pil of
Beethoven; 'in whatever company he might chance to be he knew how to
produce such an effect upon every hearer that frequently not an eye
remained dry, while many would break out into loud sobs; for there was
something wonderful in his expression, in addition to the beauty and
originality of his ideas, and his spirited style of rendering them.'
Ferdinand Ries, another of his pupils, has declared that no other
artist that he ever heard could approach Beethoven in extemporisation.
'The wealth of ideas which forced themselves on him, the caprices to
which he surrendered himself, the variety of treatment, the
difficulties, were inexhaustible,' And it must be borne in mind that
in respect to this art Beethoven was brought into competition with
several older and undoubtedly brilliant performers of the day, who,
until he came amongst them, had swayed their respective circles of
admirers.

Yet, strangely enough, the emotion aroused in his hearers seemed to
find no response in Beethoven himself. Frequently when he discovered
how deeply he had moved his audience he would burst into roars of
laughter; at other times the sight of their emotion stirred him up to
angry resentment, and he would shout, 'We artists don't want tears, we
want applause!' That a player should open his soul in his music and
then abuse his audience for their inability to suppress the feelings
which he had aroused appears strange indeed. But the caprice and
wilfulness which marked his public playing are shown equally in his
relations with people in everyday life. What may have been his true
feelings is concealed--it is only the mask which is seen; and the mask
was so constantly worn that it no doubt deceived many. Every now and
again, however, we get a glimpse of his true nature in his intercourse
with those who knew him best. Irritable to a degree, and occasionally
outrageous as his conduct appears to have been, it needed but the
touch of another's grief to draw from him the golden thread of
sympathy. On one occasion he offended the susceptibilities of the
company assembled in one of the most fashionable drawing-rooms of
Vienna by using his hostess's snuffers as a toothpick! Yet, later on,
when that household was plunged into mourning by the loss of a beloved
child, and visitors were denied, it was Beethoven to whom the bereaved
mother opened her doors, and to whom she turned for sympathy.

It is much to be regretted that the nobility of nature which