Frost and ice

Northern, Napoleon's retreat from Moscow 1812 (painting 1851)
Northern, Napoleon's retreat from Moscow 1812 (painting 1851)

Dieses Zagen, dieses Sehnen,
Das die Brust vergeblich schwellt,
Diese Seufzer, diese Tränen,
Die der Stolz gefangen hält,
Dieses schmerzlich eitle Ringen,
Dieses Kämpfen ohne Kraft,
Ohne Hoffnung und Vollbringen,
Hat mein bestes Mark erschlafft.
 
Lieber wecke rasch und mutig,
Schlachtruf, den entschlafnen Sinn!
Lange träumt' ich, lange ruht' ich,
Gab der Kette lang mich hin.
Hier ist Hölle nicht, noch Himmel,
Weder Frost ist hier, noch Glut,
Auf ins feindliche Getümmel,
Rüstig weiter durch die Flut.
 
Dass noch einmal Wunsch und Wagen,
Zorn und Liebe, Wohl und Weh
Ihre Wellen um mich schlagen
Auf des Lebens wilder See,
Und ich kühn im tapfern Streite
Mit dem Strom, der mich entrafft,
Selber meinen Nachen leite,
Freudig in geprüfter Kraft.

This hesitation, this longing,
Which has been pointlessly swelling my breast,
These sighs, these tears,
Which are held captive by pride,
This painful useless wrestling,
This battling without power,
Without hope or achievement,
Has drained the marrow of my being.

Better to wake up, swift and courageous,
With a battle cry rousing my sleeping mind!
I have been dreaming for a long time, I have been resting for a long time,
For a long time I allowed myself to be chained up;
Here is neither hell nor heaven,
There is neither frost nor flame here!
Up into the enemy turmoil,
Confidently pressing on through the flood!

Let them come again - desire and daring,
Rage and love, ecstasy and misery -
Let their waves beat around me
On the savage sea of life;
And I shall be bold in the courageous struggle
With the stream that is engulfing me,
I shall guide my boat myself
Joyfully using my well-tested strength.

Ernst Schulze, Lebensmut	D 883

There is neither frost nor flame, neither rage nor love, neither ecstasy nor misery. That is Schulze’s complaint in this entry for 1st April 1815 in his Poetic Diary. These extremes are clearly important to bipolar personalities such as him, who tend to find moderation and balance disorienting and enervating.

Even less tormented writers use the contrast of frost and intense heat to commend the ability of admirable human beings to withstand extremes. When Schubart saw the funeral procession of a soldier from his prison cell he praised his obedience and his willingness to serve in all weathers:

Du standst in grauser Mitternacht, 
In Frost und Hize auf der Wacht; 
Ertrugst so standhaft manche Not   
     Und danktest Gott 
Für Wasser und für's liebe Brot.  

In the fearsome midst of the night you stood
Guard in frost and sweltering heat;
You so steadfastly bore various hardships
And you gave thanks to God
For water and for our beloved bread.

Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart, Grablied auf einen Soldaten	D 454

As with Schulze, this is a matter of either / or: either frost or heat. Throughout Winterreise, too, the poet uses the idea of ice and frost primarily in the context of contrasts. Frozen tear drops are at the same time both ice and scalding hot (Gefrorne Tränen D 911/3; Erstarrung D 911/4). The narrator’s feet burn even though he is walking over ice (Rückblick D 911/8). The frozen surface of the river hides the seething, flowing torrent below (Auf dem Flusse D 911/7); a warm house is hidden behind ice and darkness (Täuschung D 911/19). In each of these poems the central metaphor only works because of the contrast: the traveller is both seething and numb, emotionally and spiritually both on fire and frozen. He is embodied in the final poem of the cycle, as a busker sings along, barefoot on the ice:

Drüben hinterm Dorfe
Steht ein Leiermann,
Und mit starren Fingern
Dreht er, was er kann,

Barfuß auf dem Eise
Wankt er hin und her,
Und sein kleiner Teller
Bleibt ihm immer leer.

Keiner mag ihn hören,
Keiner sieht ihn an,
Und die Hunde knurren
Um den alten Mann,

Und er lässt es gehen
Alles, wie es will,
Dreht, und seine Leier
Steht ihm nimmer still.

Wunderlicher Alter, 
Soll ich mit dir gehn?
Willst zu meinen Liedern
Deine Leier drehn?

Up there behind the village
Stands a busker,
And with stiff fingers
He turns the hurdy-gurdy as well as he can.

Barefoot on the ice
He sways back and forth;
And his little plate
Is always empty for him.

Nobody wants to listen to him,
Nobody looks at him;
And the dogs growl
Around the old man.

And he lets it happen
He lets everything happen as it will,
He turns the crank and his hurdy-gurdy
Is never silent for him.

Strange old man,
Shall I go with you?
Are you prepared to accompany my songs
By turning the crank on your hurdy-gurdy?

Müller, Der Leiermann	D 911/24

☙

Descendant of: 

WATER   Inanimate nature  


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