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