presents, and had been regarded as more or less of a great little man.  But in those days he had also been a servant, compelled when on duty to wear a uniform—­he never wore it at other times, which shows how much be liked it—­and to be for ever at the beck and call of his princely master.  Now Jack—­or, rather, Joseph—­was to be his own master and the master of others, and to have half an aristocracy at his beck and call; he was to conquer the heart of yet another woman in addition to an already long list, the “pretty widow”—­but I will not anticipate the story.  He had no longer to write mainly for the ears of a Prince Nicolaus, but for those of a backward musical public accustomed to a very different sort of music, Handel’s.  One is tempted to speculate as to what might have happened had he been sooner set free.  There is nothing whatever to show that Nicolaus was ever in a hurry to urge him on to fresh experiments, and in the absence of any evidence it is merely fair to assume that such a prince in such a court, if he was not, indeed, everlastingly crying out for “something more like you used to give us,” was at any rate well enough content with the older stuff, and that in his tastes he lumbered far behind in Haydn’s daring steps.  In London Haydn had now every opportunity, even every incentive, to strive, regardless of consequences, after his own ideal; and what the fruits were we shall see.

Terms were arranged; Haydn was to compose six symphonies and to “conduct” (at the pianoforte) six concerts.  For this he was to receive a certain sum, and the proceeds of a benefit concert.  A farewell was said to Prince Anton and many friends, and what proved to be a long, long farewell to Mozart, and on December 15, 1790, he and Salomon set out.  They travelled to Munich first, then on through Bonn and Brussels to Calais; they crossed the Channel in safety, and arrived in London on the first day of the year 1791.  There he first of all stayed with Bland (who had supplied the razor and bagged the quartet four years before) at 45, High Holborn.  Then he went to live with Salomon at 18, Great Pulteney Street.  Later on, he went to live in the country, at Lisson Grove, which is now not even a suburb, and he also paid visits to various country seats.

He was now nearly sixty; his mental powers were at their fullest vigour, his physical health was excellent, and he was on a holiday.  Because it is about Haydn, the story of this and his subsequent visit to England makes delightful reading.  If in his long solitude he had drawn all he could out of himself, now he was to receive impressions and impulses from the active and social world that had great results.  He was lionized and petted, and enabled easily to make plenty of money; and he remained the simple, shrewd, unspoiled, industrious Haydn he had been all along.  He met all the distinguished people of the time, and was taken to see and hear everything.  Of course, Dr. Burney was much about.  The whole