* * * * *
This was the last note from the hand of Mendelssohn that Moscheles
received. The days that the two friends should spend together on earth
were numbered, but nothing foreboded the hour of separation that was so
soon to strike. In Moscheles’s diary we find daily memoranda of the
usual friendly intercourse with Mendelssohn.
So on the 3d of October:--“In the afternoon we treated ourselves to some
Fugues and Gigues of Bach’s, and I was struck by Mendelssohn’s intimate
acquaintance with them. Then he gave us an imitation on the piano of a
certain Polka which had been inflicted on him daily by a band of street
musicians in Frankfurt. The trivial as well as the serious is food to
his mind, and his impressions on all sides are turned to account in his
compositions.”
_October 5._--“I spent the whole afternoon with Mendelssohn. He was
pleased to see me, and we chatted confidentially on art and artists and
Leipzig affairs generally. He played me a manuscript Quartet for string
instruments in F minor, the four pieces of which are all in that sombre
key. The impassioned character of the whole seems to me in keeping with
his present frame of mind, shaken as he is to the heart’s core by the
loss of his sister.”
_October 7._--“Mendelssohn called to fetch me for a walk. In spite of
the falling rain, we went to the Rosenthal, and time flew amid the most
interesting conversations.”
_October 8._--“Examination of pupils for reception at the Conservatorio.
Mendelssohn, who took an active part in the proceedings, tested them in
thoroughbass and wrote out examples on the blackboard. Whilst they were
at work, he sketched the most delightful landscapes--ever a creative
genius!... Passed a most interesting afternoon and evening with
Mendelssohn. He played his Violoncello Sonata in D major with Rietz, and
the two Beethoven Sonatas, Op. 102; then my Sonate Symphonique with me.”
On the following day, the 9th, another walk in the Rosenthal is recorded
in the diary. It was a day not to be forgotten. Mendelssohn had much to
tell of his last stay in England. He related the charming incidents of
his visit to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and spoke of many mutual
friends. At one o’clock he parted from the Moscheleses in the most
cheerful mood; but it was only a few hours later that he was attacked
by the illness from which he never recovered; and now followed days of
anxiety and suspense, broken only by hopes that were not to be realized.
_November 3._--“Mendelssohn better in the morning. In the afternoon
another apoplectic stroke, depriving him of all consciousness. In the
evening Charlotte and I, Madame Frege, David, and Schleinitz remained in
the house till eleven o’clock.”
“_Thursday, November 4._--Before the day dawned my Felix had been to
inquire, but could only bring us the most disheartening news.”
The end was approaching. Moscheles’s own words best describe the
incidents of this, Mendelssohn’s last day. In the anteroom of the
death-chamber he wrote:[56]--
“Nature! demandest thou thy rights? Angels above, in heavenly spheres,
do ye claim your brother whom ye regard as your own, as one too high for
intercourse with us ordinary mortals? We still possess him, we still
cling to him; we hope, by God’s grace, to keep still longer amongst us
one who has ever shone upon us, a pattern of all that is noble and
beautiful, the glory of our century! To thee, O Creator, it is known why
Thou hast lodged those treasures of heart and soul in so frail a
tenement, that now threatens to dissolve! Can our prayers win from Thee
the life of our brother? What a glorious work hast Thou accomplished in
him! Thou hast shown us how high he may soar heavenwards, how near he
may approach Thee! Oh, suffer him to enjoy his earthly reward,--the
blessings of a husband and father, the ties of friendship, the homage of
the world!”
“_Noon._--The doctors Hammer, Clarus, and Walther watch in turn by his
bedside. Schleinitz writes out a bulletin that gives no hope. Dr. Frege
and his wife and I are waiting anxiously near the sick-room. The doctors
say that if no fresh attack on the nerves or lungs supervenes, the
apparent calm may lead to a happy turn....
“_Midnight._--From two o’clock in the afternoon, at the hour when
another paralytic stroke was dreaded, he gradually began to sink; he lay
perfectly quiet, breathing heavily. In the evening we were all by turns
assembled around his bed, contemplating the peaceful, seraphic
expression on his countenance. The memory of that scene sank deeply into
our hearts. Cécile bore up with fortitude under the crushing weight of
her sorrow; she never wavered, never betrayed her struggle by a word.
The children had been sent to bed at nine o’clock. Paul Mendelssohn
stood transfixed with grief at the bedside of his dying brother. Madame
Dirichlet and the Schuncks were expected in vain,--Dr. Härtel had
travelled to Berlin to fetch them and Dr. Schönlein, but they could not
arrive in time to witness the closing scene.
“From nine o’clock in the evening we expected every moment would be the
last; a light seemed to hover over his features, but the struggle for
life became feebler and fainter. Cécile, in floods of tears, kneeled at
his pillow; Paul Mendelssohn, David, Schleinitz, and I, in deep and
silent prayer, surrounded his death-bed. As his breathing gradually
became slower and slower, my mind involuntarily recurred to Beethoven’s
Funeral March, in the ‘Eroica Symphony,’--to that passage where he seems
to depict the hero, as he lies breathing his last, the sands of life
gradually running out:
[Illustration: musical notation]
“The suppressed sobs of the bystanders and my own hot tears recalled me
to the dread reality.... At twenty-four minutes past nine he expired
with a deep sigh. The doctor persuaded the widowed Cécile to leave the
room. I knelt down at the bedside, my prayers followed heavenwards the
soul of the departed, and I pressed one last kiss on that noble forehead
before it grew cold in the damp dew of death.”
* * * * *
Moscheles remained in Leipzig, henceforth looking upon the Music School
as on a precious heirloom, bequeathed to him by its founder; and during
a period of twenty-three years--that is, until but a few days before his
death in March, 1870--he labored with untiring energy and devotion to
instruct the rising generation of musicians, and to instil into their
minds those artistic convictions and principles that had always been
dear to him and to Mendelssohn.