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| My daughter Ruth and I on the steps of the Beethoven Platz monument, Vienna, Austria, May 1990 |
“Dr.
Dave” said Beethoven’s December natal date remains contested. Therefore, they broadcasted
the station’s tribute to Ludwig Wednesday and Thursday afternoon, December 15
and 16.
Brilliant idea—a double portion of my favorite
classical composer.
In honor of his contributions to the symphonic
orchestra, Wagner and Whorf included WRCJ’s year-end fundraiser in their
programing. In the spirit of good humor, they offered a Beethoven bobble-head
and socks. For a small monthly donation, they covered the patron “from head to
toe,” as Wagner jested.
Wednesday, I parked my car behind Romeo Printing as Wagner
introduced what I consider the most tender and merciful of the composer’s works.
Forgetting its title, the slow piano score nonetheless called me into a hallowed
place of rest and reconciliation; comforted me much like King David’s Psalm 23.
“You
can feel and hear Beethoven’s tenderness in this slow sonata,” Wagner confirmed
at the conclusion. Whorf agreed.
I
paid the printer for my order and drove up to Dryden for tea with friends, both
excellent vocalists. “Did you know Beethoven was born December 15 or 16?” I
asked.
“No,”
they replied.
Later,
while dabbling in curiosity, I discovered Jane Austen shared Beethoven’s
commonly accepted birthdate.
Remarkable.
My favorite female novelist took her first breath December 16, 1775. Did Miss
Austen hear her contemporary perform his sonata of tender mercies? Was it Beethoven’s
sublime piano that provoked Austen to write, “There is no charm equal to
tenderness of heart”?
More
fiddling on the web answered, “probably not.” Ludwig and Jane walked in
different spheres five hundred miles apart.
Austen left this world on July 18, 1817, ten years before the
maestro. At age forty-one, she bequeathed future, world-wide readers a
collection of six novels, still best sellers today. A model for every aspiring
novelist.
I find it fascinating that Beethoven described the opening four
notes of his Fifth symphony as "death knocking upon the door." Although
deaf, the musician’s heart heard clearly the human condition surrounding him.
Accordingly, soldiers directed more than 20,000 grieving fans
the day the Austrian’s funeral bier passed through the streets of Vienna. I
imagine those infamous death notes also knocked upon the hearts of those who
mourned.
Most remarkably, documentation confirms the four beats of the
Fifth symphony, unintentionally Morse Code for the letter “V” for Victory,
played a significant role during Allied broadcasts during WW2.
Ever relevant to our
human predicaments, I see in part Beethoven’s journey from suffering to his
“Ode to Joy.”
Lastly, dear
Reader, this brilliant, often tormented man left all who would hear these wise
words: “Do not only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets.”
Ah, to know those
mysteries within sublime fury and tender mercies.
