Oh yous men who think that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. My bad hearing ways that there can exist no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no common substitution of ideas. I must live almost alone like one who has been banished.

Overcome with depression due to the onset of his deafness, and contemplating suicide, Ludwig van Beethoven retreated to the Vienna suburb of  Heiligenstadt in the summertime of 1802, where he composed the post-obit last will and testament, which was discovered merely after his death in 1827. The composer was already a success in Vienna, having written his Get-go Symphony, three pianoforte concertos, four piano trios, and 6 string quartets, among other works. There are two oddities to mention most the certificate: Beginning, it is addressed to his brothers, Caspar Carl and Nikolaus Johann, who went by their middle names, only Beethoven omits Johann's name; this is perchance because throughout his life Beethoven refused to write out the names of people with whom he was angry—and, as musicologist Robert Greenberg suggests, Beethoven's hatred of his father, likewise named Johann, precluded him from writing the name, even when addressing his brother. 2nd, Beethoven misstates his age as xx-eight, when he was really thirty-two at the time; Beethoven was either dislocated about his age, or perhaps bizarrely misrepresented it, throughout his life. Some scholars attribute the sometime caption to the possibility that his (hated) male parent might have presented his son, the child prodigy-performer, as being younger than he actually was in order to impress listeners all the more; other scholars suggest that the mis-dating resulted from the fact that Beethoven clung to the wild theory that he was the bounder son of the Emperor Frederick the Great, and thus he rejected the accuracy of his actual birth certificate. —Editor

For my brothers Carl and ________ Beethoven

Oh you men who call up or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. You exercise not know the secret cause which makes me seem that way to you. From childhood on my heart and soul take been full of the tender feeling of goodwill, and I was ever inclined to attain great things. Simply, think that for vi years now I have been hopelessly afflicted, made worse past senseless physicians, from yr to yr deceived with hopes of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or perhaps be incommunicable). Though born with a fiery, active temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was soon compelled to withdraw myself, to live life alone. If at times I tried to forget all this, oh how harshly was I flung back by the doubly sorry experience of my bad hearing. Yet it was incommunicable for me to say to people, "Speak louder, shout, for I am deafened." Ah, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the i sense which ought to be more perfect in me than in others, a sense which I in one case possessed in the highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed.—Oh I cannot practise information technology, therefore forgive me when you run across me depict back when I would accept gladly mingled with you.

My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood; for me there tin exist no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no common exchange of ideas. I must live almost solitary like ane who has been banished; I can mix with social club only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach near to people, a hot terror seizes upon me and I fearfulness being exposed to the danger that my condition might be noticed. Thus it has been during the last half dozen months, which I accept spent in the country. By ordering me to spare my hearing equally much as possible, my intelligent medico almost savage in with my ain nowadays frame of mind, though sometimes I ran counter to it past yielding to my desire for companionship. Only what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the altitude, and I heard nil, or someone heard a shepherd singing, and again I heard aught. Such incidents collection me almost to despair. A footling more of that and I would accept concluded my life—information technology was only my art that held me back. Ah, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had brought forth all that I felt was within me. So I endured this wretched beingness—truly wretched for so susceptible a body which can be thrown by a sudden alter from the all-time status to the very worst.—Patience, they say, is what I must now choose for my guide, and I have done and then.—I hope my decision will remain firm to suffer until information technology pleases the inexorable Parcae to suspension the thread.

Mayhap I shall get better; perhaps not, I am fix.—Forced to become a philosopher already in my twenty-eighth yr, oh it is not easy, and for the artist much more hard than for anyone else.—Divine One, 1000 seest my inmost soul, thou knowest that therein dwells the love of mankind and the want to benefit. Oh fellow men, when at some point you read this, consider then that yous have done me an injustice; someone who has had misfortune may console himself to notice a similar case to his, who despite all the limitations of Nature nevertheless did everything within his powers to become accepted amidst worthy artists and men.—Y'all my brothers Carl and as soon equally I am dead, if Dr. Schmidt is still live, enquire him in my proper name to describe my malady, and adhere this written document to his account of my disease so that so far as is possible at least the world may get reconciled to me later on my decease.—At the same time I declare you two to be the heirs to my small fortune (if so it tin can be called); divide information technology fairly; bear with and help each other. What injury you have washed me you know was long agone forgiven. To you, brother Carl, I give special thanks for the attachment you lot have shown me of belatedly. It is my wish that yous may have a better and freer life than I have had. Recommend virtue to your children; information technology solitary, non coin, tin can make them happy. I speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery. Thanks to it and to my art I did not end my life by suicide.—Goodbye and beloved each other.—I thank all my friends, specially Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt.—I would similar the instruments from Prince L. to be preserved by 1 of you merely non to be the crusade of strife betwixt you, and as shortly as they can serve you a better purpose, then sell them. How happy I shall be if I can withal exist helpful to you in my grave—so be it.—With joy I hasten to meet death.—If it comes before I have had the adventure to develop all my artistic capacities, it will still be coming too soon despite my harsh fate, and I should probably wish it later—nonetheless fifty-fifty so I should be happy, for would it not gratuitous me from a state of endless suffering?—Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee bravely.—Farewell and practise not wholly forget me when I am dead; I deserve this from y'all, for during my lifetime I was thinking of yous often and of ways to make yous happy—please be so—

Ludwig van Beethoven [seal]

[on a dissever leaf]

Heiligenstadt, October half-dozen, 1802. For my brothers Carl and [Johann] to exist read and executed after my death.

Heiligenstadt, Oct 10th, 1802, thus I bid you bye—and indeed sadly—yes, that fond hope—which I brought here with me, to be cured to a degree at to the lowest degree—this I must now wholly carelessness. As the leaves of fall autumn and are withered—and so as well has my hope been blighted—I leave hither—almost every bit I came—even the high courage—which often inspired me in the cute days of summer—has disappeared—Oh Providence— grant me at last only one mean solar day of pure joy—information technology is and so long since real joy echoed in my centre. Oh when—Oh when, Oh Divine One—shall I feel it once again in the temple of nature and of mankind—Never?—No—Oh that would exist as well hard.

Source: Alexander Thayer, The Life of Beethoven; translated from the original High german. Note that the attestation has been broken into three paragraphs for the convenience of the reader.

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The featured image is courtesy of Pixabay. The image of the Heiligenstadt Testament is in the public domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

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