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The genius of the composer displays itself here fully as much as in the vocal treatment. When the lyric feeling rises to its climax it expresses itself in the crowning melody, this high tide of the music and poetry being always in unison. As masterpieces of this form may be cited "Die Stadt" and "Der Erlkönig," which stand far beyond any other works of the same nature in the literature of music.
'You should not say that, Natalya Alexyevna; your playing is not at all inferior to mine. 'Do you know Schubert's "Erlkonig"? asked Rudin. 'He knows it, he knows it! interposed Darya Mihailovna. 'Sit down, Konstantin. You are fond of music, Dmitri Nikolaitch? Rudin only made a slight motion of the head and ran his hand through his hair, as though disposing himself to listen.
"It was not good!" she said. The player turned to look at her. His big face worked strangely. "No, it was not good," he said. "I shall not play that again. But it is great music," he added, with a little laugh. The count looked at him shrewdly. He patted the child's trembling hand. "Now," he said soothingly, "something to clear away the mists! 'Der Erlkönig, We have never had it; bring it out."
With scowling brows and set face he darted the instrument back and forth across his puckered lips. It wailed and shrieked, and out of the noise and discord emerged, at a galloping trot, "Der Erlkönig!" The child, who had been regarding him intently, threw back her head, and a little laugh broke from her lips. Her face danced. She came and stood by the player, her hand resting on his knee.
To this he had evidently no objection, and informed me he would take care to have a ticket sent me for his great matinee, which was to take place shortly. My sole attempt to introduce an artistic theme of conversation was a question as to whether he knew Lowe's Erlkonig as well as Schubert's.
A big sunny smile broke over the musician's face. It radiated from the spectacles and broadened the wide mouth. "Ach! We shall do great things!" he announced proudly. "Great things," assented the count. "And 'Der Erlkönig' I must have 'Der Erlkönig. Bring it with you." "'Der Erlkönig' shall be yours," said Schubert grandly.
"Have you published it? What is it?" "'Der Erlkönig," said Schubert shortly. The child's face quivered. "I know," she said. Her father glanced down at her, smiling. "What do you know?" he said gently. "I read it," said the child, simply. She shivered a little. "The Erlking carried him off," she said. She covered her face, suddenly in tears. She was quivering from head to foot.
"There is one that I should like to hear," she said musingly. "You played it once, years ago, on a comb. I have not heard it since." She laughed sweetly. Schubert smiled. The hurt look stole from his eyes. "You will hear it my 'Erlkönig'?" he demanded. She nodded. "I will play it to you when I come back," he said contentedly. She stopped short in the path. "When you come back!"
Richard Strauss's Alpine Symphony, admittedly one of his weakest works and considered very tiresome even by ardent Straussians, plays for nearly an hour while any one can sing Der Erlkönig in three minutes. Are short compositions better than long ones? Is what is new better than what is old? Is what is old better than what is new?
Not that Carlyle shows any disposition to limit "thought" to its more abstract forms; on the contrary, it is on the sense of "music, love, and beauty" that he specially insists. Gott und Welt, we may be sure Carlyle would have said, is poetry as legitimate as Der Erlkonig or the songs of Mignon.
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