"DEAR, BELOVED FRIEND,--I have already had two letters from you, and see from those to Tonie that you still remember me, and even too kindly. Your first letter I carried about with me the whole summer, and it has often made me very happy. Although I do not write to you frequently, and you see nothing at all of me, yet in thought I write you a thousand times a thousand letters. How you must feel in Berlin amongst all the frivolous, worldly rabble, I could imagine, even though you had not written it to me yourself,--mere prating about Art without any results!! The best description of this is to be found in Schiller's poem, 'The River,' in which the Spree speaks.--You are about to be married, dear friend, or are so already, and I have not been able to see you even once previously. May all the felicity with which marriage blesses those who enter into her bonds be poured upon you and your husband! What shall I say to you about myself? I can only exclaim with Johanna, 'Compassionate my fate!' If I am but spared for a few years longer, I will thank Him who embraces all within Himself--the Most High--for this as well as for all other weal and woe.--If you should mention me when writing to Goethe, strive to find all those words which can express to him my deepest reverence and admiration. I am just about to write to him myself regarding 'Egmont,' to which I have composed the music, solely out of love for his poetry, which always makes me happy;--but who can sufficiently thank a Poet, the most precious jewel of a Nation! Now no more, my dear, good friend. I only returned this morning from a _Bacchanale_ where I laughed too heartily, only to weep nearly as much to-day; boisterous joy often drives me violently back upon myself. As to Clemens, many thanks for his courtesy; with regard to the Cantata, the subject is not important enough for us, it is very different in Berlin. As for my affection, the sister has so large a share of it that not much is left for the brother--will he be content with this? Now farewell, dear, dear friend. I imprint a sorrowful kiss upon your forehead, thus impressing, as with a seal, all my thoughts upon it. Write soon, soon, often, to your Brother, "BEETHOVEN." "_Toeplitz, 15th August, 1812._ "MY MOST DEAR, KIND FRIEND,--Kings and princes may indeed be able to create professors and privy councillors, and to bestow titles and decorations, but great men they cannot make. Spirits that tower above the common herd, these they cannot pretend to make, and therefore they are forced to respect them. When two men like Goethe and myself come together, these grandees must perceive what is accounted great by such as we.