The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vi Part 77

Heiligenstadt, October 6, 1802.

NO. 136

TO THERESE VON MALFATTI

(1807)

You receive herewith, honored Therese, what I promised, and had it not been for serious hindrances you would have received more, in order to show you that I always _offer more to my friends than I actually promise_. I hope and have every reason to believe that you are nicely occupied and as pleasantly entertained--but I hope not too much, so that you may also think of us. It would probably be expecting too much of you, or overrating my own importance, if I ascribed to you: "Men are not only together when they are together; even he who is far away, who has departed, is still in our thoughts." Who would ascribe anything of the kind to the lively T., who takes life so easily?

Pray do not forget the pianoforte among your occupations, or, indeed, music generally. You have such fine talent for it. Why not devote yourself entirely to it--you who have such feeling for all that is beautiful and good? Why will you not make use of this, in order that you may recognize in so beautiful an art the higher perfection which casts down its rays even on us. I am very solitary and quiet, although lights now and again might awaken me; but since you all went away from here, I feel in me a void which cannot be filled; my art, even otherwise so faithful to me, has not been able to gain any triumph. Your piano is ordered, and you will soon receive it. What a difference you will have found between the treatment of the theme I improvised one evening, and the way in which I recently wrote it down for you! Explain that to yourself, but don't take too much punch to help you. How lucky you are, to be able to go so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy that happiness until the 8th. I am happy as a child at the thought of wandering among cl.u.s.ters of bushes, in the woods, among trees, herbs, rocks. No man loves the country more than I; for do not forests, trees, rocks reecho that for which mankind longs? Soon you will receive other compositions of mine, in which you will not have to complain much about difficulties.

Have you read Goethe's _Wilhelm Meister_, the _Schlegel translation of Shakespeare_? One has much leisure in the country, and it will perhaps be agreeable to you if I send you these works. I happen to have an acquaintance in your neighborhood, so perhaps I shall come early some morning and spend half an hour at your house, and be off again; notice that I shall inflict on you the shortest _ennui_.

Commend me to the good wishes of your father, your mother, although I can claim no right for so doing--and the same, likewise, to cousin MM.

Farewell, honored T. I wish you all that is good and beautiful in life.

Keep me, and willingly, in remembrance--forget my wild behavior. Be convinced that no one more than myself can desire to know that your life is joyous, prosperous, even though you take no interest in

Your most devoted servant and friend,

BEETHOVEN.

N.B.--It would really be very nice on your part to send me a few lines to say in what way I can be of service here.

NO. 151

TO THE BIGOTS

(Probably Summer, 1808)

Dear Marie, Dear Bigot:

Only with the deepest regret am I forced to perceive that the purest, most innocent, feelings can often be misconstrued. As you have received me so kindly, it never occurred to me to explain it otherwise than that you bestow on me your friendship. You must think me very vain or small-minded, if you suppose that the civility itself of such excellent persons as you are could lead me to believe that--I had at once won your affection. Besides, it is one of my first principles never to stand in other than friendly relationship with the wife of another man. Never by such a relationship (as you suggest) would I fill my breast with distrust against her who may one day share my fate with me--and so taint for myself the most beautiful, the purest life.

It is perhaps possible that sometimes I have not joked with Bigot in a sufficiently refined way; I have indeed told both of you that occasionally I am very free in speech. I am perfectly natural with all my friends, and hate all restraint. I now also count Bigot among them, and if anything I do displeases him, friendship demands from him and you to tell me so--and I will certainly take care not to offend him again; but how can good Marie put such bad meaning on my actions!

With regard to my invitation to take a drive with you and Caroline, it was natural that, as Bigot, the day before, was opposed to your going out alone with me, I was forced to conclude that you both probably found it unbecoming or objectionable--and when I wrote to you, I only wished to make you understand that I saw no harm in it. And so, when I further declared that I attached great value to your not declining, this was only that I might induce you to enjoy the splendid, beautiful day; I was thinking more of your and Caroline's pleasure than of mine, and I thought, _if I declared that mistrust on your part or a refusal would be a real offense to me_, by this means almost to compel you to yield to my wish. The matter really deserves careful reflection on your part as to how you can make amends for having spoilt this day so bright for me, owing as much to my frame of mind as to the cheerful weather. When I said that you misunderstand me, your present judgment of me shows that I was quite right--not to speak of what you thought to yourself about it.

When I said that something bad would come of it if I came to you, this was more as a joke. The object was to show you how much everything connected with you attracts me, so that I have no greater wish than to be able always to live with you; and that is the truth. Even supposing there was a hidden meaning in it, the most holy friendship can often have secrets, but on that account to misinterpret the secret of a friend because one cannot at once fathom it--that you ought not to do. Dear Bigot, dear Marie, never, never will you find me ign.o.ble. From childhood onwards I learnt to love virtue--and all that is beautiful and good. You have deeply pained me; but it shall only serve to render our friendship ever firmer. Today I am really not well, and it would be difficult for me to see you. Since yesterday, after the quartet, my sensitiveness and my imagination pictured to me the thought that I had caused you suffering. I went at night to the ball for distraction, but in vain.

Everywhere the picture of you all pursued me; it kept saying to me--they are so good and perhaps through you they are suffering; thoroughly depressed, I hastened away. Write to me a few lines.

Your true friend BEETHOVEN embraces you all.

NO. 198

TO BREITKOPF AND HAERTEL

Vienna, August 8, 1809.

I have handed over to Kind and Co. a _s.e.xtet_ for 2 clarinets, 2 ba.s.soons, 2 horns, and 2 German lieder or songs, so that they may reach you as soon as possible--they are presents to you in return for all those things which I asked you for _as presents_; the _Musik Zeitung_ which I had also forgotten--I remind you in a friendly way about it.

Perhaps you could let me have editions of Goethe's and Schiller's complete works--from their literary abundance something _comes in to you_, and I then send to you many things, i.e., _something which goes out into all the world_. Those two poets are my favorite poets, also Ossian, Homer, the latter whom I can, unfortunately, read only in translation. So these (Goethe and Schiller) you have only to shoot out from your literary store-house, and if you send them to me soon you will make me perfectly happy, and all the more so, seeing that I hope to pa.s.s the remainder of the summer in some cozy country corner. The s.e.xtet is one of my early things, and, moreover, was written in one night; the best one can say of it is that it was composed by an author who, at any rate, has produced better works--and yet, for many, such works are the best.

Farewell, and send very soon news to your most devoted

BEETHOVEN.

Of the 'cello Sonata I should like to have a few copies; I would indeed beg you always to send me half a dozen copies; I never sell any--there are, however, here and there poor _Musici_, to whom one cannot refuse a thing of that sort.

NO. 220

TO BETTINA BRENTANO

Vienna, August 11, 1810.

Dearest Bettina (Friend!):

No finer Spring than the present one--I say that and also feel it, because I have made your acquaintance. You yourself have probably seen that in society I am like a frog (fish) on the sand, which turns round and round, and cannot get away until a well-wishing Galatea puts him again into the mighty sea. Yes, I was quite out of my element, dearest Bettina; I was surprised by you at a moment when ill-humor was quite master of me, but it actually disappeared at sight of you. I at once perceived that you belonged to a different world from this absurd one, to which, with the best will, one cannot open one's ears. I myself am a wretched man and yet complain of others!--You will surely forgive me, with your good heart, which is seen in your eyes, and with your intelligence, which lies in your ears--at least our ears know how to flatter when they listen. My ears, unfortunately, are a barrier-wall through which I cannot easily hold friendly communication with men, else--perhaps!--I should have had more confidence in you. So I could only understand the great, intelligent look of your eyes, which so impressed me that I can never forget it. Dear Bettina (friend), beloved Maiden!--Art!--Who understands it, with whom can one speak concerning this great G.o.ddess! How dear to me were the few days when we gossiped or rather corresponded together! I have kept all the little notes on which stand your clever, dear, very dear, answers; so I have, at any rate, to thank my bad hearing that the best part of these fleeting conversations has been noted down. Since you went away I have had vexatious hours, hours of darkness, in which one can do nothing; after your departure I roamed about for full three hours in the Schoenbrunner Alley, also on the ramparts; but no angel met me who could take such hold on me as you, angel!--Forgive, dearest Bettina (friend), this digression from the key; I must have such intervals in order to give vent to my feelings. Then you have written, have you not, to Goethe about me? I would willingly hide my head in a sack, so as to hear and see nothing of what is going on in the world, because you, dearest angel, will not meet me. But I shall surely receive a letter from you? Hope nourishes me--it nourishes, indeed, half the world; I have had it as my neighbor all my life--what otherwise would have become of me? I here send, written with my own hand, "Kennst du das Land"--in remembrance of the hour in which I made your acquaintance. I also send the other which I have composed since I parted from you dear, dearest heart!--

Heart, my heart, what bodes the crisis, What oppresseth thee so sore?

What a strange, untoward life this!

I can fathom thee no more.

Yes, dearest Bettina (friend), send me an answer, write to me what will happen to me since my heart has become such a rebel. Write to your most faithful friend,

BEETHOVEN.

NO. 295

TO EMILIE M. AT H.

Teplitz, July 17, 1812.

My Dear Good Emilie, My Dear Friend!

I am sending a late answer to your letter; a ma.s.s of business and constant illness must be my excuse. That I am here for the restoration of my health proves the truth of my excuse. Do not s.n.a.t.c.h the laurel wreaths from Handel, Haydn, Mozart; they are ent.i.tled to them; as yet I am not.