Beethoven and Amalie von Sebald
Beethoven returned to Teplitz with no amelioration, but rather an increase of his maladies, and was compelled to remain until near or perhaps quite the end of September. To his great satisfaction, he found there the young lady who had so powerfully attracted him the previous summer. The character of their renewed acquaintance is sufficiently obvious from the series of notes following, which are given in the order which appears to correspond best with their contents.
Teplitz, September 16, 1812.
For Amalie von Sebald:
Tyrant—I? Your tyrant? Only a misapprehension can lead you to say this even if your judgment of me indicated no agreement of thought with me! But no blame to you on this account; it is rather a piece of good fortune for you—yesterday I was not wholly well, since this morning I have grown worse; something indigestible was the cause, and the irascible part of me appears to seize upon the bad as well as the good; but do not apply this to my moral nature; people say nothing, they are only people; they generally see only themselves in others, and that is nothing; away with this, the good, the beautiful needs no people. It is here without help and that, after all, appears to be the reason of our agreement. Farewell, dear Amalie; if the moon shines brighter for me this evening than the sun by day you will see with you the least of men.
Your friend
Beethoven.
Dear, good Amalie. After leaving you yesterday my condition grew worse and from last night till now I have not left my bed, I wanted to send you word yesterday but thought it would look as if I wanted to appear important in your eyes, so I refrained. What dream of yours is this that you are nothing to me, we will talk about that by word of mouth, dear Amalie; I have always wished only that my presence might bring you rest and peace, and that you would have confidence in me; I hope to be better to-morrow and that we may spend the few hours which remain of your sojourn in the enjoyment of nature to our mutual uplift and enlivenment. Good night, dear Amalie, many thanks for your kind thought of your friend
Beethoven.
I will look through Tiedge.
I only wish to report that the tyrant is slavishly chained to his bed. So it is! I shall be glad if I get along with the loss of to-day. My promenade yesterday at sun-up in the woods, where it was very misty, has increased my indisposition and probably delayed my improvement. Busy yourself meanwhile with Russians, Lapps, Samoyeds, etc., and do not sing too often the song, “Es lebe hoch!”