Bach at Leipzig: A Play

by Itamar Moses, Tom Stoppard (Preface by)

Overview

Leipzig, Germany, 1722: Johann Kuhnau, revered organist of the Thomaskirche, suddenly dies, leaving his post vacant. In order to fill the position, the city council invites a small number of musicians to audition for the appointment, including Johann Sebastian Bach. This, however, is not his story. Based on actual events, Bach at Leipzig imagines with uncommon intelligence and wit how six little-known musicians resorted to bribery, blackmail, and betrayal in an attempt to secure the most coveted musical post in all of Europe.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781429921640
Publisher:	Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Publication date:	10/25/2005
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	129
File size:	450 KB

About the Author

Itamar Moses is the author of several plays, including Outrage, Celebrity Row, and The Four of Us.

Read an Excerpt

Bach at Leipzig

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By Itamar Moses

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Copyright © 2005 Itamar Moses
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-2164-0

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CHAPTER 1

Act One

One

(As the lights fade, the beginning of Bach's "Prelude in A Minor" for organ plays, perhaps cutting off with the sound of wind, a carriage, a slamming door. At this, a man in his fifties, JOHANN FRIEDRICH FASCH, appears, alone in a pool of light, wearing a traveling cloak.)

FASCH

Leipzig. June, 1722.

My darling Anna:

By the time you receive this letter, I will have sent it. I know that I embarked suddenly, my sweet angel. I am sorry for it, especially so soon after the birth of our infant daughter, so soon that she does not yet have even a name. But I had no choice.

From an early age, my gingersnap, I heard everything in nature — from the squeak of wheels on a passing stagecoach to the slap of feet in mud puddles — as melodies and harmonies. The insomnia that has plagued me since childhood is, I think, in part a result of the hum that often springs, unbidden, from my throat. As is the insomnia that now plagues you. Eager for the training I knew I needed, I found my way here, to Leipzig, and to the man whose reputation drew me: Johann Kuhnau. He held the post of Thomaskantor, presiding over both the services at the Thomaskirche and the students at the Thomasschule, which stood across from each other on the Thomaskirchof, in the area of Leipzig honoring St. Thomas.

Recognizing my potential, Kuhnau began to give me private lessons in his study. It became clear to me then how profound was his devotion to the Lutheran faith. On his walls, above his writing desk, his washbasin, everywhere, he had affixed scrolls bearing the sayings of Martin Luther. Above his keyboard, one, my favorite, read: "Youth should be taught this art, for it makes fine, skillful people." And indeed it was not simply as a musician but as a person that Kuhnau instructed me, alternating musical lessons with religious ones. Music, Kuhnau taught me, was God's gift to us, and our only worthy way of praising God in return. And at the close of every lesson he would say, "You, Johann, are my most cherished pupil."

But, Anna, my meadow, my lamb, as I grew older I found it in me, as never before, to disagree with Kuhnau. About composition, at first, as I tired of the rigid forms he taught me. But soon my queries, like our lessons, shifted from music to religion. Need our music praise God at all? I wondered. Why not make it simply for each other? Soon, I found myself questioning even the most fundamental tenets of his faith. Consubstantiation! Election! The Doctrine of Predestination itself! Each meeting would begin with humble apologies for the last but soon escalate to bitter argument. And one day when I went to his study for my lesson, bearing a gift, no less, that day — oh, Anna, my empath, this will break your heart — that day there was another student in his room. A new student at his keyboard. And he said, Anna — I heard it myself — Kuhnau said to this boy, "You, Johann, are my most cherished pupil."

I dropped my gift by the door, where it shattered. It had been ridiculous in any case: a simple vase, unadorned. I left the school that very night. My teacher and I never spoke again. And my insomnia, which his devotion had quelled, returned. Then I met you, my milk-skinned moppet, and it was conquered for good. When your doctor procured for me that mysterious powder from the East. But I remained ... haunted.

Which brings me to the reason for my sudden flight. The night I left you, I received a missive. It bore the unmistakably genuine seal of the Leipzig Guild of Musicians, and was enfolded in the metal case they employ for important correspondence. Inside was a letter. Or, no, not a letter but a piece of music, a melody that, when decoded, contained a message. "I am dying," he said. "I wish to choose a replacement. Come see me at once." Such melancholy! For here was terrible news, and yet, in the same moment, a chance to reconcile! And more! A chance to guide Leipzig according to my principles! For what else could this mean? He must have seen that he was wrong! I pounded roadways into dust, threw coins at gatekeepers, pausing only in the courtyard itself, where, through the windows of the church, I could hear the inimitable sound of my old teacher at the organ. I mounted the steps, entered the church, and stalked the halls to the great doorway itself ...

(FASCH turns.)

Two

(Lights up on the anteroom of the Thomaskirche.)

(Double doors upstage center lead into the church proper. Various other exits, archways. Several simple wooden benches stand against the stone walls. Another man in his fifties, GEORG BALTHASAR SCHOTT, is seated here, near the doors. A moment.)

SCHOTT Johann Friedrich Fasch!

FASCH Georg Balthasar Schott.

SCHOTT What brings you here?

FASCH Stagecoach, primarily. And, for this last portion, my feet.

SCHOTT Of course. And for what reason have you come?

FASCH It is a beautiful church. One doesn't come to Leipzig without paying a visit to the Thomaskirche.

SCHOTT Indeed, indeed. But no, Herr Fasch. Why are you here at all? In Leipzig?

FASCH A whim, Georg. I am simply passing through. (Beat.) Although I might ask you the same question.

SCHOTT You might, but it would be strange. I live here.

FASCH No: here. Are you not still employed as organist at the Neuekirche? In the cobbler's district, under the bridge, across town?

SCHOTT I am. But there is a problem with the organ at the Neuekirche.

FASCH What's that?

SCHOTT It is across town, under the bridge, in the cobbler's district.

FASCH Ah.

SCHOTT Strange time for a journey all the way from Zerbst. Travel is dangerous. War is brewing between the cities of Merseburg and Zwickau.

FASCH The roads are quiet. Merseburg has just appointed a new ambassador to Zwickau, to secure the peace. (Pause.) From the courtyard I could have sworn I heard him playing.

SCHOTT So you did. He is engaged in a closed and lengthy concert for himself.

FASCH How unusual.

SCHOTT Not at all. It is his custom every afternoon. For hours.

FASCH What a boon for those who live nearby! They must listen enraptured!

SCHOTT Indeed, they must. It's audible for half a mile. At the tavern across the street, the hired musicians abandon their efforts, as Kuhnau fills the rafters above their heads and renders them obsolete.

FASCH I hear nothing now.

SCHOTT An acoustic anomaly. His music escapes through the stained glass on the other side of the cathedral, and those nearby are entombed in silence. But it is, as you heard, perfectly clear from a greater distance.

FASCH (Privately.) Oh, yes. I remember.

SCHOTT Of course. You were his student.

FASCH Yes.

SCHOTT So perhaps you are not simply passing through after all.

FASCH Perhaps not simply. No. (Pause.] Speaking of which ...

(FASCH gestures for SCHOTT to let him pass. SCHOTT stares back innocently.)

SCHOTT What?

FASCH May I go?

SCHOTT You may. It was delightful to see you.

FASCH May I go inside?

SCHOTT Oh no, no, no! He is loath to relinquish a single moment at the instrument while he can still play!

FASCH Of course. But how can we be sure that he plays still?

(SCHOTT opens the door a crack. There is a sudden swell of pipe-organ music, in mid-phrase, a rapid-fire run of high notes over low groans. He closes the door again, and the music snaps off as suddenly as it began.)

SCHOTT He does.

FASCH He's ... remarkable. After all these years.

SCHOTT Yes. All these years.

FASCH What is he — seventy-five, eighty?

SCHOTT Eighty-one.

FASCH Eighty-one. Remarkable. (Pause.) Do you think he's nearly finished?

SCHOTT I can only hope that he is.

FASCH Perhaps if I could just call out to him, so that —?

(SCHOTT opens the door a crack. There is another swell of music, even more impressive than the first. FASCH is rendered inaudible.)

SCHOTT (Over the music.) What? I'm sorry, my friend, I can't hear you!

(FASCH motions for SCHOTT to close the door. He does. The music snaps off.)

SCHOTT You see? To make such an attempt now would do no good. You would raise your voice in greeting, and be drowned out by the many other voices under his command. You are too cavalier, Herr Fasch. It is a lucky thing that I am here, as a bulwark. To guard him.

FASCH Let me pass.

SCHOTT No.

FASCH It is not your place to forbid my entrance.

SCHOTT Nor is it yours to enter. Given your betrayal of all that he holds dear.

FASCH I ... beg your pardon?

SCHOTT It is not mine you ought to beg. Your deviation from the good Lutheranism practiced by great men like Herr Kuhnau has thrown your congregation into utter disarray.

FASCH I am beloved in Zerbst.

SCHOTT I think not, Johann.

FASCH I assure you, Georg. You have confused me with another musician.

SCHOTT That seems unlikely.

FASCH It is very likely. Half the musicians in Germany are called Johann. The other half are called Georg. It is a blessing, Balthasar, that we all have middle names with which to distinguish ourselves from one another.

SCHOTT I suppose, Friedrich, that it is.

FASCH I shall wait until he emerges. Out of respect for him.

SCHOTT Very wise.

FASCH Do you think we might listen, from the threshold, as he plays?

SCHOTT I suppose.

FASCH You don't think he'll mind?

SCHOTT I don't think he'll notice.

(SCHOTT opens the doors. The music flares. FASCH and SCHOTT stand in the open doorway, watching. At its peak, the music cuts off abruptly. Then it starts again, spasmodically. Then there is a thump, and a blare of adjacent low notes, as though the organist had pressed his head against the bottom of the keyboard and left it there. Which, judging from their reaction, is precisely what has happened. The drone sustains.)

(FASCH runs inside. SCHOTT backs away from the door, stunned. FASCH emerges.)

FASCH There are clergy in the courtyard. Get them. (Pause.) Get them!

SCHOTT Yes. Yes. Right away.

(SCHOTT runs off and can be heard offstage shouting.)

SCHOTT Help! Help! We need help!

(FASCH turns out, into a pool of light. The drone sustains quietly underneath.)

FASCH But, Anna, the instrument he played is all that I have left of him now. I had hoped to return to you right away, my lily, my lake, but that is not possible. For something awful has occurred.

I'll write again when I have time.

Yours, Johann

(FASCH releases a pigeon and watches it ascend: the sound of wings ... wind ... )

(Blackout.)

Three

(GEORG LENCK, late thirties, alone in a pool of light.)

LENCK

Leipzig. June, 1722.

My dear Catherina:

I have arrived safely, and in time, having arranged passage with a gentleman who allowed me to accompany his carriage. Because he did not know I was there. Clinging to the underside of it. Yes, as I am fond of saying, I, Georg Lenck, am so poor that I cannot afford even a middle name with which to distinguish myself from other Georgs! But that, after all, is why I've come — to reverse my fortunes at last. And not through some foolhardy scheme, as when I had you defraud your parents by feigning an expensive illness called bogus fever. No. This time there is real glory to be had! I have brought with me dozens of letters in praise of my musical talent, and, thanks to my adept calligraphy, each is in a different script. And each signed by a fictitious duke. For this memorial is to be hosted by the Leipzig Council itself, the very men charged with selecting Kuhnau's replacement. This is indeed a happy day!

(LENCK turns. Lights up on the anteroom. FASCH and SCHOTT are here. LENCK is sobbing on FASCH's shoulder. FASCH comforts him.)

FASCH Georg Lenck. How wonderful of you to come.

LENCK There was no question about it, Herr Fasch. The moment I received the messenger pigeon bearing news of his demise, I knew that I would feel incomplete if I let him pass without paying tribute.

FASCH I trust that the trip from Laucha was uneventful.

LENCK I wish it had been. A crazed bandit accosted me on the road: dirty rags, a gleaming sword, a hood concealing his face. He tried to steal my luggage.

FASCH No.

LENCK Oh, yes.

FASCH It must have been dreadful.

LENCK No, it is very attractive, which is no doubt why he wished to steal it.

FASCH Well, we are very sorry to hear it.

LENCK Thank you. But it could have been worse.

SCHOTT Yes, there are things we'd be sorrier to hear. Your music, for example.

LENCK Excuse me?

SCHOTT For example, he might have stolen your music.

LENCK Ah. Hello, Herr Schott.

SCHOTT Lenck.

(SCHOTT and LENCK shake hands.)

LENCK Fear not. To prevent just such a calamity, I keep my scores inside my cloak, strapped to my very body. Indeed, the north is in utter disarray. War is brewing between Merseburg and Zwickau!

SCHOTT So I've heard.

FASCH Has not Merseburg just appointed a new ambassador to secure the peace?

LENCK No, they appointed a new ambassador to fail to secure the peace. Merseburg's prince has intentionally selected his least qualified subject.

SCHOTT Did you take my ring?

LENCK What? Oh. Yes. (He returns a ring he obtained during the handshake.) A keyboardist's fingers — if I don't keep them busy, they busy themselves.

SCHOTT Yes, you keep them so busy — at cards, and dice, and worse — that you spend more time in a cell than you do at the organ.

LENCK I am beloved in Laucha! (To FASCH.) Be careful with this one, Fasch. It is his habit to twist the truth about his rivals as a form of leverage.

FASCH I had noticed, yes.

LENCK When I was last in Leipzig auditioning for a post, at the Neuekirche, he suggested that we pool our resources and petition to share it. Then, the night before the audition, he slipped a note under my door, summoning me to a clandestine meeting at which he blackmailed me!

SCHOTT Auditioning for a post, Georg? I thought you were here to pay tribute.

LENCK (Beat.) So! By the time word of Kuhnau's death reached me, rumor held that he had collapsed while performing.

FASCH The deacons wouldn't allow us to move him until the doctor arrived. But by then, of course, it was too late.

LENCK It's true?

FASCH His music and his life, ending together, without the benefit of a cadence. A sudden and final interruption, of both the man and his art.

SCHOTT It was dramatic in the extreme.

LENCK The moment must have been.

SCHOTT No, the noise. His head depressed the keys. We had to listen to those sustained notes for half an hour. The man performed his own dirge with his face.

LENCK Sounds awful.

SCHOTT It certainly did. Kuhnau's features were so smooth, you see, it was hideously dissonant. If he'd had a sharper nose, narrower cheekbones —

FASCH Yes, Herr Schott, I'm sure that when you expire face-first into a keyboard your hawklike countenance will produce a glorious fugue.

SCHOTT Thirds, at least. It might have been thirds.

LENCK (Moving toward the doors.) The service is inside?

SCHOTT No.

FASCH Only the body.

LENCK (Beat.) I'm sorry. So he's all alone?

FASCH I ... (Beat.) What do you mean?

SCHOTT The official memorial is to take place later on. For directly concerned parties only.

FASCH Ah, yes. Music. Eulogies. Food and drink.

SCHOTT Prayer.

LENCK And will you both attend?

FASCH I was his most cherished pupil. And he: my only teacher.

LENCK (To SCHOTT.) And yours as well? You being a native of the city?

SCHOTT As it happens, no. I chose, instead, to learn music from my father. But we were colleagues, of course. Peers.

LENCK (Hiding his disappointment.) Well ... as an ... indirectly concerned party I suppose that I must pay homage ... now. (Pause.) He won't wait forever.

FASCH Quite.

SCHOTT Although, in fact, he will.

(LENCK opens the doors. Faint sad organ music floats out.)

LENCK Who do you suppose is playing? Quite an honor, to accompany Kuhnau's ... final public appearance.

SCHOTT No one even asked me.

FASCH Nor me.

LENCK Well. Perhaps a harpsichordist is stretching.

(FASCH and SCHOTT precede LENCK through the doors. LENCK claps SCHOTT on the shoulder as he passes, skillfully removing a gold chain from SCHOTT's neck. He turns out, into a pool of light, with a smirk.)

LENCK Catherina, things are on the turn. I promise you. And this time I really mean it. I'll write again when I have time.

Yours, Georg

(LENCK releases a pigeon.)

(Blackout.)

Four and Five

(Two men, in separate pools of light: GEORG FRIEDRICH KAUFMANN, who is in his fifties, and JOHANN MARTIN STEINDORFF, who is in his twenties.)

KAUFMANN Leipzig.

STEINDORFF June, 1722.

KAUFMANN

My dearest Gisela:

I hope this letter finds you well, and that you do not despise me for leaving you all alone, with our fair city on the brink of war, and only your gardener, valet, and footman to keep you company. I will try not to stay away long, though the footman, especially, has assured me that you will be in good hands. And though circumstances in Merseburg are precarious, my hope is to prevent bloodshed there, even while in attendance here.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Bach at Leipzig by Itamar Moses. Copyright © 2005 Itamar Moses. Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Title Page,
Acknowledgments,
Preface,
Cast of Characters,
Act One,
One,
Two,
Three,
Four and Five,
Six,
Act Two,
One,
Two and Three and Four and Five,
Six,
Seven,
Epilogue: Da Capo,
Production History,
ITAMAR MOSES - Bach at Leipzig,
PRAISE FOR BACH AT LEIPZIG,
Appendix: Music Specifications,
History in Bach at Leipzig,
Notes,
Copyright Page,

Editorial Reviews

An artistic and cerebral triumph . . . for Moses and contemporary theater as a whole.” —Lacey Sadoff, Marquette Tribune

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