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Es stand in alten Zeiten ein Schloss, so hoch und hehr, Weit glänzt' es über die Lande bis an das blaue Meer, Und rings von duft'gen Gärten ein blütenreicher Kranz, Drin sprangen frische Brunnen in Regenbogenglanz. Dort saß ein stolzer König, an Land und Siegen reich, Er saß auf seinem Throne so finster und so bleich; Denn was er sinnt, ist Schrecken, und was er blickt, ist Blut, Und was er spricht, ist Geißel, und was er schreibt, ist Wut. Einst zog nach diesem Schlosse ein edles Sängerpaar, Der ein' in goldnen Locken, der andre grau von Haar; Der Alte mit der Harfe, der saß auf schmuckem Ross, Es schritt ihm frisch zur Seite der blühende Genoss. Der Alte sprach zum Jungen: "Nun sei bereit, mein Sohn! Denk unsrer tiefsten Lieder, stimm an den vollsten Ton! Nimm alle Kraft zusammen, die Lust und auch den Schmerz! Es gilt uns heut, zu rühren des Königs steinern Herz." Schon stehn die beiden Sänger im hohen Säulensaal, Und auf dem Throne sitzen der König und sein Gemahl; Der König furchtbar prächtig wie blut'ger Nordlichtschein, Die Königin süß und milde, als blickte Vollmond drein. Da schlug der Greis die Saiten, er schlug sie wundervoll, Daß reicher, immer reicher der Klang zum Ohre schwoll, Dann strömte himmlisch helle des Jünglings Stimme vor, Des Alten Sang dazwischen wie dumpfer Geisterchor. Sie singen von Lenz und Liebe, von sel'ger goldner Zeit, Von Freiheit, Männerwürde, von Treu' und Heiligkeit; Sie singen von allem Süßen, was Menschenbrust durchbebt, Sie singen von allem Hohen, was Menschenherz erhebt. Die Höflingsschar im Kreise verlernet jeden Spott, Des Königs trotz'ge Krieger, sie beugen sich vor Gott, die Königin, zerflossen in Wehmut und in Lust, Sie wirft den Sängern nieder die Rose von ihrer Brust. "Ihr habt mein Volk verführet; verlockt ihr nun mein Weib?" Der König schreit es wütend, er bebt am ganzen Leib; Er wirft sein Schwert, das blitzend des Jünglings Brust durchdringt, Draus statt der goldnen Lieder ein Blutstrahl hoch aufspringt. Und wie vom Sturm zerstoben ist all der Hörer Schwarm. Der Jüngling hat verröchelt in seines Meisters Arm; Der schlägt um ihn den Mantel und setzt ihn auf das Roß, Er bind't ihn aufrecht feste, verläßt mit ihm das Schloß. Doch vor dem hohen Tore, da hält der Sängergreis, Da faßt er seine Harfe, sie, aller Harfen Preis, An einer Marmorsäule, da hat er sie zerschellt; Dann ruft er, daß es schaurig durch Schloß und Gärten gellt: "Weh euch, ihr stolzen Hallen! Nie töne süßer Klang Durch eure Räume wieder, nie Saite noch Gesang, Nein, Seufzer nur und Stöhnen und scheuer Sklavenschritt, Bis euch zu Schutt und Moder der Rachegeist zertritt! "Weh euch, ihr duft'gen Gärten im holden Maienlicht! Euch zeig' ich dieses Toten entstelltes Angesicht, Daß ihr darob verdorret, daß jeder Quell versiegt, Daß ihr in künft'gen Tagen versteint, verödet liegt. "Weh dir, verruchter Mörder! du Fluch des Sängertums! Umsonst sei all dein Ringen nach Kränzen blut'gen Ruhms! Dein Name sei vergessen, in ew'ge Nacht getaucht, Sei, wie ein letztes Röcheln, in leere Luft verhaucht!" Der Alte hat's gerufen, der Himmel hat's gehört, Die Mauern liegen nieder, die Hallen sind zerstört; Noch eine hohe Säule zeugt von verschwundner Pracht; Auch diese, schon geborsten, kann stürzen über Nacht. Und rings statt duft'ger Gärten ein ödes Heideland, Kein Baum verstreuet Schatten, kein Quell durchdringt den Sand, Des Königs Namen meldet kein Lied, kein Heldenbuch; Versunken und vergessen! das ist des Sängers Fluch.
Authorship:
- by Johann Ludwig Uhland (1787 - 1862), "Des Sängers Fluch" [author's text checked 2 times against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Ferruccio Busoni (1866 - 1924), "Des Sängers Fluch", op. 39a, K. 98a (1879) [ alto and piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
- by Heinrich Esser (1818 - 1872), "Des Sängers Fluch", op. 8, IHE 4, published 1843 [ voice and piano ], Mainz: bei B. Schott's Söhnen [sung text not yet checked]
- by Gottfried Grunewald (b. 1859), "Des Sängers Fluch ", op. 21, published 1898 [ men's chorus and orchestra ], Magdeburg, Heinrichshofen's Verlag [sung text not yet checked]
- by Conradin Kreutzer (1780 - 1849), "Des Sängers Fluch", op. 77, KWV. 9113 [sung text not yet checked]
- by Carl Krill (1847 - 1927), "Des Sängers Fluch", subtitle: "Ballade", op. 27, published 1901 [ voice and piano ], Berlin, Verlag der Freien Musikalischen Vereinigung [sung text not yet checked]
- by H. J. Vincent , "Des Sängers Fluch", published 1880 [ tenor and piano ], Mainz, Schott [sung text not yet checked]
- by Johann Baptist Zerlett (1859 - 1935), "Des Sängers Fluch", op. 174, published 1893 [ men's chorus ], Karlsruhe, (Doert.) (1893), and later Leipzig, Hug (1895)  [sung text not yet checked]
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
- Also set in German (Deutsch), adapted by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896) [an adaptation] ; composed by Robert Schumann.
- Also set in German (Deutsch), adapted by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896) [an adaptation] ; composed by Robert Schumann.
- Also set in German (Deutsch), adapted by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896) [an adaptation] ; composed by Robert Schumann.
- Also set in German (Deutsch), adapted by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896) [an adaptation] ; composed by Robert Schumann.
- Also set in German (Deutsch), adapted by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896) [an adaptation] ; composed by Robert Schumann.
- Also set in German (Deutsch), adapted by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896) [an adaptation] ; composed by Robert Schumann.
- Also set in German (Deutsch), adapted by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896) [an adaptation] ; composed by Robert Schumann.
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "La maledicció del trobador", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Karel Dostál-Lutinov) , "Pěvcova kletba", first published 1917
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "The minstrel's curse", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "La malédiction du minnesinger", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani
This text was added to the website: 2004-08-06
Line count: 64
Word count: 571
In olden times there stood a castle, so high and lofty. It shone out over the lands all the way to the blue sea, And round about [was] a blossom-rich garland of scented gardens, In which fresh fountains leapt in rainbow radiance. There sat a proud king, rich in lands and victories, He sat upon his throne so gloweringly and so pale; For what he is planning is horrors, and what he sees is blood, And what he speaks is scourge, and what he writes is rage. Once upon a time there travelled to this castle a noble pair of singers, One in golden curls, the other with hair of grey; The old one with the harp, he sat upon a trim steed, His companion in the bloom of youth strode briskly at his side. The old man spoke to the young one: "Now be ready, my son! Think of our most profound songs, intone the fullest sound! Gather all your strength, joy and also pain! For today it is our task to move the king's stony heart." The two singers are already standing in the high hall of columns, And upon the throne sit the king and his consort; The king formidably resplendent like the glow of blood-coloured northern lights, The queen sweet and gentle, as if she were the full moon gazing down. Thereupon the old man struck the strings, he struck them wondrously So that richer, ever more richly the sounds swelled toward the ears of the listeners, Then, heavenly bright, the youth's voice flowed forth, The old man's song interspersed like a muted choir of spirits. They sing of springtime and love, of a blessed golden age, Of freedom, manly dignity, of faithfulness and holiness; They sing of all the sweetness that throbs through the human breast, They sing of all the lofty ideals that lift the human heart. The circle of courtiers unlearns every mockery, The king's truculent warriors, they bow down before God, The queen, overcome with melancholy and joy, Throws the rose from her breast down to the singers. "You have ensnared my people; and now you beguile my wife?" The king screams it furiously, his whole body shakes; He throws his sword, which glitteringly penetrates the breast of the youth, From which, instead of golden songs, there gushes forth a fountain of blood. And, as if by a storm, the entire horde of listeners is dispersed. The youth has expired in the arms of his master; [The master] wraps his cloak about him and places him upon the horse, He ties him tightly upright, and leaves the castle with him. But before the high gate, the aged singer halts, There he seizes his harp, the choicest of all harps, Against a marble column, there he smashes it; Then, so that it shudderingly shrills through palace and garden, he calls out: "Woe unto you, you proud halls! Nevermore may sweet tones Sound through your rooms, nevermore strings or singing, No, only sighs and moaning and timid footfalls of slaves, Until the spirit of revenge grinds you all to rubble and decay! "Woe unto you, you scented gardens in the lovely light of May! To you I show the disfigured face of this dead one, So that you may wither at the sight, so that every well-spring may dry up, So that in future days you shall lie stony and desolate. "Woe unto you, loathsome murderer! you curse of the race of singers! For naught be all your striving for the wreaths of bloody glory! May your name be forgotten, sunk into eternal night, May it, like a death rattle, be breathed into empty air!" The old man has called it out, Heaven has heard it, The walls lie crumbled, the halls are destroyed; One high column alone bears testimony to vanished splendour; This one, too, already cracked, could collapse overnight. And all around, instead of scented gardens, a desolate moor; No tree casts shade, no water-spring penetrates the sand. The name of the king is mentioned in no song, no book of heroes; Sunken and forgotten! that is the singer's curse.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2015 by Sharon Krebs, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Johann Ludwig Uhland (1787 - 1862), "Des Sängers Fluch"
This text was added to the website: 2015-07-02
Line count: 64
Word count: 688