ruggle between the evil principle and that which is
good. He ranges titanic forces in opposition and lets us see the battle.
By the magic of his art we are enabled to see these pictures as on a
canvas.

It is frequently stated that Beethoven's music shows a deficiency in
counterpoint. His originality, the wealth of his ideas, his versatility,
will explain this. The fugue, while it is ingenious and interesting, is
artificial and, indeed often arbitrary in musical composition, sometimes
introduced merely to stop gaps or for brilliancy of effect. It is not
surprising that Beethoven should have neglected it to some extent,
although he has used it with excellent effect in some of the sonatas and
in his two masses. His fertility of imagination was great and it was
hard for him to tie himself down to the formal style in composition,
after his powers had reached maturity. The fugue, in one form or
another, seems to be almost indispensable in musical composition, but it
is always characterized by learning instead of inspiration. It is
something which has to be worked out like a problem in mathematics.
Beethoven's thought in music is marked by something higher than the
disposition to divert one's attention to his talent or skill. A definite
meaning is there; he has something to reveal.

At the beginning of his career as composer, Beethoven was not above
taking advice on the subject of his compositions. He frequently
discussed them with Prince Lichnowsky, and adopted his suggestions when
it came to alterations. As he advanced in knowledge of his art, however,
he became reticent on the subject and would discuss them with no one. He
acted on Goethe's idea that "the greatest art after all is to limit and
isolate oneself." He did not like praise or applause. Knowing
intuitively that the character is endangered thereby, he sought by every
means to ward it off. His improvising was such that often on leaving the
instrument he would find his hearers in tears. This would embarrass him,
and he would affect anger, or would laugh at them. This does not imply
that he did not care for appreciation, which is quite a different
matter.

He was perfectly willing to listen to censure or adverse criticism.
Trifles might anger him, but this never did, and, be it said, it never
influenced him either. True artist that he was, he seldom wrote down to
his public. Like Wagner, he knew what was best in art, and if the public
did not, he gave the matter s