Haydn nodded his assent silently and smilingly, and his eyes glanced
dreamily round the hall.

Suddenly he gave a start as if in great terror, and rose so
impetuously that the furs and Turkish shawls, which had been wrapped
round him, fell to the floor. His face crimsoned as if in the light
of the setting sun; his eyes looked up with a radiant expression to
the box yonder--to his emperor, whom he had loved so long and
ardently, for whom he had wept in the days of adversity, for whom he
had prayed and sung at all times. Now he saw him who, in his eyes,
represented fatherland, home, and human justice; he felt that it was
the last time his eyes would behold him, and he wished to bid
farewell at this hour to the world, his fatherland, and his emperor.

With a vigorous hand he pushed back the friends who would have held
him and replaced him in his chair. Now he was no longer a weak and
decrepit old man; he felt strong and active, and he hastened forward
with a rapid step through the orchestra toward the conductor's seat
and the piano in front of it. He laid his hands, which trembled no
longer, on the keys, and struck a full concord. He turned his face
toward the imperial box; his eyes beamed with love and exultation,
and he began to play his favorite hymn with impressive enthusiasm--
the hymn which he had composed ten years ago in the days of
Austria's adversity, and which he had sung every day since then,--
the hymn, "Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser, unsern guten Kaiser
Franz!" And the audience rose and gazed with profound emotion upon
Joseph Haydn's gleaming face, and then up to the emperor, who was
standing smilingly in his box, and the empress, from whose eyes two
large tears rolled down her pale cheeks; and with one accord the
vast crowd commenced singing: