In 1790 Haydn had been capellmeister at Esterhaz, the magnificent
palace which Prince Nicolaus Esterhazy had created in imitation of
Versailles. For nearly a quarter of a century, Esterhaz, though built
on an unhealthy site, was the favourite residence of the prince, who
never tired of altering, extending, and improving the palace and
grounds, and whose greatest ambition was to make the musical and
theatrical entertainments given there the best of their kind. In many
ways Haydn was most happily situated at Esterhaz, and though his
isolated position there became more irksome to him as time went on, he
would not, though frequently approached with flattering offers from
abroad, leave his well-beloved master, of whom he wrote, in 1776, "My
dearest wish is to live and die with him."
The King of Naples, an ardent admirer of the composer, had urged him to
go to Naples with him. Haydn's presence was also much desired in
Paris, and from London, especially, he had received many overtures.
Cramer, the violinist, had written to Haydn in 1781, offering to engage
him at his own figure for the Professional Concerts, and Gallini, the
owner and manager of the King's Theatre in Drury Lane, urged him to
compose an opera for him. Salomon, still more enterprising, in 1789,
sent Bland, a well-known music publisher, to treat with Haydn, but
without success. The composer gave him the copyright of several of his
productions, among them the "Stabat Mater" and "Ariadne," and the
"Razirmesser" quartette. This composition is said to derive its name
from Haydn's exclaiming one morning, while shaving, "I would give my
best quartette for a good razor!" Bland happened to enter the room at
that moment, and at once hurried back to his lodgings and, returning
with his own razors of good English steel, gave them to Haydn, who
thereupon kept his word by tendering in exchange his latest quartette.
The death of Prince Esterhazy, in September, 1790, gave Haydn the
opportunity he had long wished for, as Prince Anton, who succeeded
Nicolaus, had little taste for music, and dismissed most of the
performers, at the same time, however, increasing Haydn's pension of a
thousand florins a year, left him by Prince Nicolaus, by the addition
of four hundred florins.
Haydn, being now his own master, went to live at Vienna, with his old
friend Bamberger, and, declining an invitation to become capellmeister
to Count Grassalcovics, was working with his usual industry when, one
day, a visitor was announced. He turned out to be Salomon, the London
manager, who, on his way back from Italy, whither he had been to engage
singers for the Italian opera in London, had heard of the prince's
death, and hastened at once to Vienna in the hope of inducing Haydn to
visit England. This, after much negotiation, was at last accomplished.
Mozart, to whom Haydn was like a father, felt the separation deeply,
and vainly strove to prevent it. He said to Haydn: "Papa, you have not
been brought up for the great world; you know too few languages." Haydn
replied: "But my language is understood by the whole world." Mozart
spent the day of his departure with him, and bade him farewell in
tears, saying, "We shall see each other no more in this world!" a
presentiment which was sadly fulfilled.
Haydn and Salomon left Vienna on the 15th of December, 1790, and
journeyed by way of Munich, Bonn, and Brussels to Calais, where they
arrived on the evening of December 31st. At half-past seven the next
morning they embarked for Dover, but, the wind being contrary, they had
a stormy passage, and did not reach the English port until five in the
afternoon. Haydn, whose first voyage it was, remained on deck the
whole time, in spite of the unfavourable weather.
[Illustration: Haydn Crossing the English Channel. From painting by E.
J. C. Hamman.]
His first impressions of London, then a city of less than a million
people, were of its great size and its noise. Many times the composer
must have longed for the comparative quiet of Esterhaz, or of his own
study in Vienna.
An amusing anecdote is told of Haydn in London. One morning he came
upon a music shop, and, going in, asked to be shown any novelties that
might be for sale.
"Certainly," answered the salesman, who forthwith brought out "some
sublime music of Haydn's," as he termed it.
"Oh, I'll have nothing to do with that," said the customer.
"Why not?" asked the man, who happened to be a warm admirer of Haydn's
music. "Have you any fault to find with it?"
"Yes," said the composer, "and if you can show me nothing better than
that, I must go without making a purchase."
"Well, then, you had better go, for I've nothing that I can supply as
suitable for such as you," and Mr. Shopman walked away.
Before Haydn could reach the door, however, a gentleman entered, who
was known not only to him, but to the music publisher. He greeted the
composer by name, and began to congratulate him upon his latest
symphony produced at Salomon's concerts. The music seller turned
around upon hearing the name of Haydn, and said, "Ah! here's a musician
who does not like that composer's music."
The gentleman at once saw the joke, and, explaining the matter to the
dealer, they all had a hearty laugh over the incident.
Haydn was received with the warmest hospitality in London, and, like
many other "lions," was at no little pains to secure sufficient time
for his work amid the pressure of social engagements and the visits of
celebrities of all kinds. Doctor Burney, the musical historian, with
whom the composer had corresponded, wrote a poem in his honour. This
appeared in the _Monthly Review_, and its concluding stanza runs as
follows:
"Welcome, great master! to our favoured isle,
Already partial to thy name and style;
Long may thy fountain of invention run
In streams as rapid as it first begun;
While skill for each fantastic whim provides,
And certain science ev'ry current guides!
Oh, may thy days, from human sufferings free,
Be blest with glory and felicity,
With full fruition, to a distant hour,
Of all thy magic and creative power!
Blest in thyself, with rectitude of mind,
And blessing, with thy talents, all mankind."
Less pleasant than such tributes was an experience Haydn had with a
noble pupil, who called upon him, saying that he was passionately fond
of music, and would be grateful if the composer would give him a few
lessons in harmony and counterpoint, at a guinea a lesson.
"Oh, willingly!" answered Haydn; "when shall we begin?"
"Immediately, if you see no objection," and the nobleman took out of
his pocket one of Haydn's quartettes. "For the first lesson," said he,
taking the initiative, "let us examine this quartette, and you tell me
the reason of some modulations which I will point out to you, together
with some progressions which are contrary to all rules of composition."
Haydn did not object to this course, and the gentleman proceeded. The
initial bar of the quartette was first attacked, and but few of the
succeeding ones escaped the critical comments of the _dilettante_.
The composer's reply as to why he did this or that was very simple. "I
did it," he said, "because I thought it would have a good effect."
Such a reply did not satisfy "my lord," who declared that his opinion
of the composition as ungrammatical and faulty would be unchanged
unless Haydn could give him some better reason for his innovations and
errors.
This nettled Haydn, who suggested that the pupil (?) should rewrite the
quartette after his own fashion. But, like many other would-be
critics, he declined to undertake the task, contenting himself with
impugning the correctness of Haydn's work. "How can yours, which is
contrary to the rules, be the best?" he repeatedly asked Haydn.
At last the composer's patience was exhausted. "I see, my lord," said
he, "it is you who are so good as to give lessons to me. I do not want
your lessons, for I feel that I do not merit the honour of having such
a master as yourself. Good morning."
Haydn then left the room, and sent his servant to show the man out.
One of Haydn's biographers says that the composer soon gauged the
musical taste of the English public, and rearranged most of his
compositions written earlier, before producing them in London. "Our
national manners in the concert-room would seem to have descended to us
from our grandfathers, for we find Haydn doubting as to which of two
evils he shall choose: whether to insist on his stipulated composition
being placed in the first or the second part of each concert's
programme. In the former case its effect would be marred by the
continual noisy entrance of late comers, while in the latter case a
considerable portion of the audience would probably be asleep before it
began. Haydn chose this, however, as the preferable alternative, and
the loud chord (Paukenschlag) of the andante in the 'Surprise' symphony
is said to have been the comical device he hit upon for rousing the
slumberers."
Haydn was very desirous that one of his compositions should be
performed at an Ancient Music Concert in London, but one of their rules
was to admit only work by composers who had been dead twenty years.
The management would make no exception, even for Haydn, and it was not
until forty-one years later that they produced a composition by
him,--the "Let there be Light," from the "Creation."
One of the pleasantest incidents of Haydn's visit to England occurred
in November, when he made a visit of three days to Oatlands Park as a
guest of the Duke of York, who was spending his honeymoon there with
his young bride, the Princess of Prussia. "The sight of the kind
German face and the familiar sound of the German tongue of the
musician, whose name had been a household word to her ever since she
could speak, must have been more than welcome to the little
transplanted bride (she was only seventeen), and Haydn writes tenderly
to Frau v. Genzinger (December 20th) how the 'liebe Kleine' sat close
by his side all the time he was playing his symphony, humming the
familiar airs to herself, and urging him to go on playing until long
past midnight."
Upon his second visit to London, Haydn received many attentions from
the royal family, especially from the Prince and Princess of Wales.
The prince had a taste for music at once genuine and intelligent. He
played the violoncello, and took his place in the orchestra in the
concerts given at Carlton House, his brothers, the Dukes of Gloucester
and Cumberland, playing the violin and viola.
When Haydn returned to Vienna, he carried with him, besides the
substantial sum gained by his art, many presents from friends and
admirers. One of the most original souvenirs was received from William
Gardiner, a Leicester manufacturer and a great lover of music, who
wrote a book entitled "Music and Friends." His gift consisted of six
pairs of stockings, into which were woven airs from Haydn's
compositions, the "Emperor's Hymn," the "Surprise" andante, and others.