But what
humiliation
when any one beside me heard a flute in
the far distance, while I heard nothing, or when others heard a
In company
## p.
the far distance, while I heard nothing, or when others heard a
In company
## p.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v03 - Bag to Ber
It is by his letters and diary
that we study (only less vividly than in his music) a character of
## p. 1750 (#548) ###########################################
1750
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
he was,
profound depth and imposing nobility; a nature of exquisite sensitive.
ness. In them we follow, if fragmentarily, the battle of personality
against environment, the secrets of strong but high passion, the
artist temperament, - endowed with a dignity and a moral majesty
seldom equaled in an art indeed called divine, but with children who
frequently remind us that Pan absorbed in playing his syrinx has a
goat's hoof.
Beethoven in all his correspondence wrote himself down as what
- a superior man, a mighty soul in many traits, as well as
a supreme creative musician.
His letters are absorbing, whether
they breathe love or anger, discouragement or joy, rebellion against
untoward conditions of daily life or solemn resignation. The reli-
gious quality, too, is strong in them; that element more in touch
with Deism than with one or another orthodoxy. Withal, he is as
sincere in every line of such matter as he was in the spoken word.
His correspondence holds up the mirror to his own nature, with its
extremes of impulse and reserve, of affection and austerity, of confi-
dence and suspicion. It abounds, too, in that brusque yet seldom
coarse humor which leaps up in the Finale of the Seventh Sym-
phony, in the Eighth Symphony's waggery, the last movement of the
Concerto in E flat. They offer likewise verbal admissions of such
depression of heart as we recognize in the sternest episodes of the
later Sonatas and of the Galitzin Quartets, and in the awful Alle-
gretto of the Symphony in A. They hint at the amorous passion
of the slow movements of the Fourth and Ninth Symphonies, at the
moral heroism of the Fifth, at the more human courage of the
Heroic,' at the mysticism of the Ninth's tremendous opening. In
interesting relation to the group, and merely of superficial interest,
are his hasty notes, his occasional efforts to write in English or in
French, his touches of musical allusiveness.
It is not in the purpose of these prefatory paragraphs to a too-
brief group of Beethoven's letters to enter upon his biography.
That is essentially a musician's life; albeit the life of a musician
who, as Mr. Edward Dannreuther suggests, leaves behind him the
domain of mere art and enters upon that of the seer and the
prophet. He was born in Bonn in 1770, on a day the date of which is
not certain (though we know that his baptism was December 17th).
His youth was not a sunshiny period. Poverty, neglect, a drunken
father, violin lessons under compulsion, were the circumstances
ushering him into his career. He was for a brief time a pupil of
Mozart; just enough so to preserve that succession of royal geniuses
expressed in linking Mozart to Haydn, and in remembering that Liszt
played for Beethoven and that Schubert stood beside Beethoven's last
sick-bed. Hi patronage and interest gradually took th
composer
## p. 1751 (#549) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1751
under its care.
Austria and Germany recognized him, England
accepted him early, universal intelligence became enthusiastic over
utterances in art that seemed as much innovations as Wagneristic
writing seemed to the next generation. In Vienna, Beethoven may
be said to have passed his life. There were the friends to whom he
wrote -- who understood and loved him. Afflicted early with a deaf-
ness that became total, the irony of fate, — the majority of his
master-works were evolved from a mind shut away from the pleas-
ures and disturbances of earthly sounds, and beset by invalidism and
suffering. Naturally genial, he grew morbidly sensitive. Infirmities
of temper as well as of body marked him for their own. But under-
neath all superficial shortcomings of his intensely human nature was
a Shakespearean dignity of moral and intellectual individuality.
It is not necessary here even to touch on the works that follow
him. They stand now as firmly as ever — perhaps more firmly — in
the honor and the affection of all the world of auditors in touch with
the highest expressions in the tone-world. The mere mention of such
monuments as the sonatas, the nine symphonies, the Mass in D minor,
the magnificent chain of overtures, the dramatic concert-arias, does not
exhaust the list. They are the vivid self-expressions of one who
learned in suffering what he taught in song: a man whose personality
impressed itself into almost everything that he wrote, upon almost
every one whom he met, and who towers up as impressively as the
author of Hamlet,' the sculptor of Moses,' the painter of “The
Last Supper.
It is perhaps interesting to mention that the very chirography of
Beethoven's letters is eloquent of the man. Handwriting is apt to
be. Mendelssohn, the well-balanced, the precise, wrote like copper-
plate. Wagner wrote a fine strong hand, seldom with
Spontini, the soldier-like, wrote with the decision of a soldier. Bee-
thoven's letters and notes are in a large, open, dashing hand, often
scrawls, always with the blackest of ink, full of changes, and not a
flourish to spare — the handwriting of impulse and carelessness as to
form, compared with a writer's desire of making his meaning clear.
erasures.
E. Sosnosur Visussion
## p. 1752 (#550) ###########################################
1752
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
FROM LETTER TO DR. WEGELER, VIENNA
I
It was
N What an odious light have you exhibited me to myself! Oh!
I acknowledge it, I do not deserve your friendship.
no intentional or deliberate malice that induced me to act
towards you as I did — but inexcusable thoughtlessness alone.
I say no more. I am coming to throw myself into your arms,
and to entreat you to restore me my lost friend; and you will
give him back to me, to your penitent, loving, and ever grateful
BEETHOVEN.
TO THE SAME
Hº
more
VIENNA, June 29th, 1800.
My dear and valued Wegeler:
OW MUCH I thank you for your remembrance of me, little as
I deserve it or have sought to deserve it; and yet you are
so kind that you allow nothing, not even my unpardonable
neglect, to discourage you, always remaining the same true, good,
and faithful friend. That I can ever forget you or yours, once
so dear and precious to me, do not for a moment believe. There
are times when I find myself longing to see you again, and
wishing that I could go to stay with you. My fatherland, that
lovely region where I first saw the light, is still as distinct and
beauteous in my eyes as when I quitted you; in short, I shall
esteem the time when I once see you, and again greet
Father Rhine, as one of the happiest periods of my life. When
this may be I cannot yet tell, but at all events I may say that
you shall not see me again till I have become not only eminent
as an artist, but better and more perfect as a man; and if the
condition of our fatherland be then more prosperous, my art
shall be entirely devoted to the benefit of the poor. On, bliss-
ful moment! — how happy do I esteem myself that I can expedite
it and bring it to pass!
You desire to know something of my position: well! it is by
no means bad. However incredible it may appear, I must tell
you that Lichnowsky has been, and still is, my warmest friend
(slight dissensions occurred occasionally between us, and yet they
only served to strengthen our friendship). He settled on me last
## p. 1753 (#551) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1753
I can
year the sum of six hundred florins, for which I am to draw on
him till I can procure some suitable situation. My compositions
are very profitable, and I may really say that I have almost
more commissions than it is possible for me to execute.
have six or seven publishers or more for every piece if I choose:
they no longer bargain with me - I demand, and they pay -- So
you see this is a very good thing. For instance, I have a friend
in distress, and my purse does not admit of my assisting him at
once, but I have only to sit down and write, and in a short time
he is relieved. I am also become more economical than for-
merly.
To give you some idea of my extraordinary deafness, I must
tell you that in the theatre I am obliged to lean close up against
the orchestra in order to understand the actors, and when a little
way off I hear none of the high notes of instruments or singers.
It is most astonishing that in conversation some people never
seem to observe this; as I am subject to fits of absence, they
attribute it to that cause. Often I can scarcely hear a person if
he speaks low; I can distinguish the tones but not the words, and
yet I feel it intolerable if any one shouts to me. Heaven alone
knows how it is to end! Vering declares that I shall certainly
improve, even if I be not entirely restored. How often have I
cursed my existence! Plutarch led me to resignation. I shall
strive if possible to set Fate at defiance, although there must be
moments in my life when I cannot fail to be the most unhappy
of God's creatures. I entreat you to say nothing of my affliction
to any one, not even to Lorchen. I confide the secret to you
alone, and entreat you some day to correspond with Vering on
the subject. If I continue in the same state, I shall come to
you in the ensuing spring, when you must engage a house for
me somewhere in the country, amid beautiful scenery, and I
shall then become a rustic for a year, which may perhaps effect
a change. Resignation! - what a miserable refuge! and yet it is
my sole remaining one. You will forgive my thus appealing to
your kindly sympathies at a time when your own position is sad
enough.
Farewell, my kind, faithful Wegeler! Rest assured of the love
and friendship of your
BEETHOVEN.
## p. 1754 (#552) ###########################################
1754
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
FROM THE LETTERS TO BETTINA BRENTANO
N"
EVER was there a lovelier spring than this year; I say so, and
feel it too, because it was then I first knew you. You have
yourself seen that in society I am like a fish on the sand,
which writhes and writhes, but cannot get away till some benevo-
lent Galatea casts it back into the mighty ocean. I was indeed
fairly stranded, dearest friend, when surprised by you at a moment
in which moroseness had entirely mastered me; but how quickly
it vanished at your aspect! I was at once conscious that you
came from another sphere than this absurd world, where, with
the best inclinations, I cannot open my ears. I am a wretched
creature, and yet I complain of others! ! You will forgive this
from the goodness of heart that beams in your eyes, and the good
sense manifested by your ears; at least they understand how to
flatter, by the mode in which they listen. My ears are, alas! a
partition-wall, through which I can with difficulty hold any inter-
course with my fellow-creatures. Otherwise perhaps I might
have felt more assured with you; but I was only conscious of
the full, intelligent glance from your eyes, which affected me so
deeply that never can I forget it. My dear friend! dearest girl! ---
Art! who comprehends it ? with whom can I discuss this mighty
goddess ? How precious to were the few days when we
talked together, or, I should rather say, corresponded! I have
carefully preserved the little notes with your clever, charming,
most charming answers; so I have to thank my defective hearing
for the greater part of our fugitive intercourse being written
down. Since you left this I have had some unhappy hours,--
hours of the deepest gloom, when I could do nothing. I wan-
dered for three hours in the Schönbrunn Allée after you left us,
but no angel met me there to take possession of me as you did.
Pray forgive, my dear friend, this deviation from the original
key, but I must have such intervals as a relief to my heart.
You have no doubt written to Goethe about me? I would gladly
bury my head in a sack, so that I might neither see nor hear
what goes on in the world, because I shall meet you there no
more; but I shall get a letter from you? Hope sustains me, as
it does half the world; through life she has been my close com-
panion, or what would have become of me? I send you Kennst
me
## p. 1755 (#553) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1755
I am
Du das Land,' written with my own hand, as a remembrance of
the hour when I first knew you.
If you mention me when you write to Goethe, strive to find
words expressive of my deep reverence and admiration.
about to write to him inyself with regard to “Egmont,' for
which I have written some music solely from my love for his
poetry, which always delights me. Who can be sufficiently grate-
ful to a great poet, — the most precious jewel of a nation!
Kings and princes can indeed create professors and privy-
councillors, and confer titles and decorations, but they cannot
make great men, spirits that soar above the base turmoil of
this world. There their powers fail, and this it is that forces
them to respect us. When two persons like Goethe and myself
meet, these grandees cannot fail to perceive what such as we
consider great. Yesterday on our way home we met the whole
Imperial family; we saw them coming some way off, when
Goethe withdrew his arm from mine, in order to stand aside;
and say what I would, I could not prevail on him to make
another step in advance. I pressed down my hat more firmly
on my head, buttoned up my great-coat, and crossing my arms
behind me, I made my way through the thickest portion of the
crowd. Princes and courtiers formed a lane for me; Archduke
Rudolph took off his hat, and the Empress bowed to me first.
These great ones of the earth know me. To my infinite amuse-
ment, I saw the procession defile past Goethe, who stood aside
with his hat off, bowing profoundly. I afterwards took him
sharply to task for this; I gave him no quarter and upbraided
him with all his sins.
TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI
You
MONDAY EVENING, July 6th.
ou grieve! dearest of all beings! I have just heard that
the letters must be sent off very early. Mondays and
Thursdays are the only days when the post goes to K
from here. You grieve! Ah! where I am, there you are ever
with me:
how earnestly shall I strive to pass my life with you,
and what a life will it be! ! ! Whereas now! ! without you! ! and
## p. 1756 (#554) ###########################################
1756
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
persecuted by the kindness of others, which I neither deserve
nor try to deserve! The servility of man towards his fellow-man
pains me, and when I regard myself as a component part of the
universe, what am I, what is he who is called the greatest ? -
and yet herein are displayed the godlike feelings of humanity! -
I weep in thinking that you will receive no intelligence from me
till probably Saturday. However dearly you may love me, I
love you more fondly still. Never conceal your feelings from
Good-night! As a patient at these baths, I must now go
to rest. [A few words are here effaced by Beethoven himself. ]
Oh, heavens! so near, and yet so far! Is not our love a truly
celestial mansion, but firm as the vault of heaven itself ?
me.
July 7th.
Good morning!
Even before I rise, my thoughts throng to you, my immortal
beloved ! -- sometimes full of joy, and yet again sad, waiting to
see whether Fate will hear us. I must live either wholly with
you, or not at all. Indeed, I have resolved to wander far from
you till the moment arrives when I can fly into your arms, and
feel that they are my home, and send forth my soul in unison
with yours into the realm of spirits. Alas! it must be so! You
will take courage, for you know my fidelity. Never can another
possess my heart — never, never! Oh, heavens! Why must
fly from her I so fondly love? and yet my existence in W-
was as miserable as here. Your love made me the most happy
and yet the most unhappy of men. At my age, life requires a
uniform equality; can this be found in our mutual relations ?
My angel! I have this moment heard that the post goes every
day, so I must conclude that you may get this letter the sooner.
Be calm! for we can only attain our object of living together by
the calm contemplation of our existence. Continue to love me.
Yesterday, to-day, what longings for you, what tears for you!
for you! for you! my life! my all! Farewell! Oh, love me for
ever, and never doubt the faithful heart of your lover, L.
Ever thine.
Ever mine.
Ever each other's.
## p. 1757 (#555) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1757
TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN
0"
HEILIGENSTADT, Oct. 6th, 1802,
H! 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 prone to the most ten-
der 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 unskillful
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 passionate and excitable temperament, keenly sus-
ceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in
life to isolate myself, and to pass 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 defect-
ive 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 recrea-
tion in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual out-
pourings of thought. Completely isolated, I only enter society
when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile.
I am assailed 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
In company
## p. 1758 (#556) ###########################################
1758
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
shepherd singing, and I still heard nothing! Such things brought
me to the verge of desperation, and well-nigh caused me to put
an end to my life. drt! 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? 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, stead-
fastly 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! This is no slight trial, and more
severe on an artist than on any one else.
God 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 be still alive, beg him in my name to
describe my malady, and to add these pages to the analysis 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 assist 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 l'irtue
to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can insure happiness.
I speak from experience. It was l'irtue 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 grate-
fully 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
## p. 1759 (#557) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1759
Death. If he comes before I have had the opportunity of de-
veloping 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. 0 Providence! vouchsafe me
one day of pure felicity! How long have I been estranged from
the glad echo of true joy! When! O my God! when shall I again
feel it in the temple of nature and of man? — never? Ah! that
would be too hard!
To be read and fulfilled after my death by my brothers Carl
and Johann.
TO THE ROYAL AND IMPERIAL HIGH COURT OF APPEAL
T"
JANUARY 7th, 1820.
He welfare of my nephew is dearer to my heart than it can
be to anyone else. I am myself childless, and have no
relations except this boy, who is full of talent, and I have
good grounds to hope the best for him, if properly trained.
My efforts and wishes have no other aim than to give the boy
the best possible education — his abilities justifying the brightest
hopes — and to fulfill the trust placed in my brotherly love by
his father. The shoot is still flexible; but if longer neglected it
will become crooked and outgrow the gardener's training hand,
## p. 1760 (#558) ###########################################
1760
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
and upright bearing, intellect, and character be destroyed for
ever.
I know no duty more sacred than the education and training
of a child. The chief duties of a guardian consist in knowing
how to appreciate what is good, and in adopting a right course;
then alone has proper attention been devoted to the welfare of
his ward, whereas in opposing what is good he neglects his duty.
Indeed, keeping in view what is most for the benefit of the
boy, I do not object to the mother in so far sharing in the duties
of a guardian, that she may visit her son, and see him, and be
apprised of all the measures adopted for his education; but to
intrust her with his sole guardianship without a strict guardian
by her side would cause the irretrievable ruin of her son.
On these cogent grounds I reiterate my well-founded solicita-
tion, and feel the more confident of a favorable answer, as the
welfare of my nephew alone guides my steps in this affair.
TO BARONESS VON DROSSDICK
I
LIVE in entire quiet and solitude; and even though occasional
flashes of light arouse me, still since you all left, I feel
a hopeless void which even my art, usually so faithful to me,
has not yet triumphed over. Your pianoforte is ordered, and
you
shall soon have it. What a difference you must have dis-
covered between the treatment of the Theme I extemporized on
the other evening, and the mode in which I have recently writ-
ten it out for you! You must explain this yourself, only do not
find the solution in the punch! How happy you are to get
away so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy this luxury till the
8th. I look forward to it with the delight of a child. What
happiness I shall feel in wandering among groves and woods, and
among trees and plants and rocks! No man on earth can love
the country as I do! Thickets, trees, and rocks supply the echo
man longs for!
## p. 1761 (#559) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1761
M
TO ZMESKALL
1811.
Ost high-born of men!
We beg you to confer some goose-quills on us; we will
in return send you a whole bunch of the same sort, that
you may not be obliged to pluck out your own. It is just possi-
ble that you may yet receive the Grand Cross of the Order of
the Violoncello. We remain your gracious and most friendly of
all friends,
BEETHOVEN.
TO ZMESKALL
M
FEBRUARY 2d, 1812.
ost wonderful of men!
We beg that your servant will engage a person to fit up
my apartment; as he is acquainted with the lodgings, he
can fix the proper price at once. Do this soon, you Carnival
scamp! ! ! ! ! ! !
The inclosed note is at least a week old.
TO HIS BROTHER JOHANN
TH
BADEN, May 6th, 1825.
HE bell and bell-pulls, etc. , etc. , are on no account whatever
to be left in my former lodging. No proposal was ever
made to these people to take any of my things. Indis-
position prevented my sending for it, and the locksmith had
not come during my stay to take down the bell; otherwise it
might have been at once removed and sent to me in town, as
they have no right whatever to retain it.
Be this as it may,
I am quite determined not to leave the bell there, for I require
one here, and therefore intend to use the one in question for
my purpose, as a similar one would cost me twice as much as
in Vienna, bell-pulls being the most expensive things locksmiths
have. If necessary, apply at once to the police. The window
in my room is precisely in the same state as when I took pos-
session, but I am willing to pay for it, and also for the one in
the kitchen, 2 florins 12 kreuzers, for the two. The key I will
not pay for, as I found none; on the contrary, the door was
II-III
## p. 1762 (#560) ###########################################
1762
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
fastened or nailed up when I came, and remained in the same
condition till I left; there never was a key, so of course neither
I myself, nor those who preceded me, could make use of one.
Perhaps it is intended to make a collection, in which case I am
willing to put my hand in my pocket.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
TO STEPHAN V. BREUNING
M*portrait I now send.
My dear and much loved Stephan :
AY our temporary estrangement be for ever effaced by the
portrait I now send. I know that I have rent your heart.
The emotion which you cannot fail now to see in mine has
sufficiently punished me for it. There was no malice towards
you in my heart, for then I should be no longer worthy of your
friendship. It was passion both on your part and on mine; but
mistrust was rife within me, for people had come between us,
unworthy both of you and of me.
My portrait was long ago intended for you; you knew that it
was destined for some one—and to whom could I give it with
such warmth of heart, as to you, my faithful, good, and noble
Stephan ?
Forgive me for having grieved you, but I did not myself
suffer less when I no longer saw you near me. I then first
keenly felt how dear you were, and ever will be to my heart.
Surely you will once more fly to my arms as you formerly did.
## p. 1763 (#561) ###########################################
1763
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
(1740-1795)
BY OLGA FLINCH
ARL MICHAEL BELLMAN was born in Stockholm on the 4th of
February, 1740. His father, son of a professor at Upsala
University, held a government office; of his mother he
wrote that she was “fair as day, unspeakably good, dressed prettily,
was kind to everybody, of a refined nature, and had an excellent
voice. ” From her he undoubtedly inherited the warm, genial heart
which beats in every one of his songs. His father's house was the
rendezvous of many of the noted men of the day, among them the
poet Dalin, who was then at the zenith of his popularity. The boy's
unusual gifts were early recognized, and everything was done to give
him the best instruction, especially after an attack of fever, during
which he not only spoke in rhyme, but sang his first improvised
songs in a clear, true voice. The tutor who was then chosen taught
him, besides the art of making verse,” English, French, German,
and Italian; and he progressed far enough in these studies to trans-
late several German hymns and religious and philosophic essays, no
doubt influenced in this choice of subjects by the religious atmosphere
of his home. Moreover, he taught himself to play the zither, and
very soon began to pick out his own melodies as an accompaniment
to his songs.
The instrument he used had been brought home from
Italy by his grandfather, became his closest companion throughout
life, and is now kept at the Royal Academy of Arts at Stockholm.
At eighteen he entered the University of Upsala, and while
there wrote a satirical poem, "The Moon,' which he submitted to the
criticism of Dalin, who however made but a single correction. It
was written in the manner of Dalin, and he continued to be influ-
enced by the latter until his twenty-fifth year. At this time, and
within the same year, his father and mother died, and seeking
among his friends the social stimulus which his nature craved, he
became a frequent guest at the inns in the company of Hallman and
Krexel, who were making their mark by their poetic and dramatic
writings. It was then that his peculiar talent came to its own; he
threw away all foreign influence and began to sing his songs, born
of the impression of the moment and full of the charm of spon-
taneity. Some of them he jotted down quickly, most of them he
## p. 1764 (#562) ###########################################
1764
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
was soon
sang to the sound of his zither, ofteri fashioning them to suit well-
known melodies, and again creating the melody with the words, for
the greater part set in a form of verse not previously used. And so
inseparably linked are words and melody, that it has not occurred to
any one to set any other music to Bellman's songs than what he
originally chose. He took all his characters out of the life he saw
around him; and with the appreciation of the man to whom the
present is everything, he seized the charm of the fleeting moment
and expressed it with such simplicity and truth, and deep feeling
withal, that it stands forth immortally fresh and young. A number
of these songs have probably been lost; he had no thirst for fame,
and took no pains to circulate them, but they found their way to the
public in written copies and cheap prints, and his name
known throughout the country.
This way of living and singing like the birds of the air was, how-
ever, not very conducive to the satisfaction of material wants. He
had made two attempts to go into business, but the more he was
seen at the inns, the less he was seen at his business.
Fortunately for him, Gustavus III. , who was himself a poet, be-
came at this time king of Sweden.
He was
an adherent of the
French school of poetry, and Bellman's muse could hardly be said
to belong to this: but with considerable talent as a dramatic writer,
Gustavus appreciated the dramatic quality in Bellman's songs; and
when Bellman sent him a rhymed petition, still kept, in which he
wrote that “if his Majesty would not most graciously give him an
office, he would most obediently be obliged to starve to death before
Christmas,” the king made him secretary of the lottery, with the title
of court secretary, and a yearly income of three thousand dollars.
Bellman promptly gave half of this to an assistant, who did the
work, and continued his troubadour life on the other half with a
superb disdain of future needs. His affairs so well in order, he
could afford to get married; and chose for his wife Lovisa Grönlund,
a girl of a bright intellect and strong character, of which she ulti-
mately had great need, the responsibilities of their married life being
left altogether to her.
Bellman was now at his best; about this time he wrote most of
Fredman's Songs) and Actions concerning the Chapter of Bac-
chus order,) both rich in lyric gems; he was the favorite compan-
ion of the King, to whom his devotion was boundless, and he was
happy in his chosen friends whose company inspired him. Never-
theless he was now, as ever, in need of money. Atterbom tells that
“One day the King met him on the street, so poorly dressed that
he instinctively exclaimed, My dear Bellman, how poorly you are
clad! The poet answered with a bow, I can nevertheless most
## p. 1765 (#563) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1765
obediently assure your Majesty that I am wearing my entire ward-
robe. ) » His ready wit never left him. “How goes the world with
you ? ” asked the King once when they met; "you don't look to me
as if you could turn a single rhyme to-day. ” The poet bowed and
replied on the spur of the moment:
“No scrip my purse doth hold;
My lyre's unstrung, alas !
But yet upon my glass
Stands Gustaf's name in gold. ”
Another time the King sent his men for him, with the order to
bring him in whatever condition they found him. “He was found
not entirely free from drink, and not very presentable, but was never-
theless carried off, zither and all, to Haga Castle, where he drank
some champagne, sang some songs, drank a little more, and finally
fell asleep. The King left him so to go to his supper; and when he
returned and found his guest still sleeping, he remarked, I wonder
what Bellman would say if I awoke him now and asked him to give
a song. ' The poet sat up, blinked with his eyes, and said,
“Then Bellman would say, — listen;' whereupon he sang to the tune
of Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre':-
me
<<<Oh, so heavily, heavily trailing,
The clouds over Haga are sailing,
And the stars their bright glances are veiling,
While woods in the gloom disappear.
Go, King, thy rest is dear,
Go, King, thy respite taking,
Rest softly, rest softly, then waking,
When dawn through the darkness is breaking,
Thy people with mild rule thou cheer!
Then he fell into his former position again, and was carried home
asleep with a little gift in his hand. ”
The task of collecting, preserving, and publishing his works feil
entirely upon his friends; if it had depended on him, they would
probably never have been collected, much less published.
During the last fifteen years of his life, from 1780 to 1795, his
health grew very poor.
In 1791 he was invited to be present at
the distribution of degrees at Upsala, and at the dinner he returned
a toast with a song born of the moment; but his voice had grown so
weak from lung trouble that only those nearest to him could hear
him. To add to his sufferings, he had to meet the great sorrow of
his King's death at the hand of a murderer, and his poem on the
Death and Memory of the King' was not of a nature to make
friends for him at the new court. Thus it happened that, poor and
## p. 1766 (#564) ###########################################
1766
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
broken in health, he was put into the debtor's prison in the very
castle where he had been so happy a guest.
Hallman and Krexel
and others of his best friends, as devoted to him as ever, were
unable to obtain his release; but he was at last bailed out by some
one, who as recompense asked him to sing one of his jolly songs,
and in his poor broken voice he sang Drink out thy glass, see,
Death awaits thee. ) Atterbom remarks about the man in question,
"And maybe he did not find that song so jolly after all. ”
While in prison he sent in a petition to the King, somewhat
different from his first petition to Gustavus III. ,- in which he asked
permission to live in the castle until his death. The following is one
of the verses:-
«Spring commands; the birds are singing,
Bees are swarming, fishes play;
Now and then the zephyrs stray,
Breath of life the poet bringing.
Lift my load of sorrow clinging,
Spare me one small nook, I pray. )
Of his death Atterbom writes as follows:-
“He had been the favorite of the nation and the King, content with the
mere necessities of life, free from every care, not even desiring the immor-
tality of fame; moderate in everything except in enthusiasm, he had enjoyed
to the full what he wanted, — friendship, wine, and music. Now he lived to
see the shadows fall over his life and genius. Feeling that his last hour was
not far off, he sent word to his nearest friends that a meeting with them as
in old times would be dear to him. He came to meet them almost a shadow,
but with his old friendly smile; even in the toasts he took part, however
moderately, and then he announced that he would let them (hear Bellman
once more. The spirit of song took possession of him, more powerfully than
ever, and all the rays of his dying imagination were centred in an impro-
vised good-by song. Throughout an entire night, under continual inspiration,
he sang his happy life, his mild King's glory, his gratitude to Providence, who
let him be born among a noble people in this beautiful Northern country, -
finally he gave his grateful good-by to every one present, in a separate stro-
phe and melody expressing the peculiar individuality of the one addressed
and his relation to the poet. His friends begged him with tears to stop, and
spare his already much weakened lungs; but he replied, Let us die, as we
have lived, in music! )- emptied his last glass of champagne, and began at
dawn the last verse of his song. "
After this he sang no more. A few days later he went to bed,
lingered for ten weeks, and died on the uth of February, 1795, aged
fifty-four years.
He was buried in Clara cemetery.
Bellman's critics have given themselves much trouble about his
personal character. Some have thought him little better than a
## p. 1767 (#565) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1767
coarse drunkard; others again have made him out a cynic who
sneered at the life he depicted; again others have laid the weight
on the note found in “Drink out thy glass,' and have seen only the
underlying sad pathos of his songs. His contemporaries agree that
he was a
man of great consideration for form, and assert that if
there are coarse passages in his songs it is because they only could
express what he depicted. All coarseness was foreign to his nature;
he was reserved and somewhat shy, and only in the company of his
chosen few did he open his heart.
His critics have, moreover, assiduously sought the moral of his
works. If any was intended, it may have been that of fighting senti-
mentality and all false feeling; but it seems more in accordance
with his entire life that he sang out of the fullness of his heart, as
a bird sings, simply because it must sing.
Olga
Glinch
TO ULLA
U"
LLA, mine Ulla, tell me, may I hand thee
Reddest of strawberries in milk or wine?
Or from the pond a lively fish? Command me!
Or, from the well, a bowl of water fine?
Doors are blown open, the wind gets the blaming.
Perfumes exhale from flower and tree.
Clouds fleck the sky and the sun rises flaming,
As you see!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish market? So ?
"Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
that we study (only less vividly than in his music) a character of
## p. 1750 (#548) ###########################################
1750
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
he was,
profound depth and imposing nobility; a nature of exquisite sensitive.
ness. In them we follow, if fragmentarily, the battle of personality
against environment, the secrets of strong but high passion, the
artist temperament, - endowed with a dignity and a moral majesty
seldom equaled in an art indeed called divine, but with children who
frequently remind us that Pan absorbed in playing his syrinx has a
goat's hoof.
Beethoven in all his correspondence wrote himself down as what
- a superior man, a mighty soul in many traits, as well as
a supreme creative musician.
His letters are absorbing, whether
they breathe love or anger, discouragement or joy, rebellion against
untoward conditions of daily life or solemn resignation. The reli-
gious quality, too, is strong in them; that element more in touch
with Deism than with one or another orthodoxy. Withal, he is as
sincere in every line of such matter as he was in the spoken word.
His correspondence holds up the mirror to his own nature, with its
extremes of impulse and reserve, of affection and austerity, of confi-
dence and suspicion. It abounds, too, in that brusque yet seldom
coarse humor which leaps up in the Finale of the Seventh Sym-
phony, in the Eighth Symphony's waggery, the last movement of the
Concerto in E flat. They offer likewise verbal admissions of such
depression of heart as we recognize in the sternest episodes of the
later Sonatas and of the Galitzin Quartets, and in the awful Alle-
gretto of the Symphony in A. They hint at the amorous passion
of the slow movements of the Fourth and Ninth Symphonies, at the
moral heroism of the Fifth, at the more human courage of the
Heroic,' at the mysticism of the Ninth's tremendous opening. In
interesting relation to the group, and merely of superficial interest,
are his hasty notes, his occasional efforts to write in English or in
French, his touches of musical allusiveness.
It is not in the purpose of these prefatory paragraphs to a too-
brief group of Beethoven's letters to enter upon his biography.
That is essentially a musician's life; albeit the life of a musician
who, as Mr. Edward Dannreuther suggests, leaves behind him the
domain of mere art and enters upon that of the seer and the
prophet. He was born in Bonn in 1770, on a day the date of which is
not certain (though we know that his baptism was December 17th).
His youth was not a sunshiny period. Poverty, neglect, a drunken
father, violin lessons under compulsion, were the circumstances
ushering him into his career. He was for a brief time a pupil of
Mozart; just enough so to preserve that succession of royal geniuses
expressed in linking Mozart to Haydn, and in remembering that Liszt
played for Beethoven and that Schubert stood beside Beethoven's last
sick-bed. Hi patronage and interest gradually took th
composer
## p. 1751 (#549) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1751
under its care.
Austria and Germany recognized him, England
accepted him early, universal intelligence became enthusiastic over
utterances in art that seemed as much innovations as Wagneristic
writing seemed to the next generation. In Vienna, Beethoven may
be said to have passed his life. There were the friends to whom he
wrote -- who understood and loved him. Afflicted early with a deaf-
ness that became total, the irony of fate, — the majority of his
master-works were evolved from a mind shut away from the pleas-
ures and disturbances of earthly sounds, and beset by invalidism and
suffering. Naturally genial, he grew morbidly sensitive. Infirmities
of temper as well as of body marked him for their own. But under-
neath all superficial shortcomings of his intensely human nature was
a Shakespearean dignity of moral and intellectual individuality.
It is not necessary here even to touch on the works that follow
him. They stand now as firmly as ever — perhaps more firmly — in
the honor and the affection of all the world of auditors in touch with
the highest expressions in the tone-world. The mere mention of such
monuments as the sonatas, the nine symphonies, the Mass in D minor,
the magnificent chain of overtures, the dramatic concert-arias, does not
exhaust the list. They are the vivid self-expressions of one who
learned in suffering what he taught in song: a man whose personality
impressed itself into almost everything that he wrote, upon almost
every one whom he met, and who towers up as impressively as the
author of Hamlet,' the sculptor of Moses,' the painter of “The
Last Supper.
It is perhaps interesting to mention that the very chirography of
Beethoven's letters is eloquent of the man. Handwriting is apt to
be. Mendelssohn, the well-balanced, the precise, wrote like copper-
plate. Wagner wrote a fine strong hand, seldom with
Spontini, the soldier-like, wrote with the decision of a soldier. Bee-
thoven's letters and notes are in a large, open, dashing hand, often
scrawls, always with the blackest of ink, full of changes, and not a
flourish to spare — the handwriting of impulse and carelessness as to
form, compared with a writer's desire of making his meaning clear.
erasures.
E. Sosnosur Visussion
## p. 1752 (#550) ###########################################
1752
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
FROM LETTER TO DR. WEGELER, VIENNA
I
It was
N What an odious light have you exhibited me to myself! Oh!
I acknowledge it, I do not deserve your friendship.
no intentional or deliberate malice that induced me to act
towards you as I did — but inexcusable thoughtlessness alone.
I say no more. I am coming to throw myself into your arms,
and to entreat you to restore me my lost friend; and you will
give him back to me, to your penitent, loving, and ever grateful
BEETHOVEN.
TO THE SAME
Hº
more
VIENNA, June 29th, 1800.
My dear and valued Wegeler:
OW MUCH I thank you for your remembrance of me, little as
I deserve it or have sought to deserve it; and yet you are
so kind that you allow nothing, not even my unpardonable
neglect, to discourage you, always remaining the same true, good,
and faithful friend. That I can ever forget you or yours, once
so dear and precious to me, do not for a moment believe. There
are times when I find myself longing to see you again, and
wishing that I could go to stay with you. My fatherland, that
lovely region where I first saw the light, is still as distinct and
beauteous in my eyes as when I quitted you; in short, I shall
esteem the time when I once see you, and again greet
Father Rhine, as one of the happiest periods of my life. When
this may be I cannot yet tell, but at all events I may say that
you shall not see me again till I have become not only eminent
as an artist, but better and more perfect as a man; and if the
condition of our fatherland be then more prosperous, my art
shall be entirely devoted to the benefit of the poor. On, bliss-
ful moment! — how happy do I esteem myself that I can expedite
it and bring it to pass!
You desire to know something of my position: well! it is by
no means bad. However incredible it may appear, I must tell
you that Lichnowsky has been, and still is, my warmest friend
(slight dissensions occurred occasionally between us, and yet they
only served to strengthen our friendship). He settled on me last
## p. 1753 (#551) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1753
I can
year the sum of six hundred florins, for which I am to draw on
him till I can procure some suitable situation. My compositions
are very profitable, and I may really say that I have almost
more commissions than it is possible for me to execute.
have six or seven publishers or more for every piece if I choose:
they no longer bargain with me - I demand, and they pay -- So
you see this is a very good thing. For instance, I have a friend
in distress, and my purse does not admit of my assisting him at
once, but I have only to sit down and write, and in a short time
he is relieved. I am also become more economical than for-
merly.
To give you some idea of my extraordinary deafness, I must
tell you that in the theatre I am obliged to lean close up against
the orchestra in order to understand the actors, and when a little
way off I hear none of the high notes of instruments or singers.
It is most astonishing that in conversation some people never
seem to observe this; as I am subject to fits of absence, they
attribute it to that cause. Often I can scarcely hear a person if
he speaks low; I can distinguish the tones but not the words, and
yet I feel it intolerable if any one shouts to me. Heaven alone
knows how it is to end! Vering declares that I shall certainly
improve, even if I be not entirely restored. How often have I
cursed my existence! Plutarch led me to resignation. I shall
strive if possible to set Fate at defiance, although there must be
moments in my life when I cannot fail to be the most unhappy
of God's creatures. I entreat you to say nothing of my affliction
to any one, not even to Lorchen. I confide the secret to you
alone, and entreat you some day to correspond with Vering on
the subject. If I continue in the same state, I shall come to
you in the ensuing spring, when you must engage a house for
me somewhere in the country, amid beautiful scenery, and I
shall then become a rustic for a year, which may perhaps effect
a change. Resignation! - what a miserable refuge! and yet it is
my sole remaining one. You will forgive my thus appealing to
your kindly sympathies at a time when your own position is sad
enough.
Farewell, my kind, faithful Wegeler! Rest assured of the love
and friendship of your
BEETHOVEN.
## p. 1754 (#552) ###########################################
1754
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
FROM THE LETTERS TO BETTINA BRENTANO
N"
EVER was there a lovelier spring than this year; I say so, and
feel it too, because it was then I first knew you. You have
yourself seen that in society I am like a fish on the sand,
which writhes and writhes, but cannot get away till some benevo-
lent Galatea casts it back into the mighty ocean. I was indeed
fairly stranded, dearest friend, when surprised by you at a moment
in which moroseness had entirely mastered me; but how quickly
it vanished at your aspect! I was at once conscious that you
came from another sphere than this absurd world, where, with
the best inclinations, I cannot open my ears. I am a wretched
creature, and yet I complain of others! ! You will forgive this
from the goodness of heart that beams in your eyes, and the good
sense manifested by your ears; at least they understand how to
flatter, by the mode in which they listen. My ears are, alas! a
partition-wall, through which I can with difficulty hold any inter-
course with my fellow-creatures. Otherwise perhaps I might
have felt more assured with you; but I was only conscious of
the full, intelligent glance from your eyes, which affected me so
deeply that never can I forget it. My dear friend! dearest girl! ---
Art! who comprehends it ? with whom can I discuss this mighty
goddess ? How precious to were the few days when we
talked together, or, I should rather say, corresponded! I have
carefully preserved the little notes with your clever, charming,
most charming answers; so I have to thank my defective hearing
for the greater part of our fugitive intercourse being written
down. Since you left this I have had some unhappy hours,--
hours of the deepest gloom, when I could do nothing. I wan-
dered for three hours in the Schönbrunn Allée after you left us,
but no angel met me there to take possession of me as you did.
Pray forgive, my dear friend, this deviation from the original
key, but I must have such intervals as a relief to my heart.
You have no doubt written to Goethe about me? I would gladly
bury my head in a sack, so that I might neither see nor hear
what goes on in the world, because I shall meet you there no
more; but I shall get a letter from you? Hope sustains me, as
it does half the world; through life she has been my close com-
panion, or what would have become of me? I send you Kennst
me
## p. 1755 (#553) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1755
I am
Du das Land,' written with my own hand, as a remembrance of
the hour when I first knew you.
If you mention me when you write to Goethe, strive to find
words expressive of my deep reverence and admiration.
about to write to him inyself with regard to “Egmont,' for
which I have written some music solely from my love for his
poetry, which always delights me. Who can be sufficiently grate-
ful to a great poet, — the most precious jewel of a nation!
Kings and princes can indeed create professors and privy-
councillors, and confer titles and decorations, but they cannot
make great men, spirits that soar above the base turmoil of
this world. There their powers fail, and this it is that forces
them to respect us. When two persons like Goethe and myself
meet, these grandees cannot fail to perceive what such as we
consider great. Yesterday on our way home we met the whole
Imperial family; we saw them coming some way off, when
Goethe withdrew his arm from mine, in order to stand aside;
and say what I would, I could not prevail on him to make
another step in advance. I pressed down my hat more firmly
on my head, buttoned up my great-coat, and crossing my arms
behind me, I made my way through the thickest portion of the
crowd. Princes and courtiers formed a lane for me; Archduke
Rudolph took off his hat, and the Empress bowed to me first.
These great ones of the earth know me. To my infinite amuse-
ment, I saw the procession defile past Goethe, who stood aside
with his hat off, bowing profoundly. I afterwards took him
sharply to task for this; I gave him no quarter and upbraided
him with all his sins.
TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI
You
MONDAY EVENING, July 6th.
ou grieve! dearest of all beings! I have just heard that
the letters must be sent off very early. Mondays and
Thursdays are the only days when the post goes to K
from here. You grieve! Ah! where I am, there you are ever
with me:
how earnestly shall I strive to pass my life with you,
and what a life will it be! ! ! Whereas now! ! without you! ! and
## p. 1756 (#554) ###########################################
1756
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
persecuted by the kindness of others, which I neither deserve
nor try to deserve! The servility of man towards his fellow-man
pains me, and when I regard myself as a component part of the
universe, what am I, what is he who is called the greatest ? -
and yet herein are displayed the godlike feelings of humanity! -
I weep in thinking that you will receive no intelligence from me
till probably Saturday. However dearly you may love me, I
love you more fondly still. Never conceal your feelings from
Good-night! As a patient at these baths, I must now go
to rest. [A few words are here effaced by Beethoven himself. ]
Oh, heavens! so near, and yet so far! Is not our love a truly
celestial mansion, but firm as the vault of heaven itself ?
me.
July 7th.
Good morning!
Even before I rise, my thoughts throng to you, my immortal
beloved ! -- sometimes full of joy, and yet again sad, waiting to
see whether Fate will hear us. I must live either wholly with
you, or not at all. Indeed, I have resolved to wander far from
you till the moment arrives when I can fly into your arms, and
feel that they are my home, and send forth my soul in unison
with yours into the realm of spirits. Alas! it must be so! You
will take courage, for you know my fidelity. Never can another
possess my heart — never, never! Oh, heavens! Why must
fly from her I so fondly love? and yet my existence in W-
was as miserable as here. Your love made me the most happy
and yet the most unhappy of men. At my age, life requires a
uniform equality; can this be found in our mutual relations ?
My angel! I have this moment heard that the post goes every
day, so I must conclude that you may get this letter the sooner.
Be calm! for we can only attain our object of living together by
the calm contemplation of our existence. Continue to love me.
Yesterday, to-day, what longings for you, what tears for you!
for you! for you! my life! my all! Farewell! Oh, love me for
ever, and never doubt the faithful heart of your lover, L.
Ever thine.
Ever mine.
Ever each other's.
## p. 1757 (#555) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1757
TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN
0"
HEILIGENSTADT, Oct. 6th, 1802,
H! 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 prone to the most ten-
der 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 unskillful
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 passionate and excitable temperament, keenly sus-
ceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in
life to isolate myself, and to pass 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 defect-
ive 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 recrea-
tion in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual out-
pourings of thought. Completely isolated, I only enter society
when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile.
I am assailed 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
In company
## p. 1758 (#556) ###########################################
1758
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
shepherd singing, and I still heard nothing! Such things brought
me to the verge of desperation, and well-nigh caused me to put
an end to my life. drt! 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? 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, stead-
fastly 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! This is no slight trial, and more
severe on an artist than on any one else.
God 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 be still alive, beg him in my name to
describe my malady, and to add these pages to the analysis 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 assist 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 l'irtue
to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can insure happiness.
I speak from experience. It was l'irtue 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 grate-
fully 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
## p. 1759 (#557) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1759
Death. If he comes before I have had the opportunity of de-
veloping 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. 0 Providence! vouchsafe me
one day of pure felicity! How long have I been estranged from
the glad echo of true joy! When! O my God! when shall I again
feel it in the temple of nature and of man? — never? Ah! that
would be too hard!
To be read and fulfilled after my death by my brothers Carl
and Johann.
TO THE ROYAL AND IMPERIAL HIGH COURT OF APPEAL
T"
JANUARY 7th, 1820.
He welfare of my nephew is dearer to my heart than it can
be to anyone else. I am myself childless, and have no
relations except this boy, who is full of talent, and I have
good grounds to hope the best for him, if properly trained.
My efforts and wishes have no other aim than to give the boy
the best possible education — his abilities justifying the brightest
hopes — and to fulfill the trust placed in my brotherly love by
his father. The shoot is still flexible; but if longer neglected it
will become crooked and outgrow the gardener's training hand,
## p. 1760 (#558) ###########################################
1760
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
and upright bearing, intellect, and character be destroyed for
ever.
I know no duty more sacred than the education and training
of a child. The chief duties of a guardian consist in knowing
how to appreciate what is good, and in adopting a right course;
then alone has proper attention been devoted to the welfare of
his ward, whereas in opposing what is good he neglects his duty.
Indeed, keeping in view what is most for the benefit of the
boy, I do not object to the mother in so far sharing in the duties
of a guardian, that she may visit her son, and see him, and be
apprised of all the measures adopted for his education; but to
intrust her with his sole guardianship without a strict guardian
by her side would cause the irretrievable ruin of her son.
On these cogent grounds I reiterate my well-founded solicita-
tion, and feel the more confident of a favorable answer, as the
welfare of my nephew alone guides my steps in this affair.
TO BARONESS VON DROSSDICK
I
LIVE in entire quiet and solitude; and even though occasional
flashes of light arouse me, still since you all left, I feel
a hopeless void which even my art, usually so faithful to me,
has not yet triumphed over. Your pianoforte is ordered, and
you
shall soon have it. What a difference you must have dis-
covered between the treatment of the Theme I extemporized on
the other evening, and the mode in which I have recently writ-
ten it out for you! You must explain this yourself, only do not
find the solution in the punch! How happy you are to get
away so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy this luxury till the
8th. I look forward to it with the delight of a child. What
happiness I shall feel in wandering among groves and woods, and
among trees and plants and rocks! No man on earth can love
the country as I do! Thickets, trees, and rocks supply the echo
man longs for!
## p. 1761 (#559) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1761
M
TO ZMESKALL
1811.
Ost high-born of men!
We beg you to confer some goose-quills on us; we will
in return send you a whole bunch of the same sort, that
you may not be obliged to pluck out your own. It is just possi-
ble that you may yet receive the Grand Cross of the Order of
the Violoncello. We remain your gracious and most friendly of
all friends,
BEETHOVEN.
TO ZMESKALL
M
FEBRUARY 2d, 1812.
ost wonderful of men!
We beg that your servant will engage a person to fit up
my apartment; as he is acquainted with the lodgings, he
can fix the proper price at once. Do this soon, you Carnival
scamp! ! ! ! ! ! !
The inclosed note is at least a week old.
TO HIS BROTHER JOHANN
TH
BADEN, May 6th, 1825.
HE bell and bell-pulls, etc. , etc. , are on no account whatever
to be left in my former lodging. No proposal was ever
made to these people to take any of my things. Indis-
position prevented my sending for it, and the locksmith had
not come during my stay to take down the bell; otherwise it
might have been at once removed and sent to me in town, as
they have no right whatever to retain it.
Be this as it may,
I am quite determined not to leave the bell there, for I require
one here, and therefore intend to use the one in question for
my purpose, as a similar one would cost me twice as much as
in Vienna, bell-pulls being the most expensive things locksmiths
have. If necessary, apply at once to the police. The window
in my room is precisely in the same state as when I took pos-
session, but I am willing to pay for it, and also for the one in
the kitchen, 2 florins 12 kreuzers, for the two. The key I will
not pay for, as I found none; on the contrary, the door was
II-III
## p. 1762 (#560) ###########################################
1762
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
fastened or nailed up when I came, and remained in the same
condition till I left; there never was a key, so of course neither
I myself, nor those who preceded me, could make use of one.
Perhaps it is intended to make a collection, in which case I am
willing to put my hand in my pocket.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
TO STEPHAN V. BREUNING
M*portrait I now send.
My dear and much loved Stephan :
AY our temporary estrangement be for ever effaced by the
portrait I now send. I know that I have rent your heart.
The emotion which you cannot fail now to see in mine has
sufficiently punished me for it. There was no malice towards
you in my heart, for then I should be no longer worthy of your
friendship. It was passion both on your part and on mine; but
mistrust was rife within me, for people had come between us,
unworthy both of you and of me.
My portrait was long ago intended for you; you knew that it
was destined for some one—and to whom could I give it with
such warmth of heart, as to you, my faithful, good, and noble
Stephan ?
Forgive me for having grieved you, but I did not myself
suffer less when I no longer saw you near me. I then first
keenly felt how dear you were, and ever will be to my heart.
Surely you will once more fly to my arms as you formerly did.
## p. 1763 (#561) ###########################################
1763
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
(1740-1795)
BY OLGA FLINCH
ARL MICHAEL BELLMAN was born in Stockholm on the 4th of
February, 1740. His father, son of a professor at Upsala
University, held a government office; of his mother he
wrote that she was “fair as day, unspeakably good, dressed prettily,
was kind to everybody, of a refined nature, and had an excellent
voice. ” From her he undoubtedly inherited the warm, genial heart
which beats in every one of his songs. His father's house was the
rendezvous of many of the noted men of the day, among them the
poet Dalin, who was then at the zenith of his popularity. The boy's
unusual gifts were early recognized, and everything was done to give
him the best instruction, especially after an attack of fever, during
which he not only spoke in rhyme, but sang his first improvised
songs in a clear, true voice. The tutor who was then chosen taught
him, besides the art of making verse,” English, French, German,
and Italian; and he progressed far enough in these studies to trans-
late several German hymns and religious and philosophic essays, no
doubt influenced in this choice of subjects by the religious atmosphere
of his home. Moreover, he taught himself to play the zither, and
very soon began to pick out his own melodies as an accompaniment
to his songs.
The instrument he used had been brought home from
Italy by his grandfather, became his closest companion throughout
life, and is now kept at the Royal Academy of Arts at Stockholm.
At eighteen he entered the University of Upsala, and while
there wrote a satirical poem, "The Moon,' which he submitted to the
criticism of Dalin, who however made but a single correction. It
was written in the manner of Dalin, and he continued to be influ-
enced by the latter until his twenty-fifth year. At this time, and
within the same year, his father and mother died, and seeking
among his friends the social stimulus which his nature craved, he
became a frequent guest at the inns in the company of Hallman and
Krexel, who were making their mark by their poetic and dramatic
writings. It was then that his peculiar talent came to its own; he
threw away all foreign influence and began to sing his songs, born
of the impression of the moment and full of the charm of spon-
taneity. Some of them he jotted down quickly, most of them he
## p. 1764 (#562) ###########################################
1764
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
was soon
sang to the sound of his zither, ofteri fashioning them to suit well-
known melodies, and again creating the melody with the words, for
the greater part set in a form of verse not previously used. And so
inseparably linked are words and melody, that it has not occurred to
any one to set any other music to Bellman's songs than what he
originally chose. He took all his characters out of the life he saw
around him; and with the appreciation of the man to whom the
present is everything, he seized the charm of the fleeting moment
and expressed it with such simplicity and truth, and deep feeling
withal, that it stands forth immortally fresh and young. A number
of these songs have probably been lost; he had no thirst for fame,
and took no pains to circulate them, but they found their way to the
public in written copies and cheap prints, and his name
known throughout the country.
This way of living and singing like the birds of the air was, how-
ever, not very conducive to the satisfaction of material wants. He
had made two attempts to go into business, but the more he was
seen at the inns, the less he was seen at his business.
Fortunately for him, Gustavus III. , who was himself a poet, be-
came at this time king of Sweden.
He was
an adherent of the
French school of poetry, and Bellman's muse could hardly be said
to belong to this: but with considerable talent as a dramatic writer,
Gustavus appreciated the dramatic quality in Bellman's songs; and
when Bellman sent him a rhymed petition, still kept, in which he
wrote that “if his Majesty would not most graciously give him an
office, he would most obediently be obliged to starve to death before
Christmas,” the king made him secretary of the lottery, with the title
of court secretary, and a yearly income of three thousand dollars.
Bellman promptly gave half of this to an assistant, who did the
work, and continued his troubadour life on the other half with a
superb disdain of future needs. His affairs so well in order, he
could afford to get married; and chose for his wife Lovisa Grönlund,
a girl of a bright intellect and strong character, of which she ulti-
mately had great need, the responsibilities of their married life being
left altogether to her.
Bellman was now at his best; about this time he wrote most of
Fredman's Songs) and Actions concerning the Chapter of Bac-
chus order,) both rich in lyric gems; he was the favorite compan-
ion of the King, to whom his devotion was boundless, and he was
happy in his chosen friends whose company inspired him. Never-
theless he was now, as ever, in need of money. Atterbom tells that
“One day the King met him on the street, so poorly dressed that
he instinctively exclaimed, My dear Bellman, how poorly you are
clad! The poet answered with a bow, I can nevertheless most
## p. 1765 (#563) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1765
obediently assure your Majesty that I am wearing my entire ward-
robe. ) » His ready wit never left him. “How goes the world with
you ? ” asked the King once when they met; "you don't look to me
as if you could turn a single rhyme to-day. ” The poet bowed and
replied on the spur of the moment:
“No scrip my purse doth hold;
My lyre's unstrung, alas !
But yet upon my glass
Stands Gustaf's name in gold. ”
Another time the King sent his men for him, with the order to
bring him in whatever condition they found him. “He was found
not entirely free from drink, and not very presentable, but was never-
theless carried off, zither and all, to Haga Castle, where he drank
some champagne, sang some songs, drank a little more, and finally
fell asleep. The King left him so to go to his supper; and when he
returned and found his guest still sleeping, he remarked, I wonder
what Bellman would say if I awoke him now and asked him to give
a song. ' The poet sat up, blinked with his eyes, and said,
“Then Bellman would say, — listen;' whereupon he sang to the tune
of Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre':-
me
<<<Oh, so heavily, heavily trailing,
The clouds over Haga are sailing,
And the stars their bright glances are veiling,
While woods in the gloom disappear.
Go, King, thy rest is dear,
Go, King, thy respite taking,
Rest softly, rest softly, then waking,
When dawn through the darkness is breaking,
Thy people with mild rule thou cheer!
Then he fell into his former position again, and was carried home
asleep with a little gift in his hand. ”
The task of collecting, preserving, and publishing his works feil
entirely upon his friends; if it had depended on him, they would
probably never have been collected, much less published.
During the last fifteen years of his life, from 1780 to 1795, his
health grew very poor.
In 1791 he was invited to be present at
the distribution of degrees at Upsala, and at the dinner he returned
a toast with a song born of the moment; but his voice had grown so
weak from lung trouble that only those nearest to him could hear
him. To add to his sufferings, he had to meet the great sorrow of
his King's death at the hand of a murderer, and his poem on the
Death and Memory of the King' was not of a nature to make
friends for him at the new court. Thus it happened that, poor and
## p. 1766 (#564) ###########################################
1766
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
broken in health, he was put into the debtor's prison in the very
castle where he had been so happy a guest.
Hallman and Krexel
and others of his best friends, as devoted to him as ever, were
unable to obtain his release; but he was at last bailed out by some
one, who as recompense asked him to sing one of his jolly songs,
and in his poor broken voice he sang Drink out thy glass, see,
Death awaits thee. ) Atterbom remarks about the man in question,
"And maybe he did not find that song so jolly after all. ”
While in prison he sent in a petition to the King, somewhat
different from his first petition to Gustavus III. ,- in which he asked
permission to live in the castle until his death. The following is one
of the verses:-
«Spring commands; the birds are singing,
Bees are swarming, fishes play;
Now and then the zephyrs stray,
Breath of life the poet bringing.
Lift my load of sorrow clinging,
Spare me one small nook, I pray. )
Of his death Atterbom writes as follows:-
“He had been the favorite of the nation and the King, content with the
mere necessities of life, free from every care, not even desiring the immor-
tality of fame; moderate in everything except in enthusiasm, he had enjoyed
to the full what he wanted, — friendship, wine, and music. Now he lived to
see the shadows fall over his life and genius. Feeling that his last hour was
not far off, he sent word to his nearest friends that a meeting with them as
in old times would be dear to him. He came to meet them almost a shadow,
but with his old friendly smile; even in the toasts he took part, however
moderately, and then he announced that he would let them (hear Bellman
once more. The spirit of song took possession of him, more powerfully than
ever, and all the rays of his dying imagination were centred in an impro-
vised good-by song. Throughout an entire night, under continual inspiration,
he sang his happy life, his mild King's glory, his gratitude to Providence, who
let him be born among a noble people in this beautiful Northern country, -
finally he gave his grateful good-by to every one present, in a separate stro-
phe and melody expressing the peculiar individuality of the one addressed
and his relation to the poet. His friends begged him with tears to stop, and
spare his already much weakened lungs; but he replied, Let us die, as we
have lived, in music! )- emptied his last glass of champagne, and began at
dawn the last verse of his song. "
After this he sang no more. A few days later he went to bed,
lingered for ten weeks, and died on the uth of February, 1795, aged
fifty-four years.
He was buried in Clara cemetery.
Bellman's critics have given themselves much trouble about his
personal character. Some have thought him little better than a
## p. 1767 (#565) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1767
coarse drunkard; others again have made him out a cynic who
sneered at the life he depicted; again others have laid the weight
on the note found in “Drink out thy glass,' and have seen only the
underlying sad pathos of his songs. His contemporaries agree that
he was a
man of great consideration for form, and assert that if
there are coarse passages in his songs it is because they only could
express what he depicted. All coarseness was foreign to his nature;
he was reserved and somewhat shy, and only in the company of his
chosen few did he open his heart.
His critics have, moreover, assiduously sought the moral of his
works. If any was intended, it may have been that of fighting senti-
mentality and all false feeling; but it seems more in accordance
with his entire life that he sang out of the fullness of his heart, as
a bird sings, simply because it must sing.
Olga
Glinch
TO ULLA
U"
LLA, mine Ulla, tell me, may I hand thee
Reddest of strawberries in milk or wine?
Or from the pond a lively fish? Command me!
Or, from the well, a bowl of water fine?
Doors are blown open, the wind gets the blaming.
Perfumes exhale from flower and tree.
Clouds fleck the sky and the sun rises flaming,
As you see!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish market? So ?
"Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
