Thursday, September 01, 2005

Едно от писмата на Beethoven

Бетховен е един от композиторите, чиято музика най-много съм слушал (2 пъти - вторият път бях заспал:)))
Имам почти всичко - симфониии, концерти, квинтети, квартети, триа, сонати и др.
Извадил съм си писмата му и от време навреме прочитам по някое. Направих си труда да преведа много лошо едно от тях

BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS


Към моите братя Карл и Йохан Бетовен

О!, вие които мислите и тръбите че съм враждебен, мрачен мизантроп, колко несправедливи сте и колко малко знаете причината за това! Още от дете си мечтаех да постигна нещо велико.
Но спомняте ли си, че преди шест години се разболях от неизлечима болест, която се влошаваше още повече заради неспособни лекари, които ме заблуждаваха давайки ми надежда
година след година че ще оздравея и накрая си казаха присъдата за лечението (което може би ще да продължи с години, и което в края на краищата може да се окаже" безмислено").
Роден със страстен и раздразнителен характер, болезнено чувствителен към светските удоволствията , аз се изолирах, и прекарвах в самота. Ако по някое време решавах да се върна към света, о! колко жестоко бивах отново отблъснат, а от преживяното ставах по-тъжен от когато и да било, заради отслабналия ми слух! - и все пак аз сметнах, че е невъзможно
да казвам на другите: Говорете по-силно! Викайте! Защото съм глух! Как можех да призная че съм загубил смисъла, който би трябвало да имам повече от другите - смисъл, който някога притежавах в пълната му широта, заради което макар и малко, ме радваше професията ми. Не можех да призная това!
Затова ми простете когато ме виждате да се оттеглям от вас, от тези сред които така охотно щях да бъда. Моето нещастие е двойно по-голямо поради факта, че не ме разбират.. Нима ще мога още да се наслаждавам на удоволствието от изтънчен разговор, или взаимно споделяне на мисли. Напълно изолиран, аз се завръщам в обществото, когато повече не се издържа. Аз трябваше да живея като изгнаник. Когато попадах в компания имах болезнени опасения и страх че моето състояние ще бъде забелязано.
Същото беше през последната половин година която прекарах в провинцията.
Моят интелигентен лекар ми препоръча да щадя
слуха си колкото е възможно повече с което бях съгласен заради сегашното ми състояние, но понякога се изкушавах заради нуждата ми от общуване и си позволявах този каприз. Но какво унижение беше за мен, когато някой до мен чуваше далечен звук на флейта, а аз не чувах нищо, или когато другите чуваха как овчар подкарва стадото подвиквайки, а аз пак не чувах нищо! Такива неща ме хвърляха в такова отчаянието, че ме караха да сложа край на живота си. Изкуството! Само Изкуството, ме спираше. Ax! Нима можех да напусна светът преди да създам всичко, което усещах че беше мое призвание. Не. По този начин аз бягах
от нещастния ми живот, толкова крайно нещастен, че всяка внезапна промяна ме изваждаше от равновесие във всеки един момент. Затова Търпението беше мой водач! ...................................................................
(не пълен превод == заради мързел)

================
TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN

Oh! ye who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and misanthropical, how unjust you are, and how little you know the secret cause of what appears thus to you! My heart and mind were ever from childhood prone to the most tender feelings of affection, and I was always disposed to accomplish something great. But you must remember that six years ago I was attacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by unskilful physicians, deluded from year to year, too, by the hope of relief, and at length forced to the conviction of a lasting affliction (the cure of which may go on for years, and perhaps after all prove impracticable).

Born with a passionate and excitable temperament, keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in life to isolate myself, and to pass my existence in solitude. If I at any time resolved to surmount all this, oh! how cruelly was I again repelled by the experience, sadder than ever, of my defective hearing!--and yet I found it impossible to say to others: Speak louder; shout! for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim the deficiency of a sense which ought to have been more perfect with me than with other men,--a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, to an extent, indeed, that few of my profession ever enjoyed! Alas, I cannot do this! Forgive me therefore when you see me withdraw from you with whom I would so gladly mingle. My misfortune is doubly severe from causing me to be misunderstood. No longer can I enjoy recreation in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual outpourings of thought. Completely isolated, I only enter society when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile. In company I am assailed by the most painful apprehensions, from the dread of being exposed to the risk of my condition being observed. It was the same during the last six months I spent in the country. My intelligent physician recommended me to spare my hearing as much as possible, which was quite in accordance with my present disposition, though sometimes, tempted by my natural inclination for society, I allowed myself to be beguiled into it. But what humiliation when any one beside me heard a flute in the far distance, while I heard nothing, or when others heard a shepherd singing, and I still heard nothing! Such things brought me to the verge of desperation, and wellnigh caused me to put an end to my life. Art! art alone, deterred me. Ah! how could I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I felt it was my vocation to produce?[2] And thus I spared this miserable life--so utterly miserable that any sudden change may reduce me at any moment from my best condition into the worst. It is decreed that I must now choose Patience for my guide! This I have done. I hope the resolve will not fail me, steadfastly to persevere till it may please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread of my life. Perhaps I may get better, perhaps not. I am prepared for either. Constrained to become a philosopher in my twenty-eighth year![3] This is no slight trial, and more severe on an artist than on any one else. God looks into my heart, He searches it, and knows that love for man and feelings of benevolence have their abode there! Oh! ye who may one day read this, think that you have done me injustice, and let any one similarly afflicted be consoled, by finding one like himself, who, in defiance of all the obstacles of Nature, has done all in his power to be included in the ranks of estimable artists and men. My brothers Carl and Johann, as soon as I am no more, if Professor Schmidt [see Nos. 18 and 23] be still alive, beg him in my name to describe my malady, and to add these pages to the analysis of my disease, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be reconciled to me after my death. I also hereby declare you both heirs of my small fortune (if so it may be called). Share it fairly, agree together and assist each other. You know that anything you did to give me pain has been long forgiven. I thank you, my brother Carl in particular, for the attachment you have shown me of late. My wish is that you may enjoy a happier life, and one more free from care, than mine has been. Recommend Virtue to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can ensure happiness. I speak from experience. It was Virtue alone which sustained me in my misery; I have to thank her and Art for not having ended my life by suicide. Farewell! Love each other. I gratefully thank all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt. I wish one of you to keep Prince L----'s instruments; but I trust this will give rise to no dissension between you. If you think it more beneficial, however, you have only to dispose of them. How much I shall rejoice if I can serve you even in the grave! So be it then! I joyfully hasten to meet Death. If he comes before I have had the opportunity of developing all my artistic powers, then, notwithstanding my cruel fate, he will come too early for me, and I should wish for him at a more distant period; but even then I shall be content, for his advent will release me from a state of endless suffering. Come when he may, I shall meet him with courage. Farewell! Do not quite forget me, even in death; I deserve this from you, because during my life I so often thought of you, and wished to make you happy. Amen!

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

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