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Little is left to be told of the years which followed the
production of "The Seasons." Haydn never really recovered from
the strain which that last great effort of his genius had
entailed. From his letters and the reminiscences of his friends
we can read only too plainly the story of his growing infirmity.
Even in 1799 he spoke of the diminution of his mental powers, and
exclaimed: "Oh, God! how much yet remains to be done in this
splendid art, even by a man like myself!" In 1802 he wrote of
himself as "a gradually decaying veteran," enjoying only the
feeble health which is "the inseparable companion of a gray-haired
man of seventy." In December 1803 he made his last public exertion
by conducting the "Seven Words" for the hospital fund at the
Redoutensaal, and shortly afterwards wrote sadly of his "very
great weakness." In 1804 he was asked to direct a performance of
"The Creation," but declined on the score of failing strength.
Gradually he withdrew himself almost entirely from the outside
world, his general languor broken only by the visits of friends
and by moods of passing cheerfulness. Cherubini, the Abbe Vogler,
Pleyel, the Weber family, Hummel, Reichardt, and many others came
to see him. Visits from members of the Esterhazy family gave him
much pleasure. Mozart's widow also brought her son Wolfgang, to
beg his blessing on the occasion of his first public concert in
April 1805, for which he had composed a cantata in honour of
Haydn's seventy-third birthday. But the homage of friends and
admirers could not strengthen the weak hands or confirm the feeble
knees. In 1806 Dies notes that his once-gleaming eye has become
dull and heavy and his complexion sallow, while he suffers from
"headache, deafness, forgetfulness and other pains." His old
gaiety has completely gone, and even his friends have become a
bore to him. "My remaining days," he said to Dies, "must all be
spent in this lonely fashion.... I have many visitors, but it
confuses me so much to talk to them that at last I scarcely know
what I am saying and only long to be left in peace." The condition
of a man of naturally genial and optimistic temperament can easily
be imagined from all this--perhaps even more from the fact of his
having a card printed to hand to inquirers who called, bearing
the words:
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Hin ist alle meine Kraft;
Alt and schwach bin ich.
[Fled for ever is my strength;
Old and weak am I.]
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