He is the father of all the modern melomaniacs,
who, looking into their own souls, write what they see therein--misery,
corruption, slighting selfishness and ugliness." Old Ludwig's groans, of
course, we can stand. He was not only a great musician, but also a great
man. It is just as interesting to hear him sigh and complain as it would
be to hear the private prayers of Julius Caesar. But what of
Tschaikowsky, with his childish Slavic whining? What of Liszt, with his
cheap playacting, his incurable lasciviousness, his plebeian warts? What
of Wagner, with his delight in imbecile fables, his popinjay vanity, his
soul of a _Schnorrer_? What of Richard Strauss, with his warmed-over
Nietzscheism, his flair for the merely horrible? Old Fogy sweeps them
all into his ragbag. If art is to be defined as beauty seen through a
temperament, then give us more beauty and cleaner temperaments! Back to
the old gods, Mozart and Bach, with a polite bow to Brahms and a
sentimental tear for Chopin! Beethoven tried to tell his troubles in his
music; Mozart was content to ravish the angels of their harps.
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