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.
[Illustration: SCHUBERT'S TOMB IN VIENNA.--From a photograph.