THE HEILIGENSTADT TESTAMENT
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN to HIS BROTHERS
October 6th, 1802
Ludwig van Beethoven was one of the most famous composers of all time – a true musical genius whose accomplishments still influence and astonish to this day, centuries after his death. His life’s work seems even more impressive on learning that he started to lose his hearing in his late-twenties, a development which brought on bouts of depression and suicidal thoughts, which in turn saw him distance himself from friends and family. At the age of 32, he wrote this, the “Heiligenstadt Testament”, a heartbreaking letter to be opened by his brothers after his death in which he explains his anti-social behaviour and affliction. Despite his deafness, Beethoven continued to compose until the end of his life; he passed away in 1827, 25 years after writing this letter.
For my brothers Carl and [Johann] Beethoven
Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic,
how greatly do you wrong me. You do not know the secret cause which makes me
seem that way to you. From childhood on, my heart and soul have been full of
the tender feeling of goodwill, and I was even inclined to accomplish great things.
But, think that for six years now I have been hopelessly afflicted, made worse by
senseless physicians, from year to year deceived with hopes of improvement, finally
compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or,
perhaps, be impossible).
Though born with a fiery, active temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of
society, I was soon compelled to isolate myself, to live life alone. If at times I tried
to forget all this, oh, how harshly was I flung back by the doubly sad experience
of my bad hearing. Yet it was impossible for me to say to people, “Speak Louder,
shout, for I am deaf ”. Oh, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense
which ought to be more perfect in me than others, a sense which I once possessed
in the highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever
have enjoyed. — Oh I cannot do it; therefore forgive me when you see me draw
back when I would have gladly mingled with you.
My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood;
for me there can be no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no
mutual exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone, like one who has been banished.
I can mix with society only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach near
to people a hot terror seizes upon me, and I fear being exposed to the danger that
my condition might be noticed. Thus it has been during the last six months which I
have spent in the country. By ordering me to spare my hearing as much as possible,
my intelligent doctor almost fell in with my own present frame of mind, though
sometimes I ran counter to it by yielding to my desire for companionship.
But what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in
the distance and I heard nothing, or someone standing next to me heard a shepherd
singing and again I heard nothing. Such incidents drove me almost to despair; a
little more of that and I would have ended my life. It was only my art that held
me back. Oh, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had forth all
that I felt was within me. So I endured this wretched existence, truly wretched
for so susceptible a body, which can be thrown by a sudden change from the best
condition to the worst. Patience, they say, is what I must now choose for my guide,
and I have done so — I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it
pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Perhaps I shall get better, perhaps
not; I am ready. — Forced to become a philosopher already in my twenty-eighth
year, oh, it is not easy, and for the artist much more difficult than for anyone else.
Divine One, thou seest my inmost soul thou knowest that therein dwells the love
of mankind and the desire to do good. Oh, fellow men, when at some point you
read this, consider then that you have done me injustice. Someone who has had
misfortune may console himself to find a similar case to his, who despite all the
limitations of Nature nevertheless did everything within his powers to become
accepted among worthy artist and men.
You, my brothers Carl and Johann, as soon as I am dead, if Dr. Schmid is still alive,
ask him in my name to describe my malady, and attach this written documentation
to his account of my illness so that so far as it is possible at least the world may
become reconciled to me after my death. At the same time, I declare you two to be
the heirs to my small fortune (if so it can be called); divide it fairly, bear with and
help each other. What injury you have done me you know was long ago forgiven.
To you, brother Carl, I give special thanks for the attachment you have shown
me of late. It is my wish that you may have a better and freer life than I have had.
Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I
speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery. Thanks for it
and to my art, I did not end my life by suicide — Farewell and love each other.
I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmid; I
would like the instruments from Prince L. to be preserved by one of you, but not
to be the cause of strife between you, and as soon as they can serve you a better
purpose, then sell them. How happy I shall be if I can still be helpful to you in my
grave — so be it. With joy I hasten towards death. If it comes before I have had the
chance to develop all my artistic capacities, it will still be coming too soon despite
my harsh fate, and I should probably wish it later — yet even so I should be happy,
for would it not free me from the state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt,
I shall meet thee bravely. Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead; I
deserve this from you, for during my lifetime I was thinking of you often and of
ways to make you happy; please be so —
Ludwig van Beethoven
October 6th, 1802