he size of his income-tax--the repose and fame of this
man is offset by the truth and obscurity of the village organist who
plays Lowell Mason and Bach with such affection that he would give his
life rather than lose them. The truth and courage of this organist, who
risks his job, to fight the prejudice of the congregation, offset the
repose and large salary of a more celebrated choirmaster, who holds his
job by lowering his ideals, who is willing to let the organ smirk under
an insipid, easy-sounding barcarolle for the offertory, who is willing
to please the sentimental ears of the music committee (and its
wives)--who is more willing to observe these forms of politeness than
to stand up for a stronger and deeper music of simple devotion, and for
a service of a spiritual unity, the kind of thing that Mr. Bossitt, who
owns the biggest country place, the biggest bank, and the biggest
"House of God" in town (for is it not the divine handiwork of his
own-pocketbook)--the kind of music that this man, his wife, and his
party (of property right in pews) can't stand because it isn't "pretty."

The doctrine of this "choice" may be extended to the distinction
between literal-enthusiasm and natural-enthusiasm (right or wrong
notes, good or bad tones against good or bad interpretation, good or
bad sentiment) or between observation and introspection, or to the
distinction between remembering and dreaming. Strauss remembers,
Beethoven dreams. We see this distinction also in Goethe's confusion of
the moral with the intellectual. There is no such confusion in
Beethoven--to him they are one. It is told, and the story is so well
known that we hesitate to repeat it here, that both these men were
standing in the street one day when the Emperor drove by--Goethe, like
the rest of the crowd, bowed and uncovered--but Beethoven stood bolt
upright, and refused even to salute, saying: "Let him bow to us, for
ours is a nobler empire." Goethe's mind knew this was true, but his
moral courage was not instinctive.

This remembering faculty of "repose," throws the mind in unguarded
moments quite naturally towards "manner" and thus to the many things
the media can do. It brings on an itching to over-use them--to be
original (if anyone will tell what that is) with nothing but numbers to
be original with. We are told that a conductor (of the orchestra) has
written a symphony requiring an orchestra of one hundred and fifty men.
If his work perhaps had one