One hundred years ago a man lay dying in Vienna. Without a storm rolled deep thunder around the city, laid jagged streaks of light against the back-ground of the sky. And there was a great wind that soughed in the eaves and pitched the rain against dirty windows. But for all the dying man knew of the storm, he heard it not, for he was deaf. It was enough to know that the gods were angry, that Beethoven was dying. He raised himself on his elbow and, in the glare of a spray of lightning, shook his first to the skies and became immortal.

Something of this triumphant attitude towards life exists in Beethoven's music. His complete mastery, his supreme domination of his late are ever present. And there is surpassing beauty, too. Once on a train a man spied the composer weeping. He shook him by the shoulder and asked if he could be of any assistance. Beethoven shook his head and replied, deaf as he was, "I was only thinking of my new symphony." Too frequently it is the public and not the composer who weep today.

In order that his occasional sallies into Symphony Hall will not cause the Vagabond to forget that there are other men besides Ravel and Pierne who write music, he will go today at 12 to the Music Building, where Professor Ballantine will play and explain Opus 2, Part 2 of Beethoven's Sonatas. There is no greater biography of Beethoven than his own music, no greater music than Beethoven.

TODAY

9 o'clock

"The Intellectual Background of the 18th Century," Professor Brinton, Harvard 2.

10 o'clock

"Early Development of the Russian Dynasty," Mr. Vernadsky, Sever 25.

12 o'clock

"Goapel according to Matthew," Professor Lake, Large Lecture Room, Fogg Museum.