“It was at this time that, seeking solace in friendship, he contracted that bond of sentiment which lasted till death with Boselli, a singer in the service of Prince Esterhazy.  This friendship, rousing jealous suspicions in the mind of Mrs. Anna, ended by rendering her unendurable.  The hostile fates willed that no fruit should be borne of Haydn’s marriage.” [On this point Haydn once opened his heart to Griesinger, saying:  “My wife was incapable of bearing children, and therefore I was less indifferent to the charms of other womankind.”] “Lacking its most solid link, the marital chain could not stand such shocks, and grew fatally weaker.  The pair ceased to live together, and only that sacramental knot remained indissoluble and strong, which Haydn had contracted at the age of twenty-seven.  Mrs. Anna lived to seventy years on a sufficient pension which her husband faithfully paid, and she died in 1800.  These vicissitudes in great part explain why Haydn, though he earned much, could not for a long while put aside a penny and make himself a little ease.”

It is not a pretty picture that Carpani draws of this home life, and Anna is made out to be far from a lovable creature.  She is compared to the patron saint of shrews, Xantippe.  But even Xantippe had her side of the story to tell; and with all possible admiration for that man Socrates, of such godlike wisdom and such great heart, it must be remembered that Socrates had many habits which would not only cause ostracism from society to-day, but would have tried the temper of even such a wife as the meek Griselda of Chaucer’s poem.

We constantly meet these husbands who are seemingly rich in geniality and yet are mysteriously unhappy at home.  It is the custom of the acquaintances of these fellows to put all the blame on the wife.  But there is a distinct type of mind which always enjoys dining abroad and appreciates a few herbs in a stranger’s house more than a stalled ox at home.  These people are gentle and genial and tender only out-of-doors.  You might call them extra-mural saints.

I have a strong suspicion that Haydn, who was so dear and good a soul that he was commonly called “Papa” by his friends and disciples, was one of the souls that shrivel up inside the house.  In any case he can never be forgiven for publishing his domestic miseries as he did.  He talked inexcusably to his friends about his wife; he complained everywhere of her extravagances and of her quarrelsomeness.  When Griesinger wished to make Haydn’s wife a present, Haydn forbade him, saying: 

“She does not deserve anything!  It is little matter to her whether her husband is an artist or a cobbler.”

As he passed in front of a picture of her once, he seized the violinist Baillot by the arm, and pointing to the picture said, “That is my wife.  Many a time she has maddened me.”

In 1792 he wrote to his mistress from London:—­“My wife, the infernal beast” (bestia infernale—­Pohl translates this hoellische Bestie) “has written so much stuff that I had to tell her I would not come to the house any more; which has brought her again to her senses.”