him; it was
Shakespeare's poems in a German translation; he began turning from page
to page in his usual insatiable search for subjects for musical
setting; suddenly he paused and read one of the poems over a few times.
'If I only had music-paper here,' he cried, 'I have just the melody to
fit this poem.' Without a word, Doppler, one of his friends, drew the
musical staff on the back of the bill of fare, and handed it to the
composer, and on this bill of fare, while waiting breakfast, amid the
clatter and confusion of a Viennese outdoor restaurant, Schubert
brought forth the beautiful aubade, or morning song, 'Hark, Hark, the
Lark!'"

Upon the same evening, he set two more of Shakespeare's songs to music,
"Who is Sylvia?" from the "Two Gentlemen of Verona," and the drinking
song from the second act of "Antony and Cleopatra."

The composer played the piano with much expression, but could not be
considered as a performer of great technical attainments. He once
attempted to play his "Fantasia in C, Opus 15," to some friends, but
broke down twice, and finally sprang up from his chair in a fury,
exclaiming: "The devil may play the stuff!"

[Illustration: Schubert at the Piano. From painting by Gustav Klimt.]

"The subtle influence which Schubert exercised over those with whom he
was brought into close contact was not to be accounted for by any grace
of person or manner. Kreissle says that he was under the average
height, round backed and shouldered, with plump arms and hands and
short fingers. He had a round and puffy face, low forehead, thick
lips, bushy eyebrows, and a short, turned-up nose, giving him something
of a negro aspect. This description does not coincide with our ideas
of one in whom either intellectual or imaginative qualities were
strongly developed. Only in animated conversation did his eye light
up, and show by its fire and brilliancy the splendour of the mind
within. Add to this that in society Schubert's manner was awkward, the
result of an unconquerable diffidence and bashfulness, when in the
presence of strangers. He was even less fitted than Beethoven to shine
in the salons of the Viennese aristocracy, for his capacity as an
executive musician was more limited. But he was far more companionable
among his intimate acquaintances, and perhaps his greatest, and
certainly his most frequent, pleasure was to discuss music over a
friendly glass in some cosy tavern. It would be entirely unjust to