Stands the moon above the dying trees;
Sighing wails the Spirit through the night;
Mists are creeping;
Stars are peeping
Pale aloft like torches in a cave.'
He was now fairly launched upon composition, and during the two
succeeding years his pen was not allowed to rest, songs and
instrumental pieces being produced in rapid succession.
Despite the many acts of kindness which he received at the hands of
his friends Franz was made to feel in many ways the want of a little
pocket-money such as fell to the lot of his more fortunate
schoolfellows. He had to contend with numerous discomforts, more
especially in the winter months, when the supplies both of firing and
food were inadequate, and one dark November day we find him sitting
down, chilled and hungry, to pen the following appeal to his brother
Ferdinand:
'You know from experience that one can often enjoy a roll and an apple
or two, especially when one must wait eight hours and a half after a
poor dinner for a meagre supper. The few groschen which my father
gives me are all spent the first day, and what is one to do the rest
of the time? "Those who hope will not be confounded," says the Bible,
and I firmly believe it. Suppose, for instance, you send me a few
kreutzers monthly. You would never miss them, whilst I should shut
myself up in my cell and be quite happy. St. Matthew also says: "Let
him that hath two coats give one to the poor," In the meantime I trust
you will lend your ear to the voice crying to you incessantly to
remember your poor brother Franz, who loves and confides in you.'
But these long waits between dinner and supper, together with the
hardship of being compelled to sit for hours in a fireless
practice-room, were not destined to endure much longer for Franz. The
termination of his career at the Convict was decided upon in
consequence of his resolution to devote himself wholly to music. He
had a little circle of faithful friends in the school, every one of
whom regarded him as a genius, and who loved him also for his own
sake; they only waited for him to compose in order to perform under
his direction, and they would fain have kept him amongst them; but
they knew his longings, and they realised the impossibility of
retaining so gifted a composer within the compass of their ranks.
Schubert loved them too, and though he went out from their midst to
seek a wider field for his genius, he never forgot that he was one of
them, and as composition after composition flowed from his pen it was
brought to the Convict orchestra to be tried and approved by his
kindest and best of critics.
Apart from this determination to give himself up to music there was no
pressing reason for his leaving the school, for it was reported that
the Emperor himself, having observed Schubert's beautiful voice and
wonderful power of expression, had evinced so much interest in his
progress as to offer him a foundation scholarship in the school, on
condition that he should qualify himself for examination during the
holidays. Schubert, however, had made up his mind, and towards the end
of the year 1813 he quitted the Convict, his farewell being signalised
by the composing of his first Symphony[22] in honour of the birthday
of Dr. Lang, the musical director. A year before this event took
place, the mother, who had worked unceasingly to keep the home
together on the slender means which her husband's calling provided,
had died. Her loss was keenly felt by the family, but by none more
than by Franz himself, who realised how much he owed to the love and
care bestowed upon him in his childhood by this excellent,
hard-working mother.
Schubert was now entering upon his seventeenth year, and stood at the
entrance of a career in music which, judging from his compositions at
the Convict school, must have seemed to his friends to be full of
promise. He himself was full of fire and energy, and longing to follow
in the footsteps of the great masters whose works had inspired his
earliest efforts. But, though as yet perhaps he failed to realise it,
his genius, whatever may have been the source of its inspiration, was
surely leading him towards the path wherein his strength chiefly
lay--a path almost untrodden, and which he alone was destined to adorn
with the choicest flowers of his imagination, in order that others
might enjoy their perfume for evermore--the pathway of song. Already
those early songs to which the school musicians had accorded a
sympathetic hearing as they flowed fresh from his pen evinced to those
capable of judging far more power and individuality than did any of
his more ambitious instrumental compositions.
But, as we have said, Schubert himself probably had not realised this
great truth as yet. He stood at the threshold of a future which gave
him no insight into its possibilities, which for him at that moment
conveyed no more than a hope of fulfilment of his one burning
desire--to write, write, write. It was the pure longing of the true
musician to make mankind at large partakers of his heavenly gift. Let
us remember this of Franz Schubert, because it is absolutely true of
him, and because it helps us to understand his true nature.
Schubert's determination was put to a severe test on leaving the
Convict, for he had hardly returned home ere the dread summons for
enlistment was placed in his hands. The Continental law of
conscription admits of no distinction such as that which Nature
confers upon an individual by the gift of genius; and to escape the
danger which now threatened him, and which, by depriving him of his
liberty for several years to come, appeared to be wholly
insupportable, Schubert seized upon the only remedy which offered
itself. He at once qualified himself for becoming an assistant to his
father in the latter's school. The choice lay between two evils, and
Schubert chose the lesser; for though he cordially detested the
drudgery of teaching, it at least prevented his being called upon to
serve in the ranks, and at the same time secured to him a certain
amount of leisure for composition. Moreover, there was opportunity for
maintaining relations with his little circle of intimates at the
Convict--a privilege which Schubert could not have forgone without a
severe pang--as well as for making new friends.
It is easy to imagine the reluctance with which Schubert went about
his daily task of teaching the infant class in his father's school.
Every minute thus spent must have seemed to him an hour, and probably
the little ones, no less than their impatient teacher himself,
breathed a deep sigh of relief when the play-hour arrived. To Schubert
it meant freedom for work--real work--when he could fly to his desk,
and write down the musical thoughts which he had been burning to
express the whole morning. Impatient as he felt under the constraint
put upon him he never complained; probably the dread of the
conscription was constantly haunting him, for no fewer than three
summonses to serve reached him at this time. There were, moreover,
bright intervals in the round of scholastic work, when he could forget
that he was a schoolmaster, and throw himself heart and soul into his
art. He had lately made the acquaintance of a musical family named
Grob, residing in the Lichtenthal, comprising a mother and her son and
daughter, in whose house he was received on terms of friendship, quite
as much for himself as for his music. Therese Grob possessed a fine
soprano voice, with which she did full justice to the songs which
Schubert brought to her to sing, whilst Heinrich Grob played both the
pianoforte and the 'cello, with the result that many evenings were
passed in musical enjoyment. His circle of admirers at the Convict,
too, were always eager to welcome every new piece that he found time
to compose. Nor had he forgotten his old friend and master Holzer, the
organist and choir-master at the Lichtenthal Church, who had been the
first to acknowledge his talents. Schubert regularly attended the
church, and this fact, combined with his affection for the old
organist, led to his writing his first Mass for performance by the
church choir. The performance, on October 16, 1814, excited so much
interest that it was repeated on the 26th of the same month at the
Augustine Church. The latter occasion was one not likely to be soon
forgotten by those who were present. Franz conducted, the choir being
led by Holzer, whilst Ferdinand presided at the organ, and Therese
Grob sang the part for first solo voices. Amongst the audience was
Antonio Salieri, Court Capellmeister at Vienna, whom Beethoven had
acknowledged as his master, and who now, having praised Schubert
warmly for his work, declared that the latter should henceforth be his
pupil. Every one was delighted, and the father felt so proud and happy
that he signalised the event by presenting Franz with a five-octave
piano. To be able to rank himself with Beethoven as 'scholar of
Salieri' was indeed a high reward for Schubert, and the old man was
as good as his word, for he gave his new pupil daily lessons for a
considerable time.
[Illustration: '_Many evenings were passed in musical
enjoyment._']
The year 1814 did not close without witnessing a striking addition to
the pile of manuscript by which the young schoolmaster-composer was
surrounded. How variously his mind was swayed during this period we may
understand from the fact that he had hardly finished the third act of a
comic opera[23] ('Des Teufels Lustschloss'--The Devil's
Pleasure-Castle) before setting to work on his 'Mass in F' which we
have just mentioned. The compositions of this year also include
seventeen songs, and one at least of these, the beautiful 'Gretchen am
Spinnrade' (Gretchen at her Spinning-wheel), we may regard as a
forerunner of the immortal songs that were to follow. And now, too, the
special circumstance which was destined to influence Schubert in
choosing the path wherein his genius found its most fitting expression
was near at hand. One afternoon in December of this year a friend took
him to call upon a poet named Johann Mayrhofer, the words of a poem by
whom Schubert had set to music a few days before. They found the poet
at his lodgings, situated in one of the darkest and gloomiest streets
of the city. The apartment contained little furniture beyond a worn-out
piano and a worm-eaten bookcase filled with well-used books, and the
general air of neglect and dilapidation was heightened by the fact that
the window was overshadowed by a huge building on the opposite side of
the narrow street. Gloomy and cheerless as it was in appearance, the
room was in keeping with the character of the man who occupied it.
Johann Mayrhofer was regarded by his acquaintance as an hypochondriac,
whose general depression of spirits entered largely into his poetical
writings. But those who knew him intimately were aware of a gentle and
tender side to his ordinarily stern nature. He was, in fact, a 'lonely,
self-contained, self-taught man'--one whose gifts conveyed to him the
ability to discern and appreciate beauty, but at the same time left him
powerless to banish from his mind the thought of evil working its
destructive influence both upon himself and his surroundings. Upon the
impressionable mind of Schubert--already attuned to sadness--the
personality of Mayrhofer exercised a special charm, and the two at once
became fast friends. The attraction, however, was perfectly mutual, for
Schubert's friendship helped to mature Mayrhofer's powers, with the
result that the one wrote in order that the other might set to music
that which was written, and to this alliance we are indebted for some
of Schubert's finest songs.
Every moment that could be snatched from the drudgery of the
schoolroom was now devoted to composition, and the year following that
in which the acquaintance with Mayrhofer began furnishes the most
remarkable testimony to Schubert's powers. In this year (1815) he
composed no fewer than a hundred and thirty-seven songs, and six
operas and melodramas, in addition to a great deal of Church and
chamber music and pieces for the pianoforte. Of the songs, twenty-nine
were written in August alone, eight of this number bearing one date,
August 15, and seven more being produced on the 19th of the same
month. A wonderful year, indeed, and our astonishment is increased
when we reflect that many of these songs, written as they were under
conditions which would seem to have precluded the possibility of their
having been matured and developed in his mind before being written
down, are deservedly placed amongst the most immortal of Schubert's
works. When, too, the extraordinary length of some of the songs is
taken into account--fifty-five pages of closely-written manuscript in
one case, twenty-two pages of print in another--one marvels how the
time could have been found for the mere mechanical process of writing
them down.
To enumerate the songs included in this long list would take up too
much space, but the story of how one great song came to be written
must be told here. Mayrhofer could claim friendship with Goethe, and
it was doubtless through Mayrhofer that Schubert's attention was first
drawn to the writings of the great German poet. One afternoon in the
winter of this year 1815, the 'old Convicter' Spaun called upon
Schubert, and found him in his room intently writing music, with a
book of poems by his side. On inquiring what it was that absorbed his
attention, Schubert looked up with a face aglow with inspiration. 'Oh,
I have come across _such_ a poem!' he exclaimed. 'Have you ever read
it? It is Goethe's "Erl King."' Without giving his friend time to
reply he turned once more to his paper, and recommenced jotting down
the notes with astonishing rapidity. Spaun sat by, wondering, but not
daring to disturb him. At length Schubert threw down his pen with a
sigh. 'It is finished,' said he, 'and now let us look it through.' It
was the first sketch of the famous song of the 'Erl King,' and when
the accompaniment had been filled in, the two friends conveyed the
manuscript to the Convict. His old friends and admirers soon formed a
group around the piano, and Schubert, sitting down, sang the song
through, and then one of the school singers sang it after him. To
Schubert's surprise--and the fact comes to us with something like a
shock--the first hearing of the 'Erl King' was received by the Convict
orchestra with some coldness. The truth is the dramatic force
embodied in the music was too strong for them--it fairly took their
breath away; it was so unlike anything that Schubert had hitherto
produced, or that they had ever heard. And when he came to the
passage, 'Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt fasst er mich an!' in which an
apparent disharmony discovered itself, one or two of the listeners
ventured to express their dissent, and it was necessary for Herr
Ruzicka, the professor of harmony who was present, to explain to his
pupils that the conjunction was permissible. Of the 'Erl King' our
story will have more to relate later on; in the meantime we may remark
that the rapidity of its composition leaves no room for doubt that it
was in itself as pure a piece of inspiration as any other of
Schubert's works that could be named, and, furthermore, that it
affords a striking instance of the power which he possessed of
grasping, almost at a single glance, the musical significance of a
poem which appealed strongly to the emotions.
Unquestionably, however, the monotony of his school work weighed
heavily upon his mind, and, in his own opinion, was cramping his
powers of production. The longing to be free to devote himself wholly
to his art was intensified day by day, and when, in the following
year, he learnt that a director was about to be appointed at a
newly-created Government school of music at Laibach, near Trieste, he
hastened to apply for the post. True, the salary was only £21 a year,
but the gaining of the position would mean instant freedom from his
present bondage, and to Schubert that implied almost everything. It is
evident, however, that those who recommended him for the post were by
no means convinced of his fitness for governing, for their letters
were but half-hearted, and the selection fell upon another man who, it
turned out, was also recommended by one of Schubert's supporters.
The depression resulting from his disappointment was soon to be
relieved by the agency of a new friend. A young man, named Franz von
Schober, of good family and some private means, came to Vienna with
the object of entering the University. Some time before taking this
step Franz Schober had met with several of Schubert's songs, which at
that date were being circulated in manuscript, and, lover of music as
he was, the young student had revelled in the beauties of the unknown
composer, and longed to make his acquaintance. When, therefore, he
reached Vienna he lost no time in finding his way to the Schubert home
in the Himmelpfortgrund. He found Schubert seated at his desk busily
writing, for Schober had happened upon a favourable moment when school
was over for the day. Little did the composer dream, as he heard his
visitor announced, that his deliverance from the bondage which had
become wellnigh insupportable, was so close at hand. A few minutes'
intercourse sufficed to show the two young men that their sympathies
and interests lay on a common plane. Schubert, quick to detect the
sympathy which Schober was not loath to express, felt drawn towards
his new friend, whilst Schober, for his part, as he glanced at the
piles of manuscript which occupied every available space in the small
room, evinced so deep an astonishment at the evidence of such untiring
industry that Schubert was fain to tell him in a few words how he was
placed, and of his longings for freedom. Then Schober saw his
opportunity for rendering a service which he hoped might prove as
acceptable to Schubert as it would be congenial to himself--would not
Schubert consent to live with him, at any rate, for a time? Schober
had a claim on which to found this proffer--namely, that he was
already well known to Spaun, to whose medium, indeed, was due the fact
that Schubert's songs had been first brought under his notice.
Franz's heart leapt within him at the prospect of being able to give
his whole time to his beloved music; he could not refuse a request so
modestly and tactfully conveyed, and obviously so kindly meant, and
the tears started to the eyes of both as the young men grasped each
other by the hand. It was not difficult for Schubert to obtain his
father's consent to the arrangement, for there was more than a
suspicion that the latter was not altogether satisfied with the manner
in which Franz had of late fulfilled his scholastic duties--a fact
which need occasion no surprise when his strong musical temperament is
taken into consideration.
Thus it came about that Schubert gained his release, and the two
friends took up residence together at Schober's lodgings. Schubert,
however, was not inclined to live entirely at his friend's expense,
and so, unwillingly enough, he gave a few music-lessons. But not for
long--the same unconquerable dislike to teaching in any shape or form
asserted itself, and the pupils vanished. He might easily have secured
more pupils had he so desired, for there were many friends, moving in
higher circles than his own, who were ready to assist him; but it is
just here that we get a glimpse of Schubert's true character. He had
no aspiration to mingle with those whom, in his modest, unaffected
way, he considered to be above him. He valued friendship, from
whomsoever it came, but his whole nature was opposed to turning the
advances of the rich or great to his own advantage. Unlike Beethoven,
he had no faculty for 'imposing' on the aristocracy (to borrow
Beethoven's favourite phrase for describing his own relations with
those of superior rank to himself); on the contrary, Schubert courted
no society beyond that of his own class--in which, indeed, his
affections wholly centred themselves, and in which alone his true
nature allowed itself to be revealed. It is a strong instance of this
feeling that he loved best of all the praise that came from the
members of his own family, and next that which emanated from his own
circle of friends. Nevertheless, whatever of class distinction may
have influenced Schubert in the distribution of his affections and in
the revelation of himself, no such barrier existed in the minds of
those who were drawn to his side; in a word, he was loved by all who
knew him without regard to rank, wealth, or age.
The year 1821 found Schubert, at the age of twenty-four, a composer of
more than seven years' standing, and yet almost unknown outside the
circle of his friends and acquaintance. Since the date when he went to
reside with Schober he had continued to pour forth his compositions
without intermission, and yet so far not a single work had been
printed. True, many of his songs had been sung from manuscript before
large and appreciative audiences at the musical meetings organised by
the father of Leopold Sonnleithner, one of Schubert's old
schoolfellows, and the most faithful of friends; but when the leading
Vienna publishers were asked to undertake the publication of the song
which had evoked the greatest enthusiasm when rendered by the
well-known amateur Gymnich, they shook their heads. The composer was
unknown, and with so difficult an accompaniment as that of the 'Erl
King' the sale of the song could not be great. Such was the opinion of
the publishers; but, to their honour let it be recorded, Sonnleithner
and Gymnich refused to be influenced by this adverse verdict. They
instantly resolved to print the song at their own risk, and when the
next concert took place at the Sonnleithner mansion the resolution was
announced. One hundred copies were subscribed for on the spot, and
with this substantial encouragement the engraving of the 'Erl King'
and a second song, 'Gretchen am Spinnrade,' was at once proceeded
with, the sale of these songs being undertaken by the music publishers
on commission. The enterprise was attended by so much success that its
promoters were enabled to proceed with the publication of further
songs, until, when the seventh had been reached, the publishers deemed
themselves perfectly safe in assuming the entire risk of publication,
and the eighth work appeared on May 9, 1822, as 'the property of the
publishers.'