HAYDN.
Joseph Haydn, the creator of the symphony and the stringed quartet, was born at Rohrau, a little Austrian village on the river Leitha, March 31, 1732. His father was a wheelwright and his mother a cook, in service with Count Harrach. Both the parents were fond of music, and both sang, the father accompanying himself upon the harp, which he played by ear. The child displayed a voice so beautiful that in his sixth year he was allowed to study music, and was also given a place in the village church-choir. Reutter, the capellmeister of St. Stephen's, Vienna, having heard him, was so impressed with the beauty of his voice that he offered him a position as chorister. Haydn eagerly accepted it, as it gave him opportunities for study. While in the service of St. Stephen's he had lessons on the violin and piano, as well as in composition. When his voice broke, and his singing was of no further value, he was thrown upon the tender mercies of the world. Fortune favored him, however. He obtained a few pupils, [160] and gave himself up to composition. He made the acquaintance of Metastasio, Porpora, and Gluck. His trios began to attract attention, and he soon found himself rising into prominence. In 1759, through the influence of a wealthy friend and amateur, he was appointed to the post of musical director and composer in the service of Count Morzin, and about this time wrote his first symphony. When the Count dismissed his band, Prince Paul Anton Esterhazy received him as his second capellmeister, under Werner. When the latter died, in 1766, Haydn took his place as sole director. His patron, meanwhile, had died, and was succeeded by his brother Nicolaus, between whom and Haydn there was the utmost good feeling. Up to this time Haydn had written thirty symphonies, a large number of trios, quartets, and several vocal pieces. His connection with the Prince lasted until 1790, and was only terminated by the latter's death. But during this period of twenty-eight years his musical activity was unceasing; and as he had an orchestra of his own, and his patron was ardently devoted to music, the incentive to composition was never lacking. Anton succeeded Nicolaus, and was generous enough to increase Haydn's pension; but he dismissed the entire chapel, and the composer took up his abode in Vienna. He was hardly established before he received a flattering proposition from Salomon, the manager, to go to England. He had already had many pressing invitations from others, but could not accept them, owing to his engagement at Esterhazy. [161] Now that he was free, he decided to make the journey. On New Year's Day, 1791, he arrived in London. Success greeted him at once. He became universally popular. Musicians and musical societies paid him devoted attention. He gave a series of symphony concerts which aroused the greatest enthusiasm. He was treated with distinguished courtesy by the royal family. Oxford gave him the honorary degree of Doctor of Music. The nobility entertained him sumptuously. After a year of continuous fêtes, he returned to Germany, where he remained two years, during a portion of which time Beethoven was his pupil. In 1794 he made his second journey to England, where his former successes were repeated, and fresh honors were showered upon him. In 1804 he was notified by Prince Esterhazy that he was about to reorganize his chapel, and wished him for its conductor again. Haydn accordingly returned to his old position, where he remained during the rest of his life. He was already an old man, but it was during this period that his most remarkable works were produced, among them the Austrian National Hymn ("Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser"), the "Seven Words," the "Creation," the "Seasons," and many of his best trios and quartets. He died May 31, 1809, a few days after the occupation of Vienna by the French, and among the mourners at his funeral were many French officers. Funeral services were held in all the principal European cities. Honored and respected all over [162] Europe, he was most deeply loved by his own countrymen, who still affectionately speak of him as "Papa" Haydn.
The Creation.
Haydn was sixty-five years of age when he undertook the great work of his life. It was begun in 1796, and finished in 1798. When urged to bring it to a conclusion more rapidly, he replied, "I spend much time over it, because I intend it to last a long time." Shortly before his final departure from London, Salomon, his manager, brought him a poem for music which had been compiled by Lydley from Milton's "Paradise Lost," for use by Handel, though the latter had not availed himself of it. Haydn took it with him to Vienna, and submitted it to the Baron van Swieten, the Emperor's librarian, who was not only a very learned scholar, but also something of a musician and composer. The Baron suggested that he should make an oratorio of it, and to encourage him, not only translated the text into German, but added a number of arias, duets, and choruses, particularly those of the descriptive kind. Several of the nobility also guaranteed the expenses of preparation and performance. His friend Griesinger writes:--
"Haydn wrote 'The Creation' in his sixty-fifth year with all the spirit that usually dwells in the breast of youth. I had the good fortune to be a witness of the deep emotions and joyous enthusiasm which several [163] performances of it under Haydn's own direction aroused in all listeners. Haydn also confessed to me that it was not possible for him to describe the emotions with which he was filled as the performance met his entire expectation, and his audience listened to every note. 'One moment I was as cold as ice, and the next I seemed on fire, and more than once I feared I should have a stroke.'"
On another occasion Haydn remarked: "Never was I so pious as when composing 'The Creation.' I knelt down every day and prayed God to strengthen me for the work." That he sought this inspiration in his old age more than once, we may infer from another remark to Griesinger: "When composition does not get on well, I go to my chamber, and with rosary in hand say a few aves, and then the ideas return." It was first performed in private at the Schwartzenberg Palace, April 29, 1798; and Bombet, the celebrated French critic, who was present, says in one of his letters:
"Who can describe the applause, the delight, the enthusiasm of this society? I was present, and I can assure you I never witnessed such a scene. The flower of the literary and musical society of Vienna were assembled in the room, which was well adapted to the purpose, and Haydn himself directed the orchestra. The most profound silence, the most scrupulous attention, a sentiment, I might almost say, of religious respect, were the dispositions which prevailed when the first stroke of the bow was given. The general expectation was not disappointed. A long train of beauties, to that moment unknown, [164] unfolded themselves before us; our minds, overcome with pleasure and admiration, experienced during two successive hours what they had rarely felt,--a happy existence, produced by desires, ever lively, ever renewed, and never disappointed."
The first public performance was given at the National Theatre, March 19, 1799, Haydn's name-day, and the next by the Tonkünstler Societät. On the 9th of March he conducted it at the palace of Ofen before the Archduke Palatine Joseph of Hungary. Its success was immediate, and rivalled that of "The Messiah." It was performed all over Europe, and societies were organized for the express purpose of producing it. In London rival performances of it were given at Covent Garden and the King's Theatre during the year 1800.
The oratorio opens with an overture representing chaos. Its effect is at first dull and indefinite, its utterances inarticulate, and its notes destitute of perceptible melody. It is Nature in her chaotic state, struggling into definite form. Gradually instrument after instrument makes an effort to extricate itself, and as the clarinets and flutes struggle out of the confusion, the feeling of order begins to make itself apparent. The resolutions indicate harmony. At last the wonderful discordances settle, leaving a misty effect that vividly illustrates "the Spirit of God moving upon the face of the waters." Then, at the fiat of the Creator, "Let there be Light," the whole orchestra and chorus burst forth in the sonorous response, "And there was Light." [165] A brief passage by Uriel (tenor) describes the division of light from darkness, and the end of chaos, introducing a fugued chorus, in which the rage of Satan and his hellish spirits, as they are precipitated into the abyss, is described with tremendous discords and strange modulations; but before it closes, the music relates the beauties of the newly created earth springing up "at God's command." Raphael describes the making of the firmament, the raging of the storms, the flashing lightning and rolling thunders, the showers of rain and hail, and the gently falling snow, to an accompaniment which is closely imitative in character. The work of the second day forms the theme of "The Marvellous Work," for soprano obligato with chorus,--a number characterized by great joyousness and spirit. This leads to the number, "Rolling in foaming Billows," in which the music is employed to represent the effect of water, from the roaring billows of the "boisterous seas," and the rivers flowing in "serpent error," to "the limpid brook," whose murmuring ripple is set to one of the sweetest and most delicious of melodies. This leads the way to the well-known aria, "With Verdure clad," of which Haydn himself was very fond, and which he recast three times before he was satisfied with it. It is followed by a fugued chorus ("Awake the Harp"), in which the Angels praise the Creator. We next pass to the creation of the planets. The instrumental prelude is a wonderful bit of constantly developing color, which increases "in splendor bright," [166] until the sun appears. It is followed by the rising of the moon, to an accompaniment as tender as its own radiance; and as the stars appear, "the Sons of God" announce the fourth day, and the first part closes with the great chorus, "The Heavens are telling," in which the entire force of band and singers is employed in full, broad harmony and sonorous chords, leading to a cadence of magnificent power.
The second part opens with the aria, "On mighty Pens," describing in a majestic manner the flight of the eagle, and then blithely passes to the gayety of the lark, the tenderness of the cooing doves, and the plaintiveness of the nightingale, in which the singing of the birds is imitated as closely as the resources of music will allow. A beautiful terzetto describes with inimitable grace the gently sloping hills covered with their verdure, the leaping of the fountain into the light, and the flights of birds, and a bass solo in sonorous manner takes up the swimming fish, closing with "the upheaval of Leviathan from the deep," who disports himself among the double-basses. This leads to a powerful chorus, "The Lord is great." The next number describes the creation of various animals; and perhaps nothing that art contains can vie with it in varied and vivid description. It begins with the lion, whose deep roar is heard among the wind-instruments. The alertness of the "flexible tiger" is shown in rapid flights by the strings. A presto ingeniously represents the quick movements of the [167] stag. The horse is accompanied by music which prances and neighs. A quiet pastoral movement, in strong contrast with the preceding abrupt transitions, pictures the cattle seeking their food "on fields and meadows green." A flutter of sounds describes the swarms of insects in the air, and from this we pass to a long, undulating thread of harmony, representing "the sinuous trace" of the worm. This masterpiece of imitative music is contained in a single recitative. A powerful and dignified aria, sung by Raphael ("Now Heaven in fullest Glory shone"), introduces the creation of man, which is completed in an exquisitely beautiful aria ("In Native Worth ") by Uriel, the second part of which is full of tender beauty in its description of the creation of Eve, and closes with a picture of the happiness of the newly created pair. A brief recitative ("And God saw everything that He had made") leads to the chorus, "Achieved is the glorious Work,"--a fugue of great power, superbly accompanied. It is interrupted by a trio ("On Thee each living Soul awaits"), but soon returns with still greater power and grandeur, closing with a Gloria and Hallelujah of magnificent proportions.