You delight me beyond measure by asking me to consent to that, which of all earthly things I like best—namely, to be brought in contact with such of my cotemporaries as have become celebrated in literature and the fine arts. How happy, then, must I feel at becoming instrumental in the fulfilment of any wish of yours! Truly, there was no need of asking; I could not but feel honoured to be included in this memorial of Beethoven, and by a brother-spirit in the art too! I feel truly grateful that, while you are tracing the noblest features of Beethoven's glorious career, you will commemorate the happiness bestowed upon me by the greatest genius of his time. Misplaced, indeed, were that modesty, which could forbid my appearing in such a noble place, and under such distinguished auspices, and I confess that you are doing me a kindness in publishing the letters in question. Could I but render you some service in return! And pray let Mr. Chorley have his share of my gratitude for having made such a happy use of my communication.
Yours, &c.
BETTINE ARNIM.
1.
Beethoven to Madame von Arnim.
Vienna, August 11, 1810.
Dearest Bettine,
Never was a fairer spring than this year's; this I say, and feel too, as in it I made your acquaintance. You must indeed have yourself seen, that in society I was like a fish cast on the sand, that writhes and struggles and cannot escape, until some benevolent Galatea helps it back again into the mighty sea; in very truth I was fairly aground. Dearest Bettine, unexpectedly I met you, and at a moment when chagrin had completely overcome me; but truly your aspect put it to flight; I was aware in an instant that you belong to a totally different world from this absurd one, to which, even with the best wish to be tolerant, it is impossible to open one's ears. I am myself a poor creature, and yet complain of others! this you will however forgive, with the kindly heart that looks out from your eyes, and with the intelligence that dwells in your ears;—at least your ears know how to flatter when they listen. Mine, alas! are a barrier through which I can have hardly any friendly intercourse with mankind, else, perhaps, I might have acquired a still more entire confidence in you. As it was, I could only comprehend the full expressive glance of your eyes, and this has so moved me that I shall never forget it. Divine Bettine, dearest girl!—Art! who comprehends the meaning of this word? with whom may I speak of this great divinity? how I love the recollections of the few days when we used to chat with each other, or rather correspond. I have preserved every one of the little scraps of paper on which your intelligent, precious, most precious, replies were given—thus, at least, may I thank my worthless ears that the best portion of our fugitive discourse is retained in writing.
Since you went I have had many uncomfortable hours, in which the power to do anything is lost. After you had gone away, I rambled about for some three hours in the Museum at Schönbrunn; but no good angel met me there, to chide me into good humour, as an angel like you might have done. Forgive, sweetest Bettine, this transition from the fundamental key;—but I must have such intervals, to vent my feelings. And you have written of me to Göthe, have you not? saying that I would fain pack up my head in a cask, where I should see nothing, and hear nothing, of what passes in the world; since you, dearest angel, meet me here no longer. But surely I shall at least have a letter from you. Hope supports me; she is indeed the nursing mother of half the world, and she has been my close friend all my life long;—what would have become of me else? I send, with this, written in my own hand, "Kennst du das Land?" as a memorial of the time when I first became acquainted with you; also I send another, which I have composed since I took leave of you, dear, dearest heart!
| "Heart, my heart, what change comes o'er thee? |
| What wrings thee thus with pain? |
| What a strange sour world's before thee! |
| I know thee scarce again!" |