Many gifted composers have put their most felicitous fancies into this fireside form, but although some have sung more impassionedly, and others have placed their melodies in richer settings, no one has been so uniformly adequate as Franz Schubert. Schumann, Franz, and Jensen always please, and they often excite our wonder by the beauty and adaptability of their song conceptions, but Schubert's songs do not express, they embody, moods and sentiments. His flow of melody was so fresh and strong that in instrumental compositions it often carried him to uncommon length. The Germans call his C major symphony "The Symphony of Heavenly Length." This phrase quite aptly describes the work, for an idea of its proportions, and of the quality which prevents them from being prohibitory, are both voiced by the expressive adjective employed, Schubert scarcely lived to maturity, but he dispensed such unalloyed benefits that his name will be forever enshrined in the hearts of those who love pure music.
During all this time culture had been making great strides, and a comprehensive glance, at the time of Schubert's death, would have revealed all Europe aflood with musical enthusiasm. Orchestras were multiplied and improved, grand chorus organizations were founded, and institutions for the education of musical aspirants were established under the patronage of various governments.
Out of this condition come two bright lights that rivet our attention upon Cantor Bach's old home as the centre of influence. Our stream of development, which was a rivulet as it flowed from Flanders, soon became a mighty river, and has now overflowed its banks and formed a great sea of culture.
Mendelssohn was one of the most genial characters that we meet in the annals of music. His education and temperament made the adequate adjustment of resources to the fulfilment of his schemes almost intuitive; but his conceptions themselves, although invariably round and poetic, usually lack the bold lines and the deep import that have distinguished the creations of our high-priests. Human characters, like forest-trees, seem to need exposure to trying winds, which if successfully weathered only strengthen their fibres and loosen the soil about their roots, so that they may spread out and extend downward to fresh and deeper sources of impulse. It may be that Mendelssohn's life conditions were too peaceful, that he was too much sheltered from care and adversity to fully develop the depth and nobility of his nature, which flashes out in some parts of "Saint Paul" and "Elijah," and pervades the "Walpurgis Night."