Books: Haydn

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A "Previous" Letter of Condolence

In spite of the little misunderstanding just referred to Haydn
was brought round once more, and on the 20th of December 1803
Thomson sends twenty-four airs, "which will most certainly be the
last." Haydn's work delights him so much that he "really cannot
bear the idea of seeking an inferior composer to finish a work
already so nearly finished by you. "He would pay 4 ducats for
each air rather than have the mortification of a refusal. After
this there is little of interest to note in the correspondence,
unless it be a very "previous" letter of condolence which Thomson
sent to Vienna. A false rumour had reached him that Haydn was
dead. The following extract from a note which Haydn dictated to
be sent to the friend who received Thomson's letter will explain
the matter:

Kindly say to Mr. Thomson that Haydn is very sensible of the
distress that the news of his alleged death has caused him, and
that this sign of affection has added, if that were possible, to
the esteem and friendship he will always entertain for Mr.
Thomson. You will notice that he has put his name and the date on
the sheet of music to give better proof that he is still on this
nether world. He begs you at the same time to be kind enough to
have Mr. Thomson's letter of condolence copied and to send him
the copy.

Haydn's experience in this way was perhaps unique. Burney says he
was reported dead in 1778; and the false rumour which reached
Thomson in 1805 led Cherubini to compose a sacred cantata for
three voices and orchestra, which was duly performed in Paris
when his death actually occurred.

Haydn furnished in all some 250 airs with symphonies and
accompaniments for Thomson. In the packet of letters from the
composer, docketed by Thomson himself, the latter has placed a
slip of paper indicating the various payments he had made.
According to this statement Haydn had 291 pounds, l8s. for his
work from first to last--not by any means an insignificant sum to
make out of a side branch of his art.

Eventide

This interesting correspondence takes us up to the year 1806, by
which time Haydn's work was entirely over. His eventide, alas!
was darkened by the clouds of war. The wave of the French
Revolution had cast its bloody spray upon the surrounding
nations, and 1805 saw the composer's beloved Vienna occupied by
the French. Haydn was no politician, but love of country lay deep
down in his heart, and he watched the course of events, from his
little cottage, with the saddest forebodings.

The Last Public Appearance

Once only was he drawn from his seclusion. This was on the 27th
of March 1808, when he appeared in public for the last time at a
performance of "The Creation" at the University. The scene on
this remarkable occasion has been described by many pens.
Naumann, writing of it, says that "such an apotheosis of the
master was witnessed as has but few parallels," and this is no
exaggeration. The performance, which was under the direction of
Salieri, had been arranged in honour of his approaching seventy-
sixth birthday. All the great artists of Vienna were present,
among them Beethoven and Hummel. Prince Esterhazy had sent his
carriage to bring the veteran to the hall, and, as he was being
conveyed in an arm-chair to a place among the princes and nobles,
the whole audience rose to their feet in testimony of their
regard. It was a cold night, and ladies sitting near swathed him
in their costly wraps and lace shawls. The concert began, and the
audience was hushed to silence. When that magnificent passage was
reached, "And there was light," they burst into loud applause,
and Haydn, overcome with excitement, exclaimed, "Not I, but a
Power from above created that." The performance went on, but it
proved too much for the old man, and friends arranged to take him
home at the end of the first part. As he was being carried out,
some of the highest of the land crowded round to take what was
felt to be a last farewell; and Beethoven, forgetting incidents
of early days, bent down and fervently kissed his hand and
forehead. Having reached the door, Haydn asked his bearers to
pause and turn him towards the orchestra. Then, lifting his hand,
as if in the act of blessing, he was borne out into the night.

Next year Vienna was bombarded by the French, and a cannon-ball
fell not far from Haydn's house. He was naturally much alarmed;
but there is no ground for the statement, sometimes made, that
his death was hastened by the fright. On the contrary, he called
out to his servants, who were assisting him to dress: "Children,
don't be frightened; no harm can happen to you while Haydn is
here."

The End

But his days were numbered. "This miserable war has cast me down
to the very ground," he would say, with tears in his eyes. And
yet it was a French officer who last visited him on his death-
bed, the city being then actually occupied by the enemy. The
officer's name is not given, but he sang "In native worth" with
such expression that Haydn was quite overcome, and embraced him
warmly at parting. On May 26 he seems to have felt that his end
was fast approaching. He gathered his household around him, and,
being carried to the piano, at his own special request, played
the Emperor's Hymn three times over, with an emotion that fairly
overpowered himself and all who heard him. Five days later, on
the 31st of May 1809, he breathed his last.

Funeral services were held in all the churches, and on June 15
Mozart's Requiem was given in his honour at the Scots Church,
when several generals and administrators of the French army were
present. Many poems were also written in his praise.

Haydn was buried as a private individual in the Hundsthurm
Churchyard, which was just outside the lines, and close to the
suburb of Gumpendorf, where he had lived. The grave remained
entirely undistinguished till 1814--another instance of Vienna's
neglect--when Haydn's pupil, Chevalier Neukomm, erected a stone
bearing the following inscription, which contains a five-part
canon for solution:

HAYDN

NATUS MDCCXXXIII. OBIIT MDCCCIX.

CAN. AENIGM. QUINQUE. VOC.

[figure: a musical score excerpt to the syllables non om - nis mo
- ri - ar]

D. D. D.

Discp. Eius Neukom Vindob. Redux. Mdcccxiv.

Desecration of Haydn's Remains

In 1820 the remains were exhumed by order of Prince Esterhazy,
and re-interred with fresh funeral honours in the Pilgrimage
Church of Maria-Einsiedel, near Eisenstadt, on November 7. A
simple stone, with a Latin inscription, is inserted in the wall
over the vault. When the coffin was opened, the startling
discovery was made that the skull had been stolen. The
desecration took place two days after the funeral. It appears
that one Johann Peter, intendant of the royal and imperial
prisons of Vienna, conceived the grim idea of forming a
collection of skulls, made, as he avowed in his will, to
corroborate the theory of Dr. Gall, the founder of phrenology.
This functionary bribed the sexton, and--in concert with Prince
Esterhazy's secretary Rosenbaum, and with two Government
officials named Jungermann and Ullmann--he opened Haydn's grave
and removed the skull. Peter afterwards gave the most minute
details of the sacrilege. He declared that he examined the head
and found the bump of music fully developed, and traces in the
nose of the polypus from which Haydn suffered. The skull was
placed in a lined box, and when Peter got into difficulties and
his collection was dispersed, the relic passed into the
possession of Rosenbaum. That worthy's conscience seems to have
troubled him in the matter, for he conceived the idea of erecting
a monument to the skull in his back garden! When the desecration
was discovered in 1820 there was an outcry, followed by police
search. Prince Esterhazy would stand no nonsense. The skull must
be returned, no questions would be asked, and Peter was offered a
reward if he found it. The notion then occurred to Rosenbaum of
palming off another skull for Haydn's. This he actually succeeded
in doing, the head of some unfortunate individual being handed to
the police. Peter claimed the reward, which was very justly
refused him. When Rosenbaum was dying he confessed to the
deception, and gave the skull back to Peter. Peter formed the
resolution of bequeathing it, by will, to the Conservatorium at
Vienna; but he altered his mind before he died, and by codicil
left the skull to Dr. Haller, from whose keeping it ultimately
found its way to the anatomical museum at Vienna. We believe it
is still in the museum. Its proper place is, of course, in
Haydn's grave, and a stigma will rest on Vienna until it is
placed there.

[The great masters have been peculiarly unfortunate in the matter
of their "remains." When Beethoven's grave was opened in 1863,
Professor Wagner was actually allowed to cut off the ears and
aural cavities of the corpse in order to investigate the cause of
the dead man's deafness. The alleged skeleton of Sebastian Bach
was taken to an anatomical museum a few years ago, "cleaned up,"
and clothed with a semblance of flesh to show how Bach looked in
life! Donizetti's skull was stolen before the funeral, and was
afterwards sold to a pork butcher, who used it as a money-bowl.
Gluck was re-buried in 1890 beside Mozart, Beethoven and
Schubert, after having lain in the little suburban churchyard of
Matzleinsdorf since 1787.]

A copy of Haydn's will has been printed as one of the appendices
to the present volume, with notes and all necessary information
about the interesting document. Two years before his death he had
arranged that his books, music, manuscripts and medals should
become the property of the Esterhazy family. Among the relics
were twenty-four canons which had hung, framed and glazed, in his
bedroom. "I am not rich enough," he said, "to buy good pictures,
so I have provided myself with hangings of a kind that few
possess." These little compositions were the subject of an oft-
quoted anecdote. His wife, in one of her peevish moods, was
complaining that if he should die suddenly, there was not
sufficient money in the house to bury him. "In case such a
calamity should occur," he replied, "take these canons to the
music-publisher. I will answer for it, that they will bring
enough to pay for a decent funeral."

CHAPTER IX

HAYDN: THE MAN

Face and Features--Portraits--Social Habits--Partial to Pretty
Women--His Letters--His Humour--His Generosity--Unspoiled by
Success--His Piety--His Industry--Habits of Composition--
Impatient of Pedantry.

Face and Features

Something of Haydn's person and character will have already been
gathered from the foregoing pages. He considered himself an ugly
man, and, in Addison's words, thought that the best expedient was
"to be pleasant upon himself." His face was deeply pitted with
small-pox, and the nose, large and aquiline, was disfigured by
the polypus which he had inherited from his mother. In complexion
he was so dark as to have earned in some quarters the familiar
nickname of "The Moor." His underlip was thick and hanging, his
jaw massive. "The mouth and chin are Philistine," wrote Lavater
under his silhouette, noting, at the same time, "something out of
the common in the eyes and the nose." The eyes were dark gray.
They are described as "beaming with benevolence," and he used to
say himself: "Anyone can see by the look of me that I am a good-
natured sort of fellow."

In stature he was rather under the middle height, with legs
disproportionately short, a defect rendered more noticeable by
the style of his dress, which he refused to change with the
changes of fashion. Dies writes: "His features were regular, his
expression animated, yet, at the same time, temperate, gentle and
attractive. His face wore a stern look when in repose, but in
conversation it was smiling and cheerful. I never heard him laugh
out loud. His build was substantial, but deficient in muscle."
Another of his acquaintances says that "notwithstanding a cast of
physiognomy rather morose, and a short way of expressing himself,
which seemed to indicate an ill-tempered man, the character of
Haydn was gay, open and humorous." From these testimonies we get
the impression of a rather unusual combination of the attractive
and the repulsive, the intellectual and the vulgar. What Lavater
described as the "lofty and good" brow was partly concealed by a
wig, with side curls, and a pig-tail, which he wore to the last.
His dress as a private individual has not been described in
detail, but the Esterhazy uniform, though frequently changing in
colour and style, showed him in knee-breeches, white stockings,
lace ruffles and white neckcloth. This uniform he never wore
except when on actual duty.

Portraits

After his death there were many portraits in chalks, engraved,
and modeled in wax. Notwithstanding his admission of the lack of
personal graces, he had a sort of feminine objection to an artist
making him look old. We read that, in 1800, he was "seriously
angry" with a painter who had represented him as he then
appeared. "If I was Haydn at forty," said he, "why should you
transmit to posterity a Haydn of seventy-eight?" Several writers
mention a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and even give details
of the sittings, but he never sat to Reynolds, whose eyesight had
begun to fail before Haydn's arrival in England. During his first
visit to London Hoppner painted his portrait at the special
request of the Prince of Wales. This portrait was engraved by
Facius in 1807, and is now at Hampton Court. Engravings were also
published in London by Schiavonetti and Bartolozzi from portraits
by Guttenbrunn and Ott, and by Hardy from his own oil-painting. A
silhouette, which hung for long at the head of his bed, was
engraved for the first time for Grove's Dictionary of Music. This
was said by Elssler, his old servant, to have been a striking
likeness. Of the many busts, the best is that by his friend
Grassi, the sculptor.

[figure: Haydn's silhouette by Lavater]

Social Habits

Very little has been recorded of his social habits. Anything like
excess in wine is not once mentioned; but it is easy to see from
his correspondence that he enjoyed a good dinner, and was not
insensible to creature comforts. Writing to Artaria from Esterhaz
in 1788, he says: "By-the-bye, I am very much obliged to you for
the capital cheese you sent me, and also the sausages, for which
I am your debtor, but shall not fail when an opportunity offers
to return the obligation." In a subsequent letter to Frau von
Genzinger he comically laments the change from Vienna to
Esterhaz: "I lost twenty pounds in weight in three days, for the
effect of my fare at Vienna disappeared on the journey. 'Alas!
alas!' thought I, when driven to eat at the restaurateurs,
'instead of capital beef, a slice of a cow fifty years old;
instead of a ragout with little balls of force-meat, an old sheep
with yellow carrots; instead of a Bohemian pheasant, a tough
grill; instead of pastry, dry apple fritters and hazelnuts, etc.!
Alas! alas! would that I now had many a morsel I despised in
Vienna! Here in Esterhaz no one asks me, Would you like some
chocolate, with milk or without? Will you take some coffee, with
or without cream? What can I offer you, my good Haydn? Will you
have vanille ice or pineapple?' If I had only a piece of good
Parmesan cheese, particularly in Lent, to enable me to swallow
more easily the black dumplings and puffs! I gave our porter this
very day a commission to send me a couple of pounds." Even amid
the social pleasures and excitements of London, where he was
invited out six times a week and had "four excellent dishes" at
every dinner, he longs to be back in his native land so that he
may have "some good German soup."

We read that in Austria he "never associated with any but the
musicians, his colleagues," a statement which cannot be strictly
true. In London he was, as we have seen, something of a "lion,"
but it is doubtful if he Partial to Pretty Women

enjoyed the conventional diversions of the beau monde. Yet he
liked the company of ladies, especially when they were personally
attractive. That he was never at a loss for a compliment may
perhaps be taken as explaining his frequent conquests, for, as he
frankly said himself, the pretty women "were at any rate not
tempted by my beauty." Of children he was passionately fond, a
fact which lends additional melancholy to his own unhappy and
childless home life.

His Letters

He was not highly educated, and he does not seem to have taken
much interest in anything outside his own profession. This much
may be gathered from his correspondence, upon which it is not
necessary to comment at length. Mr. Russell Lowell remarks that a
letter which is not mainly about the writer loses its prime
flavour. Haydn's letters are seldom "mainly about the writer."
They help us very little in seeking to get at what Newman called
"the inside of things," though some, notably those given at the
end of this volume, embody valuable suggestions. He habitually
spoke in the broad dialect of his native place. He knew Italian
well and French a little, and he had enough Latin to enable him
to set the Church services. Of English he was almost entirely
ignorant until he came to London in 1791, when we hear of him
walking the country lanes with an English grammar in hand. There
is an amusing story of a dinner at Madame Mara's, at which he was
present during his first visit. Crossdill, the violoncellist,
proposed to celebrate him with "three times three." The
suggestion was at once adopted, all the guests, with the
exception of Haydn himself, standing up and cheering lustily.
Haydn heard his name repeated, but not understanding what was
going on, stared at the company in blank bewilderment. When the
matter was explained to him he appeared quite overcome with
diffidence, putting his hands before his face and not recovering
his equanimity for some minutes. [See "Records of My Life," by
John Taylor: London, 1832.]

His Humour

Of hobbies or recreations he appears to have had none, though, to
relieve the dull monotony of life at Eisenstadt or Esterhaz, he
occasionally indulged in hunting and fishing and mountain
rambles. A leading trait in his character was his humour and love
of fun. As he remarked to Dies: "A mischievous fit comes over me
sometimes that is perfectly beyond control." The incident of the
removal of the fellow chorister's pig-tail will at once recur to
the memory. The "Surprise" Symphony is another illustration, to
say nothing of the "Toy" Symphony and "Jacob's Dream."

His Generosity

Of his generosity and his kindness to fellow artists there are
many proofs. In 1800 he speaks of himself as having "willingly
endeavoured all my life to assist everyone," and the words were
no empty boast. No man was, in fact, more ready to perform a good
deed. He had many needy relations always looking to him for aid,
and their claims were seldom refused. A brother artist in
distress was sure of help, and talented young men found in him a
valuable friend, equally ready to give his advice or his gold, as
the case might require. That he was sometimes imposed upon goes
without saying. He has been charged with avarice, but the charge
is wholly unfounded. He was simply careful in money matters, and
that, to a large extent, because of the demands that were
constantly being made upon him. In commercial concerns he was
certainly sharp and shrewd, and attempts to take advantage of him
always roused his indignation. "By heavens!" he writes to
Artaria, "you have wronged me to the extent of fifty ducats. . .
. This step must cause the cessation of all transactions between
us." The same firm, having neglected to answer some business
proposition, were pulled up in this fashion: "I have been much
provoked by the delay, inasmuch as I could have got forty ducats
from another publisher for these five pieces, and you make too
many difficulties about a matter by which, in such short
compositions, you have at least a thirty fold profit. The sixth
piece has long had its companion, so pray make an end of the
affair and send me either my music or my money."

The Haydn of these fierce little notes is not the gentle recluse
we are apt to imagine him. They show, on the contrary, that he
was not wanting in spirit when occasion demanded. He was himself
upright and honest in all his dealings. And he never forgot a
kindness, as more than one entry in his will abundantly
testifies. He was absolutely without malice, and there are
several instances of his repaying a slight with a generous deed
or a thoughtful action. His practical tribute to the memory of
Werner, who called him a fop and a "scribbler of songs," has been
cited. His forbearance with Pleyel, who had allowed himself to be
pitted against him by the London faction, should also be
recalled; and it is perhaps worth mentioning further that he put
himself to some trouble to get a passport for Pleyel during the
long wars of the French Revolution. He carried his kindliness and
gentleness even into "the troubled region of artistic life," and
made friends where other men would have made foes.

Unspoiled by Success

His modesty has often been insisted upon. Success did not spoil
him. In a letter of 1799 he asks that a certain statement in his
favour should not be mentioned, lest he "be accused of conceit
and arrogance, from which my Heavenly Father has preserved me all
my life long." Here he spoke the simple truth. At the same time,
while entirely free from presumption and vanity, he was perfectly
alive to his own merits, and liked to have them acknowledged.
When visitors came to see him nothing gave him greater pleasure
than to open his cabinets and show the medals, that had been
struck in his honour, along with the other gifts he had received
from admirers. Like a true man of genius, as Pohl says, he
enjoyed distinction and fame, but carefully avoided ambition.

High Ideals

Of his calling and opportunities as an artist he had a very high
idea. Acknowledging a compliment paid to him in 1802 by the
members of the Musical Union in Bergen, he wrote of the happiness
it gave him to think of so many families susceptible of true
feeling deriving pleasure and enjoyment from his compositions.

"Often when contending with the obstacles of every sort opposed
to my work, often when my powers both of body and mind failed,
and I felt it a hard matter to persevere in the course I had
entered on, a secret feeling within me whispered, 'There are but
few contented and happy men here below; everywhere grief and care
prevail, perhaps your labours may one day be the source from
which the weary and worn or the man burdened with affairs may
derive a few moments' rest and refreshment.' What a powerful
motive to press onwards! And this is why I now look back with
heartfelt, cheerful satisfaction on the work to which I have
devoted such a long succession of years with such persevering
efforts and exertions."

With this high ideal was combined a constant effort to perfect
himself in his art. To Kalkbrenner he once made the touching
remark: "I have only just learned in my old age how to use the
wind instruments, and now that I do understand them I must leave
the world." To Griezinger, again, he said that he had by no means
exhausted his genius: that "ideas were often floating in his
mind, by which he could have carried the art far beyond anything
it had yet attained, had his physical powers been equal to the
task."

His Piety

Closely, indeed inseparably, connected with this exalted idea of
his art was his simple and sincere piety. He was a devout
Christian, and looked upon his genius as a gift from God, to be
freely used in His service. His faith was never assailed with
doubts; he lived and died in the communion of the Catholic
Church, and was "never in danger of becoming either a bigot or a
free-thinker." When Carpani, anticipating latter-day criticism,
hinted to him that his Church compositions were impregnated with
a light gaiety, he replied: "I cannot help it; I give forth what
is in me. When I think of the Divine Being, my heart is, so full
of joy that the notes fly off as from a spindle, and as I have a
cheerful heart He will pardon me if I serve Him cheerfully."

His reverent practice during the composition of "The Creation"
has been mentioned. "Never was I so pious," he said. There are
many proofs of the same feeling in his correspondence and other
writings. Thus he concludes an autobiographical sketch with the
words: "I offer up to Almighty God all eulogiums, for to Him
alone do I owe them. My sole wish is neither to offend against my
neighbour nor my gracious prince, but above all not against our
merciful God. "Again, in one of his later letters, he says "May
God only vouchsafe to grant me the health that I have hitherto
enjoyed, and may I preserve it by good conduct, out of gratitude
to the Almighty." The note appended to the first draft of his
will is also significant. Nor in this connection should we forget
the words with which he inscribed the scores of his more
important compositions. For the conclusion he generally adopted
Handel's "Soli Deo Gloria" or "Laus Deo," with the occasional
addition of "et B.V. Mae. et Oms. Sis. (Beata Virgini Maria et
Omnibus Sanctis)." Even his opera scores were so inscribed, one
indeed having the emphatic close: "Laus omna potenti Deo et
Beatissimae Virgini Maria. The superscription was uniformly "In
nomine Domini." It is recorded somewhere that when, in composing,
he felt his inspiration flagging, or was baulked by some
difficulty, he rose from the instrument and began to run over his
rosary. In short, not to labour the point, he had himself
followed the advice which, as an old man, he gave to the
choirboys of Vienna: "Be good and industrious and serve God
continually."

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