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Es ist ein trotzig und verzagt Ding BWV 176 / BC A 92
Trinity, May 27, 1725
This cantata, Es ist ein trotzig und verzagt Ding BWV 176 (There is something perverse and desperate), originated in May 1725. It is the last in a series of nine cantatas with texts written by the Leipzig poet Mariane von Ziegler, composed by Johann Sebastian Bach after he abruptly broke off work on his annual cycle of chorale cantatas in April 1725. Ziegler’s text hews closely to the Gospel reading of the Sunday. Found in John 3, it recounts the conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus:There was, however, a man among the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews, who came to Jesus by night and spoke to him: Master, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no one can work the miracles that you do unless God is with him. Jesus answered and spoke to him: Truly, truly, I say to you: unless someone be born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Nicodemus said to him: How can a person be born again if he is old? Can he go into his mother’s body a second time and be born? Jesus answered: Truly, truly, I say to you: unless someone is born of water and spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God. (1–5)
The end of the Gospel reading for Trinity reads: “If you do not believe if I tell you of earthly things, how will you believe if I were to tell you of heavenly things? And no one has ascended to heaven except he who has descended from heaven, namely, the Son of man, who is in heaven. And as Moses in the desert lifted up a snake, so must the Son of man be lifted up so that all those who believe in him will not be lost but shall have eternal life” (John 3:12–15).
The core of Ziegler’s cantata text concerns the crisis of faith and its overcoming, the endless theme of the age. Despondency is depicted as the reason Nicodemus chooses the protection of night for his visit. And so Ziegler’s text begins with a core saying of biblical character: “Es ist ein trotzig und verzagt Ding, um aller Menschen Herze” (There is something perverse and desperate about all human hearts). Although this is not in the Hebrew Bible, its model is found there in Jeremiah 17:9: “Es ist das Herz ein trotzig und verzagt Ding; wer kann es ergründen?” (The heart is a perverse and desperate thing; who can know it?). The first freely versified text, a recitative, takes up the varied passage from Jeremiah:
Heißt dies nicht recht verzagt,
Daß Nicodemus sich bei Tage nicht,
Und nur bei Nacht zu Jesus wagt?
Should this not be called truly desperate
That Nicodemus not by day
And only at night dares to venture to Jesus?
Bach seems to have regarded this flawless rendering by Ziegler as too verbose; he narrowed down his source text to the rather questionable version:
Ich meine, recht verzagt,
Daß Nickodemus sich bei Tage nicht,
Bei Nacht zu Jesus wagt.
I mean, truly desperate
That Nicodemus not by day
By night to Jesus dares to venture.
The following verses do not fare much better. They are condensed and thereby brought closer to Bach’s compositional goals; they must have been subject to considerable revision.
Nicodemus’s impatient waiting for the sunset gives the poet occasion to cross-reference an opposite situation: the standstill of the sun as Joshua and the people of Israel destroyed the Amorites, described in Joshua 10:13: “There stood the sun and the moon still until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies. Is this not written in the Book of the Pious? So the sun stood in the middle of the sky and did not go down for an entire day.” The extinguishment of the light of day, hoped for by Nicodemus, is generalized in the ensuing aria text:
Dein sonst hell beliebter Schein
Soll für mich umnebelt sein,
Weil ich nach dem Meister frage,
Denn ich scheue mich bei Tage.
Your otherwise bright beloved light
Shall be for me shrouded in fog
Because I ask after the master,
For I am afraid by day.
The continuation of the aria text takes up Nicodemus’s passage “Niemand kann die Zeichen tun, die du tust, es sei denn Gott mit ihm” (No one can work the miracles that you do unless God is with him):
Niemand kann die Wunder tun,
Denn sein Allmacht und sein Wesen,
Scheint, ist göttlich auserlesen,
Gottes Geist muß auf ihm ruhn.
No one can do the miracles,
For his omnipotence and his being,
It seems, are divinely chosen.
God’s spirit must rest upon him.
This version may also be the result of textual changes undertaken by Bach, for it is more precise in Frau Ziegler’s published version:
Niemand kann die Wunder tun,
Die sein Allmacht-volles Wesen,
Sich zu Zeugen auserlesen,
Gottes Geist muß auf ihm ruhn.
No one can do the miracles,
Which his omnipotent being
Selected for witnesses.
God’s spirit must rest upon him.
The ensuing recitative also does not move beyond the rather narrowly drawn circle of ideas around the despondent human heart and shyness before the light of day: “Ich fürchte, daß bei Tage / Mein’ Ohnmacht nicht bestehen kann” (I fear that by light of day / My powerlessness cannot endure). As might be expected, one finds alterations to Ziegler’s printed text, and as they so often are, they are aimed at shortening and rhythmic tightening—occasionally at the expense of linguistic precision. The conclusion of the short text is quite different: the original version, “Jedoch du nimmst mein zages Herz und Geist zum Leben auf und an” (Yet you take my uneasy heart and spirit into life), reads in Bach:
Doch tröst ich mich, du nimmst mein Herz und Geist
Zum Leben auf und an,
Weil alle, die nur an dich glauben, nicht verloren werden.
Yet I comfort myself, you take my heart and spirit
Into life,
For all who believe only in you shall not be lost.
Thus the recitative flows into a nearly literal quotation of the Gospel reading for Trinity Sunday, lending the rather dry poetry depth and meaning.
In a lively, animated meter, the last aria urges: “Ermuntert euch, furchtsam und schüchterne Sinne, / Erholet euch, höret, was Jesus verspricht” (Rouse yourselves, fearful and diffident minds. / Restore yourselves, hear what Jesus promises). It closes with praise of the Trinity:
. . . werd ich dort oben
Mit Danken und Loben
Vater, Sohn und heilgen Geist
Preisen, der dreieinig heißt.
. . . I shall be there above
With thanks and praise,
Glorify Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
Which are called triune.
Closely bound with the Trinity, the last strophe of Paul Gerhardt’s 1653 hymn Was alle Weisheit in der Welt (What all the wisdom in the world) rounds out the cantata libretto. The close of the chorale strophe once again confirms the central idea of the Trinity:
Daß du alleine König seist,
Hoch über alle Götter,
Gott Vater, Sohn und Heilger Geist,
Der Frommen Schutz und Rettet,
Ein Wesen, drei Personen.
That you alone are king,
High above all other gods,
God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
Protector and savior of the pious,
One being, three personages.
Bach’s composition of this not entirely unproblematic source text achieves its greatest conceptual concentration in the closely worked opening chorus. For the Thomaskantor, there could have been no question about setting the severe Hebrew Bible core saying as a fugue in order to connect text and music at approximately the same value. The close proximity of the epithets “trotzig” (defiant) and “verzagt” (desperate) undoubtedly presented a challenge. Bach’s fugue theme addresses both: an energetic minor triad and a quick sixteenth-note run through the interval of the minor ninth symbolize the defiance; anxious descent in small steps and a rapid flight to the original key embody despondency. This contrast is intensified, at least at the fugue’s beginning, by an abrupt dynamic change in the accompaniment. The strings, joined later by the oboes, sound the start of the “trotzig” theme with powerful ascending chords and a tight downward-directed run, which then without transition turns into the “verzagt” (desperate) whispered chords. Subsequently, the oboes fully join the increasingly energetic course of the voices, while the strings with their whispered “verzagten” chords in large note values choose to stay on the sidelines.
After a concise alto recitative, the first aria, for soprano and strings, follows. It is a remarkable movement that, in the dance-like style of the gavotte, sings of bright sunlight and its extinguishment. However, its stiff formality characterizes only the outer portions of the aria; a flowing triplet stream, foreshadowed by the instrumental prelude, fills the middle portion, which belongs to a completely different sphere, appropriate to the descriptions in the text of miracles and divine omnipotence. At the conclusion, tone painting comes to the fore; on the line of text “Gottes Geist muß auf ihm ruhn” (God’s spirit must rest upon him) the soprano must hold a tone for nearly seven measures.
The ensuing bass recitative would have been fairly short had it not been expanded with language from the Sunday Gospel reading: “Alle, die nur an dich glauben, nicht verloren werden” (All those who believe in him will not be lost). This is the occasion for an extensive arioso in which the voice, laden with expression, and the strictly repeated figuration in the bass together symbolize the inviolability and immutability of the Bible passage. The final aria is once again given to the alto and, also like its predecessor, is dance-like in character. It derives its originality from the manner of its instrumental accompaniment. Instead of higher strings in unison—violins or violas, a texture often found in Bach’s cantatas—one finds here three oboes in unison: two “normal” instruments and a deeper oboe da caccia. Undoubtedly, this setting is meant to realize the phrase “ermuntert euch” (rouse yourselves), since the French term for oboe, hautbois, literally means “loud wood.” When Bach reperformed this work in later years, he must have had second thoughts about this setting concept. In any case, this time he allows the two highest wind instruments to rest as soon as the voice enters lest it be overpowered. From the cheerful display of E-flat major, the closing chorale returns to the severe C minor of the opening. It is a simple four-part setting of the melody Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam (Christ our Lord came to the Jordan), also known as Es woll uns Gott genädig sein (May God be gracious to us), an ancient melody from the pre-Reformation era.