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 mixing in society only 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, and 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, 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, so far as 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 honorably 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 toward me of late.