Paris, March 31st, 1832.
Pray forgive my long silence, but I had nothing cheering to
communicate, and am always very unwilling to write gloomy letters.
Indeed, this being the case, I had better still have remained
silent, for I am in anything but a gay mood. But now that we have
the spectre here,[32] I mean to write to you regularly, that you
may know that I am well, and pursuing my work.
[32] The cholera.
The sad news of Goethe's loss makes me feel poor indeed! What a
blow to the country! It is another of those mournful events
connected with my stay here, which will always recur to my mind at
the very name of Paris; and not all the kindness I have received,
nor the tumult and excitement, nor the life and gaiety here, can
ever efface this impression. May it please God to preserve me from
still worse tidings, and grant us all a happy meeting; this is the
chief thing!
Various circumstances have induced me to delay my departure from
here for at least a fortnight,--that is, till the middle of April;
and the idea of my concert has begun to revive in my mind; I mean
to accomplish it too, if the cholera does not deter people from
musical, or any other kind of reunions. We shall know this in the
course of a week, and in any case I must remain here till then. I
believe however that everything will go on in the usual regular
course, and "Figaro" prove to be in the right, who wrote an article
called "Enfonce le cholera," in which he says that Paris is the
grave of all reputations, for no one there ever admired anything;
yawning at Paganini (he does not seem to please much this time),
and not even looking round in the street at an Emperor or a Dey; so
possibly this malady might also lose its formidable reputation
there.
Count Perthuis has no doubt told you of my playing at the
Conservatoire. The French say that it was _un beau succes_, and the
audience were pleased. The Queen, too, sent me all sorts of fine
compliments on the subject. On Saturday I am again to play twice in
public. My octett, in church on Monday last, exceeded in absurdity
anything the world ever saw or heard of. While the priest was
officiating at the altar during the scherzo, it really sounded like
"Fliegenschnauz und Mueckennas, verfluchte Dilettanten." The people
however considered it very fine sacred music.
I am indeed delighted, dear Father, that my quartett in B minor
pleases you; it is a favourite of mine, and I like to play it,
although the adagio is much too cloying; still, the scherzo that
follows has all the more effect. I can see that you seem rather
inclined to deride my A minor quartett, when you say that there is
a piece of instrumental music which has made you rack your brains
to discover the composer's thoughts; when, in fact, he probably had
no thoughts at all. I must defend the work, for I love it; but it
certainly depends very much on the way in which it is executed, and
one single musician who could perform it with zeal and sympathy, as
Taubert did, would make a vast difference.--Your