There is a delightful story that a London acquaintance of Haydn, learning that the great composer wished to write an oratorio in the Handel fashion and needed a suitable libretto, thrust the Bible into his hands and said “Here's the book, start at the beginning!” Haydn did indeed begin at the beginning with the first lines of the first Book of Genesis, which describes the creation of the world.
Needless to say, it wasn't that simple. The language of the Bible was not exactly suitable as aria material and would have seemed a frivolous idea at the turn of the 18th and 19th centuries. Haydn thus had to find a librettist who would undertake to write lyrical verse based on Biblical lines which lent themselves to music. Haydn acquired a “trial text” from an undistinguished poetaster called Lidley (or possibly Linley), and handed it over when he arrived back in Vienna to his old friend Baron Gottfried van Swieten. Swieten agreed to crank his poetic gifts into action for the sake of music. This was not the first time he had done so: it was van Swieten who wrote the rhyming commentaries of Haydn's oratorio “The Seven Last Words of Christ on the Cross” that was originally conceived for string quartet. To be brutally honest, Baron van Swieten's ambition far outstripped his literary talents. But discounting a few idiocies, he undoubtedly discovered the na%u010Fve mood which served to inspire the elderly composer. For example, he offered Haydn a remarkable number of opportunities for musical illustrations of the text: ideas which even less musically educated listeners understand immediately, but which do not offend sophisticated listeners by appearing vulgar or primitive. Indeed, these illustrations strike the more discerning members of the audience as refined jokes, which while not belonging to the essence of the musical process have the effect of colour. Haydn did not leave any possibility unexploited. The music of The Creation is full of musical onomatopoeia and mood painting, in addition to more recherché jokes aimed at more acute ears. The Creation is at once democratic and aristocratic. It is democratic in the sense of the medieval cartoons produced for the illiterate and which were rightfully called “the bible of the poor.” But it is also aristocratic because every illustrative element is imbued with such wit that their compositional virtuosity and playfulness overwhelms the connoisseur.
An excellent example of this is the orchestral introduction which is a musical depiction of primordial chaos. For a musician, this is hardly the greatest of challenges. The essence of music is of course order – the opposite of chaos. There is no such thing as chaotic music – something that even recent 20th century masters would agree with. However, there are bizarre details in Haydn's chaos music. Notes slide past each other which according to the rules of harmony, should never be heard together. The impression this music creates, which starts softly and is broke up by unexpected accents, is almost of listening to music played backwards on a tape recorder. Strangely, the listener senses not “disorder” but rather a sense of hopelessness. Haydn himself once remarked that for him, chaos meant infinite sadness…
In the recitative following the introduction, the bass soloist begins the story with a Biblical quotation (the libretto christens him Raphael, while the tenor and soprano soloists are called archangels: Uriel and Gabriel.) Haydn illustrates virtually every word. The first sentence “In the Beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth”, the strings play a melody that stretches from “heaven” down to “earth.” When we hear: “the world was without form and void,” (“(“ohne Form und leer” in the original German), we hear an empty unison rather than four part harmony. A jangling diminished chord depicts darkness. In the next sentence: “the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters”, we hear an E flat major chord. There is general agreement that the choice of E flat is not coincidental, since the use of three flats traditionally symbolises the Holy Trinity. The most beautiful moment of all comes when God says “Let there be light: and there was light.” On the sounding of the word light which is enunciated in a strangled pianissimo, a fortissimo C major triad bursts forth. It is an irresistible moment and we feel literally dazzled. This is followed by Swieten's commentary, with a tenor aria and choral accompaniment – and this rounds off the narration of the first day of creation.
Haydn disposes of the second day relatively briskly and devotes an aria accompanied by the choir to singing God's praises. The events of the third day are more detailed. Prominent among the movements is the bass aria, indicated with the number 7 in the score, which follows the waters “from the ocean to the trickling stream.” The rocks and islands jut out bravely from the wildly swelling sea, while the river meanders. For Haydn, it is clear that the little trickling stream signifies home. The stormy music here becomes intimate and idyllic.
The principal activity of day four is the creation of the firmament. We hear true sunrise music in D major, which is followed by the moon in a mysterious G major, and then we are witness to the shimmering of the stars. As with every act of creation, there is a new song of praise to the almighty with choruses and soloists. This completes the first section of the oratorio.
The second half tells the tale of the fifth and sixth days, the creation of birds and sea creatures, then the land animals and man. The land animals inspired Haydn to some particularly amusing depictions. We hear the roaring of the lion, watch the rushing tiger, and see the majestic antlers of a stag. A proud steed is indicated by a regal pointed rhythm, while the highland cattle (which according to Swieten, God soon ordered into herds) are portrayed with pastoral music. These are followed by sheep (Haydn only gives them a fleece like chord), humming insects and worms wriggling on the ground. Charmingly, Haydn could derive great pleasure depicting worms!
We learn of the first appearance of man with a C major aria after a brief recitative, which is followed by the largest song of praise yet from the assembled choir and soloists. The resemblance of the fugue theme to one of the choruses from Bach's St John's Passion seems to be coincidental, since this work was unknown to Haydn and even Swieten, who was an admirer of Bach, could not have known it.
The biblical story of creation ends here, although Swieten and Haydn's creation continues with a further section which is shorter than the two previous, in which the heavenly happiness of Adam and Eve is depicted through musical means. There is no snake, temptation or expulsion. Joseph Haydn was born a peasant boy to poor parents, and although he became rich by the end of his life and even the recipient of an honorary degree from the University of Oxford, he could only see the world as being beautiful. He left the next generation of musicians to write about “evil.”
The Creation was premiered at a private concert in 1798. The masses could hear it in public performances the following year. The composition enjoyed immediate favour. On one occasion, Emperor Franz's wife, Maria Theresa, undertook the soprano arias. According to Haydn, she sang musically but with a rather weak voice in her upper registers. In 1809, shortly before his death, Haydn received a very special honour for this work. During the brief French occupation of Vienna, one of Napoleon's officers knocked on his door. It transpired that the officer had come so he could sing one of the arias from The Creation accompanied by the composer. Once his wish was granted, he paid his respects and returned to battle.