Karl Klauser

FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT was born in Vienna, January 31, 1797, and died there November 19, 1828. The house in which Schubert was born is now Number 54 in the Nussdorfer Strasse, and the fact is recorded upon a marble tablet over the door. His immediate ancestry were peasants. His father and uncle came from Moravia to Vienna, and were schoolmasters there for many years. His mother, Elizabeth Fitz, before her marriage, was in domestic service as a cook. After her death in 1812 the elder Schubert married Anna KlayenbÖk. By his first marriage he had fourteen children, of whom Franz was the thirteenth; by the second marriage there were five children, two of whom were living about 1880. The step-mother was an excellent mother to Franz. Two of his elder brothers, Ignaz and Ferdinand, lived and died as schoolmasters, like their father. It seems to have been an admirable family; its members, so far as we know, were noted for conscientious industry and integrity, and were affectionately devoted to one another. It is clear that there was a love for music in the family, though we have few details on this point. Ignaz and Ferdinand were taught the violin by their father. The little Franz began of himself to pick out melodic themes on an old piano much the worse for wear, and thought it a rare treat when a friendly joiner's apprentice used now and then to take him to a piano shop, where he was allowed to try his infant hands upon new and fine instruments. At the age of seven he began to study the violin with his father, and the piano with his brother Ignaz, then aged nineteen; but in a very short time he had got quite beyond these teachers, and was sent to the parish choir-master, Michael Holzer, for instruction in violin, piano, organ, and thorough-bass, as well as in singing. But the astounded Holzer soon found, as he said long afterward, "whenever I wished to teach him anything fresh, he always knew it already." Holzer was fond of giving him themes on which to extemporize, and used to exclaim with rapture that the little fellow "had harmony at his fingers' ends."

Instances of precocity among musicians of genius are by no means rare. But for precocity of the highest order, as well as for spontaneous exuberance of musical originality, Schubert has probably been equalled by none save Mozart. The world is familiar with the stories of Mozart found by his father in the act of scrawling a piano concerto at four years of age, and of his composing a symphony for full orchestra at eight. A piano sonata in D major for four hands, which he wrote in his ninth year, is still very commonly played, and is astonishing for its maturity of thought and its complete mastery of the sonata form. There is no evidence of the beginning of such work on Schubert's part at such an early age. His fantasia for four hands was written when he was thirteen years old, and his first recorded song, "Hagar's Lament," in the following year; but there is reason for believing that he had before that time composed songs, pieces for piano, and string quartettes. Before completing his eleventh year he had come to be leading soprano singer and violin player in the choir at the parish church of Lichtenthal, in Vienna. The next year he obtained a situation as chorister in the Emperor's Chapel, and became a pupil in the Imperial school known as the "Convict," a name derived not from convincere, but from convivere, and implying that the members or "convictors" were "messmates." It was but scant conviviality that was allowed by the ignorant parsimony with which that somewhat famous institution was managed. Those poor growing boys, with the wolfish appetites belonging to their time of life, had but two wretched meals daily and more than eight hours apart, while in the winter season their benumbed fingers shrank from contact with the ice-like key-boards. How often some promising lad may have succumbed to such a regimen, while his death was piously ascribed to Providence, we are not informed. That the effect upon Schubert's constitution was deleterious may readily be believed. In one of the earliest of his letters that have been preserved, dated November 24, 1812, we find him beseeching his brother for a few kreutzers wherewith to get now and then a roll or some apples to keep off starvation during the long exercises in the freezing schoolroom.

In the Convict more or less instruction was given in history and mathematics, French and Italian, drawing and writing. In such branches as he studied, Schubert seems to have done fairly well, but as he went on the tendency grew upon him to neglect everything else for the sake of music. Instrumental music was elaborately studied, and symphonies and overtures of Haydn, Mozart, and others were diligently practised by an orchestra of boys, in which Schubert distinguished himself from the first. Soon after his arrival in the school, the conductor of this orchestra—a big boy, named Joseph von Spaun, afterward Baron and Member of the Imperial Council, and well known as an amateur musician—remarked how finely "the little fellow in spectacles" played; from which we may infer that Schubert's near-sightedness dated from his childhood. After a while the little fellow himself became first violin and often served as conductor. A warm friendship grew up between Schubert and Spaun, who presently discovered that the shy boy of twelve was already possessed by an unappeasable rage for composition. His head was brimming over with melodious thoughts, with which he would cover every scrap of music paper that he could get hold of. But either the Convict was niggardly in its supply of writing materials no less than of food and fuel, or else the needs of the new-comer were such as had never before been heard of; for he could not get enough paper on which to jot down the daily flow of musical ideas, nor was his scanty stock of copper coins sufficient to procure sheets enough to meet his wants. Having made this discovery, the kindly Spaun determined that his little friend should no longer suffer from this kind of privation; and from that time forth Schubert's consumption of music paper was astonishing. In April, 1810, he wrote the four-hand fantasia for piano, probably the earliest of his compositions that is still preserved. It fills thirty-two closely written pages, and contains a dozen movements, each ending in a different key from that in which the piece begins. "Hagar's Lament," written in March, 1811, is the earliest of his songs still preserved. Perhaps it ought rather to be called a nondescript vocal piece, or an attempt at a song-cycle; it comprises twelve numbers, with singular and sometimes irrelevant changes of key, and covers twenty-eight pages. In spite of its fragmentary and inorganic character, it bears the unmistakable stamp of genius. From the outset, whatever his faults, Schubert was always free from the fault of which Schiller complains that it fetters so many of us poor mortals: he was never guilty of being commonplace. Whatever came from him was sure to be something that no one else would have thought of, and it was sure to be rich in beauty. In view of this, the spontaneity of his creativeness was almost incredible, and fully justifies the comparison with Mozart. This same year saw the production of two other vocal pieces, a second piano fantasia, a string quartet, and a quintet-overture,—to mention only those that have survived. Doubtless many writings of that early time were neglected and lost. Schubert seldom showed much interest in a work of his own after it was finished, for his attention was absorbed in fresh composition. But he had a methodical habit of dating his works and signing them "Frz. Schubert, mpia," i.e. manu propria; and this habit has been helpful to his biographers in studying the progress of his artistic labors. The list for 1812 is remarkable for this half-starved boy of fifteen, containing as it does an overture for full orchestra, two string quartets, and a sonata for piano, violin, and viola, besides other works for piano and strings.

But the list for 1813 begins to seem portentous. Here comes the first symphony (in D; four movements), an octet for wind instruments, three string quartets, a third piano fantasia, thirty-four minuets, a cantata for his father's birthday, and about thirty other vocal pieces, including canons, terzets, and songs for a single voice. Besides all this he began to set to music Kotzebue's opera "Des Teufels Lustschloss," which he completed in the following year. In looking over the vocal pieces, one observes an almost unbroken succession of about a dozen with words by Schiller; and this illustrates one of Schubert's ways of doing things. When he happened to turn over the leaves of a volume of poetry, verses that pleased him would become straightway clothed in melody; they would sing themselves in his mind, often in all their concrete fullness, with superb accompaniments, noble in rhythm and rich in wondrous harmonies. If paper happened to be within reach the song would at once be written down, and the inspired youth would turn to some other poem, with like results. What in the ordinary reader fond of poetry is simply an emotional reaction of keen indescribable pleasure was in his case a sudden thrill of musical creation. Thus we are told that on a July evening in 1826, after a long walk, the thirsty Schubert strolled into a beer-garden and found a friend sitting at one of the tables with a volume of Shakespeare. After he had laid down the book Schubert picked it up and alighted upon the song in Cymbeline, "Hark, hark, the lark!" The beautiful melody with its accompaniment, as we now have it, instantly flashed upon him and was written down upon some staves hastily drawn across the back of a bill of fare. In like manner, in the course of the same evening, he set to music the drinking song in Antony and Cleopatra, and clothed with fresh immortality the verses "Who is Sylvia" in the Two Gentlemen of Verona. In its matchless perfection the Sylvia song would of itself suffice for a composer's reputation. In such wise would Schubert often look through a book, and come from its hasty perusal with a dozen or more new songs.

SCHUBERT'S BIRTHPLACE IN VIENNA.—From a photograph.

It is in this astonishing spontaneity that Schubert's greatness largely consists. In some elements of artistic perfection he is lacking, and the want may be traced to some of the circumstances of his education. His early teachers were simply overwhelmed by his genius and let him go unguided. Holzer, as we have seen, whenever he wished to teach the boy anything, found that the boy could teach him. So Ruzicka, instructor in thorough-bass at the Convict, simply protested that Schubert must have learned music directly from heaven, and he could do nothing for him. Sir George Grove very properly asks, "If all masters adopted this attitude toward their pupils, what would have become of some of the greatest geniuses?" Schubert certainly suffered from defective knowledge of counterpoint; after coming to maturity he recognized this defect in his education and sought to remedy it by study. Herein he was at a disadvantage compared with his younger contemporary Mendelssohn. Himself a musician of extraordinary precocity and spontaneity, Mendelssohn became thoroughly grounded in counterpoint under one of the best of teachers, Zelter; and in all his works Mendelssohn shows that absolute mastery of form, the lack of which is often noticeable in Schubert, especially in his instrumental works. Upon this point we shall have occasion to make some further comment. There can be little doubt that the worthy Ruzicka would have done well had he given his wonderful pupil a careful training in counterpoint. The heaven-sent music would have lost nothing of its heavenly quality by enlarging its means of expression.

About the first of November, 1813, Schubert left the Convict and studied for awhile in the Normal School of St. Anna, in order to qualify himself for a school-teacher. He escaped conscription by entering his father's parish school, where he served three years as teacher and discharged the monotonous and irksome duties of that position with scrupulous fidelity. He still, however, found time for music. The compositions of the year 1814 show a marked advance in maturity. The most important is the first mass, in F, a work that has been pronounced superior to the first mass of any other composer except Beethoven's mass in C. Then we have the second symphony, in B flat, the overture in Italian style for full orchestra, five string quartets, eleven dances for strings and horns, and twenty-two songs, more than half of them to Matthisson's words. Among the songs "Gretchen am Spinnrade," to Goethe's words, is especially to be noted.

The record for the year 1815 is marvellous:—the third symphony, in D, the second mass, in G, and the third, in B flat, one opera and six operettas, a stabat mater, a salve regina, the string quartet in G minor, four piano sonatas, thirty miscellaneous pieces for the piano, and one hundred and thirty-seven songs! Among the larger of these works the mass in G merits especial notice for its beauty. Among the songs are some of Schubert's most famous,—"HeidenrÖslein," "Rastlose Liebe," the "Wanderer's Nachtlied," the exquisite "NÄhe des Geliebten," the Ossian songs, and the magnificent Erl King. This most dramatic and descriptive of songs was thrown off instantaneously in a fit of wild inspiration. Schubert had just come upon Goethe's ballad, which he had not seen before; he had read it two or three times and was dashing the music upon paper when his friend Spaun came in and found him. It was all done in a few moments, the rushing accompaniment and all; and that same evening it was sung at the Convict before Schubert's friends and devoted admirers, his old teachers and fellow pupils. It was quite customary for Schubert to carry his new compositions there to be tried, and he was wont to find warm sympathy and appreciation. But the Erl King was received rather coldly, as will be hereafter explained.

This year 1816 saw one hundred and thirty-one new compositions by Schubert. Among these were the fourth or "Tragic" symphony, in C minor, the fifth symphony, in B flat, an overture for full orchestra, a concerto for violin and orchestra, a rondo for violin and string orchestra, one string quartet, one string trio, seven pieces of dance music for piano, three sonatinas for piano and violin, and other piano music. There was an unfinished opera, "Die BÜrgschaft," followed by four cantatas; one, called "Prometheus," was the first work composed by Schubert for money; it was written in a single day and the honorarium was one hundred florins in Viennese currency; the occasion was the name-day of a certain Herr Heinrich Watteroth, of Vienna. Another similar but slighter work was composed in honor of Herr Joseph Spendon, chief inspector of schools; a third was for Schubert's father; the fourth was for the occasion of Salieri's jubilee hereafter to be mentioned. Among the sacred compositions was a magnificat for solo and mixed voices with accompaniment of violin, viola, hautboy, bassoon, trumpet, drum, and organ; the duetto "Auguste jam Coelestium" for soprano and tenor voices, accompanied by violins and violoncello, double-bass, bassoon, and hautboy; the "Tantum ergo" for four voices and orchestra; the fragment of a requiem in E flat; the "Salve regina" for four voices and orchestra; and especially the noble "Stabat mater" in F minor, one of the finest of Schubert's earlier contributions to church music. Of this year's songs ninety-nine have been preserved, including the Wanderer, the three songs of the Harper in "Wilhelm Meister," Mignon's "Sehnsucht," and "Kennst du das Land," "Der KÖnig in Thule," and "JÄger's Abendlied." These songs are remarkable for strength, originality, and exquisite beauty. In the Wanderer, and "Wer nie sein Brod mit ThrÄnen ass," we find Schubert at an elevation which he afterward scarcely surpassed.

It was Schubert's custom, from an early age, to have quartet parties at his father's house on Sunday afternoons. When at the Convict he used to go home on Sundays for this purpose. As first arranged, the elder Schubert used to play the 'cello, Ferdinand first violin, Ignaz second, and Franz the viola. In those early days, if a wrong note was heard from the 'cello, young Franz would modestly say, "Father, there must be a mistake somewhere," and the hint was always well received. These Sunday quartets were often joined by friends and neighbors. By degrees the number of violins was increased, a double-bass and sundry wind instruments were added, and the affair grew into an orchestra which could perform Haydn's and Mozart's symphonies. Presently it became necessary to have the performances in a larger house, and in this way two or three moves were made, and the Orchestral Society of Amateurs was organized. Overtures by Cherubini, Spontini, Boieldieu, and MÉhul, and the first and second symphonies of Beethoven were performed. It was for this Society that Schubert wrote his fourth and fifth symphonies and other orchestral works. In the autumn of 1820 the society broke down, as such societies are apt to do, under its own weight. It became necessary to have a large public hall for the meetings, and the expense thus entailed put an end to the pleasant and instructive enterprise. There can be little doubt that it was of much use to Schubert in giving him a chance to hear his own instrumental works performed and criticised. To a young man of his extremely modest and retiring disposition, moreover, the friendships thus formed were of much value.

Schubert was a man to whom friends became devotedly attached. He was faithful and true, a man of thoroughly sound character, disinterested and unselfish, without a particle of envy or jealousy about him. He won affection without demanding it or seeming to need it. He was one of those men whom one naturally and instinctively loves. Among his special friends we have already mentioned Spaun. Toward the end of 1814 he became acquainted with the poet Johann Mayrhofer, about ten years his senior, and the acquaintance ripened into a life-long intimacy. Mayrhofer was a man of eccentric nature, with a tinge of melancholy, possibly an incipient symptom of the insanity which many years afterward drove him to suicide. Perhaps the most interesting feature of his intimacy with Schubert was the powerful influence which the latter's music exercised upon the development of his poetical genius. It was under the spell of Schubert's charm that Mayrhofer's best poems came to blossom; and many of them were set to music by Schubert, among which "Erlasse," "Sehnsucht," "NachtstÜck," "Die zÜrnende Diana," "Der AlpenjÄger," "Der Schiffer," "Am Strome," and "Schlummerlied" deserve especial mention.

Another of Schubert's friends, and the one who probably exerted the most influence upon him, was Franz von Schober. Their acquaintance began at a critical moment. After three years of faithful and conscientious work in school-teaching, Schubert began to find the drudgery of his position intolerable, and in 1816, as a public school of music was about to be opened as an appendage to the normal school at Laybach, near Trieste, he applied for the post of director. To appreciate the situation, we must not fail to note the amount of the director's salary, five hundred Viennese florins, or about one hundred dollars, a year! Such was the coveted income to which the alternative seemed to be for Schubert, in Herr Kreissle's phrase, "an impecunious future." From Salieri and from Spendon recommendations were obtained, such as they were. There was nothing cordial in them, nothing to indicate that Schubert was a person of greater calibre than a certain commonplace Jacob Schaufl who obtained the appointment instead of him. Perhaps, however, they may only have doubted Schubert's capacity for a position of executive responsibility. It was at this juncture that young Schober came upon the scene, a student in comfortable circumstances, about eighteen years of age, who came to Vienna to continue his studies. He had fallen in with some of Schubert's songs a year or two before, and had conceived an enthusiastic admiration for the composer. When he found that the wonderful genius was a boy of about his own age, wearing out his nerves in a school room, and yet turning off divine music by the ream, he made up his mind to interpose. He could at least offer a home, and he persuaded Schubert to come and occupy his rooms with him. There Schubert began to give music lessons, but his earnings do not seem to have been considerable or constant. With Schober he remained a chum for some time, until the need of room for Schober's brother, a captain of hussars, led to a temporary change. From 1819 to 1821 Schubert had rooms with his friend Mayrhofer. After 1821 he lived nearly all the time with Schober until within a few weeks of his death. Their acquaintances were in the main a set of fine, cultivated young men who felt strong affection and respect for the inspired musician. Among Schubert's songs we find several set to Schober's words, among which we may mention "Pax vobiscum" and "Du holde Kunst, in wieviel grauen Stunden."

The third of the friends whose names are inseparably associated with Schubert was not one of the circle of young men just referred to, but a much older person. Johann Michael Vogl was nearly thirty years older than Schubert. In his youth he had had some monastic training and had afterward studied law and practised at the bar, but his rich baritone voice and his love for music led him in time to become a public singer, and for eight-and-twenty years he was a member of the German Opera Company. In an epoch notable for its great dramatic singers he was rated high, not so much for his vocal method as for the native quality of his voice and his intelligent and sympathetic rendering of his parts. He was a learned man, widely read in philosophy and theology, with a deeply religious nature and an intense feeling for music,—not a bad sort of man to sing Schubert's songs. It was in 1817 that Vogl first became aware of these treasures. Schober pestered him to come and see his wonderful friend and try some of his songs, but it was not the first time that this veteran had heard of wonderful young men, and he did not want to be bored. After a while, however, he called one evening, hummed through half a dozen songs—among them "Ganymed" and "Des SchÄfer's Klage"—and became more and more interested. "Well, young man," he observed, on taking his leave, "there is stuff in you, but you squander your fine thoughts instead of making the most of them." But the more Vogl thought about the songs the more they loomed up in his memory as strangely and wondrously beautiful. He called again at the young composer's room, uninvited, found more and more music which riveted his attention, and it was not long before that house became one of his haunts. It was this intelligent and highly cultivated singer who first made Schubert known beyond the limited circle of his early friends and school-mates. People in the fashionable society of Vienna made their first acquaintance with the Wanderer and the Erl King as sung by Vogl's rich voice and in his noble style, with Schubert himself at the piano. Presently this furnished a new career for Vogl. In 1821 circumstances led to the discontinuance of his work at the Opera House, and he then began giving concerts, in which German Lieder were sung, and those of Schubert occupied a foremost place. In 1825 the two friends made a little concert tour together in the Salzburg country and Upper Austria. By that time the new songs were becoming famous, though one serious obstacle to the wide diffusion of their popularity was the want of singers able to grapple with their technical difficulties and to express their poetical sentiment in an artistic manner. Operatic quips and cranks and wanton flourishes would by no means answer the purpose. Old conventional methods were of no use. A passage from Vogl's diary is worth quoting in this connection for the glimpse it gives us of his fine artistic intelligence:—"Nothing shows so plainly the want of a good school of singing as Schubert's songs. Otherwise, what an enormous and universal effect must have been produced throughout the world, wherever the German language is understood, by these truly divine inspirations, these utterances of a musical clairvoyance! How many would have comprehended, probably for the first time, the meaning of such expressions as 'speech and poetry in music,' 'words in harmony,' 'ideas clothed in music,' etc., and would have learned that the finest poems of our greatest poets may be enhanced and even transcended when translated into musical language! Numberless examples may be named, but I will mention only the Erl King, Gretchen am Spinnrade, Schwager Kronos, the Mignon and Harper's songs, Schiller's Sehnsucht, Der Pilgrim, and Die BÜrgschaft."

Bauernfeld. Schubert. Kupelwieser. Beethoven. Betty FrÖhlich. Mayrhofer. Schwind. Spaun. Vogl. Grillparzer.
Josephine FrÖhlich. Kathi FrÖhlich.

SCHUBERT AND HIS FRIENDS.

Reproduced from photograph of painting which does not represent any historical scene, as Beethoven and Schubert never met amid such surroundings.
This grouping of Schubert's friends is made by poetical license.

No subsequent year of Schubert's life witnessed so great a number of compositions as 1816. For the next year eighty-six compositions are given in Sir George Grove's list. Of these fifty-two are songs, including many of those set to Mayrhofer's words. The two songs to Schober's words, above mentioned, came in this year. Special mention should also be made of the "Gruppe aus dem Tartarus," to Schiller's words, and of "Lob der ThrÄnen" and "Die Forelle." "The Pilgrim" and "Ganymede" also belong to this time. Of large compositions for piano there were the sonatas in E minor; B, Op. 147; A minor, Op. 164; F minor; and A flat; besides the sonata in A, Op. 162, for piano and violin. There were also the variations for piano on a theme of HÜttenbrenner's; an adagio and rondo; two scherzos, and seventeen dances for piano; a set of polonaises for violin; and a string trio. The sixth symphony, in C, was written or finished in November, 1817, and performed by the amateur orchestral company above described. There were also three overtures, of which two, written in the Italian style, remind us that 1817 was the year in which Rossini's operas, newly introduced to Vienna, were received with wild enthusiasm. Schubert was altogether too far above Rossini's plane of thought to feel such interest in his work as he felt for the masterpieces of polyphonic composition. But he appreciated highly the Italian's gift of melody, and with the assimilative power which is wont to characterize great genius, he took hints from him which are apparent not only in the two Italian overtures, but perhaps also in the sixth symphony. Or in other words, as all creative work is influenced by its environment, there was a discernible Rossini tinge in the atmosphere which Schubert was for the moment breathing, and it has left its slight traces upon a few of his compositions for that year, as upon the work of less potent creators it left many and deep impressions.

The year 1818 witnessed the beginning of an episode in Schubert's life, quite different in many respects from what had preceded. He was engaged by Count Esterhazy to teach music in his family. There were two daughters, Marie, aged thirteen, and Caroline, aged eleven, and a son aged five. All were musically gifted, and their friend, Baron von SchÖnstein, was a very accomplished singer. The engagement took Schubert to the Count's country home in Hungary for the summer, while the winter season was passed in Vienna. Schubert's intercourse with this amiable and cultivated family was very pleasant, and in the course of it seems to have occurred the nearest approach to a love affair that can be detected in his life. Little Caroline Esterhazy was at the outset not at an age likely to evoke the tender passion. But as time elapsed and she came to be seventeen or eighteen years of age, it has been supposed that Schubert manifested symptoms of having fallen in love with her. The evidence is slight, as evidence is apt to be in such matters, in the absence of anything like an overt declaration. The nearest that Schubert seems ever to have come to such a declaration was once when Caroline in an innocent moment of girlish coquetry asked him why, when he was dedicating so many delightful works to other persons, he had never dedicated anything to her. Schubert is said to have replied, "Why should I? Is not everything that I have ever done dedicated to you already?" This anecdote does not go far as proof. Question and answer might alike have been merely pleasant jesting. Contemporary rumor, in the case of a man so shy and reserved on all matters of deep feeling as Schubert, cannot be expected to tell us much. The general impression about him was that he was almost insensible to the charms of fair women. If this impression is to be taken as true, an interesting question is suggested. How could a man who was never in love have written that immortal Serenade in which all that is sweetest and most sacred in the love of man for woman comes forth like a fresh breath from heaven? Never was voice of love so passionate and so pure. Nowhere has human art ever found more consummate and faultless expression than in this song of songs. It could no more have come from a soul insensible to the passion of love than figs can grow upon thistles. Probably therefore the general impression about Schubert was due in the main to his reticence. We have also to bear in mind that such a nature as his can find in artistic creation a vent for emotional excitement strong enough to craze the ordinary mind. We know how it was with Goethe, how the worst pains of life were healed for him by being thrown off in passionate poetry. This is quite intelligible. It is a special illustration of Shakespeare's injunction:—

This need for expression, felt by every human creature, appears in men of profound and intense interior life as a creative impulse; it is so not only with artists and poets, but in many cases with scholars, philosophers, and scientific discoverers; the relief is found in giving objective form to the thoughts that come welling up from the depths of the spirit. But it is in art that creative expression most becomes in itself an overmastering end, and especially in the two arts that give swiftest and readiest outlet to emotion, in poetry and in music. Hence one of the noblest functions of art, to be the consoler of the troubled soul, to sink its individual sorrows in the contemplation of eternal beauty, to bring weary and doubting humanity into restful communion with the divine source of all its yearnings, in the faith that they have not been given us for naught. If there ever was a soul thus sustained and comforted, it was the pure and earnest soul of Schubert; the stream of song that flowed from him was like the ecstatic but soothing and strengthening prayer of the mediÆval saint. One can see that this shy and sensitive young man, somewhat inclined withal to self-depreciation, would not be quick to avow a love which social conditions at any rate scarcely favored. He was son of a peasant, Caroline Esterhazy was daughter of a count. Such a passion was likely to seek relief in strains of music, as Dante's worship of Beatrice found expression in verse. As the thought of Beatrice was in all that Dante wrote, so the story of Schubert's momentary confession to Caroline that all that he had sung was dedicated to her is in nowise improbable in itself. There is a circumstance which invests it with a considerable degree of probability. Shortly after Schubert's death his beautiful Fantasia in F minor, Op. 103, was published with the inscription, "Dedicated to the Countess Caroline Esterhazy by Franz Schubert," and Sir George Grove rightly infers that the publishers would hardly have ventured upon such a step "unless the manuscript—probably handed to them before his death—had been so inscribed by himself." This is perhaps all that is known concerning the question as to Schubert's love.

At the Esterhazy country-house Schubert seems at first to have felt more at home in the kitchen than in the drawing-room. A letter to Schober, written in September, 1818, says:—"The cook is a pleasant fellow; the ladies' maid is thirty; the housemaid very pretty, and often pays me a visit; the nurse is somewhat ancient; the butler is my rival; the two grooms get on better with the horses than with us. The Count is a little rough; the Countess proud, but not without heart; the young ladies good children." It was not long before Schubert found himself a great favorite with the whole household, from the count down to the grooms. From this time until his death he was always welcome whenever he chose to come, Baron von SchÖnstein, the singer already mentioned, had hitherto sung nothing but Italian music, but he was now converted to the German Lied, and for the rest of his life devoted himself to Schubert's songs, until for his magnificent rendering of them he acquired a fame scarcely second to Vogl.

During the winter seasons in Vienna, Schubert continued to give music lessons in the Esterhazy family, but his home was apt to be in the humble room with Mayrhofer, or afterwards again with Schober. He was as regular with his work of composing music as Anthony Trollope with his novel-writing or Sainte-Beuve with his "Causeries du Lundi." When Ferdinand Hiller was about sixteen years old he made a visit to Vienna and called upon Schubert. "Do you write much?" asked Hiller,—a question which now sounds odd enough, and shows how little knowledge of the great composer there was outside of his own town. "I write every morning," said Schubert, "and as soon as I have finished one thing I begin another." This regularity was simply an outcome of the fact that the fount of inspiration was never dry. It was not because it was work done for much needed money, for the larger part of Schubert's work never brought him any money. It was primarily because singing was as spontaneous with him on first awaking as with a bird; sometimes he could not wait to get up and dress, but seized a sheet of music paper and jotted down his first exuberant thoughts while still in bed. After a piece was finished, he sometimes heard it sung or played, and sometimes did not; in either case it was apt soon to be tucked away in a cupboard drawer and forgotten; there are several anecdotes of his listening to old songs of his own without recognizing them.

After working till two o'clock in the afternoon, Schubert used to dine, and then visit friends, or take a walk, or sit in a cafÉ over his schoppen of wine or beer. At such times, as we have seen, the sight of a poem, or perhaps some interesting incident, would call forth a sudden outburst of song. Some of his noblest masterpieces came from the beer garden. He does not seem to have been in the habit of drinking anything stronger than beer and wine. Of these light beverages he was very fond, and as his head was easily affected, an opinion has found currency that this appetite was a weakness with Schubert,—perhaps his only assignable weakness. The fact, however, that he was always up early and quite fresh for the morning's work, is clear proof that it could not have been a serious weakness. Among friends with whom he was well acquainted he was genial and jovial, and liked to sit and talk; but he habitually entertained a due respect for to-morrow morning.

The compositions for the three years 1818-20 were about a hundred in number. There were some noble church works, the fourth mass in C and the fifth in A flat, a Salve Regina for soprano voice with string orchestra, four hymns by Novalis, the twenty-third Psalm to Moses Mendelssohn's version, and the Easter cantata "Lazarus"; also the operetta "Die ZwillingsbrÜder" and the fragment of an unfinished opera, "Sakuntala"; an overture for orchestra, quartetts, quintets, canzoni, many dances for piano, and many songs.

The year 1821 marked a new era with Schubert; in that year some of his compositions were first published. Some of his friends were determined to have a group of his songs engraved, among them the Erl King which had now often been heard in private concerts. They applied to two or three of the most enterprising music publishers in Vienna, but without success. There was no profit in such publications, said the sagacious men of business. The composer was so obscure that his name would carry no weight; and as for the songs, they were strange affairs, the melodies too difficult for anybody to sing, and the piano accompaniments quite impossible for any one to play! As the publishers thus proved unmanageable, some of Schubert's friends had the Erl King engraved and printed by subscription, and about the same time the song was first heard at Vienna in a public concert, with the accompaniment played by the composer himself. It was in this year, as already observed, that Vogl began giving concerts in which these songs took a prominent place. In the course of a few months seven groups of Schubert's songs were published on commission, and their success was such that publishers were afterward ready to go on at their own risk. Of new compositions this year saw the completion of the beautiful "Gesang der Geister Über den Wassern" for four tenors and four basses, with accompaniment of two violas, two 'cellos, and double-bass. There was also the seventh symphony, for the most part a sketch, but so full of clues that it would not be difficult to complete it according to the original intention. It looks as if the composer had some other work upon his mind at the same time, perhaps the Alfonso and Estrella presently to be mentioned, and could not for the moment wait to fill out all parts of the score, but made very complete indications so as to be sure of recovering his former thoughts on returning to it. Among this year's songs are some that rank very high, as the two Suleikas and the "Geheimes" to Goethe's words, the "Lob der ThrÄnen" and "Sey mir gegrÜsst." All these are outdone, however, by the "FrÜhlingsglaube," written in 1822, to Uhland's words, a song which for artistic perfection is absolutely unsurpassed.

The rapid development of Schubert's maturity in 1822 is exhibited in the two movements of his eighth symphony in B-minor, now commonly called the Unfinished Symphony. It was written for the Musikverein at Gratz, which had lately elected him an honorary member. Why it was presented to the society while still half-finished does not clearly appear. The first two movements were completed and the scherzo partly sketched. It is now more often played and better known than any of his other symphonies except the great tenth, in C major, presently to be mentioned. There is greater conciseness of expression, and in the opinion of some critics, even more grandeur and beauty in the Unfinished Symphony than in the Tenth. Here for the first time in an orchestral work Schubert appears as a completely independent master. In his earlier symphonies, as in Beethoven's first and second, one always feels the dominant influence of Haydn and Mozart. In his sixth symphony, composed in 1817, we begin to see the influence of Beethoven, for whom he was already coming to feel the love and adoration that never ceased to occupy his mind even upon his death-bed. In the Unfinished Symphony he takes a new departure, as Beethoven did in his third or Eroica; but this new departure, while it profits by Beethoven, is peculiarly Schubertian; the composer's individuality is as completely expressed in it as in his songs.

We have already had occasion to mention operas or operettas in the lists of our composer's works from year to year. His insatiable yearning to express himself in music was excited whenever he happened to come across an available dramatic poem, good or bad, and sometimes he was fain to content himself with a wretched libretto. Hitherto his music for the stage had been of much less importance than his other compositions, though it hardly need be said that it abounded in beautiful and interesting conceptions. But the increase of maturity just noticed in his orchestral music was also shown in the production of his first grand opera, "Alfonso and Estrella," in 1822, followed by his second and last such work, "Fierabras," in 1823.

In the autumn of 1821 Schubert and his friend Schober took a bit of vacation among the Styrian Alps, where something suggested a subject for the romantic opera, "Alfonso and Estrella," and Schober wrote a libretto so much better than anything our hero had yet had to work with that it quite made his eyes sparkle. It may be doubted if Don Quixote's housekeeper would have kept back even this libretto from the flames, but of many a musical drama that has solaced the weary mind we may say that it was not made to be analyzed. An opera should be judged not by the element that would instantly evaporate in a logical crucible, but by the opportunities it affords for dramatic situations. In this respect the Schober libretto, though better than Schubert had ever worked with, had its shortcomings; the situations were given, but not wrought up with sufficient dramatic power, so that, in spite of the undeniable dramatic genius of the composer, the general treatment was felt to be more lyric than dramatic. The opera was also regarded as too long, and the accompaniments were pronounced impossible by the orchestras at the Vienna theatres. For these reasons it proved impossible to get it put upon the stage. It was first performed at Weimar in 1854, under Liszt's direction, but was coldly received. At length it was curtailed and simplified by Johann Fuchs, and brought out at Carlsruhe in 1881, and since then it has been performed many times with marked success. The overture, a superb piece of orchestral writing, is often performed at concerts.

This opera was the occasion of a little tiff between Schubert and Weber, who came to Vienna in 1823 to conduct his opera "Euryanthe." On hearing that work performed, Schubert said that along with many beauties in harmony and in dramatic treatment it was wanting in freshness and originality of melody, and was on the whole quite inferior to its predecessor, "Der FreischÜtz." Probably few would dissent from this judgment to-day, but when it was repeated to Weber it naturally irritated him, and he is said to have exclaimed, "The dunce had better learn to do something himself before he presumes to sit in judgment on me." This hasty remark was tattled about until Schubert heard of it, and forthwith, armed with the score of "Alfonso and Estrella," he called upon the famous northern composer, to prove that he had not spoken without knowing how operas ought to be written. After looking through the score Weber ungraciously observed, "You know it is customary for people to drown the first puppies and the first operas!" Poor health was already making Weber irritable, and this remark was only an expiring flicker of peevishness. He did not regard "Alfonso and Estrella" as a puppy opera, but admired it, and afterward tried, though unsuccessfully, to have it performed in Dresden. The relations between the two composers seem to have been friendly. Indeed Schubert never bore malice to anybody, and it was impossible for any one to harbor an unkind feeling toward him.

Of "Fierabras" it need only be said that the libretto was a bad one, the scene was Spain in the days of Carlovingian romance, the score filled one thousand manuscript pages, and the opera was never performed. The romances, entr'actes, choruses, and ballet music, written this year for the drama of "Rosamunde," rank among the composer's most beautiful works, and are often performed as concert-pieces, though the drama itself has been lost.

During part of this year 1823 Schubert was ill and obliged to go to the hospital. Yet besides all this quantity of operatic music, he composed the cycle of twenty songs known as "Die schÖne MÜllerin," to the words of Wilhelm MÜller, containing the exquisite "Wohin?," "Ungeduld," "Trockne Blumen," and others scarcely less beautiful. Some of these were written in the hospital. As if this were not enough, the same year's list contains "Du bist die Ruh," and "Auf dem Wasser zu singen"; as well as the piano sonata in A minor, Op. 143.

The year 1824 was marked chiefly by piano compositions,—two sonatas and an overture for four hands, besides a vast quantity of dance music, and the "Divertissement À l'hongroise," suggested by an air hummed by the kitchen maid at the Esterhazys' country house, where Schubert spent the summer to recruit his health. There was also a string quartet, and the celebrated octet for strings and wood which is now so familiar. This activity in the sonata form seems to have culminated next year in the ninth symphony, which was almost surely finished about August, 1825, but which has quite disappeared from sight. There were three piano sonatas, besides the fragment of a fourth. Of these the sonata in A minor, Op. 42, must probably be pronounced the greatest of Schubert's works for the piano, showing along with its wealth of inventiveness a mastery of form almost as complete as the best of the songs. Among the grand songs of this year must be mentioned "Die junge Nonne," and the group of seven to Scott's "Lady of the Lake," of which the most famous is the "Ave Maria."

Our composer's progress toward perfect achievement in instrumental music is marked in 1826 by the two string quartets in G and D minor. The latter is not only Schubert's greatest work in chamber music, but is hardly surpassed by the work of any other composer in this department. At the same time came the piano sonata in G, Op. 78, of remarkable breadth and grandeur. The Shakespeare songs already mentioned belong to this year.

Among the works of 1827 the most memorable was the second grand cycle of songs to words by Wilhelm MÜller,—the immortal "Winterreise." These jewels of lyric art, what lover of music will fail to know them, so long as art endures? But a more sombre tone prevails in them than the songster had sustained at such length before. The note of unsatisfied longing, of the strange contrast between the glow of aspiration and the chill reality, is most decisively struck in "FrÜhlingstraum." In the last of the cycle, the pathetic "Leiermann," the sadness is only heightened by the indescribably delicate and playful humor which hovers about the phrases. To us it may seem as if these lyrics contained a premonition of the end that was not far off; but probably Schubert did not suspect it. His grandest outburst of creative power was yet to come; he was studying his art more earnestly than ever, and in the true spirit of artist or scholar, as if all eternity lay before him, though the dread summons might come to-morrow; in the sweet words of the old monkish distich:—

Of worldly sources of strength and comfort this great spirit had so few as to put to shame such weaker mortals as complain of the ways of Providence. Of what is called business and its management he was as innocent as a babe in arms. His reticence, his unwillingness to intrude upon others, often prevented his friends from realizing the straits to which he was reduced. There can be little doubt that even at this later period of life he sometimes suffered from cold and hunger, and it has been thought that his death was hastened by such privations. Salaried positions that he might have creditably filled were given to men with more self-assertion. His attempts at the more marketable forms of music, as opera was then deemed to be, failed from various untoward conditions; and he would sometimes sell for the price of a frugal breakfast a song destined to bring wealth to some publisher. The genial musician, Franz Lachner, declares from personal knowledge that half a dozen numbers of the "Winterreise" were written in a single day and sold for a franc apiece! If Schubert had lived longer there would probably have been an improvement in this state of things. The greatness of his posthumous fame is liable to make us forget that his life was ended at an age when the most brilliant men are usually just beginning to win their earliest laurels. From 1822 to 1828 his reputation was increasing rapidly, and before long would have become so great as probably to work some improvement in his affairs. With time the recognition of his genius was to seize the whole musical world as it seized upon Beethoven.

The story of the relations between these two artists is touching. It seems singular enough that Schubert and Beethoven should have lived in the same city for thirty years without meeting more than once until the very end. By his twentieth year, if not before, the feeling of Schubert for the older composer had come to be little short of adoration. But Beethoven was absorbed in work, and stone deaf withal, and not always easy of approach, and his adorer was timid. Sometimes he came into the cafÉ where Schubert was dining and sat down at another table. For a man of the world to get up, step across the room, and open a conversation with the demigod, might seem no very difficult undertaking; for Schubert it was simply impossible. But in 1822 a meeting was at length brought about. His "Variations on a French Air" were published by Diabelli and dedicated to Beethoven, and Diabelli took Schubert with him to the master's house to present the offering in person. Beethoven received the visitors graciously, and paper and pencil for conversation were handed to them as usual, but Schubert was too confused to write a word. Most likely it was Diabelli who handed to Beethoven the Variations and called his attention to the tribute of admiration printed at their head. On looking over the music Beethoven stumbled upon some daring or questionable innovation of style, and in his most kindly manner turned to Schubert to inquire his reason for it, or perhaps to make some mild criticism quite proper from an artist of fifty-two years to one of twenty-five. At this the poor fellow simply lost his head, and with some incoherent exclamation fled into the street. Ah, what chagrin when once safely alone, and the very thing he ought to have said, so neat and telling, popped into his head! But to go back, or to speak to the great man again seemed more than ever impossible.

It was during Beethoven's last illness in 1827 that he first came to know Schubert. Beethoven's friend and biographer Schindler brought him a parcel of Schubert's songs, including the "SchÖne MÜllerin" group, "Die junge Nonne," and others. Beethoven's astonishment and admiration knew no bounds. He studied the songs with most profound interest, declared that their composer was destined to become a great power in the world, and expressed deep regret that he had not known more about him. Scarcely a day passed without his reverting to the subject, and it must of course have been this that led Schubert to visit him twice. On the first occasion there was some affectionate talk between them; on the second the dying man was no longer able to speak, but only made some unintelligible signs, and Schubert went away bowed down with grief. At the funeral he was one of the torch-bearers, and on the way home from the graveyard he stopped with Lachner and another friend at the Mehlgrube tavern, and they drank a glass of wine to the memory of the mighty master who had left them. Then Schubert proposed a second glass to that one of themselves who should be the first to follow. It was to be himself, and very soon.

An instance of the rapidly growing interest in his music was furnished by the success of a private concert which he gave for his own benefit early in 1828. The programme consisted entirely of his own compositions, the audience was large and enthusiastic, and the sum, equivalent to one hundred and sixty dollars, which that evening brought him, must have given him an unwonted sense of wealth. It was his first and last concert of this sort. For creative work this last year of his life was the most wonderful, and indeed it would be difficult to cite from the whole history of music a parallel to it. The one orchestral work was the colossal tenth symphony in C major, which showed so unmistakably upon whose shoulders the mantle of the dead master had fallen, that it used sometimes to be called "Beethoven's tenth symphony." But there is no imitation of Beethoven or any other master in this work; it is as individually and intensely Schubertian as the Erl King. It was first performed in Vienna about a month after its composer's death, but its technical difficulties caused it to lie neglected and forgotten until 1838, when Robert Schumann carried the score to Leipsic and studied it with Mendelssohn; and it was again given to the world, under Mendelssohn's direction, in the following year. Since then it has been one of the best known and most thoroughly loved of all the symphonies written since Beethoven's, and it ranks undoubtedly among the foremost ten or twelve orchestral masterpieces of the world.

Side by side with this symphony sprang into existence the mass in E flat, the most finished and the most sublime of Schubert's masses, and standing, like the symphony, in the foremost rank of all works of its kind. And along with this came the master's first and only oratorio, "Miriam's Song of Triumph," a noble work, in which, however, Schubert only supported the vocal score with an accompaniment for piano; so that it must be regarded as in this sense incomplete. It has often been performed with orchestration by Lachner, but still needs to be completed by some master more capable of entering into the composer's intention.

Outdoing his earlier self in all directions at once, Schubert wrote in this same year his quintet in C major for strings, which among his works in chamber music is equalled only by the D-minor quartet of 1826. And so, too, with his piano music; besides many other works poured forth at this time, we have three superb sonatas, of which the one in B-flat is dated September 28, less than eight weeks before his death. From all his piano works it would be hard to select one fuller of his peculiar poetical charm. Among the sonatas its only peers are the A minor, Op. 42, and the G major, Op. 78.

In some of the songs of this year the genius of the composer reached a height scarcely attained before. Besides a few others, uncounted drops in this ocean of achievement, there were fourteen, not obviously intended as a cycle, but published in a group, soon after Schubert's death, with the publisher's title, "Swan Songs." It is enough to mention that this group contains the "Serenade," "Aufenthalt," and "Am Meer," matchless for intensity of emotion as for artistic perfection of form. Whichever of this group he wrote last was truly his swan song; it is commonly believed to have been the "Taubenpost," dated in October.

During this last year of marvellous creative activity Schubert had suffered frequently from headache and vertigo. Such cerebral excitement entailed an excessive rush of blood to the head. Early in September he moved from his lodgings with Schober to a house which his brother Ferdinand had lately taken. The situation was near the open country and thought to be more favorable for air and exercise. Unfortunately the house was newly-built and damp; very likely the drainage was defective. Schubert evidently had no suspicion of his dangerous condition, until on the last evening of October, while supping with some friends at the Rothen Kreuz inn, having taken some fish from his plate he suddenly threw down his knife and fork, saying that food had become as odious as poison. This somewhat alarmed his friends, but he was as full of plans for future work as if his health had been robust. On November 3, he took a long walk to attend the performance of a Latin requiem composed by his brother Ferdinand, the last music he ever heard. He had lately begun studying the scores of Handel's oratorios, and had thus become impressed with the fact that in counterpoint he had still much to learn. Though greatly fatigued with his walk on November 3, he went next day to see Sechter, a famous teacher of counterpoint, and made arrangements for taking a course of lessons; the text-book and the dates were settled upon. It is doubtful if Schubert ever went out again. The disturbance of the stomach, which prevented him from taking food, continued, and his strength ebbed away. A letter to Schober on the eleventh says that he can barely get from the bed to a chair and back again; he has been reading the Last of the Mohicans, the Spy, the Pilot, and the Pioneer; and if Schober happens to have anything else of Cooper's, or any other interesting book, he would like to have him send it. Something like typhus fever was setting in. After the fourteenth he was confined to his bed, but was still able to correct the proofs of the "Winterreise." On the seventeenth he became delirious. The next day he complained of having been taken to a strange and dreadful room, and when his brother Ferdinand tried to soothe him with the assurance that he was at home, he replied, "No, it cannot be so; Beethoven is not here!" On the next day there passed away one of the sweetest and truest souls that ever looked with human eyes. He was buried in the WÄhring cemetery in a grave as near as possible to that of Beethoven. Upon a monument afterward erected at the head of the grave was inscribed the epitaph, by Franz Grillparzer: "Music has here entombed a rich treasure, but still more glorious hopes. Here lies Franz Schubert, born Jan. 31, 1797, died Nov. 19, 1828, aged 31 years." Much fault has been found with the second clause of this epitaph, and Herr Kreissle does not seem to have quite understood it as it was meant. It was true, as Schumann said of him, "He has done enough, and praised be he who, like Schubert, has striven and accomplished." Nevertheless it was equally true that he was cut off while his powers were rapidly expanding, and at a moment when even greater achievement, though difficult to imagine, would have been no more than a logical consequence of what had gone before.

Schubert's personal appearance was not attractive. He was short and round-shouldered, and in his homely face there was nothing to betray the sacred fire within him save the brightness of the eyes. His character was almost without a flaw. Simplicity, modesty, kindness, truthfulness, and fidelity were his marked attributes. He was utterly free from envy or malice, and not a trace of selfishness appears in anything he ever said or did. His life was devoted, with entire disinterestedness, to the pursuit of the noblest aims of art.

Concerning his position in the history of music there is but little question, and the subject admits of a brief statement. The man who died in his thirty-second year, leaving behind him at least eleven hundred and thirty-one such compositions, must surely be called the most prolific of composers, even after allowing for the fact that more than six hundred of these works were songs, and therefore brief. We may safely say, too, that for creative spontaneity such a man can never have been surpassed, perhaps scarcely ever have been equalled. This spontaneous genius found its first and most characteristic expression in vocal song, and it is commonly if not universally agreed that Schubert was the greatest composer of songs that ever lived. In this department of music he marks an era. In him the German Lied reached a plane of development to which it had not attained before him.

The German Lied (i.e. Lay) was originally a Volkslied (i.e. Folk's-lay) or popular melody. The merit of popular melody lies largely in its spontaneity. In German popular melody, from the oldest times, the merit of beauty has been added to that of spontaneity, inasmuch as the Germans, like the Slavs, are naturally musical in a sense in which English-speaking people are not. No German-speaking people would tolerate for a national air such a tune as Yankee Doodle. In the plainest German folk-song may be found spontaneous simplicity without vulgarity. Hence the Volkslied has been available as a source of melodic suggestiveness to German composers. It is one such chief source, the Gregorian chant being the other. To the presence of this folk-song element we may largely ascribe the far higher poetic quality of German classical music as compared with the more prosaic musical declamation of the modern French and Italians.

But as the earlier German composers subjected the Volkslied to elaborate contrapuntal treatment, while on the one hand they added to its range and depth of expression, on the other hand they deprived it to some extent of its indescribable charm. Artistic music began to be divorced from the Volkslied, and with the advance of musical education the latter seemed to be falling into decay. But with the revival of German literature which dates from Lessing, there began a new development of national spirit among Germans, of which we have seen the culmination in our own time. One of the early symptoms was the introduction of the Volkslied element into poetry by Herder and Goethe. About the same time we find the same element appearing in the thematic treatment of symphonies, sonatas, and string quartets by Haydn and Mozart, especially in the adagios. In Mozart's songs there is a great development in dramatic treatment, as for example, in "UnglÜckliche Liebe." The nearest approach made by Mozart to the kind of song afterward developed by Schubert was probably in "Das Veilchen," the only one of his songs set to Goethe's words. As Mozart was pre-eminently a musical dramatist, so was Beethoven first and foremost a symphonist; and in his songs the most noticeable new feature is the enrichment of the harmonies and the profound increase of significance in the instrumental accompaniments. We see this in the magnificent "Adelaide," which, however, resembles an aria rather than a genuine Lied. In some parts of Beethoven's exquisite cycle, "An die ferne Geliebte," he comes nearer to the Schubertian form of song.

Now in Schubert all the elements of intensity, power, and poetical depth in song are found united as never before in such perfection or on such a scale. The breadth and vigor of dramatic treatment, the profound and subtle harmonic changes, the accumulation of effect by the rhythm and sometimes by the independent melodic themes of the accompaniment, are all to be found in his songs; and at the same time the perfect spontaneity and the indescribable poetical fragrance of the Volkslied are fully preserved. Utterances that spring from the depth of the human soul are clothed in the highest forms of art without losing their naivetÉ. We must thus rank Schubert among the most consummate masters of expression the world has ever seen. His songs represent the high-water mark of human achievement in one direction, as Beethoven's symphonies represent it in another. All subsequent composers, beginning with Mendelssohn and Schumann, have been pupils of Schubert in song-writing, but no one has yet equalled the master. Mendelssohn's songs, while perfect in form and bewitching for grace, are far inferior to Schubert's in intensity of passion. On the other hand Schumann has written some songs—such as "FrÜhlingsnacht," "Ich grolle nicht," the "Frauenliebe" cycle, and others—which for concentrated fire, as well as for original and magnificent harmonies—almost surpass those of Schubert; but in wealth of imagination, in spontaneity and variety, he remains distinctly inferior to his master.

In thus carrying the Lied to the highest point of development it has yet reached, Schubert became one of the chief sources of inspiration for modern music in all its departments. The influence of his conception of the Lied is to be seen in all his most highly developed and characteristic writing for piano, for orchestra, and for chorus. In his earlier symphonies, quartets, and sonatas he was strongly influenced by his study of Mozart, and his own individuality is by no means so distinctly asserted as in his songs. If the sonata form of expression were as easily caught as the simple song form, this need not have been the case. After Schubert had mastered the sonata form so that it became for him as easy a vehicle of spontaneous expression as the Lied, his sonatas and symphonies became strongly characteristic and replete with originality. This is exemplified in his eighth and tenth symphonies, in his piano sonatas, Op. 42 and Op. 78, and in his later chamber music. In such compositions he simply worked within the forms perfected by Beethoven and did nothing to extend them. But his musical individuality, saturated with the Lied, impressed upon these noble works features that have influenced all later instrumental music, imparting to it a more romantic character. As Mr. Paine observes, "we are constantly surprised by the sudden and abrupt modulations, rhythmical effects of melody and accompaniment which we call Schubert's that give variety and life to his movements. The Unfinished Symphony in B minor is perhaps the most noteworthy in these respects; it is the epitome of his genius, and well typifies his own unfinished but perfect life."

In similar wise, in his smaller works for piano—his impromptus, "moments musicals," dances, marches, variations, etc.—we see the marked influence of the Lied. The impromptu in G major, Op. 90, for example, is a "song without words." In piano music not only Mendelssohn and Schumann, but also Chopin, drew copious inspiration from Schubert, who thus stands as one of the principal founders of the modern imaginative and romantic schools.

We have seen that the Erl King was at first coldly received. It marked a new departure in the dramatic treatment of musical themes; the ears of the listeners were not taught to expect such treatment; they were disturbed by the intensity of passion and bewildered by the boldness of the harmonies. In particular at the superb discord where the child cries that the Erl King is seizing him—where the G flat of the voice comes against the rushing triplets on F natural in octaves resting upon E flat in the bass—much doubt was expressed, and the worthy Ruzicka's ingenuity was somewhat taxed to explain and justify such a combination. But indeed since the beginning of this century the modern ear has received a remarkable education in appreciating the use and beauty of dissonances. Schubert's treatment of the Erl King ballad was at first disapproved by Goethe himself; as he said, "it did not agree with his view of the subject." But Goethe's opinions on musical matters were of small value; the range of his appreciativeness was in this direction narrowly limited. He was fond of the worthy old Zelter, who set to music more than a hundred of his songs. Of these Goethe said "he could scarcely have believed music capable of producing such delicious tones." Zelter's music was certainly not without merit, and his setting of the "KÖnig im Thule" is still sung and deservedly admired; but to go from Zelter to Schubert required a sorcery more potent than that which brought Helen of Troy to become the bride of mediÆval Faust. At any rate Goethe found it so. Toward the end of his life, when he heard the Erl King sung with its full dramatic effect by Madame SchrÖder-Devrient, he acknowledged its power, but it was probably the superb woman and her style of singing that moved him rather than the music. At one time the modest Schubert, at the instigation of some friend, ventured to send to the great poet some of the settings of his songs accompanied by a letter tremulous with awe. But Goethe never answered the letter, and apparently took no notice of the music. "Neither in Goethe's works," says Kreissle, "nor in his correspondence with Zelter, nor in his conversations with Eckermann, do we find a syllable in connection with Schubert's name." Little did either the poet or the musician realize that throughout all future time their names were to be inseparably associated. It was the poems of Goethe that inspired Schubert with some of his most beautiful and sublime conceptions. He set sixty-seven of them to music, and of the whole number there is perhaps not one in which we do not feel that the song of the greatest of German poets has been invested with a higher spiritual life by the music of the most poetical composer the world has seen. How full of the most delicate fragrance of poetry are the lines "Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh," etc.! but when one has once associated them with Schubert's music, one feels that to break this association (were it possible) and return to the verses pure and simple would be a far greater descent than from poetry to prose.

In spite of the startling originality already evinced in the Erl King, we find a decided conservatism alleged for some of Schubert's musical judgments at this youthful period. It was a time when Beethoven was still by many people regarded with suspicion as a reckless innovator upon the orthodox forms and methods. Since the middle of the century, indeed, one has often heard some of the magnificent works of Beethoven's third period, including his four latest piano sonatas and some of his quartets, set down as eccentric vagaries instead of being comprehended in their true light as the ripe fruits of his most consummate artistic maturity. At the beginning of the century more or less opposition was excited even by the earlier works of Beethoven which transgressed the limits of expression within which Haydn and Mozart had been confined. Schubert was at that time a friend and to some extent a pupil of the Venetian composer, Antonio Salieri, conductor of the choir in the Emperor's chapel. Salieri gave Schubert more or less instruction in thorough-bass and used to correct and criticise his compositions. He advised him not to waste his time over ballads and lyrics by Goethe and Schiller, but to set to music by preference the old and formal Italian stanzas. Another piece of advice, as applied to the inexhaustible Schubert, is deliciously grotesque; Salieri thought he had better "husband his resources of melody." There is a point of view, as we shall presently see, from which a grain of sound sense can be descried in such counsel; but these incidents sufficiently indicate Salieri's conservatism of temperament. He wrote about forty operas, a dozen oratorios and cantatas, and a quantity of miscellaneous vocal and and instrumental works, not without merit, all of which have virtually sunk into oblivion. In June 1816 there was a jubilee festival to celebrate Salieri's residence of fifty years in Vienna, and many compositions of his pupils, written especially for the occasion, were produced. The music ended with a chorus from Salieri's oratorio, "Christ in Hades," in which the composer had caught some of his inspiration from Gluck. After returning from the performance, Schubert wrote that same evening in his diary as follows:—"It must be pleasant and invigorating to the artist to see his pupils gathered about him, every one striving to do his best for his master's jubilee feast; to hear in all their compositions a simple and natural expression, free from all that bizarrerie which prevails with the majority of composers of our time, and for which we are in the main indebted to one of our greatest German artists; free, I say, from that bizarrerie which links the tragic with the comic, the agreeable with the repulsive, the heroic with the whimpering, the most sacred themes with buffoonery,—and all without discrimination; so that the hearers are goaded to frenzy instead of dissolving in love, and tickled into senseless laughter rather than raised toward heaven. The fact that this miserable bizarrerie has been proscribed and exiled from the circle of his pupils, so that their eyes may rest on pure, holy Nature, must be a source of lively satisfaction to the artist who, with a Gluck for a pioneer, has learned to know Nature, and has clung to her in spite of the most unnatural influences of our day."

Fac-simile letter from Schubert, to committee of Austrian Musical Society which accompanied his score of the C-minor symphony. Original in possession of the "Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde" in Vienna.