[Footnote 5:  The violin Sonata with pianoforte was probably Op. 47 (composed in 1803 and published in 1805, according to Thayer, No. 111), or one of his earlier compositions, Op. 30, or 24, or 23.]

93.

TO BETTINA VON ARNIM.

Toeplitz, August 15, 1812.

MY MOST DEAR KIND FRIEND,—­

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.[1] 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 amusement, 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, especially towards you, my dear friend, as we had just been speaking of you.  Heavens! if I could have lived with you as he did, believe me I should have produced far greater things.  A musician is also a poet, he too can feel himself transported into a brighter world by a pair of fine eyes, where loftier spirits sport with him and impose heavy tasks on him.  What thoughts rushed into my mind when I first saw you in the Observatory during a refreshing May shower, so fertilizing to me also![2] The most beautiful themes stole from your eyes into my heart, which shall yet enchant the world when Beethoven no longer directs.  If God vouchsafes to grant me a few more years of life, I must then see you once more, my dear, most dear friend, for the voice within, to which I always listen, demands this.  Spirits may love one another, and I shall ever woo yours.  Your approval is dearer to me than all else in the world.  I told Goethe my sentiments as to the influence praise has over men like us, and that we desire our equals to listen to us with their understanding.  Emotion suits women only; (forgive me!) music ought to strike fire from the soul of a man.  Ah! my dear girl, how long have our feelings been identical on all points!!!  The sole real good is some bright kindly spirit to sympathize with us, whom we thoroughly comprehend, and from whom we need not hide our thoughts. He who wishes to appear something, must in reality be something. The world must acknowledge us, it is