The brother and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. The former laid
aside his work; the latter, with her head bent slightly forward, and her
hands, pressed tightly over her breast, crouched down near the end of the
harpsichord as if fearful lest even the beating of her heart should break
the flow of those magical sweet sounds. It was as if we were all bound in a
strange dream, and only feared to wake.
Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sunk, flickered, and went
out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the shutters, admitting a flood of
brilliant moonlight. The room was almost as light as before, and the
illumination fell strongest upon the piano and player. But the chain of his
ideas seemed to have been broken by the accident. His head dropped upon his
breast; his hands rested upon his knees; he seemed absorbed in meditation.
It was thus for some time.
At length the young shoemaker rose, and approached him eagerly, yet
reverently--"Wonderful man!" he said, in a low tone, "who and what are
you?"
The composer smiled as he only could smile, benevolently, indulgently,
kingly.
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