yet not without the solace of hope. Notwithstanding the uncongeniality
of his surroundings, he had found opportunities for study, and never
had his treasured volumes seemed more precious to him than during
those long winter months, when despair haunted him like a shadow from
which there seemed no means of escape. His sole earnings had been the
pence flung to him from the windows as he stood singing in the
snow-covered streets, either alone or in the company of other youths
as destitute as himself. But now spring had come; the glorious sun had
chased away the snow and the biting frost, and the poor chorister felt
its genial rays quickening the life-blood in his veins, and awakening
his cramped muscles to action. It is only the pinched and starved
human beings of this great Northern Hemisphere who really know what a
beneficent food-giver is the sun.
One morning, as Haydn stood idly wondering what he should do next, a
procession of men and women, headed by several priests, passed by,
bound for the shrine of the Virgin at Mariazell. Struck with an idea,
Haydn joined the cavalcade, and on reaching the church in which the
pilgrims were to assemble, he sought out the choirmaster, and, telling
him how and where he had been trained, begged for employment. With a
contemptuous glance at the ex-chorister's ragged clothing, however,
the master bade him begone, saying 'that he had had enough of lazy
rascals such as he coming from Vienna to seek for work.' The tears
started to the lad's eyes as he turned away. Would nobody hold out a
helping hand? He had been speculating upon this opportunity as he
trudged along the road until it seemed almost a certainty; and must
this cup, too, be dashed from his lips?
A few minutes later he perceived the choristers entering the church by
a side-door, and, emboldened by hunger, he slipped in amongst them,
donned a surplice, and took his place in the stalls. Finding himself
next to the principal soloist, he requested that he might be allowed
to share the latter's copy. The request was indignantly refused, but
Haydn, who knew the service almost by heart, resolved to await his
opportunity. When the moment arrived for the singing of the solo, he
snatched the copy from the chorister's hands, and, lifting up his
voice, sang the part with such exquisite finish and beauty of
expression as to electrify the rest of the choir and excite the
admiration of the master.
At the conclusion of the service Haydn was sent for by the
choirmaster, who, after expressing his regret for his former
abruptness, asked him to stay with them until the following day. Poor
starving Haydn was only too glad to accept the invitation, and when
the morrow arrived he was told that he might extend his stay for
several days longer. When, therefore, he finally returned to Vienna,
it was with a small sum of money jingling in his pockets and a frame
invigorated by a liberal supply of such food as it had not been his
privilege to taste since the day when he quitted the Cantorei of St.
Stephen's.
It was the first gleam of sunshine that had crossed his path since
those happy days, and it served to dispel some of the gloomy
desperation which, during the long, dark days of winter, had laid
constant siege to his resolutions, which had, indeed, once or twice
nearly shaken them from that bed-rock of belief in his own unaided
powers which, coupled with his simple faith in God, had sustained him
and sent him forward from day to day. Often had he lain, shivering and
famished, beneath his scanty coverlet in the corner of the garret
allotted to him, watching the stars shining through the skylight above
his head, and praying, with all the earnestness of a warrior-knight of
the Middle Ages, for strength to battle with the temptation of
despair. If music--the music that raises and ennobles, that
strengthens, and uplifts the soul of man to heights which bring him
nearer and ever nearer to a true conception of God--were destined to
find a voice in Haydn's soul, that music must have owed its inception
to those midnight hours of silent communion--those struggles with
natural want--which were passed beneath the rafters of his miserable
lodging.
And gradually his determination prevailed. The tide of fortune sent
some ripples of success to his feet. A few pupils were induced by the
trifling charge which he made to let him give them lessons on the
clavier; a like desire for economy probably induced others to employ
his services occasionally as violin-player at balls and other
entertainments; whilst one or two aspirants for musical honours
permitted him to undertake the revision and arrangement of their
compositions at a small fee. Such cheering signs of improved
prospects, feeble in themselves, assumed in Haydn's eyes the aspect of
rewards for which he could not be sufficiently grateful.
And then the tide of success came with something like a rush. A worthy
tradesman, named Buchholz, who loved music, and had occasionally
invited Haydn to sing and play to him after business hours, was
touched by his distress, and as a proof of his faith in the struggling
musician's honour, as well as with a desire to help him on his way, he
lent him the sum of a hundred and fifty florins, to be repaid,
without interest, when opportunity permitted.
To Haydn such a sum seemed a veritable fortune, and, indeed, it
brought with it the power of effecting great changes in his life. He
was now enabled to quit the tenement of Spangler and take a garret of
his own, or what was, in truth, a portion partitioned off from a
larger garret. As an exchange the new abode was not without its
drawbacks. Semi-darkness prevailed even at midday; there was no stove,
and as the summer had come and gone and winter was once more upon the
city its discomforts were speedily made manifest by the rain and snow,
which found their way through the broken roof. Nor were his neighbours
in the least inclined to respect his desire for quietude.
Nevertheless, in spite of these hardships, Haydn was happy--'too
happy,' as he himself put it, 'to envy the lot of Kings'; for had he
not added to his priceless treasures the first six sonatas of Emmanuel
Bach, which he lost no time in mastering? More than this, he had
become the possessor of a little clavier--a poor, worm-eaten
instrument, it is true, but one which brought much solace to him in
his loneliness.
On the third story of the house in which Haydn was living lodged an
Italian poet of some celebrity--Metastasio by name--between whom and
the friendless ex-chorister an acquaintance sprang up which resulted
in Haydn's introduction as music-teacher to the poet's favourite
pupil, Marianne Martinez. Upon the heels of this piece of good fortune
followed a second. Through Metastasio's interest Haydn became
acquainted with Nicolo Porpora, the most eminent teacher of singing
and composition of his day, who was at the time giving singing-lessons
to Marianne. But before sufficient time had elapsed for the latter
introduction to produce any definite result, Haydn had found
employment in a new and unlooked-for direction.
It was a common fashion in Vienna at that day for poor and struggling
musicians to earn a few florins by serenading personages of note in
the town; but as the number of would-be serenaders was always far in
excess of the number of celebrities who aspired to be thus honoured,
the pecuniary advantages, as a rule, were very small. It happened,
however, that Felix Kurz, the manager of one of the principal Viennese
theatres, had lately married a beautiful woman, whose charms were the
theme of conversation in fashionable circles, and it occurred to Haydn
and two of his companions to serenade the lady with music of the
former's own composing. Accordingly, the trio repaired one night to
Madame Kurz's windows and began their performance. Presently the door
opened, and the figure of Kurz appeared, enfolded in a dressing-gown.
Beckoning to Haydn, he inquired, 'Whose music is that which you were
playing just now?' 'My own,' replied the serenader. 'Indeed!'
responded Kurz, opening his eyes in surprise. 'Then just step inside,
if you please,' Haydn obeyed wonderingly, and having been first
introduced to madame, who complimented him on his performance, he was
conducted by the manager to the parlour, where refreshments were
produced for himself and his companions. 'Come and see me to-morrow,'
said Kurz to Haydn at parting. 'I think I have some work for you.'
When Haydn put in an appearance on the following day the manager at
once proceeded to business. He explained that he had just written a
comic opera, to which he had given the title of 'The Devil on Two
Sticks,' and was looking out for a musician to set it to music. He had
been struck by Haydn's serenade on the previous night, and believed
that he would do. 'Now,' he continued, 'there is a tempest scene at
sea for which appropriate music is needed. Let me hear what you would
suggest.'
[Illustration: '"_Whose music is that which you were playing
just now?_"']
Haydn seated himself at the harpsichord, but as he had never seen the
sea in his life, he felt at a loss how to begin. After trying a few
chords he mentioned his difficulty to Kurz. 'Oh, I haven't seen it,
either,' responded the manager airily; 'but I imagine it is something
like this'--and he began to throw his arms into the air as he paced up
and down. 'Picture a mountain rising, then a valley sinking; then a
second mountain, and another valley--mountains and abysses following
one another--there you are!'
In vain Haydn grappled with the subject--trying it in fifths, in
fourths, then in octaves--the excited manager meanwhile tossing his
arms about, and shouting and gesticulating. It was all to no purpose.
At length, losing all patience, Haydn cried, 'The devil take the
tempest!' at the same moment plumping his hands with a crash on to the
extreme ends of the keyboard, and then rapidly bringing them together.
'That's it, that's it! You've got it now!' cried the delighted Kurz,
springing at the astonished composer and embracing him with fervour.
From that moment all went well, and the opera was completed to the
author's satisfaction, albeit Haydn, glad as he was to receive his
reward, felt that he had little cause for self-congratulation at the
results from a musicianly point of view. The opera was duly produced,
and received with some measure of approval; but its life was no longer
than its merits deserved, and Haydn himself was not desirous of
delaying its interment, for he had higher work in view.
We must now return to his acquaintanceship with Porpora. The
singing-master had observed Haydn's skill in playing the harpsichord,
and thinking that he saw his way to turning the poor musician's
abilities to a useful purpose, he offered to employ him as
accompanist. Haydn gladly accepted the proposal, hoping that he would
thus be enabled to pick up something of the master's method. Though
ostensibly engaged to play the accompaniments of Porpora's songs when
the latter was giving his pupils their lessons, Joseph soon found that
he was regarded in no higher light than that of an ordinary
serving-man. The discovery of this fact, however, occasioned him no
dismay, nor did he exhibit the slightest repugnance at being called
upon to clean his master's shoes, brush his coat, or dress his
periwig. In vain did the sour old man hurl such epithets as 'fool,'
'blockhead,' 'dolt,' at his musical valet in return for the latter's
attempts to minister to his personal comforts. Haydn's sole object was
to be near Porpora in order that he might garner each crumb of
knowledge--each hint, however small--that the great man chanced to let
fall from his stores of learning; and the master, noting his
perseverance and also the gentleness with which he took his buffetings
and sarcasms, gradually softened towards his dependent, and, beginning
by giving him a stray piece of advice now and then, ended by answering
all his questions, and setting him right where he needed correction in
his compositions. To crown all, Porpora brought Haydn under the notice
of the nobleman in whose house he was teaching, with the result that,
when the nobleman took his family to the baths of Mannersdorf for
several months, Haydn, to his delight, was allowed to accompany the
party in the capacity of Porpora's accompanist.
This piece of good fortune proved to be the turning-point in his
career, for the eminent musicians whom he met at Mannersdorf not only
received him very kindly, but evinced the greatest interest in his
compositions, many of which were performed during this visit. His
acquaintance with one of these musicians--a well-known violinist named
Dittersdorf--ripened into friendship, and led to Haydn's receiving
violin lessons at this master's hands. Another solid advantage
accruing from his association with Porpora lay in the fact that the
nobleman himself, struck by Haydn's progress, and desirous of helping
on one who showed so great a talent for art, allotted him a pension of
six sequins (£3) a month. Haydn's action on receiving the first
instalment of this generous bounty was consistent with his desire to
maintain a neat appearance, as well as an indication of the distress
which his privations had hitherto caused him to suffer: he instantly
repaired to the nearest tailor's and purchased a suit of black.
On his return to Vienna fortune continued to smile upon him, as if
anxious to atone for her neglect in the past. One after another sought
his aid in teaching and composing, with the result that he was enabled
to raise his terms and move into decent lodgings. His struggles, if
not actually ended, had become so lightened as to leave his mind free
to pursue the higher walks of his art in comparative peace. From
another quarter, too, the hand of friendship was extended to him. He
received a summons to present himself at the house of the Countess
Thun, whose devotion to music was only equalled by her generous
patronage of those in whom she discerned the signs of genius. The
Countess had lately heard one of Haydn's clavier sonatas performed,
manuscript copies of which had, in accordance with the custom
prevailing amongst unknown composers, been sent to the houses of the
aristocracy, and, being charmed with the beauty of the work, she had
inquired the name of the composer, with the object of engaging his
services.
It is probable that the Countess had formed a very different
conception of Haydn's appearance from his work, for she could scarcely
conceal her surprise when he was ushered into her presence. That one
so ill-dressed and--it must be confessed--so uncouth of manner could
be the composer of such charming music seemed impossible. Her face
showed this so plainly that Haydn, knowing her generous character,
ventured to relate the story of his struggles. As he proceeded with
his simple narrative, the Countess's eyes filled with tears. She was
one of the noblest of women, and her heart was touched by the
reflection that the art which she loved should demand so much
sacrifice and suffering from those whose lives were wholly given up to
its ennoblement. She had supposed that one who could write such music
must have the command of money and the influence of wealthy
patrons--yet how different were the facts! Haydn's relation ended, the
Countess assured him that thenceforth he might count upon her as his
friend and well-wisher as well as pupil, and the happy young musician,
having attempted to express his thanks, withdrew with a heart
overflowing with gratitude.
A future bright with promise had now dawned for Haydn. His works were
to be heard in the best musical circles of Vienna, and praise and
encouragement flowed in from every quarter. A wealthy music patron,
Karl von Fürnberg, who had recognised his genius, persuaded him to
compose his first quartet, and thus turned his attention to the branch
of composition in which he was later on to excel. At the instance of
this patron Haydn, in 1759, received the appointment of music-director
to a rich Bohemian nobleman named Count Ferdinand Morzin, who was an
ardent lover of music, and maintained a small orchestra at his country
seat. This was a great step in his advancement, and the year which
witnessed it is also memorable as having been that in which he
composed his first symphony.
Haydn was now twenty-six, and no longer an unknown musician. One point
with regard to his compositions had already struck many whose judgment
carried weight, and had aroused some criticism on the part of the
connoisseurs: this point was their originality. He appeared to have
marked out for himself an independent line of work, and to be
following it up with a boldness that, in the eyes of certain of his
critics, savoured of an open defiance of established rules. But the
fact was overlooked by these critics that the circumstances of Haydn's
life had thrown him back upon himself and compelled him to be
original. His knowledge of counterpoint, to the rules of which he
showed a seeming disregard, had been derived almost entirely from
self-study. Without a single helping hand to guide him, he had
mastered the formidable difficulties of his 'Gradus'; and lighted only
by his inborn genius, he had deliberately chosen the path which he
felt to be that which would conduct him to the highest levels of his
art. The independence thus gained--and which speedily showed itself in
all that he wrote--was a possession born of suffering and solitude,
though never of ignorance, and as such it represented the truest as
well as the freest expression of his musical soul. With the dawn of
brighter days he had procured and studied all the works on theory that
were to be obtained, only to find himself strengthened in his
determination to adhere to the line which those hours of lonely study
and reflection had shown him to be the right one for him to adopt.
Few, indeed, of those who had risen to be masters in music could claim
to have been less influenced by the composers of their own or a
previous day than could Joseph Haydn; and the progress of our story
will show in what manner opportunity favoured the further growth and
development of that independence which even at the present stage had
impressed its stamp upon his works.
We must first of all, however, relate what befell our hero in a very
different sphere from that in which we have hitherto followed his
fortunes.
Some time before the period at which our story has arrived, Haydn had
been engaged to teach the harpsichord to the two daughters of a
wig-maker named Keller. As the lessons progressed the teacher became
conscious of a growing attachment for the younger of his pupils. There
was something spiritual about the character of this maiden which
appealed strongly to his musical temperament, though probably the
loneliness of his life at the time may have added force to his longing
to possess her for his wife. His poverty, however, must have convinced
him of the hopelessness of declaring himself at the moment, and for
some time his love remained as a cherished secret, fed by the hope
which formed almost his sole resource. But now that fortune had smiled
upon him he ventured to press his cause with assurance--albeit it must
be confessed that this assurance rested on no more secure basis than a
salary of some twenty pounds a year and the prospect of an extended
teaching connection. But his hopes were doomed to disappointment, for
the maiden had in the meantime elected to take the veil, prompted so
to do, most probably, by the very same leanings which had rendered her
nature so attractive to poor Haydn.
Could he but have been content to bear with his disappointment,
seeking in his art the consolation which she had it in her power to
bestow, Haydn would have been saved much unhappiness in the future.
Most likely he would have adopted this course in the end, had his will
and his self-regard been stronger; but neither, it seems, was proof
against the blandishments of the match-making perruquier. Anxious to
secure an alliance with one who showed so much promise, Keller brought
all his powers of persuasion to bear in favour of Haydn's accepting
the hand of his eldest daughter, and, sad to relate, he succeeded.
Maria Anna was not only three years older than the man who pledged his
faith to her before the altar of St. Stephen's, but she comprised in
her nature as much of the quality of the virago as her younger sister
had exhibited of the angel. She was heartless and extravagant, prone
to outbursts of uncontrollable temper, and in every way utterly
unfitted to be the wife of a man whose fame had yet to be compassed.
Indeed, she soon showed that she had not the slightest reverence
either for her husband or his art; for all she cared, Haydn might just
as well have been a cobbler as an artist, provided he supplied her
with money to satisfy her extravagant desires.
Fortunately for Haydn, the circumstances of his life were about to
undergo an important change. Count Morzin was compelled to reduce his
establishment, and hence dismissed his band and its director. What
might otherwise have proved a great misfortune for Haydn was, however,
the means of securing for him a post which not only raised him to the
position which he had set his heart on attaining, but precluded the
possibility of his wife's living with him. Amongst those who had
visited Count Morzin's house and listened with delight to the
performance of Haydn's compositions was the then reigning Prince of
Hungary, Paul Anton Esterhazy. No sooner had the Prince been made
aware of Count Morzin's intentions than he offered Haydn the post of
second Capellmeister at his country seat of Eisenstadt. The chief
Capellmeister, whose name was Werner, was old and infirm, but the
Prince retained him in his position on account of his length of
service. To Haydn, however, was assigned the sole control of the
orchestra, as well as a free hand in regard to most of the musical
arrangements.
It is needless to recount the joyful feelings with which Haydn
received the news of his appointment, offering as it did the most
exceptional opportunities for prosecuting his beloved art. Not even in
his wildest dreams could he have pictured such magnificence as that
which greeted him on his arrival at the Palace of Eisenstadt. For
generations past the Esterhazys had been devotedly attached to music,
and the reigning Prince had spared neither pains nor expense to equip
his establishment with the means of performing not only the fullest
Church services, but complete operas as well. The sight of the huge
building, with its spacious halls and apartments and its troops of
servants; the enchanting grounds, decked with parterres of choicest
flowers; and the lakes and fountains scintillating in the sunshine,
must have presented to the young musician, fresh from his lodging in
the crowded city, a vision of endless beauty. The very air of the
place breathed a music of its own, as, laden with the perfumes of
countless blossoms, it was wafted into the apartments set aside for
his use. Hard work lay before him; but what work could be too hard
when performed amidst such exquisite surroundings as these, and for a
master whose unstinting generosity and fatherly care for those about
him were so widely known? From the outset Haydn realised that here he
would enjoy the freest scope for the exercise of his gifts, with the
additional advantage, for which the greatest masters might well have
envied him, of being able to give practical effect to whatever he
wrote before committing it to the judgment of the world outside.
No wonder, then, that under such favouring conditions as these
compositions poured from his pen; nor was it long ere the musicians
whom he commanded had learnt to regard him with affection, and to vie
with each other in their eagerness to fulfil his wishes.