An amusing illustration of how Beethoven could work himself into a rage even when alone is preserved at the Beethoven Museum in Bonn, in the shape of some extraordinary glosses on a letter from a copyist named Wolanek, who was in his employ in the spring of the year. Wolanek was a Bohemian. Beethoven had railed against him whenever sending corrections to a publisher or apologizing for delays, and it is not difficult to imagine what the poor fellow had to endure from the composer’s voluble tongue and fecund imagination in the invention and application of epithets. In delivering some manuscripts by messenger some time before Easter, Wolanek ventured a defense of his dignity in a letter which, though couched in polite phrase, was nevertheless decidedly ironical and cutting. He said that he was inclined to overlook Beethoven’s conduct towards him with a smile; since there were so many dissonances in the ideal world of tones, why not also in the world of reality? For him there was comfort in the reflection that if Beethoven had been copyist to “those celebrated artists, Mozart and Haydn,” he would have received similar treatment. He requested that he be not associated with those wretches of copyists who were willing to be treated as slaves simply for the sake of a livelihood, and concluded by saying that nothing that he had done would cause him to blush in the slightest degree in the presence of Beethoven. It did not suffice Beethoven to dismiss the man from his employ; such an outcome seemed anticipated in the letter. He must make him feel that his incompetency was wholly to blame and realize how contemptible he looked in the eyes of the composer. The reference to Mozart and Haydn was particularly galling. Beethoven read the letter and drew lines across its face from corner to corner. Then in letters two inches long he scrawled over the writing the words: “_Dummer, Eingebildeter, Eselhafter Kerl_” (“Stupid, Conceited, Asinine Fellow”). That was not enough. There was a wide margin at the bottom of the sheet, just large enough to hold Beethoven’s next ebullition: “Compliments for such a good-for-nothing, who pilfers one’s money?--better to pull his asinine ears!” Then he turned the sheet over. A whole page invited him--and he filled it, margins and all. “Dirty Scribbler! Stupid Fellow! Correct the blunders which you have made in your ignorance, insolence, conceit and stupidity--this would be more to the purpose than to try to teach me, which is as if a _Sow_ were to try to give lessons to Minerva!” “Do YOU do honor to Mozart and Haidn by never mentioning their names.” “It was decided yesterday and even before then _not to have you write any more_ for me.” [Sidenote: FIRST PERFORMANCES OF THE E-FLAT QUARTET]