At a pause in the music a window was flung open and out came a nightcapped head. Loudly spoke a voice, saying, "Who is playing there?"
"Who wrote the music?"
"I did, sir."
The old gentleman came down, saying, "Come with me." He led the way to a large room where a fine piano stood. He explained to young Haydn that he wanted him to compose the music for an opera which he had written. Haydn agreed to do the work, for which he was to receive a hundred and thirty pieces of money.
After this, Haydn was no longer poor. He rented a better room, but he never forgot the barber's kindness. Some years later he married the barber's daughter, Anne.
Haydn was fond of a joke. One time, as he and a friend were walking together, they passed an inn. The sound of music came from within. "Did you not write that music, Haydn?" said his friend. "Yes," answered the composer. "Let us enter and have some fun with the players."
Once inside the inn, Haydn demanded, "Who wrote that music which you are playing?"
"Joseph Haydn," was the reply.
"Well, it is not fit to be heard," said Haydn.