Born Franz Peter Schubert on January 31, 1797 to Franz Theodor, a schoolteacher, and Elisabeth Vietz, who worked in domestic services, the Viennese composer was no Mozart or Beethoven, but was still a musically prodigious child. Schubert’s father was required to teach only by the book and be emphatic about “rote learning” in his schoolhouse due to an 1805 educational act, but recognized his son’s dexterity as Schubert surpassed his peers in the basic schoolroom. Thus, musical schooling was an ambition among family and friends; Schubert’s older brother, Ignaz, was his first piano teacher. Schubert’s musical talent led him into the hands of Anton Salieri, one of Vienna’s most prominent musicians at the time, who found Schubert suitable as a singer in the Court Chapel.
Schubert’s musical development did not lie solely in his piano lessons and his fortunate audition with Salieri; he also studied the violin, under the instruction of his father, and became a pupil of Michael Holzer, the organist and choirmaster of the local parish church at Lichtental. Holzer, who gave Schubert voice and organ lessons and educated him in figured bass and counterpoint, often said of Schubert, “Whenever I wished to impart something new to him, he always knew it already. I often looked at him in silent wonder” (Newbould 20). Why then, with all his genius and the musical praise he gained, was Schubert not as immediately famous as Mozart or Beethoven? In Maurice Brown’s biography of Schubert, he notes there are a few particularly interesting details that make Schubert unique as an imaginative master of music:
“[Schubert’s life] has, to begin with, no elements in it of the success story … no climax of recognition of his genius … Schubert was never able to free himself entirely from necessity in composing; that is to say, throughout his life he composed because he strove for a foothold … The third, and most remarkable, aspect … is the almost impenetrable obscurity which descended at his death” (Brown 1-3).
More commonly do we hear names like Vivaldi, Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin when reading the explications of writers who are not fundamentally involved in musicology. Consequentially, music scholars and critics are on no account shown the way to Schubert’s genius by any of these musical explications by non-musical writers. In the same way, once Schubert becomes the topic of interest, the majority of his works are ignored. His index of works includes church and choral music, over 500 lieder, nine symphonies, operas, and a plethora of chamber music and solo piano pieces. Mention “Schubert” and “symphony” in the same question and the first composition that often comes to mind is his Symphony No. 8 in B minor, his “Unfinished Symphony,” or his Symphony No. 9, his “Great Symphony in C major.” Many end up turning a blind eye to his brilliant composition, Symphony No. 4 in C minor, otherwise known as his “Tragic Symphony.”
Schubert finished composing his fourth symphony on April 27, 1816 during his years in Vienna, and it was first performed on November 19, 1849 from manuscript parts at a concert held by the Euterpe Musical Society in Leipzig, Germany. This was the first symphony Schubert composed in a minor key; he dubbed his composition “Tragic” long after the completion of the symphony, but definitely not without intentions in mind. However, Schubert’s decision to dub his fourth symphony “Tragic” is one to deliberate about, whether or not to take it at face value. Brown, the author of Schubert: A Critical Biography, put forward the belief that Schubert may have chosen to call his fourth symphony “Tragic” as an “ironic comment,” but some maintain the view that the composition does not communicate Schubert’s title well. Schubert may not have led a tragic life like Gustav Mahler, but his life was not magnificent or lavish; his “Tragic Symphony” was not intended as a representation of his life in any means, as Mahler’s “Symphony of the Earth” was. Nonetheless, the title is befitting, as it is the only symphony by Schubert-besides his Eighth Symphony-whose first movement proper is in a minor key. Naming a composition in a minor key “tragic” is only appropriate, since minor keys are generally considered as dark and sorrowful, though it is clear that Schubert’s Fourth Symphony does not sound lamentable throughout the whole piece.
The burning melodic charisma of Schubert’s symphony, with the wide-ranging harmonies and orchestral intricacies, creates a certain allure that is oftentimes absent in the mature symphonies of other composers (Brown 51). Some may critically compare Schubert’s Fourth Symphony to Mozart’s renowned Symphony No. 40 in G minor, Haydn’s masterpiece, The Creation, or Beethoven’s Quartet Opus 18 in C minor or his famous Fifth Symphony, taking away from Schubert’s musical genius. While Schubert was undoubtedly influenced by these great figures of the time, his first symphonies are obviously the creation of a fresh, innovative musician-composer. Whether one agrees with Brown, who said that Schubert’s early symphonies were “not imitative of Haydn or Mozart or Beethoven” (Brown 51), or with a fellow musician of mine, who angrily, but simply, stated that Schubert was a plagiarizer, one should keep in mind what distinguished composer Igor Stravinsky once said: “A good composer does not imitate; he steals.” By Stravinsky’s terms, both Brown and my fellow music are right in their own ways. In the world of music, it was and is not uncommon for a great composer to “borrow” ideas from another great composer; Schubert was plainly wielding what he would have seen as the accustomed musical language of his time.
Be that as it may, it cannot go unnoticed that Schubert clearly did pull a musical chunk from Haydn’s The Creation. Play Haydn’s “Representation of Chaos,” the prelude of The Creation, and immediately play the first movement of Schubert’s Symphony No. 4 in C minor; perhaps the first thing that will come to mind is exactly what my fellow musician friend thought and yelled out. Though the two movements are almost similar in length, Schubert only really pulled the beginning of Haydn’s “Chaos Prelude.” But because the opening of a work is the first thing heard and often easy to get acquainted with, it is hard not to compare Schubert to Haydn. In that sense, as “Chaos” can be translated as “profound darkness,” the idea of “profound darkness” can be seen as “Tragic.” Thus, making the connection between the chaos of Haydn and the tragedy of Schubert is inevitable; as a result, Schubert’s Fourth Symphony “has the charm of a young man taking the world unusually seriously” (Black 20).
Immediately engaging, Schubert’s “Tragic Symphony” opens with a big bang, just like the source of his cosmic inspiration, Haydn’s “Chaos” Prelude. Schubert’s opening chord on C is more powerful and more sudden than Haydn’s “Chaos” Prelude; with an accent on the first note marked fortissimo for every instrument in the score and an instantaneous decrescendo to pianissimo in the following measure, the big contrast-if in comparison with Haydn’s “Chaos” Prelude-makes the situation even more dramatic. The outstanding distinction between dynamic markings mimics the mannerisms of a dramatic person, or a young man who would take the world unusually seriously. The slow introduction, marked as adagio molto, emphasizes the tragic feeling of Schubert’s Fourth Symphony, emitting a sense of dragging grief. Though there is a taste of Haydn in the opening measures of Schubert’s “Tragic Symphony,” Schubert’s work is more of a re-creation than a Creation.
In the dramatic opening of the first movement, Schubert includes a tinge of hope beginning in the sixth measure. The flutes and first violins breathe a little hope into the whole orchestra and in the tenth measure, Schubert, as re-Creator, has taken the orchestra on a journey to the other side of the tonal galaxy into a G flat major chord. It seems as if there is a longing to remain on this happier tonality, as the fermata indicates, with a slow, slow fading into the next section. The plodding grief continues again for the next 19 measures, with left over traces of hope. Quietly and almost unexpectedly, the tempo changes to allegro vivace in measure 30, sounding a bit flustered, jumpy, and nervous. For the remainder of the first movement, there is a constant agitation between happiness and sadness, like a young man struggling with his emotions because he is thinking too hard about life. However, while the opening theme had a whispering spirit of sadness, the first movement ends strongly in the simplest and purest keys of all: C major.
Straightaway, the second movement brings back a slow tempo, andante, but not the grief. Schubert’s nonconformist use of major-minor relations between sections and movements is characteristic of him. For one who has studied Schubert, the constant fluctuation between one key and another can be quite normal, but for outside listeners, Schubert is playing with their emotions, almost mocking any young men out there listening to him who take the world too seriously. Sweetly walking into A flat major, it seems as if the traces of hope from the first movement did not vanish completely. Comforting to the listener, the beginning of the second movement is almost too romantic to be true, especially after all the previous agitation. The swelling peace continues, but not for long. Whether the opening of the second movement is interpreted as a romance, as a contemplative young man falling in love, or as remembrance of select carefree, lighthearted memories of a young man, the good mood is disturbed suddenly at measure 33. With a forzando on the downbeat and a staccato theme beginning in the first violins, it sounds as if the young man had a quarrel with his love interest or remembered something disconcerting from his past. He chases happiness; the constant sixteenth notes and frequent staccato eighth notes represent unrest. The troubled theme, introduced by the first violins in measures 34 through 36, jumps between the first violins and cellos, or otherwise heard as a high register and low register, like an angel and devil on either shoulder having a go at one’s conscience, all the while chasing lost love or happiness with perpetual sixteenth notes in the violas and second violins.
Lovely feelings return in measure 90 of the second movement with the sweet sound of strings, but only to last for about 50 measures. For this young man who takes the world too seriously, it is not surprising to hear the troubled theme from measure 33 reappear in measure 142. Like the mind of such a contemplative person, having to switch back and forth from sentimental feelings to ruffled feelings, the second movement of Schubert’s “Tragic Symphony” keeps the listener absorbed in the unsettling excitement. Rather movie-like in its emotional engagement, the second movement fortunately ends on a fairly happy note.
The third movement, a minuet marked allegro vivace, begins strongly and unusually in E flat major. Although in a major key, there are hints easily detectable to the ear, which leaves the listener unstable and unsure of whether or not to trust any happiness that comes from the movement being in a major key. Schubert’s use of E flat major was completely unconventional, considering that the key of a symphony was generally the key of its minuet (Newbould 84). This further sets the third movement as an unstable factor, an insecure point of time in the young man’s life, who had recently (in the previous movement) experienced difficulties with love and happiness. As the shortest movement in the whole symphony, the third movement serves as a kind of interlude or a phase in life; nevertheless, it is still full of excitement and powerful emotions.
Schubert returns to C minor for the finale; the turmoil continues and the grief is back. Unlike the first movement in that the last movement is marked as allegro, the opening is still tragic. Both the first and final movements of Schubert’s Fourth Symphony begin in C minor and progress into the relative key, C major. The intense finale is full of rising and falling notes and dynamics, imitating the rising and falling of one’s chest in the state of breathing frantically; the young man is chasing something he longs for frantically, in hopes of achieving some sort of happiness before his life ends. Schubert’s Symphony No. 4 ends powerfully-and, perhaps, not so tragically-in the pure key of C major. The young man who has taken the world too seriously and the listener are left breathless at the spirited ending.
Works Cited
Black, Leo. Franz Schubert: Music and Belief. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2003.
Brown, Peter A. The Symphonic Repertoire, Volume II: The First Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony: Haydn Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002.
Brown, Maurice J.E. Schubert: A Critical Biography. New York: Da Cape Press, Inc., 1958.
Newbould, Brian. Schubert: The Music and the Man. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997.
Schubert, Franz. Symphony No. 4. London: Ernst Eulenburg, Ltd.
