entirely absorbed in it, and lifting both his arms to heaven, he
said devoutly and humbly, "It comes from above!" [Footnote:
"Zeitgenossen," ibid.]

The audience had heard these loud and enthusiastic words; it
applauded no longer, but looked in reverent silence toward the aged
composer, who, in the midst of his most glorious triumph, rendered
honor to God alone, and bowed piously and modestly to the work of
his own genius.

The performance proceeded. But Joseph Haydn hardly heard much of the
music. His head leaned against the back of the chair; his face, lit
up by a blissful smile, was deathly pale; his eyes cast fervent
glances of gratitude toward heaven, and seemed, in their ecstatic
gaze, to see the whole heavens opened.

"Maestro," said the Princess Esterhazy, when the first part of the
performance was ended, "you must no longer remain here, but return
to your quiet home."

"Yes, I shall return to the quiet home which awaits us all," said
Haydn, mildly, "and I feel sensibly that I shall remain no longer
among men. A sweet dream seems to steal over me. Let the performers
commence the second part, and my soul will be wafted to heaven on
the wings of my music."

But the Princess Esterhazy beckoned to his friends. "Take him away,"
she said, "the excitement will kill him, if he stays any longer."

They approached his chair and begged permission to escort him home.