Your still admiring friend,
BEETHOVEN.
3.
Beethoven to Wegeler.
Vienna, June 29, 1800.[157]
My dear and beloved Wegeler,
A thousand thanks to you for your recollection of me; I have not deserved it; I have not even tried to deserve it; and yet my most unpardonable carelessness cannot check your friendship, which remains pure and unshaken. Do not for a moment think that I could forget you or any of those once so dear to me; there are times when I long for you, when I sincerely wish to stay with you for a while. My country and the charming place which gave me birth are ever before my eyes; their beauty undimmed as when I left them—in short, I shall consider that time the happiest, which leads me back to you all, once more greeting the Rhine in its patriarchal beauty. I cannot tell you when this may be, but thus much I must say to you all, that you shall not see me until I am much greater—not greater only in my art, but better and more perfect as a man; and then, if our country should be more flourishing, I will employ my art for the benefit of the poor only.[158] O blessed moment! how happy do I deem myself that I can call thee forth, that I can myself create thee! * * * You wish me to say something of my circumstances; why, they are by no means bad. Lichnowsky, who, improbable as it may seem to you, from the little altercations we have had, but which tended only in confirming our friendship[159]—Lichnowsky, who has always been my warmest patron, has settled upon me the sum of six hundred florins, which I may draw until I find a convenient appointment; my compositions are well paid, and I may say I have more orders than I can well execute; six or seven publishers, and more, being ready to take any of my works: I need no longer submit to being bargained with—I ask my terms, and am paid. You see this is an excellent thing; as, for instance, I see a friend in want, and my purse does not at the moment permit me to assist him; I have but to sit down and write, and my friend is no longer in need. I am grown much more economical too; should I remain here, I think I may rely upon having a day for a concert once a-year. I have already had several. But an evil spirit in the shape of my bad health plays me false; my hearing has become weaker and weaker for the last three years, and my constitution has been much weakened by a stomach complaint, fearfully increased during my stay here, which is said to be the cause of this evil. Frank wanted to restore my health by tonics, and my hearing by oil of almonds; but, alack a-day, this was not to be! My hearing remained impaired, my digestion in its former condition; this continued till last autumn, when I was many a time in despair. A medical practitioner of the genus ass advised the cold bath for me; a more rational one ordered me that of the Danube, which is tepid: this did wonders; my general health improved, my hearing continued bad, or became worse. Last winter I was in a wretched state—every ailment returning with renewed force, until about a month ago I went to Vering, judging that my case might require surgical, as well as medical assistance, and having much confidence in his skill. He succeeded in alleviating my sufferings by the use of the tepid bath, into which was poured a strengthening mixture; he gave me no medicine, only four days ago I had some pills, besides a tea for my ears, and I may say I feel stronger and better—but my ears! they are ringing and singing night and day. I do think I spend a wretched life; for the last two years shunning all society, because I cannot bring myself to walk up to people and say, "I am deaf." In any other profession this might pass; but in the one I have chosen, it is a wretched plight to be in; besides, my enemies, who are not few in number, what would they say? To give you a notion of this extraordinary deafness, I must tell you that I am forced in a theatre to lean up close to the orchestra in order that I may understand the actor. I do not hear the high notes of instruments or singers at a certain distance, and it is astonishing that there are individuals who never noticed it while conversing with me; from my having been subject to frequent reveries, they attribute my silence to these. I sometimes hear those who speak in a low voice—that is to say, the sounds, but not the words, and yet if any one begins to bawl out, it annoys me excessively. Heaven knows what it may end in! Vering says I shall certainly be much better, although I may not entirely recover. I have often cursed my existence; Plutarch has won me back to resignation. I will, if possible, defy my fate, although there will be moments when I shall be the most miserable of God's creatures. I beg of you not to mention my affliction to any one—no, not even to Laura. I confide this secret to you only, and should be glad if you would, some day, enter into correspondence upon it with Vering. Should it continue, I shall come to you next spring. You will take a cottage for me in some beautiful spot in the country, and there I shall ruralize for six months; perhaps that may work a change. Resignation! what a miserable resource, and yet it is the only one left me. Do excuse my troubling you with my griefs, when you are already in sorrow yourself.
Stephen Breuning is here, and I see him daily, enjoying those recollections which his presence calls back to my mind. He is indeed grown an excellent fellow, as kind and true-hearted as I trust we all are. I have beautiful rooms just now, leading on to the Bastei (ramparts), and of infinite value to me, on account of my health. I believe I shall be able to prevail upon Breuning to come to me. You shall have your Antiochus, and plenty of my music, if you do not think they will put you to too much expense. Honestly speaking, I am truly pleased with your love of the art. Let me but know how, and I will send you all my works, which are now become pretty numerous, and daily increasing. I send you in exchange for my grand-father's picture, which I beg you will forward to me by coach, that of his grandson, your ever faithful Beethoven; it has appeared at Artaria's, who, together with many other publishers, solicited me to let them have it. I intend shortly to write to Stephen, for the purpose of lecturing him upon his obstinate mood. I will make his ears ring with our old friendship, and entreat him not to add vexation to your sufficiently saddened circumstances. I shall also write to the amiable Laura. I have never forgotten one of you, dear, kind friends, even when I was most silent; for, as to writing, why, that you know never was my forte—the dearest friends have not had letters from me for years. I live entirely in my music, and no sooner is one thing finished than I begin another—indeed, I now sometimes write three or four things at the same time. Pray let me hear from you oftener, and I will take care to find time for replying to your letters. Kind regards to all, including my dear Mme. v. Breuning; tell her I am still subject to the "raptus." As to K., I am not surprised at the change in her. Fortune's wheel is round, and does not always halt before the best and noblest.
A word about Ries, to whom give my kind regards, and say that I shall further write to you respecting his son, although I believe Paris would be a better place than Vienna to make his fortune in. Vienna is so overstocked, that even those who have great merit stand a bad chance of succeeding. By the autumn or winter I shall be able to judge what I can do for him, as everybody then hastens back to town. Farewell, my faithful Wegeler. Be ever assured of the love and friendship of
Yours,
BEETHOVEN.