Web hosting Custom Email SiteBuilder

In March, 1828, for the first time in his life, he gave a public concert in the hall of the Musikverein of Vienna; the program included part of a string quartet of his, a trio for pianoforte and strings, music for men's chorus, and several fine songs. Many excellent performers came forward to help him, among them his old friend Vogl; and it shows how his genius was beginning to become known and appreciated, that the hall is said to have been fuller than ever was remembered before, and the people were delighted. The good attendance also brought about 321. into his pocket, which must have made him feel quite rich. As was usual with him, his friends got the benefit of his prosperity, and he spent his wealth royally as long as it lasted, and by summertime he was as badly off as ever. The idea of going for another excursion into the lovely country of Styria was again entertained, but had to be given up because of the low state of his funds, and he had to remain in Vienna all the year round.

Early in September he went to live with his brother Ferdinand in a house in the suburb called the Neue Wieden. He had been bothered with an old trouble of inclination of blood to the head, and giddiness, and it was thought it would do him good to be nearer to the country, and to have readier opportunities of getting away for exercise and fresh air. The house they occupied was a new one, and it is supposed this aggravated his unhealthy and over-strained condition. He became very ill, and doctors had to be called in. Then he picked up a little, and went for a five day excursion with some friends into the neighborhood of Vienna, visiting among other places the grave of Haydn at Eisenstadt. He seems to have regained some of his usual gaiety for the time, but when he got back to Vienna the illness returned.

One evening, when having supper with some friends at a hotel, he suddenly threw down his knife and fork, saying the food tasted like poison. He still walked about a good deal after this, but he took scarcely anything to eat and got steadily worse. But he did not seem to have any anxiety about himself, and spoke to the composer Lachner who came to see him, of his intended work on a new opera he had in hand called Graf von Gleichen. He went to hear music, and was very much excited over a performance of one of Beethoven's latest quartets. Among other ideas he had one of developing his mastery of counterpoint more thoroughly: a purpose which arose from his becoming acquainted with Handel’s works so late in life; and he applied to a man called Sechter, who was considered an authority in that branch of art, to give him lessons; and the matter even went so far that he went to see Sechter and discussed what would be the best books to work upon, and arranged dates for the lessons. The last music he heard publicly performed was a mass by his brother Ferdinand, which was done in the church at a village called Hernals on November 3rd.

When he got home again he was very tired and ill, and grew worse day by day. He wrote to his old friend Schober: "I am ill. I have eaten and drunk nothing for eleven days, and am so tired and shaky that I can only get from the bed to the chair and back." And he asked for some books to amuse him, suggesting some of Cooper's novels. Some of his friends came to see him, but there seems to have been a dread of infection, and he had not so much company to cheer him as was desirable. He occupied some of his time correcting proofs of the latest set of his songs, called Winterreise, and still had hopes of doing more work. But after a few days he became delirious, and the doctors announced that he had typhus fever. The faithful brother Ferdinand attended him constantly. Franz was possessed with strange fears, and asked: "Brother, what are they going to do with me? I implore you to put me in my own room, and not to leave me in this corner under the earth. Don't I deserve a place above ground?" Ferdinand did all he could to quiet him, and assured him he was in his own room; but Franz only shook his head, saying, "It is not true, Beethoven is not here." He never became himself again, but died on Wednesday, November 19, 1828, only thirty-one years old. Two days afterwards the funeral took place, and his body was moved, accompanied by many friends and admirers, to the cemetery at the village of Währing, where Beethoven had also been buried; and it was deposited as near as possible to the last resting place of that great master, towards whom in his latter years he had been so strongly drawn by sympathy and admiration. Many performances were given and articles written in honor of his memory; and the proceeds of concerts and subscriptions were enough to pay for a monument over his grave, upon which were appropriately inscribed the words:

"Music has here entombed a rich treasure, But still fairer hopes."

Several great musicians have been cut off before what might be fairly considered the prime of their life and vigor, but of all the greatest ones Schubert's time was shortest; yet in those few thirty-one years of life he produced such an enormous quantity of music that the amount would have been noticeable even if his life had been rather longer than most men's. He wrote over 500 songs, at least seven entire symphonies, and two incomplete ones(of which one is among his most beautiful and popular works) over twenty sonatas; numbers of string quartets, six masses, and other large and fine examples of church music; several operas, part songs, cantatas, overtures, and so forth. His rapidity of thought and of writing must have been marvelous. As fast as he finished one thing he generally began another, and often wrote several songs in a single day; and those not songs of the cheap, ephemeral description, familiar in modern times, but works of art, with real thought and point and good workmanship in them.