nt
it to some one; but to whom?--that is the question. I have sent in all
directions, and have not yet discovered it, but hope still to find it. If
lost, you shall be indemnified. Farewell, my dear Z. I trust that when we
meet again you will find that my art has made some progress in the interim.

Ever remain my friend, as much as I am yours,

BEETHOVEN.

[Footnote 1: The "Herr" is his pupil, the Archduke Rudolph.]

66.

TO BETTINA BRENTANO.[1]

Vienna, August 11, 1810.

MY DEAREST FRIEND,--

Never was there a lovelier spring than this year; I say so, and feel it
too, because it was then I first knew you. You have yourself seen that in
society I am like a fish on the sand, which writhes and writhes, but cannot
get away till some benevolent Galatea casts it back into the mighty ocean.
I was indeed fairly stranded, dearest friend, when surprised by you at a
moment in which moroseness had entirely mastered me; but how quickly it
vanished at your aspect! I was at once conscious that you came from another
sphere than this absurd world, where, with the best inclinations, I cannot
open my ears. I am a wretched creature, and yet I complain of others!! You
will forgive this from the goodness of heart that beams in your eyes, and
the good sense manifested by your ears; at least they understand how to
flatter, by the mode in which they listen. My ears are, alas! a
partition-wall, through which I can with difficulty hold any intercourse
with my fellow-creatures. Otherwise, perhaps, I might have felt more
assured with you; but I was only conscious of the full, intelligent glance
from your eyes, which affected me so deeply that never can I forget it. My
dear friend! dearest girl!--Art! who comprehends it? with whom can I
discuss this mighty goddess? How precious to me were the few days when we
talked together, or, I should rather say, corresponded! I have carefully
preserved the little notes with your clever, charming, most charming
answers; so I have to thank my defective hearing for the greater part of
our fugitive intercourse being written down. Since you left this I have had
some unhappy hours,--hours of the deepest gloom, when I could do nothing.
I wandered for three hours in the Schoenbrunn Allee after you left us, but
no _angel_ met me there to take possession of me as you did. Pray forgive,
my dear friend, this deviation from the original key, but I must have such
intervals as a relief to my heart. You have no doub