Oh, heavens!  Why must I 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.

TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN

HEILIGENSTADT, Oct. 6th, 1802.

Oh!  Ye who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and misanthropical, how unjust you are, and how little you know the secret cause of what appears thus to you!  My heart and mind were ever from childhood prone to the most tender feelings of affection, and I was always disposed to accomplish something great.  But you must remember that six years ago I was attacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by 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 susceptible 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 defective hearing!—­and yet I found it impossible to say to others:  Speak louder, shout! for I am deaf!  Alas! how could I proclaim the deficiency of a sense which ought to have been more perfect with me than with other men—­a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, to an extent indeed that few of my profession ever enjoyed!  Alas!  I cannot do this!  Forgive me therefore when you see me withdraw from you with whom I would so gladly mingle.  My misfortune is doubly severe from causing me to be misunderstood.  No longer can I enjoy recreation in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual outpourings of thought.  Completely isolated, I only enter society when compelled to do so.  I must live like an exile.  In company I am 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