Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Lady Musica
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but the wooden keyboard. For the piano he had
a respectful fear. It tempted him, but it frightened
him also. The tinkling instrument on which so many
polkas had thundered was his shrine. He had never
dared to touch it. Think of the wonderful instrument
with its many keys which could give life to
the great master’s works! He need only put his
ear down to it, and he hears both Andante and
Scherzo murmur inside. Yes, the piano is just the
right altar at which the Lady Musica should be
worshipped. But he has never played upon it. He
will never be rich enough to buy one for himself,
and he has never dared to touch this one. The
Major’s wife, too, has not shown any wish to open it
for him. He has heard, of course, the polkas and
waltzes and Bellman’s melodies ring out upon it,
but for such unholy music the old instrument could
do nothing else than rattle and bewail itself. No,
if Beethoven came, it would put forth its own true
lovely tone. Now he thought the time had come
for him and Beethoven. He would take courage
and approach the shrine and gladden his young
lord and master with the sound of its slumbering
tones. He seated himself and began to play. He
was very uncertain and very excited, but he
scrambled through a few bars, tried to catch the right
tone, wrinkled his forehead, tried again, and then
covered his face with his hands and wept. Yes,
dear Lady Musica, it was a bitter moment for him.
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