The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1879-08-21

and let naught but the love throbs of
thy heart at this hour thrill my memory,"
They stand, statue-like, closely elapsed
in each other arms for few enraptured
moments, when the countess, sadly
smiling through her tears, family
whispers: Farewell, my beloved. A
most glorious destiny awaits thee.
Devote thyself to music. twill quickly
efEace my image from thy heart, and
soon, alasl thou wilt forget me.
"Never" he replies vehemently,
"neverl Each separate note which flows
from my muse hereafter, will be love
greeting to thee. Music shall be a COM
pInte history of my soul in its yearning
for thee Promise me, dearest one,
She nodded her head in silent acquies-
cence, and after one more long, fervent
embrace, one more clinging, passionate
kiss, one more thrilling, deep-searching
interchange of fearful eyes-they parted,
and in silence retraced their steps to the,
palace
The short moments which formed such
an eventful epoch in these two human
lives passed almost unnoticed in the gay
crowd of jewellers. Yet when Beethoven
entered the room, his countenance wore
such weird, unearthly expression that
| IL seemed to exert strange and power
full influence upon the whole assembly.
The most breathless silence prevailed as
he mechanically moved toward the piano,
which stood directly between the two
large windows. ef ~
The moonlight streamed full upon
him, and appeared to envelope his form
with a pale, ghastly radiance. His eyes
were fixed upon vacancy, and seemed not
to possess physical sight, but to be mere
1 windows through which his soul cleaned
wildly forth. r.n5s "a orFfg ofE
When one dips his head at night under
water there is an awful stiffness round
about him; into a similar supernatural
stiffness did the audience seemed plunged
| when Beethoven touched the first few
resonant chords. His lips moved almost
imperceptibly in deep sepulchral tones.
As of one from another world, he ex-
claimed: 40 music! thou who bringest
the receding waves of eternity nearest to
the weary heart of man as he stands
upon the shore and longs to cross over,
art thou the evening breeze of this life,
or the morning air of the next one@'
Then in the key of G sharp minor-the
weirdest of all keys-an adagio foated
forth, so calm, so mournful, 10 tou chingly
sweet, that it seemed as il the moonlight
had melted into music and was thus be-
ing nodded by the masterful genius at
the piano. Sadly and soft, hesgliding
movement continues, carrying the heart
| irresistibly along in its fascinating un-
dulation. Following this comes an allie.
gretto, in which all the agony of parting
Il sa AaI = 4
despicted that the tendor and overstained
nerves of the countess give way and she
~ carried in a deep swoon out of the
ro0mE Beethoven is too much absorbed
in his soul-stirring theme, however, to
take any notice of surrounding events
And in the ensuing trio the music sobs
itself into dreamful slumber. Dream
full? Aye. Into sleepso benightmared
that it seems a mad, frantic race between
pursuing fends and retreating soul
Betimes the fugitive finds some nook
where cool waters bubble and purl, and
it rapturously allows itself to enjoy the
delicious fragrance and quiet coolness
But ever and anon the shrek of demons
now beneath, now above, goad it onward
until it falls into the bottomless abyss
too deep and awful even for the pursu
ing spectres.
Before the last hollow chords ceased
to reverbrate Beethoven vanished from
the room and fed far into the night
never to return.
The beautiful countess did not recover
her health sufficiently to marry, and
after a few years of invalid life. died
and shortly after her death Beethoven
became afflicted with deafness in which
he took singular and gloomy satisfaction
| why, tits scarcely necessary to mention