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Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut

Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut

(My heart doth swim in blood) for soprano, oboe, strings and basso continuo

(My heart doth swim in blood) for soprano, oboe, strings and basso continuo

(My heart doth swim in blood) for soprano, oboe, strings and basso continuo

Recordings

See and hear the introductory workshop, concert performance and reflective lecture in full.

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Full-length performance

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Flowchart for the plant commissioning

Manuscript by Rudolf Lutz for the introduction to the work.
Lutzogramm (PDF)

Reflections on the work

Prominent figures from various sectors of society examine the Baroque text from a contemporary and personal perspective.
to the written reflective lecture

Contributors

Soloists

Soprano

Orchestra

Conductor & Harpsichord
Rudolf Lutz

Violin
Renate Steinmann, Monika Baer

Viola
Susanna Hefti

Violoncello
Martin Zeller

Violone
Markus Bernhard

Oboe
Andreas Helm

Organ
Nicola Cumer

Theorbo
Fred Jacobs

Workshop

Participants
Rudolf Lutz, Pfr. Niklaus Peter

Reflective lecture

Speaker
Emma Kirkby

Recording & editing

Recording date
23/11/2023

Recording location
Speicher AR (Switzerland) // Protestant Church

Sound engineer
Stefan Ritzenthaler

Film director
Meinrad Keel

Executive producer
Johannes Widmer

Producer
GALLUS MEDIA AG, Schweiz

Publisher
J. S. Bach-Stiftung, St. Gallen, Schweiz

About the work

First performance
12 August 1714, Weimar

Text sources
Georg Christian Lehms (movements 1–5 and 7+8) Johann Heermann (movement 6)

1. Rezitativ — Sopran

Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut,
weil mich der Sünden Brut
in Gottes heilgen Augen
zum Ungeheuer macht;
und mein Gewissen fühlet Pein,
weil mir die Sünden nichts als Höllenhenker sein.
Verhaßte Lasternacht,
du, du allein
hast mich in solche Not gebracht!
und du, du böser Adamssamen,
raubst meiner Seelen alle Ruh
und schließest ihr den Himmel zu!
Ach! unerhörter Schmerz!
Mein ausgedorrtes Herz
will ferner mehr kein Trost befeuchten;
und ich muß mich vor dem verstecken,
vor dem die Engel selbst ihr Angesicht verdecken.

1. Rezitativ — Sopran

Der dramatische Text der Kantate samt diesem Sopranrezitativ geht auf Georg Christian Lehms‘ Dichtung aus seinem «Gottgefälligen Kirchen-Opfer» (gedruckt 1711) zurück. Mit starken Sprachbildern (nicht kardiologisch im Herz schwimmendes Blut, sondern ein sündlich zuerst im Blut schwimmendes, dann ausgedorrtes Herz, ein unter Gewissenspein wegen seiner «Höllenhenker»-Sünden leidender Mensch und «Adamssamen») ist hier eine ausgesprochen barocke Sündenfrömmigkeit in Sprache gegossen. Der exaltierte Tonfall der Sopranrezitation wird durch ein dichtes Streicher-Accompagnato in seiner Wirkung noch gesteigert.

2. Arie und Rezitativ — Sopran

Stumme Seufzer, stille Klagen,
ihr mögt meine Schmerzen sagen,
weil der Mund geschlossen ist.
Und ihr nassen Tränenquellen
könnt ein sichres Zeugnus stellen
wie mein sündlich Herz gebüßt.
Mein Herz ist itzt ein Tränenbrunn,
die Augen heiße Quellen.
Ach Gott! Wer wird dich doch zufriedenstellen?

3. Rezitativ — Sopran

Doch Gott muß mir genädig sein,
weil ich das Haupt mit Asche,
das Angesicht mit Tränen wasche,
mein Herz in Reu und Leid zerschlage
und voller Wehmut sage:
«Gott sei mir Sünder gnädig!»
Ach ja! sein Herze bricht,
und meine Seele spricht:

4. Arie — Sopran

Tief gebückt und voller Reue lieg ich,
liebster Gott, vor dir.
Ich bekenne meine Schuld,
aber habe doch Geduld,
habe doch Geduld mit mir!

5. Rezitativ — Sopran

Auf diese Schmerzensreu
Fällt mir alsdenn dies Trostwort bei:

6. Choral — Sopran

Ich, dein betrübtes Kind,
werf alle meine Sünd’,
so viel ihr’ in mir stecken
und mich so heftig schrecken,
in deine tiefen Wunden,
da ich stets Heil gefunden.

7. Rezitativ — Sopran

Ich lege mich in diese Wunden
als in den rechten Felsenstein;
die sollen meine Ruhstatt sein.
In diese will ich mich im Glauben schwingen
und drauf vergnügt und fröhlich singen.

8. Arie — Sopran

Wie freudig ist mein Herz,
da Gott versöhnet ist
und mir nach Reu und Leid
nicht mehr die Seligkeit
noch auch sein Herz verschließt.

J. S. Bach-Stiftung Bildmarke
J. S. Bach-Stiftung Bildmarke

Bibliographical references

All libretti sourced from Neue Bach-Ausgabe. Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke, published by the Johann-Sebastian-Bach-Institut Göttingen and the Bach-Archiv Leipzig, Series I (Cantatas), vol. 1–41, Kassel and Leipzig, 1954–2000.

All in-depth analyses by Anselm Hartinger (English translations/editing by Alice Noger-Gradon/Mary Carozza) based on the following sources:  Hans-Joachim Schulze, Die Bach-Kantaten. Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs, Leipzig, 2nd edition, 2007; Alfred Dürr, Johann Sebastian Bach. Die Kantaten, Kassel, 9th edition, 2009, and Martin Petzoldt, Bach-Kommentar. Die geistlichen Kantaten, Stuttgart, vol. 1, 2nd edition, 2005 and vol. 2, 1st edition, 2007.

J. S. Bach-Stiftung Bildmarke
J. S. Bach-Stiftung Bildmarke

Quellenangaben

Alle Kantatentexte stammen aus «Neue Bach-Ausgabe. Johann Sebastian Bach. Neue Ausgabe sämtlicher Werke», herausgegeben vom Johann-Sebastian-Bach-Institut Göttingen und vom Bach-Archiv Leipzig, Serie I (Kantaten), Bd. 1–41, Kassel und Leipzig, 1954–2000.

Alle einführenden Texte zu den Werken, die Texte «Vertiefte Auseinandersetzung mit dem Werk» sowie die «musikalisch-theologische Anmerkungen» wurden von Anselm Hartinger und Pfr. Niklaus Peter sowie Pfr. Karl Graf verfasst unter Bezug auf die Referenzwerke: Hans-Joachim Schulze, «Die Bach-Kantaten. Einführungen zu sämtlichen Kantaten Johann Sebastian Bachs», Leipzig, 2. Aufl. 2007; Alfred Dürr, «Johann Sebastian Bach. Die Kantaten», Kassel, 9. Aufl. 2009, und Martin Petzoldt, «Bach-Kommentar. Die geistlichen Kantaten», Stuttgart, Bd. 1, 2. Aufl. 2005 und Bd. 2, 1. Aufl. 2007.

Emma Kirkby

It is an honour and a pleasure for me to experience Bach Cantata 199 with you – with this inspiring ensemble.

What I have to say will be very personal, because I am neither a musicologist nor a theologian, but simply an enthusiast.

Bach offers us singers a marvellous balance of pleasure – one moment we are physically involved and the next we are listening spellbound to the commitment and skill of others; the singer is the happiest person in the room!

Thomas Morley, the English composer and theorist of the Renaissance, emphasised the great importance of the text for the singers and called it ” the living soul of music”; it should draw the listeners with golden chains to the contemplation of heavenly things.

This function of the text is also the only reason why the singers stand in the front row at a typical cantata performance, embedded in an ensemble of virtuoso musicians, all of whom play a decisive role in the interpretation of the work.

For singers, it is a joy to be an “instrument” among instruments!

However, it is important that the message of the work reaches the audience.

Bach’s obbligato parts demand beauty of tone and great skill from the instrumentalists, but also, as the treatises from the Renaissance onwards t, a certain “vocality” . I have often noticed this in the colleagues I have worked with: a musical eloquence attuned to the meaning and expression of the text; we musicians are all speakers and narrators.

I have spent a lifetime researching how I can best “embody” the texts  , in all their diversity of expression and meaning.

Singers know that they have to use their whole body for an expressive performance. They work on body tension to maintain a beautiful line, a legato that connects the beautiful notes.

Attention is focussed on the vowels, sometimes unfortunately at the expense of the consonants, which are perceived as unpleasant interruptions. And so the primacy of the vocal line acts like a bulldozer, flattening all the consonants in its path.

The result is a serious loss of clarity, the text almost disappears in the marvellous sound… but what the heck: The audience has a text booklet in their hands! Even in Bach’s time, by the way…

When I started out as a young singer, I was as enthusiastic about the words as I was about the melody – I loved the complicated lyricism of John Dowland’s lute songs or the intricate stories of Renaissance rondeaux in three or more voices.

I was lucky enough to meet a wonderful singing teacher, Jessica Cash, who sadly passed away this summer. I owe her more than I can express.

On the very first day, she said to me: “Consonants are your best friends. They give you the best vowels! Every consonant should have a complete closure – because what doesn’t close properly t can’t open properly either…”

And about the Legato she said: “We all dream of a perfect Legato that runs smoothly and smoothly, like a Rolls Royce that magically glides along without any friction – but what actually drives this magical thing? A series of small explosions in the so-called combustion engine! And these explosions are our consonants, which give us our vowels, pure, bright and clear.”

So consonants are physically practical and effective things – they arise from emotions and they accompany emotions. When we are excited, shocked or angry, we react in English, and I think also in German, with strong consonants.

(an English example – …would be funny…)

We know that every intelligible speech requires the precise use of articulators: Lips, teeth, tongue.

But as soon as emotions arise, we need our whole body and should, as the saying goes, “speak from the heart” . And it is precisely the consonants, these apparent interruptions of the longed-for “legato line” , that come from the heart and lend our singing convincing emphasis.

These “consonant explosions” are also helpful for catching your breath.

If you only have a short moment to breathe, this will help:

You sing the preceding phrase with full energy and articulate the last consonant strongly and sensitively; this will activate your heart, your body tension and as a result you breathe briefly and dynamically – and lo and behold, the following syllable is full of power and energy! Now the ends of the word can also be heard well in a church.

I think that in this way you can retain Bach’s punctuation and sing the thought as naturally as if you were speaking it.

Many of Bach’s texts are emotionally charged – I would always go back to the consonants, because expressing these emotions requires full physical effort.

I have not yet mentioned a crucial physical means of expression: our hands!

They have a similarity to words and language; we talk with our hands in everyday life and even more so in important meetings when we have to react emotionally to a message or a new proposal, or when we have to put forward a plan or an argument of our own.

For centuries, training in rhetoric was part of every serious education, including that of Bach’s students in Leipzig. Among other things, they learnt to give a text persuasive power with the right gestures.

At a time when there was no electric light and no glasses for short-sighted people, people in the theatre and other public places were often unable to see the speakers’ faces clearly; meaningful gestures were therefore essential for communication.

The use of the hands also lends power and authority to the singing.

In Bach’s time, it was recommended to hold the hands at the level of the heart and make small gestures. This involves the whole body in conveying the message clearly and convincingly.

Even when singing from sheet music, the hands are at the level of the heart, can participate and expressively support the sound speech.

***

After these vocal considerations I would like to say a few words about Cantata 199, how I hear it and how I experience it.

It is dramatic and profound and yet very singable.

It is kindly written for the voice – but demands a total surrender to the emotions. It follows the journey of the heart and soul from the agonising awareness of sin to the overwhelming certainty of redemption.

The language is vivid at every point, with a succession of vivid images that demand complete dedication from the singer.

At the beginning, in the recitative, the singer freezes in horror, a monster fit only for hell and denied heaven; the heart is so “parched” that it has no chance of consolation – hidden from the eyes of God.

The first aria begins with a duet of anxious beauty in which the oboe and bass sob towards each other, the oboe with great leaps that turn into sighs, and the basses with waves of sorrow;

Then the singer comes and describes a paradox: She sighs and complains about her own sins, although her mouth is closed.

This is followed by a short seccor ecitative – with hot tears welling up from the heart, a direct plea to God: “Who will satisfy you?”

The next recitative answers this question, supported by all the strings:

“But God must be merciful to me” … when the sinner repents fully and completely, with ashes and tears.

This is followed by the plea: “God be merciful to me a sinner” , it is a memorable melody.

All this leads to an astonishing result: “Ah yes, his heart breaks, and my soul speaks…”

And this is followed by the central string aria, which is one of my absolute favourites.

She sets words of humble remorse in a solid triple time, like a solemn dance. Poignant dissonances and exclamations of remorse are woven into a comforting melody.

In the middle section, confessions of guilt alternate with fervent pleas for patience until the moment comes that is so unusual that I almost have no words for it: During the seventh and final petition, the light of redemption appears like the first rays of a sunrise.

From this point onwards, the journey of the heart and soul unfolds in ever more comforting and hopeful words.

The singer intones a chorale in which she casts all sins into the deep wounds of the Saviour – again over a rich and deeply soothing bass line.

The final recitative and the gigue overflow with joy and gratitude of the heart, “da Gott versöhnet ist” .

How fortunate it is for us tonight to hear this cantata a second time!

This text has been translated with DeepL (www.deepl.com).

Further study

The solo cantata BWV 199 numbers among the sacred works by Bach whose sheer beauty goes hand in hand with a genesis of at least equal complexity. Likely composed around 1712/13 and probably first performed in August 1714 in the chapel of the Weimar court, the work appears to have held a particular artistic fascination for Bach. Indeed, while still in Weimar, and later in Köthen and Leipzig, too, he undertook such frequent revisions that a variety of overlapping performance parts survive. As a result, the work appears in several versions in the New Bach Edition.

Across the various versions, however, the cantata’s underlying musical-theological thrust remains unchanged. In keeping with the textual source from the 1711 collection Gottgefälliges Kirchen-Opffer by Georg Christian Lehms, court librarian in Darmstadt and a well-known opera librettist, the work traces a familiar path in Baroque sacred music that leads from the remoteness of God and the burden of sin towards consolation and renewed hope. Nevertheless, the vivid power of Lehms’s verbal imagery combined with Bach’s musical response is largely peerless: to a degree, the cantata is less a meditation sur ma mort future than one sur ma mort acute, a mood accentuated in this recording by the Froberger-like interludes for harpsichord and lute. Moreover, by setting all the recitatives as accompagnati with strings, Bach creates the impression of a single, continuous dramatic scene, transforming the cantata into a kind of sacred one-act play from which listeners scarcely dare to avert their attention even for a single beat.

The opening recitative, replete with impassioned exclamations and cutting string figures, describes a scene of utter spiritual wretchedness and self-reproach. For those consumed by their own sin and despairing at the inescapable burden of the “böser Adamssamen” (wicked seed of Adam), there appears no path to redemption, as God is perceived solely as a punitive judge. In this setting, Bach’s experienced librettist Lehms expands upon Luke’s brief account of the biblical tax collector’s confession of sin, radically reinterpreting it as a timeless psychological drama. When the first oboe notes of the following aria “Stumme Seufzer, stille Klagen” (Silent sighing, quiet mourning) pierce the oppressive stillness, we not only envision a last-minute reprieve from a chalice of poison pressed ready to the lips, but also grasp the import of the unspeakable shame portrayed in the text simply by listening to the music. In particular, the oboe’s tentative cantilena set over searching bass notes evokes a heart-rending picture of existential loneliness that even the “nassen Tränenquellen” (humid springs of weeping) in the central section are unable to fully dispel. Bach’s decision to halt the musical flow at this point and insert a recitative-like passage lends this moment sympathetic expression while also highlighting the affinity of this early masterpiece with the cantata style of Christoph Graupner, Lehms’s Darmstadt court composer, who employed a similar solution in his own compelling setting of the same text.

While no less tense, the next accompagnato recitative offers the first glimmers of hope. Bach sets the biblical dictum “Gott sei mir Sünder gnädig” (God to me shall gracious be) in weighty descending gestures, transforming it into a veritable watchword that both touches God’s heart and restores the soul’s ability to speak. The ensuing aria, commencing attacca, continues to dwell on humility and repentance, although the sparkling orchestral setting in F major – reminiscent of Handel – that flows in a relaxed triple metre does much to restore a measure of dignity and nobility to the sinner. Here we encounter a protagonist who, though still embroiled in great trials, remains sure of the innate nobility of his own soul and kneels before his rightful King – a posture that elevates rather than diminishes him, despite his nigh coy plea for patience.

Recitative No. 5 forms a coherent message with the following chorale, the latter of which is based on the third verse of Johann Heermann’s hymn, “Wo soll ich fliehen hin” (Where shall I refuge find). Bach’s setting draws on the brighter melodic variant then widespread in central Germany, enabling the “betrübtes Kind” (sore-troubled child) to cast off all sorrow. The delicate solo voice in this trio movement inspired Bach to experiment with all manner of instrumentation, ranging from an obbligato viola and a violoncello piccolo to the viola da gamba featured in this recording.

Thus fortified, the soprano soloist in the cantata’s final recitative can take refuge in Jesus’ wounds, transforming them into a safe resting place. Although experts in Baroque musical theology might expect this beautiful metaphor to foreshadow the soul’s final rest in the grave, Bach and Lehms surprise us with a fiery upswing inspired by trusting faith that gives rise to joyfully liberated singing and leads seamlessly into the concluding aria. When listening to this lively and, by Bach’s standards, astonishingly brisk 12⁄8 gigue, it is tempting to believe that generations of scholars may have been mistaken – perhaps the Weimar court organist (possibly accompanied by the musically gifted Weimar prince Johann Ernst) did in fact undertake an unknown trip to Rome or Bologna? Indeed, Marchese Ruspoli or Cardinal Ottoboni would no doubt have delighted in this energetic yet artful finale, which, beyond conveying a sense of boundless relief, revels in sharing this life-affirming experience with the world and embracing it with youthful exuberance. Surely a fitting Italian text could be found – posso tradurre?

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