to persuade her to publish them. Your praise is, however, quite
unnecessary to make me heartily rejoice in them, or think them charming
and admirable; for I know by whom they are written. I hope, too, I need
not say that if she does resolve to publish anything, I will do all in
my power to obtain every facility for her, and to relieve her, so far as
I can, from all trouble which can possibly be spared her. But to
_persuade_ her to publish anything I cannot, because this is contrary to
my views and to my convictions. We have often formerly discussed the
subject, and I still remain exactly of the same opinion. I consider the
publication of a work as a serious matter (at least it ought to be so),
for I maintain that no one should publish, unless they are resolved to
appear as an author for the rest of their life. For this purpose,
however, a _succession_ of works is indispensable, one after another.
Nothing but annoyance is to be looked for from publishing, where one or
two works alone are in question; or it becomes what is called a
“manuscript for private circulation,” which I also dislike; and from my
knowledge of Fanny I should say she has neither inclination nor vocation
for authorship. She is too much all that a woman ought to be for this.
She regulates her house, and neither thinks of the public nor of the
musical world, nor even of music at all, until her first duties are
fulfilled. Publishing would only disturb her in these, and I cannot say
that I approve of it. I will not, therefore, persuade her to this
step,--forgive me for saying so. If she resolves to publish, either from
her own impulse or to please Hensel, I am, as I said before, quite ready
to assist her so far as I can; but to encourage her in what I do not
consider right, is what I cannot do.
TO HIS MOTHER.
Bingen, July 13th, 1837.
Dear Mother,
We have been here for the last eight days, having suddenly left
Frankfort; and as it is nearly decided that we are to reside here for
some weeks, I now write to thank you for your affectionate letters.
I feel rather provoked, that Fanny should say the new pianoforte school
outgrows her,--this is far from being the case; she could cut down all
these petty fellows with ease. They can execute a few variations and
_tours de force_ cleverly enough, but all this facility, and coquetting
with facility, no longer succeeds in dazzling even the public. There
must be soul, in order to carry others along with you; thus, though I
might perhaps prefer listening to D---- for an hour than to Fanny for an
hour, still at the end of a week I am so tired of him that I can no
longer listen to him, whereas then I first begin to enjoy hearing the
other style of playing, and that is the right style. All this is not
_more_ than Kalkbrenner could do in his day, and it will pass away even
during our day, if there be nothing better than mere execution; but this
Fanny also has, so she has no cause to fear any one of them all.
The view from these windows is of itself well worth a journey here, for
our hotel is situated close to the Rhine, opposite Niederwald,--the
Mäusethurm to the left, and to the right Johannisberg. To-day I have at
last succeeded in borrowing a piano and a Bible; both were very
difficult to hunt out, first because the people at Bingen are not
musical, and secondly because they are Catholics, and therefore ignore
both a piano and Luther’s translation; however, I have at length
procured both, and so I begin to feel very comfortable here. I must now
be very busy, for as yet I have not written out a single note of my
concerto, and yesterday I heard from Birmingham that the Musical
Festival is all arranged, and they are in hopes that Queen Victoria will
be present. That would be capital!
Old Schadow and W. Schadow were here lately, along with their families,
and we stumbled upon each other quite unexpectedly in the entrance hall;
I wish you could have heard the description the old man gave of Fanny’s
accompaniment on the piano; he was full of _enthousiasme_, and most
excited on the subject; a sketch also of the _séances_ of the musical
section of the Academy where he is obliged to preside, was not bad by
way of contrast; except Spontini, no one either speaks or shows any
signs of life in it, for which there are good reasons.
It is indeed very sad to see the way in which the latter contrives to
irritate all Berlin against him, destroying and ruining everything, and
yet causing himself only vexation, and anxiety and worry: like an
ill-assorted marriage, where both parties are in the wrong when they
come to blows.
Ask Fanny, dear Mother, what she says to my intention of playing Bach’s
organ prelude in E flat major in Birmingham--
[Illustration: musical notation]
and the fugue at the end of the same book. I suspect it will puzzle me,
and yet I think I am right. I have an idea that _this_ very prelude will
be peculiarly acceptable to the English, and you can play both prelude
and fugue _piano_ and _pianissimo_, and also bring out the full power of
the organ. Faith! I can tell you it is no stupid composition.
I have lately determined to have a new oratorio ready for the next
Düsseldorf Musical Festival; two years are yet to come before then, but
I must stick to my work. I will write about the text as soon as I have
decided on the subject. I hear nothing of Holtei and his opera libretto,
and so I must begin a second oratorio, much as I should have liked to
write an opera just at this moment. I sadly want a true thorough-going
man for many fine projects; whether he will appear, or whether I am
mistaken, I know not, but hitherto I have never been able to discover
him.
I occupy myself continually here in drawing figures, but I don’t succeed
very well. From want of practice this winter, I have forgotten what I
knew much better last summer, when Schadow gave me every day a short
drawing lesson at Scheveling, and taught me to sketch peasants,
soldiers, old apple-women, and street boys. Yesterday, however, I made a
drawing of Bishop Hatto, at the moment of being eaten up by the mice,--a
splendid subject for all beginners. In this letter, music, the Rheingau,
and gossip go hand-in-hand. Forgive this, dear Mother. It is the same in
real life.
TO PASTOR JULIUS SCHUBRING, DESSAU.
Bingen-a.-R., July 14th, 1837.
Dear Schubring,
I wish to ask your advice in a matter which is of importance to me, and
I feel it will therefore not be indifferent to you either, having
received so many proofs to the contrary from you. It concerns the
selection of a subject of an oratorio, which I intend to begin next
winter. I am most anxious to have your counsels, as the best suggestions
and contributions for the text of my “St. Paul” came from you.
Many very apparent reasons are in favour of choosing St. Peter as the
subject,--I mean its being intended for the Düsseldorf Musical Festival
at Whitsuntide, and the prominent position the feast of Whitsunday would
occupy in this subject. In addition to these grounds, I may add my wish
(in connection with a greater plan for a later oratorio) to bring the
two chief apostles and pillars of the Christian Church, side by side in
oratorios,--in short, that I should have a “St. Peter” as well as a “St.
Paul.” I need not tell you that there are sufficient internal grounds to
make me prize the subject, and far above all else stands the outpouring
of the Holy Ghost, which must form the central point, or chief object.
The question therefore is (and this you can decide far better than I
can, because you possess the knowledge in which I am deficient, to guide
you) whether the place that Peter assumes _in the Bible_, divested of
the dignity which he enjoys in the Catholic or Protestant Churches, as a
martyr, or the first Pope, etc. etc.,--whether _what is said of him in
the Bible_ is alone and in itself sufficiently important to form the
basis of a _symbolical_ oratorio. For, according to my feeling, the
subject must not be treated historically, however indispensable this was
in the case of “St. Paul.” In historic handling, Christ must appear in
the earlier part of St. Peter’s career, and, where He appears, St. Peter
could not lay claim to the chief interest. I think, therefore, it must
be symbolical; though all the historical points might probably be
introduced,--the betrayal and repentance, the keys of heaven given him
by Christ, his preaching at Pentecost,--not in an historical, but
prophetic light, if I may so express myself, in close connection.
My question then is, whether you think this possible, or at least so far
possible, that it may become an important and personal object for every
member of the community?--also, whether it is your opinion, that even if
actually feasible, it should be carried out entirely by means of
Scriptural passages, and what particular parts of the Bible you would
especially recommend for the purpose? Lastly, if in this event you will
hereafter, as you previously did, make a selection of certain passages
out of the Bible, and send them to me?
The chief thing, however, is the first point, for I am still in the
dark about it; in fact, about the possibility of the whole undertaking:
write to me as soon as you can on the subject. In thinking it over, my
first idea was that the subject must be divided into two parts: the
first, from the moment of forsaking the fishermen’s nets down to the “Tu
es Petrus,” with which it must close: the second to consist of the Feast
of Pentecost only; from the misery after the death of Christ and
repentance of Peter, to the outpouring of the Holy Ghost.[29]
Forgive me for assailing you so suddenly with all this. During the few
months since we have met, I cannot tell you what a great and happy
change has taken place in me.[30] I hope you will come and stay with us
next winter, and pass some days here; then you will in a short time see
for yourself, what even at any length I really could not describe. I
intend to be in Leipzig again, the end of September, and till then,
shall remain principally here on the Rhine, or at Frankfort. Pray answer
me soon, if only by a few lines.--Your
F. M. B.
TO HIS MOTHER.
Leipzig, October 4th, 1837.
Dearest Mother,
It ought to have been my first occupation to write to you as soon after
the busy time of the last few weeks as I had some leisure, to thank you
for so many loving letters. I wished also to let you know of our safe
arrival here, and yet two days have elapsed without the possibility of
doing so. I seize the early morning for this purpose, or people will
again come, one succeeding another till the post hour is passed, which
happened yesterday and the day before. I cannot at this time attempt to
describe the Birmingham Musical Festival; it would require many sheets
to do so, and whole evenings when we are once more together even
cursorily to mention all the remarkable things crowded into those
days.[31] One thing, however, I must tell you, because I know it will
give you pleasure, which is, that I never had such brilliant success,
and can never have any more unequivocal than at this festival. The
applause and shouts at the least glimpse of me were incessant, and
sometimes really made me laugh; for instance, they prevented my being
able for long to sit down to the instrument to play a pianoforte
concerto; and what is better than all this applause, and a sure proof of
my success, were the offers made to me on all sides, and of a very
different tenor this time from what they ever were before.
I may well say that I now see, beyond doubt, that all this is only
bestowed on me because in the course of my work, I do not in the least
concern myself as to what people wish, and praise and pay for, but
solely as to what I consider good, so I shall now less than ever allow
myself to be turned aside from my own path. I therefore peculiarly
rejoice in my success, and I feel more confident than ever, that not the
smallest effort shall be made by me to ensure success, nor indeed ever
has been made. I had besides a very striking proof of the value of all
such things, in the manner in which Neukomm was on this occasion
received in Birmingham. You know how highly they honoured, and really
overvalued him formerly, and how much all his works were prized and
sought after here, so that the musicians used to call him the king of
_Brummagem_;[32] whereas on this occasion they neglected him shamefully,
giving only one short composition of his the first morning (the worst of
all), and the public receiving him without the slightest attention; this
is really disgraceful in those men who, three years ago, knew nothing
better or higher than Neukomm’s music. The only thing he can be
reproached with is, that three years since he wrote an oratorio for the
Musical Festival, where effect was chiefly studied. The huge organ, the
choruses, the solo instruments, all were introduced on purpose to
please the audience, and people soon find this out, and it never
answers; but that they should treat him with such ingratitude in return,
is a fresh proof of how little their favour is to be relied on, and what
the fruits of it are when sought after.
I found him, as usual, most amiable and as kind as ever, and may well
take example from him in a hundred things. I never met with any one who
combined greater integrity, with calmness and refinement, and he is
indeed a steady, true friend.
I send you a complete _programme_ of the Musical Festival. Imagine such
a mass of music! and besides this prodigious pile, the various
acquaintances who came flocking thither at that time; a man must be as
cold-blooded as a fish to stand all this. Immediately after I had played
the last chord on the splendid organ, I hurried off to the Liverpool
mail, and travelled six days and five nights in succession, till I
arrived in Frankfort to rejoin my family. The mail goes to London in ten
hours and a half, exactly the same distance as between this and Berlin;
I calculated that on my journey, and envied the English on this account.
I arrived in London towards midnight, where I was received by
Klingemann, and we went together to the Committee of the Sacred Harmonic
Society, who formally presented to me a large solid silver box, with an
inscription. At half-past twelve o’clock I was again in the mail, and at
Dover next morning at nine, when there was no time even for breakfast,
as I was obliged to go off directly to the small boat which conveyed us
to the steamboat, for being low water it could not remain in the
harbour, so I was already sea-sick when I reached the ship, had a
miserable passage, and instead of arriving at Calais in three hours, we
were five hours before landing at Boulogne, and just so much further
from Frankfort. I went to the Hôtel Meurice, where I made myself as
comfortable as I could, and set off at nine at night in the diligence to
Lille. This is the moment (however furious Dirichlet may be) to impress
on you, that French and Belgian diligences, with their glass windows, on
a paved _chaussée_, with their three clumsy horses in front, whose tails
are tied up, and who do not go forwards but round and round, are the
most utterly detestable means of being expedited in the whole world, and
that a German _Schnellpost_ is a hundred times pleasanter, quicker, and
better than these utterly detestable, etc., _vide supra_. The September
days were being celebrated all over Belgium, and trees of liberty
erected in the squares in front of the town-halls. I arrived at Cologne
at ten o’clock in the morning; a steamboat was to sail at eleven, and to
go on through the night, so I took my place in it, rejoicing to be able
to lie down full length on this the fifth night, and free from the
rattle of the pavement. I fell asleep about nine, and did not wake till
two in the morning, when I perceived that the steam-boat was not
moving, and in answer to my questions I was told, that the fog was so
thick (as on the previous day) that it would be impossible to set off
again at all events before six o’clock the same evening, and we should
not arrive in Mayence till six at night. The steamer was lying-to quite
close to Horchheim, so I hired two sailors to go with me to carry my
things; I showed them the old familiar footpath by the side of the
Rhine, got to Coblenz at three o’clock in the morning, took post-horses,
and was at Frankfort on Wednesday afternoon at half-past three o’clock.
I found them all well, and we have since made out our journey famously,
from Thursday afternoon till Sunday at two o’clock, when we arrived
here.
The first subscription concert began at six o’clock the same evening. I
directed the “Jubilee” overture and the C minor symphony, but the
trombones and drums were so noisy, that, at the end of the concert, I
own I felt rather _caput_. These were fourteen of the most crowded days
any one could imagine; but as I lived so entirely for enjoyment and
pleasure the whole of last summer, I am glad, just before my return
here, to have had such a busy time, and one so important for my
vocation. It is quite too lovely here, and every hour of my new domestic
life is like a festival; whereas in England, notwithstanding all its
honours and pleasures, I had not one single moment of real heartfelt
enjoyment; but now every day brings only a succession of joy and
happiness, and I once more know what it is to prize life. Have I not
entered into as many minute details about myself, as if I were some
sickly potentate, dear Mother?--Your
FELIX.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Leipzig, October 29th, 1837.
Dear Brother,
First of all, my most cordial congratulations on the day when this
letter will reach you; may you pass it happily, and may it prove a good
harbinger of the coming year. You mention in your letter of yesterday,
that your quiet, settled and untroubled position sometimes makes you
almost anxious and uneasy; but I cannot think you right in this feeling;
as little as if you were to complain of the very opposite extreme. Why
should it not be sufficient for a man to know how to secure and to enjoy
his happiness? I cannot believe that it is at all indispensable first to
earn it by trials or misfortunes; in my opinion, heartfelt grateful
acknowledgment is the best Polycrates’ ring; and truly in these days it
is a difficult problem to acknowledge, and to enjoy good fortune, and
other blessings, in such a manner as to share them with others, thus
rendering them cheerful and glad also, and showing too that the
difference is equally great between this and idle arrogance. It is
singular that in my position, I might complain of the very reverse of
what troubles you; the more I find what are termed encouragement and
recognition in my vocation, the more restless and unsettled does it
become in my hands, and I cannot deny that I often long for that rest of
which you complain. So few traces remain of performances and musical
festivals, and all that is personal; the people indeed shout and
applaud, but that quickly passes away, without leaving a vestige behind,
and yet it absorbs as much of one’s life and strength as _better_
things, or perhaps even more; and the evil of this is, that it is
impracticable to come half out, when you are once in; you must either go
on the whole way, or not at all. I dare not even attempt to withdraw, or
the cause which I have undertaken will suffer, and yet I would gladly
see that it was not merely _my_ cause, but considered a good and
universal one. But this is the very point where people are wanting to
pursue the same path--not an approving public (for that is a matter of
indifference), but fellow-workers (and they are indispensable). So in
_this_ sense I long for a less busy life, in order to be able to devote
myself to my peculiar province--composition of music, and to leave the
execution of it to others. It seems, however, that this is not to be,
and I should be ungrateful were I dissatisfied with my life as it is.
Fanny will probably give you to-morrow the parts of my new quartett from
me. Whether it will please you or not is uncertain; but think of me when
you play it and come to any passage which is peculiarly in my style.
How gladly would I have given you something better and prettier, in
honour of your birthday, but I did not know what to send.
Yesterday evening my C minor quartett was played in public by David, and
had great success. They were made to play the scherzo twice, and the
adagio pleased the audience best of all, which caused me very great
astonishment. In a few days I mean to begin a new quartett, which may
please me better. I also intend soon to compose a sonata for violoncello
and piano for you,--by my beard, I will!
And now farewell; till our happy, happy meeting in February.--Your
FELIX.
TO FERDINAND HILLER, MILAN.
Leipzig, December 10th, 1837.
My dear Ferdinand,
You have written to me in spite of my want of punctuality last month,
for which I am heartily grateful, though I really could scarcely have
hoped it. The arrangement of a new house, taking possession of it, the
numerous concerts and affairs, in short, all the various hindrances of
whatever nature, that a steady-going civilian, like myself, can venture
to enumerate to a joyous, lively Italian like you,--my installation as
master and tenant of the mansion, music director of the subscription
concerts,--all these things prevented my being a punctual correspondent
last month. But for that very reason I wished to entreat of you, and now
do so right heartily, even amid the vast difference in our position, and
the objects that surround us, let us steadily adhere to our promise to
write monthly letters. I think it would be a source of great interest
and benefit to both, to hear from each other now, when we must mutually
appear so desperately outlandish--though for this very reason nearer
than ever. I at least, when I think of Milan, and Liszt, and Rossini,
have a singular feeling in knowing that you are in the midst of them
all, and probably you feel the same, when, in the plains of Lombardy,
you think of Leipzig and of me. But next time you must really write me a
long minute letter, full of details; you do not know how much they would
interest me,--you must tell me where you are living, and what you are
writing, and all about Liszt, and Pixis, and Rossini; about the white
Duomo and the Corso. I do dearly love that bright land, and when you
write to me from thence, I love it more than ever. You are not to halve
your sheet of paper. Above all, tell me if you amuse yourself there as
thoroughly and divinely as I did? Do so, I beg, and inhale the air with
the same delight, and idle away your days as deliberately as I did; but
why say all this? you are sure to do so at all events. But pray do write
to me about it at full length. Do you wish to know whether I like this
as much as ever? When I am living as a married man in a pretty, new,
comfortable house, with a fine view over gardens and fields, and the
towers of the city, and feel so comfortable and happy, so glad and so
peaceful, as I have never done since I quitted the parental roof; when,
in addition to this, I have good means, and goodwill on every side, I
ask you how I can be otherwise than happy? If I am to hold any
situation, this is the best; but there are many days when I think that
to have no fixed situation, would be best after all. Directing so
perpetually during two such months, takes more out of me than the two
years when I was composing all day long. I can scarcely ever compose
here in winter, and when I ask myself after the greatest excitement,
what has really occurred, it is in fact scarcely worth naming; at least
it does not interest me much whether the acknowledged good works are
given a degree oftener, or a degree better, or not. The only things that
interest me are new compositions, and of these there is a great lack;
often therefore I feel as if I should like to retire altogether, and not
conduct any longer, but only write; and yet such a regular musical life,
and the duty of directing it, has a certain charm too. What care you for
this in Milan? and still I must write it if you wish to know how I like
my position here. I felt just the same in Birmingham; I never made such
a decided effect with my music as there, and never saw the public so
much, or so exclusively occupied with myself individually, and yet
there is even in this, something--what shall I call it?--fleeting and
evanescent, which I find irksome and depressing, rather than cheering.
Would that there had not been an instance of the exact reverse of all
these enthusiastic praises, with regard to Neukomm, whom they on this
occasion criticized so disdainfully, and received with as much coldness
and neglect, in fact set aside as completely, as three years ago they
extolled him to the skies, when they placed him above all other
composers, and applauded him at every step. Of what value then is their
favour? You will, no doubt, say that Neukomm’s music is not worth
much,--there we quite agree; but those who were formerly enchanted with
it, and now give themselves such airs, don’t know this. The whole thing
made me feel most indignant, while Neukomm’s calm and perfectly
indifferent demeanour, appeared to me the more admirable and dignified,
when contrasted with the others, and I like him better than ever since
this manly conduct.
TO EDOUARD FRANCK, BRESLAU, (NOW DIRECTOR OF THE BERNE CONSERVATORIUM.)
Leipzig, January 8th, 1838.