The Seasons.
"The Seasons," written two years after "The Creation," was Haydn's last oratorio. The music was composed between April, 1798, and April, 1801. It is not an oratorio in the strict sense of the term, as it partakes of the form and qualities, not only of the oratorio, but also of the opera and cantata. The words were compiled by Baron van Swieten from Thomson's well-known poem of "The Seasons," but it was a long time before he could persuade Haydn to undertake the task of composing an oratorio on the subject. His old age and infirmities made him averse to the work. He was greatly annoyed by the text, and still more so by its compiler, who insisted upon changes in the music which Haydn testily declined to make. He was frequently irritated over the many imitative passages, and it was to relieve his own feelings and vary the monotony of the sentiment that he introduced the rollicking bacchanal chorus in the third part. He expressed his feelings to a friend in the remark: "My head was so full of the nonsensical stuff that it all went topsy-turvy, and I therefore called the closing fugue the 'drunken fugue.'" Notwithstanding his many objections, when once he started, he [171] worked hard,--so hard, indeed, that this continuous labor induced brain-fever and intense suffering, and he never entirely rallied from its effects. A weakness followed, which constantly increased. To one friend he remarked: "The 'Seasons' have brought this trouble upon me. I ought not to have written it. I have overdone;" and to another: "I have done; my head is no longer what it was. Formerly ideas came to me unsought: I am now obliged to seek for them; and for this I feel I am not formed." It is a sad picture, that of the old composer sitting down to work in his seventieth year, distrustful of his own powers, with an uncongenial text before him; but no indications of age or weakness are to be found in this music, which from its first note to the last is fresh, original, bright, and graceful,--a treasure-house of ideas to which subsequent composers have gone time after time when they would write of Nature or attempt to picture her moods.
The "Seasons" was first performed at the Schwartzenberg Palace, Vienna, April 24, 1801, and was repeated on the 27th and on the 1st of May. On the 29th of May Haydn himself conducted it in public at the Redoutensaal, for his own benefit. Though some of the critics disparaged it, and Beethoven was not overpleased with it, it met with a great popular success, and Haydn himself was delighted with the work that had cost him so much trouble. Bombet, the French critic, who was present at the first performance, says of it:--
"The best critique that has been given of the work is that which Haydn himself addressed to me when I went to give him an account of the performance of it in the Palace Schwartzenberg. The applause had been universal, and I hastened out to congratulate the author. Scarcely had I opened my lips when the honest composer stopped me: 'I am happy to find that my music pleases the public; but I can receive no compliment on this work from you. I am convinced that you feel yourself that it is not the "Creation;" and the reason is this: in the "Creation" the actors are angels; here they are peasants.'"
The work is divided into four parts,--Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter,--and the characters introduced are Simon, a farmer; Jane, his daughter; Lucas, a young countryman and shepherd; and a chorus of Country People and Hunters. A vivacious overture, expressing the passage from winter to spring, and recitatives by Simon, Lucas, and Jane, who in turn express their delight at the close of the one season and the approach of the other, lead to the opening chorus ("Come, gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness, come"),--a fresh and animated number, which is familiar to every one. Simon trolls out a pastoral aria ("With Joy the impatient Husbandman"), full of the very spirit of quiet, peace, and happiness,--a quaint melody which will inevitably recall to opera-goers the "Zitti, Zitti" from Rossini's "Barber of Seville," the essential difference between the two pieces being that in the latter the time is greatly accelerated. This aria is followed by a trio and chorus ("Be [173] propitious, bounteous Heaven"), a free fugue, in which all beseech a blessing upon the sowing of the seed. The next number is a duet for Jane and Lucas, with chorus ("Spring her lovely Charms unfolding"), which is fairly permeated with the delicate suggestions of opening buds and the delights of the balmy air and young verdure of spring. As its strains die away, all join in the cheerful fugued chorus, "God of Light," which closes the first part.
After a brief adagio prelude, the second part, "Summer," opens with a charming aria by Simon ("From out the Fold the Shepherd drives"), which gives us a delightful picture of the shepherd driving his flock along the verdant hillside, then leaning upon his staff to watch the rising sun. As it appears, it is welcomed by trio and chorus with the exultant shout, "Hail, O glorious Sun!" As noon approaches, the music fairly becomes radiant. A series of recitatives and arias follow, bringing out in a vivid and picturesque manner the oppressive, exhaustive heat and the longing for rest and shade, leading at last to an ominous silence as the clouds begin to gather and the sky darkens. A short recitative prepares the way. A crash of thunder is heard upon the drums: it is the prelude to the storm-chorus ("Hark! the deep tremendous Voice"), which has been the model for nearly all the storm-descriptions written since Haydn's time. It is worked up to a tremendous climax of tumult and terror, of pouring rain, flashing lightning, and pealing thunder. At last the tempest dies away, and in the [174] trio and chorus, "Now cease the Conflicts," night comes on, with its song of the quail,--which Beethoven subsequently utilized in his Pastoral Symphony,--the chirp of the crickets, the croaking of the frogs, the distant chime of the evening bells, and the invocation to sleep. Of the frog episode, Nohl says:--
"He particularly disliked the croaking of the frogs, and realized how much it lowered his art. Swieten showed him an old piece of Grétry's in which the croak was imitated with striking effect. Haydn contended that it would be better if the entire croak were omitted, though he yielded to Swieten's importunities. He declared afterwards, however, that the frog passage was not his own. 'It was urged upon me,' he said, 'to write this French croak. In the orchestral setting it is very brief, and it cannot be done on the piano. I trust the critics will not treat me with severity for it. I am an old man, and liable to make mistakes.'"
After a quaintly melodious prelude the third part opens with a terzetto and chorus ("Thus Nature ever kind rewards"), an invocation to virtue and industry, and a quaintly sentimental duet ("Ye gay and painted Fair"). The next number, an aria by Simon ("Behold along the dewy Grass"),--which gives us a picture of the hunter and his dog pursuing a bird,--prepares the way for the great hunting chorus ("Hark! the Mountains resound"), one of the most graphic and stirring choruses of this description ever written. The whole scene,--the vales and forests resounding with the music of the [175] horns, the finding of the quarry, the flying stag outstripping the wind, the pack at fault, but starting in again as they find the scent, the tally-ho of the hunters, the noble animal at bay, his death, and the shouts of the crowd,--are all pictured with a freshness and genuine out-door feeling which seem almost incredible considering Haydn's age. This remarkable number is separated from its natural companion, the bacchanalian chorus, by a recitative extolling the wealth of the vintage. This chorus ("Joyful the Liquor flows") is in two parts,--first a hymn in praise of wine, sung by the tippling revellers, and second, a dance tempo, full of life and beauty, with imitations of the bagpipe and rustic fiddles, the melody being a favorite Austrian dance-air. With this rollicking combination, for the two movements are interwoven, the third part closes.
A slow orchestral prelude, "expressing the thick fogs at the approach of winter," introduces the closing part. In recitative Simon describes the on-coming of the dreary season, and Jane reiterates the sentiment in the cavatina, "Light and Life dejected languish." In Lucas's recitative we see the snow covering the fields, and in his following aria, "The Traveller stands perplexed," a graphic tone-picture of the wanderer lost in the snow is presented. At last he espies the friendly light in the cottage. "Melodious voices greet his ears," and as he enters he beholds the friendly circle, the old father telling over his stories of the past, the mother plying the distaff, the girls spinning, and the young people [176] making the night merry with jest and sport. At last they join in a characteristic imitative chorus ("Let the Wheel move gayly"). After the spinning they gather about the fire, and Jane sings a charming love-story ("A wealthy Lord who long had loved"), accompanied by chorus. Simon improves the occasion to moralize on the sentiment of the seasons in the aria, "In this, O vain, misguided Man," impressing upon us the lesson that "Nought but Truth remains;" and with a general appeal to Heaven for guidance through life, this quaint and peaceful pastoral poem in music draws to its close. It was the last important work of the aged Haydn, but it has all the charm and freshness of youth.
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