sity to succumb to the tender passion, which, although the event narated did not occur until a later period of his life, is not out of place here. One evening during his residence at Baden, a friend, himself a pianist, eutered Beethoven's room, and was rather disconcerted at seeing the latter seated on the sofa, evidently in very friendly relationship with an exceedingly handsome lady. The friend, of course, as all discreet friends would do under such circumstances, stepped back, think ing that he would be de trop, but Beethoven held a different opinion, and desired him to remain.

"Play us an amaroso," he said, and the friend complied; and then he asked for a "malinconico," and after that for an 66 appassionata." Beethoven and the lady sat behind the friendly performer-a very wise arrangement for all parties. We are not told what was the accompaniment to the pieces performed at the maestro's request; that is left to the imagination. The lady did not pay a lengthened visit, but very soon quitted the room. And then the friend conceiving, of course, that she must be an intimate acquaintance of some standing began to speak about her. To his astonishment he discovered her to be a perfect stranger to Beethoven -that he had never met her before that day, and was even then perfectly ignorant of her name and address. She had called on the musician for the purpose of becoming personally acquainted with him, his fame having already reached her; that object attained she had departed as she had arrived, unknown.

But Beethoven could not forget her; he said he "must find her he would find her," and he tried to do so, but without success-she was invisible. At length the friend who had played the obligato to his single interview with the fair dame, obtained a clue to her identity. He discovered her name, station, everything about her, and reported the same to Beethoven. This information, however, being unsatisfactory, the maestro very wisely made up his mind to forget her. Thus ended his singular passion for this unknown inamorata.

But to return to the continuous thread of Beethoven's life. In the year 1800, during his summer residence at Hetzendorf, he wrote "Christ on the Mount," which was performed for the first time on the 5th of April, 1803. Towards the end of 1800 his second symphony, and the concerto in C minor, were introduced to the public.

In 1805 he returned to Hetzendorf, and began the opera of "Fidelio," which, together with "Christ on the Mount," were said to have been written in the thickest part of the wood at Schönbrunn, the musician being seated on the ground between the two stems of an old oak. There in that gloomy solitude the mind of the man imagined those wonderful compositions which were to go to the world and add to his well-earned fame-there alone, without musical instrument of any sort near him, no tangible stay for his genius to rest on, that genius dwelling in and on itself alone, irrespective of all external aid. The usual order of com

| position seems to be that of sitting down to an instrument and giving utterance through such me. dium to the musical creation of the brain; but Beethoven needed no utterance for the purpose of composition, he imagined his compositions, they dwelt in his thoughts, and his scientific knowledge of his art enabled him, from thought, to commit them to paper. Thus was it that even after his deafness he was a composer-even as a poet might imagine his verses and write them, although he might never hear or utter one line of his own. Music was the poetry of Beethoven's soul, the ideal world in which he lived, and moved, and revelled. Perhaps he drew as much real enjoyment from these solitary and abstracted musings, as he would have done from the performance of them by a full and efficient orchestra-perhaps more, for the real, the tangible frequently only blots and mars the ideal. Looking on Beethoven's musical genius in this light of an abstract quality, we can understand the seeming paradox of a deaf composer.

But in treating of the life of Beethoven we have not to speak of him as musician only—we must consider him in his position as man, and endeavour faithfully to pourtray both the darker and brighter shades of his character; and here we must mention one attribute which, resulting partly from the infirmity which we have heretofore remarked, seems to have been unworthy of the noble character into which it had crept.

Beethoven was extremely suspicious; he always fancied people were either abusing, or cheating, or acting adversely to him. Unless he took a fancy" to a person, he never believed in their honesty, but always fancied them in some way or other inimical to him. Deaf people are generally suspicious, and Beethoven formed no exception to the general rule. Then again, his susceptible nature made him an easy prey to those who designedly sought to gain an influence over him. A certain show of friendship, an expressed coinci dence of opinion, combined with a manner which pleased, was sure to make Beethoven a friend, and then, his friendship getting the whip hand of his judgment, he saw every action, word, of this seeming friend through a false colouring; it was all coleur de rose, and poor deluded Beethoven was guided as easily as a child, who, lured by a box of bon bons, grasps at the tempting sweetmeats. "Defend me from my friends," is an old ejaculation which has passed into a proverb, and well might Beethoven have used it for his friends; they of his own household were those who at this time proved his greatest enemies. His two brothers Carl and Johann now for selfish purposes, of course, tried to, and succeeded in, exercising their influence over him. Friends stepped in, and no doubt seeing clearly into the motives of these two members of the family, sought to warn Beethoven; but he either would not take their advice, or else the mesh was too closely drawn round him. Sometimes he did distrust Carl- then again he believed firmly in his disinterested friendship-next he

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would doubt, and then blame himself for doubting. Like all persons of a highly imaginative temperament, he always, whether in this case or others, fixed his standard of human perfection too high, and then when his paragons exhibited any human flaw dragged it down again impetuously to earth, and uttered maledictions against erring human beings and imperfect human nature.

In the beginning of the year 1802, he was attacked with serious illness. His medical adviser was Dr. Schmidt, who afterwards became one of his firmest friends. This illness must have been both severe and of long duration, for in October of the same year, we have the date of the copy of his Will then written, in which he speaks in sad terms of himself, and evidently looks on his death as an event of possibly near occurrence. In that Will he says, Yes, the fond hope that I brought hither with me of cure (he was then at a village called Heiligenstadt, six miles from Vienna) at least to a certain point, will now entirely forsake me. As the leaves of autumn fall withered to the ground, so is that hope become withered for me." At last, however, he became somewhat better and happier, and resumed his general course of life and occupation. Then a project, which had long taken root in his mind, came vividly before him, and claimed execution. And here another peculiarity of his character must be specified, in order to account for this project, and its very abrupt termination.

He

Beethoven was of republican principles. looked on monarchies as mistakes, and those who ruled them as weak tools either of their own or other people's passions. Although bred in a Court, he had no respect for the prestige or title of royalty. He maintained that man, in the simple character of man, should possess dignity and influence enough for all necessary purposes of authority, and should not need the adventitious aids of pomp and title to enforce and strengthen a government which was too weak to stand without them. Thus, while he despised and condemned monarchies, he looked on republics, and those who advocate that form of government, with veneration. It is no wonder, then, under these circumstances, that Napoleon, as the great republican hero of the day, should have been an object of the musician's admiration. He was enthusiastic in praise of Napoleon; and as a necessary consequence of this enthusiasm, a work was composed in honour of him, and a dedication prefixed thereto. Napoleon was his polar star!Napoleon, who was to revolutionise and remodel the world by his republican principles; who was to destroy error and crush vice-all through his republican principles. Under the inspiration of the Napoleonic star, the musical composition went on speedily. It was completed, and on the point of being sent, through the French Embassy, to Paris, when the composer's enthusiasm received a sudden check-the death-blow was given to his admiration for the astounding news came to Vienna that Napoleon had caused himself to be

proclaimed that offensive thing an Emperor! He was "Emperor of the French."

Beethoven, the hasty, impetuous Beethoven, was irate-and irate to a great degree; in fact, he was in a very decided passion. He seized the devoted production of his brain, and while he anathematized "the Emperor," tore off the titleleaf of dedication. But this was not a sufficient safety valve. His anger still continued to bubble up and boil over. He cast the symphony on the ground, as if it were identified with that despicable creature, the Emperor, and were only fit to be trodden under foot. There it lay, like many a better thing before and since-the innocent effect bearing the sins of the guilty cause. No one was allowed to touch it or rescue it from its degraded position. There it was to lie-and there it did lie, while Beethoven stormed away his wrath. Not for several months would he allow it to appear before the world, but at last it was published under the title of the "Sinfonia Eroica."

In 1804 and 1805 Beethoven was engaged in the composition of the opera of "Fidelio." Its reproduction of late years at the Italian Operahouse has familiarised the public with this great work, which, although too heavy for the general taste, is full of scientific beauties. It is a disgrace to the musical taste of England, that, while “La Traviata" is of almost nightly, or at any rate of very frequent repetition, Beethoven's "Fidelio" is seldom advertised. True, there is a great absence of scenic effect, and a total want of dramatic charlatanism; but this would be an inconsistent accompaniment to any work of that great master's. The music was his first thought-the scenic effect a secondary consideration; whereas, on the contrary, in the favourite operas of the day, the music is simply an adjunct to the play. If it be pretty, so much the better; if it be good, in nine cases out of ten, so much the worse. People don't want good music at the opera. They must have pretty airs to tickle their ears, and pathetic or exciting singing to pander to their somewhat palled appetite; but good, really good, scientific music, is scarcely ever appreciated at the Italian Opera. Nor is this any wonder. The English are not naturally a musical nation. Musical taste, too, requires cultivation to enable the possessor to appreciate scientific music, and few receive a sufficiently scientific education to enable them to understand the works of the great masters of the art. Those who require scientific music must seek it elsewhere than at the opera.

But to return to "Fidelio," and the of process its completion. The overture was the first difficulty, and Beethoven had to write no less than four before he could please himself and those about him. The first was pronounced too light for the general character of the piece; the second was too difficult for the wind instruments; the third did not suit the fiddles, and they all entered into a crusade against it and Beethoven; the fourth was shorter than the third; and we may conclude

that all the previous errors were corrected, for it was published, though only after the opera had appeared as a dramatic piece, in 1815.

The difficulties which were thrown in the composer's way with regard to the overture of "Fidelio," were only such as had arisen on several former 'occasions, and which did arise on many subsequently. The truth was, that the extreme independence of mind which, carried to excess in him, became a serious fault, occasioned much of the unpleasantness between him and the orchestra. He never consulted the performers, those who were the almoners of his works to the public, as to their capabilities for the parts assigned to them, or the adaptation of those parts to their powers, either as vocalists or instrumentalists. As his genius bade him, so he wrote, without the slightest reference to those who had to read his writings. Thus, when they came to be represented, many were the squabbles which took place between master and man-aye, and woman too, for Beethoven did not spare the gentler sex. They could not brook his impatience, nor he what he considered their unpardonable carelessness or stupidity. Neither understood the other; and what was worse, neither the one nor the other tried to do so. Beethoven was thus always at daggers drawing with actors and managers, many of whom, not making the excuses for him which they should have done in remembrance of his cruel infirmity, treated him shamefully and unmercifully. He felt their unkindness bitterly; but too proud to own it, only increased his independence of word and manner, and thus prepared further stripes for the devoted back still smarting under recent lashes.

He had firm and warm friends, among whom may be specially named Stephen von Breuning, whom he had known in early years, and who sought to advise Beethoven for his good, by recommending a conciliatory mode of dealing towards those managers and actors who had the handling of the great man's works. But von Breuning did little or no good by his advice or interference. Did he act as mediator? No sooner was a breach healed than Beethoven opened it again. If a cause of offence were explained away, its place was sure to be re-occupied by one of much graver import.

The friend, indeed almost "the father" of his early years, Prince Lichnowsky, had left Vienna, or perhaps his influence might have had some weight in stilling the tempest against his protégé and favourite. But at length, without the aid of Prince Lichnowsky, or any other prince, all the storms of this period of Beethoven's life passed, and he became a moderately happy again. Then he wrote the symphony in B major, which was pronounced so admirable, and such high encomiums lavished on it, that the composer began to fancy the world contained more sunshine than it had done, when "Fidelio" had failed to please the Viennese audience, (for it was unsuccessful there); and the performers of "Fidelio," had also

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seemed determined that by no efforts of theirs should it be redeemed from oblivion.

In the summer of 1806, he was again obliged to leave Vienna, and seck temporary relaxation and renewed strength at a watering place. While there his passion for the "Giulietta" of his earlier years seems to have occupied much of his time and thoughts. This attachment, notwithstanding various little amatory episodes, continued for many years of his life. His letters to her, his words concerning her, all proved that he entertained a very sincere regard for her. To his intimate friends even, he rarely mentioned her, and when he did, it was always in the highest terms of admiration and respect.

Beethoven was also accused of entertaining an attachment to another lady-also a woman of rank and position, the Countess Marie Erdödy, by name. Whether this attachment passed the bounds of friendship or not, is a mere matter of conjecture; certainly the lady entertained a very high appreciation for the maestro and his art, and commemorated both the one and the other by erecting a temple, and inscribing, or rather causing to be inscribed, over the entrance to the building, an eulogium on the composer, and her special admiration of his genius. The site of this erection was the park belonging to one of the Countess's Hungarian estates.

In 1806, and the two following years, the fourth, fifth, and sixth symphonies, which are justly considered masterpieces by musicians, were composed. The Pastorale " symphony, so well known at the present day, and that in C minor, were also brought out at the same time, or nearly at the same time. The remuneration which Beethoven received at this time may be partly gathered from the following statement. In 1807, he sold to M. Clementi the duplicates of three quartetts, "The Fourth Symphony," the overture to "Coriolanus," the "Fourth Concerto for the Pianoforte," and "The Violin Concerto," for which he was to receive two hundred pounds. The originals of the works had been previously disposed of to German publishers. He was also to receive sixty pounds for three sonatas, original works. These are but dry details, interesting to musicians principally.

In 1809, Vienna was again the scene of a French bombardment. The first visit of these unwelcome intruders had been in 1805, the year of the production of " "Fidelio," and to their presence, may very fairly be partly attributed the failure of the opera. When it appeared, the house was filled by a French audience, many of the Viennese having left the city. "Fidelio," with its depth of style and scientific character, was as unsuited as anything could possibly be to French taste, therefore it is no wonder it was condemned.

However, 1809 saw the French again before the gates of Vienna. Beethoven continued in the city, but like many another man, he was glad during the bombardment to take shelter in a cellar from the roaring of the cannon, and the proximity of the

cannon balls. In 1809 Beethoven was offered the appointment of Kapell-meister to the King of Westphalia. He refused this post, and afterwards obtained from the Archduke Rudolph, Prince Kinsky, and Prince Lobkowitz, au annuity of 4,000 florins, on condition of his remaining in his own country, the continuance of the payment of this pension enduring only while he held no permanent

appointment. Beethoven fulfilled his part of the compact to the very letter; not so, however, was it with the noble donors. Through unforeseen circumstances, this income was considerably reduced to the discomfiture and annoyance of the recipient, In 1810, Beethoven produced his first "Mass" at the residence of Prince Esterhazy at "Eisenstadt." (To be continued.)

"Sir, we had talk."-Dr. Johnson.

THE BENEVOLENCE OF SUPERIORITY.

I HAVE no intention of saying anything churlish about a man who did so much good as John Howard, and, indeed, am not sufficiently "up" in the details of his life to dogmatise about his cha racter. But a sentence in a memoir of him which caught my eye for a few moments to-day, has suggested the remarks I am about to make, and I can hardly separate his name from their general drift. The sentence was to the effect that while Howard was leading "the life of an English country gentleman," he was "reserved to his equals, but kind”—and something else, of a benignant character, which I do not recollect—"to his inferiors."

It is amusing to notice how large a proportion of the "benevolent" people who make a noise in the world might have the same thing said of them. Their benevolence seems as if it were in some way a pendant to the sense of superiority. Place them alongside an equal, they freeze up under your very eyes. Place them under the glance of a superior, they turn out the flunkey lining of their souls. But give them somebody to patronise, and they immediately become "victorious, happy, and glorious," and let off their sunshine in great force.

It is not quite satisfactory to say that such persons do the kind things with which they are credited, only for the sake of showing off, and playing the triton among the minnows. Nobody can believe that. The real truth is, that they possess the instinct of self-estimation in such force, that there is a degree of repulsion between them and their equals which straitens the sphere of their natural kindness; for natural kindness they will generally be found to possess, and sometimes in a very high degree. We have all our limitations. There is only One whose sun rises and whose rain falls upon the just and the unjust, whose sovran bounty clips

the world.

Yet it must be owned that a limitation to the activity of human kindness which makes its outflow narrow to these same "equals," among whom every human creature mostly lives, is rather an

-Lord Bacon.

ugly one! It is the well-known scandal of every "cause" going, that too many of its devotees are no better than they should be in the world where charity begins of right. Men of wide ideas should hesitate to form home-circles. Charity, to quote my Lord Bacon, can hardly water the ground if it must first fill a pool; and whoever has father and mother, brother and sister, wife, children, and friends, has a pool to fill. Let him look to it, or his service elsewhere will not be accepted, he may be sure.

The "philanthropist" is necessarily an abnormal personage. If there were no loose screws in the order of things, we should not want him, and he would not exist. But screws are loose-he is wanted-he does exist. The proof of the reality of his vocation is made when he does his work well. Let him have credit for that, and let his shortcomings in what is simply affectional be tenderly dealt with. But let them be recognised. For the sake of all that is dearest to human nature-for the sake of that Eternal Love which is the eldest born of things, to which Chance and Change are subject, and to which Philanthropy herself must bow-let it be understood, and never smothered up out of respect for any man, that the pumping of human tenderness into artificially-cut reservoirs and channels-the systematisation of its goings, the tabulation of its doings-is full of peril. The love that is divine is like the wind; you "hear the sound thereof, but cannot tell whence it cometh nor whither it goeth."

There have been "philanthropists," doubtless, whose private selfishness has not been flagrant. I can conceive some reader saying to me, My dear sir, I know a philanthropist, and I am sure he has a happy home. Go and cross-examine his wife! Ask, Is your husband attentive, kind, punctual, chaste, good-tempered, pious, watchful over your welfare, and the children's?' and she will answer, 'Yes.' Well, what more do you want?" My very gentle reader, what I want more is precisely what cannot be formularised, and yet is the very