This page is referenced by:

• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:17+00:00 Brich dem Hungrigen dein Brot BWV 39 / BC A 96 23 First Sunday After Trinity. First performed 06/23/1726 in Leipzig (Cycle III). plain 2024-04-24T16:10:18+00:00 1726-06-23 BWV 39 Leipzig 50.979493, 11.323544 01Trinity01 First Sunday After Trinity BC A 96 Johann Sebastian Bach Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Brich dem Hungrigen dein Brot, BWV 39 / BC A 96" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 295 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig III

  First Sunday after Trinity, June 23, 1726

  As was customary for the era, the contents of this cantata are closely connected to the Gospel reading for the Sunday after Trinity, the parable of the rich man and the pauper Lazarus in Luke 16. However, due to a remarkable misunderstanding, for decades the cantata was regarded as “political” music, as a kind of commentary by Bach on events in Leipzig during his time there. It was the Dresden musicologist Rudolf Wustmann who put this idea forward. In a presentation entitled “Bach’s music in worship service" (Bachs Musik im Gottesdienst) to a church choral association convention in Dessau in 1909, Wustmann carefully ventured the suggestion that Bach might have composed the large, beautiful cantata for a “great celebration of Protestant charity” on June 15, 1732. Rudolf Wustmann may have gotten the idea for this hypothesis from a publication by his father, Gustav Wustmann, Leipzig librarian and director of the city archive. In 1889 the elder Wustmann published an essay in an anthology, Quellen zur Geschichte Leipzigs (Sources for the history of Leipzig), in which he reproduced numerous extracts from a handwritten chronicle by a certain Johann Salomon Riemer.¹ A part of this text is concerned with a group known as the Salzburg Emigrants, whose fate was closely bound to a late Counter-Reformation edict by Archbishop Leopold Ernst von Firmian of Salzburg that required Lutheran inhabitants to convert to Catholicism or leave the country. As a result of the edict, almost twenty thousand people emigrated in 1731 and 1732, many of them seeking a new homeland in the thinly settled eastern provinces of Prussia. On their journey to the North, several refugee caravans stopped in Leipzig.
  
  This placed the city in a particularly unenviable position. In 1697 the Saxon elector, Friedrich August I, had converted to Catholicism in service of his effort to gain the Polish crown. Leipzig, at the time a stronghold of Lutheran orthodoxy, felt itself increasingly called upon to take the sensitivities of the sovereign into consideration in order to preserve a certain measure of independence. Although the Salzburg Emigrants were shown great compassion by city, church, and citizenry, the authorities avoided issuing an official greeting because, as an official report reads, “Leipzig is under rulers who profess the Catholic religion, which our Salzburg Emigrants have abandoned.”² Nevertheless, it can be neither confirmed nor refuted that the cantata Brich dem Hungrigen dein Brot BWV 39 (Break your bread with the hungry) could have been performed on the first Sunday after Trinity in 1732. In any case, Bach cannot have designated the work for this special occasion; instead, the composition and first performance belong to 1726.³ On the other hand, if one supposed that Bach scheduled a reperformance exactly six years later, with or without foreknowledge of the arrival of the exiles, then one would have to assume that he was confident that his choir at that time could master the tricky and challenging opening movement. In June 1732 this would not have been clear at all. For the faculty and students of Leipzig’s St. Thomas School, it was the end of an era marked by unrest and inadequate space situations caused by the extensive renovation of the school building.
  
  If, despite this long-held belief, Bach did not mean his cantata for the Salzburger Emigrants, the text has even less to do with that external circumstance. It appears in a cantata text cycle printed in Meiningen in 1704; one must wonder whether the author is to be sought in that southwestern Thuringian capital.
  
  In many cases, the layout of the cantata libretti in the anonymous annual cycle is similar to that of our cantata: at the beginning, a passage from the Hebrew Bible, followed by recitatives and arias; a New Testament passage is followed by recitatives and arias, with a chorale strophe at the end.⁴ In this case, two verses from Isaiah 58 provide the evocative introduction:

  Brich dem Hungrigen dein Brot, und die, so im Elend sind, führe ins Haus. So du einen nackend siehst, so kleide ihn, und entzeuch dich nicht von deinem Fleisch. Alsdann wird dein Licht hervorbrechen wie die Morgenröte, und deine Besserung wird schnell wachsen, und deine Gerechtigkeit wird vor dir hergehen, und die Herrlichkeit des Herrn wird dich zu sich nehmen. (7–8)
  
  Break your bread with the hungry, and those who are in misery, take into your house. Should you see a naked person, clothe him, and do not withdraw yourself from those of your own flesh. And then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your recovery will quickly increase, and your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will take you to itself.

  
  Building on these words, the unknown librettist formulates an elaborate admonition to active compassion and empathy in recitatives and arias. In the first recitative, the unknown poet, a lover of the Alexandrine verse form, indulges his predilection for long lines:

  Der reiche Gott wirft seinen Überfluß
  Auf uns, die wir ohn ihn auch nicht den Odem haben. 
  Sein ist es, was wir sind; er gibt nur den Genuß,
  Doch nicht, daß uns allein nur seine Schätze laben.
  
  Bounteous God casts his abundance
  Upon us, who without him do not even have breath. 
  It is his, what we are; he gives only pleasure,
  Yet not that his treasures should bless us alone.

  
  At the close the text reads:

  Barmherzigkeit, die auf dem Nächsten ruht,
  Kann mehr als alle Gab ihm an das Herze dringen.
  
  Compassion that falls upon one’s neighbor 
  Can, more than all gifts, penetrate his heart.

  
  The associated aria generalizes these ideas:

  Seinem Schöpfer noch auf Erden 
  Nur im Schatten ähnlich werden, 
  Ist im Vorschmack selig sein.
  Sein Erbarmen nachzuahmen, 
  Streuet hier des Segens Samen, 
  Den wir dorten bringen ein.
  
  To become like one’s creator still on Earth, 
  Though only in shadowy similarity,
  Is a foretaste of blessedness. 
  To emulate his mercy
  Sows the seeds of blessing here,
  Which we will harvest there.

  
  The New Testament passage comes from Hebrews 13: “Wohlzutun und mitzuteilen vergesset nicht; denn solche Opfer gefallen Gott wohl” (16; To do good and to share, do not forget, for such offerings please God well). The ensuing aria puts these possibilities into perspective:

  Höchster, was ich habe, 
  Ist nur deine Gabe.
  Wenn vor deinem Angesicht 
  Ich schon mit dem deinen 
  Dankbar wollt erscheinen,
  Willst du doch kein Opfer nicht.
  
  Highest, whatever I have, 
  Is only your gift.
  If, before your visage,
  I should, with all that is yours, 
  Wish to appear thankful,
  You still want no offering.

  
  The personal mode of address and the promise to exercise compassion continue in the recitative, once again in Alexandrines:

  Wie soll ich dir o Herr! denn sattsamlich vergelten, 
  Was du an Leib und Seel mir hast zugut getan?
  
  How should I, O Lord! sufficiently repay you
  For what you have done for me in body and soul?

  
  The long text concludes:

  Ich bringe, was ich kann, Herr! laß es dir behagen,
  Daß ich, was du versprichst, auch einst davon mög tragen.
  
  I bring what I can, Lord! may it please you
  That I may one day gain from it what you promise.

  
  A strophe from David Denicke’s 1648 hymn Kommt, laßt euch den Herren lehren (Come, let the Lord teach you) summarizes the thread of ideas:

  Selig sind, die aus Erbarmen 
  Sich annehmen fremder Not, 
  Sind mitleidig mit den Armen, 
  Bitten treulich für sie Gott.
  Die behülflich sind mit Rat,
  Auch womöglich mit der Tat,
  Werden wieder Hülf empfangen 
  Und Barmherzigkeit erlangen.
  
  Blessed are they who, out of mercy, 
  Attend to the affliction of others, 
  Who are compassionate with the poor, 
  Pray faithfully for them to God.
  Those who are helpful with their counsel 
  And, where possible in action,
  Will in turn receive help 
  And themselves gain mercy.

  
  The richness of text in the opening passage from Isaiah informs the conception of the opening movement in Bach’s composition. The complex movement, 218 measures in length, begins with an instrumental section whose “broken” manner can certainly be understood in relation to the gestures of the breaking and distribution of bread. As the instruments are joined by the choir, the first paragraph of the Isaiah passage is further developed. The gravity and seriousness of “Brich dem Hungrigen dein Brot” call for and receive a fugal treatment in the central part of this first section. The rest of the text, beginning with “So du einen nackend siehest,” is instead treated line by line, in the manner of a motet, and is more withdrawn compared to the fugal texture. The same gradation between fugal and chordal textures defines the closing section, beginning at the shift to 3
  8 meter. In contrast to the other text passages, the opening and closing sections are powerfully emphasized by their fugal treatment: “Alsdann wird dein Licht hervorbrechen, wie die Morgenröte,” as well as “und die Herrlichkeit des Herrn wird dich zu sich nehmen.”
  
  The first recitative for bass, simply declaimed, is followed by the alto aria “Seinem Schöpfer noch auf Erden.” It is a truly characteristic movement in Bach’s cantatas, in which the buoyant charm of a dance type, here situated between minuet and passepied, is united with strict counterpoint to lend the text a particular emphasis.
  
  With the New Testament passage, Bach begins the second half of the cantata, customarily performed after the sermon in Leipzig—and, with this division, he deviates from the intentions of the librettist. The text “Wohlzutun und mitzuteilen” is given to the bass, the vox Christi, which, as so often, is accompanied only by the basso continuo. Through a subtle technique of repetition and variation, voice and accompaniment strive to clarify the gravity of the biblical passage. A lighter contrast is afforded by the setting of the aria “Höchster, was ich habe” (Highest, whatever I have) with soprano and obbligato recorders. The last recitative, with its quite personal expression, is embedded in chords in the strings before the four-part concluding chorale on the melody Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele (Rejoice greatly, O my soul) leads to a confident conclusion.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. The anthology, edited by G. Wustmann, was published in two volumes in 1889 and 1895. The essay is not titled.—Trans.↵
  2. “Leipzig unter einer Herrschaft stehet, die sich zur Katholischen Religion bekennet, welche unsere Salzburgische Emigranten verlassen haben” (Casper 1982).↵
  3. The texts for BWV 39, movements 4 through 7, appear in the Christoph Birkmannannual cycle discovered in Nuremberg by Christine Blanken. Birkmann studied at the University of Leipzig from December 1, 1724, to early September 1727. His text cycle includes many works performed by Bach during Birkmann’s period of study in Leipzig. It is believed that BWV 39 was performed on June 23, 1726, in Leipzig (Blanken 2015b, 67).—Trans.↵
  4. Blankenburg (1977); Schulze (2002b).↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:35:19+00:00 Es erhub sich ein Streit BWV 19 / BC A 180 19 St Michael's Day. First performed 09/29/1726 in Leipzig (Cycle III). Text by CF Henrici (Picander). plain 2024-04-24T14:47:10+00:00 CF Birkmann 1726-09-29 BWV 19 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 06StMichael St Michael's Day BC A 180 Johann Sebastian Bach CF Henrici (Picander) Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Es erhub sich ein Streit, BWV 19 / BC A 180" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 544 Leipzig III

  St. Michael’s Day, September 29, 1726

  
  Bach’s cantata Es erhub sich ein Streit BWV 19 (A battle arose) was composed in 1726 for St. Michael’s Day on September 29. Our cantata has well-known predecessors by Heinrich Schütz and by Bach’s uncle Johann Christoph Bach, an organist active in Eisenach and a “great and expressive composer,” as a family chronicle describes him.¹  All begin with the same passage from the Revelation of St. John. It is uncertain whether Johann Sebastian was aware of the Schutz composition, although he could have encountered it during his school days at Lüneburg, presuming he had access to the music collection of the St. Michael’s School. We are better informed as to his knowledge of the Michaelmas work by the Great Eisenacher, Johann Christoph Bach. Sebastian Bach’s second-oldest son, Carl Philipp Emanuel, wrote about this to the Göttingen music historian Johann Nikolaus Forkel in the late summer of 1775 while sending several musical items from the Ancient Bach Archive (Alt-Bachisches Archiv): “The twenty-two-part work is a masterpiece. My blessed father performed it on one occasion in church, and everyone was astonished by its effect. I do not have enough singers here; otherwise, I would gladly perform it one day.”²
  
  That such expressive and elaborately set works for St. Michael’s Day existed has to do with the particular nature of the feast day. In the words of Friedrich Smend, one of the most important Bach researchers of the twentieth century, the church announced:

  According to Holy Scripture, hell and the devil were disempowered by Christ’s death and resurrection; that in the end times the ultimate destruction of the Antichrist shall first occur; that therefore today on earth the battle rages between Godly and ungodly forces.... The church in Bach’s time, and in particular Johann Sebastian himself, were aware of this battle and celebrated the day of the archangel Michael as a feast of triumph, at which at the same time God was called upon for assistance through angelic forces in the struggles of this life. However, the idea of the angels directed one’s attention to one’s own death; indeed, Jesus himself had said in the parable that the pauper Lazarus was carried to the bosom of Abraham by the angels. Beside this peaceful image of dying there appears the awesome depiction of the prophet Elijah, who travels toward heaven in his chariot pulled by fiery steeds. To be borne by angels to the same place, where the Ecclesia triumphans (church triumphant) celebrated, was therefore the prayer of every Christian during this period.

  
  It is unusual that the relevant biblical text is found not in the Gospel reading for the day but in the Epistle. The twelfth chapter of the Revelation of St. John reads:

  Und es erhub sich ein Streit im Himmel: Michael und seine Engel stritten mit dem Drachen; und der Drache stritt und seine Engel, und siegten nicht, auch ward ihre Stätte nicht mehr gefunden im Himmel. Und es ward ausgeworfen der große Drache, die alte Schlange, die da heißt der Teufel und Satanas, der die ganze Welt verführt, und ward geworfen auf die Erde, und seine Engeln wurden auch dahin geworfen. Und ich hörte eine große Stimme, die sprach im Himmel: Nun ist das Heil und die Kraft und das Reich unsers Gottes geworden und die Macht seines Christus, weil der Verkläger unserer Brüder verworfen ist, der sie verklagte Tag und Nacht vor Gott. Und sie haben überwunden durch des Lammes Blut und durch das Wort ihres Zeugnisses und haben ihr Leben nicht geliebt bis an den Tod. Darum freuet euch, ihr Himmel und die darin wohnen! (7–12)
  
  And a battle arose in Heaven: Michael and his angels battled with the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, and did not prevail, also their home was no longer found in heaven. And the great dragon was thrown out, the old snake, who there is called the Devil and Satan, who seduced the entire world, and was thrown upon the earth, and his angels were also thrown there. And I heard a great voice, that spoke in heaven: Now is the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Christ, for the accuser of our brother is cast out, which accuses them before our God day and night. And they have overcome because of the blood of the Lamb and through the word of their testimony, and they did not love their life even unto death. Therefore rejoice, you heavens, and those who live in them!

  
  The cantata text composed by Bach follows the beginning of this epistle, but in rhymed paraphrase, except for the first line:

  Es erhub sich ein Streit.
  Der rasende Schlange, der höllische Drache, 
  Stürmt wider den Himmel mit wütender Rache. 
  Aber Michael bezwingt,
  Und die Schar, die ihn umringt, 
  Stürzt des Satans Grausamkeit.
  
  A battle arose.
  The raging snake, the hellish dragon,
  Storms against the heavens with furious vengeance. 
  But Michael conquers,
  And the army that surrounds him 
  Topples the savagery of Satan.

  
  The author of this rhymed paraphrase cannot be identified with certainty. The text for Bach’s cantata has a somewhat peculiar and convoluted history. Many of its formulations are found in a seven-strophe poem with the title Erbauliche Gedancken auf das Fest Michaelis (Edifying thoughts on St. Michael’s Day), which the Leipzig occasional poet Christian Friedrich Henrici published in his Sammlung Erbaulicher Gedancken über und auf die gewöhnlichen Sonn- und Fest-Tage (Collection of edifying thoughts about and on the usual Sundays and feast days). However, Henrici’s poem was not intended for use as a cantata libretto; instead, it was to be sung to the melody Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr (Honor only to God on high). It is one of countless efforts to enrich and update the contents of contemporary hymn collections.
  
  This source text was reshaped to become a cantata libretto with recitatives and arias, following in principle the procedure so often seen in Bach’s chorale cantatas.³ However, in this case the revision avoids the characteristic retention of the opening and closing strophes of the chorale text. Instead, the cantata text begins with the rhymed paraphrase of the Epistle’s beginning just described. It closes with the ninth strophe from the 1620 chorale Freu dich sehr o meine Seele, whose text begins:

  Laß dein Engel mit mir fahren 
  Auf Elias Wagen rot
  Und mein Seele wohl bewahren, 
  Wie Laz’rum nach seinem Tod.
  
  Let your angel journey with me On 
  Elijah’s red chariot
  And preserve my soul well
  Like Lazarus after his death.

  
  The second movement of the cantata text is also a paraphrase of part of the Epistle:

  Gottlob, der Drachen liegt. 
  Der unerschaffne Michael 
  Und seiner Engel Heer 
  Hat ihn besiegt.
  Dort liegt er in der Finsternis 
  Mit Ketten angebunden,
  Und seine Stätte wird nicht mehr 
  Im Himmelreich gefunden.
  
  Praise God, the dragon lies. 
  The uncreated Michael 
  And his host of angels 
  Have conquered him.
  There he lies in the darkness 
  Bound with chains,
  And his home will no longer
  Be found in the kingdom of heaven.

  With the third movement, we are on solid ground with respect to authorship. It matches Christian Friedrich Henrici’s St. Michael’s Day text of 1725 word for word:

  Gott schickt uns Mahanaim zu; 
  Wir stehen oder gehen,
  So können wir in sichrer Ruh 
  Vor unsern Feinden stehen. 
  Es lagert sich, so nah als fern,
  Um uns der Engel unsers Herrn 
  Mit Feuer, Roß und Wagen.
  
  God sends Mahanaim to us; 
  Whether we stand or go
  We can in secure repose 
  Stand before our enemies.
  Encamped around us, near and far, 
  Is the angel of our Lord
  With fire, steed, and chariot.7

  
  In part, the image of the barricade of wagons refers to Psalm 34:7, which reads, “Der Engel des Herrn lagert sich um die her, so ihn fürchten, und hilft ihnen aus” (The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him and    helps them out), and partly to 2 Kings 2:11, depicting the separation of the prophets Elijah and Elisha: “And as they went with one another and talked, see, there came a fiery chariot with fiery horses, they separated the two from each other, and Elijah went up in a whirlwind to heaven” The first line of the aria refers to Jacob’s encounter with the angels, as described in Moses 32:1–2, with the mention of Mahanaim: “Jacob, however, went on his way, and the angels of God met him. And as he saw them, he said: This is the army of God, and called the place Mahanaim.” This name can mean not only “army camp” but also “two armies.” In 1711 Erdmann Neumeister, later the senior pastor in Hamburg, created the following cantata text:

  So laß auf beiden Seiten
  Die Mahanaim mich begleiten. 
  Wird mir von Feinden nachgestellt; 
  So laß die Feuer-Roß’ und Wagen 
  Ihr Lager um mich schlagen.
  
  So let on both sides
  The Mahanaim accompany me. 
  Should I be chased by enemies;
  Then may the fire steeds and chariots 
  Close their camp around me.

  
  He had used similar expressions in a cantata libretto in 1702. There is every reason to suppose that Henrici, nearly thirty years younger, borrowed extensively from the older poet.
  
  The same applies to the fourth movement of the cantata, a recitative whose text begins, “Was ist der schnöde Mensch, das Erdenkind” (What is this vile person, the child of Earth), in which the angels are described as a protecting, vigilant, and defending army. On the other hand, no model for the fifth movement, an aria in which the angels are sought to aid in praising God, can be found in either Neumeister or Henrici:

  Bleibt, ihr Engel, bleibt bei mir. 
  Führet mich auf beiden Seiten, 
  Daß mein Fuß nicht möge gleiten. 
  Aber lernt mich auch allhier
  Euer großes Heilig singen
  Und dem Höchsten Dank zu singen.
  
  Abide, you angels, abide with me.
  Lead me on both sides,
  That my step might never slip.
  But train me even here
  To sing your great “Holy”
  And sing thanksgiving to the Most High.

  
  The problematic language and awkward rhyme structure in the last three lines point to a self-taught nonprofessional. We cannot say whether the cantor of St. Thomas took pen in hand himself in this instance or if he asked someone nearby for the still missing aria text. In contrast, the sixth movement, the last recitative before the closing chorale, whose text begins, “Laßt uns das Angesicht / Der frommen Engel lieben” (Let us adore the countenance / Of the devout angel), proves to be a conflation of two text strophes from Henrici’s poem of 1725.
  
  Bach’s composition begins suddenly, in the apocalyptic tumult of battle, with thick, fugue-like attacks of hammering repeated tones and ravaging passages intertwined with one another and above the whole the gleaming high trumpets, voices of war. Their limited tonal ambitus imposes boundaries on the harmonic unfolding; even more in that regard occurs in the middle section, with vivid language unfurling a series of images of the dangerously chaotic scene. With the return of the opening section and its text, “Es erhub sich ein Streit,” the architecture of the overall movement is completed, on the one hand, but it becomes clear that there can be no talk of a plotlike “course of action,” on the other hand.
  
  A brief bass recitative is followed by the first aria, “Gott schickt uns Mahanaim zu,” for soprano and two oboi d’amore. The soft coloration of the woodwinds suggests warmth and intimacy; the dense, attentive texture with abundant imitation and parallel thirds and sixths suggests security and assurance. The string-accompanied tenor recitative, with its air of self-accusation, brings this idyll to an end. But the aria “Bleibt, ihr Engel, bleibt bei mir” leads into a new wo6rld of enchantment. From beginning to end it is dominated by the hovering, 6
  8 Siciliano rhythm familiar from the Christmas Oratorio, associated with the angels, begun by the string instruments and the basso continuo and taken over by the tenor soloist. In addition, a high trumpet sounds the melody “Herzlich lieb hab ich dich, o Herr” (Sincerely I love you, O Lord). The aria’s free text is strongly associated with the third chorale strophe:

  Ach Herr, laß dein lieb Engelein 
  Am letzten Tag die Seele mein 
  In Abrahams Schoß tragen
  
  Ah Lord, may your dear little angel
  On my last day carry this soul of mine    
  To the bosom of Abraham.    

  
  The relatively large number of chorale lines, the slow tempo of the aria, and the virtually instrumental demands upon the voice make this movement a true challenge for the singer. This seems to have been a problem in Bach’s time as well, since there are certain indications that at the first performance both of the arias for tenor were omitted. Toward the end things become less challenging, with an uncomplicated soprano recitative and the joyful closing chorale, to which the brass once again lends a radiant brilliance.
   

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. BD I:265 (no. 184)BWV 2.—Trans.↵
  2. “Das 22stimmmige Stück ist ein Meisterstück. Mein seeliger Vater hat es einmahlin Leipzig in der Kirche aufgeführt, alles ist über den Efeckt erstaunt. Hier habe ichnicht Sänger genug, außerdem würde ich es gerne einmahl aufführen” (BD III:292[no. 807]). The Alt-Bachisches Archiv was a collection amassed by J. S. Bach of musical works by older family members to document the clan’s musical legacy. The collection was preserved by Carl Philipp Emanuel.—Trans.↵
  3. Christina Blanken (2015b, 55) has demonstrated that Christoph Birkmann is responsible for the arrangement of Henrici’s text.—Trans.↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:20+00:00 Komm, du süße Todesstunde BWV 161 / BC A 135 15 Sixteenth Sunday After Trinity. First performed 09/27/1716 at Weimar. Text by Salomon Franck. plain 2024-04-24T15:52:28+00:00 1716-09-27 BWV 161 Weimar 50.979493, 11.323544 05Trinity16 Sixteenth Sunday After Trinity BC A 135 Johann Sebastian Bach Salomo Franck Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Komm, du süße Todesstunde, BWV 161 / BC A 135" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 421 James A. Brokaw II Weimar as concertmaster

  Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity, September 27, 1716

  Johann Sebastian Bach wrote the cantata Komm, du süße Todesstunde BWV 161 (Come, you sweet hour of death) at the age of about thirty for the worship service in the castle chapel at the court of Weimar. The Weimar ducal consistory secretary, Salomon Franck, provided the libretto, published in his collection Evangelisches Andachts-Opffer, which appeared in print in 1715 in Weimar. The composition is for the sixteenth Sunday after Trinity. The Gospel reading for this Sunday, in Luke 7, gives the account of Jesus’s raising of the widow’s son at Nain. Salomon Franck’s libretto is based on this Gospel reading only to the extent that the text is suffused with longing for death and the certainty of resurrection. The story itself is not recounted.
  
  In the view of the music historian Arnold Schering, 

  with its strengthening of faith in Jesus, Pietism had fostered a human race that anticipated death with joy and regarded the repose in the little burial chamber as but a brief nap from which Jesus would awaken the Soul to unearthly glory.... What is terrifying and horrible about this process of passing away is indeed not ignored but mitigated and covered by images and feelings that lead directly to consolation and hope. Freely and with poetic power . . . the librettist develops that which will make the moment of death seem happy and attractive to faithful souls. All is dissolved in longing and ardent yearning.¹

  
  Schering’s description applies to the text of our cantata in general and is helpful for understanding most of the verses. Even so, the opening movement, an aria, calls for close consideration. Salomon Franck’s text reads:

  Komm, du süße Todesstunde, 
  Da mein Geist
  Honig speist
  Aus des Löwen Munde. 
  Mache meinen Abschied süße, 
  Säume nicht,
  Letztes Licht,
  Daß ich meinen Heiland küße.
  
  Come, you sweet hour of death, 
  When my spirit
  Dines on honey
  Out of the lion’s mouth. 
  Make my departure sweet, 
  Do not linger,
  Last light,
  That I might kiss my savior.

  Here Franck has drawn a reference to Samson’s battle with the lion, found in Judges 14. With his bare hands, Samson had killed a young lion. After several days, he found honey in the cadaver. At his wedding celebration, he gave the guests a riddle to solve. A late seventeenth-century sermon provides an exegesis of this passage: “When Samson found honey in the lion, he devised this riddle in the Book of Judges Chapter 14 verse 14: ‘Sweetness poured out of the horrible.’ What is more horrible than death when it crushes bones like a lion? . . . Nevertheless, a Christian finds honey in lions and consolation in death.” Apart from this rather remote allusion in the unidentified sermon, Erdmann Neumeister’s influence can be discerned in Franck’s aria text. In Neumeister’s first annual text cycle, prepared in Weissenfels in 1702, the libretto for the fifteenth Sunday after Trinity (immediately before the Sunday in question) contains the following formulation:

  Komm doch, komm doch, süße Stunde!
  Da mein Geist
  Sich der Eitelkeit entreißt.
  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
  Mich verlangt von Herzens-Grunde.
  Komm doch, komm doch, süße Stunde!
  
  But come, but come, sweet hour! 
  When my spirit
  Wrests itself from vanity.
  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
  I long for you from the bottom of my heart. 
  But come, but come, sweet hour!

  
  The second movement of Franck’s cantata libretto, a recitative, characterizes the transitoriness of existence with opposing concepts:

  Welt, deine Lust ist Last,
  Dein Zucker ist mir als ein Gift verhaßt, 
  Dein Freudenlicht
  Ist mein Komete,
  Und wo man deine Rosen bricht, 
  Sind Dornen ohne Zahl
  Zu meiner Seele Qual.
  
  World, your pleasure is a burden, 
  Your sugar is hateful to me as poison, 
  Your joyful light
  Is my comet.²
  And where one picks your roses, 
  There are thorns without number 
  To the torment of my soul.

  
  Truly poetic expressions stand out effectively from the preceding:

  Der blasse Tod ist meine Morgenröte, 
  Mit solcher geht mir auf die Sonne 
  Der Herrlichkeit und Himmelswonne.
  
  Pale death is my sunrise, 
  With it arises for me the sun
  Of glory and heavenly delight.

  
  The recitative closes with a paraphrase of Philippians 1:23. The biblical passage reads, “Ich habe Lust abzuscheiden, und bei Christo zu sein” (I desire to depart and be with Christ); in Franck’s words:

  Ich habe Lust bei Christo bald zu weiden,
  Ich habe Lust, von dieser Welt zu scheiden 
  
  I desire soon to graze with Christ, 
  I desire to part from this world.

  
  The beginning of the third movement, another aria, continues in this vein almost without change:

  Mein Verlangen
  Ist, den Heiland zu empfangen 
  Und bei Christo bald zu sein.
  
  My longing
  Is to embrace the savior 
  And soon to be with Christ.

  
  The fourth movement, a recitative, proceeds purposefully with this chain of ideas with these expressions:

  Der Schluß ist schon gemacht, 
  Welt, gute Nacht!
  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
  So brich herein, du froher Todestag,
  So schlage doch, du letzter Stundenschlag.
  
  The decision is already made, 
  World, good night!
  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
  So break forth, you joyous day of death, 
  So strike, you stroke of the final hour.

  The last aria, whose text begins “Wenn es meines Gottes Wille” (If it is my God’s will), culminates in the exclamation:

  Jesu, komm und nimm mich fort! 
  Dieses sei mein letztes Wort!
  
  Jesus, come and take me away! 
  This shall be my last word!

  
  The fourth strophe from Christoph Knoll’s 1611 hymn Herzlich tut mich verlangen (Sincerely do I long) finishes the cantata text and concludes the chain of ideas with the pertinent “Was schädt mir denn der Tod?” (How then does death harm me?).
  
  Johann Sebastian Bach may have intended to set this text for the sixteenth Sunday after Trinity in 1715; the performance would have been due in early October. But a tragic event at court thwarted his plan: at barely nineteen years of age, the extraordinarily musically gifted Prince Johann Ernst died after a long illness at Frankfurt am Main. Shortly afterward, an official period of mourning was decreed in the principality during which even polyphonic music at the court church was silenced for some time.³ Hence the first performance would have taken place the following year, at the end of September 1716, and the work probably was composed at that time. It shows the Weimar concertmaster and court organist at the height of his creative powers. In invention and design, the opening movement presents itself masterfully: urgent and seductive in equal measure, a pair of recorders, playing mostly in parallel thirds and sixths, intensifies the alto’s “Komm, du süße Todesstunde.” Counterpoint is provided by the organ, which performs the melody “Herzlich tut mich verlangen” phrase by phrase in long note values. Since the melody inevitably elicits a textual association, a dual textuality results for the listener comprising Franck’s aria poetry and Christoph Knoll’s chorale strophe. At the same time, the apparently freely composed aria proves to be a wide-ranging chorale arrangement worthy of the art of a court organist.
  
  The ensuing tenor recitative flows into an arioso section, which expressively underscores the “Ich habe lust, von dieser Welt zu scheiden” through stubbornly repeated bass figures. The tenor aria “Mein Verlangen ist, den Heiland zu umfangen” (My desire is to embrace the savior), accompanied by the strings, is also characterized by intensive text declamation, combined with a measured, dancelike stride. The alto recitative, accompanied by all the instruments, “Der Schluß ist schon gemacht,” enters the realm of tone painting. Sinking figuration and sustained tones symbolize sleep, just as ascending passages evoke “awakening”; the pealing sounds of the plucked string instruments and the flutes suggest the “striking of the last hour.” The last freely versified movement, “Wenn es meines Gottes Wille,” was designated an aria by Franck but composed as a chorus or at least a four-part ensemble of soloists by Bach. Its thematic material harks back to the opening movement; judging by its nearly ecstatic longing it is rather filled by an inner joy, expressed by the dancelike, animated meter as well as the playful passagework of the two woodwind instruments. In the concluding chorale setting, the flute and oboe form an obbligato part in high register, rich in syncopations, that expands the texture to five parts and lends it the character of a figurative chorale prelude. The bridge back to the opening movement is created not only by the identity of the chorale melody but also by its compositional procedure, which is similar to several movements from the Orgelbüchlein BWV 599–644, to which it is close chronologically.
  
  By all appearances, the cantata Komm, du süße Todesstunde was heard not simply in Weimar in 1716 but also in Bach’s Leipzig period.⁴ In addition to several changes in setting, the Leipzig version is different from the Weimar one in particular because the chorale melody in the opening movement is given to a voice, so that the multitextuality is not simply an associative effect but an actual occurrence. In his last years, the cantor of St. Thomas undertook a final change: he augmented the designation for the sixteenth Sunday after Trinity with an assignment to the Feast of the Purification of Mary and thereby converted the longing for death in the cantata text associated with the story of the boy at Nain to the account of the ancient Simeon found in the Gospel of Luke.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. Schering (1942, 129–30). The questions of what Pietism is and Bach’s relation
     to it are complex and controversial. A recent overview of these can be found in Leaver
     (2021, 219–47).—Trans.↵
  2. A symbol of calamity.—Trans.↵
  3. Glöckner (1985).↵
  4. Franck’s text for BWV 161 also appears in the annual text cycle Gott-geheiligte Sabbaths-Zehnden, published in Nuremberg in 1728 by Christoph Birkmann, who studied at the University of Leipzig from December 1, 1724, to early September 1727 and during that time frequently heard church music performed by Johann Sebastian Bach. Birkmann’s cycle contains thirty-one cantatas by Bach known to have been performed at Leipzig during Birkmann’s period of study there. Since Franck’s text for BWV 161 is also included in the cycle, it is now believed to have been performed in Leipzig on September 16, 1725. See Blanken (2015b, 70).—Trans.↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:20+00:00 Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen BWV 56 / BC A 146 13 Solo cantata for the nineteenth Sunday After Trinity. First performed 10/27/1726 in Leipzig (Cycle III). Text by C Birkmann. plain 2024-04-24T15:00:59+00:00 1726-10-27 BWV 56 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 08Trinity19 Nineteenth Sunday After Trinity BC A 146 Johann Sebastian Bach C Birkmann Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen, BWV 56 / BC A 146" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 454 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig III

  Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity, October 27, 1726

  From today’s perspective, Bach’s Kreuzstab Cantata occupies a certain position of privilege in his vocal works not only musically but also regarding its text. It originated in the autumn of 1726 in close temporal proximity to several other solo cantatas for the late Trinity period. In contrast to these, however, it is the only one that bears the original designation cantata. Its assignment to the nineteenth Sunday of Trinity suggests a relation to the Gospel reading of that Sunday, which gives the account in Matthew 9:1–8 of Jesus’s healing of the palsy-stricken person.

  And he entered the boat and crossed back over and came into his own city. And behold, they brought him a man sick with palsy, lying on a bed. As now Jesus saw their faith, he spoke to the one sick with palsy: Be of good cheer, my son; your sins are forgiven. And see, several of the lawyers spoke among themselves: This man blasphemes God! However, as Jesus saw their thoughts, he said: Why do you think such evil in your hearts? What is easier to say: Your sins are forgiven, or to say: Stand up and walk? But so that you know that the Son of Man has the power to forgive sins on earth (he said to the one sick with palsy): Stand up, pick up your bed, and go home! And he stood up and went home. As the people saw that, they marveled and praised God, who had given such power to men.

  
  The unknown librettist of our cantata relies only in part upon the Gospel reading.¹ He entirely avoids the account of the healing of the sick and instead places all the more importance upon certainty of faith and the forgiveness of sins. The origin of the title line has caused headaches for Bach researchers. It undoubtedly references the first movement of a solo cantata libretto written by Erdmann Neumeister in 1702 for performance at the court of Weissenfels: “Ich will den Kreuzweg gerne gehen: / Ich weiß, da führt mich Gottes Hand” (I will gladly go the way of the cross: / I know God’s hand leads me there). Documentation for the word “Kreuzstab,” on the other hand, is not easy to produce, even if recent research has made us aware that the concept has a firm place in Catholic tradition. In the Lutheran hymnal, however, the word “Kreuzstab” appears only rarely. The following strophe is found in Paul Gerhardt’s hymn text Gib dich zufrieden und sei stille (Be contented and be still) of 1666:

  Es kann und mag nicht anders werden, 
  Alle Menschen müßen leiden.
  Was webt und lebet auf der Erden 
  Kann das Unglück nicht vermeiden. 
  Des Kreuzes Stab schlägt unsre Lenden 
  Bis in das Grab, da wird sichs enden.
  Gib dich zufrieden!
  
  It can and may not be different, 
  All people must suffer.
  Whatever moves and lives upon the earth 
  Cannot avoid misfortune.
  The cross’s beam strikes our loins 
  Until the grave, then it will end. 
  Be contented!

  
  Beyond Bach’s profound knowledge of the Lutheran hymnal in general, his knowledge of this hymn in particular is seen in the fact that he entered it twice in the 1725 notebook he prepared for his wife, Anna Magdalena. Another instance is provided by the hymn Ach Gott, wird denn mein Leid (Ah God, will then my suffering), which appears in hymnals beneath the heading “Trost-Lied eines betrübten Creuz-Trägers” (Song of consolation of a sorrowful cross bearer) and which refers to verses in Psalm 77. One strophe reads:
  
  Du Herr probirest mich
  Mit deinem Kreuzesstabe, 
  Ob ich auch werde dich
  Fest lieben bis zum Grabe;
  Ob ich auch, liebster Gott,
  Dir werde treu verbleiben,
  Und nimmer keine Not
  Von dir mich lassen treiben.
  
  You, Lord, you test me
  With your cross’s beam, 
  Whether I will also love you 
  Truly until the grave, 
  Whether I also, dear God, 
  Will remain ever true to you 
  And never let distress
  Drive me away from you.
  
  Here again, a connection to Bach is easily produced: the chorale is found in what is known as the Wagner Hymnal. It appeared in eight volumes in Leipzig in 1697, it is known to have been in Bach’s possession, and he is known to have drawn upon it in other contexts.
  
  In the cantata text, the word “Kreuzstab” refers not only to carrying the cross but also to pilgrimage, the way to heaven:²

  Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen, 
  Er kommt von Gottes lieber Hand, 
  Der führet mich nach meinen Plagen 
  Zu Gott, in das gelobte Land.
  Da leg ich den Kummer auf einmal ins Grab,
  Da wischt mir die Tränen mein Heiland selbst ab.
  
  I will gladly carry the cross’s beam, 
  It comes from God’s loving hand, 
  It leads me, after my torments,
  To God in the promised land.
  There I lay my troubles all at once in the grave, 
  There my savior himself wipes my tears away.

  
  In changing the meter in the strophe’s last two lines, the librettist once again follows the example of a cantata libretto published in 1702 by Erdmann Neumeister. It remains uncertain whether this closing expression refers to the Revelation of St. John, which in two places (7:17, 21:4) reads, “Gott wird abwischen alle Tränen von ihren Augen” (God will wipe away all tears from their eyes), or to Isaiah 25:8, which reads, “Der Herr wird die Tränen von allen Angesichtern abwischen und wird aufheben die Schmach seines Volks in allen Landen” (The Lord God will wipe the tears from all faces and will take away the rebuke of his people in all lands). In the cantata’s second movement, a recitative, the librettist takes up the familiar trope of the seafarer and compares the “Wandel auf der Welt” (journey in the world) to a sea voyage, whereby cross and tribulation appear as dangerous waves and the mercy of God as a life-saving anchor. The promise “Ich will dich nicht verlassen noch versäumen” (I will not forsake or abandon you) is found in this wording in Hebrews 13:5, but it essentially goes back to an account in Joshua.10 Near the end of the recitative, the line “So tret ich aus dem Schiff in meine Stadt” (I shall step off the ship into my city) recalls the beginning of the Sunday Gospel reading.
  
  The second aria proves to be a paraphrase of a verse from Isaiah 40: “Die auf den Herrn harren, kriegen neue Kraft, daß sie auffahren mit flügeln wie Adler, daß sie laufen und nicht matt werden, daß sie wandeln und nicht müde werden” (31; They who await upon the Lord receive new strength, that they soar up with wings like eagles, that they run and do not faint, that they walk and do not grow weary). In the aria text, this reads:

  Endlich, endlich wird mein Joch 
  Wieder von mir weichen müßen. 
  Da krieg ich in dem Herren Kraft, 
  Da hab ich Adlers Eigenschaft, 
  Da fahr ich auf von dieser Erden 
  Und laufe sonder matt zu werden. 
  O gscheh es heute noch.
  
  Finally, finally, my yoke must 
  Fall away from me again.
  Then I shall in the Lord gain strength, 
  Then I shall have the eagle’s nature, 
  Then I shall soar aloft from this earth 
  And run without becoming faint.
  O may it happen even today.

  
  The last recitative begins with “Ich stehe fertig und bereit” (I stand ready and prepared), and it ends with “Wie wohl wird mir geschehn, / Wenn ich den Port der Ruhe werde sehn” (How good it will be for me / When I see the haven of rest) and immediately harks back to the opening aria: “Da leg ich den Kummer auf einmal ins Grab, / Da wischt mir die Tränen mein Heiland selbst ab.” In closing, the sixth strophe of Johann Franck’s 1653 hymn, “Du o schönes Weltgebäude” (You, O beautiful world building) encapsulates all the ideas of the entire cantata text, including the seafarer allegory:

  Komm, o Tod, du Schlafes Bruder,
  Komm und führe mich nur fort;
  Löse meines Schiffleins Ruder, 
  Bringe mich an sichern Port!
  Es mag, wer da will, dich scheuen, 
  Du kannst mich vielmehr erfreuen; 
  Denn durch dich komm ich herein 
  Zu dem schönsten Jesulein.
  
  Come, O death, you brother of sleep, 
  Come and just lead me away; 
  Release my little ship’s rudder,
  Bring me to safe haven!
  Let whoever wishes shun you, 
  You can instead delight me; 
  For through you I enter in
  To the loveliest little Jesus.

  
  This expressive libretto is entirely successful, conceptually as well as linguistically, and Bach’s composition exhausts its potentialities in every conceivable way. In the opening movement, the composer juxtaposes descending, heavily burdened figures ridden with sighs against a theme that struggles to remain upright with virtually Herculean effort. If the word “Kreuz” (cross) in the text is associated with a note with a sharp in front of it, this might be seen as somewhat naive symbolism. But it is surely more significant that this Kreuz-Ton (sharped note) is reached by a leap of an augmented interval, so that—exactly in the sense of the text—the exertion of energy and self-discipline is felt almost physically. In its conflict between exuberant forging ahead and softly submissive lament, the movement reaches its culmination at the text line “Da leg ich den Kummer auf einmal ins Grab” in a serene cheerfulness, like smiling through tears. The first recitative, with the allegory of the seafarer, is accompanied by wave-like tone-painting figures in the strings. At the line “Und wenn das wütenvolle Schäume sein Ende hat” (And when the raging surf comes to an end), the musical wave motion also ends, and serene chords accompany the line “So tret ich aus dem Schiff in meine Stadt.”
  
  The second aria is filled with an unbuttoned, joyous, concerted interplay between the obbligato oboe and the voice. The virtuosity demanded of the singer shows that Bach was dealing with a master of his craft. By all appearances, it was none other than Johann Christoph Samuel Lipsius, who began his studies at the University of Leipzig during Bach’s first year as cantor, participated in Bach’s church music as a bass and received a financial grant in return, and later became a member of the court chapel at Merseburg.³ The virtuoso bass aria stands in sharp contrast to what came before, as well as what follows. The final recitative, accompanied by strings, refers back after only a few measures to the opening movement’s conclusion, as suggested by the text. And only now does the enraptured “Da leg ich den Kummer auf einmal ins Grab” truly reach its conclusion—and with such intensity that the aria that follows runs the danger of seeming only like an intermezzo.
  
  The concluding chorale movement, removed from everything of this world, needs no commentary. It is among the most perfect that Johann Sebastian Bach ever wrote.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. Based on this text’s appearance in a recently discovered annual cantata text cycle published in 1728 in Nuremberg by Christoph Birkmann, a theology student at the University of Leipzig from 1724 to 1727, Christine Blanken (2015b, 46–48) argues that Birkmann is likely the text’s author.—Trans.↵
  2. Christine Blanken (2015a, 27) notes that Christoph Birkmann, before turning to theology, completed a disputation in mathematics on the motion of the sun around its own axis, making use of a navigational instrument called the Kreuzstab (cross-staff ).—Trans.↵
  3. Schulze (1984a, esp. 49).↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:32:59+00:00 Sehet, wir gehn hinauf gen Jerusalem BWV 159 / BC A 50 13 Estomihi. First performed 02/27/1729 in Leipzig. Cycle IV "Picander Jahrgang" plain 2024-04-24T15:49:30+00:00 1729-02-27 BWV 159 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 18Estomihi Estomihi BC A 50 Johann Sebastian Bach CF Henrici (Picander) Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Sehet, wir gehn hinauf gen Jerusalem, BWV 159 / BC A 50" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 162 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig IV

  Estomihi, February 27, 1729

  This cantata probably originated in February 1729.¹ Johann Sebastian Bach drew its text from a collection that the Leipzig postal secretary and gifted poet Christian Friedrich Henrici (Picander) had begun to publish in the early summer of 1728. He provided a foreword to the collection that overtly stated the goal of the publication: “In honor of God, in response to the desire of good friends, and to promote much devotion, I have decided to prepare the present cantatas. I have undertaken this plan even more happily, since I may flatter myself that perhaps whatever is lacking in poetic charm will be replaced by the loveliness of the incomparable Herr Music Director Bach and that these songs will resound in the most important churches of devout Leipzig.”² It remains unclear whether Henrici/Picander completed his plan with the agreement of the cantor of St. Thomas, whether Bach promised him compositions for the entire annual cycle, or to what extent Bach was subsequently in a position to fulfill such a promise.³ The texts appeared in four parts from 1728 to 1729 and again later in a different order. At present, Bach scholars are not agreed whether they provided the basis for a fourth annual cycle of cantatas by Bach or whether he was content to set only a selection from Picander’s offering.⁴ If Bach did in fact set Picander’s cycle in its entirety, then this part of his oeuvre must be considered lost, for the most part. At present, we have evidence of barely ten compositions, roughly a sixth of an entire cycle.
  
  In the case of our cantata, then, we are dealing with one of those works that may be all that remain from a much larger set of compositions. The beginning of the text refers to the Gospel reading of Estomihi Sunday: the account in Luke 18 of the journey to Jerusalem that signals the beginning of Passiontide. The other account in the Gospel reading, the healing of the blind man by the wayside, can be only dimly perceived in Picander’s cantata libretto. Otherwise, the text concentrates on the beginning of the suffering of Christ and attempts, wherever possible, to emulate the diction of Passion settings. Since two versions of Bach’s St. John Passion had been heard in Leipzig in 1724 (BWV 245.1) and 1725 (BWV 245.2), and the St. Matthew Passion on Picander’s text had perhaps received its first performance in 1727 (BWV 244.1), with another performance envisioned for 1729, it is in no way odd that Picander would have referred back to such models for his Estomihi cantata.
  
  Picander places a part of the Lord’s word at the beginning, combining it with recitative interpolations of his own invention, as well as a longer closing section. He thereby achieves a dialogue, however unbalanced it might be, that points forward in its last verses to the act of salvation:

       “Sehet!”
  Komm, schaue doch, mein Sinn,
  Wo geht dein Jesus hin?
       “Wir gehn hinauf ” 
  O harter Gang! Hinauf ?
  O ungeheurer Berg, den meine Sünden zeigen! 
  Wie sauer wirst du müßen steigen!
       “Gen Jerusalem!”
  Ach, gehe nicht!
  Dein Kreuz ist dir schon zugericht’,
  Wo du sollst zu Tode bluten;
  Hier sucht man Geißeln vor, dort bindt man Ruten; 
  Die Bande warten dein;
  Ach gehe selber nicht hinein! 
  Doch bliebest du zurücke stehen,
  So müßt ich selbst nicht nach Jerusalem, 
  Ach, leider in die Hölle gehen.
  
       “See!”
  Come, but behold, my soul,
  Where is your Jesus going?
       “We are going up”
  O difficult journey! Up there?
  O monstrous mountain that my sins display! 
  How painfully you will have to climb!
       “To Jerusalem!” 
  O do not go!
  Your cross is ready for you, 
  Where you shall bleed to death;
  Here they seek whips, there they bind rods,
   Bonds await you;
  O do not go there yourself! 
  But were you to stay back,
  Then I myself would have to go not to Jerusalem 
  But unfortunately down to hell.

  
  An even higher degree of verbal artistry is seen in the ensuing aria, in which a strophe from Paul Gerhardt’s hymn O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden (O head full of blood and wounds), whose text beginning “Ich will hier bei dir stehen” (I will stand here beside you) is expanded with interleaved, freely versified lines, thereby addressing the “follower” theme from two sides:

       Ich folge dir nach
  Ich will hier bei dir stehen 
  Verachte mich doch nicht!
       Durch Speichel und Schmach;
       Am Kreuz will ich dich noch umfangen, 
  Von dir will ich nicht gehen
  Bis dir dein Herze bricht
       Dich laß ich nicht aus meiner Brust, 
  Wenn dein Haupt wird erblassen
  Im letzten Todesstoß
       Und wenn du endlich scheiden mußt,    
  Alsdenn will ich dich fassen,    
       Sollst du dein Grab in mir erlangen.
  In meinen Arm und Schoß.
  
       I follow after you.
  I will stand beside you here. 
  Do not despise me!
       Through spitting and insult
       On the cross I will still embrace you, 
  From you I will not go
  Until your heart breaks.
       I do not let you leave my breast
  When your head will turn pale
  In the last stroke of death.
       And when you finally must depart, 
  Even then I will embrace you.
       You shall find your grave in me, 
  In my arm and bosom.

  
  The two movements that follow, recitative and aria, are dedicated to the renunciation of the world’s vanities and the assurance of salvation through the martyr’s death of Jesus. The aria in particular anticipates the events of the Passion:

  Es ist vollbracht, 
  Das Leid ist alle,
  Wir sind von unserm Sündenfalle 
  In Gott gerecht gemacht.
  Nun will ich eilen
  Und meinem Jesu Dank erteilen, 
  Welt, gute Nacht!
  Es ist vollbracht.
  
  It is accomplished, 
  The suffering is over.
  From our sinful fall we have been 
  Justified in God.
  Now I will hurry
  And to Jesus thanks to give. 
  World, good night!
  It is accomplished.

  
  In Picander’s libretto there is a recitative that follows this aria, with its clear textual link to Bach’s St. John Passion, that is missing from Bach’s composition—at least in the form passed down to us in copies:

  Herr Jesu, dein verdienstlich Leiden 
  Ist meine Herrlichkeit,
  Mein Trost, mein Ruhm, mein Schmuck und Ehrenkleid. 
  Daran erhalt ich mich, drauf leb ich allezeit,
  Drauf will ich auch dereinst verscheiden.
  
  Lord Jesus, your meritorious suffering 
  Is my glory,
  My consolation, my praise, my jewel, my raiment of honor. 
  By it I am maintained, on it I live forever,
  Upon it I will also one day depart.

  
  Picander’s libretto closes with the next-to-last strophe from Paul Stockmann’s Passion hymn Jesu Leiden, Pein und Tod ( Jesus’s suffering, pain, and death).
  
  In Bach’s composition the opening movement is a dialogue between Jesus (represented by the bass, the vox Christi) and the soul (assigned here, atypically, to the alto). The soul’s reflections are set as powerfully expressive, often dramatically pointed recitatives that, however, enjoy, so to speak, the constant protection of the accompanying chords in the strings. By contrast, the “Sehet, wir gehn hinauf gen Jerusalem” is executed as a lonely, pain-filled arioso whose only austere support is an arduously rising and falling again motive in the basso continuo. The second movement has a dance character situated somewhere between gigue and pastorale, at least as far as the two freely formed parts, alto and basso continuo, are concerned. As might be expected, these two convert the “follower” theme mentioned in the text into various imitative sequences. In the soprano, supported by an oboe, the ancient melody Herzlich tut mich verlangen (Sincerely do I long) unswervingly traces its course. After a brief tenor recitative, the bass and oboe engage in a stirring dialogue in the aria “Es ist vollbracht” (It is accomplished), whose gravitas is relieved only briefly by the middle section, with figuration depicting the keyword “eilen” (hurry). With the same accumulated gravitas, a four-part chorale movement concludes this work on the threshold of Lent, a period without music.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. Or more likely 1727, owing to the presence of Henrici’s libretto in a text cycle published by Christoph Birkmann in 1728 that reflects cantatas performed in Leipzig from late 1724 until September 1727. See Blanken (2015b, 42–43n125).↵
  2. “Gott zu Ehren, dem Verlangen guter Freunde zur Folge und vieler Andacht zur Beförderung habe ich entschlossen, gegenwärtige Cantaten zu verfertigen. Ich habe solches Vorhaben desto lieber unternommen, weil ich mir schmeicheln darf, daß vielleicht der Mangel der poetischen Anmuth durch die Lieblichkeit des unvergleichlichen Herrn Capell-Meisters Bachs, dürfte ersetzet, und diese Lieder in den Haupt-Kirchendes andächtigen Leipzigs angestimmet werden.”↵
  3. When this essay was written, the only known exemplar of Henrici’s 1728 annual cycle had vanished in 1945. In 2009 a partially complete first edition print was discovered in St. Petersburg’s Russian National Library; this recently appeared source and other recently discovered prints in St. Petersburg have helped to clarify several questions regarding the so-called Picander Jahrgang (Picander cycle). See Schabalina (2009, 20–30).↵
  4. Häfner (1975); as well as Scheide (1980); Scheide (1983).↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:21+00:00 Ich habe meine Zuversicht BWV 188 / BC A 154 12 Twenty-first Sunday After Trinity. First performed 10/17/1728 at Leipzig. Cycle IV "Picander Jahrgang" plain 2024-04-24T17:27:41+00:00 1728-10-17 BWV 188 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 08Trinity21 Twenty-first Sunday After Trinity BC A 154 Johann Sebastian Bach CF Henrici (Picander) Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Ich habe meine Zuversicht, BWV 188 / BC A 154" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 474 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig IV

  Twenty-first Sunday After Trinity, October 17, 1728

  This cantata, for the twenty-first Sunday after Trinity, probably originated in mid-October 1728. Bach took its text from a collection that the Leipzig postal secretary and skilled poet Christian Friedrich Henrici (Picander) had just begun to publish. He provided the collection, Cantaten auf die Sonn- und Fest-Tage durch das gantze Jahr, verfertiget durch Picandern (Cantatas for Sundays and holidays throughout the entire year prepared by Picander), with a descriptive foreword: “To honor God, in response to the desire of good friends, and to promote much devotion, I have decided to prepare the present cantatas. I have undertaken this plan even more happily, since I may flatter myself that perhaps whatever is lacking in poetic charm will be replaced by the loveliness of the incomparable Herr Music Director Bach and will resound in the most important churches of devout Leipzig.”¹ It remains unclear whether Henrici/Picander undertook this project with the agreement of the Thomaskantor, whether Bach could have promised to compose the entire annual cycle, and to what extent he was in any position to fulfill such a promise. The collection was published in four parts in 1728–29 and once again a few years later with the texts in a different order. 
      
  Even today scholars do not agree whether the texts provided Bach with the basis for his fourth annual cycle of cantatas or whether the cantor of St. Thomas School simply used a selection from Picander’s offering. If Bach indeed set Picander’s entire annual text cycle to music, then this portion of his oeuvre must be regarded as lost for the most part. Scarcely ten compositions²—about a sixth of a complete cycle—can be documented at present.³
  
  Thus with the cantata Ich habe meine Zuversicht BWV 188 (I have placed my confidence) we are dealing with one of those works that may be all that remains of a much larger corpus. This is especially true of our cantata because, in the form as it is known today, it is the remnant of what was once a much larger whole. Bach’s holograph manuscript originally comprised eighteen pages in folio format, the first ten of which went missing long ago. They contained the largest part of the opening instrumental movement. Apparently, a subsequent owner, perhaps Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, separated these pages from the manuscript and gave them to someone; the pages have vanished without a trace. The rest of the score, pages 11 to 18, found their way into the hands of private collectors and were separated into single pages in the early nineteenth century. Four pages were preserved in their original format, but two pages were cut into two pieces each and another two into three pieces each—parallel to the staves. All of these fragments passed through various private collections and later ended up either in public libraries or in private collections, or they have been lost entirely. The four intact pages are today in Berlin, Paris, Washington, DC, and Vienna; the half pages are in Berlin, Stockholm, and Vienna, as well as in a private collection; and the smaller fragments—as far as is known—are in Eisenach, Paris, and St. Petersburg, as well as in various private collections. Bach’s holograph score thus suffered a fate similar to that of the autograph scores of Mozart’s Rondo for Piano and Orchestra in A Major K. 386 for piano and Franz Schubert’s song Death and the Maiden D. 531.
  
  Because of the loss of the title folder and the first part of the score, Bach’s notations regarding the place of the cantata within the church calendar remain unknown. But this deficit is easily remedied by consulting Picander’s cantata texts. Without knowing this publication, it would be very difficult to assign this composition to any particular Sunday or feast day. The arias and recitatives do not betray a connection to the twenty-first Sunday after Trinity. Instead, they deal very generally with confidence in faith and trust in God. Thus the first aria announces:

  Ich habe meine Zuversicht
  Auf den getreuen Gott gericht’,
  Da ruhet meine Hoffnung feste.
  Wenn alles bricht, wenn alles fällt,
  Wenn niemand Treu und Glauben hält, 
  So ist doch Gott der allerbeste.
  
  I have placed my confidence 
  In our faithful God,
  There rests my hope securely.
  When everything breaks, when everything falls,
  When no one holds up loyalty and faith,
  God then is indeed the best of all.

  
  The ensuing recitative takes up these thoughts and concludes with these words:

  Der Herr verwandelt sich in einen grausamen,
  Um desto tröstlicher zu scheinen;
  Er will, er kanns nicht böse meinen.
  Drum laß ich ihn nicht, er segne mich denn.
  
  The Lord changes into a cruel [Lord]
  In order to appear all the more comforting;
  He will not, nor can he, intend evil,
  Therefore, I will not let him go unless he blesses me.

  
  This trust in God, fortified by a verse from Genesis 32, also characterizes the second aria:

  Unerforschlich ist die Weise,
  Wie der Herr die Seinen führt.
  Selber unser Kreuz und Pein
  Muß zu unserm Besten sein
  Und zu seines Namens Preise.
  
  Unfathomable is the way
  In which the Lord leads his people.
  Even our cross and pain
  Must be in our best interest
  And for the praise of his name.

  
  A brief recitative leads to the opening strophe of the chorale Auf meinen lieben Gott trau ich in Angst und Not (In my dear God I trust in fear and distress), which closes the train of thought in catechetical fashion.
  
  The fragments that remain from Bach’s holograph score show that the cantata begins with a concerto movement for organ and orchestra. This is the concluding movement of that D minor concerto, originally for violin, that was rearranged as a cembalo concerto (BWV 1052) about ten years after Bach composed our cantata. This makes it possible to reconstruct, approximately, the missing portions. However, a complete reconstruction is not possible because in addition to the strings, Bach planned three oboes, for which a parallel source tradition does not exist. Consequently, only a compromise version of the opening movement can be created. The first aria, set for tenor, string instruments, and one obbligato oboe, approaches the dance type of the sarabande; its measured pace apparently follows the text “Da ruhet meine Hoffnung feste.” Only in the middle section does it become more lively, where “fällt” and “bricht” are at issue.
  
  The second aria, in which the alto is joined by an obbligato organ part, is more eventful. Chromatic progressions consistently accompany the key words “Kreuz und Pein”; in addition, there is the obvious possibility of setting the “Unerforschlich ist die Weise, / Wie der Herr die Seinen führt” with musical uncertainty. The aria ritornello moves with wandering, unstable melody and tricky rhythms along winding paths until the opening key returns suddenly and unexpectedly. The course of the overall aria is scarcely less difficult, so that it is only the closing chorale that grants a sense of stability.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. “Gott zu Ehren, dem Verlangen guter Freunde zur Folge und vieler Andacht zur Beförderung habe ich entschlossen, gegenwärtige Cantaten zu verfertigen. Ich habe solches Vorhaben desto lieber unternommen, weil ich mir schmeicheln darf, da vielleicht der Mangel der poetischen Anmuth durch die Lieblichkeit des unvergleichlichen Herrn Capell-Meisters Bachs, dürfte ersetzet, und diese Lieder in den Haupt-Kirchen des andächtigen Leipzigs angestimmet werden.”—Trans.↵
  2. Two texts from Picander’s 1727–28 collection also appear in an annual text cycle published by Christoph Birkmann in Nuremberg in 1728: Welt, behalt du das Deine for Quasimodogeniti and Ich kann mich besser nicht versorgen for Misericordias Domini. Birkmann studied theology at the University of Leipzig and regularly attended Bach’s performances at St. Thomas. He did not own Picander’s collection, suggesting strongly that Birkmann heard these previously unknown compositions performed by Bach. See Blanken (2015b).—Trans.↵
  3. Häfner (1975).↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:51+00:00 Ich habe genung BWV 82 / BC A 169 11 Cantata for solo bass. Purification of Mary. First performed 02/02/1727 in Leipzig (Cycle III). Text by Christoph Birkmann. plain 2024-04-24T16:55:03+00:00 1727-02-02 BWV 82 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 16Purification Cantata for solo bass Purification of Mary BC A 169 Johann Sebastian Bach Christoph Birkmann Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Ich habe genung, BWV 82 / BC A 169" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 518 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig III

  Purification of Mary, February 2, 1727

  The cantata Ich habe genung BWV 82 (I have enough) is among the very few true solo cantatas composed by Johann Sebastian Bach. It is for the first Marian feast in the church year, the Purification of Mary. This feast, celebrated since the seventh century, concerns the codes of conduct for those who have recently given birth, as recorded in Leviticus 12. This is also the basis for the Gospel reading of the day, found in Luke 2:22–32, the presentation of the infant Jesus in the temple. Verse 22 reads: “And as the days of her purification according to the law of Moses were accomplished, they brought him to Jerusalem, to present him to the Lord.” Following a discussion of the animal sacrifice customary for this occasion, verses 25–32 continue:

  And behold, there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; and this man was righteous and devout, and waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it was revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he should not see death before he had seen the Christ of the Lord. And he came, prompted by the Spirit, into the temple. And when the parents brought the infant Jesus into the temple to do for him as one does according to the law, he took him in his arms and praised God and said: Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, as you have said; for my eyes have seen your savior, which you have prepared before all peoples, a light to enlighten the Gentiles, and for the glory of your people Israel.

  At first glance, most music texts for this feast do not seem to have anything to do with a feast in honor of Mary. Almost all of them focus on the words of Simeon: the fulfillment of his dearest wish for an encounter with the savior and his longing for death. The unknown poet responsible for the text of our cantata holds fast to this tradition as well.¹ Even in the first aria, obviously spoken by Simeon, one can see in which direction he plans to channel his thoughts:

  Ich habe genung,
  Ich habe den Heiland, das Hoffen der Frommen, 
  Auf meine begierigen Arme genommen;
  Ich habe genung, 
  Ich hab ihn erblickt,
  Mein Glaube hat Jesum ans Herze gedrückt; 
  Nun wünsch ich, noch heute mit Freuden 
  Von hinnen zu scheiden.
  Ich habe genung!
  
  I have enough,
  I have taken the savior, the hope of the devout, 
  Into my eager arms;
  I have enough, 
  I have seen him,
  My faith has pressed Jesus to my heart; 
  I only wish, even today, with joy
  To depart from this life. 
  I have enough!

  Beginning with the second movement, a recitative, the longing for a blessed departure from this world is generalized; hence, Simeon is spoken about in the third person:

  Ich habe genung,
  Mein Trost ist nur allein,
  Daß Jesus mein und ich sein eigen möchte sein.
  Im Glauben halt ich ihn, 
  Da seh ich auch mit Simeon
  Die Freude jenes Lebens schon. 
  Laßt uns mit diesem Manne ziehn!
  
  I have enough,
  My consolation is but alone
  That Jesus might be mine and I his own. 
  In faith I hold him,
  For I too see, with Simeon, 
  The joy of that life already. 
  Let us go with this man!

  Increasingly, the movements that follow are filled with hope for “the joy of that life.” The second aria longs for the sleep of death as the first step in separation from this world:

  Schlummert ein, ihr matten Augen, 
  Fallet sanft und selig zu!
  Welt, ich bleibe nicht mehr hier, 
  Hab ich doch kein Teil an dir, 
  Das der Seele könnte taugen.
  Hier muß ich das Elend bauen, 
  Aber dort, dort werd ich schauen 
  Süßen Friede, stille Ruh.
  
  Fall asleep, you weary eyes,
  Fall softly and blessedly closed! 
  World, I remain here no longer, 
  I have indeed no part of you 
  That could be of use to the soul. 
  Here I must bear misery,
  But there, there I will see 
  Sweet peace, still repose.

  The last recitative alludes to Luther’s hymn Mit Fried und Freud ich fahr dahin (With peace and joy I depart), his translation of the ancient Canticum Simeonis:

  Mein Gott! Wenn kömmt das schöne: Nun! 
  Da ich im Friede fahren werde
  Und in dem Sande kühler Erde 
  Und dort bei dir im Schoße ruhn?
  Der Abschied ist gemacht,    
  Welt, gute Nacht.    
  
  My God! When might come that lovely: Now! 
  When I shall depart in peace
  And rest in the sand of the cool earth 
  And there within your bosom?
  The departure is made, 
  World, good night.

  Longing for death, hinted at by the opening aria, becomes the main idea in the closing aria:

  Ich freue mich auf meinen Tod, 
  Ach hätt er sich schon eingefunden. 
  Da entkomm ich aller Not,
  Die mich noch auf der Welt gebunden.
  
  I look forward to my death, 
  Ah, had it already arrived! 
  There I will escape all distress,
  Which still binds me in the world.

  The remarkable change in perspective between the first movement and the second can perhaps be explained by the fact that the text Bach used, expressly for a solo cantata, is a revision and expansion of an older text, which is preserved in a reprint of 1744.²  This version, for several voices, began with the dictum from Luke 2:29, “Herr, nun läßest du deinen Diener im Friede fahren” (Lord, now let your servant depart in peace); closed with a chorale; and contains, in addition to one recitative, only a single aria, “Schlummert ein, ihr matten Augen.”
  
  Bach’s composition of this libretto, not particularly rich in contrast but well-balanced and thematically self-contained, comes from 1727. It has been reasonably suggested that Bach composed the earliest version of the St. Matthew Passion in the weeks immediately before or afterward. Should this be the case, then our cantata can be associated broadly with that work’s conceptual preparation, and this exceptional status can be seen in the effusive or ecstatic opening movement; the “heavenly length” of the “Schlummer” aria; and the closing movement, which gradually turns inward with anticipation.
  
  Bach conceived the first version (BWV 82.1) of the cantata in 1727 for the bass voice, string instruments, and one oboe. Four years later, there followed a transposition from C minor to E minor (BWV 82.2), a soprano replaced the bass, and a transverse flute took the place of the oboe. At about the same time, Anna Magdalena Bach began copying the solo part of movements 2 and 3 along with an accompaniment into her 1725 notebook. Four years later, Bach assigned the solo voice to a mezzo soprano and returned to the original key of C minor (BWV 82.3). About a decade later, we have evidence of two performances, in which the bass recovered its rightful place and the instrumental ensemble was augmented in various ways. The soloist in these performances, probably after 1745, is likely to have been Johann Christoph Altnickol, Bach’s student and later his son-in-law. In May 1747 Bach himself confirmed in writing that although Altnickol was a skilled performer of violin and cello, he mostly participated in the chorus (choro musico) as a bass singer to help with the lack of bass voices at the St. Thomas School. Johann Elias Bach, a cousin of the cantor of St. Thomas, spent several years as his secretary and in-house tutor for the children in the Leipzig household. In 1741 he briefly mentioned a “Basso solo” that Johann Sebastian Bach had lent a Weissenfels singer but had not yet received back, so that further lending was not contemplated at the moment. Although this work cannot at present be identified more precisely, it may have been the cantata Ich habe genung.
  
  In any case, this composition was clearly one of Bach’s favorite pieces, and he performed it often with pleasure. Whether he undertook the revisions for soprano and mezzo soprano to address problems of setting, we do not know. It is just as plausible that highly capable singers asked Bach to arrange the cantata for their specific voice ranges to test their ability to master demanding parts in three of the most different aria characters and successfully meet the challenge of this consummate masterpiece. This is still possible today. Although the original—and final—version for bass is the only complete one, the alternative versions for higher voices can be convincingly reconstructed with minimal effort, making them readily available to performers.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. Based on this text’s inclusion in an annual cantata cycle published in Nuremberg in 1728 by Christoph Birkmann, a theology student at the University of Leipzig from 1724 to 1727, it is likely that Birkmann is the text’s author. See Blanken (2015b, 49ff.).—Trans.↵
  2. Wollny (2000, 54–57).↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:32:57+00:00 Tritt auf die Glaubensbahn BWV 152 / BC A 18 11 Dialogue Cantata. Sunday after Christmas. First performed 12/30/1714 at Weimar. Text by Salomon Franck. plain 2024-04-24T17:58:40+00:00 1714-12-30 BWV 152 Weimar 50.979493, 11.323544 12Christmas3 Dialogue Cantata Sunday after Christmas BC A 18 Johann Sebastian Bach Salomon Franck Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Tritt auf die Glaubensbahn, BWV 152 / BC A 18" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 52 James A. Brokaw II Weimar as concertmaster

  Sunday after Christmas, December 30, 1714

  This cantata, Tritt auf die Glaubensbahn BWV 152 (Walk upon the path of faith), was written in late 1714 in Weimar for the Sunday after Christmas, an occasion that does not appear in the church calendar every year.¹ It belongs to the regular four-week cycle of new compositions Bach was obligated to write after his appointment as concertmaster to the Weimar court. Its text was the first to have become available from a cantata text cycle by Weimar chief consistory secretary Salomon Franck, who is thought to have published it half a year later under the title Evangelisches Andachts-Opffer (Protestant devotional offering). Franck’s text contains neither biblical passages nor chorale strophes; instead, it restricts itself to recitatives and arias and hence follows closely the model created by Erdmann Neumeister in 1702, Geistliche Kantaten statt einer Kirchen-Music (Spiritual cantatas instead of a church music). Its content takes up the Gospel reading for the Sunday in Luke 2, in particular, its first part, the depiction of the child Jesus in the Temple: “And his father and his mother marveled at the things that were spoken of him. And Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: See, this one is set for a fall and resurrection for many in Israel and for a sign, that will be spoken against (and a sword will pierce your soul), that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed” (33–35). There is an allusion in this passage to a prophecy in Isaiah 8: “Do not be in dread; rather sanctify the Lord of hosts. Let him be your fear and dread, that he will be a sanctuary, but for a stone of stumbling and for a rock of offense to both the houses of Israel, for a gin and a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, that many shall stumble thereon, fall, be broken, be snared and be taken” (12–15). A verse from Psalm 118 stands in the background here: “The stone, discarded by the builders, becomes a cornerstone” (22). And following on this, once again from Isaiah 28: “Therefore speaks the Lord, Lord: Behold, I lay in Zion a foundation stone, a proven stone, a precious cornerstone, that is well grounded: he that believes shall not flee” (16). 
  
  Salomon Franck’s poetry paraphrases the biblical passages cited above, occasionally so closely as to approach direct quotation. Thus the first aria urges:

  Tritt auf die Glaubensbahn.
  Gott hat den Stein geleget,
  Der Zion hält und träget,
  Mensch, stoße dich nicht dran!
  Tritt auf die Glaubensbahn!
  
  Walk upon the path of faith.
  God has laid the stone
  That holds and carries Zion.
  O man, do not stumble upon it!
  Walk upon the path of faith!

  
  The ensuing recitative connects the verse quoted from Luke and that from Isaiah 28:

  Der Heiland ist gesetzt
  In Israel zum Fall und Auferstehen!
  Der edle Stein ist sonder Schuld,
  Wenn sich die böse Welt 
  So hart an ihm verletzt,
  Ja über ihn zur Höllen fällt,
  Weil sie boshaft an ihn rennet
  Und Gottes Huld
  Und Gnade nicht erkennet!
  Doch selig ist
  Ein auserwählter Christ,
  Der seinen Glaubensbau auf diesen Eckstein gründet,
  Weil er dadurch Heil und Erlösung findet.
  
  The savior is set
  In Israel for the fall and resurrection!
  The noble stone is without guilt,
  Though the evil world
  Injures itself so badly on it,
  Indeed, tumbles over it to hell,
  Because it maliciously runs to it 
  And God’s favor
  And grace does not acknowledge!
  Yet blessed is
  A chosen Christian
  Who founds the structure of his faith on this cornerstone,
  Because he finds salvation and redemption there.

  
  The second aria concludes the consideration of the “köstlichen Eckstein” (precious cornerstone) that serves as the “Glaubensgrund” (foundation of faith):

  Stein, der über alle Schätze,
  Hilf, daß ich zu aller Zeit
  Durch den Glauben auf dich setze
  Meinen Grund der Seligkeit
  Und mich nicht an dir verletze,
  Stein, der über aller Schätze!
  
  Stone, above all treasures,
  Help, that I at all times,
  Through faith, I may place upon you 
  My foundation of salvation
  And not injure myself upon you,
  Stone, above all treasures!

  
  The last recitative connects the wonder of Christ’s birth with 1 Corinthians, which urges a turning away from earthly “wisdom of the wise,” from reason, unsuitable for guiding the spiritually blind, for, according to Paul, “Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” Here, then, is Franck’s verse:

  Es ärgre sich die kluge Welt,
  Daß Gottes Sohn
  Verläßt den hohen Ehrenthron,
  Daß er in Fleisch und Blut sich kleidet
  Und in der Menschheit leidet.
  Die größte Weisheit dieser Erden
  Muß vor des höchsten Rat
  Zur größten Torheit werden.
  Was Gott beschlossen hat,
  Kann die Vernunft doch nicht ergründen;
  Die blinde Leiterin verführt die geistlich Blinden.
  
  It irritates the clever world
  That the son of God
  Forsakes the high throne of honor,
  That he clothes himself in flesh and blood 
  And suffers as a human being.
  The greatest wisdom of this earth
  Must, before the counsel of the Most High,
  Become the greatest folly.
  What God has decided,
  Reason can indeed never fathom;
  The blind leader seduces the spiritually blind.

  
  The cantata text ends somewhat abruptly with a dialogue duet between Soul and Jesus in the style of the Song of Songs:

  Wie soll ich dich, Liebster der Seelen, umfassen?
      Du mußt dich verleugnen und alles verlassen!
  Wie soll ich erkennen das ewige Licht?
      Erkenne mich gläubig und ärgre dich nicht!
  Komm, lehre mich Heiland, die Erde verschmähen!
      Komm, Seele, durch Leide zur Freude zu gehen!
  Ach, ziehe mich, Liebster, so folg ich dir nach!
      Dir schenk ich die Krone nach Trübsal und Schmach.
  
  How shall I embrace you, dearest of souls?
      You must deny yourself and forsake everything!
  How shall I recognize the eternal light?
      Acknowledge me in faith and do not be upset!
  Come, teach me, savior, to scorn the earth!
      Come, Soul, through suffering to attain joy!
  O, draw me, dearest, that I may follow you!
      I shall grant you the crown after tribulation and shame.

  
  Bach is clearly at pains to provide the “precious stone,” apostrophized in biblical passage and cantata text, with a noble setting. Thus he pairs the two voices with an exquisite instrumentation, one that includes, alongside oboe and basso continuo, the serene timbral world of recorder, viola d’amore, and viola da gamba. This chamber music ensemble comes together first in a sinfonia, which, after a few chiseled introductory measures, changes to a densely constructed fugue—the musical symbol of complete fulfillment. Its elegant theme, largely implemented in permutation procedure, proves to be closely related to the theme of the A major organ fugue BWV 536, whereby the question of precedence of one composition or the other must remain open for the moment. The first aria associates the bass, the traditional vox Christi, with the oboe, the most powerful of the instruments taking part. The image of walking upon the path of faith obviously stood as godfather to the energetically striding scalar motives of both partners. Both recitatives are also given to the bass, but here any interpretation involving the vox Christi must be excluded on textual grounds. The first of the two movements uses the contrast between normal recitative and arioso to depict the opposition between the “böse Welt” (evil world) and the desire for salvation and redemption. The second aria presents chamber music filigree, in which the luminous power of the soprano competes with the shimmering figuration of the obbligato instruments, the flute and viola d’amore. The closing duet is dance-like; the 6
  4 meter, the Andante tempo marking, and the canon technique implemented in sections—also reflecting the text—suggest, notwithstanding the rhythmic profile, a measured manner of performance.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. Franck’s text also appears in the annual text cycle GOtt-geheiligte Sabbaths-Zehnden, published in Nuremberg in 1728 by Christoph Birkmann, who studied at the University of Leipzig from December 1, 1724, to early September 1727 and during that time frequently heard church music performed by Johann Sebastian Bach. Birkmann’s cycle contains thirty-one cantatas by Bach known to have been performed at Leipzig during his period of study there. Since Franck’s text for BWV 152 is also included in the cycle, it is now believed to have been reperformed in Leipzig on December 29, 1726, as well as in Weimar (Blanken 2015b, esp. 70).—Trans.↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:21+00:00 Ich armer Mensch, ich Sündenknecht BWV 55 / BC A 157 10 Twenty-second Sunday After Trinity. First performed 11/17/1726 in Leipzig (Cycle III). Text by C Birkmann. plain 2024-04-24T16:22:38+00:00 1726-11-17 BWV 55 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 10Trinity22 Twenty-second Sunday After Trinity BC A 157 Johann Sebastian Bach C Birkmann Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Ich armer Mensch, ich Sündenknecht, BWV 55 / BC A 157" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 482 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig III

  Twenty-Second Sunday after Trinity, November 17, 1726

  Bach created the solo cantata Ich armer Mensch, ich Sündenknecht BWV 55 (I, wretched person, I, servant of sin) in November 1726 for the twenty-second Sunday after Trinity. In the Gospel reading for this Sunday, Jesus tells the parable of the wicked servant in answer to Peter’s question “Lord, how often must I forgive my brother who sins against me; is seven times enough?” to which Jesus answers, “Not seven times but seventy times seven.” The story compares the kingdom of heaven to a king who, upon calculating a final invoice and having noticed that one of his servants owed him a considerable amount of money, first ordered him to sell his belongings and his family but, upon his desperate pleading, canceled all of his debts. However, when this servant harassed one of his fellows over a comparably small sum, his lord ordered him before him and said, “You wicked servant, I have canceled all of this debt for you as you asked me; should you then not also have mercy upon your fellow servant as I have had mercy upon you?” As punishment, the debt cancellation was revoked. “Thus,” as Jesus concluded his parable, “thus will my heavenly father also do to you if you do not forgive from your heart one of your brothers for his mistake.” 
  
  The unknown librettist¹ has situated his text in the field of tension between deserved punishment and merciful forgiveness. In an aria at the beginning, he places a profound confession of guilt that, with its complete openness, immediately cuts off any possibility of evasion:

  Ich armer Mensch, ich Sündenknecht,
  Ich geh vor Gottes Angesichte
  Mit Furcht und Zittern zum Gerichte.
  Er ist gerecht, ich ungerecht.
  
  I, poor person, I, servant of sin,
  I go before God’s countenance
  With fear and trembling to be judged.
  He is just, I unjust.

  
  The reason for the epithet Sündenknecht, missing up to now, is given at the beginning of the recitative that follows:
   

  Ich habe wider Gott gehandelt
  Und bin demselben Pfad,
  Den er mir vorgeschrieben hat,
  Nicht nachgewandelt.
  
  I have acted against God,
  And that same path
  That he prescribed for me
  I have not followed.

  
  In what follows, the hopelessness of the situation and the impossibility of escape from just punishment are illustrated by drawing upon Psalm 139. There, God’s omnipresence and omniscience are discussed:

  Wo soll ich hin gehen vor deinem Geist, und wo soll ich hin fliehen vor deinem Angesicht? Führe ich gen Himmel, so bist du da. Bettete ich mir in die Hölle, siehe, so bist du auch da. Nähme ich Flügel der Morgenröte und bliebe am äußersten Meer, so würde mich doch deine Hand daselbst führen und deine rechte mich halten.
  
  Where shall I go from your spirit, and where shall I flee from your countenance? Were I to ascend to heaven, then you are there. Were I to make my bed in hell, behold, you are there also. Were I to take the wings of the dawn and remain in the farthest reaches of the sea, even there would your hand lead me and your right hand hold me. (7–10)

  
  The cantata librettist recasts this for his own purposes as follows:

  Wohin? soll ich der Morgenröte Flügel
  Zu meiner Flucht erkiesen,
  Die mich zum letzten Meere wiesen,
  So wird mich doch die Hand des Allerhöchsten finden
  Und mir die Sündenrute binden. 
  Ach ja!
  Wenn gleich die Höll ein Bette
  Vor mich und meine Sünde hätte,
  So wäre doch der Grimm des Höchsten da. 
  Die Erde schützt mich nicht, 
  Sie droht mich Scheusal zu verschlingen,
  Und will mich zum Himmel schwingen,
  Da wohnet Gott, der mir das Urteil spricht.
  
  Whither? Shall I choose the wings of dawn
  For my flight,
  Which would take me to the farthest sea,
  Even then will the hand of the 
  Most High find me
  And bind the canes of sin for me.
  Ah, yes!
  Even if hell had a bed
  For me and my sins,
  Then the rage of the Most High would be even there.
  The earth does not shelter me,
  It threatens to swallow me, a monster,
  And if I would leap up to heaven,
  There dwells God, who pronounces judgment upon me.

  
  With this, the circle is closed and the return to the first movement is complete: the Sündenknecht stands quivering before God’s judgment. Without transition or preparation, the following aria changes from the individual’s self-accusation to an urgent plea for mercy in which it is not at first immediately obvious whether the speaker is identical with the speaker in the first aria:

  Erbarme dich,
  Laß die Tränen dich erweichen,
  Laß sie dir zu Herzen reichen,
  Laß um Jesu Christi willen
  Deinen Zorn des Eifers stillen.
  
  Have mercy,
  Let my tears soften you,
  Let them reach into your heart,
  Let, for the sake of Jesus Christ,
  Your rage of jealousy be stilled.

  
  And almost as abruptly, the last freely versified movement, again a recitative, finds the long-sought way out through awareness of Jesus’s act of redemption:

  Erbarme dich!
  Jedoch nun tröst ich mich,
  Ich will nicht für Gerichte stehen
  Und lieber vor dem Gnadenthron
  Zu meinem frommen Vater gehen.
  
  Have mercy!
  However now I console myself,
  I do not want to stand for trial
  And would rather go before the throne of grace
  To my righteous father.

  
  The closing reference to one’s own guilt is rather lighthearted:

  Hinführo will ichs nicht mehr tun.
  So nimmt mich Gott zu Gnaden wieder an.
  
  Henceforth I will do no more.
  Then God again receives me into grace.

  
  As in the St. Matthew Passion, the chorale strophe “Bin ich gleich von dir gewichen” (Though I have turned away from you) follows the aria “Erbarme dich” (Have mercy), separated here only by the intervening recitative. The strophe is the sixth in Johann Rist’s 1642 hymn Werde munter mein Gemüte (Become cheerful, my spirit).
  
  Bach’s composition of this libretto, rich in meaning though not entirely rich in contrast, belongs to a series of solo cantatas that originated in the autumn of his third year at Leipzig and that are grouped around the Kreuzstab cantata, as it is known.² Whether from the outset Bach intended this to be a solo cantata is a question that must remain open. Some aspects of the musical text indicate that the cantata may have adopted several components of older compositions, although we can only speculate as to their nature. Even so, this may provide an explanation for the extraordinarily high demands the cantata places upon the solo tenor, particularly in the arias. 
  
  Without doubt, the heart of this work is its opening movement, whose instrumental ensemble—flute, oboe, two violins, and basso continuo—avoids the tenor range, reserving it for the vocalist. The ensemble with the singer, who is almost continuously forced into an uncomfortably high range, is combined in a densely woven six-voice texture. The tone of rueful contrition, dominant from the very beginning, intensifies over the course of the aria to a despairing self-accusation. At no point does the music move even briefly beyond gloomy minor key regions, and not even the abundant parallel thirds and sixths in the instrumental parts can provide any consoling warmth. Instead, their movement flows ever again in descending half- and whole-tone steps. Heard as sigh motives, in their uniformity they seem to give the impression of an unavoidable fate. The frequent half-tone progressions, which do not grant the harmonic flow a moment’s rest, culminate in passages at the end of the opening and closing sections of the aria. With their intensified chromaticism, these passages express “Furcht und Zittern” (fear and trembling), while the silence of the instruments symbolizes total abandonment.
  
  This aria’s agitation and arousal linger on in the ensuing recitative and lead to a dramatic intensification. The following aria, “Erbarme dich,” cannot effect a fundamental change, despite its textual statement. However, the despair of the opening movement gives way to a relaxation that remains even as the lamenting and pleading figures of the voice and obbligato flute seem to strive against one another toward a climax. In some respects, this aria seems to anticipate the aria of the same name in the St. Matthew Passion BWV 244, performed for the first time a half year later. The final recitative is more consoling than what came before; the B-flat major harmony at the beginning seems to herald a change of scenery. With simple texture but in an unusually high range, the chorale movement on Johann Schop’s melody Werde munter, mein Gemüte closes a work that is unparalleled in its spiritual dimensions as well as its technical demands.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. In 2015 Christine Blanken identified Christoph Birkmann as the librettist of this and seven other cantata texts of 1725 and 1726. Birkmann, a musically active student of mathematics and later theology at the University of Leipzig from December 1724 to September 1727 who regularly attended Bach’s performances, published an annual cycle of cantata texts in 1728 that contains thirty-one works known to have been performed in Leipzig during Birkmann’s time there, among which are twenty-three known cantatas by Bach. See Blanken (2015b).—Trans.↵
  2. It is now thought that the librettist of these works was probably Christoph Birkmann. See Blanken (2015b, esp. 46, 55–56).—Trans.↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:20+00:00 Gott soll allein mein Herze haben BWV 169 / BC A 143 9 Eighteenth Sunday After Trinity. First performed 10/20/1726 in Leipzig (Cycle III). Text by C Birkmann. plain 2024-04-24T17:54:25+00:00 1726-10-20 BWV 169 Leipzig 50.979493, 11.323544 08Trinity18 Eighteenth Sunday After Trinity BC A 143 Johann Sebastian Bach C Birkmann Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Gott soll allein mein Herze haben, BWV 169 / BC A 143" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 445 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig III

  Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity, October 20, 1726

  This cantata, Gott soll allein mein Herze haben BWV 169 (God alone shall have my heart), was performed for the first time on October 20, 1726. It is the first of a group of six works that precede the start of the Advent season in 1726. With one exception, they are solo cantatas. Admittedly, in four of the five cases the final chorale is performed with all four choral voices. We do not know what prompted Bach to concentrate at this particular time on the very individual expressive world of the solo cantata: perhaps consideration of a temporary lapse in the capabilities of his choir, or perhaps the need to reduce his workload. Similarly, the relationship of cause and effect regarding text and music remains unknown. One might infer that Bach intentionally sought out or commissioned texts that lent themselves to composition as a solo piece. But by the same token, it would be equally conceivable that all the texts available to him at that time—a group that included the Kreuzstab Cantata BWV 56—were so intensely focused on individual devotion that there seemed no other option than to set each of them to a solo voice. Unfortunately, nothing is known about the origins of these five texts, so it cannot even be determined whether they are by the same author.¹ 
  
  In the case of our cantata, the librettist addresses the first part of the Sunday Gospel reading. This is found in Matthew 22 and gives the account of the dialogue between Jesus and the Pharisee scribes. At the beginning, it reads: “But when the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. And one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question, tempting him, saying: Master, which is the most important commandment in the law? Jesus, however, said to him, ‘You shall love God, your Lord, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. But the other is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Upon these two commandments depend the entire law and the prophets” (34–40).
  
  The commandments formulated or cited here go back to the books of Deuteronomy and Leviticus. In a parallel place in the New Testament, in Luke 10, they appear in connection with the parable of the good Samaritan and are assigned along with it to the Gospel reading for the thirteenth Sunday after Trinity. As a result, they found their way into the text and composition of Bach’s cantata Du sollt Gott, deinen Herren, lieben BWV 77 (You shall love God, your Lord).
  
  In view of these relationships between the Gospel readings for the thirteenth and eighteenth Sundays after Trinity, it is no wonder that the cantatas Gott soll allein mein Herze haben BWV 169 and Du sollt Gott, deinen Herren, lieben BWV 77 share many commonalities. If our cantata begins with the almost incantation-like “Gott soll allein mein Herze haben,” the other work, older by three years, reads, a bit more soberly, “So muß es sein! / Gott will das Herz vor sich alleine haben” (So must it be! / God will have the heart for himself alone). Overall, the language of our cantata is more emphatic and emotional, in line with the genre tradition, than that of the earlier work. In the first two movements of the solo cantata, the title line serves as a kind of motto, a slogan that, repeated like a leitmotif, is used as a means of artistic integration. 
  
  The opening recitative first links the ideas of the love of God and renunciation of the world and then attributes peace of mind to the effects of God’s goodness:

  Gott soll allein mein Herze haben.
  Zwar merk ich an der Welt,
  Die ihren Kot unschätzbar hält, 
  Weil sie so freundlich mit mir tut,
  Sie wollte gern allein
  Das Liebste meiner Seele sein.
  Doch nein —
  Gott soll allein mein Herze haben:
  Ich find in ihm das höchste Gut.
  Wir sehen zwar
  Auf Erden hier und dar
  Ein Bächlein der Zufriedenheit,
  Das von des Höchsten Güten quillet;
  Gott aber ist der Quell, mit Strömen angefüllet,
  Da schöpf ich, was mich allezeit
  Kann sattsam und wahrhaftig laben:
  Gott soll allein mein Herze haben.
  
  God alone shall have my heart,
  Indeed I note of the world—
  Which values its dreck as priceless—
  It is so friendly to me because
  It alone would be
  The most beloved of my soul.
  But no—
  God alone shall have my heart.
  I find in him the highest goodness.
  We see indeed
  On Earth here and there
  A brooklet of contentment
  That springs from the goodness of the Most High;
  But God is the spring, filled with streams,
  Where I find that which for all time
  Can fully and truly refresh me:
  God alone shall have my heart.

  
  The associated aria begins with the motto from the middle of the preceding recitative and adopts it literally as a framing component:

  Gott soll allein mein Herze haben,
  Ich find in ihm das höchste Gut.
  Er liebt mich in der bösen Zeit
  Und will mich in der Seligkeit
  Mit Gütern seines Hauses laben.
  
  God alone shall have my heart,
  I find in him the highest goodness.
  He loves me in this evil time
  And in salvation would 
  Refresh me with the goods of his house.

  
  After these confessions of love of God in the third movement there follows a recitative with a series of reflections on the love of God; they flow into allusions to the ascent of the prophet Elijah with fiery horses and wagon depicted in 2 Kings 2:11 and to the return to the bosom of Abraham:

  Was ist die Liebe Gottes?
  Des Geistes Ruh,
  Der Sinnen Lustgenuß,
  Der Seele Paradies.
  Sie schließt die Hölle zu,
  Den Himmel aber auf;
  Sie ist Elias Wagen,
  Da werden wir im Himmel nauf
  In Abrahms Schoß getragen.
  
  What is the love of God?
  The spirit’s repose,
  The delight of the senses,
  The paradise of the soul.
  It shuts hell
  But opens heaven,
  It is Elijah’s chariot,
  In which we will be carried up to heaven
  Into the bosom of Abraham.

  
  And even more energetically than the first recitative, the second aria formulates rejection and renunciation of the world in favor of the love of God:

  Stirb in mir,
  Welt und alle deine Liebe,
  Daß die Brust
  Sich auf Erden für und für
  In der Liebe Gottes übe;
  Stirb in mir,
  Hoffahrt, Reichtum, Augenlust,
  Ihr verworfnen Fleischestriebe!
  
  Die in me, 
  World and all your love,
  That my breast
  On Earth forever and ever
  May practice the love of God.
  Die in me,
  Pride, wealth, desire of the eye,
  You depraved urges of the flesh!

  
  In all of this, the love of one’s neighbor, portrayed as equal in the Sunday Gospel reading, is neglected. Only at the very end does the cantata librettist dedicate a few minimally inspired lines to it:

  Doch meint er auch dabei
  Mit eurem Nächsten treu!
  Denn so steht in der Schrift geschrieben:
  Du sollst Gott und den Nächsten lieben.
   
  But this also means,
  Be true to your neighbor!
  For as it is written in the scriptures:
  You shall love God and your neighbor.

  
  The third strophe of Luther’s Nun bitten wir den heilgen Geist (We now implore the Holy Spirit) concludes the libretto’s sequence of ideas:

  Du süße Liebe, schenk uns deine Gunst,
  Laß uns empfinden der Liebe Brunst,
  Daß wir uns von Herzen einander lieben
  Und in Friede auf einem Sinn bleiben. 
  Kyrie eleis.
  
  You sweet love, grant us your favor,
  Let us feel the fervor of your love,
  That we may love one another from the heart
  And remain in peace of one mind.
  Lord, have mercy.

  
  As he did in two companion works of the late Trinity season in 1726, Johann Sebastian Bach placed an independent concerto movement at the beginning of the solo cantata. The festive D major sinfonia combines concertante organ, oboes, and strings; the string instruments lead off with a spirited ritornello, while the solo instrument remains silent. Nonetheless, a recent view holds that this is a genuine organ concerto, possibly composed originally by the cantor of St. Thomas School for a guest appearance at the St. Sophia Church in Dresden in September 1725, where he would have performed on the Silbermann organ.²Older opinion, on the other hand, preferred not to see the version for concertante organ as original and instead proceeded from a version in D major with oboe d’amore as solo instrument. Bach’s later reshaping of this movement to become the opening movement of a cembalo concerto (BWV 1053) does little to solve the puzzle, because the solo instrument’s notation contains few clues as to what the original instrument might have been. The middle movement of the lost concerto, preserved in the cembalo concerto arrangement, also found its way into our concerto; it provides the essential substance for the second aria, whose text begins: “Stirb in mir, Welt” (Die in me, world). Concertante organ and strings are involved here once again, although the oboes fall silent; instead, a new solo part for alto voice is skillfully woven in. With its characteristic 12
  8 meter, this movement exemplifies the expressive siciliano type so often found in Bach—particularly the densely woven texture of the outer sections, whose passionate intensification contrasts with the rather static, barely moving musette bass. In contrast to the opulence of the sinfonia and this aria, the other movements are rather sparsely set. This applies to the opening portion with its recitative and arioso sections, as well as to the first aria with virtuoso concertante organ. In particular, in the first movement, the self-imposed requirement “Gott soll allein mein Herze haben” is made manifest by restricting accompaniment to the basso continuo.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. In 2015 Christine Blanken proposed that Christoph Birkmann may be the librettist for these six works. Birkmann, a musically active student of theology at the University of Leipzig from December 1724 to September 1727 who regularly attended Bach’s performances, published an annual cycle of cantata texts in 1728 that contains thirty-one works known to have been performed in Leipzig during Birkmann’s time there, among which are twenty-three known cantatas by Bach. See Blanken (2015b).—Trans.↵
  2. Wolff (2006).↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:21+00:00 Falscher Welt, dir trau ich nicht BWV 52 / BC A 160 7 Twenty-third. Sunday After Trinity. First performed 11/24/1726 in Leipzig (Cycle III). Text by C Birkmann. plain 2024-04-24T16:21:27+00:00 1726-11-24 BWV 52 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 10Trinity23 Twenty-third. Sunday After Trinity BC A 160 Johann Sebastian Bach C Birkmann Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Falscher Welt, dir trau ich nicht, BWV 52 / BC A 160" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 491 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig III

  Twenty-Third Sunday after Trinity, November 24, 1726

  The cantata Falsche Welt, dir trau ich nicht BWV 52 (False world, I trust you not) belongs to that group of solo cantatas that Johann Sebastian Bach composed and performed during the last part of the Trinity period in 1726 in Leipzig. Assigned to the twenty-third Sunday after Trinity, it was performed on the last Sunday of the waning church year, one week before the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the new church year. The Gospel reading for that Sunday is found in Matthew 22 and concerns the falsity of the Pharisees; it tells the parable of the tribute money:

  Then the Pharisees went and held a counsel, as they might ensnare him in his talk. And they sent their disciples to him together with the servants to Herod. And they said: Master, we know that you are honest and properly teach the way of God and you ask of no one, for you do not care about the appearance of people. Therefore, tell us: Is it proper to pay tribute to Caesar or not? As Jesus noticed their wickedness, he said: You hypocrites, why do you tempt me? Show me the tribute money! And they brought him a penny. And he said to them: Whose image is this, and the superscription? They said to him: Caesar’s. Then he said to them: Therefore, give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s! When they heard this, they marveled and left him and went their way. (15–22)

  
  The striking scenario of the world, its falsity and temptations, is depicted with similar language in Mark 12 and in terms of visual art is fully rendered in Titian’s famous painting. It provides the background for the text of our cantata. At the same time, the unidentified librettist¹ leaves aside the parable of the tribute money and concentrates on the opposition of falsity and hypocrisy, on the one hand, and integrity and friendship, on the other. Also unmentioned is the admonition of obedience to worldly authorities as articulated in Romans, elaborating on the words of Jesus regarding rendering unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. Instead, the librettist begins with a philippic against the world, ruled by falsity:

  Falsche Welt, dir trau ich nicht.
  Hier muß ich unter Skorpionen
  Und unter falschen Schlangen wohnen.
  Dein Angesicht,
  Das noch so freundlich ist, 
  Sinnt auf ein heimliches Verderben:
  Wenn Joab küßt,
  So muß ein frommer Abner sterben.
  Die Redlichkeit ist aus der Welt verbannt,
  Die Falschheit hat sie fortgetrieben,
  Nun ist die Heuchelei
  An ihrer Stelle blieben. 
  Der beste Freund ist ungetreu,
  O jämmerlicher Stand!
  
  False world, I trust you not.
  Here I must dwell among scorpions
  And among false serpents.
  Your countenance,
  Which, though so friendly,
  Schemes a secret destruction:
  When Joab kisses,
  Then a devout Abner must die.
  Honesty is banned from the world,
  Falsity has driven it away.
  Now hypocrisy
  Remains in its place.
  One’s best friend is disloyal,
  O woeful situation!

  
  The reference to Joab and Abner points to a place in 2 Samuel concerned with war-like altercations between the houses of David and Saul and with the murder of Abner by Joab. Otherwise, the recitative text employs the entire range of Baroque rhetoric, culminating in a sorrowful outcry about the miserable state of things.
  
  But the aria that follows signals a turn for the better:

  Immerhin, immerhin,
  Wenn ich gleich verstoßen bin,
  Ist die falsche Welt mein Feind,
  O so bleibt doch Gott mein Freund,
  Der es redlich mit mir meint.
  
  After all, after all,
  If I am at once cast out,
  If the false world is my enemy,
  O then God still remains my friend
  Who intends to be honest with me.

  
  The second recitative moves forward along this path and draws a more precise outline of the friend / enemy relationship:

  Gott ist getreu.
  Er wird, er kann mich nicht verlassen:
  Will mich die Welt und ihre Raserei
  In ihre Schlingen fassen, 
  So steht mir seine Hilfe bei.
  Auf seine Freundschaft will ich bauen
  Und meine Seele, Geist und Sinn
  Und alles, was ich bin, 
  Ihm anvertrauen.
  
  God is faithful.
  He will not, he cannot forsake me:
  Though the world and its frenzy
  Would catch me in its snares,
  Then his help stands beside me.
  Upon his friendship I will build
  And my soul, spirit, and mind
  And everything that I am
  Will entrust to him.

  
  The metaphor at the beginning—the snake as betrayer—is here complemented by that of the snare for the soul bound by sin. The trust in God now achieved is incorporated in the second and last aria:

  Ich halt es mit dem lieben Gott, 
  Die Welt mag nur alleine bleiben.
  Gott mit mir, und ich mit Gott,
  Also kann ich selber Spott
  Mit den falschen Zungen treiben.
  
  I am faithful to our dear God,
  The world may but remain alone.
  God with me, and I with God,
  Then I myself can ridicule
  The false tongues.

  
  In confirmation, there follows the first strophe of Adam Reusner’s 1553 chorale:

  In dich hab ich gehoffet, Herr,
  Hilf, daß ich nicht zuschanden werd,
  Noch ewiglich zu Spotte.
  Das bitt ich dich,
  Erhalte mich
  In deiner Treu, Herr Gotte.
  
  In you I have placed my hope, Lord,
  Help, that I not be ruined
  Or eternally put to shame.
  This I pray you,
  Uphold me
  In your faithfulness, Lord God.

  
  In view of the text’s consistent first-person perspective, it could hardly have taken any musical setting other than that of the solo cantata. Apart from the closing four-part chorale, Bach’s composition is restricted to a single voice. As do other solo cantatas of 1726, the work overall gains additional weight via the addition of a concerto movement at the beginning—in this case, the first movement of the first of the Brandenburg Concertos BWV 1046. As court music director at Anhalt-Köthen, Bach sent a dedication fair copy of these works to the margrave of Brandenburg in 1721. The concertos originated in preceding years, but it is disputed whether they are exclusively products of Bach’s years at Köthen or whether the oldest components may go back to the Weimar era before 1717. The sumptuously orchestrated first concerto is also at issue here, in which two horns, three oboes with bassoon, and strings concertize in nearly bewildering diversity in solos or in groups—but always within a scheme in which integration is the guiding principle. In particular, this concerns the two brass instruments, the hunting horns. With their natural, actually inappropriate fanfare motives and boisterous rhythms at the movement’s beginning, they conduct themselves reservedly with the art music but then participate with it in a lively fashion before resuming their accustomed distance again at the end. Whether Bach had in mind a cryptic connection from this aspect to the cantata libretto remains an open question. In any case, there is clearly a productive relationship of tension between the “first-person” text and the introductory sinfonia’s sense of communal music-making. 
  
  With the beginning of the soprano solo, the inner balance of the extensive prelude gives way to an excited declamation with unexpected harmonic turns that does not achieve stability even at the end of the recitative. As a result, the D minor aria, “Immerhin, immerhin wenn ich gleich verstoßen bin,” accompanied by two concertante violins, hardly ever develops a powerful self-confidence. Feeble, short-breathed instrumental passages, barely prepared to unfold independently, constantly falling back into parallels or unisons, together with a stubborn clinging to the superficial triadic motives that follow the rhythms of the word “immerhin” (after all): these symbolize the mutability, emptiness, and nullity of the world. In contrast, the second recitative, “Gott ist getreu” (God is faithful), knows it is on a solid foundation. Only the recollection of “die Welt und ihre Raserei” (the world and its frenzy), with its dangerous serpent, brings about harmonic turbulence once again. The last aria takes place in the security of a dance-like, gently animated, and harmonious texture of three oboes. Textual passages such as “die Welt mag nur alleine bleiben” (the world may but remain alone) and “kann ich selber Spott / Mit den falschen Zunge treiben” (I myself can ridicule / The false tongues) are emphasized here and there, partially through the more active motion of the voice and partly through the temporary silence of the winds. Otherwise, however, perfect harmony predominates, in the concluding chorale as well, on the sixteenth-century melody “In dich hab ich gehoffet, Herr” (In you I have placed my hope, Lord). 

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. It is now known that the librettist of this work was Christoph Birkmann, a musically active student of theology at the University of Leipzig from December 1724 to September 1727 who regularly attended Bach’s performances. Birkmann published an annual cycle of cantata texts in 1728 that contains thirty-one works known to have been performed in Leipzig during Birkmann’s time there, among which are twenty-three cantatas by Bach. See Blanken (2015b, 46, 55–56).—Trans.↵
• 1 2023-09-26T09:34:21+00:00 Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan BWV 98 / BC A 153 6 Twenty-first Sunday After Trinity. First performed 11/10/1726 in Leipzig (Cycle III). Text by C Birkmann. plain 2024-04-24T17:14:43+00:00 1726-11-10 BWV 98 Leipzig 51.340199, 12.360103 08Trinity21 Twenty-first Sunday After Trinity BC A 153 Johann Sebastian Bach C Birkmann Hans-Joachim Schulze, "Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan, BWV 98 / BC A 153" in Die Bach Kantaten: Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, (Leipzig: Evangelisches Verlagsanstalt 2007), p. 472 James A. Brokaw II Leipzig III

  Twenty-First Sunday after Trinity, November 10, 1726

  There are three cantatas entitled Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan (What God does, that is well done); this, the second of the three chronologically, is for the twenty-first Sunday after Trinity. It originated in November 1726 and, it is worth noting, within a series of solo cantatas. This context may explain the remarkable fact that while the composition begins with a choral movement, it closes with an aria instead of a chorale. Although this might tempt one to suppose that the source transmission is incomplete, Bach’s composition score as well as the original performing parts are all available and intact, and in all sources the word Fine is entered after the concluding aria. This rather pedantic note at the end may be due to chance. However, it could also be seen to indicate, on the one hand, the composer’s desire to blunt a sense of uncertainty, perhaps in connection with a planned reperformance, and, on the other, his hope to avoid annoying questions about a possibly missing choral movement once and for all.
  
  Nothing is known about the origins of our cantata’s text.¹ It thus cannot be determined whether the lack of a closing chorale was the choice of the composer or of the librettist. The libretto contains no trace of the Gospel reading for the twenty-first Sunday after Trinity. Found in John 4, it gives the account of Jesus’s healing the son of a nobleman. The libretto begins with the opening strophe from Samuel Rodigast’s 1674 hymn:

  Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan,
  Es bleibt gerecht sein Wille;
  Wie er fängt meine Sachen an,
  Will ich ihm halten stille.
  Er ist mein Gott,
  Der in der Not
  Mich wohl weiß zu erhalten;
  Drum laß ich ihn nur walten.
  
  What God does, that is done well,
  His will remains just;
  However he directs my affairs,
  I will trust him silently.
  He is my God
  Who in distress
  Knows well how to sustain me;
  Therefore, I just let him rule.

  
  As they are here, confidence in faith and trust in God are at the core of the further development of this line of thought. The anxious questions at the beginning of the first recitative gradually make room for increasing confidence:

  Ach Gott! Wenn wirst du mich einmal
  Von meiner Leidensqual,
  Von meiner Angst befreien? 
  Wie lange soll ich Tag und Nacht
  Um Hilfe schreien?
  Und ist kein Retter da!
  Der Herr ist denen allen nah,
  Die seiner Macht
  Und seiner Huld vertrauen.
  Drum will ich meine Zuversicht
  Auf Gott alleine bauen,
  Denn er verläßt die Seinen nicht.
  
  Ah God! When will you at last 
  Free me from my torment of suffering,
  From my anguish?
  How long shall I, day and night,
  Cry for help?
  And no deliverer is there!
  The Lord is near to all those
  Who trust his might
  And his favor.
  Therefore, I will build my confidence
  On God alone,
  For he does not abandon those of his own.

  
  The associated aria also articulates the hope for consolation and help:

  Hört, ihr Augen, auf zu weinen!
  Trag ich doch
  Mit Geduld mein schweres Joch.
  Gott der Vater lebet noch,
  Von den Seinen
  Läßt er keinen.
  Hört, ihr Augen, auf zu weinen!
  
  Cease, you eyes, to weep!
  Indeed, I bear
  My heavy yoke with patience.
  God the father lives still,
  Of those his own
  He abandons none.
  Cease, you eyes, to weep! 

  
  The second recitative deals with God’s mercy; at the end it says:

  Er hält sein Wort;
  Er saget: Klopfet an,
  So wird euch aufgetan! 
  Drum laßt uns alsofort,
  Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten schweben,
  Das Herz zu Gott allein erheben!
  
  He keeps his word;
  He says: Knock,
  And it will be opened to you!
  Therefore, let us from now on,
  When we hover in greatest distress,
  Raise our hearts to God alone!

  
  In this regard, the beginning of Paul Eber’s hymn Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten sein (When we are in highest need) also sounds like a verse from the Sermon on the Mount: “Bittet, so wird euch gegeben; suchet, so werdet ihr finden; klopfet an, so wird euch aufgetan!” (Ask, and you shall receive; seek, and you will find; knock, and it shall be opened to you). The closing aria provides yet another quotation: its first line—however, only this one—is identical with the beginning of a hymn by Christian Keimann, but it appears here in connection with the verse “Ich lasse dich nicht, du segnest mich denn” (I will not let you go, except you bless me) from Genesis:

  Meinen Jesum laß ich nicht,
  Bis mich erst sein Angesicht
  Wird erhören oder segnen.
  Er allein
  Soll mein Schutz in allem sein,
  Was mir Übels kann begegnen.
  
  I will not let my Jesus go
  Until his countenance
  Hears or blesses me.
  He alone
  Shall be my shelter in everything,
  Whatever evil can befall me.

  
  Bach begins his composition of this rather problematic libretto with an extended chorale arrangement that clearly draws upon his experience in creating the chorale cantata annual cycle of 1724–25. The present cantata is distinguished from its sibling work of the same name by the significantly reduced demands of its opening movement, both vocally and in the weight of the instrumental component. The voices, mostly alternating with instruments, must be satisfied with a harmonic choral texture presented in sections, becoming more polyphonic only toward the end. Despite these diminished standards, the oboes are added to the three upper voices for support. Thus only the string instruments contribute an independent instrumental texture, or, put more precisely, the prominent concertante first violin with purely harmonic support from the second violin and viola.
  
  The first aria for soprano with obbligato oboe shows itself to be in conflict between hope and despair. A confidently striding theme borne by the dance-like motion of the minuet repeatedly flows into burdened half-tone steps that call to mind the “schwere Joch” (heavy yoke) in the text and only allows some relaxed figuration in the middle, for “Gott der Vater lebet noch” (God the Father lives still). By contrast, the concluding aria for bass is energetic and self-confident, as the two violins provide the bass voice with a powerfully contoured obbligato part. The resumption of the B-flat tonality as well as the wide intervals and expansive passages of the obbligato part build a bridge back to the opening movement, thereby underscoring the aria’s function as the cantata’s conclusion. The same purpose is served when the voice combines the quotation of Keimann’s hymn with a varied form of the chorale melody. Whether Bach meant thereby to compensate for the omission of a closing chorale of course cannot be determined.

  ---

  Footnotes

  1. In 2015 Christine Blanken identified Christoph Birkmann as the librettist for these six works. Birkmann, a musically active student of theology at the University of Leipzig from December 1724 to September 1727 who regularly attended Bach’s performances, published an annual cycle of cantata texts in 1728 that contains thirty-one works known to have been performed in Leipzig during Birkmann’s time there, among which are twenty-three known cantatas by Bach. See Blanken (2015b).—Trans.↵