To death
(Poet's title: An den Tod)
Set by Schubert:
D 518
Schubert did not set the stanzas in italics[1816-1817]
Tod, du Schrecken der Natur,
Immer rieselt deine Uhr,
Die geschwungne Sense blinkt,
Gras und Halm und Blume sinkt.
Mähe nicht ohn’ Unterschied
Dieses Blümchen, das erst blüht,
Dieses Röschen, erst halb rot,
Sei barmherzig, lieber Tod!
Nimm den holden Knaben nicht,
Der voll Unschuld im Gesicht
Mit der Brust der Mutter spielt,
Und sein erstes Leben fühlt.
Und den Jüngling schone mir,
Der am fühlenden Klavier
Goldne Saiten wiegt und schwingt,
Und ein Lied von Liebe singt.
Sieh, dort steht ein deutscher Held
In Kolumbens neuer Welt,
Der des Wilden Axt nicht scheut:
Tod! ach friste seine Zeit!
Schon’ den Dichter, dessen Kraft,
Wie sein Schöpfer, Welten schafft,
Der in seinem Bildungskreis
Alles fromm zu machen weiss.
Töte nicht die junge Braut,
Schön für ihren Mann gebaut,
Die, wie Sulamit gestimmt,
Liebe gibt und Liebe nimmt.
Nicht den Frommen in dem Land,
Dessen hochgehobne Hand,
Betend Gottes Himmel stützt,
Wenn er Rache niederblitzt.
Auch den Sünder töte nicht;
Schreck ihn nur mit dem Gericht,
Dass er bang zusammenfährt,
Busse weint und sich bekehrt.
In der Fürsten goldnem Saal,
Lieber Tod, bist du zur Qual;
Schone sie, bis sie vom Wind
Eitler Größ’ gesättigt sind.
Keinen Reichen töte du;
Den Gesunden lass in Ruh!
Triffst du gute Leute an,
So verlängre ihre Bahn.
Aber musst du töten, Tod!
Ach! so thu’s, wo dir die Not
Aus zerfreßnen Augen winkt,
Und in Staub des Kerkers sinkt.
Wo mit jedem Morgen: Tod!
Wo mit jedem Abend: Tod!
Tod! um Mitternacht erschallt,
Dass die Schauerzelle hallt.
Tod, wann kommst du? meine Lust!
Ziehst den Dolch aus meiner Brust,
Streifst die Fessel von der Hand,
Ach, wann deckst du mich mit Sand.
Diese Todtenstimme rufft
Aus so mancher Kerkergruft,
Wo der Gram verzweiflungsvoll
Ohne Hoffnung schmachten soll.
Komm, o Tod! wenn dir’s gefällt,
Hol Gefangne aus der Welt:
Komm, vollende meine Not,
Sei barmherzig, lieber Tod!
Death, what a horror of nature you are!
Your hour-glass is always trickling,
The scythe you swing flashes,
Grass, stalk and flower sink.
Do not indiscriminately cut down
This little flower that is just coming into bloom;
This little rose, only just half red;
Be merciful, dear death!
Do not take this beauteous lad,
Who, with innocence in his face,
Is playing with his mother’s breast
And who is feeling his first stirrings of life.
And for my sake spare this youth,
Who, at the sensitive piano
Is weighing and swinging golden strings
And is singing a song of love.
Look, over there stands a German hero
In Columbus’s new world,
Who does not shun the savage’s axe:
Death, oh extend his time!
Spare the poet, whose strength,
Like his maker, creates worlds,
Who, in the circle of those learning from him
Knows how to make everything devout.
Do not kill the young bride,
Beautifully constructed for her husband,
Who, with a similar character to Sulamith,
Gives love and receives love.
Nor the pious in the land
Whose upstretched hands
Support God’s heavens with their prayers
When he sends down his wrath with the lightning.
Do not kill the sinner either;
Just terrify him with judgement,
So that he will be shocked with fear,
Cry with repentance and change his ways.
In the golden halls of princes,
Dear death, you create distress;
Spare them until the wind
Of vain greatness is too much for them.
Do not kill any rich people;
Leave the healthy in peace!
If you come across good people
Just extend their course.
But if you do have to kill, death,
Then just do it where necessity
Sends a signal from eyes that have been eaten up
And which are sinking into the dust of the dungeon.
Somewhere with each morning: Death!
Somewhere with each evening: Death!
Death! resounds at midnight
In such a way that the frightful cell reverberates.
Death, when are you going to come? My delight!
Pull the dagger out of my breast;
Slip the shackles off my hand.
Oh, when are you going to cover me with sand?
This deathly voice calls out
From so many prison vaults,
Where grief, full of despair,
Has to languish without hope.
Come, oh death, if you please,
Lift prisoners out of the world;
Come, put an end to my distress;
Be merciful, dear death!
All translations into English that appear on this website, unless otherwise stated, are by Malcolm Wren. You are free to use them on condition that you acknowledge Malcolm Wren as the translator and schubertsong.uk as the source. Unless otherwise stated, the comments and essays that appear after the texts and translations are by Malcolm Wren and are © Copyright.
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Themes and images in this text:
Chains and shackles Chest / breast Clocks Covers and covering Cutting and wounding Flowers Grass Graves and burials Hands Prisons and dungeons Red and purple Roses and pink Sand Stems and stalks Swords and daggers
Between 1777 and 1787 Schubart, the author of this appeal to death from a despairing prisoner, was held in Asperg castle on the orders of Duke Karl Eugen of Württemberg. When the poem was published he was one of the most famous political prisoners of the age, with writers such as Herder and Schiller supporting his stand against Absolutism. Even a generation later, in Metternich’s Vienna, when Schubert decided to set the poem to music, many of the stanzas had to be omitted to avoid trouble. Anyone preparing to perform Schubert’s necessarily truncated version would be well advised to look carefully at the whole text in order to clarify the tone and intention of the author’s address to Death.
Schubart had offended his Prince in two major ways. He had made disparaging comments about Duke Karl Eugen’s mistress, but perhaps more seriously had criticised the trade in mercenary soldiers, which meant that Schwabians had been sent across the Atlantic to fight with the armies of King George III of England against the American States that had recently declared independence. Schubart makes a passing comment on both of these matters in the course of ‘An den Tod’. He wants people in palaces to live long enough to realise that their life is empty: they are puffed up with vain grandeur. He also reminds readers that there are now Germans making a life out in the New World and he begs death to spare them out in the dangers of the wild west.
These examples come from the first 11 stanzas of the 16 stanza-long poem, where death is portrayed as a true horror. The speaker therefore begs mercy for a long list of people who might be at risk of being cut down too soon. The final stanzas turn to the exception: those who have been so ground down into the dust by imprisonment that they long to be covered in sand totally and to be buried in the grave. For these, death will represent liberation. The shackles will fall from them and the dagger of suffering in their breast will be removed. Schubart’s rhetoric works by demonstrating the corrosive effect of unjust imprisonment, which leads to such despair that an innocent man begs for death whilst praying for sinners and princes to be spared.
The figure of Death has a different character at the beginning and the end of the text. A horror who scythes down everything and everyone in his way turns into a liberator who lifts prisoners out of their dungeons. However, common to both images of death is the symbol of sand. At the beginning Death appears as Father Time, who along with his scythe, carries his hourglass and its trickling sand. At the end the speaker begs to be buried in this same sand.
Schubart must have expected his readers to be familiar with the iconography of Father Time, the grim reaper, and he does not need to specify how a clock ‘trickles’ since the sand-timer was so much a part of the standard image of death. The background is explained clearly in this encyclopedia entry:
The figure of Father Time is derived from Saturn-Cronus, the Greek and Roman child-devouring god of the golden age who probably came to represent time through a mistaken association of Cronus with Chronos. . . . The iconography of Saturn-Cronus adapted well to the memento mori message of Father Time. Saturn-Cronus's sickle already represented the inevitable harvest of human life after a finite period of time. It now acted also as a reminder to prepare during one's finite lifetime for the eternal life hereafter. Subsequent technological advancement changed the sickle to a scythe in later depictions of Father Time. The sickle was probably the first agricultural implement. It consisted of a curved metal blade with a short handle, and was in use at least 8,000 years ago. The Romans developed the sickle into a scythe by setting the blade at right angles to the handle. As the scythe replaced the sickle throughout the Middle Ages, the iconography of Time as well as that of Saturn and Death changed to reflect the current state of agricultural technology. . . . The hourglass or sandglass, an invention of the fourteenth century, was first, to our knowledge, added to the iconography of time in the illustrations of Petrarch's Triumphs (fifteenth century). . . [T]he hourglass was particularly suitable for Father Time because the sand running out symbolizes the finite duration of life. As the pendulum clock became popular during the horological revolution of 1660-1760, clocks were sometimes depicted with Father Time. The uninterrupted flow of clock time and the image of the snake biting its own tail . . . were not entirely appropriate symbols for the allegory of finite time. Thus the pendulum clock, despite its technological superiority over the hourglass, did not succeed in supplanting it in the iconography of Father Time. Samuel L. Macey, 'Father Time' in Samuel L. Macey ed., Encyclopedia of Time Garland Publishing Inc. New York & London 1994 pp. 208 - 212
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Original Spelling and notes on the text An den Tod Tod, du Schrecken der Natur! Immer rieselt deine Uhr; Die geschwungne Sense blinkt, Gras und Halm und Blume sinkt. Mähe nicht ohn' Unterschied Dieses Blümchen, das erst blüht; Dieses Röschen, erst halb roth; Sey barmherzig, lieber Tod! Nimm den holden Knaben nicht, Der voll Unschuld im Gesicht Mit der Brust der Mutter spielt, Und sein erstes Leben fühlt. Und den Jüngling schone mir, Der am fühlenden Klavier Goldne Saiten wiegt und schwingt, Und ein Lied von Liebe singt. Sieh, dort steht ein deutscher Held In Kolumbens neuer Welt, Der des Wilden Axt nicht scheut: Tod! ach friste seine Zeit! Schon' den Dichter, dessen Kraft, Wie sein Schöpfer, Welten schafft, Der in seinem Bildungskreis Alles fromm zu machen weiß. Tödte nicht die junge Braut, Schön für ihren Mann gebaut, Die, wie Sulamit1 gestimmt, Liebe giebt und Liebe nimmt. Nicht den Frommen in dem Land, Dessen hochgehobne Hand, Betend Gottes Himmel stützt, Wenn er Rache niederblitzt. Auch den Sünder tödte nicht; Schreck ihn nur mit dem Gericht, Daß er bang zusammenfährt, Busse weint und sich bekehrt. In der Fürsten goldnem Saal, Lieber Tod, bist du zur Qual; Schone sie, bis sie vom Wind Eitler Größ' gesättigt sind. Keinen Reichen tödte du; Den Gesunden laß in Ruh! Triffst du gute Leute an, So verlängre ihre Bahn. Aber mußt du tödten, Tod! Ach! so thu's, wo dir die Noth Aus zerfreßnen Augen winkt, Und in Staub des Kerkers sinkt. Wo mit jedem Morgen: Tod! Wo mit jedem Abend: Tod! Tod! um Mitternacht erschallt, Daß die Schauerzelle hallt. Tod, wann kommst du? Meine Lust! Ziehst den Dolch aus meiner Brust; Streifst die Fessel von der Hand, Ach! wann deckst du mich mit Sand? Diese Todtenstimme rufft Aus so mancher Kerkergruft, Wo der Gram verzweiflungsvoll Ohne Hoffnung schmachten soll. Komm2, o Tod! wenn dirs gefällt, Hol Gefangne aus der Welt; Komm, vollende meine3 Noth; Sey barmherzig, lieber Tod! 1 Sulamith is the name of the beloved in the Song of Songs 2 Schubert changed the original 'Drum' (Therefore) to 'Komm' (Come) 3 Schubert changed the original 'ihre' (their) to 'meine' (my)
Confirmed by Peter Rastl with Schubert’s probable source, Chr. Daniel Friedrich Schubarts Gedichte aus dem Kerker. Mit allerhöchst-gnädist Kaiserl. Privilegio. Carlsruhe, bey Christian Gottlieb Schmieder 1785, pages 195-197; with Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubarts sämtliche Gedichte. Von ihm selbst herausgegeben. Zweiter Band. Stuttgart, in der Buchdruckerei der Herzoglichen Hohen Carlsschule, 1786, pages 154-157; and with Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart’s Gedichte. Herausgegeben von seinem Sohne Ludwig Schubart. Erster Theil. Frankfurt am Main 1802, bey J. C. Hermann, pages 262-265.
To see an early edition of the text, go to page 195 [211 von 324] here: http://digital.onb.ac.at/OnbViewer/viewer.faces?doc=ABO_%2BZ200860409