Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1872-03-23

] '''A - No p4lNNJ hhu plNlJOhtl u
mend it gratis, provided the parrisl
furnished him the materials. A,
he was known for a good musician
and a clever workman, our cure
granted his request. To work went
hei night and day he labored for al
least six weeks. At last the organ
was mended, Bezo struck chord
or SO, and it appeared better than
ever. The day arrived for the first
public hearing of the renovated in
strument;the mayor, the notabili-
tles-all the village, in short, was
wresent, and Beze himself did not
fail to appear, attired as usual in
blue, Blue is his color. He made
some VOW or other, years ago, to the
Virgin, never to wear any other
color but her colors-blue and
white. tell you heis crazy. But
to return to the organ. When our
old organist commenced to play
upouit, not q sound wouldit pro-
.duce- except when he pulled the
new stop out. Off went the organ,
,phoo, lcdee and thenit set to squeak
ing and whistling like mad. The
girls began to laugh, the mayor to
swear, and the cure grew furious.
Beze is u fool-Beze is an idiot! He
has ruined the organ, cried every
one, and soon, amid the derision
OF the congregation, your friend left
the church. Strange to say, since
that day we have never seen the
creature bat our organ is complete
ly spoilt, and remains dumb"
Thus spoke merchant Kreb5s. l
l would hear no more, but hurried
out to console my poor friend. l
found him beneath an apple tree,
sitting all forlorn, his face turned
toward the sinking sun. "Ah! my
young friend" he said, do you see
yon little cloud which obscures the
splendor of the sun? So the words
of foolish man tarnish the fame of
a genius.Y
"But," Iroplied, "see, the little
cloud has vanishrd already, and the
light Of the sun is but the brighter
for the contrast"
He smiled The cloud that
hangs over my tarnisbed name will
have to pass away soon, or it will
be too late. That organ which I
has q soul within it.
All my life l have labored TO know
how to lodge my ideal of music
within the compass ola single in
strument, l have done this. The
soul is there. But | know not how
to play upon the organ, and they,
in their blind rage, will not allow
me to explain to them. Oh, If |
could before | die but find Sebas-
tian Bach He would call to life
the soul OF music that lies sleeping
in my organ, and prove to the world
that Beze is neither mad nor an
My kind father took no notice OF
what merchant Krebbs had said,
and when he joined us in the gar
den he entreatcd Beze to play for
him in the open air. The Man in
Blue played for us Il number of
national and simple melodies in
such a pathetic manner and several
times | saw tears in my father
eyes, at last be said, as the musician
finished, "Friend, though your or
gan is a failure, your violin is truly
heavenly. Stay with me yet
awhile"
"My organ is not failure: it is
the real triumph ofmy life"
"But no one can play on it"
"One day come will, and then
"Well, we will say no more about
it. Come the supper is ready
And he lei the way in,
The next morning the Man in
Blue was gone We we're sorry at
his disappearance; but soon forgot
all about It in our anxiety over the
festival which was near at hand;
Gluck had promised to come and
we were anxious 10 know with
whom he would stay. Then Bach
arrived, and soon came Graun-il-
lustrious Graun-whose noble mind
alone inspired his lovely melodies;
and with those inseperable geniuses
Furch and Hass. And Hamburger
sent us Gasman and lehman. Few
of you have, dare say, ever even
heard the name Of these great com
posoi; and yet, believe me, you are
more familiar with their melodies
than you imagine. Many of the
popular tunes you SO much admire
have heard in my yonth fresh
from the minds of the original com
posers, free from the twirls aud
shakes clumsity added to them to
disguise there true origin.
These illustrious persons were as
simple and unostentacious IN man.
ner as it is possible to be. They as
in the Hall of st. Cecilia,
and I had;tho privilege of assisting
at the rehearsals. I often passed
hours listening to their long dis
courses ON harmony, ON Keys, scales
and chords. Sometimes one OF
them would call for a draught OF
beer, or offer his companion a bot
tie of Rhine wine. One night Gluck
played, for the first time, a,portion of
his "Iphigenia;" and, on another,
Bach enchanted us by a perfor-
of his delightful preludes'
Bach, somehow or another, took a
fancy to me. He had observed the
marked attention with which l
listened to the remarks of the diff
lorent composers, and to their
music. He asked my name, and
who my father was; and I, in an
swer growing bold, not only rela-