“In these compositions, where it is evident from the rhythm, the tone,
and the general character, that the author intends to inspire melancholy,
this obstinate joy, being unable to show itself openly, is transformed into
energy and strength. Observe, this sombre gravity is not pain; it is joy
constrained to disguise itself which might be called the concentrated joy
of a savage; but never sadness, dejection, or melancholy. Haydn has
never been really melancholy more than two or three times; in a verse of
his Stabat Mater, and in two of the adagios of the Seven Words.
“This is the reason why he has never excelled in dramatic music. Without melancholy, there can be no impassioned music.”
All the traits of Haydn’s course, his voluntary servitude to Porpora, his gratitude shown at so dear a rate to his Mæcenas, the wig-maker, his easy accommodation to the whims of the Esterhazies, and his wise views of the advantage derived to his talent from being forced to compose nightly a fresh piece for the baryton of Prince Nicholas, the economy of his time, and content with limited means, each and all show the man moderate because so rich, modest because so clear-sighted, robust, ample, nobly earnest, rather than fiery and aspiring. It is a great character, one that does not rouse us to ardent admiration, but always commands, never disappoints. Bombet compares him in his works to Ariosto, and the whole structure of his character reminds us of the “Ariosto of the North,” Walter Scott. Both are examples of that steady and harmonious action of the faculties all through life, so generally supposed inconsistent with gifts like theirs; both exhibit a soil fertile from the bounties of its native forests, and unaided by volcanic action.
The following passage is (to say nothing of its humor) very significant on the topic so often in controversy, as to whether the descriptive powers of music are of the objective or subjective character.
Of an opera, composed by Haydn to Curtz’s order, at the age of nineteen—
