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Grove's devotion to Schubert was of long standing. The famous Crystal Palace Saturday concerts, for which Grove wrote the analytical programmes for forty years, were started in 1855, with August Manns as conductor, and on April 5, 1856, the C major Symphony was given for the first time in England. As a virtuoso Manns has been eclipsed by many modern conductors. The present writer has heard most of them in a fifty years' experience, from Costa to Richter; from Richter to Nikisch; from Nikisch to Mengelberg, Weingartner, Wood, Coates and Beecham. But he has never heard Schubert played with greater sympathy and intimacy of appreciation than in the old concert room at the Crystal Palace. The permanent Crystal Palace band was reinforced on Saturdays by some of the finest London instrumentalists, notably Wotton the bassoon player and Malsch the oboeist, both of them described by Richter as great artists, and the C major Symphony-which became an annual event-was a thrilling and exhilarating experience. Manns was always a gallant and picturesque figure; his services in familiarizing the public with masterpieces of all schools, classical and modern, foreign and English, cannot be overestimated; but his name, with that of Grove, must be for ever associated with the spread of Schubert's music in England.

Grove's devotion to Schubert gained fresh impetus from the publication in 1865 of Dr. Kreissle von Hellborn's Life. The catalogue of Schubert's works was manifestly incomplete, and this inspired Grove to enter into correspondence with Spina, the wellknown Viennese publisher, with the result that the Rosamunde music and the "Unfinished " Symphony were given for the first time in England at the Crystal Palace. But the Rosamunde music was incomplete, and the possibility of discovering further treasures impelled Grove to make his historic journey to Vienna in 1867 with Arthur Sullivan. The results of this voyage of discovery may be found in the appendix to the late Mr. Arthur Coleridge's translation of Kreissle von Hellborn's "Life of Schubert." Sullivan proved an ideal companion, for he was an ardent Schubertian; and in the end, owing to Grove's persistent inquisitiveness and the kindly co-operation of Spina, Dr. Schneider and Dr. C. F. Pohl, the librarian of the Musik-Verein, the travellers succeeded in unearthing not only the missing Rosamunde music, but seven symphonies, some of the masses

and operas, chamber works, and a vast quantity of miscellaneous pieces and songs. These had all been regarded as so much waste paper; their inclusion in the definitive edition of Breitkopf and Härtel is therefore largely due to the missionary zeal of Grove and Sullivan. Grove's delight in his discoveries, especially in that of the bundle smothered with dust in a disused cupboard, containing the missing Rosamunde music, untouched for more than forty years, is expressed in his letters with lyrical fervour: "Not Dr. Cureton, when he made his truly romantic discovery of the missing leaves of the Syriac Eusebius, could have been more glad or more grateful than I was at this moment." And when on the last night their labours reached an end at 2 a.m., he and Sullivan were "fresh enough to indulge in a game of leap-frog."

Schubert was already a power in the musical world sixty years ago, but his admirers were in a minority, and had to contend against a powerful opposition of professionals and amateurs, who refused to acknowledge his genius or greatness. The domination of Mendelssohn was still practically unassailed, and manifested itself in a jealousy and suspicion of any possible rivalsa jealousy from which Schumann and Brahms both suffered. It was the old story: the Mendelssohnians were far more Mendelssohnian than Mendelssohn himself, for it was he who produced the C major Symphony. Grove admired Mendelssohn immensely, whether as composer or man, but he has left it on record that Schubert's Unfinished Symphony was " miles above Mendelssohn." Schubert," though not greater than Beethoven, was nearer and dearer " to him.

Grove's article on Schubert in his Dictionary marks the culminating point of his achievement in musical biography, the climax of his devotion to "der einzige Schubert" as Schumann called him. The intensity of his preoccupation is shown in the letters to Sir Charles Stanford, then on a visit to Vienna, in the autumn of 1881. They are full of minute instructions and questions about a number of Schubert MSS. which Stanford was to examine and report upon, and untiring in their importunity for corroborative evidence of "G.'s" theory of the lost "Gastein "Symphony. In one of them he breaks off with a veritable

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*In the official inventory of Schubert's possessions at the time of his death, one item was a quantity of old music, valued at 10 florins' (about 8/6).

cri du cœur : "Oh, why am I not there with you? It is too hard. It would not only be such a dear delight to be with you, but such an advantage to my article." Two days later, in September, 1881, we find him asking for information as to the value of the Gulden in Vienna in 1827-1828, for reasons explained in the following passage :

I have been writing the account of poor Schubert's death-bed, and it has nearly killed me. Fancy his having corrected the proofs of the second part of the Winterreise less than a week before his death! As he went through the Wegweiser, Letzte Hoffnung, Wirthshaus, Nebensonnen, Leiermann,-it must have been like his own fate before him :

"Und sein kleiner Teller
Bleibt ihm immer leer "-

when he had got twenty gulden (35 shillings) only a week or two before for his Eb Trio! I am sorry to bully you with all these questions, but you are at the fountain-head, and I am thirsting in the desert.

While Grove was at work on his article he lived for nothing else. Schubert, he says, was his " existence."

Few editors of biographical dictionaries have followed the instruction of Leslie Stephen to his contributors-" No flowers!" The judicial attitude is most desirable in works of reference, but to exclude sentiment altogether is a counsel of perfection. Emotion will sometimes out, even in an encyclopædia. Grove certainly never excluded it from his articles, least of all in his study of Schubert. Only those who are cast in an iron mould can fail to be moved by the passage in which he tells the story of Schubert's illness and death :

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On the 14th of November he took to his bed. He was able to up a little for a few days longer, and thus to correct the proofs of the second part of the Winterreise, probably the last occupation of those inspired and busy fingers. He appears to have had no pain, only increasing weakness, want of sleep and great depression. Poor fellow! No wonder he was depressed! Everything was against him : his weakness, his poverty, the dreary house, the long lonely hours, the cheerless future-all concentrated in the hopeless images of Müller's poems, and the sad gloomy strains in which he has clothed them for ever and ever-the Letzte Hoffnung, the Krähe, the Wegweiser, the Wirthshaus, the Nebensonnen, the Leiermann-all breathing of solitude, broken hopes, illusions, strange omens, poverty, death, the grave! As he went through the pages, they must have seemed like pictures

of his own life; and such passages as the following from the Wegweiser (or Signpost) can hardly have failed to strike the dying man as aimed at himself :

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Alas! he was indeed going the road which no one ever retraces! On Sunday the 16th, the doctors had a consultation; they predicted a nervous fever, but had still hopes of their patient. On the afternoon of Monday, Bauernfeld saw him for the last time. He was in very bad spirits and complained of great weakness and of heat in his head, but his mind was still clear and there was no sign of wandering; he spoke of his earnest wish for a good opera book. Later in the day however, when the doctor arrived, he was quite delirious and typhus had unmistakably broken out. The next day, Tuesday, he was very restless throughout, trying continually to get out of bed, and constantly fancying himself in a strange room. That evening he called Ferdinand to his bed, and whispered mysteriously "What are they doing with me?" "Dear Franz," was the reply, "they are doing all they can to get you well again, and the doctor assures us you will soon be right, only you must do your best to stay in bed." He returned to the idea in his wandering: "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?" "Dear Franz," said the agonized brother, "be calm; trust your brother Ferdinand, whom you have always trusted, and who loves you so dearly. You are in the room which you always had, and lying on your own bed." "No," said the dying man," that's not true; Beethoven is not here." So strongly had this great composer taken possession of him! An hour or two later the doctor came and spoke to him in the same style. Schubert looked him full in the face and made no answer; but turning round, clutched at the wall with his poor tired hands, and said in a slow earnest voice : Here, here is my end." At three in the afternoon of Wednesday, November 19th, 1828, he breathed his last, and his simple earnest soul took its flight from the world. He was thirty-one years, nine months and nineteen days old. There never has been one like him, and there never will be another.

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Grove's article appeared in 1882 and elicited many tributes to its excellence, including a wonderful rhapsody from the pen of John Addington Symonds. But the opposition was not silenced. The general chorus of praise was rudely broken by the jarring note struck in an article, I regret to say, in the EDINBURGH REVIEW for October of that year. Grove had no cause for complaint against the references to his work, but he was so deeply

wounded by the reviewer's disparagement of Schubert's genius that he addressed a vigorous remonstrance to the editor, the late Mr. Henry Reeve, who replied in the following terms on October 26

In fairness to the author I must say that it exactly expresses my own opinion; indeed, as you may perceive, I contributed several passages in it. It is quite impossible that anyone should feel personal animosity against Schubert. No one admires his astonishing natural genius and vocal power more than I do, but as your biography proves, it was genius growing in a Viennese beer-shop, with a slender amount of education, a low social standard, and more facility than application. Wonderful but incomplete.

This harping on Schubert's lack of breeding and social advantages was not calculated to assuage Grove's resentment. The author of the article, the late Mr. H. H. Statham, for many years editor of The Builder, was an expert on organs and organbuilding, but as a musical critic he was a thorough-going reactionary. So far from repenting of his Schubert article, he reprinted it with its reference to Schubert's bourgeois habits and "the creed of Sydenham" in a volume published in 1892, in which Wagner is described as "the most remarkable charlatan who has ever appeared in art." Hostility to Schubert did not confine itself to disparagement. It sometimes took the form of gross misrepresentation, as in the statement of a certain Mr. F. J. Crowest, that Schubert " drank himself to death." Grove wrote to The Times to correct this libel which, as he said of the EDINBURGH article, was “enough to make one's teeth gnash of themselves."

Grove's devotion to Schubert remained with him to the end, and in his declining years it only needed that he should hear some of Schubert's music for the old enthusiasm to revive in all its fervour. Thus we find him writing in November, 1891 :

A good selection of Rosamunde was played yesterday at the Crystal Palace. It nearly broke me down, it was so beautiful, so tender, so absolutely inspired. Do you remember that happy expression of Joubert's that" the lyre is a winged instrument and must transport?" If ever there were wings in music it is in Schubert's, and especially in those lovely entr'actes and pieces.

So again, when Ainger informed Grove of his promotion to a

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