I hope that you
will condescend to cast an encouraging and kindly glance on them? You will;
for Art and Science have ever found in you a judicious protector and a
generous patron, and rising talent has always prospered under your
fostering and fatherly care. Encouraged by this cheering conviction, I
venture to approach you with these my youthful efforts. Accept them as the
pure offering of childlike reverence, and graciously vouchsafe to regard
with indulgence them and their youthful composer,

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.

[Footnote 1: The dedication affixed to this work, "Three Sonatas for the
Piano, dedicated to my illustrious master, Maximilian Friedrich, Archbishop
and Elector of Cologne, by Ludwig van Beethoven in his eleventh year," is
probably not written by the boy himself, but is given here as an amusing
contrast to his subsequent ideas with regard to the homage due to rank.]

2.

TO DR. SCHADE,--AUGSBURG.

Bonn, 1787. Autumn.

MY MOST ESTEEMED FRIEND,--

I can easily imagine what you must think of me, and I cannot deny that you
have too good grounds for an unfavorable opinion. I shall not, however,
attempt to justify myself, until I have explained to you the reasons why my
apologies should be accepted. I must tell you that from the time I left
Augsburg[1] my cheerfulness, as well as my health, began to decline; the
nearer I came to my native city, the more frequent were the letters from my
father, urging me to travel with all possible speed, as my mother's health
was in a most precarious condition. I therefore hurried forwards as fast as
I could, although myself far from well. My longing once more to see my
dying mother overcame every obstacle, and assisted me in surmounting the
greatest difficulties. I found my mother indeed still alive, but in the
most deplorable state; her disease was consumption, and about seven weeks
ago, after much pain and suffering, she died [July 17]. She was indeed a
kind, loving mother to me, and my best friend. Ah! who was happier than I,
when I could still utter the sweet name of mother, and it was heard? But to
whom can I now say it? Only to the silent form resembling her, evoked by
the power of imagination. I have passed very few pleasant hours since my
arrival here, having during the whole time been suffering from asthma,
which may, I fear, eventually turn to consumption; to this is added
melancholy,--almost as great an evil as my malady itself. Imagine yourself
in my place