Part 16
His friend Schuppanzigh, the violinist, complained to him that certain passages in one of his quartets were impossible; and Beethoven replied: "Do you believe that I think of a wretched violin, when the spirit speaks to me and I write it down?" The last five quartets have been called transcendental, even incomprehensible, on account of their strangeness and obscurity. They are his last utterances, the mystical creations of a man who neared the end of his life-tragedy. "The events in Beethoven's life," says Nohl, "were calculated more and more to liberate him heart and soul from this world, and the whole composition of the quartets appears like a preparation for the moment when the mind, released from existence here, feels united with a higher being. But it is not a longing for death that here finds expression. It is the heartfelt, certain, and joyful feeling of something really eternal and holy, that speaks to us in the language of a new dispensation. And even the pictures of this world, here to be discerned, be they serious or gay, have this transfigured light, this outlook into eternity." Spirituality is impressed on the eternal features of the music: that is, the technical treatment of the four instruments. The melodies move freely in a wide compass, the voices cross each other frequently. Widely extended, open harmony is often employed, giving wonderful etherealness and spirituality to the effect of the strings by their thinness and delicacy of tone when thus separated by long intervals between the several parts of the chords. Nor is the polyphonic melodiousness of the voices abandoned, as in certain quartets of later masters in which the treatment is more orchestral than is in keeping with the character of the solo instruments.
And yet these great quartets are not even now accepted by certain men of marked musical temperament and discriminating taste. They are called "charcoal sketches"; they are erroneously regarded as draughts for elaboration in orchestral form. Others shrug their shoulders and speak compassionately of the deafness of Beethoven. But he was deaf when, in directing the Seventh Symphony, he was obliged to follow the movements of the first violin that he might keep his place; he was deaf when he thought out the melodic freshness and elegance of the Eighth Symphony; and even before the Heroic, the Fifth and the Pastoral he mourned his physical infirmity in the celebrated letter to his brothers. In judging of the masterpieces of the so-called third period it is not necessary to join the cry of the critics like Fétis who complain of "the aberrations of a genius that goes out in darkness," or to swell the chorus of wild enthusiasts as Nohl and Lenz, who wrench the dictionary in the expression of their delight. In the light of these great works all criticism is blind and impotent.
In the cyclical forms of instrumental music, Beethoven is preëminent from all points of view, formally, technically, aesthetically, and spiritually. Moreover, there is a Shakesperian quality in his wonderful tone-poems. Like the great poet he touches every chord of the heart and appeals to the imagination more potently than other poets. Beethoven's creations, like Shakespeare's, are distinguished by great diversity of character; each is a type by itself. His great symphonies stand in as strong contrast with each other as do the plays of Shakespeare with each other. Beethoven is the least of a mannerist of all composers. "Each composition leaves a separate image and impression on the mind." His compositions are genuine poems, that tell their meaning to the true listener clearly and unmistakably in the language of tones, a language which, however, cannot be translated into mere words, as has often been attempted in the flowery and fanciful effusions of various writers, like Wagner, Lenz, Marx, and others, who waste labor and thought in trying to do the impossible.
In the Pantheon of art Beethoven holds a foremost place beside the great poets and artists of all time, with Æschylus and Dante, Michael Angelo and Shakespeare. Like these inspired men he has widened and ennobled the mind and the soul of humanity. "In his last works," says Edward Dannreuther, "he passes beyond the horizon of a mere singer and poet, and touches upon the domain of the seer and prophet, where in unison with all genuine mystics and ethical teachers he delivers a message of religious love and resignation, and release from the world." Or as Wagner wrote, "Our civilization might receive a new soul from the spirit of Beethoven's music, and a renovation of religion which might permeate it through and through."
[Illustration: Signature: John K. Paine.]
[Illustration: FRESCO IN VIENNA OPERA HOUSE.
From a photograph. Representing scenes from the Opera of Fidelio.]
[Illustration: FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT
_Reproduction of a lithograph portrait made by Kriehuber, of Vienna._]
[Illustration: Schubert]
[Illustration]
FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration: 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 Cœlestium" 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.