Five hundred torches pierced the blackness of a Vienna night. Five hundred dark-coated figures crowded their way down a crooked street in the Himmel-pfortgrund, stopped before an empty house tucked away there, hummed an invocatory pitch and sang the Serenade of Franz Peter Schubert. So last week, on his birthday and at his birthplace, tribute was paid to the memory of a great composer.
A hundred years have passed since young Franz Schubert was taken with typhus fever and died. Town officials were informed of his death . . . just another of those...
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