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What confessions! Can we longer be surprised
at the nobility of Beethoven's music after such utterances? If more proof were wanting of Beethoven's warmth of heart we can instance his behavior towards his pupil Ferdinand Ries, who became his chief and favorite disciple. In 1787 the ill ness and funeral expenses of Beethoven's mother had greatly impoverished his exchequer, and but for the generosity of Franz Ries the violinist, the Beethovens would have been sore pushed for necessaries. Years and years afterwards a son of Ries, poor and needing lessons, waited upon Beethoven with a letter of introduction. "Tell youi* ftitiici that I haVe not forgotten the ;!o:ith of my mother," was the characteristic assurance re turned. From that day Beethoven interested him self much in the lad. He gave him free piano forte lessons; induced Allbrechtsberger to take him as a pupil in composition; secured him an appointment as pianist to Count Browne, besides giving him money unasked. The occasion of Moscheles' first visit to Bee thoven furnishes a further instance of the great composer's thorough goodness of heart. "Arrived at the door of the house," writes Moscheles, "I had some misgivings, knowing Beethoven's strong aversion to strangers. I therefore told my brother to wait below. After greeting Beethoven, I said, 'Will you permit me to introduce my brother to you? He is below.' 'What! downstairs!' and Beethoven immediately rushed off, seized hold of my brother, saying, 'Am I such a savage that you are afraid to come near me?' He dragged him upstairs and showed great kindness to us." Add to these another striking trait in his dis position, his capacity for seeing talent and worth in others, especially in other musicians, and we get more of the real Beethoven. No great com poser ever had such enthusiastic praise to bestow upon the members of his own craft. The narrow minded spirit, with its train of petty spites and jealousies, which mars many a meaner musician even today, was wholly absent in Beethoven's broad, honest mind. Handel was his ideal. "Han del is the unequalled master of all masters! Go, turn to him, and learn, with few means, how to produce such effects!" "He," once exclaimed Beethoven, "was the greatest composer that ever lived. I would go bareheaded and kneel before his tomb." As he lay on his death-bed Beethoven was of the same opinion still. "There, there is the truth," said the dying man, pointing to the folios of Handel's works which a generous friend, little dreaming that the end was so near, had sent him wherewith t6 wile away the long hours in the sick-room. "Cherubini," he once said, "is, in my opinion, of all the living composers, the most admirable. Moreover, as regards his conception of the re quiem, my Ideas are in perfect accordance with his, and sometime or other, if I can but once set about it, I mean to profit by the hints to be found in that work." NO SYMPATHY WITH PAGEANTRY. Beethoven had no sympathy whatever with the pomp and glitter of a monarchical state or the trappings of an exalted aristocracy. Decorations and orders possessed nothing beyond their con vertible value in his eyes, and the shells of the sea-shore would have found as much favor with him for his breast as the grandest cross or star ever designed. On one occasion the Prussian ambassador at Vienna gave him the choice of fifty ducats or the cross of some order. Beetho ven was not long in deciding. "The fifty ducats,"' replied the composer. The true spirit oozes out, k too, in his letter to Bettina yon Arnim: "My most desfr, kind friend,— Kings and princes can indeed create professors and privy-councillors, and confer titles and decorations, but they cannot make great men — spirits that soar above the base turmoil of this world. There their powers fail, and this it is that forces them to respect us. When two persons like Goethe and myself meet, these grandees cannot fail to perceive what such as we consider great. Yesterday, on our way home, we met the whole Imperial family; we saw them crossing some way off, when Goethe with drew his arm from mine, in order to stand aside, and say what I would, I could not prevail on him to make another step in advance. I pressed down my hat more firmly on my nead, buttoned up my great-coat, and, crossing my hands behind me, I made my way through the thickest por tion of the crowd. Princes and courtiers formed a lane for me; Archduke Rudolph took off his hat, and the Empress bowed to me first. These great ones of the earth know me. To my infinite amusement I saw the procession defile past Goethe, who stood aside with his hat off, bowing profoundly. I afterwards took him sharply to task for this; I gave him no quarter." 13 MAGAZIHE SECTION <lAT HARRODSTOWN. Continued from pane 7. headed darky, bent with age, seemingly uncon cerned about the case in hand, with which, of course, he had somewhat to do. Reuben Cross, a typical negro neatly dressed in blue denim — coatless, as suited the season — was already on the stand, in the hands of the attor ney who had been appointed by the court to take charge of the defendant, Dr. Possum, against whom some charge had already been laid before my arrival. Reuben was tne first witness for the detense. My friend, "The Judge," was upon the bench, and in the crowd which filled the court room I saw a good many of my chance acquaintances. The attorney, a young man, began the examina tion in the usual way — asking the witness to give his name. "My name? Why Mars Johnnie — wnat fur — what fur you axes me fur my name, when you know it — jest-as-well — as I do myself. Cos you do, cause my Tilly, she nuss you hen you'se a baby." "That's so; I know your name, but I want you to tell the court your name." The witness looked around the room inquir ingly. Then up at the ceiling, with a puzzled look upon his face — then at the attorney — "Wha-wha-whar is de cote Marse Johnnie? I don' see nobody hayer what don' know me — " "Tell the Judge your name." "Tell de Jedge?— Tell de Jedge?" a broad grin overspreading his face. "Why — why de Jedge know my name mo's ez well ez you does. Why — why — why — my Silvia — she washes fur de Jedge — she do, an' an I car's his close home eber Sat'dy night — I do. Cos' de Jedge knows my name." "I hope the fact that y ou carry the Judge's clothes home won't prejudice him unduly in this case. I hope you have always been prompt and faithful, in order that your testimony may be entitled to full credence." "I allus has em dar in plenty o' time, fur Sunday, don' I, Jedge?" The Judge with difficulty suppressing a smile, bowed his head and said: "Nevertheless you must tell your name." With a look of wonder and amazement upon his face, he answered: "Jest as ef everybody in dis heyer cote house — " waving his arm with one comprehensive sweep around the room — "don' know Rube!" That was entirely past his understanding. "Rube what?" "Jest plain Rube," was the" crestfallen answer. "No last name?" asked the lawyer. "No las' name; I aint got none, tho some folks do call me Reuben Cross, cause dats de way I always writes it when I signs." "What was your father's name?" "Now Marse Johnnie, what fur you axes me sich foolish questions like dat fur. How'd I know his name? I'se jest like a rabbit throwed out in a brier patch a cole frosty mornin'. I don' keer whar I cum frum. I jest bizzy studyin' whar I is a gwine to." "Well then tell us your mammy's name." "My mammy's bin ded too long ago to talk about; an' what's dat got to do wid it cuny how?" "Where do you live?" persisted the attorney, trying to locate him some how. "Whaa I live? — Whah I livet — why eber body knows jes zactly whah I live, cause I live in the berry same house, down thar on the crik — close to de black Baptis' church — whar I live eber since I come here, arter de war, wid Tillie. You see I wuz a Creole nigger, I wuz, and when de wah broke out, down thar in Miss'sip', close to N' Orleans, I wen' wid my ole Marster to kinder take keer uv him. Bof de boys bein' dun kill' — my ole Miss sent me wid him; an we wuz allus in de thickes' uv de flghtin', till one day — one day my ole mass'r — he — he fell often his hoss, shot thro' de side." Rube paused for a moment, for his voice was quivering. "Well, I pick him up an' manage to get him back under a tree, whah he die layin' right here in my arm, an' wid his last bref — pritty nigh he say to me: •Rube, go back and take keer uv ole Miss — You's bout all she got left' "Well — I wen' back. Ole Miss knowed it 'fore I come, an I could see her heart was broke. Den de Yaller Jack come along — an' ebery body wuz skeered to def — and my ole Miss, she wuz among de fust to go down wid de fever cause she didn't have no heart to stan' up agin it; and »he say she didn't keer no how, cause she didn't have nuthin' to live fur enny how," pausing a moment to draw his shirt sleeves across his eyes. "Well — ebery body wuz skeered to cum nigh, her. So I jes nussed her myself like she wuz a. baby, an' when she die, I dug a grave fur her wid dese heyer hans, an' bury her. "Arter a while, when de fever wasn't so bad I wen' to N' Orleans to sell my little cotton crop, — fur ole Miss had given me a little place on de bayou, an I had my own little boat, — an while I wuz down thar I come acrost my Silvie what wuz stayln' thar wid her young Mistis frum Kain tuck; — an — an de upshot uv it all wuz we got married, an we !iv«>ri Hah awhile at my little place by Ocean Spring, me boating lumber in de summer, an oyster fishin in de winter. "But she wuzent satisfied. Marse Johnnie,— as you know, arter her young Mißtiss went away, she want to git back to Mis' M'rier an de chil len, what she nussed. She wuzzent satisfied, so> I brung her back to her ole Kaintuck home, an. so kere we is, — bin here ten year, — most — till ebery body knows Rube, as well as ef I wuz bora here." "How do you make your living?" "Me? Oh, I kin make a livin any whah, by jes makin myself useful to ever body. I wurks fur Mis' Peggy, — an I cleans out sto's, an I chops wood, an — I wuks fur Mis' M'rier. Gawd bless her, — when eber she wans me. I'se lndustrous, I is. I kin allus fin' plenty to do, an me an' Sylvia is savin money to buy us our little home." "Now Rube, Dr. Possum has been brought here on the charge of vagrancy." "Wagrancy?" Wha — What's dat, Marse Johnnie?" "They say he's idle, worthless, and don't make a living; is that so?" "Why — why Marse Johnnie, he mus' be makin' a llvin', — cause thar he is. How — how could he be thar ef he warn't liv.ln'? Speerits can't come to cote." "He's living all right, but does he make it? Or does he live oft of other people? Do you know Dr. Possum?" "Cos' I know'B Dr. Possum! He's a mighty fine Dr., he is. People lives on Dr. Possum more like Dr. Possum livin' on 'em. Oh, yas sur, I knows Dr. Possum. He's a mighty fine doctor, he is." 'How do you know? Did you ever employ him in your family? Did he ever treat Sylvie?" "Oh, yassur, he treat my Sylvie, an he treat her mighty good, too. He dassent do army thing else,' doubling up his fists, and shaking it, "cause if he didn' he'd git his old haid knock off." "I mean, does he ever give Sylvie any medi cine?" "Oh, yas, sur, — yas sur. He give my Sylvie medicine. She has rumatiz, mighty bad some times, an' he gives her medicine." "Does it do her any good?" "Oh, yas, sur, mighty good medicine. It hope* her powerful some times." "How do you know it does?" "Cause, — Dr. Possum, he say so hisself." "Does Sylvie say so?" "Co's Sylvie say so, too! Cos you can't always tell, when yous in a misery. You do fus one ting, den annudder, an' you can't always jez zactly tell, whedder it is de hot water, or de rubbin — cause I rubs her mightly, — ur whedder hits de medi cine, — ur whedder hit jis quits itself; Dr. Possum say pintedly, hits the medicine." "Now tell me, Rube, does Sylvie take his medi cine internally or externally?" "Now, Marse Johnnie, I wouldn' blieve you'd call my Sylvie infernal. Everybody know, how good she is." "I said internally. I mean, does she take it inside or out?" "Yas sur, yas sur, she take it outside. Dr. Possum is a mighty good doctor, shore he is; an" he make mighty good outside medicine. Yas sur, but I couldn't say nothin' fur shore 'bout his in side medicine." "Did you never give it to Sylvie?" "Me? — me give Dr. Possum's inside medicine to my Sylvie? Nor sir-re. When I wants any mouf medicine, I goes to a shonuff doctor fur dat, but Dr. Possum? he's a rale good doctor, he is, fur a fac." "That will do, you can take your seat. Now Sylvie, we want to hear what you know about Dr. Possum." Sylvie, a comely nut brown woman of the gen erous proportions which betokened rare culinary ability, rose in her seat, shamefaced and uncer tain as to what was expected of her.