English Music about 1791--Salomon--Mozart and Haydn--Terms for
London--Bonn and Beethoven--Haydn Sea-Sick--Arrives in London--An
Enthusiastic Welcome--Ideas of the Metropolis--At Court--Unreasoning
Rivalries--Temporarily eclipsed--Band and Baton--A Rehearsal
Incident--Hanover Square Rooms--Hoops and Swords--The "Surprise"
Symphony--Gallic Excitement--New Compositions--Benefit and Other
Concerts--Haydn on Handel--Oxford Doctor of Music--The
"Oxford" Symphony--Relaxations--Royalty again--Pleyel--Close of
Season--Herschel--Haydn at St Paul's--London Acquaintances--Another
Romance--Mistress Schroeter--Love-Letters--Haydn's Note-Book.
English Music about 1791
Haydn came to England in 1791. It may occur to the reader to ask what
England was doing in music at that time, and who were the foremost
representatives of the art. The first question may be partially answered
from the literature of the period. Thus Jackson, in his Present State of
Music in London, published the year after Haydn's arrival, remarks
that "instrumental music has been of late carried to such perfection
in London by the consummate skill of the performers that any attempt to
beat the time would be justly considered as entirely needless." Burney,
again, in his last volume, published in 1789, says that the great
improvement in taste during the previous twenty years was "as different
as civilized people from savages"; while Stafford Smith, writing in
1779, tells that music was then "thought to be in greater perfection
than among even the Italians themselves." There is a characteristic John
Bull complacency about these statements which is hardly borne out by a
study of the lives of the leading contemporary musicians. Even Mr Henry
Davey, the applauding historian of English music, has to admit the
evanescent character of the larger works which came from the composers
of that "bankrupt century." Not one of these composers--not even
Arne--is a real personality to us like Handel, or Bach, or Haydn, or
Mozart. The great merit of English music was melody, which seems to
have been a common gift, but "the only strong feeling was patriotic
enthusiasm, and the compositions that survive are almost all short
ballads expressing this sentiment or connected with it by their nautical
subjects." When Haydn arrived, there was, in short, no native composer
of real genius, and our "tardy, apish nation" was ready to welcome with
special cordiality an artist whose gifts were of a higher order.
Salomon
We have spoken of Haydn's visit as a long-meditated project. In 1787
Cramer, the violinist, had offered to engage him on his own terms for
the Professional Concerts; and Gallini, the director of the King's
Theatre in Drury Lane, pressed him to write an opera for that house.
Nothing came of these proposals, mainly because Haydn was too much
attached to his prince to think of leaving him, even temporarily. But
the time arrived and the man with it. The man was Johann Peter
Salomon, a violinist, who, having fallen out with the directors of the
professional concerts, had started concerts on his own account. Salomon
was a native of Bonn, and had been a member of the Electoral Orchestra
there. He had travelled about the Continent a good deal, and no one was
better fitted to organize and direct a series of concerts on a large
scale. In 1790 he had gone abroad in search of singers, and, hearing of
the death of Prince Esterhazy, he set off at once for Vienna, resolved
to secure Haydn at any cost. "My name is Salomon," he bluntly announced
to the composer, as he was shown into his room one morning. "I have come
from London to fetch you; we will settle terms to-morrow."
The question of terms was, we may be sure, important enough for Haydn.
But it was not the only question. The "heavy years" were beginning to
weigh upon him. He was bordering on threescore, and a long journey in
those days was not to be lightly undertaken. Moreover, he was still,
nominally at least, the servant of Prince Anton, whose consent would
have to be obtained; and, besides all this, he was engaged on various
commissions, notably some for the King of Naples, which were probably a
burden on his conscience. His friends, again, do not appear to have been
very enthusiastic about the projected visit. There were Dittersdorf and
Albrechtsberger, and Dr Leopold von Genzinger, the prince's physician,
and Frau von Genzinger, whose tea and coffee he so much appreciated, and
who sent him such excellent cream. Above all, there was Mozart--"a man
very dear to me," as Haydn himself said.
Mozart and Haydn
He had always greatly revered Mozart. Three years before this he wrote:
"I only wish I could impress upon every friend of mine, and on great men
in particular, the same deep musical sympathy and profound appreciation
which I myself feel for Mozart's inimitable music; then nations would
vie with each other to possess such a jewel within their frontiers. It
enrages me to think that the unparalleled Mozart is not yet engaged at
any Imperial Court! Forgive my excitement; I love the man so dearly."
The regard was reciprocal. "Oh, Papa," exclaimed Mozart, when he heard
of Haydn's intention to travel, "you have had no education for the wide,
wide world, and you speak too few languages." It was feelingly said, and
Haydn knew it. "My language," he replied, with a smile, "is understood
all over the world." Mozart was really concerned at the thought of
parting with his brother composer, to whom he stood almost in the
relation of a son. When it came to the actual farewell, the tears sprang
to his eyes, and he said affectingly: "This is good-bye; we shall never
meet again." The words proved prophetic. A year later, Mozart was thrown
with a number of paupers into a grave which is now as unknown as the
grave of Moliere. Haydn deeply lamented his loss; and when his thoughts
came to be turned homewards towards the close of his English visit his
saddest reflection was that there would be no Mozart to meet him. His
wretched wife had tried to poison his mind against his friend by writing
that Mozart had been disparaging his genius. "I cannot believe it," he
cried; "if it is true, I will forgive him." It was not true, and Haydn
never believed it. As late as 1807 he burst into tears when Mozart's
name was mentioned, and then, recovering himself, remarked: "Forgive me!
I must ever weep at the name of my Mozart."
Terms for London
But to return. Salomon at length carried the day, and everything was
arranged for the London visit. Haydn was to have 300 pounds for six
symphonies and 200 pounds for the copyright of them; 200 pounds for
twenty new compositions to be produced by himself at the same number of
concerts; and 200 pounds from a benefit concert. The composer paid his
travelling expenses himself, being assisted in that matter by an advance
of 450 florins from the prince, which he refunded within the year. In
order to provide for his wife during his absence he sold his house at
Eisenstadt, the gift of Prince Nicolaus, which had been twice rebuilt
after being destroyed by fire.
Salomon sent advance notices of the engagement to London, and on the
30th of December the public were informed through the Morning Chronicle
that, immediately on his arrival with his distinguished guest, "Mr
Salomon would have the honour of submitting to all lovers of music his
programme for a series of subscription concerts, the success of which
would depend upon their support and approbation." Before leaving for
London Haydn had a tiff with the King of Naples, Ferdinand IV, who was
then in Vienna. The composer had taken him some of the works which he
had been commissioned to write, and His Majesty, thanking him for the
favour, remarked that "We will rehearse them the day after to-morrow."
"The day after to-morrow," replied Haydn, "I shall be on my way to
England." "What!" exclaimed the King, "and you promised to come to
Naples!" With which observation he turned on his heel and indignantly
left the room. Before Haydn had time to recover from his astonishment
Ferdinand was back with a letter of introduction to Prince Castelcicala,
the Neapolitan Ambassador in London; and to show further that the
misunderstanding was merely a passing affair he sent the composer later
in the day a valuable tabatiere as a token of esteem and regard.
Bonn and Beethoven
The journey to London was begun by Haydn and Salomon on the 15th of
December 1790, and the travellers arrived at Bonn on Christmas Day. It
is supposed, with good reason, that Haydn here met Beethoven, then
a youth of twenty, for the first time. Beethoven was a member of the
Electoral Chapel, and we know that Haydn, after having one of his masses
performed and being complimented by the Elector, the musical brother of
Joseph II, entertained the chief musicians at dinner at his lodgings. An
amusing description of the regale may be read in Thayer's biography
of Beethoven. From Bonn the journey was resumed by way of Brussels to
Calais, which was reached in a violent storm and an incessant downpour
of rain. "I am very well, thank God!" writes the composer to Frau
Genzinger, "although somewhat thinner, owing to fatigue, irregular
sleep, and eating and drinking so many different things."
Haydn Sea-Sick
Next morning, after attending early mass, he embarked at 7:30, and
landed at Dover at five o'clock in the afternoon. It was his first
acquaintance with the sea, and, as the weather was rather rough, he
makes no little of it in letters written from London. "I remained on
deck during the whole passage," he says, "in order to gaze my full
at that huge monster--the ocean. So long as there was a calm I had no
fears, but when at length a violent wind began to blow, rising every
minute, and I saw the boisterous high waves running on, I was seized
with a little alarm and a little indisposition likewise." Thus
delicately does he allude to a painful episode.
Arrives in London
Haydn reached London in the opening days of 1791. He passed his first
night at the house of Bland, the music-publisher, at 45 High Holborn,
which now, rebuilt, forms part of the First Avenue Hotel. Bland, it
should have been mentioned before, had been sent over to Vienna by
Salomon to coax Haydn into an engagement in 1787. When he was admitted
on that occasion to Haydn's room, he found the composer in the act of
shaving, complaining the while of the bluntness of his razor. "I would
give my best quartet for a good razor," he exclaimed testily. The hint
was enough for Bland, who immediately hurried off to his lodgings and
fetched a more serviceable tool. Haydn was as good as his word:
he presented Bland with his latest quartet, and the work is still
familiarly known as the "Rasirmesser" (razor) Quartet. The incident
was, no doubt, recalled when Haydn renewed his acquaintance with the
music-publisher.
But Haydn did not remain the guest of Bland. Next day he went to live
with Salomon, at 18 Great Pulteney Street, Golden Square, which--also
rebuilt--is now the warehouse of Messrs Chatto & Windus, the publishers.
[See Musical Haunts in London, by F.G. Edwards, London, 1895] He
described it in one of his letters as "a neat, comfortable lodging,"
and extolled the cooking of his Italian landlord, "who gives us four
excellent dishes." But his frugal mind was staggered at the charges.
"Everything is terribly dear here," he wrote. "We each pay 1 florin 30
kreuzers [about 2s. 8d.] a day, exclusive of wine and beer." This was
bad enough.
An Enthusiastic Welcome
But London made up for it all by the flattering way in which it received
the visitor. People of the highest rank called on him; ambassadors left
cards; the leading musical societies vied with each other in their zeal
to do him honour. Even the poetasters began to twang their lyres in his
praise. Thus Burney, who had been for some time in correspondence with
him, saluted him with an effusion, of which it will suffice to quote the
following lines:
Welcome, great master! to our favoured isle, Already partial to thy name
and style; Long may thy fountain of invention run In streams as rapid
as it first begun; While skill for each fantastic whim provides, And
certain science ev'ry current guides! Oh, may thy days, from human
suff'rings, free, Be blest with glory and felicity, With full fruition,
to a distant hour, Of all thy magic and creative pow'r! Blest in
thyself, with rectitude of mind, And blessing, with thy talents, all
mankind!
Like "the man Sterne" after the publication of Tristram Shandy, he was
soon deep in social engagements for weeks ahead. "I could dine out every
day," he informs his friends in Germany. Shortly after his arrival he
was conducted by the Academy of Ancient Music into a "very handsome
room" adjoining the Freemasons' Hall, and placed at a table where covers
were laid for 200. "It was proposed that I should take a seat near the
top, but as it so happened that I had dined out that very day, and
ate more than usual, I declined the honour, excusing myself under the
pretext of not being very well; but in spite of this, I could not
get off drinking the health, in Burgundy, of the harmonious gentlemen
present. All responded to it, but at last allowed me to go home."
This sort of thing strangely contrasted with the quiet, drowsy life
of Esterhaz; and although Haydn evidently felt flattered by so much
attention, he often expressed a wish that he might escape in order to
have more peace for work.
Ideas of London
His ideas about London were mixed and hesitating. He was chiefly
impressed by the size of the city, a fact which the Londoner of to-day
can only fully appreciate when he remembers that in Haydn's time
Regent Street had not been built and Lisson Grove was a country lane.
Mendelssohn described the metropolis as "that smoky nest which is fated
to be now and ever my favourite residence." But Haydn's regard was less
for the place itself than for the people and the music. The fogs
brought him an uncommonly severe attack of rheumatism, which he naively
describes as "English," and obliged him to wrap up in flannel from head
to foot. The street noises proved a great distraction--almost as much as
they proved to Wagner in 1839, when the composer of "Lohengrin" had to
contend with an organ-grinder at each end of the street! He exclaimed in
particular against "the cries of the common people selling their wares."
It was very distracting, no doubt, for, as a cynic has said, one cannot
compose operas or write books or paint pictures in the midst of a row.
Haydn desired above all things quiet for his work, and so by-and-by, as
a solace for the evils which afflicted his ear, he removed himself
from Great Pulteney Street to Lisson Grove--"in the country amid lovely
scenery, where I live as if I were in a monastery."
Haydn at Court
For the present the dining and the entertaining went on. The 12th of
January found him at the "Crown and Anchor" in the Strand, where the
Anacreonatic Society expressed their respect and admiration in the usual
fashion. The 18th of the same month was the Queen's birthday, and
Haydn was invited to a Court ball in the evening. This was quite an
exceptional distinction, for he had not yet been "presented" at Court.
Probably he owed it to the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. The
Prince was a musical amateur, like his father and his grandfather, whose
enthusiasm for Handel it is hardly necessary to recall. He played the
'cello--"not badly for a Prince," to parody Boccherini's answer to his
royal master--and liked to take his part in glees and catches. Haydn was
charmed by his affability. "He is the handsomest man on God's earth,"
wrote the composer. "He has an extraordinary love for music, and a great
deal of feeling, but very little money." These courtesies to Haydn may
perhaps be allowed to balance the apparent incivility shown to Beethoven
and Weber, who sent compositions to the same royal amateur that were
never so much as acknowledged.
But even the attentions of princes may become irksome and unprofitable.
Haydn soon found that his health and his work were suffering from the
flood of social engagements which London poured upon him. The dinner
hour at this time was six o'clock. He complained that the hour was too
late, and made a resolve to dine at home at four. He wanted his mornings
for composition, and if visitors must see him they would have to wait
till afternoon. Obviously he was beginning to tire of "the trivial
round."
Unreasoning Rivalries
The Salomon concerts should have begun in January, but London, as it
happened, was suffering from one of those unreasoning rivalries which
made a part of Handel's career so miserable, and helped to immortalize
the names of Gluck and Piccini. It is hardly worth reviving the details
of such ephemeral contests now. In the present case the factionists were
to some extent swayed by financial interests; to a still greater extent
by professional jealousies. The trouble seems to have arisen originally
in connection with Gallini's preparations for the opening of a new Opera
House in the Haymarket. Salomon had engaged Cappelletti and David as his
principal vocalists; but these, it appeared, were under contract not to
sing in public before the opening of the Opera House. One faction did
not want to have the Opera House opened at all. They were interested in
the old Pantheon, and contended that a second Italian Opera House was
altogether unnecessary.
Temporarily eclipsed
Salomon's first concert, already postponed to February 25, had been
fixed for the 11th of March, on which date David, by special permission,
was to appear "whether the Opera house was open or not." The delay was
extremely awkward for both Haydn and Salomon, particularly for Haydn. He
had been brought to London with beat of drum, and here he was compelled
to hide his light while the directors of the professional concerts shot
ahead of him and gained the ear of the public before he could assert his
superiority. By this time also the element of professional jealousy
had come into free play. Depreciatory paragraphs appeared in the public
prints "sneering at the composer as 'a nine days' wonder,' whom closer
acquaintance would prove to be inferior to either Cramer or Clementi;
and alluding to the 'proverbial avarice' of the Germans as tempting so
many artists, who met with scanty recognition from their own countrymen
to herald their arrival in England with such a flourish of trumpets as
should charm the money out of the pockets of easily-gulled John Bull."
These pleasantries were continued on rather different lines, when at
length Haydn was in a position to justify the claims made for him.
Band and Baton
Haydn, meanwhile, had been rehearsing the symphony for his opening
concert. Two points are perhaps worth noting here: First, the size and
strength of the Salomon Orchestra; and second, the fact that Haydn did
not, as every conductor does now, direct his forces, baton in hand.
The orchestra numbered between thirty-five and forty performers--a very
small company compared with our Handel Festival and Richter Orchestras,
but in Haydn's time regarded as quite sufficiently strong. There were
sixteen violins, four tenors, three 'celli, four double basses, flutes,
oboes, bassoons, trumpets and drums.
Salomon played the first violin and led the orchestra, and Haydn sat
at the harpsichord, keeping the band together by an occasional chord
or two, as the practice then was. Great composers have not always
been great conductors, but Haydn had a winning way with his band, and
generally succeeded in getting what he wanted.
A Rehersal Incident
An interesting anecdote is told by Dies of his first experience with the
Salomon Orchestra. The symphony began with three single notes, which the
orchestra played much too loudly; Haydn called for less tone a second
and a third time, and still was dissatisfied. He was growing impatient.
At this point he overheard a German player whisper to a neighbour in his
own language: "If the first three notes don't please him, how shall we
get through all the rest?" Thereupon, calling for the loan of a violin,
he illustrated his meaning to such purpose that the band answered to
his requirements in the first attempt. Haydn was naturally at a great
disadvantage with an English orchestra by reason of his ignorance of
the language. It may be true, as he said, that the language of music "is
understood all over the world," but one cannot talk to an orchestra in
crotchets and semi-breves.
The Hanover Square Rooms
At length the date of the first concert arrived, and a brilliant
audience rewarded the enterprise, completely filling the Hanover Square
Rooms, at that time the principal concert hall in London. It had been
opened in 1775 by J. C. Bach, the eleventh son of the great Sebastian,
when the advertisements announced that "the ladies' tickets are red and
the gentlemen's black." It was there that, two years after the date
of which we are writing, "Master Hummel, from Vienna," gave his first
benefit; Liszt appeared in 1840, when the now familiar term "recital"
was first used; Rubinstein made his English debut in 1842; and in the
same year Mendelssohn conducted his Scotch Symphony for the first time
in England. In 1844 the "wonderful little Joachim," then a youth of
thirteen in a short jacket, made the first of his many subsequent visits
to London, and played in the old "Rooms."
Hoops and Swords
So much for the associations of the concert hall in which Haydn directed
some of his finest symphonies. And what about the audiences of Haydn's
time? It was the day of the Sedan chair, when women waddled in hoops,
like that of the lady mentioned in the Spectator, who appeared "as if
she stood in a large drum." Even the royal princesses were, in Pope's
phrase, "armed in ribs of steel" so wide that the Court attendants had
to assist their ungainly figures through the doorways. Swords were still
being worn as a regulation part of full dress, and special weapons were
always provided at a grand concert for the use of the instrumental solo
performers, who, when about to appear on the platform, were girt for
the occasion by an attendant, known as the "sword-bearer." [See Musical
Haunts in London, F. G. Edwards, quoting Dr W. H. Cummings.]
Haydn's first concert, we have said, was an immense success. Burney
records that his appearance in the orchestra "seemed to have an
electrical effect on all present, and he never remembered a performance
where greater enthusiasm was displayed." A wave of musical excitement
appears to have been passing through London, for on this very evening
both Covent Garden and Drury Lane Theatres were packed with audiences
drawn together by the oratorio performances there. Haydn was vastly
pleased at having the slow movement of his symphony encored--an unusual
occurrence in those days--and he spoke of it afterwards as worthy of
mention in his biography. Fresh from the dinner-table, the audience
generally fell asleep during the slow movements! When the novelty of the
Salomon concerts had worn off, many of the listeners lapsed into their
usual somnolence. Most men in Haydn's position would have resented such
inattention by an outburst of temper. Haydn took it good-humouredly, and
resolved to have his little joke.
The "Surprise" Symphony
He wrote the well-known "Surprise" Symphony. The slow movement of this
work opens and proceeds in the most subdued manner, and at the moment
when the audience may be imagined to have comfortably settled for their
nap a sudden explosive fortissimo chord is introduced. "There all the
women will scream," said Haydn, with twinkling eyes. A contemporary
critic read quite a different "programme" into it. "The 'Surprise,'"
he wrote, "might not be inaptly likened to the situation of a beautiful
shepherdess who, lulled to slumber by the murmur of a distant waterfall,
starts alarmed by the unexpected firing of a fowling-piece." One can
fancy the composer's amusement at this highly-imaginative interpretation
of his harmless bit of waggery.
Gallic Excitement
The same success which attended Haydn's first concert marked the rest
of the series. The Prince of Wales's presence at the second concert no
doubt gave a certain "lead" to the musical public. We read in one of
the Gallic newspapers: "It is truly wonderful what sublime and august
thoughts this master weaves into his works. Passages often occur which
it is impossible to listen to without becoming excited--we are carried
away by admiration, and are forced to applaud with hand and mouth. The
Frenchmen here cannot restrain their transports in soft adagios; they
will clap their hands in loud applause and thus mar the effect."
In the midst of all this enthusiasm the factionists were keeping up
their controversy about the opening of Gallini's Theatre. Gallini had
already engaged the services of Haydn, together with an orchestra led
by Salomon, but nothing could be done without the Lord Chamberlain's
license for the performance of operas. To prevent the issue of that
license was the avowed object of the Pantheon management and their
friends. The fight was rendered all the more lively when the Court
divided itself between the opposing interests. "The rival theatre,"
wrote Horace Walpole, "is said to be magnificent and lofty, but it is
doubtful whether it will be suffered to come to light; in short the
contest will grow political; 'Dieu et mon Droit' (the King) supporting
the Pantheon, and 'Ich dien' (the Prince of Wales) countenancing the
Haymarket. It is unlucky that the amplest receptacle is to hold the
minority."
Cantatas, Catches and Choruses
That was how it turned out. The Lord Chamberlain finally refused his
license for operatic performances, and Gallini had to be content with a
license for "entertainments of music and dancing." He opened his house
on the 20th of March, and continued during the season to give mixed
entertainments twice a week. Various works of Haydn's were performed at
these entertainments, including a cantata composed for David, an Italian
catch for seven voices, and the chorus known as "The Storm," a setting
of Peter Pindar's "Hark, the wild uproar of the waves." An opera, "Orfeo
ed Euridice," to which we have already referred, was almost completed,
but its production had necessarily to be abandoned, a circumstance which
must have occasioned him considerable regret in view of the store he set
upon his dramatic work.
Benefit and Other Concerts
On the 16th of May he had a benefit concert, when the receipts exceeded
by 150 pounds the 200 pounds which had been guaranteed. A second benefit
was given on May 30, when "La Passione Instrumentale" (the "Seven Words"
written for Cadiz) was performed. This work was given again on June 10,
at the benefit concert of the "little" Clement, a boy violinist who grew
into the famous artist for whom Beethoven wrote his Violin Concerto.
On this occasion Haydn conducted for Clement, and it is interesting to
observe that Clement took the first violin at the last concert Haydn
ever attended, in March 1808.
Haydn on Handel
In the note-book he kept while in London, one of the entries reads:
"Anno 1791, the last great concert, with 885 persons, was held in
Westminster, Anno 1792, it was transferred to St Margaret's Chapel, with
200 performers. This evoked criticism." Haydn here refers to the Handel
Commemoration Festival, the sixth and last of the century. He
attended that of 1791, and was much impressed with the grandeur of the
performances. A place had been reserved for him near the King's box, and
when the "Hallelujah Chorus" was sung, and the whole audience rose to
their feet, he wept like a child. "Handel is the master of us all," he
sobbed. No one knew the value of Handel's choral work better than Haydn.
After listening at the Concert of Antient Music to the chorus, "The
Nations tremble," from "Joshua," he told Shield that "he had long been
acquainted with music, but never knew half its powers before he heard
it, as he was perfectly certain that only one inspired author ever
did, or ever would, pen so sublime a composition." [See the Appendix to
Shield's Introduction to Harmony.]
Oxford Doctor of Music
Haydn was no Handel, either as man or artist. Handel declined the Doctor
of Music degree with the characteristic remark: "What the devil I throw
my money away for that the blockhead wish?" Haydn did not decline it,
though probably enough he rated the distinction no higher than Handel
did. In the month of July he went down to the Oxford Commemoration, and
was then invested with the degree. Handel's latest biographer, Mr W. S.
Rockstro, says that the Oxford fees would have cost Handel 100 pounds.
Haydn's note of the expense is not so alarming: "I had to pay one and
a half guineas for the bell peals at Oxforth [sic] when I received the
doctor's degree, and half a guinea for the robe." He seems to have found
the ceremonies a little trying, and not unlikely he imagined himself
cutting rather a ridiculous figure in his gorgeous robe of cherry and
cream-coloured silk. At the concert following the investiture he seized
the gown, and, raising it in the air, exclaimed in English, "I thank
you." "I had to walk about for three days in this guise," he afterwards
wrote, "and only wish my Vienna friends could have seen me." Haydn's
"exercise" for the degree was the following "Canon cancrizans, a tre,"
set to the words, "Thy voice, O harmony, is divine."
[figure: a musical score excerpt]
This was subsequently used for the first of the Ten Commandments, the
whole of which he set to canons during his stay in London. Three grand
concerts formed a feature of the Oxford Commemoration.
The "Oxford" Symphony
At the second of these a symphony in G, written in 1787 or 1788, and
since known as the "Oxford," was performed, with the composer at the
organ. He had taken a new symphony with him for the occasion, but owing
to lack of time for rehearsals, the earlier work was substituted.
Of this latter, the Morning Chronicle wrote that "a more wonderful
composition never was heard. The applause given to Haydn was
enthusiastic; but the merit of the work, in the opinion of all the
musicians present, exceeded all praise."
Holiday Relaxations
The London season having now come to an end, Haydn proceeded to recruit
his energies by paying visits to distinguished people at their country
quarters, taking part in river excursions, picnics, and the like. Prince
Esterhazy had sent him a pressing summons to return for a great fete
which was being organized in honour of the Emperor, but having entered
into new engagements with Salomon and others, he found it impossible to
comply. A less indulgent employer would have requited him with instant
dismissal, but all that the prince said when they afterwards met was,
"Ah, Haydn! you might have saved me 40,000 florins." His longest visit
at this time was spent with Mr Brassey, a Lombard Street banker, and
ancestor of the present peer. "The banker," he says, "once cursed
because he enjoyed too much happiness in this world." He gave lessons to
Miss Brassey, and "enjoyed the repose of country life in the midst of
a family circle all cordially devoted to him." In November he was the
guest at two Guildhall banquets--that of the outgoing Lord Mayor on the
5th and that of his successor on the 9th. Of these entertainments he
has left a curious account, and as the memorandum is in English it
may, perhaps, be reproduced here. It runs as follows in Lady Wallace's
translation of the letters:
I was invited to the Lord Mayor's banquet on November 5. At the
first table, No. 1, the new Lord Mayor and his wife dined, the Lord
Chancellor, the two sheriffs, the Duke of Lids [Leeds], the minister
Pitt, and others of the highest rank in the Cabinet. I was seated at
No. 2 with Mr Sylvester, the most celebrated advocate and first King's
counsel in London. In this hall, called the Geld Hall [Guildhall], were
six tables, besides others in the adjoining room. About twelve hundred
persons altogether dined, and everything was in the greatest splendour.
The dishes were very nice and well dressed. Wines of every kind in
abundance. We sat down to dinner at six o'clock and rose from table
at eight. The guests accompanied the Lord Mayor both before and after
dinner in their order of precedence. There were various ceremonies,
sword bearing, and a kind of golden crown, all attended by a band of
wind instruments. After dinner, the whole of the aristocratic guests of
No. 1 withdrew into a private room prepared for them, to have tea and
coffee, while the rest of the company were conducted into another room.
At nine o'clock No. 1 repaired to a small saloon, when the ball began.
There was a raised platform in this room, reserved for the highest
nobility, where the Lord Mayor and his wife were seated on a throne.
Dancing then commenced in due order of precedence, but only one couple
at a time, just as on January 6, the King's birthday. There were raised
benches on both sides of this room with four steps, where the fair sex
chiefly prevailed. Nothing but minuets were danced in this saloon, but
I could only remain for a quarter of an hour, first, because the heat of
so many people assembled in such a narrow space was so oppressive, and,
secondly, on account of the bad music for dancing, the whole orchestra
consisting of two violins and a violoncello; the minuets were more in
the Polish style than in our own, or that of the Italians. I proceeded
into another room, which really was more like a subterranean cave than
anything else; they were dancing English dances, and the music here was
a degree better, as a drum was played by one of the violinists! [This
might be effected by the violin player having the drumstick tied to his
right foot, which was sometimes done.]
I went on to the large hall, where we had dined, and there the orchestra
was more numerous, and the music more tolerable. They were also dancing
English dances, but only opposite the raised platform where the four
first sets had dined with the Lord Mayor. The other tables were all
filled afresh with gentlemen, who as usual drank freely the whole night.
The strangest thing of all was that one part of the company went on
dancing without hearing a single note of the music, for first at one
table, and then at another, songs were shouted, or toasts given, amidst
the most crazy uproar and clinking of glasses and hurrahs. This hall and
all the other rooms were lighted with lamps, of which the effluvia was
most disagreeable, especially in the small ballroom. It was remarkable
that the Lord Mayor had no need of a carving-knife, as a man in the
centre of the table carved everything for him. One man stood before the
Lord Mayor and another behind him, shouting out vociferously all the
toasts in their order according to etiquette, and after each toast came
a flourish of kettledrums and trumpets. No health was more applauded
than that of Mr Pitt. There seemed to be no order. The dinner cost 6,000
pounds, one-half of which is paid by the Lord Mayor, and the other half
by the two sheriffs.
Royalty Again
In this same month--November--he visited the Marionettes at the
Fantoccini Theatre in Saville Row, prompted, no doubt, by old
associations with Esterhaz. On the 24th he went to Oatlands to visit the
Duke of York, who had just married the Princess of Prussia. "I remained
two days," he says, "and enjoyed many marks of graciousness and
honour... On the third day the Duke had me taken twelve miles towards
town with his own horses. The Prince of Wales asked for my portrait.
For two days we made music for four hours each evening, i.e., from ten
o'clock till two hours after midnight. Then we had supper, and at three
o'clock went to bed." After this he proceeded to Cambridge to see the
university, thence to Sir. Patrick Blake's at Langham. Of the Cambridge
visit he writes: "Each university has behind it a very roomy and
beautiful garden, besides stone bridges, in order to afford passage
over the stream which winds past. The King's Chapel is famous for its
carving. It is all of stone, but so delicate that nothing more beautiful
could have been made of wood. It has already stood for 400 years, and
everybody judges its age at about ten years, because of the firmness and
peculiar whiteness of the stone. The students bear themselves like those
at Oxford, but it is said they have better instructors. There are in all
800 students."
From Langham he went to the house of a Mr Shaw, to find in his hostess
the "most beautiful woman I ever saw." Haydn, it may be remarked in
passing, was always meeting the "most beautiful woman." At one time she
was a Mrs Hodges, another of his London admirers. When quite an old man
he still preserved a ribbon which Mrs Shaw had worn during his visit,
and on which his name was embroidered in gold.
Pleyel in Opposition
But other matters now engaged his attention. The directors of the
Professional Concerts, desiring to take advantage of his popularity,
endeavoured to make him cancel his engagements with Salomon and Gallini.
In this they failed. "I will not," said Haydn, "break my word to Gallini
and Salomon, nor shall any desire for dirty gain induce me to do them an
injury. They have run so great a risk and gone to so much expense on
my account that it is only fair they should be the gainers by it."
Thus defeated in their object, the Professionals decided to bring over
Haydn's own pupil, Ignaz Pleyel, to beat the German on his own ground.
It was not easy to upset Haydn's equanimity in an affair of this kind;
his gentle nature, coupled with past experiences, enabled him to take it
all very calmly. "From my youth upwards," he wrote, "I have been exposed
to envy, so it does not surprise me when any attempt is made wholly to
crush my poor talents, but the Almighty above is my support.... There
is no doubt that I find many who are envious of me in London also, and
I know them almost all. Most of them are Italians. But they can do me no
harm, for my credit with this nation has been established far too many
years." As a rule, he was forbearing enough with his rivals. At first
he wrote of Pleyel: "He behaves himself with great modesty." Later on
he remarked that "Pleyel's presumption is everywhere criticized."
Nevertheless, "I go to all his concerts, for I love him." It is very
pleasant to read all this. But how far Haydn's feelings towards Pleyel
were influenced by patriotic considerations it is impossible to say.
The defeated Professionals had a certain advantage by being first in
the field in 1792. But Haydn was only a few days behind them with his
opening concert, and the success of the entire series was in no way
affected by the ridiculous rivalry. Symphonies, divertimenti for
concerted instruments, string quartets, a clavier trio, airs, a cantata,
and other works were all produced at these concerts, and with almost
invariable applause. Nor were Haydn's services entirely confined to
the Salomon concerts. He conducted for various artists, including
Barthelemon, the violinist; Haesler, the pianist; and Madam Mara, of
whom he tells that she was hissed at Oxford for not rising during the
"Hallelujah" Chorus.
Close of the Season
The last concert was given on June 6 "by desire," when Haydn's
compositions were received with "an extasy of admiration." Thus
Salomon's season ended, as the Morning Chronicle put it, with the
greatest eclat. Haydn's subsequent movements need not detain us long.
He made excursions to Windsor Castle and to Ascot "to see the races," of
which he has given an account in his note-book.
Herschel and Haydn
From Ascot he went to Slough, where he was introduced to Herschel. In
this case there was something like real community of tastes, for the
astronomer was musical, having once played the oboe, and later on acted
as organist, first at Halifax Parish Church, and then at the Octagon
Chapel Bath. The big telescope with which he discovered the planet
Uranus in 1781 was an object of great interest to Haydn, who was
evidently amazed at the idea of a man sitting out of doors "in the most
intense cold for five or six hours at a time."
Visits were also paid to Vauxhall Gardens, where "the music is
fairly good" and "coffee and milk cost nothing." "The place and its
diversions," adds Haydn, "have no equal in the world."
At St Paul's
But the most interesting event of this time to Haydn was the meeting of
the Charity Children in St Paul's Cathedral, when something like 4000
juveniles took part. "I was more touched," he says in his diary, "by
this innocent and reverent music than by any I ever heard in my life!"
And then he notes the following chant by John Jones: [Jones was organist
of St Paul's Cathedral at this time. His chant, which was really in the
key of D, has since been supplanted. Haydn made an error in bar 12.]
[Figure: a musical score excerpt]
Curiously enough Berlioz was impressed exactly in the same way when he
heard the Charity Children in 1851. He was in London as a juror at the
Great Exhibition; and along with his friend, the late G. A. Osborne, he
donned a surplice and sang bass in the select choir. He was so moved by
the children's singing that he hid his face behind his music and wept.
"It was," he says, "the realization of one part of my dreams, and a
proof that the powerful effect of musical masses is still absolutely
unknown." [See Berlioz's Life and Letters, English edition, Vol. I., p.
281.]
London Acquaintances
Haydn made many interesting acquaintances during this London visit.
Besides those already mentioned, there was Bartolozzi, the famous
engraver, to whose wife he dedicated three clavier trios and a sonata
in E flat (Op. 78), which, so far unprinted in Germany, is given by
Sterndale Bennett in his Classical Practice. There was also John Hunter,
described by Haydn as "the greatest and most celebrated chyrurgus in
London," who vainly tried to persuade him to have a polypus removed from
his nose. It was Mrs Hunter who wrote the words for most of his English
canzonets, including the charming "My mother bids me bind my hair." And
then there was Mrs Billington, the famous singer, whom Michael Kelly
describes as "an angel of beauty and the Saint Cecilia of song." There
is no more familiar anecdote than that which connects Haydn with Sir
Joshua Reynolds's portrait of this notorious character. Carpani
is responsible for the tale. He says that Haydn one day found Mrs
Billington sitting to Reynolds, who was painting her as St Cecilia
listening to the angels. "It is like," said Haydn, "but there is a
strange mistake." "What is that?" asked Reynolds. "You have painted
her listening to the angels. You ought to have represented the angels
listening to her." It is a very pretty story, but it cannot possibly
be true. Reynolds's portrait of Mrs Billington was painted in 1789,
two years before Haydn's arrival, and was actually shown in the Academy
Exhibition of 1790, the last to which Sir Joshua contributed. [The
portrait, a whole length, was sold in 1798 for 325 pounds, 10s., and
again at Christie's, in 1845, for 505 guineas--to an American, as
usual.] Of course Haydn may have made the witty remark here attributed
to him, but it cannot have been at the time of the painting of the
portrait. That he was an enthusiastic admirer of Mrs Billington there
can be no doubt.
Another Romance
There was another intimacy of more import, about which it is necessary
to speak at some length. When Dies published his biography of Haydn
in 1810 he referred to a batch of love-letters written to the composer
during this visit to London. The existence of the letters was known
to Pohl, who devotes a part of his Haydn in London to them, and prints
certain extracts; but the letters themselves do not appear to have been
printed either in the original English or in a German translation until
Mr Henry E. Krehbiel, the well-known American musical critic, gave them
to the world through the columns of the New York Tribune. Mr Krehbiel
was enabled to do this by coming into possession of a transcript of
Haydn's London note-book, with which we will deal presently. Haydn, as
he informs us, had copied all the letters out in full, "a proceeding
which tells its own story touching his feelings towards the missives and
their fair author." He preserved them most carefully among the souvenirs
of his visit, and when Dies asked him about them, he replied: "They are
letters from an English widow in London who loved me. Though sixty years
old, she was still lovely and amiable, and I should in all likelihood
have married her if I had been single." Who was the lady thus
celebrated? In Haydn's note-book the following entry occurs: "Mistress
Schroeter, No. 6 James Street, Buckingham Gate." The inquiry is here
answered: Mistress Schroeter was the lady.
Mistress Schroeter
Haydn, it will be seen, describes her as a widow of sixty. According
to Goldsmith, women and music should never be dated; but in the present
case, there is a not unnatural curiosity to discover the lady's age. Mr
Krehbiel gives good grounds for doubting Haydn's statement that Mistress
Schroeter was sixty when he met her. She had been married to Johann
Samuel Schroeter, an excellent German musician, who settled in London
in 1772. Schroeter died in 1788, three years before the date of Haydn's
visit, when he was just thirty-eight. Now Dr Burney, who must have known
the family, says that Schroeter "married a young lady of considerable
fortune, who was his scholar, and was in easy circumstances." If,
therefore, Mrs Schroeter was sixty years old when Haydn made her
acquaintance, she must have been nineteen years her husband's senior,
and could not very well be described as a "young" lady at the time of
her marriage.
It is, however, unnecessary to dwell upon the matter of age. The
interesting point is that Haydn fell under the spell of the charming
widow. There is no account of their first meeting; but it was probably
of a purely professional nature. Towards the end of June 1791 the lady
writes: "Mrs Schroeter presents her compliments to Mr Haydn, and informs
him 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." A woman of sixty
should hardly have been requiring lessons, especially after having been
the wife of a professor who succeeded the "English Bach" as music-master
to the Queen. But lessons sometimes cover a good deal of love-making,
and that was clearly the case with Haydn and Mrs Schroeter.
Love Letters
There is indeed some reason to doubt if the lessons were continued. At
any rate, by February 1792, the affair had ripened so far as to allow
the lady to address the composer as "my dear," and disclose her tender
solicitude for his health. On the 7th of the following month she writes
that she was "extremely sorry" to part with him so suddenly the previous
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."
This was pretty warm, considering that Haydn was still in the bonds
of wedlock. We cannot tell how far he reciprocated the feeling, his
letters, if he wrote any, not having been preserved; but it may be
safely inferred that a lady who was to be "happy to see you both in the
morning and the evening" did not do all the love-making. On the 4th of
April the composer gets a present of soap, and is the "ever dear Haydn"
of the "invariable and truly affectionate" Mistress Schroeter. He had
been working too hard about this particular date (he notes that he was
"bled in London" on the 17th of March), and on the 12th the "loveress,"
to use Marjorie Fleming's term, is "truly anxious" about her "dear
love," for whom her regard is "stronger every day." An extract from the
letter of April 19 may be quoted as it stands:
I was extremely sorry to hear this morning that you were indisposed. I
am told you were five hours at your studies yesterday. Indeed, my dear
love, I am afraid it will hurt you. Why should 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 Haydn, not to keep to your studies
so long at one time. My dear love, if you could know how very precious
your welfare is to me, I flatter myself you would endeavour to preserve
it for my sake as well as your own.
Come Early
The next letter shows that Haydn had been deriving some profit from
Mistress Schroeter's affections by setting her to work as an amanuensis.
She has been copying out a march, and is sorry that she has not done it
better. "If my Haydn would employ me oftener to write music, I hope
I should improve; and I know I should delight in the occupation."
Invitations to dine at St James's Street are repeatedly being sent, for
Mistress Schroeter wishes "to have as much of your company as possible."
When others are expected, Haydn is to come early, so that they may
have some time together "before the rest of our friends come." Does the
adored Schroeter go to one of her "dearest love's" concerts, she
thanks him a thousand times for the entertainment. "Where your sweet
compositions and your excellent performance combine," she writes, "it
cannot fail of being the most charming concert; but, apart from that,
the pleasure of seeing you must ever give me infinite satisfaction." As
the time drew near for Haydn's departure, "every moment of your
company is more and more precious to me." She begs to assure him with
"heart-felt affection" that she will ever consider the acquaintance with
him as one of the chief blessings of her life. Nay, she entertains for
her "dearest Haydn" "the fondest and tenderest affection the human heart
is capable of." And so on.
An Innocent Amourette
One feels almost brutally rude in breaking in upon the privacy of
this little romance. No doubt the flirtation was inexcusable enough on
certain grounds. But taking the whole circumstances into account--above
all, the loveless, childless home of the composer--the biographer
is disposed to see in the episode merely that human yearning after
affection and sympathy which had been denied to Haydn where he had most
right to expect them. He admitted that he was apt to be fascinated by
pretty and amiable women, and the woman to whom he had given his name
was neither pretty nor amiable. An ancient philosopher has said that a
man should never marry a plain woman, since his affections would always
be in danger of straying when he met a beauty. This incident in Haydn's
career would seem to support the philosopher's contention. For the rest,
it was probably harmless enough, for there is nothing to show that the
severer codes of morality were infringed.
The biographers of Haydn have not succeeded in discovering how the
Schroeter amourette ended. The letters printed by Mr Krehbiel are all
confined to the year 1792, and mention is nowhere made of any of later
date. When Haydn returned to London in 1794, he occupied rooms at No. 1
Bury Street, St James', and Pohl suggests that he may have owed the more
pleasant quarters to his old admirer, who would naturally be anxious to
have him as near her as possible. A short walk of ten minutes through St
James' Park and the Mall would bring him to Buckingham Palace, and
from that to Mrs Schroeter's was only a stone-throw. Whether the old
affectionate relations were resumed it is impossible to say. If there
were any letters of the second London visit, it is curious that Haydn
should not have preserved them with the rest. There is no ground for
supposing that any disagreement came between the pair: the facts point
rather the other way. When Haydn finally said farewell to London, he
left the scores of his six last symphonies "in the hands of a lady."
Pohl thinks the lady was Mrs Schroeter, and doubtless he is right.
At any rate Haydn's esteem for her, to use no stronger term, is
sufficiently emphasized by his having inscribed to her the three trios
numbered 1, 2 and 6 in the Breitkopf & Hartel list.
Haydn's Note-Book
Reference has already been made to the diary or note-book kept by Haydn
during his visit. The original manuscript of this curious document
came into the hands of his friend, Joseph Weigl, whose father had been
'cellist to Prince Esterhazy. A similar diary was kept during the
second visit, but this was lost; and indeed the first note-book narrowly
escaped destruction at the hands of a careless domestic. Haydn's
autograph was at one time in the possession of Dr Pohl. A copy of it
made by A. W. Thayer, the biographer of Beethoven, in 1862, became,
as previously stated, the property of Mr Krehbiel, who has printed
the entries, with running comment, in his "Music and Manners in the
Classical Period" (London, 1898). Mr Krehbiel rightly describes some
of the entries as mere "vague mnemonic hints," and adds that one entry
which descants in epigrammatic fashion on the comparative morals of the
women of France, Holland and England is unfit for publication. Looking
over the diary, it is instructive to observe how little reference
is made to music. One or two of the entries are plainly memoranda of
purchases to be made for friends. There is one note about the National
Debt of England, another about the trial of Warren Hastings. London, we
learn, has 4000 carts for cleaning the streets, and consumes annually
800,000 cartloads of coals. That scandalous book, the Memoirs of Mrs
Billington, which had just been published, forms the subject of a long
entry. "It is said that her [Mrs Billington's] character is very faulty,
but nevertheless she is a great genius, and all the women hate her
because she is so beautiful."
Prince of Wale's Punch
A note is made of the constituents of the Prince of Wales's punch--"One
bottle champagne, one bottle Burgundy, one bottle rum, ten lemons, two
oranges, pound and a half of sugar." A process for preserving milk "for
a long time" is also described. We read that on the 5th of November
(1791) "there was a fog so thick that one might have spread it on bread.
In order to write I had to light a candle as early as eleven o'clock."
Here is a curious item--"In the month of June 1792 a chicken, 7s.; an
Indian [a kind of bittern found in North America] 9s.; a dozen larks, 1
coron [? crown]. N.B.--If plucked, a duck, 5s."
Haydn liked a good story, and when he heard one made a note of it. The
diary contains two such stories. One is headed "Anectod," and runs: "At
a grand concert, as the director was about to begin the first number,
the kettledrummer called loudly to him, asking him to wait a moment,
because his two drums were not in tune. The leader could not and would
not wait any longer, and told the drummer to transpose for the present."
The second story is equally good. "An Archbishop of London, having asked
Parliament to silence a preacher of the Moravian religion who preached
in public, the Vice-President answered that could easily be done: only
make him a Bishop, and he would keep silent all his life."
On the whole the note-book cannot be described as of strong biographical
interest, but a reading of its contents as translated by Mr Krehbiel
will certainly help towards an appreciation of the personal character of
the composer.