Chapter IX: Part 9

I am not so hard-hearted a correspondent as to rest satisfied with only writing to you once from Switzerland. Indeed, our Swiss expedition is drawing nearly to a close for the present. There are few more herdsmen’s huts to be seen; neither glaciers, nor anything of the kind; rocks, and so forth, just as little; but we still have the greenish-blue lake, and the clean houses, and the bright gardens, and a chain of mountains, such as could only stand on the confines of a land like this. So my greetings to you all once more from Switzerland! How beautiful all has been, and most thoroughly have we enjoyed it! A gay mood, perfect health, and clear weather, combined to impress all the marvels indelibly on our souls. We were obliged to give up the expeditions we had planned the last few days, owing to the rain, and mists, and unfavourable weather; unfortunately the Righi was among the number, and the Schaffhausen Rheinfall, neither of which is there any chance of our seeing, for the weather continues cloudy, and the air very cold and comfortless for a journey. But, with these two exceptions, we have seen everything in as great beauty as we could have wished or expected; and I am particularly delighted that, on the last fine forenoon, I accomplished my expedition over the _Surene_ (“Durch der Surener furchtbar Eisgebirg,” _vide_ ‘William Tell’). On the same afternoon it began to rain in Engelberg, and next day I was obliged to tramp through the whole of the Unterwalden under an umbrella, nor has it ever been fair since. I sought out my former guide, and we mutually recognized each other, to our great joy.[56] He is now the landlord of the ‘Crown’ in Meiringen. Dearest Mother, recommend the man and his house to all your correspondents. I am quite determined to write to London and ask Murray to praise the ‘Crown’ in Meiringen, in his next red Guide-book to Switzerland; he can do so with a clear conscience. Michael has a good house, an extremely pretty wife, and five fine children, for whom I bought a few little trifles and some toy soldiers in Untersee, and thus we had a happy meeting after the lapse of eleven years. He brought me the words of the song in G major he sang at that time, the melody of which I had retained, but always plagued myself in vain about the verses. When I told him that we wished to go to the Grimsel, he got very red, and said, “Then I must go too--I must go.” He entrusted the public room (which is his department) to the care of a friend, and was ready next morning with his mountain staff and blouse, and led the horses past some awkward places, and the ladies past the most dangerous ones, and us too, when it was possible to cut off the distance by footpaths; and the people in Guttann laughed at seeing him again. “It is only for a little while,” said he; and a man who was making hay called out to him, “Oho! Michael, so you can’t give up being a guide yet?” He confided to me, that it did sometimes seem hard to be obliged to do so, and if he did not think of his wife and children, who knows what might happen? We separated on the Grimsel. This was a pleasant episode. I have sketched a great deal, and taken much trouble, but more than a mere scrawl cannot be accomplished here. Still, it may serve as a kind of diary, and as such I feel an attachment to all the old leaves in my book, and to the present ones also.

Kücken has just been with me; he is going to Paris, having composed an opera, which he is anxious to have performed first in Berlin; he got the _libretto_ from a man in Vienna. The Faulhorn, Meyerbeer, Rungenhagen, the Brünig, the Lungernsee, Donizetti, and the drivers, enlivened the conversation by turns,--not forgetting the Conservatorium in Berlin, and the Grimsel and Furka in the snow. But what kind of letter is this? Paul is resolved to see Zurich, so I must conclude. I feel as if you must be provoked at my chit-chat, all about nothing. Well, then, we are all perfectly hale and hearty, and love you very dearly, and think of you always and everywhere, and send you a thousand greetings, and hope for a joyful meeting. Such is, after all, the chief substance of every letter we long for, and so it is of this one also. _Au revoir_, dearest Mother.--Ever your

FELIX.

TO A. SIMROCK, BONN.

Frankfort, September 21st, 1842.

Dear Herr Simrock,

I write to you to-day on a particular subject, relying on your most entire discretion and perfect secrecy; but I know too well from experience, your kindly feeling towards myself, to doubt the fulfilment of my wish, and in full confidence in your silence I shall now come to the point. During my stay here I heard by chance that my friend and colleague in art, Herr X----, had written to you about the publication of some new works, but hitherto had received no answer. Now both in the interest of art, as well as in that of my friend, I should indeed be very glad if the answer were to prove favourable; and as I flatter myself that you place some value on my opinion and my wish, it occurred to me to write to you myself on the subject, and to beg of you, if you possibly can, to make some of my friend’s works known to the German public. My wish for the secrecy which I beg you to observe _towards every one_ and under _all circumstances_, is owing to this: that I feel certain Herr X---- would be _frantic_ if he had the most remote idea that I had taken such a step on his behalf. I know that nothing would be more intolerable to him than not to stand absolutely on his own ground, and therefore he _never_ must know of this letter; but, on the other hand, it is the positive duty of one artist towards another to assist as much as possible in overcoming difficulties and annoyances, when such efforts are noble and in a good cause, and both of these are so to the highest degree in this case. I therefore beg you to publish some of his compositions, and, above all, if possible, to enter into a more permanent connection with him. I am well aware that the German publishers have not hitherto had any very brilliant success (as it is called) with the works he has written, and whether this may be otherwise in future I cannot pretend to say; but that they _well deserve_ to succeed, is a point on which I have no doubt; and on that account, and _solely_ on that account, I now make my request. Were it not so, however great a friend he might be of mine, I would not do this. In fact, the only consideration which ought to have any influence, is the _intrinsic_ value of a work,--that being the only thing which would _inevitably_ ensure success, if there were any honesty in the world. It is too provoking to hear the oft-told tale of clever, meritorious artists, who, at the beginning of their career, are in such a state of anxious solicitude that their works should be purchased and made known, and when one of these chances to make a good hit, and gains great applause and becomes vastly popular, still this success does not cause him satisfaction equal to all his previous anxiety and vexation; for this very reason I should like you to act differently, and to place more value on true worth than on any chance result. This system, in fact, must soon be abolished, and in such a case the only question is, how soon? and after how many more annoyances? and this is just the point where a publisher can be useful and valuable to an artist. When universal popularity ensues, they are all ready enough to come forward, but I think you are the very man to act differently, not losing sight of the ideal, but also doing what is practical and right. Forgive the liberty I have taken, and if possible, comply with my wish. So far as I have heard, there is no pretension to any considerable sum for these works, but a very strong desire that they may be generally circulated and made known, and that the correspondence should be carried on in a friendly artistic spirit. If you will or can enter into the affair, I rely on your _sacred silence_ as to my interference, my name, or my request. If I shortly hear from my friend that you have written to him in a kind manner, and have agreed to assist him in making the public familiar with his songs and pianoforte works, how heartily shall I then rejoice! Perhaps you will say, what does this lazy composer, and still more lazy correspondent, mean? But I have improved in the latter respect, as the _figura_ proves; and with regard to the former, I mean to set to work shortly, and to overwhelm you with music-paper (as soon as it is well filled), and to request in my own name, what I now so urgently and anxiously entreat in that of my friend.--Ever yours, with esteem,

FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

TO A. SIMROCK, BONN.

Berlin, October 10th, 1842

Sir,

If I ever was agreeably surprised by any letter, it was by yours, which I received here yesterday. Your kind and immediate compliance with my request, and also the very handsome present you make me for my “Songs without Words,” render it really difficult for me to know how to thank you, and to express the great pleasure you have conferred on me; I must confess that I had not expected such ready courtesy, and satisfactory compliance with my letter of solicitation. I now doubly rejoice in having taken a step which a feeling of false shame, and that odious worldly maxim, “Don’t interfere in the affairs of others,” which occurred to me while writing, nearly deterred me from carrying out. Your conduct, as displayed in your letter of yesterday, has confirmed me more than ever in what I esteem to be good and right; so I intend to lay aside for ever the (so-called) highly-prized worldly wisdom, and henceforth to pursue a straightforward course according to my own first impulse and feeling; if it fails a hundred times, still _one_ such success is ample compensation. What artist, too, would not, at the same time, be highly delighted by the kind manner in which you allude to my compositions, and evince your approbation? Who would not prize and esteem this beyond all other recognition? I ought especially to feel thus, and by hereafter producing better works, strive to deserve the good and friendly feeling shown to me for my present ones. I hope one day, in some degree at least, to succeed in doing so; and if not, you will at all events know that neither goodwill nor earnest efforts were wanting. So I thank you for the fulfilment of my request, I thank you for the flattering and handsome present, and, above all, I thank you for your kindly sentiments about myself and my music, both of which are so much indebted to you, and which will fill me with gratitude and pleasure so long as I live.--I am, with esteem, your

FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

TO MARC-ANDRÉ SOUCHAY, LÜBECK.[57]

Berlin, October 15th, 1842.

... There is so much talk about music, and yet so little really said. For my part I believe that words do not suffice for such a purpose, and if I found they did suffice, then I certainly would have nothing more to do with music. People often complain that music is ambiguous, that their ideas on the subject always seem so vague, whereas every one understands words; with me it is exactly the reverse; not merely with regard to entire sentences, but also as to individual words; these, too, seem to me so ambiguous, so vague, so unintelligible when compared with genuine music, which fills the soul with a thousand things better than words. What the music I love expresses to me, is not thought too _indefinite_ to be put into words, but, on the contrary, too _definite_. I therefore consider every effort to express such thoughts commendable, but still there is something unsatisfactory too in them all, and so it is with yours also. This, however, is not your fault, but that of the poetry, which does not enable you to do better. If you ask me what _my_ idea is, I say--just the song as it stands; and if I have in my mind a definite term or terms with regard to one or more of these songs, I will disclose them to no one, because the words of one person assume a totally different meaning in the mind of another person, because the music of the song alone can awaken the same ideas and the same feelings in one mind as in another,--a feeling which is not, however, expressed by the same words.[58] Resignation, melancholy, the praise of God, a hunting-song,--one person does not form the same conception from these that another does. Resignation is to the one, what melancholy is to the other; the third can form no lively idea of either. To any man who is by nature a very keen sportsman, a hunting-song and the praise of God would come pretty much to the same thing, and to such a one the sound of the hunting-horn would really and truly be the praise of God, while we hear nothing in it but a mere hunting-song; and if we were to discuss it ever so often with him, we should get no further. Words have many meanings, and yet music we could both understand correctly. Will you allow this to serve as an answer to your question? At all events, it is the only one I can give,--although these too are nothing, after all, but ambiguous words!

TO WIRKLICH GEHEIMRATH HERR VON MASSOW.

Berlin, October 23rd 1842.

Your Excellency,

Permit me respectfully to ask whether you will be so good as to assist in procuring me an audience of his Majesty, to place before him my present position here, and my wishes with regard to it.

Your Excellency is aware that I am not so situated as to be able to accept the proposal of Herr Eichhorn to place myself at the head of the whole of the Evangelical Church music here. As I already told the Minister (and your Excellency quite agreed to this in our last conversation), such a situation, if considered _practically_, must either consist of a general superintendence of all the present organists, choristers, school-masters, etc., or of the improvement and practice of the singing choirs in one or more cathedrals. Neither of these, however, is the kind of work which I particularly desire. Moreover, the first of these functions is superfluous if such places are properly filled; and the second, to be really effectually carried out, demands more vast and comprehensive regulations, and greater pecuniary resources than could be obtained at this moment.

With regard to the other plans which were proposed, partly for the reorganization of the present Institute, and partly for the establishment of a new one, difficulties have arisen which render the establishment of these plans void; and thus the case now occurs which your Excellency may remember I always anticipated, much to my regret, at the very beginning of our correspondence in December, 1840,--there is no opportunity on my side for a practical, influential, musical efficiency in Berlin.

Herr Eichhorn declared that this would be altered in the course of time; that everything was being done in order to bring about a different state of things, and he requested me to wait with patience till the building was completed which it was proposed to erect.

I think, on the contrary, that it would not be responding properly on my part to the confidence the King has placed in me, if I were not at once to employ my energies in fulfilling what your Excellency at that time told me, in the name of the King, were his designs; if, instead of at least making the attempt to animate and ennoble my art in this country (as your Excellency was pleased to say), I were to continue to work for myself personally; if I were to wait instead of to act. The very depth of my gratitude for such flattering confidence constrains me to say all this candidly to his Majesty,--to state that circumstances, over which I have no control, now render the fulfilment of his commands impossible.

My wish is that his Majesty would permit me in the meantime to reside and to work, and to await his commands in some other place, where I could for the moment be useful and efficient. As soon as the building is finished, of which Herr Eichhorn spoke, or so soon as the King required any service from me, I should consider it a great happiness to hasten back and to exert my best energies for such a Sovereign, whose mandates are in themselves the highest rewards for an artist.

I would fain have written this to the King sooner, but when I reflected that my communication would only meet his Majesty’s eye among a vast number of others, I thought I could express my views and feelings of most sincere gratitude, more plainly and better, verbally, even if only by a few words; and that your Excellency may be so obliging as to promote my wish is my present request, and the object of this letter.--I am, your Excellency’s most devoted

FELIX M. B.

TO HIS MAJESTY THE KING OF PRUSSIA.[59]

Berlin, October, 28th, 1842

Your Majesty,

In the memorable words your Majesty was pleased to address to me, you mentioned that it was intended to add a certain number of able singers to the existing Royal Church choirs, to form a nucleus for these choirs, as well as for any amateurs of singing who might subsequently wish to join them, serving as a rallying-point and example, and in this manner gradually to elevate and to ennoble church music, and to ensure its greater development.

Also, in order to support the singing of the congregation by instruments, which produce the most solemn and noble effects,--as your Majesty may remember, during the celebration of the Jubilee in the Nicolai Church,--it is proposed that a small number of instrumentalists (probably selected from the members of the Royal Orchestra) should be engaged, who are also intended to form the basis for subsequent grand performances of oratorios, etc.

The direction of a musical choir of this instructive nature, a genuine Royal Orchestra, your Majesty expressed your intention to entrust to me, but, till its formation, to grant me entire freedom of choice with regard to my place of residence.

The execution of this plan will fulfil to the utmost all my wishes as to public musical efficiency; I can never cease to be grateful to your Majesty for it, and I do not doubt that the organization of such an institution could be effected here without any serious difficulties.

But I would request your Majesty not to devolve this organization on me personally, but merely to permit me to co-operate with my opinion and advice, which I shall always be gladly prepared to give. Until however, to use your Majesty’s own expression, the instrument is ready on which I am hereafter to play, I wish to make use of the freedom of action so graciously accorded me, and shortly to return to Leipzig, for the direction of the Town Hall concerts. The orders which your Majesty was pleased to give me, I shall there with the utmost zeal and to the best of my abilities carry into execution; at the same time I entreat your Majesty, as I am engaged in no public sphere of action here till the organization of the Institute, and am till then to enjoy entire liberty, to be allowed to give up one-half of the salary, previously granted to me, so long as I take advantage of this entire freedom from work.

In repeating my heartfelt thanks for all the favours which your Majesty has so liberally bestowed on me,--I am, till death, your Majesty’s devoted servant,

FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

TO CARL KLINGEMANN, LONDON.

Leipzig, November 23rd, 1842.

We are now again settled in Leipzig, and fairly established here for this winter and till late in the spring. The old localities where we passed so many happy days so pleasantly are now re-arranged with all possible comfort, and we can live here in great comfort. I could no longer endure the state of suspense in Berlin; there was in fact nothing certain there, but that I was to receive a certain sum of money, and that alone should not suffice for the vocation of a musician; at least I felt more oppressed by it from day to day, and I requested either to be told plainly I should do _nothing_ (with which I should have been quite contented, for then I could have worked with an easy mind at whatever I chose), or be told plainly what I was to do. As I was again assured that the results would certainly ensure my having employment, I wrote to Herr von Massow begging him to procure me an audience of the King, that I might thank him verbally, and endeavour to obtain my dismissal on such and such grounds, requesting him to communicate the contents of this letter to his Majesty; this he did, and appointed a day for the audience, at the same time saying that the affair was now at an end; the King very much displeased with me, and that it was his intention to take leave of me in very few words. He had made me some proposals in the name of the King to which I could not altogether agree, and with which I do not now detain you, as they led to nothing, and could lead to nothing. So I was quite prepared to take my leave of Berlin in very bad odour, however painful this might be to me. I was at length obliged also to speak to my mother on the subject, and to break to her that in the course of eight days I must return to Leipzig; I could not have believed that this would have affected her so terribly as it actually did. You know how calm my mother usually is, and how seldom she allows any one to have a glimpse of the feelings of her heart, and therefore it was doubly and trebly painful to me to cause her such a pang of sorrow, and yet I could not act otherwise; so next day I went to the King with Massow--the most zealous friend I have in Berlin--and who first took a final leave of me in his own house. The King must have been in an especial good humour, for instead of finding him angry with me, I never saw him so amiable and so really confidential. To my farewell speech he replied: he could not indeed compel me to remain, but he did not hesitate to say, that it would cause him heartfelt regret if I left him; that by doing so, all the plans which he had formed from my presence in Berlin would be frustrated, and that I should leave a void which he could never fill up. As I did not admit this, he said if I would name any one capable of carrying such and such plans into execution as well as he believed I could do, then he would entrust them to the person I selected, but he felt sure I should be unable to name one whom he could approve of. The following are the plans which he detailed at full length; first of all, to form a kind of real _capelle_, that is, a select choir of about thirty very first-rate singers, and a small orchestra (to consist of the _élite_ of the theatrical orchestra); their duties to consist in Church music on Sundays and at festivals, and besides this, in performing oratorios and so forth; that I was to direct these, and to compose music for them, etc. etc. “Certainly,” said I, “if there were any chance of such a thing here, if this were only accomplished;” it was the very point at issue on which I had so much insisted. On which he replied again, that he knew perfectly well I must have an instrument to make music on, and that it should be _his_ care to procure such an instrument of singers and players; but when he had procured it, he must know that I was prepared to play on it; till then I might do as I liked, return to Leipzig, or go to Italy,--in short, be entirely unfettered; but he must have the certainty that he might depend on me when he _required_ me, and this could only be acquired by my remaining in his service. Such was at least the essential substance of the whole long conversation; we then separated. He said I was not to give him my decision _immediately_, because all difficulties could not be for the moment entirely obviated; I was to take time to consider, and to send my answer to Massow, who was present during the whole of this conversation of an hour and a quarter. He was quite flushed with excitement when we left the room, repeating over and over again, “Surely you can never _now_ think of going away!” and to tell you the truth, I thought more of my dear mother than of all the rest. In short, two days afterwards I wrote to the King, and said that after his words to me I could no longer think of leaving his service, but that, on the contrary, my best abilities should be at his command so long as I lived. He had mentioned so and so (and I repeated the substance of our conversation), that I would take advantage of the liberty he had granted me, and remain in Leipzig _until_ I was appointed to some _definite_ sphere of work; on which account, I begged to relinquish one-half of my salary, so long as I was not really engaged in active work. This proposal he accepted, and I am now here again with my wife and child. I have been obliged definitively to decline the offers of the King of Saxony; but in order to do so in the most respectful manner, I went to Dresden a few days after my return here, thanked the King once more verbally, and entreated him not the less to bestow the twenty thousand _thalers_ (which an old Leipziger bequeathed in his will to the King for the establishment of an Academy of Art) to found a school for music in Leipzig, to which he graciously acceded. The official announcement came the day before yesterday. This music school is to be organized next winter, at least in its chief features; when it is established, I may well say that I have been the means of procuring a durable benefit for music here. If they begin anything solid in Berlin, I can settle there with a clear conscience; if they allow the matter to stand over, it is probable that I may go on with my half-salary and my situation here for more than a year, and my duties be confined, as now, to executing particular commands of the King,--for instance, I am to supply him with music for the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” the “Storm,” and “Œdipus Coloneus.”

Such then is the desired conclusion of this long, long transaction. Forgive all these details, but I wished to inform you minutely of every particular.

A request occurs to me which I long ago intended to have made to you. In Switzerland I saw my former guide, Michael, whom, on my previous mountain-expeditions, I always found to be an excellent, honest, obliging fellow, and on this occasion I met with him again, married to a charming pretty woman; he has children, and is no longer a guide, but established as landlord of the ‘Krone.’ During our first visit to Meiringen this summer, we lived at the Hôtel de Reichenbach, but the second time we were at the ‘Krone,’ and quite delighted with the cleanliness, and neatness, and the civil behaviour of all the people in the house. It is a most genuine Swiss village inn, taken in its best sense. Now Michael’s greatest wish is to be named among the inns at Meiringen, in the new edition of Murray’s ‘Switzerland,’ and I promised to endeavour to effect this for him.[60] Is it in your power to get this done? The first inn there is the ‘Wilde Mann,’ the second the ‘Reichenbach,’ and the third undoubtedly the ‘Krone;’ and if Murray recommends it as such, I am convinced it will do him credit. He might also mention that it is most beautifully situated, with a full view of the Engelhorn, and the glacier of the Rosenlaui. Michael said that the editor of the Handbook had been there, and very much _fêté_ by the other landlords; his means did not admit of this, still he would give him a good round sum of money if he would only mention him. I was indignant, and said, “_Without money, or not at all_.” But I thought of many musical newspapers and composers, so I did not lecture him much on the subject, from the fear that he might one day hear something of the same sort from one of my colleagues, and take his revenge. There is now a general complaint, that the large town hotels have superseded the smaller comfortable genuine Swiss inns; this is one of the latter sort. Murray must really recommend it. Pray do what you can about this, and tell me if you succeed. Forgive my troubling you, the secretary to an embassy, with such things, but if you knew Michael you would like him, I know. I would fain draw a great deal now, and gladly devote myself to all manner of _allotria_, including composition; but I see lying before me an enormous thick packet of proofs of my A minor symphony, and the ‘Antigone,’ which must absorb all my leisure time; and then the frightful heap of letters!

My dearest friend, may these lines find you in good health, and in a happy frame of mind; may you think of me, as I shall of you, so long as life lasts; and may you also soon be able to tell me yourself that it is so, and again rejoice your true friends by your presence, for Cecile writes this letter from first to last along with me, and knows all I have said, and is, like myself, for ever and ever your friend.

F. M. B.

TO HIS MOTHER.

Leipzig, November 28th, 1842.

Dearest Mother,

As pen and paper must again serve instead of our usual evening hour for tea, I begin by making a suggestion, which is, whether you would like me to write to you regularly every Saturday (perhaps only a few words, but of this hereafter); and that one of the family, as often as you cannot or will not write, should undertake to send me a punctual reply. In addition to the joy of knowing beforehand the day when I am to hear of you, it is in some degree indispensable to ensure my writing to you, for time _must_ be found for a weekly letter; while, were this not the case, I should be ashamed to send you only a few lines, should it happen that I could not accomplish more. You can have no idea of the mass of affairs--musical, practical, and social--that have accumulated on the table in my study since my return here. The weekly concerts; the extra ones; the money the King has at length bestowed at my request on the Leipzigers, and for the judicious expenditure of which I only yesterday had to furnish the prospectus; the revisal of “Antigone” and of the A minor symphony, its score and parts; and a pile of letters. These are the principal points, which, however, branch off into a number of secondary ones. Besides, Raupach has already sent me the first chorus of “Athalia.” The “Midsummer Night’s Dream” and “Œdipus” daily work more busily in my head; I am really anxious at last to make the “Walpurgis Nacht” into a symphony cantata, for which it was originally intended, but did not become so from want of courage on my part, and I must also complete my violoncello sonata.

Old Schröder’s concert took place three days ago, in which I played, and directed the overture to “Ruy Blas;” the old _déclamatrice_ delighted us all exceedingly by the great power and spirit of her voice, and every gesture. In particular passages I thought she laid rather too much stress on the expression of the words, and gave too much preference to details over the voice; but as a whole her genius was highly remarkable. In her youth, had she the reputation of laying more stress on effect than was admissible? and what were her best parts in those days? Her daughter (looking younger, and wilder, and more of a madcap than ever) sang also, and sings this evening in Döhler’s concert; she will also probably sing in our subscription concert next Thursday; the days which she passes in any town, are not of the most quiet description for her acquaintances. We had besides, Tichatschek, Wagner, Döhler, Mühlenfels,--so there was a continual hurry and excitement last week.

Make them read aloud to you at the tea-table the passage from the last of Lessing’s ‘Antiquarian Letters,’ “Wenn ich Kunstrichter wäre,” etc. etc.,--and tell me whether any of you dispute the point, or whether you all agree with me, that it is the most exhaustive address which can be made to a critic, indeed to every critic. At this moment, when so many artists, old and young, good and bad, come here, this passage daily recurs to me.--Your

FELIX.

TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

Leipzig, December 5th, 1842.

My dear Brother,

As we agreed (and indeed very properly) that I was to take no step with regard to my affairs in Berlin without informing you immediately of every detail, I write you these lines to-day, although I am over head and ears in business. I received yesterday from the King the following communication:--

“By the enclosed written document you will perceive the tenor of the communication I have this day made on the subject of an Institute for the Improvement of Church Singing; it is addressed to the Special Commissioners, W. G. R. von Massow and W. G. R. General Intendant of Court Music, Graf von Redern. I have also, in compliance with your own wish, informed the Minister of State, Eichhorn, and the Finance Minister, Von Bodelschwingh, that, until you enter on your functions, you decline receiving more than fifteen hundred _thalers_, instead of three thousand. I nominate you General Music Director, and entrust to you the superintendence and direction of church and sacred music as your appointed sphere of action.--Charlottenburg, November 22nd, 1842.”

The enclosure consists of a Cabinet order, which is drawn up in a most clear and judicious style, entirely in the spirit of our interview, and thoroughly in accordance with my wishes, manifestly with the co-operation of Herr von Massow, and with the true and honest purpose of carrying out the affair. That no material obstacles exist, is again evident from this cabinet order, but whether I may consider the accomplishment of the project as certain, I cannot say with any security till I actually see it. The affair of the Conservatorium was still further advanced, and seemed even more decided. On the other hand, I adhere to my former views, and do what I can to promote the project, and to display my goodwill towards it.

Herr von Massow writes to me (only yesterday) that I had better soon come again to Berlin, to converse with him and Graf von Redern, and that only one or two days would be required; I shall, however, answer him that I mean to go there on the 17th, and have arranged to remain till the 23rd. A longer stay is unfortunately impossible; still you and I can have some political gossip together, and be inseparable during my stay.

The King having on this occasion conferred on me a new title,[61] almost embarrasses me; I am unwilling to be of the number of those in the present day, who possess a greater number of decorations than they have written good compositions, and yet it seems rather like it; at all events, I really have no idea what return I can possibly make for all this, still, as I have not in any way sought it, I may be excused. To refuse such a thing is out of the question, and there is no one who does not rejoice in being over-estimated, because on some other occasion the balance is sure to be made even by depreciation.--Ever your

FELIX.

TO HIS MOTHER.

Leipzig, December 11th, 1842.

Dearest Mother,

On the 21st or 22nd, we give a concert here for the King, who has sworn death and destruction to all the hares in the country round. In this concert we mean to sing for his benefit (how touching!) the partridge and hare hunt out of the “Seasons.” My “Walpurgis Nacht” is to appear once more in the second part, in a somewhat different garb indeed from the former one, which was somewhat too richly endowed with trombones, and rather poor in the vocal parts; but to effect this, I have been obliged to re-write the whole score from A to Z, and to add two new arias, not to mention the rest of the clipping and cutting. If I don’t like it now, I solemnly vow to give it up for the rest of my life. I think of bringing with me to Berlin a movement from the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” and one from “Œdipus.” The music school here, please God! will make a beginning next February; Hauptmann, David, Schumann and his wife, Becker, Pohlenz, and I, are to be the teachers at first. It commences with ten sinecures; the rest who may wish to have instruction, must pay seventy-five _thalers_ a year. Now you know all that I know, the rest can only be taught by experience and trial.

I wished for you recently at a subscription concert. I think I never played the Beethoven G major concerto so well,--my old _cheval de bataille_; the first cadence especially, and a new return to the solo, pleased me exceedingly, and apparently the audience still more.

What you write to me about the _répertoire_ of your Berlin concerts, does not inspire me with any wish to hear more about them. The arrangement of the “Aufforderung zum Tanz,” and the compositions of English ambassadors,--these are valuable things! If experiments are to be thus made and listened to, it would be advisable to be rather more liberal towards the works of our Fatherland. You will again say that I am cynical; but many of my ideas are so intimately connected with my life and my views on art, that you must be indulgent with regard to them.

The monument to old Sebastian Bach is now very handsome.[62] Bendemann was here the day before yesterday, to inspect it once more. All the inner scaffolding had been removed, so the pillars and smaller columns, and scrolls, and above all the bas-reliefs, and the grand, antiquated old features sparkled clearly in the sun, and caused me great delight. The whole structure, with its numerous elegant decorations, is really typical of the old fellow. It is now covered up again, and will remain so till March, when it is to be inaugurated on his birthday, by one of his motetts. Cedars are to be planted round the monument, and a Gothic seat placed in front of it. We are anxious, however, not to make too much fuss on the subject, and to avoid the present pompous style of phraseology, and the worship of art and artists, which is so much the fashion.

Here, the outward aspect of things is now as much too flourishing, as it formerly was too miserable for artists, which would be very pleasant for us, but it does harm to the cause. Art is becoming spoiled and sluggish, so we should rather be grateful to our present enemies than be angry with them. I also consider it too much good fortune that the King of Prussia has nominated me General Music Director. This is another new title and new honour, whereas I really do not know how to do enough to deserve the old ones.

This is a hallowed day for us all, with its delightful and memorable recollections;[63] think of me too on this anniversary, as I do of you and of him, so long as life endures.--Your

FELIX.

TO PASTOR JULIUS SCHUBRING, DESSAU.

Leipzig, December 16th, 1842.

My dear Schubring,

I now send you, according to your permission, the text of “Elijah,” so far as it goes. I do beg of you to give me your best assistance, and return it soon with plenty of notes on the margin (I mean Scriptural passages, etc.). I also enclose your former letters on the subject, as you wished, and have torn them out of the book in which they were. They must, however, be replaced, so do not forget to send them back to me. In the very first of these letters (at the bottom of the first page), you properly allude to the chief difficulty of the text, and the very point in which it is still the most deficient--in universally valid and impressive thoughts and words; for of course it is not my intention to compose what you call “a Biblical Walpurgis Night.” I have endeavoured to obviate this deficiency by the passages written in Roman letters, but there is still something wanting, even to complete these, and to obtain suitable comprehensive words for the subject. This, then, is the first point to which I wish to direct your attention, and where your assistance is very necessary. Secondly, in the “dramatic” arrangement. I cannot endure the half operatic style of most of the oratorio words, (where recourse is had to common figures, as, for example, an Israelite, a maiden, Hannah, Micaiah, and others, and where, instead of saying “this and that occurred,” they are made to say, “Alas! I see this and that occurring.”) I consider this very weak, and will not follow such a precedent. However, the everlasting “he spake” etc., is also not right. Both of these are avoided in the text; still this is, and ever will be, one of its weaker aspects.

Reflect, also, whether it is justifiable that no positively dramatic figure except that of Elijah appears. I think it is. He ought, however, at the close, at his ascension to heaven, to have something to say (or to sing). Can you find appropriate words for this purpose? The second part, moreover, especially towards the end, is still in a very unfinished condition. I have not as yet got a final chorus; what do you advise it to be? Pray study the whole carefully, and write on the margin a great many beautiful arias, reflections, pithy sentences, choruses, and all sorts of things, and let me have them as soon as possible.

I also send the ‘Méthode des Méthodes.’ While turning over its leaves, I could not help thinking that you will here and there find much that will be useful. If that be the case, I beg you will keep it as long as you and your young pianoforte player may require it. I don’t use it at all. If it does not please you, I can send you instead, a sight of Zimmermann’s ‘Pianoforte School,’ which is composed pretty much on the same principle, and has only different examples, etc.

Speaking is a very different thing from writing. The few minutes I lately passed with you and yours, were more enlivening and cheering than ever so many letters.--Ever your

FELIX M. B.

TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

Leipzig, December 22nd, 1842.[64]

My dear Brother,

I wrote to you the day after our arrival here that we were all well, and living in our sorrow as we best could, dwelling on the happiness we once possessed. My letter was addressed to Fanny, but written to you all; though it seems you had not heard of it, and even this trifle shows, what will day by day be more deeply and painfully felt by us,--that the point of union is now gone, where even as children we could always meet; and though we were no longer so in years, we felt that we were still so in feeling. When I wrote to my Mother, I knew that I wrote to you all, and you knew it too; we are children no longer, but we have enjoyed what it really is to be so. Now, this is gone for ever! At such a time, with regard to outward things, we are as if in a dark room, groping to find the way, hour after hour. Tell me if we cannot arrange that I should write to one of you by turns once every week, and get an answer from you, so that we may at least hear of each other every three weeks, independent of more frequent letters; or say whether any better arrangement occurs to you. I thank you a thousand times for your kind question about the house. I had thought of asking you for it, and now you offer it to me. But before we finally settle this, I should like you to bring the subject cautiously on the _tapis_, in the presence of our sisters and brother-in-law. If you perceive that any unpleasant feeling is awakened in their minds by such a proposal, when for the first time, in Berlin, I am not to live under the same roof with them, and if they give any indication of such a feeling, even by a single word or remark, (you will quickly observe this, and I rely entirely on you,) then we must give it up. In any other event, I shall thankfully accept your kindness. My next visit to Berlin will be a severe trial to me; indeed, all I say and do is a trial to me,--anything, in short, that is not mere patient endurance. I have, however, begun to work again, and that is the only thing which occupies me a little. Happily, I have some half-mechanical work to do,--transcribing, instrumentation, and similar things. This can be accomplished by a kind of almost animal instinct, which we can follow, and which does us more good than if we had it not. But yesterday I was obliged to direct. That was terrible. They told me that the first time would be terrible, but sooner or later it must be done. I thought so too, but I would fain have waited for a few weeks. The first thing was a song of Rochlitz’s; but when in the rehearsal the alto sang, _piano_, “Wie der Hirsch schreit,”[65] I was so overcome, that I was obliged afterwards to go out of the room, to give free vent to my tears.

To-day, Heaven be praised, I am not required to see or speak to any one, and my cough is better. Thus time glides on; but what we have once possessed is not less precious, and what we have now lost not less painful with time. Farewell, dearest Brother. Continue to love me.--Your

FELIX.

TO PROFESSOR KÖSTLIN, TÜBINGEN.

Leipzig, January 12th, 1843.

Dear Herr Köstlin, or rather, dear Herr Godfather,

You have caused me much joy by your kind letter of yesterday, and by the happy intelligence it contained, and above all, by your wish that I should be godfather! Indeed, you may well believe that I gladly accede to the request, and after reading your letter, it was some moments before I could realize, that I could not possibly be present at the baptism. In earlier days, no reasoning would have been of any avail; I would have taken post horses and arrived in your house for the occasion. This I cannot now do, but if there be such a thing as to be present in spirit, then I shall indeed be so. The remembrance of me by such well-beloved friends, and this proof of your regard, which causes a still more close and enduring tie between us, cannot fail to cause true joy and exhilaration of heart; and believe me, I feel this joy, and thank you and your wife for it.

That I am to be godfather is then settled; but there are a thousand things I still wish to know, and if, when the christening is over, you do not write me all the details which you omit in this letter, you must expect a good scolding. You forget that I have myself three children, so I am doubly interested in such things. You do not even mention the name the boy is to have, and whether he is fair or dark, or has black or blue eyes. My wife is as desirous as I am to know all this, and we hope that after the christening you will write to us every particular. You were rather displeased with me for being so bad a correspondent. I earnestly entreat of you never to be displeased with me on that account; I cannot remedy this; it is a fault which, in spite of the best resolutions on my part, I constantly fall into, and which I shall never be cured of so long as I live. There is so much that stands in my way; first, a really instinctive dislike to pen and paper, except where music is concerned; then the various scattered branches of a perfect maze of professional and other avocations, which I am obliged to undertake partly for myself and partly for others, so that I really sometimes can only carry on life like a person in a crowd pushing his way, and shoving along with both his elbows, using his feet too, as well as his fists and teeth, etc. This is, in fact, my mood many a week; I extort the time for writing music, otherwise I could not go on from day to day, but I cannot find leisure to write letters.

We have had recently a bitter heavy loss to bewail,--that of my dear Mother. I intended to have written in a gay mood all through this letter, and not by a single word to allude to anything, that by its melancholy nature might disturb your happiness, but I feel that I must write this to you, otherwise all that I say would appear mere hypocrisy. You must therefore take part in my sorrow, for I could not conceal from you the event that during the last few weeks, has so bowed us down from grief, and which it will be long before we can recover from. Yet such a letter as yours is welcome at all times, and in all sorrow, and just as I know how you will feel towards me on hearing this, so you know how cordially I sympathize with your joy; this may well be called sincere attachment! Give your wife a thousand greetings and congratulations from me. Tell me if she has composed new songs or anything else; what I should like best would be to receive one from her in a letter; they always delight me so much, when I hear and play them.--Ever your devoted

FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

TO FANNY HENSEL, BERLIN.

Leipzig, January 13th, 1843.

... We yesterday tried over a new symphony by a Dane of the name of Gade, and we are to perform it in the course of the ensuing month; it has given me more pleasure than any work I have seen for a long time. He has great and superior talents, and I wish you could hear this most original, most earnest, and sweet-sounding Danish symphony. I am writing him a few lines to-day, though I know nothing more of him than that he lives in Copenhagen, and is twenty-six years of age, but I must thank him for the delight he has caused me; for there can scarcely be a greater than to hear fine music; admiration increasing at every bar, and a feeling of congeniality; would that it came less seldom!

TO A. W. GADE, PROFESSOR OF MUSIC, COPENHAGEN.

Leipzig, January 13th, 1842.

Sir,