Paris, March 15th, 1832.
Dear Mother,
[Music]
This is the 15th of March, 1832. May every happiness and good
attend you on this day. You prefer _receiving_ my letter on your
birthday, to its being written on the day itself; but forgive me
for saying that I cannot reconcile myself to this. My father said
that no one could tell what might occur subsequently, therefore the
letter ought to arrive on the anniversary of the day; but then I
have this feeling in _double_ measure, as I neither in that case
know what is to occur to _you_ on that day, nor to _myself_; but if
your birthday be actually arrived, then I almost feel as if I were
beside you, though you cannot hear my congratulations; but I can
then send them to you, without any other solicitude than that of
absence. This too will soon be over, please God. May He preserve
you, and all at home, happily to me!
I have now begun to throw myself in right earnest into a musical
life, and as I know this must be satisfactory to you, I will write
some details; for a letter and a sketch-book that I wished to send
you some days ago by Mortier's aide-de-camp, are still waiting,
like all Paris, for the departure of the Marshal, which does not
however take place. If the letter and the book do eventually reach
you through this man, pray give a kind reception to the whole
consignment, but especially to the man (Count Perthuis), for he is
one of the most friendly and amiable persons I ever met with.
I had told you in that letter, that I am to play Beethoven's
Concerto in G major two days hence, in the Conservatoire, and that
the whole Court are to be present for the first time at the
concert. K---- is ready to poison me from envy; he at first tried
by a thousand intrigues to prevent my playing altogether, and when
he heard that the Queen was actually coming, the did everything in
his power to get me out of the way. Happily all the other members
of the Conservatoire, the all-powerful Habeneck in particular, are
my faithful allies, and so he signally failed. He is the only
musician here who acts unkindly and hypocritically towards me; and
though I never placed much confidence in him, still it is always a
very painful sensation to know that you are in the society of a
person who hates you, but is careful not to show it.
The 17th.
I could not finish this letter, because during the last few days
the incessant music I told you of, has been so overwhelming, that I
really scarcely knew which way to turn. A mere catalogue therefore
of all I have done, and have still to do, must suffice for to-day,
and at the same time plead my excuse.
I have just come back from a rehearsal at the Conservatoire. We
rehearsed steadily; twice yesterday, and to-day almost everything
repeated, but now all goes swimmingly. If the audience to-morrow
are only half as enchanted as the orchestra to-day, we shall do
well; for they shouted loudly for the adagio _da capo_, and
Habeneck made them a little speech, to point out to them that at
the close there was a solo bar, which they must be so good as to
wait for. You would be gratified to see all the little kindnesses
and courtesies the latter shows me. At the end of each movement of
the symphony, he asks me if there is anything I do not approve of,
so I have been able for the first time, to introduce into the
French orchestra some favourite _nuances_ of my own.
After the rehearsal Baillot played my octett in his class, and if
any man in the world can play it, he is the man. His performance
was finer than I ever heard it, and so was that of Urhan, Norblin,
and the others, who all attacked the piece with the most ardent
energy and spirit.
Besides all this, I must finish the arrangement of the overture and
the octett, and revise the quintett, as Simrock has bought it. I
must write out "Lieder," and enjoy the author's delight of working
up my B minor quartett, for it is to be brought out here by two
different publishers, who have requested me to make some
alterations before it is published. Finally, I have _soirees_ every
evening. To-night Bohrer's; to-morrow a fete, with all the violin
_gamins_ of the Conservatoire; next day, Rothschild; Tuesday, the
Societe des Beaux-Arts; Wednesday my octett at the Abbe Bardin's;
Thursday my octett at Madame Kiene's; Friday, a concert at Erard's;
Sunday, a concert at Leo's; and lastly, on Monday--laugh if you
choose--my octett is to be performed in a church, at a funeral Mass
in commemoration of Beethoven. This is the strangest thing the
world ever yet saw, but I could not refuse, and I in some degree
enjoy the thoughts of being present, when Low Mass is read during
the scherzo. I can scarcely imagine anything more absurd than a
priest at the altar and my scherzo going on. It is like travelling
_incognito_. Last of all Baillot gives a grand concert on the 7th
of April, and so I have promised him to remain here till then, and
to play a Concerto of Mozart's for him, and some other piece.
On the 8th I take my place in the diligence, and set off to London,
but before doing so I shall have heard my symphony in the
Conservatoire, and sold various pieces, and shall leave this,
rejoicing in the friendly reception I have met with from the
musicians here.--Farewell!