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There was no talk in Haydn's native country of the dignity of
art, at any rate so far as musicians were concerned. When Mozart
first arrived in Vienna in 1781, he had to live with the
archbishop's household, and dine at the servants' table. Nay, he
was known as "the villain, the low fellow." And is it altogether
certain even now, in free Britain, that the parish organist
is very clearly distinguished in the squire's mind from the
peripatetic organ-grinder? Public opinion does not seem to have
commiserated Haydn on his position of dependence; and, as for
Haydn himself, he was no doubt only too glad to have an assured
income and a comfortable home. We may be certain that he did not
find the yoke unbearably galling. He was of humble birth; of a
family which must always have looked up to their "betters" as
unspeakably and immeasurably above them. Dependence was in the
order of nature, and a man of Haydn's good sense was the last in
the world to starve and fret because his freedom to practice his
art and develop his powers was complicated with a sort of feudal
service. Some strong souls may find an empty purse the truest
source of inspiration, as Mr Russell Lowell declares it to be;
but it is very much to be doubted whether a careful investigation
would show that a great man's best work was done with the wolf
at the door.
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