Part 2
Symphony

At the Proms: The Great C major Symphony
Schubert was ill and poverty-stricken in 1828 when he entered that last creative spell which produced The Shepherd on the Rock, the wonderful late piano sonatas, the quintet, Op. 163, and his last symphony, called the Great r mainr-nnt only to distinguish it from the little C major, but because it is great. This work is no diary-entry or personal statement, however: rather, it conjures up an ideal sunlit world of men living at peace in nature. All its bounding outdoor energy lay buried for a decade after Schubert's death: discovered by Schumann, first performed by Mendelssohn in 1839, this symphony which-like Beethoven's Ninth-fairly shouts 'Be ye embraced, ye millions,' was rejected by its first English orchestral players with contemptuous laughter.
And it is still the object of some condescension. Schumann's ' heavenly length ' epithet is quoted almost as if it were ironical rather than delighted and admiring; occasionally an exceptionally stupid voice will utter that Schubert simply 'couldn't stop' - an idiotic insult to any artist thus to suggest that he has so little control over his material.
The truth of it is that it was Schubert's intention to cover a vast canvas, and that he succeeded. 'What size is a symphony?' is a question without meaning. The dimensions here are an integral part of the idea, and the grandeur of them is revealed with the opening horn-call, and in every subsequent bar until it reaches its warmest, most blithe, height in the sublimely galloping, irresistible finale.

(Hugh Wood)