“What is the matter?” he thunders back from his room.
“You will flood all Vienna if you go on in this way.”
Now, for the first time, Beethoven comes to his senses. Ashamed of what he has done, he discontinues his ablutions, quickly throws on his clothes, and hurries to the desk in his room to create one of those majestic masterpieces which are destined to astonish the world. Suddenly he throws down his pen, and calls: “Christine!”
The old housekeeper thrusts her head in the doorway. “What is your pleasure, Herr van Beethoven?”
The head vanishes, but shortly after, the whole figure of the old woman appears. With an air of solemnity she gives her master a tin box. Beethoven opens it. It is filled with roasted coffee beans. Beethoven sniffs their fragrance with delight, then takes the box and counts the beans, one by one, with scrupulous accuracy, placing them in a little pile on the table.
“Sixty! hold!” he cries. “That is one cup. Now another.” Again he carefully counts sixty beans, and then gives both piles to the housekeeper.
“Here is enough for two cups. Make it good, or I will make it myself to-morrow.”
The housekeeper promises to do her best, and Beethoven resumes his work, sketching down notes with wonderful rapidity. When the housekeeper brings the coffee, he sips it with evident satisfaction, and then goes to the window to see what the weather is.
“Beautiful! The sun shines! I will take a walk,” he says.
“Oh, you never trouble yourself much about the weather,” suggests the old woman. “We know that you run around the city two or three times every day, whether it blows, rains, freezes, or snows. I believe you would walk even if you knew that the heavens above you would fall.”
Beethoven assents to this. “It is healthy.” Then he takes his hat and disappears.
He walks rapidly at first, until he is away from the bustle of the streets. Then he slackens his speed, and moves on at a moderate pace, with his hands behind him, his head thrown back, his eyes fixed upon the sky. Sometimes he remains motionless, as if he were unconscious of the world around him. Upon these occasions his figure rises to its full height, and his eyes roll and flash brightly, looking upward or straight forward with the eyeballs fixed and motionless. A moment of the highest inspiration has come to him, as it often came, not alone in the streets, but also in the midst of the gayest company.