“Yes, yes, it will do. I shall succeed!” he exclaimed suddenly, in a loud and full voice. “God 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 God, 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!”
He paused, but remaining on his knees, continued to look up to heaven. Then he rose slowly, and like a seer or a somnambulist, with eyes opened but seeing nothing, he went to his piano without knowing what he was doing. He sat down on the stool, and did not know it; his hands touched the keys and drew magnificent chords from them, and he did not hear them. He only heard the thousands of seraphic voices which in his breast chanted sublime anthems; he only heard the praise of his own winged soul which, in divine ecstasy, soared far into the realm of eternal harmonies.
Louder and louder rolled the music he drew from the keys; now it burst forth into a tremendous jubilee, then again it died away in melancholy complaints and gentle whispers, and again it broke out into a swelling, thundering anthem.
At length Haydn concluded with a sonorous and brilliant passage, and then with youthful agility jumped up from his seat.
“That was the prelude,” he said, aloud, “and now we will go to work.”
He hastily threw the white and comfortable dressing-gown from his shoulders and rapidly walked toward the looking-glass which hung over the bureau. Every thing was ready for his toilet, the footman having carefully arranged the whole. He put the cravat with lace trimmings around his neck and arranged the tie before the looking-glass in the most artistic manner; then he slipped into the long waistcoat of silver-lined velvet, and finally put on the long-tailed brown coat with bright metal buttons. He was just going to put the heavy silver watch, which his wife had given him on their wedding-day, into his vest-pocket, when his eye fell upon the blue ribbon embroidered with silver, which, ever since his visit to the imperial palace, had lain on the bureau.
“I will wear it on this holiday of mine,” said Haydn, with great warmth, “for I think the day on which a new work is begun is a holiday, and we ought to wear our choicest ornaments to celebrate it.”
He attached the ribbon to his watch, threw it over his neck, and slipped the watch into his vest-pocket.
“If that beautiful Mrs. Shaw could see me now,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, “how her magnificent eyes would sparkle, and what a heavenly smile would animate her angelic features! Yes, yes, I will remember her smile—it shall find an echo in the jubilant accords of my Creation. But let us begin—let us begin!”