Berlin Library). "To go away from here. Only on this sole condition
will you be able to rise again to the high level of your art.... A
Symphony, then to go away, away, away. The summer to work during a
voyage.... Then to travel in Italy and Sicily with some other artist."
[74] In 1819 he was followed by the police for having said aloud "That,
after all, Christ was only a crucified Jew." He was then writing the
_Mass in D_. That work alone is enough to show the freedom of his
religious inspirations. (For the religious opinions of Beethoven, see
Theodor von Frimmel; _Beethoven_, 3rd Edition, Verlag Harmonie; and
_Beethovenia_, edited Georg Müller, Vol. II, Blöchinger). No less free
in politics, Beethoven boldly attacked the vices of the government. He
attacked amongst other things, the administration of justice, hindered
by the slowness of its process, the stupid police regulations, the
rude and lazy clerks in office, who killed all individual initiative
and paralysed all action: the unfair privileges of a degenerate
aristocracy, the high taxation, etc. His political sympathies seemed to
be with England at that time.
[75] The suicide of his nephew.
[76] See an article by Dr. Klotz Forest on the last illness and death
of Beethoven in the _Chronique Médicale_ of April 1st and 15th, 1906.
There is also exact information in the conversation books where the
doctor's questions are written down, and in the article of the doctor
himself (Dr. Wawruch) in the _Vienna Times_, in 1842.
[77] The recollections of the singer, Ludwig Cramolini, which have
been published, relate a touching visit to Beethoven during his last
illness. He found Beethoven possessed of a calm serenity, a touching
kindness. (See the _Frankfurter Zeitung_, of September 29th, 1907).
[78] The operations took place on December 20th, January 8th, February
2nd, and February 27th.
[79] The young musician, Anselm Huttenbrenner. "God be praised," said
Breuning. "Let us thank Him for having put an end to this long and
pitiful martyrdom."
All Beethoven's MSS. books and furniture were sold by auction for
1,575 florins. The catalogue contained 252 lots of manuscripts and
musical books which did not exceed the sum of 982 florins 37 kreutzer.
The _conversation-books_ and the _Tagebucher_ were sold for 1 florin
20 kreutzer. Amongst his books Beethoven possessed: Kant's _Natural
Science and Astronomy_; Bode's _Knowledge of the Heavens_; Thomas à
Kempis _The Imitation of Christ_. The Censor confiscated Seum's _Walks
round Syracuse_, Kotzebue's _Over the Adel_, and Fessler's _Views on
Religion and Theology_.
[80] "I am always happy when I have to master some difficulty" (Letter
to the Immortal Loved One). "I should like to live a thousand lives....
I am not suited for a quiet life." (To Wegeler, November 16th, 1801).
[81] "Beethoven talked to me on the science of nature and helped me
with this study as with music. It was not the laws of nature but its
elementary powers that attracted him." (Schindler).
[82] "Oh, how good life is; but mine is for ever embittered." (Letter
to Wegeler, May 2nd, 1810).
HIS WILL
[Illustration]
Alone, Alone, Alone.
(To Lichnovsky, 21 Sept., 1814).
THE HEILIGENSTADT WILL.[83]
For my brothers CARL and ---- BEETHOVEN.
O ye men who regard or declare me to be malignant, stubborn or
cynical, how unjust are ye towards me! You do not know the secret cause
of my seeming so. From childhood onward, my heart and mind prompted
me to be kind and tender, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great
deeds. But only think that during the last six years I have been in
a wretched condition, rendered worse by unintelligent physicians.
Deceived from year to year with hopes of improvement, and then finally
forced to the prospect of _lasting infirmity_ (which may last for
years, or even be totally incurable). Born with a fiery, active
temperament, even susceptive of the diversions of society, I had soon
to retire from the world, to live a solitary life. At times, even, I
endeavoured to forget all this, but how harshly was I driven back by
the redoubled experience of my bad hearing. Yet it was not possible
for me to say to men: "Speak louder, shout, for I am deaf." Alas! how
could I declare the weakness of a _sense_ which in me _ought to be_
more acute than in others--a sense which _formerly_ I possessed in
highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy,
or ever have enjoyed; no, I cannot do it. Forgive, therefore, if you
see me withdraw, when I would willingly mix with you. My misfortune
pains me doubly, in that I am certain to be misunderstood. For me there
can be no recreation in the society of my fellow creatures, no refined
conversations, no interchange of thought. Almost alone, and only mixing
in society when absolutely necessary, I am compelled to live as an
exile. If I approach near to people, a feeling of hot anxiety comes
over me lest my condition should be noticed--for so it was during these
past six months which I spent in the country. Ordered by my intelligent
physician to spare my hearing as much as possible, he almost fell in
with my present frame of mind, although many a time I was carried away
by my sociable inclinations. But how humiliating was it, when some one
standing close to me heard a distant flute, and I heard _nothing_, or
a _shepherd singing_, and again I heard nothing. Such incidents almost
drove me to despair; at times I was on the point of putting an end to
my life--_art_ alone restrained my hand. Oh! it seemed as if I could
not quit this earth until I had produced all I felt within me, and so I
continued this wretched life, wretched indeed, with so sensitive a body
that a somewhat sudden change can throw me from the best into the worst
state. _Patience_, I am told, I must choose as my guide. I have done
so--lasting, I hope, will be my resolution to bear up until it pleases
the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Forced, already in my 28th
year,[84] to become a philosopher it is not easy; for an artist more
difficult than for any one else. O Divine Being, Thou Who lookest down
into my inmost soul, Thou understandest, Thou knowest that love for
mankind and a desire to do good dwell therein. Oh, my fellow men, when
one day you read this, remember that you were unjust to me, and let the
unfortunate one console himself if he can find one like himself, who in
spite of all obstacles which nature has thrown in his way, has still
done everything in his power to be received into the ranks of worthy
artists and men. You, my brothers Carl and----, as soon as I am dead,
beg Professor Schmidt, if he be still living, to describe my malady,
and annex this written account to that of my illness, so that at least
the world may know, so far as it is possible, may become reconciled to
me after my death. And now I declare you both heirs to my small fortune
(if such it may be called). Divide it honourably and dwell in peace,
and help each other. What you have done against me, has, as you know,
long been forgiven. And you, brother Carl, I especially thank you for
the attachment you have shown towards me of late. My prayer is that
your life may be better, less troubled by cares than mine. Recommend to
your children virtue; it alone can bring happiness, not money. I speak
from experience. It was virtue which bore me up in time of trouble; to
her, next to my art, I owe thanks for my not having laid violent hands
on myself. Farewell, and love one another. My thanks to all friends,
especially _Prince Lichnovsky and Professor Schmidt_. I should much
like one of you to keep as an heirloom the instruments given to me by
Prince L., but let no strife arise between you concerning them; if
money should be of more service to you, just sell them. How happy I
feel that even when lying in my grave I may be useful to you.
So let it be. I joyfully hasten to meet death. If it come before I have
had opportunity to develop all my artistic faculties, it will come,
my hard fate notwithstanding, too soon, and I should probably wish it
later--yet even then I shall be happy, for will it not deliver me from
a state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt, I shall face thee
courageously; farewell, and when I am dead, do not entirely forget me.
This I deserve from you, for during my lifetime I often thought of you,
and how to make you happy. Be ye so.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
_Heiglnstadt, the 6th of October_, 1802.
(Black Seal).
On the fourth side of the large Will sheet:--
Heiglnstadt, October, 1802, thus I take my farewell of thee--and,
indeed, sadly--yes, that fond hope which I entertained when I came
here, of being at any rate healed up to a certain point, must be
entirely abandoned. As the leaves of autumn fall and fade, so it has
withered away for me; almost the same as when I came here do I go
away--even the high courage which often in the beautiful summer days
quickened me, that has vanished. O Providence, let me have just one
pure day of _joy_; so long is it since true joy filled my heart. Oh
when, oh when, oh Divine Being, shall I be able once again to feel it
in the temple of nature and of men? Never--no--that would be too hard.
For my brothers Carl and ---- to execute after my death.
CODICIL. TESTAMENTARY DISPOSITION.
My nephew, Carl, shall be my sole heir; the capital of my estate shall,
however, descend to his natural heirs or to those appointed by him
through a will.
Ludwig van Beethoven.
FOOTNOTES:
[83] Translation by J. S. Shedlock. See footnote, page 65.
[84] Beethoven was at the time in his 32nd year; but he never knew
precisely his age.
LETTERS
[Illustration: BEETHOVEN AT THE AGE OF 44.]
_From an Engraving by Blasius Hoefel after the
Drawing by Louis Letronne, 1814._
_To face page_ 64.
BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS.[85]
I.
To CARL AMENDA at Wirben in Courland.
(_Vienna, June_ 1, 1800).
My dear, my good Amenda, my heartily beloved friend.
With deep emotion, with mixed pain and pleasure did I receive and
read your last letter. To what can I compare your fidelity, your
attachment to me. Oh! how pleasant it is that you have always remained
so kind to me; yes, I also know that you, of all men, are the most
trustworthy. You are no _Viennese friend_; no, you are one of those
such as my native country produces. How often do I wish you were with
me, your Beethoven is most unhappy, and at strife with nature and
Creator. The latter I have often cursed for exposing His creatures to
the smallest chance, so that frequently the richest buds are thereby
crushed and destroyed. Only think that the noblest part of me, my
sense of hearing has become very weak. Already, when you were with me
I noticed traces of it, and I said nothing. Now it has become worse,
and it remains to be seen whether it can ever be healed.... I much fear
that my hearing will not improve; maladies of that kind are the most
difficult of all to cure. What a sad life I am now compelled to lead; I
must avoid all that is near and dear to me, and then to be among such
wretched egotistical beings such as ... etc. I can say that among all,
Lichnowski has best stood the test. Since last year he has settled
on me 600 florins, which, together with the good sale of my works,
enables me to live without anxiety. Everything I write I can sell
immediately five times over, and also be well paid. I have composed a
fair quantity, and as I hear you have ordered pianofortes from ... I
will send you many things in one of the packing cases so it will not
cost you so very much. Now to my consolation, a man has come here with
whom intercourse is a pleasure, and whose friendship is free from all
selfishness. He is one of the friends of my youth. I have often spoken
to him about you, and told him that since I left my native country, you
are the one whom my heart has chosen. Even he does not like ... the
latter is and remains too weak for friendship. I consider him and ...
mere instruments on which when it pleases me I play; but they can never
become noble witnesses of my inner and outer activity, nor be in true
sympathy with me; I value them according as they are useful to me. Oh!
how happy should I now be if I had my perfect hearing, for I should
then hasten to you. As it is, I must in all things be behind-hand; my
best years will slip away without bringing forth what, with my talent
and my strength I ought to have accomplished. I must now have recourse
to sad resignation. I have, it is true, resolved not to worry about
all this but how is it possible? Yes, Amenda, if six months hence my
malady is beyond cure, then I lay claim to your help. You must leave
everything and come to me. I will travel (my malady interferes least
with my playing and composition, most only in conversation), and you
must be my companion. I am convinced good fortune will not fail me.
With whom need I be afraid of measuring my strength? Since you went
away I have written music of all kinds except operas and sacred works.
Yes, do not refuse; help your friend to bear with his troubles, his
infirmity. I have also greatly improved my pianoforte playing. I hope
this journey may also turn to your advantage; afterwards you will
always remain with me. I have duly received all your letters, and
although I have only answered a few, you have been always in my mind,
and my heart, as always, beats tenderly for you. _Please keep as a
great secret_ _what I have told you about my hearing; trust no one,
whoever it may be, with it._ Do write frequently; your letters, however
short they may be, console me, do me good. I expect soon to get another
one from you, my dear friend. Don't lend out my Quartet any more,
because I have made many changes in it. I have only just learnt how to
write quartets properly, as you will see when you receive them.
Now, my dear good friend, farewell! If, perchance, you believe that I
can show you any kindness here, I need not of course, remind you to
first address yourself to
Your faithful, truly loving,
L. V. BEETHOVEN.
II.
To Fräulein GERARDI.
(1798?)
Dear Chr.
You let me hear something yesterday about a portrait of myself. I
wish you to proceed somewhat carefully in the matter. I fear if we
return it through F., the disagreeable B. or the arch-fool Joseph might
interfere, and then the matter might be meant as a mean trick played
on me, and that would be really most annoying. I should have to avenge
myself, and the whole _populasse_ does not deserve it. Try to get hold
of the thing as well as you can. I assure you that after this I should
put a notice in the newspaper, requesting all painters not to take my
portrait without my consent, were I afraid of falling into perplexity
over my own countenance. As to the matter of taking off my hat, it
is altogether stupid, and at the same time too impolite for me to
retaliate. Pray explain to him the truth about the walk.
Adieu. The devil take you.
III.
To Frl. ELEONORE VON BREUNING in Bonn.
_Vienna, November_ 2, 1793.
Honoured Eleonore, my dearest friend.
I shall soon have been in this capital a whole year, yet only now do
you receive a letter from me, but you were certainly constantly in my
thoughts. Frequently, indeed, did I hold converse with you and your
dear family, but, for the most part, not with the tranquility of mind
which I should have liked. Then it was that the fatal quarrel hovered
before me, and my former behaviour appeared to me so abominable. But
the past cannot be undone, and what would I not give if I could blot
out of my life my former conduct so dishonouring to me, so contrary
to my character. Many circumstances, indeed, kept us at a distance
from each other, and, as I presume, it was especially the insinuations
resulting from conversations on either side which prevented all
reconciliation. Each of us believed that he was convinced of the truth
of what he said, and yet it was mere anger, and we were both deceived.
Your good and noble character is, indeed, a guarantee that I have long
since been forgiven. But true repentance consists, so it is said, in
acknowledging one's faults, and this I intended to do. And now let us
draw a curtain over the whole story, and only learn from it the lesson
that when friends fall out it is always better to have no go-between,
but for friend to turn directly to friend.
Herewith you receive a dedication from me to yourself, and I only
wish that the work were more important, more worthy of you. I have
been worried here to publish this small work,[86] and I make use of
this opportunity to give you, my adorable Eleonore, a proof of my high
esteem and of my friendship towards you, and of my constant remembrance
of your family. Accept this trifle, and realise that it comes from a
friend who holds you in high esteem. Oh, if it only gives you pleasure,
I am fully rewarded. Let it be a small reawakening of that time in
which I spent so many and such happy hours in your home; it may,
perhaps, keep me in your remembrance, until one day I return, but that
will not be for a long time. Oh, how we shall then rejoice, my dear
friend. You will then find your friend a more cheerful being, for whom
time and his better fortune have smoothed down the furrows of the
horrid past. If you happen to see B. Koch, please tell her that it is
not nice of her not to have sent me a single line. For I have written
twice; to Malchus I wrote three times--and no answer. Tell her that
if she would not write, she ought to have urged Malchus to do so. As
conclusion to my letter, I add a request; it is that I may be lucky
enough, my dear friend, again to possess an Angora vest knitted by your
hands. Forgive this indiscreet request from your friend. It arises from
the great preference I have for everything coming from your hands, and,
as a secret, I may say to you that in this there is at bottom a little
vanity, viz., to be able to say that I possess something given to me
by one of the best, most worthy young ladies in Bonn. I still have the
first one which you were kind enough to give me in Bonn, but it is now
so out of fashion that I can only keep it in my wardrobe as a precious
gift from you. If you would soon write me a nice letter, it would
afford me great pleasure. If, perchance, my letters give you pleasure,
I certainly promise that I will willingly send news as often as I can.
For everything is welcome to me whereby I can show you in what esteem
you are held by
Your true friend,
L. V. BEETHOVEN.
IV.
To Dr. F. WEGELER in Bonn.
_Vienna, June_ 29, 1800.
My good, dear Wegeler.
I am most grateful to you for thinking of me; I have so little
deserved it, or sought to deserve it at your hands. And yet you are
so very good, and are not kept back by anything, not even by my
unpardonable negligence, but always remain a faithful, good, honest
friend. That I could ever forget you, and especially all of you who
were so kind and affectionate to me, no, do not believe it; there are
moments in which I myself long for you--yes, and wish to spend some
time with you. My native land, the beautiful country in which I first
saw the light of the world, is ever as beautiful and distinct before
mine eyes as when I left you. In short, I shall regard that time as
one of the happiest of my life, when I see you again, and can greet
our father Rhine. When that will be I cannot yet say. This much will I
tell you, that you will only see me again when I am really great; not
only greater as an artist, but as a man you shall find me better, more
perfect; and if in our native land there are any signs of returning
prosperity, I will only use my art for the benefit of the poor. O,
happy moment, how fortunate I think myself in being able to get a
fatherland created here!
You want to know something about my present state; well, at present,
it is not so bad. Since last year, Lichnowsky, who, however incredible
it may seem when I tell it you, was always my warmest friend, and
has remained so (of course, there have been slight misunderstandings
between us, but just these have strengthened our friendship), has
settled a fixed sum of 600 florins on me, and I can draw it so long
as I fail to find a suitable post. My compositions are bringing in a
goodly sum, and I may add, it is scarcely possible for me to execute
the orders given. Also, for every work I have six, seven publishers,
and if I choose, even more. They do not bargain with me; I demand and
they pay. You see how pleasant it is. For example, I see a friend
in distress, and if my purse do not allow of my helping him, I have
only to sit down and in a short time he is relieved. Also I am more
economical than I was formerly. If I should settle here, I shall
certainly contrive to get one day every year for concerts, of which I
have given some.
Only my envious demon, my bad health, has thrown obstacles in my way.
For instance, my hearing has become weaker during the last three years,
and this infirmity was in the first instance caused by my general
health, which, as you know, was already, in the past, in a wretched
state. Frank wished to restore me to health by means of strengthening
medicines, and to cure my deafness by means of oil of almonds, but,
_prosit!_ nothing came of these remedies; my hearing became worse and
worse, and my ill-health always remained in its first state. This
continued until the autumn of last year, and ofttimes I was in despair.
Then an Asinus of a doctor advised cold baths; a more skillful one,
the usual tepid Danube baths. These worked wonders; the state of my
health improved, my deafness remained, or became worse. This winter I
was truly miserable. I had terrible attacks of colic, and I fell quite
back into my former state. So I remained for about four weeks and then
went to Vering, for I thought that this state required medical aid, and
in addition I had always placed faith in him. He ordered tepid Danube
baths, and whenever I took one I had to pour into it a little bottle
full of strengthening stuff. He gave me no medicine until about four
days ago, when he ordered an application of herbs for the ear. And
through these I can say I feel stronger and better; only the humming
in my ears continues day and night without ceasing. I may truly say
that my life is a wretched one. For the last two years I have avoided
all society, for it is impossible for me to say to people 'I am deaf.'
Were my profession any other it would not so much matter, but in my
profession it is a terrible thing; and my enemies, of whom they are
not a few, what would they say to this? To give you an idea of this
extraordinary deafness, I will tell you that when at the theatre, I am
obliged to lean forward close to the orchestra, in order to understand
what is being said on the stage. When somewhat at a distance I cannot
hear the high tones of instruments, voices. In speaking it is not
surprising that there are people who have never noticed it, for as a
rule I am absent-minded, and they account for it in that way. Often I
can scarcely hear anyone speaking to me; the tones, yes, but not the
actual words; yet as soon as anyone shouts, it is unbearable. What
will come of all this, heaven only knows! Vering says that there will
_certainly be an improvement, though perhaps not a perfect cure_. I
have, indeed, often ------------ cursed my existence; Plutarch taught
me resignation. If nothing else is possible I will defy my fate,
although there will be moments in my life when I shall be God's most
wretched creature. I beg you not to tell anyone about this; don't say
even a word to Lorchen. I only tell it you as a secret; I should be
glad if you would open up correspondence with Vering on the subject.
Should my present state continue, I would come next spring to you. You
would take a house for me in some beautiful place in the country, and
so I would rusticate for six months. By that means there might come a
change. Resignation! what a miserable refuge, and yet it is the only
way for me.