Los Angeles herald. [microfilm reel], December 08, 1907, Page 13, Image 49

About Los Angeles herald. [microfilm reel] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1900-1911

Image provided by: University of California, Riverside; Riverside, CA

                
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.