For those of you who have been following this blog for a while now, there’s a beautiful new recording of a pretty aria for this 20th Sunday after Trinity: “Ich bin herrlich, ich bin schön” from Cantata 49 Ich geh und suche mit Verlangen from 1726. Watch Dorothee Mields perform this gem with the Netherlands Bach Society here on YouTube. This live registration (recorded during Covid times so without audience) is extra noteworthy because of a rare appearance of the fabulous Marcel Ponseele on oboe d’amore. For more information (in English!) about this cantata and especially the instruments in this aria, visit the website of the Netherlands Bach Society here and click on “Story”.
Why do all cantatas for this Sunday talk about dressing up? Read about it in my post from 2020, with links to one of the best lectures by Rudolf Lutz of the J.S. Bach Foundation in Switzerland (with English subtitles).
And read my post from 2016 to learn more out about the wedding these cantatas are associated with.
Detail of Raising of the son of the widow of Nain, attributed to Lucas Cranach the Younger (1515–1586). Part of the Epitaph for Franziskus Oldehorst in the Stadtkirche in Wittemberg, Germany. Oil on hardwood, after 1565, possibly 1573.
Three years ago I read in David Yearsley’s book about Anna Magdalena Bach that this 16th Sunday after Trinity was seen as “Widows Sunday” in Bach’s time. He bases this not only on the Bible reading for this Sunday, The raising of the son of the widow of Nain (Luke 7: 11-17), but especially on the texts of sermons from that time. Since chorale singing was an important comfort to widows, Yearsly thus concludes that is must be for this reason that chorales play such an important role in Bach’s cantatas for this Sunday.
I found this a compelling way of looking at especially Cantata 95 Christus der ist mein Leben and Cantata 161 Komm, du süsse Todesstunde. I wrote a blog post about it in 2020, which is still my most-read post ever. If you haven’t read it, please check it out here.
In another post, from 2017, I go into movie script mode again and imagine how parts of the moving Cantata 8Liebster Gott, wenn wird ich sterben might have been inspired by Telemann. Read that one here.
As far as we know, Bach wrote three cantatas for this 14th Sunday after Trinity. Please find them all in my post from 2020. It was helpful for me to re-read all these posts from the past seven years. I counted my blessings that I don’t live in wildfire country anymore, and was reminded of my dream to create a podcast about the beauty of the many “trio sonata” tenor arias in Bach cantatas. It will be a while, and I have learned not to promise anything, but if you subscribe to my blog, you’ll be the first to know 🙂
I am a bilingual writer, publicist, choral singer, art and nature lover, happy wife, and blessed mother of two. I started this blog in 2016, inspired by my late mother’s love for Bach’s cantatas. After 23 years in the San Francisco Bay Area, I’m now back in the Netherlands.
Please subscribe to this blog! Simply fill in your email address and you’ll receive an email every time I’ve published a new post. Thank you so much / Vielen Dank / Dankuwel / Merci mille fois / 감사합니다 / 谢谢 / ありがとう / Mille grazie / Muchas gracias / Muito obrigado / Tusen takk / Tack så mycket / Terima kasih / شكراً جزيلاً / תודה רבה
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For this Sunday in 1723, the 12th after Trinity, Bach wrote Cantata 69a Lobe den Herrn, meine Seele. In my post from 2016 I remarked how unusual it was for Bach to use trumpets on such a “normal” Sunday, and imagined his father-in-law being in town for a visit. But this week I heard two better arguments.
In his podcast, Bach scholar Michael Maul suggests that after the incredibly serious and sad music of the past three Sundays, Bach might have realized that the Leipzig churchgoers needed to hear something more upbeat. This might sound trivial, but if you look at Bach’s passions, he knew very well when a change in mood was needed and mastered that skill like a great opera composer or playwright. In addition to this good reason, I was also convinced by theologian Karl Graf in the J.S. Bach Foundation’s lecture about Cantata 69a, because he reminded me that the Bible story on which this cantata is based is that of Christ healing a deaf mute. Graf points out that in the time of the Bible, but also still in Bach’s time, a deaf mute would not only have been excluded from society, but would also have been considered a person without faith. Thus, the rejoicing by chorus and trumpets is not only an illustration of the praise the crowd gives after witnessing the miracle, but especially of this person finding faith.
A quarter century later, in 1748, Bach recycled this cantata during the same time of year, but for a completely different occasion: the installation of the new Town Council, or “Ratswahl.” The “Ratswahl” was always on the first Monday after August 24 (the feast of St. Bartholomew); which in 1748 fell on Monday, August 30. Bach must have written about 27 Ratswahl cantatas, but only six have survived.
I have listed Bach’s changes in 1748 here below, expanding on a table created by Eduard van Hengel. I’ve included links for live video recordings of both cantatas (just click on the link at the top of each column).
Live video recording by the J.S. Bach Foundation, Rudolf Lutz, conductor. With Mirjam Berli, soprano; Alex Potter, alto; Raphael Höhn, tenor; Dominik Wörner, bass.
Live recording by the Netherlands Bach Society, Peter Dijkstra, conductor. With Miriam Feuersinger, soprano; Alex Potter, alto; Thomas Hobbs, tenor; Peter Kooij, bass.
Please find the German texts with English translations here, and the score here
Please find the German texts with English translations here, and the score here
Opening Chorus
Opening Chorus, unchanged
Soprano recitative, 11 measures
Ach, dass ich tausend Zungen hätte! Ach wäre doch mein Mund Von eitlen Worten leer! Ach, dass ich gar nichts redte, Als was zu Gottes Lob gerichtet wär! So machte ich des Höchsten Güte kund; Denn er hat lebenslang so viel an mir getan, Dass ich in Ewigkeit ihm nicht verdanken kann.
Soprano recitative, 18 measures
Wie groß ist Gottes Güte doch! Er bracht uns an das Licht, Und er erhält uns noch. Wo findet man nur eine Kreatur, Der es an Unterhalt gebricht? Betrachte doch, mein Geist, Der Allmacht unverdeckte Spur, Die auch im kleinen sich recht groß erweist. Ach! möcht es mir, o Höchster, doch gelingen, Ein würdig Danklied dir zu bringen! Doch, sollt es mir hierbei an Kräften fehlen, So will ich doch, Herr, deinen Ruhm erzählen.
Tenor aria in C Major with recorder and oboe da caccia
Meine Seele, Auf, erzähle, Was dir Gott erwiesen hat! Rühmet seine Wundertat, Laßt ein gottgefällig Singen Durch die frohen Lippen dringen!
Alto aria in G Major with violin and oboe
Meine Seele, Auf! erzähle, Was dir Gott erwiesen hat! Rühme seine Wundertat, Laß, dem Höchsten zu gefallen, Ihm ein frohes Danklied schallen!
Alto recitative with continuo only, 18 measures
Gedenk ich nur zurück, Was du, mein Gott, von zarter Jugend an Bis diesen Augenblick An mir getan, So kann ich deine Wunder, Herr, So wenig als die Sterne zählen. Vor deine Huld, die du an meiner Seelen Noch alle Stunden tust, Indem du nur von deiner Liebe ruhst, Vermag ich nicht vollkommnen Dank zu weihn. Mein Mund ist schwach, die Zunge stumm Zu deinem Preis und Ruhm. Ach! sei mir nah Und sprich dein kräftig Hephata, So wird mein Mund voll Dankens sein.
Tenor recitative with strings 26 measures
Der Herr hat große Ding an uns getan. Denn er versorget und erhält, Beschützet und regiert die Welt. Er tut mehr, als man sagen kann. Jedoch, nur eines zu gedenken: Was könnt uns Gott wohl Bessres schenken, Als dass er unsrer Obrigkeit Den Geist der Weisheit gibet, Die denn zu jeder Zeit Das Böse straft, das Gute liebet? Ja, die bei Tag und Nacht Vor unsre Wohlfahrt wacht? Laßt uns dafür den Höchsten preisen; Auf! ruft ihn an, Dass er sich auch noch fernerhin so gnädig woll erweisen Was unserm Lande schaden kann, Wirst du, o Höchster, von uns wenden Und uns erwünschte Hilfe senden. Ja, ja, du wirst in Kreuz und Nöten Uns züchtigen, jedoch nicht töten.
Bass aria
Bass aria, unchanged
Closing chorale with instruments doubling the vocal lines
Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan, Darbei will ich verbleiben. Es mag mich auf die rauhe Bahn Not, Tod und Elend treiben: So wird Gott mich Ganz väterlich In seinen Armen halten. Drum lass ich ihn nur walten.
Closing chorale with separate parts for trumpets and timpani
Es danke, Gott, und lobe dich Das Volk in guten Taten. Das Land bringt Frucht und bessert sich, Dein Wort ist wohl geraten. Uns segne Vater und der Sohn, Uns segne Gott, der Heilge Geist, Dem alle Welt die Ehre tut, Für ihm sich fürchten allermeist, Und sprecht von Herzen: Amen!
Wieneke Gorter, August 27, 2023.
About Weekly Cantata
I am a bilingual writer, publicist, choral singer, art and nature lover, happy wife, and blessed mother of two. I started this blog in 2016, inspired by my late mother’s love for Bach’s cantatas. After 23 years in the San Francisco Bay Area, I’m now back in the Netherlands.
Please join my readers from all over the world and subscribe to this blog! Simply fill in your email address and you’ll receive an email every time I’ve published a new post. Thank you so much / Vielen Dank / Merci mille fois / 감사합니다 / 谢谢 / ありがとう / Mille grazie / Muchas gracias / Muito obrigado / Takk / Terima kasih / Dankuwel!
“The White Mietke,” a single manual* harpsichord built by Michael Mietke in Berlin, circa 1700. Lacquer artist: Gérard Dagly. Charlottenburg Castle, Berlin, Germany. In his last four years in Köthen, Bach played on a double manual harpsichord by the same builder, built especially for him in 1719.
This past Sunday was the 11th Sunday after Trinity, for which Bach wrote Cantata 179 Siehe zu, daß deine Gottesfurcht nicht Heuchelei sei(See that your fear of God is not hypocrisy) in 1723 in Leipzig.
Much has been written about the stunning fugue in the opening chorus of this cantata, and I happily refer you to my posts from 2016 and 2020 for more information and a link to my favorite recording. But last week I learned something completely new about this opening chorus, thanks to yet another fabulous video series that saw the light during the pandemic: Richard Atkinson’s Bach Analyses. Since I’m a visual learner, I truly love watching videos like these. At first I merely started watching Richard’s video on the opening chorus of Cantata 179 to see if it would perhaps make the complex structure of the composition a bit easier to understand than Eduard van Hengel’s written explanation I had discussed in 2016.
And indeed it really helped me understand the music better! But what’s more, in that video Richard points out that the fugue from Cantata 179 shares some unusual composition techniques as well as themes with another mind boggling fugue by Bach, namely that of his Prelude and fugue no. 3 in C-sharp major (BWV 872) from the Well Tempered Clavier, Book II. As far as I know, no other Bach scholar or commentator ever mentioned this. Listen to that fugue here, played by Christine Schornsheim. We don’t know when exactly Bach wrote the keyboard piece, because we only have the publication date of the collection in which it appeared (Well Tempered Clavier Book II, 1740). It is possible that the cantata came first, but it is just as likely that Bach would have written the keyboard work before the cantata, while still employed at Köthen.
Thinking of Bach playing with fugues on the harpsichord in Köthen brings me to another bit about Bach’s life I learned last week, while watching the interview with Christine Schornsheim by the Netherlands Bach Society: that we actually know what kind of harpsichord Bach played in Köthen, from 1719 to 1723. To be clear: most harpsichord players and all harpsichord builders already know this, but I didn’t, and I thought it worth mentioning here.
Historical records show that the Prince of Köthen allowed Bach to order a harpsichord from the famous builder Michael Mietke in Berlin sometime in 1718, and got to pick it up in March 1719.
On March 1, 1719, the accounts read: “To the Capellmeister Bach for the Berlin-made harpsichord and travel expenses 130 Thaler”. On March 14, Gottschalk, the chamber servant, also received eight thalers in “wages for transporting the Berlin harpsichord.”
The instrument remained in the princely music chamber; Bach did not get to take it with him when he moved to Leipzig in May 1723. In 1784, the instrument is still mentioned: “The large harpsichord or grand piano with 2 manuals, by Michael Mietke in Berlin, 1719, defect.”
Many harpsichord builders have created copies of Bach’s “Mietke harpsichord.” In the video registration of the Prelude and fugue no. 3 in C-sharp major (BWV 872), Christine Schornsheim plays a terrific copy by Bruce Kennedy. The Köthen Castle had a copy made in 1992 by Martin-Christian Schmidt, pictured here:
For the picture at the top of this blog post I chose one of the very few original Mietke harpsichords that have survived to this day, the “White Mietke” at the Charlottenburg Castle in Berlin. It was built almost two decades earlier than Bach’s harpsichord, it only has one single keyboard, and it was decorated by the court painter at Charlottenburg.
Wieneke Gorter, August 23, 2023.
*manual = keyboard
About Weekly Cantata
I am a bilingual writer, publicist, choral singer, art and nature lover, happy wife, and blessed mother of two. I started this blog in 2016, inspired by my late mother’s love for Bach’s cantatas. After 23 years in the San Francisco Bay Area, I’m now back in the Netherlands.
Please join my readers from all over the world and subscribe to this blog! Simply fill in your email address and you’ll receive an email every time I’ve published a new post. Thank you so much / Vielen Dank / Merci mille fois / 감사합니다 / 谢谢 / ありがとう / Mille grazie / Muchas gracias / Muito obrigado / Takk / Terima kasih / Dankuwel!
Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem by Rembrandt van Rijn, 1630. Oil on panel. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, The Netherlands. Click here for more information about this painting.
Continuing with Bach’s 1723 cantata cycle, next up is Cantata 46 Schauet doch und sehet, ob irgend ein Schmerz sei, written for the 10th Sunday after Trinity (August 1st in 1723).
My favorite recording of this cantatais still the one by Herreweghe from 2012, which you can find here on YouTube via a playlist I created. However if you’d like to see all the special instruments in action, I highly recommend the J.S. Bach Foundation’s live video registration, with a tromba da tirarsi (slide trumpet) and recorders* in the opening chorus, a Baroque trumpet in the bass aria, and an oboe da caccia (hunting oboe, also new for Bach in Leipzig) as well as the recorders in the alto aria.
Scholars agree that last week’s Cantata 105 and this week’s Cantata 46 Schauet doch und sehet, ob irgend ein Schmerz sei, can be seen as a pair within Bach’s works from that first summer in Leipzig. Here’s why:
The stunning opening choruses of these two cantatas are both written as if they were a Prelude and Fugue for organ. Bach would later use the Prelude part of Cantata 46’s opening chorus as the Qui tollis for his Mass in B Minor.
Both cantatas contain a “floating aria.” With this I mean an aria without the usual fundament of a basso continuo (organ or harpsichord and cello), of which Bach’s most famous exemple is the Aus Liebe aria from his St. Matthew Passion. Bach included such an aria for the first time in last week’s Cantata 105 (the soprano aria Wir zittern und wanken) and one appears again in this week’s Cantata 46 (the alto aria Doch Jesus will auch bei der Strafe).
Bach uses a da tirarsi brass instrument in both: a corno da tirarsi in 105 and a tromba da tirarsi in 46 (read last week’s post for more information about these).
I have written about some of these aspects of Cantata 46 before, but I never really paid much attention to the text. I needed Karl Graf, the theologian participating in the lecture about this cantata by the J.S. Bach Foundation**, to point out that the text of this cantata refers to two destructions of Jerusalem, in 586 BC by the Babylonians, and in 70 AD by the Romans.
Jeremiah the Prophet laments the 586 BC massacre in his Lamentations of Jermiah, a collection of poetry from the Old Testament, from which Bach’s librettist takes the words for the opening chorus.
Jesus predicts the destruction by the Romans in 70 AD, and weeps about it, in Luke 19: 41-48, which was the official reading for this 10th Sunday after Trinity in Bach’s church. Bach and his librettist mix the two parts of the Bible, because in their minds it is all the same, history unfortunately repeats itself. The bass aria paints one of the most dramatic pictures ever in a Bach cantata, and the text of the alto recitative warns that Leipzig could be next! Fortunately, as usual in a Bach cantata, there’s the promise of salvation, and a lightening of the mood in the music as well, this time in the form of the pastoral alto aria.
Throughout the Renaissance and Baroque, Catholic and Anglican composers have set the Lamentations of Jeremiah to music for the Tenebrae services of Holy Week. A notable example are those by Jan Dismas Zelenka, Bach’s colleague at the Catholic court in nearby Dresden. Zelenka wrote his Lamentations of Jeremiah the Prophetfor Holy Week in 1722, so roughly 1,5 years before Bach wrote his Cantata 46. While Bach and Zelenka knew each other and Bach had friends in the Dresden court orchestra, I truly don’t know if Bach was aware of Zelenka’s setting of the Lamentations prior to August 1st 1723. There are some interesting similarities between the compositions, for example Zelenka also opting for a pastoral scene towards the end, but that’s food for another blog post! For now I just like to think that Bach wrote his own Lutheran version of the Lamentations with this Cantata 46.
Wieneke Gorter, August 11, 2023.
*It is the first time Bach uses recorders in Leipzig, but it is an instrument he often uses to portray sorrow.
**If you understand German or don’t mind automatically generated subtitles on YouTube, you can watch the extremely informative lecture about Cantata 46 here. It doesn’t just feature Rudolf Lutz and Karl Graf, but also Bach Scholar Michael Maul from the Bach-Archiv Leipzig.
Olivier Picon with a natural horn on the left, and corno da tirarsi on the right
I’m in movie script mode again and jumping back 300 years, to the summer of 1723 in Leipzig. I believe that when moving to Leipzig, Bach couldn’t wait to meet the town’s famous brass player, Gottfried Reiche (1667-1734). I imagine that throughout the summer of 1723, these two creative geniuses would have frequently been “geeking out” about Reiche’s exciting innovation in brass instruments: the corno da tirarsi (or slide horn, on the right in the picture above), for which Bach most probably started writing around Trinity 4 in 1723 (about a month before today’s cantata).
As far as we know Reiche owned the one and only specimen and was the only one who knew how to play it. Scholars consider it very likely that he had the instrument specially made for him, in order to play more complicated music on a horn than one could at the time on a natural horn.
I have written about the corno da tirarsi before.However, I never fully realized how incredibly special that instrument must have been at the time, what the exact difference was with regular horns at the time, and how it works. Ironically, as a result of musicians being stuck at home during the pandemic, there are now some excellent educational videos on youtube, which explain all of this much better than I could ever do in writing.
So here goes with the lesson:
For an excellent demonstration of the limitations of natural horns before 1750, please watch the first three and a half minutes of this video by Todd Wiliams from the USA.
Then watch this video by Anneke Scott from the UK, about the corno da tirarsi as reconstructed by Egger.
Thank you Todd Williams and Anneke Scott! If you would like to show your appreciation for Anneke’s efforts, you can buy her a coffee on this website.
Gottfried Reiche
There is no doubt in my mind that Bach had already heard about Leipzig’s highly skilled senior Stadtpfeiffer (town piper) Gottfried Reiche before moving to Leipzig in May of 1723. Bach came from a family of town pipers, and in 1721 he married into a family where every single male was a trumpet player (just sit with that for a few seconds). Reiche was of the same generation as Bach’s father-in-law Johann Caspar Wilcke (c. 1660–1733), and both had been trained in Weissenfels, which Olivier Picon qualifies as “probably the most important city in trumpet playing tradition in Germany at that time” in his 2010 thesis about the corno da tirarsi. I can imagine the animated discussions at both the Bach and the Wilcke family gatherings. Reiche’s virtuosity as well as his unusual instruments* must have been a frequent subject!
Now we come to today’s Cantata 105 Herr, gehe nicht ins Gericht mit deinem Knecht.(Enter not into judgement with Thy servant, O Lord.) It is one of my favorite cantatas, and Bach’s first** Leipzig cantata with a significant solo part for the corno da tirarsi, in the tenor aria. For the educational purpose of this blog as well as for the excellent rendition of the tenor aria I would like to feature the live video by the J.S. Bach Foundation, with Olivier Picon (pictured at the top of this post) playing the corno da tirarsi in the opening chorus, the tenor aria, and the closing chorale. Other soloists are Sibylla Rubens, soprano; Jan Börner, alto; Bernhard Berchtold, tenor; and Tobias Wicky, bass.
Picon initiated the reconstruction of the corno da tirarsi by the Swiss brass instrument firm Egger, which Anneke Scott also refers to in her video. Picon’s thesis from 2010, documenting the reconstruction as well as meticulously analyzing all cantatas that might have possibly been written for this instrument, is still the main source for scholars when discussing the corno da tirarsi. In this work, Picon also shares that Cantata 105 is his favorite cantata to play on the instrument.
Read the German text with English translations of Cantata 105 here, and find the score here.
Of course there’s much more to this cantata than just the unusual instrumentation. In 2021, also as part of a pandemic project, I wrote a post for California Bach Society highlighting all the ways in which this cantata foreshadows the St. Matthew Passion. Please find that post here.
I welcome your questions, comments, or words of encouragement below in the comment-section.
Wieneke Gorter, August 6, 2023.
*Reiche apparently was also the owner and player of another unique instrument, the tromba da tirarsi, or slide trumpet. **Cantata 24 for the 4th Sunday after Trinity 1723 also features a solo part that might have been meant for the instrument, but opinions about this vary, and even Picon suggests the opening chorus might be played on a tromba da tirarsi (slide trumpet) and the closing chorale on a natural horn.
Nunc Dimittis by Giovanni Bellini, ca. 1502. Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, Madrid, Spain. In contrast with the other paintings featured in this post, the elderly prophet Anna is replaced with a young woman and the Temple is replaced with open countryside. The different setting is probably also why the painting’s title is not The presentation at the Temple but instead the first words of Simeon’s prayer.
This past Wednesday, February 2, was the feast of the Purification of Mary, or The Presentation of Jesus in the Temple. According to Jewish custom (as described in Luke 2:22-38), 40 days after the birth of a first-born son, his parents bring him to the Temple for a ceremony in which the mother offers a pair of doves for the purpose of her own purification, and the child is “bought back” from the Temple for money. When Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to the Temple, the prophetess Anna, an 84-year-old full-time resident of the Temple, is there too, as well as Simeon. Simeon was a devout Jew who had been promised by the Holy Spirit that he would not die until he had seen the Messiah. Upon seeing the child, Simeon offers a song of praise, known as the “Song of Simeon” or the “Nunc Dimittis.” He also speaks a prophecy to Mary. Read the complete Gospel text here.
I have written several blog posts about this over the past years, discussing how the early Christian church tied pre-Christian end-of-winter rites to their own feast days of Candlemass and the Purification of Mary. Whether Bach writes a joyful cantata about new beginnings or a more solemn one for this feast day, there is always a bright spotlight on Simeon’s words “Now let your servant die in peace” (Nunc Dimittis).
In his German-language Bach cantata podcasts, prominent Bach scholar Michael Maul has now twice pointed out the influence of the existing art works depicting The presentation of Jesus in the Temple on how Bach and his contemporaries might have seen this story. I loved hearing this, because that’s what I almost always try to do in this blog too, to find an example of the kind of imagery Bach might have had in mind when thinking of the Bible stories.
There is a large number of paintings about the presentation at the Temple, and Simeon plays a central role in each of them. Maul gives the example that the Bible doesn’t specify Simeon’s age and that references to “the old Simeon” by Bach and his librettists must come from the long beard and grey hair in all the paintings.
So, this week, I decided to do a bit of digging around in those art works and the Bible story.
The Presentation in the Temple by Stefan Lochner, ca. 1447. Hessisches Landesmuseum, Darmstadt, Germany. In this painting, it is all about the ceremony: Mary is holding the requisite offering of a pair of doves, Joseph (to her left) prepares a monetary offering, and the children with the candles are there to stress that the Presentation in the Temple falls on the same day as Candlemass. My only question is: is the priest in the brick-colored cloak Simeon, or is Simeon the man standing to the right, holding the Nunc Dimittis prayer in his hand? I guess I will have to go to Darmstadt sometime to find out.
Reading the Gospel of Luke (see above), it seems logical to me that artists thought of Simeon as an old man, since it says “that he would not die until he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.” From the detailed description of the prophet Anna’s old age it is then of course an easy step to also think of Simeon as an octogenarian.
What I did find surprising is that in many of the paintings, especially the earlier ones, and even in the discussions by art historians such as Zuffi, Simeon gets assigned the role of the priest on duty at the temple, when he was just a visitor that day. It is an interesting question how and when that piece of fiction was born, but it is just a side story here.
Presentation of Christ in the Temple by Stefan Lochner, ca. 1447. Gulbenkian Foundation, Lisbon, Portugal. Yes this is the same painter and the same year as the previous image. This one is called “the Lisbon Presentation” among art historians.
In several paintings, such as all presentations by Memling (see here and here), Lorenzetti, and Lochner (Darmstadt, see above), the focus is on the ceremony. Jewelry, doves, money, and clothing are painstakingly portrayed, but there is no emotion. But then there are the paintings that seem a bit more intimate, the earliest of these the “Lisbon presentation” by Lochner, from ca. 1447, see here directly above. In this painting it is Joseph who’s carrying the doves, Mary is empty-handed and just praying. This painting is not about her. Jesus is touching Simeon’s beard, and Simeon seems to be crying. Daniel Levine offers the explanation that Simeon’s sadness is caused by his vision of the child’s future, as he says to Mary: “This child is destined to cause many in Israel to fall, and many others to rise. He has been sent as a sign from God, but many will oppose him. As a result, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your very soul.” The painting at the top of this post, by Bellini, might also fall in this category.
We see this happening even more clearly and directly in Rembrandt’s representation of the same story, almost two centuries later. There is no ceremony at all here, only a conversation between two people, with Simeon clearly speaking to Mary.
The Presentation in the Temple by Rembrandt van Rijn, ca. 1628. Kunsthalle, Hamburg, Germany.
Thus it seems as if at least some of the artists were especially moved by the foreshadowing of the Passion story in Simeon’s words. Whether Bach had seen those specific paintings or not, I don’t know of course. But it is clear that the idea existed at the time, and it is a bit more proof for the theory I expressed in this blog post about Cantata 125, that this cantata looks ahead to the St. Matthew Passion. This is all the more motivation for me to start writing more about that Passion in the coming weeks.
Wartburg castle in Eisenach, Germany, where Luther translated the Bible from Latin into German.
For a period of nine months, starting on June 11, 1724, Bach wrote a brand-new cantata for every Sunday and feast day. It became his “chorale cantata cycle,” the second cycle of cantatas he composed in Leipzig, for the 1724/1725 season. After Bach’s death in 1750, this collection of cantatas was considered the most important part of his cantata legacy, and there are several indications that he truly meant for this collection to survive him. For example, for the twelve Sundays or feast days that had not occurred in the 1724/1725 season, he would write a chorale cantata later in his life, in order to fill the gaps in the cycle.
Cantata 14 Wär Gott nicht mit uns diese Zeitis the very last one of those added chorale cantatas, composed in 1735, exactly 10 years after the missed Sunday in 1725. Listen to it here in a live video recording from 2017 by Cantus Cölln. Soloists are Magdalene Harer, soprano; Elisabeth Popien, alto; Georg Poplutz, tenor; and Wolf-Matthias Friedrich, bass.
Please find the text and translations here, and the score here.
When Bach uses one of Luther’s original hymns as the basis for a chorale cantata, he often writes the opening chorus in the form of a motet, using a composition style from the Renaissance, which was considered very old-fashioned in his time. See for example my blog posts about Cantata 2 Ach Gott, vom Himmel sieh darein here, and Cantata 38 Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dirhere. It is his way of paying his respects to Luther and his hymns, which were 200 years old at the time. So it is only fitting that the very last chorale cantata he ever wrote also opens with such a motet.
However, the soprano aria and the bass aria from Cantata 14 make it clear that Bach is not in 1525 or even 1725 anymore, but firmly in 1735, the year of his Christmas Oratorio and Ascension Oratorio.
Christ healing a leper, by Rembrandt van Rijn, circa 1650-1655. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
For this third Sunday after Epiphany, Bach wrote four cantatas: 73, 111, 72, and 156. The Bible story for this Sunday is about the miracle of Christ healing a leper. Last year I mentioned that I had a hard time finding the corresponding art for that story. My readers immediately came to the rescue, and pointed me to the two images featured in today’s post. Thank you again!
My favorite of all these cantatas is Cantata 73 Herr, wie du willt, so schick’s mit mir, especially in the 2013 recording by Herreweghe. Please find that recording here on Spotify. Soloists are Dorothee Mields (soprano), Thomas Hobbs (tenor), and Peter Kooij (bass). If you don’t have access to Spotify, you can find their 1990 recording here on YouTube. Soloists on this older recording are: Barbara Schlick (soprano), Howard Crook (tenor), and Peter Kooij (bass).
I had been planning to attend a live performance by Herreweghe of this cantata as well as another one of my favorites, Cantata 198, on January 29 in Brussels, but unfortunately the programming of that concert was changed to the Mass in B Minor. I completely understand the reasoning behind this, and I am absolutely thrilled for the musicians of Collegium Vocale Gent that they get to perform for an audience after all (until earlier this week, it looked as if all concerts in Belgium would be canceled until the end of this month), but I’m so sad about the cantatas!
Please find the German texts with English translations of Cantata 73 here, and the score here.
Jesus healing a leper, Mosaic, 12th century. Cathedral of the Assumption, Monreale, Sicily.
Especially the bass aria makes Herreweghe’s recording of this cantata tower above all others. It is so well done by Peter Kooij and the orchestra; it moves me every time I listen to it.
The best part for me is the illustration of “Leichenglocken” (death bells) by pizzicato strings and a somewhat “tolling” movement in the vocal part. Bach used this feature in many other cantatas, for example in (cantata number/movement number): 8/1, 95/5, 105/4, 127/3, 161/4, 198/4.
To know what else to listen for in this cantata, please read my post from 2016 . There I also explain how this cantata is connected to Cantata 72.
Weekly Cantata 