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• 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.

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  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).↵