proposals from two musical festivals for 1840. And now enough of myself
and my braggadocio. I have however been very busy here, and have
completed a pianoforte trio, five four-part songs for the open air, and
three fugues for the organ, as well as commenced many others. I have
practised the organ so steadily, that on my return to Leipzig I purpose
giving an organ concert there, and I think that my pedal playing is now
very tolerable.
Dear Fanny! I beg that among the six great organ preludes and fugues of
Bach, published by Riedl, you will look at the fugue No. 3, in C major.
Formerly I did not care much about them, they are in a very simple
style; but observe particularly the four last bars, natural and simple
as they are, I fell quite in love with them, and played them over at
least fifty times yesterday. How the left hand glides and turns, and
how gently it dies away towards the close! It pleased me beyond all
measure.
TO FANNY HENSEL, BERLIN.[37]
Leipzig, September 14th, 1839.
Dear Fanny,
Wishing to note down a great many things for your benefit, I examined my
diaries, but found very little in them, and say to myself, “Hensel will
show her and tell all this a hundred times better than I can.”
So only with a view to perform my promise:--
_Isola Bella._--Place yourself on the very highest point, and look right
and left, before and behind you,--the whole of the island and the whole
of the lake are at your feet.
_Venice._--Do not forget Casa Pisani, with its Paul Veronese, and the
Manfrini Gallery, with its marvellous ‘Cithern Player’ by Giorgione, and
a ditto, ‘Entombment,’ by Titian (Hensel laughs at me). Compose
something in honour of the ‘Cithern Player;’ I did so. When you see the
‘Assumption of the Virgin,’ think of me. Observe how dark the head of
Mary--and indeed her whole figure stands out against the bright sky; the
head looks quite brown, and there is an ineffable expression of
enthusiasm and overflowing felicity, that no one could believe without
having actually seen it. If you don’t think of me, too, at sight of the
golden glory of the sky behind Mary,--then there is an end of all
things! Likewise two certain cherubs’ heads, from which an ox might
learn what true beauty is; and if the ‘Presentation of Mary,’ and the
woman selling eggs underneath, do not please you,--then call me a
blockhead! Think of Goethe when you see the Lions in front of the
Arsenal: “Stehen zwei altgriechische Löwen,” etc. Sail in a gondola at
night, meeting other black gondolas hurrying along. If you don’t then
think of all sorts of love stories, and other things which might occur
within them while they glide by so quickly,--then am I a dolt!
_Florence._--The following are among my notes on the portrait gallery
(see if you find them true, and write to me on the subject):--
“Comparison between the head and its production, between the man’s work
and his exterior--the artist and his portrait. Titian, vigorous and
royal; Domenichino, precise, bright, very astute, and buoyant; Guido,
pale, dignified, masterly, keen; Lanfranco, a grotesque mask; Leonello
Spada, a good-natured _fanfaron_ and a reveller; Annibale Carracci,
peeping and prying; the two Caraccis, like the members of a guild;
Caravaggio, rather commonplace and cat-like; Guercino, handsome and
affected, melancholy and dark; Bellini the red-haired, the stern,
old-fashioned teacher; Giorgione, chivalrous, fantastic, serene, and
clear; Leonardo da Vinci, the lion; in the middle, the fragile, heavenly
Raphael, and over him Michael Angelo, ugly, vigorous, malignant; Carlo
Dolce, a coxcomb; Gerard Dow, a mere appendage among his kitchen
utensils,” etc. etc.
In the large gallery to the left of the tribune, look at a little
picture by Fra Bartolommeo, scarcely larger than this sheet of paper,
but with two doors, all so neatly and carefully painted and finished.
When you enter the gallery, salute first the busts of the Medici, for
they were its founders. In the tribune there are some good things. Do
not fail to see all the painted churches, which are quite beyond
belief,--Maria Novella, St. Annunziata (you must see Andrea del Sarto
there; remark also Fra Bartolommeo falling backwards downstairs from
terror, because the angel has already been painting on his canvas).
Examine also this said angel’s painting in the ‘Annunciation’ of Fra
Bartolommeo; it is very fine (Hensel laughs).
To St. Marco, the Academy, etc. etc.
If the site of Brunelli’s statue, near the Duomo, does not please you, I
can’t help you. The Duomo itself is not bad. Walk about a great deal.
_Milan._--Don’t fail to go to the top of the cathedral, on account of
the millions of pinnacles, and the splendid view.
_Genoa._--It is pleasant to be in the Villetta Negri at nightfall.
_Betwixt Genoa and Florence_, see everything. Do not miss visiting the
church of St. Francesco in Assisi, on any account whatever. The same
with regard to all Perugia.
Drink a flask of _aleatico_ in Florence, and add another of _vino
santo_.
_Rome._--Holy Week; be as weary as you please during the whole chanting
of the Psalms, it’s no matter, but listen carefully when they intone the
_last_, “Benedictus Dominus Israel,”--all four voices _unisono
fortissimo_ in D minor,--it sounds very grand. Observe the strange
modulations produced by chance, when one unmusical priest after another
takes the book and sings; the one finishing in D major, and the other
commencing in B flat minor. Above all, see and hear everything in the
Sistine Chapel, and write some melodies, or something, from thence to
your F. M. B. Greet old Santini. Feast your eyes on the brilliant aspect
of the chapel on Palm Sunday, when all the Cardinals are robed and carry
palms, and when the procession with the singers arrives. The
“Improperia,” on Good Friday, in B flat major, are very fine. Notice
when the old Cardinal sings the “Credo,” the first day of Easter, and
all the bells ring out, and the ceremony becomes all alive once more,
with cannon shots, etc. etc. Drive to the _Grotta ferrata_, it is really
quite too lovely, and all painted by Domenichino. Don’t forget the echo
near Cecilia Metella. The tower stands to the left of the road. In the
same direction, about fifty yards further, among some old ruined walls
and stones, there is the most perfect echo I ever chanced to meet with
in my life; it seems as if it never would cease muttering and murmuring.
It begins in a slight degree, close behind the tower, but the further
you proceed, the more mystical it becomes. You must try to find the
right spot. Learn to distinguish between the different orders of monks.
_Naples._--When there is a storm at Chiatamone, and the grey sea is
foaming, think of me. Don’t fail to live close to the sea. I lived at
Santi Combi, Santa Lucia (I think No. 13), it was most lovely there. Be
sure you go from Castellamare to Amalfi, _over_ Mount St. Angelo. It is
the chief highway of all Italy. Proceed from Amalfi to Atrani, and see
the church there, and then view the whole glorious landscape from above.
Never get overheated. And never fly into a passion. And never be so
delighted as to agitate yourself. Be wonderfully haughty and arrogant;
all the beauty is there for you only.
Eat as a salad, broccoli with ham, and write to me if it is not capital.
So far my good advice. Enough for to-day. Farewell, dearest Fanny, and
dear Hensel family all. We think of you daily and hourly, and rejoice in
your good fortune and in your enjoyment.
FELIX.
TO PROFESSOR NAUMANN, BONN.
Leipzig, September 19th, 1839.
Sir,
Pray accept my thanks for the great proof of confidence you show me, by
the purport of your esteemed letter of the 12th of this month. Believe
me, I thoroughly appreciate it, and can indeed feel how important to you
must be the development and future destiny of a child so beloved and so
talented. My sole wish is, like your own, that _those_ steps should be
taken, best calculated to reward his assiduity and to cultivate his
talents. As an artist, I consider this to be my duty, but, in this case,
it would cause me peculiar pleasure from its recalling an early and
happy period of my life.
But I should unworthily respond to your confidence, did I not
communicate frankly to you the many and great scruples which prevent my
_immediately_ accepting your proposal. In the first place, I am
convinced, from repeated experience, that I am totally deficient in the
talent requisite for a practical teacher, and for giving regular
progressive instruction; whether it be that I take too little pleasure
in tuition, or have not sufficient patience for it, I cannot tell, but
in short, I do not succeed in it. Occasionally, indeed, young people
have stayed with me, but any improvement they have derived was solely
from our studying music together, from unreserved intercourse, or casual
conversation on various subjects, and also from discussions; and none
of these things are compatible with actual teaching. Now the question
is, whether in such early youth, a consecutive, unremitting, strict
course of discipline, be not of more value than all the rest? It also
appears to me that the estrangement of your son from the paternal roof
just at his age, forms a second, and not less important objection. Where
the rudiments of education are not wholly wanting (and the talents of
your wife alone are a security against this), then I consider that the
vicinity of his parents, and the prosecution of the usual elements of
study, the acquirement of languages, and the various branches of
scholarship and science, are of more value to the boy than a one-sided,
even though more perfect cultivation of his genius. In any event such
genius is sure to force its way to the light, and to shape its course
accordingly, and in riper years will submit to no other permanent
vocation, so that the early acquired treasures of interest, and the
hours enjoyed in early youth under the roof of a parent, become doubly
dear.
I speak in this strain from my own experience, for I can well remember
that in my fifteenth year, there was a question as to my studying with
Cherubini in Paris, and I know how grateful I was to my father at the
time, and often since, that he at last gave up the idea, and kept me
with himself. It would of course be very different if there were no
means in Bonn, of obtaining good and solid instruction in thorough-bass
and the piano; but this I cannot believe, and whether that instruction
be rather better or more intellectual (provided indeed it be not
positively objectionable), is of less moment when compared with the
advantages of a longer stay in his own home. Further, my life hitherto
has been so unsettled, that no summer has passed without my taking
considerable journeys, and next year I shall probably be absent from
here for five or six months; this change of associations would only be
prejudicial to youthful talent. The young man therefore must either
remain here alone all summer or travel with me, and neither of these are
advisable for him.
I state all these disadvantages, because I am myself so well aware of
them, and fully estimate the importance of the subject. If you do not
participate in my views on mature consideration, and are still of
opinion that _I_ alone can assist your boy in the attainment of his
wish, then I repeat that in any case (irrespective of this) I should
esteem it my duty to be useful and serviceable, so far as my ability
goes, to a youthful genius, and to contribute to his development by the
exercise of my own powers; but even in this event, a personal interview
is indispensable, if only for a few hours, in order to arrange
everything clearly, and until then I cannot give an unqualified consent.
Were you to bring the lad to me at Easter, I fear I should have already
set off on my summer excursion. Indeed, the only period when I am
certain to be in Leipzig, is from autumn till Easter. I quite agree
with Madame Naumann, that it is most essential to cultivate
pianoforte-playing at present as much as possible, and not to fail in
studying Cramer’s exercises assiduously and steadily; but along with
this daily training on the piano, two hours a week devoted to
thorough-bass might be useful, as such a variety would be a pleasant
change, rather than an interruption. The latter study indeed ought to be
pursued in an easy and almost playful manner, and chiefly the practical
part, that of deciphering and playing figured bass; these are the main
points, and can be entirely mastered in a short time; but the sooner it
is begun, the sooner is it got quit of, and this is always a relief with
such dry things. And now once more accept my thanks for the trust you
have reposed in me, which I thought I could only adequately respond to
by entire sincerity.--I am, your faithful
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO I. MOSCHELES, LONDON.
Leipzig, November 30th, 1839.
My dear Friend,
Your letter from Paris delighted me exceedingly, although the
proceedings you describe are not very gratifying. The state of matters
there must be very curious. I own that I always felt a kind of
repugnance towards it, and this impression has not been diminished by
all we have recently heard from thence. Nowhere do variety and outward
consideration play so prominent a part as there, and what makes the case
still worse is, that they not only coquet with orders and decorations,
but with artistic inspiration and soul. The very great inward poverty
which this betrays, along with the outward glitter of grandeur and
worldly importance which such _misères_ assume, is truly revolting to
me, even when I merely read of them in a letter. I infinitely prefer our
German homeliness and torpor and tobacco-pipes, though, indeed, I can’t
say much in their favour since the recent events in Hanover, in which I
am deeply interested, though I grieve to say they do not exhibit our
Fatherland in a pleasing aspect; so that neither here nor there is life
at present very enjoyable: therefore we ought the more heartily to thank
God, that within the domain of art there lies a world far removed from
all besides; solitary, yet replete with life, where refuge is to be
found, and where we can feel that it is well with us.
Chorley seems to have taken great pleasure in our concerts. On what a
splendid scale we could have them if a very little money were only
forthcoming! but this hateful money is a hindrance and a stumbling-block
all over the world, and we do not get forward as we ought. On one side
we have the worthy civilians, who think that Leipzig is Paris, and that
everything is admirable, and that if the members of the orchestra were
not starving it would no longer be Leipzig; and on the other side we
have the musicians, or rather they leave us as soon as they possibly
can, and I give them letters to you in the hope that they may be thus
rescued from their misery.
I have not assisted Pott’s undertaking by any musical contribution. If
you could only see the detestable proceedings in Germany at present with
regard to monuments, you would have given nothing either. They speculate
on great men, in order, through their reputation, to make a name for
themselves, and trumpet forth in the newspapers, while with their real
trumpets they make very bad music, “as deadening as a foggy breeze.” If
Halle for Handel, Salzburg for Mozart, and Bonn for Beethoven, etc., are
really desirous to form good orchestras, capable of playing and
comprehending thoroughly their works, then I shall be delighted to give
them my aid, but not for mere stones, when the orchestra are themselves
even more worthless stones, and not for their _conservatoriums_, where
there is nothing worth conservation. My present hobby is our poor
orchestra and its improvement. By dint of incessant running to and fro,
writing, and tormenting others, I have at last contrived to scrape
together about five hundred _thalers_, and before I leave this I expect
to get twice that sum for them. If the town does this, it can then
proceed to erect a monument to Sebastian Bach, in front of the Thomas
School. But first of all, the money. You see I am a rabid Leipziger. It
would touch your feelings, too, if you saw all this close at hand, and
could hear how the people strain every nerve to accomplish what is
really good.
Has Onslow written anything new? and old Cherubini? That is a matchless
fellow! I have got his “Abencerrages,” and cannot sufficiently admire
the sparkling fire, the clever original phrases, the extraordinary
delicacy and refinement with which the whole is written, or feel
sufficiently grateful to the grand old man for it. Besides, it is all so
free and bold and spirited.
TO FANNY HENSEL, ROME.
Leipzig, January 4th, 1840.
This little page shall go to Rome from here,
And wish you prettily a good new year.
You see my letter begins in the true ballad-monger style; if you chance
to be in the Coliseum at the moment you receive it, the contrast will be
rather grotesque. Whereabouts do you live in Rome? Have you eaten
broccoli and ham? or _zuppa Inglese_? Is the convent of San Giovanni and
Paolo still standing? and does the sun shine every morning on your
buttered roll? I have just played to Ferdinand Hiller your Caprices in
B flat major, G major, E major, and F major, which surprised us both;
and though we tried hard to detect the cloven foot in them, we could not
do so,--all was unmixed delight. Then I vowed at last to break through
my obstinate silence. Pray forgive it! It happened thus:--First came the
christening, and with it my mother and Paul. In the meantime the
subscription concerts had begun; then my mother left us; then Paul, a
fortnight later; then came Hiller to stay with us, intending to remain a
week, heard a couple of rehearsals, and decided to remain the whole
winter, for the purpose of completing his oratorio of “Jeremiah,” and
producing it here in March; then came an abominable cold and catarrh,
which for three weeks confined me to bed, or to my room, but always in
very bad humour; then came Breitkopf and Härtel, begging to have the
manuscript of my second set of four-part songs, which they have now got,
and the trio, which they have not yet got; then came the copyist,
petitioning for the score of the new Psalm, which was performed most
gloriously the day before yesterday, as a commencement to the new year’s
concert; then came 116 friends; then came Madame Pleyel, who counts for
216 more, and she played the piano right well; then came Christmas, to
which I was forced to contribute fourteen gifts, some musical, some
pictorial, some practical, and some juvenile; and now comes the benefit
concert of Madlle. Meerti,--so here you have an _abrégé_ of my
_histoire universelle_ since my last letter.
But tell me, for Heaven’s sake, what are you doing at Rome? “The finest
part of the _old hole_ is its situation,” said General Lepel once; but
he is mistaken. There are still greater charms within her walls. What do
you say, by the bye, to the drone of the _Pifferari_, whom the painters
paint so admirably, and which produce such indescribable sensations in
every nose, while sounding through it?--and to the church music in St.
Luigi dei Francesi and others? I should like to hear you on that
subject. Can you tell me the names of all the Cardinals from a mere
glimpse of their hoods or trains? I could do this. When you are with a
certain _Madame_ by Titian in the Sciarra Palace, and with two other
certain _Mesdames_ also by him (the one in a state of nature, the other
unfortunately not) in the Borghese Palace,[38] or with the ‘Galatea’ or
any other Raphael, if you do not then think of me, and wish I were in
Rome, I shall assuredly in that case wish you were the Marchesa Muti
Papazurri, whose breadth is greater than her height, and that is five
feet six inches. I will now give you some advice. Go to Monte Testaccio,
and settle yourself comfortably in one of the little inns there; you
will feel precisely the same as if you were in Rome. If you have already
seen Guido’s ‘Aurora.’ be sure you go to see it again. Mark well the
horrible fifths of the Papal singers when they adorn each of their four
parts at the same moment with flourishes. On a fine Sunday, go on
walking the whole day, till the sun sets, and it becomes cool; then come
down from Monte Pincio, or wherever you may be, and have your dinner.
Compose a vast deal, for it gets on famously at Rome. Write me soon a
long letter. Look out of the windows of any convent near the Lateran,
towards the Albano mountains. Count the houses in Frascati in the
sunshine; it is far more beautiful there than in all Prussia and Poland
too.
Forgive this harebrained letter, for I could not make it better.
Farewell, dearest Fanny. May God bless you, and your journey, and your
whole year; and continue to love your
FELIX.
TO I. FÜRST, BERLIN.
[_On the subject of a Libretto that he was writing for an Opera._]
Leipzig, January 4th, 1840.
Dear Fürst,
You upbraid me extravagantly in the beginning of your welcome letter,
but at its close you draw so admirable a moral, that I have only to
thank you anew for the whole. You do me injustice in suggesting that my
sole reason for wishing to see the _scenarium_ is that I may raise
difficulties from the starting-point, and bring the child into the world
forthwith in its sickly condition.
It is precisely on opposite grounds that I wish this, in order to
obviate subsequent difficulties and organic maladies. If these are, as
you declare, born with him, it is best to abstract them from the child,
while it is still possible, without injuring every part; if the injury
admits of a remedy at all, it can now be cured, without attacking the
whole organization.
No longer to speak figuratively, what deters me, and has always hitherto
deterred me from the composition of a _libretto_ is neither the verse,
nor the individual words, nor the mode of handling (or whatever you call
it), but the course of the action, the dramatic essence, the march of
events,--in short, the _scenarium_. If I do not consider this to be good
and solid in itself, then my firm conviction is that the music will not
be so either, nor the whole satisfy the pretensions that I must make in
executing such a work, though they may indeed entirely differ from those
which are usually made, and from those of the public. But I have long
since given up all idea of conforming to their tastes, simply for this
reason, that is impossible; so I must follow the dictates of my own
conscience, now as ever.
Planché’s text can never, even with the best will on both sides, become
such a work as I want; I am almost disposed to give up my purpose as
utterly hopeless. I would rather never compose an opera at all, than one
which from the very commencement I considered only indifferent; moreover
I could not possibly compose for such a one, were you to give me the
whole kingdom of Prussia to do so. All this, and the many annoyances
certain to occur at the completion of a text, if I should not feel
disposed to undertake it, render it my duty to proceed step by step, and
rather to move too slowly than too hastily; on this account I have
resolved, unless we first agree about the _scenarium_, never to beguile
any poet into undertaking so laborious a work, which may after all prove
vain. This _scenarium_ may be prolix or brief, detailed or merely
sketched,--on these points I do not presume to dictate, and quite as
little, whether the opera should be in three, four, or five acts; if it
be really good, just as it is written, then eight acts would not be too
many for me, nor one too few, and I say the same as to a ballet or no
ballet. The only criterion is, whether it harmonizes or not with the
musical and other existing feelings of my nature; and I believe that I
am able to discern this quite as well from the _scenarium_ as from the
finished text, and that is moreover a point which no one can decide save
myself personally.
I have thus placed the whole truth before you, and Heaven grant that all
these things may not deter you from writing an opera, that you may also
entrust it to me for composition, and that I may at length through you
see a long-cherished wish fulfilled. I need not tell you how eagerly I
shall await your decision.--Yours,
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Leipzig, February 7th, 1840.
Dear Brother,