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Geist und Seele wird verwirret BWV 35 / BC A 125
Twelfth Sunday after Trinity, September 8, 1726
Geist und Seele wird verwirret BWV 35 (Spirit and soul are bewildered), a composition for the twelfth Sunday after Trinity, belongs to a type not commonly found in the work of Johann Sebastian Bach: the solo cantata. “Solo” relates to the setting of the vocal part; “cantata” means, literally, that genre, sharply defined textually and musically, which, in the words of Erdmann Neumeister in 1702, “looks no different from a piece from an opera, composed of recitatives and arias.”1 Textually, cantatas so defined dispense with biblical passages and chorale strophes, and musically they dispense with chorale melodies. The librettist’s first concern is the expression of personal devoutness, a very personal sort of devotion, a kind of meditation on the worship service in which original scripture takes its undisputed place.In its original form, the cantata libretto is entitled Andacht auf den zwölfften Sonntag nach Trinitatis (Devotion on the twelfth Sunday after Trinity). In early September 1726, Bach took it from the collection Gottgefälliges Kirchen-Opffer (Church offering pleasing to God), printed in 1711 in Darmstadt. On a few occasions during his time at Weimar, Bach drew upon this annual cycle of texts, which he undoubtedly acquired soon after its appearance. In late 1725 he once again took the volume in hand and began to set more texts to music from this somewhat dated collection. Geist und Seele wird verwirret is the last documented example in this series that began in 1725 and ended the following year.2
As usual, the libretto authored by Georg Christian Lehms takes up the scripture of the day. The Gospel reading is found in Mark 7 and gives the account of the miraculous healing of a deaf-mute:
Lehms’s cantata libretto is concerned with the interpretation and practical application of this brief Gospel account. In the first aria, the suffering of the deaf-mute is depicted not as the result of an illness but metaphorically as speechless with terror before the omnipotence of God:And as he went out again out of the area of Tyrus and Sidon, he came to the Sea of Galilee, in the region of Decapolis. And they brought to him a deaf person, who was mute, and they asked him to lay a hand upon him. And he took him away from the crowd, and placed a finger in his ears, and spat, and touched his tongue. And he looked up to heaven and sighed, and spoke to him Ephphatha! Which is: Stand up! And immediately his ears opened, and the bond of his tongue was loosened, and he spoke plainly. And he forbade them, that they should tell no one. The more, however, he forbade, the more widespread it became. And they were astonished beyond measure and spoke: He has made everyone well again: he made the deaf to hear and the mute to speak. (31–37)
Geist und Seele wird verwirret,
Wenn sie dich, mein Gott, betracht’,
Denn die Wunder, so sie kennet,
Und das Volk mit Jauchzen nennet,
Hat sie taub und stumm gemacht.
Spirit and soul are bewildered
When they consider you, my God,
For the wonders that they know
And the people name with exultation
Has made them deaf and dumb.
In spite of its rather daring treatment of German grammar,3 the concern of this beginning is clear. “Wondering” in the face of what is not rationally understandable, of what is accessible only to faith, is the subject of the ensuing recitative text:
Ich wundre mich;
Denn alles, was man sieht,
Muß uns verwundrung geben.
Betracht ich dich,
Du teurer Gottessohn,
So flieht
Vernunft und auch Verstand davon.
I am amazed;
For everything that one sees
Must fill us with astonishment.
If I consider you,
You dear son of God,
Then flee
Reason and also understanding therefrom.
And later:
Dir ist kein Wunderding auf dieser Erde gleich.
Den Tauben gibst du das Gehör,
Den Stummen ihre Sprache wieder,
Ja, was noch mehr,
Du öffnest auf ein Wort die blinden Augenlider.
Dies, dies sind Wunderwerke,
Und ihre Stärke
Ist auch der Engel Chor nicht mächtig auszusprechen.
To you no wondrous thing on this earth is equal.
To the deaf you give hearing,
To the dumb their speech again,
Yes, and what is more,
You open at a word the eyelids of the blind.
These, these are works of wonder,
And their power
Even the choir of angels is not mighty enough to express.
The second aria takes up the thanksgiving for the blessings of God as expressed at the end of the Gospel reading, hewing closely to the words of the evangelist:
Gott hat alles wohlgemacht.
Seine Liebe, seine Treu
Wird uns alle Tage neu.
Wenn uns Angst und Kummer drücket,
Hat er reichen Trost geschicket,
Weil er täglich für uns wacht.
Gott hat alles wohlgemacht.
God has done all things well.
His love, his faithfulness
Is renewed for us every day.
When fear and sorrow oppress us,
He has sent us lavish comfort,
Since daily he watches over us.
God has done all things well.
The first-person point of view ventured occasionally in the first recitative—entirely appropriate to a solo cantata—intensifies in the second recitative to become an urgent, personal plea:
Ach starker Gott, laß mich
Doch dieses stets bedenken,
So kann ich dich
Vergnügt in meine Seele senken.
Ah, mighty God, let me
Consider this constantly,
Then I can
Contentedly sink you
Into my soul.
God should soften the unrepentant heart and enable true listening and speaking:
Damit ich diese Wunderzeichen
In heilger Andacht preise
Und mich als Erb und Kind erweise.
That I might these wondrous signs
In holy devotion praise
And show myself to be your heir and child.
The concluding aria begins with a logical continuation, “Ich wünsche nur bei Gott zu leben” (I only wish to live with God), but then ends rather abruptly with thoughts of death:
Mein liebster Jesu, löse doch
Das jammerreiche Schmerzensjoch
Und laß mich bald in deinen Händen
Mein martervolles Leben enden.
My dear Jesus, but release
The sorrow-rich yoke of suffering
And let me soon, in your hands,
End my tormented life.
In composing this text, which remains mostly in the immediate sphere of the Sunday Gospel reading, Bach was not content with the classic five-movement scheme of Lehms’s text, three arias with two recitatives. Instead, he gave the entire work more weight by including free concerto movements. Expanding the number of movements to seven made a two-part structure possible (if rather casually); the first part, extending through the second aria, would be performed before the sermon, while the second part, beginning with the second recitative, would be performed afterward. It is not at all clear that this rather rustically accomplished division of the text accorded with the intentions of the librettist.
An energetic concerto movement begins the cantata, with oboes, strings, and concertante organ. The treatment of the keyboard instrument clearly shows that the piece is an arrangement of an older version set for melody instrument. The range and other characteristics indicate that the oboe was probably the original instrument. However, this insight becomes problematic if applied to the second movement, an aria in the style of a siciliano. The upper voice of the organ part—a descendant from an older instrumental part, now lost—here has extended virtuoso passages that demand a very wide range that is difficult to reconcile with a woodwind instrument. The fact that the voice in this movement, “Geist und Seele wird verwirret,” was added later to what was originally a concerto should not be overlooked. As a consequence, certain means of text interpretation one might have otherwise expected are not to be found: for instance, the title line, “Geist und Seele wird verwirret,” completely avoids what would seem obvious, namely, a harmonic or melodic depiction of “confusion.” There is, however, plenty of leeway for the highlighting and interpretation of individual words such as “Jauchzen” (rejoice).
Another surprise attends the second aria, “Gott hat alles wohlgemacht” (God has done all things well). Here, the voice is joined by a lively obbligato part rich with figuration, once again performed by the organ. Even though there is no reason to suppose that it might be a modified version of an older model, we should not overlook the remarkable circumstance that the concertante organ part actually is appropriate to a string instrument, perhaps one suited to playing in higher registers, such as the violoncello piccolo. What particular circumstances may have caused Bach to give this part as well to the organ cannot be established today.
Ignoring its original function, a dance-like, binary concerto movement, unmistakably the finale of an instrumental concerto, opens the cantata’s second half. The exuberant upbeat to this half of the cantata is matched by the cheerful aria that concludes it, “Ich wünsche nur bei Gott zu leben,” whose core ideas are expressed by the text lines “Ein fröhliches Hallelujah / Mit allen Engeln anzuheben” (To raise a joyous Hallelujah / With all the angels). The text passages “jammerreiche Schmerzensjoch” (sorrow-rich yoke of suffering) and “martervolles Leben” (tormented life) only seem to be overplayed here; in reality, the intent is to focus on an overcoming filled with confidence in faith. This explains why, although the cantata begins in D minor, it untypically leaves this key area to end in C major.
Footnotes
- “nicht anders aussieht als ein Stück aus einer Oper, von stylo recitativo und Arien zusammengesetzt.”—Trans.↵
- The text of Geist und Seele sind verwirret also appears in the recently discovered annual text cycle published by Christoph Birkmann in 1728, which reflects Bach’s Leipzig performance calendar between Advent 1724 and Epiphany 1727. See Blanken (2015a).—Trans.↵
- The third-person plural pronoun “sie” calls for verb forms “betrachten” and “kennen”; however, in order to rhyme with “nennet” and “gemacht,” they become “kennet” and “betracht’.”—Trans.↵