The Count referred to one of his friends. The answer was—“Joseph Haydn.”
“I have heard his quartettos—he is no common artist. Is he in your service, count?”
“He has been employed by me.”
“With your good leave, he shall be transferred to ours; and I shall take care he has no reason to regret the change. Let him be presented to us.”
There was a murmur among the audience, and a movement, but the composer did not appear; and presently word was brought to his highness that the young man on whom he intended to confer so great an honor was detained at home by indisposition.
“So, let him be brought to me as soon as he recovers; he shall enter my service—I like his symphony vastly. Your pardon, count, for we will rob you of your best man.”
And the great prince, having decided the destiny of a greater than himself, turned to those who surrounded him to speak of other matters.
News of the change in his fortune was brought to Haydn by his friend Porpora; and so renovating was the effect of hope, that he was strong enough on the following day to pay his respects to his illustrious patron. Accompanied by a friend who offered to introduce him, Haydn drew near the dwelling of the prince, and was so fortunate as to find admittance. His highness was just preparing to ride, but would see the composer; and he was conducted through a splendid suite of rooms to the apartment where the proud head of the Esterhazys deigned to receive an almost nameless artist. What wonder that Haydn blushed and faltered as he approached this impersonation, as he felt it, of human grandeur?
The prince, in the splendid array suited to his rank, glanced somewhat carelessly at the low, slight figure that stood before him, and said, as he was presented—“Is this, then, the composer of the music I heard last night?”
“This is he—Joseph Haydn,” was the reply.