The young man uttered these last words loudly in the wood, but hardly had he done so when a merry and mocking laugh came back in reply. For an instant he felt a little frightened, but immediately recovered himself, and angrily answered:
“Who laughs there? I hope no one here is making sport of me.”
“I have taken the liberty to do so,” said a young man, stepping forward from behind the trunk of a beech-tree and making a low bow with a slightly ironical smile. “If you wish to resent it, honorable sir, I herewith surrender myself to your merciful judgment.”
The angry frown which his words had caused disappeared, and Beethoven good-naturedly extended his hand, which the stranger cordially shook.
“Very learned Franz Gerhard Wegeler,[13] worthy student of medicine,” he said, “what chance brought you into this solitude, where I fancied I was all alone and far from the human rabble?”
“Doubtless the same chance which brought my melodious friend here,” replied the other. “Yes, my excellent master of tone, my Ludwig van Beethoven, it was the blue sky and golden sun which enticed me out of the dull study-room into God’s glorious world, where at least one can get a breath of fresh air and enjoy the wonderful works of the Almighty. Was not that your object also, worthy pupil of Mistress Musica?”
Ludwig nodded assent. “For all that, it is a strange and remarkable chance that we should have met each other in this solitary wood,” he said.
“Not altogether strange and not very wonderful, my dear fellow,” replied Wegeler, “for in crossing the Rhine I engaged the same boatman who took you over. Knowing that we were old acquaintances, he told me that you had crossed scarcely half an hour before, and were roving about in this wood. As I would rather have company than walk alone, I followed your trail, found you lost in ecstasy over a nightingale, and finally learned, for you announced it in an exceedingly loud tone of voice, that you intended shortly to soar to the very Deity. That made me laugh; but you will excuse me when you reflect that the ascent to the Deity is a somewhat difficult performance for one of your years, unless you make what they call a ‘salto mortale’ (deadly leap). It is the easiest way in the world to break one’s neck or bones.”
Ludwig again frowned a little, but quickly smoothed his brow with his hand, as if wiping away all troubles and gloomy thoughts. “You are right,” said he. “I was a fool to entertain such bold fancies and daring hopes. And this, too, in my melancholy circumstances and wretched plight! It is not possible. I was mad, that I was.” With these last words such deep dejection manifested itself in his countenance that Wegeler suddenly felt the warmest sympathy for the young man.
“What is the matter? Why do you speak of wretchedness and melancholy, Ludwig?” he cordially said, as he threw his arm around his much younger friend and drew him affectionately toward him.