German

One hundred years ago, on his death bed, Ludwig van Beethoven whispered: "Applaud, friends, the comedy is finished." An immortal, it has been said, knows nothing of his immortality.

One century is nothing against the prophecy of genius. But the fact that time witnesses his ever-ascending influence is significant. Musicians set aside a week in which the whole world might applaud-not the finish but only .the prologue of the divine comedy. In 275 U. S. cities, whatever music was sounded, poured forth as a testimonial.

In Vienna where this German lived his creative life, the centenary of his death was marked by a festival in which the President of the Republic, Ambassadors from all great nations, together with every prominent citizen participated. They played his music, went as pilgrims to his grave.

In London, all the symphonies, chamber music compositions, his only opera Fidelio, were offered. In Boston, at the exact moment of his death, the chimes of Tufts college rang the choral melody of the Ninth Symphony, while chapels, concert halls and symphony orchestras responded with other Beethoven music. In New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, Cleveland, St. Louis, New Orleans, Portland, it was the same. The next day, Sunday, churches of all sects, worshiped in his music. Perhaps the comedy was finished, for every tribute grand enough to be fitting the memory Ludwig van Beethoven consisted of the music created in his own mind.

Critics, offering comprehensive reasons for his immortality, saw no prospect of his music's passing. Said the "Trenton Tough," George Antheil, he of the "Ballet Mecanique" and the panic-striking propeller (TIME, March 21) : "Beethoven is my hero especially on account of form." Said Music Critic William James Henderson: "The supremacy of tone art lay for him [Beethoven] in the identity of form and substance, of matter and embodiment."

Said Ubiquitous Critic Mencken: "Very few of the immortal creators have escaped periods of neglect and contumely. Shakespeare, as everyone knows, was regarded as a second-rater during part of the 18th Century, and various imbeciles set themselves to the job of editing and improving him. Even Bach had his twilight, and it took a Mendelssohn to rescue him. But only fools have ever questioned the mightiness of Beethoven--and not many fools."

Well might these admiring unorthodox critics be greeted with a smile from Ludwig van Beethoven, whose deaf ears rang with the Ninth Symphony for 25 years before he entrusted it to the world, who recreated the kettledrum rhythm of the Agnus Die so often that he wore holes in thick paper, who "stood on ground long ago trod by Aristotle who held that the highest art should appeal to the intellect through its perfection in form."

Pole

Ignace Jan Paderewski, first Premier of the modern Republic of Poland, pianist without peer, is accustomed to having people tremble before him. Not even a boy who has carried a bat for "Babe" Ruth knows the lifetime delight of the music lover who has touched the hand of the great Ignace Jan. Last week, U. S. customs officials at Honolulu jostled M. Paderewski, searched him and his baggage for liquor and narcotics, felt no ethereal ecstacy. "This is impossible," snapped M. Paderewski, feeling righteously insulted, "I will go back to the ship." His manager persuaded him to submit to the search; the inspectors found no contraband; Honolulu heard his magic touch. Somebody presented this Pole with a $300 bell-toned ukulele* and he continued his concert tour to Australia and New Zealand.

Austrian

It is a custom for musicians, great as well as humble, to carry their instruments to concerts in which they do not participate, and thus gain free seats. Members of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra tried it last week and were gently but firmly ejected by two beefy college-trained ushers. Along came a gentleman with a violin. "My dear sir," said one usher, "don't think for one minute that you are going to get in without a ticket. . . . Get out and keep out." Forcibly pushed out, the gentleman returned. He was Fritz Kreisler and this was his concert. That night he played with some of the feeling that has made this Austrian the "greatest" living violinst.

And a few days later, he raised $26,000 at a Manhattan concert for the benefit of cancer sufferers.

Italian

John D. Rockefeller Sr. waited expectantly, patiently--and so did 1,500 others. That was not unusual at a concert, talented tenors are often late. But an hour is an hour at Daytona Beach, Fla. Music lovers shifted in their seats, went outdoors to look at the stars and light cigarets. The manager of the auditorium appeared on the platform, announced that Giovanni Martinelli, since his whereabouts were unknown, would not sing on that night, last week. There is no "greatest tenor" since the death of Enrico Caruso; but those Daytonians, who had ranked Tenor Martinelli first, quickly consigned this Italian to a rung below Italian Gigli and Frenchman Muratore.

*An Associated Press correspondent in accordance with his organization's demand for "jazzy" stories, added the following touch to his despatch: "The management does not state whether Paderewski's next concert will include a ukulele number."