So, we arrive now at one of the more interesting times, one that we want to know more about, and yet one which we know very little in documented fact. Problems arise two ways in history. The first is simply when there is a lack of information to go by. The second, and probably worse is when we have an abundance of data, but it is conflicting and we cannot sift out the reliable from the wishful from the fantastical! Certainly, as an ideal for us, some literate and prescient yet realistic person would have recognized early times that Haydn was destined for greatness and latched on to him, shared all his adventures and in his old age written a book using his perfect recall to include all events and how they were tied to each other. What we actually have, though, is a three page letter written twenty-five years after the fact by the protagonist for a ‘Who’s Who’ article, subsequently followed another twenty-five years later by two short books recounting tales which were now fifty years in the past by a man fast approaching his dotage to two men who suffered from mild to moderate hero worship, and a third by yet another worshiper who didn’t feel badly about making up things to fill in the gaps in what he actually knew. Throw in some business letters and some generic archival bits from his employer, some outright made up postmortem stuff from some wannabe-famous types and you have the reality of trying to get a grip on Haydn’s biography!
So. I told you that so I could tell you this: there are lots of different mixtures of data from the early 1750’s. Griesinger, Dies, Carpani, Haydn himself, all have essentially the same facts (or variations thereof), but the exact year, the precise order, the “this went with that” is simply a guess at this point. And when I tell you what I have gleaned, if you know one or another or all of the stories, then by all means, apply the one that makes the most sense to you. In the course of pursuing their activities as evening serenaders, Haydn & Co. were commissioned to play for a reputedly lovely actress, the wife of one Kurz, who was famous in Vienna for his portrayal of a character of his own device which he called ‘Bernardon’, but who was nothing more nor less than a personal reinvention by Kurz of the famous Viennese low-comedy ‘hero’ (?) Hanswurst. After they finished playing, the piece of music, composed by Haydn (and probably no longer extant) made a great impression on Kurz and asked who the composer was, found out it was Haydn (of whom he reputedly had heard) and invited him to his apartment for conversation. Kurz was in the process of writing what is called an opera, but what strikes me as being rather what we call today a ‘Singspiel’. He tested Haydn to see what skill he might have for composing the sort of representational music needed for such a project by laying across two chairs and pretending to be swimming, and challenging Haydn to play on the clavier some music that would suit the situation. Haydn picked up on the situation and the tempo of the events and ended up playing a splendid accompaniment in 6/8 time that Kurz judged to be perfect for what he wanted. The result was that at 20 years old, Haydn received his first ‘opera’ commission, the work being called Der krumme Teufel (The Limping Devil) which, in the event, received a dozen performances at its initial opening. Apparently it was then stopped by the City Censor because it was adjudged to have slandered the theater director. It was, however, revived in later years (as Der neue krumme Teufel) and replayed many times up until 1771 or so, when it disappeared. I mean, seriously, it disappeared. A very popular work that had played many times in many cities around Germany no longer exists, only handbills for it and at least some of the libretto, but none of the music! Earlier I mentioned C.P.E. Bach, and one of the tales related to him, by Griesinger, that Haydn acquired his set of 6 ‘Prussian Sonatas’ for the clavier and performed them until they were mastered. Dies, however, assures us that it was Bach’s book on Keyboard theory, The True Art of Playing the Keyboard that helped Haydn to master his theory lessons. I agree with Landon that this doesn’t have to be an either/or proposition, there is no temporal reason that both couldn’t be true. This is especially so when one considers that if he had the book and saw the music he would want to have it, and vice-versa. If this is the case, then 1753 would be the year it happened, since that is when the book was published in Berlin and rapidly disseminated throughout the German-speaking countries. It has been postulated that Haydn had nationalistic reasons for claiming that Bach was his inspiration rather than the Italian Sammartini, however, it is my considered opinion that nationalism was far from Haydn’s mind in this case. German musicians didn’t like Haydn’s music, and Germany was no friend of Austria despite the common language. They were, in fact rather the opposite. Italy, such as it was at the time, was a part of the same Holy Roman Empire that Austria and Hungary were. Haydn was heavily steeped in Italian music, and in fact was eternally grateful to Porpora for the teachings that he imparted just a year or two later. So I totally believe that Haydn, unlike the 19th century writer who claimed he was dissembling, knew exactly who his influences were. So these are the two main events of the 1752-3 period. Haydn did, in fact, finally meet Metastasio in there somewhere, but since his story is more closely linked with subsequent events than with previous ones, we will let that pass for now with only the mention. Music, we must have music! Well, very soon we will have music, and more than we can handle. For now, we are forced by the facts to admit that the music that undoubtedly was composed no longer exists. Not the keyboard sonatas nor the string trios nor the divertimentos of all kinds. Maybe it’s for the best? Or not. Thanks for reading,