We know now that the marriage project fell through early in May, soon after he had written the letter to Wegeler. Two short letters to Gleichenstein instruct us slightly touching the conclusion of this psychological drama which, no doubt, tore the heart of Beethoven. It would seem as if at first Beethoven wanted to visit the Malfattis at their country home, but at the last preferred to send a formal proposal of marriage by the hands of Gleichenstein. We have no testimony concerning the refusal beyond the utterance of the niece and the cessation of all correspondence on the subject. Here are the letters: You are living on a calm and peaceful sea or, possibly, are already in a safe harbor--you do not feel the distress of the friend who is still in the storm--or you dare not feel it--what will they think of me in the star Venus Urania, how will they judge me without seeing me--my pride is so humbled, I would go there with you uninvited--let me see you at my lodging to-morrow morning, I shall expect you at about 9 o’clock at breakfast--Dorner can come with you at another time--if you were but franker with me, you are certainly concealing something from me, you want to spare me and this uncertainty is more painful than the most fatal certainty--Farewell if you cannot come let me know in advance--think and act for me--I cannot entrust to paper more of what is going on within me. Dear friend, so cursedly late--press them all warmly to your heart--why can I not be with you? Farewell, I will be with you on Wednesday morning--the letter is written so that the whole world may read it--if you find that the paper covering is not clean enough, put another one on, I cannot tell at night whether it is clean--farewell, dear friend, think and act also for your faithful friend. Beethoven’s relations with another fair friend now demand attention. In the Vienna suburban road Erdbeergasse stands the lofty house then numbered 98, its rear windows overlooking Rasoumowsky’s gardens, the Donau canal and the Prater, whence on May 15, 1810, Elizabeth Brentano (Bettina) wrote to Goethe: Here I live in the house of the deceased Birkenstock, surrounded by two thousand copperplate engravings, as many hand-drawings, as many hundred old ash urns and Etruscan lamps, marble vases, antique fragments of hands and feet, paintings, Chinese garments, coins, geological collections, sea insects, telescopes and numberless maps, plans of ancient empires and cities sunk in ruin, artistically carved walking-sticks, precious documents, and finally the sword of Emperor Carolus.