The visit of Louis Schloesser, afterwards chapelmaster in Darmstadt, who delivered the message from the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt, took place in the spring of the year. His description of the visit was printed in the journal “Hallelujah” in 1885 (Nos. 20 and 21). Schloesser revisited him later and met him afterwards in town, walking with him to Steiner, whom he said he was about to take to task for a remissness. “When it comes to the publication of a new work,” Beethoven said, “they would like to postpone it as long as possible, even till after my death, thinking thus to do a better business with it; but I shall checkmate them.” Schloesser was surprised on this occasion to find Beethoven dressed with unwonted elegance and remarked the fact to Mayseder, who explained, with a smile, that it was not the first time that his friends had stolen his old clothes at night and left new ones in their place. Mayseder added that the substitution was never noticed by Beethoven, who donned the garments with perfect calmness. Schloesser observes that he never detected the least sign of absentmindedness in Beethoven. At the last meeting between the men Schloesser showed Beethoven one of his compositions, a somewhat complicated work. Beethoven looked through it and observed: “You write too much; less would have been better. That’s the way of our young heaven-stormers who think that they can never do enough. But that will change with riper age, and I prefer a superabundance to a paucity of ideas.” To the question how this might be attained Schloesser says Beethoven replied “literally”: I carry my thoughts about me for a long time, often a very long time, before I write them down. Meanwhile my memory is so tenacious that I am sure never to forget, not even in years, a theme that has once occurred to me. I change many things, discard and try again until I am satisfied. Then, however, there begins in my head the development in every direction and, insomuch as I know exactly what I want, the fundamental idea never deserts me--it arises before me, grows--I see and hear the picture in all its extent and dimensions stand before my mind like a cast and there remains for me nothing but the labor of writing it down, which is quickly accomplished when I have the time, for I sometimes take up other work, but never to the confusion of one with the other. You will ask me where I get my ideas? That I can not tell you with certainty; they come unsummoned, directly, indirectly,--I could seize them with my hands out in the open air; in the woods; while walking; in the silence of the night; early in the morning; incited by moods which are translated by the poet into words, by me into tones,--sound and roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes.