"Yes," said Haydn, "it is indeed a beautiful picture. It is just like
her, but there's a strange mistake."

"What is that?"

"Why, you have painted her listening to the angels, when you ought to
have painted the angels listening to her."

At one time, during Haydn's connection with Prince Esterhazy, the
latter, from motives of economy, determined to dismiss his celebrated
orchestra, which he supported at great expense. Haydn was the leader,
and his patron's purpose caused him sore pain, as indeed it did all the
players, among whom were many distinguished instrumentalists. Still,
there was nothing to be done but for all concerned to make themselves as
cheerful as possible under the circumstances; so, with that fund of wit
and humor which seems to have been concealed under the immaculate coat
and formal wig of the straitlaced Haydn, he set about composing a work
for the last performance of the royal band, a work which has ever since
borne the appropriate title of the "Farewell Symphony."

On the night appointed for the last performance a brilliant company,
including the prince, had assembled. The music of the new symphony began
gayly enough--it was even merry. As it went on, however, it became
soft and dreamy. The strains were sad and "long drawn out." At length a
sorrowful wailing began. One instrument after another left off, and each
musician, as his task ended, blew out his lamp and departed with his
music rolled up under his arm.

Haydn was the last to finish, save one, and this was the prince's
favorite violinist, who said all that he had to say in a brilliant
violin cadenza, when, behold! he made off.

The prince was astonished. "What is the meaning of all this?" cried he.

"It is our sorrowful farewell," answered Haydn.

This was too much. The prince was overcome, and, with a good laugh,
said: "Well, I think I must reconsider my decision. At any rate, we will
not say 'good-by' now."

III.

During the thirty years of Haydn's quiet life with the Esterhazys he had
been gradually acquiring an immense reputation in France, England, and
Spain, of which he himself was unconscious. His great symphonies had
stamped him worldwide as a composer of remarkable creative genius.
Haydn's modesty prevented him from recognizing his own celebrity.
Therefore, we can fancy his astonishment when, shortly after the death
of Prince Nicholas Esterhazy, a stranger called on him and said: "I am
Salomon, from London, and mus