This is one of the best and justly most beloved of the pianoforte works
from what is known as Beethoven’s Second Period; that is to say, the
period when his creative power was at its zenith, when his genius had
reached its fullest maturity, yet showed no sign of waning; when, in its
individual development, it had outgrown all youthful crudities, all
reminiscent suggestions of older masters, occasionally to be found in
his earlier writings, yet before it had lapsed into that somewhat
obstruse, metaphysical vein to which some of us are inclined to object
in his latest works, in which individuality is sometimes exaggerated
into eccentricity. The present writer is not among those who regard his
latest sonatas for the piano as in any sense his greatest works, and it
is something of a question whether any pianist would play or any
audience tolerate the Op. 111, for instance, if it bore any signature
but that of Beethoven. The works of his second or middle period are
instinct with far more genuine spontaneity and true musical effect.
The Op. 53 is familiarly known among musicians under two names. It is
often designated as the “Aurora Sonata,” because of its suggestive
reference to, not to say actual description of, those wondrous fireworks
of the heavens, the northern lights. The first movement particularly,
with its constant change of key, its well-nigh infinite variety of light
and shade, above all, its constant flash and play of scintillating
embellishment and brilliant passage work, cannot fail to call up before
the imaginative mind the varying hues, the shifting, intermittent
splendors of the aurora borealis, with its flashes of crimson and
orange, and its flickerings of softest violet and rose.
The second movement forms a distinct and restful contrast and quiet
background to the brilliancy of the first. It is slow, reposeful, and
gravely impressive, symbolizing the hushed solemnity of the quiet,
frost-clear, winter night.
The last movement, a prefect rondo in form, returns to the mood and
general style of the first. It is bright and crisp, full of brilliant
ornamentations and striking contrasts, and should be given with the idea
of the northern lights again distinctly before the mind. Its airy,
buoyant melody, floating lightly upon swiftly flowing waves of
accompaniment, reminding one of that Wotan’s bridge which the ancient
Northman fancied he beheld in the glittering, far-spanning arch of the
aurora, that bright, but perilous, path of heroes from Earth to
Walhalla.
This composition is also known as the “Waldstein Sonata,” because
dedicated to Count Waldstein, of Vienna, one of Beethoven’s best
friends, during his earlier years in the Austrian capital. Count
Waldstein was a descendant of the famous general and most prominent
Catholic leader, who figured so prominently during the thirty years’ war
in Germany, that sanguinary struggle between Catholics and Protestants,
from 1618 to 1648. The name of this brilliant leader, a Bohemian noble
of vast wealth and power, and commander of the Austrian imperial forces,
is usually spelled Wallenstein; but the name and lineage are identical
with that of the Count to whom this sonata is dedicated—the confusion
arising from the difference between the German and Bohemian orthography.
The original Wallenstein, though unquestionably a man of pronounced
intellectual ability and a devout, enthusiastic Catholic, was a firm
believer in what we term the obsolete science of astrology and an
earnest student of its mysteries. He had fullest faith in all the mystic
auguries and prophetic omens of the skies, and never undertook any
important step without first carefully consulting them, aided by the
profounder knowledge of a trained, professional astrologer, whom he
always kept close at hand. It is of interest to note that the famous
German scientist, Kepler, served for many years as the private
astrologer of Wallenstein, In the researches and belief of Duke
Wallenstein he included every manifestation of the aurora borealis. In
fact, he seems to have laid particular stress upon these as bearing
directly upon his own life and career, as fraught with special prophetic
import for him personally. It is a curious coincidence, in view of these
facts, that the most brilliant display of the northern lights recorded
for the first half of the seventeenth century took place on the very
evening on which Wallenstein was assassinated, only a few hours prior to
his murder. In the light of his theories it would almost seem like an
attempt of his old friends in the skies to warn him of impending peril.
At all events, the aurora was, according to his belief, an important
factor in his life. His descendants, who naturally treasured all the
facts and traditions concerning their brilliant ancestor, would
therefore regard the aurora with special interest as being, in a certain
sense, connected with their own family history. It was for this reason,
as a delicate and appropriate compliment to his friend, that Beethoven,
in writing a work which was to be dedicated to him, chose this theme and
embodied it in a composition which, for his time and in view of the then
prevailing musical conditions, as well as the necessary limitations of
the strict sonata form, is remarkably, even graphically, descriptive.