* * * * *
BERLIN, Feb. 27, 1833.
DEAR MOSCHELES,--Here they are, wind instruments and fiddles, for the
son and heir must not be kept waiting till I come,--he must have a
cradle song with drums and trumpets and janissary music; fiddles alone
are not nearly lively enough. May every happiness and joy and
[Illustration: 5. Fac-simile of the Drawing in Mendelssohn’s Letter of
Feb. 27, 1833. (See page 54.)]
blessing attend the little stranger; may he be prosperous, may he do
well whatever he does, and may it fare well with him in the world!
So he is to be called Felix, is he? How nice and kind of you to make him
my godchild _in formâ_! The first present his godfather makes him is the
above entire orchestra; it is to accompany him through life,--the
trumpets when he wishes to become famous, the flutes when he falls in
love, the cymbals[16] when he grows a beard; the pianoforte explains
itself; and should people ever play him false, as will happen to the
best of us, there stand the kettledrums and the big drum in the
background.
Dear me! but I am ever so happy when I think of your happiness, and of
the time when I shall have my full share of it. By the end of April, at
the latest, I intend to be in London, and then we will duly name the
boy, and introduce him to the world at large. It will be grand!
To your Septet I look forward with no small pleasure. Klingemann has
written out eleven notes of it for me, and those I like ever so much.
[Illustration: musical notation]
I can quite imagine what a bright, lively finale they would make. He
also gave me a good description and analysis of the Andante in B flat;
but, after all, it will be still better to hear it. Do not expect too
much from the compositions I shall bring with me. You will be sure to
find frequent traces of moodiness, which I can only shake off slowly and
by dint of an effort. I often feel as if I had never composed at all,
and had to learn everything over again; now, however, I have got into
better trim, and my last things will sound better.
Nice it was, too, that your last letter really found me, as you said it
should, alone and in the quiet of my room, composing to my heart’s
content; and now I only wish that my letter may find you at home on a
quiet evening, with your dear ones well and happy around you. We will
see whether I am as lucky at wishing as you were. I am in a hurry and
must end. I had but half an hour for my letter, and that beautiful
picture has taken up all my time; besides, I have nothing further to say
but this: I wish you joy now and hereafter, and may we soon meet again.
My friends here send their kindest remembrances and congratulations.
They are all well but my father, who suffers constantly from his eyes,
and is in consequence much depressed; this reacts upon us, and we pray
that there may soon be a change for the better. My sister and I just now
make a great deal of music, every Sunday morning with accompaniment; and
I have just received from the bookbinders a big grass-green volume of
“Moscheles,” and next time we are going to play your Trio. Farewell,
farewell, and remain happy.
Yours,