Suddenly he revived; a bright smile illumined his whole face; his sunken eyes sparkled. “I shall hear in heaven!” he murmured softly, and then sang in a low but distinct voice the lines from a hymn of his own:—
“Brüder!—über ’m Sternenzelt,
Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen.”
In the last faint tone of the music his gentle spirit passed away.
Thus died Beethoven, a true artist, a good and generous man. Simple, frank, loyal to his principles, his life was spent in working out what he conceived his duty; and though his task was wrought in privation, in solitude and distress, though happiness was not his lot in this world, doth there not remain for him an eternal reward?
The Viennese gave him a magnificent funeral. More than thirty thousand persons attended; the first musicians of the city executed the celebrated funeral march composed by him, and placed in his heroic symphony; the most famous poets and artists were pall-bearers, or carried the torches; Hummel, who had come from Weimar expressly to see him, placed a laurel crown upon his tomb. Prague, Berlin, and all the principal cities of Germany paid honors to his memory, and solemnized with pomp the anniversary of his death. Such was the distinction heaped on the dust of him whose life had been one of suffering, and whose last years had been solitary, because he felt that his infirmities excluded him from human brotherhood.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Fact.
PALESTRINA.
“Ha!” cried Alexander, as he entered the apartment of his friend Johann, and found him in a melancholy mood, sitting at his table, “ha, my dear fellow! what is the matter? Depending on your promise, if the weather was fair, to walk with me in the country, I have been sitting all the morning in best dandy trim—in my new-fashioned uncomfortable coat, waiting for you! but in vain; so I got up, at last, and came in search of you; and lo! find you undressed, or, at least, not in holiday trim as I am—at your desk, studying old yellow music, and not, as it seems, in humor exactly couleur de rose!”