To Frau v. Genzinger.
Feb. 3, 1790.
NOBLEST AND KINDEST LADY,
However flattering the last invitation you gave me yesterday to spend this evening with you, I feel with deep regret that I am even unable to express to you personally my sincere thanks for all your past kindness. Bitterly as I deplore this, with equal truth do I fervently wish you, not only on this evening, but ever and always, the most agreeable social "reunions"—mine are all over—and to-morrow I return to dreary solitude! May God only grant me health; but I fear the contrary, being far from well to-day. May the Almighty preserve you, dear lady, and your worthy husband, and all your beautiful children. Once more I kiss your hands, and am unchangeably while life lasts, yours, etc.,
HAYDN.
The next letter was written six days later, evidently in the most doleful mood:
To Frau v. Genzinger.
ESTORAS, Feb. 9, 1790.
MUCH ESTEEMED AND KINDEST FRAU V. GENZINGER,—
Well! here I sit in my wilderness; forsaken, like some poor orphan, almost without human society; melancholy, dwelling on the memory of past glorious days. Yes; past, alas! And who can tell when these happy hours may return? those charming meetings? where the whole circle have but one heart and one soul—all those delightful musical evenings, which can only be remembered, and not described. Where are all those inspired moments? All gone—and gone for long. You must not be surprised, dear lady, that I have delayed writing to express my gratitude. I found everything at home in confusion; for three days I did not know whether I was capell master, or capell servant; nothing could console me; my apartments were all in confusion; my pianoforte, that I formerly loved so dearly, was perverse and disobedient, and rather irritated than soothed me. I slept very little, and even my dreams persecuted me, for, while asleep, I was under the pleasant delusion that I was listening to the opera of "Le Nozze di Figaro," when the blustering north wind woke me, and almost blew my nightcap off my head.