oleon was marked out by
destiny to realise Plato's ideal of government. One recalls how the
act of Napoleon in proclaiming himself Emperor shattered this
illusion; how Beethoven erased the fallen hero's name from the
title-page of his score, withheld the "Eroica" for a time, and then
gave it to the world in 1805 as "An Heroic Symphony composed in memory
of a great man." When Beethoven heard of Napoleon's death at St.
Helena, he said he had already composed his funeral ode 17 years
before. Of this _marche funebre_ M. Ballaique wrote: "It owes its
incomparable grandeur to the beauty of the melodic idea and also to a
peculiarity of rhythm. At the first half of each bar there is a halt,
a pause, which seems to punctuate each station, each painful slip or
descent on the way to the illustrious tomb."

Of Wagner, Paul was a whole-hearted worshipper. He was familiar with
the myths, legends and folk-poems from which Wagner drew his themes,
and he exulted in the master's superb treatment of them. Never, he
thought, had music and ideas been more felicitously blended than by
Wagner, whatever the theme--the storm-tost soul of "the Flying
Dutchman," to whom redemption came at last through loyalty and
compassion; the conflict between sensuality and love fought out in the
arena of Tannhaeuser's mind; the cosmic glories of the Ring with the
resplendent figures of Siegfried and Brunhilde; the self-dedication of
Parsifal, the Sir Percival of our Arthurian legends, whom "The sweet
vision of the Holy Grail drew from all vain-glories, rivalries and
earthly heats." Into the glowing music of Wagner my son read lessons
in renunciation, the sordidness of the lust for gold, the sublimity of
pure human love, the redemptive power of self-sacrifice. The
occasional voluptuousness of the music was so transmuted in the
alembic of his temperament that for him the sensual element was
eliminated. An incident illustrative of his devotion to Wagner is
worth recording. In the summer of 1913, during our holiday tour in
Germany, we had for part of the time our headquarters at
Assmannshausen, a smiling village sheltering snugly at the foot of
vine-clad hills on the right bank of the Rhine. That great river is at
its best at Assmannshausen; the broad current here flows swiftly over
a stony bed. Day and night one's ears are filled with the music of the
rushing waters hastening impetuously to the distant sea as though
eager to lose themselves in its infinite embr