Ludwig van Beethoven

It was impossible for me to leave the world before I had brought forth all that I felt called upon to bring forth. Oh, you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me.

For my brothers Carl and Johann van Beethoven, though these words may reach you only after my death—I write to you from the depths of my despair, yet also from the heights of my resolve.

You do not know the secret fire that has been consuming me for years. What appears to you as anger, as withdrawal from society, as the peculiar behavior of an eccentric musician, is in truth the agony of a man who lives for sound yet finds himself increasingly cut off from the world of hearing.

My deafness grows worse each day. In company, I must stand close to hear the orchestra; I cannot hear the high notes of instruments or voices. What torture when someone standing next to me hears a flute in the distance and I hear nothing, or when someone mentions hearing a shepherd singing, and again I hear nothing.

Such incidents brought me close to despair. Little more and I would have put an end to my life. Only art, only my music, held me back. Oh, it seemed impossible to leave the world before I had produced all that I felt called upon to produce.

But what humiliation when someone stood next to me and heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or when someone mentioned hearing a shepherd sing and again I heard nothing. Such experiences almost drove me to despair; at times it was impossible for me to conceive that I could live as an artist.

Yet it has been impossible for me to leave this world before I have produced all that I felt called upon to produce. And so I have endured this wretched existence—wretched indeed, with a body so sensitive that any fairly sudden change can plunge me from the best into the worst state.

Patience—that is what I must choose for my guide. I have done so. I hope my resolve will remain firm until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Perhaps things will improve, perhaps not; I am prepared for anything.

Already at twenty-eight I was forced to become a philosopher. This is not easy; for an artist it is harder than for anyone else. Divine One, you see into my heart, you know it, you know that love for mankind and a desire to do good dwell there.

Oh you men who consider me hostile, stubborn, or misanthropic, how you wrong me! You do not know the secret reason for what appears to you as such. From childhood, my heart and mind were inclined toward benevolence. I was always ready to perform great deeds.

But consider that for six years now I have been afflicted with an incurable condition, made worse by incompetent doctors. Year after year I have been deceived by the hope of improvement, and finally I have been forced to accept the prospect of a permanent infirmity.

Born with a passionate and excitable temperament, sensitive to the diversions of society, I was forced early to isolate myself and live in loneliness. If I occasionally tried to ignore all this, how harshly I was reminded by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing!

But what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or when someone heard a shepherd singing and again I heard nothing. Such experiences brought me to the verge of despair; it would have taken little more for me to end my life.

Only art held me back. It seemed impossible to leave the world before I had brought forth everything I felt called upon to bring forth. And so I endured this wretched existence.

Forgive me if you see me withdraw when I would gladly mingle with you. My misfortune is doubly painful because it leads to my being misunderstood. Recreation in human company, refined conversation, mutual outpourings of thoughts are denied to me.

But it was impossible for me to say to people: speak louder, shout, because I am deaf. How could I admit to a weakness in the one sense that should be perfect in me to a higher degree than in others—a sense I once possessed in the greatest perfection?

Oh Divine One, you look down upon my innermost soul, you understand, you know that therein dwells the love of mankind and the desire to do good.