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Wir müßen durch viel Trübsal in das Reich Gottes eingehen BWV 146 / BC A 70
Jubilate Sunday, May 12, 1726
This cantata is transmitted only in copies from the second half of the eighteenth century, and thus we can rely only on conjecture to determine when Bach may have composed it. In any case, it certainly belongs to his years in Leipzig, and he scarcely could have written it any earlier than 1726. Moreover, the name of the librettist remains unknown to us. The text hews closely to the Gospel reading for Jubilate Sunday, found in John 16; it contains a portion of the farewell addresses of Jesus. It begins: “After a little while you will not see me; however, after a little while you shall see me, for I am going to the Father” (16). And near the end: “Truly, truly I say to you: You shall weep and wail, but the world shall rejoice; you, however, shall be sorrowful, yet your sorrow shall be transformed in joy” (20).The duality sorrow/joy illuminates the cantata text in manifold ways—if rather static ones. It begins with a modified verse from the fourteenth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, which urges steadfastness in faith: “Wir müßen durch viel Trübsal in das Reich Gottes eingehen” (22; We must go through much tribulation to enter the kingdom of God). The first aria takes this up, as well as the longing of contemporary Christians to leave this world:
Ich will nach dem Himmel zu,
Schnödes Sodom, ich und du
Sind nunmehr geschieden.
Meines Bleibens ist nicht hier,
Denn ich lebe doch bei dir
Nimmermehr in Frieden.
I would go to heaven,
Vile Sodom, I and you
Are henceforth asunder.
My permanence is not here,
For I indeed will dwell with you
Never again in peace.
With the exclamation “Ach! wer doch schon im Himmel wär” (Ah! Were I already in heaven), a wide-ranging recitative combines reflections on the “böse Welt” (evil world), its hate and its temptations, and ends with the deep sigh:
Mein Gott, das fällt mir schwer,
Ach! wenn ich doch,
Mein Jesu, heute noch
Bei dir im Himmel wär.
My God, that is hard for me,
Ah! If only,
My Jesus, this very day
I were with you in heaven.
The second aria paraphrases a verse from Psalm 126: “Die mit Tränen säen, werden mit Freuden ernten” (5; They who sow with tears shall reap with joy). From this, the cantata poet gains the following lines:
Ich säe meine Zähren
Mit bangem Herzen aus.
Jedoch mein Herzeleid
Wird mir die Herrlichkeit
Am Tage der seligen Ernte gebären.
I sow my tears
With an anxious heart.
Yet my heartache
Will bear glory for me
On the day of the blessed harvest.
The final recitative draws upon a place in Romans 8: “For I believe that this time of suffering cannot be compared to the glory that shall be revealed to us” (18). The rhymed version derived from it is:
Ich bin bereit,
Mein Kreuz geduldig zu ertragen;
Ich weiß, daß alle meine Plagen
Nicht wert der Herrlichkeit
Die Gott an den erwählten Scharen
Und auch an mir wird offenbaren.
I am prepared
To bear my cross patiently;
I know that all my torments
Are not worthy to be compared to the glory
That God to his chosen hosts
And also to me will reveal.
In what follows, the poet once again laments the merciless merriment of the world and hopes for the transformation of sorrow to joy until finally recalling the words of Paul in 2 Timothy: “I have fought a good fight. . . . [H]enceforth there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness” (4:7–8). The last aria is devoted to the unlimited hope for an end of all tribulation:
Wie will ich mich freuen, wie will ich mich laben,
Wenn alle vergängliche Trübsal vorbei.
Da glänz ich wie Sterne und leuchte wie Sonne,
Da störet die himmlische selige Wonne
Kein Trauern, Heulen und Geschrei.
How shall I rejoice, how shall I refresh myself
When all passing tribulations are gone.
Then I shall gleam like the stars and shine like the sun,
Then heavenly blessed delight will be disturbed
By no sorrow, wailing, and lament.
The closing phrase seems to allude to the comforting promise in Revelation 21: “God will wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, nor suffering, nor lament, nor pain will anymore be, for the former things will be passed away” (4).
Which chorale strophe is meant to conclude the cantata cannot be securely established since the eighteenth-century copies of the score contain the chorale movement without text.1 More recent suggestions for closing this gap name the strophes “Denn wer selig dahin fähret” (For whoever goes there blessed) from the hymn Lasset ab von euren Tränen (Let go of your tears) or “Ach ich habe schon erblicket” (Oh, I have already glimpsed) from the hymn Alle Menschen müßen sterben (All people must die). Most recently, the first strophe of a widely disseminated hymn was suggested with good reason because its vocabulary is closely related to the preceding in a way that is characteristic of Bach’s cantata texts:
Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele,
Und vergiß all Not und Qual,
Weil dich nun Christus, dein Herre,
Ruft aus diesem Jammertal;
Aus Trübsal und großen Leid
Sollst du fahren in die Freud
Die kein Ohre hat gehöret,
Und in Ewigkeit auch währet.
Rejoice greatly, O my soul,
And forget all need and misery,
For now Christ, your Lord,
Calls you from this vale of tears;
From tribulation and great suffering
You shall travel into joy
That no ear has yet heard
And awaits you in eternity.
Bach’s composition of this libretto begins with an extended concerto movement for organ and orchestra with strings and oboes—an alternative version of the opening movement of the concerto in D minor for cembalo and string orchestra, BWV 1052. This movement, which is particularly remarkable because of its demonic main theme, which is quite singular for its era, raises, like the entire concerto, many questions regarding its genesis. At present all that is certain is that it goes back to an earlier version (which can be reconstructed by reverse transcription) that called for the violin as the solo instrument. To imitate the high range of the violin on the organ, Bach transposed the solo part an octave lower while planning the use of the four-foot register so that the original range could be achieved.
Bach developed the opening chorus of the cantata from the slow movement of the same concerto, a sequence of pathos-filled variations above an ostinato bass, working a new four-part chorus into the existing, fully developed instrumental composition. If his compositional style is predominantly instrumental in character, this procedure is in principle predetermined—but rarely is it realized as rigorously as in this case.
After the two concerto movements, the organ continues its soloistic or obbligato participation in the first aria. Here again the violin is plausible as an obbligato instrument. The tireless motion of the instrumental voice and its preference for ascending figures allow the fervent “Ich will nach dem Himmel zu” (I would go to heaven) to stand out almost too clearly. Philipp Spitta once called the aria an “exuberance of longing for death” (Überschwang der Todessehnsucht).
After a vividly declaimed recitative accompanied by string instruments, in the associated aria the soprano combines with the transverse flute in its high register and two restrained, grounded oboi d’amore to create an exquisite timbral image. In this manner, the psalm paraphrase is highlighted as the conceptual heart of the cantata text while at the same time avoiding accentuation of the contrast between “bange Zähren” (anxious tears) and “der Herrlichkeit am Tage der seligen Ernte” (the glory on the day of the blessed harvest). Instead of the contrast one might expect, there is a sublime, subtly differentiated retracing.
An unpretentious recitative for tenor leads back to reality as well as the slightly superficial song of joy, set as a duet in spite of its first-person text, in the next-to-last spot in the cantata. It is safe to assume that this piece is an arrangement of an earlier work, perhaps a movement from a secular cantata from Bach’s years in Köthen. After the somewhat immoderate expression of joy, the simple closing chorale brings everything back into perspective.