I heard yesterday, and it was indeed confirmed by meeting Count Troyer, that Y.R.H. is now here.  I therefore send the dedication of the Trio [in B flat] to Y.R.H., whose name is inscribed on it; but all my works on which I place any value, though the name does not appear, are equally designed for Y.R.H.  I trust, however, that you will not think I have a motive in saying this,—­men of high rank being apt to suspect self-interest in such expressions,—­and I mean on this occasion to risk the imputation so far as appearances go, by at once asking a favor of Y.R.H.  My well-grounded reasons for so doing you will no doubt at once perceive, and graciously vouchsafe to grant my request.  I have been very much indisposed in Baden since the beginning of last October; indeed, from the 5th of October I have been entirely confined to my bed, or to my room, till about a week ago.  I had a very serious inflammatory cold, and am still able to go out very little, which has also been the cause of my not writing to Y.R.H. in Kremsir.  May all the blessings that Heaven can shower upon earth attend you.

[K.]

SECOND PART.

LIFE’S MISSION.

1815 TO 1822.

PART II.

147.

WRITTEN IN SPOHR’S ALBUM.[1]

Vienna, March 3, 1815.

[Music:  Treble clef, F Major, 3/4 time.  Kurz, kurz, kurz, kurz ist der Schmerz, der Schmerz, e-wig, e-wig ist die Freu-de, ist die Freu-de, ja die Freu-de, e-wig ist die Freu-de.  Kurz, kurz, kurz, kurz ist der Schmerz, der Schmerz, der Schmerz, e-wig, e-wig ist die Freu-de, ist die Freu-de, e-wig ist die Freude, e-wig, e-wig ist die Freu-de.  Kurz, kurz, kurz, kurz ist der Schmerz, der Schmerz, der Schmerz, e-wig, e-wig ist die Freude, e-wig ist die Freu-de.]

Whenever, dear Spohr, you chance to find true art and true artists, may you kindly remember

Your friend,

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.

[Footnote 1:  From the fac-simile in Spohr’s Autobiography, Vol.  I.]

148.

TO HERR KAUKA.

Vienna, April 8, 1815.

It seems scarcely admissible to be on the friendly terms on which I consider myself with you, and yet to be on such unfriendly ones that we should live close to each other and never meet!!!!![1] You write “tout a vous.”  Oh! you humbug! said I. No! no! it is really too bad.  I should like to thank you 9000 times for all your efforts on my behalf, and to reproach you 20,000 that you came and went as you did.  So all is a delusion! friendship, kingdom, empire; all is only a vapor which every breeze wafts into a different form!!  Perhaps I may go to Toeplitz, but it is not certain.  I might take advantage of that opportunity to let the people of Prague hear something—­what think you? if indeed you still think of me at all!  As the affair with Lobkowitz is now also come to a close, we may write Finis, though it far from fine is for me.