Carl Loewe - "Der Totentanz" (Goethe)

A little something for Halloween. All in fun.

Carl Loewe (1796-1869), a German composer of over 400 songs. In his lifetime, his songs were well enough known for some to call him the "Schubert of North Germany", and Hugo Wolf came to admire his work. He is less known today, but a number of his songs are still occasionally performed.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Loewe



Der Totentanz

Der Türmer, der schaut zu Mitten der Nacht
Hinab auf die Gräber in Lage;
Der Mond, der hat alles ins Helle gebracht,
Der Kirchhof, er liegt wie am Tage.
Da regt sich ein Grab und ein anderes dann:
Sie kommen hervor, ein Weib da, ein Mann
In weißen und schleppenden Hemden.

Das reckt nun, es will sich ergetzen sogleich,
Die Knöchel zur Runde, zum Kranze,
So arm und so jung und so alt und so reich;
Doch hindern die Schleppen am Tanze:
Und weil hier die Scham nun nicht weiter gebeut,
Sie schütteln sich alle, da liegen zerstreut
Die Hemdelein über den Hügeln.

Nun hebt sich der Schenkel, nun wackelt das Bein,
Gebärden da gibt es vertrackte;
dann klippert's und klappert's mitunter hinein,
als schlüg' man die Hölzlein zum Takte.
Das kommt nun dem Türmer so lächerlich vor;
da raunt ihm der Schalk, der Versucher, ins Ohr:
Geh! hole dir einen der Laken!

Getan, wie gedacht! und er flüchtet sich schnell
nun hinter geheiligte Türen.
Der Mond und noch immer er scheinet so hell
zum Tanz, den sie schauderlich führen.
Doch endlich verlieret sich dieser und der,
schleicht eins nach dem andern gekleidet einher,
und husch! ist es unter dem Rasen.

Nur Einer, der trippelt und stolpert zuletzt
und tappet und grabst nach den Grüften;
doch hat kein Geselle so schwer ihn verletzt;
er wittert das Tuch in den Lüften.
Er rüttelt die Turmtür, sie schlägt ihn zurück,
geziert und gesegnet, dem Türmer zum Glück,
sie blinkt con metallenen Kreuzen.

Das Hemd muß er haben, da rastet er nicht,
da gilt auch kein langes Besinnen,
den gotischen Zierrat ergreift nun der Wicht
und klettert von Zinne zu Zinnen.
Nun ist's um den Armen, den Türmer, getan,
es ruckt sich von Schnörkel zu Schnörkel hinan,
langbeinigen Spinnen vergleichbar.

Der Türmer erbleicht, der Türmer erbebt,
Gern gäb' er ihn wieder, den Laken.
Da häckelt jetzt hat er am längsten gelebt
Den Zipfel ein eiserner Zacken.
Schon trübet der Mond sich verschwindenden Scheins,
Die Glocke, sie donnert ein mächtiges Eins,
Und unten zerschellt das Gerippe.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



The Dance of Death

At dead of night the watchman on the tower
Looks down on the row of graves;
The moon has made everything bright,
The churchyard lies as if in daylight.
One grave stirs, and then another:
Out they come, here a woman, there a man,
In white, trailing winding-sheets.

Now, intent on immediate pleasure,
They stretch their bones in a round dance,
Poor and young, old and rich alike;
But their trains hinder their dance.
So, since shame no longer has any place here,
They all shake them off, and the shrouds
Lie scattered over the burial-mounds.

Now shanks stir and legs totter,
There are crazy antics,
And now and then clicks and clacks
As if castanets were beating out the time.
To the watchman it now seems ludicrous;
The artful Tempter murmurs in his ear:
Go and seize one of the shrouds!

No sooner said than done! And quickly
He retreats behind hallowed doors.
The moon still shines so brightly
On the dance they hideously caper.
But at last they disperse, one after another,
Slip back into their clothes
And scurry back under the turf.

Finally only one if left, tripping ad stumbling,
Fumbling and groping at the graves;
But none of his fellows has so deeply wronged him,
And he scents the gravecloth in the air.
He rattles the tower gate, which repulses him;
Fortunately for the watchman, it is hung
With holy ornaments and shining with metal crosses.

But he has to have his shroud, and will not rest,
Nor is there time for lengthy reflection;
The creature grasps the Gothic decorations
And clambers from coping to coping.
Poor watchman, hes done for now!
Up it climbs from turret to turret
Like a long-legged spider.

The watchman blenches and trembles;
Gladly would he give the sheet back.
Then now his end is near!
A corner catches on an iron spike.
Already the moon is clouding over, the light fading,
The bell thunders out a mighty stroke of one,
And the skeleton is dashed to pieces below.

Translation by Lionel Salter



Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (baritone)
Jörg Demus (piano)

Category:

Music

Tags:

• Classical
• Lieder
• Carl
• Loewe
• Goethe
• Totentanz
• Fischer-Dieskau

[zrshwe]

Thanks for introducing this composer WHOSE WORKS ARE UNKNOWN TO ME. It is wonderful.

[FiDiTanzer528]

I'm glad you enjoyed it. Loewe wrote some wonderful ballads. I will probably be uploading some more in time.

[Marlean]

@FiDiTanzer528 Why is so few works of Carl Loewe released and well known? I'm looking for the rising of Lazarus.

[FiDiTanzer528]

@Marlean

I've wondered that myself. I think he's a wonderful composer. I'm afraid I'm only familiar with his songs. There is a recording of Lazarus on the Capriccio label and it's available at Amazon and probably other places.

[Ted10038]

Hi FiDiTanzer528:

Thank you so much for taking the trouble to make this entertaining and educational video!

I, too, am very fond of Loewe but actually I had not heard this song before.

Good job!! And once again, thank you so much!!

[FiDiTanzer528]

Thanks for the comments. Loewe is very underrated I think and deserves to be better known outside Germany. I may post some more of his ballads at a later date.

[Uushilumbu79]

Thanks a lot for the upload!

But the last verse goes:

"Da häkelt - jetzt hat er am längsten gelebt - (...)"

häkeln (with just one "k"), not häckeln with "ck"

[Evalyra]

This piece would work perfectly for a Tim Burton (short) movie!

[vk342]

Discovery for me too. How come this guy isn't well known? I asked friends who are very much into classical singing and they didn't know about him either. This stuff is as good as Schubert's.