but sigh, for all I see is counter to my religion and I must despise the world which does not comprehend that music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy.  It is the wine which inspires new creations, and I am the Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for men and intoxicates their spirit! * * * I have no friend and must ever be alone, but I know that God is nearer to me in my art than to others, and I commune with him without fear; I have always recognized Him and understood Him.  Nor have I any fears for my music; it can meet no evil fate, for he to whom it makes itself intelligible will be freed from all misery with which others are burdened.”

All this Beethoven said to me the first time I saw him, and I was penetrated with a feeling of reverence when he expressed himself to me with such friendly candor, since I must have seemed very unimportant to him.  Besides, I was astonished, for I had been told that he was exceedingly reticent and avoided conversation with any one; in fact, they were afraid to introduce me to him, so I had to look him up alone.  He has three dwellings in which he alternately conceals himself—­one in the country, one in the city, and the third on the bastion, in the third story of which I found him.  I entered unannounced and mentioned my name.  He was seated at the piano and was quite amiable.  He inquired whether I did not wish to hear a song that he had just composed.  Then he sang, in a shrill and piercing voice, so that the plaintiveness reacted upon the listener, “Knowest thou the land?” “It is beautiful, isn’t it, very beautiful!” he cried, enraptured; “I’ll sing it again;” and was delighted at my ready applause.  “Most people are stirred by something good, but they are not artistic natures; artists are fiery—­they do not weep.”  Then he sang one of thy songs that he had composed lately, “Dry not, Tears of Eternal Love.”

Yesterday I went for a walk with him through a beautiful garden at Schoenbrunn that was in full blossom; all the hothouses were open and the fragrance was overpowering.  Beethoven stopped in the burning sun and said, “Goethe’s poems exercise a great power over me, not alone through their content, but also through their rhythm, and I am incited and moved to compose by his language, which is built up as if by the aid of spirits into a sublime structure that bears within it the mystery of harmonies.  Then from the focus of my inspiration I must let the melody stream forth in every direction; I pursue it, passionately overtake it again, see it escaping me a second time and disappearing in a host of varying emotions; soon I seize it with renewed ardor; I can no longer separate myself from it, but with impetuous rapture I must reproduce it in all modulations, and, in the final moment, I triumph over the musical idea—­and that, you see, is a symphony!  Yes, music is truly the mediator between the spiritual and the sensuous world.  I should like to discuss this with Goethe;