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In Schweden steht ein grauer Turm, Herbergend Eulen, Aare; Gespielt mit Regen, Blitz und Sturm Hat er neunhundert Jahre; Was je von Menschen hauste drin, Mit Lust und Leid, ist längst dahin. Der Regen strömt, ein Reiter naht, Er spornt dem Roß die Flanken. Verloren hat er seinen Pfad In Dämmrung und Gedanken. Es windet heulend sich im Wind Der Wald, wie ein gepeitschtes Kind. Verrufen ist der Turm im Land, Daß Nachts, bei hellem Lichte, Ein Geist dort spukt im Mönchsgewand, Mit traurigem Gesichte; Und wer dem Mönch ins Aug' gesehn, Wird traurig und will sterben gehn. Doch ohne Schreck und Grauen tritt Ins Turmgewölb der Reiter. Er führt herein den Rappen mit Und scherzt zum Rößlein heiter: »Gelt du, wir nehmens lieber auf Mit Geistern als mit Wind und Trauf?« Den Sattel und den nassen Zaum Entschnallt er seinem Pferde. Er breitet sich im öden Raum Den Mantel auf die Erde Und segnet noch den Aschenrest Der Hände, die gebaut so fest. Und wie er schläft, und wie er träumt, Zur mitternächt'gen Stunde Weckt ihn sein Pferd, - es schnaubt und bäumt, Hell ist die Turmesrunde. Die Wand wie angezündet glimmt; Der Mann sein Herz zusammennimmt. Weit auf das Roß die Nüstern reißt, Es bleckt vor Angst die Zähne, Der Rappe zitternd sieht den Geist Und sträubt empor die Mähne; Nun schaut den Geist der Reiter auch Und kreuzet sich nach altem Brauch. Der Mönch hat sich vor ihn gestellt, So klagend still, so schaurig, Als weine stumm aus ihm die Welt, So traurig, o wie traurig! Der Wandrer schaut ihn unverwandt Und wird von Mitleid übermannt. Der große und geheime Schmerz, Der die Natur durchzittert, Den ahnen mag ein blutend Herz, Den die Verzweiflung wittert, Doch nicht erreicht - der Schmerz erscheint Im Aug' des Mönchs, der Reiter weint. Er ruft: »O sage, was dich kränkt? Was dich so tief beweget?« Doch wie der Mönch das Antlitz senkt, Die bleichen Lippen reget, Das Ungeheure sagen will: Ruft er entsetzt: »Sei still! sei still!« Der Mönch verschwand, der Morgen graut, Der Wandrer zieht von hinnen; Und fürder spricht er keinen Laut, Den Tod nur muß er sinnen. Der Rappe rührt kein Futter an, Um Roß und Reiter ists getan. Und als die Sonn' am Abend sinkt, Die Herzen bänger schlagen, Der Mönch aus jedem Strauche winkt, Und alle Blätter klagen, Die ganze Luft ist wund und weh - Der Rappe schlendert in den See!
Authorship:
- by Nikolaus Lenau (1802 - 1850), "Der traurige Mönch", appears in Gedichte, in 3. Drittes Buch, in Gestalten [author's text checked 1 time 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 Franz (Ferenc) Liszt (1811 - 1886), "Der traurige Mönch", S. 348 (1860), published 1872 [ reciter with piano ], declamation; note: begins with the third line, "Gespielt mit Regen..." [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "The sorrowful monk", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Le moine triste", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 72
Word count: 406
In Sweden there stands a grey tower, Sheltering owls, eagles; For nine hundred years it has Sported with rain, lightning and storm; Whatever of humankind lived therein, With joy and sorrow, has long passed away. Rain is streaming, a rider approaches, He digs his spurs into the horse's flanks. He has lost his way In twilight and in thought. The forest writhes, howling in the wind Like a whipped child. The tower has an evil reputation in the land, That at night, by bright light, A spirit walks in monk's garb, With a sad visage; And whoever gazes into the monk's eyes Becomes sad and wishes to die. But without fear and dread the rider Steps into the vaulted tower. He leads his black stallion in with him And merrily jokes with his horse: "We would rather take our chances With spirits than with wind and showers, eh?" The saddle and the wet bridle He unbuckles from his horse. In the desolate room he spreads His coat upon the ground And blesses yet the ashes Of the hands that built so watertight [a building]. And as he sleeps and as he dreams, At the hour of midnight His horse awakens him - it snorts and rears, Bright is the tower round. The wall glows as if on fire; The man musters his heart. The horse's nostrils are hugely dilated, In fear it shows its teeth, Trembling, the stallion beholds the ghost And his mane stands on end; Now the rider too sees the spirit And crosses himself in the customary way. The monk has come to stand before him, So sorrowfully still, so eerie, As if through him the whole world wept mutely, So sad, oh how sad! The wanderer gazes at him fixedly And is overcome with sympathy. The great and secret sorrow That shudders through nature, That a bleeding heart may discern, That despair perceives, But never reaches - that pain appears In the eye of the monk; the rider weeps. He cries: "Oh tell, what grieves you? What so deeply moves you?" But as the monk bows his head, And begins to move his pale lips In order to articulate the immense [sorrow], [The rider] calls out in horror: "Speak not! Speak not!" The monk disappeared, the day dawns greyly, The wanderer departs; But forthwith he utters not a sound, Of death alone he is forced to think. The black stallion touches no food, The horse and rider are doomed. And as the sun sinks in the evening, Their hearts beat more anxiously, The monk seems to beckon from every bush, And all the leaves lament, All the air around is wounded and sore - The black stallion slowly walks into the lake.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2011 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 Nikolaus Lenau (1802 - 1850), "Der traurige Mönch", appears in Gedichte, in 3. Drittes Buch, in Gestalten
This text was added to the website: 2011-04-28
Line count: 72
Word count: 456