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: