OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 112

112.—STUBBORN COMPOSERS.
Had more of the most famous composers catered to the taste of the people of their time, they would have been in receipt of larger incomes and would have held positions that were closed to them on account of what was called their stubbornness. Undoubtedly there was a good deal of the stubborn element in some of them, and a great deal of admiration for self and the works of self. That is right. A fair amount of self-appreciation is a good thing.
Many times these men did right in refusing to grant the demands of critics or of a public that was unappreciative of their artistic strivings. A great composer is always ahead of the times in which he lives. As Lowell says, success is posthumous. They were right in refusing to descend to the level of the commonplace, and, in the majority of cases, were right in refusing to alter their standard and their written works to suit a taste that was temporary or vitiated in character.
But there was occasionally a middle ground that might have been occupied without harm to the artistic ​interests involved, and with great advantage to the composer's financial welfare. When they refused to see this, or seeing it, refused to act as good judgment dictated, then we can only assign stubbornness as the reason. One instance will serve to illustrate our meaning.
Schubert once had an opportunity to obtain the conductorship at a certain opera house. He was sadly in need of such an appointment, as his income, despite his many compositions, was next to nothing. But before the position was awarded, he was to compose and conduct certain music to the satisfaction of the officials. But the composition he presented contained difficulties that were evidently insurmountable, and Schubert was asked to alter it somewhat to make it suitable to the singers and the circumstances. He gruffly refused. After two rehearsals the trouble only seemed to grow worse and at the final full rehearsal an attempt to sing the obnoxious part only resulted in a grand failure.
The manager then announced that the presentation would be postponed and asked Herr Schubert in the meanwhile to make such changes as would insure the performance, especially in the part assigned to one of the soloists. At this Schubert's wrath got the upper hand of his good judgment and shutting up his score with a bang he shouted, "I alter nothing," and left the house, That ended his prospects as an opera director.
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 117

117.—ABSENT MINDED.
Concentration of attention to the study in hand is, above all things else, a necessity for him who would produce valuable results. The ability to withdraw the mind from other affairs and to focus one's attention on the subject in hand is most valuable to a composer. Not, however that we would commend that degree of abstraction from every-day affairs that was Beethoven's habit when in the midst of a bit of congenial mental work.
In the history of absent-minded and forgetful men (that remains to be written) Beethoven must certainly have a prominent place.
It is related of him that about the time he was engaged in the "Pastoral" symphony he went into a restaurant and ordered dinner, but as there was some delay in serving the meal, his mind reverted to his composing; and when the waiter came and offered dinner, he waived him away, saying, "Thank you, I have dined," and laying down the price of the meal took his departure.
A friend once presented Beethoven with a noble steed,—and he did what you or I would do under the circumstances,—took a ride around town. After riding it a few times, he proceeded to forget its very existence, ​and made his journeys on foot or in coach. But he had a servant who was not so neglectful of his opportunity. This man took the horse under his care and used it as his own, after finding that Beethoven no longer inquired for it. He put it up at a stable and carefully paid the bills, lest his master should be reminded of its existence. Then, to reimburse himself for his trouble and expense, he frequently hired the horse out as he had opportunity and pocketed the proceeds.
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 118

118.—THE PRIMA DONNA OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
As the world grows older, prima donnas seem to grow more sensible. It is very seldom, now-a-days, that we hear of any great piece of nonsense or extravagance on the part of these talented and captivating beings. But in the last century it was otherwise; and the records of the times are full of the scandals, intrigues, eccentricities and excesses of footlight favorites. But the difference may be in the moral and social atmospheres of the times rather than in the individuals themselves.
There were few more capricious than the great soprano, Gabriella. Of her it is related that when the Viceroy gave a grand dinner at Palermo, herself being one of the principal invited guests, she insolently remained in bed, reading, and when a messenger was sent, saying the company was awaiting her coming, she sent word that she had entirely forgotten the engagement.
That evening when she was to appear before the company in opera, she sang all her airs sotto voce. The Viceroy sent a messenger to the stage promising to punish her if she did not sing out with her accustomed power and brilliancy. On this she obstinately sent a reply to the effect that "while he might make her cry, he could not make her sing." This exhausted the patience of royalty and she was sent to prison, where she was confined twelve days.
​But even here her caprice showed itself and made her the conqueror after all. She gave costly entertainments to her fellow-prisoners, who were of all classes, from debtors to bandits; she paid their debts, feasted them, and sang to them in her most charming manner; and she was finally released amid the acclamations of the people she had befriended.
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 110

110.—AN EVENTFUL CAREER.
The life of the composer of the light and popular "Maritana," William Vincent Wallace, was as full of strange experiences as that of the hero of many a novel. His native country was Ireland. Shortly after he was married, on the wedding journey, in fact, his young wife became jealous of the attentions he paid to her own ​sister, who was with them, and the couple separated, never to meet again.
Cast down by this circumstance, Wallace then drifted to Australia, where he took up his abode among the roughs and savages of the "bush." On one of his visits to Sydney, his acquaintances discovered that the man they considered to be an ordinary immigrant, was in reality a fine musician and an excellent violinist. The news was carried to the Governor of the colony, and he insisted that Wallace give a concert. This was done with great success. The Governor was so pleased that he made him a present of a hundred sheep, the staple currency of the colony at that time.
Wallace later went to Tasmania, where he narrowly escaped being butchered to make a Tasmanian savage's holiday, and on one occasion his life was saved through the romantic intervention of a chief's daughter. After this he went on a whaling voyage, and only he and three companions escaped the wreck of the vessel. His next journey was to India, where he played before sumptuous courts of several Indian princes, and after that went to South America, where he crossed the continent by a slow but sure method, viz., on the back of a mule. He then came to North America, and finally landed in London, having netted a handsome sum by his playing.
In London, in 1845, he undertook to compose an opera, and "Maritana" was the result. This was such a success that it was followed by similar works. When his eyesight began to fail, he again visited the western continents, and again he figured in some interesting experiences, more interesting, perhaps, to the reader than to Wallace. One of them was that a steamboat on which he traveled blew up, and he narrowly escaped with his life; and another was that he lost nearly all his savings by the failure of a pianoforte factory in New York. But he retrieved his fortunes through concert giving, and finally ended his eventful career in the Pyrenees mountains, in 1865.
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 116

116.—SAVING A FIDDLE.
One of Ole Bull's favorite violins was a Joseph Guarnerius, called the "King Joseph," for the greatest violins of the old makers are known and named as individuals. It is not to be wondered that he was willing to brave a good deal to preserve this violin, for, irrespective of its worth as a producer of beautiful tones, there was some eight hundred pounds invested in it.
On one of the great violinist's concert trips in this country, he was a passenger on an Ohio river steamboat. In the fashion of those days the boiler burst, tearing away the forepart of the boat and setting the cabins on fire. Ole Bull found himself choking, ​deafened, blinded, in the midst of shrieking women and howling children, and surrounded by smoke, flame, and shattered timbers. Did he turn his attention to saving the mothers and little ones? The action of the man was characteristic.
Oblivious to all else, he rushed to his cabin, seized his precious Guarnerius, and putting it between his teeth leaped over the guards into the muddy water and swam to shore. There he tenderly examined his precious fiddle to see that it was not harmed. Ole Bull was nothing to Ole Bull at that moment. His beloved instrument occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else. The only "King Joseph Guarnerius" might have been lost!
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 111

111.—NAPOLEON OUTWITTED BY A SONGSTRESS.
The iron will of Napoleon I did not confine itself to the control of kingdoms and things political, but he desired to bring under its sway all matters with which he was brought into contact. The disrespect of this military genius for the rights of other nations brought him to the defeat of Waterloo. Though he could control the majority of men who came under his notice and within his grasp, he occasionally met a miniature Waterloo when dealing with the fair sex.
It is generally conceded that the prima donna without a will of her own and the willingness to make it known is a rarity. And no exception to this rule was Madame Catalani, one of the first singers in the time of the First Empire.
Historians have not given Napoleon credit for being musical; but at any rate he determined, after hearing Catalani, that she should remain in Paris, that he might enjoy her vocal abilities whenever he wished. So he ordered her to come to the Tuileries. Not daring to disobey, the cantatrice awaited the pleasure of him who was making the thrones of Europe to tremble.
The Emperor knew that she was intending to leave Paris, and without wasting time inquired—
"Where are you going, Madame?"
"To London, sir," said the astonished and somewhat affrighted songstress.
"But you must remain here," declared Napoleon, testily; "you shall have a hundred thousand francs a year, and two months' vacation. Consider the matter settled. Bon jour, Madame."
Too much frightened to declare to the tyrant that she had engagements abroad that she must keep, Catalani retired at his curt dismissal, and hastened to her apartments. A few days afterward, a document stating the arrangement was left at her house.
​Determined not to be subjected to this arrangement, which was entirely opposed to her plans and wishes, she resolved to escape this bondage, even though the fetters were golden. Hence she disguised herself in the habiliments of a nun, and hastened to the sea-coast.
There she found a vessel exchanging prisoners. Seeking out the captain she secured his silence and assistance by adding a generous sum to his purse. When the vessel left France the nun was on board.
Napoleon might not have relished this stratagem and perhaps would have made the wilful lady feel that his power was not confined to Paris. But military affairs just then took a serious turn, and for this reason the Emperor had more weighty things to occupy his mind than sending after runaway opera singers.
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 115

115.—FIELD FOOLED.
John Nepomuk Hummel was one of the most prominent European pianists of the early part of the present century. But greatness and good looks do not go hand in hand in all cases. Though he was, in his day, ranked the equal of Beethoven, and though he was feted and flattered in all the musical centers of Europe, the fact still remained that he was a very plain and ill-favored sort of a fellow, throwing even Schubert into the shade in this respect. In 1822, Hummel went to Russia, in the suite of the grand duchess, and there his reception was of the most flattering and brilliant kind. But there was one thing that marred that cordial reception at Moscow, and that was that the greatest composer and pianist of all Russia did not call on him. This personage was no less than John Field, the Russianized Irishman, the pupil of Clementi.
Finally, Hummel concluded that if the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet would go to the mountain, and he started out to find Field. When he arrived at Field's rooms he found him giving a lesson and was compelled to await his pleasure. Hummel, with his stout, thick-set body and plain features, and poorly dressed, looked like some German farmer; Field, on the other hand, was elegant in bearing and courtly in manner.
At the close of the lesson, Field turned to his visitor with a gruff "Well, sir, what can I do for you?"
"I have heard so much of your playing that, as I was in Moscow on business, I thought I would come in and make your acquaintance, and hear some of it myself. I am very fond of music and understand it a little."
​Field smiled at this request, coming as it seemed, from some village tradesman who dabbled in music; but he sat down to the piano and played some of his own elegant compositions in his best style. The stranger warmly applauded and thanked him. Then Field, thinking to have some fun, asked the supposed rustic to take his turn at the piano; but Hummel declared he never played without his notes, that he only played a little on the organ now and then, and so on.
But Field insisted, and as his clumsy visitor sat down to the piano, Field leaned back to enjoy the fun. And he did enjoy it, but in a different way from what he expected. Hummel took one of the themes that Field had just finished playing, and developed it into a brilliant fantasia in which were displayed all the intricacies of technic and beauties of expression.
Field was thunderstruck. He sprang to his feet and, catching his visitor by the shoulders, he gave him a shake and then embraced him in the hearty European fashion, crying, "You can't fool me! You are Hummel. No other man in the world can improvise like that!"
With that introduction it is needless to say that the two pianists became fast friends.
# Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 113

113.—CLERICAL WIT.
Good old Father Taylor, when pastor of the Seaman's Bethel, in Boston, was once preaching on "social amusements." As it happened, but unknown to the speaker, Jenny Lind, who was then singing in America, was in his congregation. He roundly denounced card-playing, dancing, the theater, etc., but in speaking of music gave it his unqualified approval. After dwelling on the power of music in the religious service, he paid tribute to the generosity of the great vocalists, especially to "that ​greatest and sweetest of them all, now lighted on our shores."
At this point he was interrupted by a boor seated on the pulpit stairs, who shouted out to know if any one who died at Jenny Lind's concert would go to heaven. Taylor's prompt reply was:—
"A Christian will go to heaven wherever he dies, but a fool will be a fool wherever he is—even if he is on the steps of a pulpit."
# Anglo-Saxon Riddles of the Exeter Book/1

An annotated version of this text is available.
1 (K-D 1)
What good man is   so learned and so clever that he can say who drives me   forth on my way? When I rise up strong   at times furious, I thunder mightily   and again with havoc I sweep over the land,   burn the great hall, ravage the buildings.   Smoke mounts on high dark over the rooftops.   Clamor is everywhere, sudden death among men.   When I shake the forest, the trees proud in their fruit,   I fell the boles. With my roof of water,   by the powers above10 I am driven far and wide   on my avenging path. I bear on my back   what once covered the forms ​of the earth-dwellers, their body and soul together in the waters. Say what covers me or what I am called who bear this burden.
A storm of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning on land. Ll. 12–14 refer to the Biblical Flood.
# Anglo-Japanese Friendship Treaty

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The Anglo-Japanese Friendship Treaty (日英和親条約) or Nichi-Ei Washin Jōyaku between Britain and the w:Empire of Japan was signed October 14, 1854 , opening two Japanese ports to visits by British vessels
Kanagawa, March 31, 1854. .
| It is agreed between Sir James Stirling, Knight, Rear-Admiral, and Commander-in-chief of the ships and vessels of Her Britannic Majesty in the east Indies and seas adjacent, and Mezio-no Chekfu-no Kami, Obunyo of Nagasaki, and Nagai Evan Ocho, Omedski of Nagasaki, ordered by His Imperial highness the Emperor of Japan to act herein, that:-
ARTICLE I.
The Ports of Nagasaki [Hizen] and Hakodadi [Matsumai] shall be open to British ships for the purposes of effecting repairs, and obtaining fresh water, provisions, and other supplies of any sort they may absolutely want for the use of the ships.
ARTICLE II.
Nagasaki shall be open for the purposes aforesaid from and after the present date, and Hakodadi from and after the end of fifty days from the Admiral’s departure from this port. The rules and regulations of each of these ports are to be complied with.
ARTICLE III.
Only ships in distress from weather, or unmanageable, will be permitted to enter other ports than those specified in the foregoing Articles, without permission from the Imperial Government.
ARTICLE IV.
British ships in Japanese ports shall conform to the laws of Japan. If high officers or commanders of ships shall break any such laws, it will lead to the ports being closed. Should inferior persons break them, they are to be delivered over to the commanders of their ships for punishment.
ARTICLE V.
In the ports of Japan, either now open, or which may hereafter be opened, to the ships or subjects of any foreign nation, British ships and subjects shall be entitled to admission, and to the enjoyment of an equality of advantages accruing to the Dutch and Chinese from their existing relations with Japan.
ARTICLE VI.
This Convention shall be ratified, and the ratifications shall be exchanged at Nagasaki on behalf of Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain, and on behalf of His Highness the Emperor of Japan, within twelve months from the present date.
ARTICLE VII.
When this Convention shall be ratified, no high officer coming to Japan shall alter it.
In witness whereof we have signed the same, and have affixed our seals thereunto, at Nagasaki, this fourteenth day of October 1854. (L.S.) James Stirling
(HERE FOLLOW THE SIGNATURES OF THE JAPANESE PLENIPOTENTIARIES)
# Anglo-Saxon Riddles of the Exeter Book

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An annotated version of this text is available.
ANGLO-SAXON RIDDLES OF THE EXETER BOOK
Anglo-Saxon Riddles of the Exeter Book
translated by PAULL F. BAUM
DUKE UNIVERSITY PRESS Durham, North Carolina 1963
© 1963, Duke University Press Library of Congress Catalogue Card number 63-21168 Cambridge University Press, London, N. W. 1, England
Printed in the United States of America by the Seeman Printery, Inc., Durham, N. C.
PREFACE
THE ninety-odd riddles in Anglo-Saxon which have come down to us in a single manuscript are naturally a miscellaneous collection of varying merit. A few of them are poetical in the best sense of Anglo-Saxon poetic style, as good as anything outside the heroic style of the Beowulf. Many of them are interesting as riddles: intentional ambiguities to be solved by reader or hearer. Some of them are learned, turning on the interpretation of runic letters or dealing with subjects only the monkish mind would care about. Some of them are neat and clever and well versified; others are not so good.
In the manuscript the riddles appear in no particular order. The following translations have been grouped according to subject. It was not feasible to arrange them by types, because the typical forms of the riddle are not clearly fixed and the Anglo-Saxon riddles are too few to illustrate many types.
The language of the Anglo-Saxon riddles is often difficult, and even those who are fairly familiar with Old English cannot read them readily. Though some of the best have been translated in scattered places, and there is a prose line-for-line translation in the E.E.T.S. edition of the Exeter Book, not readily accessible to the common reader, it has seemed worthwhile to render them all in similar verse form, with brief explanations, for any who may be interested in the riddles as such and for the glimpses they afford of monkish diversion and of daily life in England of the eighth and ninth centuries—in modern terms, for their psychological and sociological values.
I am deeply indebted to Professor Elliott V. K. Dobbie for reading my manuscript with great care and suggesting many improvements.
P.F.B.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION ix
I. NATURAL PHENOMENA 3
II. CHIEFLY CHRISTIAN 12
III. BIRDS 21
IV. OTHER ANIMALS 24
V. DOMESTIC SUBJECTS 28
VI. WRITING 33
VII. MUSIC 36
VIII. WEAPONS, FIGHTING 38
IX. HORN 43
X. MISCELLANEOUS 47
XI. RUNES 53
XII. THE ‘OBSCENE’ RIDDLES 57
XIII. FRAGMENTS 61
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 67
NUMBERING OF THE TRANSLATIONS AND THE KRAPP–DOBBIE EDITION 67
INDEX OF SOLUTIONS 69
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Anglo-Saxon Riddles of the Exeter Book/10

An annotated version of this text is available.
10 (K-D 43)
I know a noble guest,   dear to princes, whom grim hunger   cannot harm, nor hot thirst,   nor age nor illness. If kindly the servant   always tend him, he who must go   along on the journey; safe and certain   they will find at home food and joy   and countless kin; but sorrow if the servant   obeys his lord badly, his master on their journey;   nor will brother fear brother when unharmed they leave quickly   the bosom of their kin,10 mother and sister.   Let whoever will with fitting words   name the guest or the servant I speak of here.
Soul and Body. The guest is the soul; the servant, and brother, the body; they will both be harmed when they leave the earth. The mother and sister are the earth: mother since the body is dust, and sister since body and soul have the same father, God. This is a rather ambitious one, but metrically inferior. More often than is usually the case the word-order is determined by the alliteration. In l. 12 the guest is called “comer,” apparently for the alliteration; in the last lines the alliteration falls on the weak words “or,” “of.” The first three lines read literally: ‘I know a lordly dear to nobles guest in dwellings whom grim cannot hunger harm.’