My dear Ries,
I have had so much business on hand, that I could not send you a reply to your letter of the 15th of November. I gladly accept the request of the Philharmonic Society to write a new Symphony for them; although the terms offered are not what they ought to be, and what the English might afford, in comparison to other nations.
If I could but get to London, what would I not write for the Philharmonic Society! for, Heaven be praised, Beethoven can write, although he can do nothing else. If it please God to restore my health, which is somewhat improved, I may yet avail myself of the several proposals made to me from the different parts of Europe, and even from North America, and thus might I once more be put in a flourishing state.
Yours, &c.,
BEETHOVEN.
22.
Beethoven to Ries.
[Extract of a letter, the beginning of which is nowhere to be found.]
* * * Do get matters speedily arranged for your poor friend; I expect your travelling plan too;[187] I can bear up no longer; I am in for it, deeper than ever; should I not go, look you, there is a crimen læsæ! Since you seem to wish for a dedication of mine, I am quite ready to gratify you; much more ready than I should be for any great man—for the greatest, entre nous.
The d——l knows where one might fall into their hands. You will receive the new Symphony (the ninth with choral parts) with the dedication to yourself. I hope at length to get possession of yours to me. "B" is to open the letter to the king (George the Fourth) he took charge of, and he will see what has been written to the king about the Battle of Vittoria; the enclosed letter to him[188] contains the same; but there is no longer a question about the Mass. Let our amiable friend B. try and get me at least a battle-axe or a turtle; the printed copy of the score of the Battle is, of course, also to be given to the King. This letter puts you to great expence,[189] pray deduct it from what you have to send me; how much I regret being so troublesome to you! The Lord be with you. Best love to your wife, until I come myself. Have a care; you think I am old; I am an old youngster.
Ever yours,
BEETHOVEN.