Grounds for Rebellion: Bach’s Coffee Cantata
Léonard Defrance, Women Drinking Coffee, 1773 and Elias Gottlob Haussmann, Johann Sebastian Bach, 1748.
“If I can’t drink my bowl of coffee three times daily, then in my torment I will shrivel up like a piece of roast goat.”
- Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht, BWV 211 (Coffee Cantata)
I don’t know about you, but I could really use a day off. Just... doing nothing. That would be nice.
But, alas, like students everywhere, the essay is calling, and I must lock in.
Pen in hand, brain half-asleep, I make the sacred pilgrimage—to the coffee shop.
Now, you might say: “Great choice. A cute little caffeine moment. So aesthetic. So productive.”
And yes. Sure. But also—no.
This isn’t just about the vibe or the taste (though, obviously, delicious). The truth runs deeper: I choose the coffee shop because it’s the time-honoured, caffeine-stained pantheon of intellectual struggle and rebellion.
So, as you proudly sip your Quad-shot Oat Milk Pumpkin-Spice Mocha—with that one, perfect, slightly pretentious slurp—know this: you are part of a long, glorious lineage of deeply intellectual coffee drinkers.
And if you happened to wander into Leipzig in the 1730s, you might find your smooth jazz playlist replaced by something a little more theatrical. J.S. Bach’s Coffee Cantata is a one-of-a-kind piece that swaps counterpoint and fugues for the arguably more complex tale of a girl, her father, and her undying love of coffee.
The comic mini-opera tells the story of Lieschen, a young woman who loves her brew—much to the horror of her father, Schlendrian. He begs her to quit. She refuses. He threatens to withhold marriage prospects. She relents… until he leaves the room. Then she cheekily insists any future husband must have it in the marriage contract that she can drink as much coffee as she wants.
It’s a hilarious story, but also a surprisingly pointed one. In the early 18th century, coffee in Europe wasn’t just a drink—it was a statement. For hundreds of years, men had gathered in bars to gamble, talk politics, write bad poetry about wine and women, and be very serious indeed. Women were often excluded from these spaces or told that drinking was improper—too bold, too brainy, too much.
So, women made their own space. While men drank wine, women claimed the coffee as the hottest new real estate on the block. In coffeehouses run by women, over steaming cups of coffee, they debated, wrote, resisted. Coffee became a symbol of female intellectualism and independence—an alternative to the male-dominated public sphere.
Bach’s cantata sits squarely in the middle of that cultural shift. The original text, written by Christian Friedrich Henrici, ended with Lieschen giving up her coffee. But in Bach’s version, she triumphs. That final, rebellious verse may have even been penned by Christiane Mariane von Ziegler—a Leipzig poet, intellectual, and possible performer of the cantata. Some scholars even speculate Bach’s own daughter, Dorothea, could have sung Lieschen’s part in the local café where the work was first performed. A Father – Daughter moment, aww, how sweet.
So next time you are studying in a coffee shop, I encourage you to remember the women that brought coffee to the fore, and maybe even listen to Bach’s Coffee Cantata, heck, break out into song, sing your order at the top of your lungs.
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