“I should not be surprised if he had already slipped out of the church and were again roving about the wood,” said Wegeler smiling. “I know his ways. He does not crave praise like many other musicians. It is absolutely painful to him to be commended to his face. He prefers to escape from it and bury himself in solitude. He is always that way, and one must take him as one finds him. The rich treasures of his soul make thousandfold compensation for his external roughness.”
“Well, we shall have to acquiesce in his absence,” replied the Abbot; “but promise me, dear Wegeler, that you will soon bring this wonderful artist here again.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” answered Wegeler. “Ludwig can do his best in the company of cultivated and sympathetic persons only, and I hope I shall succeed in introducing him into a circle of dear friends in Bonn where he will surely find a second home. But now, your reverence, it is time for me to take my departure and hunt up my young runaway friend, so that we may get back to Bonn in good season.”
Once again the glasses were filled, and they were clinked for the last time with the wish for an early and happy “Wiedersehen,”[16] and Wegeler begged to be kept in affectionate remembrance. He then hastened in the direction of Bonn, and had been gone hardly a quarter of an hour when he found his friend Beethoven sitting upon a stump on the side of the road, lost in deep thought.
“Well, my fine fellow,” said Wegeler to him, “what induced you to run away from the abbey so secretly and without saying good-bye?”
Beethoven turned about with an abrupt motion of resentment and shook his thick, curly hair, which fell about his neck like the mane of a lion. “I could not stay any longer and indulge in empty chattering after the Genius of Art in the church had struggled with me and bidden me to soar. I had to get away from it and out into the open air, into the solitude, where, as I know by experience, I can most easily find my way back to the common places of life.”
“But the Abbot regretted that he could not speak with you again,” said Wegeler.
“Some other time,” replied Beethoven. “He is a kind, friendly man, whom I appreciate and esteem; but he must let me go my way, undisturbed, if I am to visit him again.”
“And he will do that, stubborn-headed one,” replied Wegeler, laughingly. “Only play for him a little from time to time and he will always be a benevolent patron and have all possible patience with your caprices. We do not always know how, when, or where such a man may be of service to us. A visit with him is always a genuine recreation and a comfort to the heart. We will soon revisit Heisterbach, will we not, Ludwig?”
Beethoven nodded assent. “But it is time now to go home. The sun is already low, and I have a presentiment that things are not as they should be at home. Let us hasten, Wegeler.”