* * * * *
DÜSSELDORF, April, 1834.
MY DEAR MOSCHELES,--I cannot tell you how much pleasure those letters
from you and from your wife gave me. I don’t think the post ever put me
in such high spirits before. I certainly never felt so happy and elated
for days together
[Illustration: 14. Regent’s Park. From a Sketch made by Mendelssohn in
an autograph album given by him to his godchild. (See page 69.)]
as I did after getting them. You know how often I am beset by grievous
misgivings, how I cannot do anything to my satisfaction, and how, when
such doubts lay hold of me, I fancy the whole world must be aware of my
shortcomings, even more than I am myself, and must overlook the very
existence of my works. But such kind and friendly words as you have
written about my Overture give me greater pleasure than anything that I
could hear after completing a composition. This I know for a certainty:
you might have sent me three of the finest Russian orders or titles for
the Overture without giving me one hour’s happiness such as I have had
from your letter. Do you really know how kind and amiable you were?
Because, if you do, I need not attempt to thank you.
But now let me say how grateful I am for all the trouble you have taken
with my Overture. It is quite a painful feeling to have a piece
performed and not to be present, not to know what succeeded and what
went wrong; but when _you_ are conducting I really feel less nervous
than if I were there myself, for no one can take more interest in his
own works than you do in those of others, and then you can hear and take
note of a hundred things that the composer, preoccupied as he is, has no
time or mind for.
I had already heard from Klingemann what a true friend you had been to
my Overture, and now your description puts it all so visibly before me.
After reading your letter, I took up the score, and played it straight
through from beginning to end, and felt that I liked it better than
before.
By the way, you complain of the difficulty in getting the _pianos_
observed; and as I was playing the piece over again, it struck me that
that was really my fault. It is easily remedied, for the whole thing, I
believe, is due to the marks of expression; if you have those altered in
the parts, it will be set right at once. First, everything should be
marked one degree weaker; that is, where there is a _p_ in the wind
instruments, it should be _pp_; instead of _mf_, _piano_; instead of
_f_, _mf_. The _pp_ alone might remain, as I particularly dislike _ppp_.
The _sf_’s, however, should be everywhere struck out, as they really are
quite wrong, no abrupt accent being meant, but a gradual swelling of the
tone, which is sufficiently indicated by the [Illustration: crescendo].
The same again wherever the
[Illustration: musical notation]
etc. recurs; in all such passages the _sf_’s should be done away with;
and in the strings as well: for instance, at the very opening, and where
the trumpets first come in, it should be _pp_; the _f_’s should simply
disappear. Klingemann would, I am sure, oblige me by making these
alterations in the score, a copyist would transfer them to the parts,
and then the whole thing would sound twice as mermaidish.
What you say of Berlioz’s Overture I thoroughly agree with. It is a
chaotic, prosaic piece, and yet more humanly conceived than some of his
others. I always felt inclined to say with Faust,--
“He ran around, he ran about,
His thirst in puddles laving;
He gnawed and scratched the house throughout,
But nothing cured his raving;
And driven at last, in open day,
He ran into the kitchen.”
For his orchestration is such a frightful muddle, such an incongruous
mess, that one ought to wash one’s hands after handling one of his
scores. Besides, it really is a shame to set nothing but murder, misery,
and wailing to music; even if it were well done, it would simply give us
a record of atrocities. At first he made me quite melancholy, because
his judgments on others are so clever, so cool, and correct, he seems so
thoroughly sensible, and yet he does not perceive that his own works are
such rubbishy nonsense. I am very glad to hear what you say about the
“Gipsy Variations;” but do tell me whether you are not treating me much
too liberally, for I never in my life should have dreamed of such high
terms as now fall to my share alone. The E flat for the horns and
trumpets I put down trusting to luck, and hoping that Providence would
show the players some way to do it; if they have new contrivances for
it, so much the better.
You sent me word not to let Mori have anything more gratis, on account
of his indiscretion; I am doubly sorry for this, as I have just
presented him with a manuscript, to make up for having kept him waiting
six months for the Rondo. I did not like the idea of his having to
pardon any shortcoming of mine, so I thought it the best way out of the
difficulty, and now, although regretting the circumstance, I must of
course keep my word; but for the future I will act upon your hint. That
piece for Fanny Stone I should of all things like to write, but how am I
to compose something easy? Well, I will set about it, and do my best to
avoid octaves and broken chords; then there will be no ornamental
passages at all, for you know I never write any others. No, but really I
will look out seriously for a piece that I can dedicate to her.
But now I must write a few lines to your wife and beg her soon to let me
have more of such good news about my dear Master Felix and Miss Serena
and the grown-up young lady.
* * * * *
I suppress my thanks to you, dear Mrs. Moscheles, for all the kind
things you say; I only wish I could now and then write something which
would give you real pleasure, and that I could believe myself worthy of
doing so.
I have just had a letter from my sister in Berlin. She tells me you had
written all about the Overture to my father, and had given him immense
pleasure; and there again I must particularly thank you, for you know
how pleasant it is to have one’s praises sung to one’s parents.
I do wish I could once more call Emily “Du,” but this spring I shan’t be
able to get away; in fact, I shall probably not travel at all, but buy a
horse, and ride and swim and work all through the summer. Next spring,
when, please God, I once more knock at the door of No. 3 Chester Place,
I shall speak English and say, “You;” that will appear less strange to
me than the formal “Sie.” Then, when I return some day a long time
hence, I shall sit and play at _écarté_ whilst she dances, and shall
notice Mr. Stone or some other young man extremely attentive to her. To
be sure, he will have to be very cautious about it, for fear of losing
your good graces. And then Felix will show me the score of his first
Symphony and play it with Serena. By that time I shall be a _vieux
garçon_ or a _ci-devant jeune homme_,--but this isn’t a pleasant
subject; better drop it; it was really you who put me on to it by your
artful allusions to the better things awaiting me, and by your remarks
about the _soirée_ at the Taylors’, and about Mrs. Handley, who, by the
side of her husband, must look like a white mouse by the side of a black
tom-cat, or like a duet for clarinet and double bassoon, or kid gloves
and a Warsaw dressing-gown, or vanilla ice next to roast beef, etc. You
see at a glance that I am still a warm admirer of hers, or I should not
compare her to such nice things, but rather to Maraschino ice, or a
hautboy. I returned last night from a trip to Cologne, where I had to
play at a charity concert, and where your description of the Cologne
public and Cologne musicians, so dear to you, was most vividly brought
back to my mind. I would rather live in any village than there; and much
as I like Düsseldorf, I do not believe I could live for even a couple of
months at Cologne.
I am taking regular lessons in water-colors now with one of our artists,
and work most enthusiastically for several hours every Sunday morning.
Shall I send you a sketch? And what country is it to represent?
Switzerland or Italy? In the foreground I shall introduce a girl with a
green apron and a carnation, to ingratiate myself with Serena. I only
wish I had more leisure, but just now all my time is taken up by the
rehearsals of the “Wasserträger.”
By the by, do you know a book by Thomas Moore[28] on religion? It has
lately appeared; it is said to have gone through at least seventy
editions, and to extinguish all Protestants, Dissenters, nations, and
nationality. It is read here by all the Orthodox Catholics, and praised
highly.
I have lately read Shakspeare’s “King John” for the first time. I do
assure you it is downright heavenly, like everything else of his. But
now I must end at once, or I shall begin talking about Goethe and
Zelter’s letters, which I did not like much. You are of a different
opinion, so my letter might become not only long, but tedious, which it
is already; besides, the paper obliges me to conclude. Should Emily or
Serena ask after me, or the baby be in good humor and crow, and should
that American prodigy be so completely “finished” that not one finger
remains untrained, or should some lady--thank Heaven--put off her lesson
or not come, then, and that as soon as possible, let me have a few lines
telling me that Chester Place is flourishing.
Once more thanks, and farewell.