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retched, and we have no music." "No music!" echoed my friend; "how, then, does the young lady--" he paused and coloured; for, as he looked in the girl's face, he saw that she was blind. "I--I entreat your pardon," he stammered. "I had not perceived before. Then you play by ear? But when do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts?" "We lived at Bruhl for two years, and while there I used to hear a lady practising near us. During the summer evenings her windows were generally open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen to her." She seemed so shy that Beethoven said no more, but seated himself quietly before the piano and began to play. He had no sooner struck the first chord than I knew what would follow. Never, during all the years I knew him, did I hear him play as he then played to that blind girl and her brother. He seemed to be inspired; and, from the instant that his fingers began to wander along the keys, the very tones of the instrument seemed to grow sweeter and more equal. 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 piano, as if fearful lest even the beating of her heart should break the flow of those magical sounds. Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank, 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, the moon rays falling strongest upon the piano and the player. His head dropped upon his breast; his hands rested upon his knees; he seemed absorbed in deep thought. He remained thus for some time. At length the young shoemaker arose and approached him eagerly. "Wonderful man!" he said, in a low tone. "Who and what are you?" "Listen!" said Beethoven, and he played the opening bars of the Sonata in F. A cry of recognition burst from them both, and exclaiming: "Then you are Beethoven!" they covered his hands with tears and kisses. He rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties. "Play to us once more--only once more!" He suffered himself to be led back to the instrument. The moon shone brightly in through the window, and lighted up his glorious, rugged head and massive figure. "I will improvise a Sonata to the Moonlight!" said he, looking up thoughtfully to the sky and stars. T
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