Winterreise D 911
Franz Schubert
(1797-1828)
Poems by Wilhelm Müller (1794-1827)
Christian Gerhaher, baritone
Gerold Huber, piano
1. Good night ↑
I came here a stranger,
As a stranger I depart.
Maytime favored me
With many a nosegay of flowers.
The maiden spoke of love,
Her mother even of marriage —
Now the world is gloomy,
My path covered in snow.The time for my journey
Is not of my choosing,
I must find my own way
In this darkness.
My shadow, cast by the moon,
Is my fellow traveler,
And on the white fields
I seek the tracks of deer.Why should I linger longer
Until I am driven out?
Let stray dogs howl
Before their master‘s house!
Love likes to wander
From one to another,
God ordained it so,
Good night, dear love!I will not disturb your dream,
It would be a pity to spoil your rest,
You shall not hear my footsteps,
Softly, softly I close the door!
As I pass, I write
“Good night“ on your gate,
So that you may see
That I thought of you.
The wind sports with the weather vane
Above my lovely sweetheart‘s house.
To my deluded fancy it seemed
To mock the poor fugitive.He should have noticed sooner
This sign upon the house:
He would never then have sought
A faithful woman within it.Inside, the wind sports with hearts
As on the roof, though less loudly.
What do they care about my grief?
Their child is a wealthy bride.
Frozen drops fall
From my cheeks:
Have I all unawares
Been weeping, then?Ah tears, my tears,
Are you so tepid
That you turn to ice
Like chill morning dew?And yet you well up
So glowing hot from my heart,
As if you would melt
The whole winter‘s ice!
In vain I seek
Her footprints in the snow
Where she walked, her arm in mine,
Through the green fields.I will kiss the ground
And pierce ice and snow
With my scalding tears
Until I see the earth beneath.Where shall I find a flower?
Where shall I find green grass?
The flowers are all dead,
The turf looks so brown.Is there then no memento of this
That I may take away?
When my grief are stilled,
Who will speak to me of her?My heart is as if dead,
Her image coldly rigid within it;
Should my heart ever thaw again,
Her image too will melt away!
By the well before the gate
Stands a lime tree;
In its shade I have dreamt
Many a sweet dream.In its bark I carved
Many a word of love;
In joy and in sorrow
I was ever drawn to it.Today too I had to pass it
At dead of night;
Even in the darkness
I closed my eyes.And its boughs rustled
As if calling to me:
“Come here to me, friend,
Here you will find rest!“The cold winds blew
Straight into my face,
My hat flew from my head,
But I did not turn back.Now I am many hours‘ journey
Away from that spot,
Yet still I hear the murmur:
“There you would find rest!“
Many a tear has fallen
From my eyes into the snow;
Its cold flakes thirstily
Drink in my burning woe.When the grass is about to spring up
A warm wind will blow,
The ice will break into fragments,
And the soft snow melt away.Snow, you know of my longing:
Tell me, where does your path lead?
Only follow my tears,
And the brook will soon absorb you.With it you will flow through the town,
In and out the busy streets;
When you feel my tears glow,
There will be my beloved‘s house.
You clear, wild stream
That once rippled so gaily,
How silent you have become!
You give no word of farewell.You have covered yourself
With a hard, stiff crust:
You lie cold and motionless,
Stretched out in the sand.On your surface I carve
With a sharp stone
My beloved‘s name
And the hour and day:The day of our first greeting,
The day of my departure.
Around name and figures
A broken ring is entwined.My heart, do you now recognize
Your image in this stream?
Beneath its crust
Does a raging torrent also flow?
The soles of my feet are burning,
Though I tread in ice and snow;
I have no wish to pause for breath
Until I can no longer see the towers.Such was my haste to leave the town
That I stumbled on every stone;
The crows threw snowballs and hailstones
On to my hat from every house.How differently you received me,
You fickle town!
At your shining windows
Lark and nightingale vied in song.The round lime trees were blossoming,
The clear fountains rippling brightly,
And ah! a maiden‘s eyes were shining —
Then, friend, your lot was cast!When that day comes to mind
I long to look back once more
And stumble back
To stand silently before her house.
A will-o‘-the-wisp decoyed me
Into the deepest rocky abysses:
How to find my way out,
Worries me but little.I am used to going astray;
Every path leads to the goal:
Our joys, our sorrows,
All are a will-o‘-the-wisp‘s sport!Down the mountain stream‘s dry bed
I calmly make my way —
Every stream will reach the sea,
Every sorrow, too, will reach its grave.
Only now that I lie down to rest
Do I realize how tired I am;
Walking kept my spirits up
On the inhospitable road.My feet did not cry out for rest,
It was too cold to stand still;
My back felt no burden,
The storm helped to blow me on.In a charcoal-burner‘s humble hut
I found shelter;
But my limbs cannot rest,
Their wounds burn so.You too, my heart, so wild and bold
In battle and storm,
Now, in this calm, first feel a serpent
With its deadly sting, stirring within you!
I dreamt of bright flowers
Such as bloom in May;
I dreamt of green meadows
And gay birdsong.And when the cocks crowed,
My eyes awoke:
It was cold and dark,
And ravens croaked from the roof.But who had painted
Those leaves on the window-pane?
Are you laughing at the dreamer
Who saw flowers in the winter?I dreamt of love reciprocated,
Of a lovely maid,
Of fond hearts and kisses,
Of bliss and ecstasy.And when the cocks crowed,
My heart awoke;
Now I sit here alone
And muse on my dream.I close my eyes again,
My heart beats warm once more.
Leaves on the window, when will you turn green?
When shall I hold my darling in my arms?
Like a gloomy cloud
Drifting through clear skies
When a faint breeze
Stirs the fir tree tops,I go on my way
With dragging feet
Through bright, joyful life,
Solitary, without a soul to greet me.Alas, that the air is so calm!
Alas, that the world is so bright!
When storms were still raging
I was not as wretched as this.
From the road a post horn sound.
Why do you leap so wildly,
My heart?The Post brings you no letter.
Why then do you throb so strangely,
My heart?But yes, the post comes from the town
Where once I had a beloved sweetheart,
My heart!Do you want to look out again
And ask how things are there,
My heart?
The frost has sprinkled
A white sheen on my hair;
I thought I was already an old man,
And was greatly glad.But soon it melted away,
And I again have black hair,
So that I shudder at my youth —
How far it is yet to the grave!Between sunset and morning light
Many a head has turned grey.
Who can believe it? Mine has not changed
On this whole journey!
A crow came with me
Out of the town,
And to this day has ceaselessly
Been flying about my head.Crow, you strange creature,
Will you not leave me?
Do you intend soon
To seize my body as your prey?Well, I have not far to go now
On my journey.
Crow, let me see, at last
Constancy unto the grave!
Here and there on the trees
Many a colored leaf may still be seen.
I often stand, deep in thought,
Before those trees.I gaze at a single leaf
And hang my hopes on it:
If the wind plays with my leaf,
I tremble in all my being.Ah, and if the leaf falls to the ground,
My hopes fall with it:
I too fall to the ground
And weep for the grave of my hopes.
The dogs are baying and rattling their chains,
People are asleep in their beds,
Dreaming of many things they do not possess,
Consoling themselves in good or bad ways.By early morning all will have vanished.
Well, they have enjoyed their share
And hope to find on their pillows
What they have yet to savor.Drive me away with your barking, you watchful dogs,
Give me no rest in these hours of sleep!
I am finished with dreaming;
Why should I linger among the sleepers?
How the storm has torn to shreds
The sky‘s grey robe!
Tattered clouds flutter about
In weary conflict,And flames of red
Dart between them:
That is what I call
A morning after my own heart!My heart sees its own image
Painted in the sky —
It is nothing but winter,
Cold and cruel Winter!
A friendly light dances before me;
I follow it back and forth.
I follow it gladly, knowing
That it lures the traveler.Ah, one as wretched as I
Gladly yields to the gleaming lure
That shows him, beyond ice, night and storm,
A bright, warm house
And a dear one within:
Even illusion is a gain for me!
Why do I avoid the highways
That other travelers take,
And seek hidden paths
Among snow-clad rocky heights?Yet I have committed no wrong
That makes me shun mankind.
What foolish longing
Drives me into the wilderness?Signposts stand on the roads,
Pointing towards the towns;
And I wander on ceaselessly,
Restless, yet seeking rest.I see a signpost standing
Immovably before my eyes:
I must travel a road
From which no man has ever returned.
My way has brought me
To a graveyard.
Here, I thought to myself,
I will stay the night.Green funeral wreaths,
You can be the signs
That invite weary travelers
Into this cool inn.In this hostel are
All the rooms taken, then?
I am exhausted and near to collapse,
I am mortally wounded.Pitiless tavern,
Do you nevertheless turn me away?
Then onwards, still onwards,
My trusty staff!
When the snow flies in my face
I shake it off.
When my heart speaks in my breast
I sing loudly and merrily.I do not hear, I have no ears
For what it tells me;
I do not feel for its laments —
Lamenting is for fools.Cheerfully out into the world,
Braving wind and weather!
If there is no God on earth,
We ourselves are gods!
I saw three suns in the sky
And gazed at them long and hard;
And they too stood there so fixedly
As if they would not leave me.Ah! You are not my suns!
Shine into others’ faces!
Yes, not long ago I too had three;
Now the two best have set.
If only the third would follow them!
I should feel better in the dark.
There beyond the village
Stands a hurdy-gurdy man,
And with numb fingers
Grinds away as best he can.Barefoot on the ice,
He staggers to and fro,
And his little tray
Ever remains empty.No one wants to hear him,
No one looks at him,
And the dogs snarl
Around the old man.And he lets the world go by
As it will:
He grinds away, and his hurdy-gurdy
Is never silent.Strange old man,
Shall I go with you?
Will you grind your organ
To my songs?