I have been occupied in arranging my papers; an immense amount of patience
is required for such an affair as putting them in order, but having once
summoned it to our aid we must persevere, or the matter would never be
completed. My papers, both musical and unmusical, are nearly arranged at
last; it was like one of the seven labors of Hercules![1]

[Footnote 1: Ries (in Wegeler's _Notizen_) relates: "Beethoven placed very
little value on the MSS. of his pieces written out by himself; when once
engraved they were usually scattered about the anteroom, or on the floor in
the middle of his apartment, together with other music. I often arranged
his music for him, but the moment Beethoven began to search for any piece,
it was all strewed about again."]


234.

TO FRAU VON STREICHER.

You see what servants are! [He had gone out and taken the key with him.]
Such is housekeeping! So long as I am ill, I would fain be on a different
footing with those around me; for dearly as I usually love solitude, it is
painful to me now, finding it scarcely possible, while taking baths and
medicine, to employ myself as usual,--to which is added the grievous
prospect that I may perhaps never get better. I place no confidence in my
present physician, who at length pronounces my malady to be _disease of the
lungs_. I will consider about engaging a housekeeper. If I could only have
the faintest hope, in this corrupt Austrian State, of finding an honest
person, the arrangement would be easily made; but--but!! [He wishes to hire
a piano and pay for it in advance; the tone to be as loud as possible, to