[5] It is a fact that this stupendous work was completed in twenty-four days!

[6] In the ma.n.u.script score preserved at Buckingham Palace the symphony is marked 'Pifa,' a shortening of the Italian word 'Pifferare,' to play on the fife.

HANDEL'S PRINc.i.p.aL COMPOSITIONS

8 ORATORIOS, etc.

La Resurrezione (1708); two Pa.s.sions (1704 and 1716); Acis and Galatea (1720); Esther (1720); Deborah (1733); Athalia (1733); Alexander's Feast (1736); Saul (1738); Israel in Egypt (1738); Ode for St. Cecilia's Day (1739); L'Allegro, il Penseroso, ed il Moderato (1740); The Messiah (1741); Samson (1741); Joseph (1743); Semele (1743); Belshazzar (1744); Hercules (1744); Occasional Oratorio (1746); Judas Maccabaeus (1746); Alexander Balus (1747); Joshua (1747); Solomon (1748); Susanna (1748); Theodora (1749); The Choice of Hercules (1750); Jephtha (1751); The Triumph of Time and Truth (1757).

Utrecht Te Deum and Jubilate. 1713.

12 Chandos Anthems. 1718-1720.

2 Chandos Te Deums. 1718-1720.

4 Coronation Anthems (Let thy Hand be Strengthened, My Heart is inditing, The King shall Rejoice, and Zadok the Priest). 1727.

Funeral Anthem (The Ways of Zion do Mourn). 1737.

Dettingen Te Deum. 1743.

40 OPERAS, mostly remembered only by a single aria. The following may be named: Almira (1705); Rodrigo (1707); Agrippina (1709); Rinaldo (1711); Radamisto (1720); Muzio Scaevola (Act III. only--1721); Ottone (1722); Scipione (1726); Admeto (1726); Ezio (1732); Serse (1738).

Water Music. 1715.

17 Suites de Pieces for the clavecin.

40 Concertos for various instruments.

HAYDN

HAYDN

The Cathedral of St. Stephen, standing in the central square of Vienna, looked grey and cheerless in the misty atmosphere of a November evening. Evensong had just concluded, the worshippers had dispersed, and the great square itself was silent and deserted, save for one or two hurrying pedestrians crossing it on their homeward way.

One of these, however, formed an exception to the rest, for he seemed to be in no hurry to leave the square. On reaching the further side he hesitated, glanced up at the clock, and then, turning about, paced listlessly up and down, as if uncertain whether to go or remain. Not even the rain, which now began to fall in that silent, hopeless fashion which predicts a thoroughly wet evening, appeared to a.s.sist the wanderer in coming to a decision. He was a mere stripling, short of stature, shabbily clothed, and with a keen look on his pale face that betokened a want of food and rest.

The square was dimly lighted by lamps stationed at wide intervals, and the shadows cast by the great building effectually concealed the form of the youth as he entered them in the course of his restless walk.

It was evident that he was in a state of acute distress, and equally evident that this spot held some peculiar attraction for him, for now and again he cast a glance at the church walls, or lingered beside the closed door which was used by the members of the choir. Presently, as he was pa.s.sing, the door opened, emitting a stream of yellow light across the wet pavement, and a number of youths sallied forth, talking and laughing together as they came. At the sound of the creaking hinges the dest.i.tute boy shrank back into the shadow, as if he were afraid of being recognised--which, indeed, was the case. Nevertheless, on catching a glimpse of one young face, as the figure of its owner almost brushed against him, he could not refrain from exclaiming under his breath, 'Michael!'

So low was the tone in which the name was uttered, that, although the chorister's face, with the light from the doorway falling upon it, was turned for a second in the speaker's direction, the boy failed to grasp the meaning of the sound, and hurried on with his companions; and with a deep sigh the poor wanderer turned away.

At that moment a young man who was crossing the square from the opposite side paused to turn up the collar of his coat. In so doing he became aware that a pair of eyes was regarding him with a sorrowful, appealing gaze from the depths of the shadows. In another moment he had advanced to the youth's side and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

'Joseph! can it be you? Man, how wet you are!' The outcast shivered under the friendly touch. 'What are you doing? Where have you been living?' continued the questioner, drawing the youth into the light of a lamp, and regarding his pale, tired face with astonishment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HAYDN.

From photo RISCHGITZ.]

'Nothing--nowhere. I am starving, that is all,' was the reply.

'Starving--you! This is Reutter's handiwork,' said the other angrily.

'Have you seen your brother Michael? I met them coming out just now.

Was he not with the rest?' he added in a gentler tone, still keeping his hand on the lad's shoulder.

'Yes, he was there; but he didn't see me,' replied the wanderer hesitatingly, adding, 'I was afraid the others might notice my distress.'

The friend bit his lip and seemed to be meditating. At last he spoke.

'Well, see here, Joseph, we cannot stand longer in the rain; come home with me. You know I haven't a palace to offer you, but such as it is you are welcome to a share of it for one night at least.' And so saying he drew Joseph's arm within his own, and, bidding him walk fast, the pair quitted the square.

Well might honest Franz Spangler, who held no higher or more lucrative post than that of tenor singer in the choir of St. Michael's Church, warn his young friend not to expect the luxury of a home replete with comforts. Indeed, anyone comparing the two young men as they threaded the narrow streets leading to Spangler's abode would have found it no easy matter to determine which presented the shabbier appearance; though, having decided this point to his satisfaction, he would have been at no trouble in estimating the sort of house to which the chorister would be likely to introduce his friend.

Situated in the poorest quarter of the town, the house presented a sufficiently poverty-stricken appearance to warrant the meanest opinion being entertained with regard to Spangler's powers of hospitality. The kind-hearted singer was, in fact, almost as poor as the youth whom he had befriended, with the additional responsibility entailed by a wife and child. Nevertheless, to the homeless, starving lad who now followed his protector up the crazy stairs leading to the garret which comprised the latter's home, the chorister seemed by comparison prosperous and well-to-do. Was it not luxury to be invited to seat himself beside the scanty fire burning in the stove, and to feel its warmth slowly penetrating to his chilled bones? Was it not luxury to one who had tramped the streets--those endless, pitiless streets--during the past eight-and-forty hours, without food or shelter, to taste the warm bread-and-milk which his kindly hostess had contrived to eke out of her small stock? Finally, was it not the height of luxury to such an one to stretch his weary limbs beside the dying embers, and sleep the sleep which exhausted nature demanded?

The heart of Spangler might well have been touched by the distress into which his young friend had fallen, seeing that he was already acquainted with some of the circ.u.mstances to which his forlorn condition was due. And life had promised so differently for poor Joseph but a short while ago! When, some four years prior to this meeting, he had welcomed the coming of his younger brother Michael to the Cantorei, or choir-school of St. Stephen's, he could not have divined that this brother would, indirectly, be the cause of his being turned adrift into the streets. Yet such was the melancholy fact, and as to the manner in which this was brought about we may properly inquire while the subject of this history lies wrapped in slumber beside the garret stove.

About fifteen leagues to the southward of Vienna, and amidst the marshy flats bordering upon the River Leitha, lies the little village of Rohrau, which derives its name from its situation. At the extreme end of the long, straggling street which comprises the village stands, close to the river banks, a low, thatched building--half house, half cottage--with a wheelwright's shop adjoining. The house stands back a little way from the road, with a patch of greensward before it, on which, in the days to which our story belongs, one might have seen a waggon or two in process of repair, and possibly have caught a glimpse of the worthy wheelwright himself at his work.

Mathias Haydn, master wheelwright, and s.e.xton of the little church standing on the hill outside the village, was in the fullest sense ent.i.tled to rank as a worthy: he was not only a deeply religious man, but one who was looked up to and respected by every one in the village and for many a mile around. There was an air of refinement about his home which raised it far above the level of the homes by which it was surrounded. A strong taste for music formed a part of Mathias's nature, and it was shared to a great extent by his wife Maria.

Regularly each Sunday evening, when the duties of the day were finished, he would bring out his harp, which he had learnt to play by ear, and accompany himself in songs and hymns. He had a pleasing tenor voice, and sang with great expression. The wife also sang well, and, joining in with her husband on these occasions, their example soon induced the children to add their voices to the concert.

The long winter evenings were those specially devoted to music. It was at one of such times, when the village street was deserted, and the keen wind was sweeping it from end to end, sporting with the snow, lifting it in whirling clouds, and building up drifts at every corner; whilst away on the lonely marshes the ice-bound river lay shimmering in the frosty moonlight, and the blast soughed through the tall reeds and gra.s.ses, that the following little scene was being enacted within the kitchen of the wheelwright's cottage.

[Ill.u.s.tration: '_He was imitating the playing of a violin._']

On the oaken settle next the stove sat a child of about five years of age, following with the closest attention his father's performance on the harp. In his hands were two sticks, with which he was imitating the playing of a violin, keeping accurate time with his bow to the rhythm of the music. The rapt expression on the boy's face was not lost upon the father, and thoughts which more than once had occupied Mathias's mind as he watched his child's clever imitation of the village schoolmaster's playing of the violin were recurring with redoubled force on this occasion. And when the boy lifted up his sweet treble voice in unison with the rest its beauty sent a thrill through the father's heart. His own life had been a keen disappointment with respect to his pa.s.sionate love for music--a love which had made him yearn to know more of the art for which he had so profound a reverence. Hence the determination that his child should have every chance that he could afford of developing such talents as he possessed gathered strength as he perceived the manifestations of delight on the part of little Joseph every time the harp was produced, and as he noted the quickness and accuracy with which the boy learnt the simple melodies that were played to him. And as time went on these thoughts kindled a hope in the father's breast that his little Joseph might one day become a musician, and perhaps--who could tell?--he might even rise to be a Capellmeister!

Joseph Haydn, the subject of our story and the centre of his father's hopes, was born on March 31, 1732, and had attained his sixth year when the first step towards the settlement of his future was taken by his parents. Previous to this event Mathias had confided to his wife the hopes which he entertained with regard to Joseph's musical career, in the expectation that she would share them. Maria, however, did not incline to her husband's views on the subject. She cherished a strong desire that Joseph should eventually join the priesthood, and fancied that she detected in the boy's reverence for sacred music a natural leaning in that direction.

Matters were at this juncture when an unexpected visit was paid to the cottage by a distant relative named Johann Mathias Frankh, the schoolmaster of Hainburg, a small town about four leagues from Rohrau.

Frankh, who was himself a fair musician, happened to visit the family at the moment when they were engaged in their evening concert, and the sight of Joseph with his toy violin at once attracted his attention.

The purity and accuracy of the child's singing, moreover, soon convinced the schoolmaster that he had in him the makings of a good musician, and without knowing anything of the parents' wishes or intentions, he immediately proposed that Joseph should be placed under his instruction. 'If you will let Sepperl (the Austrian diminutive for Joseph) come to me,' said he, 'I will take care that he is properly taught. I can see that he promises well.'

Mathias gave a willing consent to the proposition, and Maria's objections having been overruled (she kept to herself the hope that this might, after all, prove to be but a stepping-stone to the fulfilment of her wishes), in a very short time Joseph and his father were seated in the waggon and jogging on their way to Hainburg.

The new world into which Joseph found himself launched had many drawbacks, but one excellent side. His 'cousin,' as he termed Frankh, was a strict but careful teacher, and under his care the boy not only learned to sing well, but also acquired a good deal of knowledge regarding the various musical instruments in use at that time. In other respects, too, his education was looked after; and as his quickness at learning was remarkable, and his cousin did not scruple to employ physical force to enable his pupil to master his difficulties, Joseph made rapid progress, despite the fact that he was often flogged when he should have been fed. The strict discipline to which he was subjected may not have been without its value in inducing habits of method and order in the boy's studies; but in many ways his life was rendered unnecessarily hard. The schoolmaster was a married man, but his wife showed the utmost indifference towards the little fellow who had hoped to find in her a second mother, but who found instead that he was neglected in every way. Next to religion itself, Mathias and Maria had instilled into their children a positive reverence for personal cleanliness. Joseph's distress, therefore, at finding himself bereft of a mother's care became greater day by day as he saw the rents in his clothing pa.s.sed over and the means of keeping his body in the state to which he had been accustomed unprovided. What this meant to a sensitive child with a rooted aversion to dirt may be imagined; nor were his sufferings in any way reduced by the attention which his dest.i.tute, neglected state drew upon him. Try as he might to forget his misery in his books, he could not but be aware of the pitying glances which were cast at him by those whom he encountered in his walks, or who pa.s.sed by as he sat reading on the step outside his cousin's door.

Though ashamed of his appearance, Joseph was in no danger of losing his self-respect--the love of cleanliness and order had been too deeply implanted to be easily uprooted; moreover, his childish reason whispered to him that the present state of things could not last for ever, and in the meantime he bravely resolved to make the best of it.

He was receiving lessons on the clavier and violin, but the training of his voice occupied the foremost place, and when not in school the boy was nearly always to be found in the church, listening to the organ or the singing. In a very short time he had made such progress as to be admitted to the choir, where he joined his sweet young voice in the singing of the Ma.s.ses.

Already his mind was beginning to feed upon those higher branches of music which his natural gifts enabled him to appreciate. His reverential nature was strongly shown in regard to his music, and it was in the church alone that he could obtain the gratification of a sense which was surely leading him on to greater things. As the days went by he was conscious of a yearning for something that his present surroundings could not supply. His thoughts were constantly travelling towards a city wherein he had centred his hopes, and where he knew he should find his heart's desires. That city was Vienna. It was before his eyes as he stood in the choir of Hainburg Church; it came between him and his book as he sat in the schoolroom conning his lesson; it was in his dreams as he slept, as it was foremost in his thoughts on waking. But Vienna lay afar off; and looking down at his ragged clothing, and reflecting upon the poverty that surrounded him, Joseph wondered if it would ever be possible for him to realise his dream.

'Sepperl, come here; I want you.' It was his cousin Frankh's voice, calling to him as he was leaving the schoolroom one morning. 'There is to be a procession through the town next week, in honour of a respected citizen who died yesterday. They have asked me to supply a drummer, and I thought of you at once. Come, I will show you how to make the stroke,' and, taking Joseph by the hand, he led him into the yard where, having improvised a drum by turning a tub bottom uppermost, Frankh placed a stick in the boy's hand and bade him beat the time of a march. A few attempts sufficed to convince Frankh of his pupil's proficiency, and Joseph was duly installed in the drummer's place. Owing, however, to his small stature, it was found necessary to call in the help of a schoolboy of his own height, and as this boy happened to be a hunchback, he was enabled to carry the drums on his back at the proper level for Joseph to beat them. The comical effect thus produced proved too much for the gravity of many of the bystanders, but Joseph went through his business with solemnity, secretly deriving much pleasure from this public exhibition of his skill, and thereafter he always retained an affection for the instrument as well as a knowledge of how it should be played.[7]

Haydn had just completed the second year of his school life at Hainburg, when an event happened which brought the realisation of his dreams suddenly within his grasp. The Capellmeister of St. Stephen's Cathedral, in Vienna, George Reutter, was paying a visit to his friend, the pastor of Hainburg, and in the course of conversation he mentioned that he was in want of some good voices for the cathedral choir. 'Then I think I can find you one at least,' replied his friend; 'he is a scholar of Frankh's, the schoolmaster here, and possesses an excellent voice. Shall we send for him?' Reutter agreed, and a message was accordingly dispatched to Frankh.

In due course the schoolmaster appeared, leading Haydn by the hand, and the pair were ushered into the presence of Reutter.

The Capellmeister eyed the boy kindly, and, drawing him to his knee, said, 'Well, my little fellow, can you make a shake?'