A thousand thanks, my dear friend, for your kind letter and all the
trouble you have taken about the piano,--in fact, for all the love and
kindness you always show me. To you alone I am indebted for that
instrument, or rather you and your wife, who put the matter before Erard
with so much tact and diplomacy; and it is only now, since I enjoy the
happiness of playing on an instrument so full and rich in tone, that I
realize how hard I should have found it to accustom myself to any other.
So you see, my dear friend, how much I am in your debt. It is just as
usual. “Thank you,” is all I can say; but you know how much more I feel.
But now to the most important part of your letter,--that which refers to
Weimar. Upon my word, it is not an easy matter to give you a proper
answer to your questions. When I think of your life in London, your
independent position at the head of the musical profession, and your
never-ceasing activity in public, and then again of Weimar, with its
petty Court, and its still pettier “Hofmarschall” and “Intendanz” that
superintend nothing,--when I think of the littleness that pervades
everything, it would be madness to advise you to go. When I remember, on
the other hand, your telling me that you had never wished to remain all
your life in England, but rather to return to your own country and
devote yourself to your art and your friends (and I believe that in your
place I should feel as you do); and when I take into account that in
Germany one town is about as good as another,--all small but
sociable,--that the appointment is one of the best of its kind, that to
you it would be an acquisition to have an orchestra at your disposal, to
us to have a man like you in Hummel’s place, and secure a musician of
your standing for Germany,--then I cannot help being in favor of Weimar.
As far as I know, social resources are very limited there. The Court
circle is the best, not to say the only one; there you still meet with
intelligence and culture,--a relic of former days,--but that, too, is on
the decline, and whether your wife would like it seems to me very
doubtful. On the other hand, the orchestra is said to be excellent, and
the singers at the Opera good; the Grand Duchess is a stanch friend to
anybody she once likes, and with that, fairly musical herself; not very
much to do, but enough opportunity to do much good,--just what would
suit you. It is very difficult to put it impartially. You see it would
be glorious to have a musician like you amongst us, giving his best work
to Germany; but it seems so selfish to press you. Yet not to press you
is decidedly too unselfish. Would it not be best for you to come over
and look into the whole matter yourself? In a week you would get a clear
insight into everything,--town, society, and orchestra; could make your
own conditions, or take theirs into consideration,--in a word, you could
thoroughly sift the matter. Couldn’t you manage that? It would be a
great gain if only for the present you did not send an absolute refusal.
Do write to me soon about it, for it touches me very much.
Thanks for so kindly giving me the outlines of your new Concerto; but
now I am ever so desirous to know the whole. Where is it going to be
published? If not here, I hope you will send me over a copy soon. How I
should like to play a manuscript of yours; that would be a real treat!
I have been rather lazy of late. From the measles I dropped straight
into so much conducting that I could scarcely do anything else, save
take an occasional rest. Still, I have composed a new Sonata for the
piano and violoncello and three violin Quartets, which are shortly to
appear. As soon as these four things are out I shall send them to you,
and hope you will give me your candid opinion; but mind you criticise,
and tell me what should have been otherwise, and what I ought to have
done better. You are getting too indulgent and too kindly appreciative
of my work. Enough for to-day; best love to wife and children. Ever
remain the true friends that you are, and write soon to
Yours,