[Footnote 1: Ries names 1801 as the date of this letter, and it was no doubt during that summer that Count Browne was in Baden. Ries"s father had a.s.sisted the Beethoven family in every way in his power at the time of the mother"s death.]
25.
TO HERR HOFMEISTER,--LEIPZIG.
Vienna, April 8, 1802.
Do you mean to go post-haste to the devil, gentlemen, by proposing that I should write _such_ a _sonata_? During the revolutionary fever, a thing of the kind might have been appropriate, but now, when everything is falling again into the beaten track, and Bonaparte has concluded a _Concordat_ with the Pope--such a sonata as this? If it were a _missa pro Sancta Maria a tre voci_, or a _vesper_, &c., then I would at once take up my pen and write a _Credo in unum_, in gigantic semibreves. But, good heavens! such a sonata, in this fresh dawning Christian epoch. No, no!--it won"t do, and I will have none of it.
Now for my answer in quickest _tempo_. The lady can have a sonata from me, and I am willing to adopt the general outlines of her plan in an _aesthetical_ point of view, without adhering to the keys named. The price to be five ducats; for this sum she can keep the work a year for her own amus.e.m.e.nt, without either of us being ent.i.tled to publish it. After the lapse of a year, the sonata to revert to me--that is, I can and will then publish it, when, if she considers it any distinction, she may request me to dedicate it to her.
I now, gentlemen, commend you to the grace of G.o.d. My Sonata [Op. 22] is well engraved, but you have been a fine time about it! I hope you will usher my Septet into the world a little quicker, as the P---- is waiting for it, and you know the Empress has it; and when there are in this imperial city people like ----, I cannot be answerable for the result; so lose no time!
Herr ---- [Mollo?] has lately published my Quartets [Op. 18] full of faults and _errata_, both large and small, which swarm in them like fish in the sea; that is, they are innumerable. _Questo e un piacere per un autore_--this is what I call engraving [_stechen_, stinging] with a vengeance.[1] In truth, my skin is a ma.s.s of punctures and scratches from this fine edition of my Quartets! Now farewell, and think of me as I do of you. Till death, your faithful
L. V. BEETHOVEN.
[Footnote 1: In reference to the musical piracy at that time very prevalent in Austria.]
26.[1]
TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN.
Heiligenstadt, Oct. 6, 1802.
Oh! ye who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and misanthropical, how unjust you are, and how little you know the secret cause of what appears thus to you! My heart and mind were ever from childhood p.r.o.ne to the most tender feelings of affection, and I was always disposed to accomplish something great. But you must remember that six years ago I was attacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by unskilful physicians, deluded from year to year, too, by the hope of relief, and at length forced to the conviction of a _lasting affliction_ (the cure of which may go on for years, and perhaps after all prove impracticable).
Born with a pa.s.sionate and excitable temperament, keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in life to isolate myself, and to pa.s.s my existence in solitude. If I at any time resolved to surmount all this, oh! how cruelly was I again repelled by the experience, sadder than ever, of my defective hearing!--and yet I found it impossible to say to others: Speak louder; shout! for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim the deficiency of a sense which ought to have been more perfect with me than with other men,--a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, to an extent, indeed, that few of my profession ever enjoyed!
Alas, I cannot do this! Forgive me therefore when you see me withdraw from you with whom I would so gladly mingle. My misfortune is doubly severe from causing me to be misunderstood. No longer can I enjoy recreation in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual outpourings of thought.
Completely isolated, I only enter society when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile. In company I am a.s.sailed by the most painful apprehensions, from the dread of being exposed to the risk of my condition being observed. It was the same during the last six months I spent in the country. My intelligent physician recommended me to spare my hearing as much as possible, which was quite in accordance with my present disposition, though sometimes, tempted by my natural inclination for society, I allowed myself to be beguiled into it. But what humiliation when any one beside me heard a flute in the far distance, while I heard _nothing_, or when others heard _a shepherd singing_, and I still heard _nothing_! Such things brought me to the verge of desperation, and wellnigh caused me to put an end to my life. _Art! art_ alone, deterred me. Ah! how could I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I felt it was my vocation to produce?[2] And thus I spared this miserable life--so utterly miserable that any sudden change may reduce me at any moment from my best condition into the worst. It is decreed that I must now choose _Patience_ for my guide! This I have done. I hope the resolve will not fail me, steadfastly to persevere till it may please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread of my life. Perhaps I may get better, perhaps not. I am prepared for either. Constrained to become a philosopher in my twenty-eighth year![3] This is no slight trial, and more severe on an artist than on any one else. G.o.d looks into my heart, He searches it, and knows that love for man and feelings of benevolence have their abode there! Oh! ye who may one day read this, think that you have done me injustice, and let any one similarly afflicted be consoled, by finding one like himself, who, in defiance of all the obstacles of Nature, has done all in his power to be included in the ranks of estimable artists and men. My brothers Carl and Johann, as soon as I am no more, if Professor Schmidt [see Nos. 18 and 23]
be still alive, beg him in my name to describe my malady, and to add these pages to the a.n.a.lysis of my disease, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be reconciled to me after my death. I also hereby declare you both heirs of my small fortune (if so it may be called). Share it fairly, agree together and a.s.sist each other. You know that anything you did to give me pain has been long forgiven. I thank you, my brother Carl in particular, for the attachment you have shown me of late. My wish is that you may enjoy a happier life, and one more free from care, than mine has been. Recommend _Virtue_ to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can ensure happiness. I speak from experience. It was _Virtue_ alone which sustained me in my misery; I have to thank her and Art for not having ended my life by suicide. Farewell! Love each other. I gratefully thank all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt. I wish one of you to keep Prince L----"s instruments; but I trust this will give rise to no dissension between you. If you think it more beneficial, however, you have only to dispose of them. How much I shall rejoice if I can serve you even in the grave! So be it then! I joyfully hasten to meet Death. If he comes before I have had the opportunity of developing all my artistic powers, then, notwithstanding my cruel fate, he will come too early for me, and I should wish for him at a more distant period; but even then I shall be content, for his advent will release me from a state of endless suffering. Come when he may, I shall meet him with courage. Farewell! Do not quite forget me, even in death; I deserve this from you, because during my life I so often thought of you, and wished to make you happy. Amen!
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
(_Written on the Outside._)
Thus, then, I take leave of you, and with sadness too. The fond hope I brought with me here, of being to a certain degree cured, now utterly forsakes me. As autumn leaves fall and wither, so are my hopes blighted.
Almost as I came, I depart. Even the lofty courage that so often animated me in the lovely days of summer is gone forever. O Providence! vouchsafe me one day of pure felicity! How long have I been estranged from the glad echo of true joy! When! O my G.o.d! when shall I again feel it in the temple of Nature and of man?--never? Ah! that would be too hard!
(_Outside._)
To be read and fulfilled after my death by my brothers Carl and Johann.
[Footnote 1: This beautiful letter I regret not to have seen in the original, it being in the possession of the violin _virtuoso_ Ernst, in London. I have adhered to the version given in the Leipzig _Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung_, Oct. 1827.]
[Footnote 2: A large portion of the _Eroica_ was written in the course of this summer, but not completed till August, 1804.]
[Footnote 3: Beethoven did not at that time know in what year he was born.
See the subsequent letter of May 2, 1810. He was then far advanced in his thirty-third year.]
27.
NOTICE.
November, 1802.
I owe it to the public and to myself to state that the two quintets in C and E flat major--one of these (arranged from a symphony of mine) published by Herr Mollo in Vienna, and the other (taken from my Septet, Op. 20) by Herr Hofmeister in Leipzig--are not original quintets, but only versions of the aforesaid works given by the publishers. Arrangements in these days (so fruitful in--arrangements) an author will find it vain to contend against; but we may at least justly demand that the fact should be mentioned in the t.i.tle-page, neither to injure the reputation of the author nor to deceive the public. This notice is given to prevent anything of the kind in future.
I also beg to announce that shortly a new original quintet of my composition, in C major, Op. 29, will appear at Breitkopf & Hartel"s in Leipzig.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
28.
TO FERDINAND RIES.
Summer of 1803.
You no doubt are aware that I am here. Go to Stein, and ask if he can send me an instrument, on hire. I am afraid of bringing mine here. Come to me this evening about seven o"clock. I lodge in Oberdobling, on the left side of the street, No. 4, going down the hill towards Heiligenstadt.
29.
TO HERR HOFMEISTER,--LEIPZIG.
Vienna, Sept. 22, 1803.
I hereby declare all the works you have ordered to be your property. The list of these shall be made out and sent to you with my signature, as the proof of their being your own. I also agree to accept the sum of fifty ducats for them. Are you satisfied?
Perhaps, instead of the variations with violoncello and violin,[1] I may send you variations for the piano, arranged as a duet on a song of mine; but Goethe"s poetry must also be engraved, as I wrote these variations in an alb.u.m, and consider them better than the others. Are you satisfied?
The arrangements are not by me, though I have revised and much improved various pa.s.sages; but I do not wish you to say that I have arranged them, for it would be false, and I have neither time nor patience to do so. Are you satisfied?
Now farewell! I sincerely wish that all may go well with you. I would gladly make you a present of all my works, if I could do so and still get on in the world; but--remember most people are provided for, and know what they have to live on, while, good heavens! where can an appointment be found at the Imperial Court for such a _parvum talentum com ego_?
Your friend,
L. V. BEETHOVEN.
[Footnote 1: These are the six variations in D, on the air _Ich denke Dein_ written in 1800 in the alb.u.m of the Countesses Josephine Deym and Therese of Brunswick.]
30.
CAUTION.