CHAPTER III.
THE FIRST LONDON JOURNEY.
1781-1792.
A Winter Adventure—The Relations of Mozart and Haydn—Mozart’s Dedication—The Emperor Joseph’s Opinions—Letters to Frau von Genzinger—A Catalogue of Complaints—His Engagement with Salomon—The London Journey—Scenes on the Way—A Brilliant Reception—Rivalry of the Professional Concerts—The Händel Festival—Honors at Oxford—Pleyel’s Arrival—Royal Honors—His Benefit Concert—Return to Vienna.
A Winter Adventure—The Relations of Mozart and Haydn—Mozart’s Dedication—The Emperor Joseph’s Opinions—Letters to Frau von Genzinger—A Catalogue of Complaints—His Engagement with Salomon—The London Journey—Scenes on the Way—A Brilliant Reception—Rivalry of the Professional Concerts—The Händel Festival—Honors at Oxford—Pleyel’s Arrival—Royal Honors—His Benefit Concert—Return to Vienna.
A Winter Adventure—The Relations of Mozart and Haydn—Mozart’s Dedication—The Emperor Joseph’s Opinions—Letters to Frau von Genzinger—A Catalogue of Complaints—His Engagement with Salomon—The London Journey—Scenes on the Way—A Brilliant Reception—Rivalry of the Professional Concerts—The Händel Festival—Honors at Oxford—Pleyel’s Arrival—Royal Honors—His Benefit Concert—Return to Vienna.
“I amalready at home in Vienna by my few works, and if the composer is not there his children always are in all the concerts,” replied Haydn to that Charity for artists’ widows, which wished to elect him as a “foreigner,” upon such severe conditions. We meet with a characteristic instance of this popularity about the year 1770, when he once, as was his habit, went to Vienna on business.
It was winter. Over his somewhat shabby garments he had thrown a fur cloak, whose age was also conspicuous. An uncombed wigand an old hat completed his costume. Haydn, so great a friend of neatness, on this occasion would hardly have been recognized. He looked like a masquerader, when he entered Vienna. At the residence of a Count in Karnthner Street he heard the music of one of his own symphonies. The orchestra was powerful, the players good. “Stop, coachman, stop.” Haydn sprang out of the carriage, hurried up to the house, ascended the steps, entered the vestibule and listened quietly at the door. A servant approached, surveyed the strange apparition from head to foot, and at last thundered out: “What are you doing here, sir?” “I would like to listen a little.” “This is no place for listening; go about your business.” Haydn pretended not to hear the abuse. The servant at last seized him by the cloak with the words: “You have heard enough, now pack off or I will pitch you out doors.” Haydn handed him a couple of Kreuzer pieces. As soon as the Allegro was finished the servant again urged him to go. Haydn wanted to hear the Adagio, and was searching his pocket anew, when by chance the door was opened, and he was recognizedby one of the players. In an instant the hall resounded with a loud greeting. “Haydn, Haydn,” was on every lip! The doors were thrown open and more than twenty persons surrounded the revered master and bore him into the salon, a part of them greeting him as an acquaintance and the rest seeking an introduction. In the midst of the loud acclamation, a shrill voice above them cried out: “That is not Haydn; it is impossible. Haydn must be larger, handsomer and stronger, not such a little insignificant man as that one there in the circle.” Universal laughter ensued. Haydn, more astonished than any of the rest, looked about him to see who had disputed his identity. It was an Italian Abbe who had heard of Haydn and admired him very much. He had mounted a table in order to see him. The universal laughter only ended with the commencement of the Adagio but Haydn remained until the close of the symphony.
“My only misfortune is my country life,” Haydn writes in the spring of 1781, but he could be in Vienna two of the winter months at least, and there it was he found the artist,who more than all others, not excepting even Philip Emanuel Bach, influenced him and helped to raise his fame “to the stars”—Mozart.
Their personal acquaintance first commenced in the spring of 1781, when Mozart came to Vienna and permanently remained there. The letters of Mozart’s father, during the journeys of 1764 and 1768, make no mention of Haydn, and in the summer of 1773, when Mozart passed a short time in Vienna, Haydn as usual was at Esterhaz. Mozart’s own letters however show that even as a boy he knew and admired Haydn. He sent for his Minuets from Italy, and also created a taste for the German Minuet among the Italians. The actual acquaintance between these two artists, so widely apart in years, the true foundation of which both in life and in their works, rested above all upon that cordiality which is so intimate a part of German life, must have brought them very closely together. How Mozart felt towards Haydn, a statement of Griesinger’s shows. Haydn once brought out a new quartet in the presence of Mozart and his old enemy, the Berliner, Leopold Kozeluch,in which some bold changes occurred. “That sounds strange. Would you have written that so?” said Kozeluch to Mozart. “Hardly” was the reply, “but do you know why? Because neither you nor I could have hit upon such an idea.” At another time, when this talentless composer would not cease his fault-finding, Mozart excitedly exclaimed: “Sir, if we were melted down together, we would be far from making a Haydn.”
Association with the circles, in which at this golden time of music in Vienna, Haydn’s compositions were cherished with pleasure and love, and even with actual devotion, by artists and connoisseurs, inspired him to accomplish something of equivalent value. As early as the autumn of 1782, he commenced to write a series of six quartets, and the Italian dedication of them to Haydn is the most beautiful instance of unselfish admiration that can be conceived. It was written in the autumn of 1785, and the translation reads:
My dear friend Haydn:When a father sends his sons out into the wide world, he should, I think, confide them to the protection and guidance of a highly celebrated man, who bysome happy dispensation is also the best among his friends. So to this famous man and most precious friend, to thee, I bring my six sons. They are, it is true, the fruit of long and laborious toil, but the hope which my friends hold out to me leads me to anticipate that these works, a part at least, will compensate me, and it gives me courage and persuades me that some day they will be a source of happiness to me. You, yourself, dearest friend, expressed your satisfaction with them during your last visit to our capital. Your judgment above all inspires me with the wish to offer them to you, and with the hope that they will not seem wholly unworthy of your favor. Take them kindly, and be to them a father, guide and friend. From this moment I resign all right in them to you, and beg you to regard with indulgence the faults which may have escaped the loving eyes of their father, and in spite of them to continue your generous friendship towards one who so highly appreciates it. Meantime I remain with my whole heart, your sincere friend.W. A. Mozart.
My dear friend Haydn:
When a father sends his sons out into the wide world, he should, I think, confide them to the protection and guidance of a highly celebrated man, who bysome happy dispensation is also the best among his friends. So to this famous man and most precious friend, to thee, I bring my six sons. They are, it is true, the fruit of long and laborious toil, but the hope which my friends hold out to me leads me to anticipate that these works, a part at least, will compensate me, and it gives me courage and persuades me that some day they will be a source of happiness to me. You, yourself, dearest friend, expressed your satisfaction with them during your last visit to our capital. Your judgment above all inspires me with the wish to offer them to you, and with the hope that they will not seem wholly unworthy of your favor. Take them kindly, and be to them a father, guide and friend. From this moment I resign all right in them to you, and beg you to regard with indulgence the faults which may have escaped the loving eyes of their father, and in spite of them to continue your generous friendship towards one who so highly appreciates it. Meantime I remain with my whole heart, your sincere friend.
W. A. Mozart.
He called Haydn “Papa,” and when some one spoke of his dedication, replied: “That was duty, for I first learned from Haydn how one should write quartets.” How Haydn with his simple modesty always bowed to divinely inspired genius, is shown by a letter from Mozart’s father, of the fourteenth of Februaryof the same year, 1785, which may be found complete in the book: “Mozart, after Sketches by his Cotemporaries,” (Leipsic, 1880). It reads: “On Saturday evening Herr Joseph Haydn was with us. The new quartets were played, which complete the other three we have. They are a little easier but delightfully written. Herr Haydn said to me: ‘I declare to you, before God and upon my honor, your son is the greatest composer with whom I am personally acquainted. He has taste and possesses the most consummate knowledge of composition.’” That was truly an expression of “satisfaction,” and to such a “father” Mozart might well entrust his “children.” He understood their merits and character. “If Mozart had composed nothing else but his quartets and his ‘Requiem’ he would have been immortal,” the Abbe Stadler heard Haydn remark afterwards. During a discussion of the well-known discord in the introduction to the C major quartet, he declared that if Mozart wrote it so, he had some good reason for it. He never neglected an opportunity of hearing Mozart’s music, and declared that he could not listen to one of his works withoutlearning something. Kelly in his Reminiscences, tells of a quartet performance about the year 1786, in which Haydn, Dittersdorf Mozart and Banhall took part—certainly an unprecedented gathering. Dittersdorf, of whose virtuoso playing mention has already been made, must have played the first violin.
In the year 1787, “Don Juan” was brought out in Prague, and as Mozart could not entertain a proposition for a second opera, application was made to Haydn. He wrote from Esterhaz, in December, one of the most beautiful of all his letters. It is contained in Mozart’s Biography: “You desire a comic opera from me,” he says. “Gladly would I furnish it, if you desired one of my vocal compositions for yourself alone, but if it is to be brought out in Prague, I could not serve you, because all my operas are so closely connected with our personal circle at Esterhaz, and they could not produce the proper effect which I calculated in accordance with the locality. It would be different, if I had the inestimable privilege of composing an entirely new work for your theater. Even then, however, the risk would be great, for scarcely any one can bear comparisonwith the great Mozart. Would that I could impress upon every friend of music, and especially upon great men, the same deep sympathy and appreciation for Mozart’s inimitable works that I feel and enjoy; then, the nations would vie with each other in the possession of such a treasure. Prague should hold fast to such a dear man, and also remunerate him, for without this the history of a great man is sad indeed, and gives little encouragement to posterity for effort. It is for the lack of this, so many promising geniuses are wrecked. It vexes me that this matchless man is not yet engaged by some imperial or royal court. Pardon me if I am excited, for I love the man very dearly.”
The above reproach was superfluous so far as Mozart was concerned, for he had at that time been appointed chamber-composer at the imperial court, though Haydn, being in Eisenstadt, did not know it; but without any doubt the reproach was applicable in another case—that of Haydn himself. The recognition of his special work had as yet made but little progress among the professional musicians, critics and influential circles. His letters arefull of protests against this injustice and misfortune, and the statements of Mozart, already quoted, show how just they were. The elegant leaders of Italian fashion and Spanish etiquette were not more likely to encourage a low-born Esterhaz Capellmeister in uncivilized Hungary than they were the national humor, pleasantry and vivacity which had for the first time found proper expression in music, and the liberties which these qualities permitted, contrary to the accepted style, were either not recognized at all, or looked upon as mistakes. It was all the more unfortunate for him that Joseph II was the very embodiment of this foreign manner. The well-known Reichardt, who met the Emperor in Vienna in 1783, relates: “I thought at least in a conversation about Haydn, whom I named with reverence, and whose absence I regretted, we should agree. ‘I thought,’ said the Emperor, ‘you Berlin gentlemen did not care for such trifling. I don’t care much for it, and so it goes pretty hard with the excellent artist.’” This in a measure is confirmed by a conversation between Joseph and Dittersdorf, two years later: “What do you think of his chamber-music?”“That it is making a sensation all over the world, and with good reason.” “Is he not too much addicted to trifling?” “He has the gift of trifling without degrading his art.” “You are right there.”
While such malicious partiality and miscomprehension must have distressed Haydn very much, it secured for him the renewed good opinion of Mozart and recognition of his elevated character, and he did not refrain from giving expression to it. “It was truly touching when he spoke of the two Haydns and other great masters. One would have thought he was listening to one of his scholars rather than to the all-powerful Mozart,” says Niemetscheck, speaking of Mozart’s visit to Prague. Rochlitz also reports the following opinion which Mozart expressed: “No one can play with and profoundly move the feelings, excite to laughter and stir the deepest emotions, each with equal power, like Joseph Haydn.” Such reverence must have given the master the fullest conviction of his artistic power, for who was better qualified to pass such judgment than such a genius? Meanwhile this judgment was confirmed by unprejudicedhearers all over the world. As we learn from Gyrowetz’s Autobiography, a symphony of this young master was played in Paris as a favorite composition in all the theaters and concerts, because it was mistaken for a work of Haydn’s. He also had to specially protect his music from being clandestinely copied and engraved.
It is not surprising therefore to hear him say at the close of a letter in 1787, in which he offers a London publisher the “Seven Words,” six “splendid” symphonies, and three “very elegant” nocturnes: “I hope to see you by the close of this year, as I have not yet received any reply from Herr Cramer as to an engagement for myself this winter in Naples.” The London invitation concerned the so-called professional concerts. A year afterward, J. P. Salomon contracted with him for concert-engagements in the Haymarket theater. Mozart writes to his father in 1783 as follows: “I know positively that Hofstetter has twice copied Haydn’s music,” and Haydn himself in 1787 writes to Artaria: “Your own copyist is a rascal, for he offered mine eight ducats this winter to let him have the‘Seven Words.’” He justly complains that he is not paid sufficiently for his works, and on one occasion thanks Artaria “without end for the unexpected twelve ducats.” “I have until now kept it from my readers that Haydn declared on the occasion of my first visit to him he had been in straightened circumstances to his sixtieth year,” says Dies, and he adds that in spite of all his economy and the generosity of Prince Nicholas at his death, and thirty years of hard toil, his entire property consisted of a small house and five hundred florins in gold. Besides this he had about two thousand florins in public funds which he had laid aside against a time of need. Dies rightly attributes such penury after such industry to the extravagance of his wife. But notwithstanding the Esterhazy goodness, the fact remains that Haydn often found himself longing for a change. It mattered little that he had equal fame with Gluck and Mozart. Such a Prince should have kept the purse of a man of such sensitive and exalted feeling well filled.
“My greatest ambition is to be recognized by all the world as the honest man which Ireally am,” he writes about the year 1776, and dedicates all the praises he had received “to Almighty God, for to Him alone are they due.” His wish was neither to offend his neighbor nor his gracious Prince, and above all, the merciful God. Now that he realized the beautiful divine pleasure of reverence, and that his unworthy situation with its constant restrictions and distress pressed upon his artistic feeling, he longed for a change more ardently than ever. “I had a good Prince, but at times had to be dependent on base souls; I often sighed for release,” he writes from London in 1791. His determination to accept the London invitation must have been very strong, for a letter of 1781 closes: “Meanwhile I thank you very much for the lodgings offered me.” His gratitude actually prevented him from traveling, though he was literally besieged by his friends, and, as we have seen, was invited from abroad. “He swore to the Prince to serve him until death should separate them and not to forsake him though he were offered millions,” Dies heard him say. The Prince in times of pressing necessity allowed him to draw upon his credit,but Haydn availed himself of this privilege as seldom as possible, and was always satisfied with small sums.
Among impressions so varied in their nature, the letters were written which belong to the following year and from which we must present a few short extracts. They are addressed to Frau von Genzinger in Vienna, the wife of a physician who was also physician in ordinary to Prince Esterhazy. She was very intimate with our master in his later years, for she had made his friendship in connection with his art, having arranged symphonies of his for the piano. In reading these letters, one truly feels the noble aspirations of Haydn’s soul. The influence which this excellent lady had upon the poetical character of his works is evident in the beautiful sonata whose Adagio “meant so much.” Here indeed vibrate accords as full of life and longing as music was capable of expressing at that time in her soft measures.
In the house of this “ladies’ doctor,” as he was universally called in Vienna, Mozart, Dittersdorf, Albrechtsberger, afterward Beethoven’s teacher, and Haydn, when he was in Vienna, met regularly on Sundays, and itmust have been doubly painful to him to go back to his wretched solitude from these delightful gatherings where he could sit near her ladyship and hear the masterpieces of Mozart played. Alas! the separation came sooner than Haydn wished. “The sudden resolution of my Prince to withdraw from Vienna, which is hateful to him, is the cause of my precipitate journey to Esterhaz,” he writes in 1789. In contrast with the other magnates, who were fond of displaying their splendor and gratifying their tastes, and nowhere was this so true as in Vienna, Prince Nicholas with his increasing years grew more and more unpopular in that city. Haydn himself gives the most forcible expression to his dissatisfaction with his surroundings.
The address: “High and nobly born, highly esteemed, best of all, Frau von Genzinger,” shows us the style of the time, and the following letter of February 9, 1790, tells us the whole story:
“Here I sit in my wilderness, deserted like a poor orphan, almost without human society, sad, full of the recollections of past happy days, yes, past, alas! And who can say whenthose delightful days will return—those pleasant gatherings, when the whole circle were of one heart and soul—all those charming musical evenings which can only be imagined, not described? Where are all those inspired moments? All are gone, and gone for a long time,” he writes, and it was only his native cheerfulness that could allay this feeling of loneliness. “Wonder not, dear lady, that I have delayed so long in writing my gratitude. I found everything at home torn up. For three days I was uncertain whether I was Capellmeister or Capell-servant. Nothing consoled me. My entire apartment was in confusion. My piano, which I love so much, was inconstant and disobedient, and it vexed instead of tranquilizing me. I could sleep but little, my dreams troubled me so. When I dreamed of hearing ‘The Marriage of Figaro,’ a fatal north-wind awoke me and almost blew my night-cap off my head.” In his next remarks we learn of a composition, about which he had written a short time before to his publisher, saying that he had in his leisure hours composed a new capriccio for the piano, which by its taste, originality andclose finish would be sure to receive universal applause. “I became three pounds thinner on the way,” he continues, “because of the loss of my good Vienna fare. Alas, thought I to myself, when in my restaurant I had to eat a piece of fifty-year-old cow instead of fine beef, an old sheep and yellow carrots instead of a ragout and meat balls, a leathery grill instead of a Bohemian pheasant! alas, alas, thought I, would that I now had many a morsel which I could not have eaten in Vienna! Here, in Esterhaz, no one asks me, ‘Would you like chocolate? Do you desire coffee with or without milk? With what can I serve you, my dear Haydn? Will you have vanilla or pine-apple ice?’ Would that I had only a piece of good Parmesan cheese, so that I might the more easily swallow the black dumplings! Pardon me, most gracious lady, for taking up your time in my first letter with such piteous stuff. Much allowance must be made for a man spoiled by the good things in Vienna. But I have already commenced to accustom myself to the country by degrees, and yesterday I studied for the first time quite in the Haydn manner.”
An event shortly after occurred which for the time greatly stimulated his creative ability. The Princess died, and the Prince sank into such melancholy that he wanted music every day. At this time he would not allow him to be absent for twenty-four hours. He speaks often of his deep distress of heart and of his many disappointments and ill-humors. “But, thank God, this time will also pass away,” he says at the close of a letter, in which he is looking forward to the winter. “It is sad always to be a slave, but Providence so wills it,” he says on another occasion. “I am a poor creature, continually tormented with hard work, and with but few hours for recreation. Friends? What do I say? One true friend? There are no longer any true friends, save one, oh! yes, I truly have one, but she is far away from me; I can take refuge, however, in my thoughts; God bless her and so order that she shall not forget me.” “My friendship for you is so tender that it can never become culpable, since I always have before my eyes reverence for your exalted virtue,” he also wrote in reply to Frau von Genzinger, concerning a letter which to his regret had been lost.
We now come to a time when the “ill-humors” ceased, and Haydn secured a better situation, and, more than all, complete freedom. The Prince died and crowned his generosity with the legacy of a pension of one thousand gulden. The new Prince, Paul Anton, added four hundred gulden more to it, so that Haydn could now live comfortably upon a stipend of two thousand eight hundred marks. He discharged the orchestra and only required of Haydn that he should retain the title of Capellmeister at Esterhaz. Haydn called this position “poorly requited” and added that he was on horseback, “without saddle or bridle,” but hoped one day or other by his own service, “for I can not flatter or beg,” or by the personal influence of his gracious Prince, to be placed in a higher position. But this did not occur until a later time, and then by the help “of his fourth Prince.” He soon removed to Vienna, and declined the invitation of Prince Grassalkowic to enter his service. It was not long before his affairs took a happy turn in another direction, and in the place of rural restraint he enjoyed the widest and most unrestricted public liberty.
The violinist, J. P. Salomon, a native of Bonn, who had played in Haydn’s quartets long before and occupied a distinguished place in the musical world of London, entered his room one evening and curtly said: “I am Salomon, of London, and have come to take you away. We will close the bargain to-morrow.” He was on his travels engaging singers for the theatrical manager Gallini, and on his return to Cologne, heard of the death of Prince Esterhazy. Haydn at first offered various objections—his ignorance of foreign languages, his inexperience in traveling and his old age; but Salomon’s propositions were so brilliant that he wavered. Five thousand gulden, and the sale of his compositions were something worth unusual consideration in the straightened circumstances of a simple musician, entering upon old age. Besides, he had plenty of compositions finished which no one knew of outside of Esterhaz. He made his assent conditional upon the Prince’s permission and gave no further heed to Salomon’s persuasions. Mozart himself, who had traveled much about the world, interposed his objections with the best intentions. “Papa” was too old. He wasnot fitted for the great world. He spoke too few languages. A man of fifty-eight ought to remain quietly among his old and sure friends. “I am still active and strong, and my language is understood all over the world,” he replied.
The Prince did not refuse his permission, and the expenses of the journey were advanced. Haydn sold his little house at Eisenstadt, took the five hundred gulden which he had saved up, consigned his bonds to his “highly cherished” Vienna friend to whom he commended his wife, and made all his preparations for the journey which was to establish his fame all over the world. He started Dec. 15, 1790. Mozart did not leave his beloved “Papa” the whole day. He dined with him, and tearfully exclaimed at the moment of separation: “We are saying our last farewell to-day.” Haydn was also deeply moved. He was twenty-four years older, and the thought of his own death alone occurred to him. It was but a year later that he heard of Mozart’s death, and shed bitter tears. “I shall rejoice in my home and in embracing my good friends like a child,” he wrote at a later time to Frau von Genzinger, “only I lament that the greatMozart will not be among them, if it be true, which I hope not, that he is dead. Posterity will not find such talent again for a century.” He was the one who was destined to be the heir of Mozart, and it was his London visit which broadened his intellectual horizon and gave his fancy freer development. He was then the direct guide of Beethoven, whose sonatas, quartets and symphonies were more closely developed and patterned upon the works which Haydn had then written than upon Mozart’s, the marvelous beauty of whose music was more like an inspiration from above, which could scarcely be appropriated or imitated by his followers.
His letters to Frau von Genzinger abound in information about the events of this journey, and, thanks to the detailed investigation of C. F. Pohl in his little book, “Mozart and Haydn in London” (Vienna: 1867), we are now placed in full possession of them, but we shall confine ourselves only to those details which are indispensable to a record of Haydn’s progress.
In Munich, Haydn became acquainted with Cannabich, who had so greatly promoted symphonyperformances in Germany—an acquaintance which must have been of two-fold interest to the founder of the symphony. In Bonn, particularly, where his music had many friends, and had been played exceedingly often in churches, theaters, public and chamber-concerts (see Beethoven’s Life, Vol. I), he was astonished on one occasion, according to Dies’ narrative. Salomon took him on Christmas night to the mass. “The first chords revealed a work of Haydn’s. Our Haydn regarded it as an accident, though it was very agreeable to him to listen to one of his own works,” it is said. Towards the close, a person approached him and invited him to enter the oratory. Haydn was not a little astonished when he saw that the Elector Maximilian had summoned him. He took him by the hand and addressed his musicians in these words: “Let me make you acquainted with your highly cherished Haydn.” The Elector allowed him time for them to become acquainted, and then invited him to his table. The invitation caused him a little embarrassment, for he and Salomon had arranged a little dinner in their own house. Haydn took refuge in excuses,and thereupon withdrew and betook himself to his residence, where he was surprised by an unexpected proof of the good will of the Elector. At his quiet command, the little dinner had changed into a large one for twelve persons, and the most skillful of the musicians had been invited. Could the Elector’s court organist, Beethoven, have been among the guests? He was at that time twenty years old, and certainly was among the most skillful of the musicians.
Haydn writes about the remainder of the journey and his arrival in London, to his friend in Vienna. He remained on deck during the entire passage, that he might observe to his heart’s content that huge monster, the sea. He might have thought with an ironical smile of the storm in “The Devil on Two Sticks.” He was completely overwhelmed “with the endlessly great city of London, which astonishes me with its varied beauties and wonders,” but it still further broadened his experience to see with his own eyes the representatives of a great free people like those of England. His arrival had already caused a great sensation, and for three days he went the rounds of allthe newspapers. After a few days he was invited to an amateur concert, and leaning upon the arm of the director, passed through the hall to the front of the orchestra amid universal applause, “stared at by all and greeted with a multitude of English compliments.” Afterward he was conducted to a table set for two hundred guests, where he was requested to sit at the head, but he declined the honor, since he had already dined out, that noon, and eaten more than usual; but in spite of this he was obliged to drink the harmonious good health of the company in Burgundy.
This brilliancy of welcome characterized Haydn’s London visit until its close. Both socially and as an artist he knew how to win hearts to himself. His countryman, Gyrowetz, introduced him to fashionable families which gave entertainments, where Haydn was the center of attraction. His simple and cordial manner and its great contrast with the imperious manner which the Italian artists assumed upon the strength of their long residence, suited the English, and when he rose from the table, seated himself at the piano and sang the cheerful German songs, all, even the mostprejudiced, circulated his fame. Instances like that of the insulting slur of the once so celebrated, but at that time old and conceited, Italian violinist, Giardini, who received the announcement of his visit with the remark, “there is nothing for me to learn from the German dog,” were rare, but Haydn instead of being angry only laughed at his folly. In contrast with such arrogance, he cherished genuine artists, as we know from his association with the great organ-player, Dupuis. Sir G. Smart, so well known to us from “Beethoven’s Life,” relates that he saw him listening with close attention to Dupuis’ playing at St. James church, and that when the latter came out of the chapel, Haydn embraced and kissed him. The unanimous recognition of others’ merits was a natural characteristic of Haydn as well as of Mozart. The newspapers had something to say about him every day, but already that envy and malice began, against which he, like every other one of prominence, had had to contend from youth up. They discovered that his powers were in their decadence, and on that account it was useless to longer expect anything like his earlier productions. Andthis, too, when the Salomon concerts had commenced and achieved the highest success, since every new work of the master brought him new fame. The Professional Concerts, under the direction of the violinist Cramer, who had offered him an engagement in 1787, were his worst enemies. It was the professors, or the professional musicians, who arranged these, and society rivalry led them to look upon his success with an envious eye. And yet Haydn was present at their first concert of the season which preceded the Salomon concerts, and had complimented them upon performing his symphonies so well without having had the opportunity of hearing them.
Salomon’s first concert met with decided success. It was of special advantage that Haydn in his judicious way knew how to secure a particular freedom of performance from his orchestra. He would flatter his players and delicately mingle blame and praise. He invited the best among them to dine, and besides all this, he took pains to practically explain his ideas to them, so that the result, as Dies emphatically says, was affection and inspiration. He would induce the Italiansingers themselves, who sedulously avoided every difficulty and discord, to execute his frequently surprising modulations and intonations. “Never, perhaps, have we had richer musical enjoyment,” says theMorning Chronicle, speaking of the concert, “and the Adagio of his symphony in D was encored—a very rare occurrence.” His opera “Orpheus and Eurydice” for Gallini’s new theater, though nearly completed, was not performed, as the opening of the stage was not allowed. It has numbers of equal merit with the best that Haydn has written, but as a whole it is modeled upon the usual Italian pattern of separate airs. Haydn’s genius revealed itself otherwise in his own special sphere, and except the quartets, the most of his instrumental music which has come down to us had its origin at this time in London, especially the twelve London symphonies. They display in the clearest manner the increased development of his ideas and fancy, the deepening of his thought and the rich and firm handling of instruments which place Haydn on the same plane as Mozart and Beethoven. He had an orchestra which in strength and skill was secondto none in the world at that time; at the same time, the efforts to produce artistic impressions, which seize upon the mind and heart, aroused and invigorated his large and sympathetic, if not always really musical, audiences. It was Haydn who first created the love of pure instrumental music in the heart of the great public of London, where vocal music since Handel’s time had been more highly valued than elsewhere, and this, too, not alone for its earnest, but for its humorous moods, which were more readily appreciated by Englishmen. It was, however, his quartets which were sought by the real friends and students of music, and the best of these also were written in and for London.
At the end of May, Haydn attended the great Handel Festival, which had been given every year since 1784, and in which over one thousand musicians took part. Even the sight of the great assemblage was brilliant and magnificent, but beyond all this, he had the opportunity of hearing Handel’s music in its full majesty. More than twenty of his large and minor works were performed, and the powerful personal influence of the master dominatedthe performance. When the world-renowned “Hallelujah” rose in great waves of sound, and the thousands, with the king at their head, stood up, there was scarcely a dry eye. Haydn, who stood near the king’s box, wept like a child, and completely overcome, exclaimed: “He is the master of us all.” The sublimity of the all-overmastering Eternal he never displays in his own works. He was, so to speak, forced out of the church into life, and never found his way back again to its sublime earnestness, but the religious feeling and simple piety of the heart were active, living principles in Haydn’s nature, and gave to his forms that breath of living creation which transforms them into the “divine likeness.” The perfect innocence and the touching and beautiful earnestness which often appear in his works, come from the same source as Handel’s majestic sublimity. His “Creation” is a still more convincing illustration of this. Its origin was due to the London visit, and many a large and important choral piece bears witness to the fact that Haydn had now met and seen this Handel face to face. He was to him what Sebastian Bach was to Mozart and Beethoven,whom he had not known so well as they. On the 8th of July, 1791, after his brilliant season had come to a close, Haydn received a special mark of distinction. The degree of Doctor of Music was conferred upon him by the University of Oxford. At the last festival concert, when he entered, clad in his black silk doctor’s gown and four-cornered cap, he was enthusiastically received. He seized the skirt of his gown, and held it up with a loud “I thank you,” which simple expression of gratitude was greeted with universal applause. This respect for England served to make him still more famous. Salomon was warranted in announcing, a month later, that they would continue their concerts in the same style as those which had made such a success in the winter.
Meanwhile, an entirely unexpected summons to return to Esterhaz reached him. He was expected to write the opera for a festivity at the Prince’s court. Evidently he could not comply, for he had signed new terms of agreement with Salomon, and thus had to encounter the Prince’s anger for his desertion of duty.
“Alas, I now expect my discharge, but Ihope that God will be gracious and help me in some measure to efface my losses by my industry,” he wrote to Frau von Genzinger, September 17, 1791, and this industry was made less burdensome as he had spent the summer in the country, amid beautiful scenery, with a family whose hearts, he writes, resemble the Genzingers. How much must he, who was so accustomed to Nature, have appreciated such a country visit! “I am, God be thanked, in good health, with the exception of my customary rheumatism. I am working industriously, and think every morning, as I walk alone in the woods with my English grammar, of my Creator, of my family, and of all the friends I have left behind,” he writes in his seclusion, which, as we see, brought him the most beautiful outward and inward happiness. Added to this was his consciousness of being free. “O, my dear gracious lady, what a sweet relish there is in absolute liberty,” he writes again; “I have it now in some degree; I appreciate its benefits, although my mind is burdened with more work. The consciousness that I am no longer a servant requites all my toil.” He realizedthere also a striking confirmation of the happiness of rising “from nothing.” His landlord, a rich banker, was so impressed with his narrative of his youthful trials, that he once swore that he was getting on too well in the world. He realized for the first time that he was not happy. “I have only an abundance and I loathe it,” he exclaimed, and wished he had a pistol that he might shoot himself, an event, however, which did not happen, much to Haydn’s pleasure.
After his return to London he encountered exciting times, for the Professional musicians bent all their energies to surpass the Salomon concerts, and their public assaults had such an extended influence that inquiries came from Vienna about the actual condition of his circumstances. Even Mozart believed these reports and thought he must have depreciated very much. “I can not believe it,” Haydn simply writes, and refers him to his banker, Count Fries, in whose hands he had placed five hundred pounds. “I am aware that there is a multitude of envious persons in London, the most of whom are Italians, but they can not hurt me, for my credit with the peoplehas been settled many years,” he says, and adds with confident feeling: “Those above them are my support.”
As their next move, the Professionals sought to secure him for themselves by higher offers, but he would not break his word or injure his manager, whose outlay had been so large, by the gratification of sordid motives. So they renewed their assaults upon his age and the pretended decadence of his ability, and announced that they had secured his pupil Pleyel. The latter, a neighbor and countryman of Haydn, was at that time thirty-four years of age and twenty-five years the younger. Mozart had expressed a favorable opinion of his talent. He writes to his father in 1784 about Pleyel’s new quartets: “If you do not yet know them, try to get them; it is worth the trouble. You will at once recognize his master. It will be a good and fortunate thing for music if Pleyel in his day is able to supply Haydn’s place for us.” He was unquestionably innocent in the matter of the invitation to come to London, and really made his appearance in the season of 1792.
Meanwhile, Haydn had spent two days withthe Duke of York, who had married the seventeen-year-old Princess Ulrica, of Prussia, daughter of King Frederick William II. In 1787, her music-loving father had sent him a ring, which he wore as a talisman, and a very complimentary letter, for six new quartets. “She is the most charming lady in the world, is very intelligent, plays the piano and sings very agreeably,” writes Haydn. “The dear little lady sat near me and hummed all the pieces, which she knew by heart, having heard them so often in Berlin. The Duke’s brother, the Prince of Wales, played the ’cello accompaniment very acceptably. He loves music exceedingly, has very much feeling but very little money. His goodness, however, pleases me more than any self-interest,” he says in conclusion. The Prince also had Haydn’s portrait painted for his cabinet.
Many more personal attentions of a similar kind were paid him. One Mr. Shaw made a silver lid for a snuff-box which Haydn had given him, and inscribed thereon, “Presented by the renowned Haydn.” His very beautiful wife—“the mistress is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he writes in hisdiary—embroidered his name in gold upon a ribbon which he preserved even when a very old man. It was at this time he received with bitter tears the news of Mozart’s death. “Mozart died December 5, 1791,” he simply writes in his diary, but we know the beautiful remark he made to his friend in Vienna who had so often played Mozart’s masterpieces for him. At a later period he said in a similar strain to Griesinger: “Mozart’s loss is irretrievable. I can never forget his playing in my life. It went to the heart.” In the year 1807, speaking to other musical friends in Vienna, he said with tears in his eyes: “Pardon me, I must always weep at the name of my Mozart.” Indeed, at this time he must have deeply felt the contrast between the brilliancy of this genius and the darkness of his own outer life in these declining years. And yet he felt all the more the importance of preserving the respect for German art. In the midst of such times as these Pleyel arrived. “So there will now be a bloody harmonious war between master and scholar,” he writes, but on the other hand they were frequently together. “Pleyel displayed so muchmodesty upon his arrival that he won my love anew. We are very often together, which is to his credit, and he knows how to prize his father. We will share our fame alike, and each one will go home contented,” he says. He too must have longed for his Austrian home, or he would have acted differently towards “Papa.”
One of the newspapers rightly understood the situation. “Haydn and Pleyel are offset against each other this season, and both parties are earnest rivals, yet as both belong to the same rank as composers, they will not share the petty sentiments of their respective admirers,” says thePublic Advertiser, and so it eventuated, though not until after many painful experiences for both the men, for with the others’ plans there was mingled very much of personal animosity. The Professionals announced twelve new compositions of Pleyel’s. Early in 1792 Haydn writes to Vienna: “In order to keep my word and support poor Salomon, I must be the victim, and work incessantly. I really feel it. My eyes suffer the most. My mind is very weary, and it is only the help of God that will supplywhat is wanting in my power. I daily pray to Him, for without His assistance I am but a poor creature.” The best hours of the day he was compelled to devote to visits and private musicals. “I have never written in any one year of my life as much as in the last,” he says, and yet his works show all the charming freshness of youth, with the contrast of greater depth and richer illustration. He found time to arrange twelve Scotch songs, and he says, “I am proud of this work, and flatter myself that it will live many years after I am gone.” But they made a complete failure, and the publishers therefore made a subsequent application to Beethoven.
The professional concerts at this time again had the precedence, and it is a fair illustration of their rivalry, that at the commencement they brought out a symphony of his and sent him a personal invitation. “They criticise Pleyel’s presumption very much, but I admire him none the less. I have been to all his concerts, and was the first to applaud him,” he writes to Vienna. In his first concert he also brought out a symphony of Pleyel’s. His own new symphony, notwithstanding hethought the last movement was weak, made “the deepest impression upon his audience.” The Adagio had to be repeated, and the entire work was performed again in the eighth and eighteenth concerts, by “request.” For the second concert he wrote a chorus, “The Storm.” It was the first which he had composed with English text, and it met with extraordinary success, because in it were united the most striking qualities of his art, skill, and good humor. As he himself writes, he gained considerable credit with the English in vocal music and this was destined to have a decisive result.
At the sixth concert, March 23, 1792, the symphony with the kettle-drum effect was given. Haydn says of it: “It was a convenient opportunity for me to surprise the public with something new. The first Allegro was received with innumerable bravas, but the Andante aroused the enthusiasm to the highest pitch. ‘Encore, encore,’ resounded on every side, and Pleyel himself complimented me upon my effects.” Gyrowetz visited him after its completion to hear it upon the piano. At the drum-passage, Haydn, certain of its success,with a roguish laugh, exclaimed: “There the women will jump.” Dies gives the current version of the original cause of the work as follows: The ladies and gentlemen in the concerts, which took place after the late English dinners, often indulged in a nap, and Haydn thought he would waken them in this comic manner. The English call the symphony, “The Surprise,” and among all the twelve, it is to this day, the favorite.
How deeply Haydn’s music impressed his English hearers, and how clearly it appears that they for the first time recognized the soul of music, disclosing to the popular mind its mysterious connection with the Infinite, is evident from a strange entry in Haydn’s diary. A clergyman, upon hearing the Andante of one of his symphonies, sank into the deepest melancholy, because he had dreamed the night before its performance, that the piece announced his death. He immediately left the assemblage, and took to his bed. “I heard to-day, April 25, that this clergyman died,” writes Haydn. It is the elementary revelations of the deepest feeling and individual spiritual certitude that speak to us in Haydn’smusic, and they have, so to speak, the most powerful grasp upon our individual existence. Indeed, they explain the irresistible and immeasurable influence of music. It is the image of Infinity itself, while the other arts are only the images of its phenomena. Its influence is so much more powerful and impressive than that of the other arts, because, as the philosopher would say, they represent only the shadow of things, while music represents their actual existence. A people so pre-eminently metaphysical and serious in character as the English, must have taken this simple, but deeply thoughtful Haydn and his symphonies into their very hearts. How could they have awarded the palm to any one living at that time over him? He had himself thoroughly comprehended the deep-lying genius of this nation, and in the province ofhisgenius he could lead it to a point its own nature could not reach. Every one of his compositions written for London, as well as those subsequently, show this, and many of his utterances illustrate his esteem for the English public. “The score was much more acceptable to me because much of it I had tochange to suit the English taste,” he writes in March, 1792, when his long wished-for symphony in E major had been forwarded to him from Vienna. And it should be remembered among all these events that Handel had written all his oratorios in and for London, and Beethoven’s Ninth was “the symphony for London.”
In May, 1792, Haydn had a benefit concert, at which two new symphonies were performed, and this, like the last concert, met with such favor, that Salomon offered the public an extra concert with the works that had been most admired during the season. “Salomon closed his season with the greatest eclat,” says theMorning Herald, and Pohl simply and appropriately adds: “Haydn was in all his glory, beloved, admired and courted. His name was the main stay of every concert-giver. Painters and engravers immortalized their art by his picture.” One such, a highly characteristic profile portrait, by George Dance, is given with the English edition (1867) of the “Musical Letters.”[A]It confirms the description ofhis appearance, which has already been given, in every feature.
Before his departure, he had another experience, which clearly indicates and reveals the source of music in his nature. At the yearly gathering of the Charity Scholars at St. Paul’s cathedral, he heard four thousand children sing a simple hymn. “I was more touched by this devout and innocent music than by any I ever heard in my life,” he says in his diary, and he adds in confirmation of it: “I stood and wept like a child.”
With this impression were unconsciously associated the most active memories of his own home, from which he had been absent so long. The home-image never rises so vividly in our hearts as when we see these little ones who are so particularly the active genii of the house and home. He stated, as the principal reason for his return, his wish to enjoy the pleasure of his fatherland; and he wrote in December, 1791, that he could not reconcile himself to spend his life in London, even if he could amass millions. Other artists have also borne testimony to the influence of the Festival alluded to above. In 1837, Berlioz attended it withthe violinist Duprez and John Cramer. “Never have I seen Duprez in such a state; he stammered, wept, and raved,” says Berlioz. The latter, in order to get a better view of the whole scene, donned a surplice, and placed himself among the accompanying basses, where, more than once, “like Agamemnon with his toga,” he covered his face with his music sheets, overcome with the sight of the children and the sound of their voices. As they were going out, Duprez exclaimed in delight, speaking in Italian instead of French, in his excitement: “Marvelous! marvelous! The glory of England!”
Haydn might well have thought the same, for he had already made a deep impression upon the nation, and touched its heart with the kindly feelings of life.
It was his last great experience “in the vast city of London,” and to Haydn’s inner nature it gave in brief all that he had given and all that was due to him. It was the first time he had seen a vast multitude of human beings in a great and eagerly listening throng, and it expanded his own nature, which had been restricted, to the widest bounds, without in anyway modifying its power. He had experienced the full measure of English humor, manifesting itself in those relations of personal affection which the “beautiful and gracious” Mrs. Schroter had expressed for him and his “sweet” compositions—an affection which she herself regarded as “one of the greatest blessings of her life,” and which had bound her to him in an indissoluble attachment. “My heart was, and still is, full of tenderness for you, yet words can not express half the love and affection which I feel for you. You are dearer to me every day of my life,” she says at another time. That it was the deep principle and character of his life which had aroused such a passionate affection in the already aged lady, these words confess: “Truly, dearest, no tongue can express the gratitude which I feel for the unbounded delight your music has given me.” The fact that this loving esteem was meant for Haydn himself, makes it all the more beautiful.
Such were the satisfying and grateful feelings which filled his soul at the moment of parting. Outwardly and inwardly blessed, he returned to Vienna in July, 1792, and not two years later, he was again on the Thames.