Symphony 9 - Schubert (1797-1828)

Franz Schubert, the composer, was the youngest of five children; five other children having died earlier. Schubert's father had intended that Franz and his brothers Ignaz and Ferdinand should become schoolmasters but, even though the young Franz was not a prodigy in the Mozart tradition, he showed considerable musical talent. Schubert's father, who outlived his son by two years, wrote of his childhood: "Before he was five I prepared him for elementary instruction and in his sixth year sent him to school, where he was always higher in class than his fellow-scholars. At eight I gave him preliminary instruction in violin playing and proceeded far enough to enable him to play duets fairly well: then I sent him for singing lessons to Michael Holzer, the Lichtental choirmaster. Holzer assured me with tears in his eyes that he had never had such a pupil. 'Whenever I set out to teach him something new, I find that he knows it already. In the end I did not give him any real instruction, but listened to him in silent amazement'.

Schubert's life was certainly neither the angst-ridden type, so beloved of Hollywood, nor a life of penury as suffered by Mozart. Yet, even though his day-to-day life was eased both spiritually and financially by a circle of influential and artistic friends, he could hardly have written such heartfelt music without an awareness of the deeper of life's emotions. At the age of twenty-five, he wrote a psychologically revealing allegorical document worth quoting for its insight into his state of mind. "Once my father took us to a feast. There my brothers became very merry. I, however, was sad. My father approached me and bade me enjoy the delicious dishes. I could not, whereupon my father, becoming angry, banished me from his sight. I turned my footsteps and, with my heart full of infinite love for those who disdained it, wandered into far-off regions. For long years I felt torn between the greatest grief and the greatest love. And so the news of my mother's death reached me. I hastened to see her; my father, mellowed by sorrow, did not hinder my entrance. We followed her body in sorrow and the coffin sank into the earth. Then my father took me to his favourite garden. He asked me whether I liked it. But the garden wholly repelled me and I dared not say so. He asked me a second time and I denied it, trembling. At that my father struck me and I fled and again wandered far away. Whenever I attempted to sing of love it turned to pain. When I tried to sing of pain it turned to love. Then one day I had news of a gentle maiden who had just died. A circle formed about her grave in which many youths and old men walked as though in heavenly bliss. Heavenly thoughts seemed like fine sparks to be showered on the youths from the maiden's gravestone producing a gentle rustling. I too sorely longed to walk there. Only a miracle can lead you to that circle they said. But I went to the gravestone with slow steps and lowered gaze, filled with devotion and belief. Before I was aware of it, I found myself in the circle which uttered a wondrously lovely sound; I felt as though eternal bliss were gathered together into a single moment. My father, too, I saw, reconciled and loving. He took me in his arms and wept. But not so much as I".

How poignant that Schubert never heard his greatest symphonic composition, the Symphony 9 in C major, quite justifiably sub-titled "The Great". The manuscript was discovered by Robert Schumann in the Vienna house of Schubert's brother some ten years after Schubert's death. A copy was sent to Mendelssohn in Leipzig who was enthusiastic in his championship: "We recently played a remarkable and interesting symphony by Franz Schubert. It is, without doubt, one of the best works which we have recently heard. Bright, fascinating and original throughout, it stands at the head of his instrumental works". Thus the establishment of this sublime music was begun at least in the composer's native country. Mendelssohn was keen to present the symphony in London but English musicians found the length of the work and the difficulty of the last movement a cause for derision. He withdrew the score and it was not until many years later that it was performed in England in two instalments across a pair of concerts. Wherein lies the difficulty? The scope of the music cannot be denied especially in its time-scale, described by Robert Schumann as of "heavenly length", but there is nothing in the first three movements that would not have delighted listeners to previous compositions of Schubert. It was the Finale that provoked antagonism. Here, the string writing based on an almost endlessly repeated triplet idea, is extremely arduous and has to be handled carefully enough not to obscure the overlying simplistic but powerful melodic lines. My wife has reminded me of the occasion when, as a member of the LPO, she was rehearsing Schubert's symphony with the Austrian conductor, Josef Krips. Towards the end of the last movement the orchestra pronounces four dramatic hammer blows followed by a significant trumpet fanfare-like motif: "Come my friends", said the maestro, "here is Schubert knocking at the gates of Heaven". She also remembers how at the end of the fifty minute symphony, the exhausted orchestra (and this was only the rehearsal) smiled with a sort of corporate relief. "Ah, my friends, I see you love this music as much as I do. Let us play it through once more".

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