Schubert’s command over modulation is facile and abundant. Sometimes there is no rest in the matter of modulation. Yet the changes of key and mode never seem strange. Tonalities melt into one another, and voices lead as naturally as they do in the simple key-schemes of Haydn. The best of examples is the wonderful song, Die Allmacht. Nominally in the key of C major, it remains actually in this key for only about a fifth of its length. The astonishing simplicity and inevitableness of Schubert’s modulations are well exemplified by the change from F major to G flat major on the words Gross ist Jehovah der Herr (at their next to last appearance). Wagner used precisely this modulation about ten years later for the climax to the great prayer in the opera Rienzi. But we find it no uncommon thing to discover that strokes of genius in other composers have been anticipated in Schubert.
But the richness and smoothness of Schubert’s modulations, which are everywhere to be discovered in his songs, are not the most important qualities from the artistic standpoint. The important thing is the marvellous deftness with which the composer uses his modulation for expressive purposes. Let us return to Das Wirtshaus, a thorough knowledge of which is a liberal education in Schubert’s art. Modulation here is like flowing water. But notice especially the last (repeated) line of the poem: Nun weiter denn, nun weiter, mein treuer Wanderstab—‘then on again, my faithful wanderer’s staff.’ The first half of the line is in C minor. Then on the words mein treuer Wanderstab it goes again into its original F major. The effect is past all analysis. We feel the tragic vista of life ahead of the man, the eternal trudging along white dusty roads. The human pathos of the modulation is intense.
It is interesting to notice, in passing, that Schubert gets his most tragic and pathetic effects out of the major mode rather than out of the minor. Besides the example just quoted one recalls the entrance of the major in Ihr Bild,—an effort of most delicate pathos; and the ending of ‘Death and the Maiden,’ in which the coming of the minor brings with it the feeling of deep human tragedy as contrasted with the somewhat spooky tragedy of the preceding minor. Schubert’s effects, though usually very simple, rarely come from a reliance on conventional means.
Another of Schubert’s expressive devices is famous. It is the dissonance of D flat against D against C (or a corresponding combination), recurring in ‘The Erl King’ when the boy shrieks in terror at the sight of the evil ghost. It was strenuously objected to by certain ones who heard it in Schubert’s time, and it is recorded that one of the objectors withdrew his criticism because the compound dissonance resolved so smoothly. The justification, if justification is needed, is something other than this. It is that the device is tremendously expressive.
In ‘The Erl King’ we cannot fail to notice how the triplet motive in the accompaniment binds the song closely together. In nearly every case Schubert finds some means of accomplishing this end, when the free form of the song might threaten to distract one’s attention. In a number of the Müllerlieder, in which the brook figures constantly, the rippling water is suggested (not imitated) in the accompaniment. The devices by which the suggestion is accomplished seem naïve to us to-day, but it is perhaps more artistic than an attempt at imitation would be.
Suggestive devices are innumerable. Note the movement of the breeze in ‘Suleika’s Second Song’; the opening chords, suggestive of deepening night over the sea, in Am Meer; the delicate will-o’-the-wisp figure in Irrlicht; the bass figure that suggests huge weight in Atlas; the leaping triplet figure in ‘The Trout’; the tragic snatches of melody in the bass of Aufenthalt, and so on without limit. It must be remembered that such details as these were much more of a novelty in Schubert’s time than now. A century ago the use of music for detailed expression was comparatively strange.
We should bear in mind, also, how slightly this attention to detail in Schubert affects the external unity of the song. Schubert’s method (except in the long declamatory pieces) was essentially lyrical. He wanted to write a piece of music which, while truly expressive of the words, would be a beautiful piece of music even without them. He kept the organization and proportion of his music, as such, always in view. The whole course of song after him illustrates the conflict (which was the origin of the art-song in the first place) between this formal design and accuracy of expression. A simple strophic song can, as we know, be quite perfect in design. But only rarely can it also be quite accurate in the expression of the words. The musical realist will seek to make the music detailed and expressive at all costs. The many to whom beauty comes first, on the other hand, will admit the realistic detail only when it accords with the beauty of the pattern. It is instructive to note how Schubert solves the problem. While he was never a formalist in the stricter sense of the word, his sense of pattern beauty was such as would be pained at a realistic detail that was detrimental to form. Judged by modern standards he was conservative in his procedure. But considering his conservatism he managed to get a wonderful amount of detailed expression into his songs. No song-writer has ever had a more delicate and accurate feeling for these details of human realism.
V
Schubert’s genius will never be known to people who imagine they know it from the half dozen hackneyed songs that are most famous—the ‘Serenade,’ ‘Hark, Hark the Lark!’ ‘Who Is Sylvia?’ and one or two others. There is a little group of Schubert songs which are rarely heard and almost forgotten, which are of great beauty, such as the Wiegenlied, An die Sonne, Gretchen’s Gebet, and Clärchen’s Lied. And there are scores of others, which are known in a vague way, but not well known to many a singer. No singer should attempt to sing one of Schubert’s songs in public without being familiar with most of these other lyrics.
Schubert reveals the folk genius in being able to achieve the highest beauty within the smallest compass. Such a snatch of melody as the first line of the ‘Litany’ is a work of pure genius. They say that the test of a picture is its ability to be ‘lived with.’ The same is true of a melody. The first line of the ‘Litany,’ as well as the whole of it, can be sung each day and never lose its charm. It has all the suave grace of a tune out of Italian opera. It might become cloying and sentimental. But it does not. It remains dignified and sincere. It reveals ever new beauties and adorable traits of character which could not be suspected at first glance. This kind of genius is beyond the analytical powers of the musical theorist to explain. The greatness of large forms—for instance, a symphony by Beethoven—can in part be explained, just as a very correct symphony can be written by a man without talent. But to write greatly within half a dozen bars—this is a miracle. Only the folk-composer and the highest conscious genius can achieve it.