A Singer’s Guide to the Great Composers: Haydn Pt2
Haydn’s interest in Handel and his consequent desire to emulate him was stimulated further by his re-acquaintance with the Dutch born Austrian diplomat and royal librarian, Gottfried van Swieten. He had been a diplomatic envoy for the Holy Roman Empire in several European capitals, culminating in his post as Ambassador at the court of Frederick the Great of Prussia (1770-1777), a huge responsibility. On his return to Vienna, he was made Court Librarian, and fulfilled this position until the death of Emperor Joseph in 1790. On the accession to the throne of Leopold, van Swieten lost influence and lost his position as Librarian on the day that Mozart died, 5th December 1791. He was by now a wealthy man, and his patronage of Mozart now reverted to Haydn, with whom he worked closely. A multi-linguist, van Swieten first collaborated with Haydn on his oratorio, ‘The Last Seven Words of Christ’, and, on his return from London, clutching an English libretto about the creation of the world, Haydn offered this piece to van Swieten to turn it into German. The original libretto had been written using three sources, the Book of Genesis, the Book of Psalms and John Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’ (1667), and the genius of van Swieten produced a two language libretto which could be sung in both languages to Haydn’s music (more or less). Published in 1800, it quickly became one of the most performed of all oratorios and is one of my favourite performing works. I have only ever sung it in English, and van Swieten’s quirky words are a source of fun to all performers. Coupled with Haydn’s sense of humour, and also his wonderful ability to match music to words, there are myriad occasions where the singer can use his/her word-painting skills.
The piece begins, well…., “In the Beginning, when there was nothing but chaos and darkness in the universe….” An orchestral opening of utter brilliance describes the representation of chaos, in music which could almost be 20th century in its oddness. Keys change and shift, and one feels quite giddy as it drifts into silence. From out of this silence, the bass intones quietly: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth; and the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the earth.” This is one of the most sublime moments in all music, but also one of the scariest for the bass. Plucking a G from out of the chaos, before you have to find immediately the right tone and level to fill the church or concert hall with a hushed tone, really not loud, but firmly enough supported to take you safely to the D of God, a terrifyingly open vowel with the possibility of cracking. Now, cracking the sixth note of a 2-hour oratorio would be a bad start, but you can’t just yell it, as the atmosphere created by the Representation of Chaos would be completely destroyed. I have always endeavoured to mix a little falsetto with my head voice to make the note secure, but sometimes, in a big venue, you need more sound to get to the back of the hall. It is a desperately difficult opening, but, if you get it just right, it sets the tone for the whole work, and you can sit down to let the chorus sing the opening section, culminating in the earth (and heaven) -shattering “Let there be….LIGHT!”
The Creation was written for quite a large orchestra for its time, for a chorus and three soloists, soprano, tenor and bass, who represent the angels (Gabriel, Uriel and Raphael), and is in three parts. The first depicts how God created the physical world (seas, mountains etc), and there are fabulous descriptions of natural and meteorological events, like thunderstorms, snow, hail and rain. Throughout the piece, Haydn describes what the words say in music just before they are said. This can be a bit confusing if you get ahead of yourself, and start singing about the wrong effect! The first section ends with the marvellous piece, “The Heavens are telling the Glory of God”, for chorus and soloists. This was my first and only solo as a treble at school, and I remember being absolutely terrified. Since I wasn’t a particularly good treble, I had no self-confidence (surely not, you cry!) and hated every minute of it. I got better!
In the second section, the creation of the flora and fauna of the world are described, and here Haydn’s sense of fun receives full rein. The rather weird English of some of van Swieten’s libretto (he was a speaker of many languages, some better than others) combine with Haydn’s comic instinct to create some great moments. I love the “flexible tiger”, the “nimble stag” and the “fleecy, meek and bleating flock”. The whole passage about the creation of whales, and both the winged and finny tribes, and God’s instructions to be fruitful and multiply, sung by the bass over a gently moving lower string section, is one of the finest passages in all music, and it is a privilege to be able to sing it. Almost immediately, Haydn throws in an immense trio, with the chorus joining in, which tests the technique of the singers, particularly the bass, who suddenly finds himself singing a couple of top F sharps, notes which seem to appear out of nowhere, and seem even higher in the context of the piece. Further on, after the sheep, comes the great phrase; “In long dimension, creeps, with sinuous tread, the Worm”. Haydn wrote for the bass to go up to a relatively comfortable middle D for the Worm, but, as a real bass, I always sing the option of the low D. Especially in Britain, the chorus are waiting for this moment, and I have found that, if you turn towards the choir at this point in the rehearsal, so they can hear you in all your resonant glory, you have won them over for the whole piece. If you are a baritone, and don’t have the low D, I would suggest at least making a joke out of the fact that you can’t sing it, pointing to the floor, or to the second basses! This remarkable recitative is followed by a big aria for the bass, which almost leaves you on your knees by the end of it, “Now heav’n in fullest glory shone”. It has another comic moment in it; when the bass sings “by heavy beasts the ground is trod”, a great rasping low B flat is played by the bassoons and contrabassoons to illustrate the moment. A splendid tenor aria takes us on to a higher plane, and the second section is brought to a rousing conclusion by three movements, a chorus, a trio, and an amazing double fugue, celebrating God’s work, and looking forward to his greatest creation of all, Mankind.
At this point, when I sing ‘The Creation’, I have two possibilities. If the promoters of the concert are well-financed, I sit down and contemplate my forthcoming cheque or bank transfer or possibly (but very rarely these days), my brown envelope of used ten-pound notes! If, on the other hand, either artistic unity or financial good value are the requirements of the promoters, I contemplate another half hour of singing, most of which lies slightly towards the edge of my range. This is because the third and final section tells of the joy of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and narrates their first happy hours together, before the Fall. The tenor becomes a sort of Greek Chorus, and the soprano and bass become Eve and Adam. The one problem here, and the reason for my financial musings above, is that Haydn clearly had another slightly higher voiced singer in mind for Adam, as opposed to Raphael, and this whole last section sits less comfortably for a bass than a baritone. The notes are much the same, and, as we have noted before, the bass has to sing some jolly high notes as Raphael, but it is the tessitura that changes. A lighter, more lyrical voice seems to be envisaged for Adam. Of course, a decent bass or baritone can sing the whole piece, but I always like a performance where the parts are split between two singers. It allows a proper bass to indulge himself in the wide range and dramatic possibilities of Raphael, while allowing a more lyrical baritone to sing sweetly about his happiness with Eve.
I can only surmise that Haydn did not have a decent mezzo at hand for the composition of ‘The Creation’, since the piece was written with no mezzo solos, apart from a tiny appearance towards the end, in a quartet, when usually a lady from the chorus steps in. Unlike Berlioz, who was obsessed with the lower female voice, Haydn simply ignores her. To make this even more clear, when Haydn composed his follow up to the Creation, ‘The Seasons’, with another bi-lingual libretto by van Swieten, the soloists were the same – soprano, tenor and bass.
Here I must make a confession. I have never knowingly heard ‘The Seasons’, much less sung it. It is true that it has languished in the shadow of ‘The Creation’ ever since it was premiered in 1801, but it seems unfair to consign it to the dustbin of history. Looking at the various recordings, two reasons appear to stand out for my ignorance of this piece. Firstly, it looks like it has a low voice part exclusively recorded by baritones, suggesting that no one has ever thought of me in casting it. Secondly, it appears that the cute quirkiness of van Swieten’s English version of the Creation failed to be reproduced in his version of the Seasons, which was originally based on James Thomson’s rural epic, rendered into German and then re-translated back into English by van Swieten, whose grasp of English was not of the best. This perhaps explains the reluctance of British choral societies to schedule the work in their annual concert diaries. Whatever, as our young friends now say, I shall not explore it further here, claiming authorial prejudice, and moving on to the great final masses of Haydn’s career!
This later part of Haydn’s life, when he had returned from his second London trip, and when he was able to live in some comfort, spending most summers in Eisenstadt, was a fruitful one in terms of composition. As well as the two great oratorios, he wrote a famous trumpet concerto and his final marvellous string quartets, and, best of all, his final six masses.
I have a dear friend who has always maintained that these last masses of Haydn are the greatest religious works ever written. While not perhaps going that far, I would say that they are exceptional works indeed, and a worthy testament to Haydn’s genius. Throughout his life, he maintained a strong religious faith, not uncritical, but deeply rooted in his upbringing and Austrian society. I remember my first visits to Austria as a teenager, the son of a Church of Scotland elder, and being taken aback at the overt religiosity of the country, with its Marian shrines at every crossroads and its churches dripping with gold and incense. It was quite a contrast to ‘the Kirk’, and I am sure this almost universal Catholicism was even more pronounced in the late 18th century.
The masses Haydn produced for the Esterhazy family from 1796 to 1802 represent the culmination of all his years as a composer and are worth considering together. They were composed each year for the name day of Princess Maria Hermengild, the wife of Prince Nikolaus II Esterhazy, and are as interesting for their differences as for their similarities. It is always a joy to be asked to sing one of them, because, as a soloist, you know you will be singing lovely music which is not too taxing vocally, and which will not leave you lying in a darkened room afterwards, exhausted, as you may well be when you sing the ‘Missa Solemnis’, Elijah or the ‘Verdi Requiem’!
My favourites are the ‘Missa in Tempore Belli’ (Mass in time of war), the ‘Missa in Angustiis’ (Mass in troubled times), the ‘Theresienmesse’ and the last one, the ‘Harmoniemesse’. Writing about them now, years since I last sang any of them, reminds me of what enjoyment I got from singing them. I think I first came across them when in my teens. Readers may recall, in my articles about the baritone voice, that I discovered the great Finnish baritone, Tom Krause, in Salzburg, singing Schubert. So taken was I with this singer, that I sought out his records wherever I could find them, and it transpired that he had recorded two of Haydn’s great masses on the Argo label with two of Cambridge’s best choirs in the 1960s. Through Krause, I found these superb compositions, and they have continued to delight ever since.
As I have said, these masses were written for performance in church, and the marvellously over the top Austrian Baroque churches of the time were fitting venues for these pieces. With their gleaming gold and multi-coloured walls and altars, they form a perfect backdrop to these wonderful scores with their sonorous orchestration, their moving choruses and their beautiful solo ensembles. There are no arias as such, but splendid solo interventions, affording the soloists a chance to shine but also to demonstrate their ability to combine well with other voices. There are many worthy tomes which will tell you all about the various masses, so I won’t waste time here. Suffice it to say that they all repay investigation and are worth listening to.
The Harmoniemesse of 1802 was Haydn’s last great work. It takes its name from the German word for a wind ensemble, Harmonie, and naturally features many passages played by the wind section. After this mass, Haydn’s health began to deteriorate badly. He suffered from dizziness, weakness and an inability to concentrate, which was frustrating for him, as it prevented him from composing. He lived out his last years well cared for but in some distress, not helped by the marauding army of Napoleon which, in 1809, bombarded and eventually took Vienna. A French cavalry officer visited Haydn, and apparently soothed the composer by singing an aria from ‘The Creation!’
He didn’t live to see the expulsion of the French and died, in his own home in the Vienna suburbs, at the age of 77 on May 31st, 1809.
I hope this look at Joseph Haydn has whetted the appetite for readers to find out more of his music. It has certainly reminded me of what a debt we owe to the composer who bridged the eras of late Baroque, Classical and very early Romantic music. A friend of Princes, Emperors and the greatest composers of all time, Papa Haydn deserves to be remembered as a genius in his own right. I have barely mentioned the fantastic symphonies and string quartets which cement his place in musical history! Truly, he was a man for all seasons.
