HAYDN.

HAYDN.

In a small and insignificant dwelling in the village of Rohrau, on the borders of Hungary and Austria, lived, at the beginning of the last century, a young pair, faithful and industrious, plain and simple in their manners, yet esteemed by all their neighbors. The man, an honest wheelwright, was commonly called “merry Jobst,” on account of the jokes and gay stories with which he was always ready to entertain his friends and visitors, who, he well knew, relished such things. His wife was named Elizabeth, but no one in the village, and indeed many miles round it, ever called her any thing but “pretty Elschen.” Jobst and Elschen were indeed, to say truth, the handsomest couple in the country.

The Hungarians, like the Austrians and Bohemians, have great love for music. “Three fiddles and a dulcimer for two houses,” says the proverb; and it is a true one. It is not unusual, therefore, for some out of the poorer classes, when their regular business fails to bring them in sufficient for their wants, to take to the fiddle, the dulcimer, or the harp; playing on holidays on the highway or in the taverns. This employment is generally lucrative enough, if they are not spendthrifts, to enable them, not only to live, but to lay by something for future necessities.

“Merry Jobst” was already revolving in his own mind some means to be adopted for the bettering of his very humble fortunes, when Elschen one day said to him, “Jobst! it is timeto think of making something more for our increasing family!” Jobst gave a leap of joy, embraced pretty Elschen, and answered, “Come then! I will string anew my fiddle and your harp; every holiday we will take our place on the road side before the tavern, and play and sing merrily: we will give good wishes to those that listen to and reward us, and let the surly traveller, who stops not to hear us, go on his way!”

The next Sunday afternoon merry Jobst and pretty Elschen sat by the highway before the village inn; Jobst fiddled, and Elschen played the harp and sang to it with her sweet clear voice. Not one passed by without noticing them; every traveller stopped to listen, well pleased, and on resuming his journey threw at least a silver twopence into the lap of the pretty young woman. Jobst and his wife, on returning home in the evening, found their day’s work a good one.—They practised it regularly with the like success.

After the lapse of a few years, as the old cantor of the neighboring town of Haimburg passed along the road one afternoon, he could not help stopping, admiring and amused at what he saw. In the same arbor, opposite the tavern, sat merry Jobst fiddling as before, and beside him pretty Elschen, playing the harp and singing; and between them, on the ground, sat a little chubby-faced boy about three years old, who had a small board, shaped like a violin, hung about his neck, on which he played with a willow twig as with a genuine fiddle-bow. The most comical and surprising thing of all was, that the little man kept perfect time, pausing when his father paused and his mother had solo, then falling in with him again, and demeaning himself exactly like his father. Often too, he would lift up his clear voice, and join distinctly in the refrain of the song. The song pretty Elschen sang, ran somewhat in this way:

“The Spring it is come—and the blithe earth is green,Birds and flowers are abroad, and how glistening the sheen!O’er the broken stones sparkling, the stream murmurs nigh,And how fresh from the mountains the breezes sweep by.“The bees hum around us, the lambs frolic too,And golden clouds sport in the heavens’ deep blue!The young mountain shepherd, his shawm he hath wound,And the maiden steps softly, and follows the sound.“The bell in yon valley breaks faint on the air,Stranger! haste not away! pause and breathe first a prayer,And give thanks to our Maker, on whom good men call—Who created in love, and sustaineth us all.”

“The Spring it is come—and the blithe earth is green,Birds and flowers are abroad, and how glistening the sheen!O’er the broken stones sparkling, the stream murmurs nigh,And how fresh from the mountains the breezes sweep by.“The bees hum around us, the lambs frolic too,And golden clouds sport in the heavens’ deep blue!The young mountain shepherd, his shawm he hath wound,And the maiden steps softly, and follows the sound.“The bell in yon valley breaks faint on the air,Stranger! haste not away! pause and breathe first a prayer,And give thanks to our Maker, on whom good men call—Who created in love, and sustaineth us all.”

“The Spring it is come—and the blithe earth is green,Birds and flowers are abroad, and how glistening the sheen!O’er the broken stones sparkling, the stream murmurs nigh,And how fresh from the mountains the breezes sweep by.

“The Spring it is come—and the blithe earth is green,

Birds and flowers are abroad, and how glistening the sheen!

O’er the broken stones sparkling, the stream murmurs nigh,

And how fresh from the mountains the breezes sweep by.

“The bees hum around us, the lambs frolic too,And golden clouds sport in the heavens’ deep blue!The young mountain shepherd, his shawm he hath wound,And the maiden steps softly, and follows the sound.

“The bees hum around us, the lambs frolic too,

And golden clouds sport in the heavens’ deep blue!

The young mountain shepherd, his shawm he hath wound,

And the maiden steps softly, and follows the sound.

“The bell in yon valley breaks faint on the air,Stranger! haste not away! pause and breathe first a prayer,And give thanks to our Maker, on whom good men call—Who created in love, and sustaineth us all.”

“The bell in yon valley breaks faint on the air,

Stranger! haste not away! pause and breathe first a prayer,

And give thanks to our Maker, on whom good men call—

Who created in love, and sustaineth us all.”

“Is that your boy—fiddler?” asked the teacher, when the song was at an end. Jobst answered,

“Yes, sir, that is my little Seperl.”[3]

“The little fellow seems to have a taste for music.”

“Why not? if it depends on me, I will take him, as soon as I can do so, to one who understands it well, and can teach him. But it will be some time yet, as with all his taste and love for it, he is very little and awkward.”

“We will speak further of it,” said the teacher, and went his way. Jobst and Elschen began their song anew, and the little Joseph imitated his father on his fiddle, and joined his infant voice with theirs when they sounded the ‘Hallelujah!’

The cantor came from this time twice a week to the house of merry Jobst to talk with him about his little son, and the youngster himself was soon the best of friends with the good-natured old man. So matters went on for two years, at the end of which, the cantor said to Jobst, “It is now the right time, and if you will trust your boy with me, I will take him, and teach him what he must learn, to become a brave lad and a skilful musician.”

Jobst did not hesitate long, for he saw clearly how great an advantage the instruction of Master Wolferl would be to his son. And though it went harder with pretty Elschen to part with Seperl, who was her favorite and only child, yet she gave up at last, when her husband observed—“The boy is still our own, and if he is our only child, we are—Heaven be praised!—both young, and love each other!”

So he said to Wolferl, the next time he came—“Agreed! here is the boy! treat him well—and remember that he is the apple of our eye.”

“I will treat him as my own!” replied the teacher. Elschen accordingly packed up the boy’s scanty wardrobe in a bundle, gave him a slice of bread and salt, and a cup of milk—embraced and blessed him, and accompanied him to the door of the cottage, where she signed him with the cross three times, and then returned to her chamber. Jobst went with them half the way to Haimburg, and then also returned, while Wolferl and Joseph pursued their way till they reached Wolferl’s house, the end of their journey.

Wolferl was an old bachelor, but one of the good sort, whose heart, despite his grey hairs, was still youthful and warm. He loved all good men, and was patient and forbearing even with those who had faults, for he knew how weak and fickle too often is the heart of man. But the wholly depraved and wicked he hated, as he esteemed the good, and shunned all companionship with them; for it was his opinion “that he who is thoroughly corrupt, remains so in this world at least; and his conversation with the good tends not to his improvement, but on the contrary, to the destruction of both.”

Such lessons he repeated daily to the little Joseph, and taught him good principles, as well as how to sing, and play on the horn and kettledrum; and Joseph profited thereby, as well as by the instruction he received in music, and cherished and cultivated them as long as he lived.

In the following year, 1737, a second son was bestowed on the happy parents, whom they christened Michael.

Years passed, and Joseph was a well instructed boy; he had a voice as clear and fine as his mother’s, and played the violin as well as his father; besides that, he blew the horn, and beat the kettledrum, in the sacred music prepared by Wolferl for church festivals. Better than all, Joseph had a true and honest heart, had the fear of God continually before his eyes, and was evercontented, and wished well to all; for which everybody loved him in return, and Wolferl often said with tears of joy—“Mark what I tell you, God will show the world, by this boy Joseph, that not only the kingdom of heaven, but the kingdom of the science of music shall be given to those who are pure in heart!” The more Wolferl perceived the lad’s wonderful talent for art, the more earnestly he sought to find a patron, who might better forward the youthful aspirant towards the desired goal; for he felt that his own strength could reach little further, when he saw the zeal and ability with which his pupil devoted himself to his studies. Providence ordered it at length that Master von Reuter, chapel-master and music director in St. Stephen’s Church, Vienna, came to visit the Deacon at Haimburg. The Deacon told Master von Reuter of the extraordinary boy, the son of the wheelwright Jobst Haydn, the pupil of old Wolferl, and created in the chapel-master much desire to become acquainted with him.—The Deacon would have sent for him and his protector, but von Reuter prevented him with “No—no—most reverend Sir! I will not have the lad brought to me; I will seek him myself, and if possible, hear him when he is not conscious of my presence or my intentions; for if I find the boy what your reverence thinks him, I will do something, of course, to advance his interests.” The next morning, accordingly, von Reuter went to Wolferl’s house, which he entered quietly and unannounced. Joseph was sitting alone at the organ, playing a simple but sublime piece of sacred music from an old German master. Reuter, visibly moved, stood at the door and listened attentively. The boy was so deep in his music that he did not perceive the intruder till the piece was concluded, when accidentally turning round, he fixed upon the stranger his large dark eyes, expressive of astonishment indeed, but sparkling a friendly welcome.

“Very well, my son!” said von Reuter at last; “where is your foster-father?”

“In the garden,” said the boy; “shall I call him?”

“Call him, and say to him that the chapel-master, von Reuter,wishes to speak with him. Stop a moment! you are Joseph Haydn; are you not?”

“Yes, I am Seperl.”

“Well then, go.”

Joseph went and brought his old master, Wolferl, who with uncovered head and low obeisance welcomed the chapel-master and music director at Saint Stephen’s, to his humble abode. Von Reuter, on his part, praised the musical skill of his protegé, enquired particularly into the lad’s attainments, and examined him formally himself. Joseph passed the examination in such a manner that Reuter’s satisfaction increased with every answer. After this he spent some time in close conference with old Wolferl; and it was near noon before he took his departure. Joseph was invited to accompany him and spend the rest of the day at the Deacon’s.

Eight days after, old Wolferl, Jobst and pretty Elschen, the little Michael on her lap, sat very dejectedly together, and talked of the good Joseph, who had gone that morning with Master von Reuter to Vienna, to take his place as chorister in St. Stephen’s church.

The clock struck eight, and all were awake in the Leopoldstadt. A busy multitude crowded the bridge—market women and mechanics’ boys, hucksters, pedlars, hackney coachmen and genteel horsemen, passing in and out of the city; and through the thickest of the throng might be seen winding his way quietly and inoffensively, the noted Wenzel Puderlein, hairdresser, burgher and house-proprietor in Leopoldstadt. Soon he passed over the space that divides Leopoldstadt from the city, and with rapid steps approached through streets and alleys, the place where resided his most distinguished customers, whom he came every morning to serve.

He stopped before one of the best looking houses; ascended the steps, rang the bell, and when the house-maid opened thedoor, stepped boldly, and with apparent consciousness of dignity through the hall to a side door. Here he paused, placed his feet in due position, took off his hat modestly, and knocked gently three times.

“Come in!” said a powerful voice. Wenzel, however, started, and hung back a moment, then taking courage, he lifted the latch, opened the door and entered the apartment. An elderly man, of stately figure, wrapped in a flowered dressing-gown, sat at a writing table; he arose as the door opened, and said,

“’Tis well you are come, Puderlein! Do what you have to do, but quickly, I counsel you! for the Empress has sent for me, and I must be with her in half an hour.” He then seated himself, and Wenzel began his hairdressing without uttering a word, (how contrary to his nature!) well knowing that a strict silence was enjoined on him in the presence of the first physician to Her Imperial Majesty.

Yet he was not doomed long to suffer this greatest of all torments to him, the necessity of silence. The door of the chamber opened, and a youth of about sixteen or seventeen years of age came in, approached the elderly man, kissed his hand reverently, and bade him good morning.

The old gentleman thanked him briefly, and said, “What was it you were going to ask me yesterday evening, when it struck eleven and I sent you off to bed?”

The youth, with a modest smile, replied, “I was going to beg leave, my father, if your time permitted, to present to you the young man I would like to have for my teacher on the piano.”

“Very well; after noon I shall be at liberty; but who has recommended him toyou?”

“An admirable piece which I was yesterday so fortunate as to hear him play at the house of Mlle. de Martinez.”

“Ah! your honor means young Haydn,” cried Puderlein, unwittingly, and then became suddenly silent, expecting nothing less than that his temerity would draw down a thunderbolt on his head. But contrary to his expectation, the old gentleman merelylooked at him a moment, as if in surprise, from head to foot, then said mildly, “You are acquainted with the young man then: what do you know of him?”

“I know him!” answered Puderlein; “Oh, very well, your honor; I know him well. What I know of him? Oh, much; for observe, your honor, I have had the honor to be hairdresser for many years to the chapel-master, von Reuter, in whose house Haydn has long been an inmate—it must now be ten or eleven years. I have known him, so to speak, from childhood. Besides I have heard him sing a hundred times at St. Stephen’s, where he was chorister, though it is now a couple of years since he was turned off.”

“Turned off? and wherefore?”

“Aye; observe, your honor, he had a fine clear voice, such as no female singer in the Opera; but getting a fright, and being seized with a fever—when he recovered, his fine soprano was gone! And because they had no more use for him at St. Stephen’s, they turned him off.”

“And what does young Haydn now?” asked the Baron.

“Ah, your honor, the poor fellow must find it hard to live by giving lessons, playing about, and picking up what he can; he also composes sometimes, or what do they call it? Well, what helps it him, that he torments himself? he lives in the house with Metastasio, not in the first story, like the court poet, but in the fifth; and when it is winter, he has to lie in bed and work, to keep himself from freezing; for, observe, he has indeed a fire-place in his chamber, but no money to buy wood to burn therein.”

“This must not be! this shall not be!” cried the Baron von Swieten, as he rose from his seat. “Am I ready?”

“A moment, your honor,—only the string around the hair-bag.”

“It is very good so; now begone about your business!” Puderlein vanished. “And you, help me on with my coat; give me my stick and hat, and bring me your young teacher this afternoon.” Therewith he departed, and young von Swieten, full ofjoy, went to the writing-table to indite an invitation to Haydn to come to his father’s house.

Meanwhile, Joseph Haydn sat, sorrowful, and almost despairing, in his chamber. He had passed the morning, contrary to his usual custom, in idle brooding over his condition; now it appeared quite hopeless, and his cheerfulness seemed about to take leave of him forever, like his only friend and protectress, Mlle. de Martinez. That amiable young lady had left the city a few hours before. Haydn had instructed her in singing, and in playing the harpsichord, and by way of recompense, he enjoyed the privilege of board and lodging in the fifth story, in the house of Metastasio. Both now ceased with the lady’s departure; and Joseph was poorer than before, for all that he had earned besides, he had sent conscientiously to his parents, only keeping so much as sufficed to furnish him with decent, though plain clothing.

Other patrons and friends he had none! Metastasio, who was nearest him, knew him only by his unassuming exterior, and was too indolent to enquire particularly into his circumstances, or to interest himself in his behalf. He had briefly observed to the poor youth, that since the Lady Martinez had left Vienna and his lessons were over, he could look about till the end of the month for other lodgings; and Joseph was too retiring, if not too proud, to answer anything else than that “he thanked the Signor for the privilege hitherto enjoyed, and would look out for another home.” But where? thought he now, and asked himself, sobbing aloud. “Where—without money?” Just then, without any previous knocking, the door of his chamber was opened, and with bold carriage, and sparkling eyes, entered Master Wenzel Puderlein.

“Withme!” cried the friseur, while he stretched his curling irons like a sceptre towards Joseph, and pressed his powder-bag with an air of feeling to his heart, “With me, young orphan! I will be your father,—I will foster and protect you! forIhave feeling for the grand and the sublime, and have discerned your genius—and what you can, with assistance, accomplish; I know, too, your inability to cope yet with the world,—for you have notmy experience of men. I will lead you to Art—I myself; and if before long you be not in full chase, and have not captured her, why you must be a fool, and I will give you up!”

“Ah, worthy Master von Puderlein!” cried Haydn surprised; “You would receive me now, when I know not where to go, or what to do? Oh! I acknowledge your goodness! but how have I, poor knave! deserved it? and how shall I thank you?”

“That is nothing to you!” said Puderlein shortly; “all that will appear in due time! Now sit you down on the stool, and do not stir till I give you leave. I will show the world what a man of genius can make of an indifferent head!”

“Are you determined, then, to do me the honor of dressing my hair, Master von Puderlein?”

“Ask no questions, but sit still.”

Joseph obediently seated himself, and Wenzel began to dress his hair according to the latest mode. When he had done, he said with much self-congratulation, “Really, Haydn, when I look at you, and think what you were, before I set your head right, and what you arenow, I may, without presumption, call you a being of my own creation. But I am not so conceited; and only remark to you, that so long as you have walked like a man on two legs, you have first been enabled through me to present thevisageof a man! Now pay attention; you are to dress yourself as quickly as possible, or to express myself in better German, you are to put yourself prestissimo into your best trim—and collect your moveables together, that I can send to fetch them this evening. Then betake yourself to the Leopoldstadt, to my house on the Danube, No. 7; go up the steps, knock at the door, make my compliments to the young lady my daughter, and tell her you are so and so, and that Master von Puderlein sent you, and if you are hungry and thirsty call for something to eat and a glass of Ofener or Klosterneuburger; after which you may remain quiet till I come home, and tell you further what I design for you. Adieu!”

Therewith Master Wenzel Puderlein rolled himself out of thedoor, and Joseph stood awhile with his hair admirably well dressed, but a little disconcerted, in the middle of his chamber. When he collected his thoughts at length, he gave thanks with tears to God, who had inclined the heart of his generous protector towards him, and put an end to his bitter necessity; then he gathered, as Puderlein had told him, his few clothes and many notes together, dressed himself carefully in his best, shut up his chamber, and after he had taken leave, not without emotion, of the rich Metastasio, walked away cheerfully and confidently, his heart full of joy, and his head full of new melodies, towards the Leopoldstadt and the house of his patron.

When young von Swieten came half an hour later to ask for the young composer, Signor Metastasio could not inform him where “Giuseppo” might have gone. How many hours of despondency did this forgetfulness of the wise man and renowned poet prepare for the poor, unknown, yet incomparably greater artist,—Haydn!

When Joseph after a long walk stood at length before Puderlein’s house, he experienced some novel sensations, which may have been naturally consequent upon the thought that he was to introduce himself to a young lady, and converse with her; an idea which, from his constitutional bashfulness, and his ignorance of the world, was rather formidable to him. But the step must nevertheless be taken. He summoned all his courage, and went and knocked at the door. It was opened, and a handsome damsel of eighteen or nineteen presented herself before the trembling Joseph.

The youth, in great embarrassment, faltered forth his compliments and his message from Master Wenzel. The pretty Nanny listened to him with an expression both of pleasure and sympathy—the last for the forlorn condition of her visitor. When he had ended, she took him, to his no small terror, by the hand, withoutthe least embarrassment, and leading him into the parlor, said in insinuating tones, “Come in, then, Master Haydn, it is all right; I am sure my papa means well with you, for he concerns himself for every dunce he meets, and would take a poor wretch in, for having only good hair on his head! He has often spoken to me of you, and you may rely upon it, he will assist you; for he has very distinguished acquaintances. But you must give in to his humors a little, for he is sometimes a trifle peculiar.”

Joseph promised he would do his best, and Nanny went on, “you must also accommodate yourself to my whims, for, look you, I lead the regiment alone here in the house, and even papa must do asIwill. Now, tell me, what will you have? Do not be bashful; it is a good while since noon, and you must be hungry from your long walk.”

Joseph could not deny that such was the case, and modestly asked for a piece of bread and a glass of water.

Pshaw! cried Nanny, laughing; and tripped out of the room. Ere long she returned, followed by an apprentice boy, whom she had loaded with cold meats, a flask of wine, and a pair of tumblers, till his arms were ready to sink under the burden, while yet he dared not make a face,—for he had been in the family long enough to be sufficiently convinced of Mademoiselle Nanny’s absolute dominion. Nanny busily arranged the table, filled Joseph’s glass, and invited him to help himself to the cold pastry or whatever else stood awaiting his choice. The youth fell to, at first timidly, then with more courage; till, after he had at Nanny’s persuasion emptied a couple of glasses, he took heart to attack the cold meats more vigorously than he had done in a long time before; making at the same time the observation mentally, that if Mademoiselle Nanny Puderlein was not quite so distingué and accomplished as his departed patroness, the honored Mlle. de Martinez, still, as far as youth, beauty, and polite manners were concerned, she would not suffer by a comparison with the most distinguished dames in Vienna.—In short, when Master Wenzel Puderlein came home an hour or so after, he found Joseph in highspirits, with sparkling eyes, and cheeks like the rose—already more than half in love with the pretty Nanny.

Joseph Haydn lived thus many months in the house of Wenzel Puderlein, burgher, house proprietor, and renowned friseur in the Leopoldstadt of Vienna, and not a man in the Imperial city knew where the poor, but talented and well educated artist and composer was gone. In vain he was sought for by his few friends; in vain by young von Swieten; in vain at last, by Metastasio himself; Joseph had disappeared from Vienna without leaving a trace. Wenzel Puderlein kept his abode carefully concealed, and wondered and lamented like the rest over his loss, when his aristocratic customers asked him, whom they believed to know everything, if he could give them no information as to what had become of Joseph. He thought he had good reasons, and undoubted right, to exercise now the hitherto unpractised virtue of silence; because, as he said to himself, he only aimed at making Joseph the happiest man in the world! But in this he would labor alone; he wanted none to help him; and even his protegé was not fully to know his designs, till he was actually in possession of his good fortune.

Joseph cheerfully resigned himself to the purposes of his friend, and was only too happy to be able undisturbed to study Sebastian Bach’s works, to try his skill in quartettos—to eat as much as he wished, and day after day to see and chat with the fair Nanny. It never occurred to him, under such circumstances, to notice that he lived in a manner as a prisoner in Puderlein’s house; that all day he was banished to the garden behind the house, or to his snug chamber, and only permitted to go out in the evening with Wenzel and his daughter. It never occurred to him to wish for other acquaintance than the domestics and their nearest neighbors, among whom he was known only as “Master Joseph;” and he cheerfully delivered every Saturday to Master Wenzel the stipulated number of minuets, waltzes, &c., which he was ordered to compose. Puderlein carried the pieces regularly to a dealer in such things in Leopoldstadt, who paid him two convention guildersfor every full toned minuet—and for the others in proportion. This money the hairdresser conscientiously locked up in a chest, to use it, when the time should come, for Joseph’s advantage. With this view, he enquired earnestly about Joseph’s greater works, and whether he would not soon be prepared to produce something which would do him credit in the eyes of the more distinguished part of the public.

“Ah—yes—indeed!” replied Joseph; “this quartetto, when I shall have finished it, might be ventured before the public; for I hope to make something good of it! Yet what shall I do? No publisher will take it; it is returned on my hands, because I am no great lord, and because I have no patron to whom I could dedicate it!”

“That will all come in time,” said Puderlein, smiling; “do you get the thing ready, yet without neglecting the dances; I tell you a prudent man begins with little, and ends with great; so to work!”

And Joseph went to work; but he was every day deeper and deeper in love with the fair Nanny; and the damsel herself looked with very evident favor on the dark, though handsome youth.—Wenzel saw the progress of things with satisfaction; the lovers behaved with great propriety, and he suffered matters to go on in their own way, only interfering with a little assumed surliness, if Joseph at any time forgot his tasks in idle talk, or Nanny her housekeeping.

But not with such eyes saw Mosjo Ignatz, Puderlein’s journeyman and factotum hitherto; for he thought himself possessed of a prior claim to the love of Nanny. No one knows how much or how little reason he had to think so, for it might be reckoned among impossibilities for a young girl of Vienna, who has reached the age of fourteen, to determine the number of her lovers. The Viennese damsels are remarkable for their prudence in what concerns a love affair. However that may have been, it is certain that it was gall and wormwood to Ignatz to see Joseph and the fair Nanny together. He would often fain have interposed hispowder-bag and curling irons between them, when he heard them singing tender duets; for it must be owned that Nanny had a charming voice, was very fond of music, and was Joseph’s zealous pupil in singing.

At length he could endure no longer the torments of jealousy; and one morning he sought out the master of the house, to discover to him the secret of the lovers. How great was his astonishment, when Master Wenzel, instead of falling into a violent passion, and turning Joseph out of doors without further ado, replied with a smile,

“What you tell me, Mosjo ’Natz, look you, I have long known, and am well pleased that it is so.”

“Nein!” cried Ignatz, after a long pause of speechless astonishment; “Nein, Master von Puderlein! you should not be pleased. You seem as if you knew not that I—I, for several years have been the suitor of your daughter.”

It was Wenzel’s turn to be astonished, and he angrily replied, “I knew no such thing; I know not, nor will I know any such thing. What—Natz! is he mad? the suitor of my daughter! What has come into the man? Go to! Mind your powder-bag and your curling irons, and serve your customers, and set aside thoughts too high for you; for neither my daughter nor myself will wink at such folly.”

“Oho, and have you not both promised? There was a time, Master von Puderlein, when you and mademoiselle your daughter—”

“Hold your tongue and pack yourself off.”

“Master von Puderlein, you are a man of honor; are you doing me justice for my long years of faithful service? I have always taken your part. When people said ‘von Puderlein is an old miser and a blockhead,’ I have always said, ‘that is not true;’ even if it has been often the truth that people said.”

“Have done, sir, will you?”

“Master von Puderlein, be generous; I humbly entreat you, give me your daughter to wife.”

“I will give you a box on the ear presently, if you do not come to reason.”

“What!” cried Ignatz, starting up in boiling indignation, “a box on the ear, to me—to me, a free spoken member of the society of periwig makers?”

“And if you were a king, and if you were an emperor, with a golden crown on your head, and a sceptre in your hand, here in my own house I am lord and sovereign, and I will give you a box most certainly, if you provoke me much further.”

“Good,” answered Ignatz, haughtily; “very good, Master von Puderlein; we are two, henceforth; this hour I quit this treacherous roof—and you and your periwig stock. But I will be revenged; of that you may be sure; and when the punishment comes upon you and your faithless daughter, and your callow bird of a harpsicord player, then you may think upon Natz Schuppenpelz.”

The journeyman then hastened to pack up his goods, demanded and received his wages, and left the house vowing revenge against its inmates. Von Puderlein was very much incensed; Nanny laughed, and Joseph sat in the garden, troubling himself about nothing but his quartetto, at which he was working.

Wenzel Puderlein saw the hour approaching, when the attention of the Imperial city, and of the world, should be directed to him, as the protector and benefactor of a great musical genius. The dances Joseph had composed for the music seller in the Leopoldstadt, were played again and again in the halls of the nobility; all praised the lightness, the sprightliness and grace that distinguished them; but all enquiries were vain at the music dealer’s, respecting the name of the composer. None knew him; and Joseph himself had no idea what a sensation the pieces he had thrown off so easily, created in the world. But Master Wenzel was well aware of it, and waited with impatience the completion of the first quartetto. At length the manuscript was ready; Puderlein took it, carried it to a music publisher, and had it sent to press immediately, which the sums he had from time to time laid by for Joseph, enabled him to do. Haydn, who was confident his protectorwould do everything for his advantage, committed all to his hands; he commenced a new quartetto, and the old one was soon nearly forgotten.

They were not forgotten, however, by Mosjo Ignatz Schuppenpelz, who was continually on the watch to play Master Puderlein some ill trick. The opportunity soon offered; his new principal sent him one morning to dress the hair of the Baron von Fürnberg. Young von Swieten chanced to be at the Baron’s house, and in the course of conversation mentioned the balls recently given by Prince Easterhazy, and the delightful new dances by the unknown composer. In the warmth of his description, the youth stepped up to the piano and began a piece, which caused Ignatz to prick up his ears, for he recognized it too well; it was Nanny’s favorite waltz, which Joseph had executed expressly for her.

“I would give fifty ducats,” cried the Baron, when von Swieten had ended, “to know the name of that composer.”

“Fifty ducats,” repeated Ignatz, “your honor, hold a moment; your honor—but I believeIcan tell your honor the name of the musician.”

“If you can, and with certainty, the fifty ducats are yours;” answered Fürnberg and von Swieten.

“I can, your honor. It is Pepi Haydn.”

“How? Joseph Haydn? How do you know? Speak!” cried both gentlemen to the friseur, who proceeded to inform them of Haydn’s abode and seclusion in the house of Wenzel Puderlein; nor did the exjourneyman lose the opportunity of bepowdering his ancient master plentifully with abuse, as an old miser, a surly fool, and an arch tyrant.

“Horrible!” cried his auditors, when Ignatz had concluded his story. “Horrible! This old friseur makes the poor young man, hidden from all the world, labor to gratify his avarice, and keeps him prisoner! We must set him at liberty.”

Ignatz assured the gentlemen they would do a good deed by doing so: and informed them when it was likely Puderlein would be from home; so that they could find opportunity of speakingalone with young Haydn. Young von Swieten resolved to go that very morning, during the absence of Puderlein, to seek his favorite; and took Ignatz along with him. The hairdresser was not a little elated, to be sitting opposite the Baron, in a handsome coach, which drove rapidly towards Leopoldstadt. When they stopped before Puderlein’s house, Ignatz remained in the coach, while the Baron alighted, entered the house, and ran up stairs to the chamber before pointed out to him, where Joseph Haydn sat deep in the composition of a new quartetto.

Great was the youth’s astonishment, when he perceived his distinguished visitor. He did not utter a word, but kept bowing to the ground; von Swieten, however, hesitated not to accost him with all the ardor of youth, and described the affliction of his friends (who they were Joseph knew not) at his mysterious disappearance. Then he spoke of the applause his compositions had received, and of the public curiosity to know who the admirable composer was, and where he lived. “Your fortune is now made,” concluded he. “The Baron von Fürnberg, a connoisseur, my father, I myself—we all will receive you; we will present you to Prince Esterhazy; so make ready to quit this house, and to escape, the sooner the better, from the illegal and unworthy tyranny of an avaricious periwig maker.”

Joseph knew not what to reply, for with every word of von Swieten his astonishment increased. At length he faltered, blushing, “Your honor is much mistaken, if you think I am tyrannized over in this house; on the contrary, Master von Puderlein treats me as his own son, and his daughter loves me as a brother.Hetook me in when I was helpless and destitute, without the means of earning my bread.”

“Be that as it may,” interrupted young von Swieten, impatiently, “enough, this house is no longer your home; you must go into the great world, under very different auspices, worthy of your talents. Speak well or ill of your host, as you please, and as is most fitting; to-morrow the Baron and I come to fetch you away.”—Therewith he embraced young Haydn with cordiality,quitted the house and drove back to the city, while Joseph stood and rubbed his forehead, and hardly knew whether all was a dream or reality.

But the pretty Nanny, who listening in the kitchen had heard all, ran in grief and affright to meet her father when he came home, and told him everything. Puderlein was dismayed; but he soon collected himself, and commanded his daughter to follow him, and to put her handkerchief to her eyes.

Thus prepared, he went up to Haydn’s chamber; Joseph, as soon as he heard him coming, opened the door, and went to meet him, to inform him of the strange visit he had received.

But Puderlein pushed him back into the chamber, entered himself, followed by the weeping Nanny, and cried in a pathetic tone, “Hold, barbarian, whither are you going?”

“To you,” answered Joseph. “I was going to tell you—”

“It is not necessary,” interrupted Puderlein; “I know all; you have betrayed me, and are now going to leave me like a vagabond.”

“Ha, surely not, Master von Puderlein. But listen to me.”

“I will not listen; your treachery is clear; your falsehood to me and to my daughter. Oh, ingratitude, see here thine own image! I loved this boy as my own son; I received him when he was destitute, under my hospitable roof, clothed and fed him. I have dressed his hair with my own hands, and labored for his renown, and for my thanks, he has betrayed me and my innocent daughter. There, sir, does not your conscience reproach you for the tears you cause that girl to shed?”

“For Heaven’s sake, Master von Puderlein, listen to me. I will not leave you; I will not be ungrateful; on the contrary, I will thank you all the days of my life for what you have done for me, so far as it is in my power.”

“And marry that girl?”

“Marry her?” repeated Joseph, astonished, “marry her? I—your daughter?”

“Who else? have you not told her she was handsome? thatyou liked her? have you not behaved as though you wished her well, whenever you have spoken with her?”

“I have indeed, but—”

“No buts; you mustmarryher, or you are a shameless traitor! Think you, a virtuous damsel of Vienna lets every callowbird tell her she is handsome and agreeable? No! the golden age yet flourishes among our girls! Innocence and virtue are paramount with them! they glance not from one to another, throwing their net over this one and that one; they wait quiet and collected, till the one comes who suits them, who will marry them, and him they love faithfully to the end of their days; and therefore are the Viennese maidens famed throughout the world.—You told my innocent Nanny that she was handsome, and that you liked her; she thought you wished to marry her, and made up her mind honestly to have you. She loves you, and now will you desert and leave her to shame?”

Joseph stood in dejected silence. Puderlein continued, “And I, have I deserved such black ingratitude from you, eh? have I?” With these words, Master Wenzel drew forth a roll of paper, unfolded and held it up before the disconcerted Joseph, who uttered an exclamation of surprise as he read these words engraved on it, “Quartetto for two violins, bass viol, and violoncello, composed by Master Joseph Haydn, performer and composer in Vienna.—Vienna, 1751.” “Yes!” cried Puderlein, triumphantly, when he saw Haydn’s joyful surprise; “Yes! cry out and make your eyes as large as bullets;Idid that; with the money I received in payment for your dances, I paid for paper and press work, that you might present the public with a great work. Still more! I have labored to such purpose among my customers of rank, that you have the appointment of organist to the Carmelites. Here is your appointment! and now, go, ingrate, and bring my daughter and me with sorrow to the grave.”

Joseph went not; with tears in his eyes he threw himself into Puderlein’s arms, who struggled and resisted vigorously, as if he would have repelled him. But Joseph held him fast, crying,“Master von Puderlein! listen to me! there is no treachery in me! Let me call you father; give me Nanny for my wife! I will marry her; the sooner the better. I will honor and love her all my days. Ah! I am indeed not base nor ungrateful.”

Master Wenzel was at last quiet; he sank exhausted on an arm chair, and cried to the young couple, “Come hither, my children, kneel before me, that I may give you my blessing. This evening shall be the betrothal, and a month hence we will have the wedding.”

Joseph and Nanny knelt down, and received the paternal benediction. All wept and exhibited much emotion. But all was festivity in No. 7, on the Danube, that evening, when the organist, Joseph Haydn, was solemnly betrothed to the fair Nanny, the daughter of Wenzel Puderlein, burgher and proprietor in the Leopoldstadt in Vienna.

The Baron of Fürnberg and young von Swieten were not a little astonished when they came the next morning to take Haydn from Puderlein’s house, to find him affianced to the pretty Nanny. They remonstrated with him earnestly in private, but Joseph remained immoveable, and kept his word pledged to Puderlein and his bride, like an honorable young man.

At a later period he had reason to acknowledge that the step he had taken was somewhat precipitate; but he never repented it; and consoled himself, when hisearthlymuse mingled a little discord with his tones, with the companionship of the immortal partner, ever lovely, ever young, who attends the skilful artist through life, and who proved herself so true tohim, that the name ofJoseph Haydnshall, after the lapse of centuries, be pronounced with joyful and sacred emotion, by our latest posterity.

FOOTNOTES:[3]The diminutive for “Joseph” in the dialect of the country.

[3]The diminutive for “Joseph” in the dialect of the country.

[3]The diminutive for “Joseph” in the dialect of the country.

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