Winter

Caspar David Friedrich, Cairn in Snow, 1807
Caspar David Friedrich, Cairn in Snow, 1807


Hie und da ist an den Bäumen
Manches bunte Blatt zu sehn,
Und ich bleibe vor den Bäumen
Oftmals in Gedanken stehn.

Schaue nach dem einen Blatte,
Hänge meine Hoffnung dran,
Spielt der Wind mit meinem Blatte,
Zittr' ich, was ich zittern kann.

Ach, und fällt das Blatt zu Boden,
Fällt mit ihm die Hoffnung ab,
Fall ich selber mit zu Boden,
Wein auf meiner Hoffnung Grab.

On the trees here and there
A few bright leaves can still be seen,
And I remain in front of the trees 
Standing there in thought very often.

I watch a single leaf,
As if my hope depended upon it;
If the wind plays with my leaf,
I tremble as much as I possibly can.

Alas, and if the leaf falls to the ground,
My hope falls down along with it,
I myself fall with it down to the ground,
I am weeping on the grave of my hope.

Müller, 		Letzte Hoffnung (Last hope)  D 911 16

Our attention is drawn to a single leaf on an otherwise bare tree in a bleak landscape. There is a moment of anticipation. How strong is the wind? Is the final leaf going to fall to the ground? Is this the end of fall?

Autumn, like spring, is a process. Things happen. Summer and winter, on the other hand, are more like states of being. They belong to the realm of adjectives rather than verbs. While leaves are sprouting and blossoms are flowering, and as fruit swells and leaves drop, human emotions similarly ebb and flow, rise and fall. What is winter, though? Müller here presents it simply as ‘the grave of my hope’. All of the stirring associated with hope and the forward drive that has driven the seasons (and human life) up until this point simply stops. Freezes. Dead.

Yet, of course, not quite. Hibernation is not death. The world of winter is surely more like a Pause than a Stop. There has to be the capacity for spring to sprout. A famous haiku by Matsuo Basho from the winter of 1692 captures something of this state:


菊の後 大根の外更 になし
kiku no ato/ daikon no hoka/ sara ni nashi 

When the winter chrysanthemums go,
there's nothing to write about
but radishes.

(Translation from Japanese by Robert Hass)

As the last flowers of November fade there is nothing left for the poet but ‘daikon’, radishes. Leaves and petals have come and gone, but the root remains. Colour has faded, but there is still a white radish / root, a source of sustenance and locus of regeneration. Although there is loss and blanching, there is no ‘grave of hope’ here.

Even within Winterreise ‘Letzte Hoffnung’ is an exception. The inner fire might flicker but winter never extinguishes it. Indeed Müller makes clear throughout the narrative that the external imagery of the winter landscape is not a really a symbol or image of the protagonist’s spirit; it is more of a cover that protects what is left of the character’s hopes and dreams. When he comes across a frozen stream, thick enough to walk on and write his name in, he realises that it still has the potential to flow and roar:


Mein Herz, in diesem Bache
Erkennst du nun dein Bild? -
Ob's unter seiner Rinde
Wohl auch so reißend schwillt?

My heart, in this stream
Do you recognise an image of yourself?
Under its crust is there
A similar tumultuous swelling?

Müller,		Auf dem Flusse (On the river)	D 911 7

In Frühlingstraum the narrator wakes up to the agonising realisation that the colourful flowers, the green meadows and the glorious birdsong he had just been enjoying were nothing but a dream; what winter has to offer, in contrast, is just a pattern of leaves on the frozen window and the crowing and cackling of the hens outside. Yet he does not draw the conclusion that everything is delusion, that all delight is over for him. After he dreams and wakes to reality again he tries to close his eyes a third time. This time he realises that there is still an inner warmth that is protected from the worst of winter. There is hope of another spring.


Die Augen schließ ich wieder,
Noch schlägt das Herz so warm.
Wann grünt ihr Blätter am Fenster,
Wann halt ich mein Liebchen, im Arm?

I close my eyes again,
My heart is beating again with the same warmth.
You leaves on the window, when are you going to turn green?
When am I going to hold my beloved in my arms?

Müller,		Frühlingstraum (Dream of spring)	D 911 11

Rückert’s Greisengesang (Old man’s song) riffs on this contrast between the outside world in winter and the inner glow that promises revival in spring. His white hair, like the snow and ice covering the house, covers warmth indoors and in ‘the chamber of my heart’:


Der Frost hat mir bereifet
Des Hauses Dach;
Doch warm ist's mir geblieben
Im Wohngemach.

Der Winter hat die Scheitel
Mir weiß gedeckt;
Doch fließt das Blut, das rote,
Durch's Herzgemach.

Der Jugendflor der Wangen,
Die Rosen sind
Gegangen, all gegangen
Einander nach.

Wo sind sie hingegangen?
In's Herz hinab.
Da blühn sie nach Verlangen,
Wie vor so nach.

The frost has come to me and iced over
The roof of my house;
But it has stayed warm for me
In the living room.

Winter has taken the top of me
And covered it in white.
But my blood, my red blood, is still flowing
Through the chamber of my heart.

The youthful flora of my cheeks,
The roses have
Gone, all gone
One after the other.

Where have they gone off to?
Into the heart.
They blossom there in accordance with their desires
In the same way now that they used to.

Rückert,	Greisengesang		D 778

This is perhaps why many people in central and northern Europe celebrate midwinter around a cosy fire. There is a tradition of bringing outside vegetation (trees, logs, holly, mistletoe) inside the home, symbolising the continuity and revival that are promised despite the worst ravages of winter. Alcohol helps keep everything warm inside.


Das Glas gefüllt!
  Der Nordwind brüllt;
Die Sonn ist niedergesunken!
  Der kalte Bär
  Blinkt Frost daher!
Getrunken, Brüder, getrunken!

  Die Tannen glühn
  Hell im Kamin,
Und knatternd fliegen die Funken!
  Der edle Rhein
  Gab uns den Wein!
Getrunken, Brüder, getrunken!

  Der edle Most
  Verscheucht den Frost
Und zaubert Frühling hernieder:
  Der Trinker sieht
  Den Hain entblüht,
Und Büsche wirbeln ihm Lieder!

Let the glass be filled!
The north wind is roaring;
The sun has set!
The cold bear
Is a sign that frost is on the way!
Let's drink, brothers, let's drink!

The fir tree logs are glowing 
Bright in the fireplace,
And the sparks are flying out with a rattle!
The noble Rhine
Gave us this wine!
Let's drink, brothers, let's drink!

The noble cordial
Scares off the frost,
And conjures spring down to us:
The drinker sees
The grove in blossom
And bushes sing songs to him as they whirl around!

Hölty, Trinklied im Winter (Drinking song in winter)	D 242



Hebt der milde Herbst sein Haupt, 
Mit dem Früchtenkranz geschmücket, 
Aus den Fluren und erblicket 
Rings die Gärten, halb entlaubt: 
O wie laben dann den Gaumen 
Trauben, die mein Weinstock trägt, 
Oder blau bereifte Pflaumen 
Von dem Baum, den ich gepflegt!  

Endlich, wenn der Nordwind stürmt 
Durch die blätterlosen Wälder
Und auf die erstarrten Felder 
Ganze Schneegebirge türmt,
Dann verkürzet am Kamine 
Freundschaft mir die Winternacht, 
Bis, geschmückt mit frischem Grüne, 
Neu der junge Lenz erwacht. 

When gentle autumn raises its head
Adorned with the garland of fruit
From the fields, and looks
Around the gardens that have lost half their leaves,
Oh, how they soothe the palate
Those grapes produced by my own vine-tree,
Or the blue plums touched with hoarfrost
From the tree which I looked after.

Finally, when the north wind blows a storm
Through the leafless forests,
And on the fields that are frozen solid
Whole mountain ranges of snow accumulate,
Then by the hearth
Friendship shortens the winter night for me,
Until, adorned with fresh green
Young Spring wakes up once more.

Pichler, Lied	D 483

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