The Argosy — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

An Old Rhyme. 4I oratorio, “‘ Dido,” his Seven words upon the Cross, and his 163 pieces for the viola di bardone, his master’s favourite instrument. What amazing activity! Peter Salomon knew the whole story well. As he thought it over, now, his eagerness to see Haydn face to face grew in intensity. He was doomed to be disappointed, however. ‘The master was not at home. A servant showed the visitor through a narrow hall into a small sitting-room, and left him there, to listen and watch for Joseph’s return. Salomon examined his surroundings with that lively interest we all feel in those things amongst which one lives to whom we cleave in love or admiration. The furniture was poor and shabby. A small spinet stood in one corner, and near it lay a goodly heap of music. Flowers grew in the window, and a bird-cage hung above them. The great musician never forgot to water the plants or to notice his canary. It was an especial favourite, and often pecked at his fingers as he sat at work. Salomon waited for an hour. The pet songster chirped and twit- tered. The harvest sunshine streamed through the casement, trans- forming this plain, small room into a golden palace, and causing a splendid diamond ring upon the wealthy Director’s finger to flash and sparkle. The visitor drew it off, and put it to hide for a while within his waistcoat pocket. He did not wish to look too fine here in this humble but honourable dwelling. Some sudden feeling of shame at his own prosperity took possession of him. But no Haydn appeared, and the watcher at length grew weary of lingering, and began to re- member that in all probability visitors were even now inquiring for him at his hotel. He left the house, and slowly began to retrace his steps, meditating again, as he went, upon that ever-haunting and irritating rhyme. It was no consolation to him that Dr. Burney winds up his remarks upon Germany by confessing that in spite of its cold, unattractive landscape, its badly-paved streets, and its rough custom-house officers, it is yet quite possible to live contentedly and merrily in the Rhine- land. As he went along, and for the hundredth time, muttered indig- nantly to himself those obnoxious words, ‘‘ The German his trumpet blows loud,” the sound of that very instrument suddenly smote upon his ear. A wonderful peal came wafting towards him, floating, or as it were, forced forth from the uncongenial confinement.of some narrow room close at hand. Salomon soon found the house from which the music came, and identified the performers. ‘Two men stood together. One listened in a respectful and admiring attitude. The other, who was slender and spiritual-looking, blew; and as he did so Peter Salomon’s heart throbbed and swelled. It seemed to him that he stood in a battle- field; banners floated ; horses impatiently pawed the ground; hosts of courageous men rushed forward, and a mighty shout, ‘“ Forward EOnniclooks (GO