and at the same time a splendid copy of your “Études.” I was afraid you
had given up the completion of the work, as it was so long since I had
heard anything of it; I was therefore the more agreeably surprised by
its arrival. You wish me to give you an opinion about the compositions
themselves; but you are well aware how superfluous I consider all such
criticisms, whether of my own or of others; to go on working I consider
the best and only thing to do, and when friends urge this after every
fresh work, their doing so in itself contains a kind of verdict. I
believe that no man ever yet succeeded in controlling and commanding the
minds of others by _one_ work; a succession of works all aiming at one
point can alone do it. Such then is your function, and the duty which
God has imposed on you, by the talents he has given you. Fulfil it then;
I believe that the happiness of life lies entirely on this, and cannot
be attained without it, and the omission would be a very great sin.
Thus the wish that you may go forward on your path, and pursue your
labours, is the sole criticism I have at present to send you of your
work.
We have already discussed most of the details; there are no faults, and
you are master of your tools; but continue to use them more and more, as
I have already said.
No doubt, you can almost imagine you hear me saying all this, and at
last I shall appear to you in the light of a _basso ostinato_, who is
perpetually growling, and ends by being tiresome beyond measure; for
instead of expressing my thanks, I begin the old song all over again,
but still I am not deficient in gratitude either, and I wish to tell you
so again and again in my very best manner. Write to me soon and at
length (or rather by music, which says all things); you know what
sincere pleasure every letter of yours causes me. Farewell, and once
more accept my thanks for the gratification you have bestowed on me, and
doubtless on many others by your first work.--I am, with esteem, yours,
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO THE HON. COMMITTEE OF THIS YEAR’S LOWER RHINE MUSICAL FESTIVAL.
Leipzig, January 18th, 1838.
I am deeply grateful for the invitation contained in your letter of the
8th of January. Your kind remembrance is not less prized by me than the
prospect of again attending such a pleasant festival, and deriving from
it as much enjoyment as that for which I have already to thank the
Rhenish Musical Festivals. I therefore accept your invitation with
sincere delight, if God grants health to me and mine, and if we can
mutually agree on the selection of the music to the full satisfaction of
both parties. The more successful the previous Cologne festival was with
regard to the arrangement of the pieces performed, especially in
Handel’s work with the organ, the more important it seems to me to have
at least _one_ piece in the programme by which this year’s festival may
be distinguished from others, and by means of which progress may, as far
as possible, be manifested. For this purpose I consider it absolutely
necessary to have the name of Sebastian Bach in the programme, if only
for one short piece; for it is certainly high time that at these
festivals, on which the name of Handel has shed such lustre, another
immortal master, who is in no one point inferior to any master, and in
many points superior to all, should no longer be forgotten. The same
scruples which exist in opposition to this, must also have existed in
former years with regard to the works of Handel, and you are all
grateful to those who, disregarding these obstacles, revealed to you
such treasures of sublimity and elevation. Earn for yourself, then,
similar thanks from the Rhenish friends of music by making a beginning
which is indeed difficult (for this I do not deny), and must be
proceeded with cautiously, but which will certainly be attended with the
best results, and universally imitated by others. When anything of
Bach’s has been once performed, it will be easy to discover that it is
beautiful, and to perform it again; but the difficulty is the beginning.
The proposal that I wish to make to you on this subject is, to introduce
into this Musical Festival a short Psalm of Bach’s (about twenty minutes
or half an hour in length), and if you are afraid of doing this on the
second day, from the dread of scaring away the public, whom this learned
name might alarm, then do so on the first day, and give in addition a
rather shorter oratorio of Handel’s. It is pretty certain that no fewer
people will come to hear Handel, for those who do not fear the one will
be equally disposed to like the other, and there are still three or four
totally unknown and truly admirable oratorios of his, which would not
occupy more than an hour and a half, or scarcely two hours at most, and
would be a welcome novelty to all lovers of music. I became first
acquainted with these works by the splendid gift of the previous
committee,[33] and I shall be very glad if you can derive any benefit
from these volumes for this year’s festival. With regard to the second
day, I may first inquire whether you intend to apply to Cherubini for
his grand “Requiem;” it must be translated, and is entirely for men’s
voices, but as it will only last an hour, or even less, that would not
much matter, and according to the universal verdict it is a splendid
work. At present, however, the chief object seems to me to be the first
point in this letter, and I therefore beg you will arrange about it as
soon as possible.
TO REBECCA DIRICHLET.
Leipzig, February, 1838.
... In our concerts we are playing a great deal of what is called
historical music, so in the last but one we had the whole of Bach’s
_suite_ in D major, some of Handel and Gluck, etc. etc., and a violin
concerto of Viotti’s; in the last of all, Haydn, Righini, Naumann, etc.;
and in conclusion Haydn’s “Farewell Symphony,” in which, to the great
delight of the public, the musicians literally blew out their lights,
and went away in succession till the violinists at the first desk alone
remained, and finished in F sharp major. It is a curious, melancholy
little piece. We previously played Haydn’s trio in C major, when all the
people were filled with amazement that anything so beautiful should
exist, and yet it was very long ago published by Breitkopf and Härtel.
The next time we have Mozart, whose C minor concerto I am to play, and
we are also to have a quartett of his for the first time from his
unfinished opera, “Zaïde.” Then comes Beethoven, and two concerts remain
for every possible kind of modern composition, to make up the full
number of twenty.
Yesterday evening we thought much of you. At a late hour, when I had
finished writing, I read aloud ‘Nausikaa’ to Cécile, in Voss’s
translation, repeating to her at the end of every ten verses the
profound philological remarks which you made when we used to read it
together during our Greek lesson, and which now recurred to me in
hundreds. Moreover, this poem is really irresistible when it becomes
sentimental. I always felt an inclination to set it to music, of course
not for the theatre, only as an epic, and this whole day I feel renewed
pleasure in the idea; but is anything at this moment to be done with
German poets? Last week four opera _libretti_ were sent to me, each one
more ridiculous than the other; the only result is to make enemies for
myself. I therefore write instrumental music, and long for the unknown
poet, who perhaps lives close to me or at Timbuctoo,--who knows?...
TO HIS FAMILY.
Leipzig, April 2nd, 1838.
... This evening Madame Botgorscheck’s concert takes place,--an
excellent contralto singer, who persecuted me so much to play, that I
agreed to do so, and it did not occur to me till afterwards that I had
nothing either short or suitable to play, so I resolved to compose a
rondo, not one single note of which was written the day before
yesterday, but which I am to perform this evening with the whole
orchestra, and rehearsed this morning.[34] It sounds very gay; but how I
shall play it the gods alone know,--indeed hardly they, for in one
passage I have marked a pause of fifteen bars in the accompaniment, and
have not as yet the most remote idea what I am to introduce during this
time. Any one, however, who plays thus _en gros_ as I do, can get
through a good deal....
TO A. SIMROCK, BONN.
Berlin, July 10th, 1838.
In recommencing our correspondence, I must first of all thank you for
the great friendliness you showed towards me in Cologne. It is the first
time that any publisher ever assured me of his satisfaction at the
success of my compositions; this occurrence would in itself have been a
source of lively gratification to me, but it is much enhanced by the
kind and flattering manner in which you manifest your satisfaction, and
for which I shall ever feel indebted to you. From the time of your first
letter about “St. Paul,” in which you expressed a wish to have it for
your house, when I had not yet thought of publication at all, much less
of success,--also during the period of its being printed, with its
manifold alterations and interpolations, up to the present moment,--you
have been cordial and complaisant towards me to a degree which, as I
already said, I never before met with, and for which I cordially thank
you.
Would it not be well worth while for any publisher in Germany to publish
just now some of Handel’s principal oratorios from the _original_
scores? This ought to be done by subscription, which would, I think, be
successful, as not one of these scores exists with us. I thought of
composing the organ parts for this purpose; they must, however, appear
in small notes in the score, or in notes of another colour, so that,
first, those who wished it could have Handel pure; second, my organ
parts in addition if required, and where there was an organ; and third,
in a _supplement_, the organ part arranged for clarionets, bassoons, and
other wind instruments of the modern orchestra, when no organ can be
had. Such a score would be useful to all institutes for oratorio music,
and we should at last have the true Handel in Germany, not one first
dipped in the waters of the Moselle and thoroughly diluted. I was
assured in England, that a very considerable number of subscribers to
such a score might be procured there. What do you think of this? You
have published the pianoforte editions of these oratorios,--perhaps a
selection might be made from some of them. Of course I am anxious to
have your really candid and sincere opinion of this proposal, which I
only mention to you, because it has often suggested itself to me, and
recurs to me at this moment.--I am, with sincere esteem, your obedient
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO FERDINAND HILLER.
Berlin, July 18th, 1838.
... The whole condition of music here is connected with the sand, with
the situation, and with official life, so that though you may have great
satisfaction in individuals, it is not easy to be on terms of intimacy
with any one. Gluck’s operas are indeed most charming. Is it not
remarkable that they always attract a full house, and that the public
applaud, and are amused, and shout? And that this should be the only
place in the world where such a thing seems possible? And that on the
next evening the “Postillon” should draw an equally crowded house? And
that in Bavaria it is forbidden to have music in any church, either
Catholic or Protestant, because it is supposed to desecrate them? And
that chorales seem to have become indispensable in the theatre? The
chief thing, however, is to have novelty, and plenty of good and fine
compositions in the world; thence it is that I am so eagerly expecting
your overture and your opera.
You probably heard that I was at Cologne during the Musical Festival:
all went off well. The organ had a fine effect with Handel, and still
more so with Sebastian Bach (in a newly-discovered composition of his,
which you have not yet seen, with a stately double chorus); but even
there, to my mind at least, new and untried works were wanting to excite
interest; I should like so much to have something doubtful, to furnish
both the public and myself with an opportunity of giving an opinion. We
all know beforehand what we are to think of Beethoven, Bach, and Handel.
This ought to be so, but let us have other things besides. You are quite
right in saying that it is better in Italy, where the people insist
every year on having new music, and every year a fresh criticism--if
only the music and likewise the criticisms, were a shade better! I hear
you growl and say, what is better? Well then, more according to my
taste, if you will. To be sure, my taste is peculiar, such a possibility
sometimes suggests itself to me; but I must make use of it as it is, in
which case I can contrive to swallow as little, as the stork out of the
flat dish....
TO CONCERTMEISTER FERDINAND DAVID, LEIPZIG.
Berlin, July 30th, 1838.
Dear David,
Many thanks for your letter, which gave me great pleasure. Since I came
here I have been constantly thinking how really delightful it is that we
are to meet and live together, instead of your being in one place and I
in another, following our avocations without hearing much of each other,
which is, no doubt, the case with many good fellows in our dear yet
rather aggravating Fatherland; but on reflecting further, I discovered
that there are not many musicians who, like yourself, pursue steadily
the broad straight road in art, or in whose active course I could feel
the same intense delight that I do in yours. Such things are seldom said
in conversation, therefore let me write to-day, how much your rapid and
welcome development during the last few years has surprised and rejoiced
me; it is often grievous to me to see so many with the noblest
aspirations, but inferior talents, and others with great talents yet low
tendencies; so that to see true genius, combined with right good will,
is doubly cheering. People of the former class swarm here; almost all
the young musicians who visit me may, with few exceptions, be included
in that number. They praise and prize Gluck and Handel, and all that is
good, and talk about them perpetually, and yet what they do is an utter
failure, and so very tedious. Of the second class there are examples
everywhere. As I said, therefore, the very thought of your character
rejoices me, and may Heaven permit us to succeed more and more in
candidly expressing our wishes and our inmost thoughts, and in holding
fast all that is dear and sacred in art, so that it shall not perish!...
No doubt, you are preparing many new things for next winter, and I
rejoice heartily in the idea of hearing them. I have just finished my
third quartett in D major, and like it much. May it only please you as
well!--I almost think it will, for it is more spirited, and seems to me
likely to be more grateful to the players than the others. I intend in a
few days to begin to write out my symphony, and to complete it in a
short time, probably while I am still here. I should also like to write
a violin concerto for you next winter. One in E minor runs in my head,
the beginning of which gives me no peace. My symphony shall certainly be
as good as I can make it, but whether it will be popular and played on
the barrel-organs, I cannot tell. I feel that in every fresh piece I
succeed better in learning to write exactly what is in my heart, and
after all, that is the only right rule I know. If I am not adapted for
popularity, I will not try to acquire it, nor seek after it; and if you
think this wrong, then I ought rather to say I _cannot_ seek after it,
for really I _cannot_, but would not if I could. What proceeds from
within, makes me glad in its outward workings also, and therefore it
would be very gratifying to me were I able to fulfil the wish you and my
friends express; but I can do nothing towards it or about it. So much in
my path has fallen to my share without my having even once thought of
it, and without any effort on my part, that perhaps it may be the case
with this also; if not, I shall not grumble on the subject, but console
myself by knowing that I did what I could, according to my best powers
and my best judgment. I have _your_ sympathy, and _your_ delight in my
works, and also that of some valued friends. More could scarcely be
desired. A thousand thanks, then, for your kind expressions and for all
your friendship towards me.--Your
FELIX M. B.
TO HERR ADVOCAT CONRAD SCHLEINITZ, LEIPZIG.
Berlin, August 1st, 1838.
Dear Schleinitz,
... What you write me about your increased business rejoices me much.
You know how often we have talked over the subject, but I cannot share
your sentiment, that any one profession is preferable to another. I
always think that whatever an intelligent man gives his heart to, and
really understands, must become a noble vocation; and I only personally
dislike those in whom there is nothing personal, and in whom all
individuality disappears; as, for example, the military profession in
peace, of which we have instances here. But with regard to the others,
it is more or less untrue. When one profession is compared with another,
the one is usually taken in its naked reality, and the other in the most
beautiful ideality, and then the decision is quickly made. How easy it
is for an artist to feel such reality in his sphere, and yet esteem
_practical_ men happy who have studied and known the different relations
of men towards each other, and who help others to live by their own life
and progress, and at once see the fruits of all that is tangible,
useful, and benevolent instituted by them. In one respect, too, an
upright man has the hardest stand to make, in knowing that the public
are more attracted by outward show than by truth. But individual
failures and strife must not be allowed to have their growth in the
heart; there must be something to occupy and to elevate it far above
these isolated external things. This speaks strongly in favour of my
opinion, for it is the best part of every calling, and common to all; to
yours, to mine, and to every other. Where is it that you find beauty
when I am working at a quartett or a symphony? Merely in that portion of
myself that I transfer to it, or can succeed in expressing; and you can
do this in as full a measure as any man, in your defence of a culprit,
or in a case of libel, or in any one thing that entirely engrosses you,
and that is the great point. If you can only give utterance to your
inmost thoughts, and if these inmost thoughts become more and more
worthy of being expressed, ... all the rest is indifferent. I thank you,
therefore, for the report you give me of your occupations, and hope you
will often send me equally good tidings.--Your
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO I. MOSCHELES, LONDON.
Leipzig, October 28th, 1838.
My dear Friend,
A thousand thanks for your continued friendship towards me, and also for
occasionally assuring me of it; a letter from you cheers me for a long
time to come, and what you write of yourself and others is always so
fertile, and as much yourself, as if I heard you speaking, and were
agreeing with you, and rejoicing in doing so. If I were a little more
mild, and a little more just, and a little more judicious, and a good
many other things a little more, perhaps I, too, might then have a
judgment equal to yours; but I am so soon irritated, and become
unreasonable, whereas you love what is good, and yet what is bad appears
to you worth amendment.
On the occasion of Clara Novello’s concert, a vast amount of rivalry,
and bad artistic feeling, was brought to the light of day, which I
neither wish to exist by day, nor by night, nor indeed in the world at
all. In fact, when really _good_ musicians condescend to depreciate each
other, and to be malicious, and to sting in secret, I would sooner
renounce music altogether, or rather, I should say, musicians; it is
such petty, tinkering work, and yet it seems to be the fashion!
formerly, I thought it was so only with bunglers, but I see it is the
same with all. A straightforward character alone is a protection against
such an example, and a straightforward fellow, who despises it. Yet
this serves to endear goodness to us still more, and we rejoice doubly
in the contrast, and in good art, and in good artists, and in letters
from you; and thus the world is by no means so bad after all.
TO PASTOR JULIUS SCHUBRING, DESSAU.
Leipzig, November 2nd, 1838.
Dear Schubring,
Many, many thanks for your letter, which I received the day before
yesterday, and for the parcel, which came to-day. You have again
rendered me an essential service, and I feel most grateful to you; how
can you ask whether I wish you to proceed in the same way? When all is
so well put together, I have almost nothing to do, but to write music
for the words. I ought to have previously told you, that the sheets you
took away with you are by no means to be regarded as containing a mature
design, but as a mere combination of the materials I had before me for
the purpose of eventually forming a plan. So the passage of the widow,
and also of the raven, being left out, is decidedly most advisable, and
also the whole commencement being abridged, in order that the main
points may be dwelt on to one’s heart’s content. I would urgently
entreat you to proceed with your work, so far as your time and leisure
will permit, and soon to send me the continuation of the first part,
from where you left off, and which must now be of considerable length.
Rest assured that, as I already told you, you will earn my most sincere
gratitude.
You say that at first, you could not make anything of the subject, but
that a sudden light dawned on you. I figured to myself Elijah as a
grand, mighty prophet, such, as we might again require in our own day
energetic and zealous, but also stern, wrathful, and gloomy; a striking
contrast to the Court myrmidons and popular rabble,--in fact, in
opposition to the whole world, and yet borne on angels’ wings. Is this
the inference you drew from the subject, and this the sense in which you
conceived an affection for it? I am anxious to do justice to the
_dramatic_ element, and, as you say, no epic narrative must be
introduced. I am glad to learn that you are searching out the real sense
of the Scriptural words, which cannot fail to touch every heart; but if
I might make one observation, it is that I would fain see the Dramatic
Element more prominent, as well as more exuberant and defined,--appeal
and rejoinder, question and answer, sudden interruptions, etc. etc. Not
that it disturbs me, for example, Elijah first speaking of the
assembling of the people, and then forthwith addressing them. All such
liberties are the natural privileges of such a representation in an
oratorio; but I should like the representation itself to be as spirited
as possible; for instance, it annoys me that Elijah does not reply to
Ahab’s words, No. 16 till No. 18; various other speeches and a chorus
intervening. I should like to have had an instant and eager rejoinder,
etc. etc.
But we shall no doubt presently agree on such points, and I would only
entreat you, when you resume your work, to think of this wish of mine.
Above all, accept my thanks for your kindness, and write to me soon on
the same subject.--Ever your
FELIX M. B.
TO HIS FAMILY.
Leipzig, November 5th, 1838.
I have felt unequal to resume the train of my musical compositions since
the measles. You cannot conceive the chaos that accumulates round me,
when I am obliged neither to write, nor to go out, for three weeks. At
last, here I am, correcting the parts of my three violin quartetts,
which are to appear this winter, but I never can contrive to complete
them, owing to so many letters, and affairs, and other _odiosa_. The
Shaws are here, who don’t know one word of German, and not many words of
French, and yet they live with thorough, downright Leipzigers, who only
speak their Leipzig vernacular; and Bennett, with two young English
musicians, and six new symphonies, and letters, and passing strangers,
and rehearsals, and Heaven knows what all the other things are, which
swallow up the day, leaving no more trace than if it had never existed.
Truly the most delightful of all things is to be enabled to store up
precious and enduring memorials of past days, to tell that these days
were; and the most hateful of all things is, when time passes on, and we
pass with it, and yet grasp nothing.
I am reading Lessing just now frequently, with true enjoyment and
gratitude. At the end of the most fatiguing day, this famous fellow
makes me feel quite fresh again; though Germany fares rather badly when
you read his letters to his grandfather, or to Nicolai, Gleim, and
Eckert; and yet Lessing wrote in German, and in such German, too, that
it cannot be well translated!
TO PROFESSOR SCHIRMER, DÜSSELDORF,
(NOW DIRECTOR OF THE CARLSRUHE ACADEMY.)