sad
state of confusion. This blissful state was seemingly not for him. It
was best for the great genius to devote himself wholly to his divine
art, and to create those masterpieces which will always endure.

In 1804 Beethoven completed one of his greatest symphonies, the
"Eroica." He made a sketch, as we have seen, two years before. He had
intended it to honor Napoleon, to whose character and career he was
greatly attracted. But when Napoleon entered Paris in triumph and was
proclaimed Emperor, Beethoven's worship was turned to contempt. He
seized the symphony, tore the little page to shreds and flung the work
to the other end of the room. It was a long time before he would look
at the music again, but finally, he consented to publish it under the
title by which it is now known.

When we consider the number and greatness of Beethoven's compositions
we stand aghast at the amount of labor he accomplished. "I live only
in my music," he wrote, "and no sooner is one thing done than the next
is begun. I often work at two or three things at once." Music was his
language of expression, and through his music we can reach his heart
and know the man as he really was. At heart he was a man capable of
loving deeply and most worthy to be loved.

Of the composer's two brothers, one had passed away and had left his
boy Carl, named after himself, as a solemn charge, to be brought up by
Uncle Ludwig as his own son. The composer took up this task generously
and unselfishly. He was happy to have the little lad near him, one of
his own kin to love. But as Carl grew to young manhood he proved to
be utterly unworthy of all this affection. He treated his good uncle
shamefully, stole money from him, though he had been always generously
supplied with it, and became a disgrace to the family. There is no
doubt that his nephew's dissolute habits saddened the master's life,
estranged him from his friends and hastened his death.

How simple and modest was this great master, in face of his mighty
achievements! He wrote to a friend in 1824: "I feel as if I had
scarcely written more than a few notes." These later years had been
more than full of work and anxiety. Totally deaf, entirely thrown in
upon himself, often weak and ill, the master kept on creating work
after work of the highest beauty and grandeur.

Ludwig van Beethoven passed from this plane March 26, 1827, having
recently completed his fifty-sixth year, and was laid to rest in the
Waeh