nperturbed by the instrument's obscurity and the slim likelihood that it would ever catch on, Schubert proceeded to compose the sonata in November 1824 while living at his family's residence in Vienna. Based on some obvious idiosyncrasies in the score, he seems to have intended to exploit the possibilities presented by the instrument's extended range. The arpeggione's guitar-like tuning allows the performer a range of two octaves plus a fourth without shifting or changing positions (compared to two octaves plus a step on the cello), and its six-string setup easily facilitates virtuosic, arpeggiated passages. In the first movement, the passage at m. 177, where a range of four octaves is spanned in just over two bars, demonstrates the flexibility the instrument allowed the composer. Indeed, Schubert's melodic lyricism finds expanded drama in the extended range of the arpeggione.

These idiosyncrasies aside, the form and musical structure of the sonata is typical to Schubert and needs no attention here. Like many of his late compositions, it presents a candid account of his volatile emotional state at the time during which this piece was composed. From his adolescence until 1822, Schubert was an active, gregarious character who became quite comfortable in Vienna's rowdy, bohemian nightlife. He was politically active, outspoken, and vivacious. In November 1822, however, Schubert began a gradual retreat from his customary social haunts. For several months afterwards, he was rendered unable to compose—an effect caused by the symptoms of primary syphilitic infection.12 The degree to which this disease affected Schubert from this point forward cannot be underestimated. When he was not ill with the symptoms of the disease itself, he was ill from the side effects of the barbaric treatments prescribed for syphilis; one particularly bewildering, but common, treatment prescribed toxic mercury applications (quicksilver), fasting, purging, and bloodletting. All of this, including the terrible social stigma associated with syphilis, contributed to a significant deterioration in Schubert's health (both physical and mental) and overall quality of life.

It is true that Schubert's music—even the music that was written prior to the onset of venereal disease—exhibits manic-depressive (or cyclothymic13) qualities, but these intensify after 1822 as intermittent periods of relative good health grew shorter and shorter. When the "Arpeggione" Sonata was written in November 1824—exactly two years into the progression of the disease—Schubert's health had deteriorated significantly, and his depression had certainly deepened. Only seven months earlier, he had written the following oft-cited quote in a letter to his friend Leopold Kupelweiser (1796-1862):

In a word, I feel myself to be the most unhappy and wretched creature in the world. Imagine a man whose health will never be right again, and who in sheer despair over this ever makes things worse and worse, instead of better; imagine a man, I say, whose most brilliant hopes have come to nothing, to whom the joy of love and friendship have nothing to offer but pain, at best, whose enthusiasm (at least of the stimulating kind) for all things beautiful threatens to vanish, and ask yourself, is he not a miserable, unhappy being?—"My peace is gone, my heart is sore, I shall find it never and nevermore." I may well sing every day now, for each night, I go to bed hoping never to wake again, and each morning only tells me of yesterday's grief.14

This anguished language is a perfect example of the severely depressed Schubert, informed by his illness and persecution complex. He relied heavily on the position of an artist in an inhospitable and unsympathetic world, and the resulting pathos, bordering on ecstasy, was a treasure trove of poetic and musical material. Pleasure, while fleeting, was derived almost exclusively from nostalgic, Proustian reminiscences of better times. Schubert's music explicitly imitates his life—it is, perhaps, our most accurate portrait of the man—and this informs our aesthetic reading of the "Arpeggione" Sonata. A clearer picture of just how frequently and abruptly Schubert's mood shifted from bright and cheerful to dark and brooding emerges when the contrasting sections are labeled as follows (blue indicates dark; yellow indicates bright):

Figure 1. Dark and bright moods in the three movements of the sonata.

Although this graphic oversimplifies the nuance of Schubert's transitions and makes no allowances for different degrees of dark and bright, it does put forth a vivid image of his wild compositional mood swings. With that in mind, consider the paradox of Schubert's statement regarding another great manic-depressive composer:

"[His music is replete with] eccentricity, which unites the tragic with the comic, the pleasant with the repulsive, heroism with rant, the very saint with the harlequin, unites, exchanges, and even confuses them."15

The composer to whom Schubert refers is, of course, Beethoven. Based on various statements made in his letters and diaries, Schubert had conflicting opinions about Beethoven; he was very much in awe of his accomplishments, but as the previous quote illustrates, he rejected the harsher elements of his later period16 in deference to the more delicate sensibilities of Mozart and Haydn. It is possible that Schubert's affinity for Mozart obfuscated the obvious similarities he shared with Beethoven. Schubert must have recognized that Beethoven had changed—or at least influenced—all things musical in and around Vienna (including himself), having raised the level of drama that early 19th century audiences came to expect from music and the theater. Plus, Beethoven's embodiment of the brilliant, but crazed, artist fit neatly within the aesthetic of the period. In spite of his entreaties to the contrary, Schubert (in 1824 and later) was not dissimilar in his temperment to his predecessor. Consider the following account by the author/journalist Wilhelm von Chézy:

As soon as the blood of the vine was glowing in him, he liked to withdraw into a corner and give into a quiet, comfortable anger during which he would try to create some sort of havoc as quickly as possible, for example, with cups, glasses and plates, and as he did so, he would grin and screw up his eyes tight.17

Accounts such as this offer us a view of the extremities of Schubert's personality and give us a better indication of the mindset with which performers should attempt to approach his music. The challenge as a performer, of course, is to seamlessly sew the pieces together, and suffuse the melodrama with madness and the sweetness with Mozartian delicacy.

Knowledge of a composition's historical context is an essential component of musical study, but the most important artifact—if it is available—is the composer's original manuscript. Much to the advantage of the instruments for which Urtext editions are available, Schubert's manuscript of the "Arpeggione" Sonata survived. Although existing editions for the double bass succeed in putting a friendlier face on the sonata, they fail to provide an accurate representation of the original composition. Stuart Sankey's edition (International Music Company, 1963) hearkens to a time when the solo double bass repertoire experienced rapid expansion and predates the era of Historically Informed Performance that commenced in the late 1960s. With that in mind, the changes evident in this edition are somewhat understandable, as Sankey presumably prioritized playability and accessibility over scholarly concerns. Unfortunately, David Walter's edition (Liben Music, 2002), although released in 2002, presents similar shortcomings and a drastically altered score. In the following section, Michael Hovnanian examines these editions in detail and compares them with Schubert's score and Discordia Music's new Urtext edition for the double bass.

PREVIOUS | NEXT