* * * * *
Moscheles left Hamburg with his family on the 6th of October, at seven
A.M., and arrived the next evening in Berlin, making the journey in
thirty-five hours. “Mendelssohn soon joined us at the Hôtel St.
Petersburg,” he writes, “and complains of being frequently subject to
fits of depression.” No further mention of such moods is, however, made
in the diary. On the contrary, the twelve days of the stay in Berlin are
marked by the brightest and liveliest incidents, both social and
musical. The “Erard” had at last safely reached its destination; and,
Pegasus-like, nobly bore the two friends in willing response to their
artistic touch. “The _fête_ shall be very grand,” Mendelssohn had
written, “and we will have music.” And so it was; only that instead of
one _fête_ there were several. The “Hymn of Praise” and some selections
from the “Son and Stranger” were performed and admirably rendered by
some of the principal singers of the day. Improvisations followed; and
no programme was complete without the name of the cherished master,
Beethoven.
Moscheles’s concert was a brilliant success, the house crowded, and the
public enthusiastic; the third part of the receipts, Moscheles’s share,
was three hundred and one thalers. He left Berlin on the 19th of
October. “We dined with Felix at Jagor’s,” he says; “and when we wanted
to say good-by--he had disappeared! At half-past two we were wending our
way through a somewhat English fog towards Leipzig, where we arrived
next day at noon.” There, as in Weimar, Frankfurt, and Cologne,
Moscheles played in public or at Court.
On the eve of his departure from Berlin, Mendelssohn presented a most
interesting and valuable gift to Moscheles, in the shape of one of those
musical sketch-books in which Beethoven was in the habit of jotting down
his inspirations as they came to him. These pages, eighty-eight in
number, contain chiefly the first ideas for his grand Mass; their
appearance can only be described as chaotic, and they are a puzzle even
to the initiated. Over one of them the inkstand has been upset; and the
master’s sleeve, or whatever he may have had at hand, has evidently made
short work of the offending pigment. Another page--besprinkled with a
few bars here, and a word or two of the Latin text there--is headed:
“Vivace. Applaudite amici.” The illustration on the next page is a
fac-simile of the dedication on the fly-leaf.
In a letter dated November, 1832, Mrs. Moscheles mentions to Mendelssohn
that she hears the Philharmonic Society intends commissioning him to
write three compositions for one hundred guineas; it is to this that his
answer in the following letter refers. She gives him full particulars of
her husband’s artistic activity, and such news about personal friends as
would interest him, and winds up by saying: “Moscheles has just waked
from his siesta by the comfortable fireside. You must look upon these
pages as if they reflected his dream; for his thoughts, awake or asleep,
are constantly with you.”
* * * * *
BERLIN, Jan. 17, 1833.
DEAR MRS. MOSCHELES,--How good and kind of you to give me such graphic
details! I felt quite happy and cheerful as the fireside, Moscheles’s
siesta, and the whole establishment, snug and cosy as it is, rose before
my eyes. I rejoice like a child at the thought of next spring, of my
dignity as a godfather, of green England, and of a thousand things
besides. My melancholy is beginning to vanish. I have again taken a
lively interest in music and musicians, and have composed some trifles
here and there; they are bad, it is true, but they give promise of
better things,--in fact, the fog seems lifting, and I again see the
[Illustration: 4. Fac-simile of Mendelssohn’s Dedication to Moscheles
upon the Fly-leaf of Beethoven’s Musical Sketch-Book. (See page 48.)]
light. Whether I shall be able, after all, to bring some creditable work
with me to London, Heaven only knows; but I trust I may, for I would
like to figure not only as a godfather, but also as a musician. The
former, however, comes first and foremost. I will make the most serious
face possible, and bring the very best wishes and all the happiness I
can gather together to lay down as a gift at the christening.
And so Moscheles is busy again? Klingemann mentioned a Septet,[15] and I
hailed it with delight. What instruments is it for? In what key? Is it
fair or dark? He must let me know all about it. And will other honest
people be able to play it; or will it be again for his own private use,
like the last movement of his Concerto in E flat, which all amateurs
stumble over and sigh at without ever being able to master it? Do let me
hear all about this Septet; for I am longing to know, and almost envy
those who can watch its gradual progress.
I am most truly grateful to the Directors of the Philharmonic for
setting me to work for them at the very time I felt so low-spirited and
cross-grained. Their invitation to write something came most
opportunely. But you don’t say whether Moscheles, too, is to compose for
them. Will he accept, and what will he write? I will bring my Symphony
completed, and possibly another piece, but scarcely a third one.
Do not for a moment think that I am put out about the Cologne affair. I
have enjoyed a good many of the same kind in Berlin that were at first
rather bitter to swallow. I know what it is to be a great man amongst
the Berliners, now that I am on the eve of my third concert. In the case
of my first I had the greatest difficulty to make them accept the whole
of the receipts. I played my Symphony in D minor, my Concerto, and a
Sonata of Beethoven’s, and conducted the “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” It
was crowded, and people were enthusiastic; that is, “heavenly” and
“divine” were used much like “pretty well” in ordinary language. And now
you should have heard how polite the very people became who had been so
obstructive before; how “my noble heart,” “my philanthropic views,” “my
only reward,”--really it deserved to be put into the newspapers. If they
had met me kindly at the outset, that would have given me pleasure; now
their flow of words is simply a nuisance, and so is the whole place with
its sham enthusiasm.
At the second concert we had “Meeresstille.” I played a Concerto of
Sebastian Bach’s, a Sonata of Beethoven’s, and my Capriccio in B minor.
Madame Milder sang some Scenas by Gluck, and the concert began with a
Symphony by Berger. This I put into the programme to please him; but he
found its success so short of his expectations, and its execution so
bad, that it was only by dint of great exertion that I escaped a
complete quarrel with him. At the third concert there will be my
Overture to the “Isles of Fingal,” the “Walpurgisnacht,” a Concerto of
Beethoven’s, and a Sonata of Weber’s for pianoforte and clarinet, with
Bärmann of Munich,--and therewith an end to the honor and pleasure.
Excuse all these lengthy details, but indeed there is not much else to
report in the way of music. Bärmann has lately given a concert, and
enchanted us all (I mean all of us who live in the Leipzigerstrasse, and
all Berlin besides). Lafont is shortly expected; Meyerbeer, too.
Mademoiselle Schneider has appeared, and with moderate success. Her
father is a Kapellmeister, her brother a singer, her uncle a government
official, her aunt the wife of the father of the waiting-woman of some
princess. That kind of thing is necessary in Berlin. Count Redern has
lately taken me under his wing, saying that something might be made of
me; so he would patronize me and get me a libretto by Scribe. Heaven
grant it may be a good one! but I don’t believe it. Besides, we are on
the road to improvement,--going to have telegraphs like you! By the by,
the two Elsslers--whom they call here “the Telegräfinnen”--are going to
London. Should they bring letters to you, and should you have to receive
them also, it would make me die with laughter; but present I must be.
What will your John say,--he who thought Schröder-Devrient not a lady?
And how is Mademoiselle Blahetka? and is Madame Belleville again in
London? Spontini wants to sell his instrument for no less than sixteen
hundred thalers. If you see Erard, and wish to return him _one_
compliment for ever so many, do tell him that my piano is excellent, and
that I am delighted with it; for that is the truth.
And now, dear Moscheles, I answer your outside postscript in the same
way. Write soon again, and let me hear at full length from you. The
Sing-Akademie has not yet chosen a director, and there is as much gossip
about it as ever. The Valentins are here for the winter; I see but
little of them, as I scarcely go out. Thank you for your list of the
Philharmonic concerts. I shall be glad if I can come to the last four;
quite out of the question to hear them all. But when is the christening
to be? When am I to be a witness to the solemn act? That is the
question.
And now I send very best love to all Chester Place, wishing everybody
joy and happiness and music, and all that’s good in this new year in
which we mean to meet again. Until then, and ever, your