song and chorus, in opera and in chamber music. In these sounds the artist himself is present; for the master's presence in the work is the only true presence. The greater the master, the more completely his person vanishes behind his work.

The musicians and singers who take part in today's celebration are a warrant that Conradin Kreutzer's work will come to be heard on this occasion.

But does this alone constitute a memorial celebration? A memorial celebration means that we think back, that we think. Yet what are we to think and to say at a memorial which is devoted to a composer? Is it not the distinction of music to "speak" through the sounding of tones and so not to need ordinary language, the language of words? So they say. And yet the question remains: Do playing and singing alone make our celebration a thoughtful celebration, one in which we think? Hardly! And so a "memorial address" has been put on the program. It is to help us to think back both to the composer we honor and to his work. These memories come alive as soon as we relate the story of Conradin Kreutzer's life, and recount and describe his works. Through such a relating we can find much that is joyful and sorrowful, much that is instructive and exemplary. But at bottom we merely allow ourselves to be entertained by such a talk. In listening to such a story, no thinking at all is needed, no reflecting is demanded on what concerns each one of us immediately and continuously in his very being. Thus even a memorial address gives no assurance that we will think at a memorial celebration.

Let us not fool ourselves. All of us, including those who think professionally, as it were, are often enough thought-poor;