The gigantic opening chorus invites <strong>the</strong> listeners, as witnesses. Then follow two brief chamber music scenes as a chronicle of Jesus’ relationship with his disciples, who are typically interrogative and contentious. The Gospel of Mat<strong>the</strong>w is much concerned with Jesus’ establishment of community. The scene on <strong>the</strong> Mount of Olives brings <strong>the</strong> first climax of <strong>the</strong> piece, <strong>the</strong> sublime song for tenor and chorus, “Ich will,” in which <strong>the</strong> singer’s plaintive, contorted phrases break off at peaks of unrest, only to be answered over and over by a hushed, anxious lullaby sung by <strong>the</strong> choir (“sempre p!”). In this great adventure in negative capability, for which Picander has provided a polyphonic structure and attractive folk poetry, <strong>the</strong> lonely tenor is eventually excised, <strong>the</strong> summation left to <strong>the</strong> choir, and finally only to <strong>the</strong> instruments. Part Two Scene Central Image Conclusion 1. Before <strong>the</strong> Accusers Geduld Erbarme dich (Palace of <strong>the</strong> High Priest) (silence) (miserere) 2. Before Pilate Können Tränen Komm, süßes Kreuz (desperation) (hope for resignation) 3. Golgotha Sehet Mache dich (transcendence) (burial rite) Epilogue post-burial questions ritual summary The aria for mezzo-soprano and choir that begins Part Two (“Ach nun”) is a counterpoise to <strong>the</strong> monumental opening chorus. The images are again from <strong>the</strong> Song of Songs and <strong>the</strong> story of <strong>the</strong> Wise and Foolish Virgins, but <strong>the</strong> touching reduction to a single singer, “most beautiful among women,” accompanied by sympa<strong>the</strong>tic companions, establishes <strong>the</strong> human scale and prepares us to pick up <strong>the</strong> strands nearest in our subconscious, Peter and Judas. The first scene is blistered by <strong>the</strong> first set of crowd utterances, which become increasingly fierce as <strong>the</strong> Second Part proceeds, but its heart is in Jesus’ silence, and eventually in <strong>the</strong> heartsick response to Peter’s denial. Scene 2 begins by completing <strong>the</strong> story of <strong>the</strong> penitent Judas; Bach opens a fresh textural window, <strong>the</strong> solo violin illustrating <strong>the</strong> jingling of (blood) money. Fierce crowd responses dominate <strong>the</strong> ensuing pages, momentarily quelled by <strong>the</strong> trance of <strong>the</strong> soprano aria “Aus Liebe.” Central to <strong>the</strong> scene is “Können Tränen,” a black and white woodcut text, austerely scored, stingy with its material, arduous, obsessive, inconsolable. This unlovable piece inhabits <strong>the</strong> harshest moments in <strong>the</strong> drama. Its residue remains in “Komm Süsses Kreuz,” which renders in its bass line Jesus’ stumbling steps, while <strong>the</strong> bass singer’s longing for resignation contends with <strong>the</strong> agitation hovering in <strong>the</strong> obbligato gamba. 34 Scene 3 is increasingly expansive and elegiac, established by <strong>the</strong> remarkable aria for alto with choir, “Sehet,” which urges <strong>the</strong> faithful, in advance of Christ’s inevitable death, to “rest in Jesus’ arms,” a psychological projection forward. After Christ’s death <strong>the</strong>re are three punctuations: first a setting of <strong>the</strong> Passion Chorale that attends acutely to every note of <strong>the</strong> melody, <strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong> brief earthquake scene with its ecstatic witnesses, and finally, at <strong>the</strong> culminative point, where <strong>the</strong> composer and poet must produce something more, something yet unheard but imminent, Bach and Picander deliver “Am Abend” and “Mache dich” – generous, intimate, enfolding, from <strong>the</strong> day of its first performance a crucial link to transcendence and consolation for all who can embrace <strong>the</strong>m. We have Bach cantata working texts with scratched out lines, we have scores with written over fugue subjects, but we don’t have <strong>the</strong> conversations <strong>the</strong>se colleagues might have had in <strong>the</strong>ir offices or on <strong>the</strong> street (<strong>the</strong>y didn’t need to write letters!). The closest I can get to <strong>the</strong> matter-of-fact, workaday, fervent world in which this piece originated is my own experience in 1960 as a volunteer choir member at <strong>the</strong> Spandauer Johanisstift, to which I rode <strong>the</strong> S-Bahn for rehearsal on Wednesdays (one hour past <strong>the</strong> gloomy prison which still housed Rudolf Hess) and performance in Zehlendorf on Sunday (one hour past <strong>the</strong> point of <strong>the</strong> Wannsee where Kleist ended his life) to learn Bach cantatas. The splendid conductor, Hans-Martin Schneidt, was in a constant world of Bach – in <strong>the</strong> year I knew him did he ever mention any o<strong>the</strong>r subject? But most strange, in his rehearsals with those intense high-school age seminary students: not once do I remember him making a “musical” point. In a state of high agitation he would stop and literally scream <strong>the</strong> text. And a correction, in character or detail, would be made. Or suddenly, in a burst of school-teacher calm, he would patiently go back over <strong>the</strong> Bible story behind <strong>the</strong> words, with similar good results. One week we did “Ich steh’ mit einem Fuss im Grabe” (“I stand with one foot in <strong>the</strong> grave”) and I was struck by <strong>the</strong> peculiar name of <strong>the</strong> poet – Picander. As <strong>the</strong> limping rhythm of <strong>the</strong> first number began, our women singing <strong>the</strong> beautiful chorale, I remember thinking, who were <strong>the</strong>se guys, Bach and Picander? I would have guessed <strong>the</strong>m to be vehement, emphatic yeomen like Hans-Martin Schneidt, busy, full of big plans. © John Harbison Program notes courtesy of John Harbison and Emmanuel <strong>Music</strong>, Boston.
ach aT oNE March 18–May 27, 2013 35
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