The great masters of the last century tried their hands in the domain of song with only comparative success, partly because they did not fully realize the nature of this form of art, partly because they could not limit the sweep of the creative power within such narrow limits.  Schubert was a revelation to his countrymen in his musical treatment of subjective passion, in his instinctive command over condensed, epigrammatic expression.  This rich and gifted life, however quiet in its exterior facts, was great in its creative and spiritual manifestation.  Born at Vienna of humble parents, January 31, 1797, the early life of Franz Schubert was commonplace in the extreme, the most interesting feature being the extraordinary development of his genius.  At the age of fourteen he had made himself a master of counterpoint and harmony, and composed a large mass of chamber-music and works for the piano.  His poverty was such that he was oftentimes unable to obtain the music-paper with which to fasten the immortal thoughts that thronged through his brain.  It was two years later that his special creative function found exercise in the production of the two great songs, the “Erl-King” and the “Serenade,” the former of which proved the source of most of the fame and money emolument he enjoyed during life.  It is hardly needful to speak of the power and beauty of this composition, the weird sweetness of its melodies, the dramatic contrasts, the wealth of color and shading in its varying phrases, the subtilty of the accompaniment, which elaborates the spirit of the song itself.  The piece was composed in less than an hour.  One of Schubert’s intimates tells us that he left him reading Goethe’s great poem for the first time.  He instantly conceived and arranged the melody, and when the friend returned after a short absence Schubert was rapidly noting the music from his head on paper.  When the song was finished he rushed to the Stadtconvict school, his only alma mater, and sang it to the scholars.  The music-master, Rucziszka, was overwhelmed with rapture and astonishment, and embraced the young composer in a transport of joy.  When this immortal music was first sung to Goethe, the great poet said:  “Had music, instead of words, been my instrument of thought, it is so I would have framed the legend.”

The “Serenade” is another example of the swiftness of Schubert’s artistic imagination.  He and a lot of jolly boon-companions sat one Sunday afternoon in an obscure Viennese tavern, known as the Biersack.  The surroundings were anything but conducive to poetic fancies—­dirty tables, floor, and ceiling, the clatter of mugs and dishes, the loud dissonance of the beery German roisterers, the squalling of children, and all the sights and noises characteristic of the beer-cellar.  One of our composer’s companions had a volume of poems, which Schubert looked at in a lazy way, laughing and drinking the while.  Singling out some verses, he said:  “I have a pretty melody in my head for these lines, if I could only get a piece of ruled paper.”  Some staves were drawn on the back of a bill-of-fare, and here, amid all the confusion and riot, the divine melody of the “Serenade” was born, a tone-poem which embodies the most delicate dream of passion and tenderness that the heart of man ever conceived.