ance at that time is thus described:

"At the same hour every afternoon a tall man walked alone on the
so-called Wasserglacis (Vienna). Every one reverentially avoided him.
Neither heat nor cold made him hasten his steps; no passer-by arrested
his eye; he strode slowly, firmly and proudly along, with glance bent
downward, and with hands clasped behind his back. You felt that he was
some extraordinary being, and that the might of genius encircled this
majestic head with its glory. Gray hair grew thickly around his
magnificent brow, but he noticed not the spring breeze that played
sportively among it and pushed it in his eyes. Every child knew: 'that
is Ludwig van Beethoven, who has composed such wondrously beautiful
music.'"

One day, during one of these outings a fearful storm arose, and he
noticed a beautiful young woman, whom he had frequently seen in his
walks, frightened but standing still without protection from the
weather. She stared at him with such peculiar devotion and entreaty
that he stopped and asked her what she did there in the storm.

She had the appearance of a child, and great simplicity of manner. She
told him she waited to see him. He, being surprised at this,
questioned her, and she declared she was Wilhelmina Schroeder, who
longed for nothing but to sing his Leonora, of which all Vienna had
heard. He took her to his home, she sang the part for him, and at once
he accepted her.

It was she who first sang "Fidelio," and she who had the "quality"
that Beethoven demanded: the quality of kindness. It is said that her
face was instinct with gentleness and her voice exquisitely beautiful.
It was almost the last thing that Beethoven heard. His deafness was
already upon him, but he heard her voice; heard his beloved opera
sung, and was so much overcome by the beauty of the young girl's art
that during the performance he fainted.

Of all temperamental men, Beethoven was doubtless the most so, and the
anecdotes written of him are many. He was especially irascible. His
domestic annoyances are revealed freely in his diary: "Nancy is too
uneducated for a housekeeper--indeed, quite a beast." "My precious
servants were occupied from seven o'clock till ten, trying to light a
fire." "The cook's off again--I shied half a dozen books at her head."
"No soup to-day, no beef, no eggs. Got something from the inn at
last." These situations are amusing to read about, decades later, but
doubtless tragic enough at the t