The morning star and Catholic messenger., 1874-12-27
A Story Of Beethoven.

Ever tenderhearted, ever susceptible to the
insults of the heartless world, rarely ap-
preciated, his heart sfilled with sorrow, and
often embittered against the human race.
After all, appreciation ia the oil which feeds
the flame of geaius, whilst neglect has
blighted the promise of many life. Even
the great Beethoven was not beyond the
influence of neglect.
When the self-reliant and great are 80
susceptible of outer chilling influences.
what must be the feeling of the talented
but less gifted who struggle for fame
Whilst yet partially unknown to the world,
the great composer was extremely poor and
neglected. At this time he had composed
his sublime opera Fidelio (frst produced
under the title of Leonora, in the karuth-
nerthon Theatre). However the music
was in advance OF its time. Shallow minds
could not understand it, and 80 Beethoven
remained in poverty.
His lodgings were in the upper story OF
a small hnnse in Rovermerptatz; his sole
worldly possession was good sweet toned
piano by Stumpff, the most celebrated
maker nf that day. Often was this loved
instrumen. threatened in violent terms to
when the musician had not his trif1ing rent
at hand on pay day, or when he played far
into the h"nrs of night. To his few sym
pathizing friends be had often complained
bitterly of the world at large, yet his heart
had all the gentle tenderness of that of
woman.
81 feel have genius" he would say
"but it is unknown and sighted by the
world. l hate it, hate myself, I am al
most sorry 1 ever played note. No, no,
must not say this of music, my only con-
ISOLATION. Oh am miserable, miserable I!
I have no one to care for me, no one to
love me, no one to understand me and yet
my heart is capable of loviDg-aye, and of
hating too"
Alas it is only the story of every day
life, common to all ages.
A long summers day wore itself slowly
away. The atmosphere in the lodgings of
the musician was oppressive. He closed
the piano forte, and putting aside his manu-
script, he prepared to so out. His mind
was weary from study, his brow ached,
the music be had just played over and
over again with wearisome persistency it
repeated itself in his mind. He felt his
way down the narrow stair, and was coon
in the open street breathing heavens fresh
air.
Study and premature care had laid their
hands upon his young brow his figure
stopped little, and he habitually kept
down his head. Pushing on through the
streets, he reached more refreshing sub
urbs, yet without needing where his steps
led him, for he was lostin thoughts of the
most gloomy kind.
Such men pass US daily in our common
est walks; men whom the needless little
note, but in whose eyes, fixed as it were
on some spiritual vision regardless of all
around, the more attentive watcher may
trace the sacred fire of genius, perhaps
neglected, possibly unappreciated.
After q short walk, greedily snatched
from the labor of the day, Beethoven re-
turned once more he trod the narrow
streets which led to his lodging. Coming
along he thought he heard faint sound !;
it was the music of a wiry pianoforte. Or
dinary people would have passed by with
out noticing the house from which the
music came, but the musician's attention
was arrested, and he stayed to listen. The
window of the room in which he supposed
the instrument to be was open, SO that
not a note of the music was lost. Greatly
interested he listened; it was one of his
own com positions which was being played.
He wal ed until the music stopped.
"Why do you cease 7" asked manly
voice within.
'sI cannot continue to play it," answered
n soft female voice "it affects me power
fully, it is SO sublime. What genius must
the composer possess"
"Try it once more-it fills me with ex-
quisite emotions. pray play it again" urged
the mans voice.
Once again the music sounds. Beethoven
heard with joy in what a glorious way his
thoughts were interpreted.
eyes," he exclaimed, "these people un-
derstaud me, they APPRECIATE me, and will
pity my neglected condition"
He looked up at the house, it was a
dwelling as humble as his own. His heart
beat with emotion, his eye frightened, for
he felt already there was at least one bond
of sympathy between his admirers and him
self, they both were poor. The door of the
house stood open, he catered, and knocked
at the room from which the sounds had is
sued. He forgot that it's occupants might be
utter strangers to him, he only knew that
in their souls existed common love for
music.
The mans voice which he had heard
outside, now bade him enter. He did so !;
the room was miserably poor, almost with
out furniture. A young girl eat at the
piano, her companions, q man, young, hag-
ard, aud pale, stood by her side
spray excuse me-" Beethoven eaid, as
he entered, "while passing by l chanced to
hear the music outside. / also heard what
you said just now, and IL could not help
ts