February - 1813-16, Teaching and Independence

We have seen that Franz Schubert left the Convict in October, 1813, and returned to his father's house in Gate of Heaven Street. As an extra mouth in the schoolmaster's home he could not have been greatly wanted, but, no doubt, he was heartily welcome when sire and sons made music amongst themselves. Franz completed the household quartet, of which Franz père, Ferdinand, and Ignace were members. A French writer, M. Barbedette, has drawn a pen picture of one of these family gatherings, and we offer no apology for presenting it, through the medium of a translation, to the reader's notice. Some of the details are probably imaginative, but they serve to heighten the general effect.

After noticing the agitated condition of Vienna in 1812-13, as the last stupendous incidents of Napoleon's career followed rapidly one upon another, M. Barbedette goes on:—

"One house in Vienna seemed strange to the general emotion. Let the reader be good enough to follow us into the Lichtenthal district. We stand before a house of antique appearance; its architecture goes back several centuries: traces of painting may still be seen on the walls; a great red crab hangs above the door as though to indicate that the edifice dates from the middle age, of which it is the mute symbol. The heavy shutters are closed, but, in the rez-de-chassée, light comes through the interstices, and feeble sounds make themselves heard....

"Nothing troubles the quiet of those who live in this peaceful dwelling. We enter a large white-washed room: a high fire-place, in which burns a small clear fire, occupies one end. To the left is a lithographic portrait of the Emperor Francis; to the right, one of Beethoven, there at the height of his genius. A fir book-case contains some works of the great masters. Forms are placed along the walls, on which hang maps and other things used in education.

"Four players are seated in the middle of the room, each before a desk and having a stringed instrument in his hand. They are absorbed in reading a new work by the illustrious singer of Bonn. The light of a suspended lamp allows us to observe the faces of these persons.

"The oldest plays the violoncello. He is still in the full strength of manhood, his hair is but slightly grizzled; his well accentuated features suggest an energetic nature. He is simply, almost rustically dressed in the fashion of his class. An air of frankness and nobility tempers the somewhat hard expression of his eyes. The other performers treat him with respect.

"A young man of twenty-eight, with an expression of almost feminine softness, plays the first violin. Entirely abandoned to his emotion, he devours with his eyes the music before him.

"By his side, a somewhat older musician plays the second violin with no less energy.

"At the viola desk is a lad of fifteen, who seems in a state of inexpressible agitation. His hair is woolly his face round; his nose flat; there is something about him of the negro. His figure is small and thick set, yet robust; extraordinarily brilliant eyes illuminate his face. He is the director of the quartet. If a false note is made he quickly recognises it; all his frame seems to shudder. If the defaulting player be one of the young men, he jumps up angrily, and flourishes his bow in the direction of the offender. But if the violoncello makes a slip, he moderates his wrath and with suppressed feeling, remarks 'Father, there is some mistake; let us begin again.' The father smiles, and the fault occurs no more, A fifth person regards the scene with pleasure - a woman, still young, who is seated near the fireplace. She seems to be preyed upon by a slow fever. Her eyes, full of sweetness, are surrounded by a dark circle. The wealth of her fair hair contrasts with the sickly paleness of her complexion. She nurses a little child who is busy drawing figures on a slate. The woman listens to the music with a gentle sadness Her eyes brighten every time she looks at the youngest of the executants.

"We must now name the actors in this scene.

"The middle-aged man is Franz Schubert, schoolmaster in the Lichtenthal; the three young men are his sons: Ferdinand, teacher at an orphan school Ignace, also a schoolmaster; Franz, who will become his father's assistant. The woman is a Silesian, Elisabeth Bitz, their mother. The child on her knees is Charles, the youngest of her sons.'

We will not look too closely into the details of M. Barbedette's interesting picture, because, whatever its inaccuracy, it serves to bring before us the family to which Franz Schubert belonged, while as yet the mother lived.

It is said that Schubert's father did not regard with much favour his son's devotion to music. Probably that was so. Fathers are always making mistakes in such cases, because they listen to the voice of fancied wisdom in themselves, rather than to the promptings of nature in their sons. They array themselves against Providence and, of course, get the worst of the encounter; their sins, however, being visited upon the children, who are not to blame. It may be, on the other hand, that there was need for Franz to earn money for himself as soon as possible, and not increase the drain upon his father's slender resources. Assuming this, we can understand why the lad was sent for awhile to be trained at the school of St. Anna. He there fulfilled his term, and afterwards entered his father's school as teacher of the lowest class. Can we conceive a more unfit position for a lad of Schubert's aspirations and temperament? Pegasus harnessed to a plough alongside an ox is but an inadequate attempt at a parallelism. No wonder Schubert, as his sister Therese once told Dr. Kreissle, was "strict and ill-tempered," and that he often "kept his hands in practice on the children's ears." When a man in rebellion agains his circumstances relieves his feelings by boxing the bystanders, he must, of course, be condemned as no only wanting in philosophy, but in logic. But Schubert was too young for philosophy and too ardent for logic, and so the children suffered. Impulsive, romantic, made vaguely uneasy by the promptings of a genius he could as yet but half comprehend; what had he in common with the dreary routine of the school-room? Seven years later his mind went back to this period of life, and, under the similitude of a dream, he related experiences and feelings which show pretty clearly what sort of a lad he was. The Dream (written July 3, 1822) is, in part, not at all difficult to understand:-

"I was one brother among a number of brother and sisters. Our father, our mother, were worth people. I was deeply and fondly attached to the whole circle. My father took us out one day on a party of pleasure to a favourite spot. My brother were in a state of great glee, but I was wretched. Well, my father came up to me, and bade me enjoy the delicacies before me, but I could not. Where upon my father, in a rage, banished me from his presence. I turned away my steps, and with a heart full of boundless love for those who despised it, I wandered into the distant country. For long years I felt myself preyed on alternately by the greatest pain and most fervent love. Then the news of my mother's death was brought to me. I hastened away to see her, and my father, softened by affliction, did not stop my going then. Then I gazed on the dead body of my mother. My eyes filled with tears. Like the good old past days, to which my departed mother thought we should carry back our memories, as she did in her life time, she was lying dead before me. And we followed her poor body with mourning and woe, and the coffin sank into the earth. My father once more took me into his favourite garden, he asked me if I liked it. But the garden was distasteful to me, and I dared not trust myself to say anything. My father, kindling, a second time asked me if I liked the garden. I trembled and said 'No.' Then my father struck me and I fled. And a second time I turned my steps away, and, with a heart full of boundless love for those who scorned it, I once more went forth a wanderer in the world. For many, many long years I sang my Lieder. If I would fain sing of love, it turned to pain; if I would sing of pain it would turn to love. Thus I was divided between love and sorrow. And once I was told of a pious maiden who had just died. A crowd gathered round her tomb, and in the midst of that crowd many youths and old men wandered as though in bliss. They spoke gently, as though fearing to wake the maiden. Heavenly thoughts seemed, like light sparks, to be for ever darting on the youths from the maiden's grave, and a gentle rustling noise was heard. I felt bashful and ashamed to walk there. 'It is by a miracle only,' said the people, 'that you are conducted to this circle.' But I advanced to the grave with slow steps, full of devotion and firm faith, my eyes fixed on the grave, and before I could have thought it possible I found myself in a circle, from which arose a wonderful strain of music, and I felt the bliss of eternity concentrated, as it were, into a moment. I saw, too, my father reconciled and loving towards me. He clasped me to his arms and wept but I wept more sorely than he."

We leave the reader to interpret the latter part of the dream - the meaning of the first part is obvious - but the whole may be taken as a fanciful record of personal experience, one, moreover; which shows light upon the nature of the youth whom fortune had condemned to teach Viennese urchins their A B C.

It must not be supposed that the efforts of Schubert's father to divert him composition had any effect. He-thought of music by day and dreamed of it by night, while the more he did this, perhaps, the oftener the little boys' ears were made to tingle. Imagine this soaring youth dragged down to earth from the empyrean a thousand times by the thousand petty details of a teacher's life. Nevertheless, time was found for writing music, both at St. Anna's and at his father's house. In 1813, the year of his home-coming from the Convict, he composed four quartets, an octet for wind instruments, three orchestral minuets, three Kyries, a symphony, a third sonata for four hands, and some songs. In 1814 the catalogue of his youthful works was extended by an opera, 'Des Teufel's Lustschloss,' the First Mass (in F), and other works of less importance, but the year of greatest fecundity was 1815. His labours at this time were simply prodigious, and may be so regarded even if we take into account only the amount of writing necessary to put his thoughts on paper. He could hardly have "thought out" his music as other composers understand the term, and it is pardonable to regard him as the mere medium of communication between humanity and some superhuman source of song.

Among the works referable to 1815 are the Mass in G, the Mass in B flat, a Magnificat, a Salve Regina and Offertory, the second Dona nobis of the Mass in F, the Quartet in G minor, two pianoforte Sonatas in C and F respectively, two Symphonies (B flat and D), six vocal Melodramas, including "Der vierjährige Posten," "Claudine von Villabella" and "Die beiden Freunde von Salamanka," and a large number of songs, of which the immortal "ErlKing" is one. Pretty well this for a boy of eighteen! Indeed, it is marvellous, astounding, incomprehensible, and we look upon it with as much wonder as upon the unfathomable operations of Nature. There is no need to add thereto by supposing, as is often done that Schubert worked in the dark without encouragement or recognition. True, he was not known outside a small circle, but that circle constituted his world, and therein he found, at any rate, some measure of support and satisfaction. His sacred music, for example, was performed from time to time at the Lichtenthal Church, the Mass in F being heard also at the Augustinian Church, Franz conducting and his brother Ferdinand playing the organ. It was after this success that Schubert's father, making, perhaps, a virtue of necessity, presented him with a new five-octave piano. Moreover, the young musician was blessed with excellent musical friends; among them a family named Grob, the head of which, a widow, carried on a silk factory hard by Gate of Heaven Street. The children of this widow were Thérèse, a girl in her "teens," an excellent singer, and Heinrich, who could play well upon the violoncello and piano. At the Grob house Schubert was a welcome guest, and he visited there often, drawn, it may be, by Thérèse's charms, as well as by the opportunities for making music. There is no definite reason for believing that Schubert fell in love with the widow's daughter, but some significance may attach to the fact that when the young lady married, 1820, he ceased to visit at the house, and the ways of the friends fell apart. While the intimacy lasted it must have been very delightful. The composer's Masses were rehearsed with the Grobs, Thérèse singing the soprano solos, both there and in the church, and to the sister and brother he submitted the songs which his inexhaustible genius poured forth. We may add that Heinrich lived till 1855, and that Thérèse (Frau Bergmann) was "hale and hearty" in 1869, when Dr. Kreissle published his biography of the master. How, if Schubert himself had avoided death so long? To the support derived from association with the Grobs must be added that which the encomiums of Schubert's old master, Salieri, could not fail to give. We are told that, after hearing the Mass in F, the Italian musician embraced its composer, exclaiming, "You are mv pupil, and will do me honour." Such words from such a quarter were praise indeed, since Salieri cannot be called the most generous of men. Moreover, Salieri's position was so eminent in Vienna that his every opinion carried weight. It does not appear that he exerted himself very strenuously to brighten the worldly prospects of his pupil, but Schubert must have been, at that sanguine period of his life, far more gratified by praise than by profit. The relations between the great man and the greater (who was then so small) remained of the best character, and it is pleasant to find Schubert assisting prominently at his former teacher's jubilee festival in 1816. Salieri then entered upon the fiftieth year of his service as Court Capellmeister. He had laboured long and well, the Emperor honoured him, and great preparations were made to celebrate the occasion. After a Church service, Salieri was conveyed in an Imperial carriage to the hotel of the Grand Steward, and there presented with a gold medal and chain. In the evening, a number of the old man's pupils gathered at his house, and performed compositions written by themselves in honour of the occasion. Schubert was among them; his offering being a Cantata, entitled "Contributions to the Jubilee Festival of Hof-Capellmeister Salieri, by his pupil, Franz Schubert." Dr. Kreissle gives a description of this work, but as he assures us that it is "more calculated to interest people by the circumstances to which it owes its origin than from its intrinsic value as a work of art," we need not trouble about it here, except to add that Schubert was no more happy than most other composers in writing "pieces of occasion."

It is pleasant thus to see the young school-teacher in circumstances which fostered his genius and encouraged its exercise; the more because a popular notion, due to loose generalisation, pictures him as labouring without a ray of cheering light. His position, it is true, was not the most favourable, but a young assistant in a parish school, who commands quartet parties at home, has his works performed in churches by competent choirs, enjoys access to good musical society, and is praised by the most dignified musician of the day, can hardly be regarded as a Chatterton in friendlessness and misery.

Schubert was fortunate in another respect: he found a poet in Johann Mayrhofer, a man ten years his senior. We know exactly, for the elder himself tells us, how the two came together. "My acquaintance with Schubert was brought about by a young friend giving him my poem, 'Am See,' to set to music. The friend brought him to that very room which, five years later, we were destined to share in common. It was in a dark, gloomy street. House and furniture were the worse for wear, the ceiling was beginning to bulge, the light obstructed by a huge building opposite, and part of the furniture was an old worn-out piano and a shabby bookstand. Such was the room. I shall never forget it, nor the hours we spent there. As the spring tempers the earth, clothing it with verdure and flowers, and refreshing it with breezes, so does she invigorate and endow mankind with the innate consciousness of productive power, for as Goethe says: 'How vast, sublime, and wholly magnificent is the perspective in the fields of life. From mountain on mountain soars the undying spirit in anticipation of an eternal life.' This depth of sentiment and mutual love for poetry and music drew our sympathies closer-and closer. I wrote verses, he saw what I wrote, and to these joint efforts many of his melodies owed their beginning, end, and popularity in the world."

The last sentence in this extract defines the bond of union between men of widely varying character and temperament. Mayrhofer was retiring, mystical, - a prey to diseased views of life, which ultimately drove him to suicide. Schubert, on the other hand though liable to fits of depression, like all sensitive natures, was fond of company, cheerful, and rejoiced in a healthy moral nature. But both were poets, and in the land of imagination there could be no diversity of thought or aim. Let us add here that Mayrhofer referring to their subsequent close association as room-mates, wrote in his diary:- "Whilst we were together curious things happened. We were certainly both of us peculiar, and there were plenty of opportunities for droll incidents. We used to tease one another in all sorts of ways, and bandied pleasantries and epigrams for our mutual benefit. His free, open hearted, cheerful manner and my retired nature came into sharp contrast, and gave us an opportunity of nick-naming each other appropriately, as though we were playing certain parts assigned us. Alas! it was the only role I ever played."

The importance of Mayrhofer's friendship to Schubert at the early period with which we are now concerned cannot be estimated. If the fancy be permissible that for every man there is a woman, union with whom alone can make him complete (he often fails to find her), much more may it be said that the musician needs the poet for the full development of his genius. The two act and re-act one upon another, giving and receiving till each becomes the counterpart of his fellow. "Poetry is music in word and music is poetry in sound; both excellent sauce but," adds old Andrew Fuller, as though with a pre-vision of Schubert and Mayrhofer, "they have live and died poor that made them their meat."

The year 1816 was, like its immediate predecessor a time of wonderful activity, because of which, mayhap, the children in Schubert's school-class suffered much. To it belong the "Tragic" Symphony and the second in B flat—the "Symphony without Trumpets and Drums." Apropos to these works, let us indicate Schubert as again enjoying an important advantage. The quartet at his father's house had in course of time, grown into a small orchestra, amateurs being naturally attracted by the increasing repute of the young viola-player. This compelled a removal of the meetings from the schoolhouse in Gate of Heaven Street to the larger residence of a merchant named Frischling. There the Schuberts and their friends met from week to week, and there they laboured enthusiastically at such symphonies overtures, &c., as lay within their means. When Frischling's room became too strait, they migrated to that of a Herr Hatwig, receiving further additions to their numbers, with an access of talent sufficient to warrant an attack upon the most advanced compositions of the day. For this society several of Schubert's orchestral works were written; among them the two symphonies last referred to. We need not take pains to show what great encouragement and help he must have derived from this opportunity of bringing his compositions to a ready performance. Even an amateur orchestra is far better than none at all in such a case.

Other productious attributable to the year 1816 are a Cantata, "Prometheus," for soli, chorus, and orchestra (Kreissle represents this as lost), the Mass in C, a Magnificat, part of a Requiem, a Stabat Mater, a portion of an opera, "Die Burgschaft," a vast number of instrumental works, and many songs, including "The Wanderer." Again we stand amazed at sight of such prodigious industry. There is no parallel to it in the history of human effort. With regard to "Prometheus," an entry appears in Schubert's diary, under date June 16 1816: - "Today I composed the first time for money - namely, a Cantata ('Prometheus') for the name-day festival of Herr Professor Watteroth von Draxler. The honorarium, 100 florins, Viennese currency."

All this time Schubert remained as his father's assistant in the Lichtenthal School, but he longed to be emancipated from uncongenial labours. We are told that his duties were always conscientiously discharged - it does not appear what the children thought on this matter - but let a man's work be what it may, if he has no heart therein he cannot succeed. Probably Schubert was an indifferent teacher, labouring with perfunctoriness, and by no means keeping his thoughts during school hours within the four walls of the school-room. We know that he remained on the look-out for some musical post, and that, seeing one vacant in 1816 he applied for it. This was the head-mastership of a school of music connected with the Normal School at Laibach; so that, from a mere assistant teacher, Schubert aspired to be the trainer (in music) of his own order. His application for the place was duly made to Government, and supported by testimonials from Salieri and others. Dr. Kreissle's account of what followed is somewhat confused, but one thing is certain - Schubert did not succeed; the vote and influence of the all-powerful Hof-Capellmeister having been given to one Jacob Schaufl. Salieri's reasons for passing over an old pupil, of whom he had formally spoken well, do not appear, but it is easy to imagine good grounds for his action. He may reasonably have considered Schubert as too young, or too inexperienced; or that such a creative genius would be likely to do better work for art than in controlling the routine of an academy. Anyhow, the youthful applicant suffered disappointment, and went back to his drudgery in Gate of Heaven Street.

Once again Providence sent him a friend in need, and in the nick of time, if there be any truth in the story that Schubert had a quarrel with his father and was dismissed. The story - which appeared in a Vienna paper forty years ago, and for which Kreissle does not vouch - is to the following effect: The Lichtenthal School, being of the sort now called "mixed," contained girls as well as boys, and one of the gentler sex, chancing to irritate the assistant teacher, received from his practised hand a sound box on the ear. This summary proceeding may have been against the rules in regard of girl-pupils, or the punishment may have been unusually severe but for some reason or other Schubert's father indignantly reprimanded his subordinate, who soon received an intimation which caused him to resign. In all this we see no improbability, considering Schubert's disgust with his duties and his quick, impulsive temperament; but there is more pleasure in believing that the young teacher abandoned his occupation under circumstances of greater credit, and solely through the action of the friend to whom reference has just been made.