ain of others!--You will surely forgive me,
with your good heart, which is seen in your eyes, and with your
intelligence, which lies in your ears--at least our ears know how to
flatter when they listen. My ears, unfortunately, are a barrier-wall
through which I cannot easily hold friendly communication with men,
else--perhaps!--I should have had more confidence in you. So I could
only understand the great, intelligent look of your eyes, which so
impressed me that I can never forget it. Dear Bettina (friend), beloved
Maiden!--Art!--Who understands it, with whom can one speak concerning
this great goddess! How dear to me were the few days when we gossiped or
rather corresponded together! I have kept all the little notes on which
stand your clever, dear, very dear, answers; so I have, at any rate, to
thank my bad hearing that the best part of these fleeting conversations
has been noted down. Since you went away I have had vexatious hours,
hours of darkness, in which one can do nothing; after your departure I
roamed about for full three hours in the Schoenbrunner Alley, also on
the ramparts; but no angel met me who could take such hold on me as you,
angel!--Forgive, dearest Bettina (friend), this digression from the key;
I must have such intervals in order to give vent to my feelings. Then
you have written, have you not, to Goethe about me? I would willingly
hide my head in a sack, so as to hear and see nothing of what is going
on in the world, because you, dearest angel, will not meet me. But I
shall surely receive a letter from you? Hope nourishes me--it nourishes,
indeed, half the world; I have had it as my neighbor all my life--what
otherwise would have become of me? I here send, written with my own
hand, "Kennst du das Land"--in remembrance of the hour in which I made
your acquaintance. I also send the other which I have composed since I
parted from you dear, dearest heart!--

Heart, my heart, what bodes the crisis,
What oppresseth thee so sore?
What a strange, untoward life this!
I can fathom thee no more.

Yes, dearest Bettina (friend), send me an answer, write to me what will
happen to me since my heart has become such a rebel. Write to your most
faithful friend,

BEETHOVEN.

NO. 295

TO EMILIE M. AT H.

Teplitz, July 17, 1812.

My Dear Good Emilie, My Dear Friend!

I am sending a late answer to your letter; a mass of business and
constant illness must be my excuse. That I am here for t