on of the deceased
Papageno.

Most astounding, most admirable, and most _unique_ of all Tobiases,
farewell! If not inconvenient, pray write me a few lines here. Is Dr.
Spiecker still in Vienna? I am, with highest consideration and fidelity,

Yours,

BEETHOVEN.

[Footnote 1: Probably the one in F, Op. 135.]

462.

TO CARL HOLZ.

Dec. 1826.

YOUR OFFICIAL MAJESTY,--

I wrote to you on my arrival here a few days ago, but the letter was
mislaid; I then became so unwell that I thought it best to stay in bed. I
shall therefore be very glad if you will pay me a visit. You will find it
less inconvenient, because every one has left Doebling to go to town. I only
add, in conclusion,[1]

[Music: Bass clef, C major, 3/4 time.
Wir ir-ren al-le Samt, Nur je-der ir-ret an-derst.]

As ever, your friend,

BEETHOVEN.

[Footnote 1: Here Beethoven's own writing begins. The slight indisposition
that he mentions, in the course of a few days became a serious illness, the
result of which was dropsy, and from this the _maestro_ was doomed never to
recover. Indeed from that time he never again left his bed.]

463.

TO DR. BACH.[1]

Vienna, Wednesday, Jan. 3, 1827.

MY RESPECTED FRIEND,--

I hereby declare, at my decease, my beloved nephew, Carl van Beethoven,
sole heir of all my property, and of seven bank shares in particular, as
well as any ready money I may be possessed of. If the law prescribes any
modifications in this matter, pray endeavor to regulate these as much as
possible to his advantage.

I appoint you his curator, and beg that, together with Hofrath Breuning,
his guardian, you will supply the place of a father to him.

God bless you! A thousand thanks for all the love and friendship you have
shown towards me.

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.

[Footnote 1: The signature alone is in Beethoven's writing.]

464.

TO WEGELER.

Vienna, February 17, 1827.

MY OLD AND WORTHY FRIEND,--

I received your second letter safely through Breuning. I am still too
feeble to answer it, but you may be assured that its contents were most
welcome and agreeable to me.[1] My convalescence, if indeed I may call it
such, makes very slow progress, and there is reason to suspect that a
fourth operation will be necessary, although the medical men have not as
yet decided on this. I arm myself with patience, and reflect that all evil
leads to some good. I am quite surprised to find from your last letter that
you had not recei