Vienna, November 22, 1822.
I now reply to your letter of the 9th November, in which I expected to find just reproaches for my apparent negligence, you having sent me the money and as yet received nothing in return. Unfair as this may appear, I know you would be mollified towards me in a few minutes were we to meet.
Everything is now ready for you, except selecting the songs, but at all events you shall receive one more than our agreement. I can send you more bagatelles than I promised, as I have got ten others beside; if you write to me immediately, I will send you these, or as many as you wish for, along with the rest.
My health, indeed, is not entirely reestablished by the baths, yet on the whole I think I have improved. I had another annoyance here, owing to a person having engaged an unsuitable lodging for me, which is hard on me, as I cannot yet accustom myself to it, and my occupations are thus sadly deranged.
The case with regard to the Mass stands thus: I finished one long ago, and another is in progress. There is always a certain degree of gossip about people of our class, which has, no doubt, misled you. I don't yet know which you are to get. Besieged on all sides, I am almost forced to testify the reverse of the dictum that "the spirit cannot be weighed." I send you my best wishes, and trust that time will foster a beneficial and honorable connection between us.
BEETHOVEN.
311.
TO THE ARCHDUKE RUDOLPH.
I was extremely unwell both yesterday and the day before; unfortunately there was no one whom I could send to apprise Y.R.H. of the fact. As I felt better towards evening, I went into the town to make Schlemmer correct the Sonata.[1] He was not at home, so I requested him to come here to-day. I send the Sonata by him, and will come in to-day before four o'clock to wait on Y.R.H.
[K.]
[Footnote 1: The C minor pianoforte Sonata, Op. 111?]