here is a characteristic John
Bull complacency about these statements which is hardly borne out by a
study of the lives of the leading contemporary musicians. Even Mr Henry
Davey, the applauding historian of English music, has to admit the
evanescent character of the larger works which came from the composers
of that "bankrupt century." Not one of these composers--not even
Arne--is a real personality to us like Handel, or Bach, or Haydn, or
Mozart. The great merit of English music was melody, which seems to
have been a common gift, but "the only strong feeling was patriotic
enthusiasm, and the compositions that survive are almost all short
ballads expressing this sentiment or connected with it by their nautical
subjects." When Haydn arrived, there was, in short, no native composer
of real genius, and our "tardy, apish nation" was ready to welcome with
special cordiality an artist whose gifts were of a higher order.

Salomon

We have spoken of Haydn's visit as a long-meditated project. In 1787
Cramer, the violinist, had offered to engage him on his own terms for
the Professional Concerts; and Gallini, the director of the King's
Theatre in Drury Lane, pressed him to write an opera for that house.
Nothing came of these proposals, mainly because Haydn was too much
attached to his prince to think of leaving him, even temporarily. But
the time arrived and the man with it. The man was Johann Peter
Salomon, a violinist, who, having fallen out with the directors of the
professional concerts, had started concerts on his own account. Salomon
was a native of Bonn, and had been a member of the Electoral Orchestra
there. He had travelled about the Continent a good deal, and no one was
better fitted to organize and direct a series of concerts on a large
scale. In 1790 he had gone abroad in search of singers, and, hearing of
the death of Prince Esterhazy, he set off at once for Vienna, resolved
to secure Haydn at any cost. "My name is Salomon," he bluntly announced
to the composer, as he was shown into his room one morning. "I have come
from London to fetch you; we will settle terms to-morrow."

The question of terms was, we may be sure, important enough for Haydn.
But it was not the only question. The "heavy years" were beginning to
weigh upon him. He was bordering on threescore, and a long journey in
those days was not to be lightly undertaken. Moreover, he was still,
nominally at least, the servant of Prince Anton, whose consent w