The Hainburg pastor was a warm friend of Hofcapellmeister Reutter. It happened that the latter, journeying from Vienna on business, passed through Hainburg and made the pastor a short visit. During his stay he mentioned the purpose of his journey, namely, the engagement of boys with sufficient talent as well as good voices for choir service. The pastor at once thought of Joseph. Reutter desired to see this clever lad. He made his appearance. Reutter said to him: “Can you trill, my little man?” Joseph, thinking perhaps that he ought not to know more than people above him, replied to the question: “My teacher even can not do that.” “Look here,” said Reutter, “I will trill for you. Pay attention and see how I do it.” He had scarcely finished, when Haydn stood before him with the utmost confidence and after two attempts trilled so perfectly that Reutter in astonishment cried out, “bravo,” drew out of his pocket a seventeen-kreuzer piece, and presented it to the little virtuoso. This incident is related by Dies, the painter, who was intimate with Haydn from 1805 until his death, and who published in 1810 the very interesting “Biographical Notices” of him.
The little fellow meanwhile devoted himself to vocal practice until his eighth year, when he was to enter the chapel, for the Hofcapellmeister had made this stipulation when he promised the father to advance his son. As he could find no teacher who was versed in the rules, he studied by himself, and following the natural method, learned to sing the scales and made such rapid progress that when he went to Vienna, Reutter was astonished at his facility.
The chapel was that of St. Stephen. In addition to frequent religious services, the boys were also obliged to work at various kinds of outside labor, so that their musical improvement was considerably hindered. In spite of this, Haydn says that besides his vocal practice, he studied the piano and violin with very good masters, and received much praise for his singing, both at church and court. The general course of studies included only the scantiest instruction in religion, writing, ciphering and Latin; and art, the most important of all to him, was so much worse off that at last he became his own teacher again. Reutter troubled himself very little about his chapel-scholars, and was a very imperious master besides; “and yet,” said Haydn afterward, “I was not a complete master of any instrument, but I knew the quality and action of all. I was no mean pianist and singer, and could play violin concertos.” Singing chiefly occupied his time and strength, for he contended that a German instrumental composer must first master vocal study in order to write melodies. He considered this all his life as of the greatest importance and often complained because so few composers understood it. Among all the results of his youthful artistic training, secured in his ten years’ chapel service in Vienna, these two were the most important. He continually heard a capella, that is, pure choral music with its contrapuntal texture, and also learned all forms of solo singing and instrumental music, and so thoroughly also that he was at home in all of them. And yet, “honest Reutter” had only given him two lessons in musical theory!
Dies relates other characteristic anecdotes of his youthful time. Notwithstanding his advancement had been neglected, Joseph was contented with his position, and for this reason only, that Reutter was so delighted with his talent that he told his father if he had twelve sons he would take care of all of them. Two of his brothers indeed came to the chapel, one of them Michael Haydn, afterward Capellmeister at Salzburg, with whom Mozart’s biography has made us acquainted, and Joseph had the “infinite pleasure” of being compelled to instruct them. Even under such circumstances, he busily occupied himself with composition. Every piece of paper that came into his hands he covered with staves, though with much trouble, and stuck them full of notes, for he imagined it was all right if he only had his paper full. At one time Reutter surprised him just at the moment when he had stretched out before him a paper more than a yard long, with a Salve Regina for twelve voices, sketched upon it. “Ha! what are you doing, my little fellow?” said he. But when he saw the long paper he laughed heartily at the plentiful rows of Salves, and still more at the ridiculous idea of a boy writing for twelve voices, and exclaimed: “O, you silly youngster! are not two voices sufficient for you?” These curt rebuffs were profitable to Haydn. Reutter advised him to write variations to his own liking upon the pieces he heard in church, and this practice gave him fresh and original ideas which Reutter corrected. “I certainly had talent, and by dint of hard work I managed to get on. When my comrades were at their sports, I went to my own room, where there was no danger of disturbance, and practiced,” says Haydn.
Dies, speaking further of this time in Haydn’s youth, says: “I must guess at many details, for Haydn always spoke of his teacher with a reserve and respect which did honor to his heart”—feelings all the more to his credit when we consider the following statements, from the same authority: “What was very embarrassing to him and at his age must have been painful, was the fact that it looked as if they were trying to starve him, soul and body. Joseph’s stomach observed a perpetual fast. He went to the occasional ‘academies,’ where refreshments were provided as compensation for the choir-boys, and once having made this valuable discovery, his propensity to attend was irresistible. He tried to sing as beautifully as he could that he might acquire a reputation and thus secure invitations which would give him the opportunity of appeasing his gnawing hunger.” At such times, when not observed, he would fill his pockets with “nadeln” or other delicacies. Reutter himself had very little income from which to pay his choir-boys, so they had to famish.
Notwithstanding he sensitively felt the misery of his condition, Haydn’s youthful buoyancy did not desert him. Dies says: “At the time the court was building the Summer Palace at Schonbrunn, Haydn had to sing there with the church musicians in the Whitsuntide holidays. When not engaged in the church he joined the other boys, climbing the scaffolding and made considerable noise on the boards. One day the boys suddenly perceived a lady; it was Maria Theresa herself, who at once ordered some one to drive away the noisy youngsters, and threaten them with a whipping if they were caught there again. On the very next day, urged on by his temerity, Haydn climbed the scaffolding alone, was caught and received the promised punishment which he deserved. Many years afterward, when Haydn was engaged in Prince Esterhazy’s service, the Empress came to Esterhaz. Haydn presented himself and offered his humble thanks for the punishment received on that occasion. He had to relate the whole story, which occasioned much merriment.”
At that time we behold our hero in an exalted and dignified position, but how thorny was the upward course!
“The beautiful voice with which he had so often satisfied his hunger, suddenly became untrue and commenced to break,” says Dies. The Empress was accustomed to attend the festival of St. Leopold at the neighboring monastery of Klosterneuburg. She had already intimated to Reutter, in sport, that Haydn “could not sing any more, he crowed.” At this festival, therefore, he selected the younger brother, Michael, for the singing. He pleased the Empress so much that she sent him twenty-four ducats. As Haydn was no longer of any service to Reutter in a pecuniary way, and particularly as his place was now filled, he decided to dismiss his superfluous boarder. Haydn’s boyish folly accelerated his departure. One of the other choir-boys wore his hair in a queue, contrary to the style, and Haydn had cut it off. Reutter decided that he should be feruled. The time of punishment came. Haydn, now eighteen years of age, sought in every way to escape, and at last declared that he would not be a choir-boy any longer if he were punished: “That will not help you. You shall first be punished and then march.”
Reutter kept his word, but he counseled his dismissed singer to become a soprano, as they were very well paid at that time. Haydn, with genuine manliness, would not consent to the tempting proposal, and late in the autumn of 1749 he started out in the great world in which he was such a stranger, “helpless, without money, with three poor shirts and a thread-bare coat.” After wandering about the streets, distressed with hunger, he threw himself down on the nearest bench and spent his first night in the damp November air, under the open heavens. He was lucky enough to meet an acquaintance, also a choir-singer, and an instructor as well. Though he and his wife and child occupied one small chamber, he gave the helpless wanderer shelter—a trait of that Austrian humanity which, at a later period, was reflected in the exquisite tones of Haydn’s art. “His parents were very much distressed,” says Dies again; “his poor mother, especially, expressed her solicitude with tearful eyes. She begged her son to yield to the wishes and prayers of his parents and devote himself to the church. She gave him no rest, but Haydn was immovable. He would give them no reasons. He thought he expressed himself clearly enough when he compressed his feelings into the few words: ‘I can never be a priest.’” In his seventy-sixth year, he said to the choir-boys who were presented to him: “Be really honest and industrious and never forget God.” It is evident, therefore, that it was not the lack of sincere piety that kept him from the priesthood. He felt that he was called to another and more fitting sphere, and we now know that his feelings and impulses did not deceive him.
Necessity, however, came near forcing him into the life he had so resolutely refused, for he got little money from the serenades and choir-work in which he took part, though at other times it left him the wished-for leisure for study and composition. The quiet loneliness in that little dark garret under the tiles, the complete lack of those things which can entertain an unoccupied mind, and the utter piteousness of his condition, at times led him into such unhappy reveries that he was driven to his music to chase away his troubles. “At one time,” says Dies, “his thoughts were so gloomy, or more likely his hunger was so keen, that he resolved, in spite of his prejudices, to join the Servite Order so that he could get sufficient to eat. This, however, was only a fleeting impulse, for his nature would never allow him to really take such a step. His disposition happily inclined to joyousness and saved him from any serious outbreaks of melancholy. When the summer rain or the winter snow, leaking through the cracks of the roof, awoke him, he regarded such little accidents as natural, and made sport of them.”