mphony 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.