PAPA AND MAMMA HAYDN
"Such music by such a nigger!" exclaimed one prince. Another called him
a Moor. And two others could not endure him at all. He was undersized
and slender as well; and his legs were so very short that they hardly
reached the ground. His nose was long and beaked and disfigured, with
nostrils of different shape, and he was undershot like a bulldog, and
unusually pitted with smallpox even for those ante-vaccination days,
when it was the ordinary thing to show the marks of this plague. He
always wore a wig, too; beginning when he was a child of six, "for the
sake of cleanliness"! and continuing to the day of his death, even when
wigs were out of style.
This does not read like the portrait of a man particularly successful in
his love affairs. It does not certainly read like a description of the
hero of a novel written by The Duchess or even by Miss Jane Austen. Yet
this is the picture of a man plentifully beloved, large-minded but
strangely naïf; a revolutionist of childlike directness.
Everybody knows the story of the early life of Joseph Haydn, one of the
twelve children of a journeyman wheelwright, and throughout his youth a
shuttlecock of ill treatment and contempt.
Love seems to have reached his heart at a late day but with compensating
suddenness. It is nearly incredible that a man whose after life was so
heart-busy should not have felt the tender passion till he was nearly
thirty, but stranger things have happened, and the anecdote given by his
friend Griesinger of his wild agitation when at the age of twenty-seven
he was accompanying a young countess, and her neckerchief became
disarranged for a moment, would seem to indicate a remarkably
unsophisticated nature.
A year later he found himself somewhat relieved of the burden of poverty
that had always hampered him, and he remembered him of the two daughters
of a Viennese wig-maker named Keller. Keller had frequently been kind to
Haydn, and the younger daughter seems to have inspired him with an
ardent love, but she took the veil. Elise Polko has worked up an
elaborate fiction on this affair with her usual saccharinity. When the
convent closed the younger Keller from the world, her father ingeniously
suggested to Haydn that he might marry the elder sister.
As Louis Nohl says, "Whatever may have been the reason, gratitude,
ignorance, helplessness in practical matters, or wish to have a wife at
once--whatever may have been the motive, he married, and sorely
suffered for it."
Anna Keller was older than Haydn, and the family religiousness that led
the younger daughter to enter the convent, led Anna to contribute more
of money to the Church, of food and society to the churchmen, and of her
husband's compositions to the choir, than even so pious a Catholic as
Haydn could afford or endure.
An account of the married life of these two is given by Haydn's friend
Carpani, which incidentally brings up a bit of literary thievery of
unusual quaintness. Carpani wrote his "Le Haydine" in the form of
letters from Vienna; they were published in Milan. Some time after one
Marie Henri Beyle published in Paris what purported to be an original
series of "Letters written from Vienna." He published these under the
pen name of L.A.C. Bombet. Carpani exposed the theft, but a little later
the imperturbable Beyle published a second edition of his work under the
name De Stendhal. An English translation from the French work is
commonly seen, though never with credit to Carpani. Carpani, in his
account of the home life of the Haydns, says they were happy for a
honeymoon.
* * * * *
"But soon the caprices of Mrs. Anna turned the knot to a chain, the
bliss to torment, and affairs went so far that, after suffering many
years, this new Socrates ended by separating from his Xantippe. Mrs.
Anna was not pretty, nor yet ugly. Her manners were immaculate, but she
had a wooden head, and when she had fixed on a caprice, there was no way
to change it. The woman loved her husband but was not congenial. An
excess of religious piety badly directed came to disturb this happy
harmony. Mrs. Anna wanted the house always full of priests, to whom she
furnished good dinners, suppers, and luncheons. Haydn was a bit
economical; but rather for cause than desire. At this time he had hardly
enough to live on discreetly, and he began to look with evil eye on this
endless procession of holy grasshoppers (_locuste_) who ravaged his
larder. Nor was it appropriate to the house of a studious man, this
ceaseless clatter of a numerous, genial, and lazy society; therefore,
solidly religious as he was, he could not enjoy these sacred repasts and
he had to close the door of the refectory. After that the deluge (_inde
iræ_). Mrs. Anna had a religious brother. Haydn couldn't keep him from
visiting his sister.
"Monks are like cherries; if you lift one from the basket, ten come
along with it. Haydn's convent was not depopulated. Nor did the demands
decrease. Every now and then Mrs. Anna had a new request; to-day a
responsory, to-morrow a motet, the day after a mass, then hymns, then
psalms, then antiphons; and all _gratis_. If her husband declined to
write them, there appeared on the scene the great confederates of
capricious women; the effects of hysteria, spleen (_gli insulti di
stomaco_), spasms; then shrieks, then criminations, weepings, quarrels,
and bad humour unceasing. Haydn ended with having to appease the woman,
to lose his point, and pay the doctor and the druggist to boot. He had
always drouth in his purse and despair in his mind. It is a true
miracle that a genius in such a contrast could create the wonderful
works that all the world knows.
"It was at this time that, seeking solace in friendship, he contracted
that bond of sentiment which lasted till death with Boselli, a singer in
the service of Prince Esterházy. This friendship, rousing jealous
suspicions in the mind of Mrs. Anna, ended by rendering her unendurable.
The hostile fates willed that no fruit should be borne of Haydn's
marriage." [On this point Haydn once opened his heart to Griesinger,
saying: "My wife was incapable of bearing children, and therefore I was
less indifferent to the charms of other womankind."] "Lacking its most
solid link, the marital chain could not stand such shocks, and grew
fatally weaker. The pair ceased to live together, and only that
sacramental knot remained indissoluble and strong, which Haydn had
contracted at the age of twenty-seven. Mrs. Anna lived to seventy years
on a sufficient pension which her husband faithfully paid, and she died
in 1800. These vicissitudes in great part explain why Haydn, though he
earned much, could not for a long while put aside a penny and make
himself a little ease."
It is not a pretty picture that Carpani draws of this home life, and
Anna is made out to be far from a lovable creature. She is compared to
the patron saint of shrews, Xantippe. But even Xantippe had her side of
the story to tell; and with all possible admiration for that man
Socrates, of such godlike wisdom and such great heart, it must be
remembered that Socrates had many habits which would not only cause
ostracism from society to-day, but would have tried the temper of even
such a wife as the meek Griselda of Chaucer's poem.
We constantly meet these husbands who are seemingly rich in geniality
and yet are mysteriously unhappy at home. It is the custom of the
acquaintances of these fellows to put all the blame on the wife. But
there is a distinct type of mind which always enjoys dining abroad and
appreciates a few herbs in a stranger's house more than a stalled ox at
home. These people are gentle and genial and tender only out-of-doors.
You might call them extra-mural saints.
I have a strong suspicion that Haydn, who was so dear and good a soul
that he was commonly called "Papa" by his friends and disciples, was one
of the souls that shrivel up inside the house. In any case he can never
be forgiven for publishing his domestic miseries as he did. He talked
inexcusably to his friends about his wife; he complained everywhere of
her extravagances and of her quarrelsomeness. When Griesinger wished to
make Haydn's wife a present, Haydn forbade him, saying:
"She does not deserve anything! It is little matter to her whether her
husband is an artist or a cobbler."
As he passed in front of a picture of her once, he seized the violinist
Baillot by the arm, and pointing to the picture said, "That is my wife.
Many a time she has maddened me."
In 1792 he wrote to his mistress from London:--"My wife, the infernal
beast" (_bestia infernale_--Pohl translates this _höllische Bestie_)
"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."
This was thirty-two years after his marriage, and a year later he writes
again:
"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."
Louis Nohl speaks of this as written in a gentle and almost sorrowful
tone! As his biographers find gentleness in such writing, it is easy to
see why Mrs. Haydn has had few defenders.
Heaven forbid that I should be considered as throwing all the blame for
the unhappiness upon the husband. Anna Keller had a remarkably long and
sharp tongue whose power she did not neglect; she once complained to her
husband that there was not money enough in the house to bury him in case
he died suddenly. He pointed to a series of canons which he had written
and framed. When he was in London revelling in his triumph, she sent him
a letter in which she asked him for money enough to buy a certain little
house she had set her heart on, naïvely adding that it was just a cosy
size for a widow.
Haydn bought it later for himself, and lived in it several years as a
widower. Carpani in his thirteenth letter draws a pleasant picture of
Haydn's life with his mistress Boselli, and incidentally describes how
various composers composed: Gluck with his piano in a summer meadow and
the bottled sunshine of Champagne on each side; Sarti in a dark room at
night with a funereal lamp pendant from the ceiling; Salieri in the
streets eating sweets; Paer while joking with his friends, gossiping on
a thousand things, scolding his servants, quarrelling with his wife and
children and petting his dog; Cimarosa in the midst of noisy friends;
Sacchini with his sweetheart at his side and his kittens playing on the
floor about him; Paesiello in bed; Zingarelli after reading the holy
fathers or a classic; Anfossi in the midst of roast capons, steaming
sausages, gammons of bacon and ragouts.
"But Haydn, like Newton, alone and obscure, voyaged the skies in his
chair; on his finger the ring of Frederick like the invisible ring of
Angelica. When he returned among mortals, Boselli and his friends
divided his time. For thirty years he led this life, _monotona ma
dolcissima_, not knowing his growing fame nor dreaming of leaving
Eisenstadt, save when he mused on Italy. Then Boselli died and he began
to feel the ennui (_le noje_) of a void in his days. It was then that he
went to London."
This mistress of Haydn's, whom Carpani and Fétis call Boselli and whom
Dies calls Pulcelli, is now generally called Polzelli, following the
spelling in Haydn's own handwriting. The pleasant legend Carpani gives
of Haydn's life with this woman, undisturbed by ambition until her
death, is as much upset by later writers as is the spelling of her name.
Pohl, closely followed by Haydn's recent biographer, Schmidt, describes
Luigia Polzelli as a Neapolitan who was nineteen when she was engaged to
sing at the theatre of the Prince Esterházy. She was the wife of Anton
Polzelli, an insignificant and sickly violinist, with whom she was
apparently not in love. Luigia is pictured--doubtless by guesswork--as
not beautiful, but of a pleasing appearance, showing the indications of
her Italian birth in "her small slim face, her dark complexion, her
black eyes, her chestnut-coloured hair; her body of medium height and
elegant form."
"To this woman," says Schmidt, "Haydn fetched his own deep and lasting
sorrow. Polzelli was in the same position as he: she lived unhappily
with her spouse. Whether she honestly returned Haydn's love cannot be
known. Facts hint that she often abused and took advantage of his good
nature. But for all that she beautified his life, so often joyless, by
the tenderness which she awoke in him; and the woman who throughout
twenty years could do that, deserved well of the man whose friend she
was; and she earns our consideration and sympathy besides. From London
the master wrote her the tenderest letters. Both, as their
correspondence shows, only postponed their union, till the day when
'four eyes shall be closed,'
"Yet when finally both were free, Time had worked his almighty
influence; Haydn had grown gray; outwardly as well as spiritually an
estrangement had widened between them, and of their once so dear a
desire there is no more word. Yet Haydn never ceased to provide for his
friend, as well as to care for the education and the success of her
sons. The elder, Pietro, Haydn's favourite, on whom he hung with his
whole heart, died early." [Pohl quotes many allusions to him in Haydn's
letters.] "The younger, Anton, who was reported without proper
foundation to be Haydn's natural son, later became musical director of
the prince's chapel, but then gave up music and turned farmer, finally
dying of the plague in sad circumstances."
Pohl is somewhat fuller upon this alliance than Schmidt, who, in fact,
merely condenses and paraphrases him. He says that Polzelli's maiden
name was Moreschi [which, being interpreted, is "Moor," a name once
given to Haydn]; she was a mezzo-soprano, who played secondary rôles in
the operas. She earned the same salary as her husband, 465 gulden a
year. The letters Haydn wrote her were always in Italian, and in one of
them he wishes her better rôles, and "a good master who will take the
same interest as thy Haydn." Haydn had come to her for sympathy, since,
as Pohl says and we have seen, "thanks to his wife he had hell at home"
[_die Holle im House_].
When increasing fame took Haydn by the hand and led him away to royal
triumphs in London, he did not take jealousy along with his other
luggage. He seems to have heard that his place was promptly filled in
Polzelli's heart, but with all his geniality, he could write of the
rumoured rival as "this man, whose name I do not know, but who is to be
so happy as to possess thee." Then there was a recrudescence of the old
ardour:
"Oh, dear, dear Polzelli, thou lingerest always in my heart; never,
never shall I forget thee (_O cara Polzelli, tu mi stai sempre nel
core, mal, mal scordeo di te_)."
When some one in London told him that Polzelli had sold the piano he had
given her, he could not believe it, and only wrote her, "See how they
tease me about you" (_vedi come mi seccano per via di te_). Still less
will he believe that she has spoken ill of him, and he writes:
"May God bless thee, and forgive thee everything, for I know that love
speaks in thee. Be careful for thy good name, I beg thee, and think
often of thy Haydn, who cherishes and tenderly loves thee and to thee
will always be true."
Even to Bologna, whither Polzelli went with her two sons, says Pohl,
"followed Haydn's love--and his gold." He intended after his first
London visit to go to Italy to visit her, and wrote further:
"I cherish thee and love thee as on that first day, and am always sad
that I cannot do more for you. Yet have patience. Surely the day will
come when I can show thee how much I love thee."
Loisa's choice of a spouse had been unhappy, as so many marriages have
been where the wife is a singer on the stage, and the husband a fiddler
in the band. Haydn seems to have sympathised with Loisa in her unhappy
domestic affairs, as cordially as she had sympathised with him in his.
He had sympathy, too, for her similarly ill-matched sister, Christine
Negri, for he writes of her as--
"Already long separated from her husband, that beast, she has been as
unhappy as even you, and awakes my sympathy."
Also in March, 1791, he wrote Loisa about her husband in a manner
implying that he was a brute or a maniac: "Thou hast done well to have
him taken to the hospital to save thy life." Haydn and Loisa, being
Catholics, never thought of seeking divorce: their only hope of
celebrating a formal marriage lay in the death of both her brutish
husband and his shrewish wife--"when four eyes shall close." Loisa's
husband was the first to oblige, for in August, 1791, his death wrings a
charitable word from even Haydn:
"Thy poor husband! I tell thee that Providence has managed well in
freeing thee from thy heavy burden, for it is better to be in the other
world, than useless in this one. The poor fellow has suffered enough."
Later he writes:
"DEAR POLZELLI:--Probably that time will come which we have so often
longed for. Already two eyes are closed. But the other two--ah, well, as
God wills!" Eight years more, and the reluctant and wide-eyed Anna
Haydn was foiled of her desire to be a widow in the snug cottage of her
choice. The lovers at last were both single. But now, freed of their
shackles, why do they not rush to each other's arms? The only answer we
receive is this chill and shocking document found long after Haydn's
death; it is written in Italian and dated shortly after Frau Haydn's
death:
"I, the undersigned, promise Signora Loisa Polzelli (in case I shall be
disposed to marry again) to take no other for wife than the said Loisa
Polzelli; and if I remain a widower, I promise the said Loisa Polzelli
after my death to leave her a life pension of 300 gulden, that is 300
florins in Vienna money. Valid before every court. I sign myself,
"JOSEPH HAYDN,
"_Maestro di Cappella of his Highness, the Prince Esterhazy_.
Vienna, May 23, 1800."
On this sad and icy postscript to the ardent love affair, Schmidt
comments: "The form of this writing leaves the conclusion plain, that
Haydn was forced to this act by the Polzelli. This throws a poor light
on her character, and we dare not evade the conclusion that, for twenty
years in this love affair for life, she had in mind a business
arrangement with the master."
Thus cynically writes Schmidt of the woman who for a score of years
occupied Haydn's affections. And all of the biographers are inclined to
heap upon her more or less contempt; but as you shall see a little
later, the genial master himself was not above reproach, and Loisa's
anxiety was not unfounded, for her Joseph was casting amorous glances
elsewhere. Thus after the long ardour, the love letters have frozen into
a hard and fast negative betrothal in which Haydn promises to marry no
one else. This, Schmidt says, was dragged out of Haydn. But, if such a
bond were necessary, it speaks surely as ill for Haydn as for the woman
who had given her life and her good name to brighten his joyless heart.
Yet, dead as his love was, honour remained with him, though it was a
rather close-reckoning honour. Three months later he answered with money
her request for house-rent, and in a will dated May 5, 1801, occurs this
clause, cancelling his former agreement, and making new provisions:
"To the widow Aloysia Polzelli, formerly singer at Prince Nikolaus
Esterházy's, payable in ready money six months after my death, 100
florins, and each year from the date of my death, for her life ... 150
florins. After her death her son, Anton Polzelli, to receive 150 florins
for one year, having always been a good son to his mother and a grateful
pupil to me. N.B.--I hereby revoke the obligation in Italian, signed by
me, which may be produced by Mme. Polzelli; otherwise so many of my poor
relations with greater claims would receive too little. Finally Mme.
Polzelli must be satisfied with the annuity of 150 florins." Two years
later we find him writing to her (and, rumour said, his) son: "I hope
thy mamma finds herself well." In a new will, dated 1809, the year of
his death, Haydn withdraws the cash gift to Loisa, and leaves her only
150 florins annuity. She still remains, however, his chief heir.
Meanwhile, without waiting for his death, she had married again to Luigi
Franci, like herself a singer and an Italian. She outlived him and Haydn
also, only to die in poverty and senility, far away in Hungary. Poor,
eighty-two year old Loisa! Her affairs had been sadly mismanaged.
Why had Loisa given up all hope of marrying Haydn, even when his wife
was dead and she was possessed of his agreement, signed, sealed, and
delivered, to marry no one but her? Awhile ago I stooped to repeating
the scandal that during Signora Polzelli's life, Haydn had been casting
sheep's eyes elsewhere. But it is such a pretty scandal! Besides, these
old contrapuntists were trained from youth to keep two or more tunes
going at once.
I am not referring to Haydn's friendship with Frau von Genzinger. It was
Karajan who discovered and published this pleasant correspondence with
her. She was the wife of a very successful physician, a "ladies' doctor"
(_Damen Doktor_). She was the daughter of the Hofrath von Kayser; her
name was Maria Anna Sabina; she was born Nov. 6th, 1750, and had been
married some seventeen years, and was the mother of five children when
Haydn began taking his every Sunday dinner with the family. Karajan says
that she was an _ausgezeichnete_ singer and pianist.
A deep friendship sprang up at once between them and they corresponded
freely. Haydn's letters to her were published by Nohl, and you may read
them in Lady Wallace's translation. They are full of the most
interesting lights upon Haydn's life and experiences, and are brimful of
affection for Frau von Genzinger. But the husband and the children are
almost always referred to in the letters, and the friendship seems to
have been entirely and only a friendship,--as Schmidt calls it, "_eine
tiefe und zugleich respectvolle Neigung_."
Mr. Upton, who accepts the friendship as "honourable," finds in Frau von
Genzinger the only true feminine inspiration Haydn ever had for
composition. "We owe much of his music to his wife; but the savage and
truculent manner in which she inspired him was not conducive to the best
work of his genius. There is no record that the Polzelli was of any
benefit to him musically; certainly she was not morally."
But there was another woman who idolised Haydn the musician, and with
Haydn the man conducted a quaint and curious love duet embalmed in many
a billet-doux fragrant with charm.
It was not, then, Frau von Genzinger that threatened Polzelli's
supremacy. Nor was it Madame Bartolozzi, for whom Haydn wrote a sonata
and three trios; nor Mrs. John Hunter, who wrote words for many of his
canzonets. Nor yet Mrs. Hodges, for whom he composed, and whom he called
"the loveliest woman I ever saw." Nor yet again the fascinating actress,
Mrs. Billington, of whom the pleasant story is told, that Haydn, when he
went to London, called on Sir Joshua Reynolds at his studio, found him
painting Mrs. Billington as "Saint Cecilia listening to the angels," and
protested gallantly that Reynolds ought to have painted the angels
listening to her. For which sprightliness he received immediately a
fervent hug and a kiss from those so sweet and promiscuous lips. The
skeptics object, that Reynolds exhibited the picture in London in 1790,
a year before Haydn reached London, but it is a shame to spoil a good
and famous story.
The true woman in the case makes her _entrée_ in this innocent style:
"Mrs. Schroeter presents her complements to Mr. Haydn, and informs him
that she is just returned to town, and will be very happy to see him
whenever it is convenient to him to give her a lesson.
"James-st., Buckingham gate, Wednesday, June the 29th, 1791."
This little note was the first of a series of genuine love letters
preserved for many years by Haydn. His answers to them seem to have been
lost, though the whimsical spade of time that has recently brought to
light the works of Bacchylides, after two thousand years and more of
oblivion, may with equal speed unsod Haydn's letters to this interesting
personage. May we be there to see!
Just nineteen years before this little preludising note, Mrs. Schroeter
was an Englishwoman of wealth and aristocracy. In that year there came
to London a German musician, Johann Samuel Schroeter, a brother of
Corona Schroeter, one of that Amazonian army of beauties to whom Goethe
made love and wrote poetry. He became music-master to the English queen
as successor to that son of Sebastian Bach who is known as "the English
Bach." He speedily won pupils and esteem among the higher circles of
London society. But being welcomed as a musician was one thing and as a
son-in-law quite another. When, therefore, he made one of his most
aristocratic pupils his wife by a clandestine marriage, there was,
according to Fetis, such scandal and such a threat of legal proceedings
that he consented to the annulment of the marriage in consideration of a
pension of five hundred pounds, and retired from the city to escape
notoriety. Sixteen years after his entry into London Schroeter died of
consumption.
Three years later another German musician, Joseph Haydn, appears in
London, and is taken up by society. Mrs. Schroeter, apparently not sated
by her first experience, proceeds to repeat it pat. Just as before, she
becomes a pupil in music, and later a pupil in love of the newcomer. But
whereas her husband had died at the age of thirty-eight, her new lover
Haydn was fifty-nine when she met him.
Dies quoted Haydn's own words as saying, "In London, I fell in love with
a widow, though she was sixty years old at the time." But Mr. Krehbiel
shows good reason for believing that Dies must have misunderstood Haydn.
To me it occurs as a possibility that Haydn said to Dies, not "though
she was sixty years old," but "though I was sixty years old." I think we
are safe in assuming with Mr. Krehbiel that she was not more than
thirty-five or forty, an age not yet so great, according to statistics,
as that of Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, and Marian Delorme, at the times
of their most potent beauty.
Let us also dismiss as unauthorised and gratuitous the words of Pauline
D. Townsend, in her biography of Haydn, when she says of Mrs. Schroeter
that she was "an attractive, although, according to modern taste, a
somewhat vulgar woman, of over sixty years of age, and there is no
disguising the fact that she made violent love to Haydn. Her letters to
Haydn are full of tenderness and in questionable taste; his to her have
not been preserved, but we can have little doubt that they were warmer
in tone than they would have been had not the Channel rolled between him
and Frau Haydn in Vienna." We know how little Frau Haydn had had to do
with Haydn's life in his own town. You may judge for yourself as to the
charge of "vulgarity."
The existence of Mrs. Schroeter's veritable Love Letters of an
Englishwoman was known for many years, and Pohl in his book on "Mozart
und Haydn in London" quoted from them. But for their complete
publication in the original English, we are indebted to Mr. Krehbiel's
"Music and Manners in the Classical Period." This captivating work
contains also a note-book which Haydn kept in London; it is filled with
amusing blunders in English and vivid pictures of London life of the
time, pictures as delectable in their way as the immortal garrulity of
Pepys.
I cannot do better than let these letters speak for themselves through
such quotations as I have room to make. There are twenty-two of them in
all, in Mr. Krehbiel's book. The abbreviations are curious and explain
themselves. M.L. is "my love," D.L. is "dear love," M.D. is "my dear,"
and M. Dst. is its superlative. The abbreviations were possibly due to
the fact that the letters exist only in Haydn's own handwriting, copied
into his note-book without attention to their proper order. Or they may
have been simply the amorous shorthand of that day.
Two of them are signed R.S. and this leads me to believe that Mrs.
Schroeter's first name began with R., though we know neither that nor
her maiden name. In the first letter Mrs. Schroeter says that she
encloses him "the words of the song you desire." This letter is dated
February 8th. In his note-book there is an entry on February 13, 1792,
and just preceding it a little Italian poem in which I have been pleased
to see what was possibly this very song, its first lines being
suggestively like the first line of Mrs. Schroeter's letter.
"Io vi mando questo foglio
Dalle lagrime rigato,
Sotto scritto dal cordoglio
Dai pensieri sigillato
Testimento del mio amore
(Io) vi mando questo core."
Among the letters there are many anxious allusions, which may indicate
that Haydn was suffering from insomnia, unless you are inclined to give
them a more subtle significance. But to the quotations, with regrets
that they must be incomplete.
"Wednesday, Febr. 8th, 1792.
"M.D. Inclos'd I have sent you the words of the song you desire. I wish
much to know _how you do_ to day. I am very sorry to lose the pleasure
of seeing you this morning, but I hope you will have time to come
tomorrow. I beg my D you will take great care of your health and do not
fatigue yourself with too much application to business. My thoughts and
best wishes are always with you, and I ever am with the utmost sincerity
M.D. your &c."
"March the 7th 92.
"My D. I was extremely sorry to part with you so suddenly last night,
our conversation was particularly interesting and I had a thousand
affectionate things to Say to you. my heart was and is full of
_tenderness_ for you but no language can express _half_ the _Love_ and
_Affection_ I feel for you. you are _dearer_ to me _every Day_ of my
life. I am very Sorry I was so dull and Stupid yesterday, indeed my
_Dearest_ it was nothing but my being indisposed with a cold occasioned
my Stupidity. I thank you a thousand times for your Concern for me. I am
truly Sensible of your goodness and I assure you my D. if anything had
happened to trouble me, I wou'd have open'd my heart and told you with
the greatest confidence, oh, how earnestly I wish to See you. I hope you
will come to me tomorrow. I shall be happy to See you both in the
Morning and the Evening. God Bless you my love. my thoughts and best
wishes ever accompany you and I always am with the most Sincere and
invariable Regard my D,
"Your truly affectionate--
"my Dearest I cannot be happy till I see you if you Know do tell me when
you will come."
"April 4th 92.
"My D: With this you will receive the Soap. I beg you a thousand pardons
for not sending it sooner. I know you will have the goodness to excuse
me. I hope to hear you are quite well and have Slept well. I shall be
happy to See you my D: as soon as possible. I shall be much obliged to
you if you will do me the favor to send me Twelve Tikets for your
Concert. may all _success_ attend you my ever D H that Night and always
is the sincere and hearty wish of your "Invariable and Truly
affectionate--"
"James St. Thursday, April 12th
"M.D. I am so _truly anxious_ about _you_. I must write to beg to know
_how you do_? I was very sorry I _had_ not the pleasure of Seeing you
this Evening, my thoughts have been _constantly_ with you and my D.L. no
words can express half the tenderness and _affection I feel for you_. I
thought you seemed out of Spirits this morning. I wish I could always
remove every trouble from your mind, be assured my D: I partake with the
most perfect sympathy in _all your sensations_ and my regard is
_Stronger every day_. my best wishes always attend you and I am ever my
D.H. most sincerely your Faithful etc."
"M.D. I was extremely Sorry to hear this morning that you were
indisposed. I am told you were five hours at your Studys yesterday,
indeed _my D.L._ I am afraid it will hurt you. why shou'd you who have
already produced So many _wonderful_ and _Charming_ compositions Still
fatigue yourself with Such close application. I almost tremble for your
health let me prevail on you my _much-loved_ H. not to keep to your
Studys so long at _one time_, my D. love if you could know how very
precious your welfare is to me I flatter myself you wou'd endeaver to
preserve it for my sake as well as _your own_. pray inform me how you do
and how you have Slept. I hope to see you to Morrow at the concert and
on Saturday I shall be happy to See you here to dinner, in the mean time
my D: my Sincerest good wishes constantly attend you and I ever am with
the _tenderest_ regard your most &c.
"J.S. April the 19th 92"
"April 24th 1792.
"My D. I cannot leave London without Sending you a line to assure you my
thoughts, my best wishes and tenderest affections will inseparably
attend you till we meet again. the Bearer will also deliver you the
March. I am very Sorry I could not write it Sooner, nor better, but I
hope my D. you will excuse it, and if it is not passable I will send you
the _Dear_ original directly. If my H. would employ me oftener to write
Music I hope I should improve and I know I should delight in the
occupation, now my D.L. let me intreat you to take the greatest care of
your _health_. I hope to see you Friday at the concert and on Saturday
to dinner, till when and ever I most sincerely am and Shall be yours
etc."
"M.D. If you will do me the favor to take your dinner with me tomorrow I
shall be very happy to see you and _particularly_ wish for the pleasure
of _your_ company _my Dst Love_ before our other friends come. I hope to
hear you are in _good Health_. My best wishes and tenderest Regards are
your constant attendants and I _ever_ am with the _firmest_ Attachment
my Dst H most sincerely and Affectionately yours,
"R.S."
"James S. Tuesday Ev. May 22d."
"M.D. I can not close my eyes to sleep till I have return'd you ten
thousand thanks for the inexpressible delight I have received from _your
ever Enchanting_ compositions and your _incomparably Charming_
performance of them, be assured my D.H. that among _all_ your numerous
admirers no one has listened with more profound attention and no one can
have Such high veneration for your most _brilliant Talents_ as I _have_,
indeed my D.L. no tongue _can express_ the gratitude I _feel_ for the
infinite pleasure your Musick has given me. accept then my repeeted
thanks for it and let me also assure you with heart felt affection that
I Shall ever consider the happiness of your acquaintance as one of the
_Chief_ Blessings of my life, and it is the _Sincer_ wish of my heart to
preserve to cultivate and to merit it more and more. I hope to hear you
are quite well. Shall be happy to see you to dinner and if you _can_
come at three o'Clock it would give me a great pleasure as I shou'd be
particularly glad to see you my D. befor the rest of our friends come.
God Bless you my h: I ever am with the firmest and most perfect
attachment your &c.
"Wednesday night, June the 6th 1792."
"My Dst, Inclosed I send you the verses you was so Kind as to lend me
and am very much obliged to you for permitting me to take a copy of
them, pray inform me _how you do_, and let me know my _Dst L_ when you
will dine with me; I shall be _happy_ to _See_ you to dinner either
tomorrow or tuesday whichever is most Convenient to you. I am _truly
anxious_ and _impatient_ to _See you_ and I wish to have as much of
_your company_ as possible; indeed _my Dst H_. I _feel_ for you the
_fondest_ and _tenderest_ affection the human Heart is capable of and I
ever am with the _firmest_ attachment my Dst Love
"most Sincerely, Faithfully
"and most affectionately yours
"Sunday Evening, June 10, 1792"
"M.D.
"I was _extremely sorry_ I had not the pleasure of _seeing you to-day,_
indeed my Dst Love it was a very great disappointment to me as every
moment of your company is _more_ and _more precious_ to me now your
_departure_ is so near. I hope to hear you are _quite well_ and I shall
be very happy to see you my Dst Hn. any time to-morrow after one
o'clock, if you can come; but if not I shall hope for the pleasure of
Seeing _you_ on _Monday_. You will receive this letter to-morrow
morning. I would not send it to-day for fear you should not be at home
and I _wish_ to have your answer. God bless you my Dst. Love, once more
I repeat let me See you as _Soon_ as possible. I _ever_ am with the most
_inviolable attachment_ my Dst and most beloved H.
"most faithfully and most
"affectionately yours
"R.S."
"I am just returned from the concert where I was very much Charmed with
your _delightful_ and enchanting _Compositions_ and your Spirited and
interesting performance of them, accept ten thousand thanks for the
great pleasure I _always_ receive from your _incomparable_ Music. My D:
I intreat you to inform me how you do and if you get any _Sleep_ to
Night. I am _extremely anxious_ about your health. I hope to hear a good
account of it. god Bless you my H: come to me to-morrow. I shall be
happy to See you both morning and Evening. I always am with the
tenderest Regard my D: your Faithful and Affectionate
"Friday Night, 12 o'clock."
This is the last of these letters to which one could apply so fitly the
barbarous word "yearnful," once coined by Keats. After Haydn's return to
London, in 1794, there are no letters to indicate a continuance of the
acquaintance, but it doubtless was renewed, judging from the sagacious
guess based upon the fact that Haydn did not come back to his old
lodgings but took new ones at No. 1 Bury Street, St. James's.
This much more pleasantly situated dwelling, he probably owed to the
considerate care of Mrs. Schroeter, who, by the same token, thus brought
him nearer to herself. A short and pleasant walk of scarcely ten minutes
through St. James's Palace and the Mall (a broad alley alongside of St.
James's Park) led him to Buckingham Palace, and near at hand was the
house of Mrs. Schroeter. Perhaps he preferred the walk to
letter-writing. When he went away from London for ever, he left behind
him the scores of his six last symphonies "in the hands of a lady,"
probably Mrs. Schroeter. It was this same woman to whom Haydn
dedicated three trios, his first, second, and sixth. It was undoubtedly
she to whom he referred when he made that little speech which Dies
probably misquoted, in telling the answer Haydn gave him when he was
asked what the letters were. "They are letters from an English widow in
London who loved me; she was, though she already counted her sixty
years, still a pretty and lovely woman, whom I would very probably have
married had I then been single."
Let us remember that these old love letters, so fragrant with faded
affections, were being received by Papa Haydn even while he was writing
to Polzelli, rejoicing in the closing of two of those four baleful eyes
that forbade their union. And let us not judge too harshly the Italian
woman who had given this unbeautiful Austrian of such beautiful genius
so much of her sunshine and tenderness. Nor let us judge too harshly the
enamoured English widow. Why indeed need we judge harshly at all?
When Haydn died he had no child to leave his wealth to--even the fable
that Anton Polzelli was his natural son is taken away from us by Pohl,
who points out how small and temporary was the provision made for him in
Haydn's will.
Among the heirlooms left by Haydn was a watch given to him by that
Admiral of Admirals, Lord Nelson--and that points to us as a by-path,
which it were pleasant, though forbidden now, to wander, the story of
Nelson's fervent amour with Lady Hamilton, that beautiful work of art,
that pet of artists.
As a postscript to Haydn's story we may tag on here a concise statement
in his note-book, of the domestic affairs of one whom we do not think of
now as a musician.
"On June 15th, I went from Windsor to Slough to Doctor Herschel, where I
saw the great telescope. It is forty feet long and five feet in
diameter. The machinery is vast, but so ingenious that a single man can
put it in motion with ease. There are also two smaller telescopes, of
which one is twenty-two feet long and magnifies six thousand times. The
king had two made for himself, of which each measures twelve Schuh. He
gave him one thousand guineas for them. In his younger days Doctor
Herschel was in the Prussian service as an oboe player. In the seven
years' war he deserted with his brother and came to England. For many
years he supported himself with music, became organist at Bath, turned,
however, to astronomy. After providing himself with the necessary
instruments he left Bath, rented a room not far from Windsor, and
studied day and night. His landlady was a widow. She fell in love with
him, married him, and gave him a dowry of £100,000. Besides this he has
£500 for life, and his wife, who is forty-five years old, presented him
with a son this year, 1792. Ten years ago he had his sister come; she is
of the greatest service to him in his observations. Frequently he sits
from five to six hours under the open sky in the severest cold."