you a thousand times for your dear letter, and begging you to write to
me as often as you wish to make me very happy. I have scarcely thanked
you, and Fanny, and Rebecca, for the beautiful presents you sent to me
on the 3rd, and which made the day so pleasant to me. The leader of the
orchestra, when I went to rehearsal on the morning of that day,
addressed me in a complimentary speech, which was very gratifying, and
when we sat down to dinner at S----’s, I found a silver cup, which four
of my friends here had ordered for me, with an inscription and their
names, under my napkin. All this was welcome and cheering. In the
evening, when I had carefully put away your store of linen, and placed
Rebecca’s travelling-case beside my map of Germany and the keys of my
trunk, and had read “Fiesko” in Fanny’s book, which I was formerly so
pleased with, (but now less so,) then I felt considerably older, and
thought of Aunt Lette, who wrote me a note on my twentieth birthday,
which began, “My poor Felix! actually ten years hence no longer a boy!”
I am curious to learn whether Gusikow pleased you as much as he did me.
He is quite a phenomenon; a famous fellow, inferior to no virtuoso in
the world, both in execution and facility; he therefore delights me more
with his instrument of wood and straw, than many with their pianofortes,
just because it is such a thankless kind of instrument. A capital scene
took place at his concert here. I went out to join him in the room where
he was, in order to speak to him and compliment him. Schleinitz and
David wished to come with me; a whole group of Polish Jews followed in
our wake, anxious to hear our eulogiums; but when we came to the side
room, they pressed forward so quickly, that David and Schleinitz were
left in the rear, and the door shut right in their faces; then the Jews
all stood quite still, waiting to hear the compliments Gusikow was about
to receive. At first I could not speak for laughing, seeing the small
room crammed full of these bearded fellows, and my two friends shut out.
It is long since I so much enjoyed any concert as this, for the man is a
true genius.
The direction of the St. Cecilia Association at Frankfort-on-the-Maine
has been confidentially offered to me. I can with truth say that it
caused me more pain than pleasure, because it is evident from this that
Schelble’s return is considered out of the question. If it really be so,
(which I shall take care to ascertain), I will on no account accept the
offer. But if there were a possibility of improvement, and I could in
any degree be of service to Schelble, by giving an impetus to his
Institute next summer (for I hear that all the winter it has been almost
dead), and if he could resume the duties himself next winter, I should
feel real pleasure in doing this for him, even if all my travelling
projects were to be overthrown. For once it would be doing a real
service, both to a friend, and to the cause itself.
And now I must dress, for I am going to direct a concert. Merk is here;
he gives a concert next Sunday, where I am to play with him again: it is
the seventh time this winter, but I could not possibly refuse; for when
I see my old companion again, the whole autumn of 1830 is brought before
my eyes, and our music at Eskele’s, our playing billiards at the
Kärnthner Thor, and driving to Baden in a _fiacre_, etc. Besides, he is
beyond all question the very first of all living violoncello players.
Farewell, dear Mother.--Your
FELIX.
TO HIS MOTHER.
Düsseldorf, June 1st, 1836.
Dear Mother,
I hope you have forgiven my long silence. There was so much to do, both
before and during my journey here, that I was scarcely able to attend
even to the duties of the passing hour; and what has gone on here since
my arrival[26] you know better than if I had myself written, for I trust
Paul and Fanny are now happily returned, and of course described
everything verbally to you.
On Saturday, the 4th, I am to go to Frankfort, a week hence to direct,
for the first time, the St. Cecilia Association. To be sure, my charming
Swiss projects, and the sea-baths in Genoa have thus melted into air;
but still, my being able to do a real service to Schelble and his
undertaking, is of no small value in my eyes. There seemed to be an idea
that the St. Cecilia Association would be dispersed, and Schelble
appeared very much to dread the lukewarmness of the members during his
absence. As they all hoped and believed that I could prevent this by my
presence, I did not for a moment hesitate, though the Frankfort
musicians will be desperately astonished, and will now see what can be
done within eight weeks. Hiller, whom I like so much, is by chance to
be in Frankfort the whole time, which will be a great advantage for me.
It gives me peculiar pleasure to be able to write to you that I am now
fairly established in Germany, and shall not require to make a
pilgrimage into foreign countries to secure my existence. This, indeed,
has only been evident during the last year, and since my being placed at
Leipzig; but now I have no longer any doubts on the subject, and think
there is no want of modesty in rejoicing at the fact, and mentioning it
to you.
The manner in which I was received on my journey, in Frankfort, and
afterwards here, was all that a musician could desire; and although this
may mean in reality little or nothing, still it is a token of friendship
which is always gratifying; and I value all such tokens, because I am
well aware that I have taken no steps to call them forth. I therefore
almost rejoice when you call me “the reverse of a charlatan,” and when
many things fall to my share unasked for, about which others give
themselves a great deal of trouble; for I may then venture to believe
that I deserve them. I wish only I could have written these words to my
father, for he would have read them with satisfaction. But his dearest
wish was progress; he always directed me to press forwards, and so I
think I am doing his will when I continue to labour in this sense, and
endeavour to make progress without any ulterior views beyond my own
improvement. Farewell, dear Mother.--Your
FELIX.
TO HERR ADVOCAT CONRAD SCHLEINITZ, _Leipzig_.
Cologne, July 5th, 1836.
Dear Schleinitz,
I have in vain sought a moment of leisure, after the Musical Festival,
to send you my first greeting and letter since my journey. In Düsseldorf
the bustle was great, and no end to all kinds of music, _fêtes_, and
recreations, which never left me a quiet moment. I have been staying a
day here to revive and to rest, with my old President,[27] and as
evening is now approaching, about the time when you often used to peep
into my room, I feel an impulse, if only for a moment, to shake hands
and say good-evening.
You would certainly have been for some time well amused and delighted
with the Musical Festival; and from your taking so friendly an interest
in me and my “St. Paul,” I thought a hundred times at least during the
rehearsals, what a pity it was that you were not there. You would
assuredly have been delighted by the love and goodwill with which the
whole affair was carried on, and the marvellous fire with which the
chorus and orchestra burst forth, though there were individual passages,
especially in the solos, which might have annoyed you. I think I see
your face, could you have heard the St. Paul’s aria sung in an
indifferent, mechanical manner, and I think I hear you breaking loose
on the Apostle of the Gentiles in a dressing-gown; but then I know also
how charmed you would have been with the “Mache dich auf,” which went
really splendidly. My feelings were singular; during the whole of the
rehearsals and the performance I thought little enough about directing,
but listened eagerly to the general effect, and whether it went right
according to my idea, without thinking of anything else. When the people
gave me a flourish of trumpets or applauded, it was very welcome for the
moment, but then my Father came back to my mind, and I strove once more
to recall my thoughts to my work. Thus, during the entire performance I
was almost in the position of a listener, and tried to retain an
impression of the whole. Many parts caused me much pleasure, others not
so; but I learnt a lesson from it all, and hope to succeed better the
next time I write an oratorio.
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Frankfort, July 14th, 1836.
Dear Mother and dear Rebecca,
I have just received your affectionate letters, and must answer them
instantly, for indeed I had been eagerly expecting them for several days
past, during which I have done nothing but lie on the sofa and read
Eckermann’s ‘Conversations with Goethe,’ and long for letters from home
which I could answer. I am as much delighted with Eckermann as you are,
my dear Mother and Sister. I feel just as if I heard the old gentleman
speaking again, for there are many things introduced into the work which
are the very same words I have heard him use, and I know his tone and
gestures by heart. I must say that Eckermann is not sufficiently
independent. He is always rejoicing over “this important phrase, which
pray mark well.” But it must be admitted that it was a difficult
position for the old man, and we ought to be grateful to him for his
faithful notices, and also for his delicacy,--a contrast to Riemer.
Here I am, seated in the well-known corner room with the beautiful view,
in Schelble’s house, he and his wife being gone to visit his property in
Swabia, and they do not return to Frankfort so long as I am here; but
the accounts his wife has sent here are very consolatory, and inspire us
all with much hope. There is no one living in this house but Schelble’s
mother-in-law, and a maid-servant, on one side,--and myself, with two
travelling-bags and a hat-box, on the other. At first I was unwilling to
come here, owing to many remembrances, but now I am glad that I came. A
very kind reception, an excellent grand pianoforte, plenty of music,
entire rest, and undisturbed tranquillity, are all things which are
nowhere to be found in an inn; and I might well be envied the view from
my corner window. In this splendid summer weather I see all down the
Maine, with its numerous boats, rafts, and ships, the gay shore
opposite, and above all, my old favourite, the Wartthurm, facing the
south, and on the other side the blue hills. I came here with plans for
great industry, but for nearly a week I have done little else every
forenoon, but admire the prospect and sun myself. I must go on in the
same way for a couple of days still,--idleness is so pleasant, and
agrees with me so well. My last days in Düsseldorf, and my first here,
were crammed so full that I could only recover my balance by degrees.
The very day of my arrival here, I had to direct the St. Cecilia
Association; then came my numerous acquaintances, old and new, and the
arrangements for the next few weeks. I was obliged to take a rest after
all this, or at least I said so to myself, to palliate, and furnish a
pretext for my love of idleness. The St. Cecilia Association went on
well, and they were very friendly; I however made a speech that deserved
to have been written down. We sang some things from “Samson,” and some
from the B minor Mass of Bach. There was much worth remembering in the
former. The Bach went almost faultlessly, though it is fully twice as
difficult; and so I had a fresh opportunity of admiring how Schelble, by
dint of his admirable tenacity, has succeeded in making his will obeyed.
I shall not be able to do much for the association. Six weeks are not
sufficient, and even under the most favourable circumstances, Schelble’s
physician wishes him to rest the whole of the ensuing winter. How the
matter will proceed then we know not. All the musicians here think too
much about themselves, and too little about their work; but we shall see
how this may be, and what we have now to do is to provide for the
intervening time; and I rejoice to be able in this respect to oblige
Schelble. I must say my life assumes a most agreeable form here. Never
could I have thought, that through my overtures and songs, I could have
become such a lion with the musical world. The “Melusina” and the
“Hebrides” are as familiar to them as to us at home (I mean No. 3,
Leipziger Strasse), and the _dilettanti_ dispute warmly about my
intentions.
Then Hiller is here, at all times a delightful sight to me, and we have
always much that is interesting to discuss together. To my mind, he is
not sufficiently--what shall I call it?--one-sided. By nature he loves
Bach and Beethoven beyond all others, and would therefore prefer
adopting wholly the graver style of music; but then he is much delighted
also with Rossini, Auber, Bellini, etc., and with this variety of tastes
no man makes real progress. So this forms the subject of all our
conversations as soon as we see each other, and it is most agreeable to
me to be with him for some time, and, if possible, to lead him to my
mode of thinking.... Early yesterday I went to see him, and whom should
I find sitting there but Rossini, as large as life, in his best and most
amiable mood. I really know few men who can be so amusing and witty as
he, when he chooses; he kept us laughing incessantly the whole time. I
promised that the St. Cecilia Association should sing for him the B
minor Mass, and some other things of Sebastian Bach’s. It will be quite
too charming to see Rossini obliged to admire Sebastian Bach; he thinks,
however, “different countries, different customs,” and is resolved to
howl with the wolves. He says he is enchanted with Germany, and when he
once gets the list of wines at the Rhine Hotel in the evening, the
waiter is obliged to show him his room, or he could never manage to find
it. He relates the most laughable and amusing things about Paris and all
the musicians there, as well as of himself and his compositions, and
entertains the most profound respect for all the men of the present
day,--so that you might really believe him, if you had no eyes to see
his sarcastic face. Intellect, and animation, and wit, sparkle in all
his features and in every word, and those who do not consider him a
genius, ought to hear him expatiating in this way, and they would change
their opinion.
I was lately with S---- also, but it was miserable to hear him grumbling
and abusing everybody; at last he vowed that all men were nothing but a
tiresome pack; I answered that I considered this very modest on his
part, as I concluded he did not look upon himself as an angel or a
demigod, when, quite contrary to my expectations, we instantly became
the best of friends, and he ended by declaring, that after all, the
world pleased him very well. This is not surprising, as he was sitting
in his garden in the country, with a beautiful landscape and a lovely
view; and in a region like this, in such weather and under such a sky,
very little fault can be found with the world. The scenery round
Frankfort pleases me this time beyond everything,--such fruitfulness,
richness of verdure, gardens and fields, and the beautiful blue hills as
a background! and then a forest beyond; to ramble there in the evenings
under the splendid beech-trees, among the innumerable herbs and flowers
and blackberries and strawberries, makes the heart swell with gratitude.
Yesterday afternoon I visited André at Offenbach; he sends you his kind
regards, and is the same fiery, eager person he ever was. His reception
of me was however more cordial and more gratifying than that of all the
other musicians; he really does somewhat resemble my father. Is it not
singular that several persons here have lately said to me, that I am
like what André was in his younger days, and you may remember that _he_
was formerly often mistaken for _my father_. He scanned me closely from
head to foot, and said I had now my third face since he had first known
me; the second he had not at all approved of, but now he liked me much
better. The conversation then turned on counterpoint and Vogler, and he
attacked him in spite of Zelter, and dragged forth a couple of folios
as proof on his side. I could not prevail on myself to go to the
Rothschilds, in spite of their very flattering invitation. I am not in
the vein or humour at present for balls or any other festivities, and
“Like should draw to like.” At the same time, these people really cause
me much pleasure, and their splendour and luxury, and the universal
respect with which the citizens here are forced to regard them all
(though they would gladly assault them if they dared) is a real source
of exultation, for it is all owing entirely to their own industry, good
fortune, and abilities. The 15th has actually dawned; this is a regular
chattering, gossiping letter.--Your
FELIX.
TO REBECCA DIRICHLET, BERLIN.
Frankfort, July 2nd, 1836.
... Such is my mood now the whole day; I can neither compose nor write
letters, nor play the piano; the utmost I can do is to sketch a
little,[28] but I must thank you for your kind expressions about “St.
Paul;” such words from you are the best and dearest that I can ever
hear, and what you and Fanny say on the subject the public say also ...
no other exists for me. I only wish you would write to me a few times
more about it, and very minutely as to my other music. The whole time
that I have been here I have worked at “St. Paul,” because I wish to
publish it in as complete a form as possible; and moreover, I am quite
convinced that the beginning of the first, and the end of the second
part, are now nearly three times as good as they were, and such was my
duty; for in many points, especially as to subordinate matters in so
large a work, I only succeed by degrees in realizing my thoughts and
expressing them clearly; in the principal movements and melodies I can
no longer indeed make any alteration, because they occur at once to my
mind just as they are; but I am not sufficiently advanced to say this of
_every_ part. I have now, however, been working for rather more than two
years at one oratorio; this is certainly a very long time, and I rejoice
at the approach of the moment when I shall correct the proofs, and be
done with it, and begin something else.
I must tell you of the real delight with which I have read here the
first books of Goethe’s ‘Wahrheit und Dichtung.’ I had never taken up
the book since my boyhood, because I did not like it then; but I cannot
express how much it now pleases me, and how much additional pleasure I
take in it, from knowing all the localities. One of its pages makes me
forget all the _misères_ in literature and art of the present day.
TO REBECCA DIRICHLET, BERLIN.
Leipzig, January 8th, 1837.
... Last Wednesday there was a _fête_ at the Keils’, where it rained
Christmas gifts and poems; among others I got one, celebrating my
betrothal in a romantic vein “at Frankfort-on-the-Zeil,” and which was
much admired. As they began to sing songs at table, and I was looking
rather dismal, Schleinitz suddenly called out to me that I ought to
compose music for my romance on the spot, that they might have something
new to sing, and the young ladies bringing me a pencil and music-paper,
the request amused me very much, and I composed the song under shelter
of my napkin; while the rest were eating cakes, I wrote out the four
parts, and before the pine-apples were finished, the singers got their A
note, and sang it to such perfection and so _con amore_ that it caused
universal delight and animated the whole society.
TO FERDINAND HILLER.
Leipzig, January 10th, 1837.
... You once extolled my position here because I had made friends of all
the German composers: quite the reverse; I am in bad odour with them all
this winter. Six new symphonies are lying before me; what they may be
God knows, (I would rather not know,)--not one of them pleases me, and
no one is to blame for this but myself, who allow no other composer to
come before the public,--I mean in the way of symphonies. Good heavens!
should not these “Capellmeisters” be ashamed of themselves and search
their own breasts? But that detestable artistic pedantry, which they all
possess, and that baneful spark divine of which they so often
read,--these ruin everything. I sent my six preludes and fugues to the
printer’s to-day; I fear they will not be much played, still I should
like you to look over them once in a way, and to say if any of them
pleased you, or the reverse. Next month three organ fugues are to be
published,--_me voilà perruque_! Heaven grant that some spirited
pianoforte piece may occur to me, to efface this unpleasant impression.
TO FANNY HENSEL, BERLIN.
Frankfort-a.-M., May 29th, 1837.
This is but a sorry time for musicians. Look at the St. Cecilia
Association,--experienced singers, good respectable people, obliging
chiefs,--nothing requisite but a little pianoforte playing, and a little
goodwill towards music, and a little knowledge; neither genius, nor
energy, nor politics, nor anything else very particular. I should have
thought that fifty people at least would have offered themselves, so
that we might have had a choice; but scarcely two have come forward
whom it is possible to appoint, and not one who is capable of carrying
on the association in the right, true, and noble spirit in which it was
commenced,--that is, in plain German, not one who can perceive that
Handel and Bach, and such people, are superior to what they themselves
can do or say. Neukomm, in whom I would have placed most confidence in
this respect, was in treaty for the situation, and had decidedly
accepted it, and now all of a sudden he as decidedly declines it. So
there will be no one to undertake the affair but Ries, who will probably
do so, but unfortunately he is deficient in that necessary respect for
the great works of art, which is, and always will be to me, the chief
consideration. It is grievous to think of all the trouble and hard work
which it cost Schelble to lay a good foundation, and now the end is that
it will be finally broken up. People here are highly satisfied with
Hiller’s mode of directing, although they were so troublesome to him at
first; but two months hence he goes to Italy, being resolved not to stay
here, and who knows that this may not be the very reason why they all
now regret him so much! This is an odious thing in the world.
It has just occurred to me that if you wish to sing anything during the
next few months, send for “Theodora,” by Handel, and look it over; at
all events it will please you, as there are some splendid choruses and
airs in it, and perhaps you might manage to have it translated into
German (which, indeed, ought to be very much better done, for the text
is perfectly absurd), and perform it in your own house, with a small
choir. Unluckily, it is not adapted for a performance on a large scale,
but some parts of it, the final chorus for instance, are as fine as
anything you ever heard of Handel’s.
TO HIS MOTHER.
Frankfort, June 2nd, 1837.