The nervous strain on his friends in witnessing this struggle between life and death, in which but the one issue was possible, must have been great.  It was, no doubt, a relief to Schindler and Von Breuning to leave the master in Huettenbrenner’s charge on the afternoon of the 26th of March, and go to Wahring in order to secure a burial-place.  While on this necessary errand, a terrific storm arose, which prevented their return until night.  Meanwhile, Huettenbrenner, left alone with the master, endeavored to ease his position by sustaining his head, holding it up with his right arm.  His breathing had been growing perceptibly weaker, carrying the conviction that the end was near.  The storm was of unusual severity, covering the glacis with snow and sleet.  The situation of the building was such that it was exposed to the full fury of the tempest.  No sign was given by the master that he was conscious of this commotion of the elements.  With the subsidence of the storm at dusk, the watcher was startled by a flash of lightning, which illumined everything.  This was succeeded by a terrific peal of thunder which penetrated even Beethoven’s ears.  Startled into consciousness by the unusual event, the dying man suddenly raised his head from Huettenbrenner’s embrace, threw out his right arm with the fist doubled, remained in this position a moment as if in defiance, and fell back dead.

The two friends returned some hours after all was over.  The master died at a quarter before six o’clock on the evening of March 26, 1826.  He was in his fifty-seventh year.

The funeral took place on March 29 at 3 P.M. from the church of the Minorites and was attended by many of the most prominent people of the city.  Eight musicians bore the coffin from the house to the church, while thirty-two torch-bearers followed it, among the number being Czerny and Schubert.  This was followed by a choir of sixteen male singers, and four trombones, which alternated in singing and playing.  The music consisted of two equali composed by Beethoven many years before, arranged for this occasion by Seyfried, to the words of the Miserere and Amplius.

Notwithstanding the immense concourse of people assembled at the obsequies, estimated at twenty thousand, there was but one relative to occupy the position of mourner, and that was Johann.

On April 3, Mozart’s Requiem was sung at the church of the Augustines, and shortly thereafter, Cherubini’s Requiem was sung for him at the Karlskirche.

The magnificence of his funeral, when compared with his simple mode of life, calls to mind the great contrasts which he was always producing in his music.  Equally great contrasts had always come up in his life.  Living in the proudest most exclusive and bigoted monarchy in Europe, at a time when feudal authority had not yet been entirely abolished, he held himself to be as good or better than Emperor or Cardinal.  On receiving a request one morning from the Empress of