1754-1781.
AT PRINCE ESTERHAZY’S.
Haydn’s Studies with Porpora--His Italian Operas--Engagement
with Count Von Morzin--His First String Quartet--An Unfortunate
Marriage--Domestic Troubles without End--Appointment as
Capellmeister at Esterhaz--His Orchestra and Chorus--Rapid Musical
Growth--His Most Important Earlier Compositions--Development of the
Quartet--Personal Characteristics and Anecdotes--The Surprise
Symphony--Influence of his Life at Esterhaz upon his Music.
“His hours were occupied with lesson-giving and studies. Music so far
monopolized his time that at this period no other than musical books
came into his hands. The only exceptions were the works of Metastasio,
and these can hardly be called an exception, as Metastasio always wrote
for music, and therefore a Capellmeister who had determined to try
his powers in opera ought to have been acquainted with his writings,”
says Dies. We know from Haydn himself that an Italian singer and opera
composer was his last instructor in thorough-bass; and that he had
composed much but was not firmly grounded, that is, was not correct
and strong until he had the good fortune to study the fundamental
principles of composition, with the famous Porpora.
The Neapolitan, Nicolo Porpora was in Vienna from 1753 to 1757. He
belonged to that early school of Italian opera which dominated nearly
all Europe. The charm of melody predominated at this time and with it,
the art of singing. They had reached their highest point. Smoothly
flowing melody, however, was considered the main essential, and above
all things, clearness and very simple harmonic structure characterized
this school. Haydn played the accompaniments when Porpora gave singing
lessons to the ten-year-old Martines and to the mistress of an
ambassador, and was paid with lessons in composition from the impetuous
and supercilious old master. “Ass, vagabond, blockhead,” alternating
with blows, greeted this not very accomplished “Tedesco” (German). For
three months he filled the position of servant and blacked his master’s
shoes. “But I improved in singing, in composition and in Italian very
much,” says the modest mechanic’s son, who, plain and simple himself,
loved his art above all else. In fact, compared with the German music
before him, or even with Philip Emanuel Bach’s sonatas, Haydn’s style
at once shows not only that he had abandoned the “Tudesk” (German), of
which the Italians complained, but that he had obtained a more refined
phrasing of melody and a greater clearness of harmony, whereas the art
of Bach had not advanced beyond the intellectual and characteristic. He
also gave up embellishments and manifested a strong desire for the pure
lines, and above all recognized that symmetry of construction which was
rare among the Germans themselves, and yet constitutes an essential
feature of modern German instrumental music.
The first larger works of Haydn were also Italian operas. He prized
them very much himself, and they were also very pleasing to others;
and it was only a deep, inward feeling for the calling he had chosen
and a happy chance, which gave him the opportunity of satisfying that
feeling, that saved him from a course which certainly might have
secured him speedy fame and fortune, but not that immortal halo of
glory which crowns the “Father of the Symphony.” He even declined
an invitation from Gluck, at that time the most celebrated of the
Italian opera-composers, to go to Italy! Apart from this, it may be
said incidentally, we learn of no nearer relations between these two
artists. Temperament, character and the objects of their ambition kept
them widely apart.
Haydn now devoted himself still more earnestly to studies of a
theoretical nature. From sixteen to eighteen hours daily work was his
rule, two-thirds of the time being devoted to the necessities of life.
Mattheson’s “Vollkommener Capellmeister” and the “Gradus ad Parnassum”
of Fux, the Vienna Hofcapellmeister, were his text-books. “With
unwearied determination Haydn sought to master the theory of Fux,” says
Griesinger, the councilor, who met him frequently in 1800, and in 1810
published the “Biographical Notices” of him. He says: “Haydn studied
out the problems, laid them aside some weeks, then looked them over
again and reviewed them often enough to make sure he was master of
them.” Haydn called this work (“Fux’s Theorie”), a classic, and kept
a much worn copy of it all his life. Mattheson’s book was found among
his relics, “completely gone.” This work certainly did not extend his
knowledge of composition, but he prized the method, and educated many a
scholar in it during his life, and among those scholars was--Beethoven.
“He officiated as organist at a church in the suburbs, wrote quartets
and other pieces which commended him still more favorably to amateurs,
so that he was universally recognized as a genius,” says Dies. One of
these amateurs was the councilor, Von Furnberg, “from whom I received
special marks of favor,” says Haydn himself. Von Furnberg, who was
already indebted to Haydn for several trios, was accustomed to have
chamber-music at his villa in Weinzerl, played by the pastor of the
place, his own steward, a violoncellist, and Haydn, and one day
encouraged the latter to write a string quartet. Thus an accident of
his surroundings turned his inventive spirit toward that particular
form of chamber-music, the string quartet, which was destined to be so
wonderful in results. This occurred in 1750.
Much had been already written for the four stringed instruments, but
Haydn gave to the quartet the movements and organic form which he
had found in the sonatas. By the force of his knowledge of harmony
he gave a more spontaneously melodious capacity to the divisions of
the quartet which had hitherto been merely vague and sketchy, so that
their development captivated the player and listener. It was, as it
were, a scene in which four individualities, acting together, play out
a complete and concrete life-picture,--artistic performances, which
appeal to the player, as well as to the artist and poet, in a higher
degree than the simple, plain sonata. Hence the invention of the string
quartet marked an epoch in the history of music.
The first quartet (B flat, 6/8), met with such an instant success and
so actively inspired Haydn himself, that in a short time he produced
eighteen works in this style. And yet a Prussian major who had been
made a prisoner in the Seven Years’ War, who heard these early
productions, says that although every one was in raptures over his
compositions, Haydn was modest even to timidity, and could not bring
himself to believe that they were of any account. Twenty years later,
even, he looked up to Hasse, at that time indeed famous throughout the
world, as a great composer, and declared he would treasure his praise
of his “Stabat Mater” like gold, though it was undeserved, “not on
account of the opinion itself, but for the sake of a man so estimable.”
Who knows Hasse to-day, and who that knows anything of music is not
familiar with Joseph Haydn and his quartets? The English music-hunter,
Burney, mentions that in 1772 he heard them played at Gluck’s!
It contributed greatly to his activity in composition that he was now
in better circumstances. Furnberg had secured for him the appointment
of “director” in the establishment of a music-loving count. The first
quartets breathe the full, joyous humor of his child-like spirit.
Though at first many a one protested against the lowering of music to
mere trifling and was of the opinion that there was no earnest effort
in his compositions, the verdict this time declared itself in favor
of the creator of this style, and many a deeply earnest tone in these
works is a souvenir of happy hours, which even now a quartet-evening
with Haydn affords.
The Count, who in 1759 had installed Haydn as his director--and one
in that position must also be a composer--was the Bohemian nobleman,
Franz von Morzin. He passed his winters in Vienna and his summers at
his country house at Lukavec, where he kept his orchestra, and while
with him Haydn wrote his first symphony. There were symphonies indeed
long before Haydn. Originally, all music in several parts was thus
designated--at first, vocal pieces with instrumental accompaniments,
but after the seventeenth century, instrumental music only. The
instrumental preludes to the Italian operas, in particular, were called
symphonies. The symphony in regular form consisted of an Allegro, an
Adagio and a second Allegro. Haydn made the three movements, which he
had transferred from the sonata-form to the quartet, richer and more
independent, and added to them the Minuet, so that four movements
became the rule. Haydn’s progress, therefore, was exemplified in the
symphony by the freedom and vivacity which he gave to the separate
instruments, but above all, by their skillful combination and the
dynamic gradations of the ensemble. For these he had his models in
the compositions of the Mannheim school, which Mozart so much admired
afterward.
Haydn’s first symphony, in D major, is a prominent example of the
clearness of his method in such larger orchestral work. We shall soon
see that he developed it still farther. His position with the Count,
satisfactory so far as compensation was concerned, might have been
the source of prolific creation, for the Count and his young son were
enthusiastic musical amateurs, but the contract stipulated that he
should remain unmarried. Haydn was then twenty-seven years of age, and
it was not until that time that the charms of the other sex attracted
his attention, and it happened then only by an accident which reveals
to us the innocence of his youth. In his later years he was fond
of telling the story that once when he was accompanying the young
Countess in her singing, she stooped over, so as to see better, and
her neckerchief became disarranged. “It was the first time I had ever
witnessed such a sight. I was embarrassed, my playing ceased, and my
fingers lay idly on the keys,” he told Griesinger. “What has happened,
Haydn,” said the Countess, “what are you doing?” With perfect respect,
Haydn replied: “Who could retain his self-command in your gracious
ladyship’s presence?” The sequel to such an unexpected revelation was
not long in following.
In the autumn of 1760, Haydn was again with his scholars in Vienna.
Among them were two daughters of Keller, a wig-maker, in the
Ungargasse, who had frequently assisted him before this time. The
younger daughter was so attractive to him, that in spite of the
Count’s order, which only made her still more alluring to the fiery
young fellow, he determined to marry her, but to his sorrow, she chose
to enter a convent. “Haydn, you ought to marry my eldest daughter,”
jokingly said the father one day, for he was particularly pleased with
the smart and gifted young director;--and Haydn did so. Whatever may
have been the reason--gratitude, ignorance, helplessness in practical
matters, or the wish to have a wife right away--whatever may have been
the motive, he married, and sorely he had to suffer for it.
His wife was older than he, and this of itself made the relations
between them very uncertain. Besides this, Dies says that she was an
imperious and unfeeling woman, who was incapable of any consideration,
and had earned the reputation of being a spendthrift. The proofs of
her quarrelsomeness and of her heartless treatment of her husband
reveal to us a perfect Xantippe. As compared with the simple, frank
and joyous-hearted Haydn, she was an extreme bigot and prude. Only
a person of his disposition could have endured such a wretched, and
above all, childless marriage. “We were affectionate together, but for
all that, I soon discovered that my wife was extremely frivolous,” he
very mildly said to Dies. He told Griesinger that he was obliged to
carefully conceal his earnings from her on account of her passion for
finery. She was also fond of inviting priests to dine, urging them to
say many masses, and giving more money to them for charity than she
could afford. Very many of Haydn’s masses, and smaller church-pieces,
especially those scattered about in the Austrian convents, are due to
the fact that she availed herself of her husband’s talent to appear
generous. Under such circumstances he naturally did not accomplish his
best work, but wrote in a careless style. Once, when Griesinger, for
whom he had done some favor for which he would not accept anything,
asked permission to make his wife a present, he resolutely replied:
“She does not deserve anything. It is little matter to her whether
her husband is an artist or a cobbler.” She was also particularly
malicious, and purposely tried to offend her husband, using his notes,
for instance, as curl-papers, and in pie dishes, occasioning the
loss, undoubtedly, of many of his earlier scores. One day, when she
complained that there was not money enough in the house to bury him, in
case he died suddenly, Haydn called her attention to a row of canons
which were framed and hung upon the wall of his chamber, in lieu of any
other decoration, and told her that they would bring enough for his
funeral expenses. Notwithstanding his patience and good-heartedness,
he could not overcome an intuitive feeling of repugnance for his wife.
In the year 1805, when the violinist Baillot was visiting him, they
happened to pass a picture in the hall. Haydn stopped, and grasping
Baillot by the arm, said: “That is my wife. Many a time she has
maddened me.”
Is it not natural, then, and excusable also, that at times he sought
solace away from home? * * * An Italian singer, in particular, Luigia
Polzelli, won his affections in later years, and bestowed upon him
a loving sympathy. He writes to her from London in 1792, thirty-two
years after his unfortunate marriage, in furious terms: “My wife,
_bestia infernale_, has written so much stuff, that I had to tell her
I would not come to the house any more, which has brought her again to
her senses.” A year later he says, in a gentler and almost sorrowful
tone: “My wife is ailing most of the time and is always in the same
miserable temper, but I do not let it distress me any longer. There
will sometime be an end of this torment.” The remark in Lessing’s
“Jungere Gelehrten,” “I am obliged to admit that I have had no other
aim than this: to practice those virtues which enable one to endure
such a woman,” exactly apply to Haydn’s case. At last he could bear it
no longer. He procured board for her with the teacher Stoll, at Baden,
who is spoken of in Mozart’s letters, and she died there in 1800. Haydn
dearly earned that exquisite peace which characterized so many of his
adagios, but it was the true rest of the soul, and it is only here and
there that a softly sighing chord reminds us of Wotan’s words: “The
victory was won through toil and trouble from morning until night.” The
unrestrained outpourings of love Haydn could not express. When Adam and
Eve in “The Creation,” or Hannchen and Lucas sing their fond strains,
you never think of Constance and Pamina, and yet Haydn wrote both these
works long after Mozart was dead. The fullness and dignity of true
womanly nature, in which his own wife was wanting, he was elsewhere to
learn and value, as we shall yet see. The tenderer and deeper notes of
the heart are not wanting in his compositions; on the contrary, he was
the first to introduce them in music in all their perfection.
We now resume the course of our narrative. Dies says: “Six months
passed by before Count Morzin knew that his Capellmeister was married.
Circumstances occurred which changed Haydn’s affairs. It became
necessary for the Count to reduce his large expenses and to dismiss his
musicians, and thus he lost his position.” Prince Esterhazy, however,
a short time before, had become acquainted with some of his orchestral
pieces and admired them. His growing fame, his admirable personal
character, besides Morzin’s hearty commendations, secured for him the
position of Capellmeister to the Prince in the same year (1761), and he
held it nearly to the close of his life. This position settled Haydn’s
future as a composer.
The Esterhazy residence is in the little town of Eisenstadt, in
Hungary, where the Prince’s castle supplied accommodation for every
style of musical and dramatic performances. Music in particular
had been patronized by the family for many generations. Here, in
undisturbed quiet, Haydn actively devoted himself to those remarkable
compositions which deservedly proclaim him the founder of modern
instrumental music. The Prince had a pretty complete orchestra, though
it was small, and a modest chorus, with two soloists. It was also
expected that the servants and attendants, after the custom of that
time, would assist as musicians. The entire force of musicians was
placed under the direction of the new Capellmeister, who was raised to
an official position. By virtue of his rank, he was obliged to appear
daily in the antechamber and receive instructions with regard to the
music. He was also expected to compose what music was necessary and
drill the singers. His contract of May 1, 1761, commends the duty
required of him to his skill and zeal, and hopes that he will keep the
orchestra up to such a standard as will reflect honor upon him and
entitle him to further marks of princely favor.
Rarely, indeed, has a hope been more fully realized. The orchestra
was soon a superior one, and it was not long before the works written
for it by Haydn became famous throughout the world. The very first
of the Esterhazy symphonies in C major, known as “The Noon,” showed
that he was determined to bring the Prince as well as the orchestra
to a realization of the work before them. It makes demands upon the
orchestra which this one could not supply till much later, as it
was written in a very large and broad style. It also has in it a
foreshadowing of Beethoven’s dramatic style, in a recitative for violin
with orchestra, introduced in one movement. He himself was also more
thoroughly grounded in his own artistic work. The ever-increasing
interest which the Prince took in him (to Paul Anton, succeeded the
next year, Nicholas, Anton following him in 1790, and a second Nicholas
following Anton in 1795) was a fresh incentive to his creative talent,
so that the confinement in his rural situation during the twenty years
that he passed with the first two Princes did not weigh very heavily
upon him. After 1766, he spent many of the winter months with his
Prince in Vienna. “My Prince was always satisfied with my works. I not
only had the encouragement of steady approbation, but as leader of the
orchestra, I could experiment, observe what produced and what weakened
effects, and was thus enabled to improve, change, make additions or
omissions, and venture upon anything. I was separated from the world,
there was no one to distract or torment me, and I was compelled
to become original.” Such a statement as this, which was made to
Griesinger, shows what an important influence his life at this period
had upon his artistic development.
There are many other interesting details of this Esterhazy life.
Griesinger says: “Fishing and hunting were Haydn’s favorite pleasures
during his stay in Hungary.” Think for a moment what an influence
such an unbroken, restful life in God’s free nature must have had
upon him, especially when it is considered that this had continued
for thirty years and had been his only recreation outside of his own
profession. “The dew-dropping morn, O how it quickens all,” says
Eve in “The Creation.” In the early morning, the best time for his
favorite pleasure, when the sun rose, shining in its full splendor,
“a giant proud and joyous,” or at evening the moon “stole upon” the
home-returning hunter with “soft step and gentle shimmer,” how his
heart must have expanded as the sublime solitude of Nature revealed
itself to him and spoke its own language! It was a time when the sense
of nature rose superior to all the artifices of custom, and her majesty
and chaste purity made a deep impression upon every noble feeling. In
this sacred solitude, which with his beloved art filled his life with
its only happiness and contentment, he stripped off his powdered wig
and stood up clothed in his own pure manhood. What the result was may
be seen in his exuberant melodies, earnest as well as passionate, which
picture the innocent joy of Nature.
Many other things he learned to picture at this time. It was only
that free and appreciative contemplation of Nature, which continual
intimate intercourse with her produces, which enabled him to keenly
observe the characteristics of every one of her phenomena and to give
them conscious expression in his old age, in “The Creation” and “The
Seasons.” The “Noon” symphony was soon followed by the “Morning.” That
he intended to express in this music the “awakening of impressions upon
arriving in the country,” is shown by a concerto which appeared soon
afterward, “The Evening,” and which closes with a storm. According to
Dies, his Prince had commissioned him to make the divisions of the
day subjects for composition. We know by their reception that these
works revealed an entirely new world of music. Beethoven, with his
incomparably deeper feeling for Nature, received his first impulses of
that feeling from this music. The original can only be found in Haydn’s
quiet life at Eisenstadt with Prince Esterhazy. We shall find further
confirmation of the influence of this life in the following details:
The bearing of Prince Nicholas, then in his fortieth year, corresponded
with his surroundings. Rich and distinguished as he was, he had noble
passions. His appearance at Court was brilliant, while the richness
of his jewels was proverbial. But his love of art and science was far
greater than his fondness for show and court display, and in true
Hungarian fashion, music was the dearest of all to him. He was a
genuine Austrian cavalier of the best old times. Goodness of heart,
magnanimity and kindly feeling were his prominent traits of character,
and he manifested these qualities especially toward his orchestra.
“During the entire period of his rule, his records, nearly all of
which begin with the declaration, ‘God be with us,’ are a continuous
series of releases from moneyed as well as other obligations, and
rarely was a request refused,” says Pohl, in his reliable biography of
Haydn. Still he could be severe without retaining animosity. His own
instrument was the baryton, at that time very much admired, which has
long since been superseded by the noble violoncello. Apropos of this
instrument, the following characteristic event occurred:
The Prince played only in one key. Haydn practiced for six months, day
and night, upon the instrument, often disturbed by the abuse of his
wife, and upon one occasion incurred the censure of the Prince for
neglecting his compositions. Thereat, impelled by a fit of vanity,
he played upon the instrument at one of the evening entertainments
in several keys. The Prince was not at all disturbed, and only said:
“Haydn, you ought to have known better.” At first he was pained by the
indifference of his honored master, but he immediately felt it was
a gentle reproof, because he had wasted so much time and neglected
his proper work to become a good baryton player, and turned to his
compositions again with renewed earnestness. For the baryton alone, he
has written upwards of one hundred and seventy-five pieces.
Haydn’s real feelings towards the Prince are shown by his words in his
autobiography of 1776:--“Would that I could live and die with him.”
Upon the accession of the new administration, his salary was increased
one-half, and afterward six hundred florins were added, besides which
he received frequent gifts from the Prince. This helped to appease his
longing to go abroad, particularly to Italy--a longing which many a
time must have arisen in his solitude. He recalled, even in his old
age, with grateful feelings the good and generous Prince Nicholas, who
had twice rebuilt his little house after it had been reduced to ashes
by fires in the city. Though he wrote much, very much, simply for the
Prince’s personal gratification, and consequently much that had little
value, yet the Prince’s knowledge of music was sufficient to realize
Haydn’s constant development and to actively foster it. Haydn was not
under personal restraint, at least not more than was customary in a
court at that time of “literal, primitive despotisms.” Though he was
not the less a courtling, he remained an artist, and clove to his own
rank. “I am surrounded by emperors, kings and many exalted persons, and
I have had much flattery from them, but I will not live upon familiar
terms with them; I prefer the people of my own station,” he said to
Griesinger. In his later years, indeed, he personally asserted his
dignity before his Prince and master. On his return from London, he
bitterly complained because he was addressed by the customary “Er,” as
an inferior, and after that he was always called “Herr von Haydn,” and
“Respected Sir,” or “Dear Capellmeister von Haydn.” Upon one occasion
the young Prince Nicholas expressed his disapproval of a rehearsal,
and Haydn replied: “Your Highness, it is _my_ duty to attend to these
matters.” A glance of displeasure was the only response of His Highness.
With the orchestra itself, which numbered many excellent players,
Haydn had trouble many a time. The easy lenity of the Prince made it
careless, and what the habits of musicians were at that time Mozart’s
biography shows. “The appeals of Haydn are touching and heart-reaching
when he intercedes for those who have erred only through
carelessness,” says Pohl. He also helped to appease the Prince with
specially arranged compositions. To these probably belongs the symphony
in five movements, called “Le Midi,” with a recitative for the first
violinist, Tomasini, who was a special favorite of the Prince--a proof
that the images of his fancy were already influencing him, and that,
like Gluck, he was determined not to be “a mason,” but an “architect.”
That he put his whole soul into these compositions is shown by the
inscriptions at the beginning and end--“In nomine Domini,” “Laus Deo,”
etc.
His most important compositions during his earlier years at Esterhaz
were Italian operas. The Prince had engaged foreign actors, and
the festival occasions at the palace, which as we know were often
attended by royal personages, were made brilliant by these theatrical
performances. During his thirty years stay at Esterhaz more than a
dozen of these works were brought out, some of which Haydn himself
esteemed. They certainly show a copious richness of detail, of harmonic
beauty and of instrumental effects. “When Cherubini looked through
some of my manuscripts, he always hit upon places which were deserving
of attention,” said Haydn to Griesinger, and Cherubini, at that time
an opera composer _par excellence_, might well be concerned about the
superiority of Haydn’s operas. But the qualities which were conspicuous
in Haydn’s instrumental music, the sure movement of the whole work
and the freedom of the intellectual development, were wanting in his
operas. This was Gluck’s contribution to the opera. Haydn had no part
in it. He recognized himself that his operas in originality of form
could scarcely equal those of Gluck in the more modern period. And yet
we shall find that one of his operas was performed in London.
A criticism in the _Vienna Zeitung_ during the year 1766 gives us
another picture of his varied acquirements and of his successful
activity as well as of the character of his genius. He is enumerated
among the distinguished composers of the imperial city at that time
under the title of “Herr Joseph Haydn, the favorite of the nation,
whose gentle character is reflected in every one of his pieces. His
compositions possess beauty, symmetry, clearness, and a delicate and
noble simplicity, which impress themselves upon the listener even
before he has become specially attentive. His quartets, trios and other
works of this class are like a pure, clear strip of water, ruffled by a
southern breeze, quickly agitated and rolling with waves but preserving
its depth. The doubling of the melody by octaves originated with him
and one can not deny its charm. In the symphony, he is robust, powerful
and ingenious; in his songs, charming, captivating and tender; in his
minuets, natural, merry and graceful.”
One can see that in all his leading qualities Haydn was recognized in
his own time. Rigid masters, like Haydn’s predecessor in service, the
Capellmeister Werner, a genuine representative of the old contrapuntal
school, were freely at hand with such epithets as “fashion-hunter” and
“song-scribbler.” But the acute Berlin _Critic_, at that time hostile
to everything South German, declared Haydn’s quartet, op. 19, and the
symphony, op. 18, that they displayed the most “original humor and
sprightly agreeable spirit.” It is J. F. Reichardt who says this:
“Never,” says he, “has there been a composer who combines so much unity
and variety with so much agreeableness and popularity. It is extremely
interesting to consider Haydn’s works in their successive order. His
first works, twenty years ago, showed that he had an agreeable humor
of his own, and yet it was rather mere pertness and extravagant mirth,
without much harmonic depth. But by degrees his humor became more
manly and his work more thoroughly considered, until through elevated
and earnest feeling, riper study, and above all, effect, the matured,
original man and trained artist were manifest.” “If we had only a
Haydn and Philip Emanuel Bach, we Germans could boldly assert that we
have a style of our own, and that our instrumental music is the most
interesting of all,” he says in conclusion.
Haydn had also transferred to the richer string quartet and full
orchestra, the sonata-form founded by Philip Emanuel Bach, the organic
character of which is shown by the theory and history of music. How
he developed this form in its final perfection it is not necessary
to consider in detail at this time. He established, as we know, its
four-part form in the Allegro, Adagio, Minuet and Finale, and by his
great productivity and popularity brought this form into universal use.
He was the first to give to the Minuet, which is attractive in itself,
a popular, genial, and above all, a cheerful, humorous spirit. He very
materially broadened, arranged and elevated the first movement of the
sonata-form, gave to it more fullness and meaning through the organic
development of its own motive substance, deepened the Adagio from a
simple song (cavatina), to a completely satisfying tone-picture, and
above all, by thematic treatment, produced in the Finale the veritable
wonders of the mind and of life. That Haydn greatly heightened the
effect of the symphony by giving to the various instruments their
full development is apparent at once in his music, and yet it should
not be forgotten that Mozart, who had studied the performances of the
orchestras at Mannheim and Paris, also influenced him, above all in
his operas. But the crowning result of Haydn’s work will always remain
the germ of active life which he imparted to this form, and which he
developed so freely that it presented a definite and finished shape.
Haydn first gave the quartet and symphony that style which may be
called its own.
Philip Emanuel Bach’s “Sonatas for Students and Amateurs,” always have
something which may be called studied about them. They are thoughtful
and considered, above all skillful and intellectual; but the free
expression of feeling only appears at intervals, especially in the
Adagio where Bach could depend for his effect upon the operatic aria
and the feeling of the original German Lied. The great Sebastian Bach’s
instrumental works are cyclopean structures, pelasgic monuments,
often the elementary mountains themselves. Many a time there looks
out of the stone, as it were, a visage, but it is a stony-face, like
that on the Loreley or the romantic Brocken--apparition: “And the
long rocky noses, how they snore, how they blow.” They are stone
giant-bodies, mighty Sphynx-images, which conceal more than they tell.
In the sharpest contrast with this music was the opera of that time,
in which fashionable puppets affected an outward, stilted appearance
of dramatic activity. Gluck first stripped off the gaudy tinsel and
revealed the concealed earnestness of the reality. The instrumental
music of the French and Italians suffered also from this affectation
and superficiality of the theatrical music, and Scarlatti, Corelli
and Couperin made the utmost effort to restore the free expression of
feeling and unrestrained nature to their own place in music.
He who first revealed this “natural,” this inborn, and therefore
spontaneous art, in music, speaking through its own nature and with its
own voice, was our Haydn, and it was for this that Beethoven called
him great and posterity has called him immortal. And, as the Italians
say, that no man can paint a more beautiful head than he has himself,
so, though we have seen this Haydn physically and intellectually, what
matters it, if his portrait appears to us reversed in his music?
Haydn was slender but strong, and below the medium height, with legs
disproportionately short, and seeming all the shorter, owing to his
old-fashioned style of dress. His features were tolerably regular,
his face serious and expressive, but at the same time attractive for
its benignity. “Kindliness and gentle earnestness showed themselves
in his person and bearing,” says Griesinger. When he was in earnest,
his countenance was dignified, and in pleasant conversation he had a
laughing expression, though Dies says he never heard him laugh aloud.
His large aquiline nose, disfigured by a polypus, was, like the rest
of his face, deeply pitted by smallpox, so that the nostrils were
differently shaped. The under lip, which was strong and somewhat
coarse, was very prominent. His complexion was very brown. One of his
biographical sketches mentions that he was called a Moor. He considered
himself ugly, and mentioned two Princes who could not endure his
appearance, because he seemed deformed to them. He stuck to his wig,
which has been already mentioned, in spite of all the changing modes,
through two generations, even to his death, but it concealed, to the
disadvantage of the general expression of his physiognomy, a large part
of his broad and finely developed forehead. Lavater, looking at his
silhouette, said: “I see something more than common in his nose and
eyebrows. The forehead also is good. The mouth has something of the
Philistine about it.”
“There was great joyousness and mirth in his character,” says Dies,
and in his old age he said himself: “Life is a charming affair.” Joy
in life was the fundamental characteristic of his existence and his
compositions. His individual lot and his satisfaction with common
things contributed to this. “Contentment is happiness,” says the
philosopher. The unvarying simplicity of his life secured him the
luxury of good health, and next to that, the feeling of joy in living.
But in reality it is not this life-joyousness alone that is reflected
in his works. Though the influence of his outward life and of his inner
development were conducive to quiet reflection and earnest thought, he
preferred to give a sprightly turn to conversation. We have already
learned how deep were his personal attachments and gratitude. He
was also very beneficent and kindly disposed. “Haydn’s humanity was
exhibited to the high and low,” Dies once said, and modesty was his
simple Austrian virtue. Griesinger justly attributes religion as the
basis of all these qualities, which with him was the simple piety of
the heart--not a mere passing impulse, but the All and the Eternal
reflected in him. The result of this beautiful influence upon him
was that he was never imperious or haughty, notwithstanding all the
fame that was so profusely showered upon him during his life. “Honor
and fame were the two powerful elements that controlled him, but I
have never known an instance,” says Dies, “where they degenerated
into immoderate ambition.” He regarded his talent as a blessed gift
from Heaven, and no one was more ready to give new comers their just
deserts. He always spoke of Gluck and Handel with the most grateful
reverence, just as he did of Philip Emanuel Bach. Of his incomparably
beautiful relations with Mozart we shall soon learn. Nevertheless he
was not ignorant of his own worth. “I believe I have done my duty, and
that the world has been benefited by my works. Let others do the same,”
he used to say. He could not endure personal flattery and when it was
offered would resent it. He never allowed his goodness to be abused and
if it were attempted he would grow irritated and satirical.
“A harmless waggishness, or what the English call humor, was a leading
trait in Haydn’s character. He delighted in discovering the comical
side of things, and after spending an hour with him you could not help
observing that he was full of the spirit of the Austrian national
cheerfulness,” says Griesinger. We may well conceive that in his
younger days he was very susceptible to love, and in his old age he
always had compliments for the ladies; but we must understand his
remark that “this is a part of my business,” in the same sense that
Goethe’s “Elegie Amor” is “stuff for song,” and the “higher style” to
the romantic poets. In fact, without some such personal inspiration,
like the ever-glowing and universal fire that animates humanity, many
of his pieces, especially his adagios, can not be understood. “It
has a deep meaning; it is rather difficult, but full of feeling,”
he once said of a sonata, to his highly esteemed friend, Frau von
Genzinger, whom we shall soon meet. It is the one, according to all
the indications, which the letters give, whose Adagio Cantabile is in
B sharp major, 3/4, and has in the second part a grand and mystical
modulation, with shifting of melody in the treble and bass by means of
the crossed hands. The first Allegro is also constructed like a quiet
conversation between a male and female voice. “I had so much to say to
Your Grace and so much to confess, from which no one but Your Grace
could absolve me,” he writes. He begs that he may call her a friend
“for ever,” and the Minuet, which she had asked of him in a letter a
short time before, wonderfully expresses the request.
At a later period in London, he took an English singer, Miss
Billington, under his protection, whose conduct was not highly regarded
and had even been severely criticised in the public press. “It is said
that her character is faulty, but in spite of all this, she is a great
genius, though hated by all the women because she is handsome,” he
writes in his diary. The diary also contains letters from an English
widow, Madame Schroter, who loved him devotedly. “She was still a
beautiful and attractive woman, though over sixty, and had I been
free, I should certainly have married her,” he said upon one occasion
to Dies, with his peculiar roguish laugh. A single extract from
these tender letters is enough for us to understand the depth of her
devotion: “My dearest Haydn, I feel for you the deepest and warmest
love of which the human heart is capable.” Unless it has something to
feed upon, however, the hottest fire will be extinguished. He could not
comprehend in his later life, how so many beautiful women had fallen in
love with him. “My beauty could not have attracted them,” he said in
1805, to Dies, and when the latter replied, “you have a certain genial
something in your face,” he answered: “One may see that I am on good
terms with every one.” “He did not fancy that he was made of any better
material, nor did he seek, through assumed purity, to place himself on
any higher plane of morality than his own opinion justified,” explains
Dies. He was the unaffected child of his Austrian home in a time when
one seemed still to wander in Paradise and life had no thorns.
Thus, from every point of view, Joseph Haydn stands before us an
original, well defined personality, passing, as his life-long bearing
shows us, from an artificial and unnatural time in every way, to
a period of the renewed free assertion of individuality and its
involuntary expression of feeling. He tells us with the utmost naivete,
that it was not composition but inclination and enthusiasm that had
been his inspiration. “Haydn always sketched out his works at the
piano,” says Griesinger. “I seated myself and began to compose,” says
Haydn, “whatever my mood suggested, sad or joyous, earnest or trifling.
As soon as I seized upon an idea, I used my utmost efforts to develop
and hold it fast in conformity with every rule of the art. The reason
why so many composers fail is that they string fragments together.
They break off almost as soon as they have commenced, and nothing is
left to make an impression upon the heart.” He always wrote, impelled
by inspiration, but at first only the outlines of the whole. That it
was this poetico-musical impulse that urged him on, is shown by the
following anecdote:
“About the year 1770, Haydn was prostrated with a burning fever, and
his physician had expressly forbidden him to do any musical work
during his convalescence,” says Griesinger. “His wife shortly afterward
went to church one day, leaving strict instructions with the servant
about the doctor’s orders. Scarcely had she gone, when he sent the
servant away upon some errand, and hurriedly rushed to the piano.
At the very first touch the idea of a whole sonata presented itself
in his mind, and the first part was finished while his wife was at
church. When he heard her coming back he quickly threw himself into bed
again and composed the rest of the sonata there. Mozart and Beethoven
certainly did not at first need the piano in composing, and it is by no
means certain that Haydn also did not find that first movement in bed.
In any case, the anecdote shows the simple, artistic, involuntary power
that moved him.”
From the same source also proceeded the vital personal impulse of his
joyous expression, and the individual physiognomy of the themes and
motives in his compositions. His melody throughout reminds one of the
aria, not in the affected rococo style of Louis Fourteenth’s time,
but based upon grammatical declamation; and it is only a certain
regularly recurring pattern of the melody that makes us feel it belongs
to the very time in which he was living. The separate parts of the
sonata-form were infused with a stronger vitality by this virile humor
and elevated and refined feeling. In this connection Griesinger’s
remark is specially pertinent. “This humor is extremely striking in
his compositions, and this is specially characteristic of his Allegros
and Finales, which playfully keep the listener alternating from what
has the appearance of seriousness to the highest style of humor,
until it reaches unrestrained joyousness.” Dies calls it “popular
and refined, but in the highest sense, original musical wit.” This
musical frolicsomeness opened in reality a new and richly profitable
province for art. It aroused a spirit which had hitherto slumbered, and
from Mozart and Beethoven, even to Schumann and Wagner, we find this
simplest soul-voice and these wonderfully expressive tones, ravishing
and at the same time sorrowful in their nature, springing up; for the
basis of this voice is the involuntary but deep feeling for human life,
sorrowing with its sorrow, merry with its folly, and always intimately
associated with all human actions.
Haydn himself attributes to this state of mind many features of
his Adagios as well as of his Minuets and Finales. The increasing
intellectual progress brought in time “ideas which swept through his
mind and which he strove to express in the language of tones.” He
himself told Griesinger that in his symphonies he often pictured “moral
attributes.” In one of the oldest the prominent idea was that God spoke
to a hardened sinner, beseeching him to repent, but the careless sinner
gave no heed to the admonition. A symphony of the year 1767 is called
“The Philosopher;” a divertimento, “The Beloved Schoolmaster;” and
another work of a later period, “The Distracted One.”
An anecdote of the year 1772 shows us a characteristic illustration
of this artistic life-work. After the year 1766 the Prince made a
summer-residence of the castle at Esterhaz, on the Neusiedler-See,
where he remained fully half the year, accompanied by the best of his
musicians. “I was at that time young and lively, and consequently
not any better off than the others,” said Haydn with a laugh,
especially in reference to the longing of his musicians to go home to
their wives and children. “The Prince must have known of their very
natural home-sickness for some time, and the ludicrous appearance
they presented when he announced to them that he had suddenly decided
to remain there two months longer, amused him very much,” says Dies.
The order plunged the young men into despair. They besieged the
Capellmeister, and no one sympathized with them more than Haydn. Should
he present a petition? That would only expose them to laughter. He put
a multitude of similar questions to himself, but without answer. What
did he do? Not many evenings after, the Prince was surprised in a very
extraordinary manner. Right in the midst of some passionate music one
instrument ceased, the player noiselessly folded up his music, put out
his light and went away. Soon a second finished and went off also; a
third and fourth followed, all extinguishing their lights and taking
their instruments away. The orchestra grew smaller and more indistinct.
The Prince and all present sat in silent wonder. Finally the last but
one extinguished his light, and then Haydn took his and went also.
Only the first violinist remained. Haydn had purposely selected this
one, as his playing was very pleasing to the Prince and therefore he
would be constrained to wait to the end. The end came. The last light
was extinguished and even Tomasini disappeared. Then the Prince arose
and said, “If all go, we may as well go too.” The players meanwhile
had collected in the ante-room, and the Prince said smiling, “Haydn,
the gentlemen have my consent to go to-morrow.” It was the composition
which afterward became well known under the name of “The Surprise
Symphony.”
In like manner Haydn through his music, so to speak, could reduce his
ideas and emotions to practical reality. The Chapter of the Cathedral
at Cadiz desired some music for Good Friday which should follow at the
end of and complete the interpretation of the Seven Words of the Savior
on the Cross, after they had been spoken and explained by the priest.
Haydn himself says in a letter to London, that any text of the nature
of the Seven Words can only be expressed by instrumental music; that it
made the deepest impression upon his mind; and that he justly esteemed
it as one of his best works. It was performed twice at a later period
in London under his own direction. In the Finale he has an earthquake
effect, which was called for the third time at his own benefit concert
there, and is the precursor of the imagery of “The Creation.” The work
as a whole is of decidedly characteristic quality. This was in the year
1780 and that Haydn was selected for the work, shows not only how far
his fame had extended at that time, but above all, that his artistic
ability to invest instrumental music with the gift of language was
unmistakably recognized. Thus the master’s art was firmly established
abroad, and he did not have to wait long before grander themes of
larger proportions were tendered him.
We close with a selection of characteristic expressions made by
Haydn in these earlier years of his work, about his art and artistic
progress, most of which are to be found in the “Musical Letters.”
In the year 1776, he says in that autobiography which was requested of
him for a “Learned National Society” in Vienna, that in chamber-music
he has had the good fortune to please almost all people except the
Berliners. His only wonder was that “these judicious Berlin gentlemen”
kept no medium in their criticisms, at one time elevating him to the
stars, and at another “burying him seventy fathoms deep in the earth,”
and this without any good reason. But he knew the source of all these
attacks upon his artistic work.
The Vienna Pensions Verein for artists’ widows which to-day bears the
name of Haydn, and for which he had written the oratorio “The Return
of Tobias,” stipulated as a condition of his admission to membership,
that besides the above work, he should bind himself to furnish some
composition every year for the benefit of the Society, and in case
of failure to do so should be dismissed. Haydn at once demanded his
deposit back, and addressed them in the following manner: “Dear
friends, I am a man of too much feeling to constantly expose myself to
the risk of being cashiered. The free arts and the beautiful science
of composition can endure no fetters upon their handiwork. _Heart and
soul must be free!_”
This was in the year 1779. It marks the full development of his
artistic consciousness. He was more and more convinced of the lofty
mission of an art which has its source in such creations. In the year
1781, he expressed the wish to have the opinion of the Councilor Von
Greiner, one of the most distinguished connoisseurs in Vienna, often
mentioned in Mozart’s biographies, with regard to the expression of
his songs, and assures his publisher, Artaria, that for variety,
beauty and simplicity, they excel any other he has written. The French
admired exceedingly the pleasing melody of his “Stabat Mater,” work
of that kind not having been heard in Paris, and very rarely indeed
in Vienna. This is all the more remarkable, as Gluck at that time had
already written and brought out his great dramatic works collectively.
Some of his songs had been “wretchedly” set to music by the Vienna
Capellmeister Hoffmann, Haydn goes on to relate, and as this swaggerer
believed that he alone had scaled Parnassus, and sought to crush Haydn
down in certain circles of the great world, he had set the same songs
to show this pretended great world the difference. “They are only
songs, but not Hoffmannish street-songs, without ideas, expression,
and above all, melody,” he closes. We can no longer doubt from this
that he would not suffer his creations to be despoiled of their
spiritually-poetic nature. He would not allow his songs to be sung by
any one until he himself had brought them out in the concert-room.
“The master must maintain his rights by his own presence and correct
performance,” says he. It is this distinctive nature and form of
modern music which is fully revealed for the first time in Mozart and
Beethoven, and music which has been created by the intellect can only
be properly judged by the intellect.
There was also that inner something, “the musical nature,” which
impelled him and urged him on to his most characteristic creations.
“One is seized upon by a conscious mood which will not endure
restraint,” he once said. In like manner at another time he made the
characteristic remark: “The music plays upon me as if I were a piano.”
Apropos of the technical side of music, he characteristically remarked
to Dies in 1805: “If an idea struck me as beautiful and satisfactory
to the ear and the heart, I would far rather let a grammatical error
remain than sacrifice what is beautiful to mere pedantic trifling.”
Finally, that we may point out to the player some instances of this
actual life-painting in tones, let us take the well-known Peters’
Edition, which is easily accessible to every one. First of all,
among the thirty-four piano sonatas, the one in C sharp minor is a
beautiful piece of earnest work and full of character, the Minuet
very melancholy and illustrating the national melody of that southern
people. No. 5 is the clearest picture of buoyant health. One can see
young life at play in the spring-meadows. In No. 7 the music assumes a
strange capriciousness, and in the Largo in D minor, notwithstanding
it is barely eighteen measures long, shows the grand tragic style
of Beethoven, as well as its humor, which recalls the variations in
F minor, whose color and rhythm suggest the funeral march in the
Eroica. The Adagio of the A flat major sonata, No. 8, is a gem of the
intellectual development of all harmonic and contrapuntal means, and
in the Larghetto of No. 20, surely all the nightingales of life are
deliciously warbling. Both of these are complete lyric scenes. Above
all, the first as well as the last sonata of Haydn’s shows a plastic
touch, which clearly reveals this master’s natural and artistic
feeling, and often fills us with overwhelming astonishment at the power
of genius, which in such small limits and with such simple means can
utter things that to-day are immediately recognized, wherever feeling
exists and is capable of manifesting itself in the comprehension of the
mission of human life.
Richer, greater, more inwardly finished, if not always esthetic in
the highest sense throughout, this appears in the quartets, and here,
above all else, we first discover that Haydn in that style was the
forerunner of Mozart and Beethoven alike, and still further, that
he was the original source of the success of the later Italians who
copied his sprightliness, his thoughtful style, amiability and natural
spirit, while the German heroes found their native power and their
free mental conception and method in his own inner life, culminating
in the matchless melody of Franz Schubert. These spirited first
movements, these flowing Finales, these Minuets, these Adagios, full
of ever-increasing and exuberant wit, how irresistibly they seize
upon one! How their warm affection satisfies! It is, in fact, “Idea,
Expression, Melody.” Glance only at the pieces which may be found in
the Peters’ Edition: Op. 54, with the highly characteristic Minuet
and the Finale, is remarkable in itself for a Presto contained in the
Adagio, as well as for being the precursor of the Adagio of Beethoven’s
sonata, op. 31, No. 1. The Adagios in op. 74, op. 76 and op. 77, are
still grander in tone, but not more beautiful or fervent than those of
op. 54 and op. 64. The Adagio in op. 103 has in its concluding measures
somewhat of the blessed and elevated nature of the close of that most
beautiful of all soul-poems which pure music has created,--the Lento of
op. 135, Beethoven’s grave-song. We need not mention the symphonies,
those well-known works of Haydn. Everywhere in his music we meet what
Goethe calls the absolute source of all life--“Idea and Love.”
We have seen that isolation enriched and prospered Haydn. We arrive
now at a period when by his intimate personal association with Mozart,
and his entrance into the great changing outer world, he was destined
to develop his genius to its fullest extent.