HAYDN AND MOZART
I.--Haydn
This composer, to whom is given the name of "father of the symphony
and the quartet," was born at Rohrau, a small Austrian village on the
Leitha, in the night between 31st March and 1st April 1732. At a very
early age the boy's sweet voice attracted the notice of G. Reuter,
capellmeister of St. Stephen's, Vienna, and for many years he sang in
the cathedral choir. In 1749 he was dismissed, the alleged cause being
a practical joke played by him on one of his fellow-choristers. He
was, as Sir G. Grove relates in his article "Haydn" in the _Dictionary
of Music and Musicians_, thrown upon the world "with an empty purse, a
keen appetite, and no friends." Haydn took up his abode in an attic in
the old Michaelerhaus. But it chanced that Metastasio lived in the
same building, and the famous poet took an interest in the penniless
composer, and, among other things, taught him Italian. Metastasio was
extremely fond of music, and we know from his letters that the flowing
compositions of his countrymen delighted him more than the learned
music of Germany. Then Haydn made the acquaintance of Porpora, who
gave him instruction in composition and in the art of singing. And he
is also supposed to have studied the works of San Martini, an Italian
composer in the service of Prince Esterhazy. In addition, Italian
music was much played and much admired in Vienna. Emanuel Bach also,
as we have seen, came under Italian influence, but not until he had
finished his studies under his father's guidance. Once more, we may
conclude that Haydn, before he commenced writing clavier sonatas, had
made acquaintance with those of Paradies and of Alberti. These early
Italian influences should be noted, for one is apt to think rather of
the young composer as plodding through Fux's "Gradus" and playing
Emanuel Bach's sonatas on his "little worm-eaten clavier." During his
last years Haydn told his friend Griesinger that he had diligently
studied Emanuel Bach, and that he owed very much to him. From the
painter Dies, in his biographical notice of the master, we also learn
how fond he was of playing Emanuel Bach's sonatas. And this influence
was undoubtedly not only a strong, but a lasting one; in 1788, the
year in which E. Bach died, Haydn wrote to Artaria, begging the latter
to send him that master's last two works for clavier.
In reference to Haydn, musicians are apt to speak merely of his
sonatas, whereas those of Beethoven are generally described by their
key, or their opus number; or as belonging to one of the three
periods into which that master's art-work is usually divided. There is
good reason for this difference. Haydn's sonatas are not of equal
importance with those of his successor; and then some are
old-fashioned, others second-rate. Beethoven's sonatas are by no means
all of equal merit, yet there is not one but has some feature, whether
of form, or development, or technique, by which it may be
distinguished. And yet a close and careful study of Haydn's sonatas
will show that he, too, had his periods of apprenticeship, mastery,
and maturity. Let not our readers take alarm. We are not going to
analyse his thirty-five sonatas, or to enter into minute details. But
we shall try, by selecting some of the most characteristic works, to
show how the master commenced, continued, and concluded.
The earliest of the published sonatas,[73] No. 1 (33), is somewhat of
a curiosity. It consists of four movements: an Allegro in G major; a
Minuetto and Trio, G major and minor; an Adagio in G minor; and an
Allegro molto in G major. It is the only sonata of Haydn's which
contains four movements. The plaintive Trio and the Scarlatti-like
Finale are attractive.
In the year 1774, J.J. Hummel, at Amsterdam, published six sonatas,
the last three of which appear to have been originally written for
pianoforte and violin;[74] and in 1776 six more were printed by
Longman & Broderip as Op. 14. These may serve as specimens of Haydn's
early style; and in them, by the way, the composer was accused of
imitating, nay, caricaturing, E. Bach.
In the _European Magazine_ for October 1784 there appeared an account
of Joseph Haydn, "a celebrated composer of music," in which occurs the
following:--
"Amongst the number of professors who wrote against our rising author
was Philipp Emanuel Bach of Hamburgh (formerly of Berlin); and the
only notice Haydn took of their scurrility and abuse was to publish
lessons written in imitation of the several styles of his enemies, in
which their peculiarities were so closely copied, and their extraneous
passages (particularly those of Bach of Hamburgh) so inimitably
burlesqued, that they all felt the poignancy of his musical wit,
confessed its truth, and were silent."
Further on the writer mentions the sonatas of Ops. 13 and 14 as
"expressly composed in order to ridicule Bach of Hamburgh"; nay, he
points to the second part of the second sonata in Op. 13 and the whole
of the third sonata in the same work by way of special illustration.
There are many resemblances to E. Bach in Haydn,--notes wide apart,
pause bars, surprise modulations, etc.,--and this is not more
extraordinary than to find resemblances between Mozart and Beethoven;
but the charge of caricature seems unfair. Besides, it is scarcely
likely that Haydn, who owed so much to Bach, would have done any such
thing. It must be remembered that at the date of the _European
Magazine_ in question, E. Bach had not yet published any of the six
Leipzig Collections ("Sonaten für Kenner," etc.), by which he is best
known at the present day.
Of the six sonatas, Op. 13, the first three are Nos. 8 (26), 9 (27),
10 (28) in Pohl's thematic catalogue (_Joseph Haydn_, vol. ii.). The
other three have not been reprinted in modern collections. In the
first three the keys and order of movements are as follow:--
No. 1. Allegro moderato in C; Adagio, F; Finale, Presto.
No. 2. Allegro moderato in E; Andante, E minor; Finale,
Tempo di Menuetto.
No. 3. Allegro moderato in F; Larghetto, E minor; Presto.
These sonatas are interesting as music, and the workmanship is
skilful. If one can get over the thinness of the part-writing,
especially in the slow movements, there is much to enjoy in them. The
style of movement--Tempo di Menuetto--in No. 2 recalls Emanuel Bach's
"Würtemberg" sonatas of 1745.
Here are the numbers of the sonatas of Op. 14: 11 (20), 12 (21), 13
(22), 14 (23), 15 (24), 16 (25). And here are the keys and movements--
No. 1. Allegro con brio in G; Minuetto, G; Trio, G minor;
Presto.
No. 2. Allegro moderato in E flat; Minuetto, E flat; Trio, E
flat minor; Presto.
No. 3. Moderato in F; Adagio, B flat; Tempo di Menuetto.
No. 4. Allegro in A; Adagio; Tempo di Minuetto con
Variazione.
No. 5. Moderato in E; Presto.
No. 6. Allegro moderato in B minor; Tempo di Minuetto;
Presto.
During the eighteenth century, both in Italy and Germany, sonatas in
two movements were common, but with Haydn the reduction in No. 5
probably was made on practical, and not artistic grounds. Schindler
once asked Beethoven why he had only two movements to his Sonata in C
minor (Op. 111), and the master replied--probably with a twinkle in
his eye--that he had not had time for a third.
If these sonatas of 1776 be compared with earlier ones (1767), an
immense improvement in the development sections will be observed. In
the earliest but one of the master's sonatas--No. 2 (30)--the whole of
the middle section is in the principal key. No. 4 (Op. 14) has all
three movements connected,--a plan, as we have already seen, adopted
by E. Bach in some of his sonatas. The sonata in question is in the
key of A major. The Allegro ends with an arpeggio dominant chord, and
still in the same bar follows the dominant chord of the relative key
of F sharp minor, leading directly to the Adagio; this movement, in
its turn, closes on the dominant chord of A, the key, of course, of
the final movement (Tempo di Minuetto con Variazioni).
In 1780 six sonatas were published by Artaria, and dedicated to the
sisters Franziska and Marianne v. Auenbrugger. They are Nos. 20 (1),
21-24 (10-13), and 7 (14). No. 20 (1) is a bright little work. No. 21
(10) (C sharp minor) opens with an interesting movement.[75] The
sonata ends with a beautiful Menuetto and Trio, in which the composer
comes very near to Beethoven. The middle movement is a Scherzando, and
thereby hangs a little tale. No. 24 (13) commences with the same
theme. When Haydn sent the sonatas to his publisher he called
attention to this resemblance, and, in fact, requested that it should
be mentioned on the inner side of the title-page. And he added: "I
could, of course, have chosen a hundred other ideas in place of this
one; but in order not to run any risk of blame on account of this
intentional trifle (which the critics, and especially my enemies, will
regard in a bad light), I make this _avertissement_. Or please add
some note of a similar kind, otherwise it may prove detrimental to the
sale." No. 22 (11) has an opening Allegro in Haydn's brightest
manner. The short Largo is quaint and expressive; the _ff_ chord of
the Neapolitan sixth is of fine effect. The movement ends on the
dominant chord, and thus leads without break to the lively Presto
Finale. The concluding movement of the next sonata displays a
crispness and vigour which remind one of Haydn's great successor.
Already in connection with these six sonatas have we mentioned
Beethoven. And from this period onwards the kinship between the two
composers becomes more evident. Haydn, however, did not, like
Beethoven, rise steadily higher and higher; great moments came, as it
were, by fits and starts. He wrote in season and out of season; _nulla
dies sine linea_ seems to have been his motto. With Beethoven, a later
work, unless it be one of his few _pièces d'occasion_, means a fuller
revelation of his genius.
We will now pass on to the latest period, represented by two great
sonatas, both in the key of E flat. The one was written for the
composer's friend and patron, Frau v. Genziger. The opening Allegro
shows earnest, deep feeling, while at the close of the recapitulation
Haydn makes us feel the full power of his genius; the passage
irresistibly recalls moments in the first movement of the
"Appassionata"; those stately reiterated chords, those solemn pauses,
have a touch of mystery about them. It is interesting to see how the
second theme is evolved from the principal subject of the movement; by
a slight modification the character of the music is quite changed;
what was stately is now light and graceful. The Adagio cantabile is
one of the purest examples of a style of music which has become a
thing of the past. The full and sustained tone of modern instruments
has rendered unnecessary those turns, arpeggios, and numerous
ornaments with which the composers of the last century tried to make
amends for the fleeting tones of their harpsichords and clavichords.
Haydn and Mozart were skilful in this art of embellishment, though
sometimes it was unduly profuse; this Adagio of Haydn's is a model of
sobriety. The bold minor section, which Frau v. Genziger, by the way,
found rather troublesome to play, offers an effective contrast to the
major. A graceful Tempo di Menuetto brings the work to an effective
close. The other Sonata in E flat[76] is much more difficult to play.
The writing is fuller, and it contains passages which even a modern
pianist need not disdain. It is really strange that the sonata is not
sometimes heard at the Popular Concerts. In the opening Allegro the
exposition section contains more than the two orthodox themes, and the
development section assumes considerable magnitude; the latter is
full of clever details and bold modulations. The key of the Adagio is
E major, but this is of course the enharmonic equivalent of F flat.
Brahms, in his last Sonata for Violoncello and Pianoforte in F, has
the slow movement in F sharp. This has been spoken of as a novelty,
yet Haydn, as we see, had already made the experiment; and similar
instances may be found in Schubert and Beethoven, though not in their
pianoforte sonatas. The Finale Presto reminds one by the style of
writing, and by a certain quaint humour, of Emanuel Bach; but there
are some bold touches--_sforzandos_ on unaccented beats, prolongation
of phrases, long dwelling on one harmony, etc.--which anticipate
Beethoven. Traces of the past, foreshadowings of the future; these are
familiar facts in evolution.
II.--Mozart
Before Mozart had reached the age of twenty he wrote six sonatas for a
certain Baron Dürnitz, who, by the way, forgot to send the promised
payment in return. Of these, Otto Jahn remarks that "their healthy
freshness and finished form entitle them still to be considered as the
best foundation for a musical education." Freshness is indeed the best
term to describe both the thematic material and the developments. Four
of them (Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 5) consist of the usual three movements;
No. 4 commences with a long Adagio in two sections, each of which is
repeated. Two graceful Minuets (the second taking the place of a Trio)
follow, and the third movement is an Allegro in sonata-form. No. 6 has
for its second movement a Rondeau en Polonaise, and for its third, a
Theme with variations. The Rondo of No. 3 (in B flat) is unusually
long; it contains two episodes, one in the relative minor, the other
in the subdominant. The next three sonatas (in C, A minor, and D) are
of greater importance. They are all said to have been written at
Mannheim. The first was most probably the one mentioned in a letter of
1777 written by Mozart to his father. He describes a public concert
given on the 22nd of October, and says: "Then I played alone the last
Sonata in D, then my Concerto in B flat, then a Fugue in C minor, and
a splendid Sonata in C major out of my own head, with a Rondo at the
end." The "last Sonata in D" was the last of the set of six noticed
above. In reference to the Sonata in C, the expression "out of my own
head" would seem to indicate that it had not at that time been written
out. Mozart was right to speak of the work as "splendid." The bold
opening subject, the well-contrasted second theme, the short but
masterly development, the original leading back to the principal
subject, and the many variations in the recapitulation section, fully
justify his qualification. The slow movement is full of charm, and the
Rondo, with its elaborate middle section, is of the highest interest.
The 2nd Sonata, in A minor, is, next to the one in C minor, Mozart's
finest effort in this department of musical literature. And there is a
story connected with it. Capellmeister Cannabich's eldest daughter
Rosa had captivated the young composer; he wrote to his father about
her, and described her as "a pretty, charming girl," and added, "she
has a staid manner and a great deal of sense for her age (the young
lady was only thirteen); she speaks but little, and when she does
speak, it is with grace and amiability." On the very next day after
his arrival in Mannheim he began to write this sonata for her. The
Allegro was finished in one day. Young Danner, the violinist, asked
him about the Andante, and Mozart replied: "I mean to make it exactly
like Mdlle. Rose herself." This was the picture to which he worked.
One of Beethoven's finest sonatas, the C sharp minor, was inspired by
a beautiful girl: a strong appeal to the emotions calls forth a
composer's best powers. Mozart's first movement was written on 31st
October, and the Rondo on 8th November. The Allegro maestoso presents
many points of interest. The opening theme with its dotted motive is
prominent throughout the movement; the transition passage to the key
of the relative major is based on it, and so is the coda to the
exposition section. Again, in the development and recapitulation
sections it forms a striking feature, while in the final coda it is
intensified by reiteration of the dotted figure, and also by the rise
from the dominant to the tonic. The slow movement, with its expressive
themes, graceful ornamentation, and bold middle section, was not
surpassed by Mozart even in his C minor Sonata. The Presto closes the
work in worthy manner; it forms a contrast to the first movement, and
yet is allied to it in sentiment. The passionate outburst at the
close, with the repeated E's, seems almost a reminiscence of the
Allegro theme. There are two features in the development section of
that movement which point to Beethoven: the one is the augmentation in
the seventh bar of the quaver figure in the two preceding bars; the
other, the phrase containing the shake which is evolved from an
earlier one by curtailment of its first note. The 3rd Sonata, though
in many ways attractive, will not bear comparison with the other two.
In 1779, at Vienna, Mozart composed, among other sonatas, the
beautiful one in A major,--the first example, perhaps, of a sonata
commencing with a theme and variations. This first movement is very
charming, but the gem of the work is the delicate Menuetto; the Trio
speaks in tender, regretful tones of some happy past. The Alla Turca
is lively, but not far removed from the commonplace.
From among the symphonies of Mozart, the three (in G minor, E flat,
and C) which he wrote in 1788 stand out with special prominence; and
so, from the sonatas, do the three in A minor (1778), C minor (1784),
and F (1788). In the first, as regards the writing, virtuosity
asserts itself, and in the third, contrapuntal skill; but in the
second, the greatness of music makes us forget the means by which that
greatness is achieved. The Sonatas in A minor and F are wonderful
productions, yet they stand a little lower than the C minor. The
nobility and earnestness of the last-named give it a place near to
Beethoven's best sonatas. We might say equal, were it not that the
writing for the instrument is comparatively thin; however noble the
ideas, they are but inadequately expressed. This C minor Sonata is
remarkable for its originality, simplicity, and unity; Mozart
possessed qualities which mark creative art of the highest kind. In
writing some of his pianoforte sonatas, he had the public, or pupils,
more or less in his mind; and though he did not become a mere
sonata-maker, like some of his contemporaries, his whole soul was not
always in his work; of this the inequalities in his music give
evidence. In some movements (especially the closing ones) of the
sonatas, the subject-matter is often trivial, and the passage-writing
commonplace. The silkworm produces its smooth, regular ball of silk
without effort, and in like manner Mozart could turn out Allegros,
Rondos, sets of variations _à discretion_. The Sonata in C minor, to
our thinking, is the only one in which he was entirely absorbed in his
art; the only one in which the ideal is never marred by the real. The
last movement is no mere Rondo, but one which stands in close
relationship to the opening Allegro; they both have the same tragic
spirit; both seem the outpouring of a soul battling with fate. The
slow movement reveals Mozart's gift of melody and graceful
ornamentation, yet beneath the latter runs a vein of earnestness; the
theme of the middle section expresses subdued sadness. The affinity
between this work and Beethoven's sonata (Op. 10, No. 1) in the same
key is very striking.
Mozart composed his C minor Sonata towards the end of the year 1784.
The C minor Fantasia, which precedes it in some editions, was not
written until the middle of 1785. The two, however, were published
together by Mozart himself. It is impossible to consider this a new
experiment in sonata-form, as regards grouping of movements; the unity
of character and feeling between Fantasia and Sonata no doubt led to
their juxtaposition. The Fantasia is practically complete in itself;
so too is the Sonata. The two are printed separately in Breitkopf &
Härtel's edition of Mozart's works.
Haydn and Mozart represent an important stage in sonata history: they
stand midway between Emanuel Bach and Beethoven. It is usual to look
upon Bach as the founder, Haydn and Mozart as the builders-up, and
Beethoven as the perfecter of the sonata edifice. Such a summing-up is
useful in that it points to important landmarks in the evolution of
the sonata; yet it is only a rough-and-ready one. Bach was something
more than a founder, while Beethoven, to say the least, shook the
foundations of the edifice. Haydn and Mozart would seem to be fairly
described, for traces of scaffolding are all too evident in their
works, yet they found the building already raised. Some of it,
however, appeared to them in rococo style, and so they gradually
rebuilt. And they not only altered, but enlarged and strengthened. Of
rebuilding and alteration, their slow movements and finales give
evidence; and of enlargement, all the three sections of movements in
so-called sonata-form. Their subject-matter, as it grew in importance,
grew in compass. This in itself, of course, enlarged the exposition
section; but the transition passage from first to second theme, and
the rounding-off of the section, both grew in proportion. The joints,
too, of the structure were strengthened: the half cadence no longer
sufficed to divide first from second subject, or, after development,
to return to the principal theme; then, again, the wider scope of the
development itself demanded more striking harmonies, more forcible
figuration, and more varied cadences.
The subject-matter, we have said, became more important; it differed
also in character. The themes of Emanuel Bach, for the most part, seem
to be evolved from harmonic progressions and groupings of notes; those
of his successors, rather the source whence springs melody and
figuration. The one uttered broken phrases; the others, complete
musical sentences. Italian fashion prevailed during the second half
of the eighteenth century much as it did in the first. The simple
charm and warmth of the music of the violin-composers had penetrated
the contrapuntal crust which covered Emanuel Bach's heart; and the
feeling that he could never hope to rival his father must have
rendered him all the more willing to yield to it. But the influence of
his father could not be wholly cast aside, and Emanuel was, as it
were, drawn in opposite directions; it is really wonderful what he
actually achieved. True lovers of John Sebastian Bach know well that
his music, though of a contrapuntal character, is by no means dry; but
the formal aspect of it must have made its mark on the son ere he
could feel the power, and realise the splendour of his father's
genius.
Haydn and Mozart, on the other hand, were born and bred in the very
midst of Italian music. Of Haydn's early days we have already spoken,
and those of Mozart were not unsimilar. Otto Jahn, in his life of that
composer, says of the father Leopold, that "his ideas were firmly
rooted in the traditions of Italian music"; so firmly, indeed, that he
could not appreciate the mild innovations of a Gluck. This paternal
influence was deepened, besides, by Mozart's early visits to Italy.
Then, again, so far as we can make out, the clavier compositions of
John Sebastian Bach, and, especially the "Well-tempered Clavier," were
unknown both to Haydn and Mozart in their days of childhood and early
manhood. What a difference in the case of Beethoven, who, it will be
remembered, could play the greater number of the forty-eight Preludes
and Fugues before he was twelve years of age! The beauty of Italian
music not only impressed Haydn and Mozart, but kindled their creative
faculties; while its simple, rhythmical character probably aided them
materially in giving utterance to their thoughts and feelings. Nature
had bestowed on them in rich measure the gift of melody, and they soon
began to compose.
Emanuel Bach, we have said, was drawn in two opposite directions.
Haydn and Mozart, though they were spared this dual influence, had,
however, to face a difficulty. They found a form ready to hand, yet
one which, as we have attempted to show, required modifications of
various kinds. The former had to make the old fit in with the new; but
the latter, the new with the old. Hence their inspiration was
handicapped. They were to some extent constructing as well as
creating; and then their sense of order, balance, and proportion was
so strong, that they often turned out movements more remarkable for
their clearness of form than for the strength of their contents.
Mozart profited by Haydn's early attempts, and his best sonatas are
vastly superior to most of Haydn's. After Mozart's death, and even for
some years before, Haydn seemed to have caught much of the spirit of
the younger composer. He showed this especially in his London
symphonies, but also in one or two of his later sonatas. "This mutual
reaction," says Jahn, "so generously acknowledged by both musicians,
must be taken into account in forming a judgment on them."
Haydn, though fully conscious of his own powers, practically
acknowledged the superiority of his brother-artist. On learning of
Mozart's death, he exclaimed: "Posterity will not see such talent for
a century to come!"--a prophecy which, at the time it was uttered,
seemed likely of fulfilment.