JOSEPH HAYDN AND THE "SEVEN WORDS"
Joseph Haydn, that great musician, the father of the symphony and of all
modern music, has been neglected. We are too prone to forget that
concerts are, in a sense, museums in which the older schools of music
should be represented. Music is something besides a source of sensuous
pleasure and keen emotion, and this resource, precious as it is, is only
a chance corner in the wide realm of musical art. He who does not get
absolute pleasure from a simple series of well-constructed chords,
beautiful only in their arrangement, is not really fond of music. The
same is true of the one who does not prefer the first prelude of the
_Wohltemperirte Klavier_, played without gradations, just as the author
wrote it for the harpsichord, to the same prelude embellished with an
impassioned melody; or who does not prefer a popular melody of character
or a Gregorian chant without any accompaniment to a series of dissonant
and pretentious chords.
The directors of great concerts should love music themselves and should
lead the public to appreciate it. They should not allow the masters to
be forgotten, for their only fault was that they were not born in our
times and they never dreamed of attempting to satisfy the tastes of an
unborn generation. Above all, the directors should grant recognition to
masters like Joseph Haydn who were in advance of their own times and who
seem now and then to belong to our own.
The only examples of Joseph Haydn's immense work that the present
generation knows are two or three symphonies, rarely and perfunctorily
performed. This is the same as saying that we do not know him at all. No
musician was ever more prolific or showed a greater wealth of
imagination. When we examine this mine of jewels, we are astonished to
find at every step a gem which we would have attributed to the invention
of some modern or other. We are dazzled by their rays, and where we
expect black-and-whites we find pastels grown dim with time.
Of Haydn's one hundred and eighteen symphonies, many are simple trifles
written from day to day for Prince Esterhazy's little chapel, when the
master was musical director there. But after Haydn was called to London
by Salomon, a director of concerts, where he had a large orchestra at
his disposal, his genius took magnificent flights. Then he wrote great
symphonies and in them the clarinets for the first time unfolded the
resources from which the modern orchestra has profited so abundantly.
Originally the clarinet played a humble rôle, as the name indicates.
_Clarinetto_ is the diminutive of _clarino_, and the instrument was
invented to replace the shrill tones that the trumpet lost as it gained
in depth of tone.
Old editions of Haydn's symphonies show a picturesque arrangement, in
that the disposition of the orchestra is shown on the printed page.
Above, is a group made up of drums and the brass. In the center is a
second group--the flutes, oboes and bassoons, while the stringed
instruments are at the bottom of the page. When clarinets are used, they
are a part of the first group. This pretty arrangement has,
unfortunately, not been followed in the modern editions of these
symphonies. In the works written in London the clarinet has utterly
forgotten its origins. It has left the somewhat plebeian world of the
brasses and has gained admittance to the more refined society of the
woods. Haydn, in his first attempts, took advantage of the beautiful
heavy tones, "_chalumeau_," and the flexibility and marvellous range of
a beautiful instrument.
During his stay in London Haydn sketched an _Orfeo_ which he never
completed, as the theatre which ordered it failed before it was
finished. Only fragments of the work remain, and, fortunately enough,
these have been engraved in an orchestra score. These fragments are
uneven in value. The dialogue, or recitative, which should bind them
together was lost and so we are unable to judge them fairly. Among the
fragments is a brilliant aria on Eurydice which is rather ridiculous,
while another on Eurydice dying is charming. We also find music for
mysterious _English horns_; it is written as for clarinets in B flat and
reaches heights which are impossible for the instrument we now know as
the English horn. There is also a beautiful bass part. This has been
provided with Latin words and is sung in churches. This aria was
assigned to a Creon who does not appear in the other fragments. One
scene shows Eurydice running up and down the banks pursued by demons.
Another depicts the death of Orpheus, killed by the Bacchantes. This
score is a curiosity and nothing more, and a reading causes no regret
that the work was not completed.
Like Gluck, Joseph Haydn had the rare advantage of developing
constantly. He did not reach the height of his genius until an age when
the finest faculties are, ordinarily, in a decline. He astounded the
musical world with his _Creation_, in which he displayed a fertility of
imagination and a magnificence of orchestral richness that the oratorio
had never known before. Emboldened by his success he wrote the
_Seasons_, a colossal work, the most varied and the most picturesque in
the history of ancient or modern music. In this instance the oratorio is
no longer entirely religious. It gives an audacious picture of nature
with realistic touches which are astonishing even now. There is an
artistic imitation of the different sounds in nature, as the rustling of
the leaves, the songs of the birds in the woods and on the farm, and the
shrill notes of the insects. Above all that is the translation into
music of the profound emotions to which the different aspects of nature
give birth, as the freshness of the forests, the stifling heat before a
storm, the storm itself, and the wonderful sunset that follows. Then
there is a huntsman's chorus which strikes an entirely different note.
There are grape harvests, with the mad dances that follow them. There is
the winter, with a poignant introduction which reminds us of pages in
Schumann. But be reassured, the author does not leave us to the rigors
of the cold. He takes us into a farmhouse where the women are spinning
and where the peasants are drawn about the fire, listening to a funny
tale and laughing immoderately with a gaiety which has never been
surpassed.
But this gigantic work does not end without giving us a glimpse of
Heaven, for with one grand upward burst of flight, Haydn reaches the
realms where Handel and Beethoven preceded him. He equals them and ends
his picture in a dazzling blaze of light.
This is the sort of work of which the public remains in ignorance and
which it ought to know.
But all this is not what I started out to say. I wanted to write about a
delicate, touching, reserved and precious work by the same author--_The
Seven Words of Christ on the Cross_. This work has appeared in three
forms--for an orchestra and chorus, for an orchestra alone, and for a
quartet. When I was a young man, they used to say in Paris that this
work was originally written for a quartet, then developed for an
orchestra, and, finally, the voices were added.
Chance took me to Cadiz, once upon a time, and there I was given the
true story of this beautiful piece of work. To my astonishment I learned
that it had been first performed in the city of Cadiz. They even spoke
of a competition in which Haydn won the prize, but there was never any
such contest. The work was ordered from the author, but the question is
who ordered it. Two religious circles, the Cathedral and the Cueva del
Rosario, both lay claim to the initiative. I have gone over all the
evidence in this dispute which is of little interest to us, for the only
interest is the origin of the composition. There is not the slightest
doubt that the _Seven Words_ was written in the first place for an
orchestra in 1785, and its destination, as we shall see, was settled by
the author himself.
In his _Memoires pour la Biographie et la Bibliographie de l'ile de
Cadix_, Don Francisco de Miton, Marquis de Meritos, relates that he
corresponded with Haydn and ordered this composition which was to be
performed at the Cathedral in Cadiz. According to his account Haydn said
that "the composition was due more to what Señor Milton wrote than to
his own invention, for it showed every motif so marvellously that on
reading the instructions he seemed to read the music itself."
If the Marquis was not boasting, we must confess that the ingenuous
Haydn was not so ingenuous as has been thought, and that he knew how to
flatter his patrons.
In 1801 Breitkopf and Haertel published the work with the addition of
the vocal parts at Leipzig. This edition had a preface by the author in
which he said:
About fifteen years ago, a curé at Cadiz engaged me to write some
passages of instrumental music on the Seven Words of Christ on the
Cross. It was the custom at that time to play an oratorio at the
Cathedral during Holy Week, and they took great pains to give as
much solemnity as possible. The walls, the windows and the pillars
of the church were hung in black, and only a single light in the
centre shone in the sanctuary. The doors were closed at mid-day and
the orchestra began to play. After the opening ceremonies the
bishop entered the pulpit, pronounced one of the "Seven Words" and
delivered a few words inspired by it. Then he descended, knelt
before the altar, and remained there for some time. This pause was
relieved by the music. The bishop ascended and descended six times
more and each time, after his homily, music was played. My music
was to be adapted to these ceremonies.
The problem of writing seven _adagios_ to be performed
consecutively, each one to last ten minutes, without wearying the
audience, was not an easy one to solve, and I soon recognized the
impossibility of making my music conform to the prescribed limits.
The work was written and printed without words. Later the
opportunity of adding them was offered, so the oratorio which
Breitkopf and Haertel publish to-day is a complete work and, so far
as the vocal part is concerned, entirely new.
The kind reception which it has received among amateurs makes me
hope that the entire public will welcome it with the same kindness.
Haydn feared to weary his hearers. Our modern bards have no such vain
scruple.
Michel Haydn, Joseph's brother and the author of some highly esteemed
religious compositions, has been generally credited with the addition of
the vocal parts to the _Seven Words_. Joseph Haydn did not say that this
was the case, but it would seem that if he did the work himself he would
have said so in his preface.
This vocal part, however, adds nothing to the value of the work. And it
is of no great consequence who the author of the arrangement for the
quartet was. At the time there were many amateurs who played on
stringed instruments. They used to meet frequently and everything in
music was arranged for quartets just as now everything is arranged for
piano duets. Some of Beethoven's sonatas were arranged in this form. The
piano killed the quartet, and it is a great pity, for the quartet is the
purest form of instrumental music. It is the first form--the fountain of
Hippocrene. Now instrumental music drinks from every cup and the result
is that many times it seems drunk.
To return to the _Seven Words_. Their symphonic form is the only one
worth considering. They are eloquent enough without the aid of voices,
for their charm penetrates. Unlike the _Creation_ and the _Seasons_ they
do not demand extraordinary means of execution, and nothing is easier
than to give them.
The opera houses are closed on Good Friday, and it used to be the custom
to give evening concerts, vaguely termed "Sacred Concerts," because
their programmes were made up wholly or in part of religious music. This
good custom has disappeared and with it the opportunity to give the
public such delightful works as the _Seven Words_, and so many other
things which harmonize with the character of the day.
At one of these Sacred Concerts, Pasdeloup presented on the same evening
the _Credo_ from Liszt's _Missa Solemnis_ and the one from Cherubini's
_Messe du Sacre_. Liszt's _Credo_ was received with a storm of hisses,
while Cherubini's was praised to the skies. I could not help thinking--I
was somewhat unjust, for Cherubini's work has merit--of the people of
Jerusalem who acclaimed Barrabas and demanded the crucifixion of Jesus.
To-day Liszt's _Credo_ is received with wild applause--Victor Hugo did
his part-while Cherubini's is never revived.