in which he wished him to complete it after his death. He further requested his wife to keep his death secret until she had informed Albrechtsberger of it, 'for the situation of assistant-organist at the St. Stephen Church ought to be his before God and the world.' The doctor came and ordered cold applications on Mozart's burning head. . . . The last movement of his lips was an endeavor to indicate where the kettledrums should be used in the Requiem. I think I still hear the sound."

On a cold and stormy December day his body was taken to the Church of St. Stephen, and, amid a violent shower of snow and rain, was carried thence to the churchyard of St. Marx. His friends, who had followed the coffin part of the way, did not battle against the storm to the end, and so it fell out that not a single friend of his stood by his side when the coffin was lowered into the grave. And, by a strange mischance, arising from a change in the person who held the office of sexton, when Constanze afterwards inquired as to the position of the grave, for the purpose of erecting a cross there, no information could be given, and to this day the spot has never been discovered. But, little matter!-his resting-place may be forgotten, but his memory still remains, and, so long as men continue to cherish and venerate the pure and beautiful in art and in human life, so long will Mozart, the great master of melody, be remembered and loved by them. -C. E. BOURNE.

IN what a wealth of imagery and in how many different tongues have the praises of this "Shakespeare of music," this Titan among composers, been sung! Standing apart from and above all others in his majestic greatness, he not only marked the climax of an epoch in musical history, but also opened up a new era of musical progress.

Ludwig van Beethoven was baptized on

the 17th of December, 1770, at Bonn, and probably born on the preceding day. His father, Johann van Beethoven, a tenor, was of a vacillating nature, addicted to drink, ever struggling with poverty. Prompted, it is said, by a desire to exploit the boy as a prodigy (for he learned readily), the father put him at the piano in his fourth year, and later handed him over to one Pfeiffer for instruction. At nine he was placed under Vandenreden, court organist, and subsequently Christian Gottlob Neefe. Young Beethoven was appointed assistant organist in 1785, and later became viol-player in the Elector's orchestra. The advantage of all this practical training appeared later in his orchestration. After a first visit to

Vienna in 1787, when he won praise from Mozart, he went there again in 1792, to remain for the rest of his life. With his first master in that city, Haydn, he was not well satisfied, and left him to study with Albrechtsberger, and later with Salieri. Beethoven has been described as a self-willed pupil, and one would naturally expect a strong autodidactic vein in such an original genius. But he seems to have curbed his self-will and impatience, submitting to hard study, and, in fact, he remained a diligent student through life. As Graeme says: "Epoch-Makers are necessarily Law-Breakers, to the eyes of their contemporaries. While Beet

hoven's critics believed him to be rebelliously diverting the current of Harmony from the pure course directed by a Palestrina, a Bach, a Handel, a Haydn, a Mozart, he was in reality simply engaged in deepening and widening its channel, that the stream might flow on in grander and nobler proportions to meet the ever-growing necessities of Humanity."

Beethoven's brusque and unconventional manner was possibly accentuated by his appearance. Short, strong of figure, but not elegant, with a broad face, surmounted by a tremendous forehead and a rebellious head of hair, even his physical personality was not easily overlooked. He was an impetuous, ardent genius, whom people generally misunderstood. But he retained through life a few friends who appreciated him and rated him at his true value, having the sympathetic discernment to discover the brilliant mind and noble soul that lay under the rough exterior. Such was the widow Madame von Breuning, with her three sons (among them Stephen), and a daughter, Leonore. Such were also Count Waldstein and the Archduke Rudolf (his pupil), good and devoted friends, Schindler, Schenck, and others. It seems like the irony of fate that Beethoven, so loving a nature, so much in need of the influence of an affectionate wife, should never have had a home of his own, never met with that fervent love which he depicted in all its tenderness in Fidelio.

His original style as a pianist and his extraordinary gift of improvisation met with speedy recognition, and he gained admission to the highest circles of the capital. Music was at the time, indeed, in the fashion. But playing in the

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houses of the great was as unpalatable to him as teaching. However, among his patrons some were of real benefit to him: Gottfried, Baron van Swieten, and, to a far greater extent, Prince Karl Lichnowski. His reputation as a composer became well established by the publication of his first work (1795), and his development was regular and systematic; a magnificent, orderly unfolding of the greatest musical genius that this world has seen. During the last years of his life his popularity waned. The advent of Rossini created a change in public taste, and Beethoven was forgotten until his death roused the Viennese public to an imposing demonstration. But a far greater misfortune than a loss of temporary popularity befel him. In 1801, after some years of premonitory symptoms, he became completely deaf. It was a sad, a crushing blow, and for a time seemed worse than loss of life itself. Mind remained triumphant in the end, however, and from his burdened soul escaped the noblest strains that have been given to this world, strains that appeal to all who have felt and suffered. But his childlike, benevolent disposition was now marred by irritability, distrust and suspicion; and these evils were increased by the selfish conduct of his brothers, Carl and Johann. The last years of his life were furthermore clouded by care for his nephew, whom he loved like a father, meeting in return with the basest ingratitude. A severe attack of inflammation of the lungs laid Beethoven low. Symptoms of dropsy soon showed themselves, and on March 26, 1827, he breathed his last, while a violent thunderstorm raged without. His funeral was an imposing affair; thousands accompanied his body to its last resting-place.

Beethoven's compositions comprise all forms of vocal and instrumental music, and his deep introspective feeling, his powerful genius is displayed in all. It is perhaps idle to pick from the musical treasure of Beethoven's productions, but at least his most familiar works may be mentioned; such as the opera Fidelio, with its four Leonora overtures; the overture and incidental music to Egmont, the seventh and ninth symphonies; the Sonata pathétique, for piano; Adelaïde, the Mass in C major, etc. His pianoforte sonatas opened up a perfection of technical resources hitherto unknown for that

instrument, and "have brought the pianoforte to its present eminence as the most intellectual and ideal of all instruments." And his instrumental music in general has been well characterized by a German writer in the words: "Beethoven's immeasurably great merit as a composer consists in this, that he increased the power of expression of instrumental music, even for the reproduction of the profoundest sensations of the human soul in an unsuspected manner, and enlarged its forms to gigantic proportions." Volumes of criticism and analysis have been devoted to Beethoven's work, but after all, as Richard Wagner truly said, "It is perfectly impossible to undertake to discuss the essential nature, proper, of Beethoven's music, without at once falling into the tone of rhapsody."

THE DEAF MUSICIAN.

The personality and life of Beethoven were profoundly lonesome. His immense native power of mind and sensibility, early set askew with the world of men, made him peculiarly sensitive to exactions, slights and irritations. The death or the fickleness of the maiden he loved in his youth apparently made a dark and sinister stamp on his social character, and left a permanent bitterness in his blood. His averseness to common intercourse was aggravated by his poverty, his devouring absorption in the science and art of music, and a singular combination in him of awkwardness and scorn, tender diffidence and titanic pride. The lack of popular favor, the incompetent condemnation his wonderful compositions long suffered, must also have been a trial tending to sour him. Furthermore, as in the case of every man of primal genius, his transcendent originality doomed him to a determined struggle with the past, an uncompromising insurrection against conventional authority and usage. He defied the prescriptions of his predecessors, broke pedantic fetters, refuted his teachers, made new rules for himself, upheaved a world dead in professional routine and tradition that he might inspire it with fresh freedom and fresh triumphs; and thus, perforce, he stood alone, battling with obscurity, contempt, and hate, until he slowly conquered the recognition he deserved. Finally, in addition