SCHUBERT

Evening Star, Issue 19894, 16 June 1928, Page 23

SCHUBERT

A SUPREME COMPOSER No. If. i [Written by G.W.J., for the j ' Evening Star.’], ! __ When one thinks of the music which was sweeping Germany like a cyclone in Schubert’s time, the wonder is that his songs were heard at all. Italian opera, with all its superficiality and extravagance, held V ienna in an iron grip, and one can imagine Schubert s friends saying: “Franz, you have genius, but you must give the people what they want if you wish to be popular and make money. Your melodies are full of loveliness, but why not put in some trills and lots of runs with a cadenza now and then, in order to allow the vocalists to display themselves? See how the people love Rossini’s operas,” and so on. To all of which our hero would listen, and smiling wistfully would reply: I cannot feel that you are right, my inends. I do not write for vocal acrobats or tn astonish people, lyit to move their by depth of thought and ‘beauty of sound. That is why I. select the poems of Goethe, Muller, Heine, and Shakespeare”; and perhaps ho would sigh as any man who feels that ho is not understood in his work might do. Such criticism must have been prevalent in certain quarters; but what of to-day? These songs are everywhere regarded as the most priceless song literature in existence.

Last night 1 paused before tho blacksmith’s door And heard the anvil ring a vesper chime; Then, looking on 1 saw upon tho floor Old hammers worn with use in former time. How many anvils have yon had, said To wear and batter all those hammers so? Just one, said he. Then said, with sparkling eye, The anvil wears tho hammers out, you know, And so I thought the anvil of those songs Full many a careless blow had beat upon. Yet, though the noise of falling blows was hoard, The anvil is unharmed, tho hammers —gone. ■ -Simplicity of life tends to make ono sensitive to tho refinement and modesty of Nature and unrelenting towards tho artificial in life, and in this Schubert stands supreme. Think of such subjects as these: ‘A Wild Rose,’ ‘A Carrier Pigeon,’ ‘ A Portrait,’ ‘ Tho Postman,’ ‘ A Hunter,’ ‘ A Young Nun,’ ‘An Organ Grinder,’ 1 A Girl at a Spinning Wheel,’ ‘A Miller,’ ‘A Trout,’ ‘An Exile,’ ‘A Sick Child.’ ‘A Tree,’ ‘A Mill Wheel,’ ‘The Sea,’ ‘A River.’ But why go on? Tho wonder and beauty of these songs can ho appreciated by any lover of sweet sounds; for tho power to feel tho mood and beauty of a composition is not confined to the musical iprofe.ssion, but is often possessed by those who do not understand the rudiments of music as an art. Wo all know that tho musical profession harbours members who are thoroughly unmusical in themselves. They will talk to you about tho mechanical process, but they do not possess tho wider vision of tho soul, the keen sense of appreciation which defies analysis, and which may he found in tho humblest ami most uneducated walks of life.

They judgo of her worth by “ perfection of outline,” “Proportion of parts,” as they blend in tho w hole ; “Symmetrical structure” and “finish of detail”; They see but tho body, ignoring ibo soul.

In all Schubert’s work wc find melodies as spontaneous as a bubbling brook, which at the advanced age of HO years continue to charm with their unaffected grace and gripping reality. He has accomplished with his music what Voronoff is endeavouring to do with our bodies, and, though there may be considerable difference of opinion as to tho real value or desirability of tho success of Voronolf’s work, there can be no room for speculation where Schubert is concerned, for the passing years have praised his sublime power in creating these serenely strong and stimulating strains, which defy the onslaughts of time, and speak to outhearts like the voice of a friend.

For music is-art, and all art is expression. The beauty of form but embodies the thought, Imprisons ono ray of that wisdom supernal, Which genius to sense-blinded mortals has brought.

The years 1825-26 were much brighter for Scliuberfc. He and Vogl set out on another tour, which must have been a real joy to the composer. A few letters which have been preserved show him to have been in a genial frame of mind and revelling in the glories of nature. In one of these letters to Spaun he makes a reference to his ‘ Avc Maria,’ which is of interest; “My audience expressed great delight at the solemnity of my hymn to the Blessed Virgin. It seems to have affected the minds of the listeners with a spirit of pity and devotion. I believe I have attained this result by never forcing on myself religious extacy and never setting myself to compose such hymns or prayers except when I am involuntarily overcome by the feeling and spirit of devotion.” That, to our mind, is one of the groat secrets of Jiis extraordinary success. Schubert never laboured, never forced. You may search the records in vain for a cheap effect or a vulgar display. Early in 1627' J the great Beethoven, who had dominated the deep-thinking musical world, fell ill. Strango as it may seem, there is no evidence that Beethoven and Schubert ever had speech together. Hero wc have two of the world’s giants living in the same city and not meeting in conversation when they had so much in common. This is one of life’s tragedies, and yet when one understands the oirciim•dances—the extreme deafness of Beethoven on the one hand, ’and the painful shyness and devastating modesty of Schubert, who was much the younger, on-the other—-it is all so tragically possible. Schubert must have worshipped the elder man, although his music lias more resemblance to that of Mozart; vet such was his genius that he went his own way when a man pf less originality and character would have copied the great master, and to-day his music is as vital and fresh as that of his' great contemporary. .Amongst the various unsupported statements of the meetiug of Beethoven and Schubert there are two which seem to us to have a greater claim to authenticity, and both are thoroughly consistent with what we know of the characters of the two men. That Beethoven knew of Schubert’s work is certain, and when he was given a number or his songs to look over he said: “Truly, Schubert has the divine fire. He will yet make a noise in the world.” Wo like to think that this remark reached Schubert’s ears, for such authoritative appreciation is sweet to every human heart, and Schubert was not overburdened with over-appreciation. The

, other scene is around the deathbed of Beethoven. Schubert, with others, is standing at the bedside. The names of the visitors are communicated to the dying. He signs to them with his hand, and then his tips move, and in a tense moment the listeners hear the words, “Franz, has my spirit,” and Franz Schubert, overcome with emotion, goes sobbing from the, room. He was one qf the torch-bearers at Beethoven’s fuiieral, and in less than, two years ho was to bo laid beside him in the Wohring Cemetery. Amidst much: depression and fitful splashes of sunshine Schubert continued at his work, and it is a wonder of wonders that tho poor financial response did not corrode the soul of the man. But he kept true to his ideal in spite of every hardship, until typhus proved too much for his poor body, and on November 19, l£&o, he wont out into the Great Unknown. SCHUBERT. .. His was a lovable nature, and early in life he made friends who proved steadfast to the end. If we think this an easy matter, let us try and count our real friends, and the fingers of one hand may suffice for many of us. We are not speaking of acquaintances, but friends—the people the little boy had in mind when he said: ‘‘A friend was a fellow that knew all about you and still loved you.” Schubert was poor, desperately poor, and he succeeded artistically without tho patronage of tho rich, which went to Beethoven. How do we know he was lovable as well? He was modest to a fault, though ho, had gifts far above his fellows. Stupid jealousy found no place in his make-up. Ho was incapable of meanness. Ho was generous in his praise of others when lie considered them worthy, as in the case of Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, and oven many lesser lights around him. Ho was courageous, for_ how many would have, struggled on in tho face"of such opposition? He had a passionate love of Nature, and—blessed thought in this age of materialism!—he loved nob money for its own sake. In all his recorded acts where, tho fair sex are concerned he acquitted himself well, and ho could evidently be deeply moved by kindness and sincerity. Add to these qualities the selection of poems which ho chose for composition, and the superby clean atmosphere of the works for orchestra, piano, or string quartet, and you get something of a portrait of the real Schubert. All those and his lack of business sense are lovable qualities, and if you say to us; “Did not ho drink ale to excess?” wo reply “ Wo do not know. There is certainly no direct evidence that Schubert was in any way gross in his manner of life. This sort of thing can be so easily exaggerated. Indeed, there is direct evidence to the contrary, which we place on record with pleasure. In a letter to his friend, Kupelwicscr, ho writes; “Our society, as you will havo known by this time, came to an end from the reinforcement of the coarse crew addicted to beerdrinking and sausage-eating. I gave up attending immediately alter your departure.” That reads to us like good evidence for the defence, and if more is needed wo ask our readers to look keenly at the portraits of our idol, and mark the kind eyes and the well-defined lips, which are emphatically not those of a gross man. if we were compelled to choose among all the composers, past and present, wo would bo compelled to say: “Leave us Schubert.” And if musical anatomists tell us that his counterpoint is not satisfactory here and there we will reply that ha takes ns into the holy of holies, and shows ns the soul of tho work, so what do wo caro if a bono in tho skeleton is slightly misplaced? . After many days the good people of 1 Vienna rubbed tho sloop from their eyes and said: “Why, this will never do. These works of Schubert’s are real masterpieces. Wo must see that he is properly honoured.” So they made a great clay of it, and lifted his poor, tired bones, together with those of Beethoven, and carried them with great pomp and circumstance through the crowded streets of their city to tho Central Cemetery, where they now lie side by side. History has stored up these noble achievements of yesterday as soul food for to-day," for tho heart, like the body, requires nourish--1 meat, and the nature of the food I craved for determines largely what tho i eater shall become. As a gross cater will in process of time possess a gross body, so shall a man who feeds his heart upon light or gross material become flippant or coarse in himself. If we have lost our ideals, let us retrace our steps and regain them, for of all the tragedies earth knows of there can be nothing sadder than tho death of ideals. All around wo sco this going nn—the Higher life at enmity with the lower. A glittering prizo is dangled before our eyes, and. like an unreasoning child, wc grasp it, and in that moment crasli go our ideals.. And, if the truth were told, we, in our heart of hearts, feel in the end of the day that we grasped a bubble that burst in our hand and left us with nothing but regret. Schubert is a, noble example for us in this respect. Ho held to his ideal, and though he lost his life, he still lives in our hearts, and men and women in tens of thousands will in this centenary year journey to Vienna, whore great men will stand uncovered at his tomb, and it will always be one of our regrets that we cannot stand among them. Such a man cannot be said to die, for to-day be is a greater influence for good than >n the days of his flesh. Who can tell us the names of tho great bankers, coa! kings, or wealthy merchants of Schubert’s day? No one. But this maker of music is known wherever men of education and refinement meet. This—this is Schubert. Where, then, shall we place him in our affections And hero let us stand uncovered. If we did not recognise his greatness as we saw him in the cradle few could blame us. If in the little spectacled boy singing or playing the violin in l.ho Imperial chapel wc did not see anything out of the ordinary, if wo laughed at tho awkward little chap a.s did his follow-choristers, it would not be surprising. Had wo happened to wander into his father’s school and found him making an heroic attempt to accommodate himself to the uncongenial task of teaching arithmetic wo might havo said: “Aha. this boy gave promise of being something of a musician. but he is shifty.” If in the thoroughly unbusinesslike young man who wrote music that no one wanted very much wo failed to recognise a genius wo would not bo greatly to blame. But when wo see tho full stature ot the man, and read his mind, and spirit in his work, we would bo lacking in lino feeling and power of discrimination if we still preferred the swine troughs heaped to tho brim with modern husks which brazenly masquerade in tho sacred name of music, and no glcctcd to do him honour. And, Oh I yo young hearts who have grown up in an ago largely given over to music of a metricious type, we who feel that the music of a nation has more to do with its inner life than is generally supposed, would like to see you drinking more frequently and deeply' at these wells which are sweet and inexhaustible. For they will assuredly speak to.you of all that is enduring in life, and build'you u» in refinement of thought and feeling which will bo a priceless possession all down the years. Here, here’s his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnings are loosened, _ Stars come and go! Let joy break with the stormPeace let the dew send! Lofty designs must close in like effects; Loftily lying, Leave him. still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying.