Beethoven, a character study; together with Wagner's indebtedness to Beethoven

by George Alexander Fischer

The three quartets, opus 59, known as the Rasoumowsky Quartets, to which a passing reference has been made, take their name from having been dedicated to Count Rasoumowsky, who was the Russian ambassador. The Count had married a sister of the Princess Lichnowsky and was a cultivated man whose greatest delight was music. He lived in great state in a palace, then on the outskirts of Vienna, now used as the Geological Institute. He was closely identified with the musical life of Vienna, and shortly after these quartets appeared, formed a string quartet of distinguished musicians, which he maintained for many years, taking the part of second violin himself. It is almost needless to state that Beethoven's work took precedence in the repertoire.

The first of the three quartets, the one in F, has an Adagio movement on which Beethoven inscribed in the sketch-book, "Eine Trauerweide oder Akazienbaum aufs Grab meines Bruders." [A weeping willow or acacia tree over my brother's grave.] Beethoven had indeed lost an infant brother twenty-three years before this event, but it is not likely that he was thus tardily commemorating him. His brother Kaspar Karl was married the day before this quartet was begun and it is probably a humorous allusion to that circumstance. But if his brother's marriage was an occasion for humor at the beginning, it lapsed afterward into the sternest tragedy in its effect on the master's life, as will be seen further on in these pages.

These quartets are monuments to Beethoven's genius and are classed among the best examples of chamber-music. The Adagio of the second one was thought out by Beethoven one night while contemplating the stars. Somewhat of the infinite calm and serenity of his mood is imparted to it. The incident is related by Czerny to whom it was related by Beethoven himself. The quartets were generally disliked and condemned by musicians when first produced. Cherubini said that they made him sneeze. Others said that Beethoven was music-mad, that they could not be called music, that they were too difficult, unintelligible, and so on. That was close onto a century ago, and they are still unintelligible to some, but we now know that this is not the fault of the quartets as was so naively assumed at that time. The condemnation of them by the performers has a show of reason in it as they taxed their capacity too severely. Wagner had the same thing to contend with for the same reason.

After the withdrawal of Fidelio, noted in the last chapter, and with the advent of summer, Beethoven left Vienna on a visit to Count Brunswick, at his seat in Hungary. The Count was a man of exceptional intellectual ability, who had the greatest reverence and admiration for Beethoven's genius. Beethoven was also on excellent terms with the Count's sisters, and later became engaged to one of them, the Countess Therese. It is well known that the Countess Therese exercised a powerful fascination over him, but so did many another of the gifted Vienna ladies in the course of his life.

So vast a quantity of work was accomplished by the master during this summer, that it is likely the proximity of these friends only served to stimulate his genius. The Appassionata Sonata was worked over, the Rasoumowsky Quartets were finished, as well as the Fourth Symphony, besides lesser works, so that he could not have spent much time in social intercourse. He was in the period of his greatest productivity; the creative instinct was strong in him and impelled him onward in his work to the exclusion of other desires. Even friendship had to give way in great measure to the passion for creating which had become a necessity of his existence.

That the life was a tranquil and contented one may be inferred by the character of the Fourth Symphony. Beethoven loved country life, and surrounded as he was by his friends, whose first thought was for him, he had everything to make him satisfied. The serenity which speaks to us through the Fourth Symphony is something for which the world should ever be grateful. Our highest happiness often comes to us through the frame of mind superinduced by external influences. This symphony is a song of joy, ecstatic in its pure exuberance of spirits; again, it is a benediction that breathes into our minds somewhat of its own spirit of calm and content. The storm and stress of life is forgotten; all is holiday humor. We are in the midst of a Shakespearian comedy, with its alternations of humor and sentiment, its joyous atmosphere, its idyllic simplicity; the forest of Arden has come to us. It was written to celebrate his engagement to the Countess Therese. In it he is inspired by the very genius of happiness. It is as if, having obtained his heart's desire, he invites us to partake with him the joy that the gods have provided.

But it is only for once, as if to emphasize the fact that happiness is not the object of existence and is not even our right primarily. He gives few instances in which the element of pain or sadness does not enter to some extent. His works abound in psychological suggestion; they illustrate every phase of life. The philosophic import of the Fourth Symphony is plain. He demonstrates the rarity of pure unalloyed happiness in actual life by the few examples in his compositions in which it reigns supreme. Joy enters incidentally into most of his works. Often it dominates them. He recognized it as part of the scheme of life, but it is usually qualified by other conditions and is only attained through persistent effort; it is never our portion until earned. It does not come unsought like pain and suffering. The Fourth Symphony is lighter than the "Eroica" which preceded it, or the C minor which comes next. The language of joy is always more or less superficial. The tragedies of life have to be told in stronger language, since they go deeper. Happiness is negative, pain positive. The comedies of Shakespeare, in which the note is usually buoyant and felicitous, do not stir us as do the tragedies.

Beethoven's visit at Count Brunswick's continued throughout the summer of 1806. He left the Brunswicks in October, but instead of returning to Vienna as was his wont in the autumn, he turned his face toward Silesia, on a visit to Prince Lichnowsky who had an estate there. But the idyllic life left behind at Count Brunswick's was not to be repeated here. His stay was destined to be short owing to a violent quarrel between the Prince and him, which caused an estrangement lasting some years. The circumstances leading up to it can be briefly narrated. When Beethoven arrived at the castle of Prince Lichnowsky, he found other guests there, uninvited but not unexpected, consisting of French officers who had been quartered on the Prince. Napoleon had overrun Germany, and was master wherever he went. Beethoven's rage against him for making himself Emperor had not abated; his dislike extended to the officers as well, and he was not there long before hostilities began in good earnest. It all came about from a desire on the part of the officers that Beethoven play for them. He had the penetration to know that he was regarded simply as a curiosity, that he was called on because no better entertainment was available. Had there been a juggler or a ballet-dancer on hand, these latter might have been preferred. At dinner, a staff-officer had asked him quite innocently if he could play the cello, to which no answer was given; the frown on Beethoven's face, however, boded ill for the evening's festivities. It had been announced that he would play for them, and they expected it as a matter of course.

In the nature of things it could not be expected that these men would be able to appreciate Beethoven, or understand much of his art. His reverence for it was great; he felt that it would be a degradation, in a sense, to play for them under the circumstances, and refused. The Prince, with the amiable desire of pleasing his guests, urged the matter, but Beethoven continued obdurate; upon which he told him, probably by way of a joke, that he must either comply or that he would be confined in the castle as a prisoner of war for disobeying orders. This persistence so enraged him that, although it was night, he left the castle without the Prince's knowledge, and walked three miles to Trappau, the nearest post-town. He remained here overnight, and, while waiting for the post-chaise, wrote the following letter to Prince Lichnowsky:

"Prince! what you are you owe to chance and birth. What I am, I am through myself. There has been, and will yet be thousands of princes, but there is only one Beethoven."[A]