ens. Naumann, writing of it, says that "such
an apotheosis of the master was witnessed as has but few parallels," and
this is no exaggeration. The performance, which was under the direction
of Salieri, had been arranged in honour of his approaching seventy-sixth
birthday. All the great artists of Vienna were present, among them
Beethoven and Hummel. Prince Esterhazy had sent his carriage to bring
the veteran to the hall, and, as he was being conveyed in an arm-chair
to a place among the princes and nobles, the whole audience rose to
their feet in testimony of their regard. It was a cold night, and ladies
sitting near swathed him in their costly wraps and lace shawls. The
concert began, and the audience was hushed to silence. When that
magnificent passage was reached, "And there was light," they burst into
loud applause, and Haydn, overcome with excitement, exclaimed, "Not I,
but a Power from above created that." The performance went on, but it
proved too much for the old man, and friends arranged to take him home
at the end of the first part. As he was being carried out, some of the
highest of the land crowded round to take what was felt to be a last
farewell; and Beethoven, forgetting incidents of early days, bent down
and fervently kissed his hand and forehead. Having reached the door,
Haydn asked his bearers to pause and turn him towards the orchestra.
Then, lifting his hand, as if in the act of blessing, he was borne out
into the night.

Next year Vienna was bombarded by the French, and a cannon-ball fell not
far from Haydn's house. He was naturally much alarmed; but there is no
ground for the statement, sometimes made, that his death was hastened
by the fright. On the contrary, he called out to his servants, who were
assisting him to dress: "Children, don't be frightened; no harm can
happen to you while Haydn is here."

The End

But his days were numbered. "This miserable war has cast me down to the
very ground," he would say, with tears in his eyes. And yet it was a
French officer who last visited him on his death-bed, the city being
then actually occupied by the enemy. The officer's name is not given,
but he sang "In native worth" with such expression that Haydn was quite
overcome, and embraced him warmly at parting. On May 26 he seems to have
felt that his end was fast approaching. He gathered his household around
him, and, being carried to the piano, at his own special request,
played the Emperor's Hymn thre