The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vi Part 76

TO THE COMPOSER J.N. HUMMEL

(Vienna, circa 1799)

Do not come any more to me. You are a false fellow, and the hangman take all such!

BEETHOVEN.

NO. 28

TO THE SAME

(The next day)

Good Friend Nazerl:

You are an honorable fellow, and I see you were right. So come this afternoon to me. You will also find Schuppanzigh, and both of us will blow you up, thump you, and shake you; so you will have a fine time of it.

Your Beethoven, also named Mehlschoeberl, embraces you.

NO. 35

TO CARL AMENDA AT WIRBEN IN COURLAND

Vienna, June 1, 1800.

My Dear, My Good Amenda, My Heartily Beloved Friend:

With deep emotion, with mixed pain and pleasure, did I receive and read your last letter. To what can I compare your fidelity, your attachment to me. Oh! how pleasant it is that you have always remained so kind to me; yes, I also know that you, of all men, are the most trustworthy. You are no Viennese friend; no, you are one of those such as my native country produces. How often do I wish you were with me, for your Beethoven is most unhappy and at strife with nature and the Creator. The latter I have often cursed for exposing His creatures to the smallest chance, so that frequently the richest buds are thereby crushed and destroyed. Only think that the n.o.blest part of me, my sense of hearing, has become very weak. Already when you were with me I noted traces of it, and I said nothing. Now it has become worse, and it remains to be seen whether it can ever be healed. * * * What a sad life I am now compelled to lead! I must avoid all that is near and dear to me, and then to be among such wretched egotistical beings as ----, etc.! I can say that among all Lichnowski has best stood the test. Since last year he has settled on me 600 florins, which, together with the good sale of my works, enables me to live without anxiety. Everything I write, I can sell immediately five times over, and also be well paid. * * * Oh! how happy should I now be if I had my perfect hearing, for I should then hasten to you. As it is, I must in all things be behindhand; my best years will slip away without bringing forth what, with my talent and my strength, I ought to have accomplished. I must now have recourse to sad resignation. I have, it is true, resolved not to worry about all this, but how is it possible? Yes, Amenda, if, six months hence, my malady is beyond cure, then I lay claim to your help. You must leave everything and come to me. I will travel (my malady interferes least with my playing and composition, most only in conversation), and you must be my companion. I am convinced good fortune will not fail me. With whom need I be afraid of measuring my strength? Since you went away I have written music of all kinds except operas and sacred works.

Yes, do not refuse; help your friend to bear with his troubles, his infirmity. I have also greatly improved my piano-forte playing. I hope this journey may also turn to your advantage; afterwards you will always remain with me. I have duly received all your letters, and although I have answered only a few, you have been always in my mind; and my heart, as always, beats tenderly for you. _Please keep as a great secret what I have told you about my hearing; trust no one, whoever it may be, with it_.

Do write frequently; your letters, however short they may be, console me, do me good. I expect soon to get another one from you, my dear friend. Don't lend out my _Quartet_ any more, because I have made many changes in it. I have only just learnt how to write quartets properly, as you will see when you receive them.

Now, my dear good friend, farewell! If perchance you believe that I can show you any kindness here, I need not, of course, remind you to address yourself first to

Your faithful, truly loving,

L. v. BEETHOVEN.

NO. 45

TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI

On the 6th July, 1801, in the morning

My Angel, My All, My Very Self:

Just a few words today, and indeed in pencil--with thine--only till tomorrow is my room definitely engaged; what an unworthy waste of time in such matters--why this deep sorrow where necessity speaks! Can our love endure otherwise than through sacrifices, through restraint in longing? Canst thou help not being wholly mine, can I, not being wholly thine? Oh! gaze at nature in all its beauty, and calmly accept the inevitable--love demands everything, and rightly so. _Thus is it for me with thee, for thee with me_, only thou so easily forgettest that I must live for myself and for thee--were we wholly united thou wouldst feel this painful fact as little as I should--my journey was terrible. I arrived here only yesterday morning at four o'clock, and as they were short of horses the mail-coach selected another route--but what an awful road! At the last stage but one I was warned against traveling by night; they frightened me with a wood, but that only spurred me on--and I was wrong, the coach must needs break down, the road being dreadful, a swamp, a mere country road; without the postillions I had with me I should have stuck on the way. Esterhazi, by the ordinary road, met with the same fate with eight horses as I with four--yet it gave me some pleasure, as successfully overcoming any difficulty always does. Now for a quick change from without to within--we shall probably soon see each other, besides, today I cannot tell thee what has been pa.s.sing through my mind during the past few days concerning my life--were our hearts closely united I should not do things of this kind. My heart is full of many things I have to say to thee--ah, there are moments in which I feel that speech is powerless! Cheer up--remain my true, my only treasure, my all!!! as I to thee. The G.o.ds must send the rest--what for us must be and ought to be.

Thy faithful

LUDWIG.

Monday Evening, July 6.

Thou sufferest, thou my dearest love! I have just found out that the letters must be posted very early Mondays, Thursdays--the only days when the post goes from here to K. Thou sufferest--ah, where I am, art thou also with me! I will arrange for myself and Thee; I will manage so that I can live with thee; and what a life!!! But as it is--without thee!!!

Persecuted here and there by the kindness of men, which I little deserve, and as little care to deserve. Humility of man toward man--it pains me--and when I think of myself in connection with the universe, what am I and what is He who is named the Greatest--and still this again shows the divine in man. I weep when I think that probably thou wilt get the first news from me only on Sat.u.r.day evening. However much thou lovest me, my love for thee is stronger; but never conceal thy thoughts from me. Good-night! As I am taking the baths I must go to bed [two words scratched through]. O G.o.d--so near! so far! Our love--is it not a true heavenly edifice, firm as heaven's vault!

Good morning, on July 7.

While still in bed, my thoughts press to thee, my Beloved One, at moments with joy, and then again with sorrow, waiting to see whether fate will take pity on us. Either I must live wholly with thee, or not at all. Yes, I have resolved to wander in distant lands, until I can fly to thy arms and feel that with thee I have a real home; with thee encircling me about, I can send my soul into the kingdom of spirits. Yes, unfortunately, it must be so. Calm thyself, and all the more since thou knowest my faithfulness toward thee! Never can another possess my heart, never--never--O G.o.d! why must one part from what one so loves--and yet my life in V. at present is a wretched life! Thy love has made me one of the happiest and, at the same time, one of the unhappiest of men; at my age I need a quiet, steady life--but is that possible in our situation?

My Angel, I have just heard that the post goes every day, and I must therefore stop, so that you may receive the letter without delay. Be calm--only by calm consideration of our existence can we attain our aim to live together; be calm--love me--today--yesterday--what tearful longing after thee--thee--thee--my life--my all--farewell! Oh, continue to love me--never, never misjudge the faithful heart

Of Thy Beloved

L.

Ever thine, ever thine, ever each other's.

NO. 55

TO HIS BROTHERS CARL AND ---- BEETHOVEN

O ye men who regard or declare me to be malignant, stubborn, or cynical, how unjust are ye towards me! You do not know the secret cause of my seeming so. From childhood onward, my heart and mind prompted me to be kind and tender, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great deeds. But only think that, during the last six years, I have been in a wretched condition, rendered worse by unintelligent physicians, deceived from year to year with hopes of improvement, and then finally forced to the prospect of _lasting infirmity_ (which may last for years, or even be totally incurable). Born with a fiery, active temperament, even susceptive of the diversions of society, I had soon to retire from the world, to live a solitary life. At times, even, I endeavored to forget all this, but how harshly was I driven back by the redoubled experience of my bad hearing! Yet it was not possible for me to say to men: Speak louder, shout, for I am deaf. Alas! how could I declare the weakness of a _sense_ which in me _ought_ to be more acute than in others--a sense which _formerly_ I possessed in highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed; no, I cannot do it.

Forgive, therefore, if you see me withdraw, when I would willingly mix with you. My misfortune pains me doubly in that I am certain to be misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in the society of my fellow creatures, no refined conversations, no interchange of thought.

Almost alone, and mixing in society only when absolutely necessary, I am compelled to live as an exile. If I approach near to people, a feeling of hot anxiety comes over me lest my condition should be noticed--for so it was during these past six months which I spent in the country.

Ordered by my intelligent physician to spare my hearing as much as possible, he almost fell in with my present frame of mind, although many a time I was carried away by my sociable inclinations. But how humiliating was it, when some one standing close to me heard a distant flute, and I heard _nothing_, or a _shepherd singing_, and again I heard nothing. Such incidents almost drove me to despair; at times I was on the point of putting an end to my life--_art_ alone restrained my hand.

Oh! it seemed as if I could not quit this earth until I had produced all I felt within me, and so I continued this wretched life--wretched, indeed, and with so sensitive a body that a somewhat sudden change can throw me from the best into the worst state. _Patience_, I am told, I must choose as my guide. I have done so--lasting, I hope, will be my resolution to bear up until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Forced already, in my 28th year, to become a philosopher, it is not easy--for an artist more difficult than for any one else. O Divine Being, Thou who lookest down into my inmost soul, Thou understandest; Thou knowest that love for mankind and a desire to do good dwell therein! Oh, my fellow men, when one day you read this, remember that you were unjust to me and let the unfortunate one console himself if he can find one like himself, who, in spite of all obstacles which nature has thrown in his way, has still done everything in his power to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men. You, my brothers Carl and ----, as soon as I am dead, beg Professor Schmidt, if he be still living, to describe my malady; and annex this written account to that of my illness, so that at least the world, so far as is possible, may become reconciled to me after my death. And now I declare you both heirs to my small fortune (if such it may be called). Divide it honorably and dwell in peace, and help each other. What you have done against me has, as you know, long been forgiven. And you, brother Carl, I especially thank you for the attachment you have shown toward me of late. My prayer is that your life may be better, less troubled by cares, than mine. Recommend to your children _virtue_; it alone can bring happiness, not money. I speak from experience. It was virtue which bore me up in time of trouble; to her, next to my art, I owe thanks for my not having laid violent hands on myself. Farewell, and love one another.

My thanks to all friends, especially _Prince Lichnowski_ and _Professor Schmidt_. I should much like one of you to keep as an heirloom the instruments given to me by Prince L., but let no strife arise between you concerning them; if money should be of more service to you, just sell them. How happy I feel, that, even when lying in my grave, I may be useful to you!

So let it be. I joyfully hasten to meet death. If it come before I have had opportunity to develop all my artistic faculties, it will come, my hard fate notwithstanding, too soon, and I should probably wish it later--yet even then I shall be happy, for will it not deliver me from a state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt, I shall face thee courageously. Farewell, and when I am dead do not entirely forget me.

This I deserve from you, for during my lifetime I often thought of you, and how to make you happy. Be ye so.

LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN.