Strange and incredibly stupid adventures of Joseph Haydn’s head

Commissioned by Wrunter in December 2016.

Creativity is one weird beast. It is everything and nothing in particular. It is a mysterious, unidentified process involving many things you can explain.

Somehow it still manages to be slightly misunderstood, utterly unexplainable, and somewhat incomprehensible beyond the fact that it really is. It sometimes happens somehow but not precisely the way you might think.

Sometimes, those who thrive on uncovering the secrets of creativity go too far with their obsessions. They can go to extreme lengths to achieve their utterly obscure and somewhat incomprehensible goals.

This is the story of one of the most infamous instances of such overzealous behavior amongst classical music fans.

Why? Because it is funny, strange, and stupid at the same time. Only some things must be po-faced all the time. More on that later.

***

Joseph Haydn was O.G. of composer’s craft. He was one of the codifiers of the Symphony genre, the one who shaped many essential elements that we now instantly recognize as irreplaceable parts of any symphonic piece.

His inventive stylistic choices were mesmerizing. His music was filled with joy and playfulness. He also taught the music craft to “good old” Ludwig van Beethoven.

At the beginning of the XIX century, he was the force to be reckoned with — the man who represented the highest point of the craft. In other words, by the end of his life, he was a very respected man in the music community all over Europe.

He died in 1809 after a prolonged illness. Since he was a court musician for the Esterhazy family — he was to be buried on their grounds, but he wasn’t because, at that time, Vienna was occupied by Napoleons’ troops.

Because Haydn’s house on the Windmuhle belonged to the Gumpendorf parish of Vienna, he was temporarily buried in the Hundsturm cemetery.

In retrospect, it was a rather bad idea.

***

The problem with one of the most prominent composers of his generation being buried in the city cemetery is curious.

Since Haydn was a great man, some people wanted to examine and dissect his genius very elaborately.

The science those overzealous researchers were following was phrenology.

At its core, phrenology was about analyzing the connections between the human psyche and the structure of its skull. German physician Franz Joseph Gall developed it at the end of the XVII century.

His idea was that the brain was the organ of the mind and was divided into specific areas responsible for certain functions. The method of examination involved observing the skull to determine its particular attributes according to the extensive charts.

It looked rather bogus — a phrenologist would run his fingers, lay his hands on the skull, and try to detect any enlargements, indentations, or other curiosities.

He would also take some measures. From the measures of the skull’s proportions, phrenologists would get into the character and temperament of the subject. It was since debunked as completely obsolete nonsense.

***

Right around the time when Haydn died, phrenology’s popularity was growing. One of its fans was Joseph Carl Rosenbaum, a former secretary of the Esterhazy family. Rosenbaum held special affection towards Haydn. He helped him to marry famous soprano singer Therese Gassmann.

In a twisted turn of the thought, Rosenbaum wanted to explore and measure up Haydn’s genius. While Haydn was still alive, it seemed problematic, but things got a lot easier when he died.

Rosenbaum just needed to get his head, examine and measure it, and then he would shock the world with his discovery of the nature of the genius. He viewed it as an honest attempt to capture and honor the intangible genius of Haydn.

But he couldn’t do it on his own. So he contacted Johann Nepomuk Peter, governor of the provincial prison of Lower Austria, who was also interested in phrenology and had a particular desire to leave his mark in history.

Together, Rosenbaum and Peter had conspired to steal Haydn’s head from his grave. For science’s sake and stuff. Because Rosenbaum was a responsible adult, he thoroughly documented this affair in his diaries.

Their first step was to coerce the gravedigger Jakob Demuth into a malicious act.

Demuth had dug out Haydn’s grave, broke into his casket, and severed the composer’s head off his body, leaving the wig upon his shoulders (imagine that). He then delivered it to Rosenbaum and Peter, wrapped in some bundle cloth.

Because Haydn was buried in the summertime, his head had gone through an extensive process of decomposing. It was rather green but still recognizable as Haydn’s. When Rosenbaum saw it — he threw up. But he was convinced it was worth it.

Haydn’s head was then delivered to the Vienna General Hospital for a further inspection.

Rosenbaum and Peter were serious in their quest of unlocking and explaining the genius of Haydn. Sessions of extensive examinations and tests had followed. Together, they have inspected the head accordingly.

They had amassed some information, but it wasn’t taking shape of any kind. Apart from the conclusion that the “bump of music” on Haydn’s skull was “fully developed,” the only they had discovered during his research of Haydn’s skull was that elaborate and somewhat irritating, unsettling, awkward feeling.

The head was dissected, the brain was taken out, and the rest of the skull was bleached and macerated. After the attempts at coming to any coherent conclusion had failed, it was decided to leave the skull as a souvenir.

At first, Rosenbaum kept it, who even made a special display case for it. Haydn’s head became a crown jewel of his assorted collection of skulls.

Sometimes, he showed it to his guests, although apparently, no one believed that it was really Haydn’s skull.

***

And so the head stayed at Rosenbaum’s residence until 1820 when Prince Esterhazy finally decided to transfer the composer’s grave to the mausoleum in the Eisenstadt City Church, which was situated on his estate.

When workers were moving the casket, they discovered the head was missing.

Prince Esterhazy felt offended. He quickly deduced who was responsible for the theft, and so he informed the police, who then promptly found a thread that connected the mischievous gravedigger and Johann Peter.

After being pressed, Peter had turned on Rosenbaum. But Mr. Joseph Carl R. was not the kind of man who could give up his precious belongings without a fuss.

After messing with the authorities and pretending to be an utter idiot, Rosenbaum finally gave up the skull to the police.

After that, he was left alone and feeling funny to a certain extent. Because he gave the police the wrong skull.

When the police started going through his residence searching for Haydn’s skull, he conspired with his wife to pretend that she had the period so he could safely hide the skull in her bed.

Put this image in your head — a woman lying on the skull in bed pretending to have a severe case of menstruation. After that, Rosenbaum swore to remain silent about Haydn’s skull henceforth.

While the real skull was left in Rosenbaum’s possession, the wrong skull was buried with the Haydn body in Eisenstadt.

Nine years later, in 1829, Rosenbaum had died. According to his will, the skull would be given to Johann Peter, who should have presented it to Vienna’s Society of the Friends of Music.

This sprawling and influential organization archived and kept track of musical activity in the city. However, Peter never returned Haydn’s skull.

After Peter’s death, his wife gave the skull to Karl Haller, a well-known phrenologist, who gave it to Karl Freiherr von Rokintansky, a professor at the University of Vienna.

The skull remained in the University. At the same time, Vienna’s Society of the Friends of Music had tried to get what belonged to them from Peter, but when they stumbled upon the notorious absence of the precious object, they were a bit enraged.

After a short search, the skull was located at the University of Vienna. Society filed a suit against the University. Descendants of the Esterhazy family found out about that.

Esterhaz family were not happy to learn that their beloved court musician was buried with the wrong head. They wanted to return Haydn’s skull, so they filed another suit.

However, they failed miserably, as in 1895, the Austrian court ruled out that the skull would be given to Vienna’s Society of the Friends of Music.

It stayed within the Society’s estates for the next half of the century. In the 1930s, Esterhazy offered the Society to sell the skull for a hefty price, but the price announced by the Society was beyond what Esterhazy could afford.

However, after the Second World War, Society changed its mind and gave the skull to the Esterhazy Estate in 1954 after 145 years of separation, the skull and the body were finally reunited.

***

Why I’ve told you that story? Because there are many stories about creativity and its nature. Too many to my taste.

Most of them either try to mystify or demystify the nature of creativity elaborately or chew age-old truism that can force you to throw up if you think too hard and too much about it.

Many of such texts are united by vain attempts to tie creativity to some measurable concepts.

However, they all eventually explain nothing because creativity is not something you can divide into ones and zeros. It just happens. One way or another. As the saying goes — “the wind bloweth where it listeth.”

The story of the theft of Haydn’s head is one delightful example of the futility of such attempts.