shown in. He was also, it would seem, using the Rohrau equivalent for
very bad language, for the razor was taking away his serenity of mind
and bits of his skin. "I would give my last quartet for a decent razor!"
he exclaimed wrathfully. Bland ran out and brought back a razor, and it
seemed to be a good one, for history, which never lies, says he got the
quartet. In 1790 Salomon made another attempt, this time in person, and
was repulsed. He had got as far as Cologne on his way back to England,
when he heard news that sent him flying again to Vienna as fast as
wheels and horses' legs could carry him.

The Esterhazy chapter of Haydn's life had closed with something of a
snap. On September 28 Prince Nicolaus died. He had started by being
Haydn's patron and master, but long before the end he had become his
friend. Haydn never dreamed of leaving, never even of going to England
on a short visit, without his permission and full approval. He was put
in his grave, and his magnificence would be all unremembered to-day but
for his connexion with a great composer. Haydn had been in the service
of him and his predecessor, Prince Anton, just on thirty years. Haydn
himself was now close on sixty years old. He might have retired now, as
a good Kapellmeister should, and lived in obscure comfort for the rest
of his days. The next Prince, another Anton, dismissed the band and
singers, but to the annuity of 1,000 florins which Nicolaus had left
Haydn he added 400 florins.

The story of these thirty years is soon told. What a fantastic mode of
life it seems, how farcical, grotesque, in its dull routine, for a
genius who was at work steadily building up new art-forms. Haydn, we are
told, rose every morning at six, carefully shaved and dressed, drank a
cup of black coffee, and worked till noon. Then he ate, and in the
afternoon he worked again, and ate and worked until it was time to go to