e
of it ample vestiges of a genuine Verona Salami....' If an article
were missing Beethoven would declare that he knew just where to put
his hand upon it; and then, when two or three days' search failed to
discover its whereabouts, he would storm at the servants, asseverating
that they hid his things away on purpose to annoy him. But the storm
would clear as quickly as it had gathered, and peace reign once more,
until the next occasion called it forth; and the servants knew their
master's heart too well to be angered by his reproaches.

The mention of his rambles in the rain recalls his fondness for the
open air. It was a passion which clung to him through life. As each
summer came round, during these years of unremitting toil, he would
hail with delight the moment when he could close the door of his
lodgings in the hot, stuffy city, and betake himself to some retired
spot where he could ramble about and hold communion with Nature,
secure from interruption. 'No man,' he wrote to one of his friends,
'loves the country more. Woods, trees, and rocks give the response
which man requires.... Every tree seems to say, "Holy, holy."' A
forest was to him a paradise. He would penetrate its cool depths, and,
selecting a tree which offered a seat in a forking branch close to the
ground, he would climb into it and sit there for hours, buried in
thought. It was amidst the trees of Schoenbrunn that he made the first
rough notes for several of his great works. With his back planted
against the trunk of a favourite lime-tree, his legs stretched along
the big branch, and his gaze fixed upon the network of branchlets and
quivering leaves above him, he sketched the framework of the oratorio
'The Mount of Olives,' the opera 'Fidelio' (or 'Leonore,' as it was
first called), and that glorious symphony which is known by the title
of the 'Eroica.'

When not resting amidst the trees Beethoven would set off on long
walks through the fields, sketch-book[20] in hand, and humming or
roaring to himself as he went along. The rough jottings in the
sketch-books were later on developed with the utmost care, being
written out again and again, with fresh alterations and additions each
time, until every trace of crudeness had disappeared, and the finished
work stood out with such clearness and precision as to suggest that it
had been but that moment created. Nothing, indeed, has struck those
who have followed the gradual development of his work from the f