At Doctor Haydn’s instruction, I called out in French to the singing soldier that my master was after knowing his business there, and the soldier told me that, if my master was Joseph Haydn, he had come to pay his respects. He identified himself as Captain Clément Sulemy, and said that the seated soldier was a guard he had brought to stand at Doctor Haydn’s door, as a mark of the Emperor’s respect for the composer. He explained that it was also his purpose to assist Tobias Talbot, the interpreter, who was required to attend an audience with the Emperor. These statements of his business made, to me and to all of Kleine Steingasse, he then personally entreated me to allow him to meet Doctor Haydn.

I told him such a thing was unlikely, and not in my gift, but that I would obtain an answer for him and, when I pressed the shutter closed, the soldier resumed his beautiful singing, and I knew Doctor Haydn would not resist.

In Doctor Haydn’s chamber, Captain Sulemy stood with his hat in his hand, telling the composer at length of the pleasure his works had given, and of how strongly the urge to meet Doctor Haydn had been in him since he first laid eyes on Vienna. He made no mention that his army had then bombed it, besieged it, captured it and put it under martial law, and nor did Doctor Haydn, whose smile was so wide his teeth were at risk of leaving his mouth. I could not say who was the happier of the two. Captain Sulemy asked questions about how certain pieces were to be played or sung, or when and for what purpose they had been written, and Doctor Haydn enjoyed giving him full answers, with the captain eating up every morsel.

When Doctor Haydn eventually began to flag, he asked if we might again have the pleasure of the captain’s singing, and if he would be so good as to complete the performance of the aria, accompanied by the pianoforte on which it was written. The captain fair burst with joy at the prospect, and Doctor Haydn sent me to the stool of the instrument with barely more than a nod, not wanting to waste a moment on something as superfluous as speech, or niceties.

If possible, the captain did the aria even better service than he had already, his chest swelling with the breaths it took, his voice modulated to perfection. Doctor Haydn’s cheeks were wet with tears, and I cannot claim mine were unmarked either. Upon the final note, Doctor Haydn raised his arms, and the captain hurried to his embrace. The composer declared it the most beautiful rendering of the aria there has ever been.