Is it not natural, then, and excusable also, that at times he sought solace away from home? * * * An Italian singer, in particular, Luigia Polzelli, won his affections in later years, and bestowed upon him a loving sympathy. He writes to her from London in 1792, thirty-two years after his unfortunate marriage, in furious terms: “My wife, bestia infernale, has written so much stuff, that I had to tell her I would not come to the house any more, which has brought her again to her senses.” A year later he says, in a gentler and almost sorrowful tone: “My wife is ailing most of the time and is always in the same miserable temper, but I do not let it distress me any longer. There will sometime be an end of this torment.” The remark in Lessing’s “Jungere Gelehrten,” “I am obliged to admit that I have had no other aim than this: to practice those virtues which enable one to endure such a woman,” exactly apply to Haydn’s case. At last he could bear it no longer. He procured board for her with the teacher Stoll, at Baden, who is spoken of in Mozart’s letters, and she died there in 1800. Haydn dearly earned that exquisite peace which characterized so many of his adagios, but it was the true rest of the soul, and it is only here and there that a softly sighing chord reminds us of Wotan’s words: “The victory was won through toil and trouble from morning until night.” The unrestrained outpourings of love Haydn could not express. When Adam and Eve in “The Creation,” or Hannchen and Lucas sing their fond strains, you never think of Constance and Pamina, and yet Haydn wrote both these works long after Mozart was dead. The fullness and dignity of true womanly nature, in which his own wife was wanting, he was elsewhere to learn and value, as we shall yet see. The tenderer and deeper notes of the heart are not wanting in his compositions; on the contrary, he was the first to introduce them in music in all their perfection.
We now resume the course of our narrative. Dies says: “Six months passed by before Count Morzin knew that his Capellmeister was married. Circumstances occurred which changed Haydn’s affairs. It became necessary for the Count to reduce his large expenses and to dismiss his musicians, and thus he lost his position.” Prince Esterhazy, however, a short time before, had become acquainted with some of his orchestral pieces and admired them. His growing fame, his admirable personal character, besides Morzin’s hearty commendations, secured for him the position of Capellmeister to the Prince in the same year (1761), and he held it nearly to the close of his life. This position settled Haydn’s future as a composer.
The Esterhazy residence is in the little town of Eisenstadt, in Hungary, where the Prince’s castle supplied accommodation for every style of musical and dramatic performances. Music in particular had been patronized by the family for many generations. Here, in undisturbed quiet, Haydn actively devoted himself to those remarkable compositions which deservedly proclaim him the founder of modern instrumental music. The Prince had a pretty complete orchestra, though it was small, and a modest chorus, with two soloists. It was also expected that the servants and attendants, after the custom of that time, would assist as musicians. The entire force of musicians was placed under the direction of the new Capellmeister, who was raised to an official position. By virtue of his rank, he was obliged to appear daily in the antechamber and receive instructions with regard to the music. He was also expected to compose what music was necessary and drill the singers. His contract of May 1, 1761, commends the duty required of him to his skill and zeal, and hopes that he will keep the orchestra up to such a standard as will reflect honor upon him and entitle him to further marks of princely favor.
Rarely, indeed, has a hope been more fully realized. The orchestra was soon a superior one, and it was not long before the works written for it by Haydn became famous throughout the world. The very first of the Esterhazy symphonies in C major, known as “The Noon,” showed that he was determined to bring the Prince as well as the orchestra to a realization of the work before them. It makes demands upon the orchestra which this one could not supply till much later, as it was written in a very large and broad style. It also has in it a foreshadowing of Beethoven’s dramatic style, in a recitative for violin with orchestra, introduced in one movement. He himself was also more thoroughly grounded in his own artistic work. The ever-increasing interest which the Prince took in him (to Paul Anton, succeeded the next year, Nicholas, Anton following him in 1790, and a second Nicholas following Anton in 1795) was a fresh incentive to his creative talent, so that the confinement in his rural situation during the twenty years that he passed with the first two Princes did not weigh very heavily upon him. After 1766, he spent many of the winter months with his Prince in Vienna. “My Prince was always satisfied with my works. I not only had the encouragement of steady approbation, but as leader of the orchestra, I could experiment, observe what produced and what weakened effects, and was thus enabled to improve, change, make additions or omissions, and venture upon anything. I was separated from the world, there was no one to distract or torment me, and I was compelled to become original.” Such a statement as this, which was made to Griesinger, shows what an important influence his life at this period had upon his artistic development.
There are many other interesting details of this Esterhazy life. Griesinger says: “Fishing and hunting were Haydn’s favorite pleasures during his stay in Hungary.” Think for a moment what an influence such an unbroken, restful life in God’s free nature must have had upon him, especially when it is considered that this had continued for thirty years and had been his only recreation outside of his own profession. “The dew-dropping morn, O how it quickens all,” says Eve in “The Creation.” In the early morning, the best time for his favorite pleasure, when the sun rose, shining in its full splendor, “a giant proud and joyous,” or at evening the moon “stole upon” the home-returning hunter with “soft step and gentle shimmer,” how his heart must have expanded as the sublime solitude of Nature revealed itself to him and spoke its own language! It was a time when the sense of nature rose superior to all the artifices of custom, and her majesty and chaste purity made a deep impression upon every noble feeling. In this sacred solitude, which with his beloved art filled his life with its only happiness and contentment, he stripped off his powdered wig and stood up clothed in his own pure manhood. What the result was may be seen in his exuberant melodies, earnest as well as passionate, which picture the innocent joy of Nature.
Many other things he learned to picture at this time. It was only that free and appreciative contemplation of Nature, which continual intimate intercourse with her produces, which enabled him to keenly observe the characteristics of every one of her phenomena and to give them conscious expression in his old age, in “The Creation” and “The Seasons.” The “Noon” symphony was soon followed by the “Morning.” That he intended to express in this music the “awakening of impressions upon arriving in the country,” is shown by a concerto which appeared soon afterward, “The Evening,” and which closes with a storm. According to Dies, his Prince had commissioned him to make the divisions of the day subjects for composition. We know by their reception that these works revealed an entirely new world of music. Beethoven, with his incomparably deeper feeling for Nature, received his first impulses of that feeling from this music. The original can only be found in Haydn’s quiet life at Eisenstadt with Prince Esterhazy. We shall find further confirmation of the influence of this life in the following details:
The bearing of Prince Nicholas, then in his fortieth year, corresponded with his surroundings. Rich and distinguished as he was, he had noble passions. His appearance at Court was brilliant, while the richness of his jewels was proverbial. But his love of art and science was far greater than his fondness for show and court display, and in true Hungarian fashion, music was the dearest of all to him. He was a genuine Austrian cavalier of the best old times. Goodness of heart, magnanimity and kindly feeling were his prominent traits of character, and he manifested these qualities especially toward his orchestra. “During the entire period of his rule, his records, nearly all of which begin with the declaration, ‘God be with us,’ are a continuous series of releases from moneyed as well as other obligations, and rarely was a request refused,” says Pohl, in his reliable biography of Haydn. Still he could be severe without retaining animosity. His own instrument was the baryton, at that time very much admired, which has long since been superseded by the noble violoncello. Apropos of this instrument, the following characteristic event occurred:
The Prince played only in one key. Haydn practiced for six months, day and night, upon the instrument, often disturbed by the abuse of his wife, and upon one occasion incurred the censure of the Prince for neglecting his compositions. Thereat, impelled by a fit of vanity, he played upon the instrument at one of the evening entertainments in several keys. The Prince was not at all disturbed, and only said: “Haydn, you ought to have known better.” At first he was pained by the indifference of his honored master, but he immediately felt it was a gentle reproof, because he had wasted so much time and neglected his proper work to become a good baryton player, and turned to his compositions again with renewed earnestness. For the baryton alone, he has written upwards of one hundred and seventy-five pieces.
Haydn’s real feelings towards the Prince are shown by his words in his autobiography of 1776:—“Would that I could live and die with him.” Upon the accession of the new administration, his salary was increased one-half, and afterward six hundred florins were added, besides which he received frequent gifts from the Prince. This helped to appease his longing to go abroad, particularly to Italy—a longing which many a time must have arisen in his solitude. He recalled, even in his old age, with grateful feelings the good and generous Prince Nicholas, who had twice rebuilt his little house after it had been reduced to ashes by fires in the city. Though he wrote much, very much, simply for the Prince’s personal gratification, and consequently much that had little value, yet the Prince’s knowledge of music was sufficient to realize Haydn’s constant development and to actively foster it. Haydn was not under personal restraint, at least not more than was customary in a court at that time of “literal, primitive despotisms.” Though he was not the less a courtling, he remained an artist, and clove to his own rank. “I am surrounded by emperors, kings and many exalted persons, and I have had much flattery from them, but I will not live upon familiar terms with them; I prefer the people of my own station,” he said to Griesinger. In his later years, indeed, he personally asserted his dignity before his Prince and master. On his return from London, he bitterly complained because he was addressed by the customary “Er,” as an inferior, and after that he was always called “Herr von Haydn,” and “Respected Sir,” or “Dear Capellmeister von Haydn.” Upon one occasion the young Prince Nicholas expressed his disapproval of a rehearsal, and Haydn replied: “Your Highness, it is my duty to attend to these matters.” A glance of displeasure was the only response of His Highness.
With the orchestra itself, which numbered many excellent players, Haydn had trouble many a time. The easy lenity of the Prince made it careless, and what the habits of musicians were at that time Mozart’s biography shows. “The appeals of Haydn are touching and heart-reaching when he intercedes for those who have erred only through carelessness,” says Pohl. He also helped to appease the Prince with specially arranged compositions. To these probably belongs the symphony in five movements, called “Le Midi,” with a recitative for the first violinist, Tomasini, who was a special favorite of the Prince—a proof that the images of his fancy were already influencing him, and that, like Gluck, he was determined not to be “a mason,” but an “architect.” That he put his whole soul into these compositions is shown by the inscriptions at the beginning and end—“In nomine Domini,” “Laus Deo,” etc.