CHAPTER VI. SECOND LONDON VISIT—1794-1795
Beethoven—Takes Lessons from Haydn—The Relations of the Two Composers—The Haydn Museum—Haydn starts for London—His Servant Elssler—The Salomon Concerts—A "Smart" Drummer—New Acquaintances—Haydn at Bath—Opera Concerts—Kingly Courtesies—A Valuable Parrot—Rohrau Reminiscences—Esterhaz once more—The "Austrian Hymn"—Haydn's Love for It—A Charge of Plagiarism.
Haydn left London some time towards the end of June 1792. He had intended to visit Berlin, in response to an invitation from King Frederick William II., but he altered his route in order to meet Prince Anton Esterhazy, who was at Frankfort for the coronation of the Emperor Francis II.
Beethoven
A more interesting meeting took place at Bonn. Beethoven, then a young man of twenty-two, was still living with his people in the Wenzegasse, but already arrangements had been made by the Elector for his paying a somewhat lengthened visit to Vienna in order to prosecute his studies there. Since the death of Mozart, Haydn had become the most brilliant star in the musical firmament, and it was only natural that the rising genius should look to him for practical help and encouragement. It so happened that the Elector's Band, of which Beethoven was a member, gave a dinner to Haydn at Godesberg. The occasion was opportune. Beethoven submitted a cantata to the guest of the evening which Haydn "greatly praised, warmly encouraging the composer to proceed with his studies." The name of the cantata has not been ascertained, though Thayer conjectures it to have been on the death of the Emperor Leopold II.
Whatever it was, the fact of Haydn's approval would make it an easy matter to discuss the subject of lessons, whether now or later. Beethoven did not start for Vienna until November, and it appears that immediately before that date some formal communication had been made with Haydn in reference to his studies. On the 29th of October Count Waldstein wrote:
"DEAR BEETHOVEN,—You are travelling to Vienna in fulfillment of your long-cherished wish. The genius of Mozart is still weeping and bewailing the death of her favourite. With the inexhaustible Haydn she found a refuge, but no occupation, and is now waiting to leave him and join herself to someone else. Labour assiduously, and receive Mozart's spirit from the hands of Haydn."
This was not exactly complimentary to Haydn, but Beethoven doubtless had the good sense not to repeat the count's words. When the young artist arrived in Vienna, he found Haydn living at the Hamberger Haus, No. 992 (since demolished), and thither he went for his lessons. From Beethoven's own notes of expenses we find that his first payment was made to Haydn on December 12. The sum entered is 8 groschen (about 9 1/2 d.), which shows at least that Haydn was not extravagant in his charges.
Master and Pupil
Beethoven's studies were in strict counterpoint, and the text-book was that same "Gradus ad Parnassum" of Fux which Haydn had himself contended with in the old days at St Stephen's. How many exercises Beethoven wrote cannot be said, but 245 have been preserved, of which, according to Nottebohm, Haydn corrected only forty-two. Much ink has been wasted in discussing the relations of these distinguished composers. There is no denying that Haydn neglected his young pupil, but one may find another excuse for the neglect besides that of his increasing age and his engrossing occupations. Beethoven was already a musical revolutionist: Haydn was content to walk in the old ways. The two men belonged almost to different centuries, and the disposition which the younger artist had for "splendid experiments" must have seemed to the mature musician little better than madness and licentious irregularity. "He will never do anything in decent style," was Albrechtsberger's dictum after giving Beethoven a series of lessons.
Haydn's opinion of Beethoven's future was not so dogmatically expressed; but he must have been sorely puzzled by a pupil who looked upon even consecutive fifths as an open question, and thought it a good thing to "learn occasionally what is according to rule that one may hereafter come to what is contrary to rule." It is said that Haydn persisted in regarding Beethoven, not as a composer at all but as a pianoforte player; and certainly Beethoven regarded Haydn as being behind the age. That he was unjust to Haydn cannot be gainsaid. He even went so far as to suspect Haydn of willfully trying to retard him in his studies, a proceeding of which Haydn was altogether incapable. For many years he continued to discharge splenetic remarks about his music, and he was always annoyed at being called his pupil. "I never learned anything from Haydn," he would say; "he never would correct my mistakes." When, the day after the production of his ballet music to Prometheus, he met Haydn in the street, the old man observed to him: "I heard your music last night; I liked it very well." To which Beethoven, alluding to Haydn's oratorio, replied: "Oh! dear master, it is far from being a CREATION." The doubtful sincerity of this remark may be inferred from an anecdote quoted by Moscheles. Haydn had been told that Beethoven was speaking depreciatingly of "The Creation." "That is wrong of him," he said. "What has HE written, then? His Septet? Certainly that is beautiful; nay, splendid."
Beethoven on Haydn
It is hardly necessary to say who comes out best in these passages at arms. Yet we must not be too hard on Beethoven. That he recognized Haydn's genius as a composer no careful reader of his biography can fail to see. As Pohl takes pains to point out, he spoke highly of Haydn whenever opportunity offered, often chose one of his themes when improvising in public, scored one of his quartets for his own use, and lovingly preserved the autograph of one of the English symphonies. That he came in the end to realize his true greatness is amply proved by the story already related which represents him as exclaiming on his death-bed upon the fact of Haydn having been born in a common peasant's cottage.
In the meantime, although Beethoven was dissatisfied with his progress under Haydn, there was no open breach between the two. It is true that the young musician sought another teacher—one Schenck, a well-known Viennese composer—but this was done without Haydn's knowledge, out of consideration, we may assume, for his feelings. That master and pupil were still on the best of terms may be gathered from their having been at Eisenstadt together during the summer of 1793. In the January of the following year Haydn set out on his second visit to England, and Beethoven transferred himself to Albrechtsberger.
The Haydn Museum
Haydn's life in Vienna during the eighteen months which intervened between the two London visits was almost totally devoid of incident. His wife, it will be remembered, had written to him in England, asking for money to buy a certain house which she fancied for a "widow's home." Haydn was astute enough not to send the money, but on his return to Vienna, finding the house in every way to his liking, he bought it himself. Frau Haydn died seven years later, "and now," said the composer, speaking in 1806, "I am living in it as a widower." The house is situated in the suburb of Vienna known as Gumpendorf. It is No. 19 of the Haydngasse and bears a marble memorial tablet, affixed to it in 1840. The pious care of the composer's admirers has preserved it almost exactly as it was in Haydn's day, and has turned it into a kind of museum containing portraits and mementoes of the master, the original manuscript of "The Creation," and other interesting relics.
Starts for London
Haydn started on his journey to England on January 19, 1794, Salomon having brought him, under a promise to return with six new symphonies which he was to conduct in person. This time he travelled down the Rhine, and he had not been many days on the way when news reached him of the death of Prince Anton Esterhazy, who had very reluctantly given him leave of absence. On the occasion of the first London visit Salomon had been his travelling companion; now, feeling doubtless the encumbrance of increasing years, Haydn took his servant and copyist, Johann Elssler, along with him.
Honest Elssler
It may be noted in passing that he entertained a very warm regard for Elssler, whose father had been music copyist to Prince Esterhazy. He was born at Eisenstadt in 1769, and, according to Pohl, lived the whole of his life with Haydn, first as copyist, and then as general servant and factotum. It was Elssler who tended the composer in his last years, a service recompensed by the handsome bequest of 6000 florins, which he lived to enjoy until 1843. No man, it has been said, is a hero to his valet, but "Haydn was to Elssler a constant subject of veneration, which he carried so far that when he thought himself unobserved he would stop with the censer before his master's portrait as if it were the altar." This "true and honest servant" copied a large amount of Haydn's music, partly in score, partly in separate parts, much of which is now treasured as the autograph of Haydn, though the handwritings of the two are essentially different. It is a pity that none of the earlier writers on Haydn thought of applying to Elssler for particulars of the private life of the composer. He could have given information on many obscure points, and could have amplified the details of this second London visit, about which we know much less than we know about the former visit.
The Salomon Concerts
Salomon's first concert had been arranged for the 3rd of February, but Haydn did not arrive until the 4th, and the series accordingly began upon the 10th. Twelve concerts were given in all, and with the most brilliant success. The six new symphonies commissioned by Salomon were performed, and the previous set were also repeated, along with some new quartets. Of the many contemporary notices of the period, perhaps the most interesting is that which appears in the Journal of Luxury and Fashion, published at Weimar in July 1794. It is in the form of a London letter, written on March 25, under the heading of "On the Present State and Fashion of Music in England." After speaking of Salomon's efforts on behalf of classical music and of the praise due to him for his performance of the quartets of "our old favourite, Haydn," the writer continues: "But what would you now say to his new symphonies composed expressly for these concerts, and directed by himself at the piano? It is truly wonderful what sublime and august thoughts this master weaves into his works. Passages often occur which render it impossible to listen to them without becoming excited. We are altogether carried away by admiration, and forced to applaud with hand and mouth. This is especially the case with Frenchmen, of whom we have so many here that all public places are filled with them. You know that they have great sensibility, and cannot restrain their transports, so that in the midst of the finest passages in soft adagios they clap their hands in loud applause and thus mar the effect. In every symphony of Haydn the adagio or andante is sure to be repeated each time, after the most vehement encores. The worthy Haydn, whose personal acquaintance I highly value, conducts himself on these occasions in the most modest manner. He is indeed a good-hearted, candid, honest man, esteemed and beloved by all."
Several notable incidents occurred at the Salomon Concerts. It has been remarked, as "an event of some interest in musical history," that Haydn and Wilhelm Cramer appeared together at one concert, Cramer as leader of the orchestra, Haydn conducting from the pianoforte. But Cramer was not a genius of the first rank—his compositions are of the slightest importance—and there was nothing singular about his appearing along with Haydn. He had been leader at the Handel Festivals at Westminster Abbey in 1784 and 1787, and was just the man to be engaged for an enterprise like that of Salomon's.
A "Smart" Drummer
An anecdote told of Haydn in connection with one of the rehearsals is better worth noting. The drummer was found to be absent. "Can anyone here play the drum?" inquired Haydn, looking round from his seat at the piano. "I can," promptly replied young George (afterwards Sir George) Smart, who was sitting among the violinists. Smart, who lived to become the doyen of the musical profession in England, had never handled a drumstick before, and naturally failed to satisfy the conductor. Haydn took the drumstick from him and "showed to the astonished orchestra a new and unexpected attitude in their leader." Then, turning to Smart, he remarked: "That is how we use the drumsticks in Germany." "Oh, very well," replied the unabashed youth, "if you like it better in that way we can also do it so in London."
New Acquaintances
Haydn made several new acquaintances during this visit, the most notable being, perhaps, Dragonetti, the famous double-bass player, who had accompanied Banti, the eminent prima donna, to London in 1794. Banti had been discovered as a chanteuse in a Paris cafe, and afterwards attracted much notice by her fine voice both in Paris and London. "She is the first singer in Italy, and drinks a bottle of wine every day," said one who knew her. In her journeys through Germany, Austria and Italy she won many triumphs. Haydn composed for her an air, "Non Partir," in E, which she sang at his benefit. As for "Old Drag," the familiar designation of the distinguished bassist, his eccentricities must have provided Haydn with no little amusement. He always took his dog Carlo with him into the orchestra, and Henry Phillips tells us that, having a strange weakness for dolls, he often carried one of them to the festivals as his wife! On his way to Italy in 1798 Dragonetti visited Haydn in Vienna, and was much delighted with the score of "The Creation," just completed. Several eminent violinists were in London at the time of Haydn's visit. The most distinguished of them was perhaps Felice de Giardini, who, at the age of fourscore, produced an oratorio at Ranelagh Gardens, and even played a concerto. He had a perfectly volcanic temper, and hated Haydn as the devil is said to hate holy water. "I don't wish to see the German dog," he remarked in the composer's hearing, when urged to pay him a visit. Haydn, as a rule, was kindly disposed to all brother artists, but to be called a dog was too much, He went to hear Giardini, and then got even with him by noting in his diary that he "played like a pig."
The accounts preserved of Haydn's second visit to England are, as already remarked, far less full than those of the first visit. Unconnected memoranda appear in his diary, some of which are given by Griesinger and Dies; but they are of comparatively little interest. During the summer of 1794 he moved about the country a good deal. Thus, about the 26th of August, he paid a visit to Waverley Abbey, whose "Annales Waverliensis" suggested to Scott the name of his first romance. The ruined condition of the venerable pile—it dates from 1128—set Haydn moralizing on the "Protestant heresy" which led the "rascal mob" to tear down "what had once been a stronghold of his own religion."
Haydn at Bath
In the following month he spent three days in Bath with Dr Burney, and Rauzzini, the famous tenor, who had retired to the fashionable watering-place after a successful career of thirteen years as a singer and teacher in London. Rauzzini is little more than a name now, but for Haydn's sake it is worth recalling his memory. Born at Rome in 1747, his striking beauty of face and figure had drawn him into certain entanglements which made it expedient for him to leave his native land. He was as fond of animals as Dragonetti was of dolls, and had erected a memorial tablet in his garden to his "best friend," otherwise his dog. "Turk was a faithful dog and not a man," ran the inscription, which reminds one of Schopenhauer's cynical observation that if it were not for the honest faces of dogs, we should forget the very existence of sincerity. When Haydn read the inscription he immediately proceeded to make use of the words for a four-part canon. It was presumably at this time that he became acquainted with Dr Henry Harington, the musician and author, who had removed to Bath in 1771, where he had founded the Harmonic Society. Haydn dedicated one of his songs to him in return for certain music and verses, which explains the following otherwise cryptic note of Clementi's, published for the first time recently by Mr J. S. Shedlock: "The first Dr [Harington] having bestowed much praise on the second Dr [Haydn], the said second Dr, out of doctorial gratitude, returns the 1st Dr thanks for all favours recd., and praises in his turn the said 1st Dr most handsomely." The title of Haydn's song was "Dr Harington's Compliments."
Opera Concerts
The composer returned to London at the beginning of October for the winter season's concerts. These began, as before, in February, and were continued once a week up to the month of May. This time they took the form of opera concerts, and were given at the "National School of Music" in the new concert-room of the King's Theatre. No fresh symphonies were contributed by Haydn for this series, though some of the old ones always found a place in the programmes. Two extra concerts were given on May 21 and June 1, at both of which Haydn appeared; but the composer's last benefit concert was held on May 4. On this occasion the programme was entirely confined to his own compositions, with the exception of concertos by Viotti, the violinist, and Ferlendis, the oboist. Banti sang the aria already mentioned as having been written expressly for her, but, according to the composer, "sang very scanty." The main thing, however, was that the concert proved a financial success, the net receipts amounting to 400 pounds. "It is only in England," said Haydn, "that one can make 4000 gulden in one evening."
Haydn did indeed remarkably well in London. As Pohl says, "he returned from it with increased powers, unlimited fame, and a competence for life. By concerts, lessons, and symphonies, not counting his other compositions, he had again made 1200 pounds, enough to relieve him from all anxiety as to the future. He often said afterwards that it was not till he had been to England that he became famous in Germany; by which he meant that although his reputation was high at home, the English were the first to give him public homage and liberal remuneration."
Kingly Courtesies
It is superfluous to say that Haydn was as much of a "lion" in London society during his second visit as he had been on the previous occasion. The attention bestowed on him in royal circles made that certain, for "society" are sheep, and royalty is their bell-wether. The Prince of Wales had rather a fancy for him, and commanded his attendance at Carlton House no fewer than twenty-six times. At one concert at York House the programme was entirely devoted to his music. George III and Queen Caroline were present, and Haydn was presented to the King by the Prince. "You have written a great deal, Dr Haydn," said the King. "Yes, sire," was the reply; "more than is good for me." "Certainly not," rejoined His Majesty. He was then presented to the Queen, and asked to sing some German songs. "My voice," he said, pointing to the tip of his little finger, "is now no bigger than that"; but he sat down to the pianoforte and sang his song, "Ich bin der Verliebteste." He was repeatedly invited by the Queen to Buckingham Palace, and she tried to persuade him to settle in England. "You shall have a house at Windsor during the summer months," she said, and then, looking towards the King, added, "We can sometimes make music tete-a-tete." "Oh! I am not jealous of Haydn," interposed the King; "he is a good, honourable German." "To preserve that reputation," replied Haydn, "is my greatest pride."
Most of Haydn's appearances were made at the concerts regularly organized for the entertainment of royalty at Carlton House and Buckingham Palace, and Haydn looked to be paid for his services. Whether the King and the Prince expected him to give these services in return for the supposed honour they had conferred upon him does not appear. At all events, Haydn sent in a bill for 100 guineas sometime after his return to Vienna, and the amount was promptly paid by Parliament.
A Valuable Parrot
Among the other attentions bestowed upon him while in London, mention should be made of the present of a talking parrot. Haydn took the bird with him, and it was sold for 140 pounds after his death. Another gift followed him to Vienna. A Leicester manufacturer named Gardiner—he wrote a book on The Music of Nature, and other works—sent him half a dozen pairs of cotton stockings, into which were woven the notes of the Austrian Hymn, "My mother bids me bind my hair," the Andante from the "Surprise" Symphony, and other thematic material. These musical stockings, as a wit has observed, must have come as a REAL surprise to Haydn. It was this same Leicester manufacturer, we may remark parenthetically, who annotated the translation of Bombet's Life of Haydn, made by his fellow-townsman, Robert Brewin, in 1817.
Haydn's return from London was hastened by the receipt of a communication from Esterhaz. Prince Anton had been succeeded by his son Nicolaus, who was as fond of music as the rest of his family, and desired to keep his musical establishment up to the old standard. During the summer of 1794 he had written to Haydn, asking if the composer would care to retain his appointment as director. Haydn was only too glad to assent; and now that his London engagements were fulfilled, he saw no reason for remaining longer in England. Accordingly he started for home on the 15th of August 1795, travelling by way of Hamburg, Berlin and Dresden, and arriving at Vienna in the early days of September.
Rohrau Reminiscences
Soon after his return he was surprised to receive an invitation to visit his native Rohrau. When he arrived there he found that a monument, with a marble bust of himself, had been erected to his honour in a park near his birthplace. This interesting memorial consists of a square pillar surmounting three stone steps, with an inscription on each side. The visit was productive of mingled feelings to Haydn. He took his friends to see the old thatch-roofed cottage, and, pointing to the familiar stove, still in its place, modestly remarked that there his career as a musician began—a reminiscence of the now far-away time when he sat by his father's side and sawed away on his improvised fiddle.
Esterhaz once more
There is little to say about Haydn's labours as Capellmeister of the Esterhazy household at this time. Apparently he was only at Eisenstadt for the summer and autumn. Down to 1802, however, he always had a mass ready for Princess Esterhazy's name-day in September. These compositions are Nos. 2, 1, 3, 16, 4 and 6 of the Novello edition. No. 2, Pohl tells us, was composed in 1796, and called the "Paukenmesse," from the fact of the drums being used in the Agnus. No. 3 was written in 1797. It is known in England as the Imperial Mass, but in Germany as "Die Nelsonmesse," on account of its having been performed during Nelson's visit to Eisenstadt in 1800. On that occasion Nelson asked Haydn for his pen, and gave him his own gold watch in exchange.
The Austrian Hymn
It was shortly after his return to Vienna—in January 1797, to be precise—that he composed his favourite air, "God preserve the Emperor," better known as the Austrian Hymn. The story of this celebrated composition is worth telling with some minuteness. Its inception was due to Count von Saurau, Imperial High Chancellor and Minister of the Interior. Writing in 1820, the count said:
I often regretted that we had not, like the English, a national air calculated to display to all the world the loyal devotion of our people to the kind and upright ruler of our Fatherland, and to awaken within the hearts of all good Austrians that noble national pride so indispensable to the energetic fulfillment of all the beneficial measures of the sovereign. This seemed to me more urgent at a period when the French Revolution was raging most furiously, and when the Jacobins cherished the idle hope of finding among the worthy Viennese partisans and participators in their criminal designs. [The scandalous Jacobin persecutions and executions in Austria and Hungary took place in 1796]. I caused that meritorious poet Haschka to write the words, and applied to our immortal countryman Haydn to set them to music, for I considered him alone capable of writing anything approaching in merit to the English "God save the King." Such was the origin of our national hymn.
It would not have been difficult to match "God save the King," the mediocrity of which, especially as regards the words, has been the butt of countless satirists. Beethoven wrote in his diary that he "must show the English what a blessing they have" in that "national disgrace." If Haydn regarded it as a "blessing," he certainly did not take it as a model. He produced an air which, looking at it from a purely artistic point of view, is the best thing of the national anthem kind that has ever been written. The Emperor was enchanted with it when sung on his birthday, February 12, 1797, at the National Theatre in Vienna, and through Count Saurau sent the composer a gold box adorned with a facsimile of the royal features. "Such a surprise and such a mark of favour, especially as regards the portrait of my beloved monarch," wrote Haydn, "I never before received in acknowledgment of my poor talents."
Haydn's Love for It
We have several indications of Haydn's predilection for this fine air, which has long been popular as a hymn tune in all the churches. He wrote a set of variations for it as the Andante of his "Kaiser Quartet." Griesinger tells us, too, that as often as the warm weather and his strength permitted, during the last few years of his life, he used to be led into his back room that he might play it on the piano. It is further related by Dies that, during the bombardment of Vienna in May 1809, Haydn seated himself at his instrument every forenoon to give forth the sound of the favourite song. Indeed, on May 26, only five days before his death, he played it over three times in succession, and "with a degree of expression that astonished himself." As one writer puts it, the air "seemed to have acquired a certain sacredness in his eyes in an age when kings were beheaded and their crowns tossed to the rabble."
Haydn's first sketch of the melody was found among his papers after his death. We reproduce it here, with an improvement shown in small notes. There are, it will be observed, some slight differences between the draft and the published version of the air:
[figure: a musical score excerpt from the draft]
[figure: a musical score excerpt from the published version]
The collecting of what Tennyson called "the chips of the workshop" is not as a rule an edifying business, but the evolution of a great national air must always be interesting.
Plagiarism or Coincidence?
It might perhaps be added that Dr Kuhac, the highest authority on Croatian folk-song, asserted in an article contributed to the Croatian Review (1893) that the Austrian National Hymn was based on a Croatian popular air. In reviewing Kuhac's collection of Croatian melodies, a work in four volumes, containing 1600 examples, Dr Reimann signifies his agreement with Kuhac, and adds that Haydn employed Croatian themes not only in "God preserve the Emperor," but in many passages of his other works. These statements must not be taken too seriously. Handel purloined wholesale from brother composers and said nothing about it. The artistic morality of Haydn's age was different, and, knowing his character as we do, we may be perfectly sure that if he had of set purpose introduced into any of his compositions music which was not his own he would, in some way or other, have acknowledged the debt. This hunting for plagiarisms which are not plagiarisms at all but mere coincidences—coincidences which are and must be inevitable—is fast becoming a nuisance, and it is the duty of every serious writer to discredit the practice. The composer of "The Creation" had no need to borrow his melodies from any source.
CHAPTER VII. "THE CREATION" AND "THE SEASONS"
Haydn's Crowning Achievement—"The Creation" suggested—The "Unintelligible Jargon" of the Libretto—The Stimulating Effect of London—Haydn's Self-Criticism—First Performance of "The Creation"—London Performances—French Enthusiasm—The Oratorio criticized—"The Seasons."
Haydn's Crowning Achievement
Haydn rounded his life with "The Creation" and "The Seasons." They were the summit of his achievement, as little to be expected from him, considering his years, as "Falstaff" was to be expected from the octogenarian Verdi. Some geniuses flower late. It was only now, by his London symphonies and his "Creation," that Haydn's genius blossomed so luxuriantly as to place him with almost amazing suddenness among the very first of composers. There is hardly anything more certain than this, that if he had not come to London he would not have stood where he stands to-day. The best of his symphonies were written for London; and it was London, in effect, that set him to work in what was for him practically a new direction, leading to the production of an oratorio which at once took its place by the side of Handel's master-pieces, and rose to a popularity second only to that of "The Messiah" itself.
"The Creation" suggested
The connection thus established between the names of Handel and Haydn is interesting, for there can be little question that Haydn was led to think of writing a large choral work chiefly as the result of frequently hearing Handel's oratorios during his visits to the metropolis. The credit of suggesting "The Creation" to Haydn is indeed assigned to Salomon, but it is more than probable that the matter had already been occupying his thoughts. It has been explicitly stated [See note by C.H. Purday in Leisure Hour for 1880, p. 528.] that, being greatly impressed with the effect produced by "The Messiah," Haydn intimated to his friend Barthelemon his desire to compose a work of the same kind. He asked Barthelemon what subject he would advise for such a purpose, and Barthelemon, pointing to a copy of the Bible, replied: "There! take that, and begin at the beginning." This story is told on apparently good authority. But it hardly fits in with the statements of biographers. According to the biographers, Salomon handed the composer a libretto originally selected for Handel from Genesis and Paradise Lost by Mr Lidley or Liddell. That this was the libretto used by Haydn is certain, and we may therefore accept it as a fact that Haydn's most notable achievement in choral music was due in great measure to the man who had brought him to London, and had drawn from him the finest of his instrumental works.
"The Creation" Libretto
Before proceeding further we may deal finally with the libretto of "The Creation." The "unintelligible jargon" which disfigures Haydn's immortal work has often formed the subject of comment; and assuredly nothing that can be said of it can well be too severe. "The Creation" libretto stands to the present day as an example of all that is jejune and incongruous in words for music. The theme has in itself so many elements of inspiration that it is a matter for wonder how, for more than a century, English-speaking audiences have listened to the arrant nonsense with which Haydn's music is associated. As has been well observed, "the suburban love-making of our first parents, and the lengthy references to the habits of the worm and the leviathan are almost more than modern flesh and blood can endure." Many years ago a leading musical critic wrote that there ought to be enough value, monetarily speaking, in "The Creation" to make it worth while preparing a fresh libretto; for, said he, "the present one seems only fit for the nursery, to use in connection with Noah's ark." At the Norwich Festival performance of the oratorio in 1872, the words were, in fact, altered, but in all the published editions of the work the text remains as it was. It is usual to credit the composer's friend, Baron van Swieten, with the "unintelligible jargon." The baron certainly had a considerable hand in the adaptation of the text. But in reality it owes its very uncouth verbiage largely to the circumstance that it was first translated from English into German, and then re-translated back into English; the words, with the exception of the first chorus, being adapted to the music. Considering the ways of translators, the best libretto in the world could not but have suffered under such transformations, and it is doing a real injustice to the memory of Baron Swieten, the good friend of more than one composer, to hold him up needlessly to ridicule. [In one of George Thomson's letters to Mrs Hunter we read: "It it is not the first time that your muse and Haydn's have met, as we see from the beautiful canzonets. Would he had been directed by you about the words to 'The Creation'! It is lamentable to see such divine music joined with such miserable broken English. He (Haydn) wrote me lately that in three years, by the performance of 'The Creation' and 'The Seasons' at Vienna, 40,000 florins had been raised for the poor families of musicians."]
The Stimulus of London
Haydn set to work on "The Creation" with all the ardour of a first love. Naumann suggests that his high spirits were due to the "enthusiastic plaudits of the English people," and that the birth of both "The Creation" and "The Seasons" was "unquestionably owing to the new man he felt within himself after his visit to England." There was now, in short, burning within his breast, "a spirit of conscious strength which he knew not he possessed, or knowing, was unaware of its true worth." This is somewhat exaggerated. Handel wrote "The Messiah" in twenty-four days; it took Haydn the best part of eighteen months to complete "The Creation," from which we may infer that "the sad laws of time" had not stopped their operation simply because he had been to London. No doubt, as we have already more than hinted, he was roused and stimulated by the new scenes and the unfamiliar modes of life which he saw and experienced in England. His temporary release from the fetters of official life had also an exhilarating influence. So much we learn indeed from himself. Thus, writing from London to Frau von Genzinger, he says: "Oh, my dear, good lady, how sweet is some degree of liberty! I had a kind prince, but was obliged at times to be dependent on base souls. I often sighed for freedom, and now I have it in some measure. I am quite sensible of this benefit, though my mind is burdened with more work. The consciousness of being no longer a bond-servant sweetens all my toils." If this liberty, this contact with new people and new forms of existence, had come to Haydn twenty years earlier, it might have altered the whole current of his career. But it did not help him much in the actual composition of "The Creation," which he found rather a tax, alike on his inspiration and his physical powers. Writing to Breitkopf & Hartel on June 12, 1799, he says: "The world daily pays me many compliments, even on the fire of my last works; but no one could believe the strain and effort it costs me to produce these, inasmuch as many a day my feeble memory and the unstrung state of my nerves so completely crush me to the earth, that I fall into the most melancholy condition, so much so that for days afterwards I am incapable of finding one single idea, till at length my heart is revived by Providence, when I seat myself at the piano and begin once more to hammer away at it. Then all goes well again, God be praised!"
Self-Criticism
In the same letter he remarks that, "as for myself, now an old man, I hope the critics may not handle my 'Creation' with too great severity, and be too hard on it. They may perhaps find the musical orthography faulty in various passages, and perhaps other things also which I have for so many years been accustomed to consider as minor points; but the genuine connoisseur will see the real cause as readily as I do, and will willingly cast aside such stumbling blocks." It is impossible to miss the significance of all this.
[At this point in the original book, a facsimile of a letter regarding "The Creation" takes up the entire next page.]
Certainly it ought to be taken into account in any critical estimate of "The Creation"; for when a man admits his own shortcomings it is ungracious, to say the least, for an outsider to insist upon them. It is obvious at any rate that Haydn undertook the composition of the oratorio in no light-hearted spirit. "Never was I so pious," he says, "as when composing 'The Creation.' I felt myself so penetrated with religious feeling that before I sat down to the pianoforte I prayed to God with earnestness that He would enable me to praise Him worthily." In the lives of the great composers there is only one parallel to this frame of mind—the religious fervour in which Handel composed "The Messiah."
First Performance of the Oratorio
The first performance of "The Creation" was of a purely private nature. It took place at the Schwartzenburg Palace, Vienna, on the 29th of April 1798, the performers being a body of dilettanti, with Haydn presiding over the orchestra. Van Swieten had been exerting himself to raise a guarantee fund for the composer, and the entire proceeds of the performance, amounting to 350 pounds, were paid over to him. Haydn was unable to describe his sensations during the progress of the work. "One moment," he says, "I was as cold as ice, the next I seemed on fire; more than once I thought I should have a fit." A year later, on the 19th of March 1799, to give the exact date, the oratorio was first heard publicly at the National Theatre in Vienna, when it produced the greatest effect. The play-bill announcing the performance (see next page) had a very ornamental border, and was, of course, in German.
[At this point in the original book, a facsimile of the first play-bill for "The Creation" takes up the entire next page.]
Next year the score was published by Breitkopf & Hartel, and no fewer than 510 copies, nearly half the number subscribed for, came to England. The title-page was printed both in German and English, the latter reading as follows: "The Creation: an Oratorio composed by Joseph Haydn, Doctor of Musik, and member of the Royal Society of Musik, in Sweden, in actuel (sic) service of His Highness the Prince of Esterhazy, Vienna, 1800." Clementi had just set up a musical establishment in London, and on August 22, 1800, we find Haydn writing to his publishers to complain that he was in some danger of losing 2000 gulden by Clementi's non-receipt of a consignment of copies.
London Performances
Salomon, strangely enough, had threatened Haydn with penalties for pirating his text, but he thought better of the matter, and now wrote to the composer for a copy of the score, so that he might produce the oratorio in London. He was, however, forestalled by Ashley, who was at that time giving performances of oratorio at Covent Garden Theatre, and who brought forward the new work on the 28th of March (1800). An amusing anecdote is told in this connection. The score arrived by a King's messenger from Vienna on Saturday, March 22, at nine o'clock in the evening. It was handed to Thomas Goodwin, the copyist of the theatre, who immediately had the parts copied out for 120 performers. The performance was on the Friday evening following, and when Mr Harris, the proprietor of the theatre, complimented all parties concerned on their expedition, Goodwin, with ready wit, replied: "Sir, we have humbly emulated a great example; it is not the first time that the Creation has been completed in six days." Salomon followed on the 21st of April with a performance at the King's Theatre, Mara and Dussek taking the principal parts. Mara remarked that it was the first time she had accompanied an orchestra!
French Enthusiasm
Strange to say—for oratorio has never been much at home in France—"The Creation" was received with immense enthusiasm in Paris when it was first performed there in the summer of this same year. Indeed, the applause was so great that the artists, in a fit of transport, and to show their personal regard for the composer, resolved to present him with a large gold medal. The medal was designed by the famous engraver, Gateaux. It was adorned on one side with a likeness of Haydn, and on the other side with an ancient lyre, over which a flame flickered in the midst of a circle of stars. The inscription ran: "Homage a Haydn par les Musiciens qui ont execute l'oratorio de la Creation du Monde au Theatre des Arts l'au ix de la Republique Francais ou MDCCC." The medal was accompanied by a eulogistic address, to which the recipient duly replied in a rather flowery epistle. "I have often," he wrote, "doubted whether my name would survive me, but your goodness inspires me with confidence, and the token of esteem with which you have honoured me perhaps justifies my hope that I shall not wholly die. Yes, gentlemen, you have crowned my gray hairs, and strewn flowers on the brink of my grave." Seven years after this Haydn received another medal from Paris—from the Societe Academique des Enfants d'Apollon, who had elected him an honorary member.
A second performance of "The Creation" took place in the French capital on December 24, 1800, when Napoleon I. escaped the infernal machine in the Rue Nicaise. It was, however, in England, the home of oratorio, that the work naturally took firmest root. It was performed at the Worcester Festival of 1800, at the Hereford Festival of the following year, and at Gloucester in 1802. Within a few years it had taken its place by the side of Handel's best works of the kind, and its popularity remained untouched until Mendelssohn's "Elijah" was heard at Birmingham in 1847. Even now, although it has lost something of its old-time vogue, it is still to be found in the repertory of our leading choral societies. It is said that when a friend urged Haydn to hurry the completion of the oratorio, he replied: "I spend much time over it because I intend it to last a long time." How delighted he would have been could he have foreseen that it would still be sung and listened to with pleasure in the early years of the twentieth century.
"The Creation" criticized
No one thinks of dealing critically with the music of "The Messiah"; and it seems almost as thankless a task to take the music of "The Creation" to pieces. Schiller called it a "meaningless hotch-potch"; and even Beethoven, though he was not quite innocent of the same thing himself, had his sardonic laugh over its imitations of beasts and birds. Critics of the oratorio seldom fail to point out these "natural history effects"—to remark on "the sinuous motion of the worm," "the graceful gamboling of the leviathan," the orchestral imitations of the bellowing of the "heavy beasts," and such like. It is probably indefensible on purely artistic grounds. But Handel did it in "Israel in Egypt" and elsewhere. And is there not a crowing cock in Bach's "St Matthew Passion"? Haydn only followed the example of his predecessors.
Of course, the dispassionate critic cannot help observing that there is in "The Creation" a good deal of music which is finicking and something which is trumpery. But there is also much that is first-rate. The instrumental representation of chaos, for example, is excellent, and nothing in all the range of oratorio produces a finer effect than the soft voices at the words, "And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." Even the fortissimo C major chord on the word "light," coming abruptly after the piano and mezzoforte minor chords, is as dazzling to-day as it was when first sung. It has been said that the work is singularly deficient in sustained choruses. That is true, if we are comparing it with the choruses of Handel's oratorios. But Haydn's style is entirely different from that of Handel. His choruses are designed on a much less imposing scale. They are more reflective or descriptive, much less dramatic. It was not in his way "to strike like a thunderbolt," as Mozart said of Handel. The descriptive effects which he desired to introduce into his orchestration made it necessary that he should throw the vocal element into a simpler mould. Allowance must be made for these differences. Haydn could never have written "The Messiah," but, on the other hand, Handel could never have written "The Creation."
The chief beauty of Haydn's work lies in its airs for the solo voices. While never giving consummate expression to real and deep emotion, much less sustained thought, they are never wanting in sincerity, and the melody and the style are as pure and good as those of the best Italian writing for the stage. With all our advance it is impossible to resist the freshness of "With verdure clad," and the tender charm of such settings as that of "Softly purling, glides on, thro' silent vales, the limpid brook." On the whole, however, it is difficult to sum up a work like "The Creation," unless, as has been cynically remarked, one is prepared to call it great and never go to hear it. It is not sublime, but neither is it dull. In another fifty years, perhaps, the critic will be able to say that its main interest is largely historic and literary. [See J. F. Runciman's Old Scores and New Readings, where an admirably just and concise appreciation of Haydn and "The Creation" may be read.]
A New Work
After such an unexpected success as that of "The Creation," it was only in the nature of things that Haydn's friends should persuade him to undertake the composition of a second work of the kind. Van Swieten was insistent, and the outcome of his importunity was "The Seasons." This work is generally classed as an oratorio, but it ought more properly to be called a cantata, being essentially secular as regards its text, though the form and style are practically the same as those of "The Creation." The libretto was again due to Swieten, who, of course, adapted the text from James Thomson's well-known poem.
"The Seasons"
It would certainly have been a pity to lose such a fresh, melodious little work as "The Seasons"; but it is only too apparent that while there was no appreciable failure of Haydn's creative force, his physical strength was not equal to the strain involved by a composition of such length. In 1806, when Dies found him rather weaker than usual, he dolorously remarked: "You see it is all over with me. Eight years ago it was different, but 'The Seasons' brought on this weakness. I ought never to have undertaken that work. It gave me the finishing stroke." He appears to have started on the work with great reluctance and with considerable distrust of his own powers, but once fairly committed to the undertaking he entered into it with something of his old animation, disputing so manfully with his librettist over certain points in the text that a serious rupture between the two was at one time imminent. The subject was probably not very congenial to Haydn, who, as the years advanced, was more and more inclined towards devotional themes. That at least seems to be the inference to be drawn from the remark which he made to the Emperor Francis on being asked which of his two oratorios he himself preferred. "'The Creation,'" answered Haydn. "In 'The Creation' angels speak and their talk is of God; in 'The Seasons' no one higher speaks than Farmer Simon."
"The Seasons" criticized
But whether he liked the theme or not, in the end he produced a work as fresh and genial and melodious as if it had been the work of his prime. If anyone sees in it an evidence of weakness, he is seeing only what he had expected to see. As Mr Rockstro remarks, not a trace of the "failing power" of which the grand old man complained is to be found in any part of it. It is a model of descriptive, contemplative work, and must please by its thoughtful beauty and illustrative power. True to Nature in its minutest details, it yet never insults her by trivial attempts at outward imitation where artistic suggestion of the hidden truth was, possible. The "delicious softness" of the opening chorus, and the perfection of rustic happiness portrayed in the song which describes the joy of the "impatient husbandman" are alone sufficient to prove that, whatever he may have thought about it himself, Haydn's genius was not appreciably waning.
The first performance of "The Seasons" took place at the Schwartzenburg Palace on the 24th of April 1801. It was repeated twice within a week; and on the 29th of May the composer conducted a grand public performance at the Redoutensaal. The work proved almost as successful as "The Creation." Haydn was enraptured with it, but he was never really himself again. As he said, it gave him the finishing stroke.