Part 2 (1/2)

but the Scribe of the eighteenth century, the poet and opera librettist, Metastasio. Born in 1698, the son of humble parents, this distinguished writer had, like Haydn, suffered from ”the eternal want of pence.” A precocious boy, he had improvised verses and recited them on the street, and fame came to him only after long and weary years of waiting. In 1729 he was appointed Court poet to the theatre at Vienna, for which he wrote several of his best pieces, and when he made Haydn's acquaintance his reputation was high throughout the whole of Europe. Naturally, he did not live so near the clouds as Haydn--his rooms were on the third story--but he heard somehow of the friendless, penniless youth in the attic, and immediately resolved to do what he could to further his interests. This, as events proved, was by no means inconsiderable.

A n.o.ble Pupil

Metastasio had been entrusted with the education of Marianne von Martinez, the daughter of a Spanish gentleman who was Master of the Ceremonies to the Apostolic Nuncio. The young lady required a musicmaster, and the poet engaged Haydn to teach her the harpsichord, in return for which service he was to receive free board. Fraulein Martinez became something of a musical celebrity. When she was only seventeen she had a ma.s.s performed at St Michael's Church, Vienna. She was a favourite of the Empress Maria Theresa, and is extolled by Burney--who speaks of her ”marvelous accuracy” in the writing of English--as a singer and a player, almost as highly as Gluck's niece. Her name finds a place in the biographies of Mozart, who, at her musical receptions, used to take part with her in duets of her own composition. Several of her ma.n.u.scripts are still in the possession of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde. Something of her musical distinction ought certainly to be attributed to Haydn, who gave her daily lessons for three years, during which time he was comfortably housed with the family.

Porpora

It was through Metastasio, too, that he was introduced to Niccolo Porpora, the famous singing-master who taught the great Farinelli, and whose name is sufficiently familiar from its connection with an undertaking set on foot by Handel's enemies in London. Porpora seems at this time to have ruled Vienna as a sort of musical director and privileged censor, to have been, in fact, what Rossini was for many years in Paris. He was giving lessons to the mistress of Correr, the Venetian amba.s.sador--a ”rare musical enthusiast”--and he employed Haydn to act as accompanist during the lessons.

Menial Duties

We get a curious insight into the social conditions of the musicians of this time in the bearing of Haydn towards Porpora and his pupil. That Haydn should become the instructor of Fraulein Martinez in no way compromised his dignity; nor can any reasonable objection be raised against his filling the post of, accompanist to the amba.s.sador's mistress. But what shall be said of his being transported to the amba.s.sador's summer quarters at Mannersdorf, and doing duty there for six ducats a month and his board--at the servants' table? The reverend author of Music and Morals answers by reminding us that in those days musicians were not the confidential advisers of kings like Wagner, rich banker's sons like Meyerbeer, private gentlemen like Mendelssohn, and members of the Imperial Parliament like Verdi. They were ”poor devils”

like Haydn. Porpora was a great man, no doubt, in his own metier. But it is surely odd to hear of Haydn acting the part of very humble servant to the singing-master; blackening his boots and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his wig, and brus.h.i.+ng his coat, and running his errands, and playing his accompaniments! Let us, however, remember Haydn's position and circ.u.mstances. He was a poor man. He had never received any regular tuition such as Handel received from Zachau, Mozart from his father, and Mendelssohn from Zelter. He had to pick up his instruction as he went along; and if he felt constrained to play the lackey to Porpora, it was only with the object of receiving in return something which would help to fit him for his profession. As he naively said, ”I improved greatly in singing, composition, and Italian.” [The relations of Haydn and Porpora are sketched in George Sand's ”Consuelo.”]

Emanuel Bach

In the meantime he was carrying on his private studies with the greatest a.s.siduity. His f.u.x and his Mattheson had served their turn, and he had now supplemented them by the first six Clavier Sonatas of Philipp Emanuel Bach, the third son of the great composer. The choice may seem curious when we remember that Haydn had at his hand all the music of Handel and Bach, and the masters of the old contrapuntal school. But it was wisely made. The simple, well-balanced form of Emanuel Bach's works ”acted as well as a master's guidance upon him, and led him to the first steps in that style of writing which was afterwards one of his greatest glories.” The point is admirably put by Sir Hubert Parry. He says, in effect, that what Haydn had to build upon, and what was most congenial to him, through his origin and circ.u.mstances, was the popular songs and dances of his native land, which, in the matter of structure, belong to the same order of art as symphonies and sonatas; and how this kind of music could be made on a grander scale was what he wanted to discover.

The music of Handel and Bach leaned too much towards the style of the choral music and organ music of the church to serve him as a model. For their art was essentially contrapuntal--the combination of several parts each of equal importance with the rest, each in a sense pursuing its own course. In modern music the essential principle is harmonic: the chords formed by the combination of parts are derived and developed in reference to roots and keys. In national dances few harmonies are used, but they are arranged on the same principles as the harmonies of a sonata or a symphony; and ”what had to be found out in order to make grand instrumental works was how to arrange more harmonies with the same effect of unity as is obtained on a small scale in dances and national songs.” Haydn, whose music contains many reminiscences of popular folk-song, had in him the instinct for this kind of art; and the study of Philipp Emanuel's works taught him how to direct his energies in the way that was most agreeable to him.

A Disciple of Emanuel Bach

Although much has been written about Emanuel Bach, it is probable that the full extent of his genius remains yet to be recognized. He was the greatest clavier player, teacher and accompanist of his day; a master of form, and the pioneer of a style which was a complete departure from that of his father. Haydn's enthusiasm for him can easily be explained.

”I did not leave the clavier till I had mastered all his six sonatas,”

he says, ”and those who know me well must be aware that I owe very much to Emanuel Bach, whose works I understand and have thoroughly studied.

Emanuel Bach himself once complimented me on this fact.” When Haydn began to make a name Bach hailed him with delight as a disciple, and took occasion to send him word that, ”he alone had thoroughly comprehended his works and made a proper use of them.”

This is a sufficient answer to the absurd statement which has been made, and is still sometimes repeated, that Bach was jealous of the young composer and abused him to his friends. A writer in the European Magazine for October 1784, says that Bach was ”amongst the number of professors who wrote against our rising author.” He mentions others as doing the same thing, and then continues: ”The only notice Haydn took of their scurrility and abuse was to publish lessons written in imitation of the several styles of his enemies, in which their peculiarities were so closely copied and their extraneous pa.s.sages (particularly those of Bach of Hamburg) so inimitably burlesqued, that they all felt the poignancy of his musical wit, confessed its truth, and were silent.”

Further on we read that the sonatas of Ops. 13 and 14 were ”expressly composed in order to ridicule Bach of Hamburg.” All this is manifestly a pure invention. Many of the peculiarities of Emanuel Bach's style are certainly to be found in Haydn's works--notes wide apart, pause bars, surprise modulations, etc., etc.--but if every young composer who adopts the tricks of his model is to be charged with caricature, few can hope to escape. The truth is, of course, that every man's style, whether in music or in writing, is a ”mingled yarn” of many strands, and it serves no good purpose to unravel it, even if we could.

Violin Studies

Haydn's chief instrument was the clavier, but in addition to that he diligently practiced the violin. It was at this date that he took lessons on the latter instrument from ”a celebrated virtuoso.” The name is not mentioned, but the general opinion is that Dittersdorf was the instructor. This eminent musician obtained a situation as violinist in the Court Orchestra at Vienna in 1760; and, curiously enough, after many years of professional activity, succeeded Haydn's brother, Michael, as Capellmeister to the Bishop of Groswardein in Hungary. He wrote an incredible amount of music, and his opera, ”Doctor and Apotheker,” by which he eclipsed Mozart at one time, has survived up to the present.

Whether or not he gave Haydn lessons on the violin, it is certain that the pair became intimate friends, and had many happy days and some practical jokes together. One story connected with their names sounds apocryphal, but there is no harm in quoting it. Haydn and Dittersdorf were strolling down a back street when they heard a fiddler sc.r.a.ping away in a little beer cellar. Haydn, entering, inquired, ”Whose minuet is that you are playing?” ”Haydn's,” answered the fiddler. ”It's a--bad minuet,” replied Haydn, whereupon the enraged player turned upon him and would have broken his head with the fiddle had not Dittersdorf dragged him away.

Attempts at Programme Music

It seems to have been about this time--the date, in fact, was 1751--that Haydn, still pursuing his serenading practices, directed a performance of a quintet of his own composition under the windows of Felix Kurz, a well-known Viennese comedian and theatrical manager. According to an old writer, Kurz amused the public by his puns, and drew crowds to his theatre by his originality and by good opera-buffas. He had, moreover, a handsome wife, and ”this was an additional reason for our nocturnal adventurers to go and perform their serenades under the harlequin's windows.” The comedian was naturally flattered by Haydn's attention. He heard the music, and, liking it, called the composer into the house to show his skill on the clavier. Kurz appears to have been an admirer of what we would call ”programme” music. At all events he demanded that Haydn should give him a musical representation of a storm at sea.

Unfortunately, Haydn had never set eyes on the ”mighty monster,” and was hard put to it to describe what he knew nothing about. He made several attempts to satisfy Kurz, but without success. At last, out of all patience, he extended his hands to the two ends of the harpsichord, and, bringing them rapidly together, exclaimed, as he rose from the instrument, ”The devil take the tempest.” ”That's it! That's it!” cried the harlequin, springing upon his neck and almost suffocating him. Haydn used to say that when he crossed the Straits of Dover in bad weather, many years afterwards, he often smiled to himself as he thought of the juvenile trick which so delighted the Viennese comedian.

His First Opera

But the comedian wanted more from Haydn than a tempest on the keyboard.

He had written the libretto of an opera, ”Der Neue Krumme Teufel,” and desired that Haydn should set it to music. The chance was too good to be thrown away, and Haydn proceeded to execute the commission with alacrity, not a little stimulated, doubtless, by the promise of 24 ducats for the work. There is a playfulness and buoyancy about much of Haydn's music which seems to suggest that he might have succeeded admirably in comic opera, and it is really to be regretted that while the words of ”Der Neue Krumme Teufel” have been preserved, the music has been lost. It would have been interesting to see what the young composer had made of a subject which--from Le Sage's ”Le Diable Boiteux”

onwards--has engaged the attention of so many playwrights and musicians.

The opera was produced at the Stadt Theatre in the spring of 1752, and was frequently repeated not only in Vienna, but in Berlin, Prague, Saxony and the Breisgau.