this winter and till late in the spring. The old localities where we
passed so many happy days so pleasantly are now re-arranged with all
possible comfort, and we can live here in great comfort. I could no
longer endure the state of suspense in Berlin; there was in fact nothing
certain there, but that I was to receive a certain sum of money, and
that alone should not suffice for the vocation of a musician; at least I
felt more oppressed by it from day to day, and I requested either to be
told plainly I should do _nothing_ (with which I should have been quite
contented, for then I could have worked with an easy mind at whatever I
chose), or be told plainly what I was to do. As I was again assured that
the results would certainly ensure my having employment, I wrote to Herr
von Massow begging him to procure me an audience of the King, that I
might thank him verbally, and endeavour to obtain my dismissal on such
and such grounds, requesting him to communicate the contents of this
letter to his Majesty; this he did, and appointed a day for the
audience, at the same time saying that the affair was now at an end; the
King very much displeased with me, and that it was his intention to take
leave of me in very few words. He had made me some proposals in the name
of the King to which I could not altogether agree, and with which I do
not now detain you, as they led to nothing, and could lead to nothing.
So I was quite prepared to take my leave of Berlin in very bad odour,
however painful this might be to me. I was at length obliged also to
speak to my mother on the subject, and to break to her that in the
course of eight days I must return to Leipzig; I could not have believed
that this would have affected her so terribly as it actually did. You
know how calm my mother usually is, and how seldom she allows any one to
have a glimpse of the feelings of her heart, and therefore it was doubly
and trebly painful to me to cause her such a pang of sorrow, and yet I
could not act otherwise; so next day I went to the King with Massow--the
most zealous friend I have in Berlin--and who first took a final leave
of me in his own house. The King must have been in an especial good
humour, for instead of finding him angry with me, I never saw him so
amiable and so really confidential. To my farewell speech he replied: he
could not indeed compel me to remain, but he did not hesitate to say,
that it would cause him heartfelt regret if I left him; that by doing
so, all the plans which he had formed from my presence in Berlin would
be frustrated, and that I should leave a void which he could never fill
up. As I did not admit this, he said if I would name any one capable of
carrying such and such plans into execution as well as he believed I
could do, then he would entrust them to the person I selected, but he
felt sure I should be unable to name one whom he could approve of. The
following are the plans which he detailed at full length; first of all,
to form a kind of real _capelle_, that is, a select choir of about
thirty very first-rate singers, and a small orchestra (to consist of the
_élite_ of the theatrical orchestra); their duties to consist in Church
music on Sundays and at festivals, and besides this, in performing
oratorios and so forth; that I was to direct these, and to compose
music for them, etc. etc. “Certainly,” said I, “if there were any chance
of such a thing here, if this were only accomplished;” it was the very
point at issue on which I had so much insisted. On which he replied
again, that he knew perfectly well I must have an instrument to make
music on, and that it should be _his_ care to procure such an instrument
of singers and players; but when he had procured it, he must know that I
was prepared to play on it; till then I might do as I liked, return to
Leipzig, or go to Italy,--in short, be entirely unfettered; but he must
have the certainty that he might depend on me when he _required_ me, and
this could only be acquired by my remaining in his service. Such was at
least the essential substance of the whole long conversation; we then
separated. He said I was not to give him my decision _immediately_,
because all difficulties could not be for the moment entirely obviated;
I was to take time to consider, and to send my answer to Massow, who was
present during the whole of this conversation of an hour and a quarter.
He was quite flushed with excitement when we left the room, repeating
over and over again, “Surely you can never _now_ think of going away!”
and to tell you the truth, I thought more of my dear mother than of all
the rest. In short, two days afterwards I wrote to the King, and said
that after his words to me I could no longer think of leaving his
service, but that, on the contrary, my best abilities should be at his
command so long as I lived. He had mentioned so and so (and I repeated
the substance of our conversation), that I would take advantage of the
liberty he had granted me, and remain in Leipzig _until_ I was appointed
to some _definite_ sphere of work; on which account, I begged to
relinquish one-half of my salary, so long as I was not really engaged in
active work. This proposal he accepted, and I am now here again with my
wife and child. I have been obliged definitively to decline the offers
of the King of Saxony; but in order to do so in the most respectful
manner, I went to Dresden a few days after my return here, thanked the
King once more verbally, and entreated him not the less to bestow the
twenty thousand _thalers_ (which an old Leipziger bequeathed in his will
to the King for the establishment of an Academy of Art) to found a
school for music in Leipzig, to which he graciously acceded. The
official announcement came the day before yesterday. This music school
is to be organized next winter, at least in its chief features; when it
is established, I may well say that I have been the means of procuring a
durable benefit for music here. If they begin anything solid in Berlin,
I can settle there with a clear conscience; if they allow the matter to
stand over, it is probable that I may go on with my half-salary and my
situation here for more than a year, and my duties be confined, as now,
to executing particular commands of the King,--for instance, I am to
supply him with music for the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” the “Storm,”
and “Œdipus Coloneus.”
Such then is the desired conclusion of this long, long transaction.
Forgive all these details, but I wished to inform you minutely of every
particular.
A request occurs to me which I long ago intended to have made to you. In
Switzerland I saw my former guide, Michael, whom, on my previous
mountain-expeditions, I always found to be an excellent, honest,
obliging fellow, and on this occasion I met with him again, married to a
charming pretty woman; he has children, and is no longer a guide, but
established as landlord of the ‘Krone.’ During our first visit to
Meiringen this summer, we lived at the Hôtel de Reichenbach, but the
second time we were at the ‘Krone,’ and quite delighted with the
cleanliness, and neatness, and the civil behaviour of all the people in
the house. It is a most genuine Swiss village inn, taken in its best
sense. Now Michael’s greatest wish is to be named among the inns at
Meiringen, in the new edition of Murray’s ‘Switzerland,’ and I promised
to endeavour to effect this for him.[60] Is it in your power to get this
done? The first inn there is the ‘Wilde Mann,’ the second the
‘Reichenbach,’ and the third undoubtedly the ‘Krone;’ and if Murray
recommends it as such, I am convinced it will do him credit. He might
also mention that it is most beautifully situated, with a full view of
the Engelhorn, and the glacier of the Rosenlaui. Michael said that the
editor of the Handbook had been there, and very much _fêté_ by the other
landlords; his means did not admit of this, still he would give him a
good round sum of money if he would only mention him. I was indignant,
and said, “_Without money, or not at all_.” But I thought of many
musical newspapers and composers, so I did not lecture him much on the
subject, from the fear that he might one day hear something of the same
sort from one of my colleagues, and take his revenge. There is now a
general complaint, that the large town hotels have superseded the
smaller comfortable genuine Swiss inns; this is one of the latter sort.
Murray must really recommend it. Pray do what you can about this, and
tell me if you succeed. Forgive my troubling you, the secretary to an
embassy, with such things, but if you knew Michael you would like him, I
know. I would fain draw a great deal now, and gladly devote myself to
all manner of _allotria_, including composition; but I see lying before
me an enormous thick packet of proofs of my A minor symphony, and the
‘Antigone,’ which must absorb all my leisure time; and then the
frightful heap of letters!
My dearest friend, may these lines find you in good health, and in a
happy frame of mind; may you think of me, as I shall of you, so long as
life lasts; and may you also soon be able to tell me yourself that it is
so, and again rejoice your true friends by your presence, for Cecile
writes this letter from first to last along with me, and knows all I
have said, and is, like myself, for ever and ever your friend.
F. M. B.
TO HIS MOTHER.
Leipzig, November 28th, 1842.
Dearest Mother,
As pen and paper must again serve instead of our usual evening hour for
tea, I begin by making a suggestion, which is, whether you would like me
to write to you regularly every Saturday (perhaps only a few words, but
of this hereafter); and that one of the family, as often as you cannot
or will not write, should undertake to send me a punctual reply. In
addition to the joy of knowing beforehand the day when I am to hear of
you, it is in some degree indispensable to ensure my writing to you, for
time _must_ be found for a weekly letter; while, were this not the case,
I should be ashamed to send you only a few lines, should it happen that
I could not accomplish more. You can have no idea of the mass of
affairs--musical, practical, and social--that have accumulated on the
table in my study since my return here. The weekly concerts; the extra
ones; the money the King has at length bestowed at my request on the
Leipzigers, and for the judicious expenditure of which I only yesterday
had to furnish the prospectus; the revisal of “Antigone” and of the A
minor symphony, its score and parts; and a pile of letters. These are
the principal points, which, however, branch off into a number of
secondary ones. Besides, Raupach has already sent me the first chorus of
“Athalia.” The “Midsummer Night’s Dream” and “Œdipus” daily work more
busily in my head; I am really anxious at last to make the “Walpurgis
Nacht” into a symphony cantata, for which it was originally intended,
but did not become so from want of courage on my part, and I must also
complete my violoncello sonata.
Old Schröder’s concert took place three days ago, in which I played, and
directed the overture to “Ruy Blas;” the old _déclamatrice_ delighted us
all exceedingly by the great power and spirit of her voice, and every
gesture. In particular passages I thought she laid rather too much
stress on the expression of the words, and gave too much preference to
details over the voice; but as a whole her genius was highly remarkable.
In her youth, had she the reputation of laying more stress on effect
than was admissible? and what were her best parts in those days? Her
daughter (looking younger, and wilder, and more of a madcap than ever)
sang also, and sings this evening in Döhler’s concert; she will also
probably sing in our subscription concert next Thursday; the days which
she passes in any town, are not of the most quiet description for her
acquaintances. We had besides, Tichatschek, Wagner, Döhler,
Mühlenfels,--so there was a continual hurry and excitement last week.
Make them read aloud to you at the tea-table the passage from the last
of Lessing’s ‘Antiquarian Letters,’ “Wenn ich Kunstrichter wäre,” etc.
etc.,--and tell me whether any of you dispute the point, or whether you
all agree with me, that it is the most exhaustive address which can be
made to a critic, indeed to every critic. At this moment, when so many
artists, old and young, good and bad, come here, this passage daily
recurs to me.--Your
FELIX.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Leipzig, December 5th, 1842.
My dear Brother,
As we agreed (and indeed very properly) that I was to take no step with
regard to my affairs in Berlin without informing you immediately of
every detail, I write you these lines to-day, although I am over head
and ears in business. I received yesterday from the King the following
communication:--
“By the enclosed written document you will perceive the tenor of the
communication I have this day made on the subject of an Institute for
the Improvement of Church Singing; it is addressed to the Special
Commissioners, W. G. R. von Massow and W. G. R. General Intendant of
Court Music, Graf von Redern. I have also, in compliance with your own
wish, informed the Minister of State, Eichhorn, and the Finance
Minister, Von Bodelschwingh, that, until you enter on your functions,
you decline receiving more than fifteen hundred _thalers_, instead of
three thousand. I nominate you General Music Director, and entrust to
you the superintendence and direction of church and sacred music as your
appointed sphere of action.--Charlottenburg, November 22nd, 1842.”
The enclosure consists of a Cabinet order, which is drawn up in a most
clear and judicious style, entirely in the spirit of our interview, and
thoroughly in accordance with my wishes, manifestly with the
co-operation of Herr von Massow, and with the true and honest purpose of
carrying out the affair. That no material obstacles exist, is again
evident from this cabinet order, but whether I may consider the
accomplishment of the project as certain, I cannot say with any security
till I actually see it. The affair of the Conservatorium was still
further advanced, and seemed even more decided. On the other hand, I
adhere to my former views, and do what I can to promote the project, and
to display my goodwill towards it.
Herr von Massow writes to me (only yesterday) that I had better soon
come again to Berlin, to converse with him and Graf von Redern, and that
only one or two days would be required; I shall, however, answer him
that I mean to go there on the 17th, and have arranged to remain till
the 23rd. A longer stay is unfortunately impossible; still you and I can
have some political gossip together, and be inseparable during my stay.
The King having on this occasion conferred on me a new title,[61] almost
embarrasses me; I am unwilling to be of the number of those in the
present day, who possess a greater number of decorations than they have
written good compositions, and yet it seems rather like it; at all
events, I really have no idea what return I can possibly make for all
this, still, as I have not in any way sought it, I may be excused. To
refuse such a thing is out of the question, and there is no one who does
not rejoice in being over-estimated, because on some other occasion the
balance is sure to be made even by depreciation.--Ever your
FELIX.
TO HIS MOTHER.
Leipzig, December 11th, 1842.
Dearest Mother,
On the 21st or 22nd, we give a concert here for the King, who has sworn
death and destruction to all the hares in the country round. In this
concert we mean to sing for his benefit (how touching!) the partridge
and hare hunt out of the “Seasons.” My “Walpurgis Nacht” is to appear
once more in the second part, in a somewhat different garb indeed from
the former one, which was somewhat too richly endowed with trombones,
and rather poor in the vocal parts; but to effect this, I have been
obliged to re-write the whole score from A to Z, and to add two new
arias, not to mention the rest of the clipping and cutting. If I don’t
like it now, I solemnly vow to give it up for the rest of my life. I
think of bringing with me to Berlin a movement from the “Midsummer
Night’s Dream,” and one from “Œdipus.” The music school here, please
God! will make a beginning next February; Hauptmann, David, Schumann and
his wife, Becker, Pohlenz, and I, are to be the teachers at first. It
commences with ten sinecures; the rest who may wish to have instruction,
must pay seventy-five _thalers_ a year. Now you know all that I know,
the rest can only be taught by experience and trial.
I wished for you recently at a subscription concert. I think I never
played the Beethoven G major concerto so well,--my old _cheval de
bataille_; the first cadence especially, and a new return to the solo,
pleased me exceedingly, and apparently the audience still more.
What you write to me about the _répertoire_ of your Berlin concerts,
does not inspire me with any wish to hear more about them. The
arrangement of the “Aufforderung zum Tanz,” and the compositions of
English ambassadors,--these are valuable things! If experiments are to
be thus made and listened to, it would be advisable to be rather more
liberal towards the works of our Fatherland. You will again say that I
am cynical; but many of my ideas are so intimately connected with my
life and my views on art, that you must be indulgent with regard to
them.
The monument to old Sebastian Bach is now very handsome.[62] Bendemann
was here the day before yesterday, to inspect it once more. All the
inner scaffolding had been removed, so the pillars and smaller columns,
and scrolls, and above all the bas-reliefs, and the grand, antiquated
old features sparkled clearly in the sun, and caused me great delight.
The whole structure, with its numerous elegant decorations, is really
typical of the old fellow. It is now covered up again, and will remain
so till March, when it is to be inaugurated on his birthday, by one of
his motetts. Cedars are to be planted round the monument, and a Gothic
seat placed in front of it. We are anxious, however, not to make too
much fuss on the subject, and to avoid the present pompous style of
phraseology, and the worship of art and artists, which is so much the
fashion.
Here, the outward aspect of things is now as much too flourishing, as it
formerly was too miserable for artists, which would be very pleasant for
us, but it does harm to the cause. Art is becoming spoiled and sluggish,
so we should rather be grateful to our present enemies than be angry
with them. I also consider it too much good fortune that the King of
Prussia has nominated me General Music Director. This is another new
title and new honour, whereas I really do not know how to do enough to
deserve the old ones.
This is a hallowed day for us all, with its delightful and memorable
recollections;[63] think of me too on this anniversary, as I do of you
and of him, so long as life endures.--Your
FELIX.
TO PASTOR JULIUS SCHUBRING, DESSAU.
Leipzig, December 16th, 1842.
My dear Schubring,
I now send you, according to your permission, the text of “Elijah,” so
far as it goes. I do beg of you to give me your best assistance, and
return it soon with plenty of notes on the margin (I mean Scriptural
passages, etc.). I also enclose your former letters on the subject, as
you wished, and have torn them out of the book in which they were. They
must, however, be replaced, so do not forget to send them back to me. In
the very first of these letters (at the bottom of the first page), you
properly allude to the chief difficulty of the text, and the very point
in which it is still the most deficient--in universally valid and
impressive thoughts and words; for of course it is not my intention to
compose what you call “a Biblical Walpurgis Night.” I have endeavoured
to obviate this deficiency by the passages written in Roman letters,
but there is still something wanting, even to complete these, and to
obtain suitable comprehensive words for the subject. This, then, is the
first point to which I wish to direct your attention, and where your
assistance is very necessary. Secondly, in the “dramatic” arrangement. I
cannot endure the half operatic style of most of the oratorio words,
(where recourse is had to common figures, as, for example, an Israelite,
a maiden, Hannah, Micaiah, and others, and where, instead of saying
“this and that occurred,” they are made to say, “Alas! I see this and
that occurring.”) I consider this very weak, and will not follow such a
precedent. However, the everlasting “he spake” etc., is also not right.
Both of these are avoided in the text; still this is, and ever will be,
one of its weaker aspects.
Reflect, also, whether it is justifiable that no positively dramatic
figure except that of Elijah appears. I think it is. He ought, however,
at the close, at his ascension to heaven, to have something to say (or
to sing). Can you find appropriate words for this purpose? The second
part, moreover, especially towards the end, is still in a very
unfinished condition. I have not as yet got a final chorus; what do you
advise it to be? Pray study the whole carefully, and write on the margin
a great many beautiful arias, reflections, pithy sentences, choruses,
and all sorts of things, and let me have them as soon as possible.
I also send the ‘Méthode des Méthodes.’ While turning over its leaves, I
could not help thinking that you will here and there find much that will
be useful. If that be the case, I beg you will keep it as long as you
and your young pianoforte player may require it. I don’t use it at all.
If it does not please you, I can send you instead, a sight of
Zimmermann’s ‘Pianoforte School,’ which is composed pretty much on the
same principle, and has only different examples, etc.
Speaking is a very different thing from writing. The few minutes I
lately passed with you and yours, were more enlivening and cheering than
ever so many letters.--Ever your
FELIX M. B.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Leipzig, December 22nd, 1842.[64]
My dear Brother,
I wrote to you the day after our arrival here that we were all well, and
living in our sorrow as we best could, dwelling on the happiness we once
possessed. My letter was addressed to Fanny, but written to you all;
though it seems you had not heard of it, and even this trifle shows,
what will day by day be more deeply and painfully felt by us,--that the
point of union is now gone, where even as children we could always
meet; and though we were no longer so in years, we felt that we were
still so in feeling. When I wrote to my Mother, I knew that I wrote to
you all, and you knew it too; we are children no longer, but we have
enjoyed what it really is to be so. Now, this is gone for ever! At such
a time, with regard to outward things, we are as if in a dark room,
groping to find the way, hour after hour. Tell me if we cannot arrange
that I should write to one of you by turns once every week, and get an
answer from you, so that we may at least hear of each other every three
weeks, independent of more frequent letters; or say whether any better
arrangement occurs to you. I thank you a thousand times for your kind
question about the house. I had thought of asking you for it, and now
you offer it to me. But before we finally settle this, I should like you
to bring the subject cautiously on the _tapis_, in the presence of our
sisters and brother-in-law. If you perceive that any unpleasant feeling
is awakened in their minds by such a proposal, when for the first time,
in Berlin, I am not to live under the same roof with them, and if they
give any indication of such a feeling, even by a single word or remark,
(you will quickly observe this, and I rely entirely on you,) then we
must give it up. In any other event, I shall thankfully accept your
kindness. My next visit to Berlin will be a severe trial to me; indeed,
all I say and do is a trial to me,--anything, in short, that is not
mere patient endurance. I have, however, begun to work again, and that
is the only thing which occupies me a little. Happily, I have some
half-mechanical work to do,--transcribing, instrumentation, and similar
things. This can be accomplished by a kind of almost animal instinct,
which we can follow, and which does us more good than if we had it not.
But yesterday I was obliged to direct. That was terrible. They told me
that the first time would be terrible, but sooner or later it must be
done. I thought so too, but I would fain have waited for a few weeks.
The first thing was a song of Rochlitz’s; but when in the rehearsal the
alto sang, _piano_, “Wie der Hirsch schreit,”[65] I was so overcome,
that I was obliged afterwards to go out of the room, to give free vent
to my tears.
To-day, Heaven be praised, I am not required to see or speak to any one,
and my cough is better. Thus time glides on; but what we have once
possessed is not less precious, and what we have now lost not less
painful with time. Farewell, dearest Brother. Continue to love me.--Your
FELIX.
TO PROFESSOR KÖSTLIN, TÜBINGEN.
Leipzig, January 12th, 1843.
Dear Herr Köstlin, or rather, dear Herr Godfather,
You have caused me much joy by your kind letter of yesterday, and by the
happy intelligence it contained, and above all, by your wish that I
should be godfather! Indeed, you may well believe that I gladly accede
to the request, and after reading your letter, it was some moments
before I could realize, that I could not possibly be present at the
baptism. In earlier days, no reasoning would have been of any avail; I
would have taken post horses and arrived in your house for the occasion.
This I cannot now do, but if there be such a thing as to be present in
spirit, then I shall indeed be so. The remembrance of me by such
well-beloved friends, and this proof of your regard, which causes a
still more close and enduring tie between us, cannot fail to cause true
joy and exhilaration of heart; and believe me, I feel this joy, and
thank you and your wife for it.