Hail Mary Moments with Schubert's Ave Maria
The Backstory

Ellens Gesang III in B-flat major, D. 839, Op. 52 No. 6

Schubert presenting the backstory of his Ave Maria
I'm Schubert, and this is the backstory of my Ave Maria. You'll find out that I never meant it as a church prayer, because it began as a song sung by Ellen in a Walter Scott poem, with the Latin words added later. Here on this site, my fellow composers and I also teach you to recognize our pieces the moment they begin, so  give the Trainer a go  whenever you like.
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A Title Only a Filing Clerk Could Love

Most people know my song as Ave Maria, but its proper title is Ellens Gesang III, which simply means Ellen's Third Song. That's accurate, and it tells you exactly where the song sits in a larger story. It's also not a name anyone hums in the shower, so the nickname won out long ago. I can't really argue, since Ave Maria fits on a concert poster far more easily.

Ellen Has Three Songs, and This Is the Last

In the story, Ellen sings three songs, and this is the third one. It's one of seven songs I took from Scott's poem, and in the printed set it comes as number six. So the song was meant to be one chapter in a little collection, not a lone masterpiece standing by itself. If you ever hear the whole set, you'll notice how naturally Ellen's last song grows out of what comes before it.

The Prayer Inside the Poem

The words I set come from verse XXIX of the third canto, where Ellen sings a prayer to the Virgin Mary. She opens with the words "Ave Maria" and comes back to them as a refrain. That repeated greeting gives the melody a place to settle each time, like a deep breath between lines. Everything else in her song is German, in a translation that stays close to Scott's mood.

The Latin Showed Up After I Had Left the Room

Here's something that surprises many people: the Latin words you hear in most performances are not mine. They were fitted to my melody later, perhaps because Ellen's own words begin and end with "Ave Maria". I never set the Catholic prayer at all, and I wrote for a German text from a secular poem. It's a bit like finding out your favorite sweater was knitted for someone else, and it still fits you perfectly.

A Good Year for My Wallet

I wrote this song in one of my easier years, when my publications were moving along faster and my money worries eased for a while. That kind of breathing room is rare for a composer, and I made the most of it. The same year I wrote my Piano Sonata in A minor, and I also began the Great C major Symphony. So Ellen's prayer shared my desk with some very big company.

A Gift for a Countess

The song was printed in Vienna by Artaria around 1826, in a set of seven songs from Scott's Fräulein vom See. I dedicated that first edition to Countess Sophie Weissenwolff, who was born a Countess Breunner. The story goes that the song was first performed at her castle in Steyregg, though nobody knows when, or who sang it. That leaves the premiere as a mystery in a very pleasant setting.

Liszt Gives the Singer a Rest

Franz Liszt loved the song enough to arrange it for solo piano, and he did it in three different versions. That means one pair of hands has to carry the long melody and the rolling accompaniment at once. It's a lovely compliment to me, because it shows the tune holds up even when no one is singing a word. If you ever want to hear the song in a different light, a piano version is a good place to start.

A Quiet Ending After a Very Loud Night

In 1940, Walt Disney's Fantasia used my song as its closing music, right after Mussorgsky's Night on Bald Mountain. After all the wild, dark music before it, the calm of my melody must have felt like opening a window at dawn. Leopold Stokowski arranged it for soprano, mixed chorus and the strings of the Philadelphia Orchestra, with Julietta Novis as the soloist. The English words were written by Rachel Field, so that audience heard Ellen's prayer in a whole new language.

One Tune, Many Occasions

These days you're most likely to hear the song at weddings, funerals and Christmas services. It often appears in simplified arrangements, and the lyrics usually differ from Scott's. That's quite a journey for something that began as a song for a woman's voice and piano, based on a poem about a Scottish heroine. I think it works so well in so many places because the melody is simple and open, and anyone can bring their own feelings to it.

What I Never Got to Hear

I died in Vienna in November 1828, at the age of 31, only a few years after writing this song. So I never knew that Ellen's prayer would travel so far from the poem I read. I never heard it at a wedding, or in a film, or in a language I couldn't speak. I'm glad it found all those listeners, and I hope that when it comes on, you'll hear that gentle rocking piano and know exactly where it began.
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I hope you enjoyed learning about the backstory of my Ave Maria as much as I enjoyed telling it. Did it give you a new way of listening to a song you may have heard many times before? When I look back on it, what stays with me is how a quiet song for one voice and a piano, written for Ellen in a Walter Scott poem, found its way into so many rooms and so many lives. I never could have imagined that when I wrote it in 1825. There is still more to discover about this song. You could follow how Franz Liszt turned it into music for solo piano, or how it ended up in Walt Disney's Fantasia in 1940, or how people now choose it for weddings, funerals and Christmas services. Each of those paths shows the melody in a different light. If you'd like to keep exploring, I invite you to click on the links provided and see where they take you. And the next time you hear that gently rolling piano and that long, calm vocal line, I hope you'll think of Ellen and smile a little.