TO LISTEN TO THE LAST MUSIC SCHUBERT HEARD
Schubert was fortunate to have a devoted brother in Ferdinand, who went to some trouble to fulfil the composer's whispered dying wishes. Normally the body, after a blessing of a local church, would have been taken to the official burial ground for the Wieden district; but Schubert had said in his last hours that he wished to lie next to Beethoven. This was the last and most profound of his pleas that his contemporaries, and thus all of us who have come after him, should identify him with his immortal forebear. It was a desire stemming from the very heart of Schubert's own belief in his place in musical history, and it was honoured by his friends and family, some of whom, even then, sensed the justice of his beliefs.
Schubert's body was taken some distance to the Währinger cemetery where Beethoven had been buried the year before. It was not possible for him to lie right next to the older composer, but he was placed two grave plots away from his idol. (Schumann later went to visit the graves and wrote to Clara that he rather envied the man who lay between them -- a certain Colonel O'Donnell.) A permanent memorial, designed by Schober, and with a bust by Josef Dialer and an inscription by Grillparzer (quoted at the top of this essay) --
was erected in 1830. Care seems to have been taken that the Greek temple-like construction should not stand as high as the Beethoven column to the left of it. Fifty-eight years later Schubert's body and Beethoven's were exhumed and taken to the grand, and rather inappropriately pompous, new monuments in the Zentralfriedhof [Central Cemetery] (The one appropriate thing about this new locale is that the tombs of Schubert and Wolf are situated back-to-back as if representing different sides of the art of lieder.) The Währinger cemetery ceased to be consecrated ground and was turned into a park. Today Turkish children play in the 'Schubert Park' without having any idea why oddly emotional admirers (myself and the photographer Malcolm Crowthers among them -- see the cover of this disc) should pay attention to those rather uncared-for memorials situated between a wall and a pathway overrun by youngsters' bicycles.Die Tonkunst begrub hier einen reichen Besitz aber noch viel schönere Hoffnungen
(The art of music here buried a rich possession but far fairer hopes)
The pair of graves between those of the two composers are no longer identified. Beethoven and Schubert now lie, if not exactly together, then inextricably linked, each within the space of his own immortality. In this unlikely space in an unfashionable corner of Vienna, and despite an ugly backdrop of council flats erected in the 1920s, we recapture the scale of Biedermeier culture with greater accuracy than in the stately memorials built in the era of Franz Josef. ⓒ2000 by Graham Johnson FROM SCHUBERT'S FINAL DAYS, GRAHAM SHARES
A GRIPPING DETAIL WE OUGHT TO FOLLOW UP ONThe obsession with Beethoven continues right until the end. In his last days Schubert expressed a desire to hear Beethoven's C sharp minor Quartet Op 131: this was arranged thanks to the violinist Karl Holz and his colleagues. Holz later recounted his memories. 'Schubert was sent into such transports of delight and enthusiasm and was so overcome that we all feared for him . . . the quartet was to be the last music he heard. The king of harmony had sent the king of song a friendly bidding to the crossing'.WHAT THE DYING SCHUBERT SO BADLY WANTED TO HEAR --
BEETHOVEN: String Quartet No. 14 in C-sharp minor, Op. 131:
i. Adagio ma non troppo e molto espressivo [at 0:01]
ii. Allegro molto vivace [at 6:50]
iii. Allegro moderato [at 10:02]
iv. Andante ma non troppo e molto cantabile [at 10:50]
v. Presto [at 25:02]
vi. Adagio quasi un poco andante [at 30:52]
vii. Allegro [at 32:54]
Barylli Quartet (Walter Barylli and Otto Strasser, violins; Rudolf Streng, viola; Richard Krotschak, cello). Westminster, recorded in the Mozartsaal of the Vienna Konzerthaus, 1952
by Ken
We left off with our sights on the "Serenade" from Schubert's posthumous final song collection, Schwanengesang. As promised, we're going to have Graham Johnson lead us through three chunks of the song, to give you a tiny sampling of some of the kinds of things that turn up in his voluminous Hyperion Schubert Edition commentaries.
BUT FIRST, THERE ARE VINTAGE PERFORMANCES
OF OUR "STÄNDCHEN" I'D REALLY LIKE TO SHARE
SCHUBERT: "Ständchen" ("Serenade"): "Leise flehen meine Lieder" ("Softly my songs implore"), No. 4 from Schwanengesang (Swan Song), D. 957
[with a spoken introduction by Mme Lehmann] Lotte Lehmann, soprano; Paul Ulanowsky, piano. American radio performance, Oct. 8, 1941
Jussi Bjoerling, tenor; Frederick Schauwecker, piano. RCA, recorded live in Carnegie Hall, Sept. 24, 1955
Jussi Bjoerling, tenor; Frederick Schauwecker, piano. RCA, recorded live in Carnegie Hall, Mar. 2, 1958
I'm not the world's biggest Lotte Lehmann fan, and 1941 was late for her, but I'm frequently charmed by these little American radio broadcasts she did -- there's an evident desire to communicate with the audience out there in radio land. As for the two Bjoerling Carnegie Hall performances, I'm delighted to have both and have no desire to choose between them. You could argue that the singing is too spectacular -- as Graham J. is going to underscore as he guides us through the Ständchen, this is the story of a failed serenade, and Schubert is pretty keen in dramatizing the singer's awareness that the whole enterprise is failing.
READY TO START OUR JOURNEY THROUGH THE SONG?
As I mentioned in Part 1 of the post, we're going to be investigating three chunks, starting at the very beginning. It so happens that Chunks #1 and #2 are continuous.
At an earlier stage of the project I imagined not only many more "chunks" of the song, but multiple clips to enable us to hear how different performers have dealt with the challenges and opportunities Graham points out for us. In the end, it turned out to be just the three chunks (#3 takes us to the end of the song), and the first performance I began clippifying turned out to be the only one.
At 57, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau rerecords Schwanengesang, this time
with the distinguished pianist Alfred Brendel, in Berlin, August 1982.
Yes, it's Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Alfred Brendel who are going to be taking us through our chunks. The clips are ready and waiting, so let's do it, prefacing each "chunk" with the relevant portion of Graham's commentary.
CHUNK #1: THE OPENING OF THE SONG
We hear the serenader's lute or guitar first -- gently rocking staccato chords (the composer actually marks them 'stacatissimo' as if to suggest a plectrum rather than the brush of a finger) underpinned by brass minims. In a 3/4 bar this gives an important rest to the left hand on the third beat of bar, light and air to the music's texture which is as swamped by over-use of the pedal as by glutinous instrumental adaptations. These quietly resonating lower notes are the foundation of the work's poise and energy; in the manner of a ground bass they establish a spacious momentum, a hypnotic sway which is as responsible for the song's popularity as its melody.
After a four-bar introduction we hear the famous tune which like other heart-stopping moments in the Rellstab songs, is made up of a falling sequence: thus the weaving melodic phrase for 'Leise flehen' is repeated a tone lower (except for the top note which remains a D) for 'meine Lieder'. This is followed by the clutching two-bar cadence (V-I) of 'Durch die Nacht zu Dir'. This part of the phrase is duly echoed by the piano; as in 'Liebesbotschaft' and 'Frühlingssehnsucht' the accompaniment has a conversational role which mulls over what has gone before in affectionate reiteration. The next two lines of poetry continue the long arch of the melody and include a superb opportunity for the tenor to display his mezza voce and feeling for words on the lightly touched high F of 'stillen Hain. The descending phrase 'Liebchen, komm' zu mir!' moves into the relative major (how touching this is -- we can almost feel the singer's tenderness) and is once again echoed with an interlude. The guitar motif of the accompaniment moves into the left hand during these interpolations, and there seems no reason to assume that this is suddenly legato -- the composer surely intends the plucked staccati to be heard as such throughout.
Schubert uses two of Rellstab's verses for each of his musical ones. Thus 'Flüsternd schlanke Wipfel rauschen' is the beginning of the first verse's middle section beginning in the dominant of the home key. The return to D minor via A7 at 'Wipfel rauschen' allows for a touch of drama (even more appropriate for the matching passage of the next phrase -- 'Des Verräters feindlich Lauschen') but once again it is the juxtaposition of major and minor which works its magic spell. What could be more poetic than the moon? --the switch to B-flat major (VI) for 'In des Mondes Licht' bathes the music in the softest light. The entwining of voice and accompaniment in dreamy thirds at the repeat of these words makes something almost palpably liquid of this imagery.
All commentary excerpts: ⓒ2000 by Graham Johnson
Alfred Brendel, piano (with Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone), Aug. 1982
CHUNK #2: THE INTERLUDE BETWEEN STANZAS
[Again, this picks up exactly where Chunk #1 left off]
. . . The volatile temperament of the singer (for there is something Italian about the very concept of a serenade) allows a forte outburst on the repeat of 'fürchte, Holde, nicht'. It seems the singer is prepared to die for his beloved and take on any number of treacherous interlopers.
The eight-bar interlude that now follows is simply one of the great Schubertian miracles. Derived in the most subtle manner from the singer's unfolding melody, it is the musical essence of the preceding serenade compressed into instrumental, rather than vocal, terms. This interlude, the apotheosis of the echo, is typical of the Rellstab songs; and the echo also contains an echo of itself: the minore statement of the first four bars melts into a major-key reiteration of the same material. The effect of this is indescribably wistful. This is one of those songs where we can almost feel how tenderly Schubert, if he had been given the chance, would have made love. And how seldom such chances seem to have come his way is also somehow writ large in the music.
Thus the sound of the nightingale which is the subject of both the third and fourth verses of the poem (the song's second musical strophe) is the 'schmelzend Ach' of which Hölty wrote in 'An die Nachtigall', the 'voix de notre désespoir' which Verlaine immortalised in 'En sourdine'. This is the last of the many times that this bird makes an appearance in Schubert's songs, but perhaps the most beautiful. So enthused is the average listener with the music that he scarcely notices the presence of this little songster which defines the mood of the whole of this 'Ständchen'. The point is that the nightingale's song represents the sorrow of unhappy love rather than its fulfilment, what Coleridge calls 'Philomela's pity-pleading strains'.
Alfred Brendel, piano (with Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone), Aug. 1982
CHUNK #3: THE HEARTBREAKING CONCLUSION
The music is suddenly disrupted with an abrupt change of mood as if the singer's patience is at an end. He changes tactics by trying something more forceful than seductive charm. These pleas, which have in them something of a command, almost always result in a faster tempo for the following eight bars, a change which is not actually marked by the composer, but which is so time-honoured as to have become traditional, and almost de rigueur. From the point of view of the performer's amour propre this music is a masterstroke. It was Anna Milder who once wrote to Schubert of his songs that 'all this endless beauty cannot be sung to the public' (letter of 8 March 1825). What she meant was that there had to be an element of showmanship to keep the man in the street interested. The closing passage of this song (particularly the forte passage of 'bebend harr' ich Dir entgegen') gives the singer a chance to show his mettle as a tenor worthy of the name. It provides an element of theatricality lacking in very many of the greatest Schubert songs, and the ardent peroration may indeed be a contributing factor to this song's enduring popularity.
Briefly the music enters into the more thrusting regions of a sharp key: launched by the turbulence of the diminished harmonies under 'Liebchen, höre mich!' the music clambers on to the impassioned heights of a cadence leading to B minor. For a moment the singer seems on a high, trembling with passionate expectation. The two-bar interlude after 'Dir entgegen' (the same rising phrase harmonised first in E minor then in B minor) is, for once, also forte. And then a descent into reality. The juxtaposition of G minor for the first 'Komm', beglücke mich!' makes for music that is crestfallen and useful. The singer rallies for another 'Komm', beglücke mich!', once again forte, where the euphonious thirds between voice and piano seem to be a metaphor for imagined sexual unity. But it is the third appearance of these words where Schubert himself comes back into view and reveals himself as the little man that has loved and lost: the melancholy descent of the final 'Beglücke mich!' is spread over three bars, the second and third syllables of this hopeless request taking an entire bar each.
This texture, suddenly bare, allows the strumming guitar staccati to re-establish themselves in our consciousness. We are back where we started, and the beloved is as unattainable as ever. It has in fact been a serenade in vain, a 'vergebliches Ständchen' like some of the greatest in the lieder repertoire. A shortened version of the interlude between musical verses 1 and 2 brings the song to a close; there is no play between minor and major here, only the instrumental reduction of the serenade supported by guitar chords gently oscillating in the tonic, subdominant and dominant of D major. But it would be a complacent listener who imagined that this quiet withdrawal in the major key betokened happiness or even calm. The thought of love's fulfilment is blissful, but the chances of dreams turning into reality are slim. If we have the ears to listen, Schubert can use such sweet harmonies to sadder effect than anyone else.
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone; Alfred Brendel, piano, Aug. 1982
I EXPECT YOU'RE ITCHY NOW TO HEAR THE WHOLE
OF THE FISCHER-DIESKAU/BRENDEL PERFORMANCE
Well, I'll go you one, no two, better. Along with the whole of the 1982 performance with Brendel, we're going to rehear the 1958 and 1972 performances with Gerald Moore we heard in the previous post, and we're also going to hear the "Serenade" from a Schwanengesang recorded (for radio, presumably?) in Berlin in 1948.
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone; Klaus Billing, piano. Recorded (for broadcast?) in Berlin, 1948
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone; Gerald Moore, piano. EMI, recorded in the Gemeindehaus, Berlin-Zehlendorf, May 23-24, 1958
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone; Gerald Moore, piano. DG, recorded in UFA-Ton-Studio, Berlin, March 1972
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone; Alfred Brendel, piano. Philips, recorded in Berlin, Aug. 24, 1982
All of these performances are from complete renditions of the Schwanengesang cycle, and there are more we don't have here -- I'm sorry not to have the 1962 EMI stereo remake with Gerald Moore, which was my first Schwanengesang, and which I still have on LP, but couldn't wrangle into digital form.
The 1948 performance is pretty astonishing for a 23-year-old singer just launching a career after German army service in World War II and two years in a POW camp. (There's also a complete Winterreise from 1948 -- dated January 19, in fact.) It would be hard to imagine a more beautifully sung "Leise flehen" than the 1958 one, but the 1972 one -- pretty much the last thing recorded in their 1966-72 zillion-song DG Schubert compendium -- is pretty special in its own right, and touchingly confidential in tone. The Philips Schwanengesang with Brendel hits some vocal rough spots but is on the whole pretty remarkable for a 57-year-old singer. (A week later the duo returned to the studio in Berlin to record a second LP's worth of 14 more Schubert songs.)
I SEE WE'VE GOT ONE MORE "STÄNDCHEN" CUED UP
Which I made because this is a team that's given me -- and I hope readers as well -- a lot of pleasure. Wolfgang Holzmair and Imogen Cooper have recorded both Schubert song cycles (Die schöne Müllerin and Winterreise -- we've heard excerpts from both) as well as the Schwanengesang collection. It's a nice performance to go out on.
Philips 442-460-2 is the Holzmair-Cooper Schwanengesang.
Wolfgang Holzmair, baritone; Imogen Cooper, piano. Philips, recorded in the Vienna Konzerthaus, January 1994#
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