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Falscher Welt, dir trau ich nicht BWV 52 / BC A 160
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
- 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.↵