An Introduction to German Lieder: Franz Schubert and his Work
65Franz Schubert (b. 1797- d. 1828)
Michael Holzer, a respected musician, began instructing Schubert when he was about ten. Holzer declared, "If I wished to teach him anything new, he already knew it. So in fact I really gave him no true instruction. I merely talked to him, and watched his musical progress with silent astonishment."
Schubert was Austrian born, and lived his tragically short life in Vienna. He is an early representative of the artistic period known as Romanticism. Artists of this period longed to break rules, to engage subjective fantasies, to enter into the realms of the exotic and strange, to explore the erotic, to delve into national, "folkish" origins--this in contrast with the preceding Classicism of Mozart and Hayden, which stood for balance, unity, order and homogenized forms.
In particular, Schubert is known for his profoundly beautiful Kunstlieder, or "art songs." Schubert, like many of his Romantic contemporaries, was deeply moved by poetry. This affection was so deep that he responded by creating melodies of breathtaking beauty. At his finest, Schubert had the ability to heighten the meaning of a poem as well as to charge the piano with unprecedented dramatic responsibility. Some of his best know Lieder are as follows:
- "Ständchen", D. 957 no. 4
- "Die Forelle", D. 550
- "Gretchen am Spinnrade", op.2, D.118
- "Heidenröslien", D. 257
- "Du Bist die Ruh'", D. 776
- "Erlkönig", op. 1, D. 328
- "Nacht und Träume", op. 43 no. 2, D. 827
- "Im Frühling", D. 882
- "Am Meer", D. 957 no. 12
- "Auf dem Wasser zu singen", op. 72, D. 774
- "An Silvia", op. 106 no. 4, D. 891
Of the poets he set to music, Johan Wolfgang von Goethe, Friedrich von Schlegel, Friedrich Schiller, Walter Scott, Heinrich Heine and Shakespeare were among his favorites. Below I have provided a sampling of Schuberts music with accompayning lyrics in the original German and their English translation. It is my hope that this article will inspire you to further explore the transporting beauty of the Art of German Romanticism.
"Ständchen", D. 957 no. 4
Instrumental version by Vladmir Horowitz
Text: Ludwig Rellstab (1799-1860)
Leise flehen meine Lieder Durch die Nacht zu dir; In den stillen Hain hernieder, Liebchen, komm zu mir!
Flüsternd schlanke Wipfel rauschen In des Mondes Licht; Des Verräters feindlich Lauschen Fürchte, Holde, nicht.
Hörst die Nachtigallen schlagen? Ach! sie flehen dich, Mit der Töne süßen Klagen Flehen sie für mich.
Sie verstehn des Busens Sehnen, Kennen Liebesschmerz, Rühren mit den Silbertönen Jedes weiche Herz.
Laß auch dir die Brust bewegen, Liebchen, höre mich! Bebend harr' ich dir entgegen! Komm, beglücke mich!
Translation
My songs beckon softly through the night to you; below in the quiet grove, Come to me, beloved!
The rustle of slender leaf tips whispers in the moonlight; Do not fear the evil spying of the betrayer, my dear.
Do you hear the nightingales call? Ah, they beckon to you, With the sweet sound of their singing they beckon to you for me.
They understand the heart's longing, know the pain of love, They calm each tender heart with their silver tones.
Let them also stir within your breast, beloved, hear me! Trembling I wait for you, Come, please me!
"Die Forelle", D. 550
Trout Quintet in A major D667 - Theme and Variations
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Text: Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart (1739-1791)
In einem Bächlein helle,
Da schoß in frohen
Eil Die launige Forelle
Vorüber wie ein Pfeil.
Ich stand an dem Gestade
Und sah in süßer Ruh
Des muntern Fisches Bade
Im klaren Bächlein zu.
Ein Fischer mit der Rute
Wohl an dem Ufer stand,
Und sah's mit kaltem
Blute,
Wie sich das Fischlein
wand.
So lang dem Wasser Helle,
So dacht ich, nicht
gebricht,
So fängt er die
Forelle
Mit seiner Angel
nicht.
Doch plötzlich ward
dem
Diebe
Die Zeit zu lang. Er
macht
Das Bächlein tückisch
trübe,
Und eh ich es gedacht,
So zuckte seine Rute,
Das Fischlein zappelt
dran,
Und ich mit regem
Blute
Sah die Betrogene an.
Translation
A brooklet soft and
gentle,
rushing on with glee
A trout like arrow
darting,
so playfully and free.
And standing by the
brook-side
I gazed in pure delight.
At happy fishlet playing
In lucid brooklet bright.
A fisherman with rod
Stood watching from nearby;
He followed fishlet's
movements
With cold and scheming eye.
"So long stays clear that
brooklet,"
I thought, with comfort sure,
"He cannot trap my fishlet
Or catch it with his lure."
But soon with crude impatience,
He broke the calm;
He stirred and muddied all
that water
And just as I had feared,
He tugged upon his rod
And dangled my fishlet on his hook.
Oh, how my heart was burning
Betrayed were fish and brook!
"Gretchen am Spinnrade", op.2, D.118
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Text: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) , from Faust.
Meine Ruh' ist hin,
Mein Herz ist schwer,
Ich finde sie nimmer
und nimmermehr.
Wo ich ihn nicht hab
Ist mir das Grab,
Die ganze Welt
Ist mir vergällt.
Mein armer Kopf
Ist mir verrückt,
Mein armer Sinn
Ist mir zerstückt.
Meine Ruh' ist hin,
Mein Herz ist schwer,
Ich finde sie nimmer
und nimmermehr.
Nach ihm nur schau
ich Zum Fenster hinaus,
Nach ihm nur geh ich
Aus dem Haus.
Sein hoher Gang,
Sein' edle Gestalt,
Seine Mundes Lächeln,
Seiner Augen Gewalt,
Und seiner Rede
Zauberfluß,
Sein Händedruck,
Und ach, sein Kuß!
Meine Ruh' ist hin,
Mein Herz ist schwer,
Ich finde sie nimmer
und nimmermehr.
Mein Busen drängt sich
Nach ihm hin.
Ach dürft ich fassen
Und halten ihn,
Und küssen ihn,
So wie ich wollt,
An seinen Küssen
Vergehen sollt!
Translation
My peace is gone,
My heart is heavy,
I will find it never
and never more.
Where I do not have him,
That is the grave,
The whole world
Is bitter to me.
My poor head
Is crazy to me,
My poor mind
Is torn apart.
My peace is gone,
My heart is heavy,
I will find it never
and never more.
For him only,
I look Out the window
Only for him do I go
Out of the house.
His tall walk,
His noble figure,
His mouth's smile,
His eyes' power,
And his mouth's
Magic flow,
His handclasp,
and ah! his kiss!
My peace is gone,
My heart is heavy,
I will find it never
and never more.
My bosom urges
itself toward him.
Ah, might I grasp
And hold him!
And kiss him,
As I would wish,
At his kisses
I should die!
"Heidenröslein", D. 257
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe "Heidenröslein"
Text: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
Sah ein Knab' ein Röslein stehn,
Röslein auf der Heiden,
War so jung und morgenschön,
Lief er schnell, es nah zu sehn,
Sah's mit vielen Freuden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein
rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Knabe sprach: Ich breche
dich,
Röslein auf der Heiden!
Röslein sprach: Ich steche
dich,
Daß du ewig denkst an mich,
Und ich will's nicht leiden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein
rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Und der wilde Knabe brach's
Röslein auf der Heiden;
Röslein wehrte sich und
stach,
Half ihm doch kein Weh und
Ach,
Mußt es eben leiden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein
rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Translation
Passing lad a rose blossom spied, Blossom on the heath growing, 'Twas so fair and of youthful pride, Raced he fast to be near its side, Saw it with joy o'erflowing. Blossom, blossom, blossom red, Blossom on the heath growing.
Said the lad: I shall pick thee, Blossom on the heath growing! Blossom spoke: Then I'll prick thee, That thou shalt ever think of me, And I'll not be allowing. Blossom, blossom, blossom red, Blossom on the heath growing.
And the lusty lad did pick The blossom on the heath growing; Blossom, in defense, did prick, 'Twas, alas, but a harmless nick, Had to be allowing. Blossom, blossom, blossom red, Blossom on the heath growing.
"Du Bist die Ruh'", D. 776
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Text: Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866)
Du bist die Ruh, Der Friede mild, Die Sehnsucht du Und was sie stillt.
Ich weihe dir Voll Lust und Schmerz Zur Wohnung hier Mein Aug und Herz.
Kehr ein bei mir, Und schließe du Still hinter dir Die Pforten zu.
Treib andern Schmerz Aus dieser Brust! Voll sei dies Herz Von deiner Lust.
Dies Augenzelt Von deinem Glanz Allein erhellt, O füll es ganz!
Translation
You are harmony and rest. You are yearning and its cadence.
I dedicate to you, as to a sacred place, full of pain and joy, my eyes and heart.
Turn to me now and quietly close the doors behind you.
Drive other sorrows far away: May my heart fill with delight in you.
This vaulted dome with your light voice alone is filled, Oh let it ring.
"Erlkönig", op. 1, D. 328
Original Manuscript of "Erlkönig"
Text: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
-
Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind? Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind; Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm, Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.
-
Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht? Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht? Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif? Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.
-
Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir! Gar schöne Spiele spiel ich mit dir; Manch bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand, Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand.
-
Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht, Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht? Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind: In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind.
-
Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn? Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön; Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.
-
Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort? Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau: Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau.
-
Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt; Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt. Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an! Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!
-
Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind, Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind, Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not: In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.
Translation
-
Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear? The father it is, with his infant so dear; He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm, He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.
-
"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?" "Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side! Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?" "My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."
-
"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me! Full many a game I will play there with thee; On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold, My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."
-
"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?" "Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives; 'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."
-
"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there? My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care My daughters by night their glad festival keep, They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."
-
"My father, my father, and dost thou not see, How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?" "My darling, my darling, I see it aright, 'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."
-
"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy! And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ." "My father, my father, he seizes me fast, Full sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last."
-
The father now gallops, with terror half wild, He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child; He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,-- The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.
Nacht und Träume, op. 43 no. 2, D. 827
Text: Matthäus Kasimir von Collin (1779-1824)
Heil'ge Nacht, du sinkest nieder; Nieder wallen auch die Träume Wie dein Mondlicht durch die Räume, Durch der Menschen stille Brust. Die belauschen sie mit Lust Rufen, wenn der Tag erwacht: Kehre wieder, heil'ge Nacht! Holde Träume, kehret wieder!
Translation
Holy night, you sink down; Dreams, too, drift down Like your moonlight through space, Through the quiet hearts of men; They listen with delight Calling out when day awakens: Return, holy night! Fair dreams, return!
"Im Frühling", D. 882
Text: Ernst Konrad Friedrich Schulze (1789-1817)
Still sitz' ich an des Hügels Hang, Der Himmel ist so klar, Das Lüftchen spielt im grünen Tal. Wo ich beim ersten Frühlingsstrahl Einst, ach so glücklich war.
Wo ich an ihrer Seite ging So traulich und so nah, Und tief im dunklen Felsenquell Den schönen Himmel blau und hell Und sie im Himmel sah.
Sieh, wie der bunte Frühling schon Aus Knosp' und Blüte blickt! Nicht alle Blüten sind mir gleich, Am liebsten pflückt ich von dem Zweig, Von welchem sie gepflückt!
Denn alles ist wie damals noch, Die Blumen, das Gefild; Die Sonne scheint nicht minder hell, Nicht minder freundlich schwimmt im Quell Das blaue Himmelsbild.
Es wandeln nur sich Will und Wahn, Es wechseln Lust und Streit, Vorüber flieht der Liebe Glück, Und nur die Liebe bleibt zurück, Die Lieb und ach, das Leid.
O wär ich doch ein Vöglein nur Dort an dem Wiesenhang Dann blieb ich auf den Zweigen hier, Und säng ein süßes Lied von ihr, Den ganzen Sommer lang.
Translation
Quietly I sit on the hill's slope. The sky is so clear; a breeze plays in the green valley. Where I was at Spring's first sunbeam once - alas, I was so happy!
When I was walking at her side, So intimate and so close, and deep in the dark rocky spring was the beautiful sky, blue and bright; and I saw her in the sky.
Look how colorful Spring already looks out from bud and blossom! Not every blossom is the same for me: I like best to pick from the branch from which she picked hers!
For all is as it was: the flowers, the field; the sun does not shine less brightly, nor does the spring reflect any less charmingly the blue image of the sky.
The only things that change are will and delusion: Joys and quarrels alternate, the happiness of love flies past, and only the love remains - The love and, alas, the sorrow.
Oh, if only I were a little bird, there, on the meadow's slope, then I would remain here on these branches, and sing a sweet song about her the whole summer long.
"Am Meer", D. 957 no. 12
Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Das Meer erglänzte weit hinaus Im letzten Abendscheine; Wir saßen am einsamen Fischerhaus, Wir saßen stumm und alleine.
Der Nebel stieg, das Wasser schwoll, Die Möwe flog hin und wieder; Aus deinen Augen liebevoll Fielen die Tränen nieder.
Ich sah sie fallen auf deine Hand Und bin aufs Knie gesunken; Ich hab von deiner weißen Hand Die Tränen fortgetrunken.
Seit jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib, Die Seele stirbt vor Sehnen; Mich hat das unglücksel'ge Weib Vergiftet mit ihren Tränen.
Translation
The sea sparkled out in the distance By the light of evening's last glow; We sat near the solitary fisherman's house, We sat mute and alone.
The fog gathered, the water swelled, A seagull flew back and forth; From your eyes full of love Tears fell down.
I saw them fall on your hand And sank to one knee; From out of your white hand I drank the tears.
Since that hour my body consumes itself, My soul is dying of longing; This wretched woman Has poisoned me with her tears.
Auf dem Wasser zu Singen
Text: Friedrich Leopold, Graf zu Stolberg-Stolberg (1750-1819)
Mitten im Schimmer der spiegelnden Wellen; Gleitet, wie Schwäne, der wankende Kahn: Ach, auf der Freude sanftschimmernden Wellen Gleitet die Seele dahin wie der Kahn; Denn von dem Himmel herab auf die Wellen Tanzet das Abendrot rund um den Kahn.
Über den Wipfeln des westlichen Haines Winket uns freundlich der rötliche Schein; Unter den Zweigen des östlichen Haines Säuselt der Kalmus im rötlichen Schein; Freude des Himmels und Ruhe des Haines Atmet die Seel im errötenden Schein.
Ach, es entschwindet mit tauigem Flügel Mir auf den wiegenden Wellen die Zeit; Morgen entschwinde mit schimmerndem Flügel Wieder wie gestern und heute die Zeit, Bis ich auf höherem strahlendem Flügel Selber entschwinde der wechselnden Zeit.
Translation
In the middle of the shimmer of the reflecting waves Glides, as swans do, the wavering boat; Ah, on joy's soft shimmering waves Glides the soul along like the boat; Then from Heaven down onto the waves Dances the sunset all around the boat.
Over the treetops of the western grove Waves, in a friendly way, the reddish gleam; Under the branches of the eastern grove Murmur the reeds in the reddish light; Joy of Heaven and the peace of the grove Is breathed by the soul in the reddening light.
Ah, time vanishes on dewy wing for me, on the rocking waves; Tomorrow, time will vanish with shimmering wings Again, as yesterday and today, Until I, on higher more radiant wing, Myself vanish to the changing time.
An Sylvia
Text: Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act IV, Scene 2, William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Was ist Silvia, saget an, Daß sie die weite Flur preist? Schön und zart seh ich sie nahn, Auf Himmelsgunst und Spur weist, Daß ihr alles untertan.
Ist sie schön und gut dazu? Reiz labt wie milde Kindheit; Ihrem Aug' eilt Amor zu, Dort heilt er seine Blindheit Und verweilt in süßer Ruh.
Darum Silvia, tön, o Sang, Der holden Silvia Ehren; Jeden Reiz besiegt sie lang, Den Erde kann gewähren: Kränze ihr und Saitenklang!
Original Shakespeare
Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair and wise is she; The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admiréd be.
Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness, And being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling; To her let us garlands bring.
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