A major composer who lived to be barely more than thirty? Schubert. The composer who, arguably, had the greatest gift for melody of all? Schubert. Which genius(es) created masterworks in various musical genres? Many; certainly Schubert as well. Who was the first composer to favor the minor key, composing works that fearlessly explore darker emotions? Again, Schubert. Which composer was able to express both deep joy and deep sorrow in his compositions? Several; Schubert very much to be counted among them. Who did this with the greatest intensity? A few, among them, which genius was short, stocky, syphilitic, frequently sad and utterly sensational? Schubert, Schubert, Schubert!
For me, Schubert's art songs or lieder compose the heart of the great body of works that bear his name. (I think he would have agreed; after all, he wrote over 600 art songs, many of them masterworks.) Five of them will be presented here, with comments which, I hope, will provide some insight into the mind and--especially--into the heart of this master composer. Oh, and don't worry, I won't always be as reverent as this introduction might lead one to believe. Even Homer nods!
1. Sometimes It's Best Not to Know German
In der Ferne D. 957: text by Ludwig Rellstab
Ludwig Rellstab (1799-1860) was 29 when Schubert composed lieder to several of his poems in 1828, Rellstab originally presented them to Beethoven, who apparently had no interest in setting them to music. (Goethe, by the way, thought he lacked talent.) Beethoven's assistant, Anton Schindler, passed them on to Schubert and the rest is musical history. Rellstab became an enormously influential music critic later in his life. An interesting fact is that he was briefly jailed in 1837 for allegedly libeling Gaspare Spontini, who who then the Generalmudikdirektor of Berlin.
In der Ferne
Wehe dem Fliehenden,
Welt hinaus ziehenden!
Fremde durchmessenden,
Heimat vergessenden,
Mutterhaus hassenden,
Freunde verlassenden
Folget kein Segen, ach!
auf ihren Wegen nach!
Herze, das sehnende,
Auge, das tränende,
Sehnsucht, nie endende,
Heimwärts sich wendende!
Busen, der wallende,
Klage, verhallende,
Abendstern, blinkender,
Hoffnunslos sinkender!
Lüfte, ihr säuselnden,
Wellen sanft kräuselnden,
Sonnenstrahl, eilender,
Nirgens verweilender:
Die mir mit Schmerze, ach!
Dies treue Herze brach--
Grüsst von dem Fliehenden,
Welt hinaus ziehenden!
This is my translation: (Note: I am only providing prose summaries of the poems in this essay.)
Far Away
Woe to him who is fleeing,
Going into the wide world.
To those who forget where they came from,
To those who hate their parental home,
To those who leave friends behind:
No blessing comes to them,
Alas! upon their journeys!
Heart full of yearning,
Eyes full of tears,
Never-ending yearning
In the direction of home!
Breast, undulating one,
Reproaches, dying away,
Evening star, twinkling,
Hopelessly sinking!
Breezes, you rustling ones,
Waves, gently rippling ones,
Sun rays, you rushing ones
Who never stay still--
Greet the one who alas!
Broke this true heart,
Send greetings from the fleeing one
Going into the wide world!
This is an awful poem. When a friend of mine, who doesn't know German, and I listened to a recording of Schubert's last songs, he was mesmerized by the lyric intensity of Schubert's music set to the text of this poem. He envied me for knowing German. "Understanding the words as they are sung must increase one's appreciation," he opined. "In this case," I replied, "it is better not to know German."
It's bad enough that the content is a humdrum rendering of a Romantic cliché, namely, the tale of a man, desperate over a failed romance, who subsequently--in this case "with an undulating breast"--takes his stupid Weltschmerz abroad. The worst aspect, however, is the writer's egregious attempt at word play. This is not evident in the English translation, so I will explain its occurrence in the original version. In German, the gerund form of a verb can indicate an individual, who thereby becomes part of the verb, by ending the suffix er, or e. Thus gehend, "going." becomes "the one (male) who is going" or "Gehender." Rellstab uses this device six times in each eight-line stanza, where they come at the end of the line---that is, eighteen times! The gerunds come in pairs and rhyme. A cardinal rule of poetry--and of all art--is not to bore the reader. Variations, including unexpected turns, of all sorts are essential.
The effect of the overused gerunds is ludicrous. Listening to the words, I feel like laughing; listening to Schubert's sublime music, however, other emotions arise.
The poem, with its boring repetitions, easy rhymes, and overblown language, invites parody. Here is mine:
.
Nase, du fliessende,
Nudelschleim giessende,
Rotzengrün schiessende,
In C dur piepsende!
(Der Du dies Nasenloch
öffnen kannst, hilf' mir doch!)
Wehe dem niesenden,
Welt hinaus schneuzenden.
(Sorry; I can't translate this one.)
Now let's turn to Schubert's lied.
Schubert created a masterwork, no doubt about it.
The very effective short introduction sets the stage: we are musically informed that the mood of this piece will be a very serious one. And so it is--a haunting, very sad, very Schubertian melody follows. We are in a minor key, of course; in this version G# minor. What I want to stress here is Schubert's exquisite harmonic changes of the melodic line: unlike the tiresome poem, nothing is boring here. The song is full of surprises, such as the half tone modulation emphasizing the "hate" part of the phrase, "Mutterhaus hassenden." The song is full of such variations to astonishingly beautiful effect. The first stanza remains in the lower register with little melodic movement. The melodic line of the second stanza gradually rises in pitch and with greater intervals between notes. The intensity is increasing; we are gradually heading toward a climax. And how lovely and how sad is the long note (two and a half measures) at the end of each of the first two stanzas. Then, unexpectedly, one of those miraculous Schubertian shifts from minor to major occurs. One can even anticipate a happy ending, the music is so serene at this point. But no, Schubert modulates back to the minor key for the climax of the piece, the final and loudest note the singer has: a molto forte E flat. It is important to note that the melody ends on the same note as it began, except that it occurs one octave higher. (D# is the same note as Eb.) Despite a sunny interval, what a harrowing journey that one octave contains! Schubert's harmonic and melodic achievements here are nothing short of breathtaking.
How could such a musical genius like Schubert choose such a mediocre text? We will attempt to answer this in our discussion of the next lied.
2. It Helps to Know German with This One
Der Zwerg, D. 771, text by Mathäus Casimir von Collin (1779-1824)
Der Zwerg
Im trüben Licht verschwinden schon die Berge,
Es schwebt das Schiff auf glatten Meereswogen,
worauf die Königen mit ihrem Zwerge.
Sie schaut empor zum hochgewölbten Bogen,
Hinauf zur lichtdurchwirkten blauen Ferne,
Die mit der Milch des Himmels blass durchzogen.
"Nie, nie habt ihr mir gelogen noch, ihr Sterne,"
So ruft sie aus, "bald werd' ich nun entschwinden,
Ihr sagt es mir, doch sterb' ich wahrlich gerne."
Da tritt der Zwerg zur Königen, mag binden
Um ihren Hals die Schnur von roter Seide,
Und weint, als wollt' er schnell vor Gram erblinden.
Er spricht: "Du selbst bist schuld an diesem Leide
Weil um den König du mich hast verlassen,
Jetzt weckt dein Sterben einzig mir noch Freude.
"Zwar werd' ich ewig mich selber hassen,
Der dir mit dieser Hand den Tod gegeben,
Doch musst zum frühen Grab du nun erblassen."
Sie legt die Hand aufs Herz voll jungem Leben,
Und aus dem Aug' die schweren Tränen rinnen,
Das sie zum Himmel betend will erheben.
"Mögst du nicht Schmerz durch meinen Tod gewinnen!"
Sie sagt's; da küsst der Zwerg die bleichen Wangen,
D'rauf alsoblad vergehen ihr die Sinnen.
Der Zwerg schaut an die Frau, von Tod befangen,
Er senkt sie tief ins Meer mit eig'nen Hânden,
Ihm brennt nach ihr das Herz so voll verlangen,
An keiner Küste wird er je mehr landen.
The Dwarf (Prose Translation)
The hills are disappearing in the bleak light,
The ship is floating on the smooth sea,
On which are the queen and her dwarf.
She looks above to the vault of the sky
Up to the blue distance streaked with light,
Which is faintly patterned with starry milk.
"Never, never have you stars lied to me,"
She cries out, "Soon I will depart this life--,
You tell me so, but I am indeed happy to die."
The dwarf then approaches the queen, and
Wraps the cord of red silk around her neck,
And weeps, and weeps, overcome with grief.
He says,"You're to blame for what is happening,
Because you have abandoned me for the king,
Your death is the only thing that can bring me joy now.
"Although I will hate myself forever
Because these hands brought death to you,
Yet you must be sent to an early grave."
Full of youth, she puts her hand on her heart,
From her eyes heavy tears fall,
She lifts up her eyes to heaven.
"I hope my death will never cause you any grief,"
She exclaims; thereupon the dwarf kisses her on her pale cheeks,
And she swiftly falls into unconsciousness.
The dwarf looks at her, overcome by death,
He sinks her body deep into the sea;
His heart is burning, consumed by desire,
He will never land on any shore again.
Matthäus Casimir von Collin was very erudite; at one time he was a professor of Aesthetics and History at the University of Cracow. He was much admired by Schubert and his friends not only for his conversation but also for his kindliness. He was also much involved with literature, and edited an important magazine.
Schubert composed music to several of Collin's poems, "Der Zwerg," enjoys a prominent position among them. It is, of course, a ballad.
In the late eighteenth century and through Schubert's time, ballads, inspired by the great English and Scottish ballads of previous centuries, were very much in fashion. The rage started around the time of the publication of the Ossian epics, the first installation of which appeared in 1760. They were purportedly translations from the ancient Gaelic, but turned out to be "the most successful literary falsehoods in modern history," (Curley.) Von Collin, in fact, wrote a libretto to an opera called, "Ossian." The epic helped bring about the Romantic movement.
Most of the derivative ballads written during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries are eminently forgettable--which would have been the fate of this one as well, if Schubert hadn't set it to music. The great exception is Goethe's superb ballad, "der Erlkönig," which also provided the text to one of Schubert's most memorable lieder.
The poem reads well; knowing German enables one to follow the content, which is of great importance here. Critical judgement, however, needs to be suspended. It is difficult to fathom how this poem could ever have been taken seriously--Schubert, however, took it very seriously.
Let us examine the conceit of the poem. The queen has a dwarf; the poem takes place many centuries ago when dwarfs and jesters provided royal entertainment. Can you imagine a queen being alone on a ship with her dwarf? Think of the class difference. Think of the impossibility of a queen ever being left alone in public without attendants.
It gets worse. The dwarf and the queen have been having an affair! Duty apparently calls, and the queen decides to return to her husband. The jealous dwarf strangles her and casts her body into the sea. The poor girl is willing to die--she apparently still loves him but it is, alas! a love that cannot be--and offers no resistance as she is strangled by the dwarf. The little fellow, whose heart is breaking, will never be seen nor heard of again. It is ridiculous.
The most egregious lines of all occur in the fifth stanza, which I roughly translate as follows: "You are to blame for this mess, because you have abandoned me for the king." Can you imagine a Quasimodo reproaching a Guinevere for having dumped him for her King Arthur? Much credit must be given to all those artists who sing these lines without cracking up.
The music is, however, superb. Perhaps there a way to save the poem as well. What if the whole poem is interpreted as a dream of an inadequate man, fantasizing about a beautiful woman? He views himself as a dwarf. That the dwarf and the queen could be found alone on a ship is easily accomplished in a dream. He imagines that they have a relationship and kills her in a fit of jealously. Every night, he realm of Rapid Eye Movement sets the stage all over the world for imagination to direct scenes such as this one In a dream a queen could be strangled without so much as a squawk. Although this was certainly not von Collins's intention, the poem does indeed work as a sexual nightmare.
Now let's turn our attention to the recording:
Schubert has, once again, written a superb composition. At this point we can perhaps explain why Schubert often chose texts of poor quality. His desire to please his friends is part of the answer, but only part; Schubert's willingness to put this and other poems by the poetasters in his circle goes deeper. Schubert always sought texts to which he could respond with emotional intensity. The content was what was important for him, not how the content was expressed. (Yes, even Schubert nods--It would have been better if he had been more discriminating in his choice of texts. Yet his ability not only to change spring water but even bilge water into fine wine provides further evidence of his extraordinary talent.) He was especially fond of texts that deal with an unhappy, alienated narrator, who is thrown into a state of passionate despair after being rejected by the girl of his dreams. (Winterreise is the prime example, but there are many others.) A poem expressing the resultant misery, however miserably versified, is all that Schubert needed. Once he responded emotionally to a text, even to one lacking literary merit, he was able to set it to music of great subtlety and with the imagination of a master dramatist.
"Der Zwerg" is a prime example of this Schubertian mastery. The minor-key broken chords of the bass immediately establish the eerie mood of this piece. As usual, Schubert is able to modulate the harmonies so that the music is never boring and is always effective. He loves to drive the direction of an art song to an emotional high point, which he accomplishes here with great artistry. Listen to how he repeats, "vor Gram erblinden" a phrase that obviously touched a nerve. It is an indication of what is to come, a "mini-high point," as it were. The climax is reached with the line, "Ihm brennt nach ihr das Herz so voll Verlangen." The music is at its loudest; the pitch is raised. Here and only here Schubert repeats not only the entire line but also repeats the last three words, 'so voll Verlangen' for the third time. Schubert was perhaps the greatest classical master of sexual frustration ever. (Gretchen am Spinnrade is another fine example.)
The music is so sexually intense and so unfulfilled. It is an example of what I call the "negative Schubertian orgasm." It is minor-key sad. It is masturbatory, since the object of desire is not present. It is full of incredibly passionate intensity. It is also rather adolescent, and, arguably, somewhat pathological. (Other examples of the "negative Schubertian orgasm": when Gretchen swoons and breaks off from spinning the wheel and, in the development section of the Unfinished Symphony, when the orchestra--in a minor key, of course--plays a loud, intense climax and then falls off.)
Schubert was a very versatile composer, and the turmoil in this lied is countered by the major-key exuberance of others. But emotional turmoil is a Schubertian specialty. It is difficult to criticize a genius; praise comes much easier. Sometimes, however, the gloom of some of his music, for me at least, gets to be a bit too much. Goethe comes to mind, who stated that classicism is that which is healthy, while Romanticism is that which is pathological. Not totally true, but I certainly get the point.
This is the end of Part 1; in Part 11, we will discuss the last three songs of this five-song analysis.
Hinauf zur lichtdurchwirkten blauen Ferne,
Die mit der Milch des Himmels blass durchzogen.
"Nie, nie habt ihr mir gelogen noch, ihr Sterne,"
So ruft sie aus, "bald werd' ich nun entschwinden,
Ihr sagt es mir, doch sterb' ich wahrlich gerne."
Da tritt der Zwerg zur Königen, mag binden
Um ihren Hals die Schnur von roter Seide,
Und weint, als wollt' er schnell vor Gram erblinden.
Er spricht: "Du selbst bist schuld an diesem Leide
Weil um den König du mich hast verlassen,
Jetzt weckt dein Sterben einzig mir noch Freude.
"Zwar werd' ich ewig mich selber hassen,
Der dir mit dieser Hand den Tod gegeben,
Doch musst zum frühen Grab du nun erblassen."
Sie legt die Hand aufs Herz voll jungem Leben,
Und aus dem Aug' die schweren Tränen rinnen,
Das sie zum Himmel betend will erheben.
"Mögst du nicht Schmerz durch meinen Tod gewinnen!"
Sie sagt's; da küsst der Zwerg die bleichen Wangen,
D'rauf alsoblad vergehen ihr die Sinnen.
Der Zwerg schaut an die Frau, von Tod befangen,
Er senkt sie tief ins Meer mit eig'nen Hânden,
Ihm brennt nach ihr das Herz so voll verlangen,
An keiner Küste wird er je mehr landen.
The Dwarf (Prose Translation)
The hills are disappearing in the bleak light,
The ship is floating on the smooth sea,
On which are the queen and her dwarf.
She looks above to the vault of the sky
Up to the blue distance streaked with light,
Which is faintly patterned with starry milk.
"Never, never have you stars lied to me,"
She cries out, "Soon I will depart this life--,
You tell me so, but I am indeed happy to die."
The dwarf then approaches the queen, and
Wraps the cord of red silk around her neck,
And weeps, and weeps, overcome with grief.
He says,"You're to blame for what is happening,
Because you have abandoned me for the king,
Your death is the only thing that can bring me joy now.
"Although I will hate myself forever
Because these hands brought death to you,
Yet you must be sent to an early grave."
Full of youth, she puts her hand on her heart,
From her eyes heavy tears fall,
She lifts up her eyes to heaven.
"I hope my death will never cause you any grief,"
She exclaims; thereupon the dwarf kisses her on her pale cheeks,
And she swiftly falls into unconsciousness.
The dwarf looks at her, overcome by death,
He sinks her body deep into the sea;
His heart is burning, consumed by desire,
He will never land on any shore again.
Matthäus Casimir von Collin was very erudite; at one time he was a professor of Aesthetics and History at the University of Cracow. He was much admired by Schubert and his friends not only for his conversation but also for his kindliness. He was also much involved with literature, and edited an important magazine.
Schubert composed music to several of Collin's poems, "Der Zwerg," enjoys a prominent position among them. It is, of course, a ballad.
In the late eighteenth century and through Schubert's time, ballads, inspired by the great English and Scottish ballads of previous centuries, were very much in fashion. The rage started around the time of the publication of the Ossian epics, the first installation of which appeared in 1760. They were purportedly translations from the ancient Gaelic, but turned out to be "the most successful literary falsehoods in modern history," (Curley.) Von Collin, in fact, wrote a libretto to an opera called, "Ossian." The epic helped bring about the Romantic movement.
Most of the derivative ballads written during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries are eminently forgettable--which would have been the fate of this one as well, if Schubert hadn't set it to music. The great exception is Goethe's superb ballad, "der Erlkönig," which also provided the text to one of Schubert's most memorable lieder.
The poem reads well; knowing German enables one to follow the content, which is of great importance here. Critical judgement, however, needs to be suspended. It is difficult to fathom how this poem could ever have been taken seriously--Schubert, however, took it very seriously.
Let us examine the conceit of the poem. The queen has a dwarf; the poem takes place many centuries ago when dwarfs and jesters provided royal entertainment. Can you imagine a queen being alone on a ship with her dwarf? Think of the class difference. Think of the impossibility of a queen ever being left alone in public without attendants.
It gets worse. The dwarf and the queen have been having an affair! Duty apparently calls, and the queen decides to return to her husband. The jealous dwarf strangles her and casts her body into the sea. The poor girl is willing to die--she apparently still loves him but it is, alas! a love that cannot be--and offers no resistance as she is strangled by the dwarf. The little fellow, whose heart is breaking, will never be seen nor heard of again. It is ridiculous.
The most egregious lines of all occur in the fifth stanza, which I roughly translate as follows: "You are to blame for this mess, because you have abandoned me for the king." Can you imagine a Quasimodo reproaching a Guinevere for having dumped him for her King Arthur? Much credit must be given to all those artists who sing these lines without cracking up.
The music is, however, superb. Perhaps there a way to save the poem as well. What if the whole poem is interpreted as a dream of an inadequate man, fantasizing about a beautiful woman? He views himself as a dwarf. That the dwarf and the queen could be found alone on a ship is easily accomplished in a dream. He imagines that they have a relationship and kills her in a fit of jealously. Every night, he realm of Rapid Eye Movement sets the stage all over the world for imagination to direct scenes such as this one In a dream a queen could be strangled without so much as a squawk. Although this was certainly not von Collins's intention, the poem does indeed work as a sexual nightmare.
Now let's turn our attention to the recording:
Schubert has, once again, written a superb composition. At this point we can perhaps explain why Schubert often chose texts of poor quality. His desire to please his friends is part of the answer, but only part; Schubert's willingness to put this and other poems by the poetasters in his circle goes deeper. Schubert always sought texts to which he could respond with emotional intensity. The content was what was important for him, not how the content was expressed. (Yes, even Schubert nods--It would have been better if he had been more discriminating in his choice of texts. Yet his ability not only to change spring water but even bilge water into fine wine provides further evidence of his extraordinary talent.) He was especially fond of texts that deal with an unhappy, alienated narrator, who is thrown into a state of passionate despair after being rejected by the girl of his dreams. (Winterreise is the prime example, but there are many others.) A poem expressing the resultant misery, however miserably versified, is all that Schubert needed. Once he responded emotionally to a text, even to one lacking literary merit, he was able to set it to music of great subtlety and with the imagination of a master dramatist.
"Der Zwerg" is a prime example of this Schubertian mastery. The minor-key broken chords of the bass immediately establish the eerie mood of this piece. As usual, Schubert is able to modulate the harmonies so that the music is never boring and is always effective. He loves to drive the direction of an art song to an emotional high point, which he accomplishes here with great artistry. Listen to how he repeats, "vor Gram erblinden" a phrase that obviously touched a nerve. It is an indication of what is to come, a "mini-high point," as it were. The climax is reached with the line, "Ihm brennt nach ihr das Herz so voll Verlangen." The music is at its loudest; the pitch is raised. Here and only here Schubert repeats not only the entire line but also repeats the last three words, 'so voll Verlangen' for the third time. Schubert was perhaps the greatest classical master of sexual frustration ever. (Gretchen am Spinnrade is another fine example.)
The music is so sexually intense and so unfulfilled. It is an example of what I call the "negative Schubertian orgasm." It is minor-key sad. It is masturbatory, since the object of desire is not present. It is full of incredibly passionate intensity. It is also rather adolescent, and, arguably, somewhat pathological. (Other examples of the "negative Schubertian orgasm": when Gretchen swoons and breaks off from spinning the wheel and, in the development section of the Unfinished Symphony, when the orchestra--in a minor key, of course--plays a loud, intense climax and then falls off.)
Schubert was a very versatile composer, and the turmoil in this lied is countered by the major-key exuberance of others. But emotional turmoil is a Schubertian specialty. It is difficult to criticize a genius; praise comes much easier. Sometimes, however, the gloom of some of his music, for me at least, gets to be a bit too much. Goethe comes to mind, who stated that classicism is that which is healthy, while Romanticism is that which is pathological. Not totally true, but I certainly get the point.
This is the end of Part 1; in Part 11, we will discuss the last three songs of this five-song analysis.
