Chapter 1
Introduction
Schubertâs musical persona was first transformed for me in my teens, at a memorable New Yearâs party hosted by my parentsâ neighbour Raphael Gonley, a BBC music producer and keen amateur baritone, and his wife Rosalind, a professional cellist. We had each been asked to bring a piece of music to play, and one group introduced me to the beauties of his String Quintet, D 956,1 with their performance of its first movement. The second theme, in its initial scoring for the two cellos, embedded itself firmly in my memory, as did those lapidary transitional moments that precede it.2 As an undergraduate in the late 1960s, I was fortunate one summer vacation to be at the Edinburgh Festival in a year when such luminaries as the Amadeus Quartet, and Isaac Stern with Eugene Istomin and Leonard Rose, were performing the âlateâ chamber works of Schubert. Of the varied impressions left by this experience, perhaps the most vivid was formed by the unprecedentedly explosive slow movement of the G major String Quartet, D 887. From these beginnings grew an abiding interest in Schubertâs instrumental music that has constantly resurfaced in my work since.3
When I first started to read more widely on the subject, I encountered an article by Eric Blom entitled â[Franz Schubert:] His Favourite Deviceâ.4 It seemed to me then, and increasingly as I came to know the piano and chamber works more intimately, that with Schubert it was very much a question of a whole range of âfavourite devicesâ marking his instrumental style with its special character or âcompositional personalityâ. As Robert Schumann put it: âOnly few works are as clearly stamped with their authorâs imprint as hisâ.5 When, later, I was invited by Derrick Puffett to give a paper in his series of Analysis seminars at Wolfson College, Oxford in the 1980s, I called it âSome Schubert Fingerprintsâ. These two notions â that of the âfavourite deviceâ and the âfingerprintâ â have become melded together in my outlook on Schubert as I have continued to study his music closely over the past two decades.
Schubert was also transformed for me from the 1960s onwards through reading various âlife and worksâ studies, and other volumes devoted to aspects of the composer and his music. Reflecting afresh on the portrayal of Schubert in the literature, I have the impression that of the canonic quartet of Viennese masters, he has been the most subject on the one hand to essentially derogatory critical evaluation, and on the other hand to quite sweeping changes in the attitudes shown towards him and his work. (While some of these shifts in perception are influenced by fashions in musicology more generally, they have also been fuelled by developments within the increasingly complex field of Schubert scholarship.6) As an undergraduate I pencilled in my copy of Arthur Hutchingsâs Schubert (published in the influential Master Musicians series) my strong objections to some of the authorâs judgements. Among passages that particularly jarred with my growing sense of Schubertâs depths was the assertion that whereas âwith Beethoven the quartet reached a mystical world, at once the farthest and the innermost region attained by any musician, Schubert gives us nothing but beautyâ.7 Repeatedly Schubert is demoted to a lower level. Summoning Hadowâs comparison of Schubert with Keats (with reference to Schubertâs ability âto enchant us by sheer sensuous beautyâ) to support his points, Hutchings declares that âwe must be careful to have Schubert before Beethoven on our programmesâ.8 In observing that âthe difficulty lies entirely with the heavy responsibility handed on by his predecessors, especially Beethovenâ, it seems that Hutchings uses this assessment against Schubert, thus perpetuating the problem.9
Where Schubertâs depths are glimpsed here, they are regarded as out of character. Thus the G major Quartet, D 887, is pronounced as being âleast typical of its composerâ and its finale as illustrating âa new and quite un-Schubertian kind of audacityâ.10 It is significant that at the time Hutchings was writing, the G major work could be described as âneglected by musiciansâ in favour of the D minor Quartet, D 810 (âDeath and the Maidenâ) that preceded it. Hutchings was evidently still coming to terms with this music when he wrote of D 887: âDoes it not, perhaps, give us some indication of the next technical advances he would have made? Would the Schubert we do not know have proved, in his middle or third period, a deeper artist than the enchanting poet?â11 The Schubert we are able to appreciate now, in the twenty-first century, is that deeper artist.
Two particular strands in Schubert criticism may be extracted at this point from Hutchingsâs writing. One recurrent element already highlighted is the comparison with Beethoven (among others), to Schubertâs disadvantage. Another is the view of Schubert as childlike, fun-loving and âmost convivial of the great musiciansâ.12 Both of these have undergone profound changes in the past half-century. To take some examples of the nuances with which they have been treated more recently: Carl Dahlhaus evokes the Beethoven comparison, in his account of Schubertâs Quartet D 887, first movement, in order to delineate more precisely Schubertâs individual approach to form, which Dahlhaus values on its own terms.13 Hugh Macdonald in his study of Schubertâs âvolcanic temperâ compares Schubertâs musical outbursts to Beethovenâs, and concludes that Schubertâs have the more disturbingly violent effect.14 And Elizabeth McKayâs new sifting of the documentary evidence enables her to place Schubertâs happier moods in the context of his bipolar nature, for which she makes a convincing case.15
Prior to these examples, the author who first transformed Schubert for me, in the wake of my reading of Hutchings, was Maurice Brown, with his biography of the composer.16 The shift in attitude that Brownâs work represents became so embedded subsequently in ways of thinking about Schubert, that its revelatory qualities could easily now be forgotten. (The bookâs dedication to Otto Erich Deutsch is clearly significant.17) Brown situated his account of Schubert expressly in its historiographical context when, in his foreword, he declared his wish to âpresent the composerâ not only in the light of âa century of discovery and researchâ, but also âin so far as [the discoveries] concern the aims and ideals of modern biography in generalâ.18 For Brown, Schubert is seen as having âsuffered perhaps more than his fellow composersâ from a âfairy-tale approach to the musical creatorâ; as Brown puts it, âWe ask today for an interpretation of his character based on something deeper and more suggestive than that of the simple-hearted but idle Viennese Bohemian, who composed in a state of âclairvoyanceââ.19
The image evoked by Brown here is linked with that of Schubertâs composing as âsleepwalkerâ and of his alleged impatience with revising his work. The abiding impressions of Schubertâs spontaneity derived from the memoirs of his friends need to be viewed in perspective. While in many cases he clearly was able to pen his first thoughts rapidly, the manuscript sources, as well as revealing his âcompositional facilityâ,20 bear witness to the careful revision and amplification which he applied subsequently. Youens encapsulated these processes apropos of Winterreise, D 911: âHe evidently wrote the first versions of the songs in Part I at great speed. Nevertheless, the effort of which Schubert spoke to his friends is also apparent in the large number of revisions and emendationsâ.21
Brownâs firmly espoused change of approach to the subject impacts on our perceptions of Schubertâs music. Indeed his biography includes, besides details of the works composed (and those published) in each year of Schubertâs life, evaluative commentary on the works themselves. In a generally appreciative account of the G major Quartet, D 887, it is notable that Brown (with a very different slant from Hutchings) responds specifically to the newness that this work carries within it: discussing its opening majorâminor gestures he perceives that âits novelty is still a striking feature even today, when our ears are shocked by nothingâ.22 And of the âfamous, almost notorious episodesâ in the slow movement, he notes, in an observation that is a salutary reminder of the limits of analysis, that âeven if on paper Schubertâs devices can be explained, in sound they are extraordinaryâ, and âno attempt is made to placate the earâ.23
Besides the chronologically arranged chapters on the life and works, an inserted chapter on âThe Artistâ and a concluding chapter on, essentially, Schubert reception (âHis Century and Oursâ) add further valuable perceptions. In Brownâs final chapter, a critical survey of the literature (and the attitudes that formed around Schubert) is threaded through the authorâs account of how the composer and his music fared after his lifetime. The quality of Brownâs enthusiasm for his subject shines through his choice of quotation with which to end, taken from a review of the facsimile edition of the autograph manuscript of Winterreise, published in 1955: âPerishable leaves, fading traces ⌠he who examines them with the heart, and not with the clumsier outward intelligence, to him they are magic mirrors, in which such a thing as the creative spirit is to be perceived.â24
Reflecting on the earlier phases of Schubert scholarship, Brown observed that Willi Kahlâs âcatalogue of all the writings on Schubert between 1828 and 1928â numbered ânearly 2,000 itemsâ, which by the end of 1928 had risen to 3,000.25 Many more thousands of items have been added in the years since.26 Another turning-point came with the publication of the New Grove Dictionary, featuring the entry on Schubert newly commissioned from Maurice Brown and Eric Sams.27 Over the three decades since then, the Schubert literature has grown and branched in a variety of directions. Particularly not...