k of the
day, and, more especially, about his own ungrateful nephew. Weber, who
was nervous and agitated, counselled him to tear himself from Vienna,
and to take a journey through Germany to convince himself of the
world's judgment of him, and more especially to go to England, where
his works were more reverenced than in any other country. 'Too late!
too late!' cried Beethoven, making the pantomime of playing on the
piano, and shaking his head sadly. Then he seized on Weber's arm, and
dragged him away to the Sauerhof, where he was wont to dine. 'Here,'
wrote Weber afterward, 'we dined together in the happiest mood. The
rough repulsive man paid me as much attention as if I were a lady to
whom he was making court, and served me at table with the most delicate
care. How proud I felt to receive all this kindness and affectionate
regard from the great master spirit! The day will remain for ever
impressed on my mind, as well as on that of all who were present.'"

[Illustration: Beethoven in His Study. From painting by Carl
Schloesser.]

Three years later the Swedish poet, Atterbom, being in Vienna, went to
visit Beethoven. Atterbom was accompanied by his friend, Doctor
Jeitteles, who has left this account of their odd experience. He says:
"We went one hot afternoon to the Alservorstadt, and mounted to the
second story of the so-called Schwarzspanier house. We rang, no one
answered; we lifted the latch, the door was open, the anteroom empty.
We knocked at the door of Beethoven's room, and, receiving no reply,
repeated our knock more loudly. But we got no answer, although we
could hear there was some one inside. We entered, and what a scene
presented itself! The wall facing us was hung with huge sheets of
paper covered with charcoal marks; Beethoven was standing before it,
with his back turned toward us, but in what a condition! Oppressed by
the excessive heat, he had divested himself of everything but his
shirt, and was busily employed writing notes on the wall with a
lead-pencil, beating time, and striking a few chords on his stringless
pianoforte. He did not once turn toward the door. We looked at each
other in amused perplexity. It was no use trying to attract the deaf
master's attention by making a noise; and he would have felt
embarrassed had we gone up to him. I said to Atterbom, 'Would you, as
a poet, like to take away with you to the north the consciousness of
having, perhaps, arrested the loftiest