Books: Haydn

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"L'Isola Disabitata"

If Haydn was thus less highly appreciated at home than he
deserved to be, there were others who knew his sterling worth. In
1779 he composed one of his best operas, "L'Isola Disabitata,"
the libretto of which was by his old benefactor Metastasio, and
this work procured his nomination as a member of the Philharmonic
Society of Modena. The following extract of a letter written to
Artaria in May 1781 is interesting in this connection. He says:
"M. le Gros, director of the 'Concerts Spirituels' [in Paris],
wrote me a great many fine things about my Stabat Mater, which
had been given there four times with great applause; so this
gentleman asked permission to have it engraved. They made me an
offer to engrave all my future works on very advantageous terms,
and are much surprised that my compositions for the voice are so
singularly pleasing. I, however, am not in the least surprised,
for, as yet, they have heard nothing. If they could only hear my
operetta, 'L'Isola Disabitata,' and my last Shrove-tide opera,
'La Fedelta Premiata,' I do assure you that no such work has
hitherto been heard in Paris, nor, perhaps, in Vienna either. My
great misfortune is living in the country." It will be seen from
this what he thought of "L'Isola," which was not heard in Vienna
until its performance at a concert given at the Court Theatre by
Willmann the 'cellist in 1785. Haydn sent the score to the King
of Spain, who showed his sense of the honour by the gift of a
gold snuff-box, set in brilliants. Other marks of royal attention
were bestowed upon him about this time. Thus, in 1784, Prince
Henry of Prussia sent him a gold medal and his portrait in return
for the dedication of six new quartets, while in 1787 King
Frederick William II gave him the famous gold ring which he
afterwards always wore when composing.

A Love Episode

But we have passed somewhat out of our chronological order. The
absence of love at home, as we all know, often encourages love
abroad. Haydn liked to have an occasional flirtation, as ardent
as might be within the bounds of decorum. Sometimes, indeed,
according to our insular ideas of such things, he exceeded the
bounds of decorum, as in the case of which we are now compelled
to speak. Among the musicians who had been engaged for the
Esterhazy service in 1779 were a couple named Polzelli--the
husband a violinist, the wife a second-rate vocalist. Luigia
Polzelli was a lively Italian girl of nineteen. She does not seem
to have been happy with Polzelli, and Haydn's pity was roused for
her, much as Shelley's pity was roused for "my unfortunate
friend," Harriet Westbrook. The pity, as often happens in such
cases, ultimately ripened into a violent passion.

We are not concerned to adopt an apologetic tone towards Haydn.
But Signora Polzelli was clearly an unscrupulous woman. She first
got her admirer into her power, and then used her position to dun
him for money. She had two sons, and the popular belief of the
time that Haydn was the father of the younger is perpetuated in
several of the biographies. Haydn had certainly a great regard
for the boy, made him a pupil of his own, and left him a small
sum in his first will, which, however, he revoked in the second.
Signora Polzelli's conduct was probably natural enough in the
circumstances, but it must have been rather embarrassing to
Haydn. After the death of her husband, she wheedled him into
signing a paper promising to marry her in the event of his
becoming a widower. This promise he subsequently repudiated, but
he cared for her well enough to leave her an annuity in his will,
notwithstanding that she had married again. She survived him for
twenty-three years, and her two daughters were still living at
Pesth in 1878.

Returning to 1779, an untoward event of that year was the
destruction by fire of the theatre at Esterhaz. The re-building
of the house was set about at once, the prince having meanwhile
gone to Paris, and the re-opening took place on October 15, 1780,
when Haydn's "La Fedelta Premiata," already mentioned, was
staged.

Correspondence

It was about this time that he began to correspond with Artaria,
the Vienna music-publisher, with whom he had business dealings
for many years. A large number of his letters is given in an
English translation by Lady Wallace [See Letters of Distinguished
Musicians. Translated from the German by Lady Wallace. London,
1867]. They treat principally of business matters, but are not
unimportant as fixing the chronological dates of some of his
works. They exhibit in a striking way the simple, honest,
unassuming nature of the composer; and if they also show him
"rather eager after gain, and even particular to a groschen," we
must not forget the ever-pressing necessity for economy under
which be laboured, and his almost lavish benevolence to
straitened relatives and friends. In one letter requesting an
advance he writes: "I am unwilling to be in debt to tradesmen,
and, thank God! I am free from this burden; but as great people
keep me so long waiting for payments, I have got rather into
difficulty. This letter, however, will be your security...I will
pay off the interest with my notes." There is no real ground for
charging Haydn with avarice, as some writers have done. "Even
philosophers," as he remarked himself, "occasionally stand in
need of money"; and, as Beethoven said to George Thomson, when
haggling about prices, there is no reason why the "true artist"
should not be "honourably paid."

A London Publisher

It was about this time too that Haydn opened a correspondence
with William Forster of London, who had added to his business of
violin-maker that of a music-seller and publisher. Forster
entered into an agreement with him for the English copyright of
his compositions, and between 1781 and 1787 he published eighty-
two symphonies, twenty-four quartets, twenty-four solos, duets
and trios, and the "Seven Last Words," of which we have yet to
speak. Nothing of the Forster correspondence seems to have
survived.

Royal Dedicatees

Among the events of 1781-1782 should be noted the entertainments
given in connection with two visits which the Emperor Joseph II
received from the Grand Duke Paul and his wife. The Grand Duchess
was musical, and had just been present at the famous combat
between Clementi and Mozart, a suggestion of the Emperor. She had
some of Haydn's quartets played at her house and liked them so
well that she gave him a diamond snuff-box and took lessons from
him. It was to her that he afterwards--in l802--dedicated his
part-songs for three and four voices, while the Grand Duke was
honoured by the dedication of the six so-called "Russian"
quartets. It had been arranged that the Duke and Duchess should
accompany the Emperor to Eisenstadt, but the arrangement fell
through, and an opera which Haydn had written for the occasion
was only produced at Esterhaz in the autumn of 1782. This was his
"Orlando Paladino," better known in its German form as "Ritter
Roland." Another work of this year (1782) was the "Mariazell"
Mass in C major (Novello, No. 15), which derives its name from
the shrine of the Virgin in Styria, the scene of an incident
already related. The mass was written to the order of a certain
Herr Liebe de Kreutzner, and the composer is said to have taken
special pains with it, perhaps because it reminded him of his
early struggling days as a chorister in Vienna. It was the eighth
mass Haydn had written, one being the long and difficult
"Cecilia" Mass in C major, now heard only in a curtailed form. No
other work of the kind was composed until 1796, between which
year and 1802 the best of his masses were produced. To the year
1783 belongs the opera "Armida," performed in 1784 and again in
1797 at Schickaneder's Theatre in Vienna. Haydn writes to Artaria
in March 1784 to say that "Armida" had been given at Esterhaz
with "universal applause," adding that "it is thought the best
work I have yet written." The autograph score was sent to London
to make up, in a manner, for the non-performance of his "Orfeo"
there in 1791.

The "Seven Words"

But the most interesting work of this period was the "Seven Words
of our Saviour on the Cross," written in 1785. The circumstances
attending its composition are best told in Haydn's own words. In
Breitkopf & Hartel's edition of 1801, he writes:

About fifteen years ago I was requested by a Canon of Cadiz to
compose instrumental music on the Seven Words of Jesus on the
Cross. It was the custom of the Cathedral of Cadiz to produce an
oratorio every year during Lent, the effect of the performance
being not a little enhanced by the following circumstances. The
walls, windows and pillars of the Church were hung with black
cloth, and only one large lamp, hanging from the centre of the
roof, broke the solemn obscurity. At mid-day the doors were
closed and the ceremony began. After a short service the bishop
ascended the pulpit, pronounced one of the Seven Words (or
sentences) and delivered a discourse thereon. This ended, he left
the pulpit and knelt prostrate before the altar. The pause was
filled by the music. The bishop then in like manner pronounced
the second word, then the third, and so on, the orchestra falling
in at the conclusion of each discourse. My composition was to be
subject to these conditions, and it was no easy matter to compose
seven adagios to last ten minutes each, and follow one after the
other without fatiguing the listeners; indeed I found it quite
impossible to confine myself within the appointed limits.

This commission may be taken as a further evidence of the growing
extent of Haydn's fame. He appears to have been already well
known in Spain. Boccherini carried on a friendly correspondence
with him from Madrid, and he was actually made the hero of a poem
called "The Art of Music," published there in 1779. The "Seven
Words" created a profound impression when performed under the
circumstances just detailed, but the work was not allowed to
remain in its original form, though it was printed in that form
by Artaria and by Forster. Haydn divided it into two parts, and
added choruses and solos, in which form it was given for the
first time at Eisenstadt in October, 1797, and published in 1801.
The "Seven Words" was a special favourite of the composer
himself, who indeed is declared by some to have preferred it to
all his other compositions.

The "Toy" Symphony

The remaining years of the period covered by this chapter being
almost totally devoid of incident, we may pause to notice briefly
two of the better-known symphonies of the time--the "Toy"
Symphony and the more famous "Farewell." The former is a mere jeu
d'esprit, in which, with an orchestral basis of two violins and a
bass, the solo instruments are all of a burlesque character.
Mozart attempted something of a kindred nature in his "Musical
joke," where instruments come in at wrong places, execute
inappropriate phrases, and play abominably out of tune. This kind
of thing does not require serious notice, especially in the case
of Haydn, to whom humour in music was a very different matter
from the handling of rattles and penny trumpets and toy drums.

The "Farewell" Symphony

The "Farewell" Symphony has often been described, though the
circumstances of its origin are generally mis-stated. It has been
asserted, for example, that Haydn intended it as an appeal to the
prince against the dismissal of the Capelle. But this, as Pohl
has conclusively shown, is incorrect. The real design of the
"Farewell" was to persuade the prince to shorten his stay at
Esterhaz, and so enable the musicians to rejoin their wives and
families. Fortunately, the prince was quick-witted enough to see
the point of the joke. As one after another ceased playing and
left the orchestra, until only two violinists remained, he
quietly observed, "If all go, we may as well go too." Thus
Haydn's object was attained--for the time being! The "Farewell"
is perfectly complete as a work of art, but its fitness for
ordinary occasions is often minimized by the persistent way in
which its original purpose is pointed out to the listener.

Free from Esterhaz

Haydn's active career at Esterhaz may be said to have closed with
the death, on September 28, 1790, of Prince Nicolaus. The event
was of great importance to his future. Had the prince lived,
Haydn would doubtless have continued in his service, for he
"absolutely adored him." But Prince Anton, who now succeeded,
dismissed the whole Capelle, retaining only the few members
necessary for the carrying on of the church service, and Haydn's
occupation was practically gone. The new prince nominally held
the right to his services, but there was no reason for his
remaining longer at the castle, and he accordingly took up his
residence in Vienna. Thus free to employ his time as he
considered best, Haydn embraced the opportunity to carry out a
long-meditated project, and paid the first of his two visits to
London. With these we enter upon a new epoch in the composer's
life, and one of great interest to the student and lover of
music.

CHAPTER V

FIRST LONDON VISIT--l79l-l792

English Music about l79l--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
traveled 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 tomorrow."

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 traveling 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
tomorrow." "The day after tomorrow," 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 travelers 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." 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 Haydn Sea-Sick

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:

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