“Prince Lichnowsky immediately took him aside to explain what Papa Haydn had meant by not publishing it; but the master, still suspicious and annoyed, though once again cocky and combative, called out in a strong voice: ‘Papa Haydn thinks I shouldn’t publish the third trio; therefore I will publish it!” Now the thunderous applause finally broke out, the absence of which had somewhat disheartened the artist earlier; but the good-natured old Haydn himself laughed and applauded the loudest, reinforcing his applause with the words: “Quite right; we’re already used to that—my dear Grand Mogul!” Now Haydn had the audience laughing on his side again; the nickname “Grand Mogul,” with which the old man had chided the self-assured manner of his former pupil—who had been an unsolvable riddle, a constant source of turmoil to him—stuck; the young man had already been too much of a master when he came to Vienna and wanted to take lessons from him, and the teacher was also already too old for the student to have been able to learn anything more from him: they quarreled and loved one another, but their conflict was the conflict of the times; the old man was the past, Baroque, Classicism—the young man was the future, Romanticism.