"Monday, March 26,1827.
The north wind blows and snow billows
through the air.
Thunder claps above the empty streets.
It is a day that will go down in history."
A fine gentleman stands alone in a doorway.
His carriage awaits, but he does not move. He waves the carriage on.
Tonight the gentleman will walk home.
Like many in Vienna, his eyes are full of
tears.
Ludwig van Beethoven has died.
Three days later, spring had arrived. The
people of Vienna flooded into the streets.
They had come to pay their respects to the man who has written such beautiful music.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, nine priests blessed the composer's coffin and the funeral procession left Beethoven's house.
The pallbearers wore rose bouquets and
white silk scarves.
They walked with the coffin through the vast crowds.
The crowds were so dense it took an hour and a half to go one block to the church.
There, in a service lit with candles, the
people of Vienna said goodbye.
The schools of Vienna were let out that day.
If you had looked carefully you might have spotted in the crowd, a boy with a serious face.
His name is Christoph, and he is my nephew.
And there was a time when he came to know Mr. Beethoven well.
It was not a happy time in Christoph's life.
His father had died. He was only ten years old.
I was a young man myself, a student of music in Salzburg.
Christoph lived in Vienna. He wrote me
letters about his troubles.
As you will hear, my little nephew had a lot to say.