All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.
William Shakespeare, As You Like It
Our society was already fractured before the events of October 7, 2023. But, particularly since that time, many among us feel trapped in the middle, between duty and conscience. In these moments, Shakespeare’s words ring most true and the deprivation of agency never felt more keenly. Which brings to mind the life and career of Franz Schmidt, who was destined to be one of the giants of 20th century music but, somehow, wasn’t. This is his story, in brief, and his legacy.
Schmidt was born in the late 19th century into a musical family. His mother, in particular, was a gifted pianist who had studied with the great Franz Liszt. She was his first teacher. Schmidt would go on to study with some of the great names in music history, most notably Anton Bruckner. Schmidt’s musical tastes as a student were decidedly retro. He detested Brahms’ music (rightly) but also Mahler’s (wrongly). The first of these transgressions cost him his teacher (Robert Fuchs), the second his career–Schmidt was playing cello under Mahler’s baton in Vienna at the time. His time under Mahler coincided with Schmidt beginning to blossom as a composer, which he eventually took up fulltime, leaving his performing career behind.
All signs pointed to a major career in composition, but it was not to be. Even as he began to get some recognition, Schmidt’s first wife went insane and had to be institutionalized. This led to a bout of depression and diminished output, right at the time that he should be been devoting all his energy to composition. His daughter died several years later, which sent Schmidt into a spiraling and even more severe depression, during which his compositional output ceased entirely.
He emerged from his depression through composition–the remarkable Das Buch mit Sieben Siegeln (The Book of Seven Seals) and his Fourth, and last, symphony. Schmidt may have been recovering, but Germany was descending into madness. In 1938, Hitler’s Germany conquered Austria and Schmidt’s life and legacy would be forever changed. Hitler fancied himself an artist–he had famously studied painting and reportedly even attended the premiere of Richard Strauss’s Salome, THE seminal musical event of the 20th century. The Nazis, however, were decidedly unimpressed with all forms of modern art and, somewhat surprisingly given his lowly stature at the time, embraced Schmidt as the greatest living Aryan composer. Schmidt thus found the fame that he had never actively sought and the high profile commissions that should have come with it. Indeed, Hitler himself commissioned a cantata from Schmidt in 1938. Unlike his peers (cough, Strauss, cough), Schmidt found the commision repulsive and worked sparingly at it before he suddenly died in 1939. His first wife was murdered by the Nazis some years later. And his work passed into memory, forever damned as a Nazi composer.
Recently, there has been renewed interest in Schmidt’s life and work, explaining why a Nazi commission may have, in fact, killed him. Schmidt was not one to court controvery or dissention. Rather, he was content to work behind the scenes, helping Jewish music students escape from Austria during the last year of his life. He was caught in the middle, on a stage he never sought, and between duty and conscience–with the not to subtle threat of a concentration camp at the pointy end of the sword.
Timely then is the recent recording of Schmidt’s four symphonies by the Frankfurt Radio Orchestra, under the baton of Paavo Järvi. Like many composers who died before their time, listening to his Fourth Symphony, I am left with the agonizing question of what could have been. Not just for Schmidt, but for music history in general.
Such is the pain of those caught in the middle, placed on the great stage, to play a role they did not choose, and learning, to their dismay, that they are cast in a tragedy lacking any agency to change their fate. For those caught between duty and conscience today, I hope that you find kinship with Franz Schmidt and take time to listen to his Fourth Symphony, in which his pain is so keenly on display. And I hope, as Shakespeare says, another, more rewarding, role will be forthcoming.
Franz Schmidt, Symphonies
A Gertus History of Music 