Oh! how happy should I now be, had I my full sense of hearing; I would then
hasten to you; whereas, as it is, I must withdraw from everything. My best
years will thus pass away, without effecting what my talents and powers
might have enabled me to perform. How melancholy is the resignation in
which I must take refuge! I had determined to rise superior to all this,
but how is it possible? If in the course of six months my malady be
pronounced incurable then, Amenda! I shall appeal to you to leave all else
and come to me, when I intend to travel (my affliction is less distressing
when playing and composing, and most so in intercourse with others), and
you must be my companion. I have a conviction that good fortune will not
forsake me, for to what may I not at present aspire? Since you were here I
have written everything except operas and church music. You will not, I
know, refuse my petition; you will help your friend to bear his burden and
his calamity. I have also very much perfected my pianoforte playing, and I
hope that a journey of this kind may possibly contribute to your own
success in life, and you would thenceforth always remain with me. I duly
received all your letters, and though I did not reply to them, you were
constantly present with me, and my heart beats as tenderly as ever for you.
I beg you will keep the fact of my deafness a profound secret, and not
confide it to any human being. Write to me frequently; your letters,
however short, console and cheer me; so I shall soon hope to hear from you.

Do not give your quartet to any one [in F, Op. 18, No. 1], as I have
altered it very much, having only now succeeded in writing quartets
properly; this you will at once perceive when you receive it. Now,
farewell, my dear kind friend! If by any chance I can serve you here, I
need not say that you have only to command me.

Your faithful and truly attached