relationship between the earthly king and the heavenly King.” The program for the fourth concert includes the entire cycle: the three‑voice Ricercar, the six‑voice Ricercar, the ten canons (both the canons on the royal theme and the canons for various instrumental combinations), and the trio sonata (which Bach notated as a trio for flute, violin, and continuo but which Schweitzer argues can be adapted for organ).
Schweitzer walks through each movement in sequence. The three‑voice Ricercar opens the work: a fugue in the “learned style” (stile antico) that presents the royal theme in its original form, then in inversion, then in augmentation. Schweitzer notes that this ricercar is “not a display of technical prowess but a statement of first principles” —the theme is presented clearly, almost didactically, as if the composer is saying: “Here is the King’s theme; now we shall see what it can become.” The six‑voice Ricercar follows, a “fugue of extraordinary density” in which the royal theme appears in all six voices, sometimes in stretto (overlapping entries), sometimes in double counterpoint at the twelfth. Schweitzer describes the six‑voice Ricercar as “the most profound contrapuntal achievement in the entire literature of music” —every voice is independent, every line is a variation of the royal theme, and the whole creates a texture of “unimaginable complexity that nonetheless sounds like pure, natural song.”
The ten canons are then presented, each a different type: canons at the unison, the octave, the fifth, the fourth; canons in inversion, retrograde, and “crab canon” (where one voice plays the theme forward and another plays it backward simultaneously). Schweitzer provides detailed instructions for the “resolution of the canons” when played on the organ—since Bach wrote many of them as “riddle canons” (without indicating where the second voice should enter), the organist must determine the correct entry points and resolutions based on the rules of strict counterpoint. For the trio sonata, Schweitzer recommends a registration of Flutes 8′ and 4′ on two manuals with a soft Pedal 16′ —the trio should sound “chamber‑like and intimate” , a moment of rest between the densities of the ricercars and the canons.
Schweitzer clarifies the overall shape of the fourth concert: it begins in the “heights of canonic abstraction” (the Canonic Variations), descends into the “depths of fugal complexity” (the Ricercars), and then rises again through the canons to a “final affirmation of order and beauty” in the trio sonata. The entire concert is a “journey through the mind of Bach” —not a journey of emotional expression but of “intellectual contemplation leading to spiritual insight.” The organist must play these works with “absolute clarity and absolute repose” , as if the music were a mathematical proof being demonstrated to a congregation, with the understanding that for Bach, mathematics and theology were one.
The Program of the Fifth Concert: The Great Chorale Partitas and the Clavier-Übung III
We move now to the fifth concert, which Schweitzer describes as the “liturgical center” of the entire cycle. This concert is dedicated to Bach’s settings of the chorale, but not the small‑scale preludes of the Orgelbüchlein—here, the works are the great partitas and the monumental Clavier-Übung III, compositions in which the chorale becomes the basis for extended cycles of variations and large‑scale polyphonic structures.
The fifth concert opens with the Partita on “Sei gegrüßet, Jesu gütig” (BWV 768), a series of eleven variations on a Passion chorale. Schweitzer presents the partita as a “musical narrative of the Passion” —each variation represents a different moment in the story of Christ’s suffering, from the initial greeting (variation 1) to the crucifixion (variation 10) and the final burial (variation 11). The variations are not merely technical exercises; they are “programmatic in the deepest sense” , each one painting a specific emotional and theological picture. Variation 2, for example, is a “canon at the octave” that represents the “harmony of the divine will” —the two voices move together in perfect agreement, symbolizing Christ’s obedience to the Father. Variation 5 is a “trio for two manuals and pedal” that Schweitzer describes as “the agony in the garden” —the lines are fragmented, the harmonies are chromatic, and the pedal moves in halting, arrhythmic patterns.
“The Partita on ‘Sei gegrüßet’ is not a set of variations; it is a Passion oratorio for a single performer. Each variation is a movement, and the whole is a drama of redemption told entirely through the language of counterpoint.”
Schweitzer provides registrational instructions for each variation. The variations that depict moments of “sorrow and darkness” (variations 4, 7, and 10) should be registered with strings and soft reeds —a Gamba 8′ on the Hauptwerk, a Vox Celeste 8′ on the Schwellwerk, and a soft 16′ pedal (Bourdon or Subbass). The variations that depict “triumph and light” (variations 9 and 11) should use plenum registrations (Principal chorus with mixtures) to evoke the “glory of the resurrection.” The tempo should vary according to the affect: the sorrowful variations move at a “slow, processional pace” , while the triumphant ones are “faster but never rushed” —the dignity of the chorale must always be preserved.
The Program of the Fifth Concert: The Clavier-Übung III (The German Organ Mass)
This subsection continues the fifth concert, now presenting the massive Clavier-Übung III, which forms the second half of the program.
The Clavier-Übung III, published in 1739, is described by Schweitzer as “the largest and most complex organ work ever written” —a cycle of twenty‑one chorale preludes and four duets, framed by the great Prelude and Fugue in E‑flat major (BWV 552). Schweitzer explains that the work is organized around the “liturgical year” and the “catechism” —the chorale settings correspond to the Kyrie, Gloria, and the Ten Commandments (as a single large setting), the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, Baptism, and the Eucharist. Each chorale is set in two versions: a “large” version (in the stile antico, with the chorale melody in the pedal as a cantus firmus) and a “small” version (in the stile moderno, with the chorale in the upper voices in florid figuration). The four duets are “interludes” between the larger sections, written in the “Italian style” of two‑part invention.
Schweitzer walks through the major settings. The Kyrie settings (three of them) are presented as a “trinitarian meditation” —the first Kyrie is a fughetta on the plainsong melody, the second is a trio with the cantus firmus in the pedal, and the third is a five‑voice fugue that Schweitzer calls “the most sublime Kyrie ever written.” The Gloria settings (also three) are “jubilant and bright” , with the “Et in terra pax” section using a “pastoral” registration of flutes and soft strings. The Ten Commandments setting is a “massive chorale fantasia” in which the pedal presents the melody in long notes over a texture of “contrapuntal elaboration” —the voices weave around each other in intricate patterns, representing the “complexity of the law” and the “simplicity of faith.”
The Credo setting is a “confession of faith” in the form of a triple fugue —the first subject represents the “Father,” the second the “Son,” and the third the “Holy Spirit,” and the three subjects are combined in a “triple counterpoint” at the climax. The Lord’s Prayer setting is a “simple, intimate prelude” that uses a “soft registration” (Flute 8′ and 4′ on one manual, with a gentle Octave 4′ on the other) —the affect is one of “humble supplication” rather than theological grandeur. The Baptism and Eucharist settings conclude the cycle, the former with a “water‑like” figuration in the upper voices (rippling sixteenth notes) and the latter with a “bread‑and‑wine” simplicity (homophonic texture, chorale in the soprano).
Schweitzer clarifies that the Prelude and Fugue in E‑flat major that frame the entire cycle are not merely a prelude and fugue but a “symbolic representation of the Trinity” —the prelude is in three sections (fast‑slow‑fast), the fugue is in three subjects (the first in eighth notes, the second in sixteenth notes, the third in quarter notes), and the key of E‑flat major is the “key of the Trinity” (three flats). The entire Clavier-Übung III is thus a “musical summa theologica” —a complete expression of Lutheran doctrine in sound, organized with the same precision and comprehensiveness as a theological treatise.
The Program of the Fifth Concert: The Canonic Variations and the Musical Offering (Continued)
We are now in the final program of the memorial cycle, where Schweitzer turns to two of Bach’s most intellectually rigorous late works, both of which demonstrate the composer’s supreme mastery of fugal and canonic technique in the service of a higher theological or symbolic purpose.
Schweitzer presents the Canonic Variations on “Vom Himmel hoch, da komm’ ich her” (BWV 769) as a work that is often misunderstood as mere technical exercise but is in fact a profound meditation on the Incarnation. The variations are built upon the Christmas chorale, and Bach subjects this simple melody to five increasingly complex canonic treatments. Schweitzer notes that the work was originally published in 1747 as a copper engraving, dedicated to the Mizler Society (the musical learned society of which Bach was a member), and that the dedication copy included a portrait of Bach with a six-part canon — emphasizing the symbolic importance of the number six, representing the six days of creation and the perfection of God’s work.
The five variations proceed from the simplest to the most complex. The first variation is a canon at the octave, where the chorale melody appears in the pedal while the two manuals engage in canon. The second variation is a canon at the fifth, with the chorale in the pedal and the manuals in stricter imitation. The third variation is a canon at the seventh, which creates a sense of tension and yearning. The fourth variation is a canon at the octave in augmentation (the notes are lengthened), which Schweitzer describes as producing an effect of “eternal calm” — as if time itself is slowing down to contemplate the mystery of God becoming man. The fifth and final variation is a canon at the sixth, but this time in double counterpoint and with the chorale melody not in the pedal but in the soprano, surrounded by canonic voices in the lower parts.
“The Canonic Variations are not a dry contrapuntal exercise but a musical theology of the Incarnation. Each variation is a new way of seeing the same truth: that the infinite God has entered into finite human form.”
Schweitzer clarifies that these variations, performed in the context of a memorial service for Bach, serve as a reminder that Bach’s art was never merely technical but always theological and symbolic. The complexity of the canons is not an end in itself but a means of expressing the inexhaustible depth of the Christian mystery. The chorale itself — “From heaven above to earth I come” — is the text that announces the Incarnation, and Bach’s variations are a musical exploration of what this event means: that the eternal order (represented by the strict canon) has entered into time and history (represented by the varied treatments of the chorale melody). For the listener in the memorial audience, these variations would have been a moment of contemplative stillness — a chance to meditate on the mystery of death and resurrection through the lens of Bach’s most concentrated counterpoint.
The Program of the Sixth Concert: The Goldberg Variations and the B Minor Mass Selections
We move now to the sixth concert of the cycle, where Schweitzer presents the Goldberg Variations (BWV 988) as a work that stands at the intersection of technical virtuosity and spiritual consolation. He reminds us that the work was written for the insomniac Count Kaiserling, to be played by his harpsichordist Goldberg in the small hours of the night. Schweitzer draws attention to the fact that the work is built upon a ground bass — the opening aria — which is then varied thirty times. But he insists that the Goldberg Variations are not a mere display of keyboard technique but a “musical rosary” — a cycle of meditations on a single theme, each variation returning to the same harmonic foundation but approaching it from a different emotional and technical perspective.
Schweitzer organizes the performance of the Goldberg Variations for the memorial cycle into two distinct sections. The first section includes the Aria (the opening theme) followed by the first fifteen variations, which are characterized by their canonic structure (each variation from 3 to 11 is a canon at an increasing interval — from the unison to the ninth). The second section begins with the Sixteenth Variation (the French Overture), which marks a structural turning point — a return to the opening tempo and character after the intensity of the earlier canons. Schweitzer notes that Bach’s design is symmetrical: the variations proceed in groups of three, with every third variation being a canon, and the entire set is framed by the Aria at the beginning and its reprise at the end, producing a sense of “circular time” — as if the listener has returned to the beginning but with a transformed understanding.
For the memorial context, Schweitzer selects specific variations that carry particular emotional weight. The Twenty-fifth Variation (the so-called “Black Pearl”) is played as a representation of grief and longing — its chromaticism and suspension-laden harmonies evoke a sense of deep lamentation. The Thirtieth Variation (the Quodlibet) is played as a moment of joyful release — here Bach quotes two folk songs (“I’ve so long been away from you” and “Cabbage and turnips have driven me away”), creating a moment of almost playful humor that Schweitzer interprets as a “resurrection song” — the soul’s joy at being reunited with its Creator.
“The Goldberg Variations are thus not merely a keyboard exercise but a journey of the soul from the simple statement of the theme through the complexity of the variations to the final return to the theme, now heard with new ears — a musical image of the soul’s journey from earth to heaven and back.”
Schweitzer clarifies that the Goldberg Variations, performed in the memorial series, serve as a “musical meditation on death and resurrection” — the Aria represents the soul in its original state of grace, the variations represent the trials and transformations of earthly life, and the final return to the Aria represents the soul’s return to God, now enriched and transformed by its journey. The listener is invited to hear each variation not as a separate piece but as a station in a spiritual pilgrimage, with the return of the Aria at the end serving as the “Amen” — the final affirmation that all is well, that the soul has returned to its Source.
The Program of the Sixth Concert: The B Minor Mass Selections (Continued)
The sixth concert concludes with selections from the Mass in B Minor (BWV 232), which Schweitzer describes as Bach’s “great testament” — the work in which he gathered all his artistic and theological resources into a single, unified statement of the Christian faith. Schweitzer selects specific movements that are most suitable for organ transcription and most appropriate for the memorial context: the Sanctus, the Osanna, the Benedictus, and the Dona Nobis Pacem.
The Sanctus is presented as a movement of overwhelming grandeur — a setting of the words “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth” in six-part chorus, with the texture suggesting the six wings of the seraphim in Isaiah’s vision. Schweitzer notes that the Sanctus was originally composed in 1724 for the Christmas Day service and later incorporated into the Mass, and that its triple statement of “Sanctus” (three times “Holy”) is a direct reference to the Trinity. The organ transcription emphasizes the architectonic structure of the movement — the opening ascending figure, the massive homophonic blocks, and the final fugal section on “Pleni sunt coeli et terra gloria eius” (Heaven and earth are full of His glory), which Schweitzer describes as a “cosmic hymn” — the whole creation worshiping the Triune God.
The Osanna (the acclamation that follows the Sanctus) is presented as a movement of irrepressible joy — a double-choir setting in which the two choruses call back and forth to each other, creating a sense of spatial depth and antiphonal response. Schweitzer notes that Bach uses a compound meter (six-eight time) that gives the music a dance-like quality, as if the angels themselves are dancing in praise. The organ transcription preserves this rhythmic vitality, with the two manuals representing the two choirs and the pedal providing the harmonic foundation.
The Benedictus (the “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord”) is presented as a movement of intimate tenderness — a duet for tenor and flute in the original, which Schweitzer transcribes for organ with a solo stop on one manual and a flutelike accompaniment on another. He notes that the Benedictus is the heart of the Mass — the moment when the congregation acknowledges the presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and Bach’s setting is remarkable for its gentle, almost hypnotic quality, with the tenor line rising and falling like a breath, suggesting the “inbreathing of the Holy Spirit.”
The Dona Nobis Pacem (Grant us peace) is the final movement of the Mass and the final piece of the entire concert cycle. Schweitzer describes this movement as Bach’s “final word” — a fugue that is not a display of contrapuntal virtuosity but a statement of profound simplicity and serenity. The text is a prayer for peace, and Bach sets it to music that is sublime and otherworldly — the voices enter one by one, building to a massive climax, then settling into a quiet cadence. Schweitzer notes that Bach here quotes the music of the “Gratias agimus tibi” (We give Thee thanks) from earlier in the Mass, creating a musical connection between gratitude and peace — as if the only path to peace is through thanksgiving. For the memorial audience, this final movement is the “Amen” of the entire cycle — the prayer for the soul of Johann Sebastian Bach and for peace for all who mourn.
“The Dona Nobis Pacem is not merely a closing piece; it is the theological conclusion of Bach’s life’s work. All the complexity, all the counterpoint, all the artistry is finally resolved into a single, unadorned prayer: Grant us peace. In this movement, Bach speaks his last word — and it is a word of hope.”
Schweitzer clarifies that the B Minor Mass selections, placed at the end of the sixth concert and near the conclusion of the entire memorial cycle, serve as the “eschatological climax” — the point where time and eternity meet, where the music of earth becomes the music of heaven. The listener, having journeyed through the entire cycle — from the fugues and chorales to the canons and variations — is now brought to the threshold of the heavenly Jerusalem, where the liturgy of the Mass is sung by angels and archangels and by the whole company of heaven. The Dona Nobis Pacem is the door that opens onto this eternal liturgy, and the listener is invited to enter through it, carrying with them the memory of Johann Sebastian Bach, whose music has been the guide for this entire pilgrimage.
