"And that is the reason why I have not seen Paperl for so long," said Haydn, nodding his head gently. "I did not wish to inquire after him, for I was afraid the answer would be that the bird was dead and had gone home to my dear old wife."
"Well, I am sure Paperl would never go to her," said Conrad, laughing; "the two could never get along with each other, and were always quarrelling. Whenever Paperl could catch one of your wife's fingers, he bit it with his thick beak, and she hated the bird cordially for it, and would have preferred sending him to the grave than descending into it herself. But Paperl did not die, and you need not be anxious on his account, doctor. Such parrots live a thousand years. Therefore, I locked him up in my chamber for three months, and taught him the beautiful air, that the bird might whistle it to mankind a thousand years hence, and remind all of the great composer, Joseph Haydn."
"Ah, my dear old Conrad," sighed Haydn, sinking into the easy-chair which Conrad had placed for him under the fragrant elder-bush, "a thousand years hence no one will know any thing about us, and we shall be nothing but dust returned to dust. But God will remain, and His sun will shine a thousand years hence as gloriously as it does to-day; and His nightingales will sing the same wonderful melodies from His creation long after my `Creation' has been forgotten."
He paused, and clasping his hands devoutly, lifted his eyes to heaven. By his side, on the high pole, its right leg fastened to it with a small silver chain, the parrot sat, and fixed its piercing, sagacious eyes upon him; the cat lay at Haydn's feet, and gazed with philosophical equanimity at the flies which were buzzing from flower to flower, and pricked up its ears attentively whenever a small bird rustled in the shrubbery, or skipped merrily from branch to branch in the fragrant walnut tree. Beside the easy-chair stood Conrad, the old servant, his faithful, honest face turned toward his master with an expression of infinite tenderness, and quite absorbed in contemplating this mild, smiling, and calm octogenarian, whose eyes were looking around slowly, and seemingly greeting God and Nature. In the distance bells were ringing and calling devout worshipers to divine service; their notes resounded tremulously through the air like a solemn accompaniment to the voices of Nature.
"Oh, how beautiful, how beautiful!" murmured Haydn. "Why can I not exhale with this sigh of joy my old life, which is no longer good for any thing? Why can I not die with this prayer of gratitude toward God on my lips, and waft my soul up to heaven, as that bird yonder is at this moment soaring toward the sun!"
"Oh, sir, why do you talk already of dying?" cried Conrad, anxiously; "you must live yet a long while, a joy to mankind, and honored and esteemed by the whole world."
"And a burden to myself," sighed Haydn. "I am exhausted, Conrad; I have no longer strength enough to live. This unfortunate war crushed to the ground and broke my poor heart. [Footnote: Haydn's own words.—"Zeitgenossen," vol. iv., p. 36.] When Napoleon made his second entrance into Vienna, and our good Emperor Francis had to escape again from the capital, I felt as though my heart were rent asunder, and this rent will never heal again. The misfortunes of my fatherland will cause me to bleed to death! Ah, how dreadful it is that Austria and my emperor were humiliated so profoundly, and that they had to bow to the Emperor of the French! I cannot comprehend why the Lord permits it, and why He does not hurl down His thunderbolts upon the head of this hypocritical French emperor, who throws the firebrand of war into all parts of Europe, who always has pharisaical words of peace in his mouth, and gives himself the appearance of wishing to reconcile all, when he is intent only on setting all at variance. Oh, Conrad, when I think of this Emperor Napoleon, of the innocent blood which he has already shed, and of the many thousand victims which have already fallen to his ambition, my heart swells up in boundless exasperation, and I begin to doubt even the goodness and justice of God!—But hush, hush, my wild heart," he interrupted himself, lifting his eyes with a beseeching glance to heaven. "God will manage everything for the best. He will one day, with a beck of His hand, hurl the French usurper from his throne, and cause Austria to rise great and powerful from her humiliating position. He will protect Germany from the wrongs inflicted upon her by France, and avenge the disgrace which every German has to suffer at the bands of the French. That is the hope which I shall take with me into my grave; that is the confidence I have in Thee, O my God!"
He lifted both his hands toward heaven, and prayed in a low voice. Then he rose slowly from his chair, and turned his head with smiling greetings on all sides.
"Conrad," he said, gently, "I take leave of Nature to-day, for it seems to me as if I never should see again my dear little garden, the flowers and birds, the sun and the sky. Oh, farewell, then, great and holy Nature! I have loved thee passionately all my life, and glorified thee in my works to the best of the power which God imparted to me. Farewell, Nature! farewell, sunshine and fragrant flowers! Joseph Haydn takes leave of you, for his task is fulfilled, and his soul is weary. Come, my old Conrad, conduct me back to the house. I will return to my room. I am tired, ah, so exceedingly tired!"
He passed his arm around Conrad's neck, and, leaning his other hand on his cane, walked slowly and pantingly up the narrow path. At this moment the nightingale in the elder-bush recommenced its jubilant song, and at the same time the parrot raised its shrill voice, and began to whistle the sweet notes of the air from Haydn's "Creation."