By water – beaches and general

Constable, Hove beach 1824
Constable, Hove beach 1824

Where the water meets the land, we have a tendency to stop and think. The object of our contemplation is unlikely to be the sea itself, though. We think about what lies beyond, either a lost world or an unknown prospect, ‘the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveller returns.’

Ins stille Land,
Wer leitet uns hinüber? 
Schon wölkt sich uns der Abendhimmel trüber, 
Und immer trümmervoller wird der Strand. 
Wer leitet uns mit sanfter Hand 
Hinüber, ach, hinüber 
Ins stille Land.

Into the quiet land!
Who is going to lead us over there?
The evening sky is already clouding over for us and looking ominous,
And the shore is also becoming increasingly bleak.
Who will take us with a gentle hand and lead us
Over there, oh, over there,
Into the quiet land?

Salis-Seewis, Lied	D 403

In two of Schubert’s early ballads towers (or the ruins of towers) on the sea shore recall the tragic deaths of earlier inhabitants (maidens in distress who failed to get liberated), Matthisson, Romanze D 114, Kenner, Ballade D 134. In two other early settings the poet sits by water and explicitly remembers individuals who died young: 21 year old Jakob Friedrich Rosenfeld (d. 1782, Matthisson, Erinnerung 1793 D 101) and Leopold von Braunschweig-Wolfenbütel (d. 1785, Mayrhofer, Am See D 124).

Johann Mayrhofer mined the classics for images of exiled figures looking across the ocean experiencing an agonising homesickness that becomes indistinguishable from a death wish. Iphigenia on the shore of Tauris implores Artemis to rescue her again:

Blüht denn hier, an Tauris Strande,
Aus dem teuren Vaterlande
Keine Blume, weht kein Hauch
Aus den seligen Gefilden, 
Wo Geschwister mit mir spielten? 
Ach! mein Leben ist ein Rauch.  

Trauernd wank ich in dem Haine, 
Keine Hoffnung nähr ich, keine, 
Meine Heimat zu ersehn; 
Und die See mit hohen Wellen, 
Die an Klippen sich zerschellen, 
Übertäubt mein leises Flehn.  

Göttin, die du mich gerettet, 
An die Wildnis angekettet,
Rette mich zum zweiten Mal.
Gnädig lasse mich den Meinen, 
Lass, o Göttin, mich erscheinen 
In des großen Königs Saal.

So, blossoming here on the shore of Tauris
Is there nothing from my dear fatherland,
No flower, is there no breath stirring
From the blessed fields
Where my sisters used to play with me?
Oh, my life has become a puff of smoke!

I stagger about mournfully in this grove,
Nourishing no hope - none at all - 
That I will ever set eyes on my homeland again;
And the sea with its high waves
Being smashed against the rocks
Is drowning out my gentle pleas.

Goddess, you who rescued me
Confining me to this wilderness,
Rescue me a second time;
Be gracious and allow me to return to my people,
Oh goddess, let me appear
In the great hall of the king!

Mayrhofer, Iphigenia  D 573

Attis, on the shore of Asia Minor, looks out over the Dardanelles back to Thrace, where the goddess Cybele had chosen him as one of her priests / servants:

Der Knabe seufzt übers grüne Meer, 
Vom fernenden Ufer kam er her,
Er wünscht sich mächtige Schwingen: 
Die sollten ihn ins heimische Land, 
Woran ihn ewige Sehnsucht mahnt, 
Im rauschenden Fluge bringen.  

O Heimweh! unergründlicher Schmerz, 
Wie folterst du das junge Herz.
Kann Liebe dich nicht verdrängen,
So willst du die Frucht, die herrlich reift, 
Die Gold und flüssiger Purpur streift, 
Mit tödlichem Feuer versengen.

Ich liebe, ich rase, ich hab sie gesehn, 
Die Lüfte durchschnitt sie im Sturmeswehn 
Auf löwengezogenem Wagen.
Ich musste flehen, o nimm mich mit -
Mein Leben ist düster und abgeblüht.
Wirst du meine Bitte versagen?  

Sie schaute mit gütigem Lächeln zurück,
Nach Thrazien zog uns das Löwengespann, 
Da dien ich als Priester ihr eigen,
Den Rasenden kränzt ein seliges Glück,
Der Aufgewachte schaudert zurück,
Kein Gott will sich hülfreich erzeigen.  

Dort hinter den Bergen, im scheidenden Strahl 
Des Abends entschlummert mein väterlich Tal, 
O wär ich jenseits der Wellen,
Seufzet der Knabe, doch Zimbelgetön 
Verkündet die Göttin, er stürzt von Höhn 
In Gründe und waldige Stellen.

The lad sighs looking out over the green sea,
He came here from a distant shore.
He would like to have powerful wings,
Which would take him back to his native country
(Which an eternal longing reminds him of),
Carrying him off on a swirling flight.

"Oh homesickness! unfathomable agony,
How you are tormenting this young heart;
Can love not dispel you?
So do you want this fruit that ripens so magnificently,
This fruit striped with gold and flowing crimson,
Do you want to scorch it with deadly fire?

I love, I go into ecstasies, I have seen her,
She cut through the air in a whirling storm
On a chariot pulled by lions,
I had to plead; Oh, take me with you!
My life is dismal and wilted;
Are you going to deny my request?

She looked back with a kind smile;
The lion-cart brought us to Thrace,
Where I have been serving as a priest, dedicated to her." 
In his ecstasy he is wreathed with a blissful happiness
But when he wakes up he shudders and recoils -
No god is going to appear and offer help.

"Over there, behind the mountains, in the departing rays
Of the evening, my paternal valley is falling asleep;
Oh, if only I were beyond those waves!"
The lad sighs, but the sound of cymbals
Proclaims the arrival of the goddess; he plunges from the heights
Down to earth and into a forested area.

Mayrhofer, Atys  D 585

Ultimately, we all have to leave the shore behind us and set off for what Salis-Seewis called ‘the quiet land’.

Der Nachen dröhnt, Zypressen flüstern,
Horch, Geister reden schaurig drein,
Bald werd ich am Gestad, dem düstern, 
Weit von der schönen Erde sein.  

Da leuchten Sonne nicht, noch Sterne, 
Da tönt kein Lied, da ist kein Freund. 
Empfang die letzte Träne, o Ferne! 
Die dieses müde Auge weint.  

Schon schau ich die blassen Danaiden, 
Den fluchbeladnen Tantalus,
Es murmelt todesschwangern Frieden, 
Vergessenheit, dein alter Fluss.  

Vergessen nenn ich zwiefach Sterben.
Was ich mit höchster Kraft gewann, 
Verlieren, wieder es erwerben!
Wann enden diese Qualen, wann?

The boat is creaking, cypress trees are whispering -
Listen, there are also spirits making bloodcurdling speeches;
I shall soon be on that dismal shore,
Where I shall be far away from the beautiful Earth.

Over there neither the sun nor the stars shed any light,
No song can be heard there, there is no friend there.
Distance, receive the last tear
That this tired eye will ever shed.

I can already behold the pale Danaids
And Tantalus, weighed down with curses;
Oblivion is murmuring a peace that is pregnant with death,
[Oblivion] - your ancient river Lethe.

I consider oblivion to be a double death:
What I obtained using the highest skill
Has to be lost - and it has to be re-acquired - 
When are these torments going to end? When?

Mayrhofer, Fahrt zum Hades	D 526

☙

Descendant of: 

WATER  


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