How greatly do I thank you for thinking of me; I have so little deserved it and so little tried to deserve anything from you, and yet you are so very good and refuse to be held aloof by anything, not even by my unpardonable remissness, remaining always my true, good, brave friend. Do not believe that I could forget you who were always so dear to me. No. There are moments when I long for you and would like to be with you. My fatherland, the beautiful region in which I first saw the light, is still as clear and beautiful before my eyes as when I left you. In short, I shall look upon that period as one of the happiest incidents of my life when I shall see you again and greet Father Rhine. When this shall be I cannot now tell you—but I want to say that you will see me again only as a great man. Yon shall receive me as a great artist but as a better and more perfect man, and if the conditions are improved in our fatherland my art shall be employed in the service of the poor. O happy moment! How happy am I that I created thee—can invoke thee!... You want to know something about my situation. It is not so bad. Since last year, unbelievable as it may sound, even after I tell you, Lichnowsky, who has always remained my warmest friend (there were little quarrels between us, but they only served to strengthen our friendship), set aside a fixed sum of 600 florins for me to draw against so long as I remained without a position worthy of me. From my compositions I have a large income and I may say that I have more commissions than it is possible for me to fill. Besides, I have 6 or 7 publishers and might have more if I chose; they no longer bargain with me—I ask, and they pay. You see it is very convenient. For instance, I see a friend in need and my purse does not permit me to help him at once. I have only to sit down and in a short time help is at hand. Moreover, I am a better business man than formerly. If I remain here always I shall bring it to pass that I shall always reserve a day for my concert of which I give several. The only pity is that my evil demon, my bad health, is continually putting a spoke in my wheel, by which I mean that my hearing has grown steadily worse for three years for which my bowels, which you know were always wretched and have been getting worse, since I am always troubled with a dysentery, in addition to unusual weakness, are said to be responsible. Frank wanted to tone up my body by tonic medicines and restore my hearing with almond oil, but, prosit, nothing came of the effort; my hearing grew worse and worse, and my bowels remained as they had been. This lasted until the autumn of last year and I was often in despair. Then came a medical ass who advised me to take cold baths, a more sensible one to take the usual lukewarm Danube bath. That worked wonders; my bowels improved, my hearing remained, or became worse. I was really miserable during this winter; I had frightful attacks of colic and I fell back into my previous condition, and so things remained until about four weeks ago, when I went to Vering, thinking that my condition demanded a surgeon, and having great confidence in him. He succeeded almost wholly in stopping the awful diarrhœa. He prescribed the lukewarm Danube bath, into which I had each time to pour a little bottle of strengthening stuff, gave me no medicine of any kind until about four weeks ago, when he prescribed pills for my stomach and a kind of tea for my ear. Since then I can say I am stronger and better; only my ears whistle and buzz continually, day and night. I can say I am living a wretched life; for two years I have avoided almost all social gatherings because it is impossible for me to say to people: “I am deaf.” If I belonged to any other profession it would be easier, but in my profession it is an awful state, the more since my enemies, who are not few, what would they say? In order to give you an idea of this singular deafness of mine I must tell you that in the theatre I must get very close to the orchestra in order to understand the actor. If I am a little distant I do not hear the high tones of the instruments, singers, and if I be but a little farther away I do not hear at all. Frequently I can hear the tones of a low conversation, but not the words, and as soon as anybody shouts it is intolerable. It seems singular that in conversation there are people who do not notice my condition at all, attributing it to my absent-mindedness.[110] Heaven knows what will happen to me. Vering says that there will be an improvement if no complete cure. I have often—cursed my existence; Plutarch taught me resignation. If possible I will bid defiance to my fate, although there will be moments in my life when I shall be the unhappiest of God’s creatures. I beg of you to say nothing of my condition to anybody, not even to Lorchen;[111] I entrust the secret only to you; I would be glad if you were to correspond with Vering on the subject. If my condition continues I will go to you next spring; you could hire a house for me in some pretty place in the country and for half a year I would be a farmer. This might bring about a change. Resignation! What a wretched refuge—and yet the only one open to me. Forgive me that I add these cares of friendship to yours which is sorrowful enough as it is. Steffen Breuning is here now and we are together almost daily; it does me so much good to revive the old emotions. He is really become a good, splendid youngster, who knows a thing or two, and like us all has his heart in the right place. I have a pretty domicile on the bastion which is doubly valuable because of my health. I believe I shall make it possible for Breuning to come to me. You shall have your Antioch[112] and also many musical compositions of mine if you do not think they will cost you too much. Honestly, your love for art still delights me much. Write to me how it is to be done and I will send you all my compositions, already a goodly number and increasing daily.... In return for the portrait of my grandfather which I beg of you to send me as soon as possible by mail-coach, I am sending you that of his grandson, your good and affectionate Beethoven, which is to be published here by Artaria, who, like many others, including art-dealers, have often asked me for it. I shall soon write to Stoffel[113] and give him a piece of my mind concerning his stubborn disposition. I will make his ears ring with the old friendship, and he shall promise me by all that is holy not to offend you further in your present state of unhappiness. I shall also write to good Lorche. I have never forgotten one of you good people even if I did not write to you; but you know that writing was never my forte; the best of my friends have not had a letter from me in years. I live only in my notes and when one composition is scarcely ended another is already begun. As I compose at present I frequently work on three or four compositions at the same time. Write to me often, hereafter. I will try occasionally to find time to write to you. Give greetings to all, including the good Madame Councillor,[114] and tell her that I still occasionally have a “raptus.” As regards K. I do not at all wonder over his change. Fortune is round, like a ball, and therefore does not always drop on the noblest and best. A word about Ries, whom I greet heartily; so far as his son is concerned I shall write you more in detail, although I think that he would be more fortunate in Paris than in Vienna. Vienna is overcrowded and the most meritorious find it extremely difficult to maintain themselves. In the autumn or winter I shall see what I can do for him, for at that time the public hurries back to the city. Farewell, good, faithful Wegeler! Be assured of the love and friendship of
Your
Beethoven.
On November 16, he wrote in greater detail to Wegeler:
My good Wegeler!
I thank you for the new evidence of concern in my behalf, all the more since I deserve so little at your hands. You want to know how it goes with me, what I need; as little as I like to discuss such matters I would rather do it with you than with others.
Deafness and a Romantic Attachment
For several months Vering has had vesicatories placed on both arms, which consist, as you know, of a certain bark.[115] This is a very unpleasant remedy, inasmuch as I am robbed of the free use of my arms (for a few days, until the bark has had its effect), to say nothing of the pain. It is true I cannot deny that the ringing and sounding in my ears has become less than usual, especially in the left ear, where my deafness began; but my hearing has not been improved and I dare not say that it has not grown worse rather than better. My bowels are in a better condition, especially after the lukewarm baths for a few days when I feel quite well for 8 or 10 days, seldom needing a tonic for my stomach. I am beginning to use the herbs on the belly as suggested by you. Vering will hear nothing of plunge baths, and I am thoroughly dissatisfied with him; he has much too little care and consideration for such a disease; if I did not go to him, which costs me a great deal of trouble, I should not see him at all. What do you think of Schmidt? I do not like to change, but it seems to me Vering is too much of a practitioner to acquire new ideas. Schmidt seems to me a very different sort of man and, perhaps, would not be so negligent. Miracles are told of galvanism; what have you to say about it? A doctor told me that he had seen a deaf and dumb child recover his hearing (in Berlin) again—and a man who had been deaf 7 years got well. I am living more pleasantly since I live more amongst men. You will scarcely believe how lonely and sad my life was for two years; my bad hearing haunted me everywhere like a ghost and I fled from mankind and seemed like a misanthrope, though far from being one. This change has been wrought by a dear, fascinating girl who loves me and whom I love. There have been a few blessed moments within the last two years and it is the first time that I feel that marriage might bring me happiness. Alas! she is not of my station—and now—it would be impossible for me to marry. I must still hustle about most actively. If it were not for my deafness, I should before now have travelled over half the world, and that I must do. There is no greater delight for me than to practise and show my art. Do not believe that I would be happy with you. What is there that could make me happier? Even your care would give me pain. I would see pity on your faces every minute and be only the unhappier. What did those beautiful native regions bestow upon me? Nothing except the hope of a better state of health, which would have come had not this affliction seized upon me. Oh, if I were rid of this affliction I could embrace the world! I feel that my youth is just beginning and have I not always been ill? My physical strength has for a short time past been steadily growing more than ever and also my mental powers. Day by day I am approaching the goal which I apprehend but cannot describe. It is only in this that your Beethoven can live. Tell me nothing of rest. I know of none but sleep, and woe is me that I must give up more time to it than usual. Grant me but half freedom from my affliction and then—as a complete, ripe man I shall return to you and renew the old feelings of friendship. You must see me as happy as it is possible to be here below—not unhappy. No! I cannot endure it. I will take Fate by the throat; it shall not wholly overcome me. Oh, it is so beautiful to live—to live a thousand times! I feel that I am not made for a quiet life. You will write to me as soon as you can. See that Steffen secures an appointment of some kind in the Teutonic Order. Life here is connected with too many hardships for his health. Besides, he lives so isolated an existence that I cannot see how he is to get along in this manner. You know the state of affairs here. I will not say that social life may not lessen his moodiness; but it is impossible to persuade him to go anywhere. A short time ago I had a musicale at my home; yet our friend Steffen did not come. Advise him to seek more rest and composure. I have done my best in this direction; without these he will never be again happy or well. Tell me in your next letter whether or not it will matter if I send you a great deal of my music; you can sell what you do not need and so get back the post-money—and my portrait. All possible lovely and necessary greetings to Lorchen, Mama and Christoph. You love me a little, do you not? Be assured of the love and friendship of
Your
Beethoven.
A commentary upon these letters—the first two excepted, which need none—might be made, by a moderate indulgence of poetic fancy, to fill a volume of respectable size; but rigidly confined to prosaic fact may be reduced to reasonable dimensions. Taking up the letters in their order, the first is that to Hoffmeister of April 22nd.
I. One of the earliest projects of the new firm of Hoffmeister and Kühnel was the publication of “J. Sebastian Bach’s Theoretical and Practical Clavier and Organ Works.” The first number contained: 1, Toccata in D-flat; 2, fifteen inventions; 3, “The Well-Tempered Clavichord”—in part; the second number: 1, 15 symphonies in three voices; 2, continuation of “The Well-Tempered Clavichord.” Now compare what Schindler says (third edition, II, 184):