Ellsworth American., 1865-06-16
III Misttlla acnus.
An Incident in the Life Of
Beethoven.

ssid ever tell you how or why,
Beethoven composed the Moonlight Son
ata9
lit hsppeaed in the Bonn, bis native
place He was Lors in Il house in the
Rheingassc; but when Erst knew him
he was lodging in the upper part of a
little meaN shop scar the Eomerplats.-
He was wre,chedy poor just then; so
poor that he never went out for walk
except at night, on account Of the poverty
Of his appearansc. However he had a
piano, pens, ink, paper. and lew books,
aud from these he contriyed to extract
some little happiness, despite his priya-
tions. At this time, he had not the
misfortune to be deaf lie could at least
enjoy the harmony Of ais own compost
tions. Later in life he had not even
that consolation. One winters evening
| called upon him for | wanted him to
take walk. and afterwards to sup with
me. | found Tim sitting by the window
in the moonlight without fire or candle,
His head buried in his hands, and his
whole frame trembling with the cold for
it was freezing bitterly. rous1d him,
persuaded him to accompany me, urged
him to shake Of his dcspondancy.
He weut but he was very gloomy and
hopeless that night, and refused to be
eomforted. Il hate life and the world"
he said pasSionately. Il late myselt,--
No one understands or cares for me. |
have genius, and / am treated as an out
cast. 4 have Il heart and no one to loye.
| wish it were all over, and iorcyer, /
wish that | were lymg peacefully at the
bottom Of the river yonder: | sometimes
find it difficult to resist the temptation.
And he pointed to the Rhine, looking
cold and bright in the moonlight. made
no reply. for it was useless to argue with
Beethoven, so | allowed him to 90 on in
the same strain. which he did, nor paused
Till We were returaing through the town,
when he subsided into sullcn silence
| did not care to interrupt him.-
Passing through some dark, narrow
streets, within the Coblentz gate, he
paused suddenly. Hush" he said.-
What sound is thatP l listened and
heard the sound of the feeble tones Of
what was cvideutly a very old piano, pro-
cecdiug from place close at haul. The
pei former was playing plaintlve move
ment i'll triple time, and despite the
worthlcssness of the instrument, contrived
to impart to it considerable tenderness Of
expression. Beethoven looked at me
with sparkling eyes. 1T is from SYM
phony in F. he said eagerly. This is
the house. Hark !! how well it is played I!
1t was little mean dwel ng with light
shiuing through the chink of the shutter.
We paused outside and listened. The
player went on, and the two following
movements were executed with the same
6dclity-thc same expression. In the
middle of the finale, there was suaaen
hreak---a momentary silence then the
low Sounds of sobbing Il cannot play
any more tonight, Frederick .'Why
not, my sister?, asked her compspien
gently. Il scarcely know why unless that
it is so beautiful, and that it is beyond
my power to do justice to its perfection
Oh what would | not give to 60 to night
to Colonge! There is concert given at
the kaufhaus, ana all kinds of beautiful
music to be performed. 1t must be SO
nice to 90 to ooneertr 'Ah my sister
said the man, signing, mono but the rich
can afford such happiness. 1t is useless
| to create regrets for ourselves when there