time, and I also hope that you will at some future day derive enjoyment
from it; and how glad I should be were this to be the case! I have now
quite finished the first part, and six or eight numbers of the second
are already written down. In various places, however, of the second part
I require a choice of really fine Scriptural passages, and I do beg of
you to send them to me! I set off to-night for the Rhine, so there is no
hurry about them; but in three weeks I return here, and then I purpose
forthwith to take up the work and complete it. So I earnestly beseech of
you to send me by that time a rich harvest of fine Bible texts. You
cannot believe how much you have helped me in the first part; this I
will tell you more fully when we meet. On this very account I entreat
you to assist me in improving the second part also. I have now been able
to dispense with all historical recitative in the form, and introduced
individual persons. Instead of the Lord, always an angel or a chorus of
angels, and the first part and the largest half of the second are finely
rounded off. The second part begins with the words of the queen, “So let
the gods do to me, and more also,” etc. (1 Kings xix. 2); and the next
words about which I feel secure are those in the scene in the wilderness
(same chapter, fourth and following verses); but between these I want,
_first_, something more particularly characteristic of the persecution
of the prophet; for example, I should like to have a couple of choruses
_against_ him, to describe the people in their fickleness and their
rising in opposition to him; _secondly_, a representation of the third
verse of the same passage; for instance, a duett with the boy, who
might use the words of Ruth, “Where thou goest, I will go,” etc. But
what is Elijah to say before and after this? and what could the chorus
say? Can you furnish me with, first, a duett, and then a chorus in this
sense? Then, till verse 15, all is in order; but there a passage is
wanted for Elijah, something to this effect:--“Lord, as Thou willest, be
it with me:” (this is not in the Bible, I believe?) I also wish that
_after_ the manifestation of the Lord he should announce his entire
submission, and after all this persecution declare himself to be
entirely resigned, and eager to do his duty. I am in want too of some
words for him to say at, or before, or even after his ascension, and
also some for the chorus. The chorus sings the ascension historically
with the words from 2 Kings ii. 11, but then there ought to be a couple
of very solemn choruses. “God is gone up” will not do, for it was not
the Lord, but Elijah who went up; however, something of _that_ sort. I
should like also to hear Elijah’s voice once more at the close.
(May Elisha sing soprano? or is this inadmissible, as in the same
chapter he is described as a “bald head”? Joking apart, must he appear
at the ascension as a prophet, or as a youth?)
Lastly, the passages which you have sent for the close of the whole
(especially the trio between Peter, John, and James) are too historical
and too far removed from the grouping of the (Old Testament) story;
still I could manage with the former, if, instead of the trio, I could
make a chorus out of the words; it would be very quickly done, and this
will probably be the case. I return you the pages that you may have
every necessary information, but pray send them back to me. You will see
that the bearing of the whole is quite decided; it is only the lyric
passages (from which arias, duetts, etc., could be composed) which fail
towards the end. So I beg you will get your large Concordance, open it,
and bestow this time on me, and when I return three weeks hence at
latest, let me find your answer. Continue your regard for your
FELIX.
TO I. MOSCHELES, LONDON.
Leipzig, June 26th, 1846.
My dear Friend,
The cause of this letter is a line in a recent communication from Mr.
Moore, who writes, “Nearly the whole of the Philharmonic band are
engaged;[85] a few only are left out who made themselves unpleasant when
you were there.”[86] This is anything but pleasing to me, and as I think
that you have the principal regulation of such things, I address my
remonstrance to you, and beg you to mention them to Mr. Moore.
Nothing is more hateful to me than the revival of old worn-out
squabbles; it is quite bad enough that they should ever be in the world
at all. Those of the Philharmonic I had quite forgotten, and they _must
on no account_ have any influence on the engagements for the Birmingham
Festival. If people are left out because they are incapable, that is no
affair of mine, and I have nothing to say against it; but if _any one_
is to be left out because “he made himself unpleasant” to me, I should
consider it a piece of injustice, and beg that this may not be the case.
There is certainly no cause to fear that those gentlemen will again be
troublesome; at least, I feel none, and do not believe that any one can
do so. So I beg you earnestly to let the affair proceed exactly as it
would have done if I had no thoughts of coming to England; and if it be
really desired to show me _consideration_, the greatest favour that can
be conferred on me would be _not_ to take notice of any such personal
considerations.
I know you will be so good as to bring this subject under the notice of
Mr. Moore, and I hope I shall hear nothing further of these obsolete
stories; that is, if my wishes are complied with, and _no kind of
vindictiveness_ exercised. Otherwise I shall protest against it ten
times at least by letter.--Ever your
FELIX.
TO HERR VELTEN, CARLSRUHE.
Leipzig, July 11th, 1846.
Sir,
When I received your letter of May the 10th, I felt most anxious to
convey to you a word of consolation, and the assurance of my heartfelt
sympathy; but I could find no words for such a loss as yours, or
adequately express what I wished to say.
Far more could I appreciate the extent of this loss when I had become
acquainted with the musical compositions which you so kindly sent me, in
the name of your deceased son. Every one who is in earnest with regard
to Art, must indeed mourn with you, for in him a true genius has passed
away, a genius that only required life and health to be developed, and
to be a source of joy and pride to his family, and a benefit to Art. How
very superior many of these works are to those we every day see, even by
better musicians, and how there shines forth, in every part, a striving
after progress, and the promise of a genuine vocation, along with the
most perfect development! And all this was not to be! and everything in
Art and in life remains so inscrutable? And thus _we_ lament him, who
only know a few compositions of this young artist; so how could suitable
words of comfort be found for you, his father?
But I must _thank_ you for having made me acquainted with those works,
and for having written me those few lines; and I will waft my thanks
after your son also, for having destined these works for me. May Heaven
grant you consolation, and alleviate your grief, and one day permit you
to rejoin your son, where it is to be hoped there is still music, but no
more sorrow or partings.--Yours,
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Birmingham, August 26th, 1846.
My dear Brother,
From the very first you took so kind an interest in my “Elijah,” and
thus inspired me with so much energy and courage for its completion,
that I must write to tell you of its first performance yesterday. No
work of mine ever went so admirably the first time of execution, or was
received with such enthusiasm, by both the musicians and the audience,
as this oratorio. It was quite evident at the first rehearsal in London,
that they liked it, and liked to sing and to play it; but I own I was
far from anticipating that it would acquire such fresh vigour and
impetus at the performance. Had you only been there! During the whole
two hours and a half that it lasted, the large hall, with its two
thousand people, and the large orchestra, were all so fully intent on
the one object in question, that not the slightest sound was to be heard
among the whole audience, so that I could sway at pleasure the enormous
orchestra and choir, and also the organ accompaniments. How often I
thought of you during the time! More especially, however, when the
“sound of abundance of rain” came, and when they sang and played the
final chorus with _furore_, and when, after the close of the first part,
we were obliged to repeat the whole movement. Not less than four
choruses and four airs were encored, and not one single mistake occurred
in the whole of the first part; there were some afterwards in the second
part, but even these were but trifling. A young English tenor sang the
last air with such wonderful sweetness, that I was obliged to collect
all my energies not be affected, and to continue beating time steadily.
As I said before, had you only been there! But to-morrow I set off on my
journey home. We can no longer say, as Goethe did, that the horses’
heads are turned homewards, but I always have the same feeling on the
first day of my journey home. I hope to see you in Berlin in October,
when I shall bring my score with me, either to have it performed, or at
all events to play it over to you, and Fanny, and Rebecca, but I think
probably the former (or rather both). Farewell, my dear Brother; if this
letter be dull, pray forgive it. I have been repeatedly interrupted, and
in fact it should only contain that I thank you for having taken such
part in my “Elijah,” and having assisted me with it.--Your
FELIX.
After the first performance of the “Elijah” in London, Prince
Albert wrote the following in the book of words which he used on
that occasion, and sent it to Mendelssohn as a token of
remembrance:--“To the noble artist who, though encompassed by the
Baal-worship of false art, by his genius and study has succeeded,
like another Elijah, in faithfully preserving the worship of true
art; once more habituating the ear, amid the giddy whirl of empty,
frivolous sound, to the pure tones of sympathetic feeling and
legitimate harmony;--to the great master who, by the tranquil
current of his thoughts, reveals to us the gentle whisperings, as
well as the mighty strife of the elements,--to him is this written
in grateful remembrance, by
“_Buckingham Palace._
“ALBERT.”
TO FRAU DOCTORIN FREGE, LEIPZIG.
London, August 31st, 1846.
Dear Lady,
You have always shown such kind sympathy in my “Elijah,” that I may well
consider it incumbent on me to write to you after its performance, and
to give you a report on the subject. If this should weary you, you have
only yourself to blame; for why did you allow me to come to you with the
score under my arm, and play to you those parts that were half
completed, and why did you sing so much of it for me at sight? Indeed,
on this account you in turn should have considered it incumbent on you
to go with me to Birmingham; for it is not fair to make people’s mouths
water, and to disgust them with their condition, when you cannot remedy
it for them; and really the state in which I found the soprano solo
parts here was most truly miserable and forlorn.
There was, however, so much that was good to make up for this, that I
shall bring back with me a very delightful impression of the whole; and
I often thought what pleasure it would have caused you.
The rich, full sounds of the orchestra and the huge organ, combined with
the powerful choruses who sang with honest enthusiasm, the wonderful
resonance in the grand giant hall, an admirable English tenor singer;
Staudigl, too, who took all possible pains, and whose talents and powers
you already well know, and in addition a couple of excellent second
soprano and contralto solo singers; all executing the music with
peculiar spirit, and the utmost fire and sympathy, doing justice not
only to the loudest passages, but also to the softest _pianos_, in a
manner which I never before heard from such masses, and in addition, an
impressionable, kindly, hushed and enthusiastic audience,--all this is
indeed sufficient good fortune for a first performance. In fact, I never
in my life heard a better, or I may say so good a one, and I almost
doubt whether I shall ever again hear one equal to it, because there
were so many favourable combinations on this occasion. Along, however,
with so much light, as I before said, there were also shadows, and the
worst was the soprano part. It was all so neat, so pretty, so elegant,
so slovenly, so devoid both of soul and head, that the music acquired a
kind of amiable expression, which even now almost drives me mad when I
think of it. The voice of the contralto, too, was not powerful enough to
fill the hall, or to make itself heard beside such masses, and such solo
singers; but she sang exceedingly well and musically, and in that case
the want of voice can be tolerated. At least to _me_, _nothing_ is so
repugnant in music as a certain cold, soulless coquetry, which is in
itself so unmusical, and yet so often adopted as the basis of singing,
and playing, and music of all kinds. It is singular that I find this to
be the case much less even with Italians than with us Germans. It seems
to me that our countrymen must either love music in all sincerity, or
they display an odious, stupid, and affected coldness, while an Italian
throat sings just as it comes, in a straightforward way, though perhaps
for the sake of money,--but still not for the sake of money, _and_
æsthetics, _and_ criticism, _and_ self-esteem, _and_ the right school,
and twenty-seven thousand other reasons, none of which really harmonize
with their real nature. This struck me very forcibly at the Musical
Festival. Moscheles was ill on the Monday, so I conducted the rehearsals
for him.[87] Towards ten o’clock at night, when I was tired enough, the
Italians lounged quietly in, with their usual cool _nonchalance_. But,
from the very first moment that Grisi, Mario, and Lablache began to
sing, I inwardly thanked God. They themselves know exactly what they
intend, sing with purity and in time, and there is no mistaking where
the first crotchet should come in. That I feel so little sympathy for
their music is no fault of theirs. But this digression is out of place
here. I wished to tell you about the Birmingham Musical Festival, and
the Town Hall, and here I am abusing the musical execution of our
countrymen. You will say, I have often enough, and too often, been
obliged to listen to you on that subject already. So I prefer reserving
all further description of the festival till I can relate it to you in
your own room.
May I soon meet you in health and happiness, and find you unchanged in
kindly feelings towards myself.--Your devoted
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Leipzig, October 31st, 1846.
My dear Brother,
From my only being able to-day to wish you joy of yesterday, that is, in
writing and by words, you will at once see that I have even more than my
full share of affairs at this moment. What I wish most to do, I cannot
accomplish all day long, and what I most particularly dislike often
occupies my whole day,--but no more _Jérémiades_, and now for true
heartfelt good wishes. A thousand good wishes, which may all be summed
up in one,--health for you and yours, and all those you love; in this
wish lies the continuance of your happiness, in this lies your enjoyment
of it, in this lies all that is good, all that I can possibly desire for
you, and no human being could possibly wish or desire anything better
for any man? Were you very happy on the day? were all your family well?
(this however is included in my previous question;) had you a cake
decorated with lights? This is certainly an entirely novel question, but
not absolutely indispensable to the happiness of life (like the last).
Did you drink chocolate? were my sisters with you, or you with them at
dinner or supper? did you think of us? May God bless you, my dear
Brother, on that day, and on every day of your life!
It is shameful in me, not to have thanked you yet for the beautiful copy
of Dahlmann, but it is still more shameful, that such ordinary--not
extraordinary--but honest, able, true words, are so seldom to be met
with in our Fatherland; and the cause of this is, that mediocrity, or
what is still worse, vapid superficiality, is so prevalent in Germany,
parading itself till we would fain drive out of sight; and this is also
why I have been hitherto prevented from even thanking you. I never yet
encountered such an accumulation of strangers, of inquiries and
proposals, and almost all entirely worthless; many so modest--and many
so immodest! Singers, players, a fine heap of compositions, and scarcely
one that can be called even tolerably good, but at the same time
overflowing with the longest words, full of patriotic ardour, full
of--anything but striving after high aims, though laying claim to the
highest of all; and then the impossibility of fulfilling even _one_ of
these demands with a good conscience, or recommending them to others.
But why should I tell you all this? you, no doubt, know it by experience
in your own department, for it pervades every department. All this
however confirms me in my resolution, not to continue in this public
official situation more than a few years; and just as it formerly was my
duty to fill such an office to the best of my ability, it is now equally
my duty to give it up. Everything here is gradually assuming a pleasant
aspect. Moscheles has set to work very vigorously with the
Conservatorium; the concerts also pursue their steady course now as
ever; when all this is secure and certain, I daily meditate on the
possibility of being able to pass the summer in some pretty country
(somewhere near the Rhine), and the winter in Berlin, and this I hope to
be able to do, without any public duties to perform in Berlin, and
without all that has now irrevocably passed away there; I intend to live
entirely with you in all happiness, and to write music. _Ainsi soit-il._
I should have been glad to bring the “Elijah” with me, but I am still at
work on two passages, which I am striving to remodel, and they cause me
great tribulation. In the meantime, I have been obliged to compose
afresh the whole Liturgy for the King. He has desired that I should be
repeatedly written to on the subject, and now at last it is finished. I
am often too in no happy mood, for poor Johann[88] is very seriously
ill, and causes us really very great anxiety. “May I be so bold as to
ask who is to play the part of the servant?” says Goethe, and lately
these words often recurred to me. May God soon restore the poor faithful
fellow! Love me as ever, and may you be happy in the approaching
year.--Your
FELIX.
TO PROFESSOR EDWARD BENDEMANN.
Leipzig, November 8th, 1846.
... Have I already thanked you for your excellent contributions, and
advice about “Elijah”? All your notes on the margin are most acceptable,
and are a fresh proof that you have not only a different, but a much
deeper insight than almost any one else into a subject of this kind. You
recommend that the “Sanctus” should be followed by the command of God to
Elijah to resume his mission; such was indeed my original intention, and
I think of replacing it, but I cannot dispense with an answer from
Elijah; and I think _both_ can and ought to be there. I shall not
however be able to bring in King Ahab again. The greatest difficulty in
the whole undertaking, was after the manifestation of the Lord in the
“still small voice,” to discover a conclusion for the whole, with
sufficient breadth (and yet not long); and if Elijah were to be
_afterwards_ introduced again in person as a zealous and avenging
prophet (in a dramatic aspect) it would in my opinion be difficult to
represent, without great circumlocution, his significance for the new
dispensation (which however must necessarily be alluded to), while I
think it most important, that from the moment of the appearance of the
Lord, all should go on in grand narrative to the close. But when you say
that one of these passages should relate how he came down, and again
came down in vain, you are quite right, and I will try to accomplish it,
as I am at this moment revising the whole, and re-writing several
passages before sending it to the engraver. It is singular that the
passage which caused me the greatest trouble, is the very one that you
would like to see omitted,--that of the widow. To me it seems, that by
introducing some phrases (either by the chorus or otherwise), the part
might become more significant and comprehensive, whereas you prefer its
being a simple narrative. After all, you are possibly right, which would
be unfortunate, for I believe that in the distribution of the whole, the
passage in its present expansion could not possibly be spared. This is a
point therefore which I shall weigh well.
TO CARL KLINGEMANN, LONDON.
Leipzig, December 6th, 1846.
... Montaigne says, and so does Vult, that a man can have but _one_
friend; you will find this too in the ‘Flegeljahre.’ I also said this
from my heart when I received your letter, my _one_ friend!
How gladly would I have burst forth into joy and gratitude, at the news
it contained, and have replied in a gay and happy spirit; but this was
impossible, as at the time your letter arrived, we were in great anxiety
about our servant Johann, who had been confined to bed for the last two
mouths, with a species of dropsy, becoming daily worse, and when, about
a fortnight since, the improvement took place that we had been so
anxiously longing for during three weeks, his vital powers suddenly
sank, and to our great sorrow he died. You know that I valued him very
highly, and can well understand, that during the whole time when I saw
him suffer so much, and become worse and worse, and then the momentary
hope that ensued, followed by his sudden and inevitable death, must
cause me to be in a very grave mood for long, long to come. His mother
and sister did not arrive here till the day after his funeral. It
distressed us also very much, not to be able to say one consolatory word
to them! Among his things, which were all in the most exemplary order,
we found a letter to me containing his last will; I must show you this
the next time we meet,--no man, no poet indeed, could have written
anything more heartfelt, earnest and touching; then there was a great
deal to do and to regulate, until all the trunks, with his clothes,
etc., were sent off to his mother, and his brothers and sisters: and
this was why I have been unable to write to you during the last few
weeks. I relate all this to you in detail, because you are my _one_
friend, and because you sympathize in all that really affects and
concerns me. Happily, I was able to work the whole time (though, indeed,
not to compose). I got the parts of Bach’s B minor Mass from Dresden.
(Do you remember it on Zelter’s Fridays?) It is chiefly in his own
writing, and dedicated to the Elector of that day. (“To his Royal
Highness the most noble the Elector of Saxony, the accompanying Mass is
dedicated, with the most respectful devotion of the author, J. S. Bach.”
This is inscribed on the title-page.) From it I have gradually corrected
all the mistakes in my score, which were innumerable, and which I had
frequently remarked, but never had a proper opportunity to rectify. This
occupation, mechanical, though now and then interesting enough, was most
welcome to me. For the last few days, however, I have again begun to
work with all my might at my “Elijah,” and hope to amend the greatest
part of what I thought deficient in the first performance. I have quite
completed one of the most difficult parts (the widow), and you will
certainly be pleased with the alterations,--I may well say, with the
improvements. “Elijah” is become far more impressive and mysterious in
this part, the want of which was what annoyed me. Unluckily I never find
out this kind of thing till _post festum_, and till I have improved it.
I hope, too, to hit on the true sense of other passages that we have
discussed together, and shall seriously revise all that I did not deem
satisfactory; so that I hope to see the whole completely finished within
a few weeks, and then be able to begin something new. The parts that I
have hitherto remodelled prove to me that I am right, not to rest till
such a work is as good as I can make it, although in these matters very
few people either remark or wish to hear about them, and yet they cost a
very, very great deal of time; but, on the other hand, such passages
make a very different impression when they are really made better, both
in themselves, and with regard to all other portions,--you see I am
still so very much pleased with the part of the widow, that I completed
to-day,--so I think it will not do to rest satisfied with them just as
they are. Conscience, too, has a word to say on this matter.
TO HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW, PROFESSOR DIRICHLET, BERLIN,
Leipzig, January 4th, 1847.
Dear Dirichlet,