the matter too far.  Of this we will give an instance.  In the year 1782 Dr. Christian Mueller of Bremen organised concerts among the members of his family, and, already at the beginning of the nineteenth century, Beethoven’s name figured on the programmes.  A friend of the family, Dr. Carl Iken, who took part in the musical proceedings, was an ardent admirer of Beethoven’s music, and he ventured to draw up explanations and picture-programmes of the master’s works; and these were read out before the performances of the works in question.  It seems, indeed, that he was the first who felt impelled to give utterance to the poetical feelings aroused by Beethoven’s music.  Dr. Iken’s intentions were of the best, and he may often have succeeded in throwing his audience into the right mood.  A poetical programme, if not too fantastic, would often prove of better effect than the most skilful of analyses.  These “Iken” programmes so delighted Dr. Mueller that he sent several of them to the master at Vienna.  Beethoven read, but his anger was stirred.  He sent for Schindler, and dictated a letter to Dr. Mueller.  It was a friendly but energetic protest against such treatment of his or anyone else’s music.  He drew attention to the erroneous opinions to which it would give birth. If explanations were needed, he declared, let them be limited to the general characteristics of the compositions,[99] which it would not be difficult for cultured musicians to furnish.  Thus relates Schindler, and there seems no reason to doubt his word.  It is to be hoped that Dr. Mueller’s letter will one day be discovered.  It was not the plan to which Beethoven objected, but the manner in which it was carried out.

Before quitting this subject, let us refer to one or two sonatas concerning which there are well authenticated utterances of the master.  Schindler once asked him for the key to the Sonatas in D minor (Op. 31, No. 2) and F minor ("Appassionata"), and Beethoven replied:  “Read Shakespeare’s Tempest.”  The reply was laconic.  Beethoven, no doubt, could have furnished further details, but he abstained from so doing, and in this he was perfectly justified.  Then Schindler, growing bold, ventured a further question:  “What did the master intend to express by the Largo of the Sonata in D (Op. 10, No. 3)?” And the latter replied that everyone felt that this Largo described the condition of the soul of a melancholy man, with various nuances of light and shade.  Beethoven’s quiet, dignified utterances deserve special attention in these days of programme-music.  It is perhaps well that he did not carry out his idea of furnishing the clue to the poetic idea underlying his sonatas.  It would, of course, have been highly interesting to know the sources of his inspirations, but it is terrible to think of the consequences which would have ensued.  Composers would have imitated him, and those lacking genius would have made themselves and their art ridiculous.  Berlioz went to extremes, but his genius saved him; and Schumann, a true poet, though inclined to superscriptions, kept within very reasonable lines.