‘The Poet and the Composer 7 ia [1819-1821] J [From Die Serapions-Briider] sy was at the gates, cannons thundered all about, and grenade whistling through the air. The citizens, their faces pale wi lodgings, and the empty streets echoed with the clattering hoofs of ‘ols, charging hither and yon, cursing and driving from the Idiers who had been left behind. Only Ludwig sat in his back room, ersed in the magnificent, varicolored world that his fancy had m before the piano; he had just finished a symphony in which ored to fix in black and white all the music of his innermost self, , Beethoven’s compositions in this vein, was to speak in god- s sublime wonders of that faraway romantic land in which ressible yearning; indeed, which was itself, like one of nto our narrow, needy life and to entice out of it, with gly surrendering to it. Just then his landlady im that in the midst of the general distress iano and asking him whether he wanted Ludwig really did not understand roaring by, tore away a picce of clatter; then the landlady ra" lar with Ludwig. hastening ssion, the score of his mbled. In an attack ived on and nourishment sel from theirERDAS OFF MANN ; 783 surplus; one Ss Pe iene ay ie one drank, one was soon transported from a state , nxiety to that sociable, comfortable state in which one bor, pressing himself against r, S 1 s he has s 7 another, seeks security a i he ha a : : curity and think as ‘ that mincing, for s i Z tion teaches is swallowed up in the great walts to what ake eon ney y beats time. Forgotten Was the precarious situation, even the apparent danger, and lively scraps of conversation poured from eager lips. In- pk the house who, meeting one another on the stairs, scarcely touched Hnats, sat side by side, hand in hand, revealing their innermost selves in Ys mutual interest. The shots fell more sparingly, and some were already taking of going upstairs, since the street seemed to be becoming safe. An old went further and, ing by way of introduction with a few structive words on the art of fortification among the ancient Romans and on he effect of catapults and, from more modern times, touching approvingly on fauban, was on the point of demonstrating that fear was entirely uncalled for, since the house lay quite beyond the line of fire, when a bullet, striking the ks that shielded the ventilator, hurled them into the cellar. No one was t, however, and when the old soldier sprang, glass in hand, upon the table, off which the bricks had knocked the bottles, and defied the absent bullet, ing one learned that the army had occupied a new position, voluntarily wating the city to the enemy. While one was leaving the cellar, hostile were already roaming through the town, and a public notice promised g hostile general, who presently rode through the gate, heralded by y calls of trumpets and surrounded by brilliantly dressed guards. y could Ludwig believe his eyes when, among the adjutants, he rht of Ferdinand, his dearly beloved academic friend, who, wearing and carrying his left arm in a sling, curvetted by quite close to cent dun horse. “It is he—it is truly, surely he hipaa a involuntarily. Having vainly sought to follow his frien d, whose he ied hina quickly away, Ludwig thoughtfully hurried back no work would move from the spot; the appearance of his had entirely lost sight of for years, filled his thoughts, and f him that blissful youth which he In those days Ferdinand had had lived solely“OF ROMANTICisy ore lively, a large division of th, ‘rode the allied princes, who were ,, ys of rest. But the greater the turm, se Ludwig retained of secing his frie; way, little-patronized café where he w er, his friend, with a loud cry of the utmos . Ludwig remained silent, for a cer longed-for moment of reunion a bitter or “dream when one embraces loved ones onl e themselves, keenest joys giving w host ‘muse, the poet of many a romantic stanza which » harmony, stood before him in his hi ber at his side, denying even his own v lwig’s gloomy gaze fell on Ferdinand 4rd to the medal of honor which he wore at his Ri I dared not hesitate to answer. With the enthusiasm which a sacred cause kindles in every brand a slave’s, this hand, otherwise used vord! I have shed my blood, and only the hat I did my duty under the eyes of the ieve me, Ludwig, those lyre strings ne¢ whose tones have so often spoken ter horrible and bloody battling, on a he bivouac about the watchfire, lifted and strengthened and freedom. and, when F ‘erdinand aside helmet and saber, ed his patience with # two friends con in the meantime,