“Well, the Prince will not be likely to force you to play, and Van Swieten just as little,” says Ries quietly.
“Yes, you are right. I will go, and am glad to go.”
And he goes. Between one and two in the morning he returns in a lively, cheerful mood which promises pleasant dreams. He is in bed in five minutes, and five minutes later is sleeping soundly. And so ends the day—one day in Beethoven’s life.
The End
Although Beethoven lived to see happy days and happy times in beautiful Vienna, other days and other times succeeded them, darkened by a terrible fate which only a strong and lofty spirit like his could endure and even overcome.
One fine summer evening Beethoven and his pupil, Ries, took a pleasant ramble among the beautiful fields around Vienna. The setting sun flooded the earth with a sea of gold and purple. Rosy clouds slowly floated in the sky. High in air the lark sang its sweet-toned evening song. On a green hillock sat a shepherd lad, filling the fields and woods around with the pretty melody of his flute, which he had fashioned out of elder. Beethoven and Ries stopped and quietly enjoyed the wonderful beauty of the dying day.
“How beautifully the song of the lark blends with the shepherd’s melody,” said Ries. Beethoven leaned forward and listened. “Flute and lark? I do not hear them,” he said, with an expression of painful suspense on his face.
He had lost his hearing. Ries tried to console and calm him
“There is the young shepherd, playing on his pipe. Do you not see him?”