THE HOUSE IN THE GUMPENDORFER SUBURB.

Vienna was really terribly frightened by the near approach of the French army, and the conviction of their dangerous position had excited the people so fearfully that the Viennese, generally noted for their peaceful and submissive disposition, had committed an open riot--for the sole purpose, however, of compelling the all-powerful prime minister to make peace with France. Archduke Charles had been defeated--the emperor had fled to Hungary.

None of all these disastrous tidings had disturbed the inmates of a small house on the outskirts of the Gumpendorfer suburb, in close proximity to the Mariahilf line. This little house was a perfect image of peace and tranquillity. It stood in the centre of a small garden which showed the first tender blossoms of returning spring on its neatly arranged beds. Dense shrubbery covered the white walls of the house with evergreen verdure. Curtains as white and dazzling as fresh snow, and, between them, flower-pots filled with luxuriant plants, might be seen behind the glittering window-panes. Although there was nothing very peculiar about the house, which had but two stories, yet n.o.body pa.s.sed by without looking up to the windows with a reverential and inquisitive air, and he who only thought he could discover behind the panes the fugitive shadow of a human being, made at once a deep and respectful bow, and a proud and happy smile overspread his features.

And still, we repeat, there was nothing very peculiar about the house.

Its outside was plain and modest, and the inside was equally so. The most profound silence prevailed in the small hall, the floor of which had been sprinkled with fresh white sand. A large spotted cat--truly beautiful animal--lay not far from the front door on a soft, white cushion, and played gracefully and gently with the ball of white yarn that had just fallen from the woman sitting at the window while she was eagerly engaged in knitting. This woman, in her plain and una.s.suming dress, seemed to be a servant of the house, but at all events a servant in whom entire confidence was reposed, as was indicated by the large bunch of keys, such as the lady of the house or a trusted housekeeper will carry, which hung at her side. An expression of serene calmness rendered her venerable features quite attractive, and a graceful smile played on her thin and bloodless lips as she now dropped her knitting upon her lap, and, with her body bent forward, commenced watching the merry play of the cat on the cushion. Suddenly the silence was interrupted by a loud and shrill scream, and a very strange-sounding voice uttered a few incoherent words in English. At the same time a door was opened hastily, and another woman appeared--just as old, just as kind-looking, and with as mild and serene features as the one we have just described. Her more refined appearance, however, her handsome dress, her beautiful cap, her well-powdered toupet, and the ma.s.sive gold chain encircling her neck, indicated that she was no servant, but the lady of the house.

However, peculiarly pleasant relations seemed to prevail between the mistress and the servant, for the appearance of the lady did not cause the latter to interrupt her merry play with the cat; and the mistress, on her part, evidently did not consider it strange or disrespectful, but quietly approached her servant.

"Catharine," she said, "just listen how that abominable bird, Paperl, screams again to-day. I am sure the noise will disturb the doctor, who is at work already."

"Yes, Paperl is an intolerable nuisance," sighed Catharine. "I cannot comprehend why the Kapellmeister--I was going to say the doctor--likes the bird so well, and why he has brought it along from England. Yes, if Paperl could sing, in that case it would not be strange if the Ka--, I mean the doctor, had grown fond of the bird. But no, Paperl merely jabbers a few broken words which no good Christian is able to understand."

"He who speaks English can understand it well enough, Catharine," said the lady, "for the bird talks English, and in that respect Paperl knows more than either of us."

"But Paperl cannot talk German, and I think that our language, especially our dear Viennese dialect, sounds by far better than that horrid English. I don't know why the doctor likes the abominable noise, and why he suffers the bird to disturb his quiet by these outrageous screams."

"I know it well enough, Catharine," said the doctor's wife, with a gentle smile. "The parrot reminds my husband of his voyage to England, and of all the glory and honor that were showered upon him there."

"Well, as far as that is concerned, I should think it was entirely unnecessary for my master to make a trip to England," exclaimed Catharine. "He has not returned a more famous man than he was already when he went away. The English were unable to add to his glory, for he was already the most celebrated man in the whole world when he went there, and if that had not been the case, they would not have invited him to come and perform his beautiful music before them, for then they would not have known that he is such a splendid musician."

"But they were delighted to see him, Catharine, and I tell you they have perfectly overwhelmed him with honors. Every day they gave him festivals, and even the king and queen urged him frequently to take up his abode in England. The queen promised him splendid apartments in Windsor Castle, and a large salary, and in return my husband was to do nothing but to perform every day for an hour or so before her majesty, or sing with her. Nevertheless, he had the courage to refuse the brilliant offers of the king and queen, and do you know, Catharine, why he rejected them?"

Catharine knew it well enough; she had frequently heard the story from her mistress during the two years since the doctor had returned from England, but she was aware that the lady liked to repeat it, and she liked it very much, too, to hear people talk about her beloved master's fame and glory, having faithfully served him already for more than twenty years. Hence she said, with a kind-hearted smile:

"No, indeed, I don't know it, and I cannot comprehend why the doctor said no to the king and queen of England."

"He did so for my sake, Catharine!" said the lady, and an expression of joyful pride shed a l.u.s.tre of beauty and tenderness over her kind old face. "Yes, I tell you, it was solely for my sake that my husband came home again. 'Remain with us!' said the king to him. 'You shall have every thing the queen has offered you. You shall live at Windsor, and sing once a day with the queen. Of you, my dear doctor, I shall not be jealous, for you are an excellent and honest German gentleman.' And when the king had told him that, my husband bowed respectfully, and replied: 'Your majesty, it is my highest pride to maintain this reputation. But just because I am an honest German, I must tell you that I cannot stay here--I cannot leave my country and my wife forever!'"

"'Oh, as far as that is concerned,' exclaimed the king, 'we shall send for your wife. She shall live with you at Windsor.' But my husband laughed and said: 'She will never come, your majesty. She would not cross the Danube in a skiff, much less make a trip beyond the sea. And, therefore, there is nothing left to me but to return myself to my little wife.' And he did so, and left the king, and the queen, and all the n.o.ble lords and ladies, and came back to Vienna, and to his little wife.

Say, Catharine, was not that well done of him?"

"Of course it was," said Catharine; "the fact was, our good doctor loved his wife better than the queen, and all the high born people who treated him so well in England. And, besides, he knew that people hereabouts treat him with as much deference as over there, and that if he only desired it, he could hold daily intercourse with the emperor, the princes, and the highest dignitaries in the country. But he does not care for it. The fact is, our master is by far too modest; he is always so quiet and una.s.suming, that n.o.body, unless they knew him, would believe for a single moment that he is so far-famed a man; and then he dresses so plainly, while he might deck himself with all the diamond rings and breast-pins, the splendid watches and chains, which the various sovereigns have given to him. But all these fine things he keeps shut up in his desk, and constantly wears the old silver watch which he has had already G.o.d knows how long!"

"Why, Catharine, that was the wedding-present I gave him," said the good wife, proudly; "and just for that reason my husband wears it all the time, although he has watches by far more beautiful and valuable. At the time I gave him that watch, both of us were very poor. He was a young music-teacher, and I was a hairdresser's daughter. He lived in a small room in my father's house, and as he often could not pay the rent, he gave me every day a lesson on the piano. But in those lessons, I did not only learn music--I learned to love him, too. He asked me to become his wife, and on our wedding-day, I gave him the silver watch, and that is just the reason why he wears it all the time, although he has by far better ones. His wife's present is more precious to him than what kings and emperors have given to him."

"But he might wear at least a nice gold chain to it," said Catharine.

"Why, I am sure he has no less than a dozen of them. But he never wears one of them, not even the other day when the Princess Esterhazy called for him with her carriage to drive with him to the emperor. The doctor wore on that occasion only a plain blue ribbon, on which his own name was embroidered in silver."

"Well, there is a story to that ribbon," said the mistress, thoughtfully. "My husband brought it likewise from Loudon, and he got it there on one of his proudest days. I did not know the story myself, for you are aware my husband is always so modest, and never talks about his great triumphs in Loudon, and I would not have learned any thing about the ribbon if he had not worn it the other day when he accompanied the princess to the emperor. Ah, Catharine, it is a very beautiful and touching story!"

Catharine did not know this story at all; hence she asked her mistress with more than usual animation to tell her all about the ribbon.

The doctor's wife a.s.sented readily. She sat down on a chair at Catharine's side, and looked with a pleasant smile at the cat who had come up to her, and, purring comfortably, lay down on the hem of her dress.

"Yes," said she, "the story of that ribbon is quite touching, and I do not know really, Catharine, but I will have to shed a few tears while telling it. It was in Loudon, when my husband had just returned from Oxford, where the university had conferred upon him the t.i.tle of Doctor of--"

"Yes, yes, I know," grumbled Catharine, "that is the reason why we now have to call him doctor, which does not sound near as imposing and distinguished as our master's former t.i.tle of Kapellmeister."

"But then it is a very high honor to obtain the t.i.tle of doctor of music in England, Catharine. The great composer Handel lived thirty years in England without receiving it, and my husband had not been there but a few months when they conferred the t.i.tle upon him. Well, then, on the day after his return from Oxford, he was invited to the house of a gentleman of high rank and great wealth, who gave him a brilliant party.

A large number of ladies and gentlemen were present, and when my husband appeared among them they rose and bowed as respectfully as though he were a king. When the doctor had returned the compliment, he perceived that every lady in the room wore in her hair a ribbon of blue silk, on which his name had been embroidered in silver. His host wore the same name in silver beads on his coat-facings, so that he looked precisely as if he were my husband's servant, and dressed in his livery. Oh, it was a splendid festival which Mr. Shaw--that was the gentleman's name--gave him on that day. At length Mr. Shaw asked the doctor to give him a souvenir, whereupon he presented him with a snuff-box he had purchased in the course of the day for a few shillings; and when my husband requested the lady of the house, whom he p.r.o.nounces the most beautiful woman on earth, to give him likewise a souvenir; Mrs. Shaw thereupon took the ribbon from her head and handed it to him; and my husband pressed it to his lips, and a.s.sured her he would always wear that ribbon on the most solemn occasions. You see, Catharine, he keeps his promise religiously, for he wore the ribbon the other day when he was called to the imperial palace. But my story is not finished yet. Your master called a few days after that party on Mr. Shaw, when the latter showed him the snuff-box he had received from my husband. It was enclosed in a handsome silver case, a beautiful lyre was engraved on the lid, with an inscription stating that my great and ill.u.s.trious husband had given him the box. [Footnote: The inscription was: "Ex dono celeberrimi Josephi Haydn."] How do you like my story, Catharine?"

"Oh, it is beautiful," said the old servant, thoughtfully; "only, what you said about that beautiful Mrs. Shaw did not exactly please me. I am sure the doctor got the parrot also from her, and for that reason likes the bird so well, although it screeches so horribly, and doubtless disturbs him often in his studies."

"Yes, he got the bird from Mrs. Shaw," replied her mistress, with a smile. "She taught Paperl to whistle three airs from my husband's finest quartets, singing and whistling the music to the bird every day during three or four weeks for several hours, until Paperl could imitate them; and when my husband took leave of her, she gave him the parrot."

"But the bird never whistles the tunes any more. I have only heard Paperl do it once, and that was on the day after the doctor's return from England." "I know the reason why. The bird hears here every day so much music, and so many new melodies which the doctor plays on his piano, that its head has grown quite confused, and poor Paperl has forgotten its tunes."

"It has not forgotten its English words, though," murmured Catharine.

"What may be the meaning of these words which the bird is screaming all the time?"

"That beautiful Mrs. Shaw taught Paperl to p.r.o.nounce them, Catharine. I do not know their precise meaning, but they commence as follows: 'Forget me not, forget me not--' Good Heaven! the bird has commenced screaming again. I am sure it has not had any sugar to-day. Where is Conrad? He ought to attend to the bird."

"He has gone down town. The doctor has given him several errands."

"Good Heaven! the screams are almost intolerable. Go, Catharine, and give poor Paperl a piece of sugar."

"I dare not, madame; it always snaps at me with its abominable beak, and if the chain did not prevent it from attacking me, it would scratch out my eyes."

"I am afraid of it, too," said the lady, anxiously; "nevertheless we cannot permit the bird to go on in this manner. Just listen to it--it is yelling as though it were going to be roasted. It will disturb my husband, and you know the doctor is composing a new piece. Come, Catharine, we must quiet the bird. I will give him the sugar."

"And I shall take my knitting-needles along, and if it should try to bite, I will hit it on the beak. Let us go now, madame."

And the two women walked boldly across the anteroom, toward the door of the small parlor, in order to commence the campaign against the parrot.

The cat followed them gravely and solemnly, and with an air as though it had taken the liveliest interest in the conversation, and thought it might greatly a.s.sist them in pacifying the screaming bird.

CHAPTER VI

JOSEPH HAYDN

While the parrot's screams had rendered the mistress and her maid so uneasy, the most profound stillness and quiet reigned in the upper rooms of the little house. Not a sound interrupted the silence of this small, elegantly-furnished sitting-room. Even the sun apparently dared only to send a few stealthy beams through the windows, and the wind seemed to hold its breath in order not to shake the panes of the small chamber adjoining, venerated by all the inmates of the house as a sacred temple of art.

In this small chamber, in this temple of art, a gentleman, apparently engaged in reading, was seated at a table covered with papers and music-books, close to an open piano. He was no longer young; on the contrary, beholding only the thin white hair hanging down on his expansive and wrinkled forehead, and his stooping form, it became evident that he was an old man, nearly seventy years of age. But as soon as he raised his eyes from the paper, as soon as he turned them toward heaven with an air of blissful enthusiasm, the fire of eternal youth and radiant joyousness burst forth from those eyes; and whatever the white hair, the wrinkled forehead, the furrowed cheeks and the stooping form might tell of the long years of his life, those eyes were full of youthful ardor and strength--only the body of this white haired man was old; in his soul he had remained young--a youth of fervid imagination, procreative power, and nervous activity.

This venerable man with the soul, the heart, and the eyes of a youth, was Joseph Haydn, the great composer, whose glory, even at that time, filled the whole world, although he had not yet written his greatest masterpieces--the "Creation" and the "Seasons."

He was working to-day at the "Creation." [Footnote: Haydn commenced the "Creation" in 1797, and finished it in April, 1798.] The poem, which had been sent to him from England, and which his worthy friend Von Swieten had translated into German, lay before him. He had read it again and again, and gradually it seemed as if the words were transformed into music; gradually he heard whispering--low at first, then louder, and more sublime and majestic--the jubilant choirs of heaven and earth, that were to resound in his "Creation."

As yet he had not written a single note; he had only read the poem, and composed in reading, and inwardly weighed and tried the sublime melodies which, when reduced to time and measure, and combined into an harmonious whole, were to form the new immortal work of his genius. While thus reading and composing, the aged musician was transformed more and more into a youth, and the glowing enthusiasm which burst forth from his eyes became every moment more radiant, surrounding his ma.s.sive forehead with a halo of inspiration, and shedding the purple l.u.s.tre of ecstatic joy upon his furrowed cheeks.

"Yes, yes, it will do. I shall succeed!" he exclaimed suddenly, in a loud and full voice. "G.o.d will give me the strength to complete this work; but it must be commenced with Him--strength and inspiration come from Him alone!"

And Joseph Haydn, perhaps not quite conscious of what he was doing, knelt down and with folded hands, and beaming eyes lifted up to heaven, he prayed: "O, Lord G.o.d, give me Thy blessing and Thy strength, that I may gloriously and successfully carry out this work, which praiseth Thee and Thy creation. Breathe Thy Holy Spirit into the words which Thou speakest in my work. Speak through me to Thy creatures, and let my music be Thy language!"