(Adapted)
It happened at Vienna. One moonlight evening, in early summer, a friend
called upon Beethoven. He said, "Come, let us walk together in the
moonlight." Arm in arm the two friends strolled through the city. In
passing through a dark, narrow street, Beethoven paused suddenly.
"Hush!" he said. "What sound is that? It is from my sonata in F. Hark,
how well it is played!"
It was a mean little dwelling before which the two friends paused to
listen. The music went on. Almost at the end of the beautiful sonata,
the music ceased, and low sobs were heard instead. A girl's soft voice
said, "I can go no farther. It is too beautiful. I have not the power to
play it as it should be played. Oh, what would I not give to go to one
of Beethoven's concerts!"
"Ah, my sister," said another voice, "why wish for that which you can
not have? We can scarcely pay our rent."
"You are right," answered the girl, "and yet I wish for once in my life
to hear some really good music."
"Such a wish will never be granted," said her companion.
Beethoven looked at his friend. "Let us go in," he said.
"Go in! Why should we go in?"
"I will play for her," said the master, in a low tone. "This girl has
the soul of a musician. I will play for her, and she will understand."
Without waiting for an answer his hand was upon the door.
As the two friends entered the room, they saw a pale young man sitting
by a table making shoes. Near him sat a young girl. She was leaning
sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned harpsichord. Her long golden hair fell
over her neck and shoulders. Both the young man and the girl were very
poorly dressed. Both started and turned toward the door as the strangers
entered the room.
"Pardon me," said Beethoven, "but I heard the music and was tempted to
enter. I am a musician."
The girl blushed, and the young man appeared annoyed. "I also heard
something of what you said," continued Beethoven. "Shall I play for you?
Shall I give you a concert?"
Beethoven's manner was so friendly and his voice so kindly that a smile
took the place of the frown on the young man's face. The four, who but a
moment ago were strangers, became friends at once.
"Thank you," said the shoemaker, "but our harpsichord is so poor and we
have no music."
"No music," echoed Beethoven. "How then does the young lady play so--"
He stopped suddenly, for the girl turned her face toward him, and for
the first time he saw that she was blind.
"I beg your pardon," he stammered, "but I had not noticed before. Then
you play by ear?"
"Yes, entirely," the girl answered.
"And where do you hear music, since you attend no concerts?" asked
Beethoven.
"I used to hear a lady practicing near us. During the summer evenings
her windows were often open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen."
The girl seemed shy, so Beethoven said no more. He seated himself
quietly before the harpsichord and began to play. Never before had
Beethoven played as he played that night for the blind girl and her
brother. From the moment that his fingers began to wander over the keys,
the very tone of the instrument seemed to grow sweeter.
The brother and sister were silent with wonder. The young man laid aside
his work, and the girl sat perfectly quiet. She leaned forward a little
as if afraid lest she might miss a single note of the sweet music.
Suddenly the flame of the one candle wavered, sank, flickered, and went
out. Beethoven paused. His friend rose quietly and threw open the
shutters. A flood of soft moonlight filled the room, so that it was
almost as light as before. The moonbeams fell brightest upon the piano
and the player.
But the music had stopped. The master's head dropped upon his breast,
and his hands rested upon his knees. He seemed lost in thought, and sat
thus for some time.
At length the young shoemaker arose. Eagerly, yet timidly, he approached
the musician. "Wonderful man!" he said in a low tone, "who art thou?"
One of the composer's rare smiles flitted across his face. "Listen!" he
said, and with a master's touch he gave the opening bars of his own
sonata in F.
The girl seemed to know that no one but the composer of the music could
have played it so well. "Then you are Beethoven," she exclaimed.
Beethoven rose to go, but they begged him to stay. "Play to us once
more--only once more."
He again seated himself at the piano. The moon shone brightly through
the window. Looking up thoughtfully to the sky and stars, he said, "I
will compose a sonata to the moonlight." Touching the keys lightly, he
began to play a sad and lovely melody. The music filled the room as
gently as the soft moonlight creeps over the dark earth.
Then the time changed. The music became brighter and more rapid. One no
longer seemed to see the moon gliding through fleecy clouds. Instead,
one thought of sprites and fairies dancing merrily together.
Once again the music changed. The notes were as rapid as before, but
they seemed fraught with sadness. It was such music as fills the heart
with wonder.
"Farewell to you," said Beethoven, pushing back his chair and turning
toward the door. "Farewell to you."
"You will come again?" said the brother and sister in one breath.
He paused and looked tenderly at the face of the blind girl. "Yes, yes,"
he said, "I will come again and give you some lessons. Farewell! I will
come soon again." His new friends followed him in silence and stood at
the door until he was out of sight and hearing.
"Let us hasten home," said Beethoven to his friend. "I must write out
that sonata while the music is still in my mind." When they reached
home, Beethoven seated himself at once and began to write. He worked
until daybreak. When he had finished, he had written the _Moonlight
Sonata_.