Johann Sebastian Bach
Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut
“My heart swims in blood”
(Cantata BWV 199) 

At first glance, the title of this cantata suggests a grisly horror movie or a detail from a painting by Hieronymus Bosch. So its helpful to read the following explanation from Bach scholars Michael Marissen and Daniel R. Melamed:

It is not wrong to translate “schwimmt” as “swims,” but here the word needs to be understood in the sense of “to passively float on the surface of a liquid,” not “to actively move in, or on, a liquid.” In Bach’s day, the idea that one’s heart might float in blood — indicating an imbalance of blood, one of the four humors — was connected with sadness, and the initiating cause of this condition was held to be sin.

And the sin in mind here is both original sin — the sin of Adam — as well as the actual sin of the confessing individual.

The profound expression of the anguish of a troubled conscience throughout the text for this aria — written by noted poet Georg Christian Lehms (1684–1717) — makes Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut a fitting component of the liturgy for the Eleventh Sunday after Trinity. On that Sunday, the Gospel reading is the parable of the Pharisee and the publican (St. Luke 18: 9–14). The story that Jesus tells in that text is prefaced with St. Luke’s explanation: “Jesus spake this parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others.” And the memorable hero in the story is the penitent publican, who simply prays “God be merciful to me a sinner.”

That simple plea and humble self-designation almost certainly conceals an inner awareness that well expressed in the text of the opening movement of this cantata, translated below by Marissen and Melamed. (It should be noted that the point of view of the first person singular in the text is sustained throughout this cantata, as it is sung by a single voice, a soprano soloist.)

My heart floats in [congested] blood, because sin’s brood
Makes me into a monster in God’s holy eyes;
And my conscience feels pain,
Because sins, to me, are nothing but hell’s executioners.
Hateful vice’s night, you, you alone have brought me into such distress;
And you, you evil seed [sown in the heart] of Adam,
Rob my soul of all rest And close [‘rainfall’ from] heaven to it [my soul].
Ah, unheard-of agony!
Henceforward no consolation will water my dried-up heart,
And I must hide myself from him [God],
Before whom even the angels cover their faces.

In Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven, conductor John Eliot Gardiner writes of this cantata: “What Bach gives us here is not so much a sermon as a portrayal of the complex psychological and emotional transformation of the conscience-struck individual. The underlying theological message based on the parable of the Pharisee and the publican (Luke 18:9–14) is still present but now couched in personal terms. A Christian consumed by self-horror and knowing that her sins have turned her ‘into a monster in God’s eyes’ is racked by grief (opening accompanied recitative). Agony turns her dumb (A section of first aria [the second movement]); tears testify to her remorse (B section); a momentary flash of self-observation (extremely unusual C section interpolation in secco recitative) leads to a rhetorical outburst and a return to ‘silent sighing’ (A repeated). More self-immolation follows (accompagnato), culminating with the repentant cry of the publican in the parable: ‘God have mercy upon me!’”

Here is soprano Dorothee Mields singing the dramatic first movement of the cantata. The Staatskapelle Dresden is conducted by Philippe Herreweghe.

Conductor (and oboist) Alfredo Bernardini has recorded a performance of this cantata with the Netherlands Bach Society and soprano Julia Doyle. The entire performance is embedded below. Here are some thoughts of Bernardini (in his very expressive Italian) about the emotional depths of Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut as it progresses from remorse to the bright joy of forgiveness in the final movement. (Hint: The subtitles are easier to read if you zoom out the image to fill the whole screen.)

Here is soprano Julia Doyle describing her experience with this remarkable piece of music.

Ruth Tatlow, author of Bach’s Church Cantatas (Oxford University Press, 2025) writes that the eight movements of this cantata

rehearse the stages of redemption: an acknowledgement of the abomination of sin, the discomfort of remorseful tears, a plea for mercy, a confession of guilt, the blessed relief of casting sins on to Christ, and the peace and joy of reconciliation with God. Georg Christian Lehms’s text is in the first person singular, which helps the listener to identify with the message; and Bach’s inspired choice of solo soprano (originally sung by a boy) sends the message deeper, to the child within each of us.

“The unusual texture of the opening movement, accompanied recitative, is a transparent medium in which the troubled believer can bare her soul. Her many sins are ‘Hell’s executioners’ and have made her ‘a monster in God’s holy eyes’. This is not the destructive self-hatred of a lost soul, but the constructive abhorrence of sin by a believer. Sin has robbed her of peace with God. The solo oboe of the second movement attempts to soothe, but the believer is disconsolate. Her emotions flow into physical gesture: she bathes her head with ashes, and prostrates herself before God, begging that He will be patient with her. At last the comforting words are heard. Washing over the soloist as she sings [in the sixth movement] the simple lines of Johann Heermann’s chorale ‘Wo soll ich fliehen hin’ (1630) are healing waves of melody from the solo violoncello piccolo. The contentment experienced from laying down in the deep, saving wounds of Christ causes her to rise and break into the final song — and dance — of joy.”

Below is Julia Doyle’s performance of the entire work, with players from the Netherlands Bach Society conducted by Alfredo Bernardini. The text with annotated translation is available here.