He had now come to that wonderfully beautiful part of the sonata called by Beethoven, "Marcia funebre sulla morte d'un eroe," and his masterly execution made the grand chords of the march resound through the room.
Bismarck stood still. His powerful hand grasped the back of a chair, his eyes were directed upwards, and he looked as if an inspiration passed through his mind as he listened to the impressive tones.
Then followed a representation of the muffled drums, the blast of the trumpets resounded, and von Keudell, carried away by the beauty of the composition, rendered it so as to surpass himself.
Madame von Bismarck had laid down her work and was listening thoughtfully.
The president minister stood motionless. His chest heaved higher, the powerful muscles of his arm grew stiffer, his eyes seemed to shoot out light, as their upward gaze sought in imagination the dark sky bestrewn with stars.
Once more the trumpet blast arose, then the clear sounds died away, and after a short pause Herr von Keudell went on to the finale of the sonata.
Bismarck looked around as if waking from a dream. He stood still for a moment, and then half unconsciously whispered these words:
"And when I go to rest, upon such sounds my soul shall rise. Would a poet ever have felt at a hero's grave all that those sounds reveal, if there were not men who dared to banish the doubts that assail the heart? Jacta est alea!"
And without noticing anyone he quietly left the room. Keudell played to the end of the sonata. Madame von Bismarck put down her work and looked anxiously after her husband.
When the music had ceased she turned to Keudell, who had left the piano and had again approached her, and said: