desire to help him on his way, he
lent him the sum of a hundred and fifty florins, to be repaid,
without interest, when opportunity permitted.

To Haydn such a sum seemed a veritable fortune, and, indeed, it
brought with it the power of effecting great changes in his life. He
was now enabled to quit the tenement of Spangler and take a garret of
his own, or what was, in truth, a portion partitioned off from a
larger garret. As an exchange the new abode was not without its
drawbacks. Semi-darkness prevailed even at midday; there was no stove,
and as the summer had come and gone and winter was once more upon the
city its discomforts were speedily made manifest by the rain and snow,
which found their way through the broken roof. Nor were his neighbours
in the least inclined to respect his desire for quietude.
Nevertheless, in spite of these hardships, Haydn was happy--'too
happy,' as he himself put it, 'to envy the lot of Kings'; for had he
not added to his priceless treasures the first six sonatas of Emmanuel
Bach, which he lost no time in mastering? More than this, he had
become the possessor of a little clavier--a poor, worm-eaten
instrument, it is true, but one which brought much solace to him in
his loneliness.

On the third story of the house in which Haydn was living lodged an
Italian poet of some celebrity--Metastasio by name--between whom and
the friendless ex-chorister an acquaintance sprang up which resulted
in Haydn's introduction as music-teacher to the poet's favourite
pupil, Marianne Martinez. Upon the heels of this piece of good fortune
followed a second. Through Metastasio's interest Haydn became
acquainted with Nicolo Porpora, the most eminent teacher of singing
and composition of his day, who was at the time giving singing-lessons
to Marianne. But before sufficient time had elapsed for the latter
introduction to produce any definite result, Haydn had found
employment in a new and unlooked-for direction.

It was a common fashion in Vienna at that day for poor and struggling
musicians to earn a few florins by serenading personages of note in
the town; but as the number of would-be serenaders was always far in
excess of the number of celebrities who aspired to be thus honoured,
the pecuniary advantages, as a rule, were very small. It happened,
however, that Felix Kurz, the manager of one of the principal Viennese
theatres, had lately married a beautiful woman, whose charms were the
theme of conversation