An instance of absolute knowledge of music appears in an anecdote told
of Johann Sebastian Bach. When he was present at the performance of a
fugue and one of his two most musical sons was with him, he would, as
soon as the theme was heard, whisper what devices and developments he
thought should be introduced. If the composer had conformed to his idea
of construction he would jog his son to call attention to the fact.
Otherwise, his exceeding modesty and reverent comprehension of the
difficulties of the art made him the most lenient of critics.

Few have reached the luminous heights this master of masters trod. Even
a well-cultivated ear and taste may often be baffled by the intricacies
of a fugue, symphony or other great work of musical art heard for the
first time. The best listener beyond the pale of genius will at times
feel as one astray in a labyrinth of beauty to which for the moment no
clue appears. A single representation will rarely suffice to reveal the
full worth of a masterpiece of music. By hearing it often, by admitting
it, or some reproduction of it, to our own fireside, we will become
familiar with its contents and learn truly to know it.

Those who are fortunate enough to have been surrounded from childhood up
by the choicest gems of the tonal language, and whose minds are of the
deceptive order, will insensibly attain a refinement of taste and
delicacy of perception no learned dissertation on music could afford. At
the same time, an acquaintance with the materials and elements of which
the art is composed and with the laws that govern them, is essential to
enable even one who has heard much to gain the complete enjoyment that
comes from understanding. Confident as we are that Prometheus captured
his fire from Heaven, we ought to learn something of its attributes
before we accept it at his hands, that we may be able to distinguish a