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Franz Schubert's "Winterreise" (The Winter Journey) in the Bavarian National Museum, Munich from February 6, 2025. Texts by Wilhelm Müller. Joel Frederiksen – Bass / Lukas Sehr – Fortepiano (Original from Louis Dulcken, Munich 1815 on loan from the Greifenberger Institute) Based on texts by Wilhelm Müller, Franz Schubert completed the monumental song cycle "Die Winterreise" (Op. 89) in the fall of 1827, one year before his death. Schubert was particularly proud of these 24 songs and wrote to his friend and fellow composer Josef von Spaun: "I will sing you a cycle of haunting songs. I am eager to see what you have to say about them. They have affected me more deeply than any other songs ever have." Spaun reported: "He now sang us through the whole of 'Winterreise' with an impassioned voice. We were completely taken aback by their sombre mood." The bleakness and desolation of the landscape sung about by the traveler, who tells of happy days in a summer of love and then of lost love, the barren trees, the snow, the dogs chasing him out of the village, the crows perched in the trees, the organ grinder playing his ghostly melody in a swirl of snow, left them perplexed. Der Lindenbaum (Wilhelm Müller) Am Brunnen vor dem Tore, Da steht ein Lindenbaum, Ich träumt' in seinem Schatten So manchen süssen Traum; Ich schnitt in seine Rinde So manches liebe Wort, Es zog in Freud' und Leide Zu ihm mich immer fort. Ich musst' auch heute wandern Vorbei in tiefer Nacht, Da hab' ich noch im Dunkeln Die Augen zugemacht. Und seine Zweige rauschten, Als riefen sie mir zu: Komm her zu mir, Geselle, Hier find'st du deine Ruh'. Die kalten Winde bliesen Mir grad' in's Angesicht, Der Hut flog mir vom Kopfe, Ich wendete mich nicht. Nun bin ich manche Stunde Entfernt von jenem Ort, Und immer hör' ich's rauschen: Du fändest Ruhe dort. The Linden Tree English translation © Richard Wigmore By the well, before the gate, stands a linden tree; in its shade I dreamt many a sweet dream. In its bark I carved many a word of love; in joy and sorrow I was ever drawn to it. Today, too, I had to walk past it at dead of night; even in the darkness I closed my eyes. And its branches rustled as if they were calling to me: ‘Come to me, friend, here you will find rest.’ The cold wind blew straight into my face, my hat flew from my head; I did not turn back. Now I am many hours’ journey from that place; yet I still hear the rustling: ‘There you would find rest.’ Video and Sound: Gregory Wang www.joelfrederiksen.com www.greifenberger-institut.de