Hob No |
Genre |
Key |
Name |
Instruments/Voices |
Notes |
|
22:11 |
Catholic Mass |
d |
Missa in Angustiis |
S-A-T-B, Chorus, 3 Trumpets, Timpani, Strings & Continuo (Organ) & Organ obbligato. |
Called the Nelsonmesse since early times, but not by Haydn, who named it Mass for difficult times in the Entwurf Katalog. |
|
24b:20 |
Concert Aria |
g |
Solo et pensoso |
Soprano, 2 Clarinets, 2 Bassoons, 2 Horns & Strings |
Setting of the words of Petrarch's sonnet No. 28. |
One would think that completing The Creation, casting and rehearsing it, and finally producing it by late April and early May, would have been sufficient occupation for Haydn this year. But no, of course not.
You had probably noticed there was no entirely new Mass last year, the Missa in Tempore Belli was one of two written in 1796 and which made its Eisenstadt debut in late September '797:
Fri. 29 September, '797
…A new Mass in C by Haydn was performed ; both women sang and were very successful…
Rosenbaum's Diary
So, always one to fulfill obligations, just a few short weeks after the extraordinary success at the Palais Schwarzenberg, Haydn was to be found busily at work on what was the consensus finest Mass he ever composed.
On each of the twelve symphonies that Haydn composed in England, he spent, of course amidst other occupations, one month, on a mass three months. He also remembered, however, having written one in one month, because he could not go out, on account of sickness.
Griesinger – Biographical Notes page 62 (Gotwals)
If it was anyone other than the indefatigable Haydn, it might be less difficult to believe, as most have always done, that exhaustion laid him low for the summer after the completion of The Creation. That appears to be the case, so it wasn't some exotic disease, no doubt easily cured by modern medicine. He was simply worn out. We don't really hear much about him between 10 May and 10 July, possibly he was merely laid up. But the autograph manuscript of the Mass is quite clear about one thing, since Haydn made precise notes on it when he began and finished: "1798 10 July at Eisenstadt" and then, "31 August". So the work of composing and scoring took fifty-three days in all. We don't know when Haydn left Vienna, perhaps we know why; there is a sulphur baths at Schützen am Gebirge, very close by Eisenstadt, and 'the Baths' were one of the most popular cures in the 18th century (and long before). Rosenbaum notes in his diary of 6 August that he saw Haydn there. If you've ever taken a 'cure', as I have, no doubt you are a bit envious too.
[To Christoph Gottlob Breitkopf, Leipzig. German]
Vienna, 12th June 1799.
Dearest Friend,
I am really very much ashamed to have to offend a man who has written so often and honoured me with so many marks of esteem (which I do not deserve), by answering him at this late date; it is not negligence on my part but the vast amount of business which is responsible, and the older I get, the more business I have to transact daily. I only regret that on account of my growing age and (unfortunately) the decrease of my mental powers, I am able to dispatch but the smallest part of it. Every day the world pays me compliments on the fire of my recent works, but no one will believe the strain and effort it costs me to produce them: there are some days in which my enfeebled memory and the unstrung state of my nerves crush me to the earth to such an extent that I fall prey to the worst sort of depression, and thus am quite incapable of finding even a single idea for many days thereafter; until at last Providence revives me, and I can again sit down at the pianoforte and begin to scratch away again. Enough of this!
[snip]
Your obliging and obedient servant,
Joseph Haydn [m.p] ria.
This letter, written a year later, certainly reinforces what we are just now coming to know about Haydn; the vicissitudes of age are beginning to creep in on him. And as will develop in a few short years, it won't be a physical diminution, but rather, a mental one. But right now, in 1798, we are not seeing senescence as much as plain exhaustion!
Since it is such a popular thing, skipping over it wouldn't do us any favor, so it is prudent to note this here; on 1 August 1798, the greatest of all British admirals, Horatio Nelson, dealt the forces of Napoleon a much-needed (for the Allies) setback at Aboukir Bay, Egypt.
…A Canadian named Benjamin Hallowell was in charge of Swiftsure, and he brought his ship between Bellerophon and her adversary, anchoring just yards from Orient. Swiftsure released a fierce broadside and was joined by Alexander. Orient was soon in difficulty, and at 9 p.m. Hallowell saw flames coming from the French flagship. Her poorly disciplined crew had left buckets of oil and paint around the ship, and these had caught fire. Every British ship whose guns could reach her hammered Orient mercilessly, and soon it became obvious she would blow up as soon as the flames reached her powder magazine. Someone told Nelson of the anticipated explosion, and he insisted on being led up on deck to watch. At about 9:45 p.m., Orient blew up with a detonation that was heard 10 miles away at Rosetta. The noise temporarily stopped the battle, and for some minutes silenced reigned as if neither fleet dared open fire again…. |
|
'Battle of the Nile' The Orient afire… |
The Battle of the Nile, as it is often miscalled, was a turning point in the course of the war, since the French fleet was severely crippled and this left the British Navy in control of the seas. Napoleon was forced to call off his campaign to conquer India and the Far East and he headed back to France. This is the sort of news calculated to delight the Allies, as defeats of Napoleon were rare indeed, especially in those early times.
News traveled slowly enough in those days though. And if we wish to discover whether Haydn ever wrote a 'Nelson Mass', as has been long believed, dates carry some import to the discussion. Haydn completed the Mass on "31 August" (Laus Deo!). It was first performed on 23 September in Eisenstadt. Apparently, news of the victory arrived in Vienna (and Eisenstadt?) on or about September 15. So the theory of Haydn actually writing the Mass in honor of Nelson is right out.
While it is unknown with certainty how the name came about (Haydn merely titled it 'Missa' on the autograph), everyone has a theory. For some, it is the original listeners, flushed with the thrill of the victory, and caught up in Haydn's use of the drums and sounds of war, who named it 'Lord Nelson's Mass'. For others, it is the eventual visit of Nelson to Eisenstadt two years on, and the (unsubstantiated) playing of the Mass while he was there which was the impetus for the name.
But also at some point later, when Haydn entered it into the Entwurf-Katalog (EK), the word 'Missa' was supplemented with the Latin modifier 'in Angustiis', which brought along its own suite of things for people to ponder. A Latin word (Latin was no stranger to Haydn) literally meaning 'narrows', speculation has taken on a life of its own when it comes to "what did Haydn mean by that?". It seems by now to have been 'narrowed' down to two schools of thought: either Mass for troubled (or 'straitened') times, or Mass composed in a narrow window of time (my paraphrase). While I don't know, really, how 'narrow' and 'troubled times' relate, I have run into so many idiomatic expressions in English and other languages over the years that I can accept it as possible, simply because it fits in so well with current events, and also with how he titled his previous Mass, the Mass in Time of War. The second choice seems, at first glance, to be a bit wildly guessed at, but perhaps not. Above all, Haydn was practical, and that would serve as a practical memory jogger for him. And lest we forget, way back in 1768, Haydn wrote another Mass in d minor, one which he also named in Latin: Mass with good mixed with bad (Sunt bona mixta malis). This would be a perfect corollary for our current Mass, if he was giving it a name strictly for the sake of helping remember which one it was, not for supplying a theme for a characteristic piece. Of course, none of this will amount to anything outside of academia, since the Nelson Mass it is and will likely stay.
For the first performance of this Mass the musicians would have been drawn largely from the list of the Esterházy Kapelle for this period. [When he] dismiss[ed] the musicians of the Esterházy regiment, Nicholas II has sent away Haydn's woodwinds and horns; certainly this factor was the prime cause behind that unusual orchestration. It appears that one further consideration influenced the scoring, however: the Austrians' continuing, growing fears about Napoleon and the French. One can see that a conception formed in Haydn's mind, which in the new Mass (as in the Paukenmesse before it) these anxieties would be embodied in sound. The result is an orchestration in which Haydn's now-standard concertists, two trumpets, timpani, strings, and continuo are augmented by a third trumpet. These three brass players—Binder, Altmann, and Pfann, appear in the princely pay rosters as paid by the service for rehearsals and performances beginning in late 1797, and were authorized honoraria for their church music appearances in 1798.
1Demaree & Moses
Nicholas' sent away the musicians in March as an economy, one of several he undertook at the time. Perhaps another composer would have been deterred by these circumstances, but we have already seen brilliant examples of Haydn's mastery of tone painting of war scenes, wind octet or no. Perhaps it would best be related as a 'which came first?' scenario, the Prince's chicken (necessity) or Haydn's (creative) egg! It has been said that Haydn's later permission for Breitkopf & Härtel to publish the work with full orchestration was a nod in the direction of the 'necessity' argument, that is, he would have wanted winds if they were available. But Haydn didn't enthusiastically embrace the return of winds, he merely said 'tell them all of the other instruments are already written, they are contained in the obbligato organ part'. I would argue that Haydn's concession was, in fact, the real bow to necessity, since he knew that if the work was to achieve widespread usefulness, it would have to be in a more standard format. The stark atmosphere of the Kyrie, for example, was not forced on Haydn. Rather, it is exactly what he wanted it to be.
One of the enduring mysteries seems to be who sang the solo soprano part. It is never mentioned, either directly or inferentially in the various texts surrounding that Autumn in Eisenstadt. Why does it matter? Only because the soprano part is one of the most technically challenging of that in any Mass by Haydn, or nearly anyone else. The most reasonable guess would seem to be that Haydn had some soloists imported from Vienna, as he had done earlier for the 7 Last Words.
[Rosenbaum's Diary]
Sunday, 23 September
At about 10:00am I went with Carl to the large church (NB - the parish church of St. Martin), where the new mass by Haydn was done…
Marie Hermenegild's Name Day would have been celebrated two weeks earlier, on Sunday the 9th, which is yet another disappointment for those who really wish to tie the 'Last 6 Masses' irrevocably to her Name Day. AT least you will have the satisfaction of seeing the last three of them go that route. But the fact that it would be used in more than one context helps to explain the dichotomy between the stern, serious Kyrie and the martial overtones of parts of the Benedictus, and the more typically Haydnish, joyful Gloria, and the constant shifts of dramatic extremes presented throughout. For if there was trouble without, there was also joy in the closer and more personal relationship he shared with Marie, and a Mass for her Name Day could not be all somber and grey. Among other gems, the Et Incarnatus est of the Credo is among Haydn's most beautiful works. Marie cannot fail to have been charmed by it.
Other people who may have been charmed that morning were in the church to hear Haydn leading the orchestra & chorus. Lest we forget, brother Michael was in town from Salzburg visiting brothers Joseph and Johann for possibly the only time in their adult lives. Johann had been a tenor in the Esterházy chorus for decades, and would be until his death. In all likelihood he was singing in the choir that day. Michael had never seen Joseph conduct a Mass of his own composition. And this Mass, one of his very finest, was really an organ Mass, and Joseph was conducting from the keyboard of the superb Malleck organ at St. Martins. Even without any documentation to spell it out, I suspect this day was a personal high point in Haydn's later life.
We hear nothing more from Haydn until Christmas. Unsurprisingly, he appeared in the Christmas Concerts for the Tonkünstler-Societät. On 22 & 23 December, two Haydn works were listed on the program; the tremendously popular standby, the Military Symphony, and an aria, "sung by Demoiselle Flamm out of respect for the widows and orphans.".
According to Haydn's own note on the autograph, the poem which he set in this aria, a sonnet by Petrarch, was suggested to him "by the Grand Prince of Russia". No one has ventured a guess who this unidentified prince might be, the only person we have seen so far who fits the description "Grand Prince" is Prince Paul (Romanov), who stopped in 1780 with his wife, Maria Feodorovna to visit Vienna and they met Haydn at the time. Could Haydn have been carrying this idea with him for 17 years? Probably not, but for my own candidate, a far more likely person exists. Count Andrey Razumovsky, who would one day ask Beethoven to write a set of string quartets, each with a Russian theme, had moved to Vienna in 1792 to become the ambassador of the Russian court. While not yet a Grand Prince, he would one day become one. He was active in musical and cultural events in Vienna from the time he arrived until his death in 1836. To me, he is the ideal choice. But what actually matters more than who made it, is that Haydn saw the value of the suggestion. Even among the sonnets of Petrarch, which are a cut above, Solo et pensoso epitomizes the timeless commonality of the yearning heart.
Petrarch (Francesco Petrarca - 1304-1374), was born on 20 July 1304, in Arezzo, Tuscany (now Italy). With his family, he moved to Avignon, France, as a child. In France, he studied law, as his father had wished. However, his passion was for literature, particularly that of ancient Greece and Rome. After his father's death in 1326, Petrarch left law to focus on the classics.
Petrarch's most well-known vernacular compositions were lyrical poems about Laura, a woman he had fallen in unrequited love with after seeing her in an Avignon church on April 6, 1327. Petrarch wrote about Laura—whose true identity has never been verified—for most of his life, even after she died during the Black Death of 1348. When he collected 366 of his vernacular poems in his Rerum vulgarium fragmenta—also known as Rime Sparse ("Scattered Rhymes") and as Petrarch's Canzoniere ("Petrarch's songbook")—his love for Laura was one of the main themes. The collection also contains 317 sonnets; Petrarch was an early practitioner of the form and helped to popularize it. 5 Biography.com
The Canzoniere, Poem No. 28 (ca 1337)
'Solo et pensoso i piú deserti campi'
Solo et pensoso i più deserti campi
vo mesurando a passi tardi et lenti,
et gli occhi porto per fuggire intenti
ove vestigio human l'arena stampi.
Altro schermo non trovo che mi scampi
dal manifesto accorger de le genti,
perché negli atti d'alegrezza spenti
di fuor si legge com'io dentro avampi:
sì ch'io mi credo omai che monti et piagge
et fiumi et selve sappian di che tempre
sia la mia vita, ch'è celata altrui.
Ma pur sì aspre vie né sì selvagge
cercar non so ch'Amor non venga sempre
ragionando con meco, et io co·llui.
Alone and thoughtful, through the most desolate fields,
I go measuring out slow, hesitant paces,
and keep my eyes intent on fleeing any place
where human footsteps mark the sand.
I find no other defense to protect me
from other people's open notice,
since in my aspect, whose joy is quenched,
they see from outside how I flame within.
So now I believe that mountains and river-banks
and rivers and forests know the quality
of my life, hidden from others.
Yet I find there is no path so wild or harsh
that love will not always come there
speaking with me, and I with him.
Homage to Petrarch - Solo et pensoso by Gioia Giorio
Petrarch is inspiring artists even today
When it came down to performance time, it was a mixed success. By all accounts, the aria was appreciated to a far higher level than the performance by Demoiselle Flamm. She was a contralto, the work badly wanted a soprano. Perhaps she felt she could handle that high Bb. Nonetheless the quality of the music was much appreciated, then and now. There have been at least two recordings in recent years, both of them well worth the hearing.
Things aren't really going to cool off for Haydn in 1799. Napoleon will be back, of course, and now he is just a little irked. Haydn will have a little instrumental surprise for us, a solid reminder how in that moment, he was still the King of the Hill in instrumental music.
Thanks for reading!
Selected reading -
-
Robert Demaree and Don Moses – The Masses of Joseph Haydn – History, Style, Performance – Classical Heritage (2008)
-
Landon, H.C.R. – Joseph Haydn – Chronicle & Works Vol. 4 – The Years of "The Creation" 1796-1800 – University of Indiana Press 1977
-
- The Collected Correspondence & London Notebooks of Joseph Haydn - Barrie & Rockliff (1959)
-
Gotwals, Vernon (trans.) - JOSEPH HAYDN - Eighteenth-Century Gentleman and Genius – Univ. of Wisconsin Press (1963)
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Petrarch biography material – Biography.com
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Heartz, Daniel – Mozart, Haydn & Early Beethoven – Norton (2009)