extra ones; mixing various times simultaneously—or similar mechanical means of producing unity or making novel effects, which often surprise and please us in Beethoven, Schumann, Mendelssohn and Spohr. Not an instance of this is to be found in Schubert. Nor has he ever indicated a programme, or prefixed a motto to any of his works. His matter is so abundant and so full of variety and interest that he never seems to think of enhancing it by any devices. He did nothing to extend the formal limits of Symphony or Sonata, but he endowed them with a magic, a romance, a sweet naturalness, which no one has yet approached. And as in the general structure so in the single movements. A simple canon, as in the E♭ Trio, the Andante of the B minor or the Scherzo of the C major Symphonies; an occasional round, as in the Masses and Part-songs; such is pretty nearly all the science that he affords. His vocal fugues are notoriously weak, and the symphonies rarely show those piquant fugatos which are so delightful in Beethoven and Mendelssohn. On the other hand, in all that is necessary to express his thoughts and feelings, and to convey them to the hearer, he is inferior to none. Such passages as the return to the subject in the Andante of the B minor Symphony, or in the ballet air in G of Rosamunde; as the famous horn passage in the Andante of the C major Symphony (No. 10)—which Schumann happily compares to a being from the other world gliding about the orchestra—or the equally beautiful cello solo further on in the same movement, are unsurpassed in orchestral music for felicity and beauty, and have an emotional effect which no learning could give. There is a place in the working-out of the Rosamunde Entracte in B minor (change into G♯), in which the combination of modulation and scoring produces a weird and overpowering feeling quite exceptional, and the change to the major near the end of the same great work will always astonish. One of the most prominent beauties in these orchestral works is the exquisite and entirely fresh manner in which the wind instruments are combined. Even in his earliest Symphonies he begins that method of dialogue by interchange of phrases, which rises at last to the well-known and lovely passages in the Overture to Rosamunde (and subject), the Trios of the B♭ Entracte, and the Air de Ballet in the same music, and in the Andantes of the 8th and 10th Symphonies. No one has ever combined wind instruments as these are combined. To quote Schumann once more—they talk and intertalk like human beings. It is no artful concealment of art. The artist vanishes altogether, and the loving, simple, human friend remains. It were well to be dumb in articulate speech with such a power of utterance at command! If anything were wanting to convince us of the absolute inspiration of such music as this it would be the fact that Schubert never can have heard either of the two Symphonies which we have just been citing.—But to return to the orchestra. The trombones were favourite instruments with Schubert in his later life. In the fugal movements of his two last Masses he makes them accompany the voices in unison, with a persistence which is sometimes almost unbearable for its monotony. In portions of the C major Symphony also (No. 10) some may possibly find them too much 'used. But in [1]other parts of the Masses they are beautifully employed, and in the Introduction and Allegro of the Symphony they are used with a noble effect, which not improbably suggested to Schumann the equally impressive use of them in his B♭ Symphony. The accompaniments to his subjects are always of great ingenuity and originality, and full of life and character. The triplets in the Finale to the 10th Symphony, which excited the mal à propos merriment of the Philharmonic orchestra (see p. 358) are a very striking instance. Another is the incessant run of semiquavers in the second violins and violas which accompany the second theme in the Finale of the Tragic Symphony. Another, of which he is very fond, is the employment of a recurring monotonous figure in the inner parts:—
or
often running to great length, as in the Andantes of the Tragic and B minor Symphonies; the Moderato of the B♭ Sonata; the fine song 'Viola' (op. 123, at the return to A♭ in the middle of the song) etc. etc. In his best PF. music, the accompaniments are most happily fitted to the leading part, so as never to clash or produce discord. Rapidly as he wrote he did these things as if they were calculated. But they never obtrude themselves or become prominent. They are all merged and absorbed in the gaiety, pathos and personal interest of the music itself, and of the man who is uttering through it his griefs and joys, his hopes and fears, in so direct and touching a manner as no composer ever did before or since, and with no thought of an audience, of fame, or success, or any other external thing. No one who listens to it can doubt that Schubert wrote for himself alone. His music is the simple utterance of the feelings with which his mind is full. If he had thought of his audience, or the effect he would produce, or the capabilities of the means he was employing, he would have taken more pains in the revision of his works. Indeed the most affectionate disciple of Schubert must admit that the want of revision is often but too apparent.
In his instrumental music he is often very diffuse. When a passage pleases him he generally repeats it at once, almost note for note. He will reiterate a passage over and over in different keys, as if he could never have done. In the songs this does not offend; and even here, if we
- ↑ There to a tradition that he doubted this himself, and referred the score to Lachner for his opinion.
